Title: SENSE MEMORIES
Date: 09/17/02
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Author: Alax
Author Email: Alaxl@aol.com 
Author URL: http://symbiosis.sphosting.com/index.html
Category: First Time
Warnings: None
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I wouldn't be writing about this, I'd be *watching* it.
Summary: Lex's metabolism is changed by the meteors. (Okay, so this fic barely has anything to do with that, but. you know how it goes!) Really: Clark can't remember and needs reminding.
Author Notes: Profuse thanks to my dear betas - can't believe how many worked on this one! LOL Edie, Kathryn, L.C., Jacyn, Sean, and special thanks to Rach for the almost daily support and encouragement and Kel for the lovely smacks and shoves in the this general direction.

SENSE MEMORIES
by Alax

Cold tile stinging the bottoms of his feet, Lex crossed to the refrigerator, determined.  He needed cold.  Water.  Front-and-center on the metal shelf and so frigid he knew his teeth would ache, but it didn’t matter, not this morning.

The glasses were lined up neatly on a shelf across the kitchen. Too far away to make the effort. A twist of the cap, sharp metal scraping the thin skin between thumb and finger a little. Lips to bottle and his throat clenched around the icy flow. 

No headache as usual, but he wasn’t exactly feeling chipper this morning.  Mouth, skin, throat, eyes.  Head-to-toe dehydrated that left him desert-dry and feeling stretched.  Thoughts came sharply with a false alertness, the kind brought on by necessity rather than rested wakefulness.

A shame that he couldn’t really appreciate anything but the temperature and wetness of the water this morning.  It was decidedly the cleanest liquid he’d ever tasted, and it was nearly as addictive as anything he’d had last night.  Maybe more addictive, at ten glasses a day.  Somehow not as therapeutic though; the cheerful blue bottle spoiled a contemplative mood in the same way that Scotch and Merlot always seemed to compliment one.

Sometime before dawn, Clark had passed out listening to him read Thoreau (a request that he‘d honored, however ludicrous from the mouth of a tipsy, sex-sated teenager).  When the eyes looking up at him had lost their light and finally fell shut, he’d carefully scooted out from under the head on his lap, pulled a blanket over Clark, turned out the lights and gone upstairs.  He’d stayed holed-up in his room for hours this morning, half fearing and half hoping Clark would just be gone when he finally tread down the stairs to check on him.

He’d stopped by the office door on the way to the kitchen and opened it just a crack to see if his best friend was awake.  He wasn’t though - he was still sleeping soundly on the couch, deep breaths in perfect rhythm. Light from the morning sun shown through the red window pane and hit his face.  The soft-edged rectangle was perfectly positioned, covering Clark’s face and neck, burning a false blush there. 

In his sleep, Clark had thrown an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the light, and the arm glowed pale red as well.  Lex considered going in to stand over him, thought maybe he could use blocking the light as an excuse to just watch Clark sleep.  But he couldn’t rationalize allowing himself that level of freedom with Clark yet.  

Last night, he had been too… honest.  More honest than he’d let himself be in ages.  Honest like a nightmare.  He closed his eyes against the years-old memory of waking up, sweaty and struggling to breathe, then shook it off and opened his eyes again. This morning was already dangerous enough - not the time to let himself get soft.  He needed to rebuild his defenses again, carefully reestablish the boundaries that had blurred and bent the night before.

The things they’d done last night weren’t new, but the feelings they produced were.  Their mutual desires laid bare, the unexpected emotions born within him were raw and stung with sharp honesty and clarity.  It had been a journey; clumsy and awkward but laced with a connection and intimacy that he’d never known before and thought he might never find again. 

For once it didn‘t seem that knowledge was an advantage.  His experience was no longer a source of arrogant pride, not after the lessons he’d learned last night.  Even the fumbling alcohol-induced confidence of a sixteen-year-old brought him to his knees faster than the thousand-dollar whores he’d known in the city.  There’s something to be said for innocence and inexperience.  There was also the flip side - he’d discovered that *teaching* made the blood run thick in his veins, made him feel the pulse of every heartbeat in wrists, throat, chest and cock.

The fact that they weren’t in a relationship was a moot point last night.  Their tangling together had been pure give and take with no regard for tedious details.

Finishing another long draw on his water, he set the bottle down on the counter and absently wiped the cold dew off his lips with the back of his hand. 

Clark was going to need something for his head, that much was certain.  Last night, before they’d moved on to more… interesting topics, Clark had rambled on about all the things he’d tried at the party.  Ticked off his drink list of the evening with unabashed youthful pride; White Russians that Chloe was now apparently famous for, a half-dozen lime Jell-O shots that had stained his tongue green (he’d stuck it out at Lex to prove it), an assortment of beers and one joint split between him and three friends, although Clark had quietly admitted he wasn’t sure he’d even really inhaled. 

Lex fished through the shelves, behind the milk - there it was - a bottle of Captain Morgan’s and just next to it, it’s partner in cure, Absolut Vodka.   Trust Maria to have some on hand.  Hell, she probably used it for herself by the looks of the half-empty bottles.  He reached for the carton of eggs but decided against breakfast.  He had no idea what to expect from Clark’s stomach this morning, and he didn’t feel much like eating either.

He glanced across the kitchen at the row of glasses. Hell, he’d make the effort for Clark - across the freezing tiles again to the cabinet and back, glass in hand. As he plunked ice into it, he glanced at the clock - almost noon - shit.  Clark should be on his way home by now, maybe even hard at work baling hay or some other farm-necessary chore, instead of still asleep on his couch. 

He’d known last night that sending Clark home the morning after wasn’t going to be fun or easy. The necessity of it would serve as a small concession if Clark left in a hurry.  He poured, stirred and took a sip to make sure it was mild enough. 

