"Nobody's going anywhere."

The angry voice interrupted Lex just as he finished telling Hamilton what he planned to do next about the Nicodemus disaster. Both he and the scientist looked up in surprise to find Pete Ross in the study with them, pointing a gun in their direction. The relief Lex had just been feeling from the discovery of the herbal remedy instructions fizzled away in the face of this new problem.

Lex stole a brief glance toward Hamilton, but the researcher had neither had the good sense to have ceased existing, nor did he appear to have any bright ideas on how to handle a teenaged gunman who happened to be one of Clark's best friends. Rising from behind the desk, Lex moved away from the scientist so that it would be harder to cover both of them with the gun.

"Pete," he said, forcing a semi-friendly questioning smile and drawing the teen's attention towards him. "What are you doing here?"

The only response was Pete's gun coming up and firing right at him. With a cry of surprise, Lex only barely dodged out of the way in time and the vase of flowers behind where he had so recently been standing shattered.

"I knew you were behind this," Pete spat out as Lex used the desk to pull himself back to his feet. "You pretended to be Clark's friend, but you're not!"

The teen walked further into the room, his eyes dark with accusation and hatred. Lex felt himself swallowing against the contradictory but equally valid feelings of guilt and wounded innocence.

"And now his dad's gonna die," Pete continued, drawing out the last word before finishing the thought with a cutting, "because of you." The gun jumped up at pointed at Lex's heart again, but that was almost redundant because the words had hit true already.

Lex was almost thankful for the distraction of Hamilton, who chose right then to remind them of his presence as he asked, "What's this about?"

The gun moved away, pointing instead at Hamilton, "Do not pretend you don't know! I went to your barn!"

Realization occurred then. The thought had been niggling at the back of his mind since Pete arrived, but now it crystallized into vibrant clarity.

"He's infected," Lex stated, talking to Hamilton, but never looking away from Pete. Pitching his voice to a soothing calm, he tried, "Pete, we have the cure. We're going to make everyone better."

"You're nothing but a liar," Pete refused to believe him, sounding almost pained. "Clark can't see it," he added, which explained why he sounded upset. If nothing else, Lex could understand why a perceived betrayal of Clark would pain his friends. "But I can and now you're gonna pay." The intent to kill was right there in his eyes for anyone to see.

Fear welled within Lex and he cried out, "No!" His arms rose instinctively, not that they would defend him against a bullet. Hamilton also responded instinctively, making a mad dash toward the door.

A shot rang out.

Lex went down, gritting his teeth against the pain of the bullet. Hamilton must have startled Pete because the shot took him in his left arm instead of the chest. As his knees hit the hard wood of the floor, he was relieved to see the scientist disappear through the door of the study with the book. Of course, that left him alone and injured with an infected and angry Pete Ross whose deepest desire seemed to be the wish to murder him. Just that morning, he'd thought Mr. Kent's willingness to say he wouldn't shed a tear if Lex should die had been bad. Now, he took perverse reassurance in the knowledge that at least the elder Kent hadn't actively sought that outcome.

Holding a hand over his wound to stem the flow of blood, Lex looked up at Pete who had advanced a few more steps closer and was holding the gun aimed at his head now. He swallowed again and wondered where his security people were. There'd been two gunshots already, what were they waiting for? If he somehow survived this, they were all going to be fired and he'd see to it that not a one of them ever worked again. Though, he was open to negotiation if one of them would see fit to save his life right about now.

Stalling for time, he tried, in as reasonable and calm a voice as he could manage under the circumstances, "Pete, I want to help you."

Hamilton was gone, he had the book, he knew where to bring it, Lex's Metropolis people would know what to do with it, the cure was as good as found. As much help as Lex could provide had already been done. But Pete didn't need to know that.

Not that he believed Lex anyway. "You don't want to help anybody but yourself! You come to town and suddenly you're Clark's new best friend."

Oh. Oh. Lex tried not to react, but he felt his eyes might have widened slightly. This wasn't about the flower or Jonathan Kent at all, was it? Those were just excuses. This was about Clark. This was about Lex vs. Pete in Clark's affections. This was jealousy.

"I used to think he was a good judge of character," Pete's words were dismissive and disgusted, and Lex was surprised by how much they hurt. He didn't care what Pete thought of him. As Pete had already very obviously realized, Pete was the competition. (As was Lana, but Lex wasn't going to go there. He at least had a chance against Pete. Assuming, of course, that he didn't die in the next few minutes.)

