FIC: Smallville - Pharaoh

[fajrdrako_fic]

Title: Pharaoh
Author: fajrdrako
Fandom: Smallville
Genre: Slash, AU
Characters: Clark/Lex, references to Lex/Lionel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims, all property of Warner and DC.
Notes: AU. This was a response to a historical slash challenge. With thanks to my wonderful beta readers, acampbell, blackbyrde, walkingowl, and gem225, whose assistance was greatly appreciated. Originally posted at The Smallville Slash Archive.


Pharaoh

"Lex!" Julian leaped up from the throne as his older brother entered the Golden Hall of the Pharaoh. "What's happening?"

The room was full of soldiers Lex didn't recognize, standing silently by the walls. Not Julian's men, not his own, not their father's. Whose, then?

"I don't know," said Lex. He mounted the dais to come into the Pharaoh's presence, where the marbled floor changed from silver-grey to black. He smiled reassuringly at his little brother, the living embodiment of Amun-Ra on the terrestrial plane, Lord of the Two Lands, and Pharaoh above Kings.

"These men won't obey me. They won't leave." Julian's usual confidence was shaken. At twelve years old, he had been Pharaoh for five years and was accustomed to obedience from strangers. He fingered his scepter, looking warily at the soldiers who were still entering his audience chamber and standing silent in formal posture. They were heavily armed. "Who are they?"

Wondering the same thing, Lex swallowed. He turned to the line of stony-faced men. "You! Who are you? Who sent you?" he demanded, but they ignored him.

No one dared to ignore him: He was Lord of the Temple, High Priest of Amun-Ra, brother of the boy-king. He put a hand on Julian's shoulder and said, "I don't like this." The bare shoulder of the boy was cold, just short of gooseflesh. Lex gave him a comforting squeeze.

Then soldiers pulled open the great doors of the Golden Hall of the Pharaoh, and Lucas walked majestically through the doorway like a prince. Soldiers bowed at his passing. Lex at least knew now who was behind this. Lucas, their half-brother: son of Lionel and a dancing-girl who had gone mad.

Lucas looked Lex over from toe to head, with familiar arrogance. Lucas never did know anything about discretion. His voice was ironic as he said, "What a happy family gathering. Is father here yet?"

"This is your doing?" Lex nodded towards the intruders. He meant the whole situation: the summons he had received in the Pharaoh's name, the lack of deference shown in the god-king's presence. These men should be prostrate before their overlord, not standing like bold statues in his audience chamber. Armed, wearing breastplates, they should not be in the royal compound at all.

"I thought we needed to meet and talk. Father will be here in a moment."

Julian said, "Lucas. You forget yourself." He stood, holding his favourite cat, Bright Star, in his arms. The cat hissed.

Though in private informality was allowed to even a bastard brother, they were not alone. Having come unbidden Lucas should be on his knees, nose to the ground, from which position Julian would raise him, as he always did, treating him graciously as blood of the Royal House. That would be a sign of Julian's courtesy to a blood-relative, for Lucas' mother had been a slave.

This would not have been a problem, had Lucas not shown the temperament of a barbarian.

Julian was too young to use words to intimidate, as Lionel could do so well. As Lex was learning to do.

"Perhaps." Lucas spoke casually, as if Julian didn't matter. He was dressed in battle-armor, an apron of plate gold hanging over his kilt. His necklace was of gold and black, and on his forearms were tooled leather casings, as if he were about to duel.

Lex realized suddenly that Lucas was dressed in militaristic parody of Lex's garments. On the leather armor on his arms was an echo of the golden insignia of holy Ma'at, justice and order, which Lex wore on his upper arms. His black and gold beads echoed Lex's symbols of the realm, in chalcedony and faience. Lex had no knife, but the belt inscribed with the sun-symbols of the Temple of Amun hung across his kilt like the soldier's apron which Lucas wore. The kohl about Lucas' eyes was like that Lex wore. The great difference between them was that Lucas wore his own hair, cut short and unstyled. Lex had no hair and wore no wig.

"Speak to him," said Julian to Lex. "He's your lover. He'll listen to you." Lex knew the boy was trying to hide nervousness with anger. Bright Star lept out of his arms and sat by the gold lion's foot of the boy's throne, twitching his black tail.

Lex flinched internally, not letting his discomfort show. Yes, Lucas was his lover, but the relationship between them wasn't what it had been: too many fights, too many resented victories and regretted losses. Lex was unsure of his influence over Lucas even on the best of days. Lucas had never been a sweet-tempered lover. That had kept the spark alive between then: Lucas was unpredictable and full of surprises, love and hate, passion and defiance. He had a wild streak, perhaps even a cruel streak, that had fascinated Lex and later repelled him, but had never quelled the lust.

Lex had not seen Lucas for more than a week now. They had fought. When Lucas had not returned to his bed, he suspected their sexual relationship was over. He felt as much relief as regret.

But Lucas walked up to him, coming boldly onto the dais, and wrapped a leather-plated arm around Lex's neck. He kissed his mouth, roughly. "Are you glad to see me, brother?" His lips were hard and his tongue was hot. Lex felt vaguely sickened by the memories of his own arousal on other occasions, when Lucas' touch alone filled him with immediate lust.

"Always," said Lex, resisting his own fear. Fear was a mark of weakness and he must not weaken. The kiss was a mark of possession and control, not of affection. Lex was unarmed, as was proper in the Golden Hall. Only the Pharaoh's soldiers could carry arms in the palace complex, and Julian's brothers were no exceptions to this rule. The men surrounding them here were not the Pharaoh's soldiers. Had his guardsmen been sent away, or somehow killed? Julian's hand-picked bodyguards, chosen by their father Lionel, were nowhere to be seen.

Julian's cat jumped off his dais, and ran to the door. A soldier tried to skewer it with his sword, but the agile animal slipped between his feet. He stabbed again. "Bright Star! No!" shouted Julian, taking a step towards the edge of the dais, but no one listened to him. A second soldier missed the cat. The third swung his sword to behead it, but Bright Star turned on him, scratching the soldier's arm viciously, escaping through the door half-opened door.

Julian sat straight-backed on his throne, ashen. He was not trembling, but his knuckles were white as he pressed his palms to the sides.

The double doors crashed open as Lionel came into the hall. He had not waited for the slaves to open the doors, but thrust them open himself with both arms, as if sweeping aside all obstacles. He looked angry, striding across the room. His manner indicated that the armed men and the smell of danger were irrelevant. Lex knew he had noticed every detail and assessed the situation with the first glance. Lionel would recognize any of these men if he saw them again.

Julian looked from Lionel to Lucas, his eyes bright with relief. Lex knew he believed that Lionel always knew what to do. Lex had believed that himself once.

"Ah, here he is himself," said Lucas. He smiled dangerously at Lex, and let his arm fall possessively around Lex's shoulders, patting his bicep in something like ownership. Lex kept a hand lightly on Julian's shoulder, and squeezed it, a gentle warning to Julian to be quiet until they knew what to do.

The coup was happening and Lex could think of no way to prevent it.

Lionel strode to the edge of the royal dais. Pillar of the kingdom, Lionel stared at his three sons: Lucas, in arms; Julian, on his throne; Lex standing between them. Lucas touching Lex, Lex touching Julian as if parodying the brotherly connections.

"What is this about?" Lionel snapped.

Julian started to answer, but Lucas overrode him by sheer vocal power. "It's the end for you, old man, and for your hand-made Pharaoh."

Lionel ignored him. "Lex? Explain!"

"Lucas' soldiers. Lucas' show." Lex shrugged. "He called us all here. He's about to explain."

Lucas' voice dripped with hostility as he addressed Lionel. "What I am telling you is that you have a choice to make. To be with me or not. Which will it be? The pup or the wolf?"

"Has he gone mad?" Lionel still spoke to Lex alone.

"Clearly," said Lex.

Julian sat very still. Lex knew he was fuming, underneath the terror. Lex was frightened himself, but anger was overcoming the fear.

Lucas shouted, "Support me or die!"

At last acknowledging Lucas, Lionel said calmly, "You're overwrought, Lucas. Too much sun, perhaps? I've told you about the dangers of showing your temper. This is a weakness. I'm willing to discuss this with you, but not with your armed thugs breathing down my neck."

"Discuss it with me? Why, when you've never discussed anything before?" Lucas released Lex, and paced around the throne in an arc that brought him closer and face to face with Lionel. "You don't care about me. You're only talking to me now because I have a knife and soldiers and I'm threatening your precious little god-boy. You've never done anything but use me. Your oldest son is a wastrel." Lucas looked down at the knife in his hand. "The youngest is a brat pretending to be a god. What about the second son?"

"There is no second son." Lionel was tolerantly amused. "Only a bastard who never appreciated what he was given."

"So. Take an ultimatum, father." He tossed his knife in the air, and caught it, expertly, by the hilt. "Kill Julian, make me king, and you'll be my right hand. Oppose me, and you die. You have a count of three. One."

Lionel moved fast, leaping to wrest the knife from Lucas' grasp. Lucas moved faster, plunging the knife into Lionel's chest.

"Two," said Lucas bitterly, pulling out the dripping knife. "You could at least have waited until 'three'."

Lionel ignored Lucas entirely and looked at Lex. "Son," he said, his voice thin. He fell to his knees.

"Father!" shouted Julian, leaping to his feet. Lex tightened his hand on Julian's shoulder. He couldn't let Julian get himself killed. They might still survive, if Lucas was given no reason to attack. Lex swallowed his anger, made his face impassive.

Lionel fell awkwardly onto the floor, face-forward. Lex sickened with horror, his face as blank as he could make it. He knew he was as pale as Julian was. Lucas wiped the knife-hilt on Lionel's white tunic, and turned to Lex and Julian. Julian took a step backwards, stepping behind this throne as if it could present a barrier between him and his bloodlusting brother. Isis' carved wings spread along the gilt arms, symbols of love and protection.

Lucas was not looking at the young Pharaoh. He said, "You have the same choice, Lex, but it's easier for you, isn't it? You love me. Lionel never did. You will be my right hand. We will rule Egypt together."

Lex sought a neutral phrase. If he could make Lucas calm enough to put away his knife, there would still be hope for Julian. If he could negotiate.... But what, now, did he have to barter with that Lucas would value?

"Lex?"

Lex crossed his arms, pursing his lips in thought. "What terms are you offering? 'Right hand' is a vague expression when spoken to a left-handed man. Will we divide Egypt between us? Upper Egypt for me, Lower Egypt for you?"

"Lex, no!" cried Julian. He was backing away now, his face white with fear, staring in horror at one brother and then the other. Lex knew he feared either might turn on him and kill. Could Julian believe Lex might hurt him? Had he so little trust? How could Lex reassure him without warning Lucas?

Lucas shrugged, ignoring Julian, keeping his focus on Les. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? But I'm not risking everything to share my kingdom. No. I will be Pharaoh. You will be my chosen one - my brother, lover, consort, advisor." A finger still red with his father's blood touched Lex's chin, tilting it up. Lex could smell it. He tried not to shudder. "Lex! We will be magnificent together."

Lex bit his lip, pretending to consider the offer. "You get all the profit, I get all the work?"

"You liked that arrangement with Julian. Think of the perks, brother! You would share my bed and my lovers."

"Going from royal Prince to bed-slave in one day? I don't think so. Sweeten the pot. Offer me infinite wealth and power at the very least. Why should I accept such puny terms as these?"

"In order to live!" Lucas laughed again, as if he were enjoying this. Perhaps he was. "I will shower you in gold, if that is what you wish. I will keep a thousand slaves at your call, and yours alone. I will give you armies: you can take the world for me."

Julian was looking around wildly, as if to find a way to run past the guardsmen. There was no way, of course. Lex feared that in another moment he was going to bolt, and run on a soldier's spear. Lex was sure that would suit Lucas just fine.

