Homestead

Summary: Sometimes the way things have always been done aren’t they way they should be.

Author’s Note: This is actually one of my favorites of the stories that I have in progress, but it isn’t getting read that often. The next update might not be that soon unless I get inspired. For anyone who has enjoyed it so far, thanks.

Eyes so dark they appeared black, lined in kohl, watched him as he gathered up his hard leather shoes.

“You’re in a hurry, sugar.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t come there to talk.

She sighed, then crossed the room to open the window, barely cracking it to let out the scent of musk and sex. The room was filled with roses, various colors stuffed in vases or hanging to dry over the doorway; their purpose was to sweeten the staleness of the room. The saloon was an old building and harbored smells that pronounced it as such.

“Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Luthor?” She resumed formality that she normally saved for this young pup’s father, knowing he didn’t enjoy pet names much.

“No,” he said curtly. “I have no more need of you tonight.” He kept his back turned, seeming to despise the sight of her. She didn’t remind him to leave her payment on the polished pine escritoire by the door. He dutifully dropped several coins into the fluted glass jar she kept for that purpose. They made a loud, clinking sound.

“Then good night, Mr. Luthor. Come and see me again, if you like.” He paused briefly at the door, hand on the knob. He turned to peer back over his shoulder but his eyes never met hers. He tugged his cap off the hook and donned it, then left without another word.

Victoria stared after him and sighed. He was so unlike his father, something that appealed to her. But he was so cold. Plying him with gin didn’t help much, but it encouraged her when he actually expressed a preference of it over Lionel’s beloved cognac.

His first encounter was awkward, as she knew it would be. He wasn’t receptive to her touch initially, jerking back as she reached for the button on his collar. Watching him flinch troubled her. What would make an imposing, tall, otherwise healthy young man like Alex fearful of simple contact?

“Helps if you take your clothes off, sugar. Unless you had something else in mind.”

That snapped him back to attention. His expression was irritated, but he mumbled “Sorry.”

“Customer’s always right,” she offered as she gently undid his top button. She undressed him slowly, reverently, and she hung his cap on the hook. She said nothing about his baldness, quietly admiring his looks despite the flaw.

He hissed in surprise as she stroked his nipple, barely grazing it with her fingertip. “Do you like that?” He closed his eyes, face strained, but she felt his body react with that light touch. She ran her hand down his chest, over his flat, firm stomach. His skin was warm and firm, perfectly smooth despite some older scars down his pale back. They solved the mystery for her, why he had a difficult time experiencing her touch.

“If it makes it any easier for you…close your eyes. Imagine someone else. Someone special to you, sugar.”

She read frustration in his blue-gray eyes.

“I can’t trust you,” he whispered. “I can’t trust anyone.”

“I’m not gonna harm one hair on your head,” she told him, hoping to break the ice. “I’m a lil’ ol’ pussycat.”

Her joke wasn’t lost on him. She encouraged him to sit on the bed while she knelt between his knees. The sheets felt cool beneath his bare thighs while she peeled off his breeches. His member betrayed him; the flesh was slightly ruddy and straining, half-erect.

“There we are,” Victoria murmured, smiling up at him. She teased the head with her fingertip, making it jump in response. “Don’t be shy.” She leaned down and breathed over it, steaming it and making Alex tingle.

He did as she suggested and closed his eyes…


Victoria was stirred from her reverie by Ruby’s voice in the hall. She closed the front of her dark blue peignoir and peered outside through the crack of the door.

“There you are,” Ruby accused. “You free now?”

“He just left.”

“Still shy?”

“No. Just quiet.”

“That one’s always quiet,” Ruby grumbled. “But his money’s still good here.”

“He’s growing on me.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Can’t help having a soft spot for him. Get the feeling no one else ever has.”

“You’ve always loved strays, Victoria.” Ruby came inside, tsking. “Tell me you didn’t send him out smelling like perfume.”

“He washed up. I had hot water sent up as soon as he came in.”

“Good. He paid you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Victoria reached for the jar and up-ended it into her palm. The coins slid out, along with two small, gleaming items she hadn’t noticed before he left. “Oh.”

“What’s that?”

“Looks like a present,” she murmured as she held up one of them.

It was an emerald teardrop earring mounted on a silver post.

“Bless his heart,” Ruby said in wonder.


*

Mother asked about you the other day. That’s why I’m writing this. I want you to come and see me, Alex.

He read Olly’s letter by the fire, relieved to be alone in the darkened house. Lionel was at the saloon. He never showed up in the parlor when his father was there; it went without saying.

