The only possible answer is: into the void that is my fanfic writing time. God, that's a lot of time. But it yields things like..
It wouldn’t have been right to say that Metropolis was hotter than Smallville in summer, because it wasn’t really, but the air seemed heavier, denser in the city. The heat crawled along the tall, gleaming sides of buildings that reached up toward the sun, and shimmered on the sidewalks. In Smallville it was probably the same temperature, but it played along the greenery, mingled with the wind and it felt, somehow, cleaner at home than it did here, Clark thought, as he stood in his kitchen drinking juice.
After a year of college, he wasn’t as used to waking up when it was still dark out as he used to be. He’d forgotten how much he liked the quiet parts of the morning. Birds landed on the fire escape, the fluttering of their wings loud in the still alley.
He never would have pictured this, if he’d been asked to guess where he’d be a year after graduation. Clark probably would have guessed that he’d be back at the farm. Maybe living in his loft, and definitely still with Lana. Probably hanging out with Pete and Chloe and doing chores every day.
This was…better. Maybe a little lonely sometimes, but it was better. Clark needed time to be *Clark* without being expected to be…whatever it was that people at home expected of him. It differed from person to person, and he wasn’t up to it. Really wasn’t up to it.
And lonely wasn’t so much a problem. He’d always spent a lot of time on his own, even in Smallville, because, well…*alien*. Besides, there was Lex, who was turning out to be an even cooler guy than Clark had originally thought, which made him pretty much the coolest person Clark knew. By *a lot*.
And not even because Clark didn’t know many cool people. Although, he really didn’t, come to think of it.
Sweat trickled down his spine, pooling on the flat of his back, and Clark opened the window further, hoping for a breeze. He was really going to have to look into getting fans or something because it was just too hot for clothing, and walking around naked wasn’t really an option if he was going to have people over.
Tonight he and Lex were going head to head in a game of no holds barred Zelda. They both knew all the same codes, and if Lex thought he had an edge just because he’d been playing the game longer than Clark, then he was about to learn the error of that kind of assumption. Clark grinned.
Maybe it wasn’t that lonely after all, he thought, finishing his juice and running his hands under the cold water as he rinsed out his glass. He splashed some on his face, and ran his hands through his hair.
Putting on his work clothes really didn’t sound like it could have any possible positive outcome. It was too *hot* to wear a tie. Too hot to wear a jacket, and really, too hot to wear pants.
Would wearing boxers to work be acceptable?
Clark sighed, and eyed his suit jacket unhappily. Maybe he’d fly to work, because walking was definitely not going to be any fun at all. Thank God the office was air conditioned, Clark thought, otherwise *everyone* would be stripping down to their skivvies.
And that should have been a funny thought, but somehow, the idea of Lex in boxers didn’t make Clark want to laugh. At all.
He reached into his refrigerator and pulled out some milk, desperate to ease his suddenly dry mouth.
It really was *way* too hot in his apartment.
Filing, filing, filing and look, more filing. For a change.
The filing gods had clearly decided that Clark was their chosen one, and that only *he* was capable of serving them properly, because he had a small forest’s worth of papers on his desk demanding his attention. He was going to spend the rest of his life sorting through the piles that sat before him. Clark was sure of it.
He’d never imagined that his doom would look so much like a stack of computer printouts. He’d always sort of thought that meteor rocks would be involved. Or at least the photocopier.
Slowly, he started sorting the documents into separate piles. A for ankle biter, B for blowfish, and so on and so forth. Clark was really starting to enjoy his personalized organizational system when Lex, predictably, came up behind him and startled the crap out of him.
“Are you just shuffling papers, or is there a method to your madness?” Lex asked, leaning over Clark’s shoulder to look at his desk.
He considered asking Lex to wear a bell or something, because really, this sneaking up thing had to stop. “I’m sorting,” Clark explained. “Alphabetizing.”
“Alphabetizing. Sounds taxing,” Lex teased. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
Clark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it covered. All those years watching Sesame Street weren’t for nothing, you know.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lex laughed. He perched on the corner of Clark’s desk, careful not to upset anything. “Did you know that Sesame Street has given kids around the world New York accents?”