Bloody Mary well-mixed and chilled, he made his way back to the office.  He wasn’t trying to be quiet, but he froze as the click of the door echoed through the room and the young man on the couch stirred. 

Lex wasn’t in the habit of waking his lovers in the morning.  Either he left before they woke or vice versa.  He padded across the room silently, glancing down, grateful for the quiet of his bare feet. The rise and fall of Clark’s chest too precious a thing to interrupt with a harsh awakening. He positioned himself at the end of the couch and waited for the peaceful eyes to open.

As if on cue, Clark blinked against the red light then held a hand up to block it. Gingerly opening his eyes this time, Clark squinted up at him and Lex couldn’t help wincing in empathy. A half-step to the right and the light heated his back through his shirt, but spared Clark’s eyes.

Someone had to say something first, and he always did like to have the upper hand in these matters.  These matters? Lionel was a bastard for conditioning him to be so clinical when it came to… things like this.   "Good morning, Clark."

Clark groaned and pushed himself semi-upright, leaning back on the couch.  "Not really, Lex.  My head is *killing* me."

"I'm not surprised.  Here.” 

He drew in a breath and extended the freezing glass steadily.  Clark reached up to take the drink from him, eyeing it with undisguised suspicion.  "What is it?"

"Just tomato juice-" 

Clark took a sip and choked, sputtering and sticking his tongue out.  "No it's not! Lex, what *is* this?"

"It's a Bloody Mary, Clark.  Like I was saying, tomato juice- and vodka."

"Vodka? Why are you giving me vodka, Lex?"

Of course Clark hadn‘t heard about such specific things as Bloody Marys for erasing the effects of a night of partying - he’d had no use for that kind of information up until now.  "Well, of course I wouldn’t normally give you alcohol, Clark, but I assume you have to function today, and you‘re not going to be able to think unless you get some alcohol in you.”

"I'm not drinking that! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.  If I'm hung-over, why would I drink more alcohol?”

Lex didn't even try to hide his chuckle.   Somewhere he heard the 15 year-old version of himself echoing the same words to his father on a sunny morning after.  "Just trust me.  Drink it.”  It was a rarity for him to quote his father, but the words just rolled off his tongue of their own volition.  

Lex waited for Clark to drink, but he didn‘t.  Strange that he was so uptight about drinking one Bloody Mary now, after everything he’d had last night.  He’d assumed that even Clark would be acclimated to the idea of alcohol after that many drinks.

Clark set the drink down on the end table behind him and looked up at Lex, eyes searched his face.  "You picked me up… at Pete‘s? Where‘s my truck?" 

The truck? Clark was worried about *the truck?*  Of course - the Kents would naturally have rules that extended far beyond a general, ‘Don‘t get caught.’  First things first - assuage the fear of the most severe consequences, then they could move on to the less publicly-obvious issues.   "It‘s outside, Clark.  I had Enrique and Mitch go get it from Pete’s house this morning.  And yes, I picked you up last night.  Chloe called me, remember?"

Clark‘s eyebrows crinkled and his eyes narrowed defensively.  “Chloe called you? Why would she do that?”

Lex wasn’t stupid - Clark wasn’t really asking about Chloe; he was asking about how he’d gotten here, why he was waking up on Lex’s couch. This was bad on so many levels, he didn‘t know where to begin. 

It obviously meant that Clark had forgotten last night - not just details, but whole chunks of time.  A choppy memory was *not* a symptom Lex was prepared to deal with this morning. 

Irony was a bitch… he’d been upstairs in his room all morning, pacing, worrying about what this first sober conversation would be like.  All those sleepless hours for nothing.  There was nothing he could do but explain the basics and hope Clark remembered the rest on his own, then maybe they could discuss it.

“You were pretty drunk.  Chloe said you were looking for your keys and talking about coming here to see me.  Someone had the foresight to hide your keys or your truck might not have been so lucky.“

“Chloe didn‘t have to call you. I wasn’t going to drive -  I would never do that, no matter how drunk I was.  I’m not stupid.“

“Clark, when I got there Pete’s living room looked like a tornado blew through it, and I think it was mostly your doing.  Chloe couldn’t get you to calm down.  I think she thought I’d be sober enough to make sure you didn‘t hurt yourself.”

“So of course you sent the limo to get me.  Jesus, Pete must’ve been freaking out over that. And his house. God, how bad was it?”

“Pete will probably catch hell for the mess, but I don’t think you did any permanent damage. I didn’t see him last night, but yes, I’m sure he’s heard about the limo by now. ” 

He’d be surprised if everyone in town hadn’t heard about it by now. Stupid fucking thing to do, really. The town freak, pulling up in his limo to cradle-rob the misfit kid, his best friend. Who, by the way, couldn’t keep his mouth shut or his strength under control when he was high and flying on alcohol and so-called un-inhaled grass.  News like that would travel fast and feed the gossip hounds for weeks.  The two of them would be lucky if Clark’s parents hadn’t already gotten several calls.

“I don‘t mean to sound ungrateful, Lex, but why didn’t you just come get me yourself? I mean, why’d you have to bring the limo? I’ll never live that down.”

“By the time Chloe called I was about halfway through a bottle of Scotch that my father sent me for… as a thank you.”  His father’s final insult in the situation with Victoria, but Clark didn’t need to know that.

Clark rubbed his eyes and yawned into the back of his hand.  “So you were drunk too?” A little smile and Clark’s eyebrows raised, teasing.

Smirking, he shook his head.  “I didn’t trust myself to drive, but I wasn’t drunk, Clark.  I don’t get drunk.”

“Yeah, right, Lex.  Wait, don‘t tell me - Luthors don’t get drunk?”

