Disclaimer: So not mine; don't get any money, just vicarious thrills. Spoilers: Assume all episodes
Summary: Clark reflects on losing Lex. Feedback: email@example.com
Lex looked like always. From the first moment I saw him, horrified at seeing me through the windshield of his careening Porsche, to the last time I saw him leaving, horrified by the fact that he was going. He was the sight for sore eyes you always heard about, the presence that always dominated a room. Any room, any size, no matter how many people were in it with him. He was the man who drew every female eye and quite a few male ones, my own included. Deceptively slim, fluid like the river where we met, where I breathed life into him and inescapably marked him mine. Lex looked like the most expensive painting in a museum, the most precious piece of artwork that could ever exist. He was wildflowers, fireworks, the first snow and sunrise on the best day of your life. When I looked at Lex, I just....wanted. Lex looked like always.
Lex sounded like always. The cultured richness of his voice washed over me, word after luxurious word, seeped into my bones and coursed through my veins faster than any drug would ever have been able to, worked irresistible magic, addicted me to the point where I would listen to anything he'd have to say, be it stock reports or discussions on the breed of Hannibal's elephants. Didn't matter. He could say whatever he wanted, but the best thing that ever came out of his luscious, scarred mouth was my name when he was coming, desperate gasps, soft moans, whispered promises of always and forever. Lex was wind chimes and soft summer rain on the roof, Lex was the song that never left my head. When I listened to Lex, I ached. And wanted more. Lex sounded like always.
Lex smelled like always. He smelled like dank river at first, but then he smelled like his custom-made cologne, the sweat I wanted to drink from his flesh, scotch and brandy, coffee, and under all that, his skin, the man himself and the pure male scent of him. I had often wanted to ask him not to put anything on his skin, just let me revel in natural Lex. He was the Christmas tree, Mom's pies, newly-mown grass. I inhaled him, and it made me the starving man looking at the feast I wasn't allowed to have. Lex smelled like always.
Lex felt like always. Finally under my needy fingers, smooth silk and hard muscle, stroke of my hand up his thigh that would make him moan and feed the hunger my ears had for his voice, slick feel of his fevered flesh, satin against me, friction against my seeking cock, fingers burning paths through my hair, pulling me down, pulling me up, Lex in my senses. He was satin and steel, warm blankets, stretch of muscles under smooth flesh, hungry skin on soft sheets, fire in winter. Still I hungered. Lex felt like always.
Lex tasted like always. Smooth slide of my tongue along his jaw, along his hips, the inside of his wrists or thighs, his cock when he wanted me, wet heat inside his mouth, bitter tang of him when he came, extraordinary taste of myself on his lips. He was ice cream in summer, hot chocolate, home cooking and Christmas cookies. He was Lex, and he tasted like always.
Lex healed, like always. And the day he remembered, the day his brain finally managed to reverse the electrically-induced amnesia, the day he knew I'd lied, was the last day. I saw the shock of betrayal on his face, heard the broken disbelief in his voice. Smelled the alcohol penetrating the room after he smashed the bottle against the wall, felt the shattering loss as he pulled his hands away from mine, away from my desperate explanations, turned from me and stumbled out of the room, slamming the door, and it tasted like always.