The Fabulous Baker Boys (of Smallville)

by a campbell

Smallville, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor

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Disclaimer: Clark and Lex are only mine in fantasy-land.

Thanks to my trustworthy betas, Jacyn (who provided the initial idea for this fic, as well as the title, which I also don't own) and Caro, who always knows how to spiff up the Clex. And to my Scots ancestors, who may not have been the world's best cooks, but were pretty good at scones.

The actual recipe is available upon request. Feedback will be relished, with lots of butter and clotted cream.

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I

"Lex," whined Clark, hanging languidly over the back of his friend's desk chair. " Are you ever going to take a break?"

Lex didn't look up from his laptop, but continued to type. "Getting bored, Clark?"

"Well, I finished my last assignment half an hour ago, and--I'm hungry," Clark sounded peeved. "We haven't eaten for hours."

"Clark," Lex glanced at his watch, "It's only been an hour and a half since dinner."

Clark leaned over the back of Lex's desk chair and blew a soft breath in his ear. Lex turned to glare at him, and Clark gave him the most innocent of smiles. "Lex" he urged in a low voice. "Come on. Put the computer up. Let's get something to eat."

"Clark," Lex, sighed, annoyed but clicked the laptop off, "You're a bottomless pit."

Clark gave him a silly grin. "Can I help it if I'm still growing?"

Lex smiled indulgently at him. "Yeah, right. I forgot. Growing, and irresistible." Lex touched his index finger to the tip of Clark's nose and closed his eyes as Clark leaned in for a kiss.

After a moment, the conversation resumed. "So," Lex asked as he snapped his computer closed. "What do you want to eat? Pizza?"

Clark always wanted pizza. It was an extremely safe bet.

The teenager considered a moment. "No...not pizza, not tonight. Something sort of sweet, this time. Not ice cream or cookies. Biscuits with honey, maybe, like my mom's. Hot. Or, muffins. The Talon has muffins." He hit Lex with the puppy-eyes.

Lex smiled again, but shook his head. "Sorry, Clark. The Talon closed a couple of hours ago."

"You don't have a key?"

"I don't feel like driving all the way in."

Clark tried the puppy eyes one more time.

"They wouldn't have any muffins left, anyway," Lex continued, being strong. "They're usually gone by late afternoon."

Clark sighed, and thought for a moment "Well, are any bakeries open this time of night?"

"You know there aren't. This is Smallville, remember? Only one bakery in town, Clark, and it closes at 5:00," Lex reminded him.

"Well, that sucks," Clark was awfully pretty when he pouted.

"Cheer up," Lex counseled, patting him on the arm. "And, forget the bakery," said Lex, getting to his feet. "We can make our own."

Clark looked surprised. "You bake?"

"Nothing to it," said Lex. "It'll be fun."

"You can bake," said Clark slowly, as though Lex had spoken Chinese.

"I'm surprised you don't. You make Martha do it all? Farm chores are a lot harder than baking. "

"No," Clark protested. "I've-I've done...slice and bake cookies, Hungry Jack biscuits-"

Lex snorted, but Clark continued, undaunted.

"Bisquick biscuits, too-do you have Bisquick in the kitchen, Lex?-and cake mixes for birthday cakes for Mom and Dad. That's baking. They all turned out pretty good, too."

"I don't do mixes," Lex drawled softly, shaking his head. "That would be taking the easy way out, and Luthors never take the easy way out. Baking from scratch is much more rewarding, as a culinary exercise, and in the taste."

"Oh," said Clark thoughtfully. "Guess I never paid that much attention."

"If it was edible, it was toast, eh? You'll have to pardon the pun."

"Well, there were never any leftovers when I baked. So, my stuff must have been okay."

Lex chuckled, and pulling Clark's head in again, nuzzled his dark curls. "Clark, there are never leftovers of any kind when you are around."

Clark had to admit that that was true.

"So, how about it? Are you game?" Lex raised his eyebrows, and Clark hesitated only a moment before nodding.

II

"So what are we baking?" asked Clark, scanning the manor kitchen. It looked like a fun place to play.

Lex went to one of the cupboards, and pulled out an ancient box, from which he drew a wrinkled, aged document.

"Oat scones. From Scotland, the Luthors' ancestral home. A favorite family recipe. An ancestral recipe, in fact," he chuckled.

"You're kidding, right?" said Clark.

