Summary: The devil always knows what you want.

Warnings: Rated NC-17. m/m, Clark/Lionel, Clark/Lex, PWP, angst

Notes: I wrote this for Antonia as a thank you. She wanted gratuitous Clark/Lionel sex. And I added some gratuitous angst. Thanks to Michelle for the beta!

The first time Clark ran into Lionel at the castle it seriously disappointed him. He had just let himself into the kitchen, fumbling with the door's tricky latch, the boxes of organic vegetables stacked so high he couldn't see around them. He was distracted, thinking about Lex, who had been unusually busy lately and away in Metropolis far more than Clark would have liked. He found himself hoping, despite the odds, that the LuthorCorp board meeting that Lex had described as a "droning marathon of people who could never hear themselves talk enough" might somehow end early. And if Clark hung around long enough, maybe, just possibly, if he were lucky--

But there was Lionel, instead.

Clark wasn't sure why it made him blush, whether it was the tenor of his own thoughts or the possibility that Lionel might think he had broken into his house.

"Uh-- Mr. Luthor. Hi. I didn't realize anyone was around."

Lionel peered at him over his glasses in a way that made Clark really wish he weren't wearing the blue T-shirt his mother kept calling a dust rag in training.

"You're Martha and Jonathan's boy, aren't you?" Lionel asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I believe I've seen you with my son on occasion."

"Yes, sir. We hang out sometimes."

"Mmm. So you do." His voice was inflectionless, impossible to interpret. "You'll probably want to put those down. They look rather heavy."

It flustered Clark, just for a moment, because of course the overloaded boxes weren't the least bit heavy for him. Still, he'd had a lifetime of practice for just such situations. He let out a deep breath and made that little heaving noise he'd learned to imitate and settled everything onto the table.

"You miss him, I expect," Lionel said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lex. He's been away so often lately. My doctor insisted I take some time off, you know. So I've had to rely on Lex rather heavily. LuthorCorp business can be quite demanding."

"I understand how important Lex's job is," Clark said, a little defensively, since he had just been wishing Lex would blow off work to spend time with him.

"Of course you do. I didn't mean to suggest otherwise. It's just that in a small town there are fewer amusements. It makes it all the more inconvenient when your friends are away."

"I guess."

"Well, hopefully things will get back to normal soon, and Lex will be around more often."

Lionel smiled, and Clark thought perhaps this was meant to be reassuring. But it just made him squirm. Because it wasn't at all the way his other friends' parents smiled at him. There was something in Lionel's eyes. Something secretive and heated and a little cool, too, the way calculation is cool. If that look had come from Lex, Clark would have felt it everywhere.

He took a nervous step backward.

But then, the look was gone, and Lionel was nothing but distantly polite. "Well, say hello to your mother and father for me."

He swept out of the kitchen, and it took a moment before Clark could make himself stop staring. He'd always thought Lex's dad was a little strange, and now he was really quite certain of it.

The next time he met up with Lionel, Clark was at least prepared for it. It was after a hard day at school when he'd had yet another mysterious falling out with Chloe over-- Well, that was always the problem. He never had any clue why she got so mad at him. He'd waited all afternoon to come over to Lex's, shifting restlessly in his chair during dinner, rushing through his chores. Lex just always seemed to understand these things so much better than he did.

But when he got to the castle, he found Lex's dad in the study sitting behind the desk.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Luthor," he said, a little embarrassed that Lionel might think he just dropped by whenever he felt like it, even if that was pretty much the case. "I just thought Lex might be--"

"Meeting with some investors in Chicago, I'm afraid. I can tell him you stopped by."

"If you don't mind. Thanks." He hesitated awkwardly. "Well, uh, I guess I'd better be--"

"Please. Don't rush off on my account." Lionel got up and went to the bar. "Can I get you something?"

Clark shook his head. "No. Thanks."

Lionel fixed himself a drink, the same cognac that Lex liked. When he turned back, he smiled.

"Sit down, won't you?"

Clark hesitated.

"Please. You've saved my son's life. Become his closest confidante. I'd like to get to know you better."

"Um, well-- Okay. I guess I can--"

"Good. Good." He joined Clark on the sofa.

"So you attend Smallville High, I assume?"

"Yes, sir."

"And are you a good student?"

"Yes." He blushed. "I mean, pretty good. You know, better in some subjects than others."

