Codes: Clark, Lex, Lois, Clark/Lex, other, futurefic
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: be safe and say everything
Summary: Clark decides on a change of lifestyle. Lex decides on a change in the status quo. And the world's doomed.
Author Notes: I raided Sascha at tentative.net for the summary, since God knows, I suck at them. Rana for the title, from the ee cummings poem. Ann for the double beta of botho stories, Agnes for finishing what she could on this one. And the LJ community for walking me through it very, very patiently. Thank you.
Archiving: SSA, Level_Three
Disclaimer: Don't own anyone except Cassius, Daniel, and Charity.
Feedback: Oh yes.

The Fortress hadn't given him any real warning about the side effects.

He's been kneeling by the toilet for what feels like forever, shocked at the bile-burn in the back of his throat, the smell of it. His mouth feels raw, but there's no really good basis for comparison, vague memories of nausea and broken ribs from years and years ago that don't mesh at all with this kind of pain.

This is nothing like Kryptonite poisoning.

Collapsing on the cool tile of his bathroom floor, Clark shuts his eyes, letting the chill settle into every bone through denim and decade-old flannel. It's brand new and familiar like a dream can be, but more real, somehow, like life's been a long fantasy and this is the reality. Dirty, filthy taste coating his mouth, Jesus, this he couldn't have anticipated, and he struggles to his knees for his toothbrush. His stomach hates sudden moves, though, and he's collapsing again, barely noticing the sharp thud of his head hitting the tile again.

Shock, his mind offers up with surprise. You didn't expect something like this?

Obviously not, and he scrabbles feebly at the floor, the small rug brushing the tips of his fingers, a slice of pain following so bright that he gasps. Lifting his hand, he stares at the glass that's buried in his flesh. Broken glass, from the water he was carrying when he stumbled, though he can barely think through the twists in his stomach,

Blinking, he watches blood lazily trace a line down his finger, oozing over the first knuckle and pooling in the web of skin at the base of his fingers. Colder as it moves, almost icy as it reaches his palm, tracing a lifeline that might have actual significance now.

Human, his mind offers, and he can't do anything but agree. This is *human*. Belief's an imperative now. He doesn't have a choice.

Even the relief is sublimated under the spasms wracking every muscle. His entire body's screaming with the change, and something sharp ripples through him, eyes rolling back in his head as his body shudders, toes to the top of his head.

No, the Fortress hadn't covered this at *all*. Probably didn't know. He's the first and last of his kind--or not anymore, and that chokes out a broken laugh that hurts his throat and his ears. It doesn't sound that amused.

Rolling onto his stomach, he shuts his eyes briefly. Focus. Irony would be dying now of blood loss from a fucking cut *finger*. Or knocking himself out on the edge of the toilet. Opening his eyes again, he stretches both arms, trying to steady shaky hands, just enough to pull it free. It breaks, another shock of bright pain, and there are tears forming behind his eyes.

Oh God, he's crying for a cut finger. Giggling threatens to erupt before the next shock of pain, *real* pain. Some kind of fucking hero.

He should call Lois. Get her here. She knew what he was planning, knew--understood. She'd know what to do, all these things he doesn't. He doesn't even have *bandaids* for God's sake, no antibiotic, he's never needed it. Blood is splashing vividly on the floor, pooling bright red and accusatory.

Oh yeah, he really thought *this* through.

And letting Lois see him like this when she's seen Superman--Clark shakes the thought aside and rolls on his side when his stomach heaves again. Bile this time, thickly yellow-green on the floor, but he can almost ignore the burn of it for his finger.

Beneath his cheek, the tile's so cool he might never get up again.

The next spasm is completely unexpected, and Clark's body curls up, mouth opening on no air and no way to get it. Panic takes over--what do you do, he thinks, remember, you saved humans all the time. Save *yourself*. He'd wondered why they fought him sometimes.

So cold, though. And he's never been that before, and it's distracting, soothing, something to explore. Forcing every muscle to relax into the shudders, he watches his own blood smear the floor. He can take this. It's what he chooses. God, it's what he *wants*.

His eyes are almost closed when something warm slides under his head, shoulders leaving the floor to brace against something warm and firm. Thick, harsh cloth slips against his cheek, and he rubs against it instinctively, trying to focus his eyes off blood, but the too-fast movement of his head just brings the nausea back and vision's off. Instantly, cool hands are on his face, turning it sideways, and he's vomiting onto the floor, raw bile flecked with blood.

That--can't be good.

"Ssh." Fingers smoothing over his face, and Clark tries to recognize the voice. "You're a fucking moron."

Oh.

"Lex."

He thinks he can hear a snicker, or a sigh. You never know with Lex. Lex, who's relentless by nature and bored by choice, levering Clark up until he's sprawled in some kind of sitting arrangement, and something wet and soft streaks his face. Clark realizes he's been sweating. When the cloth flashes too close to his eyes, he sees blood.

"What--" Words are hard to form; his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton and his tongue's far too big to try anything like English. Kryptonian either, and he feels a grin spread his lips briefly. This will be funny one day. In the future. Far, far in the future.

"Shut up." He's braced against a warm, strong body, and it's Lex, though logic says he's hallucinating and dying on his bathroom floor alone in this ultimate kind of superhuman irony. Still, instinct is instinct, and he'd know Lex on his deathbed. Beneath the stench of vomit and blood and God knows what else, the sharp masculine cut of scent, metal-edged and frighteningly vivid, is too familiar. It's Lex.

His night could get worse, Clark reflects when another spasm shakes him and strong hands brace his shoulders, keeping him from shaking himself apart. His hand's taken and lifted, sharp pain when Lex removes the glass, wrapping it in what feels like toilet paper, layer upon layer. Letting his head roll back, Clark looks up.

"It's been awhile." He can't help smirking.

"Not long enough." Under Clark's hand is a warm thigh, wool covered and solid, easy to brace himself on. Grounding, too, and his fingers like the feeling of the cloth a little too much for comfort. Lex's arm around his chest is almost too-tight, but Clark doesn't care. It's enough that there's something to hold on to, grip with the next spasm that rips up his body like he's being cut open inside and out. "I assume this is reaction to whatever the fuck you did up in the Fortress?"

"Yeah." Clark chokes out a laugh. "Should have stayed--there. With the medical facilities." Can't get back now. Frankly, he's not even clear on how he got back to Metropolis, since obviously he didn't fly on his own. There are vague memories of a private plane and a man that didn't speak much English but watched him a lot. Okay. "You bought my pilot."

"Michael was very disappointed you weren't carrying something interesting like heroin or weapons of mass destruction. A let-down for the man, I assure you." Lex shifts a little--motion isn't good, but Lex is about as capable of stillness as Lois is of silence. Strong arms reposition themselves under his arms, and Lex pulls them both up effortlessly.

Lex is really too strong to be completely human. Clark wants to laugh at the thought that Lex is now the most alien in the room. In a manner of speaking.

For some reason, he doesn't shake too much on his way to the narrow bed in the corner of his bedroom, and it's warm and soft under his back. Lex lowers him down as gently as a child, pulling the blankets up, then turning Clark on his side just as the next spasm hits--how can he still be throwing up, there's nothing left in his *stomach*.

"I can't believe you didn't ask a few more questions before you did it," Lex says from somewhere far away. The next country, perhaps. He's lightheaded. Obviously.

"I can't believe that the Fortress considers this 'consequences' and didn't go into detail." Clark sucks in a foul-tasting breath. "I thought it meant for the *world*."

"You might have guessed that the transition from alien to human might be a little jarring." Lex's voice is so dry it almost grates, but the washcloth is back, sliding over his mouth. Clark wants to lick it, get rid of the taste.

"*Little* jarring?" Clark opens his eyes--blurred vision. What if he needs glasses now for real? That will suck. A *lot*. "I don't--why are you here?"

He can almost hear the smile in Lex's voice, and the finger in his hair are gentle now, stroking back. "I have you watched from time to time." More gentle stroking, fingers lacing through his hair. It feels wet, curling around Lex's fingers like it's trying to hold on.

Clark feels the completely inappropriate laugh try to break out from between his lips. "How--"

"I've studied Kryptonite for years, Clark." That answers--well, absolutely nothing. The washcloth is back, and Clark lets himself lean into that, loving the feel of the rough, nubby material cleaning, soothing. "You're engaged to Miss Lane. I put two and two together."

Oh. Not exactly two and two, except in Lexworld, where weird yet strangely right conclusions could be leaped to without anything as irrelevant as actual evidence. But it's easier just to nod, and the bed shifts when Lex reaches for the phone. Distantly, Clark hears Lex dialing a number.

"Chloe. Shut up." A pause. "Do you want to hear this or not?" Another pause. "Tell Lois he's fine. Yes, like she'd believe me." Another pause, longer, and Clark tries sight again. Marginally clearer. Black wool thigh near his chest, inches from his fingers. He follows the line of material, up to a crisp white shirt. Lex must have discarded jacket and coat somewhere. The sleeves are rolled up. Very Lex. Wouldn't want to get too dirty. "No, you both can stay right where you are." Another pause. "Then you should have been here first. Tell Lois to be here in the morning. He should be fine by then. Mercy and Hope would love a chance to chat, sweetheart, so feel free to pass that along. Goodbye."

Lex can't even be solicitous without being threatening. But--Clark doesn't want to see Chloe. Or Lois. Not like this. Macho-guy thing--frankly, Lex seeing it sucks so much it hurts, but that's unavoidable now. Lois? Unacceptable in every way. He shivers at the thought, and instantly, warm hands stroke over his back, tucking the blanket in around him.

"Why--"

"War's over."

He'd once heard speculation that Lex was insane. It's almost believable, and Clark finally finds the focus to look into Lex's face. Usual Lex, totally unreadable, except for the smirk and the familiar tilt of his head.

"You're fucking kidding."

"Your mother would wash your mouth out with soap if she heard that. Drink this." A bottle magically appears and Lex hand slides under his head, levering it up enough to reach the lip. It doesn't taste like water, faintly metal-edged, but that could be the blood and bile slicking Clark's tongue. It goes down a lot more easily than anything's come up, though, and Clark shuts his eyes at it hits his stomach, expecting the cramps....

...that never happen.

Well, that's unexpected.

"How did you--"

"You never did listen well," Lex remarks. "Take another drink before you try to talk." The bottle's back in place, but Clark's not fighting it. Thirstily, Clark gulps, but in an act of pure evil, Lex pulls the bottle back. "Not too much. This will help."

Clark lays back on the pillows. There's a fine sheen of sweat crawling over his skin--uncomfortably slick, and he can feel it popping up in places that have never sweat before. Under the blankets seems uncomfortably hot, and Clark tries to shrug them off. A hand on his chest stops him instantly; Clark blinks as he realizes he can't fight it off.

And Lex is smiling like he just got handed the entirety of Europe for his personal demesne.

"Human, Clark. Like I'm not." The pressure increases--it's a shock, and Clark blinks, reaching up to close his fingers weakly around the delicate looking wrist. Instantly, and pretty damn surprisingly, Lex backs off, hand now simply resting on his sweat-soaked shirt before it's joined by the second, busily unbuttoning the ruined material. Clark thinks about protesting, but it smells.

And moving would involve far too much effort. Much easier to lay here and let Lex strip him down to his boxers, clothes discarded, then a few long minutes on the other side of the room with the cellphone.

When their eyes meet, Lex holds the gaze for seconds too long before crossing the room, pressing his palm to the tiny mouthpiece.

"Lois wants to talk to you. She's downstairs." Lex sits down, extending the phone until it's pressed to Clark's ear. He can hear her cursing from inches away and it brings a smile to his face, carefully moving until he can hear her clearly.

"Lois?" His voice sounds--really bad.

The steady stream of invective ends like a radio dial being turned. "Clark?" Breathless relief fills the single syllable. "Clark, oh God, are you--what--"

"I'm fine." Glancing up, he sees Lex studying the far wall as though it's covered with the personal sayings of Alexander the Great. Almost enough to make him laugh. "Really, Lois. I'm okay. Just--wiped."

"What the fuck is Luthor doing there?"

The question of the ages. "Apparently making sure I survive the experience. Everything--everything's okay, I swear. Some sleep and I think I'll be okay."

She doesn't like it. Vocally doesn't like it. More than one time. Clark can't keep up and doesn't even try, just enjoys the steady rhythm of her voice and how she can make even fuck sound sweet and somehow tender.

The phone's gently removed from his ear.

"He's falling asleep," Clark hears Lex say, amusement rich in his voice. Clark doesn't bother opening his eyes. "Go home. He's yours tomorrow."

That sounds--oh, just a little bizarre. Clark shakes the thought away, letting the voices drift. The spasms in his stomach are reducing by the moment to faint cramps, like something is gently pushing against the surface of his stomach. Curling onto his side, he feels Lex stand up, walking to the door, and that's Mercy's voice, though Clark can't make out the words.

The spasms grow--Clark shudders at the sudden chill, burrowing under the covers, voices becoming nothing but an indistinct, almost annoying drone of sound. Teeth suddenly clattering together, God, this is *cold*, this is how people feel in Kansas winters, he never knew, never guessed it felt like this. The covers don't seem to hold any heat at all, seem to suck it from him, and he pulls his knees to his chest, trying to find--something. Warmth. Anything.

"Clark. Shit." The door closes far too loudly, and then too-hard footsteps. The mattress dips and Lex's hand brushes his face. God, so hot. Wonderful, vibrant heat that he can't help moving into, making an embarrassing sound low in his throat.

