Supermanfic: Apotheosis (Part 1: Nadir) (Clark/Oliver)

[lady_bug_kay]

Title: Apotheosis (Part One: Nadir)
Author: ladybugkay
Fandom: DCU and Smallville
Pairing: Clark/Oliver
Rating: hard R (for sexual content and language)
Word Count: 2330
Summary: Clark is going to become Superman. In this part: after the season 6 finale, Clark is truly alone and ends up living in Metropolis, where he realizes he has feelings for Oliver. (Bad summary, I know.)
Disclaimer: DC and Gough & Millar and those types of people own these characters. I'm just entertaining myself.
A/N: The first sentence came to me in the shower and demanded I write it immediately. This part happened quite effortlessly, and I like it, but my muses have vanished on me for now, so I don't know when the next part will be finished.
A/N2: This fic was part of the "An Arrow to a Quiver" contest over at ollieville. It won the Moderator's Choice for Best Story. Go check out the community; it's awesome and very pretty.

Clark never expected that the next time he saw Oliver again he’d be in an alley in Metropolis, balls-deep in a tall man with spiky blonde hair, and turning his head to see the familiar green hood and shades.

 

In retrospect, he wishes he’d thought to be a little quieter when he came.

 

*          *          *

 

It had been a hell of a year since he’d last seen Oliver. So much had happened, the worst of it starting four months ago with Lionel telling him Lana had been killed. Lex had been convinced she’d faked her death, but once they’d confirmed the remains found in the car were Lana Lang’s, and Lex made bail, he had holed up with his attorneys and begun working feverishly on his defense. Clark honestly isn’t sure if he believes Lex’s claim of innocence, but at this point, it doesn’t really matter. Lex is more than capable of destroying any evidence that could link him to the explosion even if he didn’t have anything to do with it, and Clark knows Lex will never see the inside of a jail.

 

Not that Clark cares, anymore. He’d barely gotten past the first gut-punch of hearing Lana was dead when he’d had to fight that thing. That thing that stole his face and beat the living shit out of Clark for sixteen straight hours until he managed to defeat it using some combination of his father’s crystal, his new breath-freezing ability, and a semi-active volcano in Hawaii. It’s hard to say exactly what happened because he’s never known precisely what his father’s crystal is or how it works; it just seems to do the job when he needs it to. Clark tries not to think too hard about why; Kryptonian technology mystifies him.

 

And then…

 

Then when he came home, bleeding and in so much pain he could barely run in a straight line, he found Lois crying in the living room. It took him twenty minutes to calm her down enough so she could speak coherently.

 

And then he wished he hadn’t.

 

He didn’t want to know.

 

What the hell kind of meteor-fueled ability was good for one use only and all it did was kill you?

 

Clark had had to turn away, leave Lois grieving on the couch, and run far out into the fields, just so he wouldn’t say something he’d regret. Because too large a part of him wished Chloe had never done it, had left Lois as she was, and he wouldn’t let himself say that to Lois. Not when he knew she felt exactly the same way. But he couldn’t stay there and look at her, either.

 

He spent four hours in that field, and he doesn’t remember a second of it. He hadn’t cried, though. His best friend in the whole world was dead, and he didn’t cry.

 

Clark doesn’t know what that says about him.

 

So there had been two funerals in as many days, and Clark never wants to see another cemetery for as long as he lives. However long that is. Cassandra’s vision comes closer with every day that passes, and Clark doesn’t have that many more people left to lose.

 

Lately, he doesn’t really have anyone at all.

 

His mother had flown home for the funerals and stayed for a week, but that was as long as she could afford to be away from Washington, and Clark knew it. She told him she wanted to make sure he was okay before she even thought about going back, but there was no way to tell her that he wasn’t okay. So instead of begging her not to be one more person who left, he lied and told her what she wanted to hear. And she caught the next flight back to D.C.

