Written for the BoozeFest, for which see: http://boozefest.netfirms.com

Dedicated to Lynda

1 The Evening on Whiskey

"I didn't know you smoked, Mr Kent."

Jonathan cursed and puffed at the same time, emitting a gurgling sound that seemed strange even to him. Settling his weight more comfortably against the balcony wall, he contemplated the fact that he no longer had to throw himself off it.

"Thanks for the miracle, God."

God was no doubt impressed with a salute from Jon's cigar.

"Shhh," he hissed at his new companion. "Doan tell Martha. Victory cigar."

"It'll be our secret."

Jonathan squinted at his new companion through a haze of whiskey fumes. Some bald coot. What was his name? That's right. Grainger. Or something. Had the spread down the road from the Rosses. The damn fool should stand still, though, instead of weaving around like that, making a body sick.

"Whassa matter, Grainger, can't hold ya liquor?"

"Mr Kent, I don't think..."

"Look at them poor bastards in there," said Jonathan, thanking his foresight in having such a useful prop as a cigar to point at things. "Hah. A blessing on ya head, mazel tov, mazel tov, Ta see a daughter wed, mazel tov, mazel tov, And such a son-in-law, like no one ever saw..."

Jonathan grinned at the suppressed laughter of his new best friend, and threw a companionable arm around his shoulders. If nothing else, it would keep the fool steady and put a stop to his swaying.

"Doan ya like 'Fiddler on the Roof'?" he demanded.

"I just wasn't expecting you to start singing, that's all," said Grainger. God, but he had a shiny dome. It was probably the drink that made it all red like that. Jonathan hated people who couldn't hold their drink. "Repertory?"

"Ya shouldn't drink so much," exhorted Jonathan. "Don't normally touch the stuff myself. But - it's a special occasion. Hah. Could've been me in there, ya know. Lucky escape."

"You might have ended up married to Lex Luthor?" inquired Grainger politely.

Jonathan was so outraged he nearly swallowed his cigar. He'd have taken a swing at the one who was impugning his manhood, if he'd only stand still and stop his annoying tendency to turn into two people without warning.

"Nah," he explained patiently, propping himself more firmly against the wall so he'd stop that sliding thing. "I coulda been them. Ya know? The in-laws. Father-in-law to that bald bastard. Or whatever it is when ya gay son shacks up with his sugar daddy. Know what I mean?"

"Are you telling me that Clark's gay?" asked Jonathan's new drinking buddy, helpfully offering his hip flask and guiding Jonathan's hand so he could take a good, long swallow.

A long sigh followed the burn of expensive whiskey down his throat. Half-remembered gloom settled on Jonathan's face like yesterday, the day before that, and the long weeks and months since Lex Luthor had turned their lives upside down.

"Just want the best for him, ya know? Moping around the house all day. One minute it's Lex this, Lex that, happy like a damn puppy with his master. And then it's long faces and whining cos he can't tell his fucking secrets to Mr Billionaire, pardon my French. Not that he's got secrets. I'm just saying, ya know? An' then, Baldy's getting married to that poor girl in there, and Clark just shuts down. Sits around all day looking through his telescope an' smiling like the world's gonna end, and it breaks ma fucking heart. When he's not throwing basketballs through my damned barn walls, which breaks ma balls. 'scuse French, yeah?"

"I had no idea," said Grainger, his voice unhappy enough for the most sympathetic of listeners.

"Yeah, well, have a cigar. Cos it's over. Lock, stock and bald fucking barrel. There's no way a son of mine's gonna come between a man an' his lawful wife. So Clark's gonna march in there, or out here - or maybe over there?"

"In there," suggested Grainger, patiently.

"Yeah. Thanks. Grainger, you're a fucking prince. French. Anyway. Clark's gonna march somewhere an' pull hisself up by his bootstraps and put his best foot forward. No damn pining. No damn whining. Course, I was the same over Martha. It's a kicker when ya love them. Bald asshole. Doan understand it, myself."

"He's young, Mr Kent. When he's seen a bit more of the world, of life, he'll think differently. Maybe you worry too much."

"B'tween you and me," whispered Jonathan, leaning heavily on Grainger. "Shit. Ya lost - what - eighty, a hundred pounds?"

"It's all that - er - tossing of hay bales and such."

"Right. Got some damn good biceps on ya, too. Yeah. You doan get them in a gym, or doing your hoity-toity fencing."

"No indeed."

"Stop changing the subject. I'm trying ta talk to ya here. That's the trouble with you, Grainger. Anyway. I think, an' if ya repeat any o' this I'm comin' for ya with my damn shotgun, I think it's Martha's done it. She always coddled the boy. Ya know? There he was, all helpless and big eyed, just needing a strong arm around him to keep him safe. Oh. That was me. Fuck. I made ma gay son gay. Shit. Frog."

Grainger, who was drinking from his flask, choked briefly. "Frog?"

"Yeah. French. Frog. Assholes. Shoulda left em to the Germans. Anyway, my beautiful boy's been breaking his heart over that rich mothafucker an' now he's off to Metropolis with his poor bitch bride, an' we can all get back to living our lives in damn peace. Frog. What about your boy?"

"My boy?"

"Whatcha sound so dumb for? Doan ya remember your own damn son. You know, whatshisname. Grainger Junior. He outta school yet?"

"Oh. Um. Yes, he graduated last year and has joined me on the farm. I like to think of him as a chip off the thickest block I've ever met. He's very good with - horses. Like's a good ride, does my boy."

"Shaddup. Let a man get a word in. Shit. Some bastards, they talk at ya and talk...He's a good boy, though? Eats his cabbage. Salt of the earth. Bet that fucking Luthor doan eat his fucking cabbage. So, that's that then. We'll set em up. Your boy, my boy. Kinda like me bringin' my stud to your mare. Right?"

"I can't believe you just said that. Have another drink. Careful, don't spill it. That's older and better than either of us. What makes you think I - that is, my boy - that he'll be the mare?"

"Stands to reason. Clark's my son. Course he's the doer, not the doee. Not that I'm gonna think about what fags do in bed. 'Scuse me, gay guys. It's fucking disgusting."

"Worse than taking a stallion prick in your hands, oiling it up, and guiding it inside a mare?"

"Course. That's natural."

"I see. I wonder how horses did it before farmers came along."

"What the fuck d'ya mean? What kinda farmer are ya, anyway? Hey. I think I saw the Bald Asshole himself. Yeah, there he goes, putting the make on every bitch in heat, though God knows where he got all that damn hair from. Must be a wig. Look at 'im. Coming round here, cozying up to people's sons in his fancy duds..."

"Excuse me, did you - did you just say 'duds'? I don't believe it."

"A man can say 'duds' if he wants. What are you? Some kinda fancy-shmancy faggot? Shit, I promised Martha I wouldn't use the F word. Fuck. Hey. Where'd ya brother come from?"

Grainger swung around, startled. "Lucas is here?"

Jonathan, who'd been clinging to his buddy to stay upright, now looked up at him from his new vantage point on the balcony floor. Ouch. For some reason, his head was hurting.

"Now there's three of ya," he commented, thoughtfully.

"Mr Kent, if Clark has a crush on Lex Luthor, I think you can comfort yourself with the thought that it will evaporate in the harsh light of day. When I was a child, I played with childish things. When I became a man..."

Jonathan cursed the bitter moisture in his eyes. Trust Grainger to start spouting from the Bible.

"Ya doan understand," he pleaded. "He loves him. If it was something that was gonna go away on its own, I'd have sat back and waited. I'm a patient man. Hey, doan laugh. It's true, I am."

Jonathan sounded painfully earnest, even to himself, but he couldn't seem to stop the flow of words.

"Clark's had crushes, but this is passion, deep and lasting, fixed on Luthor like white on rye. But now Luthor's married. Hey, even love doesn't last when there's nothing to hope for. I hope. I pray. We pack Clark off to college and he meets new people, gets a job, and - I dunno - starts his life again. He can come back from this. We can all do it once. He's young, right? Yeah. Nowhere from here but up. So here's cheers to you, Lex Luthor, safely married to whatshername."

Grainger helped him up, steadying him against the balcony railing. "You know, Mr Kent, there's a saying that the enemy of your enemy is your friend."

"The enemy of - um - what - your enemy is - how'd that go again? Oh, Christ - pardon - French - Lionel Fucking Luthor."

"Ah, no, I think that by the way that young woman just tipped her drink all over him, that he's Lionel non-fucking Luthor."

"Hey, isn't that his own son's new wife? Goddamn. That horny bastard Luthor shoulda been gelded at birth. I'd a done it myself if they'd asked me. Ya know. If I hadn't been - what? - five years old at the time."

They watched Lionel, mane thrown back, clearly laughing off the spreading stain of red wine on expensive fabric.

"Maybe that's not a wig," pondered Jonathan, as it came closer. It could be Lionel Luthor but he had this sneaking suspicion that it was Mr Ed. Big mane of hair, long horsey face. Yeah. Lionel Luthor.

"You could always pull it to find out," suggested Grainger.

"Where's the dick - er - dig - dignity in that?"

The balcony doors were thrown open with great gusto, and Jonathan watched Lionel and his hair resolve into a single horse, standing in front of them, pelvis thrust forward in a not very subtle challenge. Still. Should be simple enough to throw him over the edge, if Jonathan could just get some momentum up.

