A/N:
Ren and Steve. I really meant to write you a PWP romance. Honestly! But then this started coming out...
Maybe the muse decided this way, I'd have to write down what I feel. Okay, then. To Ren and Steve, my very dear friends, and soon to be about the best daddies any baby could ever have. Love from the soon to be Honorary Aunt LaCrazy.
***
"Personal and confidential." Lex Luthor turned the FedEx envelope over in his hands. Through the paper, he could feel the glossy heaviness of photographs. Well, well, this could be interesting, although it was more likely to be tedious. He slit the top and let the contents fall onto his desk. They fell upside down, and he flipped one over.
God.
The hair was longer, neglected, the face thin and, yes, anguished was the word. He was lying on a cement floor, behind bars. Lex felt his heart clench with a mixture of equally instinctive distress and contempt.
Clark.
The farmboy he had loved. No, he angrily corrected himself, the farmboy he had loved and who deserted him. That first night they made love. Afterwards, he'd held Clark in his arms and when Clark had clung to him, crying a few tears of happiness and excitement and release of tension, the droplets on his forehead had felt like a baptism with the holiest possible water. Clean and loved. And then--the next day. Clark had disappeared. That night, he'd finally gone to the farm to look for him. He wouldn't have put it past Clark to have told his parents. Or for Jonathan to have responded violently. To have beaten Clark. Or at the least locked him away. So he waited until he could talk to Martha alone. He'd asked where Clark was. She looked everywhere but at him and then said she didn't know. He'd finally begged. Only a few scraps of dignity kept him from actual groveling.
He called or came by every other day for two weeks. She finally said that Clark had run away and reluctantly showed him a postcard. It was postmarked five days ago, from New York. Clark had just said that he wasn't coming back, that he was fine, and that he wouldn't write again.
Hoping that Clark was being melodramatic or having a brief moment of panic, he waited. And waited. Days turned into weeks. Each day corroding his heart. Anger replacing fear. Hate replacing anger. He'd bared his soul, shared it as much as he'd shared his body, and Clark ran away from it. And he? He'd returned to Metropolis, to his father. To a destiny that was obviously going to be Clarkless.
Well, whatever scrape Clark'd gotten himself into, he could get himself out of.
He'd test his resolve by looking at the other pictures. Test it? He'd strengthen it. A closeup of Clark's face, a grimace of pain, covered with perspiration. Good. Another picture of Clark behind bars, looking even more thin and frail. Excellent. Another showing Clark without a shirt, back bandaged. Perfect.
Last, the piece of paper. "I understand that the enclosed might be of interest to you. I will call at 10:30 to see what arrangement for a transfer might be made. Please instruct your receptionist to send a call from Mr. Ransom directly to you in person."
Mr. Ransom. Well, it showed a primitive sense of humor. But one that would be disappointed. He'd take great pleasure in saying so. He called his secretary to tell her to send a call from Mr. Ransom straight to him.
It came at 10:30 precisely.
"Lex Luthor."
"This is Mr. Ransom. I believe you received my package?"
"Yes, but it's of no interest to me."
"How strange. The subject said that you would ensure his release."
"That was presumptuous. If true."
"Oh, I can assure you, quite true. How quickly one forgets."
"Forgets? Why don't you tell me exactly what you mean."
"Three years ago in October, the...agency I serve acquired a particularly unusual specimen. It thought, at first, that we were interested in money and assured us that you would ransom it. It seemed quite certain of the fact, oddly enough."
"When in October?"
"The exact date was the 17th, as I recall."
Lex's heart skipped a beat. The day Clark disappeared. No. This was some story Clark had concocted. Extortion. What a miscalculation. Lex would have showered anything on him. Once. But apparently the price of remaining Lex's lover was too high. Even if Clark had said no more sex, Lex still would have almost worshipped him, poured everything at his feet, just to see that wondrous smile, the one he would have sworn couldn't be bought with money. But time can't be turned back. A faked kidnapping. Sorry, Clark, too much, too late.
"Aren't you a bit late in getting this ransom demand to me?"
"Our original intent was not kidnapping. It was...something else. Knowledge is as good a way of putting it as any. But now, you see, the subject is increasingly fragile. The consensus of my colleagues was to keep holding it, but I thought that the value from that is considerably lower than the ransom that Lex Luthor would be able to pay. Particularly if I make the arrangements privately."
"In other words, double-crossing your colleauges and selling him to me."
"To put it bluntly, yes."
"I do admire enterprise." Perhaps there was some entertainment to be had from this. String Clark and this Ransom along. Just like Clark had played with him. The door would finally be closed, that wound finally healed. "As a matter of curiousity, how much do you want?"
"I believe that $100 million would be adequate."
"Ridiculous."