Lex could not bear the look in Julian's terrified eyes. Julian believed Lex was betraying him. Lex's heart felt wrenched from his body. He dropped his eyes, to hide his fury. To hide how much he wanted to kill Lucas.

He could still dissemble with a mask of calm. Lex put his hand gently on Lucas' wrist and pushed his blade down. "No," he said, his voice pitched to carry, but friendly, intimate. "Julian is my Pharaoh, my brother, my god, my king, and my friend. I owe him my allegiance forever, in life and death. You are nothing but the fool who murdered my father."

Lucas lunged with his knife, but Lex, expecting this, had already dropped and tackled him by the knees, twisting the wrist he held. The knife fell, clattering on the marble floor. Lex leaped up to protect Julian - they had no chance now, no chance at all, but they could die together and with honour, as Lionel had. And Julian would know he had served him loyally until the end.

There were guardsmen all around them, but Julian came into Lex's arms as if he truly thought Lex could protect him even now. "Lex," he said softly. "My brother."

"My king," said Lex, with love and regret, and fell under the blow which struck his head from behind. Soldiers grabbed his arms as he fought dizziness, feeling himself falling. He tried to recover his balance and failed. He fought a few off by kicking, but they immobilized him in seconds: six to one. He took a certain satisfaction at the odds.

The others had Julian, the light of the gods on earth, the living embodiment of Egypt. Lucas cut his throat as expertly as the priests might slaughter a calf as temple sacrifice.

Julian made no sound at all as he fell. It was Lucas who cried out in triumph, raising his bloody fist over his head, and it was Lex who cried out in despair as the last blow descended and he felt nothing more.

Underwater. Lex was underwater, and the afterlife was in the depth of the river.

He was dead, and he was analyzing the situation out of habit. Dark, murky water, deep, judging by the weight. There was a strong arm around him, holding him, pulling him through the water. Was this the river that separated life from death? Was this the god Amun-Ra, who had been his guardian in life, holding him now and taking him to whatever was to come?

He had thought, as he saw Julian die, that all his gods had abandoned him.

The touch of warm flesh against his body felt mortal. It was male flesh, strongly muscled. Lex had the sense that he had been flying, but he couldn't pin down the memory of his death. If he were dead, he would not need breath; he would not be afraid. But he was still alive, or alive again, and he couldn't breathe. He needed to breathe. He fought for life, consciousness, and there was nothing but water.

Suddenly there was air. They were at the surface of the water, with sky and air above. His companion was holding him up so that he could take a breath. He tried and failed to pull air into his aching lungs. He tried again. He coughed and choked and managed to gasp. For a moment, he was held in supportive arms as he struggled to breathe.

Holding him lightly on the surface, his companion swam with him. Lex's head bobbed against a muscular shoulder that held it out of the water. He could not see the man who was saving him, but he could feel the naked body against his, warm skin in cold water. Lex was trembling and numb. He couldn't move in the weight of the water. He tried to move his arms, and could not. A stabbing pain up his arms made him realize that his wrists were tied. It must be the same with his immobile ankles and feet.

He was laid gently on land. An arm supported him while quick, strong fingers snapped the ropes around his hands and feet. He groaned, falling forward, coughing up water. His lungs burned. His savior held him, speaking comforting words in a language he could not recognize.

The shaking stopped. He pulled back and tried to speak. Failed.

"I think you'll live," said the young man, with satisfaction, in perfectly clear Egyptian. He spoke with the pleasant, light tones of those who dwelt near the Nile delta in the lands far north of the Royal Palace.

Impressions: not of death and drowning, but of flight and light. Lex had been very near the gods, close enough to touch their hands. Close enough. . . .

Had he just been rescued from death by a god?

A man might think so. Lex looked at this young man of spectacular beauty. Wet hair streaked over a concerned and triumphant face. He was naked except for a loin-cloth.

Lex wasn't even wearing that much. Lucas' men had stripped him entirely.

He found his voice. "What happened?"

"I saw them toss you out of the barge," said the young god. He blinked the drops away from his eyelashes. Lex felt an odd impulse to wipe the water from that cheek, but his arms were too slow and heavy to move them. In the light of early morning, the skin of the fair-skinned boy gleamed like alabaster.

"Barge," Lex repeated. He remembered no barge.

"They threw you overboard, with tied hands and feet. They were trying to murder you, I thought. So I swam out to get you, to save you if I could. I thought you might be alive still."

Lex remembered no barge, but he remembered the death of his father, followed so closely by the death of his brother, the whole grisly scene in the throne room. Father dead; Julian, dead; Lucas alive. Was it a matter for shame, that Lex lived on while Lionel and Julian died? Or was it the choice of the gods, that one of the line should survive? If so, for what purpose - for revenge, or recovery of the throne, or a new fate altogether?

Being alive gave him the chance to kill Lucas, the usurper. He would take that opportunity.

Lex cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

"My name is Clark. Yours?"

He did not explain that he was Lex Luthor, High Priest of Amun-Ra, Lord of the First Temple, and brother of a god on earth. The boy-king was dead, murdered by a demon. Lex thought of the beautiful god Osiris torn to pieces by his brother Set, and how Osiris had been reborn in the loyalty of his mother and lover Isis.

If Osiris could live again to create justice out of chaos, so could Lex.

Lex did not say that he had titles enough to fill a wall of hieroglyphs in the Royal Tombs, for he held them no longer. They had perished with Julian. He had nothing. His jewels had been stripped from him with his clothes. The water of the Nile had washed away his expensive perfume and his make-up. The Lex he had been had been created by Lionel, and that Lex was gone. From this point, he was nothing but what he made himself.

So he would remake himself as the man who would avenge Julian's death, and Lionel's, and drive Lucas from the throne. He did not need riches or power to do this; or if he did, he would regain them. He still had his wits, and the teachings of Lionel. He would become what he had to be.

He just said, "Lex. I am Lex." The simple syllable gave him a sense of freedom. Released from his identity, he could accomplish anything. He was, at least for the moment, safe from Lucas and his soldiers.

"Who wanted to kill you?" asked Clark.

"You know the old stories. Who is it, always? It was my brother."

"Cain and Abel," said Clark. It was a reference Lex didn't recognize.

"Osiris and Set," said Lex.

Clark grinned. It was an infectious grin that warmed Lex more than the rising sun. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think they'll come back after you again. They think you are dead."

In his old life Lex had wielded immeasurable power. Slaves and free men alike ran to fulfill his every request. The highest nobles tried to curry favour by offering him pleasures, bribes, art, sex, anything he might wish. He was accustomed to demanding what was his due. He was not accustomed to asking humbly for things.

And yet, he could be nothing but a supplicant here, to this youth who had saved his life. When he got his power back, and his wealth, and his justice, he would shower this Clark with treasures beyond imagining, reversing the shame of being a beggar with nothing to bargain.

He could do nothing now but ask, "Can you give me shelter? I have nowhere to go now."

"Of course," said Clark. "I can carry you back to the farm. How do you feel?"

"Stronger." Some remnant of pride made Lex try to stand on his own. He wanted to touch the beautiful youth, touch him and never let go, but he stood upright and said, "I will manage."

Clark picked up two large pots of water, strung on a pole over his shoulders for balance. No doubt they were the reason he had come to the river. Lex noticed how strong he must be, to carry them so casually. He would never have believed a single man could lift just one of them. But then, Clark had been strong enough to swim out into the river, across the current, and strong enough to bring Lex back to shore.

They walked along the path which led from the water's edge to a road, and up the road to a farm. Clark walked slowly, matching Lex's slow pace on the incline. Lex tried to compute how long he had been unconscious, and failed. He had a strong constitution. Lucas' men probably thought he had been dead from the moment they struck that blow from behind in the throne room. They would never suspect he had survived.

That gave him power, of a sort. The power of surprise.

"Why are you hairless?" asked Clark. "I know it's the fashion to shave the head, but you're, uh...."

"Hairless everywhere?" Lex was charmed by the innocence of the question. "I was chosen by the gods, and this is their mark. I have eyebrows. I don't wear a wig because I want people to see the sign of the gods when they look at me. I think I had a pubic hair once. It fell out."

Clark looked at him skeptically. "How'd that happen?"

"Overuse."

Clark laughed again. Lex liked making him laugh. He began to wonder how he could do that again. He must be lightheaded from the experience of almost drowning, for his reaction to Clark was stronger than gratitude; more than lust; something like affection, though he hardly knew the boy. Perhaps it was no more than desire, amplified by relief, exaggerated by the beauty of his smile.

The return of sensuality was like the return of his hunger, a welcoming back to life. His appetites were returning.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Lex.

"To my parents' farm. Their names are Jonathan and Martha. We live alone there."

"No brothers and sisters?"

"No. Just us and the livestock."

"Lucky you," said Lex dryly. "No brother to plot your death."

Clark grimaced. "How could he have hated you so much?"

"That was one of the problems. He loved me. It was as a lover, not an enemy, that he wanted me dead."

"I don't understand," said Clark.

"Don't you find that people save their most passionate hatred for those they have loved?"

Clark flushed, rather endearingly. "I wouldn't know. I don't know much about love."

Lex looked at Clark thoughtfully. Broad-shouldered, tall, with a mop of dark hair and warm eyes, no one could find him unattractive. He was, Lex would guess, fifteen or sixteen at least, and well-grown: old enough at least for sexual curiosity, if not experimentation. "Why not?"

"We live pretty quietly. And my parents are careful about things."

Lex wondered why. To be too nosy might make a bad impression, and he hadn't much social leverage right now.

When they got to the farm, Clark hesitated outside the gate. "Let me get you something to wear." Lex waited patiently, leaning on the stone wall, until Clark was back with a kilt that he wrapped around Lex's body and tied with gentle hands. It fit Lex well enough, a workman's kilt, sturdily woven and tailored to fall modestly below the knees. Clark smiled as if satisfied, and gently patted Lex's shoulder. Then he called, "Mom, Dad! We have a guest!"

He opened the latch and held the gate for Lex to go through before him, then followed.

-----

Lex's first impression was of stark poverty, but he realized quickly that he was wrong. He was used to living on a grand scale, with bathtubs lined in gold and marble terraces surrounded by exotic imported flowers. They were places that existed only because of their beauty and their grandeur, places exalted by the craft and skill of man to reflect the finest and noblest of human endeavor.

In comparison, this farmhouse was small, the courtyard bleak, the garden beyond absurdly compact. Here on a simple farm, the measure of beauty was a youth who outshone any man Lex had ever seen. This house was simple enough, but well made, and there were separate structures beyond the garden for cows and other creatures Lex couldn't see, though he thought he heard the low 'maa' of a goat. A dog barked, answered by another, and the high yapping of a puppy.

Clark's mother wore a long gown, loose, tied at the waist, her head covered with a long twist of fabric. No Egyptian woman would dress so. "Hi, Mom," said Clark. "Look what I brought home. Lex, this is my mother, Martha. Mom, this is Lex." He had put the water-pots in the fitted grooves by the shaded wall. "I pulled him out of the river. He was drowning."

Though the rising sun had dried his skin and stopped his shivering, Lex was well aware that he was a sorry sight: wearing a borrowed kilt, battered, and hungry. He tried not to think of the smell of the stew in the cooking pot. A courtly bow would be excessive, and perhaps taken as mockery, so he bowed his head respectfully and said, "I am honored to meet you."

She smiled. Lex could detect no falsity in the welcome: some shyness, perhaps, but no stinting of welcome, and no hesitation in offering him a bowl of spiced cooked grain. "Sit and eat."

"Thank you." Lex took the bowl she gave him, and sat to taste the food. Hot and rich, it was as good as anything he had ever eaten in the greatest of palaces. Better, perhaps, because the first meal after a long hunger and drowning and shock is a welcome return to mortal life.

"Did you fall into the water?" asked Martha, with motherly concern.

"Not exactly," said Lex. "I was dropped."

