"I'm not a virgin anymore."   Clark announces this with pride from the loft window.   The night says nothing back, but it doesn't matter.   His skin's singing and his head's so full of details he swears he'll never sleep again.   His mouth is fuller under his fingers, and there's more singing, him this time, something top-fortyish with lyrics no teenaged boy should know, and it doesn't matter.   He's not a virgin anymore, in more ways than one, with Fate playing right into his hands.   Da dum dum dum.  Da dum dum dum. 

Later, when the singing's died to a low hum and he's in his room getting ready for bed (the lesser kind of bed that's empty as his loft), Clark notices that his thighs are sticky.   The memories are so warm and wet he could swim in them.   With his eyes closed, cheek pressed against the soft skin of his pillow, he does. 

***

"I don't think he looks that much like you, Lex."   It's a loyal lie for a friend, and Clark doesn't even stumble over the words. 

"Are you blind, Clark?   They're like twins who were separated at the hairline,"  Chloe says, the human microscope, giving the once-over to Lex and his cousin. 

Lex stares back, fingers drumming on the chair's wooden arm, definitely not amused, while Parker just grins and tries to peek down Chloe's shirt.   Trapped on the couch beside him, she crosses her arms over her chest, then elbows him in the ribs.   Hootie, a puff of white fur at Parker's feet, yips in sympathy for his master.    When Parker laughs, Hootie yaps happily, Chloe glowers, and Lex drums even faster.   Talk about your tension. 

It's weird to think that Lex has a cousin, and Clark's pretty sure that Lex likes it that way, to be considered beyond things like loud relatives and family resemblances.   Parker's not helping; it's like he knows Lex is annoyed by him and sharks in, his mouth open.   Parker has a lot of shiny white teeth, and he moves faster than anyone except Clark.   It's quite possible he's an alien.   How else did you explain that dog?   Clark feels quite tame by comparison. 

"No way," Parker says to Chloe.   "I don't look anything like cue-ball head."   He slides his hand over his hair, then pops a few more buttons on his shirt so everyone can see that he's furry as a bear.   "It's testosterone, man.   Some of us have it, and some of us don't." 

"The same goes for brains," Lex snaps from his chair that looks like a throne.   "What year are you in at Pendleton, anyway?   Fifth?   Sixth?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry.   Guess I'm too old for you.   I forgot that you like them young, fresh and barely legal.   You're like porno spam.   No offense," Parker adds, looking down at Clark who sits not unlike Hootie at Lex's feet. 

Parker's still looking, and Clark's not sure he likes it.   Okay, lie, because part of him likes it a lot, the part that encourages him to squint and pretend that the cousins are the same guy.   He has dreams where Lex looks at him in that water-in-the-desert way.   "That's okay," he says to Parker, remembering a little late that maybe he's been insulted.   "I know some people find it weird that Lex and I are friends." 

"No, Clark," Chloe says.   "Weird is aliens landing in Smallville and impregnating cows.   You and Lex are so far beyond weird they need a new word for it.   Corporate playboy-bachelor with shady past and sweet but dorky farmboy-messiah?   It's so weird it's probably messing with the space-time continuum." 

Parker's nodding like an oil drill.   "Totally.   I mean, I can see why Lex is friends with Clark, but Clark, you can do way better than my cousin."    Another look that Clark's pretty sure is a leer.   He's heard about leers from his mother, who swears she gets them from Mr. Janssen, who manages the A&P.   Parker's wink, though, is unmistakable. 

"Parker, didn't you say something about heading out to Metropolis to visit Damon Brooks while you were here?" 

"Smooth.   Why don't you just hang a ‘hands off' sign on your pretty Lolito?   Here's the deal:  if you let me take that black Porsche, I'll get out of your hair.   Oops.   Sorry.   Off your scalp, I mean." 

"You can take that crap-heap you drove up in.   No one drives my cars except me."

"I asked to drive your car, not play with your dick," Parker says.   "Or your boyfriend."   He tilts back his head to pour beer down his mouth, and licks his lips when he's done.  His tongue is as pink as Hootie's. 

Lex is gearing up for a zinger.   When he's annoyed, he does this pouty thing with his mouth, and he's practically kissing the air right now.   It gives Clark a shivery feeling to watch Lex, so tense and ready, and distracts him from Parker's crazy idea that he and Lex are less friends and more something naked.   Clark wishes that Lex would let it go so he can hear more. 

Before Lex can say anything, Chloe's on her feet, brushing chip crumbs from her lap.   "You know what?  I'm out of here.   I'm going to drop by Lana's and talk with her about periods and hair care and hemlines.   Clark, if you get bored with Alpha Male Wars, drop by my place later."   Her shoes slap against the tile as she walks down the hall.

"You know what that chick needs?  A good, hard--"

"Don't say it."   Clark's on his feet now, towering over him.   "Don't say it or I'll kick your butt back to New England."

Hootie cowers at Parker's size twelves, and Parker scratches him behind the ears.   "Better watch out, Lex.   Looks like your underage fuck-buddy has the hots for the snarky blond girl."    Parker's face is level with Clark's crotch, and he stares so deliberately that Clark's cheeks go hot. 

Clark figures he should maybe toss Parker through a window.   If only Parker didn't look like Lex's long-lost twin; it's scrambling his brain and delaying his reactions, which means he keeps looking like a big dork.   No wonder Lex has never laid a finger on him, even though they talk about everything from missing parents to teenage geekhood.   Feeling suddenly conspicuous as he stands there doing his scarecrow impersonation, Clark takes Chloe's place on the couch.   "Let's just watch the movie."

"Hey, I didn't mean to get you all uptight."   Parker takes a long sip from his beer.   "The chick's got spunk.   I like that in a girl.   Hell, I'd like to put some spunk right up her tight little--"

"Parker."   Lex this time, and he'd uncrossed his legs.   "Want to fence?   Release some of that tension?"

