I can feel the straw poking through the cashmere of my sweater. One of Clarkís hands is rubbing my head--itís apparently a big kink for him--and the other is rubbing a spot more southward--a big kink for me. But the straw keeps reminding me that this is wrong.

"Clark, we have to stop," I gasp. His deft fingers have slipped inside both pants and underwear. I squirm towards him even as I continue to protest. "Itís the middle of the day and weíre at the front of the barn. Your father could come at any moment."

Clark just laughs. "Wonder whoís going to come first, you or him?"

Damn. What kind of monster have I created? "We have to be careful, Clark. What weíre doing is illegal in Kansas."

He sighs against my neck. "Only in Kansas? Gee, Lex, Iím sure you can think of something thatís illegal everywhere."

Well, yeah, but thatís beside the point--and for somewhere more private like my room back at the castle. "I got in a new batch of that lube you like," I cajole enticingly.

"The cotton candy flavored one?"

I shudder, my tastes a little more exotic. "Yes, Clark."

He lifts his head from my neck. "Okay, Lex, but first--"

Before I even formulate a thought, my pants and underwear at about my ankles and my dick is down Clarkís throat. Holy--"Yeah, baby," I growl, digging my fingers in those soft, dark curls. Clarkís hair is sinful, and I love being wicked. "God, Clark. Yeah, you know what I like. Mmm, yeah. Clark!" I spill into the warm cavern of his mouth, shuddering, afloat in a haze.

Which disappears as soon as I hear the applause.

Jonathan Kent is standing just inside the barn, his hands clapping together slowly, stiltedly. Iím leaning back against bales of hay, my pants at my ankles, Clark still wrapped around my dick like itís an all-day lollipop, and my throat raw from screaming his name as I came.

I am so screwed.

Why didnít I ever ask Clark where the family shotgun was kept?

"Mr. Kent," I say quickly, gathering my dignity because if Iím going to die, Iím going to do it like a Luthor--with a smirk on my face and piss broke because of a desperate last-minute bribe. "I know what this must look like--"

"Looks like my son just blew you, Mr. Luthor. Looks like I didnít see you protesting it."

Oh. Shit. Forget ruling the world by age thirty. I just want to live to see it at age thirty.

Clark opens his mouth, letting the rapidly shrinking me curl up tightly against my body. Damn thing doesnít even have a nest of hair to hide in. But Clark kisses it, pulls up my pants, and sweetly tucks me in. I figure heís in shock.

But he surprises me by winking, then turning to face his dad. "Lighten up, Dad. Itís not like this is just casual sex. Me and Lex, weíre exclusive. Arenít we, babe?"

I nod enthusiastically. If the knowledge that we do each other regularly and monogamously is going to allow me to live to see another day, hell yeah, Iíll swear to it. "I love Clark, Mr. Kent," I say with embellishment.


"Jonathan, whatís wrong?" the red-haired epitome of motherhood asks as she strolls into the barn, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Caught these two going at it. They say they Ďloveí each other."

She looks briefly at me, then focuses on her son. "Oh, Clark," she wails and throws her arms around him. "Iím so happy!"


Jonathan has joined us and he gives me a friendly whack on the back. "Damn, Clark. When you pick Ďem, you really pick Ďem, son. A Luthor! Hit the goddamned mother lode, didnít ya?"

"My son, the teenaged lover of a billionaire," Martha coos. "And Cousin Millie thought it was something when her daughter--body by Rubbermaid--landed that real estate guy up in East Lansing."

"What about Vernaís son--got that internet wunderkind up there in Seattle. But heís just a pitiful millionaire. Damn, Clark, it was worth all that extra effort to keep your pure and unspoiled all those years. Between that Lana girl and Chloe--"

"Donít forget Whitney," Clark chimes in. "Had to fight him off with a stick after he got that tattoo. Damn it, Lex, I didnít know how much longer I could hold out for you."

Hold out forÖ? What the hell? "Clark?"

He leans over and scrapes the lobe of my ear with his teeth. "Yeah, lover?"