"So," said Lionel, "a couple of chums out tasting the evening air, blowing a cloud."

"Did he just turn British?" Jonathan asked Grainger in confusion.

"Oh no," explained Grainger. "He's always been an asshole."

"Hey, Luthor, had your son speyed yet? Or, even better, yourself?"

"Jonathan Kent, always a pleasure. Lex." Lionel nodded at the drinking buddies.

"What about Lex?" demanded Jonathan, sensing an insult. "Doan call me Lex. Unnatural bastard, doesn't even know his own son. Son."

Lionel gave him an odd look, but the final word had been addressed to Clark, who was peering around Lionel's shoulder at the balcony buddies, as Jonathan was thinking of calling them.

"This here's my balcony buddy," he proclaimed, doing a quick two-step as Grainger adjusted to the sudden addition of his friend's weight. "Clark. Is that you, Clark? You're a bit - fuzzy, son. Sharpen yourself up. You know, round the edges. Yeah. Whaddaya think of Grainger Junior? We can't remember his name just now. Hey? If he's half the man his daddy is, he's a fucking prince."

"Dad, mom thinks you should come inside. Hey, are you guys smoking?"

"Shhh, your mother's not to know, Clark."

"Aha," said Lionel, rubbing his hands together in a parody of glee. "Just the sort of secret that rules boardrooms and the fate of empires."

"You're right," Jonathan nodded at Grainger. "He is an asshole."

"Julia is wondering where her affianced is," commented Lionel, standing a bit too close to Jonathan's virginal son for his father's liking. Clark dodged around him and came to help Grainger support Jonathan's weight. It was kinda nice to see Clark so friendly with his dad's buddies, putting an arm around him and holding him - maybe a bit too close. But then, that was a fag for ya. 'Scuse, gay guy. No sense of a straight man's personal space.

"I'm gonna kill Lionel Luthor," said Jonathan. "As soon as someone tells me who Julia is. And what an affonce is."

"Julia's the young lady who will make my paternal heart proud by bringing her not inconsiderable portfolio into the Luthor Corp fold. Lex, stop groping that boy."

"'s not groping," said Jonathan. Clark and Grainger were just holding each other up, as good ole boys did when they'd had a few too many. Clark had secured Jon's buddy by putting both arms around him and squeezing him tight. That boy had the good manners of someone who'd been brought up right.

"This is groping," he added, going for Luthor's groin with a vice-like grip.

Lionel howled and Grainger laughed, his head resting back on Clark's shoulder. Clark's probably the only thing keeping the drunk upright, thought Jonathan, as he squeezed harder and mugged for all he was worth at his audience of two.

Clark seemed a bit shell shocked, but Grainger looked to be whispering reassurances in his ears. Huh. That looked like a tongue going in there. Must be the light.

With everything alright in that corner, apart from Clark's alarming tendency to split in two and fade around the edges, Jonathan could concentrate on castrating Luthor up close and personal.

The sight of Lionel Luthor's fist was the last thing that he remembered for the night.

Jonathan swam back to consciousness with a pounding head and a mouth that felt like a rat had crawled inside and died.

"Fuck."

"That's enough of that language, mister."

"Martha. Hey."

Oh well. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him throwing up in their toilet. Wouldn't be the last, either.

The touch of her hand on his hair was the most comforting thing in the world.

After he'd cleaned his teeth and guzzled a tank of water, Jonathan collapsed at the kitchen table and gave Martha a tentative smile.

"So," he said with as much satisfaction as if he had been the father of the bride, "Lex Luthor's married. Now we can get on with our lives. Clark can get on with his life."

"Yes," said Martha, rather flatly. "Clark didn't come home last night. Apparently, so he told me on the phone this morning, our son is an adult capable of making his own choices, and the hitherto blind Lex Luthor has finally seen the light."

Huh?

"On his fucking wedding night?"

Jonathan was so angry that, as soon as his body stopped shaking and craving water, he'd get out of his chair and blow the Bald Bastard's head off.

"Apparently, we have you to thank for it all. He found out about Clark's feelings from you," said Martha, looking as if she might just pour the coffee on his head instead of in a cup.

It was obvious who was to blame. "That bastard Grainger. He must've been shooting his fool mouth off. I've a good mind to go over there and teach him the meaning of discretion."

"Grainger?" replied Martha, looking confused. "You mean, Ed Grainger? He's in Metropolis, with his sick wife. He has been for weeks. What's he got to do with it?"

Jonathan tried to get the conversation back on track. Martha clearly didn't know what the hell she was talking about. It fell to him, as always, to be the one who talked sense at this table.

"Martha, be reasonable. Luthor just got married last night. Clark can't possibly have been with him."

Martha gaped at him as if he'd finally succeeded in speaking French. "Jonathan Kent. Is it possible that you don't listen to a word I say? Is it possible that you see nothing and hear nothing that goes on around you?"

"What do you mean?" Damn, he hated that defensive whine in his own voice. "I see plenty. Hear it, too."

Martha shook her head from side to side.

"Re-hears-al Din-ner," she said coldly, pausing over each syllable with an appearance of relish. "Last night was the rehearsal dinner. Are there any circumstances under which you could not have understood that?"

"But - there were speeches and everything."

Jonathan needed water. Or maybe just to bury his whole head under the tap.

"And the lack of - I don't know - an actual wedding didn't give it away?"

Jonathan mumbled into his prayer-clenched hands.

"What was that, mister?"

"I just thought - you know - that I'd gotten my way. That you'd agreed we didn't have to go. We'd eat his food and drink his booze and launch him off to Metropolis without having to sit through the damn wedding as well."

"I see. And you didn't say anything because - what? If you reminded me about the wedding, I'd make you go?"

That was about it. Hanging his head in shame wouldn't change it. "Well - yeah."

Martha started to laugh. Not a polite, dignified chuckle but a real belly laugh, clutching herself around the middle and practically weeping with it.

"Jonathan Kent." She took his hand and pressed it to her stomach. His face was level with her breasts and he leaned forward.

"Don't ever change," she said.

"I don't plan to."

She leaned down to kiss him.

"Clark's old enough to make up his own mind," she added. "I don't like it. But we don't have to like it. He does."

"Me and my buddy Grainger will sort that Luthor out," said Jonathan darkly. But, in his heart of hearts, he was already planning his wedding speech.

2 The Same Evening; Red Wine

"So you see, I think that the Talon could increase net profits by thirty percent if we implemented some of these proposals. What do you think?"

Lionel stared at the vision in pink before him. Who was this nauseating teenager? He'd had reports of his son's tendency towards dubious under-aged friends, but it was nothing compared to the cold hard reality.

"Yes, that's all very well, Miss - Long, was it?"

"Lang, sir."

"Ah, yes, well, I think you should put your efforts more into tax breaks rather than marketing strategies that haven't been costed or tested. Always remember, Miss Long, as with people, the law is your friend, so long as you know it well enough to have something on it. The tax laws are better friends than most. Here's what you want to do..."

The girl started scribbling things on her napkin as Lionel talked and drank, snagging another glass from a passing waiter without missing a beat.

"We'll save thousands of dollars," she said at last, all wide eyed and excited. In fact, if she did what he advised, Lex would still be picking up the pieces a year hence.

"You will indeed. My goodness, is that the Back Alley Boys? Trust my son to make a splash, even when it's just the rehearsal."

"Huh? Back Alley? Oh - you mean the Backstreet Boys?"

The girl squealed and twirled like a banshee, giving Lionel a chance to slip away among the milling guests. He was sure the new arrivals were just waiters, but an old man couldn't be expected to recognise pop stars, could he?

Lionel made a mental note to get someone else for the launch of Luthor Corp's new soda.

He was still backing away from the oblivious Miss Long when he spotted his prey for the evening, standing by the dance floor, the center of an admiring gaggle of wannabe politicos.

"Senator," he boomed, waving his arms expansively and clearing a path to the man's side.

"Where is your lovely daughter?" Not to mention her lovely stocks.

"Off making out with your son, I suspect," said the senator, his face flushed with too much wine.

"Ah, we remember the days of youthful exuberance," chortled Lionel, slugging back his drink and catching the eye of a passing waiter. The boy had better know the universal sign for "bring me the bottle" or it would be his last job waiting on the rich.

The burgundy that appeared in answer to Lionel's unspoken order was a delight. Rich, full, like drinking success. It almost made the evening worth it.

What really mattered, though, was securing Julia Monro and her shares in several companies on the Luthor Corp agenda, not to mention her father's influence on various key congressional committees. Senator Monro mattered in DC, and it had been a while since Lionel's last senator had slipped through a hole in his pocket and into the Atlantic. A tragic boating accident, everyone had agreed. Lionel wiped away a tear at the man's funeral.

"Ah, there she is now."

The key to the father was the daughter, if that sappy smile of proud daddy's was anything to go by.

"Julia, my dear, may I have the honour of a dance with my son's bride?"

Julia Monro was a study in contrasts. Long blonde hair, almost to her waist, and a slender form that made the unlamented Miss Long look fat. But all that slim breakability was topped by a strong face, cold and determined. She clutched her wine and still sipped from it, as if she waltzed in his arms every day. Lionel was going to enjoy bedding this one. He liked her style.

