"I Feel a Tingling Sensation."

Fic: "Speed Limit."

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 05:15:52 GMT

Title:Speed Limit
Author: Lexalicious70
Rating: NC-17 for non-con situations and m/m sexual situations
Pairing: CLex, Bart Allen/Oliver Queen (dub-con).
Word Count 9,915
Summary: Bart Allen returns to Smallville and Clark discovers that his old friend is working for Oliver Queen; however, he begins to suspect that Bart isn’t telling him the whole story about Oliver’s intentions or their relationship, which quickly turns deadly for Clark, Lex, and Bart when Oliver decides that the young speedster has become a liability.
Warning: This story contains implied dub-con situations!
A/N:Disclaimer:< Not mine; if they were, they’d have to be hosed down quite frequently. All characters belong to DC comics; Smallville’s universe created by Millar/Gough. For better or for worse. All characters in this work of fiction are at least eighteen years of age.
Feedback is like chicken soup for the writer's soul, peeps! I'd appreciate it very much.
Thanks to cinderella81 for the beta! You have the sharpest eyes in town, babe! *KISSES*
Please don't forget to check out the amazing cover art for this story at the end, by herohunter. She's uber-talented and I LOVE the cover she made me!

Speed Limit
By Lexalicious70

Bart Allen had returned to Smallville.

As his young friend explained about his new job as a courier and how he’d spent time in Mexico, Clark Kent reflected on how much Bart had changed in the two years he’d been gone. His build was the same and he was as slim as ever, perhaps even more so now, but now there was a subtle muscle tone there instead of the gangly teenage form so common to a boy barely out of puberty. He had also grown a few inches, putting him at just under the top of Clark’s shoulder. Even at his full height now, Bart was still well under six feet tall, sleek, compact, and built for speed. His hair, worn upright and spiky two years ago, was now longer, the loose curls grown out almost to the nape of his neck. Still, even as Bart laughed and joked and teased Clark about how little he’d changed, there was something in his eyes, something forced as the fall-grey, heavy-lidded eyes lit on Clark and then danced away again. Finally, Clark challenged him directly.

“So what brings you back to Smallville?” He asked, and Bart blinked before he forced a wide smile.

“What—I came to hang out with me amigo, man!” He slapped Clark on the shoulder and glanced toward the house. “Think your mom has any grub she can spare?”

Clark nodded a little; if questions wouldn’t open Bart up, maybe food would.

“Sure, come on.” He led Bart out of the loft, but before they reached the door, the young speedster kicked his powers into gear and streaked into the farmhouse. Clark ran behind him, but despite his own super-speed, he found Bart already seated at the counter when he made it into the kitchen.

“You’re still too slow, Stretch!” Bart grinned, and Clark gave a good-natured roll of his eyes.

“You’re still the same old tease, Bart,” he smiled as he opened the fridge. Knowing his friend’s voracious appetite and the calories he consumed, Clark set out a huge spread for Bart and watched him go at it. He burned through the buffet in less than twenty minutes, topping it off with two chocolate chip muffins and a slice of his mom’s apple pie. When he was done, Bart super-sped through a kitchen cleanup in less than four seconds, and then batted Clark with the dishtowel.

“I envy you, man, having a spread like that, three squares! Your mom is an awesome cook.”

“Yeah, she is. You seemed pretty hungry, when was the last time you ate?”

“I dunno, awhile ago. You know how it is, using up the juice before you know it.”

“Right. So where are you staying?” Clark asked, folding his arms over his chest, and Bart tossed the dishtowel from hand to hand.

“Wherever. I mean, I’ve got a place, but I’m thinking of moving.”

“You can stay here in town if you want, Bart. There’s plenty of room.”

“Hey, thanks man. And I’m sorry about your dad . . . I saw his obit in the Daily Planet last winter. I wanted to make it back to see you then, but I was on a job . . . he was always real nice to me, even though I stole from him.” He patted Clark’s shoulder, and Clark smiled sadly.

“Thanks.”

“So it’s just you and your mom now?” Bart asked, and Clark grinned a little.

“Well, not exactly.”

“Your mom didn’t get remarried again already? Or does she—you know—have a live-in squeeze or something?”

“What? No! No, of course not! Actually, it’s . . .” Clark’s gaze strayed to a picture on the nearby table. It was obviously recent and features Clark sitting on the front steps of the farmhouse. He was grinning broadly at the camera and sitting behind him, his arms settled in an affectionate embrace around Clark’s shoulders, was Lex Luthor. He wore a very casual grey pullover and jeans, and his gaze was lowered as he smiled down at Clark. Bart’s eyes widened as he went over to pick up the framed image, and then looked back up at Clark.

“Uh. This—” He stared at the picture. “Yeah so . . . guess I was wrong before You have changed. A lot.”

“I haven’t changed at all. I just accepted things I was denying before, Bart, that’s all. Listen, if it’s weird for you—”

“Huh? No man, it’s cool!” Bart grinned. “I’m meta, man, so I don’t judge anyone if I can help it. But wow, Lex Luthor How come you’re not living in the lap of luxury at the mansion?”

Clark lifted a shoulder.

“Lex gave it all up for me. He has some money that he managed to keep out of his father’s hands, and we live comfortably. We’re happy here; I go to college and work part time at the Daily Planet, and Lex has turned to writing and research into the effects of metagenes and how they affect people. He’s got a modest lab in the science building at Met U, and he teaches microbiology there part time.”

“Professor Luthor, huh? Whoa.” Bart smiled. “So I guess his old man runs Luthorcorp now.”

“Yeah, but Lex doesn’t have much to do with his father anymore. Lionel pretty much disowned Lex when he took up with me. Not that it matters . . . my mom is crazy about him.”

“Your ma has a soft spot for strays,” Bart grinned as he set the picture down. “It’s really cool that you don’t apologize for it.”

“I don’t have to. It’s just as much of what I am as my abilities.”

“Cool,” Bart nodded, the situation settled in the young speedster’s mind, and then he tipped his gaze up to Clark’s. “Think your squeeze would mind if we ran down to Daytona, checked out the action? Be like old times.”

Later that night, after Martha and Lex arrived home to find that they had a guest, Martha put on a large supper and the four of them ate in the warm, sun-lit kitchen as late summer waned outside. Bart ate two helpings of pot roast and fresh vegetables from Martha’s garden as he charmed both her and Lex, and by the end of the meal, they both insisted that Bart stay in Clark’s old room. Martha still slept in the room that she had shared with her husband, but Clark and Lex shared a new room that they had added onto the farmhouse the previous year after Lex had moved in. It was the largest of the bedrooms, with its own bathroom, (at Lex’s insistence,) and a view of Martha’s garden, and then the fields beyond. After coffee and pie and some more conversations, Clark settled Bart in his old room, bid him goodnight, and then went back downstairs to meet Lex in their own room. Lex sat at his roomy cherry-wood desk, deep into one of his scholarly journals, bare, elegant head bent low over the page. Clark didn’t disturb him, knowing that Lex would speak to him when he finished reading and to interrupt him would only annoy him. Clark busied himself with putting away clean laundry and then undressing for his shower. Just as Clark shrugged on his blue terrycloth robe, Lex looked up from his article and stretched like a cat coming out of a long nap in the sun. Clark went to him and dropped a kiss on top of Lex’s bare head. The older man smiled.

“Good article?” Clark asked, and Lex gave a shark-like grin.

“Not at all. I look forward to discrediting it in the morning.” He turned off his reading lamp, stood up, and ran a hand over Clark’s chest.

“You’re curiously attached to this old thing,” he said as he tugged on the robe’s lapels. Clark smiled.

“It’s comfortable.”

“Silk is comfortable.”

Clark chuckled and put his big hands over Lex’s.

“Maybe, but I’m not comfortable in it.” He raised Lex’s hands and kissed the knuckles. “The only silk I like against me skin has to have you in it.”

“Flirt,” Lex replied, watching Clark’s full lips kiss over his knuckles. “You must be happy to see Bart again. He’s looking well, too . . . your influence on him two years must have been quite positive.”

“I don’t know, Lex,” Clark sighed. “I am glad to see him, but at the same time, I feel like he’s not being completely honest with me about why he’s here.”

“Really?” Lex arched a brow. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch. He was really hungry when he got here, and he avoided a lot of my questions.”

“Do you think he’s in danger?” Lex asked.

“I don’t know. I’m hoping he’ll open up to me in the morning. This whole thing about him being a courier in Mexico just rings false.”

A knock at the front door broke the late evening silence, and Clark frowned as he glanced at the slim black Bose clock on Lex’s desk. It read 11:15.

“Who knocks on a farmhouse door at this time of night?” He asked as he went into the kitchen. The yellow curtains that covered the small pane of glass on the upper part of the door were closed, and all Clark could see was a silhouette of a profile and the outline of its hair, which was slightly bristly. Clark opened the door to find Oliver Queen standing there, and his stomach gave a swift rise and drop.

“Oliver. What are you doing here?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder. If Lex saw or heard his nemesis from Excelsior, sparks would surely fly. The handsome blonde smiled.

“Clark. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I’m looking for someone.”

“And who’s that?” Clark asked as he leaned on the doorjamb and folded his arms over his broad chest. Oliver frowned at the silent lack of invitation.

“His name is Bart Allen. He’s about 5’8,” dark blonde hair, around eighteen years old?”

Tension tightened the back of Clark’s neck.

“Sorry. I don’t know anyone by the name,” he shrugged.

“Are you sure?” Oliver asked. “Because my sources tell me that he came through here about two years ago, and he stayed here a few days.”

Clark glanced aside.

“A lot of people come through here, Oliver, and they don’t always tell me their real names.” Oliver glanced over Clark’s shoulder, but the house was broke.

“Well. If you happen to see him, can you give me a call?” Oliver handed him a business card. “He’s a good friend of mine, and he’s gone missing.”

Clark nodded.

“Sure, I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thanks,” Oliver nodded. “Give my best to Lex.”

Clark smiled and bid him goodnight before shut and locked the door. He watched Oliver pull away in his silver Porsche, and then Lex spoke behind him.

“Bart says he’s on vacation, Oliver says he’s a missing person. Who do you believe?”

Clark turned in surprise.

“I thought you’d confront Oliver if you saw him here.”

“I wanted to see what he had to say.” Lex frowned. “What does Oliver want with a boy like Bart, and how do they even know each other?”

“I suppose I’ll have to ask Bart that in the morning,” Clark replied as he put an arm around Lex, and they returned to their bedroom together.

The next morning, Clark came in from feeding his father’s livestock (now reduced in number, but Martha had kept Jonathan’s favorites,) to find Bart eating a huge breakfast, courtesy of his mother. Lex had already left for work, and Martha had gone to her room to change. Bart was finishing off a stack of waffles and a pile of scrambled eggs when Clark came into the kitchen. Bart wiped his mouth and smiled at Clark; he was freshly showered and dressed in jeans and his trademark red hoodie.

“Hey man, where you been? You missed a killer buffet!”

Clark closed the door.

“How do you know Oliver Queen?” He asked, and Bart’s grey eyes widened.

“How . . . what?”

“Don’t stall me, Bart! Oliver Queen came here last night, and he was looking for you! He said that you were a friend of his, but that you were missing!”

Bart averted his gaze and tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Clark went to him, and Bart hunched his lean shoulders.

“Don’t tower over me like that!” He scowled.

“I asked you a question, Bart.”

Bart got to his feet and paced away.

“Clark, man, it’s . . . it’s complicated!”

“So explain it to me!”

“I can’t!” Bart sped over to his backpack and hiked it onto one shoulder. "Look, I wish I could, but there’s too much at stake and too many people involved!”
Clark stepped in his friend’s way, and Bart ducked around him. Clark made a grab for him.

“Bart, wait!”

“Look, Clark, you’re a good friend, and that’s why I can’t let you get involved. I’m sorry . . . thanks for the warm bed and the food. Tell your mom and Lex too, all right?” He sprinted for the door and pulled it open, only to nearly collide with Oliver Queen, who stood there in black slacks and a pinstriped dress shirt. Bart backed off a few steps and Oliver smiled.

“Bart! There you are!” He said, and Clark stepped forward.

“He just got here.”

“I’m sure.” Oliver nodded and he pursed his lips together. “Clark, I appreciate your trying to contact me.”

The jovial sarcasm wasn’t lost on Clark and he frowned.

“I didn’t have time. What are you doing back here?”

“Call it a hunch.” Oliver put both hands on Bart’s shoulders and squeezed. “Bart. I’m so glad you’re all right. I’ve been so worried ever since you vanished in Mexico.”

Bart looked up into Oliver’s dark eyes and saw the fury there, crouching behind the casual good humor like a killer hiding in the corner.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Oliver patted his shoulders.

“I know.” He pulled Bart forward and slid an arm around him. “You can tell me all about it on the way back to the city.”

Bart looked over his shoulder at Clark, who Oliver’s hand tighten on the young speedster’s shoulder.

“Say goodbye to Clark, Bart, and thank him for his hospitality.”

Bart’s grey eyes locked with Clark’s, although he was aware of Oliver’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing, warning.

“Later Clark, and thanks.”

“You can stay awhile if you like, Bart,” Clark said as he stepped forward. “You just got here and I’d love to catch up.”

“That’d be a lot of fun, I’m sure,” Oliver said before Bart could reply, “but we have to run. Bart has work to do.”

“Work?”

“Didn’t he tell you? Bart works for me now.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. “One of the best couriers I’ve ever had. Maybe another time.” He opened the front door and walked Bart down the front steps. Clark watched, but even though Oliver waved cheerfully to Clark as he drove away, Bart never once raised his eyes back to the farmhouse, as if he knew better than to try and catch Clark’s eye. Clark stood at the front door for a long time after, watching the thin clouds of dust made by Oliver’s tires settle in the yard, even though the Porsche was long gone.

***

Oliver made his quarters and office space in a large loft on the top floor of his company’s towering office building, in the clock tower. The tower hid him from sight, yet gave him a magnificent view of the city. As he and Bart rode up in the carriage-like elevator, Oliver glanced at him.

“I’m disappointed in you, Bart,” he said, and Bart closed his eyes.

“Oliver—”

The elevator reached the top floor. Oliver pulled the accordion mesh door aside and grabbed Bart by the back of the neck. He pushed the young man forward with a rough shove, and Bart grunted as the force sent him belly-first into Oliver’s desk. He started to rise, but then Oliver was on him again, pinning his head to the desk, one strong hand pressed against the back of his neck.

“It’s either Mr. Queen, sir, or master!” Oliver hissed in his ear. “You ungrateful little son of a bitch! I give you a home, a job, all the food you can eat, and you pay me back by running away? Did you actually think you could get away from me?” The hand tightened. “Or that I wouldn’t find you?”

Bart squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Mr. Queen, please . . .”

A muscular leg kicked Bart’s legs apart and Oliver stepped between them, leaning over and whispering in Bart’s ear.

“I. Own. You.” He breathed, and the big hand on Bart’s neck tightened until the fingers dug into his skin. “Or have you forgotten who saved you from starving to death in the streets of Star City?”

“I’m sorry!” Bart cried softly, and the hand on his neck snaked up into his hair, Oliver’s strong fingers wrapping around the loose curls. Bart stifled a yell as Oliver yanked his head back and then pulled him across the room and down the hall, where Oliver maintained a number of bedrooms. He passed the room occupied by Victor Stone, aka Cyborg, who glanced up and then away again to avoid Oliver’s fit of temper. Bart tried to catch his eye, but the young man only reached out with his foot and pushed his door shut with it. Oliver dragged Bart into his room and shoved him down onto the bed after he slammed the door shut.

“Looks like you’ve forgotten my lessons, Bart,” Oliver said as he withdrew a thin valise from his pocket. Bart scrambled up against the headboard of the bed.

“Ol— Mr. Queen, please, I haven’t!” He pleaded, and Oliver glared as he saw the youth’s body tense in preparation for flight.

“Do you remember what happened the last time you ran from me, boy?” Oliver opened the valise to pull out a hypodermic needle filled with a thin, plum-colored liquid. “Now come here and take your medicine.”

Bart’s stomach turned into a clenched mass of ice at his boss’s words. Oliver only forced the potion on him when he wanted Bart’s powers dampened, which left him normal, considerably weakened, changed him from a super-charged speedster into smaller-than-average seventeen-year-old boy . . . and left him completely at Oliver’s mercy. Oliver lunged forward and drove his knee into Bart’s belly, forcing the air from his lungs and pressing him down onto the mattress. Bart’s sneaker-clad feet drummed against the bed as Oliver turned the youth’s head and jammed the needle into his neck. Bart gasped as the neural inhibitor flooded his body and repressed his ability to speed. He shuddered, cramps wracking his body, and Oliver rose from the bed. Bart tucked himself into a fetal position, and Oliver began to unbutton his shirt. He stripped it from his muscular torso, and Bart looked up at him as he hugged himself, trying to quiet his shaking. The glare faded from Oliver’s expression little by little, and he sat down on the bed.

“Bart, Bart,” he sighed as he shook his head and reached out to stroke the boy’s dark blonde curls. “What were you thinking, abandoning your mission in Mexico and running away to Smallville?”

Bart swallowed hard. He knew that Oliver’s sudden geniality could change to fury again without warning; his boss was a passionate but emotionally unstable man, and each member of his team of metas had tasted that emotional whipsaw at least once.

“Mr. Queen, I appreciate all you’ve done for me, I swear that I do, it’s just . . . I signed up with you to help people, not to kill them!”

Oliver made a musing face as he continued to pet Bart’s hair.

“I can understand how you might hesitate, Bart. But you’re young and you’re inexperienced . . . you have yet to understand how unfair life can be. Fortunately, you have me to teach you these lessons. The man I sent you to kill works for Lionel Luthor, and he collects and ships metas from his own country to Luthor’s plants here in America! He’s a human trafficker, Bart, he makes money off the pain and suffering of metas like you!” Oliver twisted his body and threw a leg over Bart’s slim hips, straddling them as he forced the boy onto his back, and he pressed his groin into the younger man’s. Bart squirmed, and Oliver leaned over to grab his wrists. He pinned them over Bart’s head and leaned in close. “But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I have to show you what it means to suffer before you can truly understand.”

Two Hours Later

“Get up. Bart, I said get up.”

Bart opened one eye and managed to turn his head. The neural inhibitor had turned his tendons into elastic shards of shattered glass, and every movement was an effort. Oliver slapped his rear end with an open palm, leaving a stark white handprint on the pink skin that turned red as it filled with blood a moment later. Oliver had stripped him some time during their session, and his red hoodie lay at the end of the bed in a bedraggled heap. Bart got his knees up under him and managed to roll over. His lower lip felt chewed up and he jaw ached, the muscles overextended. His small pink nipples were chafed and nearly purple, the underside of the right one marred with Oliver’s teeth marks. He neck and collarbone were sticky. Oliver smirked and tossed Bart’s jeans to him.
“God, you look so slutty. My sweet little trick.” Oliver rubbed Bart’s head roughly.

Bart hung his slender legs over the bed to slide his jeans on. His groin ached with unwanted arousal that Oliver had not allowed him to release; he’d brought him to the edge several times and he himself had come twice as he’d forced Bart to blow him, but he had denied Bart any relief. Bart winced as he lifted his hips and the musk of Oliver’s come rose up around him, but he knew he’d be refused a shower if he asked.

“You know you made a grave mistake, don’t you, Bart?” Now that the man who led his band of metas as the Green Arrow had spent his fury, he was momentarily reasonable. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Queen,” Bart replied hoarsely, his throat grainy and dry from crying and from Oliver’s abusive enthusiasm. Oliver stroked the boy’s chin with a thumb and forefinger.

“That’s a good boy,” he smiled, and got up from the bed. Bart watched him carefully, but it seemed for the moment that Oliver was done with him. The tall blonde man shut the door and pulled his cell phone from his slacks. His flipped it open and pressed a key. Behind him, one of the bedroom doors opened a sliver.

“Boyle. It’s Queen. I have one for you. Yes. A speedster. Yeah I’m sure. No . . . I’ve got the stuff to keep him quiet. Yeah, a few doses. Tonight? All right. I’ll have him packaged for you. Yeah, it’s a shame, but the kid’s a weak link and I can’t afford to keep him around. Best if he just vanishes. Six, then. All right. Bye.” Oliver snapped his phone shut. As sweet as a little treat as Bart was, Oliver couldn’t afford any kind of weakness in his fight against Lionel Luthor and 33.1. Boyle was his cleanup man, the one who made people disappear from Oliver’s life in order to protect his secret. He knew that Boyle sold people with abilities to human traffickers who dealt in sex or slavery, but Oliver needed to protect his secrets for the greater good, and that Bart’s weakness wasn’t his problem. His goal, his mission, was what was important.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and headed toward the master bedroom. After a moment, the other door opened the rest of the way and Victor Stone slipped into the hallway. He crossed over and tapped on Bart’s door. Bart opened it a moment later, and the young African-American glanced toward Oliver’s bedroom.

“Bart. You’ve got to get out of here, man! As fast as you can!” Victor paused. “I’ll help you if you need it, but you’ve got to—”

Oliver’s door opened again and Victor turned to dive back into his own room. Bart closed his door and Oliver came down the hall a moment later in fresh clothes, whistling. He swung open Bart’s door and glanced in at the young speedster.

“I’m going to give you another chance, Bart. You’ll come with me tonight, down to the docks for a mission, all right?”

Bart looked up in surprise and hope flooded his heart. After he had abandoned his mission in Mexico, Bart had expected to be little more than Oliver’s bedroom toy.

“Me? Really?”

The handsome blonde smiled and nodded.

“You deserve a second chance. Get cleaned up and be ready to leave by five, all right?”

Bart grinned back.

“Thank you, Mr. Queen!”

“Just be ready,” Oliver winked, and closed the door. Bart got to his feet, smiling. Sure, Oliver had punished him severely for what he’d done, but hey, hadn’t he screwed up pretty bad? Maybe now that Oliver had spent his rage, he had a clean slate and would be given another chance to prove himself. Victor’s warning floated at the edge of his thoughts, but he pushed it back. Victor had probably heard his cries, which must have sounded bad, but maybe Oliver had only done what he thought he’d had to get through to him.

Bart grabbed some fresh clothes and jogged down the hall to the bathroom he shared with A.C. and Victor. The marks he bore would be worth it if Oliver gave him a second chance.

***

Lex unlocked the front door of the farmhouse as he tugged his tie loose with the other hand and stepped inside the sunny kitchen. Clark wouldn’t be home for another two hours and Martha was at the Talon, but there was a fresh plate of cookies on the counter—chocolate chip, his favorite—to prove she hadn’t been gone long. Lex grabbed one and took a bite, smiling when he realized it was still warm. He tugged his tie loose the rest of the way and set his briefcase down. It was full of the day’s research and papers to grade over the weekend, Lex looked forward to quiet time at his desk before he slipped into bed, and into Clark’s arms.

Sometimes, in moments like this, Lex expected to wake from the dream where Clark loved him without limits, and where he found himself under his father’s thumb once more. Their life, with its sunny kitchen, warm bedroom, and unlimited affection was like some impossible pipe dream; yet, it was Lex’s reality, and when Clark had risked everything to tell Lex the truth about his abilities, from that day forward, there had been no secrets between them. The separation from his father and fortune had been both liberating and frightening, but thanks to Chloe’s hacking abilities, he had been able to sever his ties and keep enough money for him and Clark to live quite comfortably. Some of that money had gone into renovating the Talon and the farmhouse, which now drew business from as far away as Granville. While Lex could no longer afford a dozen cars or the finest scotch, his partner’s love and boundless affection, along with Martha as a surrogate mother, was worth more than any treasure money could afford him.

Reflecting on these things, Lex took another bite of the cookie and moved toward the hallway when a figure stepped out of the bathroom and into his path. Lex gave a half shout of surprise and raised his fist to strike, and the young intruder raised both hands.

“Please wait! I’m not here to hurt you!”

Lex glared and slowly lowered his fist, though it remained clenched.

“Who are you?”

The trim black man kept his hands in the air.

“My name is Victor Stone, and I’m looking for Clark Kent. He’s a friend.”

“Do you break into all your friends’ houses?” Lex snapped.

“You don’t know what I’m risking coming here. Please, I need to talk to Clark before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what? Who are you?”

“Clark helped me once, just like he helped Bart. He’s in danger—bad danger—and he needs Clark’s help.”

“Bart? What kind of danger?”

“There’s not a lot of time to explain, but Bart is about to disappear for good. Our boss—I heard him on the phone. He’s removing Bart from the equation because he ran out on a job and tried to seek sanctuary here with you and Clark!”

Lex’s eyes narrowed.

“Your boss? Oliver Queen?”

“He’s crazy!” Victor said urgently. “He keeps us locked in rooms in his clock tower! We’re cut off from everyone—he has control of our powers, and—and I think he . . . he uses Bart.”

A cold ball of dread formed in Lex’s belly.

“You mean he—”

“Man, I don’t know! I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard, and I don’t think it could be anything else! He’s got this stuff, and it takes away Bart’s powers. He’s just a skinny kid without them, there’s no way he can fight back!”

“Where is Bart now?” Lex asked, and Victor glanced toward the door.

“The clock tower. He’s setting Bart up, making him think he’s giving him a second chance!”

“And instead?”

“He’s turning Bart over to a cleanup man, a guy Oliver pays to permanently remove people from his life when they know his secrets. They’re going to kill him, and Bart needs Clark’s help!”

The sound of shattering glass and a meaty thump interrupted Lex’s reply, and Lex gave a shout and covered his head with both arms as glass from the bathroom window pelted him, leaving behind scrawled lines of blood on the backs of his hands. When he looked up again, Victor Stone lay dead at his feet, an arrow protruding from his right eye, the shaft covered in blood and bits of mechanical wreckage. Lex stared, and a moment later, a green-clad figure stepped out of the bathroom, his high-tech bow already nocked with another arrow. The Green Arrow looked down at his former employee, the black wraparound sunglasses he wore obscuring his expression.

“Looks like Cyborg has suffered a permanent fatal error.”

“Oliver!” Lex exclaimed hoarsely, his eyes wide, and the tall man looked up.

“Cyborg never should have told you who I am. Now, you’ve become an unfortunate liability.” He struck out fiercely with his right hand to Lex’s forehead, knocking him unconscious. After stowing Victor’s body in the grain silo, Oliver hoisted Lex over his shoulder and fled the farm, knowing he would now have to pay his cleanup man double in order to make Lex disappear as well.

***

When Clark stepped into the farmhouse an hour later, he knew something was wrong. The house was too quiet, and Lex’s briefcase lay partially on its side near the living room alcove, its contents nearly spilling out across the floor. Clark went over and picked it up, knowing that Lex would never be so careless with his papers or his briefcase. His lover was a neat and methodical man, and he always took his briefcase to the cherry-wood stand next to his desk, where he stacked the day’s papers before stowing the briefcase on the shelf under the slanted bookstand above it. As Clark went into the hallway, his nostrils flared as he smelled blood. It smeared the Berber runner in the hallway in front of the bathroom. Clark knelt down and touched his fingers to it, and they came away tacky. In the opposite corner, something green and shiny caught his eye. Clark gave an involuntary flinch, thinking it to be a chip of meteor rock, but as he came closer, he saw that it was a mangled piece of circuitry dotted with blood. Clark picked it up and saw that the blood there was also tacky.

Where did this come from?

Clark got to his feet again. Glass crunched under his shoes and he glanced over his shoulder to see that the bathroom window was in shambles. Clark’s stomach clenched at the clues that suddenly came together: there had been a break-in, and Lex must have surprised whoever was here. Clark set the briefcase down.

“Lex!” He shouted, and then listened for a response, a cry, or his mate’s heartbeat. When there were none, Clark jogged out to the front porch, already sweeping the farm with his x-ray vision. His heart paused in his chest as his gaze swept past the grain silo and it revealed a figure buried in the grain. The form wasn’t Lex’s, for which Clark was grateful, but then his heart sank when he saw the mechanical parts in the body’s arms, chest, and head.

“Victor,” he said, and sped over to the grain silo. He opened the grain chute, and the body tumbled into a large bin that caught the grain. Clark lifted the lifeless body and set it on the ground, his heart heavy. He put a hand on the cold cheek, his stomach clenching at the sight of Victor’s empty eye socket. He turned Victor’s head slightly and then lifted his head to see the quarter-sized, jagged hole in the back of the man’s head. It tracked in a straight line, the hole in a direct trajectory with Victor’s injured eye. Something had punched through the back of his head and then had blown out his eye with what must have been a great deal of force . . . some kind of projectile.

“Like an arrow,” Clark muttered to himself as he set Victor’s body down once more.

Was Oliver here? Did he come looking for me with Victor as backup, or had he been here for another reason? And if Lex and Oliver had fought, why would Oliver have shot Victor? And where’s Lex? Clark asked himself. Knowing that Victor had been powerful and that it must have taken a great deal to take him down, Clark now knew that if Lex was Oliver’s prisoner, he was in grave danger.

After placing Victor’s body in a blanket in an abandoned stall in the barn, Clark sped off for Metropolis.

Oliver swept open Bart’s bedroom door a few minutes before five p.m. that afternoon. Bart was dressed in his field clothes, which included a reflective red-and-yellow hoodie with a lightning bolt on the back. He slipped his dark, wraparound glasses into his pocket and turned to Oliver, who smiled.

“You look like you’re ready, Bart,” he said, and Bart glanced down before looking up at his boss again.

“Mr. Queen, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you giving me a second chance. I know that I screwed up and that I made you really mad, but I won’t make that same mistake again.”

Oliver patted Bart’s shoulder.

“No. You won’t.”

Bart’s smile faded as Oliver’s other hand came up and something glimmered between his fingers. He recognized the hypodermic needle too late, and Oliver jammed it into Bart’s neck before he depressed the plunger. Bart gave a cry of surprise, pain, and fear as more of Oliver’s neural inhibitor flooded his body. He fell to his knees, staring up at Oliver in stunned disbelief, and Oliver pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket.

“I’m sorry about this Bart, I really am. But you’re the weak link in my chain, and that’s not a liability I can afford.” He kicked Bart down onto his side and pulled his arms behind his back.

“Mr. Queen, please . . .” Bart groaned and he felt thick, strong tape bind his wrist together in several layers. His slender fingers wriggled, and then his feet kicked, the sides of his red sneakers squealing against the floor as Oliver brought them together and yanked up the cuffs of his pants in order to tape his ankles together. Oliver wound another layer of the custom-made, reinforced tape in the other direction so the ends wouldn’t peel back, and then he rounded the helpless boy to crouch next to his head.

“Maybe it was cruel to let you think I’d forgiven you, but I couldn’t risk you trying to escape again. Think of it this way—your final hours with me were happy ones.” He patted Bart’s cheek and forced a white handkerchief into the youth’s mouth. Bart groaned and protested around it, and Oliver wound a length of tape around his head and over his mouth, securing the gag and muffling Bart’s protests. “And they say the most valuable things in life are made of gold!” Oliver patted the roll of tape and put it back into his pocket. Bart gave a frightened, strained cry, his nostrils flaring in panic, his grey eyes pleading, and Oliver laughed before he cupped Bart hard through his jeans, squeezing and rubbing. “I would love to have you like this before we go, but sadly, there’s no time. Don’t worry though, from what I’ve heard, where you’re going, you’ll spend a lot of time naked and under wraps.” Oliver lifted Bart over one shoulder and carried him to the elevator. It opened into a private parking garage where it reached the bottom floor, and Oliver hit a button on his belt. The trunk on a silver Audi popped open a few feet away, and Bart snuffled and whimpered as Oliver carried him over to the car. “Easy, Bart, this’ll be over before you know it. And look, you’ll have some company for the ride!” Oliver laid Bart down and folded his legs in, and Bart’s eyes widened as he came face to face with Lex, who was also bound and gagged, but unconscious. Oliver smiled and closed the trunk on Bart’s terrified expression. He climbed into the Audi, whistling “Come Sail Away” through his teeth as he started up the car and headed for the docks.

***

Manny Boyle wasn’t the kind of man most people would look at twice. He was almost dwarvishly short, overweight, and had black corkscrew hair that grew in uneven, piebald patches on his head. His piggish eyes were dark and pushed back into his doughy face like moist raisins. He only smiled when money crossed his nicotine-stained fingers, and as a man who had the ability to make people vanish for the likes of Oliver Queen, he smiled a great deal when Oliver had a job for him.

“Fifty grand, Boyle, and it’s all there.” Oliver handed him a large paper sack. “You’re sure they’ll vanish for good?” He and Boyle stood at the end of a dock at Metropolis Bay. Boyle looked over his shoulder at the speck in the distance that was the steam ship that the skinny kid and the bald man had been loaded onto.

“That ship there, Mr. Queen? It goes to the Orient, Singapore, even to parts of Africa. Over there, lots of folks’ll pay good money for a pretty white houseboy, or a playtoy to keep their sheets warm. The other one, he’s older and probably used, but he’s unusual enough for the trade. Some folks like an exotic slice o’ pie.”

“As long as they vanish forever, I don’t care.” Oliver watched the steamer pull away. Bart had screamed and pleaded as they’d taken him into the cargo hold, but Lex had remained unconscious. It pleased Oliver immensely to think of him coming to in a pen full of black-market slaves. Perhaps they’d castrate him if he got too feisty. “Until next time, Boyle. And remember that unless you keep your mouth shut, you’ll be the next one to vanish.” He turned and walked away down the dock toward his car, and Boyle headed for the abandoned shed that served as his office. It was a shame the blonde had to go—Boyle wouldn’t have minded a piece of that for himself. He entertained these thoughts as he unlocked the door to the shed, and then suddenly found himself being propelled through it. Splinters of weathered wood flew, and Boyle’s sack of cash hit the opposite wall and burst open, spilling tightly-wrapped stacks of bills onto the floor. Boyle screamed in dismay and then found himself pinned to the wall by a very tall and obviously furious young man with dark hair and blazing green eyes.

“Where are Bart and Lex? I saw you take money from Oliver Queen! What did you do with them?”

Boyle knew that despite this kid’s fury, jail time or a beating was peanuts compared to what Oliver could do to him. He sneered.

“I don’t have to tell you nothing, kid! Fuck off!”

