Substitute

Rating: If it’s not NC17, it’s definitely R

Pairing:  Principal Wood (BtVS) / Clark Kent (Smallville) (with elements of Clark/Lex and Faith/Robin)

Spoilers: Futurefic, so no specifics

Feedback: Makes my day

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

Archive: At my site Checkmate (http://helsinkibaby.ahkay.net)

Summary:  It’s not like Clark has a type…

Notes: For the Pairings That Ate Fandom Challenge, Round Six. I have no earthly clue where this came from, and I think it probably contravenes the actual point of TPTAF… but then again… I have nearly pressed delete on this so many times, you have no idea.

 

Clark doesn’t have to search hard to find what he’s looking for. On the contrary, his quarry is easy to find; all he has to do is go to the spot on the dance floor where there’s a space, where people are giving two people a micron more room than anybody else. Not because those two people are anyone special; neither of them is famous. But when they’re together, they give off an energy, an electricity that surrounds them like some kind of force shield, warning others off while at the same time inexorably demanding their attention.

 

They’re well known for that effect in this place where the lights are low and the music is high, the pulse pounding its way through the air, across the floor, altering the pulse rate of the dancers, demanding that they move to its rhythm, lulling them with the hypnotic beat. It’s not the most exclusive club in town, celebrities will never darken its door, but those who know of it, who like it, come often, finding its welcoming anonymity a refreshing change from the impersonal anonymity of Metropolis in general.

 

The first time Clark wandered in here was with some of his buddies from Metropolis University, and they’d hated the place. Not so Clark, and he’d come back, time and again. It was on one such occasion that he saw them for the first time, and although he doesn’t remember the exact date and time, he feels like he should.

 

Funnily enough, what attracted to him wasn’t what made everyone else notice them, that strange electricity between them. That came later. He could see that this guy was good-looking, his own opinion validated by the looks that were thrown his way by other patrons. But none of the other patrons had the basis for comparison that Clark did, and a little voice in his head that sounded very like Chloe chided him. “Gee Clark, older guy, bald, with a fuck-you-world-I-couldn’t-care-less-vibe? It’s not like you have a type or anything.” He’d almost had to look around to make sure that Chloe wasn’t standing beside him, had had to literally bite his tongue to stop himself telling her that it wasn’t about that. After all, the guy didn’t really look like Lex; was taller, more built, had darker skin.

 

But he did have that curious brand of almost-arrogance and self-assurance that Clark had only ever seen one man carry off, and Clark, against his better judgement, regardless of the fact that he came to a place like this to forget about Lex, not be reminded of him, was intrigued.

 

He’d thought he was being subtle, unobtrusive, but evidently not. He realised that quickly enough when the woman at the guy’s side caught his eye, did so again a couple of times. Each time, Clark looked away quickly, but not quickly enough, and the last time, when he chanced looking back at them, she was looking up at her partner, her hands playing with the material of his shirt, dark hair swaying against her back as her hips mimicked the beat of the music. Whatever she was saying, she glanced over at Clark, her smile widening into what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, and she looked up at the other guy again, I-told-you-so written all over her face. For his part, he looked surprised, but then he looked over at Clark, his eyes raking him up and down in unmistakable appraisal.

 

Then he smiled a slow, sexy smile that Clark swore raised the temperature in the place at least ten degrees.

 

Raised the temperature and paralysed him, until, that is, the woman left the man’s side, sashaying over to him, taking his hand without a word and leading him to the dance floor. For an instant, Clark found himself beginning to stutter an explanation about how he didn’t dance, but she silenced him with one look, her hands landing on his hips, guiding their movements as she pressed herself close against him, so close that he could smell the tequila on her breath, and even though she was hardly his type, he found himself entering into the moment, his hands moving up and down her body, her eyes boring lasers into his.

 

The mercury was already soaring, but it went into overdrive when she turned in his arms, so that her back was flush against his chest, and Clark knew, knew without following her gaze that she was looking straight at her boyfriend, putting on a show for him.

 

A show that Clark was only too pleased to help her with.

 

It wasn’t a surprise to him when the man, who had been lounging against the bar, left his place, crossing the floor, his eyes on them the whole time. Nor was it a surprise when he began dancing with them, so close to the woman that a scrap of paper couldn’t have been fit between them. It should have felt like Clark was intruding, but it didn’t, not when she reached out behind her, laying one hand on his hip, the other on the other man’s, her writhing body a conduit, connecting them as surely as did their locked gazes over her head.

