Vengeance is a Dish Best Served Cold
Mistress Ace

The cloying sweetness of all this was enough to sour any man's palate. A dartboard, a hammock, an old couch, a desk, a handmade quilt laid carefully over said couch, obviously smoothed into place by a mother's loving hands. Not the place he'd expected given the Kent boy's closeness to Lex, clearly not the place he would have expected given Clark Kent's... uniqueness.

Had this place actually belonged to Lex, then the evidence he sought would have been so much easier to find. Lex had never been tidy about his little lairs. There would have been used condoms and needles and unusual toys scattered everywhere if this loft had been under Lex's control.

No, this was a place he would have expected from Martha Kent. Neat and tidy, everything had a place and was in its place. Which was one of the reasons why he regretted the loss of her as his assistant. That and the fact that he hadn't had a chance to bed her, to find out if she could rouse the same passion between the sheets that she'd evidenced in the boardroom.

The first few times he'd seen her, she'd impressed him. Well, perhaps not the very first, given they'd met during the meteor shower and at that time his only concern had been the battered body of his first-born child. Nor had he noticed her much during the crisis at the plant last year. Again, he'd been understandably distracted by other events unfolding around them.

But when she'd become his assistant, his right hand as it were, and his sight had chosen to return, then he'd been able to study her at length. She was a lovely creature, true red hair and the pale skin that went with it, so like his beloved Lillian. He'd wanted to seduce her away from that dullard, Jonathan Kent, for her own sake and not just because he was fascinated by her boy.

Martha Kent, nee Clark, would have been an acceptable replacement for Lillian. He was not so old that a second wife was out of the question. Besides, Lex already loved her, and not in a carnal fashion for once, so therefore the battle with his son over a maternal substitute would have been half won.

A few more weeks under his influence and that ill-fated brat her bucolic moron of a husband had been able to, surprisingly enough after so many years, implant in her would have been his instead. Had Lex's plot to bug his office not blown itself so spectacularly out of proportion, one Martha Kent would have assuredly spent the evening of her last wedding anniversary with the second wealthiest man in America riding between her lovely thighs.

Lex always did have the worst timing.

And speaking of time, wasn't it actually past time to target Wayne Industries again? Breaking apart that massive conglomerate was the only way to change his title from second wealthiest to first.

Pity Lex had been so unwilling to whore himself where Wayne was concerned. After all, they were the closest of companions at Old Excelsior and Wayne was most definitely of the persuasion. Thomas' boy was dark and large and pretty as well - all attributes which were foremost in his son's lexicon of how to choose a lover.

Unfortunately, Wayne became their Rubicon. He was the ultimate reason for the largest rift between himself and his rebellious son. In fact, Lex's stubborn refusal to use his exotic but undeniable attractiveness to ensnare the intractable Bruce Wayne had led his son into this rustic exile.

Ah, Eureka. Martha had not been quite so thorough in her cleaning efforts after all. Or perhaps it was young Mr. Kent who kept this space in its state of tidiness because no assistant of his would be quite so careless.

Time to add to his ever-growing collection.

Dr. Bryce, his newest daughter-in-law, and when he finally caught up with her again, most assuredly the new head of his genetics division had been quite forthcoming with her treasures. Currently, he had in his possession a vial of blood and the key to Lex's obsessive little shrine. She'd managed to pass said key to him before going through with marrying and killing his first-born son. It was a very good thing he had another one waiting in the wings or Dr. Bryce would have earned his enmity, rather than his gratitude.

Lex was far too hard to control. Lucas would be simpler.

All it took with him was money

Besides, Lucas was just as fascinated with Clark Kent as he, Lionel, was. Although he suspected Lucas' interest was not a scientific one. But neither, apparently, had been Lex's. Sweet-faced, fractious Lex, too wound up in his emotions to look beyond lust and see the infinite possibilities contained within one, although admittedly, beautiful boy.

Ah, well, he digressed. No use in crying over split milk, or blood for that matter. Not when he had this to contemplate.

