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Title: A Life More Vicarious
Author: drake of dross
Rating: PG-13, if that
Challenge: Accountant
Notes: written for clexfest wave 15, thanks to Muse for beta-ing
Summary: When pi just isn’t cutting it for him, George has a rich vicarious life.


I am an accountant. My name is George. I am forty-seven years old. I have no wife, no girlfriend, very few casual dates, and no life outside of my job. I am short, slightly overweight, and going grey (yes, fine, I am grey). I wear thick glasses and have poor interpersonal skills. Hence, no wife, no girlfriend, and no life. I might have tried an internet dating service but the 'Hobbies' field on the profile form scared me away. Crossword puzzles and reciting pi out to 40 decimal places aren't exactly things that most women are looking for in a prospective date's hobbies. My around-the-house skills number exactly one: filling out itemized tax returns in under an hour (unless you're Lex Luthor, in which case it takes me two days. Given the volume of Lex Luthor's assets, expenditures, and income, however, that is really quite impressive, if I do say so myself).

Anyway, as previously stated, I have no life. I have no friends. Again, the interpersonal skills failed me there as well. I get on well enough with Lex's cook, but I would not call her a friend, exactly. The groundskeeper, likewise. I have no family nearby. My parents have retired to a nursing home in Vermont, my sister lives with her husband and children in Connecticut, and my brother has been living with a girl in California for the last eight years. Meanwhile, I've been following a client around the country from Metropolis, Kansas, to Princeton, New Jersey, back to Metropolis, then, two years ago, out to Nowheresville, Kansas. No, I'm sorry, the town's name is Smallville. My mistake.

The most exciting my life gets these days is popping Advil in quantities that doctors do not recommend to dull splitting headaches caused by staring at spreadsheets and printouts with far too small font sizes. So, to lessen my boredom, I have taken to living vicariously through my client's life.

This is disturbingly easy for a personal accountant, especially for the personal accountant of a Luthor. Luthors are not like normal people. For example, when a typical mortal runs out of toothpaste, they grab a few dollars, go to the drugstore, and buy toothpaste. Luthors, on the other hand, tell their accountants to ‘Place an order to restock the toothpaste supply,’ which is Luthorese for 'Contact that tiny company in France that sells the forty dollar a tube plus shipping toothpaste that I like and have them send me a new one.'

You see, at the risk of sounding immodest, I am a brilliant accountant. Graduated top of my class from Harvard and was picked up immediately by the accounting department of Luthorcorp. After a while, I was transferred out of there to mind Lionel Luthor's personal affairs with a team of other financial advisors and accountants. When Lex Luthor turned sixteen, he got two presents. A shiny red Ferrari, and me.

I must admit, I think Lex liked the car better. Well, he did, until he crashed it.

Like the car, however, I also came with a great many bells and whistles that the average sixteen year old does not receive as a birthday gift. Specifically, I was the personification of the interest to his trust fund to which he now had access and a newly opened personal bank account in his name and only his name that had a starting balance of one million dollars in it. I was to help him learn to manage both. It was one of Lionel's better plans to teach his son about the business world.

Lex, at sixteen, however, was very different from the young businessman that Smallville knows today. He was quite a brilliant child and he had begun his freshman year at Metropolis University when he was only fifteen. To this day, I do not know if he had a major while he was at that school. He never bought any of the assigned books. Mostly, his expenses were of the alcohol variety.

I do not know who was in the greater danger of being arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Myself, or the businesses that sold the alcohol. In my defense, as Lex said, it was his money, he could use it how he wanted. I was his accountant, not his parent. In defense of the businesses, Lex was a Luthor in Metropolis. No business would dare refuse him. At that time, Lex did not even carry cash on his person, so technically he wasn’t even purchasing it himself. Cash and credit cards were superfluous for him. He was recognized on sight, and people knew to send the bill to me. I believe this is also why he was never mugged during the first year I worked for him. Even the criminal element knew he paid by tab.

