Smallville - Bodies in Motion

[fajrdrako_fic]

Title: Bodies in Motion
Author: fajrdrako
Fandom: Smallville/Batman
Characters: Clark/Lex/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims, all property of Warner.
Notes: With thanks to my beta-readers, acampbell, Gayle and gem225, for their help. Their eagle-eyed assistance is greatly appreciated. This story is also archived at the Smallville Slash Archive.


Bodies in Motion

Clark Kent first met Bruce Wayne at the Orpheum Theater, in the box with the name “Wayne” on a brass plaque above the doorway. Bruce Wayne had extended the invitation to the ballet, but Clark and Lex Luthor had arrived before their host, taking their place in the box alone. They looked over the auditorium. In the orchestra pit, musicians were tuning instruments in expectant cacophony.

Lex pointed out details of the architecture and made comments about the people moving in good-natured disarray to their seats. His rude remarks made Clark smile. They held hands, free to do so in the privacy of the theater box. Lex ran his thumb lightly over the back of Clark’s hand in silent anticipation of shared pleasure later. The touch warmed Clark. It made him blush and think about what they would do when they returned to the five-star Gotham City hotel they had checked into earlier. No one had questioned Clark’s presence in a Luthor hotel room with an emperor-sized bed. “I told them you were my bodyguard,” joked Lex.

Clark didn’t think the things he planned to do to Lex’s body could be called ‘guarding’.

It was clear from Lex’s eyes now that he understood the blush, and guessed what Clark was thinking, and that imagining Clark’s racing thoughts turned him on. He said in a low voice, “You look so damn sexy in that tux I want to tear it off you.”

Clark dropped his lashes. “Later.”

“I’ll put it on the agenda. What makes you think I’ll wait?”

“You’ll wait,” said Clark. “You’ll wait, and it will be worth it.” Would he still feel this excitement around Lex when the relationship was no longer new? In two days it would be one whole month since they first had sex. An anniversary. He wondered if Lex saw it that way, as something to last, a relationship with milestones. He still felt sometimes as if he were dreaming. It was too good to be true, that Lex Luthor wanted him as much as he wanted Lex Luthor.

Maybe in another month, or year, or century, he’d be used to it.

When Bruce Wayne stepped into the box, they didn’t hear him arrive.

He said, “Lex!”, and they turned. He paused, framed in the doorway: a man who seemed, for the moment, to radiate his own physical presence. Standing motionless, he had a mobile grace. The entrance was dramatic not because of anything he did or said. His looks alone would catch anyone’s eye. He was not a small man, but it wasn’t his size that held attention. Charisma has no visual shape. On someone else, the dark muted clothes he wore would not have seemed flashy, except for the flowing black silk opera cloak, blue-lined, swirling like a cape from his shoulders. He gave the impression of darkness and beauty: perceptive eyes, hair auburn almost to the point of being black, strong jaw, firm lips.

Clark almost gaped, but forced himself to keep his mouth shut and his manners intact.

“Lex,” Bruce said again. Lex moved forward, his hand extended, and Bruce took his hand in a warm clasp. Bruce’s eyes were searching, welcoming, but he did not smile at Lex, as Clark would have expected. These men been close once, and were now meeting after a separation of months - no, years. On Bruce’s part, a deep, searing gaze. On Lex’s face was something more guarded, more smug, a look Clark couldn’t interpret.

“This is Clark Kent,” said Lex in introduction, waving towards Clark. Bruce was almost as tall as Clark, which was rare. Clark felt suddenly self-conscious. Despite knowing Lex, he was unaccustomed to conversation with multi-millionaires. His social scene was made up of high school students and Smallville farmers.

Bruce Wayne shook Clark’s hand. The handshake was strong and firm, like his eyes. “Hello, Clark,” he said, and friendly though the voice was, Clark had the odd feeling that this man could see too much, could see right through his mind into his secrets.

He couldn’t, of course. Clark told himself not to be paranoid, even about old schoolmates of Lex’s, even when he felt a stab of jealousy. Bruce Wayne was intelligent, wealthy, and poised. Clark had expected that. Nothing had prepared him for the stunning good looks. No one had told him how sexy Bruce Wayne in the flesh would be.

“Thank you for the tickets,” Clark said. It was what his mother would want him to say. He managed not to stammer.

“Clark’s never seen a ballet before,” said Lex. He put his hand lightly on Clark’s shoulder, and then dropped it, an uncharacteristically intimate gesture that Clark knew he would have avoided at other times and in other company. Clark liked it. It reassured him. It implied possessiveness.

Bruce Wayne tossed his opera cloak over the coat-hook at the back of the box, and sat down, gesturing to Clark and Lex to sit in the seats to either side of him. “I hope you like the dance,” he said. He moved like an actor or acrobat, as if gravity were his to control. He was not a performer - in fact, Lex had said, he preferred to stay out of the limelight. He was rich like Lex, but not a businessman. He ran a huge foundation, the details of which were vague to Clark. Bruce owned an economic empire, but he didn’t actually work. “What does he do?” Clark had asked Lex on their way to Gotham, and Lex had answered mischievously, “He’s a dilettante. He dilettes. That means he does whatever he wants to do.”

“They called him a billionaire philanthropist in The Daily Planet,” said Clark.

Lex nodded. “That’s journalese for ‘rich brat who throws money away.’” He grinned briefly at Clark. “Unlike me. I’m the thrifty sort.”

“Of course,” Clark deadpanned.

Bruce Wayne was a wealthy, generous man. One whose largesse extended to sending two tickets to his old friend Lex to come and see the opening night of
L’Après-Midi d’un Faun at the Gotham City Orpheum. Bruce Wayne was personally sponsoring the production, and had brought the famous Pedro Parades in from Buenos Aires to star in it. “He likes backing the arts,” said Lex, after he had talked on the phone with Bruce, back in Smallville on Tuesday. “You know how we Luthors have the Metropolis Museum? Our own cultural toy. Well, he has the Gotham Orpheum. It amuses him, and looks good to the public. Want to come to the ballet with me?”

The question was causally thrown in. “Can I?” said Clark, in growing excitement. The show was on the weekend, on a Saturday night. They could drive up on Saturday, spend the night in Gotham City, and come back on Sunday. A long drive, but Lex liked long drives, and Clark liked doing anything with Lex, even things that didn’t involve undressing and touching.

“I wish you would.”

“Okay! I’ve never seen L’Après whatever it is. I’ve never seen real ballet at all.”

“Afternoon of a Faun. Debussy. Will your parents mind?”

“They’ll talk about it. Dad will object. Mom will persuade him that I should go for the educational experience. Widening horizons and all. It’ll be okay. What should I wear?”

“I’ll buy you a good tux.”

“I’ll rent one.” An old argument; an old joke. Lex smiled. Clark smiled back.

Saturday morning, in the Porsche on the way to Gotham City, Clark said, “I thought you said you had no friends till you met me.”

“Mmm,” said Lex, in the neutral way he used when caught in a lie or contradiction. “The truth is, he was never really a friend.”

“Oh?” Clark’s budding reporter’s instincts, honed by Chloe, sensed a story there.

“That was a euphemism. We were lovers.”

“Oh.” Clark knew that Lex had a lot of sexual experience behind him. Clark didn’t generally mind: he was now reaping the benefits. Thinking of Lex’s past with an abstract number of lovers, both male and female, anonymous and unknown to him, was quite different from facing an actual individual who had done the same sort of things with Lex that he did. Someone who was from a wealthy, sophisticated background, a classy school, and who was almost as old as Lex was. Remembering Victoria was bad enough. The part of Clark that was just a farm kid cringed: how could he compete with mysterious, famous, generous Bruce Wayne?

“We were together in school.”

“At Princeton?”

“No, Excelsior. Bruce had the reputation of being perfect - top marks, athletics, everything. He could have had all the scholarships they offered, not that he needed them. Brilliant mind. Gorgeous too, and rich as Croesus, but everyone said he was frigid. Asexual. Didn’t date. Didn’t do anything with anybody. He was untouchable.”

“So you seduced him?” Clark knew Lex liked a challenge. After all, Lex had seduced Clark. To be fair, he had considerable help from Clark. If he had to be really honest about it, Clark had to admit he had put a certain amount of effort into getting himself seduced.

“No. My God, I was just a geek with a talent for trouble. He chose me. I don’t know why. Turns out he wasn’t frigid, just. . . . selective.”

“So he selected you?”

“For a while.”

“How’d you feel about it?”

“Thrilled. I was the freak of the school. He was the most desirable guy there. He kept aloof - except with me. I fell hard for him. The more I knew him, the more I admired him.”

“Why?”

“I never knew anyone with such strong convictions. Right and wrong - they mattered to him, mattered completely, and he could always tell the difference between them. Like you. He never compromised his principles, never.”

“And then?”

“Then what?”

“What happened? Between you and him?”

“We made out a lot. We didn’t get caught. He was good at never being caught. No one ever saw the real Bruce Wayne. He was the most private man I ever knew. No one knows anything about him, including the Inquisitor’s scandalmongers. What he is not,” said Lex firmly, shifting gears, “is asexual.”

“Why’d you break up?”

“We didn’t break up. He left the country. After we graduated, he traveled. Studied abroad for a while. I wasn’t part of his plans.”

“Oh.” Clark frowned. “When’d you last see him?”

“Two years ago. Almost three. Before I met you, Clark. I still lived in Metropolis. And yes, we fucked on that occasion.” He glanced sidelong at Clark, his expression revealing as little as possible.

Jealousy. Clark didn’t hate Bruce Wayne, who was obviously a great guy. He just wished he didn’t exist. He wished they wouldn’t be meeting him, tonight at the show. “You going to do it again?” He tried to sound casual about it. He glanced at Lex’s profile. Lex, driving - speeding as usual - didn’t glance back.

