Clark had been a train conductor since he turned eighteen.  Before that, he'd been apprenticed to one since he was fifteen.  His parents, who had found him in a Kansas field when he was still a very small child, would have liked to keep him on their farm, but he'd accidentally bent up the tracks near Smallville when he was fighting one of the Green Demons, and hadn't fixed it before the next train through went over it, got derailed, and messed up the Kansas railroad system for the next four months.  Judge Ross, under pressure from the Railroad and after looking at the bent track, had deemed the damage non-accidental and the Kents would either have to pay for damages (which they certainly couldn't afford) or have Clark work off the debt.

By Clark's estimation, he'd be working for the Railroad for the rest of his natural life.  Assuming he had a natural life.  Bending the track like that hadn't been the strangest feat he had managed and his parents told him he fell from the heavens during the day of fiery rain.  Their fallen angel, they called him, sent to them from God himself on the day they had just begun to despair that they would never have children.

He might have worried that being a fallen angel meant he was a demon, but he'd seen the Green Demons and he was reassured on that point.  He worried that Smallville had to face them without him, but the rails had their own dangers. 

In the last six years since he'd begun riding them, Clark had gotten the reputation among the Railroad management to have a guardian angel that protected not just him, but the entire train he conducted.  Indian arrows burned to ash before they ever reached their targets.  Bullets from train robbers mysteriously disappeared from the air.  Impediments on the tracks just lifted up and away.  On an average of two or three times a year, he would come into station with a band of Indians or train robbers tied up and ready to be jailed.  The trussed up would-be attackers never knew what hit them most of the time.  Clark just stammered and blushed and twitched and pretended to have no idea what had happened.  But he was blessed, and his trains were blessed, so they put him on the routes most prone to attack: those that go through Indian Territory and those that carry payrolls.  Clark didn't mind overmuch.  It kept the passengers safer, having him there, and the constant hazard pay was going to get him out of his debt at least five years earlier than originally anticipated.  Not to mention, the bounties on any of the outlaws he brought in.  That was going to cut his owed time in half, easy.

It was a payroll route he was on now.  Fifty thousand dollars in cash sat in the train safe, calling out to every train robber in the state of Montana that there was wealth to be gained here.  The train was currently well within a region known to be frequented by the Mountain Lion Gang.  The group was led by Lionel Luthor, a sharp shooter who'd been robbing trains for nearly as long as there had been trains worth robbing.  He had to be incredibly rich by now.  His takes were never less than $20,000.  But he still kept on robbing.  Word was his son was working with him now.  Bald fellow.  Probably close to Clark's age, though the rumors ranged anywhere from six years older to six years younger.  Though known most commonly as Kid Luthor, his first name was pretty uniformly agreed to be 'Lex'.  There were a handful of other outlaws associated with them, but those were the big two.  The rest were just heavies to support their sharp shooting leader and the safe cracking heir.

Clark had been reading the Wanted notices on the gang since the station at Miles City.  He wouldn't stop expecting them to show until the train was safe in Billings with the payroll off-loaded to the bank there.  Lionel was worth $30,000 by himself, dead or alive.  Kid Luthor was a measly $10,000 by comparison.  But $40,000 was enough to cover the remainder of his debt in one fell swoop, and all he had to do was wait for them to rob his train.  There'd even be a couple hundred left over that he could send home to his folks. 

Clark stilled as he felt the cold metal barrel of a six gun against his temple.  "If you're looking to collect on us, you're sadly mistaken," a cool voice spoke into his ear.  "Stand away from your desk and open the safe."  Clark couldn't see who had snuck up on him, but every report he'd ever heard about the Mountain Lion Gang was that they'd board loudly with guns blazing.  Surely this wasn't them?

"No," he said, not afraid for his own life because, hey!  Invulnerable Angel, here.  He'd been shot before and it hadn't so much as scratched his skin.  He was, however, a little worried about what people would say if a gun went off point blank next to his temple and it was the gun that shattered instead of his skull.  But there was no way he was going to offer up the payroll on a silver platter for them.

"I don't think you understand your situation here," the voice warned.  "If you don't, you die."

"It's just a Brooker 202, Dad," another voice stated.  "Leave him alone.  I'll crack it.  Give me ten minutes."  It was a ludicrous claim.  The Brooker 202 had sequential action tumblers that were almost silent.  You'd need to have special angel-hearing to listen to them over the sounds of a moving train.  There were, however, just as ludicrous rumours that said Kid Luthor had pulled it off before.  Not on a moving train, but within ten minutes.

A man a few inches shorter than Clark entered his field of vision, moving directly to the safe and kneeling down in front of it.  He was dressed like a banker; black slacks, coat, and narrow tie over a white shirt.  A black brimmed hat sat atop a head that a closer inspection showed was bald.  He'd missed that when he checked the man's ticket earlier.  He assumed the elderly gentleman he'd been sitting with was the one holding a gun on Clark now.  From the wanted poster, he'd expected a wilder beard on Lionel and a less distinguished appearance from both of them.

Kid Luthor pressed his ear against the safe and started turning the combination knob, frowning in concentration.  Clark could almost feel his own captor's impatience.  "Make it quick, Lex.  I don't like this."

Lex gave them an irritated look of his own as he sat back on his heels, pulling away from the safe.  "If you don't shut up, I won't be able to hear the tumblers.  And nothing's going to happen.  The only person besides us who knows the train's getting robbed is right here and you've got a gun on him.  Now, quiet."  He turned back to the safe.

If Clark could distract them for one moment, he could get away, find the Federal Marshal up in the dining car, get back, subdue both Luthors before the Marshal got there, and get back to the dining car before anyone realized he was gone.  But he couldn't just disappear when they had him at gunpoint.  That would look freaky.

They were seven minutes closer to Lex's self-imposed deadline and Clark was beginning to think he'd have to do the disappearing stunt after all when he heard a jingle of spurs just outside.  A peek (using special angel-vision) through the solid door of his cabin showed he wouldn't be needing to fetch the Marshal after all.  In the quiet of the room, with only the sounds of the track moving beneath the train, the sound of the doorknob turning was loud.  Lex startled and rose to his feet, turning to face the door as he drew his gun.  Lionel's grip on his arm tightened and the barrel of the gun pressed harder against his temple.  He turned them so Clark was being used as a shield.

As the door swung open, Lex took partial cover behind the safe and steadied his aim.  "Step inside, close the door, lock it, and put your hands up," Kid Luthor ordered.  The Marshal looked surprised, then his expression clouded into anger.  Clark silently cursed when he realized the man was going to go for his gun.

Lex saw it, too.  He cocked his own gun.  "I wouldn't do that if I were you.  You'll just kill yourself and the conductor."  The Marshal scowled, but he closed the door behind him and put up his hands.  He didn't lock the door, but nobody said anything about the oversight.  "Go on over there and stand next to, what's your name, conductor?"

"K-Kent.  Clark Kent," Clark told him because there wasn't really any reason not to.

Kid Luthor's blue eyes drew back to him, looking mildly startled, possibly even a little nervous. Clark wondered if his name was getting around to the robbers as well as the Railroad.  But Lex covered it quickly and turned back to the Marshal.  "Go stand beside Mr. Kent, there.  Dad, you've got them, right?"

"I told you we couldn't rob a train with only two men," Lionel argued.

"Three minutes.  Give me another three minutes and we'll be out of here."  Then he put his gun away and went back to seducing the safe to give up her combination.  It was almost three minutes to the second when he sat back, smirked, and cracked open the safe door.  That was when all hell broke out in the room.  The Marshal elbowed Lionel in the gut.  A gun went off shattering the lamp and plunging the room into darkness as the flame fortunately went out instead of spreading.  More shots, two of which Clark stopped from hitting and killing the Marshal, one of which struck Lex in the leg. 

When Clark righted the lamp and relit it, Lionel was bound and gagged, Lex was disarmed but missing, the safe was closed once more (apparently shut during the scuffle, possibly when Lex was hit), and the Marshal was pointing his gun around trying to find his enemy.  With the light restored, the muzzle came to rest aiming at Lionel, though his eyes still sought the Kid.  "Where'd the boy get?"