On the underside of one overturned couch cushion was a very familiar stain. A long streak of yellowish debris, something he'd found many times in Lex's old haunts. It was ancient and very dry but there was more than enough to gather a decent specimen. As he flaked the desiccated matter off the cushion, the faint scent it gave off was not the usual one of brine but instead smelled vaguely of citrus.

Curious.

However, everything about young Mr. Kent was curious.

Case in point, the darker marks that flanked the one he was studiously scraping in an unstoppered vial. They looked like friction burns, the fibers of the cushion melted and fused as if they'd been subjected to incredible heat. Interesting, but given what he'd already surmised about Clark Kent, not entirely surprising.

Nor were the faint scorches on the opposite wall, the one in a direct line of sight from where he crouched. It was easy to imagine the scene; a long, lean back, Kent raised up on his elbows, ubiquitous jeans probably pooled somewhere around his knees for a quick pull up into decency should his parents or others attempt to interrupt his idyll. Sweat prickling on his brow, full lower lip caught between his teeth, lean hips moving, firm buttocks tightening with each inward push.

The body he'd studied on the mansion's surveillance tapes, the one he'd watched Lex cavort with, albeit in a strictly platonic fashion, in the mansion's pool; under that magnificent frame would be the prize. Long and hard with the foreskin tucked back - bless Lex for being thorough enough to install a camera in the pool's changing room - the sensitive head skimming along the slightly rough fabric, tucked in between the cushions and as his passion and need rose, shoved in even further while he rocked and rolled his hips and practiced what would eventually become his carnal style once he obtained an animate partner. Fingers curled tight over the couch's arm and yes, there were corresponding indentations in the wood frame in the exact spot he'd envisioned.

Further sweat trickling down his spine, little droplets enticing a kiss from anyone fortunate enough to witness such a spectacular display of onanism. Angelic face contorted with the beginning throes of ecstasy and even he was not unmoved by the fantasy he'd created in his mind.

Lionel cupped a hand around his rebellious compatriot, soothing it with a stroke or two and a promise of later as he investigated the remainder of the couch. There was indeed a matching stain on the body below and therefore even more evidence ready to be scraped into the vial he still held.

Breath caught in a tightened throat, bronze and pale moving faster and faster until satisfaction was achieved in a blaze of heat and sweat and in Mr. Kent's case, actual flames. Then limbs loosening, minor fire extinguished with a breath or two and that body coming to rest in a haze of soporific contentment.

Yes, quite the attractive picture. Perhaps he'd demand a replay once Clark Kent was safely restrained and in his possession. He could stand the entertainment.

Ah, but what was this? Very interesting. Apparently Mr. Kent was not as solitary as previously surmised.

He dug between bottom and back and pulled at the edge of the item that caught his attention. Old and used and, much like the stain he'd been contemplating, dried almost beyond recognition. Lionel drew it out into the light, his smile deepening.

Tied off at one end and stuffed into the body of the couch. So like a young man, embarrassed by the products of his own body. The contents were mummified but again, more than enough to produce a result. Upon closer examination, Lionel spotted the faintest of dark smears on the condom's exterior which served to confirm his suspicions. All that remained was to determine if the effluvium within belonged to young Mr. Kent; his constant companion, the rather irritating Mr. Ross; or his own dearly departed son.

A creak below caught his attention. Someone else was within the building. Swiftly, he tucked his new talisman away along with the now stoppered vial in the depths of his coat. As the shuffled sounds grew nearer and nearer and feet mounted the steps, Lionel drew back into the shadows to observe the intruder.

"Clark, Clark, are you up there?" Optimistic and light, more friendly than he would have suspected given her earlier animosity. But almost immediately after their pact had been sealed, young Mr. Kent had blown town in the aftermath of Martha's injury and the curious explosion which left Kent Farms with an enormous crater just south of the structure he now occupied. In his wake, he'd left behind a grieving Ms. Lang and thereby proved his infatuation with Nell Potter's niece was not as deep as all indications prior.

As anticipated after such a precipitous desertion of her rival, Ms. Sullivan remained softer on Clark Kent than she let on. Ah, the follies of young girls. They never saw what was right in front of their face. Especially when it involved matters of the heart, or in this case, something much lower. "Clark, please be up there."