Clark glanced over at the scattered money. He had followed Oliver’s voice to the docks with his enhanced hearing in time to see the money change hands, and now he changed his tactic.

“The older man Oliver paid you to get rid of? He’s got more money than Oliver Queen could ever dream of! If you tell me where he and Bart are, he’ll reward you with ten times the amount, and you’ll be protected! Think about it! You can take your payoff and live comfortably for a few months, or you can help me and make the biggest score you’ve ever made in your life!”

“And you swear you’ll protect me?” Boyle asked, and Clark nodded.

“I swear! Now where are they?”

“In the Sugar Cane, a steamship that heads out to foreign waters! They’re in the hold—it left about forty minutes ago!”

Lex came to slowly, the pain throbbing at the base of his skull letting him know that he was very much alive. He groaned and then exhaled hard through his nose as he realized his mouth was taped shut. As he took another breath, the smell of brine, fish, old hay, and shit filled his nostrils. As his vision slowly adjusted to the dim light, Lex saw he was in some kind of cargo hold. His hands and feet had been pulled behind him in his sitting position and were secured to thick iron rings in the wall with heavy chains. Lex could hear them rattle whenever he moved.

“Mmmmmm!” A muffled voice yelled from across the hold, and Lex peered across the hold to see Bart Allen sitting against the opposite wall, chained up in the same fashion as he was. He had obviously been struggling for some time, and he renewed his efforts when he saw that Lex was awake. The hold creaked and rocked all around them.

We’re on water, Lex thought to himself. He closed his eyes a moment in regret as he remembered Victor and the way he had died. Bart yelled through his gag again, and Lex’s heart ached for the boy. This was his punishment for running away from Oliver, and Lex could only imagine where Oliver was having them sent. He leaned his head against the cold metal wall behind him. Clark, please . . . before it’s too late!

Bart tipped his head back against the wall and worked the tape wrapped around his head until it began to stick to itself. The ends then popped free, and Bart pushed hard at the handkerchief in his mouth, forcing it forward with his tongue as he tried to pull his sticky lips apart. The tape slowly peeled free and Bart worked jaw open and he spit out the handkerchief. Lex watched him. Bart lowered his head, the loose end of the silver tape fluttering against his smooth cheek. Lex shifted and called his name, and the boy looked up.

“I’m sorry, Lex,” he said hoarsely, his eyes red. “I never should have involved you and Clark in this! Oliver’s crazy . . . I didn’t mean for you to get hurt!”

Lex shook his head. He tried to communicate questions with his eyes, and Bart could guess them easily enough.

“Clark was right. I wasn’t on vacation, I ran away from Oliver after he sent me a mission down in Mexico. He wanted me to kill someone . . . Oliver said he was a human trafficker, but even if he was, I can’t kill anyone! That’s not what I use my powers for! I was going to ask Clark to help me get away from Oliver, but I didn’t think he’d find me so fast! He’s punishing me for disobeying him, and he says we have to protect metas at any cost, even if it means killing people, but I can’t! I can’t kill anyone, Lex!”

Lex nodded his understanding. Clark’s powers were extraordinary as well, but as powerful as he was, he went to great lengths to avoid hurting anyone, even when they tried to hurt him. Bart swallowed hard.

“Oliver has ways of controlling us all . . . he used some kind of drug that blocks my ability to speed. He gave the ship’s captain more of it, and he’s going to supply whoever takes me away with more of it!” His deep-set grey eyes lifted to Lex’s. “Where are we going, Lex? What’s going to happen to us?” He asked softly, and Lex lowered his gaze. If he knew Oliver well enough, he figured that he and Bart had been sold into slavery and nothing less.

Please, Clark. Please hear me, he prayed, and raised his bound hands up to the loosely-hanging iron ring that his hands were chained to. He hooked his pinky finger around the iron circle and began to tap it against the metal wall.

Clark tore through the water of the commercial shipping lanes, keeping under the surface to avoid being seen by anyone watching the water. The water was full of ships, and much to Clark’s dismay, many of them had been built with lead-based sheeting, which made it impossible to see through any of them. The Sugar Cane might have been named so, but that name was nowhere on the sterns of any of the steamers. Clark paused, treading water, the air stored in his lungs able to sustain him for some time. Then, filtered through the water and the droning sounds of engines, he heard it. A distant, metallic tapping, which sounded very deliberate.

Tap tap tap . . . tap tap!

Clark strained his enhanced hearing and shut out the other noises as he concentrated on the tapping.

Tap tap . . . tap tap . . . tap!

Code! Clark thought to himself. He had studied the archaic form of communication in one of his historical journalism classes, and Lex had found it fascinating. He’d picked it up very quickly, and had taken great pleasure in tapping out erotic messages on Clark’s body as foreplay for weeks afterward whenever they made love. Now Clark listened, the long short tapping spelling out a message over and over.

We are here we are here.

Clark torpedoed through the water toward the tapping as it grew louder and more urgent.

In the ships hold, Bart watched Lex tap the ring over and over.

“He might not even know we’re in danger, Lex! Oliver always covers his tracks!” Bart said as Lex tapped out the message again. “We might end up miles away before he even realizes anything is wrong!”

Lex closed his eyes as his fingers cramped and his spine throbbed from holding the same position for so long.

Come on Clark, come on . . . I know you’re out there! He thought to himself as Bart watched, his lips trembling from cold and from fear. Lex couldn’t imagine how vulnerable the boy must feel without his powers.

The ship shuddered suddenly and gave a hard lurch, and Lex gritted his teeth as he was thrown forward and the tendons in his wrists were stretched. Bart gave a frightened yell as there was the sensation of sudden acceleration, and then they came to a grinding halt. There was a moment of total silence, and then the door to the hold flew off its hinges and Clark stood there. Lex’s heart flooded with relief.

“Clark!” Bart yelled, and Clark sped over to snap the chains that held them both. He pulled the tape from Lex’s mouth, and Lex smiled up at him.

“You got my message,” he said, and Clark rubbed his chafed wrists as he helped Lex to his feet, smiling back.

“Once you have Morse Code tapped out on your nipples, it’s hard to forget.”

***

Two Days Later

Oliver Queen shuffled the last of the day’s papers and set them aside on the right corner of his desk. He felt unusually lighthearted; both the troublemaking speedster and his oldest enemy were out of his life, and the recruitment process to replace Bart and Victor would be an enjoyable one, especially if he could find another boy as young and sweet as Bart had been.

Oliver rose the elevator down to the parking garage, whistling as the doors opened. As he stepped out, a lean shadow of a figure stepped in front of him. Oliver stepped back in shock as the low lighting revealed Lex Luthor’s face. His eyes glittered. Oliver stared for a moment and then forced a smile.

“Lex, wow, you’re okay! I’d heard that you were kidnapped a few days ago.”

“By the mysterious Green Arrow,” Lex nodded, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Luckily, I was rescued by several anonymous heroes who got wind of it . . . I’m sure you know the type.” He patted his chest with both hands. “As you can see, I’m in one piece.”

“I’m happy to hear it. If you’ll excuse me,” Oliver said as he tried to step around Lex, but the smaller man stepped in his way again.

“I’m sure you are. I’m also sure you’ll be happy to hear that Bart Allen has decided to terminate his employment with you. Fortunately, he’s found more lucrative employment at Metropolis University, as a lab assistant. He thought it might be best if he delivered a message instead of seeing you personally.” Lex picked up a paper bag and shoved it into Oliver’s arms. “The clothes you bought him, and other items related to his job.” Lex leaned forward a little. “I’m sure you understand that if Bart encounters any unfortunate accidents, or if he vanishes, certain vital and quite personal information will be made available to the public before you can draw your next breath. I’m quite sure that wouldn’t be good for business, as CEO’s rarely have luck keeping hold of their companies from behind bars.” Lex smiled at the impotent rage in Oliver’s dark eyes. “I’ll be sure and give Bart your best for his future endeavors.”

Oliver’s mouth worked and he nodded stiffly. The exchange’s meaning had been clear—Bart’s league uniform and commlink were his promise to keep Oliver’s secret in exchange for his safety. If he tried to go after Bart again, all of his secrets would go public. Lex smiled.

“Then I’ll bid you goodnight,” he said, and then vanished into the shadows, leaving Oliver there to curse the fact that he’d ever laid eyes on Bart Allen.

***

Bart sat on the bed in Clark’s old room at the Kent’s farmhouse as he stared out the window across the recently-harvested fields. He wore baggy sweats and one of Clark’s old tee shirts, which hung nearly to his knees. Because he could never go back to Oliver’s, he now owned nothing, not even clothes, although Clark had promised to take him shopping in the morning.

A soft knock at the door brought Bart from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Clark standing there. He raised a hand.

“Hey, Clark.”

“Hey.” Clark walked in. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just thinking about what’s going to happen now, I guess.”

“Well,” Clark smiled as he sat down next to his friend. “the first thing you’re going to do is have a big, hot meal, and then have a good night’s sleep. You’re safe here, Bart, and you can stay as long as you need to. Oliver will never come after you again, not as long as he knows we know his secrets. He won’t risk his fortune for revenge because he’s too greedy and too proud. He also knows that Lex will expose him as both a murderer and a vigilante if he tries to harm any of us.”

“I just feel bad,” Bart replied softly as he twisted the hem of Clark’s tee in both hands. “Vic is dead because of me. He tried to help me and he got killed over it.”

“Victor was a hero, Bart,” Clark said as he squeezed the boy’s shoulder. A few tears dripped down the boy’s cheeks, and Clark felt his own throat close. “He knew the risk, but he chose to help anyway. It wasn’t your fault . . . Oliver murdered him! Don’t worry, I don’t think Vic would blame you.” He stopped short of telling Bart that he’d cremated Vic’s body with his heat vision and spread the ashes under a tree in a nearby field. With no family to give him a proper burial, Clark figured it was the best they could do to keep and honor Vic’s last heroic act.

“Maybe not. I’m just sorry it happened, and that Lex got hurt. Are you sure he’s okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s promised me that Oliver will never hurt you again. But Bart, I wish you had told me!”

“I wanted to, Clark! I came here at first because I thought if anyone could help me, it would be you! But then I got scared when I thought about what Oliver would do! I didn’t want anyone to get hurt!” He covered his face with both hands, and Clark turned him, his big arms slipping around Bart’s shoulders. He let his friend cry, knowing that a good deal of delayed shock was being purged with those tears. Finally, he raised his head, sniffling. Clark pushed his hair back.

“If you ever want to talk about what happened, you can talk to me. I learned the hard way that keeping secrets only hurts people.”

Bart sniffled and nodded.

“Maybe sometime . . . just not right now.” He could feel the last of the neural inhibitor wearing off and was extremely relieved; maybe when he got his powers back, he would stop feeling so damn helpless.

“Fair enough,” Clark nodded. “Mom’s making dinner, so come down in about a half hour, okay?”

“Okay.” Bart rubbed the chafed patches of skin on his wrists. “Do you think I’ll do okay as Lex’s lab assistant? Oliver always told me I was nothing but a screw up.”

“Oliver was using you, Bart. Believe me, Lex realizes potential when he sees it. You’re going to do great!” He turned back toward the door.

“Hey, Clark?”

“Yeah?” He turned back to Bart, who flashed him a wide grin.

“Thanks.”

Clark returned the grin and then went downstairs to his bedroom. Lex was changing for supper and Clark went to him, his eyes marking the bruises on his lover’s pale skin. Each bruise was a punch that he would owe Oliver Queen the next time they met up.

“Lex. Are you all right?”

Lex glanced up, a fresh shirt in his left hand. The skin on his arms and bare chest was smooth and hairless, and Clark loved to touch it.

“Yes, Clark, I’m fine. How’s Bart? I promise that Oliver will never go near him again. He has no cause to be frightened. He’s safe with us.”

“I told him that,” Clark nodded as he slipped his arms around Lex and kissed the dark patch of freckles on his right shoulder. Lex chuckled and turned to him, and Clark kissed his lips.

“I got so scared when I found the blood in the hall, and your briefcase. I thought I’d lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Clark. Besides, it would take more than a psychotic blonde billionaire pretty boy to get the best of me. You should have seen his expression when he saw me—it was like he was trying not to swallow his own head,” Lex laughed, and Clark grinned as he stroked Lex’s shoulders.

“Sorry I missed that,” he said, and pulled Lex a bit closer. “I talked to Bart . . . he feels awful about Vic.”

“As do I,” Lex sighed. “I wish there was something I could have done to prevent his death.”

“I think he knew the risk . . . maybe he thought we could help him get out from under Ollie’s thumb, too, thought it was worth it.”

“Perhaps he did. His last act was a heroic one; I suppose that’s a comfort if nothing else.”

Clark nodded.

“Bart says he’s worried about the job you offered him; thanks to Oliver, he thinks he’s nothing but a screw up.”

“Nonsense! The boy was incredibly brave to run from Oliver and risk his own life for what he believed in! He tried to help us escape on the boat as well, but Oliver had used some kind of potion that repressed his speeding ability.”

“Bart says it’s not permanent. I feel so sorry for him, Lex . . . he’s back to where he started when I first met him.”

“I’d say he has a few more advantages than he did back then . . . most importantly, a friend who will always look out for him.” Lex said, and then his smile turned slightly wicked as Clark’s hands slid forward and caressed his chest.

“Why, Mr. Kent,” he grinned, and Clark’s hands roamed.

“We still have a half hour before dinner. Do you want to help me brush up on my Morse Code? You always were a better teacher than you were a student . . . Professor Luthor.”

Lex grinned as he reached back with one foot and swept the door shut with it.

“Mr. Kent, class is now in session.”

THE END

Cover art by the amazing, loveable herohunter!! Thank you, love!

ONE MOAR!

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 02:00:12 GMT

A few people have told me they don't know Colin, so I made this manip so you can compare us side by side! (I should have had the ring on the other hand, dang it!) Under the cut for size.

Dick Casablancas/Logan Echolls Icons

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 03:49:27 GMT

For your perusal and enjoyment, (and mine too because I love to make icons,) 31 Dick Casablancas and Logan Echolls icons. Most are of Dick, but Logan is in there too. Blank icons are not bases, please do not edit or repost, no hotlinking, and please comment/credit me if you use any. Feedback is prettier than Dick's blonde hair, peeps! Enjoy!

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Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

Birthday Fic for Hils! "Second Year Itch."

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 02:02:15 GMT

Wellingbaum fic for hils, for her birthday! Honey, I hope you enjoy this, and I hope your birthday was as wonderful as you are a friend! I love you! Thanks to cinderella81 and dreamwvr73 for the beta.

Second-Year Itch
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Michael Rosenbaum/Tom Welling
Genre: RPS, Humor, mild Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 3,198
Summary: It’s the start of filming for the second season of Smallville, but before the filming can begin, Tom has to come to terms with his bourgeoning crush on Michael, who has a slight problem of his own—an itch only Tom can reach.
A/N: For my darling, darling hils, for her birthday! Love, here’s the RPS you requested, and I hope you enjoy it! I wish you all the best for the coming year, babe, and you know I love you like crazy!

Second-Year Itch
By Lexalicious70

Tom Welling, dressed in Clark’s customary shapeless jeans and blue-and-red flannel shirt, crossed the WB lot as he headed for the trailers where the actors of Smallville spent their time in between takes and when their characters weren’t needed on the set. Most of the trailers were dark and quiet, but the lights were on in the last trailer to the left, the one Tom spent more time in than he did any of the others, even his own—the one that belonged to his costar, Michael Rosenbaum. It was the first day of the second season of filming after summer break, and Tom always stopped at Michael’s trailer so they could walk over to the set together. Tom felt his pulse quicken its pace as he approached the trailer door; he had spent the summer nursing a deep crush on Michael that he hadn’t quite come to terms with, especially in light of his marriage to Jamie, his very female wife. Tom knew he was straight, but there was something in Michael, an energy, an undeniable magnetism, a combination of humor, intelligence, and sexuality that Tom found himself irrevocably drawn to. He was helpless in its wake, and to complicate matters further, he was pretty sure that Michael knew.

Tom climbed the trailer steps and raised a hand to knock on the door when he heard a muffled rasping and a string of curses from inside the trailer. Tom frowned.

“Michael?” He called as he knocked. “It’s me!”

The door’s lock pinged as it unlocked in reply, and Tom pulled it open. He paused as the sight that greeted him left him momentarily speechless; Michael’s head was freshly shaved and made up and he wore a pair of Lex’s black slacks and high quality black leather shoes, but he was shirtless, and Tom tried not to stare at his friend’s lean but very toned chest with its fair, freckle-dusted skin and small dusky nipples, like two drops of warm caramel. Instead of greeting him, Michael turned toward the nearest wall and shimmied against it back-first, bending his knees slightly and arching his hips forward. Tom swallowed and then managed a grin.

“Dancing for me? That’s not the greeting I expected, but I left all my dollar bills back at my trailer.” Tom patted his pockets with exaggerated motions and Michael scowled as he continued to shimmy against the wall.

“I’m not dancing, you bastard!” Michael said through gritted teeth. “It’s my back! It itches! Aghh!” Michael gave a frustrated, strangled sound as he leaned back further into the wall. Tom stepped inside and shut the door.

“I thought all you metrosexual men moisturized and took bubble baths for your sensitive girl skin,” Tom replied with a casual grin, and Michael scowled over at him.

“You’re the ex-model, pretty boy . . . oh God, why aren’t these fucking walls made of stucco?” He pulled away and turned, and Tom’s eyes widened when he saw Michael’s back. It was fair and toned as well, with a wide spray of dark freckles across both shoulders. However, on the horizontal above the small of Michael’s back were three angry, irregular blotches of red. Inside the irritations were small round welts, no doubt the source of the itch. Tom’s skin prickled just looking at them.

“Christ, Michael, what happened?” He asked, and Michael’s back arched again.

“I went down to Mexico with a buddy of mine to the beach this last weekend . . . we goofed around, body surfed, stuff like that. I fell asleep on a towel in the sand, but it wasn’t big enough and I rolled off it. When I woke up, I had all these bites on my back. The doctor says they’re from sand flies. Harmless, mostly, but they itch like hell!” Michael tried to reach first over one shoulder and then up around his back, but the bites were out of reach either way. Tom watched, his green eyes sympathetic.

“Don’t you have any calamine or cortisone?” He asked, and Michael nodded.

“The doctor gave me a tube of this extra-strength itch stuff, but I can’t reach.” Michael rotated his shoulders and Tom watched the play of good muscle under the freckled skin. Michael had reddened the skin a little by rubbing it against the wall, but it was obvious he’d done little to relieve the itch.

“Come here, let me see,” he said, and Michael went to him with the willingness of a man who trusted his friends unconditionally. Tom turned him around, his big hands splaying out across Michael’s bare shoulders. They rose up into his touch almost automatically. Tom ran a hand over the blotches and could feel the prickly heat emanating from them. Michael leaned into the touch.

“Scratch ‘em for me, Tommy. They itch so damn bad!”

“If I do, they’re only going to itch more. Where’s the cream the doctor gave you?”

Michael went over to his jacket that lay slung over a chair in the corner and pulled out a medium-sized tube of medicated cream. A pharmacist’s label covered one side of the blue and white container. He tossed it to Tom.

“Looks like crab medication,” he laughed, and Tom grinned.

“You would know.”

“I know because I went to college, you dick. Those frat houses can get pretty tacky.”

“And how many times did you go diving for shellfish in the frat house pool?” Tom asked, and Michael kicked at him.

“I’ve seen the medication, I’ve never had them!”

“I’ll be sure and tell TV Guide the next time they ask me about you.” Tom looked the tube over. “We have a scene to film in an hour, and you’re only going to itch worse in Lex’s clothes and under the set lights. Come on, I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to, Tommy.”

“I know. But I’m not going to spend the next twelve hours watching you do different variations of the pee pee dance.” Tom nodded to the couch. “Lie down.”

“I love it when you push me around,” Michael breathed as he mock-widened his lapis-colored eyes, and Tom grinned as he gave Michael a shove in the rear with one big booted foot as his friend laid belly down on the couch. He pillowed his cheek on his folded-up-arms, careful not to smear his makeup, knowing that Natalie, his makeup girl, would give him hell for it. Tom glanced at the tube in his hand.

“It says non-greasy, and that it doesn’t stain or smell. So it’s got more going for it than you do!”

Michael gave a sarcastic and mocking bray of laughter as he rolled his eyes.

“Quit being a fucktard and help me, will you?”

“Okay,” Tom grinned, but he felt his hand shake a little as he spun the cap off the tube. He filled his palm with a sizeable dollop of the beige cream, spread it on both hands, and slicked it over the bumps and red skin. Michael hissed at the contact, and Tom hesitated.

“It hurts?”

“No, it’s cold!”

“Oh. Sorry.” He bent over again and then shook his head. “Hang on . . .” He swung one long leg over Michael and folded it in to place his knee between Michael and the couch, and then lifted the other to place it Michael’s other side until he was straddling his hips. Michael arched into him and Tom bit back a gasp at the motion until he realized that Michael was only adjusting to the press of his weight. He took a deep breath and continued to spread the cream along Michael’s back, the angle much easier now. The older man sighed and relaxed under Tom’s big hands.

“Ohhh, that feels better, Tommy. Been driving me up the wall.” He arched back again and Tom lifted his hips so the small of Michael’s back wouldn’t bump against his groin, where things were starting to gear up despite his best efforts to remain detached about the contact. He worked the cream in until it was no longer visible, and saw that the affected skin was already a bit less red.

“How’s the itching?” Tom asked, mostly to distract himself from how firm Michael’s muscles were under the fair skin.

“Better. God, I was ready to head for the zoo with a sharp stick to poke the bears with so they’d claw me.” He arched his hips back again, and this time the motion had nothing to do with adjustment. “But I knew I could count on you, Tommy.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tom smiled, but even he could hear the tremor in his voice. He swallowed hard. “I mean, we’re pals, right?”

“Best pals,” Michael replied in a sleepy-sounding voice, and the low, throaty sound of it made Tom’s chest feel crowded. He swung a leg over and slid off the couch. Michael glanced up, and Tom went over to the sink.

“All done,” he smiled as he washed his hands. Michael sat up.

“Hey . . . I’m sorry. If you don’t feel the same, it’s cool.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tom replied as he kept his gaze averted.

“About us being best pals.”

“Don’t be an ass. Of course we are.”

Michael got to his feet. The itching on his back had faded thanks to the cream, but now he was itching someplace else, an itch that had been ignited by Tom’s touch. He thought he’d felt his younger co-star respond to his signals all the previous year, and the slightly less subtle signal he’s given with his hips just now, which, if Tom’s reaction was any indication, had been too much of a signal. He knew that he had to proceed with caution.

“I appreciate you taking care of me.”

“You would have done the same,” Tom replied, and Michael nodded.

“Yeah, course.” He walked up the two risers into the kitchen area, giving Tom room to move but hovering on the fringe of his personal space. Tom still hadn’t turned from the sink, and Michael’s stomach did a sudden lift and drop as he realized that Tom hadn’t run because he was frightened but to hide the fact that he was aroused. Hope glowed in Michael’s chest. He reached out and touched Tom’s hand. “I’d do pretty much anything you asked me, Tom.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them, like the smell of the chemistry two highly compatible people made in a small space. Tom shifted his weight.

“How’s your itch?” He asked, and Michael tightened his grip on Tom’s big hand.

“Actually, I think I might need you to scratch it for me some more.” Throwing caution to the wind, as he so often did, Michael tugged Tom forward as he turned him with the other hand, stepping forward to press his groin into Tom’s very muscular left thigh. Tom cursed softly and Michael reached up to bury a hand in Tom’s hair as he pressed his lips to Tom’s. The sensation of the two soft, red pillows of flesh were hotter than any fantasy Michael had ever entertained about them. Tom made a sound of profound surprise against Michael’s mouth and pulled back. The motion snapped Michael out of his reality and he looked up into Tom’s stunned green eyes. A pin of doubt began to replace the glow in Michael’s chest.

“Tom—”

His next words were cut off as Tom’s big arms encircled his lean waist and he was pulled up against his co-star’s big frame. His lips were then claimed by Tom’s own, over and over, and Michael had to remember to breathe in between kisses as the young man devoured his mouth, murmuring words against his lips. Michael kissed him back, petting Tom’s soft black hair. He envied it briefly, remembering his own dark russet head of hair, and then Tom was moving them back over to the couch. He pushed Michael down and dropped to his knees. Michael watched, his arousal spiking as Tom’s big hands fumbled at the belt he wore, and then undid the button and fly of the slacks he wore. There was no time for hesitation, for questions; Michael lifted his hips as Tom slid the slacks and white boxers down to puddle at Michael’s ankles, revealing an erection that was already standing up stiff and hard. Michael looked down at the young man kneeling between his knees, knowing he was straight and very married; yet, Michael’s own fluid sexual nature reasoned that even though people insisted on labeling themselves as either straight or gay, some chemistry just couldn’t be denied. Michael knew that they were helpless to stop this, even if they had wanted to.

Tom reached out and gripped Michael’s erection, the first male flesh he had ever touched other than his own. It was hot and smooth, like a heated metal rod sheathed in silk. At its base was a thick spiral of wiry, dark roe hair, neatly groomed. Tom grinned a little at that.

“You’re such a metro,” he murmured, and Michael gasped laughter.

“Deal with it,” he replied, his thighs tensing as Tom began to stroke him, and he bit his lower lip as the big, warm hand began a lazy slide up and down his stiff length. His hands tangled in Tom’s thick hair.

“So good, Tommy. So good . . . nothing to it, right? Just two pals who love each other. Oh,
God . . .” Michael moaned as the stroking increased, and although Tom’s touch was inexperienced, it was eager and sincere. Michael’s hips began a slow roll as the rhythm settled into something a bit steadier. His erection quivered in Tom’s big fist. Michael’s head thumped against the back of the couch and he had just one fleeting moment of guilt for Natalie’s makeup job after all before most of the blood in his body went down south, turning his cock into iron and drawing his balls up tight against his body.

“Tom,” he moaned, and Tom’s green eyes lifted to his for just a moment before his body swayed forward. Michael watched, as if hypnotized, and then he wailed softly, briefly, as Tom’s tongue flickered out and tasted the weeping head of his erection. Pulsing tremors surged up and down its length, and Tom grinned almost triumphantly.

“Been wanting that,” he said softly, and the visage of his costar, dressed in Clark Kent’s clothes and projecting that aura of innocence he always did when he was inhabiting Clark was almost too much for Michael, and his thighs trembled.

“Tom . . . you . . .”

“I know.” Tom paused and grinned again with the manner of a man who couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, but was enjoying it just the same. “I know. Shut up.” He laughed, and then the mirth dropped from his expression as his hand began to move faster, his eyes glued to Michael’s erection and the reactions he was milking from it. He watched it quiver and jerk as he slid his hand along it, and then leaned in to lap up the beads of liquid that formed at the tip every few moments. Michael was breathing hard now, his fair skin flushed, his caramel-drop nipples tight and erect. He stroked Tom’s hair and then hesitated before he brought his hands to his own chest and rolled his thumbs and index fingers over them. Tom glanced up, and Michael caught his gaze, his own expression fevered.

“I’m gonna come,” he groaned, and Tom paused long enough to undo his own fly. He hauled out his own erection, and Michael’s eyes widened at its size and length. Apparently, the big hands and big feet indicator was accurate; his friend had one of the biggest cocks he’d ever laid eyes on. “Christ,” he managed, and Tom flashed him a knowing grin before he wrapped his free hand around it and began to flog it in rhythm with Michael’s. Michael watched, the sight arousing him just as much as the sounds and touches, and then his groin was filling with tension and sensation as everything coiled, paused, and then let loose with such intense bursts of pleasure that Michael bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. He pinched his own nipples as Tom stroked him hard, leaning forward to catch several ribbons of come with his tongue as Michael spurted hard over his hand. Some dripped from his chin in a sight so erotic that Michael’s cock gave one last eager pulse before everything faded away and left him boneless. He laid there, sprawled and panting as Tom licked his lips and worked his own erection. Michael reached forward and ran his hands through Tom’s hair with affection.

“That’s it Tommy . . . come on . . . come on, yeah!” He grinned as he watched Tom shudder and moan as his thick pole jerked and began to spurt over his own hand and the dust ruffle of the brown couch. He finally wound down and let go of his drooping erection, panting as he wiped off his chin with his other hand. Michael chuckled.

“Messy. I like it messy.”

“This from the guy who’s closet is neater than my mother’s.” Tom replied, and cleaned himself off with a clump of tissues from the box on the end table nearby.

“I said I like this messy. My clothes are a different matter.” He smiled as Tom handed him several tissues. “Thanks. Uh, are you okay?”

Tom nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I admit, I’ve never done anything like that before, but . . .” he zipped up his jeans and lifted his eyes to Michael. “It’s not like I haven’t done this in my mind a thousand times since we’ve met.”

“I know what you mean.” Michael tucked himself away but was loathe to move from the couch. He felt absolutely fluid. Tom saw the sated look in his eye and chuckled.

“You do realize that we have to leave this trailer and film our scene in about thirty minutes.”

Michael reached up and tugged Tom down next to him on the couch. Tom landed with a thump and a grin, and Michael’s heart seemed to glow as he saw the promise of a future in that smile. He cupped Tom’s chin and kissed him.

“Thirty minutes, hmmm? Plenty of time to find out what other itches we can scratch.”

THE END

Smallville Big Bang Fic: "If Chance Will Have Me King," Chapter Five

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 01:12:58 GMT

Title: If Chance Will Have Me King
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Genre: AU, Drama
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual situations
Beta(s) cinderella81 and dreamwvr73, with thanks also to herohunter
For the 2009 Smallville Big Bang
All characters in this work of fiction are 18 and over.
Word count for draft: 10,814
Final Word Count: 23,577
Summary: It’s the end of the world but the beginning of another, where Clark must endure an ancient Kryptonian maturity ritual in order to become emperor to the descendants of his birth race, and where Lex must struggle with the question of identity in the wake of the destruction of his own, but is all truly as it seems on their new world?
Author’s Note: Smallville and its character are the property of the CW; Superman characters created by Joel Seigel and Jerry Shuster. No copyfright infringement intended; this is just for fun and because it’s what I love to do.

“Iasha, please. I don’t understand.” Clark looked up at his former vizier as the tall man laid out fine new J’annhadd’s robes on the bed. “I thought you said you’d look after me now that I can no longer be the king.”

“And I will, Kal-El, but there is truly only one way that you can remain in the royal house without being of royal blood. You will train with Kwinn, as your traitorous J’annhadd did, and he will teach you well. You both are of an age and will work well together. You will want for nothing, my sweet Kal-El.” He paused to touch Clark’s cheek. “Besides, if you do not agree to this, the council may vote to send you off world, perhaps even to Klaxor, the slave-trading planet, where you would be sold.”

“Sold?” Clark crossed his arms over his chest as a shiver ran through his big frame. He wore only an undergarment that barely covered his genitals and was made of a thin, gauzy material.

“It would be unfortunate, Kal-El, and I could not bear to see you sent away. Becoming my servant keeps you on Quonyos, and close to me, where I might care for you always.” The touch to his cheek became more intimate, and Clark looked up. Iasha smiled. “Of course . . . I will have to bond with you, as I did with Kwinn. While it is true you are ruined, it does not bother me so much. You are so very beautiful, Kal-El, and I look forward to seeing you and Kwinn share pleasures as he teaches you how to pleasure your master.”

“You mean. . . that’s part of of what Kwinn does for you?” Clark asked, and Iasha nodded.

“It is indeed. Come . . . do not be afraid.” He moved the clothing to a chair and turned Clark gently as he pushed on the boy’s shoulder and sat him down on the soft duvet. Clark shook his head.

“Iasha . . . I appreciate you caring for me, but I don’t . . . I don’t think I can do this. Please, I’d like to see Lex.”

Iasha looked down at the young Kryptonian. He was tall and broad, yet so guileless and trusting. In his full blush of near-maturity, he was more than ripe for the plucking. The man’s erection ached beneath his robes. Only one more thing needed to be said before the youth would be completely under his power.

“I am very sorry, Kal-El,” Iasha murmured as he sat beside Clark and slipped an arm around him. “I thought it best that you not know, but perhaps you should. The council executed the human Lex Luthor about an hour ago. He was demented and dangerous. I know it pains you, my sweet boy, yes . . . shhhh, it is all right.” He turned toward Clark and pulled him close as he began to cry. “But you must remember what he did to you! He was jealous of your station and of your crown, and he forever ruined that for you! But fear not, he is gone now, never to harm you again. All is well, my sweet one. Shhh.” He stroked Clark’s hair and felt the youth relax under the touch; he was vulnerable and confused, and now was Iasha’s time. He raised Clark’s chin with a gentle hand and then captured the young man’s full red lips with his own. Clark gave a gasp of surprise and his green eyes widened as Iasha took one of his big hands and pressed it between his own legs, letting his new slave feel his erection. Clark trembled and a few more tears slipped down his cheeks. Iasha’s hands slid up to Clark’s broad shoulders and pushed him until the youth gave in and laid back. Iasha smiled. “There now . . . there’s my good Kal-El. Yes, you’re ready to give me pleasure, aren’t you . . . it is our time to bond, and afterwards, you will truly understand your destiny.” Iasha unwrapped his robes and dropped them next to the bed. Clark stared up at him.

“Please, Iasha . . . it’s . . . please, I can’t, not right now.” Memories of Lex tumbled over one another in his mind. Iasha saw the doubt in Clark’s eyes and knew he must extinguish it.

“Be still, sweet Kal-El. I will soon banish the human forever from your mind, and forge with you new memories that we will both treasure.” He reached down and pulled away Clark’s undergarment to reveal the young man’s sex. Even flaccid as it was, it was large and thick and surrounded by a thick cloud of very dark and curly hair. Clark groaned as Iasha pushed his thighs apart and rose over him, his own erection slick with lube from a tube kept in a drawer nearby. Clark squeezed his eyes shut even as tears squeezed from their corners.

“Lex!” He whimpered, and Iasha snatched up a corner of the duvet. He shoved it between Clark’s teeth and held it taut with one hand as he crushed Clark’s legs back between them and grasped his erection with his other hand, his target now in plain sight.

“It is time for you to face your destiny, Kal-El of Krypton!” He hissed, and Clark gasped as he felt the tip of the man’s erection touch him.

