Author: Boji

Title: "Art for Loves Sake" - Series

Rating: Let's say NC-17 to be safe although I think it's a hard R ;-P

Pairing: Clark/Lex - Who else is there?

Archive: At the Clexfest ONLY. Anywhere else please ask me first. Thank you!

Warnings: It's kind of AU folks. It's also got minor spoilers for the whole of Season One (thematically more than actual plot moments) but nothing after the end of the season finale. Vortex never happened and a whole lot of other things did.

Summary: Memories, art and Clark show Lex the road to his future.

Disclaimer: They belong to DC Comics, The WB Television Network  & the counter-cultural zeitgeist. Not mine, never will be. No infringement of any copyright is intended.

Adrian Campbell-Black guest stars in the epilogue. He's not mine either, never will be. He belongs to Jilly Copper. No infringement of any copyright is intended.

Feedback addy: boji29@yahoo.com

Author's notes: A/N 1 - Firstly I have to thank Kira for giving me the challenge I begged for. I don't think that back around the 12th of July she or I thought that this epic would be the result. All I can say in my own defence is that it's mainly Lex's fault <g>

A/N 2 - I don't know if it's cannon or fannon but somewhere I read on line that Lex went to Stowe (seriously upmarket English public school - that means private BTW) If this is the case it is *beyond* me that Lex would have gone through, at the very least six years, of an English boarding school and emerged friendless. Totally beyond me. In my reality he didn't :-)

A/N 3 - I also don't think that 21 going on 22 is that old. Lex is still evolving and I wanted to show that. If Clark is 15 going on 16 then he's truly a boy and not yet a young man. I wanted to show that too. This is the end result.

A/N 4 - Last but by no means ever least I owe gratitude and thanks to Caro. I am blessed with her friendship and have been through fandoms and years. I thank her for her friendship above all but also for her excellent beta skills and for not braining me with a brick over certain recurring spelling mistakes. You rock chica!

A/N 5 - A certain mention in the epilogue is nod to Orithain and Rina's newest character in "Snow Angels".

Challenge: Lex paints, is very good at it as everything else he puts a mind to do, and he wants Clark to pose for him - in the nude.  (kira-nerys)

Note: part of the ClexFest at: http://www.kardasi.com/Lexclusive/ClexFest

ART FOR LOVES SAKE

by Boji

Hollow Shells & Coloured Glass

The noise was unceasing. Against a background drone of crackly radio rock and loud grating-grunted speech, hammers bashed into imported parquet flooring. Drills whirred like auditory tornadoes. Looking around the hallway of the mausoleum he laughingly called home, Lex shuddered. Dirt and dust had colonized, settling everywhere. Worse still, muddy bootprints lay etched in a zigzag pattern across his tiled floor. The staff had lost the battle and order had given way to chaos.

He was cursed with builders. And if it wasn't builders, it was electricians, plumbers and security specialists. There was no longed for escape. Not here. And, not at the plant. There, Lex wove his way past repair workers and safety engineers. There, he looked at price quotes determined to bleed him dry. Steel girders had bent and twisted like a pretzel under the awesome power of nature. They would need to be replaced and God only knew how long that would take. Sections of the plant would be closed for months. Lex sighed tiredly, wanting desperately to shrug off the responsibilities that clung to him like a tight, badly- fitting plaster cast.

The slight buzzing vibration of his cell phone against his upper thigh distracted Lex from thoughts of encroaching suffocation. Reaching into his pocket, he  palmed the phone and pulled it out. It lay trembling in his hand, the number to his father's private line flashing on the small LCD display. Lex punched the power button switching his phone off, diverting his father's displeasure to his answering service. It wasn't as if the builders would deign to work any harder, or later. No matter what his father ordered from his sick bed. Breaks were breaks as far as builders were concerned.

It reminded Lex of the grounds keeper at boarding school, Bones, or Bates or whatever his name had been, who'd stop everything mid-morning, no matter the weather, to dunk dry tasteless biscuits into mugs of strong tea. The grounds had always been green and lush though, plants flowering most of the year round. That old man had coaxed miracles from the ground with his fingertips. He was a polar opposite to the builders who definitely didn't deal in miracles and who probably wouldn't know beauty if it slapped them in the face. No one was an artist any longer, a craftsman or an artisan. Now people seemed to spend their days working just to fill in the time between breaks. All anyone cared for was the hefty bulk of their pay cheque. No one took pride in their work anymore.

Sighing, Lex scratched the back of his neck and leaning against a door jamb, surveyed what used to be his office. The room, much like his long cherished hopes, lay littered by debris and devastation. Framed by the jagged holes in the stained glass window, a swarm of builders picked their way through rubble. His father had placed an order for a whole new window, refusing to let Lex get a quote for the extensive work that would  have been needed to restore the original. That had held vibrant panes from Venice, blown with care by the finest glass craftsmen. No doubt the new window  would be a modern, machine-made monstrosity signed by some fashionable con-man come artist. His father would write it off as tax deductible and wait while the thimble-sized fashionable set applauded his taste. And Lex? Lex would have to live with it.

As he watched, two of the builders manoeuvred a large, cracked pane of coloured glass from out of its shattered frame. Cradling it carefully in heavily gloved hands they walked past him, their footsteps measured, slow and careful. Lex caught sight of his own reflection in the jagged piece of lilac glass. Image. That was all that had always mattered to his father. An image that was slowly devouring Lex, carving him from the inside out into the hollow shell his father wanted: the dutiful son and heir, the prince in waiting of the shadowlands. A ray of sunlight glanced off the coloured glass. Lex's faint reflection winked back at himself.

Where had the cheeky practical-joker he had once been disappeared to? Where had the madcap science freak who exploded mini Molotov cocktails in the boys toilets gone? Probably the same no-place that his hedonistic clubbing self had vanished too. Not that Lex regretted shedding that skin, not really. He'd spent too many nights wasted, lying on bathroom floors that would never be clean, vomiting and retching while moans and avid, slurping, sucking sounds filled his ears. The few nights he'd spent on his knees in those same bathrooms hadn't been much better.

