Prove a Villain

By Purna

June, 2002

Rating: NC-17, C/L
Feedback: a_purna@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: No money made. I don't own these guys.

Author's notes: Many, many thanks to Kalena, chief handholder, beta-chick extraordinaire on this thing. Thanks for the help, the encouragement, and buying into the Lex obsession. Thanks also to Grail for some interesting discussion early on.

Sequel to "Prove a Lover," although this story can be read alone.

Spoilers: Everything through "Tempest," and includes season two speculation.

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain

Shakespeare, Richard III

Love means loss. Lex knows this in his bones--his mother, Pamela. Clark. The memory of the worst morning-after in his life still haunts him--Clark, delivering apples to the mansion on a bright Saturday morning after the best night of Lex's life. In the loft that night, Clark had wrung the truth out of him, and then had wrung him out in other ways. It had been wonderful, close to some of the tamer fantasies he had been entertaining since his resurrection by a Kansas farm boy.

Clark's mouth on his face, his hands on Lex's cock, spoke of trust and a complete lack of fear. That night, Lex had revealed far more to Clark about himself, about his mother and Pamela, than even his shrink knew. Afterwards, a tentative hope had taken root, fed by Clark's soft mouth on his.

The next day, the obligatory morning-after, and the tentative hope proved illusory. Clark looked wary and guilty, hugging the basket of apples to his chest defensively, avoiding Lex's personal space. Lex had lifted his arms, reaching out to Clark, but when he saw the wary set to those shoulders, he let his hands drop to his sides.

Of course, he thought bitterly, that's just the way it works, the way it's always worked. He wondered if it was the Luthor in him that made it this way. Maybe this was really what he deserved.

He looked over at Clark, who had put the apples down and stood there waiting awkwardly. Lex turned away and started pouring a drink.

"We don't even have to talk about it, you know. It's forgotten." He'll never forget, but Luthors are experts at revisionist history.

"I," Clark began in a low voice. "I don't think I can do this, Lex. I was thinking all night after you left. It's too hard; it's impossible. You'reyou, and my dad...school...Chloe..."

Incoherent wasn't a good look for Clark; Lex cut him off. "Done," he said coolly, even as some part of him felt gutted. "It was a bad idea all around anyway. Illegal, even, if we want to get technical."

Lex's cold brush-off shut Clark up perfectly, mouth gaping, and he suppressed the petty flash of triumph that ran through him.

After that Clark had been tense with him, but weeks passed and eventually Clark went back to his usual self, chattering on about Chloe this time. Lex had listened with polite and supportive nods, barely keeping in check his simmering anger at the situation, at Clark, by force of will. Clark had taken Chloe to the spring formal, and that was that.

Some people are just meant to be alone, he'd said to Clark, but maybe not always. Because one night they were playing pool, and he was bent over the table lining up a shot. Suddenly Clark's hands were on his chest, Clark's mouth on his, and the pool table was biting into his back.

"Clark?" he blurted finally, disbelief in his tone.

"I don't love Chloe, Lex. I love you."

Lex's initial impulse was to punch Clark in the face, his fist pulled back and cocked in an instant. But Clark's hand on his wrist stopped him, and then Clark kissed him again and the anger faded, drowned under a flood of arousal, warmth, and renewed hope. Clark returning to him, hopefully more secure in himself and his emotions, was all Lex cared about.

But love means loss, and Lex wonders how long Clark will give him this time.

"This is nice."

Lex was draped over Clark's chest, head pillowed next to a convenient nipple. The rumble beneath him as Clark spoke roused him. He lifted his head and smiled up at Clark. Clark's hand reached up to caress his temple, traced the scar over his eye that he'd gotten back when the tornadoes had trashed half of Smallville and one wing of the mansion.

The house was quiet around them; Lex had released his staff to their own devices this lazy Sunday afternoon. Clark and Lex were enjoying the privacy, sacked out comfortably on the couch in the library.

"Yeah, it is nice, isn't it," he said finally. This closeness, this intimacy--this was cuddling, he supposed and almost laughed out loud. Lex Luthor cuddling. The mind boggled. It was new to him, in fact had taken a lot of getting used to, this diffuse sort of pleasure.

He slipped a hand into the mostly unbuttoned front of Clark's shirt, tweaking the nipple he found there. Goaloriented, yeah, he could do that.

Clark's low moan turned into a laugh.

"Jeez, Lex, you're insatiable..."

Lex's mouth on Clark's nipple turned the final word into a gasp.

"Just..." his voice was muffled, lips pressed against Clark's skin, "you have to get home soon."

Clark stilled, and when he spoke, he sounded almost somber. "Oh. Yeah. I'd almost forgotten."

Clark shivered slightly, then reached down and tugged at the waistband of his trousers. Lex felt his trousers loosen, the button popping off in Clark's haste, heard the soft 'zz' of the zipper being lowered. Clark reached in with knowing hands and pulled his cock out into the cool air with a frenzied haste. He took Lex into his mouth, sucked him down roughly. He looked up at Lex through dark lashes, mouth working hungrily.

Lex opened his mouth to laugh, to tell Clark to slow down, but Clark's tongue and the almost desperate look in Clark's eyes changed his mind. He gave into it then, let himself be carried on the rising heat.

Clark pressed him down into the cushions, pushed his hips down roughly. The heavy mouth with its hint of teeth lacked delicacy but was violently rousing.

Clark pulled his mouth from Lex with a wet sound, and Lex moaned.

"Come on, come on," Clark muttered raggedly, then sucked him down again.

Clark swallowed him down again--ah, God, that tongue-- and Lex let himself go, felt the liquid heat wash through him, shudders racking him.

Lex breathed heavily, stroking Clark's hair. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, and a thought came to him. Clark had been racing, against a clock and against the waning yellow of the light spilling through the windows. It would be dark too soon.

"So the mass of one atom of calcium is...?" Lex asked and smiled as he looked over at Clark, who was looking deliciously studious bent over his chemistry text. Lex had always had a weakness for the academic type, once he'd gotten over his embarrassing adolescent fixation for bald, muscular men who held more than a passing resemblance to Warrior Angel.

They were sitting in the Talon, Clark's notebooks spread out on the table between them. Lex suppressed a smirk; Clark hardly needed chemistry tutoring, but it was a cover that Lex had deemed prudent. Clark's honest nature meant that they actually worked on his chemistry homework when they were together this way. It was a degree of verisimilitude that Lex considered unnecessary, but a point on which Clark had remained adamant.

"Wait, wait." Clark tapped the page of homework problems and then hesitated, biting the end of his pencil. "I can look up the mass of a mole of calcium...I need to use that number, right? Avogadro's?"

"Very good." A dark lock of Clark's hair had fallen into his face, and Lex found himself staring fixedly at it. He reached out to brush it back, eliciting a startled look from Clark, then dropped his hand with a nervous glance around them when he realized what he was doing. Lana was at the counter, reading a letter; she seemed to sense his gaze, looking up and smiling at him. He looked at her more closely; her face seemed softer and more vulnerable even than usual, and he wondered if the letter was from the quarterback.

"Hey, Clark, Lex!" Lex started as Chloe's voice intruded. She was standing right next to their table, somehow having come up on him unawares.

"Chloe, hey." Clark sounded pleased; he was smiling and gesturing at her to join them. Lex felt himself stiffen involuntarily, and he willed himself to relax.

Chloe pulled a chair over to their table and flipped through Clark's textbook. She wrinkled her nose. "Chemistry, huh? I've got that next semester."

Clark gestured across the table. "I've got it easy--Lex is tutoring me."

Chloe looked over at Lex with a raised brow. "Tutoring?" she said, the question insinuated in her tone. She looked at him for long moments, and he assumed his blandest expression. Her gaze seemed...knowing, somehow, and Lex felt his eyes narrow.

Chloe finally turned towards Clark. "Clark, you helping out with the Torch tomorrow? Could be a late night; there's still a lot to do."

