Monopoly Logic
by zahra

Email: frans_angel@hotmail.com
Feedback: It’s Christmas and I am _so_ not above begging
Pairing: C/L
Rating: PG for General stupidity
Summary: Snow, Christmas, and schmaltz.
Dedication: What was originally written as a present for one is now a present for all. Happy Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, Ramadaan and whatever else I've forgotten, and a very boozy New Year. Thanks to the most lovely Lar for teaching me how to make sense.

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In a really twisted way it's actually kind of funny. That this might be his best Christmas ever. No garish decorations. No staff hovering and yearning to go home. No parties. No Annual Luthor Gathering of Famous People with Questionable Integrity and Very Loose Morals.

It's a miracle. A Hail Mary from God that's enabled him to skip the mandatory bootlicking and flagellation: snow. A lot of it.

It's just a small oversight that Lex hates snow, after all, he's never been so grateful for a blizzard in his entire life.

And to think he once said he didn't really like living in Smallville. No matter, it's at times such as these that a good memory is unpardonable. So. Today, snow is okay. Better than okay.

Today, it's perfect. Symbolic. And all because Clark has braved God only knows how much of the powdery nuisance to come and see him.

On Christmas.

It's enough to make him gloat. If he did that - and if he had anybody to gloat to. Instead he's doing something completely un-Lex-like. He's making an effort. A rather large one in his estimation.

He's turned on the electric fireplace in the study and made tea. And _now_ he's partaking in an American pastime. It's a rather large pill to swallow and it would probably go down better if he didn't feel like he was being played at the same time.

"Six. One...two...three..."

"I'm well aware exactly how many spaces construe six, Clark."

"I never said you didn't," and there's that grin. That mega-watt, brighter-than-snow-blindness, grin. Lex could've sworn that he just made a sarcastic remark, and yet, Clark seems completely impervious.

It's beyond maddening. And, it's also something else, a word that Lex is forbidding himself to think. To even associate with Clark. But if he could actually stop staring at Clark's long, tapered fingers long enough to focus on the board for two seconds he might be better off strategy wise.

After all, Lex knows strategy. Lex's entire life is one extended stratagem.

Miniatures of Troy when he was ten. First editions of the _important_ classics when he was barely old enough to read. Kafka. Nietzche. Machiavelli.

Every action he's ever made has been subjected to careful planning and maneuvering. Lessons in where the greats have failed. Why he shall succeed when others have not.

There is no possible scenario that could happen that Lex is not prepared for. He puts the US Military's covert commandos to shame.

And yet.

For all his planning, all his preparedness, there's one thing that he can't quite come to grips with. One person who consistently baffles him and manages to elude his mastery. One person who just _isn't_ like everybody else.

Clark.

Lex is being bested by a teenager. A hormonally-charged enigma. So honest and trusting. So wide open for reading and examining. And yet, so tightly contained that Lex's frustration is beginning to suffocate him.

He's like a Rubik's Cube where Lex has all the colors lined up except for that one last piece that refuses to fall in place. It's a shame he can't just cheat and move the stickers around a bit.

If only Clark was that easy.

He's driving him nuts. Or maybe it's just this game that's driving him nuts. He just can't get to grips with it. Lex doesn't lose. Lex has a destiny.

However, destiny has obviously never played a board game with Clark Kent.

"I'll buy it."

Lex caught not paying attention. At least not to the game. Looks along the edge of the sofa at Clark and blinks. "You'll buy what?"

"'Boardwalk'. I want to buy it."

"You can't buy it. _I'm_ supposed to buy it because I own 'Park Place'. Aren't you supposed to buy the ones that match?"

"Yes, but, _I'm_ on it."

"And that has _what_ to do with it?"

A question that wrenches yet another in a list of long-suffering sighs from Clark. Teaching Lex the fine art of playing Monopoly is proving to be a bit much - even for the boy wonder. "I've landed on it. That's the only time you can buy it."

"Buy what?"

"The property, Lex. You can't buy it unless you're on it."

"Well, that makes no sense." Purposefully naive, and worth it just to see the color rush into Clark's face as he inhales yet again to make his point.

"Lex," Clark begins, waving the box cover in his face, "it doesn't have to make sense, it's part of _the rules_."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not selling it to you."

"You _have_ to sell it to me, Lex, that's the way the game works. You're the bank and it's for sale. And _I_ want to buy it."

"The rules are only there so that you can work around them, besides _I_ want to buy it."

"But you're not _on_ it_."

"But why should that matter?" It's obvious that something is escaping Lex here. He wants it and that should be enough.

Gesturing to the cardboard box of money in front of him, Lex protests ardently. "I have more money than you do. I'll pay more."

"That's the bank's money, Lex."

"_I'm_ the bank. That means it's my money."

Another sigh, and Clark really thinks Lex is being purposefully obtuse, or he would if he knew what 'obtuse' meant. Instead, he leans forward slightly and starts again.

