A crazed senior running for Student Council plotting assassination of her opponents; the hired hit man an alum in town for a 10-Year Reunion; and steers escaping from the Thorsen place and getting into Crazy Desi's marijuana field, gorging themselves on hyper-hybridized pot.

A typical day of crisis in Smallville. All on a Sunday morning. Atypically, green rocks had nothing to do with it - though Clark Kent wouldn't swear to that; god knew what Desi fed that weed.

Cattle first. They had the mad munchies and any minute now would stampede off in search of pizza or something. Superspeed home, grab some of Mom's apple pies, zip back and run rings around the cattle, training odor of pie, until they chased him and he led them back to Thorsen's ranch, tossed the pies into the pasture and set off a small sonic boom repairing the broken fence, adding enough concertina wire so the steers would carve themselves into cutlets if they tried that shit again.

Then a quick trip to The Torch for research and an even quicker trip to Dora McAllister's trailer - too fast for her killer Rottweilers to even notice him, and the boobytrapped shotgun of course didn't get him, but the pile of dirty dishes on the kitchen counter would never be the same - to leave an anonymous note on her Posse Comitatus shrine letting her know the guy who'd jilted her at the altar all those years ago was back in town, here's where to find him.

And then it was on to Tracy's house - interrupting her practicing her victory speech - to warn her, as a Concerned Smallville High Voter, that Scary Dora had some strange idea her bastard ex-fianc was, um, involved with Tracy, and she was going on the warpath along with a bunch of her militia buddies, and maybe it was a far, far better thing for Tracy to, like, start summer break a little early and leave town; there's always next year's elections.

He could still be home in time for morning chores, and he meant to, really, except that just as he was about to superspeed home, a certain red Ferrari came around the curve of the road, pulled up alongside him, and the driver-side window rolled down.

"Uh. Hi, Lex."

Lex, with his smooth luminescent skin and electric blue eyes and mouth that, well, Clark was having more and more trouble every day to keep from staring at and thinking really hard about.

The electric blue eyes looked him over, keenly but quizzically, and that mouth had parted a little in a lazily incredulous smirk. "God, Clark. What the hell happened to you?"

"N-nothing. Out for a stroll. Sunday morning and all."

"A morning stroll through a cow pasture?"

Clark looked down at his feet. Oh, god. His sneakers and jeans were covered in mud and cow shit to above the ankle. "Took a short cut. Bad move, yeah."

"Was that before or after you had a food fight in a bakery?" Lex reached out one hand to casually flick fingers over the amazingly smeared front of Clark's T-shirt, dislodging a flake of pie crust and catching a muclid slice of apple as it slid toward the waistband of Clark's jeans. Lex looked carefully at the apple slice and sucked it slowly it into his mouth. (Clark just managed not to moan aloud.) "Cinnamon, butter and brown sugar. Three of the essential food groups. Apple's good, too."

"I. Um. Needed to, ah, deliver some of Mom's pies, and...dropped one."

"You didn't just drop it, Clark; it looks like you had a meaningful relationship with it first. And...there's barbed wire in your hair."

"There - is?" Clark put a hand up, and didn't really have to manufacture a wince when his fingers encountered a string of concertina draped tiara-fashion over his hair.

Lex shook his head a little. "I don't know where you were last night, or what you were doing - "

"-'but it looks like I won first prize'?"

"Hmmm. I was going to say, but I don't blame you for trying to hurry home before your parents find out. First prize?" Lex eyed him up and down, very carefully. "I'd hate to see the runners-up."

"Hah. Good one, Lex. I, uh, really have to get home. Cleaned up and stuff."

"Too late. I passed your place. Martha and Jonathan are already awake and about." Now Lex grinned like a little kid. "You are so busted."

"Shit," Clark muttered. "I...don't suppose you'd...give me a ride?"

"Cow shit, Clark. In my car?"

"I could take my shoes off."

Lex put an elbow on the car's window frame and slowly stroked his temple before resting his chin on his hand and smiling lazily again. "That leaves your equally-mired pants."

"God, Lex. Drop me off at home with my pants off?"

"Suggest an alternative."

Clark opened his mouth and the words "How about your place?" came out without passing Go, collecting $200, or checking in at Better Judgment Central.

Lex looked thoughtful. "If I remember correctly, the castle has a laundry room. Or I can have the staff beat your jeans to godliness against some rocks. Strip and hop in."

At first Clark wasn't sure he'd heard right. But Lex had that faint challenging look, the one that sort of dared you to think he meant anything...sexy...when he said stuff like that. Clark had never wanted to answer that dare...rather, Clark had never dared answer that dare because what if he was wrong and Lex just sounded that way because he couldn't help but sound seductive, no matter the topic or person addressed, and it wasn't personal at all? Still, it was difficult to see how he could say "strip and hop in" and NOT mean something sexy. So...

Clark toed off his sneakers while unfastening his jeans. His stomach felt funny and his fingers fumbled. He pulled his jeans down and off, carefully rolling the sneakers up in them, and avoiding watching Lex watch him. Because here he was, undressing in broad daylight, in front of Lex, who might just think this was all hilarious and nothing more, might just be playing with Clark's head (for which possibility there was ample evidence), no matter how many times Clark caught Lex looking at him like Lex was trying to figure out what part of Clark to bite into first.

Thing is, Lex looked at, treated, almost everyone that way. He even treated inanimate objects that way. He pretty thoroughly destroyed Clark's mind every time they played pool at the castle. The way he'd press one fingertip down caressingly on the cue ball, rotating it in place before hitting it, and the way he'd watch the shot, pushing and pulling the cue through his cupped hand. Clark never won. Not a single game. Super-reflexes and supersight and a talent for vector physics went straight out the window.