Clark looked around, seeing a few drops of blood on the ground in front of the safe, but the trail didn't appear to go anywhere.  Even using his special vision didn't reveal his location.  He'd lost track of where Lex was while he'd tied Lionel and he'd disappeared as eerily as a Green Demon.  "He seems to have gotten away," Clark admitted.

"Can't have gotten far." He briefly pointed his gun at the bloodstain.  "He's been hit."  But no amount of searching the room, the rest of the train, or the land around the train (Clark had brought it to a stop to look for the escaped robber) showed any evidence of Lex's trail.

"The boy's a ghost when he wants to be, you'll never find him," was all the information Lionel would give on the subject.  They carried on to Billings, giving up on the Kid for the time being.  As the Marshal brought Lionel Luthor over to the jail, Clark returned to his cabin to get the payroll ready for transport over to the bank. He came as close to having a heart attack as he ever before had when he opened the safe and an unconscious Kid Luthor tumbled out into his arms.

He looked younger, asleep.  Eighteen, maybe.  No more than twenty, certainly.  But it was hard to tell with folks called 'Kid'.  And the bald scalp, now that his hat had fallen to the floor, only confused matters, making him look almost fragile.  Clark put him on his bed and pressed a hand over his chest to make sure he was still breathing.  Safes were made airtight and he'd been in there a couple of hours.  But he was drawing air and his heartbeat was regular, if weak.

Next, Clark stripped him of his bloody trousers to see if the bullet had passed through cleanly, but he drew back in shock when he saw the gunshot wound looked days old instead of hours.  Cautiously, Clark reached out a hand, holding it just above the unblemished skin a few inches away from the injury.  He didn't feel any of the evil tingling that usually accompanied close contact to a Green Demon.  That, at least, was reassuring.  But if Kid Luthor wasn't a Green Demon, what was he?  Another fallen angel like Clark?

He'd never heard of any other safe cracker who could break a Brooker 202 in only ten minutes, on or off a moving train.  He healed miraculously fast.  He disappeared like a ghost (though it was cheating a little bit to hide in a lead lined safe).  Heaven knew what other gifts he might have.  They were not the same as Clark's, but the Green Demons all had different powers as well.  There was no reason why fallen angels would all have the same ones.  The Smallville priest, the only other person besides his parents that knew the truth, had said there might have been one other that fell at the same time Clark had.

And if Kid Luthor was a fallen angel, too, Clark couldn't let him be turned over to the Billings sheriff.  But he couldn't let him go either.  The man was still an outlaw.  He'd robbed countless trains and banks over the last couple of years.  His gang had killed people.  Clark found a set of handcuffs he kept around for apprehending would-be train robbers and fastened one cuff around Kid Luthor's right hand and one around a post in his headboard.  Then he used angel fire from his eyes to fuse the metal so he wouldn't be able to pick his way free of it.  He'd need angel strength to get free and Clark had gotten the impression that was not among the Kid's gifts.

He collected the payroll, a little worse for wear and slightly bloody after sharing a safe with Kid's injured and hiding body.  He rearranged the bills so the bloody ones weren't obvious, dithered about what to do with the completely blood-soaked $100 bill that had been wrapped around the removed bullet, decided to just burn it with angel fire, then brought the payroll bags out to the deputies who would transport the money from the train to the bank.  When asked whether there had been any problems, he just said that the Luthors had tried to nab it, gotten as far as opening the safe, but they'd been ultimately unsuccessful. To cover for that one bill and the other bloody ones, he said that the money had been disturbed, but looked to be all there. They'd already heard Lionel Luthor was in jail, and Clark perpetuated the story that Kid Luthor had somehow escaped capture.

He accompanied them to the bank, just to be sure it got there, then headed back to his train.  The Marshal met him on the way back, generously offering a third of the bounty on Lionel for his assistance in tying the man up.  $10,000 was a little disappointing after hoping to bag $40,000, but Clark wasn't going to complain.  It was still a huge sum and would bring down his debt by more than twenty five percent.  And he could hardly insist on half since he was just the conductor and hadn't even been armed.  The Marshal was within his rights to collect all of it.  So Clark told him where the money should be sent and thanked him sincerely.  They parted company on excellent terms, and the Marshal told him he'd be heading back along the tracks to look for where Kid might have jumped off.  Clark wished him luck, and returned to his train, where Kid Luthor was still asleep on Clark's bed.

The next station after Billings was a short span of maybe an hour, so the next two were busy with checking everyone's tickets, ferreting out any stowaways, announcing the Laurel station, checking off disembarking passengers, and repeating the first two steps as the train picked up again and carried on toward Livingston.  The train would pass through there during the night and carry on to reach Helena by mid morning.  Normally at this point, Clark would return to his cabin to sleep.  Today, however, his bed was occupied by a train robber.  For the next hour, he just dithered around, catching up on paperwork, tidying his room. He also checked that the safe wasn't unduly affected from being cracked, then occupied by a living inhabitant.  Everything seemed in order.  He took the time to change the combination now that Kid Luthor knew it, but after that he was at a loss as to what to do.  The outlaw was still sound asleep.

Clark checked the boy's leg again, and it seemed to be almost fully healed now.  Just a slight discoloration and a little bruising remained.  His heartbeat was stronger now as well, and he seemed to be in a real sleep instead of simply unconscious.  Deciding it wouldn't hurt the other man, Clark nudged him over and joined him on the bed.  He checked the handcuffs, blew out his light, pulled the blankets up around both of them, and fell promptly to sleep.

<p><hr><p>

Lex woke on a mattress lumpier than the one he was used to, in a room that shuddered and vibrated worse than any earthquake he'd felt in California. He was crowded against a wall by a body larger and firmer than any woman's he'd ever slept with before.  He had gotten as far as deducing that he was on a train when he noticed the handcuff around his right wrist.  After that, memory resurfaced and he was briefly overcome with the panic he'd felt just before he'd passed out inside the safe.

He expected he was going to have a problem with claustrophobia for a while now.

Then he pushed aside the panic as he recognized that he was alive, out of the safe, and apparently taken captive.  That was easy enough to fix, though.  He could crack safes.  Handcuffs were nothing and they'd even left his left hand free.  Thirty seconds and he'd be out.  He was only five seconds into trying get free when he realized there was something seriously wrong with these cuffs.  A closer inspection showed they'd been melted shut.  He frowned and tested the give.  Whoever had done this did it well.  Even if he dislocated his thumb, he wasn't going to get his hand free.  He'd have to break the chain somehow and find someone to cut it off his wrist.

He shifted the cuff around to get a good grip on the chain as he tested its strength.  Before he could do more than give it a light tug, though, a large hand wrapped around his manacled wrist and held it still.  "You won't be escaping, Kid Luthor."

Lex pressed his lips together in annoyance, more at the form of address than at being told escape was impossible.  Any captor would say that.  "Lex, if you don't mind," he corrected, "I'm not eight anymore."  Such diminutive names were a hazard of being the son of the gang leader, he supposed, but he didn't have to take it lying down.  Well, he did, because it would be awkward to sit up from this position, but that wasn't the point.

"Lex, then," his captor conceded, which was at least a minor victory anyway.

"Did my father get away?" he asked, unable to help the bitterness in his voice that he'd been left behind.  He'd known that was a distinct possibility when he took cover from the flying bullets inside the safe.  That really hadn't been one of his brightest moves ever, especially when an unanticipated bump on the track snapped it fully closed.  He could have died in there.

"Lionel Luthor is awaiting trial in Billings."

Oh.  He didn't get away.  Lex . . . wasn't sure how he felt about that.  Except, it didn't make sense.  If Dad was already in Billings, then the train had been in Billings, and he'd been found when they took out the payroll money.  So why wasn't he there, too?  Unless they wanted to put them in different towns so they didn't somehow conspire together to escape.  But the dark window proved that they must have already gone through Laurel as well.  "So, where am I going to trial?"

His captor was silent for a long time, then he said, "You're not."

Alarmed, Lex turned to look at the man he was being held by (both figuratively and literally).  It was the conductor, Kent.  Lex had heard about him before.  He foiled robberies just by being in the same territory.  A good luck charm for the Railroads, a bane to thieves.  But Lex hadn't ever heard of the man lynching anybody.  Lex hadn't even done anything worthy of a lynching.  He was the safe cracker, not a gunman.  And Kent didn't look particularly angry with him, not like a man about to lynch somebody.  "What do you mean, I'm not?"  He hoped he sounded confused rather than worried.