This was also a time of exploration and testing boundaries for him. Almost defiantly, he told me to order him some condoms. I did not bat an eye and did as I was instructed. On occasion, Luthors find it amusing to throw their employees off balance and I'd worked personally for Lionel for six years already. Ordering condoms did not faze me. When that worked more cleanly than he had expected, he ordered more. And more. I don't know how long or even if he went through them all. But it was months before he asked for another order, and that time he specified what brand and make he wanted. The condoms in question cost seventeen dollars a piece, were sold individually, and were 'designed for smoother glide, better protection, and a more natural feel'. He wanted twenty. It was around then that it first occurred to me that living vicariously through my client was the way to go.

When he was seventeen, he moved out of the dirty college bars and into higher class clubs. He started carrying more than enough cash to bribe his way in. I knew when he was planning to go to one because he'd ask me for some crisp one hundred dollar bills. If a Metropolis mugger ever dared go after a Luthor, it probably happened at this time. I never heard of any such thing, however, though once I hand over petty cash, it’s no longer my concern how it leaves Lex’s possession, so it’s possible I just never learned of it. This was also the time period when he started to get into real trouble. There was plenty of opportunity for a mugging. I still spoke with my old coworkers who did Lionel's finances, and there were whispers of compromising pictures, police payoffs, media control, and possibly drugs.

Lex and his father began to fight more obviously. It was not uncommon for one to start randomly shouting at the other. After one particularly bad club incident, Lex returned injured and was forbidden from leaving the house for a month. It was the only time I have seen Lionel ground him.

Lex is a terrible patient. For the most part, I tried to avoid him as much as possible during the handful of days while he was bedridden and healing. But that was nothing to seeing him healthy and bored. That was when I began to understand Lionel's reluctance to ground him. I also strongly envied him his sudden need to oversee something at his London branch.

First, Lex redecorated his room. I don't mean he moved things around. I mean, he got rid of all his furniture and his entire wardrobe, redid the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, then ordered brand new furniture and clothes. The interior decorator was with him for four days, and the tailor for two. I had to be present, of course, because I was the dispenser of Lex's purse. It was during these six days that Lex abruptly decided that his favorite color was now purple. The tailor told him that it complimented his eyes, though I don't recall if that was in response to the declaration or the cause. But the walls had to be redone again.

Then he decided to put the Luthor library room into compliance with the Dewey Decimal System, and God help you if you didn't know where 'Weapons of the Stone Age' went. With the indentured help of the entire household staff, we got it done in three days.

When he finished that task, he still had two weeks of the month in question left. Those of us left at the house were ready to rescind his punishment, but we feared Lionel's wrath should he find out. We were quite shocked and initially relieved when Lex simply locked himself inside his freshly redone room. Then we began to worry about what he was doing in there. As members of the Luthor household, we were all very much aware that a quiet Lex was a dangerous Lex. Ticking time bombs come to mind.

So we drew straws on who would check on him. I got the short one. I approached the door cautiously and listened for sounds coming from inside, but all I could hear was a short gasp. I knocked twice and listened more. I heard only a small grunt of effort. I pictured him trying to build something massive and complicated with only a pocketknife and wrench. "Lex!" I called, "What are you doing in there?"

"N-nothing!" came back quick and possibly even a little nervous.

This was a flashing red danger sign. Whatever he was building was nearly done, and it would take out the entire block when it exploded. I used my master key to unlock the door and rushed inside, ready to do whatever was necessary to minimize the death toll. I stopped short. Lex was naked on his bed, one hand wrapped around himself, and the other was already reaching for the bedspread to cover himself as he shrieked, "George!"

I abruptly turned on my heel, facing back out into the hallway. I debated leaving versus closing the door. The decision was made for me when Lex ordered, "Close the damn door, George, before somebody else decides to visit!" So I closed it. Which left me in Lex's bedroom. With my client naked. This was very unprofessional of me. I should have left, then closed the door. If I'd been thinking instead of panicking and in shock, I would have done that.

"As long as you're here, George," Lex drawled evilly, much calmer now, "Could you discreetly order me some lube and a dildo?"

