Molecules, when exposed to heat, move faster; water boils, gunpowder explodes. Unscrew the radiator cap on an overheated car and the coolant will rush from inside, scalding hot, to burn you. Lex likened himself to a radiator, or an old fashioned whistling teapot. Heat, in the form of stress, put an unusual strain on his control.

He wasn't sure who he was angry at the most, himself or his father. All he knew was that it wasn't in his nature to be self-destructive, nor could he do anything overtly menacing to the man who quite literally owned him. Lex's loyalty to Lionel Luthor as a father had ended the moment Lillian Luthor stopped breathing. Lionel's money allowed Lex freedoms other young men could not have. Lionel's money kept Lex faithful, and as long at Lionel lived, he would abide by Lionel's rules.

But like the radiator or the teapot, the anger and resentment boiled beneath the surface of Lex's calm. The last time he'd "erupted" things had gotten messy. The result had been a parental wrist slapping in the form of exile. Fortunately Smallville had turned out to have much more to offer than a shit factory in the middle of a cornfield and a population of rednecks. Lex had gotten lucky. It was only a matter of time, however, before he went off again. He'd hoped to avoid it. Clark was a pleasant distraction. He also played the part of the poor soul who unwittingly removes the radiator cap.

Like most people, Clark misinterpreted Lex's paranoia and possessiveness as being part of some "spoiled rich kid" mentality. What they did not understand was that Lionel Luthor was not the type of man to spoil his child. Lex fought for everything he got, constantly playing little mind games, intellectual battles, with Lionel, and even then he sometimes failed. Lex's strength throughout the years had always been his mother, and after her death some of her close friends. He blamed Lionel for his mother's death. Lionel was behind the loss of those close friends. Lex could not have the upper hand in anything. Lex's paranoid tendencies were a direct result of Lionel's tampering.

Therefore, Lex thought, as he sat at his desk, angrily tapping his pen on a pile of paper, the fight with Clark was Lionel's fault. The accusations he'd made were completely insane on his part, but at the time he'd needed to blow off steam. Clark accidentally provided the outlet.

Lex found out from Lana Lang that Clark had been spending time with Whitney Fordman. They played basketball together on Monday mornings; a quick game of one on one before Whitney went to work at his father's store. Lana had been pleased, stating that the two had set aside their animosity and were starting to become quite good friends. Upon hearing this, Lex's paranoia clicked into high gear. He had quite some time ago broken Lionel's rule of not letting emotions get the better of one's logic. Lex, as with many things Lionel tried to instill in him, frequently ignored said rule, much to the detriment of many relationships.

The relationship he had with Clark was no exception either, because the next thing Lex knew he was cruising around the high school on Monday mornings, quietly keeping an eye on the basketball game. He went so far as to borrow his housekeeper's car so Clark wouldn't recognize him. Clark recognized him anyway. How he did it was as mysterious as many things involving Clark, things that he lied to Lex about on a regular basis. That issue was due to come to a head as well.

Clark had confronted him about the stalking and instead of going on the defensive, Lex played offense.

"I want you to stop hanging around with the quarterback."

To which Clark snapped back with a parry, showing a lot more spine than Lex thought he possessed.

"Okay, first of all I don't think it's any of your business who my friends are, and secondly, you don't own me Lex. You can't tell me what to do."

"I don't want you involved with Fordman. I'm asking you to respect my feelings on this."

"No, you're demanding I respect your feelings on it, feelings you shouldn't be having. 'Involved' Lex? What, you think I'm sleeping with him?"

The words came out before Lex could stop them, before he could really comprehend what he was saying. They were barbed, dipped in poison, and their affect on Clark was the same as if Lex had taken out a gun and shot him in the gut.

"Aren't you?"

Clark had stared at him in stunned silence before he reacted. He was, Lex realized immediately, as mad as Lex had ever seen him. In fact, Lex had never seen Clark lose his temper the whole time they'd been friends. Clark always kept his head, always seemed good natured and easy going. The accusation Lex threw at him he could not brush off, and Lex found himself unable to stop.

"You're always keeping things from me, Clark. Why would this be any different? I'm no jock. I can't compete with the Whitney Fordmans of the world. Why wouldn't you move on now that you've learned what you needed from me?"

"I don't believe this! I don't believe you're serious about this!"

Lex had turned away from him, idly rifling through the things on his desk.

"Did you like it when he tied you up, Clark?"

