Stand By Me

Pairing: Clark/Lex/Whitney
Rating: nc-17 for disturbing images, incest, non-con Summary: Written because I had a dream about Lex, the son of a preacher man. g. How we ended up in the dust bowl, I have no idea....

Hot. It was all Clark could think about. I'm so hot. And so sweaty.

Sweat ran down his back and his face and pooled in the hollow of his throat and wet his lip, it slipped in when he opened his mouth and made him grimace with the salty bitter taste of it.

The heat rose around him like a live thing, stuffing his nose with the dust-wood-old paper smell of the church, stuffing his head with cotton, driving his eyelids down, and whispering sleep, sleep in his ears. Oh, yes please...sleep, yes...

Sunday service seemed to last a lifetime, and the Pastor droned on and on and Clark's head dipped and wobbled as he fought to stay awake. Lord, help me keep my eyes open, and felt guilty for the thought. Next to him, Mom fanned herself with a little half moon paper fan and nodded along with the Pastor's words, and with a mother's ability to see their children without using eyes, elbowed him every time he drifted off.

Dad sat next to Mom, his tie slowly sliding open each time he tugged at his too tight collar. Every so often, he'd run his thumb under his suspenders, uncomfortable where they pressed his shirt against him and made him sweat. Clark knew the feeling and hated it too. Every Sunday dinner, Dad thanked the Lord during grace that he didn't have to wear a tie too often; claiming he was happiest in his overalls, and it never failed to make Mom scold, and it always made him laugh. Inside of course, it wouldn't do to let his mom hear him.

Clark watched his dad's hands clasp and unclasp the bible he clutched. His knuckles were rough and raw, his hands red and dry from scrubbing with laundry soap in a losing effort to get the soil out of his skin, just another thing that marked him a farmer, like the deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, his deep tan, and sun bleached hair. It was a harsh and unforgiving way to make a living Clark thought, and he prayed daily it wouldn't be his way. Sure, it was what Dad did, and Granddad did, and it was a way of life they loved, heartache and all-- but it wasn't the life he wanted. He wrote about the things he wanted in his journals, notebooks that he started keeping not long after he found out how different he really was.

Clark fidgeted, and Mom gave him a warning look. He smiled at her, knowing she couldn't help but to smile back. He kept watching her after she turned her attention back to the service, she was so pretty his mom. It was pretty the way the sun made her hair a red halo around her face, and made the green of her eyes shine. She was a picture from head to toe--pretty dress and brand new pumps--the ones just like Katherine Hepburn wore in that crazy movie with the leopard, right down to the little bows, and he knew too much about stuff like that--it was Dad's fault. Clark had to take her to all the movies Dad wouldn't go to--women's movies. Clark thought some of them were pretty good--not that he would tell Dad--or Mom for that matter. He snorted and Mom looked again, smiling, inquiring and Clark shook his head and pointedly looked to the front of the church. She breathed out a tiny laugh and looked to the front herself.

The lines around her eyes and mouth turned from worry to smile lines when she was in church, it truly gave her spirit a lift to be there and Clark was happy for her-- for him it was just an empty spot he tried hard to fill in his heart, another way he tried to fit in like his parents told him over and over and over--don't stand out, don't talk about the difference, don't show the difference, act like everyone else.

It was sinful to give into the temptation to be different. God surely wasn't pleased when he did--so Dad said. Well, God wasn't living his life, Clark thought and quickly apologized to Him.

Sin and the way not to sin was why Clark spent hours and hours the day before repairing the fence line on the far edge of their property, covered with sticky dust that sweat turned to mud in the creases of his neck and the creases of his elbows, heck, any place he could bend, there was mud. Spent a whole day doing it, when he could have finished in an hour or less. It made no sense. They hired dowsers and dug and dug for water, spending money that was hard to come by--when all he'd have to do was look in that way and he could find it--or he could run into the next county and look for work, bring in extra money...he couldn't understand why it was sinful--why would God make him that way if it were? Why give him these gifts and not let him use them? Clark groaned. His life was one long series of unanswered questions. I bet no one else has all these darn questions. No body could feel this alone and dumb and scared... scared all the time about doing something bad, something wrong--Am I going to go to hell? Does anyone else worry about that? Probably not--Look at Whitney--I know he doesn't, he's got everything, lucky dog, Clark thought and stared at the back of Whitney Fordman's head.

The Fordmans. They always sat in the front pew, like they were Kansas Royalty or something. Lana's his girl, he's the big man around school, he's good looking and smart and everyone likes him and they're practically rich--The Fordmans owned the big store downtown where everyone shopped --everyone knew and liked the Fordmans. Especially Lana. Lana, whom he desperately wished knew he was alive. But no, she only had eyes for Whitney Fordman, Prince Whitney, Clark thought. Not that he wasn't a good guy and all, he was. He liked Whitney a lot, it was just... Clark frowned. Lana and Whitney...he wished he could just ignore his feelings; just pretend he didn't have them.

Just like he tried to pretend he didn't have certain...powers. He tried hard not to use them, really truly tried not to, but sometimes at night, when the stars hung low he could swear he almost...heard them sing, and the moon was right...right... there and all he had to do was reach out his hand and cup it in his palm--when nights were like that he had to run, to feel the wind pull at him and touch him all over, push against every bit of him, so cool and firm, like a giant hand pushing him, petting him... Clark blushed--it felt better than good sometimes--another sin, Clark mourned. Sin was like the doggone Shadow, lurking everywhere.

Dad stood and helped Mom to her feet, courtly towards her as always. Service was over, at least for the morning and Clark had been thinking so hard he hadn't even noticed. With any luck, he'd be able to spend a little time with his friend Pete before the night's service.

As they filed out, women and men waved their hats and paper fans about, trying to encourage the stale flat air to cool them somewhat, and they exchanged gossip, news, feed prices, and talked about the latest ladies books, what recipes, what dress patterns McCalls had this month...and the biggest news was that of a tent revival coming to town. That was news that even interested Clark. They could be interesting, revivals. There was always good music, and there was usually a picnic lunch and most times, that was the best part.....

He stood out in the dusty yard in front of the church and waited for a break in the adult's conversation, and jumped in the first time someone stopped to draw a breath, "Dad, can I go into town for a bit? I'll be home in time for church--Please?" He said in all a rush.

"Clark, I hope you don't plan on wasting money on those trashy magazines," Dad growled, like always, and pulled his hat a little firmer on his head as Mom came to stand next to him, her pink and white dress glowing in the sun. Dad was grinning at Mom and Clark knew he wasn't paying a lick of attention to him, he was so busy watching her pull her white gloves on, and pat her hat back into place. Dad looked at Mom like Whitney-- looked at Lana, and she got little spots of color on her cheeks. Clark rolled his eyes. Geez-- do they have to carry on like that in public? It's so embarrassing.

Clark heaved a sigh, and coughed a little. "No sir," Clark fibbed. "I won't, but I thought maybe I'd get a float or something. If it's okay, I--unh---have my allowance with me. " He had a dollar burning a hole in his pocket--fifteen cents per magazine, and ten cents for candy...or he could buy two cheaper ones and get enough candy for him and Pete to enjoy, ten cents for church and have enough left to put in his bank `say yes, say yes!'

Dad scowled and opened his mouth but Mom laid a hand on his arm and smiled at him. "Jonathan, don't you think he deserves it? He worked so hard yesterday. And you know Clark's not a spendthrift when it comes to money."

He watched Dad's face, and the familiar expression of guilt and sadness and a touch of anger washed across his features before he smiled at Clark. "I guess your mother's right son, you did a man's full day of work, go ahead--make sure you're home in time to wash up before church. And make sure you have something for the plate."

Clark grinned, happy--beyond his expectations he'd essentially been given the whole day as his to do what he wanted.

He hugged Mom quick and tight, squeezing a squeaky laugh from her--it made Dad laugh and throw an arm around his shoulder and squeeze him, and laughter from his dad was like a summer shower--unexpected, appreciated, and a lift to the spirits. He turned to trot down the road and Dad called out, "Clark, get that cowboy one for me--I don't care for that Tarzan fellow much."

Clark blushed, nodded and laughed I knew he was going to say that! as he dashed off.

As soon as he bought the magazines and a paper twist of candy from the drug store, he ran out to the edge of town, to a small tree lined lake, and sat up in the big gnarled branches of one the trees, ate some of the candy and read one of the stories in his magazine--he was cheering on Tarzan who was pounding the holy heck out of some spies when something hit him on the leg. He looked down and his friend stood below, a big smile lighting up his warm brown face. Clark just couldn't believe that some folks would say Pete was ugly because of his skin--to Clark he looked so handsome, with his brown eyes, strong jaw, and chocolate skin-- why, Pete was just as handsome as Gary Cooper as far as Clark was concerned, plus he was a real good guy, just like Coop.

Clark waved the paper bag at Pete. "I brought candy, there's a new Tarzan story-- and a Wild West for my dad," he grinned. He knew Pete liked Wild West too, they used to spend hours playing cowboys and Indians when they were little.

Pete whooped and climbed up into the tree, "There better be root beer barrels, Clark!" He swung next to Clark on the branch, perched there while he grabbed a handful of candy before tossing the bag back to Clark.

"So, how's everything at home?" Clark asked, and rummaged about in the bag for lemon drops, his favorites.

"Good," Pete nibbled on a coconut strip and flipped through the western magazine. "Fine, how's everything with you?" He sighed. "I can't stay long, don't want nobody missing me--we're going to church with my cousins. Which means I gotta get dressed and pomaded and--"

Pete made a face. He hated duding up as much as Clark did--then to have to sit with a bunch of girls? Clark heard horror stories about Pete's evil girl cousins. Clark forced his face into the appropriate look of outrage, but part of him wanted to go to church with Pete and his evil girl cousins--sounded like fun to be surrounded by so much family. But colored and white folk weren't supposed to go to church together. His parents did their best to explain to him why it was wrong, but Clark just couldn't understand-- how it was wrong for whites and coloreds to live or go to church or school together?--I just don't see the difference between Pete and me. There's no difference under the skin, that's a fact. What makes it a sin to fall in love, or want to marry a colored person?' he mused and chewed on a licorice whip. Sin. The darn thing's everywhere, just waiting to trip you up. Clark shook his head and refused to think about sin anymore until church, when he guessed he'd have no choice but to think about it--again.

Clark walked along the road to school and entertained himself with thoughts of Lana, her long hair, her pretty face and blue eyes...Blue eyes? Where did that come from? She has hazel eyes, pretty hazel eyes. Behind him, a car rumbled to a stop and blared it's horn, and he jumped as all thoughts fled.

Chloe and her father-- Great!--Clark trotted back to the car and jumped up on the running board, he stuck his head in the open window. "Hi, Mr. Sullivan, hi Chloe--"

"Get in Clark, I'm running late to work, the station can't open without me," he grinned.

"No sir, it can't," Clark agreed and slid into the space Chloe made for him.

Mr. Sullivan yelled over the sound of air rushing through the open car windows, "Tell your mom I sure enjoyed that pie, it was nice of her to send it!"

Mom did that from time to time. Chloe and her dad, it was just the two of them, and Mom thought they needed a motherly touch every so often. As she said, "Chloe does a great job but she still could use a little mothering once in a while" And his mother liked the idea of a daughter once in a while. Clark didn't mind; he sure didn't want to make feed sack aprons.

"Sure thing Mr. Sullivan, I'll be sure to tell her."

He sat back and enjoyed the ride. I wish we had a car that didn't try to hammer the spine out the top of your head. Chloe turned to him and began chatting about the school paper, and Clark nodded and hmmed at the appropriate moments and loved how her eyes sparkled as she talked, loved her big bright smile and thought how exotic Chloe was compared to Smallville girls, so sophisticated and fashionable, so smart. He was glad she considered him her friend.

The Sullivan's had been in town for three years, but most folks still thought of them as the `people from Metropolis'. That was small town thinking in a nutshell, Clark thought, polite but distant and vaguely suspicious if you weren't born in within town limits. Heaven forbid they might get some new ideas percolating around in their thick skulls. He knew first hand that Chloe and her dad thought a little differently than most folk in town. She was just as friendly to Pete as he was, and they only went to church Sunday morning, and Chloe wasn't in the youth group, just like him. Clark was kept out because there were too many chances to slip up and reveal his problem, his dad said, and there was a part of him was kind of glad about that.

He bet that Mr. Sullivan wouldn't insist that Clark never use his gifts....

Sometime he wondered if maybe he could tell Chloe his deepest secret. Would she still be his friend, or would she think him marked by sin too, or a frightening freak, like that scary circus movie. Clark shivered, remembering how frightened he'd been. It pulled fears he tried to keep buried to the surface.

He snuck another glance at Chloe, golden haired bright eyed girl she was, she'd really captured his heart, he loved her, in a good friends sort of way mostly, though sometimes when he lay in bed at night, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He blushed and felt vaguely -wrong--thinking that way, probably because she was like a sister to him. He realized he was staring, and became completely fascinated with his feet when she caught him looking. School was boring--school was always boring after the first week when they got their books and Clark read all of them the first night. After that it was a long slow boring slide into summer. At least on this day, he was getting out of Math class to help Lana and a few other students paint a banner for the game Saturday. He was excited and a little nervous at the prospect. Lana might live right next door, he might see her everyday but still--she was his secret true love. Chloe may be pretty and smart and funny, and fun to talk to--but Lana was ...special. Different. She was beautiful, in a delicate fairy tale kind of way, like one of Mom's porcelain dolls kind of way, perfect and fragile. And just like a princess in a fairy tale, she'd had suffered heartbreak too, she'd lost both her parents in the meteor storm in `24. She was an orphan, like he was until Mom and Dad found him. For a long time he believed that he'd lost his parents the same way Lana did, and that it was sign they were meant to be. Just because he'd been wrong about that didn't mean they weren't still meant to be, he thought. At least, they were meant for each other inhis mind--she was everything a girl should be. He sighed. And he knew darn well he stood no chance with her.

Lana was ole Prince Whitney Fordman's girlfriend. They were the perfect couple, everyone said so. Lana with her long fall of black hair, so silky looking it was a struggle not to run his hands through it, her pink little mouth, Whitney and his gold hair that shone in the sun and his deep blue eyes, that quirky smile he had--Yeah, he thought they looked good together, but so what-- if she could really see me, just look at me for just a minute, she'd know, she'd see it in my eyes--we should be together.

"Clark! Pay attention!" Lana chided as she mixed paint.

Clark fell to earth again, blushing and stammering in embarrassment. "Oh! Sorry...did you want me to--" and quickly gestured toward the banner hanging on the gym wall. The design had been penciled in-- `Go Crows' dominated the center and stylized Crows stood at either end. Lana nodded.

"If you start on the Crows, I'll do the lettering when I come back. I think my hands are a little steadier than yours, Clark." She smiled and little dimples that he thought were really cute appeared on each cheek. He watched her walk away. admiring how graceful she was, before turning and quickly slapping paint on the banner.

He was off in another world, humming to himself as he slathered paint on the paper. Suddenly warmth and weight pressed against him and a heavy arm draped around his neck.

"Hey," a friendly voice said. "Are you thinking about my girl?"

Clark blushed and cursed himself himself for it. "I--I--?"

Whitney squeezed his arm tighter, then let go and pushed him a little. "Just ribbing ya, Kent."

Clark turned to him and he was right there and smiling, looking over his shoulder at Lana. "I can't blame you, she's worth looking at."

Clark nodded jerkily and continued painting---he was aware of Whitney standing too close to him--but if he moved he'd feel uncomfortable, and if he didn't move he'd feel uncomfortable. He felt his face flaming and he swore that Whitney could hear him blush. And did he--did he just move closer, did he just touch his--

"Clark! You were hiding something from me!" Lana moved around until she was at Whitney's side and leaned against him, wrapped her arm around his. She pursed her lips and surveyed Clark's work with a critical eye. "I didn't know you had such talent. The Crows look wonderful. Great job." She smiled and held her cheek up for a kiss as Whitney rolled his eyes at Clark and planted a solid kiss on her. Whitney smiled fondly at her and Clark felt a flare of jealousy.

"You're making me look hen-pecked " he laughed and stepped back just a bit from her, bumping Clark's arm and making him apply a yellow mustache to the Crow's bill. He looked at Clark with big eyes and said "Oops," in a low voice. Clark felt his cheeks coloring, and grit his teeth. Go chase yourself, you creep!

Whitney and Lana laughed and walked away. Clark chanced a quick look, and was embarrassed Whitney caught him, but he just smiled. He never seemed to get angry that Clark had a crush on Lana. Well, I wouldn't worry either if some sorry looking scrub had a crush on my girl. Not like he's got to worry about me stealing her away. After all, girls just weren't interested in him. Did it mean he was never going to have a date? Ever? Pete always assured him that he just hadn't bloomed yet. He said that a lot, but lately he was looking doubtful. Last time he'd asked him, "Clark, are you trying at all? Are you talking, smiling ...anything?" Clark had just shrugged. He wasn't very good at talking to girls. Or anybody much, besides Pete and Chloe, and Lana and Whitney...and his parents. Boy. He really was a mope.

He started slapping paint like mad on the stupid birds. Why can't I look like Whitney, blonde and blue eyes and a smile all the cheerleaders faint for--he's everything, has everything, plus he's a foot ball hero and--and--it's not fair. It stinks! Even Chloe thought Whitney was handsome, and geez knows she never said anything like it to him! He was a freak, and no matter what Mom said he knew he was ugly, googly eyed and fat lipped and too many teeth-and--and --crap. He'd made the crow look like Frankenstein's monster...nuts.

The sun was already beginning to set by the time the group doing signs had cleaned up and left for home. He trudged across the school's lot, humming to himself, stopping when a flyer skimmed across the ground and wrapped around his foot. Peeling it off he read the bold type, `Revival!' Yep, That's what I'll be doing Saturday, while all the guys and gals are at Lover's Lane...he knew in reality most of the kids he was having a jealous fit over would be right with him, dragged along by their parents--but it felt good to pout.

Friday night, and Clark lay comfortably on the porch roof. He liked being out on the roof, looking up at the stars. He enjoyed the heat the roof was giving up from the day and the soothing sound of his parents talking in the kitchen and the soft drone of the radio in the background. He sighed and felt pretty...content actually. He wished on the first star he saw--Star light, Star bright, first star that I see tonight--he sighed--please let me be normal--he wished that same wish every night, the same wish since he first knew he wasn't like other children. It didn't mean anything anymore, not really, it was just habit now. Obviously the wish fairy wasn't paying attention to him, not when he could set fires with his eyes and see through things--not when he could fly, well almost fly. His parents didn't know about that. He was sorry they knew about the rest.

Out in the fields, in the middle of their land, was a...something--buried deep in the ground. Something out of Amazing Stories, a spaceship--a ship that had dropped him here.

When he was fourteen, frozen with fear, so terrified he couldn't move from his room because horrible things were happening to him, his dad explained to him what he...wasn't. He wasn't a normal human. Maybe not a human at all. And if he wasn't human...

His folks assured him that he was their child, God loved him and sent him to them, a baby boy to raise in the word and to love as surely as the sun rose. But after Dad and he took the ship up from the cellar and buried it deep in that field, he never spoke of it again and Clark didn't know how to ask. He didn't know what to ask.

Clark looked up at the sky. Dusk had slipped into star filled night while he was thinking. The moon made shadows and patterns of silver light across the yard and it was beautiful, and more importantly, Lana was on her porch.

He watched her swing slowly back and forth on the wicker swing. She was such a pretty picture, graceful and serene as a princess. He wished he were sitting with her on the swing instead of sitting alone on the gravely rooftop.

"Psst!" a harsh whisper came from the bushes lining the road to Nell's house and Lana jumped, and then started to smile.

Out of the dark came Whitney and Clark twitched. Why did he torture himself like this endlessly?

Whitney gave her a little bouquet of flowers, and Clark rolled his eyes. How could she squeal over flowers she had to know he'd just yanked out of Nell's flowerbeds? He sat next to her; they talked and held hands for a long time.

Clark yawned, pulled himself up to a sitting position to ease back through his bedroom window. It was late, and he wanted some time to read--oh. Whitney kissed Lana and Clark froze. Before he really thought about it, he looked, the way he wasn't supposed to.

Looking was wrong, rude and mostly sinful but he couldn't tear his eyes away--he drew in a sharp breath and forgot to release it.

Whitney held Lana's head in his hands, they cradled her head and it looked gentle and his hands looked so large against her dark hair...

When her arms went around Whitney's neck Clark let out the breath he'd been holding with a little gasp. Whitney's hands shifted, one going to Lana's waist, the other coming to rest over her breast--Clark shifted, feeling warm, feeling himself grow stiff. Sin. Everywhere. Lana was...it was wrong, what they were doing. She moved against Whitney and he could hear everything as if he were right there--Oh nuts, now my hearing has to go crazy... he couldn't make it stop--he could hear her little moan and was instantly harder. He could hear the rustle of cotton--the slide of skin against skin. He couldn't move now, not when Whitney had his hand under her dress, not while Whitney was licking her long smooth neck and he could hear it, little raspy laps against her trembling skin. Clark's breath came faster. Oh--he had to move, or... Whitney's breathing got louder, harsher, he almost felt the breath against his skin and the thought made him shiver and his eyes fluttered shut--when he opened them again, Whit was looking at him.

Clark jerked back, stopped when he remembered he was nowhere as close as it seemed. No! He can't be--he can't see me--impossible...but it felt like it, his eyes were open and he seemed to be looking Clark's way. He kissed her and moved his hand under her dress and she gasped and he pulled her closer and opened the little pearl buttons running down the front of her dress, Clark could see him kiss her breast, he saw Whitney's tongue slide over her dark rose nipple, he saw it tighten and her body shake, could see Whitney's hand moving and her groans slipped past his ears as he locked eyes with Whitney and Lana cried out softly and fell limp in his arms. Clark was breathless and burning and hard--pinned to the roof by Whitney's eyes.

Suddenly the spell broke and Clark scrambled backward into his open window. He dropped to the floor of his room and nearly cried, he was worse than sinful, worse than sinful-- what could he do--

He knelt by the side of his bed and prayed desperately for forgiveness but the scene kept playing over and over in his mind, and after a while he started praying for his hard on to go away

Chores went quickly that morning and school was same as always and then he was working on the banner and it felt exactly like the day before and Whitney came in.

"Clark. Have you seen Lana," he asked and Clark shook his head no and kept his eyes away from him.

Whitney was right in front of him again. Like yesterday.

"Good". What? Good? What...Whitney leaned close and put his finger on Clark's lower lip and pressed gently.

"Sweet, I'll bet you taste sweet like strawberries. Every time I see you I think of strawberries. Your lips..." He was so close that Clark could feel Whitney's lips moving, brushing against his with each word, and warm breath puffed inside, and he felt himself rise. Oh no, oh no oh no...Whitney pushed down and Clark's mouth opened and Whitney pressed his mouth to his.

Clark gasped and Whitney's tongue swept in, so warm, so...clean tasting...he kissed him until Clark thought he'd pass out and then he leaned back.

"Mmm. Lemons. You taste like lemons, not strawberries," he grinned at Clark and Clark fought to stay on his feet. He was so hot, he could hardly breathe and if he was any harder, he'd -he--well, he didn't know but it was edging on to pain and he wished his pants were off--oh god, I'm going to go to hell oh no Lord, I'm--Whit pressed his hot mouth against his ear and said, "Your mouth tastes like lemons, oranges...wonder what your come tastes like?"

Clark groaned and came, hot and hard, it wrenched out of him, frying his spine--it felt wonderful...

He jerked forward and smacked his head on the ceiling. His first thought was oh nuts, I've got to do my chores again! And his second thought made him drop down onto his bed. Whitney. Oh crap--I had a--a bad dream about Whitney. I' m going to turn into a pillar of salt, oh my gosh--I'm going to hell--

It was horrible to wake up floating like that--at fourteen, the first time, he'd thought it was the Devil getting inside him. Maybe it was but still--a tiny, tiny voice in the back of his head whispered, it felt good, you know you want to dream it again. You know you want to kiss Whitney...

Saturday morning, he mucked out the stalls, dropped fresh straw, brought the cows into the milking shed, put out feed, got them washed and hooked up to the milking machine and his dad came in to take over.

"Pete's here son, tractor's being cranky again. If you're done you can watch him work on it," Which was his dad's way of acknowledging he and Pete were friends. It wasn't approval, but it was the best Clark could hope for. He grinned at his dad.

"Thanks. I think I will"

His dad was moving down the shed and called out over his shoulder, "You can bring some of your mom's pie out to the yard if you want."

Clark grinned even wider, "Yes sir!" and sprinted for the yard.

Pete was elbows deep in the tractor, a smear of grease on one cheek and a frown on his lips. Clark watched him quietly, Pete was so interesting when he worked, he wore his real face then, not the carefully schooled look of affable semi-idiocy he generally showed to white folks, excluding Clark. He muttered to himself and frowned and cursed under his breath--Clark had to use his Hearing to catch that and it always made him snicker. Pete heard him then and looked up, smiled when he saw it was Clark.

"Man, you scared me good-I thought it was your pa--and me over here cursing." They could hear the dogs barking crazily at the end of the drive and looked over to see trucks moving up the road, Revival! painted on the side of one in purple, surrounded by golden rays. A fancy car brought up the rear. The boys looked at each other.

