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Clark looked away from the telescope almost guiltily at the creak on the steps to the loft. He focused his attention on the slim young man who stopped at the top of the stairs.

“Lex? Hi.” Nervous, and unable or perhaps unwilling to admit why, Clark gave his friend a polite smile but didn’t move from the window.

Lex returned the smile with an easy one of his own and closed the distance between them. He took up his own place at the window so that they were side by side with only the telescope separating them.

“Did my folks tell you I was out here?” Clark asked.

“No,” Lex replied, and although he was using the same warm tone he always used when he spoke with his friend, he kept his eyes firmly off of Clark, perusing the night sky as if looking for some elusive answer to an unasked question. “Your mom would have called you in to save me the trouble,” he continued, “and your dad—your dad probably would have sent me out to the east cornfield to find you.”

Clark laughed, but with little humour. He knew his father and Lionel Luthor, Lex’s father, had some sort of history, and not a good one. Just the way Jonathan Kent treated Lex was a pretty good indication of just how not of the good it was.

“Dad just worries,” Clark replied, wondering why he felt the urge to justify his father’s actions to Lex. 

“I know, Clark. Believe me, your father’s not the first man to believe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Smooth as it sounded, and even accompanied by a shrug and a smile, Clark couldn’t miss the almost trembling hurt lurking behind Lex’s words. 

He summoned up another smile, this one more genuine, and said, “Well, I don’t judge apples by the tree they come from.”

“I think you can’t really judge an apple...” Lex wasn’t smiling now, although something in his eyes was sparkling, “...until you eat it.”

Clark felt himself blushing, thought about what he’d been doing just before Lex had arrived, blushed harder, and wondered briefly if ‘super-blushing’ was another power he was going to have to learn how to control. And then he wondered if Lex knew that it wasn’t distaste that was coloring his cheeks.

He realized with alarm that Lex probably hadn’t noticed his blushing at all since he was busy focusing his attention through the telescope.

“Oh! Hey—“ Clark had to clench his hands into fists to keep from pushing Lex away from the telescope. He knew what Lex was seeing through the spyglass, and it certainly wasn’t planets and stars. 

If he thought he’d been blushing before, well, his cheeks felt positively on fire now.

Lex straightened up from the telescope and gave Clark a speculative look.

“Lana’s house?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

Clark tried to turn away from the other man, still blushing furiously and wishing with all his might that a trapdoor would open under him right this moment and drop him away from that knowing look, possibly away from everything, preferably on his head.

With an almost visible effort, he wrenched his gaze away from Lex and focused on the telescope, mind racing: ‘Oh, God, what if he knows—what does he know? Lana lives there, and—and—‘ And then, sudden defensive anger, so unlike Clark, but he felt trapped now, pinned by Lex’s calm expression, and unable to stop the sudden mean thought: ‘He has no right to judge me! You’d think he’d notice that I’m practically the only one who doesn’t judge him, so it’s only fair that—‘

“Lana’s been in Metropolis with her aunt for the last four days,” Lex pointed out, his voice quiet but the words clear and sharp like a knife cutting through Clark’s thoughts.

“I know.” Clark immediately responded truthfully, wondering why, and then wondering how Lex knew what he knew. “I was—uh—“

“Whitney’s house-sitting for them,” Lex added in that same friendly but neutral tone.

Clark couldn’t remember feeling more miserable in his life. He wished this was about his gifts—his powers. At least that secret had its advantages. But this? This was—

“Clark?”

Lex’s voice startled him, and only then did he realize that he had actually turned his back on the other man and was staring at the floor. He looked up and over his shoulder, but couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He expected to see a smug expression on Lex’s face and was shocked to see fear instead. The same sort of fear he knew was in his own eyes was shining brightly—almost tear-bright—in Lex’s dark eyes. But with the fear, something else—something that glittered like hope and glistened like remorse.

He felt more confused than ever.

“Clark, look at me.”

He had always admired the way Lex never lost his cool. He liked the way that Lex could say the nicest things, or issue the harshest edict, and his voice was always the same; soft, concise, always sounding like there was a smile lurking in the depths of whatever he was saying. It was almost seductive and he turned his whole body around to face the owner of that compelling voice.