He's miles out of shame. Hell, he's a few thousand miles out of complete sanity as well. Who the hell tests the powers of gold kryptonite on their fucking *body* without further research?

"Clark. It's okay. Hold on." Blankets aren't doing anything, no matter how close Lex tucks them in, and Clark tries to lock his jaw enough to stop the constant clatter of enamel. "You know, research would have been smart, Clark."

"Heh." What an idea.

"This didn't come up during..." Lex cuts himself off. "Not that I ever had the actual substance, but extrapolation..." He drifts off into possible thought, and Clark slits his eyes open enough to see Lex frowning. "You're so fucking stupid."

"Worth it." Mumbled between clenched teeth. *Human*.

"She'd better be." The hand's back, and Clark wants to grab it, pull it under the covers and curl all around it. The bed shifts again, comforters drawn aside--Clark almost protests before he gets it.

Big, warm, *hot* body, and screw the war, fuck the enemy thing, Lex is like a space heater and Clark doesn't even hesitate. He rolls over and curls up as close as he can, draping a leg across beautifully warm wool, an arm over a silk-clad chest, and burrows his face into a silky shoulder.

Lex makes an unclassifiable sound. In Smallville, an adolescent Clark might have called it a laugh.

He wakes up to the smell of coffee, Lois, and some truly sickening memories. Light from the window cuts across his eyes when he sits up--instant karma for something he must have done wrong in a past life, because damn, that *hurts*.

"Lois, window--" he doesn't, can't open his eyes to see, but her heels make sharp sounds as they cross the room, and he listens as the blinds are closed and the curtains dropped down. More heel clicks, then the bed dips with her slight weight, and he opens his eyes as she hands him a bottle.

"You look like shit, Smallville."

Clark can't help but grin. She doesn't look much better. Dark hair in an uncertain chignon, smudges under her eyes, smeared make-up, but her clothes are Metropolis dinner theatre from last night and she's still wearing heels and stockings. The faint smells of stale smoke, wine, and coffee drift around Clark, but the very idea of coffee makes his stomach turn over.

Taking a drink, Clark recognizes the mix.

"Okay, that wasn't an extended hallucination." His finger aches and he feels--different. The same. Strange. No X-ray, even when he squints. His vision isn't twenty-twenty anymore.

That really does suck. He'll need glasses.

"No, it wasn't, kiddo." A gentle hand belies the sharp edge of her voice, stroking across his forehead, pushing damp hair aside. "God, you--"

He lifts his hand, staring at the neatly bandaged finger. Lex sent out for things at some point. The idea of Hope carrying medical supplies is far too mindbending to process.

"Human," he whispers, staring at the bandage. He think he can feel his pulse beneath the clean white gauze covering, the hard flow of blood, coagulating, forming a scab for healing-- "Lois--"

"Yeah." Her voice is uncharacteristically gentle, followed by another long, tender stroke. "I'm--" Her voice breaks briefly, and Clark turns his gaze, meeting dark eyes that stare straight into him. "I'm happy for you, Clark."

"Do you understand?" he whispers, and her fingers curve down his cheek, resting briefly on his shoulder. Elegant fingers with manicured nails, and he covers them with his. She takes a deep breath, letting it out, brow furrowed in thought.

"Maybe." The shrug is pure Lois. "Sometimes. A little?" She shakes her head, pulling away and reaching for the bottle. "Luthor left a list of what to give you for the next couple of days, but he said the worst is over."

"God." Worst hadn't been the vomiting--Clark has vague memories of later bathroom moments even less attractive. "I should have known. He wouldn't miss the chance to see the transition from alien to human for the world."

Lois chuckles and pulls the covers around him, tucking him in. "I'm sure he took extensive notes. Be a good boy and stay in bed. Chloe's bringing my clothes and my laptop, and I already called us both in to the office. Perry's going to kill us, you know."

"You're staying here?"

The twinkle in her eyes makes him grin. "Like you know how to take care of yourself. Please." A slap on his thigh that--wow, that *hurts*, then she stands up, ignoring the creases in expensive silk and the vagaries of smudged mascara. She's still the most beautiful woman he's ever met. "Who told Luthor we were engaged?"

"I was going to ask you the same question." It makes Clark really wonder what the mail staff at The Planet does during downtime. Seriously. The gossip that comes out of there blows his mind. "Has Chloe said something?"

"Probably." She shrugs. "If you're not going to tell her the truth, Clark--"

"Which part? She just thinks I'm sick, right?"

Lois isn't like anyone else, something that still throws him when he thinks about it. She looks *at* him--sees him, he thinks, like no one else ever has.

"I think so." He watches her balance it out in her head, mentally replaying whatever recent conversation they'd had, looking for clues. "We'll worry about that later. Drink up."

Looking at the bottle, Clark takes another drink, wincing at the feel of the liquid sliding down the raw spots in his throat.

"Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

Lois leans into the side of the bed, head tilted in thought.

"Yes. Chloe's got a new boyfriend, your mom called and asked where you were, and my mother sent me another email regarding my love life. In other words, nothing new to report." Her pause makes Clark look up--dark eyes are fixed on the floor. Her mouth twitches with a completely indefinable emotion. "What happened last night?"

"I was sick. I was--" When she looks up, the sparkle makes him choke. "You have a filthy mind."

"Mmm." Sitting at the foot of the bed, she draws a knee to her chest, giving him a long, extraordinarily knowing look. "Let me see if I can remember--oh yes. 'No, Lois, we just were in Smallville at the same time.' 'No Lois, we were just friends.' 'Lois, it was a long time ago and we haven't spoken in *years*.' 'Lois, we never had a relationship like *that*--'"

He's in hell.

"It's all true." Amazing, how good her memory is. Makes him curious if she was around Smallville during the meteor shower. That's got to be some kind of mutation.

"Uh huh. So you always snuggle with your nemesis on off-nights?" Oh God, she's enjoying this too much. Snuggle--

Jesus. "You--er, came up here?" Would Lex have *let* her up here when he was still....

She smiles sweetly. "Just in time to watch the very untouchable Mr. Luthor pry you off before he left."

Yes, this is hell.

Burying his head in the pillow, Clark tries to think of calming things. Like holes that open up under you when you're backed into a horrible, horrible corner of hell. The bed shifts nauseatingly, and then Lois is stretched out beside him, indifferent to what has to be a thousand dollar dress, head rested on one hand, and she's far, far too happy.

"Luthor Found *In Flagrante Delicto* With Daily Planet Reporter." It never stops amazing him how she can make her voice sound like a Daily Planet headline. "At six this morning, Alexander Luthor, CEO of LexCorp and current candidate for state senator, was observed leaving the premises of one Clark Jerome Kent, staff reporter for the Daily Planet. Sources report he spent the night."

"Bitch," he murmurs into cheap cotton.

"Mr. Luthor, currently in the middle of *divorce proceedings*, has no comment on his hitherto unknown relationship with reporter Clark Kent." One beautiful hand slides out into a fist, resting just below his mouth. "Any comments, Mr. Kent?"

"You're so going to hell. You know this, right?" In a just world, there would be payback. Something.

"Oh. This is new?" Her laugh is gorgeous--like cut crystal, tinkling around them both. "Really, Clark, you know I wouldn't be jealous--we could compare stories--"

"--you're so dead." How can he hide the body?

"After all, it's not like we often sleep with the same people--"

"Nothing happened!" Though snuggling, in Lexian terms, might be up there with a declaration of intent. Or something. He's trying not to think about that part.

"Are you naked, Kent?" And boom, blankets pulled back before Clark can remember how hands work. So embarrassing. So, so embarrassing. She looks at the boxers with a frown. "Well, that's disappointing."

Clark lifts his head enough to glare at her. "I hate you."

"I hate you, too." Smiling sweetly, she gets up on both elbows, obviously thinking about something else now. "Perry called before the dinner last night. Before you decided to change species, did you happen to check with the Fortress about meteor showers?"

"What?" He hadn't really done much but brood and then do it. The Fortress was like that.

Lois waves a hand, frowning in concentration. "Nothing important, really. Just a spectacular meteor shower is apparently coming up. NASA is still gauging the size--those new laser whatevers that LexCorp's been working on might be called into action if they're large enough." Turning her head, she must catch the expression on his face. "Oh, is it time for a Clark Kent Guilt Trip With Optional Brooding? Don't let me stop you."

Guilt, yeah. He hadn't even checked. Blinking, Clark rolls on his back, staring at the ceiling. Meteors.

"I didn't--"

"You know, humanity survived a long time before you were around and will be around whether or not you're in tights." The uncharacteristically gentle voice makes Clark blink. "Far be it from me to say Luthor has any redeeming qualities, but he's been fighting you for so long that he's upgraded the defensive capabilities of the planet in a really big way. NASA's not worried, and you shouldn't be either."

"I could have stopped it."

"And take away our light show? Drink." Reaching over him, she takes the bottle, forgotten against his hip, and shoves it into his hand. "You have to finish three of these, Luthor said."

The novelty of Lois using Lex as a reason is enough to make his eyebrows jump, but he takes a drink, feeling the faint cramps in his stomach settling again.

"Lois--"

The dark eyes fix on him with impossible strength.

"I was wrong, Clark," she says, slowly, like she's testing out the words. "I do understand."

"Can you?" Sometimes, he wonders if anyone can. His parents might and then again, they might not--but then, they're a little blind. They want him happy, that's all. Parents are like that. In the final balance, racking it up in his head, Clark's not sure anymore. Not that he was sure before, but--

"Completely? No. I never wore the tights." A thoughtful look creases her forehead before she sits up, crawling over him to land neat as a cat on the floor, heels and all. "But I can tell you this, Superman. I never wanted to, either."

Clark frowns at the name. "I'm not Superman anymore."

Lois cocks her head. "I didn't know a change in DNA changed the person inside the skin." Her pause hits him like a truck. She's really far too good at this. "Get some rest, Smallville. I'll make breakfast and download the NASA data for you to look over. You're the one with the family history in advanced astrophysics, after all." A flicker of her skirt, and she disappears out the door.

Of course, she can't leave it at that.

"By the way, before you nap, maybe you should see something."

Clark opens his eyes, frowning a little as she leans into the door.

"What?"

"Come here."

Oh, this is going to suck. Lois in playful mode was dangerous when he was *invulnerable*. Getting to his feet unsteadily, he's pleased to note that vomit does not appear instantly and the walls do not move. Much. It's a long, long walk across the room, but Lois doesn't move, and the smile stretches into a smirk that she has to have picked up from Lex.

Leaning into the doorway, Clark stares into his living room, blinking warily. Tulips, roses, sunflowers, things he can't even name anymore, a riot of colors and scents that hit him like a brick. *Everywhere*. Coffee table, beside the couch, *on* the couch, the floor, the dining room table, the kitchen--how can anyone *walk* in here? Slowly, he pushes himself fully upright, staring at the vases that litter the room, vaguely trying to bring it together.

Is this what an armistice feels like?

"I forgot," Lois says smoothly as she picks her way to the kitchen like she's walking a Metropolis ballroom, not a misstep in sight. "Your mom also asked why Luthor cleaned out her greenhouse. Any ideas, hotshot?"

He's going to kill Lois.

And Lex.

There's almost an entire week where Clark wonders if Lex has finally begun to deserve the title 'insane'.

Lois isn't helping, either.

First day back at work, there are flowers on the desk. Large, obvious, former-nemeses-don't-send-stuff-like-this flowers. Huge red roses, and yeah, Mom's querying email asking why on earth Lex was singlehandedly buying out Smallville's flower population hit him by the third day, when sunflowers made a shocking appearance on every inch of his desk.

By Thursday, Clark only sighs when he sees the orchids. Apparently, Smallville's tapped. Metropolis florists are now under siege.

"You know," Lois says thoughtfully, leaning down to take a sniff from the orchids, eyebrows raised, "he never sent me flowers."

"He sent tulips," Clark answers rebelliously, staring at the dizzying array of flora littering his desk. "You said he sent you tulips."

"That's how he confirmed I'd broken up with him." Head tilted, Lois leans into the desk, fingernails tapping an irregular rhythm on the wood. "You know the MO."

"Yep." Tulips are remnants of Victoria, because Lex has a truly, truly bizarre sense of humor. Pushing aside a solid crystal vase, Clark buries his head in his arms. "He's trying to drive me insane."

"I'd say he's doing the unheard-of and asking for a date." Oh yeah, she's enjoying this far, far too much. "Did you finish up that article for Perry?"

"On the city council? Done and done." Leaning back, Clark surveys his desk. "Lex doesn't ask for anything."

"It's like a funeral, isn't it?" she says brightly. Oh fuck you, Lois. "Except in reverse. Check your livefeed later on. NASA's doing a press conference on the meter shower. So far, ETA is ten days or so. The biggest fragment recorded is apparently the size of the old LuthorCorp headquarters, but there's talk about destroying it before it reaches Earth. The Justice League is making noises about going out to check on this itself."

Clark makes a noise that sounds just a little petulant. Okay, really petulant. He's a spoiled rotten brat that's being--being--being *flirted* with via flora. Semi-publicly. Lois is right and wrong--this isn't Lex asking for a date, per se. This is Lex laying fucking siege, even Clark knows intent when it comes in the form of flowers. Faintly, the elevator pings in the distance, reminding Clark he has two stories to at least pretend to work on and not obsess about the bizarrity of his love life.

Such as it is.

"Yeah, I got an email from Br--Batman." Lois looks interested at his almost-slip. She's going to figure it out. He pities Bruce the day she does.

"For Superman?"

