Title: Art Appreciation
Author: danceswithgary (danceswithgary@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 11,800
Archive: Fine, just let me know
Summary: Clark enjoyed his job moonlighting as a model for the evening art classes held at the museum. He knew things were going to get even better when he saw the newest student walk into the room.





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Art Appreciation


Clark enjoyed his job moonlighting as a model for the evening art classes held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He knew things were going to get even better when he saw the newest student walk into the room. He spent that lesson draped over the posing block, dreaming about smooth pale skin. It was an effort not to turn his head to watch the slashing strokes of charcoal stick held in slender fingers. He had to content himself with glimpses from beneath his artfully lowered lashes as he held himself in position. There was odd, almost magnetic attraction about the man, something that Clark hadn't felt since he'd left his unrequited love for Lana far behind in Smallville.

Released from his invisible bonds at the end of class, Clark stretched and casually strolled over to the easel and student that had occupied his imagination. He pulled his white t-shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans, as he pretended to study the sketch instead of the artist. "Nice work."

Blue eyes lifted from a box holding charcoal and colored chalk, and a smile teased at one corner of a mouth with an intriguing scar. "Owes something to the model." One hand rose to brush over the top of a hairless skull, and then rubbed at the back of his elegantly curved neck where the hooded gray sweatshirt left it exposed. "It's been a while since I've taken a class."

Clark had reached out automatically when the hand began its circuit, pulling back with a grin when he realized it was too late. "Your fingers...." The smudge that marred the ivory perfection made the other man more real, less a dream, and he almost regretted seeing wiped away with a handkerchief pulled from the back pocket of well-worn jeans. The sheepish grin was worth the trade, and Clark was quick to assure him, "You got it."

"Thanks. Bad habit, I'm afraid." He finished removing the charcoal residue from his hands before tucking the black-smeared cloth into the waiting box and snapping it shut. "I appreciate the save...." The pause was a hint, as was the raised eyebrow.

"Clark. Clark Kent." Clark thrust his hand out automatically with his introduction and was pleased when cool fingers slid against his palm in a firm handshake. "I...I'm the model for a lot of the life studies."

Releasing Clark's hand slowly, the artist nodded, his eyes twinkling up into Clark's with good humor. "A very good choice on the teacher's part, Clark...and I'm Lex Luthor." Clark noticed another pause, as if Lex were waiting for him to say something else.

"Pleased to meet you, Lex." Suddenly feeling shy, Clark backed up a few steps and jerked his head in the direction of the exit. "Well, maybe I'll see you next week?" He couldn't prevent a little hopefulness from creeping into the offhand words, and he was gratified to see a hint of color rise in Lex's cheeks in response. A quick duck of Lex's head as he slid his hood over his distinctive head was enough to send Clark bounding out of the building with a spring in his step along with a tingle of anticipation.


. . .


It was the last week for the life studies class, and Clark wasn't looking forward to finding another temporary job to make up for the loss of income. The pay rate had been excellent for a few hours of holding still. Money was always tight; the Met U academic scholarship covered his books and tuition, but room and board were his responsibility. His, not his parents'. He'd refused to let them pay for anything...he'd already cost them too much in broken and burned possessions while he was growing up and, at age nineteen, it was time for Clark to take care of himself without their help.

His absence from the farm was already tough enough on his dad, who'd had to take on the work Clark used to handle without even breaking a sweat. That reminded Clark that he'd promised a visit during the upcoming weekend to help with some chores that needed his special abilities. He grimaced at the thought of the hours of pay he'd lose, but there was nothing else that he could do. The semester had simply been an escalating struggle that was going to get a little bit worse. He wondered, not for the first time, if he'd be lucky enough to pick up a fulltime job over the summer to relieve some of the stress for the following semester.

"It's that bad?"

Lex's teasing voice behind him recalled Clark's wandering thoughts, and he shook his head emphatically, "No! It looks great. Really. I was...distracted, sorry." He traced the air above Lex's latest sketch with a blunt finger, careful not to smudge the chalk. "I like this line here, and the way you handled the lighting over my shoulders."

"Careful, the teacher will think you're looking to take over the lessons." A friendly nudge to the ribs with an elbow startled a laugh from Clark, and he turned to grin down into Lex's smiling face. "I bet you're glad you don't have to spend any more time keeping still, hmmm?"

