WARNING: NC-17 Slash Fiction

Super hearing had its advantages. Clark was upstairs when he heard the door shut downstairs signaling Lex's return. Actually, it was a door slam, and he would have heard it even without super hearing, but that was typical for days when Lex had a meeting with Lionel. Clark didn't understand the relationship between that father and son, and he'd pretty much given up trying to. There was a time, four years ago, when Lex had made the break from his father after Lionel tried to force him to come back to Metropolis. Smallville had taken a lot of casualties in the resulting yearlong war, but Lex had finally won, and somehow, miraculously, everything had been forgotten, forgiven. By winning, Lex had apparently become worthy of being the heir apparent again, and he had eventually accepted — on his own terms — an offer to sit at the right hand of LuthorCorp's god.

The result was skirmish followed battle followed occasionally by all-out war, and Clark had given up trying to keep score. Today's meeting had obviously been more of the same.

Bad mood or no, Clark had hardly seen Lex all weekend, and he didn't want to waste a perfectly good Sunday afternoon. During the week, Clark usually stayed at his own apartment near the Met U campus, but weekends at Lex's condo were a ritual he enjoyed even when Lex was working as he had most of this weekend. Sunday afternoons were their inviolate time together and nothing was allowed to interfere, not even a battles with Lionel.

Certain he could cajole Lex out of anything, Clark sailed down the hall, hit the stairs at a jog, and when he reached the landing, grabbed the rail, slid under and executed a perfect 10.0 landing right in front of his lover.

"Hey, pretty!" He reached for Lex, but the glare he received stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Fuck off."

Clark took a step back, hands raised in surrender. "Oops. Sorry. What did the bastard do this time?"

Lex didn't respond. He just glared at Clark, his gaze somehow managing to be cold and hot at the same time. Clark frowned and went very still inside. This wasn't about Lionel.

"Tell me, Clark," Lex said, his voice cold and cutting, "what is it about Whitney Fordman?" He stepped to the coffee table where Clark had left the Sunday Daily Planet strewn helter-skelter on the table and the floor. Lex hated it when Clark mangled a newspaper, but this didn't have anything to do with the mess he'd made.

Clark's guard went up as Lex honed in on one particular piece of the paper — the front page of the Sports Section that Clark had folded neatly until only Whit's smiling photograph and the story of his Saturday night triumph were visible.

Lex picked up the folded section of the paper. "Well? I'm waiting."

"For what?"

He turned to Clark. "For your answer. What the fuck is it about this fucking quarterback that makes him such a great fuck? Please. Enlighten me. What have I been missing? He must have something special. Is it the eyes, the hair, the cock? Does know some secret about giving blow jobs that the rest of us mere mortals haven't learned? Wait! Don't tell me! He has a genetically enhanced asshole that makes him God's gift to queers everywhere." Lex threw the folded newspaper, hitting Clark in the face. "What is it that made you want to fuck him, damn it?"

So Lex knew. How he'd found out after all this time didn't really matter at the moment. "It's ancient history, Lex."

"That wasn't the question! Why did you fuck him?"

"Because you went back to Metropolis and Whit came along at a time when I was hurting so badly I though I might die. When he held me, it didn't hurt quite so much. He made me believe I might actually survive loving you."

"Did you love him?"

Clark didn't see any point in lying. "Yes."

"Shit."

Lex turned away and for a moment Clark thought he was going to find something else to throw. Instead, he dropped onto the sofa and let his head fall back against the cushion, his eyes closed, denying Clark access to whatever he was thinking. Feeling.

Clark moved to the sofa and sat, his body angled facing Lex, not invading his space, but close enough for Lex to reach out and touch. If he wanted to.

"Lex, I don't want to belabor the obvious, but I'm with you. I hurt Whitney more than he ever wanted me to know when you came back to Smallville."

"Good."

