A Smallville Valentine's

A Smallville Valentine's
Part One
Valentine's Day: Morning

By BeTor


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Notes, Shout Outs, and Warnings:

This story was jumpstarted by the wonderful Ender Wiggins who posted a Harlequin Challenge. I began toying with the notion of doing something with the Valentine's Day themed 'Crimson' ep in Season Six. I wrote, and rewrote, and wrote, and rewrote, and wrote some more. Sadly, I never could get the historical angle required by the challenge going. Sorry about falling down on the challenge, Ender, but I hope you will enjoy resulting story despite that.

I also owe a shout out to PunkM. Inspired by the fun I had in reading Punk's charming 'QED' – I simply had to have a Hapless!Molested!Clark sequence. I imported Cat Grant, complete with cat sound effects and Clark lust, from the 'Lois & Clark' show for the job. The rest of the characters are all the SV versions.

Except – ahem – for certain additional characters from the DC Comics verse who ended up putting in brief cameo roles – Streaky (Supercat), Comet (Superhorse), Krypto (Superdog), and Conner (Superboy).

This is an a/u so don't expect all the details to match up exactly with the regular SV universe. Those of you (like myself) who prefer to avoid the Tedium That is Lana need have no fears. Despite this story being mostly based on 'Crimson', Lana appears briefly in only a few scenes.

Comments may be sent to green_tea37@yahoo.com

Warnings:

This story makes completely gratuitous use of whipped cream, Kryptonite, aliens, men in tights, meteor mutants, secrets, lies, and Crater Lake dreams. It contains sex, as well as a happy ending. All acts in this story are performed by professional characters in controlled settings.

There. You've been warned.

Spoilers: Seasons One through Six.

Pairings:

Clark/Lex
Lois/Oliver
Chloe/Lucas Luthor
Alexander/His very own a/u Clark
Warrior Angel/Devilicus

Disclaimer: They belong to DC Comics, etc.

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"Kneel before Zod."

Lara leans closer to a raised stone pedestal as the faint voice echoes in the dark cave chamber.

Jor-El sighs. "Must we watch this again?"

"Must you complain about it again?" Lara peers down at her son's image. Kal-El looks genuinely exhausted and haunted as he sways in front of Zod. "Our son's solution might not be one that you would have chosen, but it did work."

"He was supposed to kill Zod, not marry him!"

"I bet Zod never saw that one coming." Lara nods in approval. Could her son be developing a late blooming sense of strategy? She must get him to the fortress for tutoring as soon as possible.

"And what if it hadn't worked?" Jor-El demands. "What if Zod hadn't been so horrified at the prospect of being bound to an El that he fled his host?"

"But it did work."

"And now Kal-El is bonded to a human. He's already much too fond of the pitiful creatures as it is."

"You would prefer Zod?" Lara circles the pedestal as she watches Kal-El, his dark head bowed ever-so submissively. Really, after so many years of fighting with them, Zod should know how infernally stubborn the Els are.

"No," Jor-El concedes glumly. "But now, I will never be able to convince him to fertilize any of the Kryptonian eggs that we went to such trouble to store."

"Ssh. Kal-El is about to make his move," Lara murmurs. Had Zod underestimated Kal-El because of his human upbringing and ways? Had the trapped human host influenced Zod, tilting him toward believing in Kal-El's apparent yielding? Or it had been Zod's own arrogance?

She watches as the human faints, the El house mark smoking on his palm before fading into his skin. To endure the sear of the first bond mark at the same moment that Zod is cast out – Lara flexes her hand – no wonder that her son has not been invited to share his mate's house or create the second mark. "Perhaps Kal-El will develop a taste for power under Luthor's guidance."

"I don't think that we should encourage our son's reliance on humans," Jor-El protests. "How many times has our son come to us, and then left in the middle of a lesson, because one of his humans experienced some trifling trouble? How many times has Kal-El persistently ignored our warnings and instructions? How many times has he attempted to improvise a response when confronted with our technology rather than listen to us?"

"I wonder if Kal-El is aware of the crystal's nature," Lara muses.

Jor-El raises his white brows. "Do you think Raya told him the truth about it?"

"No. Half-truths were always her preferred stock in trade. At least she didn't manage to bond with our son."

"You would prefer Zod?"

Lara gives her husband a warning look as he tosses her earlier words back at her. "I think we can work with this Lex Luthor. Both of him if necessary."

Lara watches as Kal-El gently picks up the unconscious man and flies off. A second later, a human rises from the field. His long black coat flutters in the wind as he looks from his hand to the distant speck of Kal-El. Disbelief, outrage, and anger flicker over his pale face. She looks closer as he raises his marked hand and makes a vigorous gesture toward her son's retreating figure. "What does that gesture mean, Jor-El? Is it a human betrothal signal?"

"Something like that." Jor-El looks at the tiny figure standing on the table, jabbing a middle finger at the sky.

Lara sighs. "How could any son of ours be so perverse as to use the El Crystal in a field littered with black kryptonite chips? What was he thinking?"

"I suspect that he was not," Jor-El murmurs dryly. He slides an arm around his wife's waist. "Do not worry about it, Lara. I will speak to Kal-El, and this time, he will listen to me."

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The wood wobbles beneath Clark's feet as he jogs down the pier. He can see his mom and dad leaning back against tree trunks, fishing and drinking beer. Sheriff Adams perches on the lifeguard's chair, in full uniform, scowling beneath her black mirrored sunglasses. Lana's Aunt Nell sits in the shadows of the trees, alternately watching his dad and Lex's dad with her binoculars.

Pete and the rest of the Rosses are having a hotly contested game of volleyball, but their ball keeps 'accidentally' whomping into Lionel and knocking him off the hood of his shiny white limo. Lana is dozing on a green towel, the top of her bikini unfastened, and forgotten fashion magazine beside her. Jimmy is galumping about the beach, snapping pictures, and trying to chat up the girls.

