When Clark's parents talk, it's invariably about him.

He can hear their voices from the loft without the benefit of alien hearing, straight through the muggy summer air. Not every word, but enough of them and besides, their tone is usually clear enough.

Concern for when he fucks up. Happiness when he doesn't. Anger for when they can't agree which one it is this time.

Listening in his hammock while pretending to read, he thinks he hears anger. Something about how quiet his mother's voice is, compared to the hoarse strain of his father trying, and failing, to keep his cool. A whisper versus a bark, growing in passion and Clark is pretty sure he knows what the argument is about.

Today his parents found out he's sleeping with Lex.

He disappears before breakfast, forced to walk the road so as not to destroy the high corn. Some neighbors complained about the ruined lines of stalks the year before, a few of them connecting fallen corn cobs in a way that made Clark's father nervous.

More nervous, to be precise.

"You can walk," he said to Clark a week earlier, his fingers tapping the kitchen table. "It'll be good for your control."

Clark isn't so sure about that. He's never been less about control as he jogs up the mansion stairs, pausing at the great oak doors, his heart pounding.

At least he thinks it's a heart. His own physical biology is a mystery to him and he doesn't have the nerve to X-ray himself with an anatomy book at his side.

It looks like a human, walks like a human, it must be something close to a human is Clark's latest motto. This way of thinking is especially helpful when he's fucking Lex and too busy to think about not being of this world.

Just one more reason why fucking Lex is such a pleasurable activity.

Clark is let inside by one of those servants Lex hires for their ability to make themselves melt into the paneling once a task is completed. The coolness of the stone hall is a nice contrast to the black heat of the morning road, already broiling a few minutes after sunrise.

The relatively chilly air prickles his skin as he walks into Lex's office and he's only a little surprised to see a lone log burning in the fireplace.

Not the usual bonfire Lex has roaring in there; just a little cozy thing, not too insane for a hot Kansas summer day. Lex says the fireplace relaxes him, calms him in the face of overwhelming pressures. Clark often finds Lex sitting and peering into the fire, mesmerized by the flickers, his breathing slow and steady, his lips slightly parted as he stares.

It's always an enticing sight.

Maybe that's what he can tell his parents when he faces them later today for the inevitable showdown. *"The fireplace made me do it"*, he'll plead and his father will come to Lex's mansion armed with a water hose instead of a shotgun.

Or maybe not.

As usual, Lex is behind his desk, sleepily reading some file, periodically forcing his eyes to widen as if that will make the contents more interesting. When he addresses Clark, his tone is casual as if Clark's arrival half an hour after sunrise is the most natural thing in the world. "Do you think that manure shares will drop this year? Or just hit the fan?"

Clark doesn't know. He doesn't care either. He cuts to the chase without preamble. "Mom and Dad know. About us."

The file closes. Lex looks up and his breathing is slow and steady. His lips are set in a tight line. "I see." He rises and brushes something invisible off of his immaculate pants. "Let's have breakfast."

Breakfast is fruit, whole wheat toast and pancakes. There's orange juice, coffee and a pitcher filled with iced water, sliced lemons floating among the cubes. The butter is fresh, homemade, maybe from the Kent farm itself.

Clark steers clear of it and takes a bite of a strawberry, his nose wrinkling at the taste of sugar and lemon juice used to "brighten" the flavor. "You should tell your staff they don't have to do this to the fruit out here. It's not like the stuff we ship to the city. It's fine the way it is."

Lex pours himself a large goblet of the iced lemon water. "I'll be sure to let them know. Now about your parents ..."

"They found the condoms. And your tie. I guess we should have been more careful."

Lex's eyes close for a moment as he takes a deep breath. Clark wonders if he's imagining himself in front of the fireplace, trying to center the storm in his mind. "I should have been more careful," he says finally. "I'm the one who should know better, at least."

This vaguely offends Clark. He takes a bite of dry toast before washing it down with a bitter swig of coffee. "I think I'm old enough to hide my trash, Lex. We both fucked up, that's all. Besides, they were going to find out eventually."

"Were they?" Lex's voice sounds thick from the ice water. In it is a hint of cold annoyance. "I don't remember discussing plans to come out to them any time soon."

Clark's toast crust is abandoned. "My parents aren't idiots," he says. "And I can't keep secrets from them for long even when I want to. That's just the way it is in our family."

He waits after that, waits for Lex to make a sharp comment about Kents and secret-keeping, but surprisingly, Lex's attitude softens.

Or seems to. "I'm sorry, Clark. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm just not looking forward to the inevitable fallout." The glass of ice water is put down, condensation dripping. Lex pauses, running a wet fingertip over the rim. "Is there any way to avoid it?"

Clark wants to groan, but doesn't. Lex and avoidance are two words that don't go together by any stretch of the imagination. "Not really. Not unless ..." It's his turn to pause now, to swallow the painful lump that's inconveniently formed in his throat. "Not unless you want to break up. I can tell them it's over and that will be the end of it."

Lex continues to play with his glass. His reply is maddeningly slow in coming. "No, I don't think that's the answer."

