Gigi Sinclair

Lex couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a movie. There was no point, really, when you had a state-of-the-art home theatre system and a staff to provide you with all the stale popcorn and Twizzlers you could possibly need. But, as usual, when Clark phoned to say:

"Want to go see Spiderman tonight?" He found himself saying yes before he could think the better of it.

In a belated attempt to gain some kind of control over the situation, Lex immediately added:

"Why don't we go for dinner first? I know a fantastic Italian place right near the Metropolis Multiplex." At least, that's what he'd assumed the hulking example of Nazi-style architecture was.

"Great!" Clark enthused. Lex felt his heart lift, along with another, more southerly part of his body. Both fell immediately as Clark added: "Oh, wait. Sorry, my mom's making chicken-fried steak for dinner. It's my favourite." So what? was the answer Lex wanted to give. Indeed, it was the answer he would have given, although more forcefully and with the addition of a few choice profanities, to anyone else, but Clark was different.

"OK. I'll pick you up after dinner."

As soon as he'd hung up the phone, Lex's self-rationalization, one of his more highly developed skills, kicked in. After all, he told himself, sitting beside Clark in a darkened theatre wasn't the worst way to spend an evening. And, while he liked to think he was a little too sophisticated to use the yawn-and-stretch routine, there was always the chance he might "accidentally" brush against some part of Clark's anatomy at some point during the movie. Then, depending on Clark's reaction… By the time he'd gone upstairs to choose his outfit, he'd almost convinced himself that the whole thing had been his idea.

***

Much as he would have liked to collect Clark at the door—ideally, with some exotic and expensive gift in hand—he knew better than that. He waited in the car until Clark came bounding out, dressed, as usual in a flannel shirt and less than pristine blue jeans. Lex himself, after much consideration, had elected to wear a shiny purple suit with a white shirt. He hadn't felt like a pimp until he saw Clark, and Clark's parents standing in the front window, staring.

"Hi." Clark grinned at him and, suddenly, Lex didn't care what his parents thought.

"How was the chicken-fried steak?" Clark blushed.

"Great. No one can cook like my mom."

"I'm sure."

"You'll have to come over for dinner sometime." Lex knew Clark was sincere, but that was the trouble with him. As far as Lex could tell, Clark was always sincere, and seemed genuinely to think everyone else was, as well.

"That probably wouldn't go down too well." Although he could think of something, or rather someone, not too far from here that went down very well, in Lex's fantasies at least. He gripped the steering wheel, suppressed dirty thoughts, and smiled at Clark. "But maybe someday."

Since they weren't going to the Italian restaurant, Lex had settled on the next best thing (well, not the next best thing, but as close as he was likely to get in a car rocketing down the highway) and had a Vivaldi CD in the stereo. Clark listened appreciatively for a while, asking questions about the arias and admiring Lex's taste in music. But by the time they were halfway to the city, Clark was clearly bored, and when the hit the outskirts of Metropolis, he, blushing fiercely, asked if he could change it.

"Of course!" Lex answered quickly, kicking himself. What had he been thinking, playing classical music in the car? For God's sake, Clark was going to feel like he was out with his parents. Well, maybe not his parents, but some old person. His principal maybe. Clark messed around with the stereo for a minute, before finally settling on a radio station playing what sounded like a recording of a man being castrated without anaesthetic while, in the background, his garbage men friends clashed aluminum cans and yodelled. When they got out of the car, Lex was amazed to discover his ears weren't actually bleeding.

The grim, Gotham-esque building in view of the restaurant was indeed the Metropolis Multiplex. His ears may not have suffered permanent damage, but Lex still had to ask the cashier to repeat the cost for two movie tickets. She did, looking suspiciously between him and Clark. The total was more than three times what Lex had paid to see his first live production of Julius Caesar.

"I can pay for my own ticket," Clark put in quickly, pulling out his wallet. "I got my allowance today."

"It's all right." Lex smiled at the girl in the box office, who was now looking at him like he was a cheapskate as well as a pervert, and said: "I'm sure I can afford it."

He could also afford popcorn. He gave Clark the money and went to find a seat. There was still a good fifteen minutes until the movie started, but the theatre was filling up quickly. Lex found two seats in a mostly empty row off to one side. Trying not to imagine what the sticky substance under his feet might be, he sat down, having first thoroughly brushed off the seat with his sleeve. He sat, wishing the theatre had a paper seat cover dispenser, such as there was in certain, dubious bathrooms, until Clark got back and made it all worthwhile.

"I got two Cokes, but I thought we could share the popcorn." He announced, juggling two large paper cups and a greasy bag of popcorn large enough to feed a starving, fake-butter loving African village for a month.

"That's fine." Lex went to stand up, but Clark waved him down.

"It's OK. I can manage." He then proceeded to climb over Lex. It was one of the more enjoyable moments of Lex's life. When Clark collapsed into the seat on the other side of him, even Lex was blushing, and a bit of denim, a piece of shiny purple suit, and a greasy bag of popcorn was all that kept them from being arrested in forty-eight states.