He opened the passenger door, tossed the rolled up and knotted jeans into the footwell, and slid onto the seat. The leather was soft, warm and felt remarkably like living skin against his thighs. And the car interior smelled like Lex. Clark pulled his T-shirt down over his hips as far as it would go without actually ripping, because even boxers couldn't hide...everything.

Lex wasn't looking at him, though. Lex was gazing thoughtfully at the road ahead, as if there was no half-naked, half-aroused Clark sitting next to him "Hmmm. Don't want to scare the horses..."

"What? I mean -"

"Just wondering how fast I can go, Clark. God, you're jumpy."

He opted for insanely-fast, and fields dashed dizzily by them. He did slow down when they reached the road that looped around downtown, since people were out and about already: downtown for breakfast after early morning services, or catching a snack before late morning services or, in the case of one couple - a fresh-faced teenage girl and a rather worn looking man some 10 years older, on the corner behind Ayer's Tack and Feed - having a knock-down, drag-out screaming argument.

God. Tracy and the hitman. Clark squirmed lower in the seat, hoping she didn't notice him.

The car jerked sideways a little before straightening out. "Jesus," Lex muttered. "That isn't --? No, it couldn't be. He wouldn't dare show his face here."

"Don't slow down, Lex! Um, I...people might see me. Undressed."

"Dramatic a sight as that is, I think you've been eclipsed. The girl looks high-school age. Do you know her?"

"Her name's Tracy and she's a student and she's really really intense. Budding politician or something."

Lex looked surprised and cynically amused. "She evidently has a ...precocious sense of tactic."

"Huh? Lex - Lex, what're you doing?"

"Rolling the windows back down. I want to hear this."

"Really really intense" covered it pretty well. Tracy and the hitman were practically nose to nose, shouting up each other's nostrils like dueling Marine drill sergeants:

"-checked your references. You're supposed to be a professional --"

"Hey, Tracy, yell it a little louder, okay? Because I think maybe a few geriatrics on the fucking back forty didn't hear you."

"You're supposed to be working for me, not airing out your old dirty laundry -"

"-and who the fuck told you all that, anyway?"

Clark shrank further into the seat. He though seriously of diving into the footwell, chalk it up to modesty -

"There you are, you faithless son of a toad-sucking Democrat!"

No mistaking Dora's clarion tones.

Lex stopped the car altogether and slewed around in the driver's seat, not even pretending disinterest.

Clark by now practically cowered under the window. The side-mirror warning, Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear, never had such dire meaning. He saw Dora come pounding up - pale eyes manic, wind-blown blond hair sticking straight out from her head - trailing curses and Rotties and a few guys in camo gear who looked like they'd been sleeping outside without benefit of tents, razors, or even cold water, never mind hot.

"-shit a fucking goddamn: Dora. Dora? Honey? It's not what you - "

"Humping schoolgirls again, you belly-scaled snake?"

"I never! I never did! You always accused me, and I never --!"

"And you, you overachieving Jezebel! Sniffing around other women's men! I'll put the fear of Almighty God in both a ya!"

Please, Clark prayed; please don't let any of them have a gun. He'd have to do something. He'd have to rescue someone.

He'd - he'd have to get out the car.

Somebody did something, all right.

Tracy and the hit man took to their heels. Ran like the wind, in different directions: Tracy up Morland to Main; the hit man down Morland to First; Dora shrieked, hopped about in place, pointed madly both ways, and took off after the hit man; her merry men trailed, slow off the mark but closing fast; with one Rottie and two camo guys left to hare off after Tracy.

The fine, church-going people of Smallville yelled and scattered.

Lex laughed so hard he was face down on the steering wheel, pounding it with both hands.

Clark cautiously re-emerged from the footwell and eyed him without favor. "Jaded, over-sophisticated, city-bred rich boy. Right."

Lex quivered all over, bit his lip, wiped at his eyes. "God. I must be going insane. I'm starting to like this place."

"Nicholas."

"Mr. Lex, sir." Lex's houseman didn't even blink as Lex arrived home, a half-naked Clark trailing after him into the castle kitchen

"Laundry emergency, Nick." He gingerly handed over the ball of denim-and-sneaker. "Please see what you can do."

"Yes, sir; of course. And, if I may make so bold--? Mr. Clark's ...shirt, sir."

Lex swung round as if just now noticing the remains of confectionary delights soaked into Clark's cotton-covered chest. "It does seem a bit...sticky. Clark, come upstairs. Nick, we'll toss the Tee down the chute."

"Yes, sir."

Clark climbed the stairs ahead of Lex, very conscious of his bare-to-the-thighs legs, wondering if Lex really was staring at them or if he was just imagining/wishing Lex was staring at them. Turn right into Lex's bedroom, rainbowed by sunlight through stained glass, smelling faintly of lavender and fresh linen and Lex's cologne. Huge canopied bed. Casement windows, opened, let in garden-scented breezes.

Clark wondered how far, exactly, he should stand from the bed to keep things as teasily undefined as they'd always been; whether he wanted to keep things as teasily undefined as they'd always been; and what if Lex just decided to hell with the tease and lunged at him? That would be good, right? That would...take the decision right out of his hands. And maybe he shouldn't think right now about things being in his hands or not.

Lex closed the door and leaned against it, eyeing Clark, up and down, very leisurely, taking the scenic route.