This, I suppose, was my punishment for bursting in on him while he was masturbating. I don't imagine he would have ever brought the subject up on his own, regular condom orders notwithstanding. For that matter, at the time, I though the dildo was only thrown in to embarrass me. The new purple fetish I'd attributed to a rich kid phase. Wealthy children are a unique fickle breed that I do not pretend to understand when it comes to fashion. At that point, I still firmly believed Lex was completely straight. I suspect now, he might have already begun to believe otherwise.

Still, he'd asked for one, so I delivered. When I presented it to him, he gave me a smirk that I had interpreted as 'See that you don't walk in on me again or who knows what I'll make you buy next time.' I may have been correct. However, it could have easily been, 'You really have no clue that I actually want one of these, do you?' At any rate, I never saw the item again. It is better that way.

Just before he turned eighteen, his partying ways and class neglect got him kicked out of Metropolis University. He transferred to Princeton, if you can call switching schools without carrying over any credits a 'transfer', which was very good for him. Away from Metropolis and the Luthor recognition, he was almost a normal person. He bought his books, he went to class, he did his schoolwork, and he actually dated rather than having one night sleepovers with whomever he found himself beside at midnight. He stopped asking for hundred dollar bills and wanted tens (for Starbucks) and fifties (for dinner dates) instead.

It wasn't, strictly speaking, necessary for me to follow him out to New Jersey. I reasoned that New Jersey is quite a lot closer to Vermont and Connecticut than Kansas, so I did. Not that I visited my family more than twice during the three years it took him to get his Bachelors in Biochemical Engineering and start on his Masters. Mostly, however, the decision to stick with him was made because, as sad as it is to say, Lex is probably the closest thing I have to a friend. Equally sad, I think, at the time, I was the closest thing to a friend he had. The girlfriends didn't really count. They came and went like the weather, never lasting much more than a week or three.

Princeton was a good time for him. For me, too, truth to tell. Don't ask me how, but he got me a date with his differential equations professor. There is a woman who appreciates pi out to forty decimal places. Actually, she was the once who got me started on that. She could juggle at the same time she recited it as well. What a lady. I wonder what Sarah is up to now. Sixty decimal places?

Anyway, we would have been there for another year at least for his Masters, then a few more for his Doctorate, unless he decided to go to MIT for that, but Lionel pulled him back to Metropolis. I, perforce, had to go as well. Next thing I know, he's speeding his blue Porsche out to the factory in Smallville, I'm headed to the Luthor castle in his Lamborghini with his books, and Cook's following me in his Ferrari which was loaded up with cooking supplies. The chauffer brought out the Limo filled to the brim with clothes, and one of the housekeepers brought up the rear in the Aston Martin with cleaning supplies and some of his favorite artwork. Darius, the freshly hired butler, flew out in the Luthorcorp helicopter with Lex's treadmill and some other sporting equipment; most notably, his fencing gear. The groundskeeper we hired in Smallville later that day. The rest of the housekeepers, in the form of the Palmer family, followed the next day in their own car.

I still have no idea what prompted this move on Lionel's part. My best guesses range anywhere from 'he thought Lex was getting too comfortable' to 'he found the dildo'.

I was still overseeing the transportation of books from the Lamborghini to a pile in the foyer when Lex was dropped off in a police car. I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows at him in question. He headed straight for me. "Farm kid, male, late teens, probably two, three years younger than me. What do they like?"

I gave him a wide eyed look of bafflement, "Shiny red trucks?" I guessed.

"Buy one. All the bells and whistles. Send it to the Kent Farm." And with nothing more than that, he disappeared into the castle.

If the dildo failed to tip me off, that should have. But, no, I was oblivious. Lex doesn't do things like buy big expensive gifts for random people. He buys big expensive gifts for people he's courting.

I caught on though. His mother's box going missing. The drive-in movie set-up. Computers for the high school. The fireworks. The Sharks practice (let me tell you, that was no picnic to arrange). The Talon. Even the employee buy-out. Not to mention, the Earl Jenkins hostage thing, the stalking, the large chunks of time spent at the local coffee shop, and the standing orders to allow Clark in at any time.

