It was a long walk to the castle. Much longer than it used to be. But, then, everything seemed longer these days. Harder. More of an effort, just to be. He wondered sometimes if it would ever fade, if these feelings would ever go away. Strange to think that the simple torment of yearning for Lana, for normalcy, seemed like bliss to him now. When he could remember. When he wasn't wracked with guilt and regret.

Step after step, no urge to go faster, no compulsion to speed quickly through the tall grasses. The stalks were dry, brown tips brittle and sharp, baked in the sun. He wondered if they would ignite, burst into flame from the friction if he ran. He wondered, too, if the fire would be enough to burn away the guilt, and the rage. But not the pain, he knew that would never burn away.

Summer days lengthened the Kansas sky into a wide, blue sea. He dreamed of running far enough to find where it met the ocean. There, he might find peace. Or at least the welcoming arms of the water. Maybe that would cool the fire in his heart, in his soul. It was a lovely dream. One of the few he had left.

The rest were gone, buried beneath long, sex-drenched nights, filled with the sweat and skin of Metropolis. The bitter tang of latex burned against his throat still, and he longed for the slide of vodka burning down his throat to wash it away. To drown the memories. But that avenue was lost to him now, put away with leather, and oil, and the ruby glint of fool's gold.

His mother's face was older, sadder, the expression in her eyes hiding something he didn't want to find. His father seemed much the same. But he was slower, broken in a way that defied explanation. He returned to Smallville -- no right to call it "home", not anymore -- expecting nothing. What he found was so much worse.

The tears in his mother's eyes, joy and pain swirling in their depths, cut him to the quick. There were no harsh words, no recriminations, just the caustic pain of welcoming arms, of parents that felt far too frail in his arms. There was a silence in the house now, a thick, cloying quiet that was haunted with the echoes of feet that would never scramble down the stairs, of a high, sweet voice that would never ring through its halls.

This phantom that haunted his thoughts was so much worse than "nothing".

So he found himself on his way to the castle, on his way to see Lex. Foolish, really, to expect salvation there, when Lex was as broken by the events of the spring as he was, but there was nowhere else to go. Maybe between the two of them there was a whole. If not, they could at least bleed together. It was a strangely appealing thought, each of them with seeping souls and broken hearts, bound together in the synergy of grief. Fitting, really.

The front gate was open, the door unattended. He shook his head ruefully at the lack of security, his grim thoughts slightly lifted at the familiar humor. Maybe Lex would get around to installing a decent security system after the next homicidal wife. Then again, maybe his luck would finally run out before then. And just that quickly, his mood plummeted once more, because the thought of no Lex... was too painful to contemplate, even for him.

The squealing tear of tape caught his attention, and he headed up the stairs. The door at the end of the hallway was open, the sounds generating from inside. Helen's room. He stopped in the doorway, watching silently for a moment.

There were two open boxes on the bed. One was filled with a few odds and ends of clothing. A blouse, a pair of shoes, and something made of a filmy lace that sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window. Lex stood at the dresser, opening drawer after drawer with methodical precision and adding any additional items to the collection in the box. Its counterpart was still empty, but the puzzle of its purpose was revealed when Lex detoured by the nightstand to collect a handful of journals and a jewelry box, which were dumped into the other box unceremoniously.

Lex met Clark's gaze in passing, inviting him into the room with a curt jerk of his head before continuing silently into the open closet. Clark walked slowly over to the bed, hands shoved uncomfortably into his pockets, ill at ease with both the situation and with Lex' s mood. He had never considered that Helen might have left bits of herself scattered about Lex's home, debris from a battle that had scarred him. Had almost killed him. It seemed cruel and worse, somehow, than her betrayal.

He sat gingerly on the corner of the bed, careful not to disturb the boxes. The rustle of hangers in the closet signaled Lex's return, laden with another blouse and a dress, a handbag trailing almost to the floor.

A rumpled tangle of silk and wool, shoved almost viciously between cardboard walls, and the box is sealed, tape screaming as it is slicked along the edge. The next box follows suit, Lex smoothing the final seal into place as his eyes close, head bowing.

There was a fine tremor in the hand laying limp atop the box, the wrist more prominent than Clark remembered. After a moment Lex's fingers began to move restlessly, tapping and digging at the crinkles in the tape. Clark watched him swallow convulsively, throat working fiercely as his eyes clenched more tightly, lines of strain wrinkling his forehead. Lex's body fairly hummed with tension, muscles vibrating with suppressed tremors, and still he stood silent, eyes closed, lost to his own thoughts. His own torments.

How long he sat, frozen, held in thrall by the awful sight Clark wasn't sure, but finally he could stand no more. He reached out, covering Lex's hand with his own, shocked to feel, to see, the shaking in his own hand.

"Lex..." One word, whispered, but that was all it took to break the strange spell.

Lex wrenched away, whirling to stride over to the window, hands clenched at his sides.

Clark followed, raising his hands to cup the curve of Lex's shoulders, trying to draw him back, to lessen the strain turning him to granite.

"Stop it, Clark." Lex hissed, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge Clark's hands.

Implacable, determined, Clark tightened his grip. Never too hard, no bruises or welts would mark this possession, but inescapable all the same. He tugged again, sliding his hands down Lex's arms to curl around the fronts of his elbows.

"No, Clark!"

He ignored the words, ignored the frustrated rage in his tone, and stroked his hands down farther, insinuating his fingers into Lex's fists and clasping their hands together, stepping closer to press flush against Lex's back. The window in front, an immovable wall of flesh at his back, and Lex found himself with nowhere to go.

