Although it can be read as a standalone, this story is a follow-up to The Denny's Napkin Incident - http://smallville.slashdom.com/archive/2/thedennys.html which is in turn a follow-up to

Eleven Letter Words - http://smallville.slashdom.com/archive/1/elevenletter.html and
Botta Secreta - http://smallville.slashdom.com/archive/1/bottasecreta.html

Please Do Not Tease the Boy Scouts
by Helena Handbasket

"Are we there yet?" Clark's eyes flashed with mischief as the Ford wended its way up the narrow mountain highway, sheltered by vast snow-capped evergreens that glinted brightly in the afternoon sun. They had left the breathtaking but unsettlingly dangerous cliffside road when it had become too heavily cluttered with fallen rocks and were now meandering between two closely situated peaks that opened up into a vast canyon where the Luthors, naturally, happened to own some property. As he and Lex neared their destination, Clark was becoming increasingly giddy, his stomach a bundle of nerves charged both by his hopes for the weekend and the sexual tension that seemed to crackle like lightning between them. He could literally sense the little electric pinpricks on his skin increase with his proximity to Lex; it was a delightful sensation that only served to fuel his present punchiness.

Lex looked at his companion and shook his head in disbelief, but his ill-suppressed smile clearly relayed his amusement. "Christ, Clark, you did not just ask me that."

"I did," Clark declared brightly, beaming at his own reflection in Lex's sunglasses, "and I'll do it again."

"No you won't because we're there." Lex pursed his lips haughtily.

"Really?"

"No."

"Lex!" Laughing, Clark reached over to give Lex a playful shove but caught him off-guard with the force of it and the SUV veered suddenly into the opposite lane. He winced as Lex's eyebrows flew up and with a sharp intake of breath he wrenched the steering wheel to swerve them back onto the right side of the road.

Squeezing his eyes closed with a pained expression, all Clark could think was, 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' as he listened to Lex's respiration gradually return to normal. He frowned, noting grimly that getting Lex killed was not the cleverest way to kick off what he had hoped would be a memorable - and romantic, if he was lucky - weekend of camping. Furthermore, Clark's resort-to-shoving-the-boy-you-have-a-crush-on behavior was not likely to do much towards endowing him with the desired "I'm sexy and incredibly mature for my age" allure. 'Stupid,' he chided again as he wondered how Lex was going to react to the incident. Too often had he been in a similar situation with his dad, in which little lighthearted gestures had gone horribly awry, not to flinch at the prospect of the inevitable lecture.

On the other hand, Lex was definitely not Jonathan Kent and the only reprimand he received was, "Easy there, Joe Frazier," and a dubious look.

"Sorry," offered Clark sheepishly, flattening out his hand to pat Lex's shoulder with ludicrously exaggerated gentleness.

Lex smirked at the boy's earnest contrition. "No harm done. The road's deserted." He glanced over at Clark, who was still frowning at himself darkly. "I'm not your dad, you know," he added. "I'm not going to lecture you."

"I know," muttered Clark, blushing at the fact that his concerns were so transparent. "I just..." he searched for the right words, not really sure what he was trying to say. "I didn't want to..." He struggled again. What the hell was he trying to say?

Chuckling under his breath, Lex came to the rescue. "Just don't do it again," he warned, a look of mock scorn upon his face, "or I will turn this car right around, young man." He had to restrain himself from issuing the reproof in his well-honed Jonathan Kent impersonation, as he doubted it would go over well at this juncture. Mentally, he added, 'and I don't want you hanging around with that awful Luthor boy and his bad attitude any more. The kid walks around like his dick's too big for his pants.' Lex smiled and wondered if he would ever grow weary of privately ridiculing the elder Kent.

Grateful at having been spared from having to articulate himself, Clark grinned at Lex, wrongfully interpreting his wry smile as one of flirtation. "Oh no you won't," he declared, pouring as much come-hither as he could muster into his words. Though he had been making a concerted effort to up the wattage on his flirtation with Lex - enough to make even the Pope's gaydar go "ding!" - he had thus far met with discouragingly little reciprocal success. As such, he had been forced to home in on the uncharacteristically few crumbs of flirtation that Lex had been willing to spare. "We are going on this camping trip and that's final."

"Oh really," Lex replied. Although his voice was thick with bemused skepticism, the palpable lust that dripped from Clark's words set off a series of very pleasing biochemical processes in his brain. "And if I decide to turn us around, how do you propose to stop me?" Lex kept his eyes deliberately fixed on the road but monitored Clark in his peripheral vision, eager to see whether he would choose to fold or up the ante at this opportunity.

Taking a moment to steady his resolve, Clark placed a hand on the headrest of Lex's seat and leaned in close to his ear. "I'd tell you," he whispered ominously, "but then I'd have to kill you."

Lex lifted his sunglasses as he turned to face Clark and was momentarily startled at how close their faces were. Clark's full lips, just out of reach, were tempting, very tempting, and it would be the simplest thing in the world for him to lean forward and grace them with a light kiss: simple and gentle but brimming with foreshadowed passion. Lex smiled and raised an eyebrow, gazing intently into Clark's eyes, but made no effort to move closer. This was a contest that he would always win. Always. Assuming, that is, that he didn't accidentally drive them over a cliff while his eyes were away from the road.

Breath hitching slightly and fingers drumming on the back of the driver's seat headrest, Clark held his ground, waiting desperately for Lex to offer him some kind of encouragement, some kind of response, but the bastard just sat there coyly smiling, making Clark want him that much more. He studied his features, the epitome of stoic control, but was offered no insight into what fiery thoughts might be transpiring behind the cool, blue eyes. It was clear to Clark that he was being bated but with Lex it was impossible to tell whether such behavior was intended as encouragement or was just another of his careless diversions. It was torture being so close to Lex, so sure of what he wanted but so uncertain of whether or not he should act. Finally, Clark couldn't help but blink. The stakes were too high, particularly considering that he wasn't altogether certain they were playing the same game. Lex returned his eyes to the road with a triumphant smile as Clark slumped back into his seat.

"Well," Lex mused, continuing the banter as if their brief battle of wills had never transpired. "I must admit you've got me there. My immediate death would certainly prevent me from initiating the long drive back to Kansas." He smiled impishly and reached out to pat Clark's leg, relishing the feel of the well-defined muscles as the leg first flinched and then leaned in towards him, causing his fingertips to brush against the denim seam that traced Clark's inner thigh. Lex was uncertain whether this was an automatic physical response or whether Clark had done it deliberately but either way he liked it. He really fucking liked it. Mustering the totality of his self-restraint he drew his hand away, letting his fingers trail lightly over the unfaded denim, and placed it firmly back on the steering wheel, his mind swimming with the thought of what a pleasure it would be to knead that thigh first gently then roughly, digging his thumb into the sinewy muscles to find the bundles of nerves that would make Clark gasp...

Lex cleared his throat suddenly, forcing his eyes, if not his brain, to focus on the road. 'Must remain ambiguous,' he reminded himself. His strategy for luring Clark into seducing him outright had been working perfectly thus far and he was determined to stick to it. In the few hours since reuniting with Clark in the Denny's parking lot he had received no fewer than five compliments on his appearance, a dozen or so instances of "accidental" physical contact, and innumerable studious and appreciative glances when Clark thought he wasn't looking. Lex had remained disciplined throughout, responding to all compliments with a smile and a lighthearted quip and making it obvious that the physical contact was not unwelcome without making any effort to escalate it. At least not until the pat on the leg... he hadn't been able to resist throwing Clark a bone to keep him from getting discouraged, and from the way the boy was now shifting awkwardly in his seat it had apparently worked.

Crossing his legs uncomfortably, Clark glared over at Lex, who was smiling to himself contentedly as he drove, casual as could be. He shifted his hips, attempting to subtly adjust himself beneath his jeans. That pat on the leg had been cruel, really cruel... that is if Lex had done it deliberately... Clark was still sadly confused. He had spent the afternoon hitting Lex with as much flirtation as he dared but was getting, if anything, less confident that the attraction was indeed reciprocated. He had begun his attempts at enticement by covering the manifold of techniques he had learned from interacting with Lana but the gentle manner and demure smiles that had always so attracted him to her seemed to have the opposite effect on Lex. So Clark had changed his strategy, experimenting with a more aggressive approach and lacing their conversation with innuendo. Though Lex's countenance had remained stoic and he had deftly avoided taking the bait of Clark's many double entendres, his eyes had become more alive and playful with the increased overtness of his flirtation. It was a small thing, so small that Clark could conceive having imagined it, but it had been just enough to keep him going.

Yet despite his uncertainty, Clark couldn't help but sense that their superficial interaction was a facade obscuring the more subtle game that was transpiring behind their words. Clark sighed, adjusting himself again and staring absently out the window. If it was a game then Lex was playing it mercilessly well. But Clark had some fight in him yet. Fifteen years of being forbidden to participate in sports had left him with a lot of pent-up competitive energy. It was time for another change in strategy, one that would have Lex reaching out, desperate to touch him for a change. Now if he could only figure out what that strategy was...

Clark turned away from the window, about to speak, when Lex's hand shot out, palm pressing flat against his abdomen. He raised his eyebrows as fingers curled around his right side and a thumb brushed tentatively across his stomach. 'Or this will work,' he thought, peering down in astonishment at where Lex's thumb rested lightly atop the waistband of his jeans.

When he finally glanced up at his companion, however, Clark found that Lex wasn't even looking at him. Rather, he was frowning at the road where a covering of snow at least five feet in depth was barring their progress. Clark looked around in confusion, only just becoming aware that the truck had lurched to a halt and that the arm thrown across his torso had been done so out of protective instinct rather than passion. Just his luck.

"You okay?" Lex asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"Yeah," Clark assured him. "Yeah, fine." He held his breath as Lex drew his hand back abruptly. "What happened?"

Lex's eyes flicked over to the blockade of snow and then back at Clark. "What happened is that the Park Service hasn't finished plowing yet." He let out a deep breath, hoping he didn't look anywhere near as rattled as he felt. Lex had indulgently allowed himself to get lost in his daydreams and taken the corner much to fast, barely managing to spin the truck out onto the broad gravel shoulder before it would have impacted the wall of snow. That had been much too close of a call.

On the other hand, Lex mused, a good, old-fashioned car crash would have been an oddly apropos way to christen the weekend, given how he and Clark had met. He chuckled, sufficiently amused by his own warped perspective on the situation that it helped him to regain his composure. In the passenger seat, Clark continued to look befuddled.

"So what do we do now?" Clark looked at Lex earnestly, still too thrown-off by their near accident to insert any insinuations into the inquiry. He found himself suddenly concerned that they would have to forsake the trip and return to Smallville. Frantically, he began to formulate an argument for convincing Lex to treat them to a weekend in Metropolis rather than abandon the getaway entirely.

"Not to worry," Lex assured, noting with amusement the distinctly panicked look in Clark's eyes. He glanced at the Ford's digital compass to get his bearing and then scanned the area for recognizable landmarks. "Well," he said at last, I don't think we'll be able to make it to the cabin before nightfall but there's a narrow pass behind that outcropping of rocks." He indicated a slate rock formation that jutted out menacingly over the snow-flooded road. "There's a little clearing where I used to camp-out on weekends when I was a kid. We can hike there in about an hour... that is if you're game for camping the old-fashioned way."

Clark blinked. "We were going to stay in a cabin?"

