Indigo Kiss
No words.
Blank paper. Ink drips from his pen. Clark sits at his desk in the shadowed room, his brain a flickering movie, repeating the end of the reel over and over, until the film fizzles into flames.
Lex had kissed him. No warning. Lex had simply leaned over, moved Clark's books aside and brushed dry lips over his.
Clark needs words. When he is old and his memory fades to sepia, words will keep it tangible. Real forever.
Such a little kiss, barely there. But he'd seen the speed of Lex's heart, pumping crazy fast. His own had matched--, still did.
The kiss echo flutters through him, a moth's touch in still air. Thumb to his lips, he rubs them, ink bleeding from thumb to lips. He lifts the paper and places an indigo kiss on it. It will be words enough.