AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave
FANDOM: Smallville
GENRE: Action/Adventure, Suspense, Itty-bitty Angst, Romance and Horror
PAIRINGS: JK/MK, LnLg/WF, CK/LxLr.
RATING: R [for language, violence & sexual content]
SUMMARY: Farther in.
FEEDBACK: Gimmesummore! Pwease? Will work for food... Word candy that is, with ginseng extract if possible ;)
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com
AUTHOR'S THANKS: Of course to my go through guy, Lyle Brown and my Beta Reader, Fernando (FaItHzAnGeL). In my mind he deserves the awe granted towards small deities. In the words of Mike Nolan [Glory Days]: "Wow. I mean wow. Wow. Just... wow." [sucky show, btw!!] Fernie had this back to me the next day... THANK YOU SO-SO MUCH!!! Who's the man?!
Mansion on the Hill: A Shipper's Alternate Ending to "Cool"
CHAPTER TWO – Warmer
Going in the front door, Shawn thought bitterly, would have been
the smart idea.
He had taken the heat from the generator in both desperation for a little
warmth and in the hopes that some servant of the Luthors would come out
and try to fix the damned thing. He'd planned on following the guy
to whatever servants' exit he'd come from, use him as a human heater, then
walk in undetected, thereby gaining access to whomever lie in expectation
of the restoration of accrued power.
After waiting ten minutes for someone, anyone, to show- being almost
completely frozen made you too fucking impatient for anything much longer-
he just took off, deciding it was better and quicker to find a back door
because
surely the Luthor mansion had a working security system,
and he'd rather remain unannounced.
Shawn smiled as he walked brazenly back the way he came, heading to the
anterior of the mansion. He'd realized, albeit a little on the late
side- maybe the cold had slowed his thought processes- that the odds were
great that the security system, at least during an electrical failure,
would have been wired into the main power source: the generator.
That and that the back door was just as likely to have an alarm as the
front.
The manor would most likely be relying on manpower to protect it, and as
rich as the Luthors were they probably thought their defense was better
than it really was. He figured that rich people probably overlooked
the little things, mostly because they hired someone else to think about
them.
He slowed, looking at his surroundings and beginning to get pissed.
The castle was too fucking big. He didn't remember walking this far.
He was still minutes away from the front door.
+_+_+_+_+
Martha, like an idiot, turned and inched towards the noise, feeling like
some teenage bimbo in one of those idiotic flicks that Jonathon had taken
her to see during their courtship so long ago. Technically, she hadn't
actually seen much of the movies, spending most of the time in Jonathon's
embrace, but she remembered enough to know it was never good for the person
who had decided to go investigate instead of run. She knew she had
two things going for her, though: she didn't have the gorgeous model face
or body that would've otherwise made her an instant victim, and she could
be darn tough.
Does that make me the heroine? she thought hopefully but without mirth
or conviction.
Approaching the area where she was sure the sound had originated and sensing
her on-screen massacre close at hand, she turned slowly around, keeping
the flashlight in front of her as she looked and staying tense, ready to
run or fight.
The large bush beside her shook and she vaulted back as a large, greasy,
pale-brown cat jumped out and pulled back it's ears, hissing at her.
Martha laughed, relieved, and bent down, offering her hand to the animal.
In return, it swiped at her with a dirty paw, the sharp talons slicing
away at the tender flesh of her palm. She gasped, wincing as she
pulled her hand to her chest and the cat took the opportunity to run back
the way that Martha had come.
"Ouch," she muttered, and checked her hand. There was a deep cut
right in the middle of her palm, and two more superficial cuts to each
side of it. The deep one was already starting to bleed profusely,
making her uneasy with the gash. She dug her hand into her jacket
pocket extracting the yellow bandana, always handy in case she became sweaty
with farm work. Now it held the blood in, quickly staining red as
she tied it tightly around her open wound.
A high pitched screech echoed all around, causing her to spring back into
a tree and drop her flashlight to the ground.
