Smallville Big Bang 2013 - Life as a Novel in Progress (post 2/6)
Clark Kent was born on a distant planet, raised on a farm, and had come under the tutelage of Lois Lane in his senior year of high school, when he finally decided on journalism as his college path. His best friend had introduced him to her reporter-in-training cousin, laughing all the while as if she had known what was in store for him.
He had gotten a lot from the association, good, bad, and worse. This was above and beyond what he had expected.
"You're a what?" Clark tried to look over the top of the box in his arms, but the other man was leaning into the truck and reaching for another box, giving Clark a view of nothing but his backside. And what a lovely backside. Clark could feel his cheeks heating up as he hurriedly turned his head away. He’d already embarrassed the both of them by repeatedly thanking Lex and shaking his hand in that over-eager way he’d thought movies and television made up.
"A writer," Lex said again, straightening up with the last box marked for the bedroom. "I don't know how heavy your box is, but this isn't light."
"Right." Clark turned and went inside, conversation momentarily derailed as he navigated the stairs. Lex wasn't far behind him, not far at all. Clark jumped forward when he felt the press of a box on his back. He dropped his box on the bare mattress of his room and then he turned, just in time to help Lex set down his box with care. Then they were face-to-face again and Clark was struck once again by the man's face and his intense, stormy gaze.
"An author," Lex clarified, seemingly at random. "Of books. I put words to the page." He tilted his head as if challenging Clark to say something derogatory. Or maybe the look was because Clark was staring. It was hard to look away.
Distracted as he was, Clark almost let the setup go. Then he didn't, because it occurred to him that Lex, like Lois, might be someone who thought teasing was the only way to introduce oneself. This was what happened when you let your friends find your roommates. He widened his eyes and asked with all the earnestness he could muster, "Do you ever run out?"
Lex seemed to get it and grinned, the scar on his upper lip more pronounced when he smirked. "Of which? Words or pages?"
"Oh, I knew this was going to be fun," Lois interrupted before Clark could answer. Both men turned to look at her standing at the top of the stairs. She waved an unlit cigarette at them. "Lex, come make sure your neighbor doesn’t attack me for flicking ashes in her garden. I'm sure Smallville can finish up."
"Trying to get back on Mrs. Q's bad side?" Lex asked. They went down the stairs, leaving Clark alone, devoid of assistance he really didn't need and the attention of a man he’d just met and yet was drawn to with surprising intensity. Lois was going to have a field day with this, and so in turn would Chloe. Clark wasn't sure what would happen when Lex discovered Clark's penchant for crushing on the wrong people, but he hoped it would be nicer than Lois's reaction to his previous unrequited crush on her.
The possibility that any crush (especially this one) might be requited was shoved far, far down. Being “not from around here” was the start of his problems, but not the least of them.
“Let’s go,” Lex said, storming up from the basement and interrupting Clark’s dinner planning.
Lois had warned Clark not to expect to see Lex very much, so after they’d brought in all the boxes and Lois had departed, Clark had figured it was time for him to settle in alone. For Lex to be out of his basement suite and wanting to pull Clark along in his wake was unexpected.
It turned out that the neighbor to their north along the street, Constance Quartermain, didn't so much have a 'bad side' as no good side to speak of, a pair of binoculars, and a long list of complaints against everyone on the street. Almost everyone, that was -- her only apparent issue with Lex was his continued association with Lois.
"You look lovely today," Lex said, bending over Mrs. Quartermain's wrinkled hand. "How are Begonia and Petunia this morning?"
"Oh, the girls are fine," she twittered, reaching up to pat her blue -- and Clark had thought that to be only an expression -- hair. "Who’s your young friend?"
Lex turned to include Clark in his smile. "My new roommate. Please don't judge him by his association with Lois. He's got country manners."
Clark smiled at her and tipped an imaginary hat, as Lex had instructed on the walk from their porch to hers. "Ma'am."
She smiled at him and then at Lex once more. "Lovely, lovely. You boys wait here. I have some cookies. Fresh baked this morning. You knew that, of course. Lex shows up like clockwork whenever I bake," she told Clark, before ambling back inside and leaving Clark and Lex on the porch.
"Cookies?"
"Bite, chew, swallow, smile. Make appreciative noises. If you can manage it, finish the cookie and you'll never have to worry about what she's telling the other neighbors behind your back." Lex's quick instructions cut off as Mrs. Quartermain came back into view. Clark reached to open the door and earned himself an approving nod from Lex.
