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Clark's stretched out on the leather couch, hands clasped above his head, and a sliver of warm skin peeking over the waistband of his jeans before his t-shirt interrupts to spoil the rest of the view. His eyes are closed, so Lex looks his fill. Nothing wrong with that; he's in his own chair, valiantly resisting the urge to touch. Considering that Clark has been there for the last fifteen minutes, talking in low murmurs about how college is going, Lex's restraint is admirable, he thinks. He makes the occasional supportive comments, gives affirmative sounds when needed, and generally feels like a therapist, dispensing advice. He only lacks a clipboard and a pair of glasses to slide down his nose. Clark wraps up his description of his favorite professor, and he's silent for a few minutes, save the sound of his quiet, even breathing. Lex wonders if he's fallen asleep, but then Clark props himself up on his elbows in one quick movement, staring intently at Lex. Awake, then. "Lana and I broke up," he announces. Lex waits, but it seems that Clark doesn't intend to expound. "Oh?" he asks, carefully balanced between surprise and curiosity. Clark doesn't have to know that it's old news to Lex. "When did that happen?" "We decided to kind of cool things off a few weeks ago, and I broke it off with her night before last." "I see," Lex interjects, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. "Any particular reason?" Professional, understanding shrink, that's him. "I think it was the sex," Clark sighs, flopping back down on the couch as Lex makes a choked sound that's probably less professional than it is shocked. "The sex?" he parrots back. Yeah, he's a mature adult. Clark is 18. They've known each other for long enough and talked about far stranger things than sex. Umm...sex with Lana Lang. He can handle this. Right. "Yeah," and Clark's eyes are closed again, but he's blushing a bit, which makes Lex feel slightly more at ease. He's the older, more experienced friend, supposed to be able to help Clark deal with it. Uh-huh. "It was nice," Clark continues, "but I felt kind of like something was missing." "Well, sexual incompatibility can be a difficult impediment to a relationship, but you can't stake a relationship on it," Lex says, sounding surprisingly even and reasonable. Beyond surreal. "Do you feel comfortable telling me more specifically what the problem was? I'm sure you could find a way to improve matters." Clark is silent for a while, but he eventually sighs and opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling. "Well. It was always kind of...vanilla." "Vanilla," Lex repeats, and this broken record player routine has to stop. So he's gone from the role of psychiatrist to sex therapist in a matter of moments. No problem. He just has to work with the metaphor. "So it sounds like you got bored with it being plain. Have you talked to Lana about it? It could be that she'd like a change, too. Maybe consider adding," and he almost laughs, but manages to force the words out, "chocolate sauce? Sprinkles? Whipped cream?" Clark does laugh, and for a minute Lex has the urge to hit him. He's just trying to help out, after all. But even he has to admit that the situation merits a laugh or two just to ease the awkwardness a bit. Still, he stares down at clenched fists and wonders how much damage, if any, he could inflict if Clark doesn't stop laughing really soon. Smart (or probably just lucky) boy that he is, Clark saves Lex the trouble. "Lex," he says, and Lex looks up by reflex to find Clark propped up on the arm of the couch closest to Lex now. He stares at his feet in rapt concentration, says, "I don't think adding extras would help any. I mean, the thing is, Lana likes store brand vanilla. And even with sprinkles," his mouth quirks, "it's still vanilla underneath. And...maybe I've been having a craving--or at least a healthy curiosity--about something more exotic. Like Dulce de Leche Haagen-Dazs." Clark's eyes meet his with such blatant hunger that Lex is temporarily stunned at his boldness. Then he remembers that they're using ice cream as a euphemism for sex. Not so odd after all. Or maybe it is, depending upon your point of view. Lex knows this is when he's supposed to say something, but hell if he knows what to say. Luckily for him, Clark takes the initiative and picks up where he left off. "It's just...You know how when you've wanted something for such a long time that you can't help but build up these expectations of what it will be, how good it will be?" Gee, had he? That was an easy answer. "And then you're sort of afraid of getting it, because what if it doesn't measure up? And if it disappoints you, it's nobody's fault but your own, because your expectations were too high, unrealistic, setting you up for a fall." Clark glances down at his hands, and, incongruously, Lex finds it's even harder to breathe without Clark's gaze locked with his own. "That's what it was like with Lana. That's how I'm afraid it's going to be with you if I wait any longer." And Clark looks back up, eyes fierce and determined, giving Lex his breath back. I'm sold, he thinks. "I'm sold," he says, and it seems that his brain isn't checking thoughts before it allows them out of his mouth anymore. Suave. That probably wasn't what Clark was expecting to hear, but it doesn't seem to bother him. "You are?" Clark asks, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth up. "On what, me or the ice cream?" And Lex will let him get away with that dig if it means Clark sliding off the couch and settling over Lex in the chair, straddling his hips. Brushing their lips together slowly, softly. "On you, definitely," Lex breathes, resting his forehead against Clark's. "There was never any question. But as for the ice cream, I don't know. I've always thought I was a little more Creme Brulee Haagen-Dazs than Dulce de Leche. I'm willing to let you convince me on that count, though." "Think you have any in the kitchen?" Clark asks. "I sure as hell hope so," Lex replies as Clark pulls him to his feet and toward the kitchen. If, in the morning, the kitchen looks like an ice cream food fight hit... ...from Haagen-Dazs that Clark smeared across Lex's chest, telling him he had to anticipate it a bit before he'd fully appreciate it, licking it off in small swipes of a rough tongue and moaning in satisfaction, teasing Lex even when his face was smeared with traces of chocolate and come; ...from containers of ice cream that were completely melted by the time Clark finally said Lex could have some; ...from a twisted chunk of metal (used to be a spoon) that Clark dropped in the trash when he thought Lex wasn't looking; ...from when Clark inadvertently broke one of the legs on the kitchen table, managing to cushion Lex's body when they fell, and even if Lex didn't get any ice cream, he didn't mind. He could still taste it in Clark's mouth... If it's a mess of melted ice cream, no one will find out. Lex's kitchen staff is well-paid. END
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