She breathed in.
Dumb cat, she thought nervously, and bent down
to pick up the light.
What scared it no-
Just as she grabbed the light, the brown blur sped past her in the direction
of the lake, hell-bent.
She stood up slow and easy. Cautiously raising her hand, she shined
the flashlight in the direction that the cat had come. For a second
she just stayed, frozen to the spot. Then as if picking up in mid-run,
she turned around, taking off to her right, hoping to double around who
or whatever was headed in her direction, and back to the front door.
Hearing another pair of feet trampling the ground behind her, seemingly
faster than her own sprints, she ducked between and maneuvered around trees,
trying to avoid the stinging slap of twigs, needles and thin branches on
her arms, legs and bare face.
She cried out as a low hanging limb as thick as a wooden beam hit the top
of her head and instantaneous tears welled up in her eyes, her breath hitching
violently. She could hear urgent, frantic whispers behind her, scaring
her senseless, and did not try to make out the words. Instead she
focused on the clearing ahead, of which she could now see. She sped
up, her legs now pumping angrily, only to be tripped right outside of the
clearing by a massive extrusive root. She fell to the ground, breath
vanishing and her entire body whipping forward from the impact.
Oh, God! She tasted dirt, hearing the person in the woods getting
closer. Internally yelling at herself to get up, she spit out the
grit and tried to stand, lightning shooting before her eyes as she did.
Her right leg was aching like the devil. She struggled to lift it
only to find that she had landed on a very large, very sharp rock.
She started to crawl, feeling pathetic and desperately afraid.
Whatever was after her broke free of the brush and she could hear the hoarse
whispers behind her. Then strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Martha!"
Without registering the familiar voice, she struggled free, rolling over
and, without thinking or seeing, swung her flashlight at the person above
her. The glass from the face of the light burst, the metal connecting
hard with something warm and solid. She watched her husband reel
back with the force of the impact then fall back to the ground.
"Oh, God! Jonathon!" She crawled over to where he was, ignoring
the burning pain in her leg and touched the side of his head lightly.
He winced at her touch, hissing a little.
No blood at least. "I'm so sorry."
He gave her a weak smile. "I guess I'm lucky it wasn't my face."
She frowned. "You're lucky I didn't have something worse than this," she
said brandishing the flashlight at him. Her face was sore from the
branches and from where it hit the ground, her chest hurt from the labored
breath she had induced while running faster than she ever had in her life,
and her right thigh was throbbing wickedly. "Why didn't you call
out?" She hit him hard in the arm with the flashlight then fell to
the ground beside him. "You scared the shit out of me, Jonathon.
Fuck."
+_+_+_+_+
Jonathon was stunned and not just from the substantial blow he had received.
He'd heard his wife say 'fuck' before, but only a handful of times, and
they were always incredibly serious and never once aimed at something he'd
done. The time that stuck with him most was when a still mute Clark,
only five or six, had gotten into the barn and stood looking at the sky
from the loft. When Jonathon and Martha walked up to see if they
could get him to bed, they had startled the child and he had fallen to
the ground outside. Jonathon had to grab his wife before she ran
after Clark, falling just as he had. He remembered the amazement
and relief when they ran down to the bottom to find their little adopted
son trembling, brushing himself off and staring angrily at the barn.
He hadn't liked falling.
Oh, Martha, baby. He propped himself on his forearm and looked
to his wife, shocked to find tears. He stopped a mobile one with
the tip of his finger. "I tried whispering, but…" He trailed
off, then spoke again more softly. "I'm sorry."
"I thought I was dead."
He tried to breath in deeply but he couldn't, his chest feeling hard and
empty. "I didn't want to call out because that might attract attention."
"And you think all that running didn't-"
He interrupted by running his hand over her stomach soothingly. "I
was afraid of losing you. If what I think is going on is going
on, then I can't protect you from that schoolboy, Martha. And if-"
"What do you think is going on?"