“What?” Clark asked, brows climbing toward his hairline with disbelief. “How does that work?”
“The actors who do the voices of the puppets are all from New York. Kids watch Sesame Street instead of spending time with their parents, and they pick up the speech patterns of Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch instead of their family,” Lex told him. “You don’t have a New York accent, so you probably didn’t watch too often.”
“Or maybe I was just close with my parents,” Clark countered, leaning back in his chair.
Lex nodded. “There is that possibility.” He tilted his head to study Clark. “Were you? Are you?”
Clark shrugged. “Yeah, I am, I guess.”
“Well, that would explain it then,” Lex said, sounding somewhat thoughtful.
“So what are you up to?” Clark asked after a quiet moment. “Looking for something?”
“Looking for a reason not to be at my desk so I don’t receive the three or four phone calls from well wishers, reporters and board members,” Lex told Clark, eyes darkening with frustration. “I just needed a breather.”
“Okay,” Clark said agreeably. “Breathe.”
“Thanks, Clark,” Lex said dryly, a slight smile curling the corner of his mouth up.
“Anytime. Wouldn’t want you to be too stressed out to enjoy tonight’s extravaganza.” Clark grinned. “You know, can’t have you at anything less than peak performance.”
Lex’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Zelda match. “You’re awfully cocky.”
“Hey, I’m just confident. I know what I’m doing,” Clark’s grin widened. “Maybe I haven’t been at it as long as you have, but I think I might know a few tricks that you don’t.”
“Clark, trust me, no matter how many tricks you think you know? I’ve done them all, and found better ways of using than their original intent,” Lex boasted, smirking.
“I might surprise you,” Clark challenged. Was the AC working right in the office? He felt uncomfortably hot. “Try me.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Lex promised. “My performance will not only be at its peak, but at its zenith and you won’t know what hit you.”
“All right then, let the games begin.”
Lex grinned. “What time?”
“Whenever, I guess. I mean, I know you have work and all, but my air conditioner is kind of, uhm, nonexistent. And…it’s kind of hot.”
“Kind of hot? Yes, I think that perhaps ninety-five degrees and high humidity would qualify as ‘kind of hot,’” Lex laughed. “You have a gift for understatement. My place it is. Around eight o’clock?”
“You’re on,” Clark agreed, with a decisive nod.
Lex’s grin widened as he stood, putting his hands into his pockets. He was all gleaming teeth and shining eyes, and the office AC *must* be malfunctioning because it was just *too* hot. “I’ll look forward to it. Enjoy alphabetizing.”
“Thanks,” Clark said, waving as Lex walked away to his office. He turned back to his desk, and chuckled. Lex was *so* going down.
“So it’s like that, huh?” asked Jenna, eyeing Clark speculatively as she walked over to her desk from the doorway.
“Like what?” Clark countered, confused.
“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling a little. “You’re safe. I’m in public relations, remember? You’ve just answered a long standing curiosity, though, I’ll tell you that.”
What the hell did that mean? He pestered Jenna for a good five minutes, but wasn’t able to get another word out of her on the subject. When he turned his attention back to the filing that lay waiting ever so patiently on his desk, Clark wasn’t pouting, but it was damned close.
Like what? And what was like what? And in what way was this unknown object like some other unknown object? And why was Jenna grinning at him slyly every couple of minutes?
It didn’t make any sense. And the thing about filing was that filing *made sense*. It was boring as hell, but it made sense.
Clark sighed, and went back to alphabetizing the papers. G for gung-ho, H for hokey pokey…
Usually Clark’s lunch breaks found him either eating alone outside, or in a deli with Lex. But Lex had been tied up in a meeting, and outside wasn’t so much a comfortable option today, unless Clark wanted his skin to melt off. Which might make for interesting performance art, but wasn’t exactly something he wanted to have happen.
