Keywords: AU, h/c, slave!fic, cliche!fic, mild non-con, some scenes could be considered bdsm.

Word Count: 89,650

Spoilers: None

Summary: The power over life and death should never rest with an emotionally stunted alien -- especially an alien that fancies himself Overlord.

_Author's Notes_: This is what happens when you're obsessing over Ai no Kusabi, and you have Pamela Rose's Arabian Nights drift into your thoughts at the same time. Throw in a bit of CLex, and, well... The story was supposed to be a small PWP, but somehow, it just wouldn't stop growing. Over two hundred pages later, and this is the result.

Thank you to my beta readers: fishsanwitt, talitha78, mecurtin, chasethecat, minaloush, elychari, rose_etta, and Terri. I've had different people help me throughout this story, but fishwantii and talitha78 helped me through most of it. fishwantii is a grammar extraordinaire -- she stuck with me even when she was having computer, job and family problems! I can't imagine how many misplaced commas would have ended up in this without her. grin talitha78 helped me tremendously with characterization. Many scenes were added due to her insightful comments, and many scenes and parts were changed for the better or removed because she made me realize what I was doing wrong. Any other errors are entirely my own.

Rough Draft Completed: May, 2005

Final Draft Completed: March, 2006.

I would recommend reading this at (http://members.shaw.ca/hrd02ca/adsf.html), or at least checking it out, because there are manips and drawings there that help illustrate the story.

Kal-El hated his first full memory.

He remembered waking up in a panic. He had a vague recollection of being confined and feeling as though he couldn't breathe.

A bright light appeared, a yellow ball so big and radiant that it hurt his eyes. Looking around, he could see that he was surrounded by open space and green stalks. The stalks loomed over him, their leaves immense -- almost as if they were reaching out to him. Everything was quiet. Kal-El just sat and stared. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, taking in his surroundings. He did remember feeling scared.

A sound broke the quiet. At first, it was a rustling noise, and then a garbled jumble of sounds. In the quiet, it seemed abnormally loud. Kal-El was paralyzed with fear when a lady with bright red hair approached, speaking to him in an incomprehensible language. She stopped in front of Kal-El and looked at him with a patient expression. Kal-El stared up at her in puzzlement. Then, her face broke into a brilliant smile and she picked him up. Kal-El was warmed by her smile, which seemed to take all his fears away. He touched her bright red hair and her smile got even bigger.

"Clark," she said softly, and her voice didn't sound garbled at all anymore. Kal-El smiled. She touched her chest and said, "Martha." She put him down and, holding his hand, urged him to come with her.

Suddenly, everything happened at once. There was a loud noise, and the lady glanced up at the sky with a worried look. Great black monstrous beasts were flying directly towards them, with a "whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" sound. The lady grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her, urging him to go faster, while he stared behind in amazement at the great beasts.

They ran through the green stalks, but the beasts followed them. The same strange language that came from the lady also seemed to come from the beasts, but the lady didn't acknowledge any kinship. They were getting farther from them, and Kal-El thought they were going to make it, but a loud crack sounded through the air and the lady jerked and fell to the ground, letting go of Kal-El's hand.

Kal-El automatically ran for a few steps, then stopped and moved back towards her. She lay on her back, staring up at the big bright yellow ball. When he touched her arm, she focused on his face. She looked as though she was having trouble breathing, red liquid was coming out of her mouth, and she was no longer smiling.

"Clark," she whispered, and more of the strange language followed. Kal-El didn't know what she was saying. She lifted her arm and pointed behind him, but there were just more green stalks. She was shouting, "Clark, run!" and Kal-El finally knew that she wanted him to flee, but he couldn't leave her. Her breath expelled with her last shout and then, she was still.

Kal-El gazed at her in bewilderment, and the "whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" noise got louder and louder. He didn't understand why she wouldn't look at him anymore, or why she wouldn't move. He tugged at her arm, crying and urging her to get up. But her eyes just stared sightlessly and unseeingly up at the sky.

And then, all Kal-El knew was blackness.

Part I: Beginnings

The researchers stood behind the one-way mirror, observing the alien's room. It had a bed in the corner, a desk with a lamp, and a small enjoining bathroom, with a sink and toilet. Currently, the alien was sitting at the desk, playing with a geometrical puzzle.

Dr. Yvres stood at the front of the observation room, studying the new researchers, and watching the alien out of the corner of his eye. "Subject 01 has been with us for two months now. It arrived here with no understanding of any human dialect. In the course of a few days, it began to pick up common words. Within a week, it could speak in halting sentences. By the time a month had passed, it could speak clearly and without any problems. This is a being that has, as far as we know, never been in contact with humans. Two months ago was the first time it breathed our oxygen. I'm sure you all appreciate what the rapid development of Subject 01 could mean for the human race."

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room.

It was a remarkable discovery. The confirmation that life existed outside of Earth was extraordinary on its own; however, the discovery of what shape that life appeared in was a breakthrough of completely different proportions. It was now obvious to the researchers that the Aliens were intellectually advanced, and had technology that was far superior to Earth's. How else could they create a scout that so resembled a human child? They were all itching to find out what was really under that skin.

Dr. Yvres continued. "In addition to the subject's intellectual abilities, we have observed astonishing physical strengths. The alien is able to lift approximately ten times the weight of a human child his size. Currently, he is stronger than an adult human male. While trying to take blood samples, we also discovered that his skin is remarkably resistant to penetration. Although we are able to break his skin, it takes a force much stronger and sharper than an ordinary knife.

"More importantly, however, was the discovery of what effect the meteor rock has on the subject. We have determined--"

"Meteor rock, sir?"

Dr. Yvres replied, somewhat irritated, "Yes, we found one piece of meteor rock near the alien's pod. An element previously undiscovered, it should provide excellent new extraterrestrial information. Unfortunately, we were able to find only the one rock. We continue to look for more pieces, but after two months, we have almost given up hope of finding additional samples.

"However, the meteor rock is essential for our research, primarily for one reason: the effect it has on the alien. It appears that when the rock is near the subject, the alien experiences intense discomfort. If the rock is applied directly to its skin, it appears to cause intense pain.

"Therefore, what this rock does, ladies and gentlemen, is weaken the alien. You can see how this is going to be a distinct help in our research."

The researchers nodded.

"I am sure that each and every one of you will provide us with ample research material. I know you will all be important contributors to our study. You were selected from the best institutions, and you each graduated at the top of your class. It is through you that the true discoveries will be made. However, I must once again remind you that confidentiality is essential. I am sure that, by now, you have all read through your contracts, and know the penalty for breach of said contracts?"

There was a murmur of agreement from the researchers.

"Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to attend an important meeting. I regret my hasty departure, but I leave you in Dr. Garner's very capable hands." Dr. Yvres nodded at the researchers and left.

Back in the alien's room, the subject had rather abruptly abandoned its puzzle and walked towards the one-way mirror. The researchers observed this peculiar behavior with curiosity.

The alien acted as if it could see them, which was impossible, of course. The glass allowed the researchers to see the alien, but the alien should only be able to see its reflection.

Suddenly it said, "What happened to the nice lady with red hair?"

The researchers jumped and looked amongst themselves. 'Nice lady with red hair?'

"What have you done with her?" it demanded.

"Do you think it's delusional?" one researcher asked another.

"It's quite possible. We don't know what kind of environment it's used to. The subject's body could still be reacting negatively to our climate, which could produce mental instability."

Dr. Garner, who had stayed at the back of the room, letting the other researchers have their look at Subject 01, spoke up. "I assure you that it is quite adjusted to our environment. It has, after all, been here for more than two months.

"The alien's 'nice lady' is, in fact, Martha Kent. She was exposed to Subject 01 shortly before we arrived at the original pod-landing sight. It became remarkably attached to the woman, and often asks about her. Mrs. Kent even managed to name our little alien, and it's got it into its head that it's a person now. Thinks its name is Clark, if you can believe it."

"I was under the impression that there was never any human contact."

"The contact with Mrs. Kent was extremely short. The two were in proximity for no more than a few minutes, and yet, Mrs. Kent made a lasting impression."

One of the researchers, a young woman with short brown hair and a bookish appearance, walked closer to the window and lay her hand over the mirrored image of the alien's palm, set against the glass. "Remarkable," she said, awe in her voice. "It looks exactly like a human child, and even acts like one. I agree with Dr. Yvres. If the aliens have found a way to send scouts out in the bodies of human-like children, they must be very technologically advanced."

Another researcher spoke up. "Whatever happened to Mrs. Kent, Dr. Garner?"

"She was shot," he said curtly. "She refused to obey our commands to release the alien."

Back in the room, the alien was becoming increasingly agitated. It paced in front of the one-way mirror and screamed, "I want the lady!"

"The subject can become very demanding if you don't put it in its place. Wait here." Dr. Garner disappeared around the corner. Shortly afterwards, he could be seen entering the subject's room.

As soon as the alien became aware of the doctor's presence, it stopped pacing and hesitantly approached.

"Hello there. I understand you have some complaints?"

It rubbed its eyes and whined, "I want the nice lady."

Dr. Garner appeared sympathetic. "Well, Clark. Clark is the name you wish us to use, correct?"

Hesitantly, "I guess."

"The 'nice lady', as you put it, is dead. Do you know what 'dead' means, Clark?"

It whispered, "I'm not going to get to see her again?"

"You are partially correct. You are never going to see Martha Kent, your 'nice lady', again. Death means an end. An end to seeing, and the smiling that we were so interested in observing. You see, Clark, Martha Kent died because she was a human and you, well -- you're an alien. If you had left her alone, she would be alive today, no doubt smiling at another real human little boy. If Martha Kent had known your true nature, I'm sure she would never have smiled or associated with you in any way.

"Do you understand me? You are an alien. Alien freaks do not get smiling ladies to coddle them." The doctor stared coldly at the subject. "And don't bother with those tears. No one's going to fall for that little display."

Back in the observation room, the researchers were impressed with the handling of the alien. But they were just as impressed with the alien's performance. As Dr. Garner left, tears continued to fall down the child-alien's face.

For the first time since he had been brought to the facility, they were letting him outside. All right, it wasn't exactly outside -- it was only the courtyard -- but it was a hundred times better than his small room. The sky was clear blue and the sun was bright and shiny. Clark instantly felt rejuvenated.

Dr. Garner led him to the center of the courtyard, where another little boy was playing with sand. He was a strange-looking boy -- Clark had never seen anyone with that color of skin before -- and he consequently felt an immediate kinship.

Dr. Garner stopped and Clark waited. He had long since learned that you didn't interrupt or hurry Dr. Garner.

"Clark, you can have the afternoon to," a curl of the lip, "play. I'll come back for you in a few hours."

Clark couldn't believe it! This was too good to be true. He was hardly ever left alone. There was always someone wanting to observe him or question or poke him with sharp things. This had to be a trick.

But Dr. Garner turned around and left. Clark was left alone with the other boy. After nervously looking around, fearing that other doctors would appear to tell him how bad he was, he finally realized that he really had been left alone. Wow.

He hesitantly approached the other boy, who was pushing sand into a pile, smoothing it with his hands and putting little holes in the top.

"Um, hello?" Clark whispered.

The other boy looked up and smiled. "Hi! Do you want to help me build my castle?"

Clark said shyly, "Okay. What do I do?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Come here and start gathering some sand."

Clark felt stupid. He supposed most boys knew all about building castles.

He got down on his knees beside the other boy and used his arms to gather up a huge amount of sand, pushing it towards the makeshift castle.

"My name is Pete. What's yours?"

Uh-oh. The doctors never told him he could tell other people the Clark name. They said he could call himself that because it amused them -- whatever that meant -- but Clark knew his official name was "It". But they never said he couldn't use Clark with others.

"My name is Clark," he loudly declared.

Pete looked at him funnily.

Clark stared down at the sand, embarrassed. He nervously pushed more sand towards Pete and watched his brown hands for a minute. "So, you're different too?"

"Huh?"

He looked around furtively. "You know," he whispered. "Not from around here? It's nice to know that I'm not the only one. But I feel a bit sorry for you. They must not have made you very well. I bet it's kind of hard to blend in when you look like that."

Pete looked confused. "Like what?"

"A different color. You must have had crappy designers. The doctors always tell me that our people are really smart, but they were pretty stupid with you. At least they could have made you an interesting color. If they had made you purple or green, you could have pretended to be the Swamp Man. I read about him in a comic book. Lots of humans believe in him. If you looked more like him, I'd bet you'd have gotten away with it."

Pete looked angry. Oh no. Maybe Clark shouldn't have insulted his designers. But then his face broke out into a smile and he giggled. "Clark, you're weird."

Now he was confused. "I guess."

They worked together, pushing more sand into a big pile.

"Do you live here too?" Clark asked.

Pete looked up at him. "No. I live in an orphanage in town. A guy -- I guess he's from here -- told me that I could come visit and he'd give me a bunch of candy and let me play sandcastles. I haven't gotten a lot of candy yet, but the sand has been fun so far."

That sounded weird. Why would another alien be in an orphanage?

Pete was looking for something in his pocket. "The guy did give me a couple of pieces of bubble gum, though. Do you want a piece?"

Pete held out a small square, wrapped in paper. Wow, Clark had never tried bubble gum before. He reached out to take it, but Pete clutched the piece and put it behind his back.

"Too slow! Sucker!" Pete was grinning in glee.

Clark started to get angry. He'd read that you weren't supposed to offer someone something and then take it back! "That's not fair! Give it here!"

He reached behind Pete and tried to force his fist open. Pete started giggling. He gripped harder, trying to pry Pete's fingers open, one at a time.

There was a sickening crack and -- oh God -- Pete shrieked in pain. "Get away from me!" he screamed. Tears ran down his face as he frantically tried to get away.

Clark backed up in fear. He hadn't meant to hurt Pete. Other aliens were supposed to be strong too!

Then suddenly, Dr. Garner and the other researchers rushed into the courtyard. Dr. Yvres grabbed Pete, and he writhed in his grip, screaming that he was in pain, but the doctor ignored him.

Clark looked up at Dr Garner, who was standing in front of him with a mean expression. "Clark, I gave you a special treat, and told you that you could have time alone. So why were you playing with Pete in the sandbox? Shouldn't you know by now that humans and aliens don't mix?"

Clark gasped. "But I was playing with Pete! I wasn't with any humans!"

Dr. Garner seemed amazed, and then amused. "I'm sorry to break it to you -- well, no, I'm not sorry -- but Pete is as human as a human can be. The only freak I see around here is you. And now look what you've done." He gestured to Pete, who was still crying in pain.

"I suppose you even thought you were making friends. As if an alien and a human could ever be friends! You remember the last time you got friendly with a human! Your precious 'nice lady' ended up dead. Everything you touch, you destroy. And now Pete's going to suffer the same fate."

"No! He's hurt, not dead! Fix him!"

Dr. Garner frowned. "I'm afraid it's too late for that. If you had left him alone, everything would have been fine. But we can't let anyone know about you, Clark. You're very," he smiled, "special to us."

"Dr. Yvres, if you'll do the honors?"

Dr. Yvres grimaced, but continued to hold the crying boy with one hand. He reached into his pocket with his other and pulled out a metal object. The object was shiny and pointy -- and -- Clark realized, too late, what it was. The doctor held the gun to Pete's head and pulled the trigger.

"No!" Clark screamed.

The researchers surrounding them took careful notes.

Clark sat at his desk reading, The Second World War: A Complete History.

He was allowed two books every week. He wasn't allowed to pick his own books, but he didn't mind what they gave him. He loved anything that allowed him to escape reality. His favorite time was when they let him have a half hour to himself. The half hour was allowed every day, and he did nothing but consume books in his allotted time.

The only books he ever received were history texts. When he was younger, the doctors had given him comic books, but anything fun had long since been taken away. Now his books were always full of history and violent events -- never anything positive. He often wondered if they were trying to tell him something, perhaps suggesting that Clark, as an alien, would appreciate violence. But they never said anything overtly.

He had once been treated to a rarity when a new researcher had delivered his books. A Guide to Human Biology had been brought, along with a book about the South African War. Clark had refused to take the books when they were handed to him, certain that it was a trick. However, the researcher had seemed oblivious to his panic, and had just set them down on his desk, even though Clark knew that anything about the functioning of human bodies was forbidden.

When the researcher had left, Clark had consumed the Human Biology book as fast as he could -- racing through it in the half hour he had. Engrossed, he'd never even noticed Dr. Garner entering. When he'd finally become aware of the doctor's presence, he'd slammed the text shut and tried to hide it under the South African book. He was never good at fooling Dr. Garner, though.

Dr. Garner had forced Clark to show what he was hiding, and when he did, he'd become enraged. He'd demanded to know where Clark had found it. Dr. Garner had gotten really quiet when Clark told him about the new researcher.

Dr. Garner had then asked him if he had learned anything from the book. Clark had replied cautiously that he hadn't had much time, but what he had learned was interesting.

The doctor hadn't done anything but stare at him for a long time. Then he'd turned his back and left.

He had returned shortly, but this time he'd brought the green rock. Clark didn't know what he had done wrong. Dr. Garner had said that since Clark had learned so much about humans from that book, it was only fair that Dr. Garner got to learn the same about aliens from Clark.

He had been forced out of his room and into the hallway. Dr. Garner had pushed him into another room, which was empty except for a metal table.

Pushing the rock ever closer to Clark, Dr. Garner had forced him to strip, and lie down on the table. Another doctor had entered the room and handed Dr. Garner something. Then Clark knew a pain like none before. The doctors had repeatedly demanded to know when the other aliens were coming. Clark, of course, had had no answer.

That had been the first time in hell for Clark. He had learned and accepted many things that day.

Most importantly, that he hated humans. But he hated Dr. Garner most of all.

The war books just confirmed that humans were unfeeling, stupid and petty. They espoused peace, but, in reality, they just made the same mistakes over and over again. Clark believed that they enjoyed war, since they were constantly fighting each other.

And he realized that he had been very naive until recently. He felt so stupid when he thought of Pete. The human biology book had described the different varieties of human appearances, including the many different colors of skin. Pete hadn't been an alien. He'd just been a stupid human who had tried to trick Clark.

He knew that he was truly alone. Dr. Garner always asked Clark when the rest of his people would invade Earth. Well, he didn't know where the rest of the people like him were, or if they were coming to Earth, but he couldn't wait for them to arrive.

If other aliens, like him, came to Earth, they would soon show the humans.

But, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help remembering a lady with a nice smile. A lady who had called him 'Clark', with a warmth he secretly yearned for.

Dr. Garner walked into the observation room, whistling, a bounce in his step.

From the alien's room, there was a crash and the sound of tearing metal. Dr. Yvres looked up from his notes and sighed. "The subject is getting more violent. That's the third bed thrown against the wall in a week."

"Perhaps it's time for another session," Dr. Garner said, with a grin.

Dr. Yvres grimaced. "I think you enjoy that far too much. I can't even stomach watching the tapes."

"That's why you leave the hard jobs to me." Dr. Garner walked over to the chair next to the other doctor and sat down with a groan. "You would think this place could afford some comfortable chairs."

They both watched the subject. He was currently throwing his bed against the wall repeatedly, until the bed broke into smaller and smaller pieces. This destruction was occurring despite the presence of the meteor rock.

The alien had grown a great deal since its arrival fourteen years ago. It could no longer pass as a human child, and in fact towered over both doctors at 6'3". It had also grown into a body with a musculature that seemed to suit its strength.

Ever since the death of the orphan boy named Pete Ross, the alien's personality had continued to progress to what both Dr. Yvres and Dr. Garner privately believed to be its true nature.

Yvres glanced over at Dr. Garner. He seemed relaxed, and he was currently enjoying what Yvres secretly thought his favourite activity, alien-watching. There would probably never be a better time. Except, perhaps, after Dr. Garner had finished with yet another turn at the scalpel, but that didn't bear dwelling on. "Have you given any thought to what we discussed?"

Dr. Garner pushed his chair back so that it leaned against the wall, its front legs up. Yvres could tell by his expression that Dr. Garner still wasn't enthusiastic. He tried coaxing. "It might be our only chance to understand what that pod can do. You know research has been practically impossible. How can we understand the pod when we can't even open it?"

"And why do you believe the alien can open it?"

Yvres became excited. Dr. Garner had asked the exact same question the last time they discussed it, and he knew Yvres's answer. Perhaps he was starting to warm to the idea. "It came to Earth in that pod. It obviously had to get out of the thing, and it's therefore logical that it should be able to open it the same way."

"The alien claims it doesn't remember anything about its pod."

Yvres sneered. "Yes, well, I know how much stock you put into that thing's word."

Dr. Garner grunted.

"It would be a perfectly safe experiment. We can hang the meteor rock around its neck for added protection. You know as well as I do that with such close proximity to the rock, the alien will be totally reliant on us."

Dr. Garner was frowning. "I'm still not certain it's a good idea. You get so obsessed with the artifacts and technical details that you fail to realize that what's important is right in front of us." Dr. Garner gestured to the alien.

"We'll see what the Department has to say about your decision," Yvres threatened.

"By all means, appeal to the powers-that-be. I shall forever respect their decision. But, if you don't mind, I think that's my cue." The alien had just broken the desk lamp and was now starting in on the desk.

Annoyed, Yvres watched Dr. Garner leave the room. Shortly thereafter, he could be seen through the one-way mirror, approaching the subject.

Yvres almost felt sorry for the alien.

Almost.

Dr. Garner loved this part of his research more than any other. To be able to put the alien in its place was a power trip stronger than drugs. The subject had been nothing but trouble of late, providing Garner with even more opportunities to do his experiments.

Garner walked into the room at the same time Subject 01 threw one of its books at the door. Garner just managed to duck in time. Oh yes, the alien was asking for it.

They were keeping the meteor rock in the room at all times now. It was placed on the wall by the door, so the alien would be deterred from ripping it off its hinges. This had happened once already, and the doctors were no longer taking any chances. Having only one rock was sometimes a problem, but they had managed to control the subject with the threat of more pain.

While the meteor fragment was present in the room, the alien became weaker; unfortunately, it was still strong enough to tear its furniture to pieces.

Subject 01 stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard, sweat running down its forehead. Normally the alien could exert itself with virtually no physical signs. When the glowing rock was in its proximity, however, it tired and sweated much like a normal human.

"Clark, what have we told you? The furniture is to remain intact. You must know you'll be punished for this."

Garner opened the special case attached to the wall. It had been made specifically to hold the meteor rock. The case allowed for its maximum exposure, but still protected it from harm. The strong sidings of the case acted as insulation, stopping errant lamps or desk legs from doing any damage.

Garner reached into the case and quickly attached an iron chain to the welded fastenings on the rock, which effectively made it into a necklace.

"Fucking human, I could care less about your stupid furniture."

"Yes, well, I'm sure by the time our session is over, you'll care very much."

It swallowed, yet still glared at Garner. It seemed to have worked itself into a particular rage this day.

Garner held the necklace outstretched and approached. You could physically see the impact on the alien. It winced and began to back away.

"Come now, Clark. You might as well just cooperate." He continued to edge forward. By now the subject was shuddering, green marks becoming visible on its body. Garner always found this part fascinating.

Garner touched the base of the necklace briefly to the alien's skin, in warning. It swallowed a couple of times, shuddered, and moaned in pain. Garner knew that it was now totally in his power.

"Well, get going. Out the door," he said impatiently. The 'sessions' were so common by now that it should know the procedure, and already be on its way to Garner's room.

The subject went out the door, and started walking down the hallway. Garner followed. It picked up its pace, no doubt hoping to get farther away from the rock, but Garner was wise to this tactic. He just increased his own pace, and pushed the glowing green necklace closer to the alien's back.

When they reached the research room, it paused in front of the closed door, waiting for Garner to open it. It seemed resigned to its fate.

Inside was a sterile room, heavily illuminated with fluorescent lights. In the middle of the room was an aluminum autopsy table, with a small tray beside it, full of medical instruments.

Dr. Helen Bryce, one of the new researchers, was set to assist this day. She was a pretty woman, who had a voracious enthusiasm for the research they were conducting on the alien. She was currently washing her hands, before putting on surgical gloves.

She looked up when they entered. "Dr. Garner, everything is set for the session. And may I tell you how much I appreciate your letting me assist you today? I hoped, but never believed that I would ever get this opportunity."

"Yes, very well."

She wasn't done. "The other researchers have all described you in such glowing terms. They say you're brilliant, and that you do miracles in this room. I personally believe it must be true. Dr. Garner, you're going to do great things. I can feel it."

Garner grunted. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" He was always uncomfortable with fawning females.

After washing his own hands and putting on gloves, he pushed the meteor rock closer to the alien. "Clark, get on the table. Face up, you know the drill."

The alien seemed defeated, and didn't protest.

Once it was lying down, Garner set the meteor rock temporarily on the side of the autopsy table and began cutting away the alien's clothes with a scalpel. He wasn't careful, and there were a few small cuts when he was finished. Garner could have asked the alien to remove its clothes prior to getting on the table, but he got excited cutting away its clothes, allowing glorious alien skin to be revealed before his eyes, inch by inch.

He had Dr. Bryce assist him when he turned the alien on its side, allowing the body block to be positioned under its back. The block effectively allowed the subject's chest to be raised, while enabling the head and neck to rest in a slightly downward position. This position also allowed for a much more efficient dissection.

Finally, Garner placed the necklace around the alien's neck. He carefully positioned the meteor rock so it rested just above its chest. As soon as it touched the alien's skin, it groaned and shuddered in response.

"Now, Clark, since you were such a bad alien today, I've decided to give you a special treat. I know how much you enjoy them."

Garner felt his excitement and arousal building up. His favorite part was seeing the expression on the alien's face just before he made his first incision.

"Dr. Bryce, hand me the large scalpel, please."

Dr. Bryce handed it over reverently.

Cutting into the alien's chest, against all odds, was always easy. With the meteor rock present, the alien's skin was as vulnerable as a human's.

He began the Y-shaped incision by cutting into the alien's chest, under the breastbone. The blade went into the skin easily, and blood poured out from the cut.

When Garner had first done this, he had been secretly amused to find out the alien's blood was a human red, instead of green. He had been chagrined to learn, however, that the alien's body was remarkably similar to a human's. Even now, Garner believed that the alien must be hiding something under all of its perfectly human-looking skin. Its body couldn't be like a normal human's and yet still be an alien's.

The blood was beginning to get out of hand. "Swab this, Dr. Bryce."

Tears were running down the alien's face. He was staring straight ahead, no doubt withdrawing into his own private world. Dr. Garner couldn't have that.

"Clark, look at me." Tear-filled eyes focused on his face. "This is your fault, you know. If you had just behaved, this wouldn't be happening." He dug particularly deep with the scalpel. "I do hope you leave your furniture alone from now on."

"Dr. Bryce, rib spreader, please."

The doctor handed Garner the instrument, and Garner carefully inserted it and started retracting the ribs. The alien whimpered in pain, and Garner smiled, satisfied.

"Dr. Bryce, I need more swabs."

The alien's lungs were now visible, and Garner carefully moved the left lung out of the way. The mediastinal pleura, a membrane that enclosed the heart, was revealed.

"Scissors, please."

Using the scissors, Garner gently made an incision in the membrane, which allowed him a clear view of the alien's heart. This was now the tricky part. Garner grew more aroused, as he realized the full impact of what he was about to do.

"Small scalpel," he commanded, voice tight. He had to do this fast. It was important to withdraw quickly, allowing the alien time to heal so it didn't bleed out. The Department would be unhappy, to say the least, if he managed to kill it.

Using the scalpel, he carefully cut a small section of tissue from the alien's heart. The alien began screaming uncontrollably, writhing in pain. This was somewhat unfortunate, and allowed for a very messy chest wound. Dr. Bryce had to hold its arms down.

Dr. Garner managed to collect his sample, however. He carefully put it in a storage container, and then returned to his patient. He positioned the lung in the correct position, and removed the rib spreader. The alien's healing would do the rest. The meteor rock was removed, and Garner told Dr. Bryce to release its arms.

Both Garner and Dr. Bryce watched in fascination as the gaping wound healed. Within an instant, the incisions in its chest were closing, tissue knitting. By the time a minute had passed, there was no evidence of any marks on the alien's chest.

The alien was breathing deeply, its eyes closed, seemingly out cold.

Dr. Bryce was animated. "Dr. Garner, that was amazing. Never in all my years as a doctor have I experienced anything like it. And you were absolutely brilliant!"

Garner grimaced, and turned his back on the woman. He walked over to the sink and washed the blood away.

"The tissue sample we acquired will no doubt provide years of medical breakthroughs. I am extremely honored to be a part--" Dr. Bryce broke off, screeching.

Dr. Garner turned around in alarm. The alien was sitting up on the table, a fierce expression on its face. In a split second, it had grabbed the doctor by the throat. Dr. Bryce struggled to breathe, and scrabbled at the alien's hands, trying to get it to release her. But the alien was immovable, and Dr. Bryce was clutching at skin like stone. She frantically tried to free herself, scratching her own neck and drawing blood in her agitation. But all her efforts were fruitless.

With a malicious smile at Dr. Garner, the alien snapped her neck.

Clark looked up from his book, startled when his door opened. He was in the corner of his room, as far from the glowing green rock as he could get. He had abandoned his desk years ago, since it was positioned too close to the meteor case.

It was his reading time, and only about ten minutes had passed. The doctors usually didn't interrupt him, unless Dr. Garner was feeling particularly malevolent.

The human that entered the room didn't look like a doctor, however. She was a small woman, with unkempt blonde hair, and an unhealthy look to her face. She was wearing what could only be described as a robe, and Clark could clearly see the outline of her breasts underneath the thin fabric.

She raised timid eyes to his face. "Hello."

The humans thought they had found a new way to get to him, obviously. But he couldn't begin to speculate what they expected from him with this girl. And he could gain no insight by x-raying into the next room. Previously, he had been able to observe the doctors by looking through the one-way mirror, but they had figured out a way to deter him from even that by dusting the mirror with lead.

"What do you want?" Clark demanded of the girl, wary.

The girl raised bloodshot eyes to his face. "I'm Clarissa. I'm supposed to show you a good time."

The comment passed right over his head. He tried to put all the distain he felt into his voice. "I've still got twenty minutes. So, fuck off, human."

The girl flinched, and tried to avoid his eyes. She gazed about his room in a distracted way, looking everywhere but at Clark. She gazed at his desk with the two books, his bed, and finally focused on him again.

"I wasn't told anything about a time limit. They've given me some good cash, man. I don't care if you need five minutes or an hour."

"An hour? Wouldn't that be a novelty," Clark said, amusement and irony in his voice. He had never been allowed more than thirty minutes with his books.

The girl's smile wobbled. "That's the spirit." And, with another nervous look around the room, she dropped her robe.

Clark swallowed, shocked. He'd been right. The human wasn't wearing anything underneath her robe. He had never seen a naked woman before. She was pale, and spotted bruises were all over her body. Although she was extremely thin, she had large breasts, with pointy little nipples. The sight of them sent a tingly feeling through him.

"Don't you want to touch me?" she asked, imploringly. She touched her breasts, fondled her nipples, and squeezed.

Clark's cock grew hard.

He had long since discovered the pleasure that could be found with his own hand. At night, he would lie on his side, facing the wall, with his blanket tucked up to his chin. Keeping very still, he would touch his cock, and try to work up a good fantasy. But he didn't seem to have a good imagination. All he had to look at were the doctors, and the occasional photograph in his history books. He inevitably ended up jerking off to someone faceless, with long limbs and a hard body. Clark refused to acknowledge that the faceless person was inevitably human. The fantasy was never great, but the pleasure was usually gratifying.

He was always careful to face away from the cameras and make no noise, but now he had to wonder if they had seen him. Had they brought this girl here as punishment? If they had, they were far off the mark. The girl had done nothing but give him a dirty thrill.

The girl moved towards him, her breasts bobbing as she walked. Clark was rooted to the spot.

She reached up and touched his chest, outlining his nipples through the fabric of his shirt. She seemed all confidence now.

Clark trembled when her hand went lower, just above the top of his pants. With a coy look up at him, she cupped him in her hand. He groaned.

"You're hot for it, aren't you," she stated eagerly. She caressed his cock through his pants a few times, and then put her hands on his thighs, bracing herself. She knelt on the floor in front of him, her breasts swaying as she moved.

She then reached for his fly.

He whimpered. "What are you doing?" Clark had never heard his own voice sound so breathless.

The girl looked up to him, smiling. "I'm giving you a good time." His zipper seemed to make an abnormally loud noise as it opened. She grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled, taking his boxers with them.

His cock sprang free, bobbing in the air.

The girl made an appreciative noise, and ran her hands caressingly up and down his upper thighs. She licked her lips coyly. "You'll love this," she said, and then swallowed him whole. Clark bit his lip, hard.

Any worry that this was a trick immediately evaporated. He didn't even care if the doctors were watching in the next room.

She deep-throated his cock, and Clark thrust up and down into her mouth. He grabbed the back of her head and held onto a fistful of her hair. He was able to control it for a few strokes, but the girl didn't seem to like that. She pulled away with a slurp, abandoning him.

His cock bobbed up and down in the air, saliva slick on it.

The girl looked at him warningly and Clark got the message.

He nodded. The girl accepted that -- and lowered her head, taking him in her mouth again. She looked up at him as she tongued the tip, gripping the base with her hand. Then she did something unbelievable. She grabbed her breasts, pushed them together, and used them as a grip for his cock. He went up and down between her breasts, making slick noises as he thrust. Oh God, it felt so good.

Clark didn't last long. He came with a cry, shooting come onto her chest, while the girl looked up at him, smiling.

After, Clark collapsed in a heap on the floor. As he lay there in a sprawled heap, exhausted, he couldn't help feeling that he had done something wrong. His orgasm had been undeniably good, but the whole experience felt strange and unreal.

The girl had already gotten up and walked over to his bed. She used the edge of the blanket to wipe her chest off and then, walking back to him, urged him up.

Holding his hand, she pulled him toward the bed, and lay down. Clark assumed she wanted him to join her. He was starting to think that not all humans were bad, after all. Some of them were good for sex, at least.

Clark had completely forgotten about the doctors.

Back in the observation room, Dr. Garner tried to strategically place his folder in front of his pants, to hide the visible bulge. "Did we get that all on tape?"

Dr Yvres looked at him in amusement. "Everything was recorded."

"Well," Dr. Garner cleared his throat, "that was unexpected. I didn't notice any abnormal sexual behavior. Did you, Dr. Yvres?"

"The subject appeared to have the sexual proclivities of an ordinary male. Of course, we will be unable to truly judge that until we've examined the girl's body."

"Yes, there is that to consider."

Dr. Garner studied the alien. It was lying on its bed, spooned up behind the girl, lazily stroking her breasts. It could only be described as cuddling. "The subject was gentler during sexual arousal than I expected. And look at the alien on the bed. He looks almost affectionate towards the whore." Dr. Garner considered. "Hmm. Well, we can't have that. That's quite enough of that ludicrous domestic tranquility. Dr. Yvres, have the whore's body brought to the research room for dissection."

Dr. Yvres raised tired eyes to his. "Dissection? In case you hadn't noticed, the girl is still alive."

"You don't have to state the obvious. We all thought that the alien would finish her off for us, but since it didn't, we'll improvise."

"Improvise?"

"Yes, kill her yourself. Or have someone else do it for you, if you're too squeamish." Garner made to leave, but paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Dr. Yvres? Do it in front of the alien."

Oh God, Dr. Garner again. For the past week, Clark had experienced session after session, and each time he returned to his room, he felt weaker. The fucking humans really were trying to drive him crazy. He didn't think he could handle a session so soon after the last one. Clark knew that Dr. Garner couldn't blame these sessions on 'punishment'. For days, he had been too exhausted to touch or hurt anything.

This time, however, something was unusual. Dr. Garner was accompanied by Dr. Yvres, and Dr. Yvres never came to Clark's sessions.

Dr. Garner removed the green rock from its case, and attached the chain. Clark was sitting on his bed, with his legs over the side and his arms hugging his stomach. He tried to work up the required distain, but felt far too weak.

Dr. Garner found no resistance when he hung the necklace around Clark's neck.

It would be a particularly painful session, then. The doctor never put it on Clark until after he was on the table. Clark always found it hard to walk when it was directly in contact with his skin.

"Are you certain this is what you want to do?" Dr. Garner asked.

"For God's sake, you're still worried about this, aren't you? Nothing is going to happen. Perhaps, just perhaps, we'll learn something useful for once."

Dr. Garner stiffened. "Are you implying something?"

"Of course not, Dr. Garner. We all know that your little torture sessions bring in perfectly pertinent data."

Dr. Garner pushed him forward, and Clark stumbled and thought he was going to fall, but Dr. Yvres grabbed his arm.

Both the doctors led him down the hallway, and, in his pain, everything passed by in a numb blur. But when the walk to the session room seemed to take an abnormally long time, Clark lifted his head in confusion.

They were walking down a hallway that he couldn't ever remember being in before. It grew darker and descended downwards as they walked, Clark half-dragging his feet.

Dr. Garner said, "I think our alien is starting to realize that something is up. You're in for a particular treat today, Clark."

Clark cringed. Treats were always terrible.

They had to stop at a double door, and Dr. Yvres placed his thumb on a security pad. The door opened with a swish, and a feminine voice announced, "Security level five. Dr. Yvres, imprint recognized."

He had to hang on to both of the doctors' arms now. He was practically being dragged down the hallway.

"Pick up your feet there, Clark. You weigh a ton."

He tried to take more of his weight, but it felt like someone had reached into his chest, squeezed his heart, and tried to tear it out. They continued to descend and passed more and more doors, each with their own security pad.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally stopped at a big door at the end of a hallway. Dr. Yvres had to imprint his thumb once again, and the door opened, this time without a voice.

They entered into a flurry of activity. Doctors in lab coats were swarming over an area in the center of the room. The room itself was illuminated with fluorescent lights, and spotlights were set up in the ceiling, shining directly down onto something in the middle of all the activity. Other doctors were positioned at computers, set up in a ring around the object.

Clark was pushed towards the center of the room, and the other doctors became quiet.

Dr. Yvres spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, what we have hoped for has finally been made possible. After years of futile results, the Department has given us the go ahead for in-person contact testing. If what we believe is correct, today we will finally be able to view the inside of the pod.

"You may safely approach the alien if you wish. The meteor rock is in direct contact with its skin, and consequently, it has been weakened drastically. While it will be no danger to us, it should still be able to interact with the pod sufficiently that we will achieve the expected results."

Clark began to understand. This was the pod that Dr. Yvres was always asking him about. He had told the doctor that he couldn't remember it, or how to open it, but the doctor had never believed him. Clark had been telling the truth. He didn't remember anything about it.

As the two doctors pushed him closer to the small vessel, Clark started to feel weaker and weaker. Being strong enough to stand had never been an issue before.

Dr. Yvres and Dr. Garner positioned him in front of the pod. The other doctors, each at their own computer, began typing frantically.

"Go ahead, Clark. Open it," Dr. Yvres urged.

Clark swallowed. "I don't know how," he croaked.

Dr. Garner looked at the other doctor in amusement. "You were prepared for this eventuality?"

Dr. Yvres appeared agitated. "Yes, of course. The alien has always maintained that it couldn't remember how to open the vessel. We'll just have to improvise."

"Clark, touch the pod."

Dr. Garner seemed concerned. "What?"

"It should react to the alien's presence. We'll just have Clark here touch it, to give it a heads up."

Dr. Garner was amazed. "Dr. Yvres, you're starting to act like you believe the pod is a cognizant being."

"And this should concern me? It is my belief that the vessel is totally cognizant. I'm assuming that it hasn't opened yet because the alien was never present. It should be able to sense the alien now, and consequently, the result that we have been hoping for all these years."

"Well, Clark. You heard Dr. Yvres. Touch it." Dr. Garner pushed Clark. The other doctors typed even more rapidly.

Clark was feeling physically ill, but now, he also despaired emotionally. He was afraid to speculate what Dr. Garner would do to him when he touched the pod and nothing happened.

Dr. Garner pushed him again and both doctors finally let go of his arms. Clark stumbled, and tried to stay upright, but he was too weak. He fell to his knees and braced himself with his hands. Dr. Garner kicked him in the back. "Go on! Touch it, freak!"

Clark crawled forward until he could finally reach the pod with his outstretched hand. He touched it, spreading his palm along the surface. Nothing happened.

"Well -- that was a letdown. It looks as though you're out of luck, Dr. Yvres."

"Dr. Garner, will you please be silent! Clark, touch it again."

Clark wished it would do -- something -- if only so the doctors would leave him alone. He felt as if he couldn't take much more of the rock. Please, please open, he pleaded silently, while once again reaching out. He thought wildly that the doctors probably wouldn't be amused if he started demanding, "open sesame".

But this time, when he touched it, there was a marked difference. The pod felt warm, and seemed to be vibrating silently.

Outwardly, it appeared unchanged. The doctors appeared to believe that as well.

"Suggestions, Dr. Yvres?" Dr. Garner asked.

But Clark knew that something was different. He withdrew his hand and began crawling backwards, edging away.

The doctors abruptly grew silent as the pod made a sound, and air rushed out of the bottom. Lights materialized, flashing, and it slowly rose into the air. The lights rotated around the room, and then, suddenly, focused on Clark. He felt as though someone had brushed against him, and a warm feeling passed through his body. The pain from the necklace was fading, and Clark realized that the light was now focused solely on the green meteor rock around his neck.

There was shouting from behind him and he felt one of the doctors trying to push him out of the way of the light. But Clark was rooted to the spot. The light continued to pour into the necklace and then, gradually, the rock began to lose its green color. Finally, with a boom, the light released Clark from its hold, the necklace transformed into a harmless white stone, and the pod, as well as Clark, collapsed to the ground.

He immediately felt rejuvenated. The pain was gone, and the weakness and nausea had all but disappeared.

All around the room, the doctors were running around in a panic. Dr. Garner began backing away from him, in fear.

Before Clark could begin to understand what had happened, the pod once again became active. It rose, then spun in mid-air at a rapid rate, and then it paused. Another beam of light focused directly on Clark's forehead and a pain, even worse than that from the meteor rock, seized him. He was lifted up, the beam seemingly directing Clark's upward climb. His surroundings were fading, and all he could focus on was the beam drumming directly into his skull.

Then the pain faded.

"Kal-El," a deep voice boomed.

Clark looked around, confused. He was standing in a huge, opulent room, the floor lined with marble tiles and the walls decorated with elaborate murals, each depicting strange scenes of ritual sacrifice. When he looked up at the ceiling, though, there was... nothing. Only open space, with a bright light shining directly onto him. It was all very surreal.

Even stranger, though, was the far end of the room. When Clark tried to look there, the wall kept veering away from his vision. Try as he might, he couldn't focus on anything farther than a few feet in front of him, before everything seemed to blur together.

He heard the deep voice again.

"Kal-El."

Accompanying the voice was a form that was materializing from within the blur. When Clark was able to fully focus, he could see that it was a middle-aged man. His dark hair was peppered with gray, and he was about Clark's height, but with a slighter build. The man was wearing a long white tunic, with an elaborate pattern on the front. He looked quite harmless.

He smiled at Clark.

"You do not remember your true name, my son?"

"Who are you?" Clark asked, terrified and excited at the same time.

"I am Jor-El, your father."

"What?"

"More accurately, I am a counter-script program of your father, created to interact with you. I am your father's mind, and the hologram of his body."

Clark couldn't believe this. "My father?" he said incredulously.

"Yes, Kal-El. It is hard to believe, but it is the truth."

"But... you said you're not really my father, my true father, and yet, I'm still talking to him?"

"In a sense, Kal-El."

Clark stared into deep gray eyes. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"That is your true Kryptonian name. 'Clark' is not worthy of a Kryptonian, let alone a male from the house of El."

Clark gazed at Jor-El in surprise. He could vaguely remember being called a different name before he had met the human named Martha. But he hadn't thought about that in years.

"I don't understand how I'm suddenly able to talk to you. What happened to the room with the doctors?"

"You are still present in that room. Your pod has the ability to activate my program when you are in need, projecting my image directly to you. You do not have to worry about those pathetic humans. They cannot hear us."

"I don't see why a projection is necessary. Why can't you just come here?"

Jor-El appeared greatly saddened. "Kal-El, I am sorry, but that is not possible. Our planet -- Krypton -- was destroyed. Your mother and I sent you to this planet before the rest of Krypton perished in the explosion. We believed that you would be able to thrive on Earth."

Clark whispered, heartbroken, "You mean I'm the only one left?"

"I am afraid so, Kal-El. But do not despair. You have many advantages over the humans. Now that your pod has neutralized the meteor rock, no human will be able to stop you."

"Stop me? From what?"

"You did not think we would send you to a planet where you would be vulnerable? The effects of the meteor rock have been a drawback, I admit, but it can no longer harm you. You are far superior to humans, Kal-El, and have extraordinary powers. They are physically and intellectually weak. You are a god among them.

"Kal-El, it was your destiny to arrive on Earth and take your rightful place. Crush the humans. Conquer Earth. Become the ruler that your family meant you to be."

Clark stared at Jor-El in disbelief. "You sent me here to be a god?"

"You hate the humans, do you not? Think of what they have done to you. After all that, do you not think they deserve to be put in their place?"

Clark did hate them. When he thought of what the doctors had done to him, he wanted to hurt and kill. They should pay for what they had done. But he would still be alone.

"And if I don't want to be a god?"

Jor-El seemed amazed. "How could you not?" He raised his arms, gesturing with agitated hand movements. "You've experienced, firsthand, humanity's stupidity and cruelty. They need a Kryptonian to rule them, to show them the right, correct way of running their daily lives. They need to be enlightened, Kal-El. They will never change, not unless you force them to see the error of their ways."

His father did have a point. And Clark could see the possibilities. All that the history books had done was to prove to him that humans would never end their destructive, warlike cycle. Clark could help them, while teaching them a lesson at the same time.

He would just have to take solace in his own presence.

Jor-El gazed at Clark, satisfied. "I see you understand, my son. Now, I give you a gift. You will receive the tools that will help you on your quest."

A lifetime of information was inputted directly into his skull.

When he opened his eyes, he knew himself as Kal-El. He was once again in the room with the pod, and it appeared that only seconds had passed.

He was staring into the eyes of Dr. Garner.

Kal-El smiled. He was going to have a lot of fun.

Part II: Metropolis

Lex finally started to feel that luck was going his way. After a year of what had seemed like unbearable poverty, he believed he had found a way to make back his fortune.

He hadn't always been poor. He had grown up privileged, in a wealthy and somewhat infamous family. His father had been a millionaire when Lex was born and, throughout his childhood, he'd never had to worry about money. He had lived a relatively normal life (for a son of a millionaire) up until the time he'd returned home from boarding school, at the age of ten.

Then, his life had changed.

Accompanying his father on a business trip to Smallville, he had witnessed, firsthand, what had become known as the "mythical 1989 Smallville meteor shower". He had been right at Ground Zero, as the large meteor had crashed to the ground, and he had seen the fire in the sky.

His father had found him, unconscious, on the ground, hours later. When Lex had woken up, he had been in the hospital, suffering from severe shock, and, strangely, the loss of all his body hair. The doctors hadn't been able to find the cause of his illness, and when Lex had told them of the fire in the sky, they had looked skeptical, and called Lionel. When he'd told him about the meteors, Lex had received a tongue-lashing, the likes of which he'd never received before. His father had wanted to know why he couldn't just tell the truth. Lex had replied that he had.

Later, he learned that the meteor shower had become a crackpot tale that old farmers told others in Smallville. His father had claimed that he had never seen anything fall from the sky. But Lionel had still had people search Smallville, looking for evidence of the meteor's impact. They had returned empty-handed.

His father never treated him the same again. Shortly after his accident, his mother died, and his life became almost unbearable. He had never had a close relationship with his father, but after the meteor shower, Lionel Luthor grew cold towards his son. They never talked about Lex's claims and secretly, Lex knew that his father believed that he had lost part of his mind, along with his body hair.

The Luthor fortune continued to grow, and Lex continued to stay at boarding schools. To the outside world, it looked as though he was being groomed as the LuthorCorp heir, but Lex wasn't certain his father would let him near the company while he was viewed as the 'unbalanced' son.

It was around his 21st birthday that Lex's life, and the world, became even more unbearable.

The alien, known as Kal-El, first exploded into the world on July 4th. Lex supposed the alien found it funny to begin taking over the world on Independence Day. He began by killing the President of the United States, while he was speaking to the U.S. in a live televised broadcast. The first shock, to many, was the sight of the alien appearing behind the President, the President's sudden slump, and then his collapse onto his desk. People saw the Secret Service reacting, in panic, throughout the room, followed by the sudden loss of the broadcast signal.

The media then reported the burning of the White House, the destruction of the House of Commons in London, and the assassination of leaders in China, Russia, India, Japan, and Canada. There were reports of CIA and NSA destruction, and the annihilation of other elite organizations. The world was in chaos.

The news channels repeatedly showed the blur of the alien flying through the sky, burning more and more state structures on his path of destruction. Reporters theorized that the alien would continue his rampage until all government officials were dead, and they urged senators and congressmen to take cover. Officials had long since tried to hide, but the alien had superman-like powers, and no one could stay hidden for long.

The U.S. military tried everything they could to destroy the alien, and the world offered as much military assistance as it could. Nuclear weapons were eventually tried, to great human catastrophe. But the alien was impervious to everything that the military threw at it.

The third world countries were the first to fall to what the alien called his new "autocracy". Crazed followers of the alien, despite all logic, gathered in the industrialized nations, calling for the alien to be their ruler. Heavily populated cities all over the world, however, continued to resist.

Metropolis was one of those cities, and Lionel Luthor became the main supporter of the city's resistance. He employed thousands of scientists, all searching for a way to kill the alien. What they came up with was passed on to the remains of the U.S. government, but these research "breakthroughs" always failed. When the mayor of Metropolis was killed, Lionel took an even more central role. He began by urging the people of Metropolis to form resistance armies.

Ultimately, Lionel's involvement was his downfall. The city managed to hold out longer than any other, not because of his skill, but because the alien was occupied elsewhere. Lionel Luthor thought that his wealth would save the city, but he shortly learned that money couldn't buy everything.

The alien had no morals, and he killed indiscriminately. Rebel armies in other cities were suppressed brutally and the alien took no prisoners. He killed people by the thousands. Cities gave in, not because they were defeated, but because the people began to fear for their lives. Reports were given, in gory detail, of the deaths of rebels throughout the world. People knew the alien was willing to go to impossible lengths to conquer the human race. They feared that they would be next.

The people of Metropolis were scared, but, at the time, Lionel Luthor was still leading a large citywide resistance, and people felt temporarily reassured when they listened to his adamant statements that victory would eventually be won. Lionel believed that the human race was ultimately insuperable and the alien, fundamentally, had to lose. Even as the word was heard that the nuclear attack had been unsuccessful, and refugees started to pour in from the northern states, people were determined to carry on with their resistance.

Lionel Luthor and the people of Metropolis were ultimately wrong. Lionel was killed during a full-scale attack on the city. With the loss of the city's leader, the resistance armies lost their confidence. The city held out for six months before surrendering, an admirable length of time, considering most areas had fallen within a month.

At the time of the city's fall, Lex had been on the sidelines. His father, believing him incompetent and more of a liability than an asset, had refused to let him lead any of the resistance groups. He had been just another soldier among the thousands of other Metropolis fighters. Ironically, his father's paranoia probably saved his life. The alien targeted his father for his name, his role as a resistance leader, and his wealth. Lex was his little-known son.

The human race formally surrendered a paltry seven months after the start of the war. It was estimated that the Alien War resulted in ten million deaths, the destruction of thirty percent of the world's buildings and infrastructure, and the decimation of fifty percent of the world's food supply. There was starvation and sickness throughout the Third World, and many people in industrialized nations died, due to limited medical access. At the end of the war, the world was dying; the only option was to surrender basic rights and freedoms to stay alive.

The alien immediately set up an autocratic government, with himself as Overlord. It soon became apparent, however, that he was more interested in indulging himself than attending to the problems on Earth. His first command was the superfluous requirement that he be addressed in all matters as the "Supreme Overlord of Earth, Kal-El, of the House of El". A week followed with no other commands, and the world held its breath, waiting for the Overlord to hand down a decision that would affect their entire lives. And yet, no other commands were issued because the Overlord was becoming annoyed -- each day, more representatives bothered him, demanding audiences, and taking away from his precious free time.

