Movement (1/2)
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Acknowledgment: To Cristina who betaed this for me, thanks for all your hard work.
Note: This was originally posted as five stories: Falling, Being Caught, Holding On, Running and Standing. I've put them together because I felt they worked better this way and that in the end they really were different parts of the same story and not separate stories in themselves.
Note II: For Taryn, my good friend. Aren't you glad I corrupted you?
Oh my god, I killed her, I killed her. It keeps running through my mind in an endless litany of accusation. I killed her. Whatever she saw in my future was so awful, so terrifying that it killed her. God, what kind of monster will I be, what kind of monster am I already?
She died holding my hand. I look down sharply and see that I'm still unconsciously rubbing my hand up and down on my pants as if I can somehow wipe this taint of evil off myself in that way. I don't consciously decided to leave, but suddenly I realize that I'm running out of the building. I have to get away from her and myself and whatever it is that's in my future. My mind is racing and time is no longer holding together properly.
I'm evil, I'm a monster, I will be a monster. I killed Cassandra, a nice old lady who only wanted to help people find their way through life. She died. Because of me. I've touched a dead person. It's my fault. My future killed her. Oh god. Oh shit, he's going to know. I don't know how, but suddenly I know that Clark had been there. I must have seen him before I left and not registered it properly before now. He'll know. That I killed her with my future. So horrible. I'm so horrible.
"Lex?" someone asks. Close to me, too close. I stumble backwards and look up. It's Graham, the butler. He's staring at me with a shocked expression and I know I must look like hell. I don't remember arriving home, hell I don't even remember driving here.
"I'm fine," I mutter harshly and push past him as he starts towards me. I stumble up the stairs and into my bedroom.
I feel dirty and itchy everywhere. This evil, guilty feeling is crawling over my skin. It's horrible and I shiver in revulsion. I want to jump out of my skin, but I'll settle for a good hot shower. I strip off my clothing unceremoniously. I hear something rip in the process but I don't care. I can replace whatever it is later.
I stumble jerkily into my bathroom and turn on the shower. I run the hot water only at first but at the last moment think better of my self-destructive impulse and turn on enough cold so that my skin won't blister. It's still damn hot though and when I step under the spray it burns. The pain is good; it reminds me that I'm still human. Maybe. Maybe human.
I feel like screaming or crying but I haven't done either in years. Instead I close my eyes and place my head directly under the showerhead, letting the hot water try to wash away this creeping evil. After a few moments I start to scrub my body with the expensive soap that I always insist on. If I can only wash the feeling of her off my skin, maybe the guild would start to disappear as well.
I stay in the shower for a good twenty minutes. When I finally shut off the water my skin is dark red and my fancy bar of soap is nothing more than a sliver. I still feel dirty even though I know that I'm probably the cleanest man in Smallville right now. I dry myself with a big soft towel that's shockingly white against my reddened skin, toss the heavy material in the corner and walk back out into my bedroom.
I see him right away. He's sitting on the small, dark blue sofa I have in the room with a pile of my now neatly folded clothing beside him. He looks a lot less agitated than I expected, although he is starting to flush slightly, probably because I just walking into the room naked. But how was I supposed to know he would be here? Besides it's my room, damn it.
"I... I'm sorry," he stammers and his flush spreads across his face and down his neck.
"Don't worry," I say with a good more nonchalance than I feel. I grab my robe from the chair I left it on this morning and wrap myself in it.
"How are you doing?" he asks from where he's sitting although I can tell that he's itching to come and try to comfort me.
I shrug and turn away from him. His gaze is too pure, too innocent and it just reminds me how dirty I am. I make a show of opening my closet and selecting new clothing.
"Graham said you came home in quite the daze," Clark presses.
"I'm fine," I snap. But I'm not and we both know it. I reach into the closet and randomly grab a sweater. It's blue. It snags on the hanger and I hear it tear. "Fuck," I growl and throw the offending garment to the ground. It's coming apart; it's all coming apart. I feel unsteady suddenly and have to reach out and brace myself on the wall to keep standing.
"It's not your fault," Clark says softly from behind me. Time must have gotten away from me again because I don't remember hearing him coming up behind me but now his hands are on my shoulders and I know that he's trying to comfort me. It just makes the creepy, itchy feeling become more pronounced.
