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old_school_clexThe Amazing True-Life Confessions of a Flannel Junkie
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: PG-13 for man-kissing, and discussions of violence and/or non-con situations, depending on how you read it.
Spoilers: None
Setting: Mid-season two.
Word Count: 2,664
Category: Schmoop, Woobie!Lex! (Yes, I believe he deserves his own category.)
Written for Hil’s Clothing Swap Challenge. Prompt: Lex wears flannel, or Clark wears a suit.
Summary: Luthors are neither trusted nor offered trust, but Lex has wrapped himself tightly in the one hope he has left.
A/N: I started this story as an RPS last year, but Michael just wasn’t feeling the woobie. I think it was difficult because he already had his acting experience when he started Smallville, and it might have worked better the other way around. I always liked the idea, though, so I resurrected the idea for this fic. Enjoy! Feedback is loved, petted, and adored! Many thanks to Herohunter for the beta! *smoochies*
The Amazing True-Life Confessions of a Flannel Junkie
By Lexalicious70
Looking back, Clark realized that he should have knocked.
Knocking on doors at the mansion wasn’t a thing Clark did anymore; he and Lex had been observing an open-door policy for nearly a year, after all, and Lex, too, would no more think of knocking before entering Clark’s loft than he would consider knocking on the door of his own home before entering. Each of them was welcome, without limits, into the other’s personal space.
Then again, perhaps no amount of foreknowledge could have prepared Clark for the sight that greeted him as he pushed open the door to Lex’s study, his mind on classic literature, his hopes high that Lex could give him some insight to Medea. Book in hand, he strode into the study.
“Hey Lex, have you . . . ever . . .” The question died on Clark’s lips as he realized that Lex was not as his desk or making himself a drink at the portable wet bar, but was instead curled up on the big leather sofa to his left, sound asleep. The fact that Lex was asleep in the middle of the day was amazing enough, but even more amazing was the fact that he was wearing nothing but a pair of white silk boxers and a red and blue flannel over-shirt that Clark knew belonged to him. He stared, noting that not only was Lex wearing the shirt, but he had buttoned it completely and was literally wrapped up in it as if it were a blanket. There was nothing outrageous about this comparison; Lex was lean and slender where Clark was not, and the big shirt all but swallowed him. Clark set his book aside quietly and took a few soft steps, the sight of Lex like this captivating him in a way he didn’t understand. He’d never seen Lex asleep before, and the fact that his friend was oblivious to his presence allowed Clark to study him without being caught staring, something that Lex often caught him at, and always seemed quietly amused when he did.
Lex’s lips were slightly parted as he breathed lightly and as Clark watched, the afternoon sun streamed in through one of the stained glass windows on the other side of the room and illuminated hints of bright copper in Lex’s long, almost translucent lashes.
*They’re red*, Clark thought. *Like his hair used to be.*
Lex sighed and shifted slightly in his sleep as he nestled deeper into the shirt. His neatly pressed black trousers lay tossed over a chair nearby, along with a pair of highly-polished Armani shoes. A pair of black socks was stuffed into the instep of the left shoe, and Clark grinned a little as he imagined Lex cramming the socks unceremoniously into the shoe before flopping down onto the couch to sleep. If a Luthor was capable of ever flopping onto anything. He looked the shirt over again and realized it was one he’d been missing for some time now, nearly six months, and if Lex had been in possession of it all this time, why hadn’t he given it back? Clark stood there, turning it over in his mind for a few moments and when the conclusion he came to hit home, he gasped aloud. The gasp made Lex start in his sleep, and his eyes snapped open. They pinned Clark before the teenager could make his escape and for a moment both men froze, staring at each other. Clark stammered something that he hoped passed for a greeting, and Lex sat up slowly. The hem of the shirt fell nearly to mid-thigh, and Lex straightened the collar as carefully if he were wearing one of his own silk shirts.
“Clark,” he said softly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I see that. I mean! I know that . . . at least, I do now? Oh boy.” Clark ran a hand through his raven curls, and Lex got to his feet. He padded across the room and got two chilled bottles of Ty-Nant from the mini-fridge, one of which he handed to Clark after moving soundlessly across the room again.
“Here. You look like you need this.”
“Thanks.” Clark twisted the cap off the bottle and fumbled it a moment before slipping it into his pocket out of habit. He took a long swallow of water as he watched Lex do the same, his soft, finely-shaped lips, flawed but so perfectly curved, wrapping around the head of the bottle in a way that made Clark feel a little dizzy. Lex took another sip and then set the bottle aside.