It was all in the lever, the angle. And they never told Lex - never.

A few teenagers blundered among the elegant couples, as Lionel steered Julia around the floor, one hand resting gently on her hip. Smiling affably, waltzing in perfect, clinical time to the music, Lionel's eyes scanned the room while his hand slid ever lower. Julia had a nice, tight ass.

Was that his son's disappointing bald head outside that window, smoking on the balcony? Excellent.

Lionel danced them closer to the window, trusting Lex's restless eyes to spot him immediately. He fondled Julia's ass possessively. Her money was almost his. Or Lex's, which was the same thing. He still wasn't quite sure how he'd talked Lex into marrying her.

No matter.

For a moment, Lionel had the astonishing thought that he'd somehow lost control of his bladder and wet himself. Warmth spread from his crotch down one leg, damp and sticky. He looked into the smiling eyes of the woman who was tilting her glass, neither of them watching as it trickled down his leg.

Lionel released her at once, giving Julia his most mocking smile. She would learn her place, soon enough. At the moment, though, he was a bit too drunk to put her in that place sufficiently - carefully.

Sauntering over to the balcony doors, knowing that the world wouldn't see a red wine stain on his pants if he didn't, Lionel emerged into the cool autumn night and the company of his first-born.

Few things that Lex did surprised him anymore. Having a quiet smoke with Jonathan Kent fell into the category of mild eyebrow raising. Somehow, they didn't take kindly to his taunting. Kent was drunk, barely able to stand up, raving some nonsense about killing Luthors, best friends, and queer sons with attitude.

It wasn't till Lionel noticed a restraining hand on the lapel of his jacket that he worked out who the queer son must be. Of course, Clark Kent, all dark flushed beauty, looming up beside him, with a gentle tug on his suit as if that could restrain him from doing harm. Lionel admired the boy's body, like a fine racehorse and just as useful. Oh yes. He had plans for this one. Julia was lurking behind him on his other side, glancing without much interest at her fiance and the shit-kicker. She was out of Lex's sight and possibly out of his mind as well.

"Julia is wondering where here affianced is," he proclaimed, trying not to notice her hasty retreat into the ballroom.

Clark, the field clear, made a beeline for Lionel's son. Interesting. And a little annoying, the way Lex plastered himself all over those too-obvious muscles when he had old money waiting for him inside to make her happy.

The elder Kent continued to ramble, mixing drunken threats with uncoordinated lurches, while Lex leaned on his teenaged friend and smiled like he'd got Lex Corp back again.

Time to put a stop to this nauseating scene.

Lionel was just about to take decisive action when the Kent fool blundered forward and suddenly the world was one white-hot stab of pain.

Lionel shrieked like a girl. It was the thing he regretted most the next day. The pain in his balls was excruciating and it lingered long after he'd clubbed Kent with his fist and knocked him out cold.

When he could see again, Lex's smile was coolly amused. The Kent boy, on the other hand, looked ready to commit murder. Lionel knew that he could carry things off with a sneer and a quip, if he was sober enough to hit just the right tone of menace.

"So, Lex, drinking with a shit-faced shit-kicker. Moving up in the world, son?"

That probably wasn't it.

"My dad is not a shit-kicker!"

The sight of Clark Kent's fist was the last thing that Lionel remembered for the night.

Lionel swam back to consciousness with a pounding head and a mouth that felt like a rat had crawled inside and died.

"Fuck."

There was something not quite right.

Ah yes. Apart from the unfortunate ache between his legs, the light that had woken him was not fluorescent but the distressingly natural glint of sunlight. Some disloyal servant, probably his son, had also replaced his expensive mattress with cold, hard stone. And could that be the smell of fresh air, not perfectly regulated air conditioning?

A quick glance from sore, squinting eyes confirmed the worst. Lionel Luthor had spent the night on the balcony. Nobody had bothered to take him inside. Ah, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.

Lionel's body ached from a hangover, a farmer's strong grip on his balls, and his first night outside since a long forgotten and ill-spent youth. Staggering, partly in disbelief, he dragged himself erect and sauntered casually into the ballroom as if he did it every morning.

How distressing.

Lex had had a breakfast table set up amid the debris of last night's party, so that his guests could witness his father's entry, looking like a homeless bum. The boy would have to be reminded of his place in the pecking order and quite soon.

"Eggs?"

Lex greeted him with a wintry smile and a plate of greasy fried eggs. He deliberately didn't look down at Lionel's soiled, wine-stained pants.

Lionel shuddered, especially when Lex claimed it as the breakfast of kings.

"Is there any bacon?", came a sweet, piping voice.

Good god. The Long creature was there, witnessing his discomfiture, dressed in what could only be one of Lex's robes.

Lionel smiled.

"Julia will not be pleased," he commented, smirking in the direction of Miss Long, feeling the upper hand come swinging back with a vengeance.

Only to slap him in the face.

"Morning," said the Kent boy, wandering into the room with jeans and no top, bare feet padding soundlessly on the highly polished floor. He rubbed a big hand through sleep-tousled hair. His greeting to Lex was overly familiar. Distressingly so, when his son forgot himself and pressed a quick kiss against a slab of golden chest.

Julia was nowhere in evidence though Lionel looked around hopefully, thinking she might slink in with her shares and make his son an honest - and heterosexual - man.

Lex patted the Kent boy's butt, earning a quick smack on the back of his head. Strangely, Lex's only response to the blow was a sappy smile.

"I wonder if she likes bacon?" Long asked of the room in general.

Sighing, Lionel started to eat his eggs.

3 The evening with a few pink gins

"It's the hair, isn't it?"

Wincing, Martha surveyed the hair. She hunted vaguely for the right word. Frizzy? Weird? Lopsided and manic?

Chloe's smile was so hopeful that Martha couldn't help gulping gin faster than she had for a long time. Not since that awful dinner party with Nell and her gigolo had Martha drunk so much, so quickly. Jonathan was nowhere in sight, but she could see Clark out of the corner of one eye. She worried about both in equal measure. Clark was - wounded - there was no other word for it. It was making Jonathan angrier every minute, as though he bled along with Clark, and he'd do anything to make things right for him. Martha didn't know which of them was more likely to jump off the deep end tonight. Her worst fear was that it might be both of them, and that Lex Luthor wouldn't survive the night.

"It's not the hair," she reassured Chloe, trying not to look too distracted.

"It is the hair. I knew it," wailed Chloe, as quietly and discreetly as possible for high school angst.

"Why do you say that?" asked Martha, alarmed enough to give the young woman with her screwed up face the full force of her attention.

"What else could it be? I know I probably shouldn't ask, you being his mom and all, but I figure that you know him better than anyone. Except maybe his dad. But - um - asking his dad - like that's gonna happen. So I'm asking you, Mrs Kent. What does Clark want? And if you ever repeat a word of this to him, I swear that I will - um - write an expose about pesticides in the Kent organic vegetables. No, really, just kidding. Well, not kidding about the 'what does he like' part. So?"

"Chloe..."

"At first, I thought it was Lana. So, he likes them elfin. Pretty, slender, dark hair and dark eyed. Lovely long soft hair. Mmm. Couldn't you just run your fingers through it? Um. I had a glass of wine, which I totally shouldn't have, so don't tell my dad, okay? So I thought, Lana. Who wouldn't? Like her, I mean. But then, I thought, maybe not so much. With the liking and everything. I mean, if you looked up 'blows hot and cold and ends up lukewarm' in the dictionary, you'd find it under 'Clark Kent - Lana Lang, attitudes towards'."

"Chloe..."

"Wow, you finished that already. What is it, anyway? It's a disgusting pink, a bit like that Julia's dress. Oh god, did I say that out loud? What a bitch you are, Chloe. Are you going to have another one, Mrs Kent? That cute guy keeps bringing them over here, doesn't he? I think he likes you. Do you think he has a nice ass? Oops, shouldn't have said that - shouldn't have had that wine."

"Chloe..."

"It's no use changing the subject, Mrs Kent. I am a journ-a-list. Bloodhound on a scent. Can't be put off. Maybe if I tried some of Lana's shampoo. Don't you think her hair smells nice? Kinda - I don't know - how I imagine a summer's day with Clark would smell, if you could bottle it. But then I'd be thinking, hey, he's with me cos I smell like Lana. That would be the pits. If he's just gonna be all silent and darkly attractive, yet appealingly dorky when he opens his mouth, then I think that - you know - what am I doing wrong? He's a god but he's a geek. Lana says I am too. So, why doesn't he like me? It's not as if..."

"Chloe!"

Half the room turned to look.

Martha lowered her voice and smoothed her dress, downing the pink concoction and signalling the waiter for another.

How to put this in a way that Chloe's generation would appreciate?

"Chloe, Clark likes dick."

"I know," said Chloe, puzzled. "But - he's better friends with Pete. What's that got to do with it?"

"Not Dick on the football team. Although - I suppose it kind of is dick on the football team. No, no, not really. Is this making any sense to you?"

Chloe was severe. "Mrs Kent, I don't think you should have any more of those pink things to drink."

"Chloe. Clark. Likes. Dick. Not Dick-dick but dick-dick. Oh, I'm so glad my mother isn't here to hear this. What she would have thought of me. In her day everyone was just a bachelor. Or a maiden aunt."

