While carrying out an investigation about strange events going on in a small village, Clark, young investigative reporter, is kidnapped by Alexander, a vampire, and held captive in Alexander's castle. The vampire falls in love with Clark. There's a happy ending.

Clark shivered as he made his way through the mist that had settled on the road. It was late September, and there was a chill to the air, a fact only emphasized by the late hour.

As he continued to trudge down the road, Clark sighed, thinking longingly of the little inn where he was staying, located in the outskirts of town. It might not have been luxurious, but at least it was warm, and right then he had to admit that he wished he were there. Had his old steamer not broken down about five miles outside of town, he could have been back there already, eating his supper.

Before the fog had closed in, Clark had been amusing himself by looking at the land around him as he made his way back to the inn. He had to admit that Scotland had proven to be a pretty area, though he wished he were there for another reason. As a young investigative journalist, what he uncovered could make his career, but he still would have preferred that it wasn't at the expense of the people whose disappearance he was investigating.

The tiny village where he was currently staying had been plagued by strange disappearances over the last few years. Once the people had vanished, not one was ever seen again, leading to many different theories and just as many dead ends. Naturally, there was a growing curiosity and desire for the answer--an interest that Clark's editor had taken advantage of without delay.

Clark worked for a newspaper in London, but this had been a good opportunity, and his editor had been eager to try him out on something more important than the minor stories he'd been covering back in the city. Pleased at the chance he'd been given to prove himself, Clark had been more than willing to go.

But now, as he walked down the deserted dirt road, he thought longingly of his home back in London. His mother would probably be serving supper right now, and had he still been in town, he could have joined her and his father.

Two years earlier, Clark could have even run home from here, not to mention made it back easily to the inn where he was staying. This was one of those times when he regretted no longer having the abilities that he'd once thought of as a curse.

Right up until Clark had turned sixteen, he'd had powers beyond those of normal men. Had he not encountered and breathed in a fine dust that had settled into his lungs, he still might have--at least more than he had now.

As it was, Clark could still hear conversations far beyond the range of the normal human ear, but the strength, speed, and capability to see through things--all abilities he'd once possessed--were now simple memories, things of the past. There had even been a time when he'd been able to start fires with his eyes, but that too had faded about a week into the illness brought on from the dust. Even his ability to heal, which had once been almost instantaneous, had weakened to the point where it now took hours.

For about three weeks after he'd breathed in the dust, Clark's parents had been certain he was going to die. He'd had a high fever, causing him to slip into a delirious state as he lay weakly in bed, unable to be roused. When he'd finally recovered, they'd all agreed that his powers seemed a small thing to pay in return for his life.

Unfortunately, his lack of powers was now the biggest factor in his inability to return to the inn. Unable to do anything else, he was reduced to having to walk all the way back. It hadn't been too bad at first, but now with night and the fog setting in, it was no way enjoyable.

Clark's shivering increased, and he wished that he'd brought a coat with him. His clothing wasn't very warm, and the fog was dampening it, making things even more miserable.

He was so absorbed in thinking about his wet clothing and the cold temperatures that, at first, he didn't hear the approaching footsteps. When he did, he stopped, listening hard, thinking that perhaps he'd imagined it. The hour was late, after all, and his mind was probably playing tricks on him.

When the soft, methodical crunch of dirt didn't cease but instead grew louder, Clark felt a tingle shoot up his spine. Sure enough, he could hear someone walking along the road.

"Is anyone there?" he asked, feeling a little nervous. Even standing at six-foot-three with a well-built body, he still felt vulnerable being out at dusk on a deserted road.

"Yes," a voice answered, cutting through the fog.

Clark swallowed. There was an almost pleased quality to that voice, slick, smooth, and somewhat intimidating. Not knowing what else to do, he stopped walking as the footsteps drew nearer.

After what felt like hours, though was most likely less than a quarter of a minute, an outline became visible through the fog. The dim figure's clothing was dark, giving it the impression of a specter as it almost glided above the ground towards Clark. When it finally approached close enough to discern details, Clark saw that the figure was male.

"Pray tell me, what would you be doing out at such a late hour?" the man asked as he drew even with Clark, flashing a slight smile that sent shivers up Clark's spine.

There was something odd about the man that Clark couldn't quite put his finger on. His outfit was fashionable, consisting of a suit that was in style in the current nineteen-twenties, but his blue eyes were almost too piercing. His hat covered his head, but wisps of red hair were visible beneath it, giving the impression of flames.

"My automobile broke down," Clark said simply, feeling uncomfortable when the man fell into step beside him.

Something in the man's eyes glimmered at Clark's words. "And you had no one with you? Really, what were you doing out alone at such a late hour?"

Clark shrugged. "I'm here investigating the disappearances that this town is famous for. I was interviewing someone in the next town over, and when I was finished, I started back to the inn where I was staying. Unfortunately, it's an old steamer and it broke down outside of town." The man nodded, smirking lightly. "And no one knows where you are?"

With every minute that passed, Clark was becoming more and more uncomfortable. The man didn't seem like the sort that he wanted to be around, and his questions about Clark's lack of companionship were worrying.

"Suppose you failed to return," the man continued. "Would anyone look for you?"

Clark's discomfort level reached disturbing proportions, and he halted, turning to stare at the man. "Why are you asking?" he questioned sharply.

What Clark saw next was undoubtedly the most frightening experience of his life: the man smiled, exposing what looked to be fangs. Drawing a little closer to Clark, he murmured, "You're unnaturally handsome, and you seem intelligent; all I can say is that it's a pity you and I had to meet like this."

When the man lunged forward, he took Clark by surprise, sending him hurtling down into the dirt, struggling. Dust choked Clark as he fought to throw off his attacker, and he was unable to gain the upper hand. Moments after he'd been thrown to the ground, a heavy weight pinned him face down. Clark panicked when he realized that he was unable to move.

"You came here for answers," the man whispered as he settled himself against Clark's back, leaning in close to his ear. "And I'm giving them to you. Unfortunately, you'll never share them with anyone else."

Clark had heard tales of vampires in the past, but until that moment, he'd never entertained the idea that they might truly exist. Having what he thought was one on top of him, he was forced to rethink his assumptions. Apparently, he was about to become another one of those disappearances that he'd been sent to investigate, and the thought horrified him beyond belief.

Fear tainted the air around them, hanging in the fog along with Clark's cries for help. "No one's going to hear you," the man said with a touch of pity as he shifted his weight against Clark's back. "We're miles away from anyone." There was a regretful quality to his voice, and he paused, seeming to consider something. "It truly is a pity," he murmured, surprising Clark with gentle licks along his neck. "If it were a few years ago, I'd have much rather have taken you to my bed than killed you."

"Get off me. Please," Clark gasped. He didn't want to die--didn't want to feel fangs sink into his neck as he was sure was about to happen.

"Shhh," the man murmured, continuing to lick and suck gently at Clark's neck. "There's nothing you can do," he told him. "Relax and don't struggle; I won't make it hurt any more than it has to."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Clark tried to block out what he knew was coming. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he'd never feel those fangs enter his neck. Maybe he'd never feel his own death.

Despite his best efforts, when the man bit down and sank his teeth into Clark's neck, pain trickled through his nerves. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt any more than a knife being cleanly drawn across his skin, but feeling his strength draining away was terrifying.

Clark could feel himself beginning to lose consciousness as the man suckled, his breath warm against Clark's chilled skin. His limbs weighed like pieces of lead, hanging limply at his sides, holding him down as the minutes ticked by. There was nothing that he could do to stop the man, and Clark knew he was going to die there, alone, on a dark and deserted road. The thought chilled him, and he cried out weakly, knowing it might very well be the last thing he did in his life.

"Shhh," the man hushed him again, turning Clark over onto his back. His pale face was troubled as he hovered over Clark. "You're different," he announced quietly after a moment or so. "You don't taste like the others."

Clark didn't know what that meant, but he was too lightheaded to care. His consciousness was fading in and out, and he was sure that his life was about to end.

A gentle hand brushed across Clark's brow, pushing aside his disheveled bangs. "You intrigue me," the man's soft voice informed him. "And though I had never thought it could happen, you'll wake up."

Somehow, that promise was enough to calm Clark as he slipped off towards unconsciousness. As his vision finally dimmed, he heard more gentle words spoken over him, but he clung to nothing but the last intelligible bit. He would wake up.

The first thing that Clark felt as he awoke was a mattress under his back. It was firm and comfortable, much like his mattress back home in London. In fact, it was so much alike that his sleepy mind persisted in thinking that he really was home.

Muttering something unintelligible at the prospect, Clark forced his eyes open, only to realize immediately that he was nowhere near London. As soon as he grasped that fact, everything else came flooding back.

His car. The road. A vampire. His blood. Unconsciousness.

Feeling panic race through him, Clark forced himself to sit up, his hand flying to his neck to feel for a cut. There was nothing there--he'd healed. Unable to believe that, his heart beat wildly as his gaze swept over the room.

The room had the air of a place that had once been quite beautiful but that was now, tainted with disuse. Despite the dust that covered it, the floor was an attractive hardwood. The walls were also of wood, though of a shade darker than that of the floor. Six feet to the right of the door was the bed he was lying on, directly across from three large windows adorned with dark-green velour curtains, slightly faded with age. All of the remaining furniture had cushions of fabric that matched the curtains, also dust-covered and faded.

Everything was undisturbed, except for the chair in the corner, which was occupied.

Clark's heart nearly exploded from his chest when he saw his attacker sitting calmly in the chair. His face showed no expression, though his eyes were very much alive as he watched Clark.

"What--?" Clark asked, his voice cracking, preventing him from getting anything else out.

The man seemed to understand, despite the lack of words. "No one's ever survived before," he said quietly. "You intrigue me... and it's been years since I've entertained a guest."

Clark swallowed hard, unable to decipher what the man meant. "Where am I?"

"In my home," the man replied, glancing around at his property in distaste. "I apologize for the condition of the room, but it was the best I had, and I don't quite keep the place ready for visitors."

"You haven't answered my question," Clark countered, even though he really had, in a roundabout fashion. He just hadn't supplied the answer Clark had wanted. "Where are we? Where is your home?"