"I'll take that as a yes, then." Lex smirked as he shifted the truck into reverse and carefully maneuvered it around on the narrow road, parking it facing downhill on the inner shoulder. He got out, quickly shrugging into his jacket when the chill high-altitude air hit him full force, and sauntered around back to sort through their gear and determine which items could be left behind.

Not bothering with his jacket, Clark got out as well, leaning against the side of the truck and watching Lex with odd fascination. It was strange, almost bizarre, to see his friend in this context; Clark had never pictured Lex as the outdoorsy type and had been completely taken aback when he had extended an invitation to join him for a weekend of camping. And yet there he was, deftly rifling through an assortment of equipment as if it were second nature. Outside of his natural element of power lunches and board rooms Lex looked very different; among other things the t-shirt and boots made him look his age, and Clark found that incredibly appealing. The vast chasm of life experience between them didn't seem nearly as wide as it usually did. And there was something about the juxtaposition of opposites - like the mere concept of Lex in blue jeans - that struck a societally conditioned romantic chord. Like in all of those cheesy teen movies, where the dowdy girl with glasses puts on an evening gown and everyone suddenly realizes she's just as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside and she's elected prom queen... Only Lex started out in the evening gown - or rather his masculine equivalent Armani suits - and the fact that he looked just as sexy in Levis simply served to add another dimension to his already overpowering allure.

At the back of the truck Lex hefted a small propane tank and frowned at it. "Hey Clark," he said, "any chance you know how to start a campfire?"

"Um... sure."

"Good," said Lex without looking up. "Then we can leave this here. The less we have to carry the better." He tethered a two-man tent onto the bottom of his hiking pack. "But I think we'll have to double-up on the ice...chest." He looked up at that moment to see Clark holding the huge cooler effortlessly in front of him.

"I got it," Clark assured him with a wink and an unfathomably bright smile.

Lex chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he hefted his hiking pack over his shoulders and performed a final scan of the truck bed for anything essential he might have forgotten. He was well aware that Clark wasn't exactly an average teenager. After all, Lex, himself, had borne indirect witness to his above average strength and physical endurance on multiple occasions, but he was also acutely cognizant of Clark's determined secrecy with respect to his abilities. As such, Lex frequently found himself pretending to turn a blind eye to the aspects of Clark that he found most compelling, lest he exacerbate his feelings of awkwardness. Besides, there was still so much more to learn about Clark's hidden talents, and tipping his hand at this juncture would only narrow his chances of doing so.

But now, to Lex's delight and intrigue, after all of Clark's steadfast determination to mask all that was physically extraordinary about him, here he stood holding a weighty metal ice chest that contained two days worth of food and a full bar without batting a luxuriantly lashed eyelid. Lex couldn't help but wonder whether this was an act of carelessness or ignorance... or whether Clark was simply trying to show off. In any case, it endowed the weekend with an added twist of promise.

While Lex was perfectly willing to admit that the connection he shared with Clark was genuine, independent of whatever personal mysteries he struggled to conceal, he also had to acknowledge that the extraordinary potential he saw in him had a significant impact, transforming the privilege of knowing him from a pleasure into a compulsion. He saw Clark as a kindred spirit with a potential for greatness unique among the circle of his acquaintance past, present, and probable future. And while he had recognized the momentous prospects of other individuals he had encountered over the years, he found that they had fallen ubiquitously into one of two categories: brilliant but boring - and therefore not worthy of his time - or brilliant but ruthless - and therefore not worthy of his trust. Of every individual Lex had ever come across, he deemed Clark alone worthy of both his respect and his friendship. The fact that he also wanted to fuck his brains out Lex considered a bonus: added proof that their destinies were rightfully intertwined.

In this way, his interest in Clark was effectively inextricable from his intrigue and, as much time as he had devoted to thinking about Clark from a purely lustful perspective, his greater concern was for the reward more difficultly attained: absolute trust. As such he was reluctant to put the latter prize at risk by entering too rashly into the former. Lex very much hoped that Clark's sudden openness with respect to his strength was indicative that, if only on a subconscious level, the trust was beginning to emerge. Besides, he was growing weary of having to constantly counterbalance his compulsive desire for omniscience with the pure, simple joy of spending time with Clark.

Clark, meanwhile, had put down the cooler and was slipping into his backpack. His cheeks were flushed in the icy breeze and his breath hung in the air like a specter. Lex leaned against the truck watching him and his eyes wandered down to Clark's muscular chest, a chest that had frequently caused Lex to question the veracity of his purported age. He wore only a t-shirt despite the chill air, and that the cold had penetrated its thin fabric was enticingly evident from the distinct nipples that protruded invitingly through the otherwise uninterrupted swath of cotton. 'Jesus,' Lex thought as an army of lurid images flashed suddenly through his brain. 'How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on being Machiavellian with a spectacle like that to contend with?'

Lex cleared his throat. "Ah... Clark," he said, his tone rich with the suggestive edge of a practiced cross-examiner, "are you sure you don't want to put a jacket on for the hike? It can't be more than forty degrees out." With great effort he tore his gaze away from that perfect chest to look Clark in the eyes.

With a coy smile, Clark shrugged and bent down to grab the ice chest. "Nah. I'm fine."

Lex chuckled softly to himself. 'Amazing,' he thought as he slammed the Ford closed. 'He really is trying to show off.' He smiled at Clark knowledgably and turned towards the stretch of deep snow that was his immediate challenge, pausing briefly to activate the car alarm.

Registering this action with a look of disbelief, Clark smirked at Lex as he slid the car keys into his jeans pocket. "Good call on the alarm," he said soberly. "I hear that grand theft auto is on the rise at high altitude."

Lex paused at this, momentarily confused by the comment, and it made Clark smile. He cherished these rare, candid moments in which Lex - a man regarded as a savior by some, a demon by others, but powerfully untouchable by nearly all who knew of him - let slip his human side. Clark considered such private instances as gifts that, although accidentally bestowed, meant more to him than any object Lex could offer and the desire to experience more of these moments was yet another facet of his fast-growing attraction. He sensed a duality in Lex that manifested in the shrouding of his natural personality by a mask of constant power, constant control, and it resonated with Clark profoundly. Lex's situation seemed a distorted mirror image of his own duality, in which he had to thrust his vulnerabilities to the forefront in order to deter a more studied inspection of his inner strengths. Since the earliest stages of their friendship, Clark had noticed that Lex occasionally allowed the partition between his two natures to fade in his presence; it was a subtle but definite gesture of trust that Clark yearned to return. This motivation of reciprocity was how Clark had justified being so cavalier in carrying an ice chest that should obviously be too heavy for him. Well, that, and he kind of wanted to show off.

Meanwhile, Lex had deduced the basis of Clark's sarcasm but while he was well aware of the ridiculousness of arming his car alarm in the middle of nowhere, it was an idiosyncratic compulsion that he considered perfectly harmless, not to mention one that would be a lot more difficult to rid himself of than was worth the effort. He smirked at Clark, who had shed his facetiously somber expression in favor of a far-off, dreamy one. "It's the boy scouts I'm worried about," Lex declared, snapping Clark from his reverie. "You just never know when they're going to swarm out of nowhere and steal your hubcaps."

Not expecting this response, Clark emitted a snort of laughter. And then he got embarrassed for snorting. And then he got embarrassed for being so obviously embarrassed. He closed his eyes wearily, trying not to embarrass himself by wincing.

"Come on," said Lex, lifting the large container that held their water supply and turning away abruptly so Clark would not observe his broad grin and silent laughter. "We've got to get going if we're going to make camp before it starts getting dark." And without looking back he waded forth into the chest-high snow, musing pleasantly on the endearing folly of youth.

"Here we are," Lex called behind him as he emerged from a narrow pass in the rocks into a small, flat clearing encircled by fragrant pine. His weariness was almost, but not quite, offset by his relief at having finally reached the campsite and it was with an immensely grateful sigh that he dropped the water and shrugged out of his backpack.

He had anticipated that the first ten minutes or so of their journey would be the worst, as it involved negotiating their way through the deep snow on the highway, but had failed to account for the added discomfort associated with being soaked with freezing water from the waist down. Being the one who knew the way, Lex had been obliged to take the lead as they traversed the field of snow, unnaturally dense after months of compression under its own weight, to the passage that would lead them from the road to higher ground. The rays of the early-spring sun had warmed the snow just enough to melt a thin layer on the surface that refroze almost instantly into a top sheet of ice. While his jacket had protected his torso from the sharp crust, Lex had several reddening marks on his forearms from the times when his foot had sunk unexpectedly and he had had to throw out a hand to stop himself. Their path had gotten much easier once they had escaped the snow in favor of the steep, rock-laden trail but even then it was not trivial, particularly for Lex, whose Levis had taken to the ice water like a sponge. He leaned against the rock formation at his back and reached to tenderly massage a sore shoulder muscle whose existence, in his too-long hiatus from camping, he had utterly forgotten.

Barely able to squeeze through the narrow passage carrying the ice chest, Clark set it down with a loud "thunk" once he was out in the open and dropped himself peremptorily upon it. He wasn't tired, exactly... not that he was certain he understood the meaning of 'tired' as a concept distinct from 'sleepy.' Drained was more like it - long boring day at school drained, that is, not meteor rock drained. Whatever the word, the hike had not exactly been a cake walk. Despite the fact that Lex had blazed their trail, Clark hadn't had it much easier at the beginning as the additional weight of the cooler had caused him to sink deeply into the packed snow of Lex's footprints. Furthermore the width of the cooler had required him to force his way through the undisturbed snow, whose icy surface bit fiercely at his bare knuckles, which, had he been normal, would have emerged from the journey ravaged and bloody. And, particularly for someone not gifted with super-speed, Lex had kept up a pretty brisk pace. The silence that surrounded them had made Clark more aware of the small sounds and he couldn't help but notice that his companion's heartbeat had remained slow and steady, despite the rigors of the hike. Clark sighed and glanced over at Lex, who was gingerly rubbing his own shoulders with a pained expression, and had to resist the temptation to offer him a backrub.

'No, wait,' Clark reminded himself. 'Resisting temptation bad. Stick to the plan.' Despite the simplicity of his "flirt openly with Lex" strategy, Clark was having a fair amount of difficulty executing it with any reasonable consistency. It was just so fundamentally contrary to the fly-under-the-radar Kent family policy with which he had been raised. Steeling himself, he cleared his throat and sauntered over to Lex awkwardly.

"Here," he mumbled, vaguely embarrassed by the tired cheesiness of the neck-massage come-on, "let me." He placed his hands lightly on Lex's shoulder blades. Lex seemed startled for a moment but obligingly withdrew his hand from his shoulder and turned away so that Clark could move in closer.

Lex closed his eyes and allotted himself a few precious minutes to enjoy the massage before he had to go back to being proactively ambiguous. He couldn't feel the heat of Clark's hands through the Gore-Tex of his jacket but the back of his neck was flashing hot and cold from the alternating caresses of Clark's warm breath and the chill mountain wind. The sensation made him shiver and he found himself feeling oddly, uncharacteristically content.

Feeling compelled to err on the side of gentleness, Clark was barely pressing his palms against Lex's shoulders. "How's that?" he asked, uncertain of what he should even be doing. This whole seduction thing was new to him.

"Harder," Lex urged, pinching his shoulder blades together and pressing them into Clark's hands. Surely this wasn't the best the kid had to offer.