The afternoon sun hit her hair as she mounted the last step, granting her the illusion of a halo. That, combined with the hopeful smile on her face and she could easily have graced a Botticelli painting. Lovely, as lovely as well... most of the inhabitants of this town.

It must be something in the water.

"Sadly, no, Ms. Sullivan," Lionel emerged from the shadows, gliding purposefully into the light. He watched her face fall and then reassemble into a smile that he'd seen many times in the mirror. Such a clever, clever child. It was hard to believe she'd sprung from that buffoon, Gabriel Sullivan.

"Mr. Luthor, it's good to see you. I have some more information." Thin shoulders set firmly to make herself look broader and really, was there anything so precious as a little girl who was in way over her head but still able to put a brave face on it?

He suspected not.

Give her a few years and Chloe Sullivan would be a force to be reckoned with. If she remained under his wing, a network anchor position would not be out of the question, she was certainly pretty enough. And the only person she'd have to sleep with to get there would be him.

Not a bad proposition at all. A promising career, a rich man who could keep her well. She was certainly of more interest than the vapid little princess who'd sparked Kent's attention.

But he'd need to wait a few years. At least until she was out from underneath Gabe's roof. Perhaps, he could push her into an accelerated class schedule, an early graduation, a full scholarship to somewhere far away from her father. Gotham, he had some pull there and once she was out on her own, he could play easily on her undeveloped personality and lead her from hearth and home directly into his bed.

If he couldn't have Martha, he could certainly have this one.

Especially since she was not unmoved by him. While he studied her, she'd drifted in close enough for him to catch the hint of sunshine and sweetness on her skin. Trusting eyes, wide and alert looked up into his own and when her hand touched his shoulder, then his cheek, he didn't turn her away.

"What might that be, my dear?" Cherry red mouth, little tongue flicking out to provide a more natural sheen than the gloss most girls her age favored. He should protest the familiarity when her hand combed through his hair but it had been several weeks since his last encounter and Helen proved to be a much colder creature than he would have suspected given Lex's fanatic devotion to her.

He was not without passion, despite all rumors to the contrary. The majority of his partners were well served and those who were not, were at least rewarded for their time. More to the point, he did indeed ache as a result of his own vivid imagination and Ms. Sullivan was here. She was, by all indications, willing. While she was not of the sex he'd prefer at the moment, Dominic was currently in Jakarta and Clark was still missing somewhere in rural America.

One taste couldn't harm his cause, not when the young lady was so eager for it. He could use the resultant shame, which surely would come once the heat of the moment was past, to bind her even closer to him. And set into motion his plan to free her from her father's influence and this town.

"Later," she murmured. Chloe, such a wistful name, evocative of her very youth, his own slender green shoot who bent easily into his hands. Her mouth lifted to his and he met her more than halfway, lips touching briefly as she hesitated and then blossomed underneath him. She opened like a rose, petal-soft and delicate to his insistent touch.

Surprisingly, she did know how to kiss. How to respond to the right pressure, how to tilt her head just so and when he retreated, she followed. Light strokes along his tongue, perfect little nails combed through his beard and his hair. She shifted in his arms, nipples pebbling through her thin shirt as his hand brushed up from her waist. Her breath was sweet, a faint hint of mint and sugar which he savored with yet another kiss.

Her throat tasted faintly of sweat, it was a warm day out and there was dust as well. Her car was a convertible which explained the tousled hair, or perhaps it was that way because he couldn't keep his fingers out of it. She was murmuring something in his ear, something he barely caught due to his concentration being drawn to the deep valley between her breasts.

"Pardon, my dear. What were you saying?" He unbuttoned her blouse and followed along with her still entangled in his arms as she led them to the desk in the corner. Lionel lifted her up until she was perched on the edge, her legs splayed around his own.

"My first kiss was here," Such busy little hands, his coat was open and off his shoulders, falling to a heap on the floor. He spared a moment's thought for the tableau they might make should anyone else stumble in. It was a good thing that both Jonathan and Martha were out of town. It surely wouldn't do for them to be interrupted.

