Smallington by mahaliem (Part 1 of 2)

[teot]

Title: Smallington
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 20,000
Cover: One
Summary: Due to a deplorable scandal, Alexander Luthor is exiled from London and sent to Smallington. No sooner has he arrived than his life becomes imperiled and he is rescued by a gentleman named Clark Kent.

Notes: Many, many thanks are owed to my so very talented, patient, and gracious betas - literary_ll and myownghost. *hugs them hard*



Smallington
by mahaliem

Alexander opened his eyes and beheld the near-naked youth before him. No, it was a man, as the breadth of bare chest proclaimed him, not a youth.

"Have I passed on, then?" Alexander said. "Am I thus in heaven? Though my deeds were not nearly as villainous as those around me supposed, neither were my works sufficiently worthy to deserve such reward."

The man shook his head and shimmering droplets of water fell from strands of ebon.

"No, good sir. Be not alarmed. Your horse shied while crossing the bridge and you were thrown upon the river's rocks. You would have perished but for fortune's hand, which had me bathing near to render you assistance."

"Near? Upon my word, I would have sworn that I glimpsed you some time back." The lane he'd been traveling had ventured close to a bend in the river. Through the trees he'd heard splashing and seen a bare back, but had paid little attention for his thoughts were on his exile to Smallington and not other, more enjoyable pursuits.

"You have a head injury, sir. Perhaps that is the source of your confusion for, if I had not been near, how could I have saved you?"

Nodding, Alexander agreed to the logic of that statement, but kept his disbelief locked in his heart.

"Wait - there was another rider," Alexander said. "Not far behind me, for I heard the occasional whinny of his horse. He should be warned that the bridge is not to be trusted."

The man stared at the woods intently and then shook his head. "Whatever traveler there may have been, there is none now, though I will put out a warning for others so they might avoid the peril."

"Thank you."

In response, the man smiled at him, and it was as after a long, dreary winter, the sun burst through the clouds to shine upon the fields below.

"You will catch a chill, soaked as you are, and will visit heaven yet if we do not get you warmed. Are you staying at the inn?"

"I am staying at Luthor Castle."

"Luthor Castle? You are their guest? Have they, at long last, returned to Smallington?"

Alexander smiled. "They have, for I am Alexander Luthor, Baron Luthor's heir."

A blush crept over his rescuer's face. "I meant no disrespect, sir."

"And I have taken no offence. But might I inquire the name of my savior?"

"Clark Kent."

"Then mayhaps, Mister Kent, you might do me the service of escorting me home for, I confess, my limbs feel unaccustomedly weak."

"Certainly."

When Clark stood, Alexander fought the devil and more temptation than he'd ever fought before. As all his battles with the devil went, he lost and his eyes slid down Clark's torso. The thin drawers, wet as they were, left little unseen.

Through great reluctance, Alexander spoke. "Though my London staff, who have arrived with me, would not blink an eye, my local housekeeper and her charges are unworldly. They would, no doubt, be scandalized at my being brought home by you, attired as you are."

Alexander was pleased to note that Kent's red flush extended far below his face.

"I will fetch my clothes," Kent mumbled, turning and hurrying off.

Though Alexander was loath to part company with Kent, even for so little a time, he was delighted at the view that Kent's leave-taking afforded him.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

The church services were long for the congregation was admonished in depth for all their sins and warned of the awaiting hellfire.

Afterwards, as his mother lingered with the other ladies of Smallington to discuss the good works they had in progress, Clark felt a need for quiet in order to contemplate his eternal damnation. With that in mind, he walked toward the river. For many minutes he stood and watched the passing of the water in silence.

"Thinking of Miss Lang?"

At the sound of his dear friend Chloe's voice, he turned his head and greeted her.

Clark and his mother were relatively new to the community, having only been in residence for a decade after the passing of his father in America. The Clark family, however, had been living in the area for several generations. The Sullivans were more recent additions.

Chloe Sullivan was much unlike the other females who populated the town of Smallington. She was deemed doomed to be a bluestocking and far too indiscriminate in making her thoughts and feelings known. What could have been condemned was instead seen as a quirk of personality by the local women, for her father was a widower, learned with sufficient income, and thus eligible for remarriage. However, it was whispered behind hands that Chloe's unfortunate upbringing could be attributed to a French nanny.

"It would be unseemly for me to think of Miss Lang for she is betrothed to Mister Fordman and thus unavailable, even to my thoughts. No, my thoughts are of Alexander Luthor."

Chloe joined him on the river bank. "I was unaware that your nature ran in that direction."

It took a moment for him to denote her meaning and when he did, Clark let out a shocked laugh. "Chloe! That is not what I meant."

"And a good thing it is, too, for I have acquired some small knowledge of Mister Luthor's past, and it would do well for you to steer far from his path."

"What have you learned?"

"It is said that young Luthor is a wastrel and drunk. That the parties he hosted were legendary in their debauchery. That he has been exiled to Smallington after an incident that exceeded even Baron Luthor's ability to suppress."

"Rumors only."

"Rumors it may be, but at the heart of it is the death of a young man."

Clark stared at her for a moment. "Tell me what you have heard."

"It seems Mister Luthor was not content to confine his gaming activities to private clubs but instead sought out less refined establishments. On one such expedition, he was accompanied by a young man of good family, aristocracy that had fallen on times that, while no means hard or meager, were not the glories they had once been. To replenish the family's coffers, the youth was engaged to marry an American shipping heiress when he accompanied Luthor to a gaming den. By the end of the night, the youth had lost all of his family's fortune plus that which he did not have and all of his markers were held by Luthor."

When Chloe paused in her rendition, Clark urged her to continue, but she shook her head.

"Clark, what follows is not for those of delicate sensibilities."

"At what point did you acquire such sensibilities, Chloe?"

"I was thinking of you."

Clark gave her a look which she only returned with a bright smile.