"We sneaking out there?" Pete asked, a wicked grin making his brown eyes shine.

"Oh, heck yeah!" Clark laughed, "Besides I know you can't let that car go by without seeing it up close!"

Saturday afternoon was his own time and he and Pete ran out to the field in which they were setting up the tent. It was quite something to see, not as big by far as some he'd read about and not even as big as the one he'd seen in county, but it was beautiful to make up for size. It was purple and white and fluttered in the breeze as the men pulled and yanked and wrestled it into shape. The canvas snapped like a ships sail when a stiff breeze caught it and Clark grinned, imagined it sailing off into the sky.

The boys leaned back and listened to the men yell instructions back and forth, the breeze they fought against kept the bright afternoon sun from getting too hot--Clark had splurged and bought pops and Pete had a little bag of lemon drops he'd bought, knowing they were Clark's favorite. It was a pretty fine way to spend a lazy afternoon.

Pete spotted the preacher's car, and proceeded to tell Clark all about it--one of the families Pete did work for received car magazines and catalogs in the mail, and Pete got all the old issues, there wasn't much that Pete didn't know about cars. What Clark knew about them, he figured you could fit in a thimble and still have room for more.

"It's a Cord Phaeton, Clark. Nice car..." Pete was lost in admiration and rattled off something about the engine and the interior, and Clark just liked the way the sun flared off the chrome and the lovely deep purple color. Suddenly a smaller, racier car swung up behind the big car, throwing up plumes of dust like smoke and a tall red-headed man jumped out, followed at a slower pace by an equally tall white clad figure.

Pet elbowed Clark savagely and Clark rubbed his ribs and pretended it hurt.

"There they are! It's that evangelist and his boy preacher!"

"Boy preacher?" Clark looked uncertain. "He doesn't look like a boy from here."

At the distance they sat, it was hard to tell, the figures were basically smears of color. Clark glanced quickly at Pete, who was drooling over the new car, and used his Sight--and it seemed that the `Boy Preacher' was right next to him, so close he flinched. The preacher was no longer a boy, but not much older than Clark--maybe a few years? And--and--pretty. Clark blushed. He was pretty, with his thick dark red hair and gray eyes and--Clark shivered from head to toe. What was wrong with him? First Whitney and now...

"Can we go, Pete, I gotta get cleaned up before--" his breath hitched in his throat. "Before dinner."

"Sure thing, Clark, me too," Pete said. "Those damn cousins are coming for dinner," he glowered. "Those people--they don't even buy food, they just go around the family. Show up on your doorstep with they plates and forks in they hands, bibs tucked in...They're cheap Clark, they're moochers..."

Clark laughed about loud at Pete's description of those `damn cousins' and the family, he had a way of making aggravating things seem so funny, and Clark pushed his worries aside. Another time he'd think about it, now he just wanted to enjoy being with his best friend.

They split up at the edge of town and Clark walked on toward the farm. He cut through the edge of the fields and headed through a small stand of trees, a shortcut to the farm. It was cooler under the branches of the oaks and smelled nice, there was a hint of sweetness in the air from grasses growing along the road and sunlight shifted through the moving branches. Clark stopped to cool down and enjoy the pleasant scent. Something cracked fallen twigs behind him and he whirled around.

"It's just me."

Whitney. He froze. Oh no--wait, I know he couldn't have seen-- a flash of his dream whipped through his mind. Oh no.

"Clark. I haven't seen you at school lately. Where've you been? Don't farm boys get any days off?" He was smiling and kind of circling Clark as he talked. "Saw you and Pete Ross up on the field...watching the tent go up, were you?"

There was something about how Whitney said what he said that made him blush and Whitney was closer again.

He sniffed and Clark jumped, "What?"

"Lemon drops," he said. "I smell lemon drops" and Clark was instantly, horribly, hard. He shoved his hands into his pockets trying to hide the fact. Whit glanced down at the sudden movement and back at Clark, into Clark's eyes. "I like lemon drops, got any more?"

Clark shook his head and backed up as Whit kept walking closer and closer until he walked him into a tree.

"You okay, Clark?" Whit asked, his face full of concern, but his eyes were glittering, and the lines that bracketed his mouth quirked. Clark found himself staring at those little lines, they kept getting closer, and suddenly he felt a hot line of pressure across his fly. He gasped.

"Whitney--what--oh!"

Whitney replaced his single finger with his hand. He pressed lightly against Clark.

"You're beautiful Clark, you know that? I can't keep my eyes off of you. I see you looking all the time--and you drive me crazy." and he squeezed again, gaining another gasp from Clark "I bet I can make you forget that clinging vine--she thinks she owns me, but she doesn't. I do what I want."

"Please--don't -don't ..."

"Don't? Don't do this?" and he kissed him and it was exactly like his dream, Whit's lips were soft and warm and pressed against his so softly, gently, and the tip of his tongue slid over his lips and disappeared. Whit pulled back and Clark was breathing so hard he felt light-headed and Whit smiled at him, petted him, asked, "Have you never been kissed before, Clark?"

Clark felt himself flame more and Whitney smiled. "That's... that's sweet." He petted Clark again, and Clark tried not to stand on tiptoe and scream when he squeezed him, tried not to rub against his hand. Whit pulled his head forward again and kissed him again, and Clark found his mouth falling open and his head turning just so, giving Whitney access to his mouth, and he found himself sucking on Whitney s tongue, it just seemed right, and when Whitney pulled away Clark knew this time he was going to pass out.

"You taste like lemons," Whitney whispered. "I wonder--"and Clark embarrassed himself beyond belief, he clung hard to Whitney, whined high and tight in his throat and came in his pants. The other boy's hand was still pressed tight against him and Clark knew he could feel him pulsing, feel the wet spreading and he shoved his face against Whitney's shoulder, too embarrassed to look at him.

Clark could hear the surprise, the shock, in Whitney's voice, "Damn Clark, that was, that was...damn."

He sounded a little less like a slick seducer and more like an awestruck kid--and Clark couldn't take that--he yanked himself away and ran.

"Wait! Wait!" He heard Whitney call out but he kept running, he was sick, he was a curse, he was some sort of devil, he'd known all along he was evil--here was the proof of it. Because he liked it. It made him afraid and sick and happy and so embarrassed he wanted to die and he wanted to do it again

He pulled his clothes off when he got home and washed them out as best he could, told Mom he'd fallen in the pond. Sadly, it happened enough that she believed him. It wasn't hard to pretend to be ungainly and clumsy when you were.

He prayed hard and long that night, prayed for dreamless sleep and prayed for time to turn back and for once in his life to just be normal. He prayed he'd forget about the afternoon, and forget about wanting it again. He prayed so hard, and tried not to feel like he was yelling into an empty house....

The tent was crowded and full, brightly lit by strings of light bulbs hung like vines from the poles and cross beams in the tent and every folding chair on the sawdust floor held someone and people lined the sides of the tent and filled the aisle. Folks moved back and forth between the seats, chatting and catching up on news from other towns, squealing and laughing kids ran in and out among the grown-ups, and babies cried and mom's patted and bounced them--Clark took it all in, average normal everyday things--he wanted to pull it over his head like a blanket, roll up in it and disappear.

Everywhere the ladies looked their best, sporting Sunday hats and dresses and pumps cleaned and buffed to an impressive sheen. It was wonderful to come together like this and praise the Lord, wasn't it, yes indeed, and didn't that dress make Mae look fat? And what in the world possessed Nancy to do that to her hair? Praise God, let's hope Alma didn't bring another one of her atrocious jello salads. Who's at the church setting up tables, not Harold and them, oh Lord pray there's chicken left....

Clark caught all the bits of gossip that floated through the air and felt a little better knowing that his world was still the same, even if he wasn't.

His dad and mom were laughing together about something--Dad looked handsome in his starched white shirt and new hat. He could tell Mom thought so too. They smiled at each other and Clark felt a little jolt. They loved each other so much--was there any chance he'd have that some day? Or would the Devil keep that from him too...and speak of the devil, Clark sighed.

Whitney strutted into the tent, he moved down the aisle and called out to him, "Hey, Clark," and stood looking down at him, his lips curled in a strange smile. Clark looked up from his spot on the ground next to his folk's chairs, found himself looking directly into Whitney's crotch and blushed.

"Whitney!" his dad said, smiling, "How's everything, son? Ready for the season? You looked darn good last year, I figure you'll be taking us to the championship this year?"

Whitney ducked his head, "Yes sir, I'm sure gonna try," he said and looked the very picture of a humble `aw-shucks' kind of guy. Clark watched the performance open mouthed---could his dad be falling for that guff? Whitney should be in drama club instead of football, the--the ham!

His dad nodded, satisfied, and invited him to sit with them.

"I can't sir," his eyes eating up Clark the whole time, and how could his dad not notice? "My parents are waiting for me. Maybe I can talk to you later, Clark?"

Clark focused his attention on the stage. "Maybe"

Whitney nodded slightly and walked away, and Clark felt a twist of disappointment he smothered quickly. He watched his hands twisting the pamphlet they'd been handed in his fingers. He caught his dad's eye, and his dad gave him a warm smile.

"So--you and Whitney are getting friendly? That's good, he's a good boy," his dad said.

"We--we're friends, we've been friends," he said. "Lana and him...and me..." he trailed off and at that instant the lights went out and he breathed a huge sigh of relief.

A choir marched out onto the low wooden stage, more of a platform than a stage really. They were lit by a couple of spotlights, the lights bounced around a bit as they were being adjusted, throwing the choir's shadows dancing crazily against the canvas backdrop. They clapped and sang and stomped their feet and the planks of the stage thumped and excitement in the tent rose. Clark wanted to be as caught up as those around him and soon he was swaying and singing with the others, trying to let his spirit rise--he wanted to feel what the crowd was feeling, he wanted to feel that touch.

A man not the evangelist came out and preached and the crowd hummed and amen-ed with him, clapped their hands and stomped their feet but it was plain they were waiting--waiting for the main event.

The stage went black, and a hush blanketed the crowd, feet shuffled softly in the sawdust, a cough here and there broke the quiet. Minutes seemed to crawl by and just before the crowd got restive, a strong voice broke the silence and at that moment a hand dropped on Clark's arm. He jumped a mile and his heart was pounding and suddenly Whitney dropped down to sit next to him. Next to him in the dark. He swallowed nervously.

The stage lights flared. There in the white light stood a...prophet. His white suit was blinding in the spot light, his wild mane of hair and beard called Moses to mind and he looked every inch one of the old time prophets, without a doubt.

He raised his arms, looked skyward and called out to the heavens--called out to the crowd, and the crowd roared back. He preached, he danced, he shouted and he whispered, he wrung the crowd out and made them cry, made them laugh. He played them like an instrument and every body there was a chord he strummed. The wooden platform transformed into a grand stage, the tent was a fabulously appointed hall, and the shaky white lights lit the way to truth....

Clark snuck a look at Whitney and Whitney looked back and--grinned, rolled his eyes. Clark was stunned. Whit thought it was...funny. Clark chewed on his thumb and tried to be discreet about studying Whitney. He was different, he wasn't afraid, he did things with Lana...and him, he laughed in church and-- he was different.

A hush fell again and the lights dimmed. The preacher introduced his son.

He was tall, not quite as tall as Clark but tall and thin. He had thick wavy red hair swept back from his forehead and Clark was fascinated. His mom was the only redhead he knew--it amazed him someone else could sport that wonderful, beautiful color.

Alexander J. Luthor, Reverend Lionel Luthor's son, walked across the stage, still and straight, arms down at his sides and he got straight to it, began to speak in a low, personal tone, as though he were speaking to each person individually, in complete contrast to his father. Clark had to lean forward and concentrate to hear him but he found himself wanting to hear every word.

Quiet he was but the crowd was mesmerized, as was Clark, until Whitney snuck his hand onto his knee. Heat flared through him as hot and quick as a brushfire and Clark bit his tongue. He shook his head and the hand slid up his thigh and squeezed quickly before dropping off when he shifted. He glared and Whitney just smiled a tiny amused smile and stared straight ahead. Clark sat still as a stone, but his heart hammered in his chest and he was torn between wanting to grab Whitney and kiss him and wanting to kick him so far he'd land in the next county.

Whitney! How can you think about that in a place like this? And what happened to Lana? And how did I forget her so quick? He felt sick and cold and hot at the same time. The rest of the service passed in a blur and Clark gladly left for home after.

He spent the rest of the evening reading the bible--reading the verses set out in the pamphlet--and looking at the picture of Alexander on the cover. He looked so self-assured. Clark bet he never had days like his, he never worried he was going to hell--he knew where he was going when God called him home. Clark sighed and tried not to think how handsome he was, how hypnotizing his voice was....

Chloe commented how tired he looked that next day. He nodded. He was wore out and beat, he'd been dragging himself from class to class and he barely remembered a darn thing about them, and he was going to have to beg to borrow her history notes because he'd spent that entire class staring at the back of Whitney's head.

The familiar smell of floor wax and ancient lunches, the clattering noise of feet on granite floors and the buzz of hundreds of voices was so boringly normal it made him feel a little more balanced. He couldn't believe that only four days had passed since his life had blown into a million pieces--like kicking a puzzle box, he thought. Little bits of picture all over the place and no idea how to get it back together--and if it wasn't so scary, it could almost be funny. He smiled briefly before the all too familiar wave of worry and fear and sadness washed over him again. He sighed and turned his attention back to Chloe.

Chloe bathed him in welcome chatter, a little gossip, a little news, how the paper was going, how unfair than she wasn't editor, she could do a better job than Jeremy and it was just because she was a freshman and a girl that she wasn't didn't he think so? And did he see the feature had changed at the Talon? Did he like James Cagney? Did he see that one--The Marx Brothers were playing now, did he want to go? How could anyone choose cherry coke over vanilla? Did he live here on this planet with her?

"What?" Clark gasped.

"Clark--you're not paying attention to me!"

"Of course I am--kind of," Clark admitted. She just smiled at him and shook her head. "Clark, you're such a dope sometime. You don't have to tell me what's on your mind. I think Lana's in the gym." She went into the office with a wink and a grin and left Clark in the hall.

Lana. It felt like years since he thought he was so in love with her. It'd be so easy if he were. He felt for that feeling inside and it was gone, just a pale ghost of it, fluttering in his mind. He sighed. Well. He'd survived finding out he wasn't strictly human, he was pretty sure he could survive being ...being...this way too.

Around the dinner table that night, Dad talked about the news in town, the Reverend Luthor was giving thought to settling in Smallville. The Pastor was about to retire, and Smallville might be gaining an important new member of the community. There was some gossip going around that he might go into partnership with Gabe Sullivan, in the radio station--"but you know me," he said, "I don't put much stock in gossip. Pass those potatoes son."

"Yes sir," Clark grinned at Mom. Dad loved gossip--Dad could gossip with the best of them. Sometimes Dad knew what was happening in town before the beauty shop grapevine did, and that was kind of impressive. For a man, Mom always said, with a little wave.

"No word on whether the son is staying or going on with the revival. Alexander Luthor's getting a name of his own in these parts, he'd probably do alright if he went on without his Pa," Jonathan said, and dropped a dollop of butter on his peas. Martha frowned. "Jonathan! You just ruined the taste, I seasoned those peas perfectly."

"Un-hunh, sorry, love," and he shook the saltshaker a couple of times over them before smiling at her and passing it over.

Clark chewed on untasted chicken and wondered about Alexander Luthor. Wondered if he wanted to strike out on his own?

The thought of leaving his parents was scary, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to be like Bobby Bell either, thirty and still at home with his parents and still Bobby for cryin' out loud, that was stupid for an old man, and just looking at the guy, you could tell, he wasn't ever leaving home. What a mook! Clark knew he'd have to leave home--someday--if he was going to be his own man.

The weekend came, and at the final service, the Reverend Luthor announced he planned to stay in Smallville. The crowd was excited--this was bound to help Smallville erase the notoriety of the terrible meteor fall. Maybe people would come to know Smallville as a place to get right, instead of a place where people died in strange ways.

The crowd cheered even harder when he declared his son planned to stay on with him--and they were in partnership with Mr. Gabe Sullivan. They were going to broadcast from the Smallville radio station--Smallville was going to be heard!

Clark sat with his parents and didn't give a damn if the Luthor's were moving there--they could fly to the moon for all he cared. He watched Whitney and Lana giggle and play around, his emotions doing a wild seesaw between fury and heartache. He wished he were--Mom caught him looking and glanced towards the couple. She made a little noise and squeezed his hand. She looked so sympathetic it was just painful. He wished he deserved it, he wished he could tell her it wasn't Lana, he wished he could tell her all about it, about Whit--but he wasn't a fool.

He knew what the bible said, and his family was a bible believing family.

He was afraid. Almost all the time now he was afraid--morning after morning he woke up, face to the ceiling and...messy. It was horrible and getting worse--he couldn't talk to his parents about what was happening to him, what he was feeling, because it was a sin, he couldn't talk to Whitney, how in the heck could he tell him about himself? Whitney, I'm a little different then everyone else. By the way have you ever read...Amazing Stories?

The Luthor's were working their way down the aisle shaking hands and chatting with the folks, getting to know their new neighbors. The Reverend stopped and talked to Mom and Dad, holding his mom's hand just a fraction past neighborly as far as Clark was concerned--he looked into the man's eyes and for a moment a dark cloud seemed to pass over the Reverend's face and twist it into something--ungodly...something passed between them, something that made Clark feel ill, a feeling a man of god shouldn't inspire and slowly, Reverend Luthor smiled. His eyes seemed to crawl all over Clark's body, A snake would smile like that if it had lips. He shivered and broke eye contact. *I want to wash my eyeballs--geez-wash all of me!*

Whatever strange feeling the elder Luthor gave him was forgotten in the next instant. Alexander Luthor was slowly making his way up the aisle behind his father, shaking hands in that two handed `I'm so sincere' hold the Reverend used too, and suddenly Clark's hand was in his warm firm grip and bright fireworks filled his head. Gray eyes, hot hands oh-- cherry lips green eyes so beautiful Adonis oh oh...Clark felt violently ill, everything seemed to swing wildly for a second and Alexander swayed briefly too. He felt waves of --sick dizzy--scared---he yanked his hand back and felt his face flame. Alexander looked shocked and then a professional friendliness, a look of hearty good fellowship dropped over his face like storm shutters slamming shut and he moved away, swiveled to look back once and then was gone behind the crowd. Clark was staring at the space he'd occupied, caught Whitney looking at him. Whitney just looked at him with a neutral expression until Clark dropped his head and felt the heat of embarrassment burn his skin.

Alexander Luthor stood in the front yard of the house his father was renting. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. So- the old man decided to come to roost here in Hicksville. Fine. It wasn't like he had a choice and he guessed Dad had a plan--and sometime soon maybe he'd let him in on it too. He couldn't believe he was giving up the money the tent shows brought in--there had to be another angle here.

Lex walked up to the wide porch, plenty of room to sit and catch a breeze, he thought. He paused on the step and lit a cigarette. Nice, he thought, the way the flowerbeds flanked the steps and wrapped around the side of the porch to run down either side of the house. He pulled in a deep lung full of smoke and let it leak out through his lips. Hope he got someone to tend to these, because neither one of us knows a damn thing about horticulture. The two story white house, with cheery yellow shutters and bright gingham curtains in every window looked so friendly, so...aggressively homey. Lex sneered. Dad would take care of that.

Every place was hell when you traveled with the Devil. He snickered to himself. He might not believe in heaven, but it was hard not to believe in hell when you've lived there all your life. He heard Lionel calling for him somewhere in the house. He walked up the stairs, head high and back straight and a little smile on his face. He took a final quick puff and tossed the cigarette in the flowerbed. Really, it was a very nice house.

"The cook seems adequate," Lionel murmured and pat his lips with the linen napkin. The meal had in fact been very good, Lex thought, the roast was juicy and tender and the vegetables not boiled to gray salty mush, the bread was delicious...the housekeeper had hired an excellent cook. Mrs. Ross seemed to be a fine and efficient person for a colored woman. This might work out nicely in some ways.

Lionel pushed away from the table. "Have the staff gone for the day?" he asked. Lex snorted. Staff. Jesus. Who did the man think he was? Two coloreds did not make a staff... except in Dad's mind. He remained seated, sipping at coffee and trying to ignore the weight of Lionel's gaze. Hateful old bastard "Yes?" he sighed.

"Bring me a brandy in the study, son." And walked out of the room.

All right, which of these unbearably hot little farmhouse rooms had been designated the Study? Pretentious prat.

He poured a few inches of scotch in a cut glass tumbler and splashed brandy into a snifter, because Lionel expected it. It suited some image he had of himself as a country squire. Who happened to masquerade as a man of God.

He walked through the downstairs, a typical small town shotgun style layout, the rooms opened off the main room; the dining room was right beyond the main room and divided from the kitchen by stairs to the top floor and a wall. Two rooms were off either side of the main room. The `study' was one of these rooms. Lex stepped through the doorway, and his father sat in an overstuffed spindly-legged chair by the newly heavily draped windows.

"Dad, here's your brandy." He set the glass on the table, and sipped at his own glass, hoping to leave quickly again when his father spoke.

"Alexander, come here." It was as if someone had hooked him on an ice-cold iron pike. He stood facing the doorway and hoped his Lionel wouldn't speak again. "Alexander."

He turned slowly. "Yes."

His father frowned at him. "I saw how you looked at that young man tonight; I saw your eyes all over him."

Lex's stomach dropped. His father spoke and everything changed, he wasn't a grown man--he was a kid again, standing alone in his dad's room and sweating, crying...

"You know Alexander; you know how hard I try, so hard to help you--to help both of us. I know that the Devil has his hooks in you and you have your hooks in me--I know it's not your fault alone, son and I love you, I do love you so. That's why I have to do what I can to help you, to cleanse you. You need to cast these demons out of you. Come here to me, son." his father stood with his arms open, his lips trembling with emotion.

His feet were moving, he felt like he had no control. He felt like a robot, driven by cogs and wheels and wires...Lionel held out his hands. "Give me your tie."

Lex was yanking his tie off and handing it to his father before he was aware--his mouth was dry and his stomach was twisting. Don't let it be long--it was so hard to breath that it hurt, like trying to breathe mud instead of air.

His father pointed at his shirt. "Take it off, please. I'll fold it for you."

Lex did that, wheezing slightly as he began breathing too fast. His father held his hands out and Lex gave him his hands. Both pairs of hands shook, his father wrapped the tie around his wrist, brushed his hair clear of his forehead, kissed it, and told him to kneel.

Lex dropped to his knees and waited. He heard the heels of Lionel's shoes clack against the wooden floor and muffle when they tracked across the carpet to his desk. Sweat broke out on his back, and he shivered as it trickled over his skin. He heard a drawer slide open the top drawer, the one that ran the width of the desk. He heard it slide shut again with a dry papery sound, a little click as the lock engaged and the footsteps came closer.

The air next to his ear whined as Lionel whipped a thin flexible wooden rod back and forth, he pushed the footstool over to Lex. "Bend." He said. "And pray."

Lex leaned over the stool and braced himself. The first lash knocked him flat against the footstool--the second ripped through him like fire and he gasped, gasps turned to sobs, sobs turn to cries...his father whipped him and cried.

"Lex--help me cleanse you of this evil! Tear it out! I know what you're suffering--tear it out son!"

Lex's world was bright and burning. Behind his eyelids it was fiery red and every touch of the rod made starbursts of pain explode inside him. He heard the whistle of the rod, heard it strike the stool and tumble to the floor. His father's fingers traced the bleeding welts and no matter how often it happened, every time was a fresh surprise, amazing how much it hurt to have fingernails trace each bloody path.

"I don't want to hurt you," he heard murmured over and over as he brought fresh pain to him. He heard him groan--and he was yanked upright.

"Here, you slut--you abomination. This is what you want from them--" and Lionel pulled him face forward into his lap, his father's grip tightened in his hair. He was pressed against those spotless white linen trousers, pressed against the heat of those spotless linen trousers. His head pounded, a pain settling right behind his eyes and his fathers voice wormed behind his pain, "Look what you do to me, how you torture me--your fault...."

He lay in bed, and tears ran down the sides of his face, but it was just reaction, they had no meaning, he hardly noticed them anymore. His mind was trained on his mother, he thought of her frequently, and especially at these times. It gave him strength to think of her, and her love for him.

Lonely...he was always a little lonely, trapped here with the devil like a fly in amber and nowhere to go. The only people that had ever loved him were dead or had run from him when they realized he was--wrong. Who wanted to bother with an ugly skinny thing like himself anyway? He hated the hair that made him stand out in a crowd, his fog colored eyes, he knew his mouth as ugly, scarred, his skin was too pale and spotted like a fish and--and more than that. He was a freak--he was a freak and--and...he closed his eyes and shuddered, and the boy from the tent came to mind---there. Sometimes when he touched people he felt their minds, vague muddy thoughts, cloudy glimpses of desires, it came on suddenly and unexpectedly and he had no control but it was enough sometimes to perform a "miracle" yeah. Miracle. Shit. Sometimes it worked well enough to ferret out the darkest deepest secret hidden away.

