While most people dreamed of flying, Clark Kent dreamed of walking. It made sense in a way, considering he spent a great deal of his awake time flying, but when he told people about it they all thought it was odd.

In his walking dreams, it was always some sort of barren landscape - a desert, a lonely beach, a mountain path lined with sheer cliffs and dull gray rock. He was always alone, too. No one walked at his side, not even any sort of animal companion like a dog or a horse. It was just Clark and walking. Lois, who didn't know about Superman, said it meant he was searching for someone. Lex, who knew everything there was to know about Clark, said the opposite.

"I think it means you're on the right path, Clark. You've made your destiny and now all you have to do is travel that road."

Clark wasn't sure he believed either scenario. He was afraid the endless walking represented his lifespan, and the lack of a traveling companion meant eventually he'd outlive everyone he loved.

He had cause to be worried. Lex's illness had scared him, made him think. Human beings were fragile, but among them Lex was one of the strongest people Clark knew, and seeing him ill had shaken him to the core. They were no longer a couple, but losing Lex would break Clark. He'd already lost his father. The years were passing by for Martha Kent, too. And Bruce....

Bruce faced death every day. Every time he donned Batman's "uniform" and went out into the darkened streets of Gotham, he ran the risk of finding someone faster than he, stronger, or more cunning. He'd had more than a few close shaves in recent times. Clark would rip that lunatic Jack Napier in half if he ever got hold of the slimy bastard. Superman didn't scar, but Bruce did, and Clark saw the Joker's smile every time he looked at the crescent shaped burn across Bruce's ribs.

~~ "Leave him alone, Clark."~~

~~"But...."~~

~~"We agreed, Superman stays in Metropolis. What goes on in Gotham is my responsibility. Keep out of it."~~

~~"And if he kills you?"~~

~~"Then our deal is off and you'll have leave to rip his head off."~~

~~ "Somehow that doesn't make me feel better. ~~

Clark's own recent brush with death had almost been a relief. He would not be left behind after all. Of course, such suicidal thoughts brought with them a great deal of guilt, and all were rendered moot when he pulled through. Unfortunately, getting smacked in the face with his own mortality also increased the value of his loved ones and exponentially, his fear of losing them.

He loved Bruce. They'd been together for two years and Clark was perfectly content. He liked having someone to confide in who understood the burden of living a double life. Bruce was handsome, confident and strong, providing to Clark the illusion that he was being taken care of for a change, that he was the weaker partner. Bruce could take care of himself, and if it happened that Clark needed rescuing, he would be there. Clark didn't have to hide anything from Bruce. He could trust Bruce entirely.

Something was missing, however, and Clark couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe the simplest answer was that Bruce just was not Lex. Clark regarded the complex relationships between himself and the men in his life with a very uncomplicated logic - Bruce owned his heart, but Lex...Lex owned his soul.

"Deep thoughts?"

Clark rolled over lazily. It was Friday night, and Clark had flown up to be with Bruce after he'd left the Daily Planet earlier that evening. Saturday and Sunday mornings, they'd discovered, were the best time for them to be together. After a long week of working nine to five and fighting crime every night, the only time they had to themselves was on weekend mornings. Weekend nights were the busiest as far as crime went, but weekend mornings everything was silent and still. They could find peace.

"I was dreaming of walking again."

Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed. "Where was it this time?"

"A long stretch of beach along a rocky coast. It looked like the Pacific."

"It's beautiful up there."

"But barren and cold." Clark shuddered, and yawned.

Clark tended to cat-nap. He rarely slept more than four hours at a time, always wanting to be ready for any trouble that might occur, but sometimes his need for rest caught up for him. Tonight was one such night. After a quick patrol around the city before flying out to Gotham, he had felt confident leaving Metropolis unattended. There was a festival going on along the riverfront and police patrols had been beefed up to cover it. Metropolis' finest knew Superman couldn't handle everything that came up in their city. They did not slack off at all, their vigilance not dulled by complacency. Instead, Superman's presence seemed to make them more vigilant, as if they didn't want him to make them look bad. This night they were on their own, Clark was taking a vacation day. He needed a rest.

He needed a rest. Nearly losing one's life was hard on a body, even for Superman. He gauged himself to be still running at only ninety percent even after weeks of recovery. Exhaustion had been nagging him for days and he'd ignored it as long as he possibly could. He had to catch some down time.

As if reading his thoughts, Bruce said, "You look tired."

"I am tired."

"Mmm," Bruce flexed his fingers and revealed the contents of his closed fist. A small brown bottle rested upon his palm. "Made a new batch."

"Why do I suspect I might not get much rest tonight?"

Bruce smiled wryly. "Oh, you will."

The lid of the bottle was an eye-dropper, which Bruce filled from the contents. He'd spent months developing the drug, taking great care not to produce something that might prove lethal to his intended "victim." It was mostly a simple narcotic, blended with some more exotic drugs Bruce had found somewhere in Asia. Beneath it all was the tiniest bit of an extra-terrestrial element - kryptonite. That ingredient was imperative toward allowing the drug to work at all.

Clark had found out early in their relationship, that Bruce was - different - when it came to sex. There were times when he liked to play a little, something he called "bringing the kinks out", in addition to being rather naturally aggressive. Under normal circumstances, he liked to bite and pinch and slap, something that brought him a lot of pleasure and his partners a lot of bruises. Clark was the first person he could abuse liberally and not have to worry about damaging too seriously. At first Clark had been put off, used to Lex's more passive lovemaking techniques, but eventually he decided since it wasn't doing him any harm, and seeing Bruce hornier than hell made Clark hornier than hell, he'd allowed it.

Bruce got his foot in the door then, and things progressed from there.

~~"Handcuffs? I don't think so."~~

~~"Clark, please? I want to see you tied up and helpless."~~

~~ "An unlikely scenario."~~

~~"But that's the game, Clark. It's fantasy. Just once, you'll see."~~

~~"Hmm. Maybe I should tie you up, you're pretty when you beg."~~

~~"My fantasy. You get tied up." ~~

Clark broke a lot of handcuffs before Bruce started drugging him.

They hadn't played the game for a while. When Clark cautiously inquired about it, Bruce had said he'd had enough of seeing Clark helpless for a while. Watching the life run out of him in the hospital hadn't been a fantasy, it had been real, and Bruce had been shaken by it much like Clark had been shaken by Lex's illness years before. Clark suspected there was something else going on, too, something to do with Lex and the fact that when he was dying, Lex and Bruce had turned to each other for comfort. Clark still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Bruce had apparently gotten over at least part of his anxiety, however, because he'd gotten out his little elixir. Obediently, Clark opened his mouth. Bruce put several drops beneath his tongue, and almost immediately, Clark could feel the narcotic going to work on him. A bitter, metallic taste filled his mouth before it faded to a spreading warmth. His thoughts would still be sharp, but his body would eventually feel very heavy, weighted down, and sluggish. Clark agreed to the drug very rarely. He didn't like how it made him feel, nor how it incapacitated him. If something came up, it would be hours before he was sufficiently able to do anything "super" at all.

Bruce got up off the bed. Clark stretched and yawned again, luxuriating in the soft silk sheets on Bruce's bed. His friends and family joked about him having expensive tastes, but Clark had to admit having billionaire lovers did come with perks. He'd had sex in some of the most beautiful locations around the world, including a small village in Greece, where he'd lain curled around Lex in a tangle of soft cotton sheets. A gentle breeze had come through the open window of their hotel balcony, and bright beams of sunlight had fallen on them, warming them to new heights of passion. They'd spent the morning in the hotel room, and the afternoon on Lex's yacht. The crew had been off sightseeing. He and Lex had made love in the sunlight again, bodies moving in time with the waves that slapped against the hull beneath them.

"You're really anticipating this," Bruce reappeared, and noted Clark's arousal.

Feeling guilty, Clark kept silent. It had not been thoughts of Bruce that had turned him on, but Lex. He simply smiled. He allowed himself to be rolled over onto his side, and let Bruce handcuff his arms behind his back.

"You're going to have to wait a little bit longer, I'm afraid. I just heard there's something going down tonight, something big. I've got to go out."

"What?" Clark jerked his head up, struggling against the handcuffs. "Damnit! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you'd be pissy." Bruce pushed him over onto his stomach and slapped him, hard, across the buttocks. Clark growled. "And besides, what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing, but I could at least have been back-up! Fuck, let me go."

"No." Bruce went to the dresser and opened a drawer. "I want something nice to come home to tonight. If I'd have told you what I was planning, I wouldn't get that, now would I?"

"Bruce! No. Nuh-no!"

Clark shook his head as Bruce made a grab for him. A fist wrapped itself in his hair as a ball gag was thrust hard between his teeth. With one hand, Bruce jerked the strap around Clark's head so that the leather pressed uncomfortably tight against his cheeks, making him whimper in pain. Infuriated, he rolled over and kicked at Bruce, but Bruce deftly moved out of the way. He grabbed one of Clark's ankles and snapped another set of cuffs around it, drawing Clark's leg up behind him and fastening it to the chain between his wrists. Clark rolled and thrashed, but Bruce caught his other leg and chained it up as well.

"It's Jack," he said. "Sources have him planning a big heist at the Metropolis Grand Hotel tonight. He's got a fair sized bomb from what I understand, planted somewhere in the casino." A slap turned into a pat on Clark's right butt cheek. "I know how he gets under your skin, Clark. I couldn't risk having Superman crash the party."

Superman is going to kick your ass when I get out of this. Clark thought viciously. He narrowed his eyes and growled low in his throat. There was little else he could do around the gag.

"If you are trying to distract me by being utterly sexy, you're failing." Bruce chuckled. He leaned in and kissed Clark around the gag. "But you are very, very sexy right now, all trussed up and drooling like a baby."

"Uhn!" Clark jerked against the handcuffs again, but the narcotic had done its insidious work and he wasn't able to snap them like he normally would have.

"I'll be home soon." His voice a whisper, Bruce moved away again. "And I'll fuck you raw. Until then, I'll give you a little something to think about while I'm off putting a damper on Jack's fun."

Clark squirmed, trying to move his head so that he could see, but Bruce was directly behind him. He felt the bed dip under his weight, and the cool slide of a lubricated finger against his anus. It wasn't, however, Bruce's finger that would enter him, nor his cock. It was another of Bruce's little toys.

Oh, fuck!

The plug went in slowly, making muscles stretch and burn, and sending the sensation of being filled up into the pit of his stomach. It was the largest Bruce had, long and thick and hard. Clark squirmed and moaned as it entered him to its base, jerked as the very tip of it brushed against his prostate. The pain was negligible, but so was the pleasure, and he knew he'd be caught in limbo between the two for a while before Bruce gave him any relief.

He flinched when Bruce slapped him again. The bed shifted as Bruce got up, and Clark heard his footsteps moving toward the door.

"Good-night, Clark. I'll see you in a few hours."

The door slammed shut, and locked.

Mother fucking son of a .....

Clark slammed his head down on the bed in frustration.

The scent of Bruce's sweat roused him. Hands moved across his body. He heard the clink of metal upon metal and felt his arms and legs being released. Pins and needles in his strained muscles hurt and made him moan as he was spread out across the bed. The leather straps biting into his face were removed and the rubber ball was worked loose from between his teeth. He closed his mouth and swallowed normally for the first time in hours. It had been hours, too, Clark realized, as he looked at the clock sitting on the bedside table. It was now two a.m.

"Sorry," Bruce murmured quietly. "It took me longer than I expected to get everything wrapped up."

Clark didn't respond.

"You're mad at me."

"I'm completely pissed off at you. What if something had happened? What if you'd needed me?" Clark shuddered.

Bruce rubbed the small of his back. "All is well."

"It could have gone wrong, Bruce."

"But it didn't," Bruce said softly.

His hands played over the swell of Clark's buttocks. Clark felt the sweet sensation of the plug being removed, followed immediately by a feeling of emptiness needing to be filled.

"You're beautiful," Bruce stretched out over Clark on his hands and knees, kissing the back of Clark's neck and his shoulders.

"You're trying to change the subject."

"Of course I am. Or do you want the gag back?"

"No," Clark's voice sounded small, even to himself. "I just don't want to feel like that again. I don't mind it when you're here, but you left me alone. I didn't know if...ah."

"Shhh, just relax now. Talk later." Bruce's body shifted back, and forward again, pushing his cock inside the place he'd so carefully prepared. Clark moaned softly.

It was a nice, slow, leisurely fuck, the ultimate relief after hours of lying tied up and wanting it. His body sang at the attention it was getting and Clark came in a series of short, hard, bucks beneath Bruce's sure and steady thrusts. Climax burned away his anger and his fear. He was gathered up into a pair of strong arms when it was all over, and coddled with kisses and soft loving words. That was always how Bruce ended the game, making it all worth it for Clark. He clung to his lover tightly, not wanting to let him get away again.

