Hesitation
by a campbell
Smallville, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, R
Spoilers for S2, in particular "Prodigal"
Thanks to: hoperoy, bittermint, pepperjackcandy (to whom I must defer: I know Clark doesn't have chest hair in the SV canon eps, but he does in my 'verse!), and myownghost for sharing their time and skills to provide such valuable beta assistance. It is much appreciated!
____________________
Lex remembered Clark’s accusation in the aftermath of the tornado, a painful barb that had lodged in his psyche for months. He never thought of himself as hesitant, but as someone who paused only to weigh all the options and then move in for the kill.
The problem was that Clark was right.
Clark was usually right, little as Lex might like to admit it. Clark, with but one year of high school behind him, his homespun ways and sheltered life, his clear-cut sense of right and wrong. Nothing like the moral ambiguity, maze and minefield his own family proffered for support. Clark, trustworthy and honest, a good friend. Lex tried daily to resist wanting more of him than he could reasonably give, or than the law would allow.
Something in him didn’t shy away from begging for the Kents’ hospitality on the early spring night his father threw him out of the mansion, newly-rediscovered bastard son a sneering bulwark between them, smirking after Lex as he left. He would come up with a plan tomorrow, swift and decisive. It wouldn’t take him long. But tonight--Lex hadn’t planned this, had found himself on the creaky, frost-glazed farmhouse porch without quite knowing how he got there. Raising his hand to knock, and then dropping it to his side.
A sad reality—that the Kents were the closest thing to a family he had. Sad because both Jonathan and Martha usually acted by turns uncomfortable and suspicious whenever he stopped by to see Clark. That was the best he could hope for.
He’d finally tapped on the door, stepping back as bright light flooded the porch, framing Clark’s strong body and surprised, smiling face in the doorway. Clark was rapidly flanked by a parent on each side, and Lex had looked away, letting Jonathan’s hesitation glance off him, resisting the urge to remind him that he hadn’t hesitated back when Martha was being held captive at the Luthorcorp tower a few weeks before That afternoon Jonathan, despite having ripped into him an hour earlier at the farm, arrived at the mansion (on Clark’s advice, no doubt) to beg him for a ride to the city in the Luthorcorp helicopter. He’d made it easy for Jonathan that day, but it was no doubt too much to expect for Jonathan to make it equally easy for him this evening.
Luthors shouldn’t expect an easy ride. Ever. It was the price of success, financial prosperity, and of having a demanding and exacting father. He’d had a number of years for his emotional skin to toughen. And, Clark might be close to perfect, but that quality didn’t necessarily extend to encompass his adoptive father.
Still, within thirty seconds, Martha was tugging him inside, fussy and maternal, "Oh, Lex, I’m so sorry!"
Clark, moving in close, grin warming him, and Jonathan’s gruff voice. "Go ahead and put your bag in the guest room, Son. First door on your right, top of the stairs."
He called me 'Son,' was Lex’s startled thought.
"Oh, Jonathan, no!" Martha exclaimed with an auburn shake of her head. "I’m sorry, but that won’t work. I have quilt squares spread out all over the bed! Besides, the vents in that room are all fastened shut. Lex will come down with pneumonia if we put him in there.
Lex appreciated her concern; he was always cold, never comfortable in the library unless a fire roared in the grate. The library. His library--now Lucas’s.
Clark glanced over at him soberly, the good host. "You can sleep in my room, Lex."
To Jonathan’s credit, Lex could tell he did his best to subdue the suspicious scowl that flashed across his face and quickly vanished. He could swear that Jonathan had sensed, even as far back as that day at the bridge---
But Clark’s father made no comment in protest tonight. Just a slow nod, which Lex barely processed due to the wild flip being executed by his stomach at Clark’s offer.
Clark hefted Lex’s satchel easily. "I’ll take this up." A jerk of his head toward the stairs. "Come on, Lex. Let’s get you settled."
"And then come back down," Martha bade. "There’s still some vegetable soup left from dinner; I’ll warm it up for you, Lex."
"That’s okay, Mrs. Kent. Being disowned is an effective appetite suppressant. And I don’t want to impose any more than I have already."
"Nonsense. I’ve worked with you enough at the mansion to know you don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive. You’ll eat when you come back downstairs." Martha’s tone made it clear that she would entertain no arguments.
Lex obediently followed Clark upstairs feeling as though it were Christmas, Easter, and April Fool’s Day combined.
**
He caught himself shivering as Clark switched on the bedside lamp and flipped off the overhead. The room was cold.
He looked around. Cheap wooden furniture, a couple of bureaus, a study desk with a computer, posters on the wall: rock bands and a couple of sports heroes.
And a wood-framed bed with a light veneer of varnish. Not twin beds, just one.
A double bed.
Clark babbled on brightly as he set down Lex’s bag on his desk chair and strode over to the dresser.
"Sorry about the temperature. My parents keep the furnace turned down low because the oil for heating costs so much--"
Lex caught the sweater Clark tossed at him. "Thanks." He wondered, if he wrote the Kents a fat check, whether they’d consider special-ordering an extra barrel.
Clark pulled out the top left bureau drawer and nodded at it. "You can put some of your stuff in here. Sorry there isn’t more empty space." A chuckle. I’m kind of a packrat." He opened a closed door near the window. “Just throw your shoes in the closet. There’s plenty of floor space. Bathroom’s down the hall, extra towels in the cabinet. Warning, though: the hot water lasts about fifteen minutes and takes another forty-five to heat up again." Clark’s grin faded as he turned back to Lex. “I know it’s not what you’re used to--"
Lex shook his head. "Don’t worry about it, Clark. I just appreciate having a roof over my head. It was good of you and your folks to take me in." He knelt down beside the bed and unzipped his tote bag.
"You need to borrow some pajamas?" Clark was rummaging in the chest by the bed.
Lex didn’t usually wear pajamas. "I’d probably swim in your pajamas, Clark."
Clark reached up to the top shelf of his closet. "No worries. Here are some sweats from when I was in middle school." He laid them on the foot of the bed. "And here’s a top." The faded blue cotton t-shirt he held out was light and soft in Lex’s hands. It must have been washed many times. "I might be able to find something else that will fit you for tomorrow--you shouldn’t be all dressed up in designer clothes for life on a farm."
Again, Lex hesitated. He invariably aimed for sleek and stylish in his look. If he accepted the offer of too many of Clark’s clothes and put them on, he’d look like a kid dressed in his older brother’s castoffs. He didn’t relish looking like a kid beside Clark, regardless of who was or wasn’t around to notice.
His disgruntled mental observation faded like the morning star at sunrise at Clark’s next words.
"It’s good having you here. It’s been a long time since my last sleepover." Clark chuckled. "Pete and I used to take turns staying at each other’s places on Friday nights during grade school, usually on nights before Pete had basketball games."
