Homestead

Summary: Alex gets his wish and reunites with Oliver. But things have a way of falling apart.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reviewing, Yoji. I appreciate hearing feedback from one of my favorite authors, but particularly for this story which frequently gets neglected out of my catalog of junk here.

“What do you think you’re doing, son?”

“I don’t ‘think’ I’m doing anything, Father.” Alex looked up toward the voice’s source. Lionel leaned against Alex’s room’s doorframe with a mixture of disdain and amusement. His eyes raked over his son and the carpet bag that sat open wide on his bed. Alex was neatly, methodically folding his clothing and layering it inside. He tucked a couple of his favorite books inside, protectively wrapping them up in one of his clean nightshirts.

“I don’t think I understood you.”

“I apologize.”

“Then explain yourself. What are you doing, Alexander?”

“I’m leaving. I’m going to Star City, in fact.”

Lionel’s smile never faltered. “You are?”

“I have an early train.”

“Where did you get the money for this little jaunt?”

“From my meager savings of hard-earned cash,” he supplied. “Oliver offered to pay my way. It was unthinkable. I’m sure you agree, Father.”

“What’s unthinkable is your assumption that this kind of defiance is acceptable. You have responsibilities at the mines.”

“And you have two perfectly capable foremen who can handle the production while I’m gone for three days, Father.” Alex never paused in his packing and grooming. He donned his black coat with its dark green satin lining, a richer garment than his usual brown wool. Alex was in the mood for a bit of flash and style. His trip to Oliver’s stomping grounds seemed to demand it. “And it’s hardly defiance if you never told me I couldn’t go to visit.”

“You know how I feel about you staying under Queen’s roof.” Oliver’s father was one of Lionel’s fiercest business rivals of late, once word of Luthor’s mines took off, drawing more people to Smallville looking for work. It was a perfect alternative for those with limited education or skills who wouldn’t be eligible to work at one of Oliver’s father’s plants.

“It isn’t about how you feel, Father.” Alex pinned his father with a stony gaze. Lionel straightened up from his perch, standing completely erect. But he noticed for the first time that Alex had outgrown him, standing at least two inches taller than he did, now. Lionel’s reflection told him that he himself hadn’t grown more stooped, thanks in part to his life of work behind a desk instead of out in the field.

“So you’re going to carry on with this journey of yours, then?”

“Of course. Try not to miss me too much.”

Lionel only smiled as his son brushed past him as he exited the room.

*

The ride by train was uneventful. Alex could have happily done without the dust that settled on his clothes from the open windows, but he wasn’t any the worse for wear when the engine pulled into the station.

His heart grew progressively lighter as the train slowed to a halt. The bells and whistles signaling its arrival sounded sweeter than Beethoven to his ears as he disembarked. He waved down a porter and tipped him a nickel when he retrieved his carpet bag. Alex’s mouth tasted like dust and he was parched, longing for a glass of lemonade and a cool parlor to rest his feet. But the cure for all of his ills was-

“Alex! ALEX!”

Oliver.

They each waded through the milling crowd, smiles lighting up their faces as they met halfway. Their embrace was rough, squeezing the breath from Alex’s chest, but that was fine with him; his heart was bursting.

“Olly,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You came,” he replied in kind, just as affected.

“Nothing could keep me away.” He drew back reluctantly and really stared at his friend, taking in the minute changes. Oliver had finished the last of his late growth spurt a year prior and he was as tall as Alex, but he had a broader, deeper chest. His skin was a deep tan from weeks spent on a ship; this time he’d gone to Italy.

Oliver looked him up and down, holding him at arms’ length. “Dowdy old thing you have on,” he scoffed, even though his eyes were dancing.

“Ass,” Alex retorted. “You know you’re jealous.”

“Who isn’t jealous of a Luthor?” He punched him playfully and reached for Alex’s carpet bag.

“I can get it.”

“Don’t worry about it. C’mon.” Oliver elbowed his way through the crowd with Alex close on his heels. The station was bustling with people, many of whom ignored Alex’s bald looks for a change. He almost blended in, and it felt good.

They climbed into Oliver’s father’s lush coach, thankful that his driver had kept it in the shade. They left the windows open as they rode into Star City, and Alex noticed the difference immediately in the absence of dust blowing inside. He missed the bustle of the city more during sweltering summers like these.

More than anything, he missed Olly.

Alex made no bones about sitting beside him in the coach instead of the bench across from him. Oliver’s hand crept into his; they didn’t risk more intimate contact.

Oliver’s smile didn’t reach his eyes after several moments of silence. “I’m sorry I’ve hardly written.”

“You had your reasons.” Alex’s voice held the expectation that his lover would explain them in detail before the day was over. He shifted his grip on him, lacing his fingers through Oliver’s and squeezing them. Oliver gave him a hint of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before staring back out the window.

They reached Oliver’s home shortly, stopping only to drop off Alex’s luggage and climb back into the coach.

“Selena Kyle’s place,” Oliver told his driver curtly. Alex lifted his brows in surprise.

“What kind of place is that?”

“Saloon. Gentleman’s lounge. Doesn’t matter if you want gin or lemonade. It’s a nice place.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Alex replied, still not convinced.

He changed his mind when he got there. The saloon was three times larger than Ruby’s once he was inside. The back parlor was sumptuously decorated, and a pianist played rollicking tunes in the corner of the bar. Patrons tossed coins into a large glass goblet sitting atop the piano, and it was well worth it. Alex admitted to himself that he played very well; however, his own long, slender fingers itched to stroke the keys and feel their pounding thrum and cadence tingle through him.