“Would you mind if I did?” Lex sounded casual too, which could be misleading. This was the closest they had ever come to discussing exclusivity in their relationship. He’d never known, really, where he stood with Lex even back when they’d just been friends. Now they were lovers and there were no rules to follow. In the last four weeks they had fucked twenty-one times, shared fourteen blow jobs, and filled in the times between with touching, kissing, and fondling whenever they had the chance. They hadn’t wasted time discussing ramifications.

“I don’t know,” Clark said, which was the closest he could think of to honesty. He had expected they would be sleeping together tonight in the room Lex had reserved for them at the Gotham City Intercontinental. He hated the idea of being there alone, knowing Lex was with someone else. But he didn’t think he had the right to ask for fidelity. Maybe someday, if things went well. If Lex went on wanting him. He intended to make sure Lex went on wanting him. Otherwise, he was just a kid having a fling with the local magnate.

“It wouldn’t change how I feel about you,” said Lex, and this time he did glance at Clark, but Clark looked out of the window because he didn’t know how Lex felt about him and wasn’t sure how to ask. “Don’t worry, Clark, whatever happens, you and I will be together tonight. Speaking of that - I told Bruce about us. That we were sleeping together.”

They hadn’t shared the news with anyone yet, either of them. Clark hadn’t so much as imagined telling. This relationship had been something between the two of them, a precious secret. A secret that he knew would be misunderstood and condemned by anyone he knew. He couldn’t bear to think of what his parents’ reactions would be: his mother worried, his father furious. The Inquisitor would like it, too.

There was a pause that threatened to become strained. Clark didn’t answer directly. Getting mad at Lex wouldn’t fix things. Someone had to find out about them sooner or later. “What’s he like?”

“He’s extraordinary. You’ll see when you meet him.”

It wasn’t reassuring.

It was true, though, thought Clark now, as he looked curiously at the famous billionaire of Gotham City in the biggest and best box the Orpheum had, reserved tonight for the three of them. This was the orphaned scion of the Wayne dynasty, born with the silver spoon, the self-made athlete, the top scholar of Excelsior Prep.

The first impression of the dramatic cloak and the elegant setting, not to mention the gift of dance tickets, made Clark expect someone fey. Instead there was something unquestionably masculine about Bruce Wayne. He had the air of a man in a Marlboro ad. He might be the host of a sporting feature on TV. It was easy to picture him climbing a mountain or shooting rapids. He might be rich, beautiful and privileged, but Clark had never seen anyone less effete.

He could see what Lex had seen in Bruce Wayne, six years ago. He could see why Lex wanted this man now. Already turned on by Lex’s presence, he too felt the attraction, as Bruce looked at him with a focused, intelligent gaze.

Clark knew Lex was watching him as he watched Bruce. Could he guess what Clark was thinking? Did he mind it that Clark was being turned on by Bruce? He thought maybe he was blushing and his heart sank because he hated blushing and he hated to remind Lex how young he was, and how inexperienced, especially in front of an ex-lover who was sophistication personified.

Bruce merely said, “If the show bores you, we can leave.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” said Clark. With Lex in a splendid Yves St. Laurent suit and Bruce Wayne looking like someone in the pages of Vogue L’Uomo, he was glad he’d rented the best tux he could find. It had long, sleek lines and a jacket that went to mid-thigh. His haircut was by Smallville’s finest barber. He had hoped a fashionable cut would make him look mature. Instead - well, as his Mom had said, at least he was neat and tidy.

“I think you’re right. You’ll like it. Beautiful men, beautiful music,” said Bruce. His glance seemed to take in Clark from head to toe. “I’m glad Lex brought you. I asked him to, when he told me about you.” He sat in the seat between them. Clark wished he were sitting next to Lex, but he was enough intrigued by their host to enjoy his proximity. He noticed how large and strong Bruce’s hands were, calloused, more like a laborer’s hands than the hands of a man who never worked.

“I’ve never been to Gotham City before,” said Clark, and wondered instantly if it were a nerdish thing to say. Though he was as tall as Bruce, he wasn’t as broad-shouldered, and he’d never have that kind of urbanity. Not in a hundred years.

“I hope you’ll like it,” said Bruce. “Tell me where Lex found you.”

“Smallville,” said Clark.

“On a stake in a cornfield,” said Lex, a gleam in his eye.

“Actually,” said Clark, “it was on a bridge.”

“Or underwater,” elaborated Lex.

“Or maybe in a truck in a cornfield.”

They both smiled at the memories. Clark felt an impulse to reach over to hold Lex’s hand, but he didn’t, feeling shy with Bruce between them.

“Lucky, wherever it was,” said Bruce.

“In many ways. He saved my life.”

People below were filing into seats. It was close to curtain time. “You’ll have to tell me about that,” said Bruce.

“You didn’t bring a date?” asked Lex.

“I was hoping you’d be my date,” said Bruce. “As Clark is yours.”

There were levels of communication going on between Bruce and Lex that Clark couldn’t interpret. He fidgeted. Lex looked thoughtful. He was abstracted, as if his thoughts were far away, working on some mathematical mystery or troubles at work.

“I also hoped,” said Bruce, “that you would come home with me afterwards.”

“To Wayne Manor?” asked Clark. He wondered if Bruce was talking just to Lex, or including him. He thought of Lex going to Wayne Manor while he went back to the Intercontinental alone and wondered if he could bear it.

“I think you’d like it,” said Bruce, still holding Lex’s gaze, and Clark had the impression he wasn’t talking about architecture, and that Lex wasn’t thinking about mathematics after all.

“Both of us?” asked Lex.

“The invitation is for both of you, yes. Of course.”

“Of course,” repeated Lex. If Clark didn’t know better, he’d think Lex was annoyed, but it wasn’t that. He looked a little flushed. The dance was about to begin, the one on the stage.

Lex said directly to Clark, speaking quickly, “He’s inviting us to his bed. Aren’t you, Bruce?”

“Yes.”

“Both of us.” Lex’s eyes burned feverishly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t ask you to abandon him in a strange city.”

Lex said, “You’ll have to wait for your answer. We’ll give it to you after the intermission.”

“Then I have the full length of the first act to seduce Clark,” said Bruce. “Being silent in the dark while he gets his first taste of Debussy’s Faun. Think I can do it?”

“If anyone can,” said Lex drily. A shiver went down Clark’s back. Was this anticipation? Did he want Bruce Wayne to try to seduce him? Did he want Bruce Wayne to succeed?

The thought was terrifying, but it made him hard.

He didn’t know what to think. He looked at Lex for guidance, but Lex was looking at the stage. The lights went down.

Clark sat back. He wondered how he could ever concentrate on the show. He had just been propositioned - hadn’t he? - by the most handsome man he would ever meet. Lex hadn’t said “no”. Lex wanted Bruce too - hadn’t he said so, back in the car?

Clark could feel Bruce’s arm touching his lightly. The seats were wide enough to accommodate large men. They didn’t need to be touching at all, but Bruce, shifting in his chair, was clearly not close by accident. He wondered if all the Wayne men were so large. He knew Bruce Wayne was the last of his line, and unmarried. Everyone knew that. He was always turning up on ‘most eligible’ lists, along with the Prince of Wales.

Clark wanted Lex, always. Did it make sense to want the man Lex wanted, too? Was this right or wrong? Stupid or good?

He was too confused to think: his body was clamoring and he didn’t know where to turn or what to think. Lex. Bruce.

The music swelled up, and Clark surrendered to the show.

Debussy. Sensual music to match suggestive choreography, though he couldn’t quite analyze what made it all so sexy. That certain way the actors had of moving sinuously, the swelling music that moved them through the air. They were beautiful, every one of them, especially the famous Pedro. Gravity couldn’t hold them. There were lights moving on the stage, spotlighting people, seeming sometimes to lift them up. Human bodies couldn’t move like that. Perhaps they were all from Krypton.

It was minutes or hours later when Bruce Wayne murmured in his ear, “Do you like this, Clark?” His fingers trailed down the side of Clark’s neck.

Clark whispered, “Yes.” The warm fingers made his skin tingle.

“Not bored?”

“No! It’s. . . beautiful.”

“It’s like fucking. It’s all in the mind, and yet none of it is in the mind. The body becomes the intellect. Do you think fucking is beautiful?”

Clark turned his head slightly, so his mouth was near Bruce’s mouth. “Yes,” he said slowly. He felt Bruce draw a deep breath.

He looked back at the stage, where the bodies in motion were moving like ghosts, or like animals or angels, and not like human beings at all. Bruce’s mouth was at his ear again. “Clark. Does that mean your answer to my invitation is yes?”

Clark smiled and didn’t answer. He could see that Bruce’s other hand was on Lex’s leg. Lex, it seemed, didn’t mind.

So maybe it was okay that Bruce’s attention was turning him on. He moved a little closer, shifting in his seat, so that the heat of Bruce’s body was pressed close beside him. Maybe it was okay that his cock was hard, here in the exclusive box seats of a well-endowed late Victorian theater.

He had the odd feeling that the dance had infiltrated his body with its rhythms of sensuality. The lovely faun on the stage bore some relationship to Bruce’s hand on his knee. The men and women on the stage, their motions as smooth and fluid as water and wind, seemed connected to Bruce’s breath on the side of his neck as they circled and danced. They were charging him with energy that made him want to float, and made him want to fly, because when they did it flying looked easy.

Bruce whispered in his hear, “Clark? Which do you prefer? Fucking, or being fucked?” His lips lingered against Clark’s earlobe, wet and warm.

The question settled in his groin, where his cock wanted to take flight itself. He let Bruce wait a few minutes for his answer. He enjoyed the thought that Bruce was waiting. On stage, even Pedro seemed to be listening, suspended in a leap that ended with his body prone and poised to spring back into flight. Clark murmured, “Didn’t Lex tell you?”

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to find out later.”