Clark ran his hands self-consciously over his T-shirt. "I'm...sort of a mess."

"We can fix that. Take off your shirt."

Clark pulled the tee off over his hear, feeling the tug as pie-soaked cotton separated unwillingly from his chest. He tossed the shirt aside and scratched the sticky area, because it itched. "It soaked through pretty good. I'm all glazed, like a ---" Lex was walking toward him, and there was nothing equivocal or teasing or subtle in those blue eyes; Clark's throat tightened, " - donut?"

Lex lifted a hand to his mouth, licked his fingers and dug the moistened fingertips gently into Clark's slick skin. Deliberately, very deliberately, he drew his fingers down Clark's stomach. His touch was cool and damp and left little flares of heat in its wake. Every muscle south of the boxer waistband did its best to stand at attention.

Lex put each finger in his mouth again, one by one, watching Clark as he sucked them clean.

"The four basic food groups," he said, voice low and rough. "Sugar and cinnamon. Skin and sweat." He licked his lips, leaned in, and touched the very tip of his tongue to Clark's stomach.

Clark went "ooh."

Lex grinned, hot wet tongue sliding over candied skin, lapping in slow soft licks and tongue-tip circles.

Clark went "ooh" again, a little - no, a lot more loudly.

Lex closed the last tiny distance between them. The soft fabric of this shirt brushed against Clark, against his damp belly, against his cock, hardening up out of the boxers. "Taste yourself," Lex murmured. And kissed him.

A long, hot, thorough kiss. Lex's hands rested lightly on his shoulders, his shirt was a torture-tease on Clark's cock, and the kiss just went on forever. Clark's mind went away, the world spun and he swooned; falling backwards, dimly hoping the bed was behind him -

The kiss ended with him on his back and Lex on top of him, staring down, looking very pleased and where-shall-I-bite-first? "Like that?"

"You forgot the nutmeg."

"The --?"

"Nutmeg. Didn't you taste it? You know what nutmeg tastes like, right?" Clark could barely breathe and his voice was husky -- sounded, to his own ears, ridiculously like Lauren Bacall asking Bogie if he knew how to whistle. "Maybe you should...try again."

Lex chuckled, also low and throaty, and dragged his fingernails down Clark's chest. Clark arched up, hard, couldn't help it, and Lex -

Lex went "oof" and - fell down?

God, were they on the edge of the damn bed?

Clark rolled over onto his side. He wasn't on the edge of the bed. He was not, strictly speaking, on the bed at all. He was...floating...maybe a couple feet above the bed.

Lex lay sprawled on the mattress where he'd - yes, fallen down. His hands clutched at the sheets, his mouth was agape, and his expression was pure Coitus Interruptus Thunderstruckus.

"Clark." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "What are you doing up there?"

"Um. Just, uh...just hanging a-"

"Don't say it." Lex grabbed Clark's shoulder, pulled experimentally, and watched Clark spin on his longitudinal axis, so he was facing down, then seesaw slightly and...just stay there. Hovering.

"This is...boy, this really sucks."

"Clark." Lex had recovered enough that he no longer looked completely poleaxed. Now he looked pissed off and sort of, well, fed up. Poleaxed had been better. Clark preferred poleaxed. "I don't fucking believe this. Do you know I decided -- months ago - that our friendship meant enough that I stopped spying on you?"

"You were spying on me?"

"Well, more accurately, I hired other people to. But I ended it, Clark! Because I cared!"

"That's a real ringing endorsement of friendship. 'I care about you, so I won't try to find out all your secrets and ruin your life anymore.'"

"But now. This. Am I supposed to act like a complete moron and pretend not to notice that for you, gravity isn't even a good idea, much less the law?"

"Actually, some gravity would be nice right about now."

"What were you thinking?"

"Mostly? About how good your cock would taste."

Small silence as they both thought about that.

Two passions warred in Lex: the need to know Clark's secrets, and need to fuck him silly. Since Clark still hovered, making the latter an exercise in logistics Lex wasn't sure he was up to, he went with the former. "You lied to me. All the time. I trusted you and you lied to me."

"Jeez, Lex, it's not like everyone knows but you. I never told any one."

"Oh, really?" Lex sneered. "Not even Lana?"

"Sure. Right. She already thinks I'm a total dork; I really want to tell her I'm a total dork from another planet."

"Another. Planet."

"Yes, Lex: I'm from another goddamn planet. I'm the opposite of an alien abductee; I'm an alien drop-off. Happy now?"

"You look human." Lex eyed Clark's cock, dangling from his boxers. "I mean, except for the floating-above-the-bed thing."

"Yeah. And the inhuman strength thing, the superspeed thing, and x-ray vision and unbreakable body things. Which, if you've been spying on me, you know about. And, if not...well. It's not like I didn't want to tell you." Clark sighed. "I'm as human as... as..."

"Vin Diesel? Arnold Schwarzenegger? " Lex started to laugh, and congratulated himself on how not-hysterical he sounded. "Anna Nichole Fucking Smith? My father? Clark. Okay. Look: we have to talk about his."

"We are. Dammit."

"But. Look. I'm still mad, okay? Justifiably. But...let's talk about this later. Right now...come back down."

"Um. I can't." Clark flailed, as if swimming in place, and shot forward until his head almost hit the wall. "See?"

Lex saw all right. Lex was fascinated. "You can swim but you can't, ah, dive." When Clark glared, he hastily added, "I'm not taunting you. I'm ... trying the logical, scientific approach. How did you start floating? Maybe all you have to do is reverse the process..."