"Okay," said Clark reluctantly. "But tell me if it's too hard."

"There's no such thing as too hard, Clark." Lex held his breath, biting back a laugh at the fact that the situation and dialogue were not-so-vaguely reminiscent of a scene from a low-budget porn movie. Before his imagination could follow that thought to its logical conclusion, however, he felt a sharp pain as Clark's thumbs dug into the aching muscles at the base of his neck. He let out an involuntary hiss.

Clark immediately drew his hands away. "Too hard?" he asked, an edge of panic in his voice.

"No," Lex assured him definitively. "No, that was perfect." He bowed his head forward and squeezed his eyes closed, bracing himself for the exquisite pain. When Clark resumed his ministrations, Lex couldn't help emitting a throaty groan of satisfaction. This was too good. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he allowed Clark him to seduce him this weekend after all.

As Lex relaxed into the massage, Clark felt his nervousness dispersing in response and he began to calm down enough to enjoy the experience. It seemed a surreal privilege to be permitted even this simple physical intimacy with Lex, despite his characteristic come-hither constancy. Even when not questioning Lex's interest in him, Clark had often wondered whether the interest itself was the greatest compliment Lex was willing to bestow. His hands glided across the landscape of muscles, eliciting a sigh of contentment from their owner.

Clark regarded the pale skin of the back of Lex's neck as he worked his thumbs up to the base of his skull and wanted desperately to press his mouth against it, to study the sensation of full lips against smooth flesh. He wanted to know how the appreciative noises emanating from Lex would change with the increased intimacy of contact. Would they become breathier? More urgent? Could he make Lex whisper his name? Could he make him scream it? Clark dug his thumbs into the twin knots of muscles just beneath Lex's shoulder blades, causing him to emit a long, low moan. The sound did unspeakable things to Clark and, not even aware of his actions, he shifted closer.

In the meantime, Lex's formidable brain was on the verge of short-circuiting. He had been amused, at first, by Clark's fumbling excuse to get closer to him; it had been classically juvenile, albeit adorably Clark. But there was nothing juvenile about what was happening now: somewhere along the way there had been a shift of power and the giddy, insecure adolescent had unearthed a hidden confidence that, if he wasn't careful, would have Lex giving over without a fight. And that would never do. Lex had goals and he intended to accomplish them. He took a deep breath, struggling to center himself even as Clark's left arm snaked across the front of his chest, finding purchase on his collarbone for leverage against a particularly stubborn knot of muscles in his right shoulder.

His actions almost trance-like, Clark continued the massage, drawing Lex gradually closer, longing to press his whole body against him. He had become dissatisfied with the cold fabric of Lex's jacket and coveted the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips. Mind racing with desire, Clark imagined the sensation of allowing one of his hands to stray from the platonic zone of Lex's shoulders, exploring the muscles of his thigh by sliding first down the side of his leg, middle finger tracing the faint crease where quad met hamstring. He imagined his fingers brushing the back of Lex's knee and then wandering gradually up the back of his leg to follow the curve of his ass around to his hip and up under his jacket, where warm, soft skin awaited his touch. Clark took a deep, shaky breath at the thought, marveling not only at his intense arousal but at the lack of accompanying shame. He felt both at ease and deeply sexual in a way he had never realized was possible. It was as though he had forgotten himself completely, or rather found a hidden part of himself that had been lingering below the surface all along. Clark leaned his head forward, daring to brush his jaw against the cold cartilage of Lex's ear. Suddenly he became aware of the fact that the stream of contented Lex Noises had ceased.

Clark froze, the uncertain adolescent with its myriad insecurities trundling back to the forefront of his persona. Had he gone too far? Crossed a line uninvited? He was suddenly, mortifyingly aware of his body brushing against Lex's, one arm fixed possessively on his sternum, pulling him close, the other hand kneading its way down his bicep. In contrast, Lex seemed stiff and unresponsive and Clark was sickeningly reminded of the way the young billionaire looked when his father hugged him. Practically tasting the bilious flavor of self-loathing creeping up from his throat, Clark bowed his head forward and whispered, "Is this okay?" He left the question deliberately vague, hoping that if anything about the situation was not okay that Lex would tailor his response appropriately.

The ambiguity of Clark's question did not go unnoticed by Lex but rather than interpreting it for its generality, he picked up on the uncertainty in his companion's voice and concluded that it was motivated by a very specific kind of self-doubt. There was, of course, something very much not-okay in the situation, namely that Lex had been strongly tempted to scrap his best-laid plans for learning the whole truth about Clark Kent in order to become expediently best-laid himself. What Clark had interpreted as unresponsiveness had been Lex's focused effort to suppress the physical and emotional influences of his hormones in order to regain some semblance of control over both his body and the situation as a whole. But Lex, unaware of the complexities of Clark's concerns, interpreted his question from its simplest and most innocent perspective.

"The massage was great," Lex assured him, stepping abruptly away before he was tempted to let it continue.

"Oh," said Clark uncertainly. "Good." He offered a weak smile to mask his disappointment at the sudden distance Lex had put between them and shoved his hands hastily into his pockets as he turned to face him.

"In fact," Lex added, his mind racing to produce a conversational direction that would be sufficiently awkward and misleading as to shatter the atmosphere of sexual tension, "the massage was so good that Heike is going to be really pissed at me when we get back to Smallville."

Clark frowned. "Heike?" He scanned his memory to place the name. "Your fencing instructor?" He winced. Did Lex have something going with the tall, gorgeous Swedish woman Clark had seen on his first visit to his mansion? Fuck. After all of Lex's flirtation, Clark had begun to overlook the prospect that he might be interested in women as well. He silently cursed the popular media for de-emphasizing bisexuality as a valid lifestyle choice - it had made him far too complacent about his potential rivals for Lex's affections. It was the one and only reason he had been able to avoid omni-directional spates of jealousy whenever Lex and Lana interacted.

"Very good," Lex smiled, leaning back against the rock wall and turning his face to meet the sun as it dipped below the line of trees opposite.

"Why is she going to be pissed?" Clark forced himself to ask. "Because I gave you a massage?" He tried and failed to sound irreproachably innocent.

"Well only indirectly because of Anika." Lex turned sly eyes to observe Clark's reaction.

Okay. Clark swallowed uncomfortably. "Who's Anika?"

"Her twin sister." Lex deliberately emitted a soft sigh of guilty longing. 'You're evil,' he thought to himself.

"Oh." So Lex was not involved with the gorgeous Swede, but rather the gorgeous Swede's twin sister. 'Gee,' thought Clark caustically, 'what a relief.'

"She's also my masseuse," Lex added.

"Oh?" Clark was really hoping his friend was not about to delve into the intimate, gruesome details.

Lex smiled, pleased at the gamut of emotions flashing across Clark's handsome face, delighted to know that he was the cause of such a thing. He paused, extending the torture for just the right amount of time before continuing. "She's also fired."

"Oh? Oh! Oh." The first of these exclamations had the bored intonation of automatic response, the second was surprised as he actually registered what had been said, and the third was tiredly resigned as he realized that Lex was pulling his leg. "Ha, ha."

Lex clapped Clark on the shoulder amiably, not about to reveal that Clark's massage had in fact finalized his decision to pink-slip Anika, whom he had long suspected of being endowed with insufficient finger-strength to suit his needs. If an inexperienced high school kid could outdo a licensed massage therapist in a few minutes she had no business working for him. Heike really was going to be pissed at him, though, Lex mused. He wondered whether he might mollify the tempestuous fencing instructor by replacing her sister with their elder brother, Sven, currently a professional bodybuilder in Metropolis... that was, of course, only if Clark wasn't interested in the job.

A wind gusted unexpectedly from the other side of the clearing and Lex shuddered involuntarily, suddenly aware of the harsh chill in the air that had heretofore been staved off by the warmth generated by his proximity to Clark. It was only now that Lex remembered that both he and Clark were wearing soaking-wet jeans.

"We'd better get changed," he said abruptly. "The last thing I need is to bring you home to Ma and Pa with a case of hypothermia."

Clark laughed nervously, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the prospect of getting undressed. "Oh, they wouldn't blame you for causing that," he offered. "It's not your fault it's so cold."

Lex shook his head in amusement. "Actually, my guess is they'd be more concerned about the cure than the cause."

Clark looked at him blankly.

"You know... Because hypothermia..." Lex regarded Clark studiously. "You don't know how hypothermia is treated, do you?"

"Warm bath?" Clark shrugged.

"Guess you were never a boy scout. Funny. I thought I had you pegged on that count." For a moment Lex considered explaining the process of squeezing two naked people into a sleeping bag for medicinal purposes but decided to leave it alone. It would just sound like he had made it up, anyway.

"So?" challenged Clark, unimpressed. "You weren't a boy scout either and you still managed to learn about this mysterious cure for hypothermia."

"You don't have to be a boy scout to learn some of their tricks," Lex offered with a wicked smile.

"Really," Clark countered. Lex's playfulness had alleviated his previous concerns and he was gradually easing back into their comfortable banter. "And what other boy scout tricks do you know?"

Lex wasn't touching that. He simply smirked and began rifling through his pack, pulling out a pair of jeans, some socks, and a dry pair of shoes. When he had found them all he sat down on a nearby rock and began unlacing his boots as Clark looked on uncomfortably. However, it wasn't until Lex began unbuttoning his jeans that Clark actually panicked.

"I'd better go see about the campfire," he mumbled and hustled off to the other side of the clearing.

Grinning bemusedly at Clark's retreating backside, Lex quickly slipped out of his drenched jeans and into the dry ones. He certainly didn't want to wind up with hypothermia, no matter how desirable the treatment might be. Once he had donned his dry boots he ambled up behind Clark, who was arranging some stones in a circle at the center of the clearing. He paused for a moment, about to speak, but instead went back to his pack to retrieve the tent.

Fifteen minutes later, Lex brushed his hands with satisfaction and stood back to admire the two-man dome tent. He ambled over to a nearby tree, against which Clark had leaned both of their packs before wandering off to look for firewood, retrieved their sleeping bags, and laid them out carefully, both zippers facing in. The zippers had to be facing in: little details like that were important to him.

Lex's attention to such minutia was a part of his personality that was undeniably his mother's influence shining through; and so he embraced it. He had to. After all, having bestowed the box of St. George upon Clark a few months earlier, Lex had found that precious little remained to remind him of her.

He frowned as a sense of profound melancholy washed over him. While he had anticipated that returning to Eleven Mile Canyon, where he had spent the majority of his formative summers, would hearken back unpleasant memories, he had assumed that they all would be associated with his father and had prepared himself appropriately. But rather than the bitter, angry feelings he harbored toward Lionel, Lex found his thoughts drifting to his mother and her sad, gradual decline into poor health and its accompanying ennui. He had not prepared a defense against such a line of thought and it caught him off-guard. Lex shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of the painful memories and reproaching himself for not foreseeing such an obvious weakness.

At least they weren't staying at the cabin, Lex reminded himself. Despite its vaulted ceilings, luxurious bearskin rugs, and the perpetual scent of cedar, his former summer home had too many unhappy memories associated with it for its lavishness to bring him much pleasure. Its redwood walls and colonial decor were haunted by the poltergeists of the bitter fights that had characterized the worst years of his adolescence. Even more excruciating were the memories, vivid still, of silent Friday evenings spent with his mother in front of the great fireplace as they waited for Lionel to arrive for the weekend, unsure if he would even bother to show up. Lex had always been torn between his fervent desire to spend as little time with his father as possible and pity for his mother, who had taken each successive weekend of abandonment increasingly to heart.