"Very well, then. It is said that the youth was told that all of his markers would be returned to him and his debt cleared if he were to perform a service for young Luthor. Eager to retain his reputation and position, he readily agreed. It was only after agreeing that he discovered the service requested was one of a sexual nature."

"That can only be conjecture and foul gossip."

Chloe shrugged. "What cannot be denied is that within an hour of returning home the next morning, the youth was found hanging from the rafters of his family's stables. Although no note was found, his father blamed his death on Alexander Luthor and swore vengeance."

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

The following morning, Clark deemed it necessary to pay a call upon Alexander at Luthor Castle, which was not a castle at all but a stately country estate, albeit the finest in the county. He was escorted by the butler to the library where instead of finding Alexander reading, Clark found him honing his fencing skills with an instructor.

The fencing was not going altogether well for frustration was evident in both Alexander's unguarded words and imprudent actions, and Clark found himself gazing at a foil lodged in the wall not more than a few inches from his face.

"Kent!" Alexander cried, becoming aware of Clark's presence and striding toward him. "Forgive me."

Although the foil still quivered in its place in the wall, as though mimicking the stuttering of Clark's heart, Clark shook his head. "There is nothing to forgive for I am fine, as you can well see."

Alexander's gaze strayed down Clark's form before rising to his face. "Yes, you are indeed."

With a nod of his head, Alexander dismissed his instructor and then turned to Clark. "I did not wish for my absence from the Fencing Academy on Bond Street to result in a decline in my skills, so I've sought to continue my instruction. My exertions though have left me in no fit state to converse with you. If you have no objections, I would wash the results of my efforts with a foil from my body."

"I have no objection."

Alexander rang a bell and a servant appeared. Within minutes of Alexander's orders, two servants returned, one with a pitcher, bowl, soap, and cloth, while the other carried a fresh shirt, waistcoat, and tailcoat. They placed their burdens on a nearby table and chair, respectively, before being dismissed.

Clark found himself watching Alexander closely as the practice garment he wore was stripped from his body to reveal pale, gleaming skin. Images arose in Clark's mind of a nature to cause him to turn his face away from the sight, and he silently cursed dear Chloe for the introduction of improper thoughts.

"I have come to see you about the curricle you sent to me," Clark said, his gaze still averted.

"You're welcome." Alexander toweled his face dry.

"You do not understand. While I am most appreciative of this gift, I must return it to your possession."

"Why is that? Is it not to your liking?"

"It's a magnificent carriage," Clark said, looking at Alexander and feeling both relief and disappointment that he had donned his shirt. "It is simply that the assistance I rendered to you was only what all men would do and justifies no reward."

"Most people would take such a gift, whether justified or not."

"I am not like other people."

Alexander momentarily paused in the act of donning his waistcoat to stare at Clark. "Indeed, you are not."

Clark bowed. "With your permission, I shall take my leave."

He was almost at the door when Alexander spoke, halting his progress.

"Kent, do you believe a man can fly?"

Turning, Clark nodded his head. "Certainly. We may be rustics in Smallington, but Sadler's Balloon ascents are as well-known here as elsewhere in England."

"That is not of which I speak. I believe that before you pulled me from the river, I died and my soul ascended into the heavens. Below me I saw the stretch of land and town and my life alight with possibilities. Upon awakening it was if I were baptised anew, my soul cleansed of sin."

Alexander's eyes lit upon Clark's face and he closed the distance between them. "And it was you who pulled me from the river."

"I do not understand."

"I believe it is God's will that has caused us to cross paths. That he gave you the power to save me."

Clark took a step back. "Your horse shied. There is no more to it."

"You think not? Then come with me for I have something that will convince you otherwise."

Alexander strode past Clark, forcing him to follow in his steps. They entered a room that contained a billiards table on which sat a rough wooden plank.

"My horse, Portia, though high-spirited, requires but a knowledgeable hand and is not of the sort to throw her rider. In my quest for the truth I, accompanied by several footmen, ventured back to the bridge and discovered this."

Clark examined the board and saw that the nails that had fastened it down were missing, leaving empty spaces.

"I see nothing unusual, the nails came loose. Not an unusual occurrence for a structure of that age and disrepair."

"Look again, Kent. The holes are larger than they should be and are of a similar size to the head of a nail. Indeed, upon further examination of the bridge we discovered that the missing nails were still attached to the framework."

Clark's eyes rounded in astonished as Alexander continued.

"This plank was pulled up from its fellows on the bridge and it was that which caused my horse to panic and unseat me. If that is not an act of God's will, then pray tell me what is?"

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Upon returning to Skylar Hall, the home of his grandfather, William Clark, Clark found himself pondering Alexander's words. After seeing to the horses, he sought out his mother and found her supervising the beating of carpets.

"Mother, a word, if you would?"

Martha Kent saw the signs of concern upon her son's brow and hurried to his side.

"Clark? What matter bothers you so?"

Not wanting to speak where they could be overheard, he took her arm and led her inside to her private drawing room. Once seated, he confessed the source of his unease, relating to her his conversation with Alexander.

"Could this be the truth? You and father always told me that my unnatural abilities were gifts from above. Could Alexander be part of my purpose?"

Martha rose and moved to the window, looking out with unseeing eyes. "Luthors have returned to our lives and once more bring distress."

"Mother? You have met Alexander?"

"Yes, as have you, though you were little more than a babe and he but a child, and an ill one at that."

Martha turned to face Clark. "On the day that God sent you to us was the first and last time I was in the presence of the Luthors, but that memory is as fresh today as it was when it first occurred."

Clark stood and joined her at the window. "Please, Mother. Tell me of it."

She sighed and nodded. "Mister Lionel Luthor, for he was not a Baron then, having not yet made his fortune indispensable to the Crown, had arrived in America with the thought of purchasing a business and establishing a foothold where his interests could thrive. He had brought his young son with him and they were touring the outlying areas of the town, not far from the Kent holdings, when the meteors fell, raining down death and destruction. Luthor escaped unharmed, but his son was not so fortunate.