"You were kissing me and driving me crazy and the next thing I know..." Clark gestured at himself. "Up, up and away."

"Has this, um, happened before?"

"Not exactly. I mean, not when there's, you know, anyone with me. But. Um. Sometimes, when I'm dreaming - about, well, sex - I wake up - well, afterwards - and I'm a few inches off the bed. But I always fall down again, like, right away, so I wasn't really sure it was really happening."

"But never when you're making out?"

"Well, no. But, uh, it's not like I've had a lot of chances to make out - I mean, find out. I mean," he sighed, "both."

"Maybe," Lex hypothesized, "this happens to everyone on your, um, homeworld. Maybe it's meant to...keep teenagers from having sex?"

"I don't know. I was a baby when I crashlanded here, my home planet blew up. But, you know, there's gotta be a way to turn it off."

"Or." Lex looked thoughtful. Theorizing. Analytical. He was having a great time, if not the great time he'd been expecting to have right now. "Posit that everyone floats - floated - on your homeworld. So it couldn't be about not fucking. Maybe your people always mated in mid-air." Lex smiled. "Like eagles. Very...dramatic."

"God. Maybe I should just kill myself right now."

"Work with me, Clark. Think logically, and we'll figure this out. Now: you go up when you...go up."

"I'm not hard now, and I'm still up here."

"You didn't come, either."

Another small silence while they both pondered that one.

"You think," Clark said finally, "I, um, have to? To, um, land?"

"Hmmm. A distinct," Lex cleared his throat, "possibility." He reached up, trailed his fingers down Clark's chest and stomach. "One worth...testing," and his fingers hooked into the boxers' waistband. "Yes?" as he pulled them down over Clark's hips, past his thighs; wanting to see Clark's face and body and get the boxers off, all while reaching 'way up and wriggling 'way down.

A little complicated.

Clark helped, kicking the boxers off his legs.

Wonderful. Gorgeous. Hackneyed words - he'd have to think of some new ones. Lissome sweet body, hips and thighs clenching, cock rising out of the dark public patch, head blooming from the foreskin. Slowly, mind you. Almost shyly, and Lex thought: let's-get-acquainted, wanted to put his hands on Clark's hips, his mouth on that peek-a-boo head -

Clark had other ideas. "You're way overdressed, Lex" and, anchoring himself by grasping Lex's shoulders, moved to float directly above him. Clark looked thoughtful, then grinned a wide grin different from any Lex had seen before. A little...wicked? Clark's hands... blurred over Lex's body. Lex felt as if tiny wind-gusts were flaring against his skin, and when the wind died down his shirt was unbuttoned and pulled down over his shoulders. "Take that off while I get your pants."

The pants and briefs were off practically before the words were out, and surely before Lex had wiggled out of his shirt. Like being undressed by a tornado. A gorgeous, hot-eyed, horny, mischievous tornado.

Lex breathed out shakily. "Superspeed, huh."

Clark gazed at him: all over, focused and intent. That look should have had weight but instead had the opposite of weight, making Lex's whole body arch, wanting to go join him up there above the bed.

"Just wait. It gets better. I've been thinking about this for a real long time." Clark licked his lips, saw Lex stare at his mouth, and did...something...with that tongue. Flicked it fast, faster than Lex could see. Clark smiled at Lex's expression.

"Clark, " Lex said prayerfully, "You're going to kill me."

"Yes. Over and over again."

"So. Another planet."

Lex's throat was a little sore, and the words were more than a little hoarse. He vaguely remembered screaming: into the pillows, into the air, into Clark's shoulder and thigh and mouth.

A floating lover. Points of very specific contact, hands and mouth and cock, descending upon him without bodyweight, without that awkward what-do-I-do-with-this-arm tangle of limbs....without warning, too, when Clark blindfolded him...

Clark sighed, wrapping a leg around Lex and burrowing closer against his back. He was grounded again. For now. For as long as he wished to be.

Ah, science. Science is lovely. Scientific thought holds, after all, that results of experimentation are useless unless...repeated. Repeatedly.

Evidently, wherever Clark was from, losing one's virginity meant gaining volitional control over that floating-sex thing. Lex wondered what their sex education had been like. And, god, threesomes and foursomes and antigravity Mongolian clusterfucks...

No wonder the planet had blown apart.

"Yeah," Clark breathed into his ear. "Straight to Cassiopeia, then turn left. Maybe. Don't know for sure. The coordinate system is...way different."

"Why do you look so human?"

"Maybe it's humans who look like us."

Wow. Good one, Clark. "I could - that could be tested. Mitochondria analysis makes a good genetic time machine. If you cells have mitochondria."

"Good luck getting a sample. I mean, I would. For you. But -" shrug against his back.

"You would. For me. Trusting soul that you are."

"Hey." Clark nipped Lex's shoulder. "Who said 'go ahead; blindfold me'? Anyway, it's not about trust so much as just wanting to know. There's stuff I can't figure out or find out on my own. You know all my secrets now anyway, plus you're a science freak with your very own biolab. Who else am I gonna ask?"

"I concede the point. Moot point that it is, since I would need blood and tissue samples..."

"If that thing that happened with Eric ever happens again, I'll call you."

"That's...romantic?"

"I'm a romantic kind of guy." Clark punctuated the point with a soft nip at the corner of Lex's mouth.

Lex closed his eyes, the better to fully focus on the touch of Clark's tongue. He said, "Mmmm," and then said "Fuck," and his eyes popped open. "Clark. God, it's...two? Your parents -"

"It's Sunday. I do get unsupervised time to myself, you know."