Lex wondered briefly what such a typical youth might have been like. Friends over on Friday night, sports events together the next day. Pete and Clark had such a history together, years of companionship during formative years, such--
"And don’t worry about the temperature. Once we’re in bed, it won’t matter. I’ll keep you warm."
Lex looked up, startled. They both stared at each other, speechless for what seemed eons.
"I’m warm-blooded," Clark qualified, his blush coming close to lighting up the room.
**
Though Martha’s soup was warm and delicious. Lex waved away offer of a refill. "Thanks. I’ve had plenty."
Jonathan and Clark were both on their second bowls. "You two!" Martha scolded as she set the pot back on the stove. “You’d think you hadn’t finished your supper an hour ago! You’re both bottomless pits!"
Jonathan grinned and reached for a sugar cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. "Martha, farming is hard work!"
Scowling, Clark chased a slice of carrot around the bottom of his bowl with his soup spoon. "Lex, how about I just kill Lucas for you?"
"Now, Clark..." his father drawled, clapping a sugar-coated hand on his son’s back.
"It’s okay, Mr. Kent." Lex’s sentiments were much the same as Clark’s. His next thought was: It must be good not to mind it when your father touches you.
"They’ve put you in a terrible situation," Martha was saying. "How a father can do such a thing--I’d really thought Lionel was a better man than that."
Clark, crumbling a handful of saltines into his empty bowl, paused to respond with a snort.
"I’ll work it out," Lex insisted grimly, thinning his lips. "I just need a day or two to plan my strategy."
"Well," said Jonathan with a gigantic yawn, pushing back his chair. "You can do that best on a good night’s sleep."
**
Clark switched on the bedside lamp. "Still pretty raw in here. I’ll grab us a couple of extra blankets from the hall closet." He picked up a corner of the plaid bedspread and turned it down.
Lex tried not to notice how dry his mouth was, or how the muscles in Clark’s back rippled under the dark-blue material of the t-shirt.
He cleared his throat. "I never get sick."
"No, but you’re cold a lot. I can tell. All those fires, and you wear a lot of sweaters."
"Lack of body hair," was Lex’s dry comment. So Clark noticed what he wore.
"Well, I don’t have that problem," laughed Clark as he stripped off his shirt, revealing a chestful of curling black hair. He smiled almost proudly, and Lex couldn’t blame him: his body was perfection, the stuff of many fantasies. His fantasies, at least.
He looked down at the floor, almost abashed. Because Clark was unzipping his well-worn jeans, then sliding them down over his hips to pool on the floor. Stepping out of them one foot at a time, kicking them aside. Then hooking thumbs into the elastic of his boxers, and, God, Lex knew he should look away, but damn it, he wasn’t a saint.
At least he tried to keep his scrutiny limited to a cool glance rather than an open-mouthed ogle. Clark’s cock, big, and nestled in a bush of wiry black curls, uncut, veined ivory, the tip peeking from under its thick covering of skin. It bobbed a little as Clark turned to reach for the pajama bottoms which lay on the bed.
"Which side d’ya want?" Clark aimed a careless nod at the bed as he shook the pajamas to unfold them.
Lex tried and failed to look away. Clark’s cock. Finally, after a year and more spent in imagining...Half-hard, too, but that meant nothing. Clark was sixteen, and sixteen-year-olds were in a constant state of erection, Lex told himself stridently. He certainly had been, at that age.
Damn Clark and his innocence. He had no idea.
Lex swallowed hard, finally able to tear his gaze away and, inadvertently, licked his lips, because, damn it, his mouth had been watering. He cleared his throat, and hoped that his voice would sound casual when he said:
"I can sleep on the floor." He really needed to sleep on the floor, at this point.
"Are you kidding?" Clark was slipping one foot, then the other, into his plaid print pajama bottoms, pulling them up to his waist, and Lex could breathe again. "No way."
"Clark--"
"Lex, just shut up." Clark held up his hand, tempering his comment with yet another of those wide grins of his that invariably made Lex willing to give him the world. "If anyone sleeps on the floor, or the couch, it’ll be me, and know what? I don’t want to. I promise not to take up more than my fair share of the bed. Now, you gonna put on those PJs I gave you?"
"Uh. Yeah." Making a huge effort, Lex willed his heart to slow its thudding rhythm in his chest.
A small roll of Clark’s eyes, and a smile. He waited.
As did Lex. He offered a small smile but stayed still, did nothing.
After a long moment, Clark raised his eyebrows and thinned his lips. "Well--good. I’m going to brush my teeth. Back in a few."
As the door clicked shut behind him, Lex sank down on the mattress, dazed.
Tonight, he and Clark were sharing a bed.
The stuff of fantasies--so why was he suddenly scared to death?
**
Lex made sure he was already in bed and under the covers when Clark returned. He was half-tempted to fake sleep as well, but curiosity and desire got the better of him.
The bed sagged behind Lex, jolted and shook as Clark settled in. "Sorry." An almost embarrassed chuckle accompanied Clark’s apology.
Lex caught the scent of toothpaste and soap as Clark leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Mom and Dad just went by on their way to bed."
Lex stayed still. What was Clark expecting him to say?
"The bathroom's free. Your turn."
"I’m good," said Lex, trying to keep his voice casual. He’d already brushed his teeth after the meal and splashed some water on his face.
Clark’s breath had been warm in his ear. He did turn over on his back, so he could see his friend reaching for a corner of the patchwork quilt that lay folded at the foot of the bed, trying to still his breathing as his senses spun.
"Your mom make that?" Lex queried, just to say something. He was trying not to notice the light muscles of Clark’s trim forearm flex as he grasped the pastel fabric with surprisingly deft fingers.
"Yeah." Still sitting up, Clark shook the quilt open. "She belongs to a quilting club. Which is really just a fancy name for a bunch of women getting together to gab." A wry smile. "If I knock the covers off during the night, just kick me and pull them back up." The quilt floated down over Lex’s body; Clark turned and tucked it around him, hips, legs, and chest, with both hands, then coasted a palm over the fabric to smooth it with one tidy, efficient stroke. "There! So you don’t catch cold while you’re here with us. Okay?"
Lex nodded, unable to speak. Flashback to his childhood. His mother--dead for nine years. He’d forgotten what a comfort it was to be tucked in at night. And what a new comfort it was now for Clark to be the one doing it.
Clark settled back in his spot and reached up to switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into near-darkness. Springs creaked, bed and mattress shook again as he got comfortable.
Lex could feel the warmth emanating from Clark’s body. Chilled as he was, it was like being near a furnace. He fought the urge to move closer, stayed still, hardly daring to breathe.
He should be able to manage this. Wasn’t he always the one in control of every conversation, dispensing advice, managing Clark’s every response and reaction? Trouble was, there was a big difference between sitting like a sage in a swivel chair at his desk and being in bed next to Clark under a homemade quilt and extra blankets from the bedroom closet.
After a moment of silence, Clark spoke, his voice soft in the quiet of the room. "Lex, I’m really sorry about what happened with Lucas and your dad. I wish I could stick around tomorrow and help you fix things, but I have class."