"The modeling? No, not really. I'll...miss seeing...." Clark ducked his head and dropped his eyes, unwilling to see Lex's response to the slip. It was bad enough that he was losing the money. Not being able to see Lex again changed an aggravation into something that cut deeper. Clark had looked forward to seeing Lex, to their short conversations, a harmless weekly treat he'd allowed himself in a lonely life. His class and work schedule left him little time for his few surviving high-school friends and no time to make new ones, especially when he considered the added burden of his secrets.

Posing there under the museum's studio lights with Lex's eyes focused on him; he'd at least been able to...pretend. He'd liked seeing the little crinkle at the corner of Lex's eyes when he was really smiling, spent time wondering if his skin was as soft as it looked...and what it was that Lex used so that he always smelled good. Sometimes, he'd gotten the impression that Lex wanted to move beyond innocuous comments about the weather or sports, but the opportunity never presented itself. Resigning himself to the inevitable loss, Clark shrugged and murmured, "Well, I've got to get going. Maybe...." He cut himself short and turned away with a final hoarse whisper, "Goodbye, Lex."

The hand on his arm startled Clark, the words made his heart leap. "Hey, are you interested in going somewhere and grabbing a cup of coffee?"


. . .


"So... a freshman at Met U? What's your major?" Lex's bright eyes failed to conceal his honest interest in Clark's answer, and he smiled encouragingly across the small table before sipping his cappuccino.

Still flying high with the knowledge that Lex had wanted to spend some time with him, Clark shrugged and gazed down into his own cup of hot chocolate, still a little too shy to meet Lex's eyes for very long. He swirled it a little and watched the whipped cream dissolve as he admitted, "I haven't really decided yet, but I know I like to write and learning about people, so I'm leaning toward journalism. I used to work on the school newspaper and...." The silence across from him was almost palpable, and Clark glanced up to see Lex's face shutting down, the scarred smile disappearing behind a mask. "Lex? What's wrong?"

"Just wondering what the latest headline will read." The words were bitter, cutting. "I'll be sure to look for your name on the article, Kent." Lex set his cup down and shoved his chair backwards, the scrape across the floor harsh in the quiet atmosphere of the small coffee shop. He rose and headed for the door without another word, leaving Clark sitting there with his mouth gaping in bafflement.

As the door crunched closed behind Lex, Clark jumped to his feet, determined to find out what he'd done wrong...this time. He rushed outside and saw Lex stalking down the street toward the museum's parking lot, and his long strides quickly ate up the distance between them. "Lex! Wait!" He forced himself to be gentle when he grabbed Lex's shoulder, unwilling to hurt him, despite the distress that had Clark shaking and slightly out of control. When he gently tugged Lex around to face him, Clark searched his face for clues, wishing the streetlight were closer so that Lex couldn't hide his reactions in the shadows. "Please, I have to know. What just happened back there, Lex?

Dislodging Clark's hand with a shrug, Lex sneered, "Contact my publicist for any statements. I don't give interviews on the street."

"Interview?" Clark still hadn't been able to make the connection, and he shook his head in bewilderment as he protested, "I don't know what you're talking about Lex. You were the one who suggested a cup of coffee, and I thought we were just talking and, all of a sudden, you...I...." Clark's voice trailed off as he realized that he'd somehow managed to ruin another friendship, this time without even using his gifts or trying to hide his alien nature.

When he received no response, Clark closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, and then reopening them, he smiled down sadly into Lex's stone-hard face. "Whatever it was I said or did, Lex, I'm sorry." He reversed direction and walked away, heading toward the dorms. For once, he appreciated the three mile walk that would give him time to shove the ache down deep inside...and accept once more that he was destined to be alone.


. . .


The low thrum of an engine idling beside him finally penetrated Clark's daze and he turned his head toward the street in curiosity. The silvery-blue car...a late-model Porsche...was unfamiliar, and Clark frowned as it pulled into the curb when he stopped. The hooded figure that emerged from the car made things a little clearer, and Clark shook his head and began to walk away.

