SUMMARY: Chapter Six Clark is worried about Lex's body, not to mention his actions. And driving Lex's car isn't as cool as he thought it would be.

WARNINGS: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

DISCLAIMER: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not my fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

AUTHOR NOTE: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

Slant

Chapter Six

Clark awoke from his dazed slumber feeling slightly better. At least he wasn't going to puke again, even if his head still throbbed. And he was in Lex's body. Alright. Weird. He wiggled his toes experimentally, not knowing what to expect. Them to fall off? Being in a human body, without his powers, was terrifying – but he was obviously still too out of it to freak. In fact, he felt remarkable calm. Things could be much worse.

He could have switched bodies with Lionel Luthor.

Clark shuddered. Now that was a freaky thought. Lex's body (anybody's body) was relatively tame compared to that. He sat up slowly, wondering if he'd get that strange feeling along his back again. It was faint, really – and it felt… it felt good. He pushed off the soft comforter that he'd haphazardly thrown around himself after he'd fallen back asleep, letting it slide between his fingers and timidly feeling its softness.

It's the little touches, like richly woven sheets and traces of gold in the bathroom that remind Clark that his best friend is a billionaire.

It's a funny thing – sometimes he thinks that Lex's arrogance, both that which he acknowledges and that which he does unconsciously, should be the telling factor. Or his behavior toward his elders. Now that's a small-town thought. Respect to one's elders. Maybe the way he casually throws away money. But it isn't that, really. Those are just elements of his character, of the enigma of Lex Luthor. It's only the little things.

Clark's glad. Sometimes he can barely speak to Lex without tripping up, but if he felt overwhelmed by the wealth of his best friend, then he simply wouldn't be able to stand it.

He winced as another pang of throbbing echoed through his – through Lex's – skull. What was that? Massaging his temples, Clark unsteadily slid off the bed, determined not to suffer another fall. If he was in Lex's body then he probably no longer had his powers. He squinted at the door, but neither his x-ray vision nor heat vision worked. Although setting Lex's bedroom door on fire probably wouldn't have been a good thing…

So. No powers. So he couldn't afford to be careless, because he might damage Lex's body.

Lex's body. Jesus.

Clark found his eyes wandering down despite his best efforts to keep them up where they belonged. This felt so wrong, and yet – well. If to say "so right" was utterly clichéd, then Clark simply couldn't help being corny and clichéd. This was Lex, his best friend. He'd occasionally, you know, glanced. And he'd seen him swimming, so this wasn't any different.

Not at all.

Good job, Clark, you've really convinced yourself. But Lex was –

Oh, damn.

Lex slept in the nude. Jesus Christ. But it was just the quickest glance, and he hadn't seen anything, not really. Just that there wasn't any – um, clothing. Down there. Yeah, okay, get a grip, Clark. Just breathe in, breathe out. Don't think about it. Just – don't.

Get some clothes. Yeah, first things first. Get some clothes so you can think properly. Clark slowly made his way toward the closet, which was a monstrous thing - two huge doors with these gold handles. He pulled them open, feeling the stretch of muscle cross his chest and feeling fascinated. Being human, truly human – not just having lost his powers – was this sort of high, really. Other than the - he winced as another pain shot through his skull – other than that. Now if he could just get through the day without inspecting Lex's body. He looked up into the closet.

And froze.

"Holy shit, Lex!" Holy shit, indeed. The entire closet – which looked to be roughly the size of Clark's room – was filled, albeit neatly organized, with clothes. So many clothes. So many expensive clothes. Clark imagined that the money put into the purchase of these clothes could probably pay off the mortgage of his parent's house. Now that was a depressing thought. But he wasn't about to ponder such a depressing thought when he had Lex's current state of nakedness on the brain.

Quickly, Clark selected a pair of plain black slacks and a blue shirt (was that silk?). Now, if he knew where Lex kept the underwear, he'd be set.

Twenty minutes and several muttered curses later, Clark was fully dressed in Lex Luthor's clothing, and marveling just how very soft they felt against his skin. Clark had never really cared about money much. Sure, under the influence of the red meteor rock he'd gone completely crazy with his spending. But in general, the only times that he had really craved money had been when the farm was in financial trouble, the way it was now. Still, knowing money could buy clothes like these –

Clark winced, and not just because of the headache. He was caring about clothes now. Maybe his mind was turning into Lex's mind. Good God. It was strange to think about, to say the least. He walked over to a gilded mirror, and stared. He… Lex… whatever, looked totally exhausted. Dark circles cinched his eyes, and he was slouching.