There was a long silence. Lex turned his head and in doing so, met Clark's eye. Clark was infuriated, barely holding his voice down to a somewhat casual tone.

"You know what, Lex? When you can put aside your delusions and your petty jealousy, call me. I might come back."

Three weeks passed since Clark had stormed out of Lex's office, slamming the door behind him, and they did not exchange a single word during that time. Lex had it in him to apologize, and he certainly longed desperately for Clark's company, but his hand was stayed every time he reached for the phone or drove past the farm. His greatest fear was that Clark would not accept the apology, rejecting Lex completely.

Instead he left the barrier of anger between them, reverting back to some of the habits he'd maintained before they became lovers. If he saw Clark anywhere Lex would watch him, admiring him, but from a discrete distance. It was more difficult now. Lex had seen, touched, made love to, the body beneath the baggy jeans and worn flannel.

Clark's every movement held a lean grace like that of a cat. Lex could see in his minds eye the ebb and flow of his body as he moved, marked how his muscles pulled across bone. He remembered the gentle curve of Clark's spine, how it felt beneath his hands, and the salty taste of the skin in the hollow where back met hips. Lex watched Clark and made love to him again using his eyes and his memories instead of his body. He lost track of the times he'd sat alone at the back of the Talon long after Clark had left, waiting for his erection to fade before he got up to go home.

At home he watched porn and jacked off, his hand a poor replacement for Clark's succulent lips and the seedy actors sorely lacking Clark's beauty, or skill for that matter. He always felt guilty afterward. Lex was cheating, not Clark, carrying on an affair with his own spit-slicked palm and the delusions of a paranoid mind. The ache of not having Clark there was akin to being on the verge of, but never quite reaching climax. It lay in his gut like a stone and could not be purged.

Three weeks became four.

Lex fell into some old bad habits. Staying up late and drinking too much became an everyday occurrence. He raged at his housekeeping staff. A visit from Lionel was followed by Lex tearing apart his office in a fit of frustrated rage, venting his anger with his father and himself onto anything he could pick up and throw. He broke a window, verbally abused the man sent to repair it.

Gabe Sullivan told him there were rumors circulating that Lex was slowly going crazy because of Smallville's rural setting and lack of more "cultural" venues.

"Culture around here consists of a movie at the Grandville Cineplex and a late night dinner at Wally's House of Waffles," Gabe said.

Lex thanked him for his concern, and claimed the hot, dry Kansas summer was the culprit behind Lex's uncharacteristic grouchiness. It was no more than that, he lied. Gabe laughed.

Another bit of gossip Gabe passed along was that Whitney Fordman had asked Lana Lang to marry him, after college of course, and that Lana had accepted. Clark and Chloe were throwing them a surprise engagement party, to which Lex was more than welcome to attend. Gabe's visit had been just a few days ago. The engagement party was a few days hence. Lex wondered if he should attend, and why he should bother with it at all.

He tapped his pen on the stack of paperwork in front of him, his blue eyes growing vague as he composed his thoughts. After a few minutes he put down his pen and slowly rose from his chair. As he crossed the room his every step was slow and deliberate, every movement carefully orchestrated. The hidden safe in the bookcase he opened carefully, withdrawing the plastic wrapped object from its safe haven. Beneath his fingers the plastic crinkled. It fell to the floor as he withdrew the bright yellow shirt from within.

Lex closed his eyes as he brought the pilfered gym shirt to his face. The odor was faint - another Clark Kent mystery was his resistance to sweating - but undeniably Clark's. It was a warm, organic smell, with a faint spiciness Lex could not equate with anything specific. It made Lex long for him more, bringing back memories of lying next to Clark's strong body, his face pressed close to Clark's broad shoulder. He missed the the spicy taste of Clark that would linger in his mouth after they kissed and the warm, tingling afterglow of sex.

His eyes opened. His fingers dug into the soft fabric in his hands as if he were setting hooks. Lionel would have told him to stop being a pussy and go get what he wanted. A Luthor would not spend his days wallowing in self-pity, letting his desires slip away from him. A Luthor knows no fear, whether it be of danger, or rejection. A Luthor would not accept no for an answer, would not be rejected.

Lex picked up the plastic bag and returned the shirt to its place. It was time to make preparations. He would, for one of the few times in his life, follow his father's advice, but Lex would do it in his own way, not Lionel's. Lionel would never beg.

His son had long ago determined that for Clark Kent, he would do anything.