Chapter 7: Digital Bath

"He needs an IV? For running?"

"He's dehydrated, Mister Kent."

Clark winced, but kept quiet. He had already tried to convince the awaiting staff at Luther Manor to call him Clark- after all, who calls a sixteen year old boy 'Mister'?- but none of them had heeded his polite request.

Marcy, an old British nurse lucky if she was all of four feet tall, had been the one to lead him to the bedroom earlier, with Lex still in his arms. Now she looked up at him and saw his doubtful expression as he glanced uneasily at Lex, currently covered with a thick, midnight-blue comforter, but still shivering.

She smiled sweetly. "He's not bad off, sir. The IV's not completely necessary, but it'll help him replace the fluids his body has lost."

Clark hated seeing his friend looking so... weak, and the IV was vastly contributing to that vision of delicacy. 'Weak' and 'delicate' were two words he never would have guessed he'd ever use in thinking of Lex Luther. This whole night had been completely unsettling as far as Clark's conception of the older boy, like soil at the bottom of the ocean being disturbed.  Only he knew it would be a long while before his sand settled. "He couldn't just drink some water or a sports drink?"

…has to be better than a needle in the arm…

Her smile grew in both obvious pride at her work and humor at Clark's needless fretting. "Master Lex commands only the best care."

…master? dad would have a field day with this…

"Well, how long does he have to have it in?"

"Just a couple hours, until the bag runs out."

A groan came from the bed followed by a small sob, and both Marcy and Clark rushed the few feet to the bedside. Marcy put her hand to Lex's forehead and for a moment Clark thought she was feeling for a temperature. Then he saw her eyes and was surprised to see such a deep worry and fondness.

…she really cares…

She must have caught Clark's bewildered expression at her response to Lex's small outcry, because she shook her head. "Master Luther's not as bad as people tend to say and think. He's a good man... for the most part." She hesitated then looked back to Clark, intense copper eyes narrowing.

…not in suspicion; in comprehension…

"But then you already know that, don't you, Clark?"  He just nodded, knowing that his eyes were exposing more truth than any words could ever bare justice to.  Marcy turned back to Lex. "He used to have such nightmares when he was younger, just a child," she said, more to herself than to Clark. Her voice lowered to a whisper, breathing words he was barely able to make out. "He still is, really."

Shaking herself out of the reverie, she stood abruptly and walked to the door, Clark close behind, watching Lex's form warily. "I'll be staying on with him, sir."  Her voice was stronger, accent more pronounced.  The moment of unveiled endearment had passed, yet the aftertaste lingered pleasantly, like kind words touching the heart and making a bantam but perceivable change in one's soul.  "No need worry."

Clark nodded, stopping in front of the heavy, carved entrance- and exit- to Lex's penthouse-like berth. "That's good."  Reluctant to leave, his eyes were still on what little he could see of the sleeping figure.  From the awkward angle of the bed and his position he could only see the arm with the embossed IV line. "I should probably get going."

"He'll be fine, Mister Kent, really." She paused and Clark saw her turn her head to the side, pondering him. He tore his eyes from Lex to look at her.

"If you wanted to stay a bit longer, I don't foresee it being a problem."

"My dad- he, um-"

…just how much should I tell?…

He settled for simplicity. "He's waiting up."

"Hmmm... Yes, well, it did take a long while for Phil to wake me, didn't it?"

"But you were waiting for-"

"And we couldn't have got him up here without your help.  Really, we couldn't have."

Clark smiled crookedly, getting the gist. Phil, the cook, was fairly old, as was Marcy, but Eric, the gardener, was young, full of energy and strength. He had been fit enough and even offered to carry Lex up to his room- an offer Clark had not taken him up on- siting pure momentum and 'well, I've gone this far' as his excuses.

The point was, Clark had actually been perfectly expendable.

Marcy smiled back at him. "I'll be outside if you'd like to stay for a moment or two." He smiled his thanks and she reached up, almost straining, to pat his face without the formal reserve. Her hands felt like warm, well-worn leather against his face, comfortable and very familiar. "I'm so glad that Master Lex has such a good friend in you."

