Poetry in Motion
            by Nymph Du Pave

            Chapter One:  The Plan

            "You killed the priest."

            Lex laughed.  "Yeah.  That was a good one."

            "Um…  You killed the priest."

            "Gotcha."

            "You killed the priest."

            "Ahem."

            "You killed the priest."

            He rolled his eyes.  "Am I gonna have to hurt you?"

            "You killed the priest."

            He couldn't help it.  He laughed again.  "Did Pete really record that over and over?"

            Clark rolled his eyes.  "You have no idea.  I got SO sick of that part.  I mean, come on.  The part in The Princess Bride where Chris Sarandon grabs Robin Wright-Penn-"

            "Then just Robin Wright."

            Clark nodded and continued, "-and tells her 'I would not say such things if I were you!'…"  Clark sighed.  "I can't get sick of that.  But Tom Conti telling Giancarlo Gianinni 'You killed the priest!' well-over thirty times? Good God."

            "Over thirty?"

            Clark nodded.  "Pete still has the tape if you want to count."

            "No thanks, really.  Besides, I think Mr. Ross has enough of me vicariously without me dropping in on him."

            Clark frowned at him.  "What do you mean?"

            Lex sighed.  Was Clark really that clueless?  Last time he'd seen Pete in person it had been behind the rather daunting barrel of Hamilton's gun.  At least Clark was making the adorable 'I've got no brains but please blow me.' face.

            Lex doubted Clark had a clue what signals he was sending.

            "Pete doesn't care much for me."

            Clark shook his head.  "It's not that, Lex.  Really.  It's just…  People get intimidated by your name.  I don't have to tell you that."

            "By my father, too."

            "Yeah, well…"

            Lex stretched and leaned back into the plush theater seating, watching as Clark ran his fingers through his hair out of frustration.  How Lex longed for those to be his fingers, out of both envy for such a beautiful mane and lust for such a beautiful boy.

            "Why aren't you?"  It was a question he found himself asking over and over, but he could never remember if they had discussed it or not.

            "Why aren't I what?"

            He paused for a moment.  "Intimidated."

            "Because you weren't in a very intimidating state when I met you?"  Clark winced at what he perceived to be a careless joke, but Lex laughed and the wince brightened immediately into a full-out smile.

            "Tell you what I do like, though."

            "Hmmm?" asked Clark, straw from his Talon Chug-A-Ton slipping sensuously between two pink, full, soft lips.

            Lex cleared his throat.  "A killer.  A dyed-in-the-wool killer.  Cold-blooded, clean, methodical, and thorough. "

            "Now a real killer," Clark finished.  "-when he picked up the Z-F1, would have immediately asked about the little red button on the bottom of the gun."

            "Damn it!" Lex laughed.  "I thought I had you with that one."

            Clark shook his head and drained his drink.  "Nope.  I thought I had you with the American Dreamer quote.  That's a lot more obscure than The Fifth Element."

            "Yeah, but Gary Oldman was talking so damned fast with that horrible Ross Perot impression that you really couldn't understand him the first few times."

            "First few times?  I didn't get what he was saying until I had him on caption."  Clark stood and stretched signaling his readiness to leave.  Lex wasn't yet ready to vacate the dark, intimate setting for the bright sunny outdoors where Clark would leave citing chores or friends or parents.

            Maybe he could convince the boy to have a seat and coffee in the Talon's dining area.  Knowing the boy's stomach, he'd probably take up an offer for a late lunch.

            He stood and headed out of the isle.  They were in the very middle and Lex got an idea.  He sped up and heard Clark's footsteps work to match his.  He neared the end of the isle then stopped short.

            As expected his less then graceful friend bumped into him, though there was a little more force behind the big body than he'd anticipated.  The collision propelled him forward too fast for his poor sense of balance.  Before he could reach down to steady himself on one of the armrests, strong, warm hands grasped his lower waist and upper hips.  He could feel the tips of Clark's index fingers grazing the bottom of his ribcage and for the first time he truly realized that Clark had rather large hands.  He'd always noticed, just not… well, noticed.  Not in an on-my-body-Jesus-he's-hot-and-where-else-do-I-want-these-hands kind of way.

            "Jeez, Lex.  Sorry about that, but you think you could give a guy a little warning before going from sixty to zero in less than two seconds?"

            He felt the hot breeze of Clark's continues words on the back of his neck and suppressed a shiver.  Also expected had been the wave of self-disgust running through him.

            Creep, he thought.  Yeah, in his life, up until Smallville, he'd done everything under the sun.  Drugs (selling and partaking), blackmail, smuggling, piracy, spying, hacking (a personal favorite that had been hell to give up)…   Everything except for pedophilia and that had never once appealed to him, no matter which end he'd been on.  He'd never been one for older or younger partners, always preferring them as close to his age as possible.  That way he was sure that, legally and physically- if not emotionally and mentally- they were of the same maturity.

            And now he felt like some miscellaneous sixty-five year old latching onto a fifteen girl, just to feel the swell of youthful breasts pressed up against his chest.  Only there were no curvy breasts on this latest morsel, and that was certainly no feminine mound pressed in between his cheeks.

            Anything to get a feel.  Christ, Luthor.

            "Uh, Lex?"  Clark backed up but didn't drop his hands.  He shook Lex gently.

            "Right, sorry," Lex said shaking himself out of his funk.  There was still the bad aftertaste of perversity though.  That would take hours to disperse.  "Thought I left my cell phone."

            There was a moment of silence then a soft reply.  "You didn't bring your cell."