"There's no need for false modesty, Clark. You're an intelligent young man. That's easy to see."

"Uh-- Thanks."

"Tell me about your plans for the future."

"Well, I want to go to college, of course. I was thinking MetU. My parents went there and--"

"He doesn't see it, you know?" Lionel interrupted.

Clark blinked. "What?"

"How you feel about him." He waved his hand in the air. "Lex, I mean."

"I don't know what you--"

"But of course you do."

Clark swallowed hard. Why had he ever thought settling down for a cozy chat with Lionel Luthor was a good idea?

"It's funny the conclusions people jump to," Lionel mused, as if to himself, staring off into the distance. "I suppose it's because he dresses well. Or has that odd fondness for purple. Or something equally ridiculous. That it's so often assumed he's-- But to my knowledge, and I do know everything of any importance about my son, he's only been with women."

Clark could feel himself turning brilliantly red. And yet, as disturbing as it was to discuss Lex's sex life with his father, he couldn't ignore the sharp edge of disappointment that cut him.

"Mr. Luthor, it's not-- I wouldn't--"

"It's okay." He put his hand on Clark's leg. "I often appreciate things my son doesn't."

Clark's eyes went wide, and his throat hurt the way it only did when he was genuinely shocked. "Um-- I should really be going, Mr. Luthor."

"Nonsense. And call me Lionel."

His hand started to move, rubbing little circles into the denim.

Clark's skin burned beneath his jeans everywhere Lionel touched him, and he had a moment of terror that he might really start to boil inside, his clothes fuse to his body. Being an alien complicated everything, as if he didn't have enough to worry about with the disturbing tightening in his crotch. This was Lex's father, for God's sake. He should be freaking out. He should get the hell out of there, like someone who was at least marginally sane.

But-- Lex's father was-- well, Lex's.

The first touch of Lionel's mouth against his shouldn't have surprised him. He knew it was coming, and he had room to maneuver, to stop it if he wanted. But he couldn't have predicted what the warm-moist feel of breath against his lips would do to him, how he would open up to it like a dew-hungry flower.

There was a noise in the back of Clark's head that sounded suspiciously like those emergency alert warnings on television, but it was oddly easy to ignore. Because Lionel felt so warm and solid, and he smelled like grown-up man things, cologne and cigars and expensive clothes. And then, there was the way he stroked Clark's thigh, his hand moving up and down, ever so slowly, each time skating tantalizingly closer to Clark's swelling groin, making him ache. Lionel's beard tickled a little, but it was softer than he would have imagined. His hot, slick tongue slid confidently over Clark's, nothing at all like the coltish little kisses he'd had from Lana and Chloe. And he tasted like Lex's favorite cognac, and that was almost like--

Clark kissed him back, with enthusiasm.

When Lionel's hand finally came to rest on his erection, Clark couldn't help moaning into his mouth, and he felt Lionel smile.

"Like that, do you?"

Clark was breathless, and besides, he didn't know how to answer. Didn't know how to explain any of this. But Lionel didn't seem to expect him to say anything. He pressed his palm against Clark's stiff cock, and Clark gasped.

"I thought you would," Lionel said.

It went on like that for several more surreal moments. And then the heat and the hand were suddenly gone. Clark had to fight the urge to cry out as Lionel stood up, moved away, smoothed a wrinkle from his perfectly tailored trousers. Clark lay spraddle-legged and rather unraveled on the couch, breathing in ragged little gasps, not understanding at all what had happened. Or more importantly, why it had stopped.

"It's getting late, and it's a school night," Lionel said, in a disconcertingly parental tone, as if they had not just been tangled around each other. "You'd best be getting home."

The casual dismissal felt like a hard slap across the face, or at least, how Clark imagined that must feel. He scrambled up from the sofa, tried to straighten his clothes, hoped the long tail of his shirt would somehow conceal his stubbornly eager hard-on.

"Mr. Luthor. I'm really--"

But he had no idea what to say. His first impulse was to apologize, but, God, it hadn't even been his idea. And he didn't know what he'd done wrong.

"It's Lionel. Remember?" For a moment, his voice was silky again.

Clark could only stare.

"I'm so glad you stopped by tonight, Clark. Please, don't be a stranger."

Lionel settled back down at the desk, picked up the report he'd been reading when Clark first arrived and smiled, the way any father might at a friend of his son's.

Clark didn't know what else to do, so he fled. It seemed only sensible.