He remembered when the curse struck him. His dad had brought him to Smallville the first time when he was barely nine--he still couldn't believe his dad wanted to come back. To bring him here--to live here, in this awful town that tried to kill him twice, first with the meteorite storm--and then with an illness that made him pray for death a hundred times a day. He'd lost all his hair and burned in a fever for what seemed an eternity--nightmares walked and talked to him for days on end and he didn't know what was real and what was not.

He remembered the revulsion on his dad's face, and he'd been glad--he'd thought his freakish looks meant maybe he wouldn't have to touch him anymore--but his mother had sat by his bedside and cried and cried at the loss of "his beautiful, beautiful hair," and he'd prayed and wished and wished with all his heart it would come back--for her. He'd never forget how joyful her face was, how bright and shining her eyes when she felt the fuzz of hair beginning to cover his naked scalp. He could still remember how her fingers felt as they ran over his head. And he remembered how his dad called out "a miracle! It's a miracle", because his hair came back and his wounds had healed. The doctors were amazed. So was he--he'd been pretty sure he was going to die.

He touched his upper lip gently--still have this, the miracle didn't take this. My little badge--hurt like hell... He'd never been beaten so bad, so hard, so long. Caught with a boy from his school and his father swore it was the Devil in him, swore he'd beat it out of him once and for all. It was always sinful and evil and the devil when it wasn't him. And then it was sinful and evil and the devil and Lex's fault when it was.

Spending a day or two throwing up was painful and scary, spiting blood was scary and loosing a tooth was no picnic either. Neither was listening to his mother sobbing and crying in the next room...Lex shook with anger. His dad, his dad made him angry--it wasn't his fault, it wasn't his mom's fault, of course.

He tossed and turned for a long while before he finally started to drift off to sleep. Scotch didn't seem to help the taste in his mouth, not that he should taste--anything by now...he needed to buy some wintergreen gum...Fuck. He hoped things were going to change--please. Maybe this was his chance to escape--somehow, someway. Smallville changed him when he was a baby, maybe it would change him again, maybe into someone who had a spine, he snorted.

"Three packs of wintergreen gum, please."

"Okay, Mr. Luthor, which brand would you care for?" Mr. Guy asked, "We have a couple of brands," he said and the pride behind his words said "we may be a small town, but we have just as many choices as those big city boys do."

"Call me Lex please, and I guess Beechnut will do just fine."

Clark peeked around the swiveling magazine rack, swinging it to keep it between himself and the object of his curiosity.

Alexander J. Luthor, right in front of him-sort of, actually more to the left and up a little--Geez! Clark hated it when his brain shot off in a dozen different directions like Hi- ho Silver Away, he thought. He watched how Alexander Joseph Luthor acted--he didn't act like he was special, he seemed like a regular Joe. Just better dressed than most.

He felt someone standing behind him and turned--oh! It was Whitney. Clark's heart did a slow roll and beat harder. Whitney smiled but he was looking at Alexander Luthor.

"What's the word, Clark? You watching our little preacher fellow?"

"Shh! Show some respect!" Clark was embarrassed. Whitney was...dangerous.

"Come for a swim," he said, and Clark knew it was less of a request and more of a statement of fact. He looked at Whitney, searching his face to get some sense of what was on his mind. Whitney just smiled at him; it was like quicksand, molasses--sweet and thick and pulling him in and sucking him down... "I can't --I don't--my dad...."

Whitney touched him, right in the store in front of everyone--well, Mr. Guy and Mr. Luthor, who weren't looking but Whitney touched his--his butt right there... "Okay! Okay, I'll go with you," he mumbled and felt the heat run from his cheeks to his ears. They left the store and Alexander's head whipped around and he was staring, staring right athim. Whitney stopped and frowned at Alexander--and suddenly smirked. Clark shivered as he put his hand on his shoulder. The thin striped knit shirt he wore did nothing to insulate him from the insistent heat of Whitney's grip.

"Come on, Clark, the lake's waiting," he said, looking at Lex's mouth. Clark's eyes went to his lip too, the top lip had a deep scar pulling it a tiny bit to the side, just a little. Tendrils of red hair had broken away from the wavy mop swept back off his forehead, they framed his eyes and Clark wanted to touch that hair so badly. The pressure on his shoulder increased.

"Come on already Clark, let's go."

Clark nodded and followed Whitney without a word, he could feel Alexander's eyes on him, and Whitney's hand skated from his shoulder to his back before lifting.

At the lake he waited. He felt something hanging in the air--something Whitney held in his hands, he could only wait for Whitney to let go, or tighten the hold. It felt like a thunderstorm waiting to break and finally Whitney turned to him, "Race you to the water" and he stripped off his shirt, kicked off shoes and dropped his pants. He pulled off his shorts and stood naked and smiling, waiting for Clark.

He was gold all over, and perfect, and Clark felt huge and clumsy and stupid and scared, but he began to take off his clothes, stripping slowly until at last he was naked and embarrassed, arms around his chest and curled slightly into himself. Whit was just staring, so Clark ran down the short dock there, and leaped into the lake. Whit whooped and hollered and ran after him, dousing Clark when he hit the water hard, his arms and legs drawn in like a ball.

Clark coughed water and Whitney surfaced right in front of him, grabbed Clark's neck and kissed him hard, roughly biting his lips and tongue. Clark yelped and tried to draw back. This was so different from the first kiss--he was a little scared by it, but Whitney wouldn't let him move, he attacked his mouth again and again, jabbing his tongue in, sucking his lip between his teeth and pulling, chewing on it, and Clark was breathing loud and hard. He felt Whitney's penis bump his leg under the water and he gasped and jumped. Whit groaned and pressed against Clark.

"Kiss me back, Clark, come on," and he ran his hand over Clark's penis, gripped it, his hand was so hot. Clark swept both of his hands out of the water, showering their faces--grabbed Whit's head desperately, and kissed him back, it was wild, frantic, too fast, too hard, too messy, too much teeth and too much tongue and Whitney groaned into his mouth and Clark felt him, hotter than the water, against his leg, and felt him moving against him, every time his teeth nipped Whit's lip, he felt his penis jerk against him--he broke away and Whit gasped, grinned...and pumped his hand on Clark, "Like that do you, can you feel that, I like it. Go ahead Clark, tell me what you like, it's just you and me and you can say what you want...I'll tell you what I want."

Whit sounded so loud, was he hearing him or was it just--he felt so sensitive all over...

"I want to kiss you Clark, kiss you all over, start with your nipples and work my way to your cock," and he pinched and rolled his fingers over them and Clark cried out--the pleasure he felt was close to pain, it made him jerk forward and Whitney did it again and he begged him to please-- do it again.

"Okay," he said and used his mouth on his nipples. Clark thought he heard his heart slam against his breastbone, he shook from head to toe--and Whitney stopped. "No! I - I mean, please don't..."

"it up on the dock Clark, go ahead"

Clark grabbed the edge of the dock and pulled himself out of the water, and flipped so he was sitting, his legs dangling and--he looked down at himself, oh, geez, he was hard, his penis curved over his leg, it twitched as he looked. Whitney licked his lips and Clark twitched again.

"What--what do you want me to do?" he asked, and his voice nearly failed him. Just sit, he was commanded, and then his penis was on fire, wet fire, it was so shocking, so good so unbelievable, he dropped back on his elbows and his head fell back, he moaned loud, long, choking when Whitney began to bob his head up and down on him, god, god, god, oh--oh--oh--his hips rose into the air, he could feel the muscles of his butt and his thighs tense, tighter and tighter and then liquid fire ran down his back and his body tried to bend in impossible ways as he came in Whitney's mouth. He dropped down, his head cracking against the wooden boards.

"Clark! You okay?" Whitney looked panicked for a moment until Clark groaned out a shaky yes.

He grinned then and pulled himself up on the dock to lay on Clark. He began to pump his hips slowly against Clark, staring in his eyes, grinning and Clark felt himself getting hard again. Whit raised an eyebrow and murmured, "Jackpot, hunh!" and picked up the pace, grinding into Clark's belly, trapping both their cocks between them. Clark watched Whitney's face change, the sly smile always on his lips faded away slowly, he clenched his teeth, he gasped a little and bit his lip, Clark shifted so that they touched more and Whitney cried out softly and closed his eyes, his head dropped and his hair swept across Clark's chest and Clark grunted and came again, the heat flowing between them made Whitney's eyes fly open, "Jesus...Clark?" He jerked. "Oh god." Shivered and spilled on Clark's stomach, slid in their come and yelled though his orgasm, before collapsing on an exhausted Clark.

"That was a show and a half," he muttered against Clark's chest.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, nothing--we should get back in the water though."

"Oh--okay", Clark yawned and stood when Whitney rolled off of him.

"Turn around." Whit said, "I think I saw something on your back."

"Okay," Clark said and turned. He ran his hand through the come on his belly and groin, curious, feeling the texture, wondering if he could tell whose was whose. He heard the splash of Whit hitting the water behind him and curiosity over came fear, he licked at his wet hand, a quick lap of the tongue against his sticky fingers. The taste was--not nasty, not what he expected, salty and citrus and a faint taste of...of mushrooms, he thought. And popped a finger in his mouth to suck it clean.

"God, Clark, you're going to kill me." he heard, and whirled around to see Whitney staring at him. Clark blushed and hurriedly leaped back into the water.

Whit floated over to him and wrapped his legs around his waist. He wound his arms around Clark's neck and said in a deep husky voice, "I was right. I knew you'd taste like lemon drops. I've never--" he stopped and laughed. "Well. Never mind."

Under the cover of the trees, Lex was dying. It felt like he was--his breath came rapid and shallow and his lungs worked so hard to give him air--he'd not felt like that since he was a child and used to get horrible spells in which he couldn't breathe...though they were never accompanied by a diamond hard erection before. A shaky little laugh burst from his lips.

Shit! He didn't know whether to be happy or horrified he'd decided to follow them, some little devil had whispered in his ear to come after them and he hoped like hell he wasn't going to pay for this--this stupidity, but oh God!--Both of the boys were beautiful in their own way, Adonis, tall and dark, the other muscular and gold as Apollo...Lex watched them kissing in the water, hearing his own breath roaring in his ears, hearing what Apollo told the other....

He almost rocked with the pounding of his heart, when Adonis--Clark-- threw himself on the dock, and Apollo took him in his mouth. Lex dropped back against the tree behind him, it was the only thing keeping him upright, his knees shook, his hands shook, shook harder when he pressed his weeping cock, stroked and gripped himself through the material...his eyes were wide and his mouth fell open, his breath whistled across his dry teeth and he yanked his zipper down and groaned when he touched himself. Had he ever been hotter, harder?

Had he ever wanted to--needed to-- touch himself so much? When Clark came he heard him, and his own cock jumped and precome ran over his fingers. His legs trembled wildly as he ripped open his trousers and pulled them down past his knees before they gave out completely.

Lex dropped to the ground, bare knees grinding into the dirt and leaves, one hand held him upright, and the other pumped his cock frantically- he was going to come, his eyes dropped to his hand, watching the wet head of his cock disappear in and out of his fist--he looked up and -Ah! Through the curtain of his hair he saw the boy. He was--he tasted himself--oh! Sucking his fingers....

With a deep grunt Lex came, the first pulse hit the arm supporting him, the second hit the wrist, and come ran over his fist to drop to the ground beneath him. He held his head down and shivered, shook like a leaf.

He dropped his head to his hands and he prayed fervently that no one would come upon him, Reverend Luthor's little monkey, naked ass out in the wind and come all over his fists and face. That'd make a hell of a sermon, he laughed to himself.

It felt like hours before he made it home, every time the little scene replayed in his mind it hit him with a jolt of lust so sharp it hurt...all the way back to the precious little house the spider sat in. He trudged up the porch stairs and tried to go directly to his room but no such luck, he thought.

Mrs. Ross stood in the tiny foyer and glanced over him, he knew he looked a little disheveled but he hoped he could blame it on the heat.

"You father asked for you to join him in the Study, Mr. Alexander," she said before heading for the door. He could just about hear the capital S, and wondered briefly if she was being sarcastic before dismissing the possibility. "Good evening' now, Mr. Alexander."

"You're leaving already Abbie?"

"Yes sir, Reverend was kind enough to give us all the night off. There's a covered plate in the kitchen, cook fixed it up real nice for you..."

Shit! God damn it! Fuck! It's past dinnertime! Shit-shit-- He hurried into the study and his father was waiting, face calm, and eyes blazing. "Where were you, Alexander," he asked.

God damn damn damn "I was walking around town, getting to know it, the folks," he practically babbled. His dad frowned and came closer--

"You have...leaves...are those leaves in your cuffs?"

Lex looked down and his face blazed. The cuffs of his fine French cut trousers were packed with dirt. His dad came closer looked down also, frowning mightily and stopped. He made a sound half way between a gasp and a growl. "You--what is that?" He pointed at the sleeve of Lex's shirt and a still wet thick smear of come darkened the material.

He looked up at his father and wanted to laugh--only his dad would see that-- he probably smelled it, he thought and in the next minute his head exploded.

"Whore. Slut. Whore whore whore--" his dad slapped him down to the floor, kicked him and beat him and he tried to roll in a ball and jammed his hand in his mouth trying not to scream aloud, tried to cover his head as his dad kicked the holy shit out of him, he thought he heard ribs crack-- please God don't let them break--he'd had to heal through that before and it was hell on earth--he spit out bloody froth and gagged when his dad grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked him upright.

"The Devil--I see the devil in your eyes! He's in your heart! But I'll get him out--oh yes, I'll get him out if it kills you." He shook him so hard and the room filled with blackness--He is going to kill me-- and the fear of death made his heartbeat skitter, and the desire for death made his legs weak and watery...

"I know how to force him out...." His dad dropped him on the carpet and kicked him over to his stomach. Nononono, his trousers were viciously yanked down, he felt the material give and what didn't tear ripped down his legs and made them burn and then real pain ripped through him--fire tore his ass wide open and he screamed into the carpet, dust coated his tongue and filled his mouth as he screamed and sucked air in to scream again.

The yellow gingham at the window made the light in Lex's room a buttery yellow, the breeze that puffed the curtains back from the window stroked over his hot cheek and cooled it. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the comforting sound of life occurring outside the house, he could hear the soothing hum of bees in the flowerbeds below, the piping call of birds nesting in the trees along the drive way....

If he held his head very still and didn't squeeze his eyes shut, there was a possibility that the top of his head wasn't going to rip loose. Damn. His hair hurt...he pulled in the tiniest sips of air so his sides wouldn't ache and with horror, felt a cough squirming in his chest--"no! no"--he couldn't help groaning and tears leaked from his eyes after the cough broke free--hurt, hurt so bad. He was burning up, but he expected that, he always had a fever when he healed from damage. It was best to lay still and let his body pull itself back together. He just had to--suffer...through this bone deep itch, and stray jolts of electricity frying his nerves and fever that made him feel like his insides were melting and trying to ooze out of his skin. He wished his sheets were dry; he wished he had water--he wished his dad were dead. He wished he couldn't hear him crying and feel him hugging him, begging to be forgiven, begging for God to take them both.

He was exhausted in spirit and in flesh, and started gratefully to drift back to sleep. He thought he heard a knock at the front door and dragged himself awake again. Who can it be?

Lionel opened the front door, and Mrs. Kent stood there, with a friendly smile and a soup tureen wrapped in a tea towel in her hands. "Why, Mrs. Kent isn't it? I try never to forget a name, or a face, certainly not such a lovely one." He let his eyes travel along her body--a tiny part of him whispered filth in his mind but he silenced it. "May I say, you look positively radiant today. Mr. Kent is a very lucky man." He winked and chuckled to let her know he was being amusingly cheeky.

She blushed and giggled, a little flustered at the attention, "Good afternoon, Reverend. I know your son's been sick--I was making soup, and thought he might like some--and you too, of course..."

"Well now, that's a very neighborly thing to do, bless your kind heart. I'm sure Alexander will appreciate your thoughtfulness."

"It must be hard--just the two of you having to depend on each other," She handed the tureen to Lionel. "I'd be more than happy to read to Alexander if you need a break from caring for him."

Lionel searched her face for any hint of suspicion. "Well, now isn't that nice, but I don't think that's really necessary. Alexander is recuperating slowly, delicate health you know-- but he is doing much better. I'll pass on your kind greeting and this no doubt excellent soup--"

Clark came up behind his mother carrying a crate with vegetables from her garden, some fresh berries and a jar or two of preserves.

"And this stout fellow is...?" Lionel asked with a wide smile.

"My son, Clark. He brought some magazines to read to Mr. Alexander--though I hardly think it's the type of thing your son would like," She frowned. Clark blushed and tried to hide the comics poking out of the box.

"Nonsense--young men enjoy exciting tales of derring-do, I see no reason Lex wouldn't enjoy these...these funny books," he said as though the words tasted foul. "I must warn you, he's a little, well--he has a fever and it makes him restless. He wandered out to the stairs and took a bad fall-quite bruised, he is. Poor thing." He shook his head. "His health is so precarious, always has been ever since he was a tiny fellow--always coming down with something," he smiled sadly.

Martha tsked in sympathy and Lionel asked Clark if he'd like to read to Lex and upstairs Lex stared at the ceiling and sweat ran down his face--Clark! Say no, say no, don't let him get his hooks in you--Mrs. Kent, say no!

"It's settled then," he heard his father say. "We'll be expecting you this evening, Clark."

The door shut and Lex let his eyes fall closed. He waited and moments later the sound of his father's footsteps echoed in his head. His bedroom door opened and Lex knew he was standing in the doorway, looking at him, he knew there'd be a hungry expression on his face--watching him, knowing under Lex's flushed and sweat wet skin, he was healing, faster than any normal human could ever hope to...performing another "miracle" that his father needed so very much.

Clark climbed the stairs with a comic book and a Weird Tales magazine tucked under his arm--if Alexander didn't like either, he could ask him if he had a favorite book he might like instead.

He shuddered a little recalling meeting Reverend Luthor at the door. The man gave him the creeps, he was just an oily guy, he didn't care what his folks thought--he wasn't right, that guy, not right at all. And he touched him too much; he just kept--touching him.

Clark tapped at the door, waited a beat and went into the room. It was a pleasant looking room, a painted iron bed against the wall under the window, a dresser with a brush set--a silver brush set, sitting on top, a mirror above it and a desk and chair against one wall. There were two low bookcases filed with books and a painting--no, a tinted photograph, of a beautiful woman with red hair hanging over the desk. Lex lay in the middle of the bed, covered in lots of blankets. He looked even thinner than the last time Clark had seen him, and he had dark purple shadows under his eyes and he just looked awful. He was patting the bedside table next to him, looking, Clark figured, for the glass of water that was placed a little too far for him to easily reach.

Gosh, his wrists look like twigs! Clark gasped and Lex jerked his eyes towards him.

"Oh--Clark Kent, right? I--my dad said you might be coming today."

Clark nodded. "I brought some stuff to read to you, if you like."

"Yes!" Lex said firmly. "One more day with only my own thoughts to keep me company and I'll go stark raving mad!" Lex looked so determined, his eyebrows drew together and his eyes looked dark blue--Clark scolded himself for noticing Alexander's eyes.

"Sit down please, Clark."

Clark pulled the chair over to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Okay, this one is Action comics and it's real good--the hero is called Warrior Angel--he's a brand new guy, and he's great! Him and his best friend, this joe here--save people in trouble..."

Lex watched and listened and fell in love--maybe with the idea of the boy, instead of the boy, he thought. He was what Lex wished he could be, just a normal kid with a normal life.

He watched Clark's face as he read. His green eyes danced as he read, changing his voice for the different characters. His hair kept falling forward, and he swept it back opposite the part until it stood out all over. Lex watched his mouth and noticed his teeth were so white against the rose of his lips...puppy fangs, he thought, and his snaggly smile made him that much more adorable--and did he really just call another man adorable? God...still, he couldn't keep his eyes off his mouth, those red lips, so full, they looked so soft and made him think...Lex coughed and shifted, raising his legs so the cover was tented. Still, he felt...good, it was good to look at a beautiful man, to feel something and not have it feel--wrong.

"Lex", Clark asked, noticing him shifting about on the bed. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Yes, God, yes. "No--I'm fine, thanks Clark, just a little...stiff. From laying in one position too long," he hastily added, and gasped when he was suddenly swept from head to toe with a bone deep feeling of warmth and pleasure, like a slow rolling ghost of an orgasm. Clark was staring at him in a strangely intense way--did he notice? Clark sat back and smiled a little, asked Lex if he should continue.

Lex nodded. "Oh yeah, I like this story--so which one is the good guy again?" and grinned when Clark rolled his eyes at him.

Pete was at the farm early before school. He'd come to do some work on Dad's truck. He was whistling to himself as he leaned over and poked about, sounding pretty darn happy Clark thought. He quietly stepped up behind Pete, but some little noise most have alerted him. Pete whirled around. As soon as he saw it was Clark, Pete's face split in a huge grin.

"Clark! I got a job! Driving!"

Clark swung the bag of feed he was carrying from his shoulder to the ground. He stood with his hands on his hips and smiled. Whatever Pete meant by that, it must be good.

"Driving? Driving what, Pete?"

"Driving for Clark--Reverend Luthor. I'm going to be driving and taking care of his car, that car, Clark!"

Clark felt happy for Pete; he knew how much he loved cars. And how much help the money would be to Pete's family, even as he shuddered at the thought of having to spend that much time with Luthor.

"Come with me, Clark? I'm going over to the house today."

Clark got permission to go and headed over to the Luthor's with Pete, and learned a lot about the Cord--or would have, if he hadn't been thinking about Alexander. They were kind of friends now--he even had him waiting just as anxiously with him for the newest issue of Action comics. Alexander even asked him to call him Lex--that was taking a bit of getting used to--and his insistence that he treat him like a regular guy was kind of exciting. Like they were sharing something special.

Pete's mother met them at the road when they arrived at the Luthor place and led them to the garage to wait for Lionel.

"How's your mother doing, Clark? She's such a nice lady," Mrs. Ross asked.

"She's fine Miss Abbie, thank you for asking." Colored or not, Clark had been taught to be polite to his elders, and Pete's mom was an elder and a nice lady, to boot.

She nodded in response to Clark. "Wait here for the Reverend, Pete, I got work to do," she gave Pet a brief hug, and waved at Clark before heading back to the house.

The two circled the car, Pete pointing out different things about the car and Clark nodding as if he understood what Pete was talking about. He could tell he was just dying to get under the hood.

They looked up together at a dry little cough of sound from the doorway. "So, you must be Abbie's boy, Pete--the new driver?"

Alexander--Lex--stood in the garage doorway, studying Pete. He nodded to himself and walked in, tilting his head to Clark. A sweep of red hair fell over his forehead as he did and he brushed it back. Clark noted his wrist wasn't quite as thin anymore when his sleeve slid up a bit, he noticed that his eyes were a little less bruise colored now, he was still too thin, but he looked less tired--he swept him quickly with his Sight-- his ribs looked good...Lex gasped softly and flinched. Clark was stunned--did...did he feel that? No, he couldn't have, it must be coincidence. Oh my Lord, what if he can feel it?

Clark quietly had an anxiety attack while he listened to Pete and Lex talk about his father's car, and his own and then Lex excused himself and asked if Clark would care to walk back to the house with him. Clark wished Pete luck and assured him the Reverend would be impressed with him, and they parted at the doors.

Clark walked over to the house with Lex and sat on the porch steps, Lex stood facing him, smoking. "I hope you don't mind, I don't smoke in the house. Dad says it stinks." Lex rolled his eyes and blew a thin stream of smoke skyward. He stood quietly, looking Clark over and Clark decided since he was being stared at, he might as well stare back. Lex looked so much better he thought with relief. And he looked so good in white pants. He didn't wear suspenders like his dad and most men around town; he just had a slim leather belt circling his narrow waist. It looked--sophisticated, Clark decided, like that Fred Astaire guy his mom went all gooey over. He even had those two-tone wingtips and a tie that looked more expensive than anything Clark ever had. He was about to tell him he had a stain on his tie when Lex startled.

Behind him the front door creaked and at first he thought, judging from the look on Lex's face, something dangerous was behind him.

He turned quickly and saw that it was something nasty, certainly. Reverend Luthor in all his oily glory. Clark scowled, and rose from the step to stand a little in front of Lex. He didn't want to talk to him. Nuts.

"Cliff--oh pardon--it's Clark, isn't it? How nice of you to come visit our Alexander. Isn't he looking better now?"

Lionel Luthor was a snake, a two-legged snake, Clark decided and wasn't a man of god anymore than--than Clark was.

Lionel did the same circling kind of walk that Whitney did, only when Whitney did it, he kind of liked it, he hated Lionel doing it--every inch of him felt--greasy. Lionel slinked around him, moving between Lex and Clark and making Clark take a step back.

Clark glanced at Lex and he was watching his dad and looking worried, he wiped at the corner of his mouth again and again until he saw Clark looking, Clark could see it was an effort for him to stop.

"Your mother was kind enough to arrange for us to receive fresh fruits and vegetables, to...enjoy the bounty of your gardens, I suppose you could say," and Clark struggled not to shudder. The man was just--

"Ridiculous." Lex said and they both wheeled around to look at him. "To stand in the yard under this hot sun, when we can sit on the porch in the shade and enjoy a lemonade." His smile was so sweet and sincere that Clark almost forgot entirely about Lionel and followed Lex up on the porch.

