Mercy

Title: Mercy
Pairing(s): Clex.
Spoilers: up to Season 5 'Mercy'
Category: episode-related, drama, romance
Rating: NC-17 (eventually!)
Summary: A re-write of 'Mercy.' Clark finally finds the courage to make a move on Lex, only to be disrupted at the last minute when Martha and Lionel are kidnapped by a mysterious man in a tin foil mask. As the Luthors and Kents team up for a rescue, more than one secret is revealed and more than one relationship changed forever.

Lex stared at the chessboard intently, thinking. Shifting slightly along the black leather sofa, he leant forward to move the white knight, resting his wrists on the low table as he moved back again to study the effect. He nodded. Yes, that was a good position to present Clark with at lunch today. If the Kryptonian worked things out right, Lex should be mated in the next four moves and, considering Clark had yet to win a match—despite numerous games in the last week—Lex felt the conceded victory would be a pleasant boost to his friend's moral.

This was discounting Clark's success the other night of course, because that completely didn't count. The other man had somehow spilt soda all over his white Tee, making it cling distractingly to his well-formed stomach, and faced with a vision like that, Lex could hardly be held responsible for overlooking certain manoeuvres. The T-shirt had been distraction enough on its own really—what was Clark doing wearing white anyway?

A shaft of morning sunlight broke through the mansion windows and flashed on the board, warming the wooden squares and sending wild reflections bouncing off the pieces. It was a beautiful set, with fully clothed Edwardian characters forming the armies, carved from shining silver. Perfect, flawless, cold—like all his father's gifts. But the reared hooves of the shining knight seemed now to move beneath the glare, as if the horse planed to scamper away any second. Lex had never seen the set so alive, and it had never been as treasured as when Clark Kent sat at the opposite side. It reminded Lex of one of their earlier encounters, when he'd found the younger man enraptured before his miniature battlefield, 'strategy tool' altered to childhood game instantly.

Things were certainly brighter these days, Lex couldn't deny it, and while he wanted very much to be content with that, there was something about Clark just recently that piqued old curiosity. The way the younger man looked at him sometimes, when he thought Lex couldn't see, the new edge to his smile—Clark was hiding something, Lex knew it, and he couldn't keep ignoring that much longer.

The side door opened behind him, distracting his thoughts, but Lex stayed at the board. His schedule at LuthorCorp was clear today—whoever it was couldn't be important.

"Chess," the loud, mocking voice of his father noted. Lex sighed. "You haven't played chess in years. Why the sudden interest in such a complex game?"

"A friend of mine wants to learn the finer points," Lex responded, gazing to the distance, eyes dull—social calls from Lionel rarely led to happiness.

"I used to dismantle your two dimensional assaults with alarming regularity, remember?" the elder Luthor chuckled as he came into view, cementing his son's expectations.

Lionel was decked in full suit and tie, as opposed to the other man's casual purple shirt and slacks, and Lex remembered now that, unlike him, his father did have a business appointment today—he was attending Jonathan Kent's charity fundraiser at the Metropolis Plaza. Mr. and Mrs. Kent were probably already setting up, which made it curious the elder man was stopping in Smallville instead of continuing his persistent, yet foolhardy pursuit of Martha. Lex narrowed his eyes as his father picked up the black king, running his fingers over it admiringly.

"Maybe you should teach your friend something a little less complicated," Lionel continued, eyes flicking to Lex, challenging. "What about a game of hangman? That's always fun." Lex smiled coldly.

"Thanks," he replied, holding up a hand for the king. "But I'll stick with chess."

"You'll lose, as always," Lionel responded darkly as he handed the piece over. Lex shook his head as he re-positioned it, hoping the obligatory banter would finish soon and his dad would get to the point.

"I'm not playing to win," he quipped back automatically. "I'm playing to instruct."

He looked up expectantly, only to find his own expression mirrored in the bearded face above him, as though Lionel were equally waiting on him—curious. But also irritating and inconvenient, considering Lex had nothing to say. The younger man stood up with a short sigh and headed to the drinks table. Eleven was early for scotch, but if his father planned on continuing this volley of insults alcohol might just be a necessity.

"No mercy?" Lionel queried as Lex moved past.

Lex frowned. His father enjoyed obscure references, but this one was more random than insightful.

"What are you talking about?" he questioned bluntly, turning and stretching his arms in bafflement. Lionel shook his head, mane of brown hair caressing his shoulders, lips curved with disappointment.

"It was you, Lex, I know it," he insisted.

Behind the table now, Lex bypassed the scotch decanter and grabbed a blue tinted bottle of water instead—if dad was accusing, he needed to stay focused. Though what the old man could possibly be accusing him of just now Lex hadn't the foggiest.

"What?" he asked, unable to hide his exasperation.

"Disabling my limo in the path of an oncoming train," Lionel deadpanned, shaking a finger - reducing attempted murder to misdemeanour in a single gesture. "You know, that kind of melodrama went out of style with silent movies. And the game of hangman spelling out 'no mercy' was nothing short of juvenile."

"Wait," Lex muttered, pausing his hand on the bottle's lid. "Someone tried to kill you?"

"Oh, is this the part where you feign innocence?" Lionel scoffed.

Lex's mouth flickered, the ghost of a smirk—there'd been plenty of times he'd wanted to kill his father over the years, but amusingly this wasn't one of them.

"I brought you in to help run LuthorCorp again," he countered while Lionel turned away, clearly unimpressed. "Profits have never been higher, why would I want you dead?"

"Not so long ago I tried to take LuthorCorp away from you," Lionel argued, looking back keenly.

Lex recognised the spark in those eyes—arrogant and superior, it spoke of an underling's mistake soon to be exposed. It wasn't often Lex got the chance to refute it.

"The Apex takeover?" he chuckled. "Please. Seeing you fail miserably was retribution enough."

Lex grinned as he finished uncapping the bottle, eyes locked on his father as he sipped to better relish the deflated expression, a rare image of failure.

Coming so soon after the threat to Mr. Kent, this murder attempt placed the two men's parenting in sharp contrast—where Clark had been appalled and anxious about the attempt on his father's life, Lex was using the threat against Lionel as fuel for verbal humiliation. He didn't know if he was amused or disheartened by the difference. Lionel's face clouded and he turned away again.

"Alright, alright... So it wasn't you..." he muttered, fingertips stroking his temples - a gesture of anxiety Lex was surprised to see. This attempted murder must have been pretty out of the ordinary to have his father so rattled. Lex placed the bottle back on the table with a sigh. This might actually require some attention.

"I may not like you very much dad," he stated coolly. "But you're a valuable asset to LuthorCorp. Killing you would hurt the bottom line."

Lionel gazed over his shoulder, impassive.

"Your concern is truly touching," he noted dryly.

Lex rolled his eyes. What does he expect, hugs and kisses? You're getting old dad if you're looking for sentiment from the son whose emotion you've been trying to quash since birth. He moved closer, resting a heavy hand on the older man's shoulder.

"I am concerned," he stated, pulling Lionel round. "A threat against you is a threat against LuthorCorp and—"

"I have been fending off attacks all my life, since before you were born," Lionel interrupted, shrugging the hand away. "I think I can handle one more."

Cool control now back in place, Lionel stepped through the main doors without a second look.

Lex stared after him silently.

Not the best start to his day, but if Lionel wanted to face potential killers alone that was his business and, if anything, Lex was relieved—it meant he had one less worry to deal with. In fact, it might even be useful. If his father was distracted enough to halt his designs on Martha Kent, now might be the perfect time to use the information security had gained to hack into his computer files.

Lex moved swiftly to his laptop—maybe he'd finally be able to determine what was behind the other man's unusual hold over Jonathan Kent lately, and why he'd sent Chloe that tip about Milton Fine.

By lunchtime, Lex had unearthed more questions than answers, so he watched with unpleasant impatience as Clark hovered the strategically placed knight over the chess problem. As if in mockery of the older man's confusion, Clark was wearing a non-primary, pale blue shirt, with actual collar and cuffs, above smart cream pants—still fairly casual attire in general, to be fair, but on Clark it was the equivalent of stepping out in a suit and tie. The younger man was dressing to impress, but who? and why?

Clark placed the knight back in its original position with a sigh, resting an elbow on the small glass table to cup his chin with his hand. Lex shook his head. Clark was missing the obvious move, after a week of practice. It didn't matter what he said, he clearly wasn't here for the chess.

The flames in the fireplace beside them crackled quietly, filling the silence. Until Lex broke the calm by shifting abruptly to the edge of his opposing leather chair.

Hands clasped before him, the billionaire focused a pure, unfettered Luthor gaze on his friend. A little harsh, perhaps, but so far, today had brought a possible but unknown threat to LuthorCorp, an increase in his father's ambiguity, and now a further cause for questioning from the one place Lex had come to consider a safe haven. This was quite frankly an unacceptable amount of uncertainty, and Lex needed a concrete answer from somewhere—badgering Clark for one was sadly an easy habit to slip back into.

"Clark, what are we doing?" he asked briskly.

"Um..." the other man muttered, mouth half obscured by his hand, brow furrowed with thought. "A King's Gambit?" Clark looked up slowly, hopeful, and met the full force of his friend's glare. His own expression sharpened instantly. "Oh, you... you don't mean the chess," he noted, lowering his arm. Lex shook his head.

"Clark, it's abundantly clear you don't like chess," he stated coolly, raising a hand when Clark tried to protest. "What's more, as my father so kindly reminded me earlier, I don't care for it that much either. Which rather begs the question—why have we been playing it so consistently for the past week?"

Clark's face crumpled in apology.

"You don't like it?" he responded. "God, I'm sorry. You should have said something before. I just sorta assumed you'd be into it."

"Like Japanese food and Greek mythology?" Lex continued. Clark tilted his head. "Two other things you've never shown an interest in before now, and yet they seem to have been a central part of your life in the past few days. I'd know, because I've been pretty much monopolising your free time. What's going on, Clark?"

The younger man looked away, nervous. Damn, damn, damn. This was exactly what he wanted, of course—for Lex to notice his flirting. But now the moment was here, Clark realised he was nowhere near as prepared for it as he'd thought.

"Um... I really do like Japanese food," he muttered evasively. "And, do I need a reason to spend time with a friend?"

He shrugged, lips forming a grin that did little to hide his anxiety. Lex tilted his head back, brow furrowing.

"We haven't been spending time, Clark," he noted. "We've been encasing it in a high security vault. There are plenty of ways you can see me without forcing yourself into something you don't enjoy. It's almost like you're deliberately looking for excuses to be with me. If it didn't know any better, I'd say you were..." Lex cut off with a short laugh. His mind almost ran away with him there—as if Clark Kent would be flirting with him. Ridiculous.

"Say I was what?" Clark prompted, leaning forward intently. If Lex figured it out, life was guaranteed to get a whole lot easier—Clark was certain the older man would know how to do this a lot better than him. But unfortunately, Lex shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered dismissively. "Clark, just... tell me what's up. Is there some new threat you're trying to protect me from? Is that why you've been sticking so close recently?"

"What? No," Clark assured hurriedly. "It's nothing like that."

The wonderfully heartfelt dismay creasing Clark's face at the thought of inadvertently causing Lex concern was enough to ease the older man's tension completely. Lex's gaze softened to a small smile.

"That means there is something though," he noted, warm eyes flicking lightly over Clark's.

Clark blinked uncertainly for a second, then melted into a full smile of his own. He leant back into the sofa with a soft laugh. That was Lex, noting every detail—it was one of his most impressive qualities and Clark had a hard time now recalling why he'd been so repelled by it before.

"Okay, you got me," he nodded. "There's something."

Lex raised an eyebrow expectantly and Clark took a breath.

With Lex more relaxed the atmosphere lightened and Clark thought perhaps he could do this after all. Lex was a sensible, well-versed guy; he wouldn't be fazed by a change in affection from a friend. And he cared about Clark, he really did :: the best thing that ever happened to me :: he'd said. Clark was sure no matter what happened they'd still keep their friendship, so the worst Lex could do now was turn him down. Oh god, what if he turns me down?

"Lex, the thing is..." Clark started, hoping to push his fears away by speaking. Foolish.

Clark swallowed, while Lex shifted his hands to the table, waiting quietly. The movement drew Clark's attention to the chessboard still lying between them, black pieces underlining the other man ominously. They made Lex seem an opponent, which wasn't right at all. In fact, the whole setting wasn't right—a draughty castle was the backdrop of a gothic horror, not a budding romance. Chloe had forced enough of both genres on Clark to teach him this.

"Do you like coffee?" he asked suddenly.

Lex blinked once before giving in to the charm of Clark's sincerity and breaking into laughter.

"What?" he breathed. Clark bobbed his head a few times in self-contrition.

"Right, stupid question. I know you do," he corrected. "There's a two for one deal at the Talon and being the son of the manger I can completely get us extra cream in the cappuccinos. Wanna go?" His eyes widened hopefully and Lex shrugged in amused disbelief.

"Clark, if you want coffee, I have seven different varieties, at least, in the kitchen downstairs. I can have some sent up," he noted, not unreasonably, but Clark shook his head.

"It wouldn't be the same," he protested.

"The same as what?" Lex queried in mild exasperation.

Clark paused at that—somehow he didn't think Lex would be that impressed with the citing of a Rom-Com cliché as reasoning.

"Just... come with me to the Talon," he pleaded. "And I'll explain everything."

Above his smile, Lex narrowed his eyes at the new weight in Clark's tone.

In the past few months his relationship with the man before him had zigzagged from near enemies, to rocky partners, close friends and secret confidants. Chess seemed like simplicity itself compared to the games they were already playing and it looked like Clark was about to complicate things by changing the rules again—because he sounded just like he had in the hospital after Lana's accident. Lex couldn't think of anything that might trump being an alien, but the confident sparkle in Clark's eyes suggested something, and frustratingly Lex could do nothing but wait to see how things played out.

A promise of explanation from Clark gave the younger man a clear advantage and they both knew it.

"I'll get my jacket."

Ten minutes later, Clark was arguing vehemently with a crop-haired brunette across the Talon's counter.

"But I always get a double helping of cream," Clark protested, Lex leaning back against the glass surface beside him, trying very hard not to laugh at the plaintive quality of his friend's tone.

"I'm sorry, sir," the young woman replied. "But everyone gets a set amount, if you want more you have to pay extra."

Clark sighed, deeply.

"Fine," he muttered, fishing through his pockets and depositing a collection of change and crumpled notes beside the till. Lex shook his head, lips quirking with amusement.

"Perhaps it'd be easier if I pay?" the older man suggested.

"No!" Clark responded, oddly insistent, raising a hand to physically block Lex from the counter. "It has to be me."

"Why?" Lex shrugged, blue eyes lightly mocking.

"It's traditional." Was the cryptic response, muttered over Clark's shoulder as the younger man counted his change.

Lex furrowed his brow, confused, but kept silent as Clark completed the sale—if he followed this through, he should get the answers he wanted anyway. Until then he could be patient. Clark shook his head as the woman turned away to make their order.

"Wow, I never thought I'd say this, but I kinda miss Lois," he confessed. "She always gave me extra cream."

"How is the Senator's new Chief of Staff doing?" Lex asked, more for Clark's reaction than an actual desire to know.

Watching Clark talk about Lois was always fun. It was a topic guaranteed to irritate, and Clark was particularly beautiful when he was angry. Lex couldn't say how often he'd been consoled by that fact during their rockier patches. As predicted, Clark raised his eyes skyward with an irritable 'tut,' two attractive patches of red already emerging at the tip of his cheekbones.
"Oh, just great," he replied. "She's certainly made herself at home at the farm." He leant against the counter, facing Lex properly. "I just don't get it. All she does is research and talk to people on the phone. She can do that anywhere. But no, she chooses our place. Last I saw she was having some exercise mat and machine set up in the living room, says it helps her think..." He sighed, face creasing with dramatic victimisation. "She's not even living with us this time and she's already driving me crazy."

Lex sucked his lower lip as he watched, a new thought crossing his mind for the first time.

"Have you ever considered the possibility that, maybe the reason she affects you so drastically is because somewhere, deep down, you're interested in her?" he asked.

"Interested in her how?" Clark shrugged. Lex raised his eyebrows suggestively and Clark's eyes grew wide. "You mean... what... me and Lois?" he stuttered, violently shaking his head. "No. Never. No way," he insisted. "Not in this reality."

The shorthaired waitress chose that moment to step in and placed two steaming mugs of coffee in front of them, a double helping of whipped cream piled up on both. Lex picked his up with a chuckle.

"If you say so," he conceded. "But your violent reaction does tend towards protesting too much."

"Lex, trust me," Clark responded as he picked up his own mug. "That's not the reason."

Lex gave a mocking smile in reply and moved to a table with a sofa. Resting his drink carefully on the wooden surface, Lex slipped along the cushioned seat to the far side. After a moment's hesitation, Clark moved in next to him.

"So," Lex stated, trying to ignore the close proximity of the blue shirted arm beside him. "I think I've fulfilled my part of our agreement. Your turn, Clark."

Clark grinned brightly. This was much better—bright coffee shop, caffeinated, sugary goodness in his hands, Lex beside him. Being warmly called for 'his turn' even made the whole thing a friendly game, and suddenly, Clark wanted to play.

"Uh-uh," he protested. "You have to actually drink some coffee first."

Blue eyes flashed back at him with responding frivolity.

"I don't think that was stipulated," Lex argued with a smile.

"Oh, it was completely an unspoken obligation," Clark quipped, oddly light-headed with the new awareness of control he was developing—because Lex was waiting on him here. Maybe now was the time to work on that blush Clark so wanted to see on the other man—would it just fill his cheeks, or would it spread from his neck to the whole of his wonderfully smooth head?

Lex shrugged in dignified defeat and raised the cream filled mug to his lips. He took a large gulp, coating lips and nose in forth, despite his best efforts, and the sugar glistened brightly on his skin. A soft tingling made him lick his upper lip, but the white spot on his nose went unnoticed as he returned the mug to the table.

He turned to Clark, questioning.

"Is that satisfactory?" he asked.

Clark laughed.

"Wait, you've got..." He lifted a hand to the cream, intending to point, but they were so close on the bench he ended up practically touching instead. It seemed stupid to move away now, so Clark leant closer, brushing his thumb across the tip of the other man's nose as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Lex stilled at the touch, not even thinking to breathe as he watched Clark move back again, turning calm green eyes away to casually lick at the froth. Soft, pink tongue running across skin that had only seconds ago been touching the older man's own.

When he turned back to Lex again, Clark was smiling sunbeams, expression bright and collected—as if the world hadn't just overturned in the last few seconds. And maybe it hadn't. Just because Lex had used that trick with countless old flames in the past didn't mean Clark was using it now. Of course not. For one thing, Clark would never be that underhand. But that meant he must simply have done it because he wanted to, and what the hell that implied Lex had no idea.