Shaking himself out of the unpleasant memory, Lex let his gaze drift, sizing up the builders. It was irritating, disappointing, frustrating. Less the ingredients for an erotic fantasy and more a slice of sloth and ugliness. What was it with fat middle-aged builders who let their jeans ride low, showing their sweaty ass crack off to the world?

Trapped by the drudgery of routine, restlessness itched hotly at the base of his spine. One near brush with death too many, had him craving the anonymous promise of sweat-filled night clubs. These days closing his eyes at night only guaranteed an action replay of a slow falling bookshelf. And pain. Skull crushing pain. Lex could still feel the slickness of his blood dripping warmly into his stinging eye, still hear his father's pleas. Restlessness clutched at him, promising freedom. All that stopped Lex from retracing the steps of self-destruction was his willpower. He clung to it by his fingertips, knowing that anonymity was always a broken promise. Pleasure always brief and transient. Worse still, freedom was a false God.

"Sir?" Enrique's defeated tone turned him away from his naval gazing.

Standing upright, Lex turned and stared at his butler. Enrique looked weary, dusty and defeated as if he'd lost one round too many in a boxing ring.

"Would you be wanting lunch?"

There was something in his tone that spelled out the state of the empty fridge to Lex.

"No thank you Enrique. I'll have a beer and maybe a sandwich?"

There was something about the chaos that called to his dormant college self. Then his staples had been pizza and later, sushi.

"I'll be…" Lex paused, looking at the mass of people, the wooden planks resting against the wall and the drill bits sitting in the midst of his antique desk. "… upstairs. Have you finished checking the rest of the castle for damage?" Lex asked, moving towards the staircase.

"Yes Sir. The structural engineer left for Metropolis an hour ago. He said he'd fax his report."

"And no doubt forward my father a copy."

 

"Sir, will you be wanting me to send the boxes to storage with the rest of the furniture?"

"Boxes? What boxes?" Lex looked back over his shoulder at Enrique.

"I believe the boxes in the turret room belong to you, Sir."

Enrique's words propelled Lex up the stairs, past the second floor and up. Beer and the possibilities of food long forgotten. What boxes could Enrique possibly be talking about?

Junk & Memories

It had been years since Lex had been up in this part of the castle. Dust mites partied on the stone steps under his feet as  he left clear footprints amid earlier-made scuffed tracks. Kicking at the lingering dust, Lex cursed under his breath. He knew he couldn't really expect the staff to dust areas of the castle that were, for all intents and purposes, shut up. But it bothered him nonetheless. Or maybe it was the smell of stagnancy and frozen time that was irritating. The dust tickled his nose, threatening to spark a dry itch within his once asthmatic lungs. He'd never ordered the rooms in this wing aired out when he'd come home in exile. It had been better, easier, to move down to the lower floors.

The stone stairs, narrowed, curved and twisted. He followed swiftly, his footfalls steady in memory of a younger self racing up the same stairs in sorrow and excitement. The twisting steps led to the turret tower, which had somehow always seemed out of place to Lex in this, his father's folly. Stepping onto a landing that was narrower than he remembered, Lex  took two paces forward and stood in front of a tall, narrow, wooden door that dwarfed the wall it was set into.  Dark and stained with age, it felt smooth against his palm. Turning the old iron handle, Lex pushed against the door, waiting for a click that didn't come. It was locked. With Enrique's efficiency, he thought to himself dryly, he should have expected nothing less.

Just as Lex was wondering if he'd have to run back down, footsteps echoed up the stone walls of the stairwell. They announced Enrique's presence long before his head came into view. On the tray he was carrying, a set of keys lay by a chilled bottle of beer and a club sandwich.

"Thank you." His tone dismissive, Lex took the tray from Enrique with a nod, and placed it on the floor near the door.

He waited impassively as the other man turned and headed back down stairs. Lex was never entirely sure where the other man's allegiances lay, or if at the end of the day they were always going to be for sale to the highest bidder. His father. Suddenly nervous, and not wanting to think about the cell phone he'd switched off, that was burning a hole in his pocket, Lex picked the keys up off the tray and fumbled to slide the first into the lock. It fit but didn't turn. The third key he tried fit snugly and turned smoothly a loud click sounding against the stone walls. Pushing against the door gently, Lex felt it swing open, moving away from his fingers.

Stepping into the circular tower room, Lex almost smiled at the involuntary bloom of warmth that spilled across his solar plexus. He stood just inside the doorway and looked around. Here, he'd sailed ships home and fought with cardboard swords. Here, he'd turned pages scented with dust and travelled to unknown worlds. Here, he'd lost himself in fables and history, gleaning strength and strategy from each word. The room had been a fort and a space ship, a castle and a war room from which he commanded toy troops. Bathed in a puddle of sunlight, it was just as  he remembered.

Well, at least it would have been if not for the boxes that cast shadows on the walls. They stood stacked around him, a city-scape in brown card, framed by a large window with its shutters flung wide. Undoubtedly, Enrique must have opened them earlier. Casting a careful glance at the boxes, Lex was thankful for the signs of long sealed packing tape. Whatever he'd be unearthing was untouched. Standing, Lex looked around him. A large bulky object stood with one corner resting against the curve of a wall. It was shrouded by a white dust sheet which fluttered slightly in the breeze. A momentary gust of wind and an old leather sofa revealed itself.

Turning his attention back to the boxes, Lex reached out, hefting one down off its perch. The brown packing tape sealing it closed was frayed but still held strong. Digging in his pocket Lex pulled out his car keys. Flipping the straight Audi TT key out of its square black enclosure, he ran its jagged edge across the tape and sliced through into the secrets beneath. The harsh ripping sound was as loud as the pop the flaps made as he pulled open the box.

Then, all Lex could hear was the sound of his breathing as he stared.