How would Oliver react if he told him how things had changed? The thought troubled him, knotting his gut as he sipped a cup of hot chocolate, not in the mood for gin.

Each trip to Victoria’s made him feel dirty. Each time he dressed himself and walked out the door, Alex promised himself it would be the last time. Each time he was wrong.

You’ve been on my mind lately. It’s always worse during the summer. I think about that first time by the creek. Not the time you ran off with my pants… Alex chuckled softly. I’ve missed you, Alex. Time changes everything, but I haven’t forgotten you. That line gave him pause. What had time changed for Oliver?

Alex contemplated writing Oliver a return letter, but his feet took him away from the desk. He sat on the piano bench and picked out the first few notes of Beethoven, warming up the keys.

The music possessed him the longer he played. Alex knew the song by rote and his hands ran away with it. Memories assaulted him without pause.

What’d you just do?

His fingers suddenly pounded the keys.

How am I being ridiculous, Alex? I want to help you!

Alex’s head began to throb and he felt an odd tremor in his chest, a skipped heartbeat. Heat filled his cheeks, made worse by the heat of the fire.

Of course I’ll miss you, you bastard. And if you think that I’m not a true friend or that I don’t care about you, then go to hell.

Emotions poured out of him with each barrage of crescendos and fortes, building and swelling until Alex couldn’t breathe.

He stopped. The notes reverberated around him, staining him even after his hands fell at rest. Alex gave a choked cry and slammed the lid shut with a harsh crash, nearly splintering the wood. His breathing was choppy and heavy. When he caught sight of his reflection in the silver-framed mirror on the wall, his skin was florid up to his scalp.

A rap on the window made him jump. At first glance, all he saw was something shadowy through the lace curtains that obscured his view of the street. “What on earth…?” There was that rap again. Alex knew it was late, at least eight o’clock, and he knew time had gotten away from him.

He approached the window and drew back the curtains, at first only seeing a familiar blue plaid flannel shirt. The figure backed up and grinned at him with perfect white teeth, reminiscent of the keys on his piano.

“Clark,” Alex tsked. “Philistine. Come to the door, for goodness sake.”

“Okay,” he agreed cheerfully. His dark brow arched at his friend’s condition, but he said nothing.

Alex was still shaking his head as he strolled into the kitchen to admit his friend at the back door. “What are you doing out?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. Clark held a look of mischief that Alex found a welcome distraction.

“It’s too late for you to be here,” Alex scolded, even as he retrieved another cup from the pantry. He automatically poured Clark a drink of the warm chocolate and ushered him into a chair. “Your ma will be worried sick.” Clark sipped the cocoa and shrugged.

“Ma and Pa went to bed already. Why are you still up?” he asked pointedly.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Alex protested. “It’s not your place to question me, young man.” Clark rolled his eyes. “Mind your elders, Clark.”

“Because you’re just so much older than me,” he argued. “So, why?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted as he sank into the seat across from Clark’s.

“I heard you. That was pretty.”

“Thank you, Clark.”

“I didn’t know you still played. It’s…it’s been a long time since I’ve heard you, anyway. Since I used to come by here, I mean.”

“I don’t blame you if you haven’t stopped in for a chat, Clark. My father’s not always the most welcoming host.”

“He’s not here.”

“No. He won’t be for a while.”

“Well…” Clark stared down into his cup, swirling the remainder of his drink. Then he looked up at Alex through his lashes. “You could come out for a while, then.” Alex’s interest was piqued, even though he leveled Clark with a grave look.

“Clark…you have that look in your eye again.”

“What look?” he asked innocently.

“That one,” Alex said, shaking his finger at him, “the same one you had when you talked me into taking you into those damned caves!”

“Don’t swear, Lex!” Clark cried, eyes round.

It reminded him so much of conversations he had with Oliver when they were younger that Alex sighed. He felt a strange tingle inside him with the memory. His misgivings over the letter’s contents came back to him, but he put them aside.

“You’re right. Don’t follow my poor example, Mr. Kent. You should go home.”

“Only if you come with me,” Clark said.

“Why on earth for?”

“I have something to show you.”

“At this hour?”

“Why not? You never have any time anymore. You’re always working,” Clark complained.

“It’s what adults do. You have your chores, Clark, I know your pa won’t let you remain idle while the sun’s in the sky.”

“That’s why I want you to come with me.”

“Clark…

“Please?”

There it was, that imploring look in those soft eyes, like liquid emeralds.

