FicWad

A sharp tug drives his breath out in a painful grunt and suddenly he's freefalling, his eyes closed and his arms and legs outstretched--like being drawn and quartered, except there's no pain, only cool, burning pressure against his chest, buoying him up. Wind whips past too fast for him to suck in even a single lungful of air, but somehow he doesn't need to breathe, doesn't need anything but his newfound freedom.

Echoes from the past, his father's voice raised over the thrum of the rotor and the thunder of blood pounding in his ears: "Open your eyes, Lex!"

Yeah? Well fuck you, Dad.

Lex opens his eyes.

Below him is a patchwork quilt of green, brown, and yellow, threaded through with a tracery of dark lines like veins seen through paper-thin skin. The view is almost painfully familiar. This time, though, there's no steel and glass shell; he's cocooned only by air that's warmer than he would expect from an autumn day in Kansas, particularly at this altitude.

He can see miles and miles in every direction, and the horizon stretches away from him, blurring into the distance until he can understand why the Medieval church rejected the idea that the earth was round.

Lex isn't sure how he went from speeding along in his Porsche to flying unassisted, but he's not going to argue with the change. Flying turns out to be a rush; better than any drug he's ever done, but without the risk of overdose or arrest.

He's traded the simple high of speed, insulated inside a prison of metal and fiberglass and leather, for the pure exhilaration of weightlessness and the endless swell of sky. Here, nothing holds him up and nothing straps him down. Effortlessly, he turns and spins and tumbles through the air, reveling in the ease of it all. Gravity can't control him, and inertia is just another word, stripped of its meaning and powerless against him.

He's defying the laws of physics.

Why not? He's a Luthor. No other laws apply to him; why should this be any different?

The sun burns hot against his back, and the sky surrounding him is a painfully pure blue. Sky-blue-crayon blue, like only the sky over Kansas--or maybe Montana--can be, with three lonely white cotton-candy clouds just to contrast the blueness of it all.

Content, he rolls, giving his belly to the sun and closing his eyes against its white-hot glare.

With no warning, blackness sucks him down from Elysium, strips him of his freedom and pins him to the hard earth, driving the air from his lungs and leaving his head spinning with the pain of it. He needs no ghost voices this time, no urgings from his father trying to bully him into being Lionel's idea of a man.

Lex opens his eyes.

Above him is an angel, all black hair and pale skin and red lips begging to be violated with Lex's tongue and Lex's cock. Blasphemous thoughts. Not an angel, then, but a Greek god, nimbus of golden sunlight blazing around him, his hair and skin still glistening with traces of the river Styx.

And his eyes are the blue of the Kansas sky, the blue of Lex's freedom.

fait accompli

A/N: Set during the first episode.