Lying at the top of the box was a Tigers T-shirt. He'd pulled it off a rower from the Princeton crew. An almost dark haired, blue eyed rower who had whimpered and not moaned as he'd come in Lex's dextrous hands. He couldn't remember his name or his face, but Lex remembered the other boy had hogged the blankets that weekend.

Photos. Cards. Letters.

Lex rummaged in the box. Junk and memories. A mug, upon which was scrawled 'I love snogging'. He'd picked that up at a shop in Notting Hill when he'd headed for London one Spring Break. Snogged a couple of old school friends on a dance floor or two. He smiled remembered the awful sofa Oliver had put him up on. Two narrow and too lumpy. He'd lasted all of half an hour, then talked his way into Oliver's bed. Politely, Oliver had moved to the abandoned sofa. It had mattered terribly, then. Now, as Lex sifted fragments of his past through his fingers, all he felt was warmth at the memory.

He reached out, picked up another box and dragging his car key through another length of tape, unsealed another part of his life. Once, still-precious moments of his life tumbled out with long forgotten fragments of his self and he remembered.

When knuckles knocked softly against the door later that afternoon, they called Lex from the deluge of memory. Called him from the photographs that littered his lap and spilled across the floor. Lex sat among cards and papers clutching an old ripped sweatshirt. His heart leaden, he hadn't noticed that his eyes were brimming with unshed tears until he tried to take a breath. It was as shaky as his lip that he bit down upon, hard. Staring up at the ceiling, Lex focused on the point where it met the wall and swallowed hard.

In a heartbeat, as he turned ready to face the intruder, all traces of weakness had been eradicated as if they had never been visible. It was Clark. Lex slowly exhaled and relaxed his stance before pulling himself up off the floor in a fluid motion.

"Clark, what brings you over on a day like today?" Lex asked,  throwing a few items haphazardly into a box and praying that his voice sounded even. The sweatshirt landed on the white dust sheet covering the sofa.

"Er, I…" Clark kicked awkwardly at the dusty floor. "I came to say I'm sorry." He spoke the words in a hurried gush before raising his gaze to meet Lex's.

For a moment the depth of the blue gaze reminded Lex of another boy with dark hair and blue eyes and a warm easy smile. The boy-man who'd left him with nothing but a faded worn sweatshirt. Jason's scent, that had once imbued the faded grey material, was as faded as his longed for presence. Yet, standing in the same room as Clark, the scabbed cut no longer felt as deep. It was at that moment Lex realised that the long cherished pain had faded when he wasn't looking, lessening its grip on his heart.

"I haven't been around much…" Clark's voice was apologetic.

"That's OK Clark. It's summer vacation." Lex shrugged, only half focused on the conversation unfolding in front of him. "I do remember what that's like… vaguely."

Reaching out Lex ran the car key across the top of another box ripping through the tape. "It's not as if I get six weeks to just goof off anymore."

Hefting the box down off the pile, he cradled the heavy load in his arms.

"Goof off?" Clark asked grinning at Lex's choice of words.

"Piss about. Hang out. Loaf about. Stay out all night and sleep till two." Meeting Clark's eyes, Lex swallowed a smirk.

He wasn't sure if it was to shake Clark up, or to jostle the image of himself that was settling over him like a shroud. Sometimes sounding his age was almost as freeing as acting his age.

"Two?" Clark asked surprised, a wide grin illuminating his face as he imagined God knows what reason for Lex to be out all night and to be sleeping all day.

The smirk won out over Lex's willpower. "Or later…"

No matter what Clark was imagining, chances were it was benign. He wasn't to know of the nights Lex had spent mapping curves and taut muscular pathways across Jason's body. Clark wasn't to know of later nights when he took everything and everyone in the hope of escaping the twists and turns of his own shattering heart.

Fleetingly it occurred to Lex that Clark was even more beautiful then Jason had been. More so because Clark failed to see what it was about him that made him so… luminous. The stray thought caught Lex off balance. He lost his grip on the box and it slipped, tilting in his embrace. It wares and secrets spilled forth, fluttering to the floor. Memories caught in pencil and charcoal. Jason smiled up at Lex. Forever young and vibrant on the page, his love written on his face, evident for whoever chose to look. His expression almost defiant, Lex raised his gaze and stared wordlessly at Clark.

Not a Self Portrait

As the papers tumbled out of the box and fluttered to the floor, Clark felt the strange atmosphere in the room get, well, weirder. Not that things hadn't been weird since he'd arrived that afternoon. Usually, the great thing about hanging out with Lex was that nothing seemed to phase him. Yet, that afternoon he seemed jumpy. An image of Lex hanging upside down like a white, wingless bat flashed into Clark's mind. He'd have thought Lex was in trouble and yet, that wasn't the vibe. With a painful clench in his stomach, Clark realised that for the first time in his friendship with Lex, he felt as if he was intruding.

That was the feeling that had been building from the moment he'd stepped over the tray, which blocked the half open doorway, and walked into the room. Not that Clark had realised it at first. It was bad enough that he'd had to use his powers to stop the beer he'd inadvertently kicked from spilling everywhere. Nervousness that Lex might have seen something had led to Clark's stammered apology.

Not that he didn't feel bad that he'd been spending more time with Pete and Chloe lately. They were easier. It was easier to hide who he was becoming when he was with them. There was something about Lex's gaze that demanded honesty. Or maybe it was because his father was constantly implying his friend was a lying sack of shit, that Clark wanted his friendship to be built on truth. And ironically, he was sure that Lex did tell him the truth. Clark was the one who lied. Lex, Lex was the one who opened up, explained, struggled to share, well kind of. It wasn't as if Clark didn't know Lex was a master at avoiding a question. But he didn't lie, not like Clark did, with almost every breath and every move.

Clark stood silently, rubbing his left foot against the back of his right calf. The slow movement helped distract him from the tension in the room. He looked down at the drawings and back up at Lex. Lex, who still hadn't said anything, and who hadn't moved. There was something almost unnatural about the stillness in Lex's pose, something about the way that he was staring at Clark that made Clark think of that deer in headlights expression people used in books. At that moment he realised Lex was waiting for him to say something but Clark had no idea what.