“Actually, I’ve seen my father fairly inebriated a couple of times, but I’ve never been drunk.  I don’t even think it‘s possible.”  Clark looked at him like he had grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead. 

He couldn’t blame Clark for not believing him. It was admittedly odd. Halfway through a bottle of strong, aged Scotch and he’d been barely tipsy enough to second-guess his driving abilities.  Constant sobriety (or something very close to it) was the lesser evil of his  souvenirs from his first venture into a cornfield. 

It hadn’t taken him very long after he’d gotten back to boarding school to figure out that his lack of hair wasn‘t the only thing different about him. 

Apparently premature baldness led directly to pre-teen rebellion.  Under the school stage with two other boys, he’d watched amber liquid disappear in regular increments from a black-labeled bottle until there were only a few drops left, then he’d turned the tall container up and swallowed those too, desperate for the giddy idiocy that his friends had found countless gulps earlier. 

He hadn‘t been able to know the sweet freedom of that particular escape from reality, not until he was older and could afford stronger substances that bypassed mouth and throat and stomach and went straight into the bloodstream.

Even then, he’d never worried about overdoses or tainted goods.  If things got bad for a few hours, he knew it wouldn’t last long.  The effects of illness and toxins rarely touched him and when they did, they didn’t linger.  Over the years, a handful of doctors had dismissed it as a quick metabolism, but he’d always known when it started, always thought of this - gift - as a kind of concession from the meteors in return for his hair.

He wouldn’t bore Clark with all the details now… maybe someday, but not now.

“Well, thanks for picking me up, Lex.  I’ve learned my lesson - I am *never* drinking again.”  Clark rubbed his temples, then closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath, face tense with what looked like the pain Lex had predicted.  

The comment was innocent enough, but the implications behind it sliced deep - Clark regretted the things he’d done last night.  Something Clark would never intentionally say to him, he was sure.  Which meant… he really *didn’t* remember what had happened between them.  

"You have no idea, do you?"  It came out as a scoff and Lex let it morph into a smile, amused to find himself bitter about being the only one who remembered. 

"About… about what?"  Clark tilted his head, the look on his face a perfect conveyance of confusion - transparent enough to make a drama professor proud. 

"You don't remember what happened here last night.”  An accusation, clear and concise, but low, like the words didn‘t want to be said. 

"I remember drinking lots of stuff.  I remember Chloe hanging on me and Pete taking off to the bedroom with his date.  I *think* I remember you in the limo, but after that, everything gets fuzzy."

"How ‘fuzzy,’ Clark?"

"Fuzzy as in 'I don't remember a damn thing' fuzzy, Lex."

A shame really, that Clark didn’t know what he knew. At least this way he wouldn‘t have to listen to the apology he dreaded hearing from Clark.  This way, he could write last night off as a drunken mistake or teenage experimentation gone too far.  Easier really, to think of it as unintentional and insincere.   "Oh.  Well, don’t worry about it then.  It's probably for the best."  Really, it probably was. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

That meant it was time to change the subject.  "It's almost noon.  What time were you supposed to be home?"

"Noon."

Perfect.  A very simple solution to the problem of getting Clark on his way and out of this line of questioning.  "Then you‘d better get dressed."

Clark stood up, his back to Lex, the thin blanket falling to the ground in front of him as he scanned the floor, obviously looking for his clothes. 

Lex squatted down at the end of the couch to retrieve Clark’s jeans, eyes filling with his best friend’s almost-naked form, his skin aching to reconnect with it.

A wave of regret washed over him as he realized he could never really go back to the casual friendship they’d known before.  Couldn’t think of Clark as an untouchable friend or be satisfied admiring him from a distance.  He knew Clark differently now, knew his skin and mouth and body in a way that changed his perceptions forever. 

If he worked at it, he could probably rationalize letting Clark leave here unaware of the change in their relationship.  Maybe  Clark would come to him again some other day - or night - sober and honest, and they could start from *there* instead of here. It would be difficult to wait, but he could set aside his desires - and would - for Clark’s sake.  If he Clark never came to him, he’d know it wasn’t meant to be.

Then again, Clark’s bottom-shelf brand of insomnia was usually fairly temporary.   Clark would remember pieces of last night at the very least, even if it was just the vague recollection of a kiss here, a touch there.  He would wonder what they’d done - if it had even happened at all.  Lex couldn’t just sit back and lie to him about it.  No, for better or worse - poor word choice - he wanted Clark to know what they‘d done. 

"Um, Lex? Where are my-"  One flushed cheek turned towards him as Clark stretched in an effort to look over his shoulder without turning around.  Clark being shy was almost as good as Clark being confident. Almost.

Anxious need bleeding through his chest like a deep wound, demanding his attention. The inexplicable desire to be uninhibited with Clark again, to just be two kids with no responsibilities, whose parents who would shake their heads and dismiss anything they did as ‘boys being boys.’  But this morning, they were both far too sober for that kind of carefree behavior. 

Even so, maybe he could catch a glimpse of it at least, bring back a little of the spirit of last night.  Maybe it would trigger some memories and he wouldn’t have to explain *everything* to Clark. 

He hooked a finger through one of the belt loops on Clark's jeans and stood up, letting them sway back and forth as they dangled in front of him.   "Looking for these?"  Couldn’t help but smile wide at the look on Clark’s face.

"Um, yeah.  Thanks."  Clark turned slightly, reaching back to snag the pants off his finger and started clumsily stepping into them, face sunburn-red and eyes never meeting Lex’s at all.

Lex wanted those eyes to look into his own again, wanted to know the freedom that he’d known last night.  That pure emptying then filling that flowed from the meadow-green gaze into his own, not flinching - not even blinking when it met the truth buried there.