"Here, now. Chocolate chip. These are Lex's favorites, you know." She extended a plate of cookies first to Clark, then Lex. Then she stared at Clark with anticipation, reminding him a bit too much of one of the old farm wives from Smallville that time he’d been one of the judges at the Harvest bake-off.
His stomach already churning, though the cookie smelled like it ought, he took a bite. He chewed. Smiled and mmmed and chewed and chewed and swallowed. And because his stomach was the alien equivalent of cast iron, he took another cookie, much to Mrs. Quartermain's delight and Lex's quickly stifled surprise. Then, because he could follow directions and he'd learned quite a bit from the old farm wives from Smallville, he exclaimed it delicious around the bite in his mouth.
They were invited in and Lex accepted the invitation gracefully for both of them, following after their hostess while Clark grimaced and quickly chewed and swallowed the rest of his second cookie. It wasn't nearly as bad as he remembered mud pies and stone soup to be, but there were definitely important ingredients left out, like an appropriate amount of sugar. The aftertaste was almost garlicky.
"I'll make tea," she said, leaving them in a sitting room. Lex flowed easily into a floral-patterned armchair and stared up at Clark.
"What?" Clark asked. Lex just smirked, his default facial expression in the short time Clark had known him, and said nothing. Clark took up roost on the couch cushion nearest Lex, which left two thirds of a sofa and another armchair for their hostess. "Do you make a habit of wooing all your neighbors? Elderly, female, or otherwise?"
"She's a fan," Lex finally admitted. "Not of the vampire series, but the one before it. Typical male-female romance novel. She thought I had a wife because of the library -- have you seen the library? -- But when I told her I'd written them, she started quizzing me. Let me tell you, fans can be scary. Fans who talk to all the other neighbors?" He shuddered, continuing. "Thankfully, I managed to work a deal with her. I'm still writing in that same series and I let her choose certain details. A character name in one book, a car model in another. The last four novels have bits and pieces of her history and the dedications in each are to her four sons."
"That's kind of sweet." Clark tried to decide if this was evidence against any of the things Lois had told him about Lex, or if it disagreed with anything else he'd learned in the three hours they'd been living together, but it mostly just filled out the puzzle of Lex Luthor, author, a little more; an odd colored piece in an already chaotic picture.
Lex rolled his eyes and settled back, a sexy half-sprawl on what was probably a pretty comfortable chair, if the sofa were any indication. "It's a good deal. When the first series was optioned for a movie trilogy, there were a lot of nosy people lurking about, but the only things that made it to the media were the things Mrs. Quartermain and I agreed on."
"Lex is a fair negotiator," the woman herself said, coming in with a tea service. Clark hadn't heard her coming, but he was on his feet instantly and moving just under speed to take the tray from her. "Thank you. As I was saying, Lex is shrewd and he knows his business, but what he's not telling you is that half of his profits go into trust funds for my thirteen grandchildren and fifteen great grandchildren."
Mrs. Quartermain and Lex were staring at each other, something Clark only realized when he'd settled the tray and followed her gaze back to Lex. There was a tension in the air, some challenge mixed into the silent communication. It was a little like the atmosphere between Lex and Lois, whose relationship and history was long and full of stories neither one would ever share.
Clark cleared his throat to remind them both that he was there. Mrs. Quartermain shook her head and put her smile back on. "Sit, sit, I'll serve," she told them.
Lex continued to look at her consideringly for a moment, then his gaze came up and caught Clark's. "So someone else gets to use the money I'll never spend and not a single reporter got to hear the story of me breaking into my own house buck naked."
Ceramic clinked against ceramic as Mrs. Quartermain poured the tea, but her titter was clearly audible. "Buck naked except for the cape. I said sit, Clark." Clark sat and listened attentively as she launched into the tale of her first meeting with Lex as Lex sat in silence that served as permission.
Clark took classes during the day and interned at the Daily Planet in the evenings and certain afternoons. He knew Lex's schedule was flexible, but he was surprised the first time he came home at midnight to find the lights on and Lex chain-smoking on the front porch. Clark turned off the car engine after parking by the curb and got out slowly, not certain what kind of situation he was walking into. After moving in and the introduction to the neighbors, Lex had withdrawn for three days into his basement suite.
"Hi," Clark said tentatively, coming up the walk.
Lex dragged heavily on the cigarette, then dropped it on the cement that stopped at the porch steps. He stood up and rubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. "Ground rules. My scotch? It stays in that cupboard. Rearrange the rest of the kitchen, but it doesn't move."