With such dismal associations awaiting him at the cabin, Lex was understandably relieved when the long-abiding snow had prevented him and Clark from traveling there. He had, naturally, anticipated such an eventuality; it was not unusual for the Park Service to leave portions of the less-traveled roads unplowed well into the spring. But while he could have easily called in advance to find out whether the roads were clear he had decided against it - his willful ignorance prevented him from having to make the conscious decision to be duplicitous in his desire to avoid the cabin. He had originally been planning on suggesting an excursion to the very clearing they now occupied but a worried phone call from the ever-protective Martha Kent had elicited from him the promise that he and Clark would spend the night in the relative safety of adequate shelter. Much as he was willing to lie if he esteemed it justifiable to achieve his ends, Lex was reluctant to knowingly violate a promise made to Clark's mother if he could possibly avoid it. He had ultimately elected to take his chances with the unknown and be prepared to cope with the consequences, even if it meant having to spend the weekend in that horrible cabin.

Lex stood up and strode toward the canyon path to haul the cooler closer to the campfire, striving to empty his head of the persistent phantasms of memory in favor of more forward-looking thoughts. He wanted to avoid falling into his practiced habit of self-obsession this weekend. After all, this camping trip was not supposed to be about him. It was about Clark. Him and Clark. But mostly Clark. Him finding out about Clark. Lex laughed softly as he bent over the metal ice chest. God, he had it bad for that kid.

His mind otherwise engaged, Lex hefted the cooler with insufficient leverage and its formidable mass took him by surprise. He swore as the large ice chest dropped thunderously to the ground, wincing as the clamorous impact echoed through the distant hills. Fuck, that thing was heavy. Irritably, he seized one handle and dragged the cooler towards the center of the clearing.

When he finally had the cooler properly situated, Lex sat down upon it and mopped his brow lightly with the cool fabric of his jacket. His eyes drifted towards the copse of trees into which Clark had disappeared and he marveled not only at the boy's extraordinary strength but at the flagrancy with which he had flaunted it by carrying the cooler for so many miles, apparently without effort. Lex wondered again whether this obvious crack in Clark's enigmatic veneer was an attempt on his part to reach out... to open up. Lex smiled. If this was so then Clark was actually beginning to battle against the influences of his father's cumulative programming: an impressive feat at his age. When Lex was fifteen his abject rebellion was rarely motivated by anything more savvy than the desire to piss off his father. Clark, it appeared, was making the rational decision to rebel because he perceived that it would benefit him. Lex respected that. Clark's independent thought spoke well of him, particularly considering the sheltered atmosphere in which he had been raised. He had already learned to appraise the value of his secrecy, arguably the only commodity he had at his disposal, by means of a cost-benefit analysis.

Lex stopped, suddenly aware of his warped logic in analyzing Clark's motivations. "He's not you," he reminded himself aloud. He shook his head and stood, lifting the lid of the ice chest to rifle through it in search of supplies for dinner. "He's not you," he repeated under his breath, "but he's learning."

His arms overflowing with firewood, Clark moved awkwardly as he scrambled up a particularly steep incline, regretting having ignored Lex's advice about changing out of his wet jeans. Unfazed as he generally was by cold, the icy folds of the damp fabric were actually starting to get to him. And yet the prospect of stripping down to his skivvies immediately after having most of his body pressed up against Lex's... he wasn't yet ready to be that bold. Besides, there could be no saving of face after something like that. Once you've been spied by the object of your affections half-hard in your soaking wet flannel boxers, the prospect of playing the smooth, suave and sexy angle is pretty much shot to hell.

On the other hand, it wasn't as if Clark was pulling off "smooth" particularly well in his current strategy. He frowned, bracing the teetering pile of wood with his chin as he knelt down to procure a thick branch from beneath an elm. He had tried everything he could think of to bate Lex into giving him some sign of interest but for every inviting look he received there followed a second one that pushed him away.

And yet, Clark was confident that Lex wanted him. Well, mostly confident. Optimistic. But if Lex wanted him so badly why had he stopped the massage? Had it been that bad? Had Clark turned him off? Never mind, he was still hopeful. Besides, Lex did ask him to take his pants off. That was promising... although it didn't really count. On the other hand... "Gaah!"

Without warning, Clark found himself face down in the dirt, sliding backwards down the steep ridge. His stride had landed on a collection of ice-covered pebbles and he lost his footing, sending his payload of firewood flying. As he slid he scrambled to find a finger hold on the ground, which was so blanketed with snow, loose rock and pine needles that he was not having much luck, but finally managed to grab hold of a tree root and stop himself. Jerking abruptly to a halt, Clark rolled away from the minor landslide he had created but had to move again instantly as he felt the tree root crack beneath his hand. He looked up to see a huge, rotted pine wavering above him and leapt out of the way as it came thundering to the ground. There was a moment of eerie stillness as the crash reverberated through the ground and echoed off of the distant peaks. Then silence. Then came a low rumbling, muted yet powerful like far-off thunder. And again, silence.

Clark frowned and looked around guiltily, deciding to follow his instincts and get back to the campsite post haste. He swooped up the slope, gathering the fallen firewood as he passed, and raced back towards the clearing. He approached it as near as he dared at top-speed before slowing to a brisk trot and jostling his armload of branches to make them look less like they had just been through a wind tunnel. Naturally, the moment he took his eyes off where he was walking was the moment he careened head-on into Lex, who was hastening towards him, shrugging on his jacket and bearing an expression of concern.

The impact struck Lex in his solar plexus and Clark in his sense of dignity. Again, the firewood went flying and Clark lay splayed on top of Lex, who sputtered desperately for breath. Shortly, however, Lex's choked gasps intermingled with bouts of labored laughter as Clark uttered a stream of whispered apologies and offers of assistance, overlooking the fact that the most helpful thing he could have done was to remove some of his substantial weight from Lex's ribcage.

"I was just coming to look for you," Lex declared over a few lingering, breathless chuckles once he had mostly recovered. "I heard the crash. You okay?"

"Yeah," said Clark absently. "Yeah, fine. It was just a tree that fell." He sat back against Lex's legs, which happened to be propped up as a convenient backrest, and noted that he could still feel the measured expansion and contraction of his friend's ribs as he knelt over him. As Lex's breathing formed an increasingly steady rhythm against his thighs, Clark wondered whether it was bad dating etiquette to make a move on someone he had just knocked brutally to the ground. Probably so, but the way Lex looked lying there beneath him was swiftly convincing him not to care.

Lex quirked an eyebrow, as much at the growing expression of want on Clark's face as at his statement. "Really?" he mused, trying to sound casual. "You saw the tree fall? That's odd, because it was just a minute ago and it sounded pretty far away..." He regarded Clark keenly.

Having been studiously engaged in watching the way Lex's lips moved when he spoke, it took Clark a few moments to reconstruct what had been said. "It was on the next ridge over," he blurted finally. "I saw it from a distance."

Lex smiled faintly, torn between annoyance and bittersweet empathy. 'Total bullshit,' he thought. 'Why can't you just confess, Clark? We'll both be so much happier.' He looked up at Clark, who was almost certainly in the midst of trying to work up the courage to kiss him. He considered that perhaps a change in strategy was in order for the purposes of hurrying things along. Usually, Lex was a very patient man but Clark was possessed of the uncanny ability to suppress that aspect of his personality. The problem was that Lex found himself wanting to let Clark kiss him almost as much as he wanted him to confide in him, and he was uncertain as to how much longer his practical side could hold out. He rationalized that perhaps the fastest route to his grander goal lay in giving in - at least to some small extent - to the more immediate temptation.

Still perched enticingly above him, Clark appeared divided by the competing forces of guilt and desire. That, at least, was a decision Lex could easily make for him. "Come closer for a second, Clark," he said quietly, fixing him with a gaze that could melt steel.

Wide-eyed but snapped from his indecision, Clark slowly complied. Finally, some encouraging feedback. This was the wondrous, lusty attitude he had come to expect from Lex. Only the familiar, smoldering look came across much differently from his current position astride Lex's abdomen. Holy shit, it was so much hotter. Clark licked his lips unconsciously as he bowed his head forward. Was this actually it? Was it finally happening? "Yes?" Clark murmured through barely parted lips. He was afraid to open his mouth any wider lest he accidentally drool all over Lex and ruin the moment.

"I just have to do this. It's been driving me crazy." Lex lifted his head and reached up with both hands to cup Clark's face as he moved in closer. Slowly and deliberately he entangled his hands in Clark's thick hair, letting his thumbs brush lightly against the outer contours of his cheekbones. Clark took a deep breath and leaned in as the grip became firmer and he felt deft fingers navigating expertly across his scalp. He gazed quizzically down at Lex, wondering whether he should wait for his next advance or just move in for the kill.

As if sensing his struggle and amused by it, Lex smiled, his eyes slightly narrowing. "Hold still," he instructed.

Clark obeyed and braced himself, too nervous to notice the breakneck pace of his heartbeat. The grip of Lex's fingers contracted momentarily and then, an instant later, he tore his hands away, pulling them straight outwards from Clark's scalp. The warmth was abruptly gone and Lex was squinting against a barrage of pine needles and twigs.

"What the hell happened to you, Clark?" Lex laughed as he gracelessly spit out a few small clods of dirt that had found their way into his mouth. "You get caught in a freak pine tree shower?"

Clark winced and shrugged sheepishly, feeling like a sucker. A sucker who had been hit by a truck. Instinctually he ran his hands through his hair, eliciting another deluge of pine needles. "I fell," he reluctantly admitted.

Lex wrinkled his nose and reached to extract a brown clump of something from Clark's bangs, throwing it away hastily. "I don't even want to know what that is," he muttered.

More than a little irritated by another potentially romantic moment foiled at the eleventh hour, Clark clambered to his feet. This last incident had made it obvious that Lex was deliberately toying with him and as he dusted himself off he made a distinct effort to ensure that a significant portion of the debris tumbled to earth in the general vicinity of his still supine friend. Clark frowned. That little, insecure part of his brain that would always rather listen to Dad than think for itself wondered whether Lex's role in the cat and mouse act was performed out of playfulness or cruelty. Nothing Clark knew about Lex suggested that the latter was in his nature - at least not with respect to him anyway; Lex had always made his respect for Clark quite evident, which made it unlikely that he would toy with his emotions for mere sport. It had to be a meaningful game to him, like so many other aspects of his life. Clark sighed. He would have a lot more fun playing the game if he weren't so damn horny.

Lex rose and dusted himself off, noticing the dirt and leaves that clung to the damp regions where his t-shirt had come into contact with Clark's jeans. "Clark," he chided, "you left a wet spot." He smirked wickedly.

"God you're a tease," Clark muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Oh..." Clark made a mental note to pay closer attention to whether or not he was saying things out loud. "I said something about trees." He looked around awkwardly. "I brought you some firewood..."

Lex grinned at Clark's hasty subject change. "Good," he replied. "And I brought you some pants." He fetched them from the ground where they had fallen after the unexpected impact. "I took the liberty of procuring them from your backpack." Before Clark had a chance to be taken aback he added, "Don't worry. I swear I didn't read your diary."

