Keys jingled in his hands as Clark took a deep breath. “I am not,” he said for the tenth time, “a secretary!” He glared at Pete, and unlocked his door, feeling a little thrill at the idea of ‘his door,’ – the door that led into ‘his apartment,’ with ‘his refrigerator,’ ‘his bedroom,’ and ‘his Playstation 2.’

Pete laughed and set his box down with a shrug. “All I’m sayin’, man, is that you’re spending your summer in an office taking phone calls, filing things, and scheduling appointments. Do you prefer the term ‘receptionist’ or ‘office assistant’?”

“Neither! I’m working as a paid intern, okay? And besides, when you’re poor next November and asking me to spot you some cash, ‘intern’ will be looking pretty sweet to you.” Clark just barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out and say ‘so there.’

Pete opened his mouth to say something, but Clark rolled his eyes. “I thought we agreed earlier today that we were above the Monica Lewinsky jokes.”

“Hey! I didn’t say anything!”

Clark grinned. “But you were going to.”

“Kent, sometimes you’re just spooky,” Pete told him, collapsing on a faded green couch and staring up at the ceiling. “There’s something funky up there,” he informed Clark. “A stain kinda shaped like a cactus. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, but it’s *my* cactus shaped stain,” Clark said, moving a box to sit next to him. “On *my* ceiling. God, I can’t believe this. I have an *apartment*, Pete. And a job. And I’m going to go buy my own food later and then cook it and probably burn it. Whoa. That’s so cool.”

Pete laughed, and hit his shoulder. “Don’t worry about being all grown up just yet. So, Chloe’s just about foaming at the mouth at the idea that she’s not the one who’s getting to spend all summer hovering over Lex Luthor’s shoulder.”

“I bet,” Clark responded with a quick grin, looking up at the water stain on his ceiling. “But I’m *not* going to interrogate or interview him, or anything like that. He signs my paychecks, so I don’t really want to get on his bad side. I kind of get the feeling that the questions Chloe would want me to ask would lead to one of those awkward silences. You know, the kind that could end up getting me fired.”

“I hear that,” Pete agreed, squinting upward. “Doesn’t really look that much like a cactus, does it?”

“Not really,” Clark said easily. “I was trying to see the resemblance, but there kinda isn’t one.”

There was a pause and Pete sighed heavily. “We’re going to miss you this summer, Kent.”

“I’ll miss you guys, too, but this gives you more of a chance to try and get Chloe naked,” Clark teased.

Pete snorted. “I think I’d probably have a better chance if you were in the room. Seriously, man, you could still come home. You know, maybe being around Lana again’ll get those old feelings going and things’ll work themselves out, or something.”

“They wouldn’t, Pete,” he said firmly, eyes closing briefly. “And that’s probably for the best. The only reason I’m staying this summer is the apartment. If I’m going to live anywhere next year, this apartment’s going to kind of be key, you know? I’d like to be able to afford it.”

“Good ol’ Met U,” Pete snickered. “Gotta love the ‘no guaranteed housing,’ thing.”

Clark shrugged. “Yeah, but if I’d gotten a dorm for next year I’d be packing up boxes and taking them back to Smallville, and then taking them back to Metropolis. It’s like musical rooms or something. At least this way I get to stay put, and, y’know…behold! My own private apartment!”

He grinned at Pete, who raised an eyebrow and looked around skeptically. It was a one-bedroom apartment with a cramped kitchen and an even more cramped living room. Clark could stand in the middle of any room and extend both arms and almost lay his palms flat against the walls. The sink in the bathroom was dripping, and there was the matter of the stain on the ceiling. But there was a television that got cable, and the refrigerator was big enough to fit quite a few six packs and at least two pizzas, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.

“Yeah. Your own private apartment,” Pete said, starting to grin back as an idea occurred to him. “Off campus. Where we can throw parties without worrying about campus security shutting us down.”

Clark’s own smile faltered. “Pete, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. No campus security, but…you know…cops?”

Pete just grinned wider. “It could be a fiesta…we could get paper cactuses to go with your stain. Man, this’ll be awesome!”

“I thought we agreed it didn’t look like cactus,” Clark muttered, looking up at the ceiling again. “Maybe more like a…fork. Or someone flipping me the bird, but not a cactus.”

“Details, my man, details,” Pete said, waving the inaccuracy away breezily.

Clark frowned. “C’mon, Pete. No parties here. I don’t want to lose the lease.”

Pete shook his head. “You have *got* to loosen up and learn how to have a good time. You could learn a little something from your new boss-to-be, Mr. Intern. How’d you land a job in Lex Luthor’s private office anyway?”

“Chloe’s dad pulled some strings for me. He’s been managing the plant in Smallville for years and years, and LexCorp owns it. I’m lucky to have gotten it, I guess…it’s a pretty cushy job.”

“Yeah, but I bet your dad’s giving you a rough time over it.”

Clark sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t even know the half of it. Even after I pointed out that I’m mostly going to be filing for Mr. Luthor’s *administrative assistant*, he was acting like I was taking over the plant in Smallville or something. Mom had to work her mojo on him before he even agreed that it was the best pay I could hope for.”

“Just filing for the other secretary, huh? So that makes you, what? An under-secretary?” Pete asked, eyes twinkling with devilment.

“I am not a secretary! I am an intern! In. Tern.” Clark said, probably louder than necessary because Pete shook his head, a hand clapped over his ear.

“Whatever, man. Anyway, from what Chloe says, Lex Luthor’s a man who likes to have a good time, and you my man, are in desperate need of that knowledge. Maybe he’ll teach you how to party or something, because the man’s a party animal. Or he used to be, anyway.”

“How would Chloe know?” Clark’s eyes narrowed with confusion as he turned to Pete. “Have they met or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Pete said with a shrug. “But she’s been reading The Inquisitor overtime. Lex Luthor seems to make it every week. She was gonna cut all of the stories out and send them to you, but she got distracted by some kind of Bat Boy thing going on in Gotham. But Luthor’s always in the hippest clubs and stuff…maybe he could get you and some of your friends in, too?” Pete turned hopeful eyes toward Clark.

Clark shook his head. “Pete, man, I seriously doubt I will be spending any time with Lex Luthor that doesn’t involve him telling me how much sugar to put in his coffee or when he wants to schedule meetings, if that.”

“Told ya you were a secretary,” Pete said, grin back in place.

********************

Pete was right, Clark reflected, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was a secretary.

And a very bad one at that.

In the past three days he had not only managed to break the coffee machine in the staff kitchen, spill water on not one, but *two* different important files, give out wrong information and freeze his computer at least twice daily, but he’d also put Lionel Luthor through to the plant in Smallville instead patching him to his son. Ten minutes ago.

After realizing what he’d just done, Clark had quietly flipped out at his desk for a full three minutes before deciding that he’d probably be better off if he left the scene of the crime. He’d briefly toyed with the idea of running off to a cave in Fiji and living off the land for the rest of his natural life, but had decided on going to the men’s room instead. Seven minutes later, he was still in the men’s room, hiding.

“You,” he said to his reflection in the mirror, “are such a twelve year old girl. You’re hiding in the bathroom, Clark! The bathroom! Nobody hides in the bathroom unless they’ve got a double ‘x’ chromosome!

“So what if you suck at your job and you’re going to get fired?” Clark continued, pointing at his image. “You should at least go out there and take it like a man. No more of this bathroom bullshit, and Fiji is out too. Sure, the cave sounds like a good idea now, but wait until the monsoon season when you get flooded. Then you’ll *really* miss the apartment you aren’t going to be able to afford when Lex Luthor fires your sorry ass for putting his dad through to the crap factory….”

Clark shook his head at himself. “And could you be any lamer? Now you’re standing here in the bathroom, talking to yourself. Yeah, you’ve completely lost it, Kent. So you’re going to go out there, and you’re going to sit at that desk, and you’re going to…I don’t know. But you’re going to go back out there. And that’s all there is to it.”

“Pretty rudimentary plan,” a smooth, amused voice commented. “Me, I’d pick Fiji any day.”

Clark whirled quickly, almost *too* quickly, and mentally chalked that slip up to yet another way in which he’d messed up today. Lex Luthor stood by the door, arms crossed and a smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t look pissed off. Or maybe he did. Clark couldn’t tell.

Either way, Clark’s desire to leave the bathroom had just escalated to *need*. He could feel the wash of crimson rising over his throat, up into his cheeks and did he really *have* to blush so noticeably? “Mr. Luthor, I didn’t know you were here, I…I’m just going to, uhm –”

“Go back out to your desk,” Lex finished, giving into the impulse to smile. “And then I’m supposed to go out there, and fire you, am I right?”

“Uhm…I…that’s up to you, sir,” he said, drawing himself up straighter.

Lex nodded, leaning against the sink with his hands in his pockets, and thought for a moment. “Should I humiliate you when I fire you?”

His teeth were very white. They looked sharp. Clark wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “I would prefer it if you didn’t?” he managed.

“Fair enough,” Lex replied. “Now, tell me, Clark Kent…why am I firing you?”

Because I’m incompetent? Clark thought, but wisely bit the words back. “The…incident. With your father. On the phone. With the…fertilizer plant.”

“Ahh, yes. You put him through to the plant in Smallville.” Lex looked down at his shoes.

Clark held his breath, readying himself for some kind of stinging set down. He’d heard that Lex Luthor could cut someone to bits with a well-worded sentence, and Clark was sure he was about to experience it first hand. That is, he was sure until he noticed Lex’s shoulders shaking.

“You put him through to the plant…‘the crap factory’…” Lex repeated, and Clark realized he was laughing. Rather hard, actually. And Clark began to breathe again.

“God,” Lex threw his head back, laughing out loud. “I’m going to start insisting that every time the old bastard calls to yank my chain he’s connected to the ‘crap factory.’”

“Mr. Luthor?” Clark asked, hesitant.

“Please, you’re the first person in weeks who’s made me laugh this hard. Call me Lex.” His cool blue eyes danced with merriment as he studied Clark. “Don’t worry, Clark, I’m not going to fire you. You make life interesting.”

Clark could feel his eyes widening and his jaw beginning to drop. He managed to stop it before it dropped all the way open, because that would be very uncool. “Thank you, sir…Lex, I mean. Thanks, Lex.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lex said, opening the door to the bathroom, before pausing and turning back to Clark. “I hope you don’t run off to Fiji any time soon. Or if you do, let me know. Fiji’s fun this time of year.”

********************

“I met Lex Luthor today,” Clark told Chloe over the phone, as he fanned smoke out the kitchen window, grimacing.

“Really?” He could practically hear her leaning forward and raising an eyebrow. “What’s he like?”

“He’s, uhm, very…” Clark frowned as he thought. “He’s very…smooth.”

Chloe was rolling her eyes. He just knew it. “Smooth?”

He nodded, and took a bite of his blackened grilled cheese. “Yeah, smooth. I mean, like…slick. He really is bald, you know. But it’s not like, weird, or anything. It’s kinda cool actually. It looks pretty good on him.”

“Really, Clark?” Chloe said dryly, but her tone was lost on him.

“Yeah. It’s probably because of the whole confidence thing. It’s not like he comes off as arrogant or anything, but, he’s definitely got a *presence*, you know?” Clark paused for a second, swallowing. “He’s funny, too. Lex is just a really cool guy, not at all like you’d think he’d be.”

“Geez, sounds like you’re ready to ask him out on a date.” Chloe snickered. “And since when were you on a first name basis with Lex Luthor?”

“Since today,” Clark answered, defensively. “And I’m not going to ask him out on a date.”

“All right, all right, so how did you meet Lex, the really cool guy?”

“See, that’s an interesting story,” he began.

“An interesting story?” Chloe asked, voice sharpening. “What happened, Kent?”

Clark winced, and haltingly, told Chloe everything. From the coffee machine, to Lionel and the crap factory, to Fiji. By the end, she was giggling almost hysterically and Clark was blushing furiously.

“Shut up, Chloe,” he muttered, looking out the window at the fire escape.

“Man, Clark, sounds like Lex wants to ask you out, too,” Chloe said, still giggling. “A match made in heaven. ‘Smallville Boy Strikes Gold; Clark Kent Becomes Billionaire’s Boy Toy.’”

He blushed harder, and was glad she couldn’t see him. “What? No! He didn’t mean it like that at all.”

“I knew you were in for trouble when you told me you were becoming an intern. Maybe I’ll let Pete send you that blue dress after all,” Chloe teased.

“So, about Pete…” Clark said, jumping at the chance to change the subject. “How are things going? You guys having fun?”

“Yeah, we’re having a great time,” she responded, too quickly.

“Oh really? A great time? Or a really great time?” he pressed, letting his voice carry the hint of a leer.

She sighed. “We’re having a great time, Clark. Really.”

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” Clark asked, voice softening with concern.

“Nothing, Clark,” she told him, sounding tired. “Nothing’s wrong. Listen, I’m going to go. I’ll catch you later, okay? Have fun with *Lex*.”

“I will, Chlo,” he said quietly. “And hey? I’m here. You know, if you need me.”

“Yeah, I know,” she responded after a beat. “Bye.”

Clark barely waited for the dial tone to sound before he called Pete. “What’s going on with Chloe?” he demanded without preamble.

“Clark, man, how am I supposed to know what’s going on with her?” Pete responded irritably. “The only person that knows what goes on in the mind of Chloe Sullivan is Chloe Sullivan, and she’s not about to share that information with mere mortals like us.”

“Pete, are you two fighting or something?”

“No,” Pete answered shortly. “Listen, I’m really busy. I’ll call you back later, okay? Oh, and I saw Lana yesterday. She says hi.”

“Oh,” Clark said, looking down. “I...tell her I said hi back,” he told Pete, voice carefully neutral. He recognized the deflection for what it was easily, but still felt a kind of stilted sadness at the mention of Lana’s name.

“Yeah, I will. Catch you later,” Pete said and hung up.

Clark frowned at the phone. For the first time since they’d broken up, he wished he could call Lana, just to ask about Chloe and Pete, but Clark knew better than that. Any phone call between the two of them would be…polite and as awkward as was humanly possible.

He didn’t miss her as much as he’d expected to, and Clark wasn’t sure if that was good, or if it was bad, or if it just was. He was leaning toward the ‘just was’ option. Time and distance conspired to heal all wounds, right?

If time could get him through breaking up with Lana Lang, time would be able to fix whatever was up with Chloe and Pete. He was sure of it.

Chewing on the last of his grilled cheese, Clark stared up at his ceiling. The stain, he decided, looked more like some kind of post-modern Pegasus, rearing up on one leg. He thought about that for a moment, and then shook his head. He’d definitely gone to one too many art shows with Lana. Post-modern Pegasus? That was ridiculous. About as ridiculous as Chloe’s ‘Lex wants to date Clark’ theory.

Because, after all, in all of the tabloids that Clark had ever read, Lex Luthor was always linked with a woman. Usually a very attractive woman who had some kind of scandal up her sleeve, but still, it was always very much someone female. And Clark was most definitely not female, and therefore was not someone with whom Lex would want to flirt. End of story, QED.

Satisfied that the stain on his ceiling was *not* a cactus and that Lex Luthor had no sexual interest in him *whatsoever* and that Chloe and Pete would figure out… whatever needed figuring out, Clark turned on the television, and kicked his feet up.

He channel surfed for a bit before falling asleep to the sound of an infomercial, safe in the knowledge that all was right and sane in his world.

********************

Clark woke hours later to the far off sound of a woman screaming. She sounded terrified, and before it registered that he was making the decision, Clark was out the door, and running toward the screams at top speed. It was late, so there weren’t many people out, but he blurred past everyone in his path – nothing more than a breath of wind against their skins.

It was an alley, and it was dark and crowded. The woman wasn’t screaming anymore because her mouth had been covered by a black-gloved hand. Three men were crowded around her, and the air was thick -- filled with violence.

Clark could see the woman’s eyes. They were wide, and brown, and filled with tears. Her beige skirt was pushed up to her waist, and one of them was trying to wrench her thighs apart. She whimpered, and Clark stepped into the alley.

“Let her go,” he ordered, and was surprised by the calm, confidence of his voice. It didn’t betray any of the rage that had his hands shaking slightly. “Let her go now.”

One man stepped forward and laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and moonlight glinted off his knife as he jumped Clark. The fight was over quickly, leaving no one in the alleyway conscious but Clark and the woman he’d saved. He tied the men up before turning to her, careful to keep to the shadows.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered, rubbing her arms. “I…wh-who are you?” She stepped toward him, trying to make out his features in the dark, and Clark was suddenly afraid of being seen. His father’s voice pounded through his head with a million warnings, and he shrank back.

“No one,” he whispered gruffly. “Just go home. You’re safe.”

She watched as he breezed past her. When he was near home he called in an anonymous tip to the police.

He didn’t sleep again that night, but lay in his bed, eyes open and staring as he listened to the sounds of Metropolis in the night – the motors of cars, the voices of people walking down the street, music from the night club two buildings down. The usual sounds of a city at night, and he was relieved to hear them.

Clark had thought that the last of his powers had manifested when he was eighteen and had learned how to fly when he was awake, but for the past few months his hearing had been phasing in and out of normal levels. Sometimes he could hear just like anyone else – any human – but sometimes, sometimes his hearing was so sensitive that he could hear whispered conversations blocks away.

Usually his hearing wasn’t sensitive unless something terrible was happening, and a part of Clark was pissed off that it couldn’t be sensitive when someone was saying something good about him. Like that he had a cute butt, or something. But no, Clark, the luckiest alien this side of Marvin the Martian, got to hear catastrophes in the distance.

And he could stop them all, easily. Or if not easily, he could at least still *try* to stop these things from happening. So didn’t that mean that he had to? That’s what his father had always said, back in Smallville.

But his father had also told him to hide his abilities, to keep from drawing attention to himself. In Smallville that’d been hard enough, if only because Chloe’s eyes were always stubbornly wide-open. Lana’s, too, for that matter, even if she didn’t make a show of it, like Chloe did. But back in Smallville, people had a way of looking past the big, obvious bouts of weirdness.

In Metropolis, that didn’t happen. Clark couldn’t rely on one of his stock “adrenaline” answers and blow off something like lifting a car with one hand to save a frightened little girl. People would want to know how he’d been able to do it, and that would lead to all kinds of problems.

Problems like labs, and dissections, and cages. And Clark really wanted to avoid those problems because those were the problems that gave him nightmares.

And so he’d let a woman get beaten, badly, by her husband and he let an old man’s leg get broken when he wandered into the wrong part of town and was mugged. The old man lost four hundred dollars and his fifty-year-old wedding ring, and the woman had lost feeling in her left hand.

He wasn’t sure that he would have saved the woman tonight if he’d stopped to think about it, and that made him feel sick. If he hadn’t shown up in time…he didn’t want that on his conscience. No more than he wanted the old man and beaten wife, and Clark wished like hell that he could go back and save them, because he had these gifts, and he could help these people and he wanted to, wanted to *so much*.

She’d seen him, tonight. Seen him moving faster than any human could have, and maybe she’d seen his face, too. He wondered if she’d recognize him if they ever ran into one another, and if anyone would believe her if she told them what had happened.

Clark blinked, and looked out the window. He tried very hard not to think about cages, or meteor rocks, noticing instead the way orange light from the street lamps landed on the windows of the skyscraper down the street. It wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t threatening either, and Clark was willing to accept the ease that gave him without asking for more.

*********************************************************

The sun came up slowly, light slipping into the apartment in stages. Clark did sit-ups in the living room, because he was tired of staring out the window and he didn’t want to watch the news. By the time he’d reached fifty, it was seven o’clock and his phone was ringing.

“So what did you do last night?” Chloe asked him by way of greeting.

Clark ran a hand through his hair. “Uhm…watched t.v.?” he offered, frowning.

“Did you know that the Daily Planet gets delivered to my house every day? I get it around six in the morning. It’s kind of a cool system.”

“That’s cool,” Clark said, confused.

“I read this article in it this morning. I thought it was pretty interesting.”

He frowned harder, started pacing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chloe cleared her throat, and adopted an instructive tone of voice. “‘I called for help, not because I expected it, but because it’s what people do when they’re afraid. This time, though, it came. He appeared out of the shadows and saved my life,’” she read before pausing, and he could just see her eyebrow raising. “Sounds like something that could have happened in Smallville when we were in high school.”

“Really? What do you mean?” He did his best to sound confused and tired and interested, really he did, but he couldn’t quite stop an edge of hysteria from creeping into his voice.

“Lois Lane, the newest star reporter in the Daily Planet’s orbit, got assaulted last night. She says she would have been raped if mystery man hadn’t shown up out of nowhere and saved her life. Look at the editorial section of today’s newspaper. The article’s called, ‘The Masked Samaritan’. You should check it out, Clark.”

“I will, Chloe,” he said evenly. “But I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

She sighed heavily. “It’s got you written all over it, Kent. This mystery guy was at the right place, at the right time. Much like a certain farm boy we both know and love tended to be.”

“Chloe, Metropolis is a very big city. I have no idea why you would assume that this masked Samaritan or whatever is me. I watched adult swim on the Cartoon Network, and fell asleep last night.” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache of epic proportions.

“Call it a hunch, or woman’s intuition, or whatever you want,” Chloe told him, pausing for a moment. “It’s…it’s more than just you being in the ‘right place at the right time,’ or whatever that means. You help people, Clark, it’s what you do. I mean, it’s like a law of nature. Birds fly south in the winter, and you’re there when people need helping.”

He glared at the wall, trying to shake off her observations. “No, Chloe, what I do is file. I file and I make phone calls and I get to work on time, which is why I’m going to hang up now, okay? Because I have to get dressed and get out the door in the next half hour, and I really think that the ‘crackpot theory’ portion of my morning needs to be over.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! I’m just saying that it’s part of who you are,” Chloe protested.

“Who I am is a man who needs to get off the phone now,” Clark said, doing his best not to growl.

“Fine. But I’m not letting this go,” she warned him.

“Chloe, why don’t you go talk to Pete instead of obsessing over the Daily Planet, okay?” he snapped back.

There was a hurt pause. “Fine, Clark. Go to work.”

“Damn, Chloe, I –” he started, running a hand through his hair again. The headache pounded at the back of his head, as if trying to gain access.

“Just go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.” She took an audible breath, and he could picture the brave but pissed off smile on her face. “Flirt with Lex Luthor for me, okay?”

“I don’t flirt with boys, Chloe,” Clark said, relieved by her teasing tone. If she was teasing him already, he hadn’t messed up too badly.

Chloe laughed. “Clark, Lex Luthor isn’t a boy.”

“Oh? What is he then? A mandroid?”

“Lex Luthor is neither boy nor mandroid,” she informed him. “Lex Luthor is a man.”

********************

When he’d lived at home, Clark had always found his father’s negative attitude toward machines to be rather backward. He’d tried to convince his father technology was good, and should be used more often around the farm, and failing that, he’d made fun of his father for being a luddite, although he hadn’t known the word until he’d started studying for his SATs. But when he’d learned it, he’d used it, and frequently.

And now, he was beginning to regret all of that mocking. Because his father really did have a point.

Technology was bad. Machines were bad. Especially if they were photocopiers.

Because photocopiers, Clark was finding, were just plain evil. Eating kittens and killing babies type evil.

“It starts,” he muttered, glaring at the photocopier that simply refused to work. “At first you and your kind just toy with us mortals, making our lives more difficult by crashing and taunting us instead of performing your function. Next thing you know, the T-1000 is herding humans into small rooms for extinction. I know what you’re up to. I’m a sci-fi geek. This is the first step in the classic ‘machines try to rule world’ gambit. But it won’t work, do you hear me?”

He glared at it, but no copies were made. “You and your kind will never rule the earth. Not while I can still smash you.”

“You seem to have a habit of talking to yourself,” Lex observed from the doorway.

Clark jumped, and looked over his shoulder. “And you have a habit of sneaking up on me,” he shot back, before realizing that he was talking to his *boss*. Really, his boss’ boss, but in the end, his money came from Lex Luthor, and he’d just snapped at Lex without thinking about it.

Lex didn’t seem to mind though. He just shrugged and smiled. “Well, your back seems to always be turned to the door. I don’t seem to have many options. May I ask that you don’t smash the Xerox machine?”

“Uhm, I wasn’t really going to,” Clark said, flushing, and looking down. “Just, you know…aggravated.”

“And you thought threatening the machine would make it function properly?” Lex asked, brow quirking upward and eyes gleaming with humor. “Interesting theory. I’ll use it on my laptop next time it decides not to work.”

Clark shrugged, looking at the still non-functional photocopier. “Yeah, well, it hasn’t made much of a difference here. I’m starting to think about transcribing twenty copies of this by hand. It would probably get done faster.”

“Use black ink,” Lex advised solemnly.

“Will do,” Clark promised. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, no.” Lex waved him away, turning to look through the piles of newspapers stacked on a desk pushed against the far wall of the small room. He shot Clark a look over his shoulder. “Would you believe me if I said I was trying to hide?”

“From what?” Clark asked, pushing a new set of keys on the photocopier and hoping for a different outcome. The machine remained inert.

“The huge piles of paperwork on my desk and the conference call I’m supposed to make in about ten minutes?” Lex shrugged, one shoulder moving quickly up and down in a fluid gesture, and then grinned – all white teeth, and arching eyebrows as he leaned in toward Clark. “Or maybe I’m just looking for today’s Daily Planet.”

Clark studied his eyes for a moment. They were a cool blue, but somehow not…cold, like chips of glass in the sun. “Which one is it?”

Lex’s grin widened. “I don’t really know.”

He reached past Clark to the photocopier, his cheek almost brushing against Clark’s as he pressed some buttons on the keypad, seemingly at random. Lex smelled like something expensive. Maybe it was aftershave, maybe it was body wash, but Clark could tell just by the scent that there was no way he’d ever be able to afford it.

A strange noise issued from the photocopier. Something between a whine and a creak, and it started to finally make copies. “How did you do that?” Clark demanded, eyes wide.

“Haven’t you heard?” Lex asked, smirking. “I’m a genius.”

“Must be,” Clark said, smiling back. The hum of the photocopier filled the room. After a long moment, Lex picked up the newspaper, and left with a small wave. As Clark waited for all of his copies to print, he wondered if he’d just flirted with Lex.

He wasn’t able to come up with an answer.

********************

This was something Clark could do, he realized toward the end of the week. He wasn’t in love with waking up early in the morning, and his telephone voice needed work. But, for the most part, working in Lex’s office was…fun?

No, that was very much so the wrong word. It wasn’t fun, but it was okay. Better than okay. Fun-ish?

While he was getting a hang of the filing system, although his computer remained possessed by some unholy demon that was bent on making his life hell, but Clark could live with that. Mostly, he liked the people he worked with. The PR people were friendly, Lex’s receptionist fussed over Clark and his boss was a nice guy, if a bit anal-retentive. Lex’s body guards were…well, a little creepy, but he got the feeling that if they warmed up to him, they’d be okay. Maybe.

Lex, though, was definitely the coolest person in the office. Having lived an entire life under the impression that all things Luthor were most likely tainted by corruption, if not out and out E-vil, Clark had expected…horns?

Probably not actually horns, but at least some kind of bitchiness or something. Possibly temper tantrums and knife throwing. But Lex was…friendly. In a snarky, funny kind of way.

Clark liked him. Really liked him.

Lex made a point of coming by to see how Clark was doing every day, and even though he usually managed to show up when Clark was doing something wrong, Clark looked forward to it. Even *if* Lex was just trying to make Clark feel more comfortable on his first week of work, which was probably the case.

And besides the whole ‘Lex kind of rocks’ issue, it was neat to just shoot the breeze with *the* Lex Luthor.

The weekend passed by relatively uneventfully, despite Chloe’s continued, desperately annoying, attempt to pry something out of him about the Lois Lane rescue. He kept deflecting her, and she kept on poking at him. But that’s the way Chloe always was, and Clark was used to it, so he just hunkered down, and waited for it to blow over.

Monday morning was too bright, too early, and too lacking in coffee, Clark decided as he sat at his desk. His eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion, and kept falling closed every so often. He entered information into his computer mechanically, acting on autopilot more than any kind of meaningful cerebral functions, and the morning slid by.

“Dreaming about Fiji?” Lex asked from behind him, startling Clark. His eyes drifted to the clock, which read 12:30 p.m.

“Yeah, I was thinking about the pet Komodo dragon I’m going to have when I finally move there,” Clark joked, turning. “What can I do for you?”

Lex sat on the corner of his desk, arms crossed and a small smile on his face. The ice blue of his eyes warmed as the smile widened. “A dragon, Clark? Does this dragon have a name?”

“I was thinking about ‘Puff’ but I decided that wasn’t too original. So I guess I’ll settle for Dale.”

Lex laughed. “Why Dale?”

“Why not? I like the name Dale.”

“Fair enough. Dale,” he repeated to himself with a small shake of his head. “Well, it’s your pet. So, you hungry, Clark?”

Clark grinned. “I could eat a horse.”

“I was planning on eating at the deli on the corner, and I’m not sure that horse is on the menu, but you’re welcome to join me anyway,” Lex invited.

Clark nodded, and stood, following Lex out of the office, and wondered what Chloe would say if she were there.

“So you’re from Smallville?” Lex asked as they left the building, although it was really more of a statement of fact masquerading as a question. At his nod, Lex continued. “You like it there?”

“It’s home,” Clark told him with a shrug. “You know, it’s…pretty claustrophobic and boring, and kind of weird – in that small-town way,” he hastened to add, “but, it’s where I grew up, so…yeah, I guess I like it.”

Lex slanted him a glance. “Then why didn’t you go home for the summer? Not that aren’t glad to have you at LexCorp.”

Clark snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause I do so much for LexCorp.”

Lex shrugged. “You’re the most interesting person in the office by far.”

Clark flushed, and smiled bashfully before stopping himself when he realized he was half a heartbeat away from saying ‘Aw, shucks.’

“So why stay in Metropolis, Clark?” Lex asked again as they neared the deli.

“My own apartment, a strong desire not to live with my parents again, a messy break up with a girl from back home…pick a reason,” Clark said without thinking. He blinked, and looked over at Lex. “Whoa, that was probably way more information than you really wanted.”

Lex’s teeth were even whiter than his skin when he smiled. “Clark,” he promised, “so far as I’m concerned, there’s no such thing as too much information.”

He opened the door to the deli and ushered Clark through.

“No such thing?” Clark challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Lex confirmed, lips twitching. “And I really do mean it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Lex’s lips twitched again. “Try me.”

Clark looked around the deli, focusing on the man working on the cash register for a long moment, before turning back to Lex. “What if I told you that guy was wearing some kind of strappy lingerie underneath his work clothes?”

“I’d tell you that he probably couldn’t have gotten it at Frederick’s of Hollywood because they don’t make anything in his size,” Lex dead panned, and Clark snickered.

“Okay, what if I said that there was dog in their bratwurst?”

Lex shrugged fluidly. “I’d say that dog must taste even better than I always assumed it would.”

“Are you serious?” Clark asked, turning to face Lex. “That would really be your reaction to eating dog? Without knowing it?”

“Most likely, yes,” Lex returned. “I’ve wanted to try dog.”

“You’re weird,” Clark said fervently. “Like, really weird.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, turning blue-grey eyes toward Clark again. They ran over his face for a long moment, and Clark found it oddly hard to breathe. He decided that he would also not examine what Chloe would say about this particular moment in time.

“Hey, Lex, why did you ask me to lunch?” Clark asked again, eyes locked with Lex’s. The blue in his eyes flared again, and Lex raised both brows.

“I told you, Clark. You’re the most interesting one in the office. Besides,” he added slyly, “I like you. Eating with someone you like or at least tolerate really does help digestion.”

Both of Clark’s brows lifted. “So I’m here as preemptive Pepto Bismol?”

Lex laughed. “No, you’re here because you can say things like that with a straight face. Like I said, you make life interesting.” His eyes locked with Clark’s again. “I like life to be interesting.”

It only occurred to Clark later that it might have been a bit strange for Lex’s voice to make him shiver, but at the time it seemed perfectly normal. “Thanks,” he said, voice lower than usual.

He only got a smile in response as Lex checked his watch. “We’ve only got about a half hour. I have a meeting with my father across the street.” Lex grimaced. “I may want to invest in some actual Pepto Bismol. Extended periods of time in the company of Lionel Luthor give me heartburn.”

Clark laughed helplessly. “But…he’s your *dad*!”

“Yes, he is,” Lex said, tone of voice conveying his confusion clearly. “And your point?”

“You’re like this new species or something that I totally don’t understand.” Clark shook his head. “I mean, you’re having lunch with your intern and taking Pepto Bismol to get through a meeting with your dad. You’re just…weird.”

“You said that already,” Lex pointed out. “And I’m not the one who was threatening a Xerox machine with certain death.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Clark flushed. “Maybe I am the weird one.”

“Interesting, Clark,” he corrected with a sideways smile, before turning to Clark. His eyes sought out Clark’s and seemed to warm even further as the corner of his lips turned up into a small smile. “Go with interesting instead of weird. It suits you better.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Okay…twenty minutes on ‘low’,” Clark read out loud to himself, studying the rice box carefully. He put the lid on the pot and stepped away, eyeing it carefully.

Clark was aware of the fact that he was not a good cook. But, he thought that it was one of those things about himself that he could improve on. It wasn’t like being too tall to be a professional jockey or anything; cooking could be learned. So, he was doing his best to learn how, because even *he* could only eat pizza so many times before having sudden urges to incinerate anything involving pepperoni.

He flopped down onto the couch, leaning his head against the wall and idly flipped through the television channels. The egg timer in the kitchen clicked happily as he settled in to watch Iron Chef. It seemed appropriate, he mused to himself.

The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Kent, you have *got* to come home. I’m dying out here! Dying!” Pete said plaintively. “Do you know what I did last Saturday night? I was a chaperone, Clark. A *chaperone*. I had to go to the movies with my littlest sister and watch her pimply boyfriend keep his hands very carefully to himself.”

“I bet Andrea *loved* that,” Clark chuckled.

“Yeah, well, she better. She’s fourteen, and she’s my baby sister, and I’m not going to watch her get felt up.” Pete snorted. “Hell no, I’m not. So, anyway, tell me that your life is more interesting than mine? I’ve got to do some of that vicarious living.”

Clark shrugged. “I’m sorry, man. Just work, and stuff.”

“Even on the weekend? I don’t believe that. You’ve *got* to be doing some interesting things. Something. Anything. Lie to me,” Pete begged. “I don’t care.”

“Uhm…on Saturday night I went out to a club and came home with four or five supermodels?” Clark tried, running a hand through his hair.

There was a windy sigh. “Pathetic, Kent. So what did you do last weekend?”

“Not much. Watched cartoons, unpacked. Saved a *reporter*,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oooh…so you *are* the Masked Samaritan, huh?” Pete laughed again. “Chloe’s been going on and on about that for the past couple of days. It’s like all she can think about or something.”

“Yeah, she called me about it, too.” Clark frowned. “She isn’t going to let this one go any time soon, is she?”

“I don’t think so. You know Chloe – she gets her teeth into something and she just holds on.” Pete said, frustrated.

“So there’s still weirdness,” Clark observed. “What’s the deal with you two, anyway?”

A long pause, and then another sigh. Clark’s brow knitted with concern, and just as he opened his mouth to ask again, Pete answered softly, “I don’t know. When I do, I’ll get back to you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Pete assured him. “What are you gonna do about Chloe and the Masked Samaritan thing?”

Clark shrugged. “Ignore it? I mean, she’ll forget in a few weeks, right?”

“We *are* talking about the same Chloe Sullivan? You think she’ll forget this?! You take any head blows lately? Nothing freaky going on in Smallville right now, so this thing is getting all of her ‘Wall of Weird’ type attention.”

“Damn,” Clark said.

“Not much she can do from here, though,” Pete said, encouragingly. “So don’t lose too much sleep over it. Besides, next week there’ll probably be some kind of man eating sunflowers or something and she’ll be all over that.”

“Like white on rice,” Clark agreed easily, before sitting bolt upright. “Rice! Hang on, Pete.” He lay the receiver down on its side and hurried to the kitchen. Thin tendrils of smoke twirled up from the bottom of the pot. Turning off the heat on the stove, Clark took the pot and put it in the sink and hoped the food inside would be at least somewhat salvageable.

It wasn’t. The rice was burned to the bottom of the pot. Clark had serious doubts about whether or not he’d ever be able to use the pot again. He shook his head, and ran water into the ruined meal.

“I suck,” he told Pete when he picked the receiver back up. “I can’t even make rice.”

“Why make anything? Get Chinese,” Pete advised. “There’s not a decent bowl of egg drop soup anywhere in Smallville. Enjoy one for me.”

“More of this vicarious living thing?” Clark asked, smiling.