It wouldn’t be hard to just tell Clark what had happened.  He could bait him, make him wonder, then just casually drop the bomb.  Hopefully it would turn out to be an explosion of smoke that would clear quickly away and not leave a lingering odor of disappointment in its wake.

Bomb? Jesus. Even *this* was war.  Well, not war, but something very close.  A quest maybe; Clark‘s memory the chalice he was searching for. 

He didn‘t hesitate to use Clark’s modesty-weakness against him.   All‘s fair… right? 

"Clark, you're blushing.  Do you want me to leave while you get dressed?" Archers attack on the right flank while the cavalry advances on the left - although he wasn’t sure William Wallace had done it precisely *this* way.

"Well..."

"You don't have to be so shy, Clark.  It's not like I haven't seen it before."

A quick shrug of Clark‘s shoulders. "I'm not shy.  I'm just...  I'm late."

"I’ll leave if you want me to, but I don't really see the point." His teeth had never felt so good on a jugular before.  

Clark’s eyes narrowed and locked on his.   "You don't see the point in what?"

"In you being modest, Clark.  It's a little late for that, don't you think?"  This was almost too easy.

Clark was having more than a little difficulty with his pants.  Fingers trembled on the fly and seemed to beg for Lex‘s help. He quickly tucked eager hands into his pockets to supplement the control he refused to relinquish.

As if the inability to button his jeans wasn‘t telling enough, Clark actually said the words, "Okay, Lex… I give up.  What did I do?"  The Gods were being kind to Lex today.

"You really don't remember anything?"  Just verifying, making sure.  Weighing the opponent’s knowledge against his own was an invaluable tactic he used almost daily. 

Jeans miraculously buttoned with no help from him, Clark started looking around for his shirt.  "No.  Nothing after the limo - not even the limo really.  I know I drank a lot though.  Why are you being so weird? Did I do something stupid?" 

Lex knew the shirt was long gone - stained the same green as Clark’s tongue had been the night before, torn with an urgency that couldn’t wait for buttons, tossed into the fire before Lex could distract him long enough to explain what a bad idea that really was.  He didn’t say anything now though, he just watched Clark search for it, turning around and around from his central point in the room, glaring at pieces of furniture like his eyes weren’t focusing or something.

This was his last chance to back away and let it lie.  He could just tell Clark that the ‘something stupid’ he’d done was burn his shirt, but he couldn’t settle for that. He wanted Clark to know - wanted to see if Clark wanted him, too. 

"Well, that depends.  I’m not sure what you would consider ‘stupid,’ Clark.”

Clark sighed his resignation, apparently giving up the search for his shirt, and flopped back down on the couch, elbows on his knees, supporting his head in his hands, closing his eyes against the burning light of the day and looking the picture of impatience.  "Lex, come on.  You know I‘m in no mood for guessing games.  Besides, I have to leave in a minute. Just tell me what I did.”

"Me."  Of all the things he could have said and *that* was what came out.  Very anti-climactic.  So much for storming the castle, banners blazing.  This was more like sneaking in through the servant’s entrance and dropping a poisoned pearl in the king’s wine.

"*You* what?"

"That's what you did.  Whom you did."  It was the truth, stark and simple.  No pretty, tempting Trojan horse for Clark to open before the surprise knocked him on his ass.

Clark sank back into the couch cushions and gaped at him.  A few moments passed with Lex’s eyebrows frozen high on his forehead, waiting for a more definitive reaction and Clark just staring up at him, mouth open and face twitching with thought. 

Then, without warning, the gape was gone and Clark smiled up at him.   "Stop kidding around, Lex.  What did I really do?"

Lex moved to sit next to him on the couch and Clark scooted back a little, giving him the personal space he always demanded from everyone without a word.   He never noticed that before, but he was sure now that Clark must’ve always done it, always known that it made him more comfortable and done it as a courtesy.

He inched closer as Clark backed away, closing the space between them, making sure that little formality - that required distance - was clearly no longer necessary now.  Reveling in the familiar closeness he’d been so eager for all morning, Lex reached up and ran his fingers through Clark’s hair, tucking a runaway curl behind his ear before he could stop himself.   It was an unmistakably intimate touch, one he knew Clark wouldn‘t be able to misinterpret. 

"I'm not kidding, Clark."

“But…”

“It’s okay.  Don‘t be upset.”  It wasn’t nearly enough and he knew it, but this was uncharted territory and simple instructions seemed the best route to take.

Clark froze while Lex’s fingers trailed from his hair down his neck, coming to rest on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze.  He hoped it was reassuring for Clark, but he could never be sure he was doing these kinds of things the way they were meant to be done.  Yet another adornment courtesy of his father.  

Clark jerked away from his hand and it fell a little before his reflexes reacted.  “Don‘t be upset? Lex, you‘re saying we *had sex.* I‘ve never had sex.  Not with - anyone.”

“I know, Clark.”  That knowledge had been a masochistic device all morning, torturing him with guilt, pride, greed, and a humble gratefulness he couldn‘t remember ever feeling before.

Clark‘s hair flared out from his head just a little as he shook it in protest, eyes downcast.  “If we really did, I would know it, Lex.  I’d remember if we… I’d remember *that.*” 

Lex looked on in wonder as Clark’s face filled with a panic he’d never thought he would see there.  Clark was frightened, and Lex rarely saw him that way.  Inexperienced, yes.  Uneducated in the ways of the world, of course.  But frightened? No.  As quickly as it had come, the fear on Clark’s face dissolved into an embarrassed, pained expression that cut through Lex and made him want to kiss or slap it away - whichever would work faster.

