Category: AU Futurefic, Romance, Slash, Crossover, Humor
Fandom: Smallville/Justice League (slight)
Pairing: Clark Kent-Superman/Lex Luthor
Rating: R (for sexual situations)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. DC owns all. Once I'm done, back they go, and no money will ever exchange hands from their use in this story.

Summary: In an alternative future, an unusual couple faces everyday, and not so everyday, struggles. An unabashedly schmoopy AU Clark/Lex futurefic.

"THE FUTURE OF US" by mako

[][][][][]

"Lex."

The familiar voice is soft against my ear and I stir uncomfortably in my viewing chair. Slight stitch in my back, my knees have cramped up and I moan a little as sunlight assaults my tired eyes. It seems I fell asleep at the desk again and my no longer adolescent body is paying the price.

Not that I'm in bad shape for someone in his thirties, but it ain't like it used to be.

"Wake up, Lex." Clark's hand on my shoulder rubbing in comforting circles and I fight the urge to go back to sleep. "Let's go to bed."

"What time is it?" I squint at the digital clock atop my monitor.

"Does it matter?" He grins and lifts me effortlessly from the chair. Lays me on the nearby bed without any further ado and I don't protest as he removes my shoes and socks. "I'm home, you're tired and that means its time for bed."

"True," I yawn. His hands rub up and down my legs and I resist the urge to purr with pleasure. It's been a little while since we'd last been together as lovers instead of partners in the war against the various criminal elements, surprise mutants and everyday insanity that strikes Metropolis and the rest of the world on a regular basis.

As Superman he's busy. As Lex Luthor, the head of LuthorCorp as well as his silent partner in the Justice League, not to mention the watcher that keeps one eye on him as much as possible, my schedule is also quite full.

We've prioritized our lives this way, the only way they could be but that doesn't mean I don't miss the old days of nightly lovemaking, heck, hourly bouts of it when we were young.

Ah, to be twenty-one and seventeen again.

Now, years later, we're still bound to one another by passion and love but other, equally important, passions compete for our time.

The passion to preserve justice for him.

The passion to right the wrongs of the past for me.

And yet, here we are. Still together after all these years. Thank God.

Undressing finished, Clark tucks me beneath the blankets. Crawls in and spoons up behind me, his body meltingly warm. I love snuggling back against him, adoring the heat of his skin, the hardness of his body and the way his arm drapes itself over my waist protectively, holding me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.

"G'night, Lex. Sweet dreams," he whispers and I'm just about to suggest we try to fit in some fooling around, somewhere between talk and sleep, but it's too late. My eyes grow heavy and I'm fading into the warm darkness of a deep sleep -- my partner, best friend and lover by my side.

[][][][][][]

When I awake he's gone again. Nothing new, really. He flies off all hours of the day and night and we gave up keeping a normal schedule long ago. There's no nightly dinnertime or Sunday brunch for us. Only work, more work and the occasional stolen moment, usually shrouded in exhaustion.

I'm really going to have to talk to him about this some day. Soon.

I signal The Watchertower and Diana answers. She's a fine addition to Clark's team at the League: smart, courageous and strong as hell. Not to mention quite the looker but I think her interest in men is about the same as my interest in anyone besides Clark. "Good morning, Princess."

"Good afternoon," she corrects matter-of-factly. "How are you, Mr. Luthor? And please call me Diana"

"It's Lex and I'm fine. Is Kal-El there?" I use Clark's origin name with the League. It's how he prefers to be known among his peers. I'm probably the only person in Metropolis who calls him "Clark" and we like it that way.

It's part of our bond, the one that started so long ago in a tiny farming community far away -- a bond that's survived trials, betrayal, even spiritual death itself.

He was, is and will always be my Clark. Forever.

"He's not arrived as of yet but I believe you might want to check your monitors down there. There's been a disturbance in the Metropolis financial district. Considering he was the closest ..." She pauses.

Ah. Here we go again. "Thanks, Diana. Talk to you soon." I wave my hand over a tabletop remote and the entire room springs to bright life as a phalanx of televideo screens, computers, radios and trackers turn on.