In addition, Lex made an online purchase through paypal without going through me first. Concerned about account security because he'd never gone around me before, I questioned him about it shortly after it happened. "I think your account's been hacked," I started, going over the latest statement from the bank. He looked up from his own spreadsheets in concern. "Someone's taking money through paypal."

And . . . well, he didn't blush. Lex doesn't blush. But he did grimace and look embarrassed. "Oh, that."

"Oh, that?" I repeated.

He shrugged. "Nothing to be concerned about. It was a one time fifty-two dollar purchase, correct?"

"Yes," I agreed.

"It's not a hacker." He turned back to his laptop as if the matter were settled.

I frowned, not liking being cut out of the loop at all. "You know," I said, "It is in my job description that I make purchases for you."

He looked up again, frowning a little himself, "And it's Cook's job to feed me, but I still make my own sandwiches if I wake up hungry at two in the morning. I'm not helpless, George."

"It's just," I tried to rationalize why this bothered me so much, "usually you at least mention when you buy something."

"I bought a coffee at the Talon on my way to work yesterday, George, and a Three Musketeers bar from the vending machine at the plant, did I tell you about those?"

I shook my head because that was entirely different. "I mean, when you charge something. Coffee and candy bars are petty cash." I did, however, make a mental note that Lex eats Three Musketeers. Details are important for vicarious living. I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask what kind of coffee he’d bought, though.

"So if I'd picked up a fishing pole at Fordman’s, that would be fine, but if I ordered it from Ebay, you'd prefer I go through you." If he sounded a little incredulous, I successfully disregarded it.

I smiled and nodded, relieved that he understood, "Exactly. Seeing 'paypal withdrawal - $52' when I go through your account makes me twitch."

Lex smirked, "If I had any doubt you were anal retentive, it has now been eliminated."

That's another one of those characteristics that wouldn't look so good on my dating service profile. I did not bother trying to deny it. "So you won't do it again?"

"I'll give you fair warning there's one coming."

Which wasn't the same thing at all as not doing it anymore. "Lex, I buy your condoms." Victoria had only left a few days ago, the latest such purchase was listed on the sheet in my hand. "What could you possibly be buying that you don't want to go through me?"

He regarded me for a very long moment, visibly weighing the pros and cons of telling me versus not telling me. Possibly taking a cue from his own recent curiosities, he came to the decision that telling me would be less problematic in the long run than having me wondering about it and possibly trying to figure it out myself. "A replacement for what you bought me while I was grounded." And while I'd bought him a lot of things that month, there was really only one thing he could mean.

I had already started to get a clue by then, between all the gifts and the continuing purple fetish that was now going on its fifth year, but having him all but say he'd used out a dildo was another thing entirely. At any rate, I now knew my client was definitely bisexual (young man still or not, he was well beyond the experimentation phase of his life), he had a thing for a fifteen or sixteen year old (I'd been there when Lex found out Clark's birth date, and his horror and dismay of that revelation had done nothing to dissuade me from my growing assumptions), and he was using a dildo in lieu of having the real thing.

Even my client's fantasy life was more interesting than mine. All I did was recite pi and pretend I could juggle. Lex used props. It occurred to me that Lex wasn't the only stalker in the room. Of course, stalking him was in my job description, so I had an excuse.

"You look surprised," he noted.

"Not especially," I disagreed. "I knew you were interested in him. I just didn't think you were using the dildo."

His eyes sharpened. "You knew what? 'Him' who?"

The young man seemed to be under the impression he wasn't obviously smitten. As if there was anyone else I could possibly mean. Granted, only about half the big gifts actually went to the farmboy, but they were all clearly motivated by him. "Him Clark. I know you like Clark. I wouldn't recommend moving beyond the dildo until he's eighteen, though."

Lex went pale, and appeared briefly to consider lying through his teeth. "George, you can't tell anyone about any of this. Not a word. Especially not to my father."

"I haven't worked for your father for a long time, Lex. Have I ever betrayed your confidence before?"

Slowly, Lex shook his head. "No, no, you're a good man, George."