"Dropped?"

"Thrown. The result of a family quarrel."

"I'm sorry," she said, sympathy showing in her voice as much as horror, and Lex realized with a gratitude almost as great as that he felt for the stew, that she meant what she said. She was a friend, not an enemy or an indifferent stranger.

He was about to reply when a voice behind him said, "Who are you?"

Lex stood. The man wore a simple tunic and a cloth hat. He was carrying firewood. It was difficult to judge his attitude: he was wary, if not hostile. Lex said, "You must be Jonathan. I am Lex. Clark saved me from drowning in the river."

Jonathan's mouth curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Another lost puppy?" he said, but it did not seem cruelly meant. He put the wood he was carrying in its place, and turned back to the hearth. "I suppose you want to stay here."

"He has nowhere else to go," said Martha.

"Then of course he must stay," said Jonathan, his neutral tone holding neither welcome nor regret. Lex felt an overwhelming relief that the people who had found him were not thieves, or lackeys of his brother. By now, Lucas would be moving fast to establish his power. He would be making sure everyone knew that he was to be obeyed. He would be sending out his soldiers with order to make sure there was minimal unrest.

Clark came back out of the house, now wearing a neat white kilt, which only made his muscular legs look longer and his muscular torso more stunning.

"Our guest is wearing your best kilt," said Jonathan. There was a note of disapproval in his voice.

"I never wear it!"

Jonathan nodded, reluctantly accepting the argument but not approving the generosity. The family sat to eat. Lex did the same, knowing guiltily that he had already eaten, but still hungry and craving more. He shared the low bench with Clark. He wished he could sit closer, but he didn't want to seem forward. Jonathan said reverent words in a language Lex did not recognize. A prayer. Lex looked as respectful as possible. When the final 'amen' was spoken, he murmured to Clark, "What language is that?"

"Hebrew," said Clark.

Hebrew, the language of the Jews. That explained the modest clothes, the covered heads, the attitude Clark had described as 'careful'. Lex tried to remember what he knew of Jews: not much. Once they had been slaves here in Egypt. Now they had a kingdom of their own, beyond the sea, but a few had returned to Egypt for one reason or another. Some Egyptians distrusted them for their lack of respect for the gods, but Lex had never had trouble with them. This family was showing him kindness now when he needed it: for that, they deserved the blessings of all the gods. When he was back where he belonged, he would set a priest in the temple to pray for them. He would give them rich lands and a magnificent farm and all the goats in the kingdom. He would....

Maybe just have a little more breakfast.

Jonathan said to Lex, "You have any experience working on a farm?"

Lex resisted the temptation to lie. "No, but I can learn."

"Not this morning," said Martha firmly. "He needs rest, Jonathan. Let him sleep today. He almost died in the river."

"All right," said Jonathan. "Today, you rest. Tomorrow, I make a farmer out of you."

"Deal," said Lex.

At which point Jonathan finally smiled at him.

The heat of the day made the house unsuitable for sleeping. Clark prepared a bed for Lex in a shady corner of the courtyard, a comfortable mattress in a wooden frame. "If you need anything, call me," he said.

Lex found his head sinking. "I wish I had a way to thank you." The boy's intense eyes stared into his, and Lex held his gaze, thinking, absurdly, that with Clark around, he must be safe.

Lex slept. He dreamed of water, and Clark. He dreamed of violence and fear. He dreamed of Julian, crying out his name and reaching for him as he died, once, twice, and a third time. His father lay on a sacrificial slab, his blood running along the drain. Though dead, he spoke. He said, "I have three sons. One is a god. One is a bastard. What is the other?"

"Alive," said Lex.

He dreamed he was in Lucas' arms, fucking him with wild energy and empty passion. He knew this was his enemy who was about to kill him and those he most loved, and he tried to pull away, but Lucas held him and said, "You are mine!"

"No!" cried Lex, and awoke.

Many hours had passed. He was comfortable on a mattress in the shade of the wall. No one was nearby, and perhaps he had not spoken out loud, after all. There was a vine growing along the wall, covered with red flowers. He looked at the pretty flowers, trying to shake off the disturbance caused by the dream. His head ached. He buried his face in the mattress. He could hear Clark's voice from somewhere beyond the wall, and the answering voice of his mother. "He told me. It was his brother who tried to kill him."

"He seems so young," said Martha. "I wonder who he is. What happened to his hair?"

"He said the gods chose him - marked him somehow by taking his hair." Clark left off the rest of what Lex had said. Lex smiled to himself.

"What nonsense!"

"Maybe the Lord chose him, brought him to us for a reason."

"I don't think so, Clark. I think he is a victim of injustice and we must help him. I know you are lonely. Let him be your friend. But remember... our secrets must remain our secrets."

There was a pause. "I'm tired of secrets." Clark sounded annoyed.

Martha did not answer. Perhaps Clark went away, because all Lex could hear was the wind in the trees beside the house, and the voices of the animals beyond the yard, and the beating of his own heart.

He slept again, and did not dream at all.

They did not disturb him in the evening. He lay awake, reluctant to move, aching all over. Martha brought him goat's milk and dates. He dozed, hearing their voices as the evening sun sank. Jonathan was giving Clark a lesson in Hebrew, carefully explaining words and their meanings. They read together from a scroll, history or scripture, their voices melodious together. In counterpoint as he lay in the shadows, Lex whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to Amun-Ra, who had saved him for the sake of the kingdom. He prayed for the strength to overcome Lucas. His voice sounded insubstantial even to his own ears.

He slept again, dreaming of Clark. He dreamed that he was unsure whether to stay at this farm, or to go back to the palace that had been his home. "This is your home now," said Clark, and Lex said, "I can't stay. I have business to finish."

When he woke, bits of the dream lingered in his mind. What was it Clark had said - "Can't you stay with me?"

Well, at the moment, he had no choice. Watching Clark's beautiful form as he walked through the gate with the huge jugs of water he so effortlessly carried, he couldn't regret it. He watched Clark kneel beside the hearth, admiring the shapely thighs as the kilt pulled tight when he leaned forward. He was looking down at the kindling. The wood burst into flame. "Thanks," said Martha, squeezing his shoulder. Clark smiled at her.

Lex puzzled over the scene, admiring the young man's beauty.

"How do you feel?" Jonathan asked him, appearing unexpectedly beside him, and Lex tore his eyes away from Clark, realizing how far his guard had fallen.

"Much better, sir."

"Ready to work?"

"Jonathan," said Martha, gently chiding. "The boy hasn't even had his breakfast yet."

Lex wondered how long it had been since anyone had called him a boy. He smiled at Clark, and Clark smiled back. He suddenly felt much better than he had in a long time.

"I'm ready to work," he said. "But breakfast first would be good."

Jonathan prayed over the food, and Lex bowed his head in respect. It seemed to be a simple faith, this Judaism, not much given to grand ceremony. Or perhaps it was simply that these people were alone among Egyptians.

Then Jonathan taught Lex the meaning of hard physical labor. Lex prepared to endure, and found that he enjoyed it. He had never been one to avoid physical effort. He had been short of breath as a child, but had overcome the problem, and was blessed with an energetic nature. He had pampered himself in matters of sensuality, good food and drink and drugs; warm, willing bodies and nights of exploring them. He had danced till dawn in golden pavilions and gone without sleep to do it again the next night.

He was self-indulgent, but he was not soft. He had trained alongside soldiers. He had ridden strong horses long and hard, had rowed his own boats, had competed with professional archers and had matched swords with champions. That was how he had come to know Lucas, sparring in the competitions. He and Lucas had been well matched in Luthor cunning and Luthor speed. They had fought in the ring, crossed swords, wrestled, raced, sharing the exhilaration of athletics and the competition of warriors. Lex had taken up the challenge Lucas had offered with excitement.

It had been a surprise when one day, over their shields and swords in the training-ground, Lucas had called him 'brother'. His history was simple: he was the bastard son of Lionel and a dancer. There were other such half-siblings in the town. Of them all, only Lucas showed the drive and ambition of their father.

Lucas could not defeat Lex, but he always gave him a battle like no one else. Defiant, disdainful, witty, provocative, Lucas was the perfect opponent. Then one day the swordplay and the wrestling ended in Lex's bed.

Lucas made love with the same passion that he used in fighting. They came together over and over in steamy, desperate, intoxicating need, and the sex often lasted till dawn, when a slave would bring them chilled strawberries and wine. Or sometimes they went to Lucas' cot in the soldiers' compound, grunting with effort, their legs around each other, biting and thrusting.

Lucas feared nothing, not even their father. He wanted Lex's body. He coveted Lex's brain.

Well, now, Lex was free from him. Free to tend the cows and milk them. Free to work in the field alongside Jonathan and Clark, learning what was weed and what was precious plant, there and in the more delicate herb garden. He already knew many of the leaves from his medical work: herbs are a priest-doctor's greatest tool. He didn't point this out to Jonathan, who explained each plant carefully, and waited for Lex to repeat what he had taught him in different words. He gave some plants their Hebrew names, and Lex carefully memorized them.

It was hard, satisfying work. Aside from the plant lore, it demanded little of the mind, and Lex thought in grief and growing determination about Lucas and Julian and his father, wondering what was happening in the Palace, calculating who would be best to trust with a message. He thought about Lucas' strength and weaknesses, and what he could do about them.

Sometimes he found himself hardly thinking at all, just staring at Clark as he worked. Clark's almost bare, muscular body shone in the daylight, smooth perfection of skin and structure. Lex wanted to touch that skin, and scolded himself for the thought. Clark was surely a virgin, and Lex knew that these people had strict rules about sex. Though he had no idea what those rules were, he was pretty sure that he wanted to break them all.

Not a good way to pay this family back for saving his life and taking him in.

He would need to be careful. It wasn't like the temple complex, where the pretty acolytes tried to catch his eye, competing for his favors. Where he could flirt with the priests, teasing and playing as the mood took him. Nor was it like life at Julian's palace, where he was courted for a thousand reasons, and could take his pick of comely girls, courtiers, soldiers, dancers, servants, slaves and visitors. They acted as if his smile were a gift and he bestowed his interest wherever he wished.

If he had seen Clark in the temple or the palace, he would have noticed him at once. He would have wanted him, slave or free. He would have taken him - with courtesy and kindness - to his bed, and taught him all the delicate arts of sensuality.

It would have been so unlike his affair with Lucas.

This wasn't the temple. This was a quiet, secluded farm household of conservative, devout people of a strange faith. He wasn't the Lex he had been at court, center of a thousand projects, a hundred plans. Mapping the future had been his daily task, at the side of a young Pharaoh who was soaking up knowledge from him.

Now his role was to feed cows and tend crops, and to keep his hands off Clark.

He was here on sufferance, owing his life and livelihood to these people. Seducing their beloved only son would be poor repayment. In the palace, his desire had been a much-sought blessing. On this farm, it would be an intrusion and a complication.

That thought did not stop his thoughts from following the urges of passion. Lex's eyes were drawn again to Clark's smooth, gleaming skin as he moved about the farm, working. Clark moved gracefully in the wheatfield, his long legs a contrast to the short, brown kilt that covered his hips and buttocks, the light fabric clinging in the heat, revealing tantalizing glimpses of flesh below. When he bent over Lex could see the soft crease where thigh met body, and the desire to touch made Lex look away.

Again he looked back, and Clark turned, catching him staring. Out of pride, Lex did not look away. Clark flushed, slightly, which meant he did not misinterpret Lex's stare as innocent. Then he smiled a broad, beaming grin, and Lex wondered if the boy was tired of innocence.

The thought did nothing to calm his interest.

As the day wore on, and his limbs grew sore, he noticed other things. Clark did not tire, did not become slower. He noticed that sometimes Clark disappeared in the blink of an eye, only to reappear elsewhere, as if by magic, as if he moved too fast for the eye to see.

He was strong, clearly. Stronger than any normal man. Stronger than anyone Lex had met.