"Really? So how do I compare?" His shirt went the way of his coat, expensive silk fluttering to the rough-hewn beams as he leaned in for another kiss. When she pulled back this time, he was the one who followed, branding her lower lip with a gentle scoring of teeth. The whimper was very satisfactory as was the baring of her shoulders and lace-covered breasts.

The purveyor who'd invented the front-closure bra had his eternal gratitude. With a practiced twist of his fingers, two full breasts tipped in rosy pink came into view and then into the cradle of his palms. Chloe leaned back as he moved forward, offering herself to his mouth. An invitation he had no intention of refusing.

"Mmmm... very nice. He was scared and surprised. Ohhhh...." When he looked up, her eyes were closed and her cheeks pleasantly flushed. Her lids fluttered and for a moment, he was imprisoned in a sea of soft green as she caught his gaze with her own. "You're nothing like him."

In another time, another place, those words might have been rancorous and spiteful. But with her breasts in his hands and her thighs opening to allow him into her temple, Lionel chose to take them as they were meant. A compliment to his skill, an acknowledgment that maturity would win out against brash youth in this skirmish.

The barrier of her skirt was easily defeated by a push of his hands until the brightly colored fabric twisted and rucked up around her hips. Lace that matched the scraps still dangling from her arms slithered to the floor. She was warm under his fingers and wet, very wet. When he brought it to his mouth to taste, the bitter threaded through the sweetness surprised Lionel. Hot musk assaulted his sense and he dropped to his knees despite her soft protests.

Yes, she did taste sweet despite the bitter undertone. That particular deficiency could be solved with a change in her diet and hygiene habits. The bitterness faded as he moved from the gates to the hill. Lionel encircled that tender bud with his tongue, flicking at it as she arched and whimpered his name. If he continued much along this vein, she would climax and as she was young, probably be of no use for far too long a period for his taste.

Or perhaps, she would be relaxed enough that when he breached her passage, the loss of her virginity would amount to nothing but a little blood and some tears. If she was still virginal, which he doubted given the ferocity of her responses.

Opting for cementing her to him with pleasure, Lionel continued to suckle as well as slowly introduce his fingers into her. She was tight, but not as tight as he would have expected, serving to confirm his suspicions about her purity. Fortunately for both of them, Chloe proved to be easily orgasmic. It took only a few moments of concentrated effort to bring her to a sobbing climax.

Which furthered his goals in this endeavor. Lionel wiped his hand over his beard, careful not to smear the effluvium onto anything but his own bared chest. He undid his belt, the button and zipper of his slacks and withdrew a condom from his pocket before letting the light-weight wool slide away from his hips.

In among scattered papers and abandoned textbooks, the girl was exquisite. Honey-gold skin and startled eyes which skittered past his face to somewhere over his left shoulder. Shyness had finally set in, he could tell by her elevated breathing and the quickening of the pulse under his thumb. There was a flush to her throat and cheeks that had not been there before and when he leaned in for a kiss, she whimpered in another almost protest.

Lionel extricated the small ring from its foil container and with one practiced move, rolled it down over his cock. To his surprise and delight, she reached down to touch him. First his hip, then through the rough hair at the base and finally a palm over the head. His surprise continued to deepen as she moved closer, raising her hips and rocking upward and then back. She was the perfect picture of debauched innocence, there were certain markets in Asia that would pay a fortune for what he was being given so freely.

Everything was going according to plan. All that remained was to fuck her, to seek his own pleasure and then hold the shame of this over her head until she capitulated to his demands. He'd whisper to her about this in the years to come; how she was so eager for him that she splayed herself across the very surface where her first crush spent hours poring over the complex formulas of trigonometry when he could have learned the secrets of the universe were all encompassed in the inner curve of her thigh. How they rolled and rutted in the place where he'd chew his pencil and scratch notes about the first law of thermodynamics and all he'd needed to do was brush his hand up between her legs to discover the true fires of creation. How she threw back her head and gasped the name of another man in the childhood sanctum where he plodded through Shakespeare and Marlowe and Whitman in an effort to find a deeper meaning to the world around him when every sonnet ever written dwelt in the texture of her skin.