"You may never get any ever again, if they find out how you spent this Sunday."

Clark, up on one elbow, smiled down at him. "I'll tell them I have another new alien ability. That always distracts them."

"What, that you float when you fuck? Clark. Please. Let me be there. It'll be worth Jonathan coming after me with a machete to see their reaction."

"That better not be a dare. Because....I'll do it. Yeah."

Lex chuckled. "Post-coital euphoria looks and sounds great on you. Very high-on-life."

"High on dares. High on...well, everything. Being able to tell you. And... and have you. Finally. That tease was driving me nuts."

"The tease is great fun, and don't think there won't be more of it." Lex's smile was a masterpiece of salacity. "God, yes. You think was I teasing you before? Just wait."

Clark slitted his eyes at him. "Watch it. That works both ways."

"I hope so." Lex got a hand in Clark's hair and pulled him down, tried to demonstrate a teasing kissed but somehow wound up with a double armful of Clark draped over his chest, Clark's hands framing his face, and Clark kissing him as though he'd be asked to describe the experience for extra credit later. Clark licked Lex's mouth, sucked his lip into his mouth and chewed gently, moaning. Then his tongue slicked into Lex's mouth, behind his lips and across his teeth before getting down to the serious business of just plain kissing, until Lex was breathless and groaning.

Clark smiled. Sat up. Said, "I'm hungry. Let's go raid the kitchen."

Lex's mouth tingled and burned. So did the rest of him. "Bastard."

Clark grinned harder. "You so asked for it. And...I am hungry."

Lex groaned again and sighed. Got up. Threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants. "Your clothes should be ready by now."

They were, laying in a neatly folded pile just outside the bedroom door.

Clark and Lex went downstairs, where Clark beelined for the kitchen and began foraging. Bread. Fruit. Cheese - he broke off a hunk of olive bread, another hunk of smoked gouda, and devoured both while Lex rummaged for plates, glasses, cutlery. Lex sliced bread while Clark snagged a bunch of grapes and fed them to Lex, one by one.

The phone rang. Lex, a grape held between his lips, looked at Clark, sucked the grape into his mouth, and picked up. "Luthor." He blinked. "Martha. Hello. What - yes, I have. As a matter of fact, yes; he's right - is anything wrong? You sound - just a second."

Clark took the phone gingerly, put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Mad?"

Lex shook his head. "Concerned."

Clark grimaced. "Hi, Mom, I'm sorry I didn't call to let - what? Tracy? When? Did she, what did she -- Here, they're coming here? God. No, it's...it's okay. Mom: this is Kansas. Everybody's got a gun...well, okay, maybe not assault rifles...of course I'll be --- what? Um. That's...wow. Thanks, Mom." He lowered the phone and stared at it until Lex took it away to hang up. Then he stared at Lex.

Who said, "Interesting call. Tracy and assault rifles coming soon to a castle near you. Details, Clark. Would be helpful."

"Tracy and Martin -that's the hit man; the one we saw Dora chase downtown - are on their way. But Mom. You won't believe this. Mom said - to take good care of you."

"Martha likes me. Remember? It's you father who - "

"No, the way she said it." Clark blushed, looking a bit stunned and more than a bit pleased. "Lex? Mothers are weird. They know stuff before anyone else does."

Lex couldn't remember the last time he'd blushed; would, in fact, have bet serious money he no longer knew how. But here he was, face feeling extra warm, grinning like an idiot.

Wait. Hit man?

"Clark. Why is a professional killer coming to see me - and how did you know he was one?"

"They're coming to see me. Tracy is, anyway. She's...kind of pissed off."

"I'd say so, if she's bringing a hired gun." Lex picked up the house phone. "Nicholas. Yes, thank you: a miracle. We have a problem. I need the security system engaged. Yes. Yes. Just the - "Lex looked around - "north entrance, leave that one open. No. Thank you, but the fewer armed people at large, the better. Yes: stay there. Good. Thank you."

"Security system?"

"Locks down the whole castle. Dad installed it, of course." Lex shrugged. "Paranoia comes in handy, sometimes. Come on."

They headed for the north wing.

"Why leave any doors open at all?"

"He won't break in if he thinks he can walk in. This way, they'll enter where I want them to, where I can deal on my terms. How did you know, Clark?"

"Good memory - " Clark shook his head. "Okay, photographic memory. I saw Tracy talking to him a couple days ago, and remembered seeing his face in a magazine."

Lex's mouth quirked. "Smallville High Alumni Report? The Where Are They Now section?"

"Heh. Martin Q. Blank, class of '93; in town for a reunion and I guess Tracy made it a business trip for him. Tax deductible, I guess." Clark frowned thoughtfully. "Can you take business deductions for that?"

"Of course. The expenses are legitimate - airfare, meals, ammunition - just don't write 'Assassin' in the profession line of the 1040. Call it something else. 'Consultant' always works well."

Just off the north wing, Lex ducked into a mostly-unused room. "Guns safe's in here."

"I don't - Lex, don't -"

"Why not?"

"Jesus. I don't need to shoot them, and you're not going anywhere near them."

"My house, Clark. Damned if I'll hide from anyone in my own damned house." Lex chose a .45, made sure the safety was on and the magazine full; thought about it, took another magazine.

"Yes, and how many times has that philosophy almost gotten you killed?"