Sitting alone in a restaurant always felt a little weird to Clark, so he picked up a copy of the Planet while he was paying. The Phelan trial was still front page news, and it probably would be for the next week or so. Phelan was going to jail, that much was certain. Basically it looked like his defense was based on a vindictive desire to take pretty much everyone else in Metropolis down with him. What a sweet guy he must be, Clark thought snidely.
Phelan was flinging mud at every big name corporation in the city, especially LuthorCorp and LexCorp, but it seemed that amidst the barrage of accusations he was making, he’d done at least a little bit of good. Peter Vladenko, a high ranking member in Metropolis organized crime, had been brought in on drug trafficking charges. That’s what made Phelan’s lies so insidious, Clark thought. The little bit of truth mixed in.
Clark was an expert on lies. He just hated telling them, and wasn’t any good at it either. Which sorta seemed like some kind of big tip from the universe that he shouldn’t lie, but *not* lying was out of the question, unless he wanted the world’s scientific community setting up shop on his body. And he didn’t. At all.
Clark didn’t kid himself that Lex was pure as the driven snow, and he realized that he really didn’t know Lex all *that* well, but he’d be willing to bet that the only addiction Lex had was to work. Given the long hours Lex spent in the office, Clark was pretty sure Lex didn’t have the *time* to do too many drugs. And besides? Clark just didn’t trust Phelan. He didn’t know why, but it was instinctive, and intense – much like his trust *in* Lex.
Munching on his sandwich, he turned the page. And stopped dead.
The Daily Planet was offering reward money for any information pertaining to the ‘Masked Samaritan’, and really, that name was starting to piss Clark off because he hadn’t been wearing a goddamned mask. And why did they have to offer money? Was he a criminal all of a sudden?
And there was a hotline specifically *for* information on the Masked Samaritan. Clark scanned the article, and found himself suddenly pissed off instead of panicked. Because he *wasn’t* a crackpot vigilante copycat of Gotham’s psychotic hero-slash-bat enthusiast. And he *didn’t* have disfiguring scars on his face. And Lois Lane *definitely* wouldn’t know gratitude if it bit her on the ass.
His parents were going to be practically hysterical when they saw this article. That more than anything put Clark in an anti-Lane frame of mind. Damn her anyway. When he got home his answering machine was going to be entirely filled with messages from his dad because as soon as the Planet had gotten to Smallville, Jonathan Kent had probably read right through it, looking for mention of this Masked Samaritan.
Oh, God. Chloe probably had been, too. Oh, this just kept getting better and better. Would she call the Planet hotline? No, no, Chloe wanted to keep it as *her* story. That he could depend on. But she was going to step up the heat on her own private investigation. She *hated* getting scooped.
What the hell was he going to do?
The day at work ended, blissfully, at five. Clark flew home, careful to avoid being seen, and loving the drop in temperature the higher up he flew. He landed on the roof of his building, and trudged down the stairs to his apartment, taking off his jacket and tie as he went. As soon as he’d closed the door behind him, his shoes, socks, belt and shirt followed. The phone rang as he started to divest himself of his pants.
“So, were you actually wearing a mask?” Chloe’s voice asked him, playfully. “Because that’s not very ‘Clark.’ I never would have figured you for a mask kind of guy.”
“Chloe how many different ways can I explain to you that I am *not* whoever it is that saved Lois Lane? Which is good, because if I *were* him, I wouldn’t be able to catch a break. It’s like she’s got it in for that guy or something.” Clark tried his best to keep most of his anger out of his voice, and hoped he only sounded mildly annoyed.
“She’s just trying to make the most out of a story that she was right *there* to see happen,” Chloe told him. “I don’t think she actually has it ‘in’ for you or anything.”
“Would you just *stop* saying that? It wasn’t me. Repeat: not me. Someone else, got it?” Clark snapped, throwing his pants across the room.
“Clark, I’m not stupid, okay? Could you stop treating me like I am? Maybe for a millisecond, or something?” Chloe shot back. “I mean, God, what is it? Just because I have breasts you can’t trust me? Too much estrogen to be able to keep a secret properly?”
