Homestead

Summary: Festivities. And secrets.

“Can you take us to the barber’s today?” Alex looked up from his leather-bound edition of Tennyson’s poems as Oliver paced around his suite, collecting various articles of clothing.

“Whyever for?” He cocked his brow over the edge of his book, and Olly caught the quirk of his lips.

“Why the hell do you think? Some of us need a haircut. I’m about due.” Oliver cocked his head and turned in the mirror atop the vanity, craning his neck to see where his hair dusted his collar.

“Don’t be touchy. All right. We’ll go to the barber’s. Such as it is. Don’t expect pomade and hot towels, roommate of mine.” Oliver made a face.

“How bad is it?”

“Our barber’s also the town dentist. Don’t give him reason to look in your mouth.”

“Right. Maybe I’ll wait til we get back to Star City and go to see father’s barber.”

“That’s too long. We’ll go today.” He clapped his book shut, brandishing it at him. “I’ll bring along some entertainment.”

“You should be getting ready.” They’d slept in til an ungodly hour, and Alex awoke with Oliver’s arm draped heavily around his waist, warm breath steaming his nape. The morning blurred and then gradually brightened into sharp focus as he stretched his limbs.

Oliver. He had been with Oliver. Mated with him. A cold flush swept over his skin at the realization, and Alex suddenly needed to get out of bed. He struggled from Olly’s embrace, even while his body cried out in protest at the loss of his warm skin and strong grip. Oliver groaned complaints under his breath, fixing Alex with a squinty glare as he rolled onto his back. He yawned and stretched loudly.

“What’s the matter with you? What time is it?”

“Late enough. We’ll miss breakfast. Father takes his before seven.”

“Y’don’t even wanna eat with your father,” Oliver slurred, still muzzy with interrupted sleep. He flung his arm over his head, pinning Alex’s eyes to his bare chest and belly. Olly was beautifully sculpted; staring at him made Alex’s crotch tighten with remembered need…

He turned his back on him quickly and removed a rough wool blanket from the chair in the corner, wrapping it around his waist. “Go on ahead and get up. Get ready. You can use the tub first.”

“Fine,” he murmured back as he stumbled from the bed. He stretched again as he stood, and again Alex found it tempting just to stare at him. Guilt warred with want.

So they’d bathed and broken their fast. Lionel had already left for work, planning a visit to the mines to check the lode his foreman reported the week before.

For the moment, they were left to their own devices, watching the sun grow higher in the sky.

The bed sagged beneath Alex as Oliver sat on the edge. He plucked the book from his hands and laid it aside. “Get up, lazy bones.”

“Make me.” Alex was enjoying his loll in bed too much to want to move. Oliver’s eyes took on a dangerous gleam…

“GAAAHHH!” Before Alex could blink he was smothered under the thick down pillow as Oliver pelted him with it, leaning into each swing.

“You…promised me…a…haircut! And time…out of the house!” WHACK! WHACK! BOFF! Alex rolled out of the way, falling off the bed and staggering to his feet. He lunged for the bolster cushion on the chair in the corner and brandished it.

“Prepare for battle, Mr. Queen.”

Feathers flew. Their footsteps thudded across the floorboards and they nearly knocked over every piece of furniture in the room. Oliver and Alex were breathless with guffaws and smothered curses as they pelted each other. Alex’s body smarted from repeated contact with the bolster cushion as Oliver gained the upper hand, disarming him with some difficulty. Oliver tackled him, knocking him off his feet. Seven years of etiquette training went flying out the door in the span of a half an hour.

They panted for breath, chests heaving and eyes bright. Alex snickered every time he looked up into Oliver’s flushed face. Olly, in the meantime, braced the half-folded pillow against Alex’s chest where he lay on his back, easily defeated.

“Get your shoes and hat. We’re going out.” Alex sighed, and his smile dropped slightly, growing thoughtful.

“I want to show you the sights, such as they are. Olly…I’m…not that well liked here.”

“So? How’s that different from school?” Alex grunted in disgust, reaching up to clout him, but Olly deflected him with the pillow.

“Fine. I’ll be ready in a minute. Let me change my shirt.” Reluctantly Olly let him up. Alex crossed the room and rummaged through his wardrobe. He discarded the white shirt that Olly helped him wrinkle and laid it over the chair. Olly watched his long, bare back, enjoying the play of lean muscles as he moved, mentally counting the freckles that sprayed over his fair skin. Something about him was so vulnerable…

Alex never heard him as he crept up behind him; he gasped at the feel of Olly’s fingers groping at his waist and tugging him back. Alex struggled slightly. “I need to get dressed, Oll!”

“Fine. Get dressed in a minute.” He wrapped his arms around his waist again, and Alex sighed gustily.

“You’re making that hard.” The feel of Olly’s chest pressed at his back was still odd to him, yet addicting. “It might help if someone got out of the way.”

“You feel so good, Alex.” Oliver’s voice was thick and held a note of passion. His lips traced the line of Alex’s throat; his nose bumped and nuzzled him behind his ear while his smooth palm explored his stomach.

“Oll…”

“Keep this off,” Olly suggested as he pried the fresh shirt from Alex’s fingers. “I like you this way.”

“Let me get ready.”

“Alex…I like you.” The admission made Alex stop fidgeting. He stood stock still and craned his neck to peer back at Oliver over his shoulder.