“Definitely,” Pete answered. “And while you’re at it, go out and have fun. Meet a pretty girl. Do something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, scraping at the rice stuck to the bottom of the pot. “I’ll get on that.”

Pete laughed. “You do that. So, I heard you and Lex Luthor are tight now.”

“Tight?” Clark grinned. “Nah. He’s being really nice, though. Trying to make me more comfortable or something. I’ve got to tell you, he’s got a real gift for finding me doing stupid things.”

“How stupid?”

“Pretty stupid,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But, yeah. Nice guy.”

“Good to know that he’s not a total monster,” Pete said with an edge.

“Hey, you’ve never even met him,” Clark protested. “I’m not saying I know him really well or anything, but he’s been nice to me, and I like him. I think you would, too. He’s just…fun, okay?”

“Fun, huh? Then get him to take you out and do something worth living vicariously through!” Pete joked, but then continued, “I know I’ve never met him, but…some things are hard to just put in the past. The Luthors took our farm away from us, Clark.”

“I know, but it wasn’t him, it was his dad. And it was a long time ago,” Clark argued.

“Yeah, it was.” Pete took a deep breath, and changed subjects. “So…Lana’s been asking about you, man.”

Clark made a noncommittal sound.

“She really wants to hear from you. Says she misses you,” Pete went on. “I think…I mean, she’s staying at Chloe’s. You have the number.”

Clark looked out the window, and shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

The eye-roll that accompanied the snort was almost audible. “What I’m saying is that you should use that number and call her.”

“Why, Pete? Nothing’s changed. Lana misses me? Great. I miss her, too. But everything’s still the exact same as it was when we broke up, and I’m not going to do that again,” Clark said slowly. “And I’m not really ready to just be friends right now. I don’t think she is, either.”

“She seems to think so.”

“Fine, then it’s just me. Whatever,” he ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I just can’t see it working out well.”

“Your call. Just thought I’d let you know…” Pete’s voice trailed off. “Anyway, gotta run. Andrea needs a ride somewhere, and guess who gets to be chauffeur?”

“I’m going with you as my guess. Have fun, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, later,” Pete said, hanging up.

Clark placed the phone down very gently and blew out a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut and felt the same slow slide of hurt that he was getting used to feeling when he heard Lana’s name.

He hadn’t been lying; he did miss her. He missed her a lot, but Clark knew that if he got back in touch with Lana…. Neither one of them was up for another round of the whole ‘couple’ business.

The problem was that Lana needed more than Clark could give her. He was pretty sure she needed more than *anyone* could give her, and as much as he’d tried to make her feel safe and loved and secure, she’d still watched him like he was about to run out the door any second. Plus, Clark had been fairly insecure himself. That he was actually *dating* Lana Lang was sometimes hard for him to believe.

Then there had been the whole ‘secrets’ issue, and how many times could he be late or disappear without explaining himself before Lana was bound to think he was cheating on her? Quite a few. Unfortunately, he’d reached that number and surpassed it, and when Lana had transferred out of Metropolis University second semester, things had only gotten worse; Lana’s suspicions had multiplied, and Clark found himself groping for explanations for missing phone calls.

He didn’t blame her. He didn’t even really blame himself. Not that much.

It still hurt, though. Maybe because there *wasn’t* anyone to blame. Clark really had loved her. He’d wanted to take care of her, and put a smile on her face, but…after two years of trying and not being able to be what she needed, there reached a point where that love faded into something softer and sadder, and every time he looked into her eyes he felt like he was just one more tragedy waiting to happen.

Clark knew what would happen if he called her. Lana was lonely, and he was lonely, and it was inevitable. He only hoped that Chloe would understand if he didn’t call her as often, because he really didn’t want to have a surprise Lana encounter.

God. Chloe. Why did she have to pay such attention to editorials? And why did she have to connect dots so well? And why couldn’t she just let well enough alone? Worrying about the Lois Lane situation was hard enough without her questions.

Just his luck to save a reporter who wanted everyone to know about it. Why couldn’t it have been some nice, blind old lady or something?

Clark was worried, and sad, and very, very hungry. He opened his eyes and glared at his sink, and the pot of burnt rice in it. A deep sigh escaped, and he picked up the Chinese menu by the phone.

********************

Two things happened the next morning, and both of them were the direct result of that day’s issue of the Daily Planet.

The first thing was that Clark’s phone rang at six o’clock in the morning. The shrill sound startled him, and he sat up quickly, banging his head against the wall in the process. It left a big dent, and Clark winced when he thought about the home improvement lecture he was going to get from his father when he asked how to fix it.

The phone trilled again, and he fished through the papers on the floor to find it, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Lo?” he mumbled into the phone.

“Son, do you have this morning’s paper?” Jonathan Kent’s worried voice rumbled into his ear.

“Uhm…I think so,” Clark replied, blinking owlishly at the clock beside his bed. “Why?”

“That woman you saved last weekend is looking for you, Clark,” his mother told him, her voice still thick with sleep. “And she found someone who’s seen you before.”

“This is a big problem,” Jonathan added. “I thought you said you were being careful.”

“If by ‘careful’ you mean am I trying to avoid being seen using my powers, then, yeah, I am,” Clark answered, irritated. “I don’t go around asking people to take pictures of me lifting cars with one hand or watch me running really fast, Dad. She was in trouble.”

“I know that, Clark, but you’ve got to –” Jonathan broke off. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“We’re worried about you,” Martha clarified. “Honey, we love you.”

“I know, Mom,” he said tiredly. “Is it bad? The article, I mean?”

There was a strained silence. “It’s pretty bad,” his father admitted. “The man this Lane woman found saw you lifting a slab of concrete off one of the workers trapped last month in the explosion downtown.”

Clark blew out a long breath. “Do they know what I look like?”

“Tall and dark haired is all they’ve said,” Martha told him. “But, Clark, just –”

“I *am* careful. I’m as careful as I can be, okay?” Clark pushed himself up off the bed and started pacing. “I don’t want anyone to figure it out either, okay? I don’t know how else to do this, though.”

Jonathan sighed. “We know, Clark. Listen, why don’t you come out to the farm this weekend? We’ll talk about it here.”

“No, I’ve still got unpacking to do.” He glanced at the clock, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much, all right? I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Okay, Clark,” his mother said. “But come home soon. We’re not too far away, and we miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he said, with a slight smile. “I love you.”

“Love you too, son,” Jonathan told him. “Good bye.”

“Bye Mom, Dad,” he said, hanging up the phone quickly and hurrying to the door to pick up his copy of the Daily Planet.

They were right to worry, he thought, as he read over the article. Lois Lane was a good writer, and she did an excellent job of describing how he’d saved the trapped men. Her reporting was fair and accurate, and did nothing short of communicate how clearly impossible it would be for a man to lift a concrete slab as thick as he had without breaking a sweat. Humanly impossible, that is.

And she did say ‘tall and dark haired,’ dammit. Chloe was going to be all over that detail. There was no way this was going to blow over. Clark was going to be the investigative interest of the summer. Lucky him.

He got dressed and walked to work. Clark felt like everyone on the street was looking at him differently, like they knew that he was a super strong, super fast alien or maybe they were assessing his adherence to the description ‘tall and dark haired.’

When he went into the office, he forcibly encountered the second thing that the Daily Planet had caused: total and utter chaos.

Almost everyone in the office was on a phone, either answering a call or making one. Faxes were going, printers were printing, and he was pretty sure that he could hear the accursed photocopier in the background. There was an air of hysteria permeating the entirety of the building.

Cautiously, he sat his seat and leaned over to the desk beside him. “What’s going on, Jenna?” he asked the woman who worked there. The small, friendly public relations representative looked completely harried.

“A nightmare,” she informed him succinctly. “We got named in the Phalen trial.”

“The Phalen trial?” Clark asked, confused. “What do you mean we got named?”

“Sam Phalen? The cop who got caught breaking into the Internal Affairs office a few months ago? His defense is that he was afraid that ‘actually corrupt’ cops were doctoring his files or something like that. Says LuthorCorp probably bought them off, and then went on to describe, in detail, the things *he’d* been asked to do for LuthorCorp.” Jenna frowned harder, picking up the receiver of her phone. “All of it included Lex. Somehow the Daily Planet got ahold of the transcript, even though it’s a closed hearing.”

He thought for a second, then nodded. “So what are we doing?”

Jenna’s mouth thinned into a line. “Putting out fires.”

‘Putting out fires’ meant, it seemed, assuring reporters that there would be no comment until Lex was prepared to make a public statement, and telling clients and other businesses that Lex was not, in fact, the raving criminal lunatic that Phelan made him out to be.

Phelan’s testimony really was damning. Clark read the article while on hold, and couldn’t quite believe it. Phelan accused Lex of doing just about every drug on the planet, and manufacturing most of them, too. There were also clear charges of obstruction of justice, assault and battery…basically, according to Phelan, Lex had done everything but commit rape and murder. And Lionel had arranged for all of it to be covered up. According to Phelan, all of this had happened without his consent or cooperation. He was just a poor, innocent bystander who had known too much. Clearly his only option was to break into Internal Affairs and steal his file. Right.

Clark was sure that very few people would actually give Phelan any credence.

Then he saw the ticker tape. LexCorp stock was down…way down. Maybe more people thought Phelan was on the level than he’d anticipated. LuthorCorp was taking a pretty solid hit, too.

He took another phone call, this one from Lex’s publicist. “Is he available?” the man asked.

Clark glanced over at Lex’s office where Lex sat at his desk, face calm. “I don’t know, I’ll go ask,” he replied. “Can I put you on hold?”

The publicist cursed. “Shit, okay. Just tell him to call my cell phone. He already knows it’s important.”

“I will,” Clark promised, hanging up the phone. He stood, and walked over to Lex’s office, knocking lightly on the door.

“Come in.”

Lex was staring at his computer intently when Clark entered, reading. In his hands was a small square of paper, which Lex folded distractedly. “What do you need?” Lex asked.

“Your publicist called. He says he’s on his cell phone, you can reach him there. He said that you have the number?”

Lex nodded without turning to him. Even in profile, he looked tired. “I do, thank you. Is there anything else?”

Clark struggled with himself for a minute, and then blurted out, “Are you okay?”

A quick turn of Lex’s head, and Clark was being studied like an insect or some newly discovered chemical element. Lex’s eyes were narrowed, and the blue was sharp as they flickered over his features before Lex relaxed back into his seat. He shrugged and tossed the paper he’d been folding onto his desk. At a second glance, Clark realized it was an origami crane.

“I’m fine. This is merely…a setback. I’m not worried, Clark,” Lex assured him, drawing a breath to continue before he was interrupted.

“You should be, Alexander. LexCorp is losing money quickly, very quickly. Your investors are getting ready to pull out, and you’re going to have to put all of those plans for pharmaceutical research on the side table,” a sardonic voice observed as a man strode past Clark and into Lex’s office to stand before the desk.

Lex raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t exactly say that LuthorCorp is having a banner day either, *Dad*.”

“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” Lionel Luthor said, noticing Clark. “Dismiss your friend and we’ll discuss it.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I have work to do, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’re very busy also,” Lex said, with a wave toward his computer. “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Lionel’s lips thinned into a tight line of displeasure. “Consider your actions very carefully, Lex. Very carefully. I wouldn’t want you to be under the *illusion* that if you make any mistakes I’ll bail you out.”

“Nice pun, and don’t worry, I haven’t been under that illusion for a very long time,” Lex told his father. Their eyes locked briefly, and Clark was torn between wanting to climb out the window and fly away, and hoping the lushly carpeted floor of the office would mercifully open up and swallow him. He edged cautiously toward the door, not wanting to attract any attention.

The plan backfired, though, and Clark quickly found himself the recipient of Lionel Luthor’s keen gaze. “Who are you?”

“Clark Kent,” he said, hoping he sounded confident. Or something. “I work here.”

“Do you now?” Lionel stared at him a moment longer and Clark tried very hard not to fidget. He turned back to Lex, an ugly smile on his face. “You have always favored brunettes, haven’t you?”

“If you’re having difficulty locating the door, Dad, it’s right there. I could call Mercy or Hope to help you find it, if you’d like,” Lex offered, voice smooth with quiet malice.

“Temper, temper,” Lionel chided as he left. He stopped in the doorway, and turned to deliver his parting shot. “*LuthorCorp* will survive this.”

“And so will LexCorp,” Lex returned. Lionel’s half-smile looked doubtful, and mean.

Silence settled in Lionel’s wake, until Clark broke it with an unsure laugh. “I see what you mean about the Pepto Bismal.”

“He is…an experience,” Lex agreed. “The Lionel Luthor experience. I prefer Jimi Hendrix, personally.”

“Yeah, me too,” Clark said, nodding his head, vigorously. He watched as Lex picked up another square of paper, and started folding, as though he wasn’t even aware of performing the action. “Why do you do that?” Clark asked, curious.

Lex shrugged. “Keeps my hands busy. I fidgeted a lot as a child and my mother thought it would be better if I did something constructive.”

Clark picked up the crane on Lex’s desk. It was a bright blue, with a delicate neck, and perfectly creased wings, and it looked like it was resting. “It’s kind of cool.”

“Thanks,” Lex said with a smile. “You can have it. I’ve got a drawer filled with them. Was there anything else?”

“I was going to get lunch in a little while. Wanna come?” Clark grinned invitingly at Lex. “Maybe we can get some dog or something.”

Lex blinked, and then laughed out right. “Dog would be great, but I’d have to order it in. I’m sorry, Clark, there’s just too much for me to do right now.”

“Okay,” Clark nodded. “You want me to bring you something?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Lex assured him. “I’m sure someone’s already ordered something.”

“All right. Just thought I’d ask,” Clark said with a small shrug.

“Hey, Clark,” Lex called after him. Clark half turned, and Lex was smiling at him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Clark promised, smiling back. Light streamed in through the window, and played across Lex’s face, and his eyes seemed to sparkle for a long moment.

Clark turned away, and closed the door softly behind him.

********************

It was hot outside, but Clark preferred that to the cold. He leaned back against the worn wood of the bench, and took in the sunlight, loving the feel of it against the skin of his closed eyelids. The afternoon was heavy with humidity. Moisture shimmered in the air, and pressed in against the tall buildings of the financial district.

He opened his eyes, and watched the well tailored men and women of the Metropolis business elite hurry past him as he enjoyed his lunch hour. On the cement by his feet, he noticed a newspaper, and bent to pick it up. A picture of Sam Phelan was set side by side a picture of Lex, and the headline read ‘Luthor Heir A Drug Fiend?’

Clark shook his head, rolled his eyes. Right. Whatever. He let the paper fall to the ground and drank the last of his soda, frowning.

Lex wasn’t worried about his publicity problems. Clark, on the other hand, wasn’t quite ready to start getting press. Good press, bad press, it didn’t matter – he didn’t want to make the paper. Hell, he didn’t want to make waves at all. Which is why it was such a *funny* cosmic joke that Lois Lane was now looking for him.

God. He’d saved her from some pretty nasty guys. Couldn’t she just let it be?

Clearly, the answer to that was a big, resounding ‘No.’

He closed his eyes again, listening to the clipping of high heeled shoes against asphalt. Clark drifted into reverie, smiling softly into the noon time sky until his hearing suddenly became much clearer, much more enhanced.

“No! Please!” A woman’s voice protested. “Help!”

“Shut up and give me the purse,” growled a man’s voice. There was the sound of a scuffle, and every muscle in Clark’s body was poised to *move*, to get there, to help her, but at his feet lay the Daily Planet and it was *broad daylight* and even as he stood, deciding what he was going to do, it was over. Clark heard retreating foot steps, and the woman’s soft sobbing.

His hearing faded back to normal. Forcing his fingers to unclench, Clark sat back down on the bench, breathing hard. She’d be okay. She was okay. Probably bruised, and out some cash, but it happened all the time, right?

The woman would be fine.

It was too risky for him to speed down crowded streets in broad daylight, and even more so for him to fly. No one would really be able to miss a man shaped blob zipping around in the air, would they? There was nothing he could have done, not unless he wanted to get caught.

And when did it become his problem, anyway, he wondered, suddenly angry. Why did he suddenly have the responsibility to take care of every single person in Metropolis? He was nineteen years old. He couldn’t make *rice* for God’s sake. How was he supposed to take care of the well being of a million people when he couldn’t even make rice?

It wasn’t that anyone was really *telling* him that he had to. Not outright, anyway – if only because his parents were too afraid for him. It was just this feeling that Clark had.

But at the same time it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t even a little bit fair. No one else had to worry about *everyone*. Literally *everyone*. But, Clark? He had hit the worry jackpot. If he wasn’t invulnerable, he’d already have a huge ulcer from worrying about the entire population of Smallville. Now he had Metropolis on his back, too, and why couldn’t he just live his life already? Go to work, go home, go out, whatever, without worrying about massive catastrophes and mutants of some kind.

Okay, he’d traded mutants for criminals. So far. But now he was saving faceless people who he’d never see again. At home, at least it was Lana and Pete and Chloe and his mom and dad. They mattered to him, which managed to make the whole ‘savior’ thing kind of cool. It definitely gave him a little more lee way to screw up, anyway.

He was done with it, though. Clark didn’t want to be a savior, or a hero, or anything. He wanted to be *Clark*.

But as he stood up, Clark frowned, sighed, and tried to unravel the hard knot of guilt that sat, heavy, in his chest.

The woman would be fine.

**
And of course it was raining, Clark thought to himself sourly, looking through the glass doors of the lobby.

He really didn’t want to go out there. It was wet out there. Water would get all over him, down into his dress shoes and it would soak his socks. They’d slush in his shoes all the way back to his apartment. God, he *hated* wet socks.

Clark sighed heavily, watching rain fall in sheets. It was eight o’clock, and he was so hungry that he was pretty sure that *he’d* eat dog if the opportunity presented itself.
His stomach rumbled loudly. Hungry, hungry, hungry but he *really* didn’t want to go out there. He sighed again. Could this day get any worse?

The Phelan crisis had demanded that he stay on late, and being an intern meant he was lowest on the totem pole and had to stay later than most. When he left he’d been the only one still in the office, except, of course, for Lex.

It occurred to him that, as bad as his day had been, Lex’s had been infinitely worse. And it was still ongoing, whereas Clark’s was close to being over. Would be over, really, as soon as he could convince himself to go leave the safety of the lobby.

Clark wondered what his father would say if he could see how hard Lex worked. It might change a couple of his preconceived notions about Luthors. Then again, he reflected, it might not. His dad was the only person Clark knew who could be more stubborn than Chloe.

The water was thick against the glass, dripping down the surface like syrup. It wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

He was going to have to do it. Clark was going to have walk in the rain. Maybe he could fly – would that be better or worse? He’d never tried to fly in a heavy downpour. Squinting up at the clouds, he tried to see if there was any lightening or thunder in the offing.

“Waiting for someone?” Lex asked from behind Clark, startling him.

Clark turned, and even in the shadows, the circles under Lex’s eyes were evident. “Not really,” he answered. “I was hoping the rain would lighten up a little so I could walk home.”

“I’ll give you a ride home, if you’d like,” Lex offered.

“I’d really appreciate that,” Clark said gratefully, a huge grin on his face. No walking in the rain. Life was good.

Lex smiled back, reflexively. “No problem. I was just leaving myself.”

When they reached the parking garage, Clark almost bounced up and down with glee because Lex’s car was the hottest thing ever. A light blue Porsche that he wasn’t even entirely sure he’d be able to fit his whole body into, it was so small, but that didn’t matter because it just screamed ‘sexy.’ Sleek lines, shiny paint, and he hadn’t heard it yet but he’d just bet that the engine purred like a kitten.

Maybe less like a kitten and more like a beautiful woman. A sex kitten.

“Like it?” Lex asked, amused.

“Uhm, *yes* isn’t strong enough of a word,” Clark told him, not even trying to mask his drop-jawed awe. “Wow, Lex. I guess it’s good to be a twenty five year old billionaire.”

Lex laughed outright, “You have no idea. Come on, get in.”

“Will I fit?” he asked, dubiously.

Raising an eyebrow, Lex gave him a once over. “Like a glove. Let’s go.”

Clark did, indeed, fit in the car. He ran his fingers over the buttery leather, and grinned when Lex peeled out of the garage. “This is so cool,” he said over the loud music that had turned on with the car.

“Yeah?” Lex asked, voice rich with laughter. “Glad you like it. Where do you live?”

“Five blocks over. The intersection of Summers and Logan.” Clark gripped onto the dashboard, holding tightly as Lex turned, going fast. Like, way too fast. He frowned, swallowing hard when the Lex ran a yellow light.

He must have made some kind of noise when Lex made another sharp turn, because Lex turned toward him, concerned. “You okay, Clark?”

“Doing great,” Clark managed. “You, know, maybe…it’s raining too hard to be going this fast? Maybe we should slow down, a little?”

Lex snorted. “It’s a *Porsche*, Clark. What would be the point of slowing down?”

“Right, right, sorry,” he mumbled, trying ignore Lex’s driving and focus on how goddamned cool the car was. Because it *was* cool.

“I was surprised to see you still in the building,” Lex commented. “I thought everyone had left long ago.”

“I got caught up in a couple of snarls,” Clark told him, staring hard at the dashboard and purposefully ignoring the way Lex slammed on the breaks at the red light. “Figured it would be better to get everything all taken care of tonight.”

Lex smiled, slanting him a sideways glance. “Very enterprising.”

“Thanks, I try.” Clark grinned tiredly. “It was a long day, though.”

“For everyone, I think,” Lex replied, looking out the windshield. His voice was neutral, but his face tightened.

Clark fidgeted, trying to think of something to say and tapped his toe to the rhythm of the music. The beat was frantic, hurried. He wondered idly if it affected Lex’s driving.

“So what are you doing tonight, Clark?” Lex asked, trying to dispel the strain as they waited for the light to change colors.

“Probably just ordering a pizza and watching Space Ghost.” Clark shrugged. “What about you?”

The light turned green, and Lex hit the accelerator, hard. Clark lurched in his seat and missed part of Lex’s answer.

“…papers with me for after dinner. No rest for the wicked,” he said, lips twisting a little at the phrase. He was upset and probably incredibly tired, and maybe more than a little lonely? It was a hunch, and it could have been a totally false one, but Clark got the feeling that Lex probably didn’t have very many friends.

Clark couldn’t help everyone, but maybe he could help Lex. Besides, Clark didn’t have very many friends either.

“Hey, you want to slum it?” he suggested brightly.

“Excuse me?” Lex asked, raising a thin eyebrow.

“Slum it,” Clark repeated, grinning. “I’m getting a pepperoni, cheese and mushroom pizza. You want some?”

Lex thought for a few seconds, looking over at Clark as though he was confused. “You’re inviting me over for dinner?”

“You’ve got this habit of answering questions with questions,” Clark observed. “Yeah, I’m asking if you want to have dinner with me instead of going home with your paperwork. Eat some pizza, play some video games. C’mon, it sure beats spreadsheets!”

“Video games?” Lex echoed, a smile beginning to curl his lips upward. “That would certainly beat spreadsheets.”

Clark beamed. “Cool! You like mushrooms and pepperoni, right?”

“We’re going to have negotiate the mushroom issue.” Lex’s smile grew, becoming predatory. “How would you feel about trading olives and green peppers for mushrooms?”

“Man, maybe I *should* eat alone,” Clark teased. “I’ll give you olives, but green peppers are a no-go. It’s that building there.” He pointed, and frowned. “I don’t know if there’s any parking around here. I never even thought to ask.”

“Don’t worry about it, Clark.” Lex pulled up to the curb and parked, eyes alight with mischief. “I think I can handle a parking ticket.”

They rushed through the rain into the cramped lobby of Clark’s building, and up the small staircase to his apartment. “It’s kind of…small,” Clark said apologetically as he unlocked the door, and held it open. “But, it’s dry. So, you know, not that bad.”

“It’s your first apartment, right?” Lex asked, stepping and looking around. “I think you’re doing pretty well.”

“Thanks.” Clark blushed, closing the door and shrugging off his wet coat. He waved to the couch. “Sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

“What do you have?” Lex asked, removing his jacket and folding it on the arm of the couch before sitting down and kicking his feet up on a half unpacked cardboard box.

“Uhm, water, lemonade, orange juice, milk, pepsi...,” Clark listed, blushing harder. “I, uhm, don’t have a beer or anything. I’m sorry.”

Lex laughed. “Lemonade sounds great.” He looked out of place, lounging on the faded green of Clark’s couch with his well tailored suit and expensive watch. Water beaded on the pale skin of his scalp, and the grey fabric of his shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, damp. He looked like he’d been covered with a light brushing of silver, Clark thought with a small smile when he noticed light catching on water in Lex’s lashes.

Lex’s eyes were really distinctive. A really different shade of blue than he’d ever seen before, with long, pale lashes. They really caught his attention.

Clark blinked, putting the lemonade back into the refrigerator. Was it weird to notice people’s eyes like that? Male people’s eyes?

He shook the thought away, sending droplets of water flying across the room. Clark handed Lex the lemonade, and called the pizza place.

When he got back, Lex was on the floor looking through his video games. “I don’t know any of these,” Lex muttered, frowning. “What’s this?”

“That’s Grand Theft Auto: Vice City,” Clark told him. “It’s a really cool game.”

Lex looked up, eyes narrowed. “You don’t have Zelda?”

“Nope.” Clark shrugged. “I don’t.”

Lex made a disgusted noise. “That’s ridiculous. Zelda’s the best game ever.”

“Trust me, you’ll like GTA,” Clark told Lex, putting the game in.

Thirty minutes later, when the pizza arrived, Clark was struggling to hold back laughter and Lex was fuming, but determined.

“Let’s play again,” he insisted, picking up a slice of pizza. “I think I understand the probabilities better now.”

“Hey, Lex?” Clark asked, unable to smother his grin. “You only like Zelda because you can beat it, don’t you?”

Lex didn’t answer him. Instead he started a new single player game. Clark watched as Lex, inevitably, didn’t make it past more than ten minutes before the game ended.

Lex threw the controller down, disgusted. “Next time,” he informed Clark, “we’re playing chess.”

Clark just laughed.

CHAPTER THREE

It wouldn’t have been right to say that Metropolis was hotter than Smallville in summer, because it wasn’t really, but the air seemed heavier, denser in the city. The heat crawled along the tall, gleaming sides of buildings that reached up toward the sun, and shimmered on the sidewalks. In Smallville it was probably the same temperature, but it played along the greenery, mingled with the wind and it felt, somehow, cleaner at home than it did here, Clark thought, as he stood in his kitchen drinking juice.

After a year of college, he wasn’t as used to waking up when it was still dark out as he used to be. He’d forgotten how much he liked the quiet parts of the morning. Birds landed on the fire escape, the fluttering of their wings loud in the still alley.

He never would have pictured this, if he’d been asked to guess where he’d be a year after graduation. Clark probably would have guessed that he’d be back at the farm. Maybe living in his loft, and definitely still with Lana. Probably hanging out with Pete and Chloe and doing chores every day.

This was…better. Maybe a little lonely sometimes, but it was better. Clark needed time to be *Clark* without being expected to be…whatever it was that people at home expected of him. It differed from person to person, and he wasn’t up to it. Really wasn’t up to it.

And lonely wasn’t so much a problem. He’d always spent a lot of time on his own, even in Smallville, because, well…*alien*. Besides, there was Lex, who was turning out to be an even cooler guy than Clark had originally thought, which made him pretty much the coolest person Clark knew. By *a lot*.

And not even because Clark didn’t know many cool people. Although, he really didn’t, come to think of it.

Sweat trickled down his spine, pooling on the flat of his back, and Clark opened the window further, hoping for a breeze. He was really going to have to look into getting fans or something because it was just too hot for clothing, and walking around naked wasn’t really an option if he was going to have people over.

Tonight he and Lex were going head to head in a game of no holds barred Zelda. They both knew all the same codes, and if Lex thought he had an edge just because he’d been playing the game longer than Clark, then he was about to learn the error of that kind of assumption. Clark grinned.

Maybe it wasn’t that lonely after all, he thought, finishing his juice and running his hands under the cold water as he rinsed out his glass. He splashed some on his face, and ran his hands through his hair.

Putting on his work clothes really didn’t sound like it could have any possible positive outcome. It was too *hot* to wear a tie. Too hot to wear a jacket, and really, too hot to wear pants.

Would wearing boxers to work be acceptable?

Probably not.

Clark sighed, and eyed his suit jacket unhappily. Maybe he’d fly to work, because walking was definitely not going to be any fun at all. Thank God the office was air conditioned, Clark thought, otherwise *everyone* would be stripping down to their skivvies.

And that should have been a funny thought, but somehow, the idea of Lex in boxers didn’t make Clark want to laugh. At all.

He reached into his refrigerator and pulled out some milk, desperate to ease his suddenly dry mouth.

It really was *way* too hot in his apartment.

**


Filing, filing, filing and look, more filing. For a change.

The filing gods had clearly decided that Clark was their chosen one, and that only *he* was capable of serving them properly, because he had a small forest’s worth of papers on his desk demanding his attention. He was going to spend the rest of his life sorting through the piles that sat before him. Clark was sure of it.

He’d never imagined that his doom would look so much like a stack of computer printouts. He’d always sort of thought that meteor rocks would be involved. Or at least the photocopier.

Slowly, he started sorting the documents into separate piles. A for ankle biter, B for blowfish, and so on and so forth. Clark was really starting to enjoy his personalized organizational system when Lex, predictably, came up behind him and startled the crap out of him.

“Are you just shuffling papers, or is there a method to your madness?” Lex asked, leaning over Clark’s shoulder to look at his desk.

He considered asking Lex to wear a bell or something, because really, this sneaking up thing had to stop. “I’m sorting,” Clark explained. “Alphabetizing.”

“Alphabetizing. Sounds taxing,” Lex teased. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it covered. All those years watching Sesame Street weren’t for nothing, you know.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lex laughed. He perched on the corner of Clark’s desk, careful not to upset anything. “Did you know that Sesame Street has given kids around the world New York accents?”

“What?” Clark asked, brows climbing toward his hairline with disbelief. “How does that work?”

“The actors who do the voices of the puppets are all from New York. Kids watch Sesame Street instead of spending time with their parents, and they pick up the speech patterns of Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch instead of their family,” Lex told him. “You don’t have a New York accent, so you probably didn’t watch too often.”

“Or maybe I was just close with my parents,” Clark countered, leaning back in his chair.

Lex nodded. “There is that possibility.” He tilted his head to study Clark. “Were you? Are you?”

Clark shrugged. “Yeah, I am, I guess.”

“Well, that would explain it then,” Lex said, sounding somewhat thoughtful.

“So what are you up to?” Clark asked after a quiet moment. “Looking for something?”

“Looking for a reason not to be at my desk so I don’t receive the three or four phone calls from well wishers, reporters and board members,” Lex told Clark, eyes darkening with frustration. “I just needed a breather.”

“Okay,” Clark said agreeably. “Breathe.”

“Thanks, Clark,” Lex said dryly, a slight smile curling the corner of his mouth up.

“Anytime. Wouldn’t want you to be too stressed out to enjoy tonight’s extravaganza.” Clark grinned. “You know, can’t have you at anything less than peak performance.”

Lex’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Zelda match. “You’re awfully cocky.”

“Hey, I’m just confident. I know what I’m doing,” Clark’s grin widened. “Maybe I haven’t been at it as long as you have, but I think I might know a few tricks that you don’t.”

“Clark, trust me, no matter how many tricks you think you know? I’ve done them all, and found better ways of using than their original intent,” Lex boasted, smirking.

“I might surprise you,” Clark challenged. Was the AC working right in the office? He felt uncomfortably hot. “Try me.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Lex promised. “My performance will not only be at its peak, but at its zenith and you won’t know what hit you.”

“All right then, let the games begin.”

Lex grinned. “What time?”

“Whenever, I guess. I mean, I know you have work and all, but my air conditioner is kind of, uhm, nonexistent. And…it’s kind of hot.”

“Kind of hot? Yes, I think that perhaps ninety-five degrees and high humidity would qualify as ‘kind of hot,’” Lex laughed. “You have a gift for understatement. My place it is. Around eight o’clock?”

“You’re on,” Clark agreed, with a decisive nod.

Lex’s grin widened as he stood, putting his hands into his pockets. He was all gleaming teeth and shining eyes, and the office AC *must* be malfunctioning because it was just *too* hot. “I’ll look forward to it. Enjoy alphabetizing.”

“Thanks,” Clark said, waving as Lex walked away to his office. He turned back to his desk, and chuckled. Lex was *so* going down.

“So it’s like that, huh?” asked Jenna, eyeing Clark speculatively as she walked over to her desk from the doorway.

“Like what?” Clark countered, confused.

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling a little. “You’re safe. I’m in public relations, remember? You’ve just answered a long standing curiosity, though, I’ll tell you that.”

What the hell did that mean? He pestered Jenna for a good five minutes, but wasn’t able to get another word out of her on the subject. When he turned his attention back to the filing that lay waiting ever so patiently on his desk, Clark wasn’t pouting, but it was damned close.

Like what? And what was like what? And in what way was this unknown object like some other unknown object? And why was Jenna grinning at him slyly every couple of minutes?

It didn’t make any sense. And the thing about filing was that filing *made sense*. It was boring as hell, but it made sense.

Clark sighed, and went back to alphabetizing the papers. G for gung-ho, H for hokey pokey…

**

Usually Clark’s lunch breaks found him either eating alone outside, or in a deli with Lex. But Lex had been tied up in a meeting, and outside wasn’t so much a comfortable option today, unless Clark wanted his skin to melt off. Which might make for interesting performance art, but wasn’t exactly something he wanted to have happen.

Sitting alone in a restaurant always felt a little weird to Clark, so he picked up a copy of the Planet while he was paying. The Phelan trial was still front page news, and it probably would be for the next week or so. Phelan was going to jail, that much was certain. Basically it looked like his defense was based on a vindictive desire to take pretty much everyone else in Metropolis down with him. What a sweet guy he must be, Clark thought snidely.

Phelan was flinging mud at every big name corporation in the city, especially LuthorCorp and LexCorp, but it seemed that amidst the barrage of accusations he was making, he’d done at least a little bit of good. Peter Vladenko, a high ranking member in Metropolis organized crime, had been brought in on drug trafficking charges. That’s what made Phelan’s lies so insidious, Clark thought. The little bit of truth mixed in.

Clark was an expert on lies. He just hated telling them, and wasn’t any good at it either. Which sorta seemed like some kind of big tip from the universe that he shouldn’t lie, but *not* lying was out of the question, unless he wanted the world’s scientific community setting up shop on his body. And he didn’t. At all.

Catch-22, much?

Clark didn’t kid himself that Lex was pure as the driven snow, and he realized that he really didn’t know Lex all *that* well, but he’d be willing to bet that the only addiction Lex had was to work. Given the long hours Lex spent in the office, Clark was pretty sure Lex didn’t have the *time* to do too many drugs. And besides? Clark just didn’t trust Phelan. He didn’t know why, but it was instinctive, and intense – much like his trust *in* Lex.

Munching on his sandwich, he turned the page. And stopped dead.

The Daily Planet was offering reward money for any information pertaining to the ‘Masked Samaritan’, and really, that name was starting to piss Clark off because he hadn’t been wearing a goddamned mask. And why did they have to offer money? Was he a criminal all of a sudden?

And there was a hotline specifically *for* information on the Masked Samaritan. Clark scanned the article, and found himself suddenly pissed off instead of panicked. Because he *wasn’t* a crackpot vigilante copycat of Gotham’s psychotic hero-slash-bat enthusiast. And he *didn’t* have disfiguring scars on his face. And Lois Lane *definitely* wouldn’t know gratitude if it bit her on the ass.

His parents were going to be practically hysterical when they saw this article. That more than anything put Clark in an anti-Lane frame of mind. Damn her anyway. When he got home his answering machine was going to be entirely filled with messages from his dad because as soon as the Planet had gotten to Smallville, Jonathan Kent had probably read right through it, looking for mention of this Masked Samaritan.

Oh, God. Chloe probably had been, too. Oh, this just kept getting better and better. Would she call the Planet hotline? No, no, Chloe wanted to keep it as *her* story. That he could depend on. But she was going to step up the heat on her own private investigation. She *hated* getting scooped.

What the hell was he going to do?

**

The day at work ended, blissfully, at five. Clark flew home, careful to avoid being seen, and loving the drop in temperature the higher up he flew. He landed on the roof of his building, and trudged down the stairs to his apartment, taking off his jacket and tie as he went. As soon as he’d closed the door behind him, his shoes, socks, belt and shirt followed. The phone rang as he started to divest himself of his pants.

“Hello?”

“So, were you actually wearing a mask?” Chloe’s voice asked him, playfully. “Because that’s not very ‘Clark.’ I never would have figured you for a mask kind of guy.”