~~"Why isn't he returning my calls? Bruce, this isn't like him."~~

~~"Clark, you read the letter...."~~

~~"Damn the letter! He's always saying stuff like that. He does it to fuck with me."~~

~~"Obviously because it works, but maybe this time he's telling you the truth. Maybe it is time for the two of you to move on...."~~

~~"Something's wrong."~~

~~"Clark...."~~

~~"He's plotting something, or he's sick again. God! If he's sick again...."~~

~~"If he's sick again he probably wants to spare you any more pain."~~

~~"I don't care about my pain, I care about him!"~~

Clark buried his face in Bruce's chest. It was the not knowing that got to him; not knowing if Bruce was going to come back alive, not knowing where Lex had taken himself off to or what was on his mind. He hadn't heard from Lex for weeks. The only time they had gone without speaking had been during Clark's college years, when Lex was afraid of him and avoiding any contact. Even after their second break-up, they'd remained friends, communicating on almost a daily basis. His current silence was starting to get to Clark.

He tried not to show it, not wanting to upset Bruce, but there were days when his anxiety broke free to wreak havoc with everything he did. Bruce was quite stoic about it, never speaking ill of Lex as he might have in the past. Clark could see what he tried to hide in his eyes; Bruce was worried too.

How does he do it? How does Lex make people love him like this?

Lex Luthor was not necessarily a model citizen, but he somehow managed to get under one's skin in a very positive manner. Martha would call him charming. Lois would call him a weasel.

Bruce murmured `I love yous' into Clark's hair, running his fingers through the long, thick waves Clark had started to cultivate after college. Lex used to play with his hair, too, which Clark did not find surprising considering his own hairless state. Bruce was a little rougher. He tended to pull. He pulled now, drawing Clark's head back so he could kiss his throat. Clark felt himself getting hard again, and felt the narcotic beginning to wear off. Smiling to himself, he suddenly moved out of Bruce's grasp, flipping up into the air to hover above his lover with one arm pinning him down to the bed.

Struggling, Bruce grabbed Clark's arm, but he might as well have been trying to move the Washington Monument. Clark was not budging. He bore down on Bruce's chest, elbow locked, keeping him in place no matter how hard he struggled.

"My turn," Clark said quietly. "And you know what I want."

Bruce stopped struggling. His scowl turned into a sly grin.

Clark returned it. Being able to fly definitely had its advantages, and Bruce definitely had Lex beat in the cocksucking department.

Clark was late for work Monday morning, partially due to a late departure from Gotham, partially due to rescuing a stray cat from getting hit by a Metro Bus and preventing a purse snatching on the way to work. Lois sauntered over to him with a cup of coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other as soon as he sat down at his desk.

"I am not," she said, "your personal secretary." She leaned against his desk while he checked his e-mail. "Why does everyone call me when you can't be found?"

"Because I see you more than I see anyone else." Clark flipped through at least twenty spam messages.

"Seriously, we should get married."

Clark laughed. "You aren't exactly my type, Lois."

Lois snorted and sipped at her coffee. Clark watched her out of the corner of his eye. There were days she reminded him so much of Chloe it was spooky.

"Yeah, I'm not rich, broody, or male."

"Ah, but Lois, if you were, you would be my soul mate most definitely."

"Shut up, Smallville, and get to work. You promised me a draft by nine and its nine-oh-two right now."

"Yes, oh exalted one, I'll get right on it." Clark grinned at her. "What, you aren't counting seconds?"

"I'm being generous."

Laughing, Clark shook his head. Lois moved over to sit at her own desk, where she immediately began doing nothing but dunk her doughnut into her coffee.

Clark searched through his files for the story he'd been working on Friday before he'd left for Gotham. "So who called?" he asked, as he dove back into it as if he'd not been gone for two days.

"Dig the wax out of your ears. I said I'm not your personal secretary. I don't take messages."

"Liar. Come on, Lois. Who called?

She looked at him archly and took a bite out of her doughnut, making a show of chewing it before answering him. "Chloe."

Clark stopped typing. "Chloe called here, for me?"

"Yes."

~~"It's been a long time, Chlo."~~

~~"Yeah, it has, hasn't it. How are you, Clark?"~~

~~"Good."~~

~~"I've read about you."~~

~~"Don't believe everything you read. You know how the media is, always embellishing."~~

~~"Lois does, but you don't. Half the articles about Superman are written by Superman. Tell me, do you turn them in on time?"~~

~~"Not always."~~

~~"Good old, Clark. Some things never change. I suppose it's Lex distracting you now, not Lana." ~~

~~"He can be distracting, yes, and frustrating, and infuriating...."~~

~~"Yeah?~~

~~"Yeah."~~

"You two getting along okay these days, Clark?"

He looked over at Lois, his attention coming back to the present. "Yeah, yeah we're okay. We don't see too much of each other but we're trying."

"You know, neither of you have ever mentioned what happened between you."

Clark's voice lowered. "And we won't either, Lois. So don't pry."

"Who's prying?" Lois sniffed, insulted. She turned back to alternately dunking and nibbling her doughnut. "She said to remind you about Bryan's ball game tonight."

"Ah, sheesh."

"Uh-huh. She said you'd forget. You know, Clark," Lois put down her breakfast and looked at him solemnly. "I think it's great that you do fatherly type stuff with Bryan, I really do, and she might not say it, but Chloe appreciates it too."

Shrugging, Clark stared at his computer screen. He felt a small surge of pride, similar to the one he'd felt the first time Chloe had asked him to go with her and her son to a baseball game, or when Bryan himself had inquired if Clark could help him with his fastball. Clark wanted to be a father. He and Lex had discussed adopting, or having a surrogate bear Lex's child and then raising it as their own, but it had never gotten past the speculative stage. In retrospect, it was a good thing they hadn't gone through with it.

Raising a child with Bruce was utterly out of the question, a least for now, not with them both playing the hero and risking death on a regular basis. In any case Bruce didn't seem inclined toward parenthood. They'd never discussed it. Doing things with Chloe's son might very well be the closest Clark would ever come to being a father.

"Clark!"

"Yeah, huh? What?"

"Are you done yet? I need that copy."

Clark sighed. "Yes, master."

"I heard that."

"He's getting bigger," Clark said quietly.

"He's going on twelve now," Chloe replied, watching as Bryan ran ahead of them to the ball field. He shouted to some friends, who gathered around him. The boys all exchanged high fives.

"His voice is starting to change already," she added. She tossed her short blond hair, raising a hand to flip her bangs back in an old familiar gesture, and Clark felt a pang of remorse.

He could have had her a long time ago, but instead he'd chosen Lana, and from there, Lex. It was just as well, since he'd discovered a greater passion for men anyway, but Chloe had always held a special place in his heart. He'd just never realized how large that place was until after he'd lost her, and she'd lost her way.

If you were alive today, Lionel Luthor, I'd kill you for using her the way you did.

A lot of Chloe's once bubbly personality had been snuffed out by her association with Lionel, by her shocking discoveries regarding Clark, and the realization that she would have to choose between the two. In the end, she'd chosen Lionel. She'd told him everything she knew, and he had gone after Clark with intent to kill. The only reason Clark was alive today was because of Lex. There had been an ugly confrontation, ugly words, and Lex withdrew from him, retreating to his father's side, but in doing so he'd tipped Clark off to what was going on, allowing Clark to take steps to save himself. He'd gone into hiding for months, until he'd heard of Lionel's death.

He and Lex had struck a deal after Lionel was killed, a "don't ask, don't tell" sort of agreement wherein Lex would keep his silence as long as Clark stayed away from him. Chloe retreated into exile herself, but because of the trusts Lionel had set up for her and their son, Lex had some control over her. Both of them had kept Clark's secrets, and both had eventually returned to his welcoming embrace - Lex in a more literal sense.

Chloe was just now recovering. She seemed more and more like her old self with each passing day, smiling more frequently, laughing. She'd never attained her goal of becoming a reporter, but she did run a small publishing company, and managed her own investments. Over the years, she'd managed to make herself a nice little nest egg. Bryan, of course, stood to inherit a sizeable portion of the Luthor empire upon his twenty-first birthday.

Clark's gaze wandered back to Bryan, who stood listening to his coach give the team some last minute instructions. "He's a good kid, Chloe."

"Thanks, Clark," she whispered, and her smile grew wistful.

"I know what you're thinking."

Chloe looked up at him somberly, then broke into a grin, shaking her head as she took his arm in hers. "Am I that predictable? Tell me, what was I thinking?"

"You were thinking," Clark said softly. " 'I wish he was yours, Clark'."

He felt a slight hitch in her step that would have given her away had she said nothing. Still, after all these years, she held a spark of her old crush. She'd never be whole again until he was exercised from her heart.

Maybe Lex is feeling the same way.

"I guess I am pretty predictable."

"I'm sorry, Chloe."

She shrugged. "Well, I suppose in a way he is related to you, given our similar status within the Luthor clan."

"Both ex-Luthors?"

"If you can call me that," Chloe replied softly. "More like Luthor victims."

Clark frowned. She'd only revealed a few details regarding Bryan's conception, and sketchy ones at that. Insistence that it had been consensual appeased Clark's fears, until Lex chided him for being naive.

~~"Clark, he took advantage of that girl. Don't lie to yourself."~~

~~"But she says...."~~

~~"Of course she's going to say otherwise. Clark, Chloe danced a little too close to the flames and got burnt. The old cliche holds true. She isn't going to tell you the truth because she know you'll beat yourself up about it. She also isn't going to risk having Bryan find out about it. Bryan has some sort of fantasy version of our father in his head. Let him keep that for a while. He needs it. She needs it. Don't fuck that up, and don't fuck up your reconciliation with her by making demands. Trust me on this."~~

They reached the bleachers. Clark steadied Chloe with one hand as she climbed up a few steps to find herself a seat among the other parents. Clark sat down beside her.

"Sometimes I wish he were too, Chlo," Clark said.

If only to spare you those memories.

She nodded. "You'd make a good father, Clark."

"No I wouldn't. I'm unreliable. I work too much." He looked down at his hands, picking unhappily at his cuticles. He smiled ruefully, and leaned closer to her, whispering softly in her ear. "The benefits for superheroes suck."

Chloe laughed, and put her arm through his, leaning into him in a pseudo-hug. "I imagine they do."

"In any case, if I were his father he wouldn't be Bryan, and despite a few iffy genes, he's a great kid."

He felt Chloe's hand tighten around his. "Thank you."

Clark kissed her cheek lightly. "You're welcome."

They sat in silence for a little while after that, watching Bryan warming up with the other boys. He had a good right arm and had a natural athletic ability, but he was definitely not what Chloe had once called a "jockstrap." Clark knew Bryan Luthor also was as quick witted and intelligent as his father and brothers, with an excellent head for strategy. In school, Bryan was not only active in sports like soccer and baseball, but he played chess and just recently won the Kansas state youth spelling bee. Lex once told Clark that Bryan was the perfect son Lionel had always wanted, and that it was a good thing Lionel was dead or he'd be fucking around with the boy's mind just like he did with both his other sons.

As if somehow sensing Clark's thoughts, Bryan turned and looked up into the crowd. He waved at Chloe and Clark, who both waved back.

Thank God he takes after Chloe. Lionel's memory haunts us all now, who wants to actually see him every time we look at Bryan?

"Have you heard from Lex?"

"Clark...." Chloe said warningly.

"What? It's a simple question."

She gave him a look as if she didn't believe him. "Clark, Lex told me under no circumstances was I to tell you where he is."

Clark scowled, looking away from her and back to the playing field. The warm-ups were ending and the teams were gathering around their respective benches.

"I'm not asking you where he is, Chloe. I'm just asking if you'd heard from him." He paused. "He's purposely avoiding me then?"

"He's purposely avoiding everyone, Clark."

"Yeah, and the last time he did that I found out he had cancer," Clark spat. "Just tell me he's not sick again."

"I can't tell you that, because I don't know. I'm not even sure where he is to tell the truth, he called me on his cell when I talked to him last. He said if I needed anything concerning Bryan that I could talk to Pete." Chloe shrugged. "So if you want to pester anyone into telling you what's going on with Lex, you should grill Pete, not me."

"I have. He's not being very forthcoming."

"Lex probably threatened his life."

"I threatened to hold him upside down off the top of the Lex Corp. Tower." Clark's frown deepened. "He laughed at me."

Chloe did too. "He knows you're bluffing, and Lex is more frightening. You can't ask a man with a small child and a baby on the way to piss off his employer, Clark. Pete has to support his family."

"I guess I don't know much about that." Clark said quietly.

The sounds of the baseball game filled the air around them; the shouts of the boys as they called out in support of each other, or heckled their rivals, mingled with the encouragement from their parents and coaches. The crack of the ball against a bat, followed by cheers, marked a successful play. A car went by and honked its horn. A dog barked.

