Category: C/Lex slash, banterfic
Rating: PG for m/m BS.
Disclaimer: Imagine all the slashers / Living for Tuesday...ha-ha! Hahahaaaaa... / You may say I'm a dreamer / But I'm not the only one / I hope someday you will join us / (WB, it's all in fun...)
Spoilers/Sequel: Has nothing to do with any other Beatlefic.  ::grins::  No real spoilers, either.
Notes: For the CLFF challenge, and continuing the tradition--yer Obligatory Beatles Fic.
Challenge: Write a fic with the title of a Buffy episode - try to be unique, and not limit yourself to easy ones like 'The Body' and 'The Gift'. Try a little harder, like 'Inca Mummy Girl', or 'The Zeppo'.  (Beloved Plank)
Thanks to: Erana and MeLi for the betas--you guys rock!
Summary: There are two kinds of people in this world.

The couch in the office was far more comfortable than the chairs Lex kept on the other side of his desk.  Those chairs were a holdover from years of waiting in his father's office to be noticed, of even more years hoping not to be noticed, years of trying to avoid altogether the torturous furniture Lionel kept for his victims.  Now that he had his own office, Lex didn't mind spreading the agony around a little, business and psychological warfare being what it was.  He just drew the line at putting himself out at the same time.

Even so, he still felt like fidgeting.  Trying to hold a pair of pleading green eyes as he let his friend down gently wasn't easy, no matter how decadent your couch was.

"Clark," he said, trying not to feel like a monster.  "It's no good.  I'm sorry, but it just wasn't meant to be."

"But Lex--"  Clark's hand almost reached out to touch his arm, only to hesitate at the last minute.  Glancing down at that careful hand, Lex found himself thinking that he might change his mind about the whole thing if Clark would just...  And no, he didn't like to be touched by most people, and it was charming that Clark had noticed that, but it was different with Clark.  "You haven't even tried it, how can you--"

"Trust me, Clark, I have.  More than once.  And I really wanted to get into it, but...I can't.  I'm afraid it's just not in me."  It wasn't, and he'd never wished otherwise more than at this moment.

Clark's hopeful expression fell along with his eyes, and Lex's stomach clenched at the weirdly heartbroken look on his friend's face.  "Oh.  Well...are you sure you won't give it another try...?"

Lex sighed.  He had to give Clark something.  God save him from puppy eyes anyway.  "If there was anyone who could convince me, it'd be you, okay?  But there are two kinds of people in this world, Clark.  People who like Elvis, and people who like the Beatles.  And I'm sorry, but I'm a Beatles man, always have been."

Clark pouted, and God, the universe was viciously unfair...but it had attractions that more than made up for it.  "Just two kinds?"

"Well, some people are bi," Lex conceded grudgingly, "but they're perverts."

Snickering as he settled down deeper into the cushions, Clark shook his head sadly.  "You're nuts, you know that?  I can't believe you don't like Elvis.  I mean, c'mon, 'Heartbreak Hotel.'  How can you not love the King?"

"Easy, it's--"  Frowning, Lex watched Clark's smirk stretch into a grin, wide and bright and dangerous.  Something cold slithered down his spine, but it had to be pure paranoia, because Clark wouldn't do this to him.  Clark wasn't that cruel.  He just wasn't.  "Clark...?"

Clark took a deep, deep breath.

"Oh fuck, don't sing--"

Clark tried to, he really did, but it was impossible to belt out Elvis and laugh at the same time, for which Lex gave thanks.  Besides, that was Elvis for you.  The Beatles could croon and moan with the best of them, but they'd actually built laughter into some of their songs, thereby proving their superiority hands down.  You were never at a loss with the Beatles--there was a song for every occasion and every mood, as deep or as easy as you wanted it.  All Elvis had was thrust and lip.

Of course, in some people, that could be forgiven.  As long as they didn't sing.

"Your face!" Clark gasped after a moment, holding onto his stomach and nearly doubled over on the couch.  Lex toyed briefly with the idea of being visibly and indulgently insulted before giving it up in favor of a smirk--classic, timeless, and to the point.