"Funny, Lex."   He turns to Clark.   "The first and last time I fell for that one, I got this."   Parker tears off his leather jacket, then jerks up his left sleeve to reveal a thin white scar that runs like the dividing line of a highway down his arm.   He swings back toward Lex.   "Or were you planning to cut my dick off this time?" 

"It's not like anyone would notice." 

They glare at each other while Clark squirms and Robert Duvall makes some movie producer an offer he can't refuse.   "Maybe I should go."

"No," Lex and Parker say together.   Hootie barks. 

"I'll be good."   Parker holds up his hand.   "Scout's honor." 

"You were never a Scout." 

"At least I don't want to bang one." 

And they're off again.   Clark hunkers down in the corner of the couch and tries to focus on the movie and not the two human bookends snarling at each other.   This isn't the Lex he knows; his Lex listens and talks and shares. 

"I think we're making your boy uncomfortable," Parker finally says.

"Would you give it up already?  He's just a friend, a good friend, and your insinuations are making him uncomfortable."

"Insinuations?   Can't you ever talk like a normal guy?   Or did daddy Lionel shove that silver spoon so far up your ass you can't get it out?"

"I'm okay."   They ignore him, and Clark gives up on The Godfather to watch them.   The Corleones have nothing on these guys.

"Maybe if I put ‘kegger' in every sentence you'd understand me."

"I'll never understand you," Parker says.   "You're more tight-assed than a convent full of nuns.   That Chloe chick's not the only one who needs to get laid.    Hell, this whole town could use a good screw." 

"You're free to leave any time."   Lex is about to go on when his phone rings.   "I've got to take this.   Try not to make an ass of yourself while I'm gone," he says to Parker.   To Clark:   "Just leave if he does anything stupid.   I'll call you later."   Then he's gone, with that walk even Parker can't do.

"Alone at last." 

Parker should button his shirt.   It's faintly obscene to leave it open like that, and he makes it worse by sitting with his legs spread wide.   His jeans are very tight.   "Lex'll be back any second," Clark says. 

"Then you'd better get your pants off fast."   When Clark's mouth drops open, Parker laughs.   "So he's really not banging you?   What's he waiting for?" 

"I don't know.   I mean, he doesn't like me that way."   He studies the tapestry hanging behind Parker's head.  There's a battle, guys on horses with swords, with red crosses on their armor.   One of them reminds him of Lex.   "Lex has lots of girlfriends.   I met a couple.   He brought one girl to a party I had, and there was Victoria.   She was English and she lived here for awhile.   I didn't like her."

"Lex is the king of denial."   Parker opens another beer, and Hootie jumps up on the couch, sniffing hard.   "Sure you don't want one?   Not you, Pooch, the big, cute kid on the other side.   Go on, Clark.   I won't tell."

"No, thanks.  I'm good."

"How about a sip of mine?"   Parker wipes the mouth with his thumb, sucks it dry, and hands over the bottle. 

Refusing's the responsible thing to do, but Clark likes the adult smell.   The taste, too: his dad let him have a beer earlier in the summer, although his mom gave him heck for it.   Besides, he's thirsty, and Lex thinks he's twelve, so, "Okay." The taste stays sharp down into his stomach, where it shifts and mellows, leaving a fistful of warmth. 

Parker wraps his hand around Clark's, steers the bottle back to his own mouth and takes another sip.   "Your turn now.  It's not like it'll stunt your growth or anything.   I mean, Hootie used to be a Doberman before I gave him some, but don't let that worry you."

Even when Clark frees his hand a few sips later, he still accepts the bottle, and they pass it back and forth while Parker tells jokes so dirty that Clark doesn't know whether to laugh or run.   He stays, beer-warm, getting lazy from it, forgetting about the rumblings from the tv to study Parker, who has somehow moved so close their thighs are almost touching.   Hootie's settled down on Parker's other side, resting his furry chin just above Parker's knee. 

Lex stays still when he talks, barely breathing, while Parker has to move: he's up and down on the couch, making rude hand gestures for his jokes, imitating voices.   His energy is dizzying and exciting, too.   Maybe it's because Parker's shirt is wide open now, almost off his shoulders.   Underneath his clothes he doesn't look so much like Lex, or what Clark figures Lex looks like, his skin tanned the color of his mother's handed-down gold watch.   There's an interesting line of hair that targets down, and Parker's jeans are so tight that Clark's pretty sure what it's aiming for. 

"--and the cop just laughs and says, ‘Magic dildo, my ass!'" 

Like the cop about to get a surprise visit at his back door, Clark also laughs, more from Parker's delivery than from the joke.   "Where do you hear these things?"

"There's this chick who does a radio show at my college, and she tells them all the time.   One of these days I'm going to find out who she is, and bang her even if she's ugly."   He collapses back on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table, so close now that Clark can feel him breathing.   "So, you ever been laid?"

"Not exactly."

"‘Not exactly'?   You mean you're not sure?   Did Lex accidentally trip and fall on your dick?   Did Chloe go down on you then not swallow?   That still gets you half marks."

"I told you before: you've got the wrong idea about me and Lex.   We get along really well, that's all.   It's not about sex."   This might be the first time he's said the word out loud, and when Clark licks his lips after, the three letters taste wrong and good like beer. 

"He'll deny this like crazy, but we used to fool around when we were kids.   I taught him everything he knows.   If you want, I can teach you a few tricks."   Parker gives a big, exaggerated yawn and puts his arm on the couch behind Clark.   Hootie yawns, too, like they're in it together. 

"I don't think--"

"What's to think about?   You need practice so no one will laugh at you when the time comes.   You don't want people laughing at you, do you, Clark?"   Parker's leaning in, serious for once.   He's got stubble, not smooth like Lex, but his eyes are the same, and his mouth, except for the missing scar. 

Clark's stomach growls.   "No, I don't want anyone laughing."    He wants to shift because he's getting hard and it's possible that Parker's going to kiss him. 

Lex chooses this moment to enter the room.   "What in hell's going on in here?   Parker, I let you stay here out of respect for your mother, and--" 

Hootie bounces off the couch, moving in front of Lex, his tail wagging.   Lex pretends not to like Hootie, but Clark caught him giving the dog pieces of bacon during lunch.   It's stupid to be jealous of a dog. 