The smiling waiter handed her a nice, brimming glass of forgetfulness. He winked at her.

"I like dick, too," he said. "Which one's Clark?"

Chloe's eyes bugged out and her hand ripped through her hair at a rate of knots, doing things to it that made Martha's toes curl.

"Chloe, dear. Hair."

She nodded meaningfully.

"Clark likes dick?"

Martha tasted her heart in her gut when Clark loomed up behind Chloe, reaching over to steal a swirling chocolate confection from her plate.

"He's a great guy. He's not here tonight, though, is he?"

"Oh god," whimpered Chloe. "Oh god, oh god, oh god."

"Hey," said Clark, winning smile dropping off his face. "You can have it back if you want. Didn't look like you were eating it."

"Clark," yelped Martha. "Where's your father? I haven't seen him for quite a while. I don't see Lex anywhere, either."

She gave him her best mother-does-threat-assessment look, and Clark straightened up with a jerk, dropping chocolate in Chloe's hair.

"Shit."

He did a quick three-sixty turn, which others might have mistaken for a dorky dance move, but Martha recognised as an X-ray vision scan.

"Fuck. Sorry, Mom. They're out on the balcony. Dad's got his arm - I think he might be trying to choke Lex. Damn - sorry, Mom - Lionel's heading that way too."

Clark was gone faster than he should've been, though Chloe had her back firmly towards him and she was probably the only one in the room still sober enough to notice anything.

If, in her present gobsmacked state, she was capable of noticing anything at all.

"Clark - and Pete? Clark and Dick? Clark likes Dick's dick. Yeah, it's like a tongue twister. You know how those crazy tongue twister things concentrate your mind till you can shut out the whole world and everything seems normal again? I guess not. Still. Clark sees Dick's dick on the seashore. See Clark dick Dick on the seashore. Please. Stop me now."

"Chloe, put my drink down."

Martha was too late to rescue her gin. Chloe had swallowed it and run, hair flying in a way that would do credit to Lana's shampoo. Martha wondered if she hadn't just taken an important step in ruining her son's life. Maybe all mothers wonder that, when they out their sons to their sons' friends.

She was still trying her guilt on for size when Lex came to fetch her, explaining apologetically that Jonathan had passed out on the balcony. It wasn't until she'd gotten him home, swaying and singing bawdy songs in her ear, that she thought to wonder why Clark hadn't come with them.

Jonathan passed out again in the middle of fucking her. Disappointment and guilt were the last things that she remembered for the night.

Martha swam back to consciousness with a ringing in her ears that she identified as the phone, after the stubborn alarm clock refused to stop when she pounded it. Memories of the horror night before all too clear, she realised that she hadn't stayed awake for Clark, and didn't know what time he'd made it home. If he'd made it home.

"Hello?" she croaked.

One gin too many (at least) and she needed to drink a bucket of water to feel human again.

Clark likes...

Martha shuddered. She was never going to drink again.

Then how will you get through the actual wedding?, a traitorous voice whispered in her foggy mind.

"Mom?"

"Clark?"

"Yeah, hi, it's me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm not home. Obviously. Or I wouldn't be ringing you. Unless I was so worried about what you and Dad were gonna say that I called you on my cell. Well, Lex's cell, the one he gave - leant - me. But then, if I was home, I wouldn't have to be worried about talking to you so I wouldn't have to ring you."

"Clark, honey, you're babbling. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on."

"I'm at the castle." Loud gulp. "I stayed the night." Even louder gulp. "With Lex."

It wasn't as if Martha hadn't expected to hear it, but she still sat up too fast and hit her head on the bedstead.

"Clark Kent. They must have a thousand guest rooms up there. Please tell me that you spent the night in one of them."

"Mom! We'll talk about it later, okay? I just wanted to let you know where I was. I didn't want you to worry."

"I will always worry. When you're thirty, I'll still be here, worrying. I'm your mom. That's my job." Sleepy chuckle. He sounded all of thirteen. Martha wondered if he'd sound that way to her forever.

"We'll talk about this when you get home. I'll - um - break the news to your father. I want you home by lunchtime."

"Mom, you can't treat me like I'm a little kid any more. Besides, Dad's the one who told Lex all about it. Apparently Dad said I was in love with him - he sang 'Hopelessly Devoted' from 'Grease' or something - I dunno - it was something old. Lex nearly laughed his ass off, describing it. Sorry, Mom. I'd never seen Dad so drunk before."

"Yes," said Martha, feeling thankful Clark hadn't had quality time with his mother last night. "And believe me, we'll be having a little talk about alcohol in this house before very much longer."

What were her chances that he wouldn't be hearing from Chloe? Not good.

"Regardless of who drank what and who said - or sang - what," she continued, "you should be home in your own bed. Your father and I will need to have a very serious talk with you and, I suppose, with Lex."

"Mom. I'm going to college next year. I'm old enough to know what I'm doing. You had sex at college. I know - Dad told me. Shit - sorry, Mom - now he's gonna kill me twice."

Martha laughed into the phone. Her beautiful, beautiful boy.

"Your father and I were very mature when we were at college, Clark. Be home for lunch."

Martha listened to the dial tone for a long time, watching her husband sleep.

4 The evening with thirteen Diet Pepsis

Lana suspected that Lionel Luthor didn't take her seriously as a businessperson. She'd had the facts and figures memorised and even rehearsed her speech. Maybe he was just reluctant to talk business at his son's wedding rehearsal. That was probably it; he must be the sort to keep family and work strictly separate. Even so, he'd been very kind with his tax advice, and didn't seem to think it odd when she'd taken notes.

Mrs Kent had seemed distracted too, though who could help it with such an interesting person as Chloe at her table? But Chloe had her share of dances - even one with the groom himself - and Lana had taken advantage of the disappearance of Chloe and Mr Kent to seek advice from one of the few mother-figures left in her life.

She'd sipped her Diet Pepsi, bouncing a little as she tried to explain her predicament.

"You see, Mrs Kent, first it was my mom and dad. They left me. Well, they died so they couldn't really help it. It's not that I blame them or anything - I just miss them. And then my boyfriend, you remember Whitney, he left me by joining the marines and leaving the country. Then he died. I had Aunt Nell, and I love her very much and I'll always be grateful to her for raising me, but she went off to Metropolis and left me. I kinda found my biological dad but then his wife - I guess she'd be my biological stepmom - warned me that he'd soon lose interest and drop me like a stone. So he kinda left or was going to leave me. So I left him. What did Chloe call it? Oh yeah, pre-emptive leaving. Go Lana, she said. Then I moved in with Chloe and she's my best friend and roommate, but she's going to Metropolis to college next year. So she's gonna leave me. Chloe says I have abandonment issues. She looked it up on the internet. I guess, what I'm asking is, why does everyone leave me? It's not - it's not the hair, is it?"

Martha had reassured her that it wasn't the hair.

Even so, Lana had gone into the ladies' for a quick cry and a brush of her hair. She felt much better afterwards on both counts, and was very happy to find Mrs Kent still on her own, slugging back some pink concoction and looking around the room rather desperately.

Martha clearly wanted company.

"It's not that Clark's left me, exactly," she explained, smoothing a wrinkle in her dress. "Although he's going to college, too, so he's going to leave me. But it's like he leaves me once a week or so. He doesn't turn up for dates, then comes by and gives me a rose. That's sweet but I'd rather have a date on Friday night than a flower the next morning, do you know what I mean? He once hired a limo to take me to a concert and then left me at the first diner we came to on the road. What's that about, do you think?"

"Lana," said Mrs Kent, slowly as if choosing her words carefully, "Clark likes dick."

"I like him too. Do you think I should date him? Yes. I see where you're going with this. Clark's like the guy you can't rely on, dark and a bit mysterious, but never there when you really need him. Don't get me wrong. He saves your life and stuff, but he's not there when it counts - when you're alone on the dance floor with everyone watching because your date has disappeared, and comes back two hours later with some lameass excuse about Lex being in trouble and needing him. I mean, what sort of trouble can a billionaire get into that he can't get out of, right? But Dick, he's not going anywhere. He's sweet, reliable, and gonna stay here and be a farmer just like his dad. I wonder if Chloe likes him? I don't want to date him if she doesn't."

"Lana..."

"I guess I'd better find Chloe and ask her. Thanks a bunch, Mrs Kent. You've been a great help."

Lana leaned over to kiss Martha's cheek. With better makeup and a nicer dress, Mrs Kent could still cut something of a figure. Lana eyed her critically, disappointed when people didn't live up to their potential. If they would only try harder.

Chloe was dancing on her own, swaying to the music, tears sparkling in her wide eyes. She looked devastated and Lana forgot her own troubles at once.

"What is it?" she asked, clasping Chloe's shoulders, moving in synch with her. "What's wrong?"

"I just - I just had a talk with Mrs Kent. About Clark. It was a bit - upsetting."

Lana put her arms around her friend and hugged her tight. "I like Mrs Kent. She's a wonderful woman. But she can be a bit depressing. I was just talking to her too and the things she said - I mean - we're not talking uppers here. Let's face it, the woman would depress Krusty the Clown. Forget about her. Forget about Clark. Who needs him, the big disappearing goofball?"

"Not us," laughed Chloe, though it was almost a sob.

"That's right. Not us."