Bruce’s reply was like a gentle puff of air on his ear. “Tease.”

Act One came to an end, the lights rising. Clark looked at Bruce and Lex. Bruce had been holding Lex’s hand, casually, his wrist resting on Lex’s knee. He let go of it, stood up, and said, “I’m going to stretch my legs. Shall I get you a drink?”

“Scotch,” said Lex.

“Clark?”

“Coke with ice, please,” said Clark.

“You need to talk.” Bruce nodded and disappeared out the curtained doorway. When he walked, he strode. Clark watched in admiration. Then he slipped into the seat that Bruce had been sitting in, to be closer to Lex. The seat was still warm from Bruce’s body.

“You like him,” said Lex. He played with his lower lip, often a sign that he was upset, but he didn’t seem upset now. Amused, maybe. Aroused, maybe. Clark wondered what, if anything, Bruce had whispered to him during Act One. Or if he had let his hand on Lex’s thigh say it all.

“Yeah, I do.”

“He got to you.”

“Sort of.”

“Admit it. You want him.” Lex’s smirk was too knowing: he could interpret Clark’s flush. He could always tell when Clark was aroused, always had been able to, and there was nothing Clark could do about it.

“A little,” said Clark. “But not if it’s going to change things. With us.”

“Would it?” Lex touched the back of his fingers to Clark’s cheek. “Could it?”

“No,” said Clark. “And no.”

“So. You want to go to bed with him?”

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Yes,” said Lex. “For one thing, I think you ought to be with someone besides me. I don’t want to feel I . . . kept you away from other experiences. You won’t go after Lana, therefore I offer Bruce.”

“I had Jessie. She was a different experience.”

“Right.” Lex looked exasperated and Clark wanted to kiss him because he thought Lex looked particularly delicious with that expression. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t pushed Clark at Lana, and then at Chloe. Lex had a possessive side, but it showed itself oddly. “Jessie doesn’t count. You were out of your mind that day.”

“So you’re just doing this for me?”

“No. I want him tonight too.”

“It’s okay,” said Clark. Their fingers entwined.

“You come first.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. Always.”

Clark decided unilaterally that it was private enough in the box to kiss Lex, so he did. The sensuous half-clad bodies on stage had their effect on him, too. He could feel the desire in Lex’s kiss, in the tension in the hand which touched him but didn’t allow itself to grope; the faint smell of arousal on his skin. He and Lex were always ready for each other.

Lex said, “Sex with Bruce is good. Just don’t fall too hard, or expect too much. He has charm when he wants to use it. But if you ever fell in love with him, you’d learn that he doesn’t love. I don’t think he can.”

So Lex had loved him, after all.

“I couldn’t fall in love with him,” said Clark, with absolute certainty. He felt quite safe in saying it. He was already in love with someone else: with Lex. He didn’t say that. Maybe he didn’t need to. Lex squeezed his hand.

“Nobody told me how sexy ballet is,” said Clark, breathlessly.

“You have to experience it.”

It was a slow and sensuous kiss, a silent dialogue of tongue and lips.

Bruce cleared his throat beside them. “Get a room, guys.”

“We don’t need to,” said Lex, sitting back. “Someone invited us back to his place.”

Bruce handed Clark an iced Coke; Lex a scotch on the rocks. He had brought Ty Nant for himself. “Does that mean your answer is yes?”

“Yes,” said Clark. He didn’t move from the seat, and Bruce sat on his left side this time. The iced Coke was delicious, and he realized how hot he was feeling. Kissing Lex and sitting by Bruce hadn’t made his cock any softer and he wondered what the second act would be like.

“I didn’t think Pedro was up to his usual performance,” said Lex to Bruce.

“You’re right, and I know why. Mireille left him.”

“Poor Pedro.”

“Lucky Pedro. She was a bitch. He’ll realize it soon enough. Meanwhile half of Gotham wants into his bed.”

“Including you?”

Bruce shook his head quickly. “Not a chance. I have better.” He took Clark’s hand, and held it, his thumb caressing the palm. Lex smiled a slow, wicked smile, and took Clark’s other hand.

Act Two started. Clark was riveted; but he was equally aware of the touch of Bruce’s hand on his, and the clasp of Lex’s fingers. At some point Bruce let go, to take a drink of water. Later, he felt Bruce’s hand on his thigh. He liked the way it felt. He shifted a little, and Bruce’s fingers brushed his crotch lightly, feeling how hard he was already. Bruce’s voice murmured in his ear, “Is it true you’re uncut?”

In the dark, no one could see him flush. Lex must have told Bruce. That thought was sexy, too. What else might Lex have said to him? Clark whispered, “You’ll find out for yourself,” and was pleased to hear Bruce draw his breath in, and to hear how he shifted in his seat.

The ballet came to an end. There was applause, and whistling, and even stomping, which Clark thought was odd for such a cultured crowd. There were flowers presented to the conductor, followed by those for the chief dancers and the choreographer.

Then Bruce swirled his opera cloak back over his shoulders, and, as they turned, brushed his lips against Clark’s and then against Lex’s. “Home?” he said.

“Home,” said Lex.

They went through a mysterious side door to a mysterious alley where a black limo waited, its windows opaque. “Come with me,” said Bruce. “I’ll tell the chauffeur to get your car later, and your things from the hotel.”

The chauffeur closed the doors on them and Clark smiled at the sight of one-way glass. He sat in the seat with its back to the driver; Lex and Bruce sat side by side facing him. The car was spacious and accommodating to Clark’s bulk as well as Bruce’s, but there was something intimate about its well-upholstered seats, the dim lighting, the sense of gentle motion. The car was so smooth and silent that Clark had to concentrate to perceive the engine, even with his sharp hearing. The lights of the city outside were visible, but dimmed as if seen through mist, irrelevant.

Inside the car, they were alone together.

Bruce pulled Lex close against him. He kissed Lex’s mouth. Clark watched Lex melt against him. He knew what it felt like to hold Lex like that, but now it was Bruce’s arm strong and firm against his back, feeling Lex’s breathing body pressed close. He knew the sensation of those mobile lips parting, the taste of that eager mouth. It was like seeing a double image, wildly erotic, almost as if he were kissing Lex himself, but it was Bruce doing it, leaving Clark free to watch. He felt like a participant.

Lex groaned and reached for his fly, but Bruce’s hand was there first, and they fumbled together, Lex at his own zipper, Bruce at Lex’s belt, until the fly was open and Bruce’s hand was inside, working his cock. Bruce whispered something to Lex that Clark couldn’t hear, and Lex opened his eyes and looked at Clark, his face soft with arousal, animated with sensation. His legs were spread wide, but all Clark could see was dark cloth over the motion of Bruce’s hand.

Clark found he was breathing heavily.

Lex was looking at him, not at Bruce, though his fingers were wandering over Bruce’s face and through his hair. Dark hair fell over Lex’s pale fingers and Clark wondered why that looked so sexy. He loved Lex’s hands, graceful and smooth, and not just for the way they felt when they touched him. They were beautiful in themselves.

They were beautiful in Bruce’s hair, and holding, for a moment, the back of his neck. Lex was watching Clark but his eyes were half-shut now, shadowed by lashes.

Clark moved in his seat, hoping to make his tight trousers more comfortable. He wanted to touch himself the way Bruce was touching Lex, but he didn’t, because the pleasure of seeing this was unimaginable. Bruce shifted too, cloak tight over his wide shoulders.

Lex moaned.

Bruce put his other hand on Lex’s chest, working open a button left-handed, slipping a hand inside. Clark watched him move fingers over Lex’s nipple, rough, quick; Lex threw his head back, whimpering. Clark wanted to reach over and touch Lex, but he didn’t do that, either. A quick smile flickered over Lex’s lips at some passing sensation; then a grimace at another wakened nerve.

“He’s beautiful when he’s like this,” said Bruce.

It was true. Bruce’s deep voice seemed to fill the car, to the counterpoint of Lex’s quick, light, panting breath. Perhaps it was the power of Debussy that made it all sound like music to Clark, a deeply sensuous harmony. His own nipples were hardening against his shirt and he swallowed.

“No,” whispered Lex. “You. You two. You’re the beautiful ones.” His hand clenched against Bruce’s head.

Clark could hear the movement of Bruce’s hands, flesh and cloth, under the jacket and under the pants. The car smelled of arousal now, and the city around them was a subliminal noise that never ceased.

Bruce said, “He’s about to come. Watch his face,” and then Lex was climaxing, all soft puffing groans and explosive release. He subsided, limp, in the seat. Bruce slowly pulled his hand away. It was dripping. He began to lick the come off his fingers.

Clark said, “Let me.”

He leaned forward, reached over, and took Bruce’s wrist in his hand. He sucked on Bruce’s fingers one by one for the familiar taste of Lex’s come, different because now he could taste Bruce’s skin as well. He ran his tongue up and down the sides of each finger, sucking the tips. He licked Bruce’s palm and used his tongue to caress Bruce’s thumb even after the hand was thoroughly clean, and, finally mouthed the membrane between thumb and first finger. Then he sat back.

Bruce was staring at him with fierce intensity. Lex, sprawled bonelessly, looked smug as if he’d won a bet. “Told you so.”

“What?” said Clark.

Bruce said, “He told me that you were innocent and young and beautiful. He told me how you drive him mad. Clark, I want to see you.”

Clark blinked, puzzled.

“Your cock. Let me see it. Please, Clark.”

Bruce knelt on the floor - there was plenty of space, there was an absurd amount of space. The opera cloak cascaded around him. Lex learned forward, watching.

Bruce unzipped Clark’s trousers and unbuckled the belt and the unfastened button under it. Clark ran his hands lightly over Bruce’s hands, not helping, not hindering, just touching. The hands felt as strong as they looked, all muscle and large knuckles. Bruce’s dark head was bent slightly below Clark’s, an inch away, close enough for Clark to smell the faint scent of his hair, unperfumed, clean, masculine, lovely.