At a loss he looked down again, staring at the drawings now covering the floor. There was beauty in every line drawn but the real power lay in the vibrancy that had somehow been captured on the page. The curls that rioted around the young man's head were so lifelike that Clark felt he could reach out and touch one, the eyes so piercing and liquid that despite being monochrome and pencilled he felt as if the man in the drawings was looking at him. Looking and really seeing him. Although the drawings were structural there was a softness, a blurring that spoke of thumbs smoothing across the page, or rubbing and drawing of calling the image forth from within the paper itself.

He moved slowly, as if Lex was a skittish wounded animal. Clark crouched down and began gathering the diverse pages into a somewhat neat pile. He noticed the signature before he realised that most of the sketches and drawings were of the same man. In the top right hand corner a stylistic 'A' prefixed the three letters of his friend's name.

"Alex?" Clark asked, raising his head to look at Lex. He stood immobile before him, his fists clenched at his sides. He looked as if he were heading for his execution. His face was tight with suppressed emotion.

"Just ask me." Lex spat the words out, as if they tasted foul.

Ask him? Clark looked down at the pictures and back at Lex. "Did, did you draw these?" His awe at the obvious skill and beauty was inherent in the breathy sound of his words.

"Did I draw these?" Lex laughed. It was a broken sound. He moved sluggishly, surprising Clark with the sudden awkwardness of his movements.

Lex was sure, decisive, elegant. Lex wasn't gawky or awkward and yet he sank down onto the sofa as if his legs wouldn't or couldn't hold him upright. Clark watched the dust sheet gather, pulling back off the arms of the sofa to reveal soft worn leather. Lex buried his head in his hands and ran his palms lightly across the curve and smoothness of his crown.

"Yes I drew those. And many more." The last three words escaped softly as Lex exhaled.

"I thought you were… a science buff." It just didn't add up. Clark had never imagined Lex in light filled airy rooms standing behind an easel.

"Mad scientist and geek, huh Clark?" Taking a deep breath Lex looked up, avoiding the penetrating pencilled gaze he'd captured in what seemed like another lifetime. "Da Vinci was both. Scientist and artist, inventor and innovator, creator and explorer. He believed that the foundations of art lay in scientific study. The beauty and power of his drawings draw on his study of corpses. He knew where muscles and tendons lay and what effect…"

"Lex, I don't need a history lesson on the guy who painted the Mona Lisa."

"No, I suppose not." Lex paused as if he were waiting for Clark to ask him something, not that Clark could think for the life of him what Lex was expecting him to ask. And yet there was something about Lex's unease that resonated within Clark. Sometimes when he'd battled the latest monster of the week, like a hero on the WB, Lex would pin him with a look that demanded he spill his secrets. He never had, yet, but Clark imagined that his reflection at those moments would look a little like Lex's current expression. Desire mixed in with nervousness. And for once, Clark was sure Lex was nervous, he was rubbing his palms on his thighs.

"There is the theory that it's a self portrait you know." Lex tossed the dry witticism into the room as if it would save him from the yawing silence.

"What is?" Clark asked puzzled, knowing that the drawings resting on the floor between them looked nothing like Lex.

"The Mona Lisa."

"Oh." The eyes in the drawings called to Clark. "So you took art in college as well as all the science stuff?"

"No, I abandoned my palette the summer after A-levels. That's graduation to you." The smirk and the armour were being shifted back in place. To Clark they were almost a slap in the face.

"Why did you stop painting?" Clark knew he was fishing, struggling to hold on to a moment, a fleeting feeling that was trying to duck out of the room.

"I lost my muse."

Shifting, Lex moved fluidly, standing and crouching down to gather up his works of art. Clark watched the elegant fingers sifting the pieces of paper and waited for Lex to continue. Several moments later, fragments of his friend's life were offered in a hushed tone.

"Jason went back-packing on his gap year. He drowned in a waterfall somewhere in South America." Looking up sharply Clark could see pain glinting like frozen tears in Lex's eyes. "The sick irony is that he was the best swimmer the school ever had."

"He was your best friend." Clark nodded understanding where the pain came from. After all, if he lost Chloe or Pete. If he lost Lex… The half formed thought pierced him, hurting more than the green meteor rocks ever could. And in that moment when he was trying to breathe around the raw wound, Lex spoke and changed everything, forever.

"No, Clark. He was my lover."

Snakes, Lovers & Friends

The words hung in the air as Clark felt the ground shift beneath his feet. His Lover. Lex had had a lover who wasn't Victoria, who wasn't… a woman. His gaze drifted down to the drawings of Jason and up slowly to Lex's mouth. Lex had kissed Jason, Lex had kissed and done god knows what… with men. Clark waited for the awkwardness to hit him, waited for secret revulsion to clutch at him in his belly. Waited for indifference. Instead some invisible bands tightened around his heart.

"Clark?" Lex's tone was patient, all traces of anguish wiped away thoroughly.

"Yeah?" Clark asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, as if he was standing in a fog. He wondered if Jason was the only person Lex had ever drawn. If Lex only drew men. If Lex only drew his... lovers.

"You okay?"

The two unspoken words: 'with this' hung in the air.

Clark looked up and for a moment saw what looked like worry, flash across Lex's eyes. "Yeah I'm fine."

It was a lie. Worse still, he could see that Lex knew it was a lie. He wasn't okay, far from it, but he wasn't sure why. He stood there, awkwardness slithering across his skin, not knowing what to say or do. Lex had had a male lover. Lex had loved someone who had died. Both things were… huge. Worse still, somehow both things made Clark feel every second of the six year age difference he had with Lex.

Irrationally, he wondered what Chloe might have said if she'd been standing there. She probably would have gone on about the counter culture. Pete would have run off home and forever made snide comments about Lex and his, what was it again? Oh yes, sexual preferences. But he wasn't Pete and God knows if anyone knew how hard it was to be different to be on the outside looking in, it was Clark. Clark who had only barely been kissed while Lex had had lovers.