The man's lips twisted into a smile. "Curious--I like that," he murmured. Pausing, he rose from the chair and walked over to the window, looking out. "Years ago, this was a fine mansion, secluded in the woods a distance from town. It belonged to an eccentric billionaire--my father. After he died and I disappeared, the gates were locked. No one save myself, and a few select servants, has entered since--at least not until today."

"No one knows you're here?" Clark asked slowly, feeling his heart sink. If no one knew the place was inhabited, then it was likely no one would look for him there. The fact of the matter was, it was unlikely anyone would really look for him at all, as the only people who even knew he was in the vicinity were the innkeeper and the person that he'd interviewed. Even when someone found his car, they'd search the woods nearby--not this place.

The man's lips twisted into a smile as he turned his head towards Clark. "Those who have come looking in the past have met... unfortunate ends. Undoubtedly, they were some of the 'disappearances' that you were seeking information on."

Something about those words roused Clark's anger. The man was speaking of murders he'd committed in a calm, almost conversational tone. Had things gone just a little differently, Clark would have been one of those victims, and yet the man seemed to display no qualms on the subject.

"You're sick," he spat angrily, glaring at the man. "You've killed, and you're showing no remorse."

To Clark's utter surprise, the man looked almost a little sad. "You're quite wrong: I do feel regret, but I simply see no point in obsessing over things I can't change," he replied calmly. "I am what I am, and I can't change that, no matter how much I wish that I could." Pausing, he turned around to face Clark. "But enough about me; I'm intrigued by you."

Feeling fury well up in him again, Clark narrowed his eyes. "What makes you think I'd tell you anything? You tried to kill me."

The man nodded, frowning slightly. "Tried, yes, and I've never failed before. There's something different about you that kept you alive, and I can't say that I regret that. It certainly complicates things, but--"

"Complicates things?" Clark spat. "My failure to die complicates things? Listen to yourself--listen to how perverse you sound."

A wry smile twisted the man's features. "I am well aware of what I'm saying," he replied. "And, yes, it does complicate things, as you can certainly identify me. In addition, I brought you back to my own home to recover, which means that you could also supply the authorities with information on my whereabouts."

"So kill me!" Clark challenged, pushing his covers aside. He'd been stripped down and dressed in nightclothes, and only through sheer force of will did he ignore that fact. "You didn't seem to have a problem with doing that before."

To Clark's utter annoyance, the man laughed at him. "How old are you?" he asked, giving Clark a small smile. Obviously, young enough not to understand how the world works, though I must say that I enjoy your bravado, even if it's somewhat misplaced.

"I'm seventeen," Clark replied stiffly, feeling a little insulted. He knew how the world worked--at least, he knew how his world worked. His world consisted of home and his job. It was a safe world, and it seemed that somehow, when he hadn't been looking, he'd slipped away from that.

"Seventeen," the man replied, appearing as though he was thinking that over. "Young, then. Pretty, too. Lots of fire." He paused for a moment, giving Clark the impression that he was considering his options. When he did finally look back at Clark, it was with the expression of someone who had come to a conclusion. "What are we going to do with you, then?" he asked, though Clark had the feeling that he'd already decided. "I'm sure I could find a way to kill you, but I have to admit that the thought doesn't appeal to me."

"And I'm sure you won't let me go," Clark added bitterly.

The man nodded. "No, that's not an option. So what to do, hmm?"

Clark scowled. "You're not asking me--you needn't pretend."

Once again, Clark's comments made the man smile. "I am rather lonely, and I can't deny that you interest me. I think that perhaps I could enjoy having you here."

As far as Clark was concerned, that meant that he was going to be held captive, existing solely to suit the fancy of a killer. The idea did not appeal to him, and his scowl deepened.

"You're much prettier when you don't pout," the man chided gently as he moved alongside Clark's bed. "Although, I must admit that particular expression is almost endearing."

"Who are you?" Clark demanded, leaning away from the man, angry at his impertinent comments. He wasn't pretty, and he certainly didn't look endearing when he pouted. This man made him seem as though he were a mere child.

Clark's displeasure clearly wasn't lost on the man, though he only smiled and replied, "Alexander Luthor." Still looking at Clark, he carefully reached out and touched the area of Clark's neck that he'd bitten earlier. "And I find that I'm indebted to you."

Clark wasn't at all sure what he meant, at least not until Alexander stepped into the direct line of sunlight, holding his arms out. "Before last night, this was impossible. Standing in the sunlight, even opening the curtains--impossible." Dropping his arms, he looked back at Clark, his eyes suddenly searching. "Now why don't you tell me what you are." It was not a suggestion, but an order disguised as one.

"What makes you think that I'm anything other than normal?" Clark demanded, looking at him challengingly. This man was insane if he assumed Clark was going to give up his secrets.

Alexander merely smiled. "No one normal would have survived a feeding, nor would their blood have changed me. But we'll save that for another day, if that's what you'd prefer. For now, just tell me your name."

"Kent. Clark Kent," he replied begrudgingly. There was no sense in holding that back, at least.

"Clark," Alexander murmured, seeming to be trying out the name on his lips. "Handsome name," he pronounced finally, giving Clark a small smile as though he really meant what he was saying.

"It was my mother's maiden name," Clark offered before he even realized what he was doing. He shouldn't give this man any more information than necessary, and he knew that, but somehow the words had still slipped out.

Surprisingly, Alexander looked genuinely interested. "Really?" he mused, letting himself down to sit on the bed. Clark tensed, but he said nothing. "I've always wondered about naming children after family lines. Do you ever find it constricting? As if you have to live up to your namesake?"

Clark shook his head. "I've never met my mother's side of the family--they refused to associate with her after she married my father."

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "Odd that she should name you after them, then," he replied before he apparently decided that the topic of conversation had gone on long enough. "You can't have eaten since early yesterday. Would you like something?"

Until that moment, Clark hadn't realized just how hungry he was. It had been yesterday since he'd last eaten, and he'd really only gotten breakfast, even though the person he'd been interviewing had served him luncheon. Given how the food had looked, he'd only eaten the very minimum required to be considered polite.

Still, Clark wasn't quite certain that he should trust his captor's food any more than he had that of the person he'd interviewed. "Why should I trust you?" he blurted out, though he wasn't even sure if that was what he'd meant to say.

Alexander, who seemed to have interpreted Clark's hesitancy as admitting his hunger, got up to leave, only to pause at the door. "You have no reason to," he replied. "But, then again, you really have no other choice, do you?"

Before Clark could reply, Alexander swept out of the room, leaving Clark feeling incredibly unsure of himself and the entire situation.

Clark had to admit that the luncheon he'd been served had not been bad. After he'd gotten beyond his fear that it was poisoned and had eaten, he'd felt better, and a weakness that he hadn't even known had been plaguing him just sort of fell away.

Alexander hadn't joined him for the meal, which had been served to Clark in his room. Instead, Clark had been attended by one of his servants, a man named Damien. When Clark asked, Damien had told him that there were two other servants who worked in the mansion, but that it was otherwise unoccupied. All other questions were artfully dodged, and while as a reporter, Clark knew he was being stonewalled, he really wasn't in the position to do anything about it.

Alexander didn't appear again until Clark was getting ready for bed that evening. He'd found more nightclothes in the dresser, and he was changing when a knock came at the door. Clark called out for him to enter, all the while feeling like a girl who'd been interrupted in the middle of her toilette.

"I trust the food was acceptable?" Alexander inquired politely. The tiny smirk that accompanied his question left Clark with the impression that Alexander was mocking Clark's earlier fear that the food might be unsafe.

"It was fine," Clark replied stiffly. "Though I can't say the same for being held prisoner in one room all day." He couldn't really describe how infuriating it had been not to be able to move more than a few steps in any direction. The morning had been spent reading one of the books that he'd found on the shelves adorning the wall to the left of the door, while the afternoon had been filled with looking for a way to escape, eating a light supper, and eventually just staring out the window at an overgrown garden as the night fell.

Alexander gave him a small smile. "I promise that such confinement won't last long, but, as I've told you, this is an old house, and I had to be certain that all the necessary precautions were taken to ensure you would be unable to escape.

Clark shot him a nasty glare. "If you lock up everyone that you can't kill, it's no small wonder that you have no friends."

Alexander's smile grew, and Clark got the distinct impression that Alexander was amused at his forwardness. "Then I suppose that you'll just have to keep me entertained all by yourself then, won't you?"

Once again, it seemed to Clark that Alexander was enjoying himself, this time by making Clark feel younger than he was. "I'm not a child," Clark spat at him, fed up with being treated as though he were. He'd been working to earn wages for his parent's farm for years--he was no ignorant schoolboy. He knew what hard work was, just as he knew all about money shortages and having to make do with what he had.

"Oh, Clark, "Alexander sighed, laughing a little. "You haven't quite lost the innocence of youth yet, I'm afraid."

"You can't be that much older than I am," Clark pointed out, irritated. "And I'm certainly larger than you." He thought he stood at least a good three inches over Alexander--not that it mattered, given what Alexander was and could do to him.

"Yes," Alexander agreed, "You're larger than me, but I'm seven years older than you."

The conversation was becoming irksome quickly, as Clark doubted this was anything other than Alexander gaining some amusement out of the things he said. As far as Clark could tell, the probability of getting any real information in this situation was fairly low.

"Look, was there something you wanted?" he asked bluntly. "Or did you just come here to aggravate me?"

Something passed over Alexander's face, but it was gone before Clark could identify it. "No, I'm not here to aggravate you," he replied, all humor draining from his voice.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "What, then?"

"I've actually come to ask you what people suspect about the disappearances."

At Alexander's words, Clark felt a searing bolt of anger slice through him. If this man had the gall to even think that Clark would tell him something that might help him, then he was truly more insane than Clark had believed. Furious, he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could offer a scathing retort, Alexander sighed. "You misunderstand me, Clark, though I can hardly blame you, I suppose." He looked tired, though that fatigue hadn't been there seconds ago. It was strange how easily his emotions seemed to shift. "I don't enjoy what I do, and had I a choice, I would never willingly do this."

