Title: What I Wouldn't Do
By: Lady Angel <larabeelover@yahoo.com>
Rating: R
Disclaimers: Not mine.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Notes: Must resist challenges. Must resist challenges. Must -  damn. *sigh* Anyway, this story took a very strange turn. I like it, I hope you do too. Thank you to: philtre, as always, for her awesome betaing and heartwarming support.

Challenge: Lord of the Manor.

WHAT I WOULDN'T DO

"My lord, Mr. Kent is here to see you, sir."

Lex looked up sharply from his morning paper. "Senior?"

"No, sir." Smotten's lips did not even twitch. "The younger."

He couldn't help the smile stretching his lips. "Show him in, Smotten."

"Of course, sir."

Watching his butler bow before leaving the room, Lex thought that the fact that Smotten announced Clark's arrival with more respect in his tone than he did say, Bruce Wayne, the eighth Duke of Gotham, was very telling indeed. Especially considering that Clark's father was merely a farmer - abeitly, the most successful farmer in Sussex, other than the Luthor family's extensive farms - he was still not a noble.

"Lex!"

"Good morning, Clark." He grinned as he watched Clark's smile, already brighter than the Sussex sun and infinitely more welcomed in Lex's eyes, grow even wider. "What brings you here today?"

"Can't I just visit a friend?" The younger man peeked out from under his long lashes. "Maybe go for a ride?"

Lex laughed at his friend's antics. The boy was a born flirt, but just didn't know it. He flirted with everything and everyone, but in a manner so innocent that it left Lex, more often than not, frustrated enough to employ a full time pugilistic master at the Luthor country estate to exercise his frustrations. "A ride it is, then." Sweeping an arm towards the buffet table, he smirked knowingly. "Hungry?"

Clark's laugh made him smile.

 ~*~*~*~*~

 "All right, Clark, what's wrong?" He glanced out of the corner of his eye as his friend gently steered his mount back onto the lane.

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

"You're quiet." Clark laughed, but Lex raised a brow. "Don't think you're going to charm your way out of this one."

Clark laughed again, but finally stopped his horse, before swinging his leg over the pommel, gracefully sliding out of the saddle. Following suit, Lex led his thoroughbred into the trees at the edge of the lane. He stopped, just inches away from Clark as the other young man leaned against a tree, reins still in hand, but staring pensively at the ground.

"Clark?" He couldn't seem to help himself as he reached out, running his leather covered fingers down a dark blue, velvet covered arm.

"Lady Potter is taking Lana to London for her first Season."

"Oh." Lex had hoped that he covered his inappropriate joy at the announcement.

Clark smirked at him. "Don't pretend you're not overjoyed at that, Lex. I know you."

Indeed he did. Not only was Clark his closest friend and confidante, he also knew all about Nell Potter's attempts to marry her niece to Lex, the Marquis of Sommersam, by tossing them into compromising situations. Just last month, Lex had barely escaped a forced march to the alter with the girl when Nell had "accidentally" shown Lex into Lana's dressing room instead of his own quarters for the duration of her annual house party. Luckily, Lana had her eyes set on one man and one man only and had quickly vacated the room. Mr. Whitney Fordman was the son of a merchant and therefore, utterly unsuitable for Lana's station, but the girl was utterly besotted and foiled her own aunt's schemes, much to Lex's relief.

Unfortunately, even with her as a co-conspirator against Lady Potter, Lex could not bring himself to like that girl for one very simple reason: Clark was in love with her, while Lex, himself, was in love with Clark. And therein lay the problem that could bring the greatest thinkers of history to their knees.

And so, with a great deal of self-sacrifice, Lex offered, "If you'd like, I could arrange a trip to London--"

"Lex," Clark smiled, purely angelic and full of genuine affection, "thank you, but no."

That made him stop short. "No?"

"No."

"Why not?" he asked incredulously.

"Other than the fact that my parents won't let me go?"

"Yes, well, there is that."

Clark chuckled quietly.

Carefully drinking in every detail of his friend's relaxed body as he leaned against the tree, face uplifted into a beam of sunlight, Lex studiously schooled his features into his favorite role of "Clark Kent's best friend." It was the one role that he played that was truest to himself. "You seem somewhat reluctant to continue your suit with Miss Lang, has something changed?"

