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.
"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.
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