Title: EATING CROW (Nourishment 2.11)
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
Feedback to: jfc@freeshell.org
Archive: Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission!
Category: Romance, angst, Lex POV
Spoilers: Post-ep for "Suspect"
Rating: NC-17 for language and m/m sexual interaction
Pairing: Clark/Lex established relationship
Summary: A picnic

DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. Smallville is the property of Alfred Gough, Miles Millar, Tollin-Robbins Productions, and Warner Bros. Television, and based upon characters originally created by Jerome Siegel and Joe Shuster. This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The rest of "The Nourishment Series" can be found elsewhere on this archive - Enjoy!

DEDICATION: For Tiff and a band of brothers, and the girls on the list who made me think a little harder about this episode.

COPYRIGHT: (C) March 20, 2003, Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, jfc@freeshell.org

Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.

_____________________

Clark said he was sorry.

However, he didn't need to apologize to me, no matter how much grief we'd given each other over the past few days.

Somebody, who turned out to be Sheriff Ethan, had shot my father with intent to kill. After I left my lover in his loft, content that all was well between us, I paid a visit to the old man in the hospital. There, still weak and frail, the bastard played his gambit to welcome me back into the fold. I was a failure in his eyes, responsible, however indirectly, for his injuries and his despoiling of a previously honorable pillar of the community. It was all my fault, and I could only cleanse myself of my sin by kissing the robes of the tyrant and calling him master. The very thought sickened me.

He had finally promised to move back to Metropolis, at least, and out of my house. The hallways still echoed with the ghostly taps of his cane, though, followed by clouds of the cheap fragrance favored by his toady, Dominic. When I came home from the hospital, I was sorely tempted to wash down the marble floors with bleach to disinfect the place from the influence of Lionel Luthor.

I stood in the foyer for a moment, just fixing myself in my own place while no one else was there. While the house could have used a good cleaning, I had no idea what I needed. Walking slowly toward the rest of my quarters, I ran over my options in my head. I could drink myself to sleep, though I was nauseated enough already that I realized I would fail at that, too, and end up getting sick before getting drunk. Had I not called in a few favors with connections in Metropolis a few days before, I could have numbed it all with some of the finer illicit pharmaceuticals available, but the sting of Clark's disapproval when he'd discovered me then made dim the prospect of trying it again now. What I finally decided that I needed was a good, hot shower.

The next thing I knew, I was stripped naked and standing under the scalding, pounding spray of the nozzle in my bathroom. Bowing my head and wrapping my arms tight around my body, I let the water soak into the back of my neck as I shrank into myself in desolation.

My eyes closed, I was aware of nothing but the solid porcelain beneath my feet, the rivulets flowing down my unsettled stomach, and the heat making a valiant effort to warm my frigid heart. Over the sound of the water, I suddenly heard a voice outside the shower curtain.

"Lex?" Clark, whom I'd forgotten that I'd invited over before I left to visit my father, was standing in my bathroom. "I let myself in. Hope that's okay."

My voice cracked when I first tried to use it, so I cleared my throat and tried again, imitating confidence as best I could. "Hey, beautiful--I'll be out soon. Can you wait in the bedroom for me?"

I could hear him scuffing his sneakers on the tile. "You want me to come in there? I could scrub your back..." he offered with a sexy little croon.

"No, baby," I answered as firmly as I could while remaining friendly. "I'll just be a minute."

"Oh... okay," he replied, just a little subdued, before he left the room.

Turning my face up into the spray, I shook my head to clear the stormcloud shadowing my mood, then took a mouthful of water and spat it out to tamp down the bitterness on my tongue. I grabbed a towel once I had turned off the spigot and rubbed myself down enough so as not to drip on the carpeting, then threw on a robe and emerged from the steam into the relative chill of my bedroom.

Clark hopped up from the armchair as soon as the door opened. "Hi, Lex!" he chirruped, practically running to me to kiss me hello. I must have felt too stiff in his arms, for he was instantly worried about me. "Lex, are you okay?" he asked, holding me at arms' length and looking at my face and what he could see of my body.

"No, I'm fine," I assured him, wondering even myself at my choice of words.

With a suspicious glance into my eyes, he went on as normal, going to a big basket he'd set on a low dresser. "My mom sent dinner..."

My stomach lurched a little at the thought of food, but I chose to be polite. "She didn't have to do that."

"I know. I told her I was coming over, and she insisted. She kept saying, 'His dad's in intensive care... he's all alone over there in that big house... I just want to be a good neighbor in his time of trouble. Besides...'"

Automatically, knowing what Martha had probably said, I finished his sentence right along with him: "'He doesn't eat enough'." We both chuckled at that for a moment until the scents from the basket caught my attention. "So what did she do? Fry a chicken?"

"Nope," he replied, pulling out a big cast-iron kettle covered with a lid. "I thought she would, but she said we were out of flour, so she stewed one instead."

Hoping to avert any spills, I held out my hands to stop him. "Hadn't we ought to eat downstairs? It might be too messy for the bedroom."