The short wave radio squawks out police and fire transmissions and there's definitely something going on downtown. I get the familiar tingle of fear up my spine -- who knows what sort of horror was unleashed today -- but I calm down immediately when one of my screens picks up a familiar red and blue streak zipping down from the sky.

There he is. My hero. I can't help the burst of pride I feel as he lands gracefully, immediately accessing the situation. I can even forgive him that ridiculous outfit of his, the one I'd argued with him about so many times it was a bit of a joke by now.

"Basic black!" I'd yelled for what must have been the hundredth time as he put on his suit. "What's wrong with basic black?"

"I want them to see me coming, preferably from a mile away. It might stop them in their tracks without me having to get physical," he explained calmly as I continued to rant.

"You look like a circus advertisement. Why don't you just shoot yourself out of a cannon with a clown under each arm?"

"Don't need cannons or clowns. I do need high visibility though."

Ever patient, even though I'd played dirty more than once. "Batman wears black," I countered slyly. "Don't you want to be as cool as Batman?"

He actually looked hurt at that one. "I'm not as cool as Batman?"

"Not in that thing," I insisted. "Let me design something for you."

"I can't believe you don't think I look cooler than Batman. He has rubber EARS for Christ's sake! Big, pointy ugly rubber ears." He flipped the crimson cape petulantly. "This is what I'm wearing and if you don't like it, well, I'm sorry Lex. Go date Batman if you must, but leave my work clothes alone."

And that was the end of it, for even though I can fight dirty, Clark has a mind of his own and once that mind is made up he can't be bullied into changing it. Just another reason to admire him and the main reason to simply leave the silly outfit alone.

Even though I'm still plotting ways to dye it black. Somehow.

I watch the screen as Clark flies off again, trying to tackle whatever's taken over the top twenty floors of Banke Suisse. Something that's climbed in from the roof, chased all the workers out and was now cooling its heels (if it has heels) on the sixty-eighth floor of one of my more recent acquisitions, the Luthorium.

Idiotic name, I'll admit, but it keeps with the greedy mogul image I work so carefully to cultivate. My partnership with Superman and the League is secret, my affair with Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent is actually common knowledge by comparison. Of course, Clark hasn't been to "work" since the League was formed, but he's well covered on that front, since I own the Daily Planet as well as just about everything else in Metropolis.

Not my choice, but a cursed inheritance. My late father Lionel passed down his empire to me, a corrupt and bloated behemoth filled with enough vile characters to keep a dozen Leagues busy for the rest of their lives. Luckily they feared me enough in those days to be gotten rid of easily, shipped to other unlucky companies, cities and federal prisons.

"Cleaning house" I called it, although "exterminating vermin" was closer to the truth.

My father, evil man he was, had surrounded himself with people who were picked to make him look good by comparison. He did pretty well on that score, even though not one of them ever reached the depths of inhumanity he'd plumbed so gleefully on a daily basis.

At least not the inhumanity he'd shown to me since the day I was born.

In my despair and rage, I'd almost turned myself into a crueler version of the man I loathed and loved with equal passion. I was a savage boy in a grown man's body and my mind, my very soul, was rotting within me. If not for Clark's unconditional love ... well, I shudder to think what might have been.

He took me in his arms, held me, and didn't let go. No matter what I did.

And I did a lot to Clark and the world back then. So many lies, schemes, plots and downright evil acts I committed and yet, he held onto me, always loving and understanding. Not yet twenty-five and already I was on par with my father's record and never once did Clark turn his back on me.

Sure, we fought ... God, we fought like hell and more than once I attempted to throw him out of my life with hateful words, cruel deeds -- everything and anything I could think of to push him away, more to punish myself than anyone else.

But he saw through it. He didn't let go. And by staying, he saved me.

Now, many years later, we are at peace. Life is better than I thought it could be, since the day I realized great deeds were performed in small doses. Some money donated to charity, a kind word for a worker -- a light kiss and "thank you" for my lover.

Clark loves me and that's what truly makes me great ... empires be damned. I've got the best empire you could ever dream of right in my bed, cuddling up against me at night and fighting evil by day, just like he is now.