After that, Clark stayed away from the castle for what felt like forever, but was actually, when he did the math, only a few days. It disturbed him profoundly that he kept replaying the whole thing in his mind. But as many times as he tried to hit some imaginary stop button in his head, there just didn't seem to be any way to get rid of it.

Sometimes, he watched the scene unfold in his thoughts with a hot sense of outrage. Fathers weren't supposed to-- Well, they had names for that kind of thing. Whole sections of the Kansas penal code specifically devoted to it.

But that was only sometimes. The other times, well-- He spent a lot of time out in the barn, so he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of his parents.

It was even worse when the memory crawled into his dreams and he woke up with his hand curled around his cock. In his unconscious, Lionel and Lex had this alarming tendency to blur into one another, and he was never quite sure who had been touching him when he woke himself up coming. It was the kind of thing, he realized, that could seriously screw a boy up.

When he did finally return to the castle, he specifically went looking for Lionel. To talk, draw the boundaries, get everything straight between them. So to speak.

It was not a particularly auspicious beginning to the whole confrontation scenario he'd been planning that he found Lionel lounging by the pool. Although, frankly, it was just his luck.

"Clark, good morning. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Lionel's voice boomed cheerfully, and he smiled in the same bright, unconcerned way he might if he were giving an interview on television.

"Uh, yeah. I guess. Look, Mr. Luthor, I want to--"

"Go for a swim, naturally. What else could anyone possibly want to do on a perfect summer day like this?"

"No, that's not it. We need to--"

Clark trailed off. He pulled the damp collar of his shirt away from his skin. God. It was really starting to swelter. When had it gotten so hot? And how the hell did Lionel Luthor manage to look so good for his age? Not that Clark was checking him out or anything. It's just that his bathing suit was very European in its brevity. And so Clark really couldn't help noticing his flat stomach, narrow hips, the well-defined muscles of his arms and legs. And, well-- everything else a Speedo showed off.

It gave him the same strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that he sometimes got in the locker room at school, when all the other guys were wandering around thoughtlessly naked. Like he was too alive to what was happening around him, too aware. He swallowed hard.

Lionel grinned at him. "You're looking rather warm, Clark. Go get changed in the bath house, and then you can cool off in the pool." He got up and strolled over to a table that had been set up with drinks. "Juice?"

Clark gritted his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate on the reason for his visit. "No. And I didn't bring my suit."

"Not to worry. There's a whole selection in there for just such occasions. I'm sure you'll find something to fit you."

He perused Clark's body openly, as if calculating his size, and Clark flushed even hotter.

"I don't think--" He stammered.

"Go on, Clark. Go." Lionel made a shooing gesture. "It's a crime to stand about dawdling, wasting weather like this."

Clark sighed and trudged off to the bathhouse. What was it about Lionel Luthor and giving orders anyway? And, even more puzzling, his own bizarre inclination to obey them? But then, he supposed you didn't build a global business empire if you weren't pretty good at getting people to do what you wanted.

In the bathhouse, Clark found a large bureau filled with nothing but brand new swimsuits. He pulled out his size and undressed. He was just about to step into the suit when the door opened and Lionel poked his head inside. Clark froze, too surprised to do anything but stare.

"Just wanted to make sure you were finding everything okay," Lionel said, perfectly casually, as if Clark were not standing there naked.

His eyes, though, traveled appreciatively over Clark's skin, and Clark could feel his body taking an interest. God.

Clark's face colored spectacularly. "Um, yeah. I found everything."

Lionel smiled. "Good. Then I'll see you in the pool."

He closed the door again, and Clark scrambled into the suit. The beginnings of an erection certainly didn't make it any easier to negotiate the skintight lycra. He had to remind himself not to shred the fabric in his haste. When he was done, he checked himself in the mirror and groaned. The skimpy excuse for a garment left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

He sighed and figured he could always run for the pool.

The cool water was an enormous relief when he dove in. He treaded water and let the disquieting heat drain away from him. Lionel was doing laps at the far end, each stroke cutting sleekly through the water. He was a strong swimmer, not surprisingly. Clark turned over to float on his back and watched cottony clouds drift across the enormous blue sky. It was a relief to feel like himself again.

He got a little lost in his reverie, but a playful splash reminded him where he was. In his surprise, he went under, and water rushed up his nose. He shot up into the air and coughed.

"Wha--" he sputtered.