As the expression on Clark's face flashed from paranoia to confusion to the look of pursed-lip patience pioneered by his mother, Lex smirked and folded his arms expectantly, wondering whether Clark would have the guts to offer him a free show. A moment later, Clark muttered something incomprehensible and, pants in tow, hustled off to change inside the tent. The delightfully awkward moment transpired about as Lex had expected and he congratulated himself for having enough good sense not to get his hopes up for a strip tease. He quickly divested himself of his jacket and damp t-shirt and fetched a crisp, white undershirt and black button-down from his pack, relishing in the invigorating bite of the chill air against his skin. Lex hastened to slip the t-shirt, which was quite deliberately on the small side, over his head before his companion returned. He had briefly considered allowing Clark to "accidentally" catch him in a state of semi-undress, adding an additional visual stimulus to the seductive carrot he had been expertly dangling just out of reach, but ultimately he decided against it. If he wasn't going to be on the receiving end of some instant gratification eye-candy then neither was Clark, damn it. All's fair in sex and business.

Though the sun was not yet down, faint pinpricks of stars were beginning to appear on the twilit end of the horizon. When Clark emerged from the tent, fortified of spirit and dry of pant, he was instantly struck by the gorgeous complexity of the scene before him. Their campsite was situated on a small plateau nestled within an inlet of the canyon's southern mountain ridge. The landscape fell off abruptly to the north and the rock cliffs that girded the clearing to the east and west petered out towards the canyon, offering a splendidly complete view of the spectrum of day and night currently encapsulated by the early evening sky. To the west an explosion of red emphasized the slow grandeur of the sun's departure from the visible heavens and the surrounding horizon was alive with passion and light. The silhouettes of the mountaintops seemed to distend in imitation of their lengthening shadows as if beckoning the sun to remain. To the east the sky was cold and breathtaking, its engulfing darkness rife with enigma and the untouchable romanticism of its distant stars. Clark drank in the landscape, willing himself to see everything at once and sear it into his memory as a perfect and symbolic snapshot. The mountain sunset, in all its Byzantine glory, reminded him of Lex. A symbiotic duality of warmth and unattainability. A paradox.

The sunsets in Smallville were nothing like that. If the sun was up its rays illuminated the whole of the heavens, but the moment it dipped below the horizon: night. Like a switch. That was more Clark's style. Day or Night. A or B. He had never been that good with the gray areas. All the more reason to enjoy the mountain twilight while he had the chance.

"You planning on gawking at the scenery all night or would you care to help with dinner?" From his crouched station next to the campfire, Lex regarded him with his usual look of smug amusement but there was a distinct undercurrent to the usual gleam in his eye that betrayed his pleasure at Clark's enjoyment of the locale.

"Sure," said Clark, tearing his eyes away from the sunset unregretfully to look at Lex. "What can I do?"

"Check the cooler," he replied, resting his palm against the lid of a mid-sized pot supported over the flames by a broad, metal stand. "There's a package of pasta in there, and the water's almost boiling." He picked up a nearby stick and prodded at the firewood, provoking an updraft of sparks and ash.

Clark obligingly strolled over to the ice chest and opened it. His first thought upon observing the contents, however, was not, 'Look, there's the pasta Lex requested,' but rather, 'Great googly-moogly.'

"Lex," he prompted, gaping at the array of liquor bottles that took up at least half of the cooler, "are we throwing a cocktail party that you didn't warn me about?"

"It's nothing big," Lex replied innocently, "just a few of the Kennedys... and of course Senator Roberts. You mean I didn't tell you? Oh God. Please tell me you brought a tux."

For a brief moment Clark was horrified. Then his sarcasm detector went off. "Funny, Lex," he grumped. "But seriously, what do we need this much alcohol for?"

Lex smiled. "Well," he explained complacently, "I had been planning to use it to restock the bar at the cabin. The only thing that's up there now is my father's reserve of 1964 Balvenie vintage cask. And much though it would infuriate him to come up here one day and find his precious stash of fine scotch depleted... frankly, I can't stand that crap. Hence the top-shelf cavalry."

Frowning down at the mind-boggling supply of liquor, Clark's mind began to piece together a way to get back at Lex for the cruelty of his flirtatious teasing.

"Just so you know," Lex added, oblivious to the scheming glimmer in Clark's eyes, "I was about to unload most of that and leave it in the truck when you insisted upon carrying the cooler yourself. It's really not my fault you decided to be so macho about it."

"That's okay," replied Clark, a faint smile warming its way across his lips, "I hardly noticed the weight. Here's your pasta." He tossed the package of tortellini over to Lex. "But check it before you put it in the pot. It seems kind of weird. Soft."

Lex shook his head with a grin and peeled back the tortellini's covering, inhaling deeply. "It's called 'fresh,' Clark." He removed the lid from the pot and dumped the entire package into the boiling water. "Not all uncooked pasta can be used for acupuncture, you know."

Clark shrugged and looked back into the cooler, spying a row of brandy snifters tucked neatly next to a package of croissants. Lex had been toying with him and his distinctly teenage libido all day and it was time for some payback. And now Clark had at his disposal the ideal strategy for exacting his vengeance: his old pal alcohol... well, actually it was more like his second-cousin alcohol, considering that he, himself, had never exactly had a personal encounter with it... but still it was his pal in principle. How did the old saying go? Vodka's just a friend you haven't met.

"Hey Lex," he called, trying to sound casual, "do you want... you know... a drink?"

Looking up from the simmering pot, Lex raised his eyebrows. "What, are you a bartender now as well as a masseur? Because I have to warn you: Heike will certainly kill me if I fire her sister and her boyfriend in the same week."

"No," Clark insisted adamantly. "I am definitely not a bartender. I can, however, bring you the bottle."

Lex grinned. "Good enough. Make it the cognac, will you? The one in blue porcelain with Van Gough on the front. And bring two glasses." He went back to stirring the pasta and a moment later both bottle and glass were thrust in front of his face as if Clark didn't know how to put the two together. Lex looked at the objects bemusedly and then raised his eyes to Clark.

"You can pour the cognac yourself, Clark. It's not going to bite you." He watched in wry amusement as Clark sat down and delicately opened the bottle, bringing both it and the glass close to his face as he prepared to pour. It was then that Lex noticed the single glass. "None for you?" he asked, hoping the question didn't sound too pointed.

"Nah," Clark shrugged. "I want my head to be clear when the Senator gets here."

Lex chuckled, enjoying the rare pleasure of a companion that was able to reflect his wry humor back at him. Most people couldn't even tell when he was joking. He shot an affectionate sideways glance at Clark and gasped, immediately dropping his spoon into the pasta. "Easy there!" he blurted, gaping at the nearly full brandy snifter.

Startled, Clark looked up abruptly and cognac splashed over the sides of the glass onto his hand. "Sorry?"

"The cognac," Lex elaborated, his eyes wide with the sheer, fundamental blasphemy of that much brandy in a single glass. "It's not the type of drink you fill to the top. You just poured me about twenty servings worth."

"Oh, sorry," Clark shrugged sheepishly, "I didn't realize." With an apologetic smile he handed Lex the brimming glass.

Lex accepted the snifter but kept his eyes fixed on Clark, across whose face was plastered a shit-eating grin. 'He knew perfectly well how much he should pour,' Lex mused, watching Clark pretend to flinch at the scalding water as he retrieved the lost spoon from the pasta and took over stirring detail. 'I can't believe he's playing the unschooled country-boy card. He really is learning.' Smiling, he took a careful sip of his industrial-sized cognac. Admittedly, he was impressed. And entertained as hell that Clark was trying to get him drunk.

Dinner, for the most part, was uneventful. They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the view as the lingering glow of the sunset wended its way behind the western mountains. When they had finished eating, Clark, ever the well-trained Kent progeny, wrapped up the leftovers and gathered the dishes, setting them aside to soak in the water Lex had cooked the pasta in. Lex hadn't made much progress on his cognac, despite numerous promptings from Clark, but then again its flavor didn't go particularly well with tortellini and pesto. Besides, he was enjoying watching Clark try to suppress his frustration at his utter lack of drunkenness. Now, however, he was about to alter his strategy. He leaned back contentedly and sipped at the cognac as he watched Clark bustling around on the other side of the campfire. When Clark's back was turned he furtively poured the majority of his glass onto the ground behind him. His tolerance was high, but not formidable enough to match up against thirty ounces of eighty proof, and it was certainly to his advantage to let Clark believe that his little ploy was working.

Finally finished with the dishes, Clark strolled back into the circle of firelight and seated himself against a large log, his disappointment that Lex was still leaning against the boulder, where there was only room for one, tempered by the dwindling contents of his snifter.

"I have to say," he began conversationally, "I'm impressed. For a guy expecting to spend the night in a cabin you managed to pack everything we could possibly need for regular camping." He raised an eyebrow but was unable to gauge Lex's reaction in the swift-changing firelight.

Lex smiled, pleased with Clark's astuteness. "Well, you know the boy scout motto," he replied. "Always be prepared." He flashed a lascivious smile as he brought the snifter to his lips.

Clark, however, had suddenly keyed into the day's recurrent conversational theme and was too focused on Lex's comment to notice the lust in his gaze. "Um Lex?" he said, his tone a combination of curiosity and wry humor. "Not to pry or anything but you seem to be weirdly fixated on boy scouts today..."

Lex barely managed to prevent himself from spitting his cognac into the fire but as a result a healthy portion of it shot up his nose. He coughed and snorted, unbecoming though it was.

"Sorry," Clark offered through his unrestrained snickering.

Waving away the apology, Lex shook his head, still wincing from the burn of alcohol in his nasal cavity. "Don't apologize to me," he wheezed once he could actually speak. "Apologize to the gods of brandy. That's a tragic waste of fine alcohol." He could practically hear the small lake of cognac behind him scream, "Hypocrite!" as it seeped into the water table.

Propping his elbow up against the log, Clark turned on his side and eyed Lex keenly as he peered back at him, unblinking, a half-smile playing about his lips. Their gazes locked, Lex's smile broadened and his lips parted, offering Clark a quick flash of tongue-tip pressed against white teeth before the brandy glass rose to obscure the view.

Clark narrowed his eyes and wondered whether the distinct look of lust in Lex's expression was an indication that his barriers were finally beginning to weaken or just his own wishful imagination. The entire day had felt like an endless series of chicken fights that always ended the same way: with Lex hitting the brakes and Clark plummeting over the cliff. Although he was becoming increasingly agitated by Lex's unfathomable obsession with this duel of wills, it was not exactly off-putting. In fact, the added challenge only fueled Clark's determination - he was resolute upon proving himself a worthy adversary by beating Lex at his own game (or, more accurately, by tricking Lex into driving off the cliff with him). And the only way Clark could think of to accomplish that was to use every weapon at his disposal to melt Lex's iron will.

"So enlighten me," he said, hoping to further accelerate Lex's drinking by getting him to talk about it - a strategy inspired by an otherwise lame pop-psychology paper Mrs. King had made them read in Life Sciences a few weeks before. "What is the universal appeal of alcohol, anyway? Is it really that great?"

Lex raised his eyebrows. "Spoken like a man that has never tasted a fine cognac."

"You're not convincing me." Clark stifled a grin as Lex took a long sip of the cognac; Mrs. King would be so proud.

"If it's convincing you want there's only one way to do it," Lex said earnestly. He lingered over the last few words, drawing them out as he fixed Clark with a look that made his blue jeans feel instantly too small. Lifting an eyebrow, he curled his lips into one of those shrewd, snarly smiles that were so uniquely Lex. "Hand me the bottle and an empty glass," he said. "I don't trust you to pour."