"Are you okay, Clark? I thought they said you were fully recovered?"

Clark's attention came back to the woman sitting beside him. "I'm fine, just a little tired."

"I wanted to come, but I was in Japan and...."

"I know you did, it's okay. I'm fine, Chloe. Swear."

He could tell by the expression on her face that she didn't believe him. He tried to watch the game, but then had to turn to look at her again. She was leaning her chin on her palm, watching him with the look of someone adept at reading people. It was what had made her a good journalist in her youth, and a good businessperson in her adulthood.

"What?"

"What's going on, Clark?" Chloe asked quietly. "First Lex starts acting weird, and now you're off your game. Did something happen between you two?"

Clark's gaze fell to his hands. "No, not really. I just...I'm not sure I'm as out of love with Lex as I thought."

Chloe's voice remained soft, both of them conscious of the people sitting around them. "That was hard to confess."

"Yeah. Chloe, I...when I was lying there in the hospital I seriously thought that was it, game over. But when I opened my eyes and he was there, I just...I couldn't leave him. He saved my life, Chlo. I was going to give up."

It would have been easy, too. He'd been in so much pain, and felt so utterly weary, not just physically, but emotionally. He was tired of bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. It would have been easy to just close his eyes and let it all go away.

Chloe sat up and moved a little closer to him, taking his hand in hers. "Now you know how it feels." She smiled wanly. "So now what?"

"Lex is pushing me away."

"For your own good."

"I wish I could believe that's all it is."

Clark pushed his glasses higher onto his nose and hunched down into his suit jacket, pure Clark Kent habits. Sometimes he felt like he had no idea who he was or where he was going in life. Superman did what Superman was meant to do - rescue people, etcetera, etcetera. Clark J. Kent, ace reporter, made himself a living and threw people off Superman's track, providing a hiding place for Metropolis' guardian when he wasn't being "super." Clark, just plain old Clark, tended to get lost in the shuffle.

Bruce sometimes called him Kal-El, melding Superman and Clark Kent together into the man he'd met on a rooftop and fell in love with on sight. His deep voice made the name sound dark and mysterious and sexy. It was, he said, the name of an alien prince.

Clark didn't want to be a prince. He didn't want to be an alien. He wanted to be a simple farm kid from Kansas.

~~"I remember you as you were, Clark, and I miss that kid."~~

~~"He hasn't gone anywhere, Lex."~~

~~"Yes he has. He's all grown up, with a whole new set of hopes and dreams and responsibilities, and I'm afraid there's no room for me anymore."~~

He looked over at Chloe. Things did change. People came and went from one's life, or sometimes stayed, but playing a greater or lesser role as circumstances were altered. Life was always evolving. Nothing was static, not even Superman.

"You aren't out of love with him at all, Clark," Chloe whispered. "And I don't think you ever were."

Clark made no reply.

"And this is why he's breaking ties."

"Chloe...."

"Clark, don't read danger into Lex's every move." Chloe's voice dropped even further as she leaned close again. "Turn Superman off."

He sighed. "I did, Chloe, and that's why I'm in trouble again. He has the strength to leave Lex. I don't."

And I miss him so much.

Clark kept reading the same page of his book over and over again. It was late. He'd finished his "rounds" and was lying in bed, trying to relax and get some rest before having to get up in the morning and go to work. Rest was proving reticent. His shoulders and back refused to unkink, the furrow in his brow was deep and unyielding; he caught himself grinding his teeth. The book failed to keep him occupied and his mind kept wandering.

~~"Where is he, Pete?"~~

~~"I can't tell you that, Clark. Lex has taken a few weeks vacation and didn't want to be disturbed."~~

~~"He saw his oncologist."~~

~~"And? Clark, the man has regular checkups. Will you just stop, okay? Just stop."~~

~~"Pete, he's kept stuff from me before...."~~

~~"Because you get yourself worked up about it. If Lex knew you were poking around in his business he'd be royally pissed off. Leave him alone, Clark. He'll be back in a month or so and you can work it out."~~

~~"Work it out. Work what out? I don't even know what IT, is. I don't know what happened, but I'm so messed up now, Pete."~~

~~"Go home, Clark."~~

~~"But...."~~

~~"Go home, call Bruce, forget about Lex."~~

"I can't," Clark whispered. "He's like a demon, possessing me."

Clark had come upon Lex standing at the window in the hospital, looking haggard and worn, almost as if he were again fighting the cancer. When he'd turned to Clark, his eyes had held such anguish, such horror, that it had at first taken Clark aback to see it. Yet when realization dawned that Clark was alive, that anguish had fled, replaced by sheer joy. Clark had never loved Lex more than in that moment. The feeling had been mutual.

We've grown up, and with maturity we've realized the only way we can love each other, is to be apart.

Oh, God, Lex....

The phone rang, startling Clark out of his thoughts but not necessarily his melancholy. He set his book aside and reached for the phone with a sigh, and the twinge of hope that it would be Lex.

Bruce's low purr came over the line, and that did chase away the blues. Clark smiled, and edged lower in his bed, pulling the sheets up around his chest as he lay back on the pillows.

"How were rounds?"

"Quiet, yours?"

"Jack's pissed off about the casino heist getting busted up and is retaliating by keeping me busy putting out fires all over the city. I'm beat."

Clark stared up at the ceiling. His apartment was a loft on the upper floor of an old warehouse. Pipes and ducts crisscrossed each other far above his head, some leading nowhere, others integrated into the new heating system, some just decorative. Looking at it was like following a single thread through a tangled web of yarn stretched between one's fingers, the ultimate cat's cradle.

"He must have had plans for that money."

"That's what scares me. Jack's not playing with a full deck, that's for sure, but he's crafty, and intelligent," Bruce's voice lowered to a growl. "And that's what makes him so dangerous. He's crazy and smart."

"I find it funny that you chose a card analogy to describe a man who calls himself the Joker."

Bruce laughed. "It is rather appropriate."

Clark sighed. "I almost wish I'd had some fires to put out, just so I could get to sleep tonight."

"Be careful what you ask for. Can't sleep, huh?"

"Hmm, mmm."

"I suppose you're going to resist being tempted out of your bed and into mine for the night."

Smiling, Clark reached over to the bedside table and switched off the lamp. The darkness closed in on him, save for the faint bluish light coming in from the window from the streetlamps outside. It was somewhat comforting, the darkness. It reminded him of Bruce, for whom the night was a more pleasant place than the bright daylight Clark tended to prefer. Clark owed a lot to the sunlight but he let the darkness embrace him as if he were being enveloped in Bruce's arms and swallowed by Batman's cape.

"I think I can work up a good whine. I am restless, but still fairly tired."

"You've been overdoing it. I don't care who you are, you had a goddamn hole in your gut and you can't possibly be fully recovered."

"The scar's gone."

There was a pause. "That one, maybe."

Clark laughed. "Oh, are we psycho-analyzing me now? I'm fine, Bruce."

The pause this time was longer, as if Bruce were taking time to choose his words carefully, infuse them with power, emotion. It wasn't what he said that touched Clark, but how he said it.

"I just want to make sure, Clark."

There was undeniable affection in every word. Every syllable bore nuances of love, and loyalty. Bruce was very careful with his feelings, never reaching out for fear of getting burned, something he shared with Lex. He was much more sensitive than he seemed, and a lot less worldly. Bruce had been sheltered his entire life. The only world he knew outside his protective bubble was the one in which his parents had been brutally gunned down in cold blood right before his eyes. He was bitter, jaded, and afraid, even as Batman. The cape and cowl were his protection from the dangers lurking outside his mansion gates.

Lex had his moments, but even so, he was in reality a much stronger person than Bruce within his walls. Bruce's armor was as impenetrable as Clark's skin, but once cracked one could see how fragile he really was inside. To Clark's knowledge, only two people knew this, himself and Alfred. He suspected, however, that Lex saw it too.

~~"Clark."~~

~~"Hmm?"~~

~~"I...I stayed with Lex last night, to be closer to the hospital."~~

~~"His penthouse...it's..."~~

~~"Right around the corner, yeah I know. Clark...I...I don't know what happened...."~~

~~"You slept with him."~~

~~"Yes."~~

~~"And?"~~

~~"It...I just...I don't want to lose you, Clark. I know that sounds really stupid considering I just cheated on you, but it's the truth. Neither does Lex. He loves you so much, and we both...."~~

~~"I don't care, Bruce."~~

~~But...."~~

~~"I don't want either of you to...guh-go through this alone."~~

Bruce and Lex were like oil and water, but at the same time, very much alike.

"Be sure," Clark said quietly. "I'm okay. I've just been a little distracted lately."

"So let me undistract you." Bruce's voice grew even lower, rougher. It took on the tone he used during sex. "God, I really want you here."

Grinning, Clark switched ears with the phone, and slid one hand down to rest on his belly. "And what would you do if I were?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes I would, actually. Hungry?"

"Very hungry," Bruce purred. "Your cock is like crack to a junkie, Clark."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Going down on you is the best feeling in the world. Having your cock on my tongue, down my throat, tasting your come, there's nothing better. Nothing at all."

Clark moved his hand lower, his fingertips brushing the curls of his pubic hair, tickling himself as his cock hardened. "So if I came over there now, you'd give me the best blow job in the world?"

"God, yes. I'd let you fuck me as hard as you wanted, as deep as you wanted, and take every drop of come you could give me."

The sound of Bruce licking his lips made both Clark's eyebrows and his cock go up further. He was breathing rather raggedly into the phone, his breath coming in short, breathless pants, something else that made Clark's cock throb almost painfully.

"Shit," he said, and hung up the phone.

He was in Gotham in less than five minutes, clad in a dark running suit instead of Superman's more flamboyant attire. Bruce's big Mastiff dogs, Medea and Ajax, barely gave him a second glance as he flew over the big wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Wayne Manor.

~~"Manor, Manor. He's so fucking pretentious he has to call his estate a 'manor?' What's that all about? You fucking him because I'm too cheap for you now, Clark? Going for richer spoils?"~~

~~"Shut up, Lex. You're only saying that to piss me off, and it isn't working."~~

~~"Fuck you, then. Go home to your little rich boy-toy, I don't care."~~

Bruce was in the bedroom, sitting in a chair wearing a black, silk dressing gown that was open all the way down the front. His phone lay across one bare thigh, the antennae pointing suggestively at his rigid cock. As he saw Clark, he let the phone fall discarded to the rug at his feet.

"You're dressed."

Clark burst out with a laugh. "What did you think I was going to do? Fly all the way here from Metropolis naked?"

The smile was wan. "It was a very nice thought." Bruce stood and went to Clark, putting his hands on Clark's shoulders before leaning in to kiss him, slow and sultry, on the mouth. "You slipping through the darkness, body silvery, sleek in the moonlight...." A quick swipe of the tongue along Clark's jaw, a soft breath against his cheek, and Clark's cock remembered why it was there. "I want to tie you up and leave you outside all night long, just so I can lick the dew from your skin when morning comes."

"We could do that...." Clark said gruffly.

"Not tonight," Bruce pushed his hands up along Clark's sides and removed his sweatshirt in one long, smooth motion. He moved to suckle at one nipple, toying the rough flesh erect with his tongue before pinching it between his teeth. "I'm so hungry tonight. I can't wait that long."

Both of them fumbled for the waistband of Clark's sweatpants. Clark tripped over his own clothing and fell into the chair Bruce had abandoned. Bruce sank to his knees, the long black robe pooling around his body like the cloak he wore as Batman. His eyes were icy and intense. He watched Clark watching him as he slowly traced a line up the inside of Clark's thigh, quirking a brow as the muscles tensed beneath his tongue.

Clark leaned his head back against the chair and reached out his hands to bury his fingers in Bruce's thick, dark hair. He felt the rasp of stubble against his hip, and then he was inside Bruce's mouth, all warmth and wetness - no sucking just yet, just a simple slide in and out over tongue and against palate. He groaned when Bruce's lips closed around the shaft but did not break his gaze into those sharp blue eyes. Cheeks hollowing, Bruce devoured Clark's cock as his eyes devoured Clark's coherent thought.

He was mindless. He couldn't think, only feel, and all he felt were the sensations vibrating through his groin into his gut. Muscles contracted, sprang loose again, driving his hips up and forward. The chair groaned along with him as he braced himself against it, his buttocks slapping the leather with every thrust. Bruce met every one, taking him down deep and letting him withdraw against the pull of suction. It made Clark moan as if he were dying.

Clark had to tear his gaze away. He squeezed his eyes shut and came, delighting in the feel of Bruce's throat muscles along the head of his cock as he swallowed again and again. Clark's body shuddered and was still.

Bruce's kisses tasted like nothing else anywhere, seasoned with alien come. Clark licked him clean, then returned the favor.