“Chloe how many different ways can I explain to you that I am *not* whoever it is that saved Lois Lane? Which is good, because if I *were* him, I wouldn’t be able to catch a break. It’s like she’s got it in for that guy or something.” Clark tried his best to keep most of his anger out of his voice, and hoped he only sounded mildly annoyed.

“She’s just trying to make the most out of a story that she was right *there* to see happen,” Chloe told him. “I don’t think she actually has it ‘in’ for you or anything.”

“Would you just *stop* saying that? It wasn’t me. Repeat: not me. Someone else, got it?” Clark snapped, throwing his pants across the room.

“Clark, I’m not stupid, okay? Could you stop treating me like I am? Maybe for a millisecond, or something?” Chloe shot back. “I mean, God, what is it? Just because I have breasts you can’t trust me? Too much estrogen to be able to keep a secret properly?”

“What are you talking about?”

Chloe laughed, bitterly. “Clark, how long have I known you and Pete? What have I done in all this time to make you think that you can’t trust me? I know there’s something different about you, and I know that Pete knows it, too. You guys *suck* at being secretive, by the way.”

Clark sat down, blinking. This had turned around on him too quickly, way too quickly. “I…Chloe…”

“Yeah, you think I want to know because I’m curious, but Clark? I’d like to know what you think is so terrible that you can’t tell me ‘cause it’ll make me freak out.” Chloe paused, and drew in a shaky breath. “Because, I really, honestly, hope that’s the reason you haven’t told me, rather than because you think I’ll run off to some big paper with your secret like it’s an exclusive.”

There was no way to get out of this conversation. No way at all, and Clark didn’t know exactly how to respond. It was like walking through a minefield or something. A minefield filled with meteor rocks.

“Chloe,” he began, very cautiously. “I do trust you. And…you’re right. I have been keeping secrets, but. It’s not because I think that you aren’t trustworthy…it’s…habit, I guess? It’s just…not something I’m really ready to talk about, okay? But when I am, I will tell you, Chlo’.”

“If you’re not ready to talk about it than how come Pete knows?” she demanded. “And don’t try to tell me he doesn’t. I know he does.”

“I’ve known Pete since I was first adopted, Chloe. It’s not so much about me having told him as about him just knowing. Chloe…don’t push, okay?” Clark swallowed hard. “Please. Just…please.”

There was a long pause, and Clark started to worry that he’d finally crossed some kind of line with her, that he was asking too much.

She sighed. “You ask a lot, Kent.”

“I know, I know,” he said, relief rushing over him like a wave, “but I really do love you, Chloe.”

“I know,” she replied, sounding resigned. “I’m the best.”

“You are,” he agreed, smiling.

“Tell Pete for me, will you?” she asked, in a tone of voice Clark didn’t completely understand.

“He already knows,” he told her gently.

She snorted, disbelieving. “Yeah, well I’ve gotta run. I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay. Have fun. And…I…,” Clark groped for the right words, but Chloe saved him.

“We’re okay, Clark, don’t worry. But, I really do have to go, so bye.”

He hung up the phone, and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, blew out a long, long breath, and thanked whatever God would listen to an alien for Chloe Sullivan’s patience with him.

That had had the potential to get really ugly. A confrontation like that had been in the offing between them for so long that Clark was surprised it hadn’t spiraled out of control really quickly. She and Pete were his two mainstays and losing her would be hard. A lot harder than losing Lana, because Chloe had always been there. It was Chloe, Pete, and Clark, and that was just the way that it *was.*

Clark didn’t want to live in a world without Chloe-snark. Thank God he wouldn’t have to.

He’d outright promised to tell her someday, he realized abruptly. And…he’d meant it. Clark was tired of lying to the people he cared about, just plain goddamned tired of it. So he would. He’d tell Chloe, as soon as he learned how to *let go* of his secret. It was hard to stop guarding it after so long.

Maybe if he’d been able to be honest with Lana…but no. That wouldn’t have fixed everything that needed fixing between them.

Blowing out a long breath, he shifted so he was lying on the couch. Sweat trickled down his back, and he reminded himself again how much he really *needed* to get a fan or air conditioner.

Weather like this always made Clark more aware of his body. The long hours of the day were filled with sunlight, and his skin was warmed by the end of each day. Heat twirled over and around him, like a ribbon.

He missed Lana, missed the swells and curves of her body, the half hitching sigh she made when he kissed her. They’d always made love. Slowly, carefully touching each other like they thought the other one would break, and Clark hadn’t been sure that Lana wouldn’t. But sometimes? Sometimes he’d just wanted a long, hard, fuck and should he feel guilty about that?

Feel guilty about wanting to hold wrists in his fingers, feel long, pale legs wrapped around him and look down and see white skin turning red from kisses he’d sucked onto it?

Clark could feel his body responding to the images running through his head, and he ran a hand down his chest, reaching down to cup himself. He sucked in a breath.

It had been a long, long, time and it wouldn’t take very long. He pulled his cock out of his boxers and squeezed once, hard enough to make him hiss a breath in through his teeth, before he started jerking off in earnest.

God, he didn’t want to be careful, wanted to just *take* someone. Let them feel his strength, hold them down with his body. Wanted to bite hard enough to leave tooth marks, wanted to feel clawing up and down his back, hear someone talk dirty to him.

Wanted to see blue eyes burning up at him, strong arms around him, and oh, God, yeah. He jacked himself harder, faster, pulled back his foreskin to rub his thumb over the head of his cock, and pumped harder, faster into his hand.

Could see it now, see himself biting a pale, smooth shoulder, see the predatory grin, see the sharp white teeth, and those pale, icy eyes, looking up at him. Hot for him. God.

“Is this what you want, Clark?” Lex asked him, voice low, raspy.

Clark came yelling ‘yes.’

He reached over the arm of the couch and grabbed a handful of Kleenex, cleaning himself off, and breathing heavily.

Very carefully *ignoring* what had just happened as he got up, went into the shower.

Shit. He’d just gotten off thinking about *Lex* who not only was his friend and his employer but who was also, you know, a *guy*. And Clark was straight, so that didn’t make much sense.

And he was doing a really bad job at the whole ignoring thing.

It was normal for everyone to…you know…jack off to weird people occasionally, right? That’s what Freud was all about, wasn’t it? Having weird, and not *really* sexual feelings about people that you shouldn’t actually want? Was it some kind of forbidden fruit thing?

Because, really, Lex was straight. Clark was straight. They were a couple of straight guys. They liked *women*. Clark liked *women*. Liked them a lot. Liked having sex with women and not men and was therefore a heterosexual male.

Straight as a goddamned *arrow.*

Except that he’d just had one of the best orgasms he’d ever had while masturbating and he hadn’t been thinking about a woman.

Clark took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and think about this logically. He was nineteen. He was in college. College was a normal time for people to…question themselves. Experiment. And maybe that’s what this was. Experimentation.

Exactly. Clark’s little experiment had been to accidentally jack off to mental images of himself *fucking Lex,* hard. So, if it had been an experiment, a nasty part of his mind wondered, what had been proven?

That he wanted Lex, maybe? That Lex would look really fucking *hot* naked with his legs wrapped around Clark’s waist?

And that answer really wasn’t helping with the freak out session that Clark had going. He took deep breaths. He turned the water colder. He still could feel his cock beginning to react to the pictures of Lex in his head.

Maybe it was just because he hadn’t had sex in so long the idea of *anyone* having sex with him was hot. That’s not to say that Lex wasn’t attractive, because, he was. Lex was lean, well-muscled, and his bald head was even kind of sexy. His skin looked like it would be cool to the touch, and his mouth was always pursing when he thought, like he was going to kiss someone or something.

He also had a great ass. And whoa, where the hell did that thought come from?

All right. So that was incontrovertible proof that he was, indeed, attracted to Lex.

Who was a *man.*

So maybe Clark wasn’t straight as an arrow. Maybe he was kinda…bi?

Was it really fair for his life to be this complicated all at once?

He turned the water up, making it colder, because he wasn’t up to yet another round of jacking off to a man right now. Clark waited until his body had calmed down fully, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips and running a hand through his hair.

“You,” he told his image in the mirror, “are bisexual.”

His image didn’t look any different than it had a half hour ago. Except, maybe, for the kind of wild look around the eyes. Yeah, so he was a little panicked, but being forced to question your sexuality *out of the fucking blue* would do that to a man.

“Bisexual,” he repeated to himself. “You like men and women. Women and men. You bat for both teams, Kent.”

Still didn’t look any different, except for the blush staining his cheeks. Clark sort of felt like this kind of a change should be reflected in his outer appearance. Like maybe there should be a big ‘B’ or something on his forehead.

He sighed, and turned off the lights in the bathroom as he walked into his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed, and sighed, heavily. The water evaporated off his skin into the heat, and he shivered a little.

This was weird. Like, really weird.

Clark wished he could call someone and talk to them about this. But who? Pete? No, that would probably not go over too well. Especially considering that the ‘bi’ part of his sexuality seemed to center around Lex Luthor.

Chloe? They were kind of on shaky ground at the moment, and as much as he loved Chloe-snark, he wasn’t sure he was up to it on this particular topic. It was too new.

And Lana was definitely out of the question. God, would that be awkward.

And other than those three, he was really out of options. The only other person who he really considered a *friend* was Lex, but that….No. Just, no.

Beyond awkward. Like, light years beyond.

He turned his head, and saw the clock staring at him. It was six thirty. He had an hour and a half to get himself under control before going over to Lex’s.

God. Life *sucked* sometimes.

**

He was late getting to Lex’s. He kept turning around and walking back home because he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to look Lex in the eye like, ever again.

It turned out to be okay, though, because Lex was late, too. Clark was shown to the living room by a nice woman who kept looking at him like she was afraid he was going to touch something.

He tried very hard not to, because he was pretty sure that anything he broke would end up costing as much as a month’s rent. So Clark sat in the center of a very large, expensive couch, and moved very little for about twenty minutes, doing his damndest to try and figure out a way of getting through the night without embarrassing himself hugely.

It was eight forty when Lex got there, looking uncharacteristically harried. “Clark, I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Clark told him, trying to look like he didn’t notice Lex’s eyes were silver and his skin looked soft. “I was kinda late, too.”

“Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?” Lex offered, standing by the bar.

“Uhm, just a Pepsi would be good,” he answered, and whoa, he totally just checked Lex’s ass out as Lex bent over. Had he been doing that all along and not noticing it?

Must have been. God.

It really was a nice ass.

He felt like his face was on fire from his blush as he looked down at his feet. Ice and glass clinked against one another as Lex sat beside him, and Clark could feel the heat coming off Lex’s body.

Did he really have to sit so close? Didn’t he know that doing so could possibly cause Clark to spontaneously combust? Or, even worse, cause Clark to set things on fire with his eyes?

“So, uhm, what’s up?” Clark asked, lamely. “At work, I mean.”

Lex let out a sigh, and shifted on the couch. When Clark looked up, he was rubbing hand over his scalp and squinting. “I had a meeting that ran longer than I planned.”

“Is everything okay?” Clark asked, alarmed by the tone of Lex’s voice.

“If you’re asking if you’ll still have a job next week, then yes, everything’s fine,” Lex told him with a small smile. “But the Phelan issue has been making my life a little more…complicated.”

Clark nodded, thinking. “Does this have something to do with that thing your dad mentioned? The thing about starting a new branch or something?”

Lex gave him a sharp look, tensing. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Clark answered with a shrug. “You can tell me to shut up, whenever.”

Lex studied him for a moment longer, as though looking for something in Clark’s features. He must have found it, because he relaxed again, nodding. “Yes, it does. I want to open a pharmaceutical branch, but I’ll need more funding to do that.”

“That’s what your meeting was about?”

That earned him another sharp glance. “What are you studying at Metropolis University, again? Journalism?”

Clark laughed. “Actually, yeah. Am I being too nosy?”

“A little bit,” Lex told him, smiling again. “But I guess it’s just to be expected. Now, tell me Clark, why would a nice guy like you want to go and do something like be a reporter?”

“I’m beginning to wonder myself,” Clark admitted, thinking of Lois Lane. He smiled back at Lex, and really, Lex did have a great mouth. Sexy.

Get a *grip*, he told himself, with a shake of his head. Just because you’ve figured out that you’re attracted to him doesn’t mean you have to think about sex around Lex *all the time*.

Except, it kind of did. Because Lex just…exuded sex.

“So, you ready to take me on, Clark?” Lex asked him, smile turning predatory and sharp. And whoa, that was hot, and Clark’s libido was really clocking some bisexual overtime right about now.

He swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered, wincing internally when he heard the husky timbre that had just crawled into his voice.

“All right then. Let’s do this,” Lex said. He stood and walked over to the entertainment center that dominated one side of the room. Yeah, Clark was definitely checking him out, and when Lex turned and caught his eye… whoa? Was that Lex checking Clark out as Clark checked Lex out?

Or was Clark imagining things? All he knew for certain is the look Lex gave him briefly, whether indicative of possible sexual feelings or not, gave Clark a feeling not unlike butterflies in his stomach. But butterflies weren’t terribly manly. Maybe mini-condors.

Lex walked back to the couch, and sat beside Clark again, and the mini-condors did loop-de-loops. He handed Clark a controller, and wiggled his eyebrows. “The games begin.”

“Damn right,” Clark said. “Get ready to be beaten, Luthor.”

“Not on your life, Kent,” Lex replied.

They played Zelda for almost three hours. Clark had several libido-related mishaps during the game, such as the time he let Link die because he started to wonder what it would be like to lick Lex’s scalp. That *really* weirded him out because wasn’t it enough to find out that he was bisexual without needing to discover that he had bald-kink on the same day?

Apparently not.

In the end, Lex won more games than Clark. And Clark could really only blame a little of that on his libido. But he’d been taught how to lose graciously, so he just grinned, and shook his head. “All right. You’re better at Zelda than I am. I admit it.”

“Ahh, the sweet taste of victory,” Lex teased.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Clark warned. “Next time we’re playing a game of my choosing.”

“Doesn’t matter what the game is. I play to win,” Lex told him, grinning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Clark opened his mouth to respond, but his hearing zoomed in, picking up with total clarity the voice of a man on the opposite side of town.

“On your knees,” he ordered, and panicked sobbing met the demand.

“Please, no, I have kids…please…” a man begged.

And that’s all Clark needed to hear. It didn’t matter that he was trying to avoid attention. It didn’t matter that Lois Lane was scrounging up any and all information on him. All that mattered was that across town a man was about to be murdered, and Clark could stop it.

“I’ve got to run, Lex,” he said hurriedly, standing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want a ride home?” Lex asked, looking confused. “I can just –”

“No, really, I’d rather walk, it’s late, and I need to go get some sleep, so I’ll show myself out?” Clark said, waving as he walked backwards. “I had fun!”

Lex nodded, and waved. He may have said something more, but Clark didn’t hear him, because Clark was out of the apartment as fast as he could be without using his speed. He flew across town, zeroing in on the noise easily, and broke down the door the warehouse, where the sobbing was getting louder.

The man with the gun cocked it, holding it to the back of his would-be victim’s head. Clark sped across the warehouse and knocked the assassin out cold, helping the other man to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Clark asked, stepping back into the shadows, belatedly.

“Yes, I…I am, thanks to you,” the man said tremulously, running a hand through thinning blond hair and laughing.

“Good,” Clark said, reaching out to hit him on the forehead hard enough to knock him out, too. There was no way he could possibly get out of that place without being seen unless he did it, but he still felt a twinge of remorse and heard his father’s voice in the back of his head begin to lecture him on proper and improper uses of his strength.

Clark tied up the assassin using his belt, before dusting off his hands and looking around.

“Oh shit,” he said out loud.

His life had just gotten *even more* complicated, and he hadn’t even thought it was possible.

The warehouse was filled with cocaine.

Thinking fast, he frisked the assasin’s pockets until he came up with a cell phone, and punched in 9-1-1.

“There’s a man with a gun, please, come help me,” he begged, trying to sound terrified. “I’m at…679 Clearmott. A big grey warehouse, I’m hiding. Please, help me,” he repeated for good measure, before hanging up. He put the phone in the hand of the intended victim, and sped off when he heard sirens headed his way.

For the second time in a week, Clark was going to be front page news. Life *really* sucked.

CHAPTER FOUR

All in all, Clark thought, he was handling everything really well. He’d gotten out of bed, and he’d even gone to work, thereby proving that anyone who had ever called Clark Kent high strung had been wrong. He was completely calm. Totally Zen.

He was Clark Kent, Calm Guy.

Calm, Bisexual, Alien Guy who had made the headlines *yet again*, to be more precise.

Not that Clark was looking at the newspaper. He hadn’t looked at it all morning. He hadn’t watched the news, or answered his phone, or listened when the people around him talked about the news, because really? He was happier that way. Like, galaxies happier. Not to mention calmer.

Ignorance was *totally* bliss, and Clark would stand by that. Hell, it was his new motto.

However, Lex had a different philosophy. A philosophy that involved reading the Daily Planet at lunch. And wanting to talk to Clark about it. And maybe in a world slightly less fucked up than Clark’s, that would have been both normal and acceptable, and not something that would end up making Clark want to crawl into a hole and die.

This was not that world.

“Metropolis’ inferiority complex has really gotten out of hand,” Lex muttered, reading the front page of the Daily Planet and shaking his head.

Clark made a noncommittal noise, and applied himself to eating his gyro.

“Have you ever noticed that as soon as Gotham has something, Metropolis wants one, too?” Lex asked him, smiling. “Gotham has a new opera house? Metropolis builds one! Gotham has an unbalanced vigilante, so what happens? Metropolis gets one, too.”

“Unbalanced?” Clark asked, defensive. “What do you mean ‘unbalanced’?”

Lex’s eyes shimmered with amusement as his lips curled up. A pink triangle of tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and he shook his head and yeah, Clark was definitely as bisexual as he’d been last night because that was *hot*.

“Clark, do you think sane men go around prowling the seamier side of town in order to find someone who needs saving? This ‘Superman,’ or whatever it is they’re calling him now, is a thrill-seeking personality type or maybe he’s just addicted to the attention he gets from saving people,” Lex shrugged, turning the page. “Either way, I don’t say it argues well for his sanity.”

“Wait, who’s Superman?” Clark asked, confused. “Isn’t the Masked Samaritan, or Sumerian, or something?”

“‘The Masked Sumerian’?” Lex quoted, laughing. “No. Not likely. The Sumerians were an ancient Mesopotamian civilization. It *was* Samaritan, as in the biblical ‘good Samaritan.’ The Daily Planet editors, in their infinite wisdom, have decided to change the handle they’ve given our emerging hero to ‘Superman.’ Because, quote, you people have got it all wrong, he doesn’t wear a mask or anything, end quote.”

“Who said that? And why are they calling him Superman now?” Clark was beginning to regret not answering his phone. It would really have been easier to get this with a dose of snark from Chloe, because hearing Lex’s voice, thick and dark with amusement as he tossed out random details from the article, was totally shooting any and all calmness to hell.

“The man who pointed out that Metropolis’ new celebrity does not wear a mask also said his savior was stronger than the average man. ‘He was like a superman’,” Lex read, snorting. “I’m not entirely sure that Nietzsche would agree with that assessment, no matter how fast and how strong he may have been. What do you think, Clark?”

Clark frowned. “Do you really think this guy is ‘unbalanced’? He just saves people. I mean, maybe he just likes to help people and is in the right place at the right time. Is that so unlikely?”

“Frankly, yes,” Lex told him with a sharp smile. “While it pains me to have to tell you this, Clark, I’ve found that people rarely do things out of the goodness of their heart. Or, even if they do, they have an agenda. Everyone has an agenda.”

“Everyone?” Clark challenged, irritated. “Even you?”

Lex raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, studying Clark as his smile got brighter, sharper. “Especially me,” he said eventually.

His voice rasped along Clark’s nerves, and Lex was doing that thing again. That thing where he might or might not be checking Clark out, and yeah, Clark was definitely checking Lex out, and the manly mini condors were doing some manly mini-fluttering all throughout Clark’s body.

God. So, revision of theory: Not only was Clark bisexual, he was a *lot* bisexual and a *lot* attracted to Lex Luthor.

Oh, his dad was going to *love* this.

Lex held Clark’s eyes with his own for a moment longer, before shaking his head and turning back to the newspaper with a small, satisfied smile. He flipped the page, and his expression hardened, eyes flickering briefly with something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

“What?” Clark asked, concerned. “Lex? Are you okay?” He leaned in, and his eyes flashed over the newspaper.

The bold print across the top of the page read, “Former Mrs. Lex Luthor to Corroborate Phelan’s Testimony.”

“I didn’t…know you were married,” Clark managed, trying very hard to find something a little less inane to say.

“I wasn’t, for very long,” Lex said, shortly.

“Can I?” Clark asked, reaching for the newspaper. Lex nodded, and Clark pulled it over so that he could look at the picture of ‘the former Mrs. Luthor.’ Lex’s ex-wife was…hot, Clark thought, as he looked at the inset picture. Her dark hair was pulled back, and she gave the camera an expression of artful innocence.

He cleared his throat. “So, is that going to be a big deal? Her testifying, I mean? Is it going to cause a lot of problems?”

Lex’s lips thinned. “Most likely, otherwise she wouldn’t have done it.”

“Well…that sucks,” Clark muttered. He was going to have to work on that ‘not saying inane things’ issue, he thought, blushing.

“Well put,” Lex said dryly, which didn’t help with the blushing.

Clark studied the picture, noticing for the first time what she was wearing; an orange jumpsuit. “She’s in jail?” he asked, looking up at Lex’s perfectly blank expression.

“Yes. Attempted murder is not something that Metropolis takes terribly lightly,” Lex responded quietly.

“Who did she try to kill?” Clark blurted out before thinking.

Blue eyes cooled further, but Lex shrugged, sitting back in his chair comfortably. “Me. Actually, she didn’t do it. A student of hers shot me twice in the chest, but conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree is just as serious as attempted murder.”

Lex looked away, a corner of his mouth curling up into something that would have been a smirk, had it not been so bitter. “It was not one of my better break ups.”

Someday he was going to learn tact. Someday he would *think* before opening his mouth and hopefully, that day would be soon because Clark never wanted to live through anything this awkward again. Ever.

“I…wow. I’m sorry to hear that, Lex,” Clark stammered, blushing at how inadequate the words were. “That’s terrible.”

Lex made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Our marriage was one of my greater failures, yes.”

Confusion knotted Clark’s brow. “What do you mean? It wasn’t your fault. She tried to *kill* you. How is that your fault?”

“I didn’t take my own advice. I forgot for a moment that everyone, *everyone* has an agenda,” Lex said flatly. “It was a mistake. A mistake my father never would have made. He doesn’t let emotions cloud his judgment.”

“So what? You’re not your father,” Clark said with a shrug. “What he would have done doesn’t matter.”

Lex half-laughed, surprised. He met Clark’s steady gaze, and incredulity was written across his features. “I’ve never heard Lionel dismissed so easily before.”

Uncomfortable, Clark shrugged again, looking down at his empty paper plate before glancing back up to meet Lex’s eyes. “Well, it *doesn’t* matter. You’re Lex, not Lionel.”

“Both Luthors,” Lex pointed out, tilting his head to the side.

“Doesn’t mean you’re the same person. Or even that you should be,” Clark argued, impatient. “Did you love her?” he asked, gesturing toward the photograph.

Clark thought for a moment that he’d pushed too hard, because Lex sat silent and expressionless for several long seconds before answering simply, quietly, “Yes. I thought I did.”

“And then you married her. It’s what people *do*, Lex. She played you, it *wasn’t* your fault.” It was important that Lex got that, and Clark wasn’t really sure why it mattered so much to him, but it did, dammit. “Being passionate isn’t a bad thing.”

“Being reckless is,” Lex fired back. “I’ve learned that lesson very well.”

Clark felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to crush her with his bare hands. “She’s a *con* artist, Lex.”

“Which, ironically, now works to my advantage,” Lex said, deftly changing subjects. “Even beautiful con artists don’t have much credibility in court.”

“True,” Clark murmured, looking away. He listened to the traffic behind him, and watched his fingers as they crumpled his napkin methodically.

When he looked up, Lex was still watching him, eyes silver in the light. “What?” Clark asked.

“It’s odd,” Lex began, watching Clark carefully, “that I said any of that to you. I…I don’t usually discuss Desiree, or my father, for that matter. Not with anyone.”

“Why not? It’s the kind of thing that you *should* be able to talk about with your friends,” Clark said slowly.

Lex raised an eyebrow, considering. “Are we friends, Clark?”

“Yeah, I think so. If you want to be, that is,” he responded quickly, tripping over his words.

He held his breath as Lex thought, still studying Clark.

This was one of those moments, Clark thought, when things were decided. Pivotal things, and he could feel the importance of Lex’s consideration.

He sort of wished that Lex would consider faster. Because he needed to breathe soon, and was finding it strangely difficult to do so.

A slow smile teased Lex’s lips. “I don’t know. I’m not sure my ego can stand being friends with someone who’s better at playing videogames than I am.”

Breathing was no longer a problem, and the biggest, toothiest, happiest grin in Clark’s repertoire was all over his face. “Hey, who won at Zelda? I don’t think it was me.”

“It most definitely wasn’t,” Lex agreed, grinning back as he checked his watch.

“Lunch over?” Clark asked, standing.

He didn’t want lunch to be over. He didn’t want to have to go back to his desk, and see Lex disappear into professional mode, and possibly have to wrestle with the photocopier again. What he wanted was to stay here, at this little round black table, and keep talking to Lex, because talking to Lex was pretty amazing when Lex *actually* talked.

But Lex nodded. “Yes, and I have to get back for a meeting.”

Clark suppressed the urge to pout, nodding instead and following Lex.

And damn it, his friend Lex really…moved well. Okay, his *friend* Lex sauntered, and Clark couldn’t really take his eyes off the way his *friend’s* hips moved from side to side and those were *not* friendly thoughts and Clark was *really* going to have to work on his whole ‘insanely-attracted-to-Lex’ thing because it was *not* a good idea to get involved with your friends and Clark *knew* that.

Clark was still affirming his knowledge of that fact when he almost ran bodily into Lex.

“What?” he asked, when he noticed the questioning look on Lex’s face.

“You know, you haven’t asked me,” Lex commented. “If it’s true or not.”

“If what’s true?” Clark was *totally* lost and he was sure it showed on his face when Lex smiled briefly.

“Phelan’s accusations.” Lex was serious again, mouth a hard line in an otherwise completely expressionless face. “You didn’t ask me if they were true or not.”

“Oh, that. I didn’t have to,” Clark told Lex. “I don’t believe him. Plain and simple.”

Somehow Clark knew that the small, astounded smile Lex wore back to the office was the Lex-specific version of the Clark Kent goofy grin.

And he’d put it there. And that was pretty cool.

**

When they got back to the office, Lex disappeared into a meeting and Clark went back to his desk. He steadfastly continued to ignore the newspaper, and any and all thoughts of the …fame? notoriety? attention?... he was getting in the Daily Planet. He didn’t think about what his parents must have thought when they opened the newspaper, he didn’t wonder whether or not there had been a description of him, and he *definitely* didn’t try to figure out if he was going to keep doing this saving-people-in-high-profile-kind-of-way thing.

Because if he thought about *any* of that, he wouldn’t be able to do any work. And doing work, while maybe not the world’s most *stimulating* activity, was important because it led directly to being paid. Which was *key*.

Also? Clark didn’t really want to think about any of those things. They made him uncomfortable, in a kind of prickly-guilt-and-dread kind of way.

Clark was typing away at his computer happily, thinking of nothing newspaper-related, when his phone rang. He glanced over at the caller ID and winced when he saw his parent’s number. Reflexively, he reached out to answer the phone, but on second thought, let his hand fall, and ignored the call.

At the desk across from him, Jenna raised both light eyebrows in confusion at Clark’s behavior. Or maybe it was disapproval.

The phone rang again five minutes later, and Clark decided it was *definitely* disapproval as he tried to disregard the shrill ringing.

After the fourth time Clark let his phone go straight through to his voicemail, Jenna gave Clark a *look* that should *not* have been as effective as it was. She was five foot two and looked like she was fifteen. She had *freckles*. And yet, she only had to stare at him accusingly and Clark found himself doing what she wanted him to.

That is, picking up the phone, which was *not* something Clark wanted to do. Dammit.

“Clark? Clark are you there?” his mother’s worried voice asked, the minute he snagged the phone.

He winced. She was…two decibels above worried. In the angry-danger zone area of loud.

God, he was in trouble.

“Yeah, I’m here, Mom,” he said, suppressing a sigh.

She let out a long breath. “Are you all right? Your father and I tried to reach you all morning and there was no answer.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said hastily. “Just…busy. I’m actually kind of in the middle of something right now….”

“Busy? Busy how? We called you ten times, Clark. Where have you *been*?” Yeah, his mother was *definitely* yelling now.

“I went for a run this morning. To clear my head. And I’ve been at work since then,” Clark told her, trying valiantly not to blush as he lied. He failed spectacularly. “I’m at work right now, too, and I really should go.”

“Clark Kent, when you get done with work you call home, do you hear me?” His mother ordered, voice tight. “Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Call home immediately after walking through the door, got it?”

Oh shit. Damage control. “Mom I – ” he started, turning so that he wasn’t facing Jenna while groveling to his mother.

“I know what you sound like when you’re lying to me, Clark,” his mother cut him off. She sucked in a breath, and Clark could just *see* her trying to calm herself down. “Do you have any idea how worried I was this morning? And now you’re lying to me. We are going to *talk* later.”

His mom sounded…hurt and worried *on top* of being angry, and Clark felt about an inch tall. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just kind of –”

“We’ll talk about it later. You said you were busy. I’m sure there’s work you need to go do,” she cut him off. “I’m glad you’re all right. Call when you’re home from work.”

He agreed, and they exchanged goodbyes and hung up, and Clark would have banged his head against his desk if he hadn’t been worried about breaking it.

He’d known they’d be worried but he didn’t think they’d be *this* worried. What had been *in* that article?

Maybe, Clark realized, this whole ostrich impersonation he had going on wasn’t a good idea. He pulled his head out of the sand, and brought up the Daily Planet web page on his computer.

And there it was. Moved faster than the eye could see, really strong, and oh yeah, probably about six feet tall, dark haired, blue eyed and…handsome? Clark would have blushed if he hadn’t been preoccupied with panicking.

Lois Lane had been busy. Like, really busy. She’d found twenty people that Clark had helped in the past year, and they’d all given her descriptions of him that were fairly accurate. No wonder his parents were crawling the walls with worry.

And she didn’t stop there, either. She tried to explain his strength and speed, and Clark took satisfaction in the fact that she was unable to do so without sounding ridiculous.

Take that, Lois Lane.

He read the article again, and it struck him that for an article about a cocaine bust, there was very little information about the bust itself. Clark’s internal Chloe was snarking about the quality of Lane’s reportage as he tried to piece together the details that *did* make the paper.

And go Metropolis PD, Clark thought, because they didn’t know who was moving the cocaine. The warehouse belonged to Peter Vladenko, the crime boss that Phelan had just put in jail. But, really, no one man was going to be able to sell that much coke and the Metropolis police were coming up empty on possibilities.

They couldn’t be trying too hard. Metropolis was crawling with criminal types. Okay, not crawling, and it was certainly safer than Gotham, but organized crime was *definitely* well-ensconced and high profile.

High profile enough that Clark’s parents still needed to be assured that he was locking his door at night before they would stop worrying and he was *bulletproof*.

It could be that the police didn’t have to try and figure out who was selling the cocaine; maybe they knew and were withholding the information. Or maybe, Clark thought cynically, they knew and were being paid to let it go.

As Clark’s eyes landed on Phelan’s photograph on the screen in front of him, he realized that was what Phelan had been saying all along.

Just enough truth in Phelan’s lies to be disconcerting, he mused, not for the first time, clicking the link beside the picture. It pulled up the article he’d looked at before about Lex’s ex-wife.

Desiree Adkins. Clark really hated her. Without question, and fully, *hated* the woman for the desolate cool he’d seen in Lex’s eyes earlier.

The line of her brow, the eyes, the lips…they all looked like something he’d seen before, and often.

Clark leaned back in his chair, glancing over at the clock on the wall. Mid-motion, he stopped. His eyes had fallen on his reflection in the window, and realization hit hard.

Lex’s ex-wife looked like *him*. Clark’s air left his lungs in a ‘whoosh,’ and Jenna looked over at him, curious.

He smiled, waved her away, bit his lip to keep from saying, “Oh, nothing to worry about. Just realized that I’m more or less the male equivalent of the ex-wife of the first man I’ve
ever been attracted to. Don’t mind me.”

Glaring at his computer, he closed out the Daily Planet web page. He *hated* that newspaper. Violently. He would never read it again. Ever. It caused too many problems. He’d switch to a subscription of the Inquisitor.

And be bored out of his skull by the society pages. Dammit.

Clark took a long, deep breath, and stood. “I’m getting some coffee, do you want any?”

“Coffee will give you an ulcer,” Jenna told him.

Taking that as a no, Clark picked up the mug on his desk and walked to the staff kitchen. He leaned against the counter, and sipped his coffee slowly, doing a quick mental rundown of his day thus far.

1. He and Lex were officially friends.
2. He wanted to jump Lex’s bones. Like, a lot.
3. His mother was going to yell at him next time he spoke with her because he saved someone’s life and prevented a large quantity of drugs from being sold on the streets of Metropolis. Clearly the wrong thing to do, Clark, he thought sarcastically.
4. He was the spitting image of a Lex’s former wife who was a con artist and a would-be murderer.


All he needed was a meteor mutant or two and he’d feel like he’d never even left Smallville, because his life was still *that* weird.

Clark finished his coffee, and headed back to his desk, but two steps outside of the kitchen, he stopped. Lex was in the lobby, shaking hands with a thin, arrogant looking man who was flanked by two of the most obvious bodyguards Clark had ever seen.

Thugs, he revised, X-raying the two huge men when he noticed an odd bulge on one of their backs. It turned out to be one of many guns. Both of the bodyguards were armed to the teeth, and neither was a stranger to fighting.

What kind of man needed bodyguards like that? It could be that he was just paranoid, and liked having the muscle behind him, but the man talking to Lex oozed a smarmy kind of confidence. No, there was definitely something…sleazy about him.

Why would Lex do business with someone like that, Clark wondered, walking back to his desk and frowning.

“Hey, Jenna,” he said, sitting. “Who’s that?” He jerked his chin the man talking with Lex.

She looked up, and eyed the man with distaste. “His name’s Micheal Berenson.”

From her tone of voice, Jenna didn’t like him anymore than Clark did. “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” she told him simply. “We’ve never done business with anyone like him before.”

“What do you mean?”

Jenna snorted, turning back to her computer. “Let’s just say that he keeps some of the city’s best criminal attorneys on his speed dial.”

Clark’s eyes widened and he wondered again why Lex would associate with a man who probably bankrolled every crooked lawyer in the city.

**

It was five million degrees in Clark’s apartment when he got home. It even *smelled* hot.

He dropped his keys, jacket and tie on the table in the kitchen, toed his shoes off and opened the door the freezer, standing in front of it for long minutes with a blissful smile on his face.

Fans were *still* crucial. Clark *would* buy fans. He would buy all of the fans that he could find. And with X-ray vision and the ability to fly long distances very quickly, he could probably find a lot of fans.

Happily imagining his apartment as filled with gale force winds, Clark poured a lemonade and lay down on his couch, starting when the phone rang. His parents. Damn.

“Hello, Clark.” His father’s voice greeted him with about the same amount of warmth as an ice bath. This was the sound of disappointment.

Clark’s stomach dropped. He *hated* that sound.

“Hi, I was just about to call,” he said into the phone and cringed at the skeptical silence. “Really,” he added lamely.

His father cleared his throat and skipped the preliminaries. “Son, your mother and I want you to come home.”

“I can’t, Dad, you know that. I have work until the weekend,” Clark explained. “And then I have unpacking to do.”

“No, I don’t mean for the weekend. We want you to come home from Metropolis for the summer.”

Clark blinked. This was not what he had expected. It was infinitely worse.

His father drew in a deep breath and continued. “We…well, we’re concerned. It’s been three weeks since school’s been out and you’ve made the paper three times in the past week alone. Clark, here in Smallville, the things you do…it’s just safer if you can’t help yourself.”

A slow burn of anger started to travel up Clark’s spine. “No,” he said firmly.

“No what?” Jonathan asked, confused.

“No, I’m not going home,” Clark stated, an edge to his voice. “I’m staying here, working, and paying off my lease. I am not coming home.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your tone.”

“And I don’t think I appreciate *any* of this,” he snapped. “If I ‘can’t help myself,’ Dad? You make it sound like I’ve got some kind drug problem!”