Lex cringed at the needy whine he thought he could hear in his voice, and he hoped that Clark wasn’t hearing the same thing. He had learned to school his voice at an early age, knowing that signs of emotion were more likely to enrage Lionel Luthor than endear his son to him. But something about Clark Kent made him nervous, and, just like every time he was around the younger man, he could feel and hear his hard-won composure unraveling like a cheap sweater. He fought the urge to jam his hands into his pockets and study the floor, and instead, he waited with false calm until Clark was facing him again, looking at him with unfeigned interest. Clark’s cheeks were stained red, and his eyes were wide and almost teary-looking. And yet, he was trying to smile. Of course, Lex thought, Clark always seemed to be able to find a smile for everyone. Even for him—for Lex—for cynical, funny looking, heterosexually challenged Lex Luthor.

“Whitney’s a good looking guy,” he said.

Clark’s smile faltered, and for a moment the silence held awkward. Then Clark opened his mouth to say—well, Lex didn’t know what he was going to say, but he figured it might start with “You’re wrong,” and end in “I don’t want you,” and Lex thought that might be a lie.

At least he hoped it was a lie.

He held a hand up and Clark said nothing.

“All those sports…he’s got a hell of a body…” As he spoke, he very deliberately and slowly turned the telescope away from the window and towards Clark. “Nice eyes, good teeth, big hands and feet. Quite a prize, don’t you think?”

“Uh, I guess…if I was buying a race horse.”

Lex laughed at that, then sobered quickly and took a step forward. Clark did too, looking almost hypnotized by Lex’s movements.

“And the hair of course,” Lex continued, moving until they were barely two hand spans apart. “Kind of a scruffy, ‘emo’, of-the-moment ‘do—“ Another step. “Good use of product.” Lex had to look up now to meet Clark’s eyes. “And the blonde thing, of course. Very nice.”

Clark looked at Lex for a long moment—really looked at him. He saw a strong confident man, a suave moneyman with charms a plenty for the ladies…or not. He saw a sensual creature looking for someone like-minded. But he could also see something else. Someone else: a scared, hurting boy, looking to be trusted, looking for someone to trust…

“Blonde hair is overrated,” he whispered.

Standing so close, Lex could hear the soft words just fine. He raised a hand, tried to stop it trembling, and then just settled it on Clark’s arm, just below the shoulder. Another timeless moment spun out while Lex remembered to breathe and then immediately forgot how again as a breath-stealing smile broke through on Clark’s face.

Clark brought his own hand up, cupped Lex’s jaw for a moment, and then ran the same hand over Lex’s bare scalp.

“Actually,” he was still whispering. “Hair in general is overrated.”

Lex fell willingly into Clark’s arms with a laugh and a groan.

Clark held Lex and tried to sort out what he was feeling. Attraction, of course; Lex was warm and strong in his arms and way better than any of the half-formed fantasies he’d dare to let himself have. Even as his jeans started feeling too tight in that good way, though, fear nudged him. Fear that he was giving up such a tremendous secret—‘don’t tell’ was ingrained in him in an almost concrete way. And never mind that he was letting the secret out with Lex Luthor; he knew how he felt about Lex, but he couldn’t even begin to read the other man. True, Lex was holding him just about as tightly as he was holding Lex, but—

Arousal pushed its way to the front of the emotional pack again as Lex shifted his legs and solid heat pressed against his groin. They both groaned this time and Lex looked up from where he’d been resting his head on Clark’s shoulder.

With no hesitation, Lex took Clark’s face in both hands and watched those very blue eyes shift to something darker with desire, and then lighten again with some other unspoken emotion. Fear, Lex guessed, if his own feelings were any indication. He wondered briefly how to answer that fear when his own heart was trip hammering in his chest in a combination of arousal and something almost like terror.

