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tigriswolf
Title: Hope is the Thing with Feathers
Fandom: "Smallville"
Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.
Warnings: AU for season four’s “Transference”; pedophilia—don’t know what that is, don’t read this; non-con; spousal abuse; character death
Pairings: slash NotClark(Lionel Luthor)/Jason; Jason/Lana
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1468
Point of View: third
Notes: Was I the only one to wonder, upon first viewing of this episode, what would happen if Lionel-in-Clark’s-body decided he wanted Jason as his own? Just me, then? Okay, well, I’ve always been twisted.
Hope isn’t something he’s ever claimed to have in abundance, but his supply is all used up.
-----
He can remember the first time he met Lionel Luthor, at age seven. It was a social function, the kind his father detested, the kind his mother always dragged him to.
“Jason, darling,” she’d say, “you want to make me proud, don’t you? You’re such a beautiful boy—I just want to show you off.”
And she’d smile at him, kiss his cheek, and he’d sit through the entire adult’s party, just barely standing all the looks from both men and women that he didn’t fully understand but felt were wrong.
Sometimes his mother would leave him unattended for too long and a man or woman—usually a man—would take his hand, gently lead him away.
That time, the last before his eighth birthday, it was Lionel Luthor. “You know,” he’d begun, kneeling next to Jason, “I have a son about your age. He’d be bored silly by now, bouncing off the walls.” He smiled at Jason and continued, “I bet your parents are proud of you for being so well behaved.”
Later, Jason knew exactly what the feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling he felt every time an adult took him away, was. Later, he knew how completely wrong the majority of these parties were.
Later, too fucking late, he knew his mother had known.
Lionel leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I know where there’s a fun room, just waiting for you. Want me to take you?” He pulled back and grinned engagingly.
Jason thought for a moment, then smiled. “Sure,” he said, jumping to his feet. He hadn’t yet learned that all the ‘games’ the grown-ups played with him were evil and wrong and sick.
Lionel, at least, gave him some pleasure instead of just sating himself
----
He can remember the first time he met Clark Kent.
He’d heard about the Clark, of course: Lana hadn’t been able to shut up about him, kept ranting about the secretive farm boy, kept saying Clark did this or Clark liked that or even, Clark would never have done this.
When they first met, Jason didn’t know she was only seventeen. He himself had just turned twenty.
It was their third date before their ages came up, and all the childhood fucks had damaged his social knowledge.
Lana was beautiful and Lana was kind and Lana was an easy fuck. By their fifth date he had her top off and by the sixth he’d fucked her through the carpet.
“Clark would never have done that,” she gasped after and he kissed her forehead like one would a child.
So then she fled back to Smallville and he’d become bored with Paris anyway, so he followed, did the whole romantic thing, dodged calls from his mother, and used connections he pretended he no longer had to get a job at Smallville High.
Despite all the hatred he felt for his mother, he never denied her was her son, down to the core.
Jason informed Lana he was now a coach at her school, began kissing her, and quickly they separated as someone walked in.
The someone turned out to be the Clark Kent he’d heard so much about. Jason quickly studied the farm boy covertly: certainly attractive, certainly large—and certainly something off. Lana had mentioned secrets and lies; one raised as Jason was learned very swiftly how to tell when things were being held back.
He decided then that though it was Lana who brought him to Smallville it would Clark who kept him there.
----
Lex Luthor was very much like his father, though a much better fuck.
Sometimes over course of the years, Jason wonders if Lex knew of his father’s penchant for little boys. If he ever suffered because of it.
“Don’t hurt Lana,” Lex hissed into his ear as they undressed each other, and Jason laughed.
“What is it you think we’re doing?”
----
Jason ponders often now. Not much else to do. Sometimes the Clark-who’s-not-Clark enters and talks with him. Sometimes fucks him. Sometimes beats him. Sometimes stares at him.
Some people say beauty is a gift. Jason knows it’s a curse.
“My god, you’re so beautiful,” NotClark says a lot. “What was God thinking, creating something like you?”