Lex refused to show how tired he was. He kept up, as best he could, uncomplaining, because complaining would serve no purpose. His bruises were healing, his lungs and head no longer ached.

In the late afternoon, the work was done - "For the moment," said Jonathan - and they wandered back to the house. Almost there, Clark shouted, "Hey, Lex," and as Lex turned, threw a ball at him. Lex caught it, threw it back, and it became a game, jumping, turning leaps until his tired limbs were aching. It was excruciating and exhilarating, and Lex was thankful for the constitution that made it possible. Wiry but strong, his father had once called him, thinking he was out of earshot. Lex was good at hearing things he was not meant to hear.

And Clark, twisting in midair to catch the ball, laughing, his kilt flapping behind him - ah, that was a sight worth paying to see. Lex was so busy staring that he missed the ball, and Clark laughed even harder.

The last time he had played like this had been with Julian. The pain struck him, and must have shown on his face, because Clark stopped laughing suddenly and said, "Lex? Are you all right?"

"My brother," said Lex. "My younger brother. He's dead. My older brother killed him, and our father, and tried to kill me."

"I'm sorry," said Clark. In a gesture of sympathy, he reached out and took Lex's hand. His fingers were warm, strong and comforting.

They stood for a moment, in silence.

Then Martha called, "Boys! Time for supper!"

They paused for a moment, hands still touching as if neither wanted to break off the contact. It was Lex who smiled wryly, and Clark who blushed endearingly. They let go, and walked to the hearth-fire, Lex feeling physically conscious of Clark in a way he could neither control nor regret.

He could think of no more healing place than this farm, with its aura of friendly peace.

Lex felt about twelve years old, with a lightness of heart he had never known since. He had been eleven when his mother died; life with Lionel had been stimulating and exciting, but had offered nothing of simple happiness. When he was twelve, he had felt like a man of fifty.

Jonathan led the prayers. Lex understood nothing of them, but murmured "amen" with the family at the end. They ate Martha's soup with bread and beer. Jonathan talked about going into the village tomorrow, and offered Clark the chance to go with him. Clark said he'd rather stay at the farm. No one offered to let Lex come along. Lex assumed it was discretion: the neighbors didn't need to know that Jonathan and Martha had a guest. He didn't like to think of the possibility of Lucas learning he was still alive from a chance comment that could bring danger to the village, or to this farm..

Lucas would know he was alive, soon enough. He did not need to know before Lex was ready to take action against him.

They helped Martha to clean up the kitchen, and take in the laundry that was drying on the garden wall. Lex wondered how much he dared feel at home here. It was temporary at best: he had a destiny to fulfill, revenge to exact, a nation to tend.

This was the heart of his nation. The homes and lives of farmers like this, who had no reason to come near the cities or the great courts. They didn't need to get caught up in the partying, the social competition, the cutthroat politics. Without them, there would be no Egypt.

When Clark was doing his reading lessons with Jonathan, Martha talked to Lex about Clark. "Usually he likes to go to the village with Jonathan. It's quiet for him here. I fear he is lonely. There's a girl in the village he likes. He doesn't often pass up a chance to see her."

Lex swallowed his sudden jealousy of the girl in the village. Clark should have whoever he wanted. It wasn't as if Lex would stay here long, or make any difference in his life.

"Clark likes to help people," continued Martha. Lex knew she was trying to make a point, though he wasn't sure what it was. "He likes to save them from danger, sometimes from themselves."

"The way he saved me." Was she trying to point out, then, that Lex was nothing new or special in Clark's life?

"I don't think he can help himself. We are very proud of him."

"As you should be."

Her glance was both plea and warning. "Don't hurt him, Lex."

"I wouldn't. Even if I could. Trust me."

She left the conversation like that, but he had the sense she was not satisfied.

Clark taught Lex to play a game with five sticks and seven pebbles. They sat crosslegged in the courtyard, tossing pieces. Lex caught on quickly, and won the second game. Clark said, "You cheated!" Lex countered, "Didn't!" and they tussled on the ground while one of the puppies barked at them and tried to bite their ankles.

Lex could feel how Clark was holding back his strength. This knowledge aroused Lex, and he backed off, rolling way, laughing still from the play. Clark, happy and flushed, scooped up the dog as he stood, scratching its head and talking to it, holding his against his body while it licked his chin. Clark's glance at Lex was more knowing than it had been.

Lucky dog, thought Lex, who had never been jealous of a mutt before.

They slept side by side in the courtyard, sleeping mats spread under them. Clark had come outside, he said, because it was just too hot in the house, "and Dad sometimes snores". It was no doubt true, but it held a note of falseness, as if it was only an excuse to cover another reason. Lex hoped it was because Clark wanted his company.

The night-birds sounded very like they did at home, thought Lex, except he had no home now. The palace belonged to Lucas through right of force, and Lionel was dead, and Julian was gone forever into the care of Amun-Ra beyond the river of death.

Lex slept, then woke. Slept, and woke again. He was unable to fall back to sleep despite his comfortable exhaustion. Grief, fear and low-level arousal made him restless. He rose and went into the garden. Kneeling there, he prayed for the souls of those he had loved, the god and the godmaker, the king and the kingmaker. He prayed for justice against Lucas, who had become killer and thief. Lucas had stolen a kingdom. He would lose it. But how?

Lex had loved Lucas, believing him redeemable. He had loved him, thinking the wildness was high spirits that could be tamed and that the ambition was a trait that no one in his family could escape. Lex had deluded himself because he was enchanted by Lucas's sexiness, which now seemed pale compared to Clark's powerful presence.

Clark said, coming up beside him, "You couldn't sleep?"

Lex shook his head. Clark sat beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "You must be grieving for them, and I've been playing around like a kid."

"It's like another life," said Lex. He put his hand over Clark's. "You've been great." He dropped his head, closing his eyes, fighting the tears. He could not remember when last he had wept, or when he had last wept in front of someone.

Clark pulled him into his arms. Lex relaxed against him, feeling the warmth and concern. He let the feeling seep through his nerves. He had lost everything. He had found... what? Something worth having, besides life itself, but he didn't know what it was yet. Clark lay down with him, holding him gently, soothing him with a touch to the back of his neck, the back of his head, to his shoulder blades.

He fell asleep.

He awoke at dawn, still lying in the garden, now half-sprawled across Clark. He looked at Clark's relaxed, sleeping body, and fought the urge to kiss and touch. He pulled away, and Clark opened a reluctant eye. "Morning."

"Morning."

"Do I have to get up?"

"Eventually."

Clark groaned. "I'm the lazy one in the family."

"Not likely. I've seen how fast you can move."

Clark blushed again, endearingly. "Yeah. I'm not supposed to let people see that, but.... well, it was just you."

Lex wasn't sure how to take that. "You could make a fortune in the city. There are people who make money running races."

"It wouldn't be fair, though."

Lex raised his eyebrows.

"I'd be so much faster."

"Can you outrun a horse?"

"I think so. I'm not sure. We don't have any horses."

Lex thought of the thoroughbred racehorses he owned... had owned... in the palace, and wished he could put it to the test. "So. Where did Martha and Jonathan find you?"

"You guessed I wasn't their kid?"

"Not a hard guess. You don't look like them. You don't dress like them. You aren't even circumcised." He'd caught glimpses of Clark naked - washing, dressing - enough to be sure.

Clark blushed again. "They found me. There was a meteor shower. I fell at their feet, more or less. Martha couldn't have a baby and she wanted one. They took me in."

"And you aren't like other people."

Clark looked self-conscious. "I have what my parents call gifts. Sometimes I think it's a curse. But it gets things done - I can move really fast, and it's difficult to hurt me. Sometimes when I'm asleep and dreaming, I float. Sometimes. . . ."

"Sometimes you set fires with your eyes."

"Yeah. At first it happened whenever I was aroused. That was embarrassing, but I learned to control it. Don't worry, I won't burn you."

"Are you ever sick?"

"No. But once. . . . there was a green rock. It hurt me. It made me too weak to move. I couldn't get away, though my mother threw it away with one hand and I was okay again. They said rocks like that were falling from the sky when they first found me."

Lex tilted his head. "What are you? A god?"

"No." Clark looked a little shocked at the idea. "I don't know what I am. I'm just - me."

Lex was about to answer, but was interrupted by Jonathan's voice. "Hurry up, boys, or you'll miss breakfast."

Grinning, Clark jumped up as if it were easy, and they went to wash.

The next day was much the same, except that Jonathan went to town, and came back in the evening, carrying purchases and information. "The Pharaoh is dead. There is a new Pharaoh on the throne, and his soldiers are traveling across the country to proclaim the news."

Lex took care to hide all reaction from his expression.

"Who is he?" asked Clark.

"The brother of the dead Pharaoh."

"I don't expect it will make much difference to us," said Martha. "I hope there won't be more fighting."

"I could become a soldier," said Clark hopefully. "I'd be a good one."

Martha rolled her eyes and Jonathan looked exasperated, which made Lex realize that this conversation had happened before, probably many times, with variations.

"No," said Jonathan. "You would be a terrible soldier. You aren't good at following orders."

Clark just laughed, undeterred, and it was clear the argument would go on forever, in friendly fashion. Unless something brought it to a head. Lex thought about the probabilities of Lucas sending to this region for recruitment; the chances of Clark hearing about it; the possibility of Clark taking the chance to leave. Odds, what were the odds? He did not want Clark embroiled in his brother's business.

Jonathan said to Lex, "I have something for you."

It was a kilt, a simply woven piece of fine cloth. Lex said, "But - " and could not think what else to say.

Jonathan said, "I will not have a guest in my home go naked. You have worked hard for two days, despite what had happened to you. You can return Clark's kilt to him, now you own this. You should have a garment of your own."

Lex thought of all the gifts he had received - the bribes, the tribute, the tokens - and the many reasons he had received them. Had anyone of comparative lack of wealth ever given him anything of even half such value?

"Thank you," he said, and wore it for the rest of the evening. He liked the way it felt. It made him feel part of the family, though he knew Jonathan had doubts about him. Martha's doubts were of another kind entirely.

After supper, Jonathan and Clark did his lessons in reading and writing. The conversation was entirely in Hebrew, so Lex had no idea what was being said. He sat thinking about politics and about Lucas, and was lost in thought when Clark asked, "Lex? Can you read?"

"I can't read Hebrew," said Lex, truthfully.

"But can you read Egyptian?"

"Yes," said Lex, wondering if it were a trick question. He did not mention his knowledge of five other languages, three alphabets, and one esoteric religious code.

"Will you teach me?"

"Do you have time, with your other studies?"

"It would be a good thing for Clark, if you could do it," said Jonathan.

So they had lessons together. Lex liked to teach: always had. He used a stick to draw in the sand, in a section of the courtyard jonathan had prepared for Hebrew writing lessons. Clark copied Lex's careful left-handed artistry, and showed a quick eye and a knack for symbol formation. He was learned fast and was eager for more, but Lex was more aware of the physical: his hand over Clark's hand, guiding the stick. Clark's body as he sat close beside Lex to read the symbols.

That night, Lex slept the sleep of exhaustion, deep and long. When he woke up, it was with a sense of loss - not the loss of Julian, but of Clark curled up next to him, as he had been the morning before.

Two days, and he was attached to Clark already, in a way he had seldom been attached to anyone. This was foolish, a weakness, a madness. Perhaps it was because the Palace and the Temple seemed far away, and his life there ephemeral, a thing of the distant past. He could not clearly remember his concubines, his lovers, and his suitors. He could only truly remember Lucas, and the disaster that relationship had become.

His father, too, lingered in his mind. He thought about the combination of adoration and fear he had felt for him.

Julian had been the only person who had loved him for himself, the only person he had loved in return without sexual interest.

And now Clark was deep in his heart, a guileless boy who had saved his life. Why him, after a lifetime of beautiful, available people? Why make a farmer's son the substitute for all he had lost?

