little lost hetsmut

[buggery]

not quite finished yet, as I reached my "eep! must get offline NOW" point, too. sorry, erica -- will get back to it asap, which unfortunately will still be at minimum 4 hours from now. edit: still not finished. sigh. mulling "Ruby-Throated" for a title.



"Oh... are you still here?"

Louise looked up, startled. Lex was in the doorway to Lionel's home office, leaning casually against the jamb. His posture was casual, but the look he gave her was anything but. He pursed his lips to hide a smirk as she grew more flustered, apparently sensing an ulteriour motive in his presence. Only to be expected -- one didn't get to be Lionel Luthor's executive assistant without being uncommonly perceptive.

Or, from what Lex had been able to tell, a striking redhead. True to type, Louise Chartier was compelling and intelligent. Principled, too, to judge by some of his father's comments over infrequent family dinners. Lex was about to test that theory.

"Lex," she acknowledged, resettling her composure. "Yes, just making sure all the arrangements for your father's trip are in order."

He lifted one eyebrow. "That's cutting it a little close, isn't it? In fact," he paused to consult his watch, "didn't Dad's plane take off over an hour ago?"

"Yes," she agreed, calm settling back around her as natural as the fall of hair around her shoulders. "But he wanted a few last-minute changes made to his itinerary, so I'm coordinating things from here with the Tokyo offices."

"I'm surprised he didn't take you with him," Lex said, pushing upright from the doorframe and strolling into the room. He wandered, as if idly, over to the side table that held crystal tumblers and decanters, their facets winking as his shadow occluded the light from the desk lamp. Pouring himself two fingers of scotch, he half-turned and asked, over his shoulder, "Can I get you anything?"

She cleared her throat softly, a mannerism picked up consciously or unconsciously from his father; his back safely to her, Lex let the smirk spread wide on his face.

"Should you be drinking that, Lex?" she asked. Predictable, and thus fitting neatly into his strategy.

"You're my father's assistant, Ms. Chartier, not my nanny." He leant back against the sideboard, sipped his drink, then offered her a smile. "Would you like a drink, or not?" The smile stayed to soften his words.

She sighed like a woman who'd put in an eleven-hour day of dealing with the details of running a multinational corporation that, while at the executive level, were too mundane for the executive himself to deal with. "Brandy, please, Lex," she said, tipping closed the folder before her and folding her hands together over it.

He found a snifter in the cabinet and poured her a measure, then carried both over to the desk. Canting his hip up to rest against the polished mahogany, he reached her drink over the desk to her. Lifting the snifter to her lips, the liquid in it swirling darker and richer than Lex's own single-malt, Louise started with a sip, but with another sigh extended it to a slow swallow.

"Long day?" he asked, when the glass came away from her mouth, the barest film of alcohol clinging to its inside surface, the imprint of her lip to the outer.

The laugh came quickly, maybe reflexively, a soft, womanly gust of breath. "Always. Long, longer or longest."

He sipped again at his scotch, holding her gaze over the tumbler's rim. "Keeping up with my father is a challenge for anyone. I hope he doesn't keep his appreciatiation for your work to himself."

Glass halfway back to her lips, she stopped, attention flitting back to him hummingbird-fast. A hummingbird, yes, that's what she reminded him of: fine-boned, thrumming with barely-contained energy, with a shamelessly capitulated-to sweet tooth and hair so gem-bright and glossy it appeared almost iridescent. There's a neat mound of empty sugar packets beside her hours-empty coffee mug, and stashes of candy in her purse and the desk's bottom drawer. Right now, he felt a little like he's been caught watching one of the hummingbird feeders in the garden at the country house, the small dark eyes measuring him, deciding whether he's a predator or not.

She lowered the snifter to rest on the blotter. "I'm generously compensated for the work I do for your father, Lex," she said. Her voice was even, almost businesslike. He didn't let the eye contact falter, smiling faintly and willing his amusement to show in his own eyes.

"I have access to generous amounts of spending money. That doesn't necessarily mean I feel appreciated." Now he glanced down, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with an idle movement of his wrist. "My father's largesse is legendary, but rumours that he's verbally demonstrative have never been confirmed." Lex cut his gaze back up just in time to catch her smile -- not a laugh, this time, but a genuine grin, white teeth revealed, revealing that she shared his mirth. He chuckled softly, as she'd done earlier.

Another sip of scotch, and he slid smoothly upright, away from the desk's edge, turning to seat himself in one of the leather chairs facing hers. Louise retrieved her drink while he moved, and was swirling a mouthful, savouring, when he returned his attention to her, relaxed against the cold upholstery. He raised his own tumbler, sipped again, rolling the buttersweet peatiness meditatively over his tongue. A swallow covered his small smile at the way she took another drink with barely a pause.

"Louise," he said, voice low, letting the vowels flow through his mouth like liquor. "Let me get someone to take you home."