“I need to get up early myself.” Alex’s resolve was slipping. Clark sighed in disappointment.

“You know you want to.”

Alex cursed inwardly. He was right.

“You’re such a brat, Clark.”

“Get your coat,” Clark said cheerfully.

“My father took the coach,” Alex grumbled.

“Don’t worry. Just get your coat.”

They left through the back door and cut through a vacant alley that Alex remembered using the day Oliver visited. That trip home seemed like it happened ages ago…

Alex decided to forgo his cap, despite the slight chill in the air. It was dark enough that no one would notice him, and it was nice for a change to not worry about how his appearance was received by his neighbors. Clark wore no coat, making Alex worry that he’d get chilled.

“Why didn’t you put on a jacket?”

“I don’t get cold,” Clark replied simply.

“Bold words. Make sure you don’t come down with pneumonia, Clark.” The thought made Alex pale.

“I’ll be fine, Alex,” Clark nagged. “C’mon. Hold on for a second.” He tugged his arm to make him stop.

Alex felt the strength and heat of Clark’s grip through the sleeve of his thick coat and he flushed. “Why?” Clark’s eyes danced.

“I didn’t ride Biscuit here.” Before Alex could even blink, Clark took hold of him, scooping him up into his arms, and he began to run.

Alex yelped, accidentally biting his tongue in surprise at the sensation of wind tearing at him as Clark picked up speed. His breath was stolen out of his throat as houses and wagons breezed past them…

No. It was Clark, breezing past everything in sight and taking him along for the ride.

Instinctively he hung on to Clark for dear life, clutching his shirt as he buried his face in his neck. He felt Clark’s pulse against his temple and it comforted him only slightly.

It was still too surreal, being carried by someone as though he weighed no more than a parcel, stranger still that it was by Clark.

“This isn’t happening,” he whispered in the darkness. Clark said nothing, only rustled the dry grass with his darting steps. Alex felt the slight rise and fall of dips in the road as they hit gravel. He smelled the creek briefly, then the sweetness of oleanders and wildflowers. It was too much for Alex’s mind to process, so he closed his eyes.

His hand found Clark’s heartbeat beneath the soft flannel and palmed it.

“We’re almost there,” Clark murmured. “Don’t be afraid.” Alex’s eyes snapped open and met his. There was warmth and sincerity, and something that resembled tenderness when he stared into them. Clark felt regret at the fear that he saw in Alex’s face, but he read the questions he had there plainly.

They said nothing else as Clark ran the last half-mile stretch across the Kent’s field.

“We’re here,” Clark whispered. “You can relax, now.”

“No, Clark, I can’t,” Alex hissed back. Clark gently lowered him to his feet and Alex paced, trying to get his bearings. He was completely out of breath, as though he had run several miles himself. Clark listened to his ragged breathing with concern.

Alex felt Clark’s large hand gently close over his shoulder and calmed slightly. He remembered how distressed Clark was at the creek and composed himself. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to get you here.” Clark’s face was a mask of contrition when he met it.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know your own strength,” Alex quipped, “again.”

“Come with me?”

“Not inside?” he said incredulously.

“Uh-uh.” Clark pointed to the barn, then led the way. Alex sighed.

“Your mother wouldn’t consider this sort of thing proper, Clark.”

“I know,” Clark admitted. They crept into the barn. Clark beckoned to Alex to wait while he found a small lantern. He lit the kerosene wick and hung it from the post by an empty stable. Biscuit and Jonathan’s other two mares were silent; they were accustomed to Clark’s nighttime visits. Alex was tempted to stroke them but decided it wasn’t prudent.

“Ma gave me this for my birthday,” Clark murmured as he headed to the ladder of the hayloft. Alex watched him curiously as Clark climbed the rungs. “C’mon up.”

“The things I do,” Alex muttered, but he obeyed. The scent of hay tickled his nose, and he sneezed into his sleeve. Clark was perched at the window, fiddling with a small paper bag and a tin pan. “What’ve you got there?”

“A treat,” he explained as he filled the pan with tiny kernels that clattered against the metal.

“I already had supper.”

“That’s okay. Watch this.” Clark covered the pan with a small ceramic plate and held it in place with his palm. He nodded for Alex to sit on one of the bales.

Alex watched as Clark’s eyes glowed - he had to be imagining it – and narrowed as he concentrated on the pan.

Alex smelled steam and saw a hint of smoke rise from the plate. Clark didn’t flinch from the heat – the heat - as the pan warmed up and the scent of popcorn filled the air. Alex jumped at the clatter of each kernel exploding and bouncing off the plate.