The music was warm, hanging in the air like a hot southern night. Lana shivered at the feeling of her best friend, pressed against her in all the right places.

"Forget him," she whispered in Chloe's ear.

Such a pretty ear, such nice hair.

"I like your hair."

Chloe giggled and hugged her back.

When the music ended for the night, they were still dancing together, long after everyone else had left. High on Pepsi and life, they'd moved to their own rhythms and ignored the cold moves of the stylish people dancing around them.

"Where'd everyone go?" mumbled Chloe, sounding startled and a little tired at last.

Lex's staff were tidying up and one of them came over when he saw them looking.

"Miss Sullivan, Miss Lang? Mr Luthor left instructions that, when you were ready for bed, I should show you to one of the guest chambers."

"Just one?" asked Chloe, puzzled.

"We don't mind sharing," said Lana, quickly.

There was no way that Chloe was going to leave her. No way at all.

She proved it later with her body, kissing Chloe breathless and making her come again and again, with clever lips and fingers.

An unexpected feeling of contentment was the last thing Lana remembered as she fell asleep for the night.

The morning after can be so awkward. She'd never had any with Clark, suspected he'd never be there when she woke up anyway. Clark spent his life running away from her.

Whitney had liked to cuddle in the morning. Nell was usually unconscious, hung over, or both. She never heard a thing, even if Whitney whistled on his way out of the house. Lana wondered, sometimes, if he'd whistled for some girl overseas. What went through his mind when her tape arrived, telling him she was leaving him? More pre-emptive leaving.

Lana hoped she wasn't getting too good at that.

Chloe was sound asleep and didn't wake for the quick kisses stolen from her lips.

That napkin was still around somewhere, the one she'd scribbled Lionel's tax ideas on to show Lex her business acumen. It's not like he'd have listened anyway.

Lana scratched it out and wrote a note to leave on the pillow, so Chloe wouldn't think she'd been abandoned.

"Gone to get you some breakfast. Love, Lana."

It wasn't poetry but it would be the first thing Chloe saw when she woke up, and she'd know that she was loved.

5 Same evening; eight cokes and four stolen beers

Mom had muttered something sharp about sugar rushes but Clark had drowned the cokes with beer when she wasn't looking, so he was probably all right. He'd sneaked them while the bar staff pretended not to notice. By the time he'd snagged his third beer, Clark was sure that Lex had ordered them to turn a blind eye. So when he went for his fourth, he swaggered up like Whitney to a touchdown and gave them a big, blinding smile. Sure enough, they polished glasses and studiously didn't watch as he palmed a bottle and made off with his prize. Sometimes it was really cool having a relaxed adult for his best friend.

Said best friend, of course, was currently the worst betrayer and biggest asshole in the universe. In the comics that Lex and Ryan loved so much, the hero never abandoned his friends in their hour of peril to go off and marry some rich bitch from Metropolis. Nor did the villains, for that matter.

Clark knew that his feelings were painted by numbers from MTV and his own right hand. His dad had told him so often enough - though not the right hand bit. Clark still shuddered at the memory of that excruciating conversation in the barn, when Jonathan tried to explain the facts of life. Clark, unsure what was alien and what was just gay, had asked haltingly what it meant when you felt hollow inside and itched to be filled up.

Perversely enjoying the look on Jonathan's face, and determined to have no secrets from the man he admired most in all the world, Clark had told his Dad what it was like when your ass felt so - so empty - when you jerked off.

Jonathan had hammered fence posts for hours afterwards, muttering to himself. Then, he'd given Clark his first beer and told his son he'd always love him.

They'd never talked about sex again.

Lex had burst like a supernova on Clark's horizon. He felt the scorching heat of it even now, numbed by beer and misery. He'd prodded and tested, lied and bonded, never slipping far from orbiting the new star in his life. Victoria, Desiree, Helen; the women had come and gone, but Lex remained, all ironic sex and livewire wit. He had speaking eyes. Bedroom eyes. Clark wanted him desperately, pounding his own cock at nights, and talked about Lex and moving to Metropolis. For college, of course.

Then along came Julia. Try as he might, Clark couldn't hate her. She was kind of nice. It was hard to tell what was going on behind her light grey eyes but she didn't talk down to him, didn't query the place of a high school kid in Lex's life, made sure they still had time to hang out. Clark liked her.

She didn't love Lex. Clark knew the signs all too well and she just didn't have them.

"How come you're getting married?" he'd asked at the Talon, over a civilised latte, just the two of them.

"I want what Lex has to offer," Julia replied, seeming to choose her words carefully. "And he wants what I have."

She wasn't talking about money, Clark was sure, and he had no idea what was going on.

"You don't love him," he accused, feeling melodramatic and young.

She smiled and sipped her coffee as if that were an answer.

When Lex joined them, they were chatting about Metropolis frats. Julia's brother could get him into the best.

"I'll look after it," said Lex, cool and challenging. It reminded Clark of the Discovery Channel the night before, and the lioness with her cubs. It was not a heartening image for a man in love. He didn't want Lex to see him as young or in need of protection. Who had to save whose life every second week?

The ballroom was a roar of conversation and music. Clark dodged couples as he headed towards the balcony, where he'd spotted his Dad and Lex having what looked to be a fight. Lionel Luthor was headed that way too. The last thing they needed was a Molotov cocktail of fathers and sons on this night of nights.

Lex Luthor was getting married.

Fuck him.

"Clark."

Julia looked tired. He'd thought this kinda thing would be effortless to a Metropolis society babe but she was showing the strain of it all. She'd grabbed his arm and she didn't usually touch him.

"I am not - I won't..."

Clark was torn. Dads and Lex on a high, narrow ledge versus distressed damsel with a surprisingly strong grip on his arm.

"What's the matter?" he snapped.

Chivalry won out but he could still be brusque.

"Lex's father - it's not worth - I won't - nothing. Where's Lex?"

Clark gestured impatiently with his head and she followed him out into the cool night air. The imposing figure of Lionel Luthor broke them like a wave on shore. Julia backed away and disappeared back into the room. Lionel was in "Grosse Point Blank" mode, looking like a killer with an urbane smile and dead eyes. Clark wondered what had happened to make him so pissed.

He didn't have to look far, with Lex and Dad clowning around and - smoking. They were smoking. Mom was gonna flip.

Lionel shrugged off his restraining grip and Clark let him. He listened to the adults exchange insults for a while and went to stand next to Lex, sneaking his arms around him, holding on tight. There was no stiffening to signal discomfort or a move to escape, although Lex looked unusually pale. His tension was cigar smoke in the air. Lex never smoked.

Clark didn't feel like moving. Lex was drunk and he might never get another chance to just hold him like this, even if the two Dads were mouthing off at each other while Lionel and Lex exchanged veiled sneers. It was like three conversations at once, and the most important one was the things Lex wasn't saying, letting Clark's arms anchor him to the balcony like he was the one who could float.

"You don't know what you want," Lex whispered.

Clark could smell cigars and expensive cologne and the faintest hint of fear sweat. Lex was afraid.

"I wanna suck your cock," said Clark.

What man could say no to that?

It took him by surprise when his Dad went for Lionel's balls, as if he were acting out what Clark wanted to do to Lex. Not that he wanted to punish and hurt, like his angry father, but just to - to smell them. Ball sweat. No sweeter smell on Earth. Clark wanted Lex in a locker room, hot from the shower, sucking his cock while Lex petted his hair and told him how well they'd played the game. It would never happen. Neither of their Dads would let them play football.

He hated it but he had to let go of Lex and save Mr Luthor from his father - or the other way around. Luthor still looked dangerous, though his balls were the ones in a vice.

Even with his speed, held partly in check for his audience, Clark wasn't fast enough to stop Mr Luthor from punching his Dad's lights out and calling him a shit-kicker. With a roar, things seemed to slow down like a game replay. His clenched fist. Shock on Lionel's face. The satisfaction of knuckles on jaw. The slow, slow topple of a tall man to the ground.

And it was real time again. Almost involuntary, Clark looked over his shoulder to Lex for approval.

Lex seemed bemused, looking at the two fathers lying on top of each other in a parody of a romantic tangle.

"It's a kinder anaesthetic than alcohol, Clark. In the long run."

Sometimes he didn't understand the things Lex said.

"I'm going to find your mom. Wait here."

Lex touched his shoulder on the way past, a quick clasp, like an approving coach.

"I can't get football out of my head tonight," he told the empty air.

Must be his locker room fantasy. Lex all sweaty and mussed. Hot sex in the showers. His cock in Lex. Lex fucking him hard. Both of them exhausted, getting dressed, hanging with fans at the after-match party and seeing only each other.

Sap.

Lex was getting married.

So why did his cock get hard when Clark held him?

Clark bent over his Dad and rearranged him vaguely, trying to make the unconscious man more comfortable. He was careful with Mr Luthor too, though he probably didn't deserve it.

Jonathan groaned and opened his eyes. Knuckled Clark's face gently. "Hey, kiddo. Don't tell your mom - but - I think I may have had a bit too much to - ya know - drink."

Jonathan's stage whisper was very loud.

"It's okay, Dad."

Jonathan's smile was bleary but real. "When did you get to be so grown up?"

"Dad..."

"Don't tell Grainger but I think Luthor hit me. Son, don't - don't cry. Shit."