I search for any sign of him on-screen as the press cameras pan over the building. No fire, no smoke, everything seems almost normal until without warning, Clark bursts through the building dragging a huge -thing- complete with yards of waving tentacles, and a hiss loud enough for me to hear over the reporter's terrified shrieks.

"Great," I mutter to no one in particular. "Say hello to the Freak of the Week."

Clark zooms off to his Fortress, the struggling creature in tow. It's there he'll evaluate what he's caught, seeing if it's a natural or man-made creation and deal with it in the appropriate manner. I've often encouraged him to just ditch whatever he catches into deep space but he's adamant about giving even the nastiest mutant a fair shake.

"What if it fell here by accident?" he asks pointedly. "Have you forgotten where I came from? There but for the grace of compassion go all of us, Lex."

He's right of course, but that still doesn't mean I'd not rather see him fling whatever ugly thing he defeats into orbit and be done with it. I may not be my father, but hey, I can't erase all my Luthor instincts.

And right now, I want Clark to come home and be with me, preferably naked and in our bed. But I know I'm not going to see him for a few days now and that ticks me off considerably. I switch off the monitors with a sharp gesture, feeling a wave of petulance come over me. Maybe I'll relax and take over some other mega -corporation while Clark is gone, just to soothe my nerves.

My adventures in big business don't bother Clark very much, as long as the other guy is as powerful as I am. There aren't many of those left, so maybe I should save what's left for a time when I'm -really- stressed out.

What to do ... what to do ... I reach for my cognac and a glass. When in doubt, have a drink and I've just taken the first sip of the bittersweet amber liquid when I hear a soft thud outside my office door.

Clark, I think and get up happily to see him. Maybe he's taken my advice after all and just chucked Ugly Octopus into the nearest ocean. I pull open the door with a flourish and before I can get a word of greeting out of my mouth, I'm grabbed by the throat -- hard.

Literally lifted from the floor and a brilliant pain shoots down my windpipe. I gasp for air, as the world flies by in shears of stumbling agony. This isn't good, I think vaguely before dark spots burst behind my eyes and the world fades into white.

Clark ... help me.

[][][][][][]

I'm cold. That's the first thing I notice. I'm stretched out over something metallic and it's freezing. My eyes flutter open and I realize I'm lying on some sort of grid, one where I can see through the holes to a concrete floor which sits less than ten feet below me.

Hoisting myself up into a sitting position, I squint through the semi-darkness. The air is slightly rank, smelling of dusty cardboard, industrial cleaner and the faint scent of dead fish. A warehouse maybe, and I have to look twice to realize exactly -what- I'm trapped in.

A cage. I'm actually sitting in a damned cage dangling from long chains drilled into a filthy ceiling. What the hell?

They have to be kidding me. "Hello?" I yell out and my voice echoes through the empty area. "HELLO?"

"Hello, Mr. Luthor."

A short, squat, slightly overweight man stands in front of me, hands on his hips, looking no better for the skin-tight pale green outfit he's chosen to wear. I fight back a groan as I recognize him, feeling a definite sense of deja vu all over again.

His name is Mordac, or at least that's the Very Special Supervillain handle he goes by. A disgruntled marine biology professor, brilliant at one point, now as nutty as a peanut farm in July.

Isn't that always the way?

He's been a very bad boy for nearly a decade now, splicing various marine life forms together in no particular order, except to create the meanest, nastiest mutants possible. I'm not sure why he does this, I'm not sure -he- knows why he does this, except for the fact that he can.

I guess the old Lex Luthor would have certainly identified.

But not this one. Not anymore.

"Welcome," he booms at me, his voice thick with what I suppose is meant to be menace. "We have much to discuss, Mr. Luthor."

I have to close my eyes so he doesn't see how far they are rolling back in my head with utter derision. What is it about Spandex that makes everyone so melodramatic, I wonder? Head throbbing, I stand and cut to the chase. "If you don't let me out of here in ten seconds, you moronic sack of shit, I'm going to ..."

Through the floor of the cage, a burst of what can only be described as pure agony shoots through my entire body, convulsing me and leaving me gasping for air through seized lungs. I have to scream, I can't scream and for one terrible second I'm afraid I'm going to die without saying goodbye to Clark.