Clark couldn’t stop touching Lex. Some small part of him was yelling out a warning, begging him not to do this, but the voice was being drowned out by a tidal wave of far needier thoughts all clamoring for his attention, leaving him awash in sensation. Lex’s skin was hot and smooth, wherever he touched it—brow, chin, the pronounced Adam’s apple, the inside of one forearm…

Lex tipped his head back and shivered as Clark traced one work-roughened finger down his neck, and by contrast the rest of his body pushed forward, seeking more contact instinctively. His hips shifted and he was only dimly aware of knocking the telescope aside.

Clark saw the telescope teeter on its tripod and he reacted with no thought at all save for a brief ‘do you think money grows on trees’ lecture snippet from his father. He released Lex and dove lightning quick to catch the spyglass inches from the barn floor, where it surely would have broken.  Realizing at once what he’d done, what he’d revealed, he looked up from his crouching position beside the telescope and waited, terrified, to see what Lex might say.

One minute desire was ripping through Lex like fire, and then he felt Clark pull away and he opened eyes he didn’t remember closing to see Clark looking up at him. The fear and desire he saw playing out on that beautiful face pulled a groan out of him that was almost painful. Lex struggled to put the pieces together, to figure out what had just happened, without getting lost in the need he saw in Clark.

Clark’s ‘Whitney-watching’ this week had been the last clue Lex had needed to make his case and allow himself to break through his self-imposed sense of self-preservation. One too many Metropolis back alley encounters that had ended in bloody fists instead of blowjobs had taught him discretion if not complete caution. He knew he had forced this confrontation. He knew he wanted this; wanted Clark. But he was afraid of what that wanting might mean; where it might lead them both. But now—now—

He thought he still had to try, even if all their secrets were revealed in the attempt. 

“Clark,” his voice sounded thick and wrong in his ears. He held his hand out to the other man and tried again. “Clark?”

Clark took the proffered hand and again found himself relishing the softness of a businessman’s hands, and the warmth of a friend’s touch. He pulled himself to his feet and Lex gave him a cautious smile. He found himself returning it, realizing at once that this wasn’t Lex’s usual cynical grin; this wasn’t the self-effacing half-smile that Lex habitually trotted out for the world to see, either. This smile was hot fudge, pecan pie, golden syrup. And as it became more confident, it was fireworks and lightning strikes and meteor showers.

And it was for him.

“Clark.” Lex liked the way the name felt in his mouth.

Clark liked the way his name sounded coming from that mouth.

Lex pulled him back into a loose hug and Clark found himself shifting them away from the telescope, away from the loft windows. They performed a half-clumsy, half-elegant dance across the dusty wooden floor, their embrace growing tighter, hands growing bolder in their explorations, fumbling with shirt buttons and brushing over swelling groins until Clark backed Lex into the arm of the couch and he tumbled gracelessly onto his back, pulling Clark down with him to lie sprawled half on, half off the couch; half on, half off the man beneath him.

Lex felt the air leave his lungs as Clark tumbled onto his chest and it felt like the best sort of drowning. He took a deep breath and then another and then clutched at Clark’s arms when he tried to move.

“Jeez, Lex, I’m sorry! I—“ He looked ready to laugh and ready to cry.

Lex cut his words off with a kiss.

As first kisses go, it wasn’t great. Just a hard, fast press of lips to lips. But as a silencer, it was slick and effective, and Clark’s eyes widened as Lex pulled back with a breathless laugh. For one brief moment, Clark regarded Lex with suspicion, wondering if he was being made fun of. Again, he struggled to sit up, and again, Lex tightened his hold. One hand dug into a bicep almost hard enough to hurt while Lex plunged his other hand into Clark’s tousled dark hair and tugged him down.

The second kiss was softer, smoother, and slightly more hesitant. Clark could feel Lex taking the breath from him, then replacing it as he paused a hairs width away, looking up at him, eyes dark with need.

“Clark,” No smooth voice now; these words trembled with desire, were husky with arousal. They vibrated the air between their mouths. “*All* your secrets are safe with me.”

A broken groan and Clark claimed Lex’s mouth in a greedy kiss that was sloppy with inexperience and almost brutal in its intensity. Not that Lex was complaining. He opened his mouth to Clark’s questing tongue, sucking and biting at Clark’s lips and keeping his hands buried in Clark’s hair.