Kal-El ignored the problems of the human race, and concentrated on what was important to him: palaces. He chose sites, in various parts of the world, for the construction of huge palaces, each in a baroque style. And of course, he had to have the best of everything. While the rest of the world was starving from lack of food, the Overlord was setting up his court.

When rebellions started to appear, and it became apparent that the alien could no longer ignore the world, he finally compromised. The Overlord allowed each world state or province a dignitary, and that dignitary was given free rein, as long as an annual tribute was given to Kal-El. This system was totally impossible however, since he chose each dignitary on a whim and the populace had no input. Consequently, a state would be assigned a dignitary who knew nothing about its people, resulting in horrifying exploitation and abuse.

Most shocking of all was the introduction of a slave system. Humans could now be enslaved for minor infractions and brought to work in the Overlord's palaces. The dignitaries had free rein to pick and choose those they believed deserving of punishment. There were tales of physical torture and slave maltreatment. The alien's depravities continued to amaze and appall the people of Earth.

As for Lex, he struggled along with the rest of Metropolis at the time of the surrender. Much of the Luthor assets had been destroyed after the death of his father, but he soon lost the rest with the introduction of Kansas's new dignitary. The dignitary, one Iago Sanchez, decided, that for "the good of the city", the rest of the Luthor assets had to be seized. All the property that hadn't been destroyed, along with any money and assets that remained, was put into Sanchez's pockets. Lex's protests were ignored, and he was threatened with dire consequences if he continued to pursue the issue.

It was about this time that Lex, destitute, decided to become the son his father never thought existed.

With the loss of fifty percent of the world's food supply, foodstuffs had become a valuable commodity. Much of the food and supplies in Metropolis had been hoarded at the beginning of the war, and any food importation had been prevented when roads and infrastructure were destroyed. By the end of the war, Metropolitans were eating anything they could get their hands on. Lex knew there was a way to take advantage of this.

For the first time in his life, the mysterious meteor shower worked to his advantage. Smallville was permanently entrenched in his mind, and he would always remember his accident. He remembered the farm he had been exploring just before the meteor hit, and he knew that he had been standing in a cornfield. Smallville had farms, and farms had food.

The small town had been cut off from Metropolis shortly after the start of the war. The one road leading in had been destroyed, and there had been tales of people leaving and never returning, when Metropolitans tried to reach it by other routes.

But Lex knew that if the farms in Smallville were still viable, there could potentially be a lot of food available to the people of Metropolis. He called in a few favors and managed to borrow an off-road vehicle.

What he found was more than he'd ever expected. The town had been largely untouched by the war, and many of the farms had just continued as if it was business as usual.

Using the closed road to his advantage, Lex told the farmers stories of the war, and let them know of the huge food shortage in Metropolis. The farmers couldn't get enough news from the outside world, and were easily persuaded to enter into a business deal. They allowed him to take their food, free of charge, and distribute it in Metropolis. Lex would come back with the sales every week. In return, he asked for a small percentage of the profits. With only the off-road vehicle as transport, it was a pathetically small enterprise; by his father's standards, Lex's efforts would have gotten a laugh -- but Lex knew that all businesses started small.

When the road to Smallville was re-opened, Lex had already made agreements with most of the farmers to be their sole distributor. With the lucrative transactions he had already made, he was able to finance the beginning of a successful business. Food was this post-war world's gold, and he was one of the only providers of affordable, high quality food in Metropolis.

Lex's brief stint with poverty became a forgotten memory. He was nowhere near his father's success, but he was on his way up.

"Mr. Luthor, a Mr. Sanchez is here to see you," his secretary announced.

Lex grimaced. He could guess what it was about.

"Send him in, Brenda."

Lex had met Iago Sanchez once before -- a thoroughly unpleasant encounter. The Metropolis dignitary seemed to take a sick pleasure in making Lex squirm. What had been taken "for the good of Metropolis" had actually been put into the pocket of Sanchez. The man got away with murder, all because he reported to the alien.

Sanchez entered arrogantly, waving his cane around theatrically. He was in his late 30s, overweight, and generally repulsive to look at. Like Lex, he was bald, but unlike Lex, his baldness was a result of thinning hair. His portly body was decked in an old-fashioned three-piece suit, complete with suspenders. The man thought he looked dignified, but to Lex, he just looked ridiculous.

"Lex Luthor," he drawled. "I never thought I would see you in an office. I assumed you'd be selling your ass on Yellow Street by now. Ah, well, I've always said the world is an unpredictable place.

"But I have to give you credit. You've done remarkably well for yourself. Lionel Luthor's son -- purportedly unstable, a millionaire in less than a year? Your father would have been proud. Well, no, probably not. Your father was never much for familial love, now, was he?"

Lex faced the man, tense. "I wasn't aware that you knew my father."

"Well, you were quite the oblivious little shit, weren't you? For your information, Luthor, I worked for your father before the war. I often helped him wipe his ass while you were coming home from yet another disaster abroad. But he wasn't very grateful for my extensive help, so imagine my glee when I managed to lay my hands on all of his money. From a Luthor flunky to a respected dignitary -- quite the accomplishment, if I do say so myself. And now--"

"Sanchez, can you get to the point? What do you want?"

"Want? Well, many things, Luthor, but for now, an adequate and plausible explanation will do."

"About what?" Lex asked, but he knew what was coming.

Sanchez smiled. "Luthor, you've ignored my directive to stop distribution to East Metropolis. The Overlord has a very nasty rebellion there and he was most unimpressed when he learned that they were still receiving supplies. Supplies mean lively people; lively people mean more rebellion. The Overlord does not want lively people, and you," he grinned," are giving them the supplies they need to keep going."

Was this moronic speech supposed to impress him? "Sanchez, I was aware of your command, but I'm also aware that the people of East Metropolis aren't just rebels. There are women and children there that are just trying to have normal lives. They need food to survive, and I can't, in all conscience, deprive them of that."

Sanchez seemed overjoyed. "You're stating that you knowingly ignored my directive?"

"Yes."

"And you have no intention of obeying the Overlord?"

Lex hesitated. "In this specific case, no."

"Luthor, I think you're as arrogant as your father was. Luthors are not above the law, especially the Overlord's law. I'm going to enjoy your millions."

Sanchez walked over to Lex's office door and opened it. "I'm ready for you, boys," he announced.

"Sanchez, what --"

"Luthor, according to article 221 of the Supreme Overlord of Earth, Kal-El, of the House of El's Earth Edict, you have directly disobeyed the Overlord. Consequently, you are now the property of the Overlord. Your funds and assets are seized, effective immediately. Quite conveniently, assets of the offender are automatically awarded to the dignitary of the offender's state, which happens to be me."

The man was crazy. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm not giving you a cent! You know the command's unreasonable."

"Even if I do believe that the command is unreasonable -- which I do not -- you'd still be punished. The law is the law."

Three large men, each wearing black leather jackets, entered Lex's office.

"Allow me to introduce Officers Right, Elton, and Ramon."

Two of them seized his arms, and held him immobile while he struggled to get away.

Sanchez grinned madly. "Lex Luthor, it gives me great pleasure to tell you that you are now the Overlord's slave."

The third goon was holding shackles, and moving towards Lex. Lex struggled wildly, but he couldn't get free of the two men. He managed a few kicks at the third goon, but it hardly affected the man.

"Don't I have any rights?" he shouted.

"Slaves don't have rights, Luthor."

Lex had manacles on both his legs and arms, and each manacle had a chain, which restricted his movements. To walk, he had to hobble, humiliatingly shuffling along while the chains clanked between his legs.

Lex was enraged. He glared at Sanchez even as he was dragged out of the room. "You'll never get away with this, you bastard."

Sanchez was animated, twirling his cane. "Luthor, I already have."

As the goons shut Lex's office door in his face, he could see Sanchez seating himself in Lex's chair, leaning backwards, and rubbing his hands up and down the leather armrests.

Lex was forced to turn around, the goons dragging him forward. His secretary gasped when she saw him. "Mr. Luthor! What's happening? Should I call the police?"

"These are the police, Brenda," he choked out.

Lex was dragged out of his building, while his employees gazed on in disbelief.

People on the street stared, but did nothing as Lex was pushed towards a van, his shackles clinking together. He was manhandled into the back of the windowless vehicle. There were no seats, and he had to sit awkwardly on the dirty floor. The doors slammed shut with a boom, leaving him in darkness.

To say that Lex was in a severe state of shock would be an understatement.

About five hours later, Lex was forced out of the van, and put in a specially-made bus, with seats equipped with fastenings for shackles. The flunky manhandled him into a seat, and his chains were attached to the back of the seat in front of him. The man didn't seem to notice that the chains were much too short. This meant that Lex was forced to sit forward in his chair, his butt on the edge of the seat, his arms outstretched in front of him, and his ankles bracing his weight.

The bus was crowded with a variety of people, all with frightened looks on their faces. There were boys and girls in their teens, women of all ages, and quite a few men, most of them bigger than Lex. Astonishingly, there were even some children. This, more than anything else, outraged Lex. What could a child possibly have done to deserve to be enslaved? For that matter, why had he never heard about this barbaric practice? Humans had reluctantly accepted the creation of a slave system, but they had always assumed it would be for adults -- and adults only.

They drove for hours, the scenery passing by rapidly. Having nothing else to do but stare out the window, Lex occupied himself with sightseeing.

Evidence of construction was everywhere. Buildings that were destroyed during the war were now being put back together, and the bus frequently had to stop, due to road construction. It appeared that humans were finally getting on with their lives. Construction was always a sign of a healthy economy; obviously, the alien's reign wasn't an impediment to development. But of course, one didn't always see the rot hidden beneath the system. Lex was a testament to that fact.

The ride lasted through the night, the driver never stopping. Lex and the thirty or so other slaves remained chained to their seats, unable to use the bathroom or have something to eat or drink. He had no idea where they were going, but if this was an example of how they were going to be treated, he wasn't looking forward to their arrival. As the drive progressed, he noticed frost appearing on the ground near the road. The temperature in the bus also lowered progressively, but the driver didn't seem inclined to turn on the heat.

Early in the morning, they finally pulled into an out-of-the-way dirt drive. They continued on for about five minutes, passing through dense green forest, and then pulled into a clearing. What was revealed was impressive: a huge faux-Roman palace, with what looked like at least a hundred rooms. There was also a large courtyard, with a stable off to one side. The whole estate was surrounded by the forest, which gave it an isolated feeling. It was twice the size of his father's mansion in Smallville.

The bus finally stopped at the end of the driveway and the driver got off, while Lex and the rest of the slaves waited. Soon, people dressed in black uniforms got on the bus. They removed the chains, and pushed everyone off, one at a time.

When Lex stood up for the first time, he thought his legs were going to buckle. They had gone numb long before from bracing himself on his ankles. He managed to follow the man in the uniform with only a few stumbles, however, dragging his feet between his shackles.

They were all herded single file into a building connected to the side of the palace. It appeared to be constructed in a shoddier manner than the rest of the palace; the ceilings were low, and nothing had been done to decorate the sparse beige walls. The hallway was dimly lit, and the empty room they were forced into was equally bare and dark.

They all bunched together in fear and Lex tried, vainly, to separate from a particularly clingy female.

A group of slaves, all men of different ages, entered the room and stood in front of the new arrivals, with varying degrees of threatening expressions. But the man at the center of the group was the one that grabbed Lex's attention. He was old, and his gray hair went down to his shoulders. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and discolored splotches could be seen on his skin. Most shocking of all, however, was his lack of clothing. He was wearing nothing but a ratty loincloth. The effect was quite grotesque; he had nothing with which to hide his bulbous gut. The rest of the slaves were equally scantily dressed, but the old man had a presence that commanded attention, and the other slaves seemed insignificant by comparison.

The man surveyed them, a look of disdain on his face.

"You have now reached the Overlord's palace in the upper states. I am the slave foreman, and it will be to me that you report.

"Each and every one of you is here because you deserve to be here. You have all disobeyed the Overlord. This is your punishment.

"You are now the lowest of the low. The rest of the human race will look on you with contempt. Some of you will find that your stay here will be easy, while others will find themselves living in a new hell.

"Patrick, step forward." The so-called slave was also wearing nothing but a loincloth. But unlike the foreman, he was fairly handsome. He was in his early 20s, with a slight build, and brown hair down to his shoulders. His tanned skin was peppered with bruises.

"This is Patrick. Patrick has been working in the Overlord's household for a year now. He presently works in the kitchen, and one day, perhaps, will move on to a better position. But for now, he obeys his masters, does his work, and doesn't make trouble.

"If you wish to survive, you should all aspire to be like Patrick."

The foreman grabbed Patrick by his chin and held his face up. "Notice that Patrick and the other slaves wear neck and wrist manacles. These are controlling devices. You'll learn that escape attempts will be dealt with harshly. If you look on the wall behind us, you'll see a fastening system. It is present throughout the palace. Any rebellious behavior, disrespect to members of his Overlord's Court, or oversteps, will be punished using these wall fastenings. I'm sure you'll all agree that the Overlord has created an ingenious system. A slave's wrist manacles can be attached to the wall instantly, with the use of a magnetic force.

"As for those of you considering escape, the neck manacle is also rigged to the Overlord's system. A slave that flees will be able to cross into the forest, but any attempt to go further will result in death. And how will you die, you wonder? If you go past a certain point, a poison will be injected into your system. Disobedient slaves can make it to the forest, but are unable to pass through. The Overlord frequently makes a sport of hunting these slaves down. So be warned: while you might escape, with the illusion of freedom, you'll not be alive long enough to enjoy it.

"Now that you have been warned, let's start making you feel more at home."

The foreman motioned to a couple of slaves and they began walking around the room, removing the shackles.

"All slaves -- remove your clothes, and place them on the floor. The faster you leave your previous life behind, the faster you'll accept your new life."

The slaves stared at the foreman, unsure.

The foreman nodded to a large slave behind him. The slave walked up to a particularly frightened woman close to Lex and struck her in the face. The woman staggered and fell. "Undress," he commanded. The woman stared up at him, stunned. "I said, undress!" And, holding her by her hair, he proceeded to rip her blouse off, exposing her breasts, her pants soon following.

The slave then backed away and surveyed Lex and the rest of the crowd. "Undress!" he bellowed. Everyone quickly began to comply.

Lex was the last to follow, and he watched as the rest of the people, shocked, removed their clothes. He then noticed the intimidating stare of the burly slave, and started slowly removing his shirt. He wasn't ready to be struck by that monster just to prove a point.

Once everyone was nude, most of the men furtively tried to hide their genitals while the women covered their breasts. Lex remained standing with his hands at his sides, determined not to show any physical nervousness.

They were all doused with a stinging cleaning powder, and then each person was handed a loincloth.

The foreman spoke up again. "It's the Overlord's decree that no slave will have clothing in the palace. A loincloth is required instead. The Overlord has also decreed that all slaves must maintain shoulder-length hair -- so you'll not be cutting your hair anytime soon." With a brief amused look at Lex, he added, "If you have hair to cut."

The men were now at least somewhat covered; the women, however, had only the loincloth, and nothing with which to cover their breasts.

Another group of slaves entered the room, carrying manacles.

Lex couldn't take anymore. He would not willingly allow those things on him. When the slave tried to attach the manacle to his neck, he snapped. He struck the slave, pushing him back, and made a dash out of the room. He didn't get very far. Two of the larger slaves, previously waiting silently behind the foreman, grabbed him and knocked him to the ground.

"You fuckers! Let me go! I'm not a fucking slave!" His cries had no effect, however. One slave pinned him to the ground, using his knees on Lex's back. The second one grabbed his arms, pulled them behind his back, and allowed the first slave to attach the manacles to his wrists. Lex tried to bite them as his head was held, to no effect. The other manacle was soon fastened around his neck.

As the metal tightened, Lex could feel the coldness against his skin. Already, he was feeling constricted. He screamed in frustration.

The slave struck him hard on the head, stunning him, and the one on his back slapped his ass as he stood up, leaving Lex on the floor.

In the end, his struggle was futile. The manacles were attached, and he was left covered in bruises, while the two slaves didn't even seem winded.

"You will find that behavior like this will get you nothing but a bloody back."

The foreman nodded to the burly slaves. Lex was lifted up, and forced over to one of the fastenings on the wall. His wrists were lifted above his head, and the magnetic force grabbed hold of his manacles. He was facing the wall, with his naked back accessible to the rest of the room.

He couldn't see what the slave was doing, but he could hear a rustle as something was brought out. The first strike of the whip stunned him.

He could hear the foreman's voice saying, "Punishments will be dealt with harshly, immediately, and at no inconvenience to your masters. The wall fastenings allow punishment to occur anywhere in the palace, so don't think that a situation will necessitate a laxer environment just because you're serving or running palace errands."

The beating continued, lash after lash, and the pain was excruciating. Each time the whip hit, it was on another area of his back, leaving new welts. He didn't know how long it went on, but it felt endless, with his back on fire. Finally, the slave stopped, with a particularly powerful strike.

The magnetic force disappeared and Lex collapsed to the floor. If he'd been anyone else, he would have been writhing in pain, probably unconscious. But, he knew that by morning, his welts would be gone and his back would be unmarked.

He was once again forced to his feet, and he stood on trembling legs while one of the slaves held him up. The foreman examined him. "Perhaps you'll think twice before acting out again, son."

The slave abandoned him, and Lex was left to hold himself up. He managed, with a few wobbles.

The foreman went back to regarding the group of slaves, and Lex was forgotten.

A slave handed the foreman a stack of papers. "I'm sure you're all anxious to find out what your place will be in this household. I won't leave you in suspense much longer. When I call your name, step forward."

He proceeded to read a list. Most of the large men were assigned to labor duty, the teens were put on serving duty, a few men were assigned to scribe work, and two particularly beautiful women were sent to the Overlord's harem. The children were assigned to the stables.

When it was Lex's turn, he stepped forward with only a brief tremble, and waited for his assigned area.

The foreman said, "Lex Luthor, you'll be assigned to the diplomatic section, and --"

"Sir?" interrupted another slave.

The foreman replied, clearly annoyed, "What?"

"There is a note specifying instructions for this slave."

"Really?" he replied, sarcastically. "Well, don't just stand there. Hand it over." The slave complied, and the foreman read the note in silence.

"You're nothing but trouble for me today, Luthor. It seems that someone has it in for you. This note requires me to assign you to labor work, but I'm not doing that; you'll be dead within the week. So, I suppose that leaves the kitchen."

The foreman peered at Lex, a malicious gleam in his eye. "You'll love it there, Luthor. And I heard you were a rich man in your previous life!" He laughed.

He studied the rest of the slaves. "As for the rest of you, welcome to your new home."

After the foreman left, the group of slaves gradually grew smaller as someone came to show them where to go.

As the room emptied, Lex began to feel increasingly alone. Perhaps he was being snubbed, a pariah after his punishment. Finally, when he thought he'd been abandoned, the slave from the demonstration approached.

He approached Lex warily, a guarded look on his face. "We're supposed to help the new slaves figure out what to do. I work in the kitchen, so I can show you the way."

Lex put gratitude in his voice. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

The boy shrugged and walked towards the door. He looked back at Lex to see if he was following, and then quickly turned around.

"Patrick, right?"

The boy's shoulders tensed an infinitesimal amount. "Yes."

"I'm Lex."

"I know."

They passed through the hallway and went outside. It was cold, and with only a loincloth to cover his body, Lex was soon shivering.

"How do you stand wearing these skimpy things every day? You must freeze."

Patrick didn't pause, and he walked in an obvious hurry. "The palace is very warm, and we don't have to go outside very often. When we do, it's only from the palace to the sleeping quarters. About the only advantage of working in the kitchen is the warmth."

Lex made a noncommittal noise.

He figured he should try to make at least one friend. It was always useful to have allies. "Patrick, if you wouldn't mind, I'm sure it would help if you could give me a brief rundown of what we do in the kitchen."

The boy looked back at him, annoyed. "You'll find out in a minute." Well, that stopped that.

They went behind the shabby building, and began walking around the palace. They passed the courtyard, Lex's bare feet stinging with each step on the gravel. The grass was covered with frost, and he had to be careful not to step on any ice. The walk seemed to take ages, and just when he thought his feet couldn't take anymore, they reached an unremarkable doorway in the back.

Patrick pressed a buzzer and, after a moment, they were let in to blessed warmth.

There was a flurry of activity inside. Everywhere he looked were pots and pans, people carrying trays of food, and the crash of dishes against dishes.

All the slaves were in loincloths, and yet they were working at hot stoves and preparing food. Presumably, the alien didn't care if his food was unsanitary.

Lex followed Patrick as he maneuvered his way through the tables and slaves, eventually approaching a slim slave who was yelling directions at the others.

"Sir?" Patrick prompted tentatively.

The boy was treated to a scathing look. "What do you want? You're supposed to be helping the foreman."

"Yes, sir. But I'm back now, and I brought a new slave to the kitchen."

"A new slave to the kitchen?" he exclaimed. "You mean that stupid foreman actually listened to me for once? I've been trying to get additional help for ages." He wiped his hands on a cloth and then looked at Lex. "Well, is this him?"

"Yes, sir. This is Lex Luthor," answered Patrick. "Lex, this is the head chef, Aaron."

Lex didn't have time to reply before the other man demanded, "Well, what can you do? Do you cook?"

Lex just looked at him in answer, letting the man know the absurdity of the question from his expression.

"Prepare food?"

Lex sighed. "I don't know anything about cooking."

Aaron became enraged. "Nothing about cooking!" he bellowed. "Why the hell did they send you here if you don't know how to cook?"

"Sir," said Lex condescendingly, "I didn't exactly ask to be here. It's beyond me why the moron that runs--"

Patrick interrupted him somewhat frantically. "Lex was supposed to be assigned labor work, sir, but the foreman thought it was too much. He was sent here as a compromise."

The chef paused. He took in the marks on Lex's back, and the bruises on the rest of his body. He still looked agitated, but not as enraged. "I suppose we can find some use for you. Any help is better than no help, and I won't let it be said that I condemned someone to his death in that intolerable environment. I do have some dignity," looking at Patrick in dislike, "despite what others might say."

Aaron turned his back, dismissing the boy. "Put him on dishwashing duty."

"Yes, sir."

Patrick led him to an area at the back of the kitchen. There was a huge three-sided sink, and dishes were stacked so high that they were coming out of the top.

"This is the dishwashing area. You generally start here until someone has time to teach you food preparation. I doubt that will happen for a while, though. I was on dishwashing for six months before Aaron let me into the actual kitchen.

"You need to wash all these, hang them on the drying racks, and hand over the drying racks to the kitchen staff when they get full so the dishes can be restocked. You need to wash at a fairly rapid pace, because the sink gets full very quickly.

"Any questions?"

Perhaps saying that he had never washed dishes before wouldn't go over well. Even when he was poor, he was generally too destitute to afford dishes, using paper plates and plastic utensils instead.

But Lex had built a multi-million dollar company from nothing. He was certainly capable of doing this. "I think I can manage."

Lex was in hell.

Washing dishes was one of the worst jobs he'd ever had. The water wasn't just hot -- it was scalding hot. And the dishes just kept coming and coming. No matter how fast he worked, he couldn't reduce his pile. His hands were now like prunes, and he thought some of his skin was starting to peel off. What was worse, though, was that he had to angle his body away from the sink, otherwise his stomach and groin were exposed to the hot water. Now his arms and shoulders were even more cramped than they'd been before, and on top of all of that, his back was starting to sting.

He'd just about had it when the one hundred dishes he had handed over to the kitchen were returned, and he was told to wash them again. "Inadequate washing." Fucking assholes.

He kept washing, dish after dish, scraping off crap, for hours. He was never given a break, and no-one ever came to help him. It was torture.

Finally, after what seemed like ten thousand dishes, Patrick told him that they could head to the sleeping quarters. Lex shook off the dish suds from his hands and followed the boy with a sigh of relief.

Patrick led him through a maze of slaves, each working on a food dish. They couldn't possibly work all night, he wondered, appalled.

Patrick looked back at Lex, no doubt to make sure he was still following, but this time with a bit more warmth. Lex smiled in response. Not looking where he was going, Patrick knocked over a plate of food hanging precariously close to the edge of a table. It shattered with a loud crack, echoing through the whole kitchen.

"Patrick!" screamed Aaron. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Patrick stared at the head chef stupidly, seemingly petrified.

Lex couldn't abandon the boy. "It was my fault, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going."

When the man's face grew red, ready to scream once again, Lex added, with false sincerity, "I'm very sorry." Lex was very good at fooling people -- he had learned from the best, after all.

Aaron grunted, and seemed to reassess the situation. "You're lucky I'm too busy with this dish, Luthor, or you'd get a whipping worse than the one already on your back."

Lex and Patrick both waited.

"For fuck's sake, don't just stand there. Get out of my sight."

They needed no further encouragement, and headed out of the kitchen, taking more care this time.

Outside, Patrick turned to Lex. "Why did you do that?"

Lex grinned. "What, that? It was nothing. Besides, you looked as if you could use a break. It must not be very pleasant for you in there."

Patrick stared at him, serious. "No. It's not." They walked for a couple of paces.

Then Patrick said softly, "Thank you."

Lex said nothing in response. He had a feeling he'd just gained a friend.

The sun had long since gone down, and Lex found that he had to keep up with Patrick to see him in the dark. He'd be lost by now if the boy weren't there to follow.

They eventually reached the slave building, and when they opened the door, he finally had some light to see by. But half a day did nothing to change his first impression: the hallway was still sterile and unappealing.

His whole body ached. He was emotionally and physically drained, and he hadn't eaten anything all day. His feet were now numb from the pebbles and the cold and, stepping on to the relatively warm floor sent needles of pain through his legs.

Patrick led them farther down the hallway, and they came to a huge room. It was divided into cubicles, and in each cubicle were blankets, on top of a thin mattress on the floor.

"Patrick, not that I'm not ready for sleep, but I'm also starving. Do you think we could get something to eat first?"

The boy looked at him, an apology in his eyes. "We're only given one meal a day, in the morning. You arrived after everyone had eaten, so you're going to have to wait for tomorrow."

On top of everything else, this was the last straw. He couldn't take anymore. He followed Patrick numbly, entering the sleeping quarters in helpless frustration.

There were already slaves sleeping, and most of the cubicles were occupied. Patrick grabbed his hand, and led him to a cubicle near the middle of the room, where there were two empty mattresses.

"I usually sleep here. This area normally has two or three unused mattresses, so you can take one of them if you want." Patrick seemed incredibly earnest.

"I would love that, Patrick," Lex said gently. "But I'm not quite ready to go to sleep. I'm afraid of the answer to this, but I'm urgently in need of the facilities. Please don't tell me we're only allowed to piss once a day too."

Patrick smiled. "No, we can use the bathrooms. They're at the back of the room. I'll wait for you here until you get back." Patrick peered covertly at the other sleeping slaves and whispered, "Be careful."

Lex wondered if the boy was always ready to jump out of his skin, or if that had been meant as a warning. But Lex managed to visit the bathroom with no problems; it seemed unoccupied at this time of night.

When he returned, Patrick was already lying down, and Lex took the mattress closest to his. It was quiet, except for the faint rustling of slaves shifting nearby.

The boy was lying in a tight ball, hugging his legs close to his body.

"Patrick, are you okay?" Lex whispered.

Patrick shifted, and faced him. He was silent for a minute, and just when Lex thought he had gone to sleep, he spoke. "I hate this."

Lex made an encouraging noise.

"I hate being a slave. But more than that -- I hate being a slave at this palace. The other slaves are always gossiping about Kal-El's new pleasure slaves, and they're constantly speculating on what he'll do next. Most of them don't even hate him. They fear him, but I know they secretly admire him."

"And you hate him?"

"More than anything."

When Patrick didn't elaborate, Lex prodded, gently, "Why?"

The boy was silent. He finally said, in a tense voice, "He killed my sister."

Lex felt sorry for the boy, but this was no shocking revelation. "A lot of people were killed in the war, Patrick. I lost friends and family as well. I think we all hate the alien for that."

"Not like I do. I saw him killing my sister. He's a monster. She was just a protestor, an innocent little girl. She was in one of the large rallies at the beginning of the war when it happened. He dropped down from the sky, and for no reason at all -- but maybe her inherent goodness -- picked my sister for a 'demonstration'." Patrick was tense, overcome with emotion. "In front of all the other protestors, he gripped her head and crushed it. My sister died instantly, but my hatred for the alien began that day. I loathe him."

The boy must have been starved for affection. One day with Lex, and he was already pouring his heart out. He continued, "You know how everyone is always wondering what he looks like. We never saw a clear picture of him during the war. The kitchen slaves don't ever get to see him. Most of them think he has tentacles and a green body. But they're all wrong. He looks just like a man. And that makes it even worse. On the outside, he looks human, but on the inside is the alien monster. I think he looks like that just to fool us, so we don't have our guard up. I bet he passed as a human for years before he decided to start the war.

"His true nature, both inside and out, was revealed to me when my sister died." Patrick paused, and took a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself back together. "That day was the worst day of my life. The day I was enslaved, to work for the thing that had killed my sister, was the second."

Lex reached out and put a comforting hand on Patrick's shoulder. "I'm truly sorry, Patrick."

Patrick rubbed his eyes irritably, and then stared up at Lex. He scooted forward a bit on his mattress, bringing his face close to Lex's ear. "But I know how to get revenge. Lex, do you want to know how you can get out of here?" he whispered.

Lex jerked his head back, and then examined the boy with a more calculating eye. His eyes were swollen, his face red, but he was obviously very serious. "What?" Lex hissed.

Patrick looked around them nervously. He whispered, "I know where the Overlord keeps his spaceship."

"Spaceship?"

"I was running an errand -- they were short on laundry help, and I needed to take a load of clothes to the basement. The Overlord passed me, and he went down a set of stairs." Patrick swallowed. "I followed. He didn't know -- he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. I watched him enter this absolutely bizarre chamber, and his -- spaceship was there, glowing."

This was all very interesting but, "How does that help us escape?"

"I think -- no, I know that he was talking to someone, but no one else was in the room. I'm pretty sure that he was talking to the ship, as strange as that sounds. And he was saying something about the slaves in the forest, and a boundary, and, well, that has to have something to do with the manacles, doesn't it? If the control for the fastenings and the manacles are in that room, and if we can deactivate them... well, we'd be able to leave, wouldn't we?"

Lex considered. "If the control is indeed there, and we can figure out how to deactivate it, then we might be able to turn off the poison trigger."

"Oh, Lex, I know it's there! And we'll be able to get free!" His voice was rising alarmingly.

"Patrick! Keep your voice--"

But it was too late. One of the slaves, in a far bed, shouted, "Would you fuckers shut up! Some people are trying to get some sleep."

Lex sighed in relief. The slave hadn't taken notice of Patrick's words. Stupid boy. Lex patted Patrick on the shoulder as a false comforting gesture, motioned him to be quiet, and then withdrew to his own mattress.

Patrick's information put a completely different spin on Lex's situation. Ever since that first shackle had been put on him, back in his office, he'd been trying to deny that it had even happened. It was hard to redefine oneself as a slave after a life of freedom. Just one day ago he had been running his own company, set to expand into the rest of North America. While he hadn't had the authority of the alien's dignitaries, he had started to become a powerful economic force. Now, he was a slave. He no longer had his company, his money was gone, and his rights and freewill were nonexistent. One day here, and he'd already been whipped. Not to mention his unpleasant experience in the kitchen. But now, with the hope of escape, everything didn't seem so bleak. With Patrick's knowledge of the palace, Lex was sure that they could come up with a plan.

As for Patrick's story -- of the death of his sister -- well, Lex was helpless to feel anything but pity. Patrick seemed very alone here. Lex also suspected that the boy hated the alien for a lot more than the death of his sister. He had seen the way he flinched from touch, and his wary and frightened looks could only mean one thing. Lex had already personally experienced the "punishment" that slaves received, but he was sure that Patrick had experienced even more. The whippings had probably been accompanied by some kind of sexual abuse. And even if the alien wasn't personally responsible, he could understand how hatred had built up, as his situation got worse and worse.

But in the back of his mind, he was already thinking of ways to use Patrick's vulnerability to his advantage. Lex rubbed his forehead, ashamed of himself.

He tried to put aside his worries, and get to sleep, but his back was stinging terribly. His wounds had begun to heal. Even worse, each time he moved, he was conscious of the manacles around his wrists and neck. He kept reaching up, trying to brush the collar off, but he always encountered the unmovable metal. It was restrictive and made him feel as if his air was being cut off.

He thought of Patrick. He had been living like this for a year.

Fucking alien. Why did he have to ever come to Earth?

Lex's life gradually took on a tedious pattern -- a repetition of menial jobs that had no intellectual stimulation whatsoever -- and consequently, he adjusted easily. His boredom, though? Another story. All in all, slavery was a pretty dull existence.

He continued to work in the kitchen, washing dishes. He liked to think that he got better at it, but really, there was no point in improving. There were always dishes, and the sink always remained full, no matter how fast he went. What did improve was his tolerance for physical torture. The scalding water no longer caused him intense pain, and he was starting to get used to having the skin on his hands constantly chapped and raw.

He managed to pass unnoticed that first day when his back healed rapidly. Ever since the meteor shower, he'd lived with the fear that the rest of the world would notice his unusual immune system. And while he was a slave, being branded as a freak would possibly be one of the worst things that could happen to him.

He had gained Patrick's trust and, together, they slowly started to plan their escape. Lex wasn't allowed in the rest of the palace, and the kitchens were always monitored by a slave, so he'd been unable to sneak past the inside doors. But Patrick did his best to describe the way to the mysterious room down in the basement. They were planning slowly -- not wanting to make any mistakes, and the more Lex learned about his situation, the more likely their chances of a successful escape.

Patrick also told him about the slave structure, and who was above Lex in status. The laborers were the only group of slaves lower than the kitchen slaves. Next came the slaves that worked with the palace's animals, and this group included children. After that were the diplomatic slaves, who drafted documents and researched data on the post-war world. The translator slaves were up one more level, and they helped the foreign dignitaries interact since the alien didn't need a translator.

The last group was the alien's mysterious pleasure slaves. These slaves were secluded in a harem, somewhere in the inner reaches of the palace. There were supposed to be over a hundred pleasure slaves, and the amount of food produced by the kitchen certainly seemed to support that. The Overlord really was otherworldly if he needed dozens of women to satisfy his sexual appetite.

All the slaves were under the direct authority of the Overlord, but other slaves handed down his instructions. There was rumored to be a slave that personally assisted the alien, but Lex wasn't sure if that were true, never having seen him.

Lex could have easily worked in the diplomatic or translator sections, but, for some inexplicable reason, he had been assigned to the kitchen. Being assigned to the kitchen was a waste of his skills, and frustrating. He could think of only one reason for the assignment; it had to have something to do with the note the foreman had received that first day.

He also learned, through practical experience, that most of the slaves were miserable and not inclined to hide it. Those of a higher rank often took their frustrations out on those below them. This appeared in the form of petty insults or acts of cruelty, but it could often progress into physical acts of violence. The foreman never did anything to stop it, and seemed privately entertained when conflicts broke out. He had learned, like Lex, that most of the slaves were here because of the whim of a dignitary. Patrick told Lex that the foreman had been arrested for public protest. There were few hardened criminals in the palace. Those who were, Lex learned to avoid.

It was mid-afternoon when he looked up from his work, realizing that the activity around him had stopped. He shook the water off his hands and peered around, trying to figure out why the kitchen had grown quiet.

Aaron had abandoned his dish, a very rare occurrence. He was walking toward the kitchen doors, and the other slaves appeared to be waiting for something.

That's when Lex saw him.

Iago Sanchez.

He was surveying the kitchen with disgust, his ever-present cane evident as he used it to push the door shut. He still had appalling taste, wearing an atrocious white suit over a dark maroon shirt. Sanchez was sweating in the hot air of the kitchen, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief that matched the color of his shirt.

Lex couldn't possibly loathe a person more than he did Sanchez right at that moment.

Aaron approached Sanchez, and bowed once, deeply. "May I help you, sir?"

Sanchez looked at Aaron distastefully. "I was told Lex Luthor's here. Where is he?" he asked curtly.

Aaron inclined his head in Lex's direction. "He's over by sinks, sir."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lex could see Patrick looking at him in concern.

Lex tried to compose himself, but he doubted he appeared dignified with just a loincloth and soapsuds on his arms.

Sanchez seemed outraged. "So he is in the kitchen! I assumed there was some mistake. Luthor is supposed to be working outside. There were specific instructions to that effect."

That fucking bastard.

"Your pardon, sir. I was instructed to find a place for him here. I believe the foreman decided that outdoor labor would be too damaging to the slave."

Sanchez's face grew red. He said, in an undertone, "That was the fucking point, morons." He waved his cane around and yelled, "Idiots! Trust a slave to follow simple directions."

Aaron interjected, apologetically, "I doubt the matter can be corrected, sir. Once a slave has been given an assignment, they usually don't leave their area unless given instructions by the Overlord."

Sanchez seemed about to hit Aaron, but he held himself back. He pushed the head chef out of the way and walked directly towards Lex.

Sanchez looked him up and down, his lip curling in glee as he saw his loincloth and bruised body. "Well, Luthor, how do you like your new life?"

Lex did nothing but stare at Sanchez impassively.

"Answer me when I talk to you!"

Lex continued to stare silently at the man, but this time with a slight tightening about his mouth, indicating his anger.

"Don't you dare show me that higher-than-thou attitude, slave. They're not giving you a hard enough time here. I think you need a bit of punishing. Hands up! Over to the wall!"

Lex didn't give an inch, and continued to glare at Sanchez. But other slaves abruptly joined them, and Aaron was looking at him grimly. "You heard the man, Luthor. To the wall."

Lex gave him a resentful glance. Were they going to force him if he didn't move? He would never give in to that bastard.

Aaron seemed to sense that Lex wasn't going to cooperate. He signaled to the other slaves to grab him, and together they pushed him towards the wall. When his arms were lifted, he felt the magnetic force being activated, and his wrist manacles attached to the fastening.

Sanchez laughed in delight behind him, and ran his hand down Lex's back. Lex shuddered.

"Where's the whip?" he shouted. "I don't have a whip."

Lex could hear someone going off to find one, and the seemingly abnormally loud sound of people struggling to get out of his way as he returned. Then there was the tactile feel of Sanchez caressing his back with the blunt edge of the whip. "You'll love this, Luthor."

The first stroke fell.

Lex tuned the rest of the beating out, the pain passing in a daze, and he was only aware of the crack of the whip in an abstract way.

When it ended, it was more because Sanchez was tired than Lex having been whipped to the breaking point. Sanchez was panting harshly and he was coughing as he struggled to draw in more air.

The beating hadn't been bad -- not nearly as painful as his previous one. His skin was on fire in only a few places, and he knew he only had a few welts. But still -- it had been Sanchez. That the man could do this to him was an indignity that Lex could hardly bear.

"Did you enjoy that?" Sanchez panted.

Lex remained silent, leaning against the wall.

Sanchez didn't like that. "Fucking Luthor-spawn!" he brought the whip down one more time, hard. Lex bit his lip, not letting any sound out.

He could hear Sanchez throw the whip down in disgust, and his brusque, "Make sure he gets right back to work."

The slaves gradually returned to their dishes. Lex was released from the wall, and he staggered, forced to take his own weight. Suddenly, Patrick was there, giving him a supporting hand. He was led back to the sinks.

Through it all, Lex never once said anything.

Lex was subdued for the rest of the day, not responding to the talk around him. He answered in monosyllables when forced to answer. Patrick seemed to sense his withdrawal, and allowed him the distance he needed.

When the day was over, and Patrick came to the sinks to tell him that they could leave, he touched Lex's arm briefly and looked at him in concern. Lex tried to smile reassuringly.

He was still angry. He wanted to tear Sanchez apart. Sanchez should be the one without rights, wearing a loincloth, and doing manual labor. Not Lex. That sanctimonious prick.

As he walked to the sleeping quarters, he moved with agitation, careless of rocks or ice. Patrick stayed close to him, not walking in front of him as he usually did. Lex could see him out of the corner of his eye, looking at him concernedly.

They arrived at the sleeping quarters quickly, and both Lex and Patrick paid a brief visit to the bathroom and then went back to their cubicle. Lex stepped over the other sleeping slaves and went to his usual mattress. He lay down on his side, carefully placing himself in the most painless position, and pulled the thin blanket up to his shoulders. He heard Patrick get into his own bed, and Lex closed his eyes, determined to put everything out of his mind.

He was doing a remarkably bad job of it when he suddenly became aware of a rustling in front of his face. He opened his eyes, ready to strike out, but it was just Patrick. He was kneeling down in front of Lex, his blanket gathered around his shoulders.

"Lex, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but I need to know if you're okay. That dignitary seemed really angry with you, and I've never seen you that way before. You looked as if you wanted to kill him. Was he the one that put you here?"

Lex closed his eyes briefly, and grimaced. "Yes."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Lex. To have him whip you -- that must have been terrible for you."

Patrick touched Lex gently on the shoulder, and embraced him awkwardly. Lex remained with his hands at his sides, stiff in the boy's hold. When Patrick seemed disinclined to release him, Lex shrugged his shoulders, and jerked away in annoyance.

Patrick ran a nervous hand through his hair. He shyly darted his gaze away from Lex, and then looked back at him with a sigh. "Do you need -- would you like to --" he bit his lip. "Do you want some company?"

Lex's mind was still halfway in the kitchen with Sanchez, and it took some time to process what Patrick was saying. But he comprehended too late.

Patrick swallowed, and then quickly kissed Lex on the lips. It was a brief brush, and he jerkily moved his head back in his nervousness. But afterwards, the boy looked at him with sickening warmth.

Lex cleared his throat. "Patrick, thank you for the offer. I'm honored, but I don't think it's a good idea. I'm not in the mood right now to do anything but sleep."

Patrick was embarrassed, but he smiled wobbly at Lex. "Oh. All right," he said in a small voice. The boy shuffled to his own bed.

"Goodnight."

" 'night."

Patrick was a sweet kid, and Lex was sure that he'd had been serious when he made the offer, but Lex would never take advantage of him. While physically an adult, Patrick was still a child in some ways.

He abruptly woke to pain. In his sleep, he had managed to turn over, putting his sore back in contact with the rough mattress. He didn't know how long he'd been lying like that, but his back was in a worse state than when he'd fallen asleep. He repositioned himself, trying to get comfortable again. Now, he was facing the wall -- brown watermarks, filthy grime and bits of dirt seemingly molded into the plaster. Looking at it was counterproductive to sleeping and he closed his eyes, struggling to blank his mind, but the pain in his back wouldn't let up.

He could tell that it was still the middle of the night, and the slaves were all sleeping soundly. Over on Patrick's mattress, the boy was snoring softly, with his body in its customary huddle position. He was the picture of a rejected child.

Lex rubbed his eyes and stretched out on the uncomfortable mattress, trying to avoid the lumps but, regardless of his position, his back still felt raw, and the mattress was like lying on a hard rock.

He finally gave up, painstakingly got to his feet and headed to the bathrooms. The facilities were huge, and included communal showers. He could always try to shower while everyone else was asleep; although, they were slimy, filthy and tended to have an unpleasant odor. There was no privacy, and lately, it had been too much of a bother when you usually encountered a disgruntled slave ready to pick a fight. But if he could just get clean--

Lex was in luck. The showers were unoccupied. He had the whole area to himself. He took off his loincloth, and hung it on a hook, safely away from the water. He stood under a showerhead near the back corner, and turned the rusted knob, letting the hot water pour over him. It was agonizing on his back at first, but it shortly became soothing.

He closed his eyes, and let his head droop, allowing the water to pour over him, easing the tension in his neck and shoulders. He blindly reached for the liquid soap dispenser, and squeezed out a dollop while the steam rose around him. Then he lifted his head out of the water, and blinked a few times until he was able to see.

Taking in his surroundings, he promptly chastised himself. While he was floating in a heat-filled daze, another slave had joined him in the shower area. Lex needed to be less careless or one of his oversights would get him killed. Luckily, the slave didn't seem to be interested in starting a fight. Just like Lex, he was enjoying his shower, his eyes closed and his head back.

He was about the same height as Lex. He had a muscular body, with shoulder-length, dirty blond hair. He was cute in a vaguely rugged way, with a scruffy face and sharp cheekbones. His muscles flexed appealingly as he reached behind his back to scrub his shoulders. He washed his upper chest, swirling soapsuds around, and gradually went lower. As he continued washing below his stomach, Lex couldn't help but turn his gaze toward his cock. It was a good size, pink, surrounded by a sprinkling of blond hair.

Lex raised his eyes, and realized the slave was looking directly at him. He was prepared for a violent reaction, but the other slave just stared at Lex challengingly, the water pouring over his body, soapsuds dripping down to the tiled floor.

Lex washed his chest, rubbing his nipples with the soapy water as he returned the other man's gaze. When the slave surveyed Lex's chest with hunger, Lex made his decision. He left his own shower, and joined him. The air was cold without the warm water, but he was soon under the hot spray.

Lex gazed at his fellow slave with a slight smile on his face, and lay his hand on the side of the other man's chest. The slave copied Lex's movement, putting them in a loose embrace. They rubbed against each other, and Lex's cock, already half-hard from his leisurely wash, was soon standing up against his stomach. Lex kissed the man's neck, avoiding his manacle, and grabbed his ass so he could get a better grip. They thrust together, the slave mouthing Lex's shoulders, working down to his chest. He sucked a spot on Lex's upper chest, and the slight sting of his teeth sent a sharp frisson of pleasure through Lex.

They rubbed and rubbed, pleasure building rapidly. Lex was almost there, but needed more friction. He reached between their bodies and grabbed both of their cocks in a tight grip, the hot feel of their skin pressed against each other exquisite.

He didn't last long, coming with a deep groan. The slave soon followed, and they clutched each other while they recovered. It had been a quick orgasm, but it still left him deeply satisfied. He'd needed that.

Lex rested his head on the man's shoulder and took a deep breath. He raised his eyes, looking blearily across the room. He soon regretted it.

Patrick was standing in the shower entrance, staring at them. He looked deeply shocked, and when his eyes met Lex's, they held accusation and hurt.

Lex was paralyzed. The slave was still embracing him, and had yet to become aware of Patrick's presence. Lex tried to gather his wits, but he was still floating in a haze of pleasure and aftershock, satiated from his orgasm.

Patrick turned his back on Lex and left.

Afterwards, Patrick wouldn't talk to Lex. When he returned from the showers, Patrick was lying down, his back to Lex. Lex stood in front of the mattress for a long moment, hoping Patrick would turn around, but he never did. Lex went to bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

When he woke up the next morning, Patrick remained distant, refusing to speak to him and staring at him impassively when Lex addressed him. Lex even tried bringing up their plans for escape to get him to respond, but Patrick remained stubbornly silent.

Lex regretted Patrick seeing him with the other slave, but he didn't regret the sex. He had never given any signs that he was interested in Patrick sexually.

Now, once again, Lex was washing dishes, one of the most tedious jobs ever conceived. Today was a particularly cold day, and the kitchen was a welcome warmth.

Lex was about to start on his tenth rack of dishes when he realized that the activity around him had stopped. Silence was always a bad sign.

He looked quickly toward the kitchen doors. The person commanding everyone's attention was the one person Lex hated the most in the world.

Sanchez.

The dignitary was wearing a subdued version of his usual attire. His suit was a conservative gray, with only a light pink shirt to add color. He seemed jovial, smiling and swinging his cane in an enthusiastic manner. He ignored all the other slaves, and Aaron's questions were brushed off on his path to Lex.

Lex resigned himself to another whipping. A smile on that man's face would never mean anything good for Lex.

"Luthor! I've heard rumors that you've been slacking off in your duties. The kitchen," he sneered, "is much too lenient for the likes of you. You need some real work." Sanchez smiled. "To show you how considerate I can be, I went to the trouble of finding something more challenging. I was doing a bit of exploring in the forest this morning, and managed, inexplicably, to lose a very valuable wristwatch. The watch face had a unique and distinctive feature: it was made from a Napoleonic franc. Perhaps it might be familiar to you."

Lex clenched his hands in tight fists at his sides, enraged. The watch had been a gift from his mother. Lex had cherished it, wearing it everywhere he went. That is, until Sanchez had seized it, along with everything else he'd owned. "You fucking bastard. That watch was important. You've gone too far this time, Sanchez."

"Uh-uh-uh. Language, Luthor. Besides, I said the watch was lost. I never said that it couldn't be recovered. It is up to you, Luthor-spawn, to recover it.

"Now, I noticed that the watch was missing sometime after passing the north pond, and the outer boundaries of the forest. I expect you'll find it somewhere between those two areas. Follow the trail, since that's where I generally travel."

Sanchez grinned. "I don't want you back here without that watch."

Lex stared at the man, amazed. "Sanchez, it's freezing outside. I have no clothing, no shoes, and no idea where anything is in a forest that size. I'll freeze to death."

"Well, you'll just have to work doubly hard to keep warm, then, won't you?"

Lex wanted to hit him beyond anything, but he knew the consequences for striking a dignitary. "You're crazy. I'm not going to kill myself just so you can get some sadistic thrill."

"You obviously haven't grasped reality, Luthor. Let me spell it out for you -- you are a slave. You have no choice in the matter."

Sanchez nodded to the two huge slaves, brought in, no doubt, from among the laborers. Lex looked at them. He would have no chance in a fight. "All right. I'll go," he said, defeated.

Sanchez smiled in triumph, and gestured for Lex to precede him. When he opened the door, Sanchez pushed him. Lex tripped, and ended up sprawled on the snowy ground.

From his spread-eagled position, he glared up at Sanchez, who was standing in the doorway, gloating. Lex could see the heat from the kitchen pouring out of the door into the cold air outside. "Head right to the forest, and see that you make good time, Luthor," Sanchez said. The door slammed shut with a condemning finality.

Lex got to his feet with a dirty look at the door, and brushed the snow off his body. He was already shivering. He felt despair start to set in -- this was a death errand. There was no way that he was going to find a watch in miles of forest, let alone survive until the following morning in freezing weather. Wildly, he began to wonder if there was a way to enter the palace, unnoticed. He could sneak down to the basement, find the room, deactivate the manacles...

It was crazy. It would never work. Even if he did manage to deactivate the manacles, he would still have no way out of the palace. He'd be in the same situation he was in now.

But he hadn't survived his father, the alien, and enslavement just to quit. He felt the Luthor stubbornness begin to take over.

He hugged his arms close to his chest, trying to preserve some body warmth, and resigned himself to a long walk.

Before he'd gone two paces, the kitchen door opened again, and this time Patrick exited, shutting the door firmly behind him and heading quickly for Lex. He had a red mark on his cheek, and yelling could be heard faintly from inside. But the distressed look on his face was all for Lex.

"Lex." Patrick swallowed, and gazed at Lex with a quiver to his lip. "Come with me."

Lex followed Patrick to one of the decorative bushes on the side of the palace, now covered with snow. The boy got down on his knees, and pushed the leaves away, exposing the ground underneath and uncovering a soiled blanket.

"I buried this here last summer. I thought it might come in handy. And it will, for you. It's not much. But it might let you survive out there."

Lex took the blanket numbly, and stared at Patrick in surprise. "Patrick, I don't know what to say."

Patrick seemed ashamed. "I'm sorry I behaved the way I did, Lex."

The sound of the kitchen door opening and Aaron's voice could be heard, yelling for Patrick to come back inside.

Patrick appeared unsure. "I've got to go." He took a few stumbling steps toward the palace, and then turned back to Lex. "Please survive," he whispered and then he was gone.

Lex shook the dirt and snow off the blanket, and put it around his shoulders. It provided a bit of protection for his upper body, but his legs and feet were still exposed to the cold. Already his feet were starting to go numb from the snow.

He began to walk towards the forest once again, looking for the path. He wasn't optimistic about finding his watch, if the watch had even been lost at all. The only thing he could do right now was to find some form of shelter where he could survive the night. If he couldn't find any structures, he could always look for a tree with a good spread of branches that might provide some protection from the elements.

Walking around the palace property on the edges of the forest, he soon found the path. It was where he suspected it would be, close to the stables. The snow on the path was compacted from horse hooves, and some of it had been brushed away, exposing the ground. Lex tried to keep to that area, stepping in the hoof marks, making it easier on his feet.