She was startled; she didn't jump, but her eyes snapped to his again, bright, incisive, and she'd had a bit more to drink than perhaps she ought on an empty stomach, but it hadn't dulled her gaze at all.

"That won't be necessary, Lex." It was as much a groan when she sighed this time, and he could see how tired she was in the line of her shoulders. "I still have a few details to arrange before I can go, anyway."

"Take a break, then," he said, and when she opened her mouth to protest, added, "I insist." Rising, he began collecting the documents spread across her desk, careful not to disturb their organisation as he set them aside. "You haven't even eaten dinner, have you?"

"No, of course not," she answered, voice roughened, showing her weariness as much as the sudden slump of her spine now that she'd given in to the temptation to rest awhile. She hadn't admitted as much aloud, but her posture gave her away. "I was going to pick something up on my way home."

"I'll see what the kitchen can send up," he said, nodding. The paperwork stacked neatly along one edge of the desk, Lex hefted a paperweight and, with a significant look, set it atop the pile. "Can I refill your drink?"

She considered her glass, tilting it in her hand, then took a small sip and replied, "No. No more for me until after I've eaten."

His smile came easily, and he let it. "I'll be right back, then," he told her. She was smiling tiredly in return when he turned to leave the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the hall, he paused a moment, smoothing slightly sweat-dampened palms down his thighs, then checking the drape of his sweater in a mirror as he continued towards the dining suite. One hand skimmed up over the stark curve of his skull, and he scowled briefly at his reflection. He was finally growing into the look, at least; now he looked like a skinhead punk instead of the victim of some childhood cancer. A door closed with a muffled thump, downstairs, reminding him what he was supposed to be doing.

Claire was fussing over the single place setting in the informal dining room when he entered. She was less than happy when he told her he wouldn't be coming down to eat, but her expression went deliberately blank once he told her he wanted two meals sent up to the office.

Back upstairs, Louise was leant back in her ergonomic chair, eyes closed, but she lifted her head once he came far enough into the room for her to hear. Reclaiming his chair, he reached for the scotch on the desk, then let his hand drop into his lap. "You're right," he said with a smirk, "drinking any more before dinner's probably unwise."

She just nodded, watching him through half-lidded eyes. The energy he was used to sensing in her was still present, just idled down, like one of Lex's cars in neutral. "I hope you like pheasant," he added.

Now her eyes were fully open again. "Pheasant? Is tonight some special occasion I'm unaware of?"

"It's consolation for my father going away during the few weeks I'm here this summer," he said, watching her watch him, dark gaze appraising. "Or celebration of the same, depending on your perspective."

Louise chuckled quietly. "I'll celebrate not being at the beginning of a 16-hour plane ride, myself," she said, voice warm with amusement. He smiled with her, fingers circling idly over the arm of his chair.

There was a discreet cough from the doorway, and at Lex's lazy wave, Francis came in with two spinach salads. "Will you be wanting wine with your meal, Mr Luthor?" he asked, after setting the desk with linens and silver and laying a faintly-steaming plate of dressed greens before each of them.

Lex paused, as if considering. "What do we have chilled for it, Francis?"

"A Chateauneuf du Pape blanc, 1994, sir."

A glance at Louise, and her expression had gone unreadable enough to do a Luthor credit. Resisting the urge to wink, he simply nodded and waved Francis back out with a murmur of thanks.

Alone again, they ate their salads in silence, both wanting to enjoy them before the spinach leaves became too cool or wilted. Their eyes kept meeting across the desk, though, lashes and brows gesturing in more subtle conversation.

Finishing first, Lex went back to the sideboard to find them a couple of flutes and some bottled water. There was only his father's brand; he made a face, but his back was to Louise. Rolling his eyes at himself, Lex straightened and returned to the desk. Setting the tall glasses down, he poured for her first, then filled his own glass. The water hissed faintly, not quite as flat as most uncarbonated bottled waters, thanks to the true spring it was bottled at.

Louise raised her glass as he finished pouring. "A sober toast?" she asked.

He lifted an eyebrow, then his own glass. "Be my guest."

"To summer," she said, and he really shouldn't have forgotten that a woman who could work so closely with Lionel Luthor would have to be adept at saying many things with one simple phrase.

"To summer," he echoed, ringing the rim of his glass against hers, the peal softly musical, like a third voice. They were both just taking the first taste when Francis returned, Claire sweeping ahead to clear their salad plates while he uncorked the wine, produced a pair of perfectly curved wineglasses, presented the bottle, and poured.

Claire, meanwhile, had bustled back in with two covered plates, which she slid smoothly onto the desktop. If it struck Louise as surreal to be served an elegant meal at the desk where she habitually worked, her demeanour revealed nothing save perhaps an extra sparkle in her eye as she glanced at Lex over the rim of her wineglass. Then the covers were taken off. Francis bussed the accoutrements away; Claire lingered just long enough to be assured they had no immediate complaints about the food.

This time the door was closed behind her as she left. Lex speared another mouthful of perfectly steamed asparagus tips, giving himself a moment to enjoy them before returning his focus to Louise.

