Pete had a list. He'd never written this list down or really thought about it much, but he had one. He called it Things I Never Want To See. Occassionally, much to his dismay, his eyes would fall on something on the list and he'd know instantly where on that list it was. Like the time he saw Chloe throw up after riding the Tilt-A-Whirl one too many times shortly after eating an orange creamsicle and popcorn. That had been roughly around number 47. Pete had no idea what came after or before that item. He had taken comfort from the fact that there were things he wanted to see less, even as he had known there were only forty-six things in the world worse than seeing that.

Seeing his own foot in a cowpie was roughly number 183 (he'd encountered it a few times, and its placement on the list varied as he grew older, but it was rarely worse than 183) and that was pretty much the worst thing he was expecting to encounter today on his visit to Clark's loft. However, when he saw Lex's car parked in front of the Kent's yellow farm house, he revised this estimate. The car was on a different list - Things I Really Like to See - where it ranked about eighth, after a few other things that included Breasts and Cars Exactly Like Lex's But Which Don't Belong To Lex and Breasts (this was worth mentioning twice).

Lex himself was number 226 on the Things I Never Want to See list, as of yesterday, so he ranked better than a foot in a cowpie, but he was all together too common a sight as far as Pete was concerned. Lex and Clark hanging out when Pete was supposed to be hanging out with Clark was at 179, though, which was slightly worse than a cowpie, and now very likely to be encountered.

As he marched into the barn and up to the loft, he was too distracted by his growing anger to take notice of the sharp cracking sounds, busy as he was trying to come up with something equally sharp and cracking to snap at Lex to make him go away. This was a critical error, he discovered when he reached the top of the stairs and laid eyes on the Number One Thing I Never Want To See.

His eyes widened in horror then squeezed closed. He scrubbed at them with both hands and opened them again to confirm that he'd gone mad and just hallucinated it. But no. There it was. Still there. The Number One Thing.

"Clark," he said, his voice squeaking maybe just a tiny bit, "of all the things I never wanted to see," of all of them - Pete had a list and this was number one - of all of them, "you dressed in leather and whipping Lex is at the top," the very top, numero uno, "of the list." His wide eyes continued to take in the scene in absolute horror. "Or it was," he amended, as his eyes traced over the exposed back of Lex Luthor crisscrossed as it was with red lines, and he felt an inexplicable itching sensation to touch the slightly raised welts, "until I actually saw it."

Even as his eyes drank in the details of Lex Luthor's stark naked body and how it was expertly bound and gagged so that his back and buttocks were fully exposed to Clark's whip while the ropes still firmly secured him to the coffee table he was tied to, Pete could practically see this vision slipping further and further down his list until it vanished completely and appeared at number three on the other list (after Chloe and/or Lana having sex - with each other was number two, with him was number one). This was deeply disturbing. Lex Luthor Naked was number 51 on the Things I Never Want to See list. Though, honestly, that was dropping fast, too, now that he could see it. Yeah, gone. Number twelve on the other list with potential to climb. That was just wrong. He'd edged in ahead of Desiree Atkins-Luthor Naked. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. Still below Angelina Jolie Naked, though, thank God.

Lex was struggling against his bonds and making muffled sounds that might have been 'let me out, Clark' but sounded more like the adults on Peanuts than anything intelligible. Clark was staring at Pete as if he were seeing his own Number One Thing I Never Want To See, which Pete could believe, given what he'd walked in on and what Clark was wearing. Not that it didn't look good on him and at least he was wearing something more than ropes which is more than Lex could say, but there wasn't a stitch of plaid flannel anywhere, and this was against the Kent coda. So was whipping people, though, so Pete could admit his friend had secrets that weren't nearly as wholesome as being an alien.

Pete met Clark's horror and shock filled eyes and gestured toward Lex, "Go on, Clark, don't let me interrupt. You two looked like you were enjoying yourselves. Just pretend I'm not here." He doubted it would work, but if they were kinky enough for sadomasochism, they might do exhibitionism, too. It was worth a shot. Pete was definitely going to need to revise his opinion on Clark's secret keeping abilities depending on how long this had been going on without anybody ever even suspecting it. Come to that, who the Hell would have ever guessed Lex Fucking Luthor would goad people to hurt him?

. . .

Scratch that.

Who the Hell would have ever guessed Lex Fucking Luthor would want people to hurt him as part of sexual foreplay?

With a guy?

Who was Clark?

. . .

Okay, the Clark part wasn't as shocking as it should have been. Except for the part where Clark was wearing leather and holding a whip and using it. And he wasn't even on Red K.

Was he?

Pete looked at him closer. No. No Red K. That was just Clark. Clark on Red K never looked at Pete with that expression of are-you-out-of-your-mind?-I'm-not-going-to-whip-and-fuck-Luthor-while-you-stand-there-and-watch! Clark on Red K would have started whipping Lex again by now. So, no Red K. That was good. Probably. If you ignore the part where Clark was presumably in his right mind and still doing this. Or the part where he wasn't doing this right now and Pete wanted to see it some more.

Pete himself presumably had gone mad from the trauma of seeing his Number One Thing I Never Want to See. That was the only theory he could come up with that made any sense.

"Peete?" Clark managed to say, his voice only a few octives higher than normal and squeaking up on the long ee sound. "What are you doing here?" It squeaked again on the 'ing' of 'doing'.