Clark felt the brush of cool air as Bruce pulled open his zipper and pushed aside the cloth of his shorts. Bruce pulled his cock free, so Clark could enjoy the warm, light touch of his hand, feeling the shifting vibration as the car went round a corner, feeling the pressure, both arousing and uncomfortable, behind his balls where the opening of the zipper was pressed.

Bruce stared down at his cock. “Lex didn’t exaggerate.” He sounded amazed, awed. He moved closer and Clark could feel his breath, though Bruce was not touching him yet. Clark whimpered - he couldn’t help it - and Bruce’s mouth enveloped him.

Warm, hot, wet, he was touching the right spots in the right way, sucking, using his tongue, using his lips. Clark groaned aloud. He tried to thrust, but his position in the car seat was awkward. Bruce held him still with his hands on Clark’s hips.

Lex said, “You’ll use him up before we ever arrive.” He sounded tolerantly bored, but was watching with close attention and a glitter in his eye.

Bruce raised his head. “I don’t think so. Lex, do you know what you have here?”

“I know,” said Lex. “I know better than you do. Maybe he’ll use you up.”

Bruce dropped his head, and Clark thought wildly: I’m being blown by Gotham City’s greatest millionaire.

Then he realized he’d already been blown, on fourteen occasions, by the greatest millionaire of Smallville. He reached out for Lex’s hand, and Lex leaned forward to take it, curling their fingers together. With his other hand Lex touched Bruce’s hair and ran fingers lightly over his ear, his neck, his shoulders. Lex’s shirt gaped where Bruce had opened a button, and Clark could see the motion of his chest with his quick breathing.

Clark was moaning now, straining against Bruce’s mouth, not thrusting but moving with the motion of the car, finding a rhythm with his hips. Bruce suddenly pulled back and said, “We’re home.”

“Don’t stop!” begged Clark. The limo stopped.

“I’m not stopping, just pausing.” Bruce tried to tuck him back into his pants and to pull the zipper up. He couldn’t do it. Clark’s cock wouldn’t fit back inside. Bruce was amused.

“The jacket,” he said practically, pulling the fly together as best he could, “will have to cover you for the time being. Good thing it’s long enough. It’s only a few steps.”

“Alfred will be shocked,” said Lex.

“Alfred is unshockable.” Bruce spoke with certainty.

“Who is Alfred?” asked Clark, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t expected to be meeting other people tonight.

“My butler. You’re about to meet him,” said Bruce. He opened the car door and stepped out. Lex followed, not as sure-footed, but keeping his agility. Clark walked tall, pretending he didn’t have a painful hard-on and a burning desire to throw Bruce Wayne down on the sidewalk and jump on him. Or Lex. Or both of them.

It was Lex who put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

The place was as big and dark and spooky as he had imagined. Clark followed Bruce through the door, Lex behind him, close enough for Lex’s fingers to caress his ass before the door closed behind them. A middle-aged man in an austere suit said, “Welcome back, Master Bruce. Master Lex, it is good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Alfred,” said Lex, with a nod. “This is my friend from Smallville, Clark Kent.”

Alfred nodded to Clark, a small formal bow. “Master Clark. I hope you will enjoy your visit.” He took Bruce’s cloak and Lex’s Yves St. Laurent overcoat. “Will you be in the parlor? Shall I bring refreshments?”

“No,” said Bruce. “We will be in my bedroom and don’t want to be disturbed.” He put an arm around Clark’s waist, ushering him towards the wide flight of stairs at the other side of the hall. Lex followed behind them, moving just as quickly.

“Very well, Master Bruce.”

At the top of the stairs Bruce stopped for a kiss, taking Clark in his arms, his leg pushing between Clark’s legs, his hands on Clark’s buttocks. Lex leaned against Clark from behind and Clark could feel Lex’s hard cock touching him between Bruce’s groping hands. Bruce was spreading and kneading him. He gasped.

“Well? Was he shocked?” asked Lex, lightly kissing Bruce’s mouth over Clark’s shoulder, letting his lips slip away to Clark’s neck.

“How would I know?” asked Bruce. “If he were, he’d never let it show.”

Clark’s impression was that Alfred had been pleased. No sense wondering why. Perhaps he liked to see Bruce happy.

As they moved on, Bruce’s put his arms around their backs, holding them lightly. Clark felt the tip of his cock brushing the interior lining of his jacket with each step. It made him feel exposed, more than naked, walking dressed in the hallway. It was a delicate touch like a light caress. A turn-on, with Bruce walking close beside him.

Bruce’s fingers played with Lex’s ear and touched the back of his scalp as Bruce turned his head to glance warmly at Clark. He did not smile - Clark had already realized that Bruce did not smile often or easily, but his expression softened.

Clark remembered how Bruce had slipped his hand into Lex’s fly in the car, and he wished Bruce would do it to him now. Just to touch his cock, just for a minute. It was bobbing against his jacket, wet at the tip and desperate for attention. He bit his lip, wanting to touch himself if Bruce or Lex wouldn’t do it for him. But he wasn’t going to. All he had to do was wait.

They stopped at a door. The door to the bedroom was oak, carved with an intricate knot design, and arched as if it were in an old church. Inside, the bedroom was like that too: dark, quiet, full of old, mute mahogany. There was something somber and rich about the room, as if it were a magazine photo of a place both stately and old. There was a silver hairbrush on the dresser with the Wayne monogram on its back. The room did not look as if anyone lived there.

The light from the chandeliers was dim, filling the room with a glow like candlelight. The bed was huge, canopied, the hangings drawn back and tied to the posts with tassels.

Bruce closed the door behind them. “Do we need condoms?” he asked. “I bought some, but Lex and I never used them before. Lex doesn’t carry diseases, did you know that, Clark? And I think you’ve never been with anyone but Lex, am I right?” Clark nodded briefly. He didn’t need to explain about Jessie, or explain that, like Lex, he couldn’t carry disease either. “Good. Neither have I.”

“What?” Lex was shocked: something he seldom allowed anyone to see. He paused in the middle of removing his tie.

“You were so sure there were others?”

“It’s been two years since you’ve even seen me.” He let the unfastened tie hang loose over his neck.

“Almost three. I know you think that’s a long time to go without, but I was otherwise occupied. Not everyone needs to get laid as often as you do.”

It didn’t seem so strange to Clark. If he was Bruce he’d only want Lex, too. But he was biased, and besides, he didn’t know much about the business of sex yet. He knew he wanted Lex all the time. It wasn’t that Bruce had been celibate that confused him, it was that Bruce could have had Lex, and didn’t keep him.

Lex ran his hand over his bald head. “No, but you aren’t a goddamn monk.” He looked at Clark, who had nothing to say, and back at Bruce. “Everyone in the world wants your body.”

“Everyone in the world is out of luck, then. Except you and Clark.” Bruce smiled an odd half-smile. “Is that really so strange? You know what it’s like to face predators. I live on my own terms.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Why?” asked Lex. “Just tell me why.”

“I’ll tell you why.” Bruce spoke harshly. “I don’t need lovers. I don’t want lovers: I have no time for new responsibilities. I am on a path I must take alone. Is that explanation enough?” His voice mellowed. “Now come here.”

He pulled Lex into his arms and kissed him, nothing gentlemanly about it this time: it was rough, primal, savage, and Lex twined against him, accepting it all with pliant limbs and hot murmured desire. For a second Clark felt abandoned: but then Lex had turned, and pulled him into his arms. His kiss was the continuation of Bruce’s, demanding and explosive. Clark’s cock pressed against dark St. Laurent silk, then Lex moved away with animalistic grace.

Bruce said to Lex, “Let’s undress him.” He casually pulled off his own jacket and tossed it to a chair-back, where it fell as neatly as if carried there. The shirt did not fare as well: it, and the tie, and the cummerbund, landed on a heap on the seat.

Then Bruce Wayne was naked from the waist up, and Clark grinned in appreciation and reached out to touch Bruce’s arm. He could tell that Bruce worked out. He looked as if he tossed telephone poles for sport, or juggled elephants.

Letting Clark look his fill, Bruce waved to a liquor cabinet. “Want a drink?”

“You don’t have anything hard enough for me,” said Lex. To prove his point, he ran his hand down Bruce’s crotch, pleating the soft cloth with his fingers. “Or maybe you do.”

Bruce waited till Lex dropped his hand, and turned to take a bottle of water from the shelf. “Lex always wished I would do drugs with him, but I don’t do drugs at all.”

“Neither does Lex, now,” said Clark, rising to his defense. Lex, smirking, wrapped his arms around Clark from behind, holding him tight, running his hands over his shirt. Clark’s jacket was wide open now, but Lex did not touch his straining cock.

Bruce took a drink of water, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. “Really?”

“I just do Clark, instead,” said Lex, teasing. He nibbled at the back of Clark’s ear, ran his hands lower, and back up again. Clark whimpered.

“Lucky Clark.” Bruce looked speculatively at them, arching his eyebrows. He put down the bottle and crossed the room. He reached out to touch Clark’s arm, running fingertips down the muscles. “Farm work,” he murmured, and, bending, ran his lips down Clark’s throat. “But no callouses.”

Clark whimpered at the sensation while Lex’s hands moved to Clark’s hips. He blew lightly on his ear. “Clark is amazing.”

Bruce’s fingers were busy with the shirt buttons. Lex moved back and pulled off the jacket. Bruce’s mouth lingered on Clark’s wrist as he unscrewed the cufflinks and tossed them aside, with the shirt, to the floor. He moved back against Clark from behind, his fingers playing with skin wherever he could reach it.