"It's okay, Lex."   Clark gets up, pretending to stretch, glad for his long t-shirt and loose jeans.   "Nothing's happening.   We were just talking."

"You're not his father," Parker says.   "If you came in here and caught me doing him there's nothing you could do.  Or are you just mad I'm getting there first?"

"He's young, Parker.   Don't be fooled by how he looks.   Use your head for once."

"Right.   And you stayed clean and pure until your twenty-first birthday, right?   You always were a huge-ass hypocrite.   You get to have a whole different set of rules."

"Look, I've got to go to the plant for about an hour, so Clark, maybe you'd better go home.   We can talk later."

"Maybe he doesn't want to go home.   Maybe he'd like to stay here and keep watching the movie."

"It's getting late."

"Late?  It's eight o'clock.   He's not a kid, Lex.   Pull out the cork and let him stay.   You want to stay, don't you, Clark?   Have some beer, check out the flick, talk a little?   Not run home to mommy because it's past your bedtime?"

"Stop trying to manipulate him, Parker.   He doesn't have a lot of experience, and I don't want him getting hurt."

That stings.   It all does, the way Lex talks about him like he's a stupid little kid, like he's not there.   "You do sound like my dad," he tells Lex and drops back onto the couch.   "Who's in Metropolis with my mom, in case you forgot, so it doesn't matter how late I stay here.   I want to watch the movie with Parker."

"Clark..."

"Parker's right, Lex.   I'm not a kid, and you're treating me like one."

"You're definitely not a kid."   The look Parker gives him is illegal in some states.   "Get out of here, Lex.   Take your time.   Clark and I have a lot to talk about."

When Lex still hesitates, Clark says, "I don't need a babysitter.   Just go to your meeting."   It's Han Solo against the evil empire, only Lex actually looks hurt for a second before he goes blank as a whiteboard. 

"If that's what you want." 

"Later."   Parker turns his back on him and talks to Clark while Hootie jumps up beside him.   "So did you hear the one about the nun, the priest and the barber?"

Although Clark doesn't see Lex leave, the room feels empty.   "Do you think he's mad?"

"Don't sweat it.   The guy's always mad.   He wants everything his way or no way.   Now let me tell you the joke."   Parker tells his joke, then another, as the space between them shrinks. 

Several jokes later, catastrophe strikes.

"No more beer!"  Parker stares in dismay at the bottle, holding it up to the light for confirmation.   "I knew I should've bought more."   He glances at his watch.   "Shit.   Only half an hour left ‘til the store closes.   Up for a drive into town?"

Clark's up in all senses, so he nods.   "Sure."

Parker grabs his jacket and hurries out, Clark and Hootie trailing behind.   Expecting Parker to walk out the front door, Clark skids into him when he stops beside it.   There's a wooden cabinet on the wall, locked.

"No way my old shitbox can get us there fast enough," he says, and produces a key.  "Not a Scout my ass."   Inside, the keys to Lex's fleet of cars hang neatly in rows, small typed labels beneath each.   "Now  where's the key to that honey?   Here we go.   Okay, let's burn rubber."

"Didn't Lex say you couldn't drive his Porsche?"

"Lex says a lot of things.   I listen to about twenty percent, and that's still too much.   The guy's a fascist."   In the garage Parker flips on a light, and they walk between a line of cars until he shouts, "Score!"  Seconds later, Parker's behind the wheel of Lex's black Porsche Carrera 911 coupe, wiggling into the leather seat like he's got an embarrassing itch.  Hootie jumps in after him, scampering into the space behind the seats where he sits like a furry king. 

"I don't think Lex is going to be happy about this," Clark says as the window zips down.   Lex once said that his cars are ‘the one toy my father can't break'.   No way he can explain this to Parker, who doesn't listen like Lex usually does. 

"Screw Lex.   Are you coming or not?"

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Lex has you whipped, man.   Nothing's going to happen.   We're going for some brew, and we'll be back before he even knows we split.   You want to have some fun, don't you, while you're still young?"

Fun is one of those things he's not supposed to have.   Fun, according to his dad, gets people in trouble.   Fun gets people hurt.   Fun must be the best thing ever, and Clark gets in, riding high on the wrongness of it.  The feeling shoots higher when Parker revs the engine and flips on the radio, cranking it super-loud. 

Smallville's a sleepy town even on a Saturday night, and they don't pass anyone on the way to the liquor store.   Clark is mildly disappointed but relieved, too, and relaxes, giving into the adventure of it.   He doesn't give in very often, but this *is* fun, with the wind blasting loud as the radio, and Clark barely flinches when Parker hits the horn.  A few cows grazing in Osler's pasture raise their heads, maybe shake them.   Clark doesn't care, just hangs on as Parker breaks the sound barrier.   No wonder Lex drives so fast. 

The store is on Oak and Main, sandwiched between a bakery and a shoe repair place, both closed.   A car pulls away just as they rip around the corner, and Parker flies into the empty space.   "Come on.   We've got five minutes to stock up." 

With Hootie guarding the car, they head inside, where the lights are bright as summer.   The clerk, a middle-aged guy with a mustache like a brown sausage, looks up from his copy of Playboy.   He shakes his head, squinting at Parker.   "Mr. Luthor?"   He's clearly confused by the hair, and Clark's about to explain when Parker grabs a case of beer then sidles up to the counter.

"I know," he says, touching his head.   "It's a friggin' miracle.   Just woke up the other day and it'd all grown back.   The chicks are really digging it.   Some of the guys, too."

The clerk scratches his chin.   "I wouldn't believe it anywhere else, but Smallville's a pretty strange town." 

"You're telling me.   And just send the bill to the mansion, okay?   For this, and--" he grabs a bottle of vodka and one of rum "--and these.   Private party.   Need to stock up."

"Anything you say, Mr. Luthor."

"Later, dude."   Parker picks up the bagged booze, hugging it to his chest.   "Grab the beer, Clark.   Our friends are waiting for us."