When he turned a corner, and the trees hid him from view of the palace, he crouched down and tore two large strips from the blanket. Then he brushed snow away from the ground, picked two slender, flexible branches, and used them to wind the fabric between his ankle manacles. When he was done, he had a makeshift pair of shoes that provided some protection from the elements.

He walked for what seemed like hours, not encountering a soul. The forest began to grow thicker, and the white covering of snow gave it an ethereal beauty. The path grew smaller as he walked, and it was getting harder to step in the hoof marks, forcing Lex to step into snow, up to his lower thighs. Gradually, an open area became visible -- Sanchez's pond. It was mid-sized and frozen solid. The forest was almost eerily quiet around the large clearing.

He moved on, dragging his feet, going farther along the trail and deeper into the forest. His steps became slower and slower, and his legs started to feel as if they weighed a ton. Finally, when he thought he was going to have to stop no matter what, he saw a rooftop in the distance. As he turned a corner in the trail, he got a full picture of the building.

It was just a shack, shabbily built, sloping on one side, and with holes in the wood. But to Lex, it was heaven. There were footmarks in the snow, evidence that other people had used it, but Lex disregarded them. He picked up his pace with newfound hope, heading directly for the shelter.

Something impacted him violently, knocking him over into the snow.

Lex stared up dazedly, his vision blurred. When he could finally focus, he saw three figures standing over him. They wore manacles and loincloths -- slaves. And they were huge. They had to be laborers, but he had no idea what they were doing out there.

They were grinning at each other. "I think someone isn't where they're supposed to be."

Lex was happy to see another human being, but the reception could have been better. "What the fuck--" he panted, struggling to sit up, his hands splayed on the snow, supporting his weight.

"What are you doing here, slave?" in a menacing tone.

"I was sent on an errand," he said, struggling to recover his breath.

"Really, and what kind of errand would that be?" said another slave, suggestively. They were looking at Lex's groin, and Lex glanced down at himself, and then jerked in horror. His loincloth had fallen open, exposing his genitals. He struggled to cover himself.

The slaves laughed, and reached down, forcing Lex to his feet. They kept their hands on his arms, and wouldn't let him go when he tried to shrug them off. "I think you're in luck today, slave. You must be freezing, and I bet that shack looks inviting. Well, as far as you're concerned, that's our property, but we're willing to share -- for a price."

"And what price would that be?" Lex asked, shivering.

"A nice skinny slave with healthy skin looks inviting to a bunch of laborers like us. It works this way: you make us feel good, and we let you in the shack. We figure it's mutual pleasure that way. You don't freeze, and we get off."

Lex struggled to pull himself together, and put all the Luthor condescension he could into his voice. "I'm assuming that I'm going to be serving you in some sexual way?"

The slaves grinned.

"Well, then, I'm afraid my answer is no. I'll look for my own shelter. Thanks all the same." He tried to leave, but the grip on his arms remained immovable.

They were smiling. "We think you'll like our shack better than anything you could find." They started dragging him towards the structure. Lex dug in his heels, disdain now gone from his voice, and panic in its stead.

"I said no."

The slaves stopped -- staring at Lex with much harsher expressions. "You'll do what we say. There's no choice in the matter."

"I don't think so." He struggled wildly, trying to get out of the slaves' grip. But he was weaker than he expected, and they had no problem controlling him.

They struck him hard across the face, stunning him and cutting his lip. They continued to drag him towards the shack, while Lex tried every trick he knew to buy him some time. He managed to kick one of them hard on the thigh, just missing his groin. The slave reacted violently, roaring and punching him in the stomach.

Lex coughed, and struggled to breathe. The other slaves soon became more violent. One grabbed his loincloth and tore it off, and another grabbed his ass, and squeezed hard. Lex held back a moan of pain, biting his lip and causing more blood to flow from his cut.

The one with the grip on his ass started rubbing against him, and he could feel the slave's erection pressing into the crease of his ass.

"He's a fucking wildcat," said the slave at his back, pleased.

"Terry, stop that," said the one holding his arms. "I don't want to do it out here. It's too cold."

The slave attached to his backside started pushing Lex towards the shack, with the other slaves on each side. They had surrounded him, and Lex had nowhere to go. He felt nauseated, and was surprised that he hadn't thrown up after the punch to the stomach. He was too weak to fight, and there was no one around to help him.

As Lex and the other slaves entered the shack, Lex resigned himself to the coming rape.

Part III: And So They Finally Meet

It was cold in the room. They had taken his clothes away, and forced him to get on the table, using the glowing green rock. Once he had lain down, the overheads had snapped on, and the rest of the lights had dimmed. He could feel them moving the rock to the side of the table, and the pain lessened, although he could still feel it, making him weak.

"Why are you doing this?" he croaked.

A voice from the darkness said, "You're a freak, Clark. We can do anything we want."

Whimpering, he replied, "Please don't."

"As humans, we have a fundamental right to find out how you're physically stronger than us. When the rest of your people come, we know that you'll want to keep us weak, and ignorant of your powers."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Another voice: "Your people, Clark. The other aliens like you. We're not going to let you conquer us."

"I don't have any people! I don't know anything about aliens. Let me go!"

A hand touched his chest. "Where are the other aliens, Clark? When are they coming?"

"I don't know."

"Are you sure about that?" The hand on his chest was joined by another one, this one with a shiny, sharp blade.

"Please," sobbed Clark, "I don't know!"

"That's really too bad, Clark." The blade descended.

"No!"

Kal-El woke with a shout, his heart pounding. He was covered in sweat, and his mind was still halfway caught up in his dream. He looked around in panic, and clutched at his chest in remembered pain. But his skin was smooth and clear, with no evidence of any cuts. He could almost believe it had never happened.

The pleasure slave lying next to him moved and brushed against his thigh, and with a yell, Kal-El focused all of his pent-up rage into the whore by his side. He kicked the woman, his foot impacting in her side with a sickening crack. Then he pushed her off his bed, making her land on the floor with a thud.

"Fucking human! Get the fuck out of my room!"

The slave clutched at her side and, with a whimper of pain and fear, ran from the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, another slave entered, his eyes on the floor. Kal-El watched him with contempt, a scowl on his face. He wanted nothing better than to lash out again, to hit Whitney and watch him suffer, but he knew it would be a waste of a useful human.

Whitney prostrated himself repeatedly and then peered up at Kal-El through a fringe of hair. "Were you displeased with the slave, Kal-El?"

Kal-El wasn't about to explain the reason for his displeasure, and the whore wasn't anything special anyway. He increasingly felt bored with his pleasure slaves, and it was almost becoming a chore to work up the requisite arousal needed for gratification. He paced his expansive room, kicked his red blankets onto the floor, and then finally faced the slave. "Get rid of her. And I'm not happy with you as well, Whitney. That whore was incredibly boring. With the disgusting number of humans on this planet, you'd think you could find at least one that could keep my interest for more than one night."

Whitney prostrated himself again. "I apologize." He raised nervous eyes to Kal-El's. "I'll try to do better next time."

The slave in question had been a coveted rarity in the slave market in India. The local populace believed she had the face of a goddess, and there had been resentment when Whitney had acquired her for Kal-El's harem. With her beauty and stubborn attitude, she had soon earned a privileged place amongst the other pleasure slaves. However, this was the first time she had been called to the Overlord's chamber, and it seemed that Kal-El's opinion of her paled in comparison to the Indian populace's. The woman would now be turned away from the palace, and would soon find her beauty somewhat tarnished after the Overlord's rejection. Humans became remarkably skittish about screwing a whore who'd shared an alien's bed. She would probably end up on a city street, selling her body for less than twenty dollars a fuck.

Whitney didn't know where he was going to find a pleasure slave that wouldn't anger Kal-El. Lately, every slave seemed to send him into a rage of late.

Kal-El stood in front of his bed, hands on his hips, gazing coldly at Whitney. "I'm going riding today. Tell the stable slaves to have Hephaistion saddled and ready to go in ten minutes."

"I'll do that, Kal-El. Would you like any of the nobles to accompany you?"

"Those fawning idiots? Hardly."

"Then when should I expect you back?"

"Do I have to explain everything to you?" Kal-El shouted. "My free time doesn't concern you, slave. I'll return when I feel like it."

Whitney prostrated himself a final time. "I once again have to apologize, Kal-El. You're right -- you don't have to explain anything to me. However, you might like to know that the North American dignitaries are having some problems -- and they're being annoyingly insistent in their appeals for your help. They seem to think it's urgent. More rebellions have started in Metropolis and -- of course -- they have no idea what to do."

"My so-called dignitaries couldn't take a piss without me holding their dicks. Tell them that their problems can wait until I'm ready to hear them."

Kal-El walked over to his bathing chamber and ran the hot water in the shower.

Whitney, knowing a dismissal when he saw one, left him alone.

Kal-El rode Hephaistion at a brisk canter around the outskirts of his palace. Lately, riding was the only time he felt any peace.

Hephaistion was a thoroughbred stallion, seventeen hands tall, with a coal black coat. Seized from a North American horse breeder, who had dared to defy Kal-El in the early stages of the war, and just two years old, he had already won four races. Kal-El had loved him on sight. His magnificent stature had reminded Kal-El of the history books he had read, where ancient human war heroes were triumphant over their enemies, on a great steed.

Kal-El had named the stallion Hephaistion, after a friend of Alexander the Great's. Alexander had been one of his favorite humans, and it seemed fitting to give his favorite horse that name. After all, the horse was the closest thing to a friend he had in the world.

Now, Hephaistion was no longer two, but he was still a fit and gorgeous stallion that Kal-El loved to lavish affection on. Although he could have had his pick of humans, Kal-El still found riding Hephaistion more pleasurable than any company he could find.

He led Hephaistion off the palace grounds and into the forest, the horse's hooves crunching in the deep snow. The snow made the human world beautiful. It was a nice illusion.

But when Kal-El passed his favorite pond, noise marred his peace and quiet. The humans knew better than to be in the forest, especially when Kal-El was out riding. He inadvertently gripped the reins hard in annoyance, and Hephaistion jumped underneath him, expressing his displeasure. Kal-El patted his neck in apology.

As he rode along, he could make out four human figures in the distance. It was easy to see their long hair and naked skin against the white snow. They were struggling, and three of them were surrounding one smaller slave, who stood out amongst the others. While the others were burly and too big for their frames, this slave was fair, and totally at home in his body. He was slim, his body lean and sinewy, his skin a pale white, and -- Kal-El did a double-take -- completely hairless.

The slave was staring unseeingly in Kal-El's direction, his bald head vulnerable, his bloody face stark and despairing.

As Kal-El gazed at that face, he felt a twinge go through his body.

It was evident that the slave was being forced. His loincloth had been ripped off, and he was struggling to get away as his backside was gripped harshly. Kal-El felt his anger building.

As the slaves disappeared into a small building, Kal-El knew they had to be punished. He needed order in his household, and slaves weren't allowed to have free rein over his property. The alternative was an ineffective system. Slaves that took independent actions were no longer slaves.

He dismounted Hephaistion and led him to a nearby tree, tying his reins to an overhanging branch. Once assured of his horse's safety, he approached the shack, x-raying inside to see what the slaves were up to. What he saw made him involuntarily speed to the door. He pulled at it, the flimsy door creaking as it swung open.

The slaves were absorbed in their actions, and took no notice of Kal-El's entrance. The small slave was pinned, his backside exposed, his face crushed to the dirty wooden floor. Two slaves were holding him down while the third was holding his cock, positioning himself above the slave's ass.

Kal-El roared in fury, and dealt a stunning blow to the slave about to rape his property. The man was knocked unconscious, and the other two slaves stared at Kal-El, shocked. They hastily released the smaller man, and backed away in fear. Kal-El didn't spare them his anger, striking them, breaking bones in their chests and arms, and then finally ending with a hard blow to their heads, knocking them both out cold - incapacitating them for the night. There would be plenty of time for someone to fetch them. They wouldn't have the satisfaction of a quick death.

The slave on the floor turned around, dazed. He took in the unconscious slaves around him, and then stared at Kal-El in amazement, and finally, gratitude. He was shivering, but he slowly got to his feet, his arms around his chest, visible shudders racking his body. In a rough voice he said, "Thank you." He took a step toward Kal-El and looked him in the face, his tone one of disbelief, "You just saved my life." Kal-El raised an eyebrow, and the slave added, "I had a feeling that after they were finished, I wasn't going to be left behind to tell my story."

Kal-El walked around the slave, examining him, looking at his skin, and the reddened marks that were beginning to bruise.

The slave appeared slightly unnerved by Kal-El's behavior, but still took in his expensive clothes with an assessing look. "Are you one of the dignitaries?"

Kal-El took no notice of his words, and continued to examine him. He really was completely hairless.

The slave seemed to take his silence as confirmation. "Well, then. It appears I've been wrong about the dignitaries in this place. I assumed they were interested in only one thing -- their own advancement. You've obviously proven me wrong. And I suppose the alien can't be totally irrational and sadistic if he appoints people like you. As far as I know, you had nothing to gain by stopping those men from," he paused, the words obviously sour on his tongue, "...raping me."

Kal-El abruptly became aware of the slave's words, and bristled in anger at the "alien" description. But he couldn't help being enthralled with his fast recovery, the jitteriness of that first "thank you" now completely gone. He was composed, a civil mask on his face, addressing Kal-El as an equal -- remarkably self-possessed -- for a slave.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, and then held out a hand, "Lex Luthor." He stared at Kal-El expectantly. When Kal-El didn't respond or take his hand, he asked impatiently, "And you?"

"Oh. Ka -- Clark," Kal-El replied, correcting himself at the last moment.

"Well, thank you again, Clark. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll take a little rest." Lex wobbled backwards, falling against the nearest wall, and sliding down until he was sitting in a heap, limp, limbs outstretched.

For some inexplicable reason, Kal-El found himself saying, gently, "You can't stay here. I'll take you back to the palace."

"I can't go back."

Just like that, Kal-El's good mood was gone, the words bringing on an irrational rage. His voice roughened in anger. "Oh? And why not? Are you a runaway?"

Lex scoffed. "Most certainly not. I'm not stupid enough to come out here in the winter. No supplies, and no chance of escape outside the forest boundaries? It's suicide."

Kal-El's tone was forbidding, "And yet, you're here."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Explain."

Lex seemed affronted that Kal-El would even ask. "I can't answer for the other slaves, but I can assure you that I've been given permission. A dignitary ordered me on an errand. Believe me," he drawled, "I'd much rather be back in the hot kitchens, slaving over dishes. But this dignitary is not as altruistic as I think you are, so the 'errand' is probably just another way to torture me."

The slave didn't hold anything back -- he clearly hadn't learned to hold his tongue. "And this 'errand'?"

Lex peered at him. "I have to find a watch somewhere in the forest, between the pond and the far boundaries. I was going stay here for the night when these three slaves accosted me. And that's where you came in. And I thank you for saving me, but if I return without the watch... ." He added dryly, "Well, I'm not sure what will happen, but I know it won't be pleasant for me."

Kal-El surveyed him in annoyance. "You're hardly in a state to go looking for a watch. You're naked, and I doubt you'd manage to walk any farther without getting frostbite. I'm being remarkably generous. Why are you being difficult?"

Lex smiled. "I'm sorry, Clark. I'm not trying to be difficult. But I can't go back without the watch. What would you suggest?"

Kal-El glared at him, and then made his decision. He grabbed Lex, moving at human speed to maintain his deception, and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him outside to Hephaistion. Lex objected loudly, and struggled weakly in Kal-El's hold. His skin was freezing, and Kal-El's warm hands were a sharp contrast.

Lex staggered as he was abruptly dropped in the snow, staring up at Kal-El's horse in bafflement. Kal-El left him there, and retrieved what he wanted from the ground.

Kal-El shoved the fabric into the Lex's arms, which he took numbly. "What," he asked haltingly in bewilderment, "are you doing?"

Once the Lex had covered himself, Kal-El grabbed him and slung him on Hephaistion. "Finding your watch."

Kal-El got on behind him, and gripped him around the waist with one hand as Lex swayed, almost falling off the horse. "Are you always this much trouble?" Kal-El asked tersely.

Lex cleared his throat. "Trouble? No. But you're going to a lot of trouble for me. I don't think this is what the dignitary had in mind when I was sent on my errand."

"Tough."

Lex sat rigidly at first, but soon relaxed, leaning against Kal-El. As they left the hovel behind, Kal-El couldn't help staring at the bump on the back of Lex's head. It was distracting and strangely alluring on an otherwise unblemished and elegant skull. Kal-El looked away, perturbed.

"Describe this watch," Kal-El abruptly demanded, when Lex seemed about to fall asleep, his head nodding. He jerked awake and cleared his throat. "The watch. It's a gold watch, with a Napoleonic franc face. The band is brown leather. It's very valuable, for sentimental reasons, if not financial."

Kal-El scanned the ground, using the abilities that a mere dignitary would never have. He said absently, "You sound as if it's yours."

"It is -- it was," Lex replied. Softly, "My mother gave it to me." In a stronger voice, "Anyway, it's probably ruined by now."

Lex was shivering, and trying to lean further back into Kal-El's chest for warmth. Without thinking, Kal-El took off his coat and draped it over Lex's shoulders.

"Thank you."

A muscle in Kal-El's jaw twitched. He was behaving very strangely, even for him. What was worse, he had no idea why.

After a half hour of riding, Lex, a dead weight in the saddle, Kal-El saw something metallic about a mile away. Lex was hardly aware, so Kal-El saw no reason to disguise his intent and headed directly for the metal. He brought Hephaistion to a halt a few feet from it, and dismounted. Lex swayed in the saddle, without Kal-El to lean on, but righted himself with only a small struggle.

"We taking a break?" he asked groggily.

"No," Kal-El said shortly. He walked the short distance to the object and pulled it out of the snow. It was covered in ice, but it was obviously the watch.

"Here." Kal-El pushed it into Lex's hands.

Astonished, Lex exclaimed, "I can't believe it. How the..." Kal-El was pinned by an examining stare, eyes clear and intense. "How did you find this?"

Kal-El averted his gaze. "I saw it on the ground. It was easy."

Lex brushed the snow and ice away, and stared at the watch intently. Then he sighed. "It doesn't work."

Kal-El glared at him, convinced that it was an insult. He remounted Hephaistion, and kicked him into a canter, this time letting Lex find his own grip on the saddle.

Lex struggled to get a secure purchase with one hand, the other clutching the watch. Kal-El pushed Hephaistion, the forest passing by rapidly. The cold air was harsh, and, no doubt, punishing on Lex's skin. They rode silently, passing the shack, and headed back to the palace grounds.

When the rooftop of the palace became visible, the spears of the top spire pointing up to the sky, Kal-El decided he had gone far enough. He reined Hephaistion in harshly, his horse objecting loudly to his rough treatment. "This is where you get off." When he pushed Lex out of the saddle, Lex just barely managed to stay on his feet.

Lex stared up at him in confusion, clutching the jacket around his shoulders. "I feel that I've somehow offended you, Clark. That was never my intention. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help. The watch is something dear to me, and to recover it means more than anything. Thank you." He gazed at the ground briefly, seemingly unsure. Then he stared directly into Kal-El's eyes, something undefined in his gaze. "If you're ever looking to converse with a slave, just ask for Lex, in the kitchens. I hope I'll see you around."

Kal-El stared at him impassively for a few seconds, then abruptly wheeled Hephaistion, returning to the palace and leaving the slave behind.

Lex struggled the distance back to the palace, clutching the watch in his fist. He was numb from cold, exhausted, and emotionally drained.

Lex had thought himself doomed on the floor of the shack, minutes from rape. When the dignitary had appeared, it had seemed like a divine intervention. As Lex had stared up at the man, reeling from his near escape from a savage assault, he had thought him an angel. His dark hair, falling to his shoulders, had been disheveled, his mouth in a fierce scowl, eyes flashing as he'd glared at the fallen slaves. He was beyond beautiful, with the body of a god, and a presence that seemed to light up the room.

He almost had to be an angel, to be a dignitary and yet treat a slave with such kindness. Lex had been enthralled.

Clark had even found his watch, saving Lex from heartache and quite probably death.

Sitting on that horse, leaning against Clark's chest, the dignitary's coat around his shoulders, had been the first real comfort he'd had since arriving at the palace. When Clark had suddenly become aggravated, angry at Lex for some unknowable faux pas, it had been a terrible shock. In desperation, Lex had almost considered pleading for an explanation, hoping he wouldn't be parted from the one person that had given him comfort. But Luthors didn't beg for anyone. Instead, he had disguised his plea with a thank you and a request to seek him out. Time would tell if Clark had taken his words to heart.

Now, as he trudged through the snow, the palace quickly approaching, the coldness of his manacles against his skin was a sharp reminder of reality, a reality that Lex didn't want to go back to.

However, he soon reached the outside kitchen doors, and rang the buzzer with a resigned sigh. The door opening brought blessed warmth.

Lex stepped into the kitchen, and all eyes were on him. The slaves stared, stunned. Lex could see Patrick dropping a soup pan in shocked relief.

Aaron approached with rapid steps, his face red, clearly annoyed. "Luthor, you were specifically told that you couldn't come back until you found the watch. You know the consequences for disobeying a dignitary's order." He blew his breath out in a big sigh. "You really screwed up when you ticked this one off. The Overlord holds him in very high esteem. It's well known that he listens to his advice and usually accepts Sanchez's requests. And that means that if he decides to complain about you, you're in for some serious shit. You're going to have to go back out there."

Lex held out his hand, displaying the watch numbly in response. Aaron drew in a shocked breath. "I see. Well." He paused, seemingly not knowing what to say. Then he said, amicably, "Good job! Hand it over. I'll see that Sanchez gets it.

"And don't think you have an exemption just because you've brought this back. You still have work to do. Get to your dishes."

Lex gave him a dirty look, but struggled to make his limbs work. The heat of the kitchen made him lethargic and sluggish, his exhaustion threatening to catch up to him.

"Wait," barked Aaron. "Where did you get this coat?" he demanded. Lex looked down in surprise. After Clark had placed it on his shoulders, he had forgotten all about it, his body too numb in the cold to tell the difference.

"Someone gave it to me," he said, stone-faced.

Annoyed, "Who--" Lex glared at him.

Aaron seemed to reassess, and for reasons unknown, dropped the subject. "You better give it here as well."

Lex handed it over with a twinge of regret, and moved to the dishes. He could see Patrick standing by anxiously, dying to ask him what had happened. Lex passed him with a brief smile.

He worked at the sink for about an hour, moving slowly in his exhaustion, when Sanchez entered.

Lex could sense him standing at his back.

"Luthor."

Lex turned slowly, gathering his energy, and gazed at Sanchez with his customary look of disdain.

"Why have you returned?"

He perfected innocence. "You told me to return with the watch."

"And you're telling me that you found it? Do you think I'm stupid?"

Aaron approached, bowing to Sanchez with a deferential air. "Sir," he said.

Sanchez barked in annoyance, "What?"

"The slave did return the watch as requested. Here you are, sir." Aaron tried to hand it over. But Sanchez's eyes bulged out, his face turned red, and he jerked away from Aaron in agitation.

"How..." He seemed flabbergasted. "You-- you'll pay for this, Luthor!"

Lex let his pleasure become evident, a smirk appearing on his face, delight in his eyes.

"Get the whip!" commanded Sanchez.

Lex sobered, his smile gone.

A slave ran to comply, and other slaves gathered to do the dignitary's bidding.

Sanchez drew closer to Lex and whispered in his ear, "You should have stayed out there, Luthor. Now, I'll make your life a living hell."

Slaves manhandled him to the overhead fastening, while Sanchez stroked the whip caressingly.

"Sanchez!" commanded a voice. The dignitary froze.

The voice came from, astonishingly, another slave. He was young and blond; his hair held back in a ponytail, his cheekbones sharply defined. Despite the manacles and his nakedness, which clearly marked him as a slave, he stood in the kitchen with an authoritative air.

Sanchez seemed rooted to the spot. He finally turned slowly, facing the slave, his hands clasped nervously behind his back. "Whitney. What is it?" he asked, trying for annoyance, but coming out anxious.

"The slave is not to be touched."

Sanchez was disconcerted. "This slave is clearly in need of punishment. He disobeyed my orders, and needs to be put down a notch. It's my right as a dignitary to have satisfaction."

"And I'm telling you," Whitney smirked, "for your own safety -- don't touch him."

Sanchez was about to go off on another tangent, but Whitney interrupted, a hint of pleasure in his voice, "I have this directly from the Overlord. His instructions were clear."

Sanchez shut up. He glared at Whitney, affronted, and then shot Lex a look of pure hatred. But he restrained himself, and said to Whitney, "Fine. He'll get off. This time." Sanchez studied Lex, the look of hatred now tempered with speculation.

Finally, he moved away, heading towards Whitney and pushing him aside roughly. He jerked the door open, and, with a jab from his cane to close it, he was gone.

Whitney looked briefly at Lex, seemingly indifferent, and then turned his back, exiting the kitchens.

Lex exhaled, releasing his tension. He was overwhelmed by his relief, and gratitude. Clark had clearly intervened on his behalf, appealing all the way up to the Overlord. Now, Lex owed yet another debt to the dignitary.

Lex could hardly wait until the day was over, when he could get some sleep, and warm himself up with a hot shower. Perhaps, when he was finally given some solitude in the sleeping quarters, he could mull over what had happened.

But the other slaves were looking at him askance, and Patrick was staring at Lex in bafflement. Lex saw Aaron ready to head toward him, and he quickly got back to work. He kept at it for another few hours, washing dish after dish in tedious repetition, exhausted.

As it grew closer to the end of the day, there was once again a hush, slaves pausing or slowing as they watched the foreman enter, demanding to speak to Aaron. Aaron appeared, and the two talked quietly together. They seemed to come to an agreement, Aaron nodded, and the foreman left, a preoccupied look on his face.

Aaron addressed the room. "I've been told that all of the slaves need to attend a demonstration in the courtyard." There was a collective groan, and Aaron raised his voice. "Drop what you're doing; the food will keep. I want everyone to head to the outside entrance. Orderly, mind you! No rushing. Your behavior reflects on the kitchen."

Lex followed the line of slaves with a resigned sigh. It had almost been time to go to the sleeping quarters. And it had been too good to be true.

They exited the outside door and ran into a huge mass of bodies. It appeared that all the slaves in the palace were required at this demonstration, and they were all headed in the same direction. Lex and the other slaves inched their way forward.

They slowly made their way into the courtyard and gradually came to a stop, jamming together in a press of bodies. In the center of the courtyard, a wooden stage had been erected. It was small, no more than a minor square, elevated slightly off the ground. There were wooden pillars on both sides of it, connected by a horizontal beam at the top. Several men wearing black uniforms were in a group on the platform, fiddling with something off to one side. These were the men that Lex had seen when he'd first arrived, all those weeks ago.

The slaves around Lex were jumping on the balls of their feet, trying to stay warm in the cold. Lex, on the other hand, had become accustomed to the cold. Besides, hundreds of people created a remarkable amount of body heat. The temperature was warm compared to the freezing air of the forest.

The foreman came into view, standing at the front of the stage. He gestured for silence, and addressed the crowd. Hundreds of slaves stared up at him expectantly.

"This afternoon, three slaves were captured in the forest. They were absent from their duties and were in the forest without permission. Needless to say, their escape attempts were futile. The Overlord captures all slaves, and no-one ever makes it out of the forest alive. You all know this! Passing the forest boundaries means a poisonous injection in the neck. You stay in the forest -- you'll maybe survive a week, if that. There is no escape.

"You all know the consequences of trying to escape; and still, slaves continue to run. Therefore, the Overlord feels that, since verbal explanations aren't a deterrent, a visual demonstration might be.

"The Overlord is getting fed up with these pathetic attempts at freedom, and he wishes to send a message to anyone contemplating this senseless action.

"Bring the slaves forward." The uniformed men brought the three huge slaves on to the stage, their hands bound behind their backs. Their bodies were scattered with bruises, and blood was matted in frozen clumps on their heads and chests. They stumbled as they mounted the stage, obviously dazed and weak, and their faces were so swollen that it had to be impossible to see.

Lex jerked in surprised recognition. How the...

They were the slaves from the shack.

The uniformed men hung three ropes over the top beam, and at the end of each rope was a noose. Those were tossed over the slaves' heads, and they struggled, beginning to understand what was about to happen.

The slaves around Lex, numbering in the hundreds, watched the stage, subdued, holding their collective breaths.

In an ominous voice, the foreman stated, "The Overlord has decreed that, for the attempted escape from contractual servitude, the slaves will be publicly executed, as an example and deterrent to other slaves. Observe and learn."

The foreman nodded to the men. A lever was pulled, and a trap door dropped. The slaves dropped only a few feet, jerking violently. The fall wasn't strong enough to break their necks and they twisted their arms, trying to remove the ropes from their wrists, choking as they struggled.

It was a grisly death. Lex and the other slaves -- men, women, adolescents and children -- all watched as they slowly died. Their eyes bulged out, and their faces grew red. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the last slave had his death spasm, his head fell forward, and his body swayed from side to side.

The foreman spoke again: "This is a warning -- a final warning. The next execution will not be so tame."

The crowd stood still, stunned at the savagery of what they had witnessed. Lex, while privately unremorseful of these particular slaves' deaths, was still appalled. The alien was heartless. He was a monster. The slaves had tried to rape him -- but the alien didn't know that. They had been executed because they had wanted a life of freedom, a life not run by a dictator and monster.

The following morning brought back normalcy. It appeared that Lex's life once again consisted of the tedium of the kitchen. His reappearance was old news; the slaves went back to their routine.

He was again at the sinks when the activity in the kitchen was interrupted with the arrival of another dignitary. But the man that entered, for once, wasn't Sanchez, and Lex was even glad to see him. Clark stood in the doorway, his hair curling and disheveled in the heat. He was wearing a green cashmere sweater with black slacks -- bringing out the colour of his eyes, making him look younger than he could possibly be.

He was beautiful.

Quite a few of the slaves gasped, shocked. Clark surveyed them with a look of distaste, and waited, obviously expecting to be served.

Lex couldn't say that he cared for Clark's behavior. He hadn't noticed any arrogant or pretentious behavior the other day.

Some of the slaves were staring at Clark with indifference, while others seemed riveted, in the grip of some great fear.

Aaron approached Clark, a noticeable tremble to his frame. Lex frowned. Aaron had never been this frazzled with Sanchez.

Before Aaron could speak, Clark said, "As a dignitary, I feel it is my duty to make sure that all slaves are treated fairly. It came to my attention yesterday that one slave was being singled out unjustly. Therefore, as a dignitary," he glared at the slaves, "I wish to check up on this one. Show me to the slave named 'Lex'."

"Yes, my lord -- ah, sir," Aaron said, an audible tremble in his voice. "Luthor is over by the sinks."

The dignitary turned to where Aaron pointed, his gaze zooming in on Lex. That gaze held him. Clark walked towards him, his stride powerful and strong.

Clark stood in front of him, looking him up and down, seemingly cataloguing and inspecting every detail of his body. He then stared at Lex's face, gazing into his eyes for agonizingly long seconds. Lex cleared his throat. Clark blinked.

The dignitary spoke in a deep voice, "I wanted to see if you were all right."

"I'm glad to see you, Clark. And I am all right. Thanks to you. I'm relieved you came."

Clark looked at Lex's wet hands and arms, and then at the stack of dishes behind him. "This is what you do here?"

"Yes. Not the most dignified of jobs, but it does build up muscles." Lex smiled.

Clark gazed at him again, and then said, with a glint in his eye, "Yes, I can see that."

Lex couldn't help feeling his nakedness, his skimpy loincloth feeling inadequate more than ever before.

Clark crossed his arms, his biceps bulging, his legs spread apart. His expression was slightly wicked as he gazed at Lex in speculation. "Maybe we can see more of each other. Would you like that?"

"Well, I'm sure it would be better than the kitchen. Yes, Clark, I'd like that."

"Good." The dignitary nodded, and then seemingly dismissed Lex. He didn't look at any of the slaves as he left the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.

Lex gazed at his hands, absently flicking water off as he smiled, secretly pleased. He raised his head and... half the kitchen was staring at him. Lex shrugged, unconcerned. He seemed to be garnering a lot of attention lately.

But Patrick appeared distressed, and approached Lex with agitation in his step. "Lex, there's something you should know --"

"Patrick, if you know what's good for you, you'll be silent," said Aaron, a hard glint in his eyes.

"But, sir, Lex has a right to know."

Aaron was angry. "No, he doesn't. None of us have rights any more. And you better learn that, boy, especially in this case, or I have a feeling that I'm not going to be seeing you around much longer."

Patrick was fidgeting, looking at Lex desperately. "But surely you must think--" Patrick didn't get a chance to finish. Aaron struck him hard across the face, stunning him.

"You shut up now, boy, or I'll do it for you!"

Lex jerked, shocked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

But Patrick raised a hand to Lex and silently shook his head. He stared down, his eyes on the floor. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"You better be. Get back to your work."

Lex was pinned by Aaron's gaze. "As for you, I don't want you bugging Patrick about this. It's his business, Luthor. And you had better remember that it applies equally to you. You've got no rights either."

Lex ground his teeth in anger, glaring at the man.

He was dumbfounded. What could Patrick know that would make the chef strike him like that?

That night, Lex planned to question Patrick, but when he got to the sleeping quarters, the boy was nowhere to be seen. He was missing for over an hour, and when he did show up, Lex had long since settled in bed.

He tried to rouse himself, however, and stared at Patrick groggily as he entered the cubicle. What Lex could see in the gloom didn't look good. There was a cut on the boy's cheek, his face was red, and there were tear tracks on his face.

"Patrick, what's going on?"

The boy had a quiver to his lip as he said, "I can't tell you."

Lex sat up, curling his legs underneath himself. "Why not?"

Patrick said nothing, hugging himself.

"Did the people who did this say that you couldn't tell me?"

Patrick nodded.

"Who was it?"

Patrick rubbed his face, his voice muffled as he said, "The usual people. It's no big deal." He sniffed.

Lex tried to coax Patrick, speaking gently, "Can you tell me what happened in the kitchen? What did you want to tell me?"

Miserably, "I can't tell you that either."

Lex leaned back on his mattress, frustrated.

Patrick gathered his blanket and lay down on his bed. "Lex, I'm going to sleep. I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you. I just can't."

"It's okay, Patrick. I understand."

Patrick put his wet face to the mattress, and curled himself into a ball, pulling the flimsy blanket on top of him. Lex added, quietly, "and remember, we're getting out of here soon. You won't have to deal with the bastards that did this for long."

Lex's attempt to cheer him up seemed to have no effect.

Then Patrick said, in a whisper, "Thanks, Lex. And I have to say something, or it'll kill me. Maybe... Lex, I can only tell you this: be careful with that dignitary."

Lex exhaled, taken aback. He hadn't seen any reason to be wary of Clark.

He lay back down, trying to fall asleep. He ran everything through his mind, still disturbed. He finally drifted off, with no more insight than before.

The next few days passed uneventfully. Lex was unable to get anything out of Patrick. He seemed like a walking corpse, reacting in fright to every little thing. In the clear light of the day, Lex saw the full impact of the bruises. Not just on his face, but all over his body, in purple and green splotches; it was hard to picture Aaron doing so much damage, and he had to assume it had been someone else.

A few days after that, he saw Clark again. His appearance was a welcome distraction from the tedium of doing dishes. Clark walked in without a pause, heading directly for Lex. He was wearing tight leather riding breeches and a white shirt, the top four buttons undone, and black riding boots that came up to his upper thighs. His hair was loose and disheveled, curling about his forehead. The sight of him made Lex catch his breath.

He approached Lex, and looked him up and down, appraisingly. "Lex."

"Clark. It's nice to see you again."

"I've decided that I need to spend some time with you." Clark grinned. "Would you like to go riding?"

Lex looked at him as if he were crazy. "Clark, there's nothing I'd like more. Unfortunately, I don't think that's an option for a slave."

Clark shrugged, unconcerned. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry. The Overlord and I are on very friendly terms."

Lex covertly tried to see if Aaron was paying attention. He was on the far side of the kitchen, seemingly absorbed in his work. "All right. I suppose." He put gratitude into his voice and added, "Thank you, Clark."

Clark smiled. "It's nothing. Follow me."

Lex kept close to Clark's back, passing Patrick, who was trembling violently. Lex looked at him in concern. But Clark was getting ahead, and Lex had to pick up his pace.

They exited the side entrance, working their way around the palace. The weather appeared to be warming, and was mild compared to the temperature during Lex's forest excursion. Clark led them to the stables, his long strides forcing Lex to disregard the damage to his feet as he struggled to keep up.

Once they reached the stables, a stable boy -- a child, really -- ran to their sides, and bowed deeply to Clark. Clark waved the formal gesture away impatiently, and urged the child to his feet.

"My lord, what do you desire?"

Clark sighed. "Have Hephaistion saddled and brought out. I also want the brown gelding. Put an Aussie stock saddle on him."

"Yes, my lord." The boy hurried to obey.

Clark frowned, apology in his eyes. "The slaves can be strangely formal here. They keep insisting on calling me 'My Lord' despite my telling them not to. Pay no attention."

The boy soon brought out two magnificent horses. One was a giant of a horse, black as night, and very frisky, judging by the efforts needed to keep him under control. The other was an equally spirited animal, if not quite as beautiful. It was a brown thoroughbred, with a clear luster to its coat.

Lex missed riding. He had been unable to enjoy it since before the war. The care of a horse was a luxury that even he, as the owner of his own company, had been unable to afford. Any recreational facilities in Metropolis had been razed, and much of the land available for horses was now essential for food production. The care of a horse was an extravagance that only the alien and his dignitaries could afford.

Clark took the horses from the boy and handed Lex the brown gelding's reins. Lex took them with a sense of unreality -- this seemed too good to be true.

Clark examined him -- his naked body, the shivers that he was unable to hide. "I don't suppose you'll be comfortable like that. Unfortunately, even I cannot violate the Overlord when it comes to slave clothing. But here," he took a small tarp off the hay, "this should work."

He shook the tarp, getting rid of the stray hay, and then draped it over Lex's shoulders. "I hope you don't mind my suggestion of the Aussie saddle. It should give you a more comfortable ride, and put less pressure on your, um, front."

"No, I don't mind. It was very thoughtful."

The saddle looked like a normal English saddle, but it had a larger pommel and the seat was deeper, which effectively allowed Lex to sit back on his butt and put less pressure on his genitals -- a serious problem with just a loincloth.

They led the horses outside. Without asking, Clark gripped Lex about the waist, and lifted him onto the brown thoroughbred. Once settled, Lex jerked the horse away from Clark, whose hands seemed to want to linger on Lex's thighs. "I'm perfectly capable of getting on a horse by myself." He gripped the reins tightly, and said, irritated, "Wearing manacles doesn't automatically make me helpless or inferior."

"Of course not. I apologize," Clark said, humoring Lex. He withdrew to his horse and mounted. "If you'll follow my lead." He kicked his horse into a fast canter, leaving Lex to follow.

After they entered the forest, Clark looked over at Lex, who managed to pace his horse evenly with Hephaistion. "You ride well."

Lex sniffed disdainfully. "I used to ride all the time when I was younger. The skill has stayed with me. This horse, does he have a name?"

Clark glanced at Lex's horse with a frown. "No. It's just an extra horse. I've only concerned myself with my own." With a pat on his own horse's neck, "This is Hephaistion. A fitting name, yes?"

Lex choked. "Hephaistion?"

"Yes."

"You named your horse Hephaistion," repeated Lex, nonplussed.

"That's a problem?" Clark asked, annoyed.

"Clark, do you know where the name comes from?"

"Of course. I'm not stupid, hu -- Lex. I know all about Alexander the Great."

Lex tried to say it delicately, but he was afraid his voice came out incredulous. "Then you know that you've named your horse after the lover of one of the greatest generals that ever lived?"

Clark seemed unsure. "I suppose."

Lex spluttered, extremely irritated. "But it's a horse!"

Clark pulled Hephaistion away from Lex and treated him with a glare. "Yes, and he's my horse."

Lex grew silent. He let Clark lead for a few minutes, and then slowly urged his horse to match the pace, until they were side by side.

"I'm sorry, Clark. You've been extremely kind, and I've done nothing but insult you." Clark grunted. "It's just that ever since I was young, I've idolized Alexander the Great. I'm very fond of history. And Hephaistion was the lover of Alexander. I always envisioned myself Alexander -- a stupid dream, I know -- and believed I'd find my own Hephaistion. To name your horse -- well. And here I am, a slave." Lex's voice took on a self-deprecating tone. "I'm as far from Alexander as the rest of the slaves here."

Lex put his self-pity aside, and, with all the sincerity that he could muster, said, "But I'm being overly sensitive, and I apologize."

Clark continued to look straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Lex tried again, "I think Hephaistion is a fine name for a horse."

Clark finally turned to him, and smiled. "No, you don't. But don't worry, I forgive you." Lex gazed back at him, not liking the look of that smile.

"Come on, I'll take you to an open area where we can really work them." Clark changed directions and kicked Hephaistion into a faster canter. Lex urged his own horse on -- it was having trouble keeping up with Clark's.

Lex knew he should be more careful with his words; but Clark was so personable that he had almost forgotten his situation. He felt comfortable with Clark, and he made Lex feel as if he was talking to an equal. But Clark was a dignitary, who had the ear of the Overlord. Lex couldn't insult the man's name for his horse, despite its absurdity. He had seen how fast Clark was to anger, and Lex couldn't help wondering what would happen if he let that anger progress. Maybe that was why Patrick had warned him.

Lex studied Clark speculatively. He was a mystery, one that Lex would love to solve. He really wanted to get into that mind.

But as Lex gazed at the back of Clark's head, he couldn't help directing his gaze lower. The dignitary's hair rustled in the wind and his shirt clung to his body. Clark really was an exquisite horseman. Lex eyed his butt, outlined by the tight fabric of his breeches. His muscles were flexing as they gripped the saddle, giving slight movements to help guide his horse. It was a truly alluring sight.

Clark suddenly turned, swiveling, so that he was facing Lex. Lex stared at him silently, a challenge in his gaze, and then finally jerked his eyes away with a minuscule flush on his face.

Their horses gradually grew even again, and they rode in silence, the forest quiet around them. When Lex finally looked at Clark again, it was to see him riding with a caressing hand on Hephaistion's neck, a slight smile on his face.

Sanchez picked at his food listlessly, annoyed.

The dining room was decked out with fabrics of vibrant colors: the walls were lined with silk and the floors, marble, were covered with lush rugs. The room wasn't structured in the style of a traditional dining room: there was no center table. Instead, there were small, waist-high tables, scattered through the room. Beside each table was a layer of cushions, which allowed two people to sit, one on each side, giving the room a decidedly Oriental air.

As people were led to the appropriate tables, slaves gathered around them, with trays full of appetizers and drinks. The main courses would be brought out later. Every possible need of the guests was taken care of and all eventualities covered. And while the slaves weren't as beautiful as Kal-El's pleasure slaves, they were still lovely to look at. It was a visual feast for the dignitaries and nobles. It was luxury at its best.

The Overlord often attended the meals, and he was usually situated at a table in the most extravagant corner of the room. This area was decked out with two huge, red, stained-glass windows, whose ledges were lined with gold silk, giving it a truly decadent look. Normally, Sanchez would be near or at the Overlord's table, but today, he was on the opposite side of the room, gazing at the alien from afar.

Ever since the Overlord's personal slave had told Sanchez to keep away from Luthor, Sanchez had become aware of a hidden disapproval -- censure -- obvious in little ways. Business opportunities that had always been offered to him first were now given to others, invitations came in slowly or not at all, and the slaves no longer seemed to fear him as much as they had before. He knew he had been a favorite dignitary -- the Overlord had always been open to his advice. But now, Sanchez seemed to have been blacklisted.

It was all Luthor's fault.

He had heard disturbing rumors. According to the latest gossip, the Overlord had been seen riding with a slave and socializing with him on the grounds. And Sanchez knew that Kal-El's attention had been more erratic than usual. Through private sources, Sanchez had found out that the Overlord had visited Luthor in the kitchen numerous times. This same source told Sanchez that Kal-El had let it be known, albeit subtly, that the slaves were expected to treat Kal-El as a 'dignitary' when around Luthor.

All of it added up to something very disquieting. Kal-El cozying up with Luthor would never benefit Sanchez.

Sanchez looked at the Overlord's table, and watched, with annoyance, as the dignitary from Europe said something that made him laugh. That should be Sanchez, but Luthor had ruined everything.

A small girl was serving the Overlord's table, and she was clearly inexperienced, because her hands trembled as she put food on their table. She was so nervous that when she tried to refill Kal-El's glass, the red wine spilled, some of it splattering onto the alien's white shirt. Kal-El reacted swiftly, standing up, roaring in rage, and striking the slave hard. The blow sent the girl to the floor, and her tray of food collapsed to the floor with a loud clatter. The girl lay still; Sanchez wondered if she was even alive.

As Kal-El sat back down, slaves rushed in, removed the fallen girl and carried her limp body out of the room. They would have to send someone else to replace the server.

They would need another server...

Of course.

Sanchez smiled.

He quickly got up, with a murmured excuse to his companion, and headed out of the room and down the hallway. There was a slave ahead of him, traveling fast, heading toward the kitchen. Sanchez picked up his pace, and made sure that he entered the kitchen only slightly after the slave.

The slave was talking to the head chef, gesturing urgently.

Aaron listened, then motioned to a small, good-looking boy to head to the dining room.

Sanchez interrupted, stopping the boy with a swipe of his cane. "I'm afraid the boy won't do. The girl that did that miserable job was the same size. We need someone with a bit more meat on his shoulders. And I have the perfect slave in mind. Luthor will do nicely."

Aaron put down his knife, jabbing the tip forcefully into the cutting board in his annoyance. "Sir, Luthor is a dishwasher. He hasn't been trained to serve."

"Well, it's not rocket science. He's intelligent; he'll figure it out."

"Sir, we try to do our utmost to make sure the guests feel comfortable. Sending an inexperienced server will cause disruption." Slowly, "The Overlord doesn't tend to like disruption."

Sanchez snorted. "Tell that to the slave in the infirmary. She was terrible, yet she was still serving. No more excuses. Send him out."

When Aaron was about to protest again, Sanchez said, maliciously, "That's an order."

Aaron sighed, but did what Sanchez ordered.

Sanchez was in heaven.

Lex was handing another rack of dishes to the kitchen slaves when he was interrupted with a truly strange request.

Aaron stood in front of him, a towel in his hand. He seemed resigned, twisting the towel in his hands, looking behind himself with a slightly nervous tick. "Luthor, put that down. I have something more important for you to do. One of the servers in the dining room was incapacitated, and we need a replacement. You've got the job."

"Me? Why the hell would you send me?"

"A dignitary, in all his wisdom, decided you'd be perfect for the job. The whim of dignitaries is beyond me. I would never have sent you if left to make my own choice."

"That's nice to know," Lex said dryly.

"Time's a-wasting, Luthor. Stand in front of me, your arms apart. I have to try to make you at least a little presentable."

Aaron ran the towel over Lex's body, rubbing away a layer of sticky sweat. When he was finished, he stood back, and gazed at Lex with a dissatisfied look on his face. "I suppose you'll have to do."

"Boy!" barked Aaron. A small slave came running, and stopped in front of Aaron, waiting for his command. "Show Luthor the way to the dining room."

"Yes, sir," said the boy.

The boy left, and Lex followed.

"Luthor," Lex heard. He turned around in inquiry.

Aaron stared at him steadily. "Try not to get killed."

Lex raised an eyebrow. "I'll do that." Well, that was promising.

Lex followed the boy and they exited through the inside doors. Lex had never been past this point, and finally, he would see what Patrick had described in such detail. As they went down the hallway, the decor gradually became more detailed and expensive. It was less like a work environment and more like a decadent hotel. They passed numerous black doors, most of them closed and layered with elaborate engravings. However, Lex didn't see a hallway that led downstairs, and he was already feeling overwhelmed by the immense surroundings. If he had to turn around right now and return to the kitchen, he knew that it would be impossible without the boy. Their planned escape looked as if it had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Soon they arrived in front of two large doors, and paused.

The boy turned to Lex. "You've never served before?"

"No."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Lord help you. I'll give you a quick rundown of what you need to do: when you enter the room, go to the left, and pick up one of the trays. Take the tray to a table not being served, and hold it in front of the guests. Don't ask them if they would like anything -- they'll tell you if they do. But no table should be without a server, and we have one now, with Danielle out for the count. Stay at the table until your food runs out, or unless your guests request something else. Understand?"

"It seems fairly simple," Lex drawled.

The boy peered at Lex from underneath his long bangs. "For your sake, I hope you do. Well, get in there. You've taken too long already."

With an annoyed look at the boy, Lex pushed the doors open, and strode into the room.

At first he was shocked by the extravagance, and the appearance of numerous people wearing clothes. He stood stupidly in front of the doors for a few beats, gazing about the room. Eventually he recovered and went to the left, searching for the food trays.

He quickly found what he was looking for. There were hundreds of trays set in piles on narrow tables against the wall. The trays were wide, made out of glass, and with detailed etchings on the sides. The food was being kept warm in small electrical heaters, or kept cold on ice, depending on the food.

Lex looked back at the guests' tables, trying to see what food the other slaves had chosen. It appeared that most of them had made up their own trays, combining hot and cold items. Lex copied them, putting a few hot dishes on his plate as well as a couple of drinks. He didn't load the tray up like the other slaves; he doubted he could carry what he had already put on without spilling anything.

He carefully picked up the tray and balanced it on his shoulder. He then surveyed the room, looking for the empty table. He finally found it, at one end of the room. Two people were sitting at a table, with very annoyed expressions on their faces. Lex walked over to them. "You wanted some food?"

They stared at him, and then motioned him to kneel. Keeping the food on the tray without spilling anything had to be an act of God.

The woman, an older lady with gray hair adorned with jewels, said, "Finally! You slaves are terrible today. We've been waiting forever for our food." She expelled her breath in a big sigh. "Give me that dish and the white wine."

The man demanded the other dish. Lex painstakingly put both dishes on the table as well as the lady's wine, holding the tray with one hand, and the food with the other. He still had a few items on his tray, and he sat back on his heels, but the people seemed satisfied. Lex was free to gaze around the room.

He didn't understand why he had been told to go there. He knew that Aaron had said something about a dignitary, so Lex could only assume that Clark had intervened on his behalf again. While Lex was grateful, he couldn't say it was much of an improvement on his previous job. Lex didn't think he could tolerate serving these pompous people longer than a day without making some atrocious misstep.

Thoughts of Clark brought a smile to his lips. The dignitary had continued to visit Lex in the kitchen, and they now often went riding together. He was an equally intriguing and mysterious man, never talking about himself, and clamming up whenever Lex asked. Lex found this frustrating, but at other times, Clark would say something completely contradictory, intriguing Lex all over again.

It helped that he was gorgeous. After Clark had caught Lex staring at him that first time, he seemed to take great pleasure in teasing him. He would touch Lex whenever possible and give him lingering looks and suggestive remarks. He was driving Lex crazy.

Reminiscing about Clark made Lex realize that he was possibly in the room right now. Lex paid more attention, scanning the room again, looking for the distinctive features of the dignitary.

He found him in the far corner. Clark was dressed in a pair of skintight brown slacks, with a white shirt, buttons undone, exposing his chest, the sleeves of the shirt open and loose. He was sprawled back on the pillows, his legs spread wide apart, popping grapes into his mouth with a languid air. Every once in a while, he would look down at a red stain on his shirt in annoyance. The sight of him made Lex's mouth water.

"Slave!" Lex jerked, abruptly aware that the people at his table were trying to get his attention.

With great patience he said, "Yes?"

The lady rolled her eyes. "Robert wants some wine, and I want some of those crackers with the cheese paste. Hurry up, slave."

Lex wanted to wipe that look off her face instead, but held in his anger and rose up from his knees, wincing. The hard marble had not been kind. He returned to the food area, and refilled his tray, getting the items requested. When he returned, the people were talking, paying no attention to him as he gave them their food.

"I've heard he's been very distracted lately."

"Hmm, some type of diversion he's been occupied with. I tell you, he'd better get focused on running the world, rather than his slaves. He has so many rebellions now that it's a wonder that he can still sit here, indulging himself."

The lady said, in a nasal tone, "Robert, you know the Overlord's strange. He's an alien, for God's sake."

"I frankly don't think he should even be here. He has more important things to do than to stuff his face."

