Title: "A Weekend Made For Two"
Author: Savage Midnight
Email: savage_midnight@hotmail.com
Website: http://dreams.digitally-remastered.com
Rating: PG (for now)
Disclaimer: Honestly, if Lex belonged to me, I'd be indulging in my own weekend for two >=)
Summary: Lex and Chloe's lives collide and a reluctant friendship is born.
Authors note: This is the first part of my first ever Chloe/Lex fanfic. Originally a Chloe/Clark fan, I found myself stumbling upon some of the finest Chlex fics around and now I'm irreversibly addicted. For now this is just a general friendship fic, but hopefully the relationship between Chloe and Lex will progress. Please let me know what you think =) Also, I'm looking for a beta who will be willing to help me with the finer details of this fic and others to come, such as characterisation (a snark-less Chloe would not be a Chloe). If you're interested, please email me.
---
Dancing, Chloe Sullivan decided, was far better than sex.
Crammed between masses of sweat-slicked bodies, rotating and grinding her body to the pumping music, the fair-haired reporter had never felt more alive. The violent thrumming of the music seeped through her veins and the adrenaline pushed her forward, and around, and back, and down, and Chloe couldn't help but get lost in it.
She didn't know what song was it. All she knew was that it was heavy and it was loud and it was nothing like she'd ever heard before.
Chloe loved it; Chloe thrived it, and Chloe never wanted it to end.
Body pushed tight against another; a face she didn't recognise and a name she didn't know, she thrush her hips towards him, teasing and wild and so unlike the Chloe Sullivan she knew. But Chloe, girl reporter and best friend, had been left behind in Smallville and now there was just her, alone, with no inhibitations and no worries, in one of Metropolis' many clubs - a particulary interesting hotspot according to her latest source.
She revelled in her freedom and she craved the pulsating music like fine wine.
Of course, the fine wine had come earlier on in the night. And then there had been tequila. And then whiskey. And she was pretty sure she'd managed a pitcher of beer sometime between then and now, but she wasn't certain. She didn't care to remember, and instead let herself go.
She breathed in the smell of sweat and sex and smoke. She listened to the faint buzz in her ears that seemed - strangely - to be louder than the pulsing beat of the music. She closed her eyes against the pleasant dizziness that was a sure sign she had drank too much too fast, and she smiled, contented.
Chloe loved every sensation - every smell, every sound, every touch--
--warm hands curved around her gyrating waist and sweat-soaked fingers lay to rest against the exposed flesh of her stomach. Her body was pulled closer, tighter and she collided against a wall of muscle, her hands sprawling out to rest against it. Eyes snapped open to meet liquid-brown orbs and Chloe couldn't seem to focus enough to see his face. Not that it mattered. Anonymity was her middle name tonight.
Pleasantly numb fingers laced around the hard column of his neck, stroking and combing the hair she found there. Music overtook logic and logic gave way to sensation, and nothing existed but feeling. One song slid into another, and another, and another; heavy and hard and unforgiving in their onslaught. Lyrics got lost somewhere between the pulsing beat of the music and the rapid beating of her heart, and Chloe didn't notice the time disappear with them.
Chloe also failed to notice when the swirling, alcohol-induced dizziness twisted rapidly into a whirlwind of blackness and pain and silence, introducing her slumped form to the hard, polished wood of the dance floor.
---
The house was on fire.
It was plainly obvious, because Chloe could see orange glowing faintly behind her closed lids and something was crackling angrily in her ears.
She should open her eyes, she thought. She should get out of bed and find the nearest exit, wake her dad and warn him before the smoke--
--smoke?
Chloe drank in a heavy breathe of clean, sweet air and resigned to the fact that there was no smoke. Of course, that particular act caused her head to spin and nausea rose up unexpected and clearly unwanted. Reluctantly she cracked a lid open and noted with some relief that the house wasn't on fire, but the logs in the fire place in front of her were.
She settled back down, cushioning her head in the softness of the feather pillow. Her fingers grasped silk sheets to pull them further up her form, and she snuggled deeply into the comfortable warmth. Her eyes fluttered shut and for a brief second there was contented darkness again.
It didn't last long, though, before Chloe's body was up-right and ramrod.
She didn't own silk sheets. Nor did she have a fireplace in her bedroom.
Something didn't fit, and Chloe was pretty sure it was the fact that she wasn't currently occupying her own bed. In fact, she wasn't occupying her own room.