"It’s okay, Clark. It’s not your job to solve my problems. Besides, I work better alone."
"Still, I’d really like to stay." Lex’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and if Clark knew how devastating that pouty-eyed moue of his was--well, he was just glad of the baggy, borrowed cast-offs.
"Clark, my world may be tilted on its axis right now, but that’s no reason everyone else’s should be disrupted. Besides, it’s just a momentary setback. I’m used to this sort of thing with my father."
"But there’s never been a brother in the equation before." Clark paused, and Lex waited for him to continue.
"Lex..." And something about being in bed with Clark, hearing him say his name, awakened indescribable emotions and sensations. "I don’t know if I should say this, but when you guys showed up together today, I was kind of--jealous."
"Yeah?" Lex said slowly as a warm feeling of wonder spread through him. As though someone had just given him a long-coveted, unexpected gift. The sound of Clark’s mellow voice, thick with drowsiness, the sensation of Clark’s quilt-shrouded body next to him—Lex tried, through sheer force of will, to keep the blood from rushing to his cock.
"Yeah. Like, because, now that you have a younger brother, you might be wanting to hang with him all the time now instead of with me."
Lex made a scoffing sound. "Well, does what happened tonight put those fears to rest?"
"That day you gave me the Radiohead tickets and said I was like the younger brother you never had--well, I guess I take that honorary title seriously.” Lex heard Clark take a deep breath. "When you showed up alone tonight, sure, I was sorry for you, but does it make me a bad person if I say that the first thing I felt was relief? In case I haven’t said it before, Lex, I really like you. I’m glad we met, even in that whacked-out way. I’m glad you’re my best friend."
Damn.
"You’re still cold," Clark observed. "C’mere."
Lex tensed as he felt Clark’s fingers plucking at his shoulder. Thank God he had his back to him. Because he was so hard now that...
Strong fingers, probing his neck muscles, kneading his one reachable shoulder. Lex thanked God Clark couldn’t see his face.
"God, you’re tense as a cat ready to spring. Try to relax, Lex. Things will look better tomorrow."
Lex sighed in spite of himself at the sensation, clenched his eyes shut and willed sleep to come quickly. Because he was perilously close to deciding that, far from his initial assessment of today’s events being a misfortune for him, they were proving to be perhaps the greatest blessing of his life.
**
When Clark awoke the next morning at 6:02, the space next to him was empty.
He knew Lex had been beside him last night when they both went to sleep. When he woke in the middle of the night for his regular bathroom break, he’d had to ease his arm out from under Lex’s shoulders. Lex, finally warm and comfortable, had given a small sigh, but had slept on.
The memory brought a smile to Clark’s face this morning.
When Clark had returned to bed, he hadn’t wanted to wake Lex by gathering him in his arms again, so he’d just nestled as close as he could without disturbing him. And as close as he could without the urge to touch himself becoming unbearable. Lex’s slim, warm body in his arms was like an aphrodisiac to his senses. He’d tried simply to enjoy it, to thank his stars that Lex was even here, that he’d felt comfortable enough to come to the farm when his own father had cast him out, despite the frigid-at-best welcome that Clark’s dad always gave him.
Clark knew he should get up and dressed at once. He should get get up and find Lex, and maybe they could eat breakfast together. He moved to throw back the cover, paused, and then snuggled back down, giving in to the urge to linger for a few more minutes and to think back over the events of yesterday evening and last night.
Which may have been a week night, but, well--having Lex here so unexpectedly put it in the running for the best sleepover of all time. Nothing like having Pete or Greg over. Lying there in the dark with his arms around him, Lex having bought the excuse of it being really cold in here-- Clark had been astounded by the wash of new sensations. Best sleepover ever, he repeated to himself.
He knew he should be strong and not dwell on how it had felt, being so close to Lex all night long. Or how hard he was now. Clark swallowed uneasily, and shifted under the covers. He couldn’t very well get out of bed this way; what if Lex came back in? Although Lex would probably understand, it being morning and all. But still--major embarrassment, and maybe he’d just better stay where he was for the next few minutes.
It was just that, well, at his age, the urge to have sex was almost constantly unbearable, anyway, and having Lex in his bed, falling asleep to the warm-cocoa sound of his voice--well, he might have powers, but he wasn’t exactly positive that super-self-control was one of them. He hoped so, but—
His right hand crept under the covers to touch, then stroke his cock through the fabric of his pajamas. He fumbled with the slit in front, and then slowed to a stop.
He couldn’t beat off right now because Lex could come back any minute, and besides, he shouldn’t be touching himself, anyway, when he had to get up and get ready for school, besides first swinging by the Talon and finding out if Lana had hired someone for that dumb job he didn't really want, anyway. He should just be leaving it alone and thinking about something un-arousing, like...well, Mr. Swanson, his psychology teacher and first class of the morning—-Clark gnawed his bottom lip and concentrated, hard.
Which pretty much did it. He drew a deep breath as his erection subsided, stretched and sighed under the covers, the urge to linger for a few more moments still irresistible. He turned over on his side.
Maybe he should have slept on the couch and let Lex have the bed to himself. He wasn’t supposed to be turned on by his best male friend, wasn’t supposed to want sex with him, wasn’t supposed even to be thinking about this stuff. If Mom and Dad knew--
And, whoa, he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about Mom and Dad within at least five minutes of thinking about sex with Lex.
He glanced over at the window. The sun was up and golden light was filtering through the curtains. Crows cawed and sparrows twittered outside.
Where was Lex, anyway?
Clark listened for a moment. Then he threw back the covers, got up and padded over to the door in his bare feet. He could hear water running in the bathroom, and grasped the door handle. Maybe he should just check and make sure Lex was finding everything he needed, like soap, and, well, he didn’t need shaving stuff, but, just in case. Clark pulled on his jeans, grabbed a threadbare red sweater from the closet, and headed out to check.
When he got there, he stopped with a little jolt of disappointment. It wasn’t Lex running the water. It was his mother. And, well--
Martha was bending over the sink. She looked pale and a little sick as she jolted up, startled at seeing him. Her skin was clammy and she was dabbing at her lips with a washcloth.
"Mom. Are you okay?" Clark could probably count on one hand the times he’d seen his mother ill, and his stomach gave an uncomfortable flip.
Martha gave him a small, nervous smile. "I’m fine, Honey. Just a little queasy. It is flu season--I must have picked up a bug."
"Mom," he said, a little worried. "Maybe you need to slow down a little. I thought when you quit working for Lex’s dad, you’d do that, but it hasn't happened, yet. Let the volunteer organization and the food co-op—"
"I’m fine," she insisted hastily. "And, Sweetie, you sound just like your father." With a fond smile, she reached up to pat Clark’s cheek.
He smiled back, still concerned "Maybe you should stay home today."