Clark struggled with the final buttons on Lex’s deep violet shirt, grew frustrated and tugged the tails of the shirt out of Lex’s pants so hard the last button popped and went tumbling away down the loft stairs, unnoticed by either man.

In stark contrast to the dark shirt, Lex’s chest was pale, slim, but well muscled. Nipples already hard with need stood out on the hairless expanse of flesh, and when Clark brushed his thumbs over them, Lex gasped into his mouth and pushed into his hands, his hips jerking up at the same time. So pleased was Clark with the response that he did it again, this time pulling his mouth off of Lex’s and grinning when he heard his own name being groaned out of the man beneath him.

Lex struggled to move beneath Clark, stroking his own hands down Clark’s well defined chest and tapered waist, glorying a moment in the shift and play of rock-hard abdominal muscles before moving on to the jeans. Tight and zippered were no obstacles to him—Lex Luthor was a goal-oriented young man, after all—and he barely paused as he got Clark’s pants open before dipping one hand in to reach for his boxer-clad erection.

“Oh, jeez—“ There was no way Lex could know that he was going where no one had gone—except Clark himself, of course, and then even that only recently. Just like there was no way he could know how hot-- incredibly hot--Clark was getting as Lex confidently pushed past thin cloth to drag his hard cock out of his pants and stroke the damp flesh with an expert grip. Incredibly, fantastically hot…

Too hot…

Something in Clark’s mind started an all too familiar meltdown, and suddenly he could feel it—in his hands, his cock, his eyes—it—that thing—that power.

A wash of red obscured his vision and he shouted “No!” and pushed it back with all the strength he could summon.

When Clark yelled and pulled away from him so quickly that it made him stumble and fall to one knee beside the couch, Lex had to struggle to catch his breath and he sat up with a monumental groan of effort.

“Clark? What is it?” He gave the younger man a puzzled smile.

“Lex, I—I—“ Clark kept his head down and tried to calm his breathing.

“If I did something—“ Lex began. 

“What?” Clark stood abruptly and felt his stomach churn at the way Lex was looking up at him. He expression in his eyes was a combination of complete trust and an almost abject fear that the other shoe was about to drop.

“No, no, Lex! It’s me!” He saw Lex flinch and realized he was almost shouting.  Lowering his voice, he sounded defeated, frightened. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lex frowned at that. He could see that Clark looked almost ready to cry, but his chest was still sweat-slick and heaving, his cock was still hard and standing out from the blue jeans and red boxers, and his eyes moved restlessly back and forth between Lex’s eyes and the slim pale flesh revealed by Lex’s open shirt.

Lex laughed.

Clark’s eyes narrowed at the sound.

Lex laughed louder.

“C’mere.”  He pulled on Clark’s arm and dragged him back down to the couch, rearranging their bodies so that Clark was again draped over him.

“Clark,” Lex grinned and punctuated his words with tiny kisses over Clark’s face. “That isn’t an issue here.”

“Lex, you don’t understand—“

Lex put a finger to Clark’s mouth to stem the words. “I understand more than you think Clark. I didn’t say that you can’t hurt me; I know you ‘can’ hurt me.”

One hand was in Clark’s hair again, and Clark dimly wondered if that particular fetish was due to Lex’s lack of same, or maybe just the honey-wheat conditioner his mom bought because it was the least expensive. Then Lex’s other hand roamed down his back to rest hot and heavy just above the rise of his buttocks, tucked neatly between his clothes and his skin like it belonged there, and he stopped worrying about his hair as Lex replaced the finger that had been holding him silent with his lips and kissed him almost ruthlessly.

Lex employed every technique he remembered; the ones that had nearly gotten him expelled out of prep school, killed in the cadets and married in the gay bars. And found he’d been more successful than he could have hoped for: when he dragged his mouth off of Clark’s, suddenly finding the small breaths through his nose not nearly enough oxygen for him, Clark’s mouth chased his, even more demanding than before.