Lois swims laps in her red bikini. Chloe sips iced coffee beneath the shade of a beach umbrella, while studying the computer magazine spread across the lap of her amber sarong. Perry White sits on a white towel, rubbing suntan lotion on himself, singing along with the Elvis tunes playing on his MP3. Cat Grant ogles guys in swimsuits over the rims of her high fashion shades.

Clark cannonballs off the end of the pier, and hits the chill blue water with a satisfying splash. He surfaces, slicking back his hair, and grinning. His wide grin falters. He feels a little too loose, free, and floaty in his nether regions. Clark looks down and gasps. His swim trunks are gone! He sweeps a panicked glance toward the beach, but no one is close enough to see his problem. He's gotta find his swimsuit fast. Clark squints through the water to the lake bottom. No trace of stray trunks there. Where could they –

"Looking for these?"

He turns to find Lex bobbing in the water on the far side of the pier. The other man is holding a familiar twist of green fabric and smirking. Clark sighs. He might have known. He splashes toward his friend. "Lex! Give me those."

"Green's not really my color, although the little orange palm trees and pink flamingos are an interesting touch. I suppose I could always use another pair."

"Give those back." Clark swims around the pier. He makes a grab for his swimsuit only to be evaded with a sinuous wiggle.

"Why?"

"Why?" Clark glowers. Why does Lex always have to make everything so difficult? His gaze strays to the tasty looking splash of golden freckles across Lex's wide shoulders. "Because they're mine. That's why."

"But how do I know these trunks are yours?"

"Because I said so! Jeez, Lex."

"That's not good enough." Lex shakes his head. "You lie all the time, Clark. I can't believe that this swimsuit belongs to you merely because you say so."

"I do not! Not about – only when I have to. And I'm not lying about this. Why would I?"

"I don't know. That's the question, isn't it? Why do you have to lie to me?"

Clark searches his friend's face. Is there a betraying glint of slyness showing beneath the wet copper spikes of Lex's lashes? He can't read the enigmatic smile edging the scarred mouth. He cautiously eases closer, catching his breath as Lex's foot brushes his calf. "Come on, Lex. You saw me jump off the pier."

Lex gives him a superior look. "Really, Clark. Don't be so vain. I have better things to do than watch you."

"Vain! I'm not vain. You do watch me. All the time. You know you do, you – you Luthor!" Clark grabs for his trunks again, subtly herding Lex. He drifts in the water, cutting Lex off from the main body of the lake.

"I'm not an unreasonable man, Clark. All you have to do it prove that the swimsuit is yours."

"What sort of proof do you want? I was wearing a swimsuit when I jumped in, and I'm not now. Do you see anyone else on this end of the lake except us?"

"We've both lived in Smallville long enough to know that just because you can't see someone, it doesn't mean that they aren't there, Clark. I need a little more evidence."

"I bought that suit last year; it's not like I still have the sales receipt." Clark moves closer, until the water is shallow enough that he can stand on the sandy bottom. He takes Lex's hand and draws the other man toward him. "But I can prove one thing to you."

"Oh? What might that be?" Lex asks, his voice lowering to a husky sweetness as he meets Clark's gaze.

"I'm really not wearing a swimsuit." Clark flattens the captive hand against his chest and slowly guides it downward. He sighs with disappointment as his friend escapes his loose grasp, and then gasps at the sudden sly skate of Lex's fingertips down his stomach to toy with the gradually thickening border of his hair. His thighs spread willingly wider as Lex's leg slides between. "Oh, god, Lex, please."

"I don't believe anything without a very through investigation."

"That – that sounds fair. Go ahead. Investigate." Clark trembles as Lex twists against him, feeling the soft brush of fabric and then the even softer press of sleek skin, as both pairs of trunks drift to the sand. The bare brush of hot Lex flesh nuzzling against his cock is too much.

Clark jerks awake, his hips convulsing against his mattress. He leans up on his elbows, staring in disbelief at the dampness seeping through his plaid boxers to the blue sheets. Damn it. Now he's gonna have to sneak downstairs and start a load of laundry. He crawls from beneath his sheets and begins stripping his bed.

His radio clicks on. "Good morning, and happy Valentine's Day, Smallville! We hear there's going to be a party at the Talon in celebration of the day that manager, Lana Lang, describes as her favorite day of the year. So go to the Talon, and see what Miss Lang has brewing for you! But don't forget to keep an ear to your radio for winter storm warning updates."

Clark groans. Valentine's Day. God, he hates Valentine's Day. Just what he needs – a whole day devoted to reminding him of what he doesn't have, and never will, if the rumors of an impending Luthor-Lang engagement are true. Chloe's right; it's the worst holiday ever invented!

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Lex sighs and turns over, tucking his pillow more firmly under his head. He opens his eyes and stares the large bookcase filled with comic books. Next to it is a signed and framed poster. He had selected this particular one precisely because of the way Devilicus is kneeling, framed by Warrior Angel's long legs.

An indefinable something about the pose manages to suggest that the villain's pliant lean against the hero's muscular leg, and strategically ripped spandex are due to activities besides fighting. Warrior Angel's hand lingers on Devilicus' dark curls. And instead of a triumphant smile, Warrior Angel has the dazed look of a hero who'd just discovered that a villain's mouth can deliver a lot more than threats should the villain be so inclined.

Lex sits up and stretches. He touches the fading pink scar left by his gunshot wound; in a few months it will be completely gone. He catches Devilicus' wide blue gaze and smiles. "Today's the day that Ollie gets knocked down a few pegs. How dare that blond cretin not only kidnap me, but almost get me killed?"