Not that it was a surprise. After all, she had come to Metropolis for a long weekend, but she was certain she would have remembered if her hotel room had a four poster bed and black silk sheets.
This was like a bad romance novel, she thought. The kind she tried so hard to avoid. Any minute now, she was going to cock her head around and find Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome laying beside her.
A quick check reassured her that she was infact alone, but it didn't help to qwell the rising panic inside her. Something wasn't right. Chloe was a smart girl and she never willing found herself in strange peoples bedrooms unless she chose to be there. She couldn't remember choosing to be here, and if she were completely honest with herself, she couldn't remember the past few hours either.
Agitated, she sighed, flinging the silken sheets back and sliding smoothly from the bed. She glanced down at herself and found that, thankfully, no one had tried to undress her. Her shoes and socks had been removed, but as far as she knew, her dignity was still in tact.
At least she hoped so.
"Sleep well, Miss. Sullivan?"
Startled, the blonde leapt forward and her ankle connected painfully with the hard wood of the bed post.
"Shit," she muttered, cradling her throbbing ankle as best she could and hopping around to glare disdainfully at Lex Luthor. He was leant lazily against the doorframe, watching her with mild amusement, his face a mask of unadulterated smugness.
Chloe huffed. "Mind tellin' me what I'm doing here?"
He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, "don't you know?" but sighed as Chloe's pointed glare sharpened.
"I was at the club," he explained. "It's a hot spot I visit occasionally during my visits to Metropolis. I saw you there, looking quite comfortable infact." He cocked his head, a small smile curving his lips despite the ever-growing scowl she was presenting him with.
"I'm a big girl, Mr. Luthor," she defended. "I can dance with who I please."
He nodded. "I'm well aware of that, Miss. Sullivan. You've no reason to justify yourself." He shifted from his position at the doorway and moved to the small bar hidden in the far corner of the room. A sweeping glance told Chloe that this was no ordinary bedroom. It had it's own living area. A couch and chairs sat to the right of her; a wide-screen television placed snuggly in the corner. In the centre was the bed she'd just recently been occupying, and there was the large fireplace directly opposite her. Lex was stood to her far left, beside the ebony-wood bar and beside him was the door he had just passed through, which she assumed lead to the kitchen and any of the other rooms this particular accommodation might have had.
She glanced back at him, realising he had yet to explain how exactly she had ended up here. "So.. " she probed.
"You collapsed," he told her bluntly. "I'm assuming it was from dehydration. Drank too much, danced too much and didn't take enough breaks. I made the same mistake several times when I was your age."
Chloe let go of her ankle, wincing when she placed her weight back on it. Licking her dry lips and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ears, she tipped her chin towards him. "I suppose this is where you give me the lecture about how irresponsible I'm being, how my father would be so disappointed, yada, yada ya--"
"I'm not responsible for you, Chloe," he said, slipping gracefully into informality.
To Chloe it seemed that everything that Lex Luthor did was graceful. She supposed he planned it that way.
"Like you said, you're a big girl, you can take care of yourself. Who am I to tell you what you can and can't do?"
He stared at her, obviously expecting an answer to his not-so-rhetorical question and Chloe could do nothing but blink. His response had been unpredictable - much the same as he was - and the blonde was lefting nodding firmly and somewhat stupidly. When he finally tore his gaze away from hers, she inwardly wondered where her tell-tale snark and quick-silver wit had suddenly run off to.
Damn Luthors.
She turned back to the bed, plonking herself down on the sheets-from-heaven and scooped up her multi-coloured socks from the floor. She stared at her foot intently as she dressed it.
"Well thanks, anyway. For--you know. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't have been there."
Chloe Sullivan being rescued, by Lex Luthor of all people. She snorted quietly and shook her head. Bizarre.
"I'm assuming that Mr. Up Close and Personal would have scooped you up and whisked you away to somewhere exotic. On my guess, I'd say his bedroom."
Chloe glanced up at him, shooting him a look barely constrained disbelief. He was smiling that annoying little smile that made her want to beat the crap out of him.
"Chloe Sullivan doesn't do scooping and whisking. She's got a fine pair of legs and they were made for walkin'," she countered, tying the laces of her shoes and rising from the bed. She took a step forward--
--and swore loudly when her ankle throbbed in protest.
"Or hobbling," was Lex's smug reply.
