Noli Me Tangere
By Denise (kdsch123)
Pairing: Chloe/Lex, Chloe/Oliver, Lex/Lana
Rating: NC-17 (for implied, imagined situations)
Acknowledgements: CW, DC and Millar/Gough own it all
Summary: At the Metropolis Theatrical Society's Annual Twelfth Night Ball, Lex Luthor muses on the one woman he will never have. The poem is by Sir Thomas Wyatt, "Whoso List To Hunt". It was written for Anne Boleyn.
Unattainable. For a man like Lex Luthor, such a word, such a concept was nearly impossible. But, improbably and impossibly there before him in green velvet, glowing and glorious, was the woman he could never have. He might have once, though, when she was younger and turned to him for help. In the days before he'd given himself over to the darkness within him. Had there ever been a day she encouraged him, pressed her lips to his? No. Had there been a time where if he had been in her presence, she hadn't dismissed him for someone else, first Clark, now Oliver Queen? No. There had never been. Finding his mood leaning toward the Renaissance, given the theme of the party around him, the words of Thomas Wyatt came to mind, and Lex smiled, watching her as she greeted his fiancee. Realizing for the first time that he had chosen the wrong girl in Clark Kent's life to seduce and Lex knew he'd never forget it again.
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
To take her away from this crowded room now, seeing the looks of horror on the faces of his fiancee and on that of Oliver Queen. Worth the effort for just that delicious moment itself, but then he let his mind move on. Having her alone, to strip her of the sweeping gown and heart shaped headdress and behold her before him, golden and ripe in a firelit room. Knowing that with every stroke of his hand, every thrust he would make into her, would be a hit at Clark, at Oliver, at her… For not wanting him, for turning her back on him. Imagining the unreachable reached and spread out before him in his bed, Lex sipped his drink cooly and pretended to not notice her. Like he did every time he saw her. Disdain masking desire. Lex felt himself stir, grateful the doublet Lana had chosen for this ridiculous display was long enough to hide the result of such thoughts.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
They had been allies once, hadn't they? Yes. Her laugh did grace his house on more than one occasion, even if it more often rang out in those days for something Clark said. For Lex, she did not spare her sword sharp wit though, even as a young girl, and they understood each other on a level that Clark could have never fathomed. He'd saved her life as well as her fathers, been her hero and yet it wasn't enough to make her see him. She was his equal, anticipated his moves, where Clark and Lana, simple and sweet though they were, could not begin to. But, it was Oliver Queen she turned to when her childish infatuation with Clark ebbed away. Oliver Queen who danced with her now, laughing down into her shining eyes, tracing the line of her fine jaw with a gentle hand. Not for Oliver, the quick, stinging barbs, or the accusing tone. Oliver would be the one to unlace that gown, to reveal her beauty to the night, and to have her. And, just as he had been jealous of Oliver Queen at school, Lex envied him now. Coveted what Oliver had and could never really possess. But, it seemed that no man would truly possess her. One might have, but had let her slip through his fingers as well, but the fool didn't even know it. Clark was content to stand on the sidelines with Lois Lane, not even caring that the real jewel of that family had passed him by.
Who list her
hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain.
is written, her fair neck round about:
The music done, they walked toward him, no, toward Lana. Shared smiles, Oliver kissed her hand and led her to Lana. The girls together were a sight to behold, and Lex stopped himself from letting his mind go further. In his mind she was alone, the pinnacle in what he could not have. Less exalted than Lana, and yet more in every way, Lex stopped himself from talking to her, letting his eyes grow cold and freeze.
Lana, bright and glowing in royal purple, grasped his hand, her dark eyes shining with happiness. She was beautiful, but not enough. It was her companion that his eyes feasted on, lusted after. His grey eyes registered amusement instead of attraction, but that was the Luthor way. Oliver Queen bowed formally to Lana, his gracious compliment a murmur in the brilliance of the woman beside him. Sipping his drink, Lex arranged his face in mocking smile. "Hello, Oliver." And then, to speak to her, "Hello, Chloe."
Lex heard the sound of swords ringing her hazel eyes as they met his. "Hello, Lex." Chloe Sullivan replied, her voice music that Lex could not let his heart rejoice in. Never his. Never would be his. Elusive and unattainable.
me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.