“My God!” he yelped.

“Hush,” Clark hissed. “You don’t want Pa to hear.”

“Your eyes,” Alex accused in low tones. “Clark…your eyes.” Clark said nothing, only finished his task. He removed the plate, blowing to cool it. “That isn’t burning you.” It was less a question, more an accusation.

“Uh-uh. Here. Taste it.” Alex fingers shook as he obeyed. A few of the kernels were scorched, but it confirmed what he saw.

Heat came from Clark’s eyes.

Clark munched a few kernels, pouring some of them into the empty plate. “I figured out how to do it a few days ago.”

“How long have your eyes been like that?”

“For a while,” he shrugged.

“Clark…that isn’t normal.” Clark’s hand dropped before he could reach for more popcorn.

“I know, Lex.”

“I mean, I can’t believe what I just saw! It’s like flame came from your eyes, and you can lift the weight of ten men, and travel faster than one of my father’s coaches!”

“I raced a train once,” Clark confessed. Alex went pale.

“I stand corrected, then.”

“It was fun.” Alex was dumbfounded.

Clark was so innocent. There he sat, bright, strong, beautiful, kind…a god among men.

And the most that he could say was that “It was fun.”

It was overwhelming. “Give me a moment to think about this, Clark.” Clark’s face shuttered. He pressed his lips into a thin line and rose from his bale.

“Okay, Lex.” He climbed down the ladder. Alex heard him flirting with Biscuit.

His own heart was pounding, matching the tattoo beating in his temple.

Clark wasn’t human.

That came to him in a rush. Clark. His childhood friend, who’d looked up to him.

It felt like a sham. Clark could do anything…use his gifts to his advantage in so many ways. Yet he didn’t.

Alex wanted to feel resentment. How long had he been able to do so much? He’d witnessed glimpses of his power at different times and couldn’t always put stock in what he saw with his own eyes.

So how could Clark admire Alex? Lionel Luthor’s bastard son, a freak among his peers? Alex mulled this as he watched the stars twinkle above him from the loft’s window. The air felt cool on his cheeks, which were still hot with frustration, and to some degree, shame.

He felt like nothing compared to Clark. Less than nothing.

Alex descended the ladder and found Clark feeding the horse a lump of apple. Clark watched him and Alex saw worry in his eyes.

“So…what do you think?”

“I still don’t know what to think,” he said hollowly. Clark looked stricken.

“No. I guess you wouldn’t, then.”

“You can do some amazing things.”

“I know. And now, you know, Lex.” Biscuit nosed Clark, looking for more treats. Clark patted her idly, then moved away. “Pa said I was to keep it a secret.”

“I can see why.”

“I need you to keep my secret.”

“Clark, why did you show me this? Why me?”

“Because I trust you,” Clark whispered. “I’ve always trusted you, Lex. Being your friend means a lot to me.” Alex softened.

He knew Clark wasn’t lying to him. He couldn’t lie, it wasn’t in his nature, still, but he’d been nothing but open with him from the day they met.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to suffer your Philistine antics a while longer,” Alex told him calmly. “Do you have any more apples? I want to give Biscuit something.”

His decision was made. Clark was relieved, realizing what he almost lost.

They munched the popcorn back up in the loft a few moments later. Clark brought up the lantern and handed Alex a small hardcover book.

“What’s this?”

“A birthday gift from Ma. I’ve read a little of it,” Clark said. Alex peered at the gold embossed cover.

“Tennyson,” he said thoughtfully. Alex handled the book as though it were fragile, carefully leafing through the crisp pages. “It’s a beautiful copy. It cost your mother a pretty penny. Take good care of it, Clark.”

“Have you read it?”

“It’s my favorite,” Alex replied. “I found it enthralling.”

“I don’t always understand poetry,” Clark confessed. “I can read the words well enough, but that’s all it seems like. Words.”

“Blasphemy. You misguided soul.” Clark made a face. “Allow me to enlighten you.” Clark looked amused as Alex flipped back to the table of contents, then found what he was looking for. Alex quirked a brow at him as Clark held the lantern closer, letting its dim golden light flicker over his face.

He sat mesmerized by his rapt expression and resonant voice as he began to read.

"Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land,
"This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon."
In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.


Clark lost his amused expression as he continued to listen to the words, hearing the subtle emphasis Alex put on the appropriate words, suddenly giving the verse meaning it didn’t have before. Alex almost forgot he had an audience. The poem was one of his favorites, and it was a pleasure to read, the book’s weight sacred in his hands.