He looked at her for a moment. "I think it's someone like Tina or
Greg."
She frowned, confused. "What do you mean by 'like Tina or Greg'?"
"Strong," he started, confused himself. He wasn't sure just what
he meant. "Different, you know?"
"Effected."
He nodded.
"But why? Why would you-"
"The bars on the front gate. I think- I think Shawn bent them
back."
Bewilderment and fear registered quickly on her face. "Oh, no.
Are you sure it wasn't-"
"Clark's big and the hole indicated someone of smaller statute. And the
bars... They were freezing, like ice." Martha's eyes widened
and he ran his hand over her stomach again, stopping her before she said
another word. "If it was my fault that he found us- that he found
you,
I'd die before he could even touch me."
Martha softened and her hand smoothed over his cheek. "Oh, Jon.
You just scared me, that's all. I'm sorry. I just hate being-"
"Weak?" He nodded. "I know the feeling. The fact that
we have to rely on our seventeen year old son for safety…" he shook his
head not able to find the words.
Looking back in his wife's eyes, he found deep comprehension and he was
overwhelmed with the fact that she was still alive. He reached his
hand to glide up and down her side, and pulled himself over to his wife
until he was right above her, bracing his weight on one elbow. "I'm
glad you're not scared of me anymore," he said, flashing her a wide grin.
Her hand slipped around the back of his neck, pulling him close.
"Oh, I didn't say that, Kent."
The kiss was chaste at first, more in gratitude of being alive than anything,
but Jonathon's passion grew as he realized what he could have lost.
He pushed against her mouth with sudden fervor, and she whimpered in surprise,
opening to him. He kissed her hard and pulled himself closer, hand
traveling up her side and stopping briefly to squeeze her breast, eliciting
another whimper, this one in pleasure. His hand then continued it's
journey up to her collarbone and the graceful neck he'd always found so
delicious, to burrow itself in the cinnamon and vermilion mixture of hair.
She pulled him closer and he moved one of his legs in between hers, looking
for less awkward access to his wife's mouth. He felt her shift against
him, and then she yanked her head back to the ground, gasping in pain.
"What?" he asked in alarm, pulling back quickly and glancing at his wife.
"What'd I do?"
She shook her head, her jaw clenched firmly, and pointed to her right leg.
He looked and saw nothing but realized that she must have hurt it while
running away from him.
"Let me help you," He pushed himself to stand up, flooding all over with
the guilt of frightening and hurting his wife, the woman he'd die to protect,
the one he'd been running to, trying to keep her from being hurt in the
first place. He bent over and grabbed her around the middle, hands
slipping around to her back and her own clutching his arms. He lifted
her to her feet swinging her arm around his shoulders and keeping a firm
grip on her waist. "Can you make it back to the house or do I need
to-"
The 'say it and die' look his wife gave him made him laugh. "Didn't
think so."
Guess no "knight in shining armor" moment, carrying away the damsel in
distress. They started to walk at a brisk pace, eager to get
inside, and Jonathon tried his best to stop the knives at his heart every
time she stepped on her right leg, grimacing.
"Jonathon?"
"Yes?"
Martha looked to be concentrating hard on her leg and trying to work something
out at the same time. "The bars were frozen?"
"All covered in ice."
She nodded, frowning. "So was the generator. And there was
a handprint right in the middle."
His heart stopped at the thought of his wife so close to where Shawn had
been last. "Damn it! I should have
made Luthor come
out here." He sped up a little before remembering she was using him
as a crutch.
"I didn't give him that choice, Jonathon." He opened his mouth to
say something his brain hadn't even completely formulated but Martha, knowing
him well, put her fingers to his lips. "Please don't make me mad
at you for some old-fashioned chivalry. Not now."
He swallowed his pride and decided now was the time to ask the question
that had been on his mind the moment he'd found Martha. "Why were
you in the woods?"
She hesitated. "I… heard a noise."