"You're special," Kent said, and one of his hands moved beneath the blanket and squeezed Lex's inner thigh.

Lex's eyes widened and his heart rate trebled.  He felt his skin go cold and a shiver rode down his spine.  He'd heard about men who had such proclivities.  He'd never expected that he'd be the subject of such an interest, though, certainly not from someone who was as close to a lawman as Clark Kent was.  But even as terror coursed through his veins, a returned interest began to burn inside him.  The man was certainly good looking, his lips fascinating, his arms strong.  And if all he wanted for Lex's life was to have sex with him, Lex was willing to make that sacrifice.  He turned more fully onto his back and spread his legs wider.

"The gunshot wound is completely gone," Kent continued, rubbing his thumb over the spot.

Oh.  Lex flushed.  He hadn't been asking for sex.  He'd been drawing attention to the bullet wound Lex had forgotten he'd taken.  That was almost more disconcerting.  He had no idea how to respond to that.  His father knew, but they never discussed it.  The rest of the gang just thought it proof that the Luthors had sold their souls to the devil.

He saw the change in Kent's expression the moment he realized what Lex had originally taken his comment to mean.  Shock and maybe something like revulsion.  Whatever it was, he drew away quickly, taking the blanket with him as he sprang away from the bed.  "What are you, Lex?" Kent asked, sounding strained.  "Where did you come from?"

Lex sat up on the bed and rearranged his shirt as best he could to cover that his lower half was pretty much naked beyond his smallclothes.  If he was negotiating for his freedom, it was probably best not to come across as a boywhore now that he knew that wasn't what Kent was looking for. "Depends on who you ask."

"Let's start with your father.  What does he say your origins are?"

That was another thing his father didn't talk about.  He'd gotten the impression that Lionel had been married at one time, but Lex had no clear memory of a mother and it was entirely possible that his assumption was just wishful thinking.  He'd lived with his nanny Pamela for most of his early years, but he didn't think Pam was his mom.  Pam didn't speak of his mother either, though.  But then, she hadn't spoken of Lionel either until she started getting sick.  Lex shook his head.  "He doesn't say."

"This," Kent said, stepping cautiously closer and brushing his fingers lightly across the skin of Lex's bare scalp, "Were you always like that?"

Another thing that was never spoken of.  He was bald.  Get over it, live with it, and don't let anybody get away with belittling him because of it.  "As long as I can remember."

Kent nodded as if this were what he expected to hear.  Tentatively, nervously, he sat down on the edge of bed beside Lex.  "Are you a fallen angel?"

Well, that was the nicest way he'd ever been asked if he was of the devil.  He shrugged, watching Kent warily for any indication he was about to burn him as an unholy creature.  But Kent had seen the way he'd healed.  There was no logical explanation for that, no way to deny it happened.  And the truth was, with his father being so tight lipped about why Lex was the way he was, Lex just didn't know. He certainly wouldn't put a deal with the devil beyond his father.  "Some people say so."

He was surprised when Kent smiled.  "Me, too."  He looked out the dark window, and lay back down beside Lex.  "Morning's still a few hours off.  We'll talk again then.  For now, sleep." He nudged Lex back onto his side and curled up behind him.  Still chained to the bed and not knowing how else to respond, he did nothing to protest the arm that snaked around his waist.

Sleep would be impossible.  Nevermind that he'd slept for God knew how long already.  Even if he'd been tired, he wouldn't be able to drop off.  Not with a self-proclaimed demon in the same bed.  Not when said male demon was pressed up behind him.  Not when it didn't make sense.

Kent had just said he was from Hell and that was a bit shocking coming from anybody, nevermind the thief-bane conductor.  Certainly, it was unusual, how many robberies had been foiled on Kent's trains, but surely a demon wouldn't protect people and their property.  Unless one of the Railroad men had sold their soul.  That could almost make sense.  But Kent didn't feel evil.  Lionel did, on occasion, but Kent felt the opposite.  Good, like a real angel, not a fallen one.  Unless he was getting his mythologies mixed up. "Could you go back and explain the fallen angel thing?"

Kent smiled against the back of his head, he could feel it.  He also squeezed his arm around Lex briefly just as he began to explain, "We're not from Earth, Lex.  We have abilities normal people don't."  Okay, that implied, yes, it was Kent himself protecting his own trains, but not because of a Railroad man's corruption. He'd heard about the kinds of events Kent's 'blessing' presence created. And if it wasn't God doing those things, then it was Kent himself.  Those were some very impressive powers.  Far more than Lex's little healing gift. 

"Abilities like what?"  Knowledge was power and right now it was looking like his life belonged to Clark Kent so it was only prudent to learn as much about him as possible.

Kent continued to hold him as he explained what he could do, "I can shoot fire from my eyes, I can freeze a lake by breathing on it, I see through walls, bullets don't hurt me, I can run faster than the wind, and I can uproot a tree with one hand."

"Oh," Lex said, because, really, what was there to say?  Kent might as well be the devil.  Lex was just as powerless by comparison.  He could safecrack and heal any injury in a day.  He was more than a little outclassed.  "Did you?" he wiggled his right wrist so the handcuff jangled.

Kent looked at it, then grimaced as if mildly embarrassed.  "Um, yeah.  I don't want you escaping."  Even if he did get out of the handcuffs, though, the freedom would only be an illusion.  He'd never escape unless Kent wanted him to.  He believed the 'angel' or whatever he was could do everything he said he could, and probably more besides.  He could be lying, just to cow Lex out of trying to escape, but he really didn't think that was the case.  So he just closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. 

He tried to convince his body that the arm around him was just there to hold him hostage.  Kent was strong enough to lift trees.  Surely, that meant the arm was a secondary chain, far stronger than the handcuff around his wrist. That, or Kent was just trying to make them both comfortable on his very narrow bed. Given how Kent had reacted earlier, those were the only possible reasons for his closeness. There wasn't anything sexual about it.  There couldn't be.  Kent clearly wasn't into boys and Lex liked women.  That was the way it was.  End of story.

But his stomach still trembled whenever Kent's fingertips twitched against it.  He still felt a jolt like lightning when Kent's flannel covered leg rubbed against his own bare skin.  The unanswered question of whether that was a fold in the sheet's fabric or Kent's crotch that occasionally brushed lightly against the small of his back drove him crazy until he finally, finally, drifted back to sleep for real.

Clark woke with a sleeping Kid Luthor in his arms.  It was . . . nice.  Sort of.  The Kid's weight was pleasant and warm, his heartbeat steady and comfortable.  The body felt good against Clark's.  He liked it.  He rubbed up against it and liked that even more.  At least, he did right up until he remembered the body he held belonged to a male train robber.

As an angel, Clark had always paid particular attention in church and he knew it was wrong to feel this way about another man.  On the other hand, he was an angel, and it wouldn't feel this right if it was wrong, would it?  And Lex was an angel, too, and he'd felt it as well, if Clark had read his body language right during that predawn conversation.  On the third hand, Lex was a train robber and a safe cracker, so clearly angels could do bad things.  But Clark had been found by good parents, while Lex had been found by Lionel Luthor and the Mountain Lion Gang, so it might not be entirely his fault.  Perhaps he could ask Lex when he woke up.

Oh, wait, he was awake, if the tension along his spine and the now wild pounding of his heart was any indication.  Clark realized belatedly that his fingers had been trailing up and down the smooth exposed skin of Lex's outer thigh.  He stilled them by pressing the hand against the firm muscle there.  Lex's breath hitched.  Distracted and intrigued by that response, Clark slid his whole palm down toward Lex's knee, then back up the leg when he couldn't reach any farther in that direction.  Lex's pulse and breathing both became erratic, increasingly so as Clark's hand drew nearer his backside.  Clark stopped his hand just shy of Lex's ass, mostly because he ran into smallclothes and he was unwilling to leave the smoothness of bare skin.  He changed directed and followed the same path down again.

"Thought you weren't into guys," Lex got out, sounding hoarse.

"I'm not," Clark said, despite all evidence to the contrary.  Then he was hit by an epiphany.  He'd never been attracted to hardly anyone before.  Just Lana, back in Smallville.  And now he was attracted to Lex, too.  He'd always had a long standing belief that Lana had to be an angel like he was, even if she didn't appear to have any powers.  Now, he was sure of it.  Because Lex was an angel as well.  "You're an angel like me, Lex.  We're not like humans."

