pretty when you're mine, part 1

Marian's in the living room when he comes home from work, fully dressed, and Clark finds himself hesitating as he closes the door.

The last few weeks haven't been--bad. Not any worse, really, than the worst of her times-after, when she'd come down and not want to. Part of it is wariness--he's not sure what to do if she insists on being allowed to go back out. It's not like he can tell her not to, or enforce it, but--but it's so much easier like this. Safe, where he can watch her and care for her. Too tired those first weeks to want to go anywhere, happy enough with the methadone that Toby brings weekly. Content to stay in bed and let Clark worry about money and rent and everything else.

It's--not bad.

This is different, though.

"Clark." Her smile's almost like he remembers it, bright and shining, and he watches her stand up with painful slowness. She's still so thin, and she has problems holding down food. Moving quickly, Clark drops the groceries on the coffee table and eases her back down. "How'd it go?"

"Good." Better than good, but he's more careful now. He keeps a second cache of extra money under a floorboard beneath his bed. Even Marian would have problems sniffing that out. Just in case. "Kind of quiet." Three blowjobs and a half-hearted hand job in the bathroom stall of the subway. Still, it had been fast, leaving him half a night to relax a little, stop a few muggings. Crime is never good for business. The last time there'd been a murder, it had been of an unfortunately semi-prominent member of society, and that had been several very, very bad weeks. Customers get shy of places down here if there's recent proof someone died.

Plus, God knows, Clark really can't afford for the police to be wandering around here too often.

Reaching over, he picks up one of the bags, rummaging until he finds the hamburgers. "How are you feeling?"

She smiles, head cradled on the back of the couch. "Okay. Just still tired. Thanks." Taking the paper wrapped hamburger, she unwraps and takes a small, tentative bite, looking at him the whole time, like a kid waiting for approval. It's unnerving. "Clark. I've--wanted to talk to you about something."

"Okay." This is new. Sitting back, Clark takes a bite of his own, wondering if it's too early in the morning to go to bed and just sleep for a while. He's restless, in this way he knows is new and unsettling, isn't used to at all. A few days ago, he gave up denying it and named it Lex.

He misses Lex.

It's--really strange. It's been nearly three weeks, and God alone knows how many tricks, but he wakes up remembering things about Lex. Not-sexual things, exactly. Normal things. Lex's close and personal relationship with his toothbrush, a full five minute cleaning in the morning. The way he sprawls over the entire bed and Clark, too. The way he smiles at Clark, like he doesn't smile at anyone else. The way he tastes when they kiss--and Lex can kiss for hours, almost all of that Sunday. The bedroom, the living room, in his office chair, until Clark was hardly able to think about anything but that soft, swollen red mouth. It's--distracting even now, in memory.

"It's about--about us. You."

Clark jerks his attention back to her.

"You--you're very fast." She's careful how she says it, like she isn't sure how he'll react. Considering the first time, he'd denied it to her face while standing over the latest in the proto-pimps who saw Marian as easy money, it'd been pretty damned unbelievable.

"Yeah." Even now, it's hard to just spit out like that, and just surreal over a hamburger on their couch. Taking another bite, Clark watches Marian play with hers. Her attention is clearly somewhere else entirely. "Mari. What's the problem?"

"It's--not a problem. Just." She bites her lip. "I know you don't want to let people--see you. Do things. And you don't. But we could--if you wanted to--we could do other things."

Clark's heart seems to skip a beat. "What?"

"Morgan Edge. He'd--Clark. You're exactly the kind of person he'd hire on. And it'd be real money."

Somewhere in the back of his head, Clark feels something burning, hot and bright. "No."

"No, listen first." Putting down the burger, she reaches for him, small fingers wrapped around his upper arm. "You hate this. You hate everything about it. And you're--Clark, he could help us. He could help you. Get you ID and a good place to live and God--you know what he'd do to get someone like you?"

Like hot wax, flowing beneath his skin, all over again. Oh God. Not with Marian. Not with Marian, please. "Mari--"

"It's a hell of a lot better than this. Real money, a nicer place to live, food, not having to worry where we'll get our next trick--Clark. You have to have thought about this!"

No. Never. Not even when he was close to starving. There are so many things he can do now that Smallville Clark never, ever would have done, but work for Morgan Edge--do the things he hires back street thugs to do--no. *No*. "Do you know what he does? What he'd want me to do?"

She looks him straight in the eye. "Yes."

Suddenly, he can't hold the hamburger anymore, his head aching like he was hit by something heavy and hard, though nothing hurts him, and Marian knows that, too. Putting it down with shaking fingers, Clark starts to get up. "Mari, I can't talk about this right now--"

"When are we? When we get evicted? When we're turning tricks just to fucking get in a homeless shelter? We--Clark. Listen to me. I talked to one of Edge's guys--"

"You what?" It's like a nightmare. Not one he's ever had, because--well, it's Marian. And she wouldn't. Never. Never on purpose. But on accident, maybe--.

"Billy. He works the south end for Edge. Security, mostly. Some other stuff. He--Edge is fair, he pays good, he likes his people loyal. You'd be--God, you'd be everything he'd need."

It's like trying to breathe through solid dirt. "What did you tell him?"

Marian blinks, like she has no idea what he's talking about. "That you were special. That Edge could use someone like you. That--"

He has no idea how it happens, but he's got her hand jerked off his arm, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she's staring at him with wide-eyed shock. "About me. About what--about what I can do." It feels like the air in the room is running out. He's never felt anything quite like this. "What, Mari?"

"Clark!" she starts to struggle, fingers prying at his. "Stop it! You're hurting me!"

"Mari, did you--" He can feel it, building behind his eyes, and Marian's right in his line of sight. Jerking his head around, he closes his eyes just a second too late.

Marian's scream is almost drowned out by the pain, though--it, the thing in him, wanted *out*, to burn and break and destroy, not be caught behind his eyelids, dammed up, the pressure a pillow around his head wrapped in solid steel. Oh God, he has to open his eyes, has to, it burns, it hurts, it *hurts*....

"Let me go!"

Instantly, Clark releases her, covering his face with both hands. He can hear Marian moving around the room, cursing, then the hiss of water poured on something hot. Crackling noises that die away too slow.

After a long time, Clark feels the pain start to lessen, pulling back. Reluctant, unhappy it has no target, but it's going, and Clark finally breathes again when it slips back into his head. When he opens his eyes, the world is a little twisted, but nothing breaks into flame.

Marian is crouching by the remains of the television, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes. Even from here, he can see the marks of his fingers in her arm.

Oh God.

"Mari--" Standing up, he almost trips over the coffee table, winding up knocking canned tuna and frozen peas onto the floor. When he looks up, she's moving backward, inch by inch, like she's scared to move too fast. "Marian, no. I'm sorry. I didn't want--I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear. I just--it's. It's this thing. This new thing."

"You set things on fire when you're mad?" She sounds--frighteningly blank. Curling her arms around her updrawn knees, she watches him, flinching when he starts to move toward her again. Oh God, he *hurt* her, and he didn't even mean to. "Just--just stay over there."

"I'd never hurt you." His voice sounds like a broken record, old from too many repeats. It's almost a joke, isn't it? He did hurt her.

"What the hell do you call this?" She motions to her bruised arm, the remains of the television still smoldering. "You--what the fuck is *wrong* with you? What are you?"

I don't fucking *know* he almost yells, but he bites his lip to keep the words from spilling out. "I--I told you. I--I don't know."

"Or you won't tell me. Still don't trust me?" Standing up, she winces again, arm cradled to her chest. More than anything, Clark wants the last few minutes back. He *hurt* her. He almost killed her. He--

"I'm so sorry, Marian. I don't--it just hits me and it--"

"I don't want to hear it. Turning away, she makes her slow way to her room. "Leave me alone, Clark. I'm not--I need some time alone. Just. Look. Think about Edge, okay?" She closes the door between them, and from inside, Clark's almost sure he can hear her crying.

The shaking starts somewhere deep inside, and Clark closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself as his body shivers. He *hurt* her. Marian. Who he was supposed to protect and take care of, his friend, his only real friend. God. *Dammit*. He's never hurt someone by accident like this--except that guy, Jeremy, and he'd--that had been--. And not Marian. No, especially not Marian.

He feels like he's going to throw up.

"I hate this town."

It's like being trapped in some idyllic television show from the sixties, complete with cheerful farmers, amber waves of grain, and a herd of cows within shooting distance of the manor. Which is huge and hot or cold by turns, and so chock full of antiques that Lex wants, more than anything, to burn the thing down for fun. Even if it is stone. Surely something could be used. Anything.

Patiently, Lex takes out his cell phone, stares at the number for Tyler for a few minutes. Reports on Clark aren't the same as standing witness. And it's getting a little disturbing, all things considered--he'd toyed with the idea that once away, Clark might be a little less interesting.

This town, though--with only a meteor shower and a recent mass murder to recommend it--didn't do a damn thing but remind him of how much he'd give to be in Metropolis. With Clark. Taking him to bed, taking him out, taking him in the bathroom, whatever and wherever and whenever, just. Clark. Now.

And three calls a day is just excessive. Period.

The plant manager, Gabe Sullivan, was okay so far, with less in the prejudice against his surname thing, but perennially worried, hair grayer than his age would suggest. His daughter, Lex's assistant had finally explained. Burn ward for over a year now. Still in rehabilitation. Not quite--all there anymore. Lex had bit his lip and nodded, saying all the right words, or the closest approximation he could make, and got away.

So. Dad sent him to a small, apparently fucking *cursed* little town.

"Mr. Luthor? Your mail." His assistant is, at least, not the most annoying person ever. And so far, hasn't tried to hit on him once. He hopes it's because of her wedding ring and not just that she's waiting for an opportune moment. "Can I get anything else for you?"

Lex shakes his head, taking the envelopes. "Not now. Gabe should be stopping in this afternoon, and I'll want no interruptions during my conference with him."

"Sure thing, Mr. Luthor." When she's gone, Lex pulls out his phone again, staring at the face, where the number is still waiting for him to hit talk. Yes, he could call again. He pays Tyler too well for Tyler to want to form any kind of opinion on his boss other than enthusiasm.

There are six messages from his dad waiting, and Lex wonders idly if he can make it to eight before the asshole comes out here to personally deliver his advice at great and tedious length.

And really, that's exactly what he needs. An up close and personal with Daddy. Shit.

Picking up the phone, Lex punches in the number, rubbing his forehead at the incipient headache already forming. It's almost pavlovian. "Hey, Dad."

From the other end, Lex hears soft, even breathing. "Son. How kind of you to call so quickly."

Lex grits his teeth. "I'm working. As agreed. Here I thought you'd be pleased with my industry. What's the problem? Ran out of underlings to make miserable?"

From the other end of the line, Lex hears the most perfect put-upon sigh of a father ever performed. Oscar worthy. Lex thinks of all the things he could be doing now that would be far more interesting--jumping from the turrets of the castle, or running down small rodents on the road. A full proctological exam. Yes. Pleasant things. Comparatively speaking. "Lex--"

"Let's cut the father-son crap. What do you want?"

"I have some information I want you to follow up on when you come home this weekend."

And how the hell did Dad know--

"Dad--"

"Don't bother denying it. It's been longer than I expected before you'd break. Since you're going to be in the city anyway, I thought you might take some time from your busy schedule and use your time in the slums to some purpose. I received an--interesting report from an old business partner."

"Oh?" Lex leans back in his chair.

"Apparently, he's been informed there's an unusually gifted young man who might be of use to him."

"I'm pimping for your friends now?" Dad has *got* to be kidding.

"Of course you'd jump to that conclusion. No. He's been--somewhat reliably informed the young man has some unusual physical abilities. Very fast and very strong, or so he's been told. Possibly, the young prodigy is responsible for several halted muggings in Suicide Alley. Frankly, I'd take it with a grain of salt, but after some discussion with law enforcement--"

"Your pet Phelan?"

"Son." Lex sighs. Well, great. Just fucking great. "There has been a mysterious drop in crime in the area over the last few months. Apparently, the local prostitutes can work easier each night knowing they have a guardian angel." Dad can do irony very well with just his voice. Lex sighs loudly. "Since you'll doubtless be slumming anyway, maybe you'd take this opportunity to research?"

"I'll just ask the next hooker I talk to, Dad. That'll work."

"Or ask your pretty friend--Stella, isn't it?"

Lex closes his eyes.

"It was mentioned she doesn't work the streets as much as usual. I have to admit, for street trash, she's lovely. And sadly simple. Do you usually like them so incredibly stupid?"

"I don't pay her for her brains, Dad. Did you give her a try?"

"I prefer my companions to at least have the semblance of civility and conversation, Lex. Can I hope you'll at least consider it?"

"I'll ask, though I think your business associate is starting to slip. Can I go now?"

"As you wish, son."

Turning off the phone, Lex considers the phone for a second, then puts it down, picking up his cell. Simple. That's new and-- "Stella."

Stella sounds winded, like she was running for the phone.. "*Now* you call me back." He can hear her moving around. Probably getting dressed. Checking the clock--yes, it's her version of morning. He wishes he still lived on a nocturnal clock like this. "Did you get the first five messages? Some old guy came by asking me questions--"

"How was dear old Dad?"

She lets her a breath out in an explosive sound. "What the *hell*? A warning would have been nice here."

Yeah, well, who knew Dad would get interested in his mistress? "I was busy. I won't be next time. When did he come by and what did he want?"

"Last night. Information." He can hear her shifting, the click of a lighter. "Some guy he thinks is special. Wants to know if I know anything about whoever is do-gooding down here." Her voice trickles off as she takes a drag. "Like I pay that much attention."

"Did he sleep with you?"

"I don't like old. Besides, I played dumb." She pauses. "Lex, I'm not stupid. I like my life now, and I like what I get for what I do for you. I'm not fucking that up."

"That'll take some convincing."

She snorts. "You want my report on Clark?"

Lex grins and wonders if he's that easy to read. "Did he seem to know anything about Clark?"

"Nope. I probed a little, but he was more interested in whoever the hell it is he heard about. And to see if you left anything incriminating around here. He checked my bedroom and the living room pretty thoroughly. I'm pretty sure he's having me watched--there's some people around the street who don't belong."

"Don't worry about it. He's just fishing."

She pauses. "If he wants--" She stops short. There's no good way, Lex supposes, to ask if you should sleep with your employer's father for the greater good.

"I'm not going to encourage you to seduce my father." But. Lex shivers. "But I'm not going to fire you if you find the opportunity useful, either."

"I only do it for money, sweetie."