He stopped and looked down at her, stunned. "What?! You heard
a noise and you what? Just decided to check it out?"
She tugged on his arm. "I know it was stupid of me, okay? Can
we keep moving? My leg's starting to warm up a little."
He pulled her along with him carefully, furious that she would have risked
her life so. "Who follows a noise in the woods when they know a killer's
loose? I don't care if it is a teenager." He shook his head
and looked at her, sarcasm permeating his aura. " Tell me it wasn't
some twig snapping."
She winced, this time not from pain.
It was.
"Christ, Martha!"
"I know, okay?" Exasperated. The woman was exasperated.
With him. Of all the nerve-
"It even felt stupid when I was doing it."
"Then why didn't you run back to the house?" he snapped? "Or at least
come and find me?"
She sighed and used her free hand to rub her forehead. "I hope Clark
gets here soon."
+_+_+_+_+
"He's not coming." Whitney's lips went back to kissing her neck.
Lana could feel his tongue lightly licking her skin and she bit back a
moan.
"I think-", she paused to catch her breath. "-I heard footsteps."
"Mmm-mmm," he mumbled against her.
"Whitney."
He looked up. "That wasn't him. Okay?"
Lana hesitated, mouth open to say something then, seeing the glazed looking
in his eyes, nodded her acquiescence. He took her mouth with his
and started to weigh down on her, lightly pushing her to lie back on the
couch.
Uh…
Feeling vulnerable beneath him, strangely exposed but still okay, she let
her hands fall beside her. He was kissing her so sweetly that she
barely noticed his hand moving down from her shoulder blade and to her
side, then back up her abdomen.
She gasped, breaking their kiss, as she felt Whitney's cool hand touch
the warm skin of her stomach and mentally tracked its deliberate progress
as it pushed its way further under her sweater, traveling upwards.
She looked up into Whitney's heated eyes and he smiled longingly at her
before moving back to her neck.
Feels so good.
It did, but it felt weird, too. She was on fire everywhere, tingly
and aware, but there was a tightness in her stomach, a tension that wasn't
bad, but was uncomfortable and had to do completely with the location.
She'd never gone this far and really didn't want to if there was a chance
of Lex Luthor or either of Clark's parents walking in on them.
"Whitney," she warned. His hand stopped on her lower ribs, fingertips
brushing the bottom of her breast through her bra, and she was surprised
to find her body anxious to feel it reach its destination. "I don't
want him walking in on us."
"This is same guy you saw skinning dipping in the pool with some girl when
he was how old exactly?"
"It wasn't just skinny dipping."
"Do you think he's going to care?"
Strangely enough, yeah. A little maybe.
"I care."
He nodded, pulling away. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just-"
he stopped himself there, sitting forward towards the fire and wincing
as if he were in pain.
She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. "What's wrong?"
He blushed, turning away from her. "It's- it's nothing, Lana."
"No, it's not."
"Really, it isn-"
"Whitney," she said firmly. "What is it?"
He looked at her and she frowned noticing the bashfulness in her usually
indiscreet beau. "It's just… I'm a little…" he sighed.
"Well, you know." She shook her head and he sighed again, clearly
frustrated. "I'm a little sore."
"Where?"
Maybe I can help. A little massage might-
He flushed an even deeper red and pointed to his lap.
…Oh…
She blushed too, letting him turn away from her. "I'm sorry."
"Um, yeah. It's okay."
Lana rubbed her hand firmly up and down his jersey-clad back and then moved
to knead his tense shoulders.
He pulled away and stood up, walking to stand behind the couch with his
back to her. "That doesn't really help."
"Sorry."
She reached out to touch his arm, but he moved away again. "Just don't
touch me right now, okay?"
Her heart pounded in her chest. Can just a simple tou-
He turned around and leaned over the couch, his elbows propping him up
above her. She turned to face him, the ever-thoughtful part of her
keeping her shoes off of the no doubt expensive material of the couch.