"Pete," Lex tried again, "I'm not your enemy." He tried to convince himself that this wasn't a lie. The fact that Pete felt the need to hold a gun on him meant Lex was winning and it would be poor sportsmanship to count Pete as an enemy. Besides which, Pete was Clark's friend, and therefore he fell under Lex's extended protection. Furthermore, it was not Pete that held the place in Clark's heart that Lex coveted.

Unfortunately, he did a far better job of convincing himself of the truth of his statement than he did Pete.

The gun steadied in Pete's hand, held only about four feet away from Lex's skull. Pete's eyes hardened in resolve. "Say goodbye, Lex."

Before Lex could do anything, though, Clark himself skidded into the room, shouting, "Pete! Don't do it!"

Lex wanted to sag in relief but the gun was still out, still pointed at him, and Pete was talking. It was the latter that posed the most risk now that Clark was present in the room. Thank God Hamilton was gone already. That provided some maneuverability for denial.

"We used to be best friends. His dad screwed over my dad, and now he's trying to screw up things between us. The world's a better place without him." While Pete spoke, Lex climbed once more to his feet, ignore the shooting pains that spread out from the bullet in his arm. He looked beyond Pete to Clark, begging a God he didn't really believe in that Pete would leave it at that. Let the reason for the gun and the wound and the murderous intent lay in a revenge Lex didn't deserve and a rivalry that Clark would misinterpret as imaginary. He could truthfully deny that his intent was screwing things up between the two teens, and he was even fairly confident that Clark would believe him.

"Pete, put the gun down," Clark said, as if speaking to a cornered predator, which he was. Right now, Lex could see that he was still being counted as an innocent victim of irrational rage. That was good. It might even win him points to use against their argument over the library book.

"He's behind all this. I saw Hamilton here. They're working on this together." Clark turned to look at him with recrimination in his eyes.

Dammit. Clark believed Pete, or at least was inclined to. Lex widened his eyes at Clark trying to look blameless. He turned his head in a way that could be interpreted as either a 'no' or stretching his neck.

His wordless denial apparently wasn't enough, because Clark asked, "Is that true?"

"Clark," Lex began, "He's delusional." It was true, but Lex felt a stab of guilt as he recognized 'plausible deniability' in action.

"I don't believe you," Clark said, and Lex's heart stopped for a second. This wasn't good. He'd overplayed his hand, and now he'd lost Clark. "You're right, Pete. He's been lying to everyone. Yeah, I know who my true friends are."

Lex blinked and shook his head in denial that this was really happening. Yes, one or two fibs, a stretching of the truth here and there, but he hadn't done anything wrong. Hamilton had gone against Lex's orders on this, and he was just trying to help fix it. His eyes widened in something akin to fear as the taller teen stalked threateningly toward him, moving up beside Pete and then they both advanced on him. Where was his security?

His left hand came up defensively, but he was already injured, backed up against a wall, and his right hand was busy holding his bloodstained shirtsleeve against the wound to staunch the blood flow. "Clark, what are you doing?" Hopefully, that didn't sound as nervous as he thought it sounded.

"You can't talk your way out of this one, Lex," Clark said, looming over him. Pete was at his side, too, but Lex had the height advantage there, so it wasn't as intimidating as it could have been. Clark's words, however, were crushing. "I see how you really are. This friendship is over."

A quick look to the side revealed Pete's expression of triumph and victory, swiftly replaced by surprise and betrayal as Clark grabbed him and shoved him against the wall beside Lex, knocking him out. Lex stared first at the crumpled teen, then up at Clark who was grimacing in guilt.

Confused, Lex said, "Clark, what the hell?" Clark's expression cringed, and Lex looked down at the evidence of an unconscious Pete again. "That was an act?"

Clark spread his hands helplessly. "I didn't know what else to do. He was going to shoot you." He looked at the bleeding arm. "Again."

Lex let his expression show his relieved chagrin and hoped his heart wasn't beating as loudly as it sounded to his own ears. "You had me for a moment. I thought you were serious." The level of elation he felt at not being cut out of Clark's life was really quite ridiculous.

Then Clark had to go and ask again, "Was Hamilton really here?"

Lex looked up at him, the diversionary question 'What do you think, Clark?' already waiting on the tip of his tongue, but then his adrenaline abruptly cut out, the pain of his gunshot caught up to him, and he flashed back to the fear he had just felt because Clark had apparently ended their friendship over dishonesty and lies. He leaned back against the wall with a groan, and said instead, "Ask me that again later."