"You're not singing, are you?"  Clark scrunched his nose up and rolled his eyes, but took his defeat gracefully.  "There you go.  It was worth it."

"I'll have you know I have a pretty decent voice," Clark huffed at him, pouting some more.  Deliberately, which actually made it easier to bear, all things considered, though it was no less tempting than the heartfelt looks that always seemed to take Lex by surprise.  There was just something about the way Clark looked at him, chin tucked and staring up through his lashes, and--

Oh, hell, anyone who looked at him like that would have rated a gutterish thought or two, and anyone who looked as good as Clark was worth a double- or even triple-take.  That didn't mean he wanted to sit around bullshitting about Elvis versus the Beatles with any of them, though.  That part made Clark pretty much unique.

"I'm sure you do," he said with a shrug, lacing his hands together over his stomach as he leaned sideways into the cushions.  "But you'd sound better singing the Beatles."

Clark smirked.  "So, you expect me to like them too, huh?  Gee, Lex, are you calling me a pervert?"

"Well, if you feel the shoe fits..."

"Jerk.  You're lucky you're too old for me to hold you down and make you scream 'Uncle...'"

Lex had been thinking of reaching for his drink.  Now he was just glad he hadn't been trying to swallow, or Clark would have been practicing his CPR technique again.  And God, no one should look that oblivious and that good.  There ought to be a law.  "Clark.  No one is too old to be held down and made to scream."

Oh yes.  Payback was a bitch.

"And anyway," he continued as Clark, torn between laughter and denial, sputtered helplessly through a grin.  "Liking the Beatles is a sign of a well-ordered mind.  People who don't like the Beatles have no appreciation for irony or the absurd, or beauty, and are generally cruel to both their spouses and their pets."

Shaking with suppressed laughter, Clark bit his lip and gave Lex the not-gonna-ask look.  Then he asked anyway.  "And I suppose you can back that up?"

Ah, a challenge.  Lex could work with that.  "Sure.  Just look at what the Beatles have given us.  Look at what they stand for.  You say you want a revolution?  We all want to change the world, Clark.  My father would say that the best way to do it is through manipulation and wise business choices, but people are odd creatures.  You can launch a campaign on their emotions and shift public opinion any way you want by leading them to hate, fear, or distrust, and it's easier than you can even imagine.  But believe me, Clark--the hardest thing to get a person to do is to genuinely love something, and once someone loves, you can't sway their feelings through any amount of fear or anger.  This is why boybands will one day rule the earth."

"So what you're saying is, all you need is love?"  Though he'd shaken his head at the crack about the boybands, Clark's voice was warmer than Lex had ever heard it.  He looked bemused and...pleased.  Proud, even.  And Lex really didn't get that, because he'd been talking about manipulation and propaganda, and while that was always good for a grin, he hadn't expected Clark to feel the same.  He'd love to just write it off to 'hidden depths,' the way he ignored most of Clark's strangeness, but he had the sneaking feeling Clark thought he'd just been given irrefutable proof that Lex was a romantic at heart.  It should have been a painfully traumatic thought, but...sometimes it was just easier to play along.

"Right.  It's like with my father.  People fear him and hate him, and that makes them respect him as an enemy.  He thinks that's all there is to winning.  Well, I don't want to be him.  When I take over LuthorCorp, I want a few people to fear me and most people to love me.  I want them to adore me, so that even if my competitors attack my company and try to steal my workers and generally behave like good businessmen, the people will still be mine.  You see what I mean?"

Clark looked surprised, but he was still smiling.  Good sign, that.  "I see you're wasted in business.  Have you thought about running for president?"

"Oh, I plan on it," Lex admitted, giving in to the shark's grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.  "Just you wait--Lex Luthor, most popular president since JFK."

Clark grinned back, sliding his foot over to bump Lex's playfully.  "And this has nothing to do with the state of your social calendar since coming to Smallville?"

"Are you saying I have issues?"  Nice tone of outrage, there--Clark actually winced, mouth opening automatically to stammer an apology, before the fact that Lex was teasing penetrated.  It was still amazing, how well Clark could read him.  Maybe he ought to call Clark more often, watch himself in the mirror when they talked.  Or have these little visits recorded so he could watch them later, try and spot how he was giving himself away.  Of course, that just led to thoughts of Clark and videotape and--not going there.  No.