If Clark were a god, perhaps their meeting was destiny.

He watched Clark again as they worked, knowing Clark knew he was watching. Lex suspected, sometimes, that Clark was posing for him. He wondered if that were wishful thinking.

He was sure it was not. Sometimes Clark would hold his eye, longer than necessary. Sometimes when they looked at each other, Clark's mouth would open, as if his breathing had altered. Sometimes he would lick his lip, a quick unconscious flick of the tongue, and look away quickly.

Lex was increasingly sure that his desire was returned in full measure.

When two men came from the village to visit Jonathan, Lex slipped away to the other side of the storage shed on the hill. There was no need for anyone to know about his presence. He stood looking over the fields to the north of the farm. Beyond that he could see the river, bright with afternoon sunlight.

He knew Clark was beside him before Clark spoke. He did not look around and Clark moved behind him, wrapping his arms around his chest. "Lex?" Clark's voice was warm against his ear.

"Uh-huh?"

"Do you mind if I do this?"

"It makes me hard." The silver-tonged wizard he had been a few weeks or months ago would never have said anything so mundane. Honesty was all that he needed here. The games he had played with others didn't apply. The past was gone. Everything he had been was gone, but now he had Clark's body pressed against him and he could imagine wanting nothing else in the world.

"You like it?"

Lex smiled. "Very much."

He heard Clark's intake of breath, and felt Clark's lips on his neck. "I missed you last night."

Lex turned in the arms that held him, warmly and lightly. He pressed against Clark's body, running his left hand up that tantalizing leg to rest low on his hip. He brushed his lips against Clark's lips, and felt a shimmer of reaction run through Clark's nerves. He raised his hand another inch to cup Clark's cheek, and Clark made an exciting, breathless sound. He could feel Clark's nipples against his chest, his cock against his groin. Clark's hands on his waist held him close.

"Come back, boys," came Jonathan's shout. "They're gone now!"

Clark stared at Lex in uncontrolled dismay. Lex said, "Later?"

"Yeah. Later. Let's sleep out here. I often do - I like this spot. I like to be able to look out over the water, or to look at the stars. Out here we can... you know. Do more."

They separated reluctantly. Lex let his fingers run down Clark's arm, across his palm before releasing him.

For the rest of the day, he worked extra hard, filled with excess energy. He and Clark did not play ball, but after supper and the lessons with Jonathan they went over the glyphs Lex had taught him yesterday, and Clark remembered them all. Lex tried a few more combinations of words and syllables, letting his hand linger over Clark's on their shared writing-stick.

Clark had gone out to check on the animals when Jonathan said, "Lex. I have seen the way you look at my son."

Lex said simply, "I find him beautiful."

"I'm sure you do, but...." Jonathan sought the words. "He is not of your kind."

"Is he of yours?" Lex was not going to concede. "He fell into your life as he has fallen into mine. He is not of your blood. You know that."

"We can protect him here."

"By keeping him in hiding? By pretending he is a normal man? He doesn't need your protection, not on those terms or any others. He can protect you. He can protect himself. Let him make his own choices."

"You want him to leave with you?"

"Leave? At present, I have nowhere to go, with or without him. Nor would I choose to take him away from here if he wished to stay."

"Don't evade the issue. I am asking you to keep your hands off my son."

"He is not your son."

"You forget yourself," said Jonathan, breathing more quickly. He was angered, and trying to control it. Lex had the feeling that Jonathan was a man with very little control of his passions.

"Sir, I honor you for your hospitality and what you have done for me. I honor you by speaking the truth rather than telling you lies."

"But not the whole truth. You have not told us how your brother killed your father. But they were both your lovers, weren't they, father as well as son? And your other brother, the boyPharaoh, did you fuck him as well, before you helped Lord Lucas kill him?"

Temper, Lionel had once said to Lex, is a weakness, not a defense. Nor can it be a weapon, because it disarms its user by weakening him before he can strike. So Lex kept his hands loose in his lap and said, "I think it is you who forget yourself. You have insulted my lineage, my dead father, and my Lord the Pharaoh in one breath. Were you not my host and my friend, I would kill you for that."

"Killing solves nothing," said Jonathan shortly.

"I agree. Which is why I can honestly deny any involvement in Julian's death. I witnessed it. If giving my own life would have saved his, I would have done it. If you believe me a murderer, why have you let me stay?"

"Because Clark trusts you." After a pause, he added: "And I have come to trust you as well."

"So why attack me now?"

"To see what you revealed of yourself. To see what you knew."

Perhaps Jonathan and Lionel were not so unlike. Lex said, "Have you known who I was since I arrived?"

"Yes. I saw you once, in the City. Years ago. You have very unusual looks - how could I forget you? I was young, I was shocked by the behavior I saw in the city. Greed, violence, lust without any control. There was a ritual at the temple - I didn't fully understand what was happening. You were being initiated into something. I saw them wash your body with oils and incense, and paint your face with the marks of your god, and put beads around your neck. Then they - the priests and your father - took you into the inner part of the temple for the rest of the ceremony. Everyone knew what was happening. The last part of the rite was sex with the god, who that day happened to be," he could not quite keep the disgust out of his voice, "your father."

It had been a day Lex would never forget. "It was the greatest day of my life," said Lex. "The day I was made a priest of Amun-Ra, and was taken by the god. The day I achieved the status of manhood."

"From your father?"

"From the god."

"I will never understand," said Jonathan. "Your ways are not our ways. Such rites disgust me. It horrifies me that you want to touch my son."

"No," said Lex. "It horrifies you that he wants to touch me. If you see how I look at him, you have seen how he looks at me."

"He is not of your race or religion. He is like us, not like you."

"If you were sure of that, we wouldn't be having this conversation. He would be circumcised. He would cover his head and dress like you. Have you told him who I am?"

"That you were the Pharaoh's brother? No."

"I am still a Pharaoh's brother," said Lex. "But he will not be Pharaoh for long."

"City politics! Keep your brother-killers and your incest and your plots. You want the throne yourself, I imagine. Don't bring your dirty personal wars into my household."

Lex said, "If you had seen your own beloved brother killed before your eyes, you might feel differently. I will trouble you no more with my affairs, but you must let Clark make his own choices regarding the life he will live and the lovers he will have."

"Lovers? There will be none. When the time comes, he will take a wife."

"The girl in the village? Fine, but let him choose her himself."

"We will do that. When he is grown-"

"How grown does he need to be? He is a man already, and more than that. I believe him to be a god. You can't keep a god subject to your will like a boy forever."

"Blasphemy!" snapped Jonathan.

"If not a god, what is he?"

Jonathan avoided Lex's eye as he answered. "At first we thought him an angel. But.... he is flesh, a different order of flesh from us. He is a miracle."

It was true, thought Lex later, lying on a blanket on the hilltop, watching the stars come out above him. In any religion, Clark was a miracle.

His miracle appeared out of the darkness, touching his face as if he could see in the dark. Perhaps he could. With Clark, anything was possible. Clark's lips found Lex's mouth and they kissed long and hard, hungrily, as if the need would never end. Lex ran his hands over Clark's body, finding him naked, thrilled by the feel of it. Clark whispered, "Lex," and his voice made the name sound as if it were the most beautiful name in the world to him.

Clark ran his hands up Lex's chest, making Lex grunt as the fingers brushed his nipples, but they did not stop there. They ran up over his shoulders, his neck, tracing his ears, to his scalp. "Lex," Clark said again, breathlessly. He kissed his way downwards, over neck and collarbone to belly, sucking at his navel, kissing a path to the groin, licking his cock and then his thighs. His hands slid downwards with his body to shoulders, chest, ribs. It was a virgin's eagerness, clumsy and curious, gentle and firm.

Clark ended at Lex's feet, exploring them with his fingers. His tongue on Lex's leg was warm and strong, heating where it touched, then leaving a cool trail in the air, like silver fire. He lifted and bent Lex's knee to lick his calf upwards, then, reaching the back of the knee, gently lowered his leg to the blanket and lay between his legs, cock to cock. Lex flexed against him and Clark put a hand, gently, on his hip. "Be still," he murmured. "Let me."

Lex found himself trembling. Who, in years, had reduced him to this? With Lucas it had been all fire and desire, but not this: not this need that went soul-deep. But then, Lucas had never been a god.

In all his lovemaking, Lex had led the way and set the pace. Everyone had wanted to please him, and he made sure they did so on his own terms. He was an aggressive, forceful lover, always the one on top, always the one to make the demands.

With Clark, it was different. With Clark, he wanted to learn what Clark would do, wanted Clark to have the freedom to do whatever he wanted. Lex's heart was pounding and his breath was quick, but he didn't want to rush anything. He felt suspended in time, aroused but willing to wait for release because the arousal was so exquisite he never wanted it to end.

Clark's lips moved over Lex's scalp. He teased with his breath and his tongue, little licks here and there. He sucked on Lex's earlobe and rubbed it with his cheek. He traced Lex's eyebrow with his tongue, and then, with infinite gentleness, licked his eyelids. All the time his cock dragged heavily on Lex's belly, sometimes pressed tight, sometimes lifted away and trailing, tickling, dripping on his skin.

Clark explored Lex's nose with his lips. He passed lightly over the mouth and settled on the chin, biting it gently, then harder, and Lex found himself arching. Clark used his hands to press him back down to the ground. "Shh," Clark said, though Lex had said nothing.

"Tease," Lex accused, and he could feel Clark's chuckle down the length of his body. Though he once thought he had experienced every sex act invented or discovered by man, he had never done this before: had never lain passive in a lover's arms, allowing himself to be touched without touching.

Lucas had been too like Lex, which was what had made the relationship explosive.

Perhaps the man who had drowned in the Nile and had come back to life was not the man he had been. He was reborn for a different style of love.

But old habits die hard, and he wrapped his arms around Clark's waist, pulling his body closer. He kissed Clark's neck, which was closest to his mouth, and twisted his hips so they rolled, side by side, with his leg between Clark's. He made a low noise as he thrust against Clark, and Clark climaxed with explosive suddenness, gasping.

"Lex," he whispered again.

Lex pushed him onto his back, and straddled him. He was still hard and aching with it, and the sounds of Clark's breathy excitement had done nothing to lessen his need. He lay on Clark's chest, thrusting between his legs, finding a nipple and capturing it between his lips and between his teeth. He felt Clark's hand on his head again, cupping his skull. He felt himself losing control, bucking and thrusting. The climax started slow and gained momentum and continued. He lost track of time, of his body, of his mind.

At last he lay, still and spent, on top of Clark. Clark held him, kissing him from time to time. Drained and half-asleep, Lex was slow to realize that Clark was hard again, restlessly tense, while one hand idly fondled himself.

Lex moved off Clark's body, rewarded with a gentle "Hey!" of reproach from Clark. But he rested on his heels, and bent, and took Clark's cock out of his hands and plunged his mouth onto it from above.

It was sticky from before, and tasted absurdly sweet. Was that not the mark of a god? Lex used his fist at the base of Clark's cock, tight and then loose, motion followed by stillness. Always he sucked, pressing down as he got used to the size and pressure on his throat. Lifting his head, he played with the foreskin with his tongue, pushing it back, licking the slit at the tip - ah, more sweet, salty flavour! - and then diving back, deep and heavy, letting Clark fill his mouth completely, and more, back to his throat.

He could feel muscles twitching in Clark's legs, and soothed them with his hands. He ran his hands up to encircle Clark's balls in his thumbs, stroking, squeezing gently, moving up and down. He caressed the space behind them, and then ran his hand back down Clark's leg to his knee, and tightened his lips.

Clark came again. Lex sucked and licked until Clark was through and softening, then lay back beside him.

Clark moved his head. "Wow," he said.

"Sleep,"said Lex, feeling lassitude enfold him like a blanket.