It was essentially confirming Pete's accusation, and he saw that in Clark's eyes before the teen nodded agreement that now was not the time to discuss it. "Right, let's get you and Pete to the hospital."

Lex shook his head. "No, you bring Pete. I'll call Toby. Hospitals ask about where gunshot wounds come from."

Clark looked unconvinced, but he nodded. "You're sure?"

"I'll be fine."

Shortly after Toby had come and gone, Clark returned. He spared a moment to frown intently at Lex's bandaged arm, then turned the expression on Lex himself.

"Was Hamilton really here?" he asked again without further greeting, and Lex had to wonder if he was intentionally repeating the question in the same words he'd used before, or if it was just coincidence. Either way, it was now 'later'.

Lex sighed. By delaying the question, he'd made denial impossible. At least, he couldn't do it any more believably then Clark could tell him that Lex hadn't rammed him through a guardrail and off a bridge at sixty miles an hour. He liked to think he had a bit more respect for his friends than to try something like that.

"Yes, Clark. Hamilton was here."

And as hard as that admission was to make, it didn't tell Clark a damn thing he hadn't already known the moment Lex told him to ask again later. Lex could see the questions fighting behind the green eyes, trying to decide which to ask, trying to decide how Clark should feel about Lex's confession.

"Why?" The word came out slightly strangled and carried hints of both confusion and betrayal.

"I was trying to help, Clark. Hamilton knows more about the flower that caused the problem than anyone else, so -"

"He knows more about it because he was behind it! Chloe and Pete said he was growing them in his lab! Did you know about that?"

Lex pressed his lips together, then moved to pour himself some scotch. Facing away from Clark, he nodded once, shallow and quick. "I knew. After the fact, but I knew."

He could feel Clark looming up behind him. Malevolence was not something he normally associated with Clark, but he couldn't think of a better word to describe the leashed fury radiating from the teenager. He did not turn around. In this one case, he did not feel the need to verify his assumptions. He'd already been told his friendship with Clark was over once today, and he felt fairly confident that Clark would not do so again to his back.

Lex found it disturbing that Clark could look him in the eye and effectively say he never wanted to lay eyes on Lex again in his life. Clark couldn't lie. Lex had been made to listen to him try over and over again and Clark couldn't do it. And yet Lex had believed this. Clark wasn't that good an actor. Which meant that Clark had meant it on some level. Which meant it was dangerously close to happening for real. And that terrified him.

He put the un-tasted glass of scotch down on the bar in front of him. He needed to be sober right now. Too much rested in the balance. "I swear, Clark, I didn't know he was playing Jurassic Park until after it all went to hell."

Closer. Lex was acutely aware of the footstep, of the heat of the body directly behind him. Then, arms on either side, grabbing hold of the edge of the bar and trapping him there. Lex still did not turn around. He could feel hot breath against his ear and now was really not the time to be having those sorts of bodily reactions. His brain needed the blood more.

"Why would you have known, Lex?" Clark's voice should not sound dark and dangerous, but it was doing a very good impression right now. Or perhaps that was Lex's terror projecting. Clark's voice might just be angry and hurt.

Lex briefly reconsidered the benefits of alcohol, but let the drink remain nothing more than a prop for his hands to hold and his eyes to watch. He was too acutely aware of Clark's proximity; the scotch would do nothing to dull that particular sense.

"He works for me," Lex told the tumbler, almost too quietly for Clark to hear even at this close range. He hoped Clark didn't hear. Full disclosure was a stupid idea. Lies would kill this friendship, but the truth was just as poisonous. At least, with the lies, it wouldn't die now.

Clark stepped closer still. He could feel Clark's chest against his back now. Clark's arms closed around his arms. Clark's hands closed around his hands. Lex's breath caught, his stomach turned over, and he felt his skin prickle. His heart, too, seemed to hold still. Against his will, he leaned into the embrace that held him captive. He was vaguely aware that his wound should probably be hurting more now, but between Toby's painkillers and his own endorphins, he couldn't even feel it. He made himself speak.

"What are you doing?" If there was one good thing his father had taught him, it was how to control his voice. It didn't sound at all alarmed.

"Monitoring your pulse to see if you start lying."