"You don't know that," I growl. I expect him to step back, most people do when I use that tone, but he doesn't. Clark's stubborn. I like that about him.
"Lex, she was old. Old people die. It wasn't your fault."
I slam my fist into the wall and spin to face my young friend. "God damn it Clark," I snap, "Don't you get it? She was reading my future and whatever she saw was so horrible, so terrible that it killed her. I killed her. My future. I'm going to be some kind of monster!" I'm yelling by the end. I'm shaking. My face is wet. I reach up and touch my cheek and, oh god, I'm crying. And then Clark has my elbow and he's leading me over to the bed and sitting us both down on the edge.
"I don't believe that Lex. She was an old lady, it was just her time," Clark says softly. His voice is full of warmth and comfort.
"It's true," I gasp and sniffle a little louder than I expected. I'm still crying and it feels strangely good to allow the emotions out.
"Even if it were Lex, and I don't believe that it is, it still wouldn't be your fault. You're not the one who cursed her with blindness and foresight," Clark says empathically.
He's so sure that this isn't my fault but I know it is. I'm going to be horrific. It's always been my fate and I hate my father for it. His name. His business. His lessons. And I've always just taken it, accepted it. My destiny. I don't want it.
"I don't want to be like my father," I suddenly burst out. I feel Clark's arms come around me in response and briefly struggle to escape his grip. He's stronger than I expect and manages to hang on to me.
"You aren't your father," he reminds me softly and starts to rub soothing circles on my back with one of his hands. It feels good, too good for someone like me. Right then I know that I don't deserve a friend like Clark but I'm so glad that he's there for me.
"Everyone says we're the same," I point out tiredly. It's true. I've always been compared with him. I'm been told before that I remind people of him. I've never felt proud of that, but I've always thought they were probably right.
"Well then everyone's wrong. I know you, Lex. I know you want to be a good person, you just don't always know how to do it. Let me help you figure that out," Clark offers.
He's so giving. How many other people do I know who would offer me something like that and expect nothing in return? None, that's how many.
"You'll help me change my future?" I ask him.
"Of course," he says like it was simply a given. "You're my friend."
It's suddenly as if all the fear and tension have left my body and I slump deeper into his embrace. Everything is fine now. I know he will make it better. He'll save me once more from myself. "Thank you," I whisper.
Clark gives me a tight hug in response. I feel more tired then I can ever remember. All these complicated emotions have worn me out. Clark seems to sense it as well because almost as soon as I feel it, he's helping me lie down on the bed. He manages to maneuver me into a comfortable position on my side rather easily and I marvel at his strength. When I'm settled he moves to get up, presumably to leave me alone to sleep but I place my hand on his arm and stop his movement.
"Please," I plead, "I don't want to be alone."
Clark looks steadily at me for a moment and then smiles softly and nods. "I know how that feels," he says.
"Thank you," I say softly and then close my eyes. I honestly don't feel like I could keep them open a moment longer.
I feel Clark lay down behind me and again wrap his arm around my body to hold me loosely. I sigh and feel myself drift off into sleep. I know he'll protect me even there.
I wake up and I immediately know that I'm not alone in my bed. That's nice, it's been a while since I woke up with anyone else. That's when the first sense of strangeness hits me because it is my bed and I've never before brought anyone back to my own bed. I'm used to waking up in strange places, be them my partner's beds or hotel rooms. Bringing someone back to my own bed has always felt like too much of a commitment somehow.
I can see that the arms around me are male. That isn't new but it is uncommon, especially lately. Since I was banished to Smallville. I tense up because I suddenly remember how I became to be in bed with... Clark?
That question is confirmed a moment later when the large warm body behind me stirs and he speaks. "Mmm, Lex you okay?" he mutters sleepily in my ear. My movement when I tensed up must have alerted him to something wrong and caused him to wake.
"I'm good," I tell him not wanting to let on how unsettled I feel by the memory of letting him see so much of myself earlier.
"Good," he mutters sleepily and briefly tightens the arm he has wrapped around my middle.
His hand has slipped under my robe as we slept and as he tightens his hold it travels lightly across my chest. I shiver slightly at the feelings that movement elicits in me. God, Clark's just a kid, he shouldn't be able to do this to me.
"You're cold," Clark states in response to my shiver. Oh how innocent he is sometimes. I really should do something about that. He sits up, reaches for the blanket at the end of the bed and pulls it up over us.