 

What did surprise Clark was when, her hand never leaving his hip, the woman leaned forwards, pressing her lips to the other man’s. The kiss was open mouthed and passionate, sparks flying through the neon lights, and all the moisture in Clark’s throat evaporated at the sight. He barely had time to think about it though, because she broke the kiss, pivoting neatly on one foot, and before he knew it, her lips were on his, her body flush against him, still moving to the music, and her hand was still on his hip, and her boyfriend’s hand was on his other one, and he didn’t know what the hell they were playing at but he really didn’t want it to end. Clark wanted to taste her, to taste him, to find out where she ended and he began and for a second, when she pulled away and turned to him, he thought he was going to find out.

 

Then she spoke. “I’m Faith.” He opened his mouth to say his name, but she didn’t give him a chance. “And this is Robin.” Another neat pivot – and where the hell did she learn to move like that? – and she was facing Robin, her lips finding his once again. Another passionate kiss, more sparks flying, and then she was moving away from him, her lips moving in words that would have been inaudible over the thumping music, but which Clark’s advanced hearing picked up perfectly.

 

An instruction to Robin. “Be gentle with him.”

 

Robin wasn’t exactly gentle that first night, but Clark didn’t exactly mind; after all, he was none too gentle himself. He did, however, get to ask the question that had been in his mind since he’d first seen Robin and Faith together, seen the show that she’d put on for Robin’s benefit. “You’re sure your girlfriend’s not going to mind this?” he’d asked, a little late, that Chloe-voice chided him, considering where they were – an alley at the back of the club – and what they were doing – not nearly quickly enough for Clark’s liking.

 

“Faith’s not the jealous type,” Robin had said simply, an almost evil smile playing around the corners of his lips. “Besides… she likes to watch.” Clark had looked around at that, but if she was there, she was well-hidden, and then Robin, that smile never leaving his lips, dropped to his knees making Clark had forget all about Faith in mere seconds.

 

He’d thought that it would be a one-time thing, but on his next visit to the club, he’d seen them there again, and the same scenario had played itself out, turning into a fairly regular occurrence. Not that he knows any more about Robin than he did that first night; conversation’s not really what they’re about. He knows Robin has got a wicked scar on his stomach that he doesn’t like to talk about, that he can dance, that he can make Clark’s heart beat faster with just a sidelong glance.

 

But every time Clark thinks about those things, he thinks about another man, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost believe that it’s Lex he’s with, has to bite his lip when he comes to stop himself calling out the wrong name.

 

He’d be worried about how Robin would feel about that, if it weren’t for the fact that the other man does the exact same thing.

 

Which, even with all the other things he doesn’t know about Robin, is the one thing he can’t figure out – why Robin keeps coming back time after time. Clark is pretty clear as to his own motivations, but Robin’s got Faith, and he knows they’re happy together, knows they’re a couple in for the long haul.

 

He knows that, because he’s seen them on the dance floor together, showering sparks everywhere within a ten metre radius. He’s seen the way they look at one another, the show Faith puts on for Robin when she dances for him, and he’s felt her finger dance across his cheek on the odd occasion when she’s danced up to him, eyes dark with wanting, saying, “Not tonight lover… he’s all mine.”

 

Those are the nights when Clark backs away, stands back and watches and enjoys. They come along rarely though, but not as rarely as the nights when it’s Faith who watches. That’s only happened once as far as Clark knows, a night when they took him home, when their bedroom rang to the moans of three people, Clark and Robin on the bed, Faith in the corner. Clark hadn’t spoken a word to her, had barely spoken to Robin, and when he’d left, he hadn’t needed his super-hearing to glean that Faith didn’t stay long in her seat. The bedsprings had creaked loudly before he’d even closed the door, Faith’s “Damn, that was hot,” slipping through, followed by noises that had warmed Clark’s cheeks, had him quickening his pace to the front door.

 

He left that night, but he came back. He always comes back.

 

And he’s back again tonight, watching them on the dance floor, doing their usual thing, attracting quite a bit of attention. As always, Clark stands to the side, watches them, and eventually, Robin’s eyes settle on him, that same slow smile spreading across his face as he flexes his hand on Faith’s hip, juts his chin towards Clark. Faith turns, a blur of motion, a matching smile spreading across her lips, and Clark knows how the night is going to end before she takes a step.

 

He doesn’t know what their deal is, might never know, just like he knows that he’s using Robin as a substitute for Lex. But he steps forwards anyway, meeting them halfway, his eyes locking with Robin’s and never leaving.

 

A substitute maybe.

 

But a damn good one.

 

Back to The Pairings That Ate Fandom