"Then find a way," Clark replied, narrowing his eyes. He didn't accept the excuse that Alexander was a victim himself--not from a man who had created so many real victims.

Alexander looked at him regretfully as he sat down in the chair he'd occupied earlier that day. "I wish I could, Clark, but I've been made this way, and there is truly nothing I can do to change that."

"But you don't have to kill people," Clark pointed out as he sat down on the bed.

For some reason, those words made Alexander's brow wrinkle and his mouth turn down. "I wish that was the truth," he murmured. "But, I don't have a choice. I'm not alive enough to die, and that's the only way I could ever conceivably stop or change what I am."

"Then why don't you let people know about you?" Clark pressed on. "You know, so that they could stay away."

There was a trace of sadness in Alexander's face, and Clark found himself listening to the words that he spoke, wanting to understand why he did what he did. As a reporter, how could he not? Finding the truth was in his nature.

"Clark," Alexander replied sadly, shaking his head. "I can only go so long without feeding off someone. If they stay away from me, I seek out others--I find people just as I found you. If I don't feed often enough, my craving to do so takes over."

"And there's nothing you can do to stop it?" He hadn't considered this--he'd just thought that Alexander chose to hurt people. Never had he thought that perhaps Alexander couldn't help it. "If that's true, then how did you become this way?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Alexander sighed, but he correctly interpreted Clark's tone to mean that, at least for the moment, his presence was accepted. Taking advantage of that, he moved over to sit on the edge of the bed. "My father," he admitted quietly, "was a powerful man, but he still had enemies. One of those enemies came seeking revenge after my father's less than morally upstanding dealings left the unfortunate man in a compromising position--one that ended up condemning him to the same fate that I now suffer. He was unable to reach my father, but I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

It felt as though something cold had crawled up into Clark's belly. If he was telling the truth, Alexander hadn't had a choice in what he'd become, and he took no joy in his killings--he was as much a victim as those that he'd killed.

"So I isolated myself as much as was possible," Alexander continued, "The few servants that you've seen know how to protect themselves, should it come to that." He paused, seeming to consider that point. "There have been many times that I've considered telling the townspeople how to arm themselves. But, really, what would it do? I would simply go further to find more unsuspecting people. Even if they were to lock me up, my base nature would take over until I was eventually able to obtain what I needed. No matter what I do, I can't stop this."

"So you just kill as little as possible?" asked Clark, feeling a little confused. Alexander was doing what he truly thought was best, at least if he were telling the truth. And, strangely enough, Clark was convinced that he was.

"Yes," Alexander replied. "And I normally try to pick victims who are older." When Clark raised an eyebrow at that comment, he added, "The only reason I attacked you was because it had been too long since I'd last fed, and you were alone in a place where no one would hear your cries for help--the whole situation was entirely too tempting."

His reasoning actually made sense, Clark realized. Everything he'd said so far had. It didn't change the situation, but it did make Alexander look less like a cold-blooded killer and more a victim of his circumstances. Clark had always had a soft place in his heart for people in trouble (his mother had always told him that he seemed determined to save the world), and he found that he was warming to Alexander as the notion that he was a victim set in.

Silence fell for a moment after that, during which Alexander simply stared at Clark. "Will you answer my question?" he finally asked.

It took Clark a moment to recall what he Alexander was talking about. When he finally remembered that Alexander had wanted to know about the disappearances, he felt a little awkward, given that he'd been one of them. "They sent a reporter from a London newspaper to investigate--don't you think there's curiosity?"

Alexander looked mildly impressed, and at first, Clark was offended, thinking Alexander was pleased because he'd drawn attention. "A reporter for a London newspaper, hmm? At seventeen? You must be quite talented."

It took Clark a moment to realize that Alexander hadn't been impressed that he'd drawn attention--he'd been impressed with Clark's job.

Despite the compliment, Clark scowled. "It doesn't matter, does it? I'll lose my job after I don't turn up to work for months."

"I'm sorry, Clark, I truly am," Alexander told him, his face belaying sadness.

Before Clark could reply, Alexander turned away from the bed and headed towards the door, almost as if he didn't want to face the conversation. Once there, he turned off the light, indicating that Clark should try to sleep.

"You're not sorry enough to let me go," Clark muttered, though he did slip into bed.

In the moonlight, Alexander's face looked even paler than it usually did, and his eyes almost seemed to glow. Under different circumstances, it might have been frightening. "Good night, Clark," he murmured as he stepped out of the room. "Sleep well." He closed the door behind him, leaving Clark to a dark room lit only by the light of the moon through the windows.

Sighing heavily, Clark curled up on the bed and forsook the pursuit of answers to his questions for the time being. In the morning, he promised himself, he'd resume working on finding out what he needed to know. For now, because there was nothing more he could do tonight, he'd sleep.

Clark soon found that life at the mansion was not particularly exciting. He'd remained in the same room (with the exception of when he went to the connecting room in order to use the lavatory) for a week now, seeing Damien only rarely. The solitude was driving him mad, and he'd taken to pacing back and forth across the room, if only to try to quell the mind-numbing boredom that was eating away at him.

As he was pacing, the sound of a door opening surprised him, and he stopped, his gaze moving to the door. He was a little surprised when he saw Alexander standing there, as he hadn't seen him since that first day when he'd woken up a prisoner in this place. This time his visage was noticeably different: his face appeared sallower than it had then, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Care to join me for a walk in the garden?" Alexander asked, gesturing to the door.

Clark narrowed his eyes, immediately distrustful. It might not make much sense, but over the past week, the room had almost become his sanctuary. As long as he was there, he was fairly certain that nothing was going to take him unawares--he knew the room. Being asked to leave that made him feel uncomfortable.

"You disappear for a week, and then you ask me if I wish to go for a walk?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alexander tried to placate him with a small smile. "You've been pacing like a caged animal; surely you want to get out of this room?"

Clark couldn't argue with that, and while he gave Alexander another distrustful glance, he did fall into step behind him as they left the room. Together they moved out into a hallway, which connected to a set of stairs that led them to the main part of the mansion. The rest of the place, Clark found, was just as old and reminiscent of a past glory as his room was.

"Are you ill?" Clark asked as they descended a flight of stairs. "You're paler than when I last saw you." It might have seemed strange, but he almost felt a bit of compassion for his captor, and the inquiry about his health was not insincere.

Alexander glanced at him. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Being what I am, it's difficult to go too long without..." His voice trailed off, and he dropped his eyes--not that it mattered, as Clark got the point. Alexander hadn't fed off anyone, he realized, and like any person who needed food, not eating was taking a toll on his body.

"There's no way to make this end?" He knew that Alexander had told him that there wasn't, but surely there had to be some way.

"No," Alexander replied with a shake of his head. "I've searched ever since I first became what I am now, but there's nothing that can change my condition."

Conversation between them died away when Alexander pushed open a door, gesturing for Clark to follow. As soon as Clark did, he found himself entering what he knew from lengthy observation (driven by boredom), to be the overgrown garden located under his window.

"Why don't you keep the garden tended?" he asked, glancing around as they moved onto an old cobblestone path that wove around the untrimmed plants.

"No real reason to," Alexander replied with a shrug. "No one visits here, and so there's no one to appreciate the beauty. But if you'd like it to be kept up from here on in, I can make sure that it will be."

Clark shook his head. "No, I wouldn't want to put you to the trouble." And, really, how absurd was that, given he was being held captive here? He didn't want to make trouble? It was a foolish notion, but Clark somehow still couldn't shake the thought that Alexander wasn't a bad person--just someone who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and suffered from something that he couldn't control.

Alexander looked as though he was going to say something to that, but instead he just nodded, letting the conversation go. "This used to be my mother's garden," he said quietly. "She loved roses."

"Good choice," Clark concurred. "They're my favorite too, though probably not for conventional reasons."

Alexander laughed. "Undoubtedly. Why, then?"

"When I was younger, my mother told me about the rose," he began, letting his memory wander back to the time when he'd sat on his mother's lap, listening to her tell stories. "It's one of the most beautiful and delicate-looking of all flowers, at least until you try to pull it from the ground, she told me. It is then, when you attempt to uproot it, that its defenses become evident in its thorns. Beauty that's able to fend for itself--that's what she told me."

"I think," Alexander murmured, "that your mother's an intelligent woman."

"Yes," Clark agreed, feeling a sort of sadness settle over him. "She is." Now, thinking about it, he had to wonder if he would ever see her again. The thought saddened him, and he paused for a moment, moving off the path to an old stone bench, which was positioned by an overgrown pool. "May I ask you a question?" he requested quietly, looking at Alexander.

Alexander nodded, coming to sit by him on the bench.

"Are you going to kill me?" It was a thought that had been playing through his mind, tormenting him. In the end, he thought it would probably be better to know in advance, so he could at least ready himself.

"No," Alexander replied immediately. He took no time to think about it, but simply answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "No," he said again. "I'm not."

"What, then?" Odd how the conversation had changed from roses and thorns to... this.

"I can't be sure." Alexander looked honest enough as he said it, his face contemplative as he stared out over the garden. "You're the first person in years that I've been able to converse with. I've missed it, and I'm not sure I'll be able to tolerate its loss."

That, Clark realized, was an answer in itself. Alexander wasn't going to kill him, but neither was he going to let him leave. Such a thought presaged a rather bleak future.

"Why don't you say what you're thinking?" Alexander asked abruptly. "You look as though your world is crumbling, but you don't lash out at me. Why is that?"

Clark merely shrugged, toeing a rock on the ground in front of him. "Why bother? I can't change this." The rock tumbled a few feet away when he kicked it, landing on a red leaf that had blown to the ground. Autumn was certainly in full sway now, and the leaves were beginning to change.

Alexander was silent for a moment. When he finally did speak, his tone was serious. "Sometimes, we aren't able to change our destinies. Things happen, and we become someone or something that we dislike."

Clark continued to look down at the ground. "I believe we make our own destinies."

"Didn't you just say that you can't change your situation?"

"But I can choose how I react to the situation," Clark pointed out. "And that will determine at least part of how my life goes." His father had always told him that, and, as far as Clark could tell, it was very often true.

"That's good advice," Alexander admitted. "But there are still things we cannot change. I can't change what I am."

