Eighth in the away series, follows 'Spiral'.

Many thanks go to my fabulous betas Moss and Brandy (aka Sinisterf). I really don't know what I would do without you, guys.

Thanks to Jen, who read the story, in behalf of my betas and myself (she wrote: "I didn't make any corrections. Your betas are super good"!).

Finally, I'd like to thank Rogue for her unyielding support and encouragement. In the case you are the only one to read this story, my friend, I think you'll be satisfied: Lex, Bruce, angst and Italy. What more do you want?

Feedback: you're welcome (even if you aren't named Rogue!).

Ex tenebris lux.

When he woke up, he realized he was in a car. Not a sports car, but a comfortable, spacious, elegant BMW. Still dazed and disoriented, he observed the promenade and the street-lamps pass by beyond the wind-shield. What was going on? This wasn't Hugh's car, and it surely wasn't his new Ferrari.

The Ferrari. Fuck.

Something told him he had destroyed that one as well. Fuck. The sad details of the evening surfaced vaguely in his mind, from Club Opium to the huge bat nightmare. Terrifying.

Damn, he had to stop mixing alcohol and drugs. He didn't want to ever repeat the experience. A huge bat? He was ready to make the headlines again apparently, and this time with sensational tabloid news: "I HAD A CLOSE ENCOUNTER WITH A GIANT BAT."

He tried to imagine the look on his father's face. He chuckled stupidly, and moaned as his head reeled. He felt sick.

He had to tell... the driver, whoever he was, to pull up. Tiredly, he started to turn his head towards the driver, not even trying to guess who it could be. It wouldn't be the first time that a friend or a complete stranger drove him home. Except... He had already gone home, hadn't he?

Then what? Did he go to another party? Was he going to be shipped to the U.S. to face his perpetually enraged and disgusted father?

It didn't matter. In his present state he couldn't have coped with anything. Or else could cope with everything.

Almost everything.

His heart skipped a beat, when he took in the figure behind the wheel. Felt the blood drain from his face and then rush throughout his body, until it reached his head again, making him flush.

"You're awake," the boy... no, the young man said, as if they had parted barely an hour before. "Good. How do you feel?"

For a while, Lex just stared at him, at a loss. That voice, those dark, intense eyes, the strong features of the handsome face. It wasn't a hallucination. This wasn't a hallucination. But how, where, why...?

"Lex?" A frown.

A storm of contrasting feelings rose in Lex's mind and heart. He wanted to grab him, shake him, hit him, insult him, ask him why the fuck he hadn't answered his messages, why he had abandoned him, beg him to hold him tight and not leave him ever again.

With unusual effort, he managed to relax and put on his impassive, mildly ironic mask.

"Bruce. What are you doing here?" he slurred, pretending to be higher than he was. Pretending he didn't give a damn. Playing at being blase'. "Gotham is rather far from here. Lost your way?"

"I was in Scotland, visiting my ancestors' manor."

"Not exactly a stone's throw from here, you know."

"I heard you were here."

"Heard?" Lex chuckled. Then, inconspicuously, he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, striving to keep under control his racing heart. He couldn't believe he still managed to sound that calm. "Do you read tabloids, Mr. Wayne, winner of the Baumann Prize?"

Bruce stiffened a bit, looking uneasy. "Alfred buys them."

"Alfred?" Lex echoed, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah. To check the stories they make up about my private life."

"And mine."

"Well, they are rather attention-getting."

"Thus, by sheer coincidence you ran across the news about my summer vacation on the French Riviera, and decided to come and see me."

"More or less."

"How did you find me?"

"A bit of research."

"Our amateur detective. My compliments. And where are we going, now?" Not that it mattered. The important thing was that Bruce was there, and that he was there just to see him. Lex would have liked the ride to last forever.

"We're heading east."

"East. A little generic, don't you think?"

"Italy."

Italy? Well, this is romantic, he thought. Without irony, to his own surprise. He just knew that Bruce had kept informed about him, and had kidnapped him in the middle of the night... in the middle of an awful, unbearable night, and was taking him to... "Portofino?" he asked, and, really, there shouldn't be all that joyful, light-hearted expectancy in his tone, but he couldn't help it. "Forte dei Marmi? Porto Torres? Venice?"

"We stop way before that. Varazze."

Lex frowned, taken aback. Then amused laughter escaped his lips. The effect of alcohol and morphine mustn't have completely faded yet, or his reaction would have been much more sarcastic.

"The Riviera di Ponente isn't trendy."

"Exactly. So we won't run the risk of coming across one of your friends." Bruce uttered the last word with scorn.

Lex didn't protest, because that was exactly the sentiment he felt when he thought of his so-called friends. He barely noticed it, truth be told. He wants us to be alone, he thought instead. The two of us. Alone. In Italy. At Varazze. Well, why not? Varazze was a nice town, after all. With the sea, beaches, a promenade, flowery gardens, picturesque narrow alleys, carousels for children, restaurants, hotels. And no bores around. It was too beautiful to be true.

Suddenly, an idea crept into his mind, and he felt cold inside. It was too beautiful to be true. It couldn't be true. What if he was dreaming? The bat hallucination had seemed so real. Bruce here, out of the blue, after eons of silence, taking him to Italy for a romantic escape? This couldn't be possible.

He scrutinized the driver again, trying to find a clue to his real nature. Was he going definitely insane? Was he really riding in a car or just experiencing a good drug trip?

Bruce's eyes flickered from the road to him and back. "You're feeling all right?"

"Yeah," he whispered in awe. If this was a hallucination, it was really a great one.

"Don't worry. We'll sort it out. I'll help you."

A pause. "What?" Lex asked, confused. What did they have to sort out?

"Your problem. I'll help you to get rid of it."

Lex squinted at him. "I don't understand," he said warily.

"That shit is fucking kicking your ass. You have to kick it before it's too late."

Lex clutched the door handle. His head had started to spin again.

"What are you talking about?" he rasped. He couldn't believe, didn't want to believe... Please, don't say it, don't say it, don't say it...

Bruce sighed. "Stop it, Lex. You know. Everybody knows. You're doing drugs. You've been hooked for years. I hoped you would make it on your own, sooner or later, but apparently it's beyond you. You are not even trying, and I can't simply look on while you're killing yourself."

If you want to kill yourself, son, do it at least as a Roman, not as a paltry junkie.

That's it, then. It wasn't a hallucination. It was real.

All too real, unfortunately.

Bruce wasn't there because he loved him and had missed him. He was there out of his fucking sense of duty, his psychotic need to help the helpless, even those who didn't ask for it. And yes, thank God the morphine and alcohol residue was still circling in Lex's veins, because he felt a tipsy laughter surge through him, instead of the scream he would undoubtedly have given if he had been more sober. Almost relieved, he let the laugh escape his lips.

"So, my noble knight, you came here to save me."

Bruce gave him a brief, reproachful look.

"That shit is destructive to the brain cells, you should know that. It's boiling your brain into pap." He was staring at the road again when he added, in a low voice: "Your wonderful brain."

A part of him felt touched by Bruce's concern, but he didn't allow it to take the upper hand. He hurt badly for this further disappointment. And felt ashamed. Bruce considered him a junkie. A nut and a junkie. My God. He just wanted to go home, slide under the sheets and sleep until the end of time.

"I'm not a junkie. I can give up whenever I want."

"Sure," Bruce said condescendingly. "You'll show me."

"I don't need to show you anything," Lex snapped. "Stop this car."

"When we reach our destination," Bruce said dryly.

Lex felt his blood boil. "No, stop this car now and let me out!" he yelled, pulling the door handle.

"It's locked," Bruce informed him.

Lex frantically explored the console, searching for a push-button control.

"The system is controlled from my seat," Bruce explained. "I modified this car personally."

Lex blinked at the flinty blankness of his face.

"You lunatic bastard. What do you think you're doing? Supposing that I were a drug addict, as you say, don't you know you can't force me to stop if I don't want to?"

"We'll see," Bruce replied, not at all disheartened.

"You're insane!" Lex croaked. Apparently, everything always came down to this, between them: a contest to establish who was the crazier one. "What do you plan to do? Lock me up? Chain me?"

"If it's necessary..."

Lex's jaw dropped. Bruce looked perfectly calm, utterly confident. He had always admired his self-assurance, but this sent cold shivers down his spine.

"Even if you drag me out of it, I'll start again, because I've no intention of quitting."

"I think you're brighter than this. But, in that case, I'll come and make you stop again, and again and again, until you understand it's wiser to do as I say."

This would have raised the hair on Lex's neck, if he had had any. He took a shaky breath. He felt scared and irked at the same time.

"It's been, what, three years?" he seethed. "And you think you can show up and demand that I do whatever you want?"

"Exactly." Bruce's tone was emotionless.

"How dare you? Where were you when..." ... when Burke, when my father... Lex trailed off, while Bruce squinted at him.

"When what?"

"Stop this car!" Lex yelled. "Stop this car immediately or I'll call the police!" He rummaged in his pockets.

"Your cell phone is in your apartment," Bruce said.

Lex saw red. He reached for the hand brake. Before he could pull it, Bruce produced a small aerosol device that hissed, releasing a fine spray. Dazed and devoid of energy, Lex bent down. He felt Bruce's strong hand gently rest on his chest and push him back against the passenger's seat. I can't believe this, he vaguely repeated to himself.

"What... what..." he barely managed.

"One of my little gadgets," Bruce explained. "A sleeping spray."

Lex had the impression there was a hint of pride in Bruce's voice.

"Are... you... going... to break my drug habit by... drugging me?" he asked ironically, as his head lolled against the headrest. Damn, however much he tried, he couldn't hold it up straight.

"You gave me no choice."

After that, Lex must have drifted off, because the next thing he heard was a crunch of gravel under the tires as the car slowed to a stop. With a heavy hand, he tried again to push the door open, and almost fell out when Bruce pulled it from the outside. His old friend supported him, then hoisted him up into his arms, carrying him towards what seemed to be a two-story villa faintly lit by lanterns.

Lex didn't put up much of a struggle. He felt so tired, so exhausted... and the crook of Bruce's neck felt so good, the perfect place to nestle his heavy, heavy head and protect his face from that annoying drizzle.

A moment later they were safe inside and going up a staircase. Lex almost protested when the older man tumbled him down on the bed.

Bruce turned on the bedside lamp.

"I need to know what you took," he urged. "Tonight, Lex. What was it?"

Lex shrugged. "Nothing. I... got just a bit stoned at... the latest party."

"I saw the vials and the syringe. You still had it in your hand."

Fuck. He couldn't help but laugh. Why the hell was that funny?

"What was it? You must tell me, if you don't want me to kill you by mistake."

"Then let me go, bastard." He weakly raised his hands to hit him.

Without effort, Bruce grabbed his slim, bruised forearms and crossed them on Lex's chest, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.

Lex made a grimace of pain.

"I'll let you go when you are clean."

"Go to hell."

"Speak, or I'll lock you up without anything. Do you understand? Anything, not even a sleeping pill. I swear. I'll lock you up without even a phone or a bottle of water, and I'll go away."

"You won't do it," Lex challenged him.

"Try me."

Lex didn't feel that confident. He licked his lips. "Morphine. Just morphine. It's legal." Take that. "It's a painkiller. The doctors prescribe it."

Yeah, they very willingly stuff you with it to make you stop crying and complaining when you are thirteen and your father, who happens to be their boss too, has broken your bones by dint of blows. And very willingly keep giving it to you when you're older, in return for your silence and the right retribution.

Bruce nodded, condescendingly. "Sure. What else? "

"Benzodiazepines," Lex groaned. "For my sleep disorder."

"Of course. Never run out of benzodiazepines. What else?"

"Coke... amphetamines."

"Barbiturates?"

"No."

"Good. Heroin?"

Lex chuckled again. "No... I'm not that stupid. Neither heroin nor crack."

"Yeah, you're not stupid." That condescending tone, again.

"I'm not a junkie," Lex protested.

"We'll see about that, too."

Lex felt chills run through his body. He had never tried to give up. The thought had never even crossed his mind. He needed his drugs, needed the alcohol, needed... Needed to be numb. Bruce couldn't understand. Lex couldn't be lucid, couldn't think, couldn't remember, couldn't dream.

"Now, if you promise to stay calm, I'll release you."

Lex nodded obediently.

Bruce let go of him.

Lex massaged his sore forearms.

"I'll give you some Valium," Bruce said. "It will sedate you a little. Besides, you can't give up the benzodiazepines abruptly. But you won't have anything else. You're probably going to experience withdrawal symptoms. You'll feel sick for some days, but you'll make it. You'll be okay in a week at the latest. It will be like the flu."

"I haven't had the flu since I was a child," Lex informed him coldly.

"It's not lethal, don't worry."

Bruce stood up and stepped back. As soon as he averted his eyes, Lex gathered all his strength, got up and bolted past him, heading for the door. Bruce tackled him, winding his strong arm round Lex's chest. The impact was so hard that Lex heard the air leave his lungs with a whoosh. Before he had a chance to gasp for breath, he found himself thrown on the bed again, his right wrist trapped in a metal ring. A sharp jerk to his arm, and a moment later he was handcuffed to the headboard.

