Secrets, a Smallville story by Glacis. Rated
R, no copyright infringement intended. Spoilers for the episode
"Rogue."
He told himself he'd done it for
He'd done it to get
A thin bubble of laughter fought to break
out most of the night, but he didn't allow it to escape. Because
Seeing
"Darker times called for darker
methods. His opponents thought he was invincible."
"I didn't know you were a history buff,
Lex."
"I'm not. I'm just interested in people
who ruled the world before they were thirty."
Before
Reaching out a hand, he caught
"Going to ..." he took a breath,
shooting Lex a miserable look, "get some air."
"You know," Lex told him
reasonably, "you're never going to get her if you keep running away from
your enemy."
"Whitney's not my enemy."
"Yes, he is,
Once again, before
"Always the hopeless romantic,
Lex."
"
"I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"
she purred.
Clamping down on the affirmative springing
instantly to his lips, Lex did the polite thing instead. "
Lex didn't want to deal with Clark and
Victoria at the same time. Better to find out what trap his old flame was
setting first, then he could get back to his newest obsession. "I'll catch
up with you later, Clark."
Trying to ignore Clark who was no doubt
staring like a moonstruck cow at
"Want a private tour?" His
invitation covered more than Luthor Hall, and she knew it. She handed him a
champagne flute.
"I thought you'd never ask." She
knew he would.
Public functions were her specialty as much
as they were his, and she made a lovely ornament on his arm as he completed the
evening's festivities, such as they were. His father would have no complaints
about the evening's work. Well, no legitimate complaints. His father could
always find something meriting complaint, and always did.
She made light conversation as they drove
through the night toward Smallville, and he played the game with his usual
perfection. He drove too fast, she touched him up along the way, they shredded
every mutual acquaintance's reputation, and by the time he led her to his bed
they were both hot for it. It had been a long dry spell, after all, since
coming to Smallville.
The only unexpected moments came when he ran
his tongue over her clit and flashed on an erect cock, instead. The weight of
her breast felt strange in his palm, her nipple too wide, her chest too soft.
When he thrust into her and it felt loose, too wet, not nearly hot enough, and
it took him a second to remember that it wasn't an ass he was fucking. When he
kissed her and her mouth was too small. When he came, and had to kiss her to
keep from crying out someone else's name.
It wasn't the first time he'd gotten his
genders mixed up in his bedmates, although it didn't usually happen when he was
sober. No, the oddity wasn't that he wished he was in bed with a guy while he
was having sex with Victoria. That had happened before. The odd aspect was that
the guy was Clark.
Which added a certain layer to his
fascination with the boy of which he hadn't previously been aware. Not
consciously, at least. It went a long way to explaining his latest obsession.
Nothing like a dash of sex to spice up a mystery.
She slept long before he did, and he was up
long before she awoke. He watched the maid bring in a pitcher and fresh fruit,
warm croissants and soft cheeses. He was pouring her a Bannockburn, thinking it
a pity to ruin perfectly good whiskey with tomato juice, when she walked in the
room.
Before she could reach him to kiss him, he
deflected her. "So, what do you think of Smallville?"
Slanting him a subtly quizzical look, she
replied lightly, "It reminds me of the village where my grandparents lived
in Wales. Very quaint. Very safe." She wandered from the window until she
stood beside him. "And the last place I expected to find Lex Luthor."
"My father plans to bring me back to
Metropolis in a few years." His voice was perfectly even.
"He's lying." Her eyes challenged
him. He didn't hesitate.
"I know." Of course he did. His
father's motivations had been transparent to him since Lex was a teen. There
were good reasons he'd spent most of his adolescence either in a lab buried in
experiments or stoned out of his mind buried in a willing body.
"You deserve something better."
Ah. She was finally getting to the point.
"And you crossed the pond to tell me what that is." He handed her the
Bannockburn.
"Catching up with an old friend isn't
reason enough?" Such well-played innocence, so blatantly false. He smiled,
inside, where she couldn't use it against him.
"As much as I'd like to flatter
myself..." He paused, giving her the rope to hang herself if she so chose,
but she was, as expected, cannier than that. "The daughters of
multi-national industrialists usually don't fly around the world to rekindle
old flames." Another strategic pause, and this one, she allowed to go on
too long. His internal grin widened. She was getting sloppy. "Neither do
executive vice presidents."
Point scored, although her expression
remained serene. "Then you've heard."
"That you're working for your father? I
keep up." With everything. "How is Sir Harry?" The windbag.
"Distant. Inaccessible. And rich."
She rolled the words off the end of her tongue as if describing a lover, not
her father. Although anything was possible, of course. "I believe you know
the type."
Lex let his eye rove. She was inviting, but
not nearly enough to make him stupid. "What's he want with me?"
"He understands how you may have
certain ... negative feelings toward your father." Her attempt at delicacy
fell flat. Lex raised a brow.
"Sir Harry has always had an incredible
grasp of the obvious."
The insult flowed past her. She caught it,
she simply didn't care to defend her father, in large part because she agreed
with Lex on the matter, and had told him so often. "He was hoping those
feelings might work to our mutual advantage." There was a distinctly
feline prowl in her walk as she came up close to him. "He'd like you to
reconsider your position at LuthorCorp."
Daughter. Executive VP. Whore. She played
them all so well. "So he sent you here as an incentive." Not enough.
She gave him her sultriest look. "I've
missed you, Lex."
