Work Text:
Title: Every time we say goodbye
Author: graysong
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, no spoilers for any season, set post Smallville years
Disclaimers: Not mine, not even the title as that comes from a old song. Which was playing when I opened a word doc with an itch to write something ... this is the result. Nothing is gained from the writing of this fanfic ... other than to feed my own addiction.
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Every time we say goodbye, by graysong
My legs feel like poorly Vulcanized rubber and nearly buckle beneath me as I get up. My back aches and I am certain that bruises dot my entire body, but I refuse to stay in bed as he makes to leave. I follow him in to the bathroom and lean gingerly against the sink as he adjusts the taps and steps within the enclosure.
I love to watch him shower, his perfect form blurred from the steam from the water and the ripples of the showers doors, but no less enticing for the lack of clarity. The way his hands move over his chest and arms, how he throws his head back into the spray, eyes closed and neck bared and vulnerable. I want to press my teeth against that curve, lick the water from his skin, take him in my mouth ...
I've only just come from having every inch of that golden skin beneath my lips and tongue and hands and yet I already ache to taste him again, as if it had been years since we last touched.
Am I addicted? Definitely.
Should I be worried? Probably.
He steps out of the shower, smelling of lavender, and smiles shyly at me, as if surprised and embarrassed to find me leaning against the counter watching him. He does that every time, even though he knows I'm there. That I'm always there.
I'll always be here for him.
I can see him working his way up to the finale, the way it always happens. He blurs and is suddenly dry and dressed in that ridiculous costume. I push away from the sink and follow him to the balcony, watching as he pauses at the door, as he straightens and takes a deep breath. His gaze avoids mine, as usual. I know what is coming but I don't care because I know it isn't true. It isn't.
This isn't the last time.
He'll be back.
But each time he says goodbye, I die a little inside.
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Another night spent sleepless and alone, staring up at the ceiling. I never know when to expect him anymore. I don't even need to look at the clock to know that it's after 6am and long past time for me to get up and start my day.
I find it harder to do every day.
I do it, of course. I do have a reputation to protect. Brilliant, cold, ruthless--that's what the world expects. Not this love starved wretch staring back at me from the mirror. Shit, get over yourself already.
He'll be back.
He always comes back, full of apologies and pretty stories, begging my forgiveness at staying away so long. How he couldn't stop thinking of me, needing me. And I'll smile and say of course you're forgiven, I love you.
And then he'll show me just how much he missed me.
I'll be stiff for days and love every minute of it, so fucking happy that he came back.
This isn't the life I'd planned. Not the life I hoped for with him. But it's what I've got and I try to make the best of it that I can.
But each time he says goodbye I have to wonder if tonight is the night. If his goodbye will cease to mean see you later, but will finally come to mean just that.
That it's over.
That he won't come back in the morning, smelling of her lavender body wash and citrus shampoo.
And each time he says goodbye, I die a little more inside.
fin