“You *know* how dangerous it is for you to draw attention to yourself, Clark, and you’re doing it anyway. Do you think that you can keep doing this without getting recognized eventually?” his father asked, angrily. “This isn’t a game, son. This is your *life* we’re talking about here.”

“Believe me, no one knows that better than me,” Clark fired back. “I can’t remember the first time I had a nightmare about being caught. My whole life I’ve been terrified of that possibility. I’ve done my *best* to keep from attracting attention, Dad, and you *know* that.”

“Until now, yes, you have,” Jonathan agreed, reluctantly. “But, Clark, the Daily Planet is looking for you. This Lois Lane is on your trail, and you keep giving her ammunition.”

Clark stood, pacing across the length of his living room and raking a hand through his hair. “So what do you want me to do, Dad? Should I have listened to that man plead for his life and then get *executed*? Would that have been the *right* thing to do?”

There was a tell tale silence, and Clark smiled grimly. “That’s what I thought. You’ve told me over and over that I have these gifts for a reason. That I should use them to help people. Does that mean I should only help people we know?”

Jonathan sighed, and Clark could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can hear it happening?”

“Yeah, Dad, I can hear it. What, did you think I just walked around looking for people who need help? I can hear…everything, sometimes. And I *don’t* always go,” he added. “Sometimes, when it’s not a life or death situation, I let it slide. But I…there’s no way I could have allowed that man to get killed yesterday. And there’s no way you’re going to persuade me that I did the wrong thing by saving his life.”

“No, no one ever said that it was the wrong thing to do,” his father said quietly. “Just…dangerous.”

“I know. But…I couldn’t *not* help him,” Clark struggled to explain. “It’s just…I couldn’t. You always told me that the only thing a person can do is his best, right? Well that’s what I’m doing; my best. And…when I hear someone who needs help, it…hurts not to help them. Because I *know* I can.”

“Son, are you sure you don’t want to come home? Smallville’s…quieter. You wouldn’t have that problem here.”

He shook his head. “I can’t hide in Smallville forever. And I *would* have that problem there. I don’t know how far off this hearing thing works. It’s kind of off and on…and besides, Smallville’s got its share of disasters.”

Jonathan exhaled audibly, and Clark knew he wasn’t pleased. It didn’t matter, though, because Clark was staying in Metropolis. It *was* his life, and he was going to live it *his* way.

As much as he could, anyway.

“What are you going to do about the Daily Planet?” his father asked, resigned.

Clark sighed. “I really don’t know, Dad. I’m not *trying* to get anyone’s attention. I’m trying to be low key. It’s just not working very well. I guess I’ll just try and keep the lowest profile I can and hope it blows over, or something.”

“Clark, I want you to be careful,” his father warned. “Your mother and I worry about you.”

“I know you do, and I *am* careful,” he said, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. “As careful as I can be.”

“All right. Your mother wants to talk to you. I love you, Clark.”

And Clark knew that he did. He knew that his father wouldn’t have been have been half as worried and angry if he didn’t love Clark a great deal. He reminded himself of that and forced his voice to remain even when he spoke next.

“Love you too, Dad,” he said by way of farewell.

“Clark? Hello?” his mother called into the phone.

“Hey there, Mom.”

“You’re not coming home, are you?” she asked. Clark could hear the smile in her voice, and found an answering one spreading across his own face.

“No, I’m not.”

She laughed. “I tried to tell your father that you wouldn’t. But you know how he is.”

“Stubborn?” Clark suggested, grinning.

“Now, who else would fit that description?” his mother teased, before sobering. “You will be careful, won’t you Clark?”

“Yeah, I will be,” he promised. “I don’t *want* to be caught or anything.”

“I know, honey. But I worry. I’m a mother, it’s what we do,” she told him, pausing for a moment. “I heard some of what you told your father.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Eavesdropping, Mom?”

She chuckled. “No, just standing next to your father. Your voice carries when you’re angry.”

“I was yelling, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you were yelling,” she confirmed. “But, sweetheart, I don’t want you to feel like you have to take on *that* much responsibility. It’s not fair.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” he agreed tonelessly. “It’s not. But…it’s not like I’ve got much choice, is it?”

There was a long pause, and he sat down heavily. “I…sometimes, I hate having responsibilities, and I even hate people for needing saving. And I know that’s not reasonable, but I just want to live my life like anyone else, but…well. That’s not going to happen. I mean, how could it? I’m…”

“Wonderful,” Martha told him, thickly. “You’re wonderful, Clark, and I love you very much.”

He smiled shakily. “I love you too, Mom. I’m going to go, okay? I…need to clear my head.”

“That’s fine, honey. Call home soon. Oh, and Clark? If you ever let your father and me worry like that for an entire day again, I will drive up to Metropolis and turn you over my knee,” she promised, with enough steel in her voice that Clark was inclined to believe she meant it.

“I’m really sorry, I just –”

Martha cut him off. “I know,” she told him. “Call soon?”

“I will. I promise. Bye, Mom.” Clark placed the receiver down gently, and leaned against the counter, staring sightlessly down at his feet.

He wondered if sometimes his parents didn’t wish he were…different. Human. Clark wasn’t always sure if his parents were proud or annoyed with his powers, or when he saved people. That pissed him off sometimes, because wasn’t he *supposed* to do the right thing? And wasn’t the right thing keeping people safe?

Or was it keeping himself safe? It seemed like his mother and father couldn’t decide.

They just wanted him to have a normal life. But, how the hell was he going to have that? He couldn’t have a normal life for a human, because, well, he *wasn’t* a human. And he couldn’t have a normal life for a Kryptonian because…he was the only one left.

And Clark wasn’t really sure that he *wanted* a typical Kryptonian-type life. Not if all Kryptonians were like his birth parents – obsessed with being some kind of alien overlord for masses of humans.

What the fuck was normal anyway, Clark wondered, suddenly angry. Why was it so *important* to be *normal*? Wasn’t being *happy* enough?

Clark would settle for happy. He really would.

**

It was so still in his apartment that Clark jumped when the phone rang at ten-thirty that night. He knocked his bowl off the coffee table, lunging at top speed to catch it before it broke and spilled ramen all over the floor.

Heh. Not being ‘normal’ had some benefits, he thought, picking up the phone.

“Clark, tell me, do you read comic books?” Lex asked him, and Clark noticed how…husky Lex’s voice was. Kind of raspy. “You *must* read comic books.”

He laughed. “Uhm…some. I like X-Men a lot.”

“Let me guess, you’re a Cyclops fan,” Lex said dryly.

“Kinda, but I always liked Beast better,” Clark admitted, leaning back on the couch, comfortably. “Why?”

“Did you ever read Warrior Angel?”

He thought for a minute, frowning. “Warrior Angel? No. Never. How come?”

Lex sighed. “I’m disappointed in you, Clark.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not as much of an all-purpose dork as you thought I was,” Clark said, rolling his eyes.

“Really, you’re missing out on one of the best comics out there,” Lex informed him. “It’s rife with subtext and political commentary, not to mention –”

“Whatever, Lex,” Clark grinned. “Let me guess. You’ve got every issue.”

“An incomplete collection is hardly worth as much as a complete one.”

Clark laughed again. “Right. And you only keep it for its monetary value. In case you need to liquidate your assets in a hurry.”

“I’m not sure that liquidating an entire collection of Warrior Angel comics would be something one could do in a ‘hurry’.”

“The wonders of ebay,” Clark said immediately. “You can sell anything at any time.”

Lex chuckled. “Clark, you wear about a 32 waist and 34 inseam, right?”

“Wow, and now for something *completely* different,” Clark said, blinking. “Uhm…yeah. Why?”

“You don’t own a tuxedo, do you?” Lex sounded incredibly amused by Clark’s confusion.

“Uhm, no. Again, I gotta ask, why?” He felt like in the past few seconds Lex had left him far, far behind. Had Clark fallen asleep or something?

“I have to go to a fundraiser tomorrow night. It’s a black-tie event, and I’d like you to come with me, if you’re not busy,” Lex explained.

Clark? Busy? That was almost funny.

“I’m not busy,” he said quickly.

“Wonderful. I probably won’t see you at work tomorrow. I’ll be spending the day out of the office, but I’ll come by to pick you up around eight-thirty, and I’ll have a tux sent around before then,” Lex said, sounding pleased.

Clark frowned. “You don’t have to send a tux over. I can –”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lex interrupted. “I’ve already arranged the tuxedo for you.”

“Well, okay then,” Clark acquiesced. “So…what kind of a fundraiser is this?”

“A very boring one. Which is why I’m so glad you’re coming.” Lex was joking, but Clark blushed anyway.

“It’s not connected to Warrior Angel in any way?” Clark asked.

“No, why would you ask?”

He shook his head. “Because most people employ this conversational tactic called a ‘segue’ when they’re changing topics completely. The last thing we were talking about was Warrior Angel, and then this fund raiser, so I just kind of assumed that they had something to do with one another.”

“They have no connection whatsoever. Although, Warrior Angel did have a couple of issues that included fundraisers. There was one fight scene in the middle of a charity auction…”

Clark smiled, and listened as Lex launched into a half hour description of various Warrior Angel story lines. They talked for an hour or so, and by the time Clark got off the phone he was yawning.

It sucked that Lex wasn’t going to be around for lunch tomorrow. Clark really liked hanging out with Lex at lunch. He liked spending time with Lex, liked talking to him, liked being friends with him.

Of course, he also was beginning to deal with the whole ‘he liked the way Lex looked’ thing. And the way Lex sounded. And moved. And smelled.

The thing was…Clark wasn’t just *attracted* to Lex. He really…just, well, *liked* him. A lot. If Lex had been a girl, Clark would have called it a crush. And maybe it *was* a crush? But it didn’t…feel…like any crush Clark had ever had before. He was just getting to the point where he talk to Lex without making an *ass* of himself.

So what did all of that mean?

Clark wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure he was completely bisexual. Maybe he was just…Lex-sexual? Or something.

Maybe Lex had that kind of sex appeal that transcended genders…like David Bowie. Or Prince or whatever he called himself. Everyone thought they were hot.

Like, *everyone*.

Okay, maybe Pete didn’t and maybe Clark’s old roommate, Kevin, didn’t. Maybe Clark was the only one. Besides Chloe and Lana, both of whom liked men.

But David Bowie and Prince were famous. They were the men that everyone admitted were attractive. They were incredibly sexually charismatic. They were lean, elegant men.

They were… a lot like Lex, actually.

So Clark had a …type? And he hadn’t even known. He’d just had this free-floating bisexuality lurking in his system his whole life. Dammit, this whole sexuality thing was suddenly very, very confusing to Clark. And it had been the one thing he’d thought he had a pretty clear handle on.

In the past, on any given morning, he didn’t know what his body would do but he cwas fairly certain that he was straight, that his name was Clark (or Kal-El), and that his parents loved him.

So …maybe it was time to adopt the ‘two out of three ain’t bad’ philosophy.

He really wished he could talk to Lex about all of this, because something gave him the feeling that Lex would be able to say something both comforting and useful. But, that idea was just…all kinds of bad.

So tomorrow he was going to a fundraiser with the object of his bisexual desires. Lex was going to come over and pick him up at eight-thirty. In any other situation, Clark would have called it a date.

Clark’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped open. Oh. God. What if it…*was* a date?

Did Lex…? *Was* Lex…? Were those eye contact moments really happening? Was Clark imagining it? Was it just one sided? Or…was…did…?

Wow. A *date*?

“Calm down,” he told himself, blushing. “You don’t *know* it’s a date. It might just be…two friends. He’s been *married*.”

But…what if it *was* a date? What then?

Clark blushed even harder, but forced himself to think about it. If it was a date…was he ready to…?

Okay. If it was a date, then it was a first date, and on a first date people usually…kissed. Maybe they made out. But…they didn’t usually just…jump right into bed, did they?

Clark’s experience was really pretty much limited to Lana and Jessie, but with Jessie there’d been the red meteor rocks involved, so it didn’t count. With Lana…things had evolved slowly. He’d always wanted her, just, never…

He’d never wanted her quite as much as he wanted Lex. Because Lex *was* sex. And Lex probably had different first-date-rules than Clark did, anyway. After all, Smallville and Metropolis were pretty different social circles, and Lex was…well. He was *way* more experienced than Clark, even if he *wasn’t* actively bisexual.

And a hell of a lot more confident, too. Just as a general rule.

So Clark came to the question again: if it was a date, was he ready for it? What did he want from it?

He squirmed a little, still uncomfortable. Okay, he’d take it point by point.

Did he want to kiss Lex? Well. Yeah. A lot.

Did he want to see Lex naked? God, yes. Those clothes were such a *tease*. They conformed to every line of Lex’s body and Clark just wanted to reach out and learn how Lex felt against his hands, wanted to feel the strong shoulders, the delicate flare of Lex’s hips, to learn the taste of Lex’s skin, and lick away sweat as it pooled on the flat of Lex’s back, graze his teeth against Lex’s pale inner thigh and run his tongue up and –

*Fuck*, he wanted to suck Lex’s cock… and he wanted Lex to suck his cock. And wow, just forming the words in his head was enough to make him pretty damned hard and this was definitely going to be one of those introspection-moments that ended with him in the shower, jacking off.

But not quite yet, because it was *important* for him to figure this out.

Blowjobs. Clark knew how those worked from one end, anyway. He knew what *he* liked anyway, and he was pretty sure he could recreate it. Assuming that this was a date, of course.

And if he could give Lex a blowjob, then he’d definitely not have any problems with a handjob. *That* he *knew* he could do. He had years of experience…well, on himself, but the only thing that really changed was the angle.

And the mental image he was getting of Lex was…wow.

But was he ready for full on intercourse?

Clark thought, for a moment, imagining Lex below him, around him. Imagining himself pounding into Lex, and yeah, he wanted it, but it was still so…

He wasn’t ready for that yet.

But just the thought of it was enough to send Clark into the shower, and fast. When he came, this time it was with a jagged cry that might have been Lex’s name.

**

Clark woke up, got dressed, and worked in a kind of fugue state.

Because. At eight-thirty Lex was going to pick him up. And then they were going to go –together – to a black tie event. Clark was going with Lex. There would be dinner involved, and possibly dancing, though Clark couldn’t really see himself dancing with Lex, or anyone else for that matter. And *Clark* was going with *Lex*.

Lex was going to *pick him up* and then they were going to go *together*. Clark. And *Lex*.

Who Clark wanted more than he’d really ever wanted anyone before in his life.

And it might be a date. It was an outside chance, but it *might* be a date. And if it *was* a date, Clark was going to…well. He was going to go with the flow. But he had some very definite ideas.

But, in all likelihood it was *not* a date. And Clark kept reminding himself of this.

There were a million and a *half* reasons why it probably wasn’t a date. Why it *most likely* wasn’t a date. Like, for example, the fact that Lex was doubtless straight.

Despite the pretty constant possible flirtation that he had going with Clark. Possible, being the key word. It could be that Clark was misinterpreting the eyefucks, and the innuendos and it was equally possible that Lex just didn’t know how to exist without being way too sexy for his own good. Or, rather, for Clark’s good.

But putting aside that one, fairly *huge*, obstacle there were others. Like the fact that Lex was his *friend*. And, oh yeah, his boss, too.

Wow. That wasn’t something Clark had really thought about before. Lex was his *boss*. It couldn’t be a date. That would be…way beyond unprofessional. And kind of weird to boot, right?

Office romances *never* worked. Did they? Especially not when it was boss-intern. God, Clark groaned internally, the Monica Lewinsky jokes were *never* going to end if Chloe or Pete heard about this…date, that could possibly turn into more dates, and whoa, he was already planning a relationship?

Clearly, Clark was losing it completely. This was *out of control*. He had to get himself together or else he’d get into Lex’s car and jump on top of Lex and refuse to let him up until Clark was satisfied that Lex had been blown into submission. Then Clark would take Lex back up to his apartment and proceed to continue having his way with Lex and really, Clark was too young to go to jail for kidnapping, right?

He was going to work, and he was going to stop obsessing, and he was going to realize that this thing he was doing tonight with Lex? It wasn’t a date. No more than any of the times the two of them had played Zelda together.

So *completely* not a date.

Clark made it through two hours of only minimal obsessing over the fundraiser, when a tux was brought over to his desk with a note.

“See you tonight. –L”

He spent the rest of the day trying to figure what *might have been* the subtext of the note.

**

The tux fit perfectly, Clark thought, looking into the mirror. But then, of course it did. It was *Lex* after all, and Lex wouldn’t make a mistake like that.

Clark was very calm as eight-thirty approached. He was a calm guy, after all. He was not pacing because *he* was a *calm* guy.

At eight twenty-seven the doorbell rang, and Clark did *not* run to the door. He walked. Calmly.

Lex didn’t have a corsage, or flowers, or chocolates, or any of the things that Clark had weirdly half-expected. Instead he had a really satisfied, feline smile on his face. “It fits even better than I thought it would,” Lex observed smugly.

“Yeah, you did a good job,” Clark allowed, blushing. “It’s comfortable.”

Lex raised both brows. “It’s not supposed to be comfortable, it’s supposed to be fashionable.”

“Uhm…it’s both?” Clark tried, turning a deeper shade of red at Lex’s laugh.

“Yes, it is. Come on, we’ll be too late.”

“Too late?” Clark asked, following Lex down the stairs. “What do you mean ‘too late’?”

“It just seemed a little more precise than saying ‘come on, we’ll be late.’ We’re already late, but it’s all right. Another ten or fifteen minutes and it would be rude.”Lex shot Clark a smile over his shoulder. “Right now we’re just being hip and young.”

“Right, hip and young,” Clark echoed, watching Lex and trying to figure out what kind of vibes he was getting. They were no different than usual, so it must not be a date after all. Clark felt his stomach fall with disappointment, even as a mild relief flowed over him. At least he knew how to handle this, right?

They stepped out of the building, and Clark paused to give Lex’s car his attention. God, it was beautiful. A sleek, black Lamborghini. “That’s…” he began but trailed off.

“The sexiest car you’ve ever seen?” Lex purred beside him, eyes bright. “Trust me, it’s the sexiest car I’ve ever owned.” He walked toward the car, grinning at Clark when he reached the driver’s side door. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I like *all* of your cars, Lex,” Clark said, getting in.

Lex chuckled and turned the car on. The motor revved with a smooth growl, and the bass rumbled before Lex turned down the loud music. “Have you ever been to something like this before?” Lex asked.

Clark shrugged. “I’m guessing that prom doesn’t count.”

Laughing outright, Lex pulled away from the curb and sped away. Clark grabbed onto seat, watching the road worriedly.

“Let me give you a few tips, then. If we get separated, which I don’t plan on letting happen, avoid my father at all costs. He’s got a talent for ruining an otherwise pleasant night. If you have to dance with someone, dance with one of the older, married women.” Lex slanted Clark a grin. “It’ll make them smile. Oh, and stay away from the pineapple upside-down cake.”

“Why is that?” Clark asked, jaw clenching as Lex veered around a corner.

“Because I want it,” Lex told him, grin growing.

That startled Clark into laughing, despite the nervous fear that weighed down on him whenever Lex drove. “That good, huh?”

“Better.”

“We could fight over it and reenact that scene from your comic book you were talking about,” Clark suggested, joking. But rolling around on the floor with Lex? Did *not* sound like a bad idea.

He *really* needed to get a grip, he thought, shaking his head.

“Warrior Angel, Clark,” Lex corrected smoothly. “And while I don’t deny that sounds like a lot of fun, I think that wrestling at a fundraiser would probably not be terribly good for my public image, tarnished as it already is.”

“We’d bump Phelan out of the headlines,” Clark agreed, grinning.

“Superman, too.” Lex pulled into the valet parking at the museum and turned to Clark, raising both his brows. “Ready to swim with the sharks?”

“Uhm…yes?” Clark said, the beginnings of something like panic crowding out all the thoughts of Lex that had been racing through his brain.

“Don’t worry, Clark. None of them will bother you,” Lex promised, getting out.

“Why won’t they bother me?” Clark asked, following as Lex proceeded to the red carpet. He was blinded by the sudden flashes as people took pictures of the country’s youngest billionaire, who in turn just smiled at Clark.

Lex’s eyes glittered in the light, and he leaned in, lowering his voice so that only Clark could hear him. “Because the shark with the sharpest teeth will be right next to you.”

**

It wasn’t really so bad, Clark thought several hours later. There was no need for him to have panicked. This was…actually kind of fun.

Because it was him and Lex. And Lex kept sneaking comments into conversation that went straight over people’s heads and sent Clark into coughing fits to hide his laughter, or shooting Clark looks that said clearly ‘Can you believe this guy?’ or whatever the Lex-speak equivalent of that was.

Besides, Clark was learning how to mingle from a master of the art. Lex was good at this. He was *damned* good at this. Even people who didn’t like him were laughing and smiling by the end of their conversations with Lex. Because Lex was really charming when he put his mind to it.

Smooth.

Clark was glad that Lex wasn’t charming with him, though. Well, he was, but in a more unintentional way. And when Clark had eaten the last piece of pineapple upside-down cake Lex had given him a very un-charming death threat.

Clark had been half hoping that Lex would try to fight him for it.

“Clark,” Lex’s voice said softly, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turned, brows raised in question. Lex held up a champagne bottle and tilted his head toward a door to the side of the room. “Let’s escape for a little while,” Lex suggested.

Nodding, Clark snagged a clean champagne flute from a side table and followed Lex outside, into one of the museum’s sculpture gardens.

It was warm outside, warm enough for Clark to know that his apartment was probably an oven, but a slight breeze tickled the nape of his neck. Lex popped open the champagne bottle, and filled both Clark’s glass and his own.

“We should be able to hide out here for a half hour at the very least,” Lex said, smiling slightly.

Clark’s forehead crinkled with confusion. “Hide? You looked like you were having fun in there.”

Lex gave him a skeptical look. “Fun? No. That’s not exactly what I would call this. These fundraisers are interminably boring, as are all of the people who attend.”

“You’re not boring.” Clark was *so* going to need to work on blurting things out like that.

Turning, Lex studied Clark for a long moment, intent. “Neither are you,” he said, and that low, raspy voice seemed even raspier. “I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again. You make life interesting, Clark Kent.”

“I’m really not interesting. Like, at all,” Clark protested, and if Lex’s voice was raspier, *his* was breathier. Lex’s eyes were so *dark* in the low lighting, and he was standing so *close*.

“I beg to differ,” Lex murmured, leaning against the black, iron railing. He took a sip of his champagne, but his eyes never left Clark’s face, and Clark could *feel* Lex’s gaze on him, like invisible hands, skimming over his entire body.

Maybe this wasn’t a date, but Clark *knew* what sexually charged tension was when it hit him over the head, and Lex was still just…watching him, and Clark’s mouth was dry. He raised his own champagne glass to his lips, and drank deeply. And choked.

“Traditionally champagne is sipped, not gulped,” Lex said dryly, still watching.

Turning nine shades of red, Clark recovered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lex nodded, and cocked his head. “You really do blush amazingly.”

Clark bit his tongue to keep from offering to show Lex that it was, in fact, a full body blush. He settled on “Thanks.”

Smiling, Lex shrugged and looked out at the sculptures and Clark could breathe again.

“Have you ever been here in the day time?” Lex asked.

He had been, with Lana, but Clark didn’t really want to think about Lana right now. In fact she was among the things that he wanted to think about *least*. “A couple of times,” he admitted. “It’s nice.”

“Nice?” Lex’s eyebrow arched with amusement. “I think the museum wanted it to be somewhat more than ‘nice.’”

Clark opened his mouth to say something more intelligent, but the flash of a picture being taken blinded him.

“Good profile shot, Jimmy,” a woman’s voice said.

“What the fuck?” Lex snarled, whirling around. Clark’s stomach *sank* because behind them stood the bane of Clark’s existence; Lois Lane. And she had a young, puppyish looking photographer in tow.

“Mr. Luthor, would you like to respond to your ex-wife’s statement corroborating Sam Phelan’s accusations?” she asked, seemingly unperturbed by the venom in Lex’s voice. “Or would you like to make a statement about Phelan’s accusations in general?”

“Ms. Lane, I have nothing to say to you,” Lex informed the young reporter, tone frigid as he propelled Clark back toward the fundraiser with a push to the shoulder. “Good night.”

She cocked her head to the side, dark eyes shrewdly assessing Clark. “Well, what would you like to say about yourself and Mr. Kent?”

Clark’s heart stopped pumping for a minute and Lex froze, half turning. “Excuse me?”

“‘Clark Kent and Lex Luthor: Employee Snags Billionaire’?” Lane said, in a voice not unlike Chloe’s ‘headline-voice.’

Clark wanted to break the camera, and laugh hysterically all at once, because really, this had become *surreal*.

“I hadn’t realized you’d left the Daily Planet for the Inquisitor,” Lex said silkily, and didn’t Lois Lane realize she was courting disaster? That kind of calm, cold voice meant that Lex was not only angry, he was *furious*. “If you want a statement about Phelan, however, you may call my office any time tomorrow and ask to speak to my press secretary. I’m sure she’d be glad to read you the official statement.”

Lex took Clark’s elbow and guided him back inside, face hard. “I’m going to make a few calls,” he said, as the door closed behind them. “I’ll come find you, and then we’ll get out of here.”

Clark nodded, frowning. “Lex, I –”

“They won’t print that picture, or a story including your name. I can promise you that,” Lex said, tightly, turning away, but Clark stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.

“No, Lex, I was going to ask if you were okay.”

Lex blinked. “What do you mean?”

Rolling his eyes, Clark shook his head. “I mean are you upset?”

“I’m fine,” Lex replied, looking slightly baffled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Gee, I don’t know Lex. Maybe because people have been accusing you of committing crimes and being a junkie for the past couple of weeks? Or maybe because your ex-wife is joining the chorus and you can’t even go out to dinner without someone reminding you of it?”

The hardness slipped from Lex’s face, and he looked…grateful that someone cared? “I’m fine, Clark. Really. I’m going to go take care of this.”

“Okay,” Clark said, smiling. “I’ll just…go mingle. Or something.”

“Clark, if they give you any difficulty,” Lex said, nodding at the crowd of Metropolis’ elite, “don’t be afraid to bite.”

**

They went back to Lex’s, and Clark, bent on putting Lex back into a good mood, came up with a *brilliant* idea.

Drinking Zelda.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t *brilliant* but Clark was a college student, and it was his *job* to incorporate alcohol into as many passtimes as possible. And besides? Drunken Lex? Who *wouldn’t* want to see that?

About six games in, Lex was tipsy and Clark was tipsier, and they decided to abandon the whole concept of Zelda altogether, mostly because Clark was quickly realizing that the controllers were really *way* too small for his hands. He kept pressing all of the buttons at once, instead of just one at a time, and it was annoying.

Lex was talking about the archetypal roles played by the main characters in the game, but Clark didn’t complain because he liked listening to Lex’s voice. And besides, Lex was just so…hot. So Clark nodded earnestly every now and again and totally ignored what Lex was saying, just watching him.

He moved his hands around a lot when he talked. And they were really nice hands. Pale, long fingers. Elegant.

E-l-e-g-a-n-t. That was Lex.

Oh. Lex was talking to him. “Clark?” Lex’s eyes were narrowed, little slits of blue. “Are you listening?”

“Not really,” Clark told him honestly. “You’ve got nice hands.” Wow. So apparently being drunk-ish made him even *more* likely to just blurt things out. “I mean, really…long and…so Link is a hero?”

“Yes,” Lex said, but didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. Instead he was looking at Clark. Really *looking* at him like on the balcony, and through the warm fuzz of alcohol the corresponding tingle up Clark’s spine was even *more* acute.

What would have happened? If they hadn’t been interrupted?

“If Link’s really a hero, he should do something about Lois Lane,” Clark muttered, “maybe chop her in half or something.”

“That could be arranged.” Lex smiled and it was so…maybe if Clark wasn’t drunk he would be able to come up with a term that adequately described the mixture of heat and ferocity in Lex’s eyes, but he was going to have to settle for ‘sexy’ because it was that, too, and really? Clark’s vocabulary wasn’t currently up to the challenge.

Clark didn’t want to talk about Lois Lane. He didn’t want to talk about Link. He wanted to kiss that sexy smile, wanted to push Lex back on the cushions and make that tux disappear. Clark wanted to do that, a lot.

“Clark?” Lex called, softly, leaning forward, his mouth opening to say something, but before he could, Clark leaned in to meet him.

And they…kissed? Not quite what Clark had mind. It was awkward, and Lex looked completely startled.

Oh. *Shit.*

“I…shit. Sorry. I’m going to…” Clark stammered as he stood, refusing to look Lex in the eye. He’d…wow. What a *massive* fuck up.

Lex grabbed his hand and pulled him back down, with surprising strength. Or maybe Clark was a little unbalanced; either way, he fell back onto the couch. “Clark, stop. Look at me.”

Obedient, Clark looked up. Lex’s eyes were shining with silver, and he was smiling. That wasn’t the face of a man who was unhappy, and Clark let out a long breath. “You caught me by surprise, is all.”

“I caught me by surprise, too,” he admitted, smiling back.

“How about we try that again?” Lex suggested, and…*this* was what Clark had wanted. Lex’s lips teasing his, nipping at his lower lip, tongue tracing the contours of his mouth.

God, Lex tasted so *good* and Clark had pinned him to the couch without even thinking about it, was nuzzling at Lex’s neck, learning the taste of Lex’s ear lobe as he sucked it into his mouth and Lex? Was bucking up against him and Clark hissed in a breath through his teeth, rocking against Lex.

“Shit, Clark,” Lex gasped. “You don’t waste time.”

“Sorry,” Clark said, feeling as though he’d just been chastened. He started to pull back, but Lex grabbed his shoulders and held in him place.

A big, sharp grin and Lex was so *magnificent* lying there, lips red, eyes bright. “Hey, I’m not complaining.”

Clark grinned back. “Cool,” he said, leaning down to kiss Lex again when the phone rang.

“Shit shit shit *shit*,” Lex cursed, sitting up and forcing Clark to move back. He reached over and picked up the cell phone sitting on the coffee table. “Yeah?” Lex listened to the person on the other end of the phone, annoyance rapidly dissipating and Clark was *not* liking the interruption because Lex was still hot, and Clark was still hot *for* him, and Clark was still a lot less than sober.

Lex stood, one hand over the mouthpiece. “Clark, I’ll be right back, okay? I really have to take this. I’m sorry. Just…wait here for me.”

Wanting rather desperately to pout, Clark nodded instead, and lay down on the couch. Lex spared him a quick, appreciative glance, and disappeared. Clark rolled over and stared up. “I hate phones,” he told the empty room.

He looked at the ceiling, squinting. There weren’t any stains on Lex’s ceiling, but there was a weird texture to it. Kind of…bumpy looking.

Lex’s couch was really comfortable, Clark thought, yawning. Maybe he’d just close his eyes for a while. When Lex got back, he’d wake up, and then he’d take all of Lex’s clothes off and…well. But for right now? Clark stretched and let his eyes fall closed. For right now, he’d nap a little.

CHAPTER FIVE

Clark woke completely disoriented and more than a little hung over. When he tried to sit up, it felt as though his head was filled with liquid, which he took as a sign that he was not meant to move. Ever again.

Except that there was something hard trying to burrow into his back. Very carefully, he rolled over onto his side, reached into the cushions of the couch and came up with a remote control, which he dropped on the carpet. It landed with a dull 'thud' that echoed in Clark's skull and pretty much made him want to die.

A few minutes passed, and he cautiously cracked open one eye, looking around.

Yup, this really *was* Lex's living room. Which meant that there was a good chance that he really *had* kissed Lex last night. And, whoa, Lex had *totally* been into it. He hadn't been drunk, either. Clark grinned, and immediately regretted it. He closed his eye again, and groaned.

Damned alien metabolism. Clark could *not* hold his liquor, and when he tried? He spent the next morning *really* regretting it because his freak show body processed alcohol about as well as a midget played basketball against the Chicago Bulls. Okay, that wasn't *quite* true, but Clark had found that drinking - even moderate drinking - gave him horrendous hangovers which, thankfully, passed quickly. But before they passed? Clark learned a new appreciation for invulnerability because…if this was pain, pain *sucked*.

Moving slowly - very, very slowly - he forced himself to sit up. Not as bad as before. Maybe he could do this 'being alive' thing after all. The real test was opening his eyes again.

Which he did. Even more slowly than he'd sat up, and really, once they were open it wasn't *so* bad. Kind of intolerable, but mostly fuzzy. He blinked, and the room shifted into better focus, and he noticed that on the table there was a bottle of aspirin, a tall glass of water, some orange juice and a paper crane with his name written on the side.

And not even the fact that his head felt like it was residence to a hundred angry gnomes could keep Clark from smiling.

Wow.

He reached out and pulled lightly on the wing of the crane, and it unfolded into a letter. Only Lex, Clark thought, gently shaking his head and smiling wider.

Clark -

Aspirin and water or hair of the dog. Your choice.

I tried to give you a blanket, but you kept kicking it off and muttering something about fans.

I had to go into the office, but I'll be back by one-thirty. I'd like to have lunch with you then. Feel free to use the shower (second door to the left off the main entrance way), but if you'd like to go home and change, tell the doorman that you'll be back soon and he'll let you up when you return.

L.


Opting for aspirin and water, Clark gave the screwdriver a dirty look as he sat back, toying with the folded paper in one hand. He glanced over at the clock, which told him that it was noon, giving him an hour and a half before lunch.

Lunch. Clark smiled. Lunch, which he *loved*, because it could lead to more kissing and then naked and then his first - and rapturously awaited - sexual experience with a man.

…or lunch, which he *hated* because it could lead to talking and crushing humiliation as he learned that Lex really wasn't interested in a rube like him.

But that wasn't going to happen, right? Lex *asked* him to that charity dinner thingy, and what's more, Lex *flirted* with him. All the damned time. And he did that thing with his eyes where he looked at Clark and it felt like he was touching Clark all over really lightly. Lex had even done that thing on the balcony. With the tension and the watching, before Lois Lane showed up.

Clark abruptly became nauseous. Oh, dear sweet *God*…Lois *Lane* had seen him with Lex last night. Had seen him *full on* in the light. He was so screwed. So deeply screwed.

And yet not.

Which caused all kinds of frustration, but that was really beside the point because he was *never going to get laid again* if he ended up in some kind of government research lab being cut up and burned and experimented on, all because Lois Lane had seen him and recognized him and he was too much of a dumb ass to use any kind of disguise when he saved people. And, oh, yeah, way to save the world's most annoying reporter, Kent. Way to get yourself a one-way ticket to being *recognized*.

Good God, he really was a big dumb animal sometimes.

But. She hadn't really been paying attention to *him* so much as Lex, right? And who would connect the boring intern guy standing in the shadows behind Lex Luthor with the Superman-savior-type person who had beaten up a bunch of guys in an alley once? Even *Clark* wouldn't believe it if it wasn't him, and he was given to believing some pretty out there things.

So he was safe. Right?

Absolutely safe. Because, if he wasn't? Lex would have said something in his note. "Clark - sorry about your hangover. By the way, Nietzsche would turn over in his grave if he knew you were being called Superman."

So he was in the clear. No worries.

Hah. A Clark without worries was like a horse without hooves.

But, hey, silver lining: his head felt better. Panic really chased away pain. Which was…nice?

Clark lay back down, and picked up the remote. He turned on the television and channel surfed for a few minutes, before settling, predictably, on the news. A year as a communications major had gotten Clark pretty handily addicted to the news. He preferred getting it in print, but he wasn't picky.

Besides, sometimes it was funny to critique what made the filler segments. Like today; pet clothes. Clark chuckled through two hat wearing chihuahuas and a disgruntled cat in a slicker and wondered vaguely if anything remotely like that had ever happened on Krypton.

Probably not. Too busy conquering other planets and destroying their own.

"…and in other news, former detective with the Metropolis police department, Sam Phelan, died under mysterious circumstances late last night. Phelan was being tried for corruption, grand larceny and conspiracy to commit murder. Police officials have made no statement as of yet, but Phelan had recently been giving testimony on criminal activities in Metropolis and sources inside the department believe that his death might be linked to his recent disclosures."

Clark sat straight up. Whoa…Phelan dead? Last night? That would explain the phone call, and even why Lex was in the office on a Saturday. Although, Lex would probably live in the office if he could. But what did this mean for Lex?

Now that Phelan was gone…would the pressure still be on? Or would the investigation lose momentum? Clark wasn't concerned about the investigation into LexCorp in and of itself, but it was hard to miss how tired Lex had looked since this whole thing had started.

And was it wrong that Clark really didn't care that Phelan was dead? Surely he should feel some kind of outrage or *something*, but mostly? He just…didn't care. And he didn't even feel guilty about that, except in a fuzzy, obligatory kind of way.

