Crossroads - Chapter 18

by a campbell

Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, PG-13

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Lionel eased himself into his desk chair, a big tumbler of neat Scotch in his shaking hand. He raised it to his lips, ice cubes rattling, and sipped, then coughed as the liquid burned his throat.

The glass rapidly drained, he stroked his beard, the latest round of security tapes having astonished him as little else ever had before.

Clark Kent: alien being from another world. Now again ensconced at the mansion. In love with, and beloved by, his own son. Bearing a child: seed of the Luthors, housed and forming in that magnificent body, heir, no doubt, to strength and powers unknown.

A grand, new world, studded with limitless possibilities, opening before him.

Were he to gain control of that infant, educate, form and shape him, there would be no boundaries to what he might achieve. Clark Kent was nearly grown, with strengths, principles, prejudices and values already developed. Less malleable, though Lionel by no means intended to relinquish him entirely. Kal-el he thought. You will not slip from my grasp--.

But with this child, he could begin fresh, train him from birth to be both the son he’d always wanted and the agent he’d always needed and craved. The helper imperative were he to continue to progress.

Study him as well, in order both to test the limits of his capabilities and learn as much as he could about the world beyond the stars from whence Clark, Jor-el, and the other intergalactic visitors came.

My grandchild. A worthy descendant, one who would make him proud.

Lionel smiled, suddenly feeling miles beyond powerful himself.

**

Lana’s eyes grew large and dark; she drew back several step into the apartment, almost to the door of the nearest bedroom.

"Good evening, Miss Lang," Lionel said.

He saw her hard swallow, the slight tremble of her bottom lip as she responded, "Mr. Luthor."

He strode into the apartment like Moses entering the Red Sea, Lana stepping back almost automatically to let him in. Once inside, he turned back to face her with his best affable smile.

Lionel took a moment to assess before he began. Pausing before speech often put one’s...subject, one’s prey, ill at ease. Pretty girl, golden skin, brown eyes, small, lithe body encased in snug jeans and slinky, tight-fitting dark-green sweater. Expression guarded, yet curious. He’d made a point of arriving when he knew she’d be alone, Miss Lane and Miss Sullivan conveniently engaged elsewhere.

Lovely, but vulnerable, and gullible, without a doubt. He’d come to the right place for assistance in carving an inroad into his son’s current life--and secrets.

"I do hope you’re enjoying your new surroundings."

She hesitated, and a rueful shadow flickered briefly across her countenance. Lionel could well imagine that life in this small, cramped apartment proved a stark contrast to Miss Lang’s previous lodgings at the mansion.

But she was nodding, with a watery smile. "It was great of Lois and Chloe to take me in till I can find a place of my own."

"Of course," Lionel strolled around the apartment, fingering knick knacks, thumbing the pages of a textbook that lay on the desk by the window, letting them ripple slowly. He continued with his back to her.

"If they hadn’t, you’d have been forced to scour the city for an appropriate place of your own. And I imagine your tastes expanded quite a bit while you lived with my son."

Lionel suppressed a chuckle as he turned back to face her, in time to see Lana cast down her eyes in what was likely embarrassment, before raising them again with an expression of simmering defiance.

"Why are you here?" Arms crossed before her, she fidgeted, smoothing both hands on opposite, sweatered arms, hugging herself in self-protection.

Lionel smiled again, eyes growing moist. The color suited her. She should always wear deep colors: ruby reds and forest greens, violets, browns, and deepest black--all set off golden skin, dark eyes and satin hair far better than the favored pink pastels of years gone by. Years which had unfolded her into a lovely young woman with eyes nonetheless shaded with the dark shadows of suspicion. She hadn’t escaped her relationship with his son, or with Clark Kent, unscathed. Of that, Lionel was sure.

"I said: what are you doing here?" Lionel detected the imperious lift of her jaw, and a nervous glance around the room. The girl was skittish as a young rabbit alone in a field who had caught wind of a wolf. The mental image made Lionel grin. Yes, you’re well aware that we’re alone here, you and I...aren’t you, my lamb?

He could work her.

Lionel strolled leisurely to the center of the room, then turned abruptly round.

"Young Mr. Kent has moved back into the mansion with my son. But I assume you knew about this?"

He noted the wince, which, to her credit, she did her best to conceal. Slowly, she shook her head. "No, I didn’t." His sharp eyes caught the tremble of her bottom lip, the sigh of hurt she tried and failed to hide.

"Well, now that you know, Miss Lang, what are your thoughts?"

She turned away, wandered to the window, fingered the curtain as she gazed down at the street below. "I’m not sure."