Bruce's armor was in crumbled pieces when he padded into the library rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. Clark smiled as he watched him out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't often that Bruce reminded Clark he was only twenty-four, five years younger, but this was one of those times. Without a scowling countenance, his hair mussed, and wearing only pair of black pajama bottoms, Bruce looked like a lost boy, a refugee from a frat house. He stopped beside Clark's chair and yawned again, blinking in the light of the computer monitor Clark was utilizing.

"Mmm, 'doing?"

"Hacking."

That woke him up. "Really? Clark Kent, you're ruining your squeaky clean reputation."

"Bite me, Batboy."

Bruce did. Clark laughed and elbowed him away when he tried to bite a second time. Thwarted, he settled for wrapping his arms around Clark's shoulders and kissing his ear, watching as information flew by across the computer screen in front of them. It moved faster than a human eye could have followed. So did Clark's fingers across the keyboard.

"Who's the victim?"

Clark was reluctant to say. "Dr. Xavier Yarka," he murmured after a pause.

"And why are we hacking into the good doctor's computer?"

"To find information on one of his patients."

Abruptly a hand shot out from over Clark's shoulder, slamming down on both his hands and the keyboard, effectively putting a halt to his search. The computer squealed in protest before locking up and stalling, the screen turning the bright shade of blue that was guaranteed to send computer users into a fury. Clark was no exception.

"Damnit!" Clark pushed back the chair and rose, whirling on Bruce who had backed away from him. "You just cost me hours of work!"

"Lex's oncologist," Bruce growled. "That's who you were hacking. Clark, Jesus! Leave it be!"

Clark ignored him. He turned away, running both hands through his hair as he began pacing.

Bruce gave the chair a little shove, knocking it over. "Fuck! You can't leave it alone, can you? You're as obsessive as he is!"

"I have to know he's okay!" Clark raged back, his voice rising. "It's only in remission, Bruce. It's not gone. It's never been gone completely." He waved a hand, continuing to pace back and forth like a caged lion. He felt caged. He felt trapped. Ignorance was tearing him apart. He heard himself and realized he was barely making sense, rambling, and he didn't care. He had to know.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "The cancer?"

"Yes."

"He would have said something, surely."

"Maybe, maybe not." Clark's voice wavered. He let out his breath in a huff. "If he were breaking ties with me, wanting me to move on like he's implied, he wouldn't. I caused it, Bruce. It was my fault...."

I never told him the truth, even when Lionel was filling his head with garbage, and when he found out....

I've never seen him so frightened. The terror in his eyes when he looked at me is something I'll never forget as long as I live. The mistrust, the anger, I could live with, but never the fear.

"I stayed with him through it all. I held him when he was so drugged he didn't even know who I was, and cleaned up after him when he was sick." He stopped pacing, and looked at Bruce beseechingly. "Don't you see? He doesn't want to owe me again. He pulled me through when I was hurt, repaying me for all that time I spent trying to keep him alive before. Lex sees things as a series of checks and balances, Bruce. If we have to go through him being sick again, he'll feel like he owes me, and maybe this time he won't be able to repay me."

Bruce stared at him. For what Clark felt was an eternity, the only sounds in the darkened library were the hum of the computer and the rasping of his own breath. His chest hurt. His hands were shaking as he raised them to his face.

"He's in Barcelona," Bruce whispered.

Clark slowly raised his head. Bruce's blue eyes locked with his for just a split second before they turned away. Bruce crossed his arms, almost hugging himself, as he looked instead at the blank screen of his computer.

"Somewhere off the coast from what I understand."

His voice was full of gravel when he spoke, and Clark wasn't sure exactly what emotions he was feeling. Anger? Grief?

Jealousy?

"How do you know?"

Bruce moved away, bending to right the chair he had knocked over, anything to keep from looking Clark in the eye again. "He called me."

"He called you." Clark said flatly.

He put a hand over his eyes and turned away himself, resuming his pacing. He was wearing the black sweatsuit again, but was barefoot and his feet made very little sound on the thick oriental carpeting as he stalked back and forth angrily. Finally he could stand it no longer and turned on Bruce in a sudden, explosive fury.

"He called you? And you didn't fucking tell me?"

A soft sound at the door made Clark start. Whirling, he came face to face with Alfred, who stood just outside, his lined face looking weary, and his normally tidy appearance rumpled with sleep. His countenance, however, was stern, lest anyone forget this seemingly frail old butler had raised a boy to become Gotham's Dark Knight.

"Master Bruce...."

"It's all right, Alfred," Bruce said softly. "We're okay. Go back to bed."

"Are you sure? I could prepare some coffee...."

"I'm sure. Please." Crossing the room in front of Clark, Bruce went to the old man and put a hand on his elbow. "It's all right, please go back to bed."

Clark watched Bruce guide Alfred away, gently turning him out into the hallway and then closing the library doors shut behind him so he would not be disturbed again. Clark felt disgusted, mostly with himself.

When Bruce returned, he'd regained a little of his normal confidence, as if Alfred had served as some sort of touchstone for him. His expression was chill, his eyes hooded, as he went to the bar and poured himself a drink. It was such a Lex-like action Clark had to shudder. Bruce rarely drank.

"He called me," Bruce said after the first sip. "To ask about you."

"Why didn't he just call me, then?" Clark snapped.

"I don't know."

"Is he sick?"

"I don't know."

Clark cursed, wanting nothing more in that moment than to break something, tear something to shreds to vent his frustration. Bruce continued to drink.

Finally Clark stopped. He stopped pacing. He stopped shouting and cursing. He simply turned around and headed for the doors.

"I'm going," he said. "The hell with both of you."

The low voice stilled his hand upon the doorknob, and he turned at the sound of his name. Bruce stood there, one hand wrapped around a glass in which pale amber scotch glistened in the light issuing from the computer desk. The light also illuminated Bruce's eyes, making them look even bluer. Clark was momentarily taken back by the sight.

That's what people see, when Batman comes out of the darkness. They see nothing but darkness, except for the cold blue of his eyes. No wonder people are afraid of him.

"If you don't come back," Bruce said, his voice barely audible, "I'll understand."

Clark hesitated for barely a breath, then walked out of the room.

A check at the airport revealed that Lex had flown the Lex Corp. jet to Edge City and there it had remained, leaving Clark to deduce that the trip from Edge City to Barcelona had been accomplished via another form of transportation. This was easily confirmed by a flight over the marina. Lillian was still sitting snug in her berth. Angel Warrior was not.

Angel Warrior was the smallest of Lex's two yachts, and the one less notably associated with him. People immediately recognized Lillian as she had also been Lionel's favorite sea-going vessel during his traveling days. If Lex wanted to travel under slightly less scrutiny, he would take the boat named in honor of his favorite comic book character, Warrior Angel.

Sure enough, when Superman flew over the marina off the coast of Barcelona, Spain, he caught sight of a familiar shape anchored out in the Mediterranean. A closer look at the stern revealed, in gold outlined script, her name: Angel Warrior - Edge City, USA.

Clark went higher so he would not be seen, and flew in lazy circles around the boat bobbing gently in bright blue waters beneath an even brighter yellow sun. The Mediterranean was a favorite spot of Clark's, a place where he could soak up the sun and feel energized, and the warmth spreading throughout his body as he rose up and down on the air currents coming up off the sea felt good. When he'd been hurt, Lex had decided he needed the sunlight, and that theory had proven vital for Clark's survival. Clark was still rather weary from that ordeal. The temptation to forget all about Lex, and Bruce, and just lounge around in the sun for a few days was hard to resist.

A movement from below caught his eye.

Lex tended to avoid the sun as much as Clark sought it out, his hairlessness making him prone to being easily burnt. When he protected himself, however, and carefully regulated his exposure, he tanned to a delicious golden brown that made his smoky blue eyes even bluer, and his delicately rose-shaded lips look more luscious. The scar across his upper lip stood out in stark white relief when Lex tanned, and for some reason Clark found it incredibly sexy.

It was Lex on the boat. The tan gave away the fact he'd been there for some time. As Clark watched from above, he came up from below-decks to lean over the railing and look out across the bay into the city, leaning his elbows on the rail. He was dressed the part of a Mediterranean tourist, in white slacks, and a pale lavender silk shirt unbuttoned down his chest and pushed up at the sleeves. The black glove he usually wore on his bad hand was gone, replaced by a simple cuff of sterling silver that served to hide the join between flesh and synthetic. He looked relaxed and at peace.

He also looked to be in good physical health - certainly better than he had for some time. His illness and a great deal of stress had left him weary and weak for a very long time. Clark hesitated. If Lex was doing so well without him, how could he justify ruining that? If Lex was not ill, Clark had nothing to worry about either, and could go home to Bruce, make amends and try to live his life without any leftover baggage.

As he had spent hours watching Lana Lang from the loft as a love struck teen, he hovered high in the air quietly watching Lex pace the Angel Warrior's deck. Lex's long fingers ran over the smooth mahogany rail as his gaze drank in the stretch of sea before him. Bare feet padded upon the teakwood decking, a soft sound Clark's sensitive hearing picked up as he honed in on the ship. He heard Lex sigh. He heard Lex's heart beating.

Clark often wondered if his senses would ever be able to penetrate the barrier of someone's mind, and actually "hear" a thought. Would such an ability make things easier, or more difficult?

What are you thinking, Lex?

Lex's fingers caressed the wood rail as they had often caressed Clark's back, slipping down the groove of his spine. Lex's fingertips were silky smooth. Clark remembered arching up into them, then turning to accept a kiss as Lex eased into bed with him.

Lex.

Clark would wonder if Lex had somehow sensed his presence, using some bond they'd formed long ago, or if it were just coincidence, but he abruptly lifted his gaze to the sky, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the light. All he could have seen was a dark blot against the backlight of the sun, but the sharp jut of an elbow, and the fluttering of his cape in the ocean breeze, gave Clark away. They stared at each other for long moment. Clark hardly dared to breathe. Lex's face betrayed no emotion of any kind when he quickly turned and went below.

Clark turned, and dove down to the Angel Warrior, his boots hitting her deck with a thump as he landed. His height and breadth had increased since he'd last been aboard this particular boat and he barely made it through the door. Squeezing down the stairs, he exited into the luxurious surroundings of the main cabin, with it's fine carpeting, plush furniture, and polished wood paneling. Everything was done in mahogany and brass, and dark, burgundy red. The muted colors clashed with the pastels Lex wore, and the bright primary colors of Superman.

They didn't speak. Lex put his hands in his pockets and stared at Clark with the same unreadable expression he'd been wearing on deck.

"Lex," Clark said finally.

"Is this business?" Lex nodded toward the suit.

"No. It's easier to explain why I'm not utilizing a commercial airliner."

"You were in a hurry."

"Why did you leave?" Clark blurted, taking a step forward.

Lex removed his hands from his pockets and walked away, moving around the room as if he were examining it for flaws. He did not look at Clark as he spoke, and Clark did not come any closer.

"I told you why."

"But you didn't make me understand why."

"Do I have to hold your hand? Clark, we can't do this. We can't be together. How many times have we tried and failed?"

Clark moved, following him as he paced the room. "Neither of us are blind, Lex. We both know how we feel about each other. That's never changed. When two people care about each other as much as we do, there has to be a way to make it work."

Lex stopped abruptly, but with a loveseat between himself and Clark. It was as if he had reverted back to the days when he'd been afraid of Clark, the alien his father had warned him against, only this time he was not wearing the kryptonite ring.

"I want you to go home."

"I...."

"Go home, Clark." Lex's voice was low, and rough. "Bruce needs you far more than I do."

"Bruce can take care of himself."

"If he could, Clark, he wouldn't have run right into my arms when he thought you were dying."

Clark drew back as if slapped, and yet....

"You know it's true," Lex whispered. "You've been here before. What do you see? Do you want a repeat of what happened with Chloe?"

Turning his head, Clark moved away, retreating to the other side of the cabin where he wrapped his arms around himself and stood very still. "Chloe and Lana were different than this. I never knew what I wanted, how I felt. I didn't understand then that I was only going through the motions."

"In the end you chose Lana."

"Ultimately I chose you," Clark said stiffly, looking back over his shoulder. "I love you."

"This isn't a choice, Clark, and even if it were, I've chosen for you. I've chosen Bruce. He's a good man, better than I ever could be, and I love you enough to want you to have him." Lex's chill expression faltered, betraying his pain. "And I respect Bruce enough that I don't want to hurt him."

"I don't want to hurt him either."

"Then go home, damnit! Leave me alone!"

Clark moved, faster than the eye could follow, and jerked Lex around the edge of the little sofa, drawing him up close by one arm. He could feel Lex's heart pounding in his chest as he gave him a little shake and stared him in the eyes with all the intensity he could muster. His voice was a roar.