But Lex shook his head, and shuddered as Clark's hand shifted directions again and slid along the back of his thigh, up toward his ass again.  "I-I think you're mistaken."

Clark's voice dropped to a lower register as his hand slipped between Lex's legs and brushed at the inner thigh where the bullet wound had been.  "How else do you explain this?"

Lex thrashed and cursed at the touch.  Clark was beginning to wonder whether the smaller angel was enjoying the attention or being tortured by it.  He rolled Lex onto his back and checked out his crotch.  With him wearing nothing but smallclothes, Clark was reassured to see that 'enjoyment' was definitely the net result.  "'This' what?" Lex gasped out and blushed scarlet when he saw where Clark was looking, which just set Clark to blushing back.  He distracted himself by focusing on Lex's shirt and began to unfasten the buttons there.  Lex made no attempt to stop him, which further reassured him that Lex wanted this, too.  "The biological imperative to mate?  I assure you, that's strictly human."

Clark stopped long enough to look down at Lex and see he really had no idea what Clark had meant. "'This'" Clark corrected, "your ability to heal a gunshot wound faster than it takes you to realize you have one."

Lex's blue eyes blinked in momentary surprise.  Clark wasn't sure if that was from the sudden memory of being shot or in response to Clark nudging Lex's legs apart and shifting on the bed to sit between them.  The smallclothes had to come off next, and taking them off the normal way was going to be awkward with Lex still on his back and one hand cuffed to the bed.  So he just tore them off.   Lex jerked and swore, and stared up at him with eyes wide as saucers.  His dick clearly enjoyed the show of strength, though.

"I-" Lex began, but it came out a squeak, so he started over, "I was always told it had more to do with demons than angels."

Clark shook his head.  "That's not possible.  I've met demons.  You're nothing like them.  Tell me something, Lex," he paused long enough to decide that Lex was going to need an entire new wardrobe anyway so there was no reason not to just rip his shirt off.  He waited until Lex acknowledged he would answer, then carried through with his plan.  He ignored the cursing and checked a different source for Lex's true opinion on the feat.  He smirked when he saw the tip of Lex's dick glistening with pre-come.  Good.  "Do enjoy being an outlaw?"

"Not answering that," he gasped as both of Clark's hands began exploring his now fully exposed body. He was really very responsive.  He didn't seem at all the same man who had, less than a day ago, walked into this room with complete assurance that he could break the safe in ten minutes.  He was, though, and his non-answer confirmed as well as a 'yes' would have that, given the option, he'd probably go back to his old life.

Lex reached his left hand toward his dick, but Clark caught him by the wrist and pressed it firmly against the mattress over the Kid's head.  "Keep that there."  To his surprise, Lex bit at his lower lip and gripped his right wrist just below the handcuff.  He hadn't really expected to be obeyed.

"Just to clarify," Lex interrupted before Clark could revise his question to something Lex might answer.  His voice was strained and his words were interspersed with sharp breaths and gasps as Clark worked his hands over him, but he appeared determined to summarize the situation. "You think you are an angel because you have incredible abilities.  You think I am an angel because I heal insanely fast and I apparently don't qualify as a demon.  You think angels are sexually attracted to each other.  Furthermore, since you believe we are both angels, you find it perfectly acceptable for us to have sex.  And lastly, I am apparently even further from normal than I thought I was because that's starting to sound like an excellent idea.  Am I missing anything?"

Clark thought about it for a moment, but it seemed both concise and accurate, if a little doubtful of his conclusions, but he shook his head anyway, "I don't think so."

"Okay, now, based on that, I have two questions."

It seemed only fair to answer his questions since Clark had a bunch more he wanted to ask.  "Go ahead."

"'Why aren't you naked yet?' and 'Are we jumping right to the sex or are we going to do handjobs first?'  Because, I think you should know, I haven't done this before."

Clark's mouth went suddenly dry and his manhood was suddenly straining against his normally loose night clothes.  He very nearly lost control of his angel fire, which he hadn't done since he was sixteen and visiting Lana during one of his brief stays at home, but thankfully it didn't quite go that far.  He did use angel speed to get himself naked, though.  Lex's eyes opened wide, first in shock at the speed, then in appreciation.  Clark was gratified to know that the Kid liked what he saw.

"I retract the first question," he drawled, which was just as well because Clark's answer would have had to be 'because I forgot I wasn't'.  It was a very good thing Lex had brought it to his attention before he embarrassed himself.

Clark's eyes fastened on Lex again, laying there on his bed, his pale skin and complete lack of hair making him seem almost ethereal.  He looked like an angel far more than Clark himself did.  "You're so beautiful," Clark told him.  He moved his hands to slide along the Kid's inner thighs, gently pushing them further apart.  Pressing them upwards as well, exposing the small hole behind the ball sac.

"Oh, God," Lex breathed, his heartrate jumping suddenly.  "It's going to be the sex, isn't it?"

He could tell the Kid was far more terrified than he was trying to let on.  Had been, Clark belatedly realized, for most of his explorations that morning.  "Tell me to stop and I will," he promised, but he moved closer between the Kid's legs and his right hand drifted in without waiting for a response.

"Holy fuck!" Lex shrieked with a full body jerk as Clark's fingertip brushed lightly against that tiny hole. When his back hit the mattress again, his breathing was harsh, his eyes blown wide, and he was trembling all over.  He had also just come.  Clark couldn't help smirking down at him.  He hadn't even touched Lex's dick.  And given they were both angels, it was an interesting choice of words to use.

He had only had a brief touch, but the contact had told Clark two important things.  Lex was very dry back there, and it had barely any give to it.  There was no possible way he was going to fit without either hurting Lex severely, or working him up to being ready to accept Clark's fullness.  There wasn't time for that before Clark had to start making his morning rounds.

He rolled Lex over onto his stomach and laid three quarters of his weight onto his back.  His dick settled nicely between the Kid's ass cheeks.  "We're going to work up to sex," he spoke softly into Lex's ear.  "For now, I'm just going to rub against you until I come.  Are you alright with that?"

The panicked tension that had prompted Clark's explanation of what he was doing drained away from the body beneath him.  The bald head nodded.  "Yeah," Lex whispered his assent.

As Clark began to rub, he soon found that if he angled himself just so, he could slide between Lex's buttocks, brush just over the hole that was his ultimate goal for another time, and end with a poke against Lex's ball sac.  Within two such thrusts, he had Lex writhing, bucking, cursing, and begging for him to do it again.  It was incredibly satisfying.  It felt right. 

As he felt his body getting ready to finally release, he carefully lined himself up against the small hole, pressed his slick and leaking tip against it and pushed, just a tiny bit, not enough to push the whole head inside, but enough to open it fractionally.  That was more than enough to send him over the edge and shoot his load.  Beneath him, Lex jerked in surprise, but Clark was making a downward thrust and there was nowhere for him to go but up. His motion pushed Clark just far enough inside that most of his load spilled into Lex's body.  Lex screamed, partly in pain, partly in shock, and partly because he was coming again as well.

Clark pulled away and got off the bed, moving away to find a cloth to wipe his tip dry, then he dressed for the day.  Lex . . . Lex would need more than a cloth to get clean.  He looked back toward the bed a little nervously, hoping the Kid wasn't too angry about the liberty he'd just taken.

He wasn't angry, at least.  He was, however, staring at Clark with a terrified look in his eyes. Guilt assailed Clark and he hurried back to the bed, sitting carefully on its edge, trying not to either spook Lex or sit in any of the come.  "Are you all right?  Did I, are you, what's wrong?  Can I fix it?"

Lex sat up.  It was an awkward process since one wrist was still chained to the bed, but he managed it with surprising grace.  With his free left hand, he reached behind him, spread his legs for a moment, and brought his hand back, one fingertip slick with come.  He looked at it, looked at Clark, looked at his finger.  His heart was pounding loud enough for Clark to hear it without using angel hearing.  After he stared at his finger for what seemed interminable seconds, he looked at Clark again.  "I've got come up my ass."

Clark swallowed hard, feeling like scum after he'd promised no real sex this morning, but the fact couldn't be denied.  "Yes."