The chamber doors slammed open behind them, and Iasha turned in shock to see the eight council members standing there, along with half a dozen armed guards, and, to Iasha’s disbelief, the pale human who Kal-El adored. Aluah stepped forward.

“Iasha Shan-Zaar! I order you in the name of the holy council to stop! Guards, restrain him!”

The guards sprang forward and used manacles to secure Iasha’s hands behind him while he fought them.

“Aluah! What is the meaning of this madness?” He shouted, and Aluah glared at him.

“I might ask you the same, Iasha! The prince has been under your protection for only a few hours, and this is how you watch over him? By taking him to your bed?” She picked up the new J’annhadd’s clothing. “By the great red heart of Rao! The human spoke the truth; you planned on making Kal-El your slave, not your treasured ward!” She threw the clothing down. “Traitor! Murderer! You killed the family of the house of Uhall so that you would become vizier to Kal-El, and then you destroyed Earth! You wiped out an entire species in your thirst for revenge!” She cried, and Iasha bared his teeth at her.

“What do you care of it, Aluah? Your family has always been of noble blood, and its members have always sat on council! You have never known the pain of losing your own people to execution and exile! Kal-El’s people murdered my family and disgraced the ones they allowed to live!”

“Remove him! Take him to the holding cells!” Aluah ordered the guards, and Iasha looked over his shoulder at Clark, who was watching everything with wide, bewildered eyes.

“You are the issue of murderers and bootlicking lizards, Kal-El! I destroyed everyone you care about so you would know how it felt to be alone! You stupid boy, you were never meant to be king!”

Aluah watched as Iasha was taken from the room, and then Lex rushed past her to get to Clark.

“Clark? Clark . . . are you all right? Did he hurt you?” Lex asked as he took a quarter of the top sheet and draped it across Clark’s thighs. Clark looked up at Lex and the gentleness of the gesture told him all he needed to know, and that his doubts had been correct. He threw his arms around Lex and pulled him against his own bare chest.

“Lex . . . oh God Lex, you’re alive! You’re alive . . . I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, please, forgive me! I didn’t know! They told me what you did and I never should have let them take you away! Please, forgive me,” Clark murmured as he kissed Lex’s forehead, his closed eyes, his lips. “I love you. Please.”

“Shhhh, Clark. It’s all right. I forgive you.” Lex stroked his lover’s hair as he leaned against Clark’s big shoulder and inhaled his scent. “Iasha drugged us both and framed me. You didn’t know, it’s all right.”

Aluah watched them. She had never seen anyone risk his life for the safety and well-being of another the way this pale human had for their prince.

“Kal-El . . . if you come with me, our council doctors can examine you once again and determine if your d’hemm was truly breached. You have the council’s most sincere and humble apologies, highness. We believed Iasha to be honorable and your J’annhadd traitorous, but now we believe that Iasha bribed those doctors to say whatever he paid them to say.”

Lex looked up at Aluah. “My lady . . . may I ask a question?”

“Of course. If what you say is true, then you have saved our crowned prince. Speak freely.”

“When I burst into the council chambers and although you knew who I was, you allowed me to speak. Why?”

The woman’s neon blue eyes warmed with good humor.

“Because, Lex Luthor, we are a diverse people here on Quonyos. Iasha’s ancestors were Kryptonian . . . but mine were human.”

“Human! How can that be?”

“Were there not stories about humans vanishing off the face of the earth from the very early times of your people?” Aluah asked, and Lex nodded.

“Yes, but most people didn’t believe in alien abduction or space travel for everyday people.”

“Those things are truer than you know, Lex Luthor, and there are people who vanish through temporal anomalies, wormholes, and portals all over the universe. After all, did not you?”

“I suppose I did, even if Iasha didn’t expect me to,” Lex smiled and then looked up at Clark. “Are you all right, Clark?”

“I think so, yeah.” Clark touched Lex’s face. “I didn’t want to believe him, Lex, but everything happened so fast and I didn’t know what was happening! They took you away and then Iasha told me they’d already executed you. He said unless I wanted to be sold, I had to be his slave . . . that his J’annhadd, Kwinn, was going to train me and—”

“Kwinn!” Lex gasped. “Oh God, I left him unconscious in the council building!”

“You did! And for that, I should never speak to the Lex again!” A voice said from the doorway, and Lex stood up as Kwinn walked into the room. The petite young man marched up to Lex and looked up at him, slender hands on his hips, his eyes tipped upwards toward Lex’s face. Lex stepped forward and embraced him.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Kwinn,” he said softly. “Forgive me for what I did . . . it was the only way to truly keep you safe. I didn’t want them to hurt you because you helped me.”

After a moment, Kwinn relented and returned the hug before he looked up at Lex.

“I forgive the Lex; I know you speak the truth.” He turned to Iasha and went down on one knee. “My lady.”

“Your grace, Kwinn helped me uncover Iasha’s treachery and risked his own life to free me from prison. If not for him, we never would have discovered that you all had been tricked.”

Aluah looked down at the young slave before her.

“In most cases, when a J’annhadd’s master dies or is removed from his office for a crime, he is sold to serve another, either here on Quonyos or off world.”

“No one’s going to be bought or sold here, ever again, once I’m king,” Clark said as he got to his feet. “If Kwinn wants to stay with us here and continue to serve, he can, but not without earning a wage. I won’t have slaves in my kingdom.”

Uluah smiled as Lex put a hand on Kwinn’s shoulder.

“Of course, Kal-El. Although Iasha brought you here under a false pretense, the fact remains that you are still of noble Kryptonian blood . . . and that ruling those who came from your bloodline is still your best destiny. Kal-El of Krypton . . . Quonyos will welcome you as its king.”

Two Weeks Later

“Well, that was quite a celebration, wasn’t it?”

Lex took off the long cloak and cape that he’d worn to the coronation ball and hung it up on a hook in the corner, where he knew Kwinn would fetch it later for washing, and turned to face Clark as he came into the room. His lover wore a finely-made tunic of red and blue woven fabric that was very soft to the touch and featured the symbol of the house of El high up on the right breast. His breeches were the same blue shade as his tunic, and black boots covered his feet. A blood-red cape trailed out behind Clark as he walked, also emblazoned with the symbol of the house of El. Clark nodded and reached over one shoulder to try and undo the cape, which was fastened with an engraved silver clasp at the right shoulder. Lex smiled and went to him.

“Don’t twist yourself in half, Clark, let me,” he laughed, and undid the clasp. The heavy cape fell into Lex’s arms, and he took it over to another hook to hang it up. Clark sat down on the bed and began to tug off his boots.

“I can’t believe how many people were there. Did you see? It was like the whole planet turned up for the coronation.”

“Despite how you were brought here and why, the people here still really seem to love you, Clark.”

Clark stood his boots in the corner before he went to Lex and slipped his arms around his lover.

“I’ll try and do my best by them . . . with your help, of course. And they love you, too. As far as they’re concerned, you saved me from being made a slave and them from being ruled by a murderous madman.”

“Of course,” Lex smiled. “Now that I’m no longer your slave but your mate instead, I believe my first order of business is to help you mature.” He touched Clark’s cheek. “It’s my honor and my greatest desire, Clark.”

A mild blush stained Clark’s cheeks at the words.

“You know that I always wanted it to be you, don’t you, Lex? Even when Iasha told me that it wouldn’t be possible?”

“Of course I know. Don’t think on it anymore, love . . . Iasha is gone now. If you ask me, his execution was much too merciful, considering what he did to us. And I know how difficult it was for you . . . being snatched away from Earth, being near death, and then being healed, only to be told you’re going to rule an entire planet where nothing is as you knew it before. You must have been so confused. I can’t blame for you doubting me, too. I wasn’t exactly understanding.”

“I was confused . . . but I should have trusted you.” Clark closed his eyes briefly. “I miss everyone, Lex. My parents, my friends .” When he opened his eyes again, the green irises were bright with tears.

“I know. I’ll miss them, too. But we have each other, Clark, and I promise, as long as I’m here, I’ll do my best to make sure that you’ll never feel alone.” He reached up and brushed a tear from Clark’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Lex,” Clark whispered, and then lowered his lips to Lex’s. Lex accepted the kiss eagerly, deepening it, making it more intense. Clark whimpered in desire and Lex turned him, walking him backwards a few steps to the huge bed, where they fell there together, still bonded by their kiss. Lex began to tug at buttons and fasteners, removing Clark’s clothing piece by piece, until he lay there nude, his big frame a bit slimmer after his ordeal, but no less beautiful. He drank Clark in as Clark undressed him, his clothes joining Clark’s on the floor.

“Join with me, Lex,” Clark smiled as he tugged Lex’s tunic off of him. “Help me become the man I need to be.”

“You’re already that man. You’ve been so brave, Clark.” He stretched out next to Clark, belly to belly, and Clark stroked his cheek and then the blood-red tattoo on Lex’s left shoulder.

“I’m sorry Iasha gave you this. Maybe we can get it removed.”

Lex shook his head.

“No. It says that I belong to you. Even though I’m not your slave anymore, I still do. I always will.”

Clark smiled and cupped Lex’s face to kiss him. Lex caressed Clark’s face, his shoulders, his chest, and when Clark broke the kiss, Lex ducked his head to kiss Clark’s neck, his collarbone. Clark submitted as Lex pushed him back gently onto his back as he rose up onto one elbow. He dipped his head down and worshipped Clark’s light brown nipples with his tongue, and Clark responded with a gasping whimper as his cock began to jerk to life. Lex reached down to stroke the velvety sheath with the back of his left hand and felt it pulse it response. It urged him on, and he sucked Clark’s left nipple up between his lips to feast on it noisily. Clark’s big hands stroked Lex’s shoulders, his back, and the bare skin of his scalp, which seemed the most intimate touch of all. As Clark widened his thighs, inviting Lex to explore between them, Lex switched over to the other nipple to give it equal attention.

“My Mish’dahhl,” he murmured around the peaked flesh. “My heart has always been your slave, Clark.”

“Oh God, Lex,” Clark whispered, his big hands spreading across Lex’s lean back, his fingers tracing along the pale flesh. Lex smiled and ducked away from him, blazing a bold path down Clark’s flat belly with his tongue. Clark writhed on the duvet, watching, his green eyes wide.

“Lex . . .”

Lex’s slim left hand then wrapped firmly around Clark’s ever-growing erection, pulling the foreskin back with an experienced touch, and Clark’s hips bucked upwards as his questing tongue laved affection over the exposed head of his cock. It flicked and lapped and curled around the sensitive flesh, and Clark moaned as his body kicked into a high gear, preparing for a climax he knew would be intense.

“Lex, yes, God . . . been so long . . . been so long, please! Please, do it!”

“As his majesty commands,” Lex chuckled, and opened his mouth wide. He took in most of Clark’s erection with one smooth movement, and what he couldn’t swallow, his left hand stroked and petted. His relaxed his throat and took Clark deep as his scarred lips created a tight seal around the heated rod in his mouth. As Clark bucked and moaned beneath him, Lex began to bob his head in an even rhythm, his tongue working the underside of Clark’s erection on every upward stroke, and then the head and topside on the downward stroke. Since Clark was a virgin, Lex knew that an initial orgasm would help his lover relax for the lovemaking that would take place in a few moments, and that once the muscles relaxed, penetration would be easier. Clark moaned and his hips began to roll at a faster pace. Lex increased the tempo of his sucking and let one hand wander down in between the firm cheeks of Clark’s ass, where two fingers stroked and lightly pressed. Clark gasped and his big frame tensed.

“Lex . . . I’m gonna . . . oh, God!” He gasped, and Lex backed off slightly in order to swallow the hot pulses that Clark fed him. He milked Clark dry until he felt the last twitch and then pulled away gently, sucking the softening flesh clean as he did so. He sat back and stroked Clark’s heaving belly, watching the muscles there twitch and shudder with aftershocks. Lex grinned at the sight and gave his own erection a few tugs before he straddled Clark’s thighs. Clark stared up at him with a giddy smile on his face, and Lex reached over into the nightstand for the small jar of lube he kept within easy reach.

“Give me your hand, Clark,” he said, and Clark held out his right hand. Lex spread a generous amount of the stuff over his lover’s big fingers and then rose up on his calves. “Slick yourself up,” he said, and Clark understood. He spread the lube liberally over his entrance to ease the way, and Lex inhaled sharply, watching the beautiful sight, trembling, his body already thrumming in high gear. Clark withdrew his hand and Lex smiled down at his younger lover as he gently eased Clark’s thighs back, holding them there.

“Don’t be afraid, Clark. I’d never hurt you. I promise you that.”

“I trust you,” Clark sighed, his big frame relaxed, his fingers idly plucking at his own erect nipples as he felt Lex press against him. There was a blunt insistence, and then the head of Lex’s weeping cock slipped inside of him. He gasped in surprise at the sensation and bucked up into Lex, who held him still.

“Not yet, Clark . . .” he gasped pleasured laughter. “God, not yet, let me . . .” He inched in further and Clark’s hands left his own chest to grip Lex’s lean arms, the muscles standing out and corded. Clark traced his hands over the contours of the muscles, committing them to memory, and then traced his hands over Lex’s collarbone and shoulders, marking errant freckles with a touch as he watched Lex’s handsome face contort with pleasure. His lover’s sizeable erection continued to slide into him. Clark felt little pain thanks to the orgasm Lex had given him and because of the lube. He only felt filled with a kind of pressurized pleasure that had his own cock stirring to life again. He squirmed and clenched around Lex’s erection, and Lex moaned.

“Almost there, lover . . . almost there. Just hang on . . .”

“Feel so good Lex . . .”

“It does, doesn’t it? You’re so tight, Clark . . . God, I could live inside you . . . sweet boy, my sweet Clark!” Lex gasped as he gave a quick buck of his hips and slid in all the way, now fully sheathed by Clark’s tight tunnel of flesh. The head of his cock pushed against something that felt warm and very pliant, and Clark wailed as he clenched hard around Lex once again. Knowing that he wouldn’t hold out much longer like this, Lex began a slow but firm thrusting, making sure he drove deep each time. Clark began to moan and writhe, his hands roving all over Lex’s body wherever he could reach. He wanted to clench around Lex and never let go, to be like this forever, to be loved and pleasured and to be enveloped in Lex’s scent for the rest of his life. His cock, hard between his and Lex’s bellies once again, gave a series of shuddering jerks as his body tensed tighter and tighter. Lex felt the oncoming orgasm and began to thrust faster, pounding into Clark just as eagerly as Clark bucked into him. Clark shuddered then, tensed hard, and then he was shrieking Lex’s name as he came hard, spurting against his own belly, the hot ribbons of his issue sliding between them as Lex bucked forward hard, his own lean frame tensing. Lex gasped Clark’s name as he felt the pliant, warm sac of Clark’s d’hemm burst against his cock, spraying it with liquid warmth that was so intensely pleasurable that black dots swam in Lex’s vision. He came hard, spilling into Clark as Clark clung to him, crying his name over and over. Lex’s orgasm went on until he thought he might faint, and then finally it faded, leaving him washed out and trembling. His spent cock slithered wetly from Clark’s body as he rested his head against Clark’s broad chest. Clark slipped his arms around him as a strange, slow rushing sensation filled his body. Growth hormones pumped through his body, and he felt the sensations build a bridge between Lex’s body and his, bonding them, as if Lex’s heartbeat and bodily rhythms were a growing echoes just beyond Clark’s own. Lex closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Clark’s wild heartbeat.

“My Mish’dahhl,” he murmured, and Clark stroked his lover’s head. No matter what they endured from now on, they would endure it as they were now—bonded for the rest of their lives. He smiled and raised Lex’s chin so he could look into his mate’s bright lapis eyes.

“You say you’re a slave to my heart, Lex . . . but you’ll always be the master of it, too.”

One month later

“Great Kandor! Will the Lex ever learn to eat his y’heeg?”

Lex glanced up from the big desk in the corner of the huge sitting room in the royal chambers that he and Clark shared to see Kwinn clearing away the supper dishes from the nearby dining table. The yellow, leafy plant-like vegetable was still on Lex’s plate. He smiled.

“Will the Kwinn ever learn, and stop serving y’heeg to the Lex?” He asked as he glanced back down at his computer console. Kwinn, who wore a blue tunic and black breeches and a long but lightweight red cape, stacked the dishes and gave Lex a long-suffering but affectionate glance. After the coronation, he had chosen to stay with Clark and Lex as their houseboy, butler, and cook, but since Clark had ruled slavery illegal, the young boy now earned a good wage for his work and had his own very comfortable quarters in the royal house. Clark had offered him other work and his freedom away from Quonyos, but Kwinn’s training and instincts to care for others were so deeply ingrained that Lex imagined the young man would want for little else. That had proven to be true; in the past month, Kwinn had proven himself to be a loyal employee and a devoted friend, and Lex had grown very fond of the young man.

“His majesty will hear of this!” Kwinn teased as he walked out with the dishes, and Lex chuckled a little as he adjusted the brightness on his computer and continued his reading. He was slowly adjusting to life on Quonyos, and since he had uncovered Iasha’s plot and prevented Clark from being ruined by him, Lex found himself to be much-celebrated on the planet he now called home. He had taken Iasha’s place as royal vizier, but was also Clark’s unquestioned mate. He now worked tirelessly with Narik and the other scientists of Quonyos in an effort to cure disease and preserve the planet’s resources during the day before he returned to the royal chambers at night, where he and Clark spent hours talking, laughing, and loving each other until they fell into an exhausted sleep. With the breaking of his d’hemm, Clark had filled out to an impressive breadth and width, and was more solid than Lex had ever seen him. He had also become more confident, more calm, and had taken over his royal duties with newfound maturity that only made him more attractive. Although Quonyos wasn’t their homeworld, it was quickly becoming home.

“I thought you weren’t going to bring your work home anymore,” Clark smiled as he came into the room, his cape trailing out behind him in a billow of red. Lex rose and went to his mate, who greeted him with a kiss and a warm embrace.

“It’s not work, just a bit of reading. They don’t have books here as such . . . everything is on discs or the information system.”

“And you have to keep your mind sharp, I know. Have you mastered the language yet?”

“Almost. I just have to tweak my syntax and Narik will remove the translator chip from my neck next week.”

“I think I might need mine awhile longer. I’ve picked up quite a bit of it, but not as fast as you have.”

“Well, I’ve always had a knack for language,” Lex smiled as he unclasped Clark’s cape and hung it up nearby. He traced his fingers over the bright house of El symbol for a few moments. Clark watched him.

“Lex, are you all right?”

“Yes . . . sorry. Guess I was just woolgathering.” He glanced up at Clark. “I was just thinking about how it was pure chance that I was brought here along with you that day . . . about how if I hadn’t been cut by that glass from the fallen light fixture, I wouldn’t be here with you. It was chance, and that frightens me. I’ve always been a man who believed in destiny, but now I’m not so sure anymore.”

Clark stroked Lex’s cheek.

“A long time ago, you told me that we had a future together, that we were destined to be the stuff of legends.”

Lex smiled. “I meant on Earth, Clark.”

“I know. But what if our future has always been here? What if our destiny wasn’t to be lovers on Earth at all, but here instead? Don’t doubt yourself, Lex . . . chance didn’t bring you here.” He leaned in and kissed Lex gently on the lips. “Our destiny together did. Whether it’s here on Quonyos or anywhere else, it wasn’t chance that kept us together.” Clark smiled and glanced out one of the big oval windows that overlooked the city, which was bathed in the warm glow of the setting red sun. Lex followed his gaze.

“It wasn’t?”

Clark shook his head and held Lex close, listening to the intermingled sounds of their heartbeats, which now beat in tandem with each other, and had since their bonding.

“Chance might have made me king, Lex . . . but it’s destiny that will make us and our love the stuff of legend.”

THE END

Here is the wonderful art that was made for me for this fic by tallihensia. Enjoy!

http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a169/alatri/banners/king-cover1-650.jpg
http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a169/alatri/banners/king-cover1-450.jpg

Smallville Big Bang Fic: "If Chance Will Have Me King," Chapter Four

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 01:00:52 GMT

Title: If Chance Will Have Me King
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Genre: AU, Drama
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual situations
Beta(s) cinderella81 and dreamwvr73, with special thanks to herohunter.
For the 2009 Smallville Big Bang
All characters in this work of fiction are 18 and over.
Word count for draft: 10,814
Final Word Count: 23,577
Summary: It’s the end of the world but the beginning of another, where Clark must endure an ancient Kryptonian maturity ritual in order to become emperor to the descendants of his birth race, and where Lex must struggle with the question of identity in the wake of the destruction of his own, but is all truly as it seems on their new world?
Author’s Note: Smallville and its character are the property of the CW; Superman characters created by Joel Seigel and Jerry Shuster. No copyfright infringement intended; this is just for fun and because it’s what I love to do.

Lex was dragged down three flights of steps and then down a long hallway, where he was then pulled into a holding cell and sat down roughly on the floor before the guards clamped his wrists to the wall with thick black manacles, his arms extended out to either side. Once they made sure Lex was secure they left him there, still partially swaddled in the sheet they’d draped him in, and then shut the door, which was electrified and quite thick, but transparent. Once the guards were gone, Lex leaned his head back on the cool, bare wall and began to piece together what had happened.

To begin with, Lex was quite sure that he hadn’t assaulted Clark in the middle of the night. He’d been angry at Clark when he’d left the room the night before, but there was no chance that he’d ever physically harm Clark, much less do what he was accused of. Therefore, the question remained: who had done this to Clark, and why? And even if Lex did piece together the puzzle, would he remain alive long enough to do anything about it? Considering what they thought he was guilty of, Lex knew that it probably wouldn’t be long until he was dragged into the center of the city to be publicly executed.

Whoever did this had to have something to gain from it, Lex thought to himself, and then Lionel’s phantom voice spoke up in reply.

Never follow the money when you’re looking for a traitor, Lex. Follow the power.

“Follow the power,” Lex murmured to himself. There were several people on Quonyos who would gain from Clark’s loss of the throne. Narik was one, but he was a scientist who seemed eager for Clark to be king. There were the other J’annhadds, of course, those who might be jealous or frightened enough of change that they had kept Clark from becoming king. Perhaps one of them had drugged Clark’s food. Lex remembered the strange taste in his mouth he’d had upon awakening and wondered if he had been drugged as well. If it was his semen that had been found on Clark, then someone might have drugged him as well as Clark, and taken it from him while he slept. Lex knew there were ways for the human body to climax, even if its owner wasn’t conscious.

Someone might have drugged us both and set up this entire scenario for Iasha to discover. If that’s true, then the doctors will discover that Clark wasn’t penetrated deeply enough for his d’hemm to be broken and that even though he bled, he’s still intact. If anyone truly did penetrate him, the doctors will find traces of his DNA . . . unless the doctors are part of the plan as well. If they tell Iasha that Clark has been breached, he’ll follow protocol and assume the throne. This society follows such ancient rules that I doubt there will be any in-depth forensic follow-up. Iasha will believe what the doctors tell him.

Iasha. He says that the whole planet has been waiting for Clark’s arrival, that he helped fund the creation of the particle transmitter. He would have no reason for bringing Clark light years across the galaxy simply to ruin something he says he’s been praying for. On the other hand, if Clark can’t be king, then Iasha takes the throne, officially. Is it possible that Iasha never truly thought that it would be possible to bring Clark here? Did he think he was funding a pipe dream while he slowly took over the throne, and then the success of the particle transmitter took even him by surprise? Of all the people involved, he had the most to gain. He could get rid of me and reduce Clark to permanent childhood status; kill two birds with one stone, to use a tired cliché. But why? I know he hates me because I’m human and he thinks I’ve tainted Clark, but if Narik is telling the truth about Iasha’s desire for Clark to rule them all, why would he go to such lengths to ruin it all?

Follow the power.

Lex closed his eyes and tried to ignore the growing ache in his shoulders and the even more unpleasant ache in his mind, where he knew that all for all his reasoning, there was only one certainty—that in less than a few hours he would be dead, leaving the only person he had ever truly loved in the hands of a killer.

***
“Is my sweet J’annhadd unhappy?”

Kwinn glanced up from the tray of exotic fruits he had brought his master and bit his lower lip.

“I am sad more than I am truly unhappy, Mish’dhhal.”

“I understand,” Iasha replied as he beckoned the boy closer and chose a sweet, dark blue urmann
from the tray and bit into it. Azure juice dribbled down his chin, and Kwinn produced a napkin with which to wipe it away. “It is a sad day when our hopes for a pure ruling line are dashed. But take heart, sweet Kwinn . . . the pale, hairless human who did this is in custody, and all I await is the council’s signature for his death warrant. Once I have that in hand, we can make a spectacle and an example of the greatest criminal this planet has ever known! If you finish all of your tasks and do them well, perhaps I will even take you to the execution. It will be something to speak of for years to come!”

Kwinn bowed.

“Thank you, Mish’dhhal.”

“Indeed. Leave me now, my J’annhadd. I have much to think on.”

Kwinn turned and left, the tray balanced gracefully in one hand. Iasha smiled; the boy was sweeter than the piece of fruit that he now consumed, and his talents both in and out of the sleeping chambers were unsurpassed, but Iasha knew that the Kryptonian boy would be even sweeter. Once he shamed the boy into becoming his servant, his revenge on the ruling house of El would be complete. Iasha smiled and crossed the room to a panel that appeared to be bare. He reached out to push forward a slim, innocuous bookend on a nearby shelf, and the panel slid aside to reveal a holographic portrait of a group of people dressed in Kryptonian clothing. He smiled at the image of a teenaged woman who stood in the foreground of the image.

“I have never forgotten you, great-grandmother, or the stories you told me when I was but a boy. Soon the last son of Krypton and the blood of the great house of El will be my boy slave, and you will be avenged! The pale human has been believed guilty and jailed, and in less than an hour, he will be me no more, as he should have been when I brought Kal-El here to his destiny!”

Iasha closed the panel before he went to his bed and stretched out on the luxurious deep blue duvet.

Time enough for a rest before they deliver the human’s death warrant. What shall I do? Have him publicly disemboweled? Beheaded? Or should I simply bind him to a pole and let my people dispense justice? I warned him that he had no place here, but I suppose I was wrong . . . his pale shoulders were the perfect place to lay the blame for Kal-El’ supposed rape. After he is gone, the Kryptonian boy will know the true meaning of submission, here in my bed, when I truly take his innocence.

Iasha smiled, and then slept. In his dreams, he heard the merry sound of melodious chimes, which weaved music for his slumber.

Lex was roused from a light doze by a leaden numbness in his arms and shoulders and an insistent chiming noise. He forced his eyelids open even as his brain protested that it wanted to slip back into unconsciousness. He peered down at his feet, which were bare, as they had been when they’d brought him here. If his sandals were missing, then what was—

“The Lex needs to awaken now!” A high-pitched whisper reached Lex’s ears, and he came fully conscious at the voice. He looked up to see Kwinn pacing outside of his cell like a lynx, his sandals softly chiming. Lex’s heart squeezed with relief.

“Kwinn! How did you find me?”

The boy didn’t answer right away, but reached into his servant’s gown to withdraw something thin with sharp angles that he pushed into a slot on the wall. A key card, Lex realized, and then the electrified humming noise around the door powered down. Kwinn tugged at the door with all his might and finally it slid open. He ran into the cell and shoved the key card into another slot, and Lex’s manacles popped open. His arms dropped down and Lex gave a muffled cry of pain as the tendons in his shoulders contracted. Kwinn hid the key card back in his robes again and then crouched down. He slipped his small hands under Lex’s left arm and tugged at it.

“We must leave here! Quickly!”

Lex struggled to his feet, but his arms felt like lead bars.

“Where are the guards? Have you seen Clark? How did you get down here?”

“The Lex asks too many questions when his life is in danger! Come!” Kwinn whispered, and they left the cell together. Kwinn paused at the door and took off his sandals, which he folded in half and tucked into a pouch threaded through his belt. He led Lex down off a long hallway, his slender fingers entwined in Lex’s as though they were small boys going off on an adventure.

“Kwinn . . . where are the guards?”

Kwinn looked over his shoulder.

“I brought them J’chapp, a rich dessert, and I added a few drops of greh’ghre oil. They will all be asleep for several hours. It is harmless, and only causes a headache afterward, something that is much less harmful than they planned to do to you!” He led Lex to a small door at the end of the hall, keyed the door open, and led Lex out into the open air. It was early in the morning, and the courtyard was empty and silent. Kwinn glanced around and then tugged Lex into a thick grove of fruit trees that hid them from sight. He motioned for Lex to sit down, and then retrieved a bag from behind one of the trees. Lex watched.

“Kwinn, what have you done?” He asked softly, and Kwinn pulled a loaf of bread and something that Lex knew tasted like Swiss cheese from the bag, only it was a dull silver color. He also removed a fresh Jannhadd’s garment from the bag and handed it to Lex, who pulled it on and discarded the sheet he’d been draped in. Kwinn sat down and folded his legs under his thighs as he offered Lex a hunk of bread.

“I have done the right thing. I know that the Lex didn’t do what they say!”

“No, I didn’t, and I don’t know how they made it seem like I did yet, but Kwinn, if Iasha finds out that you helped me escape, he’s going to punish you badly, perhaps even have you killed!”

Kwinn lowered his eyes.

“I had to help the Lex. My Mish’dahhl . . . he has done an awful thing. I could not stand by and watch it happen, no matter how much he has done for me. I am his J’annhadd and I have always been loyal to him, but . . .” The boy bit his lip, and Lex reached out to touch his arm.

“What do you mean? What has he done?”

Kwinn hesitated, and Lex understood the ingrained loyalty that the boy battled with.

“You’ve risked a great deal for me, Kwinn, and I won’t forget that. I know how much you care about your master, but please, you need to tell me what you know.”

“My Mish’dahhl is a respected man all over Quonyos. He has ruled well since the death of the royal family, and his own bloodlines are said to be among the finest on the planet!”

“Narik told me about the accident,” Lex said, and Kwinn shook his head.

“There were whispers among the J’annhadds of the council that it was no accident. Nothing was ever proven, but I know now that perhaps it was true what they said about my master. They said he was involved.”

“What did you see or hear that makes you think that?”

“I know that the Lex didn’t hurt Kal-El!” Kwinn squeezed Lex’s hand. “Tell me, did you awaken this morning with a bad taste in your mouth? A taste like bitter figs?”

Lex nodded.

“I did. You know what it was?”

“Yes. You were most likely drugged with kloot. It is an herb that is used to make a powerful drug used by doctors during surgery. It must have been put into your food, and into the prince’s, too! I think my Mish’dahhl or his men harvested you as you slept, and then used it to make it look as if you attacked Kal-El!”

“To get me out of the way. But why ruin Clark to do it? If your master wanted to remain king, why bring Clark light years across the galaxy? What would he have to gain?”

Kwinn shook his head.

“He did not bring Kal-El here to rule; he brought him here to enslave him.” The boy’s clear tones became strained with tears. “My master did not save him from a dying planet. It was he who destroyed it in order to force the council to help fund the building of his transmitter! They voted long ago that the prince should remain on Earth for as long as he was able, and that they should not interfere in the life he lived there. The only way that my Mish’dahhl could build his machine and bring Kal-El here was to destroy Earth and make it seem like a natural occurrence!”

“Iasha destroyed Earth?” Lex asked in a mixture of astonishment and fury, and Kwinn nodded.

“It was the only way the council would allow him to bring the prince here to Quonyos. The Lex does not understand, but I will explain.” Kwinn leaned forward and took Lex’s hands in his own.

“Listen . . .”

***
By the end of the following hour, Lex found himself truly impressed by Kwinn’s knowledge of the palace and the ways he knew to get around the guards. There seemed to be a myriad of passageways and underground tunnels, and Kwinn knew them all.

“How long have you lived here, Kwinn?” Lex asked as they passed through another tunnel that was lit only by a blunt, glowing wand of some kind that Kwinn held in his right hand. The boy glanced over his shoulder.

“I am twenty-two, and my Mish’dahhl had me brought here when I was five.”

“You’re twenty-two?” Lex asked in surprise, and Kwinn nodded. “Forgive me, but I thought you were much younger.”

“J’annhadds are bred to be small and appear child-like. It can sometimes have its advantages.” Kwinn slipped through a narrow crevice to his left and paused as Lex managed to squeeze through as well. Kwinn led him up a very narrow flight of steps, and then they emerged through a small door in Iasha’s chambers. Lex flashed briefly on Alice’s Adventures Through the Looking Glass before Kwinn crossed the room and pushed on a slim bookend nearby. A panel on the wall slid free, exposing several holo-photos and a large data disc. Lex stepped forward and gathered them up.

“Where are the council’s chambers?” Lex asked, and Kwinn slid the panel shut again.

“In the center of the city. There are transports that run from there to here, but it will be very dangerous to take them. As a J’annhadd, I am not allowed to leave the palace grounds without my master, and your escape must have been discovered by now. There is no other way we can get to the city!”

Lex thought a moment and then smiled.

“Yes, there is. Come on.” They stole from Iasha’s chambers. From memory, Lex found his way out of the living quarters and to the room that housed the particle transmitter. It was unguarded, as Quonyos had very little crime, and Narik and his people were the only ones who knew how to operate it. Kwinn paused at the door.

“We cannot go in there!”

“It’s the only way we can get to the city.” Lex pushed the door open and walked into the large, sterile room. The transmitter stood in the center, looking a bit like a satellite dish that had been stretched into a cone-like shape and then set on top of a long pole. Lex went over to the control panel. None of the switches were labeled, but there were less than half a dozen of them, along with an input keyboard. Lex turned to look at Kwinn.

“I need the coordinates of the council chambers, Kwinn.” He glanced around for a computer terminal and then gestured to one in the corner. “Can you get those for me?”

Kwinn nodded and went to the terminal, and Lex found himself very relieved that Iasha had allowed his servant to be educated. A moment later Kwinn brought him the coordinates and Lex typed them in. The computer accepted them and the machine began to power up. Lex took Kwinn’s hand and pulled him in front of the beam’s laser. Kwinn gave a frightened yelp as he cowered and then tried to pull away. Lex gripped his hand tightly.