There were no female patrons, which didn’t surprise Alex. A plain looking woman behind the counter collected trays of dirty glasses and dishes and hauled them back to the kitchen, sweat beading on her ruddy brow. Just when he assumed that Ruby’s place held the advantage of this saloon, however, Alex was proven wrong.

A tall, stately woman garbed in a purple taffeta dress edged in black lace sauntered out from the gaming den in back of the parlor. Alex held his breath. She was breathtaking.

Her walk was bold and strong, rolling her hips as though she’d learned how while she was still cutting teeth. Her raven hair was bound back from her face and pinned high at the crown of her head, cascading down in long curls. The elegant style revealed the long line of her neck, adorned with a mother of pearl, cameo choker. Her face was made up expertly, heedless of convention, making her resemble an exotic doll.

Her ripe, red lips curled as she spied Alex and Oliver. Out came her lace-edged fan, which she snapped open as she approached.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Queen.”

“Miss Kyle,” Oliver drawled, standing and bowing over her extended hand. Her gloved fingers curled appreciatively around his as he kissed her knuckles; his brown eyes never left her cool blue ones.

“I see you’ve been keeping your best secrets from me again.”

“Oh?” Oliver pulled out the damask-upholstered chair out from the table and waited for her to seat herself before gently pushing it into place.

“You haven’t introduced me to your dashing friend here,” she pouted, fanning herself prettily. Alex arched his brow, suppressing a smile.

She could tell this new young buck had a story to tell, even if he’d never share it with the likes of her. But she loved mysterious men, on those rare occasions when she met one in her salon. Selena Kyle acknowledged and relied on two facts regarding her clientele. One: Their needs were transparent and easily fulfilled. Two: It paid well to be a good listener.

What kind of man had such cold, hard eyes and a devilish smile? She shivered, despite how warm it was inside.

“Miss Selena Kyle, may I introduce Mr. Alexander Luthor, visiting us from the town of Smallville.” Alex rose and gave her a stately bow, then duplicated Oliver’s gesture, brushing his lips over her hand. Unlike his eyes, his grip was warm.

“Charmed,” he mused in a rich, deep voice. She clapped her fan shut and laid it in her lap.

“Have you been served yet?” She noticed the lack of glasses on their table and automatically gestured to the barkeep. He nodded and headed into the kitchen. Moments later, the woman from behind the counter came out, smoothing her hands on her apron. She held a pencil and small slate in her meaty grip.

“What might I get for you gentlemen? And for the lady?”

“Gin,” Oliver replied.

“Cognac,” Alex said. Oliver lifted his brow.

“Your father drinks that.”

“I’ve acquired a taste for it.” Their server ignored this exchange and hurried away, nodding to them as she left. When she returned, she set down their drinks, including a tall glass of lemonade for her mistress.

“You have expensive tastes, Mr. Luthor.”

“Alex.”

“Has a nice ring to it. Just out of curiosity, though, has anyone ever called you Lex?” He looked amused.

“Only one other person, no matter how long I’ve tried to dissuade him from it, but he’s a dear friend.”

“If you have to shorten as strong a name as Alexander, you should keep it as no-nonsense as possible, Mr. Luthor.” She sipped her drink, licking her lips like a cat. “It makes you memorable to the people who matter, and harder to track down for the ones you want to avoid.”

“Duly noted,” he said. His mouth almost softened. He swirled his cognac in the glass, held it up to the light to examine its color and took a tentative swallow.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Mellow. Has a nice finish.” She beamed.

“One of my contacts brought it back from Paris. He owed me a favor.” Oliver’s eyebrows nearly shot up into his hairline.

“A favor?” His voice was full of distaste for what such a thing would involve.

“Why Mr. Queen, do stop staring at me so, it’s ungentlemanly.” But her eyes danced from over the rim of her glass.

*

They lounged in Selena’s company for another half an hour before she excused herself to her duties as the salon’s proprietor. As they left, Alex peered up at the second story of the stately building. Sure enough, he saw the silhouettes of ladies through sheer lace curtains that he never saw in the main parlor. So Ruby’s place truly didn’t offer services that Selena’s couldn’t match, then. Alex filed that information away and turned his attention back toward Oliver.

Olly groaned as he sat back in the carriage, kneading a knot in his neck. He loosened his cravat and mopped sweat from his cheeks with a handkerchief. “Lord, I’m worn out.”

“How long have you been out and about?”

“Not long. But I couldn’t sleep last night,” he admitted as Alex climbed into the coach. He sat beside him once more, and Alex was quick to resume their previous repose, holding his hand. Oliver tensed with the contact, then relaxed; Alex, however, picked up on the subtle change in him, and it curdled in his stomach like sour milk.

What was wrong? Why was Olly acting this way? Alex wasn’t just imagining it.

As though he read his thoughts, Oliver stroked Alex’s knuckles with his thumb. “I’ve been so busy lately, Alex…I know that’s no excuse for being such a shitty friend.”

“Don’t swear, Olly.”

“We’re not children, anymore, Alex, I can say whatever I damn well please. And so can you.” The coach had already rumbled down six city blocks, and the buildings grew farther apart as businesses gave way to residences. The houses in Star City made the finest homes in Smallville look derelict; Alex felt no hometown pride for this to bother him. Memories of the dreams he shared with Oliver before they parted haunted him, even mocked him. It seemed so long ago, and Alex felt disjointed and slightly bitter. So many months gone, that we won’t get back.

But now that he was finally by Oliver’s side again, where did they go from there?

