Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

A/N: This is really old-school, S1 Clex, set immediately after Cool.

Gratitude

Lex was trying valiantly not to feel too deflated, but it was proving difficult to spin the night's events in a positive light – even for him. His investment proposal had gone over like a lead balloon with Jonathan Kent. Then Lana had limped in unexpectedly on the arm of Whitney Fordman, when she was supposed to be in the back of the limo with Clark. And he'd just had to spend forty-five minutes explaining to three sheriff's deputies how a kid had ended up frozen solid in his pond. He supposed if you looked at things optimistically, the evening hadn't been a total failure … dinner had been excellent, though he wondered what he was going to do with the other 27 artichokes.

He was sitting at his computer, looking over his Kent Farm projection figures for the hundredth time and wondering whether it counted as brooding, when he heard the French doors swing open. He glanced up and was rewarded with the sight of Clark Kent, resplendent as always in plaid and denim, stepping into the room.

Clark had not yet learned to walk into any room in the mansion without taking in his surroundings with awe. He spent a few seconds sweeping his eyes over the richly appointed library. Lex spent them admiring Clark.

Finally their eyes met and found each glad to see the other. "Clark," Lex greeted him with studied ease, "what brings you back out here tonight? I figured you'd be at home with your folks, warming yourselves with hot cocoa or something equally Rockwellian."

"I heard the cocoa is better here: more whipped cream, less over-protective parenting." Clark's smile was self-deprecating, and his posture easy as he strode across the teak floor. "I just wanted to thank you again … for the limo and the concert tickets."

"So much thanks for something that you never even really used?" Lex snapped his laptop shut. He would probably have been glad of any distraction – something told him that his hope was pointless, that Jonathan was going to shut him out yet – but Clark was not just any distraction and therefore commanded his full attention. "I'm sorry it didn't work out the way it should have," he offered. "I know how disappointed Iwas when Lana showed up with the quarterback – I can't even imagine how you must feel."

"It's ok," Clark shrugged. "I guess if it was meant to be, it would happen on its own."

Lex was a little surprised; he'd expected Clark to be more upset about the evening's outcome. "Come on, Clark," he prodded. "Sometimes even Fate needs a little push."

"Maybe," Clark conceded, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. "That's what I really want to thank you for, though. I never would have even asked Lana out if you hadn't given me that push."

Lex crossed his arms appraisingly and leaned back in his chair. His debate with Jonathan had left him feeling tired and useless; but now that Clark was here his mood was improving. Even if he had to play along, keep up the charade of encouraging him to pursue Lana ... if that was the price of Clark's friendship, he'd pay it gladly.

He just hoped the words didn't sound as insincere in Clark's ears as they felt in his mouth.

"But I thought you said it wasn't meant to be. What's to thank me for, then?"

"I guess I'm just not used to anyone having that kind of faith in me," Clark said, a smile illuminating his beautiful, wide-open face. Lex warmed at the sight of it, even though his words made him shake his head in disbelief.

"Don't be silly, Clark. No one can know you and not think the world of you. Though I guess your dad does come across a little … tough …"

"That's not what I mean," Clark interrupted, settling himself into one of the chairs in front of Lex's desk. "My folks are great. But you're right, my dad is probably a little more concerned with protecting me than encouraging me to just go for it."

Disliking the feeling of the desk between them, Lex stood and moved to the other side, nudging the vacant chair fractionally closer to Clark before sitting down. "That seems short-sighted of him."

"He just doesn't want to see me get hurt." Clark said this as if he'd said it a hundred times before; he probably had. There was still a flare of frustration behind his resignation, though he did his best to hide it. "But maybe that's why I've never just gone after what I want before – all I know how to do is worry about the consequences."

"All that will get you," Lex offered softly, leaning forward on his elbows, "is a life full of missed opportunities."

"You're right." Clark looked him straight in the face, and Lex felt momentarily dizzy under the full strength of those emerald eyes. "So that's what I'm thanking you for, then – the opportunity."

Lex was impressed with Clark's magnanimity. "Even if Lana still went home with Whitney in the end?"

"It's not really about the outcome," Clark replied. "It's about what I learned. What you taught me. So thanks."

"You're welcome." The smile that played around the corners of Lex's mouth was almost embarrassed. There was a force to Clark's gratitude that was strangely humbling.

"So why did you do it?"

"What?" The question took Lex by surprise. In the months since their strange meeting, Clark and Lex had talked about many things; but Clark had never questioned anything Lex had done for him before. Truth be told, Lex hadn't actually succeeded yet in doing anything for Clark; something always seemed to go wrong or get in the way. (Jonathan's glower, for example.) But Clark had met all Lex's attentions with friendly acceptance, regardless of how things kept turning out, and had never asked him for an explanation before.

But now here he was, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out the tickets, fanning them between his fingers and studying them with a thoughtful expression.

"Why'd you do it?" Clark repeated. "I'm sure you bought these because you wanted to see Radiohead. But instead they just got wasted on me. I was wondering why."

Lex did what he always did when he was caught off-guard: he deflected, and tried to regroup. "But you just said it wasn't about the outcome. So they weren't wasted."