"Well, maybe I can help you formulate some." She turned to look at him, doubt warring with a gleam of interest in her eyes.

"May I sit?" Lionel glanced at the sofa.

Lana hesitated, then nodded. She perched on one of the stools by the counter, searching gaze fixed on her guest. Lionel sat, too, spreading the tails of his black coat beneath him as he did so

"Separating from Clark Kent, with his many secrets, and then breaking off with my son, must have been difficult for you, Miss Lang. You’ve been quite an important commodity to both young men over the past year, if I remember correctly."

Fire flashed in her eyes, but she stayed silent, clearly aware that denial would be useless. Lionel smiled in satisfaction. A spirited young woman, if self-absorbed, and one whom he’d had no doubt would readily snap up the bait he planned to dangle. He had but to be patient for a short time.

After a long moment, she found words. "How dare you!" She lowered her voice to a trembling whisper as she leaned toward him. "And, it wasn’t me. Clark said he didn’t love me any more, and then, with Lex--"

Lionel continued as though she hadn’t spoken. "Surely you realize that there’s more between them than simple friendship."

She ducked her head like a wounded bird. "Mr. Luthor, I’d rather not talk about this, if you don’t mind. And I’m sorry to have to cut this short, but I--" One foot slid off the bar at the bottom of the stool as she prepared to stand up.

Lionel rose to his feet and stepped over to where she sat, moving in close, willing her successfully to look back up at him, holding her gaze with his own. "I have a proposition for you, Miss Lang. Some of what I have to say may be painful for you, and for that I apologize in advance. But I hope you’ll hear me out, whether or not you have other plans for this afternoon. For I promise you, it will be worth your while if you do."

She opened her mouth to speak, and, for a brief moment, Lionel thought she might refuse, despite his not insignificant powers of persuasion. But his original assessment, as well as his eternal self-confidence, proved correct.

"Go on," she said.

Curiosity will win out, he congratulated himself. He rose to his feet and stepped over to the stool. He reached for her small hand, not at all surprised that she let him take it without protest.

"I would like you..." He dragged out the words, keeping his voice deliberately, deceptively, light. "I would like you, Miss Lang, to go back to the mansion and apologize to Lex Luthor and to Clark Kent--both of them. Tell them you regret the conflict between you and can rise above it, that you would like to bury the hatchet and be their friend once again.”

Her eyes flashed, then darkened with anger. "Apologize. Me? What have I done? They’re the ones who--"

Lionel began to shake his head before she finished speaking. "Such a shame, when all along you thought it was you they both loved. Only to find out--tsk. Such a sad mistake." He caressed her hand with both of his as he spoke.

"Everyone makes mistakes," Her voice came out in a low hiss. He could see that the arrow had hit its mark. The child had an almost pathological need to be loved, that much was clear. He’d been watching her for years, time enough and more to have divined that.

Now, she stared at him as though unable to look away, swallowing hard. She glanced down at her hand, still in his. Lionel tugged gently at her fingers until she slipped from the stool and stood before him. He smiled down at her as she gazed up at him, wariness within clearly warring with curiosity...and yearning.

"Poor child," he crooned, lifting one hand to trail one finger down her cheek. "So alone. I know that all you want is honesty from the one you love, whoever it might be." Lionel drew closer. "And for him to love you. And that you deserve it."

It would have taken a better man than he to resist the needy doe eyes and trembling lips raised to him. He drew her close, lips meeting hers in a long, long kiss as her slim arms wound around him.

Slowly, Lionel broke the kiss, smiling down at her with narrowed eyes. "You should be loved," he murmured. "You were made for it."

**

She wept on his shoulder as they lay together in her bed, the room darkening with twilight, her cries of pleasure still ringing in his ears.

He soothed her. "There, there." One hand stroked her silken hair as he nuzzled, then tongued, then kissed the hollow of her throat. "You deserve so much more than either of them were able or willing to give you." He drew back, just a little, and whispered, low, moist and husky, near her ear. "Trust me, and it will all be all right."

No doubt in his mind but that she would.

**

After he’d shared the details about Clark’s condition, and what details he’d gleaned about the relationship from security feeds, minions’ revelations, and his own sharp wits, Lionel received the reaction he expected. First disbelief, then shock. Then another flood of tears, followed by brooding anger.

And then, swiftly, inevitably: the desire for revenge.

Together, he vowed mentally as he positioned himself over her again, noting with pleasure with what abandon she lay back and smiled up at him through glistening lashes, yearning for him to take her again. Never one to disappoint a lady, he bent again to tongue her lips open as her slim arms folded around his bare back.

Together, Miss Lang, we’ll make them pay. Both of them.

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