----
Jason remembers the first time he met NotClark. NotClark had stared at him like he’d never seen him before, swallowed Jason with his eyes. He’d said he was quitting the football team and shut the door in his face.
And later that night, as Jason left the Talon, NotClark grabbed him, threw him against the wall, and proceeded to brand Jason as his own.
“I remember now,” NotClark had purred into his ear as he tore off Jason’s pants. “You were such a beautiful little boy. Who knew perfection could be improved?”
“Lionel?” Jason asked, using long practice to distance himself from the pain being inflicted him.
Hot breath tickled his ear as NotClark—Lionel Luthor—whispered, “So glad you remember.”
----
He woke in a room he hasn’t left in what he’s been told is two years. He’s books and a computer; food is brought by the same woman everyday. He’s tried talking to her but she never responds; and he tried charging to escape, but was quickly overpowered. His room is connected to a bathroom with a toilet and shower.
NotClark has told him everyone he knew—Lana, Chloe, Jonathan, Martha, even Lex—is dead.
“And my parents?” he’d asked, only concerned about his father.
“You’ll get them soon,” NotClark—Jason knows he should call the bastard Lionel but can’t bring himself to—said, then began licking his ear.
Jason never refused, never fought. Maybe it made him a coward; maybe it made him twisted. But futile fighting has never interested him.
----
Sometimes NotClark would lie in the bed after and pull Jason to him, thread his fingers through Jason’s hair.
“How’d you kill Lana?” Jason asked one night(well, he assumed it was night, but had no way of telling).
“I incinerated her with this amazing heat vision Kent had,” NotClark replied.
Jason knew about Clark’s powers courtesy of NotClark, so he calmly processed that. “Cool.”
Maybe it spoke badly of him, but his morals flew out the window long ago.
----
After another two years, NotClark trusted him enough to let him out. Jason stood in the sun soaking up the warmth for over an hour.
“C’mon, Beautiful,” NotClark finally said, grabbing his hand. “It’s time you saw my empire.”
----
Jason knew that NotClark made many mistakes. The greatest was letting Jason in on Kent’s one weakness.
NotClark had decided one night for some unfathomable reason to see how many beers it took to get his alien body drunk. He had Jason sit with him to keep count. They got to five hundred and twelve before any affect showed at all. And it was another two hundred and twenty-five before NotClark began spilling secrets, including the green kryptonite he tortured out of Jonathan.
Jason filed that away, of course, and made no move for a long time.
NotClark was cautious, wary, arrogant, and cruel. Jason played the good little puppy, obedient and happy to serve.
It was ten years after NotClark had taken him that he finally fought back, and it was silent revolution.
----
NotClark laughed the night he died.
He’d asked Jason what he regretted most and when Jason replied, “Not telling my parents about the parties,” NotClark laughed.
“Your mother knew, Beautiful,” he chortled and Jason shook his head.
“No. Even she wasn’t that cruel.”
NotClark reached out and cupped Jason’s face. “Every time someone fucked you, m’boy, a sizable donation found its’ way into your mother’s savings account.”
Deep inside Jason something broke. He lunged forward, attacked NotClark, kissing and biting and punching, and NotClark laughed again, letting Jason finally be the dominant one.
Out of all the mistakes he made, that was the final one.
----
Jason found where NotClark had stashed NotLionel. “Your body’s dead,” he told him and felt only a smidge of pity as NotLionel wilted.
----
He’s never wanted much for himself. Now all he wants is vengeance. But his mother’s dead, and NotClark, too, and all his hopes dried up long ago.
His innocence died before he could remember, and his ability to love never really flowered. He never really had faith, but hope—he had that, once, a long, long time ago.
Now he rules the world, a consort without a king, and it’s cold comfort to know he’s ruling better than NotClark ever could.
----
Hope isn’t something he’s ever claimed to have in abundance, but his supply is all used up.
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Date: 2007-10-06 02:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-10-06 01:53 pm (UTC)