Clark smiled. "You bet. It's kind of fun."

Chloe widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise and mockpunched Clark's arm. "Never thought I'd hear you say that, Clark. I had to practically twist your arm to get you to help the first few times."

Lex slid his chair back suddenly, wincing at the shrill sound of the legs scraping across the floor. "I'm getting more coffee. Want anything, Clark, Chloe?"

Clark looked at him a moment, a worried crease furrowing his forehead, and shook his head.

"I'm fine, Lex."

Chloe frowned, then cleared her throat. "And...actually, I need to be going, so nothing for me either, thanks." She patted Clark's shoulder. "See you at school, Clark."

Lex watched her leave thoughtfully, then turned to see Clark packing away his books into his backpack.

"Leaving already?" he asked as lightly as he could. "I'll give you a ride home."

Clark zipped up the backpack and looked over at Lex. "I thought you might want to take a drive? Get some air?" Clark's eyes darted over Lex's face almost nervously.

Lex felt something relax within him minutely, and he nodded eagerly. He stifled a laugh: sometimes his own reactions surprised him, that he could act as besotted as a school kid with his first crush. He'd thought he was experienced as a lover, but he was finding more and more that his previous experiences served him not at all with Clark.

They left the Talon, waving a farewell to Lana.

They were in the car, roaming the back roads outside of Smallville. Lex shifted gears with overly precise motions, engaging the clutch almost violently. He let the speed build up, then eased off the gas, a rise and fall that seemed to hold an echo of the tension between them.

He glanced over at Clark, sitting quietly beside him, and slowed the car, taking the next turnoff he found. When they were out of sight of the paved road, Lex slowed the car even further. It bumped to a stop on the rutted dirt surface. Lex looked out the windshield at the fence line that ran beside them. It stretched off into the distance, seemingly without end, towards the horizon.

Long moments passed with only silence between them, then Clark looked over at him with a questioning look on his face.

"Are you okay, Lex?"

Lex shrugged, chuckling slightly. "Just when I think I've achieved some semblance of control, I suffer anew the harsh mistress of emotion."

Clark shot him a confused look.

Lex smiled ruefully. "Jealousy, Clark, cruel, green-eyed monster. I'm not immune, by any means."

Clark blinked, then his face cleared, and he reached out and grasped Lex's forearm. His gaze was earnest and affectionate.

"You shouldn't be jealous, Lex. Chloe and I are friends." Clark paused, looking down to where his hand rested on Lex's arm. He continued, low-voiced. "We always were just friends, even when we tried to be...more. Chloe realized it even before I did, said she deserved more. She could tell I was still hung up on you and Lana. Mostly you by that time, but Lana's always been...safer."

Lex looked over the steering wheel, out at the fence again, eyes picking out the posts that created subtle changes in that unbroken line. "I wanted you from the start, you know."

"I know." Clark's voice was quiet, almost tender.

"I thought if I knew you well enough, had your secret...you'd be mine. Knowledge as power, but I was wrong. I know your secret, but that's only a tiny piece, isn't it?"

"I am yours, Lex. You have me."

Lex stifled a flinch and his voice came out hard and cold. "Does Chloe know about us, Clark?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably. "I...I had to tell her, Lex. She's known me too long."

Lex took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I thought we agreed, Clark. No one was to know."

Clark's voice suddenly got louder, almost angry. "No, Lex, we didn't agree. You decided for both of us. Secrets, all the damn time. I'm sick of secrets."

Lex closed his eyes and was quiet for long moments, his heart sinking. When he spoke, his voice sounded odd, distant. "How'd you think it'd be, Clark? Holding hands at the Talon? Making out at the windmill on Saturday nights with the rest of Smallville High? It'd be so much easier with Chloe, wouldn't it? Or Lana?"

Clark let out a low, pained sound. "You think I don't know that?" His voice cracked at the end, and Lex looked over at him. Clark was looking at him, his face a shuttered mask that shattered as Lex watched. Clark's eyes went hot and wild, and suddenly Lex was being kissed, so hard it hurt, and Clark's hands were on him, roaming up his shoulders to his neck. They lingered there for a moment, those strong fingers tracing his jugular, then clamped on the sides of his head roughly, tilting his head so that Clark's tongue could go even deeper.

He couldn't get his breath, Clark wasn't letting up, and the movement of his hands against Clark's shoulders was just this side of panicky, when Clark pulled back.

He felt Clark's breath in his ear. "I tried that, Lex, with Chloe. It didn't work...I knew who I really wanted."

"Say it," Lex said roughly, the words ripped from him.

"I want you, Lex. I love you."

Lex pushed Clark back, the stick shift digging his ribs painfully as he devoured Clark's mouth, pushed his tongue into Clark's ear.

"Outside," he whispered and pulled back. "Come on. I want to fuck you bent over the hood of this car."

Clark's eyes widened, pupils dilating, and his cheeks flushed with color. "Oh, yeah," he gasped.

And later, sunk balls-deep in the tight warmth of Clark, rocking with slow, controlled movements of his hips, he had to bite back a laugh. They were breaking one of his first rules, no fucking in the car, someone might see, felonious video recorded. The logical part of his brain had long ago raised a white flag when it came to Clark, however.

Clark moaned a blasphemous assent to his deepest thrust yet and came as Lex bit the soft flesh over Clark's shoulder blade.

His thrusts sped up, breaking his slow rhythm with a frenzied explosion of movement. "Mine, mine, mine." His muttered refrain was broken by his orgasm, shuddering violently as he spilled himself inside Clark.

They were cleaning up afterwards, Lex's legs feeling as loose and rubbery as over-cooked spaghetti, when Clark spoke again.

"Couldn't get that at the windmill, Lex." He was looking at Lex mischievously from under his lashes, and Lex couldn't help laughing.

"No, I imagine not." He reached out and pushed Clark's unruly hair back from his forehead, a caress he'd forbidden himself in public, and smiled at Clark gently.

"Come on, I'll take you home. You'll be late for chores."

The next day, Lex was in Metropolis. He tried to keep his face solemn and unrevealing, but the vision of Clark bent over the hood of his car kept returning. He took in deep, calming breaths, trying to will his arousal down.

Enough of that, Lex thought, his father's office was no place to be this distracted, and he shifted in the leather chair. He looked down at the dark, glossy surface of the conference table that took up much of the room, then glanced curiously at the vacant chairs surrounding it. Surely, he wasn't the first to show up for the LuthorCorp board meeting his father had called. His father was generally late to these meetings, letting the board members stew impatiently waiting for Lionel's august presence. But Lex usually judged his own entrance perfectly, early enough to precede his father, but just late enough to avoid much of the wait. It was a tiny show of defiance, perhaps, but one that he clung to. He looked at the far wall, where a coolly abstract sculpture of engine-turned steel hung, and smiled.

He was looking down at his watch when Lionel breezed in, an expression too predatory to be called a smile on his face.

"Lex, so glad you could make it, my boy," he boomed exuberantly, and Lex's guard instantly went up. Something that made his father this gleeful generally spelled no good for anyone else.

"Where's the rest of the board, Dad?" he asked as casually as he could. He'd had years of practice, and his studied casualness was pretty near flawless, he thought. It damn well better be.

"Just us Luthors this time, Lex. Privacy, I think this meeting calls for, a little tete-a-tete, as it were."

Lex stilled. "What do you want, Dad?"

"You, Lex. You, here in Metropolis, where you belong." The hearty bonhomie of Lionel's voice was belied by the coldness of his eyes. Lionel once told him that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and Lex has never forgotten that lesson.

"We covered this one last year, remember? Owner buyout, my saving your life, Dad, you backing down for once. Ring any bells? I'm staying in Smallville. I haven't changed my mind." Lex's mind raced, enumerating the possible weaknesses that Lionel might try to exploit. At the forefront was Nixon's dangerous knowledge of Clark's secret, and he gritted his teeth at the thought. Nixon should know better--when Lex bought someone, he stayed bought. Or else.

