Title: Wants
Author: Mireille

Disclaimers: I don't own them. At this point, Clark's probably relieved.
Spoilers: The pilot
Rating: R
Summary: Riding in cars with boys.
Author's Notes: Follows "Different" and "Almost." About 5 minutes after "Almost ends." This is for Dae, who made me let Clark have his say, and for Te, who helped me make it make sense.
Feedback: To mireille@mireille.50megs.com

What is he doing here?

Make a list, neatly enumerating his sins for the world to see. Defying his father. Abandoning schoolwork and chores to go for a drive with someone he's been--not exactly forbidden to see, but strongly encouraged to avoid. Lying--not yet, perhaps, but when he gets home and is asked where he's been...

And lying to Lex, too, sort of; taking advantage of the offer of friendship, when what he wants is--

He doesn't want anything from Lex. He wants exactly what he has always wanted: to survive another four years of school without being humiliated by Whitney and his pals more than once a week, to help his father with the farm, to be able to talk to Lana without feeling stupid and dizzy and confused. Lately, he has started thinking that she might like him, just a little, and that thought should be enough to comfort him.

He doesn't feel comforted. He has tried, lately, to think about Lana. To imagine them at the movies, at the prom, exchanging significant looks across classrooms; kissing her hello every morning and goodbye every afternoon... the same daydreams he's had for years now.

They don't work. He still loves Lana, still would like to bring her home to his parents and grow old with her.

This isn't about love. This is about wanting Lex so much that he is half-hard before they reach the end of the road. This is about everything dark and secret that he has ever wanted, wrapped up in a pair of cool blue-grey eyes and a half-smile that promises...promises...

Lex is calling his name now. For a second it becomes part of the daydream, and he has never liked the sound of his name so much.

Then he realizes that it's real, and Lex is giving him a quizzical look.

"You haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"

He mumbles an apology, trying not to look Lex in the eye. Too easy to misread the friendly interest, when he wants...

Wants. Leather driving gloves on his skin. The taste of Lex's mouth again, the way he remembers it from the riverbank. Lex. Wants. Lex.

Lex repeats his question. "Anyplace particular you'd like to go?"

Home. He wants to go home. And, if it can be managed, back in time a week or so, back when life was normal and he was every bit as human as everyone else (and more human than certain football players he could think of) and he'd never met Lex Luthor. He could say so. He could get out of the car. He wants to. But when he turns to tell Lex to stop, it's too late. His mouth is dry; he can't get the words out, can't tear his eyes away from Lex, and when he finally does find his voice again, what he hears himself say is, "What did you have in mind?"

There's a long silence, and he wonders if that made him sound like a stupid kid. Maybe he'd
violated some precept of cool adult behavior. Maybe he should--

Maybe there's something hungry in Lex's eyes, and maybe the smile he gets in return puts him just a little in mind of childhood stories (my, what sharp teeth you have), and maybe Clark doesn't care any more, because Lex says, "I thought we'd just see what happened."

Clark flushes and nods, and tells himself that he's imagining things. But he settles back against the sun-warmed leather seat, to see what happens.

Lex puts a CD in the stereo, something Clark doesn't recognize and doesn't care about anyway.

"So, how do you like Smallville so far?" he asks, aware that it's stupid, aware that it doesn't matter a bit if Lex likes Smallville or hates it, as long as he is here.

"It has its good points." Lex stretches his arm out along the seat. His gloved fingers brush Clark's hair, and Clark flinches, fighting the urge to lean back into the touch. He's going to hell. He is so definitely going to hell for this, and he doesn't care, as long as Lex will keep touching him. Hoping that Lex won't notice how hard he is. Hoping that he will. Hoping. Lex.

"Sorry," Lex says, pulling his arm back a little. "I'm not used to having a passenger."

"It's fine." If he were to move ever so slightly, he would be able to feel Lex's touch on his neck. God. This was not something he was supposed to be doing. But he hadn't done anything yet, not for real (in his imagination, yes, a thousand times in the past few days), and maybe everything would be fine.

"Are you sure?" Lex asks, and now fingers tangle in Clark's hair, and he does lean his head back into Lex's palm.