The tightness in Clark's throat isn't going away. "You don't think breaking up is the answer?" Clark has trouble grinding the words out. Instinctively, he reaches for the ice water. The pitcher is slippery and he struggles to pour out a glass without shattering everything. "So I'm just a problem to be solved now, huh?"

Lex's headshake is mournful. His eyes meet Clark's. They are a little too bright and suddenly Lex looks exactly like what he is. A man without a family, someone who's been his own mother, father and brother for far too long. "I chose my words poorly. I don't want to break up with you, Clark. Forgive me?"

It makes Clark's heart ache. The lump is finally swallowed. "We're good." He reaches out to touch Lex's hand. It's surprisingly cold. "Look, I'll check out the situation first. I'll call you if ..."

"No." Lex's returning squeeze to Clark's fingers is firm. Familiar. "We'll go together. It's not fair for you to face this alone." A sardonic shrug. "With any luck I'll die with pie on my lips."

Clark isn't so sure about that -- his mother isn't as open minded as she likes to appear, especially about her only child's sex life -- but changes the subject. "You can go with something else on your lips," he says, trying to sound seductive but only coming off as vaguely dirty. He winces. Don Juan, he's not.

But Lex smiles nonetheless. He has enough smoothness for them both, thank God. He rises and motions for Clark to follow him.

"Dead man fucking," he calls out softly as they head up the stairs to his bedroom.

Clark tries to stifle his laughter. It's useless. They tumble onto the pristinely made bed, thick burgundy down billowing around them, cool air skating across their naked shoulders.

Clark wants to ask why Lex needs a down comforter in the middle of summer, why the air-conditioner is blasting even when he isn't there. Why is his work space must be warm, just as his bedroom must be cold and a million other questions, but Lex's tongue is in his mouth, doing all sorts of wonderful things and he no longer feels quite that curious.

Lex seems fascinated with his neck this morning, so Clark allows him easy access to it. He enjoys the scraping tease along taut ligaments, the soft sucks to his Adam's apple. Wonders if the organ would be called by some variation of that on his home world (surely Adam and Eve couldn't have lived there too, could they?) until Lex notices his minute distraction.

A warm hand on Clark's cock alternates feather-light touches with firm grasps and it's all over for the rational part of Clark's mind. He encourages Lex with greedy kisses, grinding up hard against him, lifting his hips -- and Lex -- a few inches off the bed effortlessly, a move that always makes Lex gasp.

Lex likes his strength, Clark likes his fearlessness and together, they might be all right yet.

Clark opens his legs in invitation and Lex burrows his face there, his tongue working everywhere it can reach. Lex has one talented tongue and Clark is in awe, his hands caressing a hairless head that isn't quite as symmetrical as it seems at first glance. There are flat spaces and small bumps and Clark thinks he's in love with every one of them, especially when Lex's lips wrap around the head of his cock, his tongue working the slit in slow, lazy licks.

Lex watches Clark while he does this and there's something about the dilation of his pupils, the narrow bit of slate blue left that makes Clark shudder, his orgasm overtaking him by leaps and bounds. A desperate noise in Lex's throat and that's all he can take.

He never feels more human than when coming in Lex's mouth. He never feels more superhuman either.

It's not a sign of surrender when he turns over to give himself to Lex. It's an offering of shared power and Clark can tell Lex appreciates the gesture, thrusting into him with abandon, letting himself get lost in Clark's body without hesitation.

It takes a little while for Lex to reach orgasm. Clark concentrates on the sensations, the burn and stretch, the alternating fullness and loss, and while it's not enough to make him come again, it feels pretty damned good. A spike of pleasure as Lex pulses inside and Clark allows them both to collapse in a heap, with Lex breathing hard against his shoulder.

They lay for a long time like that. Clark fingers the sheets absently, plain white cotton and cheap because Lex likes the crispness of low thread counts. He's all about the sensual sometimes, and Clark wishes he could enjoy half the luxuries of sensation Lex does.

Then again, Lex has enough problems to make simple pleasures worth more than gold.

And Clark has carelessly added to those problems once again. Somewhere in the back of his head he hears his parents arguing. His father's voice is growing louder, angrier and tentatively, Clark touches Lex's hand, squeezing it perhaps a little too hard.

It's still cold. "I've been thinking."

"Hmmm?"

"Maybe we should break up."

Lex is silent for a moment, except for a sharp inhale. He exhales deliberately. "Really."

Noncommittal, and that's okay. Because Lex knows Clark doesn't plan on breaking up with him, he just wants Lex to know he's a worth a few more days of comfort. Clark doubts his parents will believe him in the long run. But he needs time to think without them haranguing him from both sides.

Lex isn't the only one who could use a break. "It'll be easier," Clark says, kissing Lex's forehead.

"You think so?" Lex stares at the ceiling, his throat working.

"Yeah. I'll catch you in a few days."

"Right."

Clark dresses quickly, already sweating by the time he reaches the bottom of the mansion stairs. The walk back home looks long and hot so he takes the corn. Lets the cobs fall where they may and when he enters his parents' kitchen, he's greeted by expressions both baleful and irritated.

Clark doesn't feel bad, doesn't really feel anything at all when he looks them both right in the eye ...

And lies without blinking.