What a novelty. But this time he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. He hadn't asked for this. He felt ashamed and humiliated. And it hurt. He strove not to wince again at the feeling of the hard metal against his abraded skin. He didn't know where he found the presence of mind to slide towards the headboard and tug the shirt cuff, in order to conceal the bruise from the other boy.

Bruce didn't notice his maneuver, all taken up with pacing nervously about the room.

"Why do you behave like this? I'm trying to help you," Bruce complained, sounding frustrated for the first time since he had kidnapped him.

"How about you fucking let me decide what's best for me by myself?"

"Apparently, you aren't able to do that."

Lex sucked in a long, steadying breath. "Let me go," he pleaded in a reasonable tone. "You're committing a crime. You're gonna get arrested. My friends will call the police as soon as they realize I'm missing."

A derisive smirk formed on Bruce's lips. "Then I don't have to worry. They don't care enough for you to notice your absence. And, even if they did, they would think you were fooling around."

That rankled. Lex knew Bruce was right, but had hoped that his lack of human relationships were evident only to himself. Certainly not to someone he hadn't seen for years.

Wounded, he gave a bark of a laugh.

"Because instead you care!" he exclaimed, angrily. "You disappear for ages, you leave me in..." ... in my father's arms, in Burke's arms, in the arms of all those perverted strangers... "... leave me in this shit and don't answer my calls... I called you, you know that? I emailed you! Did you know?"

The shameful look in Bruce's eyes told him that he knew perfectly well. Oh God, oh my God. Another precious delusion that was shattered against reality. Lex drew in a breath.

"And now you dare to come here, and kidnap me, and handcuff me, and give me orders." He felt a mean, strained smile distort his mouth. "I didn't know you were into these kinks." He gave a sharp tug to the handcuff, and licked his lips impishly. But his tone wasn't tempting at all when he resumed: "You should have simply told me. There's no need for all these games. What do you have in mind, master? You want to whip me? Hurt me? Fuck me? Come, please. Bind my other hand too." He was trembling with rage as he stretched out his left arm.

Bruce was pale and stiff, like that rotten day in Lex's room, but he seemed more controlled now, almost resigned.

"You'd better sleep now. Tomorrow is going to be a rough day."

Lex ground his teeth together. "You're not going to..." He broke off when Bruce turned off the light and headed straight for the door.

Panic filled him.

"You can't... You won't leave me here like...."

Bruce shut the door.

Lex slumped back against the headboard. He felt suddenly worn out. He sat still in the dark for a while, trying to regain control of his uneven breathing. When he realized that Bruce wasn't going to come back, he lay down, biting his lip at the pain in his wrist.

Bruce had received his messages. He hadn't answered because he despised him, exactly as Lex had feared. Bruce thought he was a paltry junkie. Wanted to help him out of his misplaced protectiveness and stupid urge to do what he considered the right thing.

Apparently, Bruce hadn't become saner with the passing years. Quite the contrary, more likely. Fuck, he had kidnapped him and expected him to give up drugs willy-nilly.

Lex needed to gather his strength and wits again. Needed to clear his mind to plan an escape. Needed to rest a moment. He was so tired, so tired... He felt his mind drift and darkness embrace him, dragging him deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. He curled up, wrapping himself in it as if it were a blanket.

Bruce plopped himself down on the couch, in the living-room. Absentmindedly, he turned on the TV and surfed Italian channels until he found CNN. He listened to the news for more or less a couple of minutes before his mind drifted to the young man he held captive upstairs.

He hadn't wanted it to come to this, of course, and didn't like it. But he had anticipated the possibility and had prepared himself to face it. He knew from experience Lex could be very stubborn.

He replayed his old friend's words in his mind. Lex was right. Bruce had abandoned him, but only he knew how much it had cost him to leave Lex's room the very day he had realized he loved him, leave him in the hands of his father with the fear that that horrible man could assault his son again. And then, not answering Lex's messages when he craved to see him again, when his body almost ached with desire.

But he had to cut the ties. He had done it for both of them. They weren't ready, probably would never be. Lionel's visit had been enlightening. It had opened his eyes definitively, if Bruce's previous experiences with Lex hadn't been enough.

Lex had serious problems, and he would have liked to help him above everything, but he knew, he knew, that if he had stayed, sooner or later he would have done something his friend would have never been able to forgive. The rage always boiled inside him like magma, ready to explode, notwithstanding all those years of training in the Orient. He had already hurt Lex, and could do it again. Both physically and psychologically. Lex wasn't strong enough for him. Bruce wasn't controlled enough for Lex. They weren't level-headed enough for each other.

He really could have killed Lionel that day. And Lex, he had realized, loved his father, in spite of everything. He probably cared for him more than he cared for Bruce. Thus, he had taken advantage of Lex's words. He had clung to them, told himself this was what his friend wanted, what was necessary for them both.

Lex had chased him away, and he had complied. He had gone to his room and had punched the wall so hard that he had ended up visiting the infirmary. And when he had discovered Lex had left the school, he hadn't looked for him. Had kept away from him, even though his messages wrenched something inside him. Even when he had heard Lex had been put away. Fuck, the kid had stuffed himself with so much alcohol and those damned pills that he had nearly died. He had told his answering machine he hadn't done it on purpose, but Bruce didn't know what to believe. The papers often distorted the truth, but so did Lex. Besides, this didn't change the outcome. Bruce had really hoped the treatment could help his friend. Lex had never wanted to open up completely with him, but perhaps he could do so with the doctors.

Bruce had learned again to do without him, to do without anybody, just as he had done before meeting him. Had learned to control his temper.

Batman had helped him. When he wore that outfit and roamed Gotham streets in the middle of the night, righting wrongs, fighting crime, helping innocents, he felt he could really make a difference, felt his existence had finally acquired meaning. It was like freeing himself of a burden. And in doing so, everyday life became more bearable for him.

He had followed Lex's life from afar. He couldn't have helped it, even if he had tried. The accounts and photos of his nights of revelry and flings of the week were everywhere. They rivaled his own in quantity, truth be told, although the contents were completely different. Bruce was generally caught while stepping out of a board meeting, or in tuxedo at a charity gala, a concert, or a museum opening, often with an elegant model on his arm, one that his PR staff judged to be right for the occasion. The tone of the articles was respectful, oozing awe.

The accounts concerning Lex were witty and ironic, sometimes even rude. He was mostly photographed inside or outside exclusive clubs, wildly partying with socialites or ordinary people, emerging half-naked and dazed from orgies, leaving bruised and disheveled from hospitals and police stations. Not to mention the artistic snapshots of his fancy cars destroyed in an apparently never-ending series of crashes, which could have deserved a feature story of their own.

Bruce had told himself that Lex could work out his problems without his help. Had really hoped it. Had had to fight with himself in order not to intervene. Once, truth be told, Batman had saved Lex from three ill-intentioned punks at the exit of an all but exclusive club in Gotham. It had been a chance encounter, and Lex was so drunk he hadn't even noticed. By the time Bruce had finished dealing with the delinquents, Lex had already driven off. Better that way, since Bruce didn't want to reopen old wounds. Besides, they would have certainly quarreled because Bruce would have tried to prevent him from driving.

It hadn't been their only encounter since Saint Joseph. A week later, during a raid as Batman, Bruce had ventured as far as Lex's room at Metropolis U. Had climbed in his window and spied on him as he did when he was younger.

It was a particularly hot June night. Lex was sleeping without sheets, with only his boxers on. Bruce hadn't been able to rein in his libido. He had sneaked inside, stripped, kneeled and jacked off beside Lex's bed, imagining that smooth, pale skin beneath his fingers. It had crossed his mind that he could have actually caressed him, because Lex was so utterly knocked out by his beloved drugs that he wouldn't have noticed even if Bruce had nailed him on the spot. But he had cursed himself for the mere thought, a thought that risked tainting a body that filled him with awe, that was simply sacred to him, no matter what Lionel and the papers said. No matter what Lex actually did.

He had then realized that he would always be attracted to Lex. And a part of him would probably always love him. It was ironic, in a sense. He loved him because Lex was wounded, and couldn't stay by him because Lex was wounded.

But Bruce would make him stronger. If not for him, then for life at least.

He couldn't look on anymore while Lex slowly destroyed himself. He had thought about it for months, every time his eye was caught by one of those disgusting tabloid reports, but he had made up his mind only when he had come across Lex on the French Riviera.

Bruce was in the hall of the Delauneys' hotel that night, when Lex and Fabienne had arrived, wobbling and giggling. Bruce hadn't seen Lex since that shameful night in his college room. He was there to meet Fabienne's father, taking advantage of his travel to Europe. Jean-Pierre Delauney had been kept in Paris and had invited him to freely use his suite at the hotel. Bruce hadn't expected to meet Lex, although he knew from the papers he was roaming the Mediterranean seaside resorts.

He had sensed something deeply wrong with that picture. It wasn't jealousy. Sure, Lex could have gotten over Fabienne's rejection. Could have been too drunk to care about what a girl thought of him years before. But Bruce knew better. He just remembered the expression on Lex's face, at that Christmas party, and had caught the glint in Lex's eyes in that hotel hall, when Fabienne wasn't looking. He reminded him of a predator after his prey. He didn't even seem that drunk. Not as much as the girl, at least. Not as much as he pretended to be.

Something was definitely going on. He had waited until Lex had left the hotel, an hour later, and tailed his Ferrari to Nice. The day after, Bruce had met Jean-Pierre as arranged, and declined the invitation to extend his stay in Cannes. He hadn't wanted to take the risk of running into Jean-Pierre's daughter. He had booked a hotel room in Nice instead, and had kept shadowing Lex. He had spied on him in the dark, under the rain, suffering for what that brilliant young man was doing to himself, studying, engineering, organizing, and waiting for the opportune moment.

He had watched as Lex went in and out of clubs and discos and bars, drunker and drunker, higher and higher, until Fabienne had entered Club Opium, and Lex had exited with that strained face, paler than usual, and from then on it had been a desperate rush toward self-destruction. When he had found him slouched on that floor, with the syringe in his hand, Bruce had feared Lex had finally succeeded in his attempt. Immediately after he realized Lex was only unconscious, he had decided that it was time to make his move.

Bruce switched off the TV and went upstairs. He opened the bedroom door just enough to peek inside. Lex's pale outline stood out in the dark. He caught his breath at the sight. God, he really had a thing for Lex's helplessness.

The younger man was sleeping, curled up in a tight ball, smooth and delicate like a fetus in his mother's womb, exactly as Bruce remembered him from their boarding-school days. Only his right arm was uncomfortably stretched over his head. It would hurt when he woke up. Bruce grimaced.

He quietly stepped in. Lex's breathing was shallow, even. He was sound asleep. Couldn't escape. Bruce carefully took off the boy's shoes, then pulled the small key out of his pocket and opened the handcuff. Took Lex's arm and gently placed it on the pillow.

Bruce considered the situation. Now that Lex was free, he should stay here. To watch over him, just in case. He studied the small armchair in the corner. What if he fell asleep and Lex managed to slink out of the room?

Bruce cautiously climbed onto the bed, lying down behind Lex. He scooted closer and wrapped an arm around him. This way, I'll notice if he tries to get up, he told himself.

Lex's frame felt slight under his arm. Had he gotten thinner? Before Bruce could realize it, his head had ducked so much that his lips nearly grazed the back of Lex's head. Instead of drawing back, he took a deep breath. Lex's shirt smelled of smoke and sweat and alcohol, the aromas it had absorbed during the previous night in those crowded clubs. Lex's soft skin gave off similar smells, plus a faint odor that reminded Bruce of the moment when he had witnessed that disquieting scene in the parking lot, as well as the residues of expensive cologne, and finally the unmistakable one that was pure Lex. He leaned in further.

Lex's scent, the warmth of his body, his smoothness and fragility attacked his senses as if they had parted the day before. He felt the urge to lick him, take their clothes off, touch him everywhere and rub himself all over him.

He realized he was getting hard. He willed himself to pull back a little, barely stifling a groan. He was strong, stronger than this. He couldn't sabotage his own attempt to help Lex. He couldn't start something he couldn't finish. Couldn't hurt him.

He unzipped his pants with his free hand and slid his fingers through the slit in the boxers, starting to slowly caress himself.

He had to save Lex, and then run away as soon as possible, before it was too late.

Lex woke up and blinked, focusing his bleary eyes on the digital clock on the nightstand. Five forty-nine. Fuck. Since when had he become an early riser? Whatever he had taken yesterday night, the effect had already faded. What the hell was it, anyway? Perhaps he was so drunk that he hadn't taken anything. Well, he could still fix that. He started to move, and then stopped. Frowned. He was on an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. Mmmh, what's new? He tried to concentrate. While the fog in his brain was clearing up, he heard a slight snoring behind his back. And realized an arm was wrapped around his waist. A heavy, brawny, male arm. Shit. He had screwed up again. Then the memories of the previous night struck him like a blow. Bruce. Oh God. Bruce's crazy plan to clean him up by force.