"What time is it?" he asks as he settles down behind me again. There's a hint of surprise in his voice and I guess that he must be worried that it's late.
I glance down at the clock on the bedside table and discover that it is indeed late, later than I would have guessed. "It's after eleven," I tell him.
"Damn," Clark says with a sigh. I almost laugh. It's as close to a curse as I've ever heard him come. I manage to hold it in though and not mortify my young friend. "My parents won't be happy, tomorrow's a school day."
I do smile slightly at that but am glad that my face is obscured from Clark so that he can't see it. He's such a good son, plays by the rules that I would have gladly broken, worries about his parents concern for his safety. We're so different and we're drawn together like only polar opposites can be.
"Let me get dressed and then I'll drive you home," I say and then reluctantly slip from his arms and stand up.
"You don't have to do that," he calls after me as I move towards the closet to grab some clothing.
"No," I agree as I open one of the doors, "but I want to. Besides what kind of friend would I be if I sent you home alone in the dark?" Honestly I don't want to let him go yet and driving him home allows me to hold onto him for just a little while longer. I pull a pair of black pants and a gray sweater out of the closer. I briefly consider changing in front of him, after all he's already seen me naked earlier, but quickly decide not to tempt his teenaged embarrassment. I head into the bathroom to quickly change.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror while I'm pulling on my pants and am rather shocked by what I see. My eyes are red and slightly swollen and I look like I've been crying. I haven't seen myself like this since before the meteor shower twelve years ago. It brings back memories of everything that happened this afternoon.
"Shit," I mumble and slap my hand down on the counter. No matter what Clark says I know it was the vision of my future that killed Cassandra. Me. I'm the person, the monster, who killed Cassandra. I know Clark thinks he can change me, help me change the future Cassandra saw for me. I know he'll try and I know I'll let him. He sees something good in me that no one else, even myself, can see. I only wish I could believe that he is right. I turn on the tap roughly and rinse my face with cold water. It's cool and refreshing but doesn't do much for my appearance except make my skin shockingly white. I give up the possibility of looking any less haggard and finish dressing.
Clark is sitting on the edge of my bed waiting for me when I come out. Seeing him there looking at me with so much concern makes my stomach lurch. I've never had a friend like him and I think that even if I lived another hundred years I would never have a friend like him again. Besides, he looks damn hot sitting there in his sleep-rumpled clothes. I wish I didn't have to let him go home or that he wasn't so young and innocent.
"You okay?" he asks. The concern that's so obvious on his face seeps into his voice.
Shit, he can tell what happened in the bathroom, that all the fear and pain came rushing back. I can only imagine how he manages to know me so well. "I'm fine," I tell him although I know that he won't believe me.
"I was serious, Lex," he tells me. "I know you can be a good person and I want to help you become the person you want to be."
His sincerity makes me feel ashamed for no reason I can explain. "I know," I tell him.
"But you don't believe," he states. He's sure of his analysis of me and so am I.
"I want to but...," I shrug not truly knowing why I don't believe.
"It's okay," he assures me. He stands up and moves across the room towards me. I know he's going to touch me but I can't allow him to because I know that if he does I won't be able to let him leave my room tonight.
I step aside, out of his reach, and he looks at me with questions in his eyes. Why won't I let him in? Why won't I trust him? Aren't we friends? And how is he to know that he's definitely the best friend I've ever had, possibly the only friend I've ever had?
"It's okay," he says again as he looks intently at me. "I believe enough for both of us and eventually I'll get you to believe as well."
I nod slowly. He's so innocent, so hopeful in the goodness of human nature. It just might be enough to save both of us from me. Maybe.
"You're ready to leave?" he asks eventually. I wonder if he thinks I've lost it. I'm normally so in control and tonight he could lead me around to do almost anything. His question breaks the tension in the room though. I take a deep breath and manage to get back into a semblance of control.
"Yes," I say with more confidence than I've had since Cassandra's death. I stride over to the neatly folded pile of clothing on the sofa and pull my car keys out of the pocket on the pants I was wearing earlier. I pocket them and then turn back to look at Clark with a grin. "Let's go," I say and head out of the room.
I hear but don't need to see him following me. I know he'll be there, right behind me.