"Did you only draw Jason?" The words spilled forth, Clark's mouth by-passing his brain. The strange name tasted bitter on his tongue as if the very syllables were made of something unpalatable.

"No."

Lex shook his head, placed the drawings on the sofa behind him and walking back over to the stacks of boxes began hefting them down off the pile. Clark noticed that they were labelled in a black markered scrawl. Lex was obviously looking for something.

"I've got drawings of the whole gang from school… somewhere. I've also got a painting done in oil. Jason and the snake."

Lex had his back to Clark as he offered up that tidbit from his past and yet the smile that Clark was sure had flit across Lex's face was audible. The knot that seemed to have tied itself around his ribs, tightened.

"You painted your b,boyfriend with a snake?"

It was just a word. A stupid word. No reason for his stutter that matched the jagged thump of his heart. Well, okay  so technically 'boyfriend' was two words stuck together.  Two words he'd hoped to be to someone by now.

Watching Lex slice open cardboard tubes and unroll canvases with agile fingers and delicate care, Clark realised he had no real idea what the word meant. Maybe that was why he'd never made a move towards Lana after Whitney had left. Maybe she didn't mean as much to him as he'd thought. Clark clamped down hard on that stray thought. Now was definitely not the time to think about it. Later, he'd think about it later. Now? Now he was here to listen to whatever Lex wanted to tell him.

"There was a famous photo of Nastassia Kinski taken in the mid eighties. I believe it's by Avedon."

Clark nodded, wondering who Avedon was. Lex continued.

"She's lying nude on a bed with a snake curled around her. One of the older boys had the poster. It was legendary. Years later I changed the subject and borrowed from the pose and composition." Turning back to face Clark, Lex flashed a wicked grin of triumph. "It hung it over my bed while I was at college. I used to claim it was inspired by Michelangelo's 'Dying Slaves'."

"Who's Nastassia Kinski?" Clark asked, no longer sure he could keep up with the twists and turns of the conversation. It was either that, or listen to Lex launch into another lecture about Renaissance artists that had, as far as Clark was concerned, very little to do with that afternoon's earth shaking revelations. 

"Actress. Might have been a model. She's got a python curled around her in that photo."

Clark tried to picture Lana naked on a bed with a python sliding down between her breasts. It should have been easy, after all he had a clear image of her in that skimpy underwear she'd tried to peel off. Instead, he had a crazy image of Lex as a marble statue with a snake curled around his muscular thigh. His heart thumped and skidded. Had he just thought that Lex's thigh was muscular? Clark rewound the image, his mind marrying a vision of Lex together with the screen saver of Michaelangelo's David that Chloe had on one of the iMacs at the Torch. Lex pale and… naked. Lex painting Jason with a snake. Clark closed his eyes shut tightly for a moment as his brain threatened to imagine just what the snake might have been coiled around.

"Milto had a snake as a pet. I lent him my first car for the whole of one term in return for ten days with that snake." Lex snorted. "He got smashed one night drove the car into a tree and puked all over the upholstery. The car was a write off."

"Milto?" Clark asked automatically, barely listening as Lex shared what Clark knew were valuable nuggets about his life.

Lex had had good friends. Lex had had a boy named Jason as a lover. Clark stuffed his shaking hand into his jeans pocket. Taking a deep breath he tried exhaling slowly. The rolling wave of emotion that was crushing his rib cage increased its pressure. 'Anger' The word flashed into his mind. He was feeling anger.

"Good friend, currently stranded in Greece. I'm not the only one with family… obligations."

With a muted 'Ah-hah' of triumph Lex pulled a sketch pad from some box or another and made him way back over to where Clark was still standing. Raising an eyebrow, he motioned to the dust-sheet covered sofa and stalked over. Sitting down he balanced the sketchpad on his crossed his legs and motioned to Clark.

Two steps brought him to Lex's side. He sat down and waited as Lex flipped open the cover and flicked past the first few pages. Those were filled with small sketches, lines and half finished designs. Some ten or twelve pages in faces began to appear like snapshots in a photo album. It wasn't that Clark had thought Lex had hatched out of the torn roof of his Porsche when he'd pulled him from a watery would be grave. The whole incident with Club Zero, together with Victoria's insidious presence had shown Clark that Lex had had a life before coming to Smallville. A life yes, but Clark had never realised that Lex had been loved. That Lex had had friends. Best friends. Before Clark. The thought sat in his churning stomach like a meteor rock.

Clark knew it shouldn't matter. Knew that, as his Mom said friends were life's riches and that you could never be blessed with too many. Yet, staring down at the faces, smiles and goofy expressions that Lex had captured so deftly he felt… jealous. Clark scratched at his thumb cuticle. Was he jealous that other people had been important to Lex? The odd almost sick feeling in his gut throbbed at the thought. He'd never expected to feel jealous. Never expected that it would matter to him if Lex had other friends. He'd loathed Victoria because she deserved it, hadn't he? Because she'd used and hurt Lex. Which didn't explain why he felt so vulnerable now. After all Lex wasn't jealous of his friendship with Chloe and Pete, was he?

Clark couldn't remember seeing Lex ever look jealous. The one time Lex had looked… desolate, that was the word, he'd been standing in his fathers loose embrace. Clark had looked up from the warmth and security of his parents hug and seen the pain on his friends face. By the time he'd blinked the rain out of his eyes, the expression had vanished as if washed away. Thinking back, Clark remembered other fleeting moments at the Talon, when he left with Chloe or Pete. Lex had looked, flat somehow. Maybe that was what happened as you grew up. Maybe you learned to show less. But maybe you still felt the same. Maybe…

Clark looked over at Lex and watched long, pale elegant  fingers leaf through a sketch pad. He leaned in closer and watched.