Mouth closing with a snap and a narrow-eyed look, Clark bit off whatever he was going to say--Really, Lex, the entire population of Smallville doesn't want to see you and your dad struck down by the same lightning bolt, honest--with a smile that could almost pass for wicked.  "All I'm saying is, Sgt. Pepper probably has a spot in the band reserved just for you."

Lex had to laugh, though he would have been furious with anyone else.  Implying that he needed other people enough to ever feel lonely...Clark really had no idea of what it was like to be a Luthor, did he?  If Lex wanted people around, he could have them in spades--it was getting rid of them that was hard.  He used to spend incredible amounts of time and energy convincing them to leave, raising the knack of being thoroughly unpleasant to an art form.  These days, it was easier to not get involved at all.

Which had worked so well when it came to Clark Kent.  Thank God.

"Clark, I'm crushed.  And I was so sure folks were starting to come around..."

Clark's smile softened, and he nudged Lex's foot again, his eyes holding Lex's earnestly.  "They are, actually.  Even my dad's getting better--I mean, he hasn't crossed himself after hearing your name in weeks."

"Hmm.  Maybe that's why I haven't been getting those headaches lately..."

"Lex!"

And God, he'd missed this--talking to someone who gave as good as they got, without being cutting or cruel.  Someone he could talk to.  Covering his grin by reaching for his drink and tossing it back, he set the glass aside again and sank back into the cushions.  In a minute, he was going to get sentimental, and there wasn't nearly enough alcohol in his system to justify that.  Better to just sit back and enjoy the view.

As views went, this had to be one of his favorites.  The black leather of the custom-designed couch cradling an exquisite body--Clark, who'd shed his layers for a plain grey t-shirt and old jeans worn thin and smooth as silk.  For a moment, Lex let himself picture an even more tempting contrast, leather and bare skin, Clark made boneless and comfortable because of Lex, not the furniture.  The furniture should be incidental.

Furniture could even be optional where Clark was concerned.  Lex might be discriminating, but he wasn't picky.  Not by a long shot.

But it was time to scrap those musings, because Clark was giving him that look again, the slightly puzzled one that said Clark was seeing something in Lex's face that luckily couldn't be classified, but which would cost Lex more than he had any intention of paying if Clark ever figured it out.  Time, in other words, to be brilliantly distracting.

"Of course, you realize we're not considering the effects of the Yoko Factor."

"The what?"

"The Yoko Factor," Lex repeated, as if surprised Clark didn't understand immediately.  "Yoko Ono, generally regarded as either Judas or the Antichrist, depending on who you talk to.  You know, the Nancy to Lennon's Sid."

"Sid and Nancy?" Clark repeated faintly, shaking his head hard as if to jolt loose some particularly troubling image.  "Sorry, I'm...trying not to picture you in studded leather and a dog collar."

"Well, where's the fun in that?" Lex drawled, just to watch Clark blush.  He did it so well.  "And anyway, I'm surprised--you've heard of punk in Kansas?"

"Yeah--it was just after we got indoor plumbing," Clark shot back, rolling his eyes.  "And you know, the dog collar's fine--it's the ripped-up Misfits t-shirt I keep seeing you in that's weirding me out."

"So stop psychically reading the contents of my closet, Swami."

Clark stared.  Lex nearly hurt himself trying not to laugh.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Yes."

"Jerk."

"Hold that thought," Lex warned with a chuckle, getting up to fetch waters for both of them and leaving his empty glass and the scotch where they were.  He'd always told himself that it wasn't really indulging if you'd already reached the place where you planned to spend the night, but it was Saturday afternoon and Clark was here, and he had no intention of blurring a single moment.

Walking back to the couch, he held out a blue bottle and tried not to grin as their fingers brushed.  It was just so chick movie of him that such a casual touch could make him shiver, but he liked that, in ways he didn't care to examine too closely.