"How is it?" he asked. He took a sip of his wine; it suited the meal nearly as well as the occasion.

"Excellent, of course," she answered. They each carved a few more bites of the half-pheasant before them, ate a few more bites of vegetables, swallowed a few more draughts of wine. Their previous silent conversation continued, until they were both smiling around their food. Finally Louise pushed her plate gently to the side. The laugh lines around her eyes were heightened by her current good spirits; yet the effect was to make her appear younger, not older. "Lex," she said, voice relaxed but no longer soinding tired. "Why did you do this?"

He set down his own fork, straightened in his seat. "What? Share my dinner with you? Save you from falling asleep with your head on the desk from working too hard?" He turned his watch around his wrist, glanced at the face.

"It'll be another twelve hours before Dad's plane lands; that still gives you plenty of time to wrap up what you need to." Pausing for another sip of wine, he smoothed his expression to neutral. "In fact, you could go home now, get a good eight hours' sleep, and still be back tomorrow in time to take care of it."

Condensation had beaded the convex surface of his wineglass, and he drew a fingertip up the curve, wetting it. Once, twice around the rim, and the glass sang faintly, like an echo of their earlier toast. Then he caught her gaze with his; he'd practised this intense look, but he had nothing on the way her glinting dark eyes pinned him. His lips parted around an intake of breath, and she let her smile etch a little deeper into the contours of her face.

"I could," she said, and made a show of considering it. She leaned back, letting her chair turn on its swivel, raising her wine for a long, savouring taste. "No," she said after a long moment, "I think I'll stay until everything I want to do is out of the way."

Lex's throat closed on nothing; he chased it with wine. "Louise," he began, leaning forward.

She turned back to face him straight on, setting her glass aside to rest both palms flat on her desk. "Lex." Her gaze pierced him, intelligence and intent burning in the depths of her eyes. "I know what you think you're doing." She didn't allow even the briefest of extra pauses for him to process that, rolled right into the next sentence. "Why are you doing it?"

Fortunately there were several easy and true answers readily to hand. "Because you're beautiful," he said, starting with the simplest and most obvious.

"Lex. I'm old enough to be your mother."

That he'd been prepared for, so the hurt was something he could push aside, the *not my mother* was just something he could say rather than anything he needed to, the response he'd decided on something that could come to his lips with almost natural ease. "You don't strike me as the kind of woman who would've been naive enough to have unprotected sex at my age."

She laughed at that, a low, warm sound that was all in her throat. "And you don't strike me as the kind of boy who makes passes at every woman he finds attractive."

*I'm not a boy* was discarded before his lip so much as twitched, well before Louise even stopped speaking. Time for reason number two. "Not every beautiful woman I meet appreciates what it's like to be undervalued." Rising smoothly to his feet, he bent forward over the desk to place his glass beside Louise's, and his hand between hers. "You've let your life get too busy for you to take care of yourself, Louise," he said, and stroked down the back of her hand with one fingertip, as if it curved like a perfectly blown wineglass. "Let me take care of you for one night."

She stood, and he took her hand in his, raising it to his lips. He kissed the back, once, not nearly chaste yet close to courtly, turned it over, and traced the bones and veins of her wrist with his tongue. "Lex," she breathed, close enough that he felt brief heat over his scalp; his eyes darted to hers, then he leaned further in, closer, closer.

"Don't tell me no," he whispered into her mouth, and followed the words with a sweep of his lower lip along the part of hers. Her lips clasped around his, sucked it gently between; he tilted his head just enough, and teased her lips back open with a flick of his tongue. She opened to him, warm and wet, tasting of wine and parsnips and chervil. When her hand closed over his collarbone he leaned into that, too, until the steady pressure lasted long enough for him to realise she wanted him to pull back.

His breath coming hotly in short, rapid gusts over his lips, he licked his own mouth, tasting her along with their meal. Their eyes held a long moment, then she rubbed her thumb slowly, deliberately up the course of his carotid artery. "Come here," she said.

There was an instant in which he could think only of climbing over the obstacle course of wineglasses and merger proposals and the split and picked-over carcass of the pheasant. It passed, and he rounded the desk, never dropping his hold on her hand, drawing her to meet him by their fingers' clasp.



thanks to pearl_o for the concept and push- er, enabling; to Jess dammitcarl for saving the story from oblivion when AIM laid down Murphy's law on me; and to them, Val grrleloquence, slodwick, isilya, Caro linabean, and jcalanthe for audiencing me through this far.

Comments

[jcalanthe]

squeeee! Damn, I left too soon - after all that buildup, finally the good stuff. ;) Wake up and write more please!

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Yay!

[jmtorres.livejournal.com]

You're evil. Evil. "Father doesn't appreciate us, so let's have sex with each other instead." It's all about the Lexonel with you, even when it's het and Lionel's in another country.

*cackles at Lex considering climbing over dinner*

Bweee.