“It’s all right! Trust me!” Lex yelled over the ever-increasing hum of the laser as it continued to power up. He closed his eyes as a beam of silver light shot from the transmitter and enveloped them both in a shocking tingle of galvanized nerves. Lex’s consciousness remained intact even as his physical form dissolved into a million separate molecules and were transported nearly a hundred miles into the center of Quonyos. His consciousness bulleted along as if he was traveling on a supersonic plane with his eyes closed. When it caught up to his body, which fell in around it moments later, the first thing that it registered was that he was still holding onto Kwinn’s hand. The young man was still in a frightened crouch, and Lex gently tugged him upright.

“We’re here, it’s all right,” he said, and Kwinn blinked as he glanced at their surroundings.

“Great Kandor! We are alive!”

“Not for long, if we don’t get those things to the council. Come on, lead the way,” Lex said, and Kwinn pointed to a tall but wide building whose top gradually came to a sphere.

“That is the council building. There are two doors which the servants use, and I know them both. Come.” He beckoned Lex to follow him around to the back of the building.

“There’s no guards,” Lex said, and Kwinn nodded.

“There are some that guard the main chamber where the council meets, but the building is open to the general public. People come here to join or to file papers for ownership of property.”

“It’s like a city hall,” Lex murmured as Kwinn led him through a plain, unmarked door. There was a large kitchen there, but it was empty as Kwinn padded through it and went down another hallway. He was nearly to another door when three guards burst through the kitchen behind them.

“There!” One of them shouted. “The traitorous human is there!”

Lex glanced over his shoulder.

“Run!”

Kwinn broke into a sprint as Lex ran at his heels. “The chambers! Which way?”

They came to a fork in the hall and Kwinn pointed.

“That way—”

Lex had little time to reflect on regrets, even though he felt them in his heart.

“I’ll tell them I took you hostage, made you bring me here. Forgive me this, my friend.” He struck Kwinn hard, knocking the boy unconscious before running for his life down the other hall, his bare feet pounding on the floor, the data disks still secure in the folds of his robes. The guards chased him, shouting, and Lex felt a numbing pain in his right shoulder. That arm went leaden as he half-turned and shoved the big double doors of the council chambers open with a deafening boom. The council, who sat up high on elevated benches in a semi-circle, looked down upon Lex in amazement. More guards came forward from where they stood at the base of the stand that held the elevated benches, and Lex tried to push past them. From the corner of his eye, he saw blood trickling down his right arm.

“It is the traitorous J’annhadd!” One of the council members shouted.

“Restrain him! Do not let him get away!”

“He escaped from his cell, and Iasha says he is dangerous!”

“Let me speak, please,” Lex said, breathing hard as he looked up at them and brought the data discs out from under his robes. “I have information you need to hear about Cl—about Kal-El! Please! His life depends on it!”

“Or perhaps it is your lies that your life depends on!” One of the council members snapped as he glared down at Lex as two guards pointed their weapons at him. “We know you escaped, and we know that you are guilty, human!”

One of the council members, a slim red-headed woman with eyes the color of blue neon, rose from her chair at the man’s words.

“Stop,” she said in firm, clear voice, like the chime of a wine glass being tapped, and the other turned to look at her. She descended the steps and stood at the lowest riser as the guards looked up at her.

“Let him speak,” she said, and another council member, a tall, elderly man with hair like bundles of cotton on either side of his head and the crown bald, frowned.

“Highly irregular, Aluah-Zhin!”

The woman cast her detractor an annoyed but confident glance.

“Your interruptions of this council with your personal and petty agendas are well known, Jahn-Rheen!” She countered, and then approached Lex. He went to one knee and lowered his head in respect.

“My lady,” he said, hoping it was the correct address, and he was rewarded by a touch to his bare shoulder.

“Rise, J’annhadd,” she said, and Lex got to his feet.

“My lady. Please, let me speak. I have vital information about your king.”

“He can be our king no longer. Even if you claim that you did not harm Kal-El, he has been ruined. He is now an eternal child, a ward of the next ascendant of the throne.”

“That’s Iasha?”

“Correct. He is of noble blood . . . some even say that his ancestry traces back all the way to Krypton, though the records have long since been lost.”

“They’re not lost.” Lex held up the data disk. “I have them here! Yes, Iasha’s ancestors came from Krypton, but they weren’t noble at all! They were criminals, and I can prove it!”

“Even if you do prove that, human, you have no proof that it was not you who attacked Kal-El!” Another council member shouted.

“Yes, I can prove it!” He looked up at Aluah. “Please. I know that your people are fair, and would never execute someone without due cause. Let me tell you what I’ve found, and there might still be time to save Kal-El!”

“It is too late for Kal-El,” Aluah sighed, and Lex shook his head.

“That’s not true . . . I have proof that your king is still intact and can still claim his throne, but you have to listen to me! Please!”

Aluah glanced back at the council. She saw no real objection there, except from Jahn-Rheen, but that old fool objected to most anything unless it further shouted the praises of his family name. She nodded.

“Very well, J’annhadd. You have thirty minutes to tell us what you think you know.”

Lex’s body nearly sagged with relief, and Aluah took a clean kerchief from the folds of her robe. She used it to bind the wound on Lex’s shoulder.

“The wound is not deep. When you are finished speaking, you will receive medical attention, not matter what our decision.”

Lex nodded and risked a smile.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Your time begins now,” she replied, and Lex went over to a computer terminal in the corner. He fed the data disk to it, and the computer whirred to life in order to show the photos of Iasha’s ancestors.

“These are Iasha’s ancestors, and they were from Krypton, like some of your people think, but they weren’t of noble blood . . . they served it, instead.” Lex pushed another button and the images changed to the news feeds in the city of Kandor that announced the murder of the young prince and the arrest of Iasha’s family. “They craved power and murdered a young prince. The ones responsible, most of whom were Iasha’s direct descendants, were executed. Look . . .” he pointed to the list of names, and then flipped to the picture of those who were exiled. “Those who weren’t directly involved in the murder were exiled in order to remove the bloodline from Krypton. They eventually found their way to Quonyos, where they settled. Over the years, their bloodline slowly rose to power again, but they covered up their past and claimed noble Kryptonian blood instead!” Lex pointed to a little girl in the photo. “This is Iasha’s great-great grandmother, and she lived to an old age. Up until she died, she told him repeatedly that she wanted revenge on Krypton and its only surviving people, and that he could fulfill that destiny.” Lex looked up at them all.

“Iasha didn’t save Kal-El from a dying planet. He destroyed it in order to bring Kal-El here to take his revenge in the name of his family.”

“Outrage!” One of the council members cried, and Lex looked up at her.

“I can prove it!” His eyes scanned the council and found Narik, who was staring at Lex in disbelief. “Narik! You told me about the particle transmitter, how you worked on it for years in order to bring Kal-El here. Did Iasha tell you Earth was dying?”

Narik glanced at Aluah, who nodded.

“Answer him, Narik.”

“Yes. He said that Earth would soon be gone and that we had to make haste with the particle transmitter. He bade that we pour all of our time and resources into it.”

“And before that, had the council decided that it was best for Kal-El to remain where he was, on Earth?”

“Yes, that was our decision,” Aluah nodded. “We saw the good he was doing there, and that he was happy. We saw no reason to uproot him from a place he loved.”

“And how soon after that decision was made did Iasha conclude that Earth was dying?” Lex asked.

“It was perhaps four to six months after that. Iasha showed us his reports.” Narik said, and Lex looked up at him.

“Were those tests a result of solar probes?”

“Yes . . . how did you know that, human?”

“Because when the sun was dying, I had my scientists working on different solutions that might have saved us all. Just before the end, there was evidence of anomalies that couldn’t be explained, that weren’t consistent with the normal death of a star. Iasha’s probes weren’t probes at all! They were chemical bombs that he shot into the sun to start its destruction, to make it look as if it was dying! It was the only way that you would all agree the funding of his transmitter and to bring Clark here! He told you all that Clark—Kal-El—could rule you, that you would have a king like no other, but he never planned for Clark to be king at all! Don’t you see? Iasha killed billions of innocent earthlings to take his revenge on your prince, but he never counted on me coming here with Clark! He had to set me up to continue with his plan! He could get me out of his way and take his revenge on Clark at the same time by making you believe that he’s been ruined, but he hasn’t! I was drugged and my semen harvested for your doctors to find! Please, they have to examine Clark further, and they’ll see that his d’hemm hasn’t been breached!”

“The prince told his physicians that he felt breached, and we found blood on him.” Aluah said. “That is evidence of penetration.”

“He may have been abraded, even penetrated, but Clark told me that the d’hemm is far inside the body. The blood doesn’t prove that it was broken.” Lex’s eyes scanned the crowd. “If Clark has been breached and his d’hemm broken, wouldn’t it show? Wouldn’t his maturation be evident? Even if your laws say that he’s still a child, wouldn’t he show signs of that maturity if I’d raped him and broken that sac? You have to have your doctors look at him again!”

“This is all foolishness!” Another council member yelled down from his chair. “You say that Iasha destroyed your planet to take revenge upon Kal-El to avenge his ancestors, but what revenge would that be? The young prince still lives!”

“Yes . . . under Iasha’s guardianship.” Lex looked over at Narik. “I know about the former royal family and how they died. I believe that Iasha is carrying on the family tradition of regicide; he killed the royal family and made it look like an accident, just like he made Earth’s destruction look like an accident! He needed to become vizier to have control over Clark!”

Aluah looked into Lex’s eyes for several moments before she nodded.

“I believe you,” she said. “It appears that Iasha has deceived us all, but I still do not understand his ultimate goal. Yes, he will now be king, but how will he take his revenge out on our prince?”

Lex looked up at her.

“He’ll have turned the tables on the last remnant of the people who executed his ancestors and exiled him here . . . now that he’ll finally be royalty, he’s going to make Clark his slave.”

Chapter Five (the finale): http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/231856.html

Smallville Big Bang Fic: "If Chance Will Have Me King," Chapter Three

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:53:39 GMT

Title: If Chance Will Have Me King
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Genre: AU, Drama
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual situations
Beta(s) cinderella81 and dreamwvr73, with special thanks to herohunter.
For the 2009 Smallville Big Bang
All characters in this work of fiction are 18 and over.
Word count for draft: 10,814
Final Word Count: 23,577
Summary: It’s the end of the world but the beginning of another, where Clark must endure an ancient Kryptonian maturity ritual in order to become emperor to the descendants of his birth race, and where Lex must struggle with the question of identity in the wake of the destruction of his own, but is all truly as it seems on their new world?
Author’s Note: Smallville and its character are the property of the CW; Superman characters created by Joel Seigel and Jerry Shuster. No copyfright infringement intended; this is just for fun and because it’s what I love to do.

By the end of the hour, Clark had explained as much as he could to Lex about the role of a J’annhadd as it had been explained to him. Lex listened without interruption, although it did bridle him a bit that although he’d be seeing to Clark’s every desire, the greatest desire he wanted to fulfill would not be allowed. Clark spoke of his maturation ceremony and coronation in an extremely bewildered tone, and Lex hurt for his young lover with every hitch in his voice.

The door to the room opened suddenly to reveal Iasha and four soldiers.

“Please rise and approach me, your majesty,” he said to Clark, although his tone left little doubt that Clark should obey. Clark went to him as Lex stood up.

“Are you pleased with your human’s new garments?” He asked, and Clark nodded.

“They’re very different than what I’m used to, but yes.”

“And you have explained to him his duties?”

“As much as I understand them, yes.”

“Excellent. Do you wish to claim this human as your J’annhadd then, your majesty?”

“Claim?”

“Yes. He would be bonded to you and serve no other. Everyone would know him to be yours.”

Clark glanced back at Lex, and Iasha frowned.

“Come, Kal-El! It is not for the human to make this decision, it is for you! As king, you alone will make many difficult choices This is one of many! Do you claim him? Decide!”

“All right! Yes, I claim him!” Clark snapped back, a part of him starting to dislike his vizier’s pushy manner. Iasha appeared not to notice.

“Excellent! It is decided, then.” He turned to Lex. “Human! Come here!”

Lex glared at the royal vizier.

“My name is Lex!”

“Your name is for your Mish’hidahl, your master, to decide, and your former life is much like your home planet—in the past. Remember that, pale human, and the easier your life will be here. Now come.”

Lex scowled and rounded the table, his sandals chiming with each step. Iasha took a small, crescent-shaped device from his robes and thumbed it to life. He made some adjustments to it, and then shot his free hand out to apply sudden pressure to a nerve at the back of Lex’s neck, effectively paralyzing him. With his other hand, he pressed the device to Lex’s bare shoulder. The small machine gave a pulse of blue light, and when he pulled it away, Clark saw that it had left behind a slim, almost elegant tattoo that was blood red and perfectly shaped with symbols that resembled Kryptonian lettering, but were altered so much so that Clark couldn’t reach them. Iashsa released his hold on Lex’s neck, and the young man gasped and slapped a hand to the tingling area as he glared at Iasha. The older man merely tilted his head to one side, something almost like a shrug.

“It’s a harmless yet effective way to a J’annhadd quiet during the marking.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Lex gritted, and Iasha put his device away.

“Nonsense. A J’annhadd is commanded, not asked for permission.” He stroked a hand over the marking. “You carry the royal mark, human. Do it so with honor.” He then turned to Clark. “It is nourishment time, your majesty. Come with me, take your food, and I will take your J’annhadd to train with mine. What will you call him?”

“Lex. His name is Lex,” Clark said, and Iasha nodded.

“Very well then, Kal-El. Bid Lex come with you, and he will begin his training with Kwinn, my J’annhadd.”

Although Lex had prepared himself to dislike anyone who served Clark’s arrogant and overbearing vizier, he had trouble doing so when introduced to Kwinn, proud J’annhadd to Iasha and apparent head of the kitchen. Kwinn was humanoid male in appearance, but his features struck Lex as almost fluid, as thought he could easily be female with a change of clothing. He was quite petite, about five feet six inches, with a slim, lithe body that was subtly toned. He wore the same garment that Lex did, only Kwinn’s was a dusky lavender color and was adorned with bright, multicolored jewels at the hem. Kwinn’s hair, which was the color of a fresh honeycomb, fell in loose curls to his lean shoulders and sported some kind of sparkling, beaded decoration that clipped up high toward the crown of his head and then hung down the back of it, where it caught the light. His eyes were deep-set, the color of deep water lit from within, and framed with startlingly long lashes. The color of the boy’s eyes reminded Lex of the crisp and illuminated blue background on his laptop when it slept and bounced the Luthorcorp logo around the screen, like a ball in perpetual motion against a luminous square of blue. When Kwinn smiled at Lex, the slightly bowed, pink lips parted to reveal small white teeth, and Lex noticed that the boy’s canines were elongated, like Clark’s were. In fact, Kwinn shared a great deal of Clark’s other-worldly beauty, only on a smaller scale; he only came to just below Lex’s collarbone. He reached up with his slim right hand, the wrist and forearm adorned with a twisting silver chain decorated with tiny droplets of multicolored jewels, and touched Lex’s tattoo.

“The off-worlder has been claimed by the ruling line of El!” He said in a clear alto tone, and Iasha nodded.

“He has indeed, my J’annhadd, and we have brought him to you for his training. You will instruct him to prepare and serve nourishment and how to properly cleanse the serving dishes when his majesty finishes eating. He belongs to our crowned prince now, my boy. Teach him well,” Iasha said, and then put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Come, Kal-El. We will drink fine R’hoke and talk in the meantime.”

“Clark?” Lex took a step to follow as Iasha led Clark out of the room, and Kwinn put a small hand on his arm.

“The off-worlder must stay with Kwinn,” he said in a lilting tone, and Lex hesitated. The words that the boy had spoken were phrased as a gentle statement instead of the peremptory tone that Clark’s vizier used with him. He sighed and turned to Kwinn.

“My name is Lex. You can call me that if you’d like,” he said to the youngster who he judged to be in his late teens, at least by human standards. Kwinn’s bright eyes glowed up at him.

“The Lex gives me the use of his name! He may use mine as well.” He reached out for Lex’s hand and placed it against the tattoo on his own bare shoulder. Some of the symbols were the same as the ones on Lex’s tattoo, but he noticed some variances. “I am called Kwinn. I am J’annhadd to his highness Iasha Shan-Zeer. We are now of the same house,” he smiled. “The Lex is family.”

“Ah. Well . . . nice to meet you, Kwinn.” He understood the touch to the boy’s shoulder as ritual, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Are you Kryptonian?” He asked, once again noting the boy’s ethereal features. Kwinn chuckled and bobbed his head briefly from side to side.

“If only Kandor had so blessed me! No, I am from Scoron, a planet in this star system. I was brought here when I was a small child, to train as J’annhadd. It is a fine tradition in my family, and some of the most famous are entombed here on Quonyos. Because of my family’s fine J’annhadd lineage, my Mish’hidahl paid a large price to bring me to Quonyos!”

“So this planet trades with other planets?” Lex nodded and then chose his next question carefully. “And Iasha . . . he paid for you? Do you earn a wage now?”

Kwinn cocked his head and a bright blue jeweled stud in his left ear caught the light.

“What is wage?”

“A wage is a set amount of money given to you weekly or monthly as compensation for the work you do here.”

Kwinn giggled merrily and patted Lex’s shoulder.

“Wage! Munn-e! The Lex talks in such strange ways! Come . . . I will show you how to prepare your Mish’hidahl’s food.” He led Lex over to a large container that, though a different shape and form, was obviously a refrigerator. Kwinn took out platters of meat and green and other vaguely familiar-looking foods from container and set them on the counter. He began to point to each item, naming it and explaining each food’s purpose and function. Lex collected the information and stored it away in the back of his mind as he continued to pursue his previous line of thought.

“So if you don’t earn a wage, what does Iasha give you in return for serving him, Kwinn?”

“My Mish’hidahl gives me many fine things.” Kwinn touched the silver bracelet on his wrist. “Also, I have a fine room! It has a soft sleeping place and good food is brought to me when it is nourishment time. I may also do whatever I please when Iasha does not have need of me and my work for the day is done, as long as I do not leave the palace. He treats me like a fine jewel, and I know I was lucky to be chosen.” He handed Lex a bowl of multicolored fruit. “The Lex should not be sad, and feel lucky, too. We have everything we need here.”

“Except our freedom,” Lex sighed as he washed the fruit under a sprayer. He tried to imagine Clark adorning him with jewels and treating him like a spoiled pet, and it made his stomach clench. He was supposed to take care of Clark, but through his own means, not as a servant. The tattoo on his shoulder ached as he brought the fruit bowl back to Kwinn. “Here. Now what?”

Kwinn handed Lex a thin silver tool.

“Take out the core of the fruit, and I will explain in the meantime how a J’annhadd behaves.” He paused to pet Lex’s right arm, an action that struck Lex as child-like and almost endearing, though usually he hated being touched by people who weren’t extremely close to him. “I am honored to teach the Lex these things.”

“Ah . . . thank you, Kwinn. I’ll try and learn the best that I can.”

Days on Quonyos lasted twenty-nine hours, but as they passed, Lex found that they had begun to stretch out almost interminably as he rose before dawn, dressed in the robes of his station, prepared Clark’s clothing, and cleaned his chambers before he went down to prepare breakfast. He saw little of Clark during the day except when he brought him meals or was called to perform some task, as Clark was spending all of his time with Iasha, learning what was expected of him as a leader. When Clark returned to his chambers at night to sleep, he said little and avoided Lex’s questions whenever he could. For Lex, who wasn’t even allowed to share a bed with his lover, this only frustrated matters further. One evening, about a month after they had arrived on Quonyos and after an especially difficult day of being berated by both Iasha and the head of the kitchen staff for breaking a stack of dishes, Lex’s temper exploded when Clark evaded him and his attempts at conversation once again.

“Damn it, Clark!” Lex shouted as he threw down the coverlet for the bed that he’d been holding. “Quit pretending that I don’t exist!”

Clark unclasped his heavy red cloak and hung it up on a hook nearby.

“I know you exist, Lex,” he murmured.

“Then quit ducking my questions and for God’s sake—” Lex stormed over to Clark and out a firm hand under his chin. “Look at me, will you?”

“Lex, don’t!” Clark pulled away. “If anyone sees you touching me like that, they’ll punish you!”

“I don’t care! Let them!” Lex snapped as he advanced on Clark, the chiming of his sandals belying the anger on his face.

“I care!” Clark said. “Lex, don’t!”

Lex pulled his hand away.

“I haven’t forgotten what we were to each other. Have you?”

“How can you even ask me that?”

“It’s easy. In the past few weeks, you’ve pulled away from me and treated me more and more like the servant they say I am.”

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“I don’t want your protection, Clark! I want you to treat me like you used to!”

“Lex, please, don’t make this hard on me! I have to behave in a certain way and do certain things and if I don’t, things are going to get worse. If you were punished or taken from me, I couldn’t stand it.”

Lex stared up at his partner.

“What certain ways? What have they been telling you? Please, Clark. Talk to me.”

Clark sat down heavily on the bed. Lex went to sit beside him, but gave him his space. He knew from long experience that the more he tried to pry Clark open, the more stubbornly he would clamp shut. Finally, Clark drew a deep breath.

“There’s a ceremony—a maturation ceremony—it’s called the Khava-Shae, and next week, Quonyos’ two moons will be aligned and full, which is when the ceremony traditionally takes place. Iasha has been preparing me.” Clark’s voice quivered, and Lex reached out to touch his hand.

“What kind of ceremony is this? What do you have to do?”

“Iasha says that Kryptonian men don’t mature simply because they age. They go through something like puberty, but that they don’t truly mature until their d’hemm is breeched.”

“D’hemm?” Lex echoed, only tripping slightly over the guttural pronunciation. “What is that, Clark?”

“Well . . . from the way Iasha explained things, it’s this small, thin pouch that sits up high in my . . .” Clark went very red suddenly and made a vague gesture. “It’s near my, uhm, my prostate, and when it’s broken, it releases hormones that will allow the rest of my body to mature. Iasha says that it’s the only way I can become king.” Clark pulled his hand away from Lex’s and fidgeted with the other, picking at the hem of his fine deep blue vest. “Traditionally, the d’hemm is broken by a person called the Pryrithreen, who has been trained and blessed by the council to participate in the ceremony. When the time is right, he’s called upon to break the pouch and bring the immature Kryptonian to maturity.”

Lex’s stomach clenched.

“Break it how, Clark?” He asked, and Clark glanced away. The younger man’s expression told him all he needed to know, and Lex got to his feet.

“Clark! You’re talking about ritual rape!”

“It’s what’s been done for hundreds of—”

“To hell with that! It’s rape! It’s anal sex with a stranger, against your wishes! Mature or not, you have the right to choose who this person should be!”

“I don’t, Lex. Not here. If the d’hemm is broken in any other way, then my throne goes to another and I remain a child the rest of my life. Iasha says that when this happens, the person is so humiliated that they kill themselves rather than live in shame as children.”

“Clark! Do you hear yourself? You’re not from Quonyos! You lived on Earth your whole life, and you know that allowing someone to touch you without your consent is wrong! How can you accept their rules so easily? They’re talking about ritual domination and sodomy, and you’re submitting to it as if it makes perfect sense!” Lex turned to face his partner. “We need to leave here. If this place exists, then so must others. Even if Earth is gone, Kwinn says there are other planets in this solar system that support sentient beings. We can find one, Clark . . . go there, live as we see fit, together. If I can get into the room where they keep the particle transmitter, I can figure out the coordinates, and get us away from Quonyos.”

“If they catch you anywhere near that room, they’ll kill you!” Clark exclaimed.

“I’d rather take that chance than to have to stand by and allow them to rape you!”

“Lex, you don’t understand! If I do this, then I can become king and change the laws! I can free you and any other servant who wants to be, and then you and I can be together the way we used to. It’s a small price to pay if you ask me!”

“A small price? Jesus! Clark, your virginity is the greatest gift you could offer me or anyone else! I never would have forced you to surrender it to me!” He reached down and cupped Clark’s face in both hands. “Royal history here is no doubt no different than it is on Earth. You’ll be a figurehead, Clark, a symbol, and Iasha and your council will continue to make all of the decisions and laws. You’ll be rich, pampered, kept in the dark, and virtually powerless! Don’t you see? This is Iasha’s way of gaining complete control over you, to weaken you! You can’t submit!”

Clark stood.

“It’s the only chance I have to get you back, Lex. I won’t give that up.” He took a deep breath and nodded to the bed. “Please finish making the bed. I’m very tired.”

Lex blinked at his partner and then the corners of his mouth tightened. He picked up the fallen duvet.

“As you wish, your majesty,” he replied, and made up the bed with a series of sharp snaps and fiercely folded corners before he gave Clark a ritual bow and left the room without being dismissed. Clark ached to call him back, to apologize or explain more, but he knew that Lex wouldn’t understand, no matter how much he tried. Clark sighed as he undressed down to nothing and climbed into the freshly-made bed, turning the blankets until he found Lex’s scent, left behind by his touch. Clark tucked that section under his chin and closed his eyes, breathing in Lex’s scent as he imagined his lover sleeping next to him.

As Clark slept, Iasha turned away from the prince’s holographic image, beamed to his chambers from a secluded transmitter in his majesty’s rooms.

“So, the treacherous J’annhadd is going to try and leave here with my prize.” The vizier crossed the room and poured himself a glass of Rhoke, a drink made of fermented fruit and sugar cane. He sipped from the silver goblet in his hands. “I should have slit that pale animal’s throat when I had the chance. No matter now, though . . . there is more than one way to strip a scuttling lizard of its skin. I haven’t waited for years on end to take my revenge on the only surviving son of Krypton simply to have it taken from me by a hairless mammal!” Iasha set down the goblet and went over to his computer terminal. He tapped a few keys, read the information that scrolled by, and nodded.

“Just as you are a slave to the young prince, so shall he be to me once you’re gone, Lex Luthor.”

Lex awoke in his small room the next morning an hour before dawn to a strange taste in his mouth and the sounds of shouting and running footsteps. He sat up in bed just as the door to his room was forced open with a crash, and six armed Quonyos soldiers rushed him. Lex scrambled from his bed and broke for the door, but they took him to the floor and pinned him with their weapons. He lay there, trapped and naked, as Iasha came into the room with several members of the council.

“Lex Luthor, J’annhadd to his majesty Kal-El of Krypton, I hereby strip you of your title and charge you with the most heinous of crimes this planet has ever seen,” he said as he stood over Lex, and Lex could do little more than roll his eyes in the man’s direction.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on . . . where’s Clark?”

“His majesty is exactly where you left him when you stole from his chambers several hours ago, after you took what you have craved for so long, and left him with nothing! Pale animal!” Iasha lashed out and kicked Lex hard in the ribs, and Lex stifled a cry of pain as he clenched his teeth together. Out in the hall, he could hear servants weeping.

“I haven’t stolen anything!” Lex said through gritted teeth, and Iasha kicked him again.

“Liar! His majesty lies in his bed, naked and defiled, covered in your issue and his blood, and you deny it!” He nodded to the guards, who lifted him up and draped him in a sheet to cover his nudity. Lex struggled.

“What are you talking about? I’ve been asleep . . . what do you mean, issue?” Lex’s eyes widened. “Was Clark raped? Is he hurt? Let me go to him!” He shouted, and Iasha’s dark eyes burned with a grave rage.

“Take the human to the prisoner’s hold and restrain him until the council can properly pronounce his death sentence, and then let it be known that he has destroyed this planet’s hopes and dreams of being ruled by a pure-blooded Kryptonian.” Iasha hung his head. “The prince’s d’hemm has been breached by someone other than his Pryrithreen . . . he is now an eternal child, and my charge and my burden as I attain the throne.” He waved a hand. “Take him.”

“No . . . I didn’t do this! I couldn’t—Clark! Clark please, help me!” Lex shrieked as they dragged him past the closed doors to Clark’s chambers. “Clark, I didn’t do this, you know I didn’t! Please!”

In his bedroom, Clark lay on his side, his face streaked with tears of humiliation as several of the royal physicians looked him over. He’d awoken suddenly about an hour earlier with a thundering headache and covered with smears of blood and thick trails of semen that he knew were Lex’s; his sense of smell had always been highly refined, and Lex’s issue had its own unique odor. There was pain, too, a stinging burn in his anus that only proved what the doctors had been telling him over the past hour—that Lex had drugged Clark’s dinner the night before, and had returned in the night to rape him.

“You must understand the human’s state of mind, Kal-El,” one of the doctors said as he wiped Clark’s skin clean after DNA samples had been taken. “He resented both you and your station ever since he was made a J’annhadd. You say that you explained to him what would happen with the Khava-Shae, and he objected?”

Clark nodded, his mind still reeling that Lex could possibly have done this to him. He knew that his partner had been almost desperate to keep Clark from undergoing the ceremony, but to have done this? Had the darkness that had always been tucked away in Lex’s soul, darkness that he had inherited from his father along with his billions, finally come to the forefront after being made a servant? Had it twisted Lex’s mind into believing that robbing Clark of his innocence was the only option open to keep him from enduring it from someone else?

I’d never make you surrender to me, Clark. Lex’s words echoed in Clark’s mind, and more tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as the doctors continued to clean him up. He didn’t bother to wipe them away as Lex was dragged past his chamber doors, screaming out his innocence. A moment later, Iasha came into the room, his expression grave.

“Your former J’annhadd denies his crime, but there is little doubt that he is guilty, Kal-El. It was indeed his human issue that we found on your skin. I’m afraid there is little other punishment for such a crime, or for a J’annhadd that turns upon his own master. He will be put to death by the council.”

Clark sat up.

“Wait . . . there has to be some kind of explanation. Lex would never hurt me. I know he’s been under a lot of pressure and stress lately, and he didn’t want me to go through the maturity ceremony, but he’d never . . .” Clark trailed off in uncertainty as Iasha shook his head.

“The man you knew on Earth may not be the same man who did this to you, Kal-El. This was the act of a desperate man . . . a man who could not understand the honor and glory of being a J’annhadd.” He sighed. “By Rao’s red heart, it grieves me to tell you, my boy, that there is no way for you to be a man now, or to be a king. Your human has ruined you.”

Clark swallowed hard as he watched the doctors troop out of the room.

“What’s going to happen now?”

“There is no other choice, Kal-El. As vizier, I must assume the throne, and you, by our law, are now an eternal child. You may not hold an adult’s position in society, nor marry, nor ever have a partner. You will be a ward of the ruling house for the rest of your life. But have no fear.” He reached down and stroked Clark’s hair. “I will take excellent care of you. You will stay with me in the royal chambers after the coronation, so that you need not face people and worry of your shame.”

“I want to talk to Lex. I want him to explain!” Clark said as he sat up, and Iasha shook his head.

“No. You will have no further contact with the human. We treated him well, and he has all but destroyed years of hope and planning. Soon he will be dead, Kal-El, and you will have to think upon him no more.”

Chapter Four: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/231649.html

Smallville Big Bang Fic: "If Chance Will Have Me King," Chapter Two

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:49:02 GMT

Title: If Chance Will Have Me King
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Genre: AU, Drama
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual situations
Beta(s) cinderella81 and dreamwvr73, with special thanks to herohunter.
For the 2009 Smallville Big Bang
All characters in this work of fiction are 18 and over.
Word count for draft: 10,814
Final Word Count: 23,577
Summary: It’s the end of the world but the beginning of another, where Clark must endure an ancient Kryptonian maturity ritual in order to become emperor to the descendants of his birth race, and where Lex must struggle with the question of identity in the wake of the destruction of his own, but is all truly as it seems on their new world?
Author’s Note: Smallville and its character are the property of the CW; Superman characters created by Joel Seigel and Jerry Shuster. No copyfright infringement intended; this is just for fun and because it’s what I love to do.

After the treatment that left Clark feeling considerably stronger, although still thin and a bit weak, he was escorted to private rooms where he was allowed to bathe. After that, he was given a meal that urged his appetite awake with vigor, and he emptied his plate. After the dishes were whisked away by someone who looked like a servant, Clark was given fresh clothing—a tunic and breeches of deep scarlet and white, along with a matching deep red cloak with black symbols embroidered into it, symbols of the house of El. Once properly dressed, the men who had helped him out of the star chamber escorted him to a large room that resembled a very ornate conference room. There were no windows, but there were inspirational murals on the walls and long oval tables with large, comfortable chairs that were white and scarlet. Several computer terminals lined the opposite wall on the other side of the room. Clark’s new calf-high black leather boots, which were softer and more supple than any leather he’s ever known, made no sound on the floor, which was made of highly polished rose quartz. He glanced back at the men who had brought him here, and they smiled.

“Please be seated, your highness. Iasha will be with you in just a moment.”

“Um—thanks.” Clark sat down at one of the long tables. “Will I be able to see Lex soon? Is he all right?”

“The human is well enough. He has been fed and has been allowed use of the sanitary facility, and will come to no harm for now.”

“For now? What do you mean?”

“Please, your highness. Iasha will come to you soon.” The men left him alone, and Clark began to pace. A few minutes later, the door opened again to admit a very tall, solid man with long chestnut hair that was pulled back into a complicated braid and wrapped in white and scarlet material that was almost iridescent. He wore the same tunic, breeches and cloak that Clark wore instead of the robes of the other men, and Clark wondered if only the scientists wore the robes. The man’s eyes were the color of sun-lit scotch, like the amber liquid Lex used to keep in his study. The mouth was serious but lacked the lines of a man used to cruelty; he had a long nose that ended in a bit of a bulbous shape, but not overly so. There was a strange indentation between his nose and upper lip, and some kind of diamond-shaped birthmark on the right side
of his face, where his ear began. He gave Clark a deep bow.

“Your most gracious majesty. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Iasha Shan-Zaar, your advisor and royal vizier.”

“Hi,” Clark replied, and Iasha frowned as his young charge held out a hand to him.

“Your majesty, the emperor of Quonyos does not offer his hand to lesser men! He is bowed to, and never comes in personal contact with anyone!”

“I just wanted to shake your hand,” Clark replied, and then explained as Iasha looked mildly puzzled. “It’s how humans greet each other, mostly.”

“Majesty!” Iasha looked as though it had been suggested that he roll in slops. “You are not a human, nor have you ever been! I understand that you were fostered by them for many years, but you are a full-blooded Kryptonian! You are the last, best hope for our people, the culmination of everything we hold dear from our ancestors! A pure, living testimony to our existence!”