As Lex flipped open the sketch book and stared at the smiling or sulking faces that gazed out at him, he wondered why he'd ever given up drawing. This was proof that once, for a few scant years, he'd had a life outside of the sphere of 'daddy dearest's' influence. That he had friends even if they were scattered to the four corners of the earth. People he laughed and cried with. People he'd had a punch up with. People he'd kissed. Friends who'd kept his secrets. Not that he and Jason had been that open. Privacy had been a valued and scarce commodity at boarding school.

And then there'd been the irony that the first boy he'd ever loved had been more scared of his strict Argentinean father than Lex was of his own.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lex watched as Clark turned the pages slowly looking down into smiling faces and moments captured in pencil and pen and ink. At least he was still here. At least he hadn't fled. Hadn't been revolted. Clark stopped on one and just looked. Lex looked down at what had captured his friend's attention saw himself drawn in the middle of a huddle. Joy and laughter spilled out of his face so openly it was almost painful to remember.

"You're… good." Clark said in almost hushed tones.

Staring down at his younger self, Lex remembered why he'd boxed these up. They brought back memories of laughter and warm beer, of aching muscles and football matches, of mud and rain and grey days. And this drawing brought back memories of his father's rages. Of sellotaping photos with trembling fingers. Of drawing in silence, of shaking with unshed words and tears.

"Thank you. I used to be."

Lex tried to think back, when was the last time he'd felt joy? Relief, he was on a first name basis with, as with frustration and boredom and patience and fury and a whole host of other negative emotions that boiled in his gut. Those he longed to spew verbally at his father.

"You probably still are." Clark said gently. "Good, I mean. Lex you're… you and you're good at stuff. Really good at stuff!"

"Stuff?" Lex briefly raised an eyebrow.

The feelings in the room were too heavy for levity, too painful and precious for Lex to pervert them with innuendo. And anyway, it was a relief to share something that was so very much his own with Clark. A way to say thank you for his second chance, for snatching his life from the river bed. He'd shared everything with Jason, unlike the other boy he was coming very close to loving.

"Yeah, stuff. You know business and money making schemes. The Talon and pool and…"

"Driving?" Lex smirked at Clark.

The warm smile that came back at him kicked him in the solar plexus. There was no close about it. Lex laughed mentally at the evasions thrown up by his own mind. It was a rough dirty sound that ached to spill out into the open. He'd probably loved Clark from the moment he'd open his eyes and coughed up a gallon of the river's water together with half his lung. His heart knew he'd been saved and just like that Ancient Japanese saying, it knew that he wanted to belong to his saviour. There had always been little chance of that. Now there was undoubtedly less. He wondered if he could work out the odds in averages and percentages. He wondered if it would hurt less when Clark stopped dropping by. And he would. Lex was sure of it. He hadn't fled today but sooner or later Clark would realise that Lex looked at him. Really looked. Slow long, lingering, glances he couldn't curtail. They were beyond his control as were the snatched fleeting touches he allowed himself, usually while bruised and trussed up like a turkey.

The brush of Clark's hand against his pulled Lex out of the gloomy tumble of his thoughts. He swallowed, trying to still the treacherous fluttering in his lower abdomen. Clark nudged Lex's hand away from the sketch pad and turned the next couple of pages. Their hands rested against each other atop the sketchpad. Lex forced his fingers to be still and tried not to think about caressing the back of Clark's hand.

"Picasso once said," Lex's voice cracked. He swallowed and continued "…or wrote, that painting is just another way of keeping a diary."

"And you don't keep a diary any more?" Clark asked turning to look at Lex.

"Tiled mosaics were never my idea of art." Lex said dryly almost shuddering as he pushed the memory of a certain men's room floor from his mind.

"So you don't ever draw, anymore I mean?" Clark asked, probing gently. Lex wondered what he was fishing for.

"No, not really. The odd doodle but real drawing or sketching? I'm not even sure I remember how." The words were dismissive but Lex could feel his fingers itch to pick up a pencil or to hold charcoal coating his manicured fingers in the black compacted soot. "Then again it may be just another bike to be ridden."

Clark was once again leafing through the sheaves of paper that held what was left of his love for Jason. Maybe that was why Lex suggested it. Or maybe it was his gambling streak craving for a fix.

"If you wanted to find out if I still have an artistic streak to flex you could always help me."

"Help you?" Clark's eyes were very blue and very round.

Lex's heart was beating so loudly in the small cylindrical space that he was sure Clark could hear it. "Clark, still lives were never my thing. It's been a long time since I had anything worth recording in my diary."

 

"So you wanna draw me?" A blinding bright smile was the backdrop to the question.

"God yes." His exclamation was a gunshot in the quiet of the turret room. "I want to draw you." Lex breathed the words fervently. "Paint you too if you'd let me."

"Like you painted Jason?"

Clark spoke almost timidly but his words still raced, sparking across Lex's imagination. God how he wanted to paint Clark spread out just for him. Skin glowing in candlelight. Sunlight catching in his hair. Shadows dancing on a curve of a bicep. The desire to paint Clark, to capture his physical beauty, was almost overwhelming. Maybe then the secrets between them that threatened to throttle their friendship wouldn't hurt so.

Paint Clark, like he'd painted Jason.

"You mean nude?" Wondering how quickly he could get hold of a snake, Lex barely noticed the crack in his voice.

Like he'd painted Jason. Lex tried not to think about the paint smeared sheets that they'd made love on, tried not to think of how he'd painted his lover with words and touches and with his tongue.

"Model's pose nude in art class don't they?" Clark asked sounding tentative. Lex watched as Clark gnawed on his thumb cuticle reflexively.

"Life class," Lex nodded, having to actually concentrate on breathing. Clark's thumb was now framed between the boys full lips. "Yes, all the time."

"OK then."

"OK?!" The word shot from Lex's mouth, a bullet of incredulity.

"I'll pose for you…" Clark swallowed "And we can try the nude thing, right? I mean if I'm uncomfortable…"

"We won't do anything you're not comfortable with." Lex meant every soft spoken syllable.

Clarks' continuing friendship and trust were not something he'd gamble with. Not for momentary pleasure. Not ever.