Lex looked nervously up toward the roof of the train car.  After another long tense moment, he said, "Well, I haven't been struck down, so I guess we're either both angels like you said, or neither of us is."

Clark beamed at him, relieved that the terror had been over anticipated divine retribution and not the sex, or almost sex, or whatever it was they'd just had.  He was glad, too, that Lex was finally accepting that they both had a destiny beyond that of normal humans.  "I know I am, and I know you are, too, Lex," he assured him.  "Promise me you'll give up robbing people and I'll uncuff you right now."

Lex looked at him in surprise.  He pulled at the handcuff, though whether the action was meant to remind himself it was there or to test his likelihood of escape without making the promise, Clark couldn't guess.  "You don't think I'd lie?" he sounded more bewildered than anything else.

Holding his gaze, Clark shook his head.  "Not to me."

"I," he began, then grimaced and looked away.  "Fuck.  I'll just stay handcuffed a while longer."

Clark let out a breath, uncertain if he was disappointed that the promise hadn't been given, relieved that he hadn't been wrong about Lex being able to lie to him, or glad that Lex would be staying in his custody a while longer.  Perhaps all of them.  "I see.  Can you wait half an hour for food and a bath?"

"I think I'd prefer the bath first, but yes, I can wait."

Clark nodded.  "Good.  I'll do my rounds, then I'll be back here as soon as I can."

Lex was just as glad Kent had left.  He needed time to himself to regroup.  In the last twenty-four hours, his entire world had turned on its ear.  Unable to move too far from the headboard, he sat curled up in the corner where it met the wall.  With all his clothes torn into tatters or caked with blood, he wrapped a blanket around himself, careful to arrange it so that none of the wet spots were directly against his skin.

That protected him from the morning chill of the room, but he was still acutely aware of his nakedness.  Still acutely aware that the stickiness inside him was another man's semen.  Still aware of the metal handcuff, but that was mostly because it had scraped into his skin when he'd been thrashing around beneath Kent, and now that the adrenaline and hormones were fading away, he was becoming aware that his wrist hurt.

He focused on that, because it was only thing he was currently able to do anything about.  Usually he left his healing ability to do its own thing, but he'd discovered through trial and error (and way more bullet holes in his body than he really wanted to think about) that he could focus on an injury and make it heal even faster.  What he was currently looking at was nothing more than a little scraped and bruised skin, so he had it dealt with in under a minute.  The rest of his world, though, that was still broken.

His father was in jail to begin with.  Unless he somehow escaped, he'd probably hang.  That would have shaken him even if everything else stayed normal.  As adversarial as their relationship sometimes got, Lex didn't want him to die.  Even beyond being his father, Lionel was his partner.  Granted, Lex was very much the junior partner, which his father was sure to point out at every opportunity, but still partners.  Had Lex been free, he'd currently be planning the jailbreak.

He wasn't though.  He twisted his wrist just to hear the metal chains clank together.  He'd been without oxygen for too long in that safe, it must have made him partially insane.  That was the only logical explanation he could come up with for not taking Kent's offer.  One promise and he'd be free.  It wasn't that he couldn't lie to Kent.  Hell, even if that had been the case, jailbreaking wasn't robbery.  Once Dad was safe, he'd deal with the consequences of a promise made to an angel, if, indeed, that was what Kent was.

Instead, he'd declined the opening.  He couldn't explain that one except by madness.  Or perhaps he had died in the safe and everything since wasn't really him.  It certainly hadn't felt at all like his old life.  In his old life, he had fancy clothes.  Here, he had none.  In his old life, his healing ability was viewed with nervousness and distrust.  Here, it meant he was an angel (Lex was not discounting the possibility that Kent was perhaps more mad than he was).  In his old life, he was the son and junior partner of the most successful outlaw in the West (or so Dad claimed).  Here, he was a wanted man, a prisoner, with a condemned father and a life and heritage of crime behind him.  In his old life, he enjoyed the soft warmth of saloon girls.  Here, he sat naked in another man's bed with drying semen inside his body.  In his old life, he anticipated the next job, relishing it for both its challenge and the risk.  Here, he anticipated Kent's next sexual advances, perfectly aware that it will end with his body taking, not just the ejaculate, but Kent's entire length.  In his old life, that thought would have horrified and terrified him.  Here, it still terrified him, but instead of horror, he felt what he imagines a moth feels when it decides it must fly into a flame: an inevitability, a curiosity, a need.

He couldn't leave until he'd immolated himself, and that was why he was still chained to the bed instead of on his way back to Billings and to his father.  It was madness.

He'd always been rash and emotional.  Those were faults his father constantly brought up.  This was a whole new level of rash, a new height of emotional.  All logic told him he should have given the promise, got the hell off the train, and returned to his responsibilities as son and partner to Lionel Luthor.  Yet, here he was, chained and naked on a bed, and why was that?

Because in those two quiet hours of sleep, between when he and Kent first spoke, and when they began their sexual explorations, Lex had felt safe for the first time in his life.  A quiet simple feeling that he'd never experienced before that could be perfectly described in the words: 'this is nice.'  It had been peaceful and good in the way that he expected Heaven should be.  It was why he was entertaining the notion that Kent was right about the angel business.

Lex wanted to find that feeling again.  He could feel it lingering here, in this cabin, just waiting for him to reclaim it.

Free, he would be obligated to go back to Billings.  Chained, he could stay without guilt.  He twisted his wrist and listened again to the quiet clank of the metal links. The guilt was not completely banished so he yanked at the restraint, proving to himself once more that he wasn't going anywhere. 

The movement also succeeded in distracting him.  His ass itched.  He smelt like a whore but without the heavy perfume to mask the scent of sex and sweat.  He wanted his bath now.  Where was Kent?

Clark had known, on some level, that leaving Kid Luthor alone and conscious was a bad idea. The Kid was rumored to be quite ingenious.  Unfortunately, he'd found a few people in the dining car getting ready to start a brawl over the last sausage and he'd been unavoidably detained for another twenty minutes beyond the original thirty he'd been planning to spend on his rounds sorting that out and trying to get more sausages cooked.  It would not have surprised him to return to his room after that length of time and find his headboard sawed through and the Kid gone.  Disappointed him, yes, surprised him, no.  That wasn't what he found though.

The bed was no longer beside the wall.  It was now directly in front of the safe.  Lex was wearing a pair of Clark's pants and he was half-wearing one of Clark's shirts (he hadn't managed to get his handcuffed arm through the sleeve).   The safe door was open.  Lex was sitting on the side of the bed, still attached to it, calmly going through the safe contents.  He looked up at Clark as he heard the door open, greeted him calmly with a "Hey, Kent," then went back to whatever it was he was doing.

Clark stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

Still working away at his self-appointed task, Lex made a vague gesture over his shoulder.  "I hope you don't mind.  I found the canteen of water in your desk and used a handkerchief to wash up.  I'd still like a bath, but I can wait until after breakfast now."  He shook his right hand, making the handcuffs clatter, "Oh, and do you mind letting me out for a moment so I can finish getting dressed?"

For a moment, he tried to understand only what he'd just been told, so as to comprehend the scene one piece at a time.  Then he shook himself out of his funk, crossed the room, and knelt down on the other side of the bed, directly behind Lex's back and grabbed hold of his right wrist as it dropped back down to his side.  Lex startled at the touch and his facade of casual disinterest shattered.  He went suddenly tense and his heart rate spiked.

Clark just used his angel strength to snap open the cuff around Lex's wrist.  When Lex did not immediately begin moving, he put the arm through the sleeve himself, settled the too-large shirt on Lex's shoulders as best he could, and then buttoned him up.  Then, he took the wrist back, and held the deformed cuff against it.  "I don't have to put this back on.  Will you give up robbing banks and trains?"

Lex's whole body looked brittle as he shook his head no.  Clark grimaced, sighed, and closed his fingers, bending the metal back around the Kid's wrist.  Then he used angel fire to weld the two ends back together.  He then blew on it to keep it from burning Lex when he let it go.  He must have hit a larger target area than he was going for because Lex shivered.

Releasing the arm, he got up from the bed, moved around to the other side and sat down beside Lex.  He looked down at the valuables various passengers had opted to store in the train safe and asked on a sigh, "What are you doing?"