And now what the heck was he doing on the bed with him? Fuck, the man was really a psycho. First he left him without a word, then kidnapped him, chained him, practically admitted despising him, and as soon as Lex was asleep, he clung to him like ivy. What was he planning to do? Take his ass while he was unconscious? Sure, he wasn't worth his respect, but his body was always worth a good lay. Wasn't that what everybody thought? How could he have believed Bruce was different? He couldn't stay here a minute longer. He had to put a safe distance between them.

He gingerly took the arm and shifted it. It surprised him by suddenly coming to life and clasping him.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice sounded astoundingly resonant and imperious coming from someone who a moment before had been sleeping like a log.

"I... I need to go to the bathroom," he said, making it up on the spot. Well, now that he thought about it, he did need to go to the bathroom.

Bruce grunted warily. "Mmmh, okay. Go, but don't lock the door."

Lex sat up, turning to look at him with fiery eyes, stood and made for the bathroom. Closed the door behind him, went to the bowl and emptied his bladder as he explored the place with his gaze. Bright shards of sunlight already poured into the room, falling over the elegant, light beige tiles decorated with gilt bird-of-paradise flowers. And the sunlight was entering through a window. A rather large window.

He flushed the toilet and opened the window. Great view. The house was built on a hill above the sea-front. The promenade running over the cliffs was deserted, the water blue-green and transparent. He could see the rocks below the surface. He didn't remember this place from his previous visit to Varazze. Remembered sand, beach-umbrellas, deck-chairs, carousels, picturesque carruggi, small crackers shaped like fishes, a big villa with a dry fountain and a view on the market-place, the colored chairs on the platform of the railway station, where he sat for hours with his mother enjoying the passage of trains, even a very tanned barefooted man who hawked coconuts and krapfens on the beach singsonging: "Cocco! Cocco bello! Aaaa... Noci di cocco!". But not this. This place didn't look like Varazze. It seemed too wild. But he had been a child back then. He could have forgotten, or maybe never been here. Too bad he had no time to enjoy it right now.

He looked down. Two floors. Another window with a lintel below. A garden with bougainvilleas, palms and cluster-pines. A rather low fence. He could do it.

He turned on the faucet in order to deceive his jailer, then reached the window again, pulled himself up and climbed over the windowsill. He let himself hang down, face to the wall, grazing the lintel with the tips of his toes. He looked down. Damn, it wasn't large enough to bear him. And it was too high to jump. He should have noticed it. Fuck. It hadn't been a good idea. He dangled for a while.

"Need help?" asked an ironic voice above his head.

Lex clenched his jaw. Looked up. Bruce was staring at him deadpan, as if the situation were utterly normal. Lex considered the option of letting go, just to see Bruce's face while he crashed on the ground and broke his neck.

He grumbled, too proud to say the words.

Bruce held out his hand. Lex took it and let himself be pulled up. As soon as he set his feet on the bathroom floor, he twisted quickly out of Bruce's grip and sprinted towards the bedroom. Bruce proved faster again. He grabbed Lex's shirt, tearing it.

Lex howled in fury. "Shit! You asshole! It cost me 135 dollars!"

Before he could keep protesting, Bruce pulled him closer, holding Lex's back tight against his broad chest.

"A few hours ago you destroyed a car that was worth much more than that," he hissed in his ear. "So, stop this stupid scene. And stop fighting me. Go back to sleep. Believe me: you aren't leaving this house until you're fully detoxified."

"I can't sleep!" Lex fumed, his hands curled tight. "I can't! You know it! And I'm not going to stay here with a maniac! Leave me alone, you crazy bastard! You have no right to come and tell me how to live my life!"

He knew he sounded hysterical, but he couldn't help it. Truth be told, he feared he was really becoming hysterical. Sensed he was losing control. Had lost control.

He started squirming again in the prison of Bruce's arms. The other man seized his wrists so hard that this time Lex couldn't restrain a yelp. He felt Bruce freeze against his back. Noticed that he was holding his left hand palm up, his thumb pressed just below the wrist, where the cuff had shifted to reveal Lex's abrasion.

"Sorry, I..." Bruce began and immediately broke off, probably remembering that he had bound Lex's other hand. "What the hell..." he whispered.

Lex tried in vain to pry his arms out of his grasp. Bruce briskly yanked back his right cuff, discovering the matching mark.

Lex bit his lip. Felt panic creep into his toes and sweep through his whole being. His head started to reel. He didn't even try to resist when Bruce jerked him around. Stood motionless, eyes downcast, as Bruce tore his shirt open, sending buttons skittering across the floor. Felt him cringe, as his stunned, horrified gaze roamed Lex's pale, battered body.

"What is this?" Bruce asked. It came out like a growl.

Speechless, Lex glanced up, meeting Bruce's baffled dark eyes.

"Your father is across the ocean. Who did this to you?" Bruce urged.

Lex wanted just to run away screaming, but managed to blank any expression off his face.

"Nobody. I did it," he stated flatly. Gauged the other man for signs of disgust.

Bruce squinted, disbelief settling over his features. He squeezed Lex's arm, spinning him again. Lifted the remnants of his shirt and checked his back.

"You did this!" he repeated, a cool, threatening sneer in his voice.

"And I got someone to do it," Lex added, lamely.

Bruce gave him another shove, forcing him to look into stormy, dark eyes again. They were filled with... what, loathing? Restrained rage? Probably both. And bewilderment, yeah, as if Bruce wanted to kill somebody but didn't know exactly who.

Painfully aware that he couldn't have fallen lower in Bruce's esteem, Lex spat: "I enjoy it, understand? I like being hurt. I like it! I told you. We get along, you see? A masochist and a sadist. What a perfect couple!"

Bruce's eyes widened in sudden realization. "That dreary bar in the outskirts..." he guessed.

Lex stared at him, incredulous. He flushed with anger and shame. He didn't even know if he was more outraged because of the revelation or because his outburst had been completely ignored.

"You've been stalking me!" he exclaimed. A cool smirk tugged up the corner of his lips, as he snorted: "Well, that's funny. The leopard doesn't change his spots. Everyone has their little bad habits, don't they?"

Bruce's jaw was set in a tight line now, the only sign that Lex's words had hit their target.

Lex pushed on: "And you dare play the know-it-all. You hypocrite! You should have been committed! Not me! Not me! Not me!" He realized he was shouting now. He was completely out of control. Stop this stop this stop this, he begged himself, even as he kept yelling and his heart thumped madly in his chest and ears.

Bruce stopped him. A flash of fury blazed in his dark eyes, and Lex found himself suddenly released and shoved backward.

He landed on the double bed. He immediately turned and started to crawl across it, as if he didn't know what a hopeless move it was. In only a few seconds, he felt the iron grip around his bruised right ankle, then found himself hauled back like a sack of potatoes. He frantically clawed at the bedspread, dragging it along with him. As another hand grabbed him by the waistband, a rush of adrenalin surged through his body. He started to kick.

Adrenalin is a hormone produced by the adrenal glands, located just above the kidneys. The right one is triangular, the left one half-moon shaped. Each gland has two distinct parts: the inner medulla and the outer cortex. The medulla makes adrenalin. During ordinary times, it releases small amounts that have no known effect on the body. During stress, when one is excited, afraid or angry, it produces larger amounts, which raise the blood pressure, increase the heart rate, level of energy and speed of reaction, preparing the individual to meet the emergency.

"Easy, Lex! Why do you always have to push? I'm doing this for you. Why can't you see it?"

You're mine, Lex. I made you, I can destroy you. Do you think I'm enjoying myself? I do this for you. Don't trust anyone else. Luthors don't need anyone.

Suddenly, the room morphed around him. The light became brighter, a vivid Plexiglas flower materialized on the now-white walls.

The more he saw the less he spoke. The less he spoke the more he heard.

He curled up, arms flexed against his chest and hands balled into tight fists. Stiffened like a Pompeian plaster figure, while his sight went out of focus. He heard the familiar, shameful, desperate mew surge in his throat and resound throughout the room despite his clenched jaw and pressed lips.

Do you hear him? The boy is mewing. Miaow, puss, pussy.

"Lex?"

The voice came from far away, muffled and faint.

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, che la diritta via era smarrita.

"Fuck! Again. I didn't... I thought...

Leaving the forest, Dante sights a hill illuminated by sunbeams. He starts to climb it but three wild beasts come in his way: a lonza, a lion, a she-wolf. The hill stands for the earthly happiness to which any man aims by nature. The sunlight is the Grace of God. The lonza is commonly believed to be a lynx or a leopard. It represents lust. The lion stands for arrogance. The she-wolf is greed, radix omnium malorum, the root of all evil. The bat is... what does the bat stand for? Why the bat... there's no bat there's no bat there's no...

"Lex, for God's sake!"

Leave me alone leave me here it's so safe here so peaceful so quiet don't wanna know don't wanna see don't wanna feel wait close your eyes shut down shut him out shut it all out don't move don't listen don't cry you're made of plastic perfectly safe switch off tear your mind away so peaceful don't trust anyone don't...

Lex gasped, suddenly jerked into full consciousness by the cold water striking his body. He tried to blink at the spray that hit his face. Became aware of strong hands pressing him against the shower tiles. Felt his soaked designer clothes stick to his skin. Started to squirm and writhe.

"Calm down, Lex!" Bruce ordered, tightening his grasp. A hint of anxiety in his commanding voice.

Realizing his efforts were useless, Lex slumped back defeated and boneless on the shower floor. Panting. Feeling devoid and sad while the cool water kept stinging him, as though his anger were washing off his body and down the drain, leaving only exhaustion and shame in its place.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked.

Lex stared at him through the streams of water. The shadow he saw in those dark eyes -- was it guilt? He felt a flare of hope. Perhaps now Bruce would let him go.

Lex nodded.

Bruce helped him to scramble on his feet. He was almost as wet as Lex was.

"I'm sorry. I thought you had gotten over... this problem."

Lex didn't reply. He, too, had hoped that, although the fear of reliving it had never completely abandoned him.

"Here."

Bruce handed him a light yellow towel.

"You'll find some clothes in the wardrobe. Please, stay here while I go and get my suitcase."

He turned around and strode out of the bathroom, the well-trained muscles of his back rippling under the soaked black shirt. Almost a mockery of Lex's decaying state.

He pulled off his ruined clothes and cautiously patted himself dry. It took him almost every shred of his strength. He used the remnants of his energy to will himself to amble back into the bedroom and start exploring the closet. In the first drawer he found Fila and Nike socks and a collection of boxers with funny patterns. Obviously they weren't Bruce's. He opted for a dark prune pair that had a teddy-bear print and slipped into them.

The lower drawer contained bright colored T-shirts, tank-tops and Lacoste polo shirts. He looked for a long-sleeved garment. He had already been exposed, but this didn't mean he had to flaunt his body -- in all its ravaged glory -- in Bruce's face. He finally dug out a dark blue cotton sweater. Trussardi. Thank God, this guy, whoever he was, had taste. Apart from underwear, of course.

He was pulling the jumper on when he froze, feeling watched. He turned. Bruce's gloomy figure filled the door. He had changed his black shirt for a black polo shirt. He held a box and a small bottle of water in his hands. His eyes were fixed on Lex... no, on his bruised body. Almost as if mesmerized.

Lex swallowed and resumed dressing, quickly, as if hiding the evidence could erase Bruce's memory.

"Someone will have to explain the meaning of the word privacy to you," he said, glad to discover that at least he hadn't lost his wit.

He looked away, studiously opening the closet doors, so as to give Bruce the time to school his dismayed expression into a neutral one.

There were only two pair of sweatpants and a zip jacket hanging in the closet. He took the gray sweats off the hook, and stepped into them.

"Whose house is this?" he asked, pulling the pants up.

Bruce walked to the nightstand, placed the bottle on it. "It's the seaside home of a Milanese business associate. I borrowed it, while he is in Santo Domingo," he answered, his tone level. "Will you sit down?"

Lex opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he saw Bruce remove the box lid. He eyed the vials and syringes inside.

"This should calm you for a while."

Lex obediently made it to the bed and sat. He already felt better.

"What is it?"

A bitter smirk formed on Bruce's lips. "Your all-time fave: diazepam."

"Oh," Lex said, a bit disappointed. "I thought... I've always taken it in tablets."

"Well, this is more suitable in the case of withdrawal symptoms."

Lex gave a brief, ironic laugh. "I'm not in a withdrawal crisis. How many people have you treated?"

"You're the first," Bruce replied evenly, as he filled the syringe. "But I studied the subject on the Internet."

"Well, that's reassuring. It surely makes you an expert," Lex sneered. "Give it to me. I can do this by myself."

He reached out to snatch the syringe from his hand, but Bruce jerked it away.

"I don't doubt it," he said, flatly, "but I'd prefer to keep hold of the syringe, in case you were thinking of using it as a weapon."

