Category: SLASH, Humor, Fluff
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: PG
Spoilers: One major one for "Cool"
Disclaimer: If I owned them they'd be lustily bruised. Alas, I don't. Archive: If you want it, it's yours.

Summary: Rich boy toys, Shakespeare, hot cocoa and Clex.

SNOW, POETS, RUM AND LOVE
by mako

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Snow.

Covering the flattened fields in a twinkling blanket of white so pure, it hurt to look at it. Clark Kent tried then blinked, smiling at the sting in his eyes.

It was simply beautiful. Untouched. Endless. Silent.

Except for the rapidly moving black dot on the near horizon. Clark squinted at it and heard the faint buzzsaw roar of a fast-moving engine. The dot came closer, snow churning up on each side and Clark backed away a little in alarm. It wasn't a truck, it moved far too fast for that. Closer it came and Clark could just make out a goggled figure atop what appeared to be a state-of-the-art snowmobile, heading straight for him. Closer .... closer ...

A wave of flying wet snow washed over him and Clark coughed out a slosh that hit him square in the mouth. Freezing, then melting and sliding down his crewneck as Clark angrily wiped his eyes. Of all the ...

"Sorry." A familiar grin and the goggles were removed, revealing grey eyes Clark knew well.

Clark shook off his drenched arms. "I'll bet." He tried to glare but couldn't, not in the face of Lex's smile. He nodded toward the sleek black snowmobile. "That thing's pretty neat. Had it long?"

"Oh, yeah," Lex deadpanned. "Two hours now."

"Seriously?" Clark leaned in and ran his hand over the engine's warm hood. "Is that why it's not wrecked yet?"

"Probably. And you wouldn't believe how much that bothers me. Want to try and help me take it out?"

Clark's lips twisted skeptically. "I'm not sure you'd need my help. Say, shouldn't you be wearing that helmet?" He motioned toward the slickly designed accessory hanging off the vehicle's back. "I mean, just for the fashion statement, of course."

"Nah," said Lex. He tossed the helmet at Clark. "I was saving it for you."

Caught with fumbling hands and Clark stared.

Helmet. Lex. Helmet again. A sleek black fun-mobile and acre upon acre of shiny, tempting snow. He heard his father's voice yelling "NO!" in his ear and continued to stare.

In most cases, Clark was a good, obedient boy, but heck ...

He wasn't a saint. Especially where Lex was concerned. "Thanks," Clark said with a grin so wide, it made his cheeks hurt. He climbed onto the back of the ski, tentative and just little bit nervous at the buzzing, jumping power that sat beneath him. It wasn't as if he'd get hurt if Lex wiped out but ...

"I suggest you hang on," said Lex, snapping his goggles back into place.

"Um, do I have to?" Clark looked around for handles and found none.

Lex glanced back at him. "Depends. Do you want to take a ride or decorate the snow with a pretty smear of red?"

"All right. Just tell me where," Clark groused. He put his hands on Lex's waist. "Here?"

"Getting warm ..."

Clark sighed and scooted closer, putting his arms around Lex completely, grasping his own wrist with the opposite hand. "There?"

"Getting warmer ..."

"Lex," said Clark, tightening his hold. "I don't think I can get any warmer than that."

A sly grin. "Who was talking about you?"

Clark gaped, but before he could respond, they were off. Clark knew his own brand of "fast" but this was something completely different. A breathtaking brand of flight that was totally out of his control. Engine vibrating beneath him, freezing air sucked out then shoved back into his lungs making him huff with laughter as wind-sheared tears streamed down his face.

Bumps over snow piles sent them into flight and Lex was as reckless a driver on the snowmobile as he was in his cars. Twice they nearly skidded out of control, saved by Lex's outstretched leg righting them in the nick of time.

Clark soon lost track of where they were or how far they'd gone, until a familiar winter sight came into view.

Nell Lang's greenhouse, the home of the Smallville Garden Society where the annual "Snowmen of Smallville" contest took place every year. Dozens of garishly dressed creatures dotted the yard and Lex brought the snowmobile to a stop at the top of a drift overlooking the strange creations.