“Olly, what we did last night…I don’t know-“

“What? What’s wrong with what we did?”

“Men don’t…just…”

“Some do. We always have. Just not like that,” Oliver pointed out, musing. He sighed into Alex’s neck. “Don’t be a baby about it. No one heard. No one saw. And it felt damned good.”

“Don’t swear, Oll.” It was his favorite scold. He fell back on it now. Oliver leaned around and pecked him on the cheek before releasing him. He handed him his shirt.

“Make yourself presentable in case we run into your father.”


*

No other boy in Smallville could play catch with himself. Shelby was dozing in the barn, and Clark had a few spare minutes. Back and forth he ran, throwing the ball sharply enough to make it sting his palms every time he caught it. The wind rustled his shirt and whistled in his ears with each sprint, back and forth across the paddock. It felt good.

“Clark! C’mere, son.” His father beckoned to him from the barn, holding a hammer aloft.

It didn’t bother him to abandon the game. Pete was occupied, working at Luthor’s General Mercantile as a stock boy. Clark dashed back to the barn in a split second. His father clapped his shoulder and beckoned him inside.

“Come and see,” he said. His gait was proud, less stooped, but Clark still took in the signs that his father was succumbing to age by small degrees. He led him toward his work bench, and Clark saw a large china cabinet with a breakfront standing beside it. It wasn’t yet sanded or stained, but its construction was complete.

“You made it for Ma!”

“Your mother has lots of nice things she’ll want to put inside it. I think she’ll like it!”

“It’s nice,” Clark breathed, stroking the wood and brushing off the dust.

“Here. I brought this along with me.” Jonathan strode to his tool shelf along the wall and removed a sheet of paper. It was one of Clark’s drawings. Clark looked at it, then Jonathan, puzzled.

“I want it engraved here,” Jonathan nodded, pointing to the topmost drawer. “It’s best if you do it before we stain it.”

“I will, Pa.” Clark made himself comfortable on the work bench and concentrated his green eyes on the breakfront door.

Slowly, his irises changed, glowing like red-hot coals, and a needle-fine beam of blazing heat streamed through the air, making the dust particles dance before striking the unvarnished cedar. Jonathan watched transfixed as the beam followed the movement of his son’s eyes, burning a dark trail wherever he looked. The smell of scorched wood reached his nostrils and Jonathan rubbed his nose, but he never took his eyes off his son as he recreated his drawing on the breakfront, capturing it for posterity on Jonathan’s gift to his mother.

Martha’s lilies of the valley now graced the breakfront, still smoking slightly as Clark blew on it to cool its surface. “How’s that, Pa?”

“Ma’s gonna lov- nnnnggghhh!” Clark’s eyes widened as Jonathan clutched his chest and staggered back from the bench. He dropped his hammer with a sharp thud; Clark paid it no mind, and he caught his father before he could collapse.

“MA!” He bundled Jonathan close to his chest, watching confusion bloom in his eyes, which watered slightly. His face held a gray pallor that petrified his son. Panic choked his heart in his chest.

“MAAA!!” Clark cried out again, this time louder and more desperate. He whispered prayers and pleas and gripped his father tightly to him until he heard his mother’s quick footsteps and her low, anguished cry as she ran into the barn.


*

True to his promise, Alex immersed himself in one of his beloved books, Moby Dick by Herman Melville, while Oliver indulged in his haircut. At a table in the back of the barber shop, three older men played cards, content to avoid the gaming hall in the back of the saloon across the street.

The day was still and hot; the breeze the townfolk craved was nowhere to be found.

A powerful surge of air rustled their clothing and tousled their hair; an elderly man seated on the stoop outside the blacksmith’s frowned at his freshly lit cigar, now extinguished, and he batted at the dust and grit that flew into his eyes.

Clark’s lungs burned.

He had a single purpose: Get the doctor. Get him now. His ma’s face was pale and desperate while she crooned over her husband, stroking his cheek and gripping his hand. Tears ran down her nose as she bowed over him.

Discretion was less important than his end goal. He still rounded the tiny office and banged on the back door.

Alex rose from the battered chair in the barber shop, having already grown bored. Oliver decided on a shoe shine, an addition to their errand that made Alex roll his eyes. The patrons of the shop were already eyeing him askance, and he felt them staring at his baldness, measuring him. Silently mocking him.

There’s that queer Luthor boy. Thinks he’s great shakes, attending that expensive school in Metropolis.

“Olly? I need some air.”

“Don’t take too long.” Oliver feigned interest as the barber related the damage done to local crops by a huge flock of crows the summer before. He watched Alex depart with a sigh.

Alex gratefully left the stuffy confines of the shop, but realized with disgust that it was almost as uncomfortable outside. He rounded the shop, strolling into the shade from the roof.

Voices caught his attention, both male. He recognized Clark’s and noticed the frantic pitch and inflections. Alex crossed the dirt lot joining the property between the shops and found Dr. Lee listening to Clark with concern written on his features.

“My pa fell. He’s sick! Please come home with me and help him!”

“Easy, son. How did you get here? Slow down and tell me what happened.”

“Clark?” Alex approached and didn’t hesitate to reach for him, cupping his shoulder firmly to get his attention. Clark spun on him, and his eyes widened further. Pain filled him at the agony in Clark’s face.

“Pa’s sick!”

Alex’s lips moved before he’d even decided what to say. “Stay here. I’ll summon a coach.”