"This is fun." Clark grinned as he settled into his seat. Lex, swallowing hard, had to agree. It only got better when Clark handed Lex one of the paper cups and let his hand touch Lex's for what seemed like a deliberately long moment. Lex's heart began to race like he was doing the thirty-yard dash, or some other, equally physical activity. Finally, Clark removed his hand, but he didn't look away. Instead, his eyes locked with Lex's. Smiling slightly, Clark parted his lips to speak. And was interrupted before he could even begin.

"What are you guys doing here?" Clark looked past Lex, his smile increasing.

"Lana!"

"Hi, Lex." Lex's life had not been devoid of disappointments, but this one topped nearly all of them. He gripped the cup so tightly, the lid popped off and joined the rest of the garbage on the floor.

"Hello, Lana." He turned around to face them. "Whitney." Whitney nodded, too absorbed in his relish-laden hot dog to be interested in Lex. Or in the look Clark was giving his girlfriend.

"If we'd known you guys were coming, we could have driven together!" Clark put in, too hastily. Lex felt like throwing up. Watching Whitney stuff the hot dog into his mouth didn't improve matters.

"Well, we're together now." Lana smiled. "Can we sit with you?"

"No," Lex answered, honestly. Looking at him with the same kind of suspicion that had been evident on the face of the box office girl, Lana laughed, as if it had been a joke, and tried to squeeze past Lex. Chivalrous as ever, Clark stood to let her past, but Lex stubbornly stayed sitting. And paid for it when Whitney, close behind Lana, dropped a glob of relish on Lex's shirt.

"Sorry." Whitney sounded less than apologetic. Giving him a look that had reduced many of Metropolis's brightest businessmen to tears—and which bounced off Whitney like bullets off a safe door—Lex handed his Coke to Clark and stalked off to find a washroom.

By the time he'd removed as much of the relish stain as was possible without a professional valet and an industrial strength cleaner, the theatre was dark and the previews had already started. When he slid into his seat, Clark leaned over and whispered:

"Are you OK?" Lana was sitting on the other side of Clark, and beyond her was Whitney, who had finished the hot dog and was working on a king-sized Kit Kat. He grunted, but Clark was already looking back at the screen.

After watching fifteen minutes of commercials for movies Lex wouldn't have seen for any amount of money, the main feature started. Lex was bored within seconds. The only heroes who had ever interested him were the ones who had achieved success through intellect and determination. Mutants with supernatural powers impressed him not at all. Six minutes in, he checked his watch for the first time. He checked it again every five minutes after that.

In between times, he amused himself wondering who had thought an effeminate- looking young man would be a good choice to play a supposed superhero. Lex then tried to picture Kirsten Dunst naked, and wondered if Spiderman's web-shooting talent would be useful in bed. This turned into an elaborate bondage fantasy, in the middle of which he glanced over at Clark. The kid was looking at the screen, but his right hand, the one closest to Lana, was hovering at a strange angle, as if he was trying to work up the nerve to touch her. The hand closest to Lex was lying motionless in Clark's lap. Lana, for her part, had her right hand on Whitney's thigh. Whitney, tolerating this, was trying to reach the last remaining candies in the bottom of a Mike and Ike's box. Lex sighed and spent the rest of the movie staring at the ridiculously dim bulbs pointing the way to the emergency exit.

The movie looked like it was winding down when there was a loud, insistent ringing from Lex's hip. Glad of the excuse, he ignored the fifty pairs of eyes that were staring at him like he was the reincarnation of Hitler, unclipped his cell phone and headed out to the lobby.

It was a wrong number. He'd expected that. Everyone who knew his number knew better than to use it, except in a dire emergency. He didn't return to the theatre, even after he had convinced the irate Spanish woman on the other end of the line that Julio did not live there. Instead, he waited in the lobby, pretending to examine a poster advertising a new Eddie Murphy film, until the other three emerged.

"Wasn't that great?" Clark grinned at him. Lex shrugged.

"Sure. Are we going now?" Lana looked at him with those same, suspicious eyes, but when she spoke, it was politely.

"I was just telling Clark, I know a great diner just around the corner. Want to come for a coffee?"

"Not really."

"Oh, come on, Lex. Just one cup of coffee." Clark put a hand on Lex's arm. Lex hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop himself from trembling. "Lana promises it's even better than hers."

"That's not much of an endorsement," Lex sighed, but, five minutes later, he was trailing after Clark into Dot's Diner.

It was not, in fact, a diner or a coffee shop, but a "theme eating experience". The decor, the music, the food and, from the looks of them, the teenage patrons were all holdovers from the 1950s. In one corner, there was even a boy in a letter sweater and a girl with a ponytail sharing a bright pink milkshake. It was like something out of Grease. Lex felt as uncomfortable as J. Edgar Hoover in a Communist brothel.

"There's Freddie and Helen." Lana waved a hand at the couple in the corner. "You've got to meet them, Clark."