Lex forced out another chuckle. "Don't worry. I haven't got AIDS."

"I'm worried for you. I don't want you to hurt yourself while trying to hit me."

Lex felt ashamed for having misunderstood his motives. When Bruce kneeled before him and asked for his arm, he complied, rolling up the sleeve.

Again, he watched the older man work to keep his face expressionless at the sight of his bruises and lacerations.

"Let me go," Lex repeated in a low, tired tone, as the syringe stuck into his flesh. He didn't wince. Didn't feel anything.

Bruce remained silent. Avoided his eyes, focusing on the injection.

"This isn't enough," Lex confessed, under his breath. It hadn't been enough for a long time. "I became sort of... tolerant to benzodiazepines." He needed something stronger, especially when he was such a bundle of nerves. He needed morphine, because it made him sleep while preventing him from dreaming.

Bruce pulled out the needle and looked up, sternly. "When you need it, I'll give you another dose."

"It won't help me to sleep," Lex observed, striving to keep his tone even.

"Then you'll stay awake," Bruce stated, standing up.

Of course. What was he thinking? If they haven't got bread, give them the croissants. It was that easy, that logical.

"I can't stay awake forever!" Lex protested. And anyway, it wouldn't be sufficient, since sometimes he wasn't safe even when he was awake.

Bruce ignored him. "Try to relax. Here is the remote. And if you want to read, just tell me. I'll bring you something."

"Bruce!" he begged, clawing at his arm, swallowing his pride. "Bruce, please."

Something akin to an emotion flickered through Bruce's eyes, and Lex allowed himself to hope. A moment later it was gone. Perhaps it had never been there.

"I'll be downstairs. If you need anything, call me."

"You know what I need," Lex ground out.

Bruce left the room.

Lex let himself fall down on the bed. He covered his face with the pillow and, pressing his arms on both sides, gave a muffled, frustrated groan. Then kicked and writhed until the covers formed a tangle at the end of the bed, until there wasn't an ounce of energy left in him anymore.

He wasn't worth anything. His life wasn't worth anything. And he had just grossed out the only person that had really cared for him after his mother's death. Bruce considered him a pervert, a nut, a junkie. It dawned on him that it could have been his perfect profile. You spineless Athenian. Little bastard. Pervert. Paltry junkie. Miserable worm. He chuckled, sadly. He would never regain Bruce's respect. Didn't deserve his respect. Didn't deserve anything. He felt an icy wave of despair build inside him, quickly filling every nook and cranny. He rolled over. Face still sunk into the pillow, he screamed. Screamed. Screamed.

Sweat. Damp. Breath. Scent of brandy and cologne. Bristly hairs tickling his sensitive skin. Chest. Legs. Cheek. Neck. Grunts and moans. The faint creaking of the bed. Dim light. Hands closed tightly around the fabric beneath. Soft. Silk.

Eyes. His eyes, as he mercilessly pushes and thrusts and plunges and rams. Never been face to face before. Never looked into each other's eyes. Not while they're fucking.

Never been that naked. Inside and outside. He arches into him. Lifts his hips. Winds his arms round his strong shoulders, holds him closer, claws his sweaty back, feels the honed muscles ripple under his fingers. Wraps his legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

Stabbed. Filleted. Filled. Wet. Impregnated.

Body trembling in his embrace. Warm breath on his neck. Whispered words. His name.

Seizes the brown mane. Pulls until they're face to face again.

"Yes, dad. This is me. Look at me." Look at me.

He complies. Proud eyes. Sated expression. A smile.

"Good boy."

Can feel it building, now. Good boy. Closer and closer. Eyes into eyes. This pleases me. This is what you're made for. The only thing you're good for. Feels it surge and sweep over him. Explode, tear through him. Good boy. Good boy.

He jerked awake in a cold sweat. Shaking. Gasping.

Propped himself up on one elbow. Blinked at the digital clock. Eight forty.

Suddenly he became aware of the stickiness in his boxers. Felt his stomach churn. Felt the bile rise in his throat, the sickness well up inside him. Clamping a hand to his mouth, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, barely registering Bruce's presence on the small armchair in the corner before gunning for the bathroom. He kneeled in front of the bowl, puking his guts out.

It went on for what seemed like forever. Sometime during this even more disgusting exhibition, he caught sight of Bruce's dark figure standing in the doorway. A moment later, the older man was moistening a washcloth under the sink faucet. After kneeling beside him, he smoothed the washcloth over his brow, awkwardly patting his back.

"Don't worry, it's normal during withdrawal," Bruce tried to soothe him.

"It isn't normal," Lex hissed in between the dry heaving.

"It's like a bad case of flu," Bruce insisted, obviously repeating by heart what he had read somewhere on the Internet.

Lex felt frustration and rage and shame wash over him in waves. He just wanted to strangle Bruce.

"I came in my briefs!" he blurted instead.

A stunned pause. Then Bruce recited, evenly: "Spontaneous ejaculation and orgasm. That can happen too."

Yeah. As you say. And I bet all junkies in withdrawal dream about being fucked by their father -- and enjoying it -- just before spontaneously ejaculating. A new wave of nausea hit him hard. He gagged again, tasting bile.

"We could pretend it was due to my presence," Bruce said.

Lex glanced up and was surprised to see a small smile on Bruce's face. He appreciated his attempt to liven up the moment, but this didn't prevent him from considering Bruce responsible for the situation. He had denied him the morphine, and this was the grand result. Those awful nightmares had come back to haunt him.

"What? The vomiting?" he teased. He placed his hands on the rim of the bowl and pushed himself up. "Get out, please. I need to clean up," he stated blankly.

Bruce complied. Lingering a moment in the doorway, he said: "I'll go downstairs to fix something for breakfast. If after the shower you feel like eating, join me in the kitchen."

Right now, the mere thought made him feel sick, but Lex nodded. As soon as he was alone, he peeled off his clothes, tossing the boxers into a hamper, and walked into the shower. While the warm spray hit his battered, exhausted body, he pressed his hands and forehead into the tiles. He stood motionless for a while, then slid down until he was kneeling on the floor, face to the wall, like a child in a corner.

Lex turned off the TV. His eyes had started to blur, his head ached. He had spent the previous hours flipping through channels: commercials, music videos, episodes of Sailor Moon, Xena, Pokemon, The Simpsons, The Guiding Light, a trial program named Forum, an episode of an Italian detective show, where a hot, dark-haired, blue-eyed hunk named Raoul Bova (a guy who certainly was going to make his mark on the world) played the role of a plain-clothes carabiniere. He had even managed to pick his favorite Mexican telenovela, Corazon Salvaje. Here the sweet, blond Beatriz was called Beatrice. All the characters' names had been changed, except for Juan del Diablo. Perhaps Giovanni del Diavolo didn't sound as good.

At the clinic, Nurse Morales used to settle him in a comfy seat close to the TV when their telenovela came on. If she wasn't too busy, she used to sit beside him and watch the show along with him. She sometimes would comment on what they viewed, sometimes would reach out and caress his hand, trying to read a response in his absent eyes.

He understood. His brain received the data. Somehow processed it, but simply couldn't react. Didn't even try to react. He felt it was safer like that. Sometimes, he wished he had never surfaced.

He had never watched so much TV as he did in the clinic. But today he was close to his all-time record. That day seemed endless. What the hell did he usually do to spend the time? Oh, yeah, he went clubbing by night and slept it off by day. If Bruce hadn't taken him away, by now he would have been riding the wave again.

He set the remote on the nightstand and lay down, trying to will his feet to stay still. They complied for a while, but as soon as his mind began to wander, they started again to twist and flex, as if possessed. His fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically as well. His heart was racing for no apparent reason. Anxiety had grown inside him unceasingly during the day. He needed something.

"Bruce!" he called.

God, it was cold in here. He wrapped himself in the covers. He realized his teeth were chattering.

"Bruce!" he repeated, in a wavering voice.

The bedroom door opened.

"What's up?" Bruce asked. "Are you all right?"

"No," Lex replied, with all the sarcasm he could muster. "I'm not all right. I can't possibly be all right. Give me something."

"It's too early. I gave you the sedative four hours ago."

"I don't give a damn. I'm nervous. You and your stupid... stubbornness are driving me crazy."

"I'll fix you a sandwich. You haven't had a bite all day."

"I can't eat! It makes me vomit. I need a tranquillizer. If you don't give me something, I'm going to explode."

Fuck, it was hot with the blanket on. He got rid of it. He realized he was sweating, and writhing. His entire body seemed unable to keep control. He felt the tension creep through every fiber of his being. He felt cold again, and started trembling. What the hell...

He felt Bruce's hand touch his forehead.

"Fever," he announced.

"I never get sick," Lex replied automatically.

"This is withdrawal."

Lex started to retort but decided to give up. He wasn't sure Bruce was wrong.

He felt lost when Bruce moved away. He tried to grab his wrist, failing.

"Bruce!" he whimpered, while the other man left the room. "Bruce, please." He bit his lip. He didn't even know what he was begging Bruce for. To give him a sedative? To not leave him there alone? To keep touching him? Probably all three.

Some minutes later, he felt relieved when he saw Bruce in the doorway. When he saw the syringe in his hand he felt even better. Thank God.

"Okay, another small dose of Valium," Bruce said.

"Thanks," Lex sighed contentedly, stretching out his arm.

Bruce gave him the injection, and then tucked him up like a child.

When he started to step away, Lex placed a hand on his arm.

"Stay, please," he whispered, through chattering teeth.

If he had to do this, he didn't want to be alone.

Bruce nodded and made for the armchair. Lex didn't release his grip. Bruce turned to him. Lex stared at him, shivering, cold sweat beading upon his forehead and above his upper lip.

Bruce nodded. He took off his shoes, walked around the bed, pulled back the covers and climbed in. He lay down beside Lex and wrapped him into his arms, as he had done long ago at school.

Lex nestled in his warm embrace, closed his eyes and pretended that time hadn't passed by.

Wicked. Wicked boy. Come to me. Come and get what you deserve.

His father's voice. Then fiendish laughter thundered in the room as an impressive figure loomed up in the dark, horns and bat-like wings, a black claw stretching towards him.

This is what you deserve.

And it wasn't a familiar voice anymore. It was hollow, and frightful and devilish because it was... he was...

Lex sat up with a jerk, suddenly awake, heart thumping madly in his ears. He took in a few ragged breaths, shaking like a leaf, convulsively clutching the sheet to his chest. The touch of Bruce's hand on his arm made him jump.

"What was it? A nightmare?" Bruce inquired.

It was the devil come to take me to hell because I'm evil wicked vile perverted I deserve this... wait a moment there is no devil no god no evil no good just this shitty life what am I saying I'm not saying anything just thinking just thinking just thinking...

"Lex?"

Lex snapped back to reality, realizing that Bruce was pulling at his arm.

"Ah... I'm fine," he stuttered. He was going nuts, had to stop this, he couldn't keep on like this. He wanted to die. Very clearly. Very simply. Real death, no aftermath, no afterlife. Just nothingness. The comforting end to all his pain.

He had to do what Bruce wanted, make him happy and get rid of him. Then, he would be free to put himself out of his misery.

He sucked in a steadying breath and wiped the sweat off his face with his borrowed T-shirt. He wondered if the owner had been aware that he would be lending his clothes along with the house, because Lex wasn't doing them a good turn.

He let the older man draw him back and gently place his bare head on his broad chest. After a while, he felt Bruce's hand rub his back in something similar to soothing circles. Lex basked in the unexpected gesture, closing his eyes and holding motionless until his heartbeat became even again.

"What was that about?" Bruce asked suddenly.

Lex opened his eyes and stared at the wall without really seeing it.

"The devil," he replied, flatly.

"The devil?" Bruce repeated, surprised.

Lex bit his lip and gave a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. The devil shaped like a gigantic bat, come to take me to hell for all my sins. I first saw him the last time I took morphine, just before waking up in your car. A scary hallucination."

The rubbing ceased suddenly.

"Uh... that would be me," Bruce confessed, slightly embarrassed.

Lex frowned and pushed himself up on his left elbow, looking into the other boy's eyes.

"What?"

Bruce cleared his throat. "That was my costume."

"Costume?" Lex echoed, more and more puzzled. He felt an impish, lopsided grin tug at the corner of his lips. "Another kink? What next? You're going to ask me to dress myself as Little Red Riding Hood while you stalk me disguised as the Big Bad Wolf?"

Bruce blushed. "It's my uniform," he grumbled, barely managing to keep his expression and voice under control. "I use it when I work."

"You wear a bat costume during your board meetings?!"

"I was talking of my second job!" Bruce snapped, running out of patience.

Lex gave him a quizzical look.

"Fighting crime. Remember?"

Lex arched his eyebrows. "You 'do that'? Really?"

Bruce shrugged. "Yeah. At night."

"You chase criminals?" Lex asked, incredulous.

Bruce nodded.