Lex looked at their entwined hands and noticed that both of Clark's thumbs had found positions against the insides of his wrists. He also noticed that Clark had large hands. For one brief uncontrolled moment, his mind wondered what they would feel like holding his hips. He clamped down on that thought quickly though. It occurred to him that Clark's baseline pulse must be remarkably erratic, enough so that monitoring his pulse would likely prove useless. Clark probably thought he was doing it on purpose. He closed his eyes and regulated his heart-rate to a steadier rhythm. Even that was probably suspect, though, and he had to suppress a laugh at the futility of it.

"I'm not going to lie, Clark. If I was going to, I would have started already." Granted, the truth would come in small doses, dragged from him as if by torture, but he was fighting years of indoctrination to give even this much of a confession.

Luthors don't admit mistakes. Preferably, not even to themselves. Rationalize, yes, but admit, no.

"Hmm," the sound was low in Clark's throat and Lex more felt it than heard it. "What did you hire him for, Lex?"

He felt the air of the question against the side of his throat, right where his jaw met his neck. He wondered if it said bad things about him as a person that he anticipated getting bitten there momentarily and that the idea thrilled him.

His heart was doing flips and aerobatics again, and he wondered what Clark was making of the change in his pulse. He also wondered how Clark was interpreting the fact that Lex had tilted his head to give him better access to Lex's exposed neck. Assuming, of course, that Clark had even noticed. Clark could be pretty oblivious sometimes.

Clark apparently did notice. His grip around Lex’s wrists loosened slightly, and he . . . sniffed . . . at Lex’s neck. Lex swallowed and tried very hard not to react. The memo to his cardiovascular system and hand muscles, however, became misplaced. His heart-rate accelerated, and his knuckles turned white against the glass of scotch.

“Lex?” Clark asked, raging anger replaced by concern and confusion. He released one wrist and placed his hand on Lex’s waist instead.

Lex began to tremble with the effort of not pressing back against Clark. What was wrong with him? Usually he could contain his physical reactions even in close proximity. Now, he could barely breathe and the pulse in his ears was roaring loud enough that he doubted he could hear anything else.

No, Clark’s voice was able to penetrate through to him. Definitely concerned now, even frightened.

“Lex, what’s wrong?” Clark extricated the glass out of his hands and turned him around, pulling him into an embrace that he should have fought off but didn’t. Panic attack, he self-diagnosed, probably inspired by the afternoon’s events, but delayed until now. It was entirely possible, however, that the attack had been initiated by the fear that his inability to control his body would drive Clark away faster than the Hamilton issue.

“Lex, shh,” Clark said, trying to sound calm and soothing, but failing utterly. He sounded scared to death. “You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Pete’s gone. You’re safe.”

And that was so very not the problem that Lex began to laugh. This had the unanticipated but fortunate side effect of kick-starting his lungs and diaphragm. Attack over, danger passed. Clark didn’t get the press release. He pulled Lex closer and began to rub his back in slow circles. Lex, for reasons he could not begin to explain to himself, only clung tightly and let himself be led over to the study’s couch. Clark sat down and pulled Lex down more in his lap than not.

The position was uncomfortable, so Lex shifted within Clark’s arms until he was sat fully on Clark’s lap with his shins resting on the couch on either side of him. He leaned forward, forehead on Clark’s shoulder and fists gripping handfuls of flannel. He was still shaking, but he’d cut off the laughter before it became hysterical. Breathing was quick and shallow, but happening. Clark continued to run his hands all over his back.

“It’s all right, Lex,” he repeated, keeping up the steady stream of reassurance that was yards off the mark. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” And that was spot-on, but hardly reassuring at all.

He wondered if Clark was aware that Lex’s shirt had ridden up and he was now running his hands directly on Lex’s skin. Lex himself was acutely aware of it. He could feel his fingernails digging into his palms even through the thick flannel he held. His breathing was ragged now. For the life of him, he couldn’t draw the strength to push away. It was, in fact, all he could do to keep from pulling closer.

“Lex,” Clark said again, his fear rising in direct correlation to Lex’s own jump in stress levels. All of his effort went to waste as Clark drew him tighter to him. His erection made contact with Clark’s stomach, and he could feel the flaccid shape beneath his ass.

A moan escaped him as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and instinctively ground down on Clark’s cock. Realizing belatedly what he’d just done, Lex stopped breathing. His heart stopped beating. Clark’s hands stopped moving. Clark’s heart skipped a beat, then began again at a more rapid pace.