…a good friend that took every opportunity to grope his incapacitated comrade…

He winced at the thought, blushing slightly as Marcy closed the door behind her. It wasn't exactly groping, but then again… It wasn't purely platonic either.

Left alone in the room with Lex, he walked over to the portion that held the bed, raised on a platform like area, and he stepped up onto it. He couldn't bare to really look at the other man- already naturally so pale- now looking bleached in the moonlight. The frailty his eyes viewed there made him realize once again the differences between him and every other person on the planet.  The fragility of a human life compared to his...  it was like the difference between the sun and the moon, or the ocean and the sky.  Only the sun and the moon, the ocean and the sky...  They were two halves of a single entity put together, or four quarters of the Earth's own whole; parts of this planet's unique existence.  He was an outsider, something that stuck out like a dead flower on a blossoming bush.

…maybe I was sent here to become part of this world, to make things better…

Hopeful thought, but looking at Lex at the moment didn't seem to support it, so he averted his eyes, glancing around the room.  The lights had been off upon entering Lex's bedroom and had stayed off- Marcy had been adamantly asserting that 'Master Lex' needed the rest- but the bay widows around the platform area of the bedroom and the glass doors leading off onto a balcony provided enough light that Clark could tell the room was large and utterly regal. Rugs, large and teeming bookshelves, tapestries, a fireplace, an armoire; doors that no doubt led off to both a bathroom and a closet, most likely big enough to shame his real room.

Even Lex's bed was awe-inspiring: a king sized, sled-shaped deal, made with deep, dark redwood that he could just make out in the moonlight. The bed was in the center of the raised portion of the "chamber", the huge headboard facing the view instead of the rest of the room.

That the bed faced outside made perfect sense to Clark. Staring out the glass barrier in front of him, he saw there were steps leading to a large balcony a few feet below the glass doors. It showed a picturesque view of the gardens and a portion of the lake that cut into the Luther property. Why would anyone want to face walls and a ceiling when you had the opportunity to wake up to that. Rain, sleet, or snow, Clark knew it would be gorgeous.

He stepped up to the glass door, putting one hand to the cool pane, and craned his neck upwards in an attempt to survey the heavens.

…ah, comes complete with it's own star-studded view…

It must have been stunning from the balcony.

A low, mournful sound and a sudden quiver had him at Lex's side instantly, cursing himself for abandoning his friend for the spectacles about him, condemning himself for his own selfish reasons for not wanting to look at the Luther. He sat down beside him and wondered for the millionth time just what he could be envisaging. Clark hadn't thought of Lex as a spirit this tormented, hadn't thought that too much could penetrate this deeply. Sure, he knew there were secrets, deep things that bothered Lex, but he never thought that anything could have broken the man, leaving the fearful boy to wander alone and unsure.

Would he remember anything in the morning? Clark doubted Lex's body would let him forget the run, each individual ache recounting it's own woeful tale, but what of the dream? Would it leave tender regions with inflamed and blistered emotional wounds to tend to? He didn't know.

Lex shivered again and Clark moved closer, wrapping the heavy comforter around his friend's slim body, up to his shoulders.

…why's he so cold?…

It had been cooler- still warm at about seventy-something degrees- in the truck than it was in here and surely when Clark had been carrying him up to the manor-

…christ, I never even thought of his body temperature…

-it would have been the coldest with the air and the slight breeze. So why get so cold underneath the covers?

Lex's shivering abruptly became more extreme, almost violent in nature, and Clark didn't know what to do. He felt as though the right thing would be to get Marcy, positive that she would move quickly, assured in the procedure. Still, something in him told him that he should try-

…what can I do, though?-…

-to calm Lex himself. As the older boy's teeth began to chatter, Clark went for the only action he could think of, that night's only proven method of comfort: contact.  He pulled back the covers and grabbed for Lex's hand, pulling it into both of his. It stayed slack, unresponsive to Clark's touch, but Lex's jaw clenched.