“What are you talking about?”
Chloe laughed, bitterly. “Clark, how long have I known you and Pete? What have I done in all this time to make you think that you can’t trust me? I know there’s something different about you, and I know that Pete knows it, too. You guys *suck* at being secretive, by the way.”
Clark sat down, blinking. This had turned around on him too quickly, way too quickly. “I…Chloe…”
“Yeah, you think I want to know because I’m curious, but Clark? I’d like to know what you think is so terrible that you can’t tell me ‘cause it’ll make me freak out.” Chloe paused, and drew in a shaky breath. “Because, I really, honestly, hope that’s the reason you haven’t told me, rather than because you think I’ll run off to some big paper with your secret like it’s an exclusive.”
There was no way to get out of this conversation. No way at all, and Clark didn’t know exactly how to respond. It was like walking through a minefield or something. A minefield filled with meteor rocks.
“Chloe,” he began, very cautiously. “I do trust you. And…you’re right. I have been keeping secrets, but. It’s not because I think that you aren’t trustworthy…it’s…habit, I guess? It’s just…not something I’m really ready to talk about, okay? But when I am, I will tell you, Chlo’.”
“If you’re not ready to talk about it than how come Pete knows?” she demanded. “And don’t try to tell me he doesn’t. I know he does.”
“I’ve known Pete since I was first adopted, Chloe. It’s not so much about me having told him as about him just knowing. Chloe…don’t push, okay?” Clark swallowed hard. “Please. Just…please.”
There was a long pause, and Clark started to worry that he’d finally crossed some kind of line with her, that he was asking too much.
She sighed. “You ask a lot, Kent.”
“I know, I know,” he said, relief rushing over him like a wave, “but I really do love you, Chloe.”
“I know,” she replied, sounding resigned. “I’m the best.”
“You are,” he agreed, smiling.
“Tell Pete for me, will you?” she asked, in a tone of voice Clark didn’t completely understand.
“He already knows,” he told her gently.
She snorted, disbelieving. “Yeah, well I’ve gotta run. I’ll catch you later.”
“Okay. Have fun. And…I…,” Clark groped for the right words, but Chloe saved him.
“We’re okay, Clark, don’t worry. But, I really do have to go, so bye.”
He hung up the phone, and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, blew out a long, long breath, and thanked whatever God would listen to an alien for Chloe Sullivan’s patience with him.
That had had the potential to get really ugly. A confrontation like that had been in the offing between them for so long that Clark was surprised it hadn’t spiraled out of control really quickly. She and Pete were his two mainstays and losing her would be hard. A lot harder than losing Lana, because Chloe had always been there. It was Chloe, Pete, and Clark, and that was just the way that it *was.*
Clark didn’t want to live in a world without Chloe-snark. Thank God he wouldn’t have to.
He’d outright promised to tell her someday, he realized abruptly. And…he’d meant it. Clark was tired of lying to the people he cared about, just plain goddamned tired of it. So he would. He’d tell Chloe, as soon as he learned how to *let go* of his secret. It was hard to stop guarding it after so long.
Maybe if he’d been able to be honest with Lana…but no. That wouldn’t have fixed everything that needed fixing between them.
Blowing out a long breath, he shifted so he was lying on the couch. Sweat trickled down his back, and he reminded himself again how much he really *needed* to get a fan or air conditioner.
Weather like this always made Clark more aware of his body. The long hours of the day were filled with sunlight, and his skin was warmed by the end of each day. Heat twirled over and around him, like a ribbon.
He missed Lana, missed the swells and curves of her body, the half hitching sigh she made when he kissed her. They’d always made love. Slowly, carefully touching each other like they thought the other one would break, and Clark hadn’t been sure that Lana wouldn’t. But sometimes? Sometimes he’d just wanted a long, hard, fuck and should he feel guilty about that?
Feel guilty about wanting to hold wrists in his fingers, feel long, pale legs wrapped around him and look down and see white skin turning red from kisses he’d sucked onto it?