"I'm not crying," said Clark. He didn't know what his father was seeing when he looked at him.

"We won't remember this in the morning," said Dad, flatly. "Lex isn't the one for you, son. You deserve someone who's - real."

"Lex is real, Dad," he replied, forgetting his dad's own rule about never arguing with drunks. "I don't think you see too good."

"Twenty/twenty," said Jonathan proudly, though it came out slurred and sounding like 'twunny'.

"Lex is gonna get married," said Clark, futilely, since his dad seemed to have passed out again, "and I'm gonna move on. It'll stop hurting - in twenty years or so. In the meantime, I'm gonna be a journalist and show the world itself. Can you understand that? I don't think it's what you wanted for me but that's what I'm gonna do."

It was easy to say these things to Dad when he was unconscious.

"Clark. Let me see him."

He moved aside for his mom and Lex, cheeks burning, hoping they'd been too far away to hear him. Shit. He hadn't heard them, had he?

So why was Lex holding hands with him? Fingers twined, looking innocent, an expression of polite concern on his face as Mom checked out his dad. Jonathan was awake again and took some of his own weight when Clark hauled him to his feet.

"Let's get him home," said Mom, eyes for no one but her husband.

That was cool. Clark knew what love was all about just from knowing her. Them.

They helped Jonathan through the ballroom, arms around him like casual companions, Lex's people crowding in to conceal them from curious eyes. Clark appreciated that. Dad would hate this story getting around.

Lex's limo was waiting at the front entrance of the castle and Clark poured Dad into the backseat. Mom scrambled in beside him and she didn't seem to notice that they drove off without Clark, one of Lex's staff at the wheel.

A crunch of tires on gravel and they were gone. Clark watched the back of the limo disappear in the distance, wondering if this was what it was like to be felt up. Lex's hands were everywhere, much friendlier than his cool, unsmiling face.

"Lex?"

"Let's take a walk, Clark."

That hand on his ass was his new best friend.

The Japanese garden was dimly lit, with water on stone making strange patterns in the half-light. The castle loomed behind them like a friendly monster, bright with light from a hundred windows. Shouts of distant laughter and the dull thud of party music seemed far away, but too close to escape entirely.

"No more waltzing?"

"The young people music has started." Lex's smile was self-mocking. Clark liked it anyway.

"We can still waltz if you'd like."

Clark's heart beat in time to a music only he could hear. He wanted to take Lex in his arms and make him dance, to use his strength to break the impasse between them and force Lex to love him.

It would never work. Otherwise, he might have shed a lifetime of Jonathan Kent and tried it.

"Clark."

Gentle fingers on his face, tracing his cheeks and lips. It felt like goodbye.

"Are you even gonna try?" he asked, not wanting to sound desperate and knowing that he did.

"Yes."

Clark almost mistook the whisper for a kiss, they were standing so close.

And then he discovered the difference, when Lex kissed him long and hard. Lips and tongues pressed together like fighting, but no hurting, only pleasure.

"Lex."

He breathed the name into Lex's mouth, over and over again. His hands were roaming up and down Lex's body, without conscious thought. He had four of his shirt buttons undone before he realised what he was doing.

Lex pulled back, straightening his shirt, amused and sophisticated but flushed for all that.

"We're not going to fuck in a garden, Clark."

"Yes we are."

Clark couldn't wait another minute. He was hard and shaking, scared that Lex would change his mind, that a five minute walk would remind his friend of marriage and obligations, that a bed with lube and condoms would scare himself half to death.

He buried his face in Lex's chest, inhaling deeply, tasting his exposed nipples and chewing them. Hard. Surreptitiously, he eased more buttons out of their pesky holes.

Lex groaned. His hand in Clark's hair wasn't pushing him away. Clark sucked harder, pretending this small piece of Lex was his cock. It made Clark so hard that he humped Lex's leg, not worried about grace or skill. He wanted to get off. Now.

Lex's grip on his hair changed, firmed, pushing him down. Clarks' tongue traced a line down Lex's smooth, firm stomach. It knew where it was going, vibrating with excitement. Somehow, Lex's pants were already down around his ankles and Clark didn't remember doing that, didn't know if he had. Didn't care either. The way was clear for his tongue to lap the sweat from Lex's balls, to wet his pristine white briefs till they were see-through. He swallowed Lex, underwear and all, sucking cock and silk down his throat till he choked.

Lex pushed him back, batting his head away. He looked up at Lex in confusion.

The smile that greeted him was astonishing. He'd never seen anything so raw on Lex's face. His cock jumped in answer, pushing against the suit Lex'd bought him for the wedding. It was ruined now, his knees in the dirt, traces of Lex on his face and shirt. Lex leaned over, slowly, that smile getting ever closer till it was all that Clark could see.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Lex always kept his promises.

The kiss was long and wet, like they wanted to swallow each other.

When Lex stood up again, his smile was a shit-eating grin. Clark took a hold of his expensive briefs and ripped them like rice paper. He screwed them up with shaking fingers and put them in his pocket, a secret to bring out later and hide in his box with his other treasures.

Lex's cock was the first he'd seen up close, apart from his own. It was thick and heavy, with a large, glistening head. He wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything, even to go home, to find his "real" parents and know who he was. This was who he was. Here, on his knees in the Japanese Garden, he was the man who was sucking Lex Luthor's cock. And doing it well, if the excited moans above him were for real.

The taste was strange and salty but the connection was buzzing his balls. He had Lex in his mouth. Lex. It didn't matter that it was hard work and he couldn't take it all on his first go. It was Lex and he was sucking Lex's cock and it was the best thing that had ever happened. The texture was smooth in places, ribbed in others. The head was spongy but firm, and he found that he could wrap his tongue around it. That he could scrape the head with his tongue and massage the rest with his throat and that Lex would whimper. Cry out like a wounded thing. Grip his head and pound his throat, fucking him now, making him take it like a bitch.

Clark's cock was shaking in his pants like a live thing. The blood beat in his veins in time with the hot, pounding of his throat. His vision went black as Lex cut off his air, thrusting deep, so that they were crammed together in a dark garden with a cock so far in him that Clark felt it a knife in his gullet.

"Clark."

He could hear his name being shouted over the roaring in his ears.

"Clark."

Lex's cock jumped in his throat, taking his screams and everything else, fucking him hard. Hot, fast pulses deep inside him and Lex was coming, holding his head, making Clark swallow it. There were tremors on his tongue, like on the ones in his balls, and Clark opened his eyes to look up, up, and see what Lex looked like, head thrown back, shouting his name.

"Clark."

The final time, it was almost a whisper.

He'd never seen this face on Lex before. Totally abandoned. Maybe happy. Clark only looked for a second before returning to the mystery in his mouth, licking it clean, kissing it over and over before Lex finally groaned and had to push him away.

"Your turn."

Lex's fingers were rude as they hauled Clark to his feet and at the same time snaked inside his pants. Clark held his breath, nervous, still tasting Lex and wanting to do it again. His suit pants peeled away like cheap cotton and they both looked down at Clark's cock, lolling satisfied in a slick of drying come.

"You already..."

"Twice," admitted Clark.

"Just from having me in your mouth."

"Yeah."

It didn't take his nod to make Lex smile like Clark was a million dollar rebate.

Lex stroked him for a while, fondling his cock, mauling it with possessive fingers. When it started to harden, he laughed and choked out some crack about teenage stamina. Clark amused himself with Lex's ass, stroking it, feeling up his ribs and torso, exploring him with lips and fingers.

"Let's go inside," said Lex at last, when even Clark was starting to feel the autumn chill.

They didn't, though, wandering over to the pagoda to sit and watch the stars. Lex curled his arms around Clark. It was peaceful, the distant sounds of the party a world away. Clark let his head settle on Lex's shoulder.

"You stink of come," said Lex. He couldn't have sounded prouder if he'd invented the computer. "My come. Mine."

"You silver-tongued Luthor, " replied Clark, sleepily, licking the drying fluid from his lips.

"I want you. And more than just tonight." Soft, serious, the businessman close to clinching a deal.

"It's complicated," said Clark, feeling it was the least complicated thing in the world.

"Yes. My fiance, your father, my father, your mother, Mr Ross..."

"What's Pete got to do with it?"

"No. Mr Ross."

Lex pointed to a shadowy figure in the water garden.

"He seems to be relieving himself in my Japanese Garden."

"Oh."

They watched Pete amble over, smelling like a Metropolis wino on a bender.

"Hey guys. Whatcha doin?"

"Clark, please tell me that your underage friends haven't been drinking at my wedding rehearsal."

"Okay. Lex, my underage friends haven't been drinking at your wedding rehearsal."

"Thanks, Clark."

"What's up?" asked Pete, squeezing in to sit beside them on the bench, with the friendly smiles of way too much beer.

"Clark and I were just enjoying a peaceful tete-a-tete."

"You talk like a book," said Pete. "I don't like that."

"There's not much about me that you do like, is there, Mr Ross?"

Pete threw a floppy arm around Lex's stiff shoulder. "I like it when you make Clark happy."

Clark was dumbfounded. He'd been so careful to keep this secret from Pete, who knew all the others.

"Do I make him happy?"

There was no answer. Pete had nodded off and Clark started to laugh, fighting to suppress it, shaking against Lex like a volcano about to blow.