Mom had a full crate of vegetables and things for the Luthor's and some eggs for the grocery downtown sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for him when he came back in the house. He'd finished his chores a little faster than he should have and colored under his mom's pained but forgiving gaze. Gosh--she could make him feel lower than a snake's belly. It chafed at him more and more, this constant harping that using his powers was wrong--*you know what--I'm starting to think it's not--I'm starting to think these powers are a gift--and maybe God wants me to do something with them--something more than speed washing cow udders....*.

He pulled the creaky old truck up the drive of the Luthor's house and parked it on the side, out of the way should the Reverend or Lex's cars pull up. Clark walked around to the back of the house close to the kitchen. He planned to drop the crate of produce on the back step since neither Lex nor the Reverend Snake were around. He knew Miss Abbie had to be around somewhere, but she was probably busy and he didn't like the cook--she was scary.

Delivering Mom's produce and the occasional preserves to the Luthors was a double-edged sword, for sure. On one hand--he got to drive the truck. On the other hand--he had to deal with Lionel. Then again, he got to see Lex. On the other hand, he had to see Lionel. But then--Lex. He was--amazing. He was nice to him, treated him like an adult, he talked to him about so many things. He had the most beautiful hair. And Clark wanted to touch him so bad. But that was impossible. Lex wasn't like him and...and him. Whitney--Clark snorted. As far as Whitney went, he was a law unto himself. Who knew what he was--besides confusing, infuriating and okay, really cute, Clark smiled a little.

Whitney, he drives me crazy! I wouldn't feel like this if it weren't for Whitney, but in his heart of hearts he knew that wasn't true, sooner or later, he would have known--and he loved it so much when Whit touched him. Sometimes he thought of Lex doing those things with him, or with him and...and he'd come even harder then. It was sure hard to think those feelings were evil when Whitney kissed him and told him how beautiful he was.

Clark dropped the crate on the step and sat down. Was it possible to love two people at the same time? Not that he loved Whit--or maybe he did. In a way, he guessed he did love Whit-- And he knew he loved Lex. He'd spent days falling in love with him, reading to him and talking to him and watching him heal--it was amazing and miraculous the way he healed right before his eyes.

The first thing he'd done every time he came to see Lex was lookat him to make sure everything was going well, and his bones were knitting properly...and actually it was pretty neat to watch the breaks filling in with new bone. Plus, Clark had to admit, he liked Lex's reaction to being looked at. It was still the first thing he did whenever he saw him now. He liked watching his heart beat...and Lex did feel it, Clark knew, he was pretty sure that Lex didn't know he was doing it--but he surely felt it. It looked like it felt good.

He played with a pea pod from the crate, rolling it between his fingers as he thought. He was nearly certain he could tell Lex about himself. He just had a feeling-- Lex would understand. There was something about him that made him feel safe. He was positive that Lex wouldn't hurt him, or be afraid of him. He laughed softly. He didn't even know Lex like he knew Whitney and he trusted him more. Whit was--terrific, wonderful and made him feel like a million bucks but--trustworthy? He grinned. The only thing he trusted one hundred per cent about Whit was--he'd do whatever was good for Whitney. Lex though, that was different. There was something in him that told him Lex was what he needed. Or maybe Lex needed him--there was a connection there, he knew it, like the one for Whit but--different. For him, it was as if a Whitney shaped hole that had been inside of him got filled. It was just how it was supposed to be, nothing to make a fuss over, it just...was. And now he was waiting for Lex to complete him.

Clark sighed and stood. I guess along with everything else, now I'm losing my marbles too. Thanks, Lord, for keeping me from getting bored. Clark laughed and this time there was no little mental cringe.

Lex walked around the altar rail, headed for the offices off to the side, his father's office. He had some papers to get together, and he wanted him to read over the sermon for Sunday. He let himself in the office and found the papers on his father's desk.

Lex had been trying to slowly distance himself from the whole circus since they'd settled here. Lionel was oddly agreeable, and his supposed delicate health came in handy as an excuse to avoid preaching at every service. Most Sundays he was able to sit at his father's side and pray hard not to leap up screaming when he preached on sin in all its slippery forms--sins of the flesh and sins of the mind. He had to back away from it for his sanity's sake, and focusing on something he cared about saved him.

He enjoyed playing piano for the choir, and he tried to concentrate on his enjoyment of music. He involved himself in that aspect more and more, and dreamed of starting over somewhere else, where he was totally anonymous, some place where no one cared about him.

He felt he'd have been quite good playing piano in a brothel...shame that was a thing of the past. He missed his calling, certainly.

He pulled out the desk chair and sat, still chuckling as he began to go over the sermon. Time slipped by quickly, and finally hunger made him lift his head, the sun was low and when he looked the paper again, it was too dark to see. He turned on the lamp and decided to finish up before going home--his dad was going to be busy at the station with some bigwig somebody.

The click of the lamp switch almost covered the click of the door opening, but years of...caution had trained him to react to sounds like that. He swiveled the chair around to meet his dad's eyes. Okay. He breathed out the air he'd held in his lungs. They were on neutral ground. He'd never really bothered him in church.

"Alexander, I have someone I'd like to introduce to you. This is Mr. Edgar Morgan--he owns a broadcasting company, and he's thinking about broadcasting our program nationwide. That would mean a lot to us financially, son. And we can deliver our message to thousands of people at once, instead of a small crowd here and there. Wouldn't that just be wonderful?"

Lex wasn't paying attention to his father; he was watching the man he'd brought in.

The man was elegant, not unattractive, an older man then his father; with silver hair, a lined but strangely youthful face and eyes so light a blue they looked silver. As they lit on him, they got darker and darker...his dad stood behind him and stroked a hand through his hair and he tried not to jerk forward at the unwelcome caress.

"Son, this is so important to me--you have no idea how important this is. I know you want to make me happy, don't you?"

He wanted to scream. He felt like he was drowning in molasses--he knew what his father meant. The words flew around in his head and tangled with his silent pleas for mercy and nothing could get out. He managed a faint `no' that spilled out like a wheeze from his lips. His dad pushed him forward in the chair, and yanked his jacket down around his arms, pinning him with practiced ease. He could see Morgan's face twist in an unpleasant expression...

Lionel leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "You need to do this, it will all work out, I promise. It won't be so bad--it's a penance son, that's all."--Lex looked into his eyes, and his father cringed slightly before his expression hardened. What of it? Lex thought. He suffered--so what, it meant nothing. If he didn't die, he healed. Life went on.

Lex searched for the part of his father that loved him, it thinned and disappeared like fog as he watched. Nothing left but Lionel Luthor, who was looking at his property, something he could trade for...for benefits. Lex slumped in the chair. He didn't even care, it didn't make a difference. His dad would justify it, or spin into a fit of self-loathing, punish him for it--of course.

He sat like a stone and the other man undressed him and became more and more excited with each piece of clothing he removed or unbuttoned, yanking roughly at him until only the open shirt and jacket pulled around his elbows kept him from being naked in the chair. Morgan touched him, running his hand over his thighs and around his knees and down his claves, back up and between his legs, squeezing and pinching and scratching painfully as he did so. He was looking at his skin, Lex realized--he was watching welts appear and disappear instantly and Lex shivered and tried not to vomit--He told him, He told him what happens when .... He hoped desperately Morgan did not have a knife. Shallow cuts healed fast, but deep ones....

Lex closed his eyes and tried to be somewhere else, when his cock began to respond he tried desperately to be somewhere else. This was the part that horrified him, frightened him more than any of it. Those little whispers at the back of his skull that told him he must like it on some level--why not. He wanted men--he must want this...he shut down that avenue of thinking; he wasn't crazy and this wasn't right, but....

Pain dropped him back in his body again when the man pushed fingers into his ass; it made him gasp and jump. Lionel stood behind him and reached into his shirt, twisting his nipples, pulling and twisting harder and harder until he cried out in pain, and the other man chuckled, a distressingly warm, cheerful sound, and pushed harder and twin spears of pain ran through him, he was fighting not to scream, and his cock wilted completely. Morgan cared not at all, he stood and opened his pants and his wet erection was in front of Lex's face, he rubbed the head across his closed mouth. Lex's lips were mashed against his teeth, and he could feel them press into the tender flesh.

Crack! "Open damn it!"-- The sudden slap made his mouth fly open in shock and Morgan shoved in until he couldn't go further. Lex choked, he gagged and struggled to breathe. Morgan began fucking his mouth, grunting with the force of it, Lex tasted copper from his lacerated lip, saliva filled his mouth and spilled out around his lips, pink with blood it ran over his chin to hit the man and the floor. It seemed to drive the man into frenzy--he groaned and yanked Lex up by the hair so hard red strands floated in the air around them.

"Wait," his father said. And Lex felt a black tide rise inside of him, felt something in him shrivel into nothingness. He was pushed onto the wooden floor and his hips pulled up, the shirt thrown up to his shoulders and his dad's fist grinding down between his shoulder blades.

"I'll be kind boy, nicer than I need to be." The other man laughed again. Lionel snapped his attention back to him and snarled. "He loves it, he wants it."

There was hand cream in the desk drawer and Lionel slathered it on himself, jabbed lotion covered fingers in him and pronounced it good. He drove into him in one long searing horrible push, his favorite way to enter him and Lex opened his mouth to scream and again Morgan assaulted him. He was battered from both ends, his knees shrieked across the bare wooden floors with every lunge and thrust. After an eon Morgan came, and Lex swallowed and swallowed and tried not to throw up. Lionel roared and clawed his back. Lex waited him out. When Lionel finally pulled out and off of him, le felt like his body was on fire, his ass, his knees...He could see thin pink streaks of blood on the floorboards. He gasped and sobbed, shook with disgust for himself, he'd come anyway---he was damned, he deserved it--he must....

The men pulled themselves together, and Morgan smiled down at him on the way out the door. "You were everything he claimed you'd be, and more," he smirked.

Alone and Lionel glared down at him. "You know why I have to punish you. You're a demon, you pull others into sin with you, you've damned me--destroyed me--so I have to destroy you. One way or another, you have to be punished. I wonder--does your soul heal. Alexander? Do you feel it knitting..." He bent down and touched his arm, suddenly he was Lionel again, his eyes went wet and glossy, his voice rough with emotion, and his hand on his shoulder was warm and soft. "I swear, it really is for you--some day you'll realize how much I've given up for you, how hard I tried for you. Without you I'm nothing, I swear it." Lionel stroked his arm, stroked his cheek and the moment passed, and his eyes hardened again. He rose to his feet.

"When you're done resting, get this mess cleaned up, I'll see you back at the house."

Lex waited until the door shut, and rolled to his side. Everything hurt and felt so tender, the inside of his mouth and his throat were so raw it hurt to swallow, every gulp was an agony, his knees looked flayed, they burned as steadily as his ass, he was one continuous circle of fire. He lay on the floor and silent tears of relief ran down his face--it wasn't too bad, thank--thank whomever, it wasn't too bad.

Whitney knew things had changed dramatically for Clark and himself. This whole thing was less of a lark, a `let's see what I can get him to do,' kind of thing, it was becoming an obsession. He thought about Clark all the time now, he felt him under his skin all the time, he couldn't look at Lana and not think of Clark--he hadto think of Clark to come...and sometimes it made him mad--he felt like it was Clark's fault.

More and more Lana began to irritate him, and that wasn't good, not part of his plan. Going to college, taking over the store, becoming another Woolworth and putting his footprint all over the world, that was his plan. And Lana was the perfect wife to be at his side--Pretty, compliant and remarkably dense. All good virtues in a woman. He wandered into the drug store and over to the soda fountain and sat. He ordered a cherry coke and sank back into his thoughts.

Clark was getting a thing for that Luthor guy, and that should make him happy but it didn't. There was something about him that worried him, and that preacher father of his--he was a rotten egg, for sure. Grabby mitts that one, I can see it on him, no mistaking. Could have some fun with that, he thought and ran his straw across the bottom of his glass, sucking up the sweet syrup that settled there.

Lex was going to be a problem, he could feel it. He wasn't sure if Lex was the problem or was just dragging it behind him. When Whitney looked at him, he saw himself being sucked into a dark cloud around Lex, he could see Clark in it too and it bothered him more than it should. It wasn't normal for him to worry about anyone else. Clark.
What the hell was it with him? He hadn't even gotten his cock sucked yet, not a suck, not a lick--nothing! That boy was doing a number on him, no mistake. Whitney shook his head, marveling at his own stupidity. He watched the kid behind the fountain bend over to get more napkins from under the counter and got an eyeful. Good looking kid...he swung his stool around idly, and spotted some giggling bimbos in one of the booths against the shop window. Oh yeah. Fucked her. Fucked that one's sister. He sighed. He was bored. Clark was off playing with his little nigger friend and Lana was doing something stupid with Nell. He was bored with the ones he knew would put out and too lazy to find out who might with the right sweet talk and sheep eyes, just that extra little nudge in his direction...he looked at the soda jerk again and wondered if he could get him to come out in back of the store with him.

He slid off the stool and walked out instead. Later. I've got time...

He strolled around town thinking about nothing in particular which meant his thoughts circled around to Clark again and again. Looking up he found he'd walked in a big circle around town, it brought him to the church at the far end of town, the one Luthor was pastor of. He stopped and felt a little flash of interest and smiled.

Alexander Luthor was pulling up to the church--alone. Whitney watched him get out of the car with a box stuffed with papers and walk towards the rear of the building. He shrugged. Haven't been to church in a while, what the heck! Let's go see what fascinates Clark so much.

He could hear the soft buzz of a desk fan trying to cool the air in the small office. Whitney thought it was strange that the man had the smallest office, it was cramped and crowded, barely seemed possible to turn around without bumping into the towering stacks of papers and books piled here and there, he thought. Looks like a rats nest--one person can fit in barely fit in that mess, let alone two. He must have made some noise because Alexander whirled around and looked at him--fear shifted over and disappeared quickly from his face. He stood, shoved his hands in his pockets. He tossed his hair back from his eyes and smirked. "Yes? Can I help you...?"

Whitney had to admit, he wasn't bad looking. Nice build. He introduced himself, "Whitney. Fordman. My dad has the store downtown."

"Ah? How nice for you," he said and sat again. "Again, how can I help you? I don't believe I've seen you in church?"

Whitney grinned. "I don't think you really give a shit about that." He grinned at Alexander's startled laugh, and came around to sit on the edge of the desk. Alexander looked at him with shining eyes. He snorted, thoroughly amused at Whitney's nerve.

"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Whitney nodded, "Yes, I am. If I want something, I go for it--most times it works out for me. So--Alexander--Alex?"

Lex shook his head no. "You can call me Lex--your friend does."

Whitney grinned. "Ah, my friend? Well, whatever's good for my friend is good for me. Lex it is then. Tell me Lex," He leaned back a little bit. "Does the door to this office lock?" He asked and Lex flushed.

"Yes." he replied --and he didn't waste time asking why -he just got up and locked the door.

Whitney liked that. No wasting time on stupid questions, smart fellla. He stood up and tucked his thumbs under his suspenders and pulled them down his shoulders, pulled his t-shirt over his head. He looked at Lex, watching him as he fingered the top button on his pants. "You going to help?"

And Lex was on his knees, unbuttoning his fly, pulling open his trousers, taking him out. He pumped him roughly, watching his hand jerk over his cock. He raised his eyes to Whit's and Whit pressed his head forward.

"Go ahead, then. Suck me."

Lex's eyes closed and he took him in, deep, quick, instantly setting a fast pace; it was rough and aggressive. Whitney was surprised and excited by the ferocity. Lex reached up, grabbed his hands and pressed them against his head until Whitney grabbed handfuls of hair. Lex pushed him hard against the edge of the desk, spread his legs far apart as they could go, and in seconds Whitney was panting and moaning, his head dropped and he stared at Lex and shuddered... Lex's hands were moving all over him, cradling his balls, scratching his thighs and Whit felt a hand slide back, cup his ass and then a finger jabbed at him-oh no! "Un-unh--don't--"

"Shhh!" Lex hushed him, "Relax, relax," he sucked him back in and the finger sliding in his cleft worked slower now, softer, around and around the place were no one else had ever touched, it slid into the ring of muscle, stroked shallow teasing little rings and Whitney felt himself coming undone bit by bit, melting around the teasing finger--it felt good, and with Lex working him with tongue and lips, it was magic. Lex moved his finger and suddenly sparks flew through his body, Lex sucked him into his throat and swallowed and Whitney froze and when Lex's finger plunged in and out, and in again, Whitney shouted and came. He bent backward, gripping the desk edge like it was all that kept him from flying away, jerking his hips so hard it almost hurt and Lex never let go, held him until he was soft again.

When Whit could think again he figured he might as well find out what the price for that bit of fun was.

"My turn now?" He didn't mind, that was a good blowjob; best he'd had, actually. He owed this Lex guy.

"Turn around, bend over."

Whit stared at him, frowning, thinking.

Lex wasn't trying to convince him, he sure didn't look--desperate or begging--- he stood there stroking himself, in fact he looked pretty damn sure of himself and Whit thought for the first time, nice cock--actually looked at it, and wanted it, and it was a strange feeling to desire like that... "Okay," he shrugged, "but if it hurts..."

"It's going to hurt a little. But you can take it."

Whit nodded and thought he must be seven kinds of fool but turned and bent and...waited. He felt a soft wet touch, warm, insistent, it nudged against his hole and nudged and Whitney found himself laying on the desk with his legs wide and Lex's tongue in his ass, and then Lex's fingers and just when he thought it was going to kill him with not enough, Lex's cock was in--it did hurt. It was a quick spear of pain that sank right into his bones, pain that filled him and became pleasure, he could feel something slick sliding over his skin, Lex's hands gripping him, moving him and Lex angled his hips, thrust and groaned, but it was drowned out by Whit's yelp of surprise and harsh gasps as Lex began fucking him just like he'd fuck a girl--"oh-oh god--god!" He couldn't close his mouth and he was babbling like a nut and he thought cover your mouth, but his hands were busy trying to find the edges of Lex's desk--"oh fuck--I just threw everything on the floor." The sound of glass shattering and the slap of books and papers hitting the floor didn't cover the sound of Lex laughing and cursing, "My lamp! Shit!"...

Whitney pictured Clark walking in and finding them like this, him spread and moaning over Lex's desk, Lex in him and curled over him, ankle deep in all this stupid paper and Clark dropping behind Lex, pulling him open to kiss and taste Lex the way Lex had done to him--"Ah, ah--Fuck!" An orgasm tore through him like nothing he'd ever felt before--he heard himself stuttering and mewling like a baby--Lex -fuck him--Lex was laughing again, but he was coming now, and groaning like he was in pain--

He dropped onto Whitney's back, panting and wet and but silent now as he bit and licked at Whitney's back.

Later they drove out to the lake with a couple of beers chilling in an ice chest and a blanket and Lex blew Whitney on the dock, let Whitney fuck his mouth and imagined it was Clark. Afterward, he shared a beer with him and it was the most relaxed he'd been since...since Clark read to him those few days. He liked this Whitney kid--he could definitely be friends with this kid. He felt a strange connection with him, almost like the one he felt with Clark--but he couldn't read him--there was nothing when he touched him--none of the cloudy images he usually got from people, none of that electric spark like he got touching Clark

Lex leaned against his car, smoking, Whitney sat on the hood, wearing Lex's French undershirt, his own shirt balled up under the car seat, having served as an impromptu washcloth. Whitney knew he had a good body and he liked showing it off, muscles hardened by foot ball sliding under his skin, every time he tilted his beer bottle back and swallowed, Lex watched with a hungry grin. Whitney held out his hand for Lex's cigarette case, took two, and slid one under a suspender and lit the other from Lex's.

"So," Lex drawled. "What about Clark?"

Whitney looked at him and smirked, noticed how Lex blushed as he grabbed the bottle from him and asked again, "You know what I mean--what about him?"

"If you're asking what Clark is to me, Clark's not my--anything. We're pals, pals that fuck sometimes," he grinned, shaving the truth a bit. It never hurt to do so. He knew Lex had watched what went on that day at the lake. He'd made sure he got a good show, after all--he wondered if Lex was ever going to say anything about it. "I'm not that way."

"You're not that way?" Lex laughed. "You're queer, my friend, whatever you want to think about yourself--trust me--you're as big a fag as--I am," he laughed.

Whit shrugged, completely unconcerned with anyone's opinion of him. "I just do what I want." He looked at Lex. "Why aren't' you afraid of going to hell?" He asked curiously. There was a reason he saw a cloud surrounding Lex...could it be a fear of hell?

"Oh please, didn't your parents raise you better than that? You believe in a boogey man in the sky? Or a lake of fire down below?"

Whitney looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette, shrugged and nodded. He inhaled just to watch Lex's eyes when he sucked on the cigarette, exhaled on a laugh and said, "Yeah, surprise-- I do believe in God--I just don't think what I do is a sin. Why should it be?"

Lex stared "Because--because--Boy, don't you ever think of anyone but yourself?" and Whit smiled and shook his head.

"Anyway, it's all bunk-you've met my father, there's proof enough. The man's still walking and talking--if there was a God he'd have fried him a long time ago." Whit laughed, and Lex went on. "A miracle convinced me there was no God--I guess most would want to call it a miracle." He fell silent and stared over the lake, playing with the bottle he still held.

Whitney scooted across the car hood and sat behind Lex, a leg on either side of him and pulled him against him. He buried his face and fingers in Lex's hair. "Tell me about it."

Lex shook his head. "I don't talk about that."

Whitney grinned, and threaded his fingers into Lex's hair, just on the edge of roughness as he pulled them through and through the strands. "Tell me." He was mildly curious, but he mostly wanted to know how hard it would be to make Lex do something he didn't want to do. He nuzzled him and petted him and asked him again and again in quiet little whispers against Lex's neck, surprised at how hard he had to work to get him to agree and finally Lex sighed and spoke.

"When I was a child, I once wished for a miracle--wished and prayed until I thought I'd die from it--not for me, for my--for someone else. Because I thought their happiness was all that mattered. And it was granted, a miracle happened. And ironies of ironies, the person died shortly after, and if I hadn't asked for and been granted a miracle, my life might have been much different. So. It quickly became obvious to me that there is no God, there are no miracles, only funny coincidences." Lex leaned against Whitney and shut his eyes.

Whitney licked at the faded bruises on the back of Lex's neck and thought about what he'd just been told. Some thing happened to a little baby Alexander that twisted his life and it probably had to do with Pa--- there was much more to that story. And the source of that cloud, he'd bet. He'd find it all out plus a way to make that work for him. He kissed the side of Lex's neck. "We better get back; my folks are going to miss me soon." He grinned. "Course, I can always tell them I was getting lessons from the Preacher's son. Lesson's in bending to God's will--something like that."

Lex looked simultaneously horrified and amused and excited by Whitney. "You sure you believe in God?" he asked in awe.

"How could I not," he said. "He made me, didn't he?"

"You are the most monumentally conceited person I've ever met, and considering the circles I've traveled in--that's saying a lot."

Whit lay back on the hood of the car touched himself and smiled. "I've got a little bit more time...."

Chloe managed to talk Clark into joining the stage crew for what she told him was bound to be the most mediocre production of Romeo and Juliet ever, but he had to join her anyway as a show of support. It took a lot of convincing--browbeating--on Chloe's part to get Clark to even consider it. Pleas of too much homework and too many chores fell on deaf ears. She was cute, he thought but when she got a bug about something, look out.

"Clark, you've got plenty of time to spare after school--and if you don't, make some." Chloe slammed her locker shut with a look that said no arguments.

"But, but--you're the one in the play, you're the one who made a big deal out of joining the drama club and why do I have to get involved? I'm happy just, just doing nothing--me and Pete--"

"That's exactly it, Clark--`Me and Pete, me and Pete, that's all I hear! You need to meet people, boy. Someone besides Pete. He's a nice boy and all, but...well, it's not like you can go anywhere together--do stuff."

Clark frowned. He didn't need her to tell him what it was like. He knew darn well.

"It'll be good for you, Clark. You'll meet people. You need to meet people--you know, girl peoples?"

And now here he was, Clark Kent, stagehand--unpaid slave labor is what they really meant, he thought. He climbed up on the stage. It was early still and no one was around. Good.

Clark sighed. Girl peoples...weren't really on the top of his Hit Parade anymore. He still liked to look, and they were pretty, but when he thought about--other stuff, it was mostly Whitney he saw. Or Lex--really liked to think about Lex. Or Robert Taylor, or Errol Flynn and wasn't that embarrassing when he took Mom to the movies and they sighed over the same guys. Not God forbid that she knew--it was bad enough God knew. He was trying, he really was, it was just that when Whitney touched him, everything disappeared except that.

Clark shuddered and went around behind the curtain, looking for the tools he'd need. Kevin was behind the curtain also, looking a little lost. Clark waved him over, and he beamed. Clark liked to talk to Kevin about stuff as they worked. He knew a lot of things, about movies, and books and music.

People avoided Kevin. They didn't talk to him, they talked about him. They'd decided, on the basis of his appearance, how he talked, how he walked, that he wasn't like the rest of them. No body normal acted like that. He had to be a queer and queers were bad, and they were going to hell and they molested little kids and worse...whatever was worse.