"Don’t be silly! I really love my work, and I’m confident that I’m not taking on any more than I can handle." She wiped her hands dry on one of the guest towels and glanced down at her watch, then back up at him with a smile of almost forced brightness. "And I’m late!"
"Have you seen--" Clark began.
"Honey, come on." Martha shooed him backwards out the door. "I have to go! And you should be getting dressed for school."
"Mom, I just wondered--"
"I’ll see you tonight!"
Clark stood in the hall in his bare feet and watched her turn the corner to the stairs with a deflated sigh. He still had no idea where Lex might be.
He just hoped he hadn’t left for good.
Clark glanced at his wristwatch. Not much time to spare. But he just couldn’t head off for the Talon and then school without checking to see if Lex was doing okay and wasn’t finding the unaccustomed chores too much for him. Even if his dad didn’t mind putting Lex to work, Lex wasn’t used to farm chores, and should just go easy on himself for a day or two. He should take some time to rest up before socking it to his own father and Lucas--good.
Dad, I trust Lex, Clark had protested before slipping on his denim jacket and exiting the house. There was just no getting his dad to budge. He wished, just once--
He spared a wary glance around the barnyard for his father before slipping into the barn.
Lex was mucking out the stalls. Clark watched, unseen, thinking that maybe it was good after all that Lex was trying to stay in shape. The jeans he’d brought with him hugged his slim hips--Clark had never seen Lex in jeans before. Bits of hay clinging to dark spots of perspiration on his shirt, a light sheen of moisture on his skin. He’d never seen Lex do something this...physical. Fencing, sure, as an elegant, indoor sport. And he’d taken Clark along to tennis matches and, once, to a polo competition--Clark tried not to remember how great Lex had looked in white shorts and polo shirt. He’d never seen him work out on that expensive treadmill at the mansion, but he kept hoping.
Clark swallowed hard, his throat unexpectedly thick.
He stood watching--no, admiring--the heft of muscles under the charcoal shirt, his trim body and surprisingly strong arms stooping and lifting, performing one of the worst, most boring farm chores ever. When Lex turned around to smile at him, he raised a slim hand to wipe a trail of perspiration from his brow. From Lex’s expression of contented satisfaction, Clark realized his dad had been telling the truth. Lex had offered to help with the chores. It was just something Lex would do.
Dust flecks and sunlight streamed down from the loft as Lex rambled something about his mother and a ranch in Montana. Clark was only half listening to the words, his mind and senses focusing instead on the husky, mellow sound of Lex’s voice in the still air of the barn. He fought the urge to move nearer, tried to ignore the way his fingers itched to grab those slim hips and pull Lex’s body close to his
A wink and a grin."Some Luthors pull their own weight."
Outside once again, Clark drew a deep breath, playing back in his memory the way Lex had maneuvered the pitchfork with such ease, fighting how very much he himself wanted to skip school and stay home. If he did, maybe he and Lex could finish the chores together and then hang out. It was still too cold for a swim at Miller’s Pond--too cold for Lex, at least. He probably wouldn’t want to swim outside, anyway, since he had his own Olympic-size heated pool--or had, until his dad kicked him out--but whatever they did would be fun.
Just to be around Lex all day, show him around the farm and all the places: hidden corners, fields and glens special to him since he himself was a kid. Just to be close to him.
Clark’s sneakered feet slowed to a stop; he glanced yearningly back at the barn and toed the weeds and dirt in the drive, wrestling with his resolve for a brief, difficult moment.
But there was no way he could stay home today. He had too much to do.
With a heavy sigh, he turned to trudge the rest of the way down the drive to wait for the bus into town.
I’m in trouble, he thought, awash with a mix of feelings: terror, bliss, fascination, and longing.
**
Later, newly-employed and daydreaming, Clark twirled his pencil in English class, glancing now and then out at the early spring buds on the sweet gum trees outside the classroom window. Second-to-last period of the day, and time was dragging. Spring fever? He wondered. No, something much more intense.
Knowing Lex was at the farm waiting for him to come home was sort of like waiting to get up to open presents on Christmas morning, waiting for the sun to set on Hallowe’en night, or to rise on Easter so he could scour the barn for baskets full of colored eggs, Peeps, and chocolate rabbits. Lex’s soft skin and sleek voice, his very presence, at the farm--at the kitchen table, in his bedroom, in the barn--all worked some kind of strange spell on him.
He spent most of the class period tuning out the lecture and contemplating dreamily the mental images that drifted through his mind. Lex in the barn that morning, lifting, bending, stretching. Perspiring. Breathing hard and looking happier than ever before.
The way Lex always looked at him: assessing, keenly interested, intense, sleek. As though he could tell exactly what Clark looked like under his shirt and jeans, and as though he could charm both off him by fine-tuned force of will.
How much he wanted. That little bout with Lucas yesterday was just fuel to the fire--who’d have thought it would end by catapulting Lex into Clark’s home, and bed, just a few hours later?
A ridiculous sense of wonder at it all, and Clark’s lips curved into a grin.
"Mr. Kent." A sharp, strident voice jolted him from his reverie. "Perhaps you’d care to share the joke with all of us?"
Clark jolted up straight with a shake of his head. His English average was already in enough trouble as it was. "No, Miss Parsons," he mumbled.
The teacher frowned at him and he opened his book with a guilty swallow. "You'll find us on page 32."
But within a minute or so, his mind had wandered off again.
Life was full of surprises, just as his dad so often declared. And, today, at The Talon? The welcome news that he was finally going to be able to give his allowance a boost was balanced by an intense urge to bust Lucas Luthor in the chops.
He wanted to be Lex’s brother, companion...lover. To be the most important person in his life, no matter how many business commitments, half-brothers, or family intrigues gobbled up his attention.
He wanted to pin him flat tonight on that lumpy mattress of his and--
Clark stopped chewing his pencil eraser and shifted in his desk seat, thinning his lips in determination, trying desperately to banish visions of wet kisses, rumpled blankets and tangled limbs. No, he told himself sternly. Do not get hard.
He drew a steadying breath and glanced up at the clock. 3:26. School dismissed at four. His Talon shift was scheduled to begin at seven, and he was supposed to show up fifteen minutes and early to fill out some paperwork and learn the sign-in procedures. So he’d have to make every minute in between, every minute with Lex, count.
Miss Parsons rattled on and on about past participles and gerunds.
He couldn’t wait to get home.
**
But when he did, the afternoon didn’t unfold the way he’d hoped. After he gave Lex Chloe’s document, Lex had high-tailed it down the stairs, was off to confront Lucas and furious at his father to boot. Clark was left alone in the barn, with nothing else to do but high-tail it himself over to the Talon for his evening shift.
He knew telling Lex about Lucas’s brand-new files and tipping him off to his father’s treachery had been the right thing to do, but he couldn’t help wishing he’d kept Lex in the dark and so he could have had him for himself for the rest of the afternoon.
**
Lex’s agenda for the late afternoon and evening was to get his game plan, and then his life, in order, but he ended up returning to the empty farmhouse after the snide visit with Lucas that had done a 180 in the last twenty minutes.