Bruce kissed Clark’s bare chest, lingering at the nipples. He kissed Clark’s belly, pulling aside the belt, pulling down the trousers. When Clark’s cock bobbed against his face, he ignored it. Lex’s fingers had returned, busy on Clark’s nipples, still hard and wet from Bruce’s mouth.

“You’re getting him excited,” smirked Lex.

“You’re enjoying this just as much,” said Bruce, and Clark couldn’t help laughing because it was true. He could feel the arousal in Lex’s body, pressed against his own, dressed still but only a layer of cloth away from Clark’s own exposed skin. The laugh earned him Lex’s mouth on his neck, hot and demanding, and his laugh turned into a groan because he was so hard still he thought he was going to die.

Bruce had Clark’s socks and shoes off, and was lifting his foot for the trousers. Clark threw his head back and met Lex’s mouth, possessively ruthless. Lex’s hand was in his hair, holding tight, and his other hand pinched and held a hard nipple.

“Please!” begged Clark.

Lex lifted his mouth just enough to say, “Do it!” and kissed him again. It was enough: Bruce pulled Clark’s cock deep into his mouth and planted his hands on his ass, and Clark trembled in Lex’s arms. Bruce’s mouth was strong and deep.

Lex let go of Clark’s nipple and reached down to his balls, and his hand, so close to Bruce’s mouth, was different in pressure and touch. Lex sucked on Clark’s tongue and Clark let out a muted cry, losing himself, climaxing between the hands and mouths of the men holding him.

It lasted a very long time.

Clark fell onto the bed as they gently held him, smiling. Bruce lay down beside him, touching him and running his lips along his arm. Lex undressed. He bent over to kiss Bruce, then kissed Clark. They were quick, undemanding kisses, as his jacket and shirt, shoes and trousers, shorts and socks disappeared. Watching between half-lowered lids, Clark felt the pang that Lex’s unusual body always struck in him. His body was all sleekness and power - not so much physical strength, like Bruce, but a force of personality expressed in every part of him.

Then Lex came to the bed and began to undress Bruce, his hands roaming over Bruce’s skin and then over Clark’s. His hand looked pale and smooth on Bruce’s hairy thigh, and Clark grabbed the hand to kiss it.

“Clark?” Bruce’s voice was so close to his ear that Clark could feel the dampness of his breath, then the touch of a tongue-tip. “I want to fuck him.”

“Yeah,” said Clark, who didn’t think he could talk any more.

“Lex wants to touch you,” said Bruce. “I can see it in his face. Lex likes to touch.”

“Lex likes to be touched,” said Clark. He glanced at Lex through his lashes, saw the way Lex was looking at him, and started breathing a little more heavily.

“He also likes to look at you. Look at his eyes!”

“You like looking at him too,” said Lex. It was a purr of pride, and Clark could tell it was because Lex felt both ownership and admiration. “I found him in Smallville. Can you believe it?”

“I found you in Excelsior,” said Bruce. “Strange things happen in strange places. Lie back.”

Lex lay on his back, propped against the pillows at the head of the bed. Bruce bent his head over Lex’s chest to suck at a nipple. Clark watched as Bruce glanced up, his lips red from the pressure, Lex’s nipple glistening wet and hard. It looked like a good idea and the other nipple looked neglected so Clark bent over and did the same on the other side.

Bruce let go of Lex’s hand and reached out for Clark’s. They were lying on either side of Lex now. Their soft sucking sounds were drowned out by Lex’s groans, and Bruce looked up again. “Lex always liked to make noise.”

“He still does,” said Clark. “Good noises.”

“Look.” Bruce nuzzled Lex’s chest. “You’ve made Clark hard again. Were we that resilient when we were sixteen?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember?”

Bruce took Clark’s hand to Lex’s groin, and wrapped his fingers, enclosed in Bruce’s, around Lex’s cock. Clark tightened his teeth on the nipple, enjoying the way Lex’s body bucked, enjoying the surge in Lex’s cock under his hand at the same time. Clark knew he wasn’t the only resilient one. He pressed his cock against Lex’s side. Lex’s hand tightened in his hair, and Bruce’s too. Lex said, “Fuck me, please. One of you. Please.”

Bruce’s hand squeezed Clark’s hand over Lex’s cock, flat against his belly. “I love it when he begs.”

Lex squirmed, muttering. He was probably cursing under his breath now, but the words were not clear. His eyes were barely open, his mouth grimacing, his hands clenched - one on the pillow, one on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce kept his hand tight over Clark’s, moving it slightly so the movement transferred through Clark’s fingers to the flesh of Lex’s cock beneath. He raised his head and used his other hand to pinch and roll Lex’s nipple as he murmured, “Clark?” and, as Clark lifted his head, Bruce kissed Clark’s mouth.

Hard.

It was the fullest kiss he had received yet from Bruce. It made his head spin. When Bruce eventually pulled away, he saw Lex’s eyes on them, lids half shut, mouth half open in short gasps. “Lex likes that,” said Bruce. “He likes watching me kiss you.”

“Yes,” whispered Lex. He had wrapped one leg wide over Bruce’s hips, splayed open.

“Do you want to fuck him, Clark? Look at him. Look how much he wants it.”

“We can take turns,” said Clark hopefully. He mouthed Lex’s ribs, working his way across to the navel, where he blew and sucked. Lex moved under him. It might have been because of what their hands were still doing on his cock, or the fingers tormenting his swollen nipples. He arched, gasping.

“Which of us do you want first, Lex? I’d like to see Clark inside you.”

“Yeah,” said Lex, twisting against their fingers. He was heavily flushed. Bruce leaned over to the bedside table to reach into the drawer and bring out a tube of something wet and glistening. “Let me put this on you,” he said to both of them, and reached for Clark’s cock first. His fingers played over the foreskin, then stroked down to the balls. Clark tried to keep his breathing normal, and failed. Bruce had a touch like a surgeon: strong, precise, gentle. The lube was cool, the touch hot. Clark didn’t stop moving his hand on Lex’s erection. Bruce’s touch echoed his, transmitted one to the other.

Without taking his hand off Clark, Bruce braced himself on one hand, bent over Lex, and started sucking his cock, and sucking, too, on Clark’s fingers. Letting go of Clark, he took more of the lube and anointed Lex from the balls up, bringing his fingers just under his own mouth, pulling upwards as he slicked. Then he raised his head and, carefully watching what he was doing, reached under Lex’s spread legs. “Yeah, do it,” muttered Lex, and jerked.

Clark lifted Lex’s leg curiously, trying to see better. His hair touched Lex’s thigh. He could see two of Bruce’s fingers disappearing into Lex’s ass, and he made a little sound of pleasure at the sight. Bruce glanced up and without quite smiling said, “Ready?”

“Of course he is!” said Lex unevenly. “Do it, just do it.” He squirmed against Bruce’s fingers.

“Yeah,” said Clark to Bruce, as if Lex hadn’t spoken.

Bruce pulled his fingers out as he rolled slightly out of the way. His hands soothed Clark’s back and buttocks as Clark put Lex’s leg over his shoulder, and pushed into him, slowly at first. Lex grunted, straining against him. Bruce put his other hand around Lex’s cock and played with it, kissing and sucking his hip. Clark could feel Bruce’s hair tickling his belly as he thrust inward, trailing against his skin as he pulled back.

After a while Bruce moved upwards on the bed, pressing himself against Lex’s side, kissing his mouth as he pressed his cock against Lex’s thigh. Lex grunted, and pulled his knee upward, deepening the apex of Clark’s thrusts.

“He’s almost there,” said Bruce against Lex’s throat, sucking greedily.

Clark paused, deep inside Lex. He thought he could feel the thrumming of Lex’s bloodstream. Lex tried to move against him and he put his hands on Lex’s hips to still him. “Your turn, then,” he said, and pulled out. Lex growled.

Bruce was lying there with a look in his eyes so avid that his gaze might burn. They had all night, and Clark wanted to watch Bruce fuck Lex.

Clark moved to the pillows, and lifted Lex so he could sit behind him, with Lex lying between his legs. His cock pressed against the middle of Lex’s back and his feet were planted by Lex’s hips. From this position it was easy to watch Bruce push himself slowly into Lex, moving with much more care than Clark had shown. Bruce held his full weight on his arms, one on either side of Lex, so that his muscles showed hard against the skin. Clark touched his fingers to the arms, marveling at them. Bruce’s arms were like steel, Clark thought, and beautiful. The dark hair on the forearms was a contrast to Lex, and the shadowy line on the body where the suntan stopped at the T-shirt.

Lex moaned, adjusting to Bruce’s thrusts. Clark kissed Lex’s ear and rubbed his nipples. Clark felt the movement as Bruce moved, slowly at first, and then faster, harder, his arms a steady and immobile base. He felt the change in Lex’s body as it pressed back against them both, shifted and lifted with Bruce’s movements. Bruce seemed to know Lex didn’t want this to be gentle any more.

Clark pulled Lex’s knees higher, wrapping his arms around Lex’s legs. He kissed Lex’s head repeatedly, and pushed against his back, carefully at first, then more forcefully. His cock was leaking, making Lex’s back sticky. Lex let his head fall against Clark’s shoulder. Mewing. Clark licked Lex’s face, and his knee too, since it was so close. He watched Bruce’s cock appear and disappear, and wondered if it hurt like his own. He raised Lex’s arms and kissed them, skin like silk. He ran his fingers across the sensitive armpits.

Lex arched, and slammed back against him. “Bruce!” he said, and then, “Clark.”

“Yeah,” said Clark. He reached for Lex’s cock, and pulled on it with his fingertips.

That did it. Lex climaxed, long and hard, and Clark smeared Lex’s come over his chest while he rubbed himself against Lex’s back, pushing himself to climax, feeling Bruce’s arms shake as Bruce came as well.

It was like flying.

They relaxed afterwards into a messy tangle. Lex groaned as he lowered his legs and arms and snuggled against Clark. Bruce, breathing heavily, lay on his back, idly stroking them both.