Clark shrugged, elegantly strong hands fiddled with the reins. "I think it finally sunk into my dense head that she's in love with Whitney."

"And?" He prompted, hearing the unspoken.

"And," Clark murmured quietly. "And I think I'm in love with someone else."

"Ahhh," Lex forced out with genuine intrigue, but false enjoyment, of this newest ladylove to be fretted out. "And who is the lucky young lady? Miss Sullivan, perhaps? Or is it Miss Willowbrook? I must admit she is an exotic beauty."

"Neither," he answered, cheeks flaming.

"Ah, a mystery lady," he teased.

"You could say that," Clark said, with a mysterious smile of his own before glancing up. "I better get back home before Father sends out the hounds."

Lex smiled thinly as he swung up into the saddle.

 ~*~*~*~*~

 "A house party?"

"Why not, son? This is, after all, a punishment, not a complete exile. I never said you couldn't have guests while out here."

Lex said absolutely nothing in response to his father's gracious allowance. Instead, he sipped his tea before flicking his eyes at Marston. "See that my father has everything he needs."

The secretary bowed before taking the list Lionel handed him.

Lex continued to ignore his father's self-satisfied smirk.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

 "Father! Father! Grandfather says we're gonna have a party! Are we?"

Lex smiled down at his son, the wind playing with the five year old's dark locks. He bent, easily catching the running child in his arms. "Would you like it if we did?"

"Oh, yes, father." The child solemnly nodded. "Can I ask Eric and Nathaniel to come?"

"'May I,'" Lex corrected, smiling indulgently. "And of course, you may. We'll just have to make sure their parents are invited too, all right?"

William shrugged, obviously not caring about Lord and Lady Douglas' attendance. "Can Clark come too?"

"He's already been invited." Lex's smile widened as Will bounced in his arms.

"Yay! Do you think he'll come play with us?"

Lex didn't bother hiding his wolfish smile from his son. After all, the child didn't understand the innuendo his father was a master of. "I do hope so, Will, I do hope so."

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

 >From the window of his office, Lex watched as his father grandly welcomed the fashionable members of the ton into his rarely used country estate. Despite the fact that the Duke of Haverston's principle holding was closer to London and even more grand than the Sommersam estate, Lionel had elected to hold the party here. Mentally, Lex shrugged it off, reasoning that even though Sommersam was technically his estate as per his title, Lionel was still his father, was still the duke and therefore, the lands were still his.

So there Lionel was, standing just inside the entrance of Lex's house, smiling and greeting the guests with London polish and a wide, shark-like smile. And while it was a breach of conduct for Lex not to be present in the welcoming line, he could not bring himself to join his father in the sport of simultaneously baiting and fending off the barracudas of the ton.

Instead, he hid up here, waiting for his own guests. Lex smiled as he watched Clark and his father both turned back to their carriage, gently assisting a glowing, and only slightly pregnant, Martha Kent down. His feet were surprisingly swift as he joined his father in the reception line.

"I should have known the boy would bring you out of your hiding hole," Lionel smirked.

Lex elected to say nothing, merely smiling in welcome at the dowager duchess curtseying before them. He spared his father a single glance, knowing that Lionel had nothing to complain about. After all, with William, the Luthor line would continue unbroken and Lex was free to do as he pleased. And Clark was the walking embodiment of pleasure. "Mr. and Mrs. Kent," Lex greeted, hand outstretched. "Thank you so much for joining us."

"Thank you for having us, Lex." Martha gently squeezed his hand as he bent over it, pressing a sincere kiss to her knuckles.

"No, dear lady, it is our pleasure."

Lex wholeheartedly agreed with Jonathan Kent's displeased grunt at Lionel's overexuberant greeting. He smirk grew as Martha merely lifted the corners of her mouth, as if Lionel wasn't worth the effort of a real smile, before turning away at a friend's hail. Clark, of course, stayed right by Lex's side. "What do you think?"

The younger man glanced around, taking in the velvet covered walls, the profusion of flowers, the richness and variety of foods, and the jewels that had fallen unnoticed from the clothing of the crème de la crème of English society and now littered the ballroom floor. Clark smirked. "Ostentatious. Extravagant.  Clearly Lionel planned every detail."

Lex returned the smirk, hand reaching out to guide him into the throng of people. "Come, Clark, let me introduce you to the ton."

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

 "Ahh, there you are, Mr. Kent."