He takes the case, feeling like a criminal, and follows Parker to the car.   "Lex is never going to talk to me again."

"Why?  It's not like we robbed the place.   Besides, he's got the bucks to cover this."   As the engine growls, Parker turns down the radio.   "I got an idea.   Where's a good look-out point around here?   I know this place is flat as shit, but there's got to be some place with a view."

"There's Maple Point.   It looks out over the town, but you can't see much in the dark.   Besides, it's where people go to...You know."

"Perfect." 

And Clark's knocked back in his seat as Parker guns it.   "Just tell me how to get there."

They have to pass over the bridge where an accident gave him Lex, and Clark makes a wish, like he always does.   Nothing happens, like it always does.   It's time to change that.   If Fate's not coming to him, he's going to Fate. 

***

Maple Point is quiet tonight, with only one other car parked along the bluff.   Parker stops with the Porsche's nose a few feet from the edge, and since Hootie's whimpering in the back, takes him out to do his thing, leaving Clark alone.   This place has figured prominently in Clark's fantasies where he's  been parked in his dad's truck with half the female population of Smallville, lip-locked with everyone from Chloe to Nell.   Lately, his brain's been stuck on the all-Lex station, and Lex has done some pretty unspeakable things to him in one of his fancy cars with the town all shiny below them. 

The first time he jerked off to those pictures, Clark couldn't face Lex for three days, turning eight shades of red when Lex finally showed up at the farm looking for him.   When Lex asked what was up and Clark did his impersonation of a human sunset, Lex got this look on his face like he knew.   They were sitting on the couch in the loft, a cricket going full blast in the corner, and Lex just kind of leaned in.   Nothing happened:  he only brushed something off Clark's shoulder.   ‘Dirt,' he said.   ‘Got to keep you clean.'   The truth is, he and Lex will never happen.   The sooner he faces this, the better, because it's starting to hurt bad when Lex is around and the nothing starts all over again. 

A phone sits behind the gear shift, the keypad glowing bright green, and Clark eyes it.   Outside, Parker finds a stick, tossing it into the air while Hootie makes like a miniature canine Michael Jordan.   For a little dog, he can jump pretty high.   Funny how Parker loves that dog, which is everything he's not. 

Fate moves in mysterious ways, and Clark picks up the phone.    "Hi, Chloe.   It' s me.   Look..."

The call lasts only a minute or two, then Parker's there, throwing open the door and dropping down onto the seat, smelling of dead leaves and sweet grass.  The light from the pumpkin moon misses the car's interior, so Parker's hair fades and it's like being with Lex in the almost-dark.   Except that he's sitting in a stolen car, drinking warm beer, and Lex has never touched his thigh like Parker's doing. 

Clark's first reaction is to flinch and brush off the hand.   When it returns a third time, insistent the way Parker is, he lets it stay.   No more fighting Fate.   Mostly.   "Maybe we should get going," Clark says.   His voice is too high, and he clears his throat.   "Lex is probably home by now."

"You're not having fun?" 

When Parker's hand moves higher Clark jumps.  The Porsche's low-slung roof holds him in place.   "Fun is one way to describe it." 

"Feels like you're having fun."

"I...What are you doing?" 

"This mysterious rite is called ‘unzipping your jeans.'   And this," Parker adds, reaching inside, "this is called ‘giving you a handjob.'   Any questions?" 

"I didn't realize there was going to be a quiz on it."   Parker's hand is so hot and tight that Clark can't do anything other than melt against the seat.   This is happening way too fast, but that's Parker.   Clark squints at him in the dark, picturing purple shirts and black jackets, a scarred mouth that smiles when you least expect it. 

"No quiz, but you could use some tutoring."   He takes Clark's hand and presses it against the hardness in his jeans.   "Show me what you've got."

"Can't you tell?"

Parker laughs.   "My hand feels great, doesn't it?  Well, I want to feel it, too."

Clark has trouble with the zipper--too much trouble, and Parker makes an impatient sound, letting go of Clark to open his jeans.   He closes Clark's hand around his cock, then returns to the handjob.   Although the position's awkward with the gear shift between them, Clark doesn't care.   He's never felt anything so good; it's better than Christmas and his mom's apple pie, almost as good as saving Lex that day on the river and-- 

"Lex," he says.   Then:  "We should go.   Lex is going to worry."   When Parker's hand moves faster, Clark decides to go through with this.   It's grabbing the bull by the horns, the cat by the tail, a Lex-lookalike by the--

The moon drops from the sky, huge, round and white in Clark's eyes.  He realizes it's not the moon only when Parker goes, "Shit," and scrambles away, fixing his pants.   Cheating, Clark uses super-speed to do up his own, nearly castrating himself in the process.   It's a necessary sacrifice, because there's a tall figure in blue shining a flashlight into the car.   It's the cavalry. 

Parker rolls down his window.   "Sorry, officer.   My friend was feeling sick and I was helping him--"

"Interesting resuscitation technique.   Now please step out of the car with your hands over your head.   Nice and slow."

"What are you going to charge me with?"  Parker's mouth just won't quit.   "Possession of a lethal weapon?"

"Car theft.   Mr. Luthor reported his car stolen, and that license plate is a dead giveaway."  He sniffs the air.   "Maybe driving under the influence."

"Hey, I can't steal my own car, can I?   I know you're expecting me to be bald and dressed like a human grape, but-- "

"Get out of the car."   Another voice, a voice as cool and smooth as a glass of milk, with skin to match. 

"Shit," Parker says.   It's a good summary.

When he climbs out, so does Clark, although he can't meet Lex's eyes.   He says nothing, just stands behind the car, feeling like he's swallowed a meteor rock.   If there were a bridge, he'd make one wish.

Parker's outside, facing his accusers with his hands high and his mouth going sixty miles an hour.   "Come on, Lex.  You know I wasn't stealing it.   Call off the dogs."   Hootie stares up at him, confused. 

"Then what exactly were you doing?"

"Clark was just showing me the sights."