"I'll pay you for your time."

He can almost see her grin. "Anyway. Clark's the only one working right now. Marian's pretty quiet. Last week, went around to see some old friends, but nothing weird. He's pretty much either working or sleeping, not much else. He looks tired."

He probably is. Lex closes his eyes, imagining Clark as he saw him the morning he dropped him off. So pretty. God. It's been too long. "If he's the only one working, probably so. I'm coming down this weekend. Do you need anything?"

"A car would be nice."

Lex remembers now why he likes her. "What can you give me for it?'

Her voice drops instantly. She gives good phone. "A lot of things. Especially information you didn't ask for."

Good phone *and* good information. "I'm listening."

"Some of your set are slumming, but they're staying very sober for boys who are playing. And they're new. Really new. Friends of that kid you fucked over, I think."

Now that's new and disturbing. "And?"

"They're really interested in who the girl in the pictures is that got plastered all over Metropolis. Not to mention the boy."

Shit. "And?"

"Who took the pictures. They're pretty sure it's you, in case you're curious."

Like that isn't obvious. "You dyed your hair?"

"Yeah. I'm not worried. I fucked one of them and he never caught on."

"Name?"

"Jessie something. Stewart? Lousy fuck."

Lex sighs. It's not a surprise. It's just--so fucking inconvenient.

"Thought you might want to know." Stella sounds a little breathless now. Deciding what car she wants, probably. "I called in some favors around town to watch for them and tell me if they start sniffing around too much. They're really not making themselves popular. And they don't pay for shit."

He really, really likes her. "What kind of car?"

From the other end comes a little giggle. "Maserati. Red."

"I'll bring it myself. You have any plans Thursday night?"

Her voice drops again, and Lex shifts in his chair, wishing he was at home and could indulge himself. So not a good time for this. On the other hand, Thursday is tomorrow. "Not anymore."

"Be home." Still smiling, he clicks the phone off, considering. So much to do, so little time. Authorize Tyler to hire a couple more people to do some watching, of both Clark and Stella. Buy a car. Let Gabe know he'll be in charge of the plant on Friday. And call Clark. It's been a month, and that's way too damn long.

Lex glances around his office, wondering if the rest of this six months is going to be as painfully slow as the first. It's nice not to be bored, though.

Clark's wrapped up in music. Just watching is pretty damn nice. Long body in old, faded jeans and a tight shirt that couldn't quite manage to cover his stomach. Clark's a much better dancer with someone else than he is alone.

Though Lex would prefer it was him and not someone else. Finishing his drink, he crosses the room, letting the alcohol slip through him, softening the edges of everything.

And it makes it terribly logical to grab the back of the shirt of whoever's with Clark and pull him out of the way. "He's taken."

A sputtered noise erupts, but Lex turns back to Clark, who opens his eyes on a grin. No one smiles like Clark. "Lex?"

"You owe me some weekends."

Clark's arms loop around his shoulders, pulling them into a full-body grind. Oh yeah. He's missed this. "I thought you were occupied with Stella and her friend."

He won't even ask how Clark knows that. "That was just an appetizer. I've been in the boondocks. They don't even have porn." Beneath the shirt, Clark's skin is hot and slick with sweat. Lex draws slow fingers down his back, watching the green eyes glaze, pink tongue caught between his teeth. Pretty, pretty, pretty....

"You've suffered." The soft lips brush his, and Lex leans into it, sliding his other hand in thick dark hair, closing his eyes. Clark learned this from him, that little flicker of tongue, the way he nips, and it's hot, even hotter than watching him dance. Clark pulls back with a wet sound that goes straight to his cock. "I--missed you."

He does look tired, Lex thinks, studying him as one jeans-clad leg slides between his. Something in his attitude, in the tension beneath his skin, the shadows under his eyes. Working enough to take care of both himself and his friend. But right now, it's so hard to think of anything but that smooth skin, and that mouth, nipping just below his jaw.

And--missed him. "Did you?"

Clark ducks his head. "I'm used to having you around, you know. It's weird not to see you."

Lex nods, leaning into Clark, letting the music soak through him. It's sucked. He must have forgotten more about Clark than he realized, because if he'd remembered how good he felt, there's no way he could have stayed away so long. Or at all. Importing him to Smallville seems like a better idea by the second. For an extended stay. "Believe it or not, I missed you, too."

Clark snickers. "From what Stella tells me, you sure missed some things about the city."

Jesus. "Do you two always gossip about your clients?"

Clark's smile is sunny. "Just the ones we like. It bother you?"

He's--not sure. Maybe?

"It's not like I'm going to get jealous or something." Another kiss, fast and bright. "Though maybe I'd get a little weirded out if it was another guy. A blow to my professional standing, you know."

"Uh huh."

"Reputation is everything down here," Clark says very seriously, lips moving against Lex's mouth. "You want this weekend?"

"Yes." Lex isn't sure he's even breathing anymore. Moving against that strong thigh, Clark's pretty, pretty mouth so close, and silky hair, so good, how could he have left this? "Definitely yes."

He can feel Clark's grin against his mouth before the next melting kiss. Clark's so good at this. Sliding his hand into the top of his jeans, Lex strokes the sweaty small of his back. Such wonderful skin. So soft. So--God. Damn. He grinds down on the offered thigh, feeling his breathing speed up. "Clark."

"Like that?" It's whispered into his ear, soft and lazy, and somehow, Clark's hand's between them, knuckles sliding down the front of his pants with gentle brutality. "Been thinking of me?"

"Every. Damned. Day." And who the hell needs porn with these kind of memories? Lex doesn't.

"What?" Lex wonders when exhibitionism became this much of a kink. Clark's unbuttoned the top of his jeans. This can't go anywhere--oh God--good. So good. So very, very good. "Lex?"

"Hmm?" He won't need much, not with that husky voice right by his ear. Is Clark like this with everyone, or just with him?

"Tell me what you were thinking about out there in the boondocks."

Jesus, Clark wants him to *talk*? "You--you've got to be kidding." He's not sure he's capable of another full sentence now. Clark's throat tastes like sweat, but not like anyone else. Maybe there haven't been any other tricks tonight. Good. Very, very good.

"Me in your bed? Or me on my knees?" Clark's hand is down his pants. Lex loses the ability to breathe at the first careful stroke of those fingers. Clark's hand is *down his pants* in the middle of a club--a seedy club, which has probably seen much more explicit, but still. And he doesn't even care. "What, Lex?"

He can't even begin to work a sentence. The entire world is Clark's mouth against his ear, Clark's back beneath his hands, and Clark rubbing his cock in slow circles. So. Fucking. Hot.

"What did you think about, Lex?"

"Corn," he hears himself say. What? "For--for fucking *miles*, nothing but corn. And I thought--Jesus. I thought about fucking you in a field of it. And I--God. Clark."

"And?" The rhythm seems to falter, but Clark's husky voice is still doing amazing things, and the even teeth close on his ear. Oh God.

"I--I'd think about it and buy corn. Can't stop eating it now. Clark, we can't here--"

"Why not? Everyone knows who we are." Clark's tongue slides into his ear, wet and hot. "And what we're doing. What I'm doing to you."

Yes, they do. If they don't, they're idiots.

"I don't--" Another tiny flicker of fingers over the head of his cock, and Lex loses the ability to breathe. "I don't want to come in my pants, Clark." Though he's not sure he actually cares now. He pushes into the hand, into Clark's mouth, and it's so good and he's been gone too long and there is no way--

"Come with me."

He'd follow Clark off a cliff right now. Long fingers slide through his, pulling him, and Lex follows blindly, aware that his pants are unbuttoned and unable to really give much of a shit.

A second, a closed door--bathroom?--and then Clark pushes him back into the wall and drops to his knees.

"Oh *God*." And yes. And thank you. Oh yes. Oh fucking yes.

Clark's beautiful, sweet mouth, stretched around his cock. Just looking sends sparks down his spine, and Lex twists his fingers in the dark hair. There's no way he can stop himself. There's no way he can even figure out how.

Coming, like falling off a building or running a car off a cliff. Every muscle stretched too tight and too far. Clark. God, Clark.

A few blinding seconds pass, then Clark slides his mouth away, staring up at Lex with glassy eyes. A pink tongue slips out, licking away a smear of come by his mouth. This kid--Lex licks his lips, trying to catch his breath. "You're amazing."

Clark grins, a little lopsided, then stands up. Lex tries to untangle his hands from the dark hair, but Clark is kissing him--God, really kissing him, strong tongue and tasting like salt and Lex. So fucking sexy. He could get hard from this again, way too fast.

When Clark draws back, he looks breathless. "Ready to get out of here?"

Get Clark alone. In bed. Yes. "Absolutely."

They end up in a diner, with Clark attacking a double cheeseburger and fries like it's his first meal in weeks. Lex hides a frown behind a glass of water. Tyler hadn't said Clark wasn't eating, but it's not like he can get the man inside Clark's apartment to watch him eat.

Yet, anyway.

"So how is everything?" he asks when Clark comes up for air. The ketchup stained grin makes him smile back, and also reminds him how young Clark is. God. He doesn't need to think about that right now.

"Okay." Clark studies his remaining fries like a battle plan. Yes, hungry boy. "Busy."

"And Marian?"

It's a flinch. It's concealed under a reach for a fry, but it's definitely a flinch. "Okay. Tired a lot. Toby says that's normal for--recovery."

"Ahh." So, bad topic. He'll have to ask Tyler to watch Marian more carefully. "You seem--a little out of it."

Clark shrugs, going for more fries. "I'm just--it's been a busy few weeks. And Marian's been sick, so, you know."

Yes, a single income family after having two incomes can't be easy. Lex takes another quick drink and pushes his fries across the table. "Here, eat these. There's no way I can finish them."

Clark shows no hesitation. Abandoning the ruin of his plate, he focuses on Lex's. This kid needs to be fed more. Lots more. "So. Did you have plans this weekend?"

Clark snorts. "Not a lot. Sitting around, working, reading a little, I guess."

"Sworn off TV?"

Another flinch, and Clark drops his fry. Okay, what the hell? "Clark?"

Clark looks up. "Ah. No. I just. Broke the other one. Need to check into getting another one."

And that's a reason to look that guilty? Lex picks up the check and takes out his wallet, giving Clark time to finish his demolition of dinner uninterrupted. Mentally, he tries to remember what he has at the penthouse that Clark can consume easily. Maybe just leave it out randomly and let Clark attack at will.

When the last fry has been chased down and lost it's life, Clark finishes off his soda, leaning back with a little satisfied smile. It's so cute. Lex wishes it was less in the way of cute. *Sixteen*.

"Are you enjoying work?" Clark asks abruptly as the waitress walks up. Lex hands her the money before turning his attention to Clark. "I mean, you were--kinda not happy."

"'Kind of not happy' is running out of gas in the middle of Metropolis, comparatively speaking. It's--" Lex tilts his head, watching Clark's slow smile. "What?"

"You've been busy, though."

"The epic mismanagement that's gone on until now has kept me busy. It does not stop it from being a nightmare." A long, boring nightmare. In monochrome, even. Lex wonders if fleeing the country with only his trust fund is really that bad an idea. Surely he can find a way to tempt Clark to come with him. "And--" He hesitates, but Clark's listening attentively . Lex finds himself, strangely enough, believing Clark might actually be interested. "My father isn't exactly popular there." To say the least.

Clark nods slowly. "So they take it out on you?"

The operative word is 'shun'. Other than Gabe and Lex's assistant, that is. "They don't trust me."

"Give them time."

Clark looks so serious when he says it, too. Lex tries to read the intent behind it, but Clark is for shit in hiding things, really, so it might be just good will. A novel concept. "Anyway. Have a question for you. Well, my dad does, anyway, and apparently, I'm the new errand boy."

Clark nods, sipping at the melted water in his glass. "Sure. What?"

"Heard anything about whoever it is that's stopping all those muggings downtown?"

Lex watches in mild bemusement as Clark starts to cough, eyes widening. Pushing the glass away, he grabs for a napkin, face reddening. Fascinating. Also, sadly, hot, but Clark is pretty much the definition of hot. Lex finds himself wondering again how far down that blush goes.

"What?" Clark finally chokes out. "Uh, muggings?"

"Some guy that stops them or something. It's--weird." And pointless. Only Dad would ask him to do something this stupid. "Never mind. Another idiotic urban rumor." Come to think, he should have asked Stella more about it, but there'd been so many more interesting things to do. As the waitress returns with their change, Lex gets up. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Clark nods absently, wiping at his mouth. Dropping the change on the table, Lex gives the waitress a smile--it never hurts to be charming, no matter who it is---and follows Clark out.

Clark likes the penthouse.

It's not the luxury, though he'll admit a certain kind of happiness comes from sinking into warm, soft leather in front of a huge television under a thick, comfortable blanket. It's not even the endless supply of food Lex offers, now reduced to scraps on the coffee table, though there's a lot to be said for good food. It's not even the fact that this is an entire weekend he doesn't have to worry about Marian or tricking or how to pay the bills, but he'll admit that it helps.

He just likes Lex, who fits here best, and Clark likes to be where Lex fits. It's--safe. It's comfortable and peaceful and there's six remote controls and fluffy pillows and no noise from any other apartment, and Lex, curled up at one end of the couch, absently stroking his hair while deeply engrossed in something Japanese that's apparently fascinating and subtitled and involves a lot of weapons.

Lex is warm and kind and his fingers sometimes slip down Clark's cheek, and he likes that, too. Makes it easy to watch with half-closed eyes and no idea what's going on, and just enjoy it. Enjoy Lex.

"You're exhausted, aren't you?" Lex's voice seems to come out of nowhere. Forcing his eyes open, Clark rolls onto his back so he can see Lex above him, a small smile curving his mouth. God, Clark likes that smile.

"Sorry. I can--" He almost thinks about getting up. Yes, he could really get used to this too easy.

"Don't you dare move. I don't mind." The hand on his head tightens, almost pulling his hair, and Clark grins. "You're just doing too much."

Clark sighs a little. "I'm fine. It's just been a rough few weeks. It'll get better." Marian seems better. Well, did until he hurt her. Now she won't even look at him. Closing his eyes, Clark turns his head into Lex's stomach, breathing in the smell of detergent and the smell of him. It's nice. Relaxing, even.

"Mmm." The hand starts stroking again, and just maybe, Clark has found his definition of bliss. This here. Like this. "I could--"

"No." He doesn't even bother opening his eyes.

"I could indenture you for a weekend every month for the rest of your life if you want." Lex sounds amused, but--something else, too. Hurt? Maybe. Clark forces his eyes open again. Lex's face doesn't show anything, but that doesn't mean much. Lex can do that sometimes.