Of Nudity & Other Matters

Was it written on his forehead? Did it show? Clark stared at his bleary-eyed reflection and grinned, amused at his own dumb ass idea. Then again this was Smallville, and knowing his sucky luck, the words 'nude today' would appear in the middle of his forehead during breakfast. No doubt they'd glow meteor green and be centered beneath the annoying of lock of hair that always ended up falling into his eyes.

Naked.

As Lex had joked, Clark was going to be 'stark, bollock naked'. Naked. Nude. And in front of Lex. Lex who was so cool and poised and… old-fashioned words like elegant and debonair came to mind, quoted in Chloe's voice. Lex who was never phased. That thought stopped Clark's mental rambling. It wasn't true. He'd been phased yesterday. Yesterday Lex hadn't only been not cool, he'd been painfully awkward.

It should have helped. It didn't.

God how was he going to get through this without being uncomfortable? And why on God's green earth had he said yes. A nervous giggle welled up inside Clark. Maybe it was an alien thing. Maybe he was developing an exhibitionist streak to go along with super speed and x-ray vision. Maybe on his… Maybe where ever he came from people didn't wear clothes at all. Clark grinned momentarily before the nerves fluttering in his stomach dowsed his sense of humour. He wondered if the feeling was similar to indigestion. He wondered if he shouldn't skip breakfast. If he did that though Lex would list the contents of the castle's kitchen as if his home had room service menu and that would be even more embarrassing. As if the whole nudity thing wasn't going to be embarrassing enough. The words he'd stammered two days earlier reverberated in Clark's mind. If he was uncomfortable…

If…

Why had he said yes?

He wanted Lex to see him. That was the truth that sat heavily somewhere between his heart and his stomach. He wanted Lex to see him, see who he was, who he was becoming, and still be his best friend. That was why he'd said yes. That was why he was standing in front of his cupboard, the door ajar, his reflection staring back at him. It had nothing to do with all the other drawings and sketches of Lex's friends. He thought the word in a scathing tone and winced. Clark rubbed his left  foot against his right calf nervously. Objective. He had to be objective, it was no use thinking about how he'd never measure up to Lex's other models. He clamped down on the stray name starting with 'J' that threatened to dance through his mind, took a deep breath and tried to see himself through someone else's eyes. Lex.

How did Lex see him?

Okay, so he was tall. And doing all the farm chores every morning at superspeed had helped broaden his shoulders. But it didn't mean that he'd look good nude did it? He'd just be tall and geeky, with broad shoulders. And anyway, shirtless was a far cry from getting naked and if he couldn't get naked on his own in front of the mirror…

Clark took a deep breath and yanked down his boxer shorts. They puddled around his ankles and he made no effort to step out of them. It should have been just like dressing or undressing on any other day, or at the very least it should have been like stepping into the shower. He was naked then too. On any other, normal day though he wasn't standing in front of the mirror looking at his nudity. Embarrassment itched up the back of his neck. All he could see was an awkward boy. Awkward and blushing.

His cock lay limply between his legs, barely peeking out from beneath the thatch of black hair that spiralled it's way up onto his lower belly. He turned in front of the mirror to looking back over his shoulder at his back, bare legs and his butt. Taking a deep breath, Clark tilted his head a little, closed his eyes slightly and tried to see himself as a work of art.

"Clark, breakfast!" his mother's voice startled him and at superspeed he yanked his boxers up, looking skittishly in the direction of his bedroom door. It was still closed. Thank God! He so didn't want to get caught naked and checking himself out by his mom.

Would she know? would his Mom be able to tell that he was going nude today? Clark grabbed the jeans he'd flung onto the floor the night before, pulling them on quickly. Blindly he reached into the cupboard for a t-shirt. Stuffing his feet into sneakers Clark then raced down to breakfast.

As he slid into the kitchen chair, it almost overbalanced as his superspeed argued with gravity and balance.

"You're in a hurry," his father remarked, folding back the front page of the newspaper. "Chores done?" he asked, taking the food laden plate his wife was holding out to him.

"Yeah, I finished them early, and yes Dad I am in kind of a hurry."

"So what are you planning to do today" his mother asked, staring at him pointedly as he heaped a small stack of pancakes onto his plate.

Clark shrugged, "Don't know. Thought I might go over to Lex's." He heard his father snort softly and plunged on regardless "I, er he's kind of moving some stuff and I said I'd help."

"Clark…" He could hear the thinning of his fathers' patience in his voice.

"Dad, I know what you think Lex, but he's my friend." A wave of emotion spilled forth, carried by the last word. "My best friend." And he was, no matter what position in the friendship queue Clark had been relegated to by Lex's history.

"Moving?" Jonathan Kent's eyebrow rose slightly over the brim of his coffee mug.

"Boxes. Stuff from university." Clark bit into the soft cooked dough and swallowed rather than chewing and swallowing. "He's got builders so…" Clark shrugged hoping that his parents would leave it.

"Be back for lunch." His mother said firmly, as she got up from the table and began to carry the dirty dishes over to the sink.

Half eaten pancake in hand, Clark stood, moved to kiss his mother on the cheek and dashed out of the house. He ran full speed through the corn fields, barely feeling the sting of the stalks against his face and bare arms. Today, maybe Lex would really see him. Today, maybe the secrets he thrust between them could stop fermenting. Even if he didn't, couldn't find a way to share his secret.

Before he knew it, Clark was climbing the twisting dusty steps, heading for the turret room. He counted the stairs off in his head, thankful with every step he climbed that there was serious distance between the tower room and the rest of the castle. Up here there was probably no chance that anyone would catch him… naked.

He gulped and pushed open the door that stood ajar. Expecting to have to step around boxes, Clark stepped into a circular puddle of sunlight. With the turret window thrown open and the room cleared of everything but the old leather couch and a few scatter cushions it seemed as if he'd stepped into a different reality. It seemed as if the wooden floor gleamed and even the walls shone whiter.

"Morning Clark." Lex's greeting was low voiced and calm.