"No--wait!" he cried, setting down the kettle and digging around in the basket. "She thought of everything--said we could have a picnic." With a flourish of his wrist, he tugged a red-and-white checked tablecloth from his carrier and unfolded it holding onto a single corner, spreading it out on the carpet. Sturdy plates followed it, along with stainless flatware, heavy plastic cups, and fabric napkins that matched the tablecloth. "Mom didn't have any bottled water in the house, so she sent this," he added, setting two-liter bottles of Coke and ginger ale down on the cloth.

Abashed, I looked away from the splendid repast laid out on my floor. "You know, Clark--I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not very hungry."

His eyes full of love and concern, he reached out and stroked my face, just like his mother would do if she thought he had a fever. "Something's wrong, isn't it? Do you feel all right?"

As much as I might have wanted to, I couldn't pull away from his touch. "Look, baby," I began comfortingly, "the past couple of days have been difficult, and it's put quite an emotional strain on me. I don't know if I could eat anything."

This didn't help my case one bit. Instead, he gazed into my eyes as if he could read my mind, a look that I'm sure I've given him on occasion. "Come on, Lex--you can tell me. What's bothering you?"

Turning away from him, I left the banquet on my floor and moved to look out the window at the gathering twilight. "It's not about you," I started to demur.

"Yes it is," he countered after a moment, following my steps. "This is still because of the things I said to you, isn't it?"

"What?" With confusion in my eyes, I turned back to him.

"I was upset because my dad was in jail, and I accused you of hiding things from the police, things that might make it look like you'd tried to kill your father. I wasn't angry at you, Lex, but I was hurting and confused, and I said things I shouldn't have even thought. I guess I was just trying to get you to tell me I was wrong. You always shut down when you get angry, and I wanted to make you open up and let me in. What I said wasn't fair, and I'm sorry."

"Clark?"

"I hate it when we argue, because we hurt each other's feelings without meaning to. I say too much, and you don't say anything, and we resent each other for it. When you asked if we were okay, I should have said something then, but I've had time to think about it. Of course we're okay, Lex: I don't want anything to get in the way of our friendship, so I need to be upfront with you. I shouldn't have gotten angry with you--you were just as scared as I was, but you always show it so differently that I forget that you're not trying to hide things from me. You're just afraid of looking weak: I know this about you."

"You do?" Something odd and warm was budding in my chest. Maybe it was hope.

"Yeah, I do. I could never think of you as weak... You're the strongest man I know, Lex. You're the bravest, and the smartest, and the best man I've ever met. I love you, and trust you, and need you. Can you ever forgive me for doubting you?"

The eggshell around my heart, instead of being crushed under the weight of my dark mood, slowly started to crack open as if it were hatching with new life. "You're apologizing to me?"

"Yeah, I figured I had better. I'm so sorry, Lex..." Huge green eyes sought mine for absolution.

There was no way I could refuse the sincerity before me. "Come here, baby." I opened my arms to him, and he grabbed me tightly in a hug that felt much better than the one I had been giving myself in the shower. "You know I love you, don't you? I even wanted to say it the other day when you stormed out of here after our fight."

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled into my shoulder, squeezing me so hard I thought my head might pop off.

"Of course I forgive you. You were worried about your dad, and I knew that you weren't trying to hurt me. Even when you were that angry, I could tell that it wasn't really directed at me. I was pretty sure that we were still friends and that you really cared about me."

"I do," he said clearly at last, loosing his hold on me long enough to take my face in his hands and kiss me deeply. "I know we're gonna be okay. How about you? Something is definitely bothering you. Wanna tell me about it over dinner?" Ah, yes--that was my Clark: nothing if not hungry.

He took my hand and guided me carefully to the picnic laid out on my floor, sat me at my place, then flopped down on his side of the tablecloth without knocking anything over. The lid was removed from the kettle, and the lovely aromas of rosemary, onion, and thyme-scented chicken filled the room. Clark expertly divided the chicken in half, then in half again, offering me a breast quarter, which I accepted on my plate. He then pounced on the other half of the bird, putting both sections on his plate, along with some potatoes, carrots, and onions from the stew. I poured the beverages, a full cup of Coke for him, and, mindful of my lingering queasiness, a few fingers of ginger ale for me.

As he was carving into his dinner, he asked again, "So what's wrong?"

Sipping delicately at my soda, I sighed quietly. "I was mistaken."

"Oh?"

"About my dad. I can't 'take him' at all."

"What happened?"

"Nothing really. He just blames me for everything that's happened to him."

"Even this?"

"Yep. The fact that I wanted to break away from the family institution caused him to orchestrate some maneuvers that almost got him killed."

He took a big swallow of his Coke. "And you can't tell me what they were, can you?"

Nibbling at my chicken, I answered, "No. Evidence, and all. It's messy."

"I can imagine," he nodded, spearing a potato chunk with his fork and popping it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he added, "I guess you really hate him now."

My glass was empty, so I refilled it, replying, "No--no, I don't. I almost wish I did."

"Because then you wouldn't care what he thought, right?"