“I don’t know anything about Krypton!” Clark replied, his voice rising. “All I know is my birth name, and that it’s gone! I’ve lived my whole life on Earth!”

“Which is now gone as well, majesty. The sun has gone supernova, as Krypton’s did. It is most unfortunate, but it is a fact.”

“Unfortunate . . .” Clark echoed. His parents, his friends, everyone he had ever known, loved, rivaled . . . all gone, except for Lex. Iasha motioned to a chair and Clark sat, more from the shock of that thought than obedience. The vizier sat across from him.

“You are here now by the providence of Kandor’s grace and our scientists’ innovation. You have come home to people who share your Kryptonian blood, and want nothing more than to be ruled by you! As your advisor, it is for myself and my council to teach you about the culture and the people of Quonyos as you journey toward your coronation day. Before that glorious day, you will endure the ceremony of the Khava-Hahl, of course, as you are not yet mature.”

“What do you mean?” Clark asked.

“All your questions will be answered during the cultural education sequences. They will begin in several days, when you are stronger. The star chamber healed you considerably, but Quonyos, like Krypton, has a red sun, and it may take you several days to grow accustomed to it. For now, you will continue to convalesce at the temporary royal chambers while you heal.”

“I want to see Lex. He’s the human who came here with me? Please . . . I don’t know what gender roles are like here or if you can understand, but he’s my mate.”

“I understand same-sex unions, and they are legal and commonplace here among both genders. However, you are to be the emperor, you are not mature, and you are full-blooded Kryptonian! There is simply no possible way for you and the human to remain as mates. The Khava-Hahl, which has been performed here for centuries with our young kings, cannot be altered. It is unfortunate, majesty, but the human was never meant to accompany you here. He is the last of his species and has no place in your future here as king.” Iasha touched the fingers of both his hands together. “I have little choice but to recommend that the human be euthanized.”

“Euthanized!” Clark jumped to his feet. “You can’t do that! He’s my best friend, my mate! Not some stray dog!”

Iasha paused. “A dog . . . ah, yes, an earth species of canine, bred to be a household pet. We have our domestic animals here, but none like that. In any case, your majesty, your human was not supposed to have survived his planet’s obliteration. It is only because he shed his blood on you that he lives!”

“He shed his blood on me because he was trying to protect me! You can’t just murder him because he’s the only human left!”

Iasha blinked.

“It is not murder, my lord! The human will not be able to survive with the knowledge and the mental agony of the destruction of his species! It would be a merciful thing! He would never be accepted here!”

“I would accept him! You say that I’m emperor? Then I command that you let Lex live!”

Iasha’s lips thinned into a line of displeasure.

“You are not yet emperor, Kal-El. You are not yet mature, you have much to learn and until then, I am your vizier and I rule until you are properly prepared!” His voice never rose, yet it gained a tone of command and confidence that had not been there earlier. It rattled Clark and he moved to sit down again, his heart beating hard. Iasha watched him, his sherry-colored eyes a mix of sympathy and ire. Clark swallowed hard.

“Everything I’ve ever known is gone, except for Lex. Please . . . you can’t take him from me, too.”

Iasha watched as the young prince pleaded for the life of his human. Of course, there was no possible way that they could be together; the people of Quonyos would never accept a human male as their emperor’s consort. Inter-species mating simply was not unheard of on Quonyos, but Kal-El was a full-blooded Kryptonian. There was simply no way for the human to fit into Kal-El’s future, unless . . . yes, that might be a solution, but would Kal-El understand? The ways of Quonyos were so different, the caste system extremely complex. It had worked for thousands of years for their people, but Kal-El had been raised in an unenlightened society who believed in freedom for all people, no matter how savage or what their bloodlines were. If Iasha allowed the human to live, there was really only one way that he could still have contact with Kal-El, only one capacity in which he could survive.

“I have no wish to cause you such grief, Kal-El. I know this is difficult for you, and I do not wish to make it even more so. There is perhaps one way for your human to remain here . . . if you can agree with it.”

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

“If your human is to remain with you and not be destroyed or sent off-world, then he must train to be your J’anhadd.”

“What’s that?” Clark asked in a cautious tone.

“He would be your bonded servant. You would have dominion over him, care for him, see to his needs, and he could remain with you. In return, he would see to your every comfort and wish as you approach your coronation and once you complete the Khava-Hahl, he can become the very heart of your royal enclave. If properly trained and taught well, the human may indeed learn to be happy here.”

“You mean he’d learn to be a slave!”

“J’anhadd,” Iasha corrected. “It means ‘keeper of treasures,’ or one who protects another of great importance. That would be your human’s purpose. He would see to your meals, your clothing, assist you in bathing and dressing, prepare your bed each evening, keep your chambers neat, run messages for you, and whatever else you wished. However, because you are to become king and the human is far below your station, you and he will not be allowed to continue your physical relationship.”

Clark closed his eyes. How could he explain to a man such as Lex, a man who had fought his whole life against incredible odds in order to finally make his own life choices, that he was now a servant? Lex had battled so hard to overcome both his past and his tyrannical father so that they could be together. To reduce Lex to this, and to have to refuse him affection as well? It would destroy Lex all over again.

“I can’t,” Clark said finally. “I can’t do that to Lex. He was an influential and powerful man on earth! He’s independent and intelligent—more than any human I’ve ever known—and I just can’t make him my slave!”

“Very well, Kal-El.” Iasha rose from the table. “I will prepare a serum that will stop the human’s heart quickly and with minimal pain. Would you like to tell him farewell before I have him taken away? No?” Iasha nodded at the bewildered and helpless expression on Clark’s face. “Perhaps that is for the best.” He moved toward the door.

“Wait!” Clark stood so quickly that he knocked over his chair. “Wait, please . . . just . . . stop. I’ll do it, but just . . . stop.”

Iasha turned. “You agree, then?”

“Yes, damn it! I agree! Just don’t hurt Lex! And you have to let me come tell him. He might understand all of this better if it comes from me.”

“As you wish, your majesty.” Iasha paused at the door and waited for his young charge. The boy was headstrong and drives by his emotions instead of his intellect, a fact that Iasha very much wanted to change. He understood that it was the humans who had raised Kal-El to be this person, a human in a Kryptonian body, instead of the logic-based, intellectual and confident prince he’d been born to be. He only hoped that it was not too late, and that Kal-El was young enough to still learn what it meant to be a Kryptonian and a king.

Lex looked up from the last of the cold herbal tea to see a group of the uniformed soldier-types marching toward his cell. He set the cup down, his lean frame tensing. As the door unlocked and swung open, Lex’s stomach lifted and crouched somewhere above his diaphragm as he heard Clark’s voice in the hallway.

“Wait! Let me explain it to him! Just hang on!”

“Clark!” Lex tried to push past the knot of armed men as the door opened, but they secured his arms and lifted him off his feet. Lex kicked and tried to bite the strong fingers that sunk into his biceps and just under his arms. Clark appeared from around the corner and Lex shouted to him.

“Clark! Are you all right? What’s happening?”

“Lex!” Clark followed the soldiers as they dragged Lex down a long hallway. Iasha watched, his long nose wrinkled in distaste.

“He is most savage, Kal-El! Perhaps he cannot be trained at all. A J’annhadd is a gentle, willing creature, devoted to his sire’s every need, not a snarling animal that uses his teeth in defense of himself when he is angry!” He watched as Lex tried to bite the men holding him.

“He’s not savage! He just doesn’t understand! He thinks you’re going to hurt him!” Clark hurried down the hall as the Quonyos soldiers opened a door and dragged Lex through it. Iasha shook his head.

“They will only cleanse him and dress him in the robes of his new station. It will help him to achieve the proper mindset.”

“You said you’d let me explain!” Clark replied, Lex’s intermittent shouts of anger and resistance making his pulse race.

“And you will have that chance, majesty, after the human is bathed. He stinks of his former earthly environment.”

“Let me go! Don’t touch me! Bastards! Clark!” Lex shrieked as the soldiers pushed him into a large sanitary facility that had an extra tiled area that was partially walled off. An attendant brought in a pile of folded clothing and several large white squares of nubby cloth. Iasha stopped Clark at the door.

“Allow them to cleanse him, your majesty. If he sees you, he will only resist more.”

“But he doesn’t understand!” Clark said. “Let me go to him!”

Lex kicked and flung curses at the men who held his arms as another man used a rod-shaped device that pulsed with some kind of gold light the end and the sides to literally unravel the fabric of his trousers. They fell around him in tatters, his Prada belt clattering to the floor as well, still threaded through the curled belt loops on the remains of the waistband. Lex watched as it was scooped up and taken away, and then he gasped as the man holding the rod lifted his left foot and shook it until his black loafer came free. He then lifted the right one, holding Lex’s ankle tightly so that he couldn’t kick, and shook that shoe free as well. His socks were then peeled off as well, and then both shoes and socks were dumped into an oval-shaped slot built into the wall nearby that Lex surmised to be a disposal bin. Anger burned in Lex’s chest.

“Those were my Italian loafers!” He raged, more furious at the last vestiges of his earthly life being stripped away than he was about the actual loss of his property or its worth. The man with the rod frowned.

“They carried the odors of Earthly things and their uncleanliness!”

“I just had them cleaned, damn it! Let go!” He shouted, and the rod touched his white shirt next. It fell away in pieces, and Lex’s bare heels squealed against the slick tiles of the floor as the rod finally touched his silk boxers. Lex felt the cool pulse of the thing along his hipbones, and then his boxers disintegrated. Lex gave a wordless shout of dismay.

“The human is hairless all over!” The man with the rod exclaimed, and gazed at Lex’s bare pubic region in amazement as the other men murmured in surprise. Lex fought a sudden surge of shame that quickly turned to rage. He brought his knees up and then pistoned his right foot out, catching the man in the nose, enjoying the feeling of it collapse under his heel. The man shrieked in clogged surprise and pain, and the other men bodily dragged Lex into the shower. Two of the men took Lex to the tiled floor, and Lex bucked and struggled as two other men pinned his arms and legs. Some kind of pressurized sprayers went off, and Lex coughed and spat as he was covered in some kind of foamy, sweet-smelling stuff that reminded Lex of attar of roses, he smell he usually liked when he wasn’t drowning in it. Pumice stones began to scrub his skin as water pelted his body from all angles. He choked and moaned as the scrubbing continued, his struggles weakening as he became disoriented by the multitude of soap, water, and scrubbing stones. A few moments later he was pulled to his feet, dried with nubby towels, and then draped in a garment that was a dusky lapis color and left his left shoulder bare while it fell just below the thigh at the hem. Someone lifted his feet and a jingling sound filled the room as white sandals adorned with shimmering, tiny gold metallic discs were slipped onto one foot, and then the other. Some kind of cold and scented liquid was then sprayed onto him and Lex blinked, now completely bewildered. He was then marched out of the shower facility and taken to where Clark stood with Iasha. Clark stared at Lex as he was brought forward, the discs on his sandals chiming. Flushed with struggling and humiliation, Lex found it difficult to meet Clark’s eyes.

My God, I’m a Roman slave.

Clark swallowed hard, a mixture of sympathy and helpless desire roiling in his gut. The blue-grey toga-like garment made Lex’s eyes stand out in brilliant competition, and his pale skin appear opalescent. The bare shoulder, with its smooth collarbone displayed, was somehow more erotic than any nude body Clark had ever seen.

“Lex,” he said softly, and reached out to touch his face. Lex remained stoic, although he leaned into the touch very slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Aside from being forcibly stripped and scrubbed, I’m fine.” Lex shot a glare at the man whose nose he’d broken. The man cringed, a square of white cloth pressed to his swelling face.

“I’m so sorry—” Clark began, but Iasha interrupted.

“Is his majesty pleased with this J’annhadd?”

“Pleased?”

“Yes. Does he wish to claim this one as his own?”

“Claim? I . . . well . . .” Clark shook his head and turned to his vizier. “Before I answer that, I want the chance to explain things to Lex. He’s been locked up, and now the bath and the clothing . . . please, just give us some time alone!”

Iasha glanced at Lex, who challenged him with a glare. The older man finally nodded.

“Very well, Kal-El. You have one hour to explain to your J’annhadd his situation, his station, and his place here on Quonyos. After that, I will ask you again if you accept him as we discussed, and if so, he will begin his training. Agreed?”

“Yes, all right! Just please, let me be alone with him for awhile!”

“As you wish. I will return for you both in one hour.” Iasha turned and walked down the hall with the soldiers and the man Lex had injured, and then he paused to back at Clark.

“You will be watched, Kal-El, and traitorous actions will be punished.”

Clark nodded and put a hand on Lex’s bare shoulder, turning him back toward the meeting room. Lex’s shoulder tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

“Come on,” Clark said, and they walked in silence until they reached the room. The door hummed open and Clark ushered Lex inside. Lex sat down and Clark pretended to busy himself with his chair as Lex tried to adjust to sitting in a garment that barely covered his rear end. Finally, he pulled in his chair and hunched over the table. Clark sat across from him.

“Lex . . .”

“You’re fortunate, Clark. As king, you get to wear pants.”

Clark winced.

“I’m sorry, Lex. It’s complicated.”

“I don’t believe that it is. I’m to be your servant . . . that’s not difficult to understand, even with someone with an average IQ. Mine is nearly four times that, Clark. I’m not a fool. The outfit, the perfume, the training your advisor mentioned.” Lex held Clark’s gaze. “So explain it to me, Clark. If it will comfort you, explain it to me.”

“Please, Lex, please don’t be mad at me! It was the only way! They wanted to kill you, and I couldn’t let that happen! I didn’t have a choice . . . they told me I’m not the king yet because of my age and because some ceremony has to be performed. Until then, Iasha makes all the decisions! He said that they didn’t plan for you to come with me but—”

“But I bled on you just before the particle beam grabbed you,” Lex sighed. “Yes, they explained that to me, too. They also explained that everything and everyone we ever knew is now cosmic dust where the Earth used to be.”

Clark swallowed hard and reached across the table to touch Lex’s hands as his eyes grew crystalline with tears.

“That’s why I couldn’t bear to lose you too, Lex, even if . . .” His eyes flicked to Lex’s clothing. “I know I made the choice for you, and maybe it’s not the same choice you would have made, but all I knew is that after losing everything else—” Clark’s voice tangled in the sudden thickness in his throat, and it choked the life out of his words. Lex nodded and folded a hand over Clark’s.

“All right, Clark. Okay, I understand,” he said softly, and Clark sniffled as a big teardrop hit the reflective black tabletop and broke apart into a miniature puddle.

“They’re all gone, Lex! My folks, and Chloe and Pete . . . everyone is gone!”

“I’m afraid they are,” Lex replied. I wasn’t supposed to survive either, but here I am.” He gave Clark a brief, wry smile. “Earth’s last son.”

Clark nodded and laid his other hand over Lex’s.

“I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“I don’t think your new subjects share that sentiment, Lex said. “But you do look a damn sight better than when I saw you last. My cell guard said something about a healing chamber?”

Clark nodded.

“They called it the Star Chamber. It healed me, but it didn’t restore my abilities. Iasha says that this planet has a red sun, like Krypton did. That means my powers are never coming back. It was the Earth’s yellow sun that gave them to me.”

“I’m sorry, Clark.” Lex sighed and glanced around the room. “It looks as though we’ll both be making adjustments.”

“I promise I”ll take care of you.” Clark said, and Lex gave a small nod.

“We’ll take care of each other . . . although in my case, from what I’ve been told, it will be in a more official capacity.” He took a deep breath. “Explain my duties to me, Clark.”

Chapter Three: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/231409.html

Smallville Big Bang Fic: "If Chance Will Have Me King."

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:40:48 GMT

Title: If Chance Will Have Me King
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Genre: AU, Drama
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual situations
Beta(s) cinderella81 and dreamwvr73, with additional thanks to herohunter!
For the 2009 Smallville Big Bang
All characters in this work of fiction are 18 and over.
Word count for draft: 10,814
Final Word Count: 23,577
Summary: It’s the end of the world but the beginning of another, where Clark must endure an ancient Kryptonian maturity ritual in order to become emperor to the descendants of his birth race, and where Lex must struggle with the question of identity in the wake of the destruction of his own, but is all truly as it seems on their new world?
Author’s Note: Smallville and its character are the property of the CW; Superman characters created by Joel Seigel and Jerry Shuster. No copyfright infringement intended; this is just for fun and because it’s what I love to do

If Chance Will Have Me King
By Lexalicious70

Earth’s sun was a dying, orb-shaped candle flame battered by the forces of its own death throes. Below it, the people of Metropolis scurried like small, confused animals that had been driven from their homes by the intermittent earthquakes that were now shaking through the city, the state, the country, and the entire word as the sun died out and brought a slow end to the whole of humanity.

Lex Luthor stood on the ornate, tiled balcony of the luxurious penthouse that sat atop of one of the tallest buildings in uptown Metropolis, the place he had called home for the past six months ever since he had left Smallville in an attempt to forever sever the ties between himself and his father. Lex had turned away from Lionel’s repeated requests for an audience and instead had expended much of his energy and resources nurturing the only relationship on the planet that now mattered to him—the one between himself and Clark Kent.

Clark had turned eighteen only a few months earlier, and on the evening of his birthday, he had come to the mansion and had confessed to Lex between bouts of weeping not only the secret of his alien nature, but also the nature of his true feelings for the amazed but painfully hopeful young billionaire, who took a chance on the only person who had ever considered him worthy of love. A short time later, the two of them had left Smallville together—Clark to attend Metropolis University and continue his efforts to save lives with his abilities, and Lex to branch away from Luthorcorp and into his own ventures while the two young men explored their burgeoning relationship. Lex had always been aware of his feelings for the earnest and handsome farm-raised youth, but he still found it hard to believe that Clark could truly love a man such as himself. Authentic or not, however, Clark’s love drove away the darkness that Lex knew crouched in the recesses of his heart, a heart that had only known love for a short time and, at the end of the hour, would know no more at all.

“Lex,” a soft, hoarse voice spoke from the bedroom, and Lex turned away from the visage of the Earth’s dying sun to that of his equally fading lover. Clark lay in the enormous bed they had shared for the past several months, a thin, hollow-cheeked figure that floated in the plum-colored duvet.

“I’m right here, Clark,” Lex said as he sat down on the bed and took the younger man’s hand. Once so strong and fine-boned, the hand now resembled a skeletal bird’s foot. For the past six weeks, ever since the sun had begun to die like a guttering candle flame, Clark had dimmed along with it. Without the sun’s rays to sustain him and his amazing abilities, he was dying like an exotic flower uprooted from its native soil, unable to survive without the nutrients it provided. His powers were gone, and his once fair, sun-kissed skin had gone the color of fresh wax. His dark hair was brittle and had begun to yellow, as had the corneas of his eyes. The green-and-hazel tiger’s eye shade of Clark’s irises was now a muddy grey. Lex touched his lover’s sallow cheek.

“You’re awake again. Shall we see if you can keep some soup down?” The help had abandoned the penthouse days ago to escape to their own families in the wake of their deaths, but Lex had been managing well enough despite their absence. At least the pantry had been well-stocked.

Clark closed his eyes in a negative gesture, and then they opened again to track to Lex’s face with difficulty. “Be over soon,” he said, and the corners of Lex’s mouth tightened.

“Nonsense. It’ll be all right.”

“Won’t be. Nothing anyone can do now.” The hand in Lex’s twitched. “Sorry, Lex. So sorry.”

“Shhhh, Clark. No. Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He rubbed Clark’s hand and tried not to wince at how the skin shifted too easily under his touch, as if it no longer fit the body to which it was attached. Clark tried to smile.

“Not fair, is it . . . should have told you sooner, should have . . . been with you.”

“I suppose that’s all we have left,” Lex said. “What should have been.” He glanced out the window, where the sun resembled a bleary, cataract-ridden eye. “But I don’t want you to be afraid, Clark. Whatever our next journey is, we’ll take it together.”

“Together,” Clark sighed, his full lips trying to twitch into a smile. He closed his eyes, and Lex knew then that they would never open again, even though Clark’s heart still beat. He bent double with grief and helplessness, his forehead touching Clark’s once-broad chest, where his spastic heartbeat fluttered in his ribcage like an injured bird. Lex thought of the pill he’d been saving for himself, the one in the drawer built into the headboard of the bed, and knew that the time to take it had come. It would stop his heart fifteen minutes to twenty minutes from the time of ingestion, and he and Clark would leave this dying planet together. He looked out the window one more time, and then touched his young lover’s hair.

Put out the light, and then put out the light.

The building gave a sudden heave under the onslaught of another quake, and over the distant screams of people outside, the large overhead light fixture announced the separation from its hardware with a loud jangle. Lex covered his head with both arms in a reflexive motion and realized the irony of the gesture even as he made it, considering he’d been planning his own suicide a moment earlier. Frosted white glass shattered against the thick headboard of the bed and sprayed across Lex’s cheek, peppering open small cuts there. A moment later, the entire bed heaved forward like a rodeo bull and dashed Lex into the headboard. He saw a bright shower of white sparks in a velvet field of black before he bounced back and sprawled across Clark’s chest, which no longer moved, and the last thing Lex was aware of on earth was that the fluttering spasms which had marked Clark’s pulse had gone still.

A muffled but consistent thumping noise in Lex’s right hear roused him to consciousness, and he couldn’t be sure if he’d been unconscious for minutes or hours. The thumping sound continued, and then Clark’s familiar scent filled Lex’s nostrils. He raised his head, forcing both eyes open, the right one gummed with drying blood, and realized that the thumping sound was Clark’s heart beating. Lex rose to his elbows, a shout of surprise and disbelief rising in his throat, but then a pair of strong hands slipped under his arms and pulled him backwards. Lex looked over his shoulder, but all he could see was white and red fabric—a gown or tunic of some sort. Male voices babbled in anxious tones, but not in English, and Lex’s quick mind grasped to make sense of the language. It was nothing like he’d ever heard though; it was completely foreign—no, even more so—it was something completely out of the sphere of his experience . . . alien.

“Let me go!” Lex snapped, finding his voice. He struggled against the strong hands, and as he was dragged backwards, he saw a group of very tall, brawny men standing over Clark’s inert body. They were still conversing rapidly as they ran thin, glowing instruments over the young man’s body. Lex clawed at the hands holding him, but it had no effect. “Clark!” He called again as he was pulled around a corner and could no longer see him. “Clark!”

A voice spoke in his ear in that same clipped language, but there was no mistaking the irritation in its tone. Something cold and blunt pressed against the base of his skull, and Lex yelled in pain as a forceful, pressurized sensation followed. Injection, Lex thought, and as the man holding him spoke again, the words seem to garble and melt until the phonetics rearranged themselves into English.

“Human! Be still!”

“Who are you?” Lex shouted, but the only answer was a rough push to his shoulder blades. He stumbled forward into a small, square enclosure, and then a metallic slam sounded behind him. He turned to find himself facing a metal door with a thick re-enforced window that was perhaps a foot across and a foot wide. Lex pounded on the door with both fists. “Who are you and what are you doing to Clark?” He shouted, and one of the other men came over to the door. He peered in at Lex as though he was a fascinating new zoo exhibit, and then turned to his compatriot.

“Most unexpected and unfortunate,” he said, and Lex rubbed the back of his head just below the occipital bone as he listened. He realized the injection must contain something that allowed him to understand their language, but what language was it, and how had he and Clark gotten to where they were?

“The human shed blood on Kal-El just before we activated the particle transmitter. That is why it was brought here along with His Highness,” the shorter man nodded.

Particle transmitter? Kal-El? Lex’s fevered mind struggled to make sense of the words and how these men knew Clark’s Kryptonian name. He pounded on the door again as he summoned all the commanding tone to his voice that he could muster.

“Tell me where I am and who you are!”

One of the men turned. He was of an indeterminate age but had broad and striking features. His eyes were a strange grey-green, and he wore his long, dark hair pulled back on the sides and up into a partial braid, which was wrapped in some kind of shimmering red fabric. He looked Lex up and down.

“Human,” he said in a tone that Lex usually reserved for cockroaches or paparazzi, and Lex straightened his spine in indignation. At the same time, the implication that the other man wasn’t a human pressed a cold finger of apprehension against his heart. In spite of that, he glared at the man.

“I am . . . a human who would very much like to know where he is and how he got here.”

The man frowned.

“You are here by an unlucky chance. When we rescued Kal-El from the dying planet where he was sent long ago, our particle transmitter also detected your DNA—” the man indicted the cuts on Lex’s cheek “—and brought you here along with him. It was certainly not our intention to prevent you from perishing along with the rest of your race.”

“The rest of my . . . what do you mean?” Lex asked hoarsely, and the taller man shook his head at his companion.

“Clearly, the human does not have the cranial capacity to comprehend its situation.”

Lex clenched his fists.

“Perhaps I could understand, if you tell me where I am!”

The tall man tucked his hands into the sleeves of his tunic.

“You are on the planet Quonyos. I am Narik, and my associate is Bashir. We are the planet’s top scientists, and we are the ones who created the particle transmitter. We knew that soon Kal-El’s time to mature would arrive, and that he must be brought here before that time.”

“For what purpose? What are those men doing to Clark?”

“You use the name given to him by Earth parents, and that name, like your planet, is no more. His true name is Kal-El, and that is what he will be called from now on.” The man’s gaze was dark. “And you, Alexander Luthor, have no place here.”

Lex’ head throbbed. Earth was gone, as was everyone he’d ever known, obliterated when the sun had gone dark and then went supernova. Everyone who had ever known he had existed was no cosmic dust, and he was now Earth’s only survivor . . . its last son.

Narik turned to his companion.

“The question now remains what is to be done about this error. The human cannot remain here, nor can it return from whence it came.”

“I recommend euthanasia,” Bashir replied. “It would end its suffering and mental anguish. Humans are not very intelligent, but surely now it understands that it is the last of its kind.”

Lex’s stomach clenched into a tight, frightened ball even as anger burned through him. They reminded him of the way Lionel used to speak about him to others, even if he was in the room, only now he had been relegated to animal status. He slammed his fist against the door.

“I’m a person, not some stray dog!”

Narik glanced up and then sighed.

“Perhaps His Highness will be angry if we harm the human. He might care for it.”

“Agreed. We shall keep it caged until His Majesty recovers.” He then turned back to Lex. “Food and water will be brought to you, but you will remain here. Have no fear, you will not be harmed.”

“I want to see Clark! He’s very ill, please, let me see him!” Lex called back.

“Our physicians will remedy Kal-El’s condition, and we have every confidence that he will recover. Until then, you must remain here, in quarantine.” The man turned and walked away with his companion. Lex pounded on the door one more time and then slid to the smooth, white floor. He drew his knees up and glanced around the cell; there was no place to sit or were there any facilities. Lex hoped they offered him some before he suffered that humiliation on top of the ones he already had.

That he was a prisoner here was undeniable, even if they planned to treat him well, and Lex had no idea how long it might be until Clark recovered enough and if these men would even allow him to see his lover. That Clark was alive caused hope to burn brightly in Lex’s chest, and he tried to push back the fear that threatened to smother it.

***
A high-pitched chirruping noise, like the constant trilling of a small bird, roused Clark to consciousness. He tasted copper in the back of his throat and his tongue felt swollen. He moaned softly.

God, please, don’t let me hurt anymore, he thought, but then he realized that he was no longer laying down in his and Lex’s bed, but that he was upright and . . . floating? Clark forced his eyes open and gasped in a breath to find himself weightless in some kind of cylindrical chamber that pulsed with yellow light. He was also quite naked, his thin body exposed to the bursts of light that hit him. Outside the chamber, a group of men in red and white robes watched him, and they began to exclaim to each other.

“His majesty awakens!”

“The treatment is working!”

“Praise the red heart of Rao, the young prince lives!”

Majesty . . . Rao . . . ? Where am I? Lex . . . ? Lex!

Clark began to struggle in the antigravity chamber, and one of the men came forward, his face pinched with concern under his silvery goatee.

“Your majesty, please! Be still and let the star chamber heal you!”

“Where am I? Who are you people? Where’s Lex?” Clark shouted. When the men glanced at each other in apparent confusion, Clark locked eyes with the one closest to him. “He was just here with me a minute ago! He’s young, well-dressed?” When the man shook his head, Clark reached up and patted his own dark hair, which felt much less brittle than it had that morning. “He doesn’t have any hair!”

Recognition lit up the man’s dark eyes.

“Ah! The hairless human!”

“Yes, that’s Lex! Where is he? Please!”

“A most unusual and unfortunate circumstance has occurred, your most gracious highness. It was not our intent for the human to accompany you here. When it bled upon you, the particle transmitter we used to bring you here also brought the human here as well. In truth, we had already decided that the best thing would be for it to perish with the rest of its kind.”

“Perish with the rest . . . you mean, Earth is—”

“Gone, your Highness. The star you call Sol went dark and then exploded after you were brought here. Our top scientists predicted this event many years ago, since it was discovered where your escape rocket landed when you were a babe. We have worked tirelessly since then, knowing that we could not lose the one man who will save Quonyos!”

“Quonyos . . . that’s where I am?” Clark asked, even as his mind grappled with the concept that everyone he had ever known—including his beloved parents—was gone. His mind slipped sideways in warning, and he pushed the thoughts back for now to concentrate on the older man’s words.

“Indeed, your majesty. The planet Quonyos, and you now reside in the glorious kingdom of Argo as you make your recovery.”

“Argo?” Clark replied, and the man nodded.

“A tribute to the memory of the once-mighty crowned jewel, Argo City, which was the capital of your home planet, Krypton.”

“You know about Krypton?”

“Of course, your Highness. Everything and more.”

“I don’t understand,” Clark shook his head, and the man smiled.

“We share the same blood, Kal-El of Krypton. The inhabitants of this planet are direct descendents of your home planet, who left there in secret some two thousand years ago, before interstellar flight and travel was banned by the Kryptonian government. Our ancestors were adventurers, happy travelers who were proud of their ancestry, but did not agree with the rules of the council, which was just then beginning to gain power. They believed that they should be free to roam the galaxy, as long as they had the means and the will, and so they left Krypton in search of a place to begin anew. Quonyos is that place. It is a planet much like Krypton, with a sun like a red jewel in the sky, and abundant resources. There was a sparse humanoid population when they arrived, and the two groups blended quickly. We have managed to control our population to conserve our resources and today, there are over three million inhabitants of our happy kingdom. We have retained some of our Kryptonian culture, such as our religion and some of our social mores, but we lack one thing . . . a good and wise king to rule us. When our scientists discovered that our mother Krypton was doomed, they traced the trajectory of your rocket after the planet exploded, but alas, we had not yet perfected our particle transmitter. There were times that we despaired of being too late to save you from Earth, but now, praise Rao, you are here with us!”

“What do you want from me? Why am I here?” Clark asked as he floated in the star chamber.

“Why, that’s simple, Kal-El. As the last full-blooded Kryptonian, we have brought you here to rule us.”

***
Lex wasn’t sure how long he sat in that bare cell, his throat dry and his bladder full. The two men hadn’t returned, and Lex didn’t even know if Clark was still alive; and if he wasn’t, there was a good chance that they would return to kill him. Of course, with Clark dead and the Earth now galactic dust, Lex saw very little to live for otherwise. His only hope was that these people were merciful and would see that he died with as little pain as possible.

Lex’s bladder throbbed urgently and he shifted on the floor as he tried to ignore it in favor of weighing his options. If Clark was alive, then it was possible that he could persuade them to allow him to live, or command them if Clark was truly their king. There was also a good chance that Clark felt as helpless as he did, and that his powers had been snuffed out for good. He wondered if Clark knew the Earth was gone.

Talk about survivor guilt, Lex thought to himself. I’m quite possibly the last human being in the galaxy, unless the alien abduction legends are true—and considering my situation, they are—and others like me are being held captive somewhere. I have to stay here, what I do? It’s highly doubtful if these people will allow Clark and me to continue our relationship . . . if Clark is even still alive.

Footsteps sounded toward the door, and Lex looked up to see the man with the beard, the one called Narik. With him were two armed guards, official-looking sorts who wore very rounded red and white helmets with face shields. Lex stood, even though his stomach cramped with fear and threatened to render his bladder muscles useless. Narik held a tray with covered dishes in both hands, and Lex surmised that this was the food he’d been promised.

“Step clear of the door, human,” Narik said, and Lex stepped backward. The two helmeted men raised the weapons as Narik unlocked the door and crouched down to set down the tray.

“Is Clark alive? Do you know—”

His majesty recovers in the star chamber. It will restore his health, but now he must learn to live under a red sun, as his ancestors did. He will not be empowered with abilities, as he was on earth.”

“I want to see him!” Lex snapped, and Narik shook his head.

“That will not be possible for some time. His Highness will need rest and nourishment after his treatment.”

Lex gritted his teeth.

“Then do you think it’s at least possible that I would be allowed to use the restroom?” He asked, and Narik cocked his head. Lex closed his eyes briefly. “The facilities? Look, you’re a humanoid, surely you must—” Lex cut his eyes to the tray of food, and then the man nodded with a look of enlightenment on his face.

“Ah! You need a relief station!”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it, yes!” Lex snapped, now moments away from doing a most embarrassing jig. Narik nodded to one of the soldiers .

“Take the human to the relief station down the hall. Do not let it escape you.”

“I’m not an it!” Lex protested sharply as the man led him down the hall and through a door that opened with a motion sensor, only from bottom to top instead of side to side. The facilities, although shaped a bit differently from what Lex was used to, were obvious, and Lex closed his eyes in gratitude as he undid his fly and relieved himself. With that accomplished, he zipped up and went to the deep oval sinks. The large mirrors over the sink were round as well, and he wondered if this species had some kind of fear of right angles. He washed his hands and then glanced at himself in the mirror. His left cheek had three or four small horizontal cuts, and there was a larger gash over his right eye. Lex splashed water on his face and cleared away the blood that had dried there. The gash was already clotted over, a sign that his self-healing abilities were still present. He remembered how the broken glass had stung his face like wasps, but according to these men, he would be dead if not for the fact that he had shed blood on Clark.

He should be dead. He wasn’t supposed to have survived.

Lex’s mouth tightened as he glanced at his own reflection. Self-pity will get you nowhere, Lex, he chided himself, although bizarrely, it was his father’s voice that spoke up in his head. Does it truly matter what wasn’t supposed to happen? You weren’t supposed to survive whooping cough when you were five, or the meteor shower that turned you into a hairless freak when you were nine, or survive your father after mom died. This is just another way you’re not supposed to survive, but you damn well have to. For Clark.