Clark flinched as Lionel's bejeweled hand clamped onto his shoulder, turning him from his conversation with several young debutantes. "Your Grace," he murmured in greeting.

"Robert, I'd like you to meet Clark Kent. Clark, this is Robert Hardwick, Marquis of Duhon." Lionel purred, arm wrapping around Clark's shoulders. "Robert, Clark is my son's very special friend."

He flinched, hearing the implication in the words. Forced himself not to bolt as the marquis stepped much too close for comfort. He inched further away at the look in the man's eyes.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

 "Clark?" Quickly slipping into the fire-illuminated room, hoping that none of the partygoers would be foolish enough to hold a tryst in *his* private office, Lex intently scanned the room. "Clark?"

"Here."

He congratulated himself when only his heart jumped at the quiet murmur. "Is something the matter? Why are you in here?" As his friend stayed silent, Lex crossed to his side, gently laying a hand low on Clark's back. "Clark? Aren't you enjoying the party?"

A simple shrug of a broad shoulder and a tilt of that dark head was his only answer. He bit his tongue, knowing that given time, Clark would tell him. In the meantime, he was content to simply stand here and stare at the moon with the warm presence of his friend.

"Something happened."

"You can tell me anything, Clark," he whispered in kind, "you know that."

Clark nodded, reaching blindly for the brandy balloon. Lex easily surrendered it, swallowing harshly as he watched Clark lip the rim of the glass.

"I was out on in the gardens, it was so hot in the ballroom."

He made an encouraging noise, hand rubbing small circles into Clark's back.

"I thought I was alone, but Lord Hardwick was there." Clark threw back another large gulp of the fiery liquid.

Lex remained silent.

"I - he -- he touched me."

"What?" He clearly hadn't heard Clark correctly.

Clark's already tense back was now stone as he waved one hand down at his britches. "He grabbed me and said that when you tired of me being your 'close, personal friend' that he would offer me the same position in his household."

Lex jerked away, Clark flinched, nearly half way across the room before Lex caught him.

"Clark --"

"I'm sorry."

"It's that son of a bitch who is going to be sorry."

"I - Lex?"

He was so angry he couldn't see anything past those confused, hurt eyes. Couldn't see anything beyond a red haze of Sir Hardwick's blood spattered about those damn stables he was so proud of.

"Lex --"

"Shhhh," he murmured, drawing Clark to sit close beside him. "I'm not angry with you."

Clark slumped with relief, scooting just a fraction closer before tilting his head, eyes intently studying Lex. "You have that look."

"What look?" He didn't have to pretend his confusion.

"That 'someone is going to be *very* sorry' look."

Lex's chuckle made Clark's lips twitch and that was enough. But he quickly sobered. "Clark --"

"Lex, I know you. You're going to do . . . something."

"Of course I am." No one hurts you, Clark.

"Lex, he really didn't do anything." His disbelieving noise just slipped out. Clark shrugged. "I mean, it made me feel a little dirty - -"

Lex growled.

"But he didn't . . . he couldn't do anything." Clark leaned forward. "You know, Lex, I am bigger and stronger than he is." He bit his lip, blushing. "I think I broke his wrist."

"You should have broken his neck."

Clark didn't chuckle because Lex wasn't kidding. Instead, he leaned towards his friend, seeking solace in a simple hug. Lex leaned back into the pillows; easily giving it, all the while plans swirled in his head.

 ~*~*~*~*~

 "Tell me, son, why the sudden interest in young Miss Hardwick?"

"Father, aren't you the one always harping on me about continuing the family line? An heir and a spare and all that?"

"Somehow, Alexander, I do not believe that continuing the family line is what you have in mind for the young lady." Lionel leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I am more than satisfied with William. And of course, there is that matter of young Mr. Kent. Or have you tired of him so quickly?" He stared at his son's impassive face before smiling. "No, I don't believe so. No, from what I've seen, Lex, it looks like you're going to ruin the girl."

Lex rolled his eyes. "Please, father, Victoria is no more a virgin than I have hair."

Lionel smirked. "Yes, well, her family's been able to cover that up quite well it seems." He stared intently at his son. "I take it that you're going for something a bit more public?"

"Perhaps."

