Lex Luthor had thought he’d done everything by the time he was banished to Smallville.
He’d started off being the best: best student, best at sports, best socialite child. When he’d lost his hair, he became the best fighter and the best at pretending that being bald at age nine made him better than everyone.
He was thirteen when his mother died and Pamela left him, and he soon became the best at being the worst.
He’d done it all, or so he’d thought, during his teen years. His juvenile record spanned four continents and didn’t cover half of what he’d done to others and had done to himself; Daddy’s name and money had seen to that. He had scars, both physical and mental, that attested to his wild and wicked ways — which said a lot, considering how quickly and thoroughly he healed physically and how much he didn’t care. Even death didn’t faze him, having over-dosed at least twice on top of the auto-erotica games. So, when Lex arrived in Smallville, he’d thought life would be boring. Instead, he learned there was still something he hadn’t done, something that made everything else seem like child’s play.
He fell in love.
Clark Kent was everything Lex was not: innocent, loyal, brave, trustworthy, and young — oh so young. Lex had never been young, even when his age dictated otherwise.
Clark didn’t look young physically, but it could be seen in his eyes and his smile and his openness. Lex didn’t think of himself as a pedophile, but it was close. If love wasn’t involved, Lex could be in real trouble. Then again, if love wasn’t involved he might not care.
But he was in love, horribly, irrevocably so. And it wasn’t being labeled a child molester that worried him, it was his own feelings. Lex wanted to cuddle with Clark, to sit on the couch fully dressed and snuggle without the thought of sex. He wanted to hear every minute detail of Clark’s day, down to the last spitball. He wanted to hold hands with Clark while walking down the street in public. He wanted Clark to put his hand on Lex’s thigh as they drove from here to there, showing affection, again without thoughts of sex. He wanted to see Clark happy and hurt those who made him sad. Lex wanted to protect Clark’s secrets, even though he didn’t really know what they were, and keep Clark from harm. He wanted to wake up beside Clark every morning and fall asleep beside him every night. Lex wanted to hear Clark say that he loved Lex, too, and believe that it was the truth.
It was terrifying to feel the way Lex felt about Clark. It was also exhilarating. If Lex combined everything he ever felt from his past — from drug-induced highs, to adrenaline-fueled fear, to the pleasure and pain of sex, to the emptiness of death — it would still pale in comparison to the feeling of being in love.
Lex didn’t know what to do. Nothing had prepared him for love. He was overly flirtatious at first, then pulled back. He tried to give Clark gifts, including the girl he wanted, and had them refused. Lex attempted to get Clark to share his secrets and went behind his back when he wouldn’t tell, then backed off entirely despite not having the truth.
It was also becoming more difficult to be around Clark, yet Lex couldn’t stand to be away from him. The friendship they had was slowly tearing Lex apart, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything. He didn’t know if he’d survive being in love, but he wouldn’t — couldn’t — push side his feelings for Clark. Lex could only hope that one day Clark would return the love, and live with the heartache when he didn’t.
Death was reputed to be the greatest adventure. Having done it all, Lex would have to disagree. The greatest adventure was love, the wildest ride in the universe, and Lex Luthor was scared spitless.
“Hey, Lex, do you have a minute?”
“For you, Clark, always.”