"What the hell is going on?"

"Just us Kents hitting the lotto, son," Jonathan answers, swinging an arm across my shoulders. "Let me tell you, I was getting tired of toiling on this sorry piece of land."

"Lex, dear, how many rooms are there in the castle? Jonathan and I need a suite on the first or second floor if possible. Sometimes his leg gets a little gouty and stairs are hard for him."

I stare at her, wondering if someone hadnít accidentally spilled say, a kilo of something on that bale of hay Iíd been resting against. Iíd been huffing pretty heavily while Clark sucked my dick. In fact, Iím sweaty and feeling kinda weird. I never could take a lot of powder.

"I hope you hired a replacement family for the Palmers. Damn if Iím doing another load of laundry," Marthaís still saying. "Think that butler guy of yours will go out and get me some Wild Turkey? You probably just have that expensive stuff and it just makes me gassy."

I try to bolt out of the barn, but Jonathanís got his arm around my shoulders and Clark has his around my waist. Iím trapped and held tight.

"So I hear LuthorCorp has a side business of bootlegging cigarettes from North Carolina?" Jonathan asks as he and his son lead me to my car. Clark folds up into the backseat, moving over to let his mother in. Jonathan takes the passenger seat next to me. "Thatís good news. Iíve been without decent smokes for a while now."

My hands are shaking so badly, I canít even turn the ignition. "Um, donít you want to go get your things and lock up the house?" If they get out of my car, I can be at the airport and on my way to a country without extradition laws. Let them throw the book at me. I have enough money to outlast and outlive them. No, I donít. Itís still Lionelís money. And thereís no way in hellÖ.

"Ainít nothing we want in there, son," Jonathan says, patting my thigh. He doesnít seem to notice that I cringe. Or maybe he does and just doesnít care. "We got it all right here. Isnít that right, my fifteen-year-old son?"

"Thatís right, Daddy."

I squeeze the steering wheel as tightly as the Kent family are squeezing my balls.

"Iím envisioning chintz curtains for every room in the castle," Martha comments. "Big olí sunflowers."

I drop my head against the wheel and scream.


"Lex! Wake up, Lex!"

"I don't have any smokes, Clark, and I hate chintz," I mumble against the top of my desk. The top of my desk? I sit up and see that I'm in my office at the castle--with no chintz curtains. It was just a dream, I realize with a nervous laugh. Just a dream.

"Lex, you're scaring me here. You been experimenting again?" A cool hand lands on my brow. "Oh, Lex, youíre awfully warm. I think you caught that flu bug you said wouldn't have the audacity to compromise a Luthor. Let's get you upstairs and into bed."

"No!" I jerk and my chair rolls back from the desk. "I'm okay. It's just warm in here." Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice--just doesn't happen with a Luthor. "I'm perfectly fine sitting here and you're perfectly fine standing where you are. No need for you to get closer. I may be contagious or something," I add, hoping to dispel the determination I see in his eyes.

Clark smiles patiently and walks towards me. I scoot further back until the chair hits the wall. Where the hell did a wall come from?

"Come on, Lex. I promise you a little TLC won't hurt a bit. I learned from a master--my mom," Clark coaxes.

"I don't like chintz," I whine.

Clark frowns but shakes his head. "No chintz, Lex. And what about a nice lukewarm bath before you turn in? See if we can get that fever down a bit."

"Cigarette smoke might cause my asthma to come back," I warn.

"No smoking. Got it, Lex."

"And no," I shudder, "Wild Turkey. Ever."

Clark looks scared and scoops me up in his arms like I'm just a little baby. I *knew* he was stronger than he let on.

"Hang on, Lex. I'm going to get you in the bath and call my mom."

I snuggle into his arms, appreciatively sniffing the sun-dried smell of his red sweater. Beneath the sweater I can feel the thump of his heart and the ripple of his muscles as I'm carried up the stairs. Hmm. I could get used to this. I nuzzle against his neck and sigh.

Hell, what's a couple of smokes between friends?

I'm still drawing the line at chintz though.

The End