No, he isn't sure. He can't even remember what "sure" feels like. He's never been so afraid, not when Lex's car crashed into him, not when the football team tied him up in that field, not when Jeremy Creek nearly electrocuted half the school. Has never wanted anything as much as he wants Lex to keep touching him. Has never wanted anything as much as he wants Lex to stop.

Lex pulls off the road; Clark vaguely recognizes the area as part of the fields surrounding the fertilizer plant. They probably won't get arrested for trespassing, then. He is willing to go to hell for Lex, but not to jail. Not if it means he has to call his father for bail money. "What are--" he begins, then stops. Stupid question. He knows what they're doing. What they're going to do.

Lex answers it anyway. "That's up to you. We can drive around some more; you can finish giving me the grand tour of Smallville. I can take you home. Or...we could stay here for a while." Lex's hand moves down to his shoulder, and Clark shivers.

"Cold?"

"No." Burning up, his skin suddenly feeling too tight. He can't even remember what cold feels like.

"Afraid?"

"N-no," he bluffs, wincing as his voice shakes. Afraid? Terrified. Of what Lex might do, of what he might not do, of whether he will hate it, of whether he won't. Of whether he will want to do it again, and if so, whether that will mean -- It doesn't have to mean anything, it doesn't have to change anything, except that he will have one more secret. And this isn't much, really, compared to the spaceship in the storm cellar.

Lex looks skeptical, and Clark finds himself wondering if he should have told the truth. "Maybe," he admits. Wants to add that he's never done anything like this before, but is pretty sure that he's already giving off "virgin" vibes that are visible to the naked eye.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Lex promises, and Clark thinks of the dream again, and decides that maybe he wouldn't mind that much if Lex does hurt him, just a little. And flushes again at the thought of sharp white teeth against his skin.

"I know," he says, and he does. At least, not the way Lex means. Tear apart his life, leave gaping wounds in his soul, oh yes, he suspects Lex could do those without even breaking a sweat. But he's sure that Lex doesn't mean him any immediate physical harm. "I trust you," he adds, because until this point, Lex has been the one making the gestures of friendship or whatever the hell this is, and he wants Lex to understand that this isn't just about what they're going to do.

Lex's hand leaves his shoulder, and the expression on his face becomes entirely unreadable. "Do you, now," he says, in a soft voice that nonetheless chills Clark, makes him remember all those kindergarten instructions about not getting into cars with strange men.

But Lex had saved him from a night tied to a post in a field. Lex had told him that he didn't want anything to get in the way of their friendship. Lex has not given him any reason not to trust, except the ones that don't matter--his father, his wealth, his power, his age. Reasons Clark doesn't think are worth paying attention to. "Yes," he says, and it's only partly a lie. But Lex is still looking at him with a strange expression, and Clark is afraid that he has gone too far, asked for more than what has been offered to him. Is afraid that he has been offered something more than he's prepared for. Is afraid, oh God, is afraid that this might be another dream, and he will wake to sticky sheets and a stained soul, and Lex will never touch him.

Is afraid that Lex will touch him, and Clark will never want him to stop.

Afraid. Of Lex. Of himself. Lex's hand on him. Burning him. Branding him. Lex's mouth on him. The taste of smooth pale skin. God. Lex.

And the sun is going down anyway, and he is going to be late for dinner, and there will be questions that he can't even pretend to be able to answer. And Lex is looking at him again (_what big eyes you have_), and he can't breathe, and he knows that if he stays here a moment longer, he will never leave. "It's getting late," he says. "I'd better get home."

He is reaching for the door handle when Lex puts a hand on his arm. "Hey, Clark? I can drive you home, you know. I promise to keep both hands on the wheel."

"No, thanks. I'd rather walk." Give himself time to slow his racing pulse, to let the cool of the evening restore him to something approaching his normal self. Cook up a convincing story to tell his parents. Banish the memory of raw need in Lex's eyes.

"It has to be at least five miles," Lex protests.

"I know a shortcut." Once he's away from the road, it will take him a minute or two at the most. He doesn't give Lex a chance to answer, is out the door and on his way before there can be any argument.

Pretends he doesn't know that Lex is watching him walk away.

Pretends he doesn't care.

And that night, once he's made all of his apologies and been thoroughly chastised for worrying his mother, once he has escaped to the safety of his room--

Pretends he's thinking of Lana.