No one wanted to be tainted by being seen with him, but Clark liked him--liked talking to him. He didn't care what people said, he was friendly to him--when they were working he talked to him. Kevin understood, like Chloe did, that Clark liked writing, that it was important to him, and Kevin read his stuff and agreed he had something worth sharing. He was good too, at helping him improve his stuff, and in such a nice way that Clark never minded. Kevin was a real good guy, and if everyone else didn't get it, that was too bad.

Even Chloe had talked to him about his friendship, gently hinting that it might not be the best thing for him, and he'd been hurt by that. More and more, he was coming to understand, from the way she was a little uncomfortable about his friendship with Pete, and the way she tried to warn him off Kevin, that Chloe wasn't as different as he thought she was from her country cousins. Sure, she wasn't as bad as most folks in town, she'd talk to both of the boys and she was civil....

He guessed it didn't matter that much where you were from--it was what you felt inside, how you looked at the world that made you different. Pete would always be his friend, no matter what, and Kevin was a good kid, no matter what everyone else thought.

"Clark, are you okay? You're really quiet today." Kevin asked and started to pat Clark on the back before stopping.

Clark smiled and lightly punched him on the arm. "I'm fine--just thinking big thoughts. Because I'm so smart."

Kevin laughed. Clark smiled and turned his thoughts to other things.

Sunday became a day that Clark looked forward to and dreaded in equal measure. The torture of sitting and watching Lex--catching his eye, getting little smiles that seemed to say something, but--little moves that seemed directed at him, made him hot under the collar and squirm in his seat...Lex licking his lips was enough to make him swell, and he'd have to sit with his hymnal in his lap....

Mom nudged him and he realized he'd been sitting staring into nothing while the congregation was on their feet singing. He leaped to his feet and he was pretty sure Lex grinned at him--oh gosh.

After the service, Mom and Dad decided to go into town for lunch. Clark was excited-- they hardly ever did that because it was so expensive but every once in a while--when things were on track and they had a bit of extra money, they'd all go to lunch or to a movie and dinner. Those were the best days for the family.

They sat in a booth the drugstore and ordered the full lunch- a black and white shake for him, sparkling green rivers for Mom and Dad and baskets of burgers and fries with lots of ketchup, just the way Clark liked it. Clark couldn't believe that they were being so extravagant--it felt like a special occasion instead of a normal Sunday afternoon. They laughed and chatted, Mom was glad to get a little break, and Dad was in a real good mood. He was talking about the Benny show, and how funny it was, and Mom listened patiently with a bright smile as he retold the entire program like they weren't all there listening, but it was okay--Dad was laughing and trying to do the voices and Clark laughed right along with him and felt happy, because his dad was happy.

They were just finishing off a split shared between the three of them, and Clark worked hard not to eat more than his share. When he heard the jingle of the bell at the front doors, he glanced up and caught sight of a mop of flame red. His heart leaped and before he could stop himself, he'd shouted out "Lex!" and right away wished for death. Why didn't he just get up and tap dance down the aisle too?

His parents looked at him in surprise--Clark never yelled in public, and on top of that--he'd just called Reverend Alexander Lex like they played in the sandbox together--his parents were still staring at him when Lex turned around to look.

"Oh, hey! Clark, Mr. and Mrs. Kent! Good to see you all." Lex did look genuinely glad to see them, and Clark grinned and was glad he was still red from before.

Mom's eyes shone, "Oh Clark, invite Mr. Alexander to join us, why don't you"--Dad nodded, with a smile.

Clark went over and asked would he care to join them and he did. "I'm just having coffee, but I'm glad not to sit alone."

The sat and chatted a bit and then Dad said Mom and he were going to the feed store and the Five and Dime, was he going and Clark glanced at Lex and said he thought he'd sit a while with him.

After Clark's parents left, Lex smiled and asked if he could treat Clark to a piece of pie, and Clark of course said he'd be delighted and thank you very much, and that's how they ended up sitting in the booth for another half hour.

Clark was glad of the opportunity to sit with Lex. Lex, so beautiful--so handsome--He squirmed in his seat--geez, he was getting a little hard just looking at him.

Lex watched him squirm and turn red, as he shoveled forkfuls of pie into his mouth at an alarming rate, but never taking his eyes from his. Lex thought, * what the hell-- in for a penny--*

"Clark, if you keep looking at me like that, I won't be able to get up." He whispered.

Clark choked and gasped as he tried to swallow the bite of pie--"Lex!"

"Was I wrong--sorry--?"

"No--no--Lex...I'm sorry." Clark whispered back, but hell no he wasn't-- he felt like--singing, jumping, running around like crazy, whooping and -he could feel the huge stupid grin on his face and his ears were so hot--"I didn't know I was staring that hard."

"Well, how about we stop whispering to each other before other people start staring too. Would you like to go somewhere were we can talk?"

Clark nodded. "Oh, yes! But I have to finish my pie first, and--and-- maybe have more--I can't stand right now. Either." He looked down and grinned.

Lex laughed. "Clark! Either I should be very flattered, or you really like this pie," he said quietly. He glanced quickly around to make sure no one had noticed anything out of the ordinary and smiled at Clark.

Outside on the street, Clark told Lex he'd meet him by the Talon after he found his folks.

"They're probably still in the Five and Dime," Clark said, jerking his chin towards the green and white awning hanging over the window of the store next to the soda fountain.

"Good enough, Clark, I'll be parked in front of the theater. Oh--," he handed Clark a quarter, "Pick me up some gum? Wintergreen, it doesn't matter which brand," he frowned briefly and then smiled at Clark. "Get something for yourself, too."

He left Clark and thought to himself, `this is great--I can pick a kid up in broad daylight under everyone's noses and it's okay, because I'm the Reverend Luthor junior.' He laughed. It was an awesome power; he'd have to be careful not to abuse it. His amusement drained completely away and he shuddered--that sounded too much like his father...he shouldn't joke like that, there was nothing funny about that at all. He drove up to the Talon and parked, tried to restore his good mood.

Clark was practically vibrating with excitement when he caught up again with Lex. He was so thrilled he had no room for guilt or fear. His dream was going to come true--he was going to be with Lex, nothing could be better than that. Lex grinned at him, and he looked as happy as Clark felt. Good. He wanted to tell Lex to drive out to the lake, but Lex seemed to have plans of his own. They drove on and on, past fields of corn that seemed endless, and it was beautiful to see the waves of green flanking the road. Though he'd been just a little fellow, Clark still remembered when the fields were brown and dry--even Smallville hadn't been completely spared those horrible years. But now, the fresh green spears swelled like jade oceans in the wind, and sunflowers edged the fields, and made Clark smile. It was all so magical--so fresh, just like he felt--happy to be alive, bursting with a world of wonderful possibilities.

Lex pulled the roadster into a dirt track between the acres of green and parked. He turned and looked at Clark.

They grinned at each other and Lex just waited--if there was anything that happened, it was going to be Clark's call, not his. And Clark seemed to read his mind and turned to Lex, hooking a couple of fingers in his collar and pulling him close. "Kiss me?"

Lex pressed his lips to Clark's and felt how warm and soft they were. Just like he'd imagined, soft and god--they felt like velvet against his own. He was too aware of the deep scar on his lip and hoped it wouldn't feel weird to Clark--who was licking it now, slow long licks that curled over and under his lip and he had no idea that it could feel like that...

He pushed Clark to his back against the seat and yanked the buttons of his fly open. Clark was hard, his cock slipped out of the slit in his boxers and Lex swallowed him whole.

Clark was surprised at how quickly things went from a kiss to--this, he thought. What happened? Lex sucked him ferociously, almost jamming him into his throat and Clark didn't think it could ever be possible that Lex--blowing him-- wouldn't knock him over the moon but this was not the way he thought it would happen, it didn't even feel like Lex was really with him in the car. He put his hand on Lex's head to get him to slow down, but he made a strange noise when he touched him and became even more aggressive--more frantic. Clark snatched his hand away, and pushed Lex. Lex stopped instantly.

"What, what did I do wrong?"

Clark just shook his head, and Lex got upset. "What's wrong? What did I do? Tell me, damn it, don't make me guess!"

"Just--just...maybe you could slow down some? A little?" Clark asked tentatively. He had some sense he needed to be careful with Lex, he just wasn't sure how, or what to do.

Lex flung himself against the car door, jamming his hands under his arms and frowning. His face was red, his eyes were red. "Whitney liked it like that," he snapped.

Clark felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He gaped at Lex and then--he was furious, enraged, his hands shook, his head felt like it was going to explode and his eyes--there was a snap and a sizzling sound and a smell of burning hair and hot metal.

Clark gasped and slammed his eyes shut. "Shit!"

"Shit!" echoed Lex, who was slapping at the side of his head. What the hell happened-- Lex's hair was singed, a tree beyond the open car window smoked from a small, still glowing hole in it's trunk and Clark shook with fear. Lex reached out and snatched Clark's hand. "Clark what--oh!"

A series of violently quaking images flashed one after the other through his mind--thick velvety darkness, then blazing bright light--a feeling of being weak, a feeling of fabulous strength, a quick image of a rabbit broken and bloody-- horrible, horrible sorrow and terrible fear--my parents are afraid of me!--a wail in the darkness and numbness and caution-- tear, tears--careful love--so ungodly careful--space ship--not human!alone--

Lex gasped at Clark, "You're not human!"

Clark cried out and ripped his hand from Lex's grasp and -disappeared.

Lex yelled and cradled his hand--blisters formed along the palm and on the pads of his fingers, one or two spots were raw, like rope burn he thought, and he watched the blisters smooth out and disappear from his flesh.

Lex shook from excitement, from amazement and an over whelming sense of--joy. He's like me--he's better than me!

He sank back against the seat, closed his eyes and kissed his healed fingertips. He's wonderful. Wonderful. He's mine and he's wonderful and--I love him so much. And Whitney--is he the same? Lex shook his head, No, I can't read him--not at all, that means something about Whitney is different. Different than Clark. Clark! He thinks--he must be terrified, I have to fix this, make him understand--I have to tell him everything....

His parents were downstairs, listening to some crap on the radio--some music program--Your Shit Parade or something--he didn't like listening to the radio--if he got bored he read a book, or played with people. Why listen to canned music on the radio when you could hear it live? And not that sweet stuff his parents listened to--real swing stuff, that's what he liked. When he felt like it, he went to the roadhouse outside of town, or went to the nigger--Negro juke-joint on the other side of town. Damn it! Clark was taking over his mind. He was making him think about -everything. Things he'd taken for granted his whole life. It wasn't comfortable. It was confusing and irritating, and it gave him a headache.

He had to agree with Clark though--the more he thought about it, the less sense all this bullshit made. Folks weren't really all that different--all pussy was pink after all, all dick worked the same. And there was a lot of stuff people said about that that wasn't true--most of it wasn't. Fuck, if that wasn't true why should anything else be? He'd been to Pete's house a couple of times, even been inside, and it was cleaner than this house. They were nice to him too. Maybe--probably just because he was Clark's friend--but still.

Whitney scrubbed his hand over his head and sighed. Since when did it matter to him what niggers thought about him? Since Clark--damn him. He's bugging my life!

Whitney wasn't used to caring about other people or what they thought. It was weird -unnatural. He didn't have to please anyone--they wanted to please him. That was the way it was supposed to be. And he got what he wanted, when he wanted it. No one could tell him no. That was the beauty of it--no one could.

It had been so different when he was a baby boy...he might as well have been invisible then. No one saw him or cared about him, least of all his parents. They were vaguely kind, but his father spent all his time at the store and his mother spent all her time doing charity work or whatever it was women with pretensions of being more than middle class did. They had a nanny who took care of him. She might not have been the most loving person, but she kept him fed and clean and patched up when he needed it.

The nanny died when a meteorite caved her head in and after that, people finally started to pay attention to Whitney. They began to really hear him, really see him and whatever he wanted, he got. Sometimes he had to work at it, and sometimes he got it right away.

God worked in mysterious ways certainly. His parents behaved themselves; he did what he wanted and they did what he wanted. It was good--in fact, great. And then one day, he noticed Clark Kent--and everything turned upside down.

Clark-- what a surprise he turned out to be. He didn't have to work at all to get Clark to do what he wanted-- he wanted to do it. Clark was such a homo--he loved all of it. It made him kind of cute.

He was cute... nice to look at, all that black hair, he liked following the line of hair down his belly to his cock, he liked the way Clark's eyes shot open each time like it was a surprise....

Whit rolled flat and slipped a hand into his boxers, stroked idly--thinking about Clark, thinking about Lex...both of them, together...how hard would it be to make that happen? ...I just need to give them a little nudge. Clark might be harder to convince that way--that bible thumping did effect him in a lot of ways, but. Whitney grinned. Clark--loved that boy-- What a picture though, the three of them--Whitney shivered and gripped harder--yeah, maybe Clark in him, him sucking Lex...or Lex fucking him while he sucked up every bit of Clark and his beautiful cock and--and--god he loved Clark---oh--oh--god!

Whitney rode out the waves of a truly satisfying solo orgasm as his words bounced around inside his skull--Well fuck.

Whitney started thinking about other people. He wanted to understand other people. At least, the people that impacted his life. Clark loved Lex, and he loved Clark and he liked Lex a lot, so--he watched Lex. He tried to see what it was that drove him, what kept him in the center of that dark cloud. He began feeling Lex might need a hand.

Whitney took to watching Lionel also, wondering if his speculations were true.

He turned up at the radio station when they were both there--he showed at church, making his mother happy, he showed up at the drug store, at the diner, and he watched. He saw Lex wince when his dad pat him, he saw how hot Lionel's eyes got sometime when he watched Lex preach. Yeah--he was on fire for something...

Whitney figured it was time to step in. Lex could probably use the break, but mostly, he told himself, there was something to be gained here.

The afternoon sun beat hard on the street outside and Whitney sat gratefully in the relative coolness of the drug store and leaned against the soda fountain counter. He swung his stool idly and crunched on the ice in his glass, sipping the watery pop left in it. When the fan swept his way, he leaned into the breeze, eyes closed. The soda jerk asked him if he wanted another pop, and Whit smiled to himself. He shook his head and ignored him.

Yeah, the poor kid had hardly known what hit him; one minute they'd been yakking it up, the next--on the floor in the storeroom. The kid had been good, but not that good. Still. Whitney smirked, remembering the kid shaking in his lap and screaming his brains out.

Now he spent all his time trying to get Whitney to do him again and probably driving his girl friend nuts. Whit grinned. No one could say no to him. No one.

And look here, just what the doctor ordered.

Lionel was walking up the street in that damn Lord of The Manor way he had. Ass. Time to throw out a line, see if it caught. He stared out through the glass doors of the drug store, could see Lionel snaking his way through the cars parked at the curb outside. His hat was off, and he was patting his forehead with a large white handkerchief and he had a big silver topped cane in the other. Whitney snickered, as far as he knew there was no reason for him to carry the cane--it was just another in a long list of affectations Lionel had. What a mook.

He thought, "You need to come in here, get cool."

It didn't take long--Lionel was walking into the drug store, headed for the fountain and Whit smiled. Always easier to nudge them along in the direction they wanted to be nudged, even if they didn't know it. He cut his eyes at the kid behind the counter, and grinned, watched him blush. Sometimes all they needed was a little push.

Lionel looked at him immediately upon sitting down. That slow crawl of eyes over him, he knew the look from plenty of people and almost always ignored it. But this time...he smiled at the man.

A float and two hamburgers later, Whitney was sitting in Lionel's fine car, sailing down the open road. The roadsides were really beautiful this time of year, flowers in bloom blurred past the window as Lionel opened up the car--to show Whit what it could do.

They pulled up to the house, a cheerful place with yellow shutters and lots of pretty flowers in the beds on either side of it. Whitney smiled, he enjoyed flowers. Their yard man did a good job, he thought.

Lionel stopped and asked him if he would like some ice tea or lemonade. Whitney grinned and asked for a beer. And did Lionel mind if he smoked? --Of course not... No one was home, no one about and Whitney went with Lionel to a room he called the study where Lionel had a glass of something amber. He pulled the drapes and sat in a big leather chair.

"Sit," he gestured to Whitney and he sat in a facing chair. "So--what is this about?" he asked. "Young men aren't normally interested in the company of old men. Why don't you explain what's on your mind?"

"Well," Whitney drawled and bounced his leg. "I'd like you to stop fucking Lex. He doesn't like it. Me, on the other hand--I don't mind and I like your watch a whole lot."

Lionel was speechless--he stared at Whitney open mouthed and slightly frightened.

"Oh don't carry on like that; did you think no one would notice? All you have to do is stop and really pay attention. Lucky for you, most folks don't. But me--it's what I do."

Lionel was on his feet, hands in fists, fury and full-blown fear warring on his face. He stepped towards Whitney, expecting him to fold, like Alexander always did.

Whitney shrugged "You don't really want to hit me do you? See, we can have fun with this--I don't mind keeping it to myself if you do as I say. Leave Lex alone," Whitney stood, stretched and was in front of Lionel. "Tell you what...I think I'll blow you, and then you can show me how you liked it." He slid a finger under the watchband, and tugged, grinned at the greedy expression on Lionel's face. This was going to be a whole lot of fun.

An hour later Whitney strolled out of the house down the porch steps and out to the road. He passed Lex driving home along the way and gave him a cheery wave, the sun glinting off his brand new watch. It only took a tiny push for Lionel to realize how much he wanted to get fucked. Whit had to admit, it had been fun, slapping him around had been almost as much fun. He ignored the little pinch he felt in his gut.

Whit sauntered down the road; hand in his pocket and a cigarette hanging off his lip. He'd never whipped anyone before, not in any kind of way, never had to-- but when he'd grabbed that rod the crazy old bastard handed him, he'd felt a shiver go up his arm and he knew--Lex got hit with that thing. It just seemed right after that, the creep.

He inhaled and blew smoke out hard. So. That was easy enough--no big deal. And a nice watch...Whitney whistled a bit, thinking about that car of Lionel's. He flipped the cigarette into the dirt on the side of the road, and caught sight of a slight figure ahead of him.

Well, well, what's this? Kevin -Clark's little friend. He scowled slightly, thinking of Clark and his `friend' He's all by himself. I'll have to fix that.

He talked Kevin into an ice cream with him, talking about Clark and school and alternating flattering and flirting with him until Kevin seemed almost stunned by the force of his personality. Whit smirked as the kid behind the counter tried to talk to his girlfriend and keep an eye on Whitney. Judging by the look on the skirt's face, she wasn't getting what she wanted. Whit swiveled his stool so it faced Kevin and slid his foot against his, leaned over and cupped his hand around his ear, as if he were going to whisper something, and stuck his tongue in, a little, just a hint. Kevin froze and paled--and Soda Jerk nearly exploded. He stormed off, leaving his girl spluttering like a landed fish. Whit put his hand on Kevin's shoulder and coaxed him out of his seat, "Come on," he said

Kevin blinked as he rose up slowly from his stool, open mouthed, looking a little confused. "Yes, okay--the bill? What about...?

"You're kidding, right?" Whit grinned and almost pulled Kevin outside.

He had him pressed against the wall in the alley behind the drugstore and the Five and Dime, his hand in his fly and pumping him slowly, watching his face turn redder and redder and his breath get sharper and sharper. He was groaning loudly now and Whit felt himself getting hard watching him. He asked, " Ever done this before?" and when Kevin nodded yes, felt a little cheated but what the hey--can't win every time The crystal watch face glinted with each movement of his hand, and he got absorbed in it, so much so that Kevin coming was almost a surprise.

He pushed him to his knees and told him, "my turn", and Kevin took his cock in his mouth. Whitney pumped in and out, nearly there when the door to the Five and Dime opened and someone stood there, "Hey--hey! What the hell--you perverts!"

Whit jumped back and cursed, he'd been enjoying that, damn it. Kevin looked like he was going to have a heart attack and no way he was going to finish him now. Whit calmly tucked himself back in, and locked eyes with the guy, the manager of the store.

"You got a problem, Mr?" he asked mildly, and pushed as hard as he could--the guy's forehead wrinkled. He knew he'd seen something very wrong, something he thought was bad but he couldn't make the words come to his lips, in fact he had no idea what had upset him--. He looked at the kid kneeling on the street.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked and Whit said, "He tripped", and lifted Kevin to his feet.

"Come on, let's go."

The guy was staring at them so hard, and Kevin was crying and Whitney really wanted to slap him- but he offered to walk him home. Kevin looked at him in horror and shook his head frantically--Whitney shrugged and let him go, watched him run off. Oh well, he thought,it's time for me to hit sack anyway. Kevin and the store manager forgotten, he headed home.

Later that evening, while Whitney slept, and Clark did his homework, and the store manager alone sat at his kitchen table and worried that he'd lost his whole evening, Kevin sat at his desk and tried to explain in a letter to his parents why he was giving up.

The church was packed with members and people who knew the boy, teachers from school, a counselor, the music teacher and some students there to show respect. Clark almost growled. If they'd shown some respect when he was alive....

Two elderly ladies that Kevin had helped out and been friends with were also there, weeping openly. It seemed to Clark they were taking Kevin's death harder then Kevin's own parents. His father stood dry-eyed, stiff as a soldier and his mother sat hunched in the pew, head down and a handkerchief pressed tight to her face. The service danced around his suicide, danced around his sexuality. No one actually came out and said he deserved to die, but Clark felt it simmering under the words of the people around him. He could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. They'd wait until they got behind closed doors and then tear Kevin into shreds.

Memories of his friend filled his mind. He saw Kevin laughing at something he'd written; saw him walking down the hall at school with his head down trying to avoid eyes. He saw Kevin sitting alone in a booth at the soda fountain. He saw Kevin watching the basketball team practice, longing in his eyes, meeting Clark's eyes and--smiling, finally having found a friend.

How did he not see this coming? What happened? Was it his fault-- being so wrapped up in his own problems the last few days that he locked out Kevin? His eyes swept the church looking for Lex and he felt a ghost of relief he wasn't there, relief that turned to hurt. He sighed deeply, that familiar ache growing bigger and more painful all tangled and caught up in his sorrow for Kevin, and the guilt he felt.

A tear fell to the dark wood of the pew, rolling on its heavily waxed surface. He watched it flow along the round edge and drop to the worn wood floor, sinking in instantly. Gone.

He shuddered, and Chloe made a tiny noise, reminding him she stood at his side. She reached over and squeezed his hand. Dad looked over and frowned a little and patted his arm and Clark felt comforted not at all.

A chill breeze blew through the trees, and Chloe pulled her wool jacket a little closer about her, shivered as she pulled her hat down lower and stepped closer to Clark.

He looked at Kevin's parents standing by the open grave. They watched the coffin being lowered, a few words were spoken and - that was it. A life was tidily put away--soon to be forgotten by most, a life erased and dust blown over the footsteps. Only a modest granite marker, still to come, would mark the passage of his time on earth.

Kevin Taylor, a very short, unhappy life.

His parents walked swiftly away from the gravesite, leaving the tiny group without acknowledging their presence at all. These were not people his parents knew, they were people Kevin knew, and suspect because of it.

The old ladies were there at the grave side also, leaning heavily into each other, patting at their eyes with embroidered hankies and when Clark and Chloe passed them, they stopped them to tell them what a good boy Kevin was, how kind, how helpful, so selfless--wasn't it awful to lose someone so lovely? They'd miss him. Clark nodded and agreed and made a mental note to check on them from time to time. He owed Kevin that.

The two friends walked slowly along the road leading back to town. It was crisp enough to make Chloe's cheeks and nose pink, and Clark stopped her to button up her jacket. She rolled her eyes and tapped her foot impatiently.

"You know, I can button my jacket myself--I'm not a helpless princess. And speaking of princess, guess who's fighting all the time? Yep. Your friends and mine, the King and Queen of Smallville High. The perfect couple."

"You mean Whit--Lana...?"

She pointed at him. "Wow, give the man a cigar! Yes, Whitney and Lana, I hear they fight and argue all the time--sounds like one of them's getting ready to ankle, Clark."

She nudged him in the ribs. "Looks like it's time for you to swoop in and woo fair damsel, buddy-boy." She winked. "I think Whit's finally fumbled. He even tried to sweet talk me, can you believe it?" Chloe turned a little pinker and Clark wondered how successful Whitney was.

"And speaking of Whitney," she continued, "did you know he'd been mentioned in the suicide note?"

"What note? Kevin left a note and you're just telling me now?" Clark yelled at Chloe and she shrank back.

"I--I m sorry--I didn't think--well, of course you were friends with him..." She looked frightened and Clark immediately felt guilty for losing his temper with her. "I meant to tell you, but I--I forgot, sorry."

"Why do you know about it?" Clark asked and tried to control his irritation.

"Agnes--she's in my Latin class--her brother works at the funeral home--They found the note in his pocket."

Clark grabbed Chloe by her arm, hard. "What did it say, Chloe?"

"Ow--he said--he just apologized to his parents and to you and to Whitney--Clark let go of my arm!"

"What--Whitney? Why?" Clark was startled.

Chloe stared at him--"I don't know, didn't you know they were friends?"

"Not as far as I knew." Clark said thoughtfully. "He never said...Kevin I mean..."

Chloe said, "I thought Kevin told you everything." She looked at him thoughtfully as she rubbed her arm, a measuring look in her eyes.

"So did I." Clark mused.