Only when Clark’s body began to send excess amounts of blood in a southerly direction did Lex resume the necessary activities of circulation and respiration. Clark’s frozen hands held him in place, but Lex wasn’t certain he would have tried to move away if he had had the option. He tried not to press down again against the swelling appendage beneath him, but his body was clearly not under his full control.

“Lex?” This time, the voice came out strangled.

It was, perhaps, important to note that Clark was not releasing him. That he was, in fact, holding him tighter, pulling them closer.

“Clark, oh God, Clark, I’m sorry.”

Despite the words, he pushed down hard into Clark’s groin once more. By now, it was fully hard. Clark was, after all, a teenager. Of course, that was something Lex really didn’t want to think about too closely just now.

Clark groaned at the deliberate contact. Then Lex was no longer on Clark’s lap. He was on his back on the couch and Clark was hovering over him, eyes wide, a little glazed. For all that, he was inhumanly focused.

“Lex,” he said again, hands poised to slide off both Lex’s slacks and boxer-briefs in one go, “do you want this?”

When the fastenings had been undone or the zipper pulled down, he had no recollection. He might have suspected Clark of using a mutant power on him, but he could still feel the imprint of the fly on his fingertips.

“God, yes,” Lex swore with an embarrassing lack of hesitation and lifted his hips so Clark could strip him. He was laid naked from waist to ankle without further ado. He kicked off his socks also as Clark dropped his own jeans and boxer shorts. He spread his legs and Clark knelt back on the couch between them.

That was when Clark realized that he had no idea what to do. It was also when Lex realized that the study really didn’t have what he needed for this. He’d just have to make do. Having gotten this far, there was no way he was going to risk Clark changing his mind while they relocated to a bedroom.

He pushed up, more curling forward than actually shifting enough to truly sit. Clark helpfully braced him with one hand. The other, Lex caught and brought to his mouth. He licked and sucked first one finger, then two, then three. Clark clearly enjoyed it.

“Let me down,” he instructed when the digits were sufficiently wetted. Clark gingerly lowered down him onto his back again as if he were fragile. Lex told himself he should be offended by that, not touched. He made no visible response to the handling, instead guiding Clark’s slicked hand between his legs.

“Stretch me,” he invited when he felt one of Clark’s fingers against his hole. “Start with just one finger.” It would have been easier to do this with their positions reversed for Clark’s first time, but Lex needed to be in the submissive role today. He needed to prove that Clark meant the world to him. That he’d give him anything up to and including himself. He needed to show Clark how badly he could not bear to be thrown away. Words were unequal to the magnitude of this task. Only what they were about to do could possibly convey how he felt on the matter.

The first fingertip breached him. He closed his eyes and breath hissed between his teeth as it pushed deeper. It wasn’t painful, but it didn’t glide in as smoothly as it should. That did not bode well for doing this without proper lubrication. Lex’s eyes opened as the digit reached in as far as the last knuckle would allow it to go. Clark was staring at him with a wide wondering gaze. “I’m inside you,” he whispered in awe.

Lex couldn’t help but smile. If this was the reaction he got for one finger, he couldn’t begin to imagine what Clark’s face would look like when it was something far more sensitive taking up residence inside his body. Lex squeezed around the finger in approval.

Clark’s eyes flared and he swallowed audibly. His finger pressed in just a little further and his hips jutted forward, rubbing Clark’s obviously hard erection against Lex’s thigh. “God, Lex,” he swore, breathing heavily. Lex merely smiled, feeling a strong kinship to the cat who ate the canary.

Then Clark’s finger started to pull out, and that actually did hurt a little. Not much, not like the gunshot arm he was actively ignoring now, but enough to be noticeable. Spit just wasn’t going to cut it, not when a single finger burned on exit.

“Clark, we’re going to need something slick for lubrication.”

He paused a moment, trying to remember if he had anything closer than his bedroom, but Clark reached with his free hand for his backpack, lying forgotten on the floor beside the couch where he always dropped it when he came by. “Will hand cream do?”

Lex stared at him for a moment, then nodded, “Yeah, that’ll work.”

While Clark struggled one handed with the zipper, Lex couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you have hand cream in your book bag?”

Clark rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated expression of exasperation. “Chloe,” he said, as if that explained everything. It didn’t, but Clark had gotten the bag open and retrieved the tube of hand cream already, so Lex had much better things to do right now than ask for clarification.