Lionel laughed. "Didn't anyone ever warn you about letting down your guard?"

"I didn't realize this was that kind of situation."

"Ah, my dear boy, it's always that kind of situation." Lionel splashed him again. "I think that makes you it."

He took off with a spray of water, and Clark could only watch in astonishment. This was Lex's father, right? But then, the playground impulse that was still alive and well in him kicked in, and he launched off after Lionel, trying to keep himself to a normal pace. Playing fair had always been a point of honor with him.

But Lionel seemed to want to be caught. He didn't dodge when he could have, slowed down at the worst possible moments. Finally, Clark tagged him on the shoulder.

"You're it."

Lionel retaliated by dunking him.

"Hey!" he protested, when he popped back up to the surface.

Lionel laughed. "What did I tell you about letting your guard down?"

The next moment, Lionel was swallowing a mouthful of chlorine, and Clark was the one grinning smugly. Of course, Lionel didn't particularly appreciate being upstaged by a teenager, and quickly, they were clenched together, each trying to push the other under.

When Clark processed just what he was doing--roughhousing with Lex's father, something he was never supposed to do with anyone, and getting off on it--a very real sense of danger surged through him. He tried to twist away. But Lionel held on, his arms locked around Clark's waist, his body pressed against Clark's back. He was hard, too. And suddenly, Clark didn't know how to breathe.

"Maybe it's time to get out for a while?" Lionel suggested.

Clark hesitated, because it was easier to hide in the pool. But then, he had a sudden flash of his overheated body setting the water to boil. He didn't know for a fact it couldn't happen.

"Uh-- Okay," he said.

He followed Lionel up the few steps to the deck.

"How about that juice now?" Lionel asked.

Clark snatched up a towel and held it protectively in front of him. "Sure."

"Coming right up."

Lionel poured two glasses of orange juice and handed one to Clark.

"Care to do some sunbathing?"

"Oh-- You know-- I should probably be going."

"Don't be silly. You just got here." Lionel gestured toward a double chaise. "That's the best spot at this time of day."

"Um-- Maybe I should just sit over--"

But Lionel had already settled onto the lounge chair and was watching Clark with an air of expectation.

He sighed. "Okay."

He sat his glass down on a nearby table and joined Lionel, careful to keep to his side, careful not to touch.

Lionel slipped on a pair of sunglasses and tilted his head back. "Glorious."

"Mmm."

Clark tried not to fidget. But this was really quite unnerving.

"Oh. I almost forgot," Lionel said. "You need some sunscreen."

"No-- I'm fine."

"Sun damage is not something to fool with. Trust me on this."

He felt around beneath the chair and came up with the bottle. Clark reached for it. But Lionel popped the cap and poured some into his own hand.

"It's easier not to miss spots if someone else does it for you," he said.

He ran his hand down Clark's arm, leaving a broad white stripe, making Clark suck in his breath so noticeably it was humiliating. He hoped to God that Lionel would just stop after he'd done what he could easily reach. But he really should have known better. Lionel was nothing if not thorough. He got up and circled around Clark, half crouching over him, working his way up Clark's legs, down his arms, over his chest. Clark couldn't look at Lionel. He tried not to think about how close he was, that he could feel Lionel's breath on his skin.

But he couldn't stop himself from trembling.

"I need to go." His voice came out in a squeak.

Lionel leaned forward and licked his nipple.

"God!"

And then Lionel's tongue was in his mouth, and his hands were everywhere. And it was even more insane, more frantic than it had been the night in the study. Clark held on and kissed back and tried not to rub himself against Lionel's thigh too obviously. When Lionel eased his fingers inside the waistband of Clark's suit, his body jerked in surprise. His heart thudded in panic.

"What are you--"

"Sssh."

Lionel silenced him with another kiss. He stroked the sensitive skin along Clark's belly as he eased the briefs down over his hips. When Lionel's sunscreen-slicked hand closed around his cock, Clark screamed into his mouth and bucked up into his grasp.

"That's right. Take what you need," Lionel said, his voice an odd mix of encouragement and seduction.

He stroked Clark's cock expertly. Clark squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gulped for breath and shook. The small, fuzzy part of his brain that was still functioning marveled that this should be so different than touching himself. And yet it was, so shatteringly new and intense he was afraid it might break him.

"Open your eyes," Lionel murmured against his temple. "Look."