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Lahny."
Hasn't called me that in months. Since this whole business with Clark started.
"It's just we've never done…" He trailed off, but he didn't have to finish.
The use of the pet name he'd made up just to annoy and flirt with her before
they started dating- it had quickly become a romantic sentiment- and the
fact that he had to stand behind the couch to recover his dignity…
Lana suddenly wanted to be closer, wanted to be with Whitney in a more
secluded place. In a more intimate position.
It's a big mansion, Lana. Every room can't be occupied.
She smiled and flushed at the idea, her already broad grin growing as Whitney
had obviously caught the look. "What?"
They couldn't do this; it was insane and they'd be caught for sure.
Just do it. Do it now before you lose the opportunity. You've
been wanting a little adventure, a little risk, right? Plus the chance
to get closer to Whitney. To let him know you love him with all your
heart. So… Here's the chance.
She looked back to her boyfriend, eyes burning and he swallowed.
"Lana?" he asked, warily amused.
She grinned and sat up quickly, pulling his head down and moving into him.
She kissed him hard, then pulled back.
"Are you try-" He stuttered a little and backed away from the couch.
"What was tha-"
"Shhh…" She climbed over the back of the couch and giggled at the
incredulous look on Whitney's face. She ran over to him and grabbed
his hand, pulling him to the double doors. "Let's go."
"Wh-Where?"
She turned around and leaned against one of the oak doors, loving the rush
of adrenaline, the excited flutters in her stomach, the crazy burning that
she knew Whitney could increase then put out, but in the way that this
kind of fire was meant to be put out. She looked straight into his
eyes and said, "Someplace where we can be alone..." Blushing, she
looked down and the wooden floor, unable to say the last part with his
eyes searing into hers. "Together."
A moment's hesitation, then: "Lana-"
"I just want to keep going a little bit more, Whitney. Do you?"
He cupped her face in his right hand, pulling her close with his left and
he kissed her lips. She moved in even closer and felt his erection
against her abdomen. He groaned and pulled back, smiling humbly.
"Guess I can't say 'no'."
"Come on." She grabbed his hand and turned around, twisting the knob
with her other hand and opening the door. They both peered out, Lana
expecting to see Lex right behind the door.
He wasn't.
"I wonder what's taking him so long."
Whitney looked at his watch. "It's only been a couple minutes.
Flashlight'd take him about five in a place like this, so… Maybe
the bathroom's really far away. Or," he added with an amused tone,
"maybe he had to do more than pee."
Lex Luthor taking a dump was decidedly not something Lana wanted
on the brain at the moment.
Or ever.
She grasped Whitney's hand tighter and began to walk out of the room, still
expecting Lex to come around the corner any second.
Have to hurry.
She sped up her pace, and Whitney followed. "Where exactly are we
going?"
Lana took a corner, carefully surveying it for the handsome, regal figure
first, but luckily coming up empty. "Somewhere close enough to not
get lost, but far enough to have some privacy."
+_+_+_+_+
Lex grabbed a very large, very long stainless steel flashlight and tried
out the bulb, finding it as bright as a headlight.
Good. The damn thing's heavy enough.
He pocketed a smaller one just in case and left the third floor emergency
storage closet, thinking whimsically that, in his months spent at the mansion,
there were still scores of rooms he had yet to investigate. It figured
that, of all things, an emergency would force him to venture into new territory.
As he walked down the empty but fairly well lit- thanks to his mutation
of a flashlight- hallway, he found himself incredibly thankful for his
father's emergency protocol. It stated that in a power outage all
staff members were to head to their respective rooms. He couldn't
imagine the pandemonium and confusion it would have caused to have maids,
cooks, butlers and such running around spreading the news about a killer
teenager on the lose and all coming to him for orders.
Of course, the protocol had also stated that security was to be doubled,
but he knew that wasn't happening. He wanted to kick himself in the
teeth for removing the protection they so desperately needed at the moment.