 

Six weeks later, she’d talked him into selling the farm. Clark knew when she moved to Washington that she wouldn’t be coming back, and it was hard to feel any sort of loyalty to a farm with no one else on it in a town where no one he cared about still lived. Surprisingly, they found a buyer almost immediately, and in a shockingly brief amount of time, Clark had moved into a dingy apartment in one of the more affordable areas of Metropolis. His mother had invited him to move to Washington to stay with her, but there was too much change for Clark to process already, and when he told her he would be staying in Metropolis, he could hear the thinly-disguised relief in her voice.

 

He tried not to let it hurt that she was enjoying her new life so much, and he couldn’t blame her for being glad to be away from the neverending chaos, violence, and insanity that followed him everywhere he went.

 

And since the sale of the farm, Clark has lived in Metropolis.

 

*          *          *

 

When he still lived in Smallville, Metropolis had seemed like an exciting, interesting city where everything you could possibly think to want could be found. But since he moved here, Clark has come to realize it’s a vast, noisy, dirty city with too many people and not enough compassion.

 

He hates it.

 

The summer he spent here four years ago was different. He had wanted the anonymity, then. Craved the faceless crowds and endless opportunities for one-night stands and spur-of-the-moment bank robberies. Loved being able to have a reputation all over town without anyone really knowing anything about him at all.

 

But now, Metropolis just reminds him of how alone he is. It’s worse than being the geeky, awkward, fifteen-year-old loser who couldn’t walk past Lana Lang without falling to the ground in an embarrassing spill of books and papers. Because now he doesn’t even have Chloe and Pete. He doesn’t have anyone.

 

Clark has absolutely no one to talk to.

 

He and Lex haven’t been friends for far too long, and Lex doesn’t talk to anyone without his lawyers present these days, anyway. After the funeral, Lois left to spend time with her father and try to find her sister. Their goodbye had been as awkward as it could have been, and Chloe was in every silence and every word they didn’t say. He doesn’t know where Jimmy went. And with his mother in Washington, and Oliver, Bart, Victor, and A.C. off trying to stop Lex from taking over the world one meteor-freak soldier at a time, Clark doesn’t know how he could be more alone.

 

There are too many people he loves in graves, and he won’t turn into Lana and spend all his time talking to bones buried under six feet of dirt.

 

So he finds a job and starts looking into returning to college, and he learns to sleep with his pillow over his head to drown out the noises of thousands of people and the cries of the victims he doesn’t know how to save, anymore.

 

Metropolis was always Chloe’s city, anyway.

 

And Clark finds himself missing Oliver more and more. He wants someone to talk to, someone who knows at least some of his secrets, and with Chloe dead, his mother in another state, and Pete not speaking to him for the last three years, there aren’t too many options. Out of the few friends he still has, Clark expected it to be Bart he would want to see; someone who could take his mind off things and make him remember that life could be fun and his powers gifts rather than curses.

 

But Clark spends his first few weeks in Metropolis trying to remember that Oliver’s apartment is empty. And when he sees a poorly-made Green Arrow doll in the window of a tacky little souvenir shop he passes on his way to work, he is halfway to Oliver’s door before his brain catches up with his feet.

 

The first time he dreams about Oliver, Clark wakes up less surprised than he thinks he should be. For a farm-bred kid raised in the bible belt of Middle America, and who was in love with the same girl for over six years, he thinks he should feel a little conflicted. But he supposes that once you accept you’re an alien, sexual orientation just isn’t that big a deal.

 

Plus, he thinks it explains a lot about both his friendship with Lex and the shirt he wore to the Wild Coyote the first time he was exposed to red kryptonite. Sartorial choices and the fondling of phallic objects aside, Clark admits that if anyone could inspire lust in a hitherto straight man, it would be Oliver Queen.

 

There are far less attractive men he could have fallen for in this world.

 

Oliver is still running around putting a stop to Lex’s nefarious schemes, though, and Clark has no idea when he will see him again.

 

And he’s been celibate for a painfully long time.