So Bruce had realized his ambitions. He was an entrepreneur- detective. It had seemed so insane at the time, when Bruce had revealed to him his project. Lex had dismissed it as the foolish idea of a naive boy. And it was crazy, in a way. But the amazing thing was that Bruce had done it. He was just a year older than Lex. His destiny had been mapped out, exactly like Lex's, and yet he had managed to script his life by himself. While Lex was just a wreck, the unworthy Luthor heir. Broken, done for, even before starting. The thought sickened him. He would give his ass for a dose of something. Anything.

He lay back down, resting his cheek on the pillow. "What is it like?" he whispered. "Aren't you scared?"

Bruce laced his fingers behind his head. "No. I don't think of it. It really gets the adrenalin going. It makes me feel useful, and helps me to keep my equilibrium."

Yeah, you can say that again, Lex thought ironically, but didn't repeat it out loud.

"I designed my outfit myself, "Bruce went on. "And I use some of the vehicles and weapons I projected. I tried to make use of your lie detector, too, but it isn't precise, you know."

Something sparked in Lex's brain.

"Gotham's masked avenger!" he exclaimed. "Now I remember. Batman, the Dark Knight," he recited, in a melodramatic tone. "I read something in the Inquisitor. I thought it was a kind of stunt to sell the paper."

Bruce shifted, uneasy. "Rags. I'd gladly do without the publicity."

"On the contrary, it's essential. Batman's mere existence could be a deterrent. Didn't you learn anything in your marketing classes?"

Bruce frowned. "Yeah. You could be right."

"But... why the bat?" Lex insisted.

Bruce's eyes brightened with unusual excitement.

"I couldn't run the risk of being recognized. And I looked for a disguise that would terrify criminals. You know, they're cowardly and superstitious. I was thinking of a creature of the night, black, awful... and in that precise instant a bat entered my house through the window. It was an omen, don't you think?"

"Just a coincidence," Lex shrugged it off. He had never believed in those things and he wasn't going to start now. Even his frightful black devil had revealed himself for what it was: a disturbed boy who played Charles Bronson disguised as a stupid bat.

"Why the hell did you put on that outfit to spy on me?"

"It was camouflage. Besides, I had to be ready. Just in case. There are criminals in the French Riviera, too." Bruce looked at him, as if expecting confirmation.

"I guess," Lex murmured. Well, some guys dressed like women whenever they could. Pretending to be a bat couldn't be much worse. Fuck, who was he trying to fool? Bruce had gone bonkers. But he was a shrewd kind of bonkers, since Lex seemed to be the only one who noticed it. And Bruce was an attractive man, as many psychos were. Surely, he had managed to live with it much better than Lex had with his own abnormalities. He had gained the respect of all those who counted, the same people who despised Lex. He had thought he didn't mind high society's opinion. As a matter of fact, he had done his best to scandalize them. But now he didn't know anymore. He was sick of being the black sheep. Sick of feeling sick. Sick of everything.

"You okay?" Bruce asked, rubbing his shoulder. "Feel better?"

"Yeah. Never felt this good," he teased him. "Fuck!" he suddenly exclaimed, jumping from the bed with a grimace. His body was quick to expose his lies. He could never trust it.

Bruce sat up, worried. "What is it?"

"Damn! A cramp," Lex howled, trying desperately to stretch his right foot on the floor.

"Come here," Bruce ordered.

Lex crawled back onto the bed, moaning.

Bruce grabbed his foot and started to massage it.

"Oh, God. Yes," Lex groaned, relieved.

"Diffused cramps. Don't worry. It's common in withdrawal," Bruce informed him.

"Terrific. Now that I know it, I feel better already."

He fell back onto the pillow, closing his eyes, relishing the sensation of Bruce's strong fingers on his bare skin.

"How's it going?" Bruce asked. "Still hurting?"

Lex shook his head. When Bruce settled back against the headboard, he opened his eyes and summoned the strength for what he wanted to ask.

"I called you at school, Bruce. They told me you weren't there anymore. I was worried. Where were you? Did my father do something to you?"

Bruce frowned. "Your father didn't do anything. I was there. I finished the school year at Saint Joseph."

"But... But they told me..." Lex's eyes widened and his mouth went dry, as he finally realized what had happened. "My father must have bribed the telephone operator. He suspected I would try to contact you."

What had he ordered the operator to do? To block every call or just the ones from Connecticut ? Or maybe just those from desperate boys? Probably the result would have been the same, since Lex was reasonably sure that nobody phoned Bruce. It mustn't have been difficult to imagine that young, frightened cousin Alec was actually Lex Luthor.

"Your father is sick," Bruce commented, disgusted.

Yeah, they would make a wonderful trio.

"Why didn't you answer my messages?" Lex's tone was accusing and his hands curled tightly. "All that time I was afraid my father had gotten you expelled!"

Bruce remained silent for a while, giving him the time to regret his question.

He despises you, remember? He didn't want to have anything to do with you and your sick family anymore. You jackass, do you really want him to say it to your face?

Finally, Bruce spoke: "You were right. I wasn't ready. I hurt you and I didn't want to do it anymore."

Oh no, oh God God God God, no. Lex rose up, chewing hard the inside of his cheek. "I didn't mean what I said, I didn't want...

"I know," Bruce said to his back. "But you were right, nonetheless. I thought over it. I... we could only hurt each other. We needed to part and grow up, find some sort of balance. We couldn't have done it if we had stuck together."

Lex closed his eyes. He felt like dying. It was his fault. Fault of his goddamn mouth. He had needed Bruce. Everything would have been different if Bruce had stayed by him. The clinic, that awful summer in Metropolis, his years of revelry at college, all the disgusting things he had done. Bruce would have stopped him. Bruce wouldn't have allowed his father... allowed Burke... And Lex would now be a different person. Instead, he had spoiled everything, because he hadn't been able to curb his fucking tongue.

And yet, if Bruce had really loved him, as he maintained, how could he have left him that easily? Had he actually been that mature, that rational? He didn't seem so, even now, despite what he had just said.

Lex turned to him. "You were afraid, weren't you? I... we scared you."

"Scared?" Bruce huffed, as if he had never heard that word, at least not associated with himself. "I could have killed your father with a blow."

Yeah, but you didn't understand me. You couldn't. You can't. And this upset you, right? They were alien to the world, and although this could create a kind of bond between them, it certainly didn't give them the key to reciprocal comprehension. They were alien to each other too. How ironic. What a tragedy.

"Violence. It's an easy way to react to what irks you. Is this the method you use to fight crime?"

Bruce shrugged. "If it's necessary."

"If it's necessary. I've already heard that."

His stomach groaned noisily.

Bruce took advantage of it to cop out of the discussion.

"You need to eat something," he stated, sliding off the bed.

Yeah, run away, coward, Lex thought bitterly. "I'd rather have something to drink. Something strong."

"I think you've been on the booze enough, lately," Bruce chastised him. "You should break this habit."

Like hell. Forget it, you moronic bastard, Lex was about to spit out. But somehow he controlled himself. He was much more adept at it than Bruce was. Sure. Strange as it seemed, he was the rational being, there. He had to sound conciliatory and keep him at bay before he decided to dry Lex out by means of his insane coercive method.

"Well, yeah, you're right. But not now, okay? One thing at a time."

Bruce squinted at him, probably trying to decide how to react to the unusual docility. Lex The Good Boy responded by putting on his best innocent face, until Bruce gave up and headed for the door.

After a while, Bruce came back with a chocolate bar, a packet of cheese puffs, two apples and a glass full of a dark red liquid.

He glared at him. "Wine?"

Bruce let the food fall onto the bed. "The choice is between moscato d'Asti and Batida de coco. You're not going to get drunk under my very roof, Lex."

Too bad, because that was exactly what he needed right now, to get blind drunk. Instead, he bit the bullet.

"I love moscato." He reached for the glass.

Bruce set it on the nightstand. "Put something in your stomach, first."

Lex sighed and took a tiny bite of one of the apples.

"As soon as you feel better, we'll go shopping for groceries," Bruce promised.

"I can't wait, master," Lex retorted, in a mocking tone. "Very human of you."

"Only if you behave," Bruce warned him.

"I'm beginning to think that a bit of violence would do you good too."

Bruce emitted something between a snort and a brief laugh. "And who should give me this lesson? You?"

"Stop messing around, you idiot. I'm sick, don't you see?"

Bruce touched his forehead. "No fever. Come on, you sluggard," Bruce ordered, pulling Lex up on his feet. "On your guard. Show me what you remember."

Lex huffed. "Please. What are you, thirteen?"

Before he could sink back onto the bed, Bruce hit his upper arm.

"Hey!" Lex exclaimed, indignantly, massaging the sore spot.

"On your guard!" Bruce repeated, ready to strike again.

Lex automatically raised his fists before his face. At Saint Joseph, Bruce had given him some martial arts and boxing lessons, which had been his intention ever since their first encounter. Lex had never taken them seriously. He was convinced they were just an excuse for Bruce to put his hands on him, just as asking him for tutoring in chemistry had been an excuse to stay with him without raising suspicions. As proof of Lex's hunch, they had always ended up tangled on Lex's room floor. Was this what Bruce had in mind? Perhaps all wasn't lost. Everything seemed to prove that Bruce still felt attracted to his body, if not to him. This he could take advantage of. This he could use to get free... or even maybe to win him again. And not be alone anymore.

"C'mon, guard up," Bruce commanded. "Elbows close to the body!"

Bruce attempted another punch. Lex dodged it and grasped his arm. Bruce stretched his fingers, twisted his wrist and yanked his hand away from Lex's grip.

"Good," he commented.

Lex detected a hint of surprise in his voice, and delighted in it. He was a bit rusty, but he hadn't forgotten Bruce's lessons. Sometimes he even trained hard, although he was inconstant. Usually he realized all of a sudden he was falling to pieces, and immediately decided to go on a diet and start exercising. He applied himself to it almost obsessively for a few weeks, checking his weight, counting the calories, preparing training schedules, then he would give up in the same abrupt way, only to start all over again three or four months later.

"Remember: quickness, not strength."

Bruce attacked again. Lex diverted the blow with his forearm and tried to kick him, as the older boy had taught him. Bruce stopped his leg with both hands. Lex shifted and almost landed a hook. Bruce warded it off with his palm, and wrapped it around Lex's fist, squeezing hard. Lex barely fought back a yelp. He kicked again. Bruce let go of his hand to grab his ankle, throwing him off balance. Lex tumbled to the floor. Before he had a chance to catch his breath and wits, Bruce was hovering over him with his arms straight, straddling him, pinning his shoulders down. Lex didn't try to get up.

He couldn't stop a little smirk from crooking his lips, as he locked eyes with the other man. They were on his ground now. He could beat Bruce, there. He could take control. He let his gaze linger on Bruce's mouth. Bruce liked kissing him. Had wished it so much he had done it against Lex's will. Well, then, he would give it to him. Would give him everything he wanted, and show him all he had learned in those years, so that in the end he could be in control. So that he could twist Bruce round his little finger.

Chest heaving, heart thrumming in anticipation, he lightly caressed Bruce's arm. The other boy's face deadpanned, but Lex felt him shiver under his feather-like touch. Encouraged, he started to lift his head, eyes fixed on Bruce's lips. For a second, the older man kept motionless, as if he was awaiting him. Then, all of a sudden, he released him, pushing himself up. Lex bit back disappointment.

"You okay?" Bruce asked evenly, as if he hadn't even noticed Lex's move.

No, damn it! Lex wanted to yell.

"Sure," he mumbled as he sat upright again.

"Very well. We'll continue tomorrow morning, if you feel fine," Bruce announced.

Lex's stomach replied with a moan.

"I'll leave you to your dinner. If you need me..."

"You're downstairs," Lex concluded, briskly.

Bruce lingered for a moment, lips thin and eyes vexed, as if about to say something more. Then he smoothed his face over, squared his shoulders and made his way to the door, disappearing down the hallway.

He was good at that game, but not like Lex. It was apparent that Bruce wasn't indifferent to him. But he kept resisting. That was beyond Lex's comprehension. He couldn't believe Bruce had guessed his intentions. Unless... Although Bruce wouldn't admit it, the fear and the disgust he felt for Lex probably outweighed the attraction.

Lex's stomach lurched. He told himself it was for the pangs of hunger. He took the chocolate bar. Nocciolato Novi. He knew it. Delicious chocolate with hazelnuts. One of the wonders of the world. His mouth watered. He unwrapped the bar and attacked it like a starving Auschwitz survivor, moaning as it melted in his mouth. He emptied the wine glass and stuffed himself with cheese puffs, leaving only the apples. He was relieved when he felt the nausea wash over him like a wave. He stumbled towards the bathroom, kneeled before the bowl and gladly threw up. While he sat back on his heels, a lump formed in his throat. But, as always, it didn't melt into tears.

"Put these on," Bruce ordered, throwing a pair of swim trunks into his lap.

Lex was sitting on the floor, still panting from the morning exercises. He shot Bruce a questioning look.

"You're better, it seems, but you don't look very healthy. Since it's a beautiful day, we're going out. Sunning will do you good."