"Tsk, tsk, Lex. Not even a pause for thoughtful consideration. I'm hurt." Lionel's predatory smile didn't waver, if anything it widened.

Lex remembered being nine years old, cringing at the violent argument he could overhear in his father's office. It had involved one of Lionel's pet geniuses, who was leaving LuthorCorp to set up his own company. Lionel had finally let the scientist leave. When Lex was fourteen, at home from boarding school one summer, his father had invited him to sit in on a hostile takeover meeting. The blighted looks and bruised eyes had marked the losers in this particular corporate battle. One of the group looked slightly more battered than the rest; he'd seemed vaguely familiar to Lex.

"Did you ever meet my son Lex before you left LuthorCorp?" Lionel had said offhandedly. Lex knew then viscerally what he'd known before only in theory: Lionel Luthor never, ever lost.

Lex's stomach twisted. God, this game had been so much easier back when he didn't give a shit. "I'm sure you'll recover."

He made as if to stand. "Now you'll have to excuse me. I don't want to miss the retirement celebration we have planned for two of our loyal plant employees."

"Just one more thing, Lex." Lionel placed a manila folder on the table in front of Lex. Its contents spilled out slightly, enough that Lex saw what it held, photographs, grainy and black-and-white.

"Something to ponder while you're...celebrating."

Christ, he thought, as he pulled the top photograph closer and got a better look. He must have said it aloud, because Lionel answered.

"No deluded martyrs to call on here, Lex. Just me. Remember that." A possessive hand briefly cupped the back of his head, and Lex was too stunned to throw it off.

He stared down at the photograph in shock, unable to respond. His bedroom, he recognized with fury and that sickeningly familiar sense of violation. Two figures, entwined on dark sheets, captured on film. He looked down at his own face, the image blurred yet recognizable, in astonishment. He looked --God--vulnerable, the lines of his face softened, caught in the throes of orgasm.

Above him, covering him, was a body intimately familiar, more muscular than he. He knew that tanned, smooth skin almost better than his own, had felt that warm body over his countless times. In the photo their eyes were locked, and while the overt sexuality of their embrace was no surprise to Lex, the blatant tenderness between them shocked him.

Oh, God, Clark's other big secret, as if one weren't enough for a simple Kansas farm boy. He closed his eyes, nausea rising within him. The thought of Lionel seeing this intimacy, seeing Clark like this, was enough to make him physically sick.

He opened his eyes to see Lionel's back, headed toward the door. He tried to speak and had to clear his throat first.

"Who was your photographer, Mapplethorpe?" His sarcasm fell flat, the strangled sound of his voice betraying him.

Lionel stopped but didn't turn around. "It's amazing where one can hide cameras these days, isn't it?" His voice turned cold. "He's very pretty, Lex. And you let him fuck you. It must be love."

Lex was shaking, red blanketing his vision for long moments. When he came back to himself, Lionel was gone, and his hands hurt from how tightly he'd clenched them into fists.

He didn't know how he made it out to his car, but he sat there for a long time, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The manila folder lay on the seat beside him, but he couldn't even bring himself to look at it, eyes aimed deliberately though the windshield.

He'd been unable to sit through the entirety of the retirement celebration, staying only for the gift presentation. The shocked looks he'd received were explained when he finally escaped to the washroom and saw his face, grim and gray, sheened with sweat. He'd retreated to his office and the liquor decanter he kept there.

Laphroaig was too good a whiskey to be swilling as he was, but the peaty burn of the Islay malt was a welcome diversion. It was something to concentrate on while his head swam and his stomach twisted. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the cool leather of the chair.

He sat in his office at the plant for a long time. He stirred once, long enough to call for a complete security sweep of the mansion, emphasis on his living quarters, and thought of closing barn doors after the cows had already headed for the hills with a soundless laugh.

He got to his feet, pausing a moment to settle his head. He walked through the deserted halls of the plant without staggering. It was a hard-earned composure, attained by dint of experience. In the parking lot, he fumbled briefly for his keys, but finally got the car door open.

He was drunk, he knew, probably too drunk to be behind the wheel, but that thought belonged to the daylight world of the Kents. It was a world he had pretended to live in since he'd been in Smallville, but he wondered if he'd been fooling himself all along. Before she had died, leaving him one final time, Pam Jenkins had made him think it was possible, had reminded him of his mother. It was his mother's stock that had provided him with the needed capital to save the plant, to defy his father. But during the storm, when he'd looked down at his father lying trapped under the column, he had hesitated, coldly calculated the advantages of leaving his father there to die. Lionel would have done it, he knew, and Lex had felt a disturbing kinship with his father. Lionel was in him, in the warp and weft of his being.

He had to see Clark.

The drive over the quiet roads was an exercise in control, Lex vesus his own fucked-up reactions, and he sighed with relief as made the turn into the Kent's drive. He shut the lights off as he bumped to a stop in front of the house. It was very late, and he didn't think Jonathan Kent would welcome with open arms a drunken Lex Luthor at this hour of the night.

He got out of the car and reached down to scoop up pebbles from the driveway. He hurled them at Clark's window and smiled tightly at himself. He'd always had a keen sense of the ridiculous, a jaundiced eye through which even his own actions were sometimes viewed.

Fuck it. He threw more pebbles.

"Clark!" His shout was louder than he'd intended, and he winced.

"Clark!"

A light finally came on in Clark's room, followed by the scraping sound of the window opening.

"Lex?! What the...?" Incredulity tinged Clark's harsh whisper.

"Come outside, Clark. I need to talk to you."

"Jeez, Lex. It's a school night."

Lex stifled a laugh that came precariously close to a sob.

"Please, Clark, it's important."

Clark paused, then sighed loudly. "Just a minute."

The light was flicked off, and Lex closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his head whirl dizzily.

There was suddenly a warm body next to him, the comforting bulk and smell of Clark.

"Lex, you okay?" He opened his eyes. Clark was looking at him with a worried frown. Then Clark sniffed, audibly. "Jesus, Lex, are you out of your mind? Coming to my house in the middle of the night drunk? Did you drive like this...of course you did. If my dad catches me out here with you like this, I'll be grounded 'til I'm thirty."

Lex looked at that young, young face, brow creased by adolescent worries. He felt a strange bittersweet pang, something like nostalgia, but for something he'd never had. His mouth opened, then closed wordlessly.

He couldn't tell Clark. The photographs were his to deal with. It was his father, his fucked-up life, his problem.

"Crap." A light had come on in the living room, floorboards creaking. Clark flinched away from him suddenly as Jonathan Kent appeared on the porch, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Clark, we could tell him. About us," Lex said suddenly in a desperate whisper, seized by the rash notion to get everything out in the open with Jonathan Kent. He couldn't tell Clark about the photos, but maybe he could eliminate the secrecy that Lionel threatened, undercut his blackmailing power.

Clark shook his head violently. "You gotta be nuts, Lex. No way. He'd kill you."

"Could someone please explain what the hell's going on out here?" Jonathan looked at Lex with narrowed eyes. "Luthor?"

"Clark and I have something to tell you, Mr. Kent," he said quietly and looked straight into Clark's eyes. "Clark?"

Clark's eyes were wide with horror; he looked over at Lex, stricken. Lex could hear him swallow, and, not tearing his eyes from Lex's, Clark shook his head minutely. His look was pure pleading.

Lex looked away for a moment and sighed. Clark would be furious with him, but he would deal with that later. Just now though he needed to hear Clark say this.

He put a hand on Clark's arm. "Clark, please?" Luthors never said 'please,' Lionel always said, but his mother certainly had, Lex remembered.

"Clark, what's Lex talking about? What's wrong, son?" Clark remained silent, eyes wide like those of a spooked horse. Lex closed his eyes and breathed deeply; his head was whirling again, but this time he almost felt like giving in to it.