"And may I ask why?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because it seems that you've investigated their businesses as well." Lionel's smile was sharp, deadly. The pieces fell into place. "You plan to ruin the girl so badly that her family would be willing to hand their businesses over to you." His tone, as was his visage, was of utter pride. "My boy, you must tell me what caused such a cutthroat reaction in you."

Lex smiled faintly. "And why is that, father?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

Lionel smirked.

 ~*~*~*~*~

 Just as it all started at a party, so it ended.

The Laverston ball was the talk of the province. Lady Laverston had reportedly brought in the most celebrated musicians, decorated her home with the most lavish silks and flowers, and ordered her cooks to create a meal to delight even the most jaded connoisseurs. All this, in an attempt to attract a suitable husband for her daughter, Daphne.

"I don't think good food, music, or decorations is going to land that one a husband," Lex whispered in Clark's ear, blinking at the harpy- like young woman seated by her mother. "Maybe an ungodly amount of wine and the lure of hefty dowry, but nothing else."

Clark choked on his appetizer. "Lex!"

Bruce sent him a quelling glare.

He laughed. "I was merely stating --"

"LUTHOR!"

Heads swiveled, fans tittered, and people hastily whispered all the known gossip even remotely connected with the Luthor family. Lex, in contrast to Clark's tightened body, lazily turned. "Yes?" He barely blinked as he was slapped across the face with a fine leather glove.

"I challenge you to a duel," Marcus Wimble, Viscount of Maxwell, spat as he threw down the glove. "Tomorrow, dawn."

The audience waited anxiously, silently as Lex considered the man before him. While there had been no formal announcement, there had been an understanding between the Hardwicks and Maxwell. He was not surprised at the man's challenge. After all, a man had to protect his prospective fiancée's honor, did he not? He nodded to the men on his left and right. "Gotham and Kent are my seconds. Weapons of my choice, I believe? Swords at dawn, then."

Maxwell's jaw dropped. "S-swords? But I --"

"You challenged, therefore I chose." Lex knew he looked like a shark in bloodied waters. "My seconds will see yours about the exact location."

He left then, cutting a swath through a tittering, excited, horrified crowd.

 ~*~*~*~*~

 "Lex, please, reconsider."

"There's nothing to reconsider, Clark. The challenge has been issued and accepted." He threw a glance over his shoulder. "Do you want me to renege on a point of honor?"

"No, of course, not! But you could be killed!"

"No, that's not a possibility." He grinned at his friend's disbelieving snort.

"Lord Maxwell is known for his marksmanship."

"Precisely why I chose swords over pistols."

"Lex, you didn't have to accept in the first place."

"Of course I did."

"Lex."

"Clark."

"Why? Why did you do all this? The Hardwicks? Lord Maxwell?"

Lex stared steadily at him, eyes blazing across the desk's surface, and Clark didn't know if he should have felt treasured beyond imagining or guilt beyond compare. "You didn't have to," he whispered.

"I know."

"But why did you?"

He stared at Clark.

Hazel eyes dropped. "Lex, he didn't do anything that other men haven't been doing since they figured out what sex was. And I'm hardly a girl whose reputation needs to be protected."

He continued to stare, fingers idly caressing the rim of his glass.

"Lex, why?"

He finally stood, moving with purpose to stand by Clark's chair.

Tilting his head back, Clark sat, stunned, as Lex cupped his cheek before sliding his hand into his hair. Simply stunned turned to utter shocked as Lex leaned down, brushing his lips softly against Clark's. "Because no one touches you," he whispered, gently nipping and licking between his words.

Clark sat dumbfounded even as he listened to the fading footsteps.

"You're mine," lingered in the air.

 ~*~*~*~*~

 The mist swirled about their cloaked figures as hush expectancy filled the air.

As he descended from the ducal carriage, Lex took in all the players with a practiced eye, hands lazily adjusting his leather gloves. The carriage gently bounced twice more as Clark and Bruce alighted.

"It's a good day for a duel," Bruce commented.

Clark snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Are you mocking me, Mr. Kent?"

"Of course not, Your Grace."

"He's mocking you," Lex whispered loudly.

"I thought so."

"Lex."

"Clark."

"If you get yourself killed, I'm taking all of your horses."

He chuckled. "They're yours anyway."

"Lex!"