We're quiet as I drive him home. I watch him out of the corner of my eye and I catch him glancing my way more than once. He only notices the last time however and when our eyes lock together he smiles shyly and flushes. I wonder at that. In the last seven or eight hours I've been more intimate with him then I can ever remember being with anyone else and yet he's still shy when I catch him looking at me. How... Clark.
I deliberately drive slower and a good deal more carefully than normal. I do it partly because of the concern Clark expressed for my safety the other day and partly because I don't want to take chances with his safety. He's too important to loose because I'm being stupid and burning off testosterone. Not to mention that if I even put a mark on him his father would fucking kill me.
When I pull up in front of his house, we can both see the light on in the living room and the shadowy figure that could only be Clark's father in the window. Okay, it's definitely not good if Mr. Kent is pissed because Clark's late and all he was doing was helping me. At the same time it's kind of nice to know that his parents love him enough to wait up for him when he's late. My own father never cared about my late night escapades unless they could embarrass him in some way.
We look at each other at the same time. He looks less worried than I would have expected but still a little unsure.
"Do you want me to come in with you?" I ask him. Not something I'm looking forward to, but I would do it for him.
"No," he says with a shake of his head. "It would probably be better if...," he cuts himself off before he can finish and I know he's thought better of what he was going to say. It's true though so I say it for him.
"Better if I don't come in? I know. Your father doesn't like me too much."
"Sorry," he says with more than a hint of sadness in his voice.
"Don't be," I assure him. "He has his reasons."
We sit there awkwardly for a few moments before he mumbles that he should go in. He has the door unlatched before I speak up.
"Clark?"
"Yes?" He turns back to look at me.
"Thanks for everything."
"You're welcome," he returns with a genuine smile.
"I'm going to take you up on your offer."
"I hope so." He smiles and then there is nothing more to say.
He's halfway out of the car when he apparently changes his mind. He turns around, leans over the center of the car and kisses me gently half on the cheek and half on the mouth. Then quicker than I can react he's out of the car and half way up the porch steps. God how can he move so fast?
I touch my face where his lips so recently were and smile. Maybe Clark isn't as innocent as I thought after all.
I haven't seen Clark since that day, over a week ago now, that I broke down in front of him and he had to pick up the pieces. At first I thought that it was only a coincidence, he was busy at the farm, I was busy with work, but in the last few days I've become convinced that our separation is deliberate. Martha delivered my produce this week and that should have tipped me off right away that something was up but Martha assured me Clark was okay, just a little 'under the weather' as she called it. Of course I believed her, Clark taught me how to start trusting again, at least a little bit, and the last person I expected to lie to me was a Kent, but she did.
I started getting more concerned in the days following Martha's visit. It was just a little twitch at the back of my mind that told me that all was not right. I hated to doubt Martha because it felt too much like doubting Clark, but I just couldn't let it go. So I searched out Clark's little friends at the Beanery and discovered that Clark was not sick at all. He was grounded for staying out late on a school night, which of course makes it my fault because if I hadn't been a complete wreck after Cassandra's death Clark would never have gone home late. Not to mention that his father had to have known Clark was with me since I drove him home. Mr. Kent doesn't like me anymore now than when we first met and I know he doesn't really approve of Clark spending time with me.
So I'm not happy and I want to see Clark, which explains why I'm hanging out in the Kent's barn at nine in the evening with only Clark's telescope for company. Of course I could just be insane, which is something I've seriously considered during the last hour I've been here freezing my ass off. But I need to see Clark because we're friends but also because I need to know what his kiss in the car meant. It's driven me nuts over the last week and a half. I've been hornier than I can remember being in years and I can't get the image of him leaning over me in the car out of my mind.
Finally I hear Clark arrive. I knew he would show up eventually; to peak at Lana's house, no doubt. I check my watch. It's nine-twenty. Shit, I've been out here for an hour and a half. Not to mention the fifteen-minute walk from where I parked my car, a walk in good shoes I might add which now smell of things I would rather not contemplate.
I step out of the shadows just as he's coming up the steps. It's dark but I suspect Clark has excellent vision and he doesn't disappoint me. Clark sees me almost immediately and instantly goes on guard but then relaxes when he realizes who I am. "Lex," he says in a breathy voice that goes straight to my gut and also draws forth a smug smile at the fact that the sight of me can make him sound like that.
"Clark," I reply with a nod and a smile.
"What are you doing here?" he asks carefully and then sits down. He gestures for me to do the same and I take a seat across from him so we can look directly at each other.