She was exasperated. "Robert, really," she whispered, "besides, he might hear you. Then you'd be in for it."

As they talked, Lex realized they were discussing the alien and, from their remarks, he was in the very room. Lex perked up, excited at the possibility of seeing the alien for the first time. Like everyone else, he had seen pictures during the war. But they had never been clear. All anyone had seen was the blur of a manlike shape.

Lex looked around again, but he could see no-one distinctive. He had secretly always imagined the alien with an extra appendage, or a grotesque head. He knew that was unrealistic, but it was nice to indulge the part of himself that was a science fiction freak. But everyone here appeared human.

He finally gave up, disappointed.

"Slave, get me another glass of wine," the lady commanded.

Lex gritted his teeth, and struggled to his feet. But, as he headed in the direction of the food, he stopped abruptly. There was a line of slaves and a crowd of bodies to get through at the food center. He would never be able to balance the tray while going through that mess.

He turned, going to the opposite side of the room.

As he was winding his way through the tables, he realized that his path would take him directly past Clark, and his heart sped up in response. As he got closer, he saw that Clark was still in his sprawled position, but this time, he saw a man standing in front of Clark with a bored expression. Lex could hear part of their conversation, and his steps slowed.

"My lord, you must understand, it is very important that we address these issues."

"Issues, issues, issues -- there's always something with you humans. I'm sick of it."

The man kneeled and said, "Kal-El, this is more than the usual rebellion. You must pay attention, please--"

Lex watched, confused.

The man continued, "Kal-El, as Overlord, you must take--"

Lex lost his grip on his tray and the food fell to the floor with a bang. He stared at Clark -- Kal-El, his mind corrected numbly.

The Overlord had jerked in reaction to the spilled tray, his gaze zeroing in on Lex. As he gazed at him, seeing him for the first time, he smiled. But then he seemed to realize why Lex had dropped his tray, and his expression closed off.

Lex couldn't take it. He left, his hands in fists at his sides, ignoring the outraged cries of the people around him.

Kal-El watched Lex's retreating back in consternation. His sudden presence had been a total shock. Now, in retrospect, Kal-El knew this changed everything.

He had originally started seeing the human as a game. It had been fun to pretend to be a dignitary, and to fool Lex so completely. One way or another, he had always been "the alien", viewed as a freak among humans. So, talking to Lex, spending time with him, listening to him -- all while he treated Kal-El as an ordinary human -- had been a pleasant diversion.

But gradually, against all odds, he found that he enjoyed being with Lex, more than the actual thrill of the pretense. Lex's company was addictive, and Kal-El began to look forward to their riding excursions. He was an interesting human to talk to, with very forceful opinions. At first, Kal-El had even tried teasing him -- the human's attraction had been obvious. But Kal-El soon found that he was teasing them both, as each day, his sly innuendoes, lingering touches, and intense looks had been equally reciprocated by Lex, adding a dangerous component to his game.

But now, his time with Lex would never be the same. He didn't imagine that the slave would treat the alien the same as the dignitary. Kal-El grew annoyed, imagining their time at an end. He wasn't ready to give up the human.

Kal-El abruptly became aware of a dignitary's intention to go after Lex, and he stopped him with a sharp jerk of his head. He got up and left in the midst of a noble's rant without a backward glance.

He soon caught up with Lex, who hadn't gone far. He was in the hallway just around the corner, his forehead resting against the wall, his hands clenched at his sides. He seemed unaware of Kal-El's presence, or anything else, for that matter.

"I didn't want you to find out like this."

Lex jerked at the sound of his voice and straightened, facing Kal-El. He had a hard glint to his eyes. "No, I doubt you wanted me to find out at all."

Kal-El considered. "Well, I hadn't decided yet."

"You bastard. This was all just a game to you." Condescendingly, he looked Kal-El up and down. "Everything they said about you was true."

Kal-El replied, his voice tight, "I enjoyed spending time with you. That wasn't a lie."

Lex scoffed. "Of course not. You were having the time of your life! Manipulating a pitiable slave into believing that you had integrity and honor. Making me believe that you cared." Lex closed his eyes, a brief expression of pain crossing his face. "I can't believe the things I said. I was so convinced that you were the one dignitary who was concerned about something outside his own interests."

Kal-El crossed his arms in front of his chest, impassive.

"I can't believe I was so stupid. You played me. Shows how deluded I've become. Perhaps I deserve to be here after all, if I can judge someone so completely wrong."

Kal-El sighed. "Me a dignitary, me an alien -- what's the difference? You seemed to like me well enough."

"Fuck you, alien! If I had known what you are, I would have never... You disgust me. Any attraction I had for you was gone," he snapped his fingers, his mouth in a sneer, "the moment I heard the word Overlord."

Kal-El exhaled heavily in disbelief.

"Kal-El," Lex said the name with savage pleasure, "You're a monster."

The slave stood with his hands in fists, white knuckles visible, skin flushed, eyes glittering, mouth in a deep scowl as he waited for Kal-El's retaliation. When Kal-El took one step towards him, Lex's muscles clenched in anticipation, and he gave Kal-El a look full of pure hatred.

Kal-El had never been so aroused.

He was enthralled. No one had ever dared stand up to him. He drank in the sight of Lex, his increasing anger only serving to make him that much more appealing.

Kal-El moved closer as Lex observed him warily. As he reached forward, Lex tried to jerk back, but he was nowhere near fast enough to avoid Kal-El. Cupping the sides of his face, Kal-El stared into his eyes intensely. But Lex avoided his gaze, seemingly looking through him.

Kal-El continued staring at Lex, caressing him in minute amounts, willing him to look up. Finally, Lex focused on his face, anger in his eyes.

Kal-El wasn't sure what he was doing, but he couldn't let Lex go without doing something to stop the ache in his chest.

However, nobles and dignitaries were starting to join them in the hallway, and other slaves were approaching as well, waiting for his command. He couldn't say or do anything without being observed.

Reluctantly, Kal-El released Lex, and he jerked away as fast as he could.

Whitney was abruptly there, standing at his side. "Kal-El?"

Kal-El glared at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lex becoming aware of their audience, glaring daggers at him as over a dozen pairs of eyes examined them.

Kal-El resigned himself to leaving Lex behind, the ache unsatisfied. "Everyone back to their duties. Whitney, come with me."

With a last look at Lex, Kal-El left, Whitney following.

Whitney, deeply disturbed, struggled to keep up with Kal-El. The Overlord had been distracted lately - and because of that his affairs suffered, rebellions were ignored, and dignitaries were deprived of their usual audience.

All of this Whitney could deal with -- it was the decided turn of the Overlord's mood that was the most frightening. Kal-El was known for being notoriously short-tempered and easily angered. Lately, he had been positively cheery. And on Kal-El, cheery was sickening and disturbing.

Whitney was sure the bald slave was the cause of it, and yet, Kal-El had never taken this much interest in an ordinary slave before.

The fact that the Overlord was walking only slightly above a human pace was evidence of his distraction. Usually, Kal-El traveled to his destinations under his own abnormally fast pace, leaving Whitney to hurry after.

Kal-El reached his rooms and opened the doors with a force that sent them banging against the wall and plaster falling from the ceiling. Whitney made a mental note to have it repaired.

Kal-El paced around his room a few times, clearly agitated. He looked down at his shirt, and with a frustrated growl, tore it off, shredding it and letting the pieces fall to the floor. He walked around the room a few more times, and then went to his window. He looked out, seemingly deep in thought. Whitney quietly walked over to the Overlord's lavish armoire, and waited discreetly.

Kal-El stared out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back, jiggling his fingers, preoccupied. He turned abruptly, inhumanly fast, and faced Whitney. "Put the slave in the harem."

Whitney startled, shocked. "What?"

"You heard me," with steel in his voice.

Huh. The slave was a dishwasher, unappealing, and most importantly, a guy.

Whitney said delicately, "Kal-El, are you sure? You know that he works in the kitchen, right? I don't think it's -- well, appropriate, to put him with a bunch of pampered women."

Kal-El stared at Whitney, a glitter of anger in his eyes.

"Um, yes, Kal-El. I'll make sure it's done. But -- you do know that, ah -- Kal-El, he's a guy!"

Kal-El surveyed Whitney coldly, clearly not amused. Whitney fidgeted nervously, for the first time in months discomposed and unsettled. He prostrated himself as he said, "It will be done." And, with his eyes on the floor, bowing all the way, he left the room.

Once outside, Whitney took a moment. He was nonplussed. Kal-El always insisted on his pleasure slaves' purity, preferring to have them chosen from the human population at large. To assign them to the harem after months of service never happened. But most importantly, all of the slaves were women -- some very exotic, from every culture imaginable, but they all had their feminine gender in common. To put a male in the harem was unprecedented. As far as Whitney knew, the Overlord had never shown any interest in males. But the Overlord was an alien, after all, and Whitney supposed that his tastes were a bit strange.

He sighed as he realized what the entry of a male pleasure slave would do to his daily schedule. The harem was structured purely toward a feminine sensibility. No males, except the Overlord, were ever admitted. To a hundred women, most of them starved for affection, the entry of a male slave could potentially cause a problem.

His day had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Part IV: The Harem

Looking back over recent events, Lex realized he should have known something was up when he wasn't punished for his display in the dining room.

Wincing, he remembered what had happened after the confrontation with Clark... Kal-El.

He had never been so angry before. And he had to admit: he'd been completely duped. Lex had never once suspected that his thoughtful and kind dignitary was the scourge of the world.

He'd been distracted as he'd returned to the kitchen, and he'd given no explanation to Aaron. The other slave hadn't said anything either, which, right away, should have been a clue that something was up. But Lex had been too upset to think clearly.

That's when it had happened.

Two large slaves had grabbed his arms, ignoring his objections as they'd led him out of the kitchen. He had assumed they were taking him to the Overlord for punishment, but, instead, they'd taken him down an unfamiliar hallway, passing room after room that began to look increasingly extravagant as they went by. His escorts had been silent, and hadn't responded to his physical or verbal protests.

They had eventually reached an area on the far side of the palace. Two men, wearing black uniforms and with suspicious looks on their faces, had stood guarding a hallway entrance and holding batons. They were the same uniformed men he'd seen previously: once, when he'd first arrived at the palace, and again, during the slave hanging.

His escorts had consulted with the guards in a monotone, too quietly for Lex to hear. Whatever they'd said had seemed to be acceptable; they had passed the guards, entered the hallway, and had reached a small door. There had been yet another guard in front of this door, and the same quiet conversation had been held, with the same result.

That guard had used a key to unlock the door, and had opened it. Lex had been released from their hold, pushed through the doorway, and it had closed with a bang behind him.

Lex stood in confusion, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Wherever he was, it was terribly bright -- lights on the walls, ceilings -- all shining directly down on him, making it hard to see.

When he was able to focus, he immediately became aware that he was the subject of intense scrutiny.

The slave that stood in front of him was a woman, with dark curly hair down to her waist. Unlike other slaves, she wasn't wearing a simple loincloth. She wore a translucent chiffon slip, embedded with beads and jewels. Her breasts were bare, but each nipple was decorated with a single diamond.

She smiled at Lex, but it seemed stiff and artificial. "Welcome. I'm Jayanti. I run the harem and help the slaves adjust to their new life. If you'll follow me, I'll help you find your new quarters." She turned with a swish of her slip and beads. Lex stopped her by touching her lightly on the arm.

She gave his hand a cold look. Lex said, as gently as he could, under the circumstances, "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Why am I here?"

She was clearly skeptical. "This is your new home."

"My new home. All right. And where's that?"

"The harem."

Lex said, slowly, "The harem."

She said, as if to a dull-witted child, "Of course. This is where you belong."

Lex grimaced, holding in his irritation. "And why do I belong here?"

"Because," she said, with greatly tested patience, "you're a pleasure slave."

Lex stared at her, incredulous. "You've got to be kidding me. Lady, I work in the kitchens. I'm not a pleasure slave."

She replied with a distinct chill, "You are now. Please stop these questions. We have much to do." She turned. "Follow me." Seeing no other option -- except to perhaps bang hysterically on the closed door -- he did.

Once they passed through the small room, they entered a huge courtyard, and an explosion of pink and green colors assaulted Lex on all sides. Directly ahead was a huge pool, the water a murky green and blue, with a water fountain of a mermaid in the middle of it. There were a few women in the pool, bathing and lazing around. When they saw Lex, they shrieked, and gaped in amazement.

His escort dismissed them with an insulting toss of her head. "Pay them no mind. Most of them haven't seen a man in over a year."

They passed the pool, and entered an area full of cushions and rich carpeting, dozens of slaves milling around, talking, doing each other's hair, or sleeping. Most of them had a similar reaction to Lex's presence.

Everything was enclosed under a dome-like ceiling -- the surface a bright blue, with spotlights shining up onto it, giving it the illusion of a sky. The ceiling was so large that Lex couldn't see the far wall, with buildings and trees obscuring his view.

They came to a small building, a cottage really, and the woman directed him to enter.

It was as equally decorated and luxurious as the outside surroundings. There was bedding and pillows off to one corner, a small table with chairs, and a shelf full of strange grooming supplies.

"This will be your home. You're to remain here unless I come to get you. Please don't enter the rest of the harem unescorted. It could be very unpleasant for you."

The lady surveyed Lex with a frosty look. "I'll leave you here. Become accustomed to your surroundings. I'll return in an hour, and we can start your lessons."

"Wait a minute -- Jayanti? There's obviously been some kind of mistake." Lex walked closer to her, smiling, trying to charm her. "I've been working in the kitchen since I arrived at the palace. I don't think it's possible to suddenly be a pleasure slave, do you?"

"It's possible. The Overlord willed it." Then she turned, exiting the cottage, and closing the door with a sharp click.

Huh. So much for his skill with women.

Lex exhaled, and looked around the room. He tested the pillows and bedding, noting how comfortable they were, and then inspected the rest of the room's contents. There was a small bowl full of warm water on the table, and a washcloth beside it. On the floor, off to one side, was a bowl that he assumed was the equivalent to a toilet. There was a mirror above the table, and Lex observed himself, noting the deep lines of stress on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. He turned away, frowning. Finally, he had enough of the room's contents, and went to the door.

But when he tried it, it wouldn't budge. The doorknob turned, but only up to a point, and pushing against it did nothing. He was locked in.

Frustrated, he went back to the bedding and sat down.

Lex couldn't believe this; minutes ago he was expecting to be whipped in punishment, and now -- a pleasure slave? The Overlord was in for a shock if he really believed Lex was ever going to willingly touch his ... grotesque alien body.

Lex smiled slyly.

He reclined further on the pillows, despite himself enjoying the softness of the bedding. It had been a long time since he'd been on anything this comfortable. He shut his eyes, extremely tired. He figured that a bit of relaxation wouldn't hurt anything.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to the sound of the door opening.

He must have been more tired than he thought. He had fallen asleep, the cushions an irresistible temptation to his exhausted body.

Jayanti frowned at him, obviously disapproving. "Please come with me."

They exited the cottage and went to an area off to one side. It had been set up to simulate the appearance of an outdoor garden -- grass and benches, bushes, and small fake trees. The woman directed Lex to sit on the ground on a large cushion. There was no-one else around.

"It has come to my attention that you weren't aware of your changed situation. For that, I apologize. I assumed that you were being deliberately difficult.

"The Overlord has decided that you would be a perfect addition to his harem, and as such, it's my duty to make sure that you don't disappoint him. You'll be taught the correct ways to please a man, and the etiquette expected of a pleasure slave."

Jayanti waited for him to comment.

Lex began, carefully, "Why was I locked in the cottage?"

"That was for your protection, as well as the protection of the other slaves here. Most of the women in the harem haven't been with the Overlord, and many never will. They're bored, and might be inclined to amuse themselves at your expense. You're the first man, besides the Overlord, that has ever been in the harem. You can see where problems might arise?"

"Wait a minute -- there are no men here?"

"That's correct."

"None at all?"

"Yes. You should be honored."

Lex snorted. Jayanti gazed at him in annoyance. "It's no light thing, to be singled out by the Overlord. Most of the slaves here have never even gotten a turn of his head."

"Forgive me for feeling ungrateful. I suppose the privilege has yet to really set in."

The woman disregarded his sarcasm. "I have to instruct you in the ways to please a man. We'll begin with the proper etiquette of the initial greeting."

Lex couldn't believe this. "Jayanti, I'm sorry, but I don't think this is necessary. I know how to please a man well enough. And more to the point, I'm not going to be pleasing the Overlord. I don't intend to ever sleep with him."

The woman laughed. "Oh, you're so knowledgeable, are you? Little man, you'll be pleasing the Overlord whether you like it or not.

"Now, you greet the Overlord with a deep bow, your eyes on the floor. He's been known to become violent with bold slaves, so make sure that you're always suitably reverent."

Lex scoffed. Jayanti glanced up at him, irritated, but continued: "You always wait for his command. Remain with your eyes on the floor until he tells you otherwise. You'll get your cue from his behavior and his words, and his attitude will be your greatest tool. The rest is all skill. If you please him satisfactorily, you'll return intact, hopefully without bruises. If you displease him -- which I'm sure you will -- and if you don't take my words to heart, you'll return here with broken bones, or worse.

"Now, the physical instruction. Lie down, and I'll give you a demonstration of how best to please him." A demonstration... the woman had some nerve. But before he could tell her off, another woman came running up to them. Jayanti was clearly displeased. "I told you that I wasn't to be disturbed. What is it?"

The slave struggled to catch her breath. "I'm sorry, lady, but Whitney told us that this one is to be brought to the Overlord immediately."

"What!" she shrieked. "He's not prepared! I've just barely gotten through the proper introductions!"

"I know, lady. But that's what he said." Jayanti shot Lex a glare, seemingly blaming him for this breach in procedure.

She sighed. "Then there's no time to waste. Gather the other girls and we'll prepare him."

The slave obeyed, and Jayanti frantically urged Lex to his feet.

"Jayanti, I'm not going to the Overlord. I'll never willingly service that thing. He can damn well get me himself if he's so insistent."

"Slave, 'here' -- I'm the Overlord. You do what I tell you. You won't like the consequences if you don't."

Lex considered. He could fight, and make an enemy out of the women, or he could let them 'prepare' him, and possibly gain some allies.

He was led back to the pool, the women giggling as Jayanti tore off his loincloth and pushed him into the shallow section. Lex spluttered, water in his eyes. Jayanti entered the pool as well, and three other slaves joined her, surrounding Lex. They started scrubbing his body with soap, and disgusting perfume permeated his pores.

Lex coughed. "This is unnecessary. I don't need this!"

Jayanti said curtly, "Be silent." Lex winced and struggled wildly as one slave scrubbed his genitals roughly. The slaves cleaned underneath his fingernails and toenails, his underarms -- every conceivable inch of his body. Finally, Jayanti seemed to be satisfied, and Lex was told to get out of the water. They picked up a bottle from the ground, and oil was slicked all over his body. The smell was slightly more agreeable, but Lex still wrinkled his nose in distaste. Eight hands rubbed the oil all over him, from the top of his head down to his feet. By the time they were finished, his body was shining. He had never been so clean or smelled so disgusting in his life.

Jayanti handed him a fresh loincloth, this one a finer quality of fabric, and Lex put it on.

"This is the best we can do. We've already been too long as it is."

Lex was irritated and frustrated. He looked at her in distaste. "And where are we going?"

"I'm taking you back to the entrance. A slave will lead you to the Overlord's chamber from there."

Lex crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I don't think so. I'm not going anywhere."

"Slave, I've told you already, you won't like it if you don't do as I say." Four sets of eyes stared at him coldly. He was aware of the dozens of women staring at him in the background. He was the lone man, in a sea of women.

Lex didn't resist for long.

Lex exited the harem with a sense of relief.

His escort was an unexpected surprise. It was the slave that had intervened on his behalf in the kitchens all those days ago. Sanchez had called him Whitney. He looked slightly frazzled. He was obviously in a hurry, practically running down the hallway. Lex didn't bother matching his pace, and Whitney often had to wait for Lex, looking behind him in annoyance, clearly impatient.

Sooner than he would have liked, they reached a set of red double doors. Whitney knocked briefly and gestured for Lex to enter. The doors closed behind him with a condemning finality.

The room was huge, the ceilings at least twice as high as in the rest of the palace. There were large windows overlooking the palace grounds, a few pieces of furniture, and a huge bed in the middle of the room. But all of this was insignificant compared to the room's occupant.

Kal-El turned as Lex entered. He was wearing a pair of baggy silk pants and a robe, tied loosely across his bare chest.

The sight of him brought all of Lex's anger back.

He ignored everything Jayanti had told him about etiquette and pleasing the Overlord. He looked Kal-El directly in the eye, communicating both his displeasure and scorn. "You certainly have a high opinion of yourself if you think I'd willingly jump into bed with you. A pleasure slave, alien? You must be delusional."

Kal-El examined Lex, his gaze harsh. "We're no longer playing a game, human. You'll address me in a respectful manner."

"Will I? I don't think so. Respect is earned. Do you believe tricking a man under your power earns respect? Playing with people's emotions just because you can, because you find it fun, as a way to pass the time -- that offends me greatly."

A muscle in the Kal-El's jaw twitched. "You're being unreasonable. I know you enjoyed our time together."

"Like I said, that was before I knew who you were."

Kal-El walked towards Lex, crowding him and forcing him back until he impacted with the wall. Their bodies were flush, Kal-El's bare chest against Lex's own naked body. He cupped Lex's face, his grip gentle. This scene was remarkably similar to the one in the hallway.

He kissed Lex lightly on the lips and said softly, "Clark is not very different from Kal-El."

Lex jerked his head away. "There's the delusion talking again." Kal-El withdrew from Lex with a frown and paced around the room, clearly frustrated. "Well, I know who you are now, alien, and believe me when I say I won't make the same mistake again. I could never enjoy being with a monster. You're a mass murderer! A fucking malignant parasite that's struck humankind. Scum."

Dryly, "I think I get your point." Kal-El raised his eyes to Lex's. "But nevertheless, having the freedom to choose was thrown out the window the second you became my property. You would do well to take care, human. Satisfying me will be to your advantage. You wouldn't like to see me really angry."

"On the contrary, I think I would. It has to be more appealing than your freak show of a face now."

It appeared that Lex had gone too far. In the blink of an eye, Kal-El was beside him, grabbing him in a punishing grip. He roughly manhandled Lex to the bed, flinging him on it with no regard for his safety. Kal-El then climbed on top of Lex with a roar and ripped his loincloth off. Lex's hands were held above his head in a grip so strong that Kal-El almost bent his wrist manacles. He straddled Lex's hips, gripped his chin harshly and forced his mouth open in a brutal kiss, cutting his lip with his teeth. Lex could feel the Overlord's hard cock through the fabric of his pants, pushing into Lex's stomach.

Lex struggled to breathe, and squirmed weakly in the alien's hold. He tore his mouth away with a gasp and panted, "So this is the true you. I knew Clark was just an illusion."

Kal-El paused. His expression seemed sad as he stared down at Lex. His chest moved rapidly, his power held tightly in check. Finally, his hold on Lex's arms loosened, and the grip of his thighs wasn't quite as tight. "I'm not a monster, Lex."

The next kiss was entirely different. Kal-El coaxed his mouth open, running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the cut on Lex's lip gently. Lex stared in confusion at Kal-El when he ran his hands down Lex's chest, caressing his collarbone and going down to his nipples. The alien was totally focused on what he was doing, Lex, the center of his attention. It was as though Lex was a fascinating puzzle that Kal-El had to figure out, and touching and memorizing his body was the key to that.

Finally, when Kal-El's hands were prompting an almost full-body shudder from Lex, he pulled away and released Lex's mouth, allowing him to gasp in air. Lex panted, annoyed with his own body's response.

The Overlord gazed down at him with an aching look and whispered, "You have bewitched me."

He kissed Lex's forehead as though he were someone precious to him, his mouth lingering on Lex's skin.

It was a frighteningly tender action.

Kal-El moved to Lex's neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, then ran his tongue over the edge of the neck manacle. Lex shivered, goose bumps rising on his arms.

Lex had been aroused since the alien's first tender kiss, and with his loincloth gone, he was helpless to hide it. Kal-El was so similar to Clark -- the dignitary that he'd been flirting with and dancing around for a month. He was having a hard time separating the two seemingly different people.

When Kal-El pressed against Lex's hardness, he groaned, helplessly pressing his own arousal against Lex's body. "Lex," he hissed.

Kal-El released Lex's arms, and stood up and took off his robe. He braced himself with his knees and, with a slight upper movement of his body, removed his pants. With the sight of Kal-El's cock, rigidly erect, dark hair surrounding the base, Lex came to his senses.

He flailed underneath the alien, trying to get away. Rubbing his cock against the sweat-slicked stomach felt enticingly good. "Fuck," Lex panted, "no, don't. Let me go!"

Kal-El disregarded his words, and rode the movements of Lex's body. He went back to Lex's mouth, and Lex tried to bite him, but it was like biting rubbery marble. Kal-El drew away enough to say, "Stop struggling. I know you want this." And then went back to assaulting Lex's mouth.

Lex continued to fight, but each movement brought his cock in contact with Kal-El's stomach.

Kal-El said hoarsely, "I take it back. Move." As a particularly violent motion of their bodies did delicious things to Lex, Kal-El gasped, "Fight me, Lex."

It was difficult, but Lex managed to stop, staring at the Overlord in challenge.

At the sudden stillness of Lex's body, Kal-El pulled back and, bracing himself on his elbows, looked down at Lex in puzzlement. When confronted with Lex's bold stare, he smiled indulgently. "That's not going to work."

He kissed Lex briefly on the mouth, and then moved down, making his way along his body. He seemed to be convinced that driving Lex crazy with his tongue was the way to gain his cooperation.

But Lex remained still and unresponsive as his skin was sucked and bitten. And when Kal-El worried his nipple, tonguing the tip with his teeth, he didn't hiss. He didn't moan loudly when Kal-El pressed his warm, hot body against him, or try to get closer as his ass was squeezed, forcing his hardness against Kal-El's erection.

Fuck. That felt good.

And that tongue seemed abnormally hot, the heat and moisture as he pulled and sucked Lex's nipple into his mouth almost inhuman.

Lex bit his lip, tasting blood. Kal-El looked up at him, giving him a wicked grin, his bangs falling into his eyes.

Oh my God. Was he trying to kill Lex?

With one more flick of his tongue, Kal-El withdrew, climbing down Lex's body.

He gripped Lex's hips, and stared at his cock with a curious expression. Then, with no warning, he ran his tongue from the base to the tip. Oh, fuck. How was Lex supposed to hold out against that? He was helpless to hold back his hiss of pleasure as Kal-El licked him, his cock seemingly delicious and irresistible to the alien.

Abruptly, he withdrew, and Lex moaned in resigned frustration, thrusting his hips up, fucking the air. Then he made himself stop. He lay back on the bed, staring up into nothing, not thinking about why his own traitorous body was responding so well to the alien above him.

But Kal-El was pushing Lex's legs up, exposing his ass. The alien got between his thighs, and Lex realized belatedly what was about to happen. His face took on a grim parody of a grin: he was about to be fucked by an alien. He felt a guilty thrill at the thought.

Kal-El seemed undecided, and Lex remembered Jayanti telling him that he was the first male in the harem. But when Kal-El grabbed hold of his cock, and positioned it flush with Lex's entrance, Lex spoke, damning himself for allowing things to get this far. "You need something. Lubricant. Otherwise, you'll hurt me."

The alien paused, and seemed reluctant to leave, but then he got up and grabbed something from the end table. It was a bottle full of oil -- similar to what the slaves had rubbed on Lex.

Kal-El slicked himself with the fluid, and poured some around Lex's entrance. Then he got on top of Lex, lifted his legs back up, and repositioned himself. He grabbed Lex, gave him a few strokes, and without any warning, pushed his way in.

It hurt.

It almost burned, and Kal-El seemed huge. He gave Lex no time to adjust, just slammed into his body over and over again. Lex gritted his teeth, and bit the inside of his cheek.

Suddenly, Kal-El stopped. His face was slick with sweat and he stared down at Lex with a wide-eyed expression. "You're not enjoying this. Why?"

Lex didn't say anything. He grimaced, panting, trying to get his body to adjust, his muscles to relax.

"Lex, what's wrong?"

Lex raised his flushed face up to Kal-El's. "It hurts," he hissed.

Immediately, Kal-El tried to pull away.

Fuck it.

Lex wrapped his legs around Kal-El's hips, gripped his ass, and pulled him forward and deeper inside. "Give me a damn minute. It's been a while."

The alien almost looked worried as he stared down at Lex, watching as he got his breathing under control.

Finally, Lex nodded, and squeezed the cheeks of Kal-El's ass. "All right. Move."

Kal-El did -- slowly -- incremental amounts inside Lex's body. He wiggled, and Lex gasped, the pain slightly lessening. "Do that again," Lex said, his voice tight.

"What, this?" Kal-El moved again, hitting Lex's prostate full on, and the pain slowly faded with each movement.

Kal-El gazed at Lex, satisfied. "You're enjoying it now." He resumed his deep thrusts, and Lex gave up, surrendering to his body, moving with Kal-El, meeting his every stroke. Lex reached for his cock, but Kal-El brushed his hand away with a callous strike. "No," he said coldly.

Kal-El gripped him, working him as he thrust, gazing at him intensely. The pleasure built up with each slam of the alien's cock. Kal-El's big hand stroking him enhanced the pleasure, and Lex soon came with a shout, his come splashing onto his stomach. But Kal-El continued to thrust, rubbing Lex's come over his cock and balls until it hurt. Finally, Kal-El's thrusts began to increase in pace. He came with a deep groan, his hips snapping, muscles contracting in pleasure.

He braced himself on his arms above Lex, catching his breath, and then pulled out, rolling over on his back, his arm covering his face. When he finally looked over, he already seemed recovered, and his face was unreadable. Lex was exhausted and satiated beside him. "I have no more need of you. You can go."

Lex was caressing his stomach lazily, rubbing the sticky mess between his fingers. But at Kal-El's words, he froze, and said in disbelief, "You have no more need of me."

Crossly, "You heard me, slave. Get out." Kal-El pushed Lex roughly off his bed.

Lex landed in a painful heap on the floor. "Fuck!" He struggled to his feet and glared at Kal-El lazing on the bed, smug, and apparently, finished with Lex.

Abruptly, Whitney entered the room, and gestured for Lex to go. Lex found his timely appearance deeply disturbing.

As he stumbled towards the door, something came flying at him. He caught it reflexively.

"Take this with you."

It was his loincloth.

Whitney escorted Lex back to the harem. He was peering curiously at Lex, but Lex was in no mood for conversation.

It was late, and it was dark. The pool was completely empty, and the water was a murky dark blue, with an eerie glow coming off it. As Lex drew closer to where he had seen all the women milling around, relaxing on pillows and cushions, he slowed. There were dozens of women lying on the floor. There were some quiet murmurs, but most of them appeared to be sleeping.

Lex heard a rustling off to one side, and braced for attack as a dark shape materialized in front of him. But it was just one of the girls. She whispered, "Jayanti told me to look out for you, in case you got lost. Your quarters are over here." She led him back to the cottage.

They stopped at the door. "Do you need anything?" she asked.

"No." As an afterthought, he said grudgingly, "Thank you."

He went into the cottage, and the girl closed the door softly behind him. He heard a click, and he assumed that he had been locked in again.

Lex was just relieved to finally have some solitude. He was disgusted with himself, and nauseated at the thought of what he had done. He stumbled over to the table and the bowl of water, and started scrubbing at the dried come on his body. He tried to wipe the evidence away, but he knew it was only physical; he would never erase the encounter from his mind.

He had enjoyed being with the alien more than he thought possible. He could live with himself if it had been rape, but as Kal-El had grown gentle, Lex had been hopelessly drawn in, and --

Had he really...

He'd urged Kal-El on even when it seemed as though he'd wanted to stop.

Fuck.

Regardless of Kal-El's physical appeal, he was still an alien. He had conquered Earth. He had killed Lex's father. And while, before, Lex would have said the alien had done him a favor, now, he could look at it in perspective. Despite his personal feelings for his father, Lionel Luthor had been trying to save humanity. With his death, the efforts against the alien invader had steadily worsened.

The alien had killed thousands of people, most of them innocent, and they were only trying to live in a world without tyranny. Lex thought about Patrick -- the alien had butchered his sister. He was sure there were many similar stories of the alien's depravity.

Lex had bedded an abomination. He had enjoyed it. What was worse, he knew he had started feeling something for the alien.

He would never forgive himself.

He had to get out of there.

Kal-El lazily ran his hand over the sex-stained sheets, running the encounter with the slave through his mind.

He'd had his fair share of sex. He had over a hundred pleasure slaves, and he never lacked for company in his bed.

It had amused him to create a "harem", shocking the world and satisfying his sense of history -- and humor. But despite what the world believed, he didn't enjoy orgies or marathon runs of sex-crazed nights. He usually had one slave in his bed, and the slave would either please him, or annoy him. That depended on the girl's skill and his mood.

But tonight... tonight had been completely different.

For one, he'd never been inclined to have sex with a man. He'd thought about it, and occasionally he would admire a handsome man, appreciating the lines of his face or body, but his interests had always gone back to women.

But with Lex...

There was something special about this human.

He seemed to incite a myriad of emotions in Kal-El, from one extreme to another. With a word or sharp expression, he could change Kal-El's mood from tenderness to anger.

And tonight, the sex...

Kal-El ran his hand down his belly, feeling his cock stir, stretching his body, luxuriating in the remembered feel of Lex's skin and hands.

Then he frowned.

He remembered how he'd felt after the sex had been over, how he'd wanted to gather Lex, curl around his body.

And then he'd remembered what had happened the last time he had tried to cuddle a human--

Blood splattering and screams and white lab coats and pain.

Lex was only a slave, after all, and he had to be treated like one.

In the end, humans were all the same.

Good for sex, but fragile.

They always died.

They would always leave him.

But Lex--

For that body--

For Lex, he could afford to amuse him, use his alien wiles to break down his irresistible stubbornness and resistance to Kal-El's will.

Kal-El wiggled on the bed, smirking. He already wanted Lex again.

Lex was woken the next morning by the sound of the door opening. Two girls walked in, both carrying trays of food. They gave Lex coy looks as they set the trays down on the table, and then bowed, smiles on their faces as they backed out of the room.

Lex struggled up and staggered to the table. One tray was full of fresh strawberries and raspberries. The other tray was a hot plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. Lex's mouth watered at the sight. Clearly, the slaves in the harem were better fed than those in the kitchen.

Lex finished his meal, and for once, was full when he had cleaned his plate. He was taking a sip of water when Jayanti entered.

"I see you survived." She didn't appear pleased at the prospect. "You must have done something right. Come with me."

They exited the cottage, and followed a pathway that wound around the communal sleeping quarters. Eventually they reached an open courtyard, the sound of activity and conversation almost overpowering Jayanti's next words. "Now that the Overlord has had his fill of you, we need to find something for you to do."

The yard was full of slaves, working at various tasks. Some were writing at tables, some had fabric and were constructing clothing, and others were sitting in circles, using beads to create necklaces and jewelry. Still more slaves were leaning against pillars, working on projects with coils of wire and paint.

"We would all die of boredom if we weren't given something to pass the time. I have a special arrangement with Whitney, the Overlord's personal slave, to bring in items of interest for each new slave." She peered at Lex, a glimmer of humor in her eyes. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in knitting, but we should find something for you to do. What are your interests -- within reason?"

Lex studied her, trying to make his face look innocent. "Would it be possible to get some newspapers?"

She scoffed. "You're a slave, little man. If you want to stay sane, you'll forget about the outside world. The harem is now your home. Request something constructive, or I'll pick it for you."

Lex sighed. "Just some paper and a pen should keep me occupied for a while."

"You're a writer, then?"

"Ah--" He couldn't very well explain that he wanted paper to plan his escape. "Yes."

Jayanti seemed to assess him. "No. Request denied. You're a man. We have entirely too many women wasting time without adding you to the mix. A slave abandoned some woodworking tools not long ago, and I think they'll do nicely for you. This way."

Lex rolled his eyes, and followed, glaring at her back. Woodworking? He'd never done woodworking in his life.

Most of the slaves looked at Lex in admiration as he passed. God. Lex couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life in this hellhole. If the Overlord had indeed had his fill of him, he doubted that many of the women would hold off from making their advances.

Jayanti led him to a ragged-looking cupboard leaning against the wall. The doors were open, and tools were hanging out of the sides. It didn't seem like a tidy work area -- there were pieces of wood, nails and screws, saws, and other strange woodworking tools scattered all over the place. "Get to work."

Lex surveyed the tools helplessly, totally lost.

By the time half the day had passed, he had managed to get a handle on things. He'd organized the work area, sorting the wood into piles and the tools into separate sections, according to type. With a nail, he had scratched out a sketch of an elaborate box into a piece of wood. Right now, he was working on the finishing touches. Overall, he was quite proud of himself.

He was kneeling on the floor, concentrating on putting a nail into his top piece, when the elegant feet of a slave came directly into his view.

Lex raised his eyes. Jayanti stood in front of him, her hand on her hip, a ticked-off expression on her face. "Get up," she said.

"What do you want?"

"Follow me."

Lex did so, annoyed. He was led back to the pool, where the same three girls from before were gathered. Jayanti gestured for him to get into the water.

"And why is this necessary?"

Jayanti said, her voice tight, "The Overlord requires your presence again."

Lex closed his eyes, the weight of the world abruptly on his shoulders. "And if I refuse?"

"We went over this before." In a warning tone, "Do what I say." She flicked her hand toward the water in a sharp motion.

"Fine," he said curtly. He tore the bar of soap from her hand. "But you're not touching me."

"Slave--"

"No. If you want me to do this without a struggle, and if you don't want me complaining to the Overlord, you'll let me wash myself."

Jayanti sighed. "Have it your way. But make sure you do a good job." She nodded slightly to the other slaves, motioning to them that they were no longer needed.

Lex had given up on gaining the pleasure slaves as allies -- they were too immersed in their own world, and Jayanti seemed to enjoy running the harem far too much for Lex to trust her with his escape plans.

Lex removed his loincloth, letting it drop to the side of the pool and walked into the water. He then started scrubbing himself, resenting every stroke of the bar of soap. He scrubbed everywhere that the slaves had touched him, and then got out of the water. "Well?"

Jayanti sniffed. "I suppose it will do." She held out the bottle of oil. "I'm assuming you'll not want our unclean hands touching you with this either?"

Lex snatched the oil and briskly rubbed it all over. He started to return the bottle, but Jayanti gestured to his head. "You missed a spot." Lex rolled his eyes, but applied the oil. Wonderful. Now his head was going shine. He looked down, grimacing -- he looked like a frigging whore...

Which was probably the point.

"Can you make your way to the harem entrance without me?" Jayanti asked.

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Then hurry up. Whitney's waiting."

Whitney was indeed waiting, an impatient expression on his face. He gestured for Lex to follow him.

"Do you ever talk?" Lex asked.

Whitney didn't pause. "Yes. If the person's worth talking to." He increased his pace.

Just for that comment, Lex trailed slowly behind, trying to catalogue his surroundings to memory.

They reached the Overlord's chamber, and Lex entered with an uneasy feeling -- a sense of foreboding passing through him.

The Overlord was sitting in a chair, his legs crossed, wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a long black coat. His hair looked as if it had been in a windstorm, with tendrils loose and curling about his forehead. He stood up, the fabric rustling around him as Lex entered.

"Are you hungry?" he asked Lex as he walked over to a table in the center of the room with a tray set on it. He lifted the cover and steam rose from two dishes, along with a delicious smell that reached Lex.

Lex looked at him suspiciously. "Is this a trick?"

Kal-El gazed at him in amusement. "Why would it be a trick?"

"Slaves are only allowed one meal a day."

Kal-El raised an eyebrow. "Really? Hmm, well you're an exception to the rule today. It's not a trick. Have your fill." Kal-El brought two chairs over to the table, and gestured for Lex to sit. Lex approached warily, but dove into the food ravenously. His food in the morning had been more than he was used to -- but he wasn't taking anything for granted.

Kal-El took a seat on the other side of the table, and watched Lex eat. He picked at his own plate, popping bits of meat into his mouth, and leaving the vegetables. But he shortly seemed bored with the food, and, instead, cupped his face in his hand and gazed at Lex in fascination.

Lex paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"You're really hungry."

Lex took a bite, and said, with his mouth full, "With one meal a day, what do you expect? All your slaves are practically starving."

Kal-El appeared thoughtful. "I wasn't aware of that."

Lex looked at him in disbelief. "How can you not be aware of that? You're the one that decreed it."

"No, I allow my dignitaries to take care of those details."

Lex swallowed his food. He said, not believing that he was having this conversation, "Then you should change it. People are more productive when they're not thinking about when they'll be getting their next meal. Your dignitaries might have thought they were saving money, but it works the opposite way. Healthy slaves will work harder, and you'll need less of them to do the same job."

"I'll consider your words." Kal-El peered at him speculatively, and then reached across the table, running his hand down Lex's bare arm. Lex froze.

"Why do I find you so fascinating," Kal-El asked, seemingly to himself.

"I don't know, but I could certainly do without your attention."

Kal-El looked directly at Lex. "You don't have that option."

He abruptly stood up, and pulled Lex from his chair. Lex was forced to abandon the rest of his food, and followed him resignedly. But he balked as he was led to the bed.

"We're not doing this again."

"You forget. You have no choice." Kal-El held onto his arm as Lex struggled, and then pulled Lex flush against his body. He put his thigh between Lex's legs and his arms around Lex's chest.

Lex tried to push Kal-El away. "People always have choices."

Ka-El murmured into his ear, "Not here, not now." Lex shivered. He was kissed softly, the alien extraordinarily gentle, and then, a whisper, "Am I really so hard to bear?"

Lex jerked his head back. "I told you. You're a monster. You make me sick."

Kal-El gazed at him in amusement. "But you like my body." He pressed his knee against Lex's hard cock, and Lex bit his lip to hold back a moan. Kal-El lifted him up, holding his hips, so he was half-sitting on Kal-El's bent leg. Then Kal-El mouthed under his neck and chin, and Lex relaxed in the alien's hold, his head thrown back, languidly thrusting against Kal-El's leg while Kal-El moved his hands to Lex's ass, squeezing, his hands under Lex's loincloth.

"Tell me you don't want this," breathed Kal-El.

Lex moaned and said, "I don't want this," his voice weak.

"Liar."

Kal-El supported Lex with one hand, his other pressing between the crack of Lex's ass, his finger teasing the edge of his hole. When that finger breached Lex, Kal-El crooked his finger and squeezed Lex's cock at the same time. Just like that, Lex convulsed. He collapsed backward, but Kal-El caught him, pulling him against his chest. "Clark," Lex whispered, hardly aware, into his shoulder.

Kal-El carried him over to the bed, put him down, and then withdrew. Lex was vaguely aware of rustling, the sound of clothes and a belt dropping to the floor on the far side of the room.

Lex was on his side, his limbs like jelly, relaxing in a sweaty haze, but he opened his eyes as Kal-El's body came in contact with his side, the alien bringing one leg over Lex's hip, pressing his hard cock against his stomach. "Lex," he said, pleadingly. He didn't seem like an alien Overlord now. He just seemed like a desperate man, helpless with desire.

Lex reached for Kal-El's cock, and gripped it in his fist. The head was glistening with pre-come, swollen and dark red in his hand. Kal-El groaned as Lex worked him, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the tip. But it obviously wasn't enough, and Kal-El was practically frantic, whining as Lex stroked him.

Lex reached down and kissed the tip, tonguing the slit, inhaling the musky scent, and tasting the bitter precome. He then looked up at Kal-El. The alien's face was sweaty, his hair sticking up in clumps around his head. His lower lip was red and swollen and his lips parted as he looked down at Lex with a rapt expression.

Lex ran his tongue over the base, and then with one motion, took the whole thing in his mouth, deep-throating. Kal-El gasped, "Lex," and thrust, warmth surrounding his cock. Lex pulled back slightly until just the head was in his mouth, held the base with one hand, and massaged his balls with the other. Kal-El seemed to like that; he whimpered in pleasure, and thrust some more.

Lex abandoned Kal-El's balls, and reached between the cheeks of his ass, looking for his hole. He copied what the alien had done to him, massaging the edge. Kal-El grew frantic, his thrusts increasing.

Then Lex swallowed, and Kal-El was coming, shooting down Lex's throat.

When Lex pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Kal-El was breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling, and worrying at his lower lip. He raised his eyes to Lex's. "Am I still a monster?"

Lex's expression closed off.

Why the fuck had he done that?

He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting Kal-El's come, and feeling nauseated at the slightly bitter flavor.

Kal-El reached out to Lex, and ran a lingering hand down his side to the curve of his buttocks, making Lex shiver and give him an annoyed look. Then Kal-El pulled away, and looked at his hand in revulsion. He rubbed the residue oil onto the sheets, and turned on his side, his back to Lex.

"You may go now, slave."

Lex swallowed. "Oh, so the sex is over, and just like that, you're finished with me?"

Dryly, "You're a pleasure slave. That's your job."

Lex got up from the bed with jerky movements, feeling like the temperature in the room had just dropped five degrees. He glared at the alien's back and then winced as he moved. His loincloth was completely soiled, and there was come running down the side of his leg -- and he was expected to go out like this?

Fucking pompous bastard.

Out of spite, he picked up the half-empty plate on the table, and hurled it at the bed.

Then he bolted, a grin on his face, the alien's shout behind him.

Kal-El held his hand up to his face, grimacing at the sauce sticking to his palm. Tomato Sauce.

But even as he was rubbing the sauce onto his sheets and heading for his shower, he couldn't help the small smile on his face.

The slave was something else.

Lex woke up early the next morning. He had the same delicious breakfast as before, and walked into the harem with a curiously energetic step. But, as he reached the other slaves in the work area, he noticed a marked difference. While, before, most of the slaves had looked at Lex with desire in their eyes, their intentions clear, now, they looked at him with calculation in their eyes, obviously assessing him.

Lex had finished his box, and had even started to plan the construction of a small shelf, when Jayanti came to fetch him.

Jayanti's expression was cold. "Lex, I see you're still physically undamaged."

"It seems that way."

She appeared resigned as she said, "The Overlord has requested you again." Obviously, this was unusual, and probably the reason for the slaves' strange behavior that morning.

He was led to the pool, and allowed to wash himself again, but unlike before, he wasn't handed the oil. "No oil?"

Jayanti was annoyed. "Whitney has instructed me that the Overlord is no longer fond of oil." Lex raised his eyebrows. Kal-El had noticed Lex's dislike of it, then, or, he thought cynically, the mess on his bed sheets.

As he approached the Overlord's chamber, he felt unsettled, a flutter in his stomach. He was prepared for some ranting, but as the doors closed behind him, he was met by nothing but an empty room. The bed hadn't been made, the sheets were rumpled and there were clothes scattered everywhere.

He could hear faint splashing noises emanating from behind a closed door in the bedchamber, and Lex reluctantly walked over to it. He opened the door cautiously, and was assaulted by moist warm air.

It was a huge bathroom with black marble tile on the floor and walls. There were two sets of sinks, a large shower and a urinal and toilet. Most central to the room was a huge Jacuzzi, and in it was Kal-El, bubbles up to his chin. He was leaning back, head over the edge of the tub, half his hair submerged in the water. His eyes were closed, but he opened them as Lex walked into the room and studied him, silently.

"You requested my presence," Lex said, somewhat stiffly.

"I like you better without the oil."

Lex said nothing.

"Come here," Kal-El said, gesturing with his hand, soaps suds flying.

When Lex got close enough, Kal-El grabbed his arm, and pulled him against the side of the bathtub. Heat was emanating from the surface of the water, steam hitting Lex's face, but the side of the tub was cold. Lex tried to pull away, but Kal-El ran the tip of his thumb up and down the palm of Lex's hand, and looked at him with desire in his eyes.

"Join me."

Dryly, "I already had a bath."

But Lex had no choice: Kal-El rose up from the water and grabbed Lex with both hands. He was dumped unceremoniously in the tub, water splashing over the side, hitting his face and eyes. Lex sputtered, and rubbed his eyes. When the blur and sting were finally gone, he glared indignantly at Kal-El.

Kal-El looked at Lex innocently. "You can never have too many baths."

The Overlord's tub was better than being scrubbed by four impatient slaves, however. Jets were gently pushing water against Lex's back, bubbles rising to the surface, soothing his sore body. His wrist and neck manacles, nearly always cold, were starting to get warm in the water, and Lex allowed himself to relax, leaning against the back of the tub. His eyes were drifting shut, the hot water and comfort overwhelming him, when he felt a gentle kick against his foot.

Kal-El was peering at him amidst soapsuds, a satisfied look on his face. "You like my tub."

Lex saw no reason to lie. "Yes."

Kal-El smiled. He ran his foot up Lex's leg, daring him to comment. Lex remained unmoving, gazing at Kal-El with cool eyes. Kal-El's foot gradually went higher and Lex was forced to shift, trying to shove Kal-El's foot away. But his leg was like iron, and no matter how hard he tried, Lex couldn't budge it.

Once Lex's grip relaxed, Kal-El moved his foot higher, edging up to Lex's hip, and flicking his toe in the side of Lex's soaking wet loincloth. He pulled the loincloth off, and flung it over the side of the tub, where it landed with a wet plop.

Kal-El gazed at Lex warmly, an alluring smile on his face. His legs were spread apart, and he was running his hand along the surface of the water, making little swirls. "Lex," he said softly, "come here."

Lex hesitated.

"Please," Kal-El whispered.

Lex refused to examine why that one word, in that tone -- had him struggling to comply. He pushed himself towards Kal-El, and settled between his thighs, his back against Kal-El's chest. As he settled, Kal-El embraced him, and rested his chin against Lex's shoulder. Lex shut his eyes, relaxing, the warm water surrounding him, the inhuman heat of Kal-El at his back.

He could feel Kal-El's hardening cock against his lower back, but Kal-El did nothing, seemingly content to just have Lex rest against him. "I had the Jacuzzi commissioned from Italy. They say it's the biggest they ever made."

Lex snorted. "You would."

Kal-El ran his hand down Lex's arm, and then took his hand in his grip, clasping them together. "No one else has ever been in it."

Lex opened his eyes, suddenly deeply disturbed.

Kal-El kissed the back of his head, mouthing the annoying bump that Lex had never been able to hide. Then, he touched Lex's stomach, running his fingers down to just above the base of his cock. "You're so smooth. Your skin is like silk."

Lex tensed in anticipation as Kal-El's hand ran lingeringly back and forth over his skin, almost, but not quite, touching him.

"Do you want me?"

Lex remained silent, his head back, for all appearances totally relaxed. But his cock was hard, standing up, and his arousal was obvious.

"Stubborn."

When Kal-El took hold of his cock, the warmth of the water accompanied by the pressure of Kal-El's fist overwhelmed Lex. He bit his lip, and struggled to hold in a moan. Kal-El kissed his ear, and then mouthed the lobe, giving little teasing bites while he worked him. The pleasure was exquisite, but it became almost unbearable as Kal-El reached for a bar of soap from the side of the tub, and made a lather, using it to work Lex's cock. The soap had little bits of coconut in it -- and these pieces added sensation -- providing just enough pain to be pleasurable. The lather made Kal-El's hand slick, and Lex was soon thrusting into his fist.

"You love this."

Lex could hardly deny it, with his erratic thrusting into Kal-El's fist. With a final squeeze, Kal-El released his hand, and reached down underneath Lex's cock, cupping his balls, and caressing him.

Lex's toes curled in pleasure, and he moaned as Kal-El pushed a finger into his hole. The alien easily went up to his knuckle in the slick water, and was soon working in another finger, stroking Lex's cock all the while. He hit that spot, and Lex cried out.

Kal-El... fucking him with his finger... sucking Lex's neck... holding his body against his hard chest... Kal-El's cock jabbing into his side... it was perfect. Lex dissolved into a riot of pleasure, moaning, his hips jackknifing, Kal-El's hand deep inside him.

While his orgasm was still thrumming through him, Kal-El released him, and grabbed him by the hips, lifting him effortlessly and turning him around, so they were facing each other. Kal-El's cock was standing up, the tip emerging from his foreskin. He was very appealing, and obviously overcome with desire. He positioned Lex over him and his length gradually entered Lex's ass, inch by inch.