Perhaps it's that thought alone that keeps me alive. For the moment.

"That's for the potty mouth, Mr. Luthor," he says smugly as I writhe like a dying worm on the cage's floor. "I never let my students talk to me like that, so don't think you'll get away with it."

Shaking violently, I back myself away against the further corner of the cage. Pretending to cower, I cover my head with my arms and press frantically on my personal alarm, the one I had implanted behind a front tooth five years ago. It was a fail-safe measure, one Clark insisted on and since the technology interested me, I'd agreed to do it.

Praying hard that the static charge Moron the Madman zapped me with didn't disable the device, I press it a few dozen times with my tongue, finally feeling it buzz to life. I can't help but breathe deeply with relief knowing that wherever Clark is, he's getting the distress call, along with my exact location.

I then remember he's miles away, at the Fortress, and I inwardly wince.

How long does it take him to travel that far again? He's faster than a speeding bullet or at least that's what the press keeps saying and I smile faintly at Mordac who's examining me with fat -jowled contempt.

It's stalling time. "So ... um ... sorry about the profanity. What can I do for you today?" I sound like a terrified idiot but it's not -that- far from the truth. "Need some new fish tanks?" Moments tick by slowly and I keep babbling, not daring to look around too much lest my captor gets suspicious. "Food? Some plastic plants? How about some of those little divers you can stick on the bottom?"

"As a matter of fact ... " he begins, but doesn't get to finish.

Because it's at that moment Clark bursts through the wall, plaster and glass flying in every direction. One leap forward and he rips apart the bars of my cage as if they were cookie dough; his face a mask of rage. I back away just a little because as much as I trust Clark, when he looks like that he'd scare the bejesus out of anyone.

I can't get a word out, I can't even think before I'm scooped up in his arms and wrapped in something red, long and very warm. "Close your eyes," he whispers and I bury my face in his neck, feeling my stomach drop a little as we take off.

I hate flying, I've hated it since I was a child. Ever since my father used to take me back in forth in that damned helicopter he was so proud of and screamed mercilessly at me when I refused to look out over the careening landscape. Years later, when I was with Clark, he never questioned my fear, he merely accepted it as part of me, even though I knew he would love to take me up over the city and under the stars.

Embarrassing really, for big, bad Lex Luthor to be scared of heights and I'm rather ashamed even now as I tremble in his arms, not daring to look. He merely holds me tighter and a moment later, we're down on solid ground.

He lowers me gently and I find myself sitting on a nearby roof still wrapped in his cape.

"Stay here," he orders softly. "Do not move one inch. I'll be right back."

I nod, my mouth too dry to respond. He takes off again and I can feel unfamiliar tendrils of shock course through my system. It's the first time in a long time I've been on the receiving end of Metropolitan madness and I'm no longer used to it.

A terrible noise issues from nearby and I hear the shattering of glass as well as my captor's screams and something that sounds very much like Clark smacking the shit out of a certain supervillain. So much for dealing compassionately with every freak he meets, but in fairness, some of our 'friends' don't deserve the benefit of the doubt.

Not after the twentieth time anyway.

Another scream is cut short and there's a whoosh of air to my left as Clark lands beside me, grim faced and pale. He kneels down and examines me carefully, looking so much like the serious, angelic farm boy I once knew, tears actually come to my eyes. "Are you hurt, Lex?"

"No." I shake my head. "Not really." I take a shuddering breath. "How's our friend back there?"

Clark's eyes darken. "Taken care of."

I swallow past a lump in my throat. "Right. Okay. Maybe we should get going then."

He brushes his thumb along my cheek. "Lex. Let me take you somewhere. Please. I promise, it'll just be a few minutes of flight and we'll be there. You can close your eyes and you know I'd die before I'd let anything happen to you."

I laugh weakly. "Is that so? I dunno, Clark, your record of dropsies isn't exactly sterling. Why just last week ... "

"Let me take you," he interrupts gently. "Come on. No more than fifteen minutes in the air, I promise."

"Sure. What the heck? Take me to your leader, Clark." Slight hysteria now and I'm too shell-shocked to argue anymore. I just want to get the hell out of there, now.

