FREAK

by Kitty Fisher

Sometimes he doubted that he was still alive. For whole spans of time he could honestly believe he was nothing. A mote in God's eye. A figment of his own imagination.

Curled against the wall, Lex flexed his aching hand and tried not to feel thirsty. His mouth was numb, almost alien in his face, and his skin was dry, like parchment under his touch. Today, as always, he'd drunk the water to the last drop and then licked the bowl dry, but there was never enough. Thirst was something he lived with. A need caused by heat, and by constant exhaustion. He was thirsty now, even when he could still taste the foulness of the water on his tongue.

The food shoved once a day into his cell was putrid; bowls of rank mush, unidentifiable. Water was just the same as was bartered for all over the city, filtered to clear the worst contaminants, yet still reeking of metals, sour on the tongue. Occasionally, he let himself remember the sweetness of pure water; like that of pleasure, it was a memory he tried not to indulge.

Aching in the marrow of every bone, he sat up, slowly, carefully, favoring his hand. The dizziness passed after a moment. Back propped against stained plaster, he pulled his knees up to his chest and curled his arms around them. Resting his head on his knees, he closed his eyes. In the speckled darkness he breathed gently, holding himself tight, the feel of his own arms around his body empty comfort.

There was never enough time to heal fully. Imagining a time when he hadn't hurt was close to impossible. But then, the past was a morass of indefinable images; a wide place he knew had existed, but perhaps for someone else. Someone, somewhere, who still possessed a name. Ah, there, he was feeling sorry for himself again. And there was no joy in that either. Despair was a slippery slope, and he had promised himself that he'd survive, sane. If the bastards ever decided to kill him, then he wanted to be able to look in their eyes and hate.

Maybe today. For he was healed enough to be entertainment for someone. A shiver made his fingers tighten their grip on his arms, nails digging into muscle. He allowed himself one hope — that it would be in private. Public display sickened him. Which was perhaps a gift, for it meant he was still human enough to feel shame.

Human. Well, he was. If you could be human when you lived like this. Sometimes he wondered. On the days when the dreams took him back, taunting him with memories of a place where Clark Kent still lived.

* * * * *

The gold changed hands quickly. A deal done in the shadows with someone who would have sold the skin off his own back, had anyone wanted it. Hiding his disgust, Clark watched Nathan's grubby hand as it took the rings, broken nails scrabbling at the jewellery, assessing weight, value, purity, with all the skill of an Oldworld pawnbroker. Clark watched the rings as they were pocketed, each one battered, unbeautiful, but their gold was still enough to buy a man.

He'd travelled half way across a continent, aiming single–mindedly for the sickly green glow on the eastern horizon. Emerald was visible for miles, with the Krypton shield that arced over the broken city acting as both a warning and a beacon. Alone, he'd walked through the checkpoints, breathing fear, yet no one questioned his right to be there. Though why should they? He was anonymous, disreputable, long blond hair in filthy locks dangling down his back, his brown eyes eager for everything the city had to offer a ragbag stranger with gold in his pocket.

Finding his way through the alleys and stinking hovels that had been fashioned from stone and brick wreckage had been harder. The streets were gone. Nothing made sense. By accident he'd found the remains of the Daily Planet. Dust to dust. Too many dead. He'd turned away, and followed the directions he'd been given. Rumor had brought him here. Rumor and desperation. A year of sleeping with meteorite dust, forcing his body to acclimatize. Just so he could do this.

For a rumor. But he'd followed leads less convincing than this one. If necessary, he'd follow a thousand more.

Boots thick with dust, his mouth covered by a sweat–sodden bandanna, he'd finally made it to Skintown. The place where human flesh could be sold for profit, and where a man could become a sideshow in a brothel. It hadn't taken him long to find Nathan — corruptibility was something he'd become adept at spotting. The deal had been done, arrangements made, and now he was back, at the appointed time, his gold deep in Nathan's second–hand pocket.

The man smiled with a leer that made Clark's belly twist. "One hour, maybe, that's all ya get."

Cold fear. He'd come too far, risked too much. "What!"

"Yeah, you know how it is..."