Lionel watched as she did the very thing he'd imagined. She threw her head back, throat arched and exposed for the biting kiss that he left there; careful to leave only the kiss and no mark. Chloe arched into him and the tiny pants he'd heard earlier gave way to words. And to a tone that jarred across the intertwined surface of his Gordian knot, both tightening and unraveling it at the same time. For in a frightened voice that belied her movements; she begged him to stop.

She hissed that it hurt, that he was too big, that he should stop. An improbable request, considering that he was still embraced by only humid air. Lionel straightened, his hands on her hips attempted to steady her as the haze faded and cold clarity crept in, its icy feet leaving indelible prints on his spine and shrinking the desire he'd felt. Chloe ignored his withdrawal, continuing to move as though she was being forced, her face contorted in pain, the soft lips of her cunt brushing against his flagging cock as she wailed for him to let her go, that she wouldn't tell anyone if he'd just let her go home, please.

Just as he started to ask her what was going on, the harsh sound of clapping interrupted their little tableau. With an ever increasing dread, Lionel looked over his shoulder only to be greeted by a sight straight out of his nightmares. For there, leaning against the rough timber railing was his son, both hands raised in continued mocking applause.

His son.

Not Lucas, not Rachel's get but his son.

Lilly's boy, with bare head and ice-cold eyes that bore right through him. Alexander... Lex stood there, contempt thinly veiled by amusement as he continued to clap. He was thinner, his skin no longer pale but golden, so golden that it blended easily into the equally bronzed tone of the young man who stood silently behind him. Massive arms, corded with muscle sculpted by years of manual labor, were wrapped casually around his son's waist and equally cold moss-green depths mirrored Lex's contempt.

The prodigal had returned with a companion. And not just a companion, for Lex was nestled far too intimately in the space between Clark Kent's thighs. As he watched them in dumb amazement, Clark turned his head to whisper something to Lex and there was the oddest glint of red within the shoulder-length dark curls. In response to whatever secret they shared, Lex grinned, his clapping abandoned in favor of petting Clark. "Great performance, Dad. What have you got planned for an encore?"

As he fumbled for his pants, Chloe slithered out from underneath him. For someone who'd just been caught en flagrante delicto, the girl was remarkably calm. Especially since she'd been discovered by the young man she professed to be scorned by. She scooted away quickly, pulling her skirt down but not bothering with either panties or bra. Still only half-clothed, she crossed over to Lex's side and slid into his embrace.

"Did I do okay?" Gone was the panicked little girl voice from a few moments earlier. While he watched in astonished silence, Chloe looked up at Lex almost purring in contentment as his son stroked her bare back. Again, too much familiarity and lack of discomfort with her semi-nudity for this gang of three to be merely friends.

"Yes, baby. You were perfect." The strokes gave way to a gentle kiss on her temple. The whole time he touched her, Lex's eyes never left their principal focus - Lionel's own. "Now, go back to the mansion and wait for us. We'll be there soon."

His shirt slid into place as Lionel watched Chloe nod. God, he'd been played for a fool. He'd been manipulated by a high school girl and his overly emotional son. How had he slipped that much?

The girl smiled at Lex, touched her lips to his gently and then she rose up on tiptoes and kissed Clark over Lex's shoulder. While their mouths glided together, the plot thickened. Not just one high schooler but two had been in on this fiasco. Anger spiked through him and Lionel straightened his clothes with furious jerks. Apparently, Ms. Sullivan and Mr. Kent were on much better terms than he'd been led to believe.

Not only that, but she was on the same terms with his son if the kiss he bestowed after Mr. Kent was done plundering her mouth was any indication. Lex's hand was tight in her hair as he kissed her hard and deep, imprinting himself on her skin by sheer force of will. He kissed her without skill, passion the over-running emotion that left not only he and Ms. Sullivan breathless but Mr. Kent as well.

And himself, if anyone cared to ask. He'd forgotten how magnificent Lex was when he was angry. It was in these times where he reminded Lionel the most of his long-dead wife. Fiery hair and fiery temper and God Lord, he missed Lilly right now. She would never have let this happen.