Lex had always respected Lana, in the same way he respected all of his business associates. She was an adversary only where Clark was concerned. If things had been different in that respect, Lex could even imagine being friends with her. Until he discovered she was as much of a ninny as every other teenage girl he'd ever met. While Whitney and Clark discussed football with the thick-necked, letter-sweatered Freddie, Lana and Helen hashed over the minutiae of adolescent life, details that had been beneath Lex's notice when he was their age and were all the more trivial now. Sipping coffee that was very possibly the worst he'd ever tasted, he listened to mindless chatter about exams and teachers, but he had to draw the line when it came to speculation about whether Shawn Anderson would ask Denise Langford to the prom.

"I have to go." Lex was gratified, but not enough to make it worth it, when Clark looked up.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm leaving, too." Clark immediately stood up. Lex allowed himself to be touched, briefly, until he added: "You're my ride."

In the car, Clark dismayed him further by repeating, verbatim, the conversation he'd had with Freddie. "Freddie goes to East Metropolis High, and he said that his coach says ours is the only team they have to worry about meeting at State. Isn't that great? Whitney was really happy," was the conclusion Clark finally reached. Lex grunted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clark turn to look at him, but he kept his eyes on the road. "I'm sorry if you didn't have a good time tonight."

"It was fine."

"You look annoyed."

"I'm not." He was angry. At himself, for being so eager—desperate, even—to follow wherever Clark led. Lex was furious that he'd been such an idiot. He knew very well that too much feeling for anything, or anyone, created weakness. And weakness was unacceptable.

But not insurmountable. Lex knew from experience that the only way to deal with it was to eliminate the cause, however painful that might be. That was, incidentally, why there were no Hummel figurines, ABBA albums, or tubs of Ben and Jerry's ice cream at Luthor Manor.

"Listen, Clark…" He glanced over at Clark. The football monologue had taken them all the way out of the city, and they were now on the dark highway. He could barely make out Clark's face, but, on reflection, decided it was probably better that way. "I think maybe we should…" Stop seeing each other? Ridiculous. Date other people? Stupid. "Cool it down a bit," he finally concluded, rather lamely.

"That's what my mom said." Lex could feel Clark's eyes on him. "What do you mean?"

"You know." For a man renowned for his facility with words, Lex felt like he was at a Hungarian spelling bee and had forgotten his dictionary. "I mean, I like you. I really do. And I'll always be grateful for what you did. But I'm…I'm a lot older than you."

"Not by much."

"It's enough." Those sorts of relationships always ended badly. Lex thought of Achilles and Patroclus. Hadrian and Antinous. Billy Bob Thornton and Angelina Jolie.

"You don't want to be my friend anymore?" Clark sounded on the edge of tears, and again, Lex was glad he couldn't see him. Well handled, he complimented himself. He'd turned this into a messy break-up, and he hadn't even had the enjoyment of a relationship beforehand.

"I do. It's just that we're very different people." Clark had a protective, loving family and a group of loyal friends. Lex was alone. Clark was clearly heterosexual. Lex hadn't yet locked in his vote on that one. And Clark was in high school. Lex remembered telling him once, about Lana probably, that a high school boyfriend wasn't a husband. Lex couldn't picture himself ever wanting a husband, but he knew he sure as hell didn't need a high school boyfriend. Not even if it was Clark. "There are a hundred reasons why we shouldn't see each other."

That finished the conversation. They rode in silence the rest of the way, the only sound a quiet sniffing which occasionally came from Clark. Every instinct in Lex's body wanted to reach out and touch him, to say something to comfort him, but Lex forced himself to ignore it. He'd kicked the Ben and Jerry's habit, he told himself. He could kick the Clark Kent habit as well.

The porch light was on when Lex pulled up to Clark's house. Lex stopped the car, but didn't bother to park it. They sat quietly for a moment. Just as Lex was about to suggest Clark open the door and get out, he spoke, his voice confident.

"You said there are a hundred reasons why we shouldn't see each other." About twenty minutes earlier.

"Yes," Lex admitted.

"Well, I can think of one reason we should." Before Lex could ask what that might be, Clark leaned over and kissed him.

It took a moment to get over the surprise, but once that moment had passed, Lex was in heaven. Months of fantasizing, imagining, almost logistical planning, hadn't prepared him for the real thing. He got one arm around Clark and stroked his hair while Clark's tongue echoed the motion inside Lex's mouth. Lex was so caught up in Clark, the car had rolled down the driveway before he even realized he'd taken his foot off the brake.

"Want to go for dinner tomorrow night?" Clark whispered, when Lex had released him and recovered enough composure to reverse the car back up to the Kent house. "There's this great Italian place I've heard of in Metropolis." Lex raised an eyebrow.

"Just the two of us?" Clark shrugged.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

"I'll be waiting." Clark smiled, planted a quick, flirtatious kiss on Lex's cheek, and opened the door. "Thanks for the ride." Lex watched until Clark had disappeared into the house. Then he headed home. On the way, he stopped at the store and bought a tub of Cherry Garcia. He spent the rest of the evening drawing hearts and writing "Clark plus Lex" on official LuthorCorp stationery.