Turning around he saw his friend standing in the door way a steaming mug of fragrant coffee in one hand and a large sketch pad under his other arm. Lex dropped it on the floor with a dull thud and sank gracefully into a cross-legged pose. It was then Clark noticed that Lex was wearing faded, frayed stone washed jeans. Lex had jeans? Well-worn, normal blue jeans?

"Lex, you look..." Clark paused wondering how to make his next point without sounding offensive.

"Awake?" Lex asked smiling.

"No. I knew you'd be awake. Alert."

"I'm cursed by builders. They begin destroying my ear drums at six thirty every morning. Anyway, the light's good up here this time of day." Lex took another sip of coffee, walked over to the couch and grabbed two cushions.

Clark watched as Lex flung them onto the floor in the centre of the room, put them coffee mug down next to them and walked back to retrieve the sketch pad. He sat cross-legged, produced a stick of charcoal from somewhere, examined it carefully and then suddenly hopped up heading for the door. He looked back at Clark over his shoulder:

"Make yourself comfortable, I left a kimono robe for you on the back of the sofa. I'll be back in a minute."

The door swung shut leaving Clark alone with his thumping heartbeat. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Fair's fair. He had agreed. He shucked his clothes and shoes with super speed and stopped, his thumbs caught on the elastic waist of his boxer shorts. Nude. The agreement had been nude. It wasn't a big deal, after all Lex said artists painted nudes all the time. The shorts once again puddled around his ankles and he dived into the robe clutching it around himself.

God Lex would think he was a wuss. After all he'd taken showers in the locker room, he'd gone skinny dipping with Pete once. This should have been the same. The silk material slid smoothly across his muscular hairy thigh served as a reminder of how different this was. He tried not to notice how good the silk felt against his skin. Tried not to wonder if it was Lex's robe. Tried not to think if it was new or of someone else had worn it.

The traitorous fluttering that had lingered throughout breakfast, intensified. Clark felt much like he did when they had a pop quiz at school. He folded his arms around his middle and tried to breathe. If only Lex would hurry back. Then he wouldn't have to think about what he was about to do. It would just happen, like fighting a mutant of the week or falling into a kiss.

Not that he had that much experience with the whole kissing thing, Clark thought to  himself ruefully. The nightmare that was Tina and the whole deal with Chloe that was getting increasingly awkward. And just to compare and make him feel like more of a loser, his best friend had probably been kissed with tongue by the time he was nearly sixteen. An image of Jason's art-immortalised face flashed into Clark's mind, he pushed it aside and swallowed around his dry mouth.

What was taking Lex so long?

Peaches

Until he'd walked into the turret room that morning, Lex hadn't truly realised that Clark's stubborn streak rivalled his own. That was the only explanation for the defiant look on the boy's face as he turned up that morning. Lex would have bet on Clark chickening out and bailing. And yet he'd ordered Enrique to move the boxes. Maybe it was just that he'd missed this… The quiet. The space. The heavy crinkle of a sketch pad sheet of paper. The comforting feel of a pen or a thin strip of charcoal in his fingers. That was why he'd suggested this ludicrous exercise in… whatever this was.

Lex carefully opened the door to the turret room and, with a deft ankle move kicked it closed behind him. His hands were full, cradling his pen and ink supplies. He'd known the moment he'd seen Clark's cheekbones, highlit by soft sunshine, that he'd want to transmute the sketches into oil. Pen and ink made that easier. At least it used to. Lex was busy lamenting the fact that he'd let his talent lapse when he noticed Clark.

He was sitting on the very edge of the sofa, his back ramrod straight, the kimono clutched closed around him with tightly folded arms. The boys skittish body language told Lex everything he didn't want to know. It was over before it had even begun. Disappointment rose swiftly almost choking Lex. He exhaled slowly, trying to push the feeling aside. It occurred to Lex that if Clark clutched any tighter he'd probably would bruise a rib.

"We don't have to do this you know." Lex said, putting the ink bottle down on the ground.

He rubbed his hand over the base of his skull in a nervous motion and began to restructure his day in his head. It was early, he could see if the Japanese stock market had decided to take an upturn. He could…

"I want to." Clark's voice, laden with teen bravado, sliced into Lex's racing, rambling thoughts. "It’s just…"

Clark paused, swallowed and shrugged the robe off his shoulders. It puddled around his hips and into his lap.

"Locker room showering doesn't count and a,apart from my mom no one's seen me naked."

As creamy muscular skin, worthy of photographic homage by Weber or Ritts, spilled forth Lex wondered if the football team hadn't just been ogling Clark. In their place, he would have been trying to find ways to cop a feel.

"Clark, I won't be looking at you because you're naked," Lex said firmly, trying to mean it. "I'll be looking at the shapes your body will make in the light. Shapes, light and shadow. That's where art comes from," Lex swallowed, thankful for his poker face.

Clark nodded, bowing his head slightly hiding behind unruly lock of hair his mother loved. "Where do you want me?"

Clark's question almost made Lex groan. Innuendo, even in his own mind, wasn't what he needed right now.

"On the sofa, however you're comfortable."

Sinking back down onto the floor Lex busied himself with the ink bottle and his two pens. He tried to keep his eyes firmly on the sketch pad and the black ink shimmering in the bottle.

On the sofa, the boy whose image he had barred from his dreams, twisted and wriggled trying to get comfortable. The dust sheet that Lex had shook out the window, then personally stuffed in, and later pulled out of the washing machine, bunched down sliding off the leather sofa. It twisted around Clark's right thigh like a crumpled sweat soaked bedsheet.

"Clark, you need to relax you know," Lex said, matter of factly.

Clark shifted restlessly on the sofa, one leg bent slightly against the arm rest, one arm folded under his head. Tension was spreading across his body in a fiery blush.

"That's easy for you to say," Clark shifted again. "You're not the one lying here..."

"Butt naked?" Lex's words slid effortlessly into the awkward silence. He shifted again and heard Lex sigh with exasperation.

"Er is this okay?" Clark asked tentatively, trying to relax into his current position.

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