A rough day, with strenuous farm chores at the crack of dawn the least of it. Jonathan had mentioned over their early breakfast before dawn that morning (which seemed ages ago) that Friday night was church night for Martha and him. "We usually try to talk Clark into going with us, but, teenage boys and church..."” A wistful smile, then a shrug. "Come on, let’s get you started."
Lex’s new strategy couldn’t commence till tomorrow; besides, he wanted to ensure he had all the details planned to perfection. A sharp eye and alert mind were absolute necessities, and a good night’s sleep would be the best insurance for being at his best.
He tried valiantly to avoid losing himself in fantasies of sex with Clark--just his subconscious trying to obliterate the afternoon’s seamy nastiness from his memory. After a brief struggle with himself, he regained control of his thoughts, forcing them to focus on a solitary shower, then on plans for donning again the oversized sweats and tee and wisely being dead asleep by the time Clark arrived home from work.
But before he could even set one foot on the bottom stair, Clark breezed into the kitchen, jacket sporting scorch marks and red sweater a jagged tear.
Lex looked him up and down, corners of his mouth twitching. "Your first shift as barrista must have been a bit on the strenuous side." He moved closer. "What happened?"
Clark peeled off the jacket and wadded it hastily into a ball. "I never actually got to the point of putting on an apron," he said glumly. "I was late getting to the coffee shop, and when I did, Lucas was there. First sleazy thing he did was try to get me fired. Then he gave Lana a rough time and even threatened to close the Talon."
"He can’t do that," Lex insisted with a shake of his head, mouth settling into a grim line.
Clark yanked open the refrigerator door, grabbed a carton of milk and lifted it to his lips. He gulped, swallowed, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and gasped a deep breath. "Then some Asian guy on a souped-up motorcycle tried to run Lucas down in the alley. I’d followed him out, so I jumped in to help."
Amazing, thought Lex. Anyone else would have--"Clark, you never fail to choose the noble course. Always a hero."
Clark set the empty container on the table and glanced down at the floor. "I’m sorry; I know he’s been screwing you over--—but I couldn’t let him die."
A bitter chuckle. "As I said: a hero." Lex indulged in a gigantic yawn and a rub of his eyes. "Well, Clark, it’s been a long day, and a stressful one. I’m too tired even to try to figure out what’s going on with Lucas till tomorrow."
Clark grinned and tossed his jacket into the trash can. "So let’s go upstairs."
**
"Wow, what a day." The frame creaked in protest as Clark threw himself on the bed, still fully dressed, echoing Lex’s mental assessment of a half hour earlier.
"It’s been interesting." Lex joined him on the mattress, lay back and folded both arms behind his head. The events of the day suddenly didn’t seem so bad, here with Clark, the soft glow of the bedside lamp warming the room. Perhaps if he had company like this all the time, a brother, a friend--someone to talk with at the end of a day, to deflect with a joke or two the somber reflections that gathered at dusk, he’d have been able to be a better person.
Clark shifted to get comfortable. "At least tomorrow’s Saturday. No school."
"But chores on the farm go on as usual." Lex intended to show up for duty tomorrow just as he had this morning, aching shoulders notwithstanding.
"Tomorrow, I’ll get up and help. Promise. I meant to, this morning, but--"
Lex turned to glance at him with a smile. Clark was gazing at the ceiling, and Lex suddenly had unbidden visions of young Michelangelo peering up into the vaults of the Sistine Chapel.
He finished the sentence for him. "Sleep intervened."
"Yeah."
"Then I guess we’d better hit the sack."
Still, neither of them moved to grab pajamas or toothbrushes from the bureau.
Lex stretched and sighed. "Quiet out here." Clark’s frost-glazed window was open a crack. The only sounds were cows lowing in the pasture and the soughing of the wind in the pines behind the house.
"Yeah." Clark struggled briefly to sit up, and then thumped back down again. "What a day," he said again. "But it was nice coming home and knowing you’d be here."
Lex was silent a moment unable to resist savoring the warm glow occasioned by Clark’s words. A glow that couldn’t last. "I won’t be here long, Clark. Kind as it was of your folks to take me in, I can’t impose for much longer."
Clark raised himself on an elbow. "You’re not imposing, Lex. We’re best friends. I’d hate it if you felt you couldn’t turn to us when you had trouble."
"Thanks, Clark. That means a lot." And it did. More than Clark, with his supportive network of family and friends, could possibly imagine.
The mattress jiggled as Clark lay back down, arms folding behind his head. When he spoke again, the change of subject was radical.
"So, have you and Helen done it, yet?"
Lex caught his breath as warmth rose up his throat to his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "Personal question, Clark." Normally he wouldn’t have thought twice about answering no matter who was asking--he was far from shy about sex--but talking about sex with Clark was probably not the best idea right now.
A glance over, and to Lex’s surprise, Clark was blushing a fiery red. "I’m sorry," he mumbled, not meeting Lex’s gaze. "I’m just—well, curious. It must be great to have someone to be with. To be close to that way. And to know that, even if it takes a while, it will happen someday."
Lex’s throat felt dry as tinder during a drought. He swallowed, hard. "It will happen for you, Clark. Trust me."
Clark shifted on the bed, and Lex could almost taste the discontent invoked by his response.
"Lex, I always trust you. I may be the only person in town who does, but--"
Lex broke in. He didn’t need to be reminded yet again of his pariah status in the town of Smallville. "I’m glad, Clark. I hope I can always be there for you."
"So do I." Clark turned on his side and lifted a shaking finger to touch Lex’s upper lip, then to trace the scar. Lex could see him swallow before he moved nearer, then leaned in close. "I’m glad you’re here for me now."
Lex lay dead still. Was this happening, or was it a dream? Surely Clark’s clock radio would flip on momentarily to KLSK, that crap top 40 station, and he’d open his eyes to the prospect of a cold shower and a morning of backbreaking barn chores--
Lex raised a hand and moved Clark’s finger gently away from his face. He should say something, but all he did was exhale a shaky sigh.
Clark didn’t draw back, just looked down at him. "You know, Lex, tonight at the Talon, Lucas and I talked about you. I told him you were a survivor. And you are." He took a quick breath and, lowering his voice, said quickly. "That’s one of the things I love about you"
"You don’t know what you’re saying." Lex’s forced-calm tone was at odds with the thudding of his heart. Because this couldn’t be happening.
"Bullroar. Lex, when you guys drove up yesterday, I was jealous. Because we’ve been close for a while, and it was like I’d been replaced." He hesitated, and then seemed to gather his courage. "Pete said we were like brothers. But I don’t feel like a brother toward you. I don't want to."
Lex thinned his lips, at an entirely uncharacteristic loss for words.
"Lex." Clark’s tone, not soft and young-sounding as usual, sent a shiver through Lex. It was deeper, more raw, full of...desire. Pleading. "I’m so tired of waiting. I want it now."
