Infected - Chapter 7

Title:    Infected
Rating:    T
Author:    SilverSnikle
Character:    Clark
Timeline:   Clark Luthor's Seventeenth Birthday
Warnings:   Luthor-verse
Disclaimer:   Borrowed characters and some dialogue... No affiliation to CW/WB, DC
Summary:   My take on Clark Luthor's descent into darkness.
Feedback:   Oh, yes please!

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- Chapter 7 -

Clark doesn't stay on purpose; he isn't consciously waiting for her to fall asleep, he's just mentally and even somewhat physically exhausted. He smiles, remembering the details of the last few hours. He is pretty sure the blonde drifting into oblivion next to him wont be forgetting her adventure with him anytime this century. He chuckles to himself and rolls over, the bed sighing from the loss of his weight.


He did not intended to end up here at all, but he isn't in a complaining mood. He is hungry. His stomach gurgles out a strangled reiteration of that fact and he grabs his clothes, which are spread randomly around the room. He catches a glimpse of the glowing red numbers next to the blonde hair on the pillow. It's only a few hours past midnight. He will be able to easily sneak into the mansion, and he plans to head straight for the kitchen.

With his speed, Clark is back in Smallville, a triple-decker sandwich in his hands, less than sixty seconds later. It satisfies him as he devours it, then chugs two cans of Mt. Dew. Caffeine doesn't affect him the same as humans, though he's pretty tired now that his tummy is full, and he thinks even if he was human he'd still easily pass out.

He's in no hurry as he strolls through the halls of the mansion. It's quiet; he hears music playing low in the guard room. Some classic rock song. He knows the lyrics and mentally recites the words as he walks. His bedroom door is slightly ajar when he reaches it. He wonders if he left it that way, but doubts it, he is pretty adamant about keeping his room private. So much of his life is not.


He stops outside the door and tunes in his ears, listening for movement behind the door. He hears none, but instead a steady beat thudding away. His lips curl and he pushes open the door, keeping his eyes focused away from his bed, and the guest he knows is waiting there.


He sheds his jacket and kicks off his shoes, his back purposefully turned to the bed. He listens closely as the melodic beat speeds a little, and he pulls his belt though the loops of his dress pants. He pulls his shirt-tails free, knowingly exposing a little skin right above the waist of his pants, in his guest's line of sight. The four buttons of his vest slide open easily, and he hangs the garment over the chair to his right. He takes his time with the shirt's the buttons, starting from the bottom, slowly exposing more and more of his perfect expanse of muscle. He's pretty sure the bed has a clear view of his front in the full-length mirror. He keeps his eyes trained elsewhere, seemingly oblivious.


He hesitates before letting the shirt slide off his shoulders, down his arms, and to the floor to join his shoes and belt. He hears a muffled gasp from behind him, and almost looks over into the mirror, into the reflection he knows will be exposed. Almost. Wearing only the bottom half of his birthday suit, he stretches his arms over his head.


When he turns around, he's amazed at the way his muscles tighten. His body tenses at the mere sight of her. She's half sitting on his otherwise undisturbed bed, leaning back onto her hands. He lets his eyes glide over what she's put on display. She's wearing her cream, satin robe tied loosely at the waist, covering the parts of her skin he wants most to see.


Part of him is proud to see her making a decisive move. She spends so much time blending in to the woodwork, it's almost a shock to see her openly expose herself. He's known all along she was not weak, but intelligent. She's been waiting, knowing all along he was the Luthor to show allegiance to. He would come out on top. She has simply been waiting for him to come to this realization for himself. Tess was a true Luthor, this he now knew for sure.


He steps up to the end of his bed and waits. Their eyes are locked and a blush begins to spread steadily over her cheeks. The only light in the room is provided by the moon, streaming in through the stained glass of the window. The colors play over her skin and the light colored robe. He's never had the innate appreciation for art, but he's overcome by the need to preserve this moment forever. Another reason to be thankful for his alien heritage - perfect recall.

"Are you just going to stand there?" her voice is soft, low, barely a whisper really.


He smiles, lets his head drop, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he puts one knee and then other onto the end of the bed. He crawls up the length of her until their faces are mere breaths apart.


"I just love making you wait."

<^>

Clark is in a dead sleep, and still his mind is working at high speed. It's funny how he knows he's sleeping, and yet he's walking through the grounds of the mansion. All the colors around him are more brilliant than normal, like the colors are all lit from within, glowing almost.


He's not alone. There is no one else with him, physically, but he can sense the presence of another. He stops, glancing over his shoulder.


"It is time." He spins around, knowing there is no one there. This isn't the first time he's had this dream.


"Time for what?"


"Time to accept your destiny."


" I don't know what you have in mind for me, but I-" Clark suddenly has a sinking feeling. All his bravado is gone. He curses himself, realizing the ring he knows his body still wears has no effect on his dream self.


"By the setting of the sun Sol, you will return to me. Your destiny will be fulfilled. Your thoughts are not a mystery to me, Kal-El. These people have served their purpose. It is time to leave them. You must let go of your past. I will guide you to your future."


There is no reason for him to stay here, with this adopted family. The only person in the world he admittedly cares about, though, is his sister. He wonders what her life would be like if he were to leave her. The thought puts an emptiness in him that is unbearable. He knows he cannot leave her, ever.

<^>

"Get up!"


Clark opens his eyes and immediately regrets the decision. Lionel is standing beside his bed, that predatory smile gracing his lips. Clark realizes Tess is no longer with him; she must have snuck away while he was sleeping. She's nothing if not a survivor, and being found in Clark's bed would certainly earn her punishment. Him too.


"It seems you have finally begun to accept your true nature." Lionel moves to the chair and sits.


"I've watched you, waiting for you to embrace your differences. You, my son, are a god among men." Was Lionel giving him praise for his actions the previous night?


Clark pulls himself into a sitting position, his sheets lain over his lap. He levels his eyes with Lionel's, unafraid. The older man is right. He is an unstoppable force.


"I can lead you to greatness. I've been training you since I found you." Clark thinks on this. Lionel has always treated him with respect. Sure, he takes drastic measures, but Clark isn't a normal human. Lionel has just been careful, ensuring self-preservation.


Clark knows Lionel has extensive knowledge; he is a walking encyclopedia of past rulers. If anyone would know how to gain power, and how to hold on to such power, it was Lionel. Despite the new free spirit his ring provides, there's still a hatred deep inside Clark. He still does not trust Lionel completely, he knows he never will. But he knows that Lionel will always keep him close. Lionel is the only person who knows his greatest weaknesses, and Clark is not stupid. Lionel will do whatever is necessary to keep the upper hand, to remain in control.


"We can be a great family." He has to play Lionel's game, and he knows now he can.


Clark sees a shift in Lionel's eyes, he cannot decipher it before it disappears. "We will be a great family. You. And I."

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