Devilicus cocks his head. At fun as their plans for Ollie are, there is that other problem running loose around the castle.

"Oh, him." Lex shrugs. "There's a limit to what he can do without fucking up his own interests. Besides we have an agreement."

Warrior Angel gives Lex a worried look. Far be it from him to discourage Lex from finding a nice non-violent resolution to a problem for a change. It's good that Lex and Alexander came to an agreement, but is Lex certain that Alexander will abide by the terms?

"Not if he perceives a bigger advantage in breaking it than keeping it." Lex shrugs. "Who would?"

That doesn't sound very good, considering who they are dealing with. What if Alexander does break their agreement? Warrior Angel frowns, and folds his arms over his wide chest. What then?

"He knows who he's dealing with too." Lex grins like a crocodile spotting a tender young thing strolling down the riverbank. He trades a knowing look with Devilicus. "If he breaks the truce, we'll deal with it."

But – Warrior Angel draws in a sharp breath and looks down into Devilicus' big blue eyes. Devilicus smirks back as he rubs his cheek over the neat bite mark peeking through the ripped spandex on Warrior Angel's thigh.

"As for Ollie, he's been strutting around my town, taking up Clark's time and attention quite long enough. Apparently he thinks I'm so stupid that I won't put Dark Thursday and working satellite together and come up with Queen Industries. Maybe he thinks I'm a pubic-hair dying closet blond instead of a natural redhead." Lex flings back his lavender sheets, unabashedly unveiling his full coppery glory. He sits on the edge of his large bed, kicking his heels against the frame. "My Dad's involved too you know."

Are they certain about that? Warrior Angel frowns at the twin stares of disbelief trained on him. What? Lionel is Lex's father. He could change.

Devilicus gives his partner a condescending smile. Lex had been attacked in a LuthorCorp elevator, directly after a visit to his father. And they had discovered that Lionel had not only visited Ollie thereafter, but had gone bearing gifts as well.

"And do I have just the gift for Ollie." Lex smirks. "One that will keep on giving."

Warrior Angel's gray eyes widen in alarm. He thought that they had discussed poisoning people and how that's a Bad Thing. A thing that Clark would never approve of. A thing that would create significant obstacles to the success of Clark acquisition.

Lex trades a look with Devilicus. Heroes. So tiresome the way they fuss over every little thing. How does Devilicus stand it?

Devilicus leers up at Warrior Angel. Lex has seen the package on the hero and still has to ask?

"It won't kill Ollie. At least not directly."

What does he mean 'not directly'? Warrior Angel frowns.

Their buddy, Ollie, will be in no more danger of dying than Lex was when those inept idiots kidnapped him, and tried to test his powers by shooting him. Devilicus smiles brightly up at Warrior Angel. This isn't poison; it's more like chum.

Lex nods. "That's it exactly. We're merely chumming up the water. Or in this case, the air currents."

Devilicus sniggers. He and Lex are just helping an old school friend out. No harm in that, right? Isn't Warrior Angel always telling them that it's a Good Thing to help people?

They didn't! Warrior Angel stares from Devilicus to Lex. His eyes widen in dismay. They did. They used Lana pheromones on Oliver. How could they!

"It was pathetically easy to arrange. We used Formula Three." Lex smiles as he thinks about Ollie stepping into the shower and getting the first dose. "Susceptible mutants will pounce on Ollie as enthusiastically as Clark pounces on hot pizza. The best part is that they will feel absolutely no inclination to treat him like a stolen artwork."

Warrior Angel shakes his head. A good superhero knows when to let something go, and when to save his veto powers for more dangerous schemes. He'll count this one as a training exercise for Oliver. What are they doing to Lionel?

"Nothing." Lex shrugs. He glances slyly at Devilicus.

Yet, Devilicus adds. He giggles.

Warrior Angel frowns at them. Very well, don't talk about it. It's not like he won't find out eventually, and if he thinks someone has gone too far, there will be a serious ass smacking in that villain's future. What about the Clark situation?

"Clark gets priority." Lex throws a mournful glance over his shoulder at the empty space on the other side of his bed; the space that he's been saving for a certain hero type. He sighs. "I can't believe how long it's been since I've gotten laid."

Warrior Angel's face softens. It was so romantic, the way that Lex vowed that the next time he fucked someone it would be Clark. Too bad they didn't record it for a future anniversary tribute.

Romantic. Devilicus grins. Yeah. Just like that scene in 'Gone with the Wind' where Scarlett vows that she will never be hungry again. Except Lex had been wearing a skirt –

"Tunic," Lex snaps. "I had a Julius Caesar costume on, damn it."

Waving an empty bottle of Scotch around, Devilicus continues, while standing over the smoldering remains of his greenhouse, and vowing that Clark's ass would be –

"Shut the fuck up." Lex stands up. He scowls at Devilicus. "See if I let the two of you use my pool table for illicit purposes again."

Devilicus smiles knowingly. Sounds like someone is envious about him having a hero to play games with.

"I play games with Clark."

Devilicus rolls his eyes. Sex games. Not the simple random head fucking that a good villain does merely to keep in practice.

Lex announces boldly, "I can have Clark any time I want him."

Hero and antihero stare at him. After a moment, Warrior Angel arches an eyebrow. Now they're both smirking at him.

"I'm married to Clark. What's that if not progress?" Lex looks down at the faint lines of the house symbol on his palm. He closes his fist possessively around it.

Ah, but there's the rub, isn't it? Devilicus nods sympathetically. Does Clark know that he's married to Lex? The only reason Lex knows is because he was forced to host Zod, and very lucky they all are that Zod has such a horror of the married state.

"Of course, Clark doesn't know," Lex snaps. "He'd be stomping around my office, accusing me of taking advantage of an innocent alien, if he did. Never mind that he's the one who sandwiched that alien artifact between our hands and wouldn't let go. It will be my fault."