“Um. Lex? What . . . what are you doing in my . . . ?” Clark gestured to his shirt, and Lex smiled a little as he reached for his pants.
“I suppose you think I look ridiculous.”
“No! You look—fine!” Clark didn’t think Lex would appreciate having the word ‘cute’ applied to him. “It’s just—I’ve been missing that shirt for awhile now, and . . . well, Lex . . . you’ve had it all this time?”
Lex glanced up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean, Clark? Do you think I stole it from you?”
Clark flinched at Lex’s sudden flare of temper.
“No, Lex! That’s not what I meant! It’s just that . . . that . . . it’s been missing for awhile! That’s all!” Clark fumbled for words, and then watched, dismayed, as Lex’s eyes grew cold.
“So since it’s been missing, and I’m wearing it, I’ve obviously stolen it. Understood, Clark.” Lex began to unbutton the shirt quickly, and Clark put a hand out to stop him.
“Lex please, wait! Don’t!” He was suddenly desperate to keep the shirt on Lex’s back, knowing that for Lex, something as elemental as removing it would mean so much more than just the physical act. Lex lived in metaphors; they were his personal religion just as much as order and logic were. Clark’s view of things suddenly shifted as he remembered this, and in that moment, his heart ached so badly for Lex that he wanted to pull his friend into a loving embrace and never let go.
“Don’t?” Lex glanced up at him as he undid the last button. “Why not, Clark? It’s obvious you don’t want me to have it.”
“That’s not true! I do want you to have it. You can keep it, Lex . . .” Clark reached out and stopped Lex from pulling the shirt off one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter how you got it.”
“Damn it, Clark!” Lex’s deep-set grey eyes went molten with fury and he ripped the flannel shirt off. It struck Clark’s chest hard a moment later and he caught it numbly as he watched Lex stalk away from him. His chest squeezed with panic, and with panic came anger. He scowled.
“Don’t make this about a lack of trust in you, Lex! Didn’t I just say you could keep the shirt if you wanted?”
“With the understanding that it doesn’t matter where I got it . . . which means that we both understand that I stole it from you in some clandestine manner, but we won’t talk about how.”
“Quit putting words in my mouth, Lex!” Clark shouted back and Lex turned, mildly surprised.
“They’re your words, Clark.”
“But you’re twisting the meaning!” He crossed the room, the shirt in one hand. “I believe you when you say you didn’t take it!” He paused, and then sighed. “And I’ll believe you if you’ll tell me why you were wearing it, too.”
Lex turned his back again and Clark, despite his emotional state, took a moment to admire the lean expanse of flawless pale skin, and to take delight in the discovery that Lex’s left shoulder was dusted with a patch of pinkish-brown freckles. Clark wanted to touch and taste them, and he prayed that it wasn’t too late for that possibility.
“Please, Lex? You can trust me.”
“Trusting isn’t something that Luthors do easily . . . nor is it given to them by others.”
“I’m giving it to you, Lex.” Clark crossed the room and gently draped the flannel shirt over Lex’s shoulders. Lex looked at him over one shoulder and then his hands closed over the material to pull it close around him, like a shield. Clark’s hands lingered on Lex’s shoulders, and then the smaller man sighed.
“It was about six or seven months ago that you left it behind. We’d been strolling around the grounds and the day grew warm. You took it off and then left it behind in the study when we came back inside to play pool. I didn’t discover it until after you’d left. I truly intended to return it to you the next time you visited, Clark.”
Clark nodded. “I think I remember that day. We went for a walk in the garden because you wanted to show me how great the tulips bulbs my mom gave you had blossomed.”
Lex nodded, his back still turned. “They were white and lavender. I had freshly-cut blooms in my room for nearly two months.”
Clark squeezed the slim shoulders gently. “When did you decide to start wearing the shirt?”
“Clark . . . you have the luxury of being able to trust people. Your friends, your neighbors . . . your parents. I, however, do not have that luxury. I have no friends, with the possible exception of you, my neighbors see me as just another Luthor, hell-bent on destroying their lives, and—my father?” Lex shook his head. Every visit from him is a test, a test that I would inevitably fail. After my mother died, his tests became—harsh.” Lex’s voice lowered, and Clark’s brow furrowed.
“Lex?”