Lex knew he should keep his damn mouth shut for once, but he said it anyway.
"What do you want?"
Clark leaned his dusky head on his hand. He plucked at the sleeve of Lex’s shirt, murmured, in a whisper, "Teach me."
Lex’s heart raced; he was cold all over, and his throat was so thick and tight it was impossible to swallow. He expected his voice to come out in a croak and was relieved when it didn’t. "Teach you...what, in particular?"
A heavy sigh. "I knew you’d make me spell it all out. And I know you probably think this is really weird, but...well, things. What to do. And how to do it."
"Things." All Lex could seem to do was echo what Clark said. He, who was always handy with a historical anecdote, comparison or tidbit of insight, and never, ever, at a loss for words.
Clark turned to him, holding his gaze, so close now that Lex could feel the warmth of his breath and the heat of his body, see the thin, moist down of five o’ clock shadow on his upper lip. "First off, well...I want to be good at kissing. Really good. You’ve had lots of practice, so...can you show me?"
Show me. He couldn’t mean—
"How to kiss, I mean. You know so much."
"Yeah, I hear you, Clark. Well...sure." Most of his dreams come true, and this effortlessly. Miles beyond incredible. Even if Clark was planning to use the techniques on someone else: Lana Lang, Chloe Sullivan...all worth it for a few minutes of bliss. For him.
Clark, who seemed to have been waiting in fear for his answer, exhaled. "Good." He sounded relieved. "So, can I--"
Lex tried to calm the thudding of his heart. "Sure." Throat dry, his voice cracked. "Go for it." He could do this, pretend this was all Clark’s idea, and he was just being the obliging friend. Could convince himself he’d wandered into an alternate reality here on this farm. A hard swallow, and he lay still, waiting.
Clark moved even closer. His knee accidentally caught Lex on the hip. "Oh, sorry."
Lex wanted to say: "Don't worry about it," but found himself no longer able to speak. Because Clark was placing a big arm on either side of his body, positioning himself over him with a small lick of his lips, sliding a gentle hand behind Lex’s head, bending down, lips half open. Eyes dropping closed. Lex could feel the heat of his breath.
He had every intention of keeping his own eyes open, but they seemed to close on their own. So he felt, rather than saw, the first hesitant probe of Clark’s tongue, the moist warmth of his mouth as their lips connected.
Months he’d waited for this, months...Over a year. He kissed back, his own tongue sliding into the wet heat, and all the arguments massing against this in his mind faded into the near-blankness of bliss.
He came back to himself as Clark drew back and eased down beside him.
"So how was that?" Clark was back staring at the ceiling.
Lex was relieved that his voice came out blandly matter-of-fact instead of in an embarrassing squeak. "You’re off to a great start."
"Good." Clark’s mellow voice sounded surprisingly mature. He shifted on the mattress and leaned close once more. "Maybe we should try it again. Just to make sure I have the technique down pat."
Don’t expect any objections from me, thought Lex.
This time Lex’s arms seemed to wind around Clark of their own accord. To draw him in closer as he teased Lex’s lips open with the tip of his tongue and then--wet warmth. Bliss.
The kiss broke, both of them panting. Lex struggled to recover his voice and customary blandness of tone. "So what else do you want to practice?"
Clark fumbled for Lex’s hand, drew it over and pressed it to his crotch, holding it in place with his own hand. He was hard under the fabric, and warm, and Lex swallowed with a small gulp as Clark cuddled in closer and pushed up a little into his palm. He was smiling a tremulous, almost proud smile as he waited for Lex to speak. When Lex stayed silent, he gave him a light shove with his shoulder. "You’re the expert. You tell me."
Lex had never felt so incapable of speech as he did at that moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he blurted out the most ridiculous thing imaginable as he reached up and touched Clark’s straight bangs with a fingertip.
"Your mom do this with the kitchen scissors?"
With a light shake of his head, Clark ignored the comment. "You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?" He drew a deep breath and seemed to be trying to keep his voice steady. "Lex, sometimes I wish--I mean, I know next to nothing about...about sex.”"
No deep breath for Lex; in fact, he could scarcely breathe at all. Clark moved closer, and Lex could feel the heat now, radiating from Clark’s body, warming his own. "I want to do more than kiss. I need someone to...love. I want that someone to be you."
Lex hesitated, wondering how he could best strengthen an argument his heart wasn’t really a part of. "When the time is right, you’ll know what to do." He paused, then continued. "Kissing practice is one thing, Clark, but...you’re too young."
"Am not. How old were you when you first had sex?"
“That’s immaterial.”
"Just answer the question, Lex. Without big words, if you can manage that for once."
Lex thought briefly about upping the figure, but then opted for the truth. "Almost fifteen."
Clark’s expression settled into one of almost smug satisfaction. "Who was it?"
“Friend of Mom’s. No more questions, Clark.”
"You’re usually the king of questions. Shoe’s on the other foot tonight, I guess."
"I’m a guest here," Lex began, lecturing himself as well as Clark. “Your parents--they wouldn’t—“
"They aren’t here. They won’t be home till around 11, because after the church meeting, they always go out for coffee with some of the others." Clark lowered his voice, cupped his palm, and stroked Lex’s arm just above his wrist. "For at least another hour, it’s just you and me."
"Whether they’re here or not, I don’t--"
"Lex, we could waste the whole night talking, or we could make better use of our time."
Lex shook his head, a wave of inexplicable unease coursing through him despite the depth of his yearning desire. "Clark, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
"I do," Clark’s mouth drooped into a stubborn pout. Lex’s throat tightened against another swallow, because even cross, he looked adorable. Irresistible, and Lex decided to make one more valiant attempt to resist.
"So, you and Lana--"
"No," was Clark’s abrupt reply. "It’s not that, I--" He faltered and stopped, then another determined swallow, and he leveled his green gaze, serious and intense, at Lex.
"You’re the one I want. I’ve wanted you since--well, for a long time. Feels like forever."
"What about Jessie?" I shouldn’t care so much, Lex thought, but he wanted immediately and desperately to know whether, if all sense deserted him and they did what Clark was pressing for, he’d be the first.
"No." Clark’s voice was soft and yearning. "You’ll be my first.” He cleared his throat and reached out to trail a hand down the side of Lex’s face. "I thought I wanted Lana, and the way you tried to help me get her was great, Lex, but I realized I didn’t. I started realizing it pretty soon after you and I met. The way you looked at me...it made me so hot, Lex. At first it scared me, that way being around you always turned me on. I didn’t understand. But I couldn’t stay away."
Clark shifted a little on the bed and pressed his body closer. With an uncomfortable swallow, Lex tried to look away, but found himself powerless to move. Clark kept talking.
"Sure, I tried to talk myself out of it. I tried to concentrate on wanting Lana. And Chloe. And Jessie and Kyla and, yeah, even Desiree, just a little, just to prove to myself that I was normal. And I did, a little, but that was nothing compared to the way I wanted you. The better I got to know you, the more sure I was of it. I didn’t want Jessie, either, or even Kyla, even if I thought I did. I wanted you."
