Farm Fresh

by a campbell

Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, R

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Lex wasn't always known for making wise choices, though here in Smallville, he was trying to turn that around.

He knew it was unwise to give in to temptation of a late-fall afternoon to stop by the Kent farm for about the fourth time that week. For one thing, he was running out of reasons to offer for being out that way, on the other side of town from the mansion. For another, Clark Kent was already occupying far too much space in his mind, day and night, and every sight of him was nothing but a signal for thoughts and fantasies to run amok. For more sleepless nights. But he couldn't seem to stay away.

A bad idea? Clark's broad smile as met him outside the barn convinced him otherwise. "Boy, am I glad to see you!" Clark beamed, tossing down two large bags of feed by the barn door.

The bags looked damn heavy. Lex wondered briefly how he could lift them with such ease.

Clark's glee at seeing him that day stemmed not primarily from friendship, but from a more practical need. Lex shouldn't have accepted the bribe of an offer of supper in exchange for lending his help with chemistry homework. Food was never that important to Lex, even Martha Kent's beef casserole, canned peaches and homemade cake. But could he resist the opportunity to spend at least two hours pouring over books on the Kents' oak dining table. To counterfeit a closeness no more than brotherly as he leaned over Clark's shoulder, breathing the aroma of wheat, pine wood, and warm flesh. To get as close as he needed to, to explain and chart the steps of chemical reactions. Not likely.

Time this evening was too valuable to waste decrying his faulty judgment.

As the mantel clock chimed 8:30, Clark laid his head on folded arms with a soft groan. "I need sustenance if I'm ever going to get through this," he complained. "And get this!"

Lex shook his head with a sigh. "We just finished dinner an hour ago. You put away two helpings of casserole, two servings of green beans, a bowl of peaches, three rolls, two scoops of coleslaw, and a giant piece of cake. Sounds like 'sustenance' to me."

"Big deal: that was an hour ago. Time for a snack."

Lex smiled a wry smile and shrugged. "Whatever it takes, Clark."

Clark reached over, slid the cake pan toward them and cut himself a second thick slice of Martha's apple cake, then raised his eyebrows and grinned over at Lex just before digging his fork in and lifting a large hunk to his mouth. Lex responded with a small shake of his head and pushed his empty plate away.

Clark leaned in and blew a crumby breath in the direction of Lex's jaw. "You…" he drew out ,"don't eat enough to keep a guinea pig alive."

Clark's breath was warm and cinnamon-apple sweet. Lex gave him a shove, a bit harder than he intended to. "Compared to you."

"Be that way." Clark stuck out a crumb-flecked tongue, and damn, Lex wished he hadn't done that. It made him go hard instantly. Thank God for the cover provided by the firm oak tabletop. He shifted in his seat and exhaled slowly, scrambling mentally and desperately for un-sexy thoughts.

"Growing boy, here," Clark added. And that comment sure did nothing to help.

Oblivious Clark rose to his feet, opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a crockery pitcher, then grabbed a heavy imitation cut-glass tumbler from the cupboard and poured, thick ivory liquid filling it to the brim. Lex watched, willing his erection to subside as he wonder about Clark's unusual beverage. Too thick to be milk, even organically-farmed whole milk.

"You know, this cake of Mom's tastes extra good if you wash it down with buttermilk."

Buttermilk.

Lex was acquainted with buttermilk biscuits, buttermilk waffles, buttermilk salad dressing. Never had he seen anyone just drink buttermilk from a glass. Must be a farm thing. The liquid was viscous, and his nostrils could detect the sharp tang from where he sat. His stomach tightened, and he cringed, just a little. He hoped Clark didn't notice.

"Want some?" Clark turned back to the cupboard and reached to open it again.

"No," Lex said, a little too abruptly. The stuff was so….thick. He didn't drink his beverages thick; he liked Scotch, and brandy, and mineral water, and now and then a glass of orange juice. He had no wish to drink buttermilk from a glass. He tried not to flinch as Clark turned back to the table, lifted the full glass to his lips and drank, one swallow after another, Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp.

Lex glanced back down at the textbook and lined pad, trying to master the shamed fascination threatening to overwhelm him. Beautiful Clark, well nourished on the country goodness and wholesome products produced by his loving parents. Safe in this comfortable farmhouse, his only worries transitory and minor.

I hope you never have to leave this safe place, Clark.

Clark smiled, refreshed, creamy drops glistening on his lower lip. And, damn, was Lex's rueful thought, because his imagination was working way overtime this evening. He couldn't help imagining that the white stuff on Clark's mouth was something other than what it was. He could see himself pumping hard, filling Clark's mouth so full that he coughed, and Lex's come spilled over those sinful lips and dripped down his chin.

Maybe someday, he thought, with an unaccustomed ache around his heart. When Clark was legal and when he himself was a little less wise.

Clark, having no mercy, refilled the glass. Lex groaned inwardly, but watched again, watched Clark swig the thick beverage, one swallow after another A quick swipe of thick tongue gathered the drops. A quick swipe of plaid sleeve dried his mouth, obliterating all traces of the creamy white beverage. But it didn't clear the image from Lex's brain. It just made Lex swallow thickly himself and damn near made him go hard again. He beat down the physical impulse by sheer power of will.

"What?" Clark set the glass down on the table with a thunk.

"Nothing," Lex replied, his voice a bit more faint and brusque than he intended. He grabbed Clark's textbook and pencil and nodded at the empty seat next to him. "Sit down. Let's get this knocked out. I have to get going before long."

"All right," With a nonplussed sigh, Clark sank down again beside Lex. "I'll read you the questions, and my answers. Okay?"

"Okay," Lex replied.

Clark's industrious voice faded to a hum in Lex's ears, head, brain. Instead of hearing Clark recite the twenty questions and answers, he saw him lean in close, whisper near his ear, warm breath tickling the skin of his neck.

"I want you," said Clark. "Can't you tell?"

Or did he? Lex blinked. Looked over at Clark, who was applying himself to his books with apparently single-minded concentration.

Lex heaved a sigh. "Clark, we'd better call it a night."

"Aw," Clark complained. "Already?"

"We're done with the assignment," Lex said. "Time for me to get home to the plant reports." And a cold shower, he thought, but didn't say.

Clark pushed his chair back and held out his hand. "If I pass, it'll all be due to you. Thanks for helping me out tonight," he said with a grin. "And come back soon. I won't make you work next time. We'll shoot some hoops."

Lex grasped Clark's hand very briefly and then slipped his own back in the pocket of his slacks with a defeated sigh.

As if he, ever unwise, could stay away.

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