He couldn't quite keep the irony from his
reply. "I'm touched." Taking it as an invitation, unusually literal
that morning, she ran her fingers down his crotch, tickling the end of his cock
delicately. A ghost of a grope. He caught his breath and asked, "Do you
have a proposal?" For some reason, undoubtedly connected with Clark, he
wasn't really in the mood for a morning shag.
Her answer was close enough he felt her
breath on his lips. "First I think I'd like something else." She
kissed him almost before she finished the sentence. Obviously, she was
in the mood.
Far be it from him to disappoint a lady,
even if the honorific was hereditary and not earned. She was a slut, but then,
so was he, and he wouldn't hold that against her. In deference to her soft
skin, he didn't knock the dishes on the floor and fuck her over the sideboard.
Besides, she wasn't tall enough. He walked her over to the sofa, tongues
twining the whole way, clothing plucked and dropped so that by the time they
hit the soft cushions, everything that needed to be naked was. Looking up at
the wild red curls, flushed face and bouncing breasts above him as she rode
him, his mind left his body to the task and went back to an earlier thought.
The sideboard. Early morning. Saturday,
maybe, or late Sunday afternoon, after a delivery. Clark, by turns serious and
teasing, cheeks as flushed as those tasteless organic apples, hair falling over
his big green eyes. A splash of tomato juice, no alcohol needed, just enough to
mess up his clothes, and Lex would be so helpful. Strip him right down, don't
want him getting sticky. Not with something as boring as juice.
Big hands clutching his head as they
suddenly kissed, wild young hunger flashing with the slightest encouragement,
and Clark would taste sweeter than any fruit Lex ever bit. He'd moan, a wanton
sound, and pant, all wide eyes and open mouth and quivering body as Lex went
down on him, salt to cut the sweet. He'd be tall enough, and strong enough, he
could take the pounding, and Lex would give it to him. Suck him dry, then bend
him over the table and pound into him, harder and harder. As tight and hot and
hard as Lex needed, Clark would be, what Victoria wasn't.
He shuddered, her thighs tightening around
his hips, her nails scoring his back as she came with him. He bit his lip,
strangling his scream so that it made no sense, had no familiarity to any word,
much less Clark's name. She collapsed against him, and he silently spat hair
out, swiping the mess of clinging strands from his face so he could breathe.
She was snuffling happily.
"Tiger in the morning," she giggled
against his chest. He held her against him so she couldn't see his expression,
unsure for once what it might give away. She snuggled close, under the mistaken
impression his embrace showed affection. They both got what they needed out of
the coupling.
Well, she had, perhaps. Then again, maybe
neither had. For she hadn't truly gotten him. And he certainly hadn't gotten
Clark. Staring up at the ceiling again, in the library this time instead of the
bedroom, he gave idle thanks for interesting architectural detailing and
decided he'd either have to bed Clark or make sure his mouth was always full
when he had sex. When a woman with fingernails as long as Victoria's had his
balls in her grip, it was best not to call her the wrong name.
Particularly not that wrong name.
Leaving her to explore the mouldering heap
that was Luthor Castle, content that the most important secrets were behind
locks even she couldn't pry open, Lex headed down to the Beanery. He tried to
convince himself he wasn't stalking Clark. Nope. Not even watching for him. Not
waiting for him in the slightest way. A bad memory came back to haunt him
before he could tangle himself too far in self-delusion.
"Afternoon, Lex."
Lex turned slowly. It hadn't been nearly
long enough since he'd last seen that smirking face.
"Or is it Mr. Luthor here in
Smallville?" Or heard that mocking voice.
"Phelan." It was more curse than
greeting, although perfectly pleasant to the outside observer. "Isn't
Smallville a couple of counties outside your jurisdiction?"
The cop gave him what passed for an innocent
look to those who didn't know him. "Well, I don't need jurisdiction to
look up an old friend."
Friend. That was a bad joke. Lex stepped
closer, not really wanting everyone in the coffee shop to hear the conversation.
"We were never friends. If you want to see me, call my office." He
turned to leave, dismissing Phelan, but the man's next words stopped him.
"When does it happen, Lex?"
He turned back, eyeing Phelan warily.
Riddles. Not what he needed. "When does what happen?" There was an
edge of impatience to his voice.
Hard eyes stared back at him. "When do
you turn on the people that help you? How many times did I pull you back from
the edge? You'd be dead right now if it wasn't for me."
The words echoed strangely in Lex's head,
and for a moment, it sounded like a different voice. His vision wavered, and
Phelan's face was replaced with Clark's, only older, somehow colder. Then the
weird feeling passed and it was just Phelan again. Lex took a steadying breath.
One thing had to be said for him. Phelan had
never lacked balls. Brains, at times, but never balls. "You were on my
father's payroll. His go-to guy in the department. You got paid to fix
situations, so don't try and pretend it was anything else."
"You have a good life, here, Lex. I'd
sure hate to see that get compromised."
He never knew when to stop pushing. One day,
it would get him killed. Lex said quietly, coldly, "You can't touch me and
you know it."
The tone, if not the words or the look,
penetrated Phelan's cockiness. He got down to business, pulling a sheet of
paper from his jacket pocket. "I'm looking for a witness. I think he saw
last night's accident outside the museum."
Lex narrowed his eyes. "And this
concerns me, why?"
The piece of paper was a photo. Taken from
one of the Museum's security cameras, it showed Clark Kent standing beside Lex.
It must have been the moment when Victoria joined them, because Lex was looking
off-camera. But Clark's face was a revelation. He hadn't been staring at
Victoria as Lex had supposed.