“Spread that on three of your fingers, and after you’ve stretched me a bit more, apply it liberally inside me. Once you do all that, spread some on your cock, then you can,” Lex hesitated, torn between finishing the sentence with ‘fuck me’ or something more euphemistic. Clark, being an idealistic young virgin, might take offense or be scared off by the word. The very last thing he wanted right now was to make Clark realize what they were doing and awaken his irritating conscience. Euphemism it was. “Then you can put that inside me.”

Clark’s eyes widened almost comically, but he nodded earnestly. “Right,” he agreed, sounding somewhat strangled.

Clark set to his task with eager enthusiasm. He was neither too forceful, nor too gentle, being wonderfully responsive to Lex’s cues. It didn’t take long before he figured out exactly where the prostrate was and how intensely he could make Lex react to it.

It was easily the longest session of foreplay he’d ever experienced. Only iron will and the judicious use of his gunshot’s convenient pain allowed him to keep from coming.

His tongue was not so easily controlled. He was fairly sure he compared Clark to several Greek gods, one or two Roman ones, possibly an Egyptian one (Ra the Sun-God, almost certainly), Hephaistion, and probably the more commonly referenced Almighty God. He may have formally sworn over ownership of himself. No, he was quite certain he had. He’d used ceremonial Latin for that, however, which he was pretty sure Clark didn’t understand, thankfully. In English, though, he might have revealed his desperation for Clark to never leave him. He was unfortunately very clear on the memory of begging Clark to fill him. He’d been very wanton and needy on that subject. Gunshot or no gunshot, he wouldn’t have been able to last much longer, and he wanted to come with Clark inside him.

Clark was large, which was not surprising giving how big the rest of him was. Not the largest Lex had ever seen, but the largest he’d ever taken. Clark had done an excellent job with the preparation, though, and he slid inside with almost no pain. Lex made a quick mental note to buy out the hand cream inventory of the nearest Bath and Body Works, and give it anonymously to Chloe. Or maybe tell Gabe that had he won…

Oh. Clark was fully seated inside him now. He reminded himself that as much as he wanted to enjoy and glory in the feel of it, he had to open his eyes and see Clark. Rapture. He wore an expression of such exquisite reverence that Lex was almost afraid to breath for fear of breaking the spell. He felt an unfamiliar smile crease not only his mouth, but his whole face. That cat with the canary had nothing, absolutely nothing, on this. Whatever this was. Lex had never felt it before. Wonderful and suffocating and absolutely terrifying.

Clark opened his eyes then, and something passed between them. Lex didn’t know what it was, but it made Clark beam brighter than any sun. After that, thought was made impossible by the fact that Clark started to move, slowly at first, but building, always building, towards something that seemed larger than just a physical release.

When that release finally arrived, it exploded behind his eyes and he spasmed and screamed Clark’s name. Clark followed moments later and collapsed beside him, breathing hard. After a moment, he pulled out. Lex whined at the sudden emptiness, but Clark somewhat made up for that by curling his entire front along Lex’s entire back and wrapping his arms around him.

They lay like that together on the couch for several minutes, letting their heartbeats steady and mingle.

For the first time since Clark had advanced on him with Pete, Lex felt the foreboding sense of an imminent stock market crash leave him. Clark held him possessively, fingers occasionally still probing as if to make sure he was still there. Now, only now, could he believe he was safe.

“You know,” Clark began hesitatingly, after what seemed an eternity of quiet basking, “you could have just apologized. I’d have forgiven you.”

Lex smiled and shook his head, knowing they both understood far more than an apology had passed between them. “I’m a Luthor, Clark.” He almost left it at that, but Clark might take it to mean that Luthors didn’t apologize. And while that was true, it didn’t encompass the entirety of what Lex wanted it to.

“I was raised to be a liar and a PR spinner. Had I simply apologized, you wouldn’t have understood or believed the depth of my sincerity.” Lex turned over, careful not to add any distance between them, but he wanted to see Clark’s face because he was trying to make a point beyond Clark’s teasing.

Clark smiled back at him, something like amusement still sparking in his eyes as he reached over to trace his fingers along Lex’s skull, just behind his ear. “I think it has nothing to do with you being a Luthor. I think it’s because you’re Lex and you can’t do anything the easy way.”

There was probably some truth in that statement, but Lex wasn’t really willing to recognize it. Instead, he pulled Clark down on top of him for what promised to be a deep kiss. Just before their lips met, though, he spoke in a low husky voice, “You have complaints about my methods?”

“Mm, no,” Clark assured.

Then he initiated the temporarily delayed kiss.