Lex opened his eyes to see Jonathan Kent glaring at him, anger and fear written in the lines of his face. "What lies have you been telling him, Luthor? He's pale as a sheet; look what you've done to him, Lex! Now tell me what the hell is going on."

No, he was nuts. Telling Jonathan wouldn't help at all: desperation was making him stupid. Damn it, he should have left Lionel there, at the mercy of the tornado. This was his reward for good conduct, for saving his father's life, for saving the plant, for not being his father's son. Jonathan never seemed to thaw, never looked at Lex as anything other than Luthor. He blamed Lex for Nixon, perhaps justly, but in the end it was Lex who had taken care of the reporter, bought his silence with cold hard cash. Lex tried to push down as far as possible the guilty knowledge that he himself had set Nixon onto Clark in the first place.

He was suddenly sick of this, the nausea Lionel had inspired rising again. He felt his lips thin and then he spun on his heel, almost running to the car.

"Lex!"

"Luthor!" The voices overlapped, calling out to him, but he ignored both father and son, yanked open the car door, fell into the car seat awkwardly. Clark was at his car window in an instant, and Lex glared through the window at him. Clark must have seen something in Lex's face then, because he hesitated and dropped his outstretched hand.

He punched the gas, peeled out and heard the tires kicking up rocks.

He was hitting thirty before he reached the main road, the car bottoming out dangerously over the rutted driveway. His face felt tight and numb; he must be even drunker than he'd thought.

The speedometer needle was nudging ninety most of the way home. When he was this messed up, ninety on the dark, narrow Smallville roads was pushing it. But then again Lex was used to that.

The next day he felt sick and groggy. He'd mixed whiskey and Percodan to get to sleep finally last night and was feeling the effects of the combination.

Work was interminable, and he gave in at last and left early. He was getting nothing very productive done anyway.

Clark was waiting for him at the mansion, as he'd both hoped and feared.

"Clark," he began, but Clark interrupted.

"I'm really trying hard to understand you, Lex. I'm trying not to be mad about last night. My dad is furious."

Clark's jaw muscles clenched convulsively, hands working into fists. He came closer to Lex, broad shoulders flexing , an angry shrug. Lex took an involuntary step back and stopped, trapped between Clark and the desk behind him. For the first time since he'd learned the full truth about Clark, he was acutely aware of Clark's physical presence looming over his own, his bulk and strength intimidating rather than comforting.

Clark froze and most of the color drained from his face. Clark took a deliberate step back, let out a deep breath. He closed his eyes and shook himself, as if trying to shake out the tension in his shoulders.

Lex felt the coil of fear in his gut loosen slightly, but he still eyed Clark warily. Clark looked at him with wounded eyes.

"I...I wouldn't hurt you, Lex. Ever."

Lex had to clear his throat before he could speak. "I know that. I do know that, Clark. I'm just..." He shook his head, trailing off.

Clark seemed to really look at him, see him at last. His eyes softened.

"You look kind of...sick, Lex. It's not just the hangover, is it? What's wrong?"

He ignored Clark's question. "I wanted to apologize for last night, Clark. I drink, then I get stupid. I'm sorry. Tell your dad I'm sorry. For waking everybody up, for everything. I was being an ass." The first thing his father ever taught him was how to choose his words with care, how to misdirect with absolute truth.

Clark didn't seem fooled though, never had. He was suddenly caught up in Clark's warm arms, preternatural strength tempered for him. He shuddered briefly, then sighed, and relaxed into Clark's grasp.

Clark's breath was warm in his ear. "Tell me."

He swallowed. "It's one of Lionel's games again." The sudden thought of Lionel's cameras, recording this, made him stiffen. Any cameras should have been cleared away in the security sweep, but Lionel's invasion had marred his hard-won feelings of security, the sense of his personal space as inviolable.

Clark loosened his hold but didn't let him go entirely. "The plant again?"

"He wants me back in Metropolis," Lex said shortly.

Clark either didn't notice or didn't call him on the evasive response. "You'll beat him, Lex. You've done it once; you can do it again," Clark said.

"Damn him," Lex whispered savagely. "I should've let him die that day."

"Shh," Clark soothed. "You don't mean that."

Lex remained silent and let himself relax once more into Clark's warmth. They were quiet for long moments.

"Isn't this a pretty sight?"

Lex stiffened with a muttered curse and pushed Clark behind him. Lionel sauntered in from the hallway, a strange smile playing across his face.

"Clark. Go home, now. Go," Lex urged desperately, not tearing his eyes from Lionel. He couldn't expose Clark to this, couldn't risk Lionel mentioning those damn photographs.

"I'm staying," Clark said stubbornly.

At the same time, Lionel purred, "Oh, let the boy stay. He's fairer by far than even Miss Hardwick, Lex. I do see the attraction."

Clark's gasp was almost drowned out by the roaring in Lex's ears. Clark's hands on his shoulders stopped his angry lunge towards his father. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, unclenching his fists deliberately. Straight for the jugular, that was Lionel. Make your enemy angry and he'll get stupid, yet another lesson Lionel had taught him.

"Go to hell, Dad. Clark, please, go. You don't want to hear this."

"I'm not leaving you here with that, Lex." Damn Clark, he always wanted to argue; it got a little frustrating after the instant obedience to which Lex was accustomed. Clark's eyes, trained on Lionel, were pale with fury. He looked as angry as when Phelan had tangled with the Kents.

Lionel let out a hearty laugh with an edge to it that turned Lex's stomach. "Kitten has claws, hmm? What does kitten think of my offer, Lex?"

Lex flinched violently, a pathetic lapse of control that instantly focused Lionel's attentions on him. Those eyes that took in everything, that had always seemed to strip him bare effortlessly, bore into his. After a moment of silence, Lionel laughed again, an intimate and warm sound that seemed to be encouraging Lex to join in the levity.

"Oh, Lex. He doesn't know? You haven't told him?" Lionel paused, and his awful smile twisted, so that he seemed almost pleased. "That's my boy, Lex. Pawns should always be kept in the dark until the moment you bring them into play."

Lionel smiled tightly. His voice was warm, reasonable, the voice that got people to do things. "Think of your future, Lex. A misspent youth is one thing, but you won't get very far if you keep up these...indiscretions."

Clark spoke. "What's he talking about, Lex?"

Lex's throat was dry enough to hurt. "Photographs. Lionel has photos, Clark." Clark still looked blank. "Of us...together."

A bright red flush suddenly washed over Clark's cheeks, and his eyes widened. "Oh, God."

"Yeah," he agreed dryly.

Lionel was still staring at Lex. "Return to Metropolis, Lex. Come back where you belong. Or Jonathan Kent gets to see exactly how you've corrupted his son."

Lionel turned on his heel, and was walking away when he tossed a last line behind him. "I've missed you, Lex. Come back to me."

Lex found that he was gripping a heavy glass paperweight from his desk so tightly it hurt.

"Damn, damn, damn." He heard the muttered words rise to a shout and realized the sounds were coming from him. He pressed his lips together, cutting off the curses. He turned suddenly, hurled the paperweight at the far wall, where it crashed hard enough to spall off chips of plaster.

There was suddenly warmth against his back and hands restraining him. He froze.

"Clark." He tried to make the word an apology.

"Am I your pawn, Lex?" Clark looked calmer than he had expected, eyeing him closely.

"Jesus, Clark. No. How can you ask that?"

"Then why didn't you tell me about the photographs in the first place? Don't keep me in the dark about things like that, Lex," Clark said sharply and then gave his ribs a warning nudge with a forefinger. Lex winced slightly and let out a sigh.

"I was going to, Clark, last night. I don't know why I didn't. It's just...Lionel's my problem, always has been. I didn't want to put this on you, didn't want to be another person you had to save. You already did that once, remember?"

Clark grabbed him, so suddenly that Lex gasped. The sound was instantly cut off by Clark's mouth on his, hard, rough and demanding. Clark's tongue pushed its way past his lips, thrust deeply into him, and then Clark's hands were on his ass, kneading the muscle, pressing up into the small of his back.