Lex lay still, Clark’s breath warm on his cheek. Clark pressed his body closer, fingers wandering up Lex’s arm, and Lex could feel Clark’s erection nudging at his hip. After months of imagining, he fought the urge just to turn and yank down the zipper of Clark’s jeans to see for himself.
Clark seemed to be struggling with himself. "Lex, I’m sorry if I’m being a crummy host putting this kind of pressure on you. But I just can’t wait any more. I know myself. I know my own body. The time is right, now. I know it is." Clark reached up and cupped Lex’s face in his hands. "Lex, I'd hate to make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I can't believe you don't want this. God, you’ve been sending me signals forever..” Clark drew a deep breath. "And I know my heart. You're the one."
Clark’s eyes dropped closed as he leaned in for another kiss, and, for Lex, one final half-hearted wrestle in spirit with the last traces of his resolve.
Clark drew back after the kiss.
"Please.
Lex was up and on him in a flash, pressing him down on the mattress, the sum total of his resolve vanishing like winter-morning mist at sunrise. Clark’s lips opened under the onslaught of his mouth and tongue. The taste of spearmint gum and coffee, and Lex had trouble believing, in the heated mist of his brain, that Clark was that much of an amateur at kissing. Somehow he’d learned just how to nip and suck, draw back and press forward, extend the kiss long and then longer, till Lex felt his bones melt and his senses begin to swim.
Clark might think he was the ignorant one, the curious one, the one most in need of information and instruction. But Lex had a crushing need to know as well. To see Clark’s face in the throes of orgasm, his expression as he came for the first time with Lex being the one to bring him off. To feel Clark writhe and twist beneath him in response to his hands, mouth, and tongue. To make him shudder in the throes of bliss, show him what pleasure was all about. He had to have it, all of it.
Now.
"God"” Clark was clutching, thrashing, the bed frame cracking and creaking in time. "Oh, God, Lex, please--"
Lex put a hand on Clark’s arm to still him as he leaned over him. "Clark, this bed's going to break. I suppose I could buy you a new one, but I’d rather not have to explain to your parents."
"No worries," Clark grasped him firmly and rolled them off the mattress and onto the hardwood floor, landing hard and cushioning their fall with a gasp. "Ah!"
"You’re not hurt?" Lex queried breathlessly.
"Nah."
Reassured, Lex pushed himself up off Clark’s body with both hands on the rug and, always focused on his best interests, had them both unzipped and out in an instant. He wrapped palm and fingers around both their cocks and lost himself in the sensation of Clark’s warm flesh pressed against his own.
Clark pulled him back down and into a kiss, wrapping strong arms around him. Lex’s brain shut off as Clark’s soft, full lips opened under his.
Lex lacked the strength to pull himself free immediately, but he knew everything depended on it. He drew back with a wet smack of their lips and slid down Clark’s body until his mouth was level with Clark’s cock. The warm, musky scent that emanated from the moist nest of dark hair.
He blew, then licked, savoring the way Clark’s body tensed and twitched, and the breathy moan that wafted down to him. The gentle coast of Clark’s palms over his scalp, trembling hands holding his head steady. He paused, because this was almost too much to take in all at once.
"Don’t you dare stop," Clark commanded in a quavering voice.
His last chance. Lex hesitated. Was he going to resist temptation or not?
Clark’s hands gave his head a little push closer.
Which made up his mind for him, irrevocably. He opened his mouth wide and slid down, burying his face in Clark’s crotch, as Clark’s gasp trailed off into a moan of pleasure.
**
Lex stirred. With a moan of protest, Clark shifted, arms winding around Lex, who lay sprawled on top of him.
"No one ever told me how hard wooden floors are."
"How did we get down here?" Lex wondered, savoring the motion of Clark’s body under him. He had absolutely no memory of changing locations.
Clark licked his lips like a contented cat and opened his eyes a crack. "We fell off the bed. Right after you jumped me."
Lex snorted as his fingers reached to brush damp curls from Clark’s brow. "It’s up for debate exactly who jumped whom.”
Clark laughed low in his throat, a warm sound. Lex leaned over to press a kiss on Clark’s cheekbone and draw him closer. Then he drew back. "Come on."
They both stumbled to their feet. Clark bent to pick up his shirt from the floor and smiled wryly at the rips and missing buttons.
Clark rubbed his eyes. "Are we going to change to pajamas?"
"Too much trouble." Lex was already rolling to the far side of the bed, dragging Martha's quilt with him.
The last thing he heard was Clark muttering, "I’ll have to run this down to the dumpster tomorrow so Mom won’t notice--" before he drifted off to a calm and satisfied slumber.
**
When Clark left to run some errands for his mother next morning, Lex decided to go for a long walk around the outskirts of the Kent property. Eschewing breakfast with a smile, despite Jonathan’s protest. "A man can’t farm without fuel, Lex. Breakfast is your most important meal."
Some distance from the house, he leaned on a fence and looked across the fields. He could see the front of the bright-yellow farmhouse gleaming in the crisp morning sunshine, with the glass of Clark’s bedroom window a blinding rectangle on the second floor.
The room where he'd known ecstasy last night. Things looked a bit different now in the cold, broad late-winter sunlight.
Indulgence in guilt was foreign to him. He was no longer a man who let himself recognize the emotion--that much of his father’s tutelage had rubbed off. He’d left that weakness behind years ago, and now remained clinical and detached by default from virtually everything with which he dealt. No matter how he might try to resist Lionel’s influence, he’d absorbed and assimilated that aspect to perfection.
But that was before Clark.
He’d never admitted to himself till now just how strong was his desire to be accepted by Jonathan Kent. He’d never allowed himself to analyze why it was so important to him: Jonathan was just a simple country man. But a man who loved his son with every fibre in his being, and--yes, he was envious. What would it be like, he couldn’t help but wonder, to have a father’s genuine love and support: simple, uncomplicated, sincere. No games, no tests--just wholesome discipline--and love.
He wouldn’t know how to behave. But strangely, he yearned to win the approval of Clark’s father, perhaps so he might claim a modest portion of the affection Jonathan showered in spades on his own son. If he could be a member, even an honorary one, of the Kent family.
He’d actually come close to making some headway with Clark’s father during this unexpected visit. So how could he sit across the dining table from Jonathan eating scrambled eggs and toast and remembering how Clark had groaned when he sucked him the night before, how his naked body had felt under his hand, then nestled afterward in his arms. Regardless of what argument he might ran over and again in his mind, use to himself as justification: Clark had approached him, Clark wanted it--desperately, what Clark’s parents didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and stigma against sex was old-fashioned and outdated, anyway. Regardless of the expression of his love, and Clark’s, having become a precious reality, to continue to take unforgiveable advantage of the Kents’ hospitality couldn’t continue, at least not here at Clark’s parents house, and home.