Clark's breath hitched. He wasn't even sure he wanted to see it, but giving in to Lionel was just so frighteningly easy. He opened his eyes. And gasped at the sight of his blood swollen cock closed in Lionel's fist.

"Oh, God." He thrust harder.

Lionel's expression was a mystery behind dark glasses, his long body coiled and taut, hovering over Clark, his erection clearly outlined in his briefs. And that sent a whole new dizzying wave of desire flooding into Clark's blood.

He licked his lips. "Let me--" And reached for Lionel.

But Lionel batted his hand away. "This time is just for you."

This time. Oh, God.

"That's it. Come on, Clark. Come for me."

Clark felt so lightheaded, and his hips just seemed to move of their own volition, pumping frantically into Lionel's fist. There was the deafening roar of his own blood in his ears, and then the world spiraled darkly away from him. He thrashed his head against the webbing of the chaise and came in sizzling waves in Lionel's hand.

Lionel petted his shuddering body and murmured to him as he came down from his orgasm. When Clark had mostly regained his composure, Lionel stood up and pulled on a shirt.

"I have some business to attend to, but don't hurry off. Stay and enjoy the pool as long as you like."

Clark lay untidily sprawled, gasping for breath, his bathing suit tangled around his thighs, his belly a sticky mess.

Lionel patted his spent cock, a jarringly familiar gesture, and smiled with amusement. "Have fun."

Clark watched him walk back into the house, and then closed his eyes. God, what was he thinking? He really had to stop doing this.

Of course, he didn't stop, as sensible as that might have been. He went back for more, just as Lionel must have known he would, since he was standing at the door waiting for him when he arrived.

"Upstairs," he commanded, the second Clark stepped inside the house.

Clark almost balked. There were bedrooms up there. Beds. He broke into a sweat. But the way Lionel said it really left no room to argue, and there were Clark's own desires to wrangle with, besides. He found himself heading for the stairs.

"This way," Lionel said, at the top of the landing.

Clark followed him down the hall, taking in the heavy, Victorian sideboards and gold gilt mirrors out of the corners of his eyes, trying not to gawk. He'd never seen this part of the house before and might not again.

"Here we are," Lionel said.

He opened a door and ushered Clark inside.

Clark looked around, startled. The furniture here was simpler, more elegant than in the rest of the house. A stack of books sat on the bedside table. A large shelf held a collection of African statues and Chinese porcelain, along with an old microscope that had the air of a cherished heirloom.

"This is Lex's room."

"Mmm."

Clark was suddenly too hot. He could feel the blood pounding in his head.

"I can't. Not in--" He shook his head, a little wildly, staring at the wrought iron poster bed.

"Now, now, Clark. Isn't that exactly where you've always wanted to be?"

Lionel laughed and moved past him into the room.

"Aren't you coming?" he said, over his shoulder.

He settled at the foot of the bed.

"Take off your clothes."

Clark stumbled over the edge of the plush, deep-piled rug that was undoubtedly some priceless antique.

"What?" he asked, trying not to sound hysterical.

"You heard me."

"But--"

"No buts. Undress. Or go. I have no patience with indecision."

Clark's hands automatically rose to the buttons of his shirt. When that fact registered with him, it mortified him terribly.

Lionel licked his lips. "That's right, my boy. You know what you want. What you need to do."

Clark's hands shook as he shed his clothes. Lionel's gaze never wavered, and somehow, it made Clark feel as if he were underwater. Every small movement--popping the button on his jeans, letting his shirt slip from his arms and flutter to the floor--seemed to happen in slow motion, so very deliberately, with such exaggerated emphasis.

When he was naked, Lionel said, "Come here."

His feet obeyed, carrying him over to the bed. He stood in front of Lionel, who looked him up and down. It made Clark's skin burn, his cock start to fill.

Lionel ran an exploring hand down his side, over his hip, along his thigh. He held Clark's gaze. "You have no idea, do you?"

Clark wanted to ask what he meant, but then everything was blotted out by the fiery, bright scream of pleasure in his head.

"Fuck!"

And he never cursed. But then, he'd never had a hot mouth tugging on his cock either.

"God," Clark moaned.

Lionel murmured, as if answering to the name. Clark's hands threaded through his hair, drifted down to his shoulders, kneaded the exquisitely textured fabric of his jacket. That Lionel was still dressed while he was naked should have made him feel vulnerable or at least silly, but instead, it turned him on like nothing else ever had. He started to thrust, and Lionel didn't try to stop him. In fact, he cupped Clark's ass, squeezing his cheeks, urging him on. It was so good, and Clark never wanted it to end.