Before he could do either, Clark moved slowly, aimlessly, not even rising off the couch but clearly readying himself to make a quick exit.   “I have to go, Lex.  I have to get home.”

“Don’t you want to stay for lunch and a swim?”  It sounded rehearsed even to himself, though he hadn‘t even finished the thought before the words came tumbling out. 

“What?”

“I think we should talk about this.  Why don’t you call your parents and tell them I asked you to stay for lunch and a swim?”  Wars are not won on the battlefield, even if that‘s really the only way to really get the attention of your opponent.  

“They don’t even know I‘m here.  They think I’m still at Pete’s place.  How am I going to explain being with you?”

The effort might have been genuine, but Lex knew from the flimsy excuse that Clark wasn‘t really fighting anymore.   “Tell them you stopped by on your way home from Pete’s.  Do it, Clark.  We need to talk about this.”

“Okay.  Can I use this phone?”  Clark stretched backwards on the couch and snagged the portable phone off the table, anxious… and apparently not making an effort to hide it.

“Sure.”

Clark started dialing and lost his coordination.  He hung up, pushed the on button again, started dialing again.  He hit five numbers before he dropped the phone, picked it up and accidentally turned it off.  

It was like a Buster Keaton routine - ridiculously adorable.  Lex gently pried the phone out of Clark’s hands and dialed, then handed it back to him.  Clark’s mouth slacked open then snapped shut - was he surprised that he had the number memorized?

A pause of what must’ve been ringing before Clark’s mom answered the phone and he spoke.    “Mom.  It’s me.  Yeah, listen.  I’m at Lex’s.  I just - I stopped by to see him on my way home from Pete‘s.  He wants me to stay for lunch and a swim.  Is that okay?”  Clark listened for a minute as Martha spoke on the other end of the line, then nodded at him, said goodbye and hung up.   “Okay, I have until four.  Then I have to be home to help Dad with the tractor before it gets dark.”

“Good.  So, where do you want to start?”

“I can’t even think with this headache, Lex. Just tell me what happened.  I mean, how did it happen? Just start at the beginning.”

“That would be the most logical place to start, but I don’t know where that is.  What’s the last thing you remember?”

Clark’s eyebrows furrowed with what must’ve been an effort to think around his headache.  He eyed the Bloody Mary and licked his lips.  “Will that really work?”

“What, the drink? Yes, it’ll work.”

“Okay, fine.  But if I get sick, I’m blaming you.” Clark’s hair flopped a little as he leaned over to pick the glass up off the coffee table.  When he straightened back on the couch, Lex took a chance and reached a hand out to tuck the curl back behind his ear again. 

Clark immediately flinched back from the gesture.   “Lex, stop.  Don’t touch- don’t do that.”

Lex shifted away, holding his hands in the air for emphasis, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.  “Okay, Clark.  I won’t touch you.”

“I didn‘t mean to sound- like that.  I’m just…”  Clark lowered his head and closed his eyes, breathing a frustrated-sounding sigh that Lex felt on his still-raised arm. 

“You’re upset that we had sex.”  Lex dropped his hands to his lap, fighting the urge to reach for Clark again.

“But you *wouldn’t…*”

Lex dipped his head and tilted it, trying to look Clark in the eyes. “I wouldn’t what, Clark?”

“You - We wouldn’t do that.”

“We did.”  He wondered at the gentleness in his own voice, amazed that it sounded so natural instead of foreign.  Didn’t even know he was capable of sounding soothing.

“I… are you sure?”

Lex forced a little laugh and tried to lighten the mood.   “I’m pretty sure, Clark.  There was kissing and touching and an exchange of body fluids.”

“Jesus, Lex!”

“What? I‘m just saying… I’m sure it happened.”  This time he didn‘t have to force the laugh.  Only Clark could get away with being innocent this morning. 

“Did it happen like *that?*”

“Like what?”  All greed and urgency and come everywhere? As a matter of fact, yes.  It had happened *just* like that.  He’d never tell Clark that though, not with him being so shy now.

“Just… did we just *do it*? I mean, wasn’t there… why did we do it?”

Yes.  There’s the rub.  Why? Last night they’d grunted and screamed and hissed a hundred different reasons, but those only sounded convincing in the foggy heat of sex.  Now, Lex could only come up with a generic platitude that he was sure made him sound too much like Jonathan Kent for his own comfort. 

“People are always more honest when they’re inebriated.”  It was admitting everything, and he hoped Clark understood, knew he would if he just thought about it.

Which he did.  A few silent moments as he watched the gears grinding in Clark‘s head.  Then those eyes met his with all the intensity of the night before, albeit on a totally different plain. 

“More honest?”  Clark was whispering, letting the words settle between them as he obviously struggled to wrap his brain around Lex’s admission.  “So you really wanted-”

“Yes.” The one-word confession was all that was needed to take the burden of truth from Clark.

“Why didn’t you say something before, Lex?”

“You’re six years younger than me, you’re my best friend and - then there’s the whole issue of you being in love with a Homecoming Queen.”

“I’m not.  I don’t love her.  I just - I’m *supposed* to love her.”

“I know, Clark.  You explained it to me last night.  You said Lana was just a place-holder for me.”  The poetic words from a high school newspaper reporter, and how ironic was that?  If Clark’s career unfolded as Lex expected, then a Luthor and a future journalist were on much more than a first-name basis.

Clark nodded and took a sip of the Bloody Mary - he looked like he was actually beginning to enjoy it a little - halfway through the glass and it should start helping his head soon. 

Clark folded the leg closest to Lex underneath him, propped an elbow on the back of the couch and leaned his head on his hand.  Lex watched him move, not even trying to be subtle about letting his eyes linger on Clark’s bare chest. 