The local scenery awoke a seedling of yearning within Alex, feeding it a little more as they drove up the winding courtyard of Queen Manor. An evening breeze stirred the trees, promising an early dusk as the sun hid beneath the rooftops.

Alex was grown and seasoned, even jaded by his day to day existence as Lionel’s right hand; he didn’t lie to himself that wasn’t time spent under his father’s thumb. But he’d watched and waited, absorbing everything that Lionel showed him, plainly or indirectly. He learned to read his father’s instincts, even though that gift came at a cost no less precious than his soul.

Alex found to his horror that he was so much like the father who wasn’t even his blood. It festered inside him, brimming with roiling, bitter poison, and the boy he once was drowned pitifully in it, sobbing out on his dying breath, Why.

He kept his ear to the ground, and Alex hired additional ones when necessary. Alex scrimped and saved, content with his father’s stingy budget for his personal attire while his savings from his own labors grew into an enviable nest egg.

A sliver of light so rare, bright and precious pierced the endless darkness, and Alex wanted to hold it fast, cling to it and protect it, even if the effort took his life. He would be free of Lionel. He would make his own way and be his own man, his own success. He wore his thoughts on his face when Oliver turned to him. He squeezed his hand in concern.

“Alex? What’s wrong?”

“I’m all right.”

“That doesn’t mean nothing’s wrong. You’re a tough bastard, Alex. You’d be ‘all right’ with a house burning down around you or if the sky was falling.” Oliver twisted around in their seat and reached for Alex, catching his chin in a firm grip. “You’re mine for the next three days. If nothing else, we have that, Alex.” The coachman was pulling around to the back of the house, near the barn, which gave the boys a few more moments of privacy before they disembarked. Oliver leaned in and kissed Alex tenderly, making him sigh in contentment. His lips still tasted like Oliver, felt like recovering lost treasure.

They headed into the house through the back door. Alex nodded to the gazebo on the back lawn, which spanned an entire acre. “That looks new.” The view was breathtaking, with the sun setting through the trees. Oliver urged him inside, hand briefly squeezing his shoulder. Oliver’s coachman paid them little heed as he took Alex’s luggage inside.

They entered the kitchen, and Alex heard familiar light footsteps. Oliver’s mother peered around the side of the doorframe, and her eyes grew round, lighting up.

“Oliver? You’re back so late, where were the two of you?” Her next thought was interrupted as Alex stepped out from behind his best friend. “Alexander?!” she cried, covering her mouth with her hands. “You scamp! Come over here, you naughty boy! Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Alex’s smile was genuine as he obliged her, letting her pull him down into her embrace. It felt like hugging Mrs. Kent, and Oliver’s mother filled the gap left in his life when Alex left Smallville for the academy, stepping in as his adoptive mother. Alex felt the prick of tears behind his eyes but closed his eyes against them, instead drinking in the scent of her light cologne and soap and the brush of her soft gray hair against his cheek.

“Goodness, you look different,” she mused, smoothing the lapel of his coat. “You seem tired, though. Did you have a safe trip?”

“Of course he did, Mother,” Oliver answered for him.

“Then perhaps you’re working too hard. None of that while you’re staying with us,” she admonished. She ducked into the corridor and called out, “Kitty! Tea for three!” She turned back to them and said, “Go. Wash up and come back down when I call for you. Olly, get Alex settled in. I have the guest room already aired and ready.” Alex felt a pang of disappointment. That room was adjacent to the Queens’ suite with appallingly thin walls. His body craved time with Oliver, with no restraints or enforced silence.

They climbed the stairs slowly, hesitating, as though trying to stave off their inevitable separation for the night. Their footsteps were heavy with fatigue, something Alex found ironic, since he spent most of his day sitting either in a coach, train or salon. Yet he was exhausted, as though the rigors of the past two years had finally caught up to him and taken their toll in Oliver’s presence. The momentum of waiting for him, yearning for his warmth and light, finally swamped him and weighed him down, like sinking into a viscous, muddy pool.

The door clicked shut behind him, interrupting Alex’s dark thoughts. “Take off that damned coat. It’s dowdy,” Oliver muttered, reaching for him. His grip burned Alex with its insistence, tugging at the sleeve to goad him into undoing the buttons more quickly.

“The hell you say; I paid good money for this…mmmmph…” Oliver spun him around and dragged him against his hard body, and his mouth was unmerciful, unquenched by the kiss in the coach. His hand cupped Alex’s smooth nape, molding to its shape while his tongue plundered Alexander’s mouth. His knees buckled and he didn’t protest as Oliver’s hands impatiently divested him of the coat, roaming over him and setting him on fire. Both of them fought for dominance of the kiss; Alex snatched at Oliver’s clothing, ridding him of the bothersome silk tie and flinging it across the room, jerking open the buttons of his fine vest and palming the contour of his pec through his white shirt.

“I can feel your heart pounding,” Alex whispered beneath Oliver’s lips.

“You did that to me, damn you,” Oliver husked back. “Damn it, Alex. I want you. I can’t stop wanting you.”

“Neither can I, you bastard. And it’s been killing me…” That needy, lonely voice inside of Alex sobbed out I love you and made him whimper when Oliver’s hands gripped his hips and ground him against his hard flesh, just beginning to jut through his heavy wool pants.

“They’ll hear,” Alex chided him, but he cupped Oliver’s jaw, ran fingers deftly through his thick, wheat blond hair, drinking kisses from his mouth like he couldn’t get enough.