“Human!” The soldier called from the door. “Your sanitary time is complete! Return to your cell for nourishment!”

Lex paused at the ionic dryer a moment longer than was necessary and took great delight in watching the soldier’s spine stiffen with annoyance. He noticed that there wasn’t a great variance in size among the men here; they were all tall, Clark’s size, and even the scientists had broad shoulders. They all appeared to be human, just as Clark always had, and although the fact that he was indeed an alien had been difficult to accept at first, Lex had discovered quickly that his feelings for Clark outweighed any other anomalies.

“Take your nourishment,” he said, and Lex glanced at the tray.

“Not until you move me to another room that has a private bathroom. A relief station,” Lex clarified, and Narik frowned.

“We have no such detention rooms.”

“Then move me to a room that has them, along with a place to sit, and put a guard on the door if you feel you need to. For Christ Sakes, my planet is gone, where the hell do you think I’m going to try and escape to?”

Narik hesitated, and Lex folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not sitting on the floor to eat my meal, like some animal.”

“Great Kandor!” Narik sighed. “Were all humans as stubborn as you?”

Lex tried not to flinch at the use of the past tense applied to his species, and scowled.

“No. Just me.”

“Clearly,” Narik nodded. “I will speak to my superior about different quarters for you. In the meantime, take you nourishment.”

“I want to see Clark.”

“After Kal-El’s treatment, rest and nourishment, he will meet with Iasha, his royal advisor. He will speak to his Highness about his duties, the future, and what is to be done with you. After that, he may be allowed to see you.”

“What do you mean? Clark—Kal-El—he’s the king, isn’t he?”

“His Highness will soon be emperor, yes, but for now, he is not yet mature, nor has he received his coronation. For now, Iasha leads us.”

“Is he the king?” Lex asked, and some of the color drained from Narik’s face.

“No, human. Our ruling family, which could be traced from some of the finest blood on Krypton, was killed two months ago, in a tragic explosion.”

Lex nodded.

“I see, and my sympathies. So after all of the members of your ruling line were killed, you found yourselves without leadership.” Lex crouched and picked up the covered metal tray. He uncovered it to find some kind of speckled white meat that was cut into cubes, a pile of greens that smelled sharp and earthy, and a foamy, crackly pile of something that was deep purple in color. There was also a cold herbal type of drink in a metal cup on the corner of the tray. Deciding that it was more dignified to eat standing up, Lex picked at the meat and tested the flavor. He found it quite palatable, and even moist. Narik, pleased by Lex’s cooperation, answered his question.

“Yes. The explosion was caused by a chemical reaction in a lab at the royal chambers. King Turrack was very interested in science, and always sought to increase our technology and knowledge. He prized it above all else, may Kandor cherish him.” Narik’s voice was heavy with grief.

“How long have your people knows about Clark being on earth?” Lex asked, and then took a swallow of the tea. It was minty and sweet.

“Our ancestors always remained aware of what was occurring on Krypton, even if they had no contact with the people they left behind. When our scientists watched its sad destruction, they also discovered the fuel signature of Kal-El’s escape rocket. We located Kal-El on Earth a short time later, but it took us many years to perfect the particle beam so that it might reach such a distance.” The tall man looked Lex up and down. “Kal-El’s people, our ancestors, were strong, proud, and possessed an intelligence and culture that you, as a mere human, could never hope to understand.”

“You’re wrong. I understand Clark better than anyone.” Lex snapped, his temper flaring at the arrogant tone in the man’s voice.

“Your species was backwards and savage. You squandered your planet’s resources and prized riches and physical objects above knowledge and personal enlightenment! Little wonder that so many died starvation and disease because of the selfish and the wealthy!”

Lex suppressed the urge to prove Narik’s point about the savagery of his people by smashing the window with the food tray and snapping the man’s neck with his bare hands. Instead, he set the tray down and clenched his fists.

“Despite how other humans may have behaved, I’ve never harmed anyone . . . especially Clark!”

“I have no say in your fate, human. It is now in Iasha’s hands.”

Chapter Two: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/230979.html#cutid1

Veronica Mars Fic: "Sea Change."

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 02:45:30 GMT

Sea Change
Author: Lexalicious70
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Genre: Drama, AU
Pairing: Dick/Cassidy, implied
Rating: NC-17 for discussions of rape, non-con situations between brothers, (initiated by a third party,) and some violence.
Word Count: 8,541
Summary: When Veronica taps the Casablancas’ home to discover if they had any part in the Neptune High bus crash, she makes a shocking discovery about Dick and Cassidy and turns to Logan for help. Logan must then make the choice to stay silent or to intervene in the dangerous game between the Casablancas brothers and their blackmailer before the events of Cassidy’s life send him permanently over the edge.
A/N: This is an AU storyline that is set in late season two as an alternate ending to “Not Pictured.” *WARNING* Possible triggers for rape, molestation. Proceed with caution if you are sensitive to these issues.

Sea Change
By Lexalicious70

Neptune, California. A lot of people who live here think that our town, with its sunny climate, trendy shops, and sparkling backyard pools, is badly named. They say that the sun always shines here, and that it’s nothing like the surface of the cold and desolate planet of the same name or the underwater Roman god who commanded the depths of the ocean, where the sun never shines at all. They say that the sun always shines in our Neptune.

But there is darkness here. I’ve seen it. It’s always been here, and even the bright rays of the California sun can’t chase away all of the shadows from the town’s darkest corners.

My name is Cassidy Casablancas. I live in Neptune, California, and every day, I can feel this town’s darkness inching over me, threatening to eat me alive.

The Neptune High bus crash was the biggest tragedy to hit the town since the murder of Lily Kane, the teenage daughter of one of the wealthiest couples in Neptune, the year before. Six kids and two adults were killed in the crash, and grief still cast its shadow on some of the faces that Veronica Mars, Neptune High school student and part-time private investigator, saw in the hallways and out in the courtyard where she ate lunch with her best friend, Wallace, every day. Today, as Wallace plopped down across from her with a sack lunch, he cocked an eyebrow at her smug expression.

“You look awfully cocky for a girl who just ate the cafeteria’s meatloaf.”

“No one is that brave.” Veronica scoffed and leaned forward as her expression grew serious.

“Wallace, I think I know who caused that bus crash.”

“Didn’t your dad want you to leave this alone?” Wallace asked with a squint, and Veronica pushed back her blonde hair.

“Yeah . . . but he also wants me to keep my room clean and wear cheap shoes, and let’s face it, neither of those things is happening any time soon, either.”

“Fair enough,” Wallace shrugged. “So let’s hear it. Who’s your suspect?”

“Kendall Casablancas.”

“Dick and Beaver’s stepmom? The one who’s almost our age?”

“She’s not almost our age. She’s twice removed, if anything.” But the same, yes. Look, ever since Dick Sr. fled the country, she and the boys have found themselves in a serious financial bind. Their mom is in charge of the boys’ trust funds, and Dick told Logan that she’s not willing to sign them over because she’s worried the boys will blow it all before they’re twenty-one.”

“What’s that got to do with the bus crash?”

“This is where it gets interesting. I did some digging, and even though Dick and Beaver have sizeable trust funds, it turns out they’re worth a lot more dead than alive. Each of them is insured for millions. We’ll know soon enough if Kendall is involved . . . I got Logan to plant a bug in the house the next time he’s with her.”

“Oh! Please, do not make me be picturing that!” Wallace said as his mouth screwed up in disgust. Veronica lifted a shoulder.

“Sometimes, even the perverted can be of use. Besides, he owed me a few. With that bug, I’ll be able to get the proof that Kendall killed those kids because she was trying to wipe out Dick and Beaver for the insurance money. With Dick Sr. out of the country and the check coming to this address, there would be nothing to stop her.”

“Wouldn’t that money go to Dick and Beaver’s mom?” Wallace asked with a squint and a cocked brow, and Veronica shook her head.

“Not since the divorce, and you can take that to the—well, you know. As strange as this sounds though, I don’t think Kendall is as dumb as she looks. Or sounds. Or . . . anything else. I’m pretty sure she knew that it was only a matter of time before Tricky Dicky’s financial magic tricks caught up with him. She must have been planning this for a long time.”

“But would she really kill all those kids just to try and take out her stepsons?”

Veronica pursed her lips.

“I don’t know. But that’s what I’m going to find out. If Kendall is our killer, she’s bound to spill about it sooner or later.”

Later that night, Veronica shut herself in her room after her father had left on a date with Wallace’s mom. With Backup snoring blissfully at the foot of her bed, Veronica took out her mini recorder and the remote device for the bug she’d given Logan.

“Come on, Kendall, give me something I can use,” she sighed, and pushed the button that would activate the speakers. There was a lot of background noise, a brief squeal, and then a series of shuffling noises. Footsteps, maybe? Veronica wondered where Logan had placed the bug. He had told Veronica, (over her protests of TMI,) that Kendall preferred the guest bedroom when she entertained him, so that was most likely where he had planted it.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dick,” a voice said suddenly, and Veronica sat up with a frown. The voice belonged to Cassidy Casablancas, Dick’s sixteen-year-old brother, a slight, blonde, and almost pretty boy with sleepy grey eyes and a pouty mouth. Most people at school called him Beaver, a name that Dick had given him, (though the reason was a mystery,) and Veronica knew that Cassidy hated it. If Logan had planted the bug in the guest room, what were Dick and Cassidy doing in there?

“We got to do it, Beav,” Dick replied in a tone that Veronica had never heard him use before. He sounded old and weary, as if he had said this to his brother many times before. “You know we do.”

“I can’t,” Cassidy replied, and his boy’s voice seemed to strangle on tears. There was a sudden scuffling noise and a thud, and Cassidy gave a yelp. Veronica frowned; she knew that Dick had just pushed the smaller boy into the wall.

“You’re doing it, and you’ll shut up about it because you know what’ll happen if you don’t! Do you want to go to jail? Cos I don’t!”

“No,” Beaver murmured, and Dick’s voice gentled.

“Good.” A pause. “I mean . . . come on, Beav. You remember what he said.”

Veronica frowned and listened harder. "Who? Come on boys, give me a name!"

“I know what he said.” Cassidy sounded sullen and tearful. “And I’m the one he tried to kill, so I know what he’s capable of!”

Veronica stiffened and put a hand to her mouth.

“Then why would you take the chance of calling his bluff, Beav? The dude is totally twisted, and he’s got us both by the balls. He’ll kill us both and everyone we care about before he does. You want that, huh? You want Mac or Kendall to die like those kids on the bus did?”

“No!” Cassidy replied in a frightened voice, and Veronica heard a series of vague plastic clicking sounds. Some kind of equipment being set up? What were these boys doing, and who was making them do it?

“Time to get to work, Beaver. Can’t be late with the delivery.” More odd noises . . . the rustle of clothing? What—

There was the sudden unmistakable sound of bedsprings a moment later as someone tilted the mattress with his weight, and Veronica’s stomach clenched. Then, a muffled thump, as if something had been tossed on top of the bedspread.

“He gave me this for you to use this time,” Dick said.

“Please don’t make me, Dick.”

“I ain’t making you! We been through this! He’s making you! We got not choice!”

“Dick, please, I can’t,” Cassidy groaned, and Veronica’s intestines seemed to turn to iced slush inside her belly at the fear in his voice.

“You got to, Beav. Look, I read about it online and it looked pretty straightforward,” Dick said, and there was a decidedly plastic click. “Use this. Come on, bro, we don’t got all day. You know he likes it right at eleven sharp.” A pause. “I don’t want to make this rough on you, dude, but I’ll have to for both our sakes if you don’t deliver.”

“I can’t, Dick! Please, I don’t know how!”

“Then you’ll fucking learn while I help you because neither of us have a choice.” An electronic, high-pitched whining sound began, and Veronica frowned. Was the bug going wonky? She’d never heard anything like it.

“Lie back, Beav,” Dick said, and Veronica slapped a hand over her mouth. Her brain could only stutter what what what as she listened, her eyes wide and stunned. The whining noises began to rise and fall, and then Cassidy gave a strangled moan through clenched teeth that was full of such pain that Veronica’s eyes filled with tears. Even though she didn’t know what she was listening to, some kind of primal dread made her insides feel cold and watery. Dick’s voice, unusually gentle and regretful, only increased that feeling.

“Don’t look at me like that, Cass,” he said, and it was then that Veronica knew what was happening was bad with a big gothic capital B. She had never heard Dick call his brother anything but bro or Beaver, (or the frequently rude variation of either,) but never Cassidy and never, ever, Cass. “Just—look, just close your eyes, and we’ll be done before you know it.”

Veronica hit the stop button on the recorder and thumbed off the speaker to the bug. She sat there a moment, unblinking and stunned. She reached out to pet Backup, suddenly needing the comfort. The big pit bull mix sighed and his tail thumped briefly on the bedspread. Veronica looked down at the recorder and then scooped it up in her palm. It was just after nine, and her dad wouldn’t be home for another two hours or so. She had time.

“Hold down the fort until dad gets back,” she said to Backup before she grabbed her coat and ran out.

“Kind of late for a visit, isn’t it?” Logan asked after he’d opened his door at the Neptune Grand Hotel, where he stayed in one of its best suites. As a wealthy emancipated minor, Logan had almost unlimited freedom. In Veronica’s eyes, this made him insufferably arrogant at times, but still, she knew that Logan still carried the scars of Lilly’s death and his father’s abuse. Like many oh-niners, he was a kid who had been raised with every material possession in the world, but had been emotionally bankrupted by absentee or indifferent parents.

“Logan—”

“No, let me guess. You’ve quit the PI business and you’re here to sell me some Avon. I hear they have a lovely new skin cream!” He mocked, and started to shut the door.

“Logan!”

He opened the door again. “What? No, wait, let me expand on that. What do you want?” He asked in a flat tone that told Veronica that he had already mentally dismissed her. Frustration pushed tears to her eyes. Logan’s expression shifted. “Veronica?”

“Can I come in or not?” She asked.

“Yeah.” He stepped aside and let her in before he turned off the skateboarding event he’d been watching on ESPN and gestured for her to sit down. Veronica sat, and Logan frowned at the fear in her eyes. Fear on Veronica Mars was not a usual state of affairs.

“You look a little rattled,” he said, and Veronica looked up.

“Have you seen Dick lately?”

“Dick—? Oh, Dick.”

“Yes Dick! Surfer dude Dick, womanizer Dick, head-like-a-melon Dick! How many Dicks do you know in Neptune—wait, don’t answer that. Too easy.” She took a deep breath. “When did you last see him?”

“A few days ago.”

“How did he seem?”

“Seem? I don’t know . . . he was . . . he was Dick! We ate pizza, played WWF on the Xbox, and he asked me for details about the dimensions of Kendall’s—”

“Stop.” Veronica held up a hand. “What I mean is, he didn’t act strange or secretive or anything?”

“He’s Dick, Veronica. His brain is geared for sports, sex, and food, not keeping secrets. What is wrong?”

Veronica set out the recorder on the coffee table in front of them.

“I need you to hear this. It’s what I picked up from the bug you planted in the Casablanca’s guest room.” She turned it on and sat back, her hands clasped in her lap. Logan frowned at the recorder as the conversation began.

“That’s Beaver.”

“Dick’s kid brother,” Veronica nodded, and then squeezed her eyes shut briefly as Cassidy begged Dick no. Logan’s athletic body tensed with every passing moment as he stared at the recorder, and as the high-pitched whining noise started, Logan gave a loud cry of dismay and shock as he jumped to his feet and fumbled the recorder off. His eyes went wide, the pupils eating up the dark hazel of his irises with panic.

“Jesus! Jesus Christ!” He shouted as he pushed his hands up into his hair and grabbed briefly at it. “What the fuck! Christ!”

Veronica looked up at him. “You know what the noise is, and what they’re doing,” she said, and Logan’s wide eyes swiveled around to meet hers.

“You don’t live in the same house with Aaron Echolls for eighteen years without knowing what a sex toy sounds like, Veronica,” he replied in a shaky voice.

Veronica winced. A part of her knew that Aaron had abused Logan physically over the years, but this implication made her stomach turn. She shoved it out of her head. “I don’t know what to make of it, Logan.”

“You don’t know what to make of it?” Logan repeated slowly as he ran a hand through his bristly chestnut hair, making it stand up in crazy spikes. “Dick was . . . he was making Beaver . . . with—” Logan shook his head and paced around the room. “This is nuts! Dick picks on his brother and cuffs him around sometimes when he’s bored, but I know he’d never hurt that kid unless someone was making him.”

“Dick says on the recording that someone is blackmailing both of them. A he. Maybe it’s their father, working with Kendall.”

“Dick says his dad emails him twice a week from some secret server in the Caymans to see how he’s doing. I don’t think he’d be doing that if he were blackmailing his own sons.”

“But Cassidy says that this person was trying to kill him, not both of them. If Kendall or Dick Sr. were behind this, why would they only want Cassidy dead?” She shook her head and stood up. “I’m wrong about Kendall. The person behind this is a he. Who does that leave us with? Who would possibly want to hurt Cassidy?”

“Whoever it is, Dick is afraid of him, and that makes him dangerous. Dick is intimidated by very few people, mostly because he’s too obtuse to know better. This person has him scared, and badly.”

“They talked about a delivery,” Veronica said, and Logan nodded.

“Judging from what Dick said and what happened after, and with some of those noises, I’d say that whatever Dick made Beaver do, they videotaped it.”

Veronica paled. “But why? Cassidy is sixteen! What sick bastard could possibly want . . .” She began to say when she noticed Logan looking at her expectantly. Heat flooded her face. “I didn’t mean . . . Logan, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. Dad may be a sick bastard and a murderer, but at least he was videotaping the willing and the female.” Logan gave a small, wry smile before he continued his previous line of thought. “There’s only three people who know the truth—Dick, Beaver, and the person who’s blackmailing them.” He paced around the coffee table. “and considering how you found out about this, I don’t think we can just come out and ask them over a friendly game of Grand Theft Auto.”

“Dick talked about a delivery at eleven,” Veronica said. “If we can follow him to wherever he’s delivering these tapes, maybe we can find out who it is he’s delivering them to.”

One Week Later

Dick’s jeep rolled to a stop at an abandoned pier at Harper’s Beach. This part of the beach, which was rocky and littered with scrap metal from illegal dumping, was no man’s land for someone like Dick, and he shifted in the jeep’s seat as he glanced at the package wrapped in grocery paper that sat in the empty seat next to him. For a moment, he imagined hurling it down onto the rocks and trash at the end of the pier, where the tape inside would shatter. Maybe then he would stop seeing Cassidy’s haunted expression or the bruises on his fair skin every time he closed his eyes. This last time had been especially hard, and when Dick left to deliver the tape, Cassidy still hadn’t roused himself from the guest bed, where he laid nude and moist with lube and his and Dick’s own issue. Dick had spoken to him several times, but Cassidy had only curled up, his knees to his lean chest, his slender, lightly-freckled arms wrapped around a pillow. Dick knew he’d left bruises on Beaver’s wrists and hips, but his kid brother had to understand that it wasn’t anything personal. When a bastard had you by the balls and was starting to squeeze, you did what you had to do to survive. Dick’s pop had taught him that lesson years ago, and his namesake was one of the world’s greatest survivors. Dick had learned well, but this was one time his last name or his dad’s money would get him or Beav out of trouble.

Best just to shut up, and pay the damned piper.

A cocoa-brown SUV pulled up beside Dick’s jeep then, and the right rear window slid down with a muted hum. Dick picked up the package from the seat next to him and handed it over into the darkness.

“You’ve been a good boy, Dicky,” a voice said from inside the SUV. “I like a good boy.”

“Look man . . . these tapes. There has to be something else I can offer you.”

“I’m afraid not. I don’t want any money, and the alternative to me not getting tapes is that you and your sweet little brother go to prison when I tell everyone you caused that bus crash. If Cassidy is having difficulty with this, can you imagine what prison would be like for him? Even juvenile hall has its predators, Dick, and a boy as pretty as your brother would be an irresistible buffet. Trust me . . . I know. At least this way, you can still be involved.”

“What you wanted this time hurt him bad, dude.”

“Better you than a stranger, Dick. Or would you rather try and come out against me and the proof I have?”

“Beav and I didn’t cause that Goddamn crash!” Dick said through clenched teeth. “It was you!”

“Of course. But are you willing to risk a public battle, Dick? Your family is already hip-deep in scandal . . . do you want to add to that by forcing me to tell the world that you tried to bribe me with disgusting underage pornography—that you forced your brother to do, the poor child—in exchange for my silence? Do you want to face that, Dick, or are you going to be a good boy?” A hand offered him an envelope and Dick cursed softly as he took it. Inside was a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Good boy, Dicky. Share that with Cassidy; buy him some new clothes or some video games. Inside the envelope are also your instructions for delivery for next week. Don’t be late.” The window rolled up before the SUV made a wide turn before it bounced away down the beach.

Dick tossed the envelope of money on the dashboard and slammed his fists against the steering wheel.

“Fuck!”

Up on the wide cliff that overlooked Harper’s Beach, Veronica lowered her binoculars and looked over at Logan. They sat in his yellow Extera, which Veronica thought was about as inconspicuous as a giant jawbreaker in a plate of spinach, but he’d insisted.

“Did you see anyone?” Logan asked, and Veronica shook her head.

“It was too dark to see inside the car. We need to get closer.”

“What do you think was in that package he gave Dick?”

“It was an envelope, I think. Probably money, but Dick looked really upset. If he was taking money for this, why would he be angry about it?”

“Maybe it’s added incentive. Dick said that his mom has the purse strings pretty tight,” Logan replied.

Veronica watched as Dick turned his jeep and headed back toward town before she took out her laptop. “I didn’t see who was in the car, but I’ve got the plate numbers.” She logged on to her P.I. Web site and entered the information. “We’ll follow Dick again the next time he comes out here so we can tail the SUV. In the meantime, I want you to work on Dick and Cassidy if you can. It might be that they want to talk about this but they don’t how to approach anyone. You’re closest to Dick, Logan, so I want you to try, all right?”

Logan folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in the seat as he made a mock-pleasant face.

“So, Dick, have you and Beaver been blackmailed into making any good underage gay porn movies lately?” The expression dropped away into a frustrated scowl. “Yeah. There’s a conversation I can’t wait to have!”

After three days of staring at Dick’s phone number on his cell and mentally rehearsing a light and breezy tone, Logan called his friend and suggested a pizza and Halo marathon at the Casablanacas’ house. Dick was a bit more subdued than usual, but agreed to meet Logan at their place in an hour. Logan changed clothes and made sure the mini-recorder that Veronica had given him was working before he slipped it back into the carrying pouch of his cell phone. He felt like a weasel, recording his friend without him knowing, but he also knew it was a means to end if he wanted to help him and Cassidy. After all, obnoxious though Dick may be, he was still Logan’s friend, and Cassidy was just a sweet, awkward kid who didn’t deserve what was happening to him.

Logan couldn’t imagine under what circumstances a person would deserve it.

In light of these thoughts, an hour later, Logan found himself at the front door of Dick’s very spacious house in the very middle of the oh-niner territory. He rang the doorbell, which chimed in a pleasant but almost self-important manner. Dick came to the door a moment later wearing surfing trunks and a multicolored shirt. His blonde hair was more tousled than usual and hung in his eyes. Logan held out two large pizzas.

“I come bearing cholesterol,” he quipped, and Dick nodded as he took the pizzas.

“Dude,” he replied, which was Dick’s usual rejoinder and depending on tone, could register anything from disgust, to awe, to anger. In this case, it was thanks. Logan nodded and followed him inside. Dick flopped down on the couch as he set the pizzas on the coffee table. Logan glanced around; the place was neat and uncluttered thanks to the maids, but from the dent in the couch cushions and the small litter of junk food wrappers and beer cans on the end table, it was clear that Dick had been sitting there for some time. Logan sat down.

“Haven’t seen you much around school, dude.”

“Been kind of busy. You know . . . with dad gone, I got to take care of things around here. The house, and I’ve been looking after Beav.”

“Right,” Logan nodded as he flipped open one of the pizza boxes. He pulled out a slice, hissing in discomfort as some hot filaments of mozzarella dripped over his fingers. He sucked them off and took a bite of the slice. “He around?”

“Beaver?”

“Yeah, Beaver.”

“Yeah he’s around here somewhere, why?” Dick’s tone took on a slightly suspicious edge. Logan lifted a shoulder.

“Usually when he smells pizza, you have to put him in a sleeper hold before you can keep him away.”

“Think he’s sleeping or something.”

“At two in the afternoon?”

“It’s a Saturday dude, and he was probably up all night in his room playing Wizards and Wimps or whatever a mega-dork like him does on a weekend! I said I’m looking after him, I didn’t say I grew a pair of tits to nurse him with!” Dick took a bite of pizza. Logan let a few minutes pass before he tried another avenue of approach.

“Have you seen the papers lately? Goddamn reporters . . . they’re making my dad’s trial a media circus. I’ve even had a few threats made to me over the phone, people saying they’re going to blackmail me. Bullshit though, right?”

“Yeah, guess,” Dick replied through a mouthful of pizza. He glanced up at a rattling in the kitchen as things were moved around in the fridge. Logan got to his feet.

“Need to drain it out,” he said to Dick, and headed for the bathroom. As soon as he was out of sight of his friend, he slipped past the bathroom and went to Cassidy’s bedroom door. It was half open, and Logan poked it open more with his finger. The bed looked extremely lived-in, the blankets and sheets rumpled. The bedside table was stacked with dark graphic novels, PC fantasy game strategy books, notebooks, and a couple of hand-held gaming systems. The 32-inch Sony TV on the dresser played music videos, and Logan glanced to the corner where a round metal garbage can was half-full of wadded-up tissues. Considering what Cassidy was being forced to do in the guest bedroom, Logan concluded they weren’t from the usual alone-time hobby of a boy Beaver’s age, but rather that the youth had spent a good deal of time lately crying.

“What are you doing in here?” A voice said from behind him, and Logan turned to see Cassidy standing there in a pair of shapeless jeans and a rumpled yellow Izod shirt. His short blonde hair stuck out in several different directions, and his sleepy eyes seemed almost bruised. Logan smiled and shrugged.

“I brought some pizza. I thought maybe—”

“You thought maybe I’d be stupid enough to eat the last slice that you and Dick spit in or whatever so you can laugh your asses off when I do? Yeah, no thanks. Shut the door on your way out.” Cassidy flopped down on the bed with a can of Pepsi and pulled the tab on it before he took a few gulps. Logan’s gaze tracked to the irregular oval-shaped bruises on the kid’s thin wrists.

“We screw around, Beaver, that’s all.”

“Don’t call me that,” Cassidy snapped as he opened his laptop. “I put up with it from Dick, but I’m not going to listen to it from his friends.”

“Okay, sorry. Look, Cassidy—”

“I said shut the door on your way out.”

Logan paused and then nodded as he turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. When he returned to the living room, Dick was still eating.

“I guess I’ll be heading out,” Logan said, and Dick raised a hand without even turning around. As Logan walked out the door and down the driveway, he texted Veronica on his cell.

Nada with Dick and Beav. Any other brite ideas?

After a few moments, the phone chimed with her reply.

Sit tite. Still looking into the SUV. B in touch.

“Be in touch. Great,” Logan muttered as he got into his Nissan and slammed the door. To his right, the Casablancas house remained quiet.

The television on Cassidy’s dresser droned on and on, switching from videos to music-based reality shows, to the animation block they showed at around nine p.m. This was usually how Cassidy kept track of the time during the hours he spent alone in his room. He rarely got hungry anymore and when he did, he kept bags of chips in his room to avoid having to go out and face Dick. His brother rarely spoke to him anymore, even to tease or humiliate him, and this was somehow worse than how it used to be before, when Dick would go out of his way to give Cassidy an Indian rope burn or trip him on the way to the bathroom. Ever since the bus crash, Dick couldn’t look Cassidy in the eye. Not that Cassidy could blame him, of course. After all, it was his fault those people on the bus were dead. He hadn’t planted the bomb that had killed them all, but he had been the target, one of them, anyway, and now that his would-be killer had both him and Dick under his thumb, forcing Dick to videotape Cassidy performing solo sex acts for him, a swan-dive off a nice, tall building was looking more and more attractive every day.

Cassidy’s cell phone burred softly on his nightstand, and Cassidy glanced over at it without much interest. That lack of interest turned to dread when he saw the number displayed on the caller ID, and he picked it up as he hit the accept key.

“Hello.”

“Your last tape made me so hot, my sweet boy,” the voice on the other end of the line said, and Cassidy swallowed hard.

“It’s the last one. I don’t care who you tell.”

“Does Dick say the same thing? Do you think the people you’ll put in danger by defying me will feel that way when their cars blow up, or their houses catch on fire in the middle of the night? Will Mac care when her cell phone electrocutes her the next time she makes a call?”

“Don’t you touch her!” Cassidy’s hand tightened around the phone until his fingernails went white.

“I don’t think you have to worry, Cassy.” The voice was smooth, calm. "I think you know who it is I want . . . and as long as you and Dick are good boys, your friends and family will be safe. Speaking of which, it’s delivery night. Have you made your tape for the week?”

Cassidy looked over at the package on his dresser that had arrived that morning for him, and he shuddered when he remembered its contents.

“Yeah, course.” He lied, and the voice chuckled.

“See, you’re learning how to be a good boy. I like that. Maybe after I watch this tape, I’ll reward your obedience with a live session. I’ve never forgotten you, Cassy . . . you’re my special boy. Do you remember? You were spared judgment because you’re my special boy.”

“I remember,” Cassidy replied, by rote, trying to keep the loathing from his tone. The voice on the other end purred in satisfaction.

“Tell Dick not to be late tonight,” it said, and then the call ended. Cassidy snapped the phone shut and then looked back over at the box, which contained a number of fetish items.

I’ll reward your obedience with a live session . . . never forgotten you . . . my special boy . . .

Cassidy stood up and picked up the box from his dresser. He up-ended it over his trash can, dumping the contests, and then slammed the box down on top of the pile. He then left his room without bothering to turn off the TV. He padded down the hall and to the right, where his father’s room sat untouched, as it had since he’d fled the country. Cassidy knew that few things, if any, had been removed or locked away. He pushed the door open and crossed the plush beige rug to the big marble-veined dresser on the other side of the room. The huge piece of furniture took up half the wall space and boasted twelve drawers. Cassidy opened the last drawer on the bottom right and withdrew a sturdy box wrapped in black Chinese silk. He lifted it, set it on the dresser, and popped open the catch. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a copper-colored Glock 21 pistol. A small cache of black-and-gold bullets lay snugly by its side. Cassidy picked up the gun and tested its weight in his hand as he thought of how his father had always taken Dick to the firing range on the weekends but had never brought him along because guns were a man’s business, and Cassidy was just a boy.

To his father, he had never been anything but just a boy.

Cassidy slid the magazine from the gun’s chamber. He’d seen his father load the gun enough times that it only took him a few moments to do it himself. He thumbed the safety on and left the silk box on top of the dresser before he carried the gun down the hall to the living room. Dick was still watching TV, his back to Cassidy. The younger boy tightened his grip on the pistol, raised it, and then brought the butt of the gun down on the base of Dick’s skull. Dick made a small noise of surprise and pain before he slumped forward, and Cassidy rounded the couch. He put his arm around Dick’s shoulders and laid him back on the couch. He checked his brother’s pulse and breathing, found them to be normal, and then slipped the gun into the deep pocket of his jeans.

“Sorry bro,” Cassidy said as he went over to the entertainment center and hunted through it until he found the envelope with the money in from the week before. “My turn to make the drop this time.” Dick always kept the stuff that was important to him near the TV. Cassidy hunted through the envelope until he found a small green post-it with the instructions for the next drop-off site.

Neptune Grand Hotel Rooftop
11 p.m.

Cassidy checked the time on his cell and then rifled through Dick’s pants pockets until he found the keys to his brother’s Jeep. He paused at the entertainment center and then grabbed a blank tape from the stack on the shelf before he jogged out the door.

Logan was practically dozing in his SUV when the front door to the Casablancas home slammed. He sat up in the driver’s seat and turned to see Cassidy running down the driveway to where Dick kept his Jeep parked. He tossed a VHS tape into the passenger seat and turned the ignition over. Logan frowned.

“Okay Beav, where are you going . . . jeez, does he even know how to drive?” He asked out loud, and then realized that Dick would have to either be dead or unconscious to let Cassidy take his Jeep. He never let anyone drive it, and even if he did, that person certainly wouldn’t be his sixteen-year-old brother. After a few false starts, the Jeep bounced down the hill toward town. Logan started up his Hummer and followed from a distance. Veronica had said to sit tight, but this whole scenario and the intent, almost focused look on Cassidy’s face as he’d climbed into the Jeep told Logan that letting that kid drive off alone would be a mistake.

Thirty minutes later, Logan found himself pulling into the parking lot of the Neptune Grand. He pulled into his usual space and watched Cassidy park before the teenager put the VHS tape inside his jacket pocket.

Another tape, Logan thought to himself. But why didn’t Dick bring it? And why here? Does the drop-off point change every week? I guess that’s smart, considering.

Logan watched as Cassidy climbed out of the Jeep and then his mouth went dry as the boy reached into his jeans pocket and the lights from the parking lot glinted off the unmistakable shape of a pistol handle. Logan scrambled for his cell and texted Veronica with shaking hands, cursing as he had to backspace four times to fix his typos.

Bvr has a gun: at NP Grand—go c if Dick is ok—Bvr mite have snapped. Going to follow him.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and then got out of the car as he watched Cassidy push his way through the hotel’s revolving door. Logan followed at a distance until they reached the lobby and the youth vanished into an elevator. Once the doors closed, Logan ran to adjacent elevator and hammered on the UP button.

“Come on, damn it, come on!” He muttered. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Beaver really had snapped and killed Dick for his inability to stop their blackmailer. It was obvious now, though, that whatever Beaver had done to Dick, he was taking action where his brother had not been able to. Logan hoped that Dick was still alive, both because he was Logan’s friend and for Dick’s sake . . . and for Beaver, too.

The elevator doors finally slid open and Logan stepped inside.