No, severing the defense section of Luthor Manor's faculty as soon as Lionel
had turned his back and let Lex run the place… Well, it had not been
the wisest decision on the part of this Luthor scion.
Oh, but Daddy dearest had his personal bodyguards, so what did Lex need
an overprotected house for? Waste of money. Besides word would
have eventually gotten back to Lionel and the man would have reinstated-
Lex sighed, cutting off his excuses. So, he'd screwed up with the security.
This was a minor problem as far as the breach went and he'd deal with it
later. He was just thankful that it wasn't a more dire situation.
A killer teen was bad, but not the worst it could get.
He rummaged around in his pockets for a moment, looking for his keys as
he approached the service flight. The stairwells were always locked
during emergencies, cutting down traffic and diverting it all to the designated
crisis paths and specified hallways. Only he and a select few members
of the staff had access to them after hours and in exigent conditions.
He found his keys and entered the service stairwell. Locking it behind
him, he ambled down the steps, heading towards the second floor landing.
Servants' Stairwell, he thought abstractly. How the staff referred
to the area as it was used solely by them.
Well, solely by them and, on occasion, by him.
He had recently become comfortable with the modest and economical stairs,
the staff elevators and their… quarters. It was more fit to conduct
private affairs within areas not so open to prying eyes. If you were
the rich, reputedly spoiled son of a multi-billionaire tycoon, who would
look for you among the faculty?
He'd ventured down there a few times, drunkenly stumbling this way and
that with Eliza, a maid that worked on the southwest wing of the mansion,
the exact opposite of his northeast bedroom.
The taste of sour and sloppy, alcohol induced kisses, the sound of expensive
shirts and a too tight maid uniform ripping beneath passion crazed fingertips…
Passions misplaced and fingertips that longed for the feel of another's
body beneath them, a body that could not be found at that moment in time…
It all filled Lex's memory and he grimaced. Eliza had wanted the
assistant cook, Jackson Fairway, who was married and not interested.
He had wanted, well…
"Clark," he whispered to himself, and opened the servants' door, exiting
and locking the stairwell, entering the hallway. The next one over
and his office awaited him.
He stopped and leaned up against the wall, not wanting to face two teens
who might or might not be keeping themselves warmed and charmed.
He thought instead of how surprisingly wrong Eliza had felt beneath him,
how inaccurately her body had set against his. Sure, they had been
more than anatomically compatible, but it seemed hard and distant, angry
and solitary. The sex was quiet but for the sounds of their bodies
making contact and frustrated pants at the end where he knew they were
both wondering why the fuck the emptiness just wouldn't go away.
Each time after they had finished Lex had merely mumbled a goodnight and
left, the fact that the sex hadn't pushed their desires out of mind but
instead increased the longing tenfold enforced into his brain. He'd
never been one for post-coital care, touching, holding, cuddling.
However, he could no longer ignore the fact that his arms longed to be
wrapped around a large and muscular body, his hands feeling unworthy but
nonetheless craving that impossibly soft and inky mane of hair. If
he could just touch Clark the way he wanted to, if he could just portray
all of these emotions, show the boy what he felt… Would it make a
difference? Or would Clark, as Lex feared, turn away in disgust,
leaving a devastated and broken Lex to long beneath his shadow.
Lex had always felt worse, weak and unstable after a night with Eliza.
Not to mention the fact that he felt as if he were cheating on that illusive
'one person he couldn't have. With every kiss, his eyes were closed
imagining Clark's lips were on his even though he knew that they were too
cold and narrow, knew that this was not how Clark tasted, didn't think
that this was how the younger man would kiss.
With every stroke and every fondle bestowed upon him, he couldn't stop
his brain from throwing images at him, knowing that if he were ever granted
such a seventh heaven of desires the hands skimming his body would be more
caring, slower, a little nervous but sensual regardless. And maybe
holding element of teasing. Instead, the hands below him were designed
for one purpose, single and narrow-minded intentions laced with quick demand.
