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.”
End