There was a pause. "You won't go away?" Clark sounded suddenly boyish.

"I'm yours as long as you want me." The old Lex would never have said this. The old Lex... was gone. This stranger in his place held Clark in his arms, protecting and protected, and slept.

There was no question of hiding what had happened from Clark's parents. Clark's beaming face next morning told it all. Martha glanced at Jonathan in worry. He looked stony, but said nothing.

Lex felt unconscionably happy whenever he felt Clark's eyes on him. It was nothing like the flirtations in the temple. No affair had ever reached him so deeply. Not within two days of meeting; not in two years; not ever. Not even Lucas, who had taken him to heights he had never known, before dropping him out of the sky.

An apt metaphor, given Clark's origins. Clark had rescued him physically and, it seemed, emotionally. For all those affairs, love was outside Lex's experience. Chastely, he had loved his mother; he had loved Julian; the only two people he had ever known, perhaps, who had loved him for himself. Them, and a nursemaid he had not seen in years. He wondered what had happened to her.

He had not even pondered the subject of love. It was a game, or a tool, or a thunderbolt from the gods. He could take other people's love into account to understand them, and to make plans.

Now Julian and his mother were both dead. And Lionel - had he loved his father? How could the word even apply to someone he had worshipped and loathed by turns? Lionel was his inspiration and his bane. He would have done anything for Lionel's favour, and did, and often hated himself for doing it.

He had no idea whether his father had ever loved him. He would never know. Lionel kept his feelings to himself, a matter of lifelong policy. The sex between them had nothing to do with it: that had been ritual, Lionel's public and dramatic way of linking his son to his gods and creating a royal family while, at the same time, proving his virility and his ties to the god.

If desire had come into it, surely Lionel would have done it again.

And yet he had cared enough to make Lex the chosen confidante, the companion in his schemes, the son he could teach everything he knew. A confidante in the matter of the fate of Egypt. He had never done that with Julian, whom he chose to make king. That might be because Julian was too young, but when Lex had been that age, Lionel was already training him.

And Lucas.... Lionel had used and discarded Lucas, over and over, a tool as much as servant of Lionel's periodic rearrangement of the world.. Lucas had longed for Lionel's favour as much as Lex had. In the long term, it was clear that Lex had Lionel's respect, and Lucas did not.

So Lucas had killed him.

"Feeling smug?" asked Jonathan.

"I am happy if Clark is happy," said Lex. It was the most neutral answer he could think of. "Are you going to ask me to leave?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No. Martha thinks we should treat you as family. I considered beating you to a pulp, but neither Clark nor Martha would forgive me. Perhaps I wouldn't forgive myself." He smiled wryly. "You can't help being who you are. I shouldn't hold your former station against you."

"That's very broad-minded of you," said Lex. "If it would make you feel better, you can hit me. I survived my brother's soldiers, so I imagine I could survive a beating from you."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "You'd let me, wouldn't you? To prove a point?"

"To prove you wrong."

"You'd win, you know. Clark would be concerned for you, angry with me, eager to defend you. He likes to save people from harm. Martha would be furious."

"I have done you no harm. Or your family. Or Clark."

"That remains to be seen. They say the soldiers are coming," said Jonathan, in what might have been a change of subject, but wasn't. "Soldiers of the new Pharaoh. They are marching from the south. No one knows why. Do you?"

"No," said Lex.

"Do you think they might be looking for you?"

Lex shrugged. "Lucas - the new king - thinks I am dead. He thinks he killed me, and has no reason to guess otherwise. He would not waste time sending soldiers to look for a ghost. More likely conscription, or raising taxes."

"Is that what you would do in his place?"

Lex took a deep breath. "No. I would not be so greedy. Why do you judge us harshly? Julian was fair and just as Pharaoh, was he not? I was his tutor and his counselor. His policies were my policies. Why assume I am like Lucas and not like Julian?"

"I assumed nothing. I ask because I don't know who would harm us and who would help us."

Lex said, "I spent my life concerned about the welfare of this land. I did everything I could to spend taxes wisely and raise them fairly. Yes, I partied all night and spent time on the arts and pursued a faith you do not share. I wanted sex and other pleasures. But I never shirked what I believed to be my duty to the country, and I taught Julian to be the same. When Lucas killed him he killed the source of justice and peace in this country. Don't judge me or my family by Lucas' crimes."

Jonathan looked amused. "Are you a lawyer?"

"Yes, sir, I am. I am a lawyer and a legislator and a lawgiver. I am what Egypt needs. Lucas is a despoiler and a raider, a man with so little conscience he will murder his family out of pique and greed. That is what you have on the throne. Can you blame me for wanting him gone?"

"No." Jonathan considered. "Is that why you seduced Clark? Because you know he could kill Lucas for you?"

"No. Do you think he would?"

"Let me put it this way," said Jonathan. "Clark has never killed. He has never harmed anyone. He is the strongest man I have ever known, and the most gentle. But for you, I think he would do anything. Even kill."

"You think I will corrupt him?"

"I think you would corrupt him without even knowing you were doing it."

"Which is why you want me to leave him?"

"I suspect it's already too late for that. One of his other outstanding traits is loyalty. The harm has been done."

Lex shook his head. "I am not here to harm him, or corrupt him."

"I will believe that," said Jonathan, "the day I see you leave this farm, while Clark stays behind. I will believe it the day I see Clark happily married to a local girl, with a farm and children of his own. I will believe it when I don't see his eyes light up when he says your name."

"You are right," said Lex. "It is too late. Jonathan, what would you have done if someone had told you that you couldn't marry Martha - had tried to stop you from getting together with her?"

"Someone did. Her father."

"And?"

"I hit him."

Lex bit his lip to hide a smile. "Did that improve family relations?"

"No. We had to elope. Clark has never met his mother's parents."

"Honor thy father," quoted Lex.

"You're learning our scriptures now?"

Lex shrugged. "Wisdom comes from every faith. I didn't always love my father, Jonathan, and the sex between us was another matter entirely. But I always honored him, and I honor him more than ever now that he is dead."

"Does his death bother you so much? Are you not relieved to be rid of his shadow? You show no sign of grieving."

Lex hid his sudden anger. Jonathan could know nothing of Lex except what Lex had let him see. "I don't even know whether he had a funeral."

"You puzzle me," said Jonathan. "You say things I don't expect. Are you a man of faith?"

"I am a High Priest of the Temple of Amun-Ra. Or at least," Lex winced, "I was. I intend to be so again."

"It isn't just Clark's body you want," said Jonathan. "This isn't just lust, it's also ambition. You want to use him to become Pharaoh."

"What help could a farm boy give me?"

"You've seen his special abilities."

"It will need guile to get a throne, not just strength."

"You admit you're going after the throne?"

"I'm not leaving that murdering bastard in charge. He killed our father. Wouldn't you feel the same, if it was your father?"

"Our scriptures say, 'Honor thy father and thy mother.' Is this the only way you can think of to do that?"

"My mother is dead."

"So is your father. Honor them both, Lex. Leave my son out of this. Are you sure what you really want? Is it the power, or the luxury? Or is it pride? Do you truly believe in your gods, Lex?"

"I believe in Clark," said Lex.

Jonathan looked worried as he left.

When they watered the oxen at the pond, Clark stared hungrily into Lex's eyes over the beast's back and said, "I can hardly keep from touching you."

Lex swallowed.

"I keep thinking about you, and about last night, and about tonight. What we'll do tonight."

Lex ducked his head, and went after a cow that was wandering in the wrong direction. When they were close enough to speak again, Clark said, "I saw you talking to my father. What did you say?"

"I quoted your scripture. Honor thy father."

Clark grinned. "I bet he liked that."

"He finds me confusing. He thinks. . . Has he told you who I am?"

Clark frowned. "What do you mean?"

"My station in life. My identity in my former life."

"Oh, that. Yeah. He said you were some sort of noble. He said he could hear it in your voice. You do have a nice accent." Clark's eyes softened. "I know you must have lost a lot, and I don't just mean your father and your brother. It must be hard to be a nobleman one day and a farmer's servant the next."

"Clark, there's more to it than that. He didn't tell you everything he knew. He saw me once. . . The day I was taken into the Temple as a High Priest."

"High Priest? That's really exalted, isn't it?"

"There is no position higher except that of the Pharaoh himself. Jonathan recognized me again because I look distinctive. You know the young Pharaoh, who was killed?"

"Yeah?"

"He was my younger brother. You know the new Pharaoh, who is a monster?"

"Uh-huh."

"He is my other brother."

"The one who tried to kill you."

"Right. He's going to pay for that. You foiled his plan, Clark. So you see... I am not just any noble. The nation is my responsibility and I meant to take up that responsibility again."

Clark looked distressed. "Yes, but - will you take me with you?"

"If you wish. It won't be an easy road, Clark."

"I can help you," said Clark.

Lex thought of Jonathan's suspicions that Lex was setting up exactly this situation. "We'll talk about it," he said.

Clark set his jaw stubbornly. "I don't want to lose you. Whatever it is, we're in this together."

Later, Lex stood by the stable. His legs were trembling with a fatigue which he wanted no one to see. He could do this. He could wrestle with soldiers, he could play logic-games with his father, he could lead armies, he could damned well carry water to a donkey-trough.

He heard Clark's footsteps seconds before Clark wrapped an arm around him, and rested a hand on his backside. "I want to fuck you," he said.

"Now?" Lex didn't move.

Clark chuckled. "That would be nice. No. Tonight. Can I?" He kissed Lex's ear. "Can I, Lex?"

"Yes," said Lex, his heartbeat speeding up.

He had been fucked once and only once, on the day Jonathan had seen him at the Temple. Acolyte of the Temple, Novice of the Priesthood of Amun-Ra, he had become High Priest that day. The servants of the god had taken him into the sanctum sanctorum with his body anointed with oils and perfumes, and the god had come to him in a human body and changed him for ever.

The human body used by the god had been Lionel's.

Naked and prepared by the priests for this ritual, Lionel had come to him as Amun-Ra on earth, rampant and implacable, and Lex had been a willing slave of the god's desire. With his father's form and his father's breath and his father's cock, the god had transformed him, to the sound of drums and chanting, and the smell of incense that was less powerful than the sweet scents of his father's body.

Lex has been possessed, transported. And when it was over, he was not only a High Priest, but a man among men, ready to rule the kingdom with Julian and on Julian's behalf.

Pinned by this father's body and his father's lust, Lex had looked into Lionel's eyes and said, "My father," and whether he spoke to god within Lionel or to the man within Lex, he had felt the shudder in the holy loins and had heard his father's voice whisper "Lex," in a voice so low that no one heard it but himself and the god. Lionel had climaxed and Lex had fallen, satiated, into the fullness of his office.

He had allowed no other lover to use him so, though Lucas had wanted to fuck him and had tried time after time. Lucas had begged and bullied and demanded, tried force and trickery, persuasion and seduction: made it a game between them, a ruthless game without rules. Enjoying the game, Lex had played to win. He stayed on top. He would allow only one man to take him: their father. If Lionel had asked that of him, he would have offered himself without hesitation, gladly, willingly - for the sake of either Lionel or his god. The incomparable thrill of that day had been like nothing he had ever known physically. Spiritually, it had changed him forever.

Lex had, from time to time, prayed to Amun-Ra to allow him that transcendent pleasure once again, but he had never approached his father and his father had never approached him. Now, the opportunity was gone forever.

Now, Lex was another person, a farm-servant, as Clark had described him. And the god who asked to possess him now was another order of being. Not a man being used by a god, but a god himself. What else could Clark be?

"Yes," said Lex, again, as Clark's tongue played in his ear and his hands wandered over his body. Afternoon heat and the swell of desire made Lex giddy. He turned his head back against Clark's shoulder to claim a kiss, but Jonathan shouted, "Boys, stop fooling around, there's work to be done."

Clark's face fell, but he disengaged. Lex whispered, "Spoilsport," and made Clark laugh.