“Just a few minutes,” Oliver promised. His voice was desperate, and when Alex opened his eyes, Oliver was panting for breath, and his dark eyes were full of lust and heat. He couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. “Just a few minutes,” he pleaded, and Alex was lost. “I need to touch you, Alex…” He urged him back into a high-backed chair beside the mantle and knelt between his knees. His hands resumed their task of tugging off his clothes, separating the folds of his shirt and revealing his lean, hard chest. “My God, Alex, you’re brown as an Indian.”

“I’ve been outside,” he admitted, then groaned as Oliver leaned in and captured his nipple in between his teeth and suckled it lazily. Alex’s hips bucked in his seat and his fingers returned to that wonderful, soft hair that he’d always envied. Alex tugged at Oliver’s shirt, easing the hem of it out from his trousers, clutching handfuls of the fabric as Oliver’s hot mouth devoured every inch of him. He peered up at him and caressed Alex’s cheek. “Olly, I’ve missed you,” he confessed hoarsely.

“Alex, I want you bare.”

“What if-“

“Don’t worry. We’re washing up,” Oliver reasoned, using his mother’s suggestion as his argument. Alex chuckled, the first time he’d laughed since that morning, when he took leave of his father. Only Oliver had ever been able to make him laugh.

And Clark.

The errant image of his younger friend’s shy smile was an unwelcome intrusion, making Alex grip the back of Oliver’s neck more tightly. He closed his eyes and willed the vision away, giving himself up to his ministrations and tenderness. The rest of their clothing fell away, and they took in minute differences in each other’s bodies as Oliver straddled Alex’s lap, allowing their members to graze and slide against each other as they kissed. Their caresses were lazy, exploring familiar territory, a thin layer of hair here, a scar there, mapping out contours and hills of muscle and heated skin. Alex counted the bumps of Oliver’s spinal cord with his fingers, traveling down to his glutes and groping their smooth hardness.

The urge to explore him more intimately nagged at him, but Alex was afraid of taking too many liberties with his lover. They’d built up their bond of trust over several years, but Alex remembered how halting and fragile it was in the beginning, hating his own vulnerability and the damage he’d suffered at Lionel’s hands, letting it stain what lay between him and Oliver. His fingers itched to stroke the tiny opening nestled in Oliver’s crease…

He didn’t realize he’d done it, stroked the silky little hollow until he heard Oliver gasp. “Alex…what the hell…?” His dark eyes snapped open and his haze melted away. “What’re you doing down there?” Alex’s eyes dilated and he snatched his hand away; his other hand squeezed Oliver’s hip in apology. He tried to look away, but Oliver caught his chin again, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Alex, what was that? Tell me.”

“I didn’t mean… I got carried away. It was wrong, I know, but Oliver…please don’t hate me. Don’t hate me, Olly, I couldn’t stand it if you didn’t want me to touch you again!” He tried to lift Oliver off his lap, feeling shame flood him, in conflict with the pressure and heat built up in his cock from Oliver’s delicious presence on his lap. Oliver wasn’t having it. He insinuated himself back onto his lap and cupped his face in both hands this time, leaning his forehead against his.

“Alex,” he murmured, his breath steaming Alex’s lips, “it wasn’t wrong. I just didn’t expect it. I wasn’t used to it.”

“I’m disgusting,” Alex whispered. “I never should have done that, Oliver. I had no right…I can’t…”

“You can’t what?” Alex swallowed. Several long, painful seconds passed between them, and Alex couldn’t stop the tears that burned a slick path down his cheeks.

“I can’t violate you.”

“Idiot,” Oliver murmured. “Look at me. Look at me, Alex; don’t be ashamed. Never be ashamed, Alex, look into my eyes…never be ashamed with me. You’re right; you can’t violate me. That happens when one person is helpless, or doesn’t want it. I know how you feel about that, Alex. Do you hear me?” He forced him to look at him, even though Oliver’s heart broke at the sight of the anguish written on Alex’s features and in his red-rimmed, slate blue eyes. “I’m not helpless. You’re not disgusting, Alexander.” His use of Alex’s full name stung at first, reminding him of his father’s way of addressing him, but he knew Oliver wanted his attention, and he’d make sure he kept it. Olly feathered kisses over the top of Alex’s head, warming his flesh and making him shiver beneath his misting breath. “You just surprised me. I just wasn’t used to how it felt.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve been hurt there…”

“I know, Alex. God, I know. I didn’t know how much I scared you that day, and I felt like hell after you told me.” And Alex’s pain was mirrored in Oliver’s face. His hands tightened themselves around Oliver’s waist.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“I know. It changed things, Alex. It changed so much. I could never figure out what made you the way that you were before, why you were so hard-assed and why you acted like you were above it all.”

“That wasn’t what I meant to be.”

“No. You were above it all, because you had to be.” Oliver kissed his forehead. “I was always afraid after that, that I’d hurt you, Alex.”

“You never did,” he told him, leaning up to kiss him gently, just a light brush of his lips, as though he was afraid he would drive Oliver away with more. “Ever.” He ventured another kiss. “Until you left, but that was all my fault.” Oliver shook his head.

“I never should have left you.”

“You know why you had to.” But Oliver allowed him the lie. It haunted him, making him bleed every night that he didn’t have to, and damn propriety and Alex’s father’s hold on him. Oliver trailed kisses over the slope of Alex’s temple and cheek, then made him gasp as he nipped his earlobe. The lapping of his tongue sent shivers through his body and further hardened and distended his engorged member. Oliver was grinding against him slowly, rhythmically, craving the friction.

“I’ll never know why, Alex.” Alex moaned as Oliver tipped his face slightly to give himself better access, cradling Alex’s cheek in his palm. His tongue laved the shell of his ear and he groaned his pleasure at Alex’s flavors.