It was Lex who spoke first. “Not bad,” he said, “for a first try.” He ran a hand through Bruce’s hair, and smiled wickedly at Clark.

Clark kissed his shoulder and said, “We’re all sticky. We should wash.”

“Uh-huh,” said Bruce lazily. He found Clark’s hand, and kissed it. “You taste of Lex’s come.”

“Unsurprising,” said Lex, grinning.

“That wasn’t a complaint.”

“Understood,” said Lex. “In fact, I think he should taste that way all the time.”

“Okay,” said Clark eagerly. That earned him a kiss from Lex. “C’mon. Let’s wash. You can rest afterwards.”

“Clark never gets tired,” said Lex to Bruce.

“That could be considered a good thing.”

“Come on,” said Clark again. He got up, and pulled on Lex’s arm. Lex, grinning sleepily, didn’t move. Neither did Bruce. So Clark reached around Bruce, and picked him up bodily, swinging him in the air.

“Hey!” said Bruce, and Clark put him down.

“You’re up now.”

“Just how strong are you?” Bruce fingered Clark’s shoulder and arm curiously.

“Strong enough to lift you. I carry a lot of stuff on the farm.”

“What, bulls?”

“Doing what needs to be done.” Clark took Lex’s hand and tugged again, as Bruce went into the bathroom. Lex rose this time, and they went into the bathroom with their arms around each other. Bruce was already running the water in the shower stall. The bathroom was brass and black marble, with a green tiled floor.

“Wow,” said Clark.

Bruce raised his eyebrows.

“Clark is more used to barns,” explained Lex, teasing.

“Well, really, this isn’t exactly a bathroom,” said Clark. “It’s a European palace.”

As Bruce waved him on, he stepped into the shower stall. It was enclosed in wavy amber glass. Lex followed after him, fondling Clark as he went. Bruce stepped in after them both, standing back as Clark plunged himself under the water. It ran down his skin, and he felt both Lex and Bruce running their hands over his body. One of them had a sponge - it was Bruce; he trickled soapsuds over Clark’s chest, and followed their trail with his fingers.

Bruce dropped to one knee, and started tenderly washing between Clark’s legs, using his fingers to wash Clark’s cock, clearly fascinated by the foreskin. Clark let the water run over his face, relishing the feel.

“He’s hard again already,” said Bruce.

“It doesn’t take him long,” said Lex.

Clark pulled Lex under the stream of water, pressing his body close against him. He liked the way Lex felt when wet. He was slippery and slick all over. He kissed his mouth, feeling the warm water on their lips. He felt Bruce enclose them in his arms, and turned his head to kiss Bruce, too.

“Let me wash you,” said Clark. Bruce nodded. Clark turned him against the tiled wall and he leaned on his hands against it. Above him, stained glass showed a Grecian scene of soldiers - Lex probably understood it. There was a sword and a rope. The Gordian knot? What kind of person had a stained-glass Gordian knot above the shower in their bathroom?

One of Lex’s lovers. Who else?

Clark kissed Bruce’s back, and soaped up the sponge. He ran it along Bruce’s chest. He knelt to wash Bruce’s legs and feet. He reached up between his legs and caressed with wet and soapy fingers. Of the three of them, Bruce had the most body hair, but there was no excess flesh on him anywhere. He was all skin and muscle, like a well-exercised animal.

Clark turned him gently, and washed his cock, his belly, his shoulders. He ran the sponge over his neck and watched the suds cascade down his body.

“I want to fuck you, Bruce,” he said softly. He blushed. He’d never said that to anyone but Lex. A month ago, he’d never said it to anyone.

“Good,” said Bruce. “Later.” He stepped out of the shower stall. He tossed big, fluffy amber towels at each of them, and pushed a button. A warm breeze blew round them. “The air helps to dry the hairier bits,” said Bruce. “I don’t suppose you have that problem.”

Lex smirked. “No, but I like your hairier bits,” he said. “I’ll just borrow them and play with them.”

Clark grinned and toweled his hair. Bruce turned one of the air-spouts towards it and he felt it blow softly around his face. Clark was hard and getting harder: it probably came of watching Lex and Bruce, naked in the bathroom, their bodies a contrast in everything but sexiness.

Clark wandered back to the bedroom, and lay on his back on the bed, playing with his cock. Lex sat at the head of the bed, watching him. Bruce stretched out beside him on his chest and said, “Smallville. I’d heard strange things happen there. Obviously I hadn’t heard the half of it.”

“It’s an odd place,” agreed Lex.

“We don’t have stained glass in our bathrooms,” admitted Clark. He left his cock alone for a moment and reached for Lex, caressing the smooth skin.

“The strangest thing I ever heard of that happened in Smallville was that Lex Luthor fell in love with the boy who saved his life.” Clark blushed to think that Bruce believed Lex was in love with him. He hoped it was true. Bruce rested his chin on his hands, palms flat on the bed. “Are you real, Clark? What are you?”

“A student at Smallville High,” said Clark. He was used to hiding his discomfort at questions like this. He’d had this conversation a hundred times, with a hundred people who had noticed he was different and wondered why. The discomfort didn’t interfere with his arousal, maybe because Lex was touching him, and Bruce was watching with that energetic focus that was always present, however relaxed he might seem.

“I think you’re something different entirely,” said Bruce. “I don’t think you’re human. I think Lex invented you. Created you.”

“You think so?” asked Lex. He leaned over to nibble Clark’s shoulder. “You have a high opinion of my skills.” He casually put Clark’s hand back on his cock, and squeezed his fingers over it. Clark took a deep breath, relishing the wave of sensation.

“Look at him, Lex. There’s not a scar on him. Not a flaw. Not a pimple. I’ve studied human physiology, and I’ve never seen anything like him. We don’t even leave a mark when we bite him.” To illustrate his point, Bruce bit. Clark jumped. Bruce smiled. “See?”

“I notice a lot about Clark,” said Lex.

“And that unbelievable beauty. He can’t be mortal flesh.... You cooked him up on a slab, Lex. Your perfect lover. Your ideal man.”

“I’m not Rocky,” said Clark. Lex removed his hand from over Clark’s, and Clark fondled himself idly, watching Lex watch him. Watching Bruce watch them both.

“And Lex isn’t Frank-N-Furter? Are you sure? Are you from another planet, Lex?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” said Lex. “They’d want me to make a Clark for them, and I don’t think I could do it twice.”

Clark wanted to change the subject and his cock was starting to ache from the attention. He said, “Let me fuck you, Bruce.”

“He’s eager,” said Bruce. He rolled over and kissed Clark’s cock, then licked it, running his tongue around the head. “Lex, you are the luckiest devil on earth.” He sucked gently on Clark’s balls, then played over them with the tip of his tongue.

“I didn’t think so when you left me,” said Lex.

Bruce look up and shrugged. “I was in Poland.”

“What the hell were you doing in Poland?”

“I was with a circus.” He traced a finger along Clark’s cock, smearing the wet top. He licked his finger, and did it again.

“Doing what?” asked Clark. He had trouble picturing it. Bruce the patron of the arts, he could see. Bruce the young entrepreneur of Wayne Industries, he had heard about. Bruce the lover, he was getting to know. But Bruce Wayne, in a circus?

“A bit of this, a bit of that. I learned Russian and Polish. They called me the Crazy American.”

“As well they might,” said Lex. “You aren’t the sanest man I know.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He took Clark’s hand and began to play gently with it, stretching his fingers, running his fingertips along Clark’s fingertips. He sucked on the index finger. “How so?” His lips moved down to explore Clark’s belly again, nuzzling, nibbling.

“Remember the time I saw you sticking pins in your body?”

Bruce sat up, still playing with Clark’s hand, holding the palm close enough to his face to lick it. “I was studying acupuncture.”

“Bullshit. Acupuncture is supposed to cure pain. You were creating pain, Bruce. You were torturing yourself.”

Bruce sucked Clark’s thumb. “You can’t learn to control pain until you experience pain. It was useful.”

Lex shifted to run a hand down Bruce’s back. He rested it on his ass. “You were anorexic.”

“I eat better than you do. I know my nutritional needs, and they don’t include drugs and alcohol. Most people overeat.”

“Like Clark does,” said Lex, affectionately.

“So what do you do, Bruce?” asked Clark. “You’re in great shape.”

“Martial arts,” said Bruce.

Clark was interested. “Which ones?”

“All of them,” said Lex.

“All the ones I can find teachers for,” agreed Bruce. Clark laughed, and Bruce looked questioning. “A joke?”

“Yeah, sort of. I was just thinking how weird it is that the richest man I ever met ran away to join the circus.”

Bruce stared at him for a moment. His mouth curved in a genuine smile. “Life is full of ironies. Does the boy from Smallville High want to fuck the richest man he ever met now?”

“Yeah.” Clark’s eyes glittered. “Stand up.”

Without hesitating, Bruce stood up. His movements were smooth and fluid. Clark said, “Lean against the wall and spread your legs.”

He did.

“Wider,” said Clark. Bruce complied. He heard the rhythm of Lex’s breath change, but he didn’t look round. He reached for the lubricant and went to stand behind Bruce. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me,” said Bruce. His voice was low.

“And you want Lex to watch.”

“I want Lex to watch.”

“Are you watching, Lex?”

“Bring on the Nielsen ratings,” said Lex. “I’m watching.”

Clark poured the cool liquid into his palm and rubbed it on his cock. He felt as if he’d been hard forever. His hand, touching himself, felt like a stranger’s. He was dripping, mixing his own precum with the lube. “Maybe we should make Lex do more than watch,” he said.

“Lex likes watching,” said Bruce. His voice sounded tense. He turned his head to look at Clark, and Clark said, “Don’t look round. Face the wall.”

Bruce faced the wall, his head down.

“Fuck,” breathed Lex, in admiration.