Clark could feel his body responding to the images running through his head, and he ran a hand down his chest, reaching down to cup himself. He sucked in a breath.
It had been a long, long, time and it wouldn’t take very long. He pulled his cock out of his boxers and squeezed once, hard enough to make him hiss a breath in through his teeth, before he started jerking off in earnest.
God, he didn’t want to be careful, wanted to just *take* someone. Let them feel his strength, hold them down with his body. Wanted to bite hard enough to leave tooth marks, wanted to feel clawing up and down his back, hear someone talk dirty to him.
Wanted to see blue eyes burning up at him, strong arms around him, and oh, God, yeah. He jacked himself harder, faster, pulled back his foreskin to rub his thumb over the head of his cock, and pumped harder, faster into his hand.
Could see it now, see himself biting a pale, smooth shoulder, see the predatory grin, see the sharp white teeth, and those pale, icy eyes, looking up at him. Hot for him. God.
“Is this what you want, Clark?” Lex asked him, voice low, raspy.
Clark came yelling ‘yes.’
He reached over the arm of the couch and grabbed a handful of Kleenex, cleaning himself off, and breathing heavily.
Very carefully *ignoring* what had just happened as he got up, went into the shower.
Shit. He’d just gotten off thinking about *Lex* who not only was his friend and his employer but who was also, you know, a *guy*. And Clark was straight, so that didn’t make much sense.
And he was doing a really bad job at the whole ignoring thing.
It was normal for everyone to…you know…jack off to weird people occasionally, right? That’s what Freud was all about, wasn’t it? Having weird, and not *really* sexual feelings about people that you shouldn’t actually want? Was it some kind of forbidden fruit thing?
Because, really, Lex was straight. Clark was straight. They were a couple of straight guys. They liked *women*. Clark liked *women*. Liked them a lot. Liked having sex with women and not men and was therefore a heterosexual male.
Straight as a goddamned *arrow.*
Except that he’d just had one of the best orgasms he’d ever had while masturbating and he hadn’t been thinking about a woman.
Clark took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and think about this logically. He was nineteen. He was in college. College was a normal time for people to…question themselves. Experiment. And maybe that’s what this was. Experimentation.
Exactly. Clark’s little experiment had been to accidentally jack off to mental images of himself *fucking Lex,* hard. So, if it had been an experiment, a nasty part of his mind wondered, what had been proven?
That he wanted Lex, maybe? That Lex would look really fucking *hot* naked with his legs wrapped around Clark’s waist?
And that answer really wasn’t helping with the freak out session that Clark had going. He took deep breaths. He turned the water colder. He still could feel his cock beginning to react to the pictures of Lex in his head.
Maybe it was just because he hadn’t had sex in so long the idea of *anyone* having sex with him was hot. That’s not to say that Lex wasn’t attractive, because, he was. Lex was lean, well-muscled, and his bald head was even kind of sexy. His skin looked like it would be cool to the touch, and his mouth was always pursing when he thought, like he was going to kiss someone or something.
He also had a great ass. And whoa, where the hell did that thought come from?
All right. So that was incontrovertible proof that he was, indeed, attracted to Lex.
Who was a *man.*
So maybe Clark wasn’t straight as an arrow. Maybe he was kinda…bi?
Was it really fair for his life to be this complicated all at once?
He turned the water up, making it colder, because he wasn’t up to yet another round of jacking off to a man right now. Clark waited until his body had calmed down fully, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips and running a hand through his hair.
“You,” he told his image in the mirror, “are bisexual.”
His image didn’t look any different than it had a half hour ago. Except, maybe, for the kind of wild look around the eyes. Yeah, so he was a little panicked, but being forced to question your sexuality *out of the fucking blue* would do that to a man.
“Bisexual,” he repeated to himself. “You like men and women. Women and men. You bat for both teams, Kent.”
Still didn’t look any different, except for the blush staining his cheeks. Clark sort of felt like this kind of a change should be reflected in his outer appearance. Like maybe there should be a big ‘B’ or something on his forehead.