She glared up at him and leant feebly against the hard wood of the bed-post. The same bed-post that was the reason for her temporary disability.
She rubbed at her ankle, willing the throbbing pain to dull down and after a few minutes, deemed it well enough to escort her home.
"I should go," she offered, limping pathetically across the expanse of the room. Lex remained stood at the bar, eyeing her with a mild look of amusement, his eyebrow raised at her obvious display of Chloe-like pride.
"You should put some ice on that," he declared, indicating to her injured ankle with a nod of his head and a point of his glass-filled hand. He made no move to help her, instead looking insanely impassive like he always did.
If anyone walked in on them now, Chloe thought, they'd think us strangers and not reluctant-yet-estranged-friends from a small town just south of here.
"And that's exactly what I'm going to do, when I get home."
"Home's three hours away, Chloe."
She rolled her eyes. Ever the funny guy, wasn't he? Honestly, his need to speak to her like she was a six-year-old constantly grated on her nerves, and if it wasn't for the fact that he was her fathers boss and also the soon-to-be owner of one of the biggest corporations in America - and probably Europe -, she'd give him a piece of her mind. Figuratively speaking, of course.
"If you must know, I have a nice little hotel room waiting for me, which I paid good money for and refuse to let go to waste. Is that okay with you, Lex? Or do I need your permission to excuse myself now?" she barked. For a brief second she wondered why Lex always had her on the defensive and instantaneously decided to blame it on like-father-like-son tendencies. There was a reason the Luthor name had a dark, tell-tale shadow attached to it.
"Not at all, Miss. Sullivan." Ah, they were back to formalities now. Great. "I just thought it might be more convenient for you to rest up here for a little while, until you're back on your feet, so to say."
She huffed, transmitting her obvious displeasure of the situation with a dagger-sharp glare and a tight-lipped, "fine". She hobbled back over to the bed and sank into the comfortable mattress. She hoisted her leg up across her lap to examine her ankle further and inwardly scowled at it for getting her into this mess. Upto now, Lex had been nothing but generous (she laughed heartedly at that little tidbit), saving her from a situation that could have turned uglier if he hadn't, and offering not only his bed but temporary accomodation for the night. She was reluctant to admit it, but all in all, she didn't think it was a bad thing she was sharing an evening with a multi-billionaire in his luxurious bachelor pad.
But this was Lex Luthor; the proverbial villian of the piece with a superiority complex that ran a close second to God himself. If he wasn't patronising her, she could guarantee that he was mocking her, and his tendencies to look down on the young blonde without actually sounding or acting like he was looking down on her was annoyingly... well, annoying. Why he had to start being so damn generous and accomodating was beyond her, but all she knew was that now she felt slightly guilty for snapping at him after he'd gone out of his way to help her.
Talk about putting your foot in it, she thought, and frowned again, because it was actually her foots fault that she was here. Dammit.
She tore her gaze away from the injury in question, ready to offer a reluctant and intensely subtle apology to the young Luthor, when she noticed he'd disappeared. Brow furrowed, she skimmed her surroundings in search of the boy-billionaire but found that he wasn't anywhere to be seen. It was at that moment that her actual surroundings jumped up at her, screaming, "not-quite-right" in an obscenely disconcerting way.
Although nicely (and luxuriously) decorated, the apartment wasn't a place she thought that Lex would live in. It was big, the combination of the bedroom, the living area and the bar giving it a spacious - yet strangely cozy - look about it, but it wasn't what she considered Luthor-big, or Luthor-large. Having seen several of the rooms back at the Luthor Mansion in Smallville, she'd expected Lex's accommodation in Metropolis to have followed the same expectations.
It seemed she'd been proved wrong--again.
If Chloe were perfectly honest, she'd admit that she liked this apartment better than his mansion back home. It was cosier, more lived in and less impersonal than the cold, stone walls of his castle-like home in Smallville. She was quite intrigued by the concept of having a bedroom in the living room. It was handy, in a way, and not only that, but the elegant fire-place sat opposite her was an attractive feature to have. Not one for bland romanticism, Chloe was shocked to find herself wishing she had one of her own, so she could curl up with her own honey and drift off to sleep beside the glowing-warmth of the fire.
She snorted derisively.
"Something wrong?"
Her eyes snapped up to meet Lex's questioning gaze and she swallowed heavily. She noted the ice-pack cradled in his large hand and offered him a small smile.