They had to work, but sometimes they could talk. As they worked together on the repair of the broken oxen-yoke, Clark said, "I've never done it before. I've never fucked anyone."

"I'll show you what to do."

"Last night is mostly all I've ever done."

"We'll change that."

"Once I kissed someone. A girl. It was. . . nice."

"I bet it was great. I remember my first kiss with a girl. She was beautiful. She was a dancer."

Clark's eyes were dark with curiosity and desire, as if words could fill a gap of knowledge between them. "When you kissed her, did it make you hard?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. But I never did anything more. It scared me, a little, that she could make me feel so much. Did you fuck her?"

"Yes. Not that day. Later. A few weeks later."

"I envy her."

"You don't need to. I only remember her because she was the first."

"What will I be?"

"The best."

Clark grinned. "Tell me what to do."

The yoke was being forgotten. Lex rubbed oil into the smooth leather with renewed strength, letting his fingers slide sensuously along the seams. He knew Clark was watching his every move.

Lex spoke as if telling a story, carefully pitching his voice not to carry. "You'll hold me and fondle me until I'm aroused."

"You are already."

"Only because you're looking at me like that. We'll kiss and touch and then you'll spread my ass open, touching the hole, just a little at first, rubbing me with oil. First outside, then inside. That will loosen me. You'll spread the oil on your cock and I'll help you, using my hands, and then - what position do you want me in?"

"Anything that works."

"Oh. Hmm. I'll lie on my stomach and you'll slip your cock into me. It'll feel tight at first but I won't let you stop. You'll push till you're all the way in, and then. . . ."

Lex stopped. Clark swallowed. He reached out and entwined his fingers with Lex's.

Suppertime finally came, and then seemed to last forever. Lex had no appetite, despite the work he had done. He ate dutifully, trying not to look at Clark all the while, and failing more often than succeeding. Clark kept looking at him and smiling, which made it worse. Prayers seemed to last an eon, and though Clark participated with the enthusiastic fervor of a truly thankful man, Lex fidgeted with impatience.

Clark's lesson on the scriptures with Jonathan lasted even longer. Lex listened to Clark's voice, so melodious and clear. A voice as beautiful as his body. He realized he was staring at that body rather more pointedly than was polite under the circumstances, and dropped his eyes, catching Clark in his peripheral vision.

His writing lesson with Clark, conducted by lamplight in the house, was a fiasco. Neither of them could concentrate. Little touches, so much fun the night before, had become impossible, each one so inflaming that it was too dangerous to allow. Clark forgot things he had known perfectly well the night before. When his hand strayed - with no innocence whatsoever - to Lex's lap, Lex decreed the lessons over.

He went abruptly into the fresh night air. He had no intention of sleeping tonight in the courtyard. There was no need for explanations. He knew where he wanted to go, and a glance at Clark was all the communication they needed.

It was almost dark, but there was enough light to see by without a lamp. When he got to the courtyard gate, Clark had caught up with him, the rolled-up blanket tied like a pack and thrown loosely over his back. They were kissing before they were on the path. They ran up the hill, breathless with exhilaration and anticipation. Clark's hand touched Lex's arm just for the pleasure of it.

They rolled out the blanket, tossing their clothes aside. Clark had brought a stoppered, unlit lamp, which he put on the ground beside them. Clark pushed Lex down onto the blanket, lips to lips, his hands irresistibly strong. Lex spread his legs, already desperately aroused. Clark said, "Now," breathlessly, and poured oil from the lamp on his hands, spilling a little in his rush. He lit the lamp with a glance as he caught the falling drop and thrust his hand between Lex's lifted legs. Lex groaned. Clark took Lex's cock in his mouth as Lex had done yesterday, and sucked: eager pupil with eager, writhing teacher. Warm fingers massaged Lex's asshole and Lex gasped, "Yes, Clark, yes!"

Then he was penetrated, slowly, implacably, deliciously, his legs by his ears, his body vibrating. The stretch was painfully welcome, running along his nerves, making his toes burn. He threw his head back and felt the wool blanket against his skull. His fingers scrabbled in the weave and then found Clark's skin to grasp.

It was not as it had been with Lionel and the god. This was another time and place, another Lex, another god. Clark was like no one else and Lex felt as if every moment of his life had been leading to this thing he had never imagined, this need he had never known, a fulfillment he had never looked for.

Tireless in his strength, Clark looked down on him with the eyes of a lover. There were stars above him and a gentle breeze against their skin.

Lex climaxed first, shuddering and moaning in a sensation which he had never expected, not quite like any he had known. Clark joined him, as if by an act of will that made it simultaneous; but Clark's orgasm lasted longer, and left Clark - not unsatisfied, but hardly less eager. He wrapped Lex in his arms and kissed him tenderly, soothing his skin, making soft crooning noises. "I want more," he said.

"Anything," said Lex.

They rolled side to side, touching and kissing. Lex took Clark's nipple into his mouth and licked. "You like this?"

"Yes."

Sucking it. "You like this?"

"Yes!"

He bit. "This?"

Clark groaned out loud. "More!"

Lex bit hard. Clark moaned under him in deep pleasure. He had known no one who could have tolerated the pain, but Clark felt none. Lex could not break the skin.

No wonder Clark was uncircumsized, against the custom of his people. No wonder his skin was beautifully unflawed, soft over hard muscle. His cock was still hard too, despite the recent climax. Lex wondered if he had ever felt such intense curiosity about any other lover. He thought not. The tip of Clark's cock felt like velvet.

Lex raised his head to kiss Clark's lips. "You leave me speechless," he said.

Smiling, Clark copied Lex, licking Lex's nipple, poking it with his tongue, sucking it. Lex felt the pressure of Clark's teeth, buffered by his lips, and tried to pull back. Chuckling, Clark held him in place. The vibration of the chuckle ran through Lex's entire body. "It's all right," said Clark. "I know how to avoid hurting you. Lifetime of practice."

"Not doing this."

"Trust me."

Lex had said that to many people, and often meant it. When Clark said it - it was so easy to do, so easy to trust this angelic god, so easy to relax into his embrace and trust him as he had never trusted anyone before. Was this dangerous? Recklessly, desperately, Lex wanted that danger.

Clark kissed his way down Lex's smooth chest and his belly, and took his cock in his mouth. Lex wanted to go on making love forever.

There was no reason to stop.

They touched and caressed and murmured. They held each other, dark hair brushing against hairless skin. Clark whispered, "This is happiness."

"Yes," said Lex, and he felt Clark's weight slowly lift off him. Clark was floating in the air above him, smiling. Lex reached up and touched his hand.

"Anchor me," said Clark.

Lex's fingers tightened on Clark's hand. He pulled gently and Clark drifted down to him again, weightless at first, then solid and heavy as any large man. Lex kissed his hair and said, "Of all the gods, you are the most beautiful."

"I'm as mortal as you are," said Clark.

"No, you aren't. And I can't fly."

"Neither can I," said Clark. But Lex felt the tickle of his laughter as he pressed his face against Lex's neck. "At least... not very well."

Next morning, there were no black looks from Jonathan, and Martha was cheerful, planning a special dish for the Sabbath supper.

Clark and Lex were yoking the oxen when one of the neighbors came by. Lex ducked behind the storage shed again, leaving Clark and Jonathan to talk to the stranger. He could hear the man's voice, raised in excitement or alarm, but he could not hear what he said.

Lex found a wildflower and begin to pick at its petals. He loves me, he loves me not . . . .

He was on his third flower when the neighbor left and Clark came to get him. He held the flower out to Clark with a grin.

Clark, who looked somber, looked at it and said, "Half the petals are gone."

"I was using it to see if you cared about me."

Clark's smile lit up the day. "Do I?"

"The oracle is unsure. Hedging its bets. One flower says no, one says yes."

"Silly flower," said Clark, and kissed him, swinging him off his feet. The he put him down and said, "News. There are soldiers headed this way."

They walked back towards the oxen as Clark continued. "They are demanding taxes and manpower. Our neighbors are losing their sons to the army. If they refuse to give up their sons, the soldiers are killing them, taking their goods, burning their farms. I can run, but. . . ."

"I have to leave," said Lex. "I'll be a danger to you and your family if they find me here. They may not recognize me right away, but someone will soon. You would all be put to death."

"They could try," said Clark simply. "Take me with you." When Lex hesitated, he said, "You know what you have to do."

Lex considered him. He knew what he thought himself, but he wasn't sure where Clark's thoughts were leading him. "What do I have to do? Kill Lucas?"

"That's up to you. Mostly you have to restore the government."

"Find a new Pharaoh, you mean," said Lex lightly. His father had been the kingmaker, not him. This was the difficult part.

"No," said Clark, looking surprised. "That isn't it. You have to become the new Pharaoh. Didn't you realize that? No one else can do it."

Lex supposed it had always been there: the thought, the knowledge of the need. He didn't want to be Pharaoh. That had been Julian's role. Lex was much happier holding the power behind the throne.

But Julian was gone, and his father was gone, and Lucas would soon be dead. Who else was left to sit on the golden throne? Who could ensure that Lucas receive the punishment he deserved, if not the Pharaoh?

"It's all right," said Clark. "I'll be there." He leaned over and brushed his lips against Lex's mouth. "I'll help you."

By the time they were back at the house, Martha had wrapped up some food and necessities for them. She gave Lex a pair of sandals and a spoon and a cup as a parting gift. "No words can thank you for your help," said Lex seriously, resolving again to surround her in riches as soon as he had the means. Smiling, she unexpectedly kissed his cheek. "You can repay me by being good to Clark," she said. "Protect him in the world. He needs a good friend."

"He will have one," said Lex.

Jonathan clapped his shoulder, awkwardly. "I cannot wish you luck in murdering a king," he said. "But I can wish you the best in your life. Clark believes you can right the wrongs of the world. I pray that is true."

"I like to pay my debts. I hope someday to pay what I owe you."

"Does it all boil down to wealth with you?"

"Don't misunderstand me," said Lex. "I am not talking about money."

Jonathan looked at him thoughtfully. "Always the puzzle. Very well, I ask one thing of you. Send my son back to me."

"I will bring him myself," said Lex.

Lex was turning away when Jonathan added, "Lex? In a family, there are no debts. You have nothing to repay us."

"Thank you," said Lex. "In that case, whatever I bring you will be a gift."

The road was long and dusty. They could not keep to it for long, for the soldiers would be close on their heels: the neighbor had reported them two hours down the road and moving quickly.

Lex and Clark could move quickly, too. Clark offered to carry Lex. "I don't get tired," he said. "And I can go fast. I have a lot of stamina."

"I noticed that last night."

"Regrets?"

"Only when I sit down. Then.... none at all."

They took footpaths near the river, and saw flames in the distance ahead - nowhere near Jonathan's farm. Lex said, "We should try to get to the Temple. I still have friends there." He hoped it was true.

That night, they found shelter under a boat that had been pulled up on the riverbank. They lay together, exploring each other and touching, cherishing the moment. The prospect of confrontation with Lucas excited Lex; his future was about to begin. His mind filled with possibilities: plans and counter-plans. Thoughts cascading too fast, he had only to look at Clark to find himself calming again. "My father would want me to take power," he explained. "He taught me to rule for Julian. To do so on my own behalf will be odd."

"Can you handle being Pharaoh?" asked Clark.

"If you're with me, I can," said Lex.

"Lex. . . I don't really know a lot about ruling a country. I don't have the experience to advise you, like your father did."

"I know that, Clark. You're nothing like him. What I need is someone to talk to, that I can trust. . . . I can tell you a secret. My father wasn't so wise. He was bullheaded and often wrong, but he had a certitude that pulled him through. He taught me that." He ran his lips across Clark's collarbone. "Secrets of success. It's all in the attitude."

"All?"

"I want more than that, Clark. I want to be successful - and right. If I must be a Pharaoh, I intend to be a great Pharaoh."