"Yes," Lex says, looking pointedly at the booze in the backseat, "the liquor store scores high on most interesting places to visit in Smallville."

"Hey, I even bought you a present.   A bottle of vodka just for you."

"Paid for by me, too, I'll bet."

"You're so cynical, Lex.  It's hard to believe we're related."

"What about you, Clark?   What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It was my idea, Lex.   I didn't think you'd mind if we borrowed the car.   Because we're friends.   Were friends."   His stomach's looping, and this might be the worst night of his life.   "I'm really sorry."

Parker does that vigorous nodding thing.   "It happened just like he said.   Just a big misunderstanding, right, Lex?" 

The pause lasts for a full minute, the buzz of invisible mosquitoes counting each second.   The moon has turned into a smirking jack o' lantern, and the stars' glow is rough against Clark's eyes.   He'd like to blame the beer for his supremely dumb behavior, except that would be a bad kind of lie.   He doesn't think he can get drunk, although from what he's heard it would be a relief right now, just to lie in the grass and be happy.   Beside him, Parker hums the Jeopardy theme under his breath. 

"Yes," Lex says at last, "it was just a big misunderstanding.   Thanks, officers."    He walks them back to the police car while Parker and Clark lower their arms.   Even Hootie seems to sigh with relief.

"Thanks.   For a second there I thought he was going to let them take me."   Parker moves closer, keeps his voice low.   "Want to go back to his place and finish where we left off?"   He actually had the nerve to lick Clark's ear.

Once Clark separates the commands from his body and his brain, he shakes his head.   "Thanks for everything, but I think I'll head home or maybe visit my friend Chloe."   Anything that didn't involve threats of jail time and boozy groping by Lex's evil twin.   Cousin.  Whatever.   "Tell Lex that I'm--"

"Tell Lex what?"  Lex, who definitely had cat in his blood, comes up beside him. 

"That I'm going to walk home."

"I'd like to give you a lift."

Parker breaks into their circle of two.   "There's not enough room for three people in the car, Lex.   If he wants to walk, let him."

"He's not walking," Lex says.   A perfectly-timed pause that no one can do like him, then:   "You are."

"But we're miles from your place.   It'll take all night."

"Be glad you're not making some interesting new friends in jail."

"Like I'm any less screwed right now?"

Clark touches Lex's arm.   "You can take him with you, Lex.   I can walk.   I like walking."

"You're coming with me," Lex tells him.   "We need to talk."

"You know, I'd rather walk back than listen to one of Lex's talks."   Parker reaches into the Porsche and pulls out two beers, putting one in his jacket pocket.   "Just in case I score along the way.   Come on, boy," he says to Hootie," and walks off singing lyrics so dirty they put his jokes to shame. 

The gravel crunches under his feet, and Clark might be a little insulted about his place in Parker's world.   "It's hard to believe you're related," Clark says, because someone has to say something. 

Lex wears shiny black shoes, made shinier by the dew.   "I'll deny this in the future, but in some ways Parker and I are lot alike."

"How?"

"We take what we want, no matter who gets hurt."

"Parker didn't actually hurt anyone, Lex."   Clark speaks around the new insult.   He's not something that Lex wants to take.   There's guessing and knowing, with a big pit between the two that he feels in his stomach. 

"I'm glad he didn't hurt you."

Clark has nothing to lose, so he imitates Lex's honesty.   "He made me feel good.   Really good."

"That's just sex, Clark.   It doesn't mean anything."

"I know it wasn't a marriage proposal.   I just liked it.   A lot." 

"I guess you wish I hadn't shown up.   So you could've finished it off."   Lex has gone blank again.   "I wouldn't have figured he was your type."

"He's not.   I mean, he is.   Sort of.   What do you think my type is?"

"You should be with a nice, uncomplicated girl.   Someone like Chloe."

"Why?"

"That's what you deserve."

"Maybe that's not what I want."

"Clark, Parker's just got you confused."  Lex is very serious and maybe even sorry for him, with his head cocked. 

"Lex, I hate to break the news to you, but Parker's not the first time I've ever thought about a guy."   Being this honest with Lex is a buzz, like breaking the sound barrier in a very fast car.   "Not the first time I've thought about a guy and doing stuff with him."

"That's my fault."

"Your fault?  How can it be your fault?"

"I manipulated you, Clark."

"You think I like you because you manipulated me?  Lex, just because I grew up on a farm doesn't mean I have crap for brains."   He's just officially admitted to liking Lex, and he has to move. 

Lex follows him as they head toward the tree near the cliff's edge.   "I know you're not stupid.   That's one of the reasons we're friends.   But I played you, Clark.   I didn't mean to, I swear.   It just...happened."

"Unless you've been drugging me or hypnotizing me in my sleep, this isn't your fault." 

"I shouldn't have given you the presents or lent you the limo or got Whitney that game with the Sharks.   I knew your weaknesses and I played you."

"So you're saying you did those things because you wanted me to like you?"

He nods.   "I'm worse than Parker."

"Lex, doing nice things for someone isn't manipulating them.   Besides, I would've liked you anyway.   I like talking to you.   I like listening to you, except when you're channeling my dad.   I like the way you look."

"If you like me so much, then why--"   He shuts down like a car engine.   "Look, it's late.   I should drive you home."

"Maybe I don't want to go home."

"Well, I do."

"So that's it?"

"Yes."  And Lex walks back toward the car.   He stops beside it, resting his hand on the roof, waiting.   "You coming?"

"Can you drop me off at Chloe's?"

"Sure.   Whatever you want."

"Okay." 

Lex drives too fast.   He usually does, but tonight he's outdoing Parker.   Quiet, too, staring straight ahead, while Clark pretends not to stare at him.   A sharp turn ahead, and the bridge is there. 

"Stop the car," Clark says.   "I don't feel well."   It's a loyal lie for a friend, and Clark doesn't even stumble over the words.   Seconds later he's standing on the edge of the incline just before the bridge, Lex beside him.   The moon's still there, Lex-colored, and the stars form the same patterns as always.   "I guess you ran your car off this bridge all those months ago just so you could meet me, right?"