"For Superman." One of a thousand times Clark is glad that his identity was kept secret even there. Don't ask, don't tell. Like the military, except, well--the Justice League really hadn't *wanted* to know. It was enough Superman showed up on time like a good little trooper to save the world. "He thinks Superman is--oh hell, who knows what Batman thinks?"

"About the latest latex polymers, I'd say." The tip of a pink tongue slinks out, resting lightly on her lip, eyes going distant and interested. Oh, he pities Bruce. Selena, too. Taking a breath, Clark shoves his chair back. "Who's covering the NASA press conference?"

"Chloe for The Inquisitor, Ralph for The Daily Planet. Jimmy went with, so if all else fails, we'll have good pictures." Glancing up, Lois freezes, and he watches the pretty red mouth drop briefly, then shiver, like she's fighting something else.

That--that is a smirk. Oh Jesus Christ.

Slowly turning, Clark watches what appears to be a grizzly bear on a dolly being worked across the floor. There's a bow around its neck.

"Lois," Clark says slowly, carefully, "tell me you just had a really bad date with someone who thinks you're a goddess or something."

"Not--recently." She sucks in a slow breath, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I think it's carrying a box. In its paws."

This isn't happening. People are gathering along the aisles to watch, work coming to a scary, grinding halt as everyone gathers to watch the most bizarre, and smallest, parade in history. The poor delivery guy is all shades of red.

Let Melinda have had a fight with her boyfriend. Let Jerry have had a fight with *his* boyfriend. Let someone, anyone, please, be expecting a six foot--that's a teddy bear with a purple bow.

"I'm going to kill him." Clark isn't sure how, but a variety of interesting possibilities emerge. He was Lex Luthor's best friend for four years, after all. He knows things.

"Kent!"

Lois spins in one of those perfect arcs of motion that even Superman couldn't have duplicated, and she does it on a slick floor wearing heels. Leaning into the desk, they both watch Perry descend from his office like the wrath of God, mouth twitching.

Is he anti-teddy bear?

"You have an interview at one." A paper is thrust onto the desk, vases crash, scattering orchids like ants making a run for cover, and Lois leaps gracefully from a spill of water that soaks the floor. Clark watches the slow, careful drip, because he knows Lex, Lex knows this office, and this is so very well timed Clark's teeth ache.

"Interview." Lois says it for him. She's not laughing, but only because Perry's here.

"Delivery for Mr. Clark Kent," the delivery boy says far too clearly, and Clark closes his eyes as Perry's eyes flicker up, taking in the bear in a single look. There's laughter, quickly muffled. This can't be happening to him.

"Kent?"

"Yes sir?" Perry doesn't have a sense of humor. At least, not one that exists on any plane Clark's ever heard of. There's a horrifying second where Clark thinks Perry will comment on the flora and stuffed fauna currently taking up important Planet space, but he only smiles.

It's as unnatural as anything Clark's ever heard of, and that includes Lois wearing off-the-rack.

"Good job getting an interview with Luthor. Don't be late."

And he walks away, leaving shock in his wake. Lois looks around the room, eyebrows raised, daring anyone to say a single word. Any word. Instantly, blissful noise results as people throw themselves into busy, important work, like there isn't a giant stuffed teddy bear beside Clark's desk and he didn't just get an interview with a man harder to get a comment out of than the average corpse.

With a trembling hand, Clark picks up the paper, wincing at a paper cut. Humanity is beginning to seriously, seriously suck.

A chair rolls over, and Lois is sitting neatly beside his desk, like it's any day in the world. Moving a vase aside and pushing a few stray, wet orchids from a comfortable place to put her elbow, the dark eyes fix on him.

"'Lois, you have a dirty mind. We never did anything.'" Her voice drops, low, husky, and very possibly what makes men, including Lex once upon a time, lay down so she can walk on them in her designer heels. It's sex. "Let me think here--right. 'Lois, we're enemies--'"

"We are!" Obviously, when Clark became human, a warp in space/time developed and Clark has been transplanted here. Where there exist six foot teddy bears, and where does someone *shop* for those anyway? "We really, really are."

Studying her nails, Lois sighs softly. "I suppose I should tell you--" And she stops. Oh God, she's a bitch.

"I'm going to call Chloe and tell her to set you up on another blind date," Clark snaps, and that is The Threat. The one that even Lois can't possibly ignore, because she remembers the last guy Chloe set her up with, and so does Clark. Bruce Wayne hadn't appealed in the least.

And that reminds him--she's going to kill him when she finds out the truth. Note that again. Now he's not invulnerable. He'll have to watch for her heels.

"You're playing dirty."

"I love you, too. Spill."

She shrugs beautifully, tossing back dark hair and giving him the most serious, studious reporter-look in creation. The kind that Clark knows from experience means terrible, terrible things. Terrible things.

"Just a rumor."

Clark grits his teeth and that makes his jaw ache. Oh damn, this day sucks.

"What. Is. The. Rumor."

The sparkle sends hope crashing to the ground. Though what he was hoping for, he really has no idea.

"From Luthor's personal secretary, reservations were made at 'Glass House'. Seven o'clock. And yes, those are chocolates." Standing up, she swishes by him in a cloud of Christian Dior and silk, removing the box from the bear. Turning around, she slowly pulls open the gold thread from the heavy black box, carefully removes the cover, and takes out one perfect chocolate. "Wanna know what name?"

It's strange, that a variety of possibilities are assaulting him and not one, he knows, will be the right answer. He watches with a sinking feeling as she bites into the chocolate, a long line of caramel slinking out like something in a really classy porn film. Chewing slowly, she watches him melt into his chair.

"Clark, does the name 'Warrior Angel' ring any bells?" She watches his expression with every indication of pure satisfaction. "Get your gear, Kent. I'll take you to lunch and drop you off at LexCorp Towers on the way back."

Staring helplessly, Clark looks for words that don't exist. Licking his lips, he forces something out. Anything at all.

"I need someone to pick me up."

Lois grins, indicating the bear with a flicker of red painted nails. Evil. Damn. "I think you're spoken for, Smallville. Let's get moving."

It's a form of completely unheard-of wrongness that Lex's secretary, Charity, who once shot at Superman with Kryptonite bullets, *smiles* at his arrival.

"Go right in, Mr. Kent," she says, picking up the phone with a cheery shake of a very blonde head, ringlets bouncing. He doesn't trust the ringlets. She's five two, weighs less than a hamster soaking wet, and can kill a man in under five seconds. Lex likes his people multi-talented. "He's expecting you."

Chinese food does not minister to a mind diseased, nor does Lois when she's in the mood to make his life a living hell. Chopsticks were a new phenomenon without super-reflexes--it turns out he really is naturally clumsy, Kryptonite or no-Kryptonite--and Clark, staring hard at the polished wooden door, wishes wistfully for heat vision again.

"Mr. Kent?"

Adjusting the now-necessary glasses, Clark considers snapping something out, but she's better with the witty comebacks than anyone but Lois. Taking a deep breath, he tightens his grip on his notepad and thinks calming thoughts. Of bear-massacres and shredded orchids, and Lex that one time that Superman held him over the edge of a building, the time with that stupid plot involving dolphins and bizarre uses of sonar, but it doesn't help much, because one, Superman hadn't dropped Lex, and two, Lex's suit didn't even look rumpled afterward.

Clark opens the door and steps onto fine mosaic tile--probably something Alexander the Great either owned, wanted to own, or considered owning at some point in his short reign over the known world. Lex would know this--probably by this time he's found some psychic to work full time channeling Alexander just for the purposes of giving Lex good advice or sharing world conquest jokes. That might explain a lot.

Fixing his gaze on the floor, Clark flips the door shut--it's still kind of new that full strength no longer means instant destruction, so really, he can slam doors now, and it's comforting to hear it hit with a beautiful loud clatter. Oh yes. Better. Petty as hell, but better.

"Clark." The voice is--pretty much Lex. Smooth like caramel, dark like chocolate, and if Lois had ever shown even the slightest hint of precognition or a real feel for his weak spots, he'd say she'd eaten that candy deliberately. "Come in, please."

"Mr. Luthor." Even to himself, he sounds petulant and just on this side of bratty. Well, good. "You asked for an interview." Oh hell, is he really going to play along? Looking up, he sees the smirk--vintage stuff, like fine wine, it only gets better with age, even if Lex hasn't aged to speak of. Maybe the feel of power's stronger, and right, the morals have seriously gone to hell, but--well. He's still Lex. Still lounging in two thousand dollar suits in indecently large leather chairs behind far too-wide desks, the very picture of relaxed and indulgent sophistication.

Oh yeah. Slamming down in the wide, offensively comfortable leather chair across from Lex, Clark tries out a glare. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting." Head cocked, Lex studies him with so much blatancy that Clark feels more underdressed than usual. Almost naked, even. "How are you?"

"Fine, great, and Smallville, by the way, is losing oxygen by the second, what with the denuding of anything floral." Oh, he's petty and really not great at the witticisms. Closing his eyes, Clark takes a deep breath. "Mr. Luthor--"

"Lex." Lex leans both elbows onto the desk, fixing him with a warm, personal look of true interest. The sort of interest that got socialites out of their underwear, managed to get Lois out of hers, and at sixteen, could have peeled the boxers right off of Clark's in the time it took to light a cigar. "Clark. Really. Relax."

"There's a bear by my desk."

Lex's mouth twitches from the practiced smile. The bastard is about to laugh. "Do you like it?"

Clark hadn't really got past the utter humiliation to decide on that. "That's not the point. You can't--" Clark stops. *Can't* isn't a word in Lex's vocabulary. Like *shouldn't* and *couldn't* and *wouldn't*. "Lex, if this is some sort of--I mean--" It just sounded weird. Lex, are you hitting on me? Lex, is this your idea of foreplay? Lex, it's been years and remember the time I broke all your really cool toys and you said you'd cut out my heart? With a Kryptonite spoon?

Taking a breath, Clark braces both feet on the floor.

"No."

"Dinner."

"You do still know the meaning of the word 'no', right?" Thing is, Lex might not. Looking up from beneath his bangs--he really needs a haircut--he watches Lex study him. Like a chessboard, maybe, or a particular area of unclaimed land that needs conquering real damn soon.

Or like--well, like he's looking at Clark, too. Like he sees *him*, not Superman, and Clark doesn't miss the hatred or the anger or the barely checked violence that has always simmered beneath the surface of every one of their encounters for so long that sometimes, Clark thinks that those years in Smallville were some kind of Kryptonite-induced hallucination.

It's a lot like being seventeen again, and that's where Clark stops the train of thought completely. Another breath, and he thinks about reaching for his notepad, but that'd be pretty silly at this point.

"Why? You didn't win. I withdrew. Different thing."

"Different thing," Lex agrees, and the smirk vanishes like it was never there at all. "It's just dinner, Clark--"

"Lex? You do remember I actually have a pretty good idea about your dating life, though the bear thing's new. I--" Clark stops, wondering if he can say the words. He can, actually. Leave me alone. I don't want you. I'm engaged to the most brilliant woman in the world.

Lies are easy for him. Always have been. The point of this entire thing was to bring that to a stop, and Clark bites his tongue on the words.

"Dinner, Clark. We can talk." Lex picks up a pen from the edge of the desk, running it lightly between his fingers. He's nervous, which is something on the order of a minor miracle, but the thing that makes Clark pause, Lex is letting it show. To him. "That's all I want, Clark."

Clark Kent hasn't seen the real Lex in far too long. Even this--too-polished, too-calm, too-reasonable, and too-damn smooth--is closer to the real thing than anything Lex has been since Smallville.

"Aren't you trying to conquer the Pacific Rim tonight?" That's--not even close to being snide, and Clark leans back in his chair, watching Lex watch him. And the pen that's stationed between those long fingers is bending under the stress that shows nowhere else, even in Lex's eyes.

Lex isn't playing. At least, not in any way that's familiar to either Clark Kent or Superman.

"Dinner." Clark can hear Lois' voice in his head, hear his dad's too, but Lois wins, per usual. She's just louder that way. And a hell of a lot closer. "What time?"

The pen is pushed aside like it wasn't almost bent in half.

"I'll pick you up at seven." And right, jaded sophistication isn't supposed to show relief, but it's there. It's Lex, and Clark knows every mood, every twitch, and it's as obvious as a shout.

"From the Planet. I have to--finish this." Clark looks at his notebook and sighs. He still has an interview to go. Oh damn. "Okay, interview now?"

Gesturing expansively, Lex settles back in his chair, giving Clark a smile that could light up the world. Clark feels a shiver run up his spine at the feel of it, remembering getting that look anytime he wanted it once upon a time. "Go right ahead."

Lex sends him back in a car--Aston Martin, no huge surprise, and the driver, Mercy, keeps giving him suspiciously friendly looks every time their eyes meet. Frankly, it's creepy as hell, but then again, Clark's doubted Mercy's ability for independent thought for years now. She's like this feminine extension of Lex with breasts, or so the cut of her coat suggests. Mumbling something like thank-you, Clark gets out in front of the newspaper, noting Lois, cigarette in hand, chatting with someone from The Inquisitor, but her head turns at the sight of him. Her eyes flicker, telling him, don't let anyone see you, Clark. Unless you want to be front page news.

Clark ducks through the swarm of people on afternoon break, approaching the glass doors like it's any day of the week. He wonders if the fact he's just accepted a date with the archnemesis of the world is written somewhere on his skin like invisible ink. Visible in just the right light or whenever Lois' eyes fix on him too long.

"Clark." Oh hell, he knows that Inquisitor employee. Chloe's buddy Daniel, Jimmy's favorite rival, and possibly the third most annoying human being ever born. Turning with a sigh, Clark watches Lois' eyes narrow as she takes him in, then a slow lift of the corner of her mouth, asking a question, a merrily arched eyebrow that confirms his short, defeated nod in answer.

