The Power Hour, or, One Blush After Another

by a campbell

Smallville, Clex

Martha braced the screen door open with her elbow, shifting the stack of folders she held from one arm to the other as she fumbled for the doorknob. The small bag of groceries had seemed manageable until now, and she shivered in the raw late-afternoon air. A glance at her watch told her there were forty-five minutes till supper. That is, if Clark had remembered to slip the casserole into the oven.

He’d better have, she thought glumly. She was exhausted. And hungry. And definitely not in the mood to cook. She and Lionel had worked hard today on every type of business imaginable, and breaking for lunch hadn’t been an option.

Martha saw the two unopened bottles of soda on the kitchen counter before she noticed the boys. But she heard the scuffle, the gasp, and Clark’s moan ("Lex...") and took a quick breath before glancing around the room.

They broke apart before she could speak. But not before she’d seen Lex pressing her son back against the stove, his tongue slipping out to lick a light path down the section of Clark’s neck that showed the collar of his t-shirt. She’d caught the low husk of Lex’s voice as he muttered something indistinguishable, noted Clark’s lightning shiver like a pampas stalk in the wake of an approaching storm. Heard the sound he made, somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp.

Martha sighed. She really wasn’t up for this right now.

"Take it upstairs, guys," She hoped her tone of affected levity didn’t have too much of an edge, and that it balanced her blush of discomfort as they both started.

"Mom!" Clark’s voice was a perturbed groan as he disengaged so abruptly from Lex that he collided with the sink, then aimed a smile both breathless and guilty at his mother. "Uh, hi. You’re home early."

"No, I’m not. I’m later than usual. Guess you just lost track of time, hmm? You’re lucky it was me coming in, and not your father." Lex had moved to her side more quickly than she could register, coaxing the grocery bag out of her arm and setting it down on the countertop beside the stove. Martha wondered how in the world Lex had gotten over here to the farm so fast. When she’d passed his office as she left Luthor Manor for the day, he’d been inside conferring with Lionel.

"Hi, Mrs. Kent," Lex’s voice was low and rich, smooth as polished pewter as, having efficiently emptied the bag and lined all the grocery items on the counter, he stepped back to Clark’s side. He seemed unruffled by her entrance, the light in his eyes still hungry as someone who hasn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. One light hand ran down Clark’s arm in a light caress before slipping into his pocket. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he reached out again, slender fingers brushing, lingering briefly against the faded blue cotton of Clark’s t-shirt.

"Stop!" Clark hissed in desperation as he pushed Lex away. He cast a worried glance at his mother, eyes dark with alarm, then back at Lex, who cleared his throat and mouthed him a kiss when their eyes met again, undeterred by Clark’s scowl. Martha could feel the attraction between them almost crackling in the air, and she felt herself blush again as she nodded at the groceries on the counter.

"Put those away, Clark, please." She tried so hard not to notice Clark pulling clumsily at the hem of his shirt, trying vainly to cover the bulge in his jeans. She heaved a sigh, and tsk'd, shaking her head.

"Sure, Mom." He straightened up and hastened to obey, cheeks and throat staining a deep rose. He pulled open cupboard doors, putting away bread and milk, cereal and peanut butter without meeting her eyes.

"Sorry, Mrs. Kent," Lex’s soft voice sounded anything but remorseful. He was looking out the window over the sink, over fields still damp and raw from early spring rains. He glanced sideways at Martha with a smug, predatory expression, and raised his eyebrows. Then he turned back to the window. "The blame’s mine, not Clark’s. He was trying to be good."

Martha didn’t disagree, just shot him a look he didn’t see and an exasperated nod.

"You guys..." The nod devolved into a headshake.

Lex continued to gaze out into the fading midwinter light. "It was a rough day, and I just needed to see him. He’s my tranquilizer, my balm."

Clark looked as though he wasn’t sure what Lex was talking about, but he cast Martha another pathetic glance.

Her first reaction was to snort. Well, my balm would be having the kitchen to myself after a hard day at work. And supper in the oven. This time right after work, the switching-gears period between job and home...they don’t call it the "Power Hour" for nothing.

But there was something really beautiful about the way Lex had said it, and about the way he was looking at Clark again, as though he were returning after a long journey and Clark were the hurricane lamp in the window lighting him home. And even though Clark didn’t seem to understand, Martha noticed he was blushing again.