And his were no different, spiting the woman below- and sometimes above-
merely because when he touched her feminine body, he could not make believe
that the molded form was his ideal.
At the immediate end of each occasion he couldn't ignore the fact that
a woman lay with him as they caught their breaths, a woman for which he
felt nothing and the mutual feeling always hung heavy in the humid, post-sex
air. Yet, he had gone back, again and again, as if looking for an
answer.
You thought that if you just kept digging deeper, you'd find it.
He been exhilarated when Eliza, after almost a month of their trysts, had
handed over her two weeks' notice and told him about moving to somewhere
near New Hampshire. He'd seen the look in her eyes and knew she wanted
out of this strange alliance before something in her broke as he feared
would happen to him. So, he had let her go that day and had taken
off in his Porsche hoping to "accidentally" run into Clark in town and
steal a few moments with the farmboy before he went back to his perfect
little everyday small town life.
Lex cleared his throat and started down the hallway towards his office,
his mind turning and turning, deciding something almost against his will.
He hated pining, it wasn't a Luthor tactic, but more so, it wasn't a Lex
tactic.
Luthors go for what they want, damnit. And so will you.
He'd never hurt Clark, never take advantage of the boy, and there was no
way he wanted to lose the friendship that meant so much to him. But
he had to tell Clark about his feelings, had to at least hint if not fully
vocalize. It was hurting him too much.
That's risking the friendship. Just because he's the only one that
ever cared-
He cut himself off, knowing that he couldn't go through another Eliza,
couldn't live through more apathetic sexual acts of enraged and frigid
loneliness. Wouldn't. He'd never do that again, but
that determination just left him alone completely and he didn't think he
could handle that either.
Desperation leads people to do stupid things.
Admitting to his feelings was a very stupid thing, also unlike a Luthor,
but hopefully not unlike Lex. The loneliness was driving him insane,
as was the constant craving to just touch the boy whenever they were close.
He already left his fingers to linger beyond what was normally accepted.
Anytime he happened to find an excuse, his fingers would just lightly caress.
And Clark had never once pulled away, or looked at him oddly.
If Clark were a girl, this wouldn't be problem. He smiled.
Of course, if Clark was a girl… Well, a lot
of things would
be different.
He breathed in and decided to give Lana and Whitney a moment to ready themselves.
He coughed loudly then let his footsteps fall heavy on the marble flooring
as he approached then turned the corner.
The door to the room was ajar.
Alarmed, he quieted his advance immediately, turning his flashlight off.
Flipping it around so he grasped the head in his hands, he steadied the
base- hefty with double-D battery weight- to use as a weapon in case Shawn
had somehow gotten in.
It could just be that Martha and Jonathan are back.
Lex didn't hear any voices and couldn't take that chance. He just
had to make sure that he didn't make his tense relations with the Kents
any worse by socking Clark's dad with a massive steel flashlight.
Certainly would be tempting, though. Knock some sense into the bastard
about the possible monetary aid I could provide.
He breathed in again, flexing his grip on the light, and nudged the door
open a bit more than it was, peering in. He half expected to see
Whitney on the floor unconscious-
Not a completely horrible thing.
-and Lana being strangled-
Okay, that one wouldn't be too good and Clark'd kill me for letting her
out of my sight.
-by a teenage boy he'd only seen on the news. Instead, he found nothing
in the portion of the room he could see. He frowned pushed the door
open the rest of the way, less wary. There was no one there.
His worry was quickly replaced by incredulous anger. "Son of a bitch!"
What the hell were they thinking?
That was just it, though: they were horny kids. They weren't
thinking.
"Fuck!" he hissed, and hit his flashlight against the soft wood of his
study's door, only pissing himself off more as he saw that he had scarred
the beautiful oak, denting it deeply.
I can't even keep a couple teenagers from running off!