The alien's big hands gripped Lex's hips, pulling Lex up and down on his cock. Kal-El was leaning back against the tub's side, watching, fascinated, his dark pink cock a sharp contrast to Lex's white skin. As each thrust hit Lex's prostate, a sharp thrum of pleasure swept through him. Unbelievably, Lex's cock was starting to harden again, and he leaned back, letting Kal-El support his weight.

Lex gazed intensely at Kal-El; he was breathing deeply, little moans escaping with each thrust. Slowly, Lex started working himself against Kal-El's cock, and Kal-El allowed him to guide the movements. His mouth was open, and he was absorbed in his desire as he watched Lex move. Lex touched himself and Kal-El let him, benevolent as he rode out the movement of Lex's body. They kissed, thrusting their tongues against each other, and Lex moaned, the pleasure intense.

"Fuck," whimpered Kal-El, "Lex, Lex, Lex."

Lex shuddered, moaning, "Clark," as he came a second time. He fell forward onto Kal-El's chest, weak from the aftershocks of his orgasm, and Kal-El took up his grip again, lifting Lex up and down until he came, with a deep groan.

They leaned against each other, panting, relaxing in the warm water. Kal-El ran his hand lingeringly down the side of Lex's thigh, and looked at him with soft eyes.

They stayed in that position for a few moments, until Kal-El noticed that the water in the tub was cooling. Then he stood up, water pouring off him, and Lex slowly followed, feeling numb.

Kal-El grabbed a large, fluffy towel from the towel rack and briskly began to dry himself off, but he stopped and looked at Lex, who was standing near him, shivering violently. "Here," he said, and handed another one to Lex.

Kal-El walked back into the bedchamber, and Lex trailed him, the towel around his shoulders. The Overlord dropped his towel on the floor and then went to his closet, pulling out a pair of black dress pants and a blue shirt.

Lex's loincloth was soaked, and still in the bathroom, and he wasn't looking forward to having to wear it again. But Kal-El picked up a robe from the bed, and handed it to Lex, who looked at it in confusion.

"You can wear that for now."

Lex stared at him. "But slaves are only allowed loincloths."

Kal-El shrugged. "I'm the Overlord. I can do what I want."

Lex donned the robe, and Kal-El walked up to him, his body close -- uncomfortably close, considering the warring mixture of desire and hate that was going through Lex's mind

"I have a present for you."

Lex raised curious eyes to his.

"Follow me."

The Overlord walked out of his bedchamber, and led him to another room down the hallway. It was beautiful. There were thousands of books on shelves lining the room. The carpet was a deep burgundy, the walls a light cream, and there was a soft light throughout the room. There were reading tables in the middle of the room, with little office desk lamps on them. Near the back of the room, close to some windows, were brown leather armchairs, the leather already creased, evidence that they had been used frequently.

"If there's a history book that exists in the world today, it's here. I remembered our conversation, Lex. I know how much you like history. I hope you enjoy it. You can have the rest of the night to read."

Lex looked at him, deeply touched, despite himself. "Thank you."

Kal-El smiled. He walked up to Lex, put his hand on the small of the other man's back, and then leaned in, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I'll leave you to it."

The room was heaven. There were books on every subject imaginable; rare volumes and out-of-print editions; even some that were so old Lex was afraid to touch them, lest he damage them. He picked up a book on the fall of the Roman Empire, and sat in one of the leather armchairs. It was very cozy. Kal-El's robe was warm, and Lex luxuriated in the feel of actual fabric against his skin. The book was engrossing, but he knew he had a limited amount of time, so he set it down and picked up another. He glanced at a small clock which was sitting on the reading table, keeping track of the time as he read for another hour. Then, he decided to explore some more.

There were more history books, but this time, the focus was modern, eighteenth century up to the present day. Lex walked along the shelf, running his finger over the spines of the books. When he removed his hand, he rubbed his thumb and index finger together, expecting residue dust, but they were clean, the books obviously well cared for. He smiled.

He continued walking the length of the bookshelf, following along as he gradually came to 20th century history -- the Korean War, Vietnam War -- Kal-El obviously liked wars, Lex mused -- Nicaraguan Civil War...

That was strange.

He stopped, his hand resting on the last book on the shelf. There was a small, mahogany door, set in to the wall, which had been hidden by the width of the shelf.

Curious, Lex opened it, revealing a dark room. At first, he thought it was a closet, but then he felt along the side of the door and found a light switch, and flicked it on.

Still small, but more than a closet, it was a pleasant, square room, warmly illuminated, a few paintings on the walls -- some that Lex recognized as belonging in museums.

On one wall, without paintings, was a stylized, deep burgundy border, almost a billboard, and Lex walked over to investigate.

It was a slap in the face.

The wall was set up with framed pictures, magazines, and newspapers. The headlines screamed: Alien slaughters thousands in Europe! Innocent bystanders killed! Alien murders all world leaders! The magazines were articles from the beginning of the war, announcing: A new terror for America, and The Alien that would rule us all. The pictures depicted victims and small children dead in the streets, scattered limbs and body parts, the aftermath of buildings that had collapsed, fields burning, people all over the world despairing and sobbing.

Kal-El had put them here. The deaths of thousands were glorified, the Overlord proud of his accomplishments--

Lex staggered back, the enormity of what he'd been doing, clear.

Clark -- Kal-El -- the Overlord -- the Alien.

Lex was in the cottage, sitting in a crouch on the cushions on the floor, his mind in turmoil.

He couldn't believe that he had let himself feel something for that monster. What Patrick had said really was true. The alien looked human to lure everyone into a false sense of security, to get under their defenses, and in Lex's case, to get to his body and his emotions. All his kind acts had been just another way to get to Lex.

"You are affected after all, then."

Lex, startled, looked up in alarm. Jayanti was in the cottage, and he didn't know how long she'd been there, silently watching him, while Lex had been in his own private hell.

"I thought you must enjoy it, the way he keeps asking for you over and over. This is unusual. Slaves are usually with him once, if at all. There are a handful of women that have gone to him two times, and none of them are alive today."

Lex looked at her blearily, his eyes red.

"I myself have only been with him once, and he hurt me so badly that I was unable to walk for a week."

He cleared his throat, and said, roughly, "Why are you telling me this?"

She walked towards him, her hips swaying and her beads jingling rhythmically. "I saw you sitting there, miserable, and I realized that you're human, like all of us, and it made me feel remorse. I regret my unfriendly behavior. We're all slaves, under his power. I sometimes forget this. I don't blame you for despairing. All of us fear a call to his bedchamber, and you have been there so many times."

Lex stared at her, ashamed. "But that's not why I'm... angry. I grieve for myself, for letting myself be taken in by him." Lex averted his gaze and said, "I enjoyed being with the alien."

Jayanti looked at him appraisingly. "That's truly a terrible crime. But not unforgivable."

"What?"

"You say you're ashamed, despairing, because you found pleasure in his company. For you to enjoy being with the creature that made us slaves, the alien that glutted himself on our blood and killed our families -- well, you already know that's a crime -- but it can be redeemed. You need to show the alien that you haven't been taken in after all, that you're still human, and aware of his tricks."

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

"You reclaim your humanity; you reject everything that he's made you feel." Jayanti studied him, seemingly assessing him, and then reached behind her back. She brought out a dagger, the handle beautifully encrusted with jewels and gold. "You might not hurt him, but you'll get your self-respect back."

Lex reared back as though he'd been hit. "You want me to use a knife on the alien," he said in disbelief. "He can't even be hurt!"

"No, but you'll get your self-respect back," she repeated.

Lex looked at the dagger helplessly, and then gazed at her face. She was staring at him with more warmth than he had ever seen before. But she also seemed determined, clearly believing what she said.

His gaze returned, once again, to the knife.

The hilt shone up at him, the gems on the handle gleaming.

Screw it.

Kal-El looked up from his dull perusal of the latest dignitary's report, and watched his door in anticipation, as he heard the distinct footsteps and heartbeat headed his way.

The slave fascinated him more each day. Despite his resolve not to become more involved, he had done nothing during the day but endlessly review their nights together, daydreaming about Lex's body and frustrating his dignitaries with his distraction. Lex was his drug of choice, and Kal was addicted.

Lex seemed strangely subdued as he walked into the room. His eyes were red, and he gazed at Kal-El with apprehension.

"What's wrong? Didn't you enjoy the library?"

Lex's lips tightened. "Here," he said, and shoved a robe at Kal-El. Kal-El took it and let it drop heedlessly to the floor. Without the robe, bundled up in a ball in front of his chest, Kal-El was able to view Lex's body, his skin, white and hairless, the scar on his lip that made him want to suck and touch it; all of this was Kal-El's. Lex was wearing a black loincloth, nearly translucent, so he could clearly see the outline of Lex's cock through the fabric.

Kal-El felt his own cock harden, and he shifted his legs, so the bulge wouldn't be quite so obvious.

"I have food for you." Kal-El led him over to the table and the tray of food. After they sat down, he waited for Lex to start devouring it, but Lex only picked at it, and the fire that Kal-El had been so drawn to was gone. "You don't like it."

Lex raised indifferent eyes to his. He said nothing, simply running his fork through his food, again and again, in a listless motion. Irrationally, Kal-El grew angry. While the slave's antagonistic responses had previously not been desirable, this cold indifference was intolerable.

"We'll do something I know you like, then."

Kal-El rose up and, in a flash, he was by Lex's side. He gripped him about the waist, hauling him up, and moving him over to the bed. While Lex was frantically gripping the fabric of Kal-El's shirt, trying to get a hold, Kal-El tossed him onto the bed. Despite his anger, he knew he was being unreasonably gentle, and as Lex fell, Kal-El made sure that he landed softly.

Lex looked up at him in alarm and shifted in an odd manner on the bed. He swallowed. "I don't suppose we could skip this tonight."

Kal-El took his clothes off with hurried motions, and then climbed on the bed, crowding Lex so he was forced to lie back, Kal-El's body over his. Kal-El ran a lingering hand down the side of his face. "You know the answer to that." He kissed him gently, but then dove into his mouth. Lex remained passive at first, but he was soon responding; his mouth addictive.

Kal-El let Lex gasp out a breath and then went back, licking his lips, and running his tongue over the scar on his upper lip. He pulled back slightly and asked, "How did you get this?"

Lex touched his lip absently with the tip of his tongue, his expression hard to define. He reached up to cup the back of Kal-El's head, and brought him down for another kiss. "It doesn't matter," he said. They kissed, and it was as sweet as their previous nights, Lex's strange attitude gone.

Kal-El reached for Lex's loincloth, but the slave grabbed his hand and said, "No." Kal-El was about to go ahead anyway, but Lex ran the tip of his thumb over Kal-El's palm caressingly, and stared at him intensely as he undid the ties on his loincloth, letting them fall down. His half-erect cock was now uncovered, and Kal-El drank in the sight.

Lex moved onto his side, and then, reaching behind, removed the rest of the loincloth. He seemed to take particular care as he put the wrapped bundle on the floor, and then turned to face Kal-El.

Lex's body was totally exposed now, his mouth swollen and red, his stomach muscles contracting as he took in deep breaths, his cock swelling and rising as Kal-El watched. Kal-El couldn't get enough of him.

He ran his hand down Lex's soft skin, caressing his body, lingering on the neck manacle, marking him as Kal-El's. Lex had his eyes shut, his teeth biting his lower lip. As Kal-El moved down his body, kissing him from his shoulders down to his navel, his eyes remained closed, flickering behind his lids.

"Lex," commanded Kal-El, needing him to look at him. As Lex slowly opened his eyes, Kal-El gripped his hips hard and in one rapid motion, took his whole cock in his mouth, deep-throating him.

When he had first done this with Lex, he had been curious and unsure about whether or not he would like the sensation. Now, he couldn't get enough; the smallest movement of his tongue caused Lex to moan and writhe under him. The taste of his come was something Kal-El craved, and he groaned as Lex came, shooting down his throat.

Kal-El pulled off with an obscene slurp, and looked at Lex, who was panting on the bed. Kal-El's cock was painfully hard, but the slave seemed oblivious, caught up in the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

That was the one fault in Lex. He wasn't trained as a pleasure slave - he was reluctant to initiate anything, and he acted as if he was doing Kal-El a favor when he did. And yet, it was the pleasure slaves' job to make sure that Kal-El was satisfied. Now, Kal-El was the one taking the initiative. But strangely, he found that he didn't mind so much, when before, he'd be kicking the slave out the door.

Kal-El crawled up the bed, and nudged his cock against Lex's side suggestively. Lex turned towards him, seemingly resigned, reaching a hand down, and taking a good grip of his cock. He worked it between his hand, stroking at a brisk pace, and bringing Kal-El closer to the edge than he had wanted. He attempted to pull away, and slow things down, but it felt so good, and he was soon moaning, his come splattering Lex's stomach. Lex wiped it on the sheet with hardly any emotion, and turned over, facing away from Kal-El.

Kal-El looked at the back of his head with a curious expression, clueless as to why the slave was acting so strangely. Lex had seemed touched when Kal-El had left him in the library the night before. Kal-El thought he had even been warming to him, finally forgetting the way they had met, and his subsequent subterfuge.

He rolled over on his back, and closed his eyes, content for now to let Lex remain at his side.

He had almost dozed off when there was a sudden movement. Kal-El opened his eyes, and looked down at his chest, astonished. The tip of a knife was just touching him, Lex above him, supporting himself with one arm, the other holding the knife. Kal-El caught Lex's wrist with a rapid motion, and Lex winced, looking at him with tortured eyes.

Kal-El knew that his eyes were flashing with fire, ready to be unleashed. He squeezed Lex's wrist a final time, the bones threatening to break and then, with a violent motion, flipped him over onto his back. He got on top of Lex and flung the knife away. It hit the wall, hard, with a thwack.

"What the fuck are you doing!"

Lex stared up at him coldly. "I saw the clippings in the library, Kal-El."

"So?" he spat.

"So you practically have a shrine. Every depraved act is framed and glorified. Those are clippings of human slaughter! How can you be proud of massacres?"

"Those are history. My history. I wanted a record of how I won the war. It has nothing to do with you."

Lex laughed, his features distorted with pain. "It has everything to do with me. You killed my father, you butchered innocent people, and I've been fucking you!"

"They deserved it! You don't know," Kal-El grated out, squeezing his legs around Lex's hips. "You can't possibly understand what I've been through."

"I understand that you're a killer!"

"Yes, I'm a killer. To win the war, to the put the humans in their place! I wanted to do something with the world. Make the world a better place. Humans are only capable of creating war after war. You talk about killing; well, that's what they were doing. The rich were doing nothing while people were dying from famine and war. Humans don't know how to look after themselves. I provide the structure and leadership to make the Earth a paradise."

Lex scoffed. "A paradise? It's just gotten worse since you came along!"

Kal-El said, his voice tight, "I'm still working on it."

"Working on it! You do nothing but build palaces and put innocent people in chains."

Kal-El grabbed Lex tightly by the wrist, and dragged him over to the other side of the room. "Enough of this. You will be punished, slave."

"That's right, kill me. Finally! You could have done it a lot earlier than this. Saved me from being fucked by a monster."

"I'm not going to kill you, Lex," Kal-El said sadly.

Kal-El lifted Lex's arms and attached them to the wall fastening. Lex was now facing him, arms stretched above his head, chest and groin exposed. This type of punishment was usually done with the slave facing the wall, but Kal-El had something special in mind.

He walked toward a cabinet and opened a drawer, taking out two whips; a large black one with leather tassels on the end, and another with tassels that had metal ball attachments. As he walked back towards Lex with the two whips in hand, Lex looked at them dubiously, and edged back against the wall.

The whip with the metal balls was dropped at Lex's feet, and Kal-El took the other, caressing Lex's skin with the tip of the leather straps. "Why did you use a knife, Lex? You had to know it wouldn't hurt me."

Lex turned his head to the side, his eyes closed. Kal-El gave him a gentle slap with the whip. "Why, Lex?"

At that, Lex looked at him. "How the fuck should I know? I think I'm going half insane! For some crazy reason I was thinking you would end it, when that's so beyond stupid. I could have just tried to es--" He cut himself off abruptly, a wary look coming into his eyes.

"You wanted me to kill you," Kal-El said, incredulous.

Lex avoided his eyes. "I suppose."

Kal-El ran the whip along Lex's neck, down to his collarbone, and then circled the edge of his nipples. "I don't believe you. You're too smart for that." He lifted the whip and let it fall in a stinging slap onto Lex's nipple, and then repeated the action on the other. Lex parted his lips, but refused to make any sound.

"Where did you get the knife?" Kal-El asked, and let a strike fall on Lex's upper chest, the whip leaving a red mark. Lex flinched, but remained silent. Another strike, an inch apart from the last. "Where?" Another strike, this time harder, on the side of his chest. Lex bit his lip. "Where?" Kal-El let fall a strike on his stomach, watching in fascination as the red mark appeared.

"Fuck!" Lex said, glaring at Kal-El.

He let another strike fall. "Where?"

Lex's stomach jumped, and he tried to get even closer to the wall, and away from Kal-El's reach.

A strike.

"Where?"

Another

"Where?"

One to his thighs.

"Where?"

One right above his navel.

"Where!"

"Someone gave it to me, you bastard," Lex finally grated out. Kal-El let the tip of the whip caress the red spots, in reward.

"Well, that's obvious, Lex. What I want to know is, who gave it to you?" Lex didn't answer. Kal-El ran the whip over his nipples again, pressing the blunt edge of the whip hard against them. "Who, Lex?"

Lex sighed, and said, "This is pointless. I'm never going to tell you -- you could do this for days and you'll never get anything out of me. You might as well just stop."

"We'll see about that." When Lex didn't add anything, Kal-El resumed his strikes, hitting Lex in succession on his chest and stomach. Lex flinched with each hit, and bit his lip harder, holding in his moans. "Tell me the name," Kal-El demanded.

Lex's hands clenched into fists, squeezing, white knuckles visible. He pulled against his restraints as Kal-El let the whip fall again, and he hit his head against the wall.

Kal-El let some of his strength into his strike. "Name!"

Lex clenched his teeth, glaring daggers at him.

"Name!"

"Fuck you."

"Not the right answer."

Kal-El continued the strikes, and minutes went by, Lex becoming even angrier with each hit.

Finally, Kal-El paused, and watched Lex as he took in great gulps of air. "You're never going to tell me?"

"No," Lex spat.

Kal-El sighed. "All right." He moved closer to Lex, laying his hand on the side of Lex's face. "You're really too smart for your own good," he breathed, and kissed him softly, but Lex's lips remained in a tight line.

Lex watched him warily. "Now let me go," he said.

Kal-El withdrew, and surveyed Lex. His chest was covered in red welts, his nipples swollen, but there was no blood, and hardly any bruising. Kal-El wasn't satisfied -- Lex needed to be remorseful at the very least and, begging Kal-El for forgiveness, at best.

Kal-El reached for the other whip, and Lex's eyes grew wide as he saw the metal balls -- an added addition. "I don't think so," said Kal-El. "You've hardly been punished at all."

Kal-El let his anger out as he whipped Lex and Lex moaned, in pain and pleasure, with each strike. The release of energy felt incredibly good, and Kal-El's cock was soon hardening.

The metal balls were making deep round welts in Lex's skin, and bruises were starting to appear. Kal-El moved the whip to Lex's upper thighs, striking gently, and working up, close to Lex's cock. Lex cringed and struggled to get away as the whip advanced upwards.

"You fucking bastard," he screamed, and tried to kick Kal-El with his feet. He was frantic, beyond rage, straining his wrists against the fastenings and trying his best to reach Kal-El.

Kal-El dropped the whip and clutched Lex in a bruising grip, forcing him to stop his struggles. He grabbed his chin with his hand, and murmured, "So I'm a bastard," and then pried Lex's thighs open, pressing up against him.

Lex hissed as Kal-El came in contact with the welts on his chest. But despite this, Kal-El felt a hardening against his body. The obvious sign of his arousal made Kal-El more benevolent, and he loosened his hold and kissed him on the side of the neck, making Lex take in little hitching breaths.

Lex gritted his teeth, trying to get away from Kal-El, and when Kal-El kissed him, he tried to bite him on the lip. But the bite wasn't painful and only felt like a slight pressure.

"Stop fighting me," Kal-El growled, and went back to Lex's mouth. There were no more bites.

He lifted Lex's legs up and wrapped them around his waist, forcing Lex to cling to him. Kal-El then pulled back and looked at him, waiting until Lex looked back, staring into his eyes. "You shouldn't have used the knife, Lex."

Lex's lip curled into a sneer. "No, I should have found something that could actually hurt you, and used it until you were writhing in pain."

"Lex," Kal-El drawled, "you really shouldn't have said that."

Kal-El reached down and held Lex's erect cock in his fist, pushing his body into the wall. Lex groaned, but still glared at him, struggling and pushing himself into Kal-El's fist at the same time.

"Apologize, Lex," Kal-El said, and rocked his cock against Lex's ass, thrusting slowly against his hot skin.

"Fucking delusional alien," Lex grunted, pushing himself against Kal-El's fist and straining at his manacles.

But Kal-El needed more of Lex, and this slow thrusting wasn't satisfying him. He pulled back, letting Lex's legs fall to the ground, and then reached for the fastenings, releasing the mechanism. Lex's arms fell down abruptly, and he groaned, wincing as he rubbed them.

Kal-El gave him no time to recover. He carried him over to the bed, laying him down on his back. He then got on top of Lex, lifted his legs, and spread the cheeks of his ass. Lex gasped as Kal-El's tongue ran over the sides of his hole.

He was soon moaning uncontrollably as Kal-El's tongue darted inside, opening him up. "Oh fuck, you bastard," he panted.

Kal-El pulled back, his eyes tinged with red. "No, I'm not."

Lex was frantic as Kal-El worked his tongue inside him. His legs were spread wide and his cock was erect, groaning at each thrust of tongue. But still, Kal-El could tell that he was struggling with himself, trying not to give into his desire, his fists clenched, his jaw tense.

Kal-El rubbed himself against the bed, Lex's helpless desire unbelievably hot. He left a wet spot, humping the mattress as his tongue delved inside Lex's ass. He reluctantly pulled away with a last lick, and Lex moaned in protest, and then bit the moan off with a hard bite to his lip. But Kal-El was only positioning his cock, and it was an easy glide inside.

Lex stiffened as he was filled, but was soon moving, meeting Kal-El's thrusts. Kal-El grabbed Lex's cock in one hand and stroked, and then reached up and ran his nails over the welts on his chest with the other. Lex shouted, the pain sending him over the edge. His cock jerked in Kal-El's hold, and semen splashed onto his chest and over Kal-El's hand.

Fuck, that was hot.

And Lex's body contracting underneath him was added sensation for Kal-El. He increased the pace of his thrusts, going as deep as he could. He slammed over and over into Lex's body, fucking him so deep that his balls smacked against Lex's ass. The sight of Lex, licking his lips and staring at Kal-El as he moved, made Kal-El give one more erratic movement, and then he groaned, so loud, that anyone out in the hallway could have heard, and he came.

Afterwards, Kal-El pulled Lex into an embrace, and nuzzled his ear. Lex was stiff and unbending in his hold. Kal-El whispered, "It was stupid to take the knife, Lex."

Lex was quiet -- he was obviously thinking hard, taking no notice as Kal-El caressed his arms and chest. Eventually, he said, "I still think you're a monster."

Kal-El tightened his grip, and Lex winced. "What do you expect? A bit of torture and sodomy is going to miraculously transform you into an angel?"

Kal-El abandoned Lex with an agitated motion, annoyed all over again. He went to the door and summoned Whitney, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.

Lex sat up in the bed, puzzled at first, but growing alarmed as he heard Kal-El's command. "What are you doing?"

Kal-El only threw a dark glance his way.

Whitney walked in, obviously puzzled. "Kal-El? You called?"

Kal-El walked over to the damaged wall, picked up the knife, and then handed it to the slave. "I want you to find out who owns this knife, or anyone that may have possessed it recently."

Whitney stared at it. "But, Kal-El, I already know."

"What?"

"As you instructed, I let the pleasure slaves have something to occupy themselves with, and that includes products such as this. I know the knife was an unusual request, but the slave said she wanted to practice her aim, making a game out of throwing it. I didn't think anything of it."

"And the slave?" Kal-El could see Lex sitting up on the end of the bed, a worried expression on his face.

"The slave's name is Jayanti, Kal-El."

Lex exhaled, and Kal-El smiled, satisfied. "Bring the slave here, Whitney."

With a confused look, Whitney nodded and left.

While they waited, Kal-El and Lex stared at each other; Kal-El with a smug expression, Lex with an extremely pissed-off look.

They both stared at the door.

The slave walked in with an arrogant stride, hair down, excessive makeup on, and diamonds on each breast. Kal-El wondered cynically when he had authorized the use of expensive jewels on trash.

When she saw Lex, she staggered, and lost some of her arrogance. She gaped, looking between Lex and Kal-El.

Kal-El surveyed her coldly. "You've been summoned for answers, slave. Why did you give Lex a knife?"

It appeared as if she was going to deny it. Kal-El took a menacing step toward her, and she backed up, fear on her face.

"He asked for it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lex getting out of the bed, pulling the sheet around his body.

"Tell the truth, slave."

She seemed to get her fear under control, tossed her hair and walked up to him, boldly, with a sway of her hips. "Fine. My lord, if you must have the truth -- I gave it to him. But it was for love of you!"

Dryly, "How so?"

"He does not love you! You lavish him with your attention and he privately spits in your face. I found him on the floor, agonizing over how he could enjoy sex with you!" She scoffed. "He's not worthy of you."

"And the knife?"

She raised beseeching eyes to his. "I thought that if he used it, you would see him for what he truly is. You were supposed to kill him!"

"Jayanti, you bitch," Lex said.

The woman turned on Lex in a fury. She shrieked, "You're a fool! You've been with him how many times? And you complain! I would trade places with you in a second."

She extended a hand to Kal-El in supplication. "My lord, I love you. Please take me instead."

In a flash, Kal-El had her by the throat, holding her in the air. She struggled to breathe in his hold, scrabbling at his hands, trying to pry his grip away. "You think I want you? You? A human," he sneered. "You think I would ever replace Lex with you?" Using the grip on her throat as leverage, he pushed her back until her body impacted against the wall, with a smack. "You're nothing like Lex, human." She was choking, her eyes rolling up in her head. "You're the fool."

But Lex was suddenly at his side, gripping Kal-El's arm and trying to pull him off. "Kal-El, stop."

Kal-El was incredulous. "You want me to spare her life?"

"Yes."

"She wanted you dead!"

"She was misguided. Please, Kal-El. I can't have her death on my conscience."

"It won't be." Kal-El squeezed. He growled, "It will be on mine."

Lex's hand suddenly became caressing. He breathed in Kal-El's ear, "Please, I'll do anything."

Kal-El paused, the woman forgotten. "Anything?"

Lex said softly, his voice resigned, "Yes."

Kal-El let the human drop.

"Then I am no longer a monster, Lex."

Part V: The Happy Couple

Lex spent the night with Kal-El, being alternately snuggled by the alien and bashed by flailing limbs. When morning came, Kal-El left with a lingering kiss, leaving him alone in the bedchamber.

Lex took advantage of his solitude, and had a truly luxurious shower in the Overlord's bathroom. He dried himself with one of the fluffy towels and then went back into the bedchamber, donning the loincloth Jayanti had chosen the night before. It had a loop in the back that had allowed the knife to be attached, while being half-camouflaged with the flimsy fabric. It had worked well; Kal-El hadn't noticed a thing.

A knife -- what had he been thinking? After struggling through slavery, surviving Sanchez, and tolerating the harem -- he had wanted to end it all because the alien had taken advantage of him? Why hadn't he tried to make a run for it?

Deep down, he knew that he'd never believed Kal-El would kill him.

He truly was fucked up.

He eventually forced himself to get up and return to the harem, but the door wouldn't budge. Lex had been locked in yet again, this time by the alien.

He banged against the door a few times, kicking it for good measure, but either no one heard, or they ignored him. Finally, he walked back to the bed and sat down, frustrated. He was soon bored, and he gazed about the room distractedly, noting the hedonistic and superfluous furnishings. His gaze was drawn then to a stack of papers lying abandoned on an armchair.

It was an up-to-date report on the rebellions throughout North America, and the official responses that were being taken to control them. Lex frantically flipped to the section on Metropolis, feeling a rush as he read the information. He noted with satisfaction that the East Metropolis rebellion was still thriving. There were notes in the margins, someone writing in elegant handwriting that the dignitary from Metropolis, Sanchez, had requested personal involvement from the Overlord. Lex looked at that, puzzled. Wasn't the Overlord personally involved from the beginning? Sanchez had visited Lex on the pretext that the Overlord had been concerned about LexCorp's participation in the Metropolis rebellion -- he had to know about the LexCorp seizure.

He flipped through the book, absorbing all that he could. There were some notes in the back describing the recent increase in uprisings in the lower states, and there was a politely worded, somewhat frantic request for the Overlord to become involved. Obviously, the dignitaries were desperate. The Overlord was neglecting his responsibilities. A competent ruler would have been aware of the problems and long since corrected them.

Lex heard the key in the lock and hastily got up from the chair, leaving the papers behind and facing the door. Kal-El was carrying a tray and a stack of clothes, and was having trouble maneuvering the items around the door. He kicked it shut, and then set the tray down on the table and threw the clothes in a clump on the bed.

"I brought food for you. Hopefully you'll be hungrier than you were before."

But Kal-El clearly wasn't interested in feeding him, and he watched Lex eat with obvious impatience, tapping his fingers on the table and fidgeting in his chair. Lex finally lowered his fork in exasperation, if not fullness, and pushed the plate forward.

"Good," said Kal-El. "I have something special planned for today, now that I know you'll be on your best behavior." He smiled. "No more arguing."

Lex got up from the table and drawled, "I said I wasn't going to treat you like a monster. I never said anything about curbing my tongue."

"I think that was implied."

"No, it wasn't. If you had wanted it that way, you should have specified. If you're looking for someone that will cling meekly by your side, agreeing with every word out of your mouth, you're better off with Jayanti."

Kal-El scowled. "You do like to get your own way."

Lex grinned. "That, I do admit."

Kal-El froze, gazing at Lex, seemingly captivated. He said softly, "I like you better when you're happy, Lex."

Lex sobered. "I'm not happy."

"No? Well, the illusion is nice, then." He looked away. Lex pretended that he wasn't noticing how beautiful Kal-El was in profile, abashed, and against all odds, caring about what Lex said.

Kal-El pointed to the clothes on the bed. "I brought these for you." It was a sweater, pants, and a long jacket, all very fine quality and in Lex's size.

"These?"

"I want to take you riding again. I know you get cold; you'll be more comfortable in these." When Lex remained unmoving, he said, "Put them on."

Lex reluctantly did as Kal-El asked. He had no underwear, and the pants were a bit snug, but the sweater and jacket fit like they had been tailored for his body. But after months of going without, they still felt strange. He was also a bit sore, the whipping from the night before not completely healed. Lex shrugged his shoulders and stretched, trying to get accustomed to them.

Kal-El assessed him. "You look different with clothes. I must say that I prefer you without, but for today this will do." He walked up to Lex and ran his hands down the sweater, and then tugged the collar so his neck manacle was clearly exposed. Kissing the manacle, he breathed, "I'll enjoy taking them off." He raised clear, deep eyes to Lex's, and then withdrew. "You forgot something." He pushed the shoes on the floor toward Lex with his foot.

Lex put them on, wincing slightly as his feet, sore and raw, came in contact with the hard leather.

After Lex had walked around the room a few times, testing out the shoes, Kal-El took his hand and tenderly urged him out of the room. Lex followed him silently, shocked at his gentle behavior. The alien walked slowly, at a leisurely pace, and Lex had no problem keeping up with him.

As they passed the open doorways, slaves and dignitaries would look up, and gape at the sight of the Overlord walking hand in hand with a slave.

They walked through the palace, Lex's hand clasped in Kal-El's warm hold. They exited from a huge entranceway, and arrived at the front of the palace. The weather had improved since Lex was last outside, and there was only a slight chill as they headed towards the stables.

A stable boy greeted them, bowing with his eyes down, his hands clutched together nervously. He addressed the Overlord as "my lord," and his voice trembled as he asked how he could be of service. With chagrin, Lex finally understood why Kal-El had said the slaves here were 'formal.'

Hephaistion was brought out, along with the brown gelding Lex had ridden before. They mounted; Lex making sure that he got on before Kal-El could lift him up, and secretly amused when the Overlord aborted his movement to help as Lex put his foot in the stirrup and rose into the saddle.

Lex was the first one out of the stable, and he smiled as Kal-El shouted for Hephaistion to catch up. They were soon even with each other, and they rode down the trail at a steady pace.

Kal-El said, "I enquired about you after our little talk, Lex."

"Oh?"

"Alexander Luthor, son of Lionel Luthor, a wealthy businessman in Metropolis, now deceased. You blame me for his death?"

Lex hesitated.

"Go ahead. Tell me the truth."

Lex felt his mouth tightening in anger. "Then yes, I do blame you. You killed him."

"I don't remember that. I do remember him, though. He led one of the most persistent and excessively annoying rebellions during the War. If I'm to blame for his death, he's to blame for his actions. Resisting your true ruler is never a smart move."

"You call trying to resist an alien invader intent on conquering the world stupid?" Lex asked incredulously. "He was trying to save humanity. While I've never been my father's greatest fan, I can't fault him for that."

Kal-El leaned towards him, his saddle creaking with his movements. "You should have learned from his death, Lex. From what I understand, you were brought here because of your own support of the rebellion in Metropolis."

Lex glared at him, outraged. "I wasn't supporting the rebellion! I refused to stop supply to women and children. If you call that criminal, then you really are insane. Most of the 'criminals' here..." he trailed off, unwilling to go further.

Kal-El gripped his reins tightly and spoke in a tense voice, "Well, go on; don't stop there."

"No, I won't violate our agreement. I can't talk about this and keep my promise."

"Tell me what you think happened, Lex," Kal-El said quietly after a moment.

Lex held the reins, controlling his horse with motions that were almost second nature. He didn't speak for the longest time, afraid that finally talking about that fateful day in his office would ruin his composure. Finally, he began, "Before the war, my life was meaningless. My father never trusted me with his business, and I never took an interest in where my money came from. For the longest time, my days and nights were one big party, traveling to clubs, getting drunk and high. I lived off my father's money; I never had anything of my own.

"After the war, most of the LuthorCorp assets were worthless, and our property destroyed. With the death of my father, the little that was left should have gone to me. But your dignitary took everything in a 'seizure.''

Kal-El interrupted. "Which was rightfully his when your father participated in rebellious activities."

Lex glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Granted, I can see that side of it. Senator William Learned Marcy first said, 'that to the victor belong the spoils of the enemy.' " You were the victor, and the Luthors were the enemy. But I was poor after the war, destitute, and it's hard for me to see it that way.

"After losing everything, I still had the desire to prove to my dead father that I could be successful. On a hunch, I made a deal with local farmers, setting up exclusive rights to their food produce. From there, I managed to create my own company, taking advantage of the need for foodstuffs. Within a year, my company was successful, and our profits were no longer in the hundreds, but the millions.

"When the rebellion in East Metropolis broke out, I was working on expanding into the North American markets. I was focused on business, and didn't pay attention to the rebellions in the area. There was some form of resistance cropping up every day; there didn't seem to be anything significant about this one. But when I received warning that you weren't happy with LexCorp's supply to the area, I reassessed the problem. There were thousands of people in East Metropolis that depended upon LexCorp foodstuffs to survive. Most of these people had nothing to do with the rebellions; they were only trying to get by, making a living for their children, and putting food on their tables.

"So when Iago Sanchez came to my office demanding, in your name, that I stop supply to the area, I respectfully refused. I wasn't trying to be defiant, I wasn't trying to support the rebellion; I just wanted to make sure that people wouldn't starve.

"And for that, I was enslaved." His voice was bitter, "You tell me if that's fair."

Kal-El shifted in his saddle, fiddling with his reins. He said defensively, "You should have obeyed the command; it was in my name. And I haven't heard the dignitary's side of it; until I do, I'll always favor my own household. You're only a slave, after all. I can't trust what you say--"

Lex kicked his horse hard and it broke into a gallop, leaving Hephaistion and the Overlord behind.

Lex was beyond fury. Having been led to believe Kal-El was interested in hearing his side of it, and for once doubting the Overlord's culpability in his enslavement, the casual disregard of his story had been a slap in the face. He didn't care what he had promised. Kal-El was a monster.

He passed trees and melting snow in a daze, paying little attention to his surroundings. The pounding of hooves behind him, which seemed to accompany the pounding of his heart, shortly broke into his rage, and Lex glanced behind him. Kal-El was closing the distance between them, urging Hephaistion into a breakneck pace, the horse wheezing and snorting underneath him. Lex urged his horse faster, but it hardly had a chance -- Hephaistion was vastly superior.

"Rein in!" Kal-El shouted over the wind, bringing the horses parallel to each other.

Lex ignored him, his head close to his horse's neck, urging him on as fast as the poor animal could go.

"Lex! End this now!"

When Lex still didn't respond, Kal-El reached across the short distance between their horses and grabbed his reins. His horse screamed as it was tugged in two directions. Kal-El slowed Hephaistion and Lex's horse was forced to match his pace, until finally, they came to a stop.

Lex refused to look at the Overlord.

"I apologize," said Kal-El.

Lex's head shot up, alternating between amazement and disbelief.

"I'll look into your story, Lex. If what you say is true, you had a legitimate reason for refusing my order."

Despite himself, Lex was relaxing; his grip on the reins loosening, and his anger and tension fading. He watched Kal-El dismount and lead both their horses to a nearby tree. He tied them to a branch, and then reached for Lex, grabbing him by the waist and lowering him, Lex's body brushing against Kal-El's chest as he slid to the ground.

They looked at each other silently. Finally, Kal-El touched the side of Lex's mouth affectionately, and kissed him in apology. "Would you like to try something interesting?" he murmured.

"What do you mean?" Lex asked.

"Hold on."

"What--"

Lex shrieked, holding on for dear life as Kal-El lifted them both into the air, the ground rapidly descending underneath them. Kal-El had his arms around Lex's waist, but Lex felt like he could drop to the ground at any moment. He gripped Kal-El frantically, Kal-El's clothes seeming slippery in Lex's grip, scrambling to get a good hold of his sweater.

"Stop struggling," said Kal-El, amused. He grabbed Lex's legs, urging him to wrap them around Kal-El's hips. "I won't drop you."

"You're crazy! Fuck!" Lex shouted, as Kal-El took a rapid leap upwards, and then looped around, twirling in the air.

The forest was passing beneath them, the trees looking tiny and unreal on the ground. The wind was cold on his face, and his eyes were soon watering. But Kal-El seemed energized in the air, and his body was warm. Lex tried to get as close as he could, half hiding the side of his face in the Overlord's neck.

"There's the palace," Kal-El murmured into his ear. The building, colossal from the ground, looked inconsequential and humble from up here. He could see tiny figures moving outside, slaves moving from place to place.

They circled around the palace, and then continued, going above the opposite side of the forest. Lex hadn't been in this area before; it was more rugged, with no trails, or structures, or evidence of human passage at all. Finally, Kal-El turned, and the palace slowly came back into view. "I would have liked to take you beyond the palace," said Kal-El wistfully.

"Why...." Lex belatedly remembered the foreman saying that the poisoned needles in their neck manacles would be activated if they traveled beyond the forest boundaries. They flew above the forest once again, flying over the trail and following it until they reached their horses.

Kal-El descended slowly, the wind stirring around them. He landed softly, almost as if his feet were on a cushion of clouds. Lex looked down in fear, but it was solid ground. He unwrapped his legs from Kal-El's waist, and put them down one by one, standing up dizzily.

He backed away from the Overlord, and watched Kal-El as stood there, grinning at Lex.

"What, exactly, was that?" Lex asked, enunciating clearly and slowly.

"I thought you'd like it."

Lex mulishly crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I might have, but perhaps you could have told me what you were intending before lifting me up in the air?"

In honeyed tones, "I couldn't do that, Lex. It wouldn't be any fun."

Lex scowled.

"You forgive me now? I don't take just anyone flying, you know." He seemed like a boy, eager for his parent's approval. Lex looked away, hiding his smile. He pretended to study the sleeve of his sweater, but secretly gazed at him from the corner of his eye.

"Okay," Kal-El sighed, "I'll let you know before taking you flying again."

Lex was silent.

"And I'll talk to the dignitary."

Lex continued to stare at his sleeve, seemingly absorbed.

"And I'll give you more clothes?"

Lex laughed. He looked up at Kal-El, and smiled. "Clothes would be nice."

Kal-El returned his smile, his dimples flashing. He took Lex's hand, caressing his palm with his thumb. They kissed, tongues caressing. They finally broke apart as Hephaistion stamped the ground, neighing. "Let's go home, Lex," Kal-El breathed.

They returned to their horses and mounted, leading them back down the trail. The ride was slightly sobering to Lex, and his smile faded, his earlier worries returning.

"You know what would be better than clothes?"

Kal-El looked at him in inquiry.

"If you'd listen to some criticism."

He frowned.

"Constructive criticism," Lex prodded.

"Very well, what is it?"

Lex said, delicately, "I understand your need for slaves, and your use for them. Taking criminals is fair, and there are some here, but I have to ask: why children? What could they possibly do to deserve to be here?"

Kal-El wasn't looking at him, and his face was grim.

"Were you never a child, Kal-El? Human children are vulnerable. They need mothers, a support system, some kind of care, or they'll grow up to be the criminals you thought you'd enslaved in the first place."

"I don't pick the slaves. The dignitaries choose to send the children. Besides, what do you mean the criminals I thought I enslaved? They're all criminals," Kal-El said, his voice tense.

"Am I a criminal? Most of the slaves here are innocent, Kal-El. Your dignitaries have a way of bending the truth -- they enslave people with wealth, and they use that wealth to benefit them personally and financially."

A muscle in Kal-El's jaw twitched.

"You don't like to hear this, but it's the truth. Open your eyes; take an interest in what's happening around you. You'll be surprised. But the children, the child slaves: they're inexcusable."

"What would you like me to do?"

"You have the final word on everything. You could tell your dignitaries not to send children, and return the younger slaves to their families."

Kal-El sighed. "This is important to you?"

"Yes."

For a minute, the only sound was the hooves of the horses, plodding steadily down the trail.

Then, "They will be returned to their homes."

Kal-El urged his horse into a faster pace, and Lex followed with a lightness in his heart.

When they returned to the stables, Kal-El was remarkably courteous to the slaves, asking them gently to take the horses and thanking them when they did. They walked back to the bedchamber with their hands clasped together once again.

As they entered the bedchamber, Kal-El kicked the door shut and advanced on Lex. He kissed him with a desperate air, working at opening Lex's pants. He was fumbling the buttons, and seemed to find it hard to concentrate on kissing and removing clothes at the same time. Lex nibbled on the bottom of Kal-El's lip, then pushed Kal-El's clumsy hands from his clothes and took them off himself. Kal-El took a step back and watched as Lex's skin was exposed.

When Lex was naked, Kal-El tore his own clothes off and attached himself to Lex's body.

They kissed, and Lex pushed his cock against Kal-El's, rubbing himself to hardness. Kal-El was already hard, and he frantically tried to touch every part of Lex's body

Kal-El breathed, "Lex, I need you," and moaned as he rubbed against Lex. Lex gradually began urging Kal-El towards the bed with his body. When the back of Kal-El's thighs hit the edge of the mattress, Lex pushed, and Kal-El fell on his back, and Lex climbed on top of him.

Lex braced himself on his arms on the bed, watching Kal-El, who was desperate, his hair wild and spread out on the bedspread behind him, his face flushed, his mouth open, ready for Lex's cock.

Kal-El was addictive; his body that of a god, and Lex wanted --

"Fuck," he whimpered, as Kal-El took Lex's nipple into his mouth, and sucked. Lex's thoughts were mush.

Lex, panting, traced Kal-El's lip with the tip of his finger and then kissed him, sucking his lip. Then he wiggled, forcing Kal-El to release his nipple. Kal-El did so, but not without a whine of protest.

Lex went down, mouthing Kal-El's chin and neck. He tongued his Adam's apple as Kal-El swallowed, and then sucked it into his mouth, bringing the blood up to the skin. Then with a light kiss to the spot, continued down, licking his golden brown skin, tracing his collarbones, and then going down to his nipples. Lex sucked each one hard, returning the favor, and Kal-El moaned as Lex touched them lightly with his teeth. He seemed to like that, so Lex did it harder, working the nub, alternating between sucking and biting.

Kal-El said raggedly, "Fuck, you're killing me."

Lex raised his head, and looked up, meeting his gaze. "But you like it." He went back to Kal-El's body, moving down his chest, running his nails in a line down Kal-El's sides. Kal-El quivered, and wiggled under Lex, making Lex sit back, his ass over Kal-El's hips. As he sat down, he could feel Kal-El's cock pressing against him, so he moved back, pushing it against the cheeks of his ass, just to hear Kal-El moan.

Kal-El grabbed Lex's hips and tried to move him against his cock, but Lex had none of it, and rose up on his knees, away from him. He returned to Kal-El's chest, mouthing and tracing the muscles as they contracted with his every deep breath. He went down, and then paused, breathing on the base of Kal-El's cock.

Kal-El was motionless under him, waiting in anticipation, his cock twitching with Lex's every warm breath. Lex looked up at Kal-El's face as he lowered his head, and ran his tongue in a stripe down his cock, tracing the big vein, and then circling the head. Kal-El was moaning, gripping the bed sheets in his hands, his legs parting, his knees open to allow Lex better access.

"Oh fuck," he was moaning, "fuck, you're made for this." Lex grinned around his cock, and then went back to the head, running his tongue under the foreskin, and then pressing against the slit. He gripped the base with one hand, and took the whole thing in his mouth. Kal-El started babbling above him; the bed sheets ripping as he tore through them, his hands grabbing the bare mattress.

Lex went up and down on Kal-El rapidly, and then ran a hand between Kal-El's cheeks, looking for his hole. He put in one finger, his mouth working Kal-El all the while. Lex felt the build-up in Kal-El's cock, the mattress ripping, foam shredding. Kal-El moaned like he was dying, and there was a rush of come down Lex's throat. Lex swallowed, and then pulled away with a lingering lick to the head of Kal-El's cock.

Kal-El was breathing heavily, his eyes closed and his hair in messy tangles around his head.

Lex rolled over on his back, and laid beside him, his arms and legs in a loose sprawl. He was desperately aroused, and Kal-El was still in his own post-orgasmic haze, so Lex reached down to take care of the problem himself.

He licked both his hands, and then reached for his cock, biting his lip to keep silent as he gripped it. Lex was absorbed as he stroked, and he spread his legs, so he was totally exposed. It felt inordinately good, and he got a secret thrill that Kal-El was lying unknowingly beside him.

Lex's eyes were closed, so it was a surprise when he opened them to see Kal-El looming above him. Lex paused for a second, and then resumed, his eyes issuing a challenge. He now put on a show for Kal-El, spreading his cheeks with one hand, and teasing his hole. He worked in a finger, thrusting in and out, fucking himself. His ass was off the bed, his hips moving, stroking his cock in time with his finger.

Lex moaned as his finger hit his prostate, his cock leaking pre-come. He watched Kal-El, who was engrossed, an enraptured expression on his face. Kal-El's lips were parted, and he was breathing heavily, little warm puffs of air hitting Lex's ear. Lex closed his eyes, overcome with the sight, in a world of sensation as he worked himself to orgasm.

"Lex, look at me," Kal-El commanded, and Lex was forced to open his eyes.

"Oh fuck," Lex groaned, his hand working faster, his finger going even deeper. He came with a shout, screaming, "Clark," his come hitting Kal-El's stomach.

With a lingering caress, Lex released his cock, and collapsed, his arm above his head, his other resting on his stomach limply. Kal-El seemed stunned by his side, staring at him. "Fuck, that was hot," he breathed, kissing Lex and sucking his tongue lazily. Lex returned the kiss weakly, extremely drained.

But Kal-El wasn't done; he was once again aroused, the sight of Lex masturbating seemingly powerfully hot. Lex was totally unprepared when Kal-El's cock slid into his ass with one smooth stroke. He moaned in pain; Kal-El had applied some lubricant from somewhere, but one finger was in no way prepared, and his hole was still tight. But Kal-El had learned from his first time with Lex and he paused, letting Lex adjust. After a moment, he moved slowly, and then went deeper, hitting just right, and it felt like heaven.

Lex moaned with each thrust, this time in pleasure, his cock rapidly hardening. The force of Kal-El's strokes were moving Lex up the bed, and Kal-El grabbed the headboard, and using it as leverage to get deeper inside of Lex, fucked him with almost-savage strokes. He grabbed Lex's cock with one hand, and the sensation was overwhelming.

"You made me so hot," Kal-El moaned. "Fuck, you're hot. Lex, Lex, oh God." His thrusts were getting erratic, sweat appearing on his chest and forehead, muscles contracting. Lex's cock was abandoned with a frantic movement, and then Kal-El seemed to almost bend Lex in half, lifting Lex's legs up to his chest, and thrusting even deeper than before. Two more deep thrusts, and he came, the headboard crashing against the wall with a crack, little bits of plaster falling on top of them. Lex laughed weakly, but he was more concerned with his own arousal.

He gripped himself, taking up where Kal-El had left off. He was almost there when Kal-El raised his head, and noticed what he was doing. He slapped Lex's hand away, and took Lex's cock in his own grip. With a few strokes of his hand, Lex was coming with a deep and guttural moan.

They collapsed in a sweaty heap and clung to each other, Kal-El lying at his back, his arm over Lex's chest.

Idly, Kal-El said, "You called me Clark."

Lex paused for a moment before replying, uneasily, "Sorry. It won't happen again."

Kal-El embraced him awkwardly, squeezing him gently. "I don't mind. It really was my name once. If you want to use it when we're in private, you can."

Lex was silent. Finally, he said, "I don't know. It feels strange." He added, dryly, "I wasn't exactly aware of what I was saying."

Kal-El stiffened slightly. "Fine."

After a moment of consideration, Lex suggested tentatively, "I could call you Kal."

Kal-El didn't respond, and Lex thought he wasn't going to say anything at all, but then he replied softly, "I'd like that, Lex."

"Okay." He said warmly, "Kal."

Kal-El ran his hands down Lex's chest lingeringly, and looked at his skin more closely. He said with confusion, "There are no marks. I could have sworn... I wasn't gentle yesterday, Lex."

Lex turned his face into the mattress, sighing. "I know."

Lex could see no way around it. "There were marks; they're just not there anymore. I'm not like other people, Kal."

"How so?" Kal-El asked gently.

"I heal quickly." He paused. "I heal very quickly. If I get a cut today, it will be gone by tomorrow. And I don't get sick."

Kal-El was motionless beside him. "But you're human."

Lex half-laughed and said, his voice muffled and his face once again pressed into the mattress, "I'm afraid so. A human freak." He turned his head, looking at Kal-El from the corner of his eye. He tried to say it as if it didn't matter, but he was afraid his voice was full of emotion, "It's all tied up to why I have no hair. I was injured in a meteor strike. It changed me. Everyone thought I was crazy when I woke up in the hospital, telling of fire falling from the sky. No one had seen the meteor but me, and yet there's no other explanation for why my body reacts this way."

Kal-El's voice seemed unsteady. "A meteor?"

"Yes, it's strange. They never found anything, and for a while I believed the doctors, thinking I had made it all up; but I'm sure of it now."

"When did it happen?"

Lex looked at him curiously. "In 1989, in Smallville."

"Smallville?"

"It's a tiny backwater town outside of Metropolis. Full of corn farms and not much else. It was luck that I was there; unfortunate at the time, but I've come to value what the meteor did to my body. It's come in handy and probably saved my life, many times."

Kal-El said, seemingly at random, "Corn has green stalks, doesn't it?"

Lex turned his head, totally thrown by the question. "Yes, it grows in stalks. Why?"

"No reason," Kal-El said vaguely, disentangling himself from Lex and getting up from the bed. Lex watched him as he put on some discarded clothes and moved to the door, silent.

"Kal?"

There was no answer. The Overlord was gone.

Kal-El was crouched on top of the roof of the palace, the wind blowing his hair into his face, and the tails of his jacket blowing against his thighs. It was cold up that high, and there was a spattering of rain, making everything damp and forbidding. But the cold was irrelevant, and hardly affected him.