"It's not just a philosophy; it's a way of life. Almosts don't count. Besides, you're right here, right now: you won't even have to do that Doppler-shift dash in at last minute, if I need saving." He grinned at Clark. Very hard and bright and predatory.

"They want me, not you, Lex."

"They'll get both. Package deal." He flicked off the safety and chambered a round.

"You -you're enjoying this. Are you nuts?"

"Are you? Why would a hit man be after you? Think, Clark: which one of us is the likelier target?"

"Just this once, believe it or not, it isn't about you."

"When it's about you, Clark, there's usually a mutant involved, not a hired killer. Clark Kent does not piss off normal people. Well, not enough that they want to kill you. Well...me, once in a while. And not really kill you, just wring your neck. Which wouldn't kill you anyway, come to think -- ."

"Neither will bullets, so let me -- "Clark retorted, then stopped and looked baffled. "We're arguing over who gets to say 'hi' to a hit man."

"Welcome to Luthor Land. If you want to argue over normal things, like leaving dirty clothes on the floor or who hogs the blankets, fall in love with someone else."

Clark suddenly stared hard at - the wall? "They're here. Just pulled up."

Wha--? Oh. Right. X-ray vision.

"-they're arguing, too. About..." he frowned, and tilted his head. "..what Lionel owes him versus what he owes her; she paid in advance and if he doesn't get someone for her, she'll sue for breach of contract. And he's saying...she can't; you can't sue for breach of an illegal contract and...she's saying why not and ...God. I think he's trying to explain tort law to her."

"That should keep them busy until sundown. At least." Lex eyed him. "Superhearing. Right. Christ - I ever want to keep anything secret from you, I'll have to go to another country."

"Welcome to Clark Kent Land."

"What did you do to her, Clark?"

"Oh. Um. Well...this morning? I told her Martin's ex-fiance knew he was in town, and -" Clark did that stare-through-walls routine again. Lex could follow Tracy and Martin's progress, not only by watching Clark track them, but also by the warning squeals Martin set off every time he touched a door or window.

And now, even Lex could hear them as they shouted their way along the length of the castle.

"-he ruined my candidacy, my summer, maybe my life --"

" - Lex is my only ticket out of here and somehow I doubt shooting his friend will put him in a receptive frame of mind!"

"You're not leaving me alone with your mess - "

"-though I bet I have him to thank for Dora, too, the little bastard -- my mess? When did this become my mess? You're the one who started it; you're the one who - "

"-takes the fall? For you? Over my dead body --"

"-which can be arranged, you know? Jesus H. Fucking Christ, why'd I get involved with a junior Machiavelli - "

"-a senior, I'm a senior -- "

"-from my own fucking high school!"

"Maybe," Lex said hopefully, "they'll kill each other before they get this far."

"Lex...it sounds like he knows you."

"He knows my dad."

"Oh...oh."

"And what's that about Dora?"

The north door crashed open, assisted by a blast of gunfire.

Followed by a raw-throated shriek of, "Give me back the fucking gun, you crazy twist*!"

Enter Tracy and Martin.

She looked glassy-eyed and a little crazed; he looked, tried to look, ingratiating while simultaneously checked to dangers, hidden and overt. He had wrested the gun from Tracy; that had to be a ...good?..sign. Clark stayed close to Lex anyway.

"Lex! Lex Luthor! Gosh. Hey. It's been too long. My, you've grown - " Martin finally focused on Lex "-bald?"

Clark made a noise, a sort of strangled snort. Lex elbowed him. "Marty Blank. What brings you here, shooting down my door?" Neither words nor tone were what you'd call welcoming, and Lex didn't trouble to hide the .45.

"Lex, Lex, Lex. I didn't do that." Martin waved the gun in denial, seemed to realize doing so didn't exactly inspire trust or confidence, tucked it under his arm, and smiled with all teeth showing. "She did. Ah...may we come in?"

"You're as in as you're going to get. What do you want?"

Tracy's eyes cleared. She stared as Clark with something very like hatred. Hissed softly through her teeth - definitely with hatred. Martin quickly transferred the assault rifle to under his other arm, beyond her reach, and assayed a chuckle. "Ah. I've...got a little problem. This is so embarrassing. I'm here for a class reunion, and that happens? A woman I used to sort of know - "

"'Sort of,' you were engaged to her - "

"-shut up...is, well, after me; and not for old time's sake, you know?"

"-you jilted her and she's after me too, you incompetent geek -"

"--shut up you bi-beautiful girl. So, Lex, I kind of need to get out of town. ASAP, you know? And sub-rosa."

"The bus station is downtown, and the airport is -"

"Dora has a lot of friends just as crazy and she is and I think they've got all the buses, trains and planes staked out or something. Worse than the fucking Feds, you know?"

"Not really," Lex said disdainfully. "Unlike my father - and, apparently, unlike certain of my father's associates - I avoid attracting their attention."

"The Feds?"

"Federal agents. Militias....hit men."

"Militias? How'd you -"

"--he told him, like the told them, come on, Marty, just kill them and take their car and let's -"

Martin smiled expansively again and put an arm around Tracy, clamping his hand over her mouth. "Now, sweetie -" - and Tracy got his finger between her teeth and bit down hard - "Yow! Fuck!! Marty screamed, and danced in place, shaking his hand.

("Um...Clark?)

("Yeah. Tell you later.")

"Now, Lex; be reasonable." Martin tried to sound the very image of sweet reason, while sucking on his hand. "I've done Lionel a lot of favors, you know? It's not too much to ask you to do me one. Just let me have one of your cars -"

"No way. Let me be very frank: No fucking way."