We'd only found you and were hurrying home when we were hailed by Baron Luthor, who pleaded for our assistance. Alexander had wandered off while his father conducted business, and his father was beside himself. Your father discovered young Luthor in a field, his head shorn."

"He is still that way. I thought it but an affectation, not an affliction."

Martha shook her head. "He was victim to the meteors. It was soon after that the Luthors returned to England on the same ship they'd disembarked from only days earlier. Many crowded the docks seeking escape but Luthor, with his vast resources, was able to book passage and aided Nell Potter with her then-orphaned niece, Lana, to do so, as well. Space was dear for the Shipmaster, himself, was removing his wife and daughter from the scene of the catastrophe."

Clark stepped away from her, his shoulders slumped. "My arrival was accompanied by so much suffering. How can you be so firm in your belief that it was God, not Satan, that sent me to you?"

Martha placed a hand on her son's cheek, cupping it gently. "Knowing you, how could I not?"

The expression on Clark's face softened. "But how am I to learn my purpose here on Earth? There are no scriptures written that would guide me."

"One moment." Martha hurried to her escritoire and then from a chain around her neck withdrew a small key. Inserting the key within the lock, she opened the drawer. From the depths of the drawer she brought forth an object wrapped in cloth and placed it in Clark's hands.

"Open it," she urged.

Upon unwrapping the bundle, Clark saw that it was a flat metal plate with etchings on it that looked like no writing he had ever seen before. His eyes rose to meet those of his mother. "What is this object that you have given me?"

"I know not. The metal yields to neither the hottest of fires nor the heaviest blows of an axe. Though your father often brought it out many an evening to puzzle over it, its meaning remained a mystery. All that we know is that it was found near the strange conveyance that brought you to Earth, which Jonathan buried deep beneath the root cellar."

Clark studied the metal plate and wondered if it would lead him to his future.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

"Have you heard the news?" Chloe said, sidling up to Clark at the Assembly Ball a few nights later.

Clark glanced down at Chloe. "Your appearance is most becoming."

"Thank you, kind sir. Widow Galston insisted on assisting me in my choice of dress, as I'm a poor motherless girl. Naturally, this necessitated several meetings with my father."

"Naturally."

"It is from Widow Galston that I have learned that Brookstone Manor has been let and it is quite likely that tenants shall come tonight."

Clark shook his head. "Tenants of Brookstone Manor have never judged our company worthy of such attention. Their attendance is as likely as that of Alexander Luthor."

"You do not believe Luthor will be here tonight?"

"I have a higher probability of being able to leap the moon."

Chloe smiled and motioned with her head toward the door. "You might want to start practicing to improve your leaping ability."

Turning, Clark saw Alexander at the doorway being cheerfully escorted by the master of the inn. Although Clark had no eye for fashion, he could discern that Alexander was perfectly turned out.

Alexander spotted Clark across the room and made his way to him, to the disgruntlement of the many who would speak to him

"Kent. So good to see you again."

Clark gave a small bow. "The pleasure is mine." He gestured to Chloe. "May I present to you my dear friend, Chloe Sullivan."

Alexander took Chloe's extended hand and bowed over it. "Miss Sullivan."

Chloe curtsied without taking her eyes from him. "Mister Luthor."

"Perhaps if you are so inclined, you will do me the honor this evening of dancing with me. That is, if Kent, here, does not monopolize your time."

Chloe smiled and shook her head. "I'm afraid that Clark is not one for dancing."

"What?" Lex glanced at Clark, giving him a smile. "Kent, do not tell me that you allow this lovely young miss to languish in a corner while the music plays?"

Chloe gave a little laugh. "Believe me, sir, it is better for the well-being of my toes that he does. Dancing is not a skill Clark has mastered."

Clark blushed and said, "I am glad that I need not fear idle flattery from you, Chloe."

"Perhaps it is only practice and personal instruction that you lack," Alexander said. "Visit me on the morrow and I will strive to teach you the art of dancing."

Clark opened his mouth to refuse the generous offer but was interrupted by Chloe.

"It was not only ability that he lacked, but inclination. Until recently his attention was held by someone other than myself. Lana!"

"Chloe!" Clark was about to admonish her for her lack of discretion when he was assailed by a bout of dizziness. Recognizing the feeling, he turned to find Miss Lana Lang at his side, accompanied by both her betrothed and her Aunt Nell. The green stone in Lana's necklace shone with an inner fire.

From his time living in America before his father's death, Clark had learned that though little could harm him, the green stones from the meteorite were the one exception. When he and his mother had journeyed back to England, he'd thought to leave all that behind. To his dismay, Lana possessed a necklace made out of that very same stone, which she wore in memory of her parents.

Without making it appear obvious, he shuffled to the side, putting distance between himself and the stone.

"Mister Luthor," Nell exclaimed. "How delightful to see you again. How is your dear father? Is he planning to join you in Smallington?"

The pleasant expression vanished from Alexander's face as he gave a slight bow toward Nell. "I am not privy to my father's plans."

"It would be most grand if he visited our fair town. It has been far too long since we last met."

Nell turned toward Chloe after giving Clark a dismissive glance. "I was once fortunate to count Mister Luthor's father among my dearest friends."

"Though decidedly not my mother," Alexander said in a voice so low that if Clark were not standing at his elbow, would not have heard.

Introductions were made between Mister Fordman, Miss Lang, and Alexander. Their conversation had not yet reached the awkward point where one is desperate and broaches the topic of the weather when a clamor arose from the entrance to the Hall. Whispers began to circle that the new residents of Brookstone Manor had arrived.

A couple of middle-years stepped into the room, accompanied by a young woman. The man was tall and barrel-chested and appeared to glow with health in stark contrast to his wife who was but a wisp of a woman. The girl was slight too and, although not a diamond of the first water, would never be said to be plain. Whispers that put a name to the arrivals raced around the room, and Nell hurried to hear, returning with a satisfied smile.