"Saved your life," Clark stated, while Lex continued recovering. "Imagine heading a board meeting with whipped cream on your nose. You'd have lost all respect."

Not without surprise, Lex found his brain still had control enough to nod his head.

"You're my hero," he breathed, trying hard to infuse a hint of sarcasm into the comment. Two friends who were joking—he could do that. With Clark he even enjoyed it. Lex cleared his throat briefly, grateful to find the action equally clearing his head. "But you're still stalling," he continued, rather more confident again. "In an incredibly unusual, highly creative manner, I'll admit. But stalling nonetheless."

Clark gave a single, slow nod.

"Okay, yes," he conceded. "You're waiting for an explanation for how I've been acting lately. Right. You see, the thing is..." Clark paused again, biting his lip as he considered how best to explain. Blurting out 'I love you' didn't seem exactly appropriate, despite what the Rom-Com clichés suggested.

"I think we've been here before, Clark," Lex noted.

Clark scrunched his nose in understanding.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I was kinda planning to continue this time."

"Okay," Lex relented, smiling again as he moved his right hand to join the other one round the mug—Clark might be able to survive indefinitely in nothing but thin cotton, but Lex was only human and he got cold. Colder than most in fact, due to a lack of protective hair. The air in the Talon was chilly and the hot coffee brought a welcome warmth.

"Lex," Clark stated more seriously, moving his own mug away to fold his arms across the table. "Do you remember when I was hypnotised by Simone?" An icy fear shot up the older man's spine, and suddenly the coffee wasn't anywhere near warm enough. "I was trying to kill you, you were trying to convince me not to, you know," Clark elaborated, eyeing Lex expectantly.

Lex looked down, hoping to hide in the coffee's thin steam, because fuck, he hadn't been expecting that. He'd thought the two of them had moved past that by now, with their friendship unscathed. But if that was the reason Clark had been hanging around so much lately—overcompensating for a hidden awkwardness perhaps—this was not good. It meant the kiss had changed the way Clark saw him after all—had repelled him maybe, because despite alien origins Clark was still a small town farmer. Lex shuttered his face quickly.

"I remember," he acknowledged, voice low.

"Well," Clark continued softly. "We've been doing a great job of avoiding that since then, but... the thing is, I really can't any more."

Lex turned a pair of collected, veiled eyes to his friend.

"Clark, there really isn't anything that needs addressing, what happened was—"

"Lex," Clark cut him off calmly. "You kissed me."

The deep gaze that followed prevented reply, because Clark didn't look angry, or disgusted, or even embarrassed. Instead, Clark's shining green eyes were dark and cool and steady, the side of his mouth curved up disarmingly.

Lex was no stranger to seduction and he'd lost himself behind a pair of pretty lashes many times. But this was completely different. He wasn't lost now; Clark was drawing him in and holding him, wrapping Lex up without even touching. It was seduction at the highest level, because Clark didn't even realise he was doing it—a natural result of inner emotion.

Lex didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't think he could do anything but wait. Fortunately, Clark seemed to understand this and quickly took control, leaning forward to breathe warm air on the other man's lips as he continued.

"And the truth is, I—"

"Clark! Thank god."

Jonathan.

Clark and Lex pulled back, sharply, and Clark had just enough time to note that, yes, Lex did blush across his scalp, before his father grasped his shoulders from behind.

As Clark turned, he saw Chloe arrive too and hover anxiously by the table. She had a small notebook with pen attached in her hand and wore a crisp white blouse with stylish green jacket. Her hair was partly clipped back in a smart, no-nonsense, 'ready for serious reporting' kind of fashion and Clark remembered she'd been hoping to write an article on the fund-raiser that afternoon.

If she looked worried though, she was nothing compared to Jonathan, whose eyes were wide with panic, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, collar bent to the side as though pulled at roughly several times. Clark noticed a discarded black tie trailing from his jacket pocket.

"Have you seen your mother?" he asked breathlessly, dropping his hands.

Any irritation Clark felt at the interruption to his and Lex's tête-à-tête vanished instantly at the raw concern in his father's voice and his face darkened in response.

"Not since she left for the fund-raiser this morning," he replied quickly. "Why?"

Beside him, Lex paled again in equal concern.

"She definitely left this morning then?" Chloe queried. "On time?"

Clark nodded, stomach twisting.

"Yeah, she asked me to help zip up her dress," he explained, the small but warm moment suddenly important. "She was really excited, she didn't want to miss a second."

"Clark," Jonathan started, voice tight. "Your mother never arrived at the fund-raiser."

Clark was speechless for a moment, hundreds of frightening assumptions filling his mind, all ending with his mother's prone body, cold and still in the dark.

The tinkling of music proved a welcome distraction and Clark turned, vaguely grateful, to the source of the noise. Beside him, Lex opened his phone.

"Sorry," the other man nodded, eyes dark with concern as he left to take the call.

The movement pushed Clark into action.

"Have you tried calling her?" he asked, stepping quickly from the table. "Maybe her cab got caught in traffic, or she met up with someone on the way..."

But Jonathan shook his head.

"Clark, we already thought of that," he insisted. "But it's been over two hours now and you know your mother. She would have called to let us know about a delay. This silence isn't like her at all, and I can't get through to her cell. I've been going quietly frantic up in Metropolis, which is why I came down to check here personally. I don't know what I'd have done if Lois and Chloe hadn't been there for support."

Clark looked round.

"Where is Lois?" he asked.

"We left her in Metropolis," Chloe explained. "To keep the fund-raiser going and have someone there to contact us in case your mom does turn up there."

"Okay," Clark nodded, breathing deeply to curb his fear. He had to think clearly. "Well, she's definitely not here, so, what should we do now? Call the Sheriff?"

"I think that'd be a good idea," Lex's cool, commanding tone cut in. He still held the phone to his ear, but snapped it shut as he moved over. "That was my father's security team. It seems that he's disappeared as well."

The four of them eyed each other fretfully—one disappearance was potential tragedy, two suggested conspiracy.

After a mutual look of concern with his dad, Clark's gaze fell to Lex, who's expression was grave. From the unseeing look in his eyes, Clark guessed he was quickly determining the best course of action, but something about Clark must have proved distracting, because Lex focused again almost the same instant Clark looked over. His calculating stopped, replaced by a warm, sympathetic look of comfort, tinted with hidden regret. Clark knew it was selfish, but just then the regret proved greater consolation—it meant that whatever happened with his mom, he still had a chance of something with Lex to return to, and amidst his current turmoil that was a calming reassurance.

A two-hour drive later saw Clark and Chloe following Lex into Lionel's Metropolis office, Jonathan staying in Smallville to make a full statement to the Sheriff.

A smartly dressed black man met them inside and Lex approached him immediately.

"What do we know?" he asked.

"We know your father was taken from this office, sir," the man responded, tone crisp and efficient. "We found his cell phone on the floor. The last call he tried to make was to 911. It's time stamp matches an unexplained gap in the building's security tapes. So far we've been unable to determine how he was removed or by whom."

"That's not good enough, Philips," Lex berated. "Go over the security footage you do have again and see if you can spot anything unusual. And have a team retrace my father's steps since he left home this morning. I want background checks on anyone new he's come into contact with today."

"Yes, sir," the man nodded, apparently unfazed by the enormity of the task. He left the room immediately in quick, even strides.

Lex glanced vaguely round the office as he left, eyes moving helplessly from the abstract art sculpture in the corner to the neatly ordered desk before the window. His gaze rested on a collection of ceramic figures to the right, and he gave a deep, frustrated sigh.
Clark and Chloe eyed each other, equally confused.

"Lex," Clark said quietly, moving to the other man's side. Lex turned a cool face towards him, but Clark noticed growing fear behind his eyes. "We're all worried here, but you seem even tenser than me right now. What haven't you told us?"

Lex swallowed lightly.

"Clark," he started as Chloe moved closer, hands on the flared collar of her jacket twisting uneasily, notebook now pocketed. "Earlier this morning, my father accused me of orchestrating some bizarre attempt on his life. Once he realised I wasn't involved, he left to take care of the matter himself and considering he's faced countless threats before, I thought nothing of it. But now..."

"You think maybe the would-be-assassin's come back for a second shot," Chloe finished, attractively blue-shadowed eyes narrowed in understanding. "And Mrs. Kent's got caught in the crossfire."

Lex nodded, shifting his eyes from Clark uncomfortably.

"I won't lie and say I'm particularly concerned for my father," Lex continued. "He escaped from death row without any problem, I'm sure he can handle a kidnapping. But if anything happens to Martha Kent because of him..."

Clark moved forward to rest a warm hand on the other man's arm.

"Lex, this isn't your fault," he assured. "We're all doing everything we can. We'll just have to see what leads the police come up with."

The eyes Lex raised were dull - full of repressed emotion and unwaveringly troubled - but he did relax a little at the feel of Clark's fingers through his jacket as the younger man moved away. He gave Clark a soft, grateful nod.

"Wait," Chloe muttered, looking thoughtful. "Your guy said there'd been a mysterious gap in the building's security tapes. What about the cameras in here?"

Lex looked down with a wry grin.

"There aren't any," he explained, flattening his mouth as he looked up again. "My father likes to have a place were he can conduct certain transactions without any electronic records."

"The less than legal kind, you mean," Chloe stated, voice cold. Lex looked away with a shrug. "But in any case, it doesn't help us." She looked down with a sigh of her own, while Clark's face creased with thought.

"What about bugs, or other listening devices?" he suggested, the others looked to him curiously. "He wouldn't want anything the authorities could find, but he might want a personal record of his dealings. That he could maybe use against others later."

Lex nodded, biting his lip.

"Good idea," he acknowledged. "I'll order a team to make a thorough sweep of the room."

He eyed Clark significantly as he headed for the door and the Kryptonian flicked his lashes down in subtle understanding. Chloe watched Lex step away carefully before whipping her head up to Clark and waving a finger silently over her own eyes in a separate signal for x-ray. Clark gave her a full nod and switched his vision instantly.

His own thorough sweep of the place revealed very little and Clark was on the verge of switching back in defeat when something unusual in the last oriental figurine caught his attention. Squinting closer, the image of a small, square device not unlike a computer chip came into view. Blinking away the vague disorientation that always accompanied a return to normal sight, Clark stepped towards the figure purposefully.

"Hey Lex, wait," he called to the man at the door. "There's something... um, there's..." He faltered, remembering at the last minute how suspicious it would seem to Chloe if Lex just accepted a hunch from him without question. He flicked his eyes over the thin, bronze coloured man quickly, looking for an excuse. It was with a warm sense of relief that he found one—the bottom of the image was chipped at the corner. "Has this always been chipped like that?" he finished as Chloe and Lex moved beside him, pointing at the offending imperfection.

Chloe raised her eyebrows in apparent admiration, while Lex picked the item up, face impassive.

"My father wouldn't tolerate a flaw in his prize collection," he muttered, turning to Clark with the briefest of smiles. "Nice catch."

Without a second thought, Lex threw the figure down. It smashed to pieces at his feet. The green plastic and metal of the hidden device stood out vividly against the office's ebony floor.

"Woa," Chloe breathed, crouching down to pick the chip up with reverence. "This isn't your standard issue," she stated, turning it over as she stood up again. "This was home made by someone who really knew what they were doing. High res, wireless carrier..."

"It certainly sounds like something my father would use," Lex noted. "But that chip in the figure suggests sloppy installation, he'd never have tolerated that."

"Which means there's a good chance it was put there by our absent assassin," Clark theorised. "Is it transmitting?"

"No, it's powered down," Chloe replied, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "But if we juice it up I might be able to piggy-back the transmission and trace where it's located."

Chloe and Clark turned to Lex and the older man nodded.

"Let's try it," he agreed—finding a member of security who could do the same thing would take time, and he had a strong suspicion Chloe would prove better qualified for the task anyway.

A few minutes later, Chloe was tapping frantically on Lionel's laptop, green jacket discarded across the high back of the satin coated swivel chair, the hi-tech bug attached to the side of the computer by a lead from the desk drawer.

If either her or Clark were surprised at finding bug accessible equipment in Lionel's desk or at how Lex knew all of his father's high security passwords, they didn't show it.

Soon after they'd set up, the security guard reappeared with a status report and while Lex spoke quietly to him by the door, Clark watched Chloe impatiently as she traversed a world of pixels he didn't understand.

"Is there anything I can do to make this go faster?" he asked eventually, leaning both hands on the desk beside her.

Chloe shook her head, jingling her loose, circular earrings.

"Not unless computer skills are one of your abilities," she muttered, eyes still on the laptop. "The signal's strong. Minimal degradation, which means it must be local..." A map of Metropolis suddenly flashed onscreen, a white spot pulsing in the bottom corner. "Got it. 8320 Vermont Avenue, 5 miles from here."

She turned to Clark in accomplishment and the other man nodded his gratitude, tensing his muscles for a high-speed exit.

A hand on his shoulder made him stop.

"Find something?" Lex asked.

"An address, not far from here," Clark explained quickly, wide eyes screaming at Lex to stop the delay.

"Great. We'll take my Porsche. I'll have security follow us," Lex stated, nodding at the door before moving away—telling Clark to follow.

Clark frowned at his friend's retreating form for a second, before hurrying after, Chloe giving him a sympathetic, misunderstanding shrug as he left.

"Lex, what are you doing?" Clark asked as they stepped into the blue walled corridor. "I could be there already."

"I know," Lex nodded, looking round carefully.

Once he was sure there was no one in sight, he halted his steps and pulled Clark to the side. The younger man's heart beat erratically at the touch to his upper arms and for a second he thought Lex was going to kiss him, but the face the older man raised was too serious for that.

"Clark, just listen for a second," he instructed. "I've been thinking. You remember I promised to look into my father after that business with Chloe and Milton Fine?" Clark nodded quickly, face clouding. "Well, I did. And it turns out that's not the only Fine related occurrence he's been involved in. Clark, my father was the one who created Fine's government agent alias."

Clark opened his mouth in undisguised shock.

"So, they are working together?" he breathed.

Lex shook his head, impatient.

"No, I still don't think that's it. Why would the two of them bother misleading me like that?" he replied. "I don't think it was intended to lead me to Fine, I think it was intended to throw me off."

Clark frowned.

"Throw you off what?" he questioned, voice tight, fearful, exasperated.

"Fine's alien connections," Lex whispered urgently.

Clark shook his head and Lex tightened his grip.

"When that Kryptonian stone put my father in his coma, he said a lot of things I didn't understand at the time," the older man continued. "But right now two things stand out pretty clearly. Two words repeated over and over. Krypton and Kal-El." Clark blinked, opening his mouth to respond but Lex was already ploughing ahead. "Clark, I don't think my father's interested in Fine at all. I think he's just using him as an accessory to get closer to you. Tipping off Chloe to try and earn your trust, while at the same time trying to lead me away from the guy so I won't find out about you."

"So he's... trying to learn my secret and prevent you from discovering it at the same time?" Clark summarised. Lex nodded.

"Dad's never been one to share his discoveries," he explained flatly. "Especially with me."

Clark leaned back a little, breathing out tension as he acknowledged the theory. At the sign of understanding, Lex lessened his hold, hands sliding down to Clark's wrists. After a second of thought, Clark flicked a pair of narrowed eyes back to his friend.

"Okay, that might be true," he conceded. "But why tell me now? What's happening to your dad and my mom is hardly connected. Lex, they're in danger, all we're doing right now is stalling!"

"Which could be exactly what he wants you to think," Lex countered. "Clark, you're a good man. You hear of someone in trouble and you rush to help. But I know my father, and it's not beyond him to have orchestrated this whole thing as an elaborate manipulation to get you to reveal your powers."

The other man's gaze was intense, earnest—blue eyes a tempest of fear and guilt and concern, tossing in a navy blue whirlpool. There was no doubt Lex believed what he was saying and oddly, the first thing Clark felt wasn't fear for himself but a terrible sorrow Lex had to live his life as guarded as that, even against family.

Clark nodded softly.

"I get it," he said quietly. "I'll be careful what I show."

Lex sighed in relief.

"Okay," he breathed, releasing his hold with some reluctance. "So go, I'll meet you there."

Clark gave a tight smile before disappearing.

Lex closed his eyes to the subsequent breeze, hoping the cool air might temper his passion. Emotions were things he was supposed to reveal in carefully planned and controlled situations—they weren't supposed to paralyse him in coffee shops or push him into clinging desperately at farmboys in corporate corridors. All in all, today had been a far too emotional experience so far, and as Lex opened his eyes again, deep breath failing to bring its usual cool, he was hit with a strong conviction that things weren't going to get any easier.

When Clark reached the address, he found a run down three-story house, windows smashed, outside paint peeling off in sheets. Remembering Lex's warning, he skidded to a halt outside and carefully x-rayed the place before stepping inside. What he saw caught his breath worse than he suspected a pair of dead bodies might, because his inspection revealed nothing. Aside from those of a family of rats scampering through the walls, there were no skeletons anywhere—they'd got the wrong place. Which meant his mom and Lionel were still in potential danger and Clark had no way of knowing where to find them.

He switched vision again, swallowing heavily. If Lex's theory was true, then wherever his mom was, she should be safe—if Lionel's recent interaction with her was anything to go by, Clark was sure he wouldn't risk actually hurting Martha just to learn about her son. But as much as Clark trusted his friend's judgement, an unconfirmed possibility wasn't enough to stop the painful tightening in the younger man's chest. He couldn't help thinking there was still a chance his mom's life was at risk somewhere. He needed to do something!

He thought about phoning Chloe and explaining his discovery, but realised it would only confuse her to learn he'd arrived so fast when she'd seen him leave with Lex and he was too keyed up to cope with explanations. With nothing better to do until Lex arrived with his security then, Clark stepped through the broken door of the abandoned house and began to look through it—whoever made the bug had obviously linked to the place deliberately, if Clark was lucky perhaps he'd find some clues to his mom's actual location. A long shot, admittedly, but it was all he had.

Clark shook his head as he stepped up the rickety staircase, kicking despondently at fallen scraps of wallpaper. Today had been shaping up so well too—he'd completely been about to kiss Lex at the Talon and the other man had seemed far from opposed. Couldn't he have just one moment of happiness in his life that wasn't sullied with disaster?

A faint buzzing caught his attention, and Clark looked along the landing with a frown. The sound came from a behind a closed door to the right and when Clark reached it he found it locked. Stepping back to look more closely, he realised the door wasn't like the others in the house—it was new, made of smooth, polished mahogany. Like a sign of where to go, Clark thought anxiously, what is this, some kind of sick scavenger hunt? He broke the lock easily and hurried inside. After stepping through a sea of rotten wood to what once might have been an en suite bathroom, Clark found a small, working television tuned to static on a stack of upturned crates, a grimy window bathing the ensemble in a sickly yellow light. Stepping round to face the screen revealed a piece of paper taped across it. It bore the words 'GAME OVER' in bold, black capitals.