"I can't. Don't you understand? I can't."

Lex was at first infuriated, then slightly frightened, staring up at Clark with some horror, unable to free himself from the strength of Clark's alien grip around his bicep. Clark could feel the tension in him. He lowered his voice to a gentler tone.

"You're in my head, Lex. You're in my heart. I can't stop thinking about you, wondering if you're okay, when I'll talk to you next, when I'll see you. Even if we aren't together, you're my friend. Don't push me away."

"I care about you too much not to," Lex murmured. He twisted his arm, and Clark let him go. "We are finished, Clark, and I'm tired of torturing myself over it. You have Bruce...."

"And you have nothing. No. I'm not letting you do this, because I don't think it's what you really want."

"Fuck!" Turning away, it was Lex who began to pace. "Of course it's not what I want. It's not what either of us want, Clark, but do you see things happening any other way?" He stopped abruptly, snatching up a corner of Clark's cape and waving it in front of him. "This, this owns you! You can't stop being who you are any more than I can. Bruce understands. I...I can't."

Clark looked down at the crimson cloth clutched in Lex's hand, and noticed that it was the right hand, the inhuman conglomeration of synthetic flesh, electronic nerves, and bones of steel. His eyes rose, meeting Lex's and saw that he had noticed it too. Lex let go as if stung and moved away rubbing at the silver cuff around his wrist. He turned his back on Clark.

"Lex," Clark whispered. "You know me better than I know myself."

The reply was just as soft. "But I don't know him."

"There's no difference!"

"Yes, there is, Clark and you know it." Lex turned back around. "Are you willing to give up Superman for me?"

The silence was telling. Clark swallowed, and looked down at his chest at the symbol emblazoned there. It was his mark, the broken figure eight that had once been the signature of the house of El. He'd broken it when he'd discarded his father's programming and decided ruling the planet was not in his future. He'd created his own destiny, and made his own signature. In English the symbol was that of the letter "S" and he had been renamed Superman.

Superman was as much a part of him as the bumbling reporter, or the shy, quiet farm boy who had fallen in love with the young son of Lionel Luthor. Leaving him behind would be like....

Cutting off a limb.

"An eye for an eye," Clark breathed. He looked up at Lex.

Lex's expression betrayed nothing. He simply waited.

"If you were to ask me to swallow kryptonite, I would, Lex. I swear if you wanted me dead I'd do everything in my power to make it so. But don't ask me to give up helping people, and please don't ask me to live my life without you."

He took a step forward, then another, until he was close enough to touch, and he did, slipping his fingers beneath Lex's chin. "Come home."

He'd had this look in his eyes the day we met, when I first saved him from drowning and he couldn't believe he was still alive.

It broke something within both of them. Clark relived the same burst of desperation he'd felt at the hospital, when he'd suddenly been given his life back. Like then, he found himself kissing Lex, holding him. Lex struggled at first, holding up his hands in a warding gesture, but quickly succumbed to Clark's strength and melted into his arms. His fingers slipped over the slick fabric of Superman's suit. His fists clenched within the folds of the cloak.

"You can't," Lex breathed, when Clark's lips finally left his. "Clark, no."

Clark grasped at his shirt, popping the buttons off of it and sending them rolling over the dark carpeting. His hands craved Lex's sun-warmed skin. He was mindless of the consequences. Bruce was far behind him in Gotham; all the troubles he and Lex had gone through before were behind them in the past. This was the now, and Clark found things rapidly spiraling out of his conscious control. Loneliness and desire replaced everything else, blotting out Lex's words of denial. Lex's voice said one thing but his mouth, body and hands said another.

Lex knew how to rid Clark of his uniform. His fingers worked swiftly and deftly, sliding Clark from the confines of Superman's identity. Clark dropped to his knees and removed the boots himself, along with Lex's slacks, inhaling Lex's scent as he pressed his face to one bare hip. The stiffening of Lex's cock against his cheek drove him to turn his head, engulf what was offered within his mouth, and draw breath around it. Lex's fingers dug into his shoulders, then tangled themselves in his hair.

"No, Clark, please...."

But Lex was responding, moaning as Clark took him hilt deep. His knees threatened to buckle and Clark wrapped his hands around his hips, holding him steady, helping him move. Hips thrust forward and back in time to the bobbing of Clark's head. It was all frantic movements and clutching hands, breath coming in frantic gasps and moans. Lex's muscles tightened as he came to climax, his thighs trembling as he shuddered with the first wave, his cock pulsing within Clark's throat. Clark drew back, catching the glistening droplets of come upon his lips and tongue, lapping them from Lex's cock as he gave his last. With a small moan, Lex collapsed into Clark's arms and allowed himself to be lowered to the floor.

"Hate you," he murmured. His voice broke, almost tearfully. "I hate you."

Clark rose to his feet, looking down at the sprawl of Lex's body and limbs across the carpeting. Tanned golden, hairless, glistening with sweat, he had never been as beautiful as he was lying there. His eyes were as blue as the sea surrounding them, and in them was a mixture of joy and confusion. Clark felt powerful, and hated himself for it. Yet the sight fueled his desire, his lust, and he found himself wanting something he'd never wanted before.

"I'm going to fuck you. Where is it."

"God...."

"Where is it?" he demanded.

"My cabin."

It took Clark less than a second to go there and back. It was as if he had never gone. Lex still lay on the floor, panting, when Clark came back with the tube of lubricant. It was then that he realized fully what Clark intended, and moved his body around as if he were learning to use it again. He crawled up to a sitting position as Clark knelt beside him. His arms wrapped around Clark's neck and they kissed.

"I don't care," Clark said softly. "Lex, I don't care what happens when we leave here. We'll work something out, whether it's together or not. I just need you now." His hands trembled as he touched Lex's face, his chest, his hands. "I need you."

Lex kissed him, tongue probing deep, his body pressing itself up to Clark's tightly as if they were melding into one. Belly to belly, they knelt on the floor together. Lex's hands were wrapped around Clark's head, holding him steady as sucked and licked Clark's mouth and throat. He only flinched when Clark slipped a finger inside him. A second made him, cry out, "yes!"

~~"I can't, Lex."~~

~~"Why not?"~~

~~"I'm scared."~~

~~"Of what?"~~

~~"Nothing, nevermind. I just...I just like it better when you do me."~~

Even lubed it was difficult. Clark hurt him, driving in too quickly and thrusting too hard, but he couldn't stop himself. Lex's muscles tightened around his cock and the sensations it produced went straight to Clark's head like Bruce's drugs. His body reacted while his mind was still processing exactly what was happening. On his knees behind Lex, holding onto slim hips arcing up and back to meet his thrusts, Clark was lost in ecstasy. He bit his lip, shook his long hair back over his shoulders. He found his rhythm, pumping steadily against Lex's buttocks, driving himself deeper with every thrust. Lex moaned and hung his head between his arms, pushing back against Clark's body as if wanting more, and Clark gave him more, and more, and more.

Harder. Faster.

He was coming. The push and pull of Lex's muscles around his cock milked him, intensifying and prolonging the shudders that wracked his body. His breath ceased, the resumed in great gulping pants as the two of them collapsed bonelessly to the carpet. Clark rested his head on Lex's shoulders and closed his eyes.

The alien in him crowed.

Mine!

There was no more talking. They'd said what they needed to say, and resolved nothing. There was only sex. Clark didn't know what it meant, and didn't care as they lay together beneath the stars after a long day of dozing and fucking. It hadn't been love-making. It had been fucking born of desires too long suppressed.

They'd bathed together as the sun went down, swimming alongside the boat in a sea turned golden by the waning light. As darkness fell they'd emerged, both glistening with sea water that dripped like diamonds from their skin. Stretched out upon a blanket on the deck, Lex proceeded to dry Clark, licking him from throat to hips. Clark's cock got its fair share and now Lex lay upon his hip, hands caressing his chest as Clark petted him. The earthy scent of sex mingled with the tangy smell of salt water, and the crisp ocean breeze.

I never want to leave here. Could I give up Superman for this?

Bruce, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I do love you but....

Lex moved up to lie beside him. Clark continued to pet him, stroking his back as they wrapped themselves around each other. The night air was cool, but their bodies were warm. Clark pulled Lex in closer to keep him warm. He himself didn't mind the chill.

~~"What was it like?"~~

~~"What?"~~

~~"Krypton?"~~

~~"I never lived there."~~

~~"But you know, Clark."~~

~~"Yeah, I know."~~

~~"How?"~~

~~"I can't explain it. It's...it's like having a computer download a bunch of files into your head. Whenever you need an answer to a question you can just go to that file and pull out the information you need. Krypton, it was a cold place. There was ice, and snow, and glaciers, and a beautiful light show that makes the Northern Lights look like nothing spectacular at all. It was beautiful. But it was all the same, Lex. There were no mountains, no oceans, no forests or plains - just ice, and snow. Earth has so many different types of beauty. I'm glad it's my home."~~

"It's not us, Clark." Lex whispered. "It's everything else."

Clark kissed him. "I know."

"And it isn't going to stop."

"No, it isn't."

Closing his eyes, Clark sighed, listening to the waves brush the sides of the ship, the sounds of other boats passing in the night, and the distant conversation of other people all around them. If he listened carefully, he could also pick up the sounds of the city itself, and the strains of music from one of the clubs along shore. It would have been easier to die than to stay here in paradise, knowing that somewhere he could be making the difference in the battle between good and evil, life and death.

"Someone," Clark whispered, "once told me that things were never laid out in black and white, but always in varying shades of gray." He opened his eyes and looked at Lex's face, easily picking up his features in the dark. "That hasn't changed."

"No, but I have. I don't want to pick my way through the fog anymore, Clark."

"I can't stop being Superman, Lex."

"And that is why I can't have you."

"Can't, or won't?"

Lex never answered. He began to make a retort but was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing somewhere. Its strident ring was hard to ignore, and with an irritated sigh, Lex disengaged himself from Clark to go answer it. Clark watched him, his eyes as sharp as a cats in the dark, admiring Lex's slim, muscular body as he climbed up into the bridge in search of the ringing phone. He came back with his cell pressed to his ear.

The sight of Lex, naked, standing on a boat while talking on the cell phone would have made Clark laugh if it hadn't been for the expression on his face. He looked shocked, as if someone had punched him, and Clark could see, even in the dark, that his color had gone pale.

"What? When?" Lex moved toward Clark, and knelt to pick up his discarded robe. He pulled it on as he spoke into the phone. "Are you sure? No, no...Clark's with me.

Clark stood up, dogging him. "What is it?" he mouthed.

Lex waved him off. "No, you did the right thing, Alfred. I'll tell him."

A chill ran through Clark's body that had had nothing to do with his lack of clothing. There was only one reason while Alfred would call Lex Luthor. Alfred was looking for Clark, and if he were, that could only mean trouble.

"What is it?"

Lex looked up at him. "Alfred thinks Napier has killed Bruce."

Clark hated Gotham. He would even say he despised Gotham. The city was old, dark and ugly, harkening back to the days of gangsters and bootleggers. Her buildings were made of stone instead of glass and steel, built exceptionally close together, and all of them bristled with gargoyles and ornaments. It was perfect hunting ground for a superhero who relied on his climbing skills to get around. Batman was perfectly at home among the rooftops of Gotham.

Superman, on the other hand, had to be careful as he flew around the city. He'd snag his cape on a gargoyle's wing, or careen into the side of a building if he weren't watching where he was going. The "canyons" between buildings were dark and narrow, some nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders. It made searching for one black clad man very difficult.

"Damnit!" Clark swerved to miss the outstretched arm of some large ornamental statuary on top of a bank, and ducked under an angel's wing. The heel of his boot took off the tip of one intricately carved pinion.

That he was upset wasn't helping his concentration either.

Clark was good at a great many things, even without his powers. He was talented, likeable, and just genuinely good at just about anything he chose to tackle. One thing he was exceptionally good at was guilt. Clark had guilt down to a science. Had he been human he would have died years ago of a bleeding ulcer and sometimes he was convinced he was working his way toward one anyway - like now. He certainly didn't have nerves of steel at the moment. It was a wonder he could get off the ground with the burden he was carrying.

Before he'd vanished into the air from Angel Warrior's deck, Lex had told him: "It's not your fault, Clark."

That didn't stop Clark from feeling badly about Bruce's disappearance. They'd fought, he'd run off to his ex, and Bruce had gone out and gotten himself killed.

"Shit!"

A building appeared without warning in front of Clark's nose and he was forced to put on the proverbial "brakes" before shooting upward over the massive black edifice that was Gotham's old Crown Hotel.

The thing was, Clark thought, as he parked himself on top of the huge head of a massive dragon-shaped gargoyle, that lost communication did not a dead man make. Alfred had simply lost the signal that he used to both track and communicate with Batman while he was in the field. Since this had never happened before, and Bruce had been right in the middle of a knock down drag out with the Joker at the time, Alfred immediately assumed the worst.

