It's not the baldness where he'd always imagined long, dark hair that bothers him. Knowing the only sex he's ever going to have at his age...and with parents like his... is in his dreams, Clark's willing to take whomever and whatever he can get when they happen. He stares down at the pale, smooth head of the man kneeling in front of him...the man with his cock in his hot, tight mouth...the man that's looking up at him with blue eyes he's never seen before...and tries to figure out what the problem is. Thinking about it turns impossible when the guy gets creative and touches him behind his balls, and then his tongue adds a twist to the sucking, and he's coming and it's the best Clark's ever felt in his life and somehow it's...right.

He wakes up to a sticky mess he'll have to deal with himself because he doesn't need his mom to find it when she does the laundry. His alarm goes off before he manages anything beyond looking up at the ceiling with a few stray thoughts about how he's just had a strange guy suck him off in a dream...and how it's everything he's ever wanted and that he can't wait for it to happen again.

~0~0~0~

Clark wonders whether what's happening to him could truly be labeled deja vu when he closes his eyes in the shower and the feeling of his hands on his skin changes to different hands, marked by thinner fingers and a less padded palm, calluses where he has none. He squints under the water, half-convinced that another person was sharing the space with him, and his cock jumps at the thought. Not one to waste an opportunity, Clark closes his eyes again and resumes his exploration, the hands of his imagination roaming freely across his chest and over his arms to his shoulders then his neck. Thumbs tease at the corner of his mouth as the hands cradle his face, and subtle pressure forces his face to tilt downward until phantom lips meet his in a water-warmed kiss.

His eyes may be closed, but the man standing in front of him is clearly visible under the water's spray, pale skin flushing from the heat...and their activities. Clark can feel the slip of his fingers over the curve of the other's skull, no hair dragging beneath his fingers to slow his sensual inspection. Blue eyes slit open as lips smile beneath Clark's, and a chuckle huffs inside his mouth with a tongue chasing after it tasting of morning mint.

The other's cock shoves against his belly hard and hot, and Clark gathers it in his soapy hand alongside his so that they slide together, and Clark bumps his shoulders against the wall because his knees want to give out because it feels so damn good. His hips jerk and the weight of the other's body presses him back from chest to hip, he shifts both hands to clench a water-slicked ass and their cocks glide against each other heavy and hard and soft and smooth. Clark clenches his teeth so no one can hear the words he's ready to shout, he comes again, and the water washes away everything...even the man who was never there.

~0~0~0~

Clark isn't thinking about his half-eaten cereal, or the argument about a permission slip, as he watches the school bus rumble down the road away from him. He's focusing on a series of visions that flash by on an internal widescreen. The man of the morning's dreams speaks of flying and not wanting anything to stand in the way of friendship with a sword in his hand. He stands in the Kent kitchen and laughs about criminal masterminds, replacing the image of a green-speckled skeleton as his voice curls around Clark like a caress. Flames threaten inside a castle, and then flames save the man, heat bursting from Clark's eyes to melt a bullet heading for pale skin he somehow knows bruises too easily. Agony seers through Clark high above the ground, every muscle strains not to let go of the dangling man calling his name in fear.

A voice breaks apart the pageant, and Clark waves toward his annoyed mother before he regretfully dashes across corn fields bound for school, a day of classes and books failing to match the appeal of the mysterious man who has captured his imagination.

~0~0~0~

Clark's books scatter as he tumbles forward, his hands meeting the ground with a thud, his mind receiving a cascade of images and sensations. He gasps on a cross in a field as the bald man frees him, then bullets slam into him while the same bald man screams about secrets and false friends. Electricity and green agony slice through him until the blank eyes of the man accuse him of betrayal, and he rides a motorcycle away from the farm with rebellion seething through his veins. He leaps through the airs stories above the ground, walks through flame and out of a furnace, watches his father cut a glowing green bullet from his body, convulsing as he instantly begins to heal.

Cast back to now, Clark shuffles his books together and dismisses offers of help, ignores the once-adored Lana in favor of retreat, wonders whether he's going insane...or if he'd somehow inherited the gift of foresight from his unknown parents.

~0~0~0~

After a long day of all-too-common mockery and failure, the bridge beckons as a favored spot for reflection. Clark leans against the rail above lazy water, but the river's murky green depths yield no answers to the question of the dreams. He opens himself, hoping for more clues, and sight and sound yield under a fresh onslaught.

He stands in his loft watching a sunset next to the man who earnestly declares, "Trust me, Clark. Our friendship is going to be the stuff of legends." A wan-looking, dark-haired boy says, "Promise me you'll keep an eye on him after I'm gone." The pale face is sunburnt and haggard, scrapes mar the bald head of the man grinning as he teases, "Three months on a deserted island was almost worth it to see the look on your face right now."

A black suit and brisk movements can't disguise the kindness behind the words, "I understand what it's like to have a friend in need, Clark. Sometimes you have to cross the moral line to come to their aid. Often, that can be the test of a true friendship." Green fluid, pain and hazy vision fail to obscure the relief of hearing, "I'm going to get you out of here." Blue eyes and a scarred mouth promise, "I will never become my father. I would never sacrifice you or anybody I cared about to bring him down." He feels the weight of the man's hand on his arm, an almost equally heavy drag on his heart as he hears, "Don't give up on me yet, Clark."

A squeal of tires and he's flying through the air, blunt impact spinning him to a place and time he almost remembers.

Energy crackles through the containment chamber, the high whine almost drowning out the words of the bald man dressed in white, bright sparks highlighting a single black glove raised in sharp opposition.

"The machine has only one purpose,* will affect only one life*...one death. We both know when this all began, Superman. We both know what must be changed in the past to save the world from our mutually assured destruction."

"The past? Is that what you've built, a time machine to take you back? You can't take that chance, Luthor!"

"I'm not."

Everything dissolves into light.

~0~0~0~

Chains, cages, bullets and gravestones, green agony and the tears of a mother whirl dizzily through his mind as river water drips from him. Clark kneels on the muddy bank and carefully arranges his burden, fearful of unseen damage, racing against time.

"Come on! Don't die on me!" Scant seconds remain in Clark's race to save the drowned man. His frantic efforts to extract him from the sinking car weren't enough by themselves. It would be easy to apply a little too much pressure, to hold back vital air, the inherent frailty of the human body providing the accidental means to an end.

A cough and then another, a flutter of ginger lashes, he returns to life. Confused, he examines his surroundings before staring up Clark. Another cough racks the lean body, and then bald man jerks and gasps, "I could have sworn...I hit you."

Gazing into the crystal-blue eyes of his dreams, Clark honors the promise made with the first touch of their lips...this time.

"I know it's kind of hard to believe...but you did."

fin

The Other Side (David Gray)

...I still don't know what love is
*Another mirage folds into the haze of time recalled * And now the floodgates cannot hold
*All my sorrow all my rage *
*A teardrop falls on every page *

*Meet me on the other side *
*Meet me on the other side *

*Maybe I oughta mention *
*Was never my intention *
To harm you or your kin
*Are you so scared to look within *
*The ghosts are crawling on our skin *
*We may race and we may run *
We'*ll not undo what has been done *
Or change the moment when it's gone...

Notes: For 2008 clexmas, touchstoneaf supplied me with the song for inspiration.

Standard Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters herein. The characters of Lex Luthor and Clark Kent as well as any supporting characters are the property of their creators and DC Comics. Gough/Millar Inc and the WB Network TV own Smallville. Any deviations (or deviant behavior) from the originals, however, is mine.

Feedback is both welcome and appreciated.