Clark scrubbed his face, paused with his hand over his eyes and rubbed hard there, then he glared up at Lex.  “Wait.  How come you can remember all of this? Why aren’t you hung-over too?”

“I have a very fast metabolism, Clark.  That‘s why I don’t get drunk.  That‘s also why I have to eat so much.”

“Eat so much? Lex, I don‘t think I‘ve ever seen you eat anything. Maybe a piece of fruit. I thought you lived on coffee.”

“No, I assure you, I eat.  Maria prepares all my meals - at least four a day, sometimes five.  Why do you think I order so much produce every week?”

“I thought it was because you wanted-”

“-to see you? It is - I was kidding, Clark.  You’re starting to remember though, aren’t you?  I told you last night that I order extra produce and schedule your deliveries so I can be home, so I can see you.  Do you remember that?”

“Kind of.  I think I remember you… giving me water? Is that right?”

“That’s right.  We sat here on the couch and talked for awhile.”

Clark raised his hand to his mouth and mumbled through the two fingers he pressed to his lips.  “Oh God.”

“What?”

“Did I - did I kiss you in the limo?”

“Yes, you did.” A smile and a nod for the memory.

“What did you do?”

Lex shrugged.  “I kissed you back.”

Clark took another drink, then stared blankly into the glass.   “I remember that.  I remember you were sitting there in your black coat, just looking across the limo at me.  I kept thinking you would never agree to it if I asked you to kiss me - that you‘d never say yes.  Jeez, Lex, I didn’t mean to force myself on you like that.  I didn’t - didn’t want it to happen like that.”

“I know you didn’t, Clark.”  He wanted to be sure Clark understood that everything they had done was mutual, but he wasn’t sure how to say it.  He reached out hesitantly, lightly touching Clark’s shoulder, then ran his fingers down Clark’s arm, testing the waters.  Clark didn‘t flinch at all this time, but his eyes followed the touch.

Lex took a hand captive, fingers lacing through Clark’s. Palm-to-palm and arm-to-arm.  His heart started racing at the intimate feeling of Clark‘s skin warming his. 

“When we got back here, you told me that you’d never kissed anyone like that.  You said you’d only thought about one person putting their tongue in your mouth.  I thought you meant Lana.”  Lex didn‘t move his eyes from Clark‘s face, watching for a reaction. 

And got one. 

Clark‘s eyes meeting his again, blinking slowly, almost bashfully.  “I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t.  You made that quite clear, and not too gently, either.”

This was going to be one of the worst parts - but it was best to just get it over with and move on.  Lex held his arm up to show a bluish-purple handprint.  

A look of absolute terror transformed Clark‘s face as he reached up and wrapped his hand around the bruise, realizing it was a perfect match.  “Oh God, Lex! I did that? I’m sorry! I would never-”

“Clark, stop.”  The touch burned gently, the heat from Clark‘s palm creeping up his arm, spreading like wildfire and settling in a pool on his lap.   “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.  You were already upset and I said exactly the wrong thing.  You let go as soon as you grabbed me - and you kissed it enough last night to make up for it.” 

“I’m so sorry.  I can’t believe I did that.  Are you sure you’re okay?”  Clark turned his arm slowly from side to side, looking at the whole mark, examining it.  The blatant concern sensual, not motherly - a kind of uncontrolled display of affection that kicked Lex’s pulse up a notch.

“I’m fine.  I bruise easily, but I heal quickly.”

“Fast metabolism again?”

“Apparently.”  Best to get the logistics over with as fast as possible.  Then they could deal with… whatever was going to come.  “Do you want to hear more?”

“Yeah.” Clark gently laid his arm down, but didn‘t release his hand.  Lex took it as a good sign. 

“Like I said, after you grabbed me, you apologized.  You looked like you were afraid of me - afraid that you had hurt me - but you wouldn’t let me get within two feet of you.  You kept backing away like I was going to hit you or something.”

“What did you do?”

“I figured it was the alcohol making you a little paranoid, so I just told you I was fine, got you a bottle of water and walked here to the office.”

“Then what?”

“You followed me in here, sat down next to me on the couch and just started telling me all kinds of things.”

“What did I say?”  Clark’s voice was cautious, a little worried.  Who could blame him though? The honesty of alcohol wasn’t always - or even usually - a good thing.

“Well, you started off rambling about not knowing your own strength and that it was such a bad idea for you to be drunk because you barely knew how to control yourself sober.  Then you said that you deserved to be drunk because you’re a teenager and all teenagers have the right to get drunk at least once.”

Clark shook his head.  “Oh jeez.  What was I thinking?”

“Actually, I was enjoying it.  It was like playing priest for a little while.  You were just confessing things and I just kept granting you absolution for them.  Mostly though, you kept saying that you’d been waiting for months to kiss me and you were glad you’d finally done it.  You said it was the best kiss of your life. That it was even better than kissing me in your dreams.”

“I said that?”  Face flushed before Lex was even done talking and God, how did he *do* that anyway?

Clark had the worst habit of making an easy target of himself.  Then again, it left him open for as many barbs as Lex could think of.  Hell, he was already blushing - a little elbowing couldn’t hurt.  In fact, it might be just the thing.  “What? You don’t believe that I can kiss better in real life than I can in your dreams?”

“No, I-”

“Or you don’t want me to know that you dream about kissing me?”

“I just-” 

Lex moved a little closer to him, squeezing Clark’s sweat-slick hand in his own.  “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Clark.  I dream about you too.”

“You do?”  Eyes round with awe.

“Yes, I do.  I’m actually quite fond of dreaming about you.”  ‘Quite fond’ was a vast understatement, but there was no point in scaring him away with the whole truth.