But that was mostly normal, right? After all, he didn't *know* Phelan, and Phelan had made life difficult for someone that Clark…really cared about. And even though his head was feeling better he was *so* not ready to deal with the implications of *that*.

He would have to think about it at lunch, though. Lunch. Clark glanced at the clock again, and then looked down at himself. It was a little after twelve. He had plenty of time to go home, change, shower, freak out, and get back in time for Lunch. After all, he was wearing the ruins of a tuxedo, and really? Clark preferred the idea of *not* looking like hell when Lex came back.


**

It was a nice day, and Clark didn't bother to fly or even run all the way back to his apartment. He strolled. He may even have whistled, because he kept getting funny looks from people he passed on the sidewalk and he realized that he probably *did* look weird, but he didn't care. Because. He'd *kissed* Lex, and Lex had left him an origami note, and as Clark walked home in the early afternoon sun, he just *had* to smile because both of those things were pretty damned cool.

Lex didn't *have* to leave him a note, right? And if Lex'd felt weird about the whole kissing thing, he wouldn't have done the origami thing, would he?

No. He wouldn't have. Clark was *sure* of it.

He smiled more widely, and a woman walking past him clutched her purse, eyeing him as though he were a lunatic. She was probably right, too.

The whistling had broken out into full scale humming by the time he'd reached his door. He fished in his back pocket for his keys, but heard a strange 'whirring' noise issuing from his apartment. Trying the doorknob, he found it unlocked, and stepped cautiously into his apartment.

Two large standing fans had been set up by the windows in the living room, and Chloe sat on his couch, assembling another one. At the sound of Clark putting his keys down on the kitchen table she looked up, startled.

"Hi," she said, smiling too brightly. "Your mom said you were complaining about how hot your apartment was, so I brought these with me. Dad had them before we got central air, and they were still in the attic under mountains of dust."

"Thanks," Clark responded automatically. "Uhm, Chloe, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but what are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Chloe wiggled her fingers at him. "Picked the lock with a bobby pin. I've been wanting to do that for *ages*. Now I really feel like I'm Nancy Drew or something." She raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. "What were *you* doing last night, Kent?"

He blushed, and shrugged his jacket off. "I crashed at a friend's house after a party. No big deal," he mumbled.

"*You* went to a party? 'Clark Kent Gets Social Life; Friends, Family Shocked,’" Chloe intoned, giggling.

Clark probably would have bought the 'normal' act if he hadn't known her for so long, but there was an edge of hysteria to her laughter, and she wouldn't meet his eyes and Clark knew that there was something very, very wrong in the world of Chloe.

"So you didn't answer my question," Clark said, crossing his arms. "What are you doing here, Chlo'?"

She shrugged and waved her hands airily, flashing a bright, false smile at a spot on the wall over his left shoulder. "Just wanted to get out of Smallville for a day or two and figured you'd probably be bored out of your skull up here on your own."

"Riiight," he drawled, walking over to sit next to her. "Remember how you said that I'm a bad liar? You're doing worse than me right about now."

"I slept with Pete," Chloe blurted out, clamping her mouth shut afterward as though she could prevent further damning words from escaping. She sat back on the couch and hugged her shins, resting her chin on her knees. "Last night."

Clark blinked, and sat back himself. "Whoa," he mumbled.

"Yeah," she agreed, sighing loudly.

Frowning, Clark thought for a long minute. "What…happened? I mean, were you drunk?"

She shook her head, staring straight ahead without expression. "No, nothing like that. We were just…talking and then we weren't talking and...he's been so *weird* since I got home from Northwestern. I don't know what to do or say anymore and then last night, I was talking about Jordan, and Pete…"

"What were you saying?" Clark asked, curious. Pete had been *insanely* jealous of Chloe's on and off boyfriend, Jordan, all year long. The only thing that had kept Pete from hitting Jordan in the face on a daily basis was the miles between MetU and Northwestern.

"Jordan cheated on me," Chloe confessed quietly. "I told Pete. And I was talking about how no matter what I do, where I go, I'm always second best. I'm just not...not pretty enough, or smart enough, and it gets old, you know? I said that I just wasn't ever going to be as important to someone as I want to be. I couldn't ever be anyone's first priority, I mean."

And that insecurity is courtesy Clark Kent, ladies and gentleman, Clark thought to himself as guilt began to eat away at his invincible stomach lining. "Chloe, you know that isn't true, right? You're an amazing person and --"

She looked up at him, blue eyes sharp. "You know, Jordan said that, too?"

And how the hell was Clark supposed to respond to that? He chose not to say anything at all, but he held her gaze until she looked away, a gusty sigh stirring the wispy bangs that lay across her forehead.

"Pete got mad at me. Told me that I was an idiot and that I didn't see anything at all and that Jordan was an asshole who didn't deserve me," she told him.

Poor Pete, Clark thought, realizing suddenly how much it must have *killed* Pete to hear Chloe talk like that. Pete had been in love with her since middle school - she'd always been *his* first priority -- and he was right, Chloe just didn't *see* it.

"I agree with Pete," Clark said when Chloe lapsed into silence. "Jordan is an asshole who doesn't deserve you. Do you want me find him and beat him up?"

The words were so formulaic that he winced and Chloe chuckled, but the small smile on her face said that she understood that he meant it. And yeah, Jonathan and Martha Kent probably wouldn't have approved - Misuse of Powers, Son - but anyone who could make Chloe Sullivan cry like this? Deserved whatever they got. Even if *Clark* was one of those people. And he totally was.

"When Pete kissed me, it was…. It felt *right*," she said, voice wavering. She paused, swallowed, and looked over at him. "It felt the way I always thought kissing you would feel."

Clark looked down at his hands, trying to find something even remotely tactful and appropriate to say to that. "Chloe," he began softly.

"I'm not still in love with you but…five years is a long time and from eighth grade to senior year, you were all I wanted. Or, all I thought I wanted, and I'm just…" Chloe's voice broke, and she drew in a shaky breath. "I'm just really confused right now."

He put a gentle arm around her shoulders and hugged her lightly. When she leaned into him, he laid his cheek on top of her head and pulled her closer. "What's confusing?" he asked her.

"Pete's my *friend*, Clark. It's…I love him, yeah, but it's not supposed to be like *this*, you know? I mean…I'd do anything for him but...I woke up this morning and he was still asleep and...," she sniffled, looking up. Her eyes were wide and blue and terrified. "I've never felt anything that *big* before. And…what if I fuck this up? What if I lose him, Clark?"

"So, basically, you freaked out, huh?" he teased, gently.

Chloe smiled weakly. "Basically."

"Chloe…I'm sorry that I hurt you," Clark said slowly, measuring each word. "I never wanted to, or meant to. I was…I was stupid in a lot of ways, and I never really realized how you felt about me. If I had known…I would have been more careful."

"But you still would have chosen Lana," Chloe stated flatly.

"Yes," Clark said, holding her eyes. "I would have. Chloe, if I could do it again…the one thing I'd do differently is try to keep from hurting you."

"It's not like you knew or anything. You didn't do it on purpose, it just kind of," she waved her hands vaguely, "happened."

"Right. I didn't know what I was doing," Clark agreed, nodding. He owed Chloe, owed her big, but he owed Pete, too, and he couldn't just comfort her without making sure Pete would be all right. So he drew a deep breath, and got ready to spill Pete's one and only secret. "You know that I love both you and Pete, right, Chlo'?"

She nodded, looking up at him again and she looked younger than nineteen and Clark just wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything would be all right. But he couldn't, and wouldn't, because both she and Pete deserved more than that.

"Pete has been head over his heels in love with you since the eighth grade. I don't mean like I was obsessed with Lana before we dated, or even how you felt about me. I mean, more deeply, honestly in love than I have ever seen one of my friends," Clark told her, voice steady. "And now that you know that, I want you to decide, very carefully, what he means to you. Because you didn't know last night how he felt, but you know today."

Chloe laid her head down on her knees again, lips trembling. "He loves me?" she asked, voice taut with emotion. "Like, really *loves* me?"

"Maybe you didn't notice, but…you've always been *it* for him," he said.

She didn't respond, becoming lost in thought for long minutes before Clark cleared his throat. "You said it felt right when he kissed you?"

"Yeah," Chloe murmured. "It did. It felt like…like I'd found something for the first time."

She turned to Clark, expression troubled. "I felt like it was only natural. Like it was just one more thing that Pete and I could do together. But this morning…it was *more*. And he wasn't even awake yet, and…why do things have to change so quickly?"

"Maybe things don't change as quickly as we think," he said, thoughtfully, "maybe it just takes a while to notice that they've changed."

Mulling that over, Chloe leaned her head against his shoulder. "Yeah, maybe that's it."

A breeze from one of the fans blew Clark's hair off his face and he smiled. "Hey, thanks for the fans."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling back. "Hey, Clark?"

"Yeah?"

Looking down, she picked at the corner of the pillow with her nails, worrying a string until it came loose. "What happened with Lana?" Chloe asked, twirling the thread around her fingertip.

Taken aback, Clark stiffened before forcing himself to relax. He didn't want to lie, right? Chloe *deserved* an honest answer to her question, and he wanted to give her one. Really, really did. It was just…hard. "I…I don't think either one of us really knows. I guess I just wasn't able to tell Lana everything and she thought that meant I had something to hide that would hurt her."

Chloe opened her mouth to ask, but Clark headed her off at the pass. "It's part of what I'm not ready to tell you yet.”

“I’m still mad at you about that,” Chloe reminded him. “I haven’t forgotten that you promised to tell me, though.”

“I never expected you to Chloe, but the point is…she thought I was keeping something hurtful from her. But, it really didn't have anything to do with me and Lana at all."

She nodded. "I believe you. Is that why everything -"

"Fell apart?" he finished with a tight smile. "It's a big part of it, but Lana needs someone who's more reliable than me and it *hurt* not to be able to be that for her. Reliable."

"You tried," Chloe said, squeezing his hand. "You really did."

Clark nodded, jaw tightening.

"Do you regret it?" she asked, watching him carefully, and it clicked. Chloe was trying to check the odds on her and Pete, and it made Clark want to grin because if she was checking out the risk-reward factor? There was a pretty goddamned good chance that she was going to go through with this.

And Pete and Chloe? Were meant for each other in a cosmic 'stuff of legends' kind of way. Clark was sure of it.

But he still owed her honesty, so he thought the question over before answering. "Sometimes," he said, "because it's hard when things end. But most of the time I'm just glad that I got a chance to make her happy, even for a little while."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Did she make *you* happy? Because that's important, too. It has to be about both of you."

"You're right," he admitted, "and she did make me happy."

She nodded, thoughtful. "And what about your friendship now?"

Ahh, the million dollar question, Clark thought. "Lana and I…we were never friends. Not really," he continued, seeing the shocked look pass over Chloe's face. "Before we were dating I didn't know her well enough to be friends with her. She was some kind of mythical goddess-type person, and by the time I did know her, really know her, we were together, and it was…different than actually being friends. But…I hope that sometime soon, Lana and I can give the friends thing another shot."

"She misses you," Chloe told him, quietly. "She really misses you."

"So Pete told me," he replied, shrugging. "I…just think we both need time, still."

"She's dating some guy named Chad." Chloe snorted, "I asked if he was from Florida, the home of the hanging chad. She wasn't amused."

"I bet Pete thought that was funny," Clark said.

Chloe smiled softly, "Yeah, he did."

"Do you love him, Chlo'?"

"I think…I think so," she admitted softly. "I really do think I love him."

"Then what are you doing here?" Clark asked.

"It's too much," she replied, finally. "Too much to process all at once. I mean...I never thought I'd love anyone as much as I loved you, and then I kind of find out that all along I've loved Pete more, and…I just need space and time to figure all of this out."

"Don't take too long," Clark warned, "because that's not fair to him."

Chloe hugged her legs tighter. "I know. I didn't mean to leave him hanging, but I *had* to leave. I had to just get *out* of Smallville."

"But you stopped to get me fans?" he asked, brows knitting with confusion. "Why?"

She laughed. "They were already in my car. Pete and I were going to drive them up, or give them to Goodwill."

"I'm a charity case, now?" Clark teased. "Great. Thanks, Chloe."

"Well," she said, giggling. "You *are* pretty pathetic - wearing yesterday's clothing and all. Even if it is a tux, and by the way, you still haven't really told me what you were up to last night."

"I went to a thing with Lex," he mumbled, blushing.

"A thing?" Chloe asked, voice bright with curiosity. "What kind of a thing? A date-thing?" she teased, poking him.

Clark blushed harder, and Chloe's eyes widened. "Whoa - you went on a *date* with Lex Luthor?"

"Kinda, I don't know, it's all really confusing," Clark said, running a hand through his hair. "We're going to talk about it today, and I'm kinda terrified and -" Clark sat bolt upright, looking frantically for a clock. "Shit! What time is it?"

"It's one forty-five," Chloe reported cheerfully. "Why?"

"Oh *damn*, I'm late, I have to go…" Clark said, standing. "But I have to change first…I have lunch with Lex and I can't go like this and -"

The doorbell rang, and Clark froze.

"Snap out of it, Kent," Chloe said, rolling her eyes and standing. "We are going to talk about this when I get back," she promised, slipping her feet into her shoes before opening the door.

Lex's expression betrayed nothing, which meant that he was nervous, Clark knew. And when had he become so good at decoding Lex-expressions? "Hello," Lex said politely to Chloe. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt. I was just here to see if Clark was…"

"I'm right here," Clark called, finding his voice. "Lex, this is my friend Chloe. Chloe, this is Lex Luthor," he said, making the introductions automatically. "Chloe, uhm, stopped by for a surprise visit," he told Lex hastily.

"Yeah, I sure did," Chloe said, with a chuckle. "Anyway, I'm going to go for a walk. I'll call before I come back…in case you need something…or something. Bye, nice to meet you, Lex."

She squeezed past Lex onto the landing and mouthed 'You so owe me' over Lex's shoulder before disappearing down the green hallway.

"Hi," Clark said lamely, waving Lex in. "Uhm…I'm sorry. I really didn't know she'd be here. I just came home to change, and -"

"It's all right," Lex assured him, smiling softly. "I was concerned that you had -" he paused, obviously searching for a euphemism, but Clark interrupted.

"You thought I'd freaked out. About last night."

The smile on Lex's face grew, an eyebrow quirking up. "Pretty much," he said. "Did you?" Lex asked, cocking his head to one side.

"Nope," Clark told him, smiling back. "Not yet."

Lex blew out a long breath, relief etched in every line of his posture. "Good."

"Yeah," Clark responded, and not kissing Lex's mouth as it pursed with thought? Really a struggle that Clark just did not want to fight. But he did. Because he still needed to know how Lex felt about all of this. "And what about you?" he asked, tracing patterns on the counter with his finger.

"Are you asking have I freaked out over last night?" Lex's voice was light, amused, and when Clark looked up his eyes were pewter with laughter. "No, I haven't freaked out. Clark, I've been openly bisexual since I was eighteen and I've been attracted to you since we met. The only concern I had - that I *have* - about last night is your reaction."

Clark grinned, the big goofy one that he reserved for special occasions. "Really?"

"Really," Lex confirmed, grinning back. "But we do need to talk about," he made a beautiful gesture with his hand that seemed to encompass everything in the room, "this."

"We do?" Clark echoed, grin dimming. "What about it?"

"Clark, let me blunt. Do you want me?" Lex's eyes darkened as he stared into Clark's face, becoming bluer, deeper and he smelled like juniper.

"Yes," Clark breathed. "I do. Want you, I mean."

Lex's grin sharpened, and he looked…hungry. And wow, Clark totally wanted to jump him right that very second - the desire was so intense that it was practically a biological imperative at this point. But Lex started talking again, and Clark was too paralyzed by sheer want to move anyway.

"Have you ever been with a man before?" Lex asked him, and his voice was low and thick. God, he was just…the human embodiment of *hot*.

Clark shook his head, not trusting his own voice.

The fire in Lex's gaze dimmed slightly, and he nodded. "I thought not. I want…I want you to be very sure about this."

He opened his mouth to respond, to tell Lex in a million different ways exactly *how sure* he was, but Lex forestalled him by raising a single, long fingered hand. "I want you to want me as much as I do you. I want to do things with you no one else has ever done. I want you to do things with me you never thought you’d do. I want you to want it so much you beg for it."

And that pretty much rated a *wow* on the hot meter. The hungry look was back on Lex's face, and his voice was like a living thing that rubbed against Clark's skin, smooth and twining around him like a ribbon, and Clark would have said something, but…he couldn't.

His mouth was too dry, and he felt like a fire had been lit under his skin and it was slowly consuming every rational thought he had ever had. All he had left at this point was: Lex good. Want Lex. Naked good. Want Lex naked.

Lex leaned forward and ran his thumb over Clark's lower lip, and his eyes flickered, intense, when Clark nipped at it. "Do you understand what I'm telling you, Clark?" he asked.

Clark shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving Lex's even as the predatory smile spread out over Lex's features again. "I'm telling you to be ready for a siege, because I am going to seduce you. Has anyone ever done that to you before?"

"No," he managed, hoarsely.

"It starts like this," Lex murmured, leaning in and licking a line up Clark's throat with quick, firm flicks of his tongue. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Clark's jaw and pulled back. "Opening volleys are always bold."

Clark was panting, eyes wide. "Whoa," he whispered.

"Indeed," Lex said, smug. "Meet me outside my apartment tonight at eight," he instructed Clark, walking toward the door. He paused, turned, gave Clark a thorough once over. "God, you're sexy." Then he left, and Clark watched the sway of his hips from side to side.

"You too," Clark said to the empty room. "You too."

**

When Chloe returned, Clark had showered, and changed, but was still kind of off in his own little world populated by naked Lexes talking to him in that rasping, velvety tone of voice. She had to knock on the door *loudly* for him to realize she was there at all.

He let her in, and she glared at him. “You’re doing that thing you do again,” Chloe accused.

“What thing?” Clark asked, confused.

“That thing you do when you really like someone,” she repeated, eyes narrowing. “You get all moony and distracted.”

“I do not!” Clark protested, wincing when she raised both of her eyebrows and gave him *that* look. “Okay, maybe I do. But I’m not doing that thing right *now*.”

She gave her pink knuckles a pointed look. “Another minute and I might have broken the skin.”

“Why didn’t you just pick the lock again?” he asked, blushing.

“Because, I didn’t want to walk in on anything,” Chloe explained, exasperated. “Seriously, for the first time in * months* it looks like you’re about to start having a sex life again and while I may be a basket case today, I’m not *mean*.”

Clark wasn’t just red. He was every *shade* of red that the human body could produce. And Chloe was snickering at him, which would have been infuriating, if he hadn’t been so glad to see her less troubled than when she’d left his apartment earlier.

“So, you and Lex Luthor, huh? I didn’t think you’d take me seriously when I told you to flirt with him,” she said, tone light.

“I didn’t. I mean, it wasn’t serious, and I wasn’t flirting, but it got all weird. He’s my friend, and I like him a lot and –” Clark broke off, glaring at Chloe as she started to laugh. “What?”

“Yeah. Not serious at all, huh, Clark?” She rolled her eyes. “Hence the incoherent babbling and the perma-blush.”

“Shut up,” Clark said without heat, running a hand over his flushed face. “I don’t have a perma-blush.”

She snorted. “Right, you’re just really, really sunburned all of a sudden.” Chloe crossed her arms and leaned back against the countertop. “I gotta say, Clark, I’m a little surprised to find you harboring same-sex tendencies.”

“You and me both,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said quickly. “It’s pretty normal. I read in my sociology class that sexuality is more of a continuum than a straight line, and most people are somewhere in the middle, even if they don’t admit it.”

“Do you think that’s true?”

Chloe shrugged, a grin quirking her lips upward. “You’re talking to the girl who went to see both Tomb Raiders because of Angelina Jolie.”

“Chloe!” Clark laughed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she confirmed, grin widening. “She’s *hot*. And Charlize Theron, too.”

Clark shook his head, laughing harder. “Chloe, I never thought I’d say this, but…you’ve got really good taste in women?”

“Of course,” she agreed brightly. “But your taste in men tends to lead to the tall, bald and potentially homicidal.”

“Potentially homicidal?” Clark asked, confused. “What does that mean?”

“You know about Sam Phelan dying in his cell last night, right?”

Chloe’s eyes were bright, and she had the look on her face that Pete and Clark had always referred to as ‘the about to pounce’ look. She had something on the Phelan story, and was excited about it. “While Lex was over here, the police made a statement that they’d brought him in for questioning this morning in the matter of Phelan’s death, and he’d been unable to offer them an alibi.”

“What do you mean? Everyone in Metropolis saw him at the fundraiser thingy last night. Even Lois Lane! And then later he was…with me,” Clark protested, blushing.

“*With you* with you?” Chloe asked, brows inching toward her hairline.

“Well, not like *that*,” Clark said, blushing harder and looking down. “But yeah. I was at his place, so he couldn’t have done it.”

Her gaze sharpened, and she cocked her head to the side. “Were you with him between three and five in the morning?”

Frowning, Clark shook his head. “I…yeah, I was, kind of...I mean, I passed out, but Chloe he *didn’t* do this. I *know* him. Lex wouldn’t do something like this. Trust me.”

“He’s a Luthor, Clark. Their business rivals and enemies have this habit of developing serious cases of dead when they become trouble,” she stated evenly.

“Yeah, and he’s my friend Chloe, and I’m telling you that he *didn’t do it*.” Clark’s voice rose with exasperation as he spoke.

Chloe’s eyes hardened. “Journalism 101, Kent. Consider your source’s bias. You’ve got a big crush on him. Do you really think you’re objective?”

“Yes!” he snapped. “I mean, I don’t have a crush on him. But I know him and you don’t, Chloe. Besides, whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? They haven’t even charged him with anything.”

“That’s why I say ‘potentially homicidal,’” she pointed out.

“He wouldn’t do something like this,” Clark said stubbornly. “Believe me.”

“I believe that you believe that,” Chloe said carefully.

Clark blew out a frustrated breath. “Thanks a lot. Can you just…promise me you’ll keep an open mind about him, okay? Give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“I will, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to turn a blind eye. You shouldn’t either, Clark,” she warned. “He’s not squeaky clean.”

“I never said he was. But he didn’t do *this*,” Clark repeated.

“Whatever,” she said, biting her lip and looking at her feet. Chloe’s brow crinkled, and she looked up at him, entreating. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Well, sure, if you’d like to, but, uhm, Chlo’? Have you even called Pete today?” Clark asked, studying her. A guilty look stole across her features, and Clark winced. “He’s going to be *pissed*.”

She drew a deep breath. “Yeah, I know, but I just –”

A knock on the front door cut her off mid-sentence.

“Coming,” Clark called, even as Pete from outside.

“Yo! Clark! Open the door!”

It was Chloe’s turn to freeze and stare at the door, panicked. Clark wasn’t sure whether or not Pete had good timing or bad timing or what, but as he opened the door he could feel the tension level in the apartment rising past thick to ridiculous.

Pete’s eyes sought out Chloe immediately as he stepped into the apartment, expression tight. “Hey,” he said, voice even.

And Clark wasn’t just a fifth wheel. He was a whole separate rack of wheels that just needed to get out of the apartment. “Hi, Pete, uhm, I was just headed out for a little while and why don’t you guys go ahead and order a pizza? I’ll be back later. Or something. Bye.”

“Later,” Pete said, still intent on Chloe.

Clark grabbed his keys, and his shoes, and left. He closed the door behind him on the way out, but he knew neither of them probably would have noticed if he’d left it wide open and the circus had set up shop in the hallway.

So, it was six-thirty and he was supposed to show up at Lex’s at eight. What was he going to do for the next hour and a half?

Sun beat down on the sidewalk, even as the sky purpled with the onset of evening. A slight breeze teased the paper thin leaves of the trees lining his street, and above, pigeons fluttered from one window ledge to the next. Clark looked around the street, made sure he was alone, and pushed off from the ground.

He wanted to watch his city as night fell.

**

Nervous did not adequately describe Clark’s state of mind as he waited in the elevator on the ride up to Lex’s. Panic-stricken was closer, but not quite right, either.

It was like…layers of apprehension and excitement twined around a nice, strong core of panic.

Lex was going to seduce him. Seduce. Him.

Clark was *sure* he wasn’t going to survive the experience because even *without* seductory intent, Lex wreaked havoc on his pulse rate.

Lex had *licked* his *neck*. And that was just an *opening volley*. What was next? Clark’s mouth went dry and it was like a jolt of electricity throughout his entire body and really? He might not even need to let Lex talk. Just fall at his feet and say, “Look, I’m seduced.”

Would that work?

Probably not. Lex was stubborn, and he seemed to have his heart set on this ‘seduction’ thing.

And really? It was kind of good. Because Clark wanted Lex – wanted him a *lot* -- but…if Lex had been openly and actively bisexual since he was eighteen, then he had a lot of experience. And Clark didn’t. Like, at all, and maybe, this whole seduction thing? Would…help. Somehow. With that.

God. Seduction.

He was going to be *seduced* by *Lex* because Lex thought that *he* was *sexy*.

And pretty much the only way that Clark could respond to that was by blushing and grinning and naturally, Lex found him that way when he opened the door.

Lex quirked an eyebrow. “Hello, Clark.”

Voice like a slick slide of water over Clark’s skin, and that was probably totally unintentional. Lex hadn’t turned the sexy on yet, and Clark was reacting. Oh he was in such trouble. But the good kind, he thought, watching Lex’s lips turn up. The *really* good kind.

“Hey,” he responded, and even his own brows rose at his tone of voice; low, husky. Basically just screaming ‘fuck me now.’

“Sorry I’m early, but I had to get out of the apartment. My friend Chloe needed some time to figure out things between her and her new…boyfriend.” It was so *weird* to think of Pete and Chloe as actually dating, and yet right. Clark had no doubt that by the time he got back they would be practically proposing marriage to one another, and they’d be happy together. He was sure of it, but it would still take a little getting used to.

“Ahh,” Lex murmured, nodding. “It’s not a problem. Let me just get my keys and we’ll head out.”

“Head out?” Clark asked, watching the fine cotton of Lex’s shirt stretch across his shoulders as he moved. Was it weird to be jealous of fabric?


“Yes, I’ve decided to educate you,” Lex informed Clark, shooting him a grin that could really only be described as devilish.

“Educate me?” Clark was proud of the fact that his voice didn’t even break once when he said that. Lex was going to *educate* him and they were leaving the penthouse to do it? Maybe Clark was preoccupied with sex – Lex seemed to inspire that in him – but the whole plan certainly sounded kinky.

Lex’s eyes laughed, even if he didn’t do so outright. “Educate you,” he confirmed, putting a hand low on Clark’s back to steer him out of the penthouse and into the elevator. “Come on.”

**

Lex’s definition of ‘education’ was *not* as kinky as Clark had anticipated. In fact, it held very little kink. To Clark’s combined frustration and chagrin, it contained absolutely *no* overt kink and what little kink was there was covered in spandex and inked in lavender and green.

“So, uhm, that’s Devilicus?” Clark asked, pointing at a vaguely familiar looking character. “The bad guy?”

Lex shrugged, a brow rising challengingly. “That’s a little simplistic, I’d say. Sean’s not necessarily a *bad guy* he just doesn’t quite share Cal’s morals and after the rift, Sean’s angry enough with Cal to not care about morals at all. But, remember, in the beginning they’re close friends.”

“Right,” Clark said, nodding and trying to hide a grin. Lex was really attached to this ‘Devilicus’ guy. “Close friends in a Beast and Iceman kind of way?”

“What does that mean?” Lex asked, looking up, and Clark *really* liked Lex’s eyes. It was like they were filled with flecks of silver and blue that swirled and coalesced and turned into streams of color that – “Clark?”

Right. Focus. Comic books. “I mean, close in like…a subtext-y kind of way,” Clark clarified, looking down and blushing.

“Mmm. Subtext,” Lex echoed, making love to the word with his voice. And when Clark glanced up at him, the feline smile that played around Lex’s lips said that he knew just how hot he was.

“I think we can safely say that there is quite a bit of subtext between Cal and Sean.” Lex put the comic book back, leaning across Clark to do it and Clark breathed deeply, wishing that he *dared* to lean in and nuzzle the long line of Lex’s neck right there in the middle of Forbidden Planet. But, he wasn’t that…bold? Brave? Comfortable?

He was beginning to be, though. Lex was…putting him at ease, keeping him talking about comic books, and just letting things run as they normally did between the two of them. Just with a little extra voltage to the flirtation. And was this seduction? Or...maybe a prelude to seduction?

As Clark thought, Lex leaned in and bit his earlobe. Just a quick, clean bite that got his attention.

Yeah. This was *definitely* seduction.

Clark turned wide eyes on Lex, mouth dry.

“Pay attention, Clark. I was talking to you,” Lex chided, grinning.

“Sorry,” he breathed.

“Something I’ve noticed about you, Clark, is that you have this habit of wandering off in thought and getting hopelessly lost,” Lex stated, studying his face for a moment. “What do you think about?”

Clark briefly considered saying ‘you’ but then decided that it way too romantic comedy and besides? He didn’t want Lex to think he was cheesy. Even if he was. “Just…stuff,” he said, looking away. “You know, nothing important.”

Lex looked skeptical, but said nothing. Clark’s ear still tingled with the imprint of Lex’s mouth.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked over to the X-Men rack. “Beast is my favorite X-Man,” he said, needing to say *something*, even if it wasn’t ‘Lex, let’s get out of here.’

“Why?”

“Because even though *all* of them are different, he’s kind of…the most visibly different. All the rest of the original X-Men can pass for human when they need to. But, after Hank turns blue?” Clark shook his head. “And he’s still so…compassionate? I don’t know if that’s the word. But, humans give him the worst time of any of them, and he still works to try and save people. He never questions it… he just *does* it.”

Lex nodded, considering. His eyes were dark with thought. “I thought you’d like Cyclops for similar reasons.”

“Nah,” Clark said shaking his head. “I mean, he’s cool and all, but…he kind of does it for the power-trip and the whole ‘live up to Dr. Xavier’s’ expectations issue. And…I’m not as into that. He’s kind of boring.”

“Really? Most would think about it the opposite way,” Lex pointed out, intrigued. “After all, he’s got the girl, the planes, he’s good looking, and well-liked. He’s the competent leader while Hank’s the genius in the basement.”

“Cyclops is a good general but Beast’s a good man,” Clark said quietly. “I don’t know about you, but …given the choice? I’d rather just be a good man.”

Lex turned and looked at Clark, eyes sharp and bright with interest. He didn’t say a word, but suddenly the atmosphere between them was thin. It was as though Lex was trying to look through him and into him and at the same time, trying to use his gaze as a caress. Clark blushed, but didn’t look away until the moment died.

Needing to speak again, he cleared his throat. “So, who’s you’re favorite X-Man? And you *so* can’t tell me you never read it, because I don’t believe you.”

“Warren Worthington III, the Archangel,” Lex responded promptly. “Though I would assume that would be fairly obvious.”

“Sophisticated rich guy who runs a corporate empire all on his own before he turns thirty? Yeah, no one saw *that* coming,” Clark said, rolling his eyes. “Wonder why you’d pick him.”

“It’s the wings,” Lex deadpanned. “I love a man who can fly.”

“I guess I’ll have to brush up on my technique,” Clark said without thinking. He blushed bright red when Lex did a double take.

“You fly?”

There were so many ways that Clark could answer that question. “Only on the Playstation,” was what he settled on, and accompanied it with an embarrassed grin.

Lex laughed, and Clark’s grin widened and felt giddy because he’d never *ever* been that…obvious in his flirtation before – not without the red meteor rocks – and Lex made it feel…natural and *fun*.

“Are you good at it?” Lex asked, raising a pale eyebrow.

“Play me and find out,” Clark challenged, wiggling his eyebrows and the way Lex’s eyes darkened made him *need* to touch Lex. Just, anywhere, so he shyly brushed his hand against Lex’s, palm to palm.

Lex’s skin was soft, and the bones in his hands were long and fine, and he smelled sharp in a fascinating way, and was smiling slightly at the comic book he held in his hand. Clark’s need to touch wasn’t assuaged; it only intensified and he wanted to press his lips to the base of Lex’s skull, the corner of his jaw, the dip in his wrist. Lex wasn’t actively trying to get Clark’s attention right now -- he wasn’t flirting, or doing any of the million and a half sexy things that he knew how to do.

But. Clark was *seduced*. Like, lie his body down on the floor and beg Lex to touch him kind of seduced.

“Lex…” he began, his voice strained and low, and Lex turned quickly at the sound of it.

“We could go,” Lex said, eyes locked on Clark’s. He sounded careful, and Clark knew what he was offering – stay here, take whatever it was between them slowly, or go to the penthouse and throw slowly out the window.

Clark had done slow. He had moved slowly from day one with Lana, taken things easy, and he’d still gotten hurt and also? It hadn’t been what he’d *wanted*. This…this heat – this was what Clark wanted. He wanted it so much his bones ached, and so he nodded, wordless.

Lex’s breath hitched, and Clark smiled, knowing it looked as predatory as Lex’s grins sometimes did. But, dammit, Lex wanted him *that much*. “You’re sure?” Lex asked, voice rasping over Clark’s ears.

“Yes,” he breathed out quickly. “I’m sure.”

And then Lex did something Clark couldn’t have expected. He leaned in and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to Clark’s lips, right there in the middle of the comic book store, pulling away as his eyes glittered – hot and hungry. “Let’s go.”

Lex turned on his heel, walking toward the door without looking back. Clark just stood there, staring with wide eyes until Lex turned at the doorway, impatient. He raised a gingery eyebrow, amused, and Clark snapped out of his paralysis.

It was dark out, and the sidewalk was filled with people as they walked toward the parking garage. “Would you like to pick up some food on the way?” Lex asked with a questioning look over his shoulder.

Clark just shook his head, letting his expression do the talking for once. He could feel the flush in his cheeks, the heat of his own gaze, and wondered again, what it was about Lex that made him so bold?

Lex hissed in a breath, and fished in his pocket for his keys. Clark was watching him, eyes trailing over the curve of Lex's bent neck when he heard the sound of a motorcycle engine revving. They both turned in the direction of the sound, only to find the motorcycle flying toward them at a rapid pace and the rider of the bike leveling a gun in one hand, pointed at Lex.

Clark saw the bullet before actually hearing the loud pop from the gun, and in a fraction of a second, the bullet was speeding directly toward Lex. Clark raced in front of the bullet, grabbed Lex, tackling him and rolling him onto the ground, even as he felt the bullet catch his shoulder. The woman on the bike roared past them, and there was another shot fired, and then another and they landed high on Clark's back, crushing on impact against his body.

Lex was safe. Keeping Lex hidden beneath him, Clark looked around the garage, making sure there were no other hit men, and then breathed a sigh of relief, his body sagging against Lex's.

"Clark?! Clark?" Lex said frantically, struggling beneath him. "Clark, answer me! Are you all right, were you hit?"

Clark shook his head, and rolled over off of Lex. He stood and held out his hand to Lex. "Are you okay?" he asked Lex. "Did you get hurt?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Lex said, still sitting on the floor, dazed, eyes wide with astonishment. "What was that? Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Lex really," Clark said, voice wavering, his breath coming short as he realized that if he hadn't been there...Lex would be dead. And that was completely and totally unacceptable.

"Clark, what happened?" Lex repeated, grabbing hold of Clark's hand and pulling himself to his feet.

Clark swallowed, lacing his fingers with Lex's without thought. "Lex, someone…tried to kill you."

In the dark, it was hard to see Lex's face, but Clark could feel his skin run cold.

****

There shouldn’t have been so much paperwork involved in almost getting shot, Clark thought bitterly as he studied Lex’s profile, silhouetted against the glass windows of the penthouse. It was hours later, verging on midnight, and Lex was grey with exhaustion, and shock.

After he’d finished the last round of signatures, he’d silently handed Clark the keys and let Clark drive back. It had been the first sign -- and really the only sign -- that Lex was upset. Other than the eerie quiet, that was. It was as though Lex simply refused to show any reaction to the attempt on his life – as though it didn’t bother him.

Lex Luthor was above such petty trifles as having people shoot at him.

Right, and Clark didn’t pass out when faced with green meteor rocks, either.

”Hey,” Clark called softly. “Lex?”

Lex turned toward Clark with a polite expression on his face. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?” Clark asked, hating the slightly amused look that passed over Lex’s face briefly before he turned again toward the window.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He frowned, watching the smooth mask on Lex’s features for a moment longer before sighing and trying again. “Lex. Someone just tried to kill you – are you *sure* you’re okay?”

“I’m perfectly aware of that fact,” Lex said with an edge to his voice.