Lex skidded his Porsche unevenly outside the house a few minutes later, adding parking laws to the list of traffic violations he'd made on the way over, and was out of the car and hurrying inside after barely applying the handbrake.

His mind had reduced the situation to two scenarios—either Clark had neutralised any danger and was waiting for Lex to rescue him from a prying Lionel, or Clark hadn't neutralised the danger and was therefore in serious peril himself. Neither circumstance called for caution.

The overwhelming silence that hit Lex as he stepped inside proved something of a surprise—making him pause first in confusion, then fear. It reminded him of a third option he'd been steadfastly refusing to consider—that his father and Mrs. Kent were already dead, and Clark was crying somewhere over his mother's lifeless body.

"Clark?" he yelled in panic—the thought of Clark alone and grief-stricken doing painful things to his chest. "Clark!"

There was a faint shuffling somewhere over his head.

"Upstairs."

Lex sighed in relief at the collected reply—it seemed Clark hadn't been crying then. The ache in his heart persisted though, propelling Lex up the battered staircase rather faster than was prudent. Fortunately he made it up with only minimal damage to the rotting banister and a further call of "over here" led him to the room Clark currently occupied.

Clark was leaning beneath the dust filled window, untidy black hair brushing against dank, threadbare curtains, coating his locks with cobwebs. Lex noticed several patches of dust and grime marring the arms of his friend's blue shirt and cream pants - all recent concern with appearance forgotten. Lex wondered what it must be like, caring for a parent enough to take you out of yourself like that.

Clark was focused on a A4 sheet of paper held before him, the light from a near by television flashing oddly on his face. As Lex shifted some debris away from his feet to move closer, Clark finally looked up, meeting the older man's gaze without surprise—despite his obvious distraction, it seemed Clark had known Lex was there. His eyes flicked over the other man's shoulder for a moment, brow furrowing as he looked back again.

"Where's security?" he asked dully.

"They couldn't keep up," Lex shrugged.

Clark gave a brief, automated smile at the joke, only serving to highlight the anguish in his eyes and make Lex want to rush over and embrace him, assure him everything would be okay. But he had no such assurance to give, so continued to move slowly and carefully closer instead.

"There's no one here, Lex," Clark explained as the other man moved beside him. "The kidnapper must have..."

"Re-routed the signal in case we found the camera," Lex nodded unhappily. "I was afraid of that, I should call Chloe..."

Clark held out the paper as Lex reached for his phone.

"What do you think this means?" he asked, voice unnaturally quiet.

Lex took the paper with a frown, biting his lip as he read the words and the finality they implied. It was the kind of petty jibe he knew his father would never lower himself to, and if his father wasn't behind this situation it did not bode well for Martha Kent.

He took a breath before looking up again, searching his mind desperately for any source of hope he could provide for his friend, but the shine of unshed tears in Clark's eyes left him speechless and all Lex could do was shake his head.

A sudden, violent flicker from the TV distracted both of them and Clark gasped at the picture it formed.

"Mom..." he breathed, locking intently on the image of Martha and Lionel.

They were trapped inside what looked like a construction elevator, wire mesh walls painted garish yellow, a flat computer screen attached to the top left-hand corner—currently blank. Lionel, stripped to his vest and looking frantic, tapped vainly at the car's two-button control panel on the right. His feet were bare, and from the red stains Clark noticed round his toes he guessed probably bleeding as well. Clark couldn't have cared less about Lionel's well being though, because in the bottom left of the screen his mom cowered in obvious fear. Her long red hair clung damply to her face and Clark realised she was soaking wet, water dripping off her burgundy jacket and skirt relentlessly, making her shiver. Clark swallowed painfully, burying the hysteria threatening to overpower him at seeing his mom so helpless—if he wanted to help her he had to stay focused.

A quiet, electronic bleep beside him indicated Lex was already miles ahead and Clark glanced over to find his friend on the phone.

"Chloe, we're at the building now. It's empty, it was a decoy," Lex explained briskly, keeping his eyes on the screen. "But there's a video feed transmitting from my father and Mrs. Kent's actual location. Is there any way you can tap into that from where you are?" A pause and Clark turned back to the TV—the elevator was moving now, upwards it looked like, and Lionel was muttering apologies while Martha demanded explanations. "Just do what you can," Lex finished, moving closer to Clark as he slipped the phone away.

The glare from the screen flashed eerily on their faces as they watched the unfolding drama, both of them powerless to intervene.

"I don't know who's doing this, Martha, I'm sorry," Lionel's tinny voice insisted through the television's less than state of the art speakers.

"Apex, a failed takeover," Martha shook her head, apparently quoting. "What does that mean?"

She gazed at Lionel beseechingly and the elder Luthor looked back at her, supposedly with guilt.

"Apex was an Asian consortium, I used it to..." he sighed, shaking unusually wild hair from his eyes. "I used it to try and take control of LuthorCorp away from Lex. He found out and made a... a very compelling argument for me to pull out. Apex funded a lot of companies, their investors were ruined, a lot of people lost their jobs."

"Because of you, because of your greed," Martha nodded, frowning with disapproval.

"No," Lionel countered, shaking his head. "This wasn't about me, it was about Lex."

Lex bit back a derogatory laugh. That's right dad, blame it on your son. Making me insane didn't hide your sins, so why not try passing them down to me instead?

Lex wasn't sure what was going on exactly, but it was clear the two figures onscreen had been through an ordeal of some kind, the reference to Apex suggesting a disgruntled employee was the criminal mastermind, not Lionel after all. But despite the evidence of this, Lex couldn't help thinking what a perfect bonding scenario his dad and Martha were trapped in. Two victims together. No, he wasn't ready to discount Lionel's role in the proceedings just yet.

With the initial reaction over, another thought hit Lex with painful resonance and he glanced briefly at Clark—if the younger man now thought Lex was somehow responsible for Martha's endangerment he didn't know what he might do to Lionel when he saw him next.

Blame was clearly the last thing on Clark's mind though, Lex realised, as he saw how pale his friend's face was—a ghastly contrast to the colours flashing over his skin. The younger man stayed riveted to the screen, expression cold, apparently uninterested in Lionel's protestations and Lex bypassed relief and moved straight to guilt—with Mrs. Kent in potential danger this was no time to be dwelling on his father's motivations and their possible consequences.

"Lex?" Martha was repeating in comforting disbelief. "So, this was just about hurting him? You hate him that much?" The lines of fear on her face dissolved to shock and pity.

And the corner of Lex's mouth flicked up slightly. Only Martha Kent could be kind-hearted enough to care more about family relations than her own safety.

"I was trying to teach him, Martha," Lionel explained quietly. "Lessons, hard lessons... I thought that if I removed the temptations of power and money then maybe he'd be able to re-discover his humanity."

"God," Martha muttered, shaking her head. "Did you ever think of just talking to him? Father to son?"

Lionel blinked, looking down in surprise - this was a reply he hadn't expected, it seemed.

"That might work in the Kent family," he muttered. "But Lex is not Clark. He doesn't listen to me..."

He gazed sadly at Martha but she just looked away with a sigh, closing her eyes as though trying to block him out completely.

Lex felt an odd spark of satisfaction flow through him—if Lionel had orchestrated this to gain Martha's affection he seemed to have failed. And more than that, Martha wasn't showing any sign of blaming Lex for her situation. If anything she seemed to sympathise with him. It always caught Lex by surprise just how much he'd come to value Mrs. Kent's opinion of him—second to Clark, there probably wasn't anyone still living who touched him more—and her support now, even indirectly, was more than a little gratifying.

Beside him, the ghost of a smile crossed Clark's face as he watched his mother stand up to Lionel. Jonathan had always been a powerful source of support for him, but Clark knew his mom was really the strong one of the family. Dad was good at the big gestures—going as far as working with Jor-El if it meant keeping his family safe—but it was the force of Martha's quiet, consistent determination that pulled them all through the dark times, giving them the hope and strength to keep going.

Although he hadn't mentioned it, Clark had been disappointed to see his mom apparently suckered into Lionel's recent displays of altruism, because if there was one thing he knew about Lionel Luthor it was that he never did anything without a reason. Seeing Martha defy him now, even while she herself was in danger, made Clark's heart swell with pride.

"Ding, ding!" a low, scratchy voice intoned, accompanied by a flash of static from the computer screen.

The static dissolved to the image of a silver face—a man in crude tin foil mask. Lionel and Martha turned to him instantly—nervous but unsurprised. It didn't take much to surmise this was the man behind everything.

"Lionel Luthor," the man continued assertively. "You've destroyed so many lives without consideration, all to win your own games. Let's see if you can do the same when the life in the balance is someone you so obviously care about."

The man raised some kind of remote control and pressed a button on it dramatically. At the same time, a grey box beneath the computer screen fell open revealing a silver pistol.

"One bullet," the man explained. "Kill Martha Kent. Win your freedom. Or she kills you. Winner goes free."

"No!" Martha cried, stepping back from the screen in repulsion. Lionel moved towards it aggressively.

"We're not playing any more games," he growled.

"There's an explosive charge attached to the elevator cable above your head," the man responded, chillingly calm. Martha and Lionel looked up automatically, although it was unlikely they could verify the claim from where they were. "If one of you isn't dead, you both lose. Your decision."

The screen flickered back to static and Martha and Lionel stared at each other in silence.

A few seconds of stillness. Then Lionel reached for the gun.

A heavy numbness covered Lex as he watched his father cock the weapon, all thoughts of Lionel's orchestrating power dissolving as the possibility of Martha's death took over—because Lex knew his father, in a life or death situation he'd sacrifice anyone.

His body was so chilled, Lex barely felt the hand creep into his, fingers curling round his knuckles in a firm, desperate grip that was really incredibly gentle considering the circumstances. The older man gripped back without thinking, and he and Clark held each other tightly as they continued to watch, uncertain if they were giving or taking comfort or even if it mattered.

"I'm sorry, Martha," Lionel muttered, twisting the gun barrel in his hands. "Only one of us is going to walk out of here..."

"Lionel..." Martha responded weakly.

"No, don't talk," Lionel interrupted. "You take it." He grabbed her hand and slipped the gun carefully inside, caressing her fingers round the trigger. "You're good, Martha. So many people depend on you. Especially Clark... And we both know he... what a, special, boy he is."

A hot, fiery suspicion burned through Lex's paralysis at those words; the uncharacteristic self-sacrifice; the adoring look Martha Kent was now giving his father. Maybe things were happening the way Lionel wanted after all.

Lex turned his head to Clark anxiously, but the younger man kept his eyes on the screen. Lex gripped the hand in his own tighter, drawing Clark closer, a deep yet undefined need to protect washing over him.

Clark felt the pull and wanted desperately to lean into it, bury his face in Lex's shoulder and release all the emotions coursing through him. But one of those emotions was a desperate, powerful desire for the death of Lionel Luthor and Clark couldn't in all fairness seek consolation from the man's son for that.

So he kept his gaze firmly away from Lex instead, quietly willing his mom to do what she had to and stay alive, and if part of him baulked at how quick he was to make his mom a murderer, the rest reminded him that guilt could be lived with - he knew that better than anyone - but you didn't come back from death.

Lionel raised the gun to his chest and slid his hands from Martha's slowly.

"Do it," he nodded. "And go home to your son."

Martha's hand shook as she tried to keep hold of the gun alone and her other hand joined the first in a vain attempt to keep the weapon still. Breathing heavily, she focused the barrel and her gaze on Lionel's chest... before lowering her arms with a weak cry.

"I can't... I can't..." she whispered, a couple of heavy tears falling from her eyes as she looked down.

Lionel sighed, prying the gun quickly from her trembling fingers.

"I always hoped things would end differently between us, Martha," he stated, his own breath equally ragged. Martha looked up fearfully as he held up the gun again. "Don't blame yourself."

A flick of his wrist and the gun was at his chin. Martha could only scream desperately as he pulled the trigger.

Lex felt Clark startle beside him, but felt very little surprise himself at learning the gun wasn't loaded. The television allowed them a couple more seconds of Martha's shocked but grateful expression and Lionel's apparent confusion before spluttering back into static. Seconds later the shrill ringing of Clark's cell had Lex's palm exposed to the cold, open air once more.

"Chloe, talk to me," Clark demanded, moving a few steps away so the TV's static didn't obscure the reply.

Lex watched the back of Clark's head silently, running his thumb softly across his now empty hand, relishing the lingering warmth. A search for comfort at a difficult time, he told himself, that's all. It's Clark. There can't be any more... But his face still softened with quiet hope as he watched the other man pace the room, nodding briskly at whatever technobabble Chloe was spouting.

It had seemed like they'd been about to kiss that morning. In the rush of excitement following his dad and Martha's disappearance, Lex hadn't given himself time to properly consider that. But... no. Clark wasn't interested in guys, especially not guys like Lex. They had a hard enough time being friends, forget about lovers. Clark was confused maybe, thought he owed Lex something because of the hypnotic kiss. When this was all over Lex would have to sit him down and put him right.

"An abandoned warehouse on the west side?" Clark stated, turning to Lex. "Chloe are you sure?" From the piercing look Lex received, he assumed the girl was and he gave a light nod.

"Be careful," he whispered, earning a grim smile in response before Clark zipped away and left him alone again.

Or not quite alone, as a sudden flurry of booted footsteps and a crisp "Mr. Luthor?" proved. Seconds later a predictably late security team marched in and Lex moved over to brief them on their latest missed developments.

A rough, anxious call for Clark stopped him and Lex blinked in surprise as a determined Mr. Kent pushed passed the uniformed team, dress jacket discarded, leaving him in only a white shirt and black slacks. The dust from the house was already starting to smear across his collar and cuffs.

"Mr. Kent," Lex nodded politely. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't just wait in Smallville while the Sheriff made enquiries," he explained, worry and adrenaline making him unusually cordial. "I called Chloe and she gave me this address. What's happening, have you found Martha, where's Clark?"

He looked round vaguely, as though hoping to find his family lurking somewhere beneath the fallen wallpaper.

"Your wife and my father aren't here, Mr. Kent," Lex explained while some of the security team moved passed them to examine the TV. "But we have an idea about their location. I was planning on heading there now. Clark's..." Lex paused, making a show of looking round vaguely himself. "I'm not sure where he is, he was here a second ago."

Lex flicked his eyes back to Jonathan in time to see the older man's face light up with established understanding.

"Well, uh, perhaps it's better if he stays here anyway," Jonathan suggested hesitantly. "I wouldn't want to put him in any danger."

"Of course not," Lex nodded, wondering how often Clark's parents had made excuses to him about their son's actions in the past—maybe he'd go over previous conversations with that in mind sometime, it'd probably prove quite entertaining.

"Where's this place you think Martha is?" Jonathan continued, fingers twitching slightly by his sides, betraying a desire to keep moving. Lex sympathised.

"We don't have an exact location," the younger man admitted. "But if we keep in contact with Chloe I'm sure she'll point us in the right direction. If you're thinking of coming with us yourself, it might be easier and faster if you came with me in my Porsche."

To Lex's great surprise, Jonathan nodded immediately.

"Alright."

Mr. Kent visibly blanched as Lex sped his Porsche away from the gathering security team, fingers gripping tightly at the cream leather by his sides.

With Chloe shouting clear and efficient instructions over Lex's cell, it took less than fifteen minutes to reach the warehouse in question and despite Jonathan's obvious discomfort, the older man failed to voice a single reprimand. From the stiff way he exited the vehicle, Lex suspected this may have owed more to fear than a newfound respect for his driving abilities, but it was an issue neither of them cared to address just then. A single glance was all it took to assure both of them waiting for back up was unnecessary and Lex kicked down the padlocked side entrance without further preamble.

The room they entered seemed to be an abandoned factory floor of some kind—vast, rusting pieces of machinery looming along the sides. Sticking out like a sore thumb to the left was a large white board, lit from behind. Stuck to it was a collection of magnetised letters spelling out the phrase 'a Failed Takeover.' Apex, Lex surmised as he paused to look over the oddity, this must have been the part of Martha and my father's fun and games we didn't see.

An unpleasant wetness flooding his right toe brought the further revelations of the floor being covered with water and a hole in the younger man's right shoe. The shoe was of no consequence to Lex, who had over twenty more pairs at the mansion, but the water suggested a possible explanation for Martha's sorry condition on the video. Seeking its source, Lex spotted an unusual man-sized container a few paces away—what looked like a water main pipe protruded from beneath it, broken glass that might once have been walls littering the floor. Surely Mrs. Kent wasn't trapped inside...

"Martha!?" Jonathan yelled, breaking Lex's thought.

The older man had moved to the centre of the room, ignoring the discarded games to focus on more pressing issues. Lex felt pang of guilt at having overlooked human safety in favour of intellectual contemplation and moved to join the other man immediately.

"Mrs. Kent!" he called in support.

Both men held their breath as they waited for their echoes to disperse, straining to catch any opposing sound. Their efforts were rewarded by a faint "Jonathan?" followed almost immediately by a clearer "Dad?"

Jonathan shared a look of relief with the man beside him, too overwhelmed to think of showing surprise at Clark's presence, and both of them hurried towards the sound of the calls. Moving passed the white board and the ancient machine behind it revealed what had hitherto been obscured—a large, uneven hole in the room's left-hand wall. It was only a few inches higher and wider than a man and, from the looks of the still crumbling plaster at its sides, recently made. So much for Clark being discreet, Lex thought as he followed Jonathan through.

Behind the alien-made opening was the nasty, yellow coloured elevator from the TV—stationary now with the side door pulled open. Crouching on the near edge was a bedraggled Mrs. Kent, tightly embraced by her dusty son. She rose immediately on spotting her husband and fell gratefully into his arms.

While Jonathan whispered soothing words in his wife's ear, Lex stepped passed to move his gaze cautiously from Clark to the still, tattered figure of Lionel sitting beside him. The older man glanced briefly from the happy couple to Lex and gave a slight nod of greeting before looking down, face impassive—disarrayed clothing doing nothing to disrupt his concealment power. Fortunately for Lex, the younger Luthor had the advantage of already knowing what his father was concealing—it didn't take a genius to realise Clark's secret was now fully exposed.

The thought that he'd known first and in a sense outwitted the older man should have been gratifying, but the soft strains of Martha's relieved sobbing, muffled against the comfort of Jonathan's shoulder, filled Lex instead with a painful, ambivalent resentment—at his father for not offering him the same kind of emotion and himself for being weak enough to desire it.

It wasn't Lionel who closed the distance to Lex, in the end, but Clark, brushing bits of plaster from his shoulders in a vague, ineffectual attempt to hide what he'd done to the wall. The gesture only highlighted it, of course, but Lex supposed it was too late to matter now anyway.

"Hey," Clark muttered softly, eyes flashing apologies.