"It could be simply a computer glitch." Clark murmured.

He stood on top of the gargoyle and surveyed his surroundings, searching the darkness for any sign of Batman. Against the dark night and the grey stone building, Clark stood out like a beacon. His red cape fluttered in the breeze.

A flash of light caught his attention. Turning sharply, he glanced toward a neighboring building and saw a thin stream of light issuing from around the corner. It flashed and flickered. Obviously someone was trying to get his attention.

Clark dove off the gargoyle into the sky, his body arcing through the air like the curved wing of an eagle. He was freefalling for a moment before he caught himself and glided around the corner of the smaller, older building next to the hotel. His boots found purchase on the narrow ledge.

"Oh, thank God."

Bruce grunted. "Whatever."

He sat huddled beneath his black cloak in the shadow of another statue, quite hidden in the folds of the stone woman's long skirts. Beneath the cowl, his face was deathly white and he was shivering. His voice, however, was strong, steady and low with anger.

"Bastard ambushed me."

Clark crouched down beside him. "Alfred thought you were dead."

"Fuck, I wish I were," Bruce growled. "Dislocated my fucking shoulder and probably cracked some ribs. I've been sitting here debating whether I should attempt to climb up to the roof one handed, or jump and hope to God something broke my fall." He cocked his head toward Clark. "Alfred called you?"

Hesitating, Clark sighed. Eventually he shrugged.

"Alfred called Lex."

"So," Bruce said quietly. "You found him. In one piece?"

"Yes."

"Feeling like a yo-yo?" Bruce wrapped his cloak more tightly around his body. "Rescue one, then run off to rescue the other...."

"Don't. I feel bad enough."

"Oh, reaaaally?" Bruce drawled, giving him a hard stare. "And why is that, Clark? Did you fuck him?"

Clark's face reddened. "Do you want off this ledge or not? I could always go call Jack and tell him where you've gone to ground...."

"You did sleep with him, didn't you."

"Bruce...."

"Oh, just tell me, Clark. It's not like I don't really know. You've been pining over the guy since I met you." He continued after Clark refused to answer. "So while I'm risking life and limb, trying to keep Jack from ripping out my spleen, you're off boinking your ex. Isn't that just my luck."

"Instant Karma," Clark said softly, a gentle reminder of Bruce's own infidelity.

Bruce's cheeks flushed.

"Get me down," he whispered.

~~"How is he?"~~

~~"Fine, just some cuts, bruises, and a dislocated shoulder. Ribs weren't cracked, but the bruising is pretty deep. He'll be laid up for a few days."~~

~~"Are you staying with him?"~~

~~"Can't. I'm expected back in Metropolis. It's the nine to five thing you know. Some of us aren't lucky enough to be bazillionaires."~~

~~"As if Bruce and I both haven't offered to support you while you freelanced."~~

~~"I'm my father's son, Lex."~~

~~"That's for damn sure."~~

~~"Are you coming home?"~~

~~"No, Clark. I'm not."~~

Bruce was "downstairs" despite Alfred's orders to stay in bed. His arm was in a sling and his ribs bandaged, and that was enough for Bruce, who refused to acknowledge pain of any sort. He morphed it into something else. The agony of seeing his parents murdered before his eyes had become Batman. His obsessive desire to bring the Joker to heel was a result of all that had happened between himself and Clark lately. Bruce was going to get his nemesis or die trying. He barely looked up when Clark entered.

The Batcave reminded Clark of the Kawatchi caves back in Smallville, only darker and damper. Like the rest of Gotham, he disliked it. It made him feel cold, he who maintained a vacation home in the Antarctic, and made him long for sunlight. He thought of Barcelona, and shuddered uneasily.

"You should listen to Alfred," Clark chided.

Bruce ignored him. He was staring intently at a map of the city, trying to figure out where Jack had gone to ground this time. On another computer, he had pulled up some stats regarding Jack's past activities, and on a third, he was scanning the news for any mention of the Joker. His expression was intent beneath his scowling dark brows.

"Bruce, I'm sorry."

Without looking up, Bruce shrugged. "You have nothing to be sorry about. You made your choice, I respect that. You don't owe me anything."

"He doesn't want me."

This time Bruce did look up, and his eyes were cold. "Not my problem," he said quietly. "I have work to do, Clark."

Clark knew the tones of dismissal when he heard them. He turned on his heel, and strode rapidly toward the hidden stair that would take him back up into Bruce's study. He had to yank his cape away quickly as the door closed behind him. Getting caught would have ruined his exit.

But he paused on the stair, leaning against the cold stone wall to put his head in his hands. Why was he angry? It had been he who had left for a vain pursuit. Instead of regaining ground with Lex he seemed to have lost it, and furthermore had destroyed his relationship with Bruce in the process. It was history repeating itself, just as Lex had warned. The players were different, but the situation was the same and as in the past, Clark stood the chance of walking away with nothing at all.

~~"Did you truly love me, Clark?"~~

~~"I still do, Lana."~~

~~"How can you say that? You're with Lex...."~~

~~"I can say it because it's true. I do love you, and I always will, but not the same way I love Lex."~~

~~"That doesn't make sense."~~

~~"Does it have to?"~~

~~"Yes."~~

~~"Then you know one reason why I left you."~~

Love wasn't something easily defined.

Clark wanted to tear his hair out and scream. Instead, he launched himself up the stairs and out of the mansion. Into the night, he rose like a rocket, racing back toward Metropolis. The world around him ceased to exist until he slowed once more into "normal" time and found himself idly circling the edge of the city he loved. He had no knowledge of the time, but he saw a light on in the uppermost floor of the house he'd sought.

He paused on the balcony. Below him, the wind generated by his arrival moved a set of chimes, which filled the air with their gentle music. His sensitive hearing picked up the quiet breathing of the child in his bed, and the diligent presence of his father asleep downstairs on the couch. Clark smiled slightly as he peered through the walls at the slumbering form lying sprawled across the couch in front of the television. Poor Pete. He was exhausted. He worked too hard.

Clark turned his vision to the room before him and scratched lightly at the French doors. A soft voice whispered permission for him to enter so he did, slipping through the doors into a room bathed in pale light from several lamps. She sat in the midst of a bed adorned in white silk, wearing a pale green lace nightgown over which her long dark hair cascaded like black satin. She was altogether beautiful, never changing, never losing that draw that made men fall at her feet.

He crawled into the bed with her, a smear of crimson against the white comforter, and rested his head on her lap, his cheek pressed against her swollen belly. The baby shifted. Clark could hear its heartbeat.

"Hmm. Why do I get the impression you're upset about something?" Lana caressed his hair, her fingers tugging at it teasingly.

"For once," Clark breathed. "I wish things weren't twice as hard for me as they are everybody else."

"Are you so sure they are?"

"Don't lecture."

"Ah, this is a pity party you have no intention of leaving, is that it?" Lana tugged at his hair again, urging Clark to roll over onto his back. She looked down at him with a smile. "I'm surprised you didn't run home to your mother."

"You're a mother, and you have more of an inkling of what I'm dealing with than Mom ever would have."

Lana laughed. "The nefarious love triangle." She touched his forehead with her fingers, a light brush signifying the kiss she would have given him had she been able to bend down that low. The baby got in the way. "Clark, I wish I had some sort of wisdom to impart, but I don't." Laughing again, she shifted her eyes and squinted, crinkling up her nose in the way he had always liked. "Bearing children doesn't exactly infuse you with infinite wisdom; in fact, I think it's the opposite."

"But don't tell my namesake that?"

"Oh, no." Lana grew grave. "He is at the age where he's starting to test me, and I must maintain the illusion that I know all."

Clark smiled. Lana did too, and took his hand in hers, giving him a squeeze.

"Okay, what's happened?"

He told her, everything, and when he was finished, he added softly: "I wish I had died."

"Clark, don't say that, don't ever say that." Lana whispered. "You don't know what it was like for me, for everyone, to see you like lying there dying. The whole world got slapped across the face with our own mortality. If Superman could be defeated, what hope was there for the rest of us?"

"I'm human enough to be selfish, Lana. I get so tired sometimes, I want to chuck everything and let someone else handle saving the world, but I can't. Lex proved that when he asked me if I could give up being Superman for him. It's not something I can do."

"I wouldn't call that selfish then."

"But I never asked for this," Clark whined. "I never wanted it."

Lana's voice was very gentle, and not the slightest bit patronizing when she asked him, "What do you want?"

"To be uncomplicated," he replied softly, yet his voice expressed the overwhelming desire he felt. "I miss waking up in the morning to birds singing, and cows lowing, and knowing automatically what I had to do that day. I miss the simplicity of tossing hay for the stock, and daydreaming as I harrowed the fields, or repaired the fences. I want to get my hands dirty fixing a tractor. I want to go fishing." He paused, and felt his chest tighten as he put a hand upon her belly. "I want to have a family."

"Oh, Clark...."

"But I can't," he concluded bluntly.

He closed his eyes. Lana was crying. A drop of moisture fell upon his cheek. He hadn't meant to upset her.

"Come up here," she said.

Clark sat up, and edged closer to her so that he was leaning against her shoulder. She turned and kissed his forehead, soothing him. He felt her wrap her arm around him and her squeeze, and he remembered just why they had found more to be had in friendship than as lovers. Turning his face to her shoulder, he inhaled her perfume, and freed all the loneliness and grief he'd been battling for so long.

"Stop being a bastard," Lana said harshly.

At first, Clark thought she was talking to him. Blearily, he cracked open eyes swollen from tears long gone dry, and realized with some horror that he'd fallen asleep in the Ross' bed. He still lay there, sprawled face down like some Goldilocks caught in a home invasion, blushing guiltily, but too weary to move. Lana was no longer beside him.

Instead, she was pacing back and forth along the end of the bed, one hand upon her swollen belly and the other holding a phone to her ear. Her expression was one of irritation. Clark frowned. Who was on the other end?

"I don't care, Lex," Lana growled, answering Clark's question. "I've been right where he is right now, and I know how it feels. You're killing him."

Clark became very still, and concentrated until his hearing was tuned in on the phone. He could very clearly pick up Lex's voice.

"I'm thinking of his best interests."

"No, you aren't, you're thinking of your own best interests. You've always been a jealous man, Lex Luthor, don't deny it. You can't handle the fact that you have to share Clark with the rest of the world. Why do you think we're not together, Lex? We could have been, but I'm not one to share him like that either." Wincing as the baby kicked, Lana paused to rub at her stomach. "But you can work it out better than I ever could. Come home, talk to Clark...."

"And what about Bruce?"

"What about him? He knows his place in this."

"I'm not sure he does, Lana."

"What do you mean?"

Lex's voice was clipped, as it usually became when he was especially angry but holding it back. "I mean there is more going on here than you know, and it is none of your business."

"It became my business," Lana snapped, "when Clark came to me and told me he wished he had died."

There was a significant pause.

"He did?"

"Yes," Lana said softly. Clark closed his eyes quickly as she threw a glance in his direction. "If you don't want to lose him for good, Lex, you'll come home to him."

"Bruce...."

"Has turned his back on him, because of you no doubt."

Lex's irritation was clear this time. "I'm aware of that. I talked to Bruce earlier."

"Yeah? And that's something else you need to work out, Lex. I'm not a naive schoolgirl anymore. If there is something going on between you and Bruce, you need to come clean about it."

"We're just friends."

"Sure. Whatever. Let me tell you something. You may have a lot of power over me because Pete works for you, but I know how to make sacrifices, believe it or not, and I will make them to protect Clark. Stop playing the martyr game and get your ass home. Clark needs you."

Lana hung up before Lex could respond with an angry retort. She stood there at the foot of the bed, breathing heavily.

"Bastard. That bald, slimy, selfish bastard," she hissed.

Clark turned his face toward the pillows and grinned.

Lois was all about her bad habits. Clark eyed her from across their desks as she picked at a doughnut, sucked down a huge cup of coffee as black as pitch, and waved a hand with an unlit cigarette pinched between two fingers. She had actually given up smoking, but liked the feeling of holding one while she talked on the phone. Clark listened to her schmoozing a politician into an interview. They suspected the man of taking bribes and Lois wanted to blow him out of the water with some tricky questions. She was good at it, too.

She got the interview and hung up with a broad grin on her face. She put the cigarette behind one ear and took a long draw from her coffee. It was her caffeine addiction that contributed to the metabolism of a small rodent. Lois practically vibrated, and therefore avoided the hips her sugar addiction would have otherwise given her.

"Congratulate me," she said triumphantly.

"Congratulations," Clark replied obediently, and couldn't resist adding, "But won't that conflict with your date with George?"