"Inventory and appraisal."  He picked up a diamond ring in his left hand and held it up for Clark's inspection.  "This is a fake."  He put it back down onto the tray and picked up an ornate earring, "This is hideous.  The individual stones will sell for more individually than the piece as a whole will."  He put that down beside its twin and picked up an emerald cufflink next, "This is stolen property.  If I remember correctly, the man who currently claims the set is a crooked banker from St. Louis.  Is he on the train?"  He returned that to the tray as well without waiting for Clark's response.  "Overall, I'd put the whole lot at around ten thousand dollars, but most of it's not worth stealing.  I can see why Dad only goes after payrolls on trains."  He put the tray back into the safe on its shelf and kicked the door closed.

Clark took a moment to use angel vision, but Lex hadn't secreted any of the valuables on his person or into the bed sheets.  "Why were you doing an inventory?" he asked, more out of baffled exasperation than because he expected an answer.

"I got bored."  Right.  He should have known that.  Put a safecracker in the same room as a safe with nothing else to do, he's going to open the safe.  "You changed the combination on me," Lex added, pretending to be offended, but he didn't hold onto it very long before he smirked.  "Thanks, that made it more fun."

Clark was definitely going to need to come up with a way to entertain Lex when he couldn't be in the same room.  He also made a note to change the combination again later, not that it seemed likely to do him any good against Lex.  With a sigh, he gestured toward the empty space where the bed should be but wasn't.  "I'll get us breakfast.  You think you can get the bed back and not cause any more trouble while I'm gone?"

Lex looked wounded. "I wasn't causing trouble."

Clark hadn't even gotten around to worrying about how he was going to explain Lex to the marshal that would be joining the train at Helena yet, and already the Kid was proving to be more difficult to keep than originally anticipated.  "Just stay out of the safe," he re-phrased, careful to keep his voice even and full of patience.  It wasn't the other angel's fault he was raised by a band of wild Mountain Lions.

He still looked hurt, and perhaps even a bit rebellious at the order, but after a moment, he nodded.  "Until you get back with breakfast," he qualified.

"Good," Clark agreed.  Good enough, anyway.  He couldn't expect instant reformation.  He'd take it in tiny steps if he had to.  Still, it was probably best to make it a really quick trip to the dining car and back.  He seriously doubted opening the safe was the only kind of trouble Lex could get into.

Lex had only just gotten the bed back in place when Clark returned with breakfast.  They ate sitting on the bed and the meal had nearly passed without incident, when Clark brought up a new problem.  "We've got another payroll getting loaded at the next stop, and with it comes a marshal.  How are we going to explain you?"

Lex grimaced.   "I don't suppose the truth would work, would it?  You found me hiding in your room and took me prisoner?"

Clark shook his head.  "He'd expect me to drop you off at the nearest sheriff's office."

"You could be taking me to California.  They want me more than Montana does.  I've a twelve thousand dollar reward there instead of only ten."

Clark frowned, still shaking his head.  "Two thousand is hardly worth the extra risk of you escaping between here and there.  Besides, he'd still want to send along some deputies to be sure you don't get away.  I was thinking along the lines of disguises."

Lex blinked, then stared at him.  "Now, that is harboring a fugitive.  You do that, and we'd both go to jail if the marshal catches on."

"We'll just have to make sure he doesn't catch on, then.  You're an angel, Lex.  I'm not going to let them hang you."

That kept him quiet.  The fear he'd carefully avoided since realizing he was in the hands of a man who, by all rights, ought to turn him over to the law reared its ugly head.  He hadn't killed anyone himself, so he'd probably just get a prison sentence, but he was Kid Luthor.  There was every chance he'd be hung based on his last name alone.  Kent must have seen something of his thoughts in his expression because he put their empty plates aside and took Lex's left hand in both of his and said earnestly, "You're safe here, Lex.  I'll make sure of it."

Lex looked aside and laughed nervously.  "So I can be your prisoner but nobody else's?"  Which wasn't the problem at all.  What scared him to death was that he believed the conductor, that he needed to believe the conductor.  That he wanted that promised safety the way a dying man in the dessert wants water.

Clark continued to gently massage Lex's captive hand.  "You're only my prisoner until you reform."  He sounded so convinced it was possible.

Lex laughed again, this time with hopeless disbelief.  Reformation.  That would never happen. "So I can be your prisoner but nobody else's?" he repeated.  Not that he seriously minded.  He'd much rather be Kent's prisoner than anyone else's.  The bitter fact remained, however: he was a prisoner, and would probably remain so for the remainder of his life.

With a sigh, Clark nodded.  "Yes."  They fell into a brief silence during which Lex wondered if he should try to take his hand back.  He was still debating it when Clark resurrected the original topic, "So do you have any good ideas for disguises?"

He seemed to be overlooking something critical.  Lex shook his right wrist again to remind them both of why any disguise was doomed to failure. "I'm chained to your bed, Kent.  The Marshal's going to notice that."

"Then give me your parole.  Promise not to escape."  He looked so earnest, like he believed Lex would do it if he just asked convincingly enough.

"I can't do that."  Just as desperately urgent, as Lex willed Clark to understand that his father's life stood in the balance.  It was hard enough not to just lie.  Given a free path, he wouldn't be able to resist running back to Billings.

"You want to go to federal prison that badly?" Clark demanded, venting some of his frustration.  "I'm trying to help you, Lex."

"I know," Lex snapped back.  "And I'll give you my parole when my father is either dead or free.  Until then, I have to try to save him."

Clark's eyes opened wide.  "Oh."  A look of troubled conflict crossed his face briefly before he shook his head.  "I can't help you with that, Lex.  Lionel Luthor killed too many people."

Lex had never even considered the possibility that Clark Kent might even entertain the notion of helping with the jailbreak.  All he could do was stare at him, dumbfounded.  "Kent.  Clark," Lex shook his head to hopefully knock his thoughts into some sort of coherency.  "I'm not asking you to."

"I know, but he's your dad, and I'm not letting you try to help him."

Lex sighed and shook his head.  "Look, I doubt I like him much better than you do.  He's arrogant, controlling, patronizing, manipulative, and entirely too blasé about killing people for me to be comfortable with.  Being your captive is my excuse not to try to break him out.  But as soon as I don't have this," he shook his wrist again, "I'll be obligated to go after him."

Clark nodded thoughtfully, probably not fully understanding what it was like to have a notorious outlaw for a father and partner, but accepting Lex's words and running them through his mind.  "What about a disguise where I'll be holding you for most of the time?  Is that sufficient restraint?"

Lex shook his head, "I can't think of any reason for you to be holding me that much."

"I could if you were my betrothed."

Lex stared.  "Clark.  I'm a guy.  Even if you're right about the angel thing, you can't get engaged to a guy."

Clark squeezed his hand and looked pleadingly into Lex's eyes.  "Lex.  Work with me here.  You need a disguise.  Nobody's going to look for Kid Luthor under a dress and a lady's wig."

Oh.  His eyes widened.  "No," Lex shook his head, vehemantly, "not happening.  No way, Clark."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Lex had no idea what the little Chinese woman was saying about him to Clark, but Clark was nodding and gibbering back to her in the same language.  Both of them looked at Lex frequently so he had no doubt he was the subject of the conversation.  She shook her head and made a negative sounding noise, which Lex hoped meant she wouldn't do it.  Clark's tone turned wheedling, and she threw up her hands and gestured for them to go inside.  So much for that hope.

As Clark ushered him inside, he murmured in a low voice, "She doesn't have anything in your size, but she thinks she'll be able to make a few adjustments to get a passable ensemble for you before we need to be back at the train.  I'll be able to pick up a better one tonight that you can wear tomorrow."

Lex grimaced, then grumbled, "Where did you find this lady anyway?"

"Oh, we're in San Francisco."

California.  Lex hated California.  This only confirmed what he'd felt for the state before.  But that hadn't been what he meant.  "Let me rephrase that.  Why is this lady putting up with your insane request?"

Clark quirked a bright smile.  "I saved her son's life when some train robbers tried to shoot him.  She's liked me ever since."

Right.  Because he was Clark Kent, thieves' bane.  "You don't think she'll tell anyone about this?"

"Most of the women in Chinatown will know," Clark said dismissively, "but it won't go any further than that.  And all they'll know is some crazy American boy is dressing up like a girl so he can marry his lover."