"I--" Why's he objecting? It's not like Stella isn't doing great from whatever offer he made her. Her place is nice, and in a part of town without much of a crime rate and, well, she doesn't act like Lex asks her to do unspeakable things or anything. At least, nothing unspeakable that she doesn't do already. She seems pretty happy with the world, really, and always has a lot of ho-hos for him to eat when he comes by. Thank God. He doesn't have much of a budget for random junk food anymore. "It's weird."

"That I want to buy you things?" Lex's voice is even, but the ripple underneath is still hurt.

"It's not you. It's just." Clark takes a deep breath. "I sort of like you, you know?"

"This is comforting."

"I don't want to use you." Yes, that makes sense. Clark closes his eyes, wondering if a quick blowjob would distract Lex so this conversation is completely forgotten. Probably not. Lex thinks way too much. "I mean, I like you and I don't want to take advantage."

When he looks at Lex, he seems--thoughtful. "Okay."

The stroking continues. Clark lets his eyes close, then sighs softly. "Did--did I hurt your feelings?"

Even to himself, it sounds hopelessly childish. Wow, go Clark. Way to be an adult there.

"Maybe." The stroking slows. "Believe it or not, Clark, I sometimes just like to do things because I can. Not because I want something."

"I--know." And he does. "And I'm appreciative. I am. I just--" Clark bites down before he says something really silly. "Anyway, I'm okay right now. Toby's great with Marian."

"I should hope so." A gentle finger traces Clark's jaw. Clark leans into it, wondering if this is why cats always look so self-satisfied when they're getting petted. He can totally understand. "Just rest. I'll wake you up for bed."

Clark lets his eyes fall closed. He *is* tired. Work and the saving thing and everything else. And wow, so someone's been talking about that? Damn. And it had to be Lex's dad--or someone who told Lex's dad, which is just too convoluted for words to describe. It's not like he isn't careful--from what he can tell, no one's gotten a good look or even a really bad one at him yet. Mysterious urban rumors are okay. He's careful. And most of the guys he stops are very, very stupid, and the victims a little too shocked to be watching very carefully.

He barely wake up when Lex nudges him, letting himself be pulled unresisting to the bedroom, be stripped down to bare skin and appreciative hands that slide him under soft sheets and warm blankets. Lex is warm behind him, a gentle hand on his stomach, smoothing slow circles into his skin, and Clark smiles, wondering if he should tell Lex that in moments like this, the idea of being kept doesn't seem that bad at all.

He's asleep before he can finish the thought.

It's like a vacation, and Clark worries about that a little.

There's something addictive about Lex and the penthouse. Not just the food. Really not just the food.

Clark stretches on the couch, grinning to himself at the way Lex's eyes fix and glaze from the desk, almost forgetting the laptop until it beeps at him, in frustration, Clark thinks, relaxing again. Lex has seen everything, with eyes and fingers and the tip of that soft little tongue, but it's like it's always new to him. Clark isn't sure that isn't as addictive as anything else. He's never had so much attention focused on him like this, like there's nothing else in the world.

Whatever he's doing at that plant, Clark thinks, it's changed him, though Clark can't quite put his finger on the difference. The lazy sprawl against the armchair is the same--Lex made the comment that the next desk he sees he'll burn and dance on the ashes--but the sharp eyes are interested. He likes what he does, Clark thinks. He may even be good at it. Clark wonders if Lex has figured either of those things out for himself.

It's a tiny, easily submergible ache. Men who grow up to become successful businessmen don't patronize the streets for easy sex or pseudofriends.

Pushing the laptop aside, Lex flickers his fingers over the keys with a yawn, shutting down. "Done. God, I hate paperwork."

"You sure seemed interested."

Lex gives him a sharp smile from the other side of the coffee table. "The day that spreadsheets become my life passion is the day I take a walk off the top of the building. Bored?"

Clark shrugs. He is, but it's interesting to watch Lex work, enjoy the novelty of laying on a couch with nothing to do and nothing to worry about. He watches Lex stand up, stretching like a cat, before crossing to the couch, straddling him with an easy swing of one long leg. Lex has his own kind of fascination for Clark. He doesn't move like anyone Clark's ever met. Settling on top, Lex's hands rest lightly on his chest, warm through the thin t-shirt. "How can I entertain you?"

Clark grins. "Isn't it more, how can I entertain *you*?"

"Semantics." The hands are distracting, slipping under the hem of his shirt, tracing his stomach with teasing touches, the occasional scrape of sharp nails. "I'm thinking of--"

"Lex."

Lex freezes. Clark frowns at the look on Lex's face before one hand slides up and fingers cover his mouth lightly.

"Dad. A pleasure." Swiveling, the Lex turns enough to rest his arms on the back of the couch, head perched on top. Clark can't see his expression, but he can feel the tension, like knots beneath Lex's skin.

So this is Lionel Luthor, who freaked out Stella and makes Lex so--tense. Some other word, that Clark thinks he should know. Carefully keeping his hands from sight of the top of the couch, he cups Lex's hips, rubbing his fingers gently into corded muscle. God knows what Lex's father would think of finding Lex with a teenage prostitute.

"Any reason you're still in the city?" From the sounds, Lionel's not moving.

"Trying very desperately to remind myself why on earth I let myself be exiled into that hellhole you sent me to." Lex's voice is hard, but the muscles beneath Clark's hands are pliant for his touch.

"Your lovely Stella seems to be enjoying herself in your absence."

Clark almost grins as Lex rolls his eyes. "I don't pay her for fidelity, Dad. And you're here because--"

"I wanted to see if you'd made any progress in the investigation. But you seem to be otherwise occupied at the moment."

Clark stiffens at the sound of shoes coming their way. Lex follows his father's progression like a man watching a snake, one hand falling to Clark's chest. A single, flickering look down is his only warning before Lionel Luthor is looking straight at him from the chair across the coffee table.

Really amused, too. Clark understands instantly why Lex is so tense. He's feeling the same way.

"Yes, you are." Lex sighs dramatically, easing to his feet, and Clark forces himself to move, pulling himself into a seated position against the armrest. Lex sits back down beside him, pulling one of Clark's legs into his lap, watching his father. "And if you left, this would not be a problem."

Lionel's looks are like Lex's, but not. The heat is there, but it feels like when he's tricking, the way men and women look at him. Like Lex, he realizes, never does. He feels the blush start in his cheeks and flare outward, completely outside his control. And God, blushing *now*….

"Pretty, Lex. Where'd you find him? The local high school?"

"Local playground," Lex says, fingering Clark's jeans with a casualness even Clark can see is forced. "What do you want?"

"I asked you to look into something for me." Lionel pauses, eyes fixing on Lex's hands. "If you'd send your little--friend away--"

"I like him where he is." A hand closes on Clark's knee to punctuate it as a silent command. That's good. Clark's not sure his knees will hold him up right now. "And no, I don't have anything for you, as I told your new secretary when I called yesterday. What do you do to them, by the way? This is the fifth one this year."

Lionel frowns between them. "I thought Smallville would be an educational experience for you. But judging from today, I'm beginning to wonder if there's anything that will avert you from the course of mediocrity you seem determined to pursue."

It takes a second to penetrate--a second where Clark is sure that he completely misheard the word, then another where he searches his memory for Lex referring to where he'd gone. Shithole. Crap factor. Boondocks. And in Smallville, Clark thinks, stomach sinking, there's a plant, where Chloe's dad works.

Oh *God*. Lex is in *Smallville*.

"….and I could do without it." The hand on Clark's leg is gripping so hard that a normal person might be wincing, but Clark can't bring himself to care. Lex is in Smallville. Where everything is, where everything he doesn't think about--where it all--

He hears his own breath too loud and too fast, feels Lex's eyes flicker to him, then Lex pushes his leg off and stand up.

"Dad, great chat, but I have plans, so if you'd leave…" He trails off, eyes never leaving his father.

"I'd advocate discretion, Lex, considering small town attitudes toward--behavior such as this." Somehow, Lionel makes it sound dirty. Sex. Not prostitution, but *sex* itself.

"I really don't care." Lex is walking around the couch, and fingers trail his shoulder, so gently that Clark wonders what he must look like. The sharp blue gaze is worried before flickering back to Lionel. "I'm returning tomorrow night, and I have a lot of catching up to do. So please, show yourself out." Lex waits, standing at the arm of the couch, and Clark keeps his eyes fixed on the far wall. His heart is slamming so hard into his chest that he wonders if he'll somehow manage to hyperventilate himself, and wouldn't that be new and freaky to do?

Over the sound of rushing blood, Clark hears Lionel's voice, sharp and mocking, then Lex and Lionel are both gone, doubtless Lex shuffling him out of the living room. Thank God. Except--except Lex will come *back*, and he'll have questions, and Clark has no idea what he's going to say.

An eternity later, Lex is back, straddling his lap with an annoyed look that melts into concern. "Don't worry about it. He's--like that."

Like that? Clark tries to pull it together, but warm hands settle on his cheeks, Lex's eyes peering into his. "You okay?"

"Yeah." No, not really, but Clark knows how to fake it. He's good at that. Lex thinks his dad had done that, and that's--really good, actually. "Stella said what he was like, but." And in retrospect, Clark gets what she'd said about how he looked at people. Not just people like Clark, but people like Lex, his own son. That look that strips you naked and touches you all over, in all the ways you don't want.

Lex sighs. "He's--I don't know what he is, and I don't care anymore." Lex's hands are gentle now, fingering his hair. "He likes to fuck up my life."

"Stella said she couldn't tell if he wanted to fuck her or kill her just for fun." Stella had said a lot of things, and to think he'd thought she'd been exaggerating. Lex grins down at him, but there's an edge in his smile that Clark doesn't like to see.

"He has a thing for my lovers." It's stated baldly, like it's nothing at all, but Clark hears something under it, too. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Fine, Clark almost says, but he's not. Lex is in *Smallville*, and God, when Lex had mentioned the boondocks, why the hell hadn't Clark questioned him about it? Damn. And fuck. And double fuck at that. "But. I might feel better if you kissed me."

Lex smiles at him, slow and warm. "Anything you want, Clark."

It's a thing, Clark thinks hazily, letting himself be spread over the couch, quick fingers sliding his shirt up and pulling it off him. Lex's mouth. The way Lex kisses. It's all smooth and rich and sweet, precise, like someone tasting an expensive dessert. Clark's kissed more people than he can count, but none of them are like Lex, and he's never just enjoyed it, this slow necking, like they're both teenagers in a small town. Wet and slippery, soft and warm, all-encompassing, like this is the only thing on earth worth doing right now. Lex's hand is warm on his chest, his stomach, sliding slowly over his skin like he's being mapped. Clark keeps his eyes closed at the pressure against his neck, sensitive skin goosebumping at the way Lex draws with his tongue. Clark arches his back, letting Lex have all the access he wants.

"You taste good," Lex murmurs against his skin, stopping for an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of shoulder and neck that makes Clark shiver. "Smell good, too."

Clark hears himself chuckle, running his hands up Lex's back beneath his shirt, wondering if he can coax Lex to take it off. "I smell like you."

Lex lifts his head to look at Clark. The swollen red lips stretch in a slow grin, so hot that Clark shifts, almost tingling. "I like it."

Sitting up, Lex pulls the rucked shirt over his head, and oh, skin. That wonderful, silky, flawless skin, that Clark can touch all he wants, because Lex likes that. Likes the skate of Clark's fingertips and the scratch of his nails and Clark really *can't* get enough of it. No one he's touched has ever felt this good. When Lex leans down to kiss him again, one hand braced on the armrest behind Clark, he reaches for it, tracing his hands over Lex's back, taking in the muscle beneath the thin coat of flesh, the softness, the smoothness he could lose himself in.

The slow, insistent rub of Lex's hips against him just make it better, setting off a low burn that makes Clark shiver more. Sex is work, but this isn't anything like a trick in an alley, almost not even sex. Which is ridiculous if he thinks about it, so he doesn't, just enjoys Lex like Lex enjoys him.

And Lex likes every touch, never pushing Clark's hands away, even from his head, which Clark knows instinctively is off-limits to everyone except, maybe, him. That small knot on the back that makes Lex shiver when Clark draws his thumbnail gently across, not enough to hurt, just to make Lex *do* that. Lex's hips push into his, grinding down, and Clark wonders if Lex wants more, but when he reaches down, touching hardness under soft wool, a hand catches his, trapping it against the arm of the couch.

"Not yet." Clark nods, but Lex holds his hand there, half sitting up to look at him from glazed blue eyes. A single finger traces his chest from collarbone to navel, circling to rub a thumb over the trail of dark hair that disappears into his jeans. The feeling sends a shiver up Clark's spine that he can't control, doesn't even want to. Then he reaches for Clark's other hand, raising it to rest on the armrest beside the first. "Keep your hands there."

Dry mouthed, Clark nods, and satisfied, Lex sits back, resting his weight on Clark's hips. Pressure and warmth and that look that Lex gives him, heavy and rich, face flushed, licking his lips as he watches Clark. It's impossible to look away, even when both hands rest lightly on his chest, sliding slowly down, brushing his nipples with a flickering touch that sends another shiver down Clark's spine. "Like that?"

Clark nods, catching his breath when the fingers return, one brushing the nipple again, harder, and Clark almost arches into the feeling. It's--so different. Lex does this like he's creating art, dedicated and focused, and it's *good*.

Lex kisses him again, wet mouth, aggressive tongue, laying siege on unclaimed territory, fast and blinding. Clark can't keep up, sucks when Lex is still enough for him to try, pulling out a soft groan from the man above him that's making him feel like this. Marian had said it didn't have to be terrible, or boring, or ridiculous, and he hadn't believed her, but wow. This is--this is--

Teeth pulling on his lip, mouth sliding down, sucking on his skin, tickling his ear with a slow, wet insinuation that's almost like fucking, and so, so hot. Closing over his nipple, and Clark doesn't expect that at all, hears himself stutter a breath, moving into it without thinking. Lex's hips rock in tiny circles, pressure against his cock, and Clark's dizzily aware he's getting hard, denim rubbing irritatingly against suddenly sensitive skin. If he's not careful, he'll punch his fingers straight through the leather.

"Lex." He tries to form more words, but his breath catches at the teeth on his nipple, Lex's fingers twisting the other, and he--God, he *squirms*, like a kid in class, moving with the pressure of Lex's hips.