Lex nodded gently at the unspoken explanation. He couldn't really blame his friend for ignoring a warning in order to help his mother, and besides, it wasn't even his secret to lose—Clark owed him nothing and the younger man's guilt, though touching, was unnecessary. Lex still didn't really know what had happened either. Perhaps the crazy guy in the mask really had blown up the elevator cable like he'd threatened and Martha truly had been in danger, not part of a game of his father's at all...

"Did dad let you drive him here?" Clark continued, looking passed Lex's shoulder to his embracing parents—expression akin to wonder. Considering the enormity of the issue at stake, the irrelevance of the question brought a surprised smile to the older man's face.

"Yeah," Lex admitted. "Desperate times..."

Clark glanced back at the figure still resting quietly on the elevator floor.

"Yeah..." the Kryptonian agreed dully.

The two of them eyed the older man wearily, as one might a threatening snake. Instead of striking though, Lionel was struck—by Jonathan. The other man grabbed the front of the Lionel's grubby vest and pulled him up and against the elevator's mesh door before the two friends even knew he'd left Martha's side.

"You son of a bitch!" Jonathan hissed, the venom in the words spraying spit over Lionel's shocked face.

"Jonathan!"

"Dad!"

Clark and Martha hurried over to try and pull the enraged Senator away. Lex just smirked. In a fight between his father and Mr. Kent, Lex was rooting for Jonathan.

"Jonathan, please..." Lionel breathed, straining against the second heavy arm now on his shoulder.

"No, don't even bother trying Lionel," Jonathan insisted, shrugging off Martha's weak attempt to pull him back. She tottered slightly and Clark stopped his advances to steady her. "This is the last straw," Jonathan continued, apparently oblivious now to anyone but the man before him. "I'm done playing your games. All they do is put my family in greater danger and I've had enough. Do what you like, I'm not letting you control us any more!"

"Jonathan, what are you talking about?" Martha protested beneath Clark's supporting hold. "This wasn't Lionel's fault, it was that man... that awful man in the mask. What do you mean about being controlled?"

Jonathan's hostility started to wane as his wife's questions sunk in, and his eyelids flicked down with shame.

"Yes, really Senator," Lionel berated; brushing the other man's now weakened hold away calmly. "This has been a, frightful ordeal, and I understand your emotion. But the idea that I'm somehow manipulating you is quite ridiculous. After all, what possible means of control over you could I have?"

A superior gleam entered Lionel's eyes and time seemed to slow for Lex as he watched his father's lips twitch into a brief, heavy, arrogant smirk—an arrogance Lex knew instantly as his father's undoing; a foolish indulgence intending subtlety that practically demanded revelation.

Sure enough, disorientated by the gaze, Jonathan turned to shoot Clark a telling glance.

He turned away again almost instantly, moving back to try and hide the look's relevance, but it was too late, Lex already knew its implication. Warm bubbles of shock and concern burst in the younger man's chest and he turned anxiously to his friend, in time to see the penny drop behind Clark's eyes as well. The Kryptonian stepped back looking scandalized, hands slipping slowly off his mother's shoulders.

"You already knew," he breathed, eyes flicking between Lionel and his father in open trepidation.

Jonathan pulled his head up fearfully, while a furrow formed on Lionel's brow.

Martha turned round in confusion, aware she'd missed something important, and Clark looked to her pityingly.

"That's what it's been about hasn't it?" he challenged Lionel, voice tainted with disgust. "All the favours, the LuthorCorp helicopters, the invites to conferences. You haven't been using my family to get at me. You've been using me to get at my family, to get closer to my..." He broke off, glancing briefly back to his mom before shaking his head vigorously. "How long's it been going on, Dad?" he queried, turning pained eyes to his father. "Weeks? Months?"

Jonathan swallowed heavily.

"Clark..." he began, face ragged now with guilt.

"Since you became Senator?" Clark cut him off, unconsciously stepping back closer to Lex. "How could you not tell us?"

"Clark," Lionel interrupted commandingly, gaze moving coolly over his son before resting on the younger man. "It's been a trying day, whatever your concerns are perhaps they can wait until later?"

"No!" Clark responded instantly. "I want to know how long you've been blackmailing my father!"

"Son," Jonathan called sharply. "In this case, perhaps he's right. It might be better if we talk about this later. Somewhere... more private."

He tilted his head significantly and Clark followed the slant to Lex's cool, questioning gaze.

Lex saw a shimmer of guilt cross Clark's face and knew without question what the curious grimace that followed was asking. The young Luthor lifted his eyebrows in a whatever-you-decide type gesture. Your move, Clark.

The moment seemed to stretch for hours.

Then Clark gave a flat smile and nod in response.

"Lex already knows," he stated simply, looking down.

A quizzical silence from the older men.

"Knows what, honey?" Martha asked eventually, bringing a much needed female practicality to the situation. Clark looked up at her with a slight shrug.

"Everything," he admitted sheepishly.

Clark looked away again in the silence that followed, discovering a newfound fascination with the elevator's flaking paint. A tactic designed to spare Lex further scrutiny the older man realised, but faced with the pair of intense glares from the Kents, Lex wished Clark wasn't so polite—a friendly glance would have been extremely welcome just then.

Never one to show his nerves if he could help it though, Lex met Jonathan's open hostility calmly—that much he was certainly practiced in, at least. Martha's oddly sympathetic expression was unexpected and the defensive hardness in Lex's eyes softened at the sight of it, but it was Lionel's glance that finally broke him.

Positioned directly opposite Lex in the rough circle the five of them had established, Lionel's expression was particularly accessible and Lex saw clearly the reflective widening of his father's eyes, the slight parting of lips in an almost unperceivable gasp. The reaction was over in under a second, replaced by a controlled, curious narrowing of eyes, but Lex had already seen it for what it was—something rawer than simple surprise; an unbidden show of fear.

Lex blinked, eyes flicking down as his forehead creased in confusion. Fear and suspicion from the Kents he'd expected, but from his father he'd thought maybe anger and irritation. What was his father afraid of? ..Him?

"Hello! Mr. Luthor! Mrs. Kent!"

The cry was the proverbial knife, cutting the silence. Clark even jumped a little, turning to the gap in the wall with surprise. Considering the guy had super-hearing, Lex was amazed how easy it was to startle him. Fine time for security to develop efficiency, he thought wryly.

"We're over here!" Jonathan yelled back, moving to place a hand on Martha's arm. "Come on Martha, we should get you checked out by a doctor." He glanced between Lex and Lionel darkly. "We'll deal with everything else later." Martha nodded quietly and let herself be led away, flashing Lionel a fearful, disappointed look before moving. "Clark," Jonathan called over his shoulder, tone laced with more than a little disapproval.

Clark winced, shooting Lex a vaguely apologetic shrug before moving to follow. Jolted back to awareness by the sound and movement, Lex hurried after his friend and grabbed his arm, pulling Clark back as Martha and Jonathan stepped through the wall. The two of them stopped to stare at Lex wearily.

"Clark," Lex stated quietly, ignoring their audience. "If anyone asks, you drove here in the Porsche with me and your Dad, okay?"

Clark nodded softly.

"Okay."

Lex sighed as Clark and his parents moved away. Using the hand that had so recently held his friend's, he gripped the edge of the broken wall and closed his eyes, Lionel's gaze a practically physical sensation on his back. Lex knew that should be bothering him. His father's knowledge, the fact he'd been playing them, rendering all Lex's attempts to protect Clark from him useless—that was the biggest concern right now, that was what mattered. Clark's revelation had been nothing but an expected inevitability, already planned for, unimportant. But it was also all Lex could think about. Clark would face his parents' reprimands when he got home, then Chloe's, Lana's... how long would it take for something to stick? For Clark to realise what a mistake he'd made confiding in a Luthor? This is it Lex, façade's over. Time for reality to come crashing back down.

The late afternoon twilight had faded well into evening by the time the authorities were done with everyone and Lex got a chance to approach his father alone. The man had helpfully holed up in his LuthorCorp office, ostensibly to get some clothes he kept there as relief from the scruffy appearance caused by potential all nighters, but Lex suspected the lack of surveillance was the real reason for his current positioning.

When Lex stepped through the sliding doors, he found Lionel gazing calmly out the window, a glass of scotch cradled in his right hand. His previously exposed body was covered once more in a crisp black suit and tie, wild hair slicked neatly back, as if the day had never happened—a literal display of deceptive appearance.

The moonlight spilling into the otherwise darkened room only emphasised the various shades of blue that pervaded the building—designed to cool the tempers of more violent business associates, Lex knew, but there was nothing that could temper the fire inside him tonight.

The overwhelming feeling that Clark might soon be lost to him—again—had only strengthened since the two of them had separated at the warehouse and the thought that Lionel had known about his friend for who knew how long, had been using the young man as leverage in some twisted game of blackmail and courtship, made Lex insanely angry. Clark and his family deserved better than that.

"How long have you known?" Lex asked briskly, pausing a few feet from the entrance.

The older man showed no surprise at his visitor and took a careful sip of scotch before turning round.

"How long have you?" he countered smoothly, regarding Lex intently with a dark, unreadable gaze.

Lex gave a brief, humourless laugh that rumbled quietly at the base of his throat. Moved from chess to a simple game of tit-for-tat have you, Dad? All right then, if that's what it's going to take, I'll show you mine...

"Since Lana's accident," Lex explained, slipping his hands in his jacket pockets. "When Clark told me."

Lionel scoffed, real amusement glinting in his eyes.

"When he told you? What a quaint description," the older man mocked. "You'll forgive my scepticism as to its accuracy."

Lex smiled grimly.

"We can't all be as underhand in our methods as you, Dad," he quipped back. "Although, I have to admit, orchestrating a kidnapping to gain a woman's trust? A truly magnificent display of depravity. I must say I'm impressed."

Lionel shook his head, amusement fading, lips turning thin.

"Lex, that is a preposterous insinuation," he insisted. "To think I would even have considered working with that vile man. He tortured me, if you recall? Placed me in the path of an oncoming train, made me walk across hot metal with two buckets of gasoline on my shoulders? No, Lex. That's hardly the sign of a good working relationship."

Lex nodded, sucking his lips thoughtfully as he recalled Lionel's statement to the police—how the tin foil man had trapped him in another part of the warehouse and made him walk barefoot across a thin metal walkway with a fire beneath, two containers of oil hanging from a pole across his shoulders. Security had found just such a room confirming this story, and Lionel's burnt feet did seem to support it, but there were other things that still didn't quite add up to Lex.

"Oh, I've no doubt he started out a willing antagonist," the younger man replied. "Considering the amount of people you piss off on a daily basis, it's surprising there haven't been more attempts on your life. No, this man hated you, no question. But there's an interesting discrepancy between the time of your disappearance and Martha Kent's." Lex raised calm, accusing eyes to his father, but Lionel met the gaze without faltering. "Security tracked down the cab driver that took Mrs. Kent to Metropolis and it seems he dropped her off a good half hour after your abduction."

Lionel shrugged.

"I'm not sure I see the relevance, Lex," he stated. "Whoever this lunatic was, he was only one man. He couldn't very well kidnap us at the same time."

"Couldn't he?" Lex asked, raising an eyebrow. "You'd have both been together at the fund-raiser. I'm sure a man as resourceful as he seems to be could have easily found an excuse to manoeuvre the two of you alone somewhere. No, it's almost as if Mrs. Kent's abduction was an alteration... As if someone suggested it... Someone, say, who'd been alone with the man for the previous half hour?" Lionel bristled. "If you throw enough money at them, eventually anyone can be bought. Isn't that what you taught me?"

"How dare you!" Lionel exploded, sneering angrily, hairs on his upper lip flaring. "The idea that I would deliberately put Martha Kent through such an ordeal is... it's, insulting. The man wanted me to kill her for God's sake!"

He moved forward to slam the scotch glass on his office table with a flourish but Lex didn't even flinch.

"Wonderfully theatrical, Dad," Lex commented dryly, while Lionel loosened his tie. "Just like your performance in the elevator, when you chose to sacrifice your life for hers. Clever of you to have that part recorded like you did, so everyone would be aware of your nobility. It'll be a fantastic boost for your PR."

"You're wrong, Lex," Lionel insisted. "I had no idea about the video feed. I did what I thought was right. Martha didn't deserve to die, there was no choice on my part."

"Unless you knew the gun wasn't loaded," Lex noted, blue eyes icy cold. Lionel opened his mouth to protest again but Lex cut him off. "You can cut the innocent act now, because I'm never going to buy it! Especially since the police can find no trace of this maniac kidnapper you're so keen to lay all the blame on. They have his name now—Lincoln Cole. Covered his tracks pretty badly actually. Left fingerprints all over the warehouse. But it's a funny thing..." Lex moved slowly closer to the desk, raising a hand to tap his fingers against his mouth in mock surprise. "Although they've found his address, his place of work, even his fucking dry cleaners. It seems the man himself has disappeared off the face of the earth." Reaching the desk, Lex rested his hand against the polished wooden surface and leaned forward, face directly before his father's. "It's almost like he had outside help with his escape. And if that's not strange enough, the elevator that he supposedly sabotaged to plunge you to your deaths still had the safety brake on. You might not have started the game today Dad, but you certainly finished it. With Clark as a major player. It's too bad Martha Kent didn't fall for it. In fact, considering she now knows about your blackmail of Jonathan, her affections are probably further from you than ever." Lex leaned back with a smirk. "You lost, Dad. Now tell me how you found out about Clark."

Lex's heart thumped heavily, adrenaline coming in waves, and he realised he was enjoying this—baiting his father. It was cathartic.

Lionel saw the grim joy in his son's eyes and swallowed lightly.

"Alright," he conceded. "If you must know, it was after the alien stone was activated while in my possession. It forged a link in my mind somehow, explained everything."

Lex narrowed his eyes.

"You mean, the Kryptonian crystal? The one that put you in a coma?" he elaborated. Lionel blinked slightly at Lex's description, a final acknowledgement, perhaps, that his son really did know the truth. "So you've known for almost a year..." Lex shook his head lightly to dispel the jolt of fear coursing up his spine. Apparently he and Clark had never had the upper hand. "Potentially the greatest secret known to man, and you've been using it for courtship? I would have expected you to be more ambitious." Lex looked up coldly. "What was the plan, Dad? Once you had Martha Kent's trust you'd bump off Jonathan and move into a happy family? I hardly think so."

Lionel pursed his lips.

"Well, it would give me a son to be proud of."

Lex couldn't prevent the step back. The words were so intense.

And it was stupid really, a foolish jibe, just his father striking out at the taunting earlier. It meant nothing.

It hurt like hell.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lex shot back, voice a little less steady than he'd have liked.

"Oh, come on, Lex," Lionel responded smoothly. "You don't expect me to believe it's simply friendship you want from the boy. You have an alien being within your reach. I have no doubt you've been milking that for all it's worth. You probably have blood and tissue samples already analysed. And once you have what you want, he'll be discarded, like all your other spent toys. At least I would have cared for him."

"Shut up!" Lex yelled, composure slipping as Lionel's accusations hit more than one nerve. "You don't care about Clark. He's nothing to you, just a means, but I'm not going to let you use him anymore!" A heavy breath. "Stay away from the Kents. And stay away from Clark."

Lionel smirked.

"Now who's being theatrical?" he queried smugly. "A vigorous display, Lex. But we both know it's nothing more than an investment you're protecting." The cold gleam in Lionel's eyes stopped any thought of protestation from his son because Lex recognised it—it was the harsh, unrelenting glare of complete disappointment and made Lex feel like a failing kid all over again. He could only watch dumbly as Lionel picked up his glass and raised it between them. "Really, Lex, I wish you luck," he toasted. "But a word to the wise—if you honestly think you can hold the boy's trust, you're fooling yourself. Eventually, he will see you for what you are. You can't keep him forever."

A sickening sense of fear washed over Lex as he watched his father raise the glass to his lips. A fear not only of the prediction about Clark, but of Lionel's assessment of his motives—was he really so far gone that even his own father had discounted his humanity? And in any case, wasn't that exactly what the man had wanted from him all these years?

Lex spun round and left the office without looking back. Blinking hard.

Later at the Kent Farm, Jonathan and Clark welcomed a washed, dried and redressed Martha into the kitchen. She wore a warm green sweatshirt and grey slacks above soft, brown slippers. After her recent trials, comfort, not appearance, was her foremost concern. Her hair was loose and wet again, but with the gentle shine of a healthy shower this time, and she flicked it off her shoulders as she sat down at the kitchen counter, slipping easily onto the stool Jonathan held out for her.

"Here you go, Mom," Clark said quietly, placing a chipped mug of steaming coffee in front of her.

Martha smiled up at him, though Clark noticed her eyes were significantly more shaded than normal.

"Thanks sweetie," she muttered, wrapping her hands around the cow-covered porcelain.

"Now Martha, are you sure you're feeling alright?" Jonathan asked in concern, resting a gentle hand on her arm as he sat down beside her. "Because the medical centre's just down the road and the doctor in Metropolis did say if you felt in anyway unusual in the next few hours you should have it checked out..."

"Jonathan," Martha cut him off, shaking her head mildly. "I'm okay. Really. Just a little tired."

She smiled reassuringly, and Jonathan squeezed her arm.

Clark, who'd been edging quietly towards the kitchen doorway, gave a brief nod.

"Yeah, I'm kinda tired too, it's been a long day," he said quickly. "I think maybe I'm just gonna go to bed."

He'd barely managed to turn round before Jonathan's stern call stopped him in his tracks.

"You're not going anywhere, young man," the older man insisted heavily, making Clark wince. "You get back here and sit down right now."

Clark bit his lip with a sigh. Once they'd left the warehouse, Martha's well being became everyone's main concern and Clark had hoped looking after her would provide much needed time for his parents to calm down about the whole Lex situation. From the grave tone of his father's voice it seemed this hadn't been the case. As he turned round into Jonathan's piercing stare Clark wondered if it was normal for a nineteen year old to still be cripplingly fearful of his parent's disapproval or if that was just another of his weird alien traits. He turned hopefully to his mom as he moved back, but found her expression equally firm, prompting a nervous grin as he perched at the end of the counter, hands clasped before him.

"What did you mean earlier when you said Lex knew everything?" Jonathan asked.

Clark gave a small shrug.

"Just what I said," he explained quietly. "He knows what I am, what I can do, about the Fortress. Everything."

Martha shot her husband a quick glance, shining eyes betraying the shock she was trying to hide and Jonathan patted her arm.

"How did he find out?" he continued tightly. Clark took a breath.

"He... err... he didn't find out exactly," he muttered, sounding increasingly more nervous. "I... um... I kinda... told him."

Jonathan drew back in predictable disbelief, brow furrowing.

"You what?" he responded darkly, tell tale sparks of anger creeping in his eyes.

While he tried to get a hold of himself, Martha leant forward, grabbing her son's gaze.