At Lex's wide-eyed look, Clark just shook his head, "What, did you think I'd tell her the truth?"

She jabbered something at them, and Clark led toward the block of wood she had pointed at, "Step up on to this." Clark solicitously helped him do so.  Or, at least, that was probably what it was supposed to look like to Chinese seamstress.  What he was really doing was keeping a firm hold on Lex at all times like he had promised the disguise would allow him to do.

The lady didn't appear to care one way or the other, and she set right to work taking his measurements.  She gave another smattering of unintelligible words toward Clark, who answered with something that made her nod slowly and respond grudgingly.  "What?" Lex asked for a translation.  At the first opportunity that presented itself, he was going to learn Chinese.

"She asked if we were going to commission her for your wedding dress."

Lex felt himself flushing in mortification.  "What did you tell her?"

"First we want to see how well you can handle playing a woman.  She said that was probably wise."

For the first time, Lex wondered what had become of his gun, but then he dismissed the thought when he remembered it wouldn't do any good against Clark anyway.  The Chinese woman spoke again, and Clark grinned at Lex.  "She's offered to help you learn how to move less like a man."

The next five minutes spent taking his measurements would have been comfortably familiar from any number of fine suits he'd had tailored for him, except the measuring was interspersed with incomprehensible Chinese advice that was duly translated by Clark into understandable if unwelcome feminine tips.  He paid attention though, and nodded, and followed each instruction because he did need to pull this off believably if he didn't want to put both himself and Clark into jail.

Within twenty minutes of their arrival, the little Chinese lady had him in petticoats, a dress, a wig, makeup, and women's shoes and was having him walk around the room.  He could already understand the Chinese words for 'No!' 'Not like that!' and 'Acceptable.'  Finally, she nodded reluctantly, and spoke to Clark in rapid-fire words that Lex didn't have a change against.

Clark grinned at him, "She said she's seen worse brides."

Not wanting to get shouted at again in words he didn't know, Lex forwent glaring and opted to lift a newly sculpted eyebrow instead.  "Naturally, love," he said in a soft voice that didn't sound masculine like his normal full voice did.  Clark laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist (which was strange because he could barely feel it through all the layers of clothes between them now) and gave him a light kiss on his cheek.  "Careful," Lex chided, in that same softer voice, "don't smudge my face."  Or screw up the wig, but with any company around he wouldn't be permitted to mention he was wearing one.

The Chinese lady nodded approvingly and chattered something that was probably 'good bye and good luck' as she pushed them out the door.  As they stepped off her front stoop, she called one last thing after them which make Clark grin and turn around to say something back.  Then without warning, he abruptly swooped Lex up into his arms and walked further down the street.  "She told us to come back when we needed that wedding dress.  She likes you."

Lex made a noncommittal noise, then stated, "You're going to need to teach me Chinese."

"If you'd like," Clark agreed, just before turning a corner into a deserted alley.  Then the world blurred a bit and they were suddenly back in Clark's car on the train.

"And you are going to need to warn me before doing that.  Is my hair still on straight?"

Clark put him down and kissed his forehead.  "Your hair is perfect."  For all that it wasn't really his hair, he felt a warm glowing feeling in his gut and also on his cheeks that he suspected was going to go a long way toward convincing the marshal they were really a betrothed couple.  Even without an audience, it had Lex ducking his head and smiling demurely.   "God, you're beautiful like that."  Lex felt his flush deepen as the feeling expanded.  Flattered.  This is what being flattered felt like when the compliments were genuine.  It was, well, flattering.

His chin was tilted up and Clark bussed a light chaste kiss against his mouth, but his voice a moment later was sorrowful, "I hate to do this, but I need to go check tickets so I'm going to need to cuff you again."

The warm feeling was abruptly gone, but he didn't protest as Clark walked him over to the bed and had him sit down.  He pulled out a new set of handcuffs from his drawer (Lex had seen two more in there when he'd gone looking through the desk yesterday) and fastened one end around Lex's right wrist and the other on the headboard, as before.  Then he shot fire from his eyes and melted the locking mechanisms beyond all redemption.  Lex tried not to let that freak him out.  It got easier when Clark gently caught his hands in his, rubbed his thumbs against Lex's palms, and kissed him on the top of his head.  "I'll be back in about twenty minutes.  I don't want to see the bed moved, the safe open, or your dress or make-up messed up when I get back.  Try to think of a name and a back story for yourself, alright?  Do you want a pen and paper to write it down on?"

"Yes, please."  There was something about wearing a dress that made it impossible not to speak politely.  He suspected it was the corset.  There was something infinitely formal about not being able to bend your back.  Fortunately, the Chinese lady hadn't made it so tight he couldn't breath, else all bets would have been off.

Clark fetched a pad of paper and a pen for him, then left, once Lex told him he didn't need anything else. 

Alone, he began writing "Alexia Jenkins" over and over until he found a feminine looking handwriting that he felt he could live with.  He repeated it a few more times, then wrote out a few penmanship exercises to be sure he could keep it consistent.  Once he was satisfied with his writing style, he tore those pages off the top of the pad, crumpled them up and threw them into the middle of the floor for Clark to burn later.  For good measure, he did the same to the next three blank pages because they had the imprint from the previous pages still on them.  The fourth blank page, he tore off, and leaned it against the back of the pad before he began writing.

Dear Clark,

My father speaks very highly of you after his latest payroll.  He insists I write you to inquire if you are yet wed.  No, I lie.  That is merely his intent.  He will be most cross if he discovers I asked so directly.  Pretend instead that I have asked idly if you have someone waiting for you at home.

You have saved him quite the sum of money by foiling the robbery attempt on his mine's payroll.  I understand you modestly refused his reward bonus, stating that the bounty you were getting for the culprits was more than enough compensation.  This was perhaps a mistake on your part for it has gained his attention and he has a young daughter of marriagable age.

Perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself so you can decide whether I might be someone you'd like to spend your life with.  I am nineteen years old.  My mother died when I was very young.  I had a nanny after that, but she caught pnemonia and passed on when I was eight.  Since then I have lived alone with my father.

Now, I love my father dearly, but he can be a bit of a grizzled old boar at times.  This little mining town in the mountains suits him perfectly.  I fear I am not such an excellent fit.  In truth, I am delighted by my father's interest in eliciting your courtship.  Do you think I might be able to travel about on your train with you?  I would love to travel everywhere as you do.  I have heard much about you of late.  I am certain you'll be able to keep me safe from those horrible train robbers that plague you.

If I have not frightened or offended you, please write back.  If I have, I apologize and I won't bother you again.

Alexia Jenkins

Lex signed his new name with a flourish and put the pen aside.   He stretched, cracked his knuckles, reconsidered that action, and made a note to himself that he shouldn't ever do it again while wearing a dress.  Then he pulled off another sheet of paper and began a second letter.

Dearest Clark,

I am so glad you wrote back.  Now I can tell that beast Michael Keiths that I have a much better prospect.  Yes, I realize you said you were not interested in marrying me, but you also said you were not married to anyone else yet, either, so I refuse to discount you.  All the men here are terrible.  They are either ancient, or dirty, or unpleasant, or any number of horrible traits.  I assure you, Clark, I am not bad to look at.  A bit on the tall side, perhaps, for which I blame my father most hatefully, but I hear you are tall as well.  It must be destiny, right?

Keep in touch, I have nothing to look forward to here but your letters,

Alexia Jenkins

Lex frowned at the new letter.  He was coming across as terribly dramatic.  He wasn't sure he'd be able to keep that up in person.  But then, a bored nineteen year old girl with nothing better to do than write love letters to a boy she never met would probably be far more dramatic in writing than in person.  He'd have to establish that.  He put note two down beside note one, and pulled off another sheet of paper.

Dear Clark,

Oh, my God.  I cannot believe you came to my town!  And I made a complete fool of myself!  Did I say one word or two during your entire stay?  I thought I was going to die of embarrassment.  I still cannot get over the fact that you came here, and you weren't even bringing a payroll this time.  Did you really come just to see me?  If so, I was terrible company and I apologize profusely.  To be honest, even though you wrote me one letter, I didn't really think you were actually reading what I wrote.  And then you're here, out of the blue.  I was so forward in those letters, all but asking you to marry me, and then you're here, and you're talking to my dad about me, and I was so sure you were going to tell him to make me stop bothering you about a wedding that's never going to happen, except now it is!

