sv fic: Born Slippy (PG-13)
Feb. 8th, 2004 02:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oiranTitle: Born Slippy
Author: velvetglove
Fandom: Smallville + Bruce Wayne
Pairing: None, really
Rating: PG-13?
Notes: Second prequel for Eidolon helvum. Underworld's Born Slippy - this is almost songfic, but what a song: Bitter, desolate, hypnotic, and catchy. It still gives me shivers and makes me want to act like a herd animal.
No mesh shirts, but it is a form of Club!Lex.
Born Slippy
He takes the train to a Metro station he's never been to before and climbs the stairs into a version of Paris that could just as easily be Sydney or Memphis, block after block of boxy warehouses and chain-link fences protecting mysterious equipment. He follows the directions on the faxed map and, as he gets closer to the location marked with an X, the ground at his feet is littered with similar maps. Heavy bass echoes between the buildings and his heartbeat staggers to match. This is the reward he gets for being a good boy. This is what he gets for studying hard. He knows he's in the right place when he turns the corner and sees the milling crowd. He puts his hand in his pocket and comes up with two pills that he dry swallows.
Inside, the crowd pushes without purpose, sweaty and eager to move from one place to another, even though it doesn't matter where they stand. Everything is dirty, loud, sticky, and caked with glitter. The music shakes his bones, almost too loud to actually be heard. Scanning the crowd, Bruce sees people he knows, people he's danced with, people he's fucked or been fucked by. A girl with a pretty, familiar face takes his hand and leads him into the sea of dancers. There's a ringing in his ears separate from the music, and when he looks up, there's a fuzziness around the lights, little haloes. All around him, people wave their hands in the air in time to the music, watching tracers, and he's starting to see them, too. The girl holds onto his belt and her knuckles rub against his belly as they all jump up and down. Everyone shouts along with the song, "lager, lager, lager." The girl's boyfriend dances behind her and Bruce reaches past her to hold onto his hips, caging her in. The boyfriend leans over her shoulder to say something to Bruce, but it's too loud to hear anything. He watches the way the boys lips move and then kisses him. The girl looks delighted.
She's got them both by the hand, pulling through the crowd, when he sees another familiar face. Lex is the last person he'd expect to find here in his secret, anonymous world. Impression of dirty smudges on porcelain skin, like handprints on the walls of a public toilet; Lex in smeared eyeliner, his eyes blue slits in a fragile face, his head thrown back and his arms tight around the yellow-haired boy who kisses his throat and moves against him with the music. Bruce spoke to him on the phone just last week and Lex hadn't said anything about visiting.
Bruce drops the girl's hand and pushes his way between the bodies, watching Lex kissing the boy with an open mouth, and he can see their tongues pink and wet in the flashes of strobe that make everyone around them look dead and shocked. Lex is in black leather pants, black leather jacket tied around his waist, t-shirt marked with a sweaty triangle that points down his back. The blond is chiseled and pale with a broad, mobile mouth that leaves a trail of bruises like wet petals down Lex's neck. Lex leans his forehead against his companion's, one hand knotted in his hair and the other holding a bottle. There's a long streak of kohl smeared from the corner of Lex's eye to his ear. They're not really dancing, just grinding in long strokes.
Why hadn't Lex said anything about coming to Paris?
The blond kid takes a long draw off the bottle. Bruce can't see the label; it's something amber. He sidesteps a girl with dilated pupils and no shirt. He'll say hello. He'll find out what Lex is doing here. Lex just forgot to tell him he was coming, is all. He weaves through the crowd, closer and closer to Lex through the tangle of waving limbs and shimmying hips. He shouts, "Lex!" when he gets close, but can't even hear his own voice.
The light ripples over him like a wash of mercury and Lex wraps his lips around the neck of the bottle and drinks, head back and throat working. Bruce puts a hand on Lex's arm and shouts "Lex!" Blue veins under the skin of his temples like a map of places Bruce will never get to go. Lex, swaying in his blond boy's embrace, doesn't notice a hand on his arm or Bruce begging, "Lex!" He has no choice but to take Lex's chin in his hand and kiss him.
At first, Lex kisses him back and it's like a drug, tracers in his bloodstream, but Bruce must taste wrong because Lex's eyes fly open, hard and hostile. He pulls his head free and Bruce sees his mouth make a shape: Bruce! Lex clears his face of surprise and indicates the exit with a jerk of his head. Lex tugs the blond in his wake and Bruce follows them outside.
Lex's friend leans against the wall and pulls Lex back against his body. In this light, Lex looks like a death's head. His eyes are dark hollows, cheekbones sharp. When he turns his face toward the streetlamps, his eyes are all pupil. "Come here," Lex says. He turns Bruce's face into the light with a hand on his chin, just like Bruce did to him inside, but Lex doesn't kiss him. "You're high," he says, disapproving and accusatory.