His eyes were glued to Lex, and there was an
intent expression that was so sharp it looked an awful lot like hunger to Lex.
He wondered if that was the way Clark always looked at him when he didn't think
anyone was watching. Lex's earlier distraction with Victoria started to make
more sense. There was a spark there, and it wasn't only in his imagination. It
appeared that Clark felt it too.
Lex was startled, but he didn't let it show.
Falling back on old habits when dealing with scavengers, he automatically
denied knowledge, directly and deliberately, with enough carelessness to make
it sound real. "Sorry. I don't know who that is."
"Hm." Phelan speared him with a
glance, but Lex was an old hand at professing innocence with figurative if not
literal blood dripping from his hands, and he simply stared back. "I would
have pegged you for buddies."
The pause before he said it made it
blatantly obvious Phelan would've said fuck-buddies if they weren't in the
middle of a busy coffee shop. Lex held onto his calm demeanor, going cold at
Phelan's insinuation and hot at the thought of fucking Clark. A disconcerting
mental tug-of-war he didn't allow to show.
"I guess you're losing your instinct.
Maybe you should think about retiring." This time, he held Phelan's stare
with an unblinking implied threat, until the cop finally shrugged. Gave him a
hostile goodbye disguised as a friendly nod, and left the restaurant.
That was ... interesting. What could Phelan
have on Clark? And how could Lex get it out of him?
Those questions crept through the back of
his mind as he went through the day's business. He made a phone call to his own
pet mole at the MPD, and discovered some more interesting information. Phelan
wasn't on an official investigation. He was in Smallville following his own
agenda, and Clark was top of the list.
Why?
What had happened, that Lex had completely
missed, at the Museum that night, to interest a slimy opportunist like Phelan
in Clark Kent, poster-boy for clean Kansas farm living? And what secret was
Clark hiding beneath that shining exterior that could hook a jaded creep like
Phelan? Phelan knew something. It might help Lex unravel the secret Clark was
keeping, might solve some mysteries that Lex wanted to settle. Or perhaps the
Phelan angle wasn't the most direct route to Lex's answers. Maybe Clark would
confide in him now that he was threatened by an outsider.
In the few moments he wasn't actively working
at the Clark-Phelan-secrets puzzle, he worked out Victoria's plan. It was
simple really, and he had a counter-offer ready by midday. He let it sit until
dinner. Ambiance was a key element in any seduction, as he well knew, and the
best way to convince her to abandon her plan for his would be to seduce her
into it.
As long as he didn't call her Clark, he
should be all right.
Ringing Victoria on her cell, he arranged to
meet her back at the castle for a late dinner. Then he signed some contracts,
reviewed a few budgets, fired a contractor, followed up on a couple small
problems before they became big ones at the plant, and checked the status of
some ongoing experiments with the meteor fragments. Night had fallen and the
moon was bright in the sky by the time he drove over to the Kent farm.
He didn't bother bearding the parents in
their den. Instead he skirted around the side of the house, avoiding
ankle-clutching tufts of grass and unexpected holes that could break his leg,
then climbed silently up the wooden stair to the loft over the barn. A few
weeks before Clark had let slip about his 'fortress of solitude,' blushing
furiously and trying to change the subject before Lex coaxed him into opening
up a little about it. Lex trusted his instincts. The loft was Clark's refuge,
and if Phelan was on his ass, Clark would be holed up like a hunted fox.
As always, his instinct was dead-on. Clark
leaned against the wide-open door, staring up at the moon. The diffuse light
made his skin glow, sharpened the contrast between the dark hair and the apples
'n' cream complexion, made his eyes look black, yet softened the angles of his
face at the same time. A fascinating dichotomy, moonlight, and it loved Clark
Kent. Lex found his fingers shaking with the need to reach out, and he shoved
his fists into his pockets to deny the urge. It took him a moment to catch his
breath, from the view, not the climb, but he sounded perfectly calm when he did
speak.
"You look like you're carrying the
weight of the world." Clark started, pulled back abruptly from wherever
his mind had been. A million miles away, or perhaps only as far as Metropolis,
and Lex would make book on which it had been. "I'm sorry if I surprised
you," he gave the words a wryly humorous spin to lessen the tension. Clark
looked ready to bolt. "But there's really nowhere to knock."
"It's okay." He sounded tense,
too. "Thanks again for last night." Ever polite, even with the sword
of Damocles hanging over his head.
Lex walked over, leaning down to look
through the telescope, fiddling with the knob to bring the stars into focus.
Then he stifled a grin. Not quite the stars. Just Lana, walking by her bedroom
window in nothing but a slip. Sounding for all the world like he was looking at
Cassiopeia, not peeping at a teenager, Lex drawled, "Your first visit to
Metropolis and you're involved in a police investigation? That has to be some
kind of record."
The nervous twinge in his voice deepened as
Clark asked, "How'd you know about that?"
Lex stopped playing with the telescope and glanced
out the window, shooting Clark a quick, all-encompassing glance first. The
kid's eyes were huge, and he looked like he was backed up against a wall.
Ignoring, with an effort, the mental image that gave him, Lex answered,
"The detective in charge came to see me first."
"What'd he tell you?" Yep.
Definitely stressed. Definitely Phelan's work.
"Not much. Maybe that's what's
bothering me."
"What do you mean?"