He grinned as he reached out for the shining blade nestled in red velvet. He examined the blade, also watching as his opponent did the same. As Bruce and one of Maxwell's seconds negotiated terms, Lex leaned into Clark, lips lightly nuzzling the younger man's ear. "Do not worry so much, sweet one, I'll be fine."

"Lex --"

"First blood only, Lex." Bruce, neither by expression nor manner, betrayed no thoughts on interrupting their little tableau. Only his eyes said anything and they admonished, "Business now, pleasure later."

He pulled away, eyes holding Clark's until he finally turned to face his opponent.

It was, oddly enough, anti-climatic.

Proving true to Lex's words, Maxwell could not fight with a sword worth a damn. He lunged like a drunken sailor. He swung the steel with no finesse and even less skill.

But Lex, being Lex, toyed with his opponent, drawing out the fight. Like a large feline predator, he prowled just out of Maxwell's reach. He lunged forward just enough to tease and taunt.

"End this, Lex," Clark whispered and as if his friend had heard him, Lex drew first blood.

Maxwell jerked back, a cry of humiliation instead of pain falling from his lips as he cradled his bleeding arm.

Lex simply stared at him before turning away. Three steps from Clark, he heard the pistol exploding.

"No!"

He never felt the burn. Instead, he felt a strong body jerk around his own. He lifted stunned eyes to see Bruce's equally shocked eyes. "No," he whispered, his heartbeat deafening his senses. "Clark?" He turned, gathering his friend into his arms. "No. No. Oh God, no. Clark?"

Suddenly Bruce was there too, their hands ripping at Clark's clothes.

"Lex? Lex, listen to me!" Clark's urgent whisper jerked his eyes up as the young man clutched at his coat. "Lex, are you listening to me? I'm fine."

"But he shot --"

"Lex, I'm fine. Just, please, take me away from here."

He stared helplessly at Clark, still not believing that the most important person in his life wasn't bleeding to death in his arms.

"Luthor! He's fine! We need to get him away from here before anyone can ask questions!" Bruce yanked both of them to their feet, carefully holding onto Clark as if he needed to be supported.

Lex supported Clark's other side, unwilling to let him go. But as they settled into the carriage, Clark curled in his arms, Lex lifted the curtain, eyes unerringly spearing Maxwell's.

Maxwell paled when he saw what was in those eyes, finally understanding the full ramifications of what he had done.

 ~*~*~*~*~

 "Let me see."

"Lex --"

"Let me see, Clark."

Clark sighed at Lex's unwavering, unyielding tone then silently began to pull at his bullet-torn clothing. Letting the shirts and jacket hang from his elbows, he turned, light from the window hitting his back full on.

"Jesus," Lex whispered, fingers gently tracing the faint bruise that marred the otherwise perfectly golden skin. He firmly resisted the urge to kiss the bruise and then fall on his knees and thank the heavenly Father. "There's barely any mark."

"What I'm interested in," Bruce interjected, handing them both brandy balloons, "is the how."

Clark swallowed the liquor in one large gulp, glancing over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of Lex's expression. "I came from the sky," was all he could say.

"The stars that fell to earth?" Lex stared incredulously. "That was you?"

"My God," Bruce hissed. "You're not from this earth?"

Clark shook his head, eyes never lifting from the Persian carpet.

"Bloody fuck." Bruce jumped up, uncharacteristically pacing, only an occasional mutter could be heard.

"Clark, look at me."

He lifted his head; eyes full of dread as they locked onto blue ones. "Clark, do your parents know?"

He nodded, head jerking back and forth. "No one . . . no one else but them."

"Then it stays in this room," Lex stated, eyes pinning the Duke of Gotham.

"Of course," Bruce agreed negligently. "It's not as if anyone would believe us anyway."

Lex smirked. "There is that."

"Agreed." Gotham jerked to a stop, expression hard. "Clark, you need to play 'least in sight' for a few days. To let the 'wound heal.'"

Clark blinked, then laughed. "Yes, sir."

"Good man. And you," he turned, glaring at Lex. "You take care of him. I will handle Maxwell."

"He's mine, Bruce."

"He tried to shoot one of my friend's in the back, as one of your seconds, it is my right to enact revenge."

"I'm not dead, Gotham, I can seek my own revenge."

"Yes, but your revenge is so public." Bruce smirked. "I'll handle it quietly. We don't want another incident like today, now do we? Especially with this new consideration?"

Lex glared at his childhood friend because he couldn't dispute it.