“Maybe he can help me,” said Clark. “Will you help me, Lex?”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Don’t move. Wait.”

Bruce shifted his legs a little, spreading them wider. Clark said, “You too. Don’t move.”

Bruce stopped moving.

Clark put a hand on Bruce’s buttocks, fingers outspread. Squeezing just a little exposed his asshole even more, and Clark touched it with a thumb-tip. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes.”

He ran his thumb in circles, massaging the hole, lubricating and teasing Bruce. “Tell me what you want.”

“More. Your cock. Now.”

“Don’t touch yourself,” said Clark to Lex. “Don’t move. Not yet.” He pressed his thumb against Bruce’s body, which opened to him without resistence. Bruce made no sound at all. Clark moved his thumb, feeling his way. He pulled it out, poured more lube over his fingers, then put them in, making Bruce thoroughly wet.

Bruce was silent and immobile. Close as he was, Clark could hear his breathing: heavy, but not irregular. “You have a lot of self-control, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Bruce.

“Do you want to lose it?”

“Bozhemoi!” said Bruce. Clark wasn’t sure what that meant, but he took it for consent. He pressed his cock-tip into Bruce, and held it there. “Squeeze me,” he said, and felt the contraction of Bruce’s muscle. “Good. Now let go.”

Without waiting, he plunged further in. He thrust slowly, taking his time, letting Bruce feel it all. He changed his rhythm whenever he thought Bruce was getting too accustomed to the pressure. Again and again. He thought that Bruce would tell him if it was too much, or when it became so. In. Out. Lex was watching silently, but he was not as silent as Bruce: his breath was loud.

Clark put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, massaging. He liked the feel of the hard muscles under his fingers. Yes, Bruce worked out, for sure. It felt like his own shoulders must feel.

Clark said, “Are you with me, Bruce?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“More.”

“Lex? Come here.” He heard Lex’s bare feet on the floor behind him. He reached his arms around Bruce and rubbed his nipples. Pinched them between thumb and index finger. “Touch his cock,” he said “Hold it in your hands.”

Bruce was silent as Lex touched him, but Clark felt the intake of breath, the jump of nerves. Lex touched Bruce with only one hand, and used the other to find and rub one of Clark’s nipples. Clark closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation. “Touch his balls,” he said.

Lex did, pressing a little closer to Clark’s side. His lips explored Clark’s hairline.

In, out. Slow, hard. Fast, gentle.

“Don’t stop,” grunted Bruce.

Clark thrust.

He could feel Bruce quivering in his arms. He said to Lex, “Stop.”

Lex stepped back, away from them. Clark thrust again, and pulled out. Bruce’s body was oversensitized now, trembling, reacting to everything around them, even air currents. Bruce said, “Clark. . . .” His knees were buckling. Before he could fall, Clark lifted him around the waist and took him to the bed, dropping him face-down before pushing back into him. Lex kissed Clark’s mouth, then pulled Bruce’s head up and kissed him as well. Thoroughly.

Bruce’s eyes were closed. As Lex dropped his head he made a low, moaning sound, and Clark reached under Bruce’s body for his cock.

It was enough: Bruce climaxed then. Clark waited till he was through, then let himself go, finding the release within him and riding it like a bird on the wind.

Hardly knowing how he had fallen there, he found himself lying half across the bed, his head on the small of Bruce’s back, with Lex stroking his hair. Clark said, “Bruce?”

“Mmm?”

“Was that okay?”

“Supernova. I have to sleep.”

“That’s okay,” said Clark. He pulled himself more comfortably into the bed, and cuddled between Lex and Bruce. Lex whispered into his ear, “Bruce must trust you. He never sleeps with other people.”

Clark nodded, ready to sleep himself. Why wouldn’t Bruce trust him? He liked the feel of Lex’s bare head against his chest. He ran his fingers along Lex’s cheek and whispered, “Lex.”

“Shh,” said Lex. “Sleep. Bruce is already asleep.”

Clark slept.

He woke a while later, feeling Bruce move against him. Bruce whispered in his ear, “Clark. Let me have you now.”

A shiver of pleasure and excitement ran through him. “Yeah,” he whispered back. Lex was dozing beside them. Bruce’s hands soothed and lubricated him, and the penetration was careful, gentle; not exciting, as it always had been with Lex, but comfortable as if he and Bruce had been together for years, though they had never done this before. Clark did not climax, and barely got hard, but something was happened within him: a spreading pleasure that was like the waves of the sea. Not explosive, but consuming.

Bruce climaxed with a voiceless groan.

They held each other when it was over. Bruce said softly, “He loves you. Don’t hurt him like I did.”

“I won’t,” said Clark. He didn’t ask Bruce to explain. He tried to sound confident. He hoped he could keep the promise.

When Clark woke again, he was lying loosely in Lex’s arms with Lex’s gentle snore in his ear. It was dawn. The room was comfortable and quiet. Clark yawned, and pulled Lex a little closer. Lex was still soft and pliant, the way he sometimes was after a good night, not at all the hard man of the LuthorCorp boardrooms.

When Lex woke he moved slowly, stretching his neck to lick Clark’s ear. “Good morning. You look satisfied. A person might think you enjoyed yourself last night.”

“You could say so,” said Clark. They smiled at each other. It was good to be together. He remembered what Lex had said, about how nothing could make them feel different about each other. Destiny, Lex called it. Clark wasn’t sure he believed in destiny, but he believed in love.

They lay, touching without moving. Lex stretched like a cat, sinewy and graceful. The room was quiet except for their breathing and the occasional rustle of the bedding when one of them shifted. After a while Lex got up and went to the bathroom. Clark could hear him rummaging. He got up himself, and wandered in to use the facilities. Lex was brushing his teeth with Bruce’s toothbrush. The stained glass changed the color of the room with the time of day, filling it now with morning light.

“Where do you think Bruce is?”

“He’s always up early.” Lex wandered back to the bedroom. “I think I can guess where he is. It would be more fun to show you than to tell you.”

“Show me, then,” said Clark.

Lex went to the mahogany dresser. He rummaged in the second drawer. “We don’t really need to get dressed but - ah! Here. Put this on.” He tossed Clark something made of blue Lycra: bicycle shorts. The pair he was pulling on was black.

Clark watched Lex appreciatively, then dressed in the shorts. He followed Lex into the hallway, feeling surreptitious. It was like being out of bounds in school. They walked in silence down the hall, down a flight of stairs, along another corridor, around a corner, down again. This time the stairway was uncarved, painted wood, not carved gleaming mahogany. “Didn’t they ever put elevators in this place?” He felt the need to whisper.

“No one bothered,” said Lex. “They probably won’t, till Alfred gets too old for stairs. Ah, here we are.” He had stopped at a closed, arched door, plain oak but larger than the others they had passed. Clark had the sudden wild notion that it must be a chapel, but glancing through the wood of the door in the second before Lex pushed it open, he realized it wasn’t so.

He stepped through after Lex, and Lex closed the door after them.

It was a gym. It was the strangest gym Clark had ever seen. Maybe it had been a ballroom once, or a huge chapel; now it was transformed into an exercise room of unnerving proportions. Arched windows lined one wall, tinted in amber, yellow and tangerine, inset with the Wayne monogram. The room was filled with early sunlight and the warm color of the glass.

In the light over their heads, it was Bruce who caught and held Clark’s attention. He and Lex sat on the floor against the wall by the door, watching.

Clark had concluded last night that Bruce must have an exercise program, and put a lot of effort into it: no one who wasn’t from Krypton had a body like that without a lot of hard work. Bruce had said something about martial arts.

What they were watching wasn’t martial arts.

There were ropes hanging from the ceiling at irregular intervals. There was a trapeze, and ledges, and odd projections from the walls that Clark could only categorize as perches. Bruce swung from one to the other, sometimes somersaulting in mid-air between them. Twisting, always in motion, sometimes changing direction in mid-swing by some unthinkable feat of balance and trajectory.

“Wow!” said Clark, in a low voice.

“Just watch him,” said Lex.

Bruce had obviously seen them as soon as they came in. Their presence didn’t stop him. He landed, squatting, on a small square of wood many feet over their head. He paused for a moment, then jumped. Clark gasped as Bruce twisted and soared the width of the room, landing on his feet on a horizontal pole that jutted from the wall on the other side. Then he was swinging from his hands on the pole, hopping back up on it on his bare feet, swinging down again without letting go. He was dressed in lycra shorts, as they were. His were grey.

It was like watching a ballet in the air.

Bruce jumped through the air again and twisted from a handhold in the ceiling, landing on a window ledge. It was like seeing a man fly. When Bruce did it, flying looked easy.

Lex said softly, “Could you do that, Clark?”

“I don’t know,” said Clark. “I’d like to try.”

“So do it. Join him.”

Temptation filled Clark, almost as intense as the lust in the box at the theater. He could do it. He knew he could. But. . . .

“Would he mind?”

Lex snorted. “Mind? After last night he’d give you the universe if you wanted it. Go ahead.”

Clark took a deep breath. It was against all his training: don’t let anyone know, don’t reveal yourself, don’t put your secret at risk. Lex would be watching. So would Bruce.

But Bruce, in some way he couldn’t define, was like him. And Bruce was revealing his own secrets, there in the air above them.

Clark jumped to the first rope, and used it to swing up to a loop ten feet higher. He was almost level with Bruce now, who watched him come up, his eyes dark and intense. Clark grinned, and launched. He managed a somersault in imitation of Bruce, and landed on the other side of the room, on a platform small enough for a hawk. He jumped again, passed Bruce in the air.

Bruce was not obviously watching him, but was aware of his position. Uncannily, it became a kind of duet, their bodies in motion like mirrors of each other, back and forth, sometimes crossing in the air, sometimes side by side. It was like being free.

It was like flying.

Below them, Lex watched.