But then Lionel pulled away.

"Hey!" Clark protested.

"Go ahead, boy. Say it. I know you want to."

He licked teasingly at the head of Clark's cock.

"Say it," Lionel hissed at him.

And he sucked Clark in again, greedily, deep into his throat. Clark closed his eyes tightly and clenched his hands and tried not to. But it just wouldn't be denied, not when his entire universe had been reduced to the shocking urgency of his cock, and he just wanted it too much to hold back.

"Lex!" he wailed.

He could feel Lionel smile around his erection, and then the rhythm grew more insistent.

"Lex. Oh, God. Lex."

Clark squeezed his eyes tightly shut. His stomach hurt, and his thighs trembled. God. He was going to--

Only Lionel pushed him away.

"Get on the bed," he ordered, harshly.

"Wha--?"

Important parts of Clark's brain had shut down completely, and Lionel might just as well have been speaking to him in Swahili, one of the more obscure dialects.

"On the bed," Lionel said. "So I can fuck you."

Clark took a deep, shaky breath. He was seriously out of his depth here. If it hadn't been just a totally gross thing to consider, he would have tried to imagine what Lex would do under the circumstances.

"Shouldn't you take off your clothes for that?" he asked, with as much sass as he could muster.

Lionel laughed, but not at him, which was a relief.

"Spirited. I like that." And then his face went starkly serious. "Now get on the bed."

The gravelly tone made Clark's cock jerk. His hands trembled as he laid back the bedspread. And then he froze. Lex's sheets were the deepest, most beautiful shade of violet he'd ever seen, and suddenly, he just didn't think he could do it. He turned back to Lionel, to tell him. But Lionel had already shed his jacket, and was slowly, methodically undoing the buttons of his crisp, pristinely white shirt, each movement a deliberate tease. He was watching Clark intently, his eyes as bright and focused as a predatory bird's.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Lionel nodded toward the bed.

Clark swallowed hard.

"So deep and dark. And Lex is so pale," he said, his voice low and mesmerizing. "I bet you can just picture it, can't you? What he looks like while he's sleeping, when he's lying there. So open and vulnerable..." His voice went soft. "And beautiful."

Clark's grip tightened on the delicate fabric, and he had to make himself let go before he ripped it.

"Go on, Clark. I know you want to."

And he did, so much. He just couldn't help himself. Couldn't help sighing as he slid between the soft, soft cotton, luxuriating in the feel of linens that had touched Lex.

Lionel removed the rest of his clothes and folded everything neatly over the back of a chair. He stood there a moment, at the foot of the bed, giving Clark a chance to look at him. And it was like the other day by the pool, the unsettling flutter in Clark's stomach, the intense, almost painful awareness. Only now Lionel was naked, and quickly getting hard. And Clark was naked too, and hard, and waiting for him, waiting to have sex, in Lex's bed. And that was just-- so much, much more than he knew what to do with.

He wasted a moment or two, as Lionel stalked over to him, worrying if he would know how to do this. But it quickly became moot, as Lionel got into bed and took charge. Clark moaned at the dizzying press of Lionel's hard, naked body against his, the biting kisses strung along his neck, the insistent hand on his cock. The room echoed with sounds, sobbing and begging and gasping, and it honestly shocked Clark that they were coming from him.

"No one else has ever touched you, have they?" Lionel asked, his voice rough against Clark's ear.

"No," he mumbled, painfully embarrassed.

But Lionel's face brightened with triumph. "Good."

And then, Lionel's hands were on his hips, flipping him over onto his belly, and for one, freefalling moment, Clark really didn't think he could go through with it. He closed his eyes and concentrated on taking in air, trying to get his panicked breathing under control. The bed dipped as Lionel leaned over to the bedside table, and Clark heard him opening drawers and rustling around in them. Then there were other noises, a squelching plop and soft tearing of foil and the slick slide of hand on flesh.

Lionel settled onto Clark's back, his erection nudging into his crack. He kissed Clark's shoulder and asked, "Are you ready?"