"I needed to see you," I tell him.
"I'm sorry," Clark says as if any of this is possibly his fault. "I wanted to come see you but my dad was pretty upset when I came home late."
"You were grounded," I acknowledge with a nod.
"You heard?"
"I got worried after a few days. I was told you were sick but that didn't seem realistic after a week or so"
"So you checked me out?"
I shrug. I know he's not upset at me even though he probably should be since I'm the reason he got in trouble in the first place. "Chloe told me."
"Good," Clark says softly. "I didn't want you to think I was trying to avoid you because of what happened."
"And which thing would that be? Me crying like a baby on your shoulder or you kissing me?" I ask. I know it's a dangerous question but hell it needs to be asked.
"The kiss," Clark says quietly and with a slight blush that's very endearing. "I would never have a problem with you crying on my shoulder."
My father has told me before that I'm too emotional. I've never thought he was right until that day. Too emotional, too much like my mother, not enough like him, a real Luthor in blood as well as name. I loved my mother though. She was a good person and maybe, just maybe, being like her isn't so bad after all, not if it means that I get to have Clark in my life.
"It was unexpected," I offer. Unexpected but very nice. I'd be very open to doing it again but I'm not going to tell him that yet, not until I know how he feels about it.
"Yes," Clark agrees. He's avoiding meeting my eyes. "It felt right at the time," he mutters. The way he's blushing can only be described as cute.
"And was it?" I ask. My gaze on him is intent and he must be able to sense that because he shifts nervously.
"Maybe," Clark admits.
Ah, I had forgotten how young he is, innocent in a way that I never was. I wonder how much he even understands about what we're discussing. I know he's not completely innocent, he grew up on a farm and I'm sure he has a good idea how sex works but I wonder if he has any idea about what men do together. I can't imagine that it's covered in the sex ed class at Smallville High.
"I liked it," I tell him gently. It's a big step and taking it surprises even me. It's not easy for me to trust people but I trust Clark, at least enough to admit this to him.
"Yeah?" Clark asks and finally looks up to meet my eyes. What I see there takes my breath away. It's so open, so honest, so clear. He loves me. How could I have missed this before? How can I tell him that I can't return his feelings? I've only ever loved one person in my life, my mother, and she died when I was a child. I've never loved anyone this way and I don't know if I ever can.
"Do you want to do it again?" Clark asks in a way only he can, innocent and seductive all at the same time. I groan softly and close my eyes.
I should say no. He'll assume I feel the same way he does and when he figures it out, he'll only get hurt. I don't want him hurt, but I already know I'm not strong enough to refuse him. I nod my response and only hope that Clark will be able to forgive me later.
He scoots over to sit next to me and reaches out to take my hand. His fingers feel incredibly warm on mine. "You're cold," he says and raises our clasped hands so he can examine them.
"Always have been," I say with a shrug. I've always had cold hands. It's turned off a number of bed partners in the past, but I hadn't imagined Clark would mind.
"Not anymore," Clark says with a smile and wraps my smaller, colder hand in his larger warm one. Then his lips are on mine for real this time. It's almost shocking like I wasn't expecting it or I've never been kissed before. But it's nothing like that at all, it's that I've never been kissed like this before. It's not that Clark's the best kisser I've ever been with, in fact from the way he's fumbling around I have the feeling that this might be the first time Clark's kissed anyone, but being with someone else has never felt as right as this.
I groan softly, wrap the fingers of my free hand into the hair at the back of his head, and then open my mouth against his to kiss him more deeply. He moans into my mouth as my tongue slips into his. The taste of him is powerful and overwhelming. I'm drowning in Clark and I've never been happier in my entire life. I run my tongue over his teeth enjoying the sharp feeling of them and then across the soft skin at the top of his mouth. Eventually our tongues meet and wrap playfully around each other. I draw his tongue into my own mouth and he explores mine the same way I did his. My Clark's a fast learner.
Clark's free hand is fumbling with my jacket, presumably to open it and gain better access to my body. I release the back of his head and reach down to help him with the buttons. When my jacket falls open his hand reaches in but doesn't venture under my sweater. I realize I'll need to show him how to do this as well. I reach out and easily unzip his jacket, then slip my hand under his own sweater. I gently caress the small of his back, making him moan loudly, and then let my hand travel up his broad back.