Warrior Angel gives Lex an encouraging look. Perhaps Clark does know and is merely waiting for the Lana problem to be resolved. He had refused to move into Devilicus' Towering Castle O' Doom until his villain had cleared out all the floozies and rent boys.

"I still can't believe that Alexander invited Lana to move in, and then had sex with her. That's just payback overkill," Lex grumbles. "And now I have to throw this damned Valentine's party that he arranged. I piss Lana off, and then Alexander cozies up to her with secrets and diamonds. The next thing I know, she's forgiven me again! Damn it."

Man, that's gotta be annoying. That Alexander is one slick villain. Not to say that Lex isn't fully Alexander's equal in villainy, Devilicus adds quickly. He's sure that Lex will get the Lana problem resolved soon.

"We did have a little heart to heart about that." Lex lifts his chin. "I've persuaded Alexander to stop interfering with my psych-out Lana campaign. Once she's been removed, we can concentrate on Clark issues."

Warrior Angel blinks. Did Lex and Alexander agree to share Clark? He knows that he's been telling them that sharing is a Good Thing, but there are limits on sharing. Or has Clark agreed to –

"This Clark is mine. No one else gets to have him. Alexander can go conquer his own damned Clark."

Not so fast. Devilicus leans comfortably against Warrior Angel's leg. How about putting a little wager on it? Just to make things interesting.

"A bet?" Lex stares suspiciously at the villain. "On what precisely?"

On which of the Luthor boys gets a Clark first, that's what. Devilicus buffs his fingernails against the shreds of spandex still clinging to his brawny chest. He inspects his nails. Got a problem with the terms?

"No. No problem." Lex narrows his eyes. "Because I'm going to win."

Maybe. Maybe not. Alexander is a pretty little package of slyness, what if he seduces – hey! Devilicus looks up, rubbing his head. He frowns at his partner. What was that for?

Warrior Angel frowns back. There will be no wagers on this. That would be bad. What does he have to do? Draw up an itemized Bad Things list?

"It might provide some clarification on certain issues," Lex murmurs.

Devilicus sniffs. He's a villain. That's V-I-L-L-A-I-N. Bad Things are what he does. It's part of his not inconsiderable charms. He hadn't heard any complaining about Bad Things when he had his tongue up a certain tight ass last night.

Warrior Angel flushes bright red. That's enough. They are going to help Lex get his very own hero. And Lex is going to have them reframed in something nicer and roomier. Because it's the right thing to do. Not because of a silly bet. Warrior Angel glances confidingly at Lex. Silver would be good. And frankly, the maids don't dust them nearly as often as they should be dusted.

Devilicus stares down at the floor. He can't imagine why the maids won't dust them more often. Really he can't. No idea. Completely clueless.

"What did you do to the maids? No, never mind. I don't want to know." Lex runs his hand over his head. "No wonder Warrior Angel gets pissed off with you so much."

The quirk of Warrior Angel's mouth suggests that while Devilicus can be awfully annoying, a big, bad villain does have his uses. Particularly when a hero puts in a long day saving the world and a door-to-door salesman knocks on the door just as one settles in for a nice romantic dinner.

"Let me know when the 'help' you promised is going to kick in." Lex stalks toward his bathroom. The first order of business is a shower. Then coffee. He pauses at the doorway, a feeling of being stared at creeping over his back. He turns sharply and scowls at the poster. "Are you guys staring at my ass?"

Warrior Angel meets his gaze with a mildly inquiring look, but a guilty flush stains the hero's cheekbones. Devilicus is leering, and making no attempt to conceal the fact that the villain is indeed admiring Lex's ass.

"This ass belongs to Clark so forget about it." Lex points a warning finger at Warrior Angel. "You just keep him under control, or I won't be answerable for my actions."

The arch of Warrior Angel's eyebrow suggests that Lex needs to refresh his memory of the whole antihero concept. Antiheroes are by nature difficult to control.

"Have you considered a leash and ball-gag?" Lex walks into his bathroom, leaving Warrior Angel to stare thoughtfully down at a suddenly meek Devilicus.

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"Possessed by aliens, my ass. Like anybody would believe that." Oliver steps into the rippling sprays of water jetting out from his shower. He sniffs at the faint lemony scent lingering in the air. His housekeeping staff must have changed cleaning products again; just when he had gotten used to the smell of pines in his bathroom. "Luthor reads way too many comic books."

Maybe he should give Lex a good hard kick right in the money; float few anonymous and carefully edited cuts of egghead announcing that he'd been a victim of alien possession to major investors in LexCorp. Oliver grins. "I'd like to see Luthor spin that one."

But if he does that and the leak gets traced back to him, or if Clark finds out that he'd been behind the kidnapping and near murder of Lana and Lex, he'll lose all chance of convincing Clark to join his team. Clark could be such an asset, particularly now that the younger man had gotten a job as a Daily Planet reporter.

Oliver grabs a bar of soap. He's already had more than one argument with Clark over whether the ends ever justify the means. Clark had even dared accused him of being just like Lex. That had hurt. So what if he and Luthor are both willing to use any means necessary? Their goals are completely different, and that makes all the difference in the world. Why can't Clark see it?

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Lex turns his face up into the warm water flowing over him. He can feel the tension in his muscles easing into relaxation. What he wouldn't give for a massage, but there's no time for that indulgence in his schedule today. He lifts his hand and stares down at the lines on his palm. The marks are so faint that the symbol only shows when the water is hot enough to make his skin flush pink.

He wraps his marked hand around his rising cock and strokes it. Lex plants his other hand against the black tiles and leans forward, panting as the fantasy takes shape. He's done something. Something that deserves at least a mid-range ranking on Warrior Angel's Bad Things list. Something worthy of the ass smacking that the hero had threatened him with.