"Ah - no. I was just... admiring the place."
He followed her sweeping gaze, offering a small smile of his own. "Not what you expected?"
Chloe shook her head. "Not exactly. It's nice though - cosy. I like it."
She turned to look at him when he sat down next to her, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. He nodded towards her already-bruising ankle and said, "let me see."
She shifted awkwardly, twisting herself around so he could pull her leg over to his own lap. His warm fingers danced across the soft flesh of her ankle and she hissed when he covered it with the small ice-pack.
"Sorry," she heard him mumble, brushing him off with a casual shake of her head. She could still feel the intense throbbing of her ankle beneath the ice and it still felt slightly over-heated. She cursed herself inwardly for being such a klutz.
"You don't have to do this, you know," she said, hoping he was aware that she was referring to more than just his nursemaid skills. He glanced up at her and offered her a tentative smile.
"It's not a problem. It's not like I have anything better to do."
Her arched eyebrow was her only response.
"What?"
"Lex Luthor relaxing? My God, it's one of the first signs of the apocolypse."
He shot her an amused smile, albeit a small one, and returned to his task of nursing her swollen ankle.
"Wow. I was beginning to think that smiling was a no-go area for you. I'm impressed," she snarked, leaning back on her hands and relaxing a little under his gentle ministrations. She could definitely get used to this.
She smiled brightly when he glanced up to look at her, hoping it removed the ever-present bite from their unusual banter. It was hard for anyone to consider Chloe sincere, because nine times out of ten, she wasn't actually sincere at all. But there were rare occasions when she was and even then she came over more snarky than she'd meant to. That's why she always relied on her back-up - her thousand-watt, birds-are-a-singin', the sun-is-a-shinin', grin á la Sullivan.
Worked everytime.
"Careful. Keep that up and you'll grow yourself a facial tic."
Well, almost everytime.
Chloe finally withdraw her vicious grip on her facial muscles and breathed out a contented sigh. She decided to enjoy this, because frankly, how many opportunities like this would she come across? Okay, so there were occasions when she could barely tolerate the guy, but no girl, sane or otherwise, would turn down the chance to spend a night with one of the richest bachelors in the world while he waited on her hand and foot (or hand to foot, in her case). Chloe may have been a klutz, but she certainly wasn't stupid.
She opened her mouth, ready to break the temporary silence, and snapped it shut again when Lex began to speak.
"So what brings you to Metropolis?" he questioned, lifting the pack from her ankle to examine it for damage.
"My grandparents," she answered. "Occasionally I treat myself to a long weekend here; visit my family, a few friends. That sort of thing." She shrugged casually and ran a hand down her face tiredly.
"And do you usually find yourself in strange places with strange men?" he teased, casting her a look of mock disapproval.
"You're never going to let this go, are you?"
"No."
She sighed and picked at the hem of her shirt absently. "I miss the city sometimes. I miss the lights and the clubs... I miss it all. So I indulge occasionally," she explained. "I treat myself to the odd night out, and I enjoy myself. Is there something wrong with that? Can't a girl let loose for a while, even if she is Chloe Sullivan, cynic-extraordinaire and social retard?"
She gazed across at him with dull, questioning eyes and Lex realised that she really was looking for an answer to her question. She seemed to have caved in on herself, the smile she offered him just moments before a shadow long since passed, and in her eyes blazed a simple longing to know her limitations, to know where she stood and where she fit in. He would have never considered Chloe, at the ripe age of seventeen to have been dealing with her very own identity crisis, but as Lex already knew, the young reporter was far too mature for her own good. More often than not she was shouldering a burden that shouldn't have been her own and the young Luthor briefly wondered if it had anything to do with her mothers unexpected abandonment.
Secretly he hoped he'd have a chance to find out.
"Chloe, when you live in Smallville, everyone is a social retard," he assured her humorously and noted her tentative smile in response. "And you're entitled to a bit of fun now and again. You are, after all, a teenager. I just want you to be careful. Places like that can be dangerous. Trust me, I know."
"Why, Mr. Luthor, I never thought of you as the partying type." Her face lit up suddenly and she perked up from her relaxed stupor. "Don't tell me! You didn't actually do any of that normal stuff, like drinking and having sex, but you made it your priority to prowl the night saving legless blondes from the arms of tall, dark and sleazies? That's why you're so knowledgable about these places, right?"