"For a specimen like this? I should think that aside from whatever personal feelings that it explained you had for it, the industrial applications alone would be worth that much to you."
"Industrial applications."
"Unfortunately, my colleagues are far more interested in learning of its origins than of its use."
"Origins."
"Oh, yes, we've narrowed it down considerably. The only problem is, that particular solar system was destroyed, so there's very little to go on."
"I see." Well, no, he didn't, but he'd pretend that he did. "Frankly, Mr. Ransom, an amateur could create these photographs in any decent graphics program, and I'd require somewhat more certainty before we go any further."
"I expected no less. Would you like to speak with it?"
Lex briefly wondered why Ransom insisted on calling Clark "it." Doubtless some mind game or another. "Certainly, but that alone won't be enough proof."
"If you're still interested after a phone conversation, I'll arrange for you to see it in person, or for your authorized agent to do so. I'll call you back in three minutes, and it will be on the line."
He kept his voice deliberately steady as he picked up the phone again. "Lex Luthor."
"Lex?" A raspy, timid voice, but still immediately recognizable as Clark's. The voice that had struck him as being a clear, light blue. He'd always thought of voices as having colors. "Lex, is that really you?"
"Yes, Clark, what can I do for you?" His own voice, he was delighted to note, didn't waver at all. Didn't show that if Clark were here in the room, he'd want to wring his treacherous neck.
"Please, Lex, if you can, pay him. I'm scared, Lex, I think I'm going to die. I can't stand much more." Tears in his voice. Really, Clark and Ransom were barking up the wrong tree. With a body like that, hone those acting skills, Clark could bypass him for money and go right to Hollywood. Ransom could be his agent.
"Tell me what happened."
"After we...after I had to leave, well, I was so excited that I just started running. I couldn't stop. I was so happy." Lex felt his throat clench. He'd been the one who was so happy. Until... "I didn't think. I was just so...and I ran too fast, and too far...I got near Los Alamos."
"Los Alamos? Quite a run, Clark."
"I...I was going to tell you the next night. That...that I came with the meteor shower. That I'm an alien. I didn't want any more secrets between us." Lex nearly choked hiding his laughter. Of all the feeble stories!
"What happened then?"
Ransom interrupted. "Somebody's coming. I've got to take the phone away. I'll call back later."
When you have the rest of the story invented. Of course. How convenient. But how fortunate for him. He'd just been on the brink of wanting to be convinced, just from the sound of Clark's voice.
Ren and Steve. I really meant to write you a PWP romance. Honestly! But then this started coming out...
Maybe the muse decided this way, I'd have to write down what I feel. Okay, then. To Ren and Steve, my very dear friends, and soon to be about the best daddies any baby could ever have. Love from the soon to be Honorary Aunt LaCrazy.
***
"Personal and confidential." Lex Luthor turned the FedEx envelope over in his hands. Through the paper, he could feel the glossy heaviness of photographs. Well, well, this could be interesting, although it was more likely to be tedious. He slit the top and let the contents fall onto his desk. They fell upside down, and he flipped one over.
God.
The hair was longer, neglected, the face thin and, yes, anguished was the word. He was lying on a cement floor, behind bars. Lex felt his heart clench with a mixture of equally instinctive distress and contempt.
Clark.
The farmboy he had loved. No, he angrily corrected himself, the farmboy he had loved and who deserted him. That first night they made love. Afterwards, he'd held Clark in his arms and when Clark had clung to him, crying a few tears of happiness and excitement and release of tension, the droplets on his forehead had felt like a baptism with the holiest possible water. Clean and loved. And then--the next day. Clark had disappeared. That night, he'd finally gone to the farm to look for him. He wouldn't have put it past Clark to have told his parents. Or for Jonathan to have responded violently. To have beaten Clark. Or at the least locked him away. So he waited until he could talk to Martha alone. He'd asked where Clark was. She looked everywhere but at him and then said she didn't know. He'd finally begged. Only a few scraps of dignity kept him from actual groveling.
He called or came by every other day for two weeks. She finally said that Clark had run away and reluctantly showed him a postcard. It was postmarked five days ago, from New York. Clark had just said that he wasn't coming back, that he was fine, and that he wouldn't write again.
Hoping that Clark was being melodramatic or having a brief moment of panic, he waited. And waited. Days turned into weeks. Each day corroding his heart. Anger replacing fear. Hate replacing anger. He'd bared his soul, shared it as much as he'd shared his body, and Clark ran away from it. And he? He'd returned to Metropolis, to his father. To a destiny that was obviously going to be Clarkless.
Well, whatever scrape Clark'd gotten himself into, he could get himself out of.
He'd test his resolve by looking at the other pictures. Test it? He'd strengthen it. A closeup of Clark's face, a grimace of pain, covered with perspiration. Good. Another picture of Clark behind bars, looking even more thin and frail. Excellent. Another showing Clark without a shirt, back bandaged. Perfect.