It doesn't matter what really. Just that he had done it, Clark had caught him at it, and now he's got to pay for it. Lex firms his grip and pumps more roughly. He can hear Clark's voice commanding him, and in response he spreads his legs wider for the alien's viewing pleasure. But he can't yield quite that easily; his pride won't allow it.

He tells Clark that he can't. He won't. And what makes Clark think that he will allow some flannel-clad farm boy to take his ass in a drafty old barn? But Clark's desire roughened voice tells him that he can. He will. He'll take it all, and he'll like it.

Lex imagines inhumanly strong hands shredding away his business suit, and touching him everywhere. His protests, arguments, and excuses are all ignored as he is ordered to lean against the stall, where anyone can see Lex Luthor being helplessly fucked up the ass by a farm boy.

He can almost feel the touch of red flannel on his flanks, the brush of denim between his thighs, and then – then – the hot hard push of Clark's huge cock into his ass as the alien takes him. Lex moans desperately as he imagines himself spread wide and filled. Helpless to do anything, but take it as Clark shoves deeper and deeper. Sliding almost all the way out and then slamming back in.

He shivers at the hoarse puffs of breath against his nape. The rough bristle of five o' clock shadow on his shoulders as Clark presses closer, deeper, harder; he shoves back, taking all that Clark has to give him. Flexing back and forth between the big cock filling his ass and the big hands jerking his cock. Lex cums with a shout. "Clark!"

He collapses, panting against the tiles of his shower, and watching as his release swirls down the drain. The sound of clapping and bravos abruptly invade the quiet of the shower, shattering his moment of peace. Lex straightens with a scowl, and turns toward the tall figure standing in front of the steamed-up shower door.

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Clark sits down at the breakfast table, ignoring his parents' concerned looks as he studies the spread instead of diving in. He looks at the stack of crisp, buttered toast, the heaps of golden scrambled eggs, the crisscrossing piles of bacon, the sweet white icing gleaming on top of cinnamon rolls, the jumbled heap of warm biscuits, the big wooden bowl filled with fruit.

The only thing that attracts him this morning is the heap of rosy apples, but if he doesn't eat more than some fruit his mom will worry. Clark spoons some scrambled eggs on his plate, and adds toast, cinnamon rolls, a couple of bacon slices, and several apples. The apples smell even better than the bacon or rolls to him this morning. He rapidly crunches his way through four apples, unable to get enough of the sweet white crispness.

"Clark?" Martha glances from his plate to his face. She reaches across the table to press her hand to his forehead. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Then why aren't you eating?"

"I'm eating. I'm eating." Clark takes a big bite of toast. He chews without enthusiasm under his mom's suspicious stare. He finished the rest of the toast, and follows it up with a slice of bacon. "See. Eating."

"You hardly touched dinner last night." Martha shakes her head. "Are you sure that you're alright?"

"I'm fine." Clark shoves a forkful of eggs in his mouth to prove it.

Jonathan leans his elbows on the table. "If helping me out in addition to working at the Planet is making you too tired –"

"It's not, Dad. I'm good." Clark unleashes his biggest grin at his parents who look dubiously back at him. He reaches for a cinnamon roll. Maybe a sugar rush will help.

Martha takes a sip of her orange juice. "Are sure there's not anything that you need to tell us?"

"Like?" Clark bites into the roll. Have they figured out that he's been assisting Oliver's Justice Team? His parents had seemed so pleased every time he told them that he was going camping with Oliver and the guys. His dad had been openly happy about the decrease in Lex time.

Jonathan frowns at him. He growls. "Like Lex and his merry band of mad scientists."

"Umm, no. Lex has been kinda quiet lately." Clark finishes his roll and eyes the rest of the food on his plate. He takes a piece of toast. "Being Zod took a lot out of him."

"It's just the quiet before the storm, son. I'm certain he will be exhibiting his usual levels of homicidal mania before lone." Jonathan snorts.

Clark crunches down a second slice of toast, finishes his third, and still his parents are staring at him. What? He picks up his glass of milk and takes a long drink. When he lowers the glass, his parents are still staring at him with that look that says he's done something to set off the Parental Alarm System. What?

"Clark, I know things have been difficult for you lately." Martha takes the honey jar and dabs her biscuits with it. "I know that seeing Lex and Lana together is tough. But you'll find the right person."

Finding the right person isn't the problem. From the moment that he'd held Lex in his arms and carried him out of the river, he'd known that Lex was The One. The problem is getting that right person to realize that he's ready for more that the edgy friendship that they currently seem doomed to. Where had it gone wrong? Lex has always seemed happily immune to the spell that Lana cast over other guys. What the hell had happened? Clark scowls. "You don't understand."

Martha trades an amused look with her husband. "Clark, I promise, we do understand. You may see us as stogy old married people, but we've both had our share of romantic heartaches. We understand more than you think."

Jonathan helps himself to more bacon. "I hear that the Smallville Times is looking for someone."

"Dad." Clark rolls his eyes.

"Keep your options open, son, that's all I'm saying. If you have your heart set on working for a big city paper, well, the Planet isn't the only paper in Metropolis."

"Yeah, I could send a resume to the Inquisitor." Clark rolls his eyes.

"Clark," Martha warns as her husband chokes on his bacon. She pats Jonathan on the back.

"I could write about mutant frogs in the sewers. Alien baby mamas. Secret Luthor looove children. I like working at the Planet, even if I do have to work with Lois." Clark downs his glass of milk. "What's wrong with working at the Planet?"

"What's wrong? The Daily Planet is sitting between LuthorCorp and LexCorp. That's what wrong with it." Jonathan chomps down on a cinnamon roll. "What if you run into one of the Luthors?"