Clark, on the other hand, sighed in relief. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Bruce nodded once before exiting the office, calling for his coat and cane.

Clark watched as the door closed, slowly pulling his shirt and coat back on as he realized he was alone with Lex for the first time since the day Lex kissed him. Knowing what to say was the least of his worries. Right now, he was having trouble remembering how to breathe correctly, let alone finding words in his brain. "Lex --" He stuttered to a halt as Lex rubbed both of his arms; his friend's smile gentle and kind.

"Go home, sweet one. It's been a trying morning and you need to 'rest' because of your `wound.'"

He gaped. "You're not angry at me? For lying?"

"No, Clark, I'm not." Lex smiled, stretching just that bit more to lightly brush his lips against Clark's. "Go home. We'll talk about it later."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

 ~*~*~*~*~

 Lex sighed as he finally reached his rooms, hands already stripping the cravat from his neck. Casting an appreciative eye over the friendly, warm fire dancing away behind the metal grate, he quickly pulled off his clothing, for once, leaving them where they laid. He wrapped himself in a robe before crossing to the decanter, pouring himself a finger of brandy, even though he knew that he really didn't need it to sleep tonight. He was bone weary and wanted nothing more than sleep.

That was until he looked up into the mirror and his very brain melted. He had to command his body to slowly turn. He stared, wide eye, at his bed, still not quite believing this was real. He glared balefully at the drink in his hand, as if accusing it of causing hallucinations, setting it down before turning to stare once more at the bed. Two sides of the bed curtains had already been drawn, hiding the bed from view until now, but from this angle, Lex could fully appreciate the sight of Clark's long, half-naked body sprawled all over his bed.

The younger man lay on his stomach, arms curled around the pillow on which his head laid. Deeply asleep, with the sheets tangled around his cloth-covered hips and legs, there was no doubt in Lex's mind that Clark belonged in his bed. Moving slowly, fearing that he would wake up and find this all a dream, Lex crawled up the length of the bed. Hands hesitantly reached out, unsure of the safest spot to put themselves, they finally settled on Clark's arm.

"Clark?" He gently shook the arm, watching with held breath as hazel eyes blinked sleepily. Good God the boy was precious.

"Lex?"

"Hello there," he whispered, hand carding through the midnight hair as Clark rubbed his face into the pillow and stretching. His mouth watered as he watched the firelight play in those moving muscles. Forcing his voice steady, he asked, "What are you doing here, Clark?"

"Waiting for you." Clark leaned up on one elbow, eyes half lidded and body still loose-limbed from sleep.

"Really, now?"

"Mmm."

"Why?" Lex watched with fascination as dark lashes swept down and color rose in Clark's cheeks. His fascination grew to shock as Clark captured one of his hands, fingers slowly stroking his palm and wrist. Those simple actions made him hard, more than any blatant seduction technique used on him since he was a boy. His lips parted, drawing in shallow breaths as Clark raised his hand to his mouth, lips brushing slowly against his fingertips, his fingers, his palm. His sensitive inner wrist received a peek of a warm, wet tongue, sending a jolt of lust through his body. Clark nuzzled his hand, lightly nipping here and there.

Lex had no idea how long he knelt there, mesmerized by the sight of Clark making love to his hand, but the moment Clark delivered his pièce de résistance by sucking two of his fingers into the hot cavern of his mouth, Lex knew he was never going to let the other man go. He moaned, pulling his fingers out and fisted them in Clark's hair, pulling the boy's head back and simply devouring that mouth.

He had dreamed of this, fantasized about this. But dreams and fantasies were nothing compared to having the real Clark pressing up into his body, hands boldly cupping his ass and pulling him closer. Hands in the boy's hair, Lex knelt above him, sealing their mouths together in a kiss that poured his entire soul into Clark's body.

He didn't remember how their clothes disappeared; he only remembered Clark's appreciative sounds and his eyes greedily devouring the long, golden body that hovered above him. He remembered what it felt like the first time Clark pressed him into the bed and pillows, all hot skin and hard muscles. He remembered Clark's hands running slowly all over his body as if he had all of eternity to enjoy his new treasure. He remembered his desperation to touch, taste and feel everything before Clark disappeared.

He remembered Clark chuckling into his mouth and whispering, "We have forever."

"That isn't long enough," he vowed.

 The End