Lex draws air sharply into his lungs, surprised at first not to be choking on smoke. The air around him settles and cools in the absence of flames, making the imprint of heat on his chest even more apparent, distracting. Welcoming.
He opens his eyes, not surprised that the burning press of knuckles against his chest belongs to Clark, the boy breathing with the same rapid rhythm as Lex. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, dragging in another sharp breath, then a slower, longer one, knowing it's safe to draw it, that the air will be there. There's always air wherever Clark is, fresh and seasonally smelling like manure, but there nonetheless.
His body comes under his control, eventually. Clark's settles into a stillness over him, a cautious hovering as he continues to watch over Lex, protecting him, taking care of him.
When he can, when it seems like they must have held that tableau forever, Lex lifts his head again. "Clark," he says, voice still rough in a way that will take time to sooth. They should move, they should be acting to...
"Stop," Clark says, fists tightening in the material of Lex's shirt. It tugs him up from the floor, just the tiniest bit. It's subtle, but strangely transfixing. Lex can feel the loss of contact with the floor, the way that his weight is suddenly held not by marble but his shirt.
Lex waits, but there's no further instruction. Stop what? Thinking, perhaps? Stop trying to find a way to move them from this familiar scene of imperiled Lex and his looming savior? It's so Clark, so muddled and confused and painfully earnest, and Lex can only smile, which contradictorily makes Clark's eyebrows draw down in a pained expression.
"Stop looking at me like that." he finally manages to finish.
He can feel the frown on his own face as he searches Clark's, but Clark only makes a frustrated sound. Another twitching clench of his hands and Lex's shoulders were far enough off the floor now that even to a passerby, it'd be obvious that Clark's hefting him up. Hell, Lex's ass is nearly off the floor.
It has to look ridiculous, the scorch ring around them, Clark's awkward kneeling loom, Lex dangling as if he weighs nothing even though the only strain on Clark's face is an emotional one.
"Lex." Plaintive, now.
Lex isn't sure exactly how he was looking at Clark, not a minute ago or half a minute ago or in that instance, but when Clark's mouth opens, Lex knows that it will be another complaint, a request, a plea, one that he has no idea how to answer.
Clark's lips are hot, practically burning against Lex's mouth, all the more so for the fact that in the instant before the kiss, Lex had a flash of a riverbank and a watery press of mouths. He barely registers the softness of the shirt he curls his fingers in, so transfixed is he by the soft, hot press of Clark's lips against his. His arm shakes a little as his own grip holds him closer to Clark long enough to kiss the words away in a wash of shock.
Before the strength in his right arm gives out, he curls his left around Clark's neck and holds on. The press of cool marble against his back is a counterpoint to Clark's body over his and Lex goes from being weightless in Clark's hold to being half-crushed by his weight. He's made breathless again by the way Clark kisses, consuming and desperate and still with that edge of confusion that has Lex trying to gentle him, guide him, instinctively.
Clark pulls back with a gasp, as if he's once again given Lex all the breath within him. He's flushed by desire, possibly combined with embarrassment. He looks a bit wrecked, from the fire, the rescue, the kiss. Lex swallows the laughter that bubbles in his chest but does nothing to stifle the smile.
For a moment, Clark looks helpless, then Lex can't tell what expression is on his face because his head is resting on Lex's chest, his hands having finally given up their grip on Lex's shirt and settled flat-palmed on his sides instead.
Lex let's his head tip back to the floor and looks up at the ceiling. He thinks of Clark's objection and wonders if that kiss, if the slow way Clark is wrapping himself completely around Lex,will stop Lex from looking at Clark 'like that'.
Tend (The Fire)
He opens his eyes, not surprised that the burning press of knuckles against his chest belongs to Clark, the boy breathing with the same rapid rhythm as Lex. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, dragging in another sharp breath, then a slower, longer one, knowing it's safe to draw it, that the air will be there. There's always air wherever Clark is, fresh and seasonally smelling like manure, but there nonetheless.
His body comes under his control, eventually. Clark's settles into a stillness over him, a cautious hovering as he continues to watch over Lex, protecting him, taking care of him.
When he can, when it seems like they must have held that tableau forever, Lex lifts his head again. "Clark," he says, voice still rough in a way that will take time to sooth. They should move, they should be acting to...
"Stop," Clark says, fists tightening in the material of Lex's shirt. It tugs him up from the floor, just the tiniest bit. It's subtle, but strangely transfixing. Lex can feel the loss of contact with the floor, the way that his weight is suddenly held not by marble but his shirt.
Lex waits, but there's no further instruction. Stop what? Thinking, perhaps? Stop trying to find a way to move them from this familiar scene of imperiled Lex and his looming savior? It's so Clark, so muddled and confused and painfully earnest, and Lex can only smile, which contradictorily makes Clark's eyebrows draw down in a pained expression.
"Stop looking at me like that." he finally manages to finish.
He can feel the frown on his own face as he searches Clark's, but Clark only makes a frustrated sound. Another twitching clench of his hands and Lex's shoulders were far enough off the floor now that even to a passerby, it'd be obvious that Clark's hefting him up. Hell, Lex's ass is nearly off the floor.
It has to look ridiculous, the scorch ring around them, Clark's awkward kneeling loom, Lex dangling as if he weighs nothing even though the only strain on Clark's face is an emotional one.
"Lex." Plaintive, now.
Lex isn't sure exactly how he was looking at Clark, not a minute ago or half a minute ago or in that instance, but when Clark's mouth opens, Lex knows that it will be another complaint, a request, a plea, one that he has no idea how to answer.
Clark's lips are hot, practically burning against Lex's mouth, all the more so for the fact that in the instant before the kiss, Lex had a flash of a riverbank and a watery press of mouths. He barely registers the softness of the shirt he curls his fingers in, so transfixed is he by the soft, hot press of Clark's lips against his. His arm shakes a little as his own grip holds him closer to Clark long enough to kiss the words away in a wash of shock.
Before the strength in his right arm gives out, he curls his left around Clark's neck and holds on. The press of cool marble against his back is a counterpoint to Clark's body over his and Lex goes from being weightless in Clark's hold to being half-crushed by his weight. He's made breathless again by the way Clark kisses, consuming and desperate and still with that edge of confusion that has Lex trying to gentle him, guide him, instinctively.
Clark pulls back with a gasp, as if he's once again given Lex all the breath within him. He's flushed by desire, possibly combined with embarrassment. He looks a bit wrecked, from the fire, the rescue, the kiss. Lex swallows the laughter that bubbles in his chest but does nothing to stifle the smile.
For a moment, Clark looks helpless, then Lex can't tell what expression is on his face because his head is resting on Lex's chest, his hands having finally given up their grip on Lex's shirt and settled flat-palmed on his sides instead.
Lex let's his head tip back to the floor and looks up at the ceiling. He thinks of Clark's objection and wonders if that kiss, if the slow way Clark is wrapping himself completely around Lex,will stop Lex from looking at Clark 'like that'.
He doubts it.