Lex felt thrilled. Outside. Finally. Outside, after five days of confinement, of heaving, of intermittent fever and shivers, of watching TV until his eyes ached, of playing Scarabeo games (the Italian version of Scrabble, in which, at least, even composing English words, he had had the satisfaction of beating Bruce again and again), of drifting in and out of dreams where he did the most disgusting stuff with his father, so-called friends, professors, Lionel's business associates and complete strangers. Often under Bruce's stern look of reproach.

"Thanks. Your sincerity is always comforting," Lex remarked, sarcastically, congratulating himself on concealing his relief.

He examined the suit. Brick red, with a pattern of tiny diamonds. Clearly another property of the house-owner.

"Are you sure your friend had this in mind when he lent you the house?"

"He isn't my friend," Bruce corrected. "And I'll give everything back like new. We'll take the bedcovers, the towels and the clothes to the laundry, before leaving."

"I would be more at ease with my own clothes."

"If you want, tonight we can buy something."

A shiver of anticipation moved down Lex's spine. "My credit card," he remembered, suddenly disappointed. "I left it in the other wallet."

"It will be on me," Bruce offered. "After all, I'm your host."

"Really? Because, since we are here, I could buy a new Ferrari. Black, maybe..." Lex teased, earning only a hard stare from Bruce.

"Joking," he reassured him.

"Get ready. I'll be waiting downstairs."

"I'll need sunscreen."

"I found some bottles in the other bathroom."

"A strong sunscreen."

"How about 30 SPF? The owner has a child. It must be hers."

"It will do fine."

Bruce left him alone. Lex quickly removed his clothes and wore his trunks. Lacking a cap, he wrapped a T-shirt around his head.

Bruce was waiting at the bottom of the stairs in black trunks and black sandals, a hand on the banister and a big, plastic (yellow!) bag slung over his shoulder. He welcomed Lex with one of his rare smiles. Lex immediately felt more exposed than he already was, painfully aware that, beside Bruce, he was a poor sight: white, skinny, hairless. At least the bruises had almost completely faded.

"What?" Lex muttered, averting his eyes.

"I like your look. Very exotic."

At a loss, Lex stared at him, searching his eyes for a hint of mockery. He didn't find it, and felt a grateful smile push its way onto his face. He didn't try to stop it.

"I bet that belongs to the house-owner too," he commented, nodding at the bag.

"Yeah. Dreadful, isn't it?"

"Actually, I love it. You should consider this color, if you decided to renew your wardrobe. What about Beeman? It sounds great to me."

Bruce snorted. "C'mon."

Lex chuckled and followed the older man out of the house. Bruce led the way across the back garden and down a steep flight of stone steps.

Farther below, three girls in shorts and bikini tops were strolling along the promenade carrying backpacks on their shoulders. A father and a child overtook them riding their bicycles. Apart from them that stretch of road was deserted, and the only sound was the crash of waves on rocks.

The ground at the bottom of the stairs was uneven, strewn with stones and tufts of grass.

Two steps ahead of Lex, Bruce cast a glance at the younger man's bare feet and started to take off his sandals. Lex realized he was going to lend them to him and blushed. Why was he always bound to play the damsel role?

"Don't," he protested. "If you can do without, I can too."

"You're skin is more sensitive than mine. You'll get hurt."

Lex bit his bottom lip, grudgingly admitting to himself that Bruce was right. Nonetheless...

"You could get hurt too," he observed, bravely.

Bruce gave him a critical look. "Okay," he decided, sliding his foot back in the sandal.

Lex had expected more insistence. Just when he was starting to regret his heroic gesture, Bruce added: "Let's do it this way." He turned around and motioned Lex to mount on his back.

Lex considered protesting again, but gave up. Bruce was obviously strong enough to bear his weight.

"On one condition: I carry the bag."

Bruce passed it to him. Lex slung it over his shoulder. Already in a higher position than the other man, Lex wounded his arms around his neck and easily climbed on his back. Bruce hooked the back of Lex's knees with his forearms and, with no apparent effort, descended quickly towards the cove. Lex pressed his chest against Bruce's back, his cheek against his shoulder, relishing the hardness and vigor of that sculpted body, breathing the musky scent of that golden skin.

A sudden flashback of the distant past, his father in a bathing suit, carrying him on the deck of their yacht, making him bounce, making him jiggle. His masculine smell, the strong muscles of his back, the brown locks at the nape of his neck twisted around Lex's little fingers. Simple pleasures. Clean pleasures. Not tainted. Not yet.

Lex turned those thoughts off. "You tanned," he observed. "When did you find the time?"

"At Cannes. I lazed for a few hours on the beach."

"Just a few hours? Lucky guy. I would have sunburned."

"Judging from your looks, I'd say you haven't sunbathed at all, this summer."

"I was too busy partying. You don't go to Ibiza or the French Riviera to sun," Lex retorted, half-mockingly.

"If you say so."

Lex turned to the left, eyeing curiously the promenade, which disappeared into a tunnel.

"What's this place?" Lex inquired. "I don't remember it."

"It's a natural reserve. It's called Piani d'Invrea. The promenade is the Lungomare Europa. It can be traveled over only on foot or by bike. My associate told me it was built in the place of the old railway track."

"Oh. This explains why I don't remember it. That explains the tunnel, too."

As they descended under the promenade, the stones became bigger and bigger. Bruce stopped and slowly released Lex, setting his feet back on the ground. They jumped nimbly from rock to rock towards the water.

"There," Bruce suggested, pointing a finger towards a big, flat rock.

They dug the towels out of the bag and spread them over it. They were dark blue, soft, hemmed in red, with 'FILA' embroidered in white in one corner. Lex settled on the narrower one, took the sunscreen bottle and began to apply the lotion. He smoothed it over every exposed inch of his body.

"Would you mind helping me?" he asked, turning his back to Bruce.

After a brief hesitation, the older man almost ripped the bottle out of Lex's hand, shook the cream into his palm and slowly applied it on his shoulders. He caressed Lex's neck, his shoulder blades, his spine, seeming to linger more than necessary.

Lex closed his eyes, leaning into the touch with a little satisfied moan. As if suddenly aware of his shameful moment of self-indulgence, Bruce paused, and then resumed the massage with quick, rough, almost furious strokes.

"Ow!" Lex exclaimed, squirming away. "Stop it! You're hurting me!"

He caught a glimpse of Bruce's troubled expression before his face regained its composure.

"Sorry," Bruce mumbled, wiping his greasy hands on his thighs.

Lex watched him as he donned a pair of Rayban sunglasses and started to cover himself with tanning cream.

He took a deep, steadying breath. The air smelled of sea. He turned, drinking in the sight of the water shimmering under the sun, a small sailboat drifting lazily not far off shore. He moved to the edge of the rock, setting his feet on a big stone intermittently covered by the waves. There was a pleasant breeze there, near the sea. He almost didn't feel the summer heat. He watched the boat disappear behind the cliff, and then slid down on the big stone, smoothed and rounded by the action of the sea. He sat there for several minutes, letting the waves break over him, studying the movements of small crabs.

When he turned back, Bruce was laying on his towel, dozing perhaps, arms folded behind his head. Somehow, he reminded him of a Tennessee Williams character, the sane one, the one the main character envied and would never be. Curious, considering what he knew about that man.

He scrambled back up the flat rock. He lay down next to Bruce, leaning on his elbow, cheek resting in his palm. He studied intently Bruce's relaxed face, wondering if the eyes were closed behind the black lenses of his glasses.

"Dark he was and beautiful," he whispered to himself.

"What?" Bruce immediately asked, motionless.

Lex flushed a little. He hadn't really expected him to hear. "Biondo era e bello e di gentile aspetto. Blond he was and beautiful, and of noble look," he recited. "Dante describes king Manfredi like this in the third canto of the Purgatorio."

"Manfredi. The King of Naples and Sicily, right? He didn't end up well, if I remember correctly."

"It depends on the point of view. He fought valiantly and died in battle."

A brief pause, then Bruce's lips shaped into a small smile. "Yeah. I could go for it."

Lex watched the breeze ruffle Bruce's dark hair. He bit his lip, looked up towards the promenade. No one in sight. He turned back to Bruce and removed his glasses. Bruce's smile faded. Their eyes locked, but the older man's expression was unreadable.

Lex braced himself and reached down, closing the distance, brushing his lips against Bruce's. Slowly and softly, at first. Probing. He met no resistance. On the contrary, he felt Bruce's jaw relax under the pressure of his mouth. Emboldened, Lex shoved his tongue between his lips. Licking. Nipping. Thrusting. Sucking. Finally wrenching a throaty, almost desperate groan out of Bruce.

Bruce's stillness broke and all of a sudden he reached out to cup the back of Lex's head in his palm, pulling him down harder. Lex's heart raced as Bruce started to respond, eagerly, hungrily, their tongues dueling, entwining, sliding against each other.

Bruce's other hand ran across Lex's side, traveled to his back, caressed his hip, moved underneath his trunks, sending a shiver through his spine. Lex shifted, arms on either side of the other man, fists clenched tight on the towel. He tried to ignore the familiar tension in the pit of his stomach, as he looped a leg over Bruce's, grinding his thigh into his groin. Engaging all his zeal and experience, Lex kept fucking Bruce's mouth with his tongue, gratified to feel something long and solid taking shape under the elastic fabric of the black Speedo.

Another moan and Bruce's free hand slid between them, coming to rest on his chest. Before Lex knew what was happening, Bruce had torn his mouth away abruptly, jerked up and pushed him back with a rough shove.

Taken aback, Lex lost his balance and rolled off the towel, yelping as he scraped his forearm against the rock.

"Wha... What the hell..." he stammered, incredulous, scrutinizing his scratched arm. He prepared himself to launch into a tirade, but gave up when he saw Bruce's expression.

His face had gone pale, and he was doing nothing to conceal the remorse pooling in his eyes.

"Sorry," he said, evenly.

"You're saying that word far too often for my taste," Lex hissed. "Why the hell did you do that? Don't tell me you didn't want it."

"I'm sorry I hurt you. But I can't do it."

Lex snorted. "You didn't seem that disgusted a moment ago." He eyed Bruce's crotch. "You don't even seem disgusted right now."

Bruce fumbled with the towel, trying to hide the proof of his arousal.

"I'm not disgusted," he muttered. "It's just wrong."

Lex drew his legs to his chest, resting his arms on his knees. He sighed, while his gaze drifted and settled on the sea.

"Yeah. I saw the pictures."

"What pictures?"

"All those women," Lex explained. He turned away from the water, his eyes settling on Bruce.

Bruce's dark eyes glowed with sudden realization. "The tabloids?"

Lex shrugged. "You can say it: tu quoque? Yeah, I confess. I read them too. Otherwise, how could I know what I've done the night or the week before? And what you're doing," he added, in a lower voice.

Bruce let out a dismissive chuckle. "I don't give a shit about those women. They're just hired professionals."

Lex raised his almost invisible eyebrows.

Bruce flushed slightly. "Models, I mean. Escorts. I've never fallen for any of them, although I can't say I don't find them attractive. It seems... I'm kind of bisexual, after all."

"Well, congratulations on finally attaining complete self-awareness," Lex retorted, more harshly than he had intended. He bit his lip. "Sorry. I'm really glad you cleared your mind of any doubts."

He wished he, too, could do that. But he didn't know yet, probably would never know. What he was, what he would have been without his father's interference.

"But what is it, then? What are you worried about? Is it that boy?"

"What...?"

"Your Circus Boy. I saw him in the papers too."

"You mean Dick?" Bruce blushed again.

Lex smiled, ruefully. "Yeah. It's him, isn't it?"

"He's just a kid," Bruce protested indignantly.

Lex stifled a laugh that threatened to sound insane. Just a kid. Just a kid. There had been a time when he had believed it was normal for a child to have sex. That most children did those things with their fathers, with any male adult they wanted to please. Now he knew better. He knew that it had been his fault, because he was a freak, and a pervert. But he also knew how much he had craved for Bruce's attention, what he had done and what he could have done to keep him, and couldn't believe that boy wouldn't be willing to do the same. Couldn't believe that Bruce would reject him as he did with Lex, because that boy had a pretty face, and hair, and was normal, and sane, and simple. Have you already told him you love him, Bruce?

Lex's smile became cold. "I wasn't much older than him, when you first got off touching me," he observed, heavy sarcasm lacing his tone.

"I wasn't much older either," Bruce snapped. "Dick is my protege', nothing more."

"That's what you're calling it?"

"Stop it. You're really grossing me out, now. I witnessed his parents' death. He was there, watched them fall and die. He was crying and... He just reminded me of myself."

"Well, if I'm wrong..." Lex kneeled and reached for the towel Bruce had placed over his lap.

Bruce took hold of his wrist.

A mixture of anger and frustration welled inside him. "Why don't you let me...? What's with you? Why haven't you ever tried to fuck me, when every..." Lex bit his tongue and pushed on. "What do you feel for me? A sense of attraction and repulsion? Or is this a sort of perverted game, a kind of turn-on? Giving me the brush-off as soon as I get you off?"