"Clark... why?" she asked simply, voice tinged with motherly worry. "Did he do something to you, force you to tell him?"

Jonathan's rigid stance seemed to relax a little at that idea, but Clark pulled back in alarm.

"Mom, no!" he insisted. "It wasn't like that, he just... It was after Lana's accident and he was just there and..." He shrugged helplessly as he tried to arrange his emotions from that night into something his parents might understand. "Lana almost died that day, Pete was already gone and with Chloe moving to Metropolis I... I was tired of losing people. And Lex had been so great, helping with the doctors and the hospital and everything, even though Lana and I hadn't exactly been on best terms with him lately and I..." He hung his head with a sigh, this wasn't coming out right at all. "It just felt like, out of all my friends, Lex was the one I'd pushed away irreversibly... and I didn't want that."

That didn't even begin to cover it really, but Clark thought perhaps there were no words that could so he fell silent, looking up again, uncertain. Martha flattened her mouth in sympathy while beside her Jonathan shook his head, realising a distressed, uncomprehending sigh.

"Clark I..." he began, lifting his hand from Martha in a gesture of confusion. "I can't say I understand, but I suppose you're old enough now to follow your own reasoning. What disappoints me most is your silence. This effects us too Clark, why in god's name didn't you tell us!"

His volume rose with the last sentence, fuelled not only with anger at Clark but irritation at himself for failing to read his son. Clark responded in kind, partly from his own guilt at having no good reason for the secrecy and partly from a new anger that he was the only one being interrogated here.

"Well why didn't you tell us about Lionel, Dad?" he shot back, voice sharp. "Don't you think I should've known about that?"

"That was different," Jonathan replied with a frown. "I was concerned about what he might do if I told you."

"No you weren't," Clark argued. "You just didn't want us to know he was blackmailing you!"

"No Clark, it wasn't like that!" Jonathan responded hotly. "I didn't let him blackmail me, not at first. But then he helped me with something and I felt... obligated towards him and I..."

"So you were in his debt and too proud to tell us?"

"Clark, I don't really think this is the issue here. I don't know how Lionel found out about you, but I've done nothing but try and protect you from him. You're saying you've been going round telling people about yourself, which is quite frankly reckless behaviour—"

"I haven't being telling people, Dad. I just told Lex. That's hardly alerting the world's governments."

"Well it could be just as dangerous. He's still a Luthor, Clark. How many times do I have to I have to tell you he can't be trusted? For all we know it might have been him who tipped Lionel off, maybe they've been working together—"

"Dad, that's ridiculous! I can't believe you'd even think that. Lex would never—"

"Alright, enough. Enough!"

Clark and Jonathan turned to the woman between them in surprise, both of them breathing heavily. Martha flicked her gaze between them sternly, mouth set in a hard, disapproving line.

"All this yelling and accusations is getting us nowhere," she stated, quiet but firm. The two men beside her sat back down from their unconsciously raised positions a little shamefully. "Clearly, this family has communication problems that need addressing and all of us have to share the blame for that. But that's not what's important right now. What we need to focus on are the issues at hand. Lex and Lionel both know about Clark. We need to figure out how Lionel found out, and what the two of them plan to do with the information."

She raised her eyebrows at the men questioningly, but they knew better than to think she was really asking their opinion. Clark nodded slowly.

"Okay," he agreed quietly.

Jonathan nodded too.

"Right."

"Okay," Martha repeated. "So how are we going to this?"

The query in her tone proved this issue really was open to the floor and the two men pondered for a moment.

"I should talk to Lex," Jonathan stated eventually.

Clark sucked in a disapproving breath.

"Dad, I don't know if that's—"

"No, son," Jonathan cut him off, tone stern but significantly subdued now. "I understand you've been... closer to Lex recently. And in a matter like this it may be clouding your judgement. I need to hear for myself what his intentions are."

Clark grimaced. A one to one with his father and Lex would not be pleasant for his friend, but while Clark desperately wanted to spare Lex the confrontation, he knew his father was right. His parents had a right to know Lex's plans firsthand. Clark nodded briefly, clasping his hands again unhappily. Jonathan raised his own hand to his mouth in a similar gesture of discomfort.

"Considering that," he began tentatively. "Perhaps it might be a good idea for one of you two to approach Lionel. You might be able to read him better than me."

Martha nodded seriously while Clark blinked at his father in surprise.

"Yes, that's a good idea," she agreed. "And I think it should be me."

"Mom!" Clark countered, eyes widening in concern.

"It's become quite clear Lionel has an... interest, in me," Martha continued, making Jonathan purse his lips, while Clark looked down with a blush. "I can use that. Perhaps get him to talk to me more truthfully."

"Martha, that might be a good plan in theory," Jonathan contested. "But it doesn't guarantee your safety."

"I know that, Jonathan," she agreed, releasing the hold on her mug to clasp the hand now resting beside her. "But we have little option now. If we want to protect Clark it's a risk we'll have to take."

Jonathan gave a defeated sigh and moved to hold Martha's hand in both of his own. The two of them shared a small, determined smile that sent a rush of affection and sorrow flowing through Clark.

"I'm sorry," he muttered instinctively. "I've put you through so much already and now I'm just causing you more trouble. I never meant to hurt you with my decision or..."

He trailed off dully and Martha slipped her arms round the coffee to grab hold of him. Unclasping her son's interlocked fingers, she took both hands in her own and gripped them tight.

"Oh, honey," she muttered softly. "We know that. Your father and I have always known caring for you was going to be, well, more complicated than anyone else. But no matter how hard it might get, we'll never regret it. You're our son and we love you. No matter what."

She smiled at him warmly and Clark shifted his gaze to find his father now wearing a matching expression. Clark tried to copy it but found himself a little too overcome and managed only a vague, watery grin instead. I really don't deserve such great parents... Clark ducked his head to try and relive the sudden pressure building behind his eyes, and caught the sound of a car pulling up outside. Streamlined. Expensive. The desire to hide his tears forgotten, Clark turned his head to the kitchen entrance expectantly, releasing Martha's hands to carefully wipe his face.

"Clark," Jonathan called, interrupting his son's temporary vigil. Clark turned back to him, curious and surprised at the new uncertainty in his father's tone. "Just, do me one favour and try to explain to me—why Lex? I mean, I understand how Lana's accident must have made you afraid of losing the people you care about, but Lex is... I thought the two of you had already gone your separate ways. It wasn't so long ago I recall you standing in this very kitchen and claiming you thought he might be Sageeth and your greatest enemy."

Jonathan wasn't condemning this time, simply baffled, and Clark blushed, ashamed of how strongly he'd written Lex off. Of course, he now realised it hadn't been simple distrust prompting his decisions but a frustrated desire. Not that he planned on telling his dad that anytime soon, considering he was pushing the boundaries of patience as it was.

"That's just paintings on a wall, Dad," he shrugged. "Weren't you the one who told me I had to write my own destiny? And besides, I didn't really..." The sound of feet stepping up the front porch distracted him for a second, but nothing further transpired so he continued, face clouding with regret. "When you miss someone, you grab at any excuse to convince yourself you don't need them in your life. Even if you don't really believe it."

Clark turned an unseeing gaze to the counter's plastic covering—lost in a reassessment of past motives and continued listening for outside movement.

This meant he missed the puzzled glance Jonathan gave Martha and the no-nonsense, 'don't push' shake of the head she gave in return. In the silence that followed Clark heard the clear scrap of skin against fabric—hands slipped in pockets—followed by a self-derogatory 'tut.' Clark rolled his eyes and stood up, heading out the kitchen archway to the front entrance.

"Clark? Where are you going?" Jonathan called after him.

Instead of replying, Clark opened the front door and stood quietly before it.

Lex blinked at him from the other side.

"Were you ever planning to knock, or were you just gonna stand there for the rest of the night?" Clark deadpanned.

Taken by surprise, Lex swallowed uncertainly.

"I was waiting for the opportune moment," he shrugged.

Clark shook his head with a delightful grin, prompting an instant sigh of relief from Lex who'd been keyed up for a much frostier reception.

"Thank god you're not a pirate," Clark muttered playfully, referencing one of their chess lessons - they'd had Pirates of the Caribbean on in the background. This had distracted Clark a lot more than anticipated as he'd realised his admiration of Orlando Bloom had less to do with the guy's acting abilities than previously thought.

"Who is it, Clark?" Martha called crisply from the kitchen.

It was hardly a condemning cry, but it was enough to remind Clark of the inevitable tension about to occur. The humour drained quickly from his face and he grimaced uneasily at Lex.

"You, better come in," the younger man muttered, eyes dimming sadly as he watched Lex slip his game face back on.

It had taken Clark a long time to realise his friend had a dual persona, to understand that the Lex he'd met on the riverbank and returned the truck to that first time at the mansion wasn't the Lex most people knew. He still remembered the shock he'd felt when he'd first encountered the cool, unfeeling mask the guy usually wore, seen in the aftermath of a visit from Lionel. Clark had felt special then, watching the mask slowly slip away as they chatted together, like he'd finally found a secret he could enjoy being a part of. Because he knew the real Lex.

Breaking that façade had been increasingly difficult of late, as much his own fault as anything else Clark had come to realise, and seeing it again now, forced upon his friend because of him, hurt Clark more than Lex's anger or anxiety ever could have. He'd rather have a Lex that hated him than have the man lost to him completely. Still, at least Lex's arrival now meant Clark could bear witness to Jonathan's planned interrogation and hopefully provide support.

Lex nodded briskly and stepped inside. Seeing no one else in the near vicinity, he waited quietly for Clark to shut the door and direct him towards the Kents, because having Lex Luthor walking round their house on his own probably wasn't something Martha and Jonathan would appreciate right now. This, at least, was the reasoning Lex gave himself, refusing to acknowledge a desire for farmboy comfort during the imminent confrontation. He'd considered leaving his visit till morning, especially since he was hardly on top form after the verbal tussle with his father, but eventually decided it would be less painful for all parties if he bit the bullet and got the discussion out of the way as soon as possible. Approaching the Kents himself would also prove, he hoped, a sign of his good intentions.

Clark nodded silently towards the kitchen and Lex followed him in.

Jonathan stood up abruptly when he saw Lex and the two younger men hovered awkwardly inside the archway. Lex had successfully navigated many difficult conflicts in his life, especially of late with the company now fully under his control. He knew all about the subtle tactics of control—how to utilise silence, maintain an intimidating stance, when to appear casual and when to formalise. He could conduct a beneficial business deal with someone who hated him without even breaking a sweat, but no one here had even said anything yet and his neck was already beginning to prickle beneath his lilac collar. The need to impress and assure had never been as strong in his life and Lex soon realised this was one situation he wasn't capable of controlling—wasn't even sure he was supposed to.

Martha broke the sudden stillness by taking a small sip of her coffee and Lex latched onto the movement gratefully.

"Mrs. Kent," he nodded. "I'm glad to see you're okay."

Martha gave a small, mechanical smile.

"Thank you," she replied, even through her tension managing to infuse some warmth into the response. "And, ah, how is Lionel?"

The question prompted a sharper look from Jonathan and Lex suspected it might be a test of some sort—of his allegiance perhaps.

"He'll survive," the younger man muttered dryly.

"Sent you here, did he?" Jonathan queried.

Despite a vaguely judgemental expression, Martha didn't complain, but Clark breathed a soft, disapproving sigh from the other side of the archway. Lex realised Jonathan's accusation must have already been the point of some debate and the coldness that had been re-building since the warehouse started to melt a little as he understood Clark had clearly been on his side.

"Mr. Kent, believe me, I'm not working with my father," Lex stated, quickly identifying the issue at hand and moving straight to it. He'd learned early on that when talking to Jonathan Kent it was best to be frank, and the importance of that had never been more apparent. "I had no idea what he was doing to you, that he knew... what he did. I swear."

"And we're supposed to just believe that, are we?" Jonathan scoffed.

Lex looked away, unsurprised, a faint anger sparking his eyes—the usual manner now in which he hid his hurt at the other man's distrust; the hurt that, no matter how hard he tried, he never failed to feel.

"I believe it," Clark professed unexpectedly, his words a magnetic pull, whipping Lex's head round.

The older man caught a faint, encouraging smile before Clark's head lowered beneath his father's irritated glare—a glare with the clear message of 'you're not even suppose to be here so the least you can do is keep quiet.'

"I just find it rather curious is all," Jonathan continued, the hard edge to his tone allowing no leniency. "That Lionel just happened to approach me with his knowledge not long after Clark tells us he made you aware of it."

Clark and Martha both turned to the older man curiously, glad to finally have a time scale for the blackmail, while Lex tilted his head in a similar manner, albeit for a different reason.

"That is curious," he agreed. "Considering the information I received from him earlier suggests he's known for a lot longer."

Three pairs of equally questioning eyes focused on him then, and this time Jonathan didn't complain when Clark spoke up.

"How much longer?" the Kryptonian queried with a frown.

"Ever since his coma, so he claims," Lex explained. "Apparently the, ah... stone he stole forged some kind of telepathic link. Projecting the information directly to his mind."

Considering his decision to be frank, Lex didn't really understand why he was dodging round the issue of Clark's alien nature like this. Avoiding key terms, stopping just short of a direct address. It was a pretty big elephant to miss and not mentioning it was only making the situation more awkward. Nevertheless, there was an oppressive atmosphere surrounding the topic Lex didn't think he'd easily be able to fight, like it was something the Kent's themselves felt uncomfortable discussing—which might explain why Clark always seemed so edgy about it, Lex realised with a violent spark of irritation. These people have this incredible, beautiful being in their midst everyday and instead of teaching him how wonderful he is they make him ashamed? What a waste!

"That means he's known since before the election..." Martha muttered looking vaguely distraught and Lex recalled how Lionel had so gallantly offered the woman his services during the campaign. His irritation melted to empathy as he realised only too well the shock and self-condemnation Martha must be feeling at the discovery of new motivations behind someone's previous actions. "Oh god. Is that why? Why he helped us? Just so he could use what he knew to blackmail Jonathan once he became Senator?"

She turned to her husband in a pitiful display of contrition, clearly afraid she was somehow responsible for Lionel's actions and Lex understood two things—firstly, where Clark got his over tendency for guilt from and secondly, that his thought earlier had been completely wrong; the boy would never have been made to feel deliberately inadequate by his parents. Martha Kent clearly cared far too much about her family to ever allow them to be purposefully harmed in such a way.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Kent," Lex ventured quietly. "I don't think control of your husband was my father's ultimate goal." Martha caught his eye carefully to make sure she'd grasped the implication, then shook her head, helpless, a couple of small, red spots of embarrassment clouding her cheeks as she looked back down to the mug in her hands. "In fact," Lex continued. "I have reason to believe what happened today might have been just another attempt to bring him... closer to his actual desire."

Martha swallowed a little but otherwise took this new information surprisingly calmly. Jonathan, however, stepped forward heatedly, face distorting with heavy anger.

"And I suppose you're about to tell us you had nothing to do with that either?" he asked, tone so piercing Lex had to fight not to flinch.

"Dad!" Clark called from beside him, sounding scandalised and providing Lex with the strength he'd just seconds ago been lacking. It was almost like old times—Clark standing up for him again. Lex had forgotten just how heartening that could be.

"No, Clark," Jonathan insisted without taking his eyes off Lex. "Lex may have convinced you he's on our side, but I'm far from pacified." He raised a finger to the younger man accusingly. "You and your father both know something that has the potential to tear my family apart. Now, it's become very clear your father's use of that secret revolves around my wife, and I can't say I'm as yet unconvinced that you're not in some way a part of that. That said I hardly expect you to lack an agenda of your own. So what I want to know is, what do you plan to do with what you know?"

Lex took a breath.

"I don't plan to do anything with it, Mr. Kent," he stated, not as coolly as he'd have liked, but clearly just the same. "The last thing I want is to hurt your family, or Clark. And I promise, I'll keep your secret."

"Your word's supposed to be good enough is it?" Jonathan countered.

Lex shook his head.

"I never thought it would be," he insisted. "Which is why I gave Clark assurance of my silence."

"Assurance?" The momentum of Jonathan's hostility hid his confusion with a scoff. "What do you mean by that?"

Lex's brow furrowed in a sudden, deep uncertainty and Clark thankfully broke the moment by shuffling loudly.

"Ah..." he muttered vaguely, face creasing in apology as the other two men turned to him.

Lex tilted his head, brow still furrowed.

"You didn't tell them yet," he noted with a hint of surprise.

"Secret project, Lex," Clark offered by way of explanation and Lex's face cleared into a bemused grin.

"Almost twenty years with a secret identity and you really haven't learnt much about deception have you, Clark?" he said lightly.

"For which I'm extremely grateful," Jonathan noted rather less harshly, distracted by the sudden familiarity between the two men. "What are you two talking about?"

Lex glanced back at the older man briefly before waving an inviting hand at his friend. Clark turned to his parents seriously.

"Lex is running a secret project on an unofficial level of the LuthorCorp building," he explained, calm as if he'd just noted a change in the weather. Lex thought he could almost see Jonathan and Martha's minds boggle.

"What kind of project?" Martha asked.

"Studying the effects of kryptonite poisoning on those who've been affected," Clark explained. "Mostly." Jonathan regained enough perspective to frown darkly, though whether it was at the project or Clark's blatant use of the term 'kryptonite' Lex found it hard to say. "It's completely not what you think," Clark continued hurriedly, holding his hands up in defence. "I've been helping out with it and the people at the project are happy to be there. They enjoy it and it's safer for them."

"You've been what?" Jonathan pressed incredulously, dismissing all the positives Clark had tried valiantly to present. The younger man sighed.

"Look, Dad, I've got more information about it in the barn, you can look at it later," he explained more quietly. "The point is, it means Lex can't tell anyone about me. Because then we could expose him as well."

Clark glanced away a little sadly but Lex nodded in support of the statement.

"A lot of the experiments conducted at the project are being done so with no legal authority," he elaborated. "If the public were to find out it would be... highly damaging to LuthorCorp and seriously affecting to me personally."

Jonathan chewed his lip for a moment as he thought over this new development.

"Rather convenient for you then," he said slowly. "That we're now as incapable of saying anything about you as you are about us."

Boosted by Clark's recent support, Lex faced this latest derision boldly.

"In all fairness, Mr. Kent," he stated calmly. "Your son did tell me his secret first. I could quite easily have kept mine and you'd be none the wiser. By revealing it I really benefit no one but Clark."

Stony silence met this protestation and Lex wondered if coming over now had been the right decision after all, considering everything he said seemed only to fall on deaf ears. A significantly softer glance from Martha negated that thought somewhat and gave Lex a flicker of hope as Jonathan advanced on him once more.