Lex's answering grin was pure malice. "Let's get back to the house."

"We can't leave him here," said Clark, but he wasn't very sure about it.

"It's warm enough. He won't freeze and the experience of waking up here will do him good."

"We're not leaving him here," repeated Clark, hoisting a sleepily protesting Pete to his feet.

Lex followed them to the house, hands in pockets. Each time Clark looked back, he was wearing a sardonic smile that made his cock wake up and get interested again. Clark's dirty knees and dishevelled look would be blamed on entirely the wrong miscreant, as he helped his drunk friend up the steps to the main doors.

"Is everything all right?" asked Lex's butler, a muscular man who looked more bodyguard than servitor. He took Pete easily, as if he weighed nothing, and looked as if he knew what to do.

"Put him to bed and let him sleep it off," said Lex, his hand suddenly hard in the small of Clark's back. "I'll take Clark upstairs, see if I've got a change of clothes for him. Where are the other guests?"

"Miss Monro and her father have left for Metropolis. Your other guests have either departed or retired for the night. No one has seen Mr Luthor for some time."

"Fine. We'll have breakfast in the ballroom tomorrow. Please set it up."

"In the ballroom, sir?"

"Yes. Oh, and don't forget to look the door out onto the ballroom balcony. It was open earlier and we don't want anyone breaking in during the night."

"Of course, sir."

Clark marvelled how easy it was for Lex to give orders. Clark always felt embarrassed and apologetic if he had to do it.

"Coming, Clark?"

Lex led him up the stairs to his suite of rooms, where Clark knew that a very big bed was waiting for them. He wondered if Lex would fuck him. Or if he would fuck Lex. Things didn't seem as easy as they had in the garden.

"Don't worry," said Lex, as if reading his mind. He guessed his body language was fairly obvious.

"This is the hard part, where you find out that I kick like a demon and snore loudly all night."

"I - um - I might float."

"Ah. Well. That certainly beats kicking, unless you do that as well."

"No. I've shared with Pete when we go camping. He never said anything."

Clark stripped off his clothes, feeling shy and grubby, and climbed into the intimidating bed. Lex sprawled in an armchair and watched him strip, smiling faintly, amused but for the hot hot eyes. Those told a different story. Clark knew that he had to go first. That Lex wanted to watch.

"You're beautiful," murmured Lex. "I hope you know that, Clark."

"I like the way you say my name. Um. Are you taking your clothes off anytime soon?"

"I like it when you're naked and I'm not."

Ah. Some people had stranger secrets.

"I want to fuck you with my pants on. May I?"

So careful, so polite, so fucking sexy.

"Yes." Clark's voice sounded small, even to him.

Lex smiled. "Maybe tomorrow. You're tired. Are you sure you don't want to go home?"

"I want to stay here. With you." Always, he didn't add.

"Okay."

Lex shrugged out of his shirt, already unbuttoned from Clark's explorations in the garden. His skin was pale, smooth, hairless. Flawless like his head, the whole of him beautiful.

"Wow."

Lex was trying not to grin and losing the fight. He made a production getting out of his pants, showing off for Clark.

"I want inside that ass."

Clark felt the triumph of making Lex laugh out loud. "Clark, did you know that the best way to wake up is with a hard dick in your ass?"

"Is that a hint?"

"I think you know," said Lex, as he slid into bed next to Clark.

It could have been awkward but wasn't. Clark tried not to breathe too loudly when Lex turned off the light. The dark silence made him feel as old as Lex, as sure of himself and what he wanted. He let out a long, slow sigh when Lex settled against him. At first it was a hand on his arm, then a hip next to his. A connection when he needed it badly.

"I want you to know," whispered Lex in the dark, "I'm not taking this lightly. I don't take you lightly, Clark."

"I know."

He covered Lex's hand with his own and dozed off to the gentle music of old stones, creaking as they settled slowly in a new land.

6 Breakfast: tea, coffee, or brandy

Lex's cook had produced enough bacon, eggs, toast, mushrooms, hash browns, tomatoes, pancakes, fresh fruit and assorted breakfast foods to satisfy half of Smallville. Which was just as well. Surveying his table with a jaundiced eye, it seemed to Lex that the whole damn town was there, talking too loudly and hogging the coffee.

"Clark, does Chloe like bacon?" asked Lana.

Clark was seated next to Lex, buttering toast calmly as if he hadn't lost his virginity the night before. Lex shivered, remembering, and sipped his coffee slowly. It was hot in his mouth, like Clark had been, when he'd woken the boy with an early morning blowjob. Clark had moaned, trying not to thrash around, but in the end he had to start thrusting, to hold Lex down, to give it to him good.

Lex smiled and watched Clark eat his breakfast.

"You've been living with Lana for months," said Clark, gulping the glass of milk that Lex's cook knew to serve by the jug whenever he visited. "How can you not know whether she likes bacon?"

"I don't know," said Lana, vaguely but with a hint of desperation. "I thought she might be - a vegetarian or something?"

Clark looked down at the hand creeping up his thigh. Lex nodded politely and retrieved it to pour him more milk. If he was lucky, Clark would guzzle it fast as usual, his throat working.

"Lana is not a vegetarian," said Clark. "At least, I don't think so. She wasn't last week."

Lex supposed that he could get used to awkward honesty. Would like more of it from Clark, actually.

"It is very uncivilised to eat breakfast in a ballroom," said Lionel, helping himself to more eggs.

"Yes, indeed," replied Lex politely. "Or to eat it in yesterday's clothes."

Lionel subsided like a pricked balloon but Lex knew it wouldn't last long. He just wanted to get everyone out of his house and Clark safely out of the way before Big Daddy started dripping venom again.

They were a motley bunch, with Clark chugging milk and Lana wringing her hands and piling a plate with enough food for ten Chloes. His dad was having a ball inflicting his street bum impersonation on people who didn't matter to him. Pete had just wandered in, unremarked, and was helping himself to pancakes and fresh fruit as if he hadn't drunk his own body weight in free beer the night before.

"Hey, Lex, did you know you have a ghost?"

"Pete," said Clark, with excitement that might or might not be real. "You saw the ghost? Did it get into bed with you?"

"No!" yelped Pete. "What kinda ghosts you got in this place? Nah, this one was wandering outside, wailing and moaning. Well, moaning anyway. It woke me up. I looked out the window and there it was, ugly and groaning with all this weird hair sticking up like it died with its finger in a socket. Spooky."

"Ah," said Lex, "You had the Blue Room, the one above this one. Did you actually see it move?"

"I think it was trying to climb the wall and get in my window, so I kinda threw something at it."

"Chamber pot," muttered Lionel. His lips twitched.

Lex and his father shared their first belly laugh in years. Lionel did everything on a grand scale. The others watched amazed but Lex just couldn't seem to stop laughing.

Clark looked confused but happy, enjoying the sudden relaxation of tension. Chloe arrived at the end of it, making her way over to Lana and giving her a quick hug. Clark didn't seem to notice it but Lex felt more than usually satisfied at the closure of one of his deals. Clark was sure to catch the kiss, though, just a quick peck on the lips before Chloe relieved Lana of her plate and started spooning tomatoes back into their dish.

It wasn't often that he got to enjoy a look of pure astonishment on Clark's face.

"Um, Chloe..."

"Did you sleep well, Miss Sullivan?" Lex inquired urbanely, cutting Clark off and kicking him lightly under the table. Clark shot him a confused glance but must've decided it was foreplay, as his bare toes started to stroke their way up Lex's calf.

"Great, thanks," said Chloe. Just the faintest of blushes as she returned multiple rashers of bacon, smiling at Lana all the while.

"I slept like a log," volunteered Pete. "You got great beds in this place. I'll give you that."

"Thanks."

Lex was about to pour another cup of coffee and actually consider eating something when a low boom heralded the arrival of another tornado in his house, or...

The ballroom doors swung open to admit a loudly arguing trio, voices raised and gesticulating like crazy. Martha Kent brought up the rear, smiling apologetically at everyone in the room.

"Martha," said Lionel, obviously mortified to have her see him in his current state, and trying too hard to carry it off, "I didn't send for you, did I?"

Any answer she might have made was swallowed in the loud shouting of her husband, and a florid senator, not to mention the latter's irate daughter.

"Julia, Senator, what a delightful surprise. I understood you'd gone back to Metropolis."

Lex's sarcasm was wasted in the general hubbub and he settled back, curious to see how this little scene would unfold for his entertainment. So long as Clark didn't get hurt, he was willing to let the chips fall where they would. Not that he wanted to hurt Julia, either, but he wasn't sure yet what role she wanted him to play today in their usually carefully choreographed drama.

Lionel was sneaking some brandy from his hip flask while he thought no one was watching. Hadn't he worked out by now that Lex was always watching?

"Clark!" roared Jonathan, seeming to notice his son for the first time as he calmly ate his breakfast.

"Hey, Dad. I hope you're feeling better this morning?"

Oh, good one, Clark. The look of shame flooded Jonathan like a tidal wave of blood and disarmed him in the first strike.

Lionel unwittingly provided a secondary target at the same moment, inquiring politely after Jonathan's jaw.

"Feels like some asshole slugged me," said Jonathan, his attention shifting to Lionel.