Like she ever thought anything else.

"Hey, Daniel." Letting the door fall shut with a feeling a lot like doom, Clark turns to face them. Daniel's a lot like a puppy--bouncy, eager to please, but with sharp teeth hidden behind the goofy, gape-mouthed grin, and a mind almost as sharp as Lois'. He fools people like that, and while Clark can't like him, even for Chloe's sake, he does respect him. "I thought you'd be covering the NASA press conference."

"Nah. Got a new kid that Chloe wanted to break in." A shrug of tweed-clad shoulders, and Daniel settles beside him, taking out another cigarette. Lois saunters up, and Daniel's eyes flicker down her body like a conquest waiting to happen.

Oh, stupid. Lois hates that.

Leaning into the rough brick wall, Lois blows out a slow line of smoke like she's warming up her mouth for the oral sex Olympics. Whoa. Clark sucks in a slow breath and Daniel's eyes glaze over.

"Daniel heard about the interview," Lois drawls, tossing it out with all the power of a bomb wrapped in a blanket. Nice. He's seen Lois use every weapon in her arsenal to get a story, but never to keep one from happening. "I was telling him about your history."

Her eyes hold his, and the simple, clean explanation is there. Also, the fact that the body count in the Daily Planet will jump when she finds out who leaked the information to the Inquisitor. Clark could almost pity whoever she discovers.

"You knew Luthor from Smallville?" Daniel asked, shaking his gaze free of Lois' mouth with some difficulty.

"A little," Clark answers, thinking fast. "When we were kids. Lois, I have to get that report to Perry. Did you want--"

"Sure, Smallville." The butt flicks out, just missing Daniel's shoulder when he moves. "Sorry, Daniel, duty calls. See ya." Leaning past Clark, she pulls the door open and Clark ducks inside, Lois on his heels like a frighteningly beautiful bodyguard. The second the glass shuts between them and Daniel, she gives him a look under her lashes that says, you're going to spill everything. And she's right.

But business first.

"What did you get?"

Clark pulls out his notebook, letting Lois look it over with sharp eyes.

"Good job. You covered the ETA lawsuit and the pending monopoly investigation." Looking up, she hands it back, finishing with an easy stride to the elevator that human Clark legs have issues keeping up with these days. "This'll be your first solo front-pager, kiddo."

Clark stumbles in shock.

"What?"

The dark head turns as she jabs a finger into the button.

"You've heard of it, right? It's the page that isn't A-16, where articles sometimes appear if they're interesting. Come on, we've managed it together before." A flash of wide white teeth follow the pronouncement like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"This?" He waves the notebook a little wildly, but really, can anyone blame him for being a little off-balance? This has been a really damn weird week. Hysteria should be in his future. Or a padded room. "Why--"

"NASA will have headline, but this?" She flicks her nails at him like she's trying to get dust off the tips, and the door slides open. "Daniel's drooling through his capped teeth. No one gets this and you did."

Oh damn. Taking a breath, Clark follows her as the elevator door opens.

"I'm going to be front page news soon, aren't I?" Clark asks, leaning into the back wall as she hits the correct button.

"Never here." The dark voice softens a little, sharp eyes fixing on him. "But yeah, the second Chloe gets back, your ass is grass. Whoever the hell she has at the Planet probably told everything that's happened, even if Luthor was smart enough to keep his name off the tags. Though when I find out who leaked the interview information--" The full mouth tightens almost imperceptibly, and Clark feels a sudden start of pity for the person or persons responsible. "Never mind. Ralph should be back tomorrow with more details, but I downloaded the livefeed and compressed it for you to look over. Did the--" She stops, frowning slightly. "Have you contacted up north by any chance?"

Well, that would be logical, so of course not. He's still getting used to the fact the first water in the morning in his shower is fucking *cold* and he has to brush his teeth or there will be cavities in his future. Remembering Lois' three days of toothache, he's not exactly eager to find out what that's like. Blinking, Clark considers.

"I don't think I can get back in physically. It's matched to--a different set of prints." DNA changes, that is, and he really hadn't thought much about this, had he? "I can log in through my laptop and see if there's anything, but I checked the math again last night. It doesn't look dangerous."

"Hmm." Lois' mouth purses, rubbing her thumb idly into the gold woven bracelet curved around one wrist. Her itchy look, though Clark's never told her that. He likes the way his face is arranged, thank you very much. "Clark, do you remember a few years ago, when we had all those blackouts?"

"Live Wire." Not a memory Clark treasures either.

"Right." Another slow rub, and Lois' eyes glaze a little. "Leaving out the part where you didn't tell me everything you knew--"

Clark winces.

"--remember how there was a pattern that no one could see?"

"You saw it."

"No, I didn't. I just paid attention to the reports." Yes. Because Lois doesn't believe in intuition at all, no matter the she's the case that could prove its existence to any skeptic out there. "You found it. It's--that same feeling now. I've read everything in the public feeds and your analysis, though God knows, I'm not exactly a physicist." She pauses, tongue sliding out to lick her upper lip. "I was watching the feed. The military's acting fine. The spokesman for NASA, Eldritch, was fine. So was most of the NASA staff who was called up to discuss the situation. Dr. Rhinestadt wasn't."

Whoa. The ping of the elevator catches them, but Clark hits the stop button, holding the door closed. Rhinestadt is the best of the theoretical astrophysicists. People bent over *backwards* to hire him after he earned his dual doctorate in astrophysics and astronomy at the ripe old age of twenty. He makes Lex look like a slacker. Barely.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." The crease between her brows is as good as confirmation. "You're not worried, the government isn't worried, the Justice League isn't worried, and I'm not worried, either. But Rhinestadt is and he's not telling why."

"Interview?"

"Got it while you were gone. Tomorrow at two. I'm flying out in the morning." Another frown, before she glances at the door. "Open up, Smallville. Your boyfriend's toys are all safely put away--orchids to the hospital, bear to your apartment. Tell me I can be there when your dad sees it."

Clark bangs his head into the wall, then winces at the sharp pain. Damn humanity anyway. Lois' smirk is unreal.

"By the way, from the look on your face, I'm guessing you have a date tonight."

She steps out of the elevator, once again completely at ease, a hand stroking down the fine wool of her skirt and straightening her jacket. Jesus. Taking a breath, Clark steps out, aware he's yet again the center of attention. Furtive attention--Lois is watching. Head down, he feels his shoulders slump under the weight of all those eyes as he follows her down the aisle, finding their desks by dint of stopping when Lois does. His chair's close enough to fall into, and he busies himself straightening an already immaculate desk. Someone cleaned up the water and stacked his folders up neatly.

"Perry's expecting your report," Lois says softly before turning to her computer. "The bit with Rhinestadt from the press conference is in your email. Look it over when you get back and tell me what you think."

If he can log into the Fortress, he can send it there after and see what it picks up. It's gotten pretty good at analyzing subconscious human physical cues.

"How sure are you?" Clark asks, but it's a rhetorical question. Lois doesn't believe in instincts, never has, but that doesn't change the fact she *has* them, so sharply developed they're as much a part of her as the intelligence and the drive.

"Sure enough that I canceled my vacation time next week," she answers quietly, not looking at him. "I'm running a background check on Rhinestadt as we speak."

Clark nods slowly, standing up.

"Oh, and I sent your good suit to the cleaners. Where's your boyfriend picking you up?"

Clark grits his teeth together. She really won't let this go.

"My *friend* is picking me up *here*." Taking a breath, Clark lets it out slowly. He should have said, I'll meet you there, Lex. Except Clark's car is--embarrassing. So very, very embarrassing. He should have thought to ask to borrow Lois' convertible. Or something.

"Oh good. Pick up your suit at five from Wallington's." Lois had a way about her with dry cleaners. A flash of teeth, a show of strength, and they roll over like--logs. Or some comparison Clark's brain is too confused to handle. Giving a long, dark look to the back of her head, Clark stalks by her towards Perry's office, notes in hand. He can hear her whistle off-key as he walks down the aisle.

Right, work. Getting to it.

Clark debates whether to wait upstairs or outside on the street. Both have their drawbacks. People who know him *will* notice that he's standing around The Daily Planet like a moron, but Lex might send someone up--or dear God, come himself--and his coworkers here just might notice a too-familiar CEO slumming through the building.

Change 'might' to 'will', and all those half-hidden questions will be answered in less time than it takes a pin to drop.

His suit feels weird--it's his best one, the one Lois picked out when she gave up on his taste in clothes. The price was the equivalent of three paychecks, and he's still paying off the credit card that covered it, but Lois' eyebrow had been pretty much irresistible. He needed one very good suit, she'd said, intimidating the salesgirl to silence while she prowled the aisles. We have appearances to maintain. Wear whatever crap you like to work, but when we're in public, you'll look decent if I have to dress you myself.

The scary thing is, Clark's pretty sure if it had come to that, she would have. Sighing, Clark imagines Lex and Lois shopping. They must have had a blast together going through every boutique and department store in Metropolis. Clark doesn't even want to know what they did on those two trips to Italy. Lois had returned with an egregious number of shoes and a smug grin.

Staring at the mess of papers on his desk, Clark leans back, thinking about Lois. They--hadn't been close then. She was meeting Superman for the first time and building her reputation, annoyed with the kid from MetU heeling her like a puppy, so all he knew of Lex and Lois was what had appeared in The Inquisitor from time to time. It'd been weeks before he'd really made the connection, though granted, he'd been busy and distracted with the shock of living on his own and being out of college, trying to find balance in handling the dual identities he was creating.

Lois, his mentor, the woman who drank coffee black by the gallon and symbolized the epitome of everything he wanted to be as a reporter, was Lex Luthor's lover.

No wonder they hadn't gotten along so well at first.

Frowning, Clark picks up a pencil, drawing slow circles on some notes from a forgettable story involving under the table mob deals and the city council. It hadn't been just that, he thinks, although he'll admit in the smallest corner of his mind that it hadn't helped. The woman he idolized in college, who did four years in three and graduated to become the star reporter of The Planet after less than a full year on the job, also had something else, something that he couldn't even admit he'd wanted.

Of course, it hadn't helped either that he'd done that Superman interview first. Oh yeah, that had--definitely pissed her off, and again, after she'd found out who he was.... Well. That's a conversation he doesn't like to remember to this day.

But still. The break-up hadn't been anything huge--not like Lex's latest divorce, though the society pages had gleefully reported what scant details they could get. Lois wasn't the type to talk, and Lex--well, Lex was and *is* Lex, and his personal life is his own. She'd never discussed it--not with Chloe, he knows for a fact, not with him, not with *anyone* that Clark could ask if he was actually stupid enough to be curious.

Which he was. Is. Always has been.

And it's--weird. Weird, that they're openly hostile but never bitter, that the respect still exists, even if neither would admit it. That Lois is showing really bizarre amounts of non-surprise at this whole turn of events, and God, he needs a couple of hours with her over dinner sometime this week to work this out. His life is confusing enough--Lois is like icing on the weirdness cake and that's one thing in this mess he can actually work on.

And here he'd thought being just Clark would make his life *simpler*.

"Thinking?"

Clark's eyes fix on the clock. Oh crap. Turning slowly, he watches Lex lean carefully into the desk behind him, like it might have the plague but he's willing to be reckless just this once, arms crossed. Black and grey, very Lex, watching Clark with a little smile that makes something in Clark warm uncomfortably.

Comfortably, if he's honest.

"Sort of." Glancing around, Clark notes the heads that jerk down at his sudden attention, the noisy and completely obvious clatter of keys. Sighing, he stands up, picking up his coat from behind his desk. "Wow, it's going to be fun here tomorrow."

Lex half-turns, looking around the room with a cool, measuring gaze, before flicking back to Clark with a raised eyebrow.

"They have better things to do." Pitched just loud enough to be heard. Jesus, Lex, subtlety would be nice here. Pulling the coat on, Clark shuts down his computer, locking up his notebook in the desk. He already sent what he needs from work home via email. Perry's the stoic equivalent of ecstatic--an eyebrow jump and a twitch of his mouth--that the next edition will have the interview with Lex on the front page. "Ready, Clark?"

"Yeah." This is--dinner. Not a big deal. Everyone has dinner. It's a required meal of the day. Breathe. Lex motions him to go, falling into easy step beside him, and this is Smallville all over again, two friends calmly going for food, except everything's different.

Lex isn't hiding anything at all, and Clark can feel the want like heat projected against his skin.

"You're a lot more subtle usually," Clark hears himself say as the elevator doors slide shut. "I mean--a *lot* more subtle."

"I've noticed hammers are required more than rapiers in some situations," Lex answers lightly, pressing the button to the garage level. Huh. So it wouldn't have been a good idea to wait out front after all.

The silence that falls after is unnerving in every way. Clark takes a breath, trying to think of something to say to fill the silence, but nothing comes to mind. Latest nefarious plot? Not Clark's business anymore, really. He wonders who the Justice League will hand Metropolis over to. Bruce's last email had made uncomfortable statements regarding duty and sacrifice, but Clark had deleted it before he got too far. Superman is gone. Bruce had better just get used to it.

Hell, all of them should get used to it. There are murmurs already among the residents of the city. It makes him wonder who Perry will assign to look into the Mysterious Disappearance of Superman.