"Clark, wait!" The urgency in the sharp call halted Clark in his tracks, and he let Lex catch up with him without saying a word. He felt his shoulders hunch automatically into the same defensive posture he'd used in high school, as Lex walked around to stand in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on the cracked and buckled sidewalk, and didn't anticipate flinching when Lex grasped his bicep and squeezed gently. "Look, Clark. I'm sorry. I think I made a big mistake back there. It's just when people hear my name...."

Clark shrugged and pulled away carefully from the all-too-fragile human. "Doesn't matter. I have to...." Clark didn't bother to finish his pathetic attempt at speech, his stomach roiling as he caught the scent of Lex's cologne, knowing that it was the last time he'd be able to indulge in that forbidden pleasure. He stepped around Lex and continued down the street at a normal human pace, reminding himself not to give in to the impulse to speed away.

He refused to let himself turn around and look back when he heard the words, "Clark, please."

He pretended that he wasn't listening for the sound of the Porsche's engine as it faded away in the distance...or the sound of a heart.


. . .


...when people hear my name....

Sleep had eluded Clark; Lex's words had kept bouncing around inside his brain until he'd given in and shuffled his clothes back on to run over to the student resources building. As usual, it had been quiet there at two o'clock in the morning, and he'd had no trouble finding an unclaimed PC. It was an older model, but it had still accessed the web relatively quickly. Clark had ended up scrolling through thousands of hits returned when he typed 'Lex Luthor' into the search engine.

By the time he'd left to get ready for his first class, he'd read about a young boy left bald after being caught in a meteor shower at age nine, the injury occurring during an aborted business trip with his father. Clark's hometown, Smallville, and the meteor shower his spaceship had arrived in, had played a large part in Lex's life, even though Clark hadn't known about it before. Unfortunately, Lex had ended up being one of many people affected by the meteorites' mutagenic properties, even though he and his father had never returned to Smallville.

There were few articles written about Lex until he reached his late teens. That was when the gossip columns exploded with sightings of Metropolis' bad boy at parties, bars...and police raids. Lionel Luthor's status as one of the richest men in the state did little to suppress the frenzy. If anything, it only exacerbated it. His father's death from liver disease seemed to have ended Lex's partying, but it didn't suppress the baying of the hounds of the press.

Clark had supposed that his isolation in Smallville was the only reason he hadn't recognized Lex's name that first day, and reading the less-than-flattering views of his younger life, he'd understood why Lex had reacted so strongly to the fact that Clark was even peripherally involved in journalism.

He'd also understood why there had never been any real chance that they'd have been more than passing acquaintances. As a result, it was a quite a surprise when he spotted a silver-blue Porsche parked at the curb outside his dorm two weeks later. Stopping a few feet away on the sidewalk, Clark had a hard time suppressing a snicker at the sight of the man leaning against the passenger door and wearing a familiar gray sweatshirt...with the hood pulled up...along with paint-stained jeans. Lex dressing down in an attempt to remain incognito seemed a little ridiculous when his license plates clearly said, 'LEX.'

"Clark."

Lex's voice was calm, but Clark could see the tension he was attempting to hide with his casual stance. Knowing some of the reasons for Lex's actions now, Clark decided it would probably make Lex feel better if Clark let him talk it out, and Clark could handle the pain for that long. He was used to it, after all.

"Hey, Lex."

Straightening from his cross-armed slouch, Lex took a few steps toward Clark, his hands dropping to his sides and flexing sporadically. His voice low and confidential, Lex requested politely, "Could we go somewhere...and talk, Clark? Please?"

"We can talk here." Clark's tone was just short of brusque, only his sympathy for Lex's past encounters with the media keeping him from walking away without a word.

Glancing around at the clumps of students pretending they weren't paying attention to the conversation, Lex let a hint of pleading creep into his voice. "I tried to call you, but your phone's been shut off and...." His voice rose a little, roughened with unexpected emotion. "Look, I know I really fucked up that night, Clark. Give me a chance to explain?"

A rustle and hum behind him alerted Clark to how those injudicious words were being interpreted...and the position that would leave Lex in when it came to headlines. In order to protect Lex from the risk, Clark kept his reply short and to the point. "I don't know what you're talking about, Lex. Nothing happened between us...and nothing ever will." He kept his head up, hoping his body language and facial expression declared the conversation unimportant to anyone watching. Even so, Clark was afraid that anyone seeing his eyes might be able to discern the truth, so he finished quickly with a shrug, "Have a nice life, Lex." He ignored the look of dismay that flashed across Lex's face and strode away purposefully, nodding to several of the nearby students and hoping that his own face revealed nothing of the turmoil behind it.