God, don’t let me be too late.

The roof of the Neptune Grand smelled like slow-cooled tar, feathers, and old cigarettes. Cassidy let the access door his shut behind him with a click-snap as he glanced around at the square metal housing units for the building’s heating and cooling systems, a few random pipes that led back into the building, and in one corner, a long-dead pigeon, its frail skeleton still surrounded by a drift of grey feathers. Cassidy stared at the pigeon for several moments, envying its stillness, its obliviousness. Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned.

“It’s my favorite boy, in the flesh.” Woody Goodman smiled his Sunday school smile, the one that had fooled his guileless prey for so long. “But I have to wonder, what is he doing here? Big brother Dick makes the deliveries, isn’t that the rule? Are the Casablancas brothers playing games?” His eyes pinned Cassidy, dark and shiny in the muted moonlight. Cassidy reached into his jacket and pulled out the VHS tape as he tried not to tremble under Woody’s gaze.

“He’s sick. Ate some bad shrimp or something. We couldn’t trust anyone else to make the delivery.” He held the tape out. “But here it is.”

Woody watched the boy for several moments; he knew this one was smarter than the brother and shouldn’t be underestimated. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the weekly incentive money that he always gave to Dick. However, the lure of Cassidy’s presence was almost too much for him to bear. He licked his lips.

“Come closer,” he said. “Bring it here, Cassy, that’s a good boy.”

Cassidy took two steps, the corners of his mouth tightening. The tape rattled in its case as he held it out to Woody. Woody seized Cassidy’s wrist instead of the tape and pulled him close, crushing the boy’s lips with his own. Cassidy gave a muffled shriek of anger and disgust and his hand came up, swinging in a wide arc. He struck Woody’s right temple with the tape, catching the man a glancing but hard blow, the tape sliding out from the case partway and the corner slicing into his skin. Blood flew, spattering the ground and Cassidy’s hand. Woody gave a strangled cry and clapped his hand to his head as he staggered back and released Cassidy’s wrist. Cassidy backed away and pulled his father’s gun from his pocket, holding it tightly with both hands as he flicked the safety off.

“You son of a bitch!” He cried, and Woody looked up, blood streaming between his fingers as he tried to slow the flow of blood from the head wound. When he found himself looking down the barrel of the 32, his eyes widened and his mouth pinched up in fear.

“Cassidy . . . please.” He shook his head and backed away a few steps. “Drop the gun. Don’t do this. I . . . I need help, don’t you understand? I need help.” He whispered, and Cassidy stared down at him, a disgusted sneer curling his lips.

“Help. Help? Yeah . . . I needed help too. Or don’t you remember that I yelled for it every time you touched me, and how you’d put your hand over my mouth and tell me that no one could hear me, to be quiet and be a good boy because no one was going to help me?” Cassidy took a few steps forward and leveled the gun at Woody’s forehead. “Now I’m going to give you the help you need—the only kind that will stop you!”

“Beaver, don’t!”

The younger boy turned at Logan’s shout, and Logan put his hands in the air as the gun swung around to level at him instead. At the same time, Logan saw Woody Goodman kneeling there, and he frowned in surprise that really wasn’t surprise at all. The gun trembled and then steadied as Dick’s little brother glared at him.

“My name is Cassidy!”

“Cassidy . . . don’t. Just take it easy.”

Cassidy’s hands tightened around the gun.

“I trusted him. We all did!” He shouted.

“Woody’s the one who’s been blackmailing you,” Logan said as he glanced at the mayor, who looked back up him with eyes that were wet and shiny in the moonlight. Cassidy’s lips trembled.

“He killed Peter and Marcos! He tried to kill me, too . . . he crashed the bus! We were going to come forward about what he did to all of us, so he killed them!”

Logan’s mind quickly connected the dots. The agony in Beaver’s eyes only confirmed those conclusions. He held out a hand.

“All right. He hurt you . . . I get that, okay? But killing him isn’t going to undo what he’s done. Come on . . . you’re a good kid, and you don’t want to hurt anyone. Hurting him won’t take it away.”

“He killed everyone on the bus! My friends, Bettina . . . he’s been making me and Dick make sex tapes for him!” Tears overflowed on the youth’s long lashes and dripped down his cheeks. “He raped me last summer!”

Logan’s stomach clenched.

“Cassidy—” He began, and then caught movement from the corner of his eye. Woody sprang up like a striking adder and charged Cassidy while his back was turned. He tackled the boy hard, and the gun went skittering away across the roof like a wounded crab. Woody shook free of Cassidy and went after the gun instead, shambling in a half-crouch, cursing. Cassidy pushed past Logan and leapt up onto the man’s back, sending him staggering forward. He fell, rolled, and Logan shouted in wordless dismay even as he sprinted toward them. They both tumbled off the roof together, and Logan grunted as he dove and slid, making a wild grab for Cassidy’s wrist. He snagged it, and Woody scrabbled uselessly at Cassidy’s legs before he fell, screaming, ninety stories to his death below. Logan dug his sneakered toes into the tarred roof as his belly began to inch over the edge. As he looked down at Cassidy, the boy’s face went strangely blank and his grip loosened.

“Cassidy! No! Give me your other hand! Please!” Logan shouted. Cassidy’s eyes tipped up and stared into Logan’s own, and the loneliness and despair Logan saw there made his heart squeeze with sympathy. Why hadn’t anyone noticed what had been going on? Why hadn’t he? “Come on, please!”

“What for?” Cassidy began to cry again. “Just let me go!”

“No! Woody is dead now! You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore! He can’t hurt you or anyone else! You’re a survivor, Cassidy, like I am! You can keep on surviving knowing that Woody Goodman is burning in hell for what he did because you beat him! If you let go now, you’ll always be the kid who killed himself over Woody Goodman! Do you really want to give his memory that kind of power, or do you want to go on and let everyone know what a bastard he really was? Now come on, give me your damn hand!”

Cassidy lowered his gaze, and for one terrible moment, Logan thought he would simply let go and vanish into the darkness. Finally, he raised his other hand and Logan grabbed onto it hard as he pulled himself back and tugged the boy back with him until they both tumbled onto the roof together much in the same way Cassidy and Woody had gone over, in a tangle of arms and legs. Cassidy sat up and hid his face in his hands as he began to sob hoarsely, his knees drawing to his skinny chest as he rocked back and forth. Logan reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Cassidy. Hey . . .”

The boy continued to sob, and Logan knew there were no words he could offer to ease that kind of pain. He finally slipped his arms around the thin, shaking shoulders and let Cassidy cry against him as far below, in the distance, sirens began to sound.

Once the news broke about Woody Goodman’s death and the truth about the bus crash came out, Logan didn’t see much of either Casablancas brother. They both missed several days of school, and once they returned, Cassidy seemed even more isolated than he’d been before, and Dick didn’t seek out his usual circle of friends. Logan saw them once, sitting together behind the football bleachers, eating take-out pizza during lunch period. Logan couldn’t imagine how Beaver could even look at his brother after what had happened. It hadn’t been Dick’s fault, not really, but Logan thought that Dick could have more of an effort to stop Woody rather than allow himself and Cassidy to be blackmailed.

Then again, “effort” wasn’t exactly in the Dick Casablancas dictionary. This proved to be true when Logan answered a knock at his door at the Neptune Grand two weeks later to find Cassidy standing there.

“Hey Be—uh, Cassidy. What’s up?” Logan asked, and Cassidy rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uhm, well, Dick is gone. He took off to stay with dad in the Caymans. Said he’d keep in touch, but somehow I doubt it.”

“Sorry to hear that. You want to come in?” Logan asked as he opened the door a bit wider. Cassidy lifted a shoulder and stepped inside.

“It’s just kind of weird. There were times I wished that Dick and my dad would just go away, and now they have. My mom lives in Frisco with her other kids, and Kendall doesn’t come around anymore—not that I especially want her to.” Cassidy sat down on the big leather couch in front of the TV. “I don’t blame Dick for taking off. We tried to pretend like none of it happened, but it was always in the room with us. He told me he was sorry and I guess he was.” Cassidy’s grey eyes lifted to Logan’s brown ones. “That day at the house, when you were in my room . . . you knew, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, I knew. I was trying to help.”

“That’s the other reason I came here. I wanted to say thanks.” Cassidy rubbed his hands on his thighs. “You saved my life up on the roof.”

“Well,” Logan glanced away and scratched at his left ear. “I had signed this ‘no dirtbags’ ordinance when I was deputy mayor and I wanted to make sure it was being upheld—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Cassidy interrupted. "I mean that stuff you said about being a survivor. You were right. I mean . . . yeah, everyone pretty much knows what happened and it’s hard to deal with the stares and the whispers, but hey, this is Neptune, right? I figure I’ll only be the flavor of the month for so long before the next big scandal comes along.”

“Big scandals are what this city is made of. I think it’s in our constitution or something.” Logan regarded the skinny kid thoughtfully. “So . . . thanks for the thanks, and you’re welcome. Dick was always a good friend, and you’re . . . you know, you’re a good guy too, dude.” He glanced over at his Playstation. “Looks like I’ve lost my Halo partner, though.”

“Dick wasn’t the only one who could play,” Cassidy said with a shy, almost hopeful smile. Logan cocked a brow.

“A Halo partner whose butt I could always kick.”

“Well,” Cassidy said as he scratched a hand through his hair, “you’re kind of out of luck there since I’ve got one of the highest online scores in the whole state and I’m pretty much undefeated locally . . .”

Logan rolled his eyes and then smiled as he sat down next to Cassidy.

“Put your M16 where your mouth is, kiddo,” he said as he handed Cassidy a controller. Cassidy grinned. It struck Logan how he was the polar opposite of Dick in every way—quiet where Dick was boisterous, pale where Dick was tan, small and slender where he was athletic, his hair curly and light brown where Dick’s was bleach-blonde and straight. The biggest difference, though, was that there was a sweetness to Cassidy that Dick never had possessed, a sweetness that Logan felt himself responding to. He had always had a protective streak in him a mile long, and if he had ever seen anyone who needed protecting, it was Cassidy.

Dick dropped the ball on his little brother, but maybe I can pick it up, Logan thought to himself as he started up the Playstation. As the game began, Cassidy shifted a bit closer to Logan and they sat shoulder to shoulder as the glow of the TV screen illuminated Cassidy’s bright smile.

THE END

Birthday Fic for Roxymissrose! "What Happens At Comic-Con Stays At Comic-Con."

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 01:23:24 GMT

What Happens At Comic-Con Stays At Comic-Con
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Michael Rosenbaum/Tom Welling
Genre: RPS, Comedy, Romance, one-shot
Rating: Hard R for frottage and male on male groping
Word Count: 3,169
Summary: The weekend of the country’s biggest comic and sci-fi convention has Michael missing in action from LA and Tom facing his first convention panel in San Diego, but not before he receives a most unexpected visitor.
A/N: For the awesome roxymissrose, on her birthday, because she asked for birthday fic and for smut, and I am always happy to oblige. Miss Roxy, I hope you have an amazing birthday. You’re an amazing writer, a wonderful woman, and a good friend! May all your birthday wishes come true, and I hope this pleases you. Enjoy! A special thanks to dreamwvr73 for the super-fast beta.

What Happens At Comic-Con Stays At Comic-Con
By Lexalicious70
Dedicated to roxymissrose, on her birthday

July 25th, 2009
San Diego, CA

Do you know if Michael is playing in the All-Star Game Today?

Can’t find anything about it on the web site—his name is listed, but I’m not sure.

Did he tweet anything about it?

Nope. Guess we’ll just have to see if vid or pics surface.

Michael grinned as he flicked off the Twitter app on his iPhone and leaned back in the big padded seat of his van, which was parked in the rear of the San Diego Hotel, a luxurious place within minutes of both the ocean and the San Diego Convention Center.

“Sorry ladies, no ball today. Have to get my geek on.” He glanced at a grey vinyl gym bag that sat on the seat next to him, grinned, and grabbed it before he slipped between the seats into the roomy rear of the van to change. He hated to disappoint the fans who were used to seeing him play in the annual Dodgers All-Star game, but this year, it had just happened to fall on the same weekend as Comic-Con, and although Michael had only attended once or twice since he’d lived in L.A., this year’s con was special. Not only was it one of the biggest in the con’s history, but this year, the Smallville panel boasted its biggest, brightest star, who would be attending and participating for the first time in the show’s eight-year run. As much as Michael loved to play baseball and hang out with his pals at the stadium, there were two things he loved even more: pranking and Tom Welling, and if he could combine the two, it was more than worth sneaking away from L.A. for the weekend and letting everyone wonder where he’d gone.

Once Michael was dressed, he slipped out of the back of his van, locked it, and then walked around the front of the hotel to join the huge streams of people heading to the convention center, many of them costumed as he was, and lost himself in the crowd until he reached the VIP entrance at the side of the building. He showed his pass and then walked in, the lightweight, custom-made helmet and mask that covered his face allowing him to move easily among the crowds without being recognized. The last thing Michael wanted today was to be mobbed, and with this crowd, he’d be sure to be recognized, full head of gingery-brown hair or not. He allowed the people to sweep him along row after row of collectibles, comics, and toys in the display and vendor rooms, nodding in acknowledgement at the occasional, “Cool costume!” compliments that came his way. The mask allowed him to see pretty easily, and he knew the money he’d paid to have it custom made with an internal cooling system had been the right choice.

Totally worth the grand, Michael thought to himself as he watched a Wookie pass by, its hairy head tucked under one arm while the human head that stuck out from the neck up appeared to be having heatstroke. When he reached the end of the room and the crowd forced him out the door, he took a quick right into one of the convention foyers and sat down on a plush chair as he took his iPhone out of a custom pouch that had been built into the left hip of the costume. He peeled off one glove so he could text easier, and tapped out a message to Tom’s cell.

Hey dude wut time is ur 1st panel?

Michael’s phone chirped a minute later with an answer.

In about two hours. I’m shitting peach pits here, Rosey. Wish u could b here.

Michael grinned widely and texted back.

I no but I got the game in a few hours. They put u up in that nice chill-out room with the ocean view?

Yeah, it’s really nice. Just hope I don’t fuck this up.

Michael smiled; while Tom was really nothing like his alter ego Clark Kent, they did share a kind of earnestness and desire to always do the best they could at a job they were given. It was one of the hundred little things Michael loved about his friend.

I know u will be awesome, Tommy. Talk to u soon.

Michael closed out the texting app and slipped the phone back into its pouch before he pulled his glove back on. He knew from experience that the elevators that the stars used to travel from the VIP lounges to the convention halls were guarded, but his pass was encoded and he knew he’d have little trouble. He left the foyer and went down the back hallway where the elevators were located. Two event security people stopped him, and he wordlessly handed them his pass, which they scanned with their digital decoders. Michael grinned when he saw the female security guard’s eyebrows shoot up, but she pushed the elevator button for him and the doors slid open.

“Thanks,” he nodded to them both as he stepped inside. The doors closed, and Michael heard the female guard speak to her partner.

“Was he scheduled to be here?”

A few moments later, the elevator door slid open to reveal the VIP hallway, where there were half a dozen lounges for the stars to use while they waited for their panels. These lounges were stocked with food, drinks, had Internet access, satellite TV, and commanded beautiful views of the ocean. Usually, one lounge housed each cast of one particular show, but Michael knew from the text that the con had given Tom the lounge that featured a smaller, private room attached to it for individual use. He padded down the hall and knocked at the door.

“Who is it?” Tom called from the other side of the door, and Michael lifted his helmet long enough to call out in a high, feminine voice that a few of his more devoted fans might have recognized after repeated viewings of Sorority Boys.

“Room service!”

As Tom pulled open the door, Michael charged him, his helmet in place once again, and shoved Tom back into the room. Tom gave a quick, surprised shout, and Michael clamped a gloved hand over his mouth as used his forward momentum to push him onto a nearby couch. Tom’s arms pinwheeled as he lost his balance and fell backwards onto the cushions, the hem of his plain white tee shirt fluttering. Michael pounced on him and pulled a highly detailed laser gun from its holster, the end of which he pressed to Tom’s neck.

“Freeze, Solo!” He growled, and Tom blinked up at the fully-suited Boba Fett who leaned over him.

“Who are you?” He asked, and Michael grinned widely as he pulled off his helmet.

“One who loves you,” he said breathily, giddy that Tom had set up such a perfect line, and he leaned over to kiss Tom’s full lips gently. Tom returned the kiss but squirmed at the same time, laughing and slapping at Michael’s shoulders.

“Asshole!” He laughed, and Michael cocked his head curiously.

“Are you offering or asking?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in L.A., running around in your pink shorts and a tight jersey to make your fangirls swoon?”

“They swoon no matter what I do. I had them falling all over the place last month when I admitted I cried when I went to see Up.”

“Dude . . . you cried during a Disney movie?”

“It was a Pixar movie, and I defy you not to cry during the first fifteen minutes.” Michael carefully set his helmet aside as he continued to straddle Tom’s hips. Tom made no move to escape, although he outweighed Michael by about twenty pounds and had nearly five inches on him.

“So what are you doing here?” He asked. “And please don’t tell me how much you paid for that getup.”

“I won’t. It’s none of your damn business anyway,” Michael grinned. “And what do you think I’m doing here? I ran away from home to see you.”

“So no one knows you’re here?”

“Well, Irv knows because I had to take him over to James Gunn’s house so he could play with James’ dog, Vonspears, until I get back, but I’m pretty sure he won’t tell.” Michael casually pressed against Tom’s groin with his own. “So, big shot, are you ready for your first panel?”

“That depends. Are you going to put that helmet on and sit in the front row and flash me dirty hand signals when no one’s looking?”

Michael smirked.

“You think I made the two hour drive for another reason?”

Tom looked up at his friend with warm green eyes. Michael had been an anomaly in his life ever since they’d met in 2001; up until then, Tom had been a happily married actor who had never had to question his sexuality. When Michael came roaring into his life, within six months, Tom wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He was attracted to Michael like a butterfly to a colorful and sweet-smelling flower, and he knew that Michael felt that chemistry, too. By the end of that year, he and Michael were stealing time with each whenever and wherever they could, and even though Tom remained married and Michael dated freely, their relationship flourished. When Michael left the show at the end of the seventh season, Tom felt like he’d lost an arm as well as his best friend. They’d reunited physically a few months ago when they met by chance at a Laker’s playoff game in L.A., and since then, the summer had been filled with more stolen moments. Tom was particularly pleased by this one, however; he knew how much Michael loved to play baseball, and the fact that he’d blown off the game and had gone MIA on his fans and friends for him made his chest pulse with satisfaction. He looked up into Michael’s lapis-colored eyes and smiled.

“I hope you did,” he replied, and knew those were the right words as Michael pressed his groin into Tom’s with even more urgency and leaned over to kiss him. Tom returned the kiss and wrapped his legs around Michael’s trim waist as his hands clutched Michael’s arms. He could feel firm muscle underneath the costume.

“Been working out again?” Tom panted between kisses, and Michael paused to unzip the suit. He squirmed out of it and carefully set it aside, revealing black sweats and a t-shirt underneath that featured a headshot of Chewbacca in a wide-brimmed black hat and the caption “Jewbecca.” Michael’s answer to Tom’s question was lost in the burst of laughter that came from Tom’s chest when he saw the shirt, and Michael grinned.

“It’s a theme, buddy!” He laughed, and pounced on Tom once again. They kissed warmly but with passion, and then Michael was groping for Tom’s fly, where nimble fingers found the zipper and unzipped it.

“Don’t have much time . . . told everyone I’d meet them in the other lounge in about thirty . . . oh God, Michael . . . thirty minutes!” Tom groaned and lifted his hips at the familiar tap on his thigh. There was a whisper of fabric as his jeans and boxers slid off, and then Michael was slipping out of his sweats as well. Tom wondered if he’d worn them with the ease of their removal in mind. All thoughts and blood circulation were then swiftly pushed out of his brain then as Michael’s naked cock suddenly rubbed and bumped up against his, and two hands slid up under the hem of his tee shirt and braced themselves directly on top of his nipples, where they began to tug and slide until the sensitive nubs went painfully erect with pleasure. Tom whimpered and bit his lip as he began to rock his hips, meeting Michael’s forward-thrusting arches. His big hands touched Michael’s lean shoulders, his arms, and then rubbed over his chest. Michael tipped his head back as he held himself flush against Tom’s muscular thighs and felt everything below his own waist pulse, thud, and clench. The delicious friction of his rigid cock against Tom’s was creating a rising, tense heat that couldn’t be contained much longer. He slid his hands down a little so his fingers could roll and tug over Tom’s erect nipples, and the head of his own cock gave a sudden pulse and began to drip as he felt Tom’s erection pulse hotly at every tug. Michael leaned forward and slid tom’s shirt up as he did so, bracing himself with one hand as he slipped the other between them. He wrapped a hand around both of their cocks, holding Tom’s firm against his, and then attacked Tom’s nipples with his lip and tongue. Tom’s dark head whipped back and forth against the couch cushion and he bit his lip hard to quell his moans. Michael tensed as he felt Tom’s big cock give a hard, wet pulse, and he rolled his thumb over the weeping head to slick it up and down, increasing sensation and making the heated flesh even more sensitive.

“Come for me, Tommy,” Michael murmured around one peaked nipple. “Come for me, you beautiful fucker!”

“Michael!” Tom gasped, and his whole body rushed toward orgasm in a liquid wave of pleasure that wiped out everything else as he came hard, splashing over Michael’s hand, cock and his own thighs in four or five hot spurts that made Tom’s head spin, white noise like the sound of a thousand pigeons taking flight at once in his ears. He felt Michael’s orgasm more than he heard it, the lean body tensing against his and then more hot wetness sliding between them, mixing with his own. As his own body began to come down, Michael’s head came down to rest on his chest and Tom reached up to stroke his hand through the russet, tousled spikes. Michael’s bare head, with its smooth skin and sexy ridges and bumps, had always been erotic to Tom, but he found that his friend’s full head of hair was even sexier. It was soft and full and smelled like exotic plants.

“Mmmmmmh,” Michael sighed. “Boba Fett is pleased. Your bounty is wiped clean,” he chuckled, and Tom grinned.

“You’re the biggest dork I’ve ever met.”

“Then it’s a good thing your fetish is big dorks, or we’d never be able to get it on like this.”

“Get off,” Tom laughed, and Michael rose with a slightly regretful sigh. He knew that the parade had its way of marching along, and that for now, their moment was over. He went into the bathroom and rinsed off, and as he was drying off, Tom came up behind him. His big arms encircled his waist, and Michael glanced at his friend’s reflection.

“You better shower so Justin doesn’t smell me and get jealous.”

“Smart ass.” Tom kissed the back of Michael’s neck and then gave his rear a slap. “Jesus fuck, Rosey, how many hours do you spend at the gym now?” He asked as he stared at Michael’s very firm rear end.

“I don’t have a series anymore, and there’s only so many hours in the day that one can sit home and slap the baby seal. You know I get bored, anyway.” He slipped out of Tom’s arms with a smile and went to find his sweats. By the time Tom came out of the shower, Michael was back in his Boba Fett costume. Tom reached for some clean clothes.

“Coming to the panel?”

“Don’t I come anywhere you ask me to?” Michael asked. Tom grinned.

“What are you going to tell your friends and fans when they ask you where you were this weekend and why you skipped the game?”

Michael walked over to Tom and rose up on his toes to give Tom a warm kiss on the mouth.

“It’s like I’ve always said, Tom. Never apologize, never explain. I’ll see you again soon, okay?”

Tom nodded.

“See you soon, buddy. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Michael settled his helmet firmly on his head and gave Tom a jaunty salute. “Rock on, curiously tall human!” He intoned, and then left the room.

Twenty minutes later, Tom found himself on stage amidst a sea of flashbulbs, screams, and applause as he was introduced to the packed-to-capacity room in the convention center. As the melee finally settled down, Tom looked down to see his Boba Fett sitting in the front row, legs casually splayed out, one arm cocked back on the rest of the padded folding chair. Tom’s eyes rested on the familiar figure for the space of a breath, and Boba’s left hand came up briefly, the pinky and the index finger extended.

Rock on. It was a code between them, a signal that they used when they couldn’t speak, a sign that everything would be all right, whether they were in the middle of a difficult scene, struggling through an interview, or facing a room full of demanding, screaming fans. Michael was telling him that he’d be all right, that he could do this, and if Michael believed it, then so did Tom. Tom felt himself relax and begin to smile as the panel began. Later, as the photos with the rest of the cast began, Tom saw Michael slip out a side door. His cell phone buzzed with a text a few moments later, and Tom snuck a peek at the message in between photos and as the rest of the cast was distracted with questions from reporters.

Beware, Solo! When you return from planet Quebec next summer, Darth Vader will seek to circle Uranus!

Tom bit his lip to keep from bursting into laughter as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. Only one person in the entire world could take an indecent proposition and phrase it as a Star Wars reference.

Of course, Tom also knew that he wouldn’t have that one person any other way.

As the cameras began to go off again, Tom smiled broadly as he contemplated just how many orgasms it would take for Darth Michael to lure him to the dark side.

THE END

Crucible Summer, the Conclusion.

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 19:56:56 GMT

Crucible Summer
Author: Lexalicious70
Pairing: Jack Cooper (ZDJJ) and Adina (Sorority Boys)
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Crossover, Drama
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual situations, violence, some gore at the beginning of things, and discussions and descriptions of rape.
Summary: After a traumatizing event and a serious injury, Jack Cooper has nowhere to turn until his twin sister Jane introduces him to Adina Shea, a young woman who has the power to turn Jack’s life around and help him heal.
*WARNING WARNING WARNING* This fic contains a rape scene, (NOT between the pairing,) and may be unsuitable for those who are sensitive to such issues or to those in whom it may cause triggers. If this puts you off, turn back now please because you have been warned.
Additional Warning: Graphic and violent minor character death. (ZDJJ).
A/N: Writing is the therapy I should be getting but cannot afford, so here we are. Thanks to herohunter for help on figuring out the psyche and dynamics of the Cooper household, and to hils and dreamwvr73 for advice on medical issues.

This is the conclusion; I've linked back to the other parts at the end of this post in case anyone wants to go back or has missed anything. This story was fun for me to write, even though I didn't get many readers for it because Jack is such an obscure character. The ZDJJ series needs to be released on DVD so people can see how wonderful he really is! I hope that those of you who do check it out enjoy what I've written; I sure did.

Adam plundered Jack’s mouth as they both fell back onto his bed together, the two of them already naked and erect. Jack’s mouth found Adam’s erection and it slipped down over the hard flesh in an eager, sucking seal. Adam moaned and stroked Jack’s head, his fingers sliding through the damp spikes, his eyes eating up the sight of Jack sucking, sucking, sucking, until Adam came so hard that his ears filled with the white noise of his own crashing pulse and he shouted his lover’s name as Jack’s tongue curled around his pulsing cock and his smacking lips milked Adam dry . . .

“Miss Shea!”

“Uh!” Adina sat up at her desk and her both her economics book and pencil fell to the floor. At the front of the room, Professor Tyler stood in front of the projector, a PowerPoint lecture up on the screen. “I mean . . . yes, Dr. Tyler?” She smiled gratefully at the girl who reached down to retrieve her pencil, which had rolled out of reach. “Thank you,” she whispered, and then cringed a bit under her teacher’s stare.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry. I was, um, thinking about the chapter test we’re having next week.”

“Coincidentally, the material you’re missing right now as you’re thinking about that test will be on it. Do you see the irony in that, Miss Shea?”

“Yes, yes I do, Dr. Tyler. I’m sorry, would you repeat the question please?” Adina sat up a bit straighter and ran a hand through her hair as she bit her lower lip. Dr. Tyler, her own blonde hair done up in a bun, tapped her laser pointer on the podium.

“I’m not accustomed to repeating myself. The next time I call on you, I expect you to be prepared with an answer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Adina lowered her eyes to her book and tried hard to focus on the chapter they were reviewing, which concerned the economic principals of Great Britain, but underneath her peach and pink skirt, the special pouch that hid the bulge of Adam’s cock was damp from the fantasies that ran rampant through her mind. Jack was all she could think about; ever since he and Adam had ridden each other to climax on the couch four days earlier, their relationship had only intensified and Adam found that even while inhabiting Adina, Jack’s body, his touch, and his smile was all either of them could think about.

The hallway bell burred outside, and Adina breathed a sigh of relief as she closed her book and tucked it away in her carry-all, which was white and decorated with Internet emoticons in all different colors. She tucked in her tailbone as she hiked her purse up onto her shoulder and hurried past her professor while avoiding eye contact. Her low-heeled brown sandals clicked on the stairs as she jogged down them and then pushed open the door to Dewey Hall. Sunlight hit her face and she sighed as she left behind the smell of chalk dust and the funk of a summer classroom. People pushed past her as they lit cigarettes and flipped open their phones to call whoever they had been texting during class. Adina frowned at the rush. An arm slipped around her shoulder and she gasped and turned. Jack smiled and offered her a small bouquet of summer flowers.

“Can I get a ride home with a pretty girl?” He asked, and Adina accepted the flowers as her heart gave a mild leap; Jack had never met her at the building before.

“Oh Jack, they’re so pretty, thank you!” She sniffed their fragrance and then allowed Jack to take her carry-all. People glanced over at them as they passed, and Adina felt her cheeks flush.
“You okay? You don’t mind that I came here, do you?” Jack asked, and Adina shook her head.

“No, Jack, of course not. Guess I’m just not used to so much attention,” she laughed lightly as Jack strapped the carry-all across his chest and took her free hand as they walked toward the parking lot. “That, and I didn’t expect to see you. What were you doing on campus?”

“Dropping the summer course I was taking. With all the classes I missed, I’m fucked with it anyway. That, and my dad stopped payment on the check. He also closed my old accounts.” Jack smiled a little. “I would have loved to seen his face when he found out we got to the money in my checking account before he did!”

Adina nodded and gave Jack’s hand a squeeze.

“That’s your money and you’re entitled to it.”

“I’ve got a new account now at a different bank, so he can go fuck himself.”

Adina glanced both ways as they reached the pedestrian crosswalk.

“Do you think you’ll ever reconcile with him or your mom?”

“Don’t see much reason to. He wants to control me and he controls her, too. Only one I really care about is Jane.” They reached Adina’s Suzuki and Jack glanced over at her. “And don’t you dare tell her I said that!”

“Your secret love is safe with me. Oh, thank you!” Adina smiled as Jack opened the car door for her and set her bag in the back.

“Just don’t want her thinking I’ve gone soft is all,” Jack grinned as Adina turned the car around and turned onto the main highway. Once she merged with traffic, her right hand strayed over into Jack’s lap, where it gave a quick squeeze. Jack yelped in surprise, and Adina laughed.

“Doesn’t feel like you’ve gone soft to me!”

“Oh ha ha!” He grabbed for the snooping hand and then held it as he stroked the palm with his fingers. Adina smiled over at him, her hair framed in a halo of light from the later afternoon sun. Jack wondered if he would have ever guessed what was underneath this beautiful girl if she hadn’t told him.

“Hey, Adina?”

“Mmm?”

“Why did you tell me that day? The truth about you, and Adam?” Over the course of the last few weeks, Jack had learned that as Adina, his roommate would only talk about Adam in the third person, and that Adam would do the same with Adina. He thought it was a little odd, but Adam had explained that inhabiting Adina was much easier if people who knew the truth treated them like separate people.

“Because I believe in being honest with the people in my life. Those close to me . . . my friends, my lovers, they deserve to know and they deserve to hear it from me. My teachers, the people at school, strangers on the street? It’s none of their business.”

“How does that work, though? You—I mean Adam—had to register for his classes. Yet you go most of the time.”

“I have a very understanding guidance counselor who goes into the system after Adam registers, and she changes the first name on the course roles. She feels like I shouldn’t have to explain myself, and it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Why doesn’t Adam go to class? I mean . . . he’s the one who goes to work.”

“The café is different, baby.”

“Why?”

Adina closed her eyes briefly as they came to a stoplight.

“Jack, I’m a little tired from my classes.”

Jack nodded and squeezed her hand.

“Sorry. I won’t ask any more questions.”

Adina drove in silence until they pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building. She shut down the Suzuki’s engine and turned to face Jack.

“There’s a lot about this you don’t understand, Jack, and I know that you have a lot of questions. I promise that I’ll answer them all because I don’t want to hide anything from you, but you have to understand that not all of them are easy to answer.”

“I’d never judge you for anything you’d say. Christ . . . how could I?”

“I know you wouldn’t. It’s not about you judging me. There are just things that are difficult for me to talk about, and that I haven’t talked about to anyone since I left the coast.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “Give me a little time, okay baby?”

“Sure,” Jack nodded as he got out of the car and took her carry-all again. Adina gave him a grateful smile as she unlocked the door and then brightened when QB ran to meet her.

“There’s my boo!” She lifted him up to give him a quick cuddle before she set him down again. The cat wound itself against her and its purr was so loud Jack could hear it from the doorway.

“He’s crazy about you.”

“Oh, he likes you, too!” Adina said.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he hasn’t hacked up a hairball on any of your clothes or pooped in any of your shoes,” she replied lightly as she went down the hall, and the cat trotted after her. Jack arched a brow.

“Then it must be love.” He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge to pull a can of soda from the box on the lowest shelf. He set it on the counter, and then tried to pop the tab with his left hand as he held the can with the right. After a few clumsy attempts, he popped the tab.

“Ha!” He grinned. “Adina! Hey, Dee!”

“What happened?” She came into the kitchen, her school clothes gone, a purple glittery tank top and a pair of denim shorts having taken their place. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. Jack turned to her.

“I got the pop can open with my left hand!”

“That’s great, Jack!” She hugged him in delight. “I knew you could do it!”

“I think playing the PS3 is helping like Adam said!”

“Adam’s a smart cookie.” Adina nudged Jack playfully with her shoulder before she put her arms around him. Her bare arms were smooth and Jack caught the scent of some kind of almond lotion on her skin. He stroked his hands down her arms and then touched her face. Adina looked up at him and he lowered his lips to hers. They shared a kiss, but when Jack groaned softly and his arms tightened around Adina’s waist, she gasped and pulled away from him. Jack reached for her and she stepped away even further, her arms crossed tightly over her breasts.