"Lex?" Clark hesitantly reached out with his right hand and grazed Lex's face, not sure if he should wake him- Marcy had been very insistent- but preferring to try to do something, anything, to help besides getting the nurse. Being awake had to be better than being tortured by his dreams. "Lex, can you hear me?"

The hand tightened on his, startling him, and for an instant he thought Lex had awakened. He looked up in hopes of wide open eyes. Instead, he found the lids clenched tight, tears running down the sides and this was too much for Clark. He hated tears and anguish and fear, especially in those that he loved and kept close to his heart. It was just too much. He pulled the young Luther to him, startled yet again as Lex's arms instantaneously snaked their way around his waist, desperately clinging in a grip that would have, no doubt, caused major damage to the ribs of anyone that was not-

…nearly invincible?…

-so strong. Clark looked to make sure the IV was still there and functioning, and felt Lex's face press tightly into his neck and jacket.

…can he even breathe?…

He began to sob heavily, a body-quaking requiem finally breaking through the steel barriers that seemed to have obstructed the waterworks for sometime.

…oh, man; Lex…

"Shhh…" Clark rocked a little back and forth, back and forth, running his hands firmly down Lex's shoulder blades and his spine, then back up. "Shhh… It's just a dream, Lex, it's just a dream. It's okay.  Just wake up and it'll go away."

A sliver of light caught his attention and he looked up, over the headboard in time to see Marcy looking away and the door closing. Apparently she had heard Lex-

…how could she not?…

-had come to check up on him and found it best to just leave the two as they were. This gave Clark a small boost as far as his confidence in his ability to actually alleviate his friend. If Marcy, who seemed to have known Lex since his birth, thought that Clark could handle this, then who was he to think he couldn't?

He continued his rocking and massaging. "It's okay, Lex. Shhh…"

"Clark?" came a choked whisper through the tears. "Clark." The second time was stronger, a statement, and it was replete with a level of gratitude that made Clark feel as though he had saved the world from imploding instead of merely waking an ailing friend from a horrible nightmare.

"Yes," he whispered back. "It's me. I'm here." He said nothing else, feeling that nothing else was appropriate, feeling as if all that had been necessary was already there, out in the open.

…he knows I'm here for him…

That was all that mattered.

+_+_+_+_+

After a while, Clark had no real idea of how long it might have been-

…it doesn't matter; he needs me, me…

-Lex's threnody was replaced by coarse whimpers coupled with a few coughs and his andiron grip began to yield, no longer fixated frenetically around Clark's middle.

"Lex?" he prodded gently and dug into his jacket pocket, finding the handkerchief that he always carried. A few words of wisdom from his father when Clark was younger about girls in distress and guys with tissues being defenders of their honor had stuck with him, though now the last thing he was thinking about was being the hero to a damsel in distress.

He pried the man back from his shoulder to wipe at the tear-stained face, but Lex couldn't handle the distance and leaned his forehead to touch Clark's. Clark breathed in deeply trying to control the stutter of his heart and began removing the tears best as he could in such close quarters, clearing the debris of such a personal demolition. Lex's eyes stayed shut as if this was the only way he could allow the tender treatment with any dignity: if he didn't have to see it, it made it okay.

…seeing it makes it real and he doesn't want to admit he's so desolate and in need of anything or anyone…

At this realization, Clark's hand slowed, fingers now using the handkerchief to trace Lex's cheekbone gradually down to the soft, dampened cheek, outlining that part of his face.

…so lonely; both of us…

Lex pulled back half a foot and Clark's hankie-covered finger never dropped the contact.  The other boy's eyes opened slowly, looking down and still hooded by the lids. Clark's stomach began to heat up sweetly in tension. "Lex?"

Those blue-gray eyes slowly began up, following the trail of Clark's shirt under the jacket. They stopped at the neck, then closed. Lex lifted his head a little and then opened his eyes, looking directly into Clark's and through him. Clark flushed deeply in the moonlight, the stare creating such dynatron, so open and raw, so unlike anything Lex Luther had dared to show him-

…anyone?…

-before.