"Nathan, you cheating bastard." Clark forced himself to stay in role, to fight the fear that somehow all this could still go wrong. "You said this much gold would buy me a night." His raised voice echoed in the huge hall, startling him. He took a breath. "All night. We had a bargain."

Wet sniff and the man wiped his streaming nose on his shine–streaked sleeve. "That were this morning."

"And he is worth that much more now?" Clark took a step closer, his height enough to intimidate.

"Freak's wanted. A bossman from the Towers wants 'im, so he's got to be ready in an hour." The leer grew, and the man fingered his own crotch. "He gives a good show, does the Freak."

"I want my time. We had an agreement..."

"Hey, don't get all spooked up. I don't want no trouble."

There were guards watching them. Thugs. Clark dismissed them with a glance, though he backed away, showing himself as harmless. He wasn't here to cause trouble, he wasn't here as anything other than a customer. Make them think that. Make them believe it. Anything else was too risky. "I just want him for the time you agreed. A friend got him for a morning and didn't stop talking about it for a month." Ah, that was better. Salacious interest. Sympathy even. Clark bottled his despair and returned grin for grin.

"Heh, a recommendation! Well, you won't be disappointed." The smile faded as if it had never been plastered on the thin, sallow face. "But you still only get an hour."

"But..."

"An hour with the Freak. Or you could take one of the others, we've a lot of flesh, all tastes catered for, just like the sign says." A billboard half covering the shored–up front of broken Ionic columns. Skintown. Anyone would think flesh was cheap.

Clark took a breath, aiming for reason, for realism, while he tried to think a way through the setback. "OK, these others, any of them the same, you know...mutant. Like the Freak." He loaded the word with as much eagerness as he could manage. "Is it true — I hear you can hurt him, much as you like?"

Snigger of amusement. "Good looking guy like you, I ought to have guessed you'd want the nasty stuff. Betcha get as much tail as you want, why would ya pay for it?"

"Yeah. Come on, Nathan, help me out here. I want him, no one else. And I want my full time — you've got three ounces of pure there, I could buy a girl outright for that in the Meatmarket."

"Yeah. You could off her outright, too." Slight suspicion.

"Done it. Maybe once too often. Now I want something a bit... different. Like your Freak."

"Then you'd be better getting back here tomorrow." Suddenly the puffy eyes narrowed avariciously. "Unless you want the leavings?"

A muscle was pulsing in his neck. Clark pulled his coat collar up higher, tucking his bandanna inside. "The leavings?"

"The bossman don't want to do nothing fancy — he just wants to show off to some other rich types from the Towers." Nathan leaned in, his breath foul, as if loaded with contagion. "I'll get you in, for a little extra. You can watch from the Uppers, long as you're quiet, keep your head down. Then you can have the Freak when the show's over."

"I want him in private."

"Yeah, private as you like." Dry cough. "Usual rules, don't use a knife — or anything else — on his heart and don't chop off any body parts. Everything else is up to you."

Clark smiled — the smile he'd been practising ever since word had gone back West that Skintown had a mutant as a whore. A superfast healing, hairless mutant. The smile was like feeling someone else control his face. "Why d'ya think I'm so hot for it?"

"Yeah, thought so." A conspiratorial wink, then Nathan leaned in, his eyes were hot, eager, as he looked at Clark. "You wanna know something? They say he's a Luthor. The Luthor's son maybe. Fuck knows what he did to piss his old man off, eh?"

"Something pretty bad." Oh, God, Lex...

"You got it. We've had 'im two years. Orders are never to sell, not for any amount of gold — and we've been offered a load, I can tell you."

"I bet." Lex here. With men like this. Clark would have traded every future moment of strength, all of it, just to have power at that moment, for an hour. Less. Long enough to break the building down stone by stone and take Lex away.

"He's a good fuck though, I'll give 'im that."

Clark nodded. He couldn't throw up. "I want to see him, just to look at what he's like. Then if you can get me in to watch, there's another ounce for you."

"Right!" Another sniff. Nathan peered out into the street, the green light reflecting in his eyes. "Yeah, we've got an hour. Come on." He called over to one of the guards. "Jax, mind the shop — I won't be long." He walked off, a limp breaking the rhythm of his step. He was dressed in the remains of about four different uniforms; some of the stains were dark enough to be blood. "What's your name?"