"Shhh," he replies softly and we take off again, destination unknown. "And hang on tight."

[][][][][]

Our journey is a silent swim through the sky. Still fearful, I simply shut my eyes and count off stock quotes in my head as distraction. When we finally land on solid ground, I'm surprised to find Persian rugs under my feet and a bust of Alexander the Great in the far corner, sitting beneath a priceless Picasso.

It's my castle in Smallville and I gape at Clark. We haven't been here in a long time and while I keep it freshly maintained just on the off chance we'd visit again, I hadn't expected him to take me here of all places.

What a nice surprise.

"Come on," Clark insists, tugging me toward the master bedroom. "Let's get you into something comfortable."

More quick blurs around me and I'm sitting on the bed, the sound of running water coming from the attached bathroom. Strong smell of lavender and Clark returns, changed in the space of seconds to sweats and a T-shirt, his bare toes digging very sexily into the plush rug beneath.

As woozy and exhausted as I am, I can't help but think of what those toes might feel like between my lips, their soft pads curling sweetly against my tongue.

Clark laughs softly. "Always thinking with the southern regions, eh, Lex?"

"How'd you know?" I ask as he undresses me with care.

"What? Don't you think I know every thought that runs through that gorgeous head of yours?" Nimble fingers undo my belt, my shirt. "Your eyes give you away every time. To me, at least."

"Is this some new power I don't know about?" I shiver in the cool air and Clark quickly reaches over to flick on the fireplace switch.

"It's one of the oldest powers I have, Lex Luthor." He kisses my forehead, and it's not as chaste as one would think. "My favorite as well."

"You have favorites? I had no idea."

"Sure. Ever sit around and melt things with your eyes? Every little boy's dream. After being able to see underneath everybody's clothing that is." I find myself perched on the edge of the tub while he checks the water's temperature. "Those still pale in comparison to being able to read that wonderfully lecherous mind of yours."

"Lecherous? Now I feel old. Should I go get my raincoat and floppy hat?"

"Nah. Just get in here." He helps me into the tub and I sink into it gratefully. "How's that?" he asks with a bright smile.

"Wonderful. Remind me to get kidnapped more often."

His expression falls. "Please don't say that."

"Sorry." I reach up and run a wet finger down his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too. Now lean back and let me make sure you're okay."

I obey and he runs gentle hands over my arms, chest and neck. Stops at my throat and I can tell he's using the X-ray vision to check for any damage to my still-throbbing windpipe. "You seem okay," he admits. "Does anything feel strange?"

"Besides the fact that you and I are alone and awake?" I ask. "Nope."

Another sigh. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that." He snags a washcloth and squirts some liquid soap on it.

"Me too. We haven't had the time even to talk, have we?" I can't resist a grin as he starts tenderly smoothing the soapy cloth over my chest and arms. "Not that I want that particular conversation right now."

"What do you want to talk about then?" Lightly teasing voice, and I feel the familiar stirrings start, in my chest first, then moving lower inch by inch.

"Who says I want to talk?" I reach up and pull him into a deep kiss. He moans against my mouth and it still thrills me, as does the strength he uses to pull me up from the tub.

Soon, talented hands are drying me off between kisses and backing me toward the bed, without breaking the mood. We've had a lot of practice over the years, this backward tango.

We've been dancing it for a long time now.

How clearly I remember the first time we made love. It was in this very room, after many false starts in the den, the library, even the armory. He was so young and as much as I desired him, I hesitated and forced us to stop every time we started.

Thinking back to the selfish little horndog I was back then, I should have known that was the first sign of true love -- my unwillingness to "corrupt" him even though every part of my body screamed to possess him.

Luckily for both of us, Clark had no such inhibitions. After two weeks of frustration, he simply threw me over his shoulder, carried me into the bedroom and tossed me into the bed where I finally gave into the sweetest temptation any man has ever known.

It was terrifyingly good. No, it wasn't good.

It was perfect.

It shouldn't have been. Between his inexperience and my doubts, it should have been a disaster but how clearly I can still remember the sheer joy that pulsated between us the entire night long, and how we watched the sun rise before falling asleep in each other's arms, temporarily satiated.