"It is Lord and Lady Astley, along with their guest, Miss Harriet March. Miss March was to be their daughter-in-law before their son's ill-timed passing." A frown line appeared across Nell's brow. "The name March is not a rarity, and I feel I am acquainted with one with that name, but am at a loss as to who it might be."

Throughout Nell's whispering, Clark had kept his eyes on Alexander and not the arrivals and was thus the only one to note the paling of Alexander's already fair complexion.

Lord Astley's gaze swept the crowd until it fell upon Alexander. The expression on the man's face was one of uncontrollable hate. Without even pondering the reason for it, Clark shifted even closer to Alexander.

Slowly the trio made their way across the room, making polite conversation along the way, but Lord Astley's eyes never strayed from Alexander for more than seconds at a time. Upon reaching Clark's friends, Nell pushed forward to be introduced, but was ignored as Lord Astley, having put off the moment for almost longer than he could bear, confronted Alexander.

"You dare show your face among good, decent folk, Luthor," he spat out. His face was so reddened by rage that one might fear that he would soon be a victim of apoplexy.

"Once again I say to you that your son's unfortunate demise had nothing to do with any of my actions. Although I knew Richard for so little a while, I too, mourn him."

"Do not speak his name, for I will not have your tongue foul it as your very breath fouls the air of this room."

"If that be the case, then I shall take my leave." Alexander gave him a bow, then another to the assembled group. "My apologies."

Clark ignored the look of victory upon Lord Astley's face to follow, after giving a quick apology to the others, as well. While passing by the arrivals, he again felt a wave of pain, and wondered for a moment if Lana was accompanying him. When the pain eased, he realized she must have only stepped forward to welcome the Astleys to town and to smooth over the situation, as she was wont to do.

"Alexander," Clark called as he exited the building.

Alexander halted on the front steps. "It will do your reputation no good to be seen with me."

"That matters to me not in the least."

"Says the man whose honor has never been called into question," Alexander murmured. "As your friend, I advise you to go back to the Ball and put this unfortunate incident from your mind."

"And, as your friend, I cannot."

Alexander allowed a smile to settle upon his face. "Concerned as I am for you, I cannot help but be pleased by this show of loyalty, deserved or not. Do you not ask for a show of innocence on my part or, at the least, an explanation?"

"I do not. If you feel you must explain yourself to me, then I will listen, for oft times words need to flow and empty from the speaker's soul, but none do I demand."

Alexander stared at him as if in wonder. "Even more so do I believe that God has set you in my path for a reason."

There was silence between them as their acquaintance settled into a staunch alliance of friends. It was only broken by a soft grating noise from overhead.

Looking up, Clark saw that part of the facade above them was hurtling downward, its trajectory directly toward Alexander. Using the gift of speed that God had granted to him, Clark flung himself at Alexander, clutching him about the waist, and forcing him onto the ground and away from danger. As the stone crashed onto the steps, sending shards shattering around, Clark hovered over Alexander, protecting him with his own body.

The clatter brought a crowd out from the Ball to view the devastation, and Clark felt an unreasonable urge to continue shielding Alexander from their regard. With great reluctance, Clark at last drew away and gained his feet and then lent Alexander a hand to help him rise.

"Dear God," Alexander exclaimed when he surveyed the place where he'd been standing only moments before. "Kent, I now owe you my life twice over."

Clark raised his eyes to the point where the facade had set upon the building. It was ill-placed for someone to tamper with, yet there were no signs of disrepair or wear of the ilk that would have caused it to fall on its own.

Lowering his gaze, he looked upon Lord Astley's face in the crowd. He wondered if the man was surprised that Alexander had come so close to death or that he yet lived.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Alexander was as good as his word and, when Clark called upon him the following day, had a dance instructor and musician at hand. After much time doing his best to learn under the steadily frustrated tutelage of the instructor and the amusement of Alexander, who insisted upon watching, Clark found he could manage the basic steps of a country dance without falling onto his face.

Soon after, Clark discovered he enjoyed the movements the dance required, and his improvement was such that he would look up to see the instructor watching him closely, his eyes alight.

"Enough!" Alexander said in a harsh tone that caused Clark to halt in such a manner that he would have stumbled if not for a bracing hand of the instructor.

Questioning, he looked at his friend, but found no reason there for so abrupt an order.

Alexander strode to where Clark stood, and the instructor retreated. "It is time for me to ascertain for myself if this time and cost were justified." He gave Clark a small bow. "Might I have the honor of this dance?"

Feeling strangely warm and absurdly flattered, Clark nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Had Clark ever thought that there was no point to dancing? Had he ever been so foolish as to dismiss the activity out of hand? It was marvelous! As he danced with Alexander, he felt as if he transported to another plane of existence in which there was nothing but him, Alexander, and the music that surrounded them.

By the time the dance ended, his heart was pounding in his chest for reasons other than exertion.

Alexander stared at Clark before giving him a smile. "Not a single farthing has ever been put to better use."

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Whenever his duties permitted him in the weeks that followed, Clark would travel to Luthor Castle, where Alexander would help hone his skill with a billiards cue or lecture him on points of history after declaring Clark's education to be woefully inadequate on the subject.

Clark took it upon himself to show Alexander the best spots on the river for fly-fishing and several afternoons were spent enjoying this pursuit.

Many a time they went riding. Clark's horse, though of decent stock, was far outclassed by the thoroughbreds in Alexander's stables. Though often Alexander offered Clark the use of one of his own mounts, Clark continued to decline.

In less than a month, it was not an unusual occurrence for Alexander to dine at Skylar Hall. He flattered Martha that her table with its fresh produce and baked goods was second to none, not even the finest of London homes. With William Clark he argued politics and, though they rarely agreed, both enjoyed the challenge of trying to make the other see their point.

One evening, as a means of welcoming Chloe's visiting cousin, Lois Lane, to Smallington, Martha Kent held a small dinner party. Clark was extremely pleased that Alexander had been included on the guest list. It was only as they entered the dining room that Clark spied place cards that would most assuredly separate him from his friend.