“Oh, God,” Alex choked, “Olly. Please…oh, God, Olly…”

“Touch me, Alex. It’s all right.” Alex closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“No. You don’t have to say that…we don’t have to do that, Oliver, you don’t have to just to…”

“I want you to touch me, Luthor,” he whispered into the side of his neck. His tongue was doing wicked things to his pulse… and Alex couldn’t hold back any longer. His fingernails grazed the long column of Oliver’s thigh before stroking his way up toward Oliver’s pelvis. His fingertips feathered over the silky skin of his hip, drawing patterns over it. Oliver quivered, then breathed out a chuckle.

“That tickles!”

“I don’t know if this might, Olly,” Alex murmured. “Let me know if you want me to stop?” He kissed him, and Oliver sighed into it, opening for him. Their tongues lolled around each other, stroking each other with velvety heat. Alex’s hand palmed Oliver’s glute, kneading it to relax him. Then he sought out the divide, finding the top of the crease with his fingertips. Oliver was sensitive there, but he merely sat still while Alex tentatively explored him.

They stared into each other’s eyes as Alex’s fingertip gently stroked Oliver’s opening again. He massaged it, barely applying any pressure, and Oliver gave a sharp little intake of breath. “Oh,” he breathed. “That’s…not bad.”

“But is it good, Olly? If not-“

“I didn’t say that.” He fidgeted on his lap briefly. “Do it again.” Alex probed him again, and this time Oliver made a sound of pleasure in his throat. Alex was carefully circling the ring of muscle, teasing it. Sensitive nerves Oliver didn’t know he had pulsed and tingled as the very tip pressed inside. His hips jerked against Alex in response.

Alex bowed his face to taste Oliver’s shoulder. “You feel so soft.” Oliver thrust down on Alex’s finger as he wiggled and pushed it farther inside, up to his first knuckle.

“Chafes a little,” Olly admitted.

“Olly…do you have any cream?” Oliver made a face.

“Why?”

“It…it just makes it better,” Alex suggested.

He wouldn’t mention that Victoria swore by it. He remembered her lavender scented hand cream that she kept by her bedside, as well as a bath oil that she often poured into the tub when she gave Alex the full treatment that he paid for. Both served their purpose for the other tricks she showed him…

Oliver was reluctant to leave his lap, but he rose and rummaged through his drawers. “I know I have something…wait.” He pulled out a small jar. “What about this?” He handed it to him, and Alex grunted as he read the label.

“Cooling liniment with eucalyptus, for aches and pains. Do you need this?”

“I wrenched my shoulder some time back,” he explained. Alex took his hand and squeezed it sympathetically as Oliver loomed above him. He leaned over and kissed his bare stomach. “It should work,” he said hopefully.

Before they could test that theory, a solicitous voice in the corridor broke the spell between them. “OLIVER! Tea time!”

“Shit,” he hissed, closing his eyes in frustration. Alex reached up and patted his bottom.

“Tea time.” Oliver sighed and rummaged for some fresh clothes.


*

The tea was interminable, even though Alex enjoyed the attention from Oliver’s mother, who truly was ecstatic to see him. She peppered him with questions about his work.

“Emerald mining? That’s meant to be dangerous work, Alex,” she nagged, shaking the sugar tongs at him.

“Not when you take the necessary precautions. Accidents won’t happen when you’ve done the proper planning,” he assured her, borrowing his father’s words. “I’m one of the foremen. I don’t take unnecessary risks when I have mens’ lives at stake.”

“I worry about your safety. I wish you’d reconsider coming to work for Olly’s father, dear.”

“It’s a kind and generous offer, and I appreciate it.” He wouldn’t go any further with the sentiment or indulge further cajoling from her. Oliver was silent beside him, thankful when his mother dropped the subject and began talking about their plans to rebuild their barn.

*


They retired to their respective rooms that night.

“I’ll come for you,” Oliver whispered by the door. Alex nodded, then closed the door gently. He extinguished his lantern, uninterested in trying to read himself to sleep.

Two hours went by fitfully. Alex’s nightclothes felt confining and tangled around him; he longed to sleep nude, which he’d slowly become accustomed to on nights when Lionel didn’t return home. The furniture of the unfamiliar room created odd silhouettes along the walls as the moonlight leaked inside, and the night sounds sounded more stark due to his restlessness.

He closed his eyes and lingered in that state between wakefulness and sleep, when the colors behind his eyes slowly began to fade to black.

The door creaked open, and he kept them closed, silently thrilled.

“Are you tired?” Olly whispered, kissing his brow. Slate blue eyes met his in the dark.

“No.”

“Come with me. Get your shoes. Bring one of those blankets.”

Alex wadded up one of the blankets, deciding not to bring his mother’s good quilt. He tugged on his coat, noticing Oliver had his on, and he stepped into his shoes without tying them, tucking the laces in instead.

They crept down the stairs, moving close to one another to avoid making it sound like two separate sets of footsteps. No one stirred in the darkened hall.

They made their way outside, jubilant that nothing had stood in their way. It was cold outside, and Alex regretted wearing so little, but Oliver seemed nonplussed. They entered the barn, and the horses nickered at them, but the boys ignored them, making their way up into the hayloft.

It reminded Alex of Clark. Again, he squelched the memory, which seemed like a sacrilege.

Oliver had been busy. A lantern was already lit, and he’d already made a fire in the small stove on the ground, where he heated a small brick. Oliver carried it up the ladder with a pair of iron tongs. Once at the top, he prepared the covers, spreading them over the hay that wasn’t bundled into bales. He ran the brick over them, warming them. Alex felt a small thrill of anticipation. Oliver turned to him, holding out his hand.