Clark’s hands were on his back, his stomach, fumbling eagerly with the clasp on his pants.  Lex knew they were as close as they were going to get to that invisible line; that point of no return; and if he was to hold out any hope of this evening ending with the beginning he had planned, he had to say just one more thing. He bit at Clark’s lips to distract him, and then let his mouth roam over a soft cheek and a hard jaw to nip at an earlobe. Clark gasped and Lex did it again, then snaked a hand between them, found Clark’s cock and gave it a firm squeeze as he whispered in his ear. “You ‘can’ hurt me, Clark, but I know you ‘won’t’.”

“Oh, God!”

Later, Lex would tease Clark about his eagerness and the sloppiness of his kisses. Later, Clark would laugh at how Lex ‘Mr. Control’ Luthor was babbling almost incoherently and nearly throwing Clark off the couch with each thrust.

For now, though—for now it was enough that pants were torn open, cocks freed to stroke one another enabled by hands that were everywhere. They were two novice cartologists, mapping their heart’s desire by touch, each man reveling in the feel of the other.

Smooth, sweat slick satin as chest met chest; mouths barely released for enough sips of air to continue; half formed, whispered endearments tickled ears…

Lex spread his legs just a little more as Clark swept away his black linen pants.

“Please, Clark—“

“I—“ Kiss. “Lex, I—“

It was too late for more, although Lex was almost desperate to feel Clark inside him, to take in all that power, to know it for himself. But with any luck, there would be another time. And another…

“God! Lex!”  Clark’s hands were on his hips, holding so tightly that Lex suspected that he would see bruises there tomorrow. Clark’s head was thrown back, his face a mixture of wonder and fear and his body was bowstring tight. No wild thrusts now; just minimal movements guaranteed to keep skin on skin stimulation to a maximum as his orgasm burst through him and he came all over Lex with a painful groan.

For a moment Lex felt like he was floating. He could feel Clark’s hands, could feel his spent passion wetting his chest and stomach. Could even feel the weight of the other man still pressing down on him. But he could also feel a dizzying sense of movement, could feel minute shifts of air currents under him; could no longer feel the rough drag of the old couch under his back, his legs. A brief flare of unfocused panic, and then Clark’s mouth was devouring him before he could turn his observations outward and Clark’s hand was pulling and rubbing and stroking him just like he needed. He realized his eyes were closed and he opened them abruptly to find Clark looking back at him, eyes wide and sparkling with delight. Lex’s focus started spiraling even further inward, finding the places where their bodies joined, feeling more heat and more friction and knowing it came from the touch of his friend. This man who was somehow inextricably linked to his life on so many levels; this man that he thought he might be falling in—

And then he was cumming so hard it made him shout, cumming right along with Clark. And for a long time there was no more floating, or wondering. No hurt and no fear. Just that inward spiral leading him to blackness and the sweetest release he’d ever known.

Lex came back to himself several minutes later, feeling sticky and well used and somehow peaceful. Clark was a heavy weight pressing him into the overstuffed sofa cushions. His hands were still clutching Lex’s hips possessively, although gentler now. Lex shifted a little under him, and Clark made a slurry, snoring noise and turned his head. His hair tickled Lex’s bare chest, provoking a shiver and a moan.

“Clark?” Lex put a hand to Clark’s hair, suddenly feeling oddly tentative and shy. No response. “Clark?”

Another soft sound and Lex thought Clark might be drooling on him a little. That made him smile, and then his thoughts turned to other, less smile-worthy matters. What would Lionel say? Worse yet, what if the ‘Farmer of the Year’ decided to check on his son? He thought about Lana and Chloe and Pete, had only the slightest bad moment when he realized that the friends he was worrying about were Clark’s friends, not his, although he knew them well enough he supposed…his thoughts fragmented and then he shook off the sad moment and let it bounce away out of the loft like a shirt button. He followed it with all the what ifs and what abouts and what nexts, and simply wrapped his arms around Clark’s impossibly wide shoulders, knowing none of it mattered right now, and he was safe here.

He fell asleep trying to match his heartbeat to Clark’s strong one.