Clark still refused to meet Alexander's eyes, and he instead looked out over the garden, observing the signs of fall. This had always been his favorite season. "But you can decide how to control what you are."

Alexander chuckled. "You're different, you know that?"

"So are you," Clark replied, giving him a half-hearted smile.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as Alexander's face darkened. "I know it must be hard for you to see this--to see me approaching the time when I'll inevitably have to take what I need, and for that I'm sorry." He sighed, looking down towards the ground. "I can still control the urges at this point, but very soon I'll have to go to the village."

The blunt reference to death made Clark shiver. Alexander knew that he'd have to kill again, and he had to exist knowing that. Clark couldn't imagine living that way. To know that you'd have to take life--to have to anticipate it--would drive him mad.

"How do you stay in your right mind thinking about things like that?" he asked. There was no edge to his voice, as he had to admit that he was beginning to view Alexander's condition as not something of his own doing.

Alexander sighed. "When you first met me, you asked how I could kill with no remorse." When Clark nodded, acknowledging that he'd said that, Alexander went on. "I have to detach myself from thoughts about it. When I think about my needs, I make sure that my conscience isn't involved." He paused, kicking at the same rock Clark had been playing with earlier. "When I first became like this, I very nearly did lose my mind."

"I couldn't live like you--like that." He didn't know what he'd do if he were Alexander, unable to kill himself, and forced to kill others.

The smile that Alexander returned was dark and twisted. "Ah, Clark, weren't you just saying that our attitudes help determine our futures? I had to find some way to survive the horror and remain sane."

"I don't envy you that," Clark responded quietly, looking back out over the garden in an attempt to get his mind off of what had just been said. Thoughts of the garden, at least, were a bit more calming. "May we go back inside now?" For today, at least, he'd had enough. He wanted some time alone to think about what he'd just heard.

"Yes," Alexander replied, standing up.

When Clark fell into step beside him as they headed back towards the mansion, he had to admit that certain things in his mind were now a lot less clear than they'd been a few weeks ago.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Alexander spent less and less time with Clark, eventually reaching the point where Clark didn't see him for four straight days. No amount of inquiry after his health won Clark any answers. Damien, who was the only person that Clark saw, acted as though his mouth had been sewn shut anytime Clark asked a question that touched on that subject.

Given his lack of knowledge, it was a complete surprise when, at one in the morning, Clark's door burst inward, slamming into the wall.

The noise woke Clark, and he immediately rolled over, his gaze coming to rest on Alexander. As soon as his eyes focused in the dim light, he was able to see more clearly that Alexander was standing by the door, his face made pale in the moonlight.

Instantly, Clark knew something was wrong. Despite having been at Alexander's home for only a few weeks, he'd been able to observe enough about Alexander to know when something was decidedly amiss.

As Clark watched, Alexander drifted into the room, his fingers skimming the door frame as if he were letting go of it--letting go of the last thing that could hold him back. "I'm sorry, Clark," he whispered, his eyes haunted.

Clark never really figured out what happened after that. All he knew was that Alexander was suddenly lunging at him, pulling him out of bed. Everything was happening too fast for Clark to defend himself, and powerful hands closed around his wrists, tying them together behind his back with thick piece of rope before he even realized what was happening.

It wasn't until Alexander yanked him around so that they were face to face, their eyes locked, their faces only inches apart, that Clark finally got his bearings. There was remorse in Alexander's eyes, but it overshadowed by a sense of helpless desperation and hunger that was impossible to miss.

Unnaturally strong, Alexander's grip on Clark's wrists remained, holding him still. Helpless to do anything to break away from it, Clark merely glared at him.

"You didn't die before," Alexander said breathlessly, his eyes still locked with Clark's. "And you won't this time, either."

That was all the warning Clark received before he was shoved back down on the bed, his arms trapped beneath him as he was forced onto his back. Seconds later, Alexander was on top of him.

"You're beautiful, Clark," Alexander gasped out. "And I wish that your handsome features were the only reason that I was drawn to you."

The kiss that followed was so unexpected, and yet somehow not surprising at the same time. It was a brutal pressing of lips, hungry and desperate, as though Alexander hadn't had that sort of intimacy with another human being in far too long.

"You can't--" Clark spat when they broke the kiss. He could feel himself hardening, which seemed absurd, given the situation. How could he be attracted to a man who was about to drink his blood?

"I can do whatever I wish to you," Alexander murmured, beginning to trail kisses along Clark's jaw as he simultaneously moved his hand down Clark's chest until it brushed at his groin. Feeling the hardness there, Alexander paused, appearing almost a little surprised. "And it's very possible that you like that."

"You'll have to live with yourself after," Clark pointed out, though the touches and caresses were leaving him feeling breathless. He'd never lain with anyone before, man or woman, and he had no idea what he was feeling now.

"Yes," Alexander breathed out, beginning to caress Clark through his clothing. "I do. But I also know that I can smell your blood pulsing through your veins from the other side of the house, and I can't help myself anymore. You're like no one I've ever met--the way you affect me is unthinkable."

Unable to suppress the sensation, Clark bucked up into Alexander's touch. "I'm different," he admitted. "I always have been."

"I know." It was said with such a simple acceptance that Clark was shocked, even given the circumstances. No one that he'd ever told had been this accepting of him--had acted as though it didn't really matter. If anything, Alexander seemed to accept him more, as if he saw himself and Clark as compatriots. "I'm different, too," Alexander added, nuzzling at Clark's neck as he loosened the drawstring and pushed his hand down the front of Clark's pajamas.

Clark jerked at the unfamiliar sensation. "Oh, my."

"Yes, indeed," Alexander chuckled, his breath fanning out over the sensitized skin of Clark's neck.

When Alexander finally broke the skin, pain shot through Clark, sharp, surprising, and oddly almost pleasurable. At least, the hand thrust down inside his loosened pants made it so. Everything seemed so much more intense, and while he still felt frightened, Clark didn't think he'd ever felt more alive, even as he felt his blood draining from his body.

Clark's climax came just as white spots were clouding his vision, and he knew he was going to faint. Unable to hold on any longer, he found release, just as he let his mind slip away into the oblivion that it was seeking.

Clark lost consciousness, feeling more at ease than he'd ever felt before in his life, soothed by the tongue gently licking the remaining blood off his neck.

When Clark woke, it was to the gentle brush of a cloth over his face. Everything around him seemed calm and serene in a way that he knew didn't truly exist. Despite that, he felt comfortable, more so than he had in a long time, and he found it to be a welcome feeling; he had no desire to contemplate reasons why he shouldn't be feeling that way.

"Emmm," he murmured. His eyes felt heavy, and it was a struggle to force them open. When he did, he was surprised to find that he felt no fear at the sight that met him.

Alexander was sitting beside him on the bed, gently bathing his face with a cool, damp cloth. His expression was one of worry and concern; all signs of the desperation and hunger that had previously been there were gone.

"Feeling better?" Alexander asked him as he set aside the cloth, reaching over to the nightstand in order to retrieve a glass of water. Still looking concerned, he held the glass to Clark's mouth and helped him drink.

"I feel weak," Clark admitted as he struggled to sit up further in the bed. Seeing his struggles, Alexander immediately leaned forward to assist him.

"I'm sorry," he replied, his face echoing that emotion. "I was desperate, and I took more than was necessary." Following his words, a shadow crossed over his face, and he looked ill at ease.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I don't know how to explain this," he said softly, letting his gaze lower so that it focused on the bed. "But feeding from you--it somehow fulfils me. Whatever you are--however you do it--taking your blood relieves me of the need to kill others."

For the first time since Clark had awoken, he felt a wave of unease wash over him. "Is that why I'm here?" He couldn't conceive of living his life just to be someone's source of nourishment.

Alexander immediately shook his head. "No--I didn't know at first, but now I'm sure. And it's why you can't leave--not why I brought you here."

Those words seemed to hang in the air, becoming a suffocating miasma. Clark felt as though he couldn't breathe--not after what he'd just heard. "I can't stay here forever," he whispered almost plaintively, looking Alexander in the eye. "I have a job and a family. You can't expect me to leave that all behind."

Had Clark been thinking objectively, he would have seen the true remorse in Alexander's eyes. "It's your choice, Clark," he murmured. "You leave, and people die, because there's no one who can stop me--not even myself. Stay and maybe we can make things better."

Clark didn't know what "things" Alexander was talking about, but the true meaning of the words he'd spoken struck him harder than anything ever had before. "You're asking me to choose between my life and the lives of others?" he asked, feeling a little breathless.

Alexander's gaze never wavered. "It's not a fair choice, and it's not one that you should be forced to make, but, yes, that's what I'm asking you to do."

Even as he tried to convince himself otherwise, Clark knew there was no real choice. He couldn't choose his own life over the lives of others, especially not when he wasn't going to die anyway, because, whatever the reason, Alexander's feeding on him wasn't fatal. Clark became weak, but he didn't die--not like other people. If he chose to stay, he wouldn't be condemning himself to death, but to a life spent here with Alexander.

"The door's open if you want to leave," Alexander said after a few moments pause. "It's your decision."

He knew, Clark realized. From the moment he'd given Clark the option to leave, he'd known that Clark wouldn't do it. Just a few weeks together, and he'd already discerned that about Clark's character.

"There must be another way," Clark said quietly, his voice half-pleading.

Alexander's eyes softened with pity. "If there was, I'd let you take it--I'd have taken it."

But Clark knew there was no other solution. This was it--he didn't have another choice.

So slowly that it was almost undetectable, Clark nodded. "I'll stay," he choked out reluctantly.

With that, everything had just become more confusing than ever before. He'd just agreed to stay with Alexander--to willingly let Alexander feed off him. What else the arrangement might entail, he didn't know, but he certainly hadn't forgotten that Alexander's touches had been hungry in a very different way the previous night. As a young man who'd never experienced release like that, he had no idea what to think.

Even more confusing, Clark thought that he'd liked those touches.

Upon Clark's acceptance, Alexander said nothing, but merely looked at Clark. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes seemed to darken and swirl, like a pool of water that had been disturbed. He didn't seem angry, only frustrated, though that emotion didn't appear to be directed toward Clark, but rather at himself.