Lex had been in Smallville. Lex had been in Smallville the day a meteor hit. The day Kal-El had hit the Earth.

It had to be Smallville. There couldn't be anywhere else where a meteor fell in 1989. There couldn't be anywhere else that had a meteor strike, and yet have no evidence of that strike. The corn, the time: everything fit.

If it were true -- if Smallville had been the place he landed -- then Lex had been fated to be there that day. A human fit for an Overlord, genetically altered by Kal-El's arrival. He imagined they might have met on that fateful day if the humans hadn't come, seizing him and turning his life into a living hell.

For the first time in years, Kal-El thought of Martha. As a child, he had immediately connected with her. For the longest time he had believed that she was actually alive, and that the researchers were hiding her. It had seemed impossible that humans were that fragile. He had been devastated when Dr. Garner had told him, in very creative terms, that she was dead. Her memory had been used against him for years, and it was only as he learned to repress her smile, her warmth, that it became a useless tool for the researchers.

But now, he had a lead. Smallville. In a small town of farmers, there had to be a record of Martha, a woman with bright hair and a loving smile.

Kal-El took to the air at speeds too fast to see, heading in the direction of lost memories.

Lex spent the night in the Overlord's bedchamber, waking numerous times throughout the night thinking he had returned, but the bed had remained empty.

In the morning, he used Kal-El's shower, and dressed in the discarded clothes from yesterday. He tried the door, expecting it to be locked, and wasn't disappointed.

Lex was looking at the dignitary's report when he heard the door lock click open.

But it wasn't Kal-El. It was Whitney, carrying a tray of food. He set it down on the table and removed the cover, which allowed steam and a delicious smell to waft over to Lex. Whitney was headed back towards the door, seemingly preoccupied.

"Whitney, wait."

He paused reluctantly. "What is it?"

"I'm assuming I'm supposed to wait here. When should I expect the Overlord?"

Whitney frowned. "I don't know. I wasn't about to ask him when he was in a mood. After all, I'm but a slave, and it's not my business. But I can tell you that he's away, and he'll probably not be returning for a while." He studied Lex, scratching his neck right above his manacle. "And that reminds me -- he told me to tell you that you're not staying in the harem anymore."

Whitney casually strolled over to the bed, looking down at the messy sheets with a smirk. "You're to stay here. The bedchamber will be unlocked, and you'll have free reign of the palace, within limits, during the day. He said that he'd like you to use the library.

"But, if I were you, I'd stay close to the bedchamber. The other slaves and dignitaries haven't really been informed of your, um, changed status." He quirked an eyebrow, and turned, walking towards the door.

"Hang on a minute. Why doesn't he want me back in the harem?"

Whitney shrugged. "Beats me. The Overlord knows his reasons; I can't tell you what goes on in his mind. Now, if you'll excuse me," in a snide undertone, "your friggin' highness-- some people still have things to do today."

A week passed, and Kal-El didn't return. Whenever someone entered the bedchamber, Lex would look up, anticipating the Overlord, but always finding Whitney.

Despite himself, Lex admitted that he wouldn't mind Kal-El's return. His life at the palace before Kal-El had been remarkably dull and hard. With Kal-El, he was able to forget that he was a slave and just feel.

Lex did use the library, making sure that he avoided the room with Kal-El's 'display.' He avidly read the books on ancient history, always careful when handling the rare editions. There were no restrictions on the number he could take back to the bedchamber, and that meant that he was often camped out on the Overlord's bed, books surrounding him. Kal-El wasn't there. He couldn't complain.

Lex had considered going riding, but decided against it. Whitney had told Lex that he had free rein in the palace, but he'd never said anything about the palace grounds. And Lex had to acknowledge the danger of the poison in his neck manacle. He didn't have Kal-El here to guide him around the boundaries of the forest.

Kal-El had only given him one set of clothes, and after wearing them for a week, Lex was soon grimacing at their odour. It was with a rebellious feeling, half expecting Kal-El to enter and reprimand him, that he turned to the Overlord's closet.

He had a huge wardrobe, clothes in every type of fabric and style. Lex took a purple silk shirt and a pair of black pants. They were way too big, the shirt huge and baggy on him, sleeves falling down over his hands, while the pants practically wanted to fall off.

Lex pushed the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows and used a belt to keep the pants on. He felt more comfortable walking around the palace in Kal-El's loose-fitting clothes than he did with just a loincloth. If he was clothed, the other slaves tended to dismiss him as a noble, and they kept well away from him.

When Whitney first saw him wearing the Overlord's clothes, he shot Lex a slightly derisive look, but didn't say anything. Lex took that as permission, and soon began exploring different areas of the palace.

He catalogued everything in his mind -- lounges with appetizers, a huge empty ballroom the size of a basketball field, an intimate formal dining room with a table that would accommodate ten at the most -- he took in anything that might help him escape. He even found a hallway that led downstairs, but nothing he saw resembled the room with the spaceship that Patrick had described.

He was on his way back to Kal-El's bedchamber when he noticed Sanchez walking briskly towards him, two huge slaves following closely at his heels. It seemed as if he was going to pass Lex, but then he did a double take and abruptly stopped so quickly that the slaves almost slammed into him from behind.

"Well, look who we've got here," he drawled. "It's my long-lost slave."

Lex put his hands behind his back and stood straight, trying to appear calm and indifferent. "Sanchez," he said, dismissing him with a nod of his head. He tried to pass, but Sanchez and the two slaves acted as an unmovable barrier.

Sanchez looked him up and down with obvious disdain. "You're a real piece of work, Luthor. Clothes on a slave? You must be a great piece of ass."

The only response from Lex was a slight tightening of his lips.

Sanchez had his hands on his hips, his big gut protruding out of his open suit jacket as he breathed heavily in agitation. "I know what you've been doing, Luthor. Do you think I'm stupid? Ever since you got here, you've been trying to screw up my relationship with the Overlord. Contracts going to other people, people turning their noses up at me, and now I've got the Overlord questioning my seizure of LuthorCorp.

"A slave, and you're still trying to have things your way. You're not going to win. You're outclassed, and you've outsmarted even yourself. The Overlord's going to get tired of you, just like he has with all of his pleasure slaves." His hot breath hit Lex's face as he leaned forward. "Do you know what happens to the ones he discards? If he decides to put you back in the harem, you'll spend the rest of your days the plaything for desperate women. And if he decides to get rid of you -- this I like most of all -- you'll go to the streets, selling your ass." He leered. "I bet you'd love that."

Lex grimaced. "Fuck off, Sanchez. You can't push me around anymore. Let me pass." Lex walked forward, trying to make a space between their bodies.

But Sanchez put his hand on Lex's chest, holding him back, his hand in a claw, fingernails digging into Lex's skin through the shirt. Lex looked down in contempt. "Remove your hand," he hissed.

"I don't think so, Luthor. Hands on the wall."

"What?" Lex said, incredulous. "I'm a pleasure slave now, Sanchez. You can't touch me."

"No? That's what you think. You're still a slave." He motioned to the two slaves by his side. They looked at each other dubiously, but moved towards Lex, each seizing an arm. Lex tried to rip his arms out of their grip, but it was impossible, his efforts as futile as they had been in the past. His wrist manacles were soon attached to a fastening on the wall above his head, his back to the slaves.

Lex couldn't help pulling against the fastenings, clenching his muscles in a wasted effort to get free. "I'd think twice about this, Sanchez. The Overlord won't like it if you hurt me."

"Really. How will he even know? It looks like he's already tired of you. He's been gone for over a week already, hasn't he?" Sanchez asked mildly.

"He'll know," Lex ground out, "if I tell him."

"And why would you do that? Everyone knows the Overlord is remarkably fussy with his pleasure slaves. He doesn't like anyone touching them. If you tell him what I did, he'd more likely get rid of you than punish me.

"Hmm, you know, Luthor, I was remiss and forgot to bring along a whip. After all, who'd expect a pleasure slave to be roaming down the hallway? But I see you were considerate, wearing a belt. It will do nicely."

Lex felt something sharp jab into his back, and then a stinging, followed by the sound of fabric tearing.

Sanchez was running a knife down Kal-El's shirt, splitting it, and letting the pieces fall to the side, exposing Lex's back. He reached in front of Lex and undid his belt buckle, and Lex squirmed to get away from the clinging embrace. The belt was pulled out of the loops with a swish, and with nothing to hold them up, his pants fell down. Lex shuddered. He hadn't been wearing underwear.

Sanchez laughed. "Now that's priceless. Too bad I'm not attracted to your ass, Luthor. But only freaks are interested in the Overlord's leavings."

Lex turned his head, straining to see what he was doing. Sanchez had the belt folded in half, and he was hitting the ends of it lightly against his palm as he stared at Lex's back.

His first strike cracked loudly when it hit, shocking Lex. It was much more painful than the usual whip. And no wonder. The fucker was using the metal buckle.

Lex lowered his head, resting it against the wall, and spread his legs to support himself so he could keep relatively motionless as the strikes fell.

The whipping was a shock, but not just because of the pain. Once Lex had been made a pleasure slave, spending his nights with Kal-El, he had assumed facing the indignity of a beating by this loathsome man would never happen again.

Lex bit his lip, keeping his moans of humiliation and pain silent, and waited for the lashing to end. Finally, Sanchez was panting behind him, and the strikes paused. He rested his hand on Lex's sore back, and Lex flinched and moved his body forward, trying to avoid the contact.

Sanchez said, wheezing, "I'm never satisfied when I do this to you. You never make a sound." He touched the belt lightly to Lex's back. "Maybe being whipped by slaves with a little more strength in their arms will make you scream, Luthor." He whispered into his ear, "Would you like that?" Lex twisted, instinctively trying to get away.

Lex turned his head, trying to see, and watched Sanchez hand the makeshift whip to one of the slaves. "Make him scream, slave."

The slave smiled, and looked at Lex with a greedy expression. "I'll do my best, sir."

Lex breathed shallowly, once again resting his head against the wall, waiting for the first strike to fall.

It landed forcefully with a hard whack, and Lex jumped, his teeth biting into his lip hard. The slave's strikes were powerful, and Sanchez's efforts seemed pitiful in comparison. Lex felt rocked with each impact. The strokes never paused, hitting solidly, one after another with a relentless rhythm. It went on forever.

Lex rubbed his forehead hard against the wall, trying to create a sensation that would distract him from the agony of his back.

"Scream for the dignitary, slut," the slave said cruelly.

More strokes fell, this time in the same spot, over and over. Lex knew the belt buckle was breaking his skin, and he could feel blood running down his back.

"Scream!" the slave demanded angrily.

Lex remained silent. As a slave facing this nightmare, silence was the only thing left to him. His teeth had cut through his lip by now, and he could taste blood in his mouth. The belt continued to strike.

Finally, Sanchez sighed and said, "Stop," and Lex exhaled quietly in relief.

"I'm very disappointed in you, slave. Perhaps your companion can do better. Hand him the belt."

Lex opened his eyes in disbelief.

The other slave took up the position, and the strokes fell with renewed vigor.

Through it all, Lex remained silent. When Sanchez called a halt to the whipping for the final time, Lex's back was a bloody mess, skin torn and shining redly.

"Your stubbornness disgusts me, Luthor. You just had to scream, and it would have all been over."

One slave released his manacles from the fastenings and his arms fell down limply, the movement causing agony to pass through him as his shoulder muscles moved. Lex turned around slowly and faced Sanchez. He kept his face impassive.

Sanchez took the bloody belt from the slave and threw it to the ground. He smiled grimly, and then nodded at Lex. "You'll never learn, Luthor. Everything has to be a battle for you." He grinned as blood trickled down Lex's leg, landing in a puddle on the floor. "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful night. Come along, slaves." He turned and left, the slaves followed, still looking behind at Lex and leering.

As they moved down the hallway, shortly growing out of sight, Lex let his composure dissolve, letting out a moan of agony. He painstakingly kneeled and pulled his pants up, gripping them in his fist so they wouldn't fall off. Then he began the painful walk back to the bedchamber, hobbling, his shirt hanging on him in strips of torn fabric, his arms still in the sleeves, his bloody back exposed.

When he got to the bedchamber, he closed the door and moved to the bed. He collapsed on his stomach, lying there in a pain-filled daze. He stayed there through the night, the pain too great to move.

He woke sometime the next morning. He shifted on the bed, forgetting his injuries, and then lay there, panting, as raw flesh that had hardened in the open air was split open. It must have been half an hour before the pain faded enough for him to attempt to move again.

He wiggled to the side of the bed on his belly, and when he reached it, swung his legs over one by one, trying as hard as he could to keep his back horizontal. He pushed with his legs so he was facing the side of the bed, and then with one movement, brought himself to his feet. He was dizzy, and he had to clutch at the bed while he dealt with the pain. Finally, he made his way to the bathroom, shuffling his feet, trying to move his back as little as possible.

When he got to the bathroom, he stood with his back to the mirror, and then turned his head, trying to see the damage. What he could see made him wince. His back was a bloody mess. There were welt-sized scabs, some skin whole, while another patch was cut to pieces. He would heal; he always healed, but it would take a while.

Lex went to the bathtub and filled it halfway with cold water. He soaked a washcloth, and then squeezed water over his back. He groaned, the pain terrible, but continued, until the water in the tub was a dull red and most of the blood had been washed away from his back and thighs. He didn't have any medical supplies, and for him, letting the wounds heal in the open air would be the next best thing.

He let the water out of the tub and then used a towel to dry everything but his back. Then he made his way to the bed, and collapsed, immediately falling back to sleep.

The opening of the door and Whitney entering with a tray of food awakened him again. Lex turned his head, and watched him. When Whitney saw Lex, naked, his cut back exposed, he paused, and set the tray down. He stared at Lex, and seemed about to say something, but then closed his mouth. He eventually turned and left.

Lex pushed his head into the mattress. He hadn't expected anything from the slave anyway, so he didn't know why he felt let down. Whitney was a slave as well. He couldn't do anything to stop Sanchez.

The next time he woke, he was a lot better, able to move without being paralyzed with agony. He got up, and craned his neck, gazing at his back. It was starting to heal, the cuts and welts scabbed over, but it still looked terrible. He put on one of the Overlord's robes, a light cotton that wasn't too painful. He was hungry, but the food had long since gotten cold, and Lex wasn't looking forward to soggy and stale eggs.

He moved to the chair and sat on the edge of the cushion, so his back wasn't pressed against the seatback. He tried reading one of the history books, but he was too distracted, and the words blurred on the page.

There was a sound at the door, and Lex looked up, expecting it to be Whitney again. His breath caught as Kal-El entered.

His hair was wind-tousled, his clothes disheveled and worn. But that wasn't what made Lex pause, captivated. Kal-El seemed to glow, as if an inner sun was shining directly in Lex's direction. His expression was open, a happiness and smile on his face that Lex had never seen before.

Just like that, everything that had happened in the hallway came rushing back. The humiliation, the pain -- but most of all, Sanchez's words. Would Kal-El really mind that Lex had been touched by the dignitary? Mind so much that he would put Lex back in the kitchens, or worse? Was Kal-El really that fickle?

When Kal-El saw Lex, his smile deepened, dimples appearing. "Lex," Kal-El said softly, "I missed you." He walked towards Lex, and then kneeled in front of him and touched him lightly on the thigh. "I'm glad to see you."

Under the robe, Lex clenched his hands in fists. "I'm glad to see you, too, Kal. Where have you been?"

"I have so much to tell you. But I missed you so much." He ran his hand lightly up Lex's thigh. "I need you, Lex. I've been thinking about you every day, craving you." He got up, and urged Lex to his feet. Lex rose, holding in a wince as his back twinged. He was led to the bed, and Kal-El clearly expected him to lie down.

"Can we do this another time, Kal? I'm not... feeling well today."

Kal-El was incredulous. "Another time? I've been gone for a week!" He grabbed Lex by the waist and lifted him, pressing him against the bed. Lex couldn't hold back his groan of pain.

Kal-El froze, suspicious. "What's wrong?"

Everyone knows the Overlord is remarkably fussy with his pleasure slaves. He doesn't like anyone touching them. If you tell him what I did, he'd more likely get rid of you than punish me.

Lex froze. "It's nothing."

"Lex, show me," Kal-El said, a clear warning in his voice.

Lex stared into Kal-El's eyes, searching for the callousness and fickleness that Sanchez had described. But Kal-El's eyes were kind, concerned.

Lex couldn't believe that Kal-El would do that to Lex, and he wasn't about to let Sanchez screw with his mind.

"I had an encounter with an old nemesis." Lex rolled over on his stomach, and shrugged out of the robe so his ragged back was exposed. Kal-El took in a shocked breath. "The wounds are meaningless, really. They'll heal in a few days."

Carefully, Lex watched Kal-El, waiting for an outburst. But more than anything, Kal-El seemed concerned for Lex. "Meaningless?" Kal-El whispered. He touched Lex's back delicately, his hand hovering over the welts and scabs. Then he pulled away.

"Who did it, Lex?" Kal-El demanded. Lex rolled over so he was on his side, and then painstakingly got to his feet.

"It doesn't matter. This happens every day to slaves all over the palace. Your rules permit it. Dignitaries think it a required task, and try to do it as much as they can."

"You're not just a slave, and you know it."

Lex paused. He raised questioning eyes to Kal-El's and said softly, "Do I?"

Kal-El scowled. "Tell me who it was."

Lex inwardly smiled. "Who else? Sanchez. It's always Sanchez. He's the fucking bane of my existence. The man goes out of his way --"

Kal-El was gone.

Lex went to bed that night anxious, his mind wracked with speculation. Kal-El had most likely gone after Sanchez, but what he would do to the dignitary was still up in the air. Kal-El had given the impression that he cared deeply about his dignitaries' opinions, so Lex would probably be lucky if Sanchez got more than a tongue-lashing.

When Lex woke, he found himself next to Kal-El, who had joined him sometime in the night. Lex was a light sleeper, so Kal-El must have been extremely silent and gentle as he lay down next to him. Kal-El was deeply asleep, his face turned into a pillow, hair mussed around his head. His eyes were flickering rapidly underneath his lids and his lips were parted, letting little indecipherable sounds escape from his mouth.

It seemed his dream was heading in a bad direction. He was moaning in distress, and he was starting to flail on the bed. Lex edged away, unwilling to be hit by a frantic arm.

He watched him writhing on the bed helplessly, and then finally, on an impulse, picked up one of the history books and flung it at Kal-El, knowing it wouldn't hurt him.

On impact, Kal-El woke up with a gasp, sitting straight up in the bed. He was breathing heavily, a deeply disturbed expression on his face.

Lex edged toward the bed. "Kal?" he said softly.

Kal-El's unfocused, angry gaze turned in his direction. His eyes were unnaturally red, almost glowing, and Lex, for the first time, felt a distinct uneasiness in his presence.

Kal-El reached out in a movement almost too fast to see and grabbed Lex hard by the wrist. His manacle made a wrenching noise as it bent out of shape in his hold, and Lex grimaced. Kal-El glared, pupils red as his chest moved rapidly, sweat beading on his forehead. Never before had he seemed more alien than he did now.

"Kal-El?"

No response.

Hesitantly, "Clark?"

The grip on his wrist became a vice, and his hand went numb. Kal-El raised his other hand, ready to strike, and then paused above his head. Lex stared at him, daring him to go ahead.

But then with a sudden motion Kal-El's hand changed direction, and he directed all of his rage on the bedpost. His fist went cleanly through it, smashing it into shards with a loud boom. He released Lex's wrist, breathing rapidly, and then closed his eyes, his breath exhaling in one huge sigh.

"Kal?" Lex repeated tentatively, rubbing his aching wrist.

Kal-El glanced in his direction and then his eyes seemed to focus, losing their red glow. He said softly, "Lex. Come here. I won't hurt you."

Lex hesitated, and then moved towards him with a tinge of apprehension. But Kal-El only embraced him, burying his face in Lex's shoulder. He was careful of Lex's injured back.

"I'm sorry," Kal-El murmured. "Is your wrist all right? I have dreams sometimes, memories that leave me unsettled when I wake. My anger wasn't directed at you."

Lex deflected mildly, "I gathered that, Kal. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's in the past."

"I realize that, but it may help if you tell someone else. You seem to love history, Kal -- your library is full of books. Is it really so hard to discuss the past?"

Kal-El shivered -- and Lex wondered if he were cold, or if it was his thoughts that were disturbing. Lex embraced him more tightly. "Do you have these dreams often?"

Kal-El nodded, rubbing his face against Lex's chest.

Lex caressed his hair, petting him. "They're memories?" he murmured.

Kal-El sighed. "I didn't have a nice childhood, Lex. You wouldn't want to hear about my nightmares."

"But I do."

Kal-El said, his eyes down, face in Lex's chest. "You won't think the same of me."

"Kal, tell me."

Kal-El raised his head, and stared at Lex, his gaze clear and open. "Fine. I grew up in a research room. They tortured me my whole childhood. I was an 'it' for most of my life."

He seemed to be waiting for Lex to condemn him.

But Lex's hand only paused, and then resumed its caress on Kal-El's hair. "Tortured?"

"They liked to cut me open, see how I worked. So you can see, I have reasons for nightmares."

Lex continued his caress, not letting Kal-El's tone affect him. "Who did that to you?"

"Your government took me as soon as I arrived on Earth," said Kal-El bitterly.

"And you arrived here when you were a child?" Lex's voice caught. "They -- cut you open -- when you were just a kid?"

Kal-El didn't answer.

"But Kal, how were they even able to keep you? Your abilities.... No one could stop you if you wanted out."

"My abilities were nothing. They had a meteor rock that took my powers away. The rock sucked the life out of me. It was only later, when the rock was destroyed, that I got free." His voice was hard, "They never bothered me again. Later, I showed the rest of the humans their place."

Lex's hand faltered on his hair. "I'm sorry that happened, Kal. I wish the government had never found you. We're not all like that."

Kal-El looked up at Lex in disbelief.

"Kal, you know all humans aren't like that, don't you?" Lex prodded.

Kal-El pulled back, putting some space between them. He frowned. "I know you aren't. But you're not an ordinary human." He ran his hand down Lex's bald head in a caress. "I wanted to tell you before, Lex, but Sanchez distracted me."

"What?"

"The meteor that you saw in Smallville, the day you lost your hair. It was real. But it wasn't just a meteor. Lex, you were there when I landed. You were there on the exact place and exact day that I arrived. I believe we were fated to meet. It should have been on that day in Smallville, but instead it was years later."

Lex felt a sense of unreality settling over him. His voice seeming distant to his own ears, he said, "You came down with the meteor?"

"I probably was the meteor. The only meteor that didn't burn up in the atmosphere was the size of my fist, and I came down in a pod. From the ground, you most likely assumed my pod was the meteor shower." He put his hand on Lex's arm. "Lex, you were meant for me."

Lex stiffened. "I was meant for you?" he scoffed. "Who's to say it's not the other way around? Do you think I was meant to be a slave?"

"But Lex, that's just the way it is."

Lex shrugged out of his hold, disturbed. He shifted to the other side of the bed, pulling away from the hands that tried to grab him.

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm being difficult? So sorry if I'm not more understanding of your major breakthrough, Kal. But perhaps I see it a little differently."

"Lex," Kal-El wheedled, and crawled across the bed to him. He wrapped his hands around Lex's ankle and pulled, trying to bring him forward, but Lex kicked, dislodging his hold.

"You're being stubborn. But I know that's just you." Kal-El grabbed his ankle again and this time didn't let go. Unable to get free, Lex refused to look at him instead. Kal-El ignored Lex's resistance, and ran his hand up Lex's leg. He worked his way up Lex's body, running his hands lightly to his chest, and up towards his neck. Kal-El was now flush against his side.

"You're sulking."

Lex turned his head towards him in outrage, ready to blast him, but Kal-El took advantage of his open mouth, and kissed him with a sweetness Lex refused to credit. Lex remained frozen, not returning his kiss, and glared at Kal-El's satisfied face when he pulled away.

Kal-El ran his tongue over Lex's bottom lip. "You're still sulking."

"I am not."

Kal-El stole his breath again, and Lex couldn't help relaxing this time, a small moan escaping as his tongue was sucked into the Overlord's mouth.

When Kal-El pulled away, Lex was panting, desire warring with outrage. Kal-El grinned, and gripped Lex around the waist, pulling him against him. Lex winced.

Lex was instantly released; Kal-El scooting back so just his front touched him. "Sorry, Lex. I forgot about your back. Does it still hurt?"

Lex sighed, his anger now completely forgotten. "Only when it's pressed against something, or when I'm thinking about it. It's not so bad anymore."

Kal-El's hands hovered over Lex's back, and he kissed him on the top of his head. "You won't have to worry about Sanchez anymore, Lex."

"Right," he said dryly. "Sure I won't."

"I mean it, Lex." Kal-El was deadly serious.

Lex pulled back so he could look him full in the face. "Kal, what did you do?"

"I took care of him."

There was a rushing sound in Lex's ears. "What exactly does that mean?"

"He should have known better than to touch you. He was asking for it."

"Did you kill him?" Lex whispered.

"Like I said," said Kal-El, his voice hard, "he deserved it."

Lex was silent. He had wanted Kal-El to punish Sanchez. He'd been glad when Kal-El had disappeared after telling him about the beating. But he had never wanted Kal-El to kill Sanchez.

Had he?

Lex was gathered into a warm hold, Kal-El bringing him closer with a grip on his ass, avoiding his back. He seemed content just to hold him loosely, his earlier arousal pushed aside.

But Lex knew he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep. He stared into the darkness, shadows taking up residence in his mind.

Kal-El watched in fascination as the wounds on Lex's back got a little better each day. Lex seemed tolerant, if amused by Kal-El's near obsession. Each night he would allow Kal-El to trace the new skin, the caressing shortly going lower, tracing little indents and other faded scars on his body. There weren't many. Lex explained that the ones he did have were from before the meteor.

The cuts were totally gone by the end of the week, not even a mark left on his back. Kal-El knew that on an ordinary human, the cuts would have been debilitating. Lex would have still been in bed, if he had survived at all.

Lex had been changed for Kal-El. He was convinced that his arrival and Lex's presence had been fated that day in Smallville.

Kal-El had returned to Smallville for the two weeks he'd been gone, looking for his lost memory. He had flown over the fields of the Smallville farms, searching for the cornfield that was green leaves and bright sun. But every cornfield was practically identical, and any one of them could have been the field where he landed. He resorted to scanning the ground with his vision, searching for anything metallic or unusual. There were pieces of metal broken off from tractor blades in all of them, but one field was distinct. Tiny round metallic pieces were in the ground in a circle, other pieces scattered erratically on the sides.

Kal-El had landed, and slammed his fist into the dirt, grabbing one of the metallic objects. He'd pulled his hand out, and let the dirt fall to the ground, leaving an old bullet in his palm. Running his hand along the rusted metal surface thoughtfully, he'd shot up into the air, and examined the ground in more detail. There was a deep crater in the center of the field, now covered with dirt and corn, but the indention was still visible.

Kal-El had landed on the depression, convinced that he was on top of the area of his arrival. He had stood there, remembering the scene all those years ago, running his hand through the corn leaves, and wondering where Lex had been on that fatal day. Then he'd gone back up in the air, still unsatisfied.

He'd continued to search. It hadn't been easy -- the humans hadn't been enthusiastic about talking to the Overlord, and Kal-El often had to coax or force it out of them. It had taken a week, and it was only as he was about to give up that he found a farmer that was a possibility.

Jonathan Kent had been married to a Martha Clark for two months on the day she died. He told Kal-El that she had bright red hair, and a friendliness that could make the coldest person feel warm. The farmer believed that she had died in a car accident, but Kal-El knew the researchers had created a cover-up. It was Kal-El's Martha. He was sure of it.

She had been real. He hadn't imagined her.

She could have been his mother -- if things hadn't gone so terribly wrong.

Lex had given him this.

Lex had brought back a richness and fullness to his life that had been absent for far too long. Old memories and feelings were rising to the surface, the callousness of Kal-El gradually being replaced by the receptiveness of Clark. Kal-El's life was no longer tedious. He liked waking up each day, seeing what Lex would do next.

He was even having a hard time thinking of Lex as a slave or as a human anymore -- the rest of the world was lumped together as 'humans' to him, and Lex was just -- Lex.

"Read this part, Lex." Kal-El leaned over, pointing to a passage in the book.

Lex looked at him with an amused smirk. "You've already heard this twice."

"So? I like it." Kal-El was perched on the arm of the leather chair, staring down at the book in Lex's lap. This was another night in which they'd ended up in the library, and it was becoming a routine.

They'd have dinner in Kal-El's bedchamber, and after, Lex would express a desire to read. Kal-El usually indulged him, saying that he'd catch up on his dignitaries' reports. While he did attempt to work, thoughts of Lex would eventually intrude on his mind. Hence, why he was here now, listening to Lex drone on about Alexander the Great.

With a smile, Lex began: "Alexander commenced his journey to the Western Desert, where the priesthood at the oracle at Siwa welcomed him as the son of Ammon. This was the first step in the path to become an accepted pharaoh, a goal that...."

Kal-El would never admit to Lex that it wasn't the passage that Kal-El admired, it was Lex's voice, and how he shaped the words Ammon and Siwa, his lips forming a seductive "o", his tone like a shiver, traveling up Kal-El's spine.

"At Memphis, Alexander was crowned with..."

He loved listening to Lex read aloud; his voice had a deeply alluring pitch, an almost magical quality to it that slowly brought Kal-El to a lazy arousal.

"At the battle of Tel Gomel, Alexander...."

Kal-El listened entranced, loving the deep tones and nuances.

Who knew that a voice could do this to Kal-El? Lex was temptation in every way. 'Tel Gomel' in that drawl -- it made him want to--

Why was Lex stopping?

"Are you even listening to this?"

"Hmm?" said Kal-El, staring at Lex's lips.

"You're hopeless." Lex waved the book in front of Kal-El's face. "Alexander, Kal -- Alexander the Great? Remember him?"

Kal-El took the book from him, gently setting it on the reading table. He smiled. "Of course I do, Lex. I've just realized that there's something more interesting that I could be doing."

Lex huffed, annoyed. "What's so pressing that you'd ignore Alexander?"

Kal-El stood up from his perch on the chair leg, walking around so he stood in front of Lex. Smirking, Kal-El leaned down over Lex, using the arms of the chair as support. "What do you think?" he whispered, bending down for a kiss.

An hour later, Lex left the library grinning.

Lex put his finger on the page, keeping his place as he looked up at Kal-El. Kal-El moved over to Lex with a swish of his powers, and then plopped down on the floor in front of Lex's feet, leaning onto his legs with a dramatic sigh.

Lex smiled down at him. "How was Hephaistion?"

Kal-El rested his chin on Lex's knee, blowing out a breath and pushing strands of hair into the air. "It was a good ride, but I had to cut it short. Whitney had the gall to interrupt me, telling me that the dignitaries wanted my attention again. And it wasn't urgent -- just another rebellion. That slave needs to learn not to bother me when I'm on my own time."

"And when are you not on your own time?" Lex chided gently. "It wouldn't kill you to pay attention to your people, especially Whitney. He seems to know what's going on around here."

Kal-El quirked one eyebrow. "They're always complaining, Lex. It's nothing new."

Lex sighed. "When you find the world running away from you, you'll remember this conversation, Kal."

Kal-El snorted. "They're humans," he said, as if that explained everything.

Lex gave up. They'd had this conversation many times, and Kal-El still didn't seem to understand. Lex went back to his book, trying to ignore him.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm trying to read."

Kal-El peered at the book, attempting to see the cover. "Which book?"

"Machiavelli's The Prince."

Kal-El snorted. "Of course," he said dryly. Then hopefully, he added, "No Alexander the Great?"

"Not today." Lex put his index finger on the page again and gazed around the library. "You could pick one for yourself, Kal."

"I've read them all."

Lex took in the thousands of books. "All of them?"

"Yes."

"That's quite an accomplishment."

Kal-El ran his hand idly over Lex's thigh. "Not really."

"I'd say it is. It would take me ages to read all of these."

Kal-El pulled away from him, sitting down in a crouch and resting on his knees. "I read them when I was..." He cut off and stared up at Lex, speculatively. Then he finally added, "When I was a child."

Lex gave him his full attention. "When you were at the research facility?"

"It was the only thing that remained constant for me. A steady supply of history books. They would give me something and always take it away eventually, but they never stopped giving me those books. I'd read three a day. And I learned to read fast, because the next day they'd replace them."

Lex considered Kal-El's words. "What would they take away, Kal?" he asked softly.

Kal-El stared into space, his eyes shadowed. Eventually, he focused on Lex's face. "People," he said nonchalantly, as if it didn't matter.

"What?"

"Humans. I'd make friends with them, meet them, do things with them, and then they'd kill them."

"Why would they do that?" Lex gasped, shocked.

Kal-El shrugged. "I never figured it out. One of the doctors seemed to take a particularly perverse pleasure in it. He always said he was punishing me for being an alien. That my being an alien killed them, and that I should have stayed away, left them alone. And I suppose he was right, in a way."

"How can you say that?"

"Everything he said turned out to be true, Lex. They tortured me with scalpels and the killing of friends, but it was all to get me to tell them when my 'people' would arrive. Nobody else was coming -- I'm all that's left. But in the end, it was me. I was the one they should have been worried about."

"Kal...."

Kal-El looked down at the floor, gripping his knees tightly, his knuckles white. "He was right," he whispered.

"Kal, no one who tortures or murders people senselessly is ever right."

Kal-El raised haunted eyes to his. "But I did kill him, Lex, and many others, so he had to be right about something."

He got to his feet, and left, walking out the door.

Lex stared after him, his book forgotten.

Every day he seemed to learn something new about Kal-El. The Overlord that he'd thought he'd known had an enlightening childhood. To go through torture as a child... no wonder Kal-El had become so filled with hate and bitterness. To Kal-El, it was humans who had caused that pain, and Kal-El would always be the 'alien' to the rest of the world.

Lex ran his thumb over the book's soft leather cover, lost in thought.

Part VI: Nightmares

The whore was a warm body by his side. Clark watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed. So fragile. With a swipe of his hand, her skin would break, blood vessels would burst and flesh, tear. He didn't know how humans survived day-by-day. One wrong step, one fall, and they could crack their heads open.

When the door opened, he slowly moved the sheet, covering his groin with a nonchalant motion. He stared at Dr. Yvres and the two other researchers, one arm above his head, and the other, just touching the edge of the sheet on his stomach. "What do you want?" he asked guardedly, looking up at them with hooded eyes.

Dr. Yvres grimaced and motioned to the researchers behind him. As the green rock was removed from the case, Clark sat up, no longer quite so detached. They advanced towards the bed, and with each step, he felt the increased pain of the rock.

The girl was rising next to him, gazing blurrily in the direction of the doctors.

"You didn't think we'd just give you the girl, did you, Clark? I know you're not stupid. There's always a catch." Dr. Yvres and the others moved closer, almost touching the bed. Clark struggled to catch his breath over the pain.

"Get up."

"What are you going to do?" he gasped.

"What's going on, man?" said the girl, holding the sheet in front of her breasts.

Dr. Yvres ignored her. "What happens every time you get involved with a human. You should know better by now. As Dr. Garner is fond of saying, humans and aliens don't mix. You should have left the girl alone, Clark." The doctor nodded to his men, and they moved forward to roughly push Clark off the bed and onto the floor. He couldn't resist; the rock made him pathetically weak, like a fish out of water, struggling for air.

"Hey, what--" the girl shrieked as the two doctors grabbed her by the legs. "You fuckers! Stop it," she shouted, as they pulled her off the bed. She half-landed on Clark, but they forced her to stand up and, after dragging her to the other side of the room, pinned her down. Dr. Yvres remained with Clark, holding the rock above him. Clark watched the veins in his own hands grow green, and then looked away with a sick lurch in his stomach.

"You had to know this was going to happen," said Dr. Yvres.

One of the men held the girl's hands behind her back, with a leg wrapped around her thrashing limbs while the other one reached into his lab jacket, taking out something metallic and shiny.

"Don't hurt her," said Clark, weakly.

The doctor gazed at him with feigned sadness. "She's just a whore, Clark. She's used to pain." He turned his attention back to the girl. "Do it," he commanded.

The researcher ran his thumb lightly along the edge of the knife. It sliced the pad of his thumb and bright red blood rose in a line. He grinned as he showed his cut to Clark, and then moved towards the girl. She screamed as he held her chin, and lifted her head. With one swipe, the knife sliced cleanly into her neck. Her screech was cut off abruptly, a sick gurgle replacing it, blood gushing from her cut throat. Her eyes rolled up in her head, as it bobbed, and finally fell, hanging limply. The other researcher held her now-lifeless body, which was sagging in his grip.

Clark could hardly believe it. One minute she was struggling, alive, healthy, and the next--

But he knew humans were fragile.

"I hope you're satisfied with yourself, alien. When will you ever learn? Aliens and humans don't mix."

Dr. Yvres slowly backed away from Clark's supine body, and motioned the men to take the girl out of the room. "Now we just have to cut her open. Get the fluids we need out of her--"

Kal-El woke with a gasp. He looked around in confusion, struggling to get away from the phantom pain of the rock.

The room was empty. There were no doctors. There was just Lex lying beside him, deeply asleep.

But alive.

Human.

The blankets just covered Lex's groin, leaving his upper body exposed. His skin was pale, almost translucent to Kal-El's eyes; his veins clearly visible, blood rushing from vessel to vessel.

Kal-El felt as though he couldn't breathe, and there was a tightness in his chest as if the meteor rock really was in the room. He forced himself to look away from Lex, get up and go to the bathroom. He stood in front of the sink and splashed water on his face, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was flushed and his hair lay in sweaty clumps against his skull.

His reflection was not what he wanted to see right now. He stepped into the shower, and let steaming hot water pour down on him.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, Lex was already up and getting dressed. Kal-El didn't look at him, and used extra speed to dart away from his outstretched hand, taking refuge in his closet.

He surveyed his clothes with disinterest. He had thousands of clothes, shirts and pants sorted by color and type. There were ten shirts in front of him that all looked the same; his slaves had put them there with the justification that they were all from different designers. Usually he just grabbed clothing at random, putting on whatever was in front of him. But today, it seemed a trial just to pick something.

He heard the rustle of clothes being pushed out of the way as Lex walked into the closet, and then he felt Lex's hand on his bare back. Kal-El turned his head.

Lex was gazing at the sweaters in front of him. "Wear the dark Armani sweater," he said.

Dark, like his mood.

"Why?"

"I like it. Blue looks good on you. And, you know I like wearing your clothes after you've worn them. They smell like you."

Kal-El disentangled himself from Lex's hold and pushed him away. For the first time, he noticed that the clothes Lex wore were from his own closet. They were too big for him, the sleeves of the sweatshirt rolled up, the dress pants baggy and too long.

"Since when did I give you permission to do that?"

"Do what?"

Kal-El raised cold eyes to his. "Wear my clothes."

Lex took a step back. "I've been doing it since you left for that week."

"I don't remember rescinding my loincloth edict." Kal-El walked forward, forcing Lex to back up. "Take them off."

"What?" Lex asked in disbelief.

Kal-El continued to take intimidating steps toward Lex. "Put the loincloth back on. I like you better without clothes anyway."

Lex refused to back up anymore. He crossed his arms and adopted a stubborn pose. "You were the one who gave me clothes to begin with. You were gone. I assumed that wearing them would be permissible when the clothes you gave me started to become worn and rank." Lex sneered, "You certainly have enough of them."

Kal-El ran his hand through his hair, and rubbed his forehead, where a dull throbbing was starting. "You thought wrong. Take them off." When Lex didn't move, he warned, "I don't want to have to tell you again."

Lex glared at Kal-El. "Take them off yourself."

"Lex," Kal-El sighed, as he gestured towards the wall fastening, "Do you want me to put you back on the wall?"

Lex gave him a look that would have frozen an ordinary human's blood. But he started to take his clothes off with angry movements. Kal-El watched as first his shirt and then pants were removed, pale skin revealed, inch by inch. Lex never wore underwear -- Kal-El realized he didn't have any that were his anyways. The clothes were thrown on the floor, and Lex stood in front of Kal-El, totally naked. "I don't have a loincloth anymore."

Kal-El averted his gaze and walked back into his closet, grabbing whatever was nearest. He put pants and a shirt on with hurried movements, and then moved over to the door. "I'll have Whitney get you one."

After Kal-El summoned the slave, Lex waited impatiently for him to arrive. When he knocked on the door, Kal-El jerked it open, making Whitney take a startled step back.

"Well, enter!"

"Sorry, Kal-El." Whitney bowed, and then raised curious eyes, looking from Kal-El to Lex, who was naked and obviously unhappy. "How can I help?"

"Lex seems to have misplaced his loincloth. I want you to bring him one." Inspired, he added, "Oh, and Whitney? I've decided I want a pleasure slave for tonight."

Whitney had been walking back towards the door, but now stopped short. "What?"

"Lex will be spending the night in one of the guest rooms." Kal-El could see Lex retreating, backing away to the bed and sitting down weakly.

"I see." Whitney cleared his throat. "Any preferences?"

"No. Anyone will do."

"All right." And with that, Whitney left.

Kal-El sneaked a look at Lex, but didn't say anything.

Whitney shortly returned with a loincloth. It was made of a brown fabric that felt coarse in his hand, and Kal-El examined it with distaste. "Couldn't you find anything better than this?"

"This is what all the slaves wear, Kal-El."

This crap? He said, in a clipped voice, "Fine."

Kal-El threw it at Lex, who caught it, and held it, numbly, in his hand, although his eyes glittered angrily.

"Well, put it on."

"Yes, of course. I live to do your every bidding, my Lord."

"Don't take that tone with me," Kal-El said. "I've decided that you've taken up too much of my time lately. You need to realize that you're not the only slave around here. I have dozens of pleasure slaves that could just as easily take your place."

Lex shuddered in the cold air, and Kal-El looked away.

On his way to the door, Kal-El said, "I trust you can entertain yourself for the day. I have more," he cleared his throat, "important things to do."

He got out of there as fast as he could, refusing to examine the sick feeling in his stomach. He walked through the hallways in a state of agitation, but didn't head down to the hall for yet another boring information session. Instead, he went to the dining room and seated himself at an empty table, causing a stir among the guests. He listened, with feigned attentiveness, as nobles and dignitaries jockeyed for his attention, and then played with his food, watching the slaves serve him with a jaundiced eye. Finally, when his headache was just about driving him insane, he had enough, and left.

He was halfway to the library before he realized what he was doing. He changed direction, heading out to the stables, and rode Hephaistion for the rest of the day.

When he returned to the palace, it was well past dark, and he walked to his bedchamber with a curiously unsettled feeling. Lex wasn't there. A girl, well-groomed, with long brown hair, dark skin, and a toned body, was. She bowed deeply to Kal-El, and then knelt down, her head on the floor.

Kal-El grimaced and walked around her. He shed clothes on the way to the bathroom, and had a long, hot shower. When he returned to the bedroom, the girl was still on the floor, kneeling.

"For fuck's sake! Are you going to stay there all night? Don't you have any dignity? Get up."

"My Lord?"

Kal-El flung himself on the bed, deeply annoyed. When the slave approached, he barked, "Stop right there. You can sleep on the floor. Don't touch me." He pulled the blankets up to his chest, and glared darkly at the girl. She stood in the center of the room, fidgeting and confused.

"I don't understand, my Lord. You don't require my services?"

Kal-El turned his head into the pillow. "You heard me," he said, his voice muffled.

"But--"

Kal-El flung the extra pillow at her.

A pause, and then an uncertain and frightened, "Yes, my Lord." He heard the jingle of her beads and jewels as she settled on the floor.

Kal-El turned off the lights, and then stared into the darkness. Everything was quiet.

If Whitney had followed his instructions, Lex would be in the next room. Kal-El studiously resisted looking for all of two seconds, and then turned his head, using his x-ray vision to scan through the layers of wall. It took him a moment to find Lex through the stone and wood, but when he did, Kal-El couldn't stop himself from sitting up in bed, straining to see an even clearer picture. Lex was curled up on the bed, wearing nothing but the coarse loincloth, the bedding shoved halfway off the bed. He was shivering.

Kal-El made himself turn away, pushing his face back into his pillow, but the picture of Lex, all alone and cold, refused to leave his mind. Why wasn't he using the blankets? He'd get sick.

He shifted in the bed and stared up at the ceiling. At some point, the pumping of a heart filtered into his consciousness, and he gripped the pillow hard in annoyance as he realized what he'd been doing. Lex's heart was beating at a slow and steady pace; Kal-El had always found it deeply soothing.

Fuck.

He would never get to sleep. There was no one lying by his side. There was no Lex.

He threw the covers off with a violent motion, and got up from the bed, stepping over the sleeping slave on the floor. In a few strides, he was in the hallway, and down to the next room's door. There, he paused and made himself calm down, taking deep breaths.

He opened the door carefully, into darkness. Lex was a motionless form on the bed. He didn't stir as Kal-El climbed into bed and settled behind him.

Kal-El put a tentative hand on Lex's back. He could tell that Lex was awake by the infinitesimal change in his breathing.

"Lex. You're shivering," he said gently. "Why aren't you using the blankets?"

The only response from Lex was a slight stiffening of his body. Kal-El reached down and pulled the sheets and blankets up, covering them both. He shifted, so that his chest was in contact with Lex's back, giving Lex his body warmth, embracing him gently.

Gradually, Lex's shivering stopped, but his back remained rigid.

Suddenly Kal-El's temper tantrum and fear seemed pointless. Lex was human, but he'd been changed. He wasn't fragile like that girl from his past. He would heal. But if he was shot, or if a knife was run through the flesh of his neck--

Kal-El tightened his arms around Lex, squeezing him, until Lex was forced to say in an aggrieved tone, "Fuck, Kal. Are you trying to kill me?"

Kal-El loosened his hold. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Lex tried to wiggle out of his arms, but Kal-El only tightened them. Lex said resentfully, "So why aren't you with your pleasure slave? After all, you've got dozens of them, just waiting for your command."

Kal-El was silent.

Finally, he said, "I didn't touch her. I couldn't." A deep breath. "She wasn't you." He held Lex's hand in a firm grip and squeezed, whispering, "Lex, I'm sorry," and kissed the bump on the back of his head gently.

Lex sighed. "Why did you act that way?"

Kal-El didn't want to talk about his dream, and all the dead humans that were littered through his childhood. "I don't know. I was just being stupid."

He could tell, by Lex's response, that his answer was inadequate.

But Lex just said, "You can't ever do that to me again, Kal."

"I won't. I promise."

"Fine."

Kal-El put a tentative hand on Lex's chest, running it lightly down to his belly.

"No."

Kal-El paused.

"You don't get to touch me after that display."

Kal-El removed his hand, shifting his body away so that he was barely touching Lex.

"Okay, Lex."

Kal-El woke up the next morning with his face in the crook of Lex's neck, their legs entwined, his erection pressed against the small of Lex's back.

He could tell when Lex woke up because he shifted on the bed, wiggled, and pressed himself against Kal-El's cock. As he did that, he froze, and then moved with alacrity away from the contact. He rolled off the bed and backed away from Kal-El, who let him go without a struggle.

"You don't have to worry. I won't touch you if you don't want me to."

Lex sniffed in derision. "I'm not worried."

Kal-El got up from the bed and approached Lex, gently touching him on the arm. "I have something I want to show you."

Lex blinked at him. "Really."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to." He linked their fingers together. "Will you follow me?"

Lex looked down at their joined hands in amusement. "Kal, I'm not exactly delicate. You don't have to treat me as if I'll break. Take me to what you want to show me."

"Well, in that case..." Kal-El moved so his body was flush against Lex's and gripped him about the waist. Lex gasped as their groins pressed together, but he didn't have time to protest as Kal-El sped them out of the room. Lex clutched at him frantically as they traveled through the palace, the walls passing by in a blur.

When Kal-El stopped and released him, he staggered back, and glared at Kal-El. "I told you not to do that again."

"No, you said to warn you. Besides, that was for flying. This was just going really fast."

Lex rolled his eyes, and then stiffened. Their gilded surroundings were unmistakable, the room lit so brightly that it bothered even Kal-El's eyes.

"What are we doing here?"

"I wanted to show you something, or rather, have you hear something. Follow me."

They walked past the entrance of the harem, and entered a room with a pool filled with pleasure slaves. Kal-El rarely entered the harem; he found the swarm of women decidedly distasteful.

There were slaves lying in (and lazing about) in the shallow waters of the pool. Some were floating, seemingly half-asleep, their heads just above the water, while others were touching each other, washing themselves and grooming their bodies. A lot of the touching had a distinct sensuality to it, and Kal-El found it hard to believe that they were all washing themselves just for cleanliness.

When Kal-El and Lex got closer to the edge of the pool, the slaves screamed and shrieked, splashing water and covering themselves with their hands.

Lex whispered, "Kal, you're naked."

"I'm sure they don't mind." He gazed warmly at Lex. "And it's no worse than wearing a loincloth."

The slaves gathered into a frightened group at the edge of the pool, murmuring and pointing at Lex and Kal-El in an excited babble. Jayanti emerged from the group, her head held high, a slight nervous tic the only evidence of their earlier encounter.

She bowed to Kal-El and said, "My Lord," and then nodded at Lex. "You honor us with your presence. How can we be of service?"

"Jayanti," he said coldly, "summon Whitney. Tell him to bring the official slave documents."

Jayanti raised her eyebrows. "Of course." She flicked a hand at one of the slaves hanging back, and the girl ran off.

As they waited, more pleasure slaves poured into the area until there were dozens staring at both Kal-El and Lex. They took in Kal-El's naked body with avid curiosity, and stared at Lex, examining him with just as much interest. Kal-El felt like standing in front of Lex and blocking their view, but he forced himself to remain by his side.

Whitney shortly appeared, running, paper in hand and a satchel held under his arm. He stopped in front of Kal-El, panting and trying to catch his breath. He seemed shocked at Kal-El's unclothed state. "Kal-El? You sent for me?"

Kal-El put his hands on his hips, to show that he couldn't care less about his nudity. "I'm creating a new edict, and I want you to take it down."

"All right." Whitney opened the satchel, took out a pen and got into position to transcribe Kal-El's words.

When he was half-kneeling, he said, "I'm ready, my Lord."

Kal-El began: "Edict 34. Effective immediately, all pleasure slaves in the palace and other domains of the Overlord will be released, their servitude ended."

The pen paused on the paper.

Kal-El turned to Lex. "I no longer have any need for them." Lex's expression was full of shock, but it soon eased, realization dawning instead.

"I want their manacles removed, and a set of clothing given to each human."

The murmurings from the pleasure slaves had quieted down at Kal-El's first words, but at this new command, they started babbling excitably.

"Each human will be given an official document stating that she is free, and that she will remain free so long as she lives. I believe that should be sufficient." The pen paused again, and Whitney peered up, waiting for his command.

Lex frowned. Kal-El glanced at him, and then turned back to Whitney. "One addition: give them one hundred dollars each." The pen resumed its scrawl across the paper.

Lex's expression eased slightly, his frown not quite so disapproving.

"And of course, they should all have transportation to the nearest city."

Lex touched his arm. "Kal, may I make a suggestion?"

Kal-El smiled. "By all means."

"Perhaps it would help if you provided them with some kind of an apprenticeship program. Freeing them into the world with just a pair of clothes and a hundred dollars to their name will be an invitation for abuse. An apprenticeship program with local businesses would allow them to get on their feet, and it would give them the skills needed for a career -- something other than selling their bodies on the street."

Kal-El was happy to have the Lex of previous days back, willing to express his opinion, forcefully, if necessary. "That is a very apt suggestion, Lex. Write that down as well, Whitney. Lex, I didn't realize how valuable you would be in this situation. I would never have come up with that on my own. Excellent job."

Lex examined Kal-El suspiciously. "Yes, well, it certainly wasn't difficult. It was just a suggestion."

"But a wonderful one. Really, extraordinary advice."

"Kal, it really wasn't a big deal. Anyone could have come up with the same thing."

"You're exaggerating. No one could have come up with it but you. An invaluable contribution from an invaluable human."

Lex seemed taken aback, but then he grinned. "All right, Kal. I get the point. You're forgiven. Now stop this sugary sweetness before you give me a heart attack."

They smiled at each other.

After they left the harem, Lex was taken to the library via Kal-El's unnatural speed, this time with Lex's permission. He was left there, Kal-El saying that he had to take care of something. By the time Lex returned to their bedchamber, it was mid-afternoon.