“So why are you acting like it didn’t happen?” Clark burst out, frustrated. “Aren’t you scared or mad or something?”

“Am I mad that someone attempted to murder me?” Lex asked, whirling, eyes like ice. “Yes. Yes, I am. Am I afraid? Well, that would be a rational response, wouldn’t it?”

Unfazed, Clark pressed on. “So…why are you pretending not to be?”

“Because, Clark, I don’t have that luxury,” Lex bit out, stalking across the room to the wet bar. “I have to make a statement in the morning, and try to figure out how to deal with the backlash this will have on LexCorp.”

“Don’t you have people who work for you that can do that?” Clark asked.

Lex responded without thinking, tone final. “I have to do it.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t afford to lose what little credibility I have as C.E.O. of LexCorp,” he said, snapping back a shot of vodka. “Let’s see – I’m a drug addict, a murderer and now I’m the victim of a gangland assassination attempt? The only thing I have left is my ability to stand in from the camera and say that I’m all right and that business will be conducted as usual.”

“Lex…” Clark began.

“Didn’t you hear me, Clark?” Lex snapped. “I don’t have the luxury of being upset by this…this situation. I have a company to think of! Thousands of people who rely on me for their livelihood and investors who look at me as an indication of LexCorp’s welfare.” He took another shot of vodka. “No wonder they’re all pulling their goddamned money out.”

Clark walked over to Lex, and took the shot glass out of his hand. “Lex. You can’t do anything about any of that tonight, okay?”

Lex arched an eyebrow, lip curling with challenge. “So what should I do then? Fall to pieces?”

“No,” Clark replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think you could if you tried. Just…let go for tonight. Let someone take care of you.”

“You?” Lex scoffed.

“Yes,” Clark said simply.

Blue eyes narrowed to slits, and Lex eyed Clark narrowly. “Why are you here, Clark? Why are you *really* here?”

“You won’t believe me,” Clark replied, with a slight smile. “But…it’s because you matter to me.”

And Lex moved faster than Clark expected when he leaned forward and kissed Clark, lips smooth and firm as his tongue slipped into Clark’s mouth. Lex was…*devouring* Clark, kissing him like Lex would be able to know if Clark was telling the truth or not just by the way he tasted, clinging onto him like Clark was trying to get away when he wasn’t. Oh, God, he wasn’t he just wanted…more of this. This, hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss that could go on forever. This kiss was like sex without taking off any clothes, and Lex was making noises. Little needy noises, and his hands were scrabbling at Clark’s shirt and this was…

Totally not the time for this. Lex didn’t need a lover. He needed a friend, and Clark could *be* that friend, wanted to be that friend, wanted Lex to keep kissing him like that…but pulled away instead.

“Lex,” he whispered, shaky, “this…isn’t the time. I want this. But not now.”

Lex’s eyes flashed silver with rebellion, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Clark interrupted him by kissing him gently. “You’re tired, and this will wait.”

For a moment, Clark thought that Lex would object, but he remained silent, looking out the window before turning back, eyebrow quirked with reluctant humor.

“I did promise you seduction, didn’t I? And I can do better than that.” When he kissed Clark again it was slowly, with none of the urgency of before, but thorough, until Clark could feel his toes curling in his shoes, and his fingers fisting in Lex’s shirt. This time Lex pulled away first, leaning his forehead against Clark’s and breathing hard.

Lex cleared his throat. “Will --” he began.

“I’m not leaving,” Clark promised, stroking Lex’s cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be right here.”

A small smile turned up the corner’s of Lex’s mouth. “Thank you.”

CHAPTER SIX

“Hey, Lex, what does unmarked bills even *mean*?” Clark asked, frowning at the television. “I mean, bad guys always want ‘unmarked bills’… do the rest of us have to deal with marked bills or something? And is that, like, a bad thing? I don’t get it.”

When the only answer to his question was the continued demands of the extortionist on television, Clark glanced to his side. The light from the screen filtered over Lex’s face, trailing blue over his sleeping features – casting stark shadows on the hollows of his cheeks, under his eyes. His head rested against the back of the seat, legs and arms a sprawl across the soft leather of the couch, and Lex looked as though he was thinner, less substantial. Sleeping…he was dimmed, didn’t seem to take up all the space in the room like he did when he was awake. He looked…ordinary, like anyone else, and it was…strange, because Lex? Wasn’t.

And not just because he was bald and had more money than God. He was just somehow *more* than other people. Maybe it was because he was always moving, or because his eyes were so bright, or maybe it was even because of the way Lex used his voice. Either way? Lex Luthor wasn’t average or normal or anything like that. He was *Lex*.

And that was enough to make the world stop rotating on its axis and reverse course. Clark’s world, at least, and yeah, so that was a little dorky but Clark knew that Lex would really *like* the mental image of spinning the globe in the palm of his hand like some kind of marble, so maybe it was okay. And really? Being forced to question his sexuality on the basis of *one* person was kind of like, a huge compliment to that person, right? So, if Clark were to ever say any of that out loud – which he knew would be ill advised and just *way* too sappy for words – Lex would be flattered and not hideously shocked by the extent to which Clark Kent dorked out when left to his own devices.

Okay, maybe he’d be both.

But either way, Lex’s very existence hit Clark where he *lived* somehow and today, a woman on a motorcycle had fired several rounds into Clark’s back trying to *end* that existence and that was as far from okay as Clark could imagine. And suddenly Clark was having some kind of pain in the region of his chest, and breath was coming short, and no one, *no one* had the right to try and take Lex Luthor out of this world before Lex was ready to go. Or, really, ever.

Clark wanted to reach over, draw a blanket over Lex, pull Lex closer, do *something* but he couldn’t make himself move. It didn’t seem to be his place. He’d only known Lex for a few weeks, and Lex was a very private man, but Clark had somehow…wormed his way into Lex’s life…except as what?

A friend? He wanted to be that. He wanted to be the guy who Lex called when he needed something, the guy Lex had fun hanging out with. But it was more than that -- Clark wanted to *know* Lex. Wanted to really get under his skin and figure out what made him tick and know *why* and for some reason, Clark got the feeling that after a few weeks, he was already closer than Lex let most people get. The fact that he was still sitting there in Lex’s living room said something, at least.

“Is there someone you want me to call?” Clark had asked earlier, when Lex had calmed down on the alcohol intake and let Clark just…be there. For him.

Lex had snorted, raised an eyebrow, and just generally looked amused. “The Ghostbusters, perhaps?”

“No,” Clark said, impatient, “like, a friend or something. Is there anyone you want here with you?”

“No one other than present company springs to mind,” Lex had drawled, letting his eyes heat up just enough to make Clark flush, and the whole conversation was hijacked by some pretty intense flirtation.

But now, as Clark thought about it, there had been a rasping tone to Lex’s voice that only really showed up when he was saying something that was uncomfortably true, and that was…sad. And wrong, because Lex should have millions of people who were all enthralled by how amazing he was, and who wanted to just be there when Lex needed them simply because they cared about Lex. Or at *least* someone he’d known longer who he felt comfortable being vulnerable with – or as close as Lex let himself get.

At the same time, though? Clark was *glad* that he was the one who was sitting beside Lex, glad that this was a place that seemed to be reserved for *him*. For tonight, at least.

But, that didn’t mean he was close enough to be the person who tucked Lex into bed after a hard day, or soothed him, or protected him. He wanted to pull Lex flush against his side, and hold him – just hold him.

And yeah, that wasn’t something that someone just *did* with their friends, or even with the people they played around with, and so maybe that meant sometime soon Clark was definitely going to need to sit down and sort through the huge amorphous mess of feelings that Lex inspired in him, but this was not that time because he was still processing the fact that someone had *shot* at *Lex*.

Repeatedly. With intent to kill. And if Clark hadn’t been there?

All of the muscles in Clark’s body tensed at the thought, and he closed his eyes so that he didn’t accidentally set fire to Lex’s nice living room. He breathed slowly, in and out of his nose, and forced himself to relax. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at Lex, eyes trailing over the curve of Lex’s instep, up his legs.

There was something so *vulnerable* about Lex’s bare feet, and all Clark could think about was that Lex, despite everything, was still very, very *fragile*. The fine, elegant bones of his hands, his arms, the delicate curve of his collarbone – all of those were so thin, so easily broken. He could die – Lex could *die*.

And then he’d just be…gone. No more Lex.

Which was so *deeply* unacceptable that Clark needed to do another quick breathing exercise to calm himself down.

The need to act – to find the people who wanted Lex dead, to stay beside Lex until it was figured out by some kind of law enforcement professional-type person, to wake Lex up and explain to him that Clark never wanted to see him hurt *ever* so he needed to be very careful, to smash his fist through a wall or just kiss Lex gently, all over his beautiful, upturned, sleeping face – pounded through him.

And yeah, those were definitely some feelings that Clark was going to have to think about. At some point.

But for now, he just sat, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Lex’s thin chest with each inhalation and exhalation. After a moment he reached over, rested his palm over Lex’s heart, and closed his eyes, feeling the rhythmic pumping of Lex’s heart, and listening to the soft whistling of his breath, and Clark felt himself begin to calm, felt the cadence of his own breath decelerating to match Lex’s.

Sometime later, he felt slender fingers weaving in between his own, and opened his eyes to find Lex staring at him.

“Hey,” Lex said softly, voice husky.

Clark smiled sleepily. “Hey.”

“Sleeping on the couch’ll put a hell of a crick in your neck,” Lex told him. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Oh,” Clark said, frowning, “I…okay. I guess I’ll just head home, then.”

Lex shook his head, eyes dark and intent on Clark’s face. “You don’t have to go.”

“I…I’d like to stay,” Clark confessed in a breathy rush, relieved. “And I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Because you think I need a friend tonight?” Lex asked, puzzlement clearly written in the lines across his forehead. His free hand came up to push heavy curls off Clark’s forehead, and it was a small unconscious gesture, but it made Clark smile.

He nodded. “It’s…you shouldn’t be here by yourself. Not after what happened today and I – ” Clark broke off, struggling.

“I understand,” Lex said, and Clark wasn’t sure that he did, but didn’t dispute the statement, merely followed when Lex stood and led him to the bedroom.

He took off his shirt and jeans so that he was only wearing his boxers when he curled around Lex on the bed, finally giving into his impulses, and wrapped his arms fully around the man beside him. “Is this okay?” Clark asked quietly.

Lex nodded in response, squeezing his hand gently, and Clark laid his head on Lex’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there and enjoying the feeling of Lex’s body relaxing against his own.

There was a window across the room, and the dim light of street lamps illuminated the room gently. It seemed to soften the edges of the room, the edges of the past day, and Clark fell asleep, holding Lex against him, as though the curve of Clark’s back could keep away any unseen dangers lurking in the now soft night.

**

There were fingers tangling in his hair, threading through it and smoothing it back down with absent care, when Clark stirred and woke.

“Hi,” he mumbled sleepily into Lex’s shoulder, before stretching and smiling up at Lex. “Comfy bed. What time is it?”

“Eleven,” Lex answered, eyes trailing over Clark’s lips. “You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

“Oh, I…thanks?” Clark’s voice was breathy, and a thrill ran up his back at the texture of Lex’s voice – the raspy, rusty wanting edge it had. He looked down, and opened his mouth to say something that was hopefully a little less retarded, but Lex turned his chin up and before Clark get a word out, Lex was kissing him.

All soft lips and supple tongue and hard, white teeth. He sucked Clark’s lower lip into his mouth, nibbling on it. Licked at the outline of Clark’s mouth, basically *devouring* him one centimeter at a time, hands fisted in Clark’s hair, pulling him closer – and Clark didn’t need the encouragement.

Because, whoa, did he want to be closer, wanted to feel Lex’s body against his and when Lex straddled him, Clark basically knew that no matter what happened there was *no way* a day that started out this good could be anything but fantastic.

Fan-fucking-tabulous, with Lex leaning against the full length of Clark’s body, nipping at his jawline, sucking kisses down his neck and making little growly noises the whole time, which were pretty much in the running for ‘hottest thing ever.’

“Wow, is this how you always say good morning?” Clark gasped as Lex’s tongue drew patterns on his neck. “What if…you know…I had morning breath, or something?”

Lex didn’t answer. No, Lex’s mouth was too busy intimately acquainting itself with the skin over Clark’s collarbone, licking and biting and just generally making Clark gasp, writhe, moan and yeah, he definitely had a pretty firm grasp on Lex’s ass.

And Lex’s ass? Felt good under his hands – round, tight, and Clark was just about as hard as he’d ever been when he pulled Lex closer and found out that, yup, Lex was definitely not playing around because an erection like that? Was definitely not a ‘just playing’ kind of erection.

It was a ‘fuck you through the mattress and into next week’ kind of erection and…Clark wanted that. Wanted to feel Lex all the way *inside* of him, and *damn* that was a lot to process when Lex was still doing the growly noise thingy and learning the terrain of Clark’s bare chest with a level of dedication that would have been scary if it wasn’t so goddamned *good*.

And, okay, processing was definitely going to have to happen later, because Lex had discovered Clark’s nipples. He rolled them over in his fingers, then played them with his mouth like they were some kind of a toy, and looked up to see Clark’s face as he did it. Eyes dark, deep slices of blue that seemed to hold light on the surface in slicks of silver and a wicked, wicked smile below them that made it impossible for Clark to keep his eyes open if he wanted to last beyond the next ten seconds.

“God,” he bit off, throwing his head back, arching into the feather light touches that drifted across his stomach, teasing along the waistband of his boxers with the smallest scrape of nail, the tiniest touch of pressure.

Arching into *Lex*, who pressed back, and if Clark was human he would have already bitten all the way through his lip because. It. Felt. So. Good. And Lex was *rock hard* and Clark heard another growl, but he knew that this time it was coming from him. He pulled Lex back up the length of his body, and kissed him.

Kissed Lex like he was trying pull Lex inside of him with his tongue. Made Lex writhe and moan and *gasp* and that was such a good sound, such a *great* sound when Lex did it.

Wrapped his legs around Lex’s hips and ground up and yeah, that was pretty much *perfect* when Lex hissed in a breath through his teeth and bucked back against Clark, eyes glittering and it was like a wave of heat, just spreading up Clark’s body, crackling along his skin.

“Lex,” he gasped out, and pulled Lex tighter, letting his neck get *plundered* and forgot how to breathe when Lex pulled back and looked at him. Eyes half-lidded, color something like midnight but deeper and hotter, and lips wet and swollen from kisses and wanting, and *Clark* had done that to him, and nothing, *nothing* had ever been hotter.

Lex reached around and pulled Clark’s hands off his back, pressing them onto the headboard.

“Keep them there,” he ordered, voice husky and Clark’s hips pitched forward with rebellion, but his hands stayed put. Lex groaned, bit his lip and kissed Clark again. Hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of Clark’s boxers and pulled and…normally Clark would have felt self-conscious, being naked and flushed but right here, right *now* with Lex’s eyes so bottomless, with the wood headboard underneath his fingers and Lex’s hands tracing up and down his thighs, over his hips….

He never wanted to wear clothes again, if it meant Lex would look at him like this every day for the rest of his life. Heard himself groan - loved the way it sparked in Lex’s dusky, burning eyes.

Pale, long fingers scratched up Clark’s inner thighs, and he tensed, cock harder than he remembered it ever being as Lex cupped his balls, fingers ghosting over them and Clark felt it like electricity through his whole body and *Jesus* it was fucking *incredible*. Got better when Lex rubbed a thumb over the head, pushing back the foreskin.

He thrust upward – didn’t even have a choice, felt himself leaking pre-come on Lex’s fingers and would have felt guilty about it, maybe, if Lex hadn’t given him a smile that was dirtier than anything else going on in the room.

And then the hot little triangle of tongue darted out of Lex’s mouth, licking over his red, swollen lips and when Lex leaned down the air caught in Clark’s throat and he closed his eyes, afraid that he’d set things on fire.

Lex’s tongue swirled over the head of Clark’s cock and Clark learned a new religion, and maybe he screamed that when Lex sucked ever-so-gently on the head. Clark wasn’t sure, because his whole world had narrowed down to warm, wet suction, a strong tongue, licking up the underside of his shaft, clever fingers reaching around, spreading his cheeks and when he opened his eyes, he saw that Lex had been waiting for this – for Clark’s eyes to meet his, so he could watch Clark’s face.

Saw the satisfaction when Lex’s cheeks hollowed and he sucked Clark in earnest and Clark’s head fell back with a thud and he screamed, “*Fuck*!”

Felt Lex’s laugh against his cock, a series of vibrations that made him arch up, made him push into Lex’s throat and Lex…took it. Took *him* -- and swallowed and swallowed, a long index finger pressing lightly on the thin skin around Clark’s hole. Pressing harder when Clark whimpered, pressing *in* when Clark shot more pre-come and his whole body started to shake. And all the while Lex’s strong, thick tongue was working him, his mouth taking the sharp snaps of Clark’s hips, the thrusts, like it was nothing, and Clark knew he might be being too rough but…he couldn’t *not* be rough.

Couldn’t *not* just *take* what Lex was doing and give it back because it was what Lex *wanted*. He knew that. Knew it because of the way he could *feel* Lex’s eyes raking over his body, knew it because Lex just sucked him harder, added another finger and found his prostate, brushing it, working Clark’s *whole body*.

Lex's gaze, like a kiss, focused on Clark's lower lip, which was tightly pressed between his teeth…and then Lex’s eyes sparked wildly, and it was so *hot* and so *wet* and Clark was coming, coming *so hard* that he was screaming and Lex just swallowed it all down.

And Clark must have left the space-time continuum far, far behind because when he was aware of the universe again, Lex was naked, sitting up and smiling down at him. Clark wanted to say something, wanted to let Lex know how completely and amazingly talented he was. Wanted to inform Lex, in fact, that clearly his mouth was a mind-blowing natural phenomenon, but really? He was only capable of lying there and panting, with what must have been a very dazed look on his face.

He hoped that dazed was a good look for him.

A slow, lazy smile spread across Lex's face. "Hey," he said softly, reaching up to run a thumb over Clark's lips.

"Hey," Clark said back, quietly amazed that he'd gotten the word out.

Lex leaned in and kissed him, slowly, passionately, and Clark could feel Lex's cock - still hard - pressing into his leg. Clark reached for him, but Lex pulled back, a half smile on his face as he placed Clark's hands on his hips.

"No, Clark…. Just…watch," he said, sitting back up so that he was straddling Clark's chest.

Lex ran his hands down his own chest, his eyes seeking out Clark's. They were lambent, fierce, and Clark shivered, feeling his own eyes become heavy lidded, his grin predatory.

"I'm watching," he said, and even to his ears, it sounded more like a purr than anything else. "Do it, Lex. I want to see you come."

Groaning, Lex grasped himself, flicking his thumb over the head of his cock, his eyelids fluttering. Clark had seen men naked before, had even seen naked men aroused before, but nothing like this. Nothing like watching Lex stroke himself slowly, his cock heavy and glistening with pre-come, cupping his balls in one hand and just rhythmically, smoothly jacking himself off - moaning and jerking and Clark felt his face heating up, as his thumbs stroked Lex's hipbones, his fingers smooth over the soft skin, keeping time with the motions of Lex’s hand.

"God, you're so sexy," Clark whispered, and Lex smiled down at him - all sharp teeth and smoky eyes. And while it was amazing, watching Lex, watching those slender white hands as he worked himself, it wasn't enough. Clark’s hands ached, and he wanted to feel Lex so badly.

"Lex, I want…*God* c-can I *touch* you?" he asked, uncertain.

Lex groaned, nodded, and Clark was *there* and Lex was so hot in his hand, and responsive. He set a fast pace, making Lex buck, throw back his head, growl.

With each stroke, Clark flicked his thumb over the head of Lex's cock and *god* it was sexy, so sexy to have Lex straddling him, making love to his hand, biting his swollen lips. To have the taste of Lex on his tongue, and feel the throbbing of Lex’s cock in his hands and it was almost too much when Lex finally arched his back, cried out, and came, pulsing hot between them.

Lex collapsed beside Clark, idly trailing fingers through Clark’s hair as he panted and it really should have been illegal for anyone or anything to be as stunning as Lex was with his pale lashes feathered out against the rose of his skin. Clark was sure of it.

He turned on his side, trailing a hand over Lex’s cheek. “You okay?” Clark asked, shyly.

The gingery lashes swept upward, and Lex’s eyes were hectically bright. “If today means to continue as it’s begun, then it’s a wonderful day to be alive, Clark.”

The words swept over Clark’s skin like dread, and he shivered, unconsciously moving closer to Lex. Two scars on Lex’s chest stood out now – white and smooth amid skin pink from exertion – and Clark noticed them for the first time. Round, high on his chest; right over his heart…bullet holes in Lex’s body, and Clark wanted to *kill* Lex’s ex-wife for doing that to him. Wanted it, a lot, but only after he’d killed whoever had shot at Lex yesterday, because at least the murderous ex was behind bars.

Lex was watching Clark like he was waiting for a response, so Clark shrugged, dredged up a half smile. “Today will go however you want it to,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to Lex’s shoulder.

Lex nodded, and closed his eyes, leaning back against Clark’s side. “If only that were true.”

“What do you mean?” Clark asked, frowning.

“Press conference. Two o’clock,” Lex told him. “Those never go the way I want them to. Reporters have this nasty habit of…asking questions. Making accusations. Speaking. It’s all very tiresome.”

“Hey,” Clark said, mildly.

“It’s true,” Lex said, cracking an eye open. “And you’re not a reporter *yet*. There’s still hope for you.”

“You’re going to save me from my chosen career path?” Clark teased.

“No, I’m just going to dissuade you from becoming one of the evil, slavering minions of the mass media. As for saving people? That, apparently, is your specialty,” Lex said, trailing off. “Clark, you threw yourself in front of me last night. You could have died. That was…an incredibly brave, stupid thing to do.”

Clark shifted, uncomfortable. “Lex, it...I’m all right. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?” He turned toward Clark, both eyes open, expression tight with concern. “I could have sworn that she hit you.”

“I’m all right,” Clark repeated firmly. And it wasn’t a lie, so much, as just…a circumvention of the truth, but Clark’s internal guilt-meter wasn’t buying that at all. “I promise.”

Lex relaxed against Clark and closing his eyes again. “Good.”

Neither said anything more, and soon Lex’s face went lax with sleep. And like the night before, the easy rhythms of Lex’s breathing and the solid, comfortable feeling of his body against Clark’s lulled Clark into slumber.

**

The phone trilled and Clark sat bolt upright, reaching toward the bedside table reflexively. When he encountered a warm sleeping Lex instead of the plastic of his phone, he opened his eyes and smiled.

It really *had* happened, then. His smile morphed into a grin as his eyes trailed over the hickey on Lex’s collarbone. It was weird – Clark had never really been a big fan of hickeys before, but seeing one on Lex was way hotter than he could have anticipated. Especially knowing that *he’d* put it there, and remembering the feel of Lex’s skin between his lips, the taste of Lex – like mint, juniper, something sharp and clean.

The phone stopped ringing, and Clark settled back onto the bed, curling closer to Lex’s pocket of warmth and reflecting wryly that pretty much anything in the entire world that could evoke those memories would qualify as *incendiary* instead of hot, so maybe his opinion on hickeys hadn’t been what had changed.

The phone rang again, and Lex stirred, rolling over and flailing until his hand connected with the receiver. He sat up, ran a hand over his face, and opened his eyes, still bleary.

“Yeah?” Lex said into the phone, voice slurred with sleep. “I’m here, what do you need?”

Ignoring Lex’s end of the conversation, Clark admired the pale curve of Lex’s back, the strong line of his shoulders, his profile. Lex shook his head a little, blinking to dispel tiredness, and Clark wanted to see this more often. Wanted to wake up right *here* again, and wondered if he’d be allowed to.

Wondered what he meant to Lex, and really, started to admit to himself that Lex meant a *hell of a lot* to Clark.

“*Shit*,” Lex said loudly, pulling Clark out of his thoughts. “All right, it’s one now. I’ve got the press conference in an hour. After that, I’ll meet you at your office and we can go from there.” There was a pause and he nodded. “Yes, I understand perfectly. I’ll see you then, Jack. Good bye.”

Lex hung up the phone, expelled a long breath, before straightening and leaning back against the headboard. He gave Clark a small smile and tangled his fingers in Clark’s hair, looking out the window. “Hi,” he said, distracted.

“Hi,” Clark said in return. “You okay, Lex?”

“I’m fine,” Lex replied, stretching. He opened his mouth, as if to say something further, but closed it, with a slight shake of his head.

“Lex? You’re really not convincing me about this whole ‘fine’ thing.” Clark frowned and sat up, putting his hand on Lex’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Lex replied, squeezing Clark’s hand lightly before standing. “I need to get ready for the press conference.”

“We’ve got a little over an hour,” Clark told him, with a glance at the clock. “How long does it usually take before hand? To set up? I mean, with all the equipment and stuff. Is there a sound check?”

Both of Lex’s brows rose, and he half-turned, expression inscrutable. “‘We’, Clark?”

And Clark stopped short, because he very much so *hadn’t* expected that response. “Yeah, we…Lex, you’re not going on your *own* are you?”

“My lawyer will be there, as will the majority of Metropolis’ hot-shot reporter set, pens in hand and questions at the ready. I would hardly call that alone.”

And his tone was like a slap – condescending. Like Clark was being foolish. Like Lex wasn’t standing there totally naked except for marks that *Clark* had sucked onto his chest, neck. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Clark responded, forcing his voice to remain even. “I mean, you should go with someone who can…protect you. Make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“Unless I’m greatly mistaken, Clark, you’re not a professional bodyguard,” Lex said, walking toward the bathroom. “What do you propose to do? Become my permanent human shield? That will work precisely *once*, if the shooter’s aim improves at all, and I’m not particularly inclined to gamble your life on the chance that it won’t.”

Clark only winced slightly at the phrase ‘human shield,’ and was a little proud of that, but mostly he felt both guilty and perversely giddy because even though he was the first to admit that he could be a little emotionally stupid at times, it was clear that Lex was *worried* about him. Which meant that Lex cared about him – at least a little, at least as friends – and that was good. That was *very good*.

“I’ll be safe, I promise,” Clark said, standing and following Lex into the bathroom. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

Lex snorted, without humor, leaning against the marble of the countertop and studying his reflection. “I would suggest that you don’t make promises you can’t keep. You’re young, and apparently operating under the assumption that you’re immortal, but I can assure you that as invincible as you may feel? You’re not.”

Clark opened his mouth to argue, but Lex cut him off, his eyes intent on Clark’s in the mirror. “But let’s set aside that issue for the moment. How do you suggest I explain you, when you show up by my side at the press conference, hovering? My bodyguard? Your friends and family will all know that’s false, Clark, and Lois Lane saw you with me on the night of the fundraiser. The speculation will begin immediately, and are you really ready to see your name splashed across the Daily Planet as Lex Luthor’s new gay lover? Another in a long line of tawdry Luthor exploits?”

And Clark had to stop a second, because he *knew* Lex was right. That was definitely the spin the newspapers would put on it, on *them*, even though there was *nothing* tawdry about the way he felt about Lex.

But the fact that Lex could make Clark’s breath come short by laughing wouldn’t make it into print. That Lex actually *listened* when Clark talked wouldn’t be what his mother and father would read as soon as the Daily Planet hit the front porch, wouldn’t be what Lana saw, and when people saw Clark on the street? He’d be wondering if they were thinking about the stories people printed about him in the newspaper. It would be worse than the whole Superman thing, because it would be *Clark* making news. Which was *definitely* a far cry from staying under the radar.

And how long until people put Clark’s heroics back in Smallville together with Superman in Metropolis, after his name made the news because of his relationship with Lex? It hadn’t taken Chloe long at all, and the thought sent a chill down his spine.

“That’s what I thought,” Lex murmured, lips thin, eyes still fixed on Clark. There was a long moment, and Clark could feel thousands of unspoken recriminations pressing against him, but Lex looked away and offered him an out. “And I can’t take much more bad press. Not now, after Phelan’s accusations, and then his death. LexCorp is doing badly enough as it is.”

“Will someone be there to protect you?” Clark asked, voice tight. “You *can’t* go without protection of some kind. The police, whoever, it doesn’t matter. Someone out there tried to kill you, Lex, and standing up on a platform talking to an anonymous crowd of people you’ll be pretty much the most perfect target ever.”

“Yes, I’m very aware of that,” Lex said brusquely. “Having already spent quite a bit of time in Metropolis General for gunshot wounds, I’m taking steps to avoid a repeat performance. I do actually employ bodyguards, and they’ll be meeting me here in about twenty minutes.”

Clark nodded, looking down at his hands splayed across the cool counter. “Are they good? I mean, will they keep you safe?” he asked, the questions pushing their way out of his mouth despite his better judgment.

A slight smile flirted with the corners of Lex’s mouth. “Mercy and Hope are the best at what they do, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Clark echoed. Sure, they were the best at what they did, but they weren’t as good as Clark. He was faster, stronger, and more importantly? Bullets would bounce off him if not crush on impact against his skin, and as safe as Lex would be with Mercy and Hope, he’d be safer still with Clark.

But he…couldn’t go. And he couldn’t explain it to Lex, so he just nodded, and reached out to touch Lex’s shoulder, lightly. “Be careful anyway, okay?”

“I will,” Lex said, turning to give Clark an actual smile this time. “When it comes to my life, I’m very good at that.”

“Unless you’re behind the wheel,” Clark shot back, and Lex gave him a wry grin.

“Be that as it may, Mercy and Hope will be here very soon. You should probably leave before they arrive. I trust their discretion, but I’d rather not tempt fate.”

“When will I see you again?” Clark asked, and then bit his tongue, because, *god*, he really *was* one with his inner twelve year old girl, wasn’t he?

Lex didn’t seem to mind, though. His face softened, and he brushed fingertips over Clark’s collarbone. “Dinner? Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Clark replied, breath coming short as Lex’s eyes swept over him, head to toe, and reminded him that he was, in fact, still very much without clothing. “I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Lex said, lips curling up as he stepped into the shower. “I’d like it very much.”

The glass plates of the shower door were clear, and Clark watched as water ran over Lex’s pale body, curls of steam winding over the door, around his skin. Dinner couldn’t come soon enough at all.

**

It wasn’t until Clark got to his front door that he remembered how he’d left Chloe and Pete there the night before.

When he opened the door, he knew one of three things would happen. Option A was that he’d get an eyeful of Chloe and Pete doing unspeakable things on *his* couch, which was pretty much *way* too traumatic for him to contemplate, so he relegated Option A to a very dark, very remote corner of his mind that he planned to visit *never*.

Option B was that he would find Pete playing Super Smashbros in monosyllabic mode and that Chloe would be locked in Clark’s bedroom, crying herself sick.

And Option C? Option C involved a lot of snark and yelling because Clark had pretty much disappeared for about ten hours.

The only way to deal with Option A was swift and total repression, he reasoned, frowning at the door. Option B would require some flexing of the friendship muscles to coax Chloe and Pete back into something faintly resembling discussion, where he’d make damned well sure that both of them told the truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God. But Option C? Pretty much the only thing he could do was take it, because…well, he deserved it.

Clark was seized by a desire to run because, really? None of those options sounded terribly appealing. He wanted to just go somewhere and sit, and think about...God, *everything* that had happened in the past day – saving Lex, the weirdly-deep-relationship type feelings he was having for Lex, the mind-bendingly hot sex he’d had with Lex, the not-quite fight they’d had before he left the penthouse…

Okay, so maybe he just pretty much wanted to think about Lex. But, he figured that after the past twenty-four hours, that was a really *valid* desire.

He eyed the staircase longingly, but, *dammit* it was *his* apartment. And he needed clean clothes, at least. So he sighed deeply, and turned the doorknob, opening the door slowly.

“Hey Clark, way to not come home last night,” Chloe called from beside Pete on the couch when he walked in.

“Or call to tell us,” Pete chimed in. “You suck at being a host, Kent.”

Damn. Option C. Clark *hated* Option C.

But, hey, silver lining: Pete’s arm was around Chloe’s shoulders, and both of them looked really happy, so that was good. That was *really* good, even if said happy was allowing them to focus on his transgression.

“Guilty as charged,” he said, with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“So where *were* you?” Chloe asked, raising both brows. “I mean, you have to have stayed *somewhere*.”

His face was hot, and he knew, just *knew* that he was lobster-red, especially when Pete snickered.

“Clark, Clark, Clark, I didn’t think you had it in you. Okay, so what’s her name, and why haven’t I heard about her if you’re at the staying over point already?” Pete asked, grinning widely.

Chloe’s eyes got big, and she mouthed, ‘Lex?’

Clark blushed harder, looking down at his feet, shuffling them and really wishing it had been either Option A or Option B when he’d walked in. “Well, I just…you know….”

“Dude, what’s her *name*?” Pete repeated, smacking Clark’s arm as he sat down in the chair. “What’s she like? C’mon!”

“Pete…” Chloe said, putting a hand on his arm, and biting her lower lip with dismay.

“It’s okay, Chlo’,” Clark said with a reassuring smile. “I was at Lex’s last night. He needed someone to stay over. He…had a rough night.”

“Lex? Like, Lex Luthor?” Pete asked, with a puzzled frown. “You stayed over there? And didn’t call?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just zonked out on the couch, man,” Clark said, with a small shrug, ignoring Chloe’s accusatory stare. “Got tired, and didn’t think to call. I’m sorry.”

Pete considered for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. “Clark, do I look stupid today?”

Clark sighed, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands, but only just barely. *This* was why he didn’t lie to Pete, he remembered. Because Pete *always* knew, like…*always*.

“You *know* better, Kent. So what’s goin’ on? For real this time, because you know if you lie again, there are gonna be some consequences,” Pete warned.

“Pete,” Clark began, wincing. “I don’t think –”

With a grin and a roll of his eyes, Pete cut Clark off. “I know, man, but we love you anyway. So spill.”

Clark sought Chloe’s gaze, but she stared at him like a challenge and crossed her arms, eyebrows tilted at an accusatory angle and *yeah* he got it already. ‘Be honest with your friends, Clark.’ And he could do that. He totally could.

“Any minute now, Clark,” Pete prompted. “Seriously.”

“I really *was* at Lex’s,” he began, taking a deep breath. “And he really *did* have a hard night. Someone tried to kill him.”

“Is he okay?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Clark told her with a tight smile. “I mean, he’s shaken up, but okay otherwise. I just didn’t think he needed to be alone last night.”

“I didn’t realize you guys were that close,” Pete said thoughtfully.

Chloe gave Clark the eye again, and he blew out a breath slowly. “Lex and I are *really* close, Pete. Well, maybe not *really* close… we’ve only known each other for a little while, but…last night? When someone shot at him? We were on a date.”

“A date?” Pete asked, face wrinkled with non-comprehension. “Like, a *date* date? With Lex Luthor?”

“Yeah,” Clark said. “A *date* date. With Lex.”

“Who’s not only a *Luthor*, but a *guy*,” Pete said, eyes narrow. “I just want to be sure that I’m understanding you,” he went on, when Clark’s face hardened.

And maybe *that* was the sound of best friends breaking up, Clark thought, pushing up from his chair so that he could pace around the kitchen. “Yeah, well, you understand perfectly, Pete.”

“So does this mean you’re gay, then?” Pete asked, voice sharp.

So maybe Clark hadn’t expected Pete to whip out a rainbow printed bandana and join the Pride parade, but he *definitely* hadn’t expected *this*, and surprise and anger turned his voice into something almost completely unrecognizable. “And if it does?”

“Then maybe you could try *talking* to me about it!” Pete yelled, standing up. Chloe’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Pete continued, cutting her off.

“Aren’t I supposed to be your best friend? Don’t you think this is the kind of thing that best friends should *tell* one another? Don’t you think you could have *maybe* worked it into conversation? What did you think would happen? Did you think I wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore? That I’d flip out because you liked guys or something?”

Clark’s mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. “I – ” he began, making unconsciously supplicating gestures with his hands.

“You did, didn’t you?” Pete said quietly. “You really thought I’d flip. God *damn*, Clark.”

“Pete, I – ” he tried again, voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I just --”

“Don’t give him the credit he deserves,” Chloe interrupted smoothly. “It’s a habit you have when it comes to the people who are supposed to be your friends,” she continued pointedly.

Her words hung in the air, and Clark *wanted* to refute that. Wanted to tell Chloe that she was dead wrong and that he *did* give them credit, but he couldn’t say it, because she was right and he didn’t really like that about himself. At all. But – could he really be blamed? His secrets weren’t garden variety secrets. He was from *another planet* and…Pete knew that. And had taken it in stride – kind of – and Clark still hadn’t trusted him enough to talk to him about a sexuality crisis.

Chloe was completely correct. And it *sucked*. And *he* sucked and they were all just standing there, not saying anything, and looking upset in the middle of Clark’s apartment in the middle of one of the world’s most uncomfortable silences.