For the first time that Alex could remember, when he returned with the coach, Clark was long gone. Dr. Lee confessed that he’d no sooner packed his medicine bag than he saw that the boy was missing.

Alex’s thoughts flashed back to that day. That horrible day.

A strange flash of movement caught his eye, and he blinked. He watched for it again. Tingling cold seized him, and he wavered, swallowing hard.

“Leave him alone! You’re a BAD man! Stop hurting him! STOP!”

It was so long ago.

He’d buried it. Tucked it into a box and locked it away.

His body stiffened, remembering the feel of a young, sturdy body, smaller than his, covering him protectively.

Alex was dazed when Dr. Lee nagged him into the coach, ending his reverie. Alex then gave crisp directions to the Kent farm to his driver, and they sped down the road.


*

Clark’s father’s hand felt limp and cool in his soft grip. He only risked a faint squeeze, and a fat tear rolled down his face, skimming the corner of his mouth.

“I called the doc, Pa. He’s coming.”

“Good boy,” Martha soothed. She busied herself, covering Jonathan with a light blanket. She was wringing out a wet cotton cloth as she asked, “What happened?”

“Finished…working,” Jonathan gasped. She was too distracted to notice the breakfront.

“You stayed out here too long, Jonathan!”

“He wasn’t out here that long, Ma, I swear!”

“Clark…don’t swear. I won’t have it.” Her voice was clipped; Clark, chastened, hung his head and sniffed back more tears, wiping them on his sleeve.

Jonathan’s pallor was just as gray when Alex’s coach arrived outside. While his driver puzzled out where to tether the horses, Alex scrambled outside, tugging Dr. Lee’s coat to make him move more quickly.

Martha had never seen young Alex so unsettled or rumpled, only used to seeing the immaculate, too-serious boy with perfect manners who still made her lose sleep at night. Normally calm, solemn blue-gray eyes were full of fear and shock.

“How on earth did you get back here so fas-“ Dr. Lee’s words died on his lips as he took in the sight of Jon Kent lying on the barn floor. “Jonathan,” he murmured. “It’s all right, man, just rest. Let me take a look at you.” He pored through his medicine bag. Clark’s anxious face and clenched fists were a distraction Martha didn’t need, something he saw from the tight press of her lips and the way she fought for composure.

Before Alex even realized he’d touched him, his fingers slowly closed around Clark’s shoulder, shaking him. Clark slowly raised his head to face him, and limpid green eyes pleaded with him. Why?

“You came,” he whispered. Alex nodded. Without another word, Clark covered Alex’s fingers and clutched them, mindful as ever of his strength.

Right now, he needed Alex’s.


*

Three hours later, Dr. Lee was bundled back into the coach with the stern injunction to notify Oliver of his whereabouts when he reached the Luthor home.

“Come along now, Alexander. Your father’s no doubt apoplectic with worry.”

“I’m needed here.”

“Mr. Kent’s comfortable and resting; and Clark’s mother might need some time to think and recover from all the excitement.”

“Clark might need a friend,” he reminded him. “Father can send another coach. Or Clark can offer me a ride on saddleback. I’m not afraid of horses,” he boasted. His voice was wry, almost brittle. Dr. Lee looked into wintry gray eyes and felt unsettled that they occupied such a young face.

“You need to think responsibly, son.”

“I have. You’re here.” Alex removed his jacket and hung it over a peg along the barn wall. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t stay too long.” He nodded back toward the house. “I’ve left medicine for Martha to give him and I intend to see him again tomorrow. By then, I expect that you will have returned to your father’s home, Alexander.”

“I understand, sir.” Dr. Lee was just climbing into the coach before Alex remembered another vital detail. “Doctor?”

“What is it, son?”

“The bill. Send it to my father.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do…”

“Doctor. I’m a Luthor. If I’ve learned anything from my father, it’s that money’s only worth what it can do.” Tentatively, he offered the aging physician his hand; after a long, measured glance between them, Dr. Lee shook it.

The sound of the coach rumbling up the dirt road followed Alex back inside the house. Muted voices led him toward the back hall. Hesitantly he edged closer to the bedroom door, feeling guilty about possibly catching Clark’s family indisposed.

He peered around the corner of the doorframe and watched them. Jonathan was lying on his back, propped up on pillows. Martha knelt beside him, stroking his brow solicitously and staring into his face. Alex flushed as she bent and kissed the crease between his eyebrows, letting her lips linger on his skin and closing her eyes. The moment was precious, intimate, and not meant for him to witness.

He turned to leave, and saw Clark looming in the darkened hallway. His face still bore tearstains and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Come on,” Alex whispered. “Let’s give them a minute, okay?” He reached for him, wrapping his fingers around his upper arm, surprised at the solid, broad feel of it. Clark seemed to follow him in a stupor, smothering a sniffle as they made their way back outside.

The night was still warm and humid, dark enough to see the stars.

“I’ll need to get back soon.” Clark paused in the act of pouring a glass of water from the pitcher.

“Lex! Please. Don’t leave.”

“I won’t yet. Not until you get settled. Olly’s going to be worried.” Clark’s eyes beseeched him and filled with confusion.

“He doesn’t know you’re here?”

“I’m a poor host,” he remarked, but his slight smile died at Clark’s groan of anguish.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you left him…”

“No. No, no, Clark, don’t feel sorry. I don’t want you to feel bad about Olly. We’ll have time to spend together while he’s here. All I wanted to do was take him to the caves.”