"Tank."

" 'cos you're so big, heh?" A grin. "Come on."

The air stank of damp and the acridity of old piss. Clark followed across cracked marble to a wide stairway. A group of girls was huddled by the stair, skimpy clothes barely covering their thin, track–marked bodies. Clark ignored them; even when one lifted her skirt and made a lewd suggestion, he didn't stare. There'd been too many out on the streets to be sorry for these, who at least had shelter.

"Tarts." Nathan sniffed at them, though he smiled. He clearly enjoyed his job. "The best rooms are up here."

"Best rooms?"

"Secure, out of reach of the flooding. Big enough to play in, if you know what I mean."

"Sure."

They climbed upwards, the stairs curving gracefully up to the next landing. The balcony was shot to pieces, a man sat with his legs dangling off the edge, smoking a roll–up. Nathan nodded to him as he led Clark along a corridor, past a room, the door wide open, the murmur and hum of excitement peaking as they walked by. Clark paused, taken aback as he saw a girl on a makeshift stage. She was naked, young, her body an arch over a table as she was fucked by a dog. She was laughing, stroking the dog's ears, urging him on.

Backing away, Clark took a steadying breath. There was nothing he could do. He was too powerless here. Helpless while the green lights arced over the city. Swallowing, he turned. Cursed softly. Nathan was staring, avidly. Clark pulled his sleeve. "Come on. I'm wasting time."

Grumbling, the man limped on. The corridor led to a more secure area. Guards with bastardized submachine guns, a woman dressed in silk, lounging at a wide, pock–marked table. "Nathan." She nodded at them. "What're you up to?"

"Got a sightseer."

"Just looking?" she asked Clark, her eyes staring so hard he wondered about his colored contacts and the dye–job on his long hair.

"For now." A relieved look from Nathan, who clearly wouldn't be sharing his new–found wealth. Clark smiled at her. He could be charming. It was a skill not all the years of misery could erase. "Yeah, I heard about your star attraction. I'm wondering about making the investment and getting hands–on with him myself. But I want a look first."

"A taster. No touching — Nathan, make sure you keep an eye on things. We need the merchandise in good condition; the bossman's paying real well." She nodded. Looked at them and lifted her hand, allowing them through.

"Thank you, Dora."

"Isadora, Nathan. You know I hate my name being shortened."

"Yes, Isadora." He emphasized each syllable.

She smiled at him. "Fucker. Okay, ten minutes, max. We need to get him ready."

Following in Nathan's wake, Clark glanced behind him. Caught her still looking at him and quickly looked forward, staring at the patched black of Nathan's jacket. He relaxed slightly when they turned a corner into a corridor lined with thick metal doors, each one barred and bolted.

Two years. Two years in here. Being a freak. The Freak.

"Here you go." A bolt was slid back, then another, and Nathan pulled the door open.

A stifling smell — sour sweat and stale piss all laden over darker, more evil things he didn't want to identify. Clark ignored it, and stepped inside, pausing in the threshold when Nathan tugged his sleeve. "Get a nice taster, mate. Five minutes only mind, or the bitch out there'll be after me."

Clark nodded jerkily. He took another step into the room, flinching, turning as the door closed and a spy–slot snapped open and Nathan's greedy eyes peered through the gap.

Ignoring the watcher, Clark turned back, and looked into the cell. It was a wide room, high, maybe even once it had been elegant. Now it was a ruin — a filthy, crumbling hole in which to keep a man.

There was little in the room. A drain, shackles hammered high into one wall, and a bed. There, in the corner, was a naked body, curled on itself, unmoving since Clark had walked in.

The curve of naked scalp, the pale skin... Hope flared, vivid as pain.

Clark crossed the floor, his boots crunching on dirt and crumbling plaster, desperation a knot that tangled in his throat, trapped by the beating of his heart. The bed was simply a pallet with a stained mattress tossed onto it. The covers were a few crumpled and torn sheets. At its side, Clark crouched down, his long coat tails sweeping in the dust, his mind keening the sympathy he couldn't voice.

"Hey, Freak!" He couldn't allow his words to be kind, not with the watcher at the door.