"Once we get settled, I'll find a way to let you visit your parents," he promised seriously. "I can't save your position at the newspaper, but you'll see your parents. That's a promise."

Clark merely nodded, afraid that if he spoke, he might release the sobs that were welling up in his chest. This hurt, more than anything else ever had.

Alexander seemed to sense his discomfort. Had the circumstances been different, Clark might have appreciated how insightful Alexander was, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. "Try to sleep a little more," Alexander murmured as he pulled the blanket back up over Clark before taking his leave. "I'll bring you something to eat later."

And then he was gone, leaving Clark to every tormented thought that ran through his mind. All of his fears were rearing up, pushing to the front of his consciousness as his chest tightened and his breath began to hitch. Unable to control himself any longer, he let his sobs break free as he mourned the life that he'd lost.

The next few days passed in a blur for Clark. Alexander was there for some of it, eating meals with him and trying to make conversation. Clark appreciated the effort, because, even given the situation, it was much preferable to the loneliness that ate at him otherwise. More importantly, if Alexander talked, Clark didn't have to examine the thoughts inside his own mind.

After the first few hours of sobbing, Clark had forced himself to get up and control his emotions. There was no point in crying over something that he couldn't change, and doing so was nothing but wasted energy. Even so, he hadn't been able to banish the feelings that were at the seat of the actions.

Clark had been a little surprised when Alexander had suggested that Clark take a walk around the grounds. Up until that point, he hadn't really comprehended that he was no longer actually a prisoner--that none of the doors was even locked anymore. It was clear that, should he want to leave, he could, just as long as he was prepared to live with his conscience.

Oddly enough, Clark almost felt like the lady of the manor. If he wanted something, all he had to do was ask, and Alexander seemed perfectly willing to get it for him. Clothes, food, books--if he asked (which he seldom did) and the request was reasonable, it always seemed to appear.

"You look as if you're thinking hard," a voice said quietly from the door.

Clark glanced up from the book he'd been reading. "It's a good book," he murmured, leaning back in his chair.

Alexander merely nodded and moved further into the room. "I don't doubt it."

When he said nothing further, Clark raised an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly. Alexander always had a purpose, whether it was to simply keep Clark company, or whether he actually had an issue he wanted to address. Either way, he wouldn't be here if there was no reason.

"I thought we might need to talk about... some things," he said slowly after a few moments' pause.

Clark immediately felt his stomach twist. "What?" He didn't like the slightly uncomfortable way that Alexander was looking at him.

"A few days ago," Alexander continued, "When I was a little less than... restrained, things happened."

"It was a biological need," Clark interrupted him, trying to brush off the topic. He knew that Alexander would have to feed off him again, eventually, but surely it had to be too soon right then, and he didn't want to have to talk about it until it was absolutely necessary. "I know."

"No," Alexander replied, shaking his head. "You don't understand. While part of what happened might have been a necessary action, my other advances on you were not. They were fueled by my need for your blood, but they weren't necessary."

Which, Clark took to mean, was Alexander hadn't had to stick his hand down Clark's pants. "It's fine," he said again. It wasn't, but he just didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't yet sure how he felt about what had gone on between them, and he didn't want to discuss it with Alexander until he was.

Sighing, Alexander moved over closer to Clark's chair. "You don't understand, Clark," he said again, seeming a little frustrated. "I find you very pleasing to the eye, but that's not something I must have--your body is something I want."

The meaning of Alexander's words washed over him, and Clark looked up at Alexander in shock. "Are you telling me you want that to happen again?"

For a moment, Alexander said nothing, but only bit lightly at his lower lip. His eyes were troubled as he studied Clark, almost as if he wasn't sure what to say. "Yes," he said finally. "You're special, Clark, and before all this happened to me, I'd still have wanted to lay with you. But now, having you in my house, it's a temptation that's hard to resist."

Clark shifted uncomfortably in his chair, completely at a loss as to how to respond. "I don't know," he breathed out after a few moments, immediately feeling foolish. He was so confused.

"You don't know?" Alexander repeated. "You don't know what you want?"

Clark swallowed, but he did manage to nod. "Everything's happening too fast." This man had kidnapped him, and yet Clark still couldn't quite ignore the nagging desire he felt. Alexander was attractive, and Clark was, for all intents and purposes, a virgin who wasn't sure how he felt.

"Clark, you could have years to think this sort of thing over, and it's not going to get any clearer," Alexander told him, seeming almost a little sympathetic as he came to stand in front of Clark's chair. "Emotions are seldom, if ever, logical, and when you're young, they're more confusing than ever."

A prickle of irritation shot through Clark. "I'm not a child," he reminded Alexander. "I have a job and a life." He was seventeen, and he supported himself. It wasn't as though he were still hanging off his mother's apron strings.

"That doesn't make you grown up," Alexander replied as he came to rest on the arm of the chair. Instinctively, Clark shifted over to make room. "You're not all-knowing yet, Clark," he added with a small chuckle. "And things like this will probably never make sense to you, no matter how old you are. Sometimes, it's easier to figure things out as they happen."

Clark was a little surprised when Alexander leaned down and pressed their lips together. It was a quick move, almost experimental, and Clark was kissing back before he really even understood what had just happened.

A few seconds later, Alexander pulled back and looked Clark straight in the eye. "If you don't like something, you tell me, and it will stop. That's a promise."

Clark never got the time to reply, as Alexander's mouth was on his again. A tongue slid across his lips, gently asking for entrance, something that Clark gave without even really thinking. Everything felt strange, and refusal to grant this physical request of Alexander's didn't even seem to be in his vocabulary.

The kiss that followed was pleasurable, and almost comforting. Alexander's tongue explored his mouth, taking control of the kiss and opening him up in a way that left Clark feeling utterly exposed. Had Alexander not brought his hands to rest on Clark's waist when he coaxed him to stand up, Clark thought he might have fallen.

It was a surprise when Clark's legs hit the side of the bed, tripping him so that he fell onto his back. That surprise turned to downright shock when Alexander positioned himself on top of Clark, using his arms to bracket Clark's upper body as they continued to kiss.

"You taste good," Alexander murmured when he broke the kiss, beginning to scatter kisses across Clark's jaw line.

The sensations that were running through Clark were electrifying, and he didn't know whether to be elated or scared. He'd never felt like this before, as though pleasure and awkwardness were all rolled into one. He wished he knew more of what to do--where to put his hands, how to kiss, what position he should be in.

Clark finally settled for placing one hand on Alexander's side while the other fisted in the sheets under him. As for positions and kissing, Alexander seemed to have those parts covered. As it was, his hands were already undoing Clark's pants as he continued to trail kisses down Clark's neck.

"This is your first time, isn't it?" Alexander asked, when Clark moaned at a light touch to his stomach.

"Yes," Clark whispered, his voice sounding embarrassingly off.

For some reason, that caused Alexander to smile a little. "Everything's going to be fine, Clark," he told him gently when he finally reached down and drew Clark's pants and undergarments off him. "This will feel good."

When Alexander touched his cock, Clark found that it really, really did. The sensations he was feeling were more concentrated than when Lex had touched him before, because instead of splitting his attention between a wound on his neck and a touch elsewhere, it was all concentrated on one place. Strangely, he wasn't sure which he liked better.

"You're beautiful, Clark," Alexander whispered as he reached over towards the stand to the side of the bed. Carelessly, he reached for a small container that Clark knew held scented oil. Up until then, he'd had no idea what it was for, but now he was beginning to get an idea.

"This might feel a bit strange," Alexander told him as he spread the oil on his fingers. "Just try to relax."

Clark had never, in all his life, felt anything like when Alexander pushed a finger into him. It wasn't even pleasurable at first, as all he felt was a strange cramping sensation and a mild burn. But then, Alexander touched something inside of him, and pleasure exploded from his every nerve. He could hear himself babbling, but the sensations were too intense for him to even make out what he was saying.

"Hush," Alexander told him gently, lightly kissing his face as he added another finger. "It gets even better."

Given how this first bit felt, Clark wasn't sure he could take more. If he couldn't speak now, how would he be expected to even survive anything more?

Alexander continued to stretch him until Clark felt wide open. The burn he was feeling from that wasn't particularly pleasant, but every touch to that amazing spot inside of him made it completely worth the pain. He had to wonder if sex was always like this, and, if so, why weren't people doing it all the time?

A soft touch to Clark's face made him look up, his eyes locking with Alexander's. "I'm going to take my fingers out now," Alexander explained. "Just stay relaxed."

Clark tried to do as told, but when he saw that, at some point, Alexander's pants had come off, he felt himself tense. In school, he'd never really been the type of boy to take part in much of the talk that went on, and so he didn't know what to expect now.

When Alexander lined his cock up to Clark's hole, Clark inhaled sharply, tensing. "It's all right," Alexander soothed, pausing long enough to stroke a comforting hand down Clark's side. "Breathe deep."

For just a moment, Clark almost protested and told Alexander to stop. It wasn't that he didn't want him, but he didn't know what to expect. The unknown was always frightening, and it was especially so in this case, given how vulnerable he was.

Clark never got the words out, as Alexander took that moment to carefully press inside him.

Immediately, Clark cried out, not liking the feeling. This stretch was more than the fingers, and it hurt enough to make his eyes water. "Lex--" he gasped out, shortening the name out of necessity, as he didn't seem to have enough air to make out four syllables.

"Shhh," Alexander murmured. "It's okay. Just let me, ahh, there..."

This time, when Clark cried out, it was not in pain. With Alexander inside him like this, it was a thousand times better when he hit that spot inside of Clark, and somehow, that made the pain almost non-existent. And when he began to move, Clark's pleasure spiked. "More," he cried, raising both hands to Alexander's shoulders as he held on for what felt like dear life.

"Yes, Clark, I know," Alexander gasped out as he moved inside him. "I know."

Clark was almost ready to cry. He'd never felt anything so intense before, and the sensations were overwhelming him to the point where his emotions couldn't take it. "I--Alexander--I'm going to--" The ache in his cock was unbelievable, and he knew he couldn't fight the feeling much longer.

"Yes, Clark, go on," Alexander prompted. "It's all right."