“Come here, Alex.” He nodded, and his stomach twisted with arousal at the grip of his hand. A current seemed to pass from Oliver to Alex, charging him with want.

They removed their remaining clothing and hunkered down quickly beneath the blankets, staving off the chill with skin-on-skin contact, and Alex wanted to weep with how good it felt to have Oliver beneath him, straining against him and murmuring his name in the dark. Oliver unscrewed the jar of cream and handed it to him. Alex took it with some trepidation.

“You can say no.”

“No, I can’t. I need you.” Oliver wanted this joining, even though he wasn’t completely sure of what it would involve from him, of what would make it successful. He wanted to please Alex.

Their visit together could be one of their last, when certain revelations came to light, and Oliver knew he stood at the threshold of losing something precious, and of dealing Alex a killing blow. He held onto Alex fiercely, frightening him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I love you,” Oliver blurted out. Alex paused in what he was doing. Oliver lay on his back, and Alex had just parted his legs, fingers poised to daub some of the cream over his entrance.

“Olly…” Alex was humbled.

“I love you, Alex,” he repeated. There was such desperation in his voice, and Alex didn’t know what put it there.

“I love you too, Oliver. So much.”

“Touch me,” he pleaded. Alex nodded and slowly eased his fingers into Oliver’s crease. Oliver shuddered and willed himself to relax as Alex stroked the tiny indentation.

“I’ll be gentle,” Alex promised. “Let me know how it feels.” A shuddering groan was his reply; the eucalyptus’ cooling vapors made Oliver’s skin tingle, enhancing his sensitivity. Alex’s finger carefully pressed inside, kneading and dilating him, and he flexed his muscles, growing used to the intrusion. Strangely, it felt good, this sensation of being filled, and Alex groaned at the snug squeeze of Oliver around him. “Easy,” he murmured, kissing him. Oliver didn’t let him up, cradling Alex’s nape in his warm grip. They slowly came together, embracing and straining against each other for fulfillment, and Alex rolled them so that Oliver lay on top of him, much like he had been in his suite. “I can touch you more easily like this.”

“Please.” He kissed Alex and ground himself against him again, resuming the friction he craved. “More.” Alex rewarded him with a deeper thrust of his finger, switching to his middle one as he continued to prime and stroke him. Oliver’s mouth fell open at the feel of Alex massaging those nerves inside him; the deeper he went, the better it felt. Beneath him, Alex was trying to maintain control over his erection as it rubbed so roughly and insistently against Oliver’s. His cock felt hot and smooth, and he was being abraded by the raspy texture of coarse hair at the apex of his thighs, so unlike the softer locks that fell in disarray over his brow.

“I’m going to give you more now. This might hurt.” Alex watched his face for signs of discomfort as he reached up with two fingers, gently pressing them inside. Oliver groaned, then adjusted himself around it, but he grew used to it. The slide of Alex’s fingers was aided by the cream, not chafing him as much as it would have were they dry. The slight stretch began to arouse him, and Alex’s fingertips brushed something inside him that made him moan in pleasure. Alex fingered the tender tissue inside him, pressing up against it. “Do you like that?”

“Alex,” Oliver moaned, thrusting back against his hand. He ground himself reflexively against Alex, and precum leaked from the tip of Alex’s member in response. His arousal grew the longer he listened to his lover’s voice and drank in his heat, despite the frigid air in the barn. His nipples were hard and tingling, and his body was flush with the glow of excitement and building pleasure. Alex’s thrusts quickened, deepening again once he was certain Oliver wasn’t experiencing discomfort, and he cried out this time when Oliver reached between them and grasped him, pumping him.

They rode each other, bucking against each other as they prepared for the definitive mating. Teeth nipped and lips suckled and tongues lapped. Fingers rolled nipples and clenched long, muscular thighs. It had never been this sweet and desperate between them, never so urgent and overwhelming, and they were helpless to keep from tipping over the edge. They were gasping and crying out each other’s names and various curses. Oliver didn’t want the sensations to stop, and he whimpered in protest as Alex removed his hand. He stared at him in confusion as Alex rolled him to his back.

“Alex?”

“Please,” he grated out. “Please let me take you, Olly.” Oliver caressed his cheek and nodded.

Alex was terrified. The moment of truth had arrived, and he stood poised to consummate what was between them or ruin it utterly, but he couldn’t ignore this primal urge to take him, to possess him and hold him fast. “I love you.” It was the only thing he could say, and his voice sounded bleak, perhaps resigned. “I love you so much, Oliver.” Olly spread his legs and raised his knees, reaching for him. Alex was more than ready, throbbing so much that he ached, pulsing and swollen with need. Oliver stroked his plump, silky arousal and nodded.

“You can.” So Alex lowered himself to him, holding himself up on his forearms, and he eased himself against Oliver, letting his cock rub against his entrance. Oliver tensed in anticipation and hissed out a breath as he felt stiff flesh probe him, stretching the ring of muscle and making it burn slightly, despite Alex’s careful efforts at priming him, and his muscles automatically clamped down at the perceived invasion.

“No, no, no,” Alex whispered soothingly. “Please, Olly…please. I won’t hurt you, I promise, just relax…”

“I’m…okay,” he grunted as Alex stopped his thrust. He lay impossibly still, trying not to sink any further into his tight heat, but he was strained and frustrated. He felt Oliver shift around him, grip changing to better accommodate his girth. His hips betrayed him, instinctively thrusting as Oliver moved to make himself more comfortable, and Alex groaned at how good he felt beneath him. Sweat beaded up on his brow at the effort it took not to move, but Oliver was undoing him. “I’m all right.”