            Lex nodded and pulled away from Clark, heading down the steps.  "Right.  Makes sense why I thought forgot it.  Want to grab a bite to eat?"
 

            +_+_+_+_+
 

            Clark sighed and followed Lex down the new stadium seating of one of the Talon's two screen rooms.  He walked a little slower and rubbed himself through his jeans.  Though he'd backed up the instant he felt himself reacting to the contact, being pressed up against Lex like that had been a little too pleasant.

            "A little too Ralph," he whispered as his mind supplied another quote.  Would Lex know anything about The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?

            He'd have to.  He was a teen when they were a hit.  Right?

            His mind wasn't ready- or willing- to do the math.  All he really wanted was to rewind his life back about thirty, forty seconds.  This time when Lex stopped, abruptly noticing the lack of metal and plastic weight in his left pocket, Clark would knock into Lex just a little bit harder.  He'd have reason to catch the man in his arms then instead of just balancing him.  Clark really wanted to touch Lex, much more than the brief pats and the little elbow grabs.  More than the 'accidental' brush of shoulders or knees or, sometimes, thighs.  He wanted to put his hands on Lex and leave them there.  He wanted to run his thumb over the plush lower lip of his pale friend.  He wanted to trace the discolored scar marring the perfection of the upper lip.  Wanted to have the nerve to ask just where Lex got it, so worried that it came from the hand that helped birth the brilliant boy.

            He wanted to move his hands to Lex's neck, shoulders, and lower back, kneading a tension that had to be beyond any that even Jonathon knew.  Though money problems, hard work and an alien son no doubt added high levels of stress, at least Clark's father was beloved and respected by most of the Smallville, Glensdale, and Laurinburg farming communities.  Lex had the wrong kind of respect and was despised by nearly all that met him.  It killed Clark a little each time he saw the resentment of Lex in his own father's eyes.  Jonathon was in so many ways his hero, and to see his hero failing an ultimate test of character was painful.

            Clark rubbed his hands together.  He wanted to find a place where they could be alone so that he could test the strength of those thighs with his hands, wanted to see and touch the powerful body that he knew existed behind loose sweaters and expensive suits.

            ~"Hide your power.  Never let the opposition see just what they're up against.  Your greatest endowments should be revealed only when necessary, Clark."~

            Chess.  Pool.  Games.

            He wanted so much more, but refused to peek at Lex's own endowment, at his own physical superiority.  X-Ray was not the way.  Clark knew it existed whenever he got the chance to touch Lex.  Like now.  Slim, taunt waist with just a trace of muscle underneath the layered clothing topped off with the thin lavender sweater.

            His self-control- not using his special sight to see the body of the most amazing and beautiful man there was- he knew would be worth something someday, if only to draw out the sexual tension.  When Lex had told him about Karen Castle coming in for the scheduled shiatsu instead of Debbie, Clark had almost exploded.  How he had wished that could have been him.  He had used that fantasy to torture himself several times, and since Lex entered his life, he'd dropped the amounts of self-pleasuring.  The barn became the more humble, child-like abode it had once been; no more magazines- especially because now the body types were all wrong.  He only left himself to his own devices when the emotions were too strong, when he couldn't go another moment with the thoughts of Lex touching him, whispering his name…

            Kissing him.

            Somehow that was most sacred of all.

            More than anything though he wanted to rewind his life to the days when Lex needed his friendship and he'd been either too selfish or too scared to offer it.  Level 3 was the worst though.  More so than the Pete/Nicodemus flower incident.

            Lex and Lionel's 'embrace' still haunted the darker side of his subconscious, reliving itself in a few very vivid, very lonely nightmares.  He sometimes wondered if another one of his powers was picking up his best friend's thoughts and dreams because sometimes his mind was so very distinctly Lex-like that he couldn't find anything but traces of himself.

            His thoughts had rid him of his sexual ache and instead replaced it with an empathizing heavy heart.  He ditched the thought of trying to catch Pete in a game of HORSE before 'The Sentinel' reruns and decided that, it being a summer Tuesday- no more school, how godly!- he'd do his best to convince Lex to hang out with him until curfew, which was one o'clock in the morning.  Maybe he could even stay over at Lex's-  No.  Jonathon would never go for that.

            He grinned.  But if he asked just right he could easily convince his mother to let Lex stay for dinner.  Then later he could go stargazing with Lex.  It was cold enough they'd need blankets- 'sorry, I've only got the one, Lex.  Come here it's big enough for both of us.' and- 'oops'- if they just happened to drift off before Lex was supposed to go home, who could blame them>

            He could hear his mother's voice in his head defending the two of them to Jonathon:

            "Really, Jon.  They're just boys.  Boys that had an impromptu sleepover in Clark's hangout.  If this was Pete, or even Chloe, would you be getting so out of sorts?"

            He shut his mind off from his father's reply and smiled.  He had a plan.  Spending the night with Lex, maybe under the same blanket as him- even if they were unfortunately still fully clothed- was going to happen.

            His smile grew into a grin as he pushed through the theatre doors well behind Lex.

            A sleepy Clark could grope without being obvious.  A sleepy Clark could fall asleep against a well-muscled, much sought-after shoulder, then -'oops, again'- fall onto that sexy thiggh and readjusting to fit right into the vacant lap, his mouth so close to-

            He shook his head.  He could manage it.  He could handle it- he hoped.  He'd for his sexual urges to calm themselves.  For Lex-gropes he'd do just about anything.
 
 
 
 
 
 

            TO BE CONTINUED...