"Jonathan," said Martha, firmly, pulling him back and leaving an opening for the hyperventilating senator. Monro pushed his way forward and tried to get in Lex's face, putting himself politician-like at centre stage.

"Luthor, what's this I hear about you spending the night with some - some fag boy?"

Lex was on his feet almost before he knew it. "You will never, ever say that again," he said coldly.

"Of course he won't," said Julia. Her voice was light and pleasant as always but it was interesting to see her father subside at once. "But I think I'm entitled to an explanation, Lex."

Those were almost exactly Clark's words in bed that morning, his come still drying on Lex's lips.

"What's going on, Lex?"

Lex didn't pretend to misunderstand.

"Don't confuse marriage and love, Clark. Julia's going to be very useful to me. She'll be an ornament on my arm and a superb politician's wife."

"Shit, Lex. Do those ideas come with the castle?"

Lex gave him a big bad smirk. "Don't get me wrong. I like her and we're compatible - sexually. More important, Monro Enterprises has overseas interests that even my father doesn't know about. The good senator practically owns a small African nation and has others almost in his pocket. Big business rules the world, Clark. And I plan to be the only American president who's also Secretary General of the UN. I'm going to transform that moribund collection of blowhards into a world government."

"Dad was right. You are the antichrist."

"That's kind of him to say, Clark, but I think it's giving me a bit much credit, even for him."

Clark grinned knowingly and gave Lex's balls a short, sharp tug.

"So what's the real reason you're marrying her? As opposed to going into business with her, which doesn't have to include sex and a ring. I'm not dumb, Lex. There's any number of ways you could take over Monro's companies, secret or not. Which isn't to say that I approve of world domination and a trophy wife. C'mon. You think that hanging out with Chloe doesn't affect a guy?"

No matter how often Lex thought he had Clark pegged, the boy could still surprise him. He was a bit more - perceptive - than was going to be comfortable in Lex Luthor's fuck buddy. Boyfriend. Lover. Whatever.

"She's - don't laugh at this Clark - the woman's a literary genius. Every quote Dad can come up with, she fires out the next line and then tops it with something better. She corrects his grammar. She points out historical inaccuracies in his life lessons. Julia drives him absolutely crazy. We went to his place for dinner and I just happened to have Trivial Pursuit in my car."

"You never go anywhere without it," agreed Clark, nodding gravely.

"She whipped his ass, Clark. That's the difference between someone who's useful and someone you want to stick around for a few years."

Clark's chest was crying out to be licked so that put an end to the conversation for a few minutes. Busy fingers kneaded Lex's shoulders as he kissed and licked his way up Clark's throat to his sweet sweet lips.

"So. Rich. Good in bed. Owns half of Africa. Breaks your dad's balls. That's it?"

"You make it sound so sordid," complained Lex. "It's all really very reasonable."

"I want you to fuck me," whispered Clark into Lex's mouth.

"Now that's reasonable."

"What do you mean, 'a few years'?"

"Julia was going to be my first wife, Clark."

Clark whimpered as Lex's fingers got busy. "That's so cold blooded for someone so - hot."

"Julia knows the score, Clark. She's using me, too. An equal partnership for mutual gain, with termination date to be negotiated."

It was strange to talk about his future wife with Clark's dick in his hand. Even stranger, Clark's grin was bigger than his long, fat dick.

"You're full of shit, Lex. You said she was gonna be your wife. Full. Of. Shit."

"Such language, from Jonathan Kent's boy. I may have said 'was'. Not really paying attention here."

Clark just lay back on soft pillows and continued to perform The Grin. The shit-eating, canary-eating, everything-eating grin. Lex tried not to let it tug an answer from his own lips, and set about the serious business of fucking Clark into next week.

"We're not going to have the clich where you return the ring and storm out, are we?" inquired Lex, politely, signalling his butler to bring more food.

"I could eat," shrugged Julia, taking a seat next to Pete, who obligingly started to spoon fresh fruit onto a plate for her. Lex watched her eyeing expanses of bare Ross skin, as Pete's t-shirt rode up. When he leaned over to steal the milk from Clark, she ogled his ass as well.

Lex tried not to laugh out loud at her expression.

"What?" she asked, Pete forking eggs into his mouth, oblivious to their scrutiny. "Sauce for the goose, my dear Lex - and don't try to pretend you know where that comes from, Lionel."

Jonathan muttered an expletive and something about being happy to kill gooses and their damn golden eggs, but didn't object when Martha steered him to a chair and sat him down.

"Coffee?" she asked.

Lionel gave Jonathan a friendly wave. "As the father of the underage fag boy in question - put that knife down, Lex, and I won't besmirch your boyfriend's honour - I was wondering what your view of the situation is?"

"I'm seventeen," said Clark, looking every inch the man who'd fucked Lex Luthor's ass twice before breakfast. He met everyone's eyes that tried to stare him down, including Jonathan's.

"I'm going to college in a few months. I'm old enough to know exactly what - and who - I'm gonna do."

"I told you he'd be doing the doing," whispered Jonathan to his wife, proudly, presumably unaware that Lex and the whole table could hear him.

Jonathan's public voice was gravel on gravel, harsh and grating. "You're still a boy in the eyes of the law, Clark - gay-wise, anyway, though you can - girls - not the point, you're still my son and Lex Luthor is nothing but a - a seducer."

This was too much for Lionel. "Been reading your wife's romance novels, Kent? That apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Jonathan was reduced to speechless rage, though whether by Lionel's theft of his favourite saw or Martha's screech of surprised laughter, it was hard to say.

"Mr Kent," said Lex, "I want to talk with you, Clark, and Mrs Kent about this, in private after breakfast. I'm willing to accept whatever rules and constraints you set down."

"I'm not," snapped Clark, looking outraged, a ring of milk around his lips.

Lex smiled at him ruefully. His very own debauched guardian angel.

"I am willing," he repeated, "to accept any rules and constraints that you feel necessary. But understand this. Clark and I will be together, whether anyone at this table has a problem with it or not."

"I want a seat on the LexCorp board," said Julia, helping herself to a sliver of bacon from Pete's plate. "And I want to be your running mate when you go for the Big One."

"You wanna pancake?" asked Pete. "What's the Big One?"

"If you don't know by now, Pete..."

Clark's grin was so dirty it could get him arrested in Sodom. Lex watched him fondle himself and was grateful no one else could see it. He would seriously have to kill them if they did. A bead of sweat formed on his upper lip and Clark leaned over to lick it off.

"Clark Kent!"

Martha's explosion was followed by an after-shock of babble that washed over Lex. He kissed Clark twice, once to stake his claim and the second with tongue, because the first was so good.

"Sorry, Mom."

Clark didn't look sorry at all. He did look a bit daunted by the general outcry.

The senator's bellow was loudest. "Things are not right here. My daughter is supposed to be getting married, not making up to some schoolboy who is not going to go down well with my constituents. Her groom is not supposed to be kissing other men and fondling them at breakfast. A respected businessman is not supposed to stink like a sewer and sit down to breakfast in last night's clothes. I am a United States senator and I want to know who's responsible for all of this."

Clark winked at Lex and pointed at the man pouring coffee.

"The butler did it," he proclaimed.

Into the sudden silence, he added, "Hey. It just felt like that big scene, you know, where you gather everyone together in the drawing room and reveal the criminal mastermind."

Lex's smile was for Clark alone. "I thought that was me."

The butler poured coffee reproachfully.

Lionel barked with delighted laughter. "Lex, this is the biggest mistake you've ever made. You persist with this foolishness and I'll have LexCorp again within twenty-four hours. That's not a warning, since I like you to have your little diversions. It's a promise. And Luthors do not stink like sewers. We are the standard of what is acceptable."

"LexCorp has new backers now," said Julia.

Her eyes were on Pete, promising to take his virginity. He looked distinctly interested, when he wasn't glaring at her father.

"I haven't enjoyed breakfast so much in years," said Lex, smiling winningly at everyone.

"Me, neither, son."

Jonathan seemed ready to commit murder, despite the way Martha kept shovelling toast and eggs into his mouth.

"Luthor!" he roared.

"Yes?" Father and son answered together without missing a beat.

"I want the monkey, not the organ grinder," said Jonathan, stabbing the air in Lex's direction.

"Oh, that was a good one," said Julia, appreciatively, but her eyes were still locked on Pete. "So, this town have any sights? I haven't seen much more than Lex's bedroom."

Pete gaped at her and Clark's hand on Lex's arm was suddenly punishing.

"Is that right?" he ground out.

Lex set his coffee down on the table and ignored what must be a growing bruise on his arm.

"Clark, Mr and Mrs Kent, let's go to my library.

"Chloe, you and Lana are welcome to stay as long as you want.

"Senator, I have one word for you; Julia.

"Julia, make sure my father doesn't commit any historical faux pas before he leaves.

"Dad, see you in Metropolis, where the new vice-president of LexCorp will be pleased to explain to you how she bought out LuthorCorp's shares last night while you were locked on the balcony without a phone.

"And Pete, she has this sensitive spot, right behind - ouch - all right, Clark, point taken."

Lex surveyed his stunned audience and smiled broadly at them all. He planted a hand in the small of Clark's back and steered him out towards the library and the rest of their lives.

Some days, it was just so damn good to be a Luthor.

The End