“He knew of my ability to heal quickly, and after mom died, there was no one to stop him from testing the limits of those abilities. Eventually I escaped to school, and then into the Metropolis underground . . . and then to Smallville.” Lex turned and looked up at Clark, the flannel shirt still pulled tightly around him.
“As of late, my father has become interested once again in my abilities. His theory is that the longer one is exposed to the environment here, and the meteor rocks, the stronger one’s abilities will become.” The left corner of Lex’s mouth twitched in an almost imperceptible tic.
“He’s been testing the limitations of my healing abilities again.”
“My God, Lex.” Clark gazed down at him. “For how long?”
“For about eight months now. The visits are sporadic and I can rarely see them coming. I tried to resist at first, but the injuries I receive from resisting are simply added to my father’s findings.”
Clark stammered for a moment, paralyzed with rage. When he finally could speak, it was a half-shout of indignation.
“Lex, we can’t let him do this to you anymore! I won’t let him hurt you!”
Lex gave his friend a wry smile.
“Clark, you’ve already help me more than you know.” He looked down at the shirt.
“The first time he came here with the intent to experiment was three days after you left this. I fought him and his minions hard but they tasered me, and once I was down, my father once again tested the limits of my healing abilities by beating me senseless. When he left, I found myself nude on the floor, and fighting shock. Your shirt was folded on a nearby chair and I pulled it down to wrap it around myself, to try and get warm again and fight off the shock.” Lex stroked the material softly. “I suppose after that, it became a habit after his visits. The feel of the material, your scent . . . it was the closest I could come to comfort.”
“Oh, Lex.” Clark swallowed hard and tears came to his eyes. Lex reached up and touched his face.
“I can never trust my father again, Clark. I can never hope to have that luxury.” His pale lashes lowered slightly. “Hope, like trust, is something that Luthors aren’t familiar with.”
“Don’t you ever hope for anything, Lex?” Clark asked as he touched Lex’s hand with his own, and then folded his big fingers over the long, slender ones.
“Yes, Clark. There’s one hope I’ve never been able to let go of. Even when I had nothing else left to believe in.”
Clark smiled and stepped behind Lex as his hands rose up to Lex’s shoulders and gently pulled the shirt off them. Lex gasped lightly at the sudden touch of warm lips on his left shoulder, but then warm, rich flannel was enveloping his arms, and then his chest, as Clark put the shirt on him. He then rounded on Lex and stood in front of him as he buttoned it up again and straightened the collar. Lex stared up at him, the hope he’d been talking about blooming in his eyes. Clark’s smiled stretched into a grin.
“You don’t have to let go of it, Lex,” he said softly. “It’s standing right in front of you.” He leaned down and captured Lex’s lips in a bold kiss. Lex inhaled sharply through his nose and then made a desperate, hungry noise as he cupped Clark’s face in his hands and returned the kiss feverishly. Clark laughed softly as Lex drowned his lips in a tempest of kisses, and then finally hugged the smaller man to him.
“I’m glad you held on to that hope, Lex. Because I was holding on to it all this time, too.”
Lex rested his forehead against Clark’s impossibly broad chest and inhaled the sweet scents of cotton, sunlight, and salty-sweet skin. “I’m glad too.” He nuzzled Clark’s chest and then looked up at him, knowing that as long he was wrapped in those strong arms, Lionel could never touch him again. Clark smiled and a fresh hope, a fresh promise, bloomed there, a promise that made Lex’s heart slam and his groin tighten. “Take me upstairs, Clark?”
Clark lifted Lex into his arms and headed for the stairway.
“I’ll take you . . . on one condition.”
Lex’s brow furrowed.
“What’s that, Clark?”
Clark paused to press a tender kiss to his forehead, although untapped passion blazed in his green eyes as he looked Lex up and down.
“Once we’re in bed . . . you leave the shirt on.”
Lex chuckled and nodded as Clark reached the landing and pushed open the bedroom door.
“Clark . . . I’m way ahead of you.”
~Fin~
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: PG-13 for man-kissing, and discussions of violence and/or non-con situations, depending on how you read it.
Spoilers: None
Setting: Mid-season two.
Word Count: 2,664
Category: Schmoop, Woobie!Lex! (Yes, I believe he deserves his own category.)
Written for Hil’s Clothing Swap Challenge. Prompt: Lex wears flannel, or Clark wears a suit.