He leaned back toward Clark. "Do you know what the heck this is?" he asked, nodding toward the mass of snowpeople.

"Yeah. It's the Garden Society's snowman building contest," Clark muttered. "I hate it."

"Dare I ask why?"

Clark shrugged. "My mother was never allowed to join the Society. Something about Nell and my dad and besides, I just think it's stupid."

Lex tsk'd loudly. "For shame. I had no idea Nell ran exclusive clubs. " He gunned the engine meaningfully. "I'm afraid this is war."

Clark tightened his grip around Lex's waist. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"You'll see," said Lex. He cleared his throat. "Therefore, you men of Harfleu," he intoned loudly, addressing the snowmen and channeling what sounded to be Kenneth Branagh as Henry V. "Take pity of your town and of your people!"

"Lex ..."

"Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command. Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace o'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds of heady murder, spoil and villainy!"

"Lex ..."

"What say you? Will you yield and this avoid, or, guilty in defense, be thus DESTROYED?!" He turned to Clark. "No answer. Oh well."

"No ... wait ... Lex!" Clark cried, but it was too late.

They were off and headed straight toward the front lines of a hopeless battle. Hopeless for the snowmen who exploded into huge white puffs as Lex ran them down, one after the other. Coal button eyes flew in every direction and straw hats were flung asunder as shreds of bright, striped scarfs scattered over the snow.

Clark ducked against the assault, hearing Lex's triumphant laughter over the engine's roar. Spinning, smacking, icy chaos followed and before he could wipe the snow away from his face, they were making their escape down the path to Lex's mansion. He dared to glance back and was forced to shut his eyes against the carnage they'd left behind.

Oh, the snowmanity. "Damnit Lex, " Clark whined as they made their way toward Luthor's ancient Scottish castle.

"O God, thy arm was here ..." Lex intoned solemnly as they drove onward.

"You're a moron, you know that?"

"But in plain shock and even play of battle, was ever known so great and little loss on one part and on the other?"

"Such a total moron."

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In Lex's castle Clark ruffled wet frost from his hair, succeeding in only making matters worse. Icy droplets rolled down his neck and he grimaced when Lex tossed a towel at him. "Do you have any idea how much trouble we're in?"

Lex's eyes widened innocently. "It was an act of self-defense." He opened a bottle of mineral water and took a breathless chug. "And you'll never convince me otherwise."

"We are dead," Clark moaned. He threw himself onto an overstuffed leather sofa. "So dead."

"Relax, Clark. Last time I looked, mass snowman slaughter garnered a maximum of five years." Lex plopped down beside him. "Now," he said, splaying his hands toward the roaring fireplace. "Do you like one stick or two?"

"Stick?" Clark grumbled. "Are we beating old ladies with sticks next?"

Lex shook his head. "No, no ... never on a Saturday. I'm talking about your cocoa. Would you like one cinnamon stick or two?"

"Does it make a difference?" Clark's experiences with cocoa were limited to foil bags, brown powder and rock-hard pebbly marshmallows.

"A world," replied Lex, as he leaned forward and tapped at one of the many tabletop intercoms placed throughout the room. "Tristan? Please bring in a pot of cocoa, with the usual sides." He sat back with a contented sigh. "After this, we can go ice skating if you'd like. I have extra skates and a frozen lake. Convenient, huh?"

Clark felt the color drain from his face when he remembered exactly what, or more precisely, who, was still stuck in that lake -- Sean, the Killer Popsicle Boy. "Um ... that's okay, Lex. I think I've had my winter fun for the day. I'm ... not much of a skater anyway," he lied, trying to postpone all future invitations indefinitely.

Lex raised a curious eyebrow at him but said nothing. Tristan the servant slid silently into the room and placed a large tray on the table and just as unobtrusively disappeared out the door.

"Ah ... now's here's something you won't get anywhere else. Not in Smallville at any rate." Lex poured a steaming stream of brown liquid into a stoneware mug. "Real hot chocolate. None of that crap they try to pawn off on you in the Beanery." He picked up a clear decanter, poured some of its contents into the cup and added two cinnamon sticks with a flourish. "There. Now try that."