 

So he starts going out. There have been a lot of changes to the club circuit in Metropolis since he was Kal and owned the city, and he hadn’t been looking for men at that time, anyway. But Clark keeps his ears open—and he can hear a long way—and after the third time he hears the name Obsidian, he has a destination. He digs through his closet, but when he pulls out the sixth red t-shirt, he concedes the need to go shopping for more appropriate attire.

 

When he leaves the apartment the first night, he doesn’t know how far he intends to take things or even if he’ll have the opportunity to make it necessary to know what his limits are. But he’s barely through the club door when the first person pulls him onto the dance floor, and it feels so good to be wanted, even as just a warm body, that Clark knows he won’t be saying no to anything. Not that night.

 

He doesn’t get home until almost four the next morning, and when he falls into bed still fully clothed and reeking of sex and alcohol, he has given and received his first blow job.

 

It gets easier after that.

 

Once he has a few concrete experiences to flesh out his thoughts of Oliver, his fantasies take a decidedly more detailed and realistically lascivious turn. Every night he dreams of Oliver; of long legs, tanned skin, and chiseled muscles; of the sweaty contortion and entanglement of bodies in ways that would give his father another heart attack if he were still alive.

 

Seventeen days after his first appearance in Obsidian, Clark decides it’s time to be a bit more discriminating. Looking around the club, he eliminates the brunettes and focuses his search on the men with blonde hair. It takes him a few minutes to find one with the right build, and he’s not as tall as Oliver, but he’ll do. Clark follows him home and learns for the first time what it’s like to fuck a man. When he comes, he manages to stop himself from saying more than the first syllable of Oliver’s name, but it’s a near thing.

 

The next night, he goes home with a different blonde, whose body is nothing like Oliver’s but who has his eyes, and Clark loses the last of his virginity.

 

He is still lonely, but now he has something to occupy the time when he isn’t working, and his dreams become increasingly vivid and explicit with the knowledge he’s acquiring.

 

He never spends the night, and he never invites anyone home with him.

 

And time passes.

 

*          *          *

 

The night he sees Oliver again, Clark finds the perfect guy almost immediately. He has hair the exact right shade and style, and a very similar body type, and from behind, he looks almost exactly like Oliver.

 

In fact, he looks so much like Oliver as Clark follows him out of the club that Clark can’t wait even to hail a cab. He pulls the guy into an alley two blocks away and turns him to face the wall, and then their pants are around their ankles and he’s pushing inside. He’s bracing himself with one hand on the wall next to the blonde head and it’s better than it’s ever been because it’s almost right and his hips are bucking and he’s shouting and he’s coming and he’s squeezing his eyes shut to keep from setting anything on fire.

 

And when he can think again and breathe in more than wheezing gasps, he opens his eyes and turns his head at the flash of green he sees to his left.

 

He’s looking at Green Arrow.

 

He’s looking at Green Arrow and he’s standing half-naked in an alley still pressed against the man he just fucked who looks exactly like Oliver Queen from behind.

 

Clark closes his eyes for a moment and opens them again, but he’s still there.

 

Shit.

 

Then the blonde guy who still has Clark’s cock in his ass says, “Shit, man. That was fucking hot. Who’s Oliver?”

 

And Clark closes his eyes again and rests his head on the arm he still has braced against the wall.

 

When he looks up, there is no sign of Green Arrow, and after Clark manages to get away from the Oliver look-alike, he runs.

 

He’s never been good at standing his ground in emotional confrontations, and he decides that since he’s ruined his last real friendship with the man he’s been dreaming about for months, he might as well start that training with Jor-El. Right now. There’s nothing left for him here, not now, and after a brief detour to leave a note on his mother’s nightstand, Clark bypasses the cave short-cut and runs to the Fortress, needing the bite of wind on his face.

 

It’s long past time he accepted both of his destinies: the one Jor-El has been holding over him like the sword of Damocles, and the one where he ends up alone.





Continued in Part Two: Genesis

-

Comments

[ladybugkay.livejournal.com]

Thank you. Clark brooded so much in this that it felt like he was threatening to turn into Batman, not Superman, but then he found sex. Hallelujah. And Oliver? He's confused. Very...confused.