Dueling blushes, Martha thought with a disgruntled half-chuckle, feeling a crazy impulse to laugh. She just wanted Clark to be happy. It didn’t really matter whether it was with Lex or with Lana. Lord knew, she’d walked in on Clark and Lana often enough, too. She was hardened. At least, she thought she was.

Remembering Clark and Lana made her feel wistful for a moment. But it was in the past. Lex was the present, and maybe the future too. No normal life for her son.

She stopped for a moment, and sighed again, considering. Was she sorry for Clark, or happy for him? Regardless, she was almost ready to forgive them both, till she saw--

The chicken casserole, still in the freezer, and she’d told him...

"Clark." She pulled the dish out and slid it toward him on the counter, and luckily it stopped before it reached the edge. The goofy grin he’d been aiming in Lex’s direction faded as his eyebrows raised, and he gasped. Realizing his omission, his face went into the puppy pout.

Martha jabbed a finger toward the frosted dish. "Can’t you be a little more responsible? You promised you’d take care of this!"

"Mom, I’m sorry." Now he looked seriously scared as he pulled the baking dish closer and picked it up with both hands.

"Too bad you and your father have exhausted your pizza allowance for this month. ‘Cause there’s no way dinner will be ready at a reasonable time, now. Does your dad know this, yet? Clark?" God, I sound like a bitch, thought Martha, mildly amazed at herself.

"Lex, you’d better go," said Clark. He took Lex by the arm, and two sets of eyes met. And Martha could almost feel the heat from where she stood.

"I’ll see you later. I’ll come over, or you can come."

It was Lex’s turn to look embarrassed now at Clark's phraseology. "Clark," he hissed.

Martha knew she should look stern and not chuckle, but she couldn't help herself. She decided to overlook it and give Lex a break this time.

"Not tonight you won’t, young man. No special privileges for you, not till the weekend." She folded the grocery bag over a couple of times and stuffed it into the pantry with the other recyclables.

Clark’s look of distress was all out of proportion to the gravity of the situation. "Mom! Please stop treating me like a kid." Serious, bordering on angry, his voice almost trembling.

Martha collected herself and bestowed a smile of forced brightness on Clark and his guest. Lex was pulling his wallet from his pocket, drawing a crisp bill from the rectangle of fine leather. "Why don’t you and Mr. Kent go out to dinner tonight, Martha?" He held out the money, urging her to take it.

His calling her "Martha" sounded strange but yet natural in some odd way. Nice idea about dinner, but--she shook her head. "Lex, I’m sorry. Nothing is getting me out of this house tonight. Your father wore me out today, and all I want is a bath--"

She stopped, embarrassed, as the two young men looked simultaneously startled. One or two seconds of silence before Clark burst into smothered laughter, and a glimmer of amusement flickered across Lex’s thoughtul face. If Martha hadn’t known him so well, she’d have sworn he was embarrassed, too, a small pink spot graced the skin high on each cheekbone.

"God, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded." Martha sighed. Lex cleared his throat and looked away, as Clark continued to laugh.

"Give me a break, guys." She knew it wasn’t their fault that she was cranky and tired, but...well...too bad.

"You know, if you could both be a little more responsible, things would be easier for everyone. I know you’re all wrapped up in each other, but some consideration would be helpful."

They both looked uncomfortable. Lex studied the floor. Clark’s gaze was both angry and pleading; he seemed to be begging Martha to stop talking for now.

"I’m going to lie down for half an hour," said Martha. "And, put that casserole in to bake, Clark. 375 degrees. Now!"

"Yes, Mom," Clark hastened to obey as Lex turned the dial and opened the oven door so Clark could slide the baking dish inside.

"And, Lex?" she shot back over her shoulder. "You can stay for supper."

She turned back in time to see the two young men exchanged a smile that could have melted the hardest of hearts.

"Thanks, Mrs. Kent."

"Thanks, Mom. Come on, Lex. Let’s go shoot some hoops before we eat."

Martha smiled as she watched from the window. Clark ran ahead of Lex, grabbing the ball on his way, dribbling fast and mean around his friend as Lex tried to bat it from his hand.

She raised the window. 'Hey, guys," she called out. "We’ll start fresh after your game and my nap." She grabbed her new Vanity Fair from the mail bin and waved it at them.

"Okay, Mom. We'll be back in in half an hour to set the table," Clark’s answering smile was worth all the afternoon’s aggravation.

And so was Lex’s.

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