Skeptical but obedient, Clark leaned over to the cooler and extracted the requested items. He was reluctant to forfeit the advantage of total sobriety, but Lex, his glass nearly empty, had a whopping head start on him. He decided a small drink couldn't hurt, in particular since he was truly interested in learning about all of Lex's passions - even those that didn't involve actual, well, passion. Besides, he rationalized, once Lex's inimitable defenses had broken down enough to make him more interested in deflowering Clark than tormenting him, a slight buzz would probably do him some good. Eager as he was to become more intimate with Lex, Clark was still nervous as hell. He handed Lex the bottle and glass.

Sensing his friend's nervous reluctance, Lex smiled warmly. "Don't worry, Clark. My feelings won't be hurt if you don't like it, and I certainly won't force you to finish anything you're not enjoying." He poured a few ounces into the glass and passed it to Clark, who held it like a foreign artifact. Lex continued, his tone meaningfully deliberate. "And if it's the law you're worried about, don't be. You're on Luthor territory now, where the legal age is somewhere around twelve, set by Master Lionel himself."

"Twelve?" gasped Clark incredulously. "You started drinking when you were twelve?"

Lex laughed, amused both by Clark's amazement and his innocence. A lot of the members of his Metropolis social circle had been doing significantly heavier things than drinking at age twelve. Lex himself had been something of a late bloomer but in his teens he had made up for it in spades. "I wasn't exactly a enthusiast at twelve," he replied, "but that's when I had my first brush with it. And I have to tell you, the experience was a long way from pleasant."

"Really? What happened?" Clark frowned as he picked up the sudden darkness in Lex's tone.

Taking a deep breath, Lex let his memory drift back to the incident in question. In general, he disliked sharing personal information but with Clark it was different somehow. Impossible though it seemed, he really did trust him, a fact that Lex found infuriatingly comforting and yet another reason why he longed so zealously to receive Clark's trust in return. "My father," he began, enunciating the phrase as if it were poisonous, "was entertaining a group of Japanese businessmen who were in town to negotiate a merger with one of LuthorCorp's technological subsidiaries."

The stage set, he took another sip of cognac before proceeding. "Of course, in his usual modus operandi of priming me to take the reins of the Luthor Empire, he dragged me along for the ride and at the tender age of twelve I suddenly found myself interned in the private dining room of Metropolis' one and only genuine Geisha House." He checked Clark's expression, curious to know whether he knew what a Geisha House was, but was not about to digress in order to explain it. "Anyway," he continued, "it turns out that there's a tradition at such gatherings for each person present to make a toast, after which everyone does a shot of sake. Well you can imagine what a dozen or so shots will do to a twelve-year-old's constitution." Lex swallowed, his features contracting in an expression of suppressed nausea. "That night I learned that raw squid - among other things - looks exactly the same coming up as it does going down."

Clark wrinkled his nose and frowned down at his drink. "You're not selling me, here."

"My point," said Lex patiently, "is that my own miserable experience makes me that much more determined that your first time should be good. Just as memorable, but in the best possible way. An amazing way. A way that will not have you putting some therapist's kids through college ten years down the road."

Eyebrows raised, Clark blinked, trying and failing to interpret Lex's intense but indefinite expression. Were they still talking about alcohol? Had they ever been?

"Go on," Lex urged, moving the conversation forward before Clark could think too hard about the parallel implications of his narrative, overt though they might have been. "Try it."

Really good cognac was one of Lex's great passions and he was genuinely eager to share it with Clark, not just as a beverage but as an existential phenomenon. Besides, Clark was not the only one he hoped to spare from lengthy contemplation of the memory he had just referenced.

Clark sniffed at his glass skeptically and looked up. "So it tastes good? Is that it?"

Lex rolled his eyes and offered his companion a small, slightly exasperated smile. "It's not just a taste, Clark, it's an experience." He held up his snifter reverently in the firelight. "It's a sensory event that can reawaken dormant memories and clarify subconscious links just below the skin of your awareness, like the way the smell of a wood-burning stove makes your brain think it's about to snow. It's a ritual. You drink it slowly, tenderly, like you want it to experience you as much as you're experiencing it." Eyes half-lidded, Lex swirled the cognac and deeply breathed in its vapors before admitting a small sip to his mouth through carefully pursed lips. He looked across the fire at Clark, where the strands of flame shone through the amber liquid in his glass to dance in muted reds across his skin. His tongue still alive with the flavor, Lex allowed the few drops of cognac to trickle down this throat and looked at Clark expectantly.

Clark gazed at Lex for several moments, laboring to process and comprehend his impassioned words, and then frowned down at his drink. Awkwardly, he brought the snifter to his lips, experiencing an odd trepidation as if it were his first kiss rather than his first taste of alcohol. But despite the hesitation he was resolved to try it and with a swift, tear-off-the-Band-Aid motion he threw it back, choking and sputtering as the alcohol overwhelmed his tongue and flooded his throat, seeming to seep into his very lungs and infuse each successive breath with its heady flavor. Squeezing his eyes closed, he shook his head violently.

"Or," remarked Lex after a few moments of stunned silence, "you could just 'chug it.'" He looked dubiously at his own full snifter and then back over at Clark, who was still struggling to suppress his coughing fit. Laboriously, he scooted over to Clark to pound him on the back. If it had been anyone else, he might have presumed the entire incident was a ploy to trick him into moving closer but he didn't think Clark was capable of that much subtlety. Not yet, anyway.

Gradually, Clark's coughing subsided and Lex shifted from pounding on his back with the heel of his palm to rubbing in slow, soothing circles. He couldn't help himself. His day-long torture of Clark had not come without a price. The only thing that had made it bearable for Lex was the knowledge that he was in control, but now he was feeling increasingly overwhelmed with a desire that he was not quite prepared to give in to. Lex pulled his hand back quickly, for once terminating the contact in order to assuage his own torment rather than prolong Clark's.

His breathing now slow and steady, Clark had closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation of Lex's palm pressed warmly against his back. At the sudden withdrawal, his eyes fluttered open again. He slowly turned to face Lex, regarding him from under dark lashes and allowing every wanton morsel of his desire to show clearly on his face. "So that's the experience, eh?" he murmured. There was a sledgehammer of invitation in his tone.

Lex's breath caught in his throat and he swallowed sharply, fighting an internal struggle that he wasn't altogether certain he wanted to win. The raw, stark, smoldering, fucking, sexual, gorgeous, Clark, somethingness of that look had utterly floored him. He was completely fucking incoherent.

'Pull it together, Lex,' he demanded, willing himself to suppress the urgent need to pin Clark against the frozen earth, heedless of the bugs and pine cones and dirt stains on his jeans. He reminded himself that his life did not, in fact, depend upon his sucking on that tantalizing lower lip. Not yet, at least.

At length he recovered enough self-control that he was able look at Clark again, and he chided himself for nearly falling for Clark's proletarian "Get Lex drunk" strategy. Not that he was drunk, of course, but he had had enough of the cognac that self-discipline was requiring a considerably greater-than-normal effort on his part. For a moment, the wily teenager had nearly won. Lex steeled his resolve, determined to make Clark pay for his presumption. One of Lex's great joys in life was in recognizing a stratagem leveled against him and twisting it back upon its originator; over the years he had become exceedingly good at it. And Clark? Well, magnificently sexy as he was, Clark was still an amateur.

"Drinking isn't just about the experience, you know," Lex began, at last breaking the want-filled silence that had apparently mesmerized them both. "Alcohol can also be used as a tool."

"What, like how you try to get someone drunk so you can have your way with them?" Clark realized what he had said far too late. His mind had been so preoccupied with the concept as a whole that he had just blurted the response automatically. He tried to cover his tracks. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I watch a lot of after-school specials." Smooth.

Lex let Clark's hasty remark slide by unmocked and leaned towards him, concentrating on the flicker of the campfire reflected in his eyes. He congratulated himself in advance for the gambit he was about to employ, wondering, not for the first time, why he had not been a psychology major. "Look, Clark," he said secretively, sliding his arm forward along the log to rest tantalizingly behind him, a hair's breadth away from contact, and placing his other hand lightly on his leg. "I'm going to tell you something. It's something important. Something that might just change the way you think about things."

Unsure of how to react, Clark just gazed back at Lex expectantly, exhilarated and strangely fearful. It certainly sounded as if a confession of desire was imminent, a fact that made the part of Clark's brain that tended to leap before it looked do its own cerebral version of the happy dance. 'God, that's gay,' thought the miniscule portion of Clark's brain that was devoted to neither happy dancing nor looking desirously at Lex nor preventing his body from leaping desirously at Lex. 'Well, it fits,' noted the sub-portion that was allocated exclusively for irony. 'Shut up, you guys,' thought the rest of his brain, which was honestly trying to pay attention.

Lex leaned in closer still and Clark could feel the heat of his arm against the back of his neck. He felt compelled to give Lex his full attention, even as he lifted his snifter and took a drawn-out sip. Their faces were mere inches away from each other now and the alcohol on Lex's breath burned against Clark's chapped lips as he exhaled.

Finally, Lex spoke. "Seduction," he breathed, lips twisting into a knowing smile, "is not about the end result. It is about the elegance with which the strategy is executed." Lex lingered for a few moments, his head tilted at the ideal angle for a kiss, and then drew away, leaving Clark confused and disappointed and... confused. The part of his brain that had not been happy dancing promptly bitch-slapped the stupid, gullible portion that had.

"What the hell are you talking about?" was Clark's eloquent response, the frustration evident in his voice. How could Lex keep doing this to them? Clark frowned. Maybe Lex was asexual. Or crazy. Or both.

Slowly shaking his head, Lex smiled. "You've got a lot to learn about sex, Clark."

"No kidding," Clark grumbled.

Lex rolled his eyes and took another sip of cognac. "Sex isn't about experience," he explained, holding a hand up to silence Clark's vague look of protest. "It's about psychology. Finesse. And seducing somebody by getting them drunk is pretty much the modern-day equivalent of the Neanderthal who clubs a woman over the head and drags her back to his cave by the hair."

Blinking in surprise, Clark took a deep breath. 'Ouch.' Without even realizing what he was doing, he curled his fingers around Lex's snifter and drew it towards him, taking a cautious sip and allowing himself the full experience of the flavor, his gaze locked fixedly on Lex's. The complexity of it was simply profound. What did you know? Cognac was better when you didn't chug it.

With a bemused smile, Lex drew back his glass and took a sip himself, savoring it for a few moments before he continued. "Alcohol can be a powerful tool in seduction," he admitted. "But only if it is used properly."

Clark frowned. The cognac he had had earlier was beginning to hit him and he was having even more difficulty than usual at keeping up with Lex's train of thought. "How do you mean?" he asked, leaning back against the tree trunk where, moments ago, Lex's arm had rested.

"Let me offer two contrasting examples," Lex suggested, rolling onto his hip so he could face Clark fully. "Imagine yourself, Clark, as the unwitting about-to-be-seduced."

Although he didn't respond to the remark, Clark looked away from the fire with a sly smile and availed himself of another sip of Lex's cognac. Lex had only enough fortitude to suppress either his look of desire or that of amusement. He went with amusement.

"Now suppose," Lex continued, "that your would-be seducer managed to get you drunk."