"No. It's for real. And I don't share this recipe with just anyone. Only Very Special People." Lex gazed for a moment at Clark, and moved in, closing his eyes.

Clark was mesmerized for only a brief second. "What are they?" asked Clark.

Lex shook his head to clear his thoughts. "What are what?"

"Scones," said Clark, a little impatiently.

"They're sort of like biscuits," said Lex, trying to be patient.

"Good enough," Clark agreed.

"My dad never eats them. Too much cholesterol, he says, especially when you add all the accoutrements."

"He's a bore," commented Clark.

"But he's really just afraid of being poisoned by the heir-apparent." Lex grinned slyly at Clark's expression of alarm. "Just kidding, of course. Well, we don't have to worry about sharing with him, thank goodness."

"Okay," said Clark. "Let's give it a try."

Lex opened a drawer and pulled forth a couple of aprons. "Oh, come on. Do we have to wear those?" moaned Clark.

"Come on," said Lex. "Let's do this right. Besides, it'll look good on you. Turn around." He helped Clark slip on the apron and tied it neatly in the back as Clark read over the recipe.

"So, why are they called, 'scones'? I've never heard of them. What does it mean?"

"From the Stone of Destiny in Edinburgh, where Scottish kings were crowned-they think. "

"Hmm," said Clark. He was busily pulling down baking ingredients from the cupboard. "Named after a 'stone'. Guess they weren't too light and flaky, huh?"

"That's not the point, Clark. It's symbolic."

"Oh," said Clark. "I guess it would be if it's a Luthor heritage recipe, right? No plain biscuits for you guys." Lex frowned, and opened his mouth to protest this flippancy, but Clark flashed him his best, most dazzling grin. "Now I'm just kidding, Lex." And Lex couldn't help but smile back.

Clark glanced again at the faded piece of paper. "Lex, are you sure these aren't just 'biscuits? They have a lot of the same things in them. Baking powder, flour..."

"Clark. They're SCONES. Trust me."

"Mmm," said Clark appreciatively, "They have raisins in them?"

"Raisins, or currants," Lex said.

"I like raisins," said Clark thoughtfully. "But, what's the difference?"

"Currants are actually very small raisins, but made from a certain grape, the Black Corinth. In fact, "currant" is a corruption of "Corinth".

"I've seen fresh currants, on the bush," said Clark, frowning. "They're red."

"Something completely different," Lex averred. "Those are actually gooseberries. Anyway, dried currants are smaller raisins, and the flavor is more intense."

"Do you even have currants?" asked Clark.

"Yes, of course," Lex replied.

"You would," laughed Clark. "But, let's go with the raisins," said Clark. "I'm not feeling that adventurous tonight. At least, when it comes to food," he added after a moment, causing Lex to consider a moment, and then to favor him with an uncharacteristic grin.

"So," Lex began, "First off, should we plump the raisins?"

"'Plump' the raisins?" Clark looked thoroughly puzzled."What are you talking about? Who 'plumps' raisins?"

"Put them in a pot of water, heat the water almost to boiling, and let them stand for an hour."

"What does that do?"

"Makes them bigger, softer..."

"Oh," breathed Clark, "It sounds-hot-when you talk like that, Lex..."

"Maybe we should forget about baking, tonight," said Lex thoughtfully, reaching out to stroke Clark's arm softly. "We could do these for breakfast, instead."

"No, Lex," said Clark firmly, freeing his wrist. "I'm hungry, now. So, food first, that...that later. And, forget 'plumping' the raisins; that'll take too long. I like them just regular, anyway. Just throw them in."

"What if we plumped them in brandy?"

"Or scotch?" Clark said, exasperated. "Yuck. Stop it, Lex. Just throw them in."

"Okay." Lex picked up a handful of raisins as he prepared to follow Clark's orders. "First, though, open your mouth. Taste," he urged, prodding at Clark's lips with a single raisin. Clark obeyed, taking the raisin and sucking at Lex's fingers in the process. Lex closed his eyes, and shuddered.

"Give me another," Clark mumbled as he swallowed. "Please, Lex."

With a great effort, Lex got hold of himself. "No, wait," he admonished," or we'll run out before the scones are finished."

"You need to keep more ingredients on hand, Lex,' Clark almost pouted, "What kind of operation are you running, anyway?" Clark poured out a big handful of the raisins and popped them into his mouth while Lex's back was turned.