If Clark felt anything similar, it was summed up in the sheepish smile he tossed Lex's way.  It could have meant anything from why is Lex finding ways to touch me? to will my dad consider water a gift?  In a perfect world, it meant something more like damn, Lex is sexy and I wish he'd push me down on this couch and have his wicked way with me.  A man could dream, couldn't he?

"Thanks.  So--the Yoko Factor?"

"You'll learn this if you wind up taking Sociology in college," Lex replied, sighing as he slumped back down onto the couch.  He'd spent many a night here, what with one thing and another, but this was better.  It was easy to just close his eyes and talk and let the comfort of Clark's presence wash over him for a change.  "It's what experts call the disruptive effect a clingy girlfriend has on a previously symbiotic and beneficial relationship among unrelated males."

Clark choked, sputtering with laughter and trying not to shower them both with the mouthful of water he'd just taken.  Cracking one eye open, Lex arched a brow and looked wise as Clark tried to swallow and breathe at the same time.  "Scoff if you will, but it's highly documented.  One male becomes the catalyst by failing to fend off the advances of the Yokoian female, and from there, it has a domino effect on the male's other relationships.  It's especially noticeable in an artistic environment, where the affected male himself may find his creative powers heightened, but only to the detriment of group cohesion."

"So basically," Clark panted, clearing his throat, "women are the root of all evil?"  He sounded amused, despite the dirty trick Lex had played on him, but that was Clark for you.  Forgiving to a fault.

"Not at all--women are the root of all anniversary anxiety.  Domestic automobiles are the root of all evil, a distinction they share with my father.  What I'm saying is, sometimes obsession works, and sometimes you end up writing songs only a clingy, artsy girlfriend could love."  That got another snicker out of Clark, but the younger man was ready this time, the bottle nowhere near his mouth.  "The worst part about it is that the Yoko Factor has a Doppler effect, wherein the waves of disturbance she creates come faster and stronger the closer to you she gets."

Clark smiled, warm and affectionate, like Lex didn't have an agenda and Clark wasn't being brainwashed.  "Admit it, Lex.  You have an academia kink that terrifies the tenured."

What the hell.  Lips quirking, he let his eyes go sleepy and sly, deliberately predatory.  "The entire world is terrified of my kinks, Clark, which are many and varied."

"Now that, I can believe," Clark said with a grin, dropping his eyes as his cheeks heated up again.  "The world should be so lucky."

"Appreciated at last."  And God, to have Clark mean that...

"Well, I'd kinda have to be blind not to," Clark said, and it sounded joking, but the look on Clark's face was painfully honest.  The little half-smile kept wavering and his eyes were both scared and hopeful, and--

He was staring, wasn't he?  Like he'd just been handed the keys to the car of his dreams and it wasn't even Christmas.  Lex suspected this very strongly, because Clark's uncertain look was fading into a huge, delighted grin that was probably the mirror of his own, and it was good to just sit here and grin at each other like fools while Lex tried to wrap his mind around the impossible.

Clark wanted him.  Clark wanted him.

"You know, Lex," Clark murmured, voice soft with happiness, "the Beatles are great, I'll give you that.  But I can't help thinking..."

"Hmm?"  It was Lex that reached out this time, hesitating only a brief moment before sliding the tips of his fingers down Clark's bare forearm.  Clark shivered beautifully, his eyes going wide and unfocused, but as Lex's touch brushed lightly over Clark's wrist and lifted, Clark turned his hand and captured Lex's deftly.  Holding on and lacing their fingers, and not letting go.

Clark smiled, so sweetly serious it almost hurt to look at him.  "Wise men say, 'only fools rush in...'"

It could have been sobering, but even Lex knew the next line, so it was scary and perfect instead.  "Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me," he said with a grin and tugged, dragging a laughing Clark across the couch to him.  "And me, too."

And it was easy and right for their first kiss to be almost chaste, laughter getting in the way as their lips met and Clark settled in close and comfortable like he planned to stay there for a long, long time.  Lex didn't mind in the least.  Even the Beatles didn't quite have a song to cover the sheer perfection of this moment, but maybe, in a broad sense...

This really was all he needed.

end