That was all it took to send Clark hurtling over the edge. The feeling of his release was amazing, more freeing than anything else, including his climax the night before. Perhaps it was because Alexander was inside of him--he didn't know, but the sensation was overwhelming.

Clark could feel Alexander finding his release as well, and a sort of warmth filled him from the inside out, leaving him with a boneless feeling. Even when Alexander collapsed on the bed before sliding out of him, Clark still couldn't rouse himself to move. "You're perfect," a voice murmured over him, though Clark found that his mind had gone too foggy to really think about it. It was Alexander, he knew, but that was all that he knew. "Sleep now, beautiful," the voice whispered, right before a gentle kiss was pressed to his cheek.

At the light touch, Clark forced his eyes open, trying to fight the fact that all energy in his body had fled with his climax. Blinking slowly, he watched Alexander move away, just long enough to return with a cloth, and begin cleaning him. When he did, their eyes locked for just a moment, and Clark was surprised at what he saw.

Acceptance. Caring. A near reverence.

"Hush, now," Alexander whispered, his lips curling into a smile. "Sleep, and when you wake, we'll talk more."

Clark knew that he should have more qualms about falling asleep around the man that had kidnapped him, but for some reason he just didn't. It seemed to be the easiest thing in the world to close his eyes and drift off, completely unworried about the world around him.

He knew that his feelings would be different when he woke up, but for now, he could sleep, enjoying the closeness of the man who had just slipped into bed behind him.

Clark woke to someone's arm slung loosely over his stomach, their fingers lightly caressing him. For a person that had never slept with anyone before the previous night, it was shocking enough to make him open his eyes immediately. As soon as he did, all the details of the night before came flooding back, bringing a hot blush to his cheeks.

"Damn," he whispered.

"That really wasn't the reaction I was hoping for," a voice murmured against his neck, half-joking. "Most virgins rarely enjoy such a pleasant first time."

As fast as he was able, Clark turned over, shaking off the arm that was over him. He was faced with Alexander's blue-gray eyes. "Sleep well?" Alexander asked him almost fondly.

Clark didn't reply to that. "I--you slept here?"

"Strangely, you didn't seem overly upset about that last night," Alexander replied mildly. "You fell asleep against me."

"I... wasn't in my right mind." Did being in the haze that came after sex excuse him from falling asleep against his kidnapper? And, really, did he even truly think of Alexander like that anymore, at least after finding out his reasons for his actions?

Alexander laughed. "During sex, a person is often the most honest they'll ever be. I'd say that you were doing what your body wanted."

Clark shook his head fervently. He couldn't believe that he would want what had happened last night, although he knew he'd be lying if he said he'd fought it. A blush of shame rose on his cheeks as he realized that what had happened had been consensual--he had wanted it, at least once Alexander had started touching him.

Not wanting to face Alexander in his current frame of mind, Clark sat up in bed, only to blush further when he realized that he was naked. "There's nothing to be so ashamed of, Clark," Alexander said soothingly from where he was still lying in bed. "It's sex--people do it every day."

"Not like this," he blurted out, looking pointedly down at Alexander. "Not with another man."

Clark had expected more reasoning, but instead, Alexander just laughed, abandoning his normally fact-oriented persona. "Oh, Clark, is that why you're so upset?" Slowing his laugh to a chuckle, he reached out and closed his fingers around Clark's wrist, pulling him gently back down into a reclining position. "No one's going to know."

Clark didn't reply--he didn't know how. Everything was jumbled together in his head, and he couldn't seem to get a grasp on any of it. In all of his seventeen years, he'd never been faced with anything like this--with anything like what he was feeling right now.

"Clark," Alexander murmured, losing his amused edge. "You only have to live with yourself--not with what anyone else says. In a way, that's the nice thing about solitude--there's no one here to judge you. If you want this, then you don't need to feel guilty about it."

"I don't know what I want," he admitted, leaning back into the pillows. Nothing made sense right then.

The hand in his hair surprised him, as did the gentle fingers rubbing soothingly at his scalp. "That's all right," Alexander assured him, stroking his fingers through Clark's hair. "You have time to think."

At those words, Clark felt annoyance run through him. "You're not giving me time to think." Alexander had only admitted that he wanted him, and then had made that very obvious.

Alexander laughed. "Yes, I am, Clark. If you didn't like this, you'd have gotten up and moved away by now. I haven't forced you to do anything. Remember what I said? If you don't like something, you say so, and it will stop. That promise still stands. I'm never going to force you, Clark, and you don't need to be afraid of me."

Clark sighed and turned over, unable to deny the veracity of those words. When in his right mind, Alexander hadn't forced him to do anything--heavily persuaded, yes, but he'd given him the option to stop. Even now, while they were lying in bed with Alexander stroking his hair, he had the option to move away.

He hadn't taken that option.

If he were honest with himself, he didn't want to take that option. What he really wanted was for everything to make sense, and for things to stop happening so fast.

The shifting of sheets, and the cessation of the gentle stroking of his hair startled Clark out of his thoughts. "C'mon," Alexander told him gently as he arose and pulled on his pants from the night before. "Get out of bed, and we'll have some breakfast." When Clark only looked at him, he added, "Things will get clearer, Clark."

Nodding, even though he wasn't convinced, Clark grabbed his pants off the floor and put them on before sliding completely out of bed. After he'd found his shirt, he gave in and followed Alexander out of the room. After all, what harm could having breakfast do?

Had anyone asked him, Clark would have said that Alexander couldn't cook. There was no real reason for that assumption, other than the fact that he just didn't seem like that type.

But now, sitting at an old table in the kitchen of the manor, Clark had to admit that the eggs and bacon he was eating were good. Alexander had made enough for both of them, but he seemed more interested in watching Clark eat than he did in actually eating his own breakfast.

"Tell me more about yourself," Alexander said after a few minutes.

Clark raised an eyebrow, a little disconcerted by the randomness of the question. "What do you want to know?" He'd seldom, if ever, had anyone, with the exception of his parents, sit him down and ask him to talk about himself. He was a reporter--he listened to and wrote about others for a living.

"Anything," Alexander replied with a shrug. "Where you grew up, what you like to do..."

It was odd how Alexander actually seemed interested in him. Had it not been for his tendency to suck blood, he might have appeared as just a person interested in the life of someone he'd just slept with the night before.

"I'm adopted," Clark said finally. "My parents found me when I was about two."

Alexander only nodded, taking a bite of an egg. "Is that why you're different?"

Clark cringed, the bluntness of the question hitting him hard. All his life, he'd had to hide, and to hear those words just spoken aloud made him want to crawl away somewhere and try to make himself invisible.

There must have been something on his face that revealed his feelings, because Alexander added, "It's all right, Clark; you've nothing to be worried about. Whatever's different about you, I doubt it can be as bad as what I am."

Clark had to wonder if he'd still say that if he knew about the spaceship that his family hid in the root cellar--not that he was planning on sharing that. "You don't know anything about me," he replied a little more sharply than was probably called for.

Alexander seemed to sense that his reaction was more out of fear than anything else, as he merely agreed, "No." He paused for a moment, studying Clark for any reaction. "But I'd like to, if you'd let me."

"Why?" he snapped, feeling irritation rising. "What possible reason would I have to share anything with you? I don't even really know you."

Sighing, Alexander pushed his chair back and moved over to stand beside Clark. "No, you don't," he agreed quietly, laying a hand on Clark's shoulder. "But I don't want to hurt you. Whatever you're hiding--and it's apparent that you are hiding something--you're convinced that it's dangerous, possibly more dangerous than what I am. If you want to keep that to yourself, that's your decision." He paused, lightly flexing his fingers. "But you need to know that, should you ever tell me, no one else is ever going to find out. I know what it's like to have a secret you can't share, Clark, and I don't want it to destroy you like it's destroyed me."

For whatever reason, Clark didn't want to shake off the hand on his shoulder. "I don't have anything to tell you," he replied stubbornly.

Alexander only gave him a wry smile which clearly conveyed that he didn't believe that. "And that's all right, but if you ever do, I'll listen."

It was odd how those words almost made Clark feel better. It seemed strange to have someone who just wanted to listen to him--and he was convinced that Alexander, no matter what his other faults were, truly did.

"Did you get to look around the town at all when you first got here?" Alexander asked as he let his hand drop from Clark's shoulder.

Clark shook his head. "Not really--I wasn't exactly getting paid to go on holiday."

Alexander nodded, a small smile growing on his lips. "How would you feel about going into town today?"

Of all the things Clark had expected to hear, that wasn't it. Sure, Lex had told him that he was free to go, if he could live with the consequences, but he hadn't thought that Lex would encourage him to leave the mansion, even if it was only on a short-term trip.

"You need some more clothing, as the things that I've been giving you to borrow aren't adequate," he continued, already moving to clear away the dishes from breakfast.

"Wait, you go into town?" Clark asked, suddenly feeling a little shocked. Alexander killed people from the town, and yet he mingled with them as well? It didn't make sense.

"When I'm feeling well enough, yes," Alexander replied a little darkly, which Clark took to mean that he went into town when he could resist the cravings for blood.

Leaning back a little in his chair as he watched Alexander put the dishes in the sink, Clark admitted, "I wouldn't have thought you would want me to leave."

For some reason, that caused Alexander to laugh. "You're not a prisoner, Clark," Alexander told him as he finished with the dishes and came back to the table. "You're free to go to town anytime you like--you don't need my permission, though I would like to at least know when you do go."

It would be nice to be around some other people, Clark thought. Alexander was interesting, but it was still lonely there at the mansion. "I think I'd enjoy a trip to town."

A pleased look crossed Alexander's face. "I'll have Dominic bring the automobile around."

"I look strange."

As he stood there in front of the full-length mirror, Clark had to admit that he felt completely out of place. He should have known that Alexander would take him somewhere like this.

"You look fine, Clark," Alexander soothed from behind him, reaching out to smooth the wrinkles on the shoulders of the suit Clark was trying on.

"I've never had a nice suit before," he admitted, as he tried to adjust the height of his waistline to a more tolerable level. "We could never afford it. I always just wore an old one of my father's."

Alexander's reply seemed almost automatic. "Money is not a problem. I want you to look nice."