A flash of CNN's latest report flickers through his mind like a television changing channels. Flooding in Brazil. The Justice League had intervened, but--

"I was wondering when you'd start feeling guilty again," Lex remarks, and Clark flushes. He can't be that readable. No one is. "The flooding, right? Don't be. A LexCorp subsidiary had been monitoring the rains for weeks and your friends handled the rest. Most inhabitants with any sort of sense took our warnings and moved out before the flooding started."

"You going into the superhero business, Lex?" Clark hears himself say lightly, flickering a glance. Lex is perfectly at ease. Damn him.

"Nah. Good deeds are terrible for my image." Lex shifts, brushing a non-existent bit of lint from his sleeve. "How are you feeling? Any other side effects?"

Clark flicks a finger at the glasses and basks a little in the warmth of Lex's smile. It's okay to do that. "Twenty-forty, twenty-eighty, right and left respectively. I guess it's karma."

"I'm surprised Lois lets you out wearing those." Clark's gotten a thing for the heavy black rims. There's an edge in Lex's voice that makes Clark wonder, just a little, but he pushes the thoughts aside forcefully. This so isn't the time to be thinking of Lois and Lex together. "You've lost weight."

He has, actually, though the coat and suit should hide it. He wouldn't have noticed except this suit is tailored, and his waist has lost a least an inch since the last wearing. Blinking, Clark turns to look at Lex, who looks back without any expression at all.

"That's all it takes?" Clark asks slowly. Lex's puzzlement is almost a goad. "What, twelve years where you wouldn't even acknowledge I existed, then I hang up the tights and you--" Clark stops, clenching his teeth. That hurts, muscles locking, almost cramping, and God, he's still not used to human muscles. A purely human body. The little thrill is still there, though, like when he cursed this morning when he stubbed his toe, and dropped the toast, no superspeed to save it. Human. Completely not what he expected. And the best thing ever.

"It would have been harder any other way." Lex's gaze fixes on the elevator wall over Clark's right shoulder.

"This was easier?" Staring at the door, Clark wraps both arms over his chest, trying to think. "You tried to kill me--"

"I'd usually succeed, you know." Clark shivers, remembering too many encounters to even begin to count them. The ripping pain of Kryptonite, the things they said to each other, the things they'd both meant with all their souls. "When I try. I should have." The thoughtful lift makes Clark turn just enough to look at Lex.

Who still seems to find the wall some kind of marvelous wonder to behold.

"You could have fooled me."

"No problem. I think I fooled myself." The smile's self mocking and Lex looks down, that intense gaze fixed on the floor. "It would have been easy to order on your little trip to the Arctic. Michael was an assassin. You went north in a private plane alone and you didn't even do a background check on your pilot, which was very annoying, by the way, since I went to a lot of trouble to set up a good story.

"Michael waited for my call for the entire trip from Metropolis International to that silly science station that Clark Kent just had to do a story about." Lex stops, lips tightening.

The quiet rush of the elevator is the only sound, then the ping as they get out on garage level. Lex gets out his keys, coat flickering back in dramatic exit mode, per usual, and he doesn't even do it consciously. Clark is only two steps behind, and then there's nothing but silence.

"Why didn't you? The way there, the way back--if you're going to trot out some line out of a Hallmark card, I won't believe you." Though Clark might. Lex says Clark's dense, but Lex can be, too, and sometimes, it does take hammers. It's a deliberate thing, Clark thinks, a way to cope with a father like Lionel. To create your own blind spots and not see, because it hurts too much. Clark has some of those still, remnants of Superman and the life he'd had to live.

There've been a thousand ways for Superman to die, and there's a thousand reasons he didn't, but it comes down to that single thing that he knows about Lex. Lex wins at almost any cost. Superman's life might have been cheap, but maybe Clark's wasn't.

"So what now?" Clark comes to a stop, waiting as the line of Lex's back stiffens even more. With a slow turn, Lex is looking at him--seeing him, and it hits like the first time Clark looked into those eyes and thought he saw everything in the world inside them on a muddy bank in a forgettable town.

"If you're expecting a guided tour out of life just because you're human, you're going to be disappointed." Lex shrugs. "I don't know."

"I know everything about you." Clark takes a slow step toward Lex. There's destiny and then there's this--Clark doesn't have a roadsign left anywhere in sight. Destiny's gone out the window, pedigree is shot, and it's all free-fall and terrifying.

This is how Lex lives, like humans live.

"Not everything."

"I got you thrown in prison. I destroyed your projects. You can't pretend that Superman's separate, because he never was." Lois was right, and he's never telling her that. Nothing's changed inside, just the covering over it all. "You know who I am, Lex. Just because I'm only Clark now doesn't mean I wasn't Superman, too."

"Just because I was your enemy doesn't mean I--." He can almost see Lex thinking and thinking hard. He thinks too much, more than anyone Clark's ever met. "I don't think it's that simple, Clark."

"What do you want?" Another step that at very least answers that same question that Clark's been asking himself.

"Anything you're willing to give."

Clark feels the breath catch in his throat, a lump settling so words can't get out. This must be what it's like to remember falling in love.

And Lex is waiting. But then, he's always been waiting -- for his father's approval and a town's approbation and to live up to his own ideals, for the disapproval and the disgust and the failure.

There's only a few steps between them. Clark doesn't even know he's covering them, stumbling over a nonexistent crack in the perfect asphalt, and he can see Lex is still waiting for him to walk away even when Clark kisses him. Warm, soft lips that are too surprised to do anything but let him take, and he'd dreamed about this when he was still a kid and refused to think about it when he was awake.

How Lex tastes like brandy and like power and like vulnerability, and then slim fingers are in his hair and Lex is kissing him back. Leaning into him, touching him lightly, it's like the typical first kiss in every way except it's Lex and he's anything but typical.

Clark pulls away when he runs out of air--another new thing, and he's panting and hard and shocked at how the blood races through his body and that everywhere they're touching is so warm.

"The only thing that's changed is the location of the battlefields," Clark says, licking his lips. He's left Lex speechless. That's pretty damn cool. "You get that, right?"

"We can negotiate." Lex turning it into a business deal. So typical. Any way he can get it, he will. Clark grins and forces himself to pull back, and Lex's eyes are wide and completely open in a way that Clark never would have appreciated as a teenager. One hand lifts like he means to touch his mouth, jerked down almost immediately, and Clark grins. "Which car?"

"...Porsche. You might recognize it."

Clark rolls his eyes as Lex abruptly remembers the keys clutched in one hand and pushes down on the button, the bright, strangely happy sound of the disabled alarm filling the garage. It's only two cars away. In Perry's space, of course.

Silver-blue, sleek, and a newer model, but as unforgettable as the repaired bridge, and Clark begins to laugh when he sees it.

"You are such a romantic."

Lex laughs. A laugh that echoes everywhere, amused and young and carefree. A kid Clark used to know who drove ninety miles an hour over Smallville's country roads sounded a lot like that.

Warm, leather-gloved fingers brush his elbow. "What gave it away?"

The first thing Clark sees on his desk is the dozen roses--red, long-stem, no thorns, and he grins as he spots the dark purple ribbon wrapped around the crystal vase. A card's attached this time, and he sits down, carefully pulling it free of the roses, glancing at the neat script, a florist's handwriting, but maybe she was channeling Lex when she wrote the strong LL on the back because it's very similar.

Lex, apparently, is done with anything even vaguely resembling discretion.

"Have a good night?" A coffee and a cinnamon roll slide in front of him, still steaming. Lois remembers he forgets breakfast a *lot* when he's distracted.

Clark blinks, looking up as she shifts the vase over, seating herself on the edge of the desk. Today, an elegant fawn pantsuit, minimal jewelry, nails in beige rose. The dark hair is twisted up and back in a simple chignon, more for convenience that style.

"I thought you'd be at the airport."

"My plane doesn't leave until nine. You didn't answer your cell phone, so I figured I'd come down here on my way." A folder lands just north of the cinnamon roll.. "Some information about Rhinestadt. Three guesses on his special passion."

Looking at the folder, Clark tries to think, wishing half-heartedly for X-ray.

"ET?"

"Clever boy." Tapping the folder with one lacquered nail, she looks at his computer monitor. "Got it in one. Now tell me what kind of ET he's been studying for the last, oh, two years."

If he's into extraterrestrials, that's easy. "Superman."

Lois laughs. "You're on a roll, Smallville. Let's see if you can go three for three. Who has been financing his little extracurricular activities in extraterrestrials."

Clark glances at the roses and grins. "LexCorp."

"Half right. Cadmus, Inc. Heard of it?"

Frowning, Clark flips the file open, looking at the first page of printed information. "Vaguely." One of the very few labs LexCorp owned openly. "Lex ran it in Smallville for a while. It's resurfaced occasionally for some genetic research, but it's the most public of his labs. Why wouldn't he use one of the secret ones?" Lex is more subtle than that, and far too good a businessman to let himself be linked. "This is too easy."

"That's what I thought." Leaning over, Lois flips through the pages, surrounding Clark with a mist of Chanel No 22. Clark's shocked to feel his nose begin to itch. "He's not hiding it at all--in black and white for anyone to see or any government agency to ask questions about. It's all aboveboard."

"Not meteorite research, then." The sneeze is swallowed with some difficulty before Lois withdraws.

"Not even a whiff, other than what directly relates to Superman." Finding the page, a finger slams down, marking something bolded. "Rhinestadt draws a very large salary for a theoretical astrophysicist who works paper only. Even for one hired by LexCorp."

Five hundred thousand a year. Jesus. Makes his NASA job look like a sinecure.

"Okay, you got me. What did you figure out?"

Leaning back, Lois kicks a heel into the desk, frowning. "Nothing. The EPA checks the lab like clockwork, there hasn't been a violation on record for as far as I could trace back, and they submit reports to the government regularly." Shaking her head, she smoothes down the line of her skirt. "Now ask me why this bothers me, because we both know Luthor's got half the inspectors on payroll."

"Why does it bother you?"

"Because the inspectors he's been allowing in aren't on his payroll."

Whoa. Leaning back, Clark glances at the folder again, trying to think of something to make *that* make sense. That's not very Lex at all.

"How far did you go back?"

"Two years. Shit." Lois pauses, checking a nail quickly, apparently noticing a flaw in her nail polish. Picking at it briefly, she gives up and looks back down at the folder. "Anyway. Cadmus is sharing information with the government and doing it so openly that it makes my back itch. That's not Luthor."

"No," Clark answers slowly. "It's not. What kind of information?"

"Everything on Superman you ever wanted to know except three things. Identity, location of his planet of origin, and, wait for it--"

God, she does drama well.

"--The Fortress."

Meteorite reactions in all their various incarnations, covered. Superman's abilities and weaknesses, covered.

"They got the physiological profile?" Clark asks, flipping through the pages. There's a vaguely queasy feeling in his stomach just from reading the scraps here and there. For almost pure speculation, it's not bad at all.

"Yes, but it's guesswork and not entirely accurate, though your reaction to a yellow sun is pretty much covered. I've been trying to track down someone who can get me access to internal memos, or at least someone that's seen them, but--" Lois stops short, giving him a strange look. He'd say compassion, but this is a story and Lois doesn't have much of that in this mode. "If I were the suspicious and paranoid kind, and if I were an alien on earth, reading that, I *might* think that Cadmus labs is trying to tell the government how to kill me. And I might think, maybe, that the government asked."

Clark feels the folder slip from suddenly numb fingers.

"Why?" Even to himself, his voice sounds hoarse. "What have I--I mean--" Years ago--God, it had to have been that huge thing in Columbia with Lex and that drug kingpin, Lex had thrown that at him. He can't remember the words--frankly, he doesn't want to remember them--but it was something along those lines. How Clark fought for a people who would kill and dissect him at the first opportunity. Something.

Years. It's been *years* and countless lives saved and countless bad guys taken in and neutralized, and *now* the government decides he might be a threat?

"Lois--" He stops, swallowing. "But no identity." For some reason, that bothers him most of all. Lex wouldn't share important tactical information about his greatest enemy--but he had. Except the three things that actually made the information at all useful. Right now, at best, everything they had was theoretical or observational--though Rhinestadt's a genius, so if anyone besides Lex could work without all the facts and still come to the right conclusion, he could. "I need to talk to Lex."

"Great idea. And maybe tell him why you want the information? Because really, we don't need *fewer* roadblocks in our investigation, do we?" Looking up, Lois shakes her head with a little grin. "See why I don't date?"

Okay, that's *weird*.

"Lois, you're being really weird now. I thought you'd want me to ask. Or at least try and find out--"

"Clark, you suck at undercover work and we both know it." Holding his gaze, she leans over and flips the folder closed. "Whatever they're doing, it's not a threat to you anymore as long as Luthor keeps his mouth shut. Do the rocks still affect you?"

No. Clark had tested that the third day. Just a pretty green stone now, and it made him queasy to *look* at it, but in a purely human, revolted sort of way. Not a 'please-let-me-die-because-this-fucking-*hurts*' way.

Shaking his head, he watches Lois' expression clear.

"Okay, then. Read this over and see if you can find a former employee to harass or something. Most are still LexCorp employees, but a few have moved to different jobs. You might find out something."

"Yeah," Clark answers slowly. "What are we trying to find out again?"

Lois' grin is brilliant. "What Rhinestadt's not telling about that coming meteor shower. From what's here, I'd almost say they're worried it's more Kryptonite to screw around with the ecology, but I'd like that confirmed." Shaking her head, she slides off his desk, straightening the line of her jacket, then gives him a mischievous grin. "How'd your date go?"

Apparently, the automatic blushing wasn't just a alien thing.

"Good." Very good, actually, and Clark had been meaning to take about an hour or so and just brood on it. The slide backward into comfortable companionship had been so easy, so effortless, it was like no time had passed at all between their last argument and their first date. "Dinner. That's all, so don't look like that. We're, um, meeting for lunch. Today."