Summary: Luthors are neither trusted nor offered trust, but Lex has wrapped himself tightly in the one hope he has left.
A/N: I started this story as an RPS last year, but Michael just wasn’t feeling the woobie. I think it was difficult because he already had his acting experience when he started Smallville, and it might have worked better the other way around. I always liked the idea, though, so I resurrected the idea for this fic. Enjoy! Feedback is loved, petted, and adored! Many thanks to Herohunter for the beta! *smoochies*
The Amazing True-Life Confessions of a Flannel Junkie
By Lexalicious70
Looking back, Clark realized that he should have knocked.
Knocking on doors at the mansion wasn’t a thing Clark did anymore; he and Lex had been observing an open-door policy for nearly a year, after all, and Lex, too, would no more think of knocking before entering Clark’s loft than he would consider knocking on the door of his own home before entering. Each of them was welcome, without limits, into the other’s personal space.
Then again, perhaps no amount of foreknowledge could have prepared Clark for the sight that greeted him as he pushed open the door to Lex’s study, his mind on classic literature, his hopes high that Lex could give him some insight to Medea. Book in hand, he strode into the study.
“Hey Lex, have you . . . ever . . .” The question died on Clark’s lips as he realized that Lex was not as his desk or making himself a drink at the portable wet bar, but was instead curled up on the big leather sofa to his left, sound asleep. The fact that Lex was asleep in the middle of the day was amazing enough, but even more amazing was the fact that he was wearing nothing but a pair of white silk boxers and a red and blue flannel over-shirt that Clark knew belonged to him. He stared, noting that not only was Lex wearing the shirt, but he had buttoned it completely and was literally wrapped up in it as if it were a blanket. There was nothing outrageous about this comparison; Lex was lean and slender where Clark was not, and the big shirt all but swallowed him. Clark set his book aside quietly and took a few soft steps, the sight of Lex like this captivating him in a way he didn’t understand. He’d never seen Lex asleep before, and the fact that his friend was oblivious to his presence allowed Clark to study him without being caught staring, something that Lex often caught him at, and always seemed quietly amused when he did.
Lex’s lips were slightly parted as he breathed lightly and as Clark watched, the afternoon sun streamed in through one of the stained glass windows on the other side of the room and illuminated hints of bright copper in Lex’s long, almost translucent lashes.
*They’re red*, Clark thought. *Like his hair used to be.*
Lex sighed and shifted slightly in his sleep as he nestled deeper into the shirt. His neatly pressed black trousers lay tossed over a chair nearby, along with a pair of highly-polished Armani shoes. A pair of black socks was stuffed into the instep of the left shoe, and Clark grinned a little as he imagined Lex cramming the socks unceremoniously into the shoe before flopping down onto the couch to sleep. If a Luthor was capable of ever flopping onto anything. He looked the shirt over again and realized it was one he’d been missing for some time now, nearly six months, and if Lex had been in possession of it all this time, why hadn’t he given it back? Clark stood there, turning it over in his mind for a few moments and when the conclusion he came to hit home, he gasped aloud. The gasp made Lex start in his sleep, and his eyes snapped open. They pinned Clark before the teenager could make his escape and for a moment both men froze, staring at each other. Clark stammered something that he hoped passed for a greeting, and Lex sat up slowly. The hem of the shirt fell nearly to mid-thigh, and Lex straightened the collar as carefully if he were wearing one of his own silk shirts.
“Clark,” he said softly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I see that. I mean! I know that . . . at least, I do now? Oh boy.” Clark ran a hand through his raven curls, and Lex got to his feet. He padded across the room and got two chilled bottles of Ty-Nant from the mini-fridge, one of which he handed to Clark after moving soundlessly across the room again.
“Here. You look like you need this.”
“Thanks.” Clark twisted the cap off the bottle and fumbled it a moment before slipping it into his pocket out of habit. He took a long swallow of water as he watched Lex do the same, his soft, finely-shaped lips, flawed but so perfectly curved, wrapping around the head of the bottle in a way that made Clark feel a little dizzy. Lex took another sip and then set the bottle aside.
“Um. Lex? What . . . what are you doing in my . . . ?” Clark gestured to his shirt, and Lex smiled a little as he reached for his pants.
“I suppose you think I look ridiculous.”
“No! You look—fine!” Clark didn’t think Lex would appreciate having the word ‘cute’ applied to him. “It’s just—I’ve been missing that shirt for awhile now, and . . . well, Lex . . . you’ve had it all this time?”