A discreet cough caused both of them to look up, only to be greeted by the seamstress. "His measurements are complete, sir," she told Alexander. "We can have the minor alterations to this suit finished by early next week." Clark couldn't help but notice the way her eyes flickered over them in suspicion, having obviously picked up on the way that Alexander was standing a little too close to Clark, and touching him a bit too much for them to be completely platonic. Had Alexander not been paying good money for this suit, Clark had no doubt that she would have told them to leave.

"Excellent," Alexander replied, giving her a small nod as she once again left the room. Once she was gone, he turned to Clark. "You'll look wonderful, Clark."

Clark only laughed. "And what would I do with a suit? Wear it around the mansion?"

A mischievous gleam sparked in Alexander's eyes. "I'd have no objections to that."

Despite himself, Clark felt his cheeks color. Alexander was flirting with him, he realized, as strange as that might sound. Still, he had to admit that he enjoyed the attention that was being paid to him.

"Really, why would I need this?"

The mischievous gleam in Alexander's eyes only increased. "Because I like to look at you."

Clark's blush intensified. "I have to change out of this."

Alexander, taking the hint, laughed and headed out of the dressing room, leaving Clark to stare at himself in the mirror, feeling a bit ashamed of his blush. How was he seventeen and still blushing like a school boy with a crush?

"You annoyed the lady in the clothing shop, you know," Clark said with a laugh as Alexander held the door to Clark's room open for him. "I think that she'd have thrown us out if you weren't paying."

Lex raised an eyebrow as they made their way into the room. The place was dark, given the late hour, and it seemed almost eerie in the light of the moon.

"I find that people can often be unusually close-minded." Curiously enough, he didn't look as though he really cared, just as long as he had Clark alone in a bedroom with him. He'd be spending the night, Clark realized with a little shudder. He wasn't certain whether the action was from fear or anticipation.

Lex, having clearly noticed Clark's nervousness, said from behind him, "I don't have to sleep here." If not for his tone, which clearly implied that he'd much prefer to spend the night with Clark, his words might have actually been convincing.

"I--no, you don't have to leave." It didn't seem fair to make Alexander leave, especially not after he'd made such an effort all day to try and make sure Clark was kept amused. And, if Clark were honest with himself, he had to admit that Alexander actually did seem to genuinely care about him.

"You're sure?" Alexander asked, looking skeptical.

Clark gave an affirmative nod. "Yes."

That earned him a small smile. "I can't say that I'm sorry." Obviously still aware of Clark's gaze, Alexander began to unbutton his shirt, exposing skin. "It's been a long day," he added, grinning. "We should head to bed, don't you think?"

Clark swallowed, trying to convince himself that seeing Alexander's skin was not the reason for the hardening he was beginning to get in his pants. "Yes--" he breathed out.

Alexander's smile grew, and he sauntered forward towards Clark. "Don't look so scared of what you're feeling," he murmured as he placed his hands on Clark's shoulders, rubbing one thumb gently over Clark's covered skin. "If you want this, let yourself want it. If not, then--" he paused, smirking as he looked down at the obvious bulge in Clark's pants. "Well, I don't think we need to worry about that." He paused, glancing up at Clark's face for a moment. "Do you want this, Clark?" he asked, nuzzling his way into Clark's hair as he leaned forward so that their bodies were touching.

"I--" Clark faltered, unable to find his voice.

A light breath smoothed across Clark's ear. "Do you?"

"Yes--" It was the truth, he realized. All inhibitions and reasons why he shouldn't want this aside, he did want it. He couldn't deny that, at least not in a situation like this one.

"Good," Alexander chuckled, sounding very pleased. "Because I want you, possibly more than anyone I've ever met in my life." He paused, laughing. "Goodness, Clark, the things you do to me--and you don't even know you're doing them."

Clark didn't protest when Alexander carefully began unbuttoning his clothing, eventually stripping him down and getting him into nightclothes. Unable to think of anything else to do, he simply sat on the bed and watched as Alexander changed as well.

Finally, Alexander moved onto the bed with him, drawing him downwards until they were both lying against the pillows. Leisurely, Alexander began to trace patterns on Clark's stomach with his fingers. It was light enough to be a tease and a pleasure at the same time, and Clark found himself leaning into the touch and closing his eyes.

"I have to ask you something," Alexander said after a few minutes of gentle stroking.

Clark immediately opened his eyes. "What?"

"I... want to feed before the need becomes strong enough that I lose control," he murmured, looking at Clark, his expression suddenly sad. "I don't have to yet, but I know I scared you the last time that I let it get bad enough. This way, if I'm in complete control of myself, it won't feel so brutal and primal."

Clark honestly had no idea how to consent to letting someone suck his blood. There were just no words for that, and a small nod had to suffice.

"All right," Alexander breathed out, skimming his fingers over Clark's stomach again. Somehow, it wasn't quite as pleasurable as before. "Relax."

That, Clark found, was nearly impossible, one, because he knew what was coming, and two, because Alexander had begun to trail kisses up from his stomach towards the general direction of his neck. He paused at Clark's nipples, tonguing one, and then the other, biting gently.

"Were you always this good at that?" Clark gasped out, pushing up a little into Alexander's mouth. That mouth was just pure perfection.

Alexander grinned against his skin. "I've had sufficient practice."

"I thought you weren't exactly social." Strange how he knew so little about Alexander, and yet he didn't feel awkward asking for more information.

"I wasn't always like this," Alexander reminded Clark. "I was normal once upon a time, and I did normal human things."

"Like have sex?" Clark asked with a laugh. It was odd how comfortable he felt joking with Alexander. Such emotions didn't make sense, as he should have been afraid of this man--not comfortable with him.

Clark's laugh quickly turned to a groan when Alexander leaned down and began to gently nibble on his shoulder. A few red marks appeared, but there was no blood, yet. It almost seemed as though Alexander were teasing himself, delaying something that he wanted in order to make it better when he finally got it.

"Like have sex," confirmed Alexander, his voice rumbling against Clark's skin. "But never with anyone that I wanted to stay with me. Never with anyone like you."

Had Alexander not taken that moment to finally break the skin of Clark's neck, Clark probably would have thought more on just how sincere Alexander sounded. So far, he'd given every indication that he wanted Clark around--that he enjoyed his company for more than an everlasting source of sustenance.

Though there was a sharp sting of pain, Clark couldn't deny that he found Alexander's licking of his neck incredibly erotic. Gooseflesh was breaking out all over him, and he could feel his cock hardening.

"I think you like this," Alexander told him, pulling back just enough to lick a stripe across Clark's cheek. "It's exciting you."

"I--damn, please touch me," Clark finally whispered, unable to stave off his baser instincts any longer. "I need--just, I need--."

"Yes, I know," Alexander murmured, letting his hand trail down Clark's stomach until it was resting over his groin. "You'll get what you want. I'll give it to you."

Clark certainly hoped so, because he wanted pressure on his cock so badly that it was driving him insane. He shouldn't want what was happening, and he knew that, but he did want it. He wanted it so, so, badly.

The suction against his neck began just as Alexander finally touched him where he wanted it most. When he did, it was as if a switch had flipped, turning on a sort of electricity in Clark's body. "Oh, yes! More!" he cried out, arching off the bed as he fisted his hands in the sheets.

"Push against me," Alexander whispered, tossing a leg over Clark and pulling their bodies flush against each other.

Clark lost no time in complying. The slide of body on body was pure pleasure, and he wasn't even trying to hold back. No one who had ever felt the same could blame him for not resisting. Hell, he didn't want to resist--not anymore.

The sheets twisted around their legs as Clark flipped them over so that he was on top. "You're going to ruin your pants," Alexander said cheekily, rubbing the palm of his hand against the bulge in Clark's pants.

"Don't care," Clark gasped out, pushing down against Alexander.

As Clark rubbed against him, Alexander's face broke into a sex-driven smile. "You're gorgeous when you're doing that. Don't stop." To drive that point home, he thrust upward into Clark.

That pushed Clark over the edge. Before he even knew what was happening, he was coming, spilling his seed into his pants. It was messy and sticky, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything, even as he collapsed on the bed, intensifying the mess.

For just a few moments, he and Alexander lay together on their sides, trying to catch their breath. There was no sound, save for the subsiding noise of their breathing.

When the silence was broken, it was by Alexander. "Take off your pants," he told Clark, already shedding his own and casting them aside as though they were foul, restricting things.

Honestly, given what they were doing, Clark had to agree.

A few weeks earlier, Clark would have flinched at the prospect of spending the night naked with Alexander. Now he simply shed his pants and cuddled closer into him, resting his dark-haired head on Alexander's chest. While he might have had reservations earlier about Alexander spending the night with him, they were now banished. Honestly, Clark doubted they'd ever return--not when he was being promised something this good.

"That was... amazing," he whispered, once he'd finally regained the ability to speak coherently.

"Yes," Alexander agreed, sounding pleased as he planted a kiss in Clark's hair. "It was." Almost reverently, he raised his hand and stroked it down Clark's neck, wiping away the little blood that was still there. "You heal, Clark," he whispered after a moment. "Why is that? No one else ever has."

Clark tensed a little, unable to think of a reply. All of his life he'd hidden, right up until the time when he'd lost his powers in that strange sickness. After that, he'd thought for a time that he was normal, at least until he'd gotten cuts or bruises, only to have them vanish a mere hour later. It was a shadow of his former abilities, but it was still far beyond what any other human was capable of.

The question was, should he tell Alexander all of that?

"I'm different," he whispered, leaning into Alexander's touch as it skated higher to his hair.

"This we've covered," Alexander replied, his tone patient, coaxing.

He wanted answers, Clark realized. Alexander wanted to know why he was the way he was. If Clark was honest with himself, he thought he wanted to tell him.

"I'm not going to hurt you with the knowledge," Alexander promised, stroking Clark's hair.

Oddly, that wasn't what Clark was afraid of. He wasn't even really afraid of being looked at differently, because Alexander was as different as anyone Clark had ever met. It wasn't any of that--it was the act of finally telling someone that was frightening.