I shifted uncomfortably, unused to praise for anything other than good accounting. I ruffled my bank statement and excused myself from the conversation, "Well, I guess I better get back to work then." When I next dared to look up again a few minutes later, he was regarding his spreadsheet again and I chickened out of warning him that the volume and expense of gifts he was buying told their own story to anyone who bothered to look. Still, nothing was going on between them, so there was nothing sordid to find.

The gifts continued and Clark continued to visit. As far as I could tell from my brief glimpses of them, Clark remained unaware of Lex’s attraction. Shortly after the tornadoes, however, Lex asked me to order more condoms even though I knew for a fact he wasn't seeing any girls at the time. In concern, I questioned, "Lex?"

He grinned a little self-mockingly, "I ran out of lube, but the condoms work just as well. 'Better glide'," he mimicked the advertising slogan. "Plus, they don't look suspicious on my purchase sheets because I've been buying them forever and I only got the lube that once. Twice if you count paypal, but that's got three layers of misdirection on it."

"I don't suppose it occurred to you to go to a store, pick up some KY, and pay in cash?"

He looked at me like I was speaking a different language. One that wasn't among the half dozen he knew well enough to not need a translator when conducting business in it. "Where people can see me buy it?"

There was that. "I forget sometimes that you don't know what anonymity is. I could buy it like that for you."

Lex appeared to think about that for a moment, clearly tempted, but then he gave a small shake of his head. "This is Smallville. Even you don't have anonymity here." That was saying quite a lot about the town. I'm an accountant. Accountants blend and vanish into the woodwork. I'm particularly good at that. I’m not sure that even Clark, with the amount of time he spends at the castle, has ever spotted me there. Smallville Savings and Loan, however, is a different story entirely. There, I am Lex’s Accountant.

"Grandville's not too far. I'd have to find a car that doesn't say 'LEX' on the plates, but supposing I can get there, I should be fine." The Palmers leaving had left the rest of us without a normal mode of transportation, and I was reluctant to call the shiny red truck still in the garage ‘normal’.

Lex considered, looking for weak points in the plan. "Fine, you can try that. But order me condoms anyway. I'm nearly out."

Thus began my quest to get to Grandville inconspicuously.

I really had three options. I could take the Luthor route and buy myself a used car. I could take a bus. Or I could borrow somebody’s car. While I had the money to do number one (I was quite well off, given that I have no personal life, a high salary, and almost no expenses due to room and board being negotiated into my contract again when I moved out to Smallville), it went against my frugal nature.

Public transportation scares the bejuices out of me. So that was out. I am convinced if I get on a bus going to ‘Grandville’ I will end up in Gotham.

That left borrowing an inconspicuous car or truck. By which, I mean not one that Lex has bought. Something costing under $80,000 dollars. Something, preferably, with a few scratches and dings. Unfortunately, my pool of people I could approach about something like this was limited to the household staff, and I already mentioned that only the Palmers had their own car. The rest of us don’t really need one, particularly since, until two weeks ago, we could have just borrowed the Palmers’.

I briefly played out a scenario in my head where I called the Kents and tried to borrow theirs, but I came off sounding like creepy weirdo. Option one was looking better and better. Someone in the household needed to break down and buy a normal car sooner or later. Cook didn’t get everything delivered directly to her kitchen, and the groundskeeper was going to need to go out for mulch or something sooner or later. I’d thought I had a pretty good chance of not breaking down first. Well, I was due for a visit to the Smallville Savings and Loans in a few days anyway.

The next day, I found myself the not-so-proud owner of a silver ’99 Honda Civic with 60,000 miles on it. You cannot get more bland than that.

After going to the Savings and Loan, I drove on through town, along thirty miles of corn fields, wheat fields, and cow pastures, until I found a drugstore where nobody knew who I worked for. I also went to the dentist while I was there and saved a trip next month. Lex’s ‘Thanks, George,’ didn’t really seem worth all the effort when I handed over the plastic bag, but accounting is a thankless job and I counted myself lucky to get that much. Besides, it was the least I could do to be sure that my vicarious living now included lube.