"Lex, that's stealing, and it's not a matter of who has more money; it's a matter of who actually lands on the property when it's available to buy."

"Well, that's dumb. If I can outbid you, it should go to me."

"That doesn't matter."

"But." And that's about all Lex can say. 'But'. Something else in this world that his money can't buy him, and he's beginning to think he's stepped into a nasty alternate universe. One where gorgeous farmboys earn their milk money by having morals while playing board games.

"Lex."

"Clark."

"Money can't buy you everything."

A raised eyebrow. "So you keep telling me."

"Because it's true."

"But if you wanted to make a case for that, why did you bring over a game that obviously promotes underhanded tactics and capitalism?"

Lex's point is actually a valid one, which is why Clark takes a moment before answering. It's obvious he's taking the game to heart and Clark thinks it's kind of cute. In a warped way.

"Because it's Christmas."

"Yet another example of blatant capitalism and commercialism."

"Lex." Voice just this side of pleading.

"I notice you're not disagreeing with me here."

"Lex." Voice now on the _other_ side of pleading, and who is Lex to contend in the face of huge cerulean eyes and impossibly long eyelashes? Especially when it's topped with a quick swipe of a pink tongue against full lips?

"Could you stop that for two seconds? I'm attempting to making a point here."

"Stop what?" A real confusion that only someone as innocent as Clark could successfully pull off.

"Giving me that look."

"What look?"

"_That_ look."

"Could you perhaps describe _that_ look a bit more? I'm obviously not following you here."

Which is blatantly false as Clark has to know what look Lex is talking about. It's his patented come-and-fuck-me-because-you're-stupid look. He wears it every time Lex is around him. He _knows_ that Clark knows this.

"You know _the_ look." A pause while Lex considers how to phrase it so that he doesn't end up behind bars or full of buckshot. "The wounded puppy look."

"I look like a wounded puppy?"

"It's a patented Clark Kent look."

"I didn't know I had a patent on a look like that." And Clark's just thrown in a wounded tone in addition to the come-fuck-me look. A man only has so much strength. Even a Luthor.

"You have a whole file drawer in the patent office devoted to your looks."

"Wow. Does this mean I should be getting royalties and stuff?"

"No," Lex is adamant. The last thing he needs is to think about _other_ potential 'Clark looks'. "Drink your tea."

And for two seconds it looks like Clark is actually going to let it slide. Gingerly picking up the small teacup, he studies it for a long time, as though he's reading his tea leaves, and then puts it back on the saucer, untouched.

"Is there a problem with the tea, Clark?"

"I don't like tea."

"Since when?" Genuinely confused.

"Since never." Clarifies. "I've never liked tea, Lex."

"Then why did you say you wanted some?"

"Because you were having some."

"Oh." And Lex is blind-sided, yet again, by fifteen years of inexperience and this is really becoming a nasty habit. He should get it looked at. "Did you want something else?"

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"Yes, no _and_ maybe. Three answers to one question. Is this about getting more for my money?" Dead silence and maybe he needs to get his funny bone checked as well.

"Maybe then."

"Maybe. Maybe what? Maybe juice? Maybe milk? Maybe scotch?" And maybe Lex is doing something suspiciously close to babbling.

"Maybe 'none of the above'."

"Okay, but if you want cappuccino we've got a problem because I don't know how to use the machine."

"Lex. Lex, just stop."

"But, I haven't even started --- and forget I just said that."

"Why?" And there he is doing that _look_ again.

"Because." And Lex knows that 'because' is no kind of answer to a question but he's finding himself floundering. In his own study. His own battlefield.

Floundering in the wake of _that_ look. And now he finally knows. He hasn't been reading Clark wrong at all.

"Lex." It's all in his tone. Lex. is. going. down.

"Clark. No. Don't even start."

"Start what? I haven't even said anything."

"But you're going to..." And Lex can tell. The lidded eyes and the pink mouth, no one can defend themselves against that sort of attack.

Movement just that much closer and Lex is going to lose this battle.

"Can't we... Can't we just spend some time together, on Christmas, without, you know, worrying?"

"Who's worrying? I'm not worrying. I'm just wondering if you can get the Times delivered in jail."

"You're not going to jail."

Subtle movement a few inches closer that Lex actually finds himself leaning away from.

"I will be if you do what I think you're going to do."

"Lex, look. I'm going to kiss you now and if you don't stop talking you're going to ruin it."

"What?"

"I'm warning you."

And it's not quite how Lex has planned it. Not quite how he thought it would go.

The basic elements are all accounted for: Clark, him, Clark's impossibly soft lips and eager tongue. His warm mouth pressed against Lex's. Hard. Searching. Taking over. And Lex is at a loss.

At the very least he figured he'd be the initiator. The general leading the charge. But. Even the best laid strategies don't always go according to plan.

-fin-