Lex finally managed to tear his mouth away. "Wait, Clark. Wait."

Clark's hands stopped moving, but his mouth was working on Lex's neck and he was steering them purposefully towards the stairs. "No, now, Lex," he said breathlessly.

Lex stiffened even as he warmed with the flush of arousal, and he grabbed Clark's biceps in a grip tight enough to hurt if Clark were human. "Damn it, Clark. That's where those photos were taken."

Clark's mouth moved up to bite Lex's ear delicately, and Lex shivered.

Clark's voice was in his ear. "I can X-ray the room this time, Lex. Now that I know about...you know, cameras." The tip of Clark's tongue darted into Lex's ear, a knowing thrust and twist to its movements that shot sparks all through him. He gasped, and Clark's hands moved on his ass again, possessive strokes that had him arching his back instinctively.

"Please, Lex? I like being with you, in your bed."

Lex closed his eyes and he felt something give inside of him, something relax that had been coiled tightly ever since he'd first seen Lionel's photos. He nodded, wordlessly, and pulled Clark toward him for a kiss that quickly had him breathless and flushed. He tugged at Clark's hand.

"C'mon, Clark," he said and smiled. He closed his eyes and felt his smile turn sly then. "Picture it, Clark. Me, on my back beneath you. You in me...I can practically feel you now..."

A startled gasp was Lex's only warning, then he was moving impossibly fast, Clark's arms wrapped around him. When he opened his eyes, he was on his bed, already half naked.

He looked down for a moment. "No cameras this time?"

Clark leaned in and pressed an oddly chaste kiss to his forehead. He was still blinking at that bit of strangeness when Clark spoke. "I checked. No cameras."

He waved a hand toward Clark's clothes, a brow raised expectantly.

Then there was nothing between them but heat and sweat, and he was being pressed back into the sheets. When Clark was fucking him, there had always been a delicate sense of control, strength tamed but not always completely leashed, and Lex had always found that whiff of danger powerfully erotic. Now though, Clark's control seemed absolute, his movements determinedly never other than gentle, as he slowly pushed inside Lex. Clark paused, just inside the ring of muscle, and licked at Lex's temple.

"Clark," he said with a tight smile. "I'm dying here. Move already."

"Don't ever want to hurt you, Lex." Clark sounded a little desperate, and Lex caught Clark's eyes with his, puzzled and a little worried. He frowned.

"You're not hurting, Clark. You've never hurt me."

Clark's eyes were troubled. "If you have to go back to Metropolis, I want this to be perfect."

Lex pushed up with a twist of his hips, and pulled down on Clark's hips suddenly enough to catch him off guard. Clark's cock was suddenly in him, deeper even than he'd been expecting, and he gasped a little at the burn. It hurt, but it was a good hurt, an ache that he could carry with him for a long time.

"Jesus, Lex!" Clark yelped

Lex ground them together. "Not..." another deep thrust up, and his breath caught briefly. "...going back."

Clark let out a low sound, a pleased half-moan, and the sound washed heat all through Lex.

And then Clark started moving, more vigorously than before, and Lex sighed with the feel of it. Clark was over him and with him, so there, and so Clark that he'd know who was in him even with his eyes closed. Lex's muscular control was shot, his trembling arms falling outstretched to either side of him, but that loss of contact with Clark paled next to the building sensations elsewhere in his body.

Clark changed his angle just so, and Lex gasped at the spike of pure sensation that flooded his body. "Yes, Clark, there," he gasped, and Clark nipped at his neck, another pinpoint of exquisite pleasure almost lost below the heated sparks that shot through him as Clark's cock pushed deeper inside him.

"Harder, Clark. Fuck me," he said breathlessly. He was sweating, their bodies slick with it, and he panted with need. He was looking directly into Clark's eyes, and he was almost lost in this, losing his grasp on any separation between what was him and what was Clark. He jerked then, as another bolt of exquisite sensation ran through him, pleasure so piercing it was almost pain.

"God," he gasped. This blurring of boundaries has never happened to him before and a brief flash of fear made him shiver. His hands clenched tightly in the sheets, and he closed his eyes, cut himself off from Clark's burning gaze.

"Don't..." he trailed off, trying to save himself, maintain some distance, because Clark couldn't really expect this of him, expect him to bare his deepest self like this. A memory arose, unbidden, unwanted, of the first few days in the hospital after the meteor shower. He'd felt vulnerable, flayed, as though he'd been stripped of far more than hair in that cornfield. He had been reborn that night, transformed by the deadly rain that had also carried Clark to Earth.

"Look at me." Clark's voice was soft, but his command was implacable.

"Please," he said and tried to turn his face away from Clark's voice.

A strong hand on his chin forced his head back, and Clark spoke again. "Look at me."

Clark moved slowly inside him, a subtle twist that made him moan and he arched up against Clark.

"Lex."

Lex hesitated, then felt something melt within him: he's always tried to give Clark whatever he wants. He opened his eyes and was caught in that frightening connection again. His eyes widened impossibly, and he felt his mouth forming words, but he heard nothing but Clark's voice, felt nothing but Clark. They were together, inextricably bound with eyes and skin and voices as one, as the waves of sensation peaked within him, quicksilver orgasm shuddering his every muscle. Clark was there, with him when he came, and they slipped together over the precipice, bound like this for a perfect, almost infinite moment.

Lex was trembling, his body still resonating with sensation. Clark had slipped out of him and had spooned up against his back. He had to say it.

"What the hell was that?"

Clark laughed, a rumble that Lex felt against his skin. "Good, huh?" he said in a cheerful voice, and Lex felt lips brush against his neck.

Lex was silent for long moments, then he shook his head and laughed. "Yeah, it was good, Clark. Jesus."

Clark gave his neck a last lick and sighed. "What are we going to do about the photos, Lex?"

"I'll take care of it, Clark. Promise."

"But what..."

"Clark. It's going to get ugly. I don't think you want to get involved."

Clark froze. "Don't sink to his level, Lex. Not for me."

"Us, Clark. For us." Lex let some of his weariness seep into his voice. "Can we talk about this later?"

Clark hesitated, obviously not wanting to let the topic go. "Okay, Lex," he said, sounding a little uncertain. "Later."

Lex looked at the bedside clock. "You're going to be late for dinner, Clark."

Lex almost laughed at Clark's stifled curse, followed by a frantic scrambling for Clark's clothing.

Fully dressed finally, Clark sat on the edge of the bed. "Tomorrow?"

Lex tugged at the front of Clark's jacket, pulling him down for a quick kiss. "Tomorrow," he agreed.

The next day, Lex was in his office at the plant. He hung up the phone, frustrated: he was working on several of Lionel's proteges, feeling out their greed and capacity for betrayal, but was making no headway in retrieving the photographs. The plant was running fairly smoothly, at least, so he could concentrate on his more immediate problems. He shook his head and grabbed his jacket.

Nixon was sitting at his desk when Lex got home, chair tipped back, feet insolently up on the desk's surface.

"Run through all that money I gave you already, Nixon?" he drawled, suppressing the twinges of fear that threatened to start up in his stomach.

Nixon looked at him, eyes a little too bright. "I might have lost my best footage of your freak friend during the tornado, but you know what they say, 'If at first you don't succeed...' "

Lex was up in Nixon's face, fist clenched in Nixon's collar before he'd even thought about it. "I've told you before to leave the Kents alone. How difficult is that even for one such as you to understand?" His voice sounded almost gentle, but anyone who knew him would have known to tread softly.

Nixon seemed oblivious to his quiet menace and smiled. It was more smirk than anything, and Lex felt the sudden vicious urge to punch that smug face, and keep punching until it was unrecognizable.

"You might have a long reach, Lex. But I got a new boss now. And even you can't touch me if I'm working for Lionel."