Glancing back over to Clark, lingering this
time, Lex explained. "Metropolis Police usually don't send detectives out
to investigate traffic accidents. So, I made a call. Turns out the official
investigation is already closed. Clark." He leaned hard on the next words,
wanting to break through the nerves and the reserve. Because regardless of the
secrets Clark kept and Lex wanted, Clark was his friend. "You really don't
want Sam Phelan in your life."
"You know him?" Clark sounded
vaguely appalled.
Staring out at the cornfields, Lex let his
disgust show. "Unfortunately. I had my share of legal problems while I was
in Metropolis."
"Serious?"
That was one way to look at them. He turned
to walk back toward Clark. "Expensive," he clarified. "Phelan
was the type of officer my father felt we could turn to for help."
"You're saying he's a dirty cop."
Life was so much more complex than Clark had
any idea. Lex spelled it out for him. "I'm saying he'd do whatever he had
to, to get the job done. Plant evidence, falsify reports. Anything is fair
game, and if he's got something on you, Clark, he'll use it." Talk to me,
Lex urged silently. Maybe I can help. I'm going to find out anyway, and this
way, at least, we'll both gain. Clark, as always, didn't take him up on the
offer.
He dropped his eyes before forcing himself
to meet Lex's gaze. When he did, his expression was shuttered, closed tighter
than any farmboy should ever be able to shut down. No wonder he intrigued Lex.
He was a bundle of contradictions.
"He just wanted to talk."
Not to mention a damned good liar when he
wanted to be. Lex smiled, with a hard edge to it that told Clark plainly that
he knew Clark was lying. "Then you've got nothing to worry about."
Clark bit his lip. Red flesh turned more
red, the blood rushing to the indentation left by worrying teeth. Lex felt his
control slip, an instant too late to catch it. The tip of his forefinger fit
perfectly in the little dip in the center of Clark's lower lip. Lex stopped
breathing.
So did Clark.
From the silence, so did the world around
them.
Closing his eyes, wondering what the fuck he
thought he was doing and why the hell he was allowing himself to do it and
where in God's name his vaunted self-control had vanished, Lex ordered his arm
to move, forced his hand to retreat. Before his muscles could translate his
brain's frenzied shriek, teeth once more closed over the lip.
And the fingertip.
The bite was so gentle it nearly wasn't
there. Lex's eyes popped open. Wide open. To see Clark, staring back at him,
just as wide-eyed, if not moreso. Lex wiggled his finger experimentally. The
teeth instantly parted. They hovered over his finger, and Lex stared at that
mouth for the longest moment. Wondered what it would taste like. If the
incisors felt as sharp as they looked, the tongue as wet, the lips as soft.
He left his finger right where it was and
waited to see what Clark would do next. That, it turned out, was to add a
little tongue action to the intimate theatre playing out between them. The tip
of his tongue, to the tip of Lex's finger, and it was insane how hard Lex
suddenly was, and how close he was to coming.
From the brush of a tongue-tip.
Then the tongue was gone, and Lex's hand
slid down. Not far, from lip to jaw, to cup it, then slide round to stroke
whisper-soft over Clark's cheek. Clark was trembling now, or perhaps Lex was.
Maybe both of them. Whatever Clark saw in Lex's eyes made his own gleam, and
Lex was caught in the light there. Reflected brighter than the moonlight, and
wasn't that the silliest thing he'd ever thought. Until Clark closed the
three-inch height-difference between them and kissed him.
Chaste. Sweet. Soft. Full and hungry and
seeking, it sent Lex reeling. Over almost as soon as it began, then Clark was
leaning back up again, and Lex's hand caught in his hair, holding him in place.
Not touching anywhere else, just the tangle of fingers in thick hair at the
nape of Clark's neck, and it was enough for the moment. To feel Clark's breath
fall on Lex's skin, to see desire and rampant confusion in Clark's eyes, and to
know there were more secrets there than Lex ever expected.
Metal and glass rattled from the kitchen
below, jolting Lex out of the haze he was in, nearly sending Clark through the
roof. He stepped back, forcing Lex to let go or pull his hair out, and Lex gave
him the space they both needed. Clearing his throat, he blinked, then gave
Clark his best attempt at a smirk. It didn't really fit, his jaw was too slack
with shock and his lips still tingled from the most innocent kiss he'd received
since he hit puberty, but Clark didn't notice. He was too busy jumping out of
his skin.
Not surprisingly, Clark's panic calmed Lex.
Sticking his hands back in his pockets before they could give into any more
temptation, he cleared his throat again and said, "Well."
Clark stared at him like a hare caught in
headlights. Lex licked his lips. The stare heated up. Lex did his best not to
groan, shifted carefully, silently cursed the way wet silk boxers bound
sensitive skin, and said, "Call me if you need me. I mean it, Clark. Let
me help."
Then he shut up before his voice could
betray him by cracking, another experience he hadn't had since he was twelve,
and got the hell out of the barn, off the Kent farm and back to the castle.
Ducking into his suite, he took the coldest
shower he could stand, then dried himself off briskly enough to deflate any
reminders of his early evening adventures and dressed for dinner. He had
business to conduct. An ally to seduce. Power to be gained.
He'd moon over Clark later.
Catching the thought and grumbling at himself,
he mentally corrected it. He'd worry about Clark later. And Phelan. And
secrets. And confusion under moonlight surrounded by hay. And his lack of
control. First, he had to deal with Victoria.
In front of a crackling fire, comfortable on
pillows by a low table picking through tamago, negitoro-maki, uni and anago,
Lex shoved thoughts of Clark back into the box in his brain marked 'later.'