As he entered, he was treated to an unexpected sight. Three labor slaves were using hammers to pound at cedar boards; a frame was attached to the wall and the construction of shelves was beginning to take shape in one corner. Other boards were stacked together, tools and metal rods around them.

A thin man in a three-piece suit approached Lex, bowing once. "You're Lex?" he asked. Lex was astonished. Here was a man, who was most likely a noble, bowing to him.

"I'm the tailor for the palace. The Overlord has instructed me to take your measurements."

"Measurements?"

"Yes, for your wardrobe."

"Wardrobe," he said faintly.

The man looked at Lex like he was questioning his intelligence. "If you'd please follow me, we can get started."

With only a slight hesitation, Lex followed him to the bathroom, away from the hammering.

"If you'd stand in front of the mirror?"

Lex did so; his reflection was the picture of stunned disbelief.

"Arms up, please." The man took a measuring tape and wrapped it around Lex's chest, and then jotted the measurement in a small notebook. He did the same with his arms, shoulders, hips and legs.

Lex was accustomed to tailors; Lionel Luthor had believed the only proper way to dress was a custom fit, and he therefore didn't mind the tailor's unobtrusive hands.

"This... wardrobe. What exactly does that entail?"

The mirror's reflection of the man raised his eyes, focusing his attention on Lex. "The Overlord has requested that a duplicate of all his clothes be created in your size, with a few additions."

"All his clothes?"

"Yes, the slaves are constructing the second closet to accommodate them. You must be very honored."

"Oh?"

"For the Overlord to go to this trouble for a slave -- ah, your pardon -- is unprecedented. All the nobles are in an uproar."

Lex watched the man. "How so?"

"The Overlord has always been known for his dalliances with his pleasure slaves, but they would never go on longer than a day or two. You, he has seen for weeks, letting you walk about with clothes, and now this. Plus, what happened to Iago Sanchez. They're all speculating that his death had something to do with you. A dignitary said he saw Iago whipping you not days before his messy death. And now there's a rumor that the Overlord's releasing all his pleasure slaves. Can you imagine? I don't suppose you could lay speculation to rest... ah, but I shouldn't gossip."

A feeling of foreboding passed through Lex. "So my relationship with the Overlord is... unusual?"

The man paused, the tape measure motionless around Lex's waist. "Well yes. Of course." He avoided Lex's eyes, and stared at his hands instead. He pulled the tape away with a swish. "I'm done here. I'll just take these measurements to my workshop, shall I?"

"All right." Lex watched him leave hurriedly, not looking back as he left the bathroom. Obviously, Lex had said something to unsettle him.

Lex walked back into the bedchamber, stepping over scattered wood and avoiding the busy slaves. He was about to leave and go back to the library when the door handle moved, and he stepped back, allowing Whitney to enter.

"Oh. You're still here. Did you meet the tailor?"

"Yes."

"Good." Whitney added, "Kal-El has told me to tell you, in his words, that, 'at your convenience'-he would like to see you in the other bedchamber. I suppose you'll be using the other room until the closet's finished."

"That's fine." Suddenly, Lex saw an opportunity. "You know, Whitney, from what I've seen, you're the glue that keeps this place together. Without your efforts, the Overlord would probably have long since despaired." Lex grinned. "The thread count on his sheets most likely would have been inadequate. But seriously, I doubt anyone ever lets you know how invaluable your service is, and I want to thank you in the Overlord's place, if nothing else."

Whitney seemed shocked, but was also clearly flattered, and trying hard to hide it. "You don't have to thank me."

"Nonsense."

"Well, if I'm going to be trapped here for the rest of my life, I figure I might as well make the best of it." Then, shyly, "Thanks, Lex."

"It's long overdue."

Whitney started for the door.

"Oh, and Whitney? I've been meaning to ask a few questions, but didn't know who I should go to. I don't suppose you could help me?"

Whitney straightened. "I can try."

Lex gave him an appraising look. "All right. That's very generous of you. My first question: Just out of curiosity, what happens to a dignitary's assets after he dies?"

"That's easy. They fall back to the Overlord."

"And who takes care of these assets for him?"

Whitney paused, seemingly thoughtful, and then said, "I think slaves in the diplomatic section take care of them."

"And when the asset's an actively growing company? How do they delegate the management?"

"They mostly let the company run itself. They're not encouraged to take initiative and interfere with Kal-El's assets." He seemed to reassess, and asked suspiciously, "Why?"

Lex smiled. "No reason. Just curiosity, like I said. You said Kal-El's waiting for me in the bedchamber?"

"Yeah."

"Then I shouldn't keep him waiting. Thanks again, Whitney." Lex exited, leaving the slave behind him for once.

When Lex entered the other bedchamber, Kal-El was slouched in an armchair, his feet up on the side of the armrest. He sat up as Lex entered, and lowered his feet to the floor.

"Lex."

"Kal."

Kal-El was wearing a lush velvet robe, with the sides open, exposing his chest. "Don't tell me you walked around the palace half-naked," said Lex.

Kal-El smirked. "The nobles know I'm an alien already, Lex. Walking around naked isn't going to change their opinion of me." He paused and gestured to the table in front of him, laden with covered trays. "There's food here if you want it."

Lex strode toward him, then stopped, so that he was leaning against the side of the chair. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh." Kal-El seemed disappointed.

"You have an unhealthy fascination with watching me eat."

Kal-El's face grew red, and he dipped his head, trying to hide under the fringe of his hair. "No, I don't."

Lex traced the tip of Kal-El's ear with the pad of his thumb, and tucked Kal-El's hair behind his lobe. "Yes, you do."

Kal-El was smiling. "What do you want to do if you don't want to eat?" he said, leaning into Lex's caress.

Lex's voice was rich and deep, "I think we can find something else to occupy ourselves." Kal-El squirmed, and Lex abruptly moved away, striding towards the bed. "I saw the tailor. The new closet construction was a nice touch." He glanced back, with a curl of his lip and a teasing look in his eyes. "But you didn't have to get me a whole wardrobe. A few outfits would have been sufficient. Buying forgiveness never works, Kal. Trust me, I know."

Kal-El got up from the chair. "Then you don't like it?"

"I didn't say that." Kal-El walked towards him, and Lex paused as he took note of his solemn expression. "I liked your edict even better. Make more decisions like that and you'll seldom find me angry with you."

Kal-El's eyes were intense. "I did it for you."

They spent a seemingly infinite amount of time staring at each other. Finally, Lex said softly, "I know," and averted his gaze. When he felt a touch on his chest, he forced himself to look back at Kal-El.

Kal-El ran his hand down Lex's body. "So you're not mad anymore?" he whispered, and kissed Lex sweetly on the mouth. He lingered, and Lex returned the kiss, the gentleness shortly becoming hard and intense, their tongues caressing each other.

Lex gasped. "I think that's obvious." He ran his hand underneath Kal-El's robe, caressing the side of his chest. Kal-El shuddered, and Lex took his hand and led him to the bed.

Kal-El shrugged out of his robe, letting it fall to the floor, and then they both fell down on the mattress. Their frantic hands were everywhere on each other's bodies, legs entwined, hardening cocks pressing together.

"I missed you, Lex. It feels like I haven't been with you for weeks."

Lex laughed. "It was just one night."

Kal-El groaned, and gripped Lex's ass, squeezing his cheeks and pressing their cocks harder together in the process. "It was an eternity."

They kissed, Lex sucking Kal-El's tongue into his mouth while they ground together, the pressure incredible. But it wasn't enough, and Lex reached down, grabbing both their cocks in his fist. He rubbed their precome together, and then allowed Kal-El to move. Kal-El felt like hot silk against him, and Lex threw his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the pleasure to envelope him. He thrust against his fist and pushed their two cocks against one another, moaning as Kal-El moved in just the right direction. Lex could have come just from this, but he wasn't ready to end this desperate rush with a frantic rub.

He forced himself to let go of their cocks, and then moved away, while Kal-El moaned in protest.

Kal-El lifted his flushed face to Lex's. "Why'd you stop?"

Lex pushed against Kal-El's chest, forcing him to lie back on the bed. He straddled Kal-El's hips and said, "I want to show you how grateful I am for what you did today. Lie back and enjoy the ride, Kal."

Kal-El was sweaty, panting, his cheeks full of color. Lex sat back with Kal-El's cock pressing against his ass. He leaned forward, kissing him on the mouth briefly, and then mouthed his chin and neck. He licked his Adam's apple with a swirl of his tongue and sucked it. With a teasing bite, he moved down, laving Kal-El's collarbone, sucking his nipples, and brushing the tips of one, and then the other, with his teeth. Kal-El's legs were moving, flexing, and forcing Lex to ride the movement of his body and the push of his cock against Lex's ass.

Lex ground down, and Kal-El moaned and gripped Lex's hips. Lex grabbed his arms and pushed them above his head. Kal-El seemed content to let Lex position him the way he wanted.

Lex went back to Kal-El's chest, running his tongue down his stomach, and working his way down. He scooted back a bit, lifting his hips so Kal-El's cock was free, standing erect on his stomach. Lex looked at it and then, with a teasing glance up at Kal-El, kissed the side of his hip, laving his tongue in the hollow, but ignoring his cock. When he moved lower, Kal-El whined, "Lex."

Lex ran his fingernails down Kal-El's chest to shut him up, and then continued the sucking and kissing, interrupted with little bites. When Lex got to Kal-El's knees, Kal-El wiggled them, and half-raised himself. "Lex, I think my legs have gotten enough attention."

"Oh? And why's that?"

Kal-El gripped his cock in his big fist. "There's something that would appreciate your mouth a lot more."

Lex stared, temporarily captivated, but then moved back to the inside of Kal-El's knee, sucking the soft skin between his teeth. "I don't think so. And Kal? Stop that. It's mine."

Kal-El sighed, but he released himself, and returned his arms above his head. Lex gradually started to move back up Kal-El's body and, when his tongue traced the point where thigh met groin, he lingered, running his fingers through the hair at the base of Kal-El's cock. Kal-El groaned, and pushed into Lex's hand.

Kal-El's cock was up, the foreskin pulled away from the head, the slit shinning wetly. Lex gripped the base firmly with his fist and simultaneously took Kal-El's balls in his mouth. Kal-El expressed his pleasure with a deep and throaty groan, jerking wildly. He seemed to not know what to focus on; Lex's hand on his cock, or Lex's mouth on his balls.

Kal-El's voice was hoarse as he moaned Lex's name. Lex worked him, rubbing the precome for slickness, and when that wasn't enough, licking his palm, lingering a bit at the slightly bitter taste of Kal-El.

Lex pulled away from Kal-El's cock with a wet slurp, and then reached over to the nightstand, where a blue bottle of oil was set, ready for him. He went back to Kal-El, who was looking at him with a curious expression, his eyes dark and hot.

Lex pushed Kal-El's thighs up, so the dark cleft of his ass was visible. With one hand supporting Kal-El's legs, Lex reached down with the other, running it over his opening. Kal-El's ass clenched at the feel of Lex's hand, but he still moaned as Lex worked a finger in, the passage made easy with the slickness of the oil.

"Fuck," Kal-El moaned, as Lex put another finger in, pressing against his prostate, making Kal-El's legs twitch, while his fists pulled at the sheets. Lex shifted slightly and then, with his fingers still in Kal-El's ass, took him in his mouth, deep-throating him. The sheets ripped, the sound a loud accompaniment to Kal-El's panting.

Lex then released Kal-El and shifted up, so his chest was pressing Kal-El's cock between their bodies. He took his fingers out of Kal-El, one by one, and then gripped his own cock, getting it slick with oil. He then positioned the head of his cock flush with Kal-El's puckered entrance.

Kal-El peered down at Lex. "What are you doing?"

Lex pushed, the tip of his cock just touching Kal-El's entrance. "I'm going to fuck you."

Kal-El's body went rigid, his hole clenching tightly. "No."

"What?"

Kal-El reversed their positions, flipping Lex over on his back roughly. Kal-El was now on top of him, pinning Lex's hands above his head, their chests pressed together.

"I said no."

Lex tightened his lips. "You'd enjoy it if you gave it a chance."

"I didn't give you permission, Lex!"

"You didn't give me permission to stick my fingers up your ass, either. You were still moaning my name."

"Your fingers, Lex," said Kal-El, heat in his eyes, "aren't the same as your cock."

Lex said accusingly, "So it's not okay for me to fuck you, but it's fine for you to do it?"

Kal-El's answer was to grab Lex by the hips in a painful grip, pushing his legs up, exposing his ass. Kal-El held his cock and pressed it against Lex's opening, while Lex squirmed, trying get away. But his struggles were useless against an alien that could crush stone with his bare hands.

Kal-El pushed into Lex's body with one violent thrust. Lex bit his lip to hold in his moan of pain.

"That's right, Lex. It's okay for the Overlord to fuck his slave." Kal-El added harshly, "It's not okay for the slave to fuck the Overlord."

Lex's body was totally unprepared, the only thing acting as lubricant being the leftover saliva from Lex's mouth. It was extremely painful; Kal-El didn't bother hitting Lex's prostrate, seemingly wanting it over as soon as possible, thrusting violently, holding Lex's hips down as he took the few strokes needed for completion. When he pulled out, Lex curled up in a ball, trying to get his muscles to stop protesting. But his ass was stinging violently; it felt raw and half torn up inside.

He'd had his share of rough sex; he'd often purposely sought partners who would treat him roughly, but there had always been a semi-consensual agreement to the encounters. He knew he wasn't damaged badly -- but Lex had trusted Kal-El. Now, he felt betrayed.

He turned as he felt a hand on his back. Kal-El was gazing at Lex with a worried expression, biting his lip, a furrow in his brow. Lex looked at him with a glare that could freeze the warmest person, and Kal-El removed his hand, fiddling with the soiled bed sheets.

"Lex," he said hesitantly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rough."

Lex treated him to a look of disbelief, and then refused to look at him at all.

"Are you hurt?"

Lex was slow to respond. "It's nothing that won't heal."

Kal-El swallowed audibly, and then reached out again.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

Kal-El withdrew his hand. "All right, Lex." He added, uncertainly, "I'll leave you alone?"

Lex drew the sheets over his body, covering himself up to his chin.

Kal-El whispered, "I'm sorry."

Silence.

"I didn't mean it--"

"Stop right there, Kal."

"Lex?"

"Get out."

There was a hesitation, a sound of fidgeting.

Then a swish of fabric, and Kal-El was gone.

Part VII: Escape

Lex woke up with only a slight soreness as evidence of Kal-El's betrayal. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not when Kal-El didn't show up in the bedchamber in the morning, and he was at a loss to define his feelings when he walked into Kal-El's bedchamber, to see the closet finished, but Kal-El no-where in sight.

There were already several outfits hanging in it, all in Lex's size. He put on a pair of gray pants and a loose burgundy shirt, and then headed out, walking the halls aimlessly.

When he ventured into a more populated area, with slaves rushing down the hallways, he was startled to notice that a few of them paused when they reached him, bowed deeply, and then moved on, their eyes trained on the floor. Lex watched them go, bewildered. He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up, convinced they had missed the manacles on his wrists and neck.

He passed the dining room, and peered in the doorway briefly, a look of distaste on his face; there were still nobles and dignitaries seated at tables, with slaves waiting on them. Kal-El wasn't there.

He continued on, and turned down a half-hidden corridor that he had overlooked before, entering a hall with black floors and white stone walls. The traffic was decidedly slower here, and Lex walked on, hardly seeing anyone. As he drew closer to an open door, he could hear sounds of activity. Slaves were seated at desks with stacks of paper on them. There were also old-fashioned IBM computers set up throughout the room. The slaves were punching in numbers on calculators and signing documents with intense concentration, bits of ink smudging their hands and faces. Lex had found the diplomatic slaves. These were the people looking after LexCorp.

He stood in the doorway for a minute before a slave looked up from a stack of papers, and gazed directly at him. The man took note of Lex's manacles, and addressed him with disapproval. "What's your purpose, slave? You're not allowed here."

Lex leaned against the open doorway, his hands in his pockets. He said lazily, dismissing the slave with an indifferent glance, "I'm permitted to explore the palace. That includes this room."

The other slaves looked up at that, and Lex was treated to many pairs of hostile eyes.

"I don't think so. Leave before I report you."

"You'll get nowhere with--" The slave stood, heading towards Lex, intending to make good on his threat.

Lex straightened and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "All right. I'm going." A report was a surefire way to involve Kal-El. Despite his desire to investigate, he wasn't ready to face Kal-El yet. He turned away from the room, with a last lingering glance, and then moved farther down the hallway.

The next room was unoccupied -- unusual for a room of that nature. Lex entered, intrigued. It was illuminated by soft lights and filled with small coffee tables, three lounge chairs surrounding each. It was an opulent room, and from the look of it, intended for discussion -- and yet it was empty. It had to be designed for nobles and dignitaries, but only slaves seemed to occupy this side of the palace. Strange.

But thoughts of the room were forgotten at the sight of what was lying on the table. He grabbed the abandoned newspaper like a junkie in search of a fix. Lex had long since lost track of what the date was in a place where the outside world was irrelevant; however, the newspaper was the same year, and he was sure that the month was accurate. The headline screamed about increased rebellions, and the Overlord's lack of involvement. But Lex hardly paid it any attention, heading straight for the business section.

At first glance, there was nothing on LexCorp, only information on the status of the post-war reconstruction. There was a blurb on attempts to reestablish a television news network, and information about European dignitaries expected in North America later that week. But buried in the back of the business section was a small entry on LexCorp:

The seemingly inevitable decline of LexCorp was given an unexpected break Tuesday when it was announced that Metropolis dignitary Iago Sanchez had passed away, due to unavoidable differences with the Overlord. The ailing state of LexCorp has been well known since its founder, and original owner, Lex Luthor, had a run-in with the Overlord. LexCorp was originally a rising star, but, with Sanchez's acquisition of the company in early January, the stock took a plunge. The business world wonders if Sanchez's death will bring recovery or yet more decline.

His hands tightened on the paper. LexCorp in decline? That bastard.

Lex searched the rest of the paper from top to bottom, but LexCorp wasn't mentioned again. He sat in one of the chairs, with his head in his hands, for what seemed like an eternity, rubbing his temples, trying to get rid of his tension headache. Finally, he realized that he couldn't do anything. His worry and anger were useless. LexCorp wasn't his anymore.

He got up from the chair abruptly, leaving the room with long strides, not looking back at the paper, full of the decline of his dreams. He walked along the same empty hallway, hardly noticing his surroundings, until he became aware of who was heading his way.

Approaching him was a slave with long, dirty-blond hair, walking briskly, oblivious to Lex's presence. Seeing him made Lex feel unexpectedly guilty. He had hardly thought of Patrick at all in the last few weeks. He stopped him with a hand on the boy's arm. "Patrick?"

Patrick jerked his gaze up to Lex's, startled. Then his expression hardened and his lips tightened in a grimace. "Lex," he said, distaste in his eyes.

This cold reception was bewildering. "What's wrong?"

Patrick looked at Lex as if he were the remains of a particularly nasty bug crushed on the bottom of his foot. "What's wrong?" he scoffed. "You have some nerve. Everyone knows what you've been doing."

"What I've been doing," Lex repeated cautiously.

Patrick sneered. "You're the Overlord's new fuck toy."

Lex stepped back like he'd been hit. "Patrick, it's not as if I had a choice."

"Don't give me that. Everyone's seen you with him, clinging to him like a whore, laughing -- kissing him. How could you? You know what he's done!"

"Patrick..." Lex unthinkingly twisted his manacle around his wrist, and then stopped, annoyed with himself. "I've seen a side of Kal-El that the rest of the world never dreamed of. He's not just a killer. He has human emotions and human weaknesses. You can't judge me for seeing that side of him, and acting accordingly."

"Human side," Patrick mocked. "He's an alien! And he's obviously brainwashed you. Have you forgotten who he is? Who he's killed? The thousands that have been slaughtered by that thing?"

"I haven't forgotten. It's just..." Lex paused. "You know, I can't explain it. It's impossible. Patrick..."

Patrick pushed Lex up against the wall, his face pressed against Lex's, spittle spattering Lex's face. "He killed my sister. He crushed her skull. And you're fucking him. I should fucking kill you, you bastard!"

Lex pushed back, and Patrick staggered, trying to catch his balance. Lex shrugged his shirt back down and rubbed his arms where Patrick had grabbed them. Wiping his face, with a grimace, he said, "Patrick, it's unfortunate that you feel that way. I can't change it. But I still consider you my friend."

Patrick's lips twisted at that. He said, in a calmer tone, a defeatist note to it, "Everyone's seen you with him, Lex. They think that you're in league with him -- even in love," he spat, "but I never believed it. Now, I'm not so sure." He hugged his chest, as though he had a deep chill. "We all know the Overlord killed Sanchez for you. Picking a slave over a dignitary? Unprecedented. I hope you got some sick joy from getting him to kill for you."

"Patrick," Lex tried again, "that's not the way it happened."

"You've changed." Patrick studied Lex, looking him up and down. "You know, wearing clothes doesn't cover the fact that the manacles are still there."

Lex opened his mouth, about to defend himself, then stopped. He sighed. "You're right."

Patrick stopped short. "What?"

"You have a point."

Patrick seemed slightly mollified. "Do you even want to escape anymore? You seem perfectly happy with the way things stand."

"Of course I do."

"Then tell me why you have the freedom to roam around the palace, and yet, you've done nothing about your escape."

Lex didn't have an answer for that. He realized that, for weeks, escape had hardly crossed his mind. And, after what Kal-El had done, he couldn't possibly be content to stay passive, while the Overlord manipulated his emotions, could he?

"I have done some exploring," Lex said carefully. "I went downstairs, but I couldn't find the room you described."

Patrick looked hopeful. "I can still show it to you."

Lex studied him. He was the same boy who had poured his heart out to Lex that first day. Nothing had changed. Kal-El was still the Overlord, and the Overlord was still the alien that had destroyed everything in Lex's world. Slowly, Lex said, "All right." He swallowed, his throat dry. "Then let's do it."

Patrick smiled. "You really mean that?"

"Yes. It's past time that I got out of here." He walked closer to Patrick and said quietly, "Do you still have the supplies?"

Patrick nodded, his eyes wide. "They're under my mattress."

"Good. I have an idea how we can get into the Overlord's room without being accosted, and then, how we can get out of here. I want you to go to the sleeping quarters, get the supplies, and then meet me down the hallway from the harem." He paused. "Do you know where it is?"

"The harem? I've been past it a couple of times, on errands."

"This will work, then. Meet me there in ten minutes."

Patrick looked worried. "Lex, what are you going to do?"

"You'll see. Now go!" Lex hissed.

Patrick did, darting an anxious look at Lex as he went.

Lex rolled his shoulders, getting the kinks out, then took a deep breath, and began walking down the hallway.

As he made his way down the corridor, everything that could possibly go wrong went through his head in an incessant litany. And, somehow, Kal-El's heartbroken face kept pushing its way to the forefront of his thoughts.

But he didn't have time for further analysis -- he was approaching the harem entrance, and two uniformed men were watching him.

Lex walked up to them.

"What do you want?" one of them asked.

Lex gave him a condescending look, and drawled, "The Overlord wants me to talk to Jayanti."

The man seemed suspicious. "We weren't informed of any scheduled visits."

"No? It must be an oversight. Now let me in."

The man had a mulish expression. "I don't think--"

The other guard jabbed him in the side with his elbow. "Don't you know who this is?" he hissed.

"Of course--"

"It's that slave."

"What?"

"The one we were talking about."

"Oh." The guard looked at Lex wide-eyed, and cleared his throat. "In that case, you can go right in."

Lex smiled. "Thank you."

As soon as Lex turned the corner of the corridor, taking him out of sight of the guards, his expression sobered. He still had one more man to deal with.

But it appeared that it was going to be easier than he thought. The guard was leaning against the door, his eyes closed, seemingly half-asleep.

Lex rushed him, pushing him back against the door and covering his mouth. The man startled, now wide-awake, his eyes bulging out of his head as he struggled to get away from Lex. But Lex had the advantage, crushing him and using his elbow to cut off the guard's airway. The man gripped Lex's shoulders, trying to pull him off, but he had been stunned by Lex's attack and was already weakening. Slowly, he grew limp and finally, unconscious.

With a sigh of relief, Lex quickly worked at undressing him. He removed his own clothes, threw them on top of the now naked guard, and then donned the black uniform. He tied the guard's hands behind his back, using the sleeves of his discarded shirt. Then, he took the baton and slowly made his way back to the two uniformed men.

They were facing away from him, unaware of his approach. Lex used the baton to hit first one, and then the other, on the head. But it seemed he had only stunned them, and they both staggered against the corridor wall. Lex pushed them, hitting one on his temple, wincing as the guard cried out and collapsed to the floor. The other one was now coming towards him, and Lex shoved him back, so that the back of his head slammed into the wall. As the man struggled, his hands at Lex's throat, Lex frantically hit him with the baton, again and again, until finally, he went limp, the weight of his body slumping against Lex.

Lex lowered him to the floor and then undressed them both, using their clothes to tie them up.

Then he ran into the hallway, looking for Patrick. "Patrick," he hissed. Soon, he saw the boy darting around the corner, rushing over to Lex, carrying a bundle.

"Lex," he said, astonished, "what did you do?"

"They'll be okay," Lex said curtly. "Put this on." Lex shoved the uniform at the boy. While Patrick dressed, Lex pulled the collar of his own shirt up, hiding his neck manacle, and pulled his sleeves down so that nothing was visible on his wrists. He motioned for Patrick to do the same. As a final touch, Lex grabbed the black cap from one of the guards and put it on his head, pushing the bill down to hide his face.

"Come on, we have to hurry. I want to get out of here before they wake up. Walk in front of me, and lead the way."

Patrick nervously started walking, looking back at Lex with a panicked expression.

"Walk like you have a purpose," Lex said sharply. "We have to look like we're supposed to be here."

Patrick straightened his shoulders and held his head high.

"Good," Lex breathed.

They walked down the hallways, luckily, encountering hardly anyone. Those they did pass seemed to ignore them, or give them small nods of respect.

Patrick led the way downstairs, and Lex recognized the area he had explored before. But then Patrick took a slight turn, and just like that, a large corridor was in front of them. Lex didn't know how he had missed it before.

Something seemed off.

"Were there guards here before?"

Patrick slowed. "Yes."

"And there's no one here now."

Patrick stopped, alarmed. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know. But it's suspicious."

The corridor was totally open, nothing barring their view of the room and its contents.

"Are we still going to do this?" asked Patrick.

Lex hesitated. "We can't stop now. It was too late to go back as soon as I knocked the guards out. Just be cautious, and follow my lead."

Lex passed the huge entrance, walking slowly, and scanning everything for a possible trap. But as far as he could tell, no one was around, and everything was eerily quiet.

The room was bare, nothing on the white walls or floor. And in one corner, placed almost unobtrusively...

The spaceship.

Lex stopped abruptly, and Patrick bumped into him. "Lex?" he hissed.

Lex made a shushing motion, and slowly approached it. It was small -- tiny, even. It couldn't possibly fit a full-grown man, let alone a man of Kal-El's size. Lex began to believe that Kal-El had arrived on Earth as a child. This spaceship was more aptly a pod.

"You said that you heard the Overlord talking to the ship?"

"Well, yeah. There was no one else here -- who else could he have been talking to?"

"Was it... doing anything before?"

"The ship? I couldn't see all that well. I'm, um, not too sure."

"Not sure?" Lex hissed questioningly.

Patrick shrugged and walked around the room, examining the walls and the immaculate floor, and then returned to the ship. "Where do you suppose the control for the manacles is?"

"I have no idea," Lex said, distracted. He walked to the pod and crouched down, resting his hands on his knees. "Remarkable," he whispered.

He slowly inched forward, getting closer.

"Lex," Patrick said anxiously, "do you think that's a good idea?"

Lex just continued, seemingly entranced, and rested his hand on the pod. It was cold to the touch, the surface smooth and without any discernible joints or seams. It appeared lifeless and inert. But if it had been talking to Kal-El, it certainly wasn't dead. There had to be a way to open--

"Lex Luthor."

What the hell?

There was a bright white light shining directly into his eyes, and he felt paralyzed; he couldn't move his head to see either side of him. The room with the ship, Patrick, and its surroundings seemed to be hazy and fading away.

"You are the human Kal-El has been fornicating with, are you not?"

Lex tried to see the form in the bright light. "I suppose you could say that. Yes, I'm Lex Luthor. And you are?"

Whatever or whoever it was, it ignored his question. "Are you aware of what you are doing to Kal-El's mind?"

"I wasn't aware that I was doing anything to his mind."

Even though Lex couldn't see who he was talking to, he could still tell that he had pissed him off. He was going for a he, since the voice sounded distinctly male.

The light became even brighter, almost blinding him in its brilliance.

"You are forcing Kal-El to question the very fundamental structure of his existence. You are doing this purposefully."

"Whoever or whatever you are, I'm not doing anything to him that he hasn't already done to me. And I'm certainly not screwing with his 'fundamental structure'."

"Human, you test my patience."

"Well, you're testing mine." The light was almost unbearable, and Lex tried to lift his arm to cover his eyes, but his body seemed frozen in place. "You wouldn't happen to know if there's a control for the slave manacles around here, would you?"

A blast of light, and then silence.

"I'll take that as a no."

The voice seemed agitated. "Your actions are making Kal-El retreat, and the human part of Kal-El, 'Clark', come to the forefront."

Lex paused, considering the thing's words. "I thought Clark wasn't real," he said softly.

"Clark," the voice almost shrieked, "should not be real! It is a human weakness. And it is your fault.

"Human, you must either stop your fornication with Kal-El or end your existence."

Oh, for God's sake. He cleared his throat. "I'm not particularly keen on ending my existence. And I'd like to stop 'fornicating' with Kal, but I don't think he's eager to stop."

"You are not going to end your fornication with Kal-El?"

"I told you, I tried--" Lex didn't get any further.

A pain unlike any he had ever felt before passed through his body, the bright light that had been shining into his eyes now seizing him and holding him in the air. The light was pulsating and each pulse accompanied a shot of pain. Vaguely, Lex was aware of Patrick screaming in the background.

"Since you will not end your existence, I will have to do it for you."

It was agony. The light was beaming into his head, tearing him apart. He couldn't struggle; he couldn't do anything. His body was limp and he was helpless in the thing's unnatural hold.

And then, with a boom, it ended.

When Lex opened his eyes, he was on the floor, and dust was raining down on him. A screeching sound assaulted his ears -- the sound of metal tearing and compacting together.

He sat up weakly, clutching his head. What he saw made him doubt his vision. Kal-El stood with his back to Lex, breathing hard, his clothes covered in dirt. And the ship -- the spaceship was -- no more.

It was a crumpled mass of torn metal and parts crushed against the far wall. The lights on the ceiling had been knocked off, hanging from electrical cords and swaying as dust and plaster fell down.

"Kal..." Lex said weakly, bracing his hands against the floor. "Your spaceship."

Kal-El slowly turned and faced Lex. He had a streak of dirt running down the side of his face; his hair was covered in dust, and his eyes -- God, his eyes. He seemed heartbroken. "He was going to kill you, Lex."

Lex didn't question the "he". He painstakingly got to his feet, wobbling slightly as he approached Kal-El. He removed the black cap that was falling into his eyes and let it drop to the ground. Then he touched Kal-El's arm, and said, "Thank you."

Kal-El bit his lip, long lashes covering sad, green eyes. "He was my father, in a way. And now... he's gone."

Suddenly, Patrick came out of nowhere and rushed towards them. "You bastard!" he screamed.

Lex and Kal-El both looked up at the intrusion, staring in shock at the enraged boy.

"Patrick--" Lex said.

"Shut up." He pointed at Kal-El. "You were trying to kill Lex, weren't you? Freak. You see how he's a monster, Lex!"

"Patrick! Kal saved my life. He wasn't trying to kill me."

Patrick glanced at Lex, a look of betrayal on his face. "You blind idiot. You think the alien would ever do that? He would never save anyone!"

Kal-El shot the boy a look of disgust, and then pushed his hand through his hair, staring down in distaste as his hand came back covered in dust. He shook himself like a dog, shedding dirt as it fell to the floor. "You know nothing about me, human," he said to Patrick, and then turned to Lex. "Lex, what were you doing down here?"

Fuck.

But Patrick wasn't done. "What do you think we were doing, freak? Trying to get out of here, and away from you. Lex hates you! He wants his life back!"

Kal-El took one intimidating step towards Patrick, but Lex drew closer to him and grabbed his arm. "Kal, why don't we get out of here?"

"Why are you acting this way?" Patrick shrieked at Lex.

"Patrick, get a hold of yourself," Lex said curtly.

Kal-El turned to Lex, studying him. "Lex, were you really trying to escape?"

Lex tried confronting him, but it hurt too much. He looked down at Kal-El's dusty shirt instead. He said in a whisper, "What did you expect, Kal? I'm a slave. Did you think I was going to forever remain meekly by your side?"

Silence.

Then Kal-El said, his voice rumbling with anger, "I wasn't aware you felt that way."

Lex's eyes shot up to his face. "How could you not?" He swallowed. "Especially after last night."

"That doesn't matter. You're still not allowed to escape. You belong--" Kal-El cut himself off, breathing heavily, pain on his face.

He rubbed his cheek, trying to clean his face, but all he managed to do was smudge the dirt mark even more. He turned heat-tinged eyes to Patrick. "Who's your friend?"

Lex gazed at the boy. Patrick was still brimming with anger; his cheeks were flushed and there was a crazed look on his face. "Nobody that need concern you."

"Is that so," said Kal-El, anger underlying his voice. "It seems to me that if you were planning to escape with him, he concerns me very much, Lex."

"He's an innocent. He was just roped into doing what I told him. Let him go."

Kal-El snorted.

But it appeared that Patrick was finished with being passive. While Lex and Kal-El had been talking, he had gone over to the remains of the ship and picked up a shard of metal.

Lex was peripherally aware of the boy as he walked determinedly towards Lex, the makeshift weapon in his hand. But Lex was still focused on Kal-El, and Kal-El on him -- his eyes red as he took in deep breaths of air.

It was a shock when Lex felt Patrick come up behind him and grip him around the throat, the shard held to Lex's neck. But Patrick's face should have clued him in that the boy was past his breaking point.

Right away, Kal-El's eyes focused on the boy.

"Tell me where the control for the manacles is!" Patrick shrieked, the metal digging into Lex's neck.

"Patrick, what the fuck--" the shard dug deeper, cutting his throat.

Kal-El was enraged. "I suggest you release him, human, if you want to live past the next second."

But Lex wasn't exactly helpless, and he wasn't going to allow Patrick to use him like this. He tucked in his chin, and gripped Patrick's arm, pulling the weapon away from his neck. He then stepped forward and ducked under Patrick's hold, turning and hitting the boy hard in the stomach. Patrick's breath expelled in a whoosh, and he clutched his middle and dropped the shard to the floor.

Before Lex could go any further, Kal-El was there, knocking the boy to the floor with a callous strike.

As Kal-El stood over Patrick, fist raised, ready to strike a final blow, Lex shouted, "No!" and ran over, attaching himself to Kal-El's back and holding him back.

Kal-El breathed heavily under him, his arm like iron, but he allowed himself to be held. "He tried to kill you."

"No, he never would have gone through with it. Please, Kal. Let him go."

Kal-El's head lowered, and his fist vibrated once in Lex's hold, but then, slowly, he nodded, and motioned for Lex to release him.

Patrick was still on the floor, clutching his stomach, curled up in a ball.

Kal-El whirled to face Lex, gripping him almost desperately as he gently eased Lex's head up and looked at his neck. There was a small cut, but nothing more. "You're okay," said Kal-El, seemingly to himself.

"Yes, Kal. I'm all right."

Kal-El clutched him, kissing him once tenderly on the forehead.

Lex closed his eyes, and wondered why there was a wrenching pain going through him when there was nothing physical to account for his agony. "Kal, can we leave? Please," he whispered.

Kal-El loosened his hold and stared into his eyes. "All right." He turned to Patrick, who was still on the floor. He stared down at the boy for an endless second, and when he turned back to Lex, he was clenching his jaw, obviously still angry. He said, quietly, "I'll have someone collect your... friend."

"Kal--"

"Don't bother. I know what you're going to say." He ran a thumb down the side of Lex's face, tenderly. "And you don't have to worry; I won't hurt him. You have a soft heart, Lex. The boy tried to kill you, and you still wish him no harm."

Lex gazed down at Patrick. "He never would have gone through with it," he said softly, and yet at the same time, he doubted his own words. Lex had never seen Patrick so worked up before. He wasn't sure what Patrick was capable of when confronted with the monster that had killed his sister.

Kal smiled. "No? Well, you certainly know him better than I. Brace yourself, Lex." Kal-El grabbed Lex around the waist, and then there was the rush and dizzying feeling as they moved at speeds impossible for an ordinary human. When Lex next opened his eyes, they were in the bedchamber. He stepped back from the heat of Kal-El's body as fast as possible.

Lex sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?"

Kal-El ignored his outburst, still shaking his clothes, trying to get rid of the dust. "I'll be right back," he said, and took hold of Lex's hand, gripping it warmly. "Stay here." And then headed to bathroom.

Lex watched him go with a feeling of unreality. This had to be too good to be true. He loosened the collar of his uniform, tugging at it, trying to get some air. But even as he unbuttoned his shirt, he still felt as though he couldn't breathe.

Lex had tried to escape. He'd snuck into the room that held Kal-El's spaceship; he'd inadvertently destroyed his spaceship, and this was his reaction?

The tenderness...

Was too much to think about right now.

Lex sat down on the bed, suddenly weak, scrubbing his hand over his head, and lightly touching his neck where Patrick had nicked him.

And then he looked up, and his mouth went dry.

Kal-El stood in the doorway of the bathroom, naked, water droplets running down his bronze skin, a tiny white towel held in front of his stomach as he dried himself. His hair was glossy, clumped together in slight curls. His muscles clenched and unclenched as he reached behind his back, drying his shoulders and rubbing the towel through his hair. Lex glanced down, watching as droplets fell down Kal's stomach, trailing down to his dark hair and pink cock.

Lex involuntarily licked his lips.

When he'd finished, Kal-El threw the towel down on the floor, and approached Lex, a determined look on his face.

As Kal-El sat down next to him, Lex couldn't stop looking at his chest, his stomach... and his face.

Kal-El gazed at him somberly. "You were trying to escape?"

Lex felt like his throat was closing up. "Yes," he said simply.

"Why?"

"Why do you think? I'm a slave, Kal."

"I'm aware of that, Lex. But I thought... I assumed that there was something between us."

"We fuck every night. You're a fool if you think there's anything more than that."

"A fool," Kal-El said faintly, staring straight ahead. Then he got up from the bed, and picked up a discarded black robe from the floor. He put it on, running his hand through his hair, facing away from Lex. When he turned around, his face had hardened, and his eyes were no longer soft. "I suppose I must be a fool, then. I thought you were better than the other humans on this planet, Lex. But you just proved to me that you're no different."

"What are you talking about?"

"Humans, Lex. I'm talking about the worthlessness of single-minded, greedy humans."

"Greedy? I'm not following, Kal."

"You wanted to leave."

"Yes," Lex said slowly. "I'm still not seeing the connection."

"You tried to escape," Kal-El gritted out. "You broke into my private room, you killed my father, and you say you aren't greedy."

"First of all," said Lex, "it wasn't exactly hard to get into that room; there were no guards, and the door was wide open. Secondly, I didn't kill anyone. You did that yourself. And finally, wanting to escape isn't greedy if you're a slave. And what are you saying, your 'father'? Your spaceship was your father?"

"In a way, that spaceship was the only thing I had left of my family. And now I find out that I killed him for you, just another worthless human. A slave." Kal-El was an imposing presence with his robe open, but enough of his body was still visible for Lex to have to look away. He hated what Kal-El did to him.

He was fed up with the way Kal-El loomed over him, so he stood up, and walked over to him. "Why did you do it, Kal? If I'm so worthless, just another human, you could have left me there, allowed that thing to kill me. But you didn't. Why?"

Kal-El stared at him, breathing heavily.

"Why not, Kal? Why not leave me there? Why didn't you allow Patrick to run that shard across my throat?" Lex taunted.

Kal-El clenched his jaw, and then swallowed once, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, it was as though contacts were covering his eyes, coloring them red.

"I'll give you one chance to explain yourself, Lex."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Lex snorted.

In a second, Kal-El was in front of him, grabbing his wrists, hard. "How dare you!"

Lex pulled, trying to get away, but Kal-El just tightened his grip. "How dare I what? You're acting insane!"

"How dare you talk that way to me; how dare you try to leave; how dare you talk to that boy, who'd kill you as soon as look at you!"

"How dare I?" said Lex, incredulous. "I'm a fucking slave! Everyone's entitled to the chance of freedom! And why shouldn't I talk to Patrick? He's a slave just like me. I've got a lot more in common with him than I have with you!"

"That pitiful human is nothing!" Kal-El roared. He pulled Lex's arms above his head, backing him up, his face enraged.

"Fuck! That hurts, Kal! Let me go!"

"You're mine, Lex."

Lex did a double take, not believing what he was hearing. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. You're jealous," he sneered.

Kal-El released his grip and pushed, and Lex fell, landing on the floor.

Lex looked up at Kal-El, who was staring down at him, hands balled into fists. If Kal-El had been a bull, there'd be steam rising from his nostrils. "I'm not fucking jealous," Kal-El said as he pulled agitatedly on the side of his robe. "I think I might just visit this 'Patrick' after all. I'm sure he's violated a number of my edicts already."

"What do you mean?" asked Lex in disbelief, staring up at him.

"Death," said Kal-El sweetly.

That was it.

Even though Lex knew it was irrational, he was determined to hurt Kal-El any way he could. He got to his feet, and took three large strides toward him. Lex was half-crazed as he gripped Kal-El by the throat, but Kal-El only looked down at him grimly, the muscles in his throat clenched, his hands splayed on the wall. Kal-El's skin was yielding, but the muscle and bone underneath were hard as stone. Lex screamed in frustration, but finally had to let go, gasping at his efforts.

"Are you done?" Kal-El demanded coldly.

Lex glared at him.

"Good."

In a flash, Kal-El had reversed their positions, Lex's back against the wall, and Kal-El's body pressed into his. Lex had been fighting his arousal ever since he'd seen Kal-El with the towel, but he'd assumed it had gone unnoticed. However, Kal-El's thigh pressing into his hardness was all the evidence he needed that Kal-El seldom missed anything when it came to Lex's body. Kal-El grabbed Lex's neck just above the manacle, squeezing lightly, exerting only slight pressure. But Lex could still feel it viscerally, his throat delicate and fragile in Kal-El's superhuman hands.

"Tell me why you care about that slave."

Lex swallowed reflexively, his throat working underneath Kal-El's hand.

"Did you fuck him?" Kal-El hissed, his hot breath hitting Lex's face.

"Fuck you," Lex rasped. Kal-El pushed his thigh harder against Lex's cock, and Lex closed his eyes, the pleasure and thrill of the danger overwhelming him.

"You should know by now, Lex. That will never happen."

"I hate you."

"I'm sure you do. That's why your cock's burning a hole through your pants." Kal-El brought his face closer. Lex thought he was going to try to kiss him, but instead, he lowered his face to the side of Lex's neck and ear, seeming to sniff his skin. He licked Lex's ear, and Lex squirmed, turning his head from that hot, moist tongue. When Kal-El pulled away, releasing Lex, he looked startled, the anger, down a notch. "You didn't fuck him."

Lex only glared at him in response.

In a softer tone, Kal-El asked, "Did you fuck him before?"

Lex gazed at him in disbelief. "You're such an idiot," he hissed, and then groaned as Kal-El lifted Lex's legs up around his waist. Lex was now pressed against Kal-El's groin, the pressure against his cloth-enclosed cock, exquisite.

"He's nothing, Lex. You're mine." Kal-El lowered his head and kissed him, forcing Lex's mouth open. Lex tried to resist at first, but Kal-El could exert incredible pressure, and Lex wasn't looking forward to a broken jaw. Kal-El kissed him brutally and, when he pulled away, Lex's mouth was bloody and swollen. But the pain did nothing to diminish Lex's arousal, and his cock was still traitorously hard.

When Kal-El pulled his head back, his eyes were still tinged with red, and his chest was moving rapidly. But it was the torn expression on his face that captivated Lex -- pain and desire warring, indecision almost taking over. His face became determined, and he gripped the sides of Lex's black pants at the hips, and tore. The fabric ripped, coming off in strips. Kal-El gripped Lex's shirt and pulled there as well, the fabric tearing with a loud rip. Then, with one hand still holding Lex's neck against the wall, Kal-El took his robe off, and they were naked against each other.

They were brutal as they gripped hands and arms, legs and chests. Lex dug his nails into Kal-El's back, struggling to get a good grip so he could push his cock more easily into Kal-El's stomach. Kal-El was absorbed in his own struggle to lave Lex's neck and chest with his tongue. They were going crazy, wild against each other.

When Kal-El pulled back enough to press his cock against Lex's ass, Lex was desperate, urging Kal-El forward. But just as Kal-El's cock breached Lex's hole, he stopped, breathing heavily.

"Don't stop, you bastard," Lex panted.

"I don't have any lubricant."

Now he cared? "I don't give a shit. Just do it."

But Kal-El still seemed unsure. He released Lex, rushed to the other side of the room and, suddenly, he was back. He repositioned Lex and his hand, now slick with oil, pushed three fingers into him. Lex was dizzy with the quickness of it, but he was still outraged as Kal-El paused once again with his cock just breaching Lex. "Get on with it," he gritted out.

Kal-El's expression seemed much too solemn for someone desperate with desire. "Are you sure?"

"Kal."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Fuck me."

And Kal-El did, with one smooth and forceful thrust. Lex gripped Kal-El's shoulders hard, squeezing his legs around his waist. Although he was mostly healed from their previous encounter, the stroke still burned. But he welcomed the pain, urging Kal-El deeper inside. Lex's back was against the wall, and Kal-El pounded into him, the thrusts brutal and fast. He gripped Lex's cock, stroking him, bringing Lex closer to the edge.

Lex threw his head back, and then winced as it hit the wall, but the pain was distant to the pleasure. Kal-El's thrusts increased in tempo, growing erratic, forcing Lex up against the wall. As Kal-El stroked Lex's cock, rubbing the head just right, Lex came, hating Kal and loving him at the same time.

Kal-El soon followed, letting out a deep and guttural moan, slamming Lex against the wall one last time. He shuddered, putting his hands above Lex's head as he dealt with the aftershocks. Finally, he seemed to almost collapse, and let Lex slide down the wall.

Lex winced, glancing at his back. It was red and sore; and friction burns were appearing; bruising as he watched.

For minutes, the only sound was their rapid breathing. But Lex gradually pulled himself together, got up and moved towards the bed, sitting down gingerly.

When Kal-El touched him lightly on the shoulder, Lex shoved him off, turning his back to him.

"Lex?"

"What?" Lex bit out.

"You're not still angry?"

"Are you kidding me? Fucking doesn't magically make everything better, Kal."

Silence. Then Kal-El said, "I was kidding about the boy. I won't hurt him."

Lex swiveled, facing him. "But that's not really the issue, though, is it? I'm greedy, worthless, a slave. And to top it all off, I tried to escape. If there's anyone you should be killing, it should be me, right?"

Kal-El rubbed the side of his face and peered at Lex. "I was angry. I know you've said things that you don't mean when you're angry, Lex. And you're still here. You didn't escape. So everything is all right."

"I'm not going to stop, Kal."

"What?"

"I'll try to escape again. You have to know that. No one was ever meant to remain a slave, least of all me."

Kal-El seemed to pull into himself. "You really hate me that much?"

"It's not a matter of hate. It's a matter of my sanity. I can't stay here."

Kal-El looked at him, uncomprehending.

Lex sighed. "How would you feel if you were in chains, enslaved, with no freedom, no way to travel, no way to use your powers?"

"I'd be happy." When Lex treated him with a look of disbelief, Kal-El added, "I'd be happy knowing I was the companion of the savior of the world."

"You've got to be kidding me." Kal-El continued to gaze at him seriously, and Lex said, "You're full of shit."

Kal-El laughed, and then the sound cut off abruptly. "What?"

"After I discovered the room with your shrine, you told me that you had dreams, and that you conquered the human race so you could make the world a better place. Did you not?"

Cautiously, Kal-El nodded.

"You told me that you wanted to make Earth a paradise. And what have you done to implement that? You've played in your palace, brushed off your dignitaries, and fucked every chance you could. You're a hypocrite. I took in that crock of shit at the time because, for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to believe that you weren't just a selfish alien asshole. I was wrong."

"Lex--"

"You could have done so many things while you were screwing around. But instead, you have a system that's horribly abused. Your dignitaries manipulate your edicts to their own ends -- all they care about is profit and their own greed. The world will never be a paradise while you allow those idiots free reign."

Lex stared at Kal-El accusingly. "You could have solved this problem. All you had to do was let the people elect their own dignitaries -- your power would have still been intact. And I understand that you're the Overlord, and that you want to be in charge. But you just had to stipulate that you would be able to overrule any decision they made. Humans would have been happy and satisfied with the illusion of independence and with dignitaries that relied on the people for their position. Instead, more people are rebelling, and when you pry yourself away from here and start to take care of it, which you inevitably will have to do, more deaths will be the result."

Lex got up and stood in front of Kal-El. "You ignore Whitney every day while he tries to get your attention. I know that your dignitaries are desperate -- they don't know what to do as more rebellions start up. Did you think it would all just go away?"

Kal-El opened his mouth, ready to answer, but Lex continued: "You are a fool if you think you're the savior of the world. You're the destroyer of the world."

"Lex, be reasonable--"

"No, Kal. I am being reasonable; it's you who doesn't have a clue."

Lex walked over to the closet, taking out a pair of pants and a shirt. He put them on, and faced Kal-El with a serious expression. "Kal, the pleasure slaves are gone now, aren't they? They've been released?"

Kal-El answered, bewildered, "Yes."

"Then Jayanti's free."

"Yes."

Lex looked Kal-El directly in the eye, and said, with a malicious pleasure that left him with a dry mouth and a pain in his chest, "Then I can finally say what I've really been thinking these past few weeks. Kal. Know what I'm saying is the truth. You truly are a monster."

Kal-El was shocked, staring at Lex with hurt and betrayal on his face. Lex flinched internally, but his face was stoic and full of grim conviction.

Something was irrecoverably severed after Lex's final damning words. He turned, grabbed a robe and headed out of the bedchamber, without a word to Kal-El. When he returned that night, Kal-El wasn't there.

He wasn't there the next morning or that night either. When they finally saw each other, it was only by accident, with Lex running into him in the hallway. Lex was treated to a frosty look, layered with something unreadable. Kal-El stopped and said, "Lex," in a measured tone, and then walked around him. Lex watched him go. Kal-El had been proud, his back straight, his steps steady.

It was a week before Lex saw him again. Kal-El was in their bedchamber, rifling in his closet. He came out with the dark blue sweater that had caused the argument between them. He seemed surprised when he saw Lex, but all he did was clutch the sweater closer to his chest.

The sight of it struck a cord in Lex, leaving him sad and regretful. Kal-El had kept his word. Patrick hadn't been harmed.

For a month, Lex and Kal-El danced around each other, never speaking, Kal-El avoiding Lex as much as he could. Lex still slept in their bedchamber, but Kal-El was never there. When they did see each other, it was through chance encounters. They were always brief and uncomfortable. Lex had a hard time looking him in the eye; he couldn't take the hurt and bewildered look on Kal-El's face.

Lex was in the library one day, reading about the slave system in Rome, when their pattern unexpectedly changed. Kal-El had walked in, but when he'd seen Lex, he hadn't left as he usually did. He'd come further into the room, sitting down in the armchair across from Lex, and setting a black binder on the table.

"Lex," he said, his voice soft.

"Hello, Kal," Lex said cautiously.

Kal-El's face was open, his eyes earnest. "I've been thinking about what you said that night. And I think you were right, about a lot of things."

Kal-El's openness was too much for Lex, and he was forced to look down at the table.

"Lex, your company meant a lot to you, didn't it?"

Lex's head shot up. He cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. "LexCorp? It was everything."

