Feedback: is a desirable thing - good or bad *g*
Disclaimer: Smallville is the property of the WB and DC Comics. This story is
for entertainment purposes only and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: This is a short, unapologetically schmoopy fic - many thanks to
Sarah, who gave me the basics and told me to write it ;)
*********
It was 12:32 a.m. and he was standing in front of the frozen section of the
Smallville Qwikmart, wearing sweatpants, his long black coat and sneakers, and
he couldn't remember why. Oh wait, yes he could - it was all Clark's fault.
Because Clark wanted *ice cream* and the word 'no' apparently didn't exist in
Lex's vocabulary when it came to Clark.
Not when Clark looked at him with those damned eyes of his, anyway, with his
lower lip starting to tremble into a pout. With his hair all sweaty, looking
utterly miserable curled up in the blankets of their bed, his skin a waxy shade
of grey and fine, so maybe it was Lex's fault. How the hell was he supposed to
know the one oyster he talked Clark into trying was bad? He wasn't psychic.
No, he wasn't psychic - he was just completely and utterly whipped. Lex Luthor,
CEO of LexCorp, one of the hottest rising companies on the Fortune 500 list, and
he was standing in a grocery store in the middle of the night, trying to buy ice
cream for his sick boyfriend, dressed in his pajamas. Actually, from the way
the sweatpants were bunching around his ankles, he strongly suspected they might
be Clark's and not his own. But really, could anyone blame him if he'd had a
little trouble sorting their clothes out to get dressed? After all, he'd been
awoken from a dead sleep to plaintive whining of 'I want ice cream' and no one
could be expected to be coherent in the face of that. Not when it was
accompanied by wide green eyes and a pout that would do a five year old proud.
Grumbling to himself about the misfortunes of being a slave to Clark Kent's
unpredictable food cravings wasn't making things any easier - especially not
since two people had already given him odd looks and a wide berth as they'd
walked past. And did there really need to be so many damned brands and flavors
of ice cream? Whatever happened to chocolate and vanilla? Nice and simple.
No, now there were flavors like Vanilla Caramel Swirl Brownie, Black Raspberry
Fudge Avalanche, and Chunky Monkey, whatever the hell *that* was.
Sighing to himself and muttering one more time under his breath, he randomly
grabbed five pints off the shelf and dropped them in the cart. Clark had to
like at least one of the flavors. He had to because Lex was not going back
again.
Not even if he pouted.
Dropping the ice cream on the conveyor belt at the checkout counter, Lex
consoled himself by giving the now empty cart a vindictive push to the side -
there, they could keep their stupid quarter. What was the cart boy going to
do? Have him arrested for not returning the cart to its appropriate place with
the rest of its wheel-locking, crooked steering friends?
The cashier swiped the last of the cartons, looked up at Lex and froze. Who
handed her his platinum card and glared at her, daring her to make a single
comment about the fact that he'd forgotten to put on a shirt.
Then she actually looked at the name on the card and her eyes grew impossibly
wider - apparently she was the one person on the face of the earth (or at the
very least, Smallville) who didn't know that 'the' Lex Luthor was a bald thirty
year old. Who liked to shop at odd hours, wearing only sweatpants and a coat,
because of course that was what all the rich, brilliant billionaires who were
hopelessly whipped by their boyfriends did. Lex cringed at the thought of the
gossip that would be making the rounds of the town by tomorrow morning.
Grabbing the bag from her with a smile that was probably closer to a grimace,
Lex stalked out of the grocery store to his waiting car. Throwing it on the
passenger seat, he turned the key in the ignition and the Porsche roared to
life. Gunning the engine once, he tore out of the parking lot in a spray of
gravel. He didn't care what Clark said about driving more carefully - he wanted
to be home, in his nice, warm bed, and he wanted it now.
The dark roads to the mansion passed in a blur and before he knew it, the dim
lights lining the drive came into view. Cursing under his breath at his
distraction, knowing that Clark had probably heard the roar of the engine for at
least a mile now, he slipped the gear back into first and crawled towards the
looming building at a sedate 15 miles per hour. Hopefully, Clark was too sick
to have noticed. Maybe he was asleep. Could food poisoning affect a person's
hearing? Even if that person was an alien?
From the look on Clark's face when he finally crept into the bedroom, the answer
to that question would definitely be 'no.' Before Clark could actually open his
mouth, Lex quickly held out the bag to him.
"Here, I got you ice cream." And promptly winced - could he sound any more
guilty? From the way the frown on Clark's face was deepening, the answer to
that was also apparently 'no.'
"They didn't have cookie dough?" Wait a second, he had quite clearly heard
Clark say he wanted ice cream not more than an hour ago.
"I thought you said you wanted ice cream?"
"I did. Cookie dough ice cream." There it was, the gods hated the Luthor
family, Lex in particular. There was no other explanation possible for having
driven to the grocery store in the middle of the damned night, only to return
and be told he'd bought the wrong flavor. All five of them.
"I bought five different flavors, Clark. You don't like any of them?" No, he
was not whining. Luthors didn't whine. They didn't.
Five minutes of staring into the bag and then a quietly suffering sigh. And a
trembling lower lip.
"I wanted cookie dough, but I'm sure one of these will be okay." There it was,
the you-just-kicked-my-puppy-but-I've-decided-to-forgive-you voice. The voice
that was guaranteed to make Lex lose sleep to guilt over something he was
positive he hadn't done wrong in the first place.
Exhaling in defeat, Lex pulled the keys for the Porsche back out of the coat he
was still wearing and turned for the door.
"Okay, Clark. I'll go get you your... cookie dough ice cream." One step, two,
and then Clark was speaking again.
"Oh, and Lex?" Hand on the doorknob - strangling the doorknob and he was
allowed to do that, doorknobs were inanimate, damn it - Lex stopped.
"Yes, Clark?"
"Get some chocolate sauce too."
"Chocolate sauce and cookie dough ice cream, Clark? That really can't be good
for you."
"The chocolate sauce isn't for the ice cream, Lex." Oh. He liked that voice.
*That* voice meant good things. Very good things.
"It's for tomorrow, when I'm feeling better." Yes, he loved that voice. Adored
it. And really, it wasn't too much trouble to go back to the store. It was a
nice store, with friendly people, and he could probably make the drive in twenty
minutes. Probably less.
"I'm pretty sure I'll be feeling better by morning, actually. A lot better."
He could definitely make it in less. Fifteen minutes, tops.
After all, he had a sick boyfriend to take care of and if his boyfriend wanted
cookie dough ice cream in the middle of the night, then cookie dough ice cream
he'd get. With chocolate sauce.
The End