The day had started out *so well*, dammit.

“You’re right,” he finally managed, voice thick. “And I’m sorry…I…don’t mean to. I –”

“We know,” Pete said steadily. “It’s okay. Just…we’ve been through a lot together. Don’t you think that if things were going to be too much or too weird we’d have bailed by now?”

Clark nodded, trying on a shaky smile. “Yeah, I guess so. But, you have to know, Pete...I’m not *gay*, really. I don’t think. Or…maybe I am. I mean…I like girls. I was with Lana for a long time, and all, but I think I like guys, too. I *know* I like Lex, anyway.” He paused for breath, looking down at his hands. “It’s…very confusing, and this is a kinda…recent development? I’m still sorting it out in my own head.”

Pete nodded, thinking, before he turned and gave Chloe a look. “Did you know?”

Her eyes sought out Clark’s, and she gave a three cornered smile. “It wasn’t my secret to tell, Pete. You know how that is.”

Wow, Chloe, way to be subtle, Clark thought, with a trace of bitterness. Yes, he’d promised to tell her soon, and yes, she was right, he didn’t give his friends enough credit, but couldn’t she let him *breathe* for a second before needling him again?

“But I think that we’re forgetting something very important here,” Chloe continued, sitting back down and tangling her fingers with Pete’s in order to pull him down next to her. “And *that* is that Clark, after going out on a first date with Lex Luthor, spent the night with him, at his *penthouse*.” Her eyes sparked with mischief. “I didn’t know you were that kind of guy, Clark.”

“Second date,” he mumbled, dropping again into the chair and thinking of the fundraiser, eyes riveted to the floor. “And Lex *didn’t* need to be alone last night.”

“He *is* okay, right?” Chloe asked, brows drawing together. “You said someone shot at him?”

“Yeah, when we were in the parking garage by the comic book store,” Clark told her. “This woman on a motorcycle – I didn’t get a good look at her, or the license plate.”

“She shot at Lex *while* she was driving the motorcycle?” Pete asked, letting out a low whistle. “That takes *skills*.”

“So, I’ve got a question, Clark,” Chloe said, and the tone of her voice was more than enough clue that what was coming next was *not* going to be a comfortable question. “How come Lex didn’t get hurt? Was it because she didn’t actually have the skills to pull off the assassination attempt? Or was it because ‘Superman’ saved Lex Luthor’s life?”

Pete stared, like Chloe had grown another head.

“Jesus *Christ*, Chloe!” Clark snapped, glaring. “I asked you not to push me, and *this* is what you do? Yes! Fine! Clark Kent is Superman, news at eleven! Happy?”

“Are you a meteor mutant?” she asked, leaning forward, eyes intent.

“No! I’m even *more* of a freak than that,” he bit off angrily. “I’m an alien. I can set things on fire with my eyes. I run faster than the human eye can see, and I can lift pretty much anything. Sometimes I can hear things really far away, and I can fly. There’s a spaceship in the storm cellar underneath my parent’s house. My birth parents sent me to this planet to conquer it, which is why I ran away from home before junior year. Oh, and all those things you thought I’d done in high school? I did them, okay? You were right, almost every time. Anything else?”

Pete cleared his throat. “You forgot about how nothing can hurt you. Except for the meteor rocks.”

Clark glared at him.

“I’m just trying to help,” he said, holding his hands up.

“So now that I’ve been outed in the traditional sense *and* as an alien, is there *anything else* you guys would like to know about me?” Clark invited pissily. “Don’t hold back or anything. Really.”

Chloe pressed her lips together, sitting back. “I didn’t mean to –”

“Yeah, you did,” Clark said shortly, before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to calm down. “You just don’t know when to stop sometimes, Chloe.”

“If I did stop, then you wouldn’t have told me. Ever,” she said, holding his eyes. “So I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not.”

Clark nodded once, looking down again. “So. Now that you know?”

“Now that I know, I’m curious; what do the meteor rocks do to you? And why? Also, what happened to your birth parents? Do you know?” Chloe asked, one question blending into the next one as she fired them off.

Pete laughed, squeezing her hand. “Whoa, uhm, Chlo’? Slow down there. I think what Clark wanted to know was more what you thought about *him*. As Clark.”

She frowned, confused. “What do I think about him as Clark? Isn’t he still pretty much…Clark? The same guy he was ten minutes ago?”

“It doesn’t freak you out or anything?” Clark asked, looking up. “That I’m kind of…not from here?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Clark, unless telling me has caused you to undergo a severe personality change, then I think we’re okay. Besides, I was willing to believe you were a human being who was mutated by meteor rocks and not freak out, and that’s *pretty out there*. This is just…the next step into left field. So do you remember your home world? What *is* your home world?”

Clark laughed with relief, and Pete hid his grin by kissing the top of Chloe’s head.

“What? I want to know. I mean, really, this is a very, very unique opportunity,” she protested.

“I don’t remember anything before the Kents,” Clark told Chloe. “And my home is Earth, Chloe, but I come from a planet that called itself Krypton before it burst apart into the meteors that are all over Smallville.”

“Wow,” she breathed, face lighting up. “That’s so cool. But –”

Fending off the next barrage of questions, Clark held up a hand. “Chloe, we can talk about this…more or less whenever, now that you know. What *I* want to know is whether the hand holding that’s going on right now means what I think it does?”

He pointed at their clasped hands and raised an eyebrow.

Chloe turned pink, and Pete ducked his head, his grin wider and impossible to hide. “If you’re asking whether or not Chloe Sullivan is spoken for, then yeah, it does,” he said.

Both Chloe’s brows went up. “And that’s not a chauvinist statement or anything.”

“Hey, I’m just saying that if Kent over there has any designs on you, that I’ll take him out, alien strength or not,” Pete told her, laughing when she poked him between the ribs with her free hand.

“Yeah, like I said. Not a chauvinist statement or anything.”

Pete shrugged. “I guess when it comes to you, I’m a pig.”

She rolled her eyes, failing miserably to hide her smile. “That’s so romantic I might swoon.”

“Guys?” Clark interjected. “If this gets any sweeter, then I might just go into sugar shock.”

They smiled guiltily, and Chloe leaned her head on Pete’s shoulder, before it shot up again. “Do you get that? I mean, sugar shock? Does sugar affect you differently than it does us? I mean it’s a complicated chemical compound and – ”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Clark laughed because that was *just* like Chloe. Tell her that the earth was flat, and she’d want to know exactly *how* flat and how you knew and by what definition of flat you were operating. “Chloe, I have *no* idea. Being an alien doesn’t make me an expert in anatomy and physiology or chemistry all of a sudden.”

She shrugged, sheepish. “Sorry.”

“I’m glad things got…sorted out, last night,” Clark said, trying very hard to avoid any traumatic visuals of said ‘sorting’.

“Me too,” Pete said, eyes locked with Chloe’s. “Me too.”

“So yeah, going to have to repeat that sugar shock warning,” Clark declared. “Because we’re backsliding into the ‘way too cute for public consumption’ mode again here.”

“Right,” Chloe said, turning to Clark again, a wicked grin on her face. “So. Last night. How did that go? For you, I mean?”

“It went well,” he answered, and yeah, so he was blushing and avoiding her –eyes -- which was a dead give away and he knew it. But how else was he supposed to respond when he thought about sleeping next to Lex…and then the way he’d woken up.

Chloe laughed. “*That* well? Wow.”

He threw a pillow at her, lightly, even as his lips began to twitch. “Shut up, Chlo’.”

“Hey, Clark?”

“Yeah, Pete?” Clark responded, looking up. “What?”

“Are you…are you sure it’s a good idea? I mean, you and Lex?” Pete asked, rubbing his lower lip, deep in thought.

A frown furrowed Clark’s forehead. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“He’s, you know, a lot older, and, well, he’s…even if *half* the stories aren’t true, he’s still not one of the white hats, if you get what I’m saying?” Honest dark eyes held Clark’s. “Lex is…he’s a Luthor, man.” And he said it like that meant everything.

“He’s also Lex,” Clark said calmly. “There’s more to him than his father.”

“I know that,” Pete replied, matching Clark’s even tone. “But I also know that Lex Luthor *himself* is no angel.”

“From headlines, Pete?” Clark challenged, losing his cool. “You don’t know him. I do.”

Pete stood his ground. “Do you really? How well?”

“Well enough to know that he’s one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met,” Clark shot back. “Please, you’ve *never met* the guy. Just…trust me, okay?”

“I trust *you* plenty,” Pete said. “But you’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you get hurt, so it’s going to take a lot for me to trust Lex. And it would be the same way if his last name was Fordman,” he added, when Clark opened his mouth to protest.

“But the fact that Lex is being brought in for questioning in the matter of Sam Phelan’s death for the second time this afternoon doesn’t really help make him a candidate for ‘most trustworthy boyfriend material’,” Chloe interjected.

Pete shook his head slowly, still watching Clark. “No, it doesn’t help at all.”

“What are you *talking* about?” Clark asked, voice rising with concern. “I was with Lex until around one this afternoon, and he didn’t mention *anything* like that…oh,” he breathed, stopping as realization swept over him. “*Oh*…the phone call…Chloe, are you absolutely sure that he’s going in for questioning this afternoon?”

“Yeah, I heard it on the police frequency on my radio,” she confirmed. “What?” she asked when Clark stared. “It was a Christmas present. Anyway, he’s going to be escorted to the police station for questioning after his press conference. Which is going on…nowish, actually.”

“He’s a suspected murderer,” Pete stated, matter of fact. “The only person they’ve brought back in for questioning more than once. Don’t you think that says something? You know, about his character?”

“No, but it definitely says something about the Metropolis PD,” Clark said heatedly. “It says that they’re not looking hard enough for the real killer.”

Pete made a derisive noise, low in his throat. “Clark, get *real*, man. The last person to use that argument was OJ.”

“What do they have on Lex anyway, huh?” Clark demanded. “Lack of alibi? He was with *me* that night, okay?”

“You’ve already admitted that he wasn’t with you all night,” Chloe pointed out. “You fell asleep early on, you said. Any time after that he could have left his apartment.”

“You’ve already got your minds made up, don’t you?” Clark looked from Pete to Chloe, incredulous. “Why can’t you give him the benefit of the doubt? Or at least, give *me* the benefit of the doubt when I tell you that he could *not* have done this?”

The two exchanged glances before Chloe leaned toward Clark again, expression gentle. “Because it makes *sense*. He had motive, Clark. Lots of it. Phelan was spilling Lex’s secrets all over the newspapers.”

“Yeah? So, according to that logic half of the city had reason to kill Phelan,” Clark insisted. “And do you know if *they* have alibis?” When neither Pete nor Chloe responded, Clark nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Fine, if Lex didn’t kill Phelan, who did?” Pete asked, doggedly.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to figure it out,” Clark said simply, standing and running a hand through his hair.

Chloe sputtered. “You can’t do that on your own. You don’t have any training or contacts or – ”

“So help me,” he pleaded. “Help me figure it out.”

“And if it *is* Lex?” she asked slowly. “What then?”

“I don’t know,” Clark told her, honestly. “But it won’t be. I’m sure of it.”

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Pete asked in an undertone.

“Yeah,” Clark admitted. “I think I do.”

Pete nodded. “And Lana?”

“We’ve been broken up for three and half months, Pete,” Clark answered, surprised. Lana was the *last* thing on his mind. “The only person still nursing any hope that we might get back together was you.”

“Lana was, or I mean, ‘is’,” Chloe informed him. “I know, I know, you haven’t spoken in weeks. She’s got a weakness for lost causes.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that. I’ve moved on. I’ll always love Lana, in a way I guess…but Lex? Like you said, Pete. He means a lot to me.” Clark paced across the living room. “I’m not sure how much, yet…but, *a lot*. I can tell you that.”

“Last night must have been hard on you, too, then,” Chloe observed. “You know, the shooting and everything.”

Clark nodded, looking out the window, watching people as they scuttled along the sidewalks below. “She’s still out there -- the shooter -- and Lex didn’t want me with him at the press conference.”

“Probably a smart move,” Pete allowed. “I mean, politics-wise.”

“Yeah, except for the whole ‘me being there could save his life’ factor,” he muttered. “They don’t know who did it. The police even suggested that it might have been a random drive-by shooting.”

“You don’t buy that,” Chloe guessed.

He turned, an eyebrow raised. “Do you?”

“*I* don’t even buy it,” Pete said. “And I’m less paranoid than you are, Clark, and way less suspicious than you, Chlo’.”

“So, question,” Chloe said, frowning. “When *exactly* did we become Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys? Because, I definitely missed that memo.”

Pete laughed. “The Case of the Motorcycle Murderer?”

“*Attempted*,” Clark stressed. “*Attempted*.”

They both nodded. “Right, attempted,” Chloe echoed. “So where do you want to start looking?” she asked, brightly.

“The police station,” Clark said firmly after a long moment. “I want to make sure Lex is okay.”

“And offer him an alibi?” Chloe asked, knowingly. “Even though it might be false?”

“He *didn’t do it*,” Clark persisted. “I know it.”

“How is it that you can be so sure?” Pete inquired. “You haven’t even known him for a month, Kent.”

“I just am, okay?” Clark answered. “Will you guys be here when I get back?”

Chloe blushed, and Pete shifted uncomfortably. “Actually…we…well, while you were gone we got to talking, and we decided to stay for a while and we were thinking about…getting a hotel room.”

“So, you know, we’re not all cramped and everything,” Chloe said in a rush. “And…”

“Yeah,” Clark agreed immediately. “Definitely.”

**

It should have been an easy walk to the police station from Clark's apartment. After all, it wasn't far, and it wasn't terribly dangerous or difficult. In fact, it should probably have taken Clark under a half hour to get from point a to point b.

What that didn't factor in, though, was the huge burning hunk of twisted scrap metal that had, until recently, been two cars that Clark found at the intersection of Hudson and McPhee.

He hadn't heard it happening, and even as he ripped the passenger side door off the car closest to him and tossed it aside, that fact gnawed at him. He hadn't heard *anything* until the cars had already collided, and the only survivor of the accident started to call for help. By the time Clark got there, she was unconscious, and didn't see him as he pulled her from the wreckage.

Instinct led him through the required motions to perform CPR, not any rational form of thought. Clark couldn't think, because if he thought? He would notice that there were dead bodies in the cars across from him, still bleeding out - onto the asphalt. He would notice that the woman beneath his hands could only have been the mother of the teenage driver behind the wheel. If he thought, he would go crazy.

The woman coughed, and began to breathe again, and Clark sat back, noticing for the first time the flashing lights that drew near, as an ambulance pulled up to the side of the road and EMTs barreled out the back. They pushed him aside, and he sat back, on the sidewalk, staring blindly at the steaming wreck in front of him.

He lost track of the amount of time he spent there, but people in uniform passed before him and around him, radios crackling. Someone handed him a Styrofoam cup filled with water, but he didn't notice whom. No one spoke to him, other than once, to ask if he was all right, and so he sat, eyes trained on the stained road, the ruined cars - even long after the people he'd failed to save were taken away in body bags.

"Hey there, you! How the *hell* did this happen?" a man’s voice asked him, gruff, jarring Clark back into reality.

"I don't know. I didn't see the crash," he answered without looking up.

"That's not what I'm talking about. I mean *this*, the door - it's completely ripped off its hinges. Was that way before the ambulance got here," the man said. "No one could have done that."

A stab of panic penetrated the numb fog of shock that surrounded Clark, and he turned, looking at the man who was questioning him, and staring. He hadn't realized how far he'd thrown the door, and it lay on its side fifty feet down the road - in front of the Daily Planet building. Or, even more precisely, directly in front of Perry White and Lois Lane.

"How'd it get here?" White asked again. "No way it could have been because of the crash - laws of physics don't work that way. So how'd it get here?"

"Superman," Clark blurted, without really thinking it through. "He threw it there."

At his response, Perry White rose, abandoning the door on the sidewalk, walking toward Clark with Lois right on his heels.

Her dark brown eyes widened. "Superman? *My* Superman? He was here? You saw him? What did he look like?"

"I…he wasn't here for very long. Just…ripped the door off, pulled the woman out, and asked me to save her before...flying away," Clark said quickly, mentally cursing himself for responding at *all*.

"You *talked* to him?" Perry White asked, narrowing his pale eyes. "You talked to *Superman*? And he can *fly*?"

"Uhm, yeah, he can definitely fly, sir," Clark mumbled.

"Could you describe him for a sketch artist?" Lois Lane asked, pushing long dark hair behind her ear, big brown eyes intent on Clark, and the panic he'd been feeling erupted into full-fledged fear.

He shook his head. "No, it happened really fast. I mean, he just…he moved too fast for me to see."

"That's him, then," Lois said authoritatively, pulling out a small notebook and pen from her purse. Clark wondered semi-hysterically if other men in Metropolis were going around performing nearly impossible physical feats and saving people, and if so, when the support group met. "What's your name?"

Perry White's eyes played over Clark's features, and before Clark could respond to Lois' question, White was speaking. "I recognize you, son. You're Kent…Clark Kent, I believe. Took my lecture series over at Metropolis University, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes sir, I did," Clark answered automatically.

"Journalism student - a good one. I remember that you were an idealist, Mr. Kent. Took on the whole class one day, and made a good argument, too, about innocent until proven guilty in the court of *law* rather than public opinion," White recalled. "Impressed me."

"Thanks," he said, knowing that his confusion showed when White chuckled.

"You saw this Superman save that woman?" White asked, suddenly sharp, focused.

Clark nodded, unhappily. "Up close and personal, sir."

"But not close enough to see Superman's face," Lois pointed out with asperity. "So how up close and personal could it have been?"

Perry White ignored her, speaking directly to Clark. "Here's what I want you to do, son. I want you to write up exactly what happened today and give it Lois here by ten, tomorrow morning. She'll read it over, edit it, help shape it. Both your names'll be on the byline."

"I -" Clark began, astonished.

"What?" Lois asked, appalled. "But he's still in college, Perry! Are you kidding me?"

White turned a quelling gaze on her. "Superman might've dragged that woman out of the car, but Clark Kent saved her life. Least we can do at the Daily Planet is let the boy tell his side of the story."

"In our very own exclusive," Lois said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Okay, I get it."

"I see that you do," White said with a half smile before clapping Clark on the shoulder. "You did a good thing, Clark. A very good thing."

He shrugged, and returned the smile dully. "Thanks." Looking down, he listened as the sound of footsteps receded and let out a shaky breath.

"I recognize you, too," Lois said from behind him, and his head shot up.

"What do you mean?" Clark asked, whirling around. "You recognize me?"

Her smile grew, showing teeth in a fascinatingly terrifying way -- like when an animal bared its fangs as a display of dominance. "From the fundraiser. You're Lex Luthor's boyfriend."

With that she turned on her heel, and walked back into the Daily Planet offices, calling over her shoulder, "By ten o'clock tomorrow, Kent, there better be a write-up on my desk that is both shiny and beautiful in the extreme, okay? My extension's 7778. Call only in event of an emergency."

And Clark pulled his knees to his chest, and wondered what the *hell* he'd gotten himself into.

**

It was as though his world was wrapped in a thick blanket, and he could feel nothing but fuzzy confusion - gray numbness. Clark didn't remember walking back to his apartment. He didn't remember unlocking the door or taking down the note that Chloe and Pete had left stuck to the refrigerator, and he didn't even really remember sitting down in front of his computer. He was aware that he must have been there for a long time, but only peripherally, and when there was a knock on his door he realized he was staring at a blinking cursor on the blank screen.

"Coming," he called dully, walking over to open the door.

Lex stood in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his black slacks, brows raised and lips curling slightly into the beginnings of one his trademark smirks, but when he caught sight of Clark's face, the blue in his eyes flashed with real concern. "Are you all right?" he asked immediately.

Clark nodded, trying to smile, but the muscles in his face wouldn't comply so it probably looked more like a wince. Giving up on schooling his expression, he ducked his head and waved Lex in.

"You didn't come over for dinner, and when I called you didn't pick up," Lex said, studying Clark closely.

"Oh, I'm sorry about dinner, I forgot," he said, looking up quickly. "I just…got carried away and lost track of time. I'm really sorry. I…you called? I didn't hear the phone ring. That's strange."

Lex's eyes were big, and his face was drawn with shock. "Clark - there's blood all over your hands."

He blinked, and looked down to see dark splotches, dried and crusted over his palms. "I…didn't notice that," he murmured.

Lex reached out and turned his hands over, looking for damage. Clark wanted to laugh, tell Lex not to worry because Clark was the *last* person who could get hurt, but instead he just watched, interested.

"Where are you hurt?" Lex demanded, running hands up Clark's arms, over his back. "What happened, Clark?"

"There was a car accident," he told Lex, and it was strange how his voice didn't quaver at all. "There were six people in the station wagon, and two in the red car."

"Clark, I want you to focus," Lex said, urgently. "Tell me where you're hurt."

"I'm not hurt. But they died. All of them. Except for one woman. I couldn't save them, Lex," he admitted, looking down again. "It was…I was two blocks away when it happened and I pulled her out. But I couldn't save anyone else; it was too late. I didn't get there fast enough, I should have been able to do *more*."

Lex's eyes were sharp when he looked up, pausing in his anxious attempts to find an injury. "You're not hurt?"

Clark just shook his head.

Lex blew out a long breath, and took Clark's hands in his own. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's wash these, okay?" He stood, and Clark followed, Lex's fingers tugging him into the kitchen.

The water was cold over his hands, and the soap didn't smell anything like lemon, no matter what the bottle promised. Lex said nothing, just washed, rubbing at the stains on Clark's skin until they began to fade away, turning the rush of water red. His fingers were gentle, and as the caked blood began to rinse away, Clark could see the worry in Lex's expression.

It wasn't plain or blatant, but it was there - in the crinkle at the corner of his lips, the pinching of his nostrils. Clark wondered if Lex worried about many people, and decided that he probably didn't waste the energy on it.

He cleared his throat, and Lex looked up immediately. "I'm okay," he said, hoping he sounded steadier than he felt. "Just…shaken up."

Lex's eyes searched Clark's for a moment and he nodded slowly. "That's understandable." Turning back to the sink, Lex turned off the faucet and reached for a dishtowel. Slowly, carefully, he dried Clark off, before looking up again.

"What happened?" he asked, voice even, calming.

Clark looked down, twining his fingers with Lex's. "I was walking…to see you, actually, and I heard a woman, calling for help. I was a few blocks away, and I ran as fast as I could. They…five of the people died on impact. When I got there the only one that was still alive was the woman I heard…I gave her CPR before the ambulance came."

"You saved a life, Clark," Lex told him softly. "Twice in two days - it's becoming a habit."

He snorted, a tight smile on his face. "Yeah, but I missed five others."

Gentle fingers on Clark's chin turned his head up, and Lex met his gaze. "How the *hell* do you think you could have saved those other people, Clark? You said yourself they died on impact - there was nothing you could do. Nothing *anyone* could do, okay?"
"Superman could have stopped it," Clark muttered, letting his eyes skitter away from the Lex's.

"Yeah, if he even *exists*," Lex retorted, squeezing Clark's fingers.

"He exists. He was there," Clark said, turning away. "Pulled off the door of the car so the woman could get out."

"But, Clark, *you* saved her life," Lex repeated. "Not him."

He closed his eyes, and was silent and behind him, Lex shifted, his expensive shoes making small squealing noises against the linoleum of Clark's kitchen floor, and suddenly Clark was there again - the smell of burning steel, the sound of wheels spinning in air, the way the blood was dark where it pooled against the road.

He sat heavily on the couch, putting his head in his hands. "I've never seen…death like that before," he said into the quiet room. "It was…"

"I know," Lex said sitting next to him, resting a tentative hand on Clark's shoulder. "You don't have to relive it. It's over. Let it go."

"Is that what you would do?" Clark asked sharply, turning to look at Lex.

A small smile curved the elegant line of Lex's mouth. "Probably not, no."

"I can't either," Clark told him, turning to stare out the window. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I'm so tired, Lex."

A gentle push on his shoulder encouraged Clark to lie down, and he put his head in Lex's lap. "Then go to sleep," Lex said, running a hand through his hair, and Clark leaned into the touch.

"I don't…I'll close my eyes and see it again."

"You won't have bad dreams," Lex promised, confidently.

Clark looked up at him, eyebrows cocked in question. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Lex confirmed, nodding. "I won't let that happen."

"How will you stop it?" he asked, curious, even as he felt a shaky smile beginning to form.

"Are you questioning my resolve, Clark?" Lex teased. "I'm a Luthor. I'll find a way."

A huge yawn cracked Clark's jaw, and he nestled closer to Lex. "Oh, in that case," he mumbled, letting his eyes drift closed, "will you stay the whole night?"

"I can't, but I'll stay for a while," Lex told him. "I've got to get ready for a meeting tomorrow."

Clark nodded, too tired to be disappointed. "'Kay," he said on another yawn. He let himself relax, sleep stealing slowly over him, and just as he began to float into dreams, he felt Lex's lips brush over his temple and he felt safe.

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Clark woke up Lex wasn’t there, but a blanket had been pulled over him, and a pillow nestled where Lex’s thighs had been. It was still dark out, and the sound of cars rushing along the roads was audible through the open windows.

Memories of the previous day didn’t rush back, they crept one by one – the curled fingers of the dead driver in one of the cars, the heavy footsteps of slow moving police officers, the squeaking wheels of gurneys as they were pushed past him. Clark closed his eyes, jaw hard, and took a deep breath through his nose and it wasn’t any easier.

Clark knew all the textures of guilt; knew from the inside, and the outside, and knew the way it felt when it sat heavy on his chest, like now. He could barely breathe – felt as though he’d been fixed down to the couch, and he knew it wasn’t going to go away. There wasn’t anything he could do to bring back the people who’d died because he hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t heard them. One thing he knew he *couldn’t* do was bring back the dead, and wouldn’t that have been a useful power?

He took another deep breath, and pushed up off the couch, forced himself to stand. He mechanically walked to the kitchen, and poured a glass of juice, like it was any other morning. And maybe, if he kept making himself go through the little rituals of getting ready to go work, he’d eventually stop feeling like this.

And yesterday hadn’t just been about that – the accident – either, and Clark made himself remember that. Images – Lex’s eyes every color and no color at all, like pale fire, hands standing out against Clark’s skin in stark relief, lips red, swollen, bitten – rolled through Clark’s mind, and the tightness in his chest eased somewhat. He remembered falling asleep in Lex’s lap, Lex’s fingers in his hair, and a shadow of a smile crossed his face.

Clark could do this. He could get through the day. It would be okay. He’d be okay. He’d go to work, and come home, and talk to Chloe and Pete, and see Lex, and everything would be all right. Just like any other day – he’d worry about the whole Superman issue, he’d lust after Lex, and he’d hang out with Pete and Chloe.

Superman. There was something about Superman that Clark was supposed to remember and it had something to do with – oh God. The Daily Planet, Superman, the article that Clark was supposed to have written for today by ten and that was pretty much currently non-existent.

Super speed was of some use after all, Clark decided, sitting at the keyboard and powering up the computer and turning on the lamp. He didn’t remember turning it off – Lex must have done that. And somehow, that one small gesture warmed Clark; made the shadow of a smile from before deepen into something more concrete, made him calmer, made him start typing.

Yeah. He could do this.

**

Eight o’clock in the morning, and walking inside the Daily Planet was like stumbling into fast forward. Everyone was moving, running, shouting – was it possible they were all on speed?

It seemed probable, Clark thought, watching as a woman balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear, typed furiously with one hand, and rifled through a file folder with the other. Was this the way a bullpen always was? Or was today just a big news day? Was he going to be acting like the poster child for better life through methamphetamines someday?

He hoped not. He didn’t really have the coordination.

“You look lost,” a friendly voice chirped from behind Clark. “Need help?”

A skinny young man with a pencil behind his ear offered Clark a genuine, if tired, smile, and Clark returned it, grateful. “Yeah, I’m looking for Lois Lane’s desk?”

The man laughed, an eyebrow going up. “Braver man than me. She’s over there, getting ready to telephonically sharpen her claws on the mayor’s security detail,” he pointed. “Good luck.”

“I, uhm, thanks,” Clark muttered as the guy disappeared back into the frantic swirl of motion. Clark eyed Lois dubiously, before making himself take a deep breath and walk over.

He could handle this. He was friends/lovers/something with Lex *Luthor* and he’d grown up with Chloe Sullivan. He could handle Lois Lane. Really.

Deep breath, one foot in front of the other, clear throat, and…show time.

“Hi,” Clark said, trying out his biggest, brightest, most ingratiating grin and hoping he looked happy rather than queasy or nervous.

Lois Lane arched an eyebrow. She did not look impressed. Maybe he’d landed further toward queasy than polite, dammit. “Clark Kent, right?”

“Yup, that’s me,” he confirmed, and dorky was really not the image he was going for, but somehow it seemed unavoidable.

She rolled her eyes, nails tapping the desk with obvious impatience. “Yeah, I know that. So, what do you have for me?”

“Here,” Clark held out the papers, “it’s…uhm…kind of long, but I figured you could cut it to fit whatever length you wanted. And here,” he fished in his jacket and came up with a disk, “so you can make whatever changes.”

“Kind of long? More like ‘novella’,” Lois mumbled, thumbing through the printout. She pursed her lips, skimming over the prose.

Clark fidgeted. On the corner of Lois’ desk there was a bobble headed doll, a seal, which was a little weird, but kinda cute. He reached down, and hit the head once, gently, and watched as the head bounced up and down, smiling a little.

She couldn’t be all bad, Clark thought hopefully. She had a bobble headed doll. And it was a baby seal. Maybe there was hope after all.

“Please stop clubbing the seal,” Lois said without looking up. “That’s my job.”

Oh. Maybe there wasn’t hope.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, putting his hands safely in his pockets and studying the top of Lois’ bent head as she read.

Clark felt out of place and awkward and time was really taking its…well…time. Seconds ticked by slowly, mega-slowly, hyperbolically slowly, and he wondered if this was how people felt when they were on trial.

She snorted, pulled a pen out of the purple mug on her desk, which proclaimed proudly that she was the World’s Best Cousin, and set the article down on her desk with an air of finality. Crossing her arms, she looked up at Clark, expression measuring.

He could practically hear the drum roll.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Half of this? Is crap, and needs to go, which is good because we only have so much space anyway. I can work with the rest,” Lois told him.

“Oh, I …uhm…” Clark faltered, frowning. “I can rewrite – ”

Lois made an impatient gesture with one hand, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about it. Doesn’t interest me.”

He blinked, unsure how to react.

“Here’s what does interest me, though. You got closer to this Superman than anyone else.” She leaned forward in her chair, crossing her arms on the edge of her desk. “I want you to tell me everything about him.”

“Everything?” Clark echoed, eyes widening. “I…it was only a couple of seconds and there was a lot going on. All I remember was that he told me to save the woman, there was something else he had to do.”

“Yeah, it’s in the article,” Lois drawled, with a nod to the papers he’d handed her. “But you had to have noticed something. Like, what was he wearing? And he *talked* to you. Why didn’t he stay? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He was remembering why he’d spent such a large portion of his life for the past weeks disliking this woman. It was even more intense close up. She couldn’t leave anything *alone*. “I didn’t *ask*,” Clark said, trying to keep his voice even. “I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know why he left. He said he had something to do, so I guess he went to go do it.”

“Yeah, but what would he have to do?” Lois pressed, grinning. “I mean, was he dressed like he was going to meet up with his bowling crew or like he was about to go clubbing? Was he naked? Come on, kiddo, you’re a journalism student. Didn’t they teach you to *notice* anything?”

“What I noticed was the tragic deaths of five people and the near death of another,” Clark snapped. “Not what the guy who pulled apart the huge hunks of burning twisted metal looked like.”

“I didn’t know Boy Scouts like you were allowed to have tempers like that,” Lois needled, grin widening. Clark was beginning to understand that Lois’ grin was pretty much a sign that he was in trouble. And the grin widening could only mean more trouble, and he really didn’t want to stick around for that. At all.

“Listen, if you don’t need me here anymore, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get to work,” Clark said, stepping back from the desk. “I left my number at home on the article. You know, if you need to reach me or anything.”

“Right, work,” Lois said, leaning back and oh God that was a *smirk*. Clark experienced pure terror. “At LexCorp.”

“Yup, LexCorp,” he agreed, nodding and inching backward. “That’s where I work.”

“With Lex Luthor, who you were with at the fundraiser for Metropolis General’s new oncology department,” she said. “Looking very cozy, I might add. So, what is it? Boyfriend and boss all wrapped up in one?”

Clark froze for a second before forcing himself to respond, and act natural. “Boss and friend,” he said coolly. Or, at least he hoped it was coolly rather than strangled. It probably landed somewhere between the two.

“Friend,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Got it.”

“Right, *friend*,” Clark said again for emphasis. “Anyway, I’ve got to go –”

“—to work,” Lois finished, toying with her pen and studying him a minute longer before turning back to her computer, dismissively. “I’ll call you if I need anything.” And with that it was as though Clark didn’t exist anymore; she was entirely focused on whatever she was typing.

“Great. I’ll talk to you later,” he muttered to no one, before turning and threading his way through the chaos, out the door.

**

The morning was going slowly and Clark was bored. Which wasn’t really new, because filing didn’t exactly equal intellectual stimulation and neither did fielding phone calls, but it was eleven o’clock in the morning and there was literally *nothing* for him to do for at least the next fifteen minutes.

Lex’s door was open. Clark could see him reading something, leaning back in his chair, with his feet propped up on his desk. He looked tired, but maybe it was the lighting. Clark’s mother always complained about how fluorescent lighting made everyone look tired.

Then again, maybe Lex hadn’t slept.

It probably would be okay for him to get up and go over there – see if Lex was all right. That was perfectly acceptable, right?

Maybe he should bring papers with him. To seem more official. Yeah, papers were definitely a good idea. He grabbed the first file his hand came in contact with, and stood, straightening his tie and brushing out creases on his pants. Jenna shot him an interested look before turning back to the spreadsheets she was discussing with someone over the phone.

Lex looked up, startled, when Clark rapped his knuckles gently against the door. “Yes?” he asked, frowning slightly.

“Hey, can I come in?” Clark asked, trying to restrain the riotous smile that seemed to want to make its way across his face for no particular reason whatsoever.

“Yeah, sure,” Lex responded, distractedly waving him in. “That for me?” he asked, eyes fixing on the folder in Clark’s hand.

“Oh, uhm, no,” Clark responded, blushing. “I just…wanted to say hi.”

Lex said nothing for several seconds, which was ample time for Clark to begin to feel pretty stupid. “Hi,” Lex responded, finally, looking confused. “Is that all?”

Yeah, pretty *damned* stupid, indeed. “Yeah, uhm, just…hi,” Clark said lamely, waving. He sucked in a breath, and forced a tight smile. “Anyway, you look busy and I’m going to just…I’ll talk to you later.”

Bad idea, Clark, bad idea, he thought, turning and leaving quickly. He sat back at his desk, and tried not to look like he’d just been rebuffed completely. Which, of course, he *had* been. Lex had looked at him like he was a stranger – like the past weekend hadn’t happened at all. Or, maybe it hadn’t happened for Lex like it had for Clark.

Maybe Clark was just a one time thing for Lex, and Clark had blown it all out of proportion in his head. He didn’t *do* one night stands, but maybe Lex did. Maybe Lex thought that’s what he was. Sure, Lex liked him…but this was Metropolis, the big city, and maybe Lex was one of those sophisticated people who slept with all of their friends as a matter of course.

Because…there hadn’t been any smiles going on at Lex’s end when Clark walked in. And Lex was probably back to whatever he was doing before, without thinking twice about the exchange that had just happened. Whereas Clark was sitting here, breathing hard, and feeling like he’d been sucker punched.

Was this what Chloe had felt like back in high school whenever Clark had blown her off? If so, Clark *sucked*, like, a *lot*. He briefly considered writing her a very long, very detailed, very belated letter of apology, but decided it would probably be a very bad idea.

It was dumb that Lex meant so much to Clark, dumb that such a tiny exchange could throw Clark into such a tailspin. He took a deep breath, and looked up, busying his hands by straightening things on his desk compulsively.

“Hey, you busy?” Jenna asked him brightly.

He just shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“Great. I need thirty-five copies of this report,” she said, handing him a hefty booklet. “Collated, stapled, the whole nine.”

Oh, and that *really* was going to improve his morning, he thought sourly, nodding as he took the papers.

He flipped the light on in the copy room, and glared at the Xerox machine before putting the report in the slot at the top. He pressed what should have been the right combination of keys and nothing happened.

“Son of a *bitch*,” Clark cursed. “What the hell? Why does this always happen?”