“I know. You said.” Clark looked miserable. Alex’s brow crumpled and he covered Clark’s scalp with his palm, tousling his soft, dark hair.

“I wanted to do something with the three of us, but I didn’t know what. Clark?” Clark turned his face away from him, and Alex saw his shoulders slump. He exhaled a slow, frustrated breath.

“It’s okay. You and Olly…you probably do neat stuff all the time. He’s older than me.” Clark put away the glass without pouring himself a drink. “You get to go anywhere you want.” The conversation from the night before at the dinner table still rankled.

“Clark,” he said. “Clark.” Alex repeated himself more loudly, urging him to listen. “Know why I came back into town?” Clark flicked him a furtive glance before looking away again. He shrugged. “You know why.”

“I guess so.”

“I came to see you.” Clark still had his back turned to him. His fist rested on his hip and he plowed his fingers through the back of his hair as he pondered Alex’s words. “It’s good to see you. You’re so different now.”

“Yeah. I guess.” His voice was so unsure. Clark cleared his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob.

“Don’t worry about me and Oll,” he assured him. “We’ll have a little time…” His words trailed off as Clark sank into a chair beside the kitchen table and leaned his elbows on it. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, and after a delayed pause his broken sob filled the room, piercing Alex.

He couldn’t not touch him. It dawned on him that it wasn’t the first time it happened that day as he hovered at his back.

“Clark.” Alex’s voice was low, familiar and soothing. “It’s all right, Clark. He’ll be all right.” His hands drifted to those broad shoulders again, sliding over crests of muscle and the warm flesh beneath his gingham shirt. He felt the heave of his body and the thrum of his sobs working their way up from his chest, and it cut him deeply. “Don’t worry. Your pa’s all right now.”

“He-he fell,” Clark stammered, voice cracking on a hiccup. From his vantage point, Alex saw clear droplets hit the surface of Martha’s pine table. “He just stopped t-talking and fell…couldn’t breathe, he said he couldn’t breathe…” Alex’s hands absently followed the throb of Clark’s pulse into his taut neck, kneading the tendons. His fingers stroked the short, baby fine tendrils of hair at his nape. Clark straightened slightly, grinding away the tears from his eyes with his knuckles, but he was still unable to face Alex. His body betrayed his needs, inclining it toward his friend’s solid warmth, craving its succor.

Clark leaned back and lifted his face, beseeching him. His face, even stricken with grief and fear, was beautiful, walking the edge of lost innocence. His peaches and cream skin was blotchy, and his eyes were still damp from crying, making him look so vulnerable. His fingers cupped Alex’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing it for reassurance, just to prove that he was really tangible, close. For him. It wasn’t enough.

Clark’s fingers walked crab-like up Alex’s wrist and forearm, tangling in his rolled up shirt sleeve, clutching him, tugging him closer until he could wind his hand around his shoulder. Alex bent and leaned over him, heeding his grip and felt Clark’s arm loop up around his neck; his own arms followed, winding themselves around Clark’s body. He palmed Clark’s heart, feeling its rapid beats and skips. Clark still smelled like his mother’s soap, and faintly of peppermint as Alex leaned his cheek against his smooth neck.

“I’m here, Clark,” Alex soothed. “You did what you were supposed to do. You helped your father, and he’s all right.”

“I was…so…afraid,” he choked. Alex’s eyes misted, tears pricking at them, but he wouldn’t let them escape.

“No. You were brave.” And fast.

“I m-might not have made it.”

“But you did.” Alex searched for the words from the remaining bright place in his soul to lift his pain. “I have faith in you that you’ll always make it wherever, whenever anyone needs you, Clark.” He rubbed his cheek against his neck, still savoring his pulse and the scent of his skin. Clark’s breath hitched, stifling further sobs as short gasps, and his blunt fingernails clawed at Alex to hold him closer.

He absorbed Alex’s warmth and comfort by degrees, his breathing gradually slowing until it matched the pace of his, both chests rising and falling in slow, graceful tandem.

Alex’s thoughts drifted in that instant back to Oliver. Back to Lionel.

He was holding a boy so firmly and intimately that he felt like a part of him. Clark. Alex’s chest seized with guilt and shame. Alex cleared his throat. He knew what he had to do.

“Don’t cry, Clark.” Because it hurts too much to see you cry. It hurts me to see you hurt. “You’re practically a man now.” He harvested those words from his father, a realization that left a bitter tang in his mouth. “Be strong for your mother now.” Clark gave one final, shuddering sigh, and Alex felt him compose himself in that instant. He disengaged himself reluctantly from his embrace, and Clark felt bereft as Alex backed away from his chair.

Alex braced himself to find more anguish and hurt in Clark’s face. He was shocked to find acceptance, and Clark’s enduring respect. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “I have to be.”

They shared a long, charged look, and Alex turned on his heel to retrieve his jacket from the barn. Behind him, Clark clenched his fist, wanting to reach for him again and pull him back. His stomach twisted in defeat.

Alex’s coach was waiting.

“I could have taken you home,” Clark muttered beside him. He nodded to the coach.

“What? On Biscuit?” Alex offered him a hollow laugh.

“Kind of.” Before Alex could reply, his driver beckoned to him and held open the door. He only turned back to watch Clark until he climbed inside.