Again Clark catches on fast and he slides his own hand down from where it was on my chest and slips it under my sweater. His hand moves up my chest again. His warm fingers feel like they're searing my skin. His hand continues its upward exploration of my chest, running over muscle and bone and flesh until he finds my left nipple. I gasp at the contact and briefly pull my mouth from his.
I can feel Clark grinning against my mouth as I reestablish our kiss. He thinks he's found a way to drive me wild. He's right. Clark gently rubs his thumb over my nipple and I shiver. He pinches gently and it's all I can do not to cry out. It's so good. It's so right. Clark continues to play with the overly sensitive bit of flesh for another few minutes until I can't take it anymore. I need to feel his body against mine.
I wrap my arm more tightly around his body and draw him against me. Our cocks meet through the fabric of our pants and we moan each other's name. Once again I'm almost overwhelmed with the feeling of rightness that being with Clark brings.
"Clark?" The voice cuts through the fog in my mind and Clark and I break apart. The shock on his face mirrors what I feel. It's his father.
"Yeah?" he calls back after a moment of breathless fear on both our parts. He sounds much more composed than I would have expected, much more composed than I am right now. He motions for me to move back into the shadows and I nod my understanding.
"You've been out here for a while," Mr. Kent says. "I wanted to make sure that you hadn't fallen asleep like the other night."
I can hear Clark's father starting up the stairs to the loft. Clark quickly stands up and moves to intercept him before he gets to the top of the stairs. I try to melt further back into the shadows.
"No, I'm fine," Clark says as he starts down the stairs. "I was just about to come in."
Ah look at that, he can lie when he needs to and he's not half bad at it either. I smile at the strange feeling of pride that knowledge brings. Maybe I'm rubbing off on Clark the same way he's rubbing off on me.
"Oh good," Mr. Kent says. I listen and hear them both leaving the barn. I can imagine them walking in companionable silence back to the house, or talking happily together about some aspect of Clark's life. Some days I really envy Clark his relationship with his father.
I wait for a good ten minutes after they leave before I slip from the barn. I use the time to silently freak out about what I've just done with Clark. I don't even know for sure how old he is. I only hope he's at least sixteen, not that it would have made much difference to his father if he'd discovered us, but at least I wouldn't have been arrested.
I lick my lips and I can still taste him there. That sends a shiver of pleasure up my spine. I'm still not convinced that becoming involved in this type of relationship with Clark is a very good idea though. Clark's not the kind of guy you get casually involved with and I'm not the kind of guy that makes commitments, at least not to other people.
When I exit the barn no one is around for which I am grateful. I start the long, lonely walk back to where my car is waiting. All I can think is that I have no idea where to go from here.
"Lex?" he asks from the doorway of my office.
I wasn't expecting anyone, so the sound of his voice startles me enough that my hand jerks and I draw a long line across the document I was in the process of signing. "Shit," I mumble to myself and look up at the young man standing in my door. He's leaning slightly against the doorframe, trying the look casual even though the expression on his face is hesitant and unsure.
"Have I come at a bad time?" Clark asks softly.
I haven't seen him in over a week. Since that night in his barn when his father almost caught us making out. He must know by now that I've been deliberately avoiding him. I haven't been subtle about it and Clark's anything but stupid. He's called a number of times during the week but I've always had him put through to my voice mail. The one other time he came to the house I asked Graham to tell him I was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. I had been reading some financial reports and trying not to think about Clark. I didn't return his calls and stayed in the house for the rest of the week except for when I needed to go out to the plant.
Almost being discovered by Clark's father had unnerved me. Mr. Kent's arrival at the barn had taken something that had felt so right only seconds before and made it into something wrong and almost dirty. The most disturbing thing was that I knew the feeling of wrongness wasn't related to what Clark and I were doing, that was still right, but to the fact that we were deceiving Clark's parents. That's amazing in itself because I've never felt guilty for sneaking around with someone's kid before. Yet there it is and it makes me angry.
Angry because I've always been able to lie to whomever I want about whatever I need to. It's always kept me safely at a distance from other people. They don't trust me and I don't trust them and because of that I never expect more than I'm getting. It's a protective mechanism but it doesn't work with Clark. I simply can't lie to him, that's why I eventually needed to show him my wrecked car and try to explain why I still had it. Keeping it and not telling him about it had started to feel too much like lying. Now, apparently, that inability has started to extend itself to his parents as well. Fuck, what is it about the Kents that suddenly made me grow a moral center? It's damned inconvenient that's for sure.