Clark began to breathe faster and his heart sped up as he moved the handkerchief to the other hand, breaking the eye contact. He watched his own hand as he began the same path on the left side of Lex's face as he had with the right, only this time he as he let his forefinger- inside the handkerchief- move down Lex's face, he used the bare tip of his median finger to trail behind, caressing the skin. Lex's eyes fluttered but did not close or look away, still watching Clark's. Though Clark refused to look into those steely, pleading blues, he saw the heat there, mixed with something he really couldn't identify.

…so damn intense…

Lex's skin felt smooth to the touch, at least what little Clark could feel with his single, work callused- and therefore desensitized- digit. He wanted more, so much more than just a single fingertip on a small portion of Lex's face. He wanted everything, wanted to give and take, confer and receive, hold nothing more or less than what was here now.  To stay here and now.

…you can't, kent; you can't be huma-…

"Clark?" Another splintered whisper, coarse with emotions that spoke in volumes the voice seemed incapable of.

Vanishing into aridity without the deep intensity of those eyes on his own, having a situation within himself containing levels of exigency too high to ignore, not to mention the painful curiosity...  It all drove him to finally look into those resplendent but sorrow-filled eyes. They seemed to belong more to a lost puppy than a Luther.

…so lonely…

Eye contact established, Lex moved forward, towards Clark, and since there were only inches between them, it was only a moment- much too long and so wonderfully short at the same time- until Clark felt the parted lips brush against his, Lex's hot breath flowing over them.

…oh, god…

Lex pulled slowly back, watching Clark's lips with more awareness and less haze, more of an understanding for what they both wanted. Clark's heart was now ramming hard in his chest, his breath was abating at an alarming rate and all he could think of was grabbing Lex and never letting go, kissing him until the end of the world came, staying with him until everything was gone.  Just making all the fear go away.

…I can't do this…

Lex looked up into Clark's eyes, causing Clark's breath to hitch. Lex's eyes said they had imagined Clark a million times like this, stared as if they were absorbing, memorizing everything about him, like they wanted nothing more than him. They were Clark's own, mirrored impossibly to the last shred of shining emotion in Lex's.

Most importantly though, they called out that they really knew him.

…he doesn't know me, though…

Lex looked hungrily back down to Clark's mouth.

…he can't possibly know me…

Lex started forward, taking his time, and Clark's eyes closed unwittingly on him in anticipation of the pliant softness promising to touch his lips again.  Again after such a long wait full of hidden and suppressed desires. He had closed his eyes wanting so desperately to feel Lex even though he was screaming at himself to leave before he got hurt, to leave before Lex got hold of his soul and wouldn't let go.

To leave before parts of him got lost, never to be found again.

Lex's lips brushed against Clark's again-

…oh, Lex, please don't…

-and this time he pressed himself hard against Clark, using the jacket- clamped solid within his fists- as an anchor to pull them chest to chest.

…you don't understa-…

Lex's tongue slipped out from between his lips and ran slowly over Clark's bottom lip.

"Lex," his gruff voice, deeper than usual and unrecognizable to his own ears, warned that maybe this wasn't the best course of action. Lex shivered slightly and his tongue stroked Clark's lips again, and this time his resistance ran out.

He grabbed Lex's shoulders, desperately holding the man to him, and pushed his tongue into Lex's open mouth, seeking out its companion. Clark found it and began kissing him with every ounce of zest, every ounce of fear and passion, of love and sorrow he had in him. Every emotion between the two became a singular experience, feelings melding into a whole.  He could feel Lex's loneliness, the desperation, the level of hunger, and was amazed as it fit his own so completely.  He could feel the realization pass between the two: they had found something that fit.

He tasted the salt of tears within the moist cove and tried to clean it out, tried to take it into himself, as if taking that briny flavor, that certification of Lex's apprehension- over something, as of now, still foreign to him- would then clear it forever from the man that he-

…loves?…

-cared for to a painful amount.