"-or call me a cab."

"Okay: you're a cab."

"-kill them and put them in the trunk and drive away-"

"Lex, I'd sure hate to hurt a friend."

"We're not friends, Martin."

"I'm Lionel's-"

"-business associate; like he has friends, though you're certainly the type-"

"Lookit. You can help me out; you better help me out; you're gonna help me out, or maybe I'll have to hurt," Martin glared at Clark, "that babbling brook over there."

Clark blinked and grinned with extremely unwholesome delight. Oh god, Lex thought; there's that double-dare high-on-life thing again. Before Clark could say something feckless and reckless and crazy - something like, "Go ahead and try" - Lex said, "That is...not a good idea, Martin. It's an incredible bad idea, for any number of reasons, not least that it would...upset me; and, trust me, you do not want to upset me."

"Don't channel your fucking father at me, Lex, you're not half the brass-balled bastard he is."

"We could put you in the trunk," Clark offered, "and drive away and forget to let you out. Or...there's this bridge..."

Martin stared at Clark as if he'd sprouted an extra limb. "You're threatening me? Hello! It's the clue phone ringing! Who's got the gun here?"

Lex groaned inwardly. Maybe "go ahead and try" would have been better. "Leave Clark out of this; he had nothing to do -"

"Fuck that, Lex;-"just fucking fuck that. He narked on me to Dora, for fuck's sake, and on Tracy this morning-"

"This morning? Clark was chasing cows this morning. Weren't you, Clark?"

"Cows? Chasing cows?" Martin's laugh was mostly nasty, with just a hint of hysterical. "What's the matter, Clark; can't get a date?"

"Mr. Thorsen's steers got into Crazy Desi's Garden of Wonder Weed."

Lex nodded as if that made perfect sense.

Martin stared dazedly at Clark, then at Lex, and back at Clark again. His expression indicated that, one: here were two people even crazier than himself, Dora and Tracy combined; and, two: Lex did not seem disposed to be helpful; and, three: maybe Tracy'd had the right idea after all.

Clark saw intent grow and harden in Martin's eyes; saw Martin's arm relax infinitesimally so the assault rifle could call straight down into his hands.

Okay: now.

Pick up Lex and zoom down the hall to the study, drop Lex on a sofa; do not stop, do not look speculatively at pool table. Zip into pantry off the kitchen, open utility closet, swear, close utility closet; try kitchen-drawer-where-odd-stuff goes, toss drawer onto floor and grab what you need from the miscellany - hanging helpfully in mid air because gravity's a lot slower than you are - then it's warpspeed north again. To the time-frozen Tracy and Martin statues, and the gun is maybe midway on its journey into Martin's hands and you can't do anything to hurry it along without breaking Martin's arm, and side-trips to hospitals are definitely not part of the plan, so stop until it drops.

Real time interlude:

Keen eye of professional assassin notices Target #1 has vanished and Target #2's got a roll of electrical tape and an evil look. Highly trained assassin reflexes have no idea what to make of this, but respond gamely, swinging the rifle to bear on Target #2; then fumfah altogether then Target #2 hugs him (wha--?), twists the gun out of his hands (fu-!), and the next thing he knows he's on the floor, arms behind his back, lashed together at elbows and wrists, legs bent and lashed at thighs, knees and ankles.

From somewhere deep within the castle comes the sound of someone running and yelling, "Clark! God dammit!"

Tracy, single-minded to the bitter end, lunges for the fallen gun, which actually turns out pretty handy as the move gets her arms and legs nicely extended, and fwoosh she's trussed up from elbows and hands and ankles to feet and - as an afterthought - two strips of tape in a X across her mouth; hey, not bad, give Martin the same.

Good. Done.

Lex dashed in just in time to see Tracy twist like an angry eel, trying to knock Clark's feet out from under him. Clark stepped out the way, rolled his eyes and, brandishing the electrical tape again, fastened her wrists and ankles together. He sat back on his heels and grinned at Lex. "See? Didn't have to shoot anyone."

Jonathan Kent smelled the veal-aux-herbes and morel puffs before he even set foot on the porch. Dread clutched his gut and got worse when he went inside and saw how clean the kitchen was. You could always eat off of Martha's floors; now, you could probably perform open heart surgery on them as well. Complicated French cooking and microscopically clean kitchen: Martha was worried sick, or steaming mad, about something.

Jonathan guiltily reviewed everything he'd said and one today. He came up clean. Well, okay: he'd complained about Clark's hanging out with Lex all day, but his heart hadn't really been in it. Even he knew a losing battle when he fought it the, oh, thirtieth time or so. No scandal uncovered, no untruth revealed, and certainly no amount of lecturing -- nothing dented that damned friendship. Christ, you'd think Clark had a crush on the guy.

But if she wasn't steaming mad, she had to be -

"-glad everything worked out, and we'll see you both soon. Love you, too. Bye."

Martha saw him as she hung up. Her eyes sparkled; she was smiling; and her "Hi, honey!" was practically a song.

He smiled back, and smiled more at the prolonged kiss and hug. Whatever crisis had blown up while he was busy elsewhere had clearly blown over. "Hi, gorgeous. All's well with the world?" - with an apprehensive glance at the range, source of portentously exotic aromas.

She nodded, still sweet and relaxed in his arms. "That was Clark"

"I figured it was. I figured it better be, with that 'Love you too" sign-off. Will he be home for dinner?"

Another nod, and an enigmatic look. "He's bringing Lex."