*

“You were missed. It’s about time you arrived, Alexander.”

“I didn’t think I’d be gone so long, Father. I was delayed.” Oliver watched both men, each occupying opposite corners of the spacious salon in the Luthor home.

“Nevertheless, that’s bad form, son. I thought I’d taught you better than that. Learn from my son’s example, Mr. Queen. In life, you will meet people who don’t tolerate disappointment. I happen to be one of them.” Lionel lit his pipe and drew a plume of smoke into his chest. “It doesn’t help when you test my tolerance, time and time again.”

He’d humiliated him. Alex couldn’t expect any less.

Lionel had waited on the front porch the way he would an errant boy, in plain sight of the neighbors. He stood and held open the front door and stared coldly into his eyes.

“Inside. Now.” Alex’s cheeks flamed as he obeyed, and his eyes flitted to where Oliver sat at the kitchen table. Olly looked wary and slightly confused.

“There are a few things we need to discuss, Alexander. It might be prudent for Oliver to adjourn to your room for a bit.” He nodded to him. Lionel’s eyes were calculating despite his smile. “Perhaps rest until Mrs. Perry calls us to supper?”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor,” he nodded. His posture was straight and tense as he left the room, shooting Alex a backward glance that made him feel that much more chastened.

He’d brought him into the hell of his father’s home…what had he been thinking?

“You’re old enough to know better. That goes without saying.”

“And yet you’ve said it, Father.” His lips moved without discretion; his voice sounded disembodied to his own ears. Darker. Harder. Lionel paused in opening the brandy bottle and narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t like your tone, nor your demeanor.”

“I apologize, then.”

“You apologize, what?”

“I apologize, Father,” he recited by rote. His eyes landed briefly on his mother’s framed portrait over the mantle. Lionel’s gaze followed his and his smile grew chilly. He chuckled and nodded as he poured.

“Your mother always enjoyed your dramatics. They’ve never been to my taste, but you knew that. I’ve been meaning to speak with you about your plans for the future.”

“I’m leaving Metropolis,” he announced easily. “And Smallville.” Lionel stared at him over the rim of his glass as he sipped. Alex heard his throat working the liquor down and licked his lips.

“Enlighten me further.”

“I plan to stay with Oliver in Star City and to work for his father. Then we intend to travel a bit.”

“What lofty plans.” Lionel’s eyes weren’t amused. “How do you propose to make this move to Star City?”

“Mr. Queen offered to pay the expenses to ship my belongings.”

“So you’re Queen’s son, now? Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t allow it.”

“I didn’t ask you for permission, Father.” Lionel rocked almost imperceptibly back on his heels.

“Then you’ve taken leave of your senses.”

“I’ve finished school. I intend to work to pay my own keep. I won’t go to university until I’ve seen some of what the world has to offer, Father.”

“You shouldn’t concern yourself so much with the rest of the world, son.” Lionel calmly downed the brandy and set down the glass. He sighed heavily; the long gust of breath made his nostrils flare.

In three long, swift strides he was upon him.

Alex reared back as his father’s hands twisted in his collar, knuckles scuffing his chin. Lionel’s eyes were dilated and venomous; all semblance of calmness and self-control evaporated.

“I own you.” WHAM! Alex bit his tongue as the back of his head connected with the tall oak china cabinet. “Obviously I have to remind you.” He thrust him back again, and plates rattled and crashed down from the shelves; shards of ceramic flew up and nicked his ankles through his socks.

“Father!” Alex’s voice rasped harshly. Lionel’s stronger hand pressed against his windpipe. The other gripped Alex’s jaw, squeezing so hard that he would feel the impression of his fingers in his flesh even after their encounter. He wouldn’t let Alex look away.

“I never sired you, Alexander. But you do belong to me. Not as my son. Oh, no. For all intents and purposes, you’re my heir, not Queen’s. You’ve finished school. Now it’s time for you to step up and learn the family business – ‘

“M’not…family,” Alex hissed.

“This is a small town, Alexander. They have eyes and ears. They remember you as a boy.”

“They hated me! They still hate me! And it’s your fault, Father! Do you know what they say about you? When you go to that whorehouse?”

CRACK! Blood spurted from Alex’s split lip in stark contrast to his fair skin.

“Don’t judge me.”

“It’s true. Everything they say is true. You were never faithful to Mother.”

“Your mother was a liar and a whore. She passed you off as my child.”

“My mother was a lady, and you know it! She did everything she could to please you!”

“How would you know?” he spat. “How the hell would you know?”

“You don’t deserve to talk about her,” Alex insisted, “not even to say her name!”

“You won’t tell me what I deserve while you’re in my house. To keep you and your mother from shame, I gave you the Luthor name. I’ve sent you to the best schools, clothed you, fed you…I won’t waste my investment. You owe me,” Lionel growled. “And your efforts to pay that debt begin now.”

“I’ve been paying for it my entire life, Father,” he retorted.

His father’s answering punch silenced him.

Upstairs, Oliver paused in selecting one of Alex’s dusty books when he heard the shatter of porcelain. He bolted into the hall but was stopped by Mrs. Perry. Lionel’s weathered housekeeper tutted at him, restraining him with a hand against the center of his chest.

“Don’t worry yourself, dearie,” she advised.

“I heard – “

“I said don’t worry yourself,” she snapped. “Mr. Luthor merely dropped a glass, I’m sure.”