"All that time out there, I thought about you," Lex whispers, looking up into his eyes. Licking his lips again, he rides Clark's body in slow, practiced rolls of his hips. Lex is as good at sex as Clark is--better, maybe. "About you here, on my couch, in my bed. Pretty and rumpled, like someone's been fucking you. Playing with you."

Clark smiles, catching his breath at the slow circle of Lex's hips. "Wonder--who."

Lex blows softly across the wet skin of his chest, and Clark shivers again. It feels *good*. So good, like this is exactly what he's supposed to be doing, like this is something to be enjoyed, wallow in, this feeling, these touches.

"I like you like this." Lex arches like a cat, tongue licking a stripe from belly to collarbone, blowing cool air as his skin dries. "I'd keep you, you know. Lock you up in here, just for me to see and touch."

It should be a little scary, because Clark almost thinks Lex means it.

"Chain you up in my bed." Another lick, and Clark forces himself to breathe through the feeling. It shouldn't be this hot to hear Lex say things like that. Hands on his jeans unfasten the button, pulling them open, and Lex's knuckles brush his cock, teasingly light. "I'd never let anyone else touch you, look at you. All of this, just for me."

I'd let you, Clark almost says, dizzy with the images of Lex, stretched helplessly on those soft sheets, watching Lex undress, fine silky shirt and soft wool pants falling to the floor, revealing lengths of perfect skin to feel. Never have to worry about anyone else, wonder how he'll pay the bills or escape detection, do nothing but be whatever it is Lex wants him to be. Dangerous, his head tells him, it's dangerous, he'll figure out what you are, if he doesn't suspect already, and he's got to. He's in Smallville, and soon, someone will say something and Lex isn't stupid, he'll figure it out, or some of it, and oh God, what--no.

Lex's mouth on his lower stomach erases the thought.

But with Lex's clever fingers on his cock, smiling at him, pleased he could coax Clark to breathless pants, it doesn't seem so bad. "I want--"

Lex lifts his head, mouth shiny and soft looking. "Anything you want."

The sheer possibilities are enough to make him catch his breath. Clark reaches down, skating his fingers over Lex's shoulders, down his chest. So different from anyone else, in every way Clark knows. "I want to touch you."

Lex smiles, nodding permission, and Clark sits up, reaching for him. Turning them so Lex is under him, thighs spread across his, watching with hungry fascination. So different from the man who didn't want them when they met.

"Lex," Clark hears himself say, before he loses himself in all the touching. "I--when we met."

"Mmm." It's amazing what he can do to Lex with this. He doesn't look like this when Clark is blowing him or giving him a hand job or even when he's fucking Clark. Soft and satisfied and pleased all at once, but almost passive. Like he trusts Clark, which would be kind of crazy if it wasn't Lex, who doesn't do or think things like anyone Clark has ever met.

"Why didn't you--" Clark stops on the words. Thinking of how it would have been, he wonders what Lex would have been like as his first lover. Lex, who makes him feel things, want to feel things. "You didn't want me then."

Lex's eyes open as Clark circles a nipple absently with his thumb, raising it pink and hard.

"You were--" Lex stops, obviously having to think about it. "I wanted you, Clark. Since I first saw you." One leg slides around his waist, heel against the small of his back, pushing them together. Lex makes a low, pleased sound at the pressure, and Clark has to brace a hand on the couch above Lex's head to catch himself. Rubbing against denim, and he's never wanted to be naked like he does now, feel Lex against him, skin to skin, cock to cock.

"You didn't think I'd be good at it?"

Lex's eyes widen, and both hands are on his face, drawing him down, close enough that their lips almost touch.

"You didn't want it." The intensity is hard to look away from, and Clark can't even make himself try. "But I wanted you. I wanted you when we met the first time, and the second time, and every minute between and since."

"For sex."

The blue eyes seem to spark. "To have." He stops more words with a slick, messy kiss, harder, tongue matching the rock of their hips together, and Clark has to pull away to breathe, panting at the warmth pooling at the base of his spine, the places Lex's fingers touch on his face. Reaching down, Lex pushes down Clark's jeans further, then unbuttons his own. "I wish I had. I wish I'd locked the doors and kept you in my bed and showed you everything and how good it could be." Cock free, the leg around Clark tightens, and Clark loses his train of thought at the feeling. Smooth, silky skin, hard and slick, rubbing against his. "It can be like this. Where you just do it to feel good."

Clark nods, feeling the heat creeping up his spine and down to his ass.

"When you do it with someone you like, someone you care about." Lex's breath is as ragged as his. "Someone who makes you want to feel."

God. Clark feels himself flushing, but Lex's hands twined in his hair don't let him look away, escape what Lex is saying or what he's feeling. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

There aren't words to describe this. Faint memories of jerking off in the barn to thoughts of Lana are eclipsed by this feeling. He wants--Clark isn't sure what he wants, just *more*, and *please* and he realizes he's saying it between breathless pants, muscles tight, skin feeling too small. Lex pulls him down for a rough kiss, teeth and tongue and lips and the faint taste of blood, and it's like some kind of sign for Clark's body, licking the taste of Lex's blood from his lips when his body feels like it's coming apart.

A dragging second where he feels Lex come, hot and wet against his stomach, before he comes, too, staring into wide blue eyes, utterly shocked. God, this is what Stella had been telling him about, Marian had been saying, and he never *got* it.

Collapsed on Lex's chest, Clark drags in air, feeling the fingers in his hair slowly unclench, softening to stroke down his back. He's shaking and can't figure out why. Coming with some guy's mouth wrapped around his cock had never been even *close* to this.

"Like that," Lex whispers. "Soon, you'll come like that when I'm sucking you, and when I'm inside you, and when you're inside me, and it'll be even better."

Clark nods, breath stuttering at the images Lex paints in his mind. Closing his eyes at the possessive arm around his shoulders, letting the warmth close over him like a blanket, Clark never, ever wants to even *think* of moving anytime soon. Luckily, Lex's arms around him seem to agree, and Clark lets the feeling coat him inside and out.

Worries about Smallville and Lex there seem very far away.

Oh God, he hates Smallville *so much*.

Five hours ago, he arrived in the castle to find Dad already in residence, and eight days ago, he left a sleepy Clark in that hideous apartment, too big for the small twin bed he rolled into, falling asleep almost before Lex left the room. He's beginning to feel like a junkie, twitching at the absence. Metropolis. Clark. Either/or. God dammit, he wants to be anywhere but here.

He could be in Metropolis. He could be in Metropolis *right now*, doing something useful, doing something interesting, doing anything and everything and every*one* but this, Clark especially, Clark included.

Instead, he is crunching numbers via spreadsheet and on his third bottle of brandy for the day.

Because? His life sucks.

Life was so much better when there was less paper involved.

"Mr. Luthor?"

He wonders if he'll ever stop looking for his father when he hears that. Turning his head, he rubs the back of his neck, trying to work out the kinks. Has it been six months yet?

"There's someone here to see you. Something about a deliveries--" She trails off, obviously waiting for him to catch up with the program.

Lex stares at her blankly, coming up empty. "Deliveries?"

She almost sighs. "For the castle? You ordered--"

"Oh!" Oh, thank God. If he has to eat one more vegetable from the local grocery store, he just might start mutating. What the hell do these people *do* to their produce? "Send him in."

"Her, sir." With a flicker of skirt, his secretary wanders out, and Lex takes a second to admire the high cut of the A-line riding up the back of her thighs before sitting back, trying to organize his expression into something approaching professional.

A few long seconds, then "Mrs. Kent, sir."

The woman that comes in seems vaguely familiar, but then again, *Smallville*, so really, he could have seen her before. Faded red hair and faded blue eyes. Lex flips his mental spreadsheets and finds the name. Kent. Organic farm, on the brink of bankruptcy. His father's never mentioned them, but a cursory background check shows his bank holds the mortgage to their land. He could swear there's something about pie in there, but he'd been too distracted to pay attention, and really, it wasn't important. He just wants decent food. "Mrs. Kent. Please, take a seat."

She eyes him suspiciously but settles herself on a chair. Lex stares at his secretary until she takes the hint and vanishes out the door with an offended click of heels. He's still torn on whether she works for his father or just likes to know everything.

"Mr. Luthor." She sees Lionel when she looks at him--he's never done anything to merit that particular look. Fine, at that. He's so not interested in rehabilitating the Luthor name. "You wanted to be added to our delivery route?"

"Yes." Lex tries not to fiddle with a pen and fails. This is what his life's been reduced to. Signing contracts for organic produce and making big vats of terrible fertilizer. "I read over the contract your husband sent over. Is there anything else you require?"

"No." She gives him an expectantly wary look, and Lex glances down at it on his desk, almost sighing. Probably waiting to be screwed over. Ah well. Picking it up, he hands it over. Her fingers are careful, tips closing around the paper like it's poisoned. He could get *extremely* tired of that very fast. "Payment on first delivery, correct?"

"Thursdays," she says distractedly, reading, flipping pages like a lawyer. That sharp look makes him wonder. "Is five o'clock convenient?"

"Six would be better, but I'll have someone at the castle to take deliveries if I can't be there personally."

From the look on her face, the five o'clock is going to win if it means no actual Lex Luthor presence. Well, fine. Picking up his pen, Lex pretends that the solitaire game on his laptop is the latest in breaking news from the Tokyo exchange. Or more appropriately, high quality porn. "If that's all, Mrs. Kent--"

Standing up almost too quickly, she nods, pasting on a sharply professional smile. "Thank you, Mr. Luthor. Have a good day."

"You as well." He doesn't look up again until the door's closed behind her. Lex leans back, stretching out kinks in too tight muscles. He hates offices. He hates business. And dear God, does he hate this town. Leaning over, he presses the intercom button. "I'm taking the rest of the afternoon. Don't call, I won't answer." Flipping it off, Lex grabs his coat, shutting down his laptop with a few flickers of his fingers.

Once outside, he glances at the plant, trying not to wince. Home contains Lionel. The town contains boredom unequaled by anywhere Lex has visited in his life. Sullivan had taken part of the week off, due to his daughter's release from the hospital. Lex considers this as he unlocks his car. In some places, it's polite to send flowers or visit with the release of a loved one from the hospital. He thinks.

In the back of his head, Lex remembers his father mumbling about how Smallville cost him ten times what any other plant did in health care premiums. Maybe the town isn't all bad, if it can make his father so--unhappy.

If he remembers correctly, there's a flower shop downtown. There's no reason why he shouldn't stop by to say hello.

Maybe this wasn't the greatest idea he's ever had.

There's some history with the Rosses that Lex has no desire to know a damn thing about and people continue to drop sly hints when around him. This is one of those time he should have listened. Death glares from the living room do not a good mood make.

And really, he thinks he should have expected this.

Gabe, however, is just like always. "Lex." One hand closes over his distractedly, and Lex studies the dark circles under his eyes, the way the hand seems too thin. He looks like he hasn't slept an hour in his entire life. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect--"

"My fault. I should have called ahead." Or not come. And what was he thinking, anyway? "I just dropped by to--" Check up? Sounds foreboding. See how you were doing? Who the hell would believe that of a Luthor? These people thought he ate babies for breakfast.

"It means a lot to me." And from the look on Gabe's face, that may actually be some form of true. Stepping back, Gabe glances around the room with a harried expression. Two Rosses, a male Kent, and some other faces that, given the hostile expressions, he has no desire to identify, glare back at him with polite masks and small cups of coffee. Thrusting out the flowers, Lex tries to think of a way to escape that doesn't make him look like a complete moron. "I--sorry about the--I'll be back this week. I--"

"Take as much time as you need." Lex feels better just thinking about his dad's reaction. Gabe takes the flowers with a blink, as if not entirely sure what to do with them. "For your daughter."

"Chloe?" Does Gave have another seriously injured daughter? "Ah, yeah. She's--um, not up to visitors right now, but I'll--I'll send your--best wishes."

"Of course. Settling her back in must be stressing." Lex reviews what he remembers. Months in a burn unit, physical therapy, possible reconstructive surgery. He wonders if LuthorCorp health covers that on its policy. Probably not. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Gabe's smile widens. This could be the first genuinely nice person Lex has met in this godforsaken town. "Of course. Can I get you some coffee?"

Trapping him here in a sea of hostility, with everyone making polite conversation around him like he doesn't exist. It's happened before. It's not fun. But it is informative--an interesting effect of this is that people can and do forget he's in the room at all.

It's tempting. He's been feeling a little masochistic lately. Opening his mouth, he almost accepts.

"Dad?'

Gabe turns, almost dropping the flowers, and Lex admits to a kind of morbid fascination that holds him rooted to the spot as the slow, unmistakable sounds of a wheelchair float toward them. He should leave before she sees him--a comparative stranger, not family or family friends, and any sixteen year old girl would be sensitive after--that. Whatever the level of injury, but if it keeps you in a burn unit for a year, it's got to be pretty damn bad.

Morbid fascination, yes, but also, he'll be *damned* if he's running out in front of these people.

A colorful scarf above a reasonably pretty face, if you ignored the raw red scarring arrowing from the corner of her left eye down beneath the scarf, where Lex suspects one ear may no longer exist. Her chair pauses, blue eyes widening as she looks at him, a cup of coffee perched carefully one covered knee. She's clothed from neck to ankle in something light and cotton, a thin blanket over her legs, but bandages peek out from where it ends at wrists and throat. Little slippers cover her feet. At a glance, he's seen a lot worse fully functional.

She stares at him blankly for a second, then her eyes swivel around the room, checking for more strangers. He wonders, with a sick feeling, if she's going to cry. He doesn't think he's up for that.

"Chloe--" Gabe says, voice broken, stepping toward her. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I didn't know you needed--" He stops, taking a breath, assembling himself as quickly as he can. "Chloe, this is the new plant manager, Lex Luthor. I've told you about him?"

Her horror seems reserved for the fact that he there at all, not his name. A step up, he thinks, slowly stepping around Gabe. Wired, exhausted, and a single parent, having to deal with all of this. "Chloe? I've heard a lot about you from your father." It's a lie, but then again, Gabe simply doesn't *talk*. "I heard you were released this week." What did you say to girls like this?

She licks her lips, eyes flickering between him and the rest of the room. "I--hi, Mr. Luthor."

"Call me Lex." Crouch to talk, or keep towering over her? Jesus, is he supposed to know this shit by instinct? "It's good to finally have a face to match the stories." Oh, wrong thing to say, Christ, he's going to do something stupid soon, and in front of a room acting like jackals surrounding their first square meal in over a year. "I'd better get back to the plant before something explodes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sullivan."

She nods slowly.

