For mecurtin. Her prompt is found in the first line, though quite abridged to fit in drabble land.


“The terminal velocity of a falling human with limbs outstretched is about 120 miles per hour - slower than a lead balloon, but much faster than a feather.”

Clark flops back onto the bed, groaning. Sometimes Lex sounds exactly like the AI.

“That’s probably why I’m so bruised.” Lex frowns at his reflection as he unbuttons his shirt.

This gets Clark’s attention. “You’re bruised?”

Lex winces as he pulls his shirt open, revealing broad black stripes under each arm.

Clark gets up on one elbow to see the damage for himself. “Next time, I’ll just let you fall,” he offers.

For elandrialore, who gave the word 't-shirt':



Tom lifts the hem of his perspiration-sodden t-shirt and wipes his forehead with the hem. “Come on, bring it, Rosenbaum.”

Michael dribbles the ball, grinning. He’s almost as sweaty as Tom but it’s less obvious because of his close-cropped hair. It’s only evident if you look in other places, like his scarred upper lip.

Michael breaks, fakes his way left and then goes right around Tom. Even though Tom has a few inches on him, Michael has a good lay-up and he knows it.

But it leaves them both breathless when Tom bends down to kiss the victory smirk away.

For margueritem, who gave "bread and cheese"



“That’s not a sandwich.”

“It’s the best kind of sandwich,” answers Clark confidently.

“It’s a cholesterol bomb.”

“I’m not that concerned about my cholesterol levels,” says Clark. He lifts the grilled cheese off the pan and takes a bite. He speaks the next sentence around his mouthful. “You do realize you’re not exactly fat, don’t you?”

Lex tries not to look pleased, but Clark catches him flattening a hand over his belly.

“Want a bite?”

Lex’s instinctive moue of distaste falters when the sandwich is close enough for him to smell. He takes it from Clark. “Never speak of this.”