To even the most casual observer, it was evident that Lex was intent on wiping away even the faintest memory of his own father's touch. As if hard, brutal kisses could do such a thing. No, Ms. Sullivan was going to remember him for a very long time. He'd brought her to climax, something rare for a teen-aged girl. Lionel knew she would take that memory with her the next time she spread her legs for his son and was left wanting.

Now that he was fully clothed and they were distracted, he could make good his escape. It would gain him some time to regroup and implement contingency plans since Helen had failed in her attempt to widow herself. As Lionel eased his way toward the stairs, Clark's head snapped up from where he'd been mouthing Lex's ear in a shameless display of lust Lionel had no doubt would send Jonathan Kent screaming for the hills. The boy's eyes narrowed and the first sound that issued from him was not words, but instead a low-pitched growl that froze Lionel in his tracks.

"Don't move." Gone was the light baritone that had marked his past conversations with Clark Kent. Instead, a bass tone rumbled out of the boy's throat. No, not a boy. His impression earlier had been much more correct. This was a man that glared at him with barely leashed hatred glimmering within eyes which no longer held even a shred of innocence.

"I suggest you obey, Dad." Lex murmured before he released Chloe. She stayed at his side, quietly fastening the last of her clothes while Clark continued to glare over Lex's shoulder at him. "You aren't on his favorite person list. Not that you ever have been, but Clark's really not happy right now."

Under the heat of Clark's unwavering regard, Lionel stepped back. He took a seat on the couch while Lex blatantly worked to set his companion at ease, much to Lionel's shame. No father should have to watch his son pull another man down from an awkward angle into an openly concupiscent kiss that left no question to the nature of their relationship. No father should ever have to watch his son arch and curse softly as aforementioned man reached around from behind and openly cupped his hard cock, essentially placing it on display for all to see. No father should ever have to watch his son wriggle and shift his ass into the cradle of that man's hips and prove that while he'd taught his son differently, Lex was indeed the eromenos here.

Poor Helen, had she even been aware that she'd married a catamite?

Perhaps that was the reason why she'd taken such drastic measures.

Whatever the method and the resulting display, Lex was able to leash the blinding fury behind him. When Clark pulled away from their kiss, his lips open and slick, he smiled at Lionel. Even though the smile didn't reach his eyes, Lionel was reasonably assured that he wasn't going to be torn limb-from-limb in the next few seconds. He waited quietly for whatever was going to happen next.

One last kiss between Clark and Chloe over Lex's shoulder and the girl went down the stairs. She was practically skipping and when she reached the first landing, she shot him a challenging look. With her hands on her hips, she rocked forward and moaned, "Ohhh, ohhh Lionel. Yes. Yes!... Yes!" The orgasmic cries he'd heard earlier echoed once again through the loft, followed by a mocking laugh. "I guess you've never seen 'When Harry Met Sally', have you?"

He shook his head and was greeted by more peals of laughter. "You really should. It's a classic."

With that, she was gone. Leaving him alone with his resurrected son and quite possibly homicidal companion. And since when had Martha Kent been harboring a latter-day Charles Manson in her home? He could believe that Jonathan raised such a boy but certainly Martha was too civilized to allow such behavior.

Slowly, Lex moved out of Clark's embrace. Kent followed him, one hand heavy on Lex's hip. As they drew near Lionel, he spotted that glint of red again. There was a small earring in Clark's ear, actually it was an ear-cuff clamped tight around the outer curve. A red stone gleamed within a wealth of gold, probably a garnet although it had the tone of a pigeon's-blood ruby. Around his throat was a golden chain and at the end of it was a pendant with an even larger stone of the same type. The flashes of red while he moved played across his face and served to further the homicidal image.

"Now, Dad. Let's discuss your retirement." Lex drawled as he took up a position in the chair opposite from him. Clark stood behind him, heavy hands possessive on his son's shoulders. Rubbing slowly, sliding in under the edge of Lex's shirt as if Clark couldn't get enough of his skin.

Ah, so after the sex show comes the ludicrous portion of the entertainment. "Lex. Lex. Son, I have no intention of stepping down." Lionel leaned back, his fingers smoothing his beard. There was still a hint of the girl there as well as the strange bitterness. As he frowned, Lex raised an eyebrow along with one corner of his mouth.

