He was flying.

The dreams always started out the same. He was soaring over the tufts of clouds in the night sky, the wind caressing his bare skin. Looking down over Smallville, a miniature town surrounded by open farmland of greens, browns, and beige. Home windows with their sashes raised beckoning to him in invitation, and he'd accept one every night.

Most nights, it was Lana's room he'd fly into, and she would welcome him with open arms and parted thighs. Some nights it was Chloe's room, and she would ride him hard and fast, pontificating the entire time. Occasionally, he'd fly into a room of another pretty girl from school, or an actress or model from a magazine who, conveniently, lived in Smallville, too.

Each time, he would awaken from his dreams hard and wanting the next morning, and he'd have to spend longer in the shower, relieving himself of the heavy ache between his thighs.

Some nights, though... Some nights, in his dreams, he was flying without leaving the bed, and he'd have to change the sheets the following morning.

Those were the nights he dreamed of Lex Luthor.

It was those dreams that confused and aroused Clark Kent the most when he'd think about them during the day. His vivid imagination had no trouble conjuring an image of the other man nude, his pale body stretched languidly across Clark's bed. He had no trouble picturing the strong line of Lex's back, the curve of his buttocks, the defined muscle of his thighs and calves. His body was sleek and smooth, like a Renaissance sculpture created specially for Clark.

Clark was not unaware of what his wet dreams meant. He may be a country boy, but he wasn't naive. His parents had a satellite dish, just like everyone else in the Twenty-first Century. The Learning Channel was very informative on the development and maturation of human sexuality. And no, he hadn't just watched the program for the chance to see women's breasts, no matter what Pete said.

Perched on a fence post on the side of the road, Clark stared across the plowed field at the monstrosity where Lex resided. It was early evening; the shadows were lengthening, and the setting sun glittered against the many windows of the manor. A comfortable breeze tussled Clark's thick hair, the air carrying the scents of farmland and life and home. Home, where Clark should be, finishing his chores and starting on his homework. But the evening was too nice, and the desire to get away was too strong to keep him home.

Clark debated whether or not to knock on the massive oak doors of the mansion. He wasn't sure if he wanted Lex to be there, or not. A feeling of restlessness hummed in Clark's veins, and he might just give in to the temptation to find out if touching Lex in the flesh was as titillating as it was in Clark's feverish dreams. It wouldn't take much for him to give in, a brief flicker of Lex loosening his control over his surroundings and Clark would do something that would drastically change things between them.

So, instead of walking to the mansion, Clark sat, and watched, and daydreamed.


Lex stood, and watched, and daydreamed.

Clark was sitting on a weathered fence post across the field, as still as a statue. Through his binoculars, Lex could see the raven-haired young man staring at the mansion, wistfulness written plainly on his expressive face. Lex could only wish that the wistfulness was caused by the man who lived inside the palatial estate, and not the estate itself.

"He's a boy, Luthor," Lex muttered to himself. "He's only a boy." A boy who would be sixteen soon, and legal, but still a boy. A young, beautiful, open, giving, caring, innocent boy.

Was it Clark's youth and guilelessness that made Lex want him so much? Lex knew for a fact that he'd never before felt such a desire simply to be around someone. He wanted to be with Clark just to see him smile, to hear him laugh, to be the cause of his blushes. Lex wanted to listen to Clark's non-jaded views on the world and be humbled by his selfless good deeds. Lex wanted to share stories about his own miserable, spoiled life and why he'd wanted to keep flying, in those few moments when he'd died.

Lex also wanted that long, broad form spread naked across his banquet table, where he planned to feast on tanned flesh for days. But that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

When it finally did happen, though... When Lex gave up control completely to the young man with the ingenuous blue eyes, he knew he would never be the same.

And, once again, he would fly.


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