I also remember how his father called at eleven am the next morning, ready to come over and drag his son back to the farm by his ear. What followed from there were more stolen moments than I care to count but they were worth it. Everything was worth it.

He's still worth it.

Clark takes a minute to whip aside the comforter and folds me into the warm bed as neatly as can be, carefully arranging himself beside me, so as to allow maximum movement. He could hold me down motionless with a finger, break my neck with a flick of his wrist really, but he's amazingly gentle, yet still carefree in bed. It took me years to build his confidence as a lover ... but oh, the rewards of time well spent I think, as he bends to nip at my earlobe, his fingers tracing rippling patterns across my neck and chest.

I arch against him, silently berating him for being a tease, and he smiles against my cheek. "What's the matter, Lex? Too much after such a dry spell?"

Bastard. He knows it's just the opposite. "Yeah," I breathe wickedly against his jaw between nibbles. "I'm not used to all this wild living any more."

"Oh, then I'd better stop," he says solemnly, reaching between my legs and making me gasp and squirm beneath his knowing touch. "Is that what you want me to do, Lex? Do you want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare," I groan.

"No chance of that," he replies before taking me on the ride of my life. In my youth I've had more lovers than I could be bothered to count, but none have ever done what Clark does to me every time we're together. Tender and tough, demanding and pliant, touching every place that aches for him.

Before I know it, I'm on my stomach and he's inside of me, making me scream into the sheets. Steady, hard thrust, completely in control and I'm helpless beneath him, the way I like to be. I've joked that the world would be surprised at what a big dom he is, but hell, what else could he be?

He's a man who appreciates his power. I appreciate it as well, and when I come suddenly, spurting hotly onto the sheets, I hear his low rumble of a laugh before he speeds up and finishes off, releasing silk and fire inside me, making me grit my teeth against the pleasure of it all.

"Good?" he asks breathlessly, knowing the answer.

"Ungh," I reply, wanting to do it again, right now. Being fucked by Clark is addictive and if only I could be sure my ass wouldn't regret it for a month to come ...

"Now, now ... let's not get crazy," he laughs, showing off his mind-reading skills once again. "We have all weekend."

I turn over and stare at him. "All weekend? What did you do? Disband the League?"

"Nope." He pulls the comforter over us and tucks it in around my chest, gallantly taking the wet spot. "I merely told them I was taking a forty-eight hour breather, right after I got rid of Mordac. The Flash took the message back for me."

"Can you do that?"

"It's either that or lose my mind." Clark sighs heavily. "Lex, do you think you're the only one who was going to go crazy without some downtime? If I didn't get some quality time with you soon, the world was going to have a big, angry Kryptonian kicking asses left and right without too much attention paid to exactly whose ass was on the receiving end."

I nuzzle his neck, darting out my tongue to lick away a stray drop of sweat. "That's not good."

"It certainly isn't. Can you imagine the defense I'd have to give? Sorry, Your Honor, but I was really horny." He pulls me closer, until I'm draped across his broad chest. "Besides, after your ordeal, I need to be with you to make sure you're all right. That's the official line anyway."

"No complaints from your fellow Leaguers?"

He smiles wickedly. "I didn't hear any. Then again, I don't hear very many complaints too often -- from anyone."

"Wonder why," I reply dryly. "Although I can't believe Wally, I mean, Mr. Speedy didn't say anything."

Clark's lips twist derisively. Neither one of us are a big fan of The Flash, aka Wally West, aka Attention Deficit Boy. Big mouth, crude with the ladies, always eating Clark's lunch and pretending he didn't know it was his. Not to mention challenging Clark to a race around the Earth, then having the bad grace to complain about the unfairness of it all when he lost.

"I think Wally likes his ears attached to his head," Clark grumbles. A guilty sigh follows. "I shouldn't say that. Wally is very loyal and brave, he's a fine man, really, he is."

"He's a dick," I interject with finality. "And you really ought to tell him that advertising oneself as the Fastest Man on Earth isn't going to score any points with the ladies anytime soon."

Clark snorts loudly. "That's just mean, Lex." He yawns like a big, goofy cat. "Besides, I'm not completely convinced his ladies man routine isn't just an act. He's been rather 'close' to our friend the Green Lantern for the past few months."