Jonathan bit back an automatic response, but couldn't help going sort of stiff. "Does he have to? He spent the whole day over there, for god's sake."

"Jonathan? I think it would be a good idea if you learned to like Lex."

"I'm trying, honey; you know I am. You and Clark are always telling me he's basically a fine young man. Sooner or later it'll sink in."

"Sooner would be better."

"Martha." Amused, he gently pushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. "You make it sound like they're going steady." He chuckled.

That enigmatic look again, and a small, mischievous smile.

He stopped chucking.

"--Martha?"

Fenton, the butler in charge of Lionel Luthor's Metropolis residence, had the deadpan calm one normally associates with the Queen's Own at Buckingham Palace. After working for Lionel as long as he had, one either learned such iron control or was carried away twitching to a nuthouse.

But when Fenton entered Lionel's den, he seemed to have developed a tic in one eye. "Sir. There is a...delivery...for you."

Lionel scarcely looked up from his book. "Sign for it and leave it on the -"

"Sir. The...it's from your son. Mr. Alexander."

"I am aware of my son's name; are you aware that I've given you instructions?"

"It's...alive, sir. I should say: they're alive. Sir."

Which earned him a piercing stare. He preferred the dismissive disdainful one. "Fenton. What. Are. 'They.""

"Ah. One of them appears to Mr. Martin Blank, sir -"

"What!"

"-and the other is a young lady." Fenton blinked rapidly. "They appear to be bound, sir. With electrician's tape."

"Did that son of a bitch go after my son?"

"I...couldn't say, sir. However, Mr. Alexander enclosed a note." He dropped a folded, sealed square of expensive stationary onto the desk. "For you, sir."

Lionel tore it open.

Dad: Amusing as it is to become acquainted with your more interesting associates, I'm tired of having them drop in unannounced and uninvited. The enclosed self-styled Friend of Lionel Luthor dropped in unannounced, uninvited and armed. I could have turned him, and his accomplice (also enclosed herewith), over to the police. I chose not to. Consider this restraint filial devotion on my part, or a preference to avoid confiscation of LutherCorp assets by various law enforcement agencies.

They broke into my house, damaged my property, and threatened my life.

Do as you think best.

"-more puffs, Lex?" Martha offered the dish of cream-whipped morels in pastry.

He looked at them wistfully but shook his head. "They're wonderful, Mrs. Kent - I haven't had better in Paris - but you gave strict orders to leave room for dessert."

She dimpled and passed the plate to Jonathan. Lex caught Clark's eye and grinned - trying to keep it light and friendly, not let too much show, and not succeeding very well.

Jonathan held the plate as if not sure what to do with it. His glance at Lex put Clark uncomfortably in mind of Tracy's glassy glare - but, really, the evening had gone better than expected.

"Dessert?" Jonathan said, a little too loudly, and Clark jumped. "You should clean your palette first, right? Have more wine."

It sounded like an order, possibly a threat, and Jonathan refilled Lex's glass without waiting for yea or nay. Lex lifted the glass and gazed at its contents... checking for sharp objects or unidentifiable toxins. Or maybe just admiring the color. He lifted it a little higher in thanks and sipped. Carefully...or maybe just savoring the finish.

Better than expected, though. Really. Dad was - well, polite if not warm. He'd only made that funny noise in his throat - sort of like a pot coming to a boil - once, when Lex first arrived. And there'd been times, entire minutes, when Dad didn't stare at Clark as if he'd lost his mind.

"It's a shame about Tracy," Martha said, thus qualifying for Understatement of the Week. "She seemed like such as nice girl. Before today, of course."

"That's what happens when you fall into bad company."

"She didn't fall into it, Dad; she went out and looked for it." Clark blushed at Jonathan's very pointed look. "I mean, she let ambition ruin her ethical...um."

"Yes. Exactly. Ambition without ethics." Jonathan took a deep breath, clearly prepared to enlarge upon this theme, then gave a start very much as though he'd just been kicked. Martha widened her eyes warningly at him.

Lex had a carefully neutral expression - not the carefully blank one concealing anger, but the carefully neutral one concealing deep amusement. Clark figured, compared to Lionel, his dad was a walk in the park. "Nothing is or ever has been achieved without ambition, Mr. Kent. But I'm determined to achieve great things without sacrificing ethical considerations."

Jonathan nodded, lips compressed. "Do that, son, and they'll put up a statue to you."

Lex smiled - a pure Luthor smile. (Clark closed his eyes: please, Lex; please don't say it; don't) "They will anyway."

(Damn.)

"Well!" Martha said brightly. "Time for dessert!" and she gathered up a few plates and vanished into the kitchen.

The men waited, not speaking; the air think with not-speakingness.

Jonathan kept sneaking glances at Lex, Lex kept looking lazily at Clark, and Clark kept trying to not look back because, well, he wasn't completely stupid, he'd left out a few details in his account of the day, but if Lex didn't stop looking at him like that, all bets were off because he wanted to just, like, dive across the table at Lex and haul him off to bed, and oh thank god, here's Mom with dessert.

Apple pie.

Clark blinked. Lex coughed.

"Thanks, honey. I worried dessert would be some more exotic French nonsense."

"I'm just glad I had any left, after Clark's...requisition...this morning."

Clark blushed harder. Lex drank wine to stave off a paroxysm.

Martha frowned. "Clark? Honey, the pie isn't going to bite you."

He nodded vaguely and took a bite.

Couldn't help, couldn't help, but look at Lex.

Who chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, licked hip lips and smiled blindingly.

"Nutmeg."

--the end-