Clark was undeterred by Lex's evasive action. "Didn't you want to go?"

"I suppose I did."

"Did you have someone to go with?" he persisted.

"I was thinking about asking someone," Lex conceded, still trying to think a few steps ahead. Between the pointed questions and the pull of Clark's eyes, he felt uncharacteristically clumsy. "But I guess I figured you could get more out of it than I could."

"You mean you chickened out?" he challenged.

"Harsh!" Lex laughed in spite of himself. "Too much more of your gratitude might kill me."

Clark grinned too. "I just wanted to make sure you practice what you preach. Did you need a push, too?"

"Definitely not," Lex said – even as he rose and moved towards the bar to pour himself a scotch.

"Don't tell me you have trouble getting a date," Clark teased.

"You'd be surprised," Lex answered quietly, his tone and expression growing distant as he weighed the glass stopper in his hand. Clark was out of his chair and beside him by the time he turned around.

"You can't be serious!" His face looked honestly anguished, as if he was afraid he'd offended.

Lex looked at him significantly. "Let's just say I sympathize with the idea of being interested in someone who is definitely interested in someone else."

"I have a hard time envisioning a guy more interesting than you, Lex," Clark protested.

Lex suppressed a smile. That was a good one … he'd have to play this conversation back on his security footage later. He rather thought he'd enjoy hearing those words again.

"While I appreciate the compliment, I assure you it's true." He lifted his glass in Clark's direction. "To being lovelorn. At least I got some good company out of it."

"But what are you going to do about it?"

Lex was simultaneously impressed and discomfited by Clark's persistence. He always placed his double-entendres carefully, and usually he felt quite sure that he was alone in this game of his; but at moments like this, he couldn't help but wonder if Clark was playing too. His earnestness was almost beyond belief … was he really, honestly this wholesome? Or did some suspicion flicker behind those eyes, and make him too wield his double-meanings with care?

"There's not much to be done about it," he replied as smoothly as he could manage, making a disinterested gesture with the hand that held the scotch. "I suppose I could have a few drinks and find some hockey on the bigscreen. That sounds much more appealing than dwelling on it. Care to join me?"

"Lex," Clark said urgently, stepping closer. "After all the advice you've given me about Lana – you can't really expect me to believe you're just going to sit back and let your love interest slip through your fingers."

"I'm not 'just sitting back,'" Lex retorted. He was starting to be anxious he might be losing control of the conversation. "My situation is … different."

"How?"

Definitely losing control. "Look, Clark …"

"Are we friends or aren't we?" Clark challenged. "Tell me about it. Maybe I can help."

Lex laughed again, though this time it sounded slightly hollow. "Clark, I know all about you and wanting to help. But I don't need to be rescued here. I can handle it."

"The way you're handling it," Clark countered with a profound expression, "is only guaranteeing that you end up alone."

Lex blinked, momentarily taken, then retreated behind a smile that did not quite manage not to be wistful. "I'm not alone. I've got you."

"We are friends, Lex," Clark said, suddenly clamping his huge hands around Lex's thin one. "I'm sorry I said that, I didn't mean to …"

"It's ok," Lex said, shifting his gaze to their mingled fingers and allowing himself a moment to savor the sensation of Clark's skin. "I'm just not used to talking like this, I suppose. There aren't a lot of people I can really trust."

"You can trust me," Clark vowed.

"I believe you," Lex answered, pulling back reluctantly. "There's something about you, Clark; I feel very … drawn to you." But even though he'd removed himself from it, the thrill of Clark's touch had made him incautious. He knew he was being reckless now, barreling across a bridge at sixty miles an hour. He didn't care. "You make me want to tell you all my secrets."

"Well," Clark said, coloring slightly but not looking away, "why don't you start with the name of the lucky girl?"

Lex chuckled under his breath and polished the last of his scotch. Had he decided to take Clark's – his own – advice? It was no longer clear where that line was.

Lex was born to cross lines.

"It's not a girl, Clark."

Clark seemed to fail to process Lex's words immediately. "Oh," he said. Then his eyes grew round and that adorable flush drained from his face. "Oh."

"I told you it was different," Lex smirked, and refilled his glass. He wondered if tonight would be the night he'd finally find an answer in the bottom of the decanter.

Over his shoulder, he heard Clark clearing his throat. "Well, I don't think that changes my question. What are you going to do about it?"

"Denial has been working pretty well for me so far."

"So …" Clark still seemed flustered, but Lex had to hand it to him: he was still bent on trying to help. "…so this isn't a usual thing for you?"

"That depends on your definition of usual," Lex replied, moving with conscious grace toward the sofa and arranging himself there with deceptive casualty. "Have I been interested in other men before? …Yes. In fact I've been more than just interested. But it's different this time. More complicated."

Clark's skin was beginning to tingle. He wondered if all the power surges earlier had somehow affected the mansion's heating system. It was definitely getting warmer in here, though the fire in the grate was burning low now … Lex's form flickered by its embers with all the substantiality of a mirage. He felt himself struggling to keep his thoughts clear. "How?"

"For one," Lex said, lazily sipping his drink, "I'm in Smallville."