"Luthors don't exactly roam loose in the streets of Metropolis, dad. I'm much more likely to run into Lex at Poetry Nite at the Talon." Clark sighs heavily. "Lana never misses Poetry Nite."

"You seem rather fond of it yourself." Jonathan picks up his cup of coffee. He frowns at his son over the rim. "Why don't you skip Poetry Nite this week, and go out after work instead? Metropolis has a lot of pretty girls. Of course, I snatched up the prettiest one, but maybe you should open your eyes and look around while you're in the city."

Martha glances at Clark. "Is there anyone at the Daily Planet that you like?"

He can see why his parents have glommed onto Lana. He'd used her all through high school to conceal what he really wanted. And since then, he never missed Poetry Nite, but that wasn't because Lana was always there, but because Lex usually dropped by on that night.

Clark sighs. Even if he wanted Lana, he couldn't have her; if she ever figured out that he's an alien instead of the average Smallville mutant – oh, yeah, she'd want him alright. Just like Captain Ahab wanted his whale. He looks at his parents from beneath his bangs. "What if I said that there's a guy that I like?"

Jonathan slowly and carefully sets his coffee cup back down on the table. "What?"

"A guy?" Martha gives Clark an encouraging smile. "At the Planet?"

"Not at the Planet specifically. I only recently realized." Clark looks nervously from his mom to his dad, "that I like guys. A lot."

"Recently?" Jonathan narrows his eyes. "How recently? Since you've been spending so much time with Oliver recently? I wondered why a guy his age would go on so many 'camping' trips with younger men. If that blond pretty boy has been –"

"Dad! No! Oliver's dating Lois. He's not into guys, okay?" Clark pushes his plate aside. When had this conversation gotten out of control? He hadn't intended to provide any details. Jeez.

"Do you want him to be?" Martha asks. "Oliver is a very attractive man, and you two have been spending a lot of time together lately."

Great. Now his mom thinks he has a crush on Oliver. He'll never be able to face his friend again if his parents say something that makes Oliver share their delusion. Or worse, what if they say something to Lois? Or one of the Justice Team? Shit. Clark rubs his throbbing temple. Is this what a headache feels like? "It's not Oliver."

Martha reaches for a pear. "Is it that nice Victor who fixed your dad's computer?"

Clark sighs. "No, mom. It's not Victor. Or A.C. Or Bart."

"Maybe he's just confused," Jonathan murmurs to his wife.

"Dad. I know who makes me get," Clark turns red as he catches his mom's gaze. He looks hastily away. "I mean, I know who I, umm, like and who I don't."

"Well," Jonathan clears his throat. "I've never noticed, but I'm sure that there are as many handsome guys running around Metropolis as there are pretty girls. If you meet someone special, bring 'em out to the farm. We can always use another pair of strong arms around here."

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Alexander leans against the black counter in their bathroom, watching as Lex briskly towels off. He turns envious eyes away from his double's sparse thatch of copper curls. Pubic hair, who needs it after all? There are plenty of people in Metropolis who pay top dollar to look as smooth as he does. He preens in the mirror, adjusting the knot of his silk tie.

"Think you're wearing enough black?" Lex sneers as he grabs a pair of lavender boxers. He tugs them up and covers the boxers with steel gray trousers. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Perhaps I intend to." Alexander glances in the mirror. He strokes an appreciative hand over the fine wool of his suit jacket. Damn, he's a handsome devil. He likes the darker colors in his double's closet; all those bruised blacks and purples. He glances disdainfully at Lex's choice of gray suit and white shirt. What a cupcake.

"The funeral may be yours if you don't show some discretion."

Alexander laughs. "Are you still mad about last night?"

"Yes." Lex shoulders his double out of the way. He leans toward the mirror and fastens his heather tie with quick irritated motions.

"I could help you with that." Alexander watches intently as Lex deftly loops and knots at the silk. He grins at the look that he gets from his double. Yeah. He wouldn't trust Lex with a nice length of silk and a chance to wrap it around a pesky problem's throat either.

"You scheduled a LexCorp meeting at the same time that I already had a dinner with Lana on my calendar." Lex slants a bitter look at the other man. "Something else that I have you to thank for."

"Asking Lana to move-in?" Alexander grins wider. He makes a dismissive gesture. "It was nothing. I merely wanted to ensure that you were occupied while I was busy building my capsule."

"So now I've got Clark, Lana, Ollie, and my dad spying on me. Do you really think that's going to stop me from doing anything that needs to be done?"

Alexander tilts his head. "Stop you? No. Slow you down? Cramp your style? Yeah, I think it will."

"And what if cramping my style puts a cramp in your project?"

"I don't think that it will. It's in your interest to help me find a dimension of my own to rule." Alexander leans his wide shoulders against the closed door. "As soon as I find the right one, I'm gone. It's not like you didn't make me pay for it, sticking me with Lana duty while you chatted up the scientists that I wanted to talk to."

Lex gives his double a long stare. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." Alexander radiates innocence. "We ate. We drank wine. We went dancing. We stopped off at the Talon for coffee so she could flash the latest edition to her rock collection at the general populace. Perfectly normal date stuff."

Lex sighs. "You know that if you keep buying her jewelry, she's never going to go away."

"Not my problem. I'm leaving, remember?"

"If you keep fucking me up on this –"

"Relax, Lex. I promised to stop romancing her behind your back. Go on. Drop evil hints. Act suspicious. Make mysterious with her. I won't do a thing to discourage her from flinging china at you while screaming about secrets and lies." Alexander fastens his suit jacket.

"Damn right you won't." Lex studies the various bottles studding the ice mounded in the large white china bowl sitting on his counter. He grimaces at the beer bottles. "Do you have to drink beer? We have plenty of excellent wines in the cellar."