Last, the piece of paper. "I understand that the enclosed might be of interest to you. I will call at 10:30 to see what arrangement for a transfer might be made. Please instruct your receptionist to send a call from Mr. Ransom directly to you in person."
Mr. Ransom. Well, it showed a primitive sense of humor. But one that would be disappointed. He'd take great pleasure in saying so. He called his secretary to tell her to send a call from Mr. Ransom straight to him.
It came at 10:30 precisely.
"Lex Luthor."
"This is Mr. Ransom. I believe you received my package?"
"Yes, but it's of no interest to me."
"How strange. The subject said that you would ensure his release."
"That was presumptuous. If true."
"Oh, I can assure you, quite true. How quickly one forgets."
"Forgets? Why don't you tell me exactly what you mean."
"Three years ago in October, the...agency I serve acquired a particularly unusual specimen. It thought, at first, that we were interested in money and assured us that you would ransom it. It seemed quite certain of the fact, oddly enough."
"When in October?"
"The exact date was the 17th, as I recall."
Lex's heart skipped a beat. The day Clark disappeared. No. This was some story Clark had concocted. Extortion. What a miscalculation. Lex would have showered anything on him. Once. But apparently the price of remaining Lex's lover was too high. Even if Clark had said no more sex, Lex still would have almost worshipped him, poured everything at his feet, just to see that wondrous smile, the one he would have sworn couldn't be bought with money. But time can't be turned back. A faked kidnapping. Sorry, Clark, too much, too late.
"Aren't you a bit late in getting this ransom demand to me?"
"Our original intent was not kidnapping. It was...something else. Knowledge is as good a way of putting it as any. But now, you see, the subject is increasingly fragile. The consensus of my colleagues was to keep holding it, but I thought that the value from that is considerably lower than the ransom that Lex Luthor would be able to pay. Particularly if I make the arrangements privately."
"In other words, double-crossing your colleauges and selling him to me."
"To put it bluntly, yes."
"I do admire enterprise." Perhaps there was some entertainment to be had from this. String Clark and this Ransom along. Just like Clark had played with him. The door would finally be closed, that wound finally healed. "As a matter of curiousity, how much do you want?"
"I believe that $100 million would be adequate."
"Ridiculous."
"For a specimen like this? I should think that aside from whatever personal feelings that it explained you had for it, the industrial applications alone would be worth that much to you."
"Industrial applications."
"Unfortunately, my colleagues are far more interested in learning of its origins than of its use."
"Origins."
"Oh, yes, we've narrowed it down considerably. The only problem is, that particular solar system was destroyed, so there's very little to go on."
"I see." Well, no, he didn't, but he'd pretend that he did. "Frankly, Mr. Ransom, an amateur could create these photographs in any decent graphics program, and I'd require somewhat more certainty before we go any further."
"I expected no less. Would you like to speak with it?"
Lex briefly wondered why Ransom insisted on calling Clark "it." Doubtless some mind game or another. "Certainly, but that alone won't be enough proof."
"If you're still interested after a phone conversation, I'll arrange for you to see it in person, or for your authorized agent to do so. I'll call you back in three minutes, and it will be on the line."
He kept his voice deliberately steady as he picked up the phone again. "Lex Luthor."
"Lex?" A raspy, timid voice, but still immediately recognizable as Clark's. The voice that had struck him as being a clear, light blue. He'd always thought of voices as having colors. "Lex, is that really you?"
"Yes, Clark, what can I do for you?" His own voice, he was delighted to note, didn't waver at all. Didn't show that if Clark were here in the room, he'd want to wring his treacherous neck.
"Please, Lex, if you can, pay him. I'm scared, Lex, I think I'm going to die. I can't stand much more." Tears in his voice. Really, Clark and Ransom were barking up the wrong tree. With a body like that, hone those acting skills, Clark could bypass him for money and go right to Hollywood. Ransom could be his agent.
"Tell me what happened."
"After we...after I had to leave, well, I was so excited that I just started running. I couldn't stop. I was so happy." Lex felt his throat clench. He'd been the one who was so happy. Until... "I didn't think. I was just so...and I ran too fast, and too far...I got near Los Alamos."
"Los Alamos? Quite a run, Clark."
"I...I was going to tell you the next night. That...that I came with the meteor shower. That I'm an alien. I didn't want any more secrets between us." Lex nearly choked hiding his laughter. Of all the feeble stories!
"What happened then?"
Ransom interrupted. "Somebody's coming. I've got to take the phone away. I'll call back later."
When you have the rest of the story invented. Of course. How convenient. But how fortunate for him. He'd just been on the brink of wanting to be convinced, just from the sound of Clark's voice.