His hard tone was enough to make Clark pause an arm's length from Lex, who seemed disinclined to move and finish this conversation inside. "Okay."
"Okay," Lex repeated. He smiled suddenly. "Okay. Second, did you do my laundry?"
In spite of the smile and the initial point of the scotch, Clark had a feeling that this was more important. He tried to find an answer or explanation that would suffice, but managed only a slow, "Yeah?" as he tried to figure out how badly he'd miss-stepped. Lex's clothes had been in his laundry basket, he'd sorted them so there were no suddenly pink underwear or socks.
The smile was more of a smirk. "You handled my underwear."
And been taken aback by the Warrior Angel boxers. Clark turned red, but said nothing; there was no point denying the truth. "Is that a problem?" Clark asked instead, because he got that there was something beneath the surface of Lex's amusement, something just a bit off, crooked and insincere, with that smile.
Lex tipped his head to the side. "Probably not. Despite the fact that you are a close approximation of the media, I don't think you'd go around discussing my underwear with your erstwhile cohorts."
"But?" Clark pressed, sensing that there was another point to be made.
"But do us both a favor and don't discuss any part of my personal life with anyone."
"I haven't," Clark said. Not even Lois, who had teased him every day. In truth, she hadn't pushed him for anything important, beyond how often Clark had seen Lex. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't be here if there was a chance of that. Lois wouldn't have helped arrange this."
There was a lightening of Lex's expression at the reminder. "I appreciate that you think Lois's judgment of people to be so spot on. I typically agree with you. But anyone can be fooled, Clark."
"If you're that suspicious, why didn't you meet me yourself before I moved in?"
"I did." Lex smiled, quick and sly. He finally turned and went up the porch steps, leaving the path clear for Clark to follow. "I'm not surprised you don't remember."
Clark stared at his back, mind racing. When Lex opened the door into the house, Clark shook his head and jogged up the steps. "When was this?" Despite his curiosity to hear the answer to his question, Clark hesitated before stepping into the house. There was a sense, a rising of the hair at the nape of his neck. He scanned the street but heard nothing. Stretching out his hearing confirmed that most of the neighborhood had settled for the night, with a few late-nighters watching television or clicking around on the internet. Nothing moved on the street, no hearts beat out a tattoo in the night, aside from what was either a cat or a raccoon half a block away. He squashed his uneasiness and followed Lex inside.
They moved through the house, the shadowed interior very dim after the brightness of the streetlights. Clark could see pretty well in the dark and Lex seemed familiar with the way to the kitchen. "Did we actually meet?" Clark pushed, back on topic and curious and guessing by Lex's smug expression that he was willing to be prodded into answering. "Were there introductions and handshakes?"
Lex shook his head as he went directly to the cupboard with the scotch. The tumblers were on the same shelf, and he pulled down a glass, but not the liquor. "Not quite. When the plant was shut down for unsafe practices, Lois pointed you out." Clark couldn't see Lex's face, but his tone was even, almost carefully flat.
"You were there?" Clark asked, though obviously, Lex's recollection said he had been. Clark remembered that day pretty well, but it had been chaotic. The town had crawled with reporters and officials. Lionel Luthor had shown up long enough to be told there would be no stay of the motion. For the town, it had been a combination of good and bad. "That's probably a dumb question."
Lex turned enough to give Clark a glimpse of his hardened expression. "My father and I tend to orbit each other in our worst moments."
Oh, right. Clark had almost forgotten the relationship between Lex and Lionel Luthor. Despite sharing the same last name and many genes, Clark didn’t think of Lex as anything other than Lex, an entity whole unto himself and unique unto the world. Which was foolish of Clark, because Lois had warned him away from talking about Lionel Luthor if he could help it. "It was good that Cadmus Labs took an interest in the meteorites," Clark said, trying to change the subject. The company had cleaned up the rocks around Smallville, making it safer for all the citizens, but especially innocents like Lana, who always seemed to be the target of the meteor-affected.
"Good." That was very definitely satisfaction, though Clark wasn't sure at what. Perhaps that Clark hadn't pushed? Conversations with Lex were like walking in a minefield where someone kept moving the mines each time Clark lifted his foot. "Though it was a hard hit for the town, losing so many jobs."
"Right," Clark agreed. For someone who hadn't lived in Smallville, it was hard to explain all the ways that the rocks had made life difficult and how their removal had signaled many positive changes Clark couldn't have imagined for the town. Changes no one had been able to envision. The transformation and growth afterward had seemed to catch them all by surprise, after a frightening and uncertain lull. "They recovered. There are new businesses and the factory reopened. Gabe Sullivan got the workers to pull together and they own it now."