Picking up her purse, Lois snickers. "To think you actually have a social life. The world must be coming to an end." Stretching, she does a quick check of her suit, then sighs. "All right. Wish me luck."

"You don't need it. Can I borrow your car?"

Rolling her eyes, Lois leans over to sniff a rose, keys jangling as she drops them on the desk. "Figured as much. I left it in the garage, Smallville. Don't break it. I'll try and call tonight if anything comes up. Be home tomorrow night when I get back. And have something interesting to tell me, 'kay? With details."

Waving at the folder, Clark sighs. "Not all of us are as good as you are at rooting out conspiracies in under twenty-four hours."

"Funny," Lois answers, tilting her head, mouth pursed slightly as she looks him up and down. "Did I say it had to be about work?" With a little smile and a flick of her purse, she saunters off, and Clark hears his own choked laugh. "Give your boyfriend my best, Kent." The elevator opens on command--like anything would disobey Lois when she feels playful--and she disappears inside, winking at him as the door shuts.

The ring of the phone distracts him from the lights on the elevator as she goes down, and Clark picks it up absently. "The Daily Planet, Kent speaking."

"And here I was trying to get pizza." The low voice makes Clark shiver, smile fading at the memory of that voice last night at dinner. God, if Lex could use that voice for crowds, he'd be president before his thirty-fifth birthday. "You're early."

"So are you. I thought big time CEO's slept in."

"I might, with sufficient incentive."

Leaning back in his chair, Clark shuts his eyes. God. "I'll keep that in mind. Pretty roses, by the way. I see you're giving up even the pretense of subtlety."

"It's easier to be blunt. Less chance of miscommunication." Clark can hear someone's voice speaking to Lex, though he can't quite make out the words. "More coffee, yes, and reschedule my twelve o'clock meeting."

"We can meet later."

"It's LexCorp's board. One of the few perks of my job is that I *can* reschedule when I want to." A little sigh, and Clark can hear Lex's chair shifting, the soft sounds of expensive wool on leather. "What are you doing?"

"Right now?" Clark glances around the room. Only a few people are in at this hour. Picking up his coffee, he takes a sip. Not enough sugar. "Getting ready to track down some stuff for Lois."

"New story?"

Clark glances down at the folder. "Are you asking about what I'm working on?"

The little pause speaks volumes, and Clark wonders what Lex is thinking about. "No. Work is work. Just don't expect me to leave business secrets and my passwords lying around the penthouse when you're here."

Clark feels himself grin. "'*When*' I'm there?"

"When. Come over for dinner tonight."

Wow. Lex isn't wasting any time at all. "You know, I don't put out on the second date."

The low laugh raises every hair on Clark's body and there's a twitch below the belt that makes him shift uncomfortably. "Maybe I can change your mind."

All it would take is a look. God, he's easy. Shaking his head, Clark kicks a foot up on the desk, trying to ease the sudden tightness of once-loose pants. "Maybe."

"My divorce went through yesterday." Lex's voice is impossibly dark, like velvet sliding over Clark's skin. Shivering, Clark tries to think of something that isn't sexy, or he's going to have a *really* long day ahead of him. Nothing comes to mind.

Divorce. Right, *divorce*. Sitting straight, Clark glances at his monitor, then at the flowers. Initialed. "Oh. So we're going from not-subtle to public?"

Lex, thinking again loudly enough for Clark to hear it over fiberoptic cables. "Maybe. Do you have a problem with that?"

Oh, well, no. Mom and Dad might, and Chloe *will*, and God alone knows what Pete will think, and is it getting hot in here? "No." Clark winces at the phone calls he'll be getting come tomorrow. "I just--didn't expect you to. Um. Well. Lex? This isn't like you."

It really, really isn't.

"Even I can't keep *The Inquisitor* silent forever. I bought time until my divorce was final, but that was all I could get."

Yeah, Clark really hadn't thought of that, but wow, this thing with Lex could have seriously screwed with the final details of that.

"I--"

"I don't want this to be secret." There's something in Lex's voice that Clark can't quite figure out. Determined, yeah, but also-- "I don't want to hide."

"Okay." Pushing aside everything else--and dammit, Lois *would* go out of town the one time he really, really needs her here--Clark nods into the phone. Lex can't see him, but he feels better doing it. "I don't mind. I--I'm sort of tired of secrets, too." How--how weird. This can be public. There's only Clark now--it doesn't matter who knows what he does.

Wow. He can *date*. He can go on a date and anyone can see him do it. He doesn't have to explain why he has to leave in the middle of dinner to help with an earthquake, or cancel five seconds before someone arrives or, God, miss it altogether and try to explain the next morning. He doesn't have to avoid inviting people to his apartment because he might have to leave suddenly. He doesn't have to pretend *anything* anymore.

"Clark?" Lex sounds worried.

Lightheadedly, Clark laughs. "Really, fine. It's just--I just realized that I can. Do anything I want."

"Now you figure it out." The amused indulgence makes Clark laugh harder. "Jesus, Clark, compose yourself. Where do you want to go for lunch?"

"I only have an hour. Fast food okay?" Choking back another laugh, Clark suddenly sees the keys on the edge of his desk. "I'll pick you up in front of LexCorp Plaza."

"...fast food?..."

"Be out front at twelve on the dot. Bye." He can almost see Lex's expression and, leaning his head onto his desk, almost laughs himself sick. His coworkers probably think he's crazy. He doesn't care.

Like dinner the night before, lunch with Lex is--comfortable.

Scarily comfortable, almost like being friends in Smallville again, except for all that sex that isn't happening, which right, is *also* a lot like Smallville, but now it's not happening because they don't have time. And it's going to happen, even if Clark's logical brain keeps telling him, are you really ready for this? You do remember that thing you two did where you sort of *hated* each other, right?

Clark's not listening to that part very often. It's not terribly loud, and it fades a little more every time Lex looks at him.

Like--like the first thought in his head when he saw Lex, cool in business grey, dark sunglasses, and almost defiantly challenging anyone to question why Lex Luthor was standing outside his own building for no apparent reason, is to touch. Insanely, insanely weird reasoning going on, but he had to close his hands over the steering wheel when Lex slid inside, settling beside Clark like it's something they've done every day, giving him a look over the fine edge of his glasses that....

Breathe, Clark.

"Something wrong?"

Clark blinks back into the warm deli, noting that the sandwiches at some point had appeared, and Lex is viewing him over the rim of a styrofoam cup of coffee with a curious expression. Reaching for a potato chip, Clark bites down aggressively and thinks non-sexy thoughts.

Very, very non-sexy thoughts. Freshly baked potato chips, extra salt. Not sexy. Lex, across from him, licking excess salt from his bare fingers. Sexy.

Oh, this is going to be a long day.

"No. I'm fine." Eating another potato chip, Clark shifts in his seat as Lex picks at the chicken salad sandwich in front of him with little frown of concentration, picking up one of the triangular quarters. "Um. How do you like it?"

Kaatz's is Clark's favorite place in the world to eat. They sell huge sandwiches and chips that are almost as good as the ones Mom makes sometimes when she has time--thickly cut potato, baked crisp, and covered in salt.

"Good," Lex answers after the first careful bite. "You scared me with mention of fast food."

"Please," Clark answers, checking his turkey club for mustard, "I saw the paper bags in the back of your cars. You're totally a fast food junkie."

"Clark, I have appearances to maintain." A quick smile, before Lex takes another bite. Their chicken salad is amazing. "And you never saw a fast food bag anywhere *near* my cars."

"Stuffed under the seat--"

"Take that back!"

"--like you were ashamed of it." Grinning, Clark ducks his head, getting back to the important task of eating.

Narrowed eyes greet him when he raises his head, and Clark swallows quickly before sticking his tongue out. Oh right. Not just adolescent hormones--there's been regression to adolescent behavior as well.

"Please." Lex shakes his head, finishing the first quarter. Eyes fix on Clark's sandwich briefly before flickering up. "You don't eat as much as you used to."

Surprised, Clark looks down at his plate. "Changed metabolism, I guess." With a little shrug, he picks up the second quarter of the club. "It's just--the first couple of days, it was hard to eat."

"Did you follow my instructions?"

Clark rolls his eyes. "Yes, Lex. Lois bought everything and mixed it herself. I'm fine. And yeah, that's what I was going to ask you. How the hell--"

"Did I know what would happen?" Lex shrugs elegantly, taking a careful bite. "Cause and effect. You changed your entire genetic structure and did it in under twelve hours if Michael's report is right." With a frown, Lex looks him over with a critical eye. "In fact, you should probably be eating more now than usual, at least for a while. Your body's used to taking a certain amount of nutrition from ultraviolet radiation and with that gone, the conversion--"

"I'm beginning to remember why I skipped Bio II."

"Hush." Lex frowns again, brow furrowed in thought. "Clark, have you seen a doctor?"

Putting down the remains of the sandwich, Clark grins. "Oh. Right. I forgot. I can call a doctor and ask, hey, I've just changed DNA and I need to know if I'm healthy--"

"That's not what I meant." Wiping his fingers, Lex pushes his plate aside. "I mean, you *are* human. You need to get a check-up and get your baselines. I'd do it--"

"--when did you get that medical degree?"

"--but you do need a regular doctor." Leaning both elbows on the table, Lex meets his eyes. "A full work-up."

"How do I explain my lack of medical history? I've visited less than ten times in my life." Sometime in childhood, though Clark doesn't have any clear memories of that, though his parents said he was unusually calm through the entire thing. Other than a few emergency-room visits, including his last time as human, he really doesn't have--anything. Wow.

"That's not a problem." Lex is looking at him carefully. "Go to Dr. Cassius."

Clark frowns, the name sending off vague alarms in his head. "He works for LexCorp, doesn't he?"

"And I pay him very well not to be too curious and ask too many questions." Lex raises an eyebrow, obviously amused by Clark's skepticism. "You don't have to trust my word--Cassius is an excellent doctor and he's very highly respected in medical circles. He heads up LexCorp medical, but you know that. You can check his credentials yourself at the office. Or pick another doctor. But you need to be baselined to find out what's normal for you now. Even among the human population, there's immense variation. You need to know."

He's right, though Clark doesn't want to admit it. Humans fall and break their legs or get sick all the time. They go to the hospital and get treated, and it might be a good idea to at least have someone to tell him what is and what isn't normal for him now.

Picking up a napkin, Clark takes a slow breath. "I feel fine."

"And I'd like it to stay that way. Jesus, you haven't even been vaccinated, have you?" Oh damn. Clark hadn't thought of that. Reaching down, Lex rummages in the pocket of his coat. "I'll make you an appointment for today--"

"Lex, I don't think--"

Lex pauses, fingers hovering over the keypad. There's a--well a *lot* that Clark's taking on faith here but--what could it hurt? He's got to trust Lex isn't using this for some weird purpose, and anyway, human. While the data might be interesting in theoretical terms, it's not like it could be at all useful otherwise.

"Okay." Looking down at the sandwich, Clark sighs. "I'll have to call Perry to take off for the afternoon. Where is--"

"I'll take you myself." Lex has the phone against his ear. "Benny?" Benny? Clark tries not to grin. "Yeah. Cancel whatever your one o'clock is. We'll be there in ten minutes." Clark watches Lex frown. "That's fine. New patient, standard work-up. No, a friend. Thanks." Turning it off, Lex looks up at him, a hint of a smile curving up the corner of his mouth. "Convenient."

"Hmm?" Fumbling for his cellphone, Clark blinks at the slow, lazy smile stretching Lex's mouth, looking him up and down, before getting to his feet.

"Come on."

That's how Clark gets backed into an alley in the middle of lunch hour in Metropolis.

There are some things that are predictable, like tides, migration of certain species of birds, and Dad's reaction to the name Luthor. There are things that aren't. Those things include a Lex who glances casually around the street then pushes Clark into an alley, only a few feet from an overfilled dumpster, before his tongue is in Clark's mouth and his hands are pulling Clark's coat open, sliding inside.

Oh God. This time, Clark moves faster, finding skin with his fingertips, fine as parchment on Lex's throat, skims a thumb over Lex's jaw. The low, pleased sound makes him shiver.

Cold brick is against his back and Lex's teeth are against his throat, pressing in, and Clark shudders at the start of pain--actual pain, twisting into each nerve, and it goes everywhere in his body, making him want to wince and pull away and grind his cock into Lex's thigh and pull him closer.

God, he hadn't even *guessed*.

Settling for a strangled gasp, Clark looks for words. "Lex. We're--in an alley." In public. Very, very public.

"Noticed that." Breathed hot on wet skin and Clark feels his cock twitch as he slides his hands down Lex's back, digging in when Lex's tongue slides over his collarbone.

"This--isn't your style." Or hell, Clark's either, but Clark's usual style has been pretty damn lousy so far, so he's willing to change techniques.

"And you think you know everything about me." A far too fast brush against his cock with the palm of Lex's hand, and Clark shudders, one hand locking on Lex's shoulder. Wet breath on his ear, a tongue following, gently pushing inside.

"Anyone could see us."

"So they could." Another brush against his cock, and Clark swallows, head scraping against the brick, eyes falling closed. His shirt's pulled free of his pants and warm hands slide over his waist, digging into his lower back, pulling them together, cock to cock. "I want you."