Though he had no real reason to be compelled to tell Alexander anything, Clark felt as though he couldn't hold it in any longer. It just felt right in a way that he'd never experienced before. It was something he needed to do.

Convinced of his decision, Clark sat up and looked Alexander in the eye. "I was adopted," he began, striving to choose the right words. "When I was two, my parents found me."

Alexander paused, sitting up against the headboard, his eyes on Clark. "You've said this before, but still, found?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." It was so difficult to speak the words--to make them even form. After having been so careful to never reveal anything, it was almost impossible to simply allow the truth to be told. "I was--I came in a meteor shower."

Clark had never truly seen Alexander shocked speechless, but that was unquestionably what was happening. The look of surprise on his face made Clark's stomach turn over. Had it been a mistake?

"Clark, your parents must have been mistaken in what they thought. Surely you were just separated from your birth parents in the meteor shower--"

"They found my metal vessel." He held Alexander's eye as he spoke, willing him to understand. This is how I came to Earth--it's not who I am, he thought, desperately willing Alexander to believe that.

"Clark," Alexander murmured, shaking his head slowly. "Clark..."

"When I was younger, I could run faster than the eye could see," Clark continued, taking a deep breath as he tried to steady himself. "I could lift things that no human could ever lift--wagons, street carts, even animals. I could even see through things, and, if I wanted, I could set things on fire by just looking at them."

Clark could see the change when it came over Alexander's face, even if he wasn't sure what had caused it. His expression went from one of skepticism and a bit of pity to curiosity, fueled by wonder. "You're not lying," he breathed out, sounding a little shocked. "You don't have the face to lie convincingly --I'd know if you were."

"No," Clark replied, "I'm not lying. The difficulty was, the green rocks that came down with the meteors always hurt me. When I was sixteen, I breathed some of their dust in. For a few weeks, my parents thought I was going to die."

Alexander shifted on the bed, raising a hand to gently cup Clark's face. "But you didn't. And you're still different. I've seen you heal, Clark."

"Yes," Clark agreed, leaning into the touch. Somehow the warmth of that hand on his face made talking easier. "But when my fever finally broke, my strength, speed, x-ray vision, and heat vision were gone. Even my ability to heal was different."

"You still heal," Alexander repeated as he stroked a finger down Clark's cheek.

Clark continued to look at him, refusing to take the easy way out and just look away. "It used to be instantaneous."

"So you're an alien?" Alexander asked calmly. He seemed shocked, but not beyond the realm of what his senses could contain.

"Yes."

Slowly, like the sun coming out, a smile broke over Alexander face. "Aren't we a pair," he said as he began to laugh. "A vampire and an alien. We're going to be the stuff of legends, Clark," he promised before he leaned in and kissed Clark.

While his tone had been joking, Clark knew his words were not. And try as he might, Clark could find no will to dislike that promise. No one, with the exception of his parents, had ever accepted him like Alexander just had.

A life with Alexander--being the stuff of legends--was beginning to sound better with every passing moment.

Morning broke beautifully, sending light streaming in through the windows, coming to rest on the dozing occupants in the bed.

It had been four months since Clark had arrived at the mansion. Every day that he stayed, he sank deeper into the life offered him here; with every passing moment, he felt less and less of a need to pull himself out.

"Morning," he murmured, twisting in the sheet wrapped around his hip as he leaned over to look at the man beside him. At his words, Alexander stirred. Slowly, he opened his eyes, taking in the sight of Clark. Clark's heart skipped a beat when Alexander gave him a lazy smile.

"Usually you're not this much of a morning person," he joked, reaching up to give Clark's cheek a quick, playful pat. "I like it."

Clark grinned and sat up. "You like when you have to roll me out of bed, too."

"You're beautiful when you just wake up," Alexander admitted as he swung his legs off the bed. He wore no clothes, and Clark couldn't help but let his gaze trail up Alexander's body. Clark had been too upset at first--too distraught over losing what he'd had--to really notice just how beautiful Alexander truly was. But now, months later, he'd begun to see it--to appreciate it.

Clark laughed, continuing to watch Alexander as he dressed. "Are we still in the honeymoon stages?" he joked. "Or are we always going to be like this?"

At Clark's words, Alexander paused, his hands stilling from where they'd been preparing to do up the buttons on his shirt. There was something in his face that looked a little taken aback. "Is that your way of asking if I'll get tired of you?"

Oddly enough, Clark hadn't meant it like that. He'd only been being playful, but it seemed that he'd touched a nerve. "No..." he murmured, the fun of the moment gone, replaced with something much more serious.

"I won't, you know," Alexander assured him quietly, his face having become almost dark, possessing something close to guilt. Clark was getting the feeling that this was something he'd been afraid of for a while. "I--Clark, you make me feel things I don't understand, and you're not going to become just someone who stays here to keep me from killing others."

"I didn't mean that I thought you'd do that--" Clark tried to say, unsure of how to handle the situation. He didn't understand how they'd gone from a playful mood to a subject having so many complicated emotions that it was nearly impossible to wade through them all. "I never thought that."

Alexander's gaze met his, and Clark was a little frightened to see how unsettled his eyes had become. "But I did," he replied, his voice barely a whisper. "When you first got here, you were intriguing, but you weren't anything more than that. I thought that I could use you--could use you to control the baser parts of me, to prevent me from killing anyone else. I thought that I'd take steps to make your life pleasurable, but I couldn't say that I cared just how happy you really were." He paused, slowly moving forward across the room until he was in front of Clark, who moved so that Alexander could come to stand between his legs. Their eyes met as Alexander gently slipped his hands onto Clark's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "And then I started talking to you. I saw just how special you really were."

"You've been good to me," Clark replied, at a loss for what else to say. He'd been hiding from his own emotions over the past few months, and, truthfully, he was no longer even sure what he wanted.

"But if I could exist normally without your blood, would you stay?"

There was no way for Clark to lie to Alexander--not when their faces were mere inches apart, their eyes locked together. He could almost see Alexander's emotions hanging in his eyes, and it was unnerving in a way he couldn't explain.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "I try not to think about it, because it hurts. I miss my family."

Something shifted in Alexander's eyes. "Is it because they don't know what's happened to you?"

Clark nodded. "That's part of it. I don't want to leave them wondering like that. I'm their only son, and I know what this must be doing to them."

"Then why did you choose to stay?"

"Because I couldn't sacrifice the lives of innocent people," he replied. "Now I'm not sure if I could leave anyway."

The hands on Clark's shoulders slipped down to his arms. Alexander's gaze was so intense that Clark knew he'd never be able to lie when he was being looked at like that. "And why's that?" Alexander murmured.

"Because you make me feel things that I don't understand, and I like those feelings." Just like that, he realized it was the truth. All the nights he'd spent in bed with Alexander had left him wanting more, and while he might not have admitted it until this moment, he was all right with that. This life made him happy and, if he'd known it would make him feel this way, he might have chosen it voluntarily.

Alexander chuckled softly, breaking their gaze for a moment. When he looked back up at Clark, he wore an expression of amusement. "Ah, Clark, you've confused even yourself, haven't you? Do you truly know what you want?"

"I want a way to stay with you and to see my parents at the same time," he answered immediately.

Something softened in Alexander's gaze. "I can't promise you that. Not all the time, anyway. But what I can promise you are visits to your parents."

Clark raised his own hand to let it rest on Alexander's lower arm, gripping a little bit as hope and excitement grew inside of him. Truthfully, he'd thought that he'd have to ultimately choose between his family and Alexander, because while Alexander might have initially told him that they'd visit, he hadn't really believed that. Surely it had just been empty words designed by Alexander to soothe Clark when he'd found out that he couldn't leave.

"Why? Why would you go out of your way to do that, I mean," he asked after a short pause. Alexander had what he wanted right here. It made no sense that he'd continue to work to achieve what he already had.

Once again, Alexander laughed at Clark's words. "When I found a young man on a deserted road, I never thought that I'd bring him home. And when I ended up doing just that, I never thought that I'd find him as intriguing as I find you. But most of all, Clark, I never thought I'd fall in love."

The words shocked Clark and left him nearly speechless. Of all the things he'd expected, that was not it. It took him a moment to regain his head enough to choke out, "Love?" Surely Alexander had to be exaggerating--except his face looked perfectly serious, as did his eyes when he looked at Clark.

Alexander nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact. "I assure you, you can't possibly be more surprised than I was."

"I--Alexander, you don't need to lie. I know you care about me, but--"

"I'm not lying," Alexander assured him. "This isn't something that I meant to happen, but I don't regret it, either. We'll make this work, Clark," he promised, leaning forward until their lips brushed.

When Alexander kissed him, Clark believed. Everything that couldn't be conveyed with words was expressed in that kiss. He might not have understood how this had happened--he might not have even understood his own feelings--but he was past caring now.

They would make this work.

[Epilogue]

Clark smiled as he looked out the window of the automobile. Trees were moving past as the vehicle made its way down the drive leading away from Alexander's mansion; he could hardly contain his excitement. It seemed to take no time at all before they'd reached the road.

As the automobile pulled out of the drive, headed for London, Clark glanced over at the man occupying the backseat with him. Alexander caught the look and gave him a small smile. "The stuff of legends, Clark," he murmured, leaning over for a kiss. "We're going to change the world. Believe me on that."

Clark believed him, because while things between them may not have started out conventionally, there was no denying what they had now. Even though his life might not have turned out as he'd planned, he was convinced that it was going to end up being better.

Alexander hadn't been lying when he'd promised a trip to London to see Clark's parents. What Clark had never anticipated was that Alexander would go with him. Twice a year, he'd promised Clark, We'll go to London, twice a year. It had quickly become evident that he'd meant it, too--he wanted Clark to keep some of his old life and independence. He'd wanted him to have something to do during the day, which led to Clark getting a position at the local newspaper.

Nights were spent in bed with Alexander.

Sighing into the kiss, Clark moved across the back seat until he was pressed up against the body he'd gotten to know so well in the last few months. Alexander merely smiled into his mouth and wrapped an arm around him, holding him gently, though with a quality that was almost possessive. Clark liked the feel of that, especially given that Alexander had gone out of his way to show him that his love and affection was genuine.

This, Clark thought, had to be what happiness felt like.

END