"It was a crazy idea they managed to pull off. Good for them." There was an odd quality to his voice that spoke to Clark of a level of investment that a stranger to the town wouldn't have. Lex was there when they closed the factory down, he knew it was open again, and he seemed to be trying hard to hide what that meant to him. Clark had the sudden thought that if he dug into the deal Gabe Sullivan had pulled, he’d find the name Lex Luthor buried far down the paper trail.
If that was the case, it would be one hell of a scoop, the disinherited Luthor heir managing to make a success of Lionel Luthor’s more recent and public failures. It was the type of story that Lois would sink her teeth into, given half the chance and no ties to Lex. Clark wouldn’t dig enough to prove it, but it was the type of story that Clark could see Lois helping to bury because of Lex’s involvement.
Lex filled his tumbler from the water pitcher in the fridge, then hesitated. “Thirsty?”
“No, thank you,” Clark answered instinctively. He realized immediately afterward that he actually was, but it wasn’t water he wanted. “Not for water. I’m going to put on a pot for tea, though.” He had to revise the next chapter of his Master’s thesis and revise the piece he planned to submit to the Planet about the standardized testing in Metropolis’s elementary schools. He’d meant to get it finished before he left the Planet, but he’d had to take an unexpected, hour-long break at ten o’clock to put on his uniform and deal with a warehouse fire that threatened to spread to the Suicide Slums.
“Enjoy that. I need to sleep before I deal with tomorrow’s edits.” Lex sipped his water as if in demonstration.
“What are you working on right now?” Clark asked. He had finally found what Lex referred to as the ‘library.’ He hadn’t realized how prolific Lex’s writing was, but there’d been two full shelves of books with matching covers that featured soft colors. A third shelf had held the first three books of the vampire series. Clark hadn’t realized until he’d started reading the first chapter of Bite that he had already read it before. There were few enough mainstream novels featuring a gay lead, but Lex’s had hit the shelves at the peak of vampire story popularity. Clark had enjoyed the first two books, but had been busy at college for the third. There was a release date for the fourth book, but it wasn’t out yet.
Despite the innocence of the question, Lex regarded Clark with what could only be suspicion for a moment. He took another drink of water, then put the tumbler down on the kitchen table. “You should probably start the water on the stove, if you want to drink it before dawn.”
“Right,” Clark said. He went through the motions of finding the kettle and filling it enough for two cups of tea. Once the stove was set to heat the water, Clark kept himself busy getting down a teacup and deciding what kind of tea he wanted of the half dozen options in the cupboard. He was very aware of Lex standing quietly in the corner of the kitchen by the basement.
Despite as highly attuned to Lex as he was, he almost missed when Lex spoke, and he did miss what was said.
“What?” he asked, turning from his preparations.
“Vampires,” Lex said again. “I’m doing edits on the last half of the fourth book in the series.”
“Oh,” Clark responded. “Caught in the Sun?” Lex looked surprised and Clark felt suddenly sheepish. “I’m a bit of a fan? I didn’t realize I’d read them until I was looking at your collection. I haven’t read Taste of Blood, because it came out when I was first figuring out what I wanted to do for my Master’s, but I liked the first two.”
“The fourth book is complete enough, but there are a few things that came up when I started the fifth book, so my editor is giving me another chance to tweak things to set up the resolution.” It was the most Lex had shared about his writing himself. Clark had learned quite a bit about the traditional romance series from Mrs. Quartermain, especially the ones influenced by her, like The Fire Captain’s Daughter.
If Lex was willing to engage, Clark had a lot of questions that were hopefully non-invasive. “It’s been a while since the third book came out. Were you waiting purposely to start the fifth book before the fourth was submitted, or did it just work out that way?”
Lex never came to sit down at the table, even after Clark had his tea and was sipping at it carefully. However, Lex did stay in the kitchen for nearly forty minutes before the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed one o’clock in the morning, effectively reminding the author that he had plans for the next day.
Clark looked at the ringing phone, uncertain if he should answer. It was the first time he'd heard the landline. He hadn't actually known there was a landline, as both he and Lex carried cell phones. There was no caller id box near the phone. Lex was downstairs, but if there was a connection there, Lex wasn't picking up the phone.
As private as Lex was, did he want Clark answering the phone at all? Should Clark identify the residence as Lex's, or his own, or as theirs?