Lex squirmed and thrashed on his table, making desperate sounds, but all he managed to do was scrape himself raw on the tightly bound ropes and look even more some-adjective-that-Pete-did-not-want-to-examine-too-closely. God, he hoped that adjective wasn't 'arousing' because Pete had some pretty firm opinions on his own sexuality and Lex didn't fit in there. Sure, he was hard right now, but that was strictly because he was a teenager and there must be a stiff breeze in here. That, and he didn't go in for bondage stuff.

Though, he granted, it looked really good on Lex right now.

"History project," Pete reminded Clark, though his eyes were fastened on Lex as he continued to try and fail to escape his restraints. His head jerked violently as he attempted to dislodge the gag as well, but that was as secure as the rest of what held him. "You told me to come by after dinner to work on it." Of their own volition, his feet brought him closer to Lex. "I can see why you forgot." His knees bent and he knelt down beside Lex's coffee table. Lex stilled, watching him though wary, distrustful blue eyes that refused to be intimidated despite his position. For the first time, Pete felt a measure of respect for him.

He touched the tips of his pointer and middle finger gently against the largest of the welts on Lex's back. Lex hissed through his gag but continued to hold himself very still. Clark's hand grabbed Pete's wrist and pulled it away from Lex. "It's okay, Clark," Pete said, eyes darting between Lex's back and his face but never leaving the bound billionaire. "I'm not going to hurt him." Though, given what he'd walked in on, Lex may not have minded. "He's," Pete's eyes tracked back to the red lines on the otherwise pale and flawless skin, "fascinating." He wanted to touch, to feel the contrast, but Clark's hand held Pete's captive as surely as the ropes held Lex.

Lex's eyes closed and the tension in his body relaxed. Clark's fingers squeezed around Pete's wrist once in warning. "Lex is mine." Surprised by the fierce authoritarian possessiveness in Clark's tone, Pete turned to find Clark frowning at him with absolute seriousness. Pete felt a weird flop in his stomach as he realized Clark fully meant it. He nodded back with equal seriousness because this was Clark giving trust for something as every bit as important as the alien thing. Clark moved Pete's hand so that the palm caressed Lex's back. "But you can touch him tonight."

Lex trembled breifly under Pete's hand but he accepted Pete's touch without so much as a muffled protest or tensed muscle. It was trust in Clark rather than trust in Pete that let him allow it, Pete guessed, but that was no less of a marvel, coming as it was from a Luthor. Not daring to speak, for fear of breaking the spell or the trust, Pete just let Clark guide his hand across Lex's skin, feeling the soft silkiness of the unmarked expanses and the rough heat of the raised welts.

A few minutes passed with nothing but quiet, strangely intimate touching (though neither Pete nor Clark ventured beyond Lex's back, shoulders, or sides) that was counterpointed only by pleasant hums from Lex as Clark and Pete touched and soothed his hurts. Pete was begining to understand why Clark Kent Boy Scout would whip Lex, if the comfort afterwards always went like this. After a while, Clark murmured softly, "He's precious, isn't he, Pete?"

Ever since the Lord of the Rings came out in the theatres, Pete had thought the word 'precious' had gained undertones of 'inspiring compulsive obsession, a dangerous yearning and a need to own.' So it was with complete honesty that Pete nodded and agreed in an equally quiet voice, "Yeah." Pete was already hoping that this was not a one time thing, and Clark would be willing to share Lex again sometime, especially when Clark led his hand down to stroke over the fine cheeks of Lex's ass.

Pete was almost relieved when Mrs. Kent's voice shattered the mood, calling out, "Clark!" If she hadn't interrupted just then, Pete's brain (and certain lower regions) probably would have exploded in the very near future. He didn't think Clark would have been able to handle the guilt of killing Pete in that way. Fortunately though, Mrs. Kent's voice had an almost mythical power to set all biological urges back to zero in the blink of an eye. It was likely a kryptonite induced power that all parents in Smallville got through ambient exposure. Pete's mom had the same ability.

Clark blurred, releasing Lex's ropes, changing his clothes, and dressing Lex all in the moments it took for his name to fade out of the air. Pete supposed that answered the question of whether Lex knew he was involved with an alien.

Lex rubbed at his wrists, looked at Clark, then looked at Pete pointedly in silent question. Clark apparently understood Lex Eye Language, because he whispered quickly, "Pete won't say anything. He's a good secret keeper."

Pete nodded, but ran out of time to offer his own assurances before Mrs. Kent appeared on the stairs. "Hey, Mrs. Kent," Pete greeted her cheerfully, "Lex was helping me and Clark on our history project. Guess all those expensive schools were worth the money."

She smiled warmly at each of them. "That's wonderful. I'm so glad to see you two getting along," she said, looking between Lex and Pete. "I know Clark was upset that you couldn't all spend time together. Here," she put down a plate of cookies, "I brought refreshments."

Mrs. Kent's baked goods were number five on the list of Things I Really Like To See, right after Pete Having Sex with Chloe, Lana, or Lex at number one, Chloe/Lana or Clark/Lex at number two, Clark in Leather Whipping Lex at number three, and Lex Luthor, Chloe Sullivan, or Lana Lang Naked at number four.

Damn. He was going to have to have a very long discussion with his subconscious tonight to straighten out this misconception that Pete liked guys. Maybe he would also put in some quality time with his Angelina Jolie poster to make this point more clear.

He could only hope he wouldn't dream about precious pale soft skin crisscrossed with sensitive red lines.