AN: So this story actually has a plot now. I didn't discover that until I had finished chapter two, but I did update the summery, and without further ado, here is the second chapter.
"Yes I know you got some doubts. I know you don't believe. I know you think I'm crazy, yeah but I know you're just like me. When I hear that voice inside me, makes me want to jump right in saying, "here we go again," Everclear
From the first moment Lionel had set eyes on Clark Kent, he knew that even at the tender age of three, he was angelic, and spectacularly beautiful. As the boy got older, his beauty seemed to grow as well, until he reached the point where no one, not even Jonathan Kent could deny it. This fact was particularly concerning for Jonathan, who worried that outside forces might try and corrupt the boy.
So they locked him away on the farm, keeping him as far from the rest of the world as possible, like a princess being held captive by an evil ogre. Only, the Kent's were right. They had every reason to keep Clark at home, to keep him away from people, especially people like the Luthor family.
Whenever he was near Clark, Lionel felt this overwhelming urge to touch him, hold him, kiss him, do things to him, and Jonathan must have sensed this, because he had forbidden the boy from seeing the older man, or any Luthor for that matter. Unfortunately, Clark's emotions were human.
Like any other teenager who had been forbidden from doing something Clark found himself suddenly needing the Luthors, Lionel more than Lex, and he would sneak over several times a day, and at all hours of the night. Lionel had been horrified at first, and he sent Clark home. Thoughts of Jonathan Kent and the other villagers coming after him with fiery torches filled his dreams, but Clark's beauty, his splendor, and determination, were far too great, and Lionel could not resist.
The first time they made love, Clark had been awkward, and clumsy, but Luthor had chalked that up to nerves, and ignored it. He even allowed Clark's overeagerness to slip by, believing that it must be the nerves, but as more and more time went by, he began to notice the fact that Clark was not getting any better at sex.
Still, Lionel did not need the relationship. He tired showing the boy books, The Karma Sutra, the Joy of Sex, etcetera, but nothing helped. Clark never seemed to gain any extra knowledge, any sense of fully comprehending what he was doing. Perhaps, Lionel thought, it was because things were different on Krypton, or maybe he really was inexperienced. He seemed unable to open himself up, to allow himself to vulnerable.
Clark was shy, timid, and Lionel had always felt, even after his secret was reveled, that the boy had been holding something back. Once or twice, probably when he had been infected with red Kryptonite, he had witnessed the raven-haired beauty behaving in a way which was not normal. He had almost no inhibitions, and was in several ways stronger. It was as if whatever held him back ordinarily had melted away in an explosion of ferocity, and rage.
At those times, Clark was miraculous in bed, open, willing, strong, courageous, perceptive. These periods of times were always brief though, and they were always followed by several weeks of inexplicable absences on the part of the young Kent boy. Lionel was a patient man, however, and so he waited (longingly) for the days when Clark would show up, dressed all in dark, his hair tussled, lips turned upwards in a wolfish smile.
When Lionel dropped by the farm on that warm may morning, however, Clark Kent was behaving in a new and different way. He was dressed in black, which was normal for these little outbursts, but when he first laid eyes on Lionel, it was as if he did not recognize the man. Something was wrong with his face as well. Clark seemed pale, very pale, ad his jaw, his facial bones seemed sharp, angular.
"Clark, it's me," Lionel offered, reaching out to touch the boy's face, and was surprised by the strength with which Clark squeezed his fingers. "What are you doing? That is—stop it Clark," he ordered, and the figure obeyed, but stared at Lionel with hunger in his eyes. Lionel and the boy held hands, and Lionel ran the fingers of his other hand through his hair, leaning in to kiss, him, but Clark pulled back. "What is the matter? You are behaving as if…"
"It's not what you think," the young man tried to reassure him. Then he leaned in close to Lionel, whispering softly. "I am not feeling much like myself today." Lionel smiled, once gain taking the nervous young man by the hand, and leading him upstairs, towards the bedroom.
Clark Kent's bedroom was quaint, small, with light blue carpet, a plaid bedspread, posters of the stars and other planets on the walls, red curtains over his windows, and yellow-brown desk, covered with papers, blocks which read C-l-a-r-k, and a laptop computer. Lionel kissed his soft, but slightly cold lips.
"It's unfortunate that you are not well. Perhaps there is something I can do about that," Lionel suggested, gently pushing him towards the bed. "Or perhaps you would be more comfortable if you just rested, took a nap maybe. The dark haired boy nodded. "Clark?" Lionel asked, uncomfortably. Something was very wrong here, but he could not place it.
"I'm feeling a little, bizarre, but other than that, nothing has changed," Clark explained, as he lay down on the bed, kicking his shoes off and looking up at Lionel. "I think I should take your advice, about the nap thing." He yawned, but Lionel knew it was not a real one.
"Well then, if you feel that way, I suppose I should leave, at least for the time being." Lionel started walking towards the door. Then he heard a whooshing sound and Clark's body was standing right in front of him, holding the older man about six inches off of the ground. "Put me down right now. Thank you. Why did you do that?" The boy interrupted Lionel's thoughts, with an abrupt and rough kiss. "Tell me, or I'll grab a chunk of Kryptonite from the closet.
"You don't want to do that," the boy warned, pushing Lionel back towards the bed. "I'm different now and that stuff doesn't hurt me anymore. Why don't you join me for that nap," he suggested. "Come on, you know you want to." Lionel did not follow because he had been taunted, but because the taunt was correct. He did want to. "Don't worry," The young man promised, "I'll tell you everything eventually."
"You're not Clark. This has something to do with one of Lex's experiments, doesn't it?" Instead of answering the boy, who was most definitely not Clark Kent, pulled Lionel down onto the bed, and kissed him again. Then they were both naked, and when everything was over, Lionel stared at the non-Clark, his eyes suddenly wide with horror. "You're that thing! Where is Clark? What did you do to him?" Lionel tried to get up and run off, but he couldn't move. The dark haired figure was holding him still. Then the world went black, as Bizzaro hit him hard on the head and he passed out.
When Lionel awoke sometime later, he was in a dark, windowless room. It was cold and smelled slightly damp, which probably meant he was in a basement, or cellar somewhere, but Lionel had no way of telling where. He was tied to a chair, no longer naked, and his head ached. Luthor tried moving his arms with no luck. The same went for his feet; the binding was far too tight to allow him any chance of escape.
Where was he? How long had he been there? Did Lex know he was missing? Would Lex even care? What about Clark? Why hadn't he stopped that thing? Was Clark hurt? Had that thing done something to him? He had to get out of this room. He had to do something. "Clark?" he yelled as loudly as his vocal chords would allow. "Clark? CLARK CAN YOU HEAR ME? Help!" Lionel would have continued to shout until his voice disappeared all together, but he heard the sound of a deadbolt being turned.
A door squeaked, allowing a sliver of light into his cell. Then the room was flooded with bright, white florescent lights. Lionel squeezed his eyes shut. He must have been in this position for quite some time. Luthor heard the footsteps approaching him, and then they stopped, but he would not look. Lionel told himself that nothing would make him look at the other man.
"I wouldn't waist my breath if I were you. He won't find you here. He can't. This room is coated in six layers of lead based paint. Not that he's looking for you anyway. Well, goodbye now." The footsteps receded, walked back up the stairs, and just as the door was closing, Lionel could hear Bizzaro laughing. This was the worst situation he had ever found himself in. This was not good. Silently, Lionel wondered how long he could last, and didn't try to fight the handful of tears that slid down his cheeks.