I feel it necessary to point out that I am not now nor have I ever been fantasizing about my client. That would be wrong. Neither am I fantasizing about my client’s unrequited love interest. That would be beyond wrong given that the boy in question is definitely a minor and I am forty-seven. I am merely gaining enjoyment from the knowledge that somebody is getting enjoyment out of a sex toy and lube. I would also point out that I do not do this myself because I am straight. Sarah’s brand of hand cream is more than sufficient for me to pretend I have a pi reciting juggler with me instead of just a left hand.

I read biographies about mountain climbers. That’s as close as I want to get to doing that. Same goes for this sexual anticipation of Lex’s. It’s perfectly enjoyable to know it’s going on, but as of the Clark infatuation, I don’t particularly want to be him anymore. I’m frustrated enough myself without borrowing frustration.

By the end of the following summer, I was almost relieved when he returned from Metropolis with Desiree Atkins on his arm. However, when I found out he intended to marry her, I knew something was wrong. I gaped all the way through his instructions for what he wanted the wedding ceremony to include, and only when he was finished did I manage to get my tongue to speak.

“But what about Clark?”

I knew Lex. Perhaps better than anyone. Lex was besotted with the farmer’s son. He was also obsessed. There was no possible way a marriage would work unless and until he got Clark out of his system. Desiree was, at best, a substitute.

Lex merely looked at me as if the answer were obvious. “He’ll be the best man, of course. See to the arrangements.” Then he was gone and I was left with my mouth hanging open and a great deal of work to do.

If there were anybody I thought I could talk to, I would have. The marriage was a terrible idea, doomed to failure. Lex wasn’t listening. I was barely introduced to Miss Atkins. (“Desiree, this is George; he’ll be taking care of the wedding arrangements.”) Clark didn’t know me. Besides which, what was I supposed to say? ‘Stop the wedding, the groom is secretly in love with an underage boy?’

Despite my reservations, I did my job. It was no easy task to arrange a fairytale wedding in under twenty-four hours. Still, I found it far more difficult simply to forever hold my peace. I was merely the accountant. It was not my place to interrupt my client’s wedding simply because I thought it was a huge mistake.

I was right, of course. She hadn’t been married to Lex for more than a day before she tried to kill him.

I never heard all of the details, but I understand Clark was present. I have to wonder if perhaps Lex’s fascination with the boy was what prompted her almost immediate attempt at murder. I understand that Lex is quite attractive to women and I have heard many rumors that he is quite skilled in bed. Even if she did wish to become his black widow, she could have waited at least a week, to allay suspicion if nothing else. Jealousy would be a more than adequate reason to move up the timetable.

Helen was more difficult. Lex could have loved her. Had he found her first, he probably would have and it might have even worked between them. It was a long courtship. The longest Lex has ever had, discounting Clark’s, of course. This allowed me to learn far more about her than I had Desiree. She knew me no better than Clark did, but I at least knew her.

She knew about Clark. I’m sure she did. Even if she hadn’t picked up on it herself, Lex voluntarily showed her the Clark Room. I doubt he realized just how much that room said about his feelings for the boy or he never would have done that. There are nicer ways to let down the woman you’ve asked to marry you than to smack her in the face with the Other Woman. Or, in this case, the Other Man.

I honestly do not understand why she came back after that night. Lex had all but told her that he was in love with someone else. She could have left. Instead, she came back, married him, and came so close to killing him that, for three months, the world thought she had. That is, the world thought he had heroically died to save her.

I wonder sometimes about why Clark didn’t make the wedding, why he ran away from Smallville and didn’t return until Lex did. I wonder sometimes if maybe Lex’s obsession isn’t as one-sided as it appears to me.

I’d been let go while Lex was dead, but he hired me back upon his return. I was glad to do so. Corporate accounting wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as being Lex’s personal accountant. I will miss Metropolis though. I had come very close to getting a life while I had a simple nine to five job. Had I ever gotten a return phone call, the decision to come back to Smallville might have been more difficult.

But neither Betty nor Michelle ever called back, so I returned to Lex’s side. With luck, maybe he’ll stop trying to marry women and just ask me to place a new order for him. Dildos are quite content with their lot in life as sexual substitutes, and will not become murderous when they find out they are being so used.