He took his leave of Chloe as quickly as was polite, and trotted back out to the grave yard. He found a quiet spot and closed his eyes. He blocked out the sound of birds overhead, the sound of the breeze tossing leaves around, the sound of his breath in his chest, blocked out the sound of his own heart and concentrated on a sound become familiar and precious to him. Whitney's heartbeat--fast, erratic...he sped towards it, and it changed as he listened and he heard--crying? Was Whitney crying? Not possible--

The sound led him towards the lake, and he knew he'd find him at the dock. Clark stopped a short distance from where Whitney sat and walked the rest of the way, as much to try and figure out what to say to the boy as to look--normal.

Some sound, something had tipped him off to Clark's arrival, Whitney was just too casual when he approached. He was leaning against a tree, hands behind his head and eyes closed. He looked up at Clark and Clark saw his face was dry, but his eyes were red and a little swollen. He grinned up at Clark. "Where have you been lately? And what are you dressed up for?"

Clark dropped down into the dirt next to him, heedless of his Sunday suit. "Don't fuck around with me. Whitney. What did you do to Kevin?"

For a moment Whitney was stunned speechless--and then his face darkened. "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't do anything to Kevin." He scrambled to his feet and tried to walk away from Clark, but everywhere he turned, Clark was there, and Clark was furious.

"Stop lying to me! What did you do to Kevin? Why did he apologize to you?" he reached out to grab Whitney's shoulder, but dropped his hand to hold his wrist in a loose grip instead. "He left a note. He apologized to me, and to you in the note. Why did he do that, Whit?"

"He did what?" Whitney shook. When he spoke, it was more to himself then Clark. "He---He did what he wanted to--I just...he did what he wanted." He tried to pull away from Clark, but Clark wouldn't let go.

"Whitney, I love you but you're a selfish bastard and in serious need of--of Jesus. Or a conscience or at least a fucking sense of responsibility!" He let go of Whitney then, he was so angry at that point he was shouting, and he didn't trust himself to hold onto him. "Look what you've done!"

Whitney paled a bit and backed away from Clark. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Now you need to leave me alone, okay? Go away, please."

He looked flustered when Clark didn't back down, and Clark folded his arms and sighed heavily. Whitney..."You do something to people; I can feel it. Yes, I know." He said to Whitney's panicked look, "I don't think you mean to hurt them, but somehow you do something to people. And what ever it is you do, you did to Kevin."

"I didn't do anything! Don't blame me if he was stupid enough to kill himself!" Whitney yelled as tears ran down his face.

"God, Whit! Don't say that! If I thought you meant it...I care about you--I care a lot, but what you do...you have to know it's wrong. Is that what you did to Lex--Lana..." Clark shook his head. "You can't run someone's life. You can't take free will from them. The people you play with are real--they hurt, you know. You hurt people and walk away like it was no big deal." Whitney flinched at Clark's words. "And you know what, you hurt me. Learn to think about something else besides yourself--"

"I am! " Whitney yelled. "I'm trying to help. You just don't--" He stopped and stared at Clark, his mouth in a tight line, his eyes blazing. "I am trying to help. You`ll see."

"Don't do this anymore Whitney--I'm...I'm going to go now. I need some time to-- to try and forgive you for what you did. And Whitney, you need to ask for forgiveness." Clark wasn't sure anymore if he meant for Kevin or Lex or himself. He walked away, leaving Whitney by himself on the shore of the lake.

Whitney yelled after Clark, "You think I don't know--What the fuck do you think I've been doing! Fuck you Clark!" He dropped back to the ground and wrapped his arms over his head. "Fuck you Clark," he whispered. "Fuck you." He rocked back and forth on the ground, words pouring out through his clenched teeth. "I know you hear me, you know I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I swear to God, I'm so sorry..."

Clark felt hollow and sick, just...empty inside. He needed to talk to someone--someone who understood what it meant to be other, to look over the fence across that big gulf between you and the rest of the world, he thought.

He stood on the roadside and looked over the rickety fence that ran around the patch of land that was the Ross's. Chickens scratched in the neatly swept front yard, dogs raced out to the fence barking madly at Clark. They recognized him, but it was their duty to bark, friend or foe. The early fall sunlight made everything seem crystal clear, he could see every patch of mismatched paint on the rough board walls of the little wooden house, he saw two of the window panes patched with cardboard, and that the front door had no handle, and one of the wood panels was split and gapped. A cat slithered out from under the porch, just stacked cinder blocks topped with a wooden platform, but morning glory curled around the simple wooden rails and there were pots of flowers sitting on it and on the ground near it--people who lived in that house cared. It showed in the neatly kept garden, the broom swept dirt yard. There was an outhouse, and it was covered with roses, there was a stall for the cow, and it was clean, and painted, there was a tire swing and the ground around it was clear of stones and as neatly swept as the yard.

People cared in that house, just like they cared in his.

Someone came out to the front porch, Clark could hear the dry wood creak and he looked up.

"Mr. Clark, what are you doing standing out there? Come on over here," Bill Ross called from the porch.

Clark trotted up. How are you, Mr. Bill?"

"Fine Clark, just fine--you were at the funeral this morning? That young boy? I was sorry to hear that, "he said sadly.

Clark nodded, still to upset to speak about it. "Thank you--is Pete home yet?"

"Yes, he's in the back working on that truck of mine--see if we can't get a bit of life out of it yet," he smiled.

Clark smiled back and waved as he trotted around the side of the house.

Pete was scowling at a dilapidated truck, so old that it was a miracle it lasted as long as it had. His head snapped up and for a second he looked closed off and wary. "Oh, Clark! No wonder them fool dogs aren't back here barking their asses off." He smiled and it transformed his face, once again Clark admired how handsome he was and he couldn't help but smile back at Pete.

He wiped his hand with a greasy rag and held it out to Clark, "Sorry about your friend there, Clark. I heard he ...died."

Clark shook hands with Pete. "Do you have some time to talk Pete, I--I'm feeling kind of low right now."

Pete nodded, "Sure." They jumped up on the back of the truck and sat quietly until Clark managed to work up the nerve to talk. Pete sat in comfortable silence, kicking his feet and waiting for Clark to speak.

"Pete--what did you know about Kevin?"

"Nothing really Clark, ya'll go your way and we go ours, you know..." Pete shrugged.

Clark did know and it made him sad. "Pete, do you think we'll be friends forever?"

Pete looked a little leery. "Well, yeah, I guess so--much as we can."

"Do you ever wish it were different?" Clark asked and looked at Pete.

Pete jerked his eyes towards Clark--"what do you mean? Why you asking that? We're just fine, we got no problems." Pete looked almost angry; a look Clark really couldn't recall seeing on Pete's face before.

"I mean--I meant..." He took a deep breath, "You know about Kevin though, you know he was...he was a homosexual, you know that right?"

Pete looked at Clark uncertainly, "Yeah, that kind of thing gets around, I mean, was he really?"

Clark nodded, "Yeah, he was. He wasn't the only one." Pete's forehead wrinkled and suddenly he held up his hand, "un-unh--" he started.

Clark blurted out, "I am too."

Pete dropped his hand and stared at Clark. He shook his head. "Don't say that. I don't want to hear that."

"Pete," Clark started, and Pete jumped off the truck. He shook his head again. "Clark, the Bible warns us about those things-- those things are things of the devil--they're of evil."

Clark stood also, feeling his heart break. "But, but you must know how it feels--"

"I don't know nothin' of the sort--all I know is, I'm getting the fuck from out here--and so are you. You should go now, Clark, you talk to your pastor, maybe he can help you see the evil, maybe he can bring you back to Jesus. Go on now Clark--go home." Pete backed away, hesitated, "You know I'm still your friend, Bible says hate the sin, not the sinner..."

"Yeah, thanks Pete," Clark laughed bitterly, "Thanks for your friendship. Thanks for hating the sin but not me--oh by the way Pete, just so you know, the sin--it's a part of me-- like breathing, like the color of your skin. It just is me." He shrugged and walked away. It wasn't until he couldn't hear the dogs barking anymore that he let the tears fall. It hurt so much he felt it like a ball of nails in his throat. Was this growing up--this awful pain? That's what they say, put away childish things--and he was leaving everything of childhood behind, because he'd just lost the best piece of his childhood...Pete.

Clark found himself standing at the church doors, no idea why he was there again. He opened the door, and quietly stepped inside. He stood just inside the doors with his eyes closed, trying not to call out for Lex. He walked to the last row of pews, his footsteps echoing strangely in the total silence. The pew creaked loudly, the old wood settling dryly with his weight. He hung his head and waited for--what, he wasn't sure. Enlightenment? A sign from above?

When he was little, he wanted to do everything right. The world was evenly divided into good things--here and bad things-- there. It was so easy to believe, proof was all around him, in the sun that warmed him, in the grass that tickled him, in the bugs that amazed him, even in the creamy taste of his oatmeal...it was so good because God made it good.

And then...you start getting older, and thinking more and...things happen to you and people happen to you...and before you know it, you're all alone in your mind and there's an ach in the middle of you--a tear rolled down Clark's cheek and he slapped it away. He'd cried enough this day...he felt almost envious of Kevin. He'd never have to deal with any of this again. He was sleeping peacefully and would never ever have this heart break again.

A creak of the floorboards snapped him back to himself, and a smell of roses and wax and old paper filled his nose and his skin suddenly felt too sensitive.

"Clark?" A tentative touch on his shoulder made him collapse. He slumped against the back of the pew in front of him. "Lex, Lex..." he whispered against the backs of his hands.

Lex slid next to him. "Clark--I'm sorry, so sorry I wasn't here, I didn't think you'd want to see me after the way I behaved."

Clark pressed his eyes tightly shut "No, I didn't want to see you--because you know what I am. Lex, I'm a freak, a monster--I should be dead, not Kevin."

Lex's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Don't say that! Just knowing the miracle of you--it's my lifeline Clark. Please don't say things like that. I need you." His voice was so intense; it almost vibrated in the air. Clark looked at Lex, startled speechless. "You--"

"We have a connection--destiny--a...something...from the minute we met. Don't act surprised, you know it too. I love you. And Whitney..." He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it up off his forehead. "God. Look--we're stuck with him." Clark snorted and Lex grinned a little.

"You know that too. You love him--I can see it. He loves you and he and I kind of--I don't know what you'd call it. But I guess he's ours. He shook his head. "Jesus. We'll find a way to make it work--he'll make it work."

Clark grinned and quickly covered his mouth, looking at Lex in shock only slightly exaggerated. "Lex--out of everything that's wrong here, that kind of takes the cake you know--and we're talking about it in here,"he whispered. "It's very wrong." He glanced around the room and looked at Lex from under his eyelashes.

Lex blushed. Did the boy have any idea what he looked like when he did that? He felt even warmer imagining that expression on his face when he was holding him. "I had no idea you could even think like that, let alone joke about it." His hand slid over the seat to rest against Clark's leg. He felt loose and so--light, as if any minute he was going to float away. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the heat radiating from Clark's leg, the image of Clark in his arms, moving against him, made his heart beat faster.

"Yeah well, things change." Even though Clark spoke the words with a little smile, his eyes were dark, and his words a held a sharp edge of bitterness. Lex felt something in Clark was gone forever and he felt a twinge of regret for that loss. There was pain in his eyes that hadn't been before, he thought maybe it was the pain of Kevin's death. He considered touching him to read him, but he'd forced it on him once--he couldn't do it again. Better to wait for Clark to talk to him.

Clark wanted to speak, he just didn't know how to begin. He felt some regret at how things had turned out. He didn't like to think that Whitney knew how special Lex was and he still didn't...and it was just something he'd have to get over. God knew the boy wasn't thinking about it anymore. I bet Whit's probably going along his merry way right this moment--whistling while he worked, like one of those cartoon dwarves, fat little bluebirds flying around his head, and handsome princes begging him to fu--dang!

Clark glanced at Lex and hoped he couldn't see what was going on in his mind at the moment. Lex seemed to take it as a request to explain himself. He sighed and said, "I'm sorry Clark, if I'd thought there was any possibility that you felt the same about me I'd never have done anything with Whitney...you know--I had you on a pedestal because you're so good and so very kind...I guess I thought of you as some kind of angel, sort of -untouchable and pure and--and then Whitney was there and I was feeling weak and alone and--and frankly Clark, Whitney is a--an unstoppable force of nature."

"I know--he's like a tornado. He just sweeps in and turns everything you ever knew upside down and twists you around and makes you think it's a great idea. There should be Whit shelters--soon as you see him, just run!"

They grinned at each other and Lex just waited--if anything that happened, it was going to be Clark's decision, not his. And once again, Clark read his mind and pulled Lex closer, he leaned his head against Lex's, gently pulling the long strands of red away from his forehead. Lex's eyes closed, and then he opened them again and smiled into Clark's eyes. Clark inhaled the scent that rose from Lex's skin, and Lex pressed closer, until Clark's lips were pressed against his neck.

"Lex--we're in church."

"I know." he said, and kissed Clark.

It was just what Clark wanted--slow, gentle, tasting--like discovering a new country. Lex's hand moved and Clark tensed a little but he just wrapped it around the nape of Clark's neck to bring him closer. He broke the kiss and whispered in his ear, "I want you. So much."

Clark nodded, "I want you too. So much," he echoed and pressed Lex's hand against his cock. "Feel what you do to me," he pressed his hand against Lex, kneading him lightly.

"Kiss me more please?" And Lex kissed him, and tasted him, his skin, his mouth, his neck and Clark rode the wave of heat and sensation welling up in him. Before Lex could stop him, Clark was on his knees on the dusty wooden floor, he had Lex's pants open and his face against the fine silk briefs he wore, breathing in open mouthed against them, adding to the heat his own, feeling the damp spot over the tip of Lex's straining cock with his lips, tasting silk and the salty tang of precome... "Lex. Lex." he breathed, and Lex's cock flexed against him. He mouthed it through the wet silk; licking and biting gently down, making Lex rise on the pew, the wood cracking with the shift in his weight, the sound making Clark jump. He pulled air in through his nose and groaned--the smell of wooden floors with decades of dust ground into them, the faint scent of burnt wax, laced with the ghosts of ancient perfume and hair tonic and mint and the ink of hand printed programs--god!--the smell of church-- now forever over laid with the smell of Lex's cologne: new roses and leather, with the smell of wet silk and the smell of Lex's sweat wet skin, the scent of the curls brushing his lips--he'd never see the sun shining in those windows, painting the floor, the walls, Lex-- with triangles of pale green and red and blue without seeing Lex's belly jerking as he sucked him, beads of sweat gleaming on him despite the cold....he'd hear him gasping and whispering his name, the sound echoing in the hollow spaces in the rafters, and drowning out all other sound forever. Forever.

His fingers trembled as he pulled at the button holding the briefs closed, keeping Lex away from him. The fabric released him and he took Lex's cock in his hand, his eyes studying him, committing every part to memory, so he'd never forget what his love looked like, what he felt like. His lips parted as he watched a drop of pre-come roll over the tip, and Clark caught it on his tongue, before sucking the tip into his mouth, sinking down on Lex, swallowing him, pushing his head down, until his nose brushed the scarlet curls at the base, and both of them moaned, both of them reached out for each other. Lex begged for Clark to stop, and Clark pulled up in confusion and hurt.

"Why...did I..."

Lex laid his hand over Clark's mouth, shook his head. He pulled him to his feet, reached down and unbuttoned Clark's fly, pushing boxers and pants over Clark's hard hips, running his hands from the small of his back to the top of his thighs and Clark quickly fell into the rhythm, his cock jerked as Lex squeezed him, pulled him towards his waiting mouth. Clark cried out when Lex's lips closed around him.

"Lex--oh! Oh!" Clark thrust into Lex's mouth and Lex tilted his head so that he could get more of Clark in--and then he was spinning on the wooden seat, and Clark had his hips in his grip, Clark was swallowing his cock down like an Electrolux. He yipped in surprise, but when Clark's cock nudged up against his lips, Lex eagerly took him in, one hand guiding his cock and the other searching, fingers trailing down his cleft.... Clark cried out and lifted his head. "Lex! I'm not going to last a minute if you do that."

He gasped loudly as Lex pushed him deeper into his throat and slid a finger into the tight hole, Clark shuddered so hard the pew rocked and sank down on Lex again, thrusting back to sink Lex's finger deeper.

Lex groaned around Clark and moved his finger, searching for the spot he knew would make him feel even more...Clark moaned deep in his throat and the vibration, the wet, hot suction undid Lex, he came so hard his vision blacked out, starbursts of red exploded behind his eyes and Clark surged, his cock strained against the roof of Lex's mouth and gushed. Lex worked frantically to swallow it all and keep Clark in his mouth.

Suddenly the world rocked and tipped and pain flashed from his head to his ass-- Oh fuck! Clark!

He groaned as Clark popped unharmed out of his mouth and he opened his eyes to see the ceiling. "Oh God--you really have to get off Clark, you weigh a ton," he gasped and Clark rolled off and sat up.

"Gosh! We're on the floor!" he marveled, grinning from ear to ear.

"No, actually, I'm on the floor--you're on me."

Clark grinned sheepishly and shifted off of Lex. Lex sat up and grabbed Clark, kissed him thoroughly and sighed at the taste of himself on Clark's tongue. He pulled back and looked at Clark in awe.

"You taste--you tasted like lemon pastilles!" he exclaimed happily.

Clark's nose wrinkled slightly. "Past--what?"

"It means you're delicious, baby!" He hugged Clark in a burst of affection and sheer joy. Clark laughed and hugged him back.

"It was a good idea?"

"It was the best! Now--let's get dressed and beat it out of here." He climbed to his feet, rubbing the back of his head.

"Before we get struck by lightning!" Clark whispered and kissed where Lex rubbed his head.

"I was worried more about the garden club coming in to do the flowers, but..." he said dryly and shrugged.

Clark leaped up and quickly redressed himself, wiping his mouth on his hand and smiling quickly, sweetly, Lex thought, as he touched his swollen mouth and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Okay?" he asked.

Lex nodded and as he bent to pull up his trousers, Clark surprised him by dropping to his knees, "Let me," he said, and pulled the pants up around his hips. He smiled down at Clark when he batted Lex's hands away and he re-zipped him, buttoned the button, buckled the slim belt again, kissed his clothed cock and patted him gently before standing again.

"All better," he grinned. And Lex found it was possible to have one's heart ache with love as well as sorrow.

Whitney walked slowly up the stairs to the Luthor's front door. His mind was on Lex.

He'd been thinking about him a lot lately. He came here, did things, got things--he glanced down at a brand new pair of Italian shoes on his feet, the French cut trousers he was wearing--and told himself he was doing Lex a favor. Maybe he needed to do more than that--maybe he needed to let Lex know that he didn't need to fear his father. I should tell him what I'm doing-he must see something's up...maybe he could show him what a twisted little pile of shit his dad was and then he'd never have to fear him again. Yeah--that was a plan.

He felt satisfied. Yep. That would show Lex and Clark he was trying to help. He could be unselfish. After all, wasn't this all about Clark's lover-boy? And he loved Clark enough to learn to leave the people he cared about alone--that was good too, wasn't it? Whit stepped lighter, with purpose and a feeling of accomplishment warming him.

He met Lionel in the study, and locked the door behind him. He looked around the small space, the drapes were drawn, and only the desk lamp lit, casting deep shadows and making a pool of gold around the desk. Drinks were set out and Lionel sat in the chair, cane clutched in his hands and his eyes were blazing. Whitney smiled. This should be good.

"Celebrate with me, Mr. Fordman, my project has finally borne fruit. I'm going to be more than comfortable--thanks to Lex. I'm going to own the airwaves soon!"

He gestured for Whitney to come closer, his eyes glittering and a pointed tongue slid out and ran around his mouth.

Whitney shook his head--"I want to show you something." He stroked his hand over his groin and Lionel smiled.

"Ah. A show for me? Please," he waved his hand. "Continue, by all means."

Whitney smiled and bent, removed one shoe and then the other, holding that one in his hand, he lifted the smooth hand stitched leather to his face, rubbing it across his cheek to his chin. He kept his eyes locked on Lionel who watched him with interest. He rubbed the shoe across his lip, the soft leather making the tiniest sound as it rubbed over his mouth. He let the heel pull his lip down, and touched inside with his tongue and smiled when Lionel gasped. He closed his eyes, ran his tongue around the opening of the shoe and pulled it away, revealing the very tip of his tongue, pink and wet between his lips. Lionel leaned forward in the chair and his hands tightened on the cane. Whitney removed silk socks and rolled them over his crotch and down his thighs to make tidy balls and slipped them into the shoes.

He unbuttoned his suspenders and pushed them back behind him, they hung from the one button on the back of his waistband, made a slithery sound against the wood floor as he moved. His hands came to his waist and touched the top button, Lionel made a noise and Whit could feel himself jerking, beginning to get hard. The intense scrutiny was affecting him as much as he was affecting Lionel. He unbuttoned and ran the zipper slowly down, loving the sound of it...he ran his fingers over the small metal teeth and smiled, liking the way they caught softly at his fingertips and slipped his hand into the open fly and stroked. Lionel gasped aloud and the cane scrapped against the floor.

He unbuttoned the last suspender button and dropped the trousers, kicking them away. He grabbed the button of his silk briefs and tore it off, making Lionel gasp again, and ripped the material as he yanked them down. Naked from the waist down, he carded his fingers through the hair descending from his navel, followed it to the base of his cock standing up hard and wet between the open tails of his shirt...he stroked briefly and watched Lionel's knuckles grow white as they clutched the cane so hard Whitney waited for it to snap.

He undid his tie and slung it around his neck and ripped his shirt open from hem to neck, the noise of the little buttons hitting the floor, plinking and clicking as they hit and rolled everywhere, the only sound in the room for a minute and then--Lionel's breath left him in an explosive burst. Whitney smirked. "You can buy me a new one," he said and threw the remains of the shirt on the floor. Lionel nodded--Whitney was naked save the tie around his neck and he saw nothing else.

Whitney stroked himself and just managed to silence a groan, not wanting to give Lionel anything yet....Lionel didn't try to be silent--a moan burst out, loud and pained, his hands squeezed the cane, slid down and back up to rub the silver head topping the cane. He stared at Whitney stroking himself, squeezing himself on each stroke and Lionel's hands moved over the head of the cane and down as beads of sweat gathered at his hairline and his mouth hung slightly open.

Whitney hit a rhythm that made him buck, and breathe in short harsh bursts. He watched Lionel mimic every move on the cane and...stopped. Lionel groaned in protest and his hand jerked to the top of the cane and Whitney copied the move. Lionel gripped the cane and Whitney gripped himself. The other man's eyes widened and he began jerking the cane as if it were himself and Whitney copied every move. Lionel moaned loudly, dropped the cane and squeezed his cock, dropping his head back against the chair.

Whit stopped also. "Undress," he said, and Lionel flew to comply.

Whit moved to the top desk drawer and removed a small brown bottle of oil and the rod. "Get up." When Lionel stood, Whitney wrapped the suspenders around his wrists, pulling it tight. Lionel's eyes were glazed, he seemed to be far away as Whitney trussed his wrists, rolled up a shred of his shirt, tilted his jaw open and stuffed the wad of cotton into Lionel's mouth. That seemed to bring him back into the room, his eyes were wide and his eyelids shivered. Whitney knotted the tie around them and pushed Lionel to his knees, and poured the oil on the small of his back, watched it roll down his cleft and puddle on the floor. He raised the rod and brought it down on his ass with crack. Lionel's scream was muffled by the cotton, and he jerked away from Whitney. "That won't do--I need you to stay in place," he muttered.

Two more strips were torn from the shirt and Lionel's arms were pulled out from his sides and tied to the legs of the chair. The muscles stood out on his arms like ropes, his chest was pressed against the seat of the chair.

"Hurt? Whitney asked. Lionel nodded frantically. "Good," he said and brought the rod down on his back. "Think about how you hurt him--think about how he felt--think about how you're never crackever* crack going to touch him in any way again." crack he took the rod and stroked it around his hole, "Still hurt?" Lionel shook his head, and a slow tremble ran down his body. "You're lying," Whit said, and reached around him to jerk his cocks until it was hard again and Lionel was moaning around the gag. Whit stepped back, slid the rod inside Lionel and walked away. He wandered over to the desk and poured a drink; Lionel groaned and tried to move, searching for relief from pain. Whitney watched and stroked himself harder. He emptied the glass and dropped it on the floor. "Are you ready?"

Lionel shook his head as hard as he could, his nostrils flaring as he desperately tried to breathe. Whit chuckled as stepped behind him.

"Don't come, understand? No matter how bad you want to, you can't--not until I tell you you can." He grabbed the rod and moved it in and out. "When I tell you to come, then you come--got it?" He ripped out the rod and slammed into him. Lionel shrieked through the gag and jerked hard.

Whitney fucked him violently, using a handful of his hair wrapped around his fist as reins. He fucked him without pause, fucked him until he was about to come. He felt it racing through him and he pumped once, twice, pulled out, stood back and came over Lionel's ass and quivering back.

Whitney breathed heavily, his eyes sweeping about the room and he saw the cane, the silver head glinting in the lamplight.

He grinned, and picked it up. The silver head slid up into Lionel as smooth as he'd slid out, the long wood shaft resting against the floor between his feet.'

