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cover by Slodwick

Lex was an Indian Giver.

Clark hadn't thought of that old slur in years. Hadn't used it or heard it since he was eight. He remembered Pete screaming it after him as he raced down the Ross's driveway clutching the Transformer robot he'd given Pete for his birthday. He couldn't even remember now what had prompted him to take it back. Just remembered Pete's angry voice yelling after him, "Indian Giver!"

Yes. Lex was an Indian Giver. Clark looked down into the box he was packing. Gifts from Lex, given over four years of friendship and one year of what Clark thought had been love. But now he guessed not. Embarrassing to be so wrong.

Lex was on his way to collect these things. Unbelievable that Lex could be so petty, it wasn't like he needed any of this stuff. He didn't even like Nick Drake or Hootie and the Blowfish. Hell, Clark couldn't even remember why he liked Hootie and the Blowfish.

Still, Lex was taking it all back. Every scrap that Clark had so lovingly collected over the years. Each bit of hope and passion and everything that he thought meant something.

Lex was going to take it all back.

Clark was just going to let him. Clark was packing it up for him. Clark wasn't fighting it. Clark was resigned and tired and broken hearted.

Lex could have this shit. Clark didn't need it. Because he didn't really need anything did he? Not even food or water. All he needed was the light from the sun and, in the place he was now, he wasn't even sure he needed that. Wasn't sure he wanted that.

He'd never been this low, this numb. Never been so tired that he didn't fight back. And maybe Lex would have stayed if he'd fought harder, if he hadn't just looked at him. If he hadn't let Lex disassemble him, take him apart piece by last loving piece.

But he didn't know how to do that. Lex always had the upper hand. Clark had always been just...Clark. And a whole lot of something else.

Lex was chickening out. Chickened out. Past tense. Because it was over and done with. No reason to pretend that there could be a change of mind. Lex had decided for them both. New place, new city, time to move on, new lover. New home. New new new. Chicken. Too afraid to really take the chance on someone. Not just someone. Too afraid to take a chance with him.

He heard the soft footsteps on the loft stairs. Looked into the box and it was all there. Five years in a fucking box. Too bad the box didn't hold the memories too because it sure as hell would be good to get rid of those. But fuck if he could figure out how to make the intangible fit into such a small space.

He'd tried once before. He'd attempted to put his love into writing and had failed miserably. Words didn't hold it, boxes wouldn't hold it. Lex wouldn't hold it. Lex gave it right back.

Indian Giver. Lex had given him love and then turned around and taken it away. "Oops, didn't mean to love you. I'm sincerely sorry, Clark. But I'm a chicken. A wimp. A pussy. Whatever you need to call me...just let me go." Of course Lex hadn't said those exact things. He'd said a bunch of other stuff that was wrapped in the shiny cellophane of history and mythology. Clark hated mythology. Shitty the way the Roman and Greek Gods seemed to play a role in the destruction of his heart.

Clark didn't really know how long Lex had been standing behind him as he stared into the box. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been five seconds. But no one was speaking and Clark wasn't turning. But he supposed that he should.

"Everything that I still have is here."

Shocked that his voice could still be so steady when he was dead. Shouldn't dead people sound more ephemeral? More distant, wavering and lost?

Turned around and Lex was there looking at him. Just looking. Not talking or moving or twitching or smiling or...anything like it used to be.

"Take it. Go." Clark shoved the box at him. It was smaller than he wanted, because it was just wrong that five years could be so small.

Lex took the box in his hands, looked into the still open top. "Where's the StarWars DVD set?"

"At your place, I left it there the last time we watched it." Couldn't think about that now. Couldn't think about the gentle, sweet sex on the carpet. Shouldn't think about Lex whispering his love.

"Okay." Lex stared into the box. He wasn't leaving. God, Clark needed him to leave. Lex had to leave before Clark lost his shit and begged him not to do this...again.

"Please leave."

Lex didn't move. "Clark, I think I was hasty."

Punch in the gut and Lex was wrenching him in half.

"Lex, I can't fucking do this. You can't fucking do this to me."

"I was wrong. I don't want this stuff." Lex nodded into the box, indicating the CDs, the small personal gifts, the DVDs and handwritten notes.

"Then leave it. Leave it and just get out." Clark was on a wire, panic and hope warring in his heart. "Get the fuck out."

Couldn't risk it. He was already dead and waking from this numbness to face the potential pain of being killed again? Too much. Too much to ask.

"I don't want to get out." Lex dropped the box. It thudded hard on the planks. Clark took a step back even as Lex closed the distance. "I want you."

"Yeah, well, you had me and then you gave me back."

Lex's face quirked, almost smiled. "I gave you back?"

Something like that. "Yes."

"What about me? Did you give me back?"

"You gave and then you took away. I didn't have any say in the matter. I still don't." And that is when he snapped. "Get the fuck out. Now, Lex. Now."

He found his hands gripped in Lex's shirt, shaking him a little harder than he should. Fucking chicken. Fucking Indian Giver.

"I loved you and you...Just...get the fuck out!"

Mouth on his and he was angry, didn't want this, couldn't stop this and he was on the floor on top of Lex and it was not over. Not over. Most emphatically not over.

Clark could hear the muffled apologies over the grunts, the begging for forgiveness, the pleading to be taken back and for once he was in control. He could turn it down.

Their pants were at their ankles, he had his fingers inside and he said, "No. No, I don't forgive you."

And Lex folded under him, closed around him, begged more and harder and please, please, please. Clark could make out whimpers of "I was wrong" and "I'm sorry" and "I need you" and "Come with me".

He had his cock poised, pushing it in he said, "No. I'll never go with you. You aren't forgiven."

It was hot and slick. So right, so good. He pushed his way home and the body clutching him, the ass clenching around him awakened his dead heart. But...no. No more pain.

He thrust hard, fast, and cruel. Because Lex might do it again. Lex might take it all back. And Clark was going to be the one this time. He would give until it fucking broke Lex and then take it all back, every last scrap of himself.

He felt Lex writhing beneath him on the dirty floor, heard the rough slide of skin on wood planks and fuck the splinters and the pain. Lex's arms around him, clinging to him. Lex's voice sandpaper on his ear, begging without ceasing until the sounds collapsed into the wordless noises of painful pleasure.

He heard the cries, felt the clenching heat, smelled the spunk as it hit the air and he wanted to taste it...but too hard to take that intimacy back. Clark fucked him hard enough to hurt and felt Lex taking it, molding beneath him. This, this he could take back too.

He slammed against Lex, and sudden orgasm broke harsh and hard. He panted, strained and trembled in it's wake. His come the one bit of himself that he would allow Lex to take with him.

He found blue eyes, fear-filled, shot through with need and despair.

"Clark..."

His voice broken, proving that Lex knew that was all he was going to get. Because Clark wasn't giving any more tonight. Wasn't giving any more, ever.

"Clark, I'm yours." Lex promised, sincerity shining in his eyes.

But Clark ignored the fresh pain that smothered him, pulled out and rolled away.

He didn't accept Lex's gift, would never accept it.

Because he knew that Lex was an Indian Giver.