Smiling with calculated effect at Victoria, he poured Ama no To into two small
square cut-crystal glasses.
"Sake?" He held up the cane
container, topping her glass up at her nod. She settled closer to him on the
cushions and gave him a half-smile. His pulse remained obstinately steady. Her
teeth were too straight. Her lipstick too dark. Her mouth too small.
He slammed the lid of his memory box down
harder and chained the sucker shut. She was speaking, and he concentrated on
pouring, listening, and business as usual.
"I assume you've had the chance to read
my father's proposal." She made it sound indecent. Predictable.
"I didn't have to." That earned
him a sharp glance.
"Oh. So you've added mind-reading to
your many abilities." She sounded more than half-serious.
His smile almost slipped into a sneer. His
boredom threshold was approaching fast, so he cut to the chase.
"I know why you're here, Victoria. Sir
Harry wants to take over LuthorCorp and he needs my shares to do it. Your
father didn't dream up this little plan, did he?" She stared up at him,
looking predatory. It was amusing, but he didn't let her know that. "Do you
think if you take over LuthorCorp daddy will finally give you the respect you
deserve?" Still suffering from childhood delusion? Grow up, little girl.
"He won't, Victoria."
"So what are you suggesting?"
Hook. Line. Sinker. "You came to play
on my hatred of my father. Now I'm going to play on yours. Why take one company
when you can take two?"
Her breath came appreciably faster.
"You know they'll probably kill us."
She had no idea how right she was.
"Probably," he agreed genially. "But that's what makes life
interesting."
It worked, of course. He hadn't even needed
sex to seduce her, but he was generous in victory. They raised their glasses,
toasted, drank, fed one another, fed on one another. She pushed him back
against the cushions and sealed the bargain her favorite way. He kissed her
back, and held her as she moved, and stared at the ceiling when she was too
preoccupied to notice. When he came, he muffled his voice in her hair. He tried
not to think of Clark.
He failed.
Victoria was still asleep, a slight bulge
under the covers topped by a wild mess of red hair, when Lex left for his
office. Not that he had much to do at a fertilizer plant; Sir Harry's grasp of
the obvious aside, being literally exiled to a crap factory said a great deal
about his father's opinion of him. He'd not been at his desk more than twenty
minutes when his private line rang.
"Lex," he answered absently, most
of his mind on the projections for Hardwick Industries for the next quarter's
reports. The first words out of his snitch's mouth brought him to attention.
"Kent? Jonathan? Farmer? For what?"
It made no sense. Cradling the phone, he
stared blindly at the figures blurring across his computer screen. Murder. Body
found on the premises, weapon in the vehicle registered to the owner, all signs
pointing toward one Jonathan Kent as a killer.
Ridiculous.
It smelled like Phelan. Stank like him, more
precisely. Picking the telephone back up, he made two calls. Within five
minutes moles from the local sheriff department and Metro Homicide were digging
for him. He'd have the entire story within the hour.
Glancing at his watch, he left the office
and headed for the Beanery. He was early. The window booths were empty. He
settled in to drink a cup of coffee and lie in wait for Clark without
pretending, as he usually did, that he wasn't. Even with one eye on the street
and one on his magazine, he still nearly missed the kid. Clark was moving fast
down the sidewalk, head down, hands in pockets, hunched over as if to hide.
Tough to do when one was as tall as Clark.
Weaving through the early-morning crowd, Lex
shot out the door of the Beanery and stepped directly into Clark's path,
forcing him to stop and recognize him.
"Clark!"
Miserable green eyes glared half-heartedly
down at him. Clark's resemblance to a hunted animal was strong; he looked
young, trapped, vulnerable. Sexy and sad, a nearly irresistible combination.
Lex tamped down his conditioned response to perceived weakness, since throwing
Clark down on the wet sidewalk and fucking him unconscious would get them
arrested and one Kent in prison at a time was plenty.
"I just heard about your Dad. Is he all
right?" The only way he could think to phrase the question, and it still
sounded stupid. Still, Clark automatically put the best face on things.
"He's hanging in there." He
sounded hopeful, if one didn't actually look at him. His expression betrayed no
hope whatsoever.
"This is ... this is crazy. Your father
didn't kill anyone." Now Lex was stating the obvious. He hurried on.
"Give me five minutes and I'll get you the ten best lawyers in the
state."
If possible, Clark looked even more
miserable. "I don't think lawyers are going to help."
Confirmation of Lex's suspicions, in one
tidy sentence. Phelan's work, all right, and not over by a long shot, Lex would
bet. Clark tried to duck past him, and Lex stopped him with one hand to his
chest. Well, he'd intended it to land on his chest. It wasn't his fault Clark
was so tall that Lex's aim was off. Still, Clark's stomach felt good against
his palm, and Lex let his hand linger. Clark looked at him but didn't say
anything and made no move to shrug off his touch.
"It's Phelan, isn't it." Lex
didn't make it a question, since he already knew the answer. "What's he
got on you, Clark?" He asked it as gently as he could.
Still, Clark reacted with anger, a rush of
temper that did nothing to disguise his underlying fear. "Look, just stay
out of it!" Clark did move, then, stepping past Lex. "All right?
Please." His voice died on the last word, and Lex knew then how close to
the end of his rope Clark was.
"Listen to me!" Clark turned at
Lex's forceful words, staring down numbly at him. Lex made one more attempt to
break through. Clark was out of his league, and he needed Lex, whether he
admitted it or not. "You may think you know how a guy like Phelan works.