He couldn't make himself say yes. Or no. But then, it didn't really seem to matter. Lionel wasn't actually asking permission. He pushed his cock against Clark's opening, harder and harder, until he was finally inside, breaching Clark's body. Clark's hands clenched in the sheets. His eyes watered, and he couldn't seem to be able to get any air into his lungs. He had no idea how people who weren't invulnerable ever stood it, this burning pleasure, this unnatural fullness, that was just-- God, too much. Too good.

Clark really didn't want to cry out. He tried to hold it in, force it back down. Somehow, that was just giving Lionel too much satisfaction. But then, Lionel started to move inside him, pulling out and easing back in, and there was no way to stop it. He screamed like someone was trying to kill him.

"That's it, Clark. That's it," Lionel said, his voice velvety. "You can take it. Take it all."

Lionel fucked him, and Clark rubbed against Lex's beautiful sheets and sobbed with pleasure, despite himself. He was acutely aware of the prickle of chest hair against his back and the voice growling in his ear. No matter how tightly he closed his eyes or how hard he tried to imagine, he could not deny who he was with. Or how much he wanted it.

"Say it," Lionel commanded.

"Please!"

"Say it, Clark."

"Lionel!"

"Yes."

"Fuck me, Lionel. Please. God. Fuck me."

Lionel kissed his shoulder. "Good boy."

He pumped harder and faster into Clark, and Clark pushed back into each stroke, frantically, as if there could never be enough.

He knew he wasn't going to last, not like this, and so he closed his eyes tightly and buried his face in the pillow with its sweet, lingering hint of Lex. And he bucked and cried out and came in wrenching waves all over Lex's sheets. Lionel roared and his body jerked. His fingers dug hard into Clark's arms, and he came, too.

Afterwards, Lionel lay heavily on top of him, breathing roughly.

"I'd ask if it were good for you, but I think we both know the answer to that." Clark could feel the amused huff of Lionel's breath against the back of his neck. "You know, Clark, no matter who touches you after this, no matter how many lovers you ever have, you'll always think of me." He thrust his hips forward, still hard enough to make it felt, and Clark groaned out loud. "Because I was your first."

He laughed, licked Clark across the shoulder, and pulled out of him. He got up, and Clark heard him pad into the bathroom.

Clark hugged the pillow to him and drifted a little, lulled by the sound of water splashing in the basin. He knew there were so many things to sort out about this whole experience, not the least of which was that he was no longer a virgin. But right now, all he wanted to do was enjoy the warm, heavy, sated feeling that was spreading through his body, that he realized must be what people meant when they talked about afterglow.

Lionel came back from the bathroom already dressed. He stopped by the side of the bed and ran one light finger down the line of Clark's back. And somehow, despite all the recent excitement, Clark's cock still managed to twitch with interest.

Lionel smiled. "You look good like that. You should lie around naked and post coital in someone's bed more often."

Clark wondered if there was an invitation in that, and he smiled up at Lionel, shamelessly.

Lionel adjusted his tie. "But you might want to think about getting up now. Lex should be home soon."

Clark sat bolt upright in bed, his heart doing a vertical leap in his chest.

"Don't panic. You have time. And the servants will take care of this." Lionel nodded toward the bed.

He slipped into his jacket and headed for the door.

"You aren't going to tell him?"

Lionel laughed. "I don't have a death wish, young man. Besides, some victories are simply for the personal satisfaction."

And he was gone.

Clark didn't stop to think, to consider the consequences if Lionel were to come back. He sped into the bathroom, and a few seconds later, he was clean and presentable again, just in time for a knock at the door. A dark haired woman in a maid's uniform peeked inside. She wasn't one of the servants Clark recognized, but he blushed ferociously anyway.

"Is it okay to come in?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. I was just--" He slipped past her and hurried down the hall.

At the top of the steps, he stopped and listened. He didn't hear anyone moving around downstairs, and then a second later, the helicopter buzzed over the house. It had to be Lionel, going back to Metropolis. Clark breathed a sigh of relief and jogged down the steps.

As he was passing the study, he heard, "Clark?"

He froze. And for a moment, he just wanted to run. Pretend he wasn't there. Anything, not to have to face Lex right now. He sighed and slowly walked into the study.

Lex was standing behind his desk, sorting through the mail. His face was pinched and even paler than usual, his shoulders stiff. It was the way he always looked when he spent too much time in his father's orbit.

"Hey," Clark said.

"Hey." Lex looked up and smiled, his tension easing a little.