All his cynicism was disabled by one realization: the Kents, whether they continued to accept him or not, were good people. They’d been kind to him, and he was so unused to kindness that he’d barely recognized it, and as to how to repay it, other than monetarily--if Martha and Jonathan learned what had happened between their son and him, they’d be shocked, devastated, angry. Convinced that all their suspicions about him, and more, had proved true.
He hadn’t planned to stay more than a day, anyway. It was time to leave. He could go home and console himself with Helen when she returned from California, and till then, there was the Room.
**
The rumble of an engine as high beams illuminated his face. Clark watched the black car drive up, halogen headlights piercing the darkness, heard the squeak of brakes, and endeavored to put a cheery smile on his face.
"My mom told me you were gonna come back and get the rest of your stuff." His heart did its customary flip as Lex exited the car, cool and smooth as always, looking at him the way he always did: sleek, assessing, enigmatic. He tried to push back the memory of arriving home that afternoon and finding his father on the barn floor and Lex gone. How frightened he’d been when he realized Lex hadn’t left on his own. He’d done his best to stay calm and avoid tipping his hand to Lionel before going to Metropolis and saving them all. And he’d done it, but now, well--
Lex was leaving. Moving back to the mansion, reinstated to his customary wealth and privilege. Their time together, their special time, their first time, was over.
He’d be all alone in bed tonight.
He couldn’t blame Lex. His friend had a business to get back to, a life of money, privilege and importance that didn’t involve Clark at all.
"Surprisingly, my dad’s had a change of heart." Lex’s breath came out in small clouds in the frosty late-winter evening air as he looked around the barnyard one last time.
Clark gazed at him searchingly. Was Lex glad to be leaving, or not? He felt stupid for even wondering. Who would miss mucking out stalls, milking cows, sleeping in a cold house that his folks couldn’t afford to keep warm enough, and being crowded into a too-small bed? Especially when they had a mansion to go home to?
A moment of pure hatred for Lionel for always playing thse sucky games with Lex. Couldn't he just leave him alone? Clark said, a little too quickly. “I'm sorry that Lucas didn't turn out to be the brother you wanted.” And immediately he could have punched himself, because he so didn’t want to talk about Lucas. Lucas had already come between them enough. He hated Lucas, even if Lex’s half brother had, in a roundabout way, brought them together. Even though he and Lex weren’t brothers, and he was glad they weren’t, he still envied Lucas that blood tie. Because nothing, ever, would take that away.
He wanted desperately to discuss last night, to ask Lex if he remembered the kisses, hot, wet, intense. How it felt to drop off to sleep curled around each other in Clark’s creaky bed, satisfied and content--so much better than spending the long nights alone. Get his opinion of the whole thing one evening later. Get some sense of whether they’d move forward, or take ten steps back.
What he really wanted was to grab Lex in his arms for another of those long, sweet kisses. To feel his slim body relax and melt against his. To pledge eternal love and devotion, and ask when, exactly, they were going to do it again?
Maybe Lex would bring it up so he wouldn’t have to.
But no. "Considering his father, I'm surprised he's still alive at all."
Still on Lucas. Crap. But that wasn’t important. What really mattered was the way Lex was looking at him. Just like always: move in, just a little closer than a normal person would. Glance down, slow sweep up over his body to fix on his face with that intense, inscrutable expression. Except there was so much more between them now. The increased closeness since Lex came to stay. Last night. The sex. They belonged to each other now--didn’t they?
Clark was suddenly terrified that the answer might be something other than 'yes'.And try as he might, he couldn’t keep from looking away from the intensity of Lex’s gaze. He dipped his head, then looked back up.
"Where is Lucas now?" Far, far away, he couldn’t help hoping.
Lex’s expression was placid as he replied. "Safe. But I'm going to have some work to do to regain his trust."
Clark wondered what that meant. Had Lucas split for Asia? Was he in a safe house somewhere closer by? Somewhere Lex would be able to visit him, where they could talk into the night, sharing boyhood tales, background, ambitions and goals?
Clark felt that familiar, exasperating wave of jealousy once again.
"You will," he assured Lex, even while his heart sank. “You're not your father.” They were still talking about Lucas, Lionel, and Lex’s family instead of about last night, about each other and what had happened. Clark was damned if he was going to be the one to bring it up.
He sighed. But maybe he should. Get over his eternal shyness, step up and tell Lex, once and for all, what he wanted, and how much.
But Lex was still talking. "Sometimes, Clark, we're all held hostage by the will of our fathers. The only difference is, your dad is a good man. All my father does is push people away. Your dad opened his home to me, no questions asked."
Yeah, and then he made you work for it! Clark thought, but didn’t say. He slumped against the truck. "As long as I live, I don't think I'm ever gonna to understand your family."
Lex looked off across the farmyard and toward the dark fields. "Neither will I. Just remember, my father may try and rule the world, but yours will inherit the earth."
Clark blinked, surprised by Lex’s comment. If you have a real brother now, will you still want me? Clark tried to think of a way to say it that didn’t make him sound like a world-class dweeb. I want you to stay, so much. I’m so sorry you have to go. But I know you have to. You have more important things to do than hang around here.
He tried for a light, jesting tone. "So, I guess since you have a real brother, you don’t need me any more." He grinned, but could tell the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Lex didn’t answer right away. He looked sideways at Clark, gaze focusing on his lips, and when he spoke, his voice was calm with a new certainty Clark had never heard before. "I need you, Clark. Never doubt it. And I don’t intend to give up needing you, either. No matter what."
Clark caught his breath. What about Helen? He wondered. And Lucas? What about Lana, and my parents, and everything and anyone else that can keep us apart?
But Lex was leaning close, and Clark tried to fight it, but his own eyes dropped closed. He felt Lex’s cool hands cradle his chin and cheeks, and waited, hardly daring to breath. Then, lips and tongue tasting his own mouth, coaxing it open, and as his own arms wrapped around Lex, Clark let his brain switch to "off".
No point in waiting any more. Everyone else could take care of themselves.
**
I thought I was smart,
I thought I was right,
I thought it better not to fight
I thought there was a virtue, in always being cool
So it came time to fight
I thought "I'll just step aside"
And that the time will prove you wrong
And that you would be a fool
I don't know where the sunbeams end
And the starlight begins
It's all a mystery
Oh. To fight is to defend
If it's not now then tell me when
Would be the time
That you would stand up and be a man
For to lose I could accept
But to surrender I just wept
And regretted this moment
oh that
I was the fool
I don't know where the sunbeams end
And the starlight begins
It's all a mystery
And I don't know how a man decides
What's right for his own life
It's all a mystery
'Cause I'm a man, not a boy
And there are things you can't avoid
You have to face them
When you're not prepared to face them
If I could I would
But you're with him, now it'd do no good
I should've fought him
But instead I let him
I let him take it
Fight Test, The Flaming Lips
_________________
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