But you'd be wrong."
"Sounds like you're an expert."
The attempt at defensiveness slid right off
Lex, like a love bite from a puppy. "I understand his world."
Clark's expression darkened further.
"Yeah. He told me you have secrets."
I'll just bet he did, Lex growled
internally, but didn't let his face reflect his feelings. Stepping very close
to Clark, he said quietly, "There are parts of my life I'm not proud of,
Clark." Had been, still were, no doubt always would be. That was the way
of his world. That fact had no bearing on his need to help Clark. "But I
don't want to see you or your family hurt." He meant it, adding weight to
the words, while admitting to himself that the side benefit of discovering
Clark's secret would be sweet. Pouring persuasion into his voice he added,
"Now let me help."
"You can't, Lex."
The denial hurt Lex more than he'd expected,
and he could tell, looking at Clark, that the kid felt it too.
"I've gotta handle this on my
own." His expression was resolute, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed.
Lex wanted to slap him. Foolish, arrogant,
ignorant child. Phelan would eat him alive, and that was most definitely not in
Lex's plan. They stared at one another wordlessly for a long moment, Lex
holding Clark's gaze until Clark finally dipped his head and hurried away. Lex
swallowed further offers of help, other arguments, knowing they'd be futile,
and watched him leave.
He had more than one way to find out what
was going on. Knowledge was power, and if there was one thing Lex Luthor
understood down to its essence, it was power.
The day passed quickly, as he attended to
business, charmed Victoria into spending the evening alone, and followed up
with his spies. When darkness fell, he left the castle and staked out the Kent
farm. It wasn't a long wait.
Vigilance was rewarded when Phelan pulled
up. The cop skirted the house and went directly back to the barn. Lex waited
and watched. A few moments later he came out again, Clark behind him, glaring
at his back hard enough to burn holes through it. Lex's eyes narrowed. Whatever
it was, Phelan wasn't wasting time using it. He had Clark by the balls and he
was squeezing.
If Lex had been the kind to solve problems
with violence he would have put a bullet in Phelan's brain. But he preferred
elegant, longer-lasting, more satisfying solutions that left no visible wounds,
just invisible strings. He wanted Phelan out of Clark's life, and he wanted
Clark's secrets. This little outing might be the key to both objectives.
Traffic was light on the highway back to
Metropolis, but Phelan wasn't paying much attention. Why should he? The only
ally he thought Clark had was Jonathan, and he was safely locked away for a
murder for which Phelan had framed him. Everyone in Smallville, by now, knew
that Victoria was in town, and Phelan would undoubtedly think Lex was too busy
bedding her to bother with an insignificant farmboy.
He had no idea Lex had more interest in the
farmboy than he'd ever had in Victoria.
Still, Phelan's careless failure to spot the
tail on his car told Lex everything he needed to know about the level of the
cop's desperation. The wolves were closing in, and he had to escape. What Lex
wanted to know was how Phelan planned to use Clark to do it.
Unfortunately, shortly after they left the
highway, traffic thinned out too much for close contact and Lex lost his
target. Cursing lightly under his breath, he swiftly ran over what he knew of
Phelan, what he knew of Clark, and what he knew of how their paths had crossed.
His smirk crawled back over his face and he stopped trying to pick up the
trail. Instead, he headed directly for the Metropolis Museum and pulled into
the front lot.
As he'd expected, they came full-circle to
the place Clark had first drawn the cop's attention. Phelan's car was already
there. Scanning the area, Lex didn't see either of the men. Getting out of his
car, moving forward cautiously, he walked over to the other vehicle. Pausing
there, he placed his hand on the hood.
Warm. Almost hot. They'd barely beaten him
there.
Lex was weighing and discarding approach
options when the front door of the museum opened and security guards came
boiling out. His smirk widened unpleasantly. Typical. Phelan used a scenario to
clean out the guards so he could clean out the horde. And he needed Clark to do
it. Lex's memory flashed to the top of his Porsche, peeled back like the lid of
a can. No need to ask why Clark.
Walking briskly over to intercept the
milling pack of security guards, Lex called out, "Mr. Haggerty!" The
head guard waved at him, his face solemn. "What's the situation?"
"Bomb threat, Mr. Luthor."
Before he could say more, another man's
voice cried, "Here!" Lex got there first.
An innocuous brown paper box tied with
string sat atop the day's unsold newspapers in a Daily Planet stand. Lex fished
out a quarter and dropped it in. Haggerty cleared his throat as if to warn him
off, and Lex completely ignored him. He knew Phelan. Knew how the cop's mind
worked. Pulling the box out, he untied the string, grinned down at the dime
store alarm clock ticking merrily inside, pulled the clock out and tossed it
over his shoulder to Haggerty.
Looking like his heart was about the give,
the guard caught it. The other guards, momentarily shying away, then gathered
around. Lex clucked his tongue. They looked like schoolboys entranced by a
frog. Mind working out a way to ditch the guards, make it into the museum
alone, snag Clark and force Phelan to talk, Lex had just started to talk to
Haggerty when glass shattered.
A pea-green duffel bag came at them like an
expertly shot put, landing with a heavy thud six inches from Lex's right foot.
The guards jumped. Lex didn't hesitate, simply knelt and unfastened the bag.
Alexander the Great's bejeweled breast plate
winked at him in the dim parking lot lights.