"So are you," Bruce counters. "Hey. What are you doing here? Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"
The blond snickers and buries his face in Lex's neck. Lex laughs, "Shut up," and playfully cuffs the kid in the side of the head. "What are you doing, Bruce? You shouldn't be here."
"Why not?"
"You're too young." He arches his neck back into a kiss, gasping a little.
"I'm not," Bruce says flatly, offended. He's fifteen, old enough.
Lex realizes his mistake. "Hey," he says, reaching for Bruce. "It's good to see you."
Bruce lets himself be hugged. Lex is hard and bony, thinner than Bruce remembers, and he radiates heat. He smells like sex and beer and cigarettes and the chemical clouds that billow from the fog machines inside the club. While Lex holds him, the blond puts his face close to Bruce's and growls at him, then laughs.
Lex attempts to make introductions, "Bruce, this is…this is--" The guy sinks his teeth into Lex's neck, sliding a hand around to lift his t-shirt. "--fuck! This is Yves. Yves, meet my friend, Bruce."
Yves takes his hand out of Lex's pants and offers it to Bruce. "Pleased to meet you," he says without bothering to look Bruce in the face.
"You should have called me," Bruce says softly. "We could have made plans."
"He's very busy," Yves says. "His schedule is extremely full."
"Shut up," Lex says, kissing Yves roughly on the side of his mouth. But then he turns to Bruce and says, "I am pretty busy this trip. I'll call you if there's time."
Bruce goes very still. "Sure," he says. "Whatever." He looks away. Blue veins, and all the places he'll never get to see. There are coronas of light around the streetlamps, blinding.
"No," Lex says. "I'll call. Tomorrow. I promise." And even though Yves is right there, groping him, Lex says, "Sorry about Yves. He's an asshole."
Bruce can't possibly put everything he means into the sentence, but he tries: "Then why are you even friends with him?"
Lex smiles and shakes his head. "I'm not."
Bruce looks away. "I've got to go back in," he says. "There are some people waiting." And there are, somewhere. It's a big crowd.
Yves' laughter is loud at his back.
~~~
little tiny bits o'song...nothing genius, but extremely bitter evocations nonetheless
Let your feelings slip boy
But never your mask boy
Random blonde bio high density rhythm
Blonde boy blonde country blonde high density
You are my drug boy
You're real boy
~~~
Shouting
Lager lager lager lager
Shouting
Lager lager lager lager
Shouting...
Lager lager lager
I probably need to stop posting until I've gotten some more sleep ;)
Author: velvetglove
Fandom: Smallville + Bruce Wayne
Pairing: None, really
Rating: PG-13?
Notes: Second prequel for Eidolon helvum. Underworld's Born Slippy - this is almost songfic, but what a song: Bitter, desolate, hypnotic, and catchy. It still gives me shivers and makes me want to act like a herd animal.
No mesh shirts, but it is a form of Club!Lex.
Born Slippy
He takes the train to a Metro station he's never been to before and climbs the stairs into a version of Paris that could just as easily be Sydney or Memphis, block after block of boxy warehouses and chain-link fences protecting mysterious equipment. He follows the directions on the faxed map and, as he gets closer to the location marked with an X, the ground at his feet is littered with similar maps. Heavy bass echoes between the buildings and his heartbeat staggers to match. This is the reward he gets for being a good boy. This is what he gets for studying hard. He knows he's in the right place when he turns the corner and sees the milling crowd. He puts his hand in his pocket and comes up with two pills that he dry swallows.
Inside, the crowd pushes without purpose, sweaty and eager to move from one place to another, even though it doesn't matter where they stand. Everything is dirty, loud, sticky, and caked with glitter. The music shakes his bones, almost too loud to actually be heard. Scanning the crowd, Bruce sees people he knows, people he's danced with, people he's fucked or been fucked by. A girl with a pretty, familiar face takes his hand and leads him into the sea of dancers. There's a ringing in his ears separate from the music, and when he looks up, there's a fuzziness around the lights, little haloes. All around him, people wave their hands in the air in time to the music, watching tracers, and he's starting to see them, too. The girl holds onto his belt and her knuckles rub against his belly as they all jump up and down. Everyone shouts along with the song, "lager, lager, lager." The girl's boyfriend dances behind her and Bruce reaches past her to hold onto his hips, caging her in. The boyfriend leans over her shoulder to say something to Bruce, but it's too loud to hear anything. He watches the way the boys lips move and then kisses him. The girl looks delighted.
She's got them both by the hand, pulling through the crowd, when he sees another familiar face. Lex is the last person he'd expect to find here in his secret, anonymous world. Impression of dirty smudges on porcelain skin, like handprints on the walls of a public toilet; Lex in smeared eyeliner, his eyes blue slits in a fragile face, his head thrown back and his arms tight around the yellow-haired boy who kisses his throat and moves against him with the music. Bruce spoke to him on the phone just last week and Lex hadn't said anything about visiting.