He smiled at the enthusiastic grin she was presenting him with, any signs of dark and depressed Chloe shoved to the side in light of their playful banter. "Of course, Miss Sullivan. I thought you knew... I have a hero complexion that could outshine Clark's anyday. I like to refer to this little place as my Batcave, and if you'd been awake, you'd have had the luxury of enjoying the ride in the Batmobile, which I'll honorably bestowed upon your 'legless' self."
Her hearty laugh warmed him slightly and with a final check on her ankle, he let go of her leg and rose from the bed. "Well nothings broken, but it's bruised. I suggest you stay off your feet for the next twenty-four hours, until the swelling goes down." He stood, watching her cradle her ankle, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his trousers.
"I only smacked it on the bed-post. It's not like I fell down the stairs or anything," she reasoned. She pressed the offending injury slightly and a tiny "ow" escaped her.
"You've never been one to do things half-heartedly, Chloe," he teased lightly, smirking at her scowling look. "This is no exception, it seems."
She sighed in agitation and reluctantly let go of her swollen ankle. "That's my plans for the weekend shot to hell," she grumbled, flopping down onto the soft sheets.
"There's always Sunday." He moved over to the bar and poured himself another drink, leaning casually against the darkwood. He watched her from across the room, her body sprawled across the expanse of his bed; her short, blonde locks fanned out atop the black, silk streets. The stark contrast was an appealing sight - her pale skin and fair hair against the liquid ebony of the covers made him wonder why his preferences had always lead him to dark-eyed, dark-haired beauties. He had to start rethinking his taste in women.
"But Sundays aren't Saturdays," she reasoned, as if it were the most logicial explanation in the world. "What's the point of even coming here when you're going to spend the best day of any Metropolitan week in bed? It's completely unfair, and might I add, completely insane."
Her smirked at her restrained need to whine like any other disgruntled teenager and was mildly impressed when she opted for beating the air out of his pillows instead. Strolling over to the frustrated reporter, he calmly rescued one of the feather pillows from her grasp, preferring for it to have the same number of feathers it started with. He placed it back with the others and turned to her silently seething form.
"Chloe, it's not the end of the world."
"Speak for yourself, moneybags. Unlike some people, who shall remain nameless," she glared at him, "I don't have the cash to be strolling down to Metropolis every weekend. I only get to do this twice, maybe three times a year, so I'm kinda peeved that I have to waste that time holed up in a hotel room on one of the best days of the week."
"How about I make it up to you?" Lex offered.
Chloe jerked up from the bed and stared at him wide-eyed. "What?" she questioned in complete disbelief. Lex didn't blame her, he was quite shocked himself. It wasn't like him to sacrifice the very little time he had to himself for a seventeen year old girl he didn't even know all that well.
He shrugged nonchalantly, careful to shield his own surprise with a well-placed look. "I'll make it up to you," he repeated. "After all, it was my bed-post that put you in this predicament." His eyes twinkled humorously and Chloes look of shock melted into one of her trademark smiles.
It didn't last long though. "How exactly are you going to make it up to me when I'm not even allowed to walk?"
"Simple. You're going to stay here for the night," he chose to ignore her pointed stare, "and then tomorrow I'll take you out for lunch. We can even watch a few movies, if you want. It's not exactly the best way to spend a Saturday evening, but I'm sure I can make up for that by taking you out Sunday night. How does that sound?"
She looked astonished again, and Lex was beginning to wonder whether he'd started growing hair or something equally as absurd.
"Movies? You watch movies?" she laughed, snorting loudly in disbelief.
"What's so funny?"
Her laughter intensified and Lex could do nothing but stand, looking slightly bewildered, until she got a hold of herself.
"I'm sorry," she sniggered between peels of laughter, "I just had this god awful image of you strolling into a video store and demanding Bridget Jones' Diary." She keeled over again, clutching her stomach and making a show of wiping the non-existent tears from her eyes.
A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. He supposed it was funny, in that demented, Chloe-like way.
"So, what do you say?" he interrupted, taking a generous sip of his drink.
After a further minute, the blondes laughter finally died down to the occasional giggle and with an exaggerated nod, she confirmed her approval. "You've got yourself a deal, Luthor."
She smiled, an evil, mischievious smile that made Lex wonder what had possessed him to make such an offer.
Miss Sullivan was clearly going to be the death of him.
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: ! It is only the beginning and you've already made me smile. :chlexsign1: Please continue....
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