"That's a thought. Why don't you come down to the wine cellar and help me pick one out?" Alexander bares his teeth in a smile. He reaches for a bottle and opens it. "I have some fond memories of that place."

Lex strokes his tie and gives his double a meaningful look. "So do I."

"I like beer." Alexander takes a drink, intensely aware of the beer flowing down his throat. He can almost feel that chain wrapped around his throat again. That fight had been the thing that had made him respect his double. Originally he'd seen Clark as nothing, but another game piece, something to be used, abused, and cast aside.

But his double's willingness to risk the possible side effects of murdering him, to risk extinction – all for a pretty alien farmer – that had made him take a second look at Clark on his reawakening. That second look had led to third and four looks, and the slow knowledge of exactly why he'd been so enraged when the alien refused to rule at his side.

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Clark kicks a clump of snow aside, trying to ignore the prickly sensation of Jor-El poking around the edges of his mind. He's been ignoring it, hoping that Jor-El would lose interest. Maybe he should get it over with. He's still got some time before he needs to change and zip to the Daily Planet. Clark reluctantly opens a connection. [What?]

[Kal-El. We need to talk.]

[No, we don't. And stop calling me that.]

[It is your proper name. Your Kyptonian name.]

Clark uses his heat vision to evaporate the snow piling around and on top of the chicken coop. A hen pokes her head out of the coop and looks around with interest. [Yeah, well, we aren't on Krypton.]

[No matter how long you live among them, no matter how deeply you care about them, you are not one of them. You must accept that, Kal-El.]

Clark turns away from the emerging chickens to zap the drifts forming around the barn and the corrals. [If that's all you've got to tell me, then we're done here.]

[I understand that it is a custom of humans to present gifts to those newly wed.]

What? That's waaaaay out of left field. Clark walks on, sweeping his gaze over the driveway. Had the Kansas winters finally gotten to Jor-El? Frozen something important off? No. Jor-El's presence feels entirely too smug. Clark hunches his shoulders warily as he waits for the punch line. [Yeah. So?]

[What would gift would you like for us to present to your mate?]

[My – my WHAT? What have you done now?] Clark demands. Has Jor-El been up his old Human to Kryptonian make-over tricks again? He looks wildly around, but it's just him, the chickens, and the snow.

Jor-El announces coldly, [I am not the one using dangerous heirlooms with no regard for possible consequences. If you had bothered to learn about –]

[Could you stop treating my life like a frigging cryptogram for one tiny second? Just tell me!] Clark snaps as he reaches the end of the drive. He opens the blue mailbox and pulls out the catalogs and bills inside. He scowls down at a pink, cupid-infested flyer inviting him to attend the Talon's Valentine Bash, and promising a free cup of coffee if he brings in the attached coupon. With problems like his, who has the time for nonsense like this stupid holiday? Clark crumples the flyer and trudges back to the house. [Look, this is ridiculous. I'd remember asking someone to marry me. It's not the sort of thing that you forget.]

[But you did ask. Every time, you carelessly flashed the El Crystal.]

Clark slips on the gravel and falls. He sits, stunned as he stares up at the cloudy gray sky in horror. Please don't let the El Crystal be what he's beginning to think that it is. [The El Crystal?] A glowing blue shield shaped stone appears in front of his mind's eye. Oooooh, shit! [But – but that's a weapon! Raya used it on me when she thought that I was a bad guy.]

[Was that her excuse? Raya always did favor the men of my house. She used it on me also.]

Clark scrunches up his face. He climbs to his feet and brushes off his jeans. [She's married to both of us?! That's sick.]

[There were an unfortunate few among us who were unable to activate a house crystal's bonding functions. Raya tried to bond four times, but the bonding failed to take. She did give you a partial truth; the crystal can be used as a weapon, but one risks certain side effects. Such as marriage.]

[Marriage?] A surge of nausea sweeps through Clark as he rapidly reviews all the Phantom Zoners that he'd used the crystal on. Is he married to all of them? Even the guy who ate spines? Euwwwww! Clark slaps his hand over his mouth. He is so not making conjugal visits to the Phantom Zone!

[You would know about these things if you would acquaint yourself with your heritage instead of running from it] Jor-El adds repressively.

[I don't believe you! Who am I supposed to be – ] Clark's eyes widen as he remembers pressing the stone into Lex's hand. Oh. Ooooh. A small smile edges his lips. Looks like the Luthor-Lang hook-up is off. Just as soon as he figures out how to tell Lex.

"Clark!" Jonathan waves at him. "You're going to be late for work, if you don't get a move on!"

He jogs toward the house to change. How is he gonna tell his parents? They just found out that he prefers guys, and now he's gotta find a way to tell them that the only guy for him is Lex. He's married to Lex! The smile blooms into a full grin as Clark dashes to his bedroom and whirls into his office clothes. He loves Valentine's Day! It's the best holiday ever!

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Jimmy Olsen stands in front of his open kitchen cabinet, considering the rows of cans filling the bottom shelf. The front ranks are squads of miniature samples, courtesy of his Whipped Cream of the Month Club. All arranged in alphabetical order by name. The back ranks are full-sized cans with lovely glossy gold covers, each bearing the proud red logo of Dawson's Gourmet Whipped Cream.

How is he to select only three? Too bad his lunch bag isn't large enough to hold more than a few samples, and his lunch. Jimmy sighs as he looks at Dawson's Original White Whip. Great body with hints of vanilla. But Chloe had not been pleased with it. Of course, it's a classic whip, and Chloe isn't the every day classic sort of girl.

Maybe that's where he'd gone wrong. What about one of the more unique flavors? Jimmy reaches for Blueberry Dream Cream. The fat blueberries on the gold cover are as dark and blue as Chloe's eyes. Maybe if he tells her that, she'll like it. What else?