Clark let that pass. "How did you find out after all this time? Did Lionel—"

"No one told me, Clark. I've always known. I knew when I came back to Smallville. I kept waiting for you to tell me, but you never did." Lex raised his head and looked at him. The vulnerability in his eyes made Clark want to weep. Lex could do that with Clark — lay himself so bare that it was heartbreaking. It was the most precious thing Lex had ever given him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was mine," Clark said simply. "You left me. He found me and helped me hold some of the pieces together. Even when you came back and I knew I had to be with you, I didn't think you deserved any part of what I shared with Whitney. It was precious and it was all mine." He wanted to look away from hurt in Lex's eyes, but he didn't. "Lex, if you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I'd left you in a firestorm and you deserved whatever comfort you could find. I just never understood... Why him? Why the asshole who strung you up like Christ on the cross?"

"People make mistakes, Lex, and no matter what your father taught you, mistakes can be forgiven." Clark took a chance. His hand slid behind Lex's head and pulled him into a gentle kiss. Lex's eyes closed and the soft moan in his throat told Clark that their fight was nearly over. When the kiss ended, Clark closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Lex's.

"Do you still love him?" Lex asked quietly, not moving, barely breathing, but Clark could hear his heart beating like thunder.

"As a friend."

A pause.

"Do you still fuck him?"

"You know the answer to that."

Lex raised his head and Clark opened his eyes to a fierce, penetrating gaze. "Tell me. Say it."

It was a command impossible to ignore. "No, Lex. I don't fuck Whitney Fordman. We're friends. Nothing more. Now you tell me. Where did this come from? It's been two years since Whitney and I were together. You left this morning to go see your father and you come back raging—" Clark stopped as pieces fell into place. "'Shit. 'Len.'"

Lex frowned. "Len?"

"The new man in Whitney's life. He wrote me that he'd started seeing someone right about the time he signed his contract with the Sharks. Don't tell me it's Lionel."

Lex nodded. "Unless he's taking his life into his hands by screwing someone else while he's being fucked by my Dad. I walked in on them arguing. Somewhat violently from the what I could tell. Since they were both naked, I got the impression it had something to do with sex."

Clark refused to allow an image of a naked Lionel to form, but he had no trouble visualizing Whit. Clark wondered if, despite his anger, Lex had liked what he saw. Stupid question. How could he not have?

"Is Whit okay?" he asked.

Lex pulled back and came to his feet, pissed again. "How the hell should I know? Why would I care? You know what I figured out on my way home?"

Clark watched him stalk to the bar and pour himself a drink. "What."

"The Kansas State commencement address — Dad gave it this year."

"Yeah. I remember you being amazed that Lionel would take another speaker's 'hand-me-downs,' I think you called it."

"Right." Lex turned to Clark, brandishing his glass. "That was Whitney Fucking Fordman's graduating class, Clark. Dad wanted to be at his lover's graduation, so he engineered a vacancy that he could step in and fill so he'd have an excuse to watch Fordman graduate! He commemorated my graduation on a yacht owned by some Arab potentate. It took that asshole three days to realize he'd forgotten all about me! And then did he bother to call? Take me out to lunch? Pat me on the back and say 'About fucking time, son!' No, of course not! He sent me another car for my collection."

"Which one?"

Lex took a deep swig of the Scotch he'd poured. "It was a Jag — you've never seen it. I sold it the next day. Just my own sweet, sentimental way of saying, 'Thanks, Dad!'"

A dozen platitudes flashed through Clark's head. Things he could have said--things he had said at one time or another during his five years with Lex — first as his friend, then as his lover. But he'd learned the hard way that there was absolutely nothing he could do to mediate between Lex and Lionel; nothing he could do to ease any of the bitterness Lex felt toward his father.

All he could do was love his very complicated partner and even that was sometimes harder than it should have been. But Clark couldn't imagine life in any other context. Lex was the center of everything.

"You know, Lex..." Clark let the words hang in the air as he stood and moved to his lover. He took the glass out of Lex's hand and a spark of a different kind of heat flared in Lex's eyes. Clark put the glass onto the bar. "Railing at your father and Whitney is wasting an incredible amount of energy that you could be putting to better use. Like pounding into my ass."

Lex took a step closer, raised his face to Clark's and captured his lower lip with his teeth. He nipped lightly and let go. "Are you sure I wouldn't be better served pounding into Whitney Fordman's amazing, genetically enhanced ass?"

Clark gathered Lex into his arms. "Over my dead body. Or yours," he muttered gruffly and began kissing his lover until they were both naked and senseless and Sunday afternoon was back to the way it should have been.