On the sixth ring, he finally gave up and answered, unable to ignore whoever was on the other end of the line. It just seemed rude. "Hello. This is Clark," he finally settled on. It came out uncertain and he made a face at the base.
Familiar laughter rolled from the other end of the line. "Really, Smallville. That's how you answer the phone?" Lois asked.
"I could have ignored it completely," Clark said petulantly.
"Consider that next time. Go fetch Lex for me, will you? He's not answering his cellphone, but it's not going to voicemail."
Clark glanced uncertainly at the door to the basement. "Is that a bad sign?"
"Not really. It just means he's blocking calls, so he's hopefully on a roll with his story. Now be a good farm boy and go get him for me,” Lois ordered more firmly.
"Yes, Ma'am," he said sarcastically, setting the phone down. He narrowed his eyes at the floor and confirmed Lois’s theory; Lex was at his computer and typing quickly. Clark jogged down the steps and knocked on Lex's door. There wasn't an answer immediately. He thought about walking away and telling Lois that Lex wasn't answering, but if she was calling Clark to fetch Lex, she probably expected Lex not to answer (Clark had expected nothing else), and giving up too early would make her hound Clark all the harder. There wasn't much 'picking battles' with Lois as much as knowing when to give up.
Clark knocked again, surprised when the door came open under his third rap. Lex's eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed. He looked at Clark blankly for a moment before slamming the door shut. It opened a moment later, during which Clark didn't hear any discernible motion. Lex looked the same except for the sharpness of his gaze. "What?"
Discretion and valor being as they were, Clark pointed over his shoulder at the stairs. "Lois is calling on the landline."
"Should have gone with the red phone," Lex murmured nonsensically. He turned back into the room, leaving the door open behind him. "Don't come in."
Given his own secrets, Clark was good with boundaries and he stayed in the small hallway outside Lex's door. He even refrained from taking too much of a look around the room, keeping his gaze focused on Lex's back as the other man moved to a laptop, typed in a command that made the screen go dark, and then returned.
Clark led the way upstairs and then made himself leave the kitchen when Lex picked up the receiver. He occupied himself in the library, which was becoming his favorite place to work from home. He liked the kitchen space, but its proximity to Lex always distracted him with the idea of Lex coming up the stairs. Before the phone call, Clark had had a few fantasies about going down to the basement and knocking on Lex’s door. In his mind, his welcome had been much warmer.
Clark had barely entertained that scenario for a minute or three when Lex appeared in the door of the library. Clark hadn’t actually picked up anything to work on or read, and he blinked rapidly as he came out of headspace.
Even though he had Lois to blame for sending him to interrupt Lex’s work, Clark also had his friend to credit for warning him about Lex’s mood swings.
The other man leaned against the threshold and glared at Clark. “You need to not talk. Don’t knock on my door, don’t interrupt me. Pretend you’re a child, and be seen and not heard. As a journalist, you should appreciate the old adage about the ratio of ears to mouth and the resulting expectation of hearing and being heard.”
Part of Clark wanted him to agree to anything, because house-hunting was hell and living with Lex... not hell. But Clark had come a long way from the days he'd let someone push him around in order to keep from making waves. "I either live here, or I don't. I won't be a silent automaton to be quiet or conversational depending on your whims. I can be quieter, and I will try to be when you're working, but in my experience, living with someone means having to acknowledge they exist and they make noise and messes."
He waited for Lex's reaction to that and did his best to keep his expression resolute while Lex regarded him silently. The response was quiet. "That's not been my experience, but it sounds reasonable. Are you sure you won't take a vow of silence? Quiet meditation can only be good for your articles."
Clark sighed. “I know you’re doing me a favor by letting me stay here. No amount of bullshit from Lois can hide the fact that you don’t need me here. I appreciate it. And I will try to be quiet. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I just couldn’t ignore the phone and then… I couldn’t ignore Lois.”
“She is hard to ignore,” Lex said. It sounded like agreement. He pushed away from the doorjamb. “I’m heading back down. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I came on so strong. It’s not terrible having you here.” He started to turn away, but then paused and turned back to give Clark a small smile. “If nothing else, Lois was right about your ability to cook, and that alone would be worth letting you hang around and give me rent money I don’t need.”
"You're gay, right?"
Clark hit his head on the edge of the cupboard and winced. A quick check of the wood showed he hadn't damaged it, which left him free to look at Lex blankly. "What?"
