There had been a slight miscalculation somewhere in Lex's plans. He still wasn't quite sure where, but he suspected either Clark or Cat Grant of being to blame. Perhaps both. No, quite certainly both. Yes, both were the problem. They had synergy together. He hadn't accounted for it. He could have handled one or the other seperately, but with both of them after him, they were greater than the sum of their parts. Worse, with Cat involved, it was spreading.
It hadn't been a one time thing. He had thought it would be. It had been immensely popular, far too popular for Lex's liking, but it had just been one article. Not even real news, but a parody, printed right alongside the real story. Had his PR people realized it was only the first in a series, they would have never recommended simply ignoring it.
Though, according to Chloe, who was working part-time at the Planet while she also went to Metropolis University with Clark, the very fact that the Luthor lawyers hadn't decended in force after the first one was what gave them the idea and bravery to put the Courtship of Lex Luthor into syndication. They had precendent with them now, and it sold papers.
Metropolis could't read enough about their very own home-grown fairytale, especially when the rumour about a possible disinheritance started to spread. Lex still wasn't altogether convinced that Cat hadn't made that one up herself.
On the positive side, public opinion, against all odds, seemed to favour the match. Granted, the public knew next to nothing about 'Myst, the Mysterious Suitor', but Cat's stories painted him as very noble and a perfect protector for their prince. Desite years of having a bad boy reputation, followed by more years of being a notorious playboy, Lex wasn't sure where Cat was coming up with the inspiration to portray him as a trouble magnet constantly in need of rescue, and he certainly couldn't understand why the hell anybody was believing it.
Just because Clark had stopped three guys from punching him in the face (only one of which had he deserved) and pulled him out of the way of a wild taxi while they were crossing a street was no reason to blow everything entirely out of proportion and say he needed a knight to keep him safe. Worse, Clark insisted on playing the gallant whenever they went out. He was a perfect gentleman about it, but that was the main crux of the problem right there. Clark had publically taken the role of the gentleman. Clark held doors open for Lex. Clark pulled out chairs for Lex to sit in.
One date had been the annual Cancer Research Charity Ball, and when they had danced, Clark had led. Granted, it had felt really great to be held in Clark's arms, swaying to sappy slow music, in front of God, Press, and Lionel, and have nobody say even one sour word about it. But. Clark. Had. Led.
And Clark was always touching him. Light, gentle, feather-light touches that barely registered, but were always there. Lex knew what he was doing. So did everyone else with eyes. Clark was unsubtly letting the world know Lex was taken. Possessed. Owned. Clark's.
He wouldn't mind so much if he was permitted to play the gentleman with Clark, too, but he wasn't. The only thing he was allowed to do as a proper gentleman should was pay the bill. Any time he tried anything beyond that, Clark gave him a look like what he was doing was completely insane and inappropriate, then seemlessly took over the action. When Lex tried giving the same look back at him, Clark just looked so crushed it wasn't worth fighting the issue.
Five weeks after their public debut, Lex gave up his futile resistance and accepted what the rest of Metropolis had known for a month. Lex Luthor was being courted for real. He entered the five star restraunt they had chosen to patronize that evening, stepping through the door that Clark held open for him as if that was his due. He reached the table first and waited for Clark to pull out his chair for him. He accepted the light touches of ownership with a demure smile. Fine. Lex could take a hint. Metropolis wanted a storybook courtship? They'd get a storybook courtship.
Hell, it might even lift stock prices. His financial analysts couldn't find any other explanation for the half point rise the day after Clark dramatically saved him from the taxi.
It still took him by surprise in the third month. Back when they made their original plan, before Cat Grant changed everything, they'd decided the third month would be when they announced their intent to become life partners. At the time, he had imagined they'd do it by a press conference. He'd stand at a podium, state for the public record that the relationship was a point where they felt confident that they could make a life committment to one another. Heartfelt, certainly, but rather dry and a done deal.
Never would he have imagined Clark approaching the band during the Heart Association Charity Ball, borrowing the lead singer's microphone, and calling for everyone's attention before dropping down to one knee on the raised platform and saying over the sound system, for all and sundry to hear, "Lex Luthor, will you marry me?"
It had been completely unplanned. Well, Clark had clearly put quite a lot of planning into it, seeing as he had a ring and everything, but Lex was taken entirely by surprise. The lights people dropped a spotlight on him, standing beside the buffet table with a flute of sparkling water that he hoped everyone thought was champagne half raised to his lips.
For a long moment, Lex could only gape, trying to process what Clark had done, in public, without going through either him or his PR people first. There were flashes of camera's as reporters jumped at the chance to capture, on film, the unprecidented sight of Lex Luthor stunned speechless. They kept on flashing as, even more embassingly, Lex's eyes filled with tears. That was entirely the fault of the damn pregnancy, of course, but only six people on Earth knew about that, so the planet was going to think he was some kind of sentimental fool who was absurdly touched by the idea that his beloved would do something like this to propose to him. Propose. To him. Because that wasn't the case at all.
He wasn't sure how he got to the band's dias, whether he walked under his own power or hands had pushed him along, urging him up to the front of the room. But he got there. And he wrapped his arms around Clark (where the flute of water went was anybody's guess), and Clark's arms wrapped around him. And the tears that had previously been content just to stand in his eyes, chose now to tumble out and down his face. He was crying and laughing and repeating one word over and over again. And they were close enough to the microphone still that it picked it up.
"Yes, yes, oh, God, yes."