Clark's hands roamed over him till his body tingled. Urgency overcame them. Hands and tongues and legs and cocks and voices dueled and danced and came together until there was nothing in the universe but touch.

Before dawn, they were up and washing in the river, and then walking. They talked as they walked, because there was no reason not to. They talked about thoughts and experiences. They talked about ideas. They compared thoughts on how to run the country. Though his life had been confined to a farm and a village, Clark's thoughts showed a certain practical wisdom, a combination of common sense and the ingrained values of his family's holy teachings.

Lex asked Clark about his abilities, how strong he was, how invulnerable. He wasn't sure whether he believed all the answers. "I don't always know what I can do till I do it," Clark confessed. He frowned. "I've been feeling odd. Since we left the farm."

"In what way?"

"Ill. I don't know. Strange." He shrugged. "I guess it'll pass."

But he remained slower than before, his steps sluggish. It was Lex who had more energy, walking quickly, his ears alert to the sounds of men following, always too dangerously close.

When they had ran out of food, Clark caught fish, and cooked it with his heat vision on the rocks of the riverbank.

They should not have stopped. They could hear the army, close by: mounted men, their voices loud. Clark could outrun horses, but Lex could not. Lex was considering suggesting that Clark should run while Lex hid himself, but Clark was dealing with another difficulty. Clark's breath was labored. His step faltered. Just when he should have bene moving more quickly, he was slowing.

At a turn in the path, Clark said, "I feel weird." He stopped.

Lex listened, his hand on Clark's arm. "The soldiers are close. We'd better hide."

Clark gasped and slid to his knees.

"Clark! Get up - we have to move." Lex pulled at Clark's arm. His hand in his was oddly green. "Clark?"

"Hurts," muttered Clark. His eyes closed. He sank onto the ground, curling up in a ball, the bones of his vertebrae visible under his skin as he groaned in pain.

Lex could not lift him. "Clark, what's wrong?" He could hear the horses now, and voices, pushing through the underbrush. "Are you hurt? Are you ill?"

Clark opened his eyes, desperation clear in them. "Run." His voice was so thin it was lost in the inches between them.

Lex gritted his teeth and tried again to lift Clark's body. He pulled Clark's arm over his shoulders, using the full strength of his body and back to lift him. Clark was an inert dead weight. If he could hide Clark in the bushes, they might survive.

They had no chance. The soldiers were suddenly around them, circling them, riding among the trees Lex had hoped to hide behind.

"You!" said the captain in charge. "What's wrong with your friend?"

"He's sick," said Lex. "I think he has the plague."

The sergeant grunted and frowned. "Plague doesn't turn a man green. I think he's faking." He snapped his fingers. "Throw him in the cart with the other fakers. A spell in prison will teach him his duty. As for you -" He turned again to Lex, and stopped, frowning. "Wait a minute. I know you."

Lex knew the captain, too. He was the man who had tried to kill Julian's cat in the golden hall on that terrible day.

"I doubt it," said Lex acidly. "I don't spend my time in the gutter."

He thought for the moment the man was going to kill him for the insult, but recognition brought its own ironic safety. The brother of the Pharaoh could not lightly be abused, even if the Pharaoh was likely to behead him on sight. So the sergeant commanded: "Tie his hands, and give him a horse."

Lex watched the soldiers lift Clark's body. It took three of them. He wanted to tell them to be careful, and bit his tongue to silence himself. He mustn't let them see that it mattered to him: let them think Clark a nobody, a farmer's son, a chance acquaintance he had met on the road. They must not learn he was a god. Could Clark - sick and helpless - keep his secret? Keep his head? Would he even survive?

Worrying, Lex rode back into the city bound to a soldier's saddle. Clark followed far behind him, unconscious in a cart.

They put Lex alone into a cell. He paced, at first, thinking about Clark. Then, since worrying wouldn't get him out of the cell, he sat and forced himself to meditate. He called on the gods to help and protect Clark, their emissary among men.

After a while he slept, but was not given much time. Soldiers came and woke him. A blindfold was tied around his eyes and they rebound his hands, and marched him up stairs and along corridors. He had been to the palace prisons before; the sounds and smells were familiar to him, as were the shaded terraces above, the rose garden and the Golden Hall. He knew when they passed the Hall of Masks because he knew the steps of the passageway; he knew when they approached the dais and the gilded alabaster throne.

He tried to stand with straight-backed dignity, but was pushed to his knees, his head pressed to the floor. "Hello, brother," said Lucas' rough voice. "Have you come to kiss my foot?'

An object - sandal, toes - nudged Lex's cheek. He spat at it. A hand grabbed him by the neck and pulled him upright onto his knees. "Lex. Swear to serve me and you'll live. Refuse and I will kill you - after I've used you up in bed."

"Why trust me there? Are you so desperate? You have no friends, so you're reduced to taking your enemies to bed?" Lex took a vicious thrill in taunting Lucas, far more than was warranted. Lionel would chide him for being emotional. He wondered how he could get Lucas to tell him where Clark was without revealing too much. He wondered if Lucas even knew about Clark's existence. A sick boy in a cart. . . . He wondered if Lucas had any idea that he could make Lex do anything he wished by threatening Clark.

Lucas paced around him. His sandals made soft tapping noises on the floor. There were other people in the room, standing quietly except for the occasional murmur. Lex could hear a harpist in the distance, and a murmur of voices, occasional laughter. Had Lucas been called from some concert or revelry?

Revelry, most like. When Lucas roughly grabbed his neck again and forced a heady kiss on his lips, he could taste alcohol and spice. He could not fight the kiss, so he endured it. The touch of Lucas' lips felt like a defilement, after Clark's.

Lucas released him and said, "Well, Lex? Swear obedience to me now, and I might show you clemency, if you beg prettily enough."

"No," said Lex simply.

For a moment there was silence. Lucas did not speak. The room was silent, as if everyone in it held their breath at once.

Lex said loudly, "You are a false king and a bad one. I denounce you and curse you for the death of our father and our brother. I will never serve you. Kill me now, or risk my knife in your back later, because I promise you, as long as you and I are both living, that will be my goal."

He felt Lucas' hand on his head, almost gentle. Lucas' fingers fumbled with the knot on the blindfold. Lucas was just a little too drunk to do it smoothly. He threw aside the blindfold and said, "I want you to see your own death." He glanced at the archers who lined the back of the room. "Shoot him."

Lex saw the arrow notched, the bow raised by hands that were probably trained by the same men who had taught him to shoot. He saw the arrow aim to hit true, and smiled, and rose to his feet because he did not want to face death kneeling, even with his hands tied. Silently he prayed to Amun-Ra for Clark's sake.

The Captain released the arrow.

Lex saw it coming, and thought: I have been a lucky man. I lived a few days beyond my time, and earned Clark's love.

The arrow never reached him. Clark stood - no, hovered - in midair, the arrow held in his fist where he had grabbed it from the air. He snapped it in half, and tossed the pieces to the ground.

Wearing only his kilt, his hair disheveled, his breath quick, Clark had never looked so much a god.

Someone cried out. Several soldiers dropped to their knees. Their weapons dropped to the ground beside them. A soldier, overcome by wonder, prostrated himself.

Lucas, no coward, snarled, "Who the hell are you?"

"I have come to ask you why you have your rightful lord bound and facing death."

Lucas sneered. "Him? The lover who betrayed me? My worthless brother? He deserves to die."

The tip of Clark's toe touched the floor lightly. Several soldiers threw themself to the ground in his honor. "Betrayal? You accuse him?"

"I am Pharaoh! Obey me or die," said Lucas. "Prostrate yourself, whoever you are."

Lex said, "There is not a man in this room now who would obey you."

"Be quiet!"

"Give the command. See who would lift a hand for your sake."

Lucas looked around. He seemed unsteady on his feet. He said to the archers, "Shoot him," but there was no power in his voice. In any case, they no longer held weapons, and their eyes were fixed on Clark in wonder and amazement.

Lucas looked around wildly. He appeared to be looking for a way to escape. He tried to move past Clark, but Clark was instantly in front of him as he turned. Lucas cursed. Lex thought of the difference between Lucas and Lionel, who had been in command of himself even in the moments of his death.

Clark said, "Untie him," and pointed his finger at Lex. Four men rushed forward to cut the ropes on Lex's arms. Lucas tried to stop one with his fist, but the man grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. "Don't touch me!" demanded Lucas. "I am Pharaoh. I am your god-king!"

"There is a king in this room," said Lex, pitching his voice to carry. "It isn't you." To the soldiers: "Take him to the cell I was in. Lock him up there. Leave him to worry about his fate."

There was a murmur around the room.

"Victory," said Clark, smiling. He lowered himself to the floor with weightless grace. He looked again like a normal man, except a normal man was never so beautiful. His eyes were on Lex, warm and admiring. "You okay, Lex?"

"Never better," said Lex. Slowly, theatrically, he dropped his eyes, and slid, with what he hoped was slow grace, to his knees. "My lord Pharaoh."

"What?" Clark looked around in confusion. "No! What are you doing, Lex? You're supposed to be - Get up!"

Lex got up, because he could not disobey a direct order from the king. "I am the heir of the kingmaker, not of the king. The Pharaoh is a god among men. I am not a god, and never will be one, but you - you have always been a god."

"But-"

"Is your heart just?"

"I hope so, but-"

"Can you help people to live better lives? Can you make this a kingdom to be proud of? Would you help the suffering and protect the weak?"

"I would... I could, if you were helping me."

The cat Bright Star came out from under the throne, and rubbed itself against Clark's ankle. Clark looked down at it, confused. It sat back on its haunches, and looked up at him. He picked it up as Julian used to, and scratched its ear. There was a murmur of approval among the onlookers.

Lex spoke to be heard and remembered by everyone in the room. "The High Priest of Amun-Ra is the right hand of the Pharaoh and the left hand of the god. I pledge to you, my Pharaoh, every allegiance and every duty. And as a man," he lowered his voice, "I pledge to you my love."

The cat jumped down to the floor, licking its paws in satisfaction. Clark held out his hand, palm forward, moving with extraordinary grace. Lex raised his hand, and they touched fingertips.

The soldiers, standing again, began to cheer. Someone was thumping his swordhilt on his shield and someone else took up the rhythm. Lex moved closer. "Are you all right? You were sick - your skin was green -"

"Green rocks," said Clark. "I get sick when I'm near green rocks. They were among the trees. Once we were past them, it was easy enough to get out of the cart and look for you."

"You were floating."

"I was flying!" Clark's eyes shone. "I never did it before. I was in a hurry. I needed to get away from the soldiers and find you, so I just - flew. I saw some more of those green rocks, in the distance, but I was able to avoid them."

"We will banish them entirely from the kingdom of Egypt," said Lex seriously. He wound his fingers through Clark's fingers.

Clark said, "I will revoke the conscription levied by Lucas, and reverse the taxes, and make recompense to the people whose farms he burned."

Lex nodded and brushed a kiss over Clark's knuckles. "Your first commands. It may be enough for tonight. I think there is a banquet going on in the next room. I'm sure the story of your ascension to the throne has spread through the palace already. Nothing moves as fast as Palace gossip. We might as well take advantage of what's left of Lucas' dinner. I'm afraid it won't be as good as Martha's cooking, though."

"She's the best. Lex -"

"Clark! Enough commands! I want supper! And you."

"I was going to suggest," said Clark, smiling wickedly, "that there must be a bed where the Pharaoh can take his newly-rescued lover."

"My Lord, is that a command?"

"No. Your Pharaoh begs you."

"I am yours, in all ways."

"I know," said Clark. "Tomorrow we can start doing something about those green rocks."

"We can build a grand pyramid for my Julian and my father, and bury them deep under it. They will not harm you there."

"Lex? Do you have an answer for everything?"

"I hope so," said Lex. "As long as you need me for answers."

- end -