He surveys the line-up. How about the Very Strawberry in case Chloe would prefer a sweeter taste? Room for one more contender. Which shall it be? Too bad Dawson's doesn't have a coffee-flavored whip; Chloe would be certain to love that one. He really ought to write the company and suggest adding a coffee whip. His hand hovers over the glossy ranks, before grabbing his personal favorite, Orange Fever.

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Miss Jones looks up from her perusal of her boss' schedule for the day to see Mr. Queen staggering out of the elevator. Her eyes widen in shock. What had happened to him between his luxury apartment and his office?

A thick, quivery goo that reminds her of garden slugs darkens his blond hair. He looks like someone tried to use his head for an eraser. His shirt and jacket are gone, and his bare chest streaked with the same goo that oozes down his neck from his hair. His soaked black trousers mold his hips and thighs.

She jumps to her feet. "Mr. Queen! What happened?"

He runs a hand through his hair and then scowls down at the goo gleaming on his hand. "Little accident in the city parking garage."

"It's disgraceful how badly some of those garages are kept. You would think that they would clean them every once in a while." Miss Jones wrinkles her noise as the smell of rotten bananas drifts to her. What on earth could Mr. Queen have fallen in? "Are you okay, sir? Shall I call a doctor?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Thank you, Miss Jones. I'm perfectly fine." Mr. Queen wobbles past her to his office.

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Chloe opens the kitchen cabinet and studies her collection of coffee mugs. Her fingers touch a pale green mug, painted with drifting leaves. It had arrived in the mail yesterday; a Valentine's card had been tucked inside the box. There had also been a red velvet bag filled with dark chocolate hearts covered in black foil.

She tilts the cup toward her and smiles at the tiny gold-crowned frog sitting in the bottom of the cup. How is she going to tell Jimmy that she's finally found what she's looking for, what she needs – and that it isn't him? It's someone that she met online, and the absolute last person that she had ever expected to find such an understanding with.

"Why do you have a cup with a frog in it?" Lois leans over her and grabs a mug with camouflage colors from the top shelf. "Or is that one of those things that I'm better off not knowing?"

"It's an enchanted frog – a frog prince. Didn't you ever read fairy tales as a kid?"

"Nope." Lois glances at the slow drip of the coffee pot. She taps her fleece slippers impatiently on the white tile. "Dad thought that kind of thing was a bad influence on a growing girl."

Chloe carefully sets the frog cup back in place. She snags a beige mug covered with tiny hearts and coffee beans, and places it on the counter next to the brewing pot. "What did he read to you at bedtime then?"

"Mostly true adventure stuff."

"You never rebelled and snuck into the closest library to read fairy tales?"

"Hell, no." Lois sticks a pair of waffles into the toaster. "I liked stories about people doing exciting stuff – solo sails around the world, exploring the Artic – much more interesting than the standard girl meets prince stuff. Or in your case, girl meets frog."

"You got something against frogs?" Chloe opens the fridge and grabs some eggs.

"I got something against frogs in mugs." Lois pulls a pair of yellow plates from the cabinet. "Don't tell me that mug was what was in that special delivery box you were so excited about yesterday?"

"It was."

Lois shakes her head. "What sort of loser sends a girl a coffee mug for Valentine's?"

Chloe cracks eggs against the edge of a skillet, and tosses the empty shells in the trash. "I don't see Oliver sending you anything in the mail."

"Oh, but he did." Lois reaches into the pocket of her white robe. She waves her a colorful brochure at her cousin.

"Wow. He gave you a shiny piece of paper. How exciting. Why didn't my frog prince think of that? I'll stick with the coffee mug, thanks."

"No, jerkette. He's giving me a trip to Italy. Now that's a Valentine's present. But a mug?" Lois shakes her head in disbelief as she tucks her brochure back in her pocket. "No wonder Jimmy had to move all the way to Metropolis to get a girlfriend."

"I'm very happy with my frog, thank you very much." Chloe gives her cousin a mischievous look. "Besides, who says my frog prince is Jimmy?"

"Who else is there? And he does meet half of the requirements."

Chloe points her spatula at Lois. Jimmy might not be the guy for her, but there's no reason for Lois to talk about him like that. "You better be implying that Jimmy's a prince."

"I think he's pretty much one hundred percent frog." Lois pours the coffee in their mugs.

"I think you ought to consider Oliver's froggie tendencies before mocking others."

"What froggie tendencies?" Lois demands. "Oliver is all prince. I bet you can't name a single froggie –"

"Oh, please. Oliver wears more green than Kermit."

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Oliver steps out of his second shower of the morning amid a billow of lemon-scented steam. He rubs a clear spot on the mirror of his office bathroom and stares at himself. That disgusting slime had been damned tenacious, but he's finally got it all scrubbed off. He runs his fingers through his wet hair. He must have used an entire bottle of shampoo and another one of soap, but he's clean again. Good thing that he always keeps a couple of extra suits stashed here for emergencies.

He pulls on a fresh pair of white boxer briefs. What the hell had that thing been? He'd never smelled anything that disgusting in his life. And all that slime – Oliver shudders as he fastens his shirt. Absolutely disgusting. He can still feel the ooze of it across his skin despite having scrubbed himself lobster red getting it off. The slime had been as bad as sand for getting into those hard to reach places.

At least the damned thing is thoroughly dead. And he'd been left with no awkward body to dispose of since it had dissolved into a pool of goo. This is what comes of having to use a public parking garage. And it's all Lex Fucking Luthor's fault that he can't seem to get construction started on a Queen Industries garage. Oliver scowls as he reaches for his hairdryer. Maybe he could drop a hint to Lois and Clark about corruption in the city zoning board. It's exactly the sort of topic that would interest them.


TBC in Part Two