That was another of Lois' addictions - men. Lois liked dating. She had no intention of settling down anytime soon, and enjoyed her status of free spirit to the fullest. She had a full roster of men trying to get her to commit and she neatly avoided anything of the sort, stringing them along for nothing beyond companionship and sex.

George Tamborline was the closest she had come to sticking with one person for a long time, mainly because he was on Metropolis' most eligible bachelor list right under Lex Luthor. The man was filthy rich, and sang a tune that made Lois' ears prick up. He told her she could have her own magazine, or stay home and write books if she wanted. A child from a previous marriage insured that there would be no pressure on her to have children herself. That he was very handsome further sweetened the pot.

She was completely ignorant of the fact Clark had, via Lex, had set up their first meeting.

~~"He actually liked her."~~

~~"You sound surprised."~~

~~"Clark, Lois Lane is a harpy among harpies and nothing like what George has always dated, and certainly not like Eleanor."~~

~~"Opposites attract."~~

~~"I don't believe in that."~~

~~"You don't? Lex, may I remind you of a certain young billionaire we both know who fell head over heels for a poor farm kid from Smallville?"~~

~~"That's different."~~

~~"Yeah, vastly."~~

~~"Is that sarcasm, Mr. Kent?" ~~

~~"Why, yes, Mr. Luthor, it is." ~~

Clark thought all rich men were cut from the same cloth. George reminded him strongly of Bruce. He was darkly handsome and very reserved, with chocolate brown eyes that seemed to look right through you when he greeted you. He missed nothing. Unlike Bruce or Lex, however, George had experienced very few hardships in his life and it showed. Bruce and Lex had been distinctly influenced by their difficult childhoods, and through tragedy they each had developed distinctly energized personalities. They were very intense and exciting. George, Clark thought, was as exciting as cottage cheese.

If people were cheeses, Lex would be pepper-jack; sweet and spicy at the same time. Bruce was gouda; sharp, with a subtle, smoky taste that seemed to suit his broody nature.

He imagined Lex's amusement at being compared to cheese. He'd want to know what kind of cheese Clark considered himself.

"Cheese Whiz, squirted from a can," Clark murmured. "It's not really cheese at all, just pretending."

Lois looked at him and frowned. "What?"

"I'm thinking about cheese," Clark admitted.

She shook her head. "Once a farm-kid, always a farm-kid."

"The Kents grew organic vegetables, Ms. Lane. I don't recall that they ever produced dairy products on any large scale."

Lois froze in the act of dialing the phone, and Clark looked back over his shoulder. He'd heard someone approaching, but had figured it for a co-worker, not a visitor. Very few people were permitted into the newsroom. Some, however, especially those with large investments in the Daily Planet's stock, were allowed the run of the building.

Lex put his hands in his coat pocket and regarded Clark with a bemused look. "If you're hungry, Clark, I think we should proceed to lunch. I hear the cafe around the corner makes a wicked grilled cheese."

"Shuusure," Clark stammered, pushing his glasses up his nose as he stood up from his desk. He knocked his chair over in the process, and nearly knocked heads with Lex when they both bent to pick it up. Normally this would have been part of his "act" but he was so rattled by Lex's sudden appearance that he hadn't done it on purpose.

"Lois," Lex said smoothly, as he latched onto Clark's arm and led him away.

Lois' response was a cool sniff. She liked Lex as much as he liked her, which was not very much.

"I thought you weren't coming home," Clark's tone was also rather cold as he and Lex left the office. A long black limousine was pulled up to the curb, and Lex hustled Clark into the back.

"I wasn't," Lex slammed the door shut behind them and gave Clark a stern look. "What the fuck is this I hear about you wishing yourself dead?"

Clark looked away.

"Clark, don't dump your problems on me, okay? I have plenty of my own, which - surprise - all seem to revolve around you." His voice softened, trembling slightly. "Do you know what it would have done to me if you had died?"

"I'm sorry."

They both fell silent for a long time, gazing into each other's eyes.

Lex finally lowered his, and reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a folded piece of paper, which he held out to Clark. "Here."

"What is it?"

"It's an application for adoption." Lex worried at his lip, then shook off his unease with a shrug. "Several months ago there was a string of arsons in and around Gotham, do you remember."

Clark nodded as he slowly unfolded the paper. "I remember."

Bruce had been in fits as the culprit seemed to stay one step ahead of him at all times, venting his frustration both on his punching bag in the gym, and across Clark's back. Clark recalled, quite guiltily, that sex had been fantastic during that time period.

"One of the last fires was set at a fair, in the circus tent. A number of people were killed," he said quietly. "Bruce was extremely upset about it. Had he arrived a few minutes earlier he could have saved more than he did."

Lex was nodding, rubbing at his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "One of the acts, the Flying Graysons, helped get the spectators out, but they themselves died in the process when the tent collapsed. The only family member to survive was a three-year old boy who had been in the care of a babysitter during the performance."

Clark looked down at the paper and read the name he saw there. "Richard Grayson." His eyes skimmed over the paper. "Bruce is trying to adopt him?"

"Yes. They turned him down once. I'm trying to pull some strings, get it pushed through. Bruce really wants this to happen, or did. He's beginning to have some doubts."

Shaking his head, Clark let his hand fall into his lap, the paper drifting down to the seat. "I don't understand?"

"Bruce was an orphan, Clark. He senses a kinship with this boy, as well as feeling guilty for not saving his parents."

"That's no reason to adopt the child!"

"No, but you are," Lex whispered.

Clark stared at him.

Lex continued. "After the accident, Bruce came to me and asked me what you wanted more than anything else in the world. He wanted to show you how much you meant to him. You know him, Clark. He's not a man of words, but of actions."

"I know," Clark said softly. He ran a hand over his face, and regarded Lex solemnly. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him about Bryan. I told him about the look on your face when you were with the boy, and how much you enjoyed spending time with him. I told him how excited you got when Superman was asked to visit schools, and how you wept when Pete's son was born. I told him the truth, Clark, that you wanted a family of your own."

Realization slowly dawned. "And this is why you kept pushing me away?" Clark breathed. His heart ached. "Kept insisting I go back to Bruce?"

"Yes," Lex looked down, his eyes turned away toward the side of the car to avoid Clark's. "Because I want you to be happy, Clark, and you can't have that with me."

"You make me happy," Clark insisted. "We could adopt...."

"No." Lex looked up. "No. I can't. I won't. I am too much my father's son."

"Lex...."

"I alone am not enough," Lex said. "And you know it." He leaned across the car, and picked up the paper, brandishing it before Clark. "Take it, Clark. Just say the word and I'll go on with this, and get it approved. You'll have the son you always wanted."

Clark said nothing. He moved to the other side of the car and sat down beside Lex, who protested weakly when Clark drew him into his embrace. Only a few seconds passed before he relaxed against Clark's chest and inhaled deeply. Clark felt him shudder, and kissed him.

"Clark, I love you," Lex murmured. "Please make this happen."

Medea lifted her broad head and growled into the darkness. Beside her, Ajax barked, a soft "whuf" of warning as he too sensed the presence of their visitor. Bruce's hand trailed down over the arm of his chair and stroked the dog's head, soothing him, and both settled as Clark walked into the room. They knew he was no threat.

Bruce was reading before the fire, the dogs lying at his side on the rug. Later, he would turn them out onto the mansion grounds where they would stand guard throughout the night while Bruce went on his own rounds. The dogs had been meticulously trained and were considered deadly weapons. No one got onto the property if Bruce wasn't home. Even Alfred was in danger should he go wandering outside after dark. The only person beside Bruce who could control the two mastiffs was Clark, and that was only because they knew he was not human. They understood he was far more than anyone else was. They respected him.

Clark suspected, however, if he should ever raise a hand against Bruce (not that he would), the two dogs would attack him anyway, despite knowing he could easily kill them. They were intensely loyal to their master.

Bruce certainly looked very masterful, enthroned on his chair inside a circle of bright, flickering firelight. He looked at Clark with mild irritation, as if he were annoyed at the intrusion, and in fact, he probably was unhappy to see Clark. The tension between them had swollen to immense proportions.

"How's the shoulder?" Clark asked quietly, noting the absence of the sling. It had been nearly a month since he'd seen Bruce in person.

"Mended."

"It's been quiet around here, I've heard. Did you catch Napier?"

"No. He's just been behaving lately. He tends to get quiet in the winter. I don't think he likes the cold weather." Bruce shifted in his chair, and set his book aside. "Diana visited last weekend. She's looking into getting us permission for a space station, somewhere to set up shop."

"You still want to go through with your guardian project?"

"The Justice League, yeah. I think it's a good idea." He paused, looking up at Clark was an expression akin to a child asking for a treat. "You will join us, won't you? You were the first, Clark, the world adores you, respects you. We need you, or nobody will take us seriously."

Clark nodded. He understood the value of teamwork. Together, a group of heroes could not only take care of their home turf, but the entire world, and no individual bore the responsibility alone. It would certainly relieve some of the pressures, and free up some time....

Time to raise a family.

"I talked to Lex. He's back."

Bruce flinched. Wordlessly he stood up and went to the fire, standing before the hearth as if warming himself. "Oh."

"Why didn't you tell me about the adoption?"

There was a long silence. Bruce turned his hands in front of the fire, and from Clark's point of view, it looked as if he were actually caressing the flames. He had to stop himself from rushing forward and snatching Bruce back, dragging him out of the fire, but with a blink, he saw that it was only an illusion.

"I wanted to know how we stood before I made the final decision, but...I think I'm going to go through with it anyway."

It didn't take a psychologist to understand why. Clark could hear the loneliness in his voice. He could see it all around him in the big empty house, where Bruce had only an old man, a pair of dogs, and bitter memories to keep him company. Bruce wasn't like Lex in this respect. Lex was alone, but he kept himself busy, tended to be more social, more involved with his company. Bruce allowed those who had tended his money for decades to continue doing so with only the minimal amount of guidance.

Clark went to him, wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders and pressed his lips to Bruce's neck. Having stiffened at the first touch, Bruce gradually relaxed into Clark's arms, leaning back against him slightly and wrapping his hands around Clark's. Clark kissed him again, then rested his chin on Bruce's shoulder.

"Stay with me," Bruce murmured. "What do I know about raising a kid?"

"I belong in Metropolis...."

"So? Live here, commute." He chuckled softly. "It's not like Superman can't fly."

"I have a real job, Bruce."

"And a reputation." Bruce turned around, disengaging himself from Clark's embrace. "Clark, do you honestly think Perry would balk at you working from home, as long as you still wrote for the Daily Planet? How many times have you been looked at as a serious Pulitzer contender? You can go anywhere, write anything."

Clark smiled wanly. "Bruce Wayne, I do believe you're begging."

Bruce was deadly serious. "I am, Clark," he whispered. "I want this for you, for us, so badly...please, stay with me." Taking a step closer, he met Clark's eyes, touched Clark's lips with his fingertips. Clark could see his pulse racing in his throat, and feel his halting breath as he leaned in for a kiss.

Their lips met, then parted slowly. Bruce's eyes closed.

"And what about Lex?" Clark asked softly. "He's part of me, Bruce. I can never let him go, no matter how much I care about you."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Care about me?"

Clark slipped his hands inside Bruce's robe, caressing warm skin. He could feel the scars, each one of them bringing a sense of pride to the man most people saw as a spoiled rich brat. Nobody saw Bruce's scars, either the ones on his body or the ones on his heart, save for the very few people he allowed inside his walls.

"Yes, and so does Lex." Clark kissed him again, and a third time. "I'll stay," he whispered. "Because I love you both."

Bruce leaned into him, nipping at his throat. "Hmm. Well then," he breathed, his voice lowering into a sultry growl. "I think the first order of business is for you to show me how much you love me."

"Is that so?" Clark grinned as Bruce pulled his hair, hard, with his next kiss.

"Absolutely." Bruce's eyes glittered wickedly. "And are you going to make it easy, or difficult?"

"Difficult, I think."

Bruce slapped his face, then turned, leading Clark toward the bedroom upstairs. "Good boy, Clark. That is precisely the right answer."

A knock roused him, but not completely. Clark whimpered his annoyance as he felt the warmth of Bruce's body leave, and the shifting of the bed beneath him. His back, cruelly scored, crusted with dried blood and come, protested the movement by shooting sharp pains up his spine. He moaned, and curled more tightly around himself. One wrist was still tethered to the headboard. The steel ring of the handcuff bit into his flesh.

"Thirsty," he murmured. The drug made him thirsty.

"I'll bring you some water. Just a minute." Cracking his eyes open, Clark could see Bruce tying on a robe. He crossed to the door and opened it a crack. "What is it Alfre...."

"I'm sorry, Master Bruce. He insisted."

Clark closed his eyes again, the voices fading in and out as his consciousness did. He could feel his back slowly healing. The drug was beginning to wear off.

