Disclaimer - DC and WB own them. Ha!

Future fic, Clex. This is really quite appalling schmoopy. I make no excuses.

Feedback would be luuuurvely. Nel rocks.

*

It's the first time Lex has held his hand in public.

Their relationship has never been about the public displays of affection, and though it's frustrating, Clark understands why. It shouldn't have to be that way but it is, and in any case Clark is more than happy with the affection they show each other in the penthouse, and occasionally - when they're alone - in his dorm room.

He doesn't need the public displays of affection, doesn't need the world to know that he's Lex's and Lex is his. It'd just be an added bonus, like waking up in the middle of the night sometimes to find Lex watching Twilight Zone re-runs, or discovering that Lex can't stand sushi but eats it anyway.

Despite the occasional rumour, as far as Metropolis is concerned they're best friends. Lex and Clark. The billionaire and the farm kid who saved his life. Sometimes, when Clark watches Lex sleep, he thinks it may be the other way round.

Clark doesn't live with Lex, not technically, but he's been spending so much time there lately that Chloe teases he might as well. There's a toothbrush next to Lex's, shampoo in the shower, and several shirts in the closet Lex wouldn't be seen dead in (or so he claims, only one day Clark had arrived early to find Lex sitting on the couch, working on his laptop, wearing nothing except one of Clark's shirts. Clark had fucked him right then and there).

So they're out shopping for food when it happens. Clark is reminding him that they're out of milk - Lex always forgets something, a lifetime of having his food delivered directly to his kitchen - and reaches for the door of one of the six fridge's that line the wall, when...

Lex touches his hand.

Says, "I can get it," and then proceeds to, moving his hand away so he can open the fridge with one and pull out the milk with the other. But afterwards, when he's placed the milk in the basket Clark has hanging over his elbow, Lex moves his hand back.

Threads his fingers with Clark's.

Squeezes.

Clark can't even find it in him to break the news that it's not the half-fat milk they usually have.

This is just like Lex. He doesn't discuss the decisions he comes to about some things; he acts on them instead. It's something they've argued about more than once - Clark's parents have always taught him that 'a good relationship is about communication' - but here, now, could well be the most perfect moment of his life. They are communicating, even if it's without words, and Clark realises everything Lex is willing to sacrifice for these kind of moments.

"You don't have to-" Clark starts, then stops, because Lex wouldn't have made the movement at all if he hadn't already studied every angle, every way it could be viewed. "I love you," is what comes out next, though it doesn't seem right, words never quite expressing enough about what they are.

Smirking, Lex turns away, tugging Clark down an adjacent isle. "What do you say to pasta tonight, Clark?"

"That depends," Clark finds the words easily, because he's still Clark and this is still Lex, "are you planning on cooking it yourself? Because if you are I'd say 'Run! Run away!' to the pasta."

So, yeah. He really is still Clark Kent, and he's still a huge dork. But Lex is holding his hand, and they're going to have pasta for dinner, and later they're going to argue over what to watch on TV before giving up and rutting on the sofa.

Clark pulls some pasta off the shelf. Throws it into the basket. And, still holding onto his boyfriend's hand, walks into the next aisle.

~FINIS

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