Clark automatically straightened up, because that was how Lex was supposed to look. As though any moment the world might come to a fiery end and he'd still look good. Clark did wonder occasionally how Lex managed that, but it was a relief to know that it wasn't natural, whatever it was. He had a sudden overwhelming urge to check the bathroom again and see if Lex had make-up, but decided against it. His sanity was being pushed enough as it was.

Heading out the door and down the hall, he thanked himself for having wandered around the mansion enough (with or without Lex's permission) to not get lost, because really, if Lex got lost in his own castle then someone was bound to say something. He made it to the study, giving himself a mental pat on the back, and then leaning heavily against the doorframe as yet another wave of pounding pain to the temple passed through him.

What the hell was wrong with Lex, anyway?

The answer came in the form of not one, not two, but three bottles sitting mostly empty on the desk next to a closed laptop. The stuff was written in some foreign language or the other; maybe German, and Clark couldn't read it. Apparently being in Lex's body didn't help his intellectual faculties that much. But he was intelligent enough to figure out that it was alcohol, as if the horribly rancid smell didn't give that away. He'd been drinking, and heavily.

Way too heavily. Clark had this inkling, suddenly, that maybe this was vodka and didn't vodka have some outrageous amount of alcohol in it or something? He wished that he'd paid more attention to Pete and his brothers talking about the drinking that they often boasted of doing (lies, of course), because surely they had mentioned vodka at one point or the other. But he could hardly call up Pete, sounding like Lex, and ask him how much alcohol was in his drink.

Clark was beginning to feel panicky. He leaned over the desk, trying to assess the damage, and belatedly realized he probably shouldn't have done that when he began to lose his balance over a wave of nausea. His hands slammed down on the desk to keep himself from falling over, and he felt a sharp, searing pain in his right palm. He lifted it up, and was shocked to see a small (but still pretty damn sizable) piece of glass in it from a shattered third bottle. It looked – strange. Almost unreal, sitting in Lex's pale palm, blood beginning to drip. Like Jesus Christ, though Clark wasn't overly religious.

And then the pain hit him again, and he cursed LOUD, and ran-slash-stumbled to the bathroom, searching for disinfectant and calming himself because hadn't they used alcohol on wounds in the olden times, it wouldn't hurt him if it hadn't hurt them…

But damn, Lex. Maybe it wasn't vodka, because if it was, wouldn't Lex be dead by now?

Maybe he was trying to kill himself.

That thought sent a cold shiver coursing through his veins. That was absolutely ridiculous, because who had more to live for? But Lex was… sometimes he seemed so sad. Mostly when Clark made some bullshit remark saying no, no, I don't have powers and… But now Clark was feeling angry, because that would be just like Lex, wouldn't it? Not to give a damn about anyone else and put himself first and be selfish enough to try to kill himself by drinking! Now thoroughly pissed, Clark tightly bandaged his hand and left the study as it was, marching down to the garage and again bypassing any domestic help.

(part of Lex's plan while killing himself? Get them all out of the house?)

There were several cars to choose from; the place looked less like a garage and more like a new car salesplace or even a museum to every hot, foreign, crazy car out there. Despite his anger, Clark felt a brief thrill of pleasure at the idea of driving one of these babies. But his head hurt so much, and if he wasn't so sure Lex's body wasn't drunk anymore he wouldn't consider it, but he had to find Lex.

Especially if Lex was in his body. Of course, if he wasn't, they were in some seriously big trouble. But if he was, they were still in some seriously big trouble. Making a quick decision and going for the red Jag (so he liked red, so what?), he awkwardly manhandled himself in with his injured hand. But thankfully, Lex was shorter, and there wasn't that same struggle that Clark normally had getting into the tiny things. He pulled on the driving gloves, which he'd always thought looked really cool on Lex (and hid his bad hand).

But god, was it difficult to drive! So used to the truck, the expensive car's excellent handling system was too smooth for Clark-turned-Lex's farmboy hands. Heading toward his home, he was thankful again for the lack of traffic through Smallville. Hopefully Lex was still asleep if he was, at the moment, Clark, or he hadn't done anything which required using Clark's powers because… oh God…

He tried not to think about it and focused instead on his anger at Lex for drinking and doing this to himself. And when he spotted himself (Lex?) on the horizon, still twisting and turning in the car, he was just angry enough to summon a curse as he managed to stop on a dime and get out of the vehicle without throwing up again.

"Get in the fucking car." Lex-turned-Clark looked at him with wide-eyed astonishment.