He sighed, and turned off the lights in the bathroom as he walked into his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed, and sighed, heavily. The water evaporated off his skin into the heat, and he shivered a little.
This was weird. Like, really weird.
Clark wished he could call someone and talk to them about this. But who? Pete? No, that would probably not go over too well. Especially considering that the ‘bi’ part of his sexuality seemed to center around Lex Luthor.
Chloe? They were kind of on shaky ground at the moment, and as much as he loved Chloe-snark, he wasn’t sure he was up to it on this particular topic. It was too new.
And Lana was definitely out of the question. God, would that be awkward.
And other than those three, he was really out of options. The only other person who he really considered a *friend* was Lex, but that….No. Just, no.
Beyond awkward. Like, light years beyond.
He turned his head, and saw the clock staring at him. It was six thirty. He had an hour and a half to get himself under control before going over to Lex’s.
God. Life *sucked* sometimes.
He was late getting to Lex’s. He kept turning around and walking back home because he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to look Lex in the eye like, ever again.
It turned out to be okay, though, because Lex was late, too. Clark was shown to the living room by a nice woman who kept looking at him like she was afraid he was going to touch something.
He tried very hard not to, because he was pretty sure that anything he broke would end up costing as much as a month’s rent. So Clark sat in the center of a very large, expensive couch, and moved very little for about twenty minutes, doing his damndest to try and figure out a way of getting through the night without embarrassing himself hugely.
It was eight forty when Lex got there, looking uncharacteristically harried. “Clark, I’m sorry. I got caught up.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Clark told him, trying to look like he didn’t notice Lex’s eyes were silver and his skin looked soft. “I was kinda late, too.”
“Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?” Lex offered, standing by the bar.
“Uhm, just a Pepsi would be good,” he answered, and whoa, he totally just checked Lex’s ass out as Lex bent over. Had he been doing that all along and not noticing it?
Must have been. God.
It really was a nice ass.
He felt like his face was on fire from his blush as he looked down at his feet. Ice and glass clinked against one another as Lex sat beside him, and Clark could feel the heat coming off Lex’s body.
Did he really have to sit so close? Didn’t he know that doing so could possibly cause Clark to spontaneously combust? Or, even worse, cause Clark to set things on fire with his eyes?
“So, uhm, what’s up?” Clark asked, lamely. “At work, I mean.”
Lex let out a sigh, and shifted on the couch. When Clark looked up, he was rubbing hand over his scalp and squinting. “I had a meeting that ran longer than I planned.”
“Is everything okay?” Clark asked, alarmed by the tone of Lex’s voice.
“If you’re asking if you’ll still have a job next week, then yes, everything’s fine,” Lex told him with a small smile. “But the Phelan issue has been making my life a little more…complicated.”
Clark nodded, thinking. “Does this have something to do with that thing your dad mentioned? The thing about starting a new branch or something?”
Lex gave him a sharp look, tensing. “Why?”
“Just curious,” Clark answered with a shrug. “You can tell me to shut up, whenever.”
Lex studied him for a moment longer, as though looking for something in Clark’s features. He must have found it, because he relaxed again, nodding. “Yes, it does. I want to open a pharmaceutical branch, but I’ll need more funding to do that.”
“That’s what your meeting was about?”
That earned him another sharp glance. “What are you studying at Metropolis University, again? Journalism?”
Clark laughed. “Actually, yeah. Am I being too nosy?”
“A little bit,” Lex told him, smiling again. “But I guess it’s just to be expected. Now, tell me Clark, why would a nice guy like you want to go and do something like be a reporter?”
“I’m beginning to wonder myself,” Clark admitted, thinking of Lois Lane. He smiled back at Lex, and really, Lex did have a great mouth. Sexy.
Get a *grip*, he told himself, with a shake of his head. Just because you’ve figured out that you’re attracted to him doesn’t mean you have to think about sex around Lex *all the time*.
Except, it kind of did. Because Lex just…exuded sex.