"That was an accident of fate.   Some things even I can't control."   He reaches for Clark, then lets his hand drop.  "You feel any better?"

"I'm okay.   I was just a little dizzy."   It's a good lead-in line, and Clark takes a step forward, makes a wish--

And trips.

It's a deliberate accident, and he rolls happily down the hill toward the shore, calling Lex's name for good measure.   The fall is surprisingly fun, like driving too fast in a car or fooling around with guys who look like your best friend.   Since the ground's mostly sandy, he figures Lex will worry but not too much.   Just enough.   Bump, bump, bump, and Lex is running behind him, flashes of white in the dark.   Clark hits the shore in a satisfying explosion of sand, and lies there, his eyes closed, his heart going sixty miles an hour. 

"Clark.   God.   Clark.   Are you okay?"   Lex is on his knees beside him, cradling Clark's face in his hands, careful in the way that he's always careful.

"I can't breathe," Clark tells him, which is true--just not for the reason Lex thinks.   "Air."   When the touch comes, Lex's mouth is so soft that Clark really is knocked breathless.   For a second, he lies there breathing in Lex and the comforting irony from a lie meeting truth.   Then he puts his arms around Lex's neck and turns help into a kiss. 

Lex goes still, still as that first time.   They lie together without moving, the water whispering nearby.   A bird cries overhead, and Clark opens his eyes to Lex's pale face.   Lex must see something, or maybe Clark makes a sound, but suddenly the energy rushes back and he's *there*, kissing Clark hard and deep.   Then Lex is on him, teaching Clark about the shape and length of kisses.   Lex knows a lot about kisses, about where to press and where to lick, where to suck and where to stroke.   His tongue is even softer than his lips, and Clark opens himself to it because Lex, God, Lex deserves some kind of medal for kissing. 

And if he keeps doing that, yes, that, the slow steady thrusting into his mouth like, oh, like sex, Clark's going to explode.   Only whenever he tries to rock up into Lex, he's steadied with a hand on his shoulder, like Lex wants them to take their time.   Feeling Lex so stiff against him is almost as good as Lex's tongue in his mouth, and he wants to rub and rub until nothing's hard anymore. 

"I could kill him," Lex says suddenly, and moves down until his mouth's over Clark's throat.   A sharp bite follows.

"Kill who?"

"That idiot Parker.   For kissing you.   For everything he did to you."   Lex licks back up to Clark's mouth, and this kiss is the most intense of all. 

It's like the river's spilled over him.   There's this rush that never stops, and when Clark's shirt somehow disappears along with Lex's, their skin's so wet that they slide together like the best amusement park ride ever.   Things get wetter when Lex starts licking his chest, long swipes against his nipples, and Clark thrusts again, trying to anchor himself against Lex's body.   When that doesn't work, with Lex still pushing him down, Clark runs his hands down Lex's damp back.   So much skin, and it should be his, if Lex would just relax like before, watch less and just *be*. 

Somehow this is Clark's fault.   There's something he should've said; the thought was there, skirting his brain, and he struggles to find it, to concentrate away from the scar on Lex's mouth.   Incredible scar, because it shows that things can get inside Lex, can break through.   The memory's almost there when Lex moves even lower, kneeling between Clark's legs.   He pulls down Clark's fly, looking up at him like he's waiting for Clark to run or laugh or something.   All Clark can do is nod and say words that don't mean anything alone, "God" and "please" and "want." 

Lex tugs down Clark's jeans past his hips, then reaches into his boxers, barely breathing, barely blinking, like he's made from the same rock as the moon.   "I'm going to make you feel so good." 

The emphasis on "I" yanks up Clark's clingy memory.   Because he almost had Lex when he fell: the first kisses were relief and need.   Natural, nothing held back.   Then Lex mentioned Parker, and--

"He didn't kiss me," Clark says.   Too loud, and Lex, whose mouth is so near the head of Clark's cock that his breath tickles, does that frozen thing where his lungs don't seem to work.

"What?"

"He didn't kiss me.   I didn't kiss him."   Clark knows this matters or it should, only the why is hard to explain.   "I know we did other stuff, Lex, but no kissing.   The other stuff--that was like you said, sex.   And sex because you wouldn't, and I wanted you to, and he was there.   But no kissing," he repeats.   "I saved that for you.  Just in case." 

It's still not right.    While Lex's teeth flash, the smile doesn't go deep enough.   "I'm glad, Clark.   Now lie there and let me do this to you."

So Clark does it, the most heroic thing ever, maybe in the history of the world: using his trusty superspeed, he sits up and stops Lex's mouth.   His body says something unrepeatable, and his blood's not sure where to rush.   Possibly he deserves a medal, too. 

"Clark, what the hell...?   I'm not going to hurt you.   I just want to make you--"

"--forget about Parker.   You're not getting it, Lex."   Not that he plans to give Lex a choice.   ‘Nothing's more stubborn than a mule or a Kent,' his mother always says, and she's right.   Clark moves fast and sure until Lex is the one on his back in the sand.   "The thing is, we're like Parker and Hootie."

"I hate to say this, but I hope I'm the dog in your little equation."

"The point is that they shouldn't be right, but they are.   You'd expect Parker to have a pit bull or something, maybe an Alsatian.   A pet ferret?   I don't know.   Just something that suits him.   Only he has this fluffy white terrier, and it works.   Even if he looks at other dogs, Hootie's the only one for him.   Only what if Parker had never taken Hootie home from the pound?"   Which all sounds mental, but Lex is grinning now, not so intense anymore.    "Does this make any sense at all?"

"I might be starting to follow your farmboy logic."

"Good, because I could hear Chloe in my head saying, ‘Why can't guys just say what they mean?'"

"So Parker wasn't just about raging teenage-boy hormones."

"It was about you, Lex.   It's always about you."   When Lex makes a sound and reaches for him, Clark pushes him back.   "Just let me show you, okay?" 

"You already have.   Any guy who can turn down a blowjob must mean serious business."