Slowly, with infinite resignation, the naked man uncurled, and turned his face towards Clark. There was a moment when Clark couldn't actually think. As if reason had gone and he was finally, truly insane. From shock. From despair undone.

It was Lex.

Filthy and bruised and so thin that the bones of his face were stark beneath the skin. Yet, for all that, Lex. His Lex. Naked, treated as less than a dog, but alive. Alive. Clark was grinning, breathing hard. That the rumors had been true... He wanted to sob, to hold Lex in his arms and make elaborate promises about how he would never be hurt again, but all he could do was crush the need.

"Come on, Freak, let's look at you." Flinching skin. Fuck, he'd become too good at acting. A touch to one shoulder, its gentleness hidden from the doorway.

Pushing up, propped on one arm, the prisoner stared at his visitor. It took a long moment, but Clark saw the first signs of suspicion. The distant, terrible beginnings of hope. Lex swallowed, staring at Clark's eyes. He was frowning, as if reaching for a memory. "Cla..."

Clark quickly touched his hand to Lex's mouth, stilling it. "I'm just visiting, Freak. I'll be back later to do you some real favors."

Realization like a shot of electricity. Suddenly the filthy, damaged body was rippling with tension. "No... can't be." The words slurred against Clark's hand.

"You think I won't be back? Well think again, whore. I'll be here — later tonight."

Then Clark sat back, and slapped the prisoner, knocking him back into the wall. Quickly straddling the body, he leant down, mouth to ear. "Lex, I'm sorry, I had to be certain. I'll be back later, to get you out of here."

"But... you're dead!" A harsh whisper, mouthed against Clark's skin.

"No." Clark smiled suddenly, and saw the answering flare in Lex's dull grey eyes. "I'm alive. Promise."

And shoving his fist into Lex's face, he stood up, to walk away without once looking back.

The door opened. Grinning face, peering around, then the doorman spat into the cell. "Nice. Shame you want to be private."

"I do. And I've paid for it, Nathan, don't forget."

"Oh, no, I won't." Ingratiating nod, and the door was locked again.

Clark struggled for normality. "OK, so where do I wait for this entertainment to begin?"

"There's a canteen, if you want slop?"

"Sure."

"Then I'll show you where to watch from — you'll get a bird's–eye view of everything they do to 'im. Sometimes I get off just from watching, the bossmen are fucking inventive bastards."

"Great." He didn't want to watch. But he owed it to Lex, to know, to understand. And when, one day, he came back here, he'd know exactly who to kill.

* * * * *

Nausea sent him retching to the open drain. His belly churning on air, spilling nothing but the thinnest bile.

Clark was alive.

Clark. Which meant everything he'd been told was a lie. God, but his family knew how to hurt him. Hardly surprising. Sickening, yes, but why he should be surprised at that was a mystery. Clark was alive, which meant Superman was alive. Resistance would be there, outside Emerald. The world was not lost.

Standing, he rested against the wall. His face felt odd. After a moment he realized he was smiling. Lex wiped his hand over his mouth, dabbing it with his fingers. Yes, a smile. He wondered if it looked as odd as it felt. And a fresh bruise. One so unlike all the others that he wanted to kiss it. Settled on licking it instead.

Clark. The weight of his body, even for just those few seconds. Delight, joy unlike anything he had ever known.

He stumbled back to the mattress, and paused. But...

What if he was dreaming?

Rocking slowly back and forth, Lex clawed at the sheets. His brain couldn't be that cruel. He hadn't hallucinated for a long time. Not like this. Not since Superman had been killed, his mangled body dragged through what was left of the city's streets. His head hung from a hook on the side of LuthorCorp Tower and left there to rot. They'd taken Lex to see it. And his father had laughed when he had cursed them. His brother had simply whispered obscenities in his ear. That had been the last time he'd been outside. How long ago? He wasn't certain he could guess at all.

Clark was going to get him out of here. If Clark was alive. But...

Lex peered up through the tiny square of window not boarded–up, into the sky that shone as green as finest emerald. The color that had named the city. The shield that was poison to Superman, and to Clark Kent. Lionel had said that the shield was left up because it had become a symbol of victory over Superman and the resistance. It had seemed so plausible.

