Work Text:
Not What He Needs: Smallville
By Marag
How do I make him leave?
How do I convince him that I am all his father accuses me of being, and more.
I am corrupt. I am a bad influence. I am not to be trusted. I may not actually be evil, but I'm still young; I'll get there.
I can barely conceive of where a friendship with him will lead over the years. I'm not even sure that I know why I pursue it. He's a teenager, an innocent. What the hell does he even see in me?
Whatever it is, it is something that I can't see within myself.
I'm too much of my father's son to begin believing my own rhetoric; that it's his friendship I desire, not his body, or his secrets.
Not his soul.
I somehow doubt my destiny is to be the "long-time companion" of the son of a Kansas farmer. The son of the only man who thinks less of me than my father does.
I don't do irony well.
The poetic thing would be to declare my love and pledge my soul in exchange for one night of Clark in my bed. Except that my soul is that of a Luthor, and it understands that one night would never be enough. One night would only offer a taste of nectar to a starving man.
I want every night. I want forever. I want to consume him. I want to love him. I want his love to make me a better man.
I am not what he needs.
end