"I'll walk you out," Gabe volunteers, and Lex gives Chloe another smile, hoping to God he doesn't look as utterly out of his depth as he feels.

The fresh air of the porch helps. Breathing in, Lex turns his gaze on the man beside him.

"Thanks again for stopping by."

"You have a nurse on call?" Lex asks. What does Luthor health care cover? He should go review. Gabe's expression tells him that this, at least, is not.

"Not full-time, no, but she'll be coming twice a week to continue Chloe's physical therapy. She--lost the use of her right leg."

Lex doesn't think anything shows on her face.

"We were lucky," Gabe says, voice dropping. "Most of the children--didn't make it." Gabe takes a deep breath. "She lost all her closest friends. She's been--" He stops, flushing, and Lex tries to think of something to say that won't sound too trite.

Lex keeps his gaze fixed on his car, out of place in this driveway, like he was out of place in that room. And unwanted at that. "Take as much time as you need to get her settled, Gabe."

Gabe's head jerks up. "Sir--"

"You can certainly telecommute if you need to, just keep me informed." There. That actually sounds reasonable. There's very little that Gabe can't do at home, in hearing of his daughter. His dad is going to be pissed when he hears. That makes the day that much brighter.

"thank you." Gabe's shoulders bow a little, and Lex nods, wondering if it's safe to go ahead and leave or wait some decent interval.

"Keep in touch." And yes, free, down the stairs, and yes, Smallville still sucks, but it could be far worse. A new mental list is being written in his head. Look at LuthorCorp's health plan for interesting loopholes. Hide from Dad--God knows, the castle is big enough, and it'll annoy him to the point of tears that he's all revved up to bitch and no Lex in sight. Yes. This afternoon? Not bad at all.

Stella stares at him over the coffee cup. "You can't trust her, Clark."

Clark slumps back into the cream couch, wondering if just ignoring her will make her stop. Rubbing a hand over his face, he closes his eyes. "Stella--"

"Fuck that, Clark. She's getting desperate. What, you buy her little reform act? She's been hanging out with some unsavory buddies down in Suicide Slums, and you don't go there without murder on your mind. She's--unstable." Stella puts down the cup. "Look, I've been hearing things, and I don't like them."

Clark snorts. "How would you hear anything from up here?" Over a week since he saw Lex, and he's already feeling--itchy. Something. A twist in his stomach reminds him he hasn't eaten in a while, and he probably should have grabbed something, but he'd been too desperate to get out and away, and it was like Marian could hear him thinking. There are people sleeping in their living room that he doesn't recognize, and the smells from the mess make him sick.

He's never washed his sheets so many times in his life, and these days, they never seem to get clean.

Stella leans back, cracking her neck, eyeing him like she can read his mind. "I still trick, sweetie. And people know I'll pay for certain information." She shrugs, pushing her hair off her shoulders impatiently. "Lionel Luthor's sniffing around, looking for something about that night vigilante, for a start. Bet you didn't know that."

Clark breathes out. "I--guessed." He tries really hard not to think about it. Lex is good for that. Lex is good at everything, but he's amazing at the forgetting thing. Clark forces a shrug. "He wants to chase rumors and pay for them, no big."

"He's also started asking around about you." She shrugs when he looks up. "Just don't be surprised if he shows up on your doorstep to figure out what you're doing with his son."

"Fucking him." This is way too complicated. Clark's starting to lose the threads of everything he's supposed to keep secret. Right now, Lex is in Smallville, and God alone knows what he's hearing, or has seen, or--wait. Stop. Breathe. If hasn't yet--

--that's just pure good luck. "I can take care of Marian until--"

"She gets you killed? How much is she bringing in these days?" Reaching over, Stella runs a finger beneath his eyes. "You aren't sleeping, and I don't even want to know how much you've been tricking. Are you staying safe?"

Clark opens his mouth, closing it soundlessly. "I don't--I never--"

"When they offer double for a condom free night, some people double take." She smiles then, sitting back. "Good. Keep that up. Are you letting her pick your tricks?"

Clark opens his mouth to deny it, then stops. The look on Stella's face tells him that would be useless. She's got better sources than he does.

"Is she using?"

Licking his lips, Clark looks away.

"Clark. Look at me." And like that, she's sitting beside him. "You love her, I get that. She's your friend. But she's selling you for drugs. This isn't about survival. You're being pimped out by junkie who's too strung out to do it for herself. *Look at me*."

He can't, because he doesn't want to think about it. "Stella--"

"She's been arrested ten times for prostitution. You never have. If you want a first time in jail, you keep letting her pick, and get a double with possession attached. That's a felony, honey. Not a night and bail."

Clark clenches his teeth together. "I'm careful."

"If you were careful, there wouldn't be a line outside Marian's door to get you for a night." His head jerks up. "What the hell have you been doing? You think working eighteen of twenty-four hours will keep her satisfied? Your phone was turned off two weeks ago. Where the hell is the money going?"

Clark stands up. He doesn't need this on top of everything else. "I don't--they come to the apartment. We didn't need a phone. It's easier to keep an eye on her when I'm there--" God, he hates his bed. He hates the apartment. Even the idea of leaving freezes him, because there's no where else to go.

"She's pimping them into your home?" Now Stella sounds--he doesn't have words for how she sounds. Clark stares at the floor and tries to pretend he doesn't care.

"Don't. Just--stop."

Doesn't care, there's no real difference, it's still sex, just not at the clubs, it's in his bed, in the apartment, sometimes with Marian there if it's something weirder than normal, always with people he never, ever would have chosen, and not just because of their reputations. It's convenient as shit, true. It's exhausting as hell, even for him. It's--

Maybe she hears something in his voice, because she *does*, sipping her coffee, then picking up both their cups and going to the kitchen. She's in there for a while, and Clark watches out the window, the view of the clean, neat streets. After a while, Clark goes after her, finding her setting the pretty breakfast table with plates. "Stella?"

She gives him a fierce look over the top of a pitcher of juice. "Sit down. You're not wandering off to sell you ass on an empty stomach."

Clark tries not to wince, and then wonders if pride is enough to make him say that no, he's fine, he has food at home, when he knows damn well there's not. He can't remember the last time he went grocery shopping. Or the last time he ate. "I'm fine, Stella."

She doesn't bother to answer, dropping spaghetti into water, and the smell of tomato sauce makes Clark's stomach turn over in shock, wondering what the hell that is, and how it can have some.

Glancing at his watch, Clark wonders if he can get back before his six o'clock, thinking of the paper taped to his bathroom mirror, reminding him that time is, in their world, actual money.

He thinks he can.

"How long?"

Lex can almost *hear* Stella's frustration.

"I don't know. Last time he came over, he ate the equivalent of a small army's weekly rations, okay? I haven't seen him since, and when Clark doesn't want you to find him? You don't." The pitch of her voice hurts his ears. "Marian won't let me in the apartment, and he's *not* always sleeping, I don't give a shit what she says. Frankly, I'm surprised if he sleeps at all. A habit like hers costs serious money, and even Clark can't possibly be making enough to supply her." Stella's voice flattens. "Luckily, Marian's dealers will take in trade, so Clark's probably fucking for powder these days."

Lex puts down the broken pen, noticing his fingers are stained in red ink. "Son of a bitch."

"You wanted news, you didn't say just tell you good stuff. Clark--" She stops, and he can almost *hear* her running her hands through her hair. "I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. If he won't fucking *leave*, I can't do a damn thing. I tried to offer him a room here, but hell if he'll leave her alone. It's like--I don't know what it's fucking like, but he acts like it's his duty to see how bad it can get, and it's fucking him up. Word is, he's taking anyone these days with a twenty and fifteen minutes, and you know as well as I do what the fuck that comes down to."

Exposure, for one. Metropolis hustlers were hunted down with a hell of a lot more energy than the prostitutes, and that was saying something. Second, forget the club scene. Clark's fucking the lowest denominator of Suicide Slums, and that's enough to make Lex queasy. "You can't see him?"

"She's got some new buddies that made it pretty clear I'm not welcome downtown anymore. Which is fucking *halving* my income, by the way."

Lex would have smiled if he'd remembered. "I don't pay you enough?"

Stella almost sounds offended. "I like sex."

Lex grins then. "I know. Has my dad been around?"

"Just watching from corners, that shit." She sighs. "After Marian's little not-so-subtle threats, I started some self-defense classes. They make me nervous. Hell, between your daddy's bullies and Marian's mini-cabal, I'm beginning to look into guns."

And making Stella nervous is a brand new vista of creeped the fuck out. Drumming his fingers on his desk, Lex considers the view out his office windows. Like he didn't have enough to deal with. "I'll get you one if you want one." And hope she used it, preferably on Marian. "I could come to the city--"

"I wouldn't trust Marian not to notice if Clark slips out with you. And frankly, he's *listening* to her shit, and--I don't know if he'd go, even for a weekend, where Marian can watch every move he makes. And she is watching him, Lex, and so are her little friends. I don't know if this shit is just her figuring out that it's easier to sell her roommate than trick herself or something else--"

"Something else?" This doesn't sound good.

Stella sighs. "She's spending time with gangsters. The serious kind, with penthouses and police in their pockets. If she sees Clark out doing something she doesn't like--I don't like his chances up against her friends if he starts asking why he's fucking for her drugs. If he ever takes it into his head to ask."

Brand new *universes* of creeped the fuck out. Lex closes his eyes, breathing deeply. "Out of the city." Clark beaten the shit out of in a back alley, throat cut, or worse…no.

"Out of the city." Stella's almost purring. Lex grins to himself.

"You want to get out, too."

"I'd like some time not watching my back, yeah. You get one of your guys to break Clark out, we come down for a nice weekend away from the big city, and you can have all the Clark you want without your hick town being any the wiser if I'm along. It'll give him some time to breathe, too. And maybe between the two of us, we can convince him that he can do a hell of a lot better away from Marian."

Good point. The idea of showing Clark the manor house has been percolating a while. The servants here are his, imported from Metropolis, so they'll keep their mouths shut, and he's learned how to assure that Lionel's people can't discover a thing he doesn't want him to know. "I'll send you Rodney. Come down Friday morning, Clark handcuffed in the trunk if necessary. I'll take the rest of the day off. Any problems, I can be in Metropolis by afternoon." And Marian had better hope and pray Lex doesn't feel the need to handle this personally. He is *so* not in a mood to see the woman damaging his favorite toy. "Good hunting."

Stella's voice drips irony. "You got it." She hangs up with a laudable lack of fanfare, and Lex leans back in his chair. The intercom buzzes, interrupting the mental image of Clark stretched out in that indecently big bed, rumpled and pretty and flushed from sex. God, he's missed Clark. If he wasn't in fucking *Smallville*--fuck, there's got to be a way to convince Clark get the fuck away from her. Or at least, make it very much in Marian's best interests to take care of him.

"Yes?" His secretary has no instincts whatsoever.

"Gabe here to see you, sir."

Oh. "Send him in."

Pushing himself upright, Lex straightens his suit and quickly tosses the pen into the trash, trying to look both busy and open to conversation. Gabe's two days a week at the plant are working out very well. Lex is seriously considering broaching a revision of the health plan for the entire company. Or at least Smallville.

Gabe looks better, Lex thinks, watching the man walk in, almost a spring in his step, and the smile's so sincere that Lex smiles back and actually means it. Waving to a chair, Lex gets up, pouring them each a glass. It's late enough in the afternoon. He can do that.

Gabe eyes it askance but takes it gamely. "Sir."

"Lex. How's Chloe?"

Jesus, he's almost glowing. "Better. Thank you so much, again, for--"

Lex cuts him off with another wave. Sometimes, it's good to be boss. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad to hear it."

Gabe smiles again, taking a small sip of brandy. "That's why I'm here, kind of. Chloe and I--well, we'd like to have you over for dinner, if you have the time."

That's--new. Lex is metaphorically rocked back in his chair. He can count the number of dinner invitations he's had in this town on one hand, and every one of them had been the hostile kind. It may not be good for digestion to enjoy eating with people who hate you, but it's great for amusement value.

Gabe flushes, obviously not sure what to make of Lex's expression. Lex wonders what he looks like. "I mean, if you don't have any previous engagements planned--"

"I don't. Tonight?" Tomorrow night will, hopefully, be Clark time, in which there will be a very different kind of dinner. In the fertile fields of Lex's imagination, sitting on chair and clothes won't be involved. "Your daughter doesn't mind?"

Gabe smiles again, reddening. "Actually, it was her idea."

Hmm. Interesting. Lex reviews what he remembers about Chloe Sullivan. When the school still existed, she'd been head of the high school paper. Once a mudraker, always a mudraker, Lex thinks, trying not to grin. "What time?"

"Is seven okay with you?" Gabe starts to stand up, taking another hasty drink, like he's worried Lex will be offended if the level of alcohol hasn't dropped. Mental note--offer coffee from now on.

"Perfect." Time to go home, shower, change, call Rodney and put him at Stella's disposal. All good so far. "I'll see you then."

Gabe nods, and damned if the man hasn't changed since his daughter came home. Lex would swear he hadn't seen the man smile more than a handful of times, but today, all about the good mood. Lex makes a mental note to check up on what the therapist has said about Chloe's rehab.

Glancing at the clock, Lex decides to make his rounds a little early. For the first time since coming to Smallville, he's actually looking forward to visiting with an employee. Fascinating.

Marian's waiting on his freshly-laundered bed when he comes out of the shower.

She doesn't look directly at him anymore, black-circled eyes fixing to some point above his shoulder, and her body's tense. Even through her careful make-up, Clark can see the pallor.

Clark stops short at the bathroom door, noticing the wary way her shoulders are set, feeling that pang of guilt again, and it's like that's the one thing in his life that he has no shortage of. There is always more guilt.

"A guy came by yesterday while you were--otherwise occupied." Fiddling with the edges of her skirt, she flicks her eyes to his face briefly, then away, like looking too long is dangerous, staring into the sun. Her new bracelets jangle against each other. "He offered a thousand for the night. So he'll be the only one tonight."

Lex? No. Clark clamps down on the ridiculous hope, burying it deep. Lex would just come *get* him, not bother going through Marian. But God, that's a lot of money. "Paid up front?" Walking to his dresser, Clark tries to ignore the way she winces away when he passes. She's scared of him. And he even understands. That doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Half up front, half after." Restlessly, her hands smooth down the cheap cotton across too-thin legs, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. It's been a long time since they've been alone in the same room for any length of time. Since his little temper tantrum about Lex, come to think. Clark can still remember her bruises, the hunted way she looked at him after. "He'll be here in about an hour, so I'm leaving for the night. I'll be back in the morning."