Bruce drops the girl's hand and pushes his way between the bodies, watching Lex kissing the boy with an open mouth, and he can see their tongues pink and wet in the flashes of strobe that make everyone around them look dead and shocked. Lex is in black leather pants, black leather jacket tied around his waist, t-shirt marked with a sweaty triangle that points down his back. The blond is chiseled and pale with a broad, mobile mouth that leaves a trail of bruises like wet petals down Lex's neck. Lex leans his forehead against his companion's, one hand knotted in his hair and the other holding a bottle. There's a long streak of kohl smeared from the corner of Lex's eye to his ear. They're not really dancing, just grinding in long strokes.
Why hadn't Lex said anything about coming to Paris?
The blond kid takes a long draw off the bottle. Bruce can't see the label; it's something amber. He sidesteps a girl with dilated pupils and no shirt. He'll say hello. He'll find out what Lex is doing here. Lex just forgot to tell him he was coming, is all. He weaves through the crowd, closer and closer to Lex through the tangle of waving limbs and shimmying hips. He shouts, "Lex!" when he gets close, but can't even hear his own voice.
The light ripples over him like a wash of mercury and Lex wraps his lips around the neck of the bottle and drinks, head back and throat working. Bruce puts a hand on Lex's arm and shouts "Lex!" Blue veins under the skin of his temples like a map of places Bruce will never get to go. Lex, swaying in his blond boy's embrace, doesn't notice a hand on his arm or Bruce begging, "Lex!" He has no choice but to take Lex's chin in his hand and kiss him.
At first, Lex kisses him back and it's like a drug, tracers in his bloodstream, but Bruce must taste wrong because Lex's eyes fly open, hard and hostile. He pulls his head free and Bruce sees his mouth make a shape: Bruce! Lex clears his face of surprise and indicates the exit with a jerk of his head. Lex tugs the blond in his wake and Bruce follows them outside.
Lex's friend leans against the wall and pulls Lex back against his body. In this light, Lex looks like a death's head. His eyes are dark hollows, cheekbones sharp. When he turns his face toward the streetlamps, his eyes are all pupil. "Come here," Lex says. He turns Bruce's face into the light with a hand on his chin, just like Bruce did to him inside, but Lex doesn't kiss him. "You're high," he says, disapproving and accusatory.
"So are you," Bruce counters. "Hey. What are you doing here? Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"
The blond snickers and buries his face in Lex's neck. Lex laughs, "Shut up," and playfully cuffs the kid in the side of the head. "What are you doing, Bruce? You shouldn't be here."
"Why not?"
"You're too young." He arches his neck back into a kiss, gasping a little.
"I'm not," Bruce says flatly, offended. He's fifteen, old enough.
Lex realizes his mistake. "Hey," he says, reaching for Bruce. "It's good to see you."
Bruce lets himself be hugged. Lex is hard and bony, thinner than Bruce remembers, and he radiates heat. He smells like sex and beer and cigarettes and the chemical clouds that billow from the fog machines inside the club. While Lex holds him, the blond puts his face close to Bruce's and growls at him, then laughs.
Lex attempts to make introductions, "Bruce, this is…this is--" The guy sinks his teeth into Lex's neck, sliding a hand around to lift his t-shirt. "--fuck! This is Yves. Yves, meet my friend, Bruce."
Yves takes his hand out of Lex's pants and offers it to Bruce. "Pleased to meet you," he says without bothering to look Bruce in the face.
"You should have called me," Bruce says softly. "We could have made plans."
"He's very busy," Yves says. "His schedule is extremely full."
"Shut up," Lex says, kissing Yves roughly on the side of his mouth. But then he turns to Bruce and says, "I am pretty busy this trip. I'll call you if there's time."
Bruce goes very still. "Sure," he says. "Whatever." He looks away. Blue veins, and all the places he'll never get to see. There are coronas of light around the streetlamps, blinding.
"No," Lex says. "I'll call. Tomorrow. I promise." And even though Yves is right there, groping him, Lex says, "Sorry about Yves. He's an asshole."
Bruce can't possibly put everything he means into the sentence, but he tries: "Then why are you even friends with him?"
Lex smiles and shakes his head. "I'm not."
Bruce looks away. "I've got to go back in," he says. "There are some people waiting." And there are, somewhere. It's a big crowd.
Yves' laughter is loud at his back.
~~~
little tiny bits o'song...nothing genius, but extremely bitter evocations nonetheless
Let your feelings slip boy
But never your mask boy
Random blonde bio high density rhythm
Blonde boy blonde country blonde high density
You are my drug boy
You're real boy
~~~
Shouting
Lager lager lager lager
Shouting
Lager lager lager lager
Shouting...
Lager lager lager
I probably need to stop posting until I've gotten some more sleep ;)
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no subject
Date: 2004-02-08 06:47 pm (UTC)