Bruce let go of him. "I'm not playing with you. I said I'm sorry. I was hard."

"You certainly were. Thanks to me."

"Rough!" Bruce corrected, in a peeved growl. "I was rough with you. Don't make things more difficult. You know what I'm talking about. I shouldn't have reacted like that. I thought I had learned to control my temper, but you drive me nuts."

Me? "Me?" Lex repeated out loud.

"I'm trying to help you. I can't do it if you behave like this. You've been clean for just a few days, you're vulnerable. I'm not going to spoil our work. Why did you do that?"

"Why?" Lex echoed, sincerely confused. "I felt like doing it. It was just a kiss, and this is not the point. You've always played fast and loose with me."

"Are you still planning to run away?" Bruce asked, out of nowhere.

"What?"

"What are you getting at? You've never offered yourself to me because you felt like doing it. Am I right, Lex? So, why? It's a simple question."

Lex just stared at him wide-eyed, motionless, stunned silent by his words, skewered, exposed, the crash of the waves thundering in his ears, the only sound left in the world.

"You lied to me that day, didn't you? You've never loved me."

Love? What love has to do with this? A kiss? A fuck? Once upon a time he had believed he could win love by doing whatever he was asked to do. But that delusion hadn't lasted long. He could gain attention, perhaps, but love? Love was that distant, buried, almost forgotten feeling he had shared with his mother, and had believed he shared with Pamela too.

Sex was about lust and power and violence and pain and control. What the hell does love have to do with this? What the hell does love have to do with what the hell... But it seemed important to Bruce. So tell him, just like you told him at school. Say what he wants to hear.

"I... I needed you," he said, instead, wondering in horror why the hell he had chosen this, of all the moments, to be finally sincere. Immediately, he tried to remedy his faux pas. "You were my very special friend, Bruce. I really cared for you. And you cared for me. What was wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Bruce admitted, a sad smile gracing his lips. "We just didn't want the same things."

"I gave you what you wanted!" Lex insisted. "You didn't take it!"

Bruce shook his head, frustrated. "I don't seem to be able to make you understand."

He threw aside the towel and rose. Jumping down onto the stone below, he plunged into the deep water.

"I hope it's cold enough!" Lex yelled, quivering with irritation.

He would have given his left arm for a dose of morphine.

He lay back down, hands balled over the towel. His gaze settled on the promenade, and his mind drifted, as it often did, into fantasies of death. He immediately felt the tension drain from his body.

It wouldn't be that difficult to escape from Bruce's control. A brief run and he would be up there on the ledge. The impact against the cliff scared him. It would be painful. But quick. And lethal. There would be no way out, no disapproving look, no scolding, no sorrow once he had jumped. Not for him. Not this time.

Yes, he would close his eyes and dive in the void, head-first, a volo d'angelo. As the angel flies, as they said here. Lex smiled. Like an angel? Him?

He could do it right now. Could take advantage of Bruce's distraction. Yes, he would get up and run. He pushed himself up on his elbows, heart pounding in his chest. Run. Climb. Jump. In the sunlight. In the breeze. There were worse ways to die.

Bruce rose from the sea in front of him like a mythological triton, clinging onto the rocks, drops of water trickling down his face and muscular chest, black hair smoothed and glued to his forehead.

He looked up at him through glittering dark eyelashes, foamy waves lapping at his brawny back and shoulders.

"I've never made love," he declared, matter-of-factly.

Lex sat all the way up, hardly resisting the urge to gape. Before he could say a word, Bruce added: "I've been with some of those girls. The ones I date for the sake of the press."

Lex frowned, confused. "I don't understand. Why did you say..."

"They were good lays, but I didn't really give a shit about them. I didn't want this with you. I loved you. And this is the reason why I've never gone all the way through it with you. Because I cared about you and it was the first time I felt that way, and I knew you weren't ready, although you believed you were. I wasn't playing with you. On the contrary, I didn't want to hurt you."

Lex didn't yet understand half of what Bruce was talking about, but he was getting a little light-headed, perhaps because this was the most articulate and meaningful speech he had ever heard come out of Bruce's mouth, or because he had just realized that at school he had been the more experienced of the two, that he had probably been Bruce's first love, Bruce's only love, and yes, Bruce had confirmed he loved him -- well, that he had loved him -- and cared about him, and in that unsound mind of his he had chosen that strange course of action for Lex's own good, and maybe...

He should ask The Question, he really should. Instead, all those painful memories started to whirl in his mind: the doubts, the loneliness, the unanswered messages, his father's insults and maneuvers, the drugs sniffed, injected and gulped down, the drinks drained, the soaked white coverlet under his cheek, while that monster pressed on his back and pounded inside him, while he cried and desperately wondered if someone, anyone cared about him in the world.

So he accused, blankly: "You hurt me anyway."

Bruce closed his eyes, and a second later he was gone, moving away with precise, powerful backstrokes.

And The Question chose that moment to surface again in Lex's mind.

Do you still love me, Bruce? Could you still love me?

Bruce hadn't seemed in the mood to resume their conversation when he came back from his swim. They had packed, gone back to the house, watched the news and changed for the night, as if nothing had happened. Then they had reached the center of town walking along the Lungomare Europa and the crowded, lively promenade with its view of the bathing establishments Lex remembered so well from his previous stay.

Almost half an hour passed, during which they had exchanged few words, and when they did, it was almost always comments on the pleasant cool of the evening, or the trompe-l'oeils on the house fronts, or the talent of the bands playing music outside the bars.

They had wandered about the narrow alleys, until they had found a typical trattoria, where Lex had ordered for both of them a typical plate of trofie with pesto alla genovese, broiled sword fish and ice-cream. All of this washed down with a house white wine. Bruce had done ample justice to it -- probably because he wanted to prevent Lex from draining the bottle -- apparently without losing an ounce of his sobriety.

Afterwards, they had gone on a shopping spree along the main carruggio. Lex had found a couple of expensive and satisfactorily fashionable boutiques. Had spent at least an hour fluttering with excitement between designer shirts and trousers and bermudas and capri pants and sweaters and socks and briefs, asking for Bruce's grunted advice, chatting in lively Italian with the clerks, blessedly oblivious of everything else in the world. Uncertain between different colors of the same silk shirt, he had chosen at first Bruce's favorite (charcoal black, anthracite gray and slate gray), then, as an afterthought, he had decided to add to the collection a range of the red and violet shades from cyclamen to cobalt blue.

"I'm beginning to suspect that drugs and alcohol aren't your only addictions," Bruce commented in a gloomy tone as they exited the latest shop laden with packages and glossy paper bags.

"Look at this!" Lex exclaimed, unfazed, prancing towards the clothes hanging on a rack outside a gadget and beachwear shop. Incredulous and vaguely amused, he stretched and examined the red and white football jersey with "FREAKS - USA" printed across the front.

"I must have it," he announced. He couldn't imagine when he would ever put it on -- probably never -- but he also couldn't imagine who would be a more suitable owner than him.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but docilely followed him inside the shop. Once there, Lex almost went into raptures when he discovered a collection of T-shirts sporting literary quotations.

"Fatti non foste a viver come bruti, ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza," he recited in a whisper, smoothing one of them. "To live like brutes you were not created, but to pursue virtue and knowledge. That's Ulysses speaking, Twenty-Sixth Canto of Dante's Inferno, Eighth Circle, Eighth Bolgia."

"That could be good advice. You should follow it. It seems to me you were on the right track, once upon a time."

Lex sucked in a shaky breath, as Bruce's words sunk deep.

"I never gave up my studies," he protested, avoiding Bruce's look.

"I wonder how you ever find the time."

Silence stretched between them. It was Bruce who finally broke it, looking at the quote printed on one of the other T-shirts.

"Sounds like a tongue-twister," he said.

"Amor, ch'a nullo amato amar perdona," Lex read out loud. "Second Circle of the Inferno, Paolo and Francesca, damned for lust."

"What does that mean?"

"Love, which doesn't allow who is loved not to love back."

Bruce lips curved into a small, bitter smile. "But we know this isn't true, don't we?"

Lex was floored for a second, but immediately recovered and then resorted to his literary studies. "That... that is just an old concept diffused in the medieval theoretical treatises on love and in courtly poetry."

Bruce quirked a brow. "Well, I'm impressed. You're not exactly a brute, as Dante would say. Somehow you did find the time."

Lex scrutinized him, trying to decide if the older man was being serious. He detected no sign of mockery, but that didn't make him feel better.

They exited the shop with the jersey, seven T-shirts (including the one with the quote of Ulysses, but not the one on Love), a pair of amaranth trunks, a bandanna to protect Lex's head when he sunned, and a pair of Warrior Angel boxers. The house-owner's enthusiasm for funny underwear must have infected him.

After only a few steps he stopped at a shoe shop to buy a pair of comfy flip-flops he immediately put on to go with his new cotton drawstring pants and, since he was there, a pair of sandals and a pair of loafers, too.

"You're a fashion junkie and a shopping maniac," Bruce diagnosed, while they strolled towards the main promenade.

"I hope you're not planning to make me break this habit, too. It isn't detrimental to my health. And I... we can afford it, can't we? And if it irks you, don't worry, I'll repay you."

"It's not that. I was just wondering why you always feel this need to push everything to an extreme."

Lex allowed himself to think over it for a mere instant, before instinctively pushing it to the back of his mind, as he always did when a thought threatened to become too distressing, upsetting or dangerous for him to cope with.

Luckily, he didn't have to rack his brain in search of an evasive maneuver. A sudden burst of sound and light made them start and fix their attention to the sky. Sparkling, colored fireworks were flowering far away above the sea.

They lengthened their stride, joining the crowd gathered on the promenade above the beach. The fireworks were rising from much farther up the coast, perhaps even from the next town, Celle Ligure. But what made Lex catch his breath was the sight of the dark water dotted with hundreds of lights, as if the starlit sky had descended like a blanket over the sea.

"What is it?" he whispered in amazement.

He asked another onlooker for information. Listened attentively, then turned to Bruce and explained: "It's called la cerimonia della posa dei lumi. They do it twice a summer. It's a sort of blessing. It consists of laying small candles on the water and making a wish. The farther the candle travels without dying out, the more likely your wish will come true."

Lex again watched the myriad of lights floating on the water under the full moon, as far as the eye could see. He inhaled a lungful of sea air.

For the first time in what seemed like ages, he felt good, really good, and happy to be alive, and even unusually clear-headed. So lucid, in fact, that he could make out every detail, and he could have remembered them the next day and in the years to come. And he wanted to remember it. God, he wanted to remember.

Eyes sparkling with excitement, Lex took Bruce's hand and nodded towards the nearest establishment.

"Come on, let's do it."

In spite of his furrowed brow, Bruce let him lead the way down the wooden staircase and along the narrow walk all the way to the sandy shore. A couple of young bathing attendants were gathered around a table, busy with lighting the candles and setting them in small paper cups. Lex and Bruce placed their bags on the sand, took off their shoes and joined them.

"We must be the last," Lex observed, noticing the small group of people, mostly children, that surrounded the table and dabbled in the water.

"I suspect we missed the climax of the celebration. Look at all those candles. Someone must have put them there."

Lex joined the small crowd. One of the attendants, a Matt Damon kind of guy in white T-shirt and bermudas, scrutinized Lex suspiciously when he reached for a candle.

"Voi non siete clienti, mi sembra."

Lex stopped halfway. "Oh, scusa, non sapevo che bisognasse essere clienti," he murmured, mortified.

"What's happening?" Bruce asked, deepening his frown.

"We have to be clients of the establishment to take part in the ceremony."

Bruce stood still and silent for a few seconds, then slid a hand in his pocket and produced his wallet, like a rich father willing to satisfy his child's whim. "How much for one day?"

Lex felt a bit embarrassed, and at the same time flattered and protected. It was like being a little kid again and finally having someone to care for you.

The bathing assistant, on his part, seemed baffled. "But... the day is almost over," he stammered with a strong Italian accent. "It doesn't matter. This time we'll make an exception." He handed a candle to Lex and another to Bruce.

The older man refused it.

"C'mon, take it," Lex urged him. "It will be fun."

Bruce glared at him.

Lex shrugged. "Come on. Hold it for me for a few seconds."

Bruce held the candle long enough for Lex to roll up his pant legs, and then Lex took it back. He proceeded towards the water, gingerly holding it in his cupped hand. A group of children in bathing suits paddled and swam about, pushing ahead of them the precious paper cups. Lex put down the candle where the sea seemed calmer. He didn't even have the time to think of a wish before it was swallowed by the water. Disappointed, he went back onto shore.

Bruce was waiting for him, holding another candle.

"Did you change your mind?"

"It's for you. I saw you lost the first. They say you can have another chance."

"Really?" Lex smiled, and immediately felt ashamed for his immaturity. Only the kids seemed that excited over the silly ritual, which was surely a tourist attraction. Why the heck was he that keen on doing it? "Thanks," he said with gratitude. Their fingers touched as Bruce passed the paper cup to him.