Olly’s dark eyes called her a liar. She sniffed and fanned him back inside the room.

“Best freshen up for supper, young man,” she suggested. She waited for him to seat himself in the wing chair by the window with his book before closing the bedroom door after him.

Mrs. Perry fished in her apron pocket and found a small brass key. Deftly she locked the door before Oliver knew what was happening.

“No! Wait! What did you just do?” He heard her footsteps hurrying away as he rattled the doorknob.

Oliver’s stomach twisted into a hard knot and he broke out in a cold rash of sweat.

Alex burned with humiliation.

Olly can’t see me like this. Dear God! His physical safety meant little to him beside the threat of shame. Oliver knew Alex had suffered in his father’s house, but only to the extent that Alex had shared it with him.

“I’ve plans for you, Alexander. Important plans. Listen carefully.” Lionel released his collar and gave him a slight shove back. He lightly slapped Alex’s cheek to keep his attention. “You won’t work for Queen. You will work for me.”

“Driving a coach?” Alex spat out the taste of blood into his handkerchief.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re better suited to the mines. You’ve always been so curious about those caves, boy; get ready to see them first hand without having to sneak around my property like a thief.”

“You’re putting me to work in the caves? Digging up rocks?”

“Not just rocks. Emeralds. Aside from the coaches, they’ve kept you in those fine suits you and your friend enjoy so much. Honestly, you look like a fop. I plan to have you start from the bottom. You’ve hardly worked a day in your life, unlike your peers in Smallville. You could learn much from your friend Clark. He’s unspoiled and doesn’t have a lazy bone in his body.”

“How…d’you know so much about…Clark?” Alex coughed; his throat was hoarse.

“I have my eyes and ears. They’re an interesting family. Mrs. Kent is a regular at church.” It shocked Alex that his father even went to church. “Once Mr. Queen returns home, you’ll begin working for me. You’ll rise at dawn and quit at sundown, like every other employee I have. No special treatment. You’ve grown too soft.” He raked his eyes over Alex’s smooth hands and perfect nails. “You won’t have time for playing tennis or reading Yeats.”

“What’s to stop me from just leaving with Oliver?”

“I’ll cut you off without a red cent,” Lionel shrugged. “A diploma won’t help you pull a plow or feed a family. Look around you at any uneducated farmer in town earning an honest living.” Alex stared down at his hands balled up in his lap. “God, you’re useless.”

“Then why send me to school at all?” he asked hollowly. Tears pricked at his eyes.

“I expect you to eventually show me why. In the meantime, I’ve decided to cut your friend’s stay short. He leaves in two days. Make your excuses to his family for his early return, son.”

Alex’s mind raced.

They could get out, somehow. Tonight. Horseback? Or Oliver could contact his father to send for them?

Dread consumed him.

Toiling in the mines wasn’t as daunting as working alongside the same citizens who gossiped about him and reviled him for so long, and who despised his father. Lionel Luthor wasn’t a scrupulous or generous employer. The town’s disdain would include both him and his son.

“Damn you, Father.” Lionel nodded and a hard smile crept over his lips.

“You curse me. Amusing.”

“One day,” Alex promised, “I’ll be my own man. I’ll be better at owning a business than you. I’ll have a bigger house. I’ll have a family, and I’ll never hurt the ones I love. You don’t even know how to love! I’ll leave you, Father, and you’ll die alone.”

“Get up,” Lionel ordered in disgust. “Go upstairs until I summon you both for supper.”

Alex skirted around him and left the room without another word.

Mrs. Perry heard him as he ascended the stairs. “One second, Alexander,” she trilled. She hastily unlocked the door to let him in. Alex’s face was stony.

“Mrs. Perry?”

“Yes, dear?”

“One of these days, when I own this house, I intend to kick you out in the street and have your husband horse-whipped.” He closed the door on her gasp of outrage.

His bravado left him when he met Oliver’s eyes. Visibly he seemed to shrink as his friend examined him. Oliver’s fingers crept up to touch the corner of his mouth. Alex winced and batted his hand away.

“Alex!” he hissed.

“Don’t, Olly.”

“What did you do?” he accused. “What did you say to him to make him do this?”

“All I did is all I’ve ever done.”

“What?”

“Live.” His movements were brisk as he removed his jacket, thankful that it didn’t have any blood stains, but his shirt was a lost cause.

“Alex…”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You owe me. You left me here while you were with that boy!”

“I had no choice, Oliver!” he flared. “What did you expect me to do? Clark needed me. You don’t understand. Clark…Clark’s important to me.” He amended that slightly as he reached for a cloth next to the basin. “His ma and pa have always looked after me when I needed them.”

“So’ve I,” Olly reminded him, throwing up his hands. “But I get it. It’s just…you were acting really weird around him.”

“Hm?”

“Clark. You were different around Clark.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He wiped his face gingerly; the cool water felt soothing against his cuts and already swelling cheek.

“Sure you weren’t.”

“Look, let’s eat. Aren’t you starved? I know I’m hungry,” Alex pointed out.

“Alex?”

“What, Olly?” He paused in reaching for a new shirt from the wardrobe.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You didn’t do anything wro-“ Oliver closed the distance between them and grabbed Alex’s fresh shirt, tossing it onto the wing chair. He gathered him into an embrace that was rough and impatient. Alex’s breath left him in a ragged groan of need.