“Don’t lie.” His voice was haggard, and he looked desperate and miserable.

“I’m not, Alex.” Oliver’s breath was labored from his own efforts. “I’m all right.” Hesitantly he thrust up at him, a gentle rock of his hips. Alex groaned at the pleasure that drew from him.

“Olly,” he moaned.

“It’s all right,” he said, rocking against him again, and Alex thrust back carefully, savoring the snug squeeze of Oliver’s muscles embracing him. His channel was slick with arousal and the cool cream that had warmed from his body heat and the tender press of Alex’s hand. They moved together, and Alex pushed himself deeper, once again stroking the place inside Oliver that made his body react so violently. “Yes,” he breathed, “please.”

“Oliver,” Alex grated, rising up on his forearms, thrusting and rocking into him in a slow and steady rhythm. This was what he’d been craving, this completion and culmination of his dreams of Oliver, of those empty nights that were bereft of his low voice and knowing touch. He died when he lost Oliver, and it felt like he was locked in one of his feverish dreams listening to him chant his name.

Alex gave in to the pagan voices inside him beseeching him to claim Oliver, mark him, burn his essence into him like a brand. He changed the angle of his hips, leaning up and wrapping Oliver’s legs around him. His shoulders and upper arms burned as his hips thrust and pounded into him, harder, faster, less uneven, more determined. Oliver’s hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his back, and his face was flung back, straining, his mouth gaping open and gasping curses.

“Damn it, Alex! Oh, God! God damn it, Alex!” he cried as he hit Oliver’s prostate over and over, shunting into him and trying to rid himself of the ache of his swollen flesh, coddled yet tortured by Oliver’s tight heat…

Alex gave a ragged shout as his seed flooded out from him, drenching Oliver’s insides. He arched and bucked, eyes snapping wide open and looking down at Oliver in shock. “Hnnnnnghhh…nnnghh…” He couldn’t stop thrusting, wringing himself dry as the aftershocks continued. Oliver’s face twisted in surprise as Alex’s final thrusts hit him, pushing him over the edge.

“Holy shit!” he rasped. “Alex!” His seed erupted from him, dribbling in a thick, sticky flood and spattering them both. He bucked up against him and held onto him desperately, sinking his teeth into Alex’s neck. Alex yelped in surprise, but he didn’t struggle. Oliver breathed in ragged pants against Alex’s throat as he collapsed on top of him.

They recovered slowly, snuggling closer beneath the blankets. Oliver’s warm breath fanned out over Alex’s scalp when he tucked his head beneath his chin. They listened to each other’s drumming heartbeats, basking in the glow of the lantern’s flickering light.

Oliver sighed. “Only two more days.”

“Shut up.” Oliver sighed, his chest rising and falling beneath Alex’s cheek.

He wondered how cavalier Alex would be by the time he caught his train.

He wondered if he would hate him.

*

Alex woke up alone in the guest room, bundled under the heavy blankets and wearing only his drawers. He half expected to find hay bits on his blankets, but he looked down and found only the clean quilt he’d left behind.

He rose and prepared for the day, bathing himself at the basin of hot water that Kitty had brought up and left outside his door. Alex shaved carefully and picked out a linen day suit. He peered at his reflection in the mirror above the bureau and ran his palm over his scalp, out of long habit. Oliver loved him the way he was, but Alex still felt like the unsure boy he’d been the day they’d met.

Oliver’s mother already had a fine breakfast set out for them. Oliver met him downstairs with a knowing smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” he mentioned casually as Kitty served his plate, ladling it with scrambled eggs. Oliver smirked.

“Don’t you look nice,” Oliver’s mother commented. “Keep that on, Alex. We have company coming today for a luncheon.”

“Am I imposing, then?”

“No, of course not! You might remember some of our guests from the last time you visited. I remember you played for us so beautifully,” she mused.

“We’ll get out of your way, Mother.” Oliver swallowed the last of his orange juice. “I might take Alex out riding.”

“Don’t stay out too long,” she chided him. “Don’t get dirty,” she added, fearful of any harm coming to their fine clothes. Oliver chuckled at being reprimanded like he was still a child of five.

They ate quickly and took their leave. Oliver did indeed take him riding, and it felt good to be astride again, something he hadn’t done since he left the academy. They rode the trails around the Queen estate, enjoying the shade and bird song mingling with the crack of roots beneath the horses’ hooves.

They stopped at a clearing to stretch. Alex took off his cap and fanned himself with it.

“Alex, we need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Remember when Mother used to have those teas…when she had the daughters of her friends from church come, and you’d play the piano for them?” Oliver tried to smile. “They found you charming. They obviously didn’t know the real you.” Alex smirked.

“And you do?” Alex joined Oliver, standing beside him where Oliver sat on a large tree stump. He looked down into his face, enjoying his faint squint as the sun got in Oliver’s brown eyes. They were troubled. He caressed the crest of his cheek with the back of his index finger. Oliver caught his hand and squeezed it to get his attention.

“I’d like to think so.” His next words turned Alex’s world on its ear. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you did before I left. Things have changed.” Alex’s eyes darkened with wariness, even dread. He let go of Oliver’s hand and backed away slightly.

“What’s changed?” He swallowed. “You said you loved me.”

“I do.” Oliver sighed. “My family has certain expectations, Alex. I’m their only son. They expect me to have a family.” Alex’s stomach pitched. The glow of their night together evaporated, leaving Alex cold.