"Oh." Inane as hell, he's making out in an alley, but that's what he gets for going to lunch with jaded, too-sexy CEOs. There's a brief image of returning to work after having come in his pants, but right now, that's just fine. "Lex--"

A low, rumbling sound from the side of his neck, and Clark shudders at the next quick bite just below the collar of his shirt. "You bruise now." There's a trace of rich satisfaction in his voice, tongue licking soothingly over the skin. "So sorry, Clark--"

"Fuck you."

"Tonight." The low promise makes Clark shudder hard, and those able fingers unbutton the top of his pants, easing the zipper down. God, those hands--leather-covered, soft, sliding in his boxers, closing around him tight and hard. "Don't come yet."

Oh--oh God, easier said than done. He bites into his lip, the flash of pain barely enough to hold on, and then Lex is--dear God, is crouching, right here in this filthy alley, eyes fixed on his crotch with intent.

"Lex, what are you *doing*?"

A flashing smile upward, bright and hungry and sharp. "How long has it been since you had sex, Kent? Guess."

"Oh God." This really couldn't be happening. But those talented fingers are drawing him through the slit in his boxers, other hand on his hip, holding him still, and Lex leans forward, brushing the tip of his tongue over the head. "Lex, God, you can't--"

"I'm not sure I know that word." Hot breath now against the head, then Lex leans forward, taking the entirety into his mouth, sucking lightly. Clark's head slams into the brick--oh wow, that *hurts*, almost enough to distract him except, except, except Lex is *sucking his cock* and there's nothing on earth that can distract anyone from that. Lex pulls off with a wet sound that's like a shock to his nervous system, and a humiliating whimper is pushed out between Clark's lips. Looking up, the clear blue eyes look into Clark's, sparkling, dangerous, *hot*. "Take a deep breath, Clark. You're going to need it."

Swallowed whole. No time for thought or protesting or even that needed breath, because his cock is surrounded by tight, wet heat, and Lex hums something and Clark's losing his grip on reality. He can't be in a dirty alley, he's not pounding his hands against brick, and there's no way this is actually happening.

The world condenses into nothing but this--heat, wet, tight, suction, scraping through every nerve. It's never been like this. He's making noises and it's Lex's name over and over and over, because there aren't any other words that apply. Warm leather cups around his balls, playing lightly, stroking, then slide just behind to that insanely sensitive skin just behind them, that place that makes Clark come, every time.

Makes him come now, screaming, bruising his hands on rough brick and maybe concussing himself but who the hell cares? Knees like water, his body's sending wild signals about overload and too-good, and he barely catches himself on Lex's shoulder before he sinks to the ground.

And like that, Lex is on his feet, stepping between his thighs, hands trapping him against the wall, taking his mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. Clark can taste himself layered over everything else and his cock gives a half-hearted jerk that makes him wince.

When Lex pulls back, the reddened lips smile. "Third date, hmm?"

Clark hears himself choke out a laugh before Lex tucks him back in his pants, zipping them up neatly, then stepping back to check his own apparel. Like he's anything other than immaculate even now, and he licks his lips lightly, like he can taste Clark there still.

"Lex--"

Hot eyes look into his, freezing the words on his tongue, and a gloved hand closes over his elbow, pulling gently. "Come on. We'll be late."

Late. Appointment. Right. Nodding slowly, Clark pushes himself off the wall, surprised his legs will hold him up at all. When they emerge back into the street, Clark wonders if the entire world can see his blush.

On seeing Dr. Cassius for the first time, Clark remembers the interview Lois did for some LexCorp story involving radiation less than a year before. Non-committal answers and a brief flashing grin, sharp eyes.

Nothing useful. Lex is right--alone among LexCorp employees, he's so completely squeaky-clean that he makes Clark's teeth itch. Not even a rumor of misbehavior for a man who heads up LexCorp's medical staff. Published in numerous medical journals, a highly respected, completely brilliant researcher. A typical LexCorp employee in every way.

Right, *that's* why Clark feels nervous around him.

"Lex." Cassius comes out before the secretary even has time to call him--tall and slim, blond, with blue eyes that remind Clark of Lex, impeccable in suit and the typical immaculate white lab coat, glancing briefly over his glasses at Clark before extending a hand to Lex, who shakes it with every sign of pleasure.

"Benny, this is Clark Kent." Lex's grin is bright and real--not what Clark expected between employer and employee. The blue eyes fix on Clark briefly, no expression at all, but the handshake's firm and friendly. "I need a full work up and results by tonight."

"And you'd like me to discover the cure for all types of cancer as well?" Rolling his eyes, Cassius shakes his head. "Come on. I set up everything so neither of you will have to wait. Do you want him present, Mr. Kent?" Not even looking at Lex, like this is totally Clark's choice.

Oh. Does he want Lex around while he's poked and prodded?

"Can I use your office?" Lex says, saving Clark the trouble of overthinking. Cassius rolls his eyes.

"Sure. Don't break my computer again and try not to fuck up my records while you try to conquer the eastern United States today?" With a grin, Benny looks back at his secretary. "Hold all calls or forward to Mitchell. He'll be in to take over the rest of my appointments." Waving at the door, Cassius looks at Clark. "Ready?"

Wow, good question. There's a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, reaching outward and sending every alarm in his head off in various degrees of loudness. Dad's *really* loud, saying 'Luthor' and 'experiment' and 'dangerous', because he never--never--

Breathe, Clark. Human. Nothing else.

"Sure."

He's been with his mother to the doctor's before. And in ER's. The exam room is cheerful in butter yellow, kind of like being trapped in the yolk of an egg. Shiny metal equipment, but also big leather armchairs and the utilitarian cabinets aren't quite as intimidating as he expected. Cassius closes the door, motioning him up on the bed. Peeling his coat off, Clark perches uncomfortably on the edge, watching Cassius move restlessly around the room. A man who can't sit still. A lot like Lex, come to think.

"Arrhythmia, I think, but well within normal," Cassius says, startling him, and Clark almost jumps off the bed. The blue eyes hold his, like there's a secret message that's being passed between them that Clark has to figure out. "I was born in Smallville."

For a second, nothing. Then Clark blinks, watching the doctor watch him.

"Oh."

"I was eight when the meteor shower hit." Another pause, and then Cassius picks up a palm pilot, looking at it carefully. "My mother took me out of town a year later. I had some unusual reactions to the radiation."

Jesus. Clark flushes as the doctor makes some notes. "I'll be running the basic physical work-up. I'll need your permission for DNA testing for genetic abnormalities and a full blood work-up." Cassius looks at him over his glasses. "Did the mix work to clear the radiation reaction?"

Every hair on his body stands straight up, and the only thing keeping Clark in the room is utter terror. "How much do you know?"

Cassius shrugs lightly. "Lex did the chemistry, I provided the genetic and biological information." Making another note, Cassius turns away, pulling out a drawer. Right. Blood. Great. With a man who knows--who knows *something*, but--

Radiation effects. Clark lets out a slow breath. "A lot of people were affected by the meteorites."

"In varying degrees of severity," Cassius agrees, coming over with the needle and a set of vials. Settling them down, Cassius moves a wheeled table under Clark's arm. Frowning, Clark looks down.

"Aren't you going to--"

"Don't need to." The smile is slightly mocking, but only of himself. "Light arrhythmia, normal lung function, normal liver function, normal kidney function, et cetera. You're about as baseline human as they come." The smile smoothes out. "If someone were to say, make me a normal human, this is what they would get." Looking into Clark's eyes, Cassius' smile fades a little. "Like when you're a kid and you think, make it so I find out if people are sick before it's fatal like Mom...."

Clark sucks in a breath. Jesus.

"It must be hell to be out in the city." Clark remembers hearing their pain, night after night. But--but feeling, *knowing* that this man is dying of cancer, that one has this disease, all around you, all the *time*....

Cassius glances at the door, then makes a wide motion encompassing the room. "The entire building is lead-lined so I can't feel anything outside it. When Lex found out it blocks--that--he built this for me." Cassius shrugs, making a simple tourniquet around Clark's arm. "I couldn't practice at all otherwise. I barely made it through medical school."

No, Cassius would have gone crazy in a hospital or normal clinic. Knowing. Always *knowing*, and Clark sucks in a breath.

"I should have asked, let me *cure* disease, but God knows what would have come of that." The lightness is betrayed by an edge that makes Clark shudder, then the needle slides cleanly through the skin. Fascinated, Clark watches blood fill the reservoir. He's getting nauseated. Oh God, he's got needle issues. "I'll analyze this. I need a few other samples...." Cassius trails off meaningfully, glancing up once before removing the first vial and snapping the second onto the needle. "The usual culture."

Forcing his eyes straight ahead, Clark takes long, deep breaths, trying to think.

"How--how did you meet--" Stupid question. Does it matter? Lex has always been fascinated by mutants of all kinds.

"I diagnosed his cancer from radiation exposure." Clark looks up, surprised. "We met at a hotel in Lisbon when I was--escaping my problems." A strange, dreamy look covers the doctor's face. "He--told me he could make it better. That I could still be a doctor and help people." A little shrug. "I head the LexCorp medical staff. I also oversee the facility where less successful Smallville mutations are kept."

"Kept." Clark's mouth tightens. "Yeah."

"Better than the alternative," Cassius says shortly, and the last vial is filled. Pressing down with a cotton ball, Cassius pulls the needle out. "Psychosis is standard for those whose DNA couldn't handle the changes." A little shrug before he straightens. "It was me or mental institutions and prisons. I decided I could do better treating them than the government."

Clark has no idea *what* to say to that, but he nods stiffly as Cassius walks picks up a swab, absently running it across the inside of Clark's mouth before sealing it away.

"Do you experiment on them?"

The fast turn is startling--but then, most meteor mutants seem to have picked up some seriously good motor control. Pulling his lab jacket sleeve up, Cassius unbuttons his shirt, deliberately rolling up the sleeve. Clark sucks in a breath at the line of needle scars. Old, fresh, some have to be from as recently as yesterday.

"On all of us." A long second passes, then Cassius rolls his sleeve back down, once again the mild, quiet doctor in a perfectly average examining room. Picking up the vials, Cassius turns to Clark. "I'll be back in a moment."

He's no more than out the door than Lex appears, leaning casually into the doorway. Clark slides off the table, taking a breath.

"You didn't tell me."

Lex shrugs. "You didn't ask. I told you he has impeccable credentials. He's also the only man alive who has access to almost every record of mutation in Smallville." The tight grin makes Clark wince. "The government, for obvious reasons, has no idea about any of that." Lex runs a finger absently over the edge of his sleeve, picking away nonexistent lint. "What do you want me to say, Clark? You've known about my research for years."

"I--" Clark stops. In theory, yes. "What are you doing to them?"

"Studying them. Treating them when possible. Trying to fix what the kryptonite fucked up. Keeping them out of the public eye and government records." Raising a hand, Lex peels off the glove. It looks human--it even feels human, so human that Clark's forgotten Lex has been without his hand for over two years. "Meteorite mutations--Cassius can't feel them as well as a baseline human, but he can still feel it. He wants to cure them. He oversaw every aspect of my treatment for kryptonite poisoning. He knows wild mutation is perfectly possible and even likely. Most people who were exposed don't get the option to mutate and go straight to cancer. I was lucky enough to go both ways." Lex shrugs, putting the glove back on. "You don't have to trust me, Clark. But I'll ask you this--who would you trust with this? It's the biggest thing to hit human evolution since we crawled out of the sludge. Cassius has personal reason to want to help. And if I use his results--what's the harm?"

Staring at Lex, Clark tries to think. He's known--God, he's known for years Lex experiments with Kryptonite. Human subjects, though? Somewhere in the back of his head has always been the vague idea that there are some lines even Lex can't cross. Won't cross, no matter what.

Cassius comes back in, reading something on a clipboard. The blue eyes flicker up, capturing the moment, and Clark looks away.

"I'll schedule several round of immunizations," he says mildly. "Adults normally don't react as predictably as kids, but--" Cassius shrugs. "Also normally, the side effects are minimal. I'll start you off on the MMR and we'll monitor from there. Do you live alone?"

"Yes." Clark watches as Cassius keys open a cabinet. He keeps vaccinations here? How--weird. Or did Lex talk to him before making that call this afternoon? If Cassius was involved in the original stuff that Lois was shoving down his throat for two days, probably.

"I'd like you checking in with someone every four hours for the next twenty-four hours. Just in case of--"

"I'll take care of it." Clark glances at Lex, impassive face and veiled eyes. "I know the symptoms."

"You would."

Clark fixes his gaze on the far wall while Cassius administers the shot. He knows he's not up to watching shots yet--right, once a superhero, now freaking out about needles. This is just great.

"Okay. The lab will have full results by tomorrow." Cassius grins a little as he peels off his gloves, tossing them aside. "Has there been anything unusual--never mind. Everything's going to be unusual."

"He's lost about ten pounds," Lex says from the door, and Cassius gaze jerks around, fixing on him. "I'd guess also anemic. Appetite--"

"Jesus, Lex!" Flushing, Clark stands up, grabbing his coat. "I'm fine!"

Cassius makes a sound a lot like a laugh. "Right. Mr. Kent, try to keep track of what you eat over the next ten days?" Clark nods, stuffing his arms in his coat. "How do you want the results--"

"Clark, give him your cellphone number," Lex says shortly. "You can pick them up from the secretary."

Frowning, Clark finishes straightening his jacket. Cassius is smiling now, like there's a huge joke that no one but him gets.

"Thanks," Clark says, and he thinks he means it, reaching out to shake the firm hand, then walking by Lex into the waiting room. The secretary's on the phone, chatting lightly with someone, turned away from him. Leaning into the wall, Clark considers the office. From the exam room, Clark can hear the low murmur of voices, but human normal doesn't allow for much in the way of hearing what they're saying.