Clark returned the smile, trying not to let his own anxiety show. "So-- You just got back?"

"Yeah. A few minutes ago." Lex frowned. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Clark shook his head. "No." He smiled again, more brightly, the way he always did whenever he lied to Lex. "Just wanted to see if you were home. And how it went. And stuff."

"Ah."

Lex went over to the bar. He tossed Clark a bottle of water and fixed himself a cognac.
When he picked up the decanter, Clark had to look away. Lex moved to the sofa and motioned for Clark to join him. Clark sat down and toyed nervously with the blue bottle.

"So, how was it," Lex said, his tone thoughtful. "Well, it was-- strange."

"Really? Why?"

Lex made a face. "My father. What else?"

"Your father?" Clark's heart raced. "Did he, um, do-- Or say something?"

"He claimed to need a rest. Wanted to spend some quiet time here in Smallville. Which had to be a ploy of some sort. I mean, my father hasn't rested since he was born." Lex rolled his eyes. "Anyway, so he sends me all over the place, to take care of things that really weren't that urgent. And then today, I get a call, and he's ready to go back to Metropolis, just as mysteriously as he showed up."

Clark clenched and unclenched his hands nervously. "Why?"

Lex shrugged. "Who knows what he's up to? Or maybe he's finally just lost his mind. People are always speculating when that's going to happen."

"Maybe he just trusts you to look after things for him," Clark offered, feebly.

Lex made his "oh, please" face, and Clark flailed for something else to say. It was really very hard to concentrate.

"Hey." Lex nudged him with his elbow. "Is something up? You seem kind of distracted."

"No. I'm just-- A little tired, I guess. Long day."

"Mmm. I know how that is."

Clark started. "Oh, sorry. You probably want to--"

Lex put his hand on Clark's arm. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm glad you're here. It's been-- Well, I missed you."

Clark smiled, with genuine happiness. "I missed you too, Lex."

Lex smiled and held Clark's gaze, the way he did sometimes. Only this time, his face was surprisingly open. And Clark could see things he'd never been allowed near before. A patient heat and dusty corners where secrets were kept and the coolness of calculation, but in the way you calculate what might be possible. Clark could finally see what he'd always hoped for, and he didn't know how to believe it.

Because Lionel had said-- Clark's stomach lurched so violently he thought he was going to be sick. Terrible realization clenched around his ribs like iron bands, and it got hard to breathe. What was the one thing Lex always said about his father? That he was a liar.

And now, no matter what, Clark would always think of him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lex asked.

Clark wanted to say: No! Don't you see? I've ruined everything. But he forced himself to smile.

"Yeah. Sorry. Just-- You know--"

"Long day?"

There was humor in Lex's voice, and so much affection. And Clark didn't know how he'd ever missed it.

"Yeah."

"You'd better head home then. But I'm glad you stopped by."

Clark swallowed hard. "Me too," he said, softly.

He got up to go, relieved for once to be leaving. He was almost to the door when Lex called him back.

"Hey, Clark?"

He turned around. "Yeah, Lex?"

"I know I've kind of neglected you lately. Come over tomorrow, and let me make it up to you? Maybe we could shoot some pool and watch DVDs and catch up?"

There was that look again in Lex's face, and Clark had the feeling he was being offered so much more. That it was up to him to decide what and how much he wanted. Maybe it always had been. And, God, he wanted it all, everything he possibly have. But how could he now? How could he ever?

"Sure. That sounds great," he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

"Good."

Lex smiled, and there was something almost-- light about him. The strained pallor from only a few minutes ago had disappeared completely, and Lex actually looked happy. Clark blinked, as if it were a mirage. Was that because of him? Had he always had that power?

"Tomorrow, then," Lex said, his voice full of promise.

Clark could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. Maybe Lex had always been making him promises, and he'd just never heard it before.

"Tomorrow," he said.

When he reached the hall, he started to run, out of the house, across the lawn, all the way home, not using his powers, just letting his desperation carry him along. Jumbled images and half-formed thoughts bounced chaotically around his head. And yet, it all started to make a jarring sort of sense--Lionel's rest in the country and not having a death wish and the satisfaction of personal victories. Clark found himself doing his own frantic calculations, the ones he always wrestled with: how many secrets could he keep and how much would it cost him if he told the truth?

He liked to think he still had options, that it could all be fixed somehow. He very much needed to believe that it wasn't possible to lose something you never even knew you had.