A soft snarl was Clark's only warning, and then he found himself with an armful of squirming, thrashing rage. He clasped his arms across Lex's chest, leaving him just enough room to move, but not enough space to wriggle free. Lex's breath grew strained, his heartbeat racing as he tried, ineffectually, to escape. Clark heard his teeth grind, the muffled gasps and grunts punching into his gut sharper than blows, but Lex stayed eerily silent.

Finally, Lex stilled, slumping back against Clark, arms slack at his sides once more. Clark curled his left arm tighter across his shoulders, snuggling him in tight and nudging Lex's head with his cheek until it rested in his elbow. His right hand skimmed down to clasp Lex's and he sighed, closing his eyes and swaying them gently back and forth.

Soft finger-presses, skimming over his arm made him murmur, smiling against Lex's cheek as those long, elegant digits curled around his arm, twining both their hands together. He turned his head, opening his eyes and angling to see Lex better. What he saw... Took his breath away. Such naked want, such need.

It was two years in coming, and maybe everything that had happened had done so to lead up to this moment, this opportunity. Maybe he had to grieve, to hurt, to ache enough to finally seek his salvation, finally see it in Lex's eyes. Clark hoped so, held on to that hope as tightly as he held Lex. As tightly as Lex held on to him. There was a sense of peace in the charged air, calm in the storm that raged between them. It felt like an invitation. It felt like a second chance.

Clark shivered, feeling the moment sliding away, desperate to keep it.

"Lex." Just a name, whispered, but somehow so much more. The prelude to a kiss. Or a confession. "Do you still want to know?"

No pretense of misunderstanding, no evasion in the slate eyes. Just a weary, bone-deep acceptance and a fear that shook Clark to his soul.

"No."

Simple, and stark, and completely unexpected, the word rocked through Clark. He frowned, confused, his mouth opening and closing, starting to speak but unsure what to say. How to say anything. He swallowing, palms growing damp with nerves, pulse fluttering more quickly in his throat. The peace of moments before was gone, stripped away beneath a refusal he had never thought to hear, leaving him adrift.

Lex's eyes softened, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips as his hand disentangled from Clark's and slid higher to cup his cheek, thumb stroking slowly over his lips.

"Wanting to know almost killed me."

The only acknowledgment Lex could give him, but it was enough. Apology and understanding wrapped tightly in layers of obscurity. Just like Lex. Just like him.

Clark parted his lips, tongue darting out to curl around Lex's thumb. He nipped at the pad of flesh at its base, licking faint hints of salt from it with slow, wet sweeps. Lex's eyes darkened, thumb pressing between Clark's lips and thrusting, a sweet obscenity that quickened Clark's pulse even more, blood pooling heavy and ripe in his cock. With a final kiss to Lex's thumb, Clark leaned further, eyes never straying from Lex's as he sealed their lips. This close, he could see the small flecks of gold in Lex's eyes, the pupils flaring slightly as his head blocked some of the summer sun. The small, scattered freckles along Lex's lash-line intrigued him, tiny cinnamon flecks dotting pale skin. If he looked closely enough, there was almost a pattern, a map to Lex's soul.

The sudden thrust of Lex's tongue between his lips claimed his attention, scattering thoughts like dandelions in the breeze. A hand clenched in his hair, dragging his mouth down as Lex shifted in his arms, pressing them face to face. Clark moaned, his cock trapped between Lex's thigh and the hand gripping his ass as Lex undulated against him. Lex tore his mouth away, biting along his jaw and suckling at the flesh beneath his ear, teeth marking the tendons and muscles that stood in taut relief as Clark tipped his head back, lower lip clenched beneath his own teeth in a rictus of pleasure.

Clark arched, his cock riding against Lex's thigh as he thrust raggedly. He could feel the tightening in his balls, the tension at the base of his spine, and panted harshly at the pleasure. This was what those long nights in Metropolis hadn't been able to deliver, what even the most skilled whore hadn't been able to provide. This was raw, and awkward, and none of the things a first seduction could be. But it was Lex, and it was him, not some strung-out travesty of himself, and it was real. It was perfect, and all the more precious for almost having been lost before it was gained.

He came with a sob, twisting his head to the side as the pain and rage and pleasure boiled through him, his eyes burning with more than tears. The boxes caught his eye, disgusting reminders of the woman who had betrayed Lex, had almost robbed him of this, and the near-silent crackle of igniting cardboard filled him with a savage joy.

Lex stilled, turning slowly to face the bed, leaning back against Clark once more as he watched the flames dance across their tops. He slid out from under Clark's arm, pulling the comforter over the small conflagration and smothering the fire. Then he walked back, tugging Clark from the room with an insistent hand and closing and locking the door.

They made their way to Lex's room, the door shut behind them and the curtains drawn as Lex started peeling his clothes away, each layer's liberation celebrated with a kiss. When Clark stood nude, unselfconscious in a way he never imagined, Lex stepped back to gaze at him, eyes trailing from head to feet and back again. Clark let him look his fill, then returned the favor, skimming fabric from Lex's body, kissing and licking his flesh.

Lex led him to the bed, drawing him down to lay at his side, head pillowed on Lex's shoulder while he trailed fingers down his arm and though his hair. It was quiet and intimate, the silence somehow speaking volumes. Clark felt a kiss pressed against his crown as Lex's fingers stilled against the back of his neck, their breathing evening into slumber.

"Thank you."

The words ruffled through his hair, echoes chasing across his scalp. He tightened his arm around Lex's waist, pressing a kiss of his own over his heart. For today, it was enough. For this instant, there was more than pain in his heart. There was hope in his soul.