"No!" Ah, gossip, gossip, evil thing. "Poor John. Has he shaken him off?"

"Not really. I think they rather compliment each other. They argue like an old married couple already."

"Do we argue like an old married couple, Clark?"

"When we get the chance to, sure." He kisses the top of my head. "But I'd say we'd be better off spending this time making like a pair of newlyweds, don't you?" He exhales against my scalp. "I've missed you so much these past few months. I'm sorry it's taken what happened this afternoon to set my brain back in right. You shouldn't let me get caught up like that. I lose track of time so easily."

"I'm sorry, babe. From now on, I'll be merciless."

"You're good at that," he says sleepily. Another yawn. "How about a nap? Then we can go to town and grab a bite?"

Refraining from mentioning to him we're in Smallville, a place not exactly known for its cuisine, I simply nod and allow myself to drift off, knowing it's probably for the night and not minding one bit.

[][][][]

The sun peeks in through the curtains and yes, we slept the rest of the night away.

I turn happily only to find Clark's side of the bed empty. A thrill of annoyance shoots up my spine, making my scalp tingle. "I thought we had the whole damned weekend," I grouse to the uncaring room.

With a mighty hiss of displeasure, I yank the comforter aside and pad over to the closet where a rack of robes hangs in a neat row. Not looking which one I take, I shove my arms into something sleek and black, before making my way downstairs.

"Clark, you're a dead alien," I yell out as I stomp down the winding staircase into my old den.

"But I brought coffee," comes the answering voice and I turn around, to see Clark standing there, holding aloft a bag from the local java shop. "Doesn't that buy me a reprieve?"

I let out a relieved sigh. "I thought you'd gone off and were saving the world again."

"Nah," he scoffs. "Look, I even put the sugars in and stirred them."

"You're a prince among men." I take the coffee and a closer look at him. "Say, what are you wearing?"

He looks down. "Just some stuff I found in my old drawer chest. Why?"

The room gets incrementally hotter as I stare at the plaid jacket and worn jeans clinging to his perfect body, not to mention the workboots that are bringing back very warm and wonderful memories.

"Um ... no reason," I lie.

He grins broadly at me. "Don't tell me you like it. Last time I wore plaid you threatened hostile takeovers of L.L Bean -and- Land's End."

"Well ... " I stammer. "It's just that here ... in this particular setting ... you know ... I ... uh ..."

"Oh, I see," he smirks. "Someone's getting a little nostalgic, eh?"

I swallow hard, staring at the buttons on his jacket and knowing that a crisp, black T-shirt sits underneath. Add to that the free windblown hair, those jeans that are -just- worn out enough and ...

"Absolutely not," I reply indignantly.

He's not buying it for a second. He smiles coyly at me. "I didn't just bring you coffee, Lex. There's a produce delivery on the steps as well. Should I go get it?"

"Clark ... " I warn. "You're being silly."

"I am?" Sweet, innocent Clark voice from days long past. Puppy-dog eyes complete with fluttering lashes. He's playing with me now and having a great deal of fun doing it. "What's the matter? Have I done something wrong, Lex?"

"No, Clark," I say, chewing my lip against hysterical laughter. Fine, if he wants to play "The Delivery Boy and The Billionaire's Son" I'm up for it. More than up for it. "You haven't done anything wrong. Except maybe ... " I sigh dramatically. "Never mind. I won't say it."

"Oh, please, Lex. I hate to think that you're mad at me." Boy, he's quite the actor. I can swear I see a tear floating in his left eye, maybe in his right one too. "Please, tell me what I can do to make it better. I ... I like you so much." Shy, flustered tone and he peers at me, biting his lip.

Bat, bat, bat go the eyelashes and the game is on. "I like you too, Clark," I purr. "Too much, I'm afraid."

"Too much? I don't understand."

"Let me explain. No, better yet, let me show you." Putting our coffees down, I reach out and run my hands up his shirt, the tactile memory of worn cotton beneath my fingers making me painfully hard.

He does his best to look shocked, but the humor is lurking there nonetheless. "Oh," he says breathlessly, as I slowly pop open each button of his shirt. "Oh my."