“Alex.” Oliver’s voice was bleak. “What we have can’t go beyond closed doors.” The cruel reality of his words stabbed Alex. “You know that. We’d be deviant in everyone’s eyes.”

“Deviant!” Alex snapped. “What we have together is ‘deviant?’ Olly…you sound like my father.” Oliver’s mouth flattened into a thin line.

“Never say I sound like the man you despise.” Alex turned from him and paced off toward a clutch of trees, arms folded across his chest protectively. Ugly prickles washed over his flesh at Oliver’s words.

We each marry the most beautiful women in town and let them hang curtains and plant vegetable gardens in the back yard. We build a white picket fence. We could own dogs. And we can wave to each other over the fence every day on the way to work. We can each have sons. We can send them to the same school. Mine will beat yours at baseball. He thought Oliver was half kidding. It was meant to be a fantasy.

“So I was just a phase,” Alex said weakly, “wasn’t I?”

“What?”

“Was I just…someone to pass the time with, Olly?”

“Alex!” Oliver was on his feet, hurrying to him and catching his arm. He spun him around roughly and barked “Will you listen to me? You’re my best friend! Like the brother I never had! I can’t help it if it turned into something else!” Alex jerked his arm from his grip. Oliver raked his hand through his hair helplessly, rumpling it.

“It sounds like that’s all I can be.”

“What would you have me do? God, Alex, what do you see in our future? Setting up house? Going to church together, or dinner socials? Listening to the folks in town whispering about us? I can’t even hold your hand in public! If anyone saw me kiss you, it would ruin us, Alexander!”

A voice inside Alex screamed I don’t care! But Alex knew about appearances. A dull pounding drummed in his ears, drowning out everything else; Alex realized it was his heartbeat. It was breaking.

“Oliver…you love me.”

“I do, damn it!”

“You can’t,” Alex pronounced. He stared him down, and Oliver saw a chilling transformation envelop his lover, twisting him. His stance stiffened, and his slate blue eyes gleamed with new steel. “Deviant or not, I’ve loved you, Oliver. I’m going to be the memory that keeps you up at night. But I won’t be your shame.” His voice held something fearsome, the sound of no mercy.

From that day forward, it was the voice his enemies would hear before he crushed them.

“Alex,” Oliver pleaded. He closed in on him, reaching for his arms, but Alex broke free of him, knocking his hands away.

“Are you already in love?”

“With you, only with you,” Oliver grated out, and his dark eyes sparked with tears. “Only with you, Alex.”

They shared a long, measured look. “You’ve been on edge all day. You told me this now for a reason, instead of waiting until I get on my train to leave. We could’ve had three days, Olly. Three days to ourselves before it had to end.” Alex shook his head and gave him a wintry smile. “Why now?”

“I had to tell you,” he said hoarsely. “She’s coming to tea.”

*

The ride home was tense and silent. As if the atmosphere around Alex sensed his mood, the warm sun dimmed and the sky shifted from cerulean to slate gray. Oliver smelled a hint of rain as they stabled their horses. It was the last time Alex and Oliver would ride together. They were both drained, and Alex didn’t relish the coming tea. He forced his face into agreeable lines when Oliver’s mother greeted them at the back door.

“Come! We’re in the sitting room,” she urged, looping her hand through the crook of his arm. Alex smiled indulgently, and Oliver followed them, projecting anxiety and grief so hot that it burned Alex’s back. Alex studiously avoided occupying the same space as Oliver throughout an interminable party. He recognized some familiar faces, and noticed a pretty girl with dark hair who vaguely reminded him of Selina Kyle. She turned and spied him, and a smile lit up her large blue eyes.

Dinah. She hurried forward and took his hand in both of hers. “Alex? Olly’s told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already. I remember hearing you play. You were wonderful.” Alex schooled his face into bland lines.

“Glad you appreciated it.” She squeezed his hand and gently released it.

“I never learned to play, but my mother urged me to sing when I was a child. I hope one day, when I have a family, that there will be music in our home every day.” A woman who had to be Dinah’s mother murmured something in her ear, and the two of them turned to leave. “I’m going to help your mother, Olly,” she suggested. Alex could tell that her mother acted in the capacity of chaperone, hardly surprising at a gathering such as this.

They seated themselves in the great dining room around a long table and ate from Oliver’s mother’s willow patterned plates. Every bite of food tasted bitter in Alex’s mouth. He felt none of the gaiety around him, having removed himself from it. Alex needed to lick his wounds privately, and each minute dragged on, killing him a little more.

Oliver’s father stood and tapped his fork against a wine glass to get their attention. “I couldn’t be more proud right now to share this announcement with all of you. My son, Oliver, has come to work for Queen Industries and joined the family business as my successor. But just when I think he can’t make me any more proud, he comes to me with the news that he’s asked for the hand of a lovely girl who I know will make him happy for years to come. Join me in drinking a toast to Oliver and Dinah. Oliver’s been my only son until now, and now I will have a beautiful daughter to welcome into the family!”

“And grandchildren!” Oliver’s mother chimed in. The assembled guests laughed.

Alex tasted bile. He heard that rushing sound in his ears again and his heart thudded dully in his chest. He quaffed his wine in one neat swallow, and it did nothing to numb the pain. He watched Dinah and felt his heart harden against her dimpled smile and shining eyes. Her soft, feminine beauty mocked him as she stood and joined Oliver, holding his hand as he dutifully kissed her cheek.

Alex died in that moment, and Alexander Luthor rose up in his place. No longer a boy.

Untouchable.

Unbreakable.