Dammit, why couldn’t anything ever be *easy*? Ever? Why couldn’t the photocopier just *work*? Why couldn’t Lex care about Clark the way Clark did about him? Why couldn’t Clark be *normal*?

He was blowing this out of proportion. He knew that. So he took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then tried again, punching in another combination of keys.

And still nothing happened. “Jesus *fucking* Christ,” he almost yelled, checking himself before he kicked the copier and broke it permanently. “Do I have to perform some kind of ritual sacrifice to get you to work?” he demanded.

“No, you just have to hit the pink key twice instead of once,” Lex’s voice said softly, from behind him.

Clark stiffened, and followed the advice. The copier hummed to life. “Thanks,” Clark said, voice level, steadying himself before turning.

A small frown marred Lex’s expression. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, concerned – the voice that Clark had gotten so used to in the past few days. It was *that* addictive.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Clark said automatically. “You?”

“A little tired,” Lex admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, Clark –”

And this was where the speech was going to come in. Something about staying friends, and can’t do this again, and Clark didn’t want to hear it. At all.

“It’s fine, Lex, I get it. You don’t have to explain,” he bit out, surprising himself by how bitter he sounded.

“You get it?” Lex asked, head shooting up, eyes bright.

“Yeah, I get it,” Clark repeated, eyes fixed on the doorframe just beyond Lex’s shoulder.

“Good, because professionalism is important, especially now,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

And this was all starting to sting – a lot. “Lex, I told you, I *get it*, okay? Doesn’t mean I want to hear the unabridged version.”

“Wait a minute, Clark, what do you think we’re talking about?” Lex demanded, laying a hand on Clark’s forearm.

“You’re…breaking up with me. Or letting me down gently. Or something,” he said with a half hearted shrug. “I get it. You’re sophisticated, I’m not, one night stand, whatever. Don’t worry, I’ll be *professional*.” The word tasted harsh in his mouth, like smoke, or ashes.

“That,” Lex said slowly, “is not at *all* what I was talking about.”

And that brought Clark up short. “I…uhm, okay. What…were you talking about then?”

Seemingly of its own volition, one of Lex’s hands came up and made as though to brush hair off Clark’s forehead before Lex curled his fingers back into his palm and dropped it.

“I had a great time this weekend. I had a great time with *you*, but Clark, this is work. I have a lot to get done here. Whatever we have…it needs to stay outside the office, okay?”

And Clark couldn’t have fought the grin that worked its way across his face for *anything*. “Outside the office,” he repeated. “But, it can still happen, right?”

“Yeah, it can still happen,” Lex said, grinning in return, eyes a hot slide of silver. “Definitely.”

“Good, because…I…this might not be really professional, or anything,” Clark said, looking down, blushing and yeah, he was *kicking* his feet, but at least he got the words out, “because, I uhm…I really liked it. And, you know, I like you.”

Clark was a twelve year old girl and proud of it.

He glanced up from under his bangs, and Lex had gone perfectly still, body vibrating with tension, perfectly intent on Clark – and Clark could feel the air getting thicker, could feel the sex in Lex’s gaze.

“Oh wow,” he whispered, words escaping without his permission.

And Lex was kissing him, pushing him back up against the photocopier.

“Jesus *Christ* Clark,” he murmured, biting the skin where Clark’s jaw and neck met. “Can’t *say* things like that.”

“I…sorry?” Clark breathed, smiling, letting his hands travel down Lex’s back, cupping his ass, pulling him closer.

“No, you’re not,” Lex chuckled, kissing him again, tongue tracing the terrain of Clark’s mouth. “Not sorry at all. God I’ve wanted to do this since you walked in this morning.”

“But I haven’t…seen you,” Clark said, eyes slipping shut as Lex nipped at his neck, gently.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t watching,” Lex said against Clark’s skin.

And that made Clark even hotter, harder, made him want to be naked, made him want *Lex* to be naked, made him want Lex’s bedroom with that big, beautiful bed.

“Lex…office? Door?” he asked, as Lex’s clever fingers cupped him through the thin fabric of his pants.

Lex looked up, eyes pale and sexy as he licked his lips. “Locked it when I came in.”

And there was nothing Clark could say, nothing Clark could do but kiss Lex again. Sloppy, wet, hot, all lips and tongues and it felt like Lex was on fire in his arms, like Lex was burning Clark everywhere they touched, especially when Clark pulled him closer, rubbed against him.

Made Lex *moan* - this needy little catch of breath against Clark’s neck, and Clark was thrusting against him, rubbing and he could feel how hard Lex was, how much Lex wanted this and couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped. Lex’s head shot up, eyes trained on Clark’s expression – all kinds of focus on *Clark* right now and it was pretty much exactly what Clark wanted, except that he wanted this, this *intensity*, this focus all the time.

Wanted all Lex’s attention, and he couldn’t say that, so instead he let Lex nip his lower lip, and soothe it with a gentle kiss before plundering Clark’s mouth, still rubbing his cock against Clark’s in slow circles.

“Not…very…professional,” Clark panted, brushing helpless kisses against the smooth skin of Lex’s scalp.

"Consider it an example of what we shouldn't do in the future," Lex rasped, kissing Clark again – this time slower, sweeter, less demanding and when it broke off, he stepped back, breathing hard.

“Duly noted,” Clark managed. “I…Lex, damn.”

“Yeah, me too,” Lex said, voice tinged with laughter and a real smile on his face, even as he smoldered with sexual energy. “After work today.”

Clark nodded, mouth going dry. “Yeah, *definitely*,” he agreed before wincing – Chloe and Pete, dammit. “Wait…I promised some friends we’d have dinner, but…after?”

Lex nodded, took another step back, and kept smiling. “I’ll see you later,” he said, unlocking the door and walking out.

And Clark leaned back against the copy machine, which was still humming as it copied, collated and stapled, and tried very hard not to do a victory dance.

**

“This isn’t salsa, this is Ragu,” Chloe said disdainfully, looking through Clark’s refrigerator. “Ugh, and it’s probably from the Jurassic period, too. Do you have anywhere special to throw away your toxic waste?” she asked, holding the container at arm’s length.

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Clark replied from the couch. “Really, feel free to mock my stuff. Any time.”

“That’s the Chloe-way,” Pete said, an indulgent smile on his face as he watched her continue rifling through kitchen. “All snark, all the time.”

“Yeah, remind me why I thought it was endearing?” Clark grumbled and she shot him a look over her shoulder.

“Hey now, did you want help on your one man quest to exonerate your boyfriend, or not?”

“Toxic waste goes under the sink,” he replied promptly. “If you’re hungry, I have Doritos.”

“Mm, Doritos do not a meal make,” she said, without turning. “So. Anyway. You got me thinking yesterday.”

“Always dangerous,” Pete said to Clark in a stage whisper.

Chloe turned, and threw a paper napkin at Pete. “You. Big Trouble.”

Pete just laughed, and Clark grinned because this was happily ever after that he was seeing with his own eyes. They were like a married couple already, and it was…it was sweet.

“Anyway, as I was *saying* before I was so *rudely* interrupted,” Chloe continued pointedly, “you said yesterday something about how *everyone* Phelan ratted out has motive to kill him.”

“Which was, actually, a good point,” Pete conceded. “So Chloe and I did some research.”

“Yeah, what he means is that I did research and he watched TV,” she corrected, grinning. “But we made a list of everyone Phelan accused. It’s in my purse, could you get it, Pete?”

Pete stood up, got the purse, fished out the list and handed it to Chloe with a flourish. “For you, milady,” he said, playfully.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Jeeves,” she replied, but she leaned against him when he put his arm around her shoulders.

Clark smiled again, watching them, but at the same time he envied their unconscious ease. Maybe envied wasn’t the right word. More like…coveted. Because he wanted it with Lex. Wanted to just be able to… hold his hand, but he couldn’t because things were still too nebulous.

And, *whoa* what if things got defined and Lex didn’t want to be open about it? And did Clark want to be open about it? Did he want to be out?

“Clark, would you mind coming back to planet earth for about a minute here?” Chloe asked. “Pete and I both already know this stuff, so this review is kinda mostly for you.”

“Right, yeah,” he said, with a quick reflexive smile. “Clark, present.”

“Good,” she said, still watching him from beneath lowered brows. “You okay?”

Clark nodded, waving the question away. “Yeah, just thinking. Anyway – you made a list?”

“Naughty and nice,” Pete said, holding it up. “Well, mostly naughty.”

“*All* naughty,” Chloe clarified. “According to Phelan.”

“So everyone here is a possible suspect then,” Clark said, pulling the list out of Pete’s grasp. “It’s a pretty long list, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Pete nodded. “But if you look at it, you’ll see some names are crossed off.”

“People who weren’t in the country, are dead, were in the paper the next morning, that kind of thing,” Chloe explained. “So what we could do is research each and every one of those people or – ”

“I’m pretty much leaning toward whatever comes after that ‘or’,” Clark said, frowning. “This is like…ten pages with three columns of names on each one.”

“Or we could look at *this* name,” Pete said, flipping a few pages and pointing. “Peter Vladenko.”

“Crime boss extraordinaire,” Chloe said with a smile. “Recently put behind bars because of Sam Phelan. Couldn’t have done it himself, but with one phone call…” she let the sentence trail off, meaning clear.

“Yeah, but he’s in jail,” Clark said, looking up. “They probably monitor his calls or something.”

“Not necessarily,” Pete replied, shaking his head. “Remember that thing with the warehouse of cocaine? That was Vladenko’s cocaine, and he was in jail when it happened. He’s part of the mafia, Kent. Maybe he didn’t even call the hit himself, maybe someone else did – you know, to get even for putting one of their own behind bars.”

“So you think this is a mob thing?” Clark asked, eager. “Makes sense.”

“The guy the cops picked up at the scene of the drug bust was a long time member of the crime syndicate that Vladenko is known to work for,” Chloe supplied. “It kinda fits.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe we were too quick to jump to conclusions ‘bout Lex,” Pete admitted grudgingly. “But his name’s still on the list of people Phelan named, and Phelan didn’t have anything good to say about him. Most of the people on here are guilty of something. Maybe not murder, but they’ve definitely bent the law.”

"Broken it, too," Chloe added, with a slight frown.

"Look, guys, I appreciate that you're looking out for me. I really do," Clark began, features tightening with annoyance. "But, right now all I care about is getting Lex off the hook for a crime he didn't commit, okay?"

Chloe held up both hands. "Message received," she told him, appeasingly. "So here's the plan, then: dig up everything we can on Vladenko and his organization. See who the new lieutenant is, and find out if anyone from their syndicate was seen around the jail that night."

"Think we'll get to do any undercover work?" Pete asked, grinning. "You know, like in Donnie Brasco?"

"Pete, I don't see you infiltrating the Russian mafia anytime soon," Clark said skeptically, before frowning. "What do we do about whoever it was that tried to kill Lex?"

Chloe pursed her lips in thought. "I guess the first place to look would probably be any business associates that are unhappy?"

"Good idea, Chlo'," Clark said. "I can ask around at work a little. Keep my eyes open - see what comes up."

"And we'll do some digging from the outside," Chloe told him, before grinning devilishly. "So, Superman, I hear that the Daily Planet is going to have an exclusive about you tomorrow morning, written by an intrepid young reporter by the name of Clark J. Kent."

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked, head shooting up, eyes wide.

“I have my sources,” she evaded, grinning wider. “First by-line and in the Daily Planet, too? That’s pretty impressive. Congratulations.”

Pete clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. “Her cousin works there. You might have met her…name’s Lois?”

“You’re kidding me!” Chloe shook her head no, and Clark laughed. “She’s your *cousin*?”

“Aunt Leila is my Dad’s sister,” she said with a smile. “Lois likes you.”

“She does?” Clark asked, incredulous.

“Well, she doesn’t think you’re a total idiot, anyway,” Chloe told him with a shrug. “Thinks you have *potential*.”

Clark groaned and shook his head. “She’s a monster, Chloe.”

“A monster?” Chloe asked, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow. “You don’t think that’s harsh at all?”

Clark just glared.

“She’s a little hard to get along with at first, but you’ll learn to like her. Everyone does,” Chloe told him, patting him lightly on the head. “Anyway, let’s get a pizza. I’m hungry.”

“God, not more pizza,” Pete groaned.

“Blasphemy,” Clark said, and Chloe smacked him.

Pete ducked and gave both of them dirty looks. “Okay, okay, pizza, jeez. I can take a hint.”

“He’s such a good boy,” Chloe said proudly.

**

Chloe and Pete didn’t stay too long after they’d finished the pizza, and Clark wasn’t terribly surprised, because the smiles the two of them had been giving each other said a whole lot about their intentions, and none of it was meant for an audience. When they left, Chloe slipped her hand into Pete’s like it had always belonged there, like neither one of them had ever been with anybody else, and Clark wondered if he’d ever have that with anyone. He wondered if he’d ever have that with Lex.

He crushed the pizza box and stuffed it into the trash can, giving the counter a quick wipe down and hearing his mom’s voice in his head. “Always clean up right after dinner, or you won’t do it at all.”

The light on his answering machine blinked insistently, and Clark smiled tiredly, knowing instinctively that the voice on the message would be his mom’s. She had great mom-dar; she knew when he was really upset, always had. Clark wondered from time to time if the meteor rocks were somehow involved with that.

“Hey there Clark, just calling to see if everything’s all right,” Martha’s voice said. “Your father and I were thinking about you today – like every other day – and just wanted to touch base. Give us a ring back when you get a chance. Okay honey, bye, love you.”

And it occurred to Clark that he probably should call them, warn them, talk to them about his by-line in the Daily Planet. The idea of that conversation made Clark want to cringe and grin simultaneously. They’d flip over the Superman thing, and they’d probably be kind of apprehensive about drawing attention to himself as Clark Kent, too, but his first *by-line* at age *nineteen* in the *Daily Planet*.

Besides, he really wanted to talk to somebody about what had happened. Sure, Chloe and Pete were his best friends, and Lex would listen if Clark wanted to talk to him (he would, wouldn’t he?), but Clark wasn’t ready to talk with any of them about it. It was too real, too raw, and that’s the kind of stuff he usually saved for long talks with his mom and dad. Habits died hard, and even if he was starting to pick up on the pretty obvious fact that he could really trust other people, he wasn’t used to doing it. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable around anybody but his parents, and Clark wasn’t exactly ready to start with anything this big.

So he flopped down on the couch, and dialed home and smiled when his dad picked up on the second ring, just like always. “Hi, Dad.”

“Clark! Hi there son, how are you?” Jonathan asked. “Your Mom and I tried you earlier.”

“Yeah, I just got the message. I’m okay, I guess. It’s been kind of a…eventful weekend,” he began, taking a deep breath, and frowned, picking and choosing what he wanted to tell his father. “Yesterday…there was kind of…there was a car crash. Outside the Daily Planet. It was a pretty bad pile up…five people died.”

“That’s terrible, Clark, but what does it have to do with you?”

“Well,” Clark said slowly. “I was there. I mean, I wasn’t there in time to stop it, but after it happened – after it happened I got there. I wasn’t able to save all of them, just this one woman.”

His dad drew in a quick, sharp breath. “Did anyone see you?”

“No, no one saw. She wasn’t conscious when I pulled her out, and the police didn’t get there until afterward. But, Dad, I was only a block away. I should have been able to hear it happening, I should have been able to *stop* it,” Clark blurted out, jaw clenching in frustration. “I should have been able to save them all, Dad.”

“Clark, you can’t blame yourself – ” he began, before breaking off. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t save everyone, son. You just can’t. And if you expect to be able to, then you’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

Clark gritted his teeth, closing his eyes. “But I *want* to, Dad, I can’t…I can’t take this. I can’t stand it – knowing that I could have stopped it and didn’t. I mean, you know I could have. If I’d been able to hear it? Or if I’d been looking for it? I could have stopped those two cars from crashing and everyone would still be alive right now.”

There was a soft sound of affectionate exasperation. “You couldn’t hear it, Clark. How could you have stopped it when you didn’t know it was happening?”

“Dad, if you had all of these powers, what would you do?” Clark asked, looking out the window. “Would you hide them? Or would you *use* them?”

“Clark, what are you talking about, ‘use them’?” his father demanded, voice edged with concern. “You know how careful you have to be, you know what could happen – ”

“If someone found out, yeah, I get it,” Clark replied, standing and pacing across his living room. “But they’d have to catch me first, right? I don’t think anyone could catch me if I didn’t want them to – not now that I can fly. Dad, I…when they found me by the car crash I told them that Superman had pulled the woman out of the wreck. I told them I’d only given her mouth to mouth.”

“Clark,” his father began, in a very deliberate attempt to be patient, “you *are* Superman, and I thought we agreed that you needed to keep a lower profile and stay out of the papers as much as possible. You said this all happened *in front* of the Daily Planet? Are you *sure* no one saw you?”

“I am, Dad, trust me. No one saw me, but you’re right. I am going to be in the paper tomorrow. I wasn’t in it today because they wanted *me* to write the article…about me. The Daily Planet is giving me a by-line,” he told his father quickly. “It was a really great opportunity, and it’ll look really great on my resume. You know, when I’m looking for a job out of college, and – ”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, Clark. Two identities?”

“I wouldn’t go that far…more like, one actual Clark and one urban myth.” Clark stopped pacing, standing in front of the sink and looking down at his hands. “But someday, yeah, maybe it *could* be two identities.” He struggled for a second, searching for the right words. “It’s…I can’t stop. I can’t just ignore everything that happens around me, knowing what I am, what I can do. I don’t know how to do that.”

He expected his father to yell, to argue, to do anything except for sigh quietly and say, “I’m proud of you, Clark. Don’t ever think I’m not.”

“I know,” Clark said, smiling.

Jonathan cleared his throat. “So, a story in the Daily Planet, huh?”

“Yeah,” he answered, smile widening. “It’s pretty cool.”

“Pretty darned cool,” his dad agreed.

“Give me that phone!” Clark heard his mom say, and his dad laughed. “Clark?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Did I hear your father correctly when he said that you’ve got a story in the Daily Planet?” she asked.

“Yeah, you did, Mom,” he answered, standing a little taller, grinning a little wider.

“Oh honey, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you. It’s going to be in the newspaper tomorrow?”

“Yup, in the editorial section, I think. It’s…it’ll be me and Lois Lane, but, I do get my name there, which is a big deal.”

She laughed. “A very big deal.”

“Yeah, kind of,” he agreed, grinning.

“You realize that your father’s probably going to buy out every newsstand from here to Metropolis?” his mother said teasingly. His father protested in the background, and Clark laughed along with her. She waited for him to stop before continuing, in a gentler voice. “Are you sure you’re okay, Clark? I heard…well, pretty much everything.”

“Am I okay?” he pursed his lips and considered, before shrugging. “Not yet, but, I guess I’m better than I was last night, and I’m better than I was this morning, so I’m getting there. I still feel like there should have been something I could have done…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I’ll be okay, Mom.”

“Clark, I know you’re feeling very guilty and frustrated right now, but you’re forgetting something important.” Her voice was warm, and it felt like a hug, and Clark needed it.

“Yeah?”

“You might not have saved everybody, but you did save someone.”

“I guess I did,” Clark said slowly, thinking.

“You did,” she said firmly. “Now, tell me you love me, and say good night, because I have to go do some dishes.”

“I love you, Mom,” he obediently told her.

“Love you, too, Clark. Have a good night.”

“Night, Mom, bye.”

Clark placed the phone in its cradle distractedly, rubbing his lower lip and mulling the conversation over in his mind. His mom was right – he had saved someone, and that was better than nothing. It was…it was an entire human life, and he’d saved her. That had to mean at least a little bit, right?

It meant something to him. It meant something to Clark that he’d *done* something, rather than just standing by and letting it happen. He wasn’t cut out for that, and he really couldn’t do it anymore. Maybe his dad was right, and maybe he was playing a dangerous game, but it was a lot better running the risk of exposure than suffocating slowly.

Clark wasn’t stupid; he didn’t go out flaunting what he could do, and half the city didn’t even believe that Superman existed. The risk he ran of being exposed wasn’t half as big as his dad wanted him to believe it was. His parents worried, because they loved him, but looking at it realistically…two identities probably wouldn’t be that hard to pull off.

If he wanted to, but Clark wasn’t sure he wanted to. He didn’t like the idea of going through life as two people – it was like he’d never be able to just be himself, *all* of himself, with anyone except for his parents, and maybe Chloe and Pete, and that kind of…hurt.

Because if he couldn’t really be all of himself, then he would never have what his parents had, what Chloe and Pete had. He’d be alone, both as Clark, and as Superman, and he didn’t think he was up to that. No, wait, he *knew* he wasn’t – his biggest fear had always *been* being alone because mostly…mostly he kind of was.

Even with Chloe and Pete, he felt like they couldn’t see all of him, even now that they both knew pretty much everything about him. The weird thing was the only time Clark felt like he was just *Clark*…was with Lex. And Lex hardly knew Clark at all – or at least, he hadn’t known Clark for as long as Chloe and Pete. But something seemed to tell Clark that Lex *could* know him, that Lex could know *all* of him, if Clark would let him in. And Clark wanted to more than he ever had in the past. He was just…scared.

Scared because Lex might not *want* to know him, scared because what if Lex did get to know him and decided that Clark wasn’t what Lex wanted – and that was the biggest fear. But, also? Clark was scared that it might work out. That he and Lex might end up in their very own happily ever after, because what *then*?

It just brought him back to the questions he’d been asking himself earlier. Did he want to be out? Was he ready for that? Was he ready to tell his parents that he was in love with a man? They’d love *Clark* anyway, he knew that without question…but would they be disappointed? Would they ever accept it?

Maybe the hardest part would be explaining not that it was just any man, but Lex *Luthor*, and just the idea of it was enough to make Clark feel like he was about to crawl out of his skin. His dad would *flip*, but when the dust died down, would he be able to unflip? And be okay with Clark and Lex? Or even, just okay with Lex?

But maybe he was borrowing trouble, thinking so far ahead. Maybe he was being presumptuous in thinking that he and Lex would ever get to that stage. But who was Clark kidding at this point? He knew that he wanted it, wanted to at least *try* to get there, and yeah, he was head over heels already with Lex. He wanted to make Lex smile, and learn from him, and talk to him, and just…*be* with him.

And Lex had told him to come over after Chloe and Pete left, so why not? Clark grabbed his jacket, his keys, and headed over to the penthouse, a small, private smile on his face the whole way there.

**

The doorman smiled and waved when Clark walked into the lobby and Clark grinned, feeling welcomed. “Can I just go up?” he asked, gesturing toward the elevator.

“G’head,” the doorman answered. “Mr. Luthor said you might drop by.”

Clark’s grin grew, and he happily pressed the button for the penthouse, humming to himself until the doors dinged open. He rapped on the door, knowing that he was blushing, and that he probably looked as in love as he was, and he really didn’t care. In fact, he just grinned wider when Lex opened the door.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi, Clark,” Lex said coolly. It took him a second to notice the pinched look on Lex’s face, the thinned mouth, and flaring nostrils, but when he did his stomach plummeted.

“Who is it, Lex?” Lionel Luthor asked, striding into view, and suddenly the look on Lex’s face made a *lot* of sense.

“A friend, Dad,” Lex said, hand cupping Clark’s elbow and ushering him into the penthouse. “I’d made dinner plans for tonight, so unfortunately I guess we’ll have to cut this father-son chat short. What a pity.” It was like his tone was bladed and he was trying to slice Lionel with it, and Clark wanted to recoil a little from the barely sheathed violence in the room.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Lionel asked, sounding richly amused and imperious all at once. Clark wanted to be invisible, and wondered if that was possible somehow.

“No, Dad, I’m not,” Lex said tightly, holding the door open. “This is your cue to leave, by the way.”

Lionel eyed Clark, smiling lazily. “So what do you want from my son, hmm? Friendship? I doubt that greatly.”

“Dad.” Lex’s voice was even sharper than before – low and deadly. “Enough.”

Lionel barked laughter, and swept past Lex, out the door, pausing to say in an undertone, “Remember, Lex, no one is altruistic. No matter how earnest they might look.” With a parting glance at Clark, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Lex closed the door very carefully, as though he wanted to slam it. Clark kind of wished that he would.

“I’m sorry about that,” Lex said with a tight smile, turning. “My father’s people skills are somewhat lacking.”

“Not your fault, Lex,” Clark told him, meaning it. Tension was written in every line of Lex’s body – the tightness of his forehead, the straight line of his shoulders and spine, and Clark hated it. Hated Lionel for working Lex up so much, and wondered what Lex would do if left by himself.

Probably drink too much or just work, Clark figured. But he wasn’t by himself – Clark was there, and Clark was bound and determined to help Lex relax. Somehow. Just…how?

Lex took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his scalp before looking up, and catching his eye. “Let’s try this again. Hi, Clark.”

“Hi, Lex,” Clark responded, smiling, and stepping toward him. “What’s up?”

Lex chuckled dryly. “Oh, nothing much. Just had a talk with my father.”

“Sounds like it didn’t go so well,” Clark said, letting his fingers twine with Lex’s. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Lex admitted, squeezing Clark’s hand. “I’d rather just leave it behind me for the night.”

“Okay,” Clark shrugged. “That’s fair. So what do you want to do?”

Lex raised an eyebrow, lips curling up. “Do I even really need to answer that question?” he asked, voice low and sexy, and Clark’s stomach flipped over at the sound of it.

“Oh,” Clark breathed, letting Lex use their joined hands to pull him in, close.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Lex whispered. “All damned day.”

He pulled Clark’s head down and kissed him slowly, thoroughly, until Clark’s toes were curling and he was panting for breath, and whimpering into Lex’s mouth. Lex pulled back and grinned – a smug, self-satisfied curve of his lips and he walked backwards, pulling Clark toward the bedroom.

“Want to cheer me up?” Lex asked.

“Yeah,” Clark croaked, captivated by the sheer heat in Lex’s gaze. “Definitely.”

“Take your clothes off.”

“Yes sir,” Clark managed breathlessly, grinning. He let go of Lex’s hand and slipped his jacket off, kicking off his shoes and started to unbutton his shirt. Lex sat on the corner of the bed, watching him, and all of Lex’s formidable focus was on *Clark*.

“Are you…are you just going to watch?” Clark asked, pulling his shirt out of the waistband of his pants, shrugging it off.

Lex’s smile then was nothing if not feral. “Yes, yes I am most certainly going to watch.”

And that was *really* hot. Lex was watching him take off his clothes like this was some kind of strip tease, like Clark was unwrapping the best present in the world. Lex was already *damned* hard underneath those tight black pants of his, and it was because of *Clark* and that was really never going to stop being cool, was it?

Clark peeled his jeans off quickly, shucking his boxers along with them, and then he was standing in front of Lex totally naked. And Lex looked like he was about to *pounce*.

He held out a hand, and pulled Clark close. The fabric of Lex’s clothes was maddening against Clark’s skin, like a shifting, silky tease as Lex kissed him again – this time harder, more desperate, biting his lips, sucking his tongue as Lex’s hands roamed over Clark’s back, fingernails scratching lightly, then harder as Clark pressed his cock against Lex’s through the thin fabric.

“Ahh, Lex,” Clark said as Lex bit and sucked his way down Clark’s neck to his collarbone. “I’m sort of feeling kind of…naked, here.”

“You are naked,” Lex said with a chuckle into Clark’s shoulder.

“And you’re not.” Clark rocked against Lex lightly, as incentive.

“You make a good point,” Lex conceded on an indrawn breath, straightening and bringing Clark’s hands up to his buttons. “Take *my* clothes off.”

“Will it cheer you up if I do?” Clark asked playfully, as he fumbled his way down Lex’s shirt.

“Being naked with you in my bed will cheer me up a lot,” Lex said between slow, wet kisses to Clark’s chest. “It’ll be better than Lithium.”

Clark laughed, smoothing his hands up Lex’s chest and pushing the shirt off before running his hands down Lex’s back onto his ass, pulling him closer and rocking against him. “Good to know,” Clark panted, “that I’m the alternative to drugs.”

Lex thrust against him, licking along Clark’s jaw. “You’re so fucking hard for me.”

“God,” Clark muttered, biting the delicate skin of Lex’s neck. “I want you so much,” he confessed, moving with the rhythm Lex was setting, driving harder against Lex’s pelvis, needing *more*.

Lex pulled back just enough to look into Clark’s eyes, run his fingers over Clark’s lips. Without really thinking, Clark sucked them into his mouth, outlined their lengths with his tongue, and nipped at their tips before releasing them. Lex’s breathing got erratic, and he grabbed Clark’s hair, pulling him into a desperate, frenzied kiss.

“I want you to fuck me,” Lex gasped when they broke apart. “Now.”

“Oh, *shit*, Lex. Yeah, yeah,” Clark breathed, kissing him again, working a hand between the two of them to undo Lex’s fly, but it was hard, damned hard to do without looking and Clark wasn’t about to stop kissing Lex to see what he was doing.

“Fuck it. Rip them,” Lex ordered, before kissing Clark again. “I’ve got lots of pants.”

And *wow* Clark hadn’t known he had a kink for that kind of thing, but apparently he did because ripping Lex’s pants open was hot – sexier than Clark would ever have dreamed. He impatiently pushed them off Lex’s hips, along with Lex’s boxers, and finally there was all that white, smooth skin against his. It was like silk pulled over raw *heat* and Clark couldn’t resist rubbing against Lex more, couldn’t resist the feeling of Lex’s cock against his.

And Lex liked it too, because he whimpered, and moaned, before rasping out, “Lube’s in the dresser by the bed, condoms too.”

Clark didn’t quite get the message at first, and Lex had to push him away lightly, grinning and pointing as he hoisted himself up onto the bed, one hand toying almost absently with his nipples. Clark *hated* not being pressed against Lex anymore and moved fast – not too fast – but fast as he dared, grabbing the small clear bottle and a tin foil packet and *shit* he was actually going to fuck Lex.

He gripped the base of his cock and squeezed viciously, because he needed to slow this down or he’d come all over Lex as soon as he got onto the bed.

Clark climbed up over Lex, straddling him, and Lex arched up, almost helplessly, tongue darting out to slip between Clark’s lips as he reached out, grabbing the bottle and popping it open.

“Give me your hand,” Lex demanded, and Clark complied, too busy mouthing his way down the side of Lex’s neck to argue. Cool liquid covered his fingers, and Lex grinned, breathing hard. “You need to stretch me open. One finger, then two, then three, and I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?”

“Yeah,” Clark said, and his voice sounded nothing like his own – it was at least two registers deeper and too ragged to be his voice. He gave Lex’s cock one firm stroke, before reaching lower, tracing Lex’s balls, circling his hole and then, then easing slowly *inside*. First one finger, sliding in and out, then two, and Lex was breathing harder as Clark worked him open, making noises of encouragement and kissing whatever parts of Clark he could reach.

He was the sexiest thing Clark had ever seen, probably the sexiest thing ever. Clark was sure of it, especially when he crooked his fingers and Lex arched up, mouth falling open and eyes clenching shut. Third finger in, and Clark kept up a rhythm, brushing that spot over and over.

“*Now*,” Lex moaned, “God, Clark, I need you inside me. Fuck me. Fuck me right now.”

It took a second for Clark to remember how condoms worked, mostly because his hands were shaking. He spread Lex’s legs wider and lined himself up, putting his hands on either side of Lex’s head, and leaned down, kissing Lex deeply. He pushed in, slowly, taking his time, letting Lex adjust and damned near dying in the process. Lex made little broken noises, gasps and whimpers that didn’t sound like anything but pleasure, but Clark stayed still until Lex rocked his hips.

And then Clark was pulling out and easing back in over and over again and maybe he was moaning but he definitely wasn’t breathing. Especially not when Lex grabbed Clark’s hand and wrapped it around his cock, not saying a word but just staring up at him, lips red and swollen, eyes hooded and blue and brighter than anything he’d ever seen before as Lex’s hips kept moving with his, kept that beautiful wonderful rhythm they had going.

Then Clark definitely *did* moan, and Lex started gasping, started calling Clark’s name as Clark’s hand moved, firm and quick, flicking his thumb over the slit.

“God, *Lex*,” Clark groaned, because Lex was so tight, and so *hot* and he was bucking up against Clark, pushing into his hand, and backing into his thrusts and Clark wanted to see Lex come. *Needed* it. So on his next stroke in, he changed the angle, pulled Lex’s legs up onto his hips, and there *there* it was. Lex’s eyes widened, and he arched his head back, hips moving with Clark until his mouth fell open in a silent scream and he came in Clark’s hand.

And that was so hot, that was so beautiful, and Clark could *feel* it when Lex came, feel him tightening all around Clark, and when Lex looked up, eyes lazy and smile predatory and whispered in a voice like velvet, “Now, Clark. Come *now*,” that was all it took. His eyes pressed shut and he felt like he’d been lit on fire from within and he came so *hard* he thought he was going to die.

Maybe he did, because the next thing he knew he was collapsed on top of Lex, who poked him gently in the ribs as soon as he caught his breath. Clark grinned and pushed himself up, and Lex winced as Clark pulled out. He rolled over; removing the condom and tossing it into the trash can beside the bed, before turning on his side to face Lex.

“Better than Lithium?” Clark managed.

“Mmm…lots,” Lex said, kissing him slowly.

“Good, glad to hear it.” Clark drew lazy patterns along Lex’s ribs. “Cheaper, too.”

Lex grinned. “That’s only if I don’t feed you.”

“I don’t eat *that* much,” Clark protested, before considering. “Okay, maybe I do.”

“Hungry now?” Lex asked, raising a brow.

“Nah,” Clark said, leaning in for a quick kiss before becoming serious. “I’m sorry about your Dad, Lex.”

“Nothing can quite kill an afterglow like mentioning my father, Clark,” Lex replied, tone mild despite his words. A moment passed, and Clark opened his mouth to change the subject but Lex surprised him by continuing. “He likes to take every opportunity to point what a disappointment I am.”

“What? How could you be a disappointment? You’re twenty-six years old and you run your own company. Your own a *really successful* company,” Clark protested, indignant. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m weak, ruled by my emotions,” Lex said, in the tone of voice of someone who had heard those particular phrases far too often. “Besides,” he added wryly, “I don’t have the world in the palm of my hand yet. Clearly, I’m a failure.”

“Lex, you’re pretty much the exact opposite of a failure,” Clark told him, sitting up and staring down into Lex’s eyes. “Your Dad’s kind of an asshole, and you shouldn’t listen to him. You’re a lot better than he is. Like, a lot.”

Lex smiled, looked down, and then up again through the veil of his eyelashes. “Do you listen to your father?”

“Yeah, I do,” Clark admitted. “But…not when I don’t think he’s right. Not when I disagree with him.”

“That happen often?” Lex asked, mouth quirking up. “Are you the rebellious son, Clark?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s me.” Clark rolled his eyes. “I’m a rebel and I’ll never ever be any good.”

“I could sense that about you as soon as we met,” Lex teased. “The way you put my father through to the fertilizer plant and pretended it was accidental? I never quite bought that. Not one bit.”

“Yeah, well,” Clark shrugged, grinning. “Guess you caught me.”

Lex grinned back, and slipped his hand into Clark’s and it was such a small thing, but it felt big.

“So what are your dad’s dreams for you, Clark? Move back to Smallville and take over the farm?”

Clark shrugged, pillowing his head on his arm. “I don’t know. I know he’d like that, but he’s sort of given up on it. I think he knows that’s not what I want, and he’s okay with it. He just wants me to be happy, you know?”

Lex said nothing for several seconds, eyes focused on their joined hands. “And what do you want, Clark?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, frowning. “I guess I’m still trying to figure it out…what I want, where I’m going, that kind of thing. It’s scary,” he admitted, looking over at Lex again. “Thinking about the future, I mean, trying to see where you’ll be in four years, but it’s kind of cool, too. Leaves you breathless. ”

“I never had that,” Lex said quietly, eyebrow quirking up self deprecatingly. “I had a destiny – capital D, one my father had picked out for me and I fought it tooth and nail. I lived according to my own plans, my own rules, but I always knew where I was going to be in a year, four years, ten years – or at least where I planned to be.”

“Is this where you planned to be?” Clark asked, studying the small amused smile on Lex’s face.

“In bed with a much younger employee?” he teased.

Clark pulled a pillow out from under Lex’s head and smacked him with it, gently. “You know what I meant. And I’m not *that* much younger.”

“When I was having sex for the first time you were probably still losing baby teeth,” Lex said dryly.

Clark glared, and waved the pillow threateningly. “You’re asking for it.”

“Are you threatening me?” Lex asked, silkily.

“No, just stating a fact,” Clark replied with a sunny smile. “But you never answered my question.”

“Is this where I planned to be,” Lex repeated, stretching again, obviously considering the issue. “Mostly,” he said finally, “with a few small adjustments, yes, I think it is.”