Unauthorized Biography

There's a growl from the couch. Lex rolls his eyes.

"Well, stop reading it, then."

This time, it's nearly a moan:

"I can't."

Lex closes his lap top.

"Which chapter are you on now?"

"Victoria." It's said through gritted teeth.

Lex smiles inwardly. Why Clark hates poor, dumb Vicky so much more than any of the others is a mystery to him.

Clark sits up and prods the book with a big finger.

"Did you even read this quote? She goes on and on about having sex with you. "Lex was an unstoppable force, a tidal wave flooding my cove..."

"Oddly worded, but apt."

"She just compared her....her lady parts to a rocky shore," says Clark, puzzled.

"Like I said, apt."

"And when you're not "flooding" her, you're plunging her. Like a toilet," Clark smiles, pleased with his joke. "I swear, Lex, she totally stole all this sex stuff out of Danielle Steele."

"You're giving Vicky too much credit. I doubt she's ever finished a book. And how exactly did you become acquainted with the works of Ms. Steele?"

Clark flushes. Prettily.

"Mom. She calls it her "guilty pleasure reading.""

"Mmm."

"Victoria says you foreclosed on her father's business and cruelly abandoned her."

"That sounds more like Dickens than Danielle Steele...Notice she neglects to mention she was carrying on an affair with my father the entire time she was with me."

"What?!"

Oops. Clark hadn't known that and now the couch has a broken arm. Clark looks sheepish.

"Sorry."

"No, my fault. I should have told you before."

"My brain..." says Clark. "The images. Your Dad's hair. Victoria's.... stupid mouth...."

Lex grins. Clark has very little venom in him. He lacks the vocabulary to be properly bitchy.

"There's not enough bleach in the world to cleanse my mind...."

"You'll cope," Lex says, a little sharply. "I did."

"Yeah," Clark gives him a quick glance, then looks back at the book in his lap. "Lex, who's this Mr. X guy?"

"I only skimmed the book, remember. Which chapter is he in?"

"He says you seduced him at Excelsior."

"Oh...I think that's Gerald Travers. Gerry. He forced a hand job on me in the showers one time after rugby practice."

Clark's eyes glitter. Lex will never admit how much he enjoys Clark in protective mode.

"He assaulted you?"

"Yeah, but they don't really think of it that way at Excelsior. It's a rite of passage, like your Scarecrow ritual. And just as warped, really. But considering that I was the one pinned to the wall, it's a bit cheeky of him to claim victim status."

"Bastard."

Silence. Lex watches Clark, who glares at the book.

"I like the photo of Desiree," offers Lex, just to get a reaction.

"Her hair's enormous! And she's wearing bicycle shorts!"

"The early `90's were an interesting time for fashion," says Lex.

"She spins everything," says Clark. "She has the three of us fighting over her, you, me and my Dad. And she's the innocent victim caught in the middle."

"Notice she's careful not to name you," says Lex. "She's up for parole soon. Doesn't want any lawsuits on her hands."

Clark looks worried.

"Parole?"

"She's been a model prisoner, apparently. I've wondered if she's been able to re-direct her pheromones in a more useful direction, you know, for a women's prison."

"She was a bit scary," says Clark.

"You liked her at first."

"Her body, yeah. But once I saw how she had her hooks in you, I definitely didn't like her."

"Hence her claims at superior gaydar: "I could tell the Farm Boy was smitten, to the point of obsession, with my husband. Little did I know his obsession would extend to me..."

"Quoting from memory?" says Clark, slyly. "I thought you just skimmed the book."

"Well, that quote stuck out, Farm Boy."

"Yeah, well according to Helen, you were the one obsessed with me. She compares That Room to Bluebeard's chamber."

Lex gives Clark a cautious look. It's only recently that they've been able to joke about the room. Clark sees the look and gives a reassuring smile.

"It was years ago, Lex. I'm over it. Anyhow, what I did with my telescope...was as bad, really. As invasive."

Lex smiles back. But telescopes have led Clark to think of Lana.

"I can't believe she'd talk to this guy," says Clark, softly. "I mean, I know she has every reason to be angry with me..."

With us, thinks Lex.

"All Lana's boyfriends end up dead - or gay, Clark. She's bitter and rightly so."

"She broke up with me, though."

"That doesn't mean she stopped caring for you." Lex's love for Clark has survived fist fights, tantrums, accusations and betrayals. He still loves Clark, will always love Clark. The jury's out on the healthiness of this.

Clark continues:

"I can see why she can't forgive me. But you...? You bought her the Talon, gave her a place to live, sent her to France...."

Covered up a murder, Lex thinks.

"And in the book, she makes you the bad guy, with me caught up in your wicked schemes. I just don't get it..."