I nodded ruefully in agreement to avoid speaking with my mouth full. Silently, he reached across the makeshift table setting and took my hand in his, connecting us by touch to symbolize our meeting of minds.

Letting go to dab at his mouth with his napkin, he continued. "I should have known better than to assume everything is about me, shouldn't I? For a minute there, I must have thought I was Lana..."

In spite of my recent depressed state, I found myself chuckling at his blatant dig at the girl he used to adore. "It's okay," I assured him. "In my case, almost everything is about you, anyway."

That earned me a gorgeous smile, which made me feel better than I had since before my father had been shot. "I love you, Lex."

"I love you, too."

"So, are you gonna eat your other piece of chicken, or what?"

Sure enough, I'd polished off the entire breast of chicken he'd put on my plate. It probably had been a day or so since I'd had a good meal. I schooled my face into a challenging leer and looked back up at him. "What'll you give me for it?"

An evil twinkle suffused his grin. "Are we talking sexual favors, or something more concrete?"

"That depends," I dawdled. "What's it worth to you?"

"Oh, I'm flexible..." He didn't wink, but I could tell that he really wanted to.

"You are, are you?" I teased. "Well, you should know, I drive a hard bargain."

"I can be talked into a lot of things, Mr. Luthor..." he practically drawled.

"This is very true. However, just how long do you expect this offer to stand?"

He languidly rolled back from his spot and stretched out alongside the tablecloth, leaning on one hip, his head propped on his hand. "Oh, I imagine the negotiations could go on all... night... long," he answered, drawing his words out seductively.

"Are you expecting me to bend on this?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were to roll over and give up."

"You must think I'm easy."

Laughing openly, he replied, "Oh, I know you're easy..."

With that, I bolted around the picnic cloth on my knees and knocked him flat on his back. Grasping his shoulders in my hands, I kissed him hard and forced his mouth open with my tongue. True, it wasn't very difficult to get inside there, but he did put up some token resistance just to make it interesting.

As I tasted the traces of chicken stew on his teeth, I insinuated my knee between his legs and rubbed it up against him, finding him hot and hard in his pants. Lying along his body, I could feel my erect cock poke against his firm, jeans-clad thigh, and I don't think it was an accident that my robe started to fall open at that point.

Hot, helpless groans rose from Clark's throat as I feasted on his mouth. My hips rode his still-clothed perfect body as he bucked up under me, but it wasn't enough. After a hard swipe of my tongue against his, I broke the kiss to murmur into his ear, "Do you wanna come as much as I do?"

"Yessss," he whispered back. "Can't hold it in..."

Immediately, I reached between us, worked open the buttons of his shirt, and unbuckled his belt. With a few quick yanks, his zipper was down and his boxers were pushed down his legs along with his pants. One quick pull on the bow tying my robe together, and my naked flesh rubbed against his at last. Two dripping cocks, one hooded and one sculpted, thrust between our bellies, leaving hot trails of pre-ejaculate on our skin.

I took hold of him and pushed his foreskin out of the way as gently as I could, given the wild jerks of the hips beneath me, then, never letting go, wrapped my thumb around my own penis and jacked them both as one. "Oh, god!" he moaned deliciously, "gonna come now!"

His prediction proved correct, as he spilled his seed all over us both with my next stroke. For a second time that night, I felt myself bathed in scorching hot fluid, and I felt my balls contract before I added to the mess on our stomachs with a relieved gasp.

While I caught my breath, I nuzzled against the underside of his chin and his exposed throat, then kissed him slowly, over and over again. "Thank you, Clark," I sighed between kisses. "I love you so much."

"I love you, Lex," he breathed in reply, his head thrown back against the carpet and his lips slippery from chicken grease and saliva. "Thank you for putting up with me when I lose my temper."

"That's okay, baby," I assured him as I rolled onto the floor and flat onto my back. "You just take after your dad, I'm sure."

"Do you?" he asked earnestly, searching my face without lifting his head. "Do you think we become like our parents no matter how hard we try not to?"

"I hope not," I answered, kissing him once more for good measure. "If anybody can break out from the pattern, I think it will be us."

Smiling sweetly, he rolled back up to sit beside me. Almost before I noticed it, he reached back into the stew kettle and forked the last piece of chicken onto his plate, tearing a bite of meat free with his fork and gobbling it up.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" I protested, sitting up and trying to hold the edges of my robe out of the come spattered on my stomach.

"I'm still hungry. Were you going to eat this?"

"I hadn't decided yet!"

"If you still want it, you can have it, Lex."

"No--go ahead. You've already started eating it."

"Most of it's still left. Here, take it--my mom's right. You need to eat more."

"You mean other than you, later?"

He blushed sexily, but insisted, "Come on, Lex--we can share it. I'm sorry I took it without asking you."

With a put-upon sigh, I crawled over and snared my own fork, then tore into the last leg quarter with the man I love.

Clark said he was sorry, for that and a lot of things. Of course, if he's going to look that darned cute when he does it, I kinda wish he'd apologize more often.

THE END