"Alright," the older man seemed to acknowledge. "You've made a pretty good case for yourself, I'll admit. But I'm well aware of how good your family is at deception. And don't think I've forgotten you once had my son investigated either, or the aspersions you deliberately cast on my character during the Senatorial campaign." Jonathan moved closer, voice turning dangerously soft. "So while I'll think about what you've said, quite frankly, I don't think anything you do could make me trust you right now. In my mind, you and your father are both still a threat to us and if anything happens to my son because of either of you, you'll regret it. Because by the time I'm done with you, you'll wish Clark had never saved you that day on the bridge... Do I make myself clear?"

There was a pause while Lex fought back a hard pain in his throat, deliberately ignoring the indignant noise Clark was making at his side—because this moment was specifically between him and Jonathan, not even Clark could be allowed to interfere.

"As crystal, Mr. Kent," Lex stated, holding the other man's gaze.

"Good," Jonathan replied, his own eyes equally unfaltering. "Now get off my farm."

A further moment of staring, then Lex looked down with a silent nod. His footsteps barely seemed to register as he padded across kitchen's linoleum floor, seemingly muffled by the tension.

"Lex..." Clark called as the other man reached the side door, his voice a little strained. Lex turned to him stiffly, face tight.

"I'll see you, Clark," he muttered, navy eyes softening just slightly to something paler, and then he was disappearing through the door without a second look back. Clark's shoulders sagged heavily.

"You didn't have to throw him out like that," he insisted sharply to his father.

"I won't have him thinking we can be pushed around, Clark," Jonathan stated warmly.

"He wasn't trying to push us, Dad!" Clark responded, cheeks burning with shame at his friend's treatment and fear at what it might have changed between them. "You have no idea how much he's helped me these past few weeks!"

"Helped you?" Jonathan repeated, tone bright with residual anger and confusion. "How can he possibly have helped you?"

"He's just... he helps by..." by just being there, by making me feel special instead of a freak, by helping me understand myself. Clark shook his head helplessly. "You wouldn't understand..."

He started to follow Lex's path to the door.

"Where are you going now?" Jonathan persisted.

Clark spun round, exasperated, hand already closing round the door handle.

"I just need some air Dad, okay?" he said a little desperately. "I promise I won't screw things up further by telling the truth to anyone else."

Jonathan pursed his lips as he readied a cutting reply but Martha got there first.

"Okay, honey," she nodded softly, and in a remarkable display of perception she added, "we'll see you tomorrow."

Clark smiled at her gratefully. He didn't think he could spend another moment at the farm, let alone a night, and it wasn't like he needed the sleep all that much anyway. He was gone in the next second, leaving the open door to flap a couple of times in the breeze.

It was well after midnight, in Kansas at least, when Clark finally skidded to a halt inside the Fortress, the force of his suddenly stilled feet hurtling a spray of ice against the nearest pillar.

Clark had never given much thought to temperature change since his skin barely felt it most of the time, but the cool air inside the alien structure was strangely comforting just then. He'd spent the last few hours running aimlessly across the country to try and clear his head and while the icy cold he faced now made little physical difference to him, the air formed an obvious contrast to the humid, cloying atmosphere of the town in Miami he'd just left behind and for the first time Clark saw the place as a potential home instead of an unwanted inheritance.

The Kent Farm had been the centre of his life for almost twenty years now, but times were changing and the skirmish with Jonathan earlier, while painful, had provided a much needed realisation—it had shown Clark he really was becoming his own man now and he couldn't live under his parents forever. In the not too distant future he was going to have to break away, and it was reassuring to know he had at least one place he could go to when that happened.

Although, exchanging the Kents for Jor-El hardly seemed beneficial as a long-term plan. I wonder if there's a way to shut him down for a bit? Clark thought as he started cutting a vague path towards the panel of crystals at the centre. A palace without in built parental guidance would certainly be more appealing... A flickering blue light came into view as Clark neared his unintended destination and the Kryptonian frowned. What now? This better not be another attempt at forcing me into my destiny, because I'm really not in the mood.

Instead of the booming voice of his alien father, though, the light was accompanied by the soft scratching of pencil on paper and as Clark moved closer he realised the glow was actually a holographic projection filled with a selection of Kryptonian symbols. It flickered gently above the panel of crystals, much like the television in the abandoned house had earlier, but whereas that glow had been sickly and made Clark fearful, this one felt warm, despite the icy surroundings, and filled Clark with joy.

Although that probably had more to do with the bald headed figure diligently making notes before the image, hands around a small, A5 notebook, encased in thick, black leather driving gloves to protect against the cold.

Ever since leaving the farm, Clark had been wanting to see Lex again quite desperately, but feared his father's accusations might have made him an unwanted visitor. Meeting up accidentally like this couldn't have been more fortunate.

Lex hadn't seen Clark yet and the younger man took the opportunity to observe him unawares, admiring the elegant figure he cut against the white backdrop. Lex's black jacket and slacks provided a crisp outline in the Fortress' opposing colour scheme and the blue flicker from the hologram deepened the richness of his purple shirt and the shine of his eyes. Eyes which were currently deep in thought as they flicked between the image before him and the curled pages in his right hand.

Clark brushed at the collar of his own blue shirt self-consciously, suddenly very aware of the grime and dust it had picked up during the day. His superspeed session had blown away most of the cobwebs from his shoulders and hair, but the heavier stains remained, including a thick streak of a black, oily substance blotching the top of his right thigh, standing out painfully against the cream. He sagged his shoulders in defeat. Some things really were just inevitable he supposed, and Clark Kent getting his clothes dirty was one of them, just as Lex Luthor keeping his clean was another. Maybe that was Lex's real kryptonite power...

After musing dejectedly on the other man's flawlessness, it was with a delighted grin that Clark watched Lex actually chew the end of his pencil briefly before crossing out something in his notebook with a sigh. It was good to know Lex had the same bad habits as everyone else, providing you looked long enough. What might he see next? Nail biting? And what was it Lex was studying so carefully anyway? Turning his gaze properly to the hologram himself, Clark tilted his head with surprise.

"Is that the Kryptonian alphabet?" he queried curiously.

Lex spun round in immediate shock, pencil falling to the floor with an echoing clatter.

"Clark," he breathed, flustered, head moving down guiltily. "Sorry, I didn't know you were there, I..."

Clark laughed at his friend's uncharacteristic embarrassment.

"Lex, it's okay," he insisted, bending down to retrieve the fallen pencil. "I said you could come here whenever you wanted, it's fine."

Lex took the offered pencil with a flat smile, clearly annoyed at his previous display.

"I wasn't sure the invitation extended to the facilities," he muttered with significantly more control and Clark grinned at the elaborate response.

Actually, Lex had been coming to the Fortress to study in secret for over two weeks now, finding it not only a good way of satisfying curiosity but also a means of relaxation. He'd just always been careful to keep an eye out for Clark before, fearing a retraction of the other man's offer if he ever found out. The fact Clark had crept up on him unnoticed tonight was a testament to just how key-up and distracted the older man was.

"Why not?" Clark responded to his friend's statement, shrugging fortnight long fears into nothing in less than a second. "It's not like I'm using them. Although, if you really want to learn Kryptonian, there is a much easier way." Lex raised his eyebrows enquiringly and Clark moved to take the notebook and pencil from him gently. "You could just ask," he said, shifting his gaze to look over his friend's notes.

An English alphabet met his eyes—only about a quarter of the letters labelled with their Kryptonian counterparts. It didn't seem much, but Clark knew how complex Kryptonian writing was, it was impressive Lex had managed to decode as much as he had. Flicking his tongue briefly over the pencil's lead tip, Clark began to carefully fill in the blanks.

Lex watched the younger man calmly writing down his people's secrets with a barely suppressed expression of wonder.

"I guess I'm still not used to the idea of you actually answering my questions yet," he'd explained before he could stop himself.

Clark grimaced, head still bent over the pages, and Lex bit his lip. Considering the reprimands the guy must have faced from his parents, the last thing the older man meant to do was give another scolding. He was going to have to watch this telling the truth thing around Clark more carefully from now on, it was clearly getting out of control and could very easily land him in trouble if he didn't look out.

Clark looked up with what Lex felt was a valiant display of dignity and gave a small, apologetic smile.

"Writing it down like this is actually harder than I thought," he explained, waving the small notebook between them and dismissing the previous comment completely. "I'll have to just go over it with you some time."

He held the notebook and pencil out like a promise and Lex took them with a grateful smile of his own, his small, slender fingers brushing unavoidably over Clark's as the younger man released his grip.

"I'd like that," Lex admitted softly, slipping the items into his jacket.

The cloud of Lex's breath, made visible by the cool air, lingered between their faces for a moment and for a moment Lex felt just as he had back in the Talon that morning—caught in Clark's gaze. As he peered through the murky vapour, Lex knew he should say something, stop a repetition of the younger man's obvious mistake before, but once again he couldn't move.

Instead, the sting of the past achieved what Lex couldn't and the lingering guilt Clark felt at the older man's previous comment pushed him away.

"I'm impressed you even managed to get any of this working," the Kryptonian stated with faux cheerfulness, waving an arm over the crystalline panel and breaking the still floating cloud. "I still don't really know how to use this thing myself."

With the moment broken, Lex managed to step backwards slightly.

"It was a lot of trial and error," he explained coolly, joining in wholeheartedly with Clark's change of subject—anything to help dispel the lingering tension the day had forced on them. "Your security system stopped me accessing almost everything else. It's only this and another one displaying what I assumed to be numbers I can actually bring up."

Clark's brow furrowed lightly.

"My, security system?" he repeated, confused. Lex nodded.

"It's impressive," he stated. "Even calls you by name. Honestly, hearing the phrase 'Lex Luthor, this knowledge was not meant for you' echoing round the halls was almost enough to intimidate me. Almost." Clark tilted his head thoughtfully for a second, then burst into a short flurry of laughter. Lex's face crinkled with bemusement. "What?" he shrugged.

"Sorry, I just.." Clark cut off with a new wave of mirth and had to cough a couple of times to dispel it. "Security system. Not a term I'd have considered applying to my father, but I guess he'd be pretty happy with it."

"Your..." Lex's eyes widened just briefly and he looked back to the panel of crystals in astonishment. "That was Jor-El?"

Clark nodded.

"All things considered, it was probably an appropriate introduction," he explained. "He's happiest when he's ordering people around."

A heavy sigh removed the growing shine of interest in Lex's eyes immediately.

"Just like any father, then," he muttered, more bitter than intended, and the breaking tension quickly returned, turning Clark's smile to a sad line.

"Lex," he started, tone laced with familiar contrition. "What my dad said back at the farm... he didn't mean it, he was mad and—"

"No, Clark," Lex responded quietly. "He's not mad. He's afraid. And he meant every word." The air between them grew thick and oppressive, filled with past pain and sorrow and something else Lex couldn't define. The older man turned from Clark and moved a few steps away. "I don't blame him either," he continued, staring up at the shining white ceiling. "He's right, I'm a threat to you."

"Lex..." Clark protested instantly, moving up behind his friend.

"It's true, Clark," Lex said, spinning round quickly before the younger man could touch him. "I'm not like Chloe, Pete or Lana. I have power and connections beyond anything they could ever be capable of. The things I could do with what I know..." His eyes shone wildly for a second and Clark saw a thousand possibilities burning within them. Then Lex was sucking in a breath and looking away. "No. I don't blame your dad for being afraid of me..." He shook his head dully. "It's my father's fear I don't understand."

Clark frowned, bubbles of distress bursting inside him at the pain and confusion his friend's face was revealing. He'd been happy talking to Lex again, fear of potential anger aside, and this sudden, unexpected anxiety on the older man's part was more than a little worrying.

"Your father...?" Clark asked tentatively.

Lex raised a pair of distant eyes that registered the other man's concern slowly. He sighed. What did I just tell myself about revealing the truth?

"It doesn't matter, Clark," he muttered, running a gloved hand across his scalp in a gesture so rare it negated his words completely.

"Yes it does," Clark countered immediately. "What did he do?"

Lex looked back again in disbelief. What did he do? He blackmailed your father and manipulated your mother, Clark. He found out your secret and he could put you and your family in very real danger. And you care about what he's done to me? He shook his head.

"It's stupid, Clark," he insisted. "Nothing compared to what he's put you through."

Clark laid a pair of commanding hands on the older man's shoulders.

"That's not true," he said seriously. "He's your father. Anything he does hits you ten times worse than anyone else. You shouldn't shrug it off as stupid."

Lex tried to shake his head again, but the flashing green of Clark's eyes held him back, acting like a signal, and suddenly he was talking instead. Words pouring out of him in a painful, liberating cascade.

"He thinks I'm using you, Clark. Fabricating a friendship to learn more about you, when really you're nothing but a long-term business investment. Probably the first time him and your father have actually agreed on anything. And you know what the worst thing about it is? What really stings? It's not that my dad thinks I'm capable of that; it's his sham attempt at disapproval. Because he spent the better part of twenty-five years training me that way, grooming me out of my humanity. Now that it finally looks like his creation's come to life, you'd think he'd be proud. But he's not. He's disgusted. Like I'm some kind of fucking Frankenstein monster. Everything he's made me and nothing he wants."

With a violent jerk, Lex pulled out of Clark's hold and turned away, closing his eyes against the flow of emotions still flooding through him.

"You know, there's a point, in Frankenstein," he continued dully, opening his eyes for no greater reason than to stare, unseeing, ahead. "When the creature's been labelled a monster so often, he just gives up trying to be otherwise. 'Evil henceforth became my good' he says... I wake up feeling like that sometimes... Everyone sees me as a villain anyway, why keep fighting destiny?"

A heavy pause.

Then Clark hurried over and yanked his friend round, the hand on the older man's shoulder gripping tight enough to bruise, though Lex could hardly say he cared just then.

"Screw destiny!" Clark called sharply, the tone and the curse breaking Lex from his dreary reverie instantly. He blinked at the clouded face before him in surprise. "I know something about Frankenstein too." Clark continued, green eyes gleaming hard as emeralds. "I know everyone thinks it's the monster who's Frankenstein but it's not, it's the inventor. Chloe used to go on and on about the change in English class. She said the mistake proved the real monster was the father." Clark let out a breath of surprise—unused to making classical allusions, especially relevant ones. The pause made him realise how hard he was holding the other man and he loosened his grip quickly. "Lex, we're more than what our fathers want us to be," he continued more softly. "You don't have to let him control you."

Lex swallowed lightly.

"I'm not sure I'm strong enough to stop it," he said quietly.

"You don't have to be," Clark breathed, the hazel flecks in his eyes rising to the surface, dissolving into soft meadows, promising rest. They were so unusually confident it was a promise Lex almost believed. "I spent years trying to escape Jor-El. Even went to Metropolis and back to shake him off, and I think I've finally figured it out. The reason destiny keeps pulling us back. It's because we've been fighting alone... We can stop it Lex. As long as we don't give up on each other."

Lex shook his head.

"It's a beautiful sentiment," he noted. "I only wish it were that easy."

"Why not?" Clark countered earnestly. "I know you don't want to be your father. And you're better than anything he might think of you, I know it. You're a good man, Lex."

Lex's mouth curved in a wry smile, the pain in his eyes making it desperately poignant.

"You're the only one who sees that, Clark."

The atmosphere around them was almost tangible now, threatening to force them apart any second, filling them both with an almost overwhelming desire for solitude—Lex to lick his wounds, Clark to escape the tension. But Clark figured he'd let his fear control him long enough and moved forward instead without hesitation. Using the hand still on Lex's shoulder, he drew the other man to him and wrapped warm, comforting, dust-covered arms carefully and deliberately about his friend's neck.

Lex started at the embrace, eyes wide. Then Clark's heat filtered through his shirt, warming him all over, and the pain and fear and guilt and sorrow pushing between them shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving just the two of them. Together.

Lex slid his arms gently along Clark's back, designer leather gloves gripping farmyard cotton with ease. With a grateful sigh, he relaxed into his friend—soft curls brushing his cheek as he rested his chin on Clark's shoulder, eyes closing blissfully.

As the moment stretched and everything else faded, Lex reflected that this was the closest he'd been to Clark since... well, ever. A slight turn of his head and Lex was practically buried in the other man's neck, a deep breath taking in a warm, musty, flowery and oddly foreign smell, making Lex wonder where the alien had been tonight between here and the farm.

Recollection of what Clark was, which was really remarkably easy to forget sometimes, made Lex aware of how special the moment really was. This was a powerful, alien being holding him like this, tempering his strength to just the right pressure. A power that, paradoxically, made him incredibly vulnerable. Seemingly of their own accord, Lex's arms tightened across Clark's back—offering support perhaps? or seeking comfort? Lex couldn't say.

Clark, eyes open and wondering over the older man's shoulder, smiled into the pressure and he lowered his crossed arms slightly so he was gripping Lex's shoulders. The man felt fragile now—fragile and beautiful and resting easily in Clark's embrace. But it wasn't the breakable fragility Lana always conveyed. No. Even now, Clark could sense the older man's inner strength re-building—felt it in the cool flexing of his muscles, the steady, non-fluttering, beat of his heart.

Lex might weaken like anyone else, but he never let it break him and a faint ember of pride burnt in Clark as he thought how this time he'd been there to witness Lex's strength, facilitate it even. The thought was intoxicating and the heat in his chest lowered to somewhere distinctly more carnal. Not enough to show yet, but the continued close contact was likely to make it grow rapidly.

The new grip on his shoulders burned into Lex, firing up all the suppressed longings he'd never been able to shake and the pressure and the touch and the heat felt so good, and safe and ridiculously pure that for a second Lex gave in. Breath heavy now, he nuzzled up to Clark's ear, smooth skin against his nose reminding him of the thumb against it earlier :: saved your life :: Clark was caring and giving in a way Lex had never known in a man before and, as he wantonly soaked up the kindness, let it drain away all thoughts of his father and replace them with a warm, slow feeling of arousal, the older man's brain suddenly kicked into gear and his eyes opened with a look of distress.

Both suddenly fearful of the intimacy, the two men pulled away together.

"Clark,"

"Lex,"

The unison of speech brought a pause and the two of them eyed each other steadily. Eventually, Lex took the plunge.

"It's late. I really should go..."

But Clark was still burning inside and it seemed he'd finally found the kind of desire he'd always failed to conjure before, the kind that spurred on action—because there was just no way he was letting Lex go now. Period.

In a faster than eye motion that would have made any magician proud, Clark had a hand curled round Lex's neck, another on his shoulder, and was kissing him deeply. Soft, wet lips leaving a trail of moisture over much of the older man's skin before Lex cottoned on enough to instinctively start kissing back, opening his mouth so Clark's assault could continue inside it instead.

A searching tongue managed to map out the top row of Lex's teeth and the older man started to circle his own tongue around it. Then Lex opened the eyes he hadn't noticed closing again and pushed the other man's chest sharply.