The temperature in the room drops. It's got to be Clark's imagination--their heat and air haven't worked in months. "You always stay here." It's one of the few conditions Clark had set. It's not like they can *hurt* him, but-- Carefully, Clark picks out a t-shirt. He'll change into something more appropriate later. Right now, he needs the comfort of denim and worn cotton. "Marian--"

"He's safe. I wouldn't leave you alone otherwise. Though it's not like you can be hurt." The edge in her voice shuts him up. True. He can't be hurt, can he? "That was one of his conditions. He seemed okay."

The people Marian thinks are okay are light-years from Clark's ideas of okay. It's one of the reasons Clark's scared to let her trick. God alone knows what she'd do, and there she'd be, throat cut in some back alley because she crosses the wrong asshole. Jerking the t-shirt on, Clark drags out jeans, wondering vaguely when he stopped wearing underwear, even at home. Right. When tricking *came* home with him, and his private life became his public life, which is all his life, and God, he just might be getting a headache, no matter how invulnerable he is.

Marian is scuttling toward the door. Clark turns, buttoning the jeans quickly before she can make her escape. "You're--leaving now?" She's usually here to let them in. Clark's nerves tighten another notch. If it's one of Jeremy's little buddies--he doesn't know how he's going to handle that. "Mari, I--"

Marian pulls open the door. "He wants to see you alone. I--my cellphone's on the table if you need anything. I've got some errands to run. Call your little friend Stella if something goes wrong." Marian pauses, eyes on his shoulder again. "Where has she been anyway? Didn't you say she was going to drop by this week?"

Clark's stomach tightens. "Probably busy." But he's wondered. Just a stop by to say hi. Coffee. Something. But not even a whisper of her at the door.

"With that lover of hers? Probably. She hasn't been on the streets much. Forgetting old friends. It happens." Marian tilts her head, not quite meeting his eyes. "I've gotta go. Be good. He's not asking for anything too exotic, so you shouldn't have any problems."

Swallowing, Clark nods, and she slides out the door, shutting it behind her, like she can't wait to get away from him. Still too thin, face pinched, but her eyes are fever-bright and her hands are shaking. Out to get a fix, probably, and Clark tries to remember how much he made last night, but everything's hazy, faces and names and things done, no different from any other night and morning for the last few weeks. When he woke up, his mouth tasted like a sewer smells. God, he really doesn't *want* to know.

Walking barefoot to the kitchen, Clark opens the refrigerator, finding the milk he picked up sometime this week between tricks and pouring a glass. Coffee would be nice, though, and Clark spends a few long seconds remembering the stuff Stella has, which reminds him *why* he hasn't heard from Stella.

It's not like she's not half-right--this is bad, worse, worst, but no matter how much thought Clark puts into it, he can't find a way out. Marian will kill herself if he leaves--she's implied as much, and God, with her habit, she wouldn't last an hour alone. It's compromise--she's here, his tricks come here, and she's not in danger. It's just--

Laundry. Every day. The sheets he keeps having to throw out. He barely remembers sunlight, and that coffee shop he used to go to, and even Lex is becoming a fuzzy memory compared to every day like this. He misses clubbing more than he thought possible-- losing himself in music and bodies and teasing touches that don't go anywhere until it's sex. He misses eating at the table for dinner and evenings alone at home with Marian, watching movies when they still had a TV. Most of all, he misses being free, at least a little.

The living room is still a mess from the night before--broken pieces of mirror, a crack pipe left by trick number three, powder ground into the carpet and the smell of liquor and vomit from when Marian and some friends shot up later in the evening, some condom wrappers and a few unopened ones on the floor. He's not sure she took money for that one--he thinks, a little dazedly, it was for the baggie, deflated on the floor beneath the scarred coffee table. Slowly, Clark hunts up an old grocery bag and starts cleaning up, ignoring the smells that threaten to nauseate him, wondering if he has time to go out and grab something to eat before the trick arrives. Tossing the beside their overflowing trash can, Clark wets the ragged remains of the sponge with cold water. Their hot disappeared last week, and he's not sure if Marian ever got around to calling the super to report it. He should--he will, in the morning. Cold water doesn't ever seem to make him clean anymore.

There's not much else to do, and Clark kneels on the carpet, sponge in hand, trying to clean up the worst of the vomit from the carpet, dirty wet carpet soaking into the knees of his jeans. He has to be more careful; he doesn't have a lot of jeans left anymore.

He's just--tired, that's it. Marian knows he doesn't need much sleep, none at all really, but unrelenting activity takes its toll. Nikita had said something, he remembers that, when she and Marian were just on this side of stoned out of their minds, running a considering hand through his hair and making him shudder. No better than the rest of us, are you, honey? Not so scary when you're used up, are you, Clark?

He's--not used up. He's fine, just tired, and maybe Marian will be good after tonight and he can get some of tomorrow to himself. Run over to Stella's, even if she isn't speaking to him anymore. Walk by Lex's penthouse and try to remember what it felt like to be warm and rested and liking touch. It's probably the most pathetic thing he could possibly do at this point, but he'll do it anyway, because pride has it's place, and that place isn't him. He's not sure he'd know it if he saw it.

The knock on the door startles him into dropping the sponge. Grabbing it, he pushes the coffee table back into place, wishing he'd not given in and given his watch to Marian to pawn last week when tricks were slower than usual. They don't have a clock in the house. It's got to be early, though, too early.

The strangest thoughts chase themselves through his head, sponge clenched in one hand. He could not answer it. He could answer it and say it was a mistake, that he's not tricking tonight. He could answer it, then leave. Answer it and crawl out the window. Take a day of rest, a break, wake up one morning with his mouth tasting like more men than he can count. One day where every shower seems to make him filthier.

It's tempting. Clark, turning the knob, wonders if he'd ever have the nerve to go through with it. Marian would be alone, though, and Clark can't face that, not with what could happen to her out there without him to watch over her.

Sighing, Clark opens the door.

"Welcome," Gabe says with a big grin, and Lex offers the bottle of wine, a vague memory from the few adult dinner parties he's attended unaired for research. Wine is good.

Gabe takes it with a quizzical grin. "You didn't have to bring anything. Come in." Stepping back, he takes Lex's coat, another mind-bendingly adult moment. He's at an employees house for dinner, like an actual adult boss of a man old enough to be his father. This is so not something Lex would ever have seen himself doing.

Silently, Lex follows Gabe into the living room, where Chloe's already sitting, bright in a vivid green, long sleeve blouse, bandaged hand on her knee. The jeans are obviously new, and obvious not her normal wear anymore. Small, socked feet peek out from the footrest of the wheelchair. Her eyes are fixed on the laptop in her laugh. "Chloe? Lex is here."

The blond hair is carefully arranged beneath the bright green scarf, and she must have put on make-up, because the scarring on her cheek isn't as red as he remembers. It pulls up one corner of her mouth, making her seem like she's almost smiling. When she looks up, the smile extends, though Lex can't be sure it isn't for her father's benefit, and shuts down her computer. "Hi, Lex. Welcome to our humble abode." Her hands make a sweeping gesture, taking the entire room. The coffee table he remembers from his last visit is gone, as are the rugs, the floor neatly and carefully tiled for the use of wheelchairs. Turning her chair, she rolls toward him, and Lex has to fight the urge to tell her not to bother, he'll come to her. Would that be rude? "I'm sorry about last time, I wasn't expecting you." She extends her hand, and Lex shakes it, trying not to be ginger. She doesn't strike him as the type to want to be coddled.

"Have a seat, Lex," Gabe says. "Can I get you some coffee?"

Yes, from now on, coffee for Gabe at the office. "Yes, please."

With another wide smile, Gabe walks out, and Lex tries to subtly scan the living room for the right place to sit. Somewhere easy for Chloe to sit nearby? Or maybe she won't want him anywhere near her. Why the hell can't things like this be simple? If he liked Gabe less, this situation would so not be a problem.

Chloe makes the decision for him, thank God and every deity ever to grace humankind with it's presence. Leading him to the sofa, she parks her wheelchair where he suspects an armchair had once taken residence.

She also starts the conversation. "So, you're Dad's new boss." She eyes him up and down like she's trying to unfetter secrets from the cut of his coat. Only that he has a taste for designer suits, he hopes. "You're younger than I thought you'd be."

Lex smiles, leaning back into the couch. Not hostile, at least. "My father sent me down to give me some experience and to see if we can't get the plant back on track."

Chloe nods, eyes a little distant, like she's taking mental notes. "Dad thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread." She flushes slightly, her gaze fixing somewhere over his right shoulder. "I mean--thanks for flexing Dad's time like that."

"I don't want to lose a superlative employee. Besides that, his work can be done just as easily from home." Lex wonders if he should ask her questions. She's not in school, she's in rehab. Should he ask her about that. "I haven't seen your father this happy since I came."

Chloe blushes more. "He worries too much."

For a daughter in the burn ward for almost a year? "I'm sorry what happened to you. I remember reading about the fire in the papers."

"In Metropolis?" Chloe's mouth twists a little, scarred side jumping. "Yeah, mass murder is kinda big news, isn't it?"

Oh damn. "I--"

"I was one of the lucky ones. I was outside waiting for--a friend." Here eyes grow distant. "He--well. He's one of the ones we lost, I think." She shrugs carelessly, but the look on her face is almost painful. "I--a lot of my friends died."

Most of the student body, if Lex remembers correctly. A new high school across town had barely been dented by the addition of the remainder of the kids from Smallville High. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Her shoulders hunch uncomfortably. A bandage peeks out just above the collar of her shirt before she straightens again. "Sorry. It's still kind of new to me. I mean--" She waves one long-fingered hand around the room a little. "It wasn't so real at the hospital. Home--it's different." And not in a good way, that's for sure. Thank God Lex let Gabe change his schedule. "What did you do? I mean, before you came here?"

Lex almost smiles. He might barely know her, but he knows a natural researcher when it's sitting only a few feet from him, smiling innocently with intense curiosity in his eyes. She's been reading up on him. "This and that. College, mostly." Her hands move to her laptop, then stop at the case, stroking it absently. "What did you read?"

For a second, she looks surprised, then grins, wide and white. She used to be a pretty girl. Hell, she's a pretty girl now, even with the scars. "Mea culpa. I--used to be a reporter at school. I never really got over it. At the hospital, my doctors started not visiting unless I was intubated so I couldn't ask questions."

"You must have been very good."

"I would have been." There's a wistful note to her voice, and Lex forces his smile not to fade. "I liked it a lot."

Settling back on the couch, Lex tilts his head just enough to hold her eyes. "A reporter, hmm?" Stretching his legs, Lex rests one arm on the couch. "You know, as it happens, I haven't had a chance to give an interview in Smallville yet."

"Didn't you threaten them with stalking suits?"

She's *good*. Lex feels his grin widen. "I could be persuaded to do one."

It has to be something in the genetics of reporters. Every damn one of them gets that look in their eyes; starving, like a hyena after a ten day fast on bread and water. "What would it take to persuade you, Mr. Luthor?"

"Lex," he corrects, resettling himself. This is almost fun. "What are you offering?"

It takes a few seconds for Clark to believe who is standing there, looking at him with curious, amused eyes.

"Mr. Luthor." His mouth feels like it's full of chalk, forcing the words out dry and shocked.

Lionel doesn't wait to be invited, coming in like it's his own property, and Clark flinches away at the casual brush of Lionel's shoulder against his. It's--not. Can't be. Marian--oh God, Marian, how the hell did she run into *him*?

Lionel turns with a toothy smile and a swirl of his coat, taking up all the tiny space in the living room. His eyes track the room, the dilapidated furniture, eyeing stained carpet and the dim glow of the bulbs over their head.

"Mr--Clark?" The smile widens, reminding Clark of Lex in all the wrong ways. "I'm sorry, I don't know your surname."

"Just Clark." His throat closes over--he can't do this. He just can't. It's-- "Are you--"

"It's not easy to get your company, Clark." Lionel's smirk widens, eyes crawling down Clark's body like he's taking inventory, like he already knows it, inside and out, already *owns* it. Clark stops the shudder from long practice. Lionel's smile widens, like he knows that. "Your--friend is quite the negotiator."

One fucking thousand *dollars*. Clark slowly closes the door. She's probably already spent it. Licking his lips, he feels something liquid splash on his bare foot, realizing he's squeezing all the water out of the sponge, and possibly compressed it to shred as well. "I--you're early."

"I'm paying enough that I think we can skip the pleasantries." Lionel gives the couch a look that makes Clark shiver before turning and gracefully sitting down in Lex's easy sprawl, like he owns the room and Clark, too, watching him with Lex's smirk, but not Lex. "If you would--." He makes an eloquent gesture, and nothing, not discipline and not familiarity, nothing can stop the way the blood drains out of his face. Oh God, no. No. He can't-- "Cat got your tongue? That's fine. I just want your mouth. Now."

It takes everything to drag himself to the couch, and this is the worst thing. Marian's friends and the things they ask him to do that make him sick, he can handle that. Knowing that whenever he leaves the apartment, everyone knows what he's been doing to earn Marian's money, he can handle that. He can handle no sleep and filthy sheets and waking up hating himself each morning, his mouth tasting like a sewer, he's *good* at that, but he doesn't think he can handle Lionel Luthor's cock in his mouth, and Marian *knew* about Lex, and she knew who this man was, and God, she *did* this.

"Now." There's a steely edge to his voice that sends another shudder down Clark's back. It's too short, the space of carpet between them, too short to try and shut down and not think, but thank God, his body's always known what to do, always knows how to do it whether he's there or not. Kneeling between the wide-spread legs, Clark drops the sponge on one perfect shoe, hand unerringly finds the zipper and buttons, opening the fly easily. No underwear. Like Lex. A big hand closes in his hair, and that's nothing like Lex, too big and gripping like he'll pull out hair just for the fun of it, jerking Clark's mouth down to his cock.

Blowjobs are all the same, all different, and all predictable, but Clark can't retreat anywhere for this, trusting reflex to guide him, the slow, lazy rhythm that thrusts into the back of his throat unexpectedly, salty and sour, flesh blocking air, hitting his gag reflex like Lionel wants to make him choke, draw in sharp breaths through his nose. Holding his head at the worst angle possible, deliberately, Clark thinks, setting the rhythm with hard fingers. Closing his eyes, Clark shuts down thought. It's just sex. He can do this.

"I can see why my son shells out a fortune to play with you," Lionel breathes, jerking Clark back into the room. "You are very, very good." A pause, then the hand tightens, other one skimming his cheek to feel the cock inside. "Keep your eyes open."