"Check," Clark acknowledged abruptly. He was not in the least bit drunk. Tipsy, maybe - he had a delightful warmth creeping up his torso - but not drunk. However he thought he'd play along anyway, in the hopes that Lex was going somewhere interesting with this.

"So you're drunk and your inhibitions are down. You look at the seducer and are suddenly acutely aware of your attraction to them. It is an attraction that you may or may not have realized before but now it's blatantly obvious and you can think of nothing but how badly you want them at that very moment."

"Yeah," Clark sighed. He was trying to stay focused - to keep his mind firmly entrenched in Lex's thought experiment rather than wandering down into his pants - but in the cold silence of the night with its swath of stars and the smell of charred branches and pine cones hanging thick in the air and the intermittent burn - both thermal and chemical - of Lex's breath against his skin... Well, frankly, it was becoming rather difficult.

"And there you are," announced Lex through a mouthful of cognac. "You want them and they want you and you're right there, the two of you, with no one around... So what do you do?"

"I give in," Clark replied honestly. He reached out to take another drink from Lex's snifter but he pulled it just out of reach.

"That you do," Lex declared and took a long, victorious drink before handing the glass to Clark.

Clark drained the remaining cognac and held it out to Lex to refill. "So the seduction worked," he said.

Lex rolled his eyes. "Hardly. You've got to look at the big picture. You were drunk and not at your best." When Clark, feeling somehow offended at the insinuation, opened his mouth to protest, Lex held up a placating hand. "It happens to everyone," he said. "Just let it go. Besides, in order to get you drunk the seducer was probably drunk also." He took a quick sip from the newly-filled snifter. "So the seducer didn't enjoy it as much as they might have."

"But they still got me," Clark reminded him, not giving a second thought to adopting Lex's overtly gender-neutral pronoun scheme.

"Did they?" Lex gazed at Clark for a few long, lingering moments. "Tell me how you feel the next morning."

Clark shrugged uncomfortably. "I dunno."

"Do you feel satisfied?"

"Well, it depends. I..."

"Honestly."

Clark sighed, imagining how it might feel if he drunkenly hooked up with Lana. Or, worse yet, Chloe. "Probably not."

"You hadn't been planning on sleeping with the Seducer that night but you did anyway. Was that a mistake?"

"Um... maybe?"

"And was it your fault?"

"I could have walked away if I wanted."

Lex scoffed. "You were drunk, Clark. After a certain point your logical self became nothing but a spectator in the transaction." He leaned forward, locking Clark's gaze with a stern expression, and gripped his leg forcefully. "The net result is that you did something you hadn't been sure you wanted to do when you were sober."

"I might've wanted to do it," Clark countered, somewhat uncertainly. "You said yourself that I might have already realized that..."

"But you weren't sure, were you?" Lex shot back.

"... No?"

"So how do you feel the next morning?"

"Confused... Weird..."

"Resentful?" His tone was sharp but his eyes sharper.

Clark shifted uncomfortably. "How should I...? I don't know. Maybe?"

"Exactly," Lex declared victoriously, taking a large sip of cognac with a flourish. "There's too much uncertainty. The seducer can claim no victory if you're regretting it the next day - even a little bit. That would be like you crowing over beating a six-year-old in basketball." He was tempted to add, 'or your parents at Jeopardy,' but wisely elected to remain silent on that count.

Clark frowned. He felt oddly as if he had been manipulated into proffering the desired responses but he couldn't figure out how. And Lex certainly posed a powerful argument.

Noting Clark's consternated expression, Lex offered him the snifter. He accepted, drawing it quietly to his lips.

"Now," Lex whispered, leaning in close, his fingers trailing lightly along the contours of Clark's shoulder, "let me paint for you a very different picture. You're in the same situation: drunk and alone with your seducer. The conversation turns to sex and it puts you in just the right mindset for an evening of willful debauchery." At this last word, Lex dug his thumb into a calculated point on Clark's shoulder, hitting a nerve center and sending a wave of sensation throughout his body. Lex smiled at his unstudied reaction and trailed his fingers down Clark's arm, wishing he could feel the goose bumps that were springing forth below the fabric of his shirt.

"The lights in the room are perfectly dimmed and the two of you move closer to each other as the discussion progresses." Lex slid forward without breaking eye contact and allowed his leg to press firmly against Clark's. He licked his lips, abandoning all pretense of subtlety, and continued, eyes blazing with desire. "It becomes increasingly obvious that the lust and the passion and the insurmountable yearning you feel for him is completely mutual. His salacious gazes ignite your arousal and you feel simultaneously desiring and desired. All you can think about is your overwhelming need to sample the singular taste of his lips, to let your hands roam over his body unchecked, to hear your name whispered ardently on his ragged breath. You find yourself wanting him uncontrollably but you're confused, apprehensive: true courage doesn't come in a bottle and you're reluctant to do anything you might later regret. And yet with every word, every accidental contact, with every motion of his hands you long for him to touch you - to satisfy the desires that feel like they're burning you to ash. And finally you decide you can't resist any longer - you have to have him and to give yourself in return. And just when your excitement is at its peak, when you question how many more seconds you can endure without feeling his hot breath against your skin... At that very instant he stands up and says, 'Good night, Clark.'"

Clark slumped back against the log, his mind swimming. He had been taken in utterly by Lex's scenario and was struggling to regain his bearings on reality. "Oh god," he murmured.

"Precisely," breathed Lex. "You've missed your chance. He's gone. So what do you do?"

"I go home and jack off," Clark sighed dejectedly. An instant later he realized with horror what he had just said. Determined to erase the statement from his memory, he snatched the cognac away from Lex and availed himself of a good, long draught.

Lex, however, just smiled approvingly. "Absolutely right," he affirmed. "And do you regret anything the next day?"

"Of course not," Clark grumbled. "I didn't do anything."

"You jacked off," Lex reminded him in his most politely adversarial tone.

"Sure," he admitted, "but that's completely different. I'm the only one involved."

Lex smiled. "Exactly. And the only person you have to be honest with is yourself... And the thing you can be honest about is..."

Knitting his brow, Clark spent a few moments in rapt contemplation before hesitantly responding. "...that my attraction to him is not just an artifact of the alcohol?" His head, thankfully, was already beginning to clear.

"Yes." Lex clapped triumphantly. A sexual psychology prodigy is born. "And? What else?"

Clark considered momentarily. "That I'm ready for him to seduce me. I mean, to make that conscious decision..."

Not bothering with verbal affirmation, Lex just sat back and smiled.

"Shit," Clark breathed.

"Yep."

"It worked."

"Of course." Lex raised his eyebrows, affecting insult at Clark's wonderment. "Now which seducee would you rather be?"

"Duh."

Lex beamed. "Right. And a happy seducee makes for a happy seducer makes for incredibly good sex."

They sat in silence for several minutes, staring into the fire. Finally, Clark cleared his throat. "You paint an uncanny picture, Lex," he said at last. "Am I to assume you've got some... experience... with this kind of thing?"

Lex smiled and the wicked, sultry glint of it drew Clark forward until their noses almost brushed. Clark lay his arm along Lex's, hand lightly gripping his shoulder, and tilted his head, licking his lips in preparation for the inevitable kiss and tasting the distinct tang of cognac. He wondered if the flavor would seem different when sampled off of Lex's lips. Lex cocked his head to the side but made no move to lean forward, waiting patiently for Clark's gradual approach.

Clark moved obligingly closer until he could feel The tip of Lex's nose brush lightly against his, until he could taste Lex's cognac-tinted breath on his tongue. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, stopping as he felt a distinct, gentle pressure against his lips. He opened his eyes suddenly. The pressure was not from Lex's lips but from a single finger held up to abate his advance.

"Good night, Clark," Lex said quietly, trailing his finger from Clark's lips down to his chest before drawing it away from him. At that he abruptly stood and strode away, abandoning Clark and the convivial light of the campfire in favor of the darkness-enshrouded tent.

Clark stared after him in disbelief, his lips still quivering in expectation of the long-awaited kiss. The sadistic fucking bastard had done it again. And Clark was so stupid and so smitten and so fucking horny that he had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. He closed his eyes with a pained expression and tried to remember why he bothered to make the effort.

After several minutes had passed and it was apparent that Lex would not be returning to the warm glow of the campfire, Clark finally acknowledged the fact that he would have to take matters into his own hands. Resignedly, he accepted his predestination and went out into the woods to sit down on a comfortable-looking rock and jack off, just as Lex had predicted. The man was a fucking psychic.

Clark undid his pants with a resigned sigh, noting by the way the seams of his jeans were beginning to pull apart near the zipper that while it had been a hard day for him, it had been significantly harder for certain parts of his anatomy. He closed his eyes and pictured Lex as he had looked gazing at him in the flickering firelight. He thought of the way Lex's mouth had looked, lips slightly parted in that sensual smile of his, and began stroking himself with slow, precise movements. Although he went through the motions almost apathetically at first, the lingering thoughts of Lex - with his smoldering glances and ten-thousand-dollar suits tailored so perfectly as to justify their price-tag - inspired him and gradually he approached the endeavor with renewed vim, closing his eyes against harsh reality and allowing his mind to meander into the distinctly more pleasant realm of fantasy in which Lex, himself, was the distributor of all physical pleasure.

He smiled faintly as his hand adopted a billionaire persona, and rather than taking the usual, most efficient route, Clark made a deliberate effort to avoid all of his most sensitive spots, managing to bring himself precariously close to the edge again and again, only to pull back at the last moment. All in all it was a very Lex-like experience: the appropriately tortuous finish to an incredibly frustrating day. Finally, he brushed his slick thumb over the head of his cock and imagined that it was Lex's tongue flicking across his skin, tasting him the way he tasted fine cognac, his eyes closed and relishing in the totality of the experience. And that was it: he was finished. Clark came with a shuddering breath and slid bonelessly off of the rock, watching through half-lidded eyes as steam poured off of his bare flesh and rose wraith-like into the frigid heavens.

Almost unfathomably, Clark found that he now wanted Lex more than ever. The man wasn't just psychic, he was a genius. An evil genius. A psychic, evil genius who was quite possibly also crazy. The one thing that Lex was definitely not, Clark decided, was asexual.

"Well, at least you're satisfied," he muttered, looking down mopily at his dick, which lay against his thigh looking limp but content. He wiped it clean as best as he could and tucked it back into his boxers before scooping up some snow to clean his hands. Standing up somewhat shakily, he zipped up his jeans and walked briskly back to camp.

The fire was already dwindling when Clark returned, but he threw some sand on it just to be safe. After all, there was little need for it: he could see well enough in the dark to change into his sweatpants and get himself to bed without incident. He grabbed his sweats and a clean shirt out of his backpack and changed hastily, eager to climb into his sleeping bag and spend an entire night sleeping next to Lex. Obviously he would have preferred to be sleeping with Lex, but he was willing to take what he could get. 'You never know, though,' he mused. 'Maybe he changed his mind... again.' There was always the chance that he would get inside the tent and find that Lex had zipped their sleeping bags together - that he had been waiting for him all along... Nah. He shook his head with a sad sigh. Clark Kent would never be that lucky.