"No," I tell Clark and close the file I was working on, "it's not a bad time."
"Good," Clark says and crosses the room to sit in one of the chairs on the opposite side of my desk. He shrugs off his backpack and drops it heavily to the floor before sitting.
I run my left hand over my head and stand up. I can't tell what he's thinking and it bothers me. Is he angry, upset, hurt or just amused at my silliness? I'm overwhelmed with the nervous urge to fiddle that always seems to overcome me in awkward social situations. Keep it in control, Lex. He doesn't need to know how much he unnerves you. I reach for one the blue bottles of water I keep on my desk. The bottle is cold and smooth and solid in my hand. Much better. I silently offer one to Clark and he accepts. I pass the second bottle to him and our fingers briefly touch on the cold surface. It sends a hot shock through my body and I jerk back suddenly. Clark fumbles with the bottle to keep from dropping it. I quickly open mine and take a long swallow, pretending that nothing strange has happened, and then watch as Clark opens his own bottle and drinks from it.
"So, what can I do for you Clark?" I ask after watching the strangely erotic sight of Clark drinking. I know why he's here but for some reason I think that if I ignore the issue for long enough it might just go away. Even I know that's not likely.
Clark makes this little amused sound and a slightly crooked smile appears on his face. He knows I'm being an ass and apparently it amuses him.
"You're avoiding me," he says pointedly. I hadn't expected him to be so blunt but then I also hadn't expected him to see right through my bullshit and laugh at me either. It scares me that he seems to know me so well. I've spent my life trying to hide the knowledge he's apparently accessed on instinct alone. How is it possible that he knows me so well after such a short time?
"I've been busy," I tell him even though I know he won't accept that as an excuse.
"You've been busy before but you've always made time for me," Clark says and takes another drink from his bottle. My eyes are once again drawn to his neck and I watch as the cool liquid slides down his throat. Clark puts the bottle down heavily on my desk and my eyes flick back up to his face. "It's more than that. You're avoiding me. Because of what happened in the barn?
I groan inwardly. He knows me too well and I know he won't take my bullshit on this. It's so dangerous to let this go on, to let myself continue to be exposed like this.
"Clark," I say softly and am horrified to hear a note of pleading enter my voice. It may as well be a confession since I know he will take it as such.
"Was it that bad?" he asks softly. His eyes are on the floor and he looks more than slightly embarrassed. Apparently this newfound boldness of his only goes so far.
I almost tell him that's what it is, that he's young and I need someone with more experience, but it's not the truth and, if nothing else, Clark deserves the truth from me. "No Clark," I say while fiddling with the bottle in my hand, "it wasn't bad at all. It was wonderful." Wonderful in an awkward and fumbly way but still wonderful because it was Clark and that made it right.
"Well then what's wrong?" he asks. He looks confused and slightly pouty all at the same time.
"Clark," I sigh and continue to fiddle with my bottle, "you're just a kid."
"No, I'm not," Clark snaps like this is a conversation he's had with someone before and I wonder who it was. His father quite possibly.
"Yes, Clark, you are," I insist. "You're only fifteen." I cringe slightly when I say it because I had so hoped that it wouldn't be true, that he would be at least sixteen and therefore not completely off limits.
"I'll be sixteen in January," he tells me.
I know that too. It is amazing what a little money and some acquaintances in the right places can get you. Things like copies of people's birth certificates and adoption records for instance.
I sigh because none of this is really the point. I place my bottle down on the desk and immediately wish it was back in my hand. I run my now slightly damp hand over my head again instead.
"Besides," Clark continues, "I think they were wrong."
Okay, now that's interesting. "Wrong?" I ask.
"Well you know how I'm adopted?" Clark asks and I nod my acknowledgement. It's not exactly a secret and he had mentioned it soon after we met. "My parents found me. I was all alone and no one could locate my birth parents. The doctor my parents took me to thought I was three so that's why my birth certificate says I was born in 1986 but I think he was wrong," Clark tells me earnestly.
I raise my eyebrow and give Clark a questioning look. This is a surprise, but it doesn't really change anything. "You think he was wrong?" I repeat.