Another choking thrust, slow and even and breathtakingly deep; Clark barely has time to breathe between. Hands braced on his own thighs, he tries to fall into the rhythm, but there's not one, nothing mindless, and the pull on his hair may not hurt, but that doesn't make it comfortable.

"I've been curious about you, Clark." Jesus. "Marian's told me so much about you."

Fuck. And *fuck*.

"If you do well enough, I might like to make this more--regular." His voice catches in hs throat, released in a long, luxurious sigh. "Harder, Clark. We have all night, but I have other things I'd like to do." Another jerk on his hair, and Clark hears Lionel's breath catch in a little sigh, then another jerk of his hair, pulling him off, just in time for Lionel to come on his face.

A few long seconds later, Clark doesn't dare move, not sure if he's going to throw up or not, his stomach turning over, so glad he hasn't eaten. Lionel tucks himself back in his pants with a satisfied smile one-handed, not bothering to close them up, then pulls Clark's face toward him, tilting it so Clark can't look anywhere but those mocking eyes.

"Get undressed and get in the bed." A pause, and Lionel's thumb makes a slow curve on his cheek, pushing it between Clark's lips. "And wash your face. You're filthy." Standing up, he steps around the coffee table, and Clark listens to him go into the hall bathroom.

"So you were sent to Smallville to learn the family business?" Chloe's voice is brightly eager, over the simple dinner of steak and potatoes, so very Smallville that Lex is beginning to feel like he's crossed over into some terrifying Lifetime movie. Gabe has a long suffering look on his face--Lex supposes he's used to his daughter's antics--but the smile pulling up the corners betrays his relief.

"More or less. It's been interesting." He pauses for a bite, knowing that will give her sufficient time to form another question. "Wonderful meal, Gabe."

"Chloe's a better cook," Gabe says, smiling at his daughter over the bowl of peas. Chloe, let our guest eat."

Chloe rolls her eyes, flicking back to Lex with another bright smile. This girl is going to go far, injured or not. "You studied biochemistry in college, right? How has that influenced your attitude toward agriculture and the uses of pesticides?"

Very, very far. Lex takes a bite of steak to get an answer that doesn't sound like something he'd use for a sound bite on television. The ring of the phone sends his hand to his hip automatically, and ridiculously, because he's looking right at the Sullivan cordless on the counter, but instinct is instinct. Frowning, Gabe wipes his fingers on a napkin and stands up.

"Dad! It's dinner!" The adolescent wail is so television-stereotyped that Lex grins over his next bite of mashed potatoes. Gabe gives him a helpless look that he returns with a grin.

"Just a second. It could be important." Flicking it on, Gabe's smile comes through in his voice as he speaks. "Sullivan household."

"Dad's a junkie for the phone," sighs Chloe, smiling a little as her father walks out of the room, phone in hand. "He can't leave a ringing one unanswered."

"I have that same problem." The reason he turns his off, like now. Leaning back in his chair, Lex studies the slim girl. Her hand's a little clumsy still with the fork, but just looking at her now, except for the scar, he'd never have known she'd been in an accident.

"Workaholics do." She gives him another smile, bright and young and transparently sincere. Reporters do that before they ask the hard questions. Playing with her fork, she looks up at him through her bangs. For some reason, it reminds him achingly of Clark, less than twenty-four hours away. He may just take off the entire day. "I--"

"Lex." Gabe comes back in, phone in hand, looking worried. "I'm sorry, there's a problem at the plant--"

Lex begins to stand up, wiping his hands quickly. "What's wrong?"

"No--nothing you need to worry about. Some hiring problems. My department." Gabe looks between his daughter and Lex, obviously only half-here. "I have to go check--" But he doesn't want to leave his daughter alone at night.

"I can go, Gabe." But no. Hiring is Gabe's thing--God alone knows what goes on in the inner recesses of HR, but Lex has no desire to find out.

"I--" He struggles, not wanting to say, no, really, you can't, and Lex hides the smile. Telling your boss that he's really not good at that sort of thing is probably not the easiest thing in the world. "Lex, it's--"

"Tell you what. I'll wait with Chloe while you handle it. It shouldn't take too long, but I can certainly spare the time." The naked relief is certainly worth the slight inconvenience.

"I can't ask that of you." But he's looking it, and Lex considers the novel idea he's now considered a suitable chaperone for a sixteen year old girl. This is, in fact, possibly the single most surreal moment of his life, bar none.

"It's not a problem. I'm sure Miss Sullivan will prove entertaining." And that in any other conversation would have a very different meaning. "And incentive to hurry back, before your daughter ferrets out all my secrets."

Gabe grins, setting the phone down. "Right. Thank you." Turning to his daughter, he crouches down, reaching to touch her face. "I'll be back soon. Be a good hostess."

"I'm always a good hostess."

The touching father/daughter moment ends with a hurried rush from the room to locate keys and coat, and a run out the door. Lex stares across the table at Chloe, who picks up her fork and stabs a broccoli spear, then looks at him with the cheerful intensity. Yes, she's going to go far, this little Sullivan. "So, we were talking about fertilizer, weren't we, Lex?"

There is, Clark has come to realize, a vast difference between what he's done before and what Marian does with him now.

It's weird that it takes this for it to sink in. Just a slow, uncomfortable fuck, not different from anything else he's done, really, if he thinks about it. Lionel doesn't want anything exotic, just the most basic of basics. There's been worse, and messier, but there's never been this.

It should be impersonal, but it's not, and that's the thing that keeps Clark trapped, the minutes dragging by like hours. Lionel doesn't prefer guys, that's in every line of his body, every touch, the way he tries to make it what he's used to, unfamiliar with the intricacies of lube, hissing at the difference between the body he's pushing into and the ones he's used to fucking.

It's not just sex, it's not just a fuck for money, it's something else, and Clark thinks of what Lex said about his father, fingers digging into the pillow to keep from turning around and pushing Lionel off, get him out of the apartment, *drown* in the shower to get this off his skin and out of his body.

Lionel grunts in effort, and Clark forces himself to relax, ride out the uneven thrusts, hating every touch of blunt fingers on the back of his neck, holding him down on the bed, barely reacting to the jerks of his hair or the way that Lionel touches him, skimming skin and bone like he's searching for something on him. His son, maybe, and isn't *that* a creepy thought to have, but it won't stop coming. It's not an accident, it's Lex, and Clark wonders what Lionel thinks he's doing, what he thinks Lex will do, and almost sighs when he feels Lionel stop again, panting against his back, sweat dripping onto his skin.

"I expected better," Lionel says, like words can hurt Clark after all this time. Like this is supposed to be huge and frightening, like he can't imagine Clark being anything but scared, humiliated, when he's done so much worse; seen it, too. A hard thrust makes Clark grab for the edge of the mattress to keep his balance. "My son's gutter tastes are showing."

Clark closes his eyes, wondering if he should pretend it hurts. Any of it.

"I've heard some interesting things about you, Clark." Still in his ass, barely moving, and Clark shifts his knees apart, pushing back, just a little. This has got to end. Even the worst sex eventually ends. "Marian thinks you're quite an extraordinary boy."

And God, where the hell had Marian *found* him? How?

"Very extraordinary. Gifted, one might say."

It takes everything in him not to react, keeping his body pliant, riding out the sharp, awkward thrusts. "Marian likes money." No, scratch that. Marian likes drugs. Likes money for the drugs it buys. Likes--he stops that thought short, imagining Marian, shooting up somewhere, hazed out on what the use of his body is buying.

Jesus. He's being sold to this for *drugs*.

"She told me many things about you, Clark," Lionel hisses in his ear, hot breath against the side of his face. "Like perhaps, you have--other talents. Talents I might find useful. I can be a very--appreciative employer, Clark."

Appreciative. "I don't know what you're talking about." It's weird, how calm his voice is, when his head is anything but. Lionel was looking for him. And Marian *told* him, and she left Clark here with this man tonight, she *told* him--maybe not everything, but enough….

Oh God, Lionel Luthor *knows*. Not everything. But something. Maybe enough.

The grip on his hair tightens, jerking his head from the damp pillow, and Clark opens his eyes on a flushed, sweaty face, hair an unkept mess, eyes dark and angry and aroused all at once. Lionel's weight on his back wants to push him into the mattress, and his head is turned at an awkward, uncomfortable angle. He can't afford to shift away, not now. Just keeps his eyes wide and shocked, fake the terror that's more real than he wants it to be.

He doesn't know enough, or he'd try harder.

"I'm not an idiot, boy." Another too-hard, awkward thrust, and this would be killing anyone who wasn't Clark. "I want to know what you are."

Clark stares back. He can't even pretend to flinch, watching the dark eyes begin to dilate, like Lex's just before he comes, body shivering against his. So close. Hurting him gets Lionel off. So, apparently, does Lex. Holding Lionel's gaze, Clark licks his lips, feeling the twitch of Lionel's cock. "Your son's whore."

Chloe lets him push her out into the backyard, where the remains of a garden are in evidence, maybe something she or Gabe was working on, long abandoned. Parking the wheelchair on the porch, Lex looks out over the subdivision, the neat, military-order of the houses, the sky above too bright from all the streetlights to see the stars.

He has *no* idea what to talk about. His experience with teenage girls isn't anywhere in the same *realm* as Chloe. "Are you settling in well? How's school?"

He could almost kick himself at the look on her face. She's not in school, he reminds himself--Gabe said something about being taught at home, the internet, some teacher or other that the county funds to come three times a week. He's an idiot.

"The tutor? He's good, just strict. But I need that to keep up with my class. So. So when I go back, I won't--be behind." Her teeth set behind tight lips, and God, what he wouldn't do for alcohol right now.

"Of course."

Licking her lips, she gives him a sideways glance. "I have to. I can't--let this be all I am."

Lex thinks of clinics, doctors, months and years of tests, and at fifteen, finally putting a stop to it, the first battle against his father he'd ever won. "Yeah," he says slowly, holding her challenging gaze without flinching. "I can understand that."

"Dad wants to keep me wrapped up in wool. I--can't live like that. Not forever." The small knuckles are drawn white from her grip on the arms of the chair. "I--lost too much."

Lex nods. Friends. Her youth. The use of her legs. "I'm sorry. I--heard about it on the news. The explosion--"

She snorts, but the small hands loosen, crossing light on her lap, playing with the blanket spread over her leg. "It wasn't an explosion."

Now that's new. "It wasn't?"

"This--" she stops, giving him an uncertain look. "You've been here a few months. Haven't you noticed how--weird Smallville is?"

Besides the corn and the cows and the people who seem to muddle along in some vague fifties fog of behavior? "Not more than any other small town." He hopes. It's not like he has a huge basis for comparison.

She waves a hand in the general direction of town. "People--get weird. The guy--well, he didn't blow up the school so much as--electrocute it." Her face stiffens, eyes going dark. "They asked us, you know. The ones that could talk. What happened. No one believed us. And why should they?" The bitterness is so sharp it cuts the air. "We're stupid, traumatized kids, hallucinating."

"Electrocute?"

Chloe hesitates, looking up at him, a look on her face that's so funny Lex has to control himself not to laugh. It's the eternal look of a teenager oppressed by adults, and he's an adult now, apparently, to these people. Smallville will never stop being the worst place in the world. "You'll say what they said. That it's crazy." That I'm crazy, she doesn't say, but she doesn't need to.

"Maybe." Lex leans against a post, watching her struggle. "But then again, I've seen a lot. Try me."

Chloe swallows, hands twisting in her blanket. "I--he made the school's electric system go. He--just touched it and he overloaded it. It--" She stops, hands twisting even harder, and Lex wants to stop her, the pain on her face too raw. Remembering.

"You don't have to--"

"I *do*," she says fiercely, blue eyes filling with tears. "No one believes any of us. It was--it killed my friends, it almost killed me, but when I talk about it, they say I'm imagining it, that the trauma was affecting me, and I'm not crazy, I *know* what I saw. He touched people and they went up like bonfires, like someone who touched a live wire or something. Just *touched* them. He brought the whole school down on us and something fell on top of me and he was coming right *at me*--" her voice chokes, head turning away to hide the tears.

He should do something. Something--adult. Tell her to stop, it's all right. That it's all in her head. That she imagined it, and no wonder. To tell her that after time, it'll be better. None of those things are true, and Lex might lie for a lot of reasons, but not to a girl who's suffered enough. "I see."

"And then--" Her voice is calmer now, but the hands are white around her blanket. "I had--there was this friend. And he--he stopped him. I--I think I blacked out. He pulled me out of the fire and I--I heard sirens and there were all these other students around me and we all--and--" her voice cracks again. "It was already taking over the school, but he went back in there. To get more people out. They--they never found his body." Her head swings down, hair hiding her face. "They never found a lot of the bodies, not--not to identify."

Christ.

"Chloe--"

"He was crazy," she whispers, and Lex wonders who she's talking about. "That--the meteor shower did something to people. To him. It did something to him. He was--when it happened, he was tied up in Riley's field. He was up there when it hit, and it's like, anyone who was there, they--"

"Changed." And isn't that a memory to treasure. The sharp blue eyes fix on him suddenly, and Lex catches himself before he flinches.

"You were there."

She's *good*.

"You read about that?"

Her eyes hold his. "I've had a lot of time and not much to do."

Fair enough. "Jeremy Creek." Lex hesitates a little, memory pushing to the surface from the neatly repressed areas of his mind. Great. Just great. "I was there that day, yes. With him. I don't remember most of it." Or any, really. Dreamscapes and dejavu don't count.

Her eyes fix on his bald head, sliding down like she's cataloguing him. It's--eerie, really.

"I'm not homicidal, if that's what you're wondering." Even to himself, he sounds defensive. For some reason, though, Chloe smiles, raising a hand to awkwardly wipe the tears from her face. "What?"

"I didn't think you were." She pauses again, the intense look back. "It was hard for me to come back here, after everything. Was it easy for you?"

"No." Lex sighs softly, wondering where Gabe is and promising himself Gabe will have an assistant to handle plant emergencies by, like, tomorrow. Tonight, if he gets home early enough to make some phone calls. "But there's a lot to be said for facing your demons, so they don't get too big. So they don't dominate your life." Christ, he sounds like Dad now. Dad's all about conquering your fears. Or beating them down so far in your subconscious they don't intrude on practical daily life. "Coming here has been--interesting."

Chloe nods, one eyebrow raised in what looks disturbingly like irony. "Yes, that's just the word I was looking for. Interesting." She shivers, head tilting back to look at the sky. "It's getting colder. You want to go in?"