"I guess a small town isn't the best place to be … different," Clark agreed. He'd finally made enough sense of his limbs to follow Lex over to the sofa. The trip had been more perilous than he'd expected; Lex's every motion seemed so effortless, and by comparison he felt even more hulking and clumsy than usual. "But then again, weird things do happen here every day. It might not be as bad as you think."

"Maybe not. But I'm not sure I'm ready to shout my secrets from the rooftops."

Clark looked at him skeptically. "You couldn't … be discreet?"

An unexpected, almost illicit grin spread across Lex's face, as if he were having some kind of private joke with himself. "Oh, I assure you, I can be very discreet." His voice was lilting and clever, but his eyes were probing … Clark suddenly realized he was holding his breath. "But as much as I trust myself – even that doesn't change things."

"I don't get it," Clark said, almost sadly. "What's the problem?"

"I told you – he's not interested in me."

"But what makes you so sure?"

Lex tossed back the last of his scotch, smacked his lips and bared his teeth. "I just know."

"You can't know," Clark protested – then immediately grew sheepish. "Unless you've asked?"

"No." Lex's chin angled away. "No, I haven't."

"Well then, you don't really know anything, do you?"

"Clark." Lex put the empty glass down with a very purposeful gesture; he turned back with fire in his eyes. "You're really putting me on the spot here."

"I'm just trying to return a favor," he insisted – though he could not, for the life of him, explain why he felt the need to insist. "You pushed me to make my move … it didn't work out the way I wanted, but at least now I know where I stand. What do you have to lose?"

"My pride, for one," Lex retorted.

"You seem to have a lot of that," Clark teased. "I think you'd recover. What else?"

"Friendship."

Clark felt an unexpected and very sharp pang of jealousy. "… You're friends?"

"I like to think so."

"You didn't mention that before."

"I wasn't expecting to be grilled like this," Lex joked.

"That'll teach you to underestimate me," he grinned. "But friendship – you're right, friendship does make things more complicated."

"Does that mean I'm off the hook?" Lex kept up the teasing tone, but there was something daring there too.

"No," Clark said unrelentingly. "How badly do you want it?"

Lex couldn't help but stare now. Clark had to know what he was doing; he had to be doing it on purpose.

"How do you quantify something like that? Can you measure desire?" He leaned in conspiratorially, close enough that he could study each exquisite line of Clark's face, imagine how it would feel to trail his fingers along the contours of his skin. His every heartbeat urged him to just reach out and do it. "It's searing, Clark," he murmured. "I keep thinking I can learn to deny it, that I can stand to resist, but every time we're close I just …" He trailed off and shook his head. "All I want to do is keep my composure; but at the same time, all I want to do is throw it away."

As he spoke, Clark was mesmerized; something stirred in him that he had never noticed before, but that responded to the feeling Lex described with an intuitive force. Then Lex had said "we" and his chest felt suddenly tight; he wondered for a panicked moment if he was going to have a heart attack, or if some new ability was about to manifest itself.

"If you feel that strongly," he managed to reply, "it seems wrong to hide it."

"Does it?" Lex searched each of Clark's syllables for an invitation.

"If I made someone feel that way," Clark answered, "I'd want to know."

Lex exhaled, a sigh and a smile fused together. "You make a very convincing argument," he said, and leaned in with unmistakable purpose.

At first Clark's eyes widened in shock; but they drifted closed when Lex kissed him, because the room began to spin.

After a moment Lex pulled back gently and waited, an expression of fierce delight enlivening all his features. Clark blinked a few times and then admitted, "I'm confused."

Lex almost choked with laughter. "That seems to happen to you a lot."

"Hey! How was I to know …"

"I'm sorry," Lex interrupted him, skimming light fingers along his jaw. "I didn't make myself very clear the first time ... here, let me try again."

This time he kissed Clark until stars danced behind his eyelids. Lex's every movement was masterful and there was nothing to do but yield to him. Clark's grip tightened on Lex's shoulders as he let himself be kissed; he held on for dear life as Lex's mouth set his on fire.

"Do you understand yet?" Lex breathed against his lips. "Or shall I explain it to you some more?"

Clark struggled for breath. "I …"

Lex dove in again. "If you can still speak," he teased between kisses, "then I'm doing something wrong."

Clark made a strangled sound in his throat and pulled him closer, responding with an enthusiasm that made Lex blissfully wild. His hands slipped around Clark's waist, found the tail of his silly flannel shirt and slid beneath it, traced possessive patterns against the warm muscles of his lower back. Lex knew it was his job to remain in control of the situation, but what Clark was doing with his tongue made it difficult to focus on anything else.

When they finally parted they were both gasping for air. Clark's hands still cradled Lex's head, and Lex's remained buried in Clark's hair. They looked at each other in amazement and reverence.

Then, finally, Clark asked, "Why didn't you just ask me to the concert?"

"Next time I will," Lex grinned. "But only if you promise to thank me nicely."

"Lex," Clark replied seriously, though he flushed again – oh, it was so easy. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Lex whispered, kissing and nipping his way down the side of Clark's throat. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Clark shivered and let his fingers fan across Lex's scalp. "Don't stop."

He didn't.