"Mix the dry stuff together," Lex ordered, taking a deep breath. "The flour-1 1/4 cups. Baking powder, sugar..."

"...the salt and oats."

Clark picked up the salt box, poured a small amount into the palm of his hand, and tossed it into the mixing bowl.

"Clark!' Lex exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"Adding the salt," said Clark defensively.

"You've got to use the measuring spoon. Cooking is a science, for Pete's sake. You must be very specific about your measurements. You can't just guess."

"Lex, I can tell that's just about a teaspoon. Even I've done enough cooking for that."

"Precision is very important if you want a recipe to turn out."

"Okay, okay. Whatever."

"Now, add the cream of tartar. Use the spoon."

Clark, still chewing his mouthful of raisins, looked completely puzzled.

"So. What the heck is cream of tartar, and what's it for? That's a weird name for a spice." Clark picked up the small bottle and squinted at the label. "It doesn't say why it's called that, either."

"Not a spice," said Lex. "It's a stabilizer, a byproduce of tartaric acid, which is where the name comes from. Baking powder is just cream of tartar combined with baking soda."

"Oh. Well, why do we need both, then? What would happen to the scones if we left it out?"

"I guess we could chance it, but why? We have it, and they might not be as good. Besides, I think spice bottles are fun."

"Not a spice, remember?" Clark teased.

"Yeah, right," Lex scowled. "Hand over the spoon, smart-aleck."

Lex added the cream of tartar to the bowl, measuring it with great precision.. Meanwhile, Clark climbed up to kneel on the counter so he could reach for the twenty-pound bag of flour on the top shelf of the cupboard. Just as he reached up with both arms, Lex, who had stepped behind him, reached up and poked him in each armpit with his two index fingers. "Gotcha!" he laughed. Clark yelped, losing his grip on the flour sack. It flopped onto the countertop and split, spewing flour all over the counter. And, all over Clark.

Lex burst out laughing. "Clark, you look like Frosty the Snowman," he snorted. "Good job."

"Thanks," Clark replied glumly.

"That was just to remind you: you have to measure. Let me help you clean off," Lex instructed. He grabbed a dishcloth and ran it under the water.

"Mmmm," Clark murmured as Lex carefully scrubbed his face.

"There. Better," murmured Lex, leaning in for a kiss from Clark's freshly-buffed lips. He broke into a smile. "You're so cute."

"Don't, Lex. You know I have this "blushing" problem." He blushed, anyway, and shook the excess flour from his hair. Lex helped him brush most of the rest of it from his shirt and pants.

"Now, look," said Lex, faking dismay, "Flour everywhere. When did you get to be such a slob?"

"Not till I started hanging out with you," Clark growled. "I'll get you for that. Just wait."

Lex thought a subject-change was in order. "Now, the butter. Melt it," he commanded.

"With my heat vision?"

"No, the range top or the microwave will do just fine."

"We don't usually have butter at home," Clark observed.

"You're kidding. Even with that whole herd of cows? Don't you believe in supporting your own family business?"

"Mom says margarine is better for you. It has no saturated fat."

"That changes, week by week. Don't you keep up with the consumer reports?"

"No," Clark admitted.

"It's been a matter of great debate. I figure, if I die of high cholesterol, at least I'll have enjoyed life. Someday, though, they're going to decide that butter is really very good for you. Butter, and cream, and all the other fats. Donuts will be declared 'health food'. Watch it happen."

"I'm not holding my breath," said Clark.

"And, if no one else does it, I'll do it. I'll fudge the study results," Lex vowed."Or sign it into law after I'm elected President. Okay, now the liquids. You'll find the milk in the refrigerator. We need 1/3 cup."

"Lex, there's only about 1/4 of a cup in the carton."

"Is there any buttermilk?"

"No."

"Because, if there were, we could use that."

"Could we use water?"

"Oh, wait. I know. There's a small can of evaporated milk in that cupboard next to the window. Grab that." Clark did as he directed.

"Now, add the eggs. Crack them, one at a time."

"Gee, Lex, I thought I'd throw them in, shells and all. Thanks."

Lex ignored his boyfriend's sarcastic tone. "And, stir it all up."

"Can I taste it?"

"Unbaked dough really isn't good for you, Clark,"

"Well, I've been eating it all my life, and I've never gotten sick." He swirled a forefinger around in the dough, scooped up a big glob, and stuck it in his mouth.