Lex was twisting Nixon's collar up tight, cutting off his air and voice. "Liar," he said coldly. "You've got no proof. Lionel would throw your Inquisitor ass out on the street." He was twisting his grip even tighter, when he heard a voice calling from the hall outside.

"Lex?"

He was pushing Nixon away from him as Clark walked in.

Nixon glared at him, jerkily straightening his collar. His cocky posture returned as he turned toward Clark.

"Hey, Kent, where's your spaceship?"

Clark froze, glaring at Nixon.

"What's he doing here?"

"Rog was just leaving, weren't you?" Lex said coldly.

Nixon was eyeing Clark curiously. "So what do you see in the bald freak anyway, Clark...oh, wait, you're a freak, too." Nixon let out a deranged-sounding laugh and pointed at Clark with a shaky hand.

"You're a freak, Kent. Alien. And I'm going to prove it."

Clark's jaw was working furiously, and he took a convulsive step towards Nixon.

"Clark," Lex said and moved into Clark's path. "Just stop. He's got nothing; he's an idiot." He looked over at Nixon, then nodded at the doorway, where his security had finally shown up.

"Mr. Nixon was just leaving; please escort him to the gate. He's not to be admitted in future, is that clear?"

When they were alone again, Clark cursed. Lex shot him a quelling look.

"As if Lionel isn't enough," Clark muttered. "Any luck with the photos?"

"I said I was handling it, Clark. I've yet to explore all my options. Don't worry."

"I knew it. Lex, don't..."

Lex cut him off. "I said I'd handle it, Clark."

Clark snorted. "Handle, yeah."

Lex walked over to the liquor cabinet. He needed a drink or six for this conversation. He closed his eyes as he swallowed, the slide down his throat a smooth burn.

"I heard you found the Carstairs' little girl." Lex's voice would have sounded pleasantly interested to anyone other than Clark.

Clark was silent. Lex looked up from pouring another drink.

"Uh, yeah. No big deal." Clark shifted his weight nervously.

"Up at the old foundry, I heard."

Clark looked down. "Yeah."

Lex sighed. "Clark, you said that place made you sick. Meteor rocks all over the place."

"I could hear her crying, Lex. Even sick, I could hear her. I had to go get her."

"Not and kill yourself, you didn't. I saw what happened that day I took you bouldering, Clark. Half that rock fall I took you to was made up of those damn rocks. You stopped breathing, Clark, scared the shit out of me."

"I know, Lex, but I'm okay. And I'm not going to stop helping people. It's who I am."

Lex took another big swallow of his drink, feeling the warmth wash through him when it hit his stomach.

"Every time you use your powers, you risk compromising your secret, Clark. It's too dangerous; Nixon's going to be all over you."

"And if you use Lionel's methods to get the photos back, you risk compromising yourself." An angry flush stood out high on Clark's cheeks.

Lex pressed his lips together angrily, then let his breath out in a gusty sigh. "Maybe we should...agree to disagree on this, Clark."

"I've gotta get home, anyway. Dad needs help; I've been enough of a slacker this week."

Lex looked down at his glass, where his fingers were clenched tightly about the crystal.

"Okay," he said quietly. "See you this weekend, then?"

Clark cleared his throat. "Um, no, actually. I thought I told you. Mom and I are spending the weekend in Metropolis. We're going to the museum and stuff. Maybe take a tour of Metropolis University."

Lex smiled, a little tensely. "Ah, my almost alma mater. Princeton was so much more forgiving of all my...foibles."

Clark gave him a sharp look. "Don't get like that," he said softly.

"Like what?" His voice sounded tight, almost dangerous.

"All prickly and distanced. It's like you build a wall sometimes with words."

Lex was silent for long moments, then sighed.

"I'm not fit company right now, I know. I get...moody sometimes."

Clark smiled. "It's okay," he said quietly and moved in close to Lex. Lex pulled him even closer.

Clark lifted his mouth from Lex's. "Whatever you're drinking tastes gross, Lex."

Lex laughed. "Go on, go help your dad. And if I don't see you before the weekend, have fun in Metropolis."

Lex watched Clark leave. Then he went down to the gym, put on his gloves, and punched a bag until he was about to drop.

The weekend dragged. Lex worked on digging up compromising material on one of Lionel's trusted execs, who Lex was sure would know something about the photos, but it was not his best effort. He was--distracted all weekend. The second time he dialed Clark's number without thinking, he stifled a curse and hung up. He powered up his laptop, determined to get some work done.

Late Sunday evening, Lex was up in the salle, working up a sweat with epee drills. He had managed finally to lose himself in that detached state of mental and physical concentration, when a flushed and triumphant Clark interrupted.

Lex gave Clark an ironic salute, and raised a brow at Clark's expression. "Metropolis that good?" he asked ironically. "Shake all that Smallville dirt from your boots?"

Clark seemed oblivious to his sarcasm and just grabbed him, grinding their bodies together and sealing their mouths together. Lex instinctively stiffened at the urgency, then relaxed, ridiculously pleased at this apparent overflow of emotion or arousal on Clark's part. He heard the epee clatter to the floor and winced slightly at that abuse, but that discomfort was forgotten almost immediately when Clark's hand snaked between their bodies and pressed against his groin. He jerked slightly, his gasp stifled against Clark's mouth.

Lex pulled away finally. "What brought that on?" he asked, amused and breathless.

Clark held up his backpack, looked down as he started unzipping it. "I got 'em, Lex. They're in here."

Lex frowned. "Got what?"

"The photos. See?" Clark held up a padded white envelope. "And the negatives. It's all there."

Lex froze, then slowly reached out and took the envelope. His hand was shaking, a distant part of his mind noted. He stared down at the envelope, slipped a hand under the unsealed flap, and hesitated. He looked at Clark.

"Clark, what'd you do?" He sounded dangerously calm, his voice soft.

Clark looked at him, forehead creasing as he looked at Lex. "Relax, Lex. It was easy. Mom and I were visiting Ryan and his aunt when we were in Metropolis. They just moved there from Edge City; she got a new job at MU."

Lex took a step back from Clark. "And that just slipped your mind when we were talking last week?" Now he sounded angry, he realized, but found that he didn't really care.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" Clark sounded defensive.

Lex thought furiously. "And your itinerary wouldn't have included Lionel's ground-breaking ceremony for the new Luthor wing at the museum, now would it? Getting Ryan close to my father?" He was using his Luthor voice, hard and tinged with dangerous amusement, he realized, and suppressed a shudder.

Clark shrugged, looking at him with deceptively innocent eyes. "When I heard Lionel was going to be there, I knew I could talk Mom into going up for a visit. Ryan didn't mind."

Lex closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "Clark, he's a kid. My father's head is no place he'd want to be, I guarantee you."

Clark's face had a stubborn set to it. "No, he was fine. We got up close to the front. Lionel took one look at me, and Ryan picked it right up. And then that night...I...you know...broke in." He waved a vague hand dismissively, and then looked at him with a puzzled frown.

"I thought you'd be proud of me, Lex. Now we don't have to worry about the photos, Lionel sending 'em to my dad. You can stay in Smallville, Lex."

Lex took in a deep breath, willing his jumping nerves to calm. "Jesus, Clark. You didn't think to talk to me about what you were planning? Did you even think at all? You think Lionel won't put two and two together?"

Clark backed up a step, a guilty expression crossing his face. "But, I thought..."

Lex interrupted, his voice hard. "Did you at least try to be subtle about the whole bare hands ripping through steel thing? Nixon's probably already told Lionel stories about you. And you had the nerve to accuse me of compromising myself."

Clark looked at him, as if finally comprehending Lex's anger.

"I was careful, Lex. I moved too fast for the cameras." Clark sounded a little smug, and Lex gritted his teeth.

"Clark, you don't want to attract Lionel's attention. If he gets started in on your abilities, it'll make your father finding out about us an extremely attractive alternative."