And that, Lex thinks, is that. "Sure." Kicking up the brake with one foot, Lex turns her chair around to the door.

"I can do it myself," she says sharply, hands hovering over the wheels, like she just might take off on her own, closed door ahead or not. He pities the door if she tries.

"I know." Going to the door, he pushes it open, then comes back around, pushing her chair inside. Her head cranes back, giving him a suspicious look. "I just like to be useful."

She almost smiles. "You're a real charmer, you know that? No wonder Dad likes you so much."

Lex grins back. He could really like this kid. "Thank you."

Clark can feel Lionel watching him from the side of the bed. Every movement is slow and deliberate, always watching, measuring, looking for whatever Marian had told him.

There really aren't words for how Lionel feels--meeting him in the penthouse hadn't prepared him, and Lex…. It's the same, and it's completely different. A slow headache is spreading wire-fine tendrils across his skin, making his head feel tight and hot. Only Lionel's steady stare keeps him from reaching up to touch.

"I don't suffer fools gladly, Clark." The good humored menace should be terrifying, but Clark's beyond being scared of anything right now. The night's been too long, his head hurts too much, and there's nothing, nothing, that Lionel can say to him that can hurt him. Nothing that hasn't been said before, and meant.

Clark wonders if it would be suspicious to roll onto his back. A normal person would be sore. He's not, and he's not even sure he cares about hiding it. And staying on his stomach for this isn't helping--he twists his head around awkwardly, shaking his hair from his eyes. "Look who you're using as your source of information." A junkie. It twists in his head, but Clark holds the muddy eyes, not daring to show weakness. There's a lot of Lionel in Lex, but Lex never radiated raw threat like this. He never needed to.

Lionel pauses, picking up his tie, and Clark keeps his gaze fixed. He doesn't want anything as much as he wants to get out of this room--more than a shower, more than clean clothes, even more than another long, dream-like weekend with Lex, he wants out of here. It's too much, and he needs to *think*, not react, and God, it's been too long since he thought about anything at all. "Your friend seems reliable enough."

That's almost funny. "She sold me for an ounce of China White." Or something. "You really think she isn't telling you exactly what you want to hear?"

For just a second, Lionel looks uncertain--it's gone, almost faster than a normal person could see, but Clark is everything and anything but normal. Shifting up, he slides off the bed, faking a wince that he hopes looks vaguely realistic. He's got to get Lionel out of here before he notices--anything. Something. That some things after a night of sex like that should show, but they don't. Pulling out a clean t-shirt, Clark pulls it over his head, then reaches for his jeans.

"I don't believe you."

"You think if I was that--whatever the hell the papers are calling him--I'd live *here*?" It's probably, come to think, the only reason Lex isn't even *thinking* in his direction after that thing with Jeremy. "I'd do *this*?"

Another pause, almost indiscernible. "Maybe we should find out." The low purr sends goosebumps up every inch of Clark's skin. Too fast, he pulls on his jeans. "A weekend, perhaps. Get to know you a little better."

It's fast--the headache jumps a notch and around the back of his head. He can barely see his jeans through the shimmer of his vision. "You'll have to talk to Marian." And Marian will talk to him. Maybe tell him more, if she has to. If Lionel gets her price right.

Lionel's voice is pleased. "I plan to. Until then, Clark." Stepping neatly into his shoes, Lionel walks out of the room. Clark stays at the dresser, listening for the opening and close of the front door, eyes closed, feeling like his head's being turned inside out. Now--isn't a good time. There's never a good time, but this, this isn't the time.

It takes everything in him to go into the living room, staring at the door, make *sure* he's gone. Marian will be back soon, and Clark doesn't doubt at all that Lionel will set it up, and he'll be *fucked*. So very fucked. Marian--he's got to talk to her first. Explain--

Explain what she already said she wanted. She's talked to Lionel. She could have talked to someone else. And if someone offered her--if they pushed hard enough, if they--

Peeling off jeans and shirt, Clark throws them in a pile on the floor with his clothes from last night, then methodically strips his bed, hands steady. Inured to the smells of sex though he is, somehow, it still overwhelms him, and it's like that--one second, staring at the pile, the next, a bonfire in his bedroom.

Clark stares at it for a long time before moving to his dresser, eyes on the hungry flames, and starts to remove the neatly folded clothing inside.

The frantic knocking drags him off the bare mattress, still staring at the burned ashes of what had been--well, most of his possessions. It's not Marian, and that doesn't sound like Lionel coming back, which leaves--actually, not anyone he can think of, except maybe Stella. That's almost enough of a thought to stop him short, but he's already moving, and it's not like he'll be sleeping anyway, once Marian gets home.

Another knock, then ominous silence, and Clark pauses, flicking his sight to see through the door, just in time to see a big guy he doesn't recognize knock the door down with a really cool kick. He'd be a lot more impressed if this wasn't his home.

Before something silly like *thought* takes over, Clark has him against the wall, hand around a fragile, well-fleshed throat. Nice suit, nice sunglasses, one of Lionel's men? Maybe. Maybe.

"…Clark."

He barely notices the small hand on his elbow, jerking ineffectually, taking only enough attention to knock whoever it is aside, hearing, from a distance, the sound of something hitting the wall. The headache's different this time--expectant. Like it knows that it won't take much for Clark to let it free again. Like maybe, it won't take anything at all.

"Clark!" Someone pushing between them, hand waving in his face. "Friend! Jesus, kid, back the fuck *down*. You want Marian's little buddies up here before we can leave?"

For a second, Clark doesn't want to let go, and that scares him. It would be easy, and it would be quick, and God, after everything else--after everything else, it would feel good. So good.

"*Clark*." A small hand slaps across his face. "What the *fuck*, Clark?"

Clark pries his fingers loose, stepping back, eyes still on the too-well-dressed man gasping for air on his floor. Stella steps between them, hands fisted at her sides, staring at him like he's gone crazy.

He might have. Taking a breath, Clark looks at her, no idea what he's going to say.

"Luthor's gone. Wonderful little morning visit habit he has, isn't it?" Her eyes inventory the room quickly, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "Did you flambé something?"

"Something like that."

For a second, he thinks she might call him on it, but the dark eyes roll up as she shrugs. "Come on. Marian's coming down soon and I don't feel like having my ass kicked by her new friends, 'kay? So pack up and come on."

"What--" Clark breaks off as Stella breezes past him, stuttering to a stop at the doorway of her bedroom. "Stella. I--"

"Someone got pissy with their bedroom arrangement?" She leans into the doorway, cataloguing the almost-empty room. Amused as all hell. "Tantrum? Who was here? Did she finally pimp you out to the wrong person?" He should--say something. The pause stretches, though, and Clark watches her back slowly straighten as she turns around, wide eyes, taking in his still-wet hair, the towel he hadn't bothered to change out of. "Luthor. Christ, Luthor was here for a *trick*? She sold you to Lex's *Dad*?"

He could deny it, but he'd be lying, and they both knew it. "Don't tell Lex." It hadn't hit him until just now, but--God. No. That's not--God, that's not something Lex *ever* needs to know.

"If he doesn't know by now, he will soon, courtesy of his buddies in Daddy's service." Shaking her head, she looks at the guy on the floor, now struggling to his feet in some attempt at dignity. "Call Lex and tell him we're on our way. Come on, Clark."

"Stella--"

"Marian's going to be here soon. You wanna explain this shit to her? Do you? Or are you that hot to see she gets her morning hit courtesy of your pretty ass?"

The headache seems to flash to a whole new level of heat, stretching slow tendrils around his head. No. No, he really doesn't.

A thin hand closes around his arm, pulling him toward the door, nodding at the guy that had come with her. "Make the call." Sliding her sunglasses down, she gives the hall a sharp look, then pulls again. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

There's something to be said for quiet dinners with employees and their too-curious daughters, as opposed to Metropolis night life--no hangovers the day after. Lex isn't, as far as he knows, a morning person, but on the other hand, come afternoon, his pretty Clark will be at the manor, and Lex will be doing his level best to keep him in bed for as many days straight as possible. The next month, maybe. Gabe is perfectly capable of running the plant. Lex could build them a house attached to it if necessary, just so Chloe was always in range of her doting father.

It could happen. It's a cheering thought, so he and his coffee make the rounds in a spirit of sheer bliss. Even Gabe, in for the morning while Chloe has her physical therapy, comments on it.

"I'm looking forward to the weekend," Lex says, and how long has it been since he could say *that*? Grinning over his cup, Lex reaches for the reports Gabe is holding. "Have a seat."

Gabe shakes his head. "I have to check some production figures with the floor manager. Do you need me to go over anything else before lunch?"

Lex thinks of just closing the plant for the day. It would be something to piss his father off on every conceivable level and have the added attraction of being pretty damn crazy, even for him. There's really nothing as much fun as being the boss, Lex thinks, smiling up at Gabe. It's actually on the tip of his tongue to say it.

"Sir?"

Lex's eyes jerk to the open door, his secretary standing ruler-straight in the doorway. She's getting very, very annoying. Pushing her hair back, she gives Gabe a lethal look. She doesn't approve of people having free access to his office without going through her. Then again, she doesn't approve of anything, even Lex.

"Yes?" One day, Lex thinks idly, he's going to fire her. And really, really enjoy it. An extra-special gift to himself. Maybe for his birthday.

"There's a--woman here to see you." The look on her face reminds him of someone in the throes of severe constipation. This day just keeps getting *better*. "She says--"

A voice drifts over her shoulder, just on the edge of really pissed. "That you'll let me in the damn office."

Lex can't help grinning. Perfect. "Please let Stella in."

Stella pushes by, turning on one chunky heel, and flashes out a over bright smile that drips sweet malice. She's good at that. "You heard him. Bye." With a flick of her wrist, she swings the door closed, leaving Lex one last, pleased look at his secretary's stunned face. Oh yes. Fantastic.

Turning back around, Stella opens her mouth, then sees Gabe. "Oh. Sorry, I--"

"This is Gabe. You've heard me talk about him." In retrospect, Lex wonders if he's ever had a conversation with Stella about work. If he's having her in Smallville, he'd better start. "Gabe, this is Stella." And there's an introduction quandary--this is my mistress does not roll off the tongue like it should. And in her chunky heels and short skirt, by no stretch of the imagination can she be a business associate.

Gabe, always a gentleman, gamely extends his hand. "Stella. A pleasure." Gabe's glance back at him is short and hysterically conspiratorial. Ah. He gets the picture. Not the right one, but something useful at least. "We've all wondered if Lex had a life outside work."

This is better than a movie. Stella shakes his hand firmly, tossing Lex a quick, amused look. Yes, she would get a kick out of it. "Not enough of one. So I thought I'd visit."

Gabe steps back, looking between them for a second almost paternally. "Well. I'll--go." Stepping around Stella, Gabe opens the door. "Have a good weekend, Lex."

Lex waves one hand. "You too. Give Chloe my best."

Stella watches Gabe until the door closes, then turns. "Well. That was--"

"Different. What are you doing here?"

Rolling her eyes, she drops into the chair he offered Gabe earlier, bracing one foot on the desk and giving him notice she hadn't grown any fonder of underwear than she'd ever been. "You invited me, remember? Got any phone calls today?"

And that is a very weird way to start a conversation. Lex frowns, glancing at his phone, then pulls the cell from his pocket. Still off. Shit. "What happened?" Turning it on, the message note flashes across the screen. And shit again. "I forgot to turn it back on last night." Or this morning.

"Called you twice from the road. Nice to know you're paying attention."

Fuck you, too. "Get to the point."

"Clark got a little visit from Daddy Dearest," Stella says, leaning back. Under normal circumstances, this would be pleasantly distracting. Right now, it's not. "Now tell me something. You're having him watched. Why the fuck are you bothering if you're not going to fucking *do anything*."

For a second, Lex is absolutely sure he misunderstood her. "My father--"

"Bought a night from Marian. Look, dunno what happened and I don't *want* to know, but it wasn't good. Clark--" She stops, shifting her foot back to the floor. "He's not good, Lex."

It has to be a mistake. "Dad doesn't--" Doesn't. Women, yes. Men, no. That doesn't even make *sense*. "He didn't."

"I saw him leave, and your security probably broke the fucking phone company to try and tell you last night. Yes, he did. Clark--" She stops, looking uncomfortable.

His lips can barely shape words. "Was he--hurt?"

"He was okay physically, if that's what you mean. Did a little number on his bedroom I'm glad I wasn't there to see, though." Her eyes narrow. "The only way Lionel could get to Clark is through Marian, and she--" Stella stops short, sucking in a breath through her teeth. "She'll do anything to get her shit. Now you get what I mean?"

Yes. Yes, he does. "He--and Clark--"

Before he can finish the sentence, Stella is leaning over the desk, one hand planted on the ledger in front of him. "You give him any shit about it, I swear, I'll drive him right back to Metropolis. Marian's doing fine on her own making him miserable. He sure as shit doesn't need it from you."

He's not sure how he feels. It's like that second after he realized Jeremy was going to kill him. There's nothing there to draw on, and Clark's *here*, and God alone knows what he's thinking. "I won't. I--" Have no idea what I'll say to him. Lionel went after *Clark*. Christ. "Is he okay?"

"He's--resting, I think." She doesn't look away. "He needs to--get away from her. From Marian, from the city. From his life." Slowly, she backs off, but she doesn't sit down, watching him warily. "He needs *rest*."

Lex licks dry lips, looking for something to say. Dad had-- "Is the staff--"

"They're great." Shifting, her eyes fix on the window. "Clark went to his room and said he needed to think. When you come back, just--be careful with him, okay? He's so wound up I had a hell of a time getting him to come with me when he found out where we were going." A sudden grin creeps out. "Of course, I waited until we were a good ways from the city before I told him, too. I'm going back." For a second, she looks uncertain. "Should I tell him you're tied up at the office--?"

Yes. No. "I'll be home in about an hour. Make yourselves comfortable. Anything you need, just tell my staff, they'll take care of it." Slowly, Lex tries on a smile. It almost feels real. "Get Clark to eat something."

"Done." With a stronger grin, she turns around, and Lex gives himself a few seconds to watch her ass, skirt riding up long, tanned legs in a way that suggested a lot of other things he could be doing right now that don't have anything to do with thought. When she's gone, though, he flips through his phone, marking out every message, one an hour like clockwork, from his dinner at the Sullivans through this morning. Punching in a number, Lex swivels his chair to stare out the window. "Tyler. Tell me everything."

Work in Progress: Updated 5/28/2005

email jenn

Smallville Fic