“Lex, I remember little pieces of last night.  I just - I don’t remember having sex with you.  I can’t even remember what…”  Clark’s voice just stopped working as Lex leaned in closer. 

The young man’s breath on his face was the final straw and before Lex could stop himself, he was asking the question that had been hanging on the tip of his tongue.  “Clark, can I kiss you?”

Clark’s breath hitched, but he nodded. 

A hand finally on the smooth, dark skin of Clark’s chest, he gently disentangled his fingers from Clark’s other hand and moved it to his face.  A thin shadow of stubble scratched against his fingertips. 

Thumbs dragging across Clark‘s jaw, fingers wrapping lightly around the throat he couldn‘t wait to taste again. Christ, he loved to feel another man’s face in his hands. 

Could live and die happily in the simple evidence of Clark’s life scraping against his tongue as he traced the line of Clark's jaw with a slow, hard lick.  Last night those cheeks had been smooth. 

Lex wasn’t sure how much of their first kiss Clark remembered, so this should be perfect.  Eyes closed, leading, licking Clark’s mouth open, slipping his tongue just inside.  He took his time, tongue sliding slowly along the warm, smooth curves of Clark‘s mouth, teasing his tongue, even teeth and strong lips.  Letting Clark get to know him, too. 

The spicy flavor of the was still too recent in Clark‘s mouth.  Maybe he’d be able to taste him again some other time - later.

Later.  Such a small word for so many possibilities.  Too many to consider now, too distracting to think at all with Clark’s mouth finally on his again. 

He moaned into the kiss, knowing that last night, the same thing had driven Clark to the point where he *couldn’t* hesitate anymore.  Lex pulled back with one last lick, leaving Clark’s lips wet and red, thoroughly kissed. Behind his own pleasure he was vaguely worried about Clark‘s reaction, but almost instantly, Clark leaned back in for another kiss. Reaching across Lex’s lap to lay a hand on his thigh and he didn’t lean back, breath staying close, hot against Lex’s mouth. 

They were too close to be casual now, but Clark wasn’t moving away.  “Is it coming back to you now, Clark?”

“A little.”  Breathless.  Still so close, but easing away from him with obvious reluctance.  “But I think I still want you to tell me.” 

“Just stop me whenever you want to, okay?”  It wasn’t supposed to sound like a proposition for more kisses, but somehow it came out that way.

“Okay.”

They were both turned sideways on the couch now, each with one leg laying flat on the cushion between them and one foot on the floor.  Hand sliding down to rest on the boy’s chest, he took Clark’s hand in his other one and smiled up at him. 

“Where was I? Right, you were telling me… everything.   I listened to you for awhile but after about thirty minutes, I decided I couldn’t stand it anymore.  You were sitting there, telling me how much you wanted me, how much you’d thought about me.”

Clark’s face sank, his eyes falling to stare at Lex’s pajama pants.  “And you couldn’t stand it?”

“No, not like that, Clark.  I couldn’t stand it in a good way.  I was… really turned on by it.”

Clark smiled a little - God, so adorable - and lifted his eyes to Lex’s.   “Oh, okay.” That was the sound of hope.  Maybe last night wasn’t just a teenage whim  after all.

“So anyway, it looked like you were never going to stop talking, so I kissed you.  I hadn’t intended to take it further, but you were pretty insistent that I take my clothes off.”

“Insistent?”

“You ripped my shirt open and pulled it off before I could even react.”

“Sorry?”  Clark smiled and didn’t sound sorry at all.

“Don’t be sorry about the shirt, Clark.  I’m not.  Now the pants, you can be sorry about those.  They were one of my favorite pairs.”

“Did I rip them too?”

“It was more like disassembling them, but yes, you did.”

A light sparkled in Clark’s eyes.   “So you were in your underwear?”

“Actually, no.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t wearing any.”

Clark‘s eyebrows shot up and he smiled wide.  “You don’t wear underwear?”

“Not usually.” 

“That’s… that’s really…”

Lex felt his heart quicken as Clark closed his eyes just a little and licked his lips.   “It’s really what, Clark?”

“Hot.  And… good to know.”  Clark lowered his eyes to Lex’s crotch, grinning.  Still blushing too though - so fucking shy and it just made it better, re-establishing some of the inhibitions that Clark had cast off the night before, the inhibitions that made him *Clark.*

Seeing him like this, accepting the idea of *them,* glad they were touching, even welcoming the touches, made Lex want to take last night back, erase the things they’d done and just start over with this coherent, cognizant Clark.  He wanted the decisions unmade so they could remake them now, sober and sure. 

Clark‘s eyes drifted back to his lap and almost begged, almost screamed what he knew Clark would never even whisper.  But Lex could say it, he could do it, and easily too.  “Should I take these off before I lose my favorite pair of pajamas too?”

Lex let go of Clark’s hand and stood up before he could answer.  He felt almost-bashful eyes on him as he stripped his pajamas off, folded them neatly and laid them on the coffee table, then sat back down on the couch and smiled, eyebrows raised.  “Better? Now we don’t have to worry about those.”

Clark’s eyes stayed purposefully high on Lex’s body, avoiding looking at anything below his waist.  Clark was young, but control like that was rare.  Whenever someone got naked in front of Lex, he’d always looked, *especially* when he’d been a teenager. 

“Lex, I-”

“Clark, it’s okay.  You can look at me.  I don’t mind.”  It was almost a dare.

Slowly, Clark’s eyes lowered, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.  Lex half expected him to giggle, but he didn’t.  Clark’s eyes just slid over his entire body, taking him in, mouth hanging open just a little, tongue snaking out and licking his lips again.   “God, Lex.  You’re- you’re like a statue.”

“Hard? Yes, Clark, and it’s your fault.”