Clark was silent for long moments, and when he spoke he seemed a little chastened. "I wasn't thinking about that." His voice was soft and he paused, mouth working. "I wanted to do something, Lex. You can't leave Smallville now. It'd just about kill me, I think."

Lex sighed. "I doubt it, Clark, but better that than...oh, Jesus." His imagination had supplied images of what Lionel was capable of doing to Clark, and the thoughts were enough to make him dizzy. He stumbled back until his back hit the wall, then slid down to the floor.

"Lex?" Clark sounded worried, and was suddenly sitting on the floor next to him.

"I'm okay," he said and ran a trembling hand over Clark's cheek. He pulled Clark closer; Clark tasted of chocolate and coffee, and Lex let out a small sound. He pulled back and looked into Clark's eyes. The look in Clark's eyes made Lex feel warm all over, touched him in that unfamiliar way that had kept him off balance from the first.

Lex was far from expert on the subject of love, it seemed, but he's made a vow to himself. If Lionel ever touches Clark, he'll kill him.

Clark's mouth on his distracted him, Clark's hands on his body aroused him, and he let himself be pushed back onto the floor. His pants were tugged down, and there was something perfect about the ache of his bones against the hard wood beneath him when Clark pushed down on him.

A long time later, he let his head drop to the side and saw their reflection in the mirrored wall, Clark's mouth on his cock, bobbing head and wet, red lips. Lex gasped at the sight and his eyes fell on the discarded epee, left on the floor nearby. Those images seemed to burn themselves into his brain as he came, a sound like pain ripped from his throat.

The next day, Lionel called Lex at the plant. Lex had been waiting for it, tensely pacing his office.

"Lex! I'm so disappointed. Resorting to the vulgarity of brute physical force. Where'd you hire them?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dad."

"Oh, don't be obtuse, Lex. You know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm staring at the gaping hole in my vault right now."

Lex sighed. "They're expensive, Dad, and very, very difficult to hire. You wouldn't like them; they don't take orders well."

"I saw your...friend...at the museum, Lex. If he's spying for you, he needs to learn subtlety."

Lex tensed, then let out a deep breath. "Paranoid, much, Dad? He was visiting the big city with his mother."

"I'm actually somewhat pleased, Lex." Lionel laughed. "You've elevated the game to a whole new level now. Be sure you're ready for it."

The click told Lex that Lionel had hung up on him. He gently set the handset into the cradle and stared down at the phone for a long time. He moved finally, lashed out violently to send the phone crashing against the wall.

Two days later, Lex pulled up to the Kent house. Peeking through the screen door, he found Martha baking.

"Mrs. Kent?" He stepped into the kitchen.

"How are you, Lex?" she asked, smiling as she looked up from her work.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Kent. That smells good."

"Clark's down at the hay barn, I think." She gave him a sharp, slightly worried look. "Clark's been a little mopey lately; see if you can cheer him up."

Lex smiled a little wryly. "I'll certainly try."

She winked at him. "Now, go, before I make you help me bake these pies."

He laughed as he left the house and headed down to the hay barn. He walked, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

He rounded the corner of the hay barn to see Clark. He was heaving bales into the truck, a used GMC that had replaced the one destroyed by Nixon's explosives.

Clark looked up and caught sight of him; his face lit up. "Lex! What's up?"

"Enjoying the view," he said, his voice a little husky.

A faint blush washed over Clark's cheeks and he smiled.

"I wanted to tell you about the photos. I destroyed them, along with the negatives."

Clark looked over at him, wiping his forehead with a shirtsleeve. "Good. That's good, Lex. But did you drive all that way just to tell me that?"

Lex hesitated. "And Nixon. I thought you should know...he won't be bothering you any more."

Clark's eyes got wide. "Lex? You...'took care of him'?" he asked, a little breathlessly.

"Jesus, Clark, you've been watching The Sopranos too much. No, they're taking him in for psych evaluation..." Lex glanced at his watch. "Oh, right about now, probably. Seems like he keeps rambling on about aliens, crazy stuff. His editor has been worried about him for a while it seems. My guess is he'll be committed."

"And you didn't have anything to do with it?" Clark sounded incredulous.

"Archimedes once said that if he had a big enough lever, he could move the world. It's all about leverage, Clark. Nixon's own brother called the hospital." Lex felt his smile twist; it was surprising how amenable David Nixon had been to Lex. Well, amenable to Lex and his lever, some juicy little secrets that made the release of Lex's juvenile records seem like child's play. Thank you Archimedes, Lex thought, blessing the sordid character of the Nixon genepool.

Clark's mouth was open. "You did this somehow, Lex, I know it."

"You sound like your dad, Clark. Don't you trust me?"

Clark looked down, shifting uncomfortably. "Lex."

"I know, I know. I think your mom likes me though. She asked me to cheer you up."

Clark laughed uneasily and gestured at the hay. "C'mon, take a ride. I gotta get this up to the house."

Lex eyed the dusty truck with a wary eye. "The things I do for you, Clark."

"Hush up, city boy," Clark joked as they got into the truck. Clark paused.

"You hear that?" Clark's head was cocked, the posture oddly reminiscent of one of his mother's old foxhounds.

"What?" Lex couldn't hear anything.

Clark shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered. Clark had the key in the ignition and had barely started to turn it, when the world exploded. In that split-second, Lex realized his idiocy: Nixon, already unstable and set on recovering the footage of Clark he'd lost, repeating a successful plan like the epitome of an unoriginal thinker.

Lex heard Clark scream, "No!" Then he felt hard hands gripping him painfully, and before he could blink, he was being thrown away from the truck. He was sailing though space, ferocious heat surrounding him, as the air around him turned to flame. He hit the ground hard, rolling instinctively to absorb the shock. Clark was next to him then, slapping his back painfully.

"Stop," he croaked, then realized that the back of jacket was on fire still and Clark was extinguishing the flames.

He was panting then, and he felt everything at once, his aching ribs, the soreness of his back, the burns on the back of his head and neck.

"I'm okay, Clark." He reassured, gently pushing away Clark's worried hands. "It's okay; I just got a little singed." He fumbled with trembling hands into his jacket, where his cell phone had somehow miraculously survived intact. He had punched in the '9' and the first '1,' when a guttural, anguished cry made him look up. Clark was already over by the hay shed, and Lex gaped at the distance he'd run in the blink of an eye.

Lex blinked, trying to focus his watering eyes.

He gasped: Clark was crushing a video camera with one hand, while his other hand had Nixon by the neck, shaking the reporter like a ragdoll.

"Clark!" he cried out, but Clark didn't respond. "Clark!"

He forced himself to his feet, grimacing as his knees threatened to buckle, and managed a lurching gait that wasn't quite a run. His first look at Clark's face, eerily lit by the flames from the truck, made Lex go cold. Preternatural fury, powerful enough to match his strength, marred the fine lines of Clark's face.

He reached out then, pulled on Clark's arm with all his strength. "Clark!" he screamed into Clark's ear. "Stop. You'll kill him!" Clark's eyes were wide, unblinking, and focused utterly on Nixon. Lex's cries seemed to go unheard.

Lex finally wedged his shoulder between Clark and Nixon. "Clark!"

It happened then, a motion so fast he saw nothing but a blur, and he was once again sailing through space. He tried to curl up into a protective ball again, but his muscles betrayed him this time. He fell awkwardly and hard, most of his weight landing on his right arm. He heard a sickening crack, then his head hit the ground and he knew no more.

Pain. He awoke to pain, muffled only slightly by the fuzziness of medication. He grimaced; his own medicine cabinet was stocked with better kicks than this.

"Lex? You awake?" The whispered voice gave him a start; he jerked slightly, then moaned at his body's reaction to the movement.

He opened his eyes. Clark, looking guilty and wide-eyed, sat beside his bed. He blinked, confused.

"Did I crash my car?"

"Lex, I'm so sorry." Clark's face was pale and drawn, and he reached out a hand towards Lex.