Lex looked up at him. "And...thanks for everything. I feel... really better."

Bruce cracked a genuine smile. He didn't even look like his usual self without that eternal scowl on his face.

"I'm glad you made it. At the end of the week you'll be ready to go."

"You mean that you'll let me go," Lex teased him, lightly.

"I think it's up to you, at this point. You're clean. You've made through the tougher job. You can be proud of yourself, and I'm sure you'll do your best to stay like this."

Lex sobered, swallowing hard. Swallowing his pride too, he squeezed his eyes shut. "You know, I really needed you. And still need you. You are the only one I've ever slept with. It has to mean something. What do you feel for me? Do you... Do you still love me?" he asked, flat out, his body tense in anticipation.

There was a long silence, and Lex brought himself to open his eyes, locking them with Bruce's again.

Half in shadow, Bruce's face was unreadable. Eventually, he spoke: "I really don't know. I think a part of me does. Always will. But love isn't enough sometimes. You can love someone and not be able to stay with them."

Lex felt cold inside, felt his knees buckle and his features start to strain. He struggled hard to keep his neutral mask in place.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Something happened to you. I won't force you to tell me what. It may be better like this. Apparently, I'm not that able to control myself when it comes to you. But you didn't get over it. I don't think you'll be really ready to start your life, let alone share it with someone else, until you solve this problem. I think... you should seek counseling."

For a moment, Lex was petrified. Then the composure he had fought so hard to keep broke all at once. A single word took shape in his mind and grew bigger and bigger, chasing away all other thoughts. No no no no no no no no.

He turned and ran towards the water, waded through it, the candle still secure in his palm.

Hush little baby... don't say a word... I'm gonna buy you...

He knew perfectly well what happened when you spoke, when you told the truth, when you pulled off the mask, when you tore the curtain back.

Hold your tongue, little girl. Don't try again to betray him. Remember, son. I'm watching you. I've always been and always will be a step ahead of you. You will learn, in one way or another.

He had learned. Yes, he had learned. He shouldn't speak, couldn't speak, wouldn't speak.

Remember, boy. Hush.

He was pushing the candle ahead, and suddenly was aware that he was immersed in the water to his chin. Another step and he wouldn't be touching bottom anymore. He blinked and looked around. He was surrounded by lights. The entire coast was shimmering with them. He started floating, letting out a liberating laugh. He could swim ahead until his strength abandoned him, and he could just let himself sink. Drowning would be a gentler death, a sweeter death, than crushing his head against a rock. He wouldn't even be swollen, bluish and ugly, if they took him out quickly. Bruce would take care of it. Yes. Cracked and drowned. Like Ophelia. Like a disgraced Victorian heroine. Wouldn't it be appropriate? Wouldn't it be romantic? Farewell, cruel world.

He pushed himself ahead, but something hard and strong snared his waist. Taken aback, he went down, swallowed a gulp of salty water, and a moment later he was coughing and breathing air again.

"Are you okay?" came the familiar, hollow voice from behind.

It was the second time in a day his impromptu suicide attempts had failed. Because of Bruce. Thanks to Bruce. He hadn't made up his mind yet.

Lex chuckled, letting himself be pulled back, watching the candle, incredibly still burning, grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

"We're going to set a new trend: bathing fully clothed."

Lex chuckled again, showing his appreciation for Bruce's admirable attempt to render the moment less dramatic.

A pause, then Bruce asked: "What do you think you were doing?" The tone was severe but laced with what must have been a hint of concern.

"I was just looking for the best spot to leave my candle."

Another moment of silence. Lex was perfectly aware that Bruce hadn't bought it, and for this reason he felt grateful when the older man replied, in a serious voice: "I think it's likely to reach America."

"Well, truth be told, in this area the currents..."

"Shut the fuck up, Lex."

"It might get to Corsica," Lex willingly tried to meet him half-way.

A small wave broke over him, and he felt the hard pebbles graze his bottom. And suddenly he was sitting on the shore, nestled between Bruce's legs, his back against his chest, two brawny arms still wound around his torso, water still lapping his body to the waist.

Lex looked around. No one seemed to notice them, or pretended not to. After all, they had landed at some distance from the gathering, it was rather dark, and the already small crowd was thinning out.

He turned his eyes back to the sea. He couldn't make out his candle anymore among the others.

"I forgot to make a wish," he whined lamely.

"I'm sure you still can make it."

"I can't think of anything," he realized. He was that tired. Jaded. Exhausted. He just wanted to close his eyes. Just needed this, everything, to be over. Perhaps he had already made his wish. But he hadn't gotten it. He needed to register a complaint. The powers that be owed him one.

"You aren't going to stay by me, are you?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. "Not even to help me remain clean."

"Lex... I live in Gotham, and I've got a multinational company to run, social duties to fulfill...

"... crimes to fight," Lex helped him.

"Yeah, a lot of people depend on me," Bruce concluded, fully missing Lex's sarcasm. "And I don't want you to be one of them. It could be easier, for both of us, but it wouldn't be good for you. You can... You have to make it by yourself. Besides, I don't think I'll ever be able to share my life with someone else."

"Except for your Circus Boy," Lex retorted, bitterly.

"It's different," Bruce said, on the defense.

Sure. Lex stayed quiet for a moment.

"Will you come, if I fall down again?" he asked after a while. "You promised."

"I threatened," Bruce corrected. "And I won't. I would be very disappointed if you tried to draw my attention by ruining your life. I'm not your father, Lex."

"I can't make it if I'm alone," Lex murmured.

"Mens sana in corpore sano, Lex. You'll keep training, keep busy, and you'll be strong in your body and your mind. That's what saved my life. You'll learn to stand up to your father and to everyone else. And one day... perhaps one day you'll meet the right person and you won't be alone anymore. A good girl, maybe. And you'll have a family..."

Lex wondered whether he was only imagining the hint of wistfulness in Bruce's voice.

"... and we'll live happily ever after," Lex concluded half-heartedly, although the scene appeared appealing in its middle-class normality. Yeah, with a wife and some children he would finally be normal. He would be considered normal, wouldn't he? So why, right now, didn't the thought comfort him?

Silence stretched between them.

Lex let his head lean back on Bruce's shoulder. He felt the wet, cool skin of Bruce's neck against his cheek. Felt the urge to turn and nuzzle it, mouth it, curl into Bruce's embrace as if he were a security blanket, and stay like that forever. He wondered if that mixture of attraction and desperate need could be called love. Could ever be love.

He shivered, and told himself it was because of the night breeze and the soaked clothes.

"Cold?" Bruce asked, worried. "We should change. We have the clothes, and we can use one of the free beach cabanas."

"Are the bags still there?" Lex inquired, curious.

Bruce shifted behind him. "Yes," he replied.

"Well, this deeply shakes my profound distrust of humanity."

"I think I'll wait for more conclusive proof. Shall we go?" Bruce asked, starting to move.

"Just a minute." Lex stopped him.

He gazed upon the sea of lights, trying to guess where his candle might be. Maybe it was that one, floating so far away, alone in the dark. He shut his eyes.

I don't want to be alone. Please, don't make me be alone. Don't make me be alone. Don't make me be alone.

He wrapped his fingers around Bruce's hand, clasping it tightly against his chest.

"I'll do my best. I'll keep clean," he whispered. "But please, don't be a stranger again."

A brief pause, which seemed like an eternity. Then Bruce's free hand rose to touch his cheek, feather-like, and a second later was gone, making him wonder if he had just imagined it.

"We can keep in touch," Bruce murmured, his breath warm against Lex's ear. "I'm not going to disappear from your life. But I don't want you to stay clean for me. You must do it for yourself."

Lex nodded, a knot growing in his throat as his lips formed a relieved smile. Whatever you want.

The phone was ringing when he flung open both doors to his father's office.

Lionel pulled his eyes away from the computer screen, glancing over at him with a frown. He pressed the intercom button.

"Sorry, Mr. Luthor," the secretary's frustrated voice came from the other end. "I wasn't able to stop him. Should I call security?"

"Don't worry, Sharon. I can handle it."

"I'll pretend to believe she doesn't know I'm your son," Lex commented, sarcastically. As if in Metropolis someone could really claim not to know Lex Luthor's face.

"Well, you'll have to excuse her," Lionel smiled. "She's new. And, after all, you didn't make an appointment."

Lex strove to keep his well-practiced, flippant, defiant mask from slipping off his face. He had rehearsed the scene too many times in his mind to let Lionel's customary spite deter him.

He threw a sheet of paper on Lionel's desk.

"What's this?" Lionel asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"My curriculum vitae," Lex announced.

"What for?"

"What for? In case you hadn't noticed, I graduated with honors yesterday." And if Lex didn't know him so well, he would really suspect Lionel hadn't, since he hadn't shown up at the graduation ceremony or at the party Lex had thrown afterwards.

"Of course I noticed, son. I got held up by an emergency at Plant 4, but I told my secretary to send you my congratulations."

"My fault. I didn't check the mail," Lex replied, his tone studiously neutral.

Lionel opened a drawer, taking out an elegant key-ring with two keys attached.

"And your gift is waiting for you in the garage," he said, throwing it to his son. "A silver Porsche. Try not to wreck it by tomorrow."

"Thanks, I'll do my best. What about my application?"

Lionel looked at him quizzically.

Lex nodded towards his curriculum vitae. "I'm looking for a job."

Lionel arched his eyebrows, leaning back against his chair back. "Son, I'm amazed. I'd have bet you were going to take a long vacation to recover from your exhausting studies."

"Clearly you don't know me as well as you think."

"Yes, that could be." An amused look crossed Lionel's face, although he seemed sincerely intrigued. "Unfortunately, you've caught me by surprise. I've got nothing for you at the moment."

"I'm certain you can find something. Surely I'm qualified enough to work for LuthorCorp, since I was raised precisely for that purpose. Or are you afraid I could actually do a good job?"

Lionel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. He pretended to review Lex's paper, then looked up as he intertwined his fingers.

"Yes. I certainly can think of something. The secret of success is to adapt to any situation. I have no doubt you can do it. You'll just have to find your balance."

A glint appeared in his father's eye and a wolfish grin formed on the bearded face.

Lex didn't like it, didn't like it at all, but refused again to let his father bowl him over. He would show him, the world, and Bruce what he could do. He had studied hard to get there and he had kept clean.

He still had sleep disorders and awful nightmares, which he tried -- not always successfully -- to control through moderate use of benzodiazepines. Nothing else. Now and then an object, a color, a smell triggered his waking nightmares, too. Luckily, they weren't frequent.

He had continued to train both in fencing and martial arts. He felt good. Felt healthy. It was more than a year since he had last had fantasies of death.

Sex without drugs had become more difficult, thus he had reduced intercourse to a minimum. Only with women, and never completely alcohol free. He was still working on the problem, and one day he would fix it. Meanwhile, he had stopped clubbing, limiting his contact with the "in" crowd to the occasional encounter at one social function or another.

It hadn't been easy for him, especially the first months after Bruce's "aggressive therapy." Temptation was always lying in wait, always trying to ambush him in a moment of weakness. And the moments of weakness had been awfully frequent. But he had made it.

Well, sometimes... Sometimes he still got dead drunk, all alone in his penthouse. And, although he was a picky eater, and his pantry was full of diet drinks and low-calorie food, sometimes he still gave in to disgusting bellyfuls of junk food. He hated himself when he did those things, but they didn't happen often. Besides, a lot of people overate and drank too much, and they were far from being in shape like him. Anyway, he would soon be able to overcome this as well. Sure, he could control everything. He was -- would always be -- in control from now on.

Bruce had kept his promise. He answered Lex's phone calls and e-mails. He wasn't very talkative, as usual, but just a few words were enough to make Lex feel that he wasn't completely alone in the world. He still had a friend, and perhaps one day Bruce would become his very special one again. But it didn't even seem that important, right now.

At first, Lex had behaved because he didn't want to disappoint or lose Bruce again. Then, he had realized that he liked the new Lex, the lucid and confident one, and had behaved because he didn't want to disappoint or lose that Lex again. He liked what he could do, liked the idea that now he could have faced his father, and Bruce, on the same ground, could have challenged them, and even prove better than them in their beloved game. Win their consideration and respect. Gain the whole world's awe and esteem. They would be forced to acknowledge him. Nobody would be too busy for him ever again.

Yes, he knew he could make it. He was strong enough, now. This time his father wasn't going to discourage or scare him, whatever he had in mind. Lex was starting a new life, and he wouldn't let anyone rain on his parade. This was just another step in the right direction. It would be a peace of cake compared to what he had gone through before.

He forced a smile and it came out easier than he had expected. He gracefully slid his hands in the pockets of his elegant Armani trousers.

"I'm sure you'll find something appropriate. Let me know your decision, dad. I can't wait to see what you pick. "

He felt his father's curious gaze on his back, as he turned on his heels and strode towards the door as if the place belonged to him.

And it would. Very, very soon.