After a few seconds, Lex comes out, a little line between his brows and a tight set to his mouth. Without a word, Lex walks by him to the door, going outside.

Oh the bastard. Like he'll follow. And like he has a better idea. With an impatient sigh, Clark catches the door and steps into the cool Metropolis afternoon.

Lex is looking around with an abstracted air, like he's not entirely aware of what he's doing.

"You're pissed that I'm suspicious?" Clark asks. He's tempted to ask about Rhinestadt, but Lois is right. Whatever Lex is doing, he'll start covering things up *fast* if he thinks someone's looking for something they shouldn't see. It plays in his mind, though--Cassius, a meteor mutant and doctor, and Rhinestadt, astrophysicist. Just too nice a segue there.

Lex swings around, coat flying. Lex has an impeccable sense of drama. "Surprised? No. Pissed? A little. If I wanted to use you, I would have picked you up that first night. No one could have stopped me. No one would even have known."

Clark--hadn't thought of that.

"You didn't tell anyone what you were doing or where you were going, except Lois apparently." Lex shrugs lightly. "And I could have easily gotten her out of the way."

"Could you?" Maybe not a great time to remind Lex that Lois isn't just anyone but is Lex's ex and a pretty damn prominent reporter. "You wouldn't have a problem doing that to her?"

"I'd have a problem." There's only three steps between them, and only Lex would cover them, face to face, so close Clark can feel the warmth of his body through their clothes. "Do you think that's ever stopped me before?"

For a second, there isn't even air, and Clark flashes on too many looks just like this--hostile Lex, enemy Lex, enraged Lex, the Lex that Clark's fought for more years than they were ever friends. Something tightens in his chest, a burn following in his throat, and then Lex steps away, the mask falling into place.

"Don't do that." Lex looks at him in surprise. "Don't pretend that you don't care."

"Who says I care?"

Nothing. Everything. Superman didn't have this luxury, but hell, Superman's dead, Clark's here, and there's all kinds of luxury involved in it. Taking the step separating them, Clark reaches out, catching his elbow. Lex doesn't even flinch--some habits, Clark thinks, are harder to break than others.

"I do."

Defiant, definitely, but Lex is like that. He's never gotten over being a rebel, even in his mind. Some part of him misses Lionel to fight again, compare himself to. Superman had been good for that, Clark thinks. He has to wonder how Lex is going to function without a decent archenemy in sight.

Grinning, Clark slides his hand down the strong arm, lingering on soft wool over hard muscle, ending with long fingers, twining his between and pressing his thumb into the palm, circling slowly. He can feel Lex tense in an entirely different way.

"So you said something about dinner," Clark murmurs, taking another step, and they might be in the middle of downtown Metropolis but Clark doesn't really care. Lex meets his eyes with something a lot like anticipation.

"It's only two now. A little early, don't you think?"

Clark laughs. "Since when has convention stopped you?" Leaning closer, he brushes a fast kiss over parted lips, moving back too quickly for Lex to do anything but gasp softly. "I--I want to see you naked. Now."

The slow, sucked in breath is reward enough, even though he's blushing again, God, he's got to stop doing that. Stepping back, he snickers at the dazed blue eyes that blink before focusing sharply, looking into him like Lex is mapping everything he's going to touch and how he's going to do it. Dear God. Clark's cock pushes uncomfortably into his boxers, making him shudder.

Instantly, Lex has a cellphone in hand.

"Car. Now." He shuts it off and drops it in his pocket, cutting off Clark's protest. "Hope will take Lois' car back to the Planet." The fingers in his tighten, almost to the point of pain. Wow. Dark eyes fix on Clark's mouth, heavy, full of things that make Clark shiver again. "I'm going to enjoy you, Clark."

It only occurs to him when they're in the elevator, quietly going up to the penthouse, like two people not currently imagining each other very naked, that he really doesn't have all that much experience.

Okay, so right, there was college and stuff there--lots of stuff there, actually, but not, well, not much sex-sex. Making out and other adventures were all well and good, and yes, there'd been that hot frat guy who'd hit on him at the sophomore mixer and they'd had fun, but....

But Clark just couldn't be sure, then. Not-human, too many secrets, and the fear that someone might notice--something. Something like he doesn't bruise or things don't hurt, or he might--might hurt them. Even not meaning to, just forgetting even for a second, and more than one girlfriend had gotten a one o'clock phone call after a bad dream. Just for him to be sure they were okay.

More than one break-up after too many bad nights and a near miss, like Erica and her sprained wrist, Jane's bruised thigh when he held on too tightly.

That's--not a problem this time. Except for the fact that he's with someone who goes through lovers like toilet paper. Including Lois, and she--well. She wouldn't bother with an incompetent lover.

Jesus, Lex might not either. He's fucked *Lois*. Oh dear God.

"Clark?" Quiet, careful voice, like maybe Lex is aware sexual shock is setting in. Warm fingers close over his hand, then a gentle pull. "Clark. Stop."

"I'm fine." His voice is about an octave too high. This isn't happening. It just can't be. He is *not* panicking about sex with Lex.

"I wanted you the first time I saw you."

It goes straight to his cock and that's it, Clark is investing in more pants. Better pants. Pants that stretch or allow for men with sexy voices talking like that. Like it's perfectly normal conversation for people who still are only halfway to their destination. Sweat breaks out on the back of Clark's neck, trickling into his collar.

"That mouth," Lex muses, almost like he's talking to himself. "I used to wonder how you'd taste. How you'd look. How I'd--"

"Lex." His skin feels too tight, muscles involuntarily clenching. "You know--"

Lex's mouth cuts him off. Hard, fast, almost painful, sharp bite to his lower lip before pushing inside, and it's like a first kiss all over again. Lex kisses like he's conquering territory a hard-won inch at a time and has to pacify it afterward. A slow draw over his palate, licking across his tongue, and Clark gives up trying to keep up, just going with it. Reaching for Lex and getting his hands under that coat, feeling muscle and skin beneath wool and silk.

Lex, who tastes like everything Clark's ever imagined and feels like a fantasy.

The elevator bings softly, and Lex pulls away, licking his lips like he's holding onto the taste of Clark's mouth. The fingers twined in his pull, and Clark follows down a short hall, vaguely aware of Lex entering codes and then the door's opened and they're inside.

An impression of white walls, then his coat hits the floor. It's all like a dream--rooms going by, Lex saying something to some help they pass, but the only real thing is Lex. Lex, pushing open a door and pulling Clark inside behind him, then he's up against the door and--God, being *eaten*.

Like Lex is making up for every time they'd looked away from each other, every unfulfilled dream, every lost possibility. Like Lex is trying to rewrite history with just his mouth, saying, you, yes, you, Clark. This is what we both wanted and we didn't get. This is what we can have.

Clark wants that. Needs it, shoving the coat off Lex's shoulders, fingers pulling at buttons that don't rip off when he's too clumsy, forcing silk apart to touch pure skin, and it's like coming home. Like this first touch, skating over Lex's chest, his shoulders, his collarbone, isn't as new and completely different. He has to have known forever that Lex's skin tastes earthy and rich, that it's smooth beneath his tongue, that a lick at this dip of bone and muscle makes him twitch, hands clenching against Clark's back.

Wool trousers fight him, button resisting, and finally Lex pulls away with a breathless, wet sound, hands at his waist, looking up only once with that slow burn erupting into something that says, yes. Now. Now, Clark. "Clothes."

He gets his dress jacket off. Shirt is more tricky, but he manages, throwing it aside, forcing his pants to obey shaking fingers, kicking off shoes, toeing off socks, mouth sore and empty, skin burning from the traces of Lex's mouth. Lex, backing up step by step to the bed, Clark following like iron following a magnet and then Lex is on his back and Clark is finally touching everything.

His hands can't move fast enough, can't touch enough, spreading his fingers to feel more. Lex is murmuring things in his ear--encouragement and promises and snatches of some dead poet who probably had no idea he would one day be quoted as foreplay, but Clark's lost in sensation. Pale, pale skin, light sprinkles of freckles over shoulders and chest that Clark can draw lines between with the tip of his tongue. Restless hands on his back, Lex feeling him by inches, like he has to memorize everything he touches, every muscle and bone, invisible fingerprints pressed into his shoulders that Clark will never stop feeling, tangling in his hair and pulling him up to that addictive mouth. Lex rolls them on their sides and Clark slides a leg over Lex's hip, keeping them close, gasping at the brush of cock on cock, bare and frighteningly hot.

Like he could burn up if he's not careful, consumed in too many years of sublimated desire that's breaking them both. And he'll like it.

Lex's fingers on his chest, thumbs brushing nipples awake, thrusting against him and pushing him that much higher. It's like being drunk but better, and Clark hears himself laughing when Lex's tongue flicks across his ear, his chin, slicking down his throat like he's drawing lines to follow later. A shift down that makes Clark mutter protest, but teeth close over his nipple and he forgets how words work. How they sound. How to make his tongue do anything but curl up behind his teeth to stop the sounds he's making, low and needy and desperate.

On his back somehow and Lex goes down on him in one motion, arching his back and liquefying his spine.

"Lex--"

A low hum around his cock pushes his heels into the bed, scrambling for purchase, and his fingertips touch a silky scalp, sliding helplessly over the curve of skin and bone, he can't hurt Lex now, he can *touch*. Can arch and push up into that mouth, he doesn't have to be still, be careful, worry, because Lex can heal from anything and Clark can't hurt him anyway. And Lex fits against his palms, pressing against him, encouraging everything, you can do this, Clark, you can do anything you want.

Touch, hold on, push into that mouth harder and faster, but he wants something entirely different. Pulls Lex up and has to bite his lip to keep from coming just from the look on his face, the swollen red lips and eyes darkened to black.

"Lex, I want--"

"Anything you want." A kiss sucked into his inner thigh, quick tongue slicking his balls, hinting at a slide behind that forces out a gasp, but Clark pulls until Lex is covering him, smooth skin blanketing him, nipping at his lips. "Anything, any way you want it, Clark--"

Jesus. Shaking hands slide down Lex's back, digging into bone and muscle, as hard and he wants, and he *can't* hurt him.

"Fuck me." Like a normal person can, and he'll feel it. "Lex, I want you to fuck me."

Lex traces his face with one hand, fingers shaping to his cheek, breath panting out, and if it's possible, the blue eyes are even darker, pupil swallowing the iris until there's nothing but raw need. "Have you ever done that before?"

"No." Too many variables to consider. Clark couldn't imagine taking his experiments in sex that far.

"It'll hurt." More like a promise than a warning, and Lex levers himself up, slowly, like he can't quite make himself want to move faster. Reaching with one hand to the bedside table, pulling open a drawer, little tube landing by Clark's head, then he pulls back on both knees, staring down at Clark. "Spread your legs for me."

Clark sucks in a breath, complying, and Lex strokes his thighs. Eyes closing tightly for a second before they open again. Lex swallows hard. "It'll hurt, but you'll like it."

Clark swallows hard, nodding, and Lex reaches for the tube, then grins, bright and sharp. "How much have you done?"

"What, you want a list?" Clark's lucky he's getting out sentences at this point. Lex laughs, fingers slipping to his inner thighs, almost tickling the sensitive skin in a way that's making Clark shudder. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're asking."

"Imagine my relief." Another sharp grin, then both his thighs are lifted, pushed over Lex's shoulders, and Lex ducks his head. Entirely not what Clark had in mind, and he lifts up on both elbows.

"Lex--oh." A slow lick to that little patch of skin, too careful to make him come though it's a close, close thing. "Lex, I--"

"I noticed. I think you'll like this." Clark can barely hear the muffled words before--oh God. God, Lex's tongue. That clever, sharp, ruthlessly gentle tongue slicking across his hole, shocking Clark almost upright before he realizes that movement like that will stop the feeling. Collapsing back into the mattress, he feels Lex's chuckle before he's doing it *again*. Slower, now, so Clark can really feel it, and this is--really new. Completely unlike anything he's done to himself, but Lex has a better angle and, well, that tongue. That tongue that's even slower, making a lazy circle around before pushing just a little, and Clark tenses, can't help it. Forcing himself down, closing his fingers over the bedspread, strangely harsh compared to Lex's skin.

Then a push that sucks the air from Clark's lungs--that's Lex's tongue inside him, curling, pressing, licking, slow and steady, and Clark might not be breathing anymore. Might never want to breathe again if it results in this.

"Fuck."

That chuckle again, vibrating against hypersensitive skin, and warm thumbs open him, giving Lex access to do--oh God, more. Deeper, harder, thrusts and slow licks and twists that drive Clark's heels into Lex's back but he doesn't seem to notice.

Time loses meaning. Everything loses meaning that isn't centered in that place Lex is playing with, a perfectly ordinary area that's never hinted it could do things like *this*. Lex's tongue is in his ass like it's the most normal thing ever invented and Clark wonders vaguely, do people *know* about this? And why in the name of God aren't they doing it all the time?

He's twisting into it, every long lick and hard thrust, and this, he thinks a little vaguely, will be like having Lex's cock, maybe. Open and pushing and slick wetness and God, how is he doing it, coaxing sounds out of Clark's throat that aren't even possible. Whimpering, arching into it, more, please, he can feel sweat breaking out all over his body, and his cock aches, a pain so good he never wants it to stop.

He's begging now, he's sure of it.

Then something else--harder, Lex's finger, he's almost sure, and it hits something that wipes out even the memory of a life that doesn't include this. Clark chokes on air, grabbing for the sheets with both hands, and Lex's other hand closes over his cock, a rough, expert jack and Clark