Lex takes a minute to formulate his answer. Tact is essential. The trouble is that Clark has never been able to see Lana as a real person; she's either been up on a pedestal or fading away in the rearview mirror. Lex believes he does understand Lana, knows her insecurity, her fear of abandonment. She has always needed to ensure all her bases are covered; always had a guy by her side and a guy in reserve. First, it was Whitney, with Clark in reserve; then Adam and Clark, Jason and Clark and finally Clark and Lex. When they turned to each other, Lex and Clark ruined Lana's plan - and her back-up plan. That has to sting like hell.

Lex clears his throat. That explanation might cut a little too close to the bone for Clark. Fortunately, there's another to offer.

"We used her for years, Clark, both of us. We used her as a shield while we danced round each other...."

Clark snorts at "danced."

"We sublimated our interest in each other through her," continues Lex. "Women don't forgive that..."

"Yeah, but..."

For Clark, betrayal, "telling", is the great unforgivable sin. His hands twist unhappily. Comfort is required. Lex walks over to the one-armed couch and is promptly pulled onto Clark's lap. Clark gives him a sloppy kiss on the neck.

"Does this mean you're done fretting over the book?" Lex asks, leaning back. Clark snuffles around his ear. It tickles.

"It is kind of funny that all your diamond earring girls had to be compressed into just two chapters. You were such a slut that year."

"Mmm," Lex barely remembers.

"Why, Lex? Why then?"

"I'd lost my memories," Clark shifts uncomfortably under him. "And the one person I loved didn't want me..."

"I always did," A long lick to the neck. "I just...it took me a while to admit it."

"Mmm. Me, too."

Clark still makes out like a teenager, big hands, soft mouth trying to be everywhere at once. He tips Lex onto his back and looms over him, beaming.

"There's one thing I like in the book, Lex."

"What's that?"

Clark reaches for the book with one hand, pinning Lex to the couch with the other.

"This photo of you."

Lex remembers the day the picture was taken. He'd snuck out the kitchen door at Excelsior, wanting to be alone, only to be cornered by one of Perry White's photographers.

"How old were you here?" asks Clark.

"Sixteen." Wearing his blazer but not his tie. Buttons left undone on his shirt. Stain on the thigh of his wool pants from Chem. lab. Glaring at the camera.

Clark props the book against the back of the couch so they can both see the photo.

"You look so fierce," says Clark, "That scowl." He kisses the hollow of Lex's throat and whispers something, mouth buried in skin. However, Lex's ears are sharp. He sits up, knocking the book over.

"What did you say?"

Clark gives him an innocent look.

"Just that you were adorable."

"No, you said `Adorable little kitten."

Clark tries to look bewildered, fails. Lex pounces and rolls him on his back.

"Take it back. "Take "Kitten" back."

"I'm sorry," Clark picks up the book. "But just look at you. So young, trying to look so tough. Leaning against the wall with your hip jutting out." He rubs Lex's hip for emphasis.

"I was tough," says Lex, leaning down to kiss Clark's nose. Clark pulls him closer, so close that their eyelashes mesh.

"You were a baby," says Clark, and for a moment he sounds angry. "When I see that photo, I just wish....I just wish I could have come along and rescued you."

"You were ten," Lex points out.

"I could have pulled up on my ten-speed, put you on the handlebars..."

"Kept me in the barn?"

"Taught you values," says Clark, with deliberate smugness.

"Mmm. The value of pie, cows and keeping spaceships well hidden? The importance of a good platitude?"

Clark growls and flips Lex on his back.

"All of the above, plus a firm dose of discipline."

His hands struggle with Lex's belt.

"Windows," murmurs Lex. The paparazzi have resorted to helicopters before to get photos of him in the penthouse. Clark makes a small noise of frustration. There's a flurried burst of activity, like a flock of birds let loose in the room, then the blinds are down and he's back, astride Lex, tugging at his sweater.

"No super-speed allowed when removing cashmere," Lex cautions. A kiss cuts off any subsequent remark he might care to make.

An hour later, the book is on the floor with their clothes. Clark gives it a lazy nudge with his foot.

"You really don't mind it?"

Lex smiles into Clark's chest. From this angle, Clark's left nipple is a coppery mountain.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's a shoddily researched and tackily written book. But the final chapter ends in 2007. Last year."

Clark frowns, considering this.

"So you think of it as a time capsule?"

"More like an artifact. My dubious past, over and done with, bound up with a cheesy cover."

"And your future?" says Clark, propping himself up on an elbow.

Lex doesn't do well with romantic declarations.

"Is here," he says, gruffly, stroking Clark's warm skin. "Future's right here."

Clark looks down at Lex's hand.

"In my stomach? God, Lex did I eat the future?!"

Lex smacks him. Clark stares at him in mock outrage.

"You told me it was provolone!"

So Lex has to kiss him to shut him up.