. . .


"Clark, someone phoned for you a few hours ago. I took a message for you, there's a number to call back."

Clark continued up the stairs, pulling off his dusty shirt on his way to the shower. He shouted back to his mother, "Okay, I'll check it out after I get cleaned up!" He'd just finished the last row of fencing, and was looking forward to as much hot water he could eke out of the aging water heater. Dropping the rest of his clothes to the bathroom floor, he stepped into the tub and sighed in contentment as the accumulated grime of the day began to rinse away. It had been a long week since he'd returned to Smallville for the summer, but he could see an end in sight for the immediate backlog of chores, even keeping his strength and speed down to reasonable levels to avoid questions from the farmhand his father had hired earlier that year.

With the majority of the dirt swirling down the drain, Clark quickly shampooed before slowing down to scrub leisurely over his long arms and legs. Smoothing the soap over his hair-roughened skin, he suddenly recalled his dream of testing the texture of cream-pale skin with a dusting of freckles, no hair impeding the slide of his fingers across lean flesh and muscle. He gasped at the rush of heat that pooled in his groin, and a soapy hand measured his firm length as he leaned against the wall and relaxed into fantasy.

The slick glide into the heat of his fist complemented the pictures he painted in his mind, lines and curves gleaming with sweat, lips swept by a tempting tongue, blue eyes dancing with desire. They were the same visions that haunted his nights, dark with regret but still enough to pull a groan from his throat as imaginary hands teased their way down his body, plucking and stroking tenderly in turn. He licked his lips, tasting soap where he wished for the coffee and chocolate they'd been drinking that night, his whimsy supplying the details of the missing kiss. Consumed by fantasy, he let his pleasure rise until it spilled over in gasps and a single quiet moan of the name he'd tried in vain to forget. "Lex."


. . .


The company name and number on the message board didn't look familiar, but Clark had applied for so many different jobs before leaving Metropolis that it could have been from any one of them...or so he hoped. Fortunately, for his peace of mind, a woman answered on the second ring.

"Mr. Joseph's office, how may I help you?"

"Uh, this is Clark Kent. Someone left a...."

"Ah yes, Mr. Kent. I was hoping you'd call back. I understand that you might be interested in working as an artist's model. You were recommended quite highly by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of the teachers I spoke with there indicated you are very reliable and experienced in life studies posing."

"Uh...sure, that's great. So you have something for me?

"Yes, if you are interested. Mr. Joseph is looking for a model to be available whenever he has time free, starting next Monday. You would compensated for being 'on call,' of course, for two weeks to begin, terms to be re-negotiated at the end of the period. There are accommodations available at the studio, so there would be no need for you to be concerned about living arrangements or meals. There will also be entertainment provided, such as cable television, internet access and video games, since Mr. Joseph will have limited time outside his normal routine."

"Gee, that sounds pretty good so far. What would the salary be?"

"Understanding that this is such short notice, Mr. Joseph has authorized me to offer you two thousand dollars a week for the first two weeks. Again, this rate can be renegotiated at the end of that period."

Clark nearly dropped the phone. Four thousand dollars for two weeks work would cover most of the charges for his dorm room for the fall semester and would relieve a lot of the pressure he was under to cover his costs. Realizing that he hadn't answered, he fumbled the phone back to his ear and gasped, "Yes!" He could feel a blush overtake his cheeks at his unprofessional behavior. "I'm sorry, I meant to say that I am interested, Ms. ...?"

A warm chuckle reassured him. "Ah, yes. I'm Mercy Graves, Mr. Joseph's...assistant. He'll be glad to hear that I've found a model for him. Now, are you ready for the details on the location and what you can be expecting?"

Clark took a deep breath in relief and began jotting down names, numbers and the address of the apartment/studio where he would be spending the next two weeks earning four thousand dollars for sitting still.

It was almost too good to be true.


Part 2


Notes: This story was inspired by lapetite_kiki's Clark manip. I knew I had to write a story about it the minute I saw it!