“Adina? What’s wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

Adina waved him silent with one hand and closed her eyes tightly. Jack watched her, dismayed. He and Adam had kissed many times and he had never reacted like this; he had imagined the first time kissing Adina wouldn’t be like this at all. “What is it? Please, talk to me!”

“I thought I could let you. I’m sorry, Jack,” Adina whispered, and fled down the hall to her room. Jack ran after her.

“Stay and talk to me!”

“I can’t!” Adina gasped through tears and slammed shut her bedroom door. Jack slapped a palm against it.

“Adina!”

“Please Jack, not now!” She cried. Jack ran a hand through his hair and swore softly as he turned and went back to his own room. Once there, he shut the door and flopped down onto his narrow futon.

Jack recalled that he had never had much luck with women. The girls he’d dated in high school either dumped him because of the arrogance he projected in an attempt to cover up his own insecurities or because they ultimately wanted to date other boys. After high school, Jack had even less luck in finding a girlfriend, and now, as he thought back, Jack wondered how hard he’d really tried. He’d enjoyed being with women and touching them when they’d allow it, but otherwise, Jack realized that he’d spent a great deal of time lately going over his memories of being with Johnny with more frequency than ever, and ever since he’d met Adam, the enigmatic young man was all he could think about.

Does this mean I’m really gay? Jack wondered. Was Jane right about me all this time? Granted, she was saying it to bug me, but maybe deep down was she just calling things like she saw them? No . . . that can’t be right because I was attracted to Adina before I knew she and Adam are the same person!

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he raised his head.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Adam glanced in.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Jack sat up and Adam came into the room. He wore jeans and a New York Knicks hoodie with a matching cap.

“I want to explain. I mean, explain about what just happened right now with Adina. Is that okay?”

Jack shrugged and shifted over so Adam could sit down next to him.

“I’m sorry I pushed her. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed her.”

“She wanted you to kiss her, Jack. She thought she was ready. I guess maybe she really hasn’t dealt with what happened to her at KOK.”

“KOK?” Jack snorted and smirked.

“That was the fraternity I belonged to back in California. It was where everything started.”

“You mean, with Adina.”

“Yeah. That’s when I discovered who I really am, and that I’d never be able to hide her again. See, when me, Dave and Doofer were accused of stealing the house’s money, that’s when we decided to disguise ourselves as women. It was the only way to get back into the house without getting tarred and feathered. But it wasn’t as easy as we thought it would be. A bunch of shit went down, Dave fell in love with the president of the sorority that we joined, and . . . and then Jimmy, the freshman I was sponsoring, fell for Adina. She pushed him away, but then Doofer had this plan. He said we could use Jimmy to get back into my old room where he was staying to get the tape that was there that would prove we were innocent.”

“What was on the tape?” Jack asked, and Adam tucked his hands into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie.

“The safe where we kept the money was next to my bed. And I . . . I had . . .”

“Had what? Come on Adam, tell me!”

“I used to videotape myself having sex with the sorority girls from The Tri-Pi house, okay?” He snapped, although his neck and face went red. Jack put his hands in the air.

“Hey, I probably would’ve done the same thing if I had sorority chicks in my bed!”

Adam eyed Jack to gauge if he was being made fun of, and then went on.

“I don’t know why I did it. It’s not like I even really felt anything for any of them. It was like it was just something that was expected of me. I was on the social committee . . . everyone knew who me and Dave and Doofer were. Chicks just gave it away, and I felt like I was obligated to take it.”

Jack nodded. “So if you got the tape, you could prove that you didn’t take anything.”

“It was that asshole Spencer, our house president. He was the one who stole the money and set us up because he hated us. We had the run of the house, and me and Dave used to undermine him all the time, mostly because he was a pompous, whining little weasel.”

“What happened to Adina when she tried to get the tape back?” Jack asked softly. “Is that when—”

“Jimmy, yeah.” Adam nodded. “Adina agreed to go out with him, and then she was supposed to take him back to his room, drug him, and then get the tape. Dave was supposed to be watching in case Adina ran into trouble, but then he went off with Leah . . . that was the girl he fell for.” Adam fell silent and Jack reached over to take his hand. Adam glanced up at the touch and smiled a little. When Jack squeezed his hand, Adam continued.

“Adina drugged Jimmy’s drink. But he drugged Adina’s, too. She had the tape in her hand, but then things started to blur and she passed out for a bit. Awhile later, when she came to, she was laying face down on Jimmy’s bed and Jimmy was on top of her. From behind.” Adam swallowed hard. “She tried to tell him . . . but it was the drugs. She couldn’t move; her mouth wouldn’t work. And then that’s when. You know, it happened. And he told everyone. After everyone found out the truth, it only made things worse for both of us. Jimmy vanished, and I came here. It the furthest north I could get.”

“That’s why Adina can’t let me get close to her,” Jack said. Adam sighed and squeezed his hand.

“She really wants to, Jack. She understands that for us to be together, it’s important. And she’s trying, I swear. It’s just hard for her. Just like it might be hard for you to be with me in, uhm . . . in the way that I want you.”

“The way you want me?” Jack repeated, and Adam nodded.

“I want to be with you, Jack. Completely.”

Jack searched Adam’s face for a moment before he inhaled sharply in understanding.

“Oh . . . right. Uhm.” Jacks slender fingers twisted around themselves. Adam reached out and touched Jack’s chin.

“If that’s not what you want, I understand.”

“I don’t know if it’s what I want, Ad. I’ve never . . . at least not with someone . . . someone who I . . .”

Adam’s eyes widened slightly and a broad grin spread out over his boyish face.

“Someone who you what, Coop?” He asked, using the nickname he’d given Jack several weeks earlier, after he’d discovered that Jack both despised and refused to be called ‘Jacky’ because it was a name his mother often called him when she was drunk and tried to hold and pet him. Sometimes Adam was amazed that Jack wasn’t in a permanent fetal position thanks to his folks.

“Someone . . . I care about.” Jack lifted his eyes to meet Adam’s briefly before they shifted away again. Adam nodded as his grin faded a little.

“I get it, Jack. It’s all right.” He tugged at the bill of his Knicks cap. “Adina has group tonight. I don’t suppose that you want to come?”

“Think we already covered that a couple of times now,” Jack said flatly as he sat down in front of the television and clicked it on. Adam could feel the distance widening into a chasm between them, and it exhausted him. He left Jack to watch The Real World as he went into his room to change.

***

“In our last session, Maria discussed her feelings of isolation, even from her family, after her experience.” Adina paced the small circle of people that sat in the medium-sized lounge in the women’s studies building, her blue and white summer skirt rustling against her bare legs as she did so. A petite, dark-haired girl glanced up as Adina spoke her name, and Adina touched her shoulder briefly as she passed her chair. “This feeling is very common among those who experience rape. As you know, I don’t like to use the word victim because that would suggest that those who do experience rape no longer have the ability to empower themselves, and that’s just not true.”

“I thought my mother would understand, but the few times we’ve talked about it, I feel almost like she blames me for it,” Maria said, and Adina nodded.

“It’s very difficult to communicate one’s feelings, for both the person who experienced the rape, and for those who try and help. Usually, with time and patience, understanding can be reached.” Adina glanced around at the half dozen people that made up the rape crisis group. Two more people had joined in the past month, which was encouraging, but Adina knew there were dozens more women at campus, perhaps hundreds, even, who would never come forward.

A silence fell over the room that wasn’t exactly awkward, but held an air of expectation as the group members glanced at each other. Adina pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and glanced at her Peanuts watch. The second hand was creeping past Charlie Brown’s bald head at a quarter after, and the little hand was on the seven, just at Snoopy’s dancing feet. She sighed.

“What we’ve experienced hasn’t been easy on any of us, or on those who love us. But if we share our experiences with each other, it can be the first step in giving our trust and to allow ourselves to begin healing. Now . . . does anyone else want to share with the group before we break for the evening?”

Silence. Feet clad in flip-flops and sandals shuffled on the floor. Someone coughed; a chair shifted against the concrete floor. Adina closed her eyes briefly, and then they flew open again at the voice that spoke from the doorway.

“My name is Jack Adrian Cooper, and I was raped during a mugging seven weeks ago at Bleeker Street Station.”

Every spine in the room stiffened as the other members sat up in their chairs. Jack took three steps into the room as Adina stared at him, wide-eyed.

“My best friend Duncan and I were coming back from a Knicks playoff game with my twin sister Jane and her best friend, Zoe. We got separated, and came in on different trains. Zoe texted us and wanted us to wait for them. Because the subway is dangerous that late at night.”

“Jack . . .” Adina whispered, and Jack touched her hand as he passed her on his way to the circle. He paced around among the seated members slowly as he continued.

“Two men came out of the shadows. They wanted our wallets, our cell phones, and one of them wanted my leather coat. I slipped out of it and tried to run, but he hit me from behind with something hard. I went down like a ton of bricks. I told Duncan to run, but when he saw me on the ground, he tried to help me. He . . . he came running at the man who hit me.” Jack paused and swallowed hard. “Duncan was such a gentle guy. He didn’t know how to even throw a punch, really. The guy pulled a sawed-off baseball bat from his jacket, and . . . and he hit Duncan hard. I don’t know if he knew much after that. I really hope he didn’t.” Jack closed his eyes briefly and a tear squeezed out from under the lid of his left eye. “The guy hit him again, and . . . and Duncan fell. He fell down into the tracks of the subway.” Jack’s voice roughened and tightened as if a rope was choking him, but he cleared his throat hard and went on. “I think I yelled his name. I’m not sure. But that’s when it happened.” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the girls who sat staring up at him. Maria’s face was streaked with tears, but she made no sound. “Not sure how much I remember about it. I remember the pain, and I remember thinking that I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. The other guy was, uh, he was laughing and cheering his friend on. The guy, he, uh, was talking to me the whole time, and then he—” Jack paused sharply and wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand. “He grabbed me with his hand, started touching me because he wanted me to . . .finish.” The last word was barely audible. Adina closed her eyes against the fierce ache in her throat. Jack’s gaze turned to her. “I think that was the worst thing about it. That he could make me do that . . . that a total stranger, a man, could have that kind of power over me. For a long time after that, I wondered if I was bad or warped or something.” Adina shook her head emphatically, and there were several murmured “no’s” from the group. The corners of Jack’s mouth quirked up a bit. “Wish I could be so sure. But anyhow, after he uh . . . he was done with me, he stabbed me here.” Jack lifted the hem of his tee shirt and showed them the pinkish and scrawled scar. “He and his buddy took the stuff they stole, and they left me for dead. My sister found me about five or eight minutes later, when her train came in.” His eyes scanned the group, and Tina, a tall blonde, paled noticeably. Jack nodded, and Adina put both hands to her mouth to stifle the cry of dismay and sympathy that rose in her throat. Jack’s gaze shifted toward the window, where the early evening summer sun dappled the union lawn in irregular patterns as it filtered through the big maples that offered shade there. “The rest is like a puzzle I’ll never figure out. Just bits and pieces . . . voices, images. But that’s all.” He turned and half-circled the group before he looked away from the window and back to them again. He saw no judgments in their eyes, no condemnation, and most surprising of all, no pity; just sympathy, and a kind of willingness he’d seen in Adina’s eyes the first time they’d met. Now, for the first time since that day, Jack understood it. He met their gazes. “My name is Jack Adrian Cooper.”

“Hi, Jack,” the group responded in unison as Jack sat down in an empty chair at the end of the semi-circle.

***

Adina bid the members of her group goodbye half an hour later as they left the lounge and went their separate ways. Jack hung back, straightening chairs and picking up abandoned coffee cups. When the last member left, Adina closed the door and turned to him. He glanced up.

“Nice group,” he said as he held up the cups and wadded-up napkins. “But they need to learn to clean up after themselves.”

“Maybe,” Adina nodded. She approached him, her arms crossed over her breasts. “What made you come tonight, Jack? I’ve asked you at least a half a dozen times and you’ve turned me down each time. You said it’d never help you to sit in a circle of strangers and talk about what happened.”

“It wasn’t so much about the strangers as it was about you.”

Adina creased her brow.

“What do you mean?”

Jack slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Through all of this, the hardest part was when people found out what happened to me. The way they looked at me . . . like they felt sorry for me, or wondered maybe what I did or if I let it happen . . . couldn’t handle that, Adina. It was just easier to sit in my room and be away from people rather than to let them wonder what I did that got me raped. But then I met you, and you wouldn’t let me hide. You drew me out, cleaned me up, and gave me the kick in the ass that I needed so that I could take a look around and figure out what it is I really want out of life.”

Adina nodded and glanced away.

“I wanted to help you.” She took a deep breath. “You said you figured out what you wanted?”

“I did,” Jack nodded. “And that’s why I came here tonight.” He took two steps and touched her hand. “I want Adina and Adam.” Carefully, he took her other hand and entwined their fingers. “But I can’t have one and not the other. I can’t have one trust me and the other hide from me. I came here tonight to show you that I trust you, Dee. It was the only way I knew how, the only thing I could give you that I hadn’t yet. Please . . . do you?”

“Oh, baby.” Adina’s voice trembled as she put her arms around Jack and held him. Jack grinned and slipped his arms around her as well, and touched her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder. “You did this incredibly brave thing because of me?”

Jack nodded.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to show you that I trusted you. I knew I had to give you something you didn’t think I could.”

Adina raised her head and stared at Jack for a few moments before she smiled and touched his face.

“Let’s go home.”

***

Back at the apartment, QB met them both at the door with an enthusiastic chorus of chirps and meowing that both greeted them and let them know the tragedy of the fact that the bottom of his food bowl was visible. Adina added a layer of fresh food and made much of patting and cooing to him before leaving him to munch with enthusiasm over his food. Jack glanced over as she rose to her feet and she caught his eye. Her expression grew warm as she went to him and took both his hands. Jack grinned a little as she turned lithely on one heel and walked backwards down the hall, her eyes never leaving his face. She pushed open the half-open bedroom door with her left foot and tugged him into Adam’s room. Jack, who had only been in the room a few times, glanced around at the football and baseball paraphernalia that decorated the walls and jumbled Adam’s dresser. The bed was made, though, and the blue and white ivy comforter appeared freshly washed. Adina sat down and tugged Jack down next to her. Jack smiled at her but felt a mild nervousness coil in his lower belly as well; up until now, the make-out sessions between himself and Adam had been restricted to the living room or his room. Never once had they been together on Adam’s bed. Adina seemed to sense this and she reached out to gently caress his right knee.

“I think I thought of a way to give you my trust without any bad memories coming between us, baby.”

Jack looked up at her.

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready—”

“I’m ready. This isn’t about returning any favors, Jack honey. It’s about what we both want, and the best way for us to have it.” She leaned over and opened the nightstand drawer to pull out a small, slim bottle of lube and a condom. The lube was reddish, and Adina uncapped it to wave it under Jack’s nose.

“It’s cinnamon, and edible, too. Help us both to relax, don’t you think?” She touched Jack’s face and then gently drew him close for a kiss. Unlike last time, Adina’s body relaxed against him when Jack put his arms around her, and the scent and feel of her kicked his senses into high gear. Their kisses intensified, and Jack’s hands roamed over her shoulders, down her back, and then to her thighs. He sensed that things in the northern region remained what they were—for show only—and that touching them would only bring a reminder of that rather than bring Adina pleasure, so Jack’s hands remained below the equator. He stroked her thighs, her legs, her slender, smooth hips. She was mewling against his lips now in high, breathy moans, and Jack could taste the raspberry lip gloss he knew she was so fond of. His own cock was already rigid and eager beneath his jeans, and he inhaled sharply as one of her hands strayed into his lap and gave the hard shaft an experimental squeeze. She lifted her face to his, her grey eyes hazy, her cheeks flushed. She put her hands on his shoulders and guided him onto his back.

“Adina, what—”

“Just lie back,” she whispered. “I’m going to blow you, sweetheart.”

Jack bit his lip hard as he shifted up onto the pillows so that he could watch her. Oral sex had always been a dark mystery to Jack, neither given nor received to either sex. Sure, he and Johnny had talked about it a few times in low, nervous tones, but neither of them had ever ventured into it. A moment later, all thoughts of Johnny Gotlieb were rapidly and forever shoved from Jack’s mind as Adina’s nimble, slender fingers freed his erection from his jeans, and she began to lick and kiss the head.

“Christ!” Jack shouted hoarsely, and his cock leaked a thin stream of pre-seminal fluid. Adina glanced up at him, and the look in her eyes was almost enough to make him come as well. She turned her head a bit and pushed her hair back so Jack could see her face and her mouth as she sucked the heated flesh of the head of Jack’s cock into her mouth and fluttered her tongue against the tip. Jack’s hips bucked up hard and his head lolled back onto the thick white pillows. As Adina’s warm mouth engulfed him and began to suck and slide, Jack felt as if he was being devoured. His hips jerked and twisted as he whimpered her name, his hands sliding down to touch her head. Muscles in his lower belly began to contract and tighten. Adina paused to squirt some of the lube into her hand, and Jack gave another needy whimper as she slicked it over his erection.

“Easy baby, easy . . . yeah, that’s good, I know . . . but you can’t come yet, all right? Not yet.” She crouched and removed both her panties and the special pouch that hid Adam’s genitals. Both were damp with desire. She tossed them to one side and then sheathed Jack’s erection with the condom before she straddled Jack’s lean thighs to position herself over her lover’s hard shaft. She slicked the condom as well, and then smiled down at Jack.

“Give me your hand, Jack baby.”

Jack held his hand out, and Adina coated his fingers with some of the lube as she lifted her skirt and spread her thighs a bit. Jack needed no further coaxing and reached underneath Adina’s thighs to prepare her. She shuddered as Jack played with the tight entrance and gave a light gasp as one of his slender fingers eased inside. “Oh, yes,” she sighed. “Yes, Jack . . . there. Help me relax for you . . . oh baby, that’s so good.” Her head rocked from side to side as Jack eased another finger into her. A part of her wondered how she ever thought Jack might harm her, how she ever thought that what had happened with Jimmy would be anything like what she was experiencing with Jack now. She felt herself melt and relax. Jack grinned up at her, his eyes like lapis stones that glowed from within. Adina grinned back and pulled off his glasses, leaving him so boyish and beautiful that it made her pulse stutter. She settled her hands on his shoulders and nudged his hand away as she set his glasses on the shelf built into the headboard of the bed.

“Okay, baby,” she smiled. “Now . . . let’s try this.” She took Jack’s erection firmly in hand and guided it between her thighs until she felt the head press up against her entrance. Jack stared up at her, his hands settled at her hips, and then Adina took great delight in watching Jack’s expression fill with amazement and pleasure as she sank down on him slowly, taking him deep inside her body.

“Oh! Oh, God . . . oh God, Adina!” He moaned. Adina sank down slowly until she could feel Jack’s balls throbbing against her skin. Jack’s hands gripped her hips, and she nodded to him as she began to use her calf muscles to ride him.

“That’s good . . . good, help me along, baby, that’s it . . .” she moaned. She slipped her hands down under Jack’s shirt and braced her hands on his chest instead, the tips of her fingers well within nipple-teasing range. She tickled and teased a nub and felt Jack’s erection give a hard surge deep inside her. She clenched around it and shouted his name.

“Jack! Jack, yes . . .” She looked down at him and smiled as she found and teased the other nipple. “Going to come for me, baby? Come on . . . come for Adina, Jack . . .” She increased the speed and intensity of her strokes and Jack bucked and writhed beneath her. Her own body buzzed with pleasure, the hard, flat muscles in her abs beginning to coil and go taut. She wanted to tighten around Jack and never let go. Jack suddenly began a low moan that rapidly rose in pitch and volume and then cut off, almost as if he had stopped breathing. He stilled, his eyes going bright, his expression rapturous, his hands tightening at Adina’s hips as he shuddered and came hard. Adina grinned and gasped deliriously happy laughter as her own body rose toward orgasm, and then fell over the edge with hot, warm pulses that splashed up onto Jack’s belly and chest. She rode them out until she felt Jack shrink within her, and she carefully swung a leg over his thighs to collapse next to him. Jack turned his head to look at her, his hair damp and tousled, his face flushed.

“Wow,” he managed, and Adina laughed as she cuddled up close to him.

“For sure, wow.”

“I never . . . that was amazing,” he panted, and Adina nodded as she gently pushed a damp lock of hair from his eyes.

“It was for me too, honey. I never thought I’d . . . you know. After Jimmy. But this wasn’t like that, not at all.” She shifted slightly and then leaned down to dispose of the condom in the trash near the bed after wrapping it in a tissue. Jack watched, and Adina sat up to touch his face. “It wasn’t because I thought you were dirty or anything, baby, all right? Adam and I both believe that you can’t be too careful these days when it comes to sex.” She stroked his cheek, and Jack nodded.

“I’m clean. I got tested after . . . you know. I guess it’s something they do if . . .”

Adina nodded and traced the rounded pink shell of Jack’s left ear with her right hand. “I know. I probably waited too long after Jimmy . . . but I’m clean, thank God.” She smiled down at him. “Of course, now that we both know that . . . maybe we won’t need them at all.”

Jack nodded and touched her hair.

“You must be psychic, Dee baby . . . I was just thinking the same thing.”

***

Jack shrugged on a light grey nylon windbreaker and zipped it up halfway to ward off the chill that had come into the city the day before. Summer was slowly giving way to Indian summer, and in a few weeks, the trees in Central Park would blaze with color. QB gave Jack a curious meow, and Jack smiled as he leaned over to give him an affectionate scratch under the chin.

“Later, Cubester!” He said before he went out the door. He locked it and gave the knob a quick twist to make sure it was secure.

“Can I give the cutest boy in the building a ride?”

Jack turned at the voice to see Adina standing in front of her Suzuki. The breeze that waxed and waned ruffled the flared ankles of her low-rise Levi’s and the hem of her stressed tee, which featured a classic Coke logo. She smiled as Jack approached her.

“Dee? I thought you had class tonight.”

“I did. But I couldn’t stay. Not knowing about this. I know you said you wanted to go alone, but the more I thought of you doing this by yourself, the more I couldn’t just sit there. So I told Dr. Schmid that I had a female emergency.” She giggled. “Do you know how fast a man will excuse a woman from his British Literature class just so she won’t say the word ‘period’ to him?”

Jack grinned. God, I love this woman. “I appreciate that, but—”

“I know what you said, Jack.” Adina took both his hands. “I know you said you had to go alone, but then I remembered that I made you a promise. Maybe you don’t remember because you were pretty drunk at the time, but I promised you that when the time was right, I’d take you back to Acacia. That I wouldn’t let you go alone.” Her thumbs rubbed over the tops of Jack’s hands. “Please, let me come with you.”

Jack exhaled heavily and then finally, he nodded.

“All right. Together, then.”

***

Some of the leaves of the big maples at Acacia Cemetery were already faded and edged with red and yellow, and a few of them dotted the path to the columbarian wall and crunched crisply beneath Jack’s Nikes and Adina’s white and blue Converse as the pair headed toward Duncan’s marker. On the way to the cemetery, they had stopped at a flower stand, and now Jack carried a dozen white and peach roses with an air of uncertainty. Adina held his other hand as they approached the wall. Jack had heard from Jane that Duncan’s mother had interred the ashes instead of keeping them, and the thought of his friend being in that tiny space made Jack’s throat close with a sudden spasm. Adina squeezed his hand.
“It’s all right, baby,” she said softly, and Jack gave her a wan smile.

“Yeah. Just . . . such a tiny space.” He reached out and touched the gold brushed plaque that adorned the marble tile, his fingers tracing over Duncan’s name.

“Hey, buddy,” Jack said softly, and Adina gave his hand one more squeeze before she stepped back and turned, still a solid presence, but allowing Jack his privacy. Jack spared her a glance to assure that she wasn’t going far before he turned back to the tile. “Guess I should’ve been to see you sooner . . . everything’s just been so crazy since . . . uh, since you left.” Jack plucked out some dead daises from the metal vase bolted next to the tile and tossed them on the ground before replacing them with his fresh roses. “I brought you these. I know it’s weird . . . never bought flowers for a guy before. But Adina said it’s what you do.” He gave her another glance, but her back was still turned. “She’s also been helping me out a lot since that night, pal. She’s been real good to me. I think you’d like her. I think you’d understand, too . . . like you did about Johnny. You’re the only one who really did, besides Jane, maybe, even though we never really talked about it.” Jack spread the roses out and took a deep, shaky breath. “She also says that I have to understand that it’s not my fault. What happened, I mean. I hope that wherever you are, you feel the same way.” He swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat. “Just can’t help but think that you bought those tickets because you knew how much I wanted to see that game, and if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have been there and you’d still be alive . . .” The lump in his throat broke apart and traveled quickly up his sinuses, and then his view of the tile shivered apart as he began to cry. “I didn’t want you to die! I’m sorry, Duncan! I’m so sorry . . .” Jack leaned his forehead on the tile and gave into the torrent of emotion that he’d kept locked away ever since he’d learned of Duncan’s death that day in the hospital. He cried for Duncan, for everything that he’d never be, for their friendship, and for everything both of them had lost, including each other. After awhile, he felt Adina’s hand on his shoulder and he turned blindly. Her arms and scent enfolded him, her hands stroking his head, his shoulders, his back.

“Shhhh, baby,” she soothed. “Shhhh . . . it’s all right. He knows how much you loved him . . . and how much you always will. He loved you, too . . . so much that he was willing to face down anyone to keep you from being hurt. You tried to do the same for him, sweetie, and he knows that. He knows. Shhhhh, Jack.”

Jack cried against Adina’s shoulder until he was raw and wrung out, and then he finally raised his head and removed his glasses with a shaky hand. He wiped his face with his forearm, and with an infinitely patient look, Adina took a pack of tissues from her purse and opened them. Jack sniffled and gulped as she dabbed at his eyes and cheeks, and then handed him three more.

“Blow,” she said, and then laughed at little as Jack gave her a wry, watery grin. “Your nose, Jack.”

Jack did so and then shoved the tissues into his hoodie pocket. She touched his face.

“Better?”

“Yeah, I think so. Sorry—”
Adina cut him off by putting a finger to his lips.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Jack Cooper. Duncan was your best friend. Besides, you don’t need to give me any of that macho BS about how men shouldn’t cry. Machismo is highly overrated.” She stroked a thumb over his lower lip. “This won’t be the last time you cry for him either, Jack. You’re going to miss him in a thousand little ways . . . but then after awhile, you’ll be able to remember him in a thousand little ways, too . . . ways that make you laugh and remember what a good friend he was.”

Jack kissed the stroking thumb and then reached into his pocket. He withdrew something small and ragged, and when Adina looked, she saw what looked like a ticket stub, but it was blotched with brownish, rust-colored stains. After a moment, she understood.

“Oh Jack, baby,” she whispered, her voice catching on a tremble. He nodded and took a pack of matches from his other pocket.

“I think Duncan should have this,” he said softly. “I don’t need it to remember him. Remembering him isn’t about remembering that night. Least I don’t think so.”

“You’re right. It’s not. There’s a balance, Jack, between remembering and letting go.”

Jack knelt down in front of the tile, as if in prayer, and scraped a clear patch in the granulated quartz pebbles that surrounded the wall. He set the ticket in the middle of it and struck a match. The flame flickered in the light autumn breeze and then steadied as Jack touched it to the edge of the bloodied stub. It curled, browned, and then burned to ashes in seconds. A few more tears slipped from Jack’s eyes, but his voice was steady as he spoke.

“I’ll see you again sometime, pal . . . I promise.”

Adina put her hand on Jack’s shoulder as the early autumn breeze stirred up again and lifted the ashes of the ticket stub up into the thick branches of the maple trees and made their leaves shiver with a soothing sound as it tumbled Jack’s hair over his forehead like the playful touch of an unseen hand.

***

Three months later

“ . . . So he found a chair and stood on it so he could pour the conditioner on my head to get my hair free of the safe, and that’s when the model walked in!” Jack leaned back in his chair and grinned as Jane and Adina burst into laughter together, leaning on each other as they did so.

“And let me guess . . . that was the end of yours and Duncan’s supering careers?” Adina asked, delicately wiping a tear of laughter from her right eye so as not to smear her makeup. Jack chuckled and sipped his Pepsi.

“And of the legendary millennium haircut!” He slipped an arm around Adina and pulled her close. She pressed into him warmly and Jane leaned forward and glanced around her to smile at her twin. They were all sitting on the big couch in the living room of Jack and Adam’s new apartment, which boasted a huge master bedroom for them to share, complete with a walk-in closet for Adina’s things and big bay windows that overlooked Central Park and gave QB plenty of sun in which to bask. After the fall semester started, Adina had landed a full-time job at the Crisis Center on campus that left her free to take two evening classes twice a week and still spend time with Jack. For his part, Adam had gotten Jack a job at the Percolator after persuading his boss to allow Jack to take his place after he quit. With his hand much improved, Jack’s natural energy and charisma had allowed him to rise quickly to an assistant manager’s position, and together, he and Adam had moved into the bigger place, just blocks from where Jane lived. She visited the boys often, and she and Adina, through bonding over their mutual interests and over their love of Jack, had become best friends.

Jane stood and stretched.

“I’d better go. It’s getting late and I have a class first thing tomorrow.” She hugged Adina, and then ruffled both hands briskly through Jack’s hair. Jack gave the ends of her short hair a playful tug as he walked her to the door. As Adina cleaned up plates, cups, and potato chip crumbs, Jane leaned in and whispered to her twin.

“Don’t let her go, Jack. Even for a girl sporting a penis, she’s still the best thing that ever happened to you. In fact, she has one other thing none of your other girlfriends ever had.”

Jack creased his brow. “What?”

“A brain! Duh!” Jane grinned, and winked at Jack as she slipped out the door. Jack rolled his eyes as he locked the door behind her and set the security system.

“Baby?”

Jack turned to see Adina standing in the kitchen doorway, her lithe body showing curves all over in black jeans and a clingy purple top. She held out her hand and Jack went to her, taking it in both of his. She smiled at him.

“Everything’s put away. You ready for bed?”

“Do I get to sleep with you tonight, or with Addie?” Jack grinned. Sometimes, when Adina felt especially playful, she’d come to bed in silky satin lingerie, and instead of allowing Adam to come out, she and Jack would couple for an hour or two before falling asleep in a blissful tangle. Jack loved the feel of the outfits, and how sexy Adina looked in them, but he had to admit that Adam in a tight pair of briefs and a tee-shirt or tank top didn’t look bad, either. Adina ran a finger up and down Jack’s chest.

“Oh, I think I better give Adam some time with you. I’ve been here all day.”

Jack kissed her.

“All right, babe. I’ll meet him in the bedroom.”

Thirty minutes later, Jack lounged in bed with a gaming magazine and was reading an article on how to improve his score in Assassin’s Creed when Adam came in. He was freshly showered, his curls hanging loose and slightly damp. Jack glanced up when he smelled the body wash Adam used, the blue stuff that smelled like it looked, the stuff he could never describe with words. He inhaled deeply, and thoughts of Assassin’s Creed went promptly out the mental window. He tossed the magazine aside and sat up as Adam turned off all the lights except for the small Tiffany reproduction lamp in the corner, which shed a soft, low light across the room.

“Hi,” Adam whispered as he slipped his arms around Jack and traced his fingers up and down the taller boy’s back. Jack shivered and buried his face in Adam’s neck.

“Hi.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Jack grinned as he nuzzled and then nipped Adam’s fair, slender throat. “Mmmm. You smell amazing.”

“So do you,” Adam replied, and blazed a trail down Jack’s bare chest with his tongue. “Let’s see if you taste as good as you look, Coop.”

Twenty minutes later, after a session of oral sex that left them both damp and panting, Adam lay in Jack’s arms, his head pillowed on Jack’s chest. He listened to Jack’s heartbeat, a strong, steady pulsed that seemed to make his own want to beat in tandem with it for the rest of his life. A deep sigh lifted and lowered Jack’s chest suddenly, and Adam tipped his eyes upward.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Jack nodded. “I was just thinking about what happened that night in the subway.”

“Come on, Jack, don’t—”

“I don’t mean I was thinking anything bad,” Jack interrupted as he ran a hand through Adam’s tousled curls and wound a gingery strand around one finger. “I mean I was mostly thinking about why things happen. Maybe you and I were supposed to meet, Ad. Maybe you and Adina were like a gift because I lost Duncan. If I hadn’t, you and I would have never met.”

“I don’t want to be the reason that Duncan died, Jack,” Adam replied softly, and Jack shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean. I didn’t meet you because Duncan died . . . I met you because I did. Maybe not in the same way that Duncan did . . . it was worse for me because I was still walking and talking. You brought me back to life, Adam. You and Adina. I couldn’t breathe until you.” Jack rested his chin on Adam’s head for a moment.

“You're my air.”

“Jack.” Adam replied, stunned at this admission, and then tears pricked his eyes as he felt Jack’s lips on the top of his head in a gentle kiss. Adam grinned widely.

“I love you, Jack.”

“I love you, too.” Jack replied softly, and then pulled Adam close as they settled in to sleep. As Jack felt Adam relax in his arms and the pattern of his breathing shifted toward sleep, Jack stroked his curls, so wild and sage-colored in the low light of the room. He held his boy, his Adam; so bright and sweet, but also his Adina, his girl, so brash and beautiful. One body, two spirits, melded together in one person. The best of both worlds.

My name is Jack Adrian Cooper, and the course of my life was changed by a basketball game on June 25th, 1999. I lost my best friend that night; my best friend, my courage, my will . . . until Adina and Adam Shea poured light into that pitch-black subway tunnel and showed me the way out.

I’m not lost anymore. Now I’m home. This is home.

Jack closed his eyes.

THE END

Did you miss anything? Here are the links!

Chapter Seven http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/166003.html

Chapter Six: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/164548.html

Chapter Five: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/163711.html

Chapter Four: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/163361.html

Chapter Three: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/163323.html

Chapter Two: http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/163005.html

Chapter One http://lexalicious70.livejournal.com/162301.html

Crucible Summer

Crucible Summer, Chapter Seven (Jack Cooper/Adina Fic)

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 21:33:23 GMT

Crucible Summer, Chapter Six (Jack Cooper/Adina Fic)

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 18:11:22 GMT

Crucible Summer, Chapter Five

Sat, 24 Jan 2009 19:15:17 GMT