Chapter Text
"Let me help you with the dishes, Mrs. Kent," Lex offered as the Christmas dinner came to an end.
"Oh, don't be silly. You're our guest. What kind of host makes a guest wash everyone's plates?" Martha smiled, gathering the coffee cups from the table.
"I mean it. You've put so much work into these two days. I think the least I can do is wash the dishes. And then — I'll take my leave."
"Yes, Mom," Clark chimed in. "I was going to do it anyway. Together we'll be done faster while you and Dad rest."
"Alright, boys," Martha raised her hands in surrender. "The kitchen is yours. And I can't wait to start the book you gave me, Lex. Coming, dear?"
Jonathan's heavy gaze shifted from Luthor to his son and back again. His whole demeanor making it clear just how unimpressed he was by this sudden burst of helpfulness.
"Fine," he grunted at last. "Don't take forever with this."
Lex and Clark exchanged a glance.
The mountain of dishes didn't seem to be shrinking, but neither of them minded. Clark methodically soaped up plates, mugs, baking sheets, and pots. Lex rinsed, dried, and put them away. They chatted about college choices — Lex told stories from his university days and explained why he'd gotten kicked out twice. Jonathan periodically appeared in the kitchen for all sorts of completely, utterly unsuspicious reasons, which drew quiet, nervous smirks from both of them.
Every now and then, Clark lost the thread of the conversation because he'd catch himself staring at Lex without realizing it. At the methodical movements of his hands with his sweater sleeves rolled up to the elbows. At his lips with that small, neat scar. And when Lex looked at him, waiting for an answer that never came, Clark would snap out of it and return to the dishes with exaggerated concentration. It never lasted long, though.
Shelby wandered in with a ball in his mouth, sat down next to them, and whined insistently.
"Wait a little longer, buddy, I'll finish up and we'll play," Clark smiled at him.
The dog dropped the ball on the floor, barked, and gently tugged at Lex's pant leg.
"Shelby, no, you'll ruin them!" the young man protested.
Lex wiped his hands calmly on the towel and crouched down next to the dog.
"You're not the patient type, are you?" he chuckled.
Shelby tilted his head, looking at him.
"Here's a deal: you give us a few more minutes, and I'll scratch your back for it."
Clark watched as Lex ruffled the ecstatic dog's fur, watched him first offer the top of his head for scratches, then flop onto the floor altogether, belly up. A stray thought floated through his mind — that he wouldn't mind at all, actually, he'd very much like to be in Shelby's place — and it made him flinch internally. He quickly turned away, focusing all his attention on the bits of pie crust stuck to the baking sheet.
"You're tense," Lex noted a couple of minutes after the satisfied dog had left the kitchen.
"No, I’m not."
"Come on. I can hear your teeth grinding."
Clark unclenched his jaw and handed Lex a plate. Their fingers touched, and Clark yanked his hand back as if burned. The plate flew toward the sink, but the young man caught it at the last second. At superspeed, of course.
"Wow," Lex raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, you're definitely not tense."
"Stop it. Just — here." Clark set the plate in front of him. "Dry it."
Lex smirked but obeyed, then set the towel aside and surveyed the kitchen.
"Well, looks like we're done. Shelby's waiting for you."
"I'm… I'm just going to stand here," Clark mumbled, gripping the edge of the sink. "For a bit."
"Ohhh." A knowing smile spread across Lex's face as he looked down — at Clark's hips pressed tightly against the kitchen counter.
"Quiet. Don't. Just… give me a minute." Clark's cheeks were burning, and he carefully avoided Lex's gaze.
"Alright. Let's stand here, then. Breathe, Clark. It's fine. This is normal."
Clark exhaled forcefully. He'd actually been holding his breath without realizing it.
"What are you thinking about?" Lex asked playfully.
"Nothing."
"What were you thinking about, then?"
"Lex…"
"The barn?"
"Y-yeah."
"Yeah. I've been thinking about that too. You know, I remembered something — a few years ago, I helped you tie a bow tie out there." Lex paused. "Breathe, Clark."
"I can't."
"Why?" Lex sounded genuinely surprised.
"It's just… You smell."
"Of what?"
"Of you. I don't know. It's just — when you're close, I can't focus on anything."
"You can keep my sweater," Lex said suddenly, lightly.
"W-what? Why would I —"
"Just because." Luthor smiled slyly and shot Clark a sideways, mischievous glance.
"Shut up. Let's… let's just stand here in silence."
"Yeah. I'll definitely leave you my sweater."
"Lex!"
"Not another word."