"You can come now," Whitney said. And Lionel screamed, spurting over the floor, twisting in his bonds until Whitney swore he heard bones popping, his head slammed over and over into the chair cushion and the wooden shaft twitched and scraped across the floor, jerking with each contraction, each spurt of his lashing cock.

Whitney waited until he calmed and pulled the gag from his mouth.

"Okay?" he asked with a smirk. Lionel didn't answer, he breathed heavily, groaning slightly, louder when Whitney put pressure between his shoulder blades.

"What, got nothing to say? How rude." He twisted Lionel's head towards him again, shoved the wet mass of material back in Lionel's mouth and unknotted the tie. Lionel's eyes were blazing insanely as they darted here and there about the room.

Whitney stood. "I'll leave you here. You'll be fine. I'm sure someone will be glad to untie you."

He dressed himself slowly, watching Lionel's eyes. "This isn't interesting anymore, I don't need to come again--unless you ignore what I told you."

He grabbed Lionel's pants off the floor. "I'm sure you want to replace my shirt--I don't need a fancy French one--one from my dad's store will do as well." he grinned and felt in the pockets until he found Lionel's wallet and took few bills out. He kissed them and tucked them in his own pocket, picked up the rod and slid it under Lionel's bent elbows. He waved a cheery good bye and left Lionel on his knees in oil and come.

Lex was pulling his car into the garage just as Whitney was rounding the corner, chewing on an apple he'd snagged from the kitchen on his way out.

"Lex," he called, and Lex smiled at him.

"Whitney, I wanted to talk to you, I'm glad you're here."

Whitney raised his eyebrows. "Really? `Cause I'd kind of got the impression you didn't want me around queering your deal with Clark." He bit down with a crunch.

"That's been--sorted out, more or less...which is why I need to talk to you."

"Okay, sure-- say, I left you a present in the study." He threw an arm around Lex's shoulder and Lex started to smile and then wrinkled his nose. He sniffed, sniffed again at Whitney and paled.

"What did you do..." he asked, his voice low, and thin.

"I told you, I left a present for you."

Lex was pale as a ghost as he backed away from Whitney. "You- you--" he whirled and ran to the house, leaving Whitney confused and a little afraid, standing in the garage, his apple hanging forgotten from his hand. He raised his arm and smelled; it did smell of the god-awful oil Lionel liked to use...shit. Did he screw up?

Lex ran into the house and forced himself to slow at the study door. He calmed his breathing, straightened himself and made sure his hair was in place. He closed his eyes and--waited, waited for strength, for calm, for--

He opened the door and stepped in.

Lionel knelt naked in front of the ugly reproduction Queen Anne chair--

Lex started. no-- tied to it...naked, arms tied behind his back and the--the rod was shoved through the bow of his elbows and he was covered with--and his cane was...

Afterward, Lex could never remember moving to remove the cane, to untie his arms, to turn him and remove the gag. His father said not a word, made no sound at all the entire time, even though Lex knew his arms had to burn with agony when he untied his wrists-oh god- suspenders...Whit's...

The stripes up and down his back had to be on fire, blood seeped sluggishly from some of them and Lionel said not a word. Even in the grip of what had to be agony, he looked at him steadily, silently and Lex saw clearly the insanity that flamed in his eyes--

Lex's heart, his whole body was in a grip of ice. He slowly removed his jacket and handed it to his father and Lionel silently put it on. His blazing eyes never left Lex's as he did so. He turned and exited the room without a sound.

Lex stood frozen, holding a mass of wet cotton and looking around in a daze. A cracked glass lay by the desk, the liquid it held staining the floor. The rod lay on the floor, shiny and slick with blood and--Lex kicked it under the chair. His heels crunched on something--he looked down and saw shirt buttons, they seemed to be everywhere. There were scraps of fabric, and he dropped to the floor and scrubbed at the fluids on the bare floor and carpet with them, rubbed frantically at the fabric of the chair, balling everything up and jamming it all in the desk wastebasket, searching for button fragments, threads, glass--trying to make it disappear. He slumped to the floor and put his hands over his face and quietly cried. Jesus ...he's going to kill me...

Lex wandered out to the garage and Whitney was still there, sitting on the hood of Lex's car and he smiled when he heard the doors creak but the look on Lex's face made him gasp. He leaped off the car and ran over to his side.

"What? What's wrong?" he was alarmed by the sight of Lex so disheveled, his trouser knees wet, face damp and eyes red. Lex was shaking, he looked at Whit and said, "You might as well have taken a gun and shot me, Whitney. You might as well have killed me yourself."

Whitney was stunned and a little worried by the vehemence in Lex's voice--he insisted, "No! He'll never bother you again--I scared him--I let him know not to mess with you ever again." But his confidence was rocked by Lex's attitude of quiet despair, a sort of fatalistic acceptance of--disaster...

Lex looked sadly at him. "I don't know, Whitney. You have no idea what you've unleashed there. You didn't see his eyes... He'll kill me--and you. He can't have us about to remind him of this..." Lex jerked, looked wildly about, as if awakening from a nightmare--"Fuck! I'm not going to stand here and let him kill me! I've got to go--get Clark and--

Whitney grabbed his arm. "Lex, Lex! Think calmly- you don't have to run...Go to the police. Tell them what he's been doing to you." He said firmly.

Lex grinned, a ferocious cold gleam of perfect white teeth, and Whitney stared at him, thinking, God they look so sharp--he was beginning to feel a trickle of fear and it was...unfamiliar, and unpleasant.

Lex smacked Whitney's hand away, grabbed the neck of his undershirt and pulled him close. "Are you crazy or just stupid?" he hissed. "Do you think they'll believe me? They sure aren't going to believe you--no matter how much you seem to think people will do anything for you."

Whitney winced, started to speak, and fell silent. He chewed on his thumb, watched Lex unravel with a guilty expression.

Lex stalked around the garage, yanking at his hair and cursing, mumbling until he finally came back to Whit, dropped back against the car and laughed, an ugly hopeless sound. "Damn! You killed me." He dropped his head back against the hood and stared up into the rafters, his lips drew up again into an imitation of a smile. "You killed me." He repeated.

"Shut the fuck up--I have to come up with a plan--"

Lex's head whipped around and he gaped at Whitney--"You--you--a plan?" Lex burst into real laughter then. "I tell you what Whitney, here's my plan, I'm running away as fast and as hard as I can--what about you?"

"Me?"

"What do you think he's going to do to you? We're in this neck deep, Whit, old boy. It's time to motor, I believe."

Whitney tossed the forgotten apple core to the floor. "Listen, I'm going home--I'm going to bed, and then, in the morning, I'm going about my business, like nothing happened because you're wrong. Things haven't changed and your old man is still a creepy fuck who's got a thing for underage meat."

Lex glared at Whitney, fury sparking a glow in his eyes. "You little bastard, you -you son-of-a-bitch, you have no fucking idea what he wants- what he does. You think he's some kind of creep--fuck--I'm telling you, he's Satan, and I'm not joking." Lex closed his eyes, shook from head to toe. "You don't know what he's done, what he can do." He opened his eyes again, and stared at Whitney. "Even if he doesn't kill me, he'll make me wish he had."

"Bullshit," Whitney snorted. "He's not going to do anything, but if it makes you feel better, get your self out of there--you don't even need to go back inside if you don't want--you can come with me."

Lex seemed calmer, more focused. "No, not yet. I'll be careful, but there are things I want, some arrangements I need to make before I leave. Once I do, I don't ever want to come back here."

Whitney nodded. "All right. I'll be back tomorrow; if you need me tonight you can call me. You have a telephone?" Lex nodded and Whitney gave him the number, "Chestnut 2414--Will you remember?"

"Chest-nut? Yes, I think so."

Whit grinned, relieved that Lex was joking, maybe it would turn out all right. Lex must have overreacted, he thought. I'm sure he did. And no way Lionel can resist me, no way possible.

Morning already, Clark thought. It was the kind of early fall morning that started out cold enough for sweaters and jackets, and by afternoon warmed up to shirtsleeves. The crisp air leaked in from his just open window and snuck chilly tendrils under the blankets. He pulled them up to his nose and snuggled down, enjoying a few extra minutes of lazing in bed.

He could hear the floor creaking downstairs--had to be Mom, Dad would have long since started his day. He sighed and slid out of bed; the floor was cold enough to make even him shiver briefly. He trotted quickly to the bathroom, and rushed through a face wash, brushed teeth quickly and tried not to swallow the gritty powder as he rinsed with ice-cold water. He shivered and spit and thanked God that he didn't live with Granddad Hiram--no plumbing indoors, having to trudge out or the outhouse or to the pump in the cold. Clark shuddered. That was only nice in the heat of summer, when nothing tasted better than ice cold water out of the ladle, he remembered sipping water from it as Granddad helped him hold it---but come winter, you'd be slipping and sliding around the well and if you spilled that water on you--Clark shivered again in memory of it.

By the time he was dressed and had his hair somewhat tamed and finally appeared in the kitchen, Mom already had eggs frying in the pan and bacon draining on a plate at the back of the stove to keep it warm. She was just measuring out flour when she saw Clark. "Honey, put the extra eggs back in the icebox for me will you?"

He grinned at his mom. She was never going to get out of the habit of calling the Frigidaire the icebox, he guessed. The motor purred and ticked when Clark opened the door to put the eggs in. he pushed the bowl towards the back and pulled out a crock of milk. He turned to face his mom and reached back with his foot to kick the door shut.

"Clark! Don't you even dare."

He grinned and used the handle to shut the door.

She smiled back and put the eggs and bacon on the table as Clark brought out glasses and plates and she asked him if he'd like some fried bread or just pancakes.

"Thanks mom, just pancakes." He checked the time--he could eat and do his chores, and still make it to school, just barely on time. It made him feel impatient and antsy--he could do everything and even have time to read if only--gosh! This thing was giving him more and more trouble. He was tired of it; it started to make less and less sense as time went by. It was driving him crazy...

"Mom?"

"Mmm?" She put the coffee percolator on the stove, spooned some coffee in the basket, tucked it down inside the percolator and turned on the stove. She turned to him and pulled her sweater tighter, folding her arms. "What's on your mind this morning, honey? I can tell you're thinking big thoughts." She smiled. "They wouldn't be about you know who, would they?"

Clark thought Lex? and blushed as memories flooded his mind and blushed again when an image of Whit followed quickly.

"Ah--no, no..." The sun was fully up now and poured through the window and made her hair blaze, and made him think of Lex...was he chilly too, this morning?

"Clark!" His mom smiled. "Join me in the kitchen?"

"Why can't I use these-- these things I can do," he blurted out. Damn it! Idiot! He hadn't meant to just spit that out, but now that it was out....

There was heavy silence in the kitchen, broken only by the pok-pok of the coffee on the boil, the heavy hum of the Fridgedaire. His mother looked at him as if he'd slapped her. "Clark, Clark, We talked about this before."

"No ma'm, we didn't--you and Dad said it was wrong and I said okay and now I'm asking-- please, why is it wrong? Why are these -these gifts wrong?"

"It's sin Clark, a sin of pride. You using those -the things you can do-- it's going against the way God created us to be. You put yourself above others when you use your powers. There's no Christian humility in them Clark, it says right there in Proverbs 16:18, "pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall," you see? And we were meant to work, without it, where are we Clark? Idleness plays to the devil--"through idleness of the hands, the house droppeth through"....do you understand, son, how it would be an affront to God and sinful? This is God's wish for you, to be like everyone else... powers are your burden to bear. "

Clark stared at his mother and a scary rebellious thought eased in around the edges of his mind, a thought he didn't want but it kept pushing, nudging...That's nuts--that's crazy. That makes no--damn--sense... He shivered. He felt as if he stood on one side of the Grand Canyon and his folks were on the other, and they were trying to talk over that gulf.

"Everyone has their place in life, dear, you have yours. Pete has his--it's where we're supposed to be. We do as God wants us to. Stepping out those places, that's where trouble lies." She poured mugs of coffee and set them on the table. "You'll understand more as you get older, son." She smiled sadly at him. "God knows, and it's not always our place to understand him. Once you've heard the word of God, to go against it is to consign yourself to hell, you see? People like--well, like Kevin, I'm sorry to say, they choose hell, because they ignore the will of God."

Clark stared at her. Here was the rest of his life, unfolding right here--opening into a bleak, lonely dark tunnel --hide, hide everything, take no joy from anything...don't run don't see don't hear--don't touch, and Lex's face came to mind. Never be happy, was the message he was hearing. You can never be happy. We don't want you to be happy....he stood suddenly, knocking back the chair and making his mother jump. A wave of dizziness made him sway and he grabbed the edge of the table, the wood squealing as it compressed under his panicked grip.

"No--oh no, I can't do it. I really can't do this the rest of my life. I think there is a reason I'm here, I think God wants me here, I think he wants me to do good with my--my gifts. Mom, I call them that because that's what they are--gifts! I'm supposed to use them, I can feel it! I can do good things, I can help people!"

"Clark!" His mother leaned back against the counter, her apron twisted in one hand, the other held out to Clark.

"And--and I can't hear what you say about Kevin... Kevin was my friend--I cared about him."

"We all regret what happened to--"

"He was my friend because he understood me--like I understood him. We both knew what it was like to have this--this thing over your head day in and day out..."

"Son, your--your gifts aren't like that--"

Clark waved his hands impatiently, now that he was on this path, he wasn't stopping. "I'm not talking about that, Mom, I'm talking about loving men-- that's what I'm talking about."

There was a crash behind him, and he turned. His dad was in the door, a broken crock of milk pouring white over the linoleum, pieces spinning in the spreading fluid--his blue eyes looked black in a face gone so pale it was nearly the same color as the spilled milk. "Are you--what--you're lying..."

Clark laughed--sobbed, "Why in the world would I lie about that? It's the truth, I'm in love with--I love a man." He felt his heart breaking...he wondered if hiding the truth could possibly have hurt more than telling it did at this moment....

His dad rushed forward and Clark flinched but he passed him and threw his arms around his weeping mother. "Look at what you've done-- look what you've done to your mother."

His mom dropped to a chair and pressed her apron tight against her face. His dad stood straight and stiff and glared at him. "God's law commands, `You will not lie with a man as with a woman--it is an abomination'--you know this, you know all of this, why would you do this to us?"

Clark shivered. "Well, I guess I didn't see it as doing it to you, since it's my life."

His dad stepped to him and raised his hand. Clark dropped his eyes and waited, he could feel the tension coming from his dad, and he felt it when his dad stepped back.

"Clark." He raised his head, he and his dad locked eyes.

"Go to your room," he said. "Until I tell you to come out, you stay in your room, you understand me?" He looked at Clark and waited. Clark knew his dad knew there was nothing he could do to stop him from leaving; there was nothing he could do to make Clark obey him at all. They stared at each other, his dad never blinking, never wavering--but deep inside where he would never let it out, Clark felt it, the slightest, barest hint a whisper of "please son, do as I ask." Tears blurred Clark's vision and he dropped his head.

"Yes sir," he whispered.

His dad showed no sign of relief, he just nodded and spoke. "Go now, while I try to deal with what you've done to your mother." And this family hung in the air, unspoken but deafening.

Clark trudged up the stairs; he had no idea what he was going to do. None. All he knew was, he couldn't live like this. Not any more.

Whitney came awake with a jerk. His eyes flew open and he stared at the ceiling--for a moment he swore he was in a dark, dark place...he shivered. He hated dreams.

He got himself together, feeling pretty good that he was up so early. His folks would still be home, and for some strange reason he wanted to see them this morning. He snorted. That was even weirder than the dreams--maybe he was stuck in some story, some goofy thing from those magazines Clark read. Geez--he really needed to get him to read something decent...maybe that Steinback guy. He was really good....

He was freshly groomed and in an oddly upbeat mood. He walked into the dining room, but no plates were set out, no coffee or covered dishes sat on the sideboard, nothing. He wandered into the kitchen, and the maid whirled around with a tiny shriek.

"Goodness Mr. Whitney--I thought everyone was out already--what are you doin' here?" She looked startled--actually, Whitney thought, she looked annoyed. He squinted against the blinding brightness of the light--"this is why I hate being up this early," he groaned and rubbed his eyes.

Pauline looked blank. "Early...it's ten o'clock, Mr. Whitney..."

Whitney looked at her--okay not as early as it felt. "... Is there coffee?"

Light poured in cold and bright through the open Dutch door and the bank of windows over the counters. It was bright--so bright...spotless gleaming white metal and glass cabinets, the huge white and chrome accented stove and fridge, the sparkling, clean enough to eat from white tiled floors and the white walls--God damn--it's like a fucking hospital in here, he thought. This place has all the warmth of--my parents, he snorted and sipped coffee from the white mug Pauline had dropped on the counter in front of him.

And it was perfectly clear to him--he had to get out of Smallville quick before it killed him--or he killed someone. The thought was like an itch under his skin, it grew and grew until it was hard to think of anything else.... He was going to go get Lex, and get the fuck out of town. And Clark--he was coming too, god-damn it. I can talk a cat out of it's stripes-- I can talk Clark out of Smallville--I know I can.

The maid--what the fuck is her name? Paula--Peggy, shit seemed to be waiting for him to get out of her kitchen. Time to ankle. He started to leave and then a wave of--something... a desire to be close to someone, anyone-- washed over him, leaving him feeling a little lost and a little sad. He turned back to Pauline and took her hand. She looked at him like he was insane, hell, maybe he was.

"Listen, you could wait a lifetime and never hear it from my folks, but you've done a great job here. They're both the biggest ass-holes ever, and God knows I'm not going to miss them, but I will miss your dinners." He laughed a little. "Thanks for keeping us fed." He reached over and pulled her into a hug and released her, "Well, I gotta go now. Tell Mr. And Mrs. Fordman I said so long, will ya? Take care of yourself."

He swept the kitchen with a wry look. He felt around for some feeling of-- leaving home, flying the coop--leaving the nest? Yeah. Sure. He grinned. "Assholes," he laughed and walked out.

Pauline watched him go, shaking her head. That is one fucked up crazy white boy. He's right though, they are ass-holes. She turned back to planning dinner. Not her business, what those people did.

Whitney packed everything he wanted to take and it was a miserably small bag. He shrugged. He'd get more stuff; there wasn't anything he wanted here. He strolled into his parent's bedroom, went through his mother's vanity drawer and took the money she had taped under the bottom of it. Whitney knew from various...dates, a lady always had a little walking out money--just in case. He grinned. Thanks mom, this is the nicest thing you've ever done for me. Besides leaving me the hell alone.

When Whitney shut the door behind him he wasted no more thought on the house, or the people in it. He was impatient to go. His real life lay ahead, he could feel it in his bones, feel it in his blood. Something big was going to happen, it was going to change his life. Good. It was past time for a change.

Lex woke with a jerk. It was dark, why was it so dark...he tried to move his head and he couldn't, the sheet under his open mouth was soaking wet and sticking to his cheek. He tried to move his hands--his feet--he couldn't move.

Fuck.

He wrenched his limbs again and realized he was tied to the bed, naked and his head was being held against the bed by his father's hand.

"Good morning. You're awake. Finally. What a sound sleeper you are. I really thought you'd wake with all the jostling." Lionel was at the head of the bed, sitting back on the desk chair like he sat on a throne. Lex could just make him out in the gray light, dressed all in white, rolling a thin wand of wood between his fingers, a feral smile on his fox thin face.

Lex jerked his hands as hard as he could--the rope slipped and burned but held. He twisted his legs as hard as he could and the ties at his ankles dug in but didn't loosen. "Let me go--this is crazy!"

"I've thought long and hard about you, son," He sighed and walked around the room, examining and rearranging Lex's things. "I've done my best to teach you, done my best to save you from your sins. But I know better now. The truth was revealed to me, and I understand." He sounded thoughtful and slightly sorrowful...and that scared Lex more than Lionel in a rage. He sighed again. "'That which is crooked cannot be made straight'... You're bent son, crooked. You're like disease; you infect those around you with your evil. It needs to be cut out."

"Please don't kill me," Lex begged quietly and hated that he begged, hated how weak he sounded.

"Kill you? What kind of parent kills their child? No, no. But come Sunday, I will sadly announce that you've gone on to Metropolis, for -oh let me see--how about college, study of theology...yes, I like that." He stroked his fingers through his neatly trimmed beard and watched himself in the mirror, used Lex's brush set to smooth his hair back from his face and smiled at himself. "I'm going to take out the part of you that dooms us both."

"You can't--you don't want to kill me! That's crazy!"

Lionel leaned down and gazed at Lex, his lips pursed in annoyance. "You keep saying that. It's getting on my nerves, you know."

He brought the thin rod down on Lex's shoulder. He felt the skin split instantly and bit down on a fold of sheet. He shook as he tried not to make a sound.

"Brave boy," Lionel said approvingly. He traced the rod along his spine. "All this is your fault, you know. I didn't want this." Lionel walked around to the opposite side of the bed and Lex felt the mattress sink, the springs creaked gently. "You--you drew me into it, the way you looked at me, the way you smiled at me, the way you walked--you knew. That first time--your little hands...You pulled me into the Pit with you..."

Lex worked violently not to puke--breathe, breathe, don't listen--he repeated over and over trying to calm himself. He struggled not to scream. "I never had a choice--I was a child--" he gasped, his voice breaking. His face felt so hot, sweat ran into his mouth and he panted for air.

Lionel went on as if he hadn't heard. "We've suffered all these years." There was a whisper of sound and he felt something cold against his back, something pricked a line up his spine.

"You tried and tried to cut my heart out all these years." And a hot shock of pain pushed into his shoulder. He jerked up against his bonds and bit down on a scream. Another punch to his ribs and he felt warm liquid run down his side, he could hear it spatter against the cotton.

"What--what are you doing?" he managed to gasp.

"I'm trying to find the point that you disappear, son. If I can find that, I'll find myself." Lionel sounded calm and a little sorrowful. He nodded and came around to where Lex could see him, held up a knife in his bloody fist, drops of red marring the white of his suit.

"We're going to cut the devil out, boy." He said in an entirely different tone of voice and jammed the knife into Lex's bicep and left it, walked away. Lex ground his teeth in the sheet; ground so hard his teeth cut through the cotton. He let go when he was sure he wouldn't scream aloud, panting and moaning quietly. He watched the knife move with each breath he pulled into his lungs, and his father whispered from a corner of the room, "What would happen if I let that heal in there? How long do you think it would take? What do you think it would feel like when I pulled it back out?"

Lex was sweating, cursing, praying he wouldn't do that--Lionel was at his side again. He stroked Lex's sweat wet hair from his brow. He moved his hand to Lex's arm and yanked the knife back out. Lex couldn't keep the scream in--it burst out before he was even aware he was screaming, and then he was tumbling into darkness.

When he woke again, the room was bright--dawn was well on it's way to full morning and the sun made the closed curtains glow .He could clearly make out Lionel in the chair next to the bed--Lex jerked fully awake with a gasp and a ghost of pain running up his arm. There was a dried film of blood coating his arm and a slice gaped wetly, flared into pain as he remembered what happened.

"Awake again. Good. We're going to continue now." Lionel stood and flexed the rod. "Are you ready? Not that it really matters, hmm?" Lex breathed in quickly, trying to prepare himself for the lash.

It hissed through the air and struck like fire--the air in his lungs rushed out in a grunt--again and again, he was struck so quickly he had no chance to draw breath, he felt dizzy, blackness rushed in from the corners and he was pathetically grateful.smack Lionel held his head back at an uncomfortable angle. "Wake up. Wake up so you can see it coming," he snarled, and smacked Lex again.

Lex groaned, he knew he was going to die today. He never doubted it. Clark. He felt so horribly sorry that he was going to die and make Clark suffer. He didn't want Clark to lose him, not like this. The thought of hurting Clark made tears roll down his cheek. He blinked quickly to clear his eyes--he needed to see, he needed to be aware. Death was coming and he wanted to face it.

Lionel began whipping him in earnest. He laid the rod against him in a fury, hard, methodical strikes that rocked him to his soul. He panted harder and harder, pants turning to groans, groans to gasps...he forgot not to scream, he forgot not wanting to hurt Clark, he forgot everything except Death....

"I'm afraid your life is going to take a dramatic turn for the worse before it comes." A swooping arc of ice raced through the fire on his back and he knew Lionel had cut a long line from shoulder to shoulder, and again lower, again deeper, and Lex wondered how long he would have to survive this.

The blade drove into him and Lionel rocked it from side to side and Lex howled--it went on forever and ever and then the blade slid, he could feel Lionel's hand skid in the blood, and sink down to his thigh. The blade slid upwards, pricked the skin of his cleft--stopped. He could feel blood beginning to cool on his skin, the pain came in waves and his mind was full of odd images--stars and ice and cold, cold water, blood and women, girls smiling at him, his cock in wet tight heat, ice cubes on his skin, fingers in him, stretching him, feeling good and suddenly he jerked, was back in his body and feeling like he'd dropped from an enormous height.

Lionel was bent at his side, eyes searching his face. "Oh excellent. You're back. You're going to like this part," he said and moved out of Lex's line of sight. He felt Lionel's hand sticking and pulling at the tacky blood on his skin. He felt something prodding at his hole and he began screaming, all rational thought gone at the cold touch. "Please nonono--daddy daddy don't don't!"