He sensed Lex's warm hand moving up his neck, his fingers leaving his skin to tingle in their wake, hasty in their movements to knot themselves within his dark hair. A deep rumble vibrated through the both of them; he could feel it in his mouth, his throat and chest, and he wasn't sure whose it was, but he tried to pull Lex closer, impossibly closer, into his body,-

…all I want…

-pushing his mouth and tongue harder to him. He let his hands slide down the tee-shirt to Lex's waist as he rampaged through Lex's mouth, and felt the older boy struggling to get closer as well, hindered by the sheets and blankets that covered him. Clark helped, tugging Lex to him, wrapping his arms as tightly around the other boy as he felt was safe. Instantly there was another moan, and he pulled back, worried that in the intensity of the moment his grip had become too tight.

As he moved back, Lex murmured in disapproval and tried to pull Clark to him.  Clark was more than willing to go, brain and body already responding to what he realized was a croon of desire instead of a moan of discomfort.  Right before their lips touched, mere centimeters away from that wet heat that was making him lustfully tipsy, hands pushed at his chest to gain distance.  Lex looked into Clark's eyes, his own intoxicated as well, out of focus, the eyelids languid in desire and possibly fatigue. "Clark?"

Clark, unwillingly locked into those prevalently secretive eyes, struggled with his lungs. The Pandora's Box in front of him had finally been opened, it's esoteric secrets revealed solely to him, the single person in the world that Lex could trust-

…I know he trusts me; it's there…

-and he was barely able to breathe out his response. "Yes?"

"I owed you my life before," he whispered heavily, his words slurred drunkenly, his strength draining. "-but now I owe you my humanity as well." He nipped affectionately at Clark's lips. "My soul is yours, Kent."

He couldn't breathe. He forgot how, or maybe his body just stopped working, but he couldn't breathe.

As Lex moved to Clark's lips again, taking over and kissing with the small amount of vigor he had left in his purely fatigued body, Clark couldn't help but be seized.  Lex's need was evident even though he was exhausted and desirous of sleep.  Clark's lungs suddenly jump started, and he breathed in through his nose, rationalizing that he hadn't been able to respire before the kiss because Lex was now his energy, his battery.

///my soul is yours, kent///

…his soul is mine? how can I take his when I'm not sure I have one of my own? I'm not the same as him…

Lex pulled away, obviously tiring, and kissed Clark's cheek, his neck, then rested against his shoulder, slumping into him. His left hand was still determined to stay in Clark's hair, but his right fell weakly to the plush comforter.

Clark felt Lex breathe in deep against his body and ran his hands up and down the other boy's back, this time massaging softly, following the spine with his fingers and feeling the incredible tension beneath the shirt and skin.

…so right…

It felt fitting to be here with Lex, to have him in his arms, and to want to be held.

…and so wrong…

He couldn't stay. Staying would end up being a mistake, if only because it seemed he was already in too deep. He didn't want to drown, and he feared that he was close to doing just that. If he drowned in what Lex was, then he would eventually be foolish enough to tell him everything and that could not be chanced.

He carefully placed Lex back on the pillows, covered him with his blankets, and stood up noticing the IV had been pulled out. He'd tell Marcy, go home, then get straight to work on the farm. There was no way his father was still waiting up; it had been too long. He knew he had no reason to really worry when it came to Clark, and though he still did, Jonathan could have guessed his son's reasons for staying.

…well, not all of them…

Clark had so many chores in the morning that he could just start in on them as soon as he got home and do things at a much faster pace in the dark.  At least by doing it that way he could sleep during the day and avoid the questioning and disapproving glances for a few hours.

He stared at the imposing wooden door, knowing that he didn't want to be on the other side.  He just wanted to be here, with Lex.  He just wanted what couldn't happen. He knew he wouldn't be able to take the rejection or, worse, the possible sudden 'scientific interest' that Lex might take in him, quickly replacing and overriding the bond that he so cherished.  He knew that they didn't have to be lovers to have that bond: it was there every time they were together, and it wasn't always- or even the majority of the time- sexual.  That was just one aspect of it.

…not a bad aspect of it…

He looked back at Lex and thought of the kiss, not blushing at the emotions it had stirred or the body part that had been awakened. He would never forget what had transpired, but he prayed that Lex wouldn't remember a thing.
 
 
 
 
 

To be continued...