Clark's own eyes flicked open vaguely as he complied with the request and stepped back, hands falling to his sides, lips curving in a small gesture of satisfaction. His gaze shifted wildly for a second, matching his breath, before focusing on Lex, who had a hand held, almost reverently, to his mouth. His look was piercing, but tempered by obvious confusion.

"I'm not sorry," Clark stated in a hurried attempt to quash his initial impulse. Lex lifted the hand from mouth.

"That makes a refreshing change," he noted as he lowered his arm, face creasing briefly as he tried, and failed, to overcome his surprise—because that wasn't the kiss of someone who felt obligated to give one. That was deep and needy and wanted and perfect. Words suddenly seemed to elude him. "...what?"

Clark slipped his hands in his pockets, shoulders tensing in a manner reminiscent of his old, teenage displays of embarrassment, but the fresh determination lighting his face proved him far older than a simple teenager now.

"I was kinda hoping that'd be pretty obvious by now," he stated, flushed but clear. "Because my plans don't really go beyond this. I figured, by now you'd either reject me or... you wouldn't. Either way, it's your move." Your move? Damn, those chess lessons must have had more of an effect than I thought.

"My...?" Lex muttered, brow furrowing as his mind struggled to keep up. Realisation dawned with a small, half grin of disbelief. "Clark you're not... you don't..." he stammered, trying in vain to overcome the continued block on his vocabulary.

Clark's shoulders relaxed and he nodded excitedly, apparently newly equipped with an in built Lex translator.

"I made that mistake too," he stated calmly, and while Lex struggled for words, for the first time in his life they were suddenly all too easy for Clark—explanations bursting from him like fireworks. "Sometimes I think my whole life has been nothing but one big misunderstanding. I made the mistake of thinking I was human, then you crashed into me at 60 miles per hour and pretty much blew that theory out of the water. Or into it." He gave a quick, sunshine grin. "I thought you'd turned my life upside down that day, but the truth is, you're the one who's been turning it the right way up. Because no one gets me like you do. You always know what to say. Even when you didn't know the truth your advice was spot on and, you always listen. Even when I'm shouting or talking nonsense. You've been there for me countless times without me even needing to ask and when I have needed you, you've never let me down. I thought Lana was the one who was supposed to do all that for me; that she was the one I should be with. But, that was just another mistake and... you were the one who cleared that up too..." A breath. "Being kissed by you, doesn't seem as dramatic as getting knocked down, but trust me, it felt the same. When you ran into me on that bridge, I figured out who I was. When you kissed me, I realised who I wanted to be with. And it's not Lana, Lex. It's you. I think... maybe it's always been you."

Clark came to a stop with sharp release of breath and waited anxiously.

Before him, Lex stayed silent, expression unchanged. This time, his lack of speech wasn't due to failure to follow Clark's words but was, on the contrary, because he'd understood them completely. They just didn't make sense. Luthors didn't get what they wanted. Not when it came to relationships. Lionel's voice echoed grandly through his mind, emphasising this fact :: if you honestly think you can hold the boy's trust, you're fooling yourself. Eventually, he will see you for what you are :: No. This wasn't right. Something must be wrong.

Clark shifted nervously under Lex's unfaltering gaze.

"Uh... I think this is the part where you say something now," he shrugged. Lex shook his head slowly.

"No," he stated blandly. "This is the part where I determine if hypnosis or red kryptonite is more likely and figure out how to defuse you."

Clark blinked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"Reasonable conclusion," he admitted. "Probably should have expected that one..." Clark raised a hand uncertainly, hesitated, then grabbed the lapel of Lex's jacket. "It's not true." Cool blue eyes turned navy for a moment and Lex's heartbeat underwent a distinct raise in tempo. Clark smiled. "But if it was..." His other hand slipped beneath the jacket to rest on Lex's side, the older man breathed in shakily, self-control wavering. "Do you even care?"

Lex raised his eyes to find his friend's gleaming with nervous mischief, as inexperienced as he'd always imagined, and that was enough to hold him back. He'd spent nearly five years resisting his desire for Clark; he wasn't going to take advantage of the boy now, damn it. He placed a hand carefully over the one on his lapel.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asked quietly, daringly, and Clark realised suddenly that for all his power, all his control, all his obvious want, Lex wasn't going to take a chance here. He was on the defensive, willing Clark away, and a truthful answer would achieve just that—because Clark had no idea what he was doing. Despite various encounters, sex was still something the Kryptonian lacked a clear understanding of, sex with a guy doubly so.

Clark's eyes flicked down and he bit his lip thoughtfully. What he needed was a reply that assured Lex his inexperience didn't in anyway lessen his desire and fortunately, his new discovery of language didn't disappoint. Clark licked his lips before responding, raising his head with a smile never before experienced beyond Red-K.

"Show me?" he asked, voice low and raw and desperately needy.

Lex gave up. Five years of restraint, gone, instantly, as he succumbed to the final passion of a highly emotional day.

"Fuck it," he murmured in defeat, leathered hand flying from Clark's to grasp the other man's cheek. Lips and another hand joined it a second later and Clark submitted to the kiss in delight, groaning a little as he let the other man guide his face—because if there was going to be a time tonight when Lex took the lead, Clark knew instinctively this should be it.

Clark's hands, however, had ambitions of their own, and moved quickly to the older man's chest. Sliding up now crinkled cotton they reached Lex's elegant shoulders and pushed against the black material above. Lex obligingly lowered his arms, mouthing down to Clark's neck and the younger man took this as an invitation to slip the black jacket off the other man completely. As it pooled to the floor by their feet, Lex suddenly pulled back with a shiver.

"Damn, Clark," he breathed, wrapping arms about his chest, clouds of vapour spilling from his mouth with new blatancy. "Of all the places to make a move you choose here?"

A flash of pure annoyance crossed Clark's face for a moment, replaced quickly by the excited glow of an idea. Grabbing Lex's hand, he pulled the shivering man through an array of jutting crystals, stopping before a wide wall of ice. The surface twinkled at them brightly and Lex's face creased in confusion as Clark reached his free hand to an unnoticed square panel at the side.

As the alien's palm touched it, the wall began to shimmer and fade, revealing a large room behind, centred with an expansive four-poster bed. The covers and pillows were a rich, burnt burgundy and looked invitingly soft, while the bed posts were actually two pairs of perfectly detailed Greek pillars, fully correct in every way, even down to the open bowls at the top, complete with unlit torches. Lex recognised them immediately and was shocked into speechlessness, both at their appearance here and their odd appropriateness. The stone, rustic fireplace in the wall opposite, while out of period, also seemed equally fitting. Beside him, Clark seemed to be stunned into silence as well.

"It wasn't like this before..." he muttered, brow furrowing, distracted.

Then the hand still holding Lex vibrated with the aftermath of another shiver and the man beside him was all that mattered again. Slipping his hand from the panel, Clark pulled Lex gently inside and flashed a few sparks of fire at the fireplace and four torches, both excited and afraid at the ease of his heat vision.

Lex barely noticed the wall shimmer back into existence behind them as he watched Clark shooting fire bolts around the room. If his pants had been growing uncomfortable before, now they were down right painful, his interest in alien powers apparently far more than academic.

Dropping the other man's hand, Clark turned his head uncertainly.

"Is this okay?" he asked, tensing again with familiar anxiety, every inch the innocent farmboy Lex had first known him as, despite his smarter attire and exotic surroundings. Surroundings which obviously had an in built heating system since Lex had stopped shivering even before Clark lit the fires. With his eyes. Eyes which were currently sparkling with delicious expectancy in a face that could launch double a thousand ships at least, and this had suddenly become every fantasy Lex had ever had and the man before him wanted to know if it was okay?

Without speaking, Lex grabbed a fistful of Clark's dirty blue shirt and pushed him against the nearest pillar. A push he knew couldn't possibly have affected the Kryptonian in the slightest, which meant Clark was willingly submitting, which only made it hotter.

"It's perfect," Lex growled, forcing his lips against Clark's with a power that would have bruised any other man, but Clark just moaned gladly, not even flinching when Lex bit down hard on his bottom lip.

When they pulled apart, even Clark was gasping, though more from the sudden jump in his own pants than from lack of breath. A jump that became steady throbbing as Lex began to methodically unbutton the younger man's shirt; black leather skimming teasingly across skin as each restriction came undone. Realising he should probably be doing something to help, Clark reached across to Lex's collar and began a fumbled undressing of his own. His hands, suddenly too large, slipped repeatedly across the purple fabric.

"I could... I could do this faster," he muttered, earning a scolding look from the man before him.

"No," Lex insisted, reaching the last of Clark's buttons before the other man was even half way. "I've waited too long for this to waste it by rushing things now."

"Too long...?" Clark blinked, but before he could finish his frown of surprise, Lex had his shirt open and was sliding gloved hands over his chest.

Clark leant his head back against the ridged stone behind him, relishing the touch, but Lex tutted unhappily. Leather hands slipped quickly away and Clark gained enough focus to see Lex using his teeth to pull at the velcro of his left glove. A sharp rip and the item came loose. Lex pulled it off impatiently, dealing with the other in quick succession, and then Lex's bare hands were on Clark's stomach, sliding down to his hips.

Clark tensed, shivered, then relaxed beneath his friend's fingers, closing his eyes to better appreciate their feel. Lex wasn't the first to touch him like this, but Clark couldn't help thinking this was the first touch he'd ever really known. All the others had been too soft, too fleeting, insignificant, but this, this was firm and lingering and god he could feel every second of it, like his usual invulnerability had switched off somehow. Not completely, just enough to make him sensitive and Clark hoped to god this was a lasting development.

Slender hands slipped beneath his pants for a moment, fingering the edge of his boxers, then moved away entirely. Clark opened his eyes to protest but found Lex moving swiftly over his belt buckle and all thought of speech drained out of him as the older man pulled the belt from Clark's waist in one slick motion, sending it flying across the room to clatter in a wavy heap by the newly re-created wall.

Lex looked up then, face flushed, eyes shining, on the verge of the most beautiful chaos Clark had ever seen, but not quite there. Not yet.

"Take off your shoes," Lex nodded, flicking his eyes down to address the incomplete unbuttoning of his shirt and Clark followed the gaze, eyes falling further to the unavoidable bulge against the other man's zipper.

Clark flushed with sudden embarrassment then, because his fantasies were rarely so explicit and the crazy momentum they'd picked up began to falter as he realised how incredibly out of his depth he was. Especially knowing his own lust was equally as apparent as his friend's and that he really had little idea how to satisfy either of them. Thankfully, that was the moment Lex finished with his shirt and he shot Clark a confident, encouraging look as he pulled it off, prompting a vaguely relieved nod from the younger man as he moved to obey Lex's instruction. If he didn't know what to do, Lex certainly did, which was enough to dispel his worry at least, if not the bright, embarrassed spots on his cheeks.

After making short work of his own shoes and socks, Lex looked up in time to see Clark straighten up from throwing the last vestige of his own footwear away, shirt also completely removed now making every perfectly flattening crease on Clark's stomach delightfully visible. The black smear across his right thigh made him an imperfect Adonis really, standing as he was against the oddly Grecian backdrop, but it struck Lex more than anything had so far, because the flaw made it real. This wasn't a beautiful dream, this was reality, this was really happening. This was really Clark standing before him half naked, lust-filled eyes begging for more.

A quick swallow stopped Lex dwelling on that too long, because thinking promised to be decidedly unbeneficial just then and instead, he moved quickly closer, yanking Clark into him by the top of his pants until their bare chests were together, skin on skin.

Lex had felt Clark's chest before, of course, more than once. Briefly as the boy fell from his crucified position in the cornfield, thick, red paint, marring its beauty, and for slightly longer at the Summerholt Institute as Lex pulled him from Dr Garner's Kryptonite filled memory tank, the toxic liquid making Clark's skin sickly and shivering. Neither time had Clark felt so smooth, and strong, and burning hot, like a living flame lapping Lex up until it seemed he must be the invulnerable one. And there'd certainly been no lower thrusting involved before, Clark's hips grinding into his, leaving absolutely no doubt how much the younger man wanted this. Even Lex had to gasp a little at the pressure, and they weren't even naked yet - a completely unprecedented lack of control because Lex never let events get the better of him during sex. Never.

Clark seemed to realise this, because he stilled his hips uncertainly and the face Lex tilted his head to creased in silent worry—fear he'd done something wrong. Lex bit his lip in annoyance at the unwanted pause, because he got the distinct impression if either of them stopped now the whole thing might just fall apart and at this stage that was simply unacceptable. By way of response to the unasked question, Lex slid the hand still on Clark's pants along to the top button and brought his other up to slowly start releasing it.

Clark swallowed as Lex lowered his zipper, hands moving to the older man's hips for support because he felt he might just run away otherwise. How is it possible to be so afraid and so desperate for something at the same time? he wondered. Then Lex was releasing his pants completely and to Clark's great surprise they slipped over his thighs with ease and crumpled to a neat pile around his feet. It took a second for him to remember they'd been cream cotton and not his usual, clinging jeans.

Clark's hardness was even more obvious through his boxers and Lex ignored his earlier fear to stop and dwell on it for a second. Since learning the truth, he'd always half wondered in the back of his mind if Clark was even biologically comparable with human males, and now he had an answer, the undergarment's thin grey fabric doing little to hide what was obviously beneath it.

The younger man stepped awkwardly from the fabric still encircling him and Lex raked his eyes up to his friend's face. He found it nervous and hopeful, with bright eyes seeking approval and Lex smiled, something he rarely felt during sex these days rising inside him—real, honest affection. Whatever the other man's reasons might be, and Lex was still far from confident about them, Clark was his tonight, wanting and waiting, and despite the painful throbbing of his own cock, Lex's priorities shifted in that moment.

He'd never been especially selfless in bed before, not because he failed to give, on the contrary, his partners always left entirely satisfied, physically at least, but Lex always made sure they provided their fair share in return. Yet another hang up, perhaps, from his father and his constant demands for nothing less than the best. But seeing Clark, his Clark, usually more powerful than any man on Earth, now so completely submissive—so completely at his mercy—Lex didn't think he'd care if he wasn't even touched again for the rest of the night. Keeping Clark safe and happy and satisfied was all that mattered and Lex had a vague idea that must be what making love was like, although he couldn't be sure since he'd never really done it before. That was another thing that didn't need thinking about, so Lex ended thought there, reaching out a hand to Clark's and leading him gently to the bed.

A little of Clark's tension spilled out as Lex sat him down on the edge of the smooth, alien material, thankfully with boxers still on. They should come off soon, he was fully aware of that, but the fast-paced removal of clothing had been starting to get a little too much for the younger man and the small delay was a welcome respite. The newly gentle touch on his shoulders also did a lot to calm the Kryptonian and it seemed to Clark the tempo had changed somehow, slowed to something less frantic and more sensual.

When Lex moved back then, unbuttoning his own fly and removing silk boxers and black slacks together, Clark found himself watching without any shame, eyes locked on to the calm and serious glow of his friend's. It was with the corner of his eyes only, then, that Clark first saw Lex naked. A smooth, beautifully pale outline that slowly moved closer, each step promising more, like a work of art in need of long, careful examination before you determined the details.

Time lost meaning for Clark then, seeming to stretch out before them, and he knew there'd be more than enough to map out Lex's body, learn the dips and curves and points and hollows. For now, Lex's eyes were all he needed and it was those Clark focused on as Lex slowly ran his hands across the younger man's knees and along the top of his inner thighs, fingers brushing just slightly below his boxers and against hot, heavy balls as the older man leant over and caressed Clark's lips in a long, gentle kiss, softer than anything Clark thought his friend capable of, and full of a deep, profound longing that took Clark's breath away.

As Lex turned his head, sliding a cool cheek against Clark's flushed one, eyes closed as he breathed heavily against Clark's neck, the younger man flicked his own eyes over the sleek neck and clear back before him in wonder. He'd hoped Lex cared enough about him to respond to his advances of course, but he'd never expected anything like this. The wild, fierce movements they'd been making before, yes, he'd seen Lex do as much with his last psychotic ex in that elevator's CCTV recording. But slow and soft and desperately affectionate... no, he hadn't expected that at all.

"How long have you wanted this?" Clark asked dreamily, lifting his hands from the burgundy covers to slide them softly up the arms on his thighs.

Lex moved his head back so it was inches from Clark's, eyes turning a clear, pale blue, like summer sky after a storm. He gave a soft, breathy laugh, face clearer than Clark had ever seen.

"Fuck, Clark," he muttered. "I've wanted you since the beginning. Since I woke up on that riverbank with your gorgeous green eyes staring down at me." His own eyes flicked down. "The taste of your, incredibly edible lips still in my mouth." The pale blue darkened as he looked up again. "I want you every second of every day, no matter who I'm with, or how hard I try to stop. I think about you when the sun's up and I dream about you at night. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and sometimes it feels like I've never wanted anything else."

There's that telling the truth thing getting me into trouble again, Lex thought vaguely as his statement met motionless silence, although just then, with Clark hard and nearly naked beneath him, he could hardly bring himself to care.

"Oh," said Clark eventually, for want of a better response.

"Scared?" Lex asked quietly.

"Terrified," Clark nodded, though the fact didn't seem to lessen the want in his eyes any, or in his cock. In fact, Lex could feel it jerking invitingly just above his fingertips. He nodded back.

"Well," he started, moving so his lips were just before Clark's. "Unless you're planning to use those tempting lips of yours to tell me to stop, I advise you to just stop thinking..."

Clark swallowed, waiting for Lex to kiss him again, or maybe jump him, or whatever two guys did in bed together, because if that wasn't a line of seduction Clark didn't know what was. Oddly though, Lex stopped short of doing any of those things, looking up with a piercing question instead and Clark realised the older man was offering him an out, pausing so Clark had time to change his mind. It shouldn't have felt so important, this pause—Clark could stop the other man whenever he wanted after all—but the Kryptonian sensed this wasn't a moment Lex often allowed, that his partners didn't usually have it so easy, and that thought filled Clark with so much joy and wonder and excited fear he thought he might burst from it. Because Lex's words were suddenly true. The older man had been wanting him for years now, no question as much as Clark wanted him, and this pause even gave Clark hope of a love Lex hadn't mentioned, and everything was suddenly, completely, finally right.

"No thinking," the younger man muttered, verbalising the consent Lex needn't have questioned. "I can do that."

Lex waited another moment, eyes searching Clark's face intently as though to be absolutely sure of the response. Then his hands slid off Clark's thighs purposefully.

"Move back," he instructed, nodding to the bed's spacious pillows.

Clark complied instantly, raising his left knee to help push himself along the warm, silk-like cover. He paused just before the velvet headrest, arms bracing himself upright, right leg stretched out, left knee still bent - uncertain how Lex wanted him. But apparently it didn't matter, because Lex was suddenly climbing on top of him just as he was.