Oh, nice retirement plan, Phelan, Lex
silently applauded. An instant later, a shot rang out inside the museum. Moving
before thinking for a change, Lex shoved the duffel at a stupefied guard and
took off for the front door at a dead run. He was at the head of the pack of
guards when they skidded into Luthor Hall. As they cleared the doorway, he saw
a blur of movement. Another guard screamed, "Gun!" and Lex dove to
the floor behind a handy display case. Lead-lined maple, should work as a
temporary shield.
Bullets flew over his head for a few short
moments before the battle ended. Peering around the corner of the case he saw
Phelan lying, bleeding, on the floor. Threat negated, Lex ran to his side,
getting there before any of the guards could. Supporting Phelan's head with one
hand, Lex lifted him up far enough to breathe without strangling on his own
blood.
He could choke later. First, Lex had
questions.
"Phelan," he asked quietly,
urgently, "where's Clark? I know he came with you." He paused a
moment, long enough for Phelan to answer if he would, then went on even more
quietly, "Just tell me what you had on him." Obviously, Clark could
take care of himself, because he was nowhere in sight. But protecting him was
only one of Lex's goals. The other, as always, was to uncover his secrets.
Proving to be as much a pain in the ass
dying as he had been living, Phelan stuttered defiantly, "G-g-g-go to
hell, L-luthor!" then died without another word.
Lex dropped Phelan's head, unnerved by how
heavy it was, then swallowed hard. This was the second person in the last month
to die while Lex was touching them. He hoped it wasn't a trend.
Backing away from the corpse, leaving the
guards to handle the mess, he walked over to stare at the titanium bars bent
like melted plastic around the thoroughly-shattered bullet-proof glass. There
was a hand-span of flattened metal at top and bottom of the bars, and it was
intimately familiar to Lex from hours of studying an identical marking at the
front of his wrecked Porsche's roof. Behind him, the guard to whom he'd given
the duffel cleared his throat.
"Put it in the vault. The curator will
deal with it when he gets here," Lex instructed him without bothering to
look at him or wait for his question. He had more important things on his mind.
"Haggerty." The head guard, on the telephone with the police
department, put them on hold and came over to Lex.
"Sir?"
"I want this evening's security
disks."
"But the leads were cut, sir, there isn't anything to see."
Lex shot him a measuring look. Haggerty
wasn't being obstructive, just stupid. "Not the blank ones. Those from the
rest of the museum. Not affected by the sabotage. Oh, and Haggerty," Lex
looked back at the bars, "give me the originals."
"But, sir," the man tried to protest.
Lex looked at him. Haggerty swallowed. "Yes, sir."
After all, he could always tell the curator
that all the cameras had been off line. He wasn't about to cross a Luthor. He
didn't have to say it. It was written all over his face. Lex smiled at him.
Haggerty left. Quickly.
The disks were in his hand before the police
arrived. Lex gave his statement, kept it simple, and walked out the door an
hour after all the fun began. Regardless of what other outcome the evening's
work might have, at least the Kents were safe from Phelan. Clark was safe. His
secrets his own again.
Victoria had long ago retired for the night
by the time he got back to the castle. He shrugged out of his jacket, poured a
glass of water, and sat down at his computer. Loading the first of the disks,
he settled in to scan them.
It was nearly three in the morning when he
finally caught something. It went by so fast he thought at first his eyes were
tired, playing a trick on him. When he ran the video back, it happened again. A
strange blur, like a gust of wind, a hint of vivid color bleeding into shadow,
streaked between two display cases near the front of the museum.
Right past where he and the guards had run
in. Lex looked at the time code. Forty seconds before they'd come in the door,
this ... whatever it was ... had flown out.
Going forward frame at a time, trying to
capture the blur and discern some details, any details, he concentrated
intently on the video. A moment later, a warmly-scented body draped itself over
his back, long hair tickled the side of his face and a questing hand insinuated
itself between the buttons on his shirt, caressing his chest. Before she could
see what he was watching, he flicked a key, and the frozen frame moved into
standard play.
"Are you going to come to bed?"
she invited, breath tickling his ear.
He resisted the urge to swat her like a fly
with no small difficulty. "In a minute," he lied quietly. Content,
she scratched him gently with her nails as she withdrew her hand and swayed
back to bed.
Checking the time code, he reversed images
until the blur appeared again, then froze the frame and resumed his study. Even
the best resolution showed, at most, a vague shadow. A vague shadow that looked
hauntingly familiar. It, and the metal Clark bent like paper, were the keys to
Clark's secret. Lex knew it.
He didn't go to bed that night. Before dawn,
he took a long run. Skipping his usual morning coffee at the Beanery, he headed
into the plant. Placed the disk in an express envelope, wrote a note to enclose
with it, and sent it off to a lab his father didn't know about. There was a
slight possibility they could retrieve more information from the blurry frame,
although Lex wasn't counting on it. Then he called the sheriff, called the
district attorney, and expedited dismissal of the murder charges against Jonathan
Kent.
Other than that, his day bore a close
resemblance to the previous one, without the side-trip to Metropolis. He had a
business lunch with Victoria, who didn't bother to kiss him, warned off by his
cool reception of her usual flirtation. She recognized his distraction for what
it was, having seen it before and knowing he could be dangerous if she
irritated him. That was one of her main attractions. She knew when to shut up
and go away.
After dinner he drove back to the Kent farm.