Kal-El touched the binder. "Here." He pushed it towards Lex. "I thought you might like to read this." Confused, Lex took it. When he opened it and saw the first page, his hands tightened around the binder. He looked up at Kal-El in shock.

Kal-El had a sad, half smile on his face. "Go ahead."

Lex turned the next page with hands he knew were trembling.

It was the history of LexCorp since Sanchez had taken the company more than a year ago. Everything was documented, from the stock growth to the employee turnover.

As Lex turned the pages, he became engrossed, immersed in his own world. Figures swam before his eyes; plant closures; losing battles with rising competitors. It made him angry. His company was in a direction far from what he'd envisioned at its conception. But still, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared.

When he finished, turning the last page of the report, he looked up, ready to thank Kal-El.

But the seat was empty, a slight indentation in the leather, the only proof that Kal-El had even been there.

Lex had just finished getting dressed and was seated at the table, about to start his breakfast, when he next saw Kal-El.

His face solemn, Kal-El said, "Lex, I'd like you to follow me."

Lex slowly put his fork down, and pushed his chair back. "Follow you where?"

Strangely, Lex's question seemed to make Kal-El flinch.

"Just follow me and you'll see." He turned and opened the door, waiting, with his back to Lex. When Lex finally came towards him, Kal-El left the doorway, and they walked down the hallway.

Lex stared at Kal-El's back in bewilderment as they left the palace, going outside and to the side of the stables. Attached to its side was a protruding structure, a square-like extension that was at odds with its symmetrical shape. Lex had always assumed it was part of the stables, a tack room or a place to store grain. But as they approached the entrance, and Lex peered inside, it became clear that it was a separate and ominous-looking section. Lex balked at the doorway.

Hanging from the walls, on hooks, were thousands of slave manacles, some half assembled, while others were whole. The manacles were all sizes, for wrists, as well as the neck. The place was dirty and dark, covered in dust and emitting a foul odor. It was a nightmare come to life for Lex. The manacles were a slap in the face, the room reminding him vividly of his own enslavement.

When Kal-El realized that Lex had stopped at the entrance, he came back, and took his hand, running his thumb along Lex's palm. But Lex was too preoccupied to notice the intimate gesture.

"Lex," said Kal-El, "it's all right. Nothing will hurt you. I promise." Lex stared at him blankly, half paralyzed with dread.

"Come in," Kal-El said coaxingly, "It'll be alright."

Lex finally forced his feet over the threshold, entering the room with legs that felt as if they were weighted down with lead. The door closing seemed final and frightening.

The room was extremely warm. The heat seemed to be coming from a hearth - an old-fashioned smithy fire in the middle of the room. A flame suddenly flared up from the round hearth. Close by, a stack of metal boxes, full of dusty bolts and nails, accompanied a square worktable, laden with odd apparatuses and tools.

"Kal? What are we doing here?" Lex asked, bewildered.

What Lex had previously assumed was an empty corner, dark and full of shadows, now produced a man, covered in black soot, with an old and worn leather apron wrapped around his chest. He was thin, with graying hair. "My Lord? You have need of my services?"

"This is the smith, Lex," Kal-El said. He addressed the man, his voice quiet and hardly audible. "I want you to remove this slave's manacles."

The man looked surprised, but he answered, as if the request was customary, "Of course, my Lord. I just need the slave in the chair here."

"Kal?" Lex questioned faintly.

"I'm removing your manacles, Lex."

"But why?"

"Don't ask questions, Lex," Kal-El said, a tone of anguish in his voice, "just get in the chair."

The reclining chair was wooden, dirty, and badly constructed. It had straps on the sides of the armrests, and one at the top, where Lex assumed his neck was supposed to lie. He shuddered, looking at it. "Is that really necessary?"

"Well, it is if you don't want to be poisoned to death," said the smith.

Kal-El came behind Lex and put his hands on his shoulders. "Come on, Lex," he urged. "It will be all right."

Lex sat on the edge of the chair tentatively. His breath expelled in a whoosh when the smith pushed him down, forcing Lex to recline. Kal-El took a warning step towards the old man, but he seemed oblivious as he adjusted the chair. "Put your hands on the armrests." Lex did so, and then winced as straps were fastened tightly across his arms, digging into his skin.

The smith went back to his worktable, then approached Lex with metal cutters the size of Lex's arm. He inserted the tip between the edge of the manacle and Lex's wrist. He strained as he pushed the cutters together, and then, there was a snap, and the metal cut through cleanly. The smith put the huge cutters back on the table, and returned with pliers. He used them to pull the metal apart, and the manacle fell to the ground with a clatter. He repeated the process with Lex's other manacle, and for the first time in a year, Lex's wrists were completely bare. There was a slight reddened line on his skin, but otherwise, there was no evidence of them.

Kal-El was staring at Lex's arms with a distressed look. "I would have done this myself, but the neck manacle needs something more than brute force."

The smith nodded. "It's a very nasty poison -- a painful death for the slaves that try to remove them themselves."

The smith examined Lex's neck. "Put your head back on the chair."

Lex gingerly set it back, and a strap was tightened just above the hollow of his throat. The smith approached with a long tool, this one with strange tips. Lex strained, struggling to see. He was able to make out the smith inserting the tip of the tool into a small hole in the metal around Lex's neck, but was unable to see anything further.

"Be careful with that," said Kal-El sharply.

The smith jumped. "Of course, my Lord."

As the man fiddled with Lex's manacle, Kal-El stared at Lex with a heartbroken expression. Lex gazed back at him. Could removing the manacles possibly be the equivalent to Lex's freedom? Lex refused to examine why the thought of freedom made him both elated and devastated at the same time.

He had just turned his attention back to his neck when a click sounded, and the smith made a triumphant noise. He withdrew the tip of the tool and turned back to his table, and the process that he had used on Lex's wrists was repeated. The metal was spread; the strap was loosened and removed, and then Lex's head was lifted, allowing the manacle to come loose. The smith let the ruined fastening fall to the floor, where it grabbed Lex's attention: such an innocuous piece of metal, representing so much.

"It is done, my Lord."

Kal-El ignored the smith, walking towards Lex and coming flush against the side of the chair. Gazing at Lex, seeming almost to ask permission, he ran his finger around the skin, now bare. Lex shuddered, his skin extremely sensitive.

"There's a red mark," Kal said softly, "but I think it will fade."

Lex closed his eyes, overwhelmed by Kal-El's apparent tenderness.

Kal-El snapped the straps from Lex's wrists and neck, and then helped him off the chair. They left the smith behind, fiddling with a dirty cloth.

When they exited the workshop, Lex didn't know what to do with himself. Strangely, even though he was wearing clothes, he felt naked without the manacles.

Kal-El took an uncertain step towards Lex. "Lex, I'd like to take you to our bedchamber. Do you mind..." he fidgeted, "would it be all right," looking down, uncomfortable, "if I took you there my way?"

Lex swallowed, trying to moisten his dry mouth. "That would be fine, Kal."

Kal-El approached him hesitantly, putting awkward hands around his waist. Lex stared into his eyes as the dizzying speed began, their surroundings blurring around them. When they stopped, the warmth of Kal-El's body bleeding into Lex, Kal-El seemed reluctant to release him. But he finally removed his hands from Lex's waist, and backed away.

"I have something for you."

Lex watched him go to his closet. He came back carrying a black, metal box. It was old-fashioned, with etchings engraved on the sides.

"Here." Kal-El shoved it at Lex.

Lex reached for the box, temporarily preoccupied by a weightless feeling, with the manacles no longer on his wrists. "What is it?"

"Open it."

Lex stared at the contents. "How..." Lex stopped, his voice cracking. Inside the box was his watch; the one he had thought long since lost, given to Sanchez to be destroyed in spite and glee.

"The head kitchen slave gave it to Whitney. I found out about it, and kept it." Kal-El added, hardly audible, "I don't know why."

Lex removed the watch. It had been broken before, but now it was running -- the glass face intact. "You fixed it." He ran his fingers over the strap lovingly. "Kal..." Lex cleared his throat. "I can't thank you enough. I thought it lost. This means so much to me."

Kal-El reached out to Lex, but then aborted his movement, his fingers curling into a fist. "I thought so."

Kal-El abruptly strode over to the other side of the room, and stared out of the window at the palace grounds. "I've decided that it's time for you to go back home." Lex stared at his back, his heart seemingly ripped in two.

"Metropolis needs you," Kal-El said hoarsely. His back rippled, a shudder going through his whole body. "I've given Whitney instructions to transfer LexCorp ownership back to you. All the property that Sanchez took from you has been put back in your name."

Lex knew his eyes were watering, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand, irritated at the weakness.

Kal-El turned around, facing Lex. His face seemed carved in stone.

"There's a vehicle ready to take you back to Metropolis."

"Kal," Lex said roughly.

But Kal-El took two strides toward him, and grabbed his wrist in a painful grip, rubbing where the manacle had been. "Go," he said harshly, "before I change my mind."

Lex stared at him, helpless with indecision. Leave? Something he had wanted, for so long, unattainable and impossible, was now his for the taking. And yet, it felt wrong.

But LexCorp. God, his freedom.

Kal-El.

"Go, Lex. I'm serious about this. You stay, and you'll be back in those manacles." Kal-El's expression was firm, although there was a wild look in his eyes.

Lex looked at Kal-El one last time, taking in everything, putting every detail to memory.

And then he turned, heading out the door.

Kal-El listened to Lex's heartbeat as he walked down the hallway. He followed it as he got into the black limousine, and he followed it as the car drove down the driveway. He followed it as they passed the forest, the beat weakening as Lex got farther away. After two hours, it was still audible, but faint.

It was five hours before he could tear himself away from the window's ledge, Lex's heartbeat fading into nothingness.

Part VIII: Desire

Walking into his office was surreal. Everything was as he'd left it; the bookshelves that lined the wall beside the door were in their proper places, his set of file cabinets were beside his desk. Even the Van Gogh original, of the sunflowers withering and dying, was still on the wall.

Sitting with her back to him, relaxing in his chair, was a woman with blonde hair, looking down at a stack of papers on her lap.

"Brenda, just set the files on the desk, please."

Lex recognized Chloe's voice immediately. He sighed, relief washing through him. He had met Chloe during the rebellion; she had been in one of the same rebel groups as him. Her sense of humor and conviction that everything would be all right, her sympathy for his relationship with his father --- all of this had endeared her to him. She'd become a great friend.

But he was having a hard time believing that he'd been this lucky. He'd assumed that, at the worst, Sanchez would have tried to destroy LexCorp and, at the best, just his office.

"It's not Brenda," said Lex.

Chloe slowly raised her head and turned the chair around. They gazed at each other silently for a moment. Then, with a look of astonishment on her face, she said, "Oh my God. Lex. It's really you! How..."

Lex smiled and walked towards her. "That's a long story."

Chloe got up from her chair and met him halfway. They embraced, Chloe burying her face deep in the crook of his neck. "I was hoping. I never gave up," she murmured into the folds of his coat, an audible tremble in her voice. Lex squeezed her tightly, and she squeezed back just as hard.

She drew away from him with an embarrassed laugh, and brushed her tears away. "I hope you don't hate me."

"Hate you?"

"I know LexCorp's your baby. I've managed to fix some of the problems, but it's still in a terrible state." She continued, her voice half-panicked, "There have been some areas hit harder than others, but overall--"

"Chloe, stop. I understand." Lex smiled sadly. "I don't blame you."

"Thanks, Lex, but I don't think you'll feel that way after you've examined the paperwork."

Chloe moved to the desk, and ran a fidgety hand along its ledge. Then she jumped, seemingly coming to a realization, and approached him, once again full of energy. She hit him lightly on the arm. "I knew it was suspicious!"

"What?" he asked, alarmed.

"I thought that it was strange that a special dignitary would approach me and try to get me to fix LexCorp, especially when he knew about my relationship with you. Why didn't they just get someone from their own inner circle? But it's all connected!"

Lex looked at her in bemusement. "How so?"

"Oh, come on! They let you go; you're here. Obviously it has something to do with you."

"Chloe, you're not making any sense."

"I'm hardly the epitome of a business leader, Lex. But I care about you. Someone in the Overlord's inner circle wanted me here so I could fix this place for you. Apparently, you've got friends in high places."

Lex avoided her eyes. "I suppose it's possible."

"Who did it, Lex? You know something."

"No. I don't," Lex denied.

Chloe scoffed. "Then how did you get away? Last I heard, you were a slave! No one ever gets away from the Overlord."

Lex shrugged. "With Sanchez gone, there wasn't a reason for me to be enslaved."

"But--"

"The Overlord granted leniency."

"The Overlord," Chloe repeated. "The alien actually did something good? I don't believe it."

"He's not so bad."

"Not so bad? Lex..."

Lex took a painful breath. "No more talk about this, Chloe. Tell me more about LexCorp."

Chloe was no fool. She was full of curiosity. But she did what Lex asked.

"I went to the Metropolis food supply depot and, of course, everything was from LexCorp. Your little logo was stamped on all the boxes; you couldn't get a container without knowing you were getting LexCorp products. It struck me as funny, then, that I should have to see that on the night I was going out with the LexCorp CEO. Hilarious, isn't it?" She took a sip of her wine.

She was gorgeous. She had legs that went on forever, blond hair, blue eyes, and a body to die for. She was witty and laughed at Lex's jokes. Everyone loved her, and they all thought her perfect for him. She was everything a man could want in a woman.

Lex hated her.

"You're quiet tonight. Anything on your mind?"

She was everything she seemed, and therein lay the problem. There was nothing beneath the surface, no hidden dark secret, and no savage anger ready to be unleashed at the slightest provocation. She was dull. Lex was bored out of his mind.

"Just preoccupied with work. Please, go on."

Lex tried to smile as she told an amusing story about her days in England during the war, but he was afraid his expression was halfway between a grimace and a smirk.

He signaled for the check.

Chloe had recommended this one. She was tall, with short, red hair and brown eyes. She was more serious than his previous date, and Lex found her intelligent and informed on current events.

He went to bed with her.

He regretted it.

The encounter had been average through the foreplay, but as she took off her clothes, creamy skin revealed, he suddenly found himself finding fault with her body. She had freckles, and she was too skinny. She had thin lips, and was skimpy in comparison to...

She was horrible at seduction, and didn't know how to kiss. As Lex entered her, he knew he had made a mistake. He tried to end it as quickly as possible.

It was one of the worst orgasms of his life.

He said goodbye to her, knowing he would never see her again.

Lex tried dating men. He found a man with short blond hair, and a hard body; usually all Lex needed in a good fuck. The date was promising: the man was in business and owned a successful company.

But, as he turned his head, Lex found himself noticing faults in his date's profile. The man's chin was too small, his nose too big, his forehead too wide.

Lex tried to put it out of his mind, rushing them both to the bedroom, keeping his eyes shut as they kissed. As a hand trailed down Lex's chest, to his groin, Lex shuddered, but not in arousal.

He couldn't do it.

Lex's social life was dead.

He was afraid to go on dates; fucking someone faceless brought him no satisfaction and only left him with a deep ache in his chest.

Every day, he would wake up clutching a pillow, never on the side of the bed he originally fell asleep on. He would get up, get dressed, and stare at his reflection. The circles under his eyes continued to get darker. Sometimes, he imagined that he could see a faint line around his neck, the only evidence of a year spent in slavery.

He would conduct his day on autopilot. It seemed the only part of his life that had any animation was working at LexCorp. His company was now fully recovered, and starting to expand. Lex was once again trying to take over the North American food market, and so far, the results looked promising.

But LexCorp's expansion was the only optimistic part of his life; the rest seemed to be covered by a dark cloud, casting a gloom over everything. More than anything, Lex was finding it hard to adjust to a life of freedom. He would constantly rub his wrists, expecting a manacle. In bed, he would position his head to accommodate a neck manacle that was no longer there.

Late at night, he would succumb to weakness, and wonder about Kal-El. Kal-El had released his pleasure slaves, but perhaps he'd chosen a new slave for his bed. Lex drove himself crazy with his own speculation.

On a day that felt like one of his worst, he was seated at his desk, going over some figures, when it started.

"I don't believe it," said Chloe, walking into his office, astonishment in her voice.

Lex continued to study the figures with forced attention. "What?" he asked, bored.

Chloe sat down, vibrating with suppressed excitement. "The Overlord," Lex looked up, "has announced that, as of today, all the slaves in his household are going to be released, and that the possession of a slave, from now on, will be illegal. In his words--" Clearing her throat, she took on a pompous tone: " 'the dignitaries will be punished severely if they do not abide by my decision.' Can you believe that? It looks as if someone had a morality check."

Kal-El had freed his slaves.

So?

It didn't have to mean anything.

"Lex?"

Just because Lex had berated Kal-El at every turn, accusing him of acts of depravity and inhumanity... it didn't mean he'd done it for Lex.

"Lex?"

But if he had--

"Lex!"

"What?" he barked.

"Why do you get spacey when I mention the Overlord? And you're always so aggravated." She looked at him, her eyes curious. "You know you can tell me anything."

Lex sighed. "I guess I'm just having a bad day. Sorry, Chloe."

Chloe snorted, and Lex looked at her in annoyance.

Chloe's foot jiggled up and down. "Well then, what do you think of the announcement?"

"It's wonderful. Shocking, but wonderful."

She had a speculative gleam to her eyes. "Why do you think he did it?"

Lex shrugged. "Why would I know why the alien would do anything? It was probably just a whim."

"A pretty strong whim. He's not going to have any more staff in those huge palaces of his. It's strange, actually. He was the one who created the slave system in the first place, and now he suddenly changes his mind? There's got to be something else going on here."

"Then why don't you go look into it?"

Chloe twisted her lips, a pout starting to form. "You're just trying to get rid of me."

Lex said dryly, "Is it that obvious?"

"Lex!"

The coffee at the cafe was good, but the place was crowded. Lex should have known to avoid it, today of all days.

For the first time since the war, a television signal was being broadcast. A news company had been able to set up a station that transmitted throughout North America, and everyone was gathered in cafs that had television sets, waiting for their first view of what had become a novelty.

Lex intended to have his coffee at a table in the cafe, but with so many people, that option was out. As he started to leave, his hand on the doorknob, the first sound from the television emerged, statically at first, and then transforming into a clear transmission. The people in the cafe cheered, and gathered in a swarm in front of the set, rapt attention on the broadcast.

Unwillingly, Lex drew closer. Everyone in the cafe watched as the camera zoomed on a woman, seated behind a wooden desk. It looked exactly like a television broadcast from years before, and the people in the shop sighed, already won over.

"*Welcome to the first broadcast of RFP: Recovery From War*. We believe that the start of RFP should begin with an electrifying story, and we have one for you.

"On the heels of the shocking release of the Overlord's slaves, comes yet another world-altering announcement. Not two hours earlier, the Overlord issued a statement. This statement details the complete transformation of the dignitary system."

The shop was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

"In two months' time, the people will be able to elect their own dignitaries." The woman shuffled the papers in front of her, and then looked straight at the camera.

"These newly elected dignitaries will represent the people and present the people's case to the Overlord. And yet, this new system is not without a catch -- the Overlord will be able to supersede any elected dignitary's actions, or recall any dignitary who is deemed unsuitable. But still, I think you'll agree that this is a windfall and a remarkable change. This action will no doubt change the world."

Lex backed away from the crowd, and leaned against a pillar, suddenly lightheaded.

"Yet more startling news is that there have been sightings of the Overlord in areas afflicted with rebellions. His presence was well known during the war, and he was always quick to suppress outbursts. However, what's unusual in this instance is the method of suppression. In every area that he's been spotted, not one incident of injury or death has been reported. We have heard conflicting stories; but consistent in all of them is the revelation that the Overlord is talking down the rebels, negotiating with them, rather than suppressing them with threats and violence. Now, we are all wondering, humans throughout the world, what is the Supreme Overlord up to?"

Kal-El crouched on the edge of the roof, his cloak billowing around his thighs.

This perch had been his for more than a month now. Below him, the heartbeat that was never far from his mind beat at a steady pace.

Lex was getting ready for bed; Kal-El heard him close the bathroom door, and then, the clink of ice as he took a glass of water to his bedroom. The rustle of blankets and sheets as he lay down. Then there was just the steady sound of his breathing and heartbeat. Kal-El closed his eyes, allowing the sound to soothe him.

Kal-El missed Lex beyond anything; beyond his lost heritage, beyond his father, and beyond the distant memory of his 'almost' mother.

His life was meaningless -- everything that he'd created and taken a malicious pleasure in was now dull and lifeless. The palace bored him. He increasingly found his dignitaries exactly as Lex had described.

And so, he'd freed his slaves. Lex had been right. There was no justice in slavery.

He made plans for a transformed international system, allowing humans to have more control. Again, Lex had been right. Kal-El's current system wasn't working. He doubted he could have ever made the world into a paradise.

And yet there were problems. Kal-El had neglected his dignitaries for so long that the system he had created was out of his control. It had been undermined by corruption -- his dignitaries had created a system that benefited them, rather than the people they were supposed to be governing.

And when Kal-El announced that he would allow free elections, his dignitaries had rebelled. They hadn't wanted to give up their power, especially to someone elected by the people they had grown to despise.

There were thousands of dignitaries, and most of them refused to resign. Kal-El couldn't kill them all -- or, rather, he found that he didn't want to.

Not knowing what to else to do, Kal-El avoided the crisis undermining his government, and instead of killing, he found himself saving people. He was remarkably good at talking humans out of rebellions if he spoke to them in a calm and rational manner.

Still, he couldn't avoid the world forever, and saving people didn't satisfy the deep, cavernous hole in his chest.

His loneliness.

Kal-El thought he'd felt alone as a child, but that was nothing compared to what he felt after having Lex as a constant companion. And now, he didn't even have Jor-El. Without the influence of his father, he was finding that he was feeling increasingly like Clark -- vulnerable Clark, who was beholden to humans.

Clark who loved. Clark who dreamed. Clark who hoped.

Kal-El missed Lex. God, how he missed him.

Lex had been to numerous high-class social events. He was Lionel Luthor's son, for Christ's sake. Still, it had been a while. The last time he'd been at one of these self-indulgent, frivolous affairs was long before the war. But it was one of the most popular and public events in Metropolis in years; and, of course, he had to attend.

The Metropolis Museum had survived the war relatively intact. The artifacts were preserved and the exhibits were unharmed. However, it had been closed mid-war, and tonight was its first public re-opening. The Museum was hosting a fundraiser for the victims of the Metropolis rebellion -- a full gala event that Lex would much rather avoid. But Chloe had repeatedly and explicitly reminded him that his presence was important for LexCorp's image.

Speaking of Chloe, she looked stunning tonight. In a black evening dress, her hair pinned up, her face glowing, she was a vision of beauty.

Lex only wished that her beauty did something for him.

They ascended the red carpet, pausing to talk to acquaintances on the sidelines, and then continued on to the gala center. Lex grabbed a passing champagne flute and drained it, handing it back to a server.

Chloe glared at him in disapproval, and fiddled with her gloves. "You certainly look happy to be here," she said sarcastically. "Try to smile, or at the very least, make some semblance of a pleasant expression, Lex. This is a charity event, and there are important people here."

"I'm well aware of that, Chloe. That's why I bothered to come at all."

"You're not going to impress anyone if you're drunk."

Lex looked at her in disbelief. "I had one glass."

"Well, make sure it stays that way."

Lex wasn't sure what was in his expression that made her nervous, but she backed off, holding her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. "All right! I'll leave you alone to mingle." With a slightly skittish look, she added, "I saw someone I wanted to talk to anyway," and darted off into the crowd.

Despite his annoyance, Lex knew this was an important event, and an excellent opportunity to make new contacts. He grabbed another champagne flute with a smirk, and then tried his best to be pleasant to the people around him.

In reality, all he wanted to do was hide in the closet, like he was twelve again. But he smiled as he began a discussion with a Japanese man about supply contacts in Asia, the only evidence of his inner turmoil the white knuckled grip on his champagne glass.

Suddenly, there was a buzz and a growing commotion on the other side of the room, people rushing over to join a crowd, flashes going off as pictures were taken. Bored, Lex abandoned the people gathered around him, moving to investigate.

What he saw made his heart skip a beat.

Kal-El was here.

He was dressed in a tuxedo that seemed sculpted to his body; the white shirt and black jacket leaving little to the imagination. His hair was tamed for once, the curls behaving, out of his eyes and to the side of his face. His lips were pursed, almost forming a pout -- he was bored then, but trying not to show it, ostensibly listening intently to the people around him.

He seemed more imposing from afar, as if Lex really was viewing the Supreme Overlord, the ruler of the world, and not Kal-El -- his Kal.

He was looking right at Lex.

Lex took a deep breath, but despite the nearly painful intensity of their gazes, he couldn't look away. He allowed Kal-El to examine him, and nervously clasped his hands behind his back.

And then he went closer to Kal-El, unable to resist.

"Lex," Kal-El said, his voice a deep rumble.

Lex nodded. He had to clear his throat, but finally replied with a soft, "Kal."

The people around them babbled excitedly, shouting questions at Kal-El and Lex. Kal-El motioned with his hand, and uniformed men rushed into the crowd, pushing the protesting people away. When a wide circle around them had been cleared, Kal-El drew nearer.

They stood facing each other, both silent, only inches separating them. Kal-El was the first to speak. "Will you join me?" He inclined his head, pointing to a relatively empty section of the room, where paintings and exhibits had been set up.

Lex nodded, and they walked side by side down the corridor, pausing in front of paintings, pretending to examine them, but really just drinking in the other's presence.

Lex broke the silence. "I have to say that I like your policy changes," he said softly.

Kal-El came to a stop beside him. Lex felt Kal-El staring at him, but refused to return the look, and continued to examine the painting. It really was a desolate picture, the mill on the hill almost fragile, the clouds dark and ominous.

"I felt that a change was needed," Kal-El replied, just as softly.

Lex moved closer to the painting, studying the people approaching in the boat. Rembrandt really was a cryptic bastard. "The changes were certainly interesting, and yet somewhat -- familiar."

"Yes."

"I seem to recall talks about dreams and making the world a paradise. I'm sure that in those... talks -- the freeing of slaves and the restructuring of the dignitary system came up."

Kal-El drew nearer and Lex knew he had to be imagining it, but the heat of Kal-El's body felt as if it were warming Lex's back, and yet inches still separated them. "They did come up."

"And would you say that these changes were implemented because you actually wanted them, or because..." Lex trailed off, unsure.

Kal-El prompted, "Because?"

Staring at the dark, murky water surrounding the boat, Lex asked quietly, "Did you do it for me?"

When all Lex heard was silence for a full minute, he squeezed his eyes shut, pained. Then he stepped around Kal-El, not looking at him. "Well," said Lex. "I take it from your silence that my answer is pretty self-explanatory." He started walking away, adding softly, "I'll let you get back to whatever you came here for."

Lex didn't get any farther than a few paces before Kal-El grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. Kal-El was flush against Lex's back, and this time Lex really did feel Kal-El's heat -- his body was always like a furnace, a sun that never died.

"I did it for you," Kal-El said, and Lex took a shuddering breath, "but I did it for myself as well." He urged Lex to turn, facing him. "Lex, I wanted to thank you. You were a reality check for me. You made me realize how -- how I was squandering the opportunity to improve the human race. I was lying to myself, blaming humans for their problems and their rebellions, when it was really just as much my fault for not doing anything as it was theirs."

Kal-El tightened his grip on Lex's arms, a sad smile on his face. "If it wasn't for you, if it weren't for your lectures and silent disapproval, if it wasn't for your leaving, for your calling me a monster -- well. I'd still be in my palace, bored as hell, dignitaries and slaves pampering me. You've changed me for the better, Lex." Kal-El finished, his voice full of feeling, "Thank you."

Lex couldn't stop staring at Kal-El's pleading eyes, which were completely focused on Lex. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

Lex's gaze unwillingly lowered to Kal-El's parted lips, and then darted back. "No, I do know. When I called you a monster? Kal, I was angry. I didn't mean it. It was just a way for me to hurt you when I was feeling hurt. And... I'm sorry for that."

Kal-El released Lex and turned away. He covered his face with one hand and said gruffly, "It doesn't matter, Lex. It's in the past."

"Is it?" Lex asked quietly. He moved so that he was behind Kal-El, and rested a hand on his side.

Kal-El leaned against him, letting Lex support some of his weight. His head dropped, his bangs hiding his eyes. The back of his neck was exposed, and when Lex exhaled a warm breath, Kal-El shivered, before finally answering, "It is now."

Lex moved so Kal-El could rest against him more comfortably, and brushed the top of his head against Kal-El's hair in a light caress.

"I missed you," Kal-El sighed. And then he stiffened.

Lex eventually replied with a soft, "I missed you, too." And just like that, Kal-El's body relaxed against him once more.

For the first time in weeks, Lex felt peace, the nagging feeling that he had forgotten something essential gone. He tightened his grip around Kal-El, and breathed in his distinct scent, a spicy dark leather, the smell of home.

Kal-El's nearness was inevitably affecting another area of his body as well, and Lex shifted, trying to put space between them. But Kal-El pressed back until he was fully against Lex. Lex's breathing quickened, and he couldn't help his small moan.

"Kal," Lex said hesitantly.

Kal-El pressed against Lex again before he straightened and stepped away. Lex wanted to pull him back, but he made himself stand with his hands at his sides. They stared at each other; Kal-El with a flushed look on his face, Lex with dilated pupils. And then finally, Kal-El leaned forward and cupped Lex's face, initiating a hot and intense kiss.

Lex pulled away with a gasp, and then looked around wildly, convinced that the other guests had just been treated to a spectacular show. But the other guests were nowhere to be seen.

"Kal--"

Kal-El cut his words off with another kiss, murmuring, "Don't think," between breaths for air.

They couldn't do this here. They slammed against a door, and Lex groped for the handle, trying to turn it while kissing Kal-El, but finally giving up when it wouldn't budge. "Fuck." It was locked.

Kal-El grinned at him, and moved Lex's hand out of the way. There was a grinding sound, and the door burst open. They fell into the room, Lex staggering, Kal-El catching him. Lex laughed, and then sobered as Kal-El looked at him like a starving man in sight of a banquet.

The room they had entered appeared to be a maintenance closet. Dirty mops and brooms were hanging on the walls, rags and cloths on the shelves. Cleaning bottles and buckets were on the floor, the smell of disinfectant almost overwhelming.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Lex said, his voice weak.

Kal-El closed the door and pushed Lex against it, gripping the sides of his face. "You're doing what feels right," he said intensely, staring into Lex's eyes.

Lex breathed deeply, and then expelled his breath in one large sigh, blowing a strand of Kal-El's hair into the air. Lex smiled. "I'm not doing this here, though." He gestured at the dirty mops, the ends of which were practically in his face. "Somewhere else."

Kal-El whispered, "There's a limo outside. One of my men can make excuses to your assistant," and then nipped Lex's ear.

Lex gasped, his knees weak. "Oh God. I don't--"

Make excuses to his assistant?

"Kal."

Kal-El was thrusting his tongue into Lex's ear, and then blowing on it softly.

"Kal." Lex put his hand against Kal-El's chest, pushing him back.

Kal-El made a keening noise, but permitted Lex to hold him in place.

Lex had to take a second to catch his breath. "How do you know about Chloe?" he finally asked.

Kal-El suddenly went still.

"You weren't here just by coincidence, were you?" Lex slowly began to tidy his clothes, tucking his shirt in and straightening his jacket.

Kal-El sighed. "No." He allowed Lex to open the door, letting in blessed fresh air.

Lex stepped into the corridor, forcing Kal-El to follow. He walked quickly, trying to get himself under control. "Explain."

"I mean -- Lex." When Lex continued walking -- almost jogging, he was going so fast -- Kal-El said sharply, "Lex! Stop."

With resignation, Lex slowly obeyed. He came to a stop in front of another Rembrandt painting: The Archangel Leaving the Family of Tobias. Lex couldn't believe it. And it seemed particularly apt -- the Archangel representing Kal-El, tempting Lex with more lies; leaving him in the dust.

"Will you look at me?" asked Kal-El.

Grimacing, Lex abandoned the painting and faced Kal-El.

"Thank you," said Kal-El. And then he seemed lost for words.

Lex crossed his arms. "Well?"

Kal-El moved closer, looking uncomfortable. "I came here for you." Kal-El swallowed. "I mean I came here to see you, Lex. The changes I made -- all the restructuring that's been announced -- it's not going... well."

"Not well?"

Kal-El seemed almost unsure of himself. "Nothing has been reported yet, but my dignitaries weren't happy when I announced that they would be losing their jobs."

"So? How is that my problem? You'll just threaten them; kill a few of them as examples. They'll fall in line like they always do."

Kal-El averted his gaze. "Not this time, Lex. Killing just a few of them wouldn't do it. I'd need to kill them all, and I -- I -- don't think I can do that anymore."

Lex couldn't believe what he was hearing. What had happened to Kal-El? To the Overlord? What had happened to make him afraid to kill when he had practically made it into an art form? "What does that have to do with me?"

Kal-El finally looked up. "You can help me."

Lex licked his lips, disbelieving. "Help you."

That seemed to be the extent of Kal-El's shyness, and annoyance was taking over. "Yes. Help. Would that be so hard?"

Lex resumed walking along the corridor, and Kal-El followed.

"You were the one that was always lecturing me, Lex," said Kal-El. "Telling me how I needed to pay attention to my dignitaries -- to the world. And I want to. I still want to make the world into a paradise. I just need your help."

"Kal. I can't -- go back to the way it was before. Every day that I spent in those manacles, I was dying a little inside."

"Lex," Kal said gently. "Not like that. You'll never be a slave again."

Lex quickly glanced back at him, and then away. "Then what did you mean by help?"

"I need--" A woman in a ball gown passed them, and Kal-El broke off, annoyed.

"We should take this somewhere else." They were moving closer to the gala center and Lex could see glimpses of the crowd. He grimaced. "God, I don't want to go through that. But I suppose it's inevitable. Did you have a place in mind?"

Kal-El shrugged. "I didn't think past the limo."

Lex smirked. "Hence why you need my help." He slowed, looking at Kal-El consideringly, and then added, "Maybe we could go to my apartment."

Lex took Kal-El's expressionless face as agreement. He glanced at the crowd again. "Let's get this over with."

But Kal-El laid a hand on his arm, once again stopping Lex before he had gone a few paces. "We can avoid them, Lex."

"And how do we do that?" Lex asked skeptically.

Kal-El just looked at him.

"Oh. Well, I wasn't thinking of that, but I... suppose it would be convenient."

"Are you sure?"

Lex peered at the crowd again. He could just make out Chloe, frantically making her way around, obviously searching for him.

He nodded.

"You'll like this, Lex," Kal-El said, grinning. "The forest wasn't very interesting, but I bet you'll love a bird's eye view of Metropolis."

"Kal-El -- please go slo--" His last word cut off abruptly as Kal grabbed him, and they were out the door, the paintings and people blurring around them. Lex knew they weren't going as fast as Kal-El was capable -- it was taking more than a couple of seconds to get out of the museum. It was probably hard to avoid so many people without knocking them over.

When they emerged from the museum, Kal-El immediately ascended, and Lex frantically gripped him around the waist with his legs, holding on for dear life.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

It was cold in the sky, and the wind was cutting on his head. Kal-El breathed, "What do you think?" in Lex's ear, and dipped them, so they were flying practically horizontal, with a direct view of the buildings and people underneath them.

"Oh God," Lex moaned. He was going to be sick. They leveled out, and Kal-El studied Lex. What he saw obviously alarmed him, and he frowned. With a flash, they increased in speed, the stars becoming nothing but long lines of bright light, everything blurring, a loud boom in Lex's ears. And then there was silence.

Lex cautiously opened one eye first and then the other. The sight that met him was a cream carpet and a brown leather sofa. His apartment.

"You didn't enjoy that," Kal-El stated. He was standing off to one side, a worried expression on his face.

"No, Kal. I didn't. I think I need to sit down."

Lex went over to his sofa and then collapsed, putting his head back, trying to recover. He breathed deeply, and then opened his eyes. "Sorry, Kal. I was the one that asked you to do that. It's not your fault."

"No. I knew you hated it; you always complained. I should have known better."

Lex got up on wobbly legs. "I'm better now. It was just a bit of vertigo."

Lex had always thought that his apartment was almost too big, empty and cavernous when he was alone, but with Kal-El here, the apartment seemed tiny and constricting. He almost reached out for Kal-El, but then aborted the movement, pretending to fiddle with his shirt cuff. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

"Would you like something to drink?" Not waiting for an answer, Lex went to his kitchen, sighing in relief when he passed the wall, which acted as a barrier from Kal-El, no matter how illusory. He went to his freezer and took out some ice, filling two glasses. He poured a healthy dose of scotch in each glass; then braced himself and took them into the next room.

Kal-El was gazing out the window. He turned as Lex approached, the lights from the city sending his face into profile.

Lex handed him one of the glasses, and then felt foolish -- Kal-El had never bothered drinking alcohol. But he seemed to want to please Lex: drinking it all in one swallow.

"So -- help?" asked Lex.

Kal-El licked his lips, and put his glass down on an end table. "There are problems, Lex. Global-wide problems.

"When I announced my intention to implement the international system, I received some objections, to the say the least. All of my dignitaries protested; they didn't want to give up their power. They're rebelling -- news just hasn't gotten to the public yet.

"Everything is a mess. Whitney's gone -- all my slaves are free. The only people left in the palace are my guards; the dignitaries all left as soon as I announced my intentions. When I realized how out of depth I was, I even offered Whitney employment, but he didn't want anything to do with me. I'm running everything by myself.

"I need your help, Lex. It's just a matter of time before this world turns to chaos. Only you can help me stop it.

"If you don't want to do it for me, do it for yourself." Kal-El gestured to the city outside. "I know you don't want the world to return to the way it was during the war. And it will, without you."

Lex ran his thumb over the rim of his glass, lost in thought. "What about LexCorp?"

"You can keep your company -- keep everything. Just help me." Kal-El whispered, "Please." Lex held in a gasp. He still couldn't believe how gentle -- reasonable Kal-El was being. It was as if he were a completely different person.

"And I could stay here? Maybe send you advice by courier? Just in an advisory capacity?"

Kal-El frowned. "If that's what you want." He turned away, as if the sight of Lex was too much to bear. Running his hands over the top of the brown leather sofa, he said softly, "I like your apartment, Lex. It suits you."

"Yes," Lex said shortly, disconcerted at the abrupt change in subject.

Kal-El went back to the window, staring out at the city.

Why should Lex care whether his apartment suited him? When he'd returned to Metropolis, he didn't have any energy for domesticity. He'd chosen it at random, allowing Chloe to pick the location. He'd even allowed her to select his furniture.

But at least Kal-El seemed to like it -- or at least Lex's window.

Lex swirled the ice in his glass, looking down in dissatisfaction. He needed more scotch.

It was convenient that the apartment came with a balcony -- it was easily accessible to Kal-El.

Convenient....

How the hell had he known that the building was Lex's, let alone that it was his balcony?

"Kal. How did you know that this was my apartment?"

Kal-El said, sounding surprised, "It's where you live." He shrugged. "Of course I'd know."

"How?"

Kal-El continued to stare out the window, ignoring Lex.

"Kal?" Lex demanded.

When Kal-El finally turned around, he had a hard glint to his eyes. "You didn't think I'd just let you go? Without making sure you were okay? I haven't interfered. I've let you get on with your life."

Lex set his drink down on the end table. "You've been watching me," he said in disbelief.

"Yes."

"And you see no problem with this."

"There is no problem."

"Kal, there is something very wrong--"

"I stood by as you dated people," hissed Kal-El. "Fucked other people. I think I've been remarkably restrained."

"You listened to me--" Lex choked.

"You had your fun. Just don't expect to see any of them alive again." Kal-El's eyes now had a hint of red to them; and a muscle in his jaw was twitching in agitation.

So, the Supreme Overlord wasn't entirely gone. Lex couldn't help feeling a little relieved. It was crazy, but Lex felt that Kal-El wasn't really his Kal without that viciousness that seemed to lie underneath the surface.

Kal-El seemed to be getting his anger back under control, and he took in a ragged breath. "Lex. You have to understand. You were gone. Without you, it was like a hole had been ripped in my chest." Kal-El paused, embarrassed. He added, awkwardly, "I needed to make sure that you were at least... well."

"What does that have to do with killing people?"

Kal-El's nostrils flared. "They shouldn't have touched you."

"So? Why do you even care? Why does it matter?"

"I told you that you were mine."

"Not anymore! I'm not a slave anymore, Kal! And don't treat me like one."

"You're still mine."

Lex took a step back, reeling. "You said that you wanted me as an adviser. That has nothing to do with...."

"What do you think we were doing at the museum, Lex? Do you think I was playing? I can't--" Kal-El placed his hands over his eyes, trying to keep himself under control. "If you really just want to be my adviser, that's fine, but you have to know that I want so much more."

Lex began to really listen to what Kal-El was saying. "So you really did miss me," said Lex softly.

"Of course I missed you. The only reason I let you go was because you were so unhappy."

"I was under the impression that you wanted to get rid of me."

"Never, Lex," said Kal-El roughly.

"So can I assume that when I was gone -- you didn't... find someone else to take my place?"

"Take your place?" Kal-El whispered. "No one could take your place, Lex."

Lex suddenly had a difficulty seeing straight, a strange blur in his eyes. He swallowed hard and, blinking rapidly, watched Kal-El, who had a heartbroken expression on his face. He was everything Lex had ever wanted. "The people I dated meant nothing to me. I tried to get on with my life, fucking them to distance myself from you. But you were always there, Kal."

"Lex," whispered Kal-El.

Lex tore himself away from Kal-El's intense gaze and sat down on the sofa. "Let's talk about how you want me to help. What are the areas that need the most attention?"

"Lex." Kal-El sat down beside Lex, resting a hand on his thigh. "No one could ever take your place."

"It would help if we outline a plan of---"

"I'm lost without you."

Lex gasped. He talked fast, loudly, trying to cover the sound of his pounding heart. "I think we should focus on the dignitaries leading this rebellion. We need--"

"I want us to be equals. Equals in the government; equals in life."

"The dignitaries--"

"Please, Lex. I missed you so much."

"What do you want me to do?" Lex finally asked raggedly.

Kal-El clasped Lex's hand, squeezing. "Lex," Kal-El whispered into his ear, "I want you to go to bed with me."

Lex closed his eyes, torn.

This was the Overlord. The alien that had enslaved him -- kept him in manacles for over a year. Could Lex really--

"Please," Kal-El whispered.

This was Kal-El.

Lex opened his eyes. Kal-El was biting his lip; nervous -- he obviously cared very much what Lex was about to say.

Lex slowly nodded. "Yes," he said brokenly, and Kal-El released a relieved sigh.

Holding hands, they slowly made their way to Lex's bedroom. Kal-El was leading the way -- not only did he know the location of Lex's apartment, but he also seemed to know the whole layout.

By the time the bedroom door closed behind them, Lex's hand was moist with sweat. He stood in front of his bed, and stared at his duvet, finding it intensely fascinating.

"Lex," said Kal-El, "It'll be all right."

Lex glanced at him, surprised.

This would be their first time together with both of them free to make their own choices. This would be Lex's decision; it wouldn't be connived or coerced. He couldn't blame his actions on his manacles; he couldn't blame them on Kal-El. There was no turning back.

His choice.

With a deep breath of resolve, Lex first began removing his white tie and then his jacket. They fell off his shoulders in a smooth glide. He nodded to Kal-El.

Kal took his bow tie and jacket off with the same slow movements, never taking his eyes off Lex. When he was finished, obviously expecting Lex to take the next step, Lex removed his cufflinks and placed them on his nightstand. Then, facing Kal-El, he started on his shirt.

Kal-El seemed to be holding his breath as each button came undone. As Lex's shirt fell open, exposing his chest, Kal-El whispered, "You're gorgeous." He pushed the tails of Lex's shirt further back, and ran warm hands down his chest. "Did I ever tell you that?" Lex shuddered.

They kissed, and Kal-El pushed him back, so Lex's thighs met the bed, and he was forced to lie down.

Kal-El crawled on top of him, and just like that, the desire from the museum was back.

Kal-El kissed him tenderly, as if he expected Lex to break. He was gentle as their tongues caressed, softly sucking Lex's lower lip. With one last swipe of his tongue over the scar on Lex's lip, he pulled away. "I missed this so much," he rasped.

He ran his hand over the obvious bulge in Lex's black dress pants. Lex couldn't help his small moan. He pressed into Kal-El's hand, silently begging him for more.

Kal-El cupped him through the fabric, running his thumb along the length of Lex's cock. "You're so hard, Lex."

His boxers were getting wet from Kal-El's continuous stroking, and Lex bit his lip, pushing his hips up in a long, languorous thrust. "Fuck," Lex moaned, "get these off me." He raised his hips and flicked his fly open. When he gripped the zipper, Kal-El removed Lex's hand, and pulled it down himself. He had a self-satisfied smile on his face as the zipper went down, inch by inch.

Lex gripped the waistband of his boxers, but froze when Kal put his hand in the slit, touching him. "Oh fuck," Lex moaned, and then lost all control, practically whining as he fucked Kal-El's fist.

"Come for me, Lex," demanded Kal-El, as he sucked on Lex's neck, following the outline of the missing manacle.

Lex grabbed the back of Kal-El's shirt, bunching the fabric together. It was too much, and it had been too long. He rubbed against Kal-El's palm and came with a deep groan, his boxer shorts becoming even more slick and wet.

Kal-El removed his hand, and Lex looked down at himself in disgust. But Kal-El didn't seem to mind -- he kissed Lex, and then licked his palm, his eyes closing in bliss. When Kal-El finished, he whispered, "That was wonderful," and nuzzled the side of his face against Lex's chest.

"What about you?" Lex questioned, panting.

"I'm hoping you'll take care of me."

Lex licked his lips. "Take off your clothes."

With a brief kiss, Kal-El got up from the bed, and removed his shirt, then his pants and briefs. His dark, red cock stood up against his stomach, and Lex unthinkingly crawled to the edge of the bed to get closer.

Lex quickly took off his own pants and boxers, flinging them to the side of the room, and when Kal-El drew nearer, Lex put his hands around Kal-El's back and pulled him forward. He licked the tip of Kal-El's cock to get a first taste, and then with one heated look up at Kal-El, swallowed him whole. Kal-El shouted and thrust wildly, but it was only a few strokes before he gently backed away with a wet slurp.

Lex wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up at Kal-El in puzzlement.

Kal-El's face was flushed, his chest rising rapidly. "I want to do this properly." He ran his hand over Lex's head in a caress. "Do you have oil?"

Lex swallowed. "I have some lube. I'll get it."

When Lex returned with the lubricant, Kal-El was reclining on the bed, slowly fisting his cock. "Christ," hissed Lex, his mouth watering at the sight. He crawled back, attaching himself to Kal-El's side, running a hand down his chest. Fuck, Kal-El was hot. Lex was already half-hard again. "Are you sure you don't want me to blow you?"

Kal-El smiled. "Maybe later." He kissed Lex, and then pecked him softly on the nose. "I want to fuck first."

Lex found it hard to drag his eyes away from Kal-El's hands, which were still stroking himself. "All right," he said slowly.

Lex rolled over onto his back and pressed his cock against his stomach, lifting his legs and getting into position. He beckoned to Kal-El. "Come here."

Kal-El rested his hand on one of Lex's legs. "No, Lex. That's not what I meant."

Lex stared at him.

"I want you to fuck me."

Stunned, Lex let his legs fall. "Kal..."

"Equals in everything, Lex," Kal-El said intensely. "And I don't want to do this because I'm being noble. I've always wanted you to fuck me. I just never told you, or even admitted it to myself."

When Lex remained frozen in shock, Kal-El added, "Please," in a small voice.

Lex gently caressed the side of Kal-El's face. "You're sure?"

Kal-El nodded.

"Okay, Kal."

Kal-El visibly swallowed. "What should I do?"

"Just lie back. I'll take care of you."

Kal-El looked slightly nervous as he reclined on the bed. Lex did his best to put him at ease, kissing him until Kal-El was fully engrossed in the kiss, clutching Lex. "Relax," Lex whispered.

Lex made his way down Kal-El's body, mouthing his skin and sucking lightly on his nipples. Kal-El seemed fascinated as Lex went lower, his muscles twitching with every lick of Lex's tongue.

Lex touched Kal-El's cock and gave it a couple of strokes. Kal-El was totally into it now, and his nervousness was gone.

Lex got more lube, rubbing it between his fingers to warm it up, and then ran a teasing finger over Kal-El's hole. As Lex worked in a finger, stroking Kal-El with his other hand, Kal-El pushed his ass forward, demanding more.

"I always loved it when you did this," gasped Kal-El.

Lex smiled and inserted another finger, crooking it. Kal-El moaned loudly and pushed his hips up.

When Lex used to press on that spot, Kal-El usually went wild. Although Kal-El was an alien, with an almost inhuman stamina, he always reacted like a human when it came to sex. And his ass felt good to Lex's fingers -- hot and tight.

When Lex judged it enough, he withdrew.

"No," Kal-El moaned.

But Lex ignored him and started slicking and positioning his cock. Kal-El seemed to realize what was about to happen, and froze.

"Are you sure?" Lex bit out, the head of his cock just touching Kal-El.

"Do it," Kal-El said.

Lex entered in one smooth thrust, and had to close his eyes at the overwhelmingly tight feeling. He was right -- normal, but so much better than anyone he'd ever had before.

Allowing Kal-El some time to adjust, Lex remained still until he felt Kal-El moving infinitesimally, wiggling himself on Lex's cock. Lex then began fucking him, slowly at first, before steadily increasing the pace. He grabbed Kal-El's cock, stroking it, and panted, "All right?"

Kal-El moaned, "Fuck yes," and began moving his hips, pushing up, meeting Lex.

Lex rhythmically stroked Kal-El in time with each thrust, kissing him messily. He then pulled almost all the way out, putting one hand on the bed to support his weight, and thrust hard, going as deep as he could.

"Do you like that?" Lex hissed.

Kal-El closed his eyes, a look of ecstasy on his face. He squeezed his ass, and Lex couldn't help moving in an erratic circle.

But he wanted to hear Kal-El's answer. "Do you like that?" Lex repeated.

When Kal-El just moaned, Lex forced himself to stop, panting heavily, halfway in Kal-El. "Kal?"

Kal-El opened his eyes. "I fucking love it," he hissed, and then squeezed.

"Christ," screamed Lex, his thrusts growing rapid and more erratic. He was so close.

Kal-El's mouth was wide open, breathing heavily, almost panting in his excitement. Lex ran a thumb over his lower lip, and then hit Kal-El's prostate, making Kal-El hiss Lex's name.

Lex gasped, throwing his head back, overcome with lust. "Kal!" he shouted, and slammed into him, his hips jerking one final time.

Kal-El moaned, and with a few tugs on his cock, followed Lex, his come shooting up his chest and over Lex's hand.

Afterwards, they were silent; the only sound their heavy breathing.

Lex felt Kal-El moving, leaving the bed, and he heard a rustle of clothing. Lex looked up. Kal-El was getting dressed, putting his pants on.

Lex drew himself into a sitting position, pulling the sheet over his lap. "You're going?" he asked weakly.

Kal-El paused with only one arm in his shirt. He walked towards Lex, kneeling in front of the bed. He looked happy, a grin on his face. "If you're going to help, I need to set things up." He took Lex's hand in a warm clasp. "You need to be here for LexCorp, but I don't need to be at my palace anymore, Lex. There's no one there; it's a tomb representing what I once was. And now, it just doesn't seem like home."

He ran a thumb over Lex's palm, and then seemed hesitant and reluctant to go on. Finally, he nervously licked his lips, and stared Lex straight in the eye, serious. "Lex, no place feels like home without you."

Lex gazed at him somberly. "Everything in my life has been meaningless since I left you," he said softly.

One side of Kal-El's mouth quirked up. "Then it's settled. We're lost apart. But together, who knows what we can do."

Lex smiled. "Something more ambitious than taking over the world?"

Both sides of Kal-El's mouth were now in a full-blown smile, his dimples flashing. "Saving the world, Lex. This time we'll save it." Then he was serious again. "I meant what I said before, Lex."

Lex squeezed his hand. "Which part?"

"Equals, Lex. Equals in everything."

As Lex basked in Kal-El's smile, he began to believe.

The End.

Feedback: I absolutely adore all kinds of feedback. It seriously makes my day. Whether it's just a short note or constructive criticism -- it's all welcome.