"Oh yes," I agree and shove him back onto our favorite couch.

He lands comically, in a heaping sprawl, and without further ado, I simply pounce on him. The effort not to laugh is making him shake, but I ignore that, concentrating instead on divesting him of his Farmboy Quarterly haute couture.

Plaid flies, jeans pop open and are tugged down to his knees. His T-shirt is shredded in half and he groans beneath my kisses which I liberally apply everywhere.

I can hear the squeak of leather and I know he's trying not to drill holes, trying not to arch up and send me flying across the room, just like in the "good old days."

"God, Lex, " he moans as I bite down on his neck, the happiest vampire in all of Kansas.

"Shush," I command. "Or no more deliveries here for you."

His laughter can't be contained anymore. He guffaws loudly, only to be quieted by my tongue slicked down his throat. Melting into the kiss, he surrenders and I take charge. Shoving him down, laying him flat and moving south until he's in my mouth and fighting for air. The rasp of denim against the silk of my robe and I wriggle out of it, making him gasp even louder when he sees me naked against what remains of his clothing.

Incoherent words fill the air and I take my time, remembering the innocent young man who squirmed beneath me all those years ago. So hot, even then, and I should have been ashamed of myself, except for the fact that I was right: Clark and I had a destiny together, for better or worse, until death do us part.

He cries out loudly and I steel myself against the spasms of his orgasm, swallowing wildly. It's always a little bit of a risk like this, with me in precarious control, but what the hell. You only live once.

"Lex." A single syllable growled.

I glance up at him, reveling in the lust etched into his no longer innocent-looking features. "Yes?"

In a flash, the rest of his clothes are off and I'm on the floor, cradled in his arms. "You've been a very bad boy, you know that, Lex Luthor?"

I snicker as he begins his assault on my senses. "Of course. What else could I be?"

[][][][][]

Nighttime comes all too quickly and I'm cradled in his arms in front of the fireplace, the remains of a Chinese food feast littering the room from tables to shining floor.

I'd forgotten what slobs we are and I can't help but smile against the broadness of his chest, listening to the only thing I could never forget -- the perfect rhythm of his heart.

Beat for beat, it matches mine, bringing together two worlds -- one lost to the ravages of catastrophe, the other holding onto its life dearly, thanks to the destruction of the first. Ironic, but there is hope for both … for where there is love, there is always hope.

A frantic buzzing sound interrupts my reverie and Clark jumps a little with surprise. It's what we call The Big Beep, or the failsafe alarm he carries on his person at all times. It's for major emergencies, end-of-the-world sort of stuff and Clark pales as he yanks it from his pocket.

"Kal-El here," he says into its miniature speaker. I remain motionless against him, listening as his voice grows grave. "Right. How many are on there? How deep down are they? No, no … I can handle that. Any survivors? Okay. Give me ten minutes."

He flips the alarm shut and sighs. "Lex ... "

"What happened? How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad. Fully loaded nuclear sub sank off of the Arctic Circle, two - hundred crewmembers on board, nearly a mile down. Five active warheads and possible survivors, but not for long." He looks down at me, his face an impossible mixture of anxiety and sorrow. "Lex, I have to …"

"Of course," I say, stretching up and kissing him gently. I give him my best smirk. "In fact, I wonder what you're still doing here. Get out there and go save the world flyboy. I'm too cute and rich to get blown up, remember."

He returns the kiss with a grin and in less time than it takes to tell, he's suited up and gone off into the night sky, leaving me and Smallville behind -- to do what he was born to do, to be what he was destined to be … the savior of the world and the savior of the man who was lucky enough to have won his love.

I lean back against the couch, disinterestedly watching the flames. Picking up a stray fortune cookie, I break it open, pulling out the tiny paper tag curled inside. Reading it, I have to smile at its prophecy, safe in the knowledge that sometimes even fortune cookies get it right.

"Your past is your future," it reads and I have to think to myself --

Truer words were never spoken.

[][][][][][]

end

Thanks to my friends The Jut Smunkies on TwoP whose delightful whines for hopeful future fic inspired me to finish this one. You guys RAWK!