Through the window he could see Jonathan holding Martha in his arms in the
kitchen. Not moving, just standing there, holding her. Lex smiled, relieved
that things were back to normal for Clark. Obsession aside, he actually liked
Clark, and it was good that Lex's machinations on behalf of Clark's family had
worked out well. When Martha stretched up on her toes to kiss her husband, Lex
looked away and headed for the barn.
He saw Clark standing, once more, at the
open doors of the loft, gazing up at the night sky. The worry was gone from his
expression and his shoulders were straight again, but he still looked unusually
solemn. Lex walked around the side of the barn, across the floor and up the
ladder, making no sound. This time, Clark heard him and looked his way as he
came into sight.
God. Every time Clark did that, looked up at
Lex through his lashes, a tough move for a guy inches taller than Lex himself,
it shot straight to his groin and scrambled his brain. It took a moment for him
to unknot his tongue and find a word that made sense.
"Hi." Not the most brilliant
conversational opening, but it would work until his synapses started firing
again. What was it about Clark? A smile could melt Lex's brain. A tongue-tip to
his fingertip could send him to the brink of orgasm. It was absolutely
ridiculous.
"Lex."
Clark swallowed, and Lex watched blood rise
in his cheeks. Knowing how off-balance Clark was helped. A little. Until Clark
spoke again.
"What do you want?" The question
was quiet and serious. Lex cocked his head to one side.
"Generally or specifically?" Nice
stall. Clark came at him from another angle.
"Why did you touch me?" He licked
his lips.
Lex managed to work enough moisture into his
mouth to speak. Barely. "You looked distraught. As if you needed some
comfort. You're a toucher. I thought it would help. If I touched you." I
had to.
Clark stared at him as if staring through
him, as if the unspoken words had been shouted, as if he was memorizing Lex
down to the molecular level. Then he smiled, an expression somehow more wicked
than any Lex could recall seeing from Clark before. Frozen a few feet away, Lex
found himself caught in that smile, unable to look away. Unable to think.
Unable to move.
Not that he had to move. Clark did it for
him, catching his courage in his hands and walking over until he stood directly
in front of Lex.
"What do you want," he asked
again, then continued, "from me?"
"God, Clark, start with the easy ones,
why don't you?" The words burst from Lex's mouth without thought, and be
damned if Clark's eyes didn't actually twinkle at him. "I want to be your
friend," Lex answered slowly, honestly. "I want to help." One of
his most successful techniques: say exactly what he was going to do, then do
it. It tended to stun his enemies, for whom honesty was the last thing expected
in any situation. He wasn't sure how it worked on friends, because he didn't
have any. Except, perhaps, Clark.
"Is that all?" Clark was closer
now, so close the heat he radiated warmed Lex to his bones.
"No," Lex answered immediately. He
stared up at Clark, looking into his eyes, then down at his lips, then back up
into his eyes. "But I don't want to scare you off."
"I don't scare easily." Leaning
down in a move eerily reminiscent of Victoria's advance, Clark kissed him. The
similarity ended when their lips met.
Victoria was artifice, experience,
familiarity, bared body, mind and soul to Lex. He knew precisely what to expect
from her. Clark was awkward, innocent and needy, shadowed in places Lex was
driven to explore. He had secrets buried so deep it would take real work to
root them out. Work Lex was doing even as they kissed.
Somehow, the thought made the kiss even
sweeter.
When Clark gave him room to breathe, Lex
licked, slicking Clark's lower lip and biting it gently. Clark moaned, the sound
startlingly loud in the quiet barn. Clark froze. Lex drew back. Clark shot a
glance through the open door toward the house. Lex managed not to laugh,
shaking his head slightly.
He hadn't been afraid to get caught making
out for years. Clark was a bundle of contradictions. And he was only fifteen.
Lex caught Clark's chin in his hand, turning it until Clark faced him. He was
gorgeous. Eyes half-closed, cheeks flushed, hair falling over his forehead.
Lips reddened and moist. Lex kissed him again, deeply but not hard, and let him
go.
"We have time," he said quietly,
as Clark stood there trying to catch his breath. Visibly trembling. Jeans
tight, hands clenched in fists that were tighter yet. Lex took a deep breath
and let it out, calming himself deliberately. "I hope that clears up the
question of what I want." Clark blinked mutely at him. "I want us to
be friends. One day, if you want it too, I want us to be more. When you know
what you want and it won't get me arrested. But above everything else, I value
your friendship."
The funny thing about being honest most of
the time was when he told a lie, it came out sounding like the truth. Above
everything, Lex valued power, and knowledge was power. He wanted Clark, and he
wanted Clark's secrets equally as badly. Not that Clark knew that. Nor would
he, ever, if Lex had his way.
Having his way was an art, and Lex was an
expert.
Clark nodded, still tongue-tied, and Lex
gave him a grin. The answering smile was shaky around the edges but completely
sincere. Then Lex turned on his heel and ran down the stairs before he did
something stupid that would get him tossed in prison.
Somehow he didn't think Jonathan Kent's
appreciation for Lex's efforts on his behalf would extend to letting him fuck
his underage son in the hay loft.
Damnit.
He was almost to the door when Clark's soft
voice carried down to him. "Lex?"
Turning, he stared up at Clark, leaning over
the railing like he was going to tell Lex a secret. "What?"
"I turn sixteen next month." He
flashed Lex that wicked grin again, then disappeared back into the loft.
Lex stared at the spot where Clark had been
standing for a long moment, then grinned like a fiend. That answered the
question of what Clark wanted. Now it was only a matter of time. Clark would be
his.
So would Clark's secret.
end