“No.  I mean, that’s not what I meant.  You’re smooth like marble and your muscles are really… defined.  You‘re… the most beautiful thing I‘ve ever seen.”

“Remind me to show you this really great invention later, Clark.  It’s called a mirror.”

Red cheeks lifted in a smile, and Clark shook his head, rolled his eyes.  “Very funny, Lex.  I’m nothing like you.  I’m so awkward.  I’m too tall for my age and…”

Lex leaned in and caught Clark’s words in his mouth - and delivered his argument in the form of a kiss.  This time he wasn’t asking permission first.  He found all the consent he needed as Clark’s tongue slid along his, rough against the roof of his mouth.

Clark pulled back and his hand was lifted, fingers kissed.  Christ, he could *see* Clark remembering.  He held his breath as Clark gently sucked his fingers, running his tongue over the lines of his fingerprints. 

Lex took a deep breath, filling his lungs only because he *had* to.  Clark’s teeth bit lightly on the pads of his fingers, scraping them one by one. Then the tip of his tongue flicked over the bitten flesh, warming it.  This was all a perfect re-enactment of last night.   “You do remember, Clark.  You just don’t know that you do.”

An interruption of the heat and that was not a good thing, even if it meant he got to hear Clark‘s low, quiet voice.  “I don’t remember everything we did, Lex.  I wish I did.  I know that you love this. I just don’t know *how* I know.”

Clark licked a stripe to Lex’s wrist, then sucked on the pulse there, teeth scraping gently along the tendons and veins.  Having his wrists sucked was the one kink he could never resist, the one he‘d never told anyone about until last night.   “Mmm, yes… just like that. You know because I told you.”

A soft kiss to the palm of each hand and Clark leaned back. “You did?”

“Yes.  You said you didn’t know what do to and you wanted me to tell you what I liked.  So I did.”

“What else did you tell me to do?”

“Everything, Clark.  I told you how to kiss me, how to turn me on, how to touch me.”

“How to touch you.  Hard enough not to tickle but you don’t like fingernails, right?”  Clark pulled on Lex’s hand, straightening his arm.  He swallowed a gasp as Clark ran his hand up sensitive skin on the underside of the outstretched arm, like he was testing to see if that‘s how Lex liked it. 

“That’s right.”  The details might still be fuzzy now, but Lex knew Clark’s hands on him would help bring last night back to him.  His body was something Clark knew now.  He would remember the curves, the bones, the muscles.  He’d seen them before, felt them before.  Touched them.  Tasted them.  Sense memories weren’t easily forgotten.

“I am.  I can remember… I remember your skin against mine.  I remember thinking how smooth it was and how I wished I didn’t have any hair either so we could have nothing between us.  That’s stupid, I know, but I that‘s what I thought.”

“You told me, and it’s not stupid.  It’s a wonderful thought, Clark.”   Lex ran a hand across the smooth skin of Clark’s chest then down, over young, work-toned muscles, fingers finally coming to a stop and curving under the waistband of the boy’s jeans, sliding slowly between denim and skin.  Rubbing there, hard enough not to elicit giggles, fingertips just touching the head of Clark’s swollen cock.

Clark glanced down, but Lex never moved his eyes from the boy’s.  When he looked back up, Lex caught Clark’s gaze and held it.  If he could make Clark watch his eyes, he might not be so nervous about what was going on in his lap. 

Clark’s eyes locked on his as if he was thinking the same thing, and he nodded.  A loud swallow that would have been awkward but wasn‘t because any noise from Clark sounded sexy now. Nothing in the world sexier than Clark leaning in and whispering in a low voice, breath ghosting across his ear. “Nothing between us, Lex.”

Mouth to mouth again and almost as desperate and life-giving as it was months ago, but the old version had nothing on this. Fingers fast on Clark’s button fly and Lex gave him control of the kiss so he could concentrate on pushing too-big metal through too-small holes. 

Raised up off the couch, kneeling on the cushions, fingers hooked in two belt loops on the now-open jeans, gently pulling Clark up with him.  Working his thumbs under the edge of Clark’s boxers, he pulled them forward a little, down over the stiff cock that just wanted out and didn‘t seem to care if it pushed through the hole in front or got trapped by elastic. 

Way too easy to push denim and cotton down around Clark’s thighs, naked skin and blood-filled cock and God, hair.  For a second, he forgot how to start.  Couldn’t decide what to taste first, then just leaned in, mouth devouring chest, throat, lips.

Fevered rush of blood as Clark’s hands connected with his face, tilting his chin up. A tongue licked at his lips, pushed its way into his mouth again, Clark sighing and moaning as they settled back down onto the couch. 

Clark’s hands slid under his ass, lifting him, pushing one of his legs to the side so he was straddling Clark’s lap.  Lex wasn’t sure he liked being manhandled, but he wasn’t about to complain.  Besides, Clark’s way was better than any he could come up with.

Arms wrapped tightly around Lex and held him almost still over Clark’s lap.  Material brushed underneath his thighs as the boy kicked the jeans and boxers off onto the floor.  “Tell me more, Lex.  What did you do to me?”

No point in holding back now.  Either Clark would run or he’d stay and do this.  “I knelt between your legs and sucked you, Clark.”

“You did? I - I don’t remember that.” Quiet, shy and a hint of regret.

“Yes, I did.”  Not wanting Clark to lose any of this confidence, he hid his smile against Clark’s neck and bit into the hard muscle there.  Scooting backwards off Clark’s lap, he knelt on the floor, grasping his best friend’s knees in his hands.

He looked up into Clark’s eyes for an answer to the question he knew he didn’t have to ask.  He wanted to see it though - wanted to see Clark asking for this, needing this, even if C