Lex needed no inquiry to uncover what they were doing, and in any other
situation he would have found it humorous as he, too, would have taken
off with a lover to pursue more desirable activities in the huge, dark
and cryptic mansion. Thoughts of Clark and him making their way through
the castle on a quest to discover the corporeal pleasures of each room
fleetingly filled his mind, but disappeared just as quickly as he focused
on the problem at hand.
He had known from the moment he laid eyes on her that Lana Lang had a naughty
side to her. Someone that angelic looking, who'd always been treated
as if they were as fragile as blown glass… They always had a playful
side, and he now knew his assumptions were legitimate. He was infuriated
that he had left the two alone, but a single commiseration came to mind.
At least she's not with Kent.
It was highly possible that Shawn was near, even- and he shuddered to think
that he had allowed his defenses to degenerate to this point- in the
house. Lana and Whitney had no doubt put too much trust in the
Luthor Manor's immunity to opposition and Lex's ability to protect them.
So had he. At least he had when he thought that the security was
just his father's way of flashing around his wealth and importance.
And maybe it was then, but now the power was off and there were maybe all
of six security officers in the house, all hired to protect the
help.
Lex took off in the direction he hoped the teenagers went, realizing that
firing most of his human shield had endangered his guests and could very
well end up being a fatal mistake for someone.
Melodramatic. He's just a kid for Christ's sake. What all could
he do?
He remembered the news reports and the look on both of the Kents' faces
when Lana and Whitney relayed their story of Shawn and the auto accident.
Then when the generator went off. There had been genuine fear on
both of their faces, and it was the dread he saw in Jonathan's eyes that
caused him to speed up, listening for the all too familiar sounds of teenagers
fooling around.
+_+_+_+_+
Clark ran the last hundred yards in his superspeed and stopped to slip
through the bars of the Luther gate, instantly noting that he'd been beaten
to the punch. The bars were iced and reformed.
"Damn." He opened them just a bit more, slipped through the lower
angle, and fixed them back, looking around. His heart sped up as
he noticed that the house lights were off. "The generator."
He took off as fast as he could in search of the power supply. Lionel
Luthor being the billionaire he was, there was no way this castle wasn't
going to have one if not more.
He found the generator, surprised at how small and insufficient it seemed,
and stopped to touch the metal and verify his suspicions. He could
already see the ice patch frozen on top of the machine and what he assumed
to be Shawn's handprint, but the fact that there was no hum, no vibrations
emitting from it whatsoever… It was completely dead.
He ran back to the entrance, opening the heavy door as if it was made of
balsa wood and pulling it closed behind him, not making any noise with
the exception of the slight click from the bolt as it slipped into the
shaft.
Looking to his right he saw that one of his many fears was confirmed: the
security panel, locked behind as steel and glass cover screwed into the
wall, lay dormant of its usual flashing lights, also dead. The system
was evidently not hooked up to a separate source of power and it too had
been feeding off the generator when Shawn had frozen the machine to the
core, enabling anything electrically dependent.
If he's already in here, then no one had any warning.
"Damn it," he whispered, fearful. Shawn could be anywhere in castle.
Clark was torn between scanning the place with his X-ray vision and just
running through the mansion at top speed. Using his vision could
be helpful, but it would take time as it was still relatively new to him
and he hadn't mastered the muscles of his eyes. Every time he used
the heightened vision it got easier to concentrate for longer and longer
intervals, but it still eventually resulted in a short but eviscerating
headache and a temporary inability to use the X-ray vision.
"Think. Common sense." His parents were here with-
"Shit!" He suddenly remembered his mother telling him that Lex had
invited the community of farmers here for an informal chat about financial
options. Clark knowing his neighbors and parents' farming opposition,
there had to be at the very least twenty people gathered.
Not including Lex, his staff, Lana and Whitney.
Clark took off in the direction of Lex's study, thinking of all of the
potential victims Shawn had at his disposal.
To be continued... [CHAPTER THREE: Closer]