"I hope you enjoyed my present," was the quiet murmur and Lionel felt his own eyes widen. No wonder he knew that taste. He'd had it before, savored it whenever he took one of Lex's lovers fresh from Lex's bed. The smirk deepened as Lionel shuddered, no wonder the girl had felt so open and loose.

To his credit, Clark didn't look startled, instead he leaned down and whispered in Lex's ear. A faint blush rose on Lex's cheek and he smiled, murmuring in return. "Yes, it is a pity he didn't explore there. But I think he's sampled enough of your DNA, Clark. Besides," his hand tightened on Clark's neck, pulling him in close before he bit at the tanned throat. "that belongs to me."

Lionel eased back a little further, crossing his legs to hide his body's instantaneous betrayal. This was clearly a discussion about his continued existence and was no time to be aroused. Even though hanged men were known for the stiffening of their organs and the spilling of their seed upon their deaths, the rope was not fully around his neck. He should attempt to maintain a little dignity.

The smile on Lex's face would have looked well on any number of sharks, some of which Lionel was on close personal terms with. "Dad, all levity aside, Helen was very forthcoming when we caught up to her. Do you really want to have a charge of attempted murder added to statutory rape?"

"I had nothing to do with that, Lex. I would never try to hurt you, son." How like the Bryce woman to claim he was responsible for her actions. Incompetent, emotional female, so ready to save her own skin. When he got his hands on her, she'd rue the day she was born.

It was then that the second part of his son's statement sunk in. He smiled, the spread of teeth matching his son's. "You'd have to prove both of them in a court of law. It would merely be their word against mine and you know that I'd win."

"Oh no, Dad. You wouldn't. You see, the camera never lies." With that, Lex nodded toward the desk where he'd been cavorting with Ms. Sullivan a few moments before. Following the line of sight, Lionel spotted no less than three cameras trained on that very place.

Yes.

He had been outmaneuvered and quite well.

But he still had a few tricks and a homophobic judge or two up his sleeve. "Bring that into court and I'll countercharge sodomy. Anyone who looks at the two of you will know its true." He patted his coat pocket, ascertaining that his samples were still there while keeping a close eye on his son.

There was a sudden breeze, unusual since it had been a completely calm day. Lionel swore he only blinked once before looking up at Clark, who still stood behind his son. The boy raised his hand and within its palm lay both the vial and the used condom. Those items crumbled to dust when he closed his fist and squeezed.

"Dad, you really need to pay attention to more than just the financial pages. Consensual relations between two partners of the same sex that occurs in a private setting is no longer illegal. The Supreme Court ruled on that months ago. What Clark and I do in our bedroom is nobody's business but our own." His hand stroked along Clark's, brushing away the dust and intertwining their fingers before Lex looked him square in the eye.

The other shoe was about to drop and when it did, Lionel felt himself choking. The hanging reference earlier was no longer that far off the mark. "However, it is still illegal for a fifty-four year old man to engage in sexual conduct of any kind with a fifteen year old girl."

There. There was the mistake in his son's logic, the escape he needed from this trap. Lex had showed his hand too fast and left himself open for attack. "I do believe you are wrong, son. Ms. Sullivan, like Mr. Kent here, is at least seventeen."

"No, Dad. You didn't do your homework. Chloe is barely fifteen. She skipped two grades, one in elementary and one in junior high. The girl is incredibly intelligent and as such, very much jail-bait. I wonder how good you'll look in institutional orange. I hear that on some it can be a very flattering color."

Game.

Set.

Match.

He'd been finally bested by his own offspring.

All because he'd been sloppy and believed that the girl was as old as she acted. Not only that, it had all been caught on camera and no amount of money was going to buy his way out of this one.

Not with that look of steely determination on his son's face.

If he retreated now, he could regroup and in a few months, or perhaps years, he could take Lex on again. All he had to do was wait. Young men, even ones as apparently loyal as Clark Kent, their affections were known to stray. He could work that. He could hire Ms. Lang to lead the boy down the primrose path. No young man could resist pretty, pink innocence.

It would work if he told her she was saving him. Young women love causes...

"All right, Lex. You win. What are your requirements?"