"Tell me about it," Clark says, grinning so hard it feels permanent.   The belt's no problem, and he fumbles only for a second with Lex's zipper.   Then he can slide in his hand, and Lex is still hard, growing harder under Clark's fingers.   Different from Parker: very straight, with a full head.   Not as thick, but long, and Lex is smooth everywhere, like he's made for a mouth.   "Don't expect this to be great.   I'm new to this."

"Anything..."  Lex swallows as Clark strokes him.   "Anything you do is good."

Lex's skin is like water against his tongue, and Clark wants to drink it.   He opens wider, takes more in, and gets so caught up in it he forgets to watch Lex, remembering only when Lex's hands are warm in his hair.   Clark's own cock, a little confused by the talk of dogs and mothers, has softened, but the stretch of Lex in his mouth wakes it up.   Doesn't hurt when Lex arches, when Lex, who's always about showing who's the boss, swears very loudly and pushes himself deeper down Clark's throat.   Clark takes him in two hands and sucks like it's Christmas and Lex is a human candy cane. 

Only maybe he's a little too enthusiastic, because there's this sense of flow under Lex's skin, this hurry of blood, and it seems way too fast.   Clark pulls back a little, focusing on the head of Lex's cock, licking to slow the pace and learn what Lex likes.   It's too little too late, or too much too soon, and Lex is going crazy, which is so hot that Clark figures he might actually come before Lex does.   Because he's doing this to Lex.   His tongue.   His hands.   And don't tell him, but Lex is about as powerful now as Hootie, and what's hotter than Lex Luthor on his back, arms out, mouth open, crying out Clark's name? 

Two things happen next. 

The first one's no surprise:   Lex switches from panting to no-breathing, freezes like he's a river in winter, then comes in Clark's mouth.   Shot after shot, and it's a shock, the thickness of it, the hot rush, but it's Lex giving it to him, so Clark swallows. 

The second thing is surprising only in that Lex says it aloud, and not very quietly, so any stray bird, passing fish or hungry farmboy can hear it.   It sends Clark's temperature through the roof, his cock into some impossible stage of hardness and his heart...Well, it's good that he's built indestructible or there'd be trouble. 

He's still flying on the words, still feeling them work through his veins way better than beer, when Lex switches their positions.   No way Clark can refuse Lex's mouth this time, and he doesn't even try, lying back on sand warmed by Lex's back, sucked whole.   He rides it as long as he can, which is about a minute, speeded along by the moonlit sight of Lex licking and sucking him, his own personal porno.   Except that there's more to it, not just the sex, him, Lex, his best friend, and Clark strokes Lex's hollowed cheek with the softest touch ever invented. 

Then everything goes dark as the sky, purple as Lex's favorite shirt, and maybe he says what Lex did--it's hard to tell, since coming's pretty much the least intellectual exercise in the world.   So he comes for Lex, for them, and it's all about swirly colors and heat and a scarred mouth hot and tight around him.   Christmas and his mom's apple pie will never be as good. 

When it's over, he tugs Lex up to him and they lie together, breathing with the same rhythm, as the river runs past and the moon smiles down.   Clark wonders sleepily if wishes work under the bridge as well as over it, then realizes he has nothing left to wish for. 

***

The drive back to Lex's is extremely illegal.   There's the expected groping and making out between billionaire sons and underage farmboys, with Lex saying, "Clark, I'm going to crash" every five seconds, then shoving his tongue down Clark's throat or rubbing him through his jeans, which leads to very erratic driving.    Clark figures he'll save them if there's an accident, so gives into his need to have his hands and mouth on every part of Lex's skin.

"You're too heavy to be on my lap," Lex tells him between kisses.

"I'm not exactly on your lap."

"Well, you should be.   You're too far away."

"Lex." 

"What?"

"Am I still a virgin?"

"Mostly.    And duck a little--I can't see the road."

"Are you going to change that?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Kind of a lot."

"I'll see what I do once we get home.  If I make it that long."   He moans as Clark strokes him. 

"I can stop if you'd like."

"Try, and you'll be walking the rest of the way."

"You want that?  I might run into Parker."

"On second thought, stay here.   I'll suffer."

"It doesn't feel like you're suffering, Lex.   I think hard means good in erection-speak."

"Seriously, Clark, you're making me crazy.   I'm going to go off the side of the road and hit those cows.   Think of the scandal.   ‘Playboy Caught in Sex Romp With Teenager and Farm Animals.'   Even my dad couldn't cover that up."

When Clark kisses him, the engine roars.   Then: "Did you mean it?"

"About the headline?   Mostly not, although it might be worth it just to see the look on my dad's face."

"No, not the headline.   The thing you said.   When I was, you know.   Doing this."   He moves more fully into his seat then bends, running his tongue in a circle around the head of Lex's cock.

"Jesus, Clark," Lex says, as the car weaves.   "And you should never listen to anything a guy says in those circumstances."

"Oh."

"Not unless you're prepared to hear the truth."

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. 

They make it back in one piece, and Lex drags him into the shower.   Well, maybe ‘drag' isn't exactly fair, since Clark's eager to see Lex in the light, all of him.   He's not disappointed.   Under the water, free from sand and dry bits of grass, Lex is shiny as the town under the bluff, somewhere between milk and gold, with a few bruises the color of the sky.

"I did that?"  Clark, on his knees, touches a thumb-sized one on Lex's inner thigh while the hot water arrows down around him.

"Yes.   You're pretty strong, Clark."

"You have no idea.   Seriously, Lex, I'm sorry."   He spreads Lex's legs wider and kisses the bruise there.

"If that's what you're going to do to all my bruises, then I've got one here and here and here."   He touches his mouth, a nipple, his cock. 

Clark licks the one on his hip, then licks all the way up to Lex's mouth.   They stand close, their cocks bumping, while he kisses away bruises that never happened. 

"Are you ready for the rest of it?"  Lex reaches down, trying to close his hand around them both.   "Or should we stick to what we know?"

"That never really got us very far."