"On second thought, go for it," said Lex. "Okay. We're ready to bake it. Now, pat the dough out into a ten-inch circle. You might want to use some extra flour to keep it from sticking to the pan, or to your hands. Of course, you can always lick those off."

"Sure you don't want to try some, Lex?" Clark held out a fingerful of dough.

"No, thanks," Lex shook his head, and Clark popped the finger into his own mouth.

"Get a blade, or, you can use the dough scraper-which is probably the handiest item in the kitchen. Cut the circle into 10 wedges, but don't cut all the way through, and don't separate them. No, like this." Lex put both hands on Clark's and guided him through the remainder of the task.

"Right," he concluded, plucking up a dough-covered raisin from the marble countertop. "Here you go, Clark-open up." Clark obediently put out his tongue for the final raisin.

"Now, " said Lex, wiping the rest of the dough on the front of his apron. "Put it in the oven, and then-make us some coffee."

III

Lex blew on the hot beverage before sipping. He grabbed a hunk off of the scone, and breathed in the fresh-baked aroma. "Ah..." he murmured. "Pretty good. Not bad at all, Clark, for your first real baking attempt. Your java is passable, too. Now, lay on the butter."

"MORE butter?" said Clark, aghast. "We already used over a stick in the dough."

"You can't overdo butter, Clark. On anything. Too bad we don't have any clotted cream."

"So," Clark sighed, knowing Lex was just waiting for him to ask. "What's that?" Might as well humor him, he thought.

"You're a dairy farmer, and you don't know? Never mind, it's not really an 'American' thing.'

"No, Lex, I don't know," Clark snapped.

"Stop pouting, Clark. Just because I've had a more cosmopolitan background."

"Yeah, rub it in."

Lex was off on a mental tangent. "If we had about a day, and some double cream, we could make some. But it would have to sit overnight. And, it has to be really fresh." Lex thought a moment "Clark--do any of your cows need to be milked, about now?"

"Not likely," said Clark. "Besides, remember, you didn't want to drive to the Talon, so you wouldn't want to drive to my place, would you? It's even further."

"Can't you just super-speed it home and get us some fresh cream? I'll make it worth your while."

"If you'd been willing to drive us to the Talon, I might have. But, now, forget it."

"Never mind. Well manage with just the butter. You can't really improve on that, anyway."

"Unless you have a can of Redi-Whip in the fridge," suggested Clark.

"Afraid we used that all up last time you visited, Clark," Lex said with a lecherous grin. "But--jam," said Lex, deftly pulling a jar of raspberry preserves from the cupboard. "Lots of jam."

"You're probably adding at least 1,000 calories to each one."

"Just eat them, Clark," Lex mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs.

Clark complied. "Lex..." he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" Lex, having finished his first piece, was busily cutting the rest of the scones into wedges.

"You're right about the butter." Clark leaned over on the counter beside the pan of scones and licked his fingers slowly and thoroughly. Lex swallowed hard, and steadied himself against the counter with a trembling hand, almost dropping the knife.

"Glad you agree. After you finish that, though," Lex murmured, "Let's have dessert."

IV

"Do you realize we ate that entire batch?" Clark moaned. He lay on his stomach on the rec room floor.

"Yeah," said Lex, who lay next to him, face up. "And I don't think I want to eat anything for the next several days."

"Lex," said Clark, raising himself on his elbows and leaning over for a quick kiss, "You were right. Scratch baking is definitely more satisfying." He licked one finger and touched it to a crumb on Lex's upper lip, then put the finger in his mouth.

"I thought I could get you to agree," Lex said.

"Scones..." said Clark thoughtfully. "I could get to like them. They're good, really good. Almost better than Mom's biscuits. Can I give her the recipe?

Lex sighed. "I don't think so, Clark. Luthors don't share, especially family secrets."

"Oh, okay."

"And, by the way" he said, touching Clark's lips with one finger. "Just remember: I don't share you. With anyone."

Clark smiled, and closed his eyes. Being Lex's-he liked that, too.

Lex leaned in once again for a kiss, but-nothing distracts a teenage boy from his stomach for long. Clark, his eyes still shut tight, continued in a dreamy voice.

"How 'bout we bake another batch next time I come over, maybe a different flavor? Maybe with almonds this time, or mixed fruit? Or maybe we can do a couple of batches!"

Lex just groaned.

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