“I’m sorry he did that to you. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Olly…”

“You always said he was horrid to you. But now I know. God, I’m sorry, Alex.”

“You didn’t know.” He clung to him and felt safe, but Alex still drowned in shame that the one he loved most witnessed how poorly his father treated him.

“I should have known,” he insisted.

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Oliver didn’t believe him, if the way his arms tightened around his back were any indication.

“You look awful.” He drew back and gently turned his jaw one way, then the other. Alex clapped him on the shoulder, and his mask went back up.

“I’ve looked worse. Let’s eat.” He resumed getting dressed.

“Then what?” Oliver wasn’t looking forward to a night of being civil to Lionel Luthor.

“That’s a surprise.”


*

Life in a small town sometimes required its residents to entertain themselves in unusual ways.

Smallville enjoyed a tradition of lighting things on fire.

“This is what you usually do on Founder’s Day?”

“Uh-huh.” The boys were huddled together on the roof of the boarding house, three stories up, where they had an ideal vantage point for the fireworks. Below them, children cackled over the pop of firecrackers.

They’d waited until it was late enough, or rather, until Lionel retired to his bedroom with his scotch. Then they waited until it was dark enough for the best visibility. The remaining three hours after supper had been grueling and futile, but it was well worth it. The night air was blessedly cool after the dry afternoon. There were few stars in the sky to compete with the fiery sparks and bursts as the townsfolk sent up one flare after another. Some of Alex’s troubles drifted away as they laid back and enjoyed the display.

Oliver turned and watched Alex’s face as the bluish-white and golden lights shone on his skin with each burst. His companion caught him staring. “What?”

Oliver’s smile was gentle. “I have to climb up onto rooftops just to get you to lie on your back?”

“Olly-mmmmmph!” The kiss was lazy and decadent, and Alex sighed in contentment.

A sudden shout below interrupted them. They sprang apart but felt foolish when they realized it wasn’t directed toward them. Oliver collapsed beside Alex this time, then tugged his sleeve.

“How long do you want to stay out tonight?”

“A little longer. Why?”

“Is there anything else to do at night beside this?” Alex mulled this over.

“My father finds things to do.”

“What kinds of things, besides his after dinner drink?” Oliver’s voice was low and held a note of disdain. Alex flushed in annoyance and gave him a hearty shove.

“Don’t talk about that.”

“Alex…okay. That’s fine.” He read contrition in Oliver’s brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

“It’s…it’s not just the alcohol. He goes out sometimes. There’s a saloon on Main Street. He goes there sometimes.”

“So does my father, once in a while.”

“It’s not just a saloon.” Alex’s lips tightened. “They entertain gentlemen upstairs.”

“So they play cards,” Olly shrugged.

“No. They don’t.” Alex released a pent-up breath. “Olly…my father hires the favors of the women who work there.” Without turning to face him, Alex felt Olly staring at him while he gazed up at the stars. He continued speaking, entranced. “He was with them when my mother was still alive. He came home smelling of perfume. He sometimes told my mother that was where she belonged. He called my mother a whore. He’d yell at her when he came home from that parlor. He’d hurt her. I’d hear him in the dark, throwing her on the bed. Hitting my mother.”

“Alex…”

“She was a lady. My mother was a lady.” A tear welled up and spilled from the corner of his eye, leaking into his ear. “But he’d use her. Just like he used those other women. And then…once she was…gone, Olly…he’d use me.”

Alex hated himself again. All over again. Shame made hot rivers of tears roll down his cheeks as he lay silently on the rooftop, breath occasionally hitching.

“I won’t let him break me, Olly.”

“Of course not,” Oliver snapped, surprising him. “You’ve come this far. You’ve been through hell…”

“Olly, don’t –“

“Don’t tell me ‘don’t swear, Olly.’ This is a special occasion.” He turned to him and grabbed him roughly, pulling him until he lay on his side, facing Oliver squarely. There was no amusement in Oliver’s face. “He can’t break you. Nothing can break you.” His long fingers crept over his cheek, smoothing away tears and tracing the contour of his cheek. “You don’t have to come back. After we come back from Europe, you live in Star City. You come and work for my father, with me. We can live in a real city with civilized people where you don’t taste dust in your mouth as soon as you step out into the street.” A smile toyed with the corner of Alex’s mouth, but his eyes were still full of sorrow.

“Then what, Olly?”

“What else is there? You live in the city. We build our own houses on the same street.” This time Alex stifled a laugh. “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.” Alex snorted. They both dissolved into guffaws and slapped and poked at each other.

“There’s one problem with that flawless plan of yours, Oll.”

“What, pray tell, is that?”

“I’m never marrying the most beautiful woman in town. I’m not getting married at all.”

“Bullshit,” Olly scoffed. “You can play the piano. You’ve been to the best school and you’ll inherit your father’s businesses and property one day. You’re a catch.”

“What makes you think you know so much?”

“Because I’m a catch for the same reasons,” Oliver boasted dryly. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Olly…what if no woman wants me?” Oliver scowled.

“All the more for me, I guess…” This time Alex shoved him. “No. Seriously?”

“Seriously, Oll.”

“Why wouldn’t any woman want you?”

“I’m a freak. And I’m a bastard.” Oliver forced back a hot lump of guilt as he remembered their former rivalry at school and how he taunted him. “What my father did makes it hard…it makes it hard for me to want to get close to anyone. It made it hard for me to get close to you. A woman might sense what happened to me…”

“A woman might understand you better than you think. And you did get close to me.” Oliver leaned up on his elbow and toyed with the button of Alex’s collar. “But they taste different.” Alex looked astonished.