Using his speed, Clark altered their placement. As the guests took their seats, Clark saw his mother give a slight frown at the new arrangement but said nothing as she took her chair at the head of the table across from her father. On one side, next to Mister Gabe Sullivan was Nell Potter, accompanied by Lana and Lana's fiance. Chloe and Lois, were to the right of Clark while Alexander was seated to his left.

Clark knew his mother would have a word with him later, for his altered arrangement was highly unusual and might reflect badly on her. At the moment, however, Clark did not care what the consequence might be for he now would have the pleasure of sitting next to Alexander.

It was only after they'd started on the fish that Clark realized the full repercussions of his action, for seated as they were, there were occasions when Alexander's arm brushed against his. Each time it occurred, Clark felt it acutely. The barest touch caused such exhilaration in him that he could hardly carry on a conversation with Chloe's cousin, resulting in her likely forming an opinion that he was dull-witted and socially awkward.

He knew she must have added clumsy to the list when Alexander's thigh pressed against Clark's at the same moment that Clark reached for his wine glass. His hand trembled in reaction and droplets spilled across his knuckles. He withdrew his hand and surreptitiously wiped it with his napkin as he attempted to breathe normally. Lois spoke to him, but he failed to respond, only looking at her blankly, for no conversation could ever be as earth-shattering as the pressure against his leg.

Thinking him a simpleton, she turned to the others and joined in their discussion, leaving Clark to concentrate on the heat seeming to spread from his contact with Alexander throughout his body. Again he reached for his wine, taking several large sips in hopes of quenching the fire that was building within him.

There was a pause in Alexander and Martha's conversation and Alexander gave Clark a side-long glance and a smile meant only for him. Clark's smile in return was nowhere near its usual brilliance as he manfully fought to get his unseemly reaction under control. He felt he'd almost accomplished the task when Alexander shifted his position and his hand dropped below the table to graze Clark's leg.

Clark let out a soft gasp, his eyes rolled up, and a spot on the ceiling burst into flame.

In the resulting chaos, there was a moment when Clark's gaze intercepted that of his mother.

She was sincerely not amused.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark glanced up from his desk where he was working on the accounts, one sunny afternoon, to see Alexander standing in the doorway.

"I did not see your housekeeper so let myself in," Alexander said, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.

"I am only surprised that I didn't hear your horse when you rode up." Clark moved to stand, but Alexander motioned for him to remain seated.

"You seem much engrossed in your work. Is there a problem?"

Clark sighed. "I know I have made an error but am unable to discover it."

"Might I have a look? I have no small skill when it comes to tallying transactions."

"Certainly."

Clark had meant to hand the ledger to him, but instead Alexander walked behind him and leaned over his right side while resting a hand upon his left shoulder for balance. Though the back of the chair separated them Clark felt enveloped by him. The scent of horse and sweat and something that Clark could not place but was reminiscent of the riverbank weeks earlier surrounded him. He closed his eyes in a valiant attempt to shut out the sensations that threatened to overtake him, but that only made it worse as he became more vulnerable to them.

"Here's the error," Alexander said.

With each word, his breath played across Clark's ear. Clark worried his lip brutally to refrain from making a noise in reaction that could not be explained away. Leaning over him, Alexander took the quill from Clark's fingers, which had lost all power, and noted the correction.

"There," Alexander said with an air of finality as he put an end to Clark's problem without being at all aware that he'd caused a new one to arise.

Still bent over Clark, Alexander turned his head to look upon him. Unable to resist, Clark turned his as well so that they were face to face with mere inches separating them.

"Is there anything else you need, Clark? I am entirely at your disposal."

Clark's gaze dropped to Alexander's lips. They were so close. It would take but a small movement on his part to feel their softness against his own. For how long he stared, he knew not, but at last he pushed temptation aside and turned away.

"No," Clark said on shuddering breath. "That is all."

"Then ready your horse and let us be off," Alexander proclaimed, already crossing the room to the door. "I am looking forward to a good, hard ride with you."

Clark wondered why when temptation was refused, it came back thrice fold.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark worried over the ever-increasing importance in his life of Alexander Luthor. He wished there were someone in whom he could confide, but no one came to mind. At one point he might have sought out Chloe, but the last time they'd been in one another's company she'd remarked that she was tired of hearing him speak of Luthor. She added that his prior preoccupation with Lana now seemed but a mild case of interest in comparison to his current obsession.

Was it his fault that a glance from Alexander was all that was needed to make Clark's breath quicken? Or that, when walking beside him, Clark's thoughts were not on their conversation but on the occasional brush of their shoulders? Once during one of their walks, Clark had stumbled and Alexander had laid a hand on the small of his back to steady him. To Clark's shame, he'd stiffened. He turned from Alexander to hide his reaction, causing Alexander to apologize if he'd offended.

There was a place Clark went whenever he sought solitude and so he retreated to it now to contemplate his growing fascination with Alexander. Upon a hill not far from Smallington sat the ruin of an ancient fortress. Though most of its stone had been carted away by farmers and builders, here and there long sections of wall still stood, and the remains of towers rose up jagged and sharp to meet the sky.

For some reason that he could not fathom, Clark felt at home in this desolate place.

Using his great speed, he ran there. He'd no sooner stopped and taken a breath when he heard the object of his thoughts call his name.

"Kent?"

Turning he saw Alexander, who wore a frown of puzzlement across his brow.

"I must have been in deeper thought than I supposed for I did not hear your horse nor see you arrive," Alexander said, picking his way among the fallen stones to Clark.

"I walked."

"Walked? It is a fair distance from Skylar Hall and must have taken you a goodly amount of time."

To avoid answering the unspoken question, Clark changed the subject.

"I did not know you were here. Are you researching the place?"

"No, but that is a thought. I would ask you its history, but know better than to expect you to have the ability to expound on the subject."

Clark smiled in a way that put the brilliance of the sun to shame. "That is not true. I would tell you a history of this place that even learned scholars know not."