Lex's memory suddenly flooded back, and he flinched back violently. "You..." he said and had to pause, his rising fury stealing his voice momentarily. "You fucking hit me, Clark! I don't...I was trying to stop you."

Clark looked down, seemingly unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Nixon," Lex said in a low, tight voice. "You kill him?"

Clark pulled his hand back, then wrapped his arms around himself as though he were cold. "Lex, no. God. I snapped out of it when I heard you...heard your arm..." He trailed off, looking down at Lex's side. Lex's eyes followed Clark's gaze and he saw the source of one of his many dull aches: his right arm was encased in a frighteningly bright blue cast.

Clark finally spoke. "Nixon ran away."

"Smart man," Lex said dryly, ignoring Clark's flinch.

"He's in custody now." Clark bit his lip. "Lex, you were on fire. I thought you were dead." Clark's voice broke. "I don't even remember grabbing Nixon. Lex...please." Clark let out a sound that sounded like a sob.

Lex bit his lip and had to close his eyes for a moment. Jesus, sometimes he forgot how young Clark really was. And he felt like he could kill Nixon himself, so he could hardly blame Clark for a valiant effort on that front.

"Clark," he said quietly. "Come here." He patted the bed beside him with his good hand, as Clark looked up with redrimmed eyes. "Come on."

Clark hesitated. "Your ribs are bruised, Lex. And I don't want to jostle your arm."

Lex sighed and patted the sheet again. "It's okay, Clark."

Clark sat awkwardly on the bed, folding himself up so that he could pillow his head on Lex's chest.

Lex ran a soothing hand over Clark's hair, fingers catching on the tangles. He felt Clark shake his head.

"Never lost it like that, Lex. Lost my control."

"You scared me, Clark." Lex held Clark as he flinched.

"I scared myself," Clark said shakily. "When Eric had my powers, I admit I felt a little smug that I'd never mishandled them so badly. But it's all a matter of degree, isn't it? What it took to set me off."

Lex spoke. "Self-knowledge, Clark. It hurts like hell sometimes, but it's good for you."

"I guess," Clark said slowly as if unconvinced.

"Knowledge is power, Clark. Remember that." He stroked Clark's hair, pondering the ramifications of that equation for a long time. Nixon, his father...so much dangerous knowledge threatened them. It was as chilling as the memory that kept replaying in his head: Clark sending him flying with barely a thought, as easily as he could squash a bug. He closed his eyes, more tired than he could remember feeling since he'd been in Smallville.

Lex's cast was removed four weeks later, and Clark came to the mansion to celebrate. They watched bad movies, laughing a lot, and ended up fucking on the couch. Clark's eyes had finally lost some of their haunted look when he looked at Lex.

As soon as Clark had left, Lex pulled out the package that had arrived. He sliced through the tape and opened the flaps of the box. Brushing aside the packing material, he pulled out the jewelry case that was enclosed. The case was understated elegance, black soft leather embossed with the monogram of an exclusive London jeweler. He ran his hands over the leather and swallowed hard.

He took a deep breath and opened the case. His breath caught; the designer had exceeded his expectations--it was perfect. His hand reached in and hesitated, and he blew out a sigh of disgust.

Suddenly decisive, he reached in and pulled the ring from the case. Heavy platinum, deceptively simple in design, exquisitely masculine in its execution, the ring reflected the light oddly. He slid it on; the fit was perfect, he'd expected no less.

He turned the ring in the light, admiring the changeable green of the stone set in it. The jewelers had cut the stone perfectly; on superficial inspection, it might pass for an emerald. The sullen green glow that suddenly danced within it seemed to deny that resemblance, however, and Lex found himself seized by a sudden violent fury, lips twisting.

"Never again." The muttered words held the dark, silky threat of Lionel at his worst--they caught him by surprise, and he shuddered. His face suddenly felt very hot, and he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. He looked up, but instead of seeing the room around him, he saw possibilities radiating out from this moment. Infinite futures spread out before him, like some quantum physics come-to-life probability wave. Some visions just seemed odd--an older version of himself kissing a Clark all in spandex, for example. But many were scenes of death and decay, and were frighteningly like the visions that Cassandra had given him. One made his blood run cold: his own hand, wearing the ring, causing Clark's death. His stomach lurched wildly, but the glimpse was gone in a second, and he found himself on his knees, struggling to remove the ring, panting with the effort.

He shook his head, and tugged harder on the ring. It seemed stuck, and a flash of irrational panic spiked through him. He took in a calming breath and gave the ring another tug. He felt it move slightly, then suddenly it came off his finger. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked down at it sitting in the palm of his hand; it seemed completely innocuous now.

Lionel had taught him chess, considering it requisite training in strategy and deception. A basic tenet was to prepare oneself for multiple outcomes, to look ahead and plan for the worst. It was that strategy, he had told himself, that had prompted the ring's creation; he didn't intend on ever actually using it, he had rationalized, except as a last resort. His broken arm seemed reason enough to have a little extra something around, just in case. Now though, he wondered if he was deluding himself again, wondered how much he should trust his own burning need for control.

Lionel would applaud the creation of the ring, he knew. An uneven playing field is best if it's favoring you, he'd say. He clenched his hand tightly around the ring, the edges of the stone cutting into his palm. He used to defy Lionel for amusement. But since Lex has been in Smallville, since Lex has had Clark, that defiance has become...purposeful, a struggle against the dark future that Lionel has planned for him.

He shoved the ring into a pocket, stood and walked over to his desk. Buzzing his security took an instant.

"Have Hans send the Hummer around. Yes, that's fine, thanks."

The SUV was waiting for him when he finally walked out the door. He smiled as he put the vehicle in gear. He drove away from the house, down the road that split the Luthor property. He finally turned off onto a narrow, rutted path. When the path rose steeply onto a hill, he drove more slowly, looking for landmarks.

He stopped finally and got out of the vehicle. He pushed his way through the dense underbrush; the cultivated and tamed gardens that surrounded the mansion were far from here. His head jerked back as a branch raked his cheek painfully, and he let out an exasperated sigh. He stopped at the edge of the bluff and looked down; below him was a steep slope down to the dark murkiness of water. It was one of the many lakes that dotted the property, and its black waters seemed bottomless.

He pulled out the ring again, eyeing it assessingly, and saw again for a moment that dizzying vision of infinite possibilities unfolding before his eyes. His knees threatened to buckle again, but he fought that weakness with all that was in him.

His future was affected by this seemingly minor moment, by what he did with this ring; Lex knew this somehow. It somehow didn't surprise him, considering how many pivotal moments had happened to him recently: meeting Clark, seeing the dark future of Cassandra's visions. The moment when he'd recognized that he'd never please his father by making the plant run efficiently, because that had never the point. The point had been to cultivate Lex's ruthlessness so that it rivaled Lionel's, and Lex wondered how closely he had come--still might come--to succeeding. Lex knew Lionel's success would mean betraying whatever was within him that Clark loved, and he didn't think he could let that happen.

Clark's gifts might make him frighteningly powerful sometimes, but Lex knows all about fear, has overcome it before.

He looked once more down at the ring cupped in his hand. He remembered reading Whitman aloud to Clark at the Talon and smiled. "'Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?'" he whispered, quoting softly. Whitman made him think of Clark, and Pamela, and his mother, made him think of love and its loss. Whitman made him think of Lionel, too, and the irony was not lost on him.

He hurled the ring then, with all his strength. He watched it arc slightly into the air, green stone glinting briefly in the dappled sunlight. His eyes followed its path up, then down as it succumbed to gravity. He heard the splash as it hit the water and smiled as the bright metal was quickly swallowed up beneath the dark waters of the lake.

Lex stood there unsteadily for a long time, watching until long after the water's surface went still again. He turned then, and pushed his way through the brush, brambles catching on his clothes.

He emerged from the shadows onto the road. As he walked toward the Hummer, he turned his face up toward the sky. The brilliant sunshine made his eyes water painfully. He kept them open, laughing, and let the tears fall.