Clark crouched to unzip the tent and stepped inside. Sure enough, there were two sleeping bags. Two separate sleeping bags. And Lex, nestled warmly inside the one on the left, was apparently already sound asleep. Doing his best to avoid jostling the entire tent, Clark turned and zipped the door closed again before crawling inside his own sleeping bag. He lay down and spent several minutes just staring at Lex, whose back was to him, and marveling at the unprecedented turn his life had taken since meeting him. Before Lex, Clark had never considered that he might be attracted to another man, nor had really appreciated the concepts of personal chemistry, sex appeal or animal magnetism. He had also, deep down, harbored the concern that no one other than his parents would ever be able to look at him and see someone truly special. Lex saw something unique in him, it was clear, and Clark found that incredibly moving.

A sleepy moan from the other side of the tent snapped Clark out of his train of thought and he hastily squeezed his eyes closed as Lex rolled over. After several moments of silence, Clark decided to hazard a peek - not by opening his eyes, but by using his X-ray vision to peer through his own eyelids. It was a crafty little trick he had been honing and, frankly, he was darn proud of it. Once he was able to muster up enough concentration to see properly, however, Clark was astonished to discover that Lex was wide awake and watching him.

Needless to say, the situation was distinctly surreal. There he was, looking directly into Lex's eyes, cataloguing every emotion that flashed across his face, but as far as Lex knew he was fast asleep. His expression was impossible to categorize but, startlingly, the dominant emotion was unquestionably that of love. There could be no more doubts, Clark realized. Lex was not just attracted to him. He loved him. Holy crap.

Though he considered it likely that Lex himself might not even be aware of what he was feeling, Clark was certain of it and the concept both exhilarated and terrified him. But there was something more complicated in Lex's countenance: hesitation, conflict, doubt, a myriad of questions... and an air of sadness so profound that it made Clark's stomach turn. He had already deduced that Lex's past was significantly more grim than he generally let on, but he now realized that it was probably much worse than he had ever imagined.

The raw vulnerability on his friend's face was simply staggering and Clark became suddenly aware that Lex would absolutely never adopt such an expression if he knew someone else was watching. This stolen glimpse at Lex's true emotions made Clark feel closer to him than ever but he guiltily considered that it was an intimacy he had not earned, nor had it been bestowed willingly. There was something creepily voyeuristic about the whole situation. He knew in his heart that it was a violation but he couldn't tear himself away. He just kept staring back at Lex with increasing intensity, willing all the love and wonderment and joy he had ever felt in his life to flow into Lex through the medium of his gaze.

Clark's emotions were so primal, so raw and intense, that he felt almost as if he were physically holding them back, blocking them as they fought to escape through the thin shield of his eyelids. At length, Lex shot him an indulgent, parting glance and turned away, leaving him at liberty to open his eyes again, feeling as if the simple act were a long-denied privilege.

And then it happened.

Instantly, Clark's field of vision was flooded with a blinding red light. Acting on instinct, he threw his hands over his face. Something weird was happening - weirder than usual, that is - but he didn't know what... or why. Or who or how or when. Or whatever the other question was. Where? No, he knew that one. Never mind. And presumably he also knew "when," that being now. He listened cautiously for a few moments but the tent was silent. Whatever it was, Lex had not reacted to it... either that or it had killed him. Fuck.

Clark blinked his eyes open and the light was gone. The tent was quiet. Everything seemed normal. That is, of course, except for the fact that Lex's sleeping bag was on fire.

"Shit!" Clark threw himself on top of Lex, who started at the sound of the sudden expletive, and extinguished the flames with his body. The fire had been a small one but, combined with the bizarre phenomenon of the red light, it had thrown Clark into a panic. Now, however, lying sprawled on top of Lex, who was trying to conceal his shock at the situation by looking amused, he felt really, really, really ridiculous. Clark cleared his throat. "You... ah..." Still disoriented from the bizarre events, he tried to clear his head. "You... somehow... seem to have caught on fire... somehow."

Lex looked at him with abject disbelief. "I caught on fire..." he repeated slowly, as if scanning his brain for alternative interpretations of the phrase that might make more sense. "That's funny. I didn't notice." He frowned at Clark, who just blinked in astonishment.

Determined to prove himself a non-lunatic, Clark lifted himself up and indicated an obvious singe on the sleeping bag above Lex's midsection. Bits of the outer fabric were burned clean through but the lining was still intact. "What the hell is that thing lined with?" Clark asked incredulously. "Asbestos?"

"Hardly," Lex replied, making a show of being distinctly un-taken-aback by having mysteriously caught on fire. "It's lined with Kevlar."

Clark laughed, finding the whole situation suddenly ludicrous. "Specially constructed for safe camping during Wabbit Season?" he suggested.

Lex smiled. "Don't be silly. It's for protection against the boy scouts. Don't trust them. Never will. Now you know why." He have Clark's thigh a meaningful squeeze.

"Look, Lex, I swear I wasn't..."

"Actually," Lex amended, sparing them both the awkwardness of Clark's fumbling explanation, "Kevlar is an excellent insulator. Really. We use it in the labs at LuthorCorp."

"Really."

"Of course. That's how we keep our fertilizer so warm. Like the ads say: it's just like fresh."

Clark paused. "Is that the cognac talking or does the really warped side of your humor only come out after two a.m.?"

"Actually, you're lucky," Lex grinned. "It usually only emerges during a blue moon... and, of course, when I've been set on fire and subsequently had the wind knocked out of me by an overzealous high-school student."

Mortified, Clark flopped down and buried his face in Lex's chest.

Lex offered a faint, consolatory smile and stroked Clark's back compassionately. Now that the initial shock was over, he was incredibly amused that Clark would go to the trouble of setting him on fire just so he could come to the rescue and cuddle. "You know," he said at last, tracing a finger casually along the contours of Clark's back, "there are much simpler ways to tell a guy that you like him."

Clark's eyes flew open and his initial mortification was increased tenfold. "Seriously, Lex..." he stammered, flushing hotly, "I swear I..." Clark's words trailed off. He couldn't actually formulate a denial, despite the veracity of his innocence.

Lex grinned, making a mental note of yet another reason why the Kents as a family would always need a copious and highly skilled battalion of lawyers. He raised his eyebrows at Clark's denial and curled his lips into a sultry smile. Lex propped himself up on his elbows, bracing them between the pillars of Clark's arms, and lifted his face until they were a few inches apart, keeping his eyes intently locked on Clark's. "It's okay, Clark," he said, his voice a mix of passion and good humor. "There's no question I deserved it after my behavior today." He smiled at Clark apologetically. "Besides," he added, "it was a good move. I liked it."

Clark swallowed, keenly aware of Lex's body as it shifted beneath him and his own involuntary physical response. He parted his lips to answer but the words failed him.

Carefully monitoring the continued look of confusion on Clark's face, Lex leaned upwards until they were cheek to cheek. He was propped up on his hands now, forearms in light contact with Clark's, and he could actually feel the frantic thrum of Clark's heartbeat through the vein in his wrist. He could feel his breath, hastened and uneven, against the nape of his neck and decided that perhaps it was at last time for a strategic advance.

"It's late," Lex whispered, his lips brushing faintly against Clark's earlobe. "If I give you a little kiss, do you promise to go to sleep and refrain from setting me on fire... at least until tomorrow morning?"

Clark nodded dumbly, fighting to rein in his desperate desires and the torment inflicted by yet another patented Luthor-brand mixed message. Yes, Lex had offered to kiss him but "we'll talk about it in the morning" was not the most promising of responses to his accidental but nonetheless incriminating come-on. In love or not, aware of it or not, he clearly had some reservations; there was an added dimension to Lex's feelings that Clark had not yet figured out. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the chaste peck that was supposed to bribe him back into his own sleeping bag. At this point, he was willing to take whatever Lex was ready to give.

At the sight of Clark closing his eyes in nervous expectation, Lex curled his lips into a smile. He sat up and slid backwards against the slippery fabric of his sleeping bag, watching with amusement as Clark remained immobile in his awkward fire-extinguishing push-up stance. Lex leaned forward until their noses touched and then ran his left hand up Clark's arm, around the back of his neck and into his hair, grasping it gently as he pulled Clark's head forward and their lips finally, after so much longing, met for the first time. He kissed him softly at first but the desperate urgency of Clark's surprised response soon overpowered him and he pressed their mouths together forcefully, his hand clenching Clark's hair into a tight fist. Clark's breathing was erratic and as he tilted his head back to take in some air, Lex moved to suck ardently on his lower lip, running his tongue lithely along its surface. The skin itself was rough - Clark's lips were still chapped from extended exposure to the dry, indoor heat of the long Kansas winter - but the lips, like everything else about Clark, struck Lex as incredible beyond words.

Clark reached up to rest his hand against the back of Lex's head, wanting to pull him even closer but too wary of his strength to let himself try. He shifted his weight so he could continue to support himself on one arm but Lex, sensing he was off balance, took advantage of the opportunity to roll them both onto Clark's side of the tent. The change in position made him fiercely aware of Clark's erection, which pushed into the muscles of his inner thigh, diamond hard. Lex had not registered the fire through the insulation of his sleeping bag, but this was a heat he could definitely feel. He planted a few more fervent kisses, tracing the contours of Clark's lips with his tongue but the feel of Clark's impossibly hard cock jutting into him and the incalculable stimulation of his own hard-on pressed flush against his abs was threatening to send his venerated self-control into utter oblivion. The last straw came when he shifted slightly, just enough to alleviate the sharp pressure against his inner thigh, causing Clark's shaft to brush against the underside of his balls. As if the physical sensation weren't overwhelming enough, the encounter elicited a shuddering, "Oh, God, Lex," barely audible on Clark's breath.

Realizing that he had to break the kiss immediately if he wanted to remain true to his meticulously constructed agenda, Lex managed to summon all of his willpower and pull himself away from Clark's beautiful, incredible, delicious lips. Still cocooned in his sleeping bag, he sat up, gripping Clark's ribcage between his thighs and smiling down at him with ragged breath.

Mouth open and breathing hard, Clark looked positively dumbstruck. Lex was feeling pretty dumbstruck himself, actually, but he had his plan - which, he reminded himself, specifically involved not having sex with Clark that night no matter how desperately he wanted to - and he was determined to stick to it. "There's your kiss," he panted at last, laughing at himself for getting so swept up in the moment... at Clark for setting him on fire... at the situation as a whole. It was even better than he had anticipated. He leaned forward and kissed Clark on the forehead, surprising even himself with its tenderness. "Now go to sleep."

Without waiting for a response, Lex rolled away to his own side of the tent. If he had lingered on top of Clark any longer he didn't think he would have been able to stop himself from crawling into his sleeping bag. He took a deep breath and tried to coax himself to sleep with promises of naked Clark in the very near future, a Clark not only devoid of clothes but divested of the cloak of mystery he so insistently clutched around him. Until that shroud was cast aside there would always be an unwelcome distance between them. And now more than ever Lex was convinced that any distance, no matter how small, that subsisted between himself and Clark was absolutely unacceptable.

After several minutes of listening to Lex's breathing become softer and more regular, Clark settled back into his own sleeping bag and forced himself to close his eyes, wondering if he would ever sleep again. This was a day that had begun like any other but the moment Lex kissed him it had ended an era in Clark's life. That kiss... It was incredible. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was... there were no wholly satisfactory words to describe it. Oh, wait. Yes there were. Something he had read in a poem somewhere... Now what were they again? Oh yeah. "Holy. Fucking. Shit."

Clark smiled contentedly as he drifted into slumber, choosing not to concern himself with the questions and worries that still hovered over him. Tonight, he would just enjoy the moment for what it was and be endlessly thankful that he was a boy scout.

End.