Clark accepted the mug and sniffed at it tentatively. "What's the other stuff?" he asked, nodding toward the clear decanter. "Truth serum?"

Lex pondered for a long moment. Tilted his head to one side, hesitated, then ... "Yes. That's exactly what it is," he replied cheerfully. "Now hurry up and drink it. I have a meeting with the CIA at four."

"Don't forget to tell them you assassinated two dozen works of art."

"That was art? On the contrary, I like to think of it as scoring a victory for good taste." Lex waved his hand. "Drink it, before it gets cold. It's no good then."

"Okay, but I'm not responsible for what you'll hear afterwards." Clark took a sip and blinked in surprise, as the smooth, rich chocolate slipped down his throat, warming him straight to his toes. Slight hints of cinnamon, as well as something hot and tangy and Clark gaped at Lex in shock. "This is wonderful!"

"Of course," Lex smirked. "As for the clear stuff, have you guessed what it is yet?"

"Nope. But I'll take some more of it." Clark took a huge gulp and smacked his lips appreciatively. He felt pleasantly lightheaded and wondered vaguely if Lex hadn't been kidding about the drink's drug-like effect. "Plenty more."

"Slow down, big boy." Lex tugged the mug out of Clark's resisting fingers. "I'm not allowed to get you drunk. Not yet, anyway."

"Drunk?"

"That's one hundred proof rum in there. Just a shot, but I see you're not used to even that much."

"Oh." Slowly, Clark's limbs grew heavy as the fire burned before them for the better part of half an hour. Sighing happily, he felt like he was sinking into a gentle sea of warmth and comfort; he'd never felt so relaxed.

"Okay," he said, after another little while had passed. "Is this the part when I tell you the truth?"

"If you want to, but you can lie if you'd like." Lex poured more chocolate and a touch of rum before handing Clark back the mug. "Whichever sounds better."

Clark lifted his cup in a toast. "You're a great guy, Lex Luthor. I can honestly say that my life before you was pretty dull and uninspiring." He took another long drink. "Now, I want to kick the ass of every snowman I see."

Lex stared into the fire, his own mug resting in his lap. "Wow," he said drily. "I think I may cry."

"There's more." Everything in the room was so pleasantly hazy and Clark smiled tipsily before leaning his head on Lex's shoulder. Felt Lex stiffen beneath his touch, and bit back a chuckle. "I also keep wishing I'd gone with you to that Radiohead concert. I think we would have had a good time, like we always do. Don't you agree?" He could feel Lex's throat working as he swallowed and snuggled closer, threading his arm through the thin one beside him. "Next time, promise me we'll go together instead."

"Okay. Fine. You got it." Lex's voice was an anemic croak.

"And promise you'll stop trying to fix me up with Lana."

Lex's fingers fumbled for Clark's. "Why?"

"Because you've successfully shown me she's only interesting from a distance. A telescopic distance. So no more Yenta the Matchmaker, okay?" Clark entwined the trembling fingers tightly within his own. "And if you like me, then please come out and just say so. I'm getting a little tired of the jokes."

"You don't like my jokes?" Lex tried to sound wounded and failed. Instead, he sounded like a drowning man gurgling at the bottom of a melted pond. He took a shaky breath. "Clark, how drunk are you?"

"Not drunk. Just happy." Clark closed his eyes and listened to Lex's heart tripping wildly in his chest. Felt the heat from the fire on his skin and wondered if Lex really had to go anywhere at four. He could sit there forever, come what may. Smiled when Lex's head tentatively dropped to rest atop his.

"This is such a bad idea," Lex sighed, almost as if he believed it.

"Because?" Clark asked, knowing that Lex was lying and not really caring. The truth was such a subjective thing ... why spoil perfect moments with it?

The fingers tightened, almost painfully, around his. He felt Lex's whispers, soft against his cheek. "Because I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper ... "

More Shakespeare, but Clark was ready this time. "Yeah, I think I can," he replied, before he tilted his head up and kissed Lex with all the passion that snow, poets, rum and love could inspire. He drew back, grinning at the fire reflected in Lex's eyes, no doubt inspired by the flame burning so brightly within his own. "I definitely think I can."

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end

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