Lex glanced up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean, Clark? Do you think I stole it from you?”
Clark flinched at Lex’s sudden flare of temper.
“No, Lex! That’s not what I meant! It’s just that . . . that . . . it’s been missing for awhile! That’s all!” Clark fumbled for words, and then watched, dismayed, as Lex’s eyes grew cold.
“So since it’s been missing, and I’m wearing it, I’ve obviously stolen it. Understood, Clark.” Lex began to unbutton the shirt quickly, and Clark put a hand out to stop him.
“Lex please, wait! Don’t!” He was suddenly desperate to keep the shirt on Lex’s back, knowing that for Lex, something as elemental as removing it would mean so much more than just the physical act. Lex lived in metaphors; they were his personal religion just as much as order and logic were. Clark’s view of things suddenly shifted as he remembered this, and in that moment, his heart ached so badly for Lex that he wanted to pull his friend into a loving embrace and never let go.
“Don’t?” Lex glanced up at him as he undid the last button. “Why not, Clark? It’s obvious you don’t want me to have it.”
“That’s not true! I do want you to have it. You can keep it, Lex . . .” Clark reached out and stopped Lex from pulling the shirt off one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter how you got it.”
“Damn it, Clark!” Lex’s deep-set grey eyes went molten with fury and he ripped the flannel shirt off. It struck Clark’s chest hard a moment later and he caught it numbly as he watched Lex stalk away from him. His chest squeezed with panic, and with panic came anger. He scowled.
“Don’t make this about a lack of trust in you, Lex! Didn’t I just say you could keep the shirt if you wanted?”
“With the understanding that it doesn’t matter where I got it . . . which means that we both understand that I stole it from you in some clandestine manner, but we won’t talk about how.”
“Quit putting words in my mouth, Lex!” Clark shouted back and Lex turned, mildly surprised.
“They’re your words, Clark.”
“But you’re twisting the meaning!” He crossed the room, the shirt in one hand. “I believe you when you say you didn’t take it!” He paused, and then sighed. “And I’ll believe you if you’ll tell me why you were wearing it, too.”
Lex turned his back again and Clark, despite his emotional state, took a moment to admire the lean expanse of flawless pale skin, and to take delight in the discovery that Lex’s left shoulder was dusted with a patch of pinkish-brown freckles. Clark wanted to touch and taste them, and he prayed that it wasn’t too late for that possibility.
“Please, Lex? You can trust me.”
“Trusting isn’t something that Luthors do easily . . . nor is it given to them by others.”
“I’m giving it to you, Lex.” Clark crossed the room and gently draped the flannel shirt over Lex’s shoulders. Lex looked at him over one shoulder and then his hands closed over the material to pull it close around him, like a shield. Clark’s hands lingered on Lex’s shoulders, and then the smaller man sighed.
“It was about six or seven months ago that you left it behind. We’d been strolling around the grounds and the day grew warm. You took it off and then left it behind in the study when we came back inside to play pool. I didn’t discover it until after you’d left. I truly intended to return it to you the next time you visited, Clark.”
Clark nodded. “I think I remember that day. We went for a walk in the garden because you wanted to show me how great the tulips bulbs my mom gave you had blossomed.”
Lex nodded, his back still turned. “They were white and lavender. I had freshly-cut blooms in my room for nearly two months.”
Clark squeezed the slim shoulders gently. “When did you decide to start wearing the shirt?”
“Clark . . . you have the luxury of being able to trust people. Your friends, your neighbors . . . your parents. I, however, do not have that luxury. I have no friends, with the possible exception of you, my neighbors see me as just another Luthor, hell-bent on destroying their lives, and—my father?” Lex shook his head. Every visit from him is a test, a test that I would inevitably fail. After my mother died, his tests became—harsh.” Lex’s voice lowered, and Clark’s brow furrowed.
“Lex?”
“He knew of my ability to heal quickly, and after mom died, there was no one to stop him from testing the limits of those abilities. Eventually I escaped to school, and then into the Metropolis underground . . . and then to Smallville.” Lex turned and looked up at Clark, the flannel shirt still pulled tightly around him.
“As of late, my father has become interested once again in my abilities. His theory is that the longer one is exposed to the environment here, and the meteor rocks, the stronger one’s abilities will become.” The left corner of Lex’s mouth twitched in an almost imperceptible tic.