Lex frowned, fair brows scrunching together as he regarded Clark. "This isn't the original question, but are you hard of hearing? I don't think I've ever had to repeat myself as often as I do with you."
There was no way to stop the flush of embarrassment. "I. No. I heard you. Hear you. Fine. Gay, yes. Why?" Oh, he was an idiot. A tongue-tied fool for blue eyes and a smile that seemed to mock him most of the time.
"I’m working on the vampires still, now the fifth book since the edits on the fourth were accepted. What I need to know, from the point of view of the normal, relatively kinkless gay man, is how kinky is blood play when we're talking about Dracula?"
"I have kinks." Lex merely raised an eyebrow, but Clark knew better than to try to insist further. It wasn't the point, and he really didn't want to get into a discussion on what his kinks were. He'd made that mistake with Lois once, and it hadn't worked out in his favor. "What kind of blood play?"
Lex sighed and pulled out a chair at the table. "That's the problem, really. My editor says blood. 'It's Dracula! He's a vampire!' But it's not my kink. Kind of an anti-kink, really. And book two already covered the connection between sucking blood and sucking cock, so it's not like there's new ground for me to cover in that direction. What?"
Clark continued to stare at him for a moment, then shook his head. Blood wasn't his kink, either, but his brain had already drawn up inappropriate images of Lex. "Um. Blood is visual. Red. You've probably, uh, done taste, right? So that leaves the aesthetic or the connection to life."
"Not entirely helpful, but I appreciate the attempt," Lex said. He put his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, gaze toward the window. "Blood and vampires is just done. To death, ha ha. I should have just stood my ground on the trilogy. But they insisted that not all good things have to come in threes."
He looked very dejected, sitting there. Clark looked helplessly around the kitchen for a moment before returning to the open cupboard door. "Are you hungry?" He was channeling his mother, but at least Martha Kent knew what to do with a man in her kitchen. Besides jump him, that was. Lex had admitted to liking his cooking, though not to liking Clark (in any capacity, unfortunately).
A sigh answered him. "Not really. I don't have much of an appetite. All the thinking about blood makes me want to scrub my brain."
Clark smiled slightly. "There's a thought. Washing away the blood. Symbolic and it can lead to, um, mutual washing as needed, but-"
"But it's a way to throw blood into sex without making it the focus." Lex was focused on Clark again, blue eyes sharp. "Cooking and washing. You've spent your life aspiring to be a good house-husband, haven't you?"
"Only when I didn't want to be a rock star," Clark tossed back, the words seeming to take Lex as much by surprise as Lex’s answering laughter surprised Clark.
"Oh, you are something else, Mr. Kent." Lex stood and circled the table, invading Clark's space for a mere endless second before heading past him for the refrigerator. "I probably won't be hungry when you're done making whatever you're making, but if you're willing to leave the leftovers on a plate in the fridge, I'd appreciate it."
It was a struggle to remember how to breathe. "I can bring it down to you."
Lex shook his head as he twisted the top off a bottle of water. "I don't like others invading my sanctuary." And didn’t Clark know the truth of that.
"Your Fortress of Solitude." The words brought to mind the old barn loft, destroyed in a tornado years ago. The memory passed quickly, chased from his mind by the unrelenting intensity of Lex's gaze.
"You have a story, Mr. Kent. Sometimes I think it might be a simple parable, young boy brought up right on the farm. But sometimes you look like an epic in progress, a grand destiny stretching before and behind you."
His scrutiny was too reminiscent of Chloe in years past, or Lois more recently, when she forgot how naive she thought him to be. Clark shook his head, denial scratching at him from the inside, though he did his best to appear something other than unnerved. "I think of people more in terms of newspaper sections. And I'm not front page or society or sports. Maybe the classifieds, way at the back."
Another smile flashed across Lex's smile. "Journalists. No depth or feeling to you, just the objective truth. Black and white, and a dearth of gray." He shook his head. "I need to go write bath sex now that you've turned me onto it."
Despite his words, he didn’t disappear immediately. Clark waited a moment, but couldn't hold out long under Lex's scrutiny. "What?"
"Just trying to figure out what kind of ad you would run in the classifieds. Not the 'apartment wanted' section. You don't seem to have many things or need for things, so not the sale section. A singles ad? Single farm-bred male seeks... what are you seeking, Clark?"
It seemed like a simple question, but every answer that came to mind was heavy with a kind of truth Clark wasn’t comfortable with. “I could always use someone who appreciates that being raised on a farm doesn’t make me stupid, boring, or kinkless.”
Next Part: Interlude One