Clark stands up and moves across the room to stand beside me. I once again realize how tall he is as my eyes move up to stay on his face. It makes me feel shorter than I know I am. "Look at me," Clark demands as he nears me and gestures at his body. Oh believe me, Clark, I am. How could I not? I let my eyes roam up and down his body before looking up again to meet his eyes.
"Yes?" I ask him. He looks very nice but I'm not supposed to be thinking that and I know it. Best to think of things that don't make me want to fuck Clark right here on the floor of my office.
Clark looks down at himself before speaking. "I'm really tall," he tells me like its not completely obvious.
I nod. He is tall. "You are," I agree.
"Lex," Clark sighs. He's getting annoyed that I'm missing his point but I'm not sure what he's trying to get at. "Do I look fifteen to you?"
Honestly? No he doesn't. In fact, I was surprised when I found out he was even in high school. Even then I thought he would be older, a senior or a junior at least, but finding out he was in the same grade as Nell's niece was shocking. How could he be that young? "No, you've never looked fifteen to me," I admit.
"That's why I think he was wrong. I don't think I was three when my parents adopted me. I think I was at least four, possibly five."
Clark is looking at me steadily. Those big eyes of his are pleading for me to understand, to accept his story and let it change my mind. I feel myself melting but not completely. I'm here in Smallville because I've let my dick run my life in the past, taken whatever I wanted and not worried about the consequences. I already have a juvenile record, the last thing I need is an adult one. At least juvenile records can be sealed.
"You're still legally fifteen, Clark," I tell him softly. It's getting a little hard to breathe with him standing right next to me and staring intently into my eyes. "I know the law," I tell him and I do. I conveniently checked it out after I found out how old he is. "You're off limits until your next birthday."
He looks annoyed, but before Clark can respond my cell starts to ring. The moment breaks and he steps back to allow me some room. "I'm sorry," I tell him and am surprised to find that it's true. I really do want to work this out with him. "I should take this."
He nods and I retrieve the phone from my pocket. I'm glad for his acceptance. If he really is serious about wanting to be with me he'll need to learn that my time isn't always my own. I can be called away at any moment.
"Lex," I answer smoothly.
"Mr. Luthor," he starts with more than a hint of concern in his voice. It's Thomas Evans, the assistant plant manager and I can feel the headache starting just above my left eye. "I think you need to get down here. There's been an accident."
I groan inwardly and briefly close my eyes. I really don't need this right now. "How bad it is?" I ask when I know I'm going to sound in control. I'm already looking around for my wallet and making sure I still have the car keys in my pocket.
"Looks like one of the warehouse workers was ran over by a forklift," Evans is saying. "The paramedics are here now but I don't think it looks good. The forklift was transporting a drum of sulphuric acid when the accident occurred and it appears to be leaking," Evan tells me.
"Shit," I snap softly. What a mess. I finally manage to find my wallet in my desk drawer and shove it in my pocket. I turn to Clark and ask, "Are you coming or staying?"
"I'm sorry?" Evans asks, clearly confused as to what I mean. I ignore him.
Clark nods quickly, grabs his pack and follows me from my office. It's touching that he has no idea what the call is about or where I'm going and yet trusts me enough to follow blindly.
"And the forklift operator?" I ask Evans as I head towards the front door.
"The emergency response team pulled her out unconscious. Looks like she fell during the accident and was overcome by some fumes. The paramedics have her on oxygen and she's regaining consciousness now. We'll question her as soon as possible."
"Where did the fumes come from?" I ask. Clark and I are outside now and I lead us over to where the car I was using this morning is still parked. I'm going to need to speak to my staff about that.
"We're not sure," Evans says. "We think that there may have been a leak in the ceiling of the warehouse that allowed water to collect on the floor."
I sigh in response and start the car. Clark is seated next to me and gives me a sharp look. I know that he wants me to get off the phone before I start driving so as not to risk a repeat of the last time I almost killed both of us. No talking and driving, Lex. But he's right and I don't want either of us hurt, especially not him. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes," I tell Evans. "Keep everything under control until then."
I hang up the phone with a flourish and look over at Clark. "Happy now?" I ask him. I should be annoyed that he's telling me what to do, but I'm not. I know he does it because he cares.
"Yes," Clark says in all seriousness.
I snort in response and then turn to start the car. Being with Clark is going to be challenging. I turn on the engine and start down the driveway.
Part 2