You would not believe how excited I am.  Or perhaps you would.  You did have to catch me when I jumped into your arms like an over wound two-year-old.  I am going to get to ride around in your train, right?  Tell me I can, please?  Dad will say yes, I know he will, if only to get some peace in the house again.

Your wife-to-be,

Alexia Jenkins Kent

One more letter ought to do it, to bring the story to the present time.  He just needed to get her calmed down a little.  There was no possible way he was going to be able to generate that level of enthusiasm for the marshal.

Dear Clark,

Did you notice, Clark?  When you visited yesterday, I did not jump on you once.  I really am a grown woman.  Perhaps now you will consider letting me ride on your train?  These once a month visits just aren't often or long enough to get any real planning for the wedding done.  We can barely say hello and exchange news before you have to leave again.  You don't need to change your schedule for me, just say which station I should meet you at and when.  I'll be there.

Looking forward to seeing you again,

Alexia Jenkins Kent

Lex looked over his work, and nodded in self-affirmation that the story was adequate to explain where he'd come from and why he was on the train with Clark.  He arranged the letters in sequential order, placed the pad of paper under the bed's mattress, and tossed the pen underhanded onto Clark's desk.  He smirked in satisfaction when it did not roll off the far side.  He checked that the ink was dry on the first letter and folded it so that it would fit into an envelope.  Then he flattened it out again, folded it again, flattened it again, and folded it again, to give it at least the outer appearance of wear and tear.  He repeated the process with each of the other letters as well.  He wanted to find a tie or something to bundle them together with, but there wasn't anything within reach of the bed.

He was just contemplating how he might be able to rope something around a desk and haul that closer to the bed (which wouldn't technically void any of Clark's conditions) when the door to the room opened and Clark returned.  "Great, you're back.  Read these," he tossed the pile of folded letters onto the foot of their bed.  "That's what you know about me, more or less.  We've have at least two, possibly as many as four in person meetings, so we might have exchanged additional personal information, but that, I'll hold you to knowing.  And can you find some kind of tie to keep them bundled together?  I assume you're the type of person to keep your girlfriend's love letters."

Clark stared at him in surprise, then shook it off and opened the top one.  At the second one, his eyes widened and he looked at Lex like he'd gone mad.  By the end of the last one, though, he was nodding slowly.  "Yeah, this can work."  Then he frowned and looked at Lex dubiously.  "If I drop you off at the station, can I trust you to stay there and come running at me the minute we disembark?"

Lex looked uncertain, then nodded.  "I'm dressed like a girl, Clark.  I wouldn't dare approach any of my normal contacts, and I can't get enough of a head start before you'd track me down for it to be worth the trouble.  I'll be your fiancé waiting at the station for you."

Clark looked down into his eyes, seeming to search Lex's very soul for any sign that he might be lying.  When Clark satisfied himself that there was none to be found, he smiled and gave Lex another light kiss.  His green eyes were warm when he pulled back and said, "I look forward to it."  Lex found himself smiling back.

He made himself look away and his eyes fell on the crumpled balls of paper littering the floor.  "You'll need to burn those," he instructed.  Clark retrieved one of them and unwrinkled it.  When he was confronted with nothing more interesting than Alexia's name, he did as Lex requested, shooting fire from his eyes until the pages were nothing more incriminating than ash, which he then disposed of by tossing it out the cabin window.  After brushing any residual ash from his hands, he returned to Lex's side and took his right wrist into both hands.

With a glance toward Lex, he said, "I'm going to let you out now."  Lex nodded, and Clark snapped open the cuff that held him.  He then did the same to the one around the headboard, and dropped the set into his waste basket. 

Lex frowned, "I hope that's not how you always get rid of your broken handcuffs."

Clark just looked confused.  "Well, normally I can just use the key to get them off people."

"You should at least crush them down into something unrecognizable or the Marshal will wonder who was wearing them and how they broke."  Clark gave him a look like he was being entirely too paranoid, but he did as Lex suggested, molding the former handcuffs into a barn shaped metal paperweight that he put on his desk.  "Much better," Lex told him.

Lex rose to his feet, being careful to 'flow gracefully' like a woman rather than 'launch upwards' like men did.  He caught Clark watching him with admiration which made him flush and lower his gaze.  Clark was behind him in a flash, wrapping both hands around Lex's waist, and nuzzling his face into Lex's neck.  By the pull against his hips and his inability to move any further backwards, he suspected Clark's groin must be pulled up tight against his ass, but there was too much fabric between them to feel anything but a uniform pressure. That was the only thing that let him swat at the fingers holding him, and chide softly, "You can muss me up during our reunion in the Station.  Not before."

Reluctantly, Clark let him go and stepped away.  When Lex turned toward him, he felt equal parts terrified and absurdly flattered at the want still burning in Clark's eyes.  He swallowed and tried to work moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth.  Disturbingly, that only intensified the look on Clark's face.  He cleared his throat and tried to speak normally, "At least nobody will doubt the nature of our relationship."  It came out in his woman's voice, but at least it didn't crack or betray his nervousness.  And it really was good that Clark couldn't keep his hands to himself.  That would make restraining Lex look much more natural.

Clark smiled at him, glanced around the room, then checked his pocketwatch.  "We should get you out there.  We'll be pulling into the Station in about five minutes."  He stepped closer and looked seriously into Lex's eyes.  "Swear to me you won't try to run."

Lex held the gaze steadily.  "I swear."

Clark held it a moment longer then nodded.  "Good." Then he picked Lex up and the world blurred and reconfigured into a narrow space between two brick buildings.  Lex had barely felt his weight return to his own feet before he was alone.  For one moment, he wondered how far he could run before Clark caught up to him.  Then he shook his head and stepped out onto the street.  He had five minutes to find the train station.

It turned out that one of the brick buildings was the Helena bank.  He tried to turn his feet away, but found himself going inside.  He didn't need to wait long for a free teller, and he moved toward the barred stall.  "Hello," he greeted softly, "My father, Alexander Jenkins, has an account here.  My stage was held up a few towns back and I need to replace some of what I lost, what do I need to withdraw about fifty dollars?"

"Jenkins, eh?" he said and pulled out a thick book.  He flipped through the pages quickly until he reached on somewhere in the middle.  "Alexander.  Do you know the account number and date he opened it?

"I can come close.  The account number is 94102, and he opened it when I was six, so the year must have been, oh, 1868.  I don't know the day."

The teller nodded confirmation.  "He opened it remotely via a representative.  Do you know that person's name?"

Lex smiled with assurance, "I certainly do.  That was Pamela Jenkins, my aunt."

"One last question, and I'll trust you're who you say you are, Miss Jenkins.  When was the last time this account had a withdrawal?"

"A withdrawal?" Lex repeated in false confusion.  "This is our savings account.  We haven't needed to make any withdrawals.  We sent in old Wat Nixon to drop off a deposit about a year ago, but there shouldn't be any withdrawals!" Lex raised his voice as he pretended to become increasingly agitated. 

The teller made shushing gestures, "Yes, yes," he insisted hurriedly, "it was a trick question.  There are no withdrawals from this account.  Calm down, Miss Jenkins.  Your father's money is secure.  I was just making sure you knew how strange an activity this is for his account."

"Oh," Lex said, and ducked his head.  "I apologize for getting excited."

"No, no, Miss, it's my fault."  He paused a moment and counted out five ten dollar bills from the stacks in front of him.  "Here you are, Miss, fifty dollars.  If you'd just sign for it, right here?"  He turned the book around to face her and handed her a pen.  Lex signed the page with his signature for Alexia.

On the way out of the bank, he looked up at the clock embedded into the courthouse across the street and found he had only one minute left before the train was due.  As much as he appreciated the security around his account, he would have liked that to go a little faster.  He moved quickly down the street, stopping at a general store and moving directly to the proprietor.  "Hello, sir," Lex spoke hurriedly, "My train is due any moment, but I just got into town and I need to replace my suitcases.  Two of them, about this large," Lex traced out a decent sized woman's valise in the air.  "Have you any available?"

He smiled warmly at her, and nodded, "I have jus