“So, you ready to take me on, Clark?” Lex asked him, smile turning predatory and sharp. And whoa, that was hot, and Clark’s libido was really clocking some bisexual overtime right about now.
He swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered, wincing internally when he heard the husky timbre that had just crawled into his voice.
“All right then. Let’s do this,” Lex said. He stood and walked over to the entertainment center that dominated one side of the room. Yeah, Clark was definitely checking him out, and when Lex turned and caught his eye… whoa? Was that Lex checking Clark out as Clark checked Lex out?
Or was Clark imagining things? All he knew for certain is the look Lex gave him briefly, whether indicative of possible sexual feelings or not, gave Clark a feeling not unlike butterflies in his stomach. But butterflies weren’t terribly manly. Maybe mini-condors.
Lex walked back to the couch, and sat beside Clark again, and the mini-condors did loop-de-loops. He handed Clark a controller, and wiggled his eyebrows. “The games begin.”
“Damn right,” Clark said. “Get ready to be beaten, Luthor.”
“Not on your life, Kent,” Lex replied.
They played Zelda for almost three hours. Clark had several libido-related mishaps during the game, such as the time he let Link die because he started to wonder what it would be like to lick Lex’s scalp. That *really* weirded him out because wasn’t it enough to find out that he was bisexual without needing to discover that he had bald-kink on the same day?
In the end, Lex won more games than Clark. And Clark could really only blame a little of that on his libido. But he’d been taught how to lose graciously, so he just grinned, and shook his head. “All right. You’re better at Zelda than I am. I admit it.”
“Ahh, the sweet taste of victory,” Lex teased.
“Don’t get too used to it,” Clark warned. “Next time we’re playing a game of my choosing.”
“Doesn’t matter what the game is. I play to win,” Lex told him, grinning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Clark opened his mouth to respond, but his hearing zoomed in, picking up with total clarity the voice of a man on the opposite side of town.
“On your knees,” he ordered, and panicked sobbing met the demand.
“Please, no, I have kids…please…” a man begged.
And that’s all Clark needed to hear. It didn’t matter that he was trying to avoid attention. It didn’t matter that Lois Lane was scrounging up any and all information on him. All that mattered was that across town a man was about to be murdered, and Clark could stop it.
“I’ve got to run, Lex,” he said hurriedly, standing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want a ride home?” Lex asked, looking confused. “I can just –”
“No, really, I’d rather walk, it’s late, and I need to go get some sleep, so I’ll show myself out?” Clark said, waving as he walked backwards. “I had fun!”
Lex nodded, and waved. He may have said something more, but Clark didn’t hear him, because Clark was out of the apartment as fast as he could be without using his speed. He flew across town, zeroing in on the noise easily, and broke down the door the warehouse, where the sobbing was getting louder.
The man with the gun cocked it, holding it to the back of his would-be victim’s head. Clark sped across the warehouse and knocked the assassin out cold, helping the other man to his feet.
“Are you okay?” Clark asked, stepping back into the shadows, belatedly.
“Yes, I…I am, thanks to you,” the man said tremulously, running a hand through thinning blond hair and laughing.
“Good,” Clark said, reaching out to hit him on the forehead hard enough to knock him out, too. There was no way he could possibly get out of that place without being seen unless he did it, but he still felt a twinge of remorse and heard his father’s voice in the back of his head begin to lecture him on proper and improper uses of his strength.
Clark tied up the assassin using his belt, before dusting off his hands and looking around.
“Oh shit,” he said out loud.
His life had just gotten *even more* complicated, and he hadn’t even thought it was possible.
The warehouse was filled with cocaine.
Thinking fast, he frisked the assasin’s pockets until he came up with a cell phone, and punched in 9-1-1.
“There’s a man with a gun, please, come help me,” he begged, trying to sound terrified. “I’m at…679 Clearmott. A big grey warehouse, I’m hiding. Please, help me,” he repeated for good measure, before hanging up. He put the phone in the hand of the intended victim, and sped off when he heard sirens headed his way.
For the second time in a week, Clark was going to be front page news. Life *really* sucked.