It had been so long. Alex felt the pang of remembered, dashed dreams and what he’d given up on his return to Smallville. The poem evoked Oliver’s laugh and his touch in the dark, the smug whisper in his ear and his warmth against his back. Alex missed the classroom and the lectures, experiments and dissertations. He cared nothing for town life, or farm life. He longed to live somewhere big enough that no one knew his name, where he could reinvent himself.

The poem represented freedom Alex craved.

He fooled himself into thinking Clark only heard words.

Alex fell silent after the last stanza, musing. He closed the book, running his thumb along the stiff spine. He looked up and found Clark watching him intently, leaning in toward him as he listened.

His eyes… They seemed to stare into him, right through him. Alex felt naked beneath his gaze, and Clark’s smile felt like a caress.

“I liked that,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I would, but I do.”

“There’s hope for you yet.”

“Lex…read another one?”

“You flatter me, but it’s late. No excuses, Clark. Time for bed.”

“Please?”

“No, Clark.” Alex suppressed a smile when Clark pouted. “I need to get home.”

“Can’t you stay for a little while longer?”

“I have an early day. I can’t dawdle anymore, Clark.”

“Alex…um. Thanks. You know, thanks for coming here with me.”

“Friends visit friends. Even if this was a little unorthodox, Clark.”

“I miss you,” Clark blurted out.

“You see me every day!” he said incredulously.

“No. It’s not the same! I never…we never talk. Not the way we used to.”

“I don’t have much time for ball anymore.”

“Alex, have you ever gone to a social before?” Clark asked suddenly.

“Don’t change the subject,” Alex scolded softly. “But yes. I have. Why?”

“I was just wondering…”

“Because…” Alex cajoled, motioning with a wave of his hand for Clark to spit it out.

“I wanted to ask Lana if she would let me escort her.”

“Sounds pretty bold,” Alex mused, suppressing a smile. Clark was blushing, something he noticed despite the dim light. Clark ducked his head shyly, then peered up at Alex through his dark, thick lashes, a gesture that reminded him so much of how he looked as a child.

“I like her.”

“She’s quite fetching.”

“But everyone wants to take her.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you can’t ask her. Strike while the iron’s hot, Clark.”

“I don’t know how to dance,” Clark blurted.

“Ah.” Alex picked at a few leftover fragments of popcorn. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

Clark stopped attending school the following spring to help his father with the farm due to his increasingly fragile health. Spending several hours a day in a classroom was a luxury he couldn’t justify, despite that he was a brilliant student in every subject. Once in a while, Clark still sketched to relax. He seldom showed anyone his drawings, but Martha incorporated several of them into her needlework.

“I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

“You won’t. Be more confident. Why wouldn’t she want to go with you? You’re bright, pleasant, and a big, strapping young man with your mother’s smile.”

“I just don’t know. Lex…can I ask you something?”

“You’re full of questions tonight.” Alex quietly dismissed the likelihood of going home early. He decided to indulge his friend, anyway, like a doting surrogate brother.

“What does it feel like to kiss a girl?”

Alex was struck speechless. He opened his mouth, then clapped it shut.

Clark took his silence to mean that he needed him to elaborate on what he asked. “I mean, I know maybe it isn’t proper to kiss her. That would mean she’s spoken for, and I would have to ask her permission first, wouldn’t I? Is that too bold? D’you think she’d get angry at me? I don’t want to take any liberties.” He sat back and stared into the lantern’s flickering light, musing. “I’ve been wondering what it feels like. To kiss someone.”

“It’s exciting,” Alex murmured. “It makes your heart pound in your chest and your palms sweat and your stomach twist. You wonder if you’re going to get it right, but you almost don’t care even if you don’t. In that moment, you just want it so badly, and you know everything will be different after it happens. That you’ll never feel the same.”

Clark was mesmerized by his description and the low thrum of his voice. “How do you do it?”

“Touch her. Take her hand, or just pull her close. Stroke her cheek to make her lean in toward you. Then wait for her to close her eyes.”

“That won’t work…will it?” Clark looked doubtful. Alex chuckled, then rose.

He stood over Clark and reached down. He ran the back of his index finger down his firm, smooth cheek.

Clark shivered, leaning into his touch. His eyes drifted shut with pleasure at the warmth of Alex’s hand.

Alex was so tempted, in that moment.

“There’s your answer.” He backed up. Clark’s face felt hot, but his shy smile returned. “Take me home now?”