"Truly? Speak, then, for I am eager to hear what knowledge you have acquired of it."

Glancing around, Clark spied an object near the edge of the ruins then, with a nod of his head, urged Alexander to follow him.

"Sit here," Clark said pointing to an arrangement of stones that could serve as a bench.

Clark sat down next to him. From this vantage point one could see a deeply wooded area near the foot of the hill. Past that, there were a few estates and manors with more woods lining the river. Further on was the town of Smallington.

"Was a battle fought here?" Alexander asked.

"Not that I'm aware of, but a battle was won here." At Alexander's questioning look, Clark continued. "This is the exact place in which my father proposed to my mother many years ago and in which she accepted, despite my grandfather's vast disapproval of the match."

"If you and your father are of a similar nature, then I can see why your mother would not mind bearing her father's displeasure. Did he have dark hair and green eyes such as yours?"

Clark shook his head. "He was fair-skinned and fair-haired. I am my parents' adopted son, so our looks are dissimilar. Otherwise, I like to think that I am most thoroughly like my father in both manners and philosophy."

"On what basis did your grandfather object to the match?"

"My father, Jonathan Kent, was the only son of Hiram Kent, who had a successful cattle breeding operation in America. He was sent to England to acquire culture, which he spectacularly failed to accomplish. While visiting friends in the area, he met my mother. My grandfather, wanting better for his child than a colonist, forbade them to see one another. It was here where they met in secret, fell in love, and agreed to marry."

"Were they happy?"

"Until the day he died."

There was a long moment of silence before Alexander sought to turn his friend's thoughts to those of a happier nature.

"Is that all you know of this place, Kent?"

Alexander stood and walked forward to better enjoy the view.

"There is also the remains of a cellar of some sort. It is difficult to spy and is sheltered on all sides. My mother pointed it out to me. Though she told me nothing more than its location, when she visits here her eyes seek it out and a blush rises to her cheeks.

Alexander bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. "All places of historical consequence should have such stories."

"They should," Clark readily agreed, smiling widely as he rose to his feet to join Alexander.

He'd taken less than two paces when a shot rang out.

Alexander let out a cry and blood blossomed on his shoulder. He would have fallen, but Clark caught him in his arms.

A second shot sounded and Clark purposely moved in front of the bullet to let it thud harmlessly against his back.

Picking up Alexander, whose eyes were closed in pain, Clark hurried toward the cellar he'd spoken of mere moments before. Once surrounded by the safety of ancient walls, he lowered Alexander to the ground, then took off his own cloak and laid it across him.

As Clark bent, Alexander's hand clenched into his shirt, forestalling his departure.

"Do not abandon me."

"You should be safe here," Clark assured him, soothingly touching Alexander's brow as he spoke. "I must find the one who shot you."

"No! One shot could be a huntsman's error. Two shots... No, it is too dangerous. I would not see you hurt." A look of fear crossed Alexander's face. "You are whole and unharmed, are you not? That second shot..."

"Hush. The shot went wide."

In the twilight of the cellar, Clark saw Alexander's features relax, though his hand still tightly grasped Clark's shirt. Clark took the opportunity to examine the injury, focusing his eyes so that he could see into the very tissue and sinew of the shoulder muscle. He breathed a sigh of relief that the bullet had not shattered bone.

Retrieving his handkerchief, Clark pressed it to Alexander's wound.

"I must fetch a doctor."

"I doubt that will be necessary."

"Not necessary?" Surely the amount of blood soaking your shirt and coat say otherwise."

"When I was but a child, I journeyed with my father to America. While there a meteor shower struck the town we were in."

"I know of it. That is the same town in which I spent my first decade."

Alexander appeared momentarily taken aback before nodding, as if it all made sense. "The meteors took my hair, but left me something in return. Since the incident, I have never suffered from illness and any injuries I acquire quickly heal."

"Be that as it may, we should endeavor to return you to Luthor Castle as soon as we are able."

"And we will return, but it will be less hard on my injury if I first lie here and rest and give it a chance to begin healing. Once the blood has stopped flowing, then we will find my horse and return."

Clark was unhappy with the arrangement, but nodded his agreement. "Although I do not think it wise, I will abide by your wishes."

"Thank you." A moment later a shiver ran through his form. "The ground is cold."

"I would give you a second cloak, if I but had one." Clark thought for a moment before settling on the ground next to Alexander. He put his arm around his injured friend and slowly started to shift him.

"What are you doing?" Alexander asked when he felt Clark's hands upon him.

"I am little bothered by the cold. Use me as your bed. Lie upon me."

"No. I cannot do that. I-" Alexander's protests were interrupted by a second shiver, more violent than the first.

As gently as he could, Clark rolled Alexander over so that he was sprawled on top of him.

"Quiet. You need your rest, do you not?"

"Mmm... you are warm," Alexander said, shifting a bit in a search for a more comfortable spot on top of Clark.

In a matter of minutes, Alexander had drifted into sleep and Clark wondered how dire was the wound he bore. It did not seem like his friend to relax in this manner, but Clark would not complain. He only hoped that this sleep would aid his friend's ability to heal from his grievous injury.

Alexander murmured something in his sleep and altered his position. Fearing that he might tumble off, Clark improved his hold by wrapping his arms more tightly around him.

Throughout Clark's life, his parents had always remarked on how warm his body temperature was. When young, they'd thought him ill, so heated was his skin.

But never, before knowing Alexander, had he experienced the feeling of being overheated to the point where he wondered if he might combust.

Alexander's breath on the flesh of Clark's neck could have been a bellows for the way it caused the spark of awareness of his friend to turn to flame. Their torsos were pressed together, and Clark uttered a silent prayer that Alexander would remain asleep until he was able to conquer his indecorous reaction to their closeness.

He closed his eyes for he had no desire to shoot fire onto the ceiling of their shelter, but he could not quiet his body. As another tremor ran through Alexander, Clark chided himself for the thinking of carnal thoughts when his friend was injured.