Lex felt blood spray up his back and spatter the sheets; a weight dropped on him and he heard someone shouting, yelling, "Bastard bastard bastard" over and over--and underneath it all he heard a dull crunching sound he couldn't make sense of. The weight lifted, he was pulled free from the bed so quickly it hurt and then Clark was holding him, gasping, patting his face, holding him, rocking him, touching him, holding--"Lex, Lex, oh my God, Lex--"

Lex groaned, "Clark--Clark, no! You shouldn't have done that--" but Clark shook his head and tightened his hold on him. "Not me--not me," he gasped.

Lex followed his gaze to the doorway. Whitney leaned against the doorframe, white as a ghost and shaking, his eyes wide and shocked, staring at nothing. He shuddered and dropped the heavy cane he held. "It was the first thing I saw," he laughed weakly. He backed up, wiping his hand across his cheek and leaving a bright red smear Lex couldn't keep his eyes from.

Clark shivered as he looked at him, "You killed him--he's dead..."

"I know," Whitney muttered. He shivered violently and his teeth chattered briefly before he clenched his jaw. "Okay...okay," he said, and rolled his shoulders, pulled himself straight and Lex watched Whitney come back--color rose in his cheeks again, his eyes focused and glittered and a little smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. "Okay," he repeated and pushed his hair back into place, walked into the room.

Clark stared up at Whitney as if he'd never seen him before. He was pale, shocky, he shivered, and gripped Lex tighter every time he did, he looks like a frightened little kid, Lex thought, and tried to hug him back.

"Clark, our Lex could probably breathe better if you stopped squeezing him so hard." He leaned over Lex and Clark, smoothing back Lex's tangled hair. He looked him over quickly and then stroked his clean hand over Clark's cheek. "Take Lex in the bathroom and clean him up, honey, he's a mess," he said kindly. Lex grabbed Whitney's hand, held onto it like a lifeline.

"Thank you." He wanted to tell Whitney how much he cared about him, how grateful he was, but Whitney patted him on the shoulder and stood. He spoke to Clark.

"I'm going to take care of this, go on."

Clark nodded, and clutching him against his chest, carried Lex to the bathroom. Lex pushed against Clark, struggling to get loose-- he refused to be carried like a child--but Clark only sighed and held him tighter.

Lex gave in, he had to admit that it was... nice, this is actually...nice, and relaxed against Clark's warm chest, listening to his heart beat--he felt it under his cheek, and closed his eyes.. He refused to think how he must look....

Clark ran a tub and fussed over Lex before reluctantly releasing him to bathe, hovering around the tub as Lex sank gratefully neck deep into the warm water. The water lifted blood from his skin, turning it pink as it washed away, he groaned as heat unlocked cramped muscles and pricked at open cuts and Clark was right there, forehead creased in concern and nearly pulling Lex out of the tub.... "Clark, Clark, relax, please! I'm okay. I swear." Clark looked at him dubiously, but knelt on the floor next to the tub again, eyes on his face the whole time. Neither one of them spoke, the silence in the room broken only by the faint splash of water and their breath, sounds magnified by the tile.

After a bit, Lex asked Clark, "Are you okay?" Clark shrugged, his try at Whitney-like nonchalance ruined by his teeth chattering briefly. "I-I'm not sure---yes."

"You'll forget after a while, you will. At least it won't seem so horrible." Lex scrubbed at the remaining traces of dried blood away, wincing when he pulled against the raw stripes on his back. Clark took over, washing him carefully, gently.

"Whitney did us both a favor," he began and Clark hissed. "Lex--"

"It's true--he would have killed me if not for Whit and it would have killed you to do it..."

Clark stood and backed away; he pushed himself into a corner and crossed his arms over his chest. "I wanted to--I saw what he was about to do, and I wanted to kill him. Whit just got there first...I hated him for a minute," Clark dropped his head, "Whit, I mean--I hated him because I wanted to kill Lionel..."

Lex leaned back against the tub edge. "It's all right Clark, it really is," Lex said vehemently, and he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. "Trust me, you aren't alone in your desire," he snarled.

"Worse, Lex, worse--I was glad too--part of me was glad Whit was the one with blood on his hands, and not me--not you...I'm a terrible person." Lex heard a loud sniff, looked up to catch Clark wiping his arm across his face.

Lex tried to get out of the tub; Clark ran to help him out and wrapped him in a robe. Lex leaned against Clark and sighed. "You really are not a bad person, Clark."

"Listen to him, Clark, you're a decent person, you really are. Me on the other hand--I have no problem putting vermin down. I can live with it--you couldn't, it worked out for us the way it was supposed to and that is how the story goes, understand?"

Clark winced, but nodded.

"Okay. I need your help out here...Lex, can you dress your self?" He held clothing in his hand, and Lex blushed and grabbed at them, nodded sharply. "Of course."

Whitney grinned as watched him examine the clothes with a critical eye, finally giving approval with a short nod. "Fine then--you get dressed, Clark, you come with me."

When Lex came out of the bathroom, Clark and Whitney were on either side of a large bundle, glaring at each other. The bed had been stripped, the floor wiped down--the rug was missing, and then he saw it was wrapped around...his father.

"Lex, talk some sense into Clark." He waved his hand in disgust. "He won't take this out," he kicked the bundle, "and dump it in the lake."

Lex looked from Whitney to Clark. "Ah...he couldn't, he can't..."

"Oh please, give me some credit. He just lifted you like you weighed less than a baby--he left a pair holes in the front yard that have to be at least a foot deep," he spoke to Clark again, "You're like me, aren't you? Why can't you just fly this out to the lake?"

Clark turned green, "No--I can't touch him--I can't!"

"God, Clark--you live on a farm, surely you've broken a chicken neck or two- you're a farmer, don't you guys kill animals all the time? You must have had to touch dead things--What's the big deal?"

Clark yelped. "Whitney!" and looked horrified anew.

"Jesus." Lex said and closed his eyes.

"What?" Whitney looked from Clark to Lex. "What?"

Lex shot Whit a look, "Whitney, there's not enough time in the world to explain to you why that's wrong, and you really need to be on a leash-- you don't have to do it Clark, Whitney and I will take care of it, okay?"

Whit sighed dramatically, but agreed, motioning Lex toward one end of the rug. Lex looked down--took a deep breath and exhaled hard. Just grab it, don't think--just grab it.

Clark wavered; he pushed in front of Lex. "No, I don't want you to hurt yourself. I'll do it." He shouldered the burden and blurred--gone.

Whit gasped. "Wow. That's something."

Lex nodded. Yes, it was. Later he'd have a fit but right now...wow.

"But you should see him dropping out of the sky! He hit the ground--pow! That was really something."

Clark could fly?

Clark crouched on the lakeshore and watched the waves subside. Out in the center of the lake, at a point where it was the deepest, ripples still marred the smooth surface, marking where Lionel disappeared. Clark thought to himself and if God is good, he's gone forever. A ball of ice seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the center of his chest. He rubbed it absently...he'd been doing that for a while now, since the heavy rolled rug, tied and weighted with car parts had dropped from his hands to hit the black water and vanish.

He wiped at his mouth again, he'd been sick after dropping the rug, he still felt shaky. He stood and walked back among the trees and debated flying back or running back, and laughed a little, giddy at the choices possible--flying...god-he still couldn't quite believe it...

He thought back to that morning, a few hours ago, another lifetime ago....

He was curled up in bed and listening to his parents talking, not hearing them, not seeing them, laying on his bed and trying hard to be normal again whatever the heck that was. Suddenly his dad's voice rang out, loud enough that he heard him clearly. "As long as he's under my roof, he's not going to indulge in that--that filth!" And his mother's voice, he couldn't make out what she was saying, he refused to listen...He pulled the pillow up over his head and wondered what to do from this point on.

If he defied his parents, he wouldn't be able to live in their house anymore--He couldn't stay with Lex, he was afraid of his father, and besides he just couldn't be that close to Lex and not want to be with him...he was pretty sure he could stay with Whitney if things got really bad... Clark felt like the worst kind of East End Kid, scheming and planning to break his parents rules...He stretched out and blocked the buzz of words, the endless creaking as one of them, Mom or Dad, paced constantly back and forth in the kitchen. He fought to ignore a nagging feeling of guilt and tried also to deny a feeling of anger and betrayal.

He felt himself drifting and was mildly surprised he could sleep, he drifted deeper into warmth and blackness and then-- odd images filled his mind, some were familiar--stars and ice and cold, cold water, some he knew and they made him afraid--blood, wet fur... some were strange and made him aroused-- women, girls smiling at him, his penis in wet tight heat, ice cubes on his skin, fingers in him, stretching him, feeling good and suddenly he started, wide awake and feeling like he'd dropped from a enormous height. He jerked upright on the bed--He'd been dreaming he heard Lex screaming, it was on the edge of his awareness when he awoke, it filled his mind now, Lex was screaming.

Clark reacted without thought, he dashed down the stairs ran into the kitchen. His parents stared at him, and he panted, "I-I've got to go! Now! Someone---someone needs my help."

His parents were shocked to see him in the kitchen, and his dad looked angry. "What...Clark. I told you to stay in your room, why are you downstairs?"

"I have to go! He needs me now!" Clark was impatient, he knew there was no way he could explain so that they'd understand, he was beginning to resent taking the time to speak. He edged steadily to the door and tried to think of something, anything to say to make it better.

Jonathan sensed that Clark was undecided, highly upset, and he tried to frighten him into obeying. "Clark, if you leave--don't come back."

Martha gasped, "Jonathan!" her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes were huge and filled with tears and she said not a word more.

Clark's heart was breaking but he felt he was right. He had to go, he hesitated a minute more--but what could he say?

He was gone, out the door across the field; wind pulling at him and it wasn't fast enough, not nearly fast enough. He crouched, screaming with frustration and then--he was hurtling skyward--he screamed in surprise, squeezed his eyes shut and immediately opened them, glanced about to make sure no one heard him shriek like a little girl and then burst into hysterical laughter. Who was going to hear him, the other spaceman?

He tumbled and dipped and rolled before he managed to orient himself--Lex--the moment he thought of him, he could visualize his house, he knew which way to go, he could feel the direction-- far below he could see the thread that was the road to the Luthor house--landscape passed in a blur, wind ripped violently at his shirt pulling at the buttons and he had to grip it tightly to keep it from ripping off of him--and he was wobbling high in the air over the yard and dropping ungracefully as a stone and way too fast--he hit with a boom, he swore he felt the ground shake, and dirt and grit flew around him, peppering his skin, his eyes, his open mouth--he'd dug an impressive trench in the manicured lawn. He leaped up and raced for the stairs, but someone was there ahead of him...

Whitney! Clark gaped in horror--Whitney yelled, "you fucking bastard," and brought Lionel's cane down on his head, Clark recognized the silver top ...there was screaming and Clark wasn't sure if it was him or Whit or Lex or all of them-- there was blood, and Lex, and all he could see was Lex. All he cared about was Lex....

Clark shook his head. How was he supposed to forget? Was he supposed to act like nothing happened? They killed a man--it didn't matter who did it--they all wanted him dead. God. He hoped he could find some way to live with it.

Lex and Whitney were in the garage, bags in the car and ready when Clark returned. They looked up as Clark came in and Lex smiled. "Good, all together again--we can go now."

The top of the cream-colored sedan was folded down and Whit smirked at Clark from behind the wheel of Lex's car. "Hop in Clark, I'm going to do all the driving so you and Lex can sit in the back and make love all the way to New York."

Lex looked aghast at Whitney. "I think that's the last thing either one of us is interested in right now." Clark grinned at him and shrugged. He wasn't opposed to the idea.

"Suit yourself," Whit shrugged--"It's going to be a long couple of days, my friends." He leered at Lex in a theatrical way. "How about we let Clark drive then and I sit in the back with you?" and Clark whacked him on the shoulder carefully. "We'll all sit up front for now, okay?"

The sun beat down hard, one of the increasingly rarer days of heat before summer truly let go it's hold. The trees were still green, but with a subtle shift in color that signaled fall was coming, a few yellow leaves drifted down to the road, thrown up into the air again as the car picked up speed, down the drive, turning the corner and in minutes they were out on the main road--heading out of Smallville.

They passed Gabe and Chloe on the way, Clark waved and Chloe raised her hand with a cheerful smile, but she seemed to sense something wasn't right, her hand dropped and she stared at Clark until the car rolled past.

Clark looked at Lex, he watched the wind ruffle his hair, his eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the seat. He looked pale and too thin but his expression was calm and his posture loose...he looked like he was sleeping. Clark looked back behind him and watched the Sullivan's car dwindle in the distance. He'd miss Chloe; he'd miss her wit and her cheerful personality, he'd miss her clever mind-- he chuckled softly--he'd even miss her dad. He hoped she'd be okay without him. Clark sighed and took Lex's hand; Lex made a tiny sound and moved closer before drifting off again. It's worth it, Clark thought. I know it's worth it.

They were nearly out of the county limits when Clark saw Pete on the side of the road, truck up on a jack and a tire under his hand.

"Stop!" Clark called out and Whitney yanked the wheel and the car slid to a stop in a cloud of dust. Clark shot him a dirty look before hopping out to trot back over to Pete.

Pete stood still and unsmiling, wiping at his head with a red bandana as Clark came up to him.

"I'm leaving, Pete." he said and Pete shoved the bandana back in his pocket without a word, looked over at the car. Lex was looking about blearily and Whit shot Pete a huge cheerful grin, one arm around Lex's shoulder, the other wrapped around the steering wheel.

"I'm not coming back." Pete nodded in response, and Clark continued, "I'll miss you, Pete."

Pete finally met Clark's eyes. "I haven't forgotten that you were decent to me, Clark. I won't forget. I'll pray for you."

"I'm sorry we're not friends anymore, Pete." Clark sighed.

Pete made a small sound, and started to walk away, then let the tire wobble to the ground and grabbed Clark in a hug. Clark was startled into squeaking out, "Pete!"

Pete stepped back, eyes fierce and wet and a ferocious scowl on his face. He scrubbed his arm across his face and growled, "Look, you crazy ofay--I'll always be your friend, you hear?"

Clark nodded, a wide smile lighting up his face and making Pet smile too, almost against his will.

"We're headed east, Pete."

Pete sighed. "Yeah--I hear Harlem is really something. I'm gonna check it out for myself." He looked around: at the road, the dust, the clear blue burning sky and sighed. "I gotta get out of here, Clark, this place is killing me."

He laughed and a chill raced up Clark's spine--no matter what Pete thought, they weren't very different at all. Clark held out his hand, and Pete took it. "You're the best man I know, Pete. I always thought so. When you get to New York, come see us."

Lex looked up at that and smiled and Pete stared back and Clark could see realization hit him. He glanced over at Clark, and back at the car, and finally spoke, "Okay ...yeah. I will. Promise I'll see you in New York." He was still standing, hand raised in farewell when the car pulled around the bend, blocking all view of Smallville behind them

The drive took a turn into nightmare when they were heading out of Kansas--Clark ended up in the back seat holding Lex as he alternated burning up with fever and shaking with chills...he cried out and thrashed, he swore Clark was Lionel, he accused Clark of helping Lionel and broke Clark's heart when he cried at his supposed betrayal...at times Whitney switched with Clark, holding Lex while Clark drove so he could calm himself down and deal with Lex again.

Clark knew he'd never forget that ride as long as he lived, and Lex was never going to have to suffer that ever again, if he could help it. Nothing was going to make Lex hurt like that again, nothing.

Clark was in the front seat with Whit, driving for a bit to let Whit relax. Lex was snoring softly in the back seat and Clark was glad the fevers had gone; he was almost completely healed and finally sleeping normally. Clark felt pretty good, Whit was in a talkative mood, and the evening was actually kind of pleasant.

Whitney stretched his legs and enjoyed the play of light over Clark's features. The sun was beginning to set and it turned Clark's skin a warm gold. His eyes looked even greener in this light, and Whitney was amazed--Clark was just incredibly handsome and when he was relaxed and happy--Whitney shook his head. Amazing.

They had been talking about the visions--memories--they'd all shared that day. Whitney thought that Lex's ability, cranked up to a high degree by fear and pain, had reached out for them, calling for help. Clark's lips thinned and he looked angry, nodded.

"I was already on my way to Lex when they hit--man, I ended up in a ditch, damn it. Those were your memories, the bloody fur?" Whit asked. Clark nodded. "What was it--"

Clark interrupted him, "I don't want to talk about that now--some day, okay? Just--not now."

Whitney shrugged and went on, Clark would tell him when he was ready. "The ice cubes, the girls...that was me."

Clark smiled. "No kidding, Casanova--I was pretty sure it wasn't Lex. What about the... other? The fingers...that was Lex?"

Whitney pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lit up and grinned. "Nah, that was me too--I don't think Lex was in there anywhere...strange, hunh? "

Clark glanced quickly at Whitney. "Whitney, you're really kind of a bimbo. Can you call a man a bimbo?" He shook his head but he was kind of impressed.

Whitney laughed. "I think you call them lucky." He hesitated a second, not really sure if this was the time to speak what was on his mind, but he pushed ahead. "Clark, you should know, I don't feel bad about killing Lionel--he deserved it, and I don't regret it at all. Not that I think I'll make it a habit, you understand." He grinned at Clark's look of shock and shook his head. "Its like shooting fish in a barrel with you, Clark." He sobered again and asked quietly, "Does it bother you, that it doesn't bother me?" and waited for Clarks answer.

"Whitney--what can I say? It's done, its over and we have to go on--besides he would have killed Lex and I don't think I could have survived that. So, no--it doesn't bother me."

Whit nodded. He knew these two were connected on a level he couldn't understand. A part of him was grateful to be included--not a part he would acknowledge openly. "When I hit him--it made the most awful noise--I still hear it...I can still feel it." He shuddered briefly and Clark reached over and squeezed Whit's knee.

"Knock it off, I'm fine," he said and flipped the cigarette out the window.

"Whit! You can start fires that way!" Clark scolded.

"Good, let Kansas burn to the fucking ground."

They were silent for quite a long time after that--each in their own thoughts.

They had pulled off deep in the woods off of route 40, the moon gleaming high in the sky and a crackling fire making it cheerful, almost like they were camping out instead of on the lam, Clark thought. Whitney lay on his side reading a book by the firelight, Clark and Lex lay on top of each other talking quietly.

The remains of a campfire dinner were still unburied and Whitney nursed a beer and snuck looks at the two. They looked happy, and it was nice to see. Whitney finished the beer, and gathered the scraps, walked out into the dark to dispose of them. When he got back, the bundle of covers wasn't stationary, and he figured he better take himself to the other side of the car, maybe just hop in the car...and try not to listen.

Lex sighed in pleasure as Clark softly, slowly kissed his way down his neck, to his chest. His breath sounded loud under the blankets ...Clark's tongue swept across his nipple and made him jump. Clark did it again, and pulled the hard nub into his mouth and worked his tongue over it until Lex groaned--he couldn't believe how good it felt--Clark's mouth, Clark's arms around him, smooth and hot, every inch of him was hot and Lex soaked up the warmth like a sponge. Clark lifted his head and moved higher. Lex whimpered at the loss of contact. There was something under the blanket, poking him in the side and he scooted closer, threw a leg over Clark's hip and groaned as they pressed hard together, hip to hip, chest to chest.

"Clark! Oh--"

"Shhh." Clark pressed his lips to Lex's and the blanket slid back a little, letting cool air rush in and making Lex shiver. Clarks hands came up to cradle his head, he sank his fingers into his hair and pulled his head closer--"Shhh," he whispered again and kissed Lex, rolling his tongue against his lips, Lex's lips opened on a sigh, "Clark"...his tongue slid smoothly against Clark's again and again until all he wanted was to kiss him forever, feel his mouth wet and hot under his, suck on his tongue like he wanted to suck on his cock... "Lex," Clark groaned, and rolled against him, and Lex wanted to feel all of him, naked against him, he wanted to feel his cock, his mouth on him....

They pushed clothing out of the way, pants slid down, shirts were shrugged off and balled under them, limbs wrapped around each other and they pushed, rocked and strained to be closer. Lex needed more, he needed to feel Clark's mouth on him, his hand--Clark bent and mouthed the tender skin of his belly, making him hiss. His tongue swept in and out of his navel, he nibbled sharp little bites down to the base of his cock. Damn. Damn--"Shit!" he gasped aloud when Clark's mouth slid over him and he felt his cock bump against the back of his throat...the head rubbed against the roof of Clark's mouth, his tongue rubbed against the underside... There was nothing in the world except Clark's mouth. Clark held his balls, rolling them in his hand, his fingers slipped back, softly, gently, rubbing little circles, sliding back until they rested in his cleft. Lex shivered and grabbed his hand. "Stop please."

Clark froze. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped, his cock wilting as he pulled back. Lex gripped him hard, pulled him closer and wrapped Clark's hand around his waist. "Don't worry. It's okay. It's okay." and tried to pull Clark closer again.

Clark felt ill. "Let's wait a little bit, okay?"

Suddenly a shadow dropped over them and Whit stood there, a blanket around his shoulders, naked, hard and shivering. "It's cold, scoot over," he said to Clark who moved immediately and gaped at Whitney as he squirmed in under the blankets between them. Whit leaned over and enthusiastically kissed Lex and rubbed back into Clark.

"Mmm. Warm!" He kissed Lex again, humming happily as he worked his way downwards and licked Lex's belly, nibbling and licking over the red spots Clark had left, pressing against Clark until he had to press back, his cock slipping against Whit, sliding easier as pre-come drooled out and slicked the way, the sensation tortured him, making him moan. Lex jerked and thrust, Clark's helpless groaning exciting him as much as Whitney kissing along the length of his cock, nuzzling around in the crisp little curls at the base, mouthing and teasing until his cock dripped and he couldn't stop the little gasps bursting from his mouth. Whitney gently pushed against Lex until he lay flat, and then licked a long stripe up his cock.

Lex jumped and groaned but his eyes were on Clark. Clark was hard again, his cock bobbing with every stripe Whitney licked up Lex's twitching cock. Clark leaned over and put his hands on Whit's hips, smoothing circles as he watched Whit sink down on Lex, sucking in and out, drawing back until only the tip of his tongue was on Lex, leaving him quivering, wet and straining up towards his mouth.... He slipped a finger inside Whit and all three gasped. Clark's cock jerked and a thin string of precome glistened from his cock to Whit' s hip...

Whit lifted his head and groaned--"Glove box. There's stuff in the glove box."

Lex bucked and grunted. "Boy scout--"

"Fuck you, you should be glad someone's prepared". He took Lex in his mouth again and sucked idly, teasingly until Clark came back, flushed red and eager.

He dropped on his knees behind Whitney, and Lex couldn't believe it was possible to be even more excited then he was--Whitney groaned and lunged down on him when Clark slid oil-coated fingers inside, stroking slowly and surely in, crooking his fingers to find the place Whitney taught him about, he felt Whitney clamp down on him and groan--Clark watched Lex's face as he fucked Whitney with his fingers, watched Lex's eyes narrow and his teeth bare as Whitney swallowed him whole. Lex arched, panting in time with Clark's breath. Clark oiled his cock and gasped over and over as he stroked himself and watched Whitney plunge up and down on Lex. Whit pressed his ass against Clark's straining dick and pushed back so quickly Clark was sheathed instantly. They froze, all three--a push one way or the other and it would be over.

Lex grunted, "Fuck him Clark, let me see," and Clark shouted, and prayed not to come on the spot--he began fucking Whitney with no finesse, no grace, gripped him and thought, "careful, careful, careful"--but Whitney set a fast pace, and sucked Lex harder, Lex lifted up and thrust into his mouth and Whit's eyes rolled back and he shook.

"Feel it? You feel it?" Lex gasped out. He was falling into Clark's eyes, into silence so complete it weighed him down, into wonderful heat, images swamped his mind and gave way to sensation-- Whitney's mouth on him, for a split second he felt himself filled and he felt himself in Whitney and then he saw Lex--himself. Time stopped, he was outside of himself looking in and--Lex saw himself as Clark saw him--blazing, full of light, he was...beautiful....

It was too much--it hurt, there was so much love it hurt. Tears were hot on his skin, but if they were his tears or Clark's he wasn't sure...a hot tear ran down his thigh to drop onto the blanket under him.

The silence exploded and the night rushed back in and he heard Clark. "Yes!"

"Yes! I feel it, I feel it too," Clark gasped out, and bit his lip and thrust into Whitney--calling out Lex's name and shaking over Whit's shivering back as he fought to keep his eyes on Lex. Lex exploded--he came harder than he ever remembered coming-- his eyes were on Clark, his hands were wrapped in Whit's hair, thrusting, and feeling Whit's throat working as he swallowed --Clark flung his hands over Lex's and grunted as Whitney clamped down on him and came, come pulsing across the blankets, splashing warm against Lex's legs. Clark's head tipped back to the sky as he rode out his own aftershocks with Whitney....

They lay tangled around each other, gasping for breath and a little stunned. Whitney reached out first, snagged the blankets and yanked at them until the boys were covered again.

Lex sighed. "I'm the only one in the wet spot right?"

Clark snickered sleepily and snugged closer to Whitney.

Whitney was quiet for a moment and then spoke, "You know, when we get to New York, we're going to need a plan..."

Clark was instantly wide awake--"No Whit--"

Lex was shaking his head already.
"What? I haven't even said anything yet! Listen, this is the best plan ever..."

~fin~

2-27-2005