Swooping, swinging, swirling, Clark grinned with the joy of being alive. He landed on a perch a few feet away from Bruce, who spoke for the first time from his handhold. “Want some breakfast?”

“Yeah,” said Clark, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

They jumped lightly together to the floor. Clark landed on his feet. Bruce landed squatting, one hand on the floor, the other hand braced for balance or defense. “You’re good,” Clark said.

“So are you,” said Bruce, without smiling.

“You knew that last night,” said Lex, yawning. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” agreed Bruce. “I had Alfred put your clothes in the main guest room - you remember it, Lex?”

“I remember sneaking from there to your bedroom a few times,” said Lex.

Bruce gave him a look of fond exasperation, and touched his cheek. “Do you ever think of anything besides sex?”

“When you and Clark are around, why should I?”

There was a hint of challenge between them. Bruce turned and disappeared quickly through the door. Clark had thought he was the only one who could disappear so quickly in the middle of a conversation.

He and Lex walked, with normal speed, to the main guest room. It was as large and elegant as Bruce’s bedroom, but seemed more impersonal even in its hospitable touches: the magazines laid on the coffee table, the horsy landscapes on the walls. There had been something about the precision of Bruce’s bedroom that reflected the man himself. Clark tried to express this to Lex, stumbling a little over the words, and Lex said acidly, “You mean, it shows how anal he is?”

The tone made Clark tilt his head. “Are you mad at him?”

“Not really. It’s just that. . . . I hoped it might be different this time. I don’t want to leave and we have to.”

“You can see him again.”

“You think so? The three years apart weren’t my idea, Clark.” Lex smiled ruefully, and pulled Clark to him, kissing him. “It doesn’t matter. I have you, now.”

“And I get to have breakfast.”

That succeeded in making Lex smile. “Two men with one-track minds.”

“Only sometimes we share tracks,” said Clark.

Dressed casually for the drive home - jeans and T-shirt for Clark, lavender pullover and dark slacks for Lex - they went to the Wayne Manor dining hall. Breakfast was set for three at the end of the table, and Bruce was already there, eating. As Clark and Lex sat, Alfred appeared with a tray. For Lex, there was coffee, orange juice, and a bagel with cream cheese. For Clark, there were blueberry pancakes with syrup, fruit salad, a cinnamon bun, bacon, and scrambled eggs with ketchup. “Thank you, Alfred,” said Clark politely, munching. “This is delicious. It’s as good as my mother’s breakfasts.”

“Thank you, Master Clark. You are too kind.”

Bruce’s breakfast looked like cold noodles with something clear and gelatinous on top. “What’s Bruce eating?”

“A specialty of his own,” said Alfred. There might have been a hint of the long-suffering in his tone.

Bruce’s reply sounded as if it were in Japanese, articulated through a mouthful of unpronounceable substance.

“There is no translation for it,” explained Alfred. “Master Bruce wrote the recipe out for me in English and I do my best with fresh local ingredients. More juice, Master Clark?”

“Sure,” said Clark. “It’s fresh, isn’t it?”

“Organic,” said Bruce. His contribution to the conversation. He seemed lost in thought.

“If that’s sufficient, I’ll leave you, then,” said Alfred. He left, with his trays, back to the kitchens.

“I’ll hire him if you’ll let him go,” said Lex.

“Never,” said Bruce. It was obviously another old conversation, this time conducted without warmth. It wasn’t just the plate of noodles in goo making Bruce silent. Lex, sipping his coffee and ignoring his bagel, was glaring at Bruce. Bruce was refusing to meet his eye.

“Do you work out like that every morning?” asked Clark.

“Yes.” Bruce looked at him briefly. “With variations.”

Clark’s pancakes were finished by the time the silence bothered him. His parents were never this quiet over breakfast unless they’d had a fight. He and Lex and Bruce had been close last night, and even though Bruce was pretty intense and serious, he’d warmed up enough to smile. He’d been happy when they fell asleep. So what was wrong now?

Something.

Lex looked downright grumpy. Clark chewed a piece of bacon, swallowed it, and said, “Bruce?”

“Yes?” Bruce looked at him, his eyes clear and dark and courteous.

Clark said quickly, before he could let Bruce intimidate him with distance: “Can we come and visit you again? I mean, can we visit you again and come?”

Lex choked on his coffee, and laughed out loud. “Clark. Warn me when you’re going to say that sort of thing!”

Clark grinned at him. “Gotcha.” He looked at Bruce, who hadn’t answered. Bruce was looking at his plate, and not smiling. He had stopped eating.

“He’s trying to think of a polite way to say we can’t come back,” said Lex. “He doesn’t want to see us again.”

“Why not?” Clark stared at Bruce, hoping to make him look at them. Bruce didn’t seem embarrassed or even evasive; just pensive. “I thought we - I thought you -”

Bruce looked up sharply. “I enjoyed last night very much, Clark. Never think I didn’t. But I have to go away again.”

“Where this time?” asked Lex. His tone was neutral, but subtly implied disbelief.

“The Far East.”

“I told you,” said Lex to Clark. “He’s trading us in for sushi. Don’t expect too much of Bruce. He wants you one day, disappears the next and you won’t see him for three years - if ever. Desire doesn’t fit into his schedule. His mysterious life leaves no room for lovers. Isn’t that right, Bruce?”

“Perhaps,” said Bruce. He met Lex’s angry gaze. “Yes. Exactly right.”

Lex’s lips thinned. “Bruce doesn’t do repeat performances.”

“But you liked it with us,” insisted Clark. “Didn’t you?”

Bruce nodded, determinedly neutral. “Very much. I will remember it for a long time. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“When Bruce dumps you, he does it politely.” Lex was getting closer to snarling. “He liked it all right, Clark. Hell. He loved it. That’s what he hates - he can’t stand anything that makes him feel good. Or anything that reminds him that he’s only human.”

Bruce said nothing, so Clark pushed the issue. “Bruce? Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “What?” He was reacting to the conversation with an icy calm that shut them out entirely. Clark was beginning to consider separating Lex and Bruce before tempers erupted further. He didn’t know Bruce’s boiling point, but Lex was simmering in angry disappointment. Lex hated to have anything he wanted taken away from him.

“What is that you’re drinking? It doesn’t look like coffee.”

Bruce looked in surprise at his porcelain teacup. “No. It’s Malaysian tea. Ginseng, herbs, things like that.”

“He never does drugs,” said Lex idly. “No, never, not our Bruce. But you won’t find the things he eats in Kansas.”

“Sure you can. There’s ginseng tea at the Talon,” said Clark. “Lana stocks it. I think it’s from Korea. Nobody ever orders it, though.”

Bruce had finished his breakfast, and so had Clark. Lex had barely touched his bagel but was on his second cup of coffee. “If you’re finished,” he said to Clark, “it’s time to go.”

It was. Alfred had taken their bags to the Porsche, along with a boxed lunch for Clark labeled “A snack for the road” in neat copperplate handwriting. Bruce saw them to the door. Alfred tactfully did not reappear.

Bruce said bleakly to Lex, “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Lex. Their fingers touched, briefly. Lex turned back to the car.

Bruce turned to Clark. “Good-bye,” he said.

Clark wasn’t ready to leave with a brief touch of hands. He pulled Bruce into his arms and hugged him tightly. He kissed his mouth, meeting resistance at first. Then Bruce melted. His mouth opened and for a moment it was like it had been last night.

Then Bruce drew back, and Clark let him go. In his eyes Clark saw something so deep he couldn’t imagine such a level of pain. Ryan had said there was a darkness within Lex, and Clark believed it. The darkness in Lex was a deep, forbidden cavern with many passageways.

The darkness inside Bruce was a black hole.

He wanted to say something that might reach into that void, or offer help, or let Bruce know he’d be there if Bruce needed him. He couldn’t think of the words to say any of that and he thought maybe Bruce knew it anyway. To offer any sort of tie was cruel, when Bruce so needed to be free. So he just said, “Take care.”

“You too,” said Bruce, his voice deep.

Then Clark jumped into the car and they were off.

For the first while, Lex and Clark didn’t speak. They were out of the city and driving fast in the bright sunlit countryside when Lex said, “I’m sorry, Clark. I got angry. I hate the way he’s all over us one minute, then Iceman the next.”

“I know,” said Clark. “You want to keep him, and you can’t have him.”

Lex shrugged. “He’s damaged.”

“So? We all are. You know what I think?”

“Seldom. Surprise me.”

“I think you’re right - Bruce is extraordinary. And his disappearing act is part of what makes him remarkable, it’s the way he lives his life. You don’t understand it, and you want to, because it drives you crazy when you can’t figure things out. Sometimes you just can’t. If Bruce was ordinary - if he had no secrets - if he was like everybody else, then you wouldn’t even want him.”

Lex pursed his lips. “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

Clark grinned. He leaned back in the car and relaxed. Lex turned up the music on his stereo. They traveled, listening to the music, enjoying the speed. Clark thought about last night. He wondered about Bruce Wayne’s strange life, and thought about that perfectly trained body, and how it had felt inside and out. “Lex?” he said.

“Uh-huh?”

“When we get to Smallville, can we go to your place first, and have sex?” After that, he would have to go home and tell his parents the edited story of the visit to Gotham, and do chores, and homework, and go to bed to be ready for school early tomorrow morning. Boring. He didn’t want the weekend to end. When would he see Lex again? Lunchtime tomorrow, maybe, if he made it really quick. Yeah, lunchtime. After all, it was their anniversary.

“I can arrange that.”

To see him at lunchtime might be to risk revealing further secrets, but it would be worth it. He thought about what they could do. Lunchtime started to seem like a very short period of time.

After a few more miles, he said, “Lex?”

“What?’

“Can we have sex before we get to Smallville?”

Lex smiled, already looking for the next turn off the highway. “I can arrange that, too.”