It occurred to him that with Alexander asleep, he had the opportunity to run Alexander back to Luthor Castle using his vast speed with none being the wiser for it. To do that, though, would mean that Clark would have to forgo the pleasant torment of having Alexander rest upon him, a torment that caused Clark to ache but that he wished would go on forever.

To turn his mind elsewhere, Clark focused his hearing to see if he could discover who the shooter might be. After straining his abilities, he realized that the delay in getting Alexander safe and situated comfortably had made it impossible for him to distinguish any identifying noises. Clark sighed and returned his attention to his friend.

Alexander's breathing was deep now and his brow unlined. Clark's reaction to their closeness had eased, but his inner turmoil grew. He'd been worried that Alexander was growing too important to him. Now he knew for certain that his heart was utterly lost.

Feeling like a cad, Clark leaned his head forward and brushed lips across Alexander's forehead. Afterwards, he closed his eyes and listened to the steady cadence of Alexander's heartbeat.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark hadn't known he'd fallen asleep until he opened his eyes to see Alexander staring at him. Simultaneously, he became aware of a hard length pressing into his hip and his own straining length pressing against Alexander.

"You are better?" Clark asked.

"Much."

Was it his imagination or had Alexander pushed down as he spoke?

"I was concerned for you." His shaky breath caused the words to tremble as they tumbled from his mouth.

That was definitely a push. It was a push and a shift so that now their lengths were aligned against one another.

Clark bit his lip to stop a whimper from escaping.

"I thank you for the care you gave me," Alexander said against his cheekbone as his pelvis rotated in a way Clark thought was physically improbable if not impossible.

"Think nothing of it. It was but what one friend would do for another."

In an act of betrayal, Clark's rebellious hips thrust upward, making a contact which caused both him and Alexander to groan.

To improve his leverage, Alexander pressed both hands on the ground on each side of Clark and lifted his upper body up only to gasp in pain and drop back onto Clark.

"Your injury!" Clark said, gathering Alexander to him.

"I am afraid I am not as healed as I would like," Alexander answered.

"It is far past the time we should have returned you home." With Alexander in his arms, Clark stood.

"Though it is my fondest wish to remain here with you, I will concede to the wisdom of your decision."

Carrying Alexander, Clark made his way to where Alexander's horse was still tethered. Gently he placed him on the horse's back and then mounted behind him. The ride to Luthor Castle, with Alexander's backside situated intimately against Clark, caused parts of him to stir, but he firmly forced the reaction down for this was no time for such things.

Upon reaching Alexander's home, he carried Alexander inside, informing the servants of what had befallen their master and to send for a doctor right away.

After laying Alexander on his bed, Clark took a moment to examine the shoulder. Surprisingly, the bullet appeared much closer to the surface than previously and the surrounding tissue less inflamed. He wondered briefly how long it would take for Alexander's ability to force the bullet out entirely if there was no intervention.

Alexander's valet pushed past Clark and began attending to the dirty and blood-soaked clothes. Clark averted his head to afford Alexander some modesty and would have left the room but for Alexander asking him not to.

Thus he was there when the doctor arrived and examined his patient. He was the one to urge Alexander to drink his brandy deeply and was the one to hold him still when the doctor dug into his shoulder to remove the bullet.

When the bedding was changed and the servants had at last finished tending to Alexander and left, Clark moved to the side of the bed.

"I should go, but I will visit you tomorrow, if you wish."

"I don't wish."

For a second, Clark's heart dropped before Alexander continued.

"I don't wish," Alexander said, "because I don't want you to go. Stay here. With me."

"My mother-"

"We can send a footman with a note so that she will not be unduly worried."

"I-"

"Stay," Alexander said. His hand crept out from under the blankets to grasp Clark's. "Clark. Stay."

How could he refuse such a request so made? Clark stayed.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

It was not long after dawn when a long-haired, bearded man pushed open the doors with a thud and strode into Alexander's bedchamber.

Hastily, Clark extracted his hand from Alexander's, but not fast enough for it to not be observed.

"You are?" the man demanded.

Clark rose from where he'd been sitting on Alexander's bed. "Clark Kent. My grandfather, William Clark, lives-"

"William Clark. I've heard of him." Dismissively, he turned to Alexander. "What, no greeting for your father?"

"He's hurt," Clark said.

"If he is so under the weather that he cannot properly greet his father, then I am positive that he is much too ill to be receiving visitors."

Clark looked at Alexander for guidance.

"You should probably go," Alexander said, not unkindly, but firmly.

Acquiescing to Alexander's wishes, Clark nodded. "Then I wish you a speedy recovery. If you have no objections, I will return on the morrow to check your progress." Clark gave a small bow to Alexander's father. "Baron Luthor," he stated, before turning on his heels and leaving.

As Clark walked away, he heard Lionel say, "Alexander, I see that we have much to discuss."

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark was surprised to see that Alexander was on his feet the following day. Upon Clark's expressing his surprised delight, Alexander confirmed that it was as a result of his healing ability.

Declining all overtures to talk about the discussion he'd had with his father, Alexander asked Clark to accompany him for a walk in the gardens. Clark readily agreed for his friend was acting most strangely, as if the light inside of him had been dimmed. Perhaps if they went outside, the sun would brighten up his friend's melancholy attitude.

The grounds of Luthor Castle were a marvel and it was no hardship to explore them. Indeed, if Clark had acquired free rein, it would have taken him more than a day at his fastest speed to do them justice.

He was confused when Alexander left the path at one juncture to head for what seemed a solid hedge but, to his surprise, there was a small opening in the bushes. A few more turns past hedges higher than his head and they came upon an area with a garden bench, an apple tree, and a small expanse of grass.

"I would never have known this was here," Clark remarked.

"It was ordered by my great-grandmother, who wished to have a place in which she could be assured of peace and solitude. She told my grandmother about it when she came to Luthor Castle as a bride, and she told my mother. When my mother fell ill and it became plain that she would not be long for this world, she brought me to this place so that one day I might show my own bride."