"....sick son-of-a bitch!"

He'd missed something. Clark opened his eyes at the sound of the new voice and the touch of a hand against his cheek. Rolling his eyes upward, his vision was filled with the sight of Lex's face before him. Just beyond him stood Bruce, watching impassively. He held a glass of water. Clark reached out for it.

Turning, Lex snatched the glass out of Bruce's hand, jostling water over the edge onto the bedclothes as he helped Clark drink it. Clark wanted to tell him not to be upset, but the drug still had hold of his tongue, and his words came out slurred like a drunkard's. Lex remained angry.

He stood up and set the glass down on the bedside table with a "thunk" before turning on Bruce. Clark could see his hands shaking.

"You need therapy."

Bruce shrugged. "That's been long established." He crossed his arms over his chest and met Lex's anger without flinching. "It's purely consensual, Lex, a game. And, I might add, none of your business. I don't involve myself in your sexual activities, so keep out of mine."

"I don't beat my lovers raw," Lex growled.

"Maybe not physically," Bruce answered quietly. "Come now, Lex. You can't tell me that you've never played mind games with poor Clark. We both know how sexy he can be when he's frustrated."

Lex's back stiffened. He didn't reply.

"Why are you here, anyway, Lex? Isn't this a little out of your way?"

There was a rustling of paper and Lex withdrew an envelope from his coat pocket. "There's to be a hearing. You and Clark need to be there before the judge next week. The outcome will determine whether the boy will be yours or not."

Clark raised his head. Bruce looked at the envelope dumbly, as if he were in shock.

"I know the outcome will be in your favor," Lex continued. "The judge is in my pocket, and I've already informed her of how she will be ruling. I'm here because I wanted to offer you my congratulations in person."

Sitting up was nauseating, but Clark managed to do it, snapping the chain holding him to the headboard in the process and thus proving the waning of the drug. "Lex...."

Lex glanced over his shoulder. Clark held out a hand to him and drew him down to sit beside him on the bed.

"Thank you." He brushed the back of his fingers across Lex's cheek, then kissed that very spot.

Shuddering, Lex nodded. He did not, however, stay, but rose quickly to cross the room toward the door, never once looking at Clark. Bruce tossed the envelope onto the dresser, turning to catch Lex by the arm before he could leave the room.

The two of them looked at each other.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said quietly.

Clark barely heard Lex's response. His voice was rough, barely audible, and the words did not refer to the child named in the adoption papers.

"Take care of him."

Lex started toward the door again, and Bruce pulled him back, pulled him close. They stood face to face with each other unmoving, Lex's eyes narrowing with confusion and annoyance. As Clark watched, stunned, Bruce kissed him. It was deep, sensual. Bruce's mouth moved against Lex's until Lex had no choice but to respond to it in kind. His hands grasped the air at his sides, clenching into fists as if he were afraid to touch. Bruce had no such reservations. One hand retained his grip on Lex's arm, but the other strayed to his chest, clutching at the folds of Lex's shirt.

They parted. Bruce was panting. Clark was hard. He shifted a corner of the sheet over himself but his color would have given him away had either Lex or Bruce looked at his face. Neither did, however, remaining intent solely upon each other. Clark could have been in another room for as much attention they paid him.

"Don't," Lex rasped. "Bruce...."

"Admit it, Lex," Bruce whispered. "You like torturing Clark, and you like torturing yourself, too. You're as much into pain as I am." He smiled. "Let me thank you for what you've done."

Lex's brows dipped sharply. "What?"

"I'm inviting you to stay."

A flicker of Bruce's tongue against Lex's mouth and <i>Clark</i> moaned, finally attracting their attention. Lex's face was flushed, with beads of sweat standing out across his forehead. Bruce looked smug.

"Don't tease him, Bruce. Let him go." Clark slipped a finger into the loop of steel still around one wrist and tugged at it experimentally. He'd regained enough strength to break the chain, but not the cuff. It remained on his arm.

Bruce acquiesced, stepping away from Lex. He did, however, untie his robe, and as he backed toward Clark, he let it fall open, easily stepping out of it. Clark didn't resist as Bruce bent to kiss him. Lex remained at the door, poised as if to leave, but he didn't. Clark closed his eyes. The bitter aftertaste of the drug had been vanquished by the water. He now tasted, quite clearly, Lex upon Bruce's lips.

He moaned again as Bruce sat down on the bed beside him and moved around to his back. Bruce's tongue ran across one of the slowly healing cuts across his shoulders. It felt like fire. He hissed in pain and Bruce did it again, this time adding fingers, curved into claws, down the length of Clark's spine. It reopened the cuts. He presented his hand, the fingers smeared with blood, to Clark's mouth, and obediently Clark sucked them clean one by one. The taste of blood was almost intoxicating. He savored it, licking and sucking at Bruce's fingers hungrily.

When he opened his eyes again, Lex was still there, watching as if hypnotized. Clark noted that Bruce had pushed the sheet aside, and Lex's eyes moved from Clark's face to his chest, to the swell of his cock between his thighs, following Bruce's hands. Bruce bit Clark's ear, making him flinch. Leaning over Clark's shoulder, Bruce clamped down on a nipple, causing Clark to rise slightly from the bed, his mouth opening in pain. Clark's cock jerked against his thigh. It was hard for him to admit, but he enjoyed being thus abused, it turned him on. Pain was not something he normally experienced. It was - exotic.

Erotic.

"Still feeling it I see," Bruce whispered. "That was a good batch."

"Mmm," Clark reached for his cock, only to have Bruce slap his hand aside. "Bruce," he moaned.

The whisper increased the burning ache in his groin.

"Let see if we can't get Lex to do it."

Clark focused blearily on Lex.

"Are you going to watch, Lex?" Bruce purred, "Or are you going to play along? You're causing Clark a great deal of distress just standing there like that." He continued petting Clark, touching him tenderly everywhere but in the places Clark needed to be touched. Clark whimpered.

Lex's expression was a mixture of fury and desire. "You're a bastard, Wayne."

"Never said I wasn't."

In one smooth gesture, Lex shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a chair, toeing off his shoes at the same time. Socks followed.

Bruce beckoned to him and he came. His long fingers jerked at the buttons at his sleeves, and when he came within reach, Clark quickly divested him of his shirt entirely. Fingers trembling, Clark pulled him close and buried his face in the soft skin of Lex's abdomen, inhaling the scent of him. Almost frantically, he jerked at Lex's belt buckle.

He barely felt Bruce's hands on his shoulders. His senses were overwhelmed with Lex. He wanted Lex badly and he didn't care how he got him. Bruce's weight shifted on the bed and he was rising, hovering over Clark on his knees, balancing his hands on Clark's shoulders. He was kissing Lex. Clark could hear their muffled moans.

Bodies shifted then, Bruce breaking away from Lex's mouth to guide them. Clark lay back on the bed and lifted his legs, allowing Lex access to him. The friction of the bedsheets against his back hurt when Lex pushed against him. He bore the pain for the pleasure of Lex's kisses down the length his thigh. Bruce was beside him, distracting him from the pain with a passionate kiss. He shuddered at the slide of Bruce's tongue across his own, sucked at it desperately as it thrust deeply into his mouth.

Clark broke away, gasping for breath as Lex's kisses found the juncture of groin and thigh. A rough rasp over his balls, followed by another, made him squirm, and then Lex was at the head of his cock, lapping at the weeping slit. Clark buried his fingers into the bedclothes. His hips jerked upward but met resistance via Lex's strong hands on his thighs. Lex's tongue followed the pulsing vein down the underside of Clark's shaft back down to his balls, then up again, avoiding the head, avoiding taking him in completely. The torture was exquisite.

"You're learning," Bruce's voice was no longer at Clark's head. He hadn't realized he'd gone until the bed dipped with his return. "Don't let him come."

Lex sat back. His gaze slipped across Clark's body from groin to eyes. He didn't have to say what he was thinking, Clark had heard it before.

"You're beautiful."

Clark imagined he was especially beautiful streaked with sweat and writhing with desire, particularly to Bruce, who paused to kiss him again before handing Lex a slim tube of lubricant. Bruce teased Clark's chest, pinching and twisting his nipples with bruising force until Clark rose from the bed with a cry. Clark's hands found Bruce and roamed his hard body, tracing the scars down across his belly to his cock. That's what Clark wanted. He found himself breathing heavily as he fondled and stroked Bruce's thick cock, trying to angle his body toward it, wanting it inside him.

His ass was already occupied, a reminder being one quick thrust of Lex's index finger against his prostate. Clark gasped. Bruce touched his cheek, soothing him, then moved upward toward the pillows. Clark reached out to him but his fingers slipped from Bruce's sweat slicked skin. He craved more contact and wondered how he had ever managed with just one lover before. The wonders of being pampered, touched, and stroked and licked by two attentive and very sexy men were threatening to send his senses into overload.

Lex's hands caressed the backs of his thighs as they were levered up and back. Clark watched him line up and arced himself upward to meet the first push. The familiarity of Lex's cock inside him made him relax further, allowing deeper penetration on the next thrust. Moaning, he leaned back into Bruce, who straddled the pillow beneath his head. His cock hovered tantalizingly close to Clark's mouth. Lex grunted, shifting inside him, raising his legs still further until Bruce could lock his arms around Clark's knees. Clark arced his back, moving his hips in time to Lex's rhythm, and reached for Bruce's swollen cock.

Clark raised his head to catch a trembling bead of pre-cum upon his tongue as it fell. The taste exploded in his mouth. He wanted more. His fingers cupped Bruce's balls, fondling the soft skin, and stroking the sensitive place behind them. One finger explored the pucker of Bruce's opening, but did not penetrate, only teasing the surface. He heard Bruce moan.

"Clark...."

He moved forward, finding the right angle to slide himself past Clark's slack lips. Clark's tongue stroked his length as he sank deep into the welcoming warmth of Clark's throat.

"Oh, God!"

Lex's voice was harsh. Whether it was because of simply having his cock buried inside Clark, or watching Clark suck hungrily at Bruce's cock at the same time, Clark didn't know. He didn't care. Each of Lex's thrusts drove Bruce deeper, stretching Clark's mouth wide, increasing the friction of tongue against hypersensitive flesh. They fought for a complimentary rhythm for a moment. Clark could barely breathe and didn't care about that either. His cheeks hollowed, dragging Bruce down, sucking at the weeping head as his tongue wrapped around the hard, pulsing shaft sliding in and out of his throat. He swallowed around it, moaning and Bruce's fingers dug into his legs. Rhythm was attained, and the tempo increased. Clark relaxed beneath the onslaught. His hands were full of Bruce's hips, guiding his motions. His own cock lay hard against his belly, untouched and aching. It didn't matter. He could feel the pressure building.

The slap of Lex's thighs against him was harmony to the sucking sounds he was making around Bruce's cock. Each time Lex filled him, Clark moaned, sending the vibrations up into Bruce. He shifted his head slightly so that he could see Lex out of the corner of his eye, saw him lean in to capture Bruce's face in his hands, saw the passion in their kiss. Lex's cock jerked inside him and he felt a liquid warmth spreading inside him. Lex cried out his name. Bruce slipped from his mouth.

"Ah, ah, Lex, ah...."

Then Clark was coming hard, hips jerking beneath Lex's weight as his cock released a burst of come over his chest. It splattered over Bruce's thighs and his damp cock, sweetening it as Clark took him in again. It wasn't a moment later that Bruce came, pumping in and out between Clark's lips until he was spent and falling back against the headboard. Lex lay sprawled between Clark's legs, his cock still inside him, his arms outstretched to rest upon Bruce's thighs. Clark lay beneath them both, still shaking from the after affects of climax. He raised a hand to stroke the smooth curve of Lex's skull resting upon his chest and swallowed heavily. Behind him he heard Bruce murmur, "Jesus," as he shifted sideways away from Clark's head.

Lex slowly withdrew, rolling off and pulling Clark into his arms. Clark pressed his face into the hollow of Lex's chest and felt the bed move as Bruce lay down behind him. Clark could feel his breath against his still tender back. With a contented sigh Bruce wrapped his arms and legs around both Clark and Lex, nuzzling Clark's hair, stroking Lex's shoulders. The air cooled overheated skin, dried come-smeared skin. Clark flicked out his tongue to Lex's chest and tasted himself there. He snuggled closer. Bruce followed suit.

"You okay?" Lex whispered.

"Hmm. More than."

Lex pushed the tangles of Clark's hair out of his face and kissed the top of his head. Bruce's fingers traced circles on his hip. His low voice rumbled sleepily in Clark's ear.

"Love you."

Clark sighed.

I don't think I've ever felt more content, more loved, than I am right now.

He moved his hand down to his hip and found Lex and Bruce's fingers interlocked there. Clark put his own over theirs, and squeezed.