“He’s been testing the limitations of my healing abilities again.”
“My God, Lex.” Clark gazed down at him. “For how long?”
“For about eight months now. The visits are sporadic and I can rarely see them coming. I tried to resist at first, but the injuries I receive from resisting are simply added to my father’s findings.”
Clark stammered for a moment, paralyzed with rage. When he finally could speak, it was a half-shout of indignation.
“Lex, we can’t let him do this to you anymore! I won’t let him hurt you!”
Lex gave his friend a wry smile.
“Clark, you’ve already help me more than you know.” He looked down at the shirt.
“The first time he came here with the intent to experiment was three days after you left this. I fought him and his minions hard but they tasered me, and once I was down, my father once again tested the limits of my healing abilities by beating me senseless. When he left, I found myself nude on the floor, and fighting shock. Your shirt was folded on a nearby chair and I pulled it down to wrap it around myself, to try and get warm again and fight off the shock.” Lex stroked the material softly. “I suppose after that, it became a habit after his visits. The feel of the material, your scent . . . it was the closest I could come to comfort.”
“Oh, Lex.” Clark swallowed hard and tears came to his eyes. Lex reached up and touched his face.
“I can never trust my father again, Clark. I can never hope to have that luxury.” His pale lashes lowered slightly. “Hope, like trust, is something that Luthors aren’t familiar with.”
“Don’t you ever hope for anything, Lex?” Clark asked as he touched Lex’s hand with his own, and then folded his big fingers over the long, slender ones.
“Yes, Clark. There’s one hope I’ve never been able to let go of. Even when I had nothing else left to believe in.”
Clark smiled and stepped behind Lex as his hands rose up to Lex’s shoulders and gently pulled the shirt off them. Lex gasped lightly at the sudden touch of warm lips on his left shoulder, but then warm, rich flannel was enveloping his arms, and then his chest, as Clark put the shirt on him. He then rounded on Lex and stood in front of him as he buttoned it up again and straightened the collar. Lex stared up at him, the hope he’d been talking about blooming in his eyes. Clark’s smiled stretched into a grin.
“You don’t have to let go of it, Lex,” he said softly. “It’s standing right in front of you.” He leaned down and captured Lex’s lips in a bold kiss. Lex inhaled sharply through his nose and then made a desperate, hungry noise as he cupped Clark’s face in his hands and returned the kiss feverishly. Clark laughed softly as Lex drowned his lips in a tempest of kisses, and then finally hugged the smaller man to him.
“I’m glad you held on to that hope, Lex. Because I was holding on to it all this time, too.”
Lex rested his forehead against Clark’s impossibly broad chest and inhaled the sweet scents of cotton, sunlight, and salty-sweet skin. “I’m glad too.” He nuzzled Clark’s chest and then looked up at him, knowing that as long he was wrapped in those strong arms, Lionel could never touch him again. Clark smiled and a fresh hope, a fresh promise, bloomed there, a promise that made Lex’s heart slam and his groin tighten. “Take me upstairs, Clark?”
Clark lifted Lex into his arms and headed for the stairway.
“I’ll take you . . . on one condition.”
Lex’s brow furrowed.
“What’s that, Clark?”
Clark paused to press a tender kiss to his forehead, although untapped passion blazed in his green eyes as he looked Lex up and down.
“Once we’re in bed . . . you leave the shirt on.”
Lex chuckled and nodded as Clark reached the landing and pushed open the bedroom door.
“Clark . . . I’m way ahead of you.”
~Fin~
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Date: 2008-04-01 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-01 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-01 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-01 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-01 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-01 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-01 10:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 12:13 am (UTC)So glad you liked it and thanks for letting me know!
Lionel must die . . . that might be my next fic!
no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 01:43 am (UTC)*They’re red*, Clark thought. *Like his hair used to be.*
Oh my, what a beautiful image! Gorgeous!
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Date: 2008-04-02 04:50 am (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting, hon! I'm always honored by it! ;)
*They’re red*, Clark thought. *Like his hair used to be.*
Date: 2008-04-02 04:02 pm (UTC)grrr, sighs...thanks for the happy end :)
Re: *They’re red*, Clark thought. *Like his hair used to be.*
Date: 2008-04-02 06:47 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting, hon! Glad you liked!
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Date: 2008-04-02 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 06:46 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
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Date: 2008-04-03 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-03 05:58 pm (UTC)