“And how did you come across that tidbit of knowledge?”

“Dinah’s chaperone was called away for a moment. A long moment.” Alex’s face cracked.

“How was it?”

“A gentleman never tells.”

“So you’re going to tell me, then.” Oliver grinned.

“Obviously. She made this funny little sound. Her lips were soft, Alex. All of her was just soft.” His eyes took on a faraway look. Alex stifled a flare of some emotion he couldn’t recognize. His voice became blunt.

“You’re soft in the head.”

“Someone dropped you on yours if you think this is entertaining.” The last of the fireworks popped and sizzled and the voices below began to wane and disperse.

“Olly.”

“What?”

“There’s something else wrong with your plan.” Alex took a deep breath. “I can’t come with you to Star City.”

The calm reverie between them evaporated.

“Tell me you didn’t just say that, Alex.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You pack your things. I pack my things. Then we hop a train out of this Podunk town. “

“If I leave, I leave without a cent, Oll. I’ll have nothing. He threatened to cut me off.”

“Alex…that doesn’t matter!”

“Of course it matters!”

“My family has plenty of money. You can’t stay here. It’s that simple. I won’t let your father keep doing this to you!”

“How do you plan to stop him?” Alex asked flatly. “And I can’t take anything from your family. I won’t be a free loader, Oll.”

“You’ve been a guest at my family’s home before!”

“A guest, not a boarder.”

“So you’d be a tenant if you worked for Father. Better yet, you’d be family.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

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

“Olly…you can’t. You can’t do anything about this. And neither can your father. If I come to live with you, he’ll want to know why. And you can’t tell him why.”

“ALEX!”

“YOU CAN’T!” Alex boomed, forgetting for a moment where they were.

“Why? Are you embarrassed about what Father might think?”

“I don’t love my father, Oliver, but I can’t shame him. No one else can know. It would ruin him.”

“Then ruin him.”

“I’m a better son than that,” he told him quietly, gravely. “If you’re my true friend and if you care about me at all, you need to know that. You need to understand why I have to stay.”

“Then maybe I’m not your true friend,” Oliver said hollowly as he rose to his feet. “And you don’t seem to want me to care about you.” Oliver folded his arms and gazed down at him as Alex sat up. “Don’t expect me to understand. I just can’t.”

“Then that’s it.” Alex stood shakily, then straightened his clothing. “Let’s head back.”

“I’ll pack when we get back. I might as well head out tomorrow morning.” Alex stiffened in his tracks, pausing by the ladder that led down to the ground.

“You don’t have to.”

“I think I do.”

“Fine,” Alex grated, jaw clenched. More tears pricked at his eyes but he stifled them successfully this time. It would get easier every time…

He doesn’t care about me? The thought burned itself into his consciousness, branding him. Don’t go. He couldn’t say the words. Wouldn’t say them.

Their walk back to the house seemed to take too long. Alex was miserable, yet silently grateful that he had this time, at least, alone with Olly. He wanted to savor it. It was too dear.

They crept up the stairs. Alex heard no sounds from his father’s room and thanked God.

“Make sure you don’t leave anything behind that you can’t do without. Like your shaving kit,” Alex suggested as he tugged off his shoes. He had his back turned to Oliver and the air between them was thick.

“No. Wouldn’t want to leave anything behind,” Olly replied nastily. “I wouldn’t trouble you with that, Alex; it might make you think of me, or something.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Alex muttered.

“Asshole,” Oliver hissed. Alex spun on him, loaded for bear.

“You know why I have to stay! Don’t make this harder on me.”

“So it’s not hard on me. You making me leave and watching you stay here when he’s just going to hurt you again, and again. Remember how you were when you came to our school, Alex?”

“Don’t talk about that.”

“Why not? I don’t have to worry about what I say now. You’re just gonna let me leave. I was more worried about how we’d get along when you were going to Spain with me, or Paris. Instead you’re stuck here in Smallville.”

“And Metropolis. Father has business there,” Alex pointed out dully. He continued getting ready for bed.

“You’ll be busy enough, then, that you won’t miss me.”

“Olly?” Alex whispered. “No. I won’t. I’ll miss you.” He paused in the act of putting on his night shirt. His day shirt was unbuttoned and gaping slightly off his shoulders and the top button of his trousers was undone. “I’ll miss you,” he repeated.

Oliver’s breathing was hard and his jaw was set. “You sure?”

Alex answered him the only way he knew how, crossing the room in three long strides and clasping Oliver’s hand, tugging him to him. Oliver met him halfway and embraced him as hard as his arms would grip.

“Of course I’ll miss you, you bastard,” Oliver mumbled into Alex’s neck. “I’m gonna miss you so damned much!” His fingers twisted into Alex’s shirt while Alex’s palms roamed his back. “And if you think that I’m not a true friend or that I don’t care about you, then go to hell.”

“You first,” he offered. “Olly, I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

“That’s why we have hands. You’ll write to me.”

“I will. I swear.”

“Don’t swear, Alex.” Alex’s smile was unsteady.

They stood like that for a while, rocking each other, savoring each other.

They climbed into Alex’s bed and loved each other through the night, neither one admitting the true nature of what was between them nor knowing how to describe it.