"True.   Besides, I wouldn't want you throwing yourself at my cousin again just to get my attention.   Or throwing yourself down an incline." 

"That was Fate, Lex.   There are no accidents, remember?"

"Fate my--"

Only Clark's hands are already there, and the kissing starts.   Somehow they leave the shower and end up on Lex's bed, staining purple silk sheets.  Then Lex licks him.   Not like before: this time he slides his tongue everywhere, inside and out, until Clark's wet and ready. 

"Am I still a virgin?"  Because having Lex's tongue so deep inside him complicates the question.

"Trust me, Clark, you'll know it when you're not.   Besides, what's the obsession with losing it?   I thought this wasn't all about sex."

"It's not.   It's just that if we do it, no matter what happens, we'll both always know.   So one day, when we've had a big fight and we haven't talked because we're both mad, I'll go up to you and remind you of this, and it'll all be okay."

"You won't have to remind me, Clark.   Even if I don't show it, I'll always know."   With his hands on the back of Clark's thighs, he bends Clark's legs until his knees meet his shoulders.   "I'll always know," he says again, and there's a sharp pressure as he begins to push. 

Lex is right:   there's no mistaking this.   It's too personal, with Lex's face right over his, and he can't hide.   Even with his eyes closed, he'd know Lex was there, watching him as his cock slides in.   He keeps his eyes open, though, because whatever he's showing Lex, Lex is reflecting back.   A thousand expressions pass over Lex's face, and it's like seeing their whole relationship play out. 

Clark's not sure what's better, the history on Lex's face or the heat of his cock as he pushes in the rest of the way.  There's fear, sure, to be pinned here like this, closer than he's ever been with anyone, but it's Lex who's smiling now, kissing him slowly, moving just as slowly inside him. 

"Tell me what it's like," Lex says. 

"Like falling off a bridge or down an incline.   Scary, but good, because you're there.   What's it like for you?" 

"I can't even tell you."

Maybe someday that'll be a problem, that Lex is scared too.   Right now, it doesn't matter, not with Lex moving faster and his kisses getting longer and deeper.   Lex's back is sticky under his hands, and Clark pets him as he wraps his legs around Lex's waist.   That's when the rhythm gets him, the beat of it, and what Lex does with his hips and his cock is really like music.   It gets faster, and even with the lights on, the night moves into the bedroom, turning everything dark purple. 

Blinking against it, Clark looks for Lex, then feels his hand on him matching the beat, in and out, up and down.   Words are flying like birds around the room, all from Lex, and they're dirty and possessive and almost mad.   They soften only when Clark says, "Lex, I'm going to, oh God," then Lex is soothing him, nuzzling his cheek and throat as he comes.   It lasts and lasts and lasts, so long that he's split open, with nothing secret inside him anymore, and he just doesn't care.   He's not sure what he says, not exactly, but Lex hears something, has to, and his body arches up, and he moans like he's dying right before he comes in hot waves. 

Clark tries to keep Lex inside him until he slips out, and they collapse in a ragged pile.   "Lex."

"Hm?"

"I guess this means I'm not a virgin anymore."

"Not any more.   We can celebrate later.    A lot later."   He pulls Clark closer.   "I might need mouth to mouth again, so don't go far," Lex adds, then laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"I almost wrote that in the note I sent you after the accident.   I figured your father might not appreciate it if I started coming on to his son.   At least not that obviously."

"You wanted to come on to me?"

"Always, Clark."

Clark decides that the next time he drives over the bridge he'll throw some money in the water. 

***

The sun's dusty yellow through the half-open curtains when something wakes up Clark.   It's not Lex, for a change, who's sprawled beside him, the sheet barely covering him.   In the morning light, more bruises appear, especially on his thighs and hips, and his mouth looks red, the scar a dark line where Clark licked and bit it.   He's leaning over to kiss Lex when the door crashes open.

Parker stands there, a sleepy Hootie leaning against his ankle.   "That's just great.   I spend my night nearly turned into road kill, and you're here living out your dirty fantasy with your farmboy."

"Um, hi," Clark says, and reaches for the quilt. 

Beside him, Lex sits up, yawning.   He gives Clark a sloppy kiss on the cheek, then says, "Take your little dog and get the hell out, Dorothy.   We're a little busy here, or we will be."

"Looks like you've been plenty busy.   I feel like I'm in the honeymoon suite at the Playboy mansion."

"Was there something you wanted, other than to shower us with your incredible wit?"

"Actually, there is.   I want to talk to your sex toy about something that's been bugging me all night.   You used me," Parker says to Clark.   Strangely, he sounds almost admiring. 

"Don't you think that's somewhat ironic, all things considered?"   Lex has flopped back against the pillows, one hand lazily stroking Clark's chest. 

"No way, man.   I laid my cards on the table.   But he conned me.   See, on my way home I started wondering how in hell the cops found us so fast.   The guy at the liquor store might've reported us, but no one knew where we were headed.   Except him."   He nods at Clark.   "So you called the cops, then you just sat there, letting me feel you up while you waited for the cavalry to show up.   Lex Luthor as a hero--who'd have figured it?"

"I didn't call the cops," Clark informs him.   "I called Chloe and asked her to do it.   She complained about misuse of police resources and how guys need to learn better communication skills, but she did it.   She's a good friend."

Parker shakes his head.   "Come on, Hootie.   Let's blow this pop stand.   Those two deserve each other."   And they disappear down the hallway. 

"I think I've misjudged you, Clark."   Lex slides his hand lower.   "Here I thought you were a semi-innocent kid, and it turns out you've got the soul of a criminal mastermind." 

"Well, like Parker says, you're a hero with all the rescuing you did last night, so it's a good balance."

"Looks like I've met my match," Lex says, "so I guess we'd better stay friends.   "Just one more thing, before I spend the day inside you.   If I hadn't shown up, would you have gone all the way with Parker?" 

"No."   It's a loyal lie for a friend, and Clark doesn't even stumble over the words. 

***

(c) September 2002, How to Lose Your Virginity and Other Old Tricks by Thamiris