Gently flattening the bent knee so he was straddling Clark completely, Lex bent down and pulled at the other man's still present boxers. With a quick shimmy and tug they were finally off and Lex flung them away distractedly, more taken with the erect, dark pink cock they'd revealed, surrounded by a set of rich, black curls. Lex didn't know what Kryptonian standards were, but by human ones Clark was certainly impressive—as Lex had never doubted he would be—and the older man took a second to thank whatever god had smiled on him that night to give him a glimpse of something so perfect.

Before Clark had the chance to start feeling uncomfortable again, Lex moved to quickly straddle his left leg, locking a hand round the younger man's neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Clark responded deeply at first, because exploring Lex's mouth was something he felt he was really getting quite good at now, but soon had to pull back with a gasp as he realised the kiss had actually been a sneaky ruse, designed to distract him while Lex slid his left hand all the way up Clark's thigh and onto his cock, gripping tightly.

Clark's breath quickened as Lex's hand began to move, the deep, firm strokes making him shiver. They were nothing like his own high-speed touch, or the far too gentle caress of the few others he'd been with, and once again his skin's usual imperviousness seemed to have vanished.

Not even fucking Lana as a human had felt this intense and Clark was starting to suspect there might be some psychological factors at work here. Then he realised that was thinking, which he wasn't supposed to be doing. Only once he'd started, he didn't seem able to stop, and a cloud of fears began fogging his mind—because his body never had behaved how it was supposed during first times, and considering this might be the most important first time of his life, chances were things would go catastrophically wrong and he'd end up coming far too soon, or too late, or even not at all, which was probably the worst case scenario and made Clark grab at Lex's sides fretfully, using the grip to thrust wildly into the older man's palm.

"Relax, Clark," Lex's warm, commanding voice whispered in his ear, right hand rubbing his neck soothingly, while the one on his cock ignored the younger man's bucking and kept up the steady rhythm it had started with. "It's not a race. If it were, I for one would consider it highly unfair. We both know you'd be winning hands down."

Clark's tension drained out of him in a shaky burst of laughter and he turned his head to find Lex smiling at him brightly, mouth slightly open, top row of teeth gleaming in the overhead firelight. There was no trace of a mask now—Lex was open and honest, and all of him Clark's and as the hand on his cock sped up slightly, new waves of pleasure splashed through him, and Clark relaxed into them, closing his eyes with a deep, relieved, delighted moan.

As his eyelids flicked shut, Clark felt himself fall gently backwards and thought for a moment he was floating. Then he realised it was just Lex lowering him carefully onto the bed, the pace on his cock getting progressively faster so that when his back did finally touch the covers it arched immediately up again in time with the rhythm.

Lex ran his free hand fondly through Clark's hair as the younger man fell down again. With the older man's strokes too fast now for continual high thrusts, Clark slipped into a series of sharp, quick hip movements instead, hands gripping the bedcovers desperately, proving them alien beyond doubt as they continued to stay intact no matter how inhumanly hard Clark pulled at them.

Lex's own cock jumped against his stomach with beautiful agony as he lay beside the other man, watching him move closer and closer to climax and Lex was starting to think it might be possible to come just from this. Seeing Clark in such obvious pleasure, face creasing and relaxing with always just the hint of smile. It was certainly more enjoyable that a lot of actual sex the older man had had in the past. If he did, of course, that would suggest a ridiculous level of intimacy; the kind Luthors should never allow themselves; rather like the kind which saw two people sharing a joke while having sex, which was another thing Lex had never done before and, well, screw it. Tonight had stopped being normal a long time ago—why let schematics ruin a good thing?

"Clark," he muttered, running a hand across the other man's forehead to rest on his cheek. "Open your eyes." I want to see all of you.

But Clark shook his head oddly vehemently, closing them tighter instead.

"I can't," he breathed, voice tight with near orgasm and a little of something else Lex took as more anxiety about the situation.

"Clark, it's okay," Lex insisted, turning his hand so the back of it stroked Clark's cheek softly. The younger man's breath hitched at the change and his face broke into a wide and lingering smile, but he still didn't open his eyes.

"No, just, trust me, I can't," he replied between gasps. "Just... please don't stop."

A small line of confusion marred Lex's forehead at that, but considering Clark's obvious enjoyment he let the matter drop.

"Trust me, Clark," he stated. "That's the last thing I'm planning to do."

He shifted as he spoke, breaking his rhythm briefly as he moved to straddle Clark's legs. Clark, who was right on the brink now, frowned at the movement, then full out whimpered as Lex's hand let go completely. But then Lex made up for it by taking Clark deep in his mouth and the Kryptonian was sure the fire in his eyes was hot enough now to burn right through his eyelids.

"Oh god! Lex, I'm..."

And then Clark was coming, hot and thick, right in the centre of the older man's mouth - and this before Lex could even consider moving him to the back of his throat where he usually let men climax. Because Lex had an admitted dislike for the taste of most men, being more inclined to spit than swallow when it came to it - it was why he usually preferred women in the long-term.

This was Clark, though, and Lex had already decided to give him nothing but the best, so he quashed the initial tensing and made sure to swallow everything down. The result was surprisingly pleasant. Clark tasted warm and sweet, like hot, sugared lemon and Lex couldn't help chuckling a bit as he moved off, laying the younger man's spent cock down with a gentle kiss and licking his lips curiously as he sat back. Sweet juice from a sweet guy, Lex thought with amusement, literal forbidden fruit, how perfectly poetic.

Clark, breathing deeply, was finally able to open his eyes again - the pressure behind them thankfully, wonderfully, released - and he started to pull himself up a little. A weakness like kryptonite exposure, only distinctly less painful, held him down though and in the end the best he could do was prop his head up with his hand. Happily, that was more than enough to give him a view of Lex—smooth, pale and naked, and practically shining in the fire and Fortress light, holding his head above Clark's cock still, with a wonderful expression of delight on his face.

Calm and satisfied now, Clark felt not even a trace of fear. Instead he felt bold and wanted to explore every inch of the man before him, discover all the parts of Lex he'd been foolishly missing all these years, fill in all the blanks until the man he loved was his completely. Oh, and play of course. Lex's cock was hard and bright and entirely visible now and it would be a crime to leave that unsatisfied, especially after what the guy had just done for him. Yes, Clark would be doing all of these things. As soon as he figured out how to get his strength back enough to do so...

Perhaps a verbal exploration might be best to start with...

"What's funny?" Clark asked lazily.

When Lex looked up to find Clark with his eyes open again, green and brown orbs glowing languidly, head propped up on one hand—the perfect picture of satisfaction—Lex couldn't help smiling again. In the back of his mind he suspected there'd been far too much of that throughout all of this—sex was a serious, sensual business, no place for foolish grinning. But then, he always had been a little foolish when it came to Clark.

"You taste different," Lex explained with a shrug.

"Different to what?" Clark queried vaguely, still riding the aftershocks of the high he'd just been through.

Lex just tilted his head in response, waiting for the penny to drop. Talk of past partners seemed strangely, inappropriate, and it didn't take long for awareness to kick in anyway.

"Oh..." Clark muttered, lifting his head up with interest. "Really?" he persisted, slipping his legs from under Lex and moving to kneel before him with the kind of grace the older man had always imagined him capable of but never thought to see. "How?"

Clark was suddenly inches from Lex now, bright and fresh and newly confident. Lex had to blink at the change for a moment before responding.

"Uh... sweeter," he noted eventually. "Nicer."

Clark bit his lip thoughtfully, making Lex once again aware of his own unattended arousal. The older man wondered what would be the best way to wrap things up here and spare Clark the trouble of seeing to it.

"Huh," Clark shrugged after a moment, lips curving in a sly half grin as he considered Lex thoughtfully.

A second later Lex's half formed plans went out the window, because Clark was kissing him again, hands holding him about the neck in vague imitation of the way he'd held Clark before, giving the younger man's tongue easier access to as much of Lex's mouth as possible. With deft, methodical flicks, Clark swept across the other man's palate, tasting as much of himself as he could find. The act was such a tantalising mix of endearment and erotica Lex couldn't help cupping his own cock just slightly to stop the pressure becoming unbearable.

Clark licked his lips as he moved away, hands still attached to Lex as he opened and closed his mouth with a series of soft wet sounds, the better to savour the taste. Lex barely stifled a groan.

The older man's hips bucked of their own accord and Lex closed his eyes to try, absurdly, to will his passion away. A large hand moving swiftly from his neck made this venture even more unlikely when it wrapped itself around the one Lex still held to his cock.

"You didn't think I'd leave you, did you?" Clark muttered, and Lex had a vague impression the words held some kind of double meaning but before he could consider it Clark had him flipped on his back with surprising skill and was pulling Lex's hand away gently as he knelt across the older man's knees.

Lex flicked his eyes open in time to watch as Clark leant forward to plant kisses over his chest, warm moisture from the younger man's mouth and the gentle tickle of his unruly black hair sending shivers of delight through Lex's smooth, sensitive skin. As did the feel of Clark's cock against his, which was half hard again already and more than solid enough to provide the much-craved friction Lex was now seeking.

Clark had fun mapping Lex's chest with his mouth for a bit, then started to move his kisses lower, dodging to Lex's left thigh briefly before lifting up and moving to the right one. There was little doubt were all this was going and while Lex's cock jumped at the thought, Lex felt it was really a lot to ask for a first time and made a weak attempt at protest.

"Clark, you don't have to..." he muttered and Clark looked up with an incredibly arousing, mischievous smile.

"I know," he nodded, before leaning down to lick Lex's shaft right from the bottom to the tip, where he paused to lick around the head for a bit, moving a hand from the bedcovers to feel softly, perhaps curiously, round Lex's hairless balls.

Lex fell back against the crumpled pillows with a quiet thump, eyes closing as his mouth opened in a silent gasp. This was better than any dream. Lex had always imagined Clark would be pretty bad at this, had assumed there'd be an issue of teeth to overcome, sloppy but endearing licks and feels in the wrong places he'd have to correct, awkward but still wonderful because it was Clark. Well, he'd certainly got the wonderful part right, but there was nothing awkward about what Clark was doing now.

After satisfying what had soon become an obvious curiosity, Clark stopped his aimless stroking to cup Lex's balls properly, squeezing them just lightly enough for Lex's cock to spill a shot of pre-cum onto the tongue still circling it. Then, he plunged Lex deep into his throat—further, Lex was sure, than was humanly possible—and held him there for undoubtedly longer than any normal man could, before moving up again and repeating the process. Faster this time.

Considering the hand currently holding him had only today broken through a solid brick wall, Lex knew he should probably be afraid right now—one wrong move and Lex could be dead, or worse. But as he neared his own, incredibly fast, climax, Lex moved beyond caring. He suspected, in fact, any subsequent physical damage would probably be worth it.

"I..." he tried, not even sure what he wanted to say as he thrust desperately further into the other man's open throat, seeking the final push he was lacking.

Clark moved the hand on Lex's balls to the side of his hip, regulating movement, while the one on the bed shifted up to Lex's grasping hand above. With gentle care, Lex found his hand pulled from the covers it had tangled itself in and gripped softly, coinciding with a collection of smooth, circular thumb-strokes to his side.

The older man's eyes snapped open at that, projecting a bright, affected look on the icy ceiling. Lex had known a lot of sensations in bed; hard grips, slaps, whippings and yes, even the gentle caress or two, but mostly they all happened at strategic times—gentle came before or after, coming was usually rough or frantic. A soft touch might soothe a whipping or a bruise, but it was expected—whole sexual encounters were even known to be fully planned out before hand.

Clark's quietening motions now, on the very verge of orgasm, were as unexpected as they were touching. So small they were little more than an afterthought really—a thoughtful, caring, kind expression of affection.

It took Lex over the edge completely.

"Clark!"

Lex arched his back as he came, quick and sharp, but instead of falling down again, painful and hard, as he'd usually do, he stayed up through the shockwaves, safe in Clark's hand.

As the last few drops spilled out of him into Clark's welcome mouth, Lex imagined this might be what flying felt like. The good kind, where you didn't have to worry about orchestrated crashes and a lack of parachutes.

With all of Lex thoroughly exhausted, Clark lowered him slowly down again, giving his cock a final happy lick as he laid it to rest. The heavy shudder Lex gave suggested it may have been a little too much, but when Clark looked up the other man's eyes were flicking open drowsily and he was smiling, so Clark assumed it couldn't have been that bad.

"You're right," he nodded, licking his lips and swallowing down the last of the viscous and decidedly salty substance still in his mouth. "But you taste nice enough to me."

A sunshine smile followed as Clark noted how amazingly beautiful Lex looked after coming. It was a shame he'd been too busy to see the man's face during the process. Plus he hadn't explored his friend's back yet, or his legs and feet, and there was that point at the nape of his neck he'd noticed earlier but hadn't bothered to kiss that would really be needing attention at some point too and... Then Lex's mouth was opening in an effort to speak, but all that came out was a deep, heavy sigh. Shaking his head with a small smile at his own incapacity, the older man lifted his free left hand instead and waved Clark down.

I can wait till next time, Clark thought, obeying the gesture happily and moving off Lex's legs to nuzzle in his open arm instead, left hand sliding softly along the older man's chest. Lex curled his arm round Clark's neck in response so his fingers rested on his friend's shoulder—a gesture too leisurely to be possessive.

They lay quietly for a while as Lex got his voice back. When he did, he said the first thing he thought of and instantly regretted it, just as he had that first meeting on the riverbank when his claim about hitting Clark instantly pulled shutters over those wonderful bright eyes.

"That's not the first time you've done that."

Clark didn't just shutter his face this time; he jerked up quickly and turned his back, curling his legs under him, instantly tense.

Lex closed his eyes in a berating grimace, angry at spoiling such a perfect moment.

"Is it that obvious?" Clark muttered tightly.

Fighting his fatigue, Lex pulled himself up, and sat back on his haunches.

"Clark, I wasn't condemning," he insisted. "God knows I hardly have the right."

He reached a hand to Clark's shoulder and felt him thankfully relax.

"I know, I just..." Clark started, shifting round to face his friend again, a move that simultaneously forced Lex's hand away. "I never told anyone before... never felt I could. For more than the obvious small town bigotry reasons."

A look of newly understood shame accompanied this confession and something clicked in Lex's mind.

"Metropolis," he concluded, word enough to sum up Clark's red kryptonite escapade.

Clark nodded dully, and while Lex's replying nod was understanding, not questioning, the younger man found he felt like explaining anyway.

"He was drunk, I was... kinda high I guess," he shrugged. "He said he wanted to rent my lips for half an hour. It seemed like a good idea at the time. A better way of making money than stealing."

Clark looked away with a wry smile and Lex's face creased in concern. Clark Kent getting paid for sex? The idea was ludicrous. He could see why Clark had never told anyone. Lex wondered how many other secrets the man had weighing him down. Perhaps they could go through them one day, lay them all to rest. Although, that would probably mean revealing more of his own as well, just to be fair, and wasn't that the kind of thing couples did anyway? And that was hardly something they were...

Clark broke the thought by continuing and Lex listened attentively.

"We met up maybe three or four times after that," he stated, eyes still down. "Same club, same evening... god, it just doesn't seem real sometimes."

A new thought hit Lex then, because the regularity of the thing made this guy sound like a pro and people like that could be very, persuasive.

"Clark, did he... did he do anything to you?" he asked quickly.

Clark looked up with a frown, eyes looking far away, as if the possibility had only just occurred to him. He smiled in a vague 'well hey, it could've been worse' kind of way and shook his head.

"That wasn't the arrangement," he said. "I was the one doing..." His eyes closed for a moment. When they opened they finally met Lex's again, regretful but slightly accomplished too, like telling Lex had been a necessity he'd only just got round to completing. "He never even touched me... Except, well, you know, on my shoulders to hold me in place."

Though Clark was bright again now, time and distance pushing his remorse back where he'd been keeping it all this time, Lex saw the lingering guilt in his eyes—the kind someone as troubled as Clark was already really didn't need—and he vowed then and there that if he ever found the man responsible for putting that blot of sorrow in his friend he would damn well kill the guy himself. Slowly.

Lex was moving then before he even knew it, resting his hands on Clark's upper arms and stroking them gently as he mouthed his way carefully and deliberately across the younger man's right shoulder. Kissing away invisible traces of a touch long since passed.

Clark's brow furrowed at the gesture, eyes watching Lex curiously as he reached his neck and began just as deliberately kissing along his collar bone and to his other side. Eventually, the younger man's face cleared in a grateful smile.

"It doesn't mean anything, you know, what happened," Lex whispered against Clark's skin. "You're beautiful, Clark. Something like that can't even touch you."

Clark had been told he was beautiful many times in his life, but it was only then he considered it might true.

"You know I... I guess technically, he touched my lips as well," he muttered as Lex raised his mouth from its final touch of Clark's shoulder.

The older man looked up, blue eyes dark and intense. His lips didn't curve up and make light of things, but they didn't frown either. Instead, his expression was still and calm, expressing just the balance of understanding and sympathy Clark needed. The kiss, when it came, wasn't like the others. There was no flicking of tongues, no delving inside each other—just Lex's lips across his own. They touched him once, lingeringly, and then it was over.

Lex's hands slipped slowly from Clark's shoulders as he moved back.

When Clark looked back at him, the older man's brow furrowed, eyes uncertain. He looked over Clark like a man in a dream, just waking up - lost and unsure.

"Lex..." Clark started, voice heavy with intended declarations.

Lex had a hand on the other man's lips instantly.

"Don't," he said, swallowing lightly, blue eyes icy with past broken promises and false truths. His thumb traced Clark's mouth wistfully for a moment. "Whatever it is can wait until morning, right?"

He looked at Clark beseechingly and behind the hand Clark gave a soft smile. He carefully moved the fingers from his face so he could nod.

"Yeah, it can wait," he agreed.

He'd kept quiet about his feelings for almost two weeks now, waiting till tomorrow to tell Lex he loved him couldn't hurt.

Lex paused for a moment, then nodded, slipping his hand away softly.

"Goodnight then," he said, looking over Clark's face one last time before turning round and resting quickly on his side.

He curled up slightly but made no attempt to get under the covers. It was warm enough just now without them anyway, and he was too tired and anxious about the morning to really care about practicalities in any case. If he had cared he'd have probably collected his clothes and gone home instead of choosing to spend the night with his best and only friend, who might very well regret this whole encounter when confronted with it as he woke up, in an alien room Lex wasn't even sure how to leave so he couldn't even bank on cutting that confrontation short.

All in all this was a very bad situation with the potential to leave Lex broken and friendless tomorrow and he was doing nothing to try and avoid that. But then the bed here was so soft, and Lex was so tired, and Clark's arm was suddenly curling so nicely over his chest and Lex thought maybe there was hope for tomorrow after all.

Lex grabbed Clark's hand tightly and held it to his heart, closing his eyes with a contented smile as he felt the other man shift closer behind him, warm breath blowing evenly against his neck. He could at least dream.

——- end credits——-