Alexander sat upon the bench and gazed about in silence for a moment. "This place is not a secret. The head groundskeeper knows of it, but it was kept plain so that maintenance would be at a minimum and privacy assured."

Clark moved to sit next to Alexander on the bench. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked softly and then reached to take Alexander's hand.

Instead of clasping it, Alexander shook it off and edged away from Clark.

"Clark, I brought you here for I must confess to you a matter of importance."

"I have told you that no confession need ever spill from your lips."

Instead of calming Alexander, the statement seemed to agitate him further. Rising from the bench, Alexander took several strides, putting distance between them before turning to face Clark. "That sentiment is most appreciated, but I would have you know this still."

Clark straightened on the garden bench, his eyes intent upon Alexander. "Speak then, but know that it will make little difference in my regard for you."

Alexander seemed prepared to argue the point before dismissing it. "It concerns Richard Astley. Around London, rumors have flowed about until society was inundated. I have become aware that they have also trickled into Smallington."

"I would not take to heart anything I heard that I did not know for fact."

"You should not ignore these rumors, Clark"

Clark sucked in a breath. "Surely you are not aware of the full wickedness of the gossip or you would not make such a statement."

"I believe that it states that Richard Astley and I went gambling and by the end of the night I held the prospect of his ruination in my hands. That after activities of carnal nature in my bed, he rose with his debt clear, returned to his home and hanged himself in the stables."

Alexander took a breath as if to ready himself. "All that is true."

"No! That is not possible."

"I am telling you it is."

"And I say that for some reason which I know not, you mean to turn me from you by confessing to a lie."

"Must I resort to crudeness then for you to believe? I took Richard Astley to my bed where I covered his body with my own. I rutted against him and in him until exhaustion overtook me."

Alexander advanced on Clark and his voice sounded jagged as a bottle broken upon the floor spilling out red wine.

"I did to him all that you would have me do to you - and it destroyed him."

Alexander's eyes were as cold as the tone of his voice.

"Go back to your friends and family, Clark. Back to your mother who dotes on you and rests her dreams upon your head. Go back to your dear friend Chloe who secretly follows you with her eyes and lets out small sighs of longing as you pass. Go back to those that deserve your love."

With a heart that felt to be cut to ribbons, Clark blindly headed toward the road that would take him back to those that cared for him, for there were none here that did. It was only as he made it to the lane that he remembered he'd arrived on horseback. Although it crossed his mind to have a servant fetch his horse, he knew it was cowardice that birthed that thought and headed back.

With the sure knowledge that Heaven would understand his predicament, Clark decided on using his keen hearing to avoid Alexander. It was then he heard Alexander snarl a litany of curses that was directed not at Clark, but himself.

The anger in Alexander's voice was unmistakable, as was the distress. Listening harder, Clark heard stuttered breathing and a rapidly beating heart.

He sped up, tracing the sounds back to the hidden garden alcove and the bench upon which he'd sat earlier. Alexander was on it now, his head in his hands.

Silently, Clark moved forward and knelt at Alexander's feet.

"You will have to expend far greater effort than that in the future if you wish to rid yourself of me."

Alexander raised his face from his hands and looked upon Clark in wonder. That wonder was soon replaced by fear. "You should not be here. It is not safe."

Reaching out, Clark took Alexander's hands in his own. "Do you not know yet that I am fully capable of seeing to my well-being?" He squeezed Alexander's hands in reassurance. "And seeing to the well-being of those who are dearest to me?"

"You do not understand. My father has given me a choice - to give you up or see you ruined."

"How could you father ruin me?"

"A myriad of ways, for my father is devious and can prime the pump of wickedness in the hearts of others and set them against you."

Clark gave Alexander a smile of indulgence. "He is your father. I am sure you see him as a being more powerful than reality warrants."

Alexander shook his head. "You do not know him as I do." Alexander broke his hands free of Clark's grip and rose from the bench to stare unseeingly at the greenery which surrounded them.

Clark stood and watched him, wanting to go to him and soothe him, but refraining.

At last, Alexander turned to Clark and spoke. "Please know that none of this is of any importance to me, but my father has plans to call your origins into question."

All expression was wiped from Clark's face. "My origins?"

"Most Englishmen know little to nothing about America except that which they have read in inaccurate or sensationalized accounts in the press. Many believe it to be a common occurrence for savage natives to be everywhere, be it countryside or the docks of Boston. My father plans to spread speculation that your birth parents were not the ill-fated settlers that everyone supposes but those of a native tribe."

Clark stared at Alexander, who strode to his side. Raising his hand, he cupped Clark's cheek and ran his thumb across the skin there in both fascination and reverence.

"With your golden skin and dark hair, there are many who would give the lie credence. I also understand that my father, for we were visiting America at the time of the meteor strike, is aware that it may prove difficult for you and your mother to offer evidence to counter this rumor. Even after irrefutable evidence is presented disputing it, there will always be those who prefer to believe the lie."

Clark felt ill. Irrefutable evidence would be impossible to obtain for none existed.

"And what do you believe, Alexander?"

"I believe I owe a great deal of gratitude to those who birthed you for you are dearer to me than my own heart."

Those words, conveying a sentiment Clark had longed to hear, were balm to his wounded soul. Before he could take them to heart, he knew he must probe further, striving for the truth of Alexander's feelings.

"Then it matters not to you what my origins are?"

Alexander placed a hand on each side of Clark's head, holding it still so that their eyes were forced to meet. "Have I not made myself clear on that subject? Have my words failed me? Then allow me to use action to convince you of my feelings."

Leaning forward, he brushed Clark's lips with his own. It was soft, the cool caress of a breeze, yet Clark felt as if his very being were aflame.

Under Alexander's watchful gaze Clark licked his lips; searching to taste again the one he regarded so highly.

The taste was not enough. There would never be enough to satiate the appetite he had for it.

"Convince me more," Clark said.

Alexander gladly complied.

PART TWO