Another lie?

He shivered, staring at the sky in misery, for even if it was Clark, there was little chance of escape. Unless Clark wasn't Clark, and this was another, elaborate charade intended to break him. Lex stilled, staring into nothing. If this was a game, then maybe his father would have his wish and there'd be little left of his mind afterwards. If this was a lie... But, it might be the truth — he wanted, needed it to be the truth. Clark. Braving weakness and capture, to find him. Clark, his hands, his eyes, even if the color was wrong. With long hair. Blond. A disguise even Martha might have found hard to penetrate, had she lived to see it. Clark come to find him...foolish. Foolish. Lionel couldn't have dreamed this up. He couldn't. Please. That was something worth praying for.

Lex jumped as the door bolts rattled back. Scrambling to his feet he stood against a wall, fingernails scratching at the loose paint–flakes, watching as his captors slammed into the cell.

"Come on, Freak. Time to pay our wages..."

Two guards, nameless, and Nathan, swaggering as he walked over to him, lifting his hand, stroking it down the vulnerable skin of Lex's head. "I hear they're really hot for you tonight — lucky Freak!"

"Take my place, Nathan, you're welcome."

Stinking breath, laughter that showed the broken mess of his teeth. Nathan patted him. "No, but I might come and watch. I like it when they fuck you best. You're so pretty when you scream."

Lex blinked slowly, staring into Nathan's eyes. Then, without resistance, he held out his wrists, not even flinching when Nathan clipped the metal cuffs on tight. Nathan frowned at him. "Come on, time to get clean. Got a treat for you tonight, some bossman rich bastard — friend of your daddy's too." At that he cheered up, and laughed at Lex's instant, undeniable reaction. Maybe it was even funny. "Betcha love it really."

Hands pawing him, pulling him out into the corridor. Sometimes they made him suck them all before he went on show. Not tonight. Another mercy.

But if Clark had been an illusion... A lie.

That stopped his feet. A curse, a fist in his back propelling him forward, and into a room he knew very well.

He didn't even have time to breathe — then the high–pressure hoses were turned on him. Eyes snapping shut, he gasped as the jets scraped him clean, shuddering under the impact that battered him from all sides, that forced itself into his mouth and nose, ears too. Rushing, terrifying thunder of water beating onto him, onto the walls, the floor. Chemical stink, solvents stinging his body. Better than the filth he was coated in. He choked as liquid sluiced into his nostrils. Finally the hoses were all shut off. Silence, apart from the drip, drip of water. Lex stood, breathless, his fingers held over his streaming eyes.

He was still soaking wet when they took him out of the room. So many more corridors, he walked quickly, bare feet slapping on the boards as they passed groups of men, a few women; a handful of kids, most of them without clothing of any kind. They all stared at him. He tried not to notice. Naked was the best disguise. Who had said that? Idiot.

One of the grand rooms — no expense spared then. A bossman, Nathan had said. Rich, powerful. It would be a joke if tonight was the night his father had decided was to be his last. When maybe, wondrously, there were possibilities.

They unsnapped the cuffs from his wrists, and then knocked on the door. It opened inwards. A man, his neck ringed with gold, eyed the prisoner. "He's wet."

"We cleaned him up for you. All part of the service."

"Yeah, right. Is he ready?"

"What d'you expect, a fucking ribbon? Course he's ready — aren't ya?"

No. He wasn't. Lex wanted to close his eyes and dream of Clark. Instead he was pushed forward, the door slamming closed behind him.

Muted lighting showed a room, high–ceilinged, wide, a minstrels' gallery running high along one wall. The others were painted with obscene murals. He knew them very well; he'd stared at them many times. He'd never gotten to like them. They provided far too much inspiration for his hosts.

Lex swallowed, glancing once at the wide bed, then quickly away, focussing on the men, three of them including the guard, one of them seated, important, with a boy curled beside him. They were all silent, staring at him. The room vibrated with energy; a sickening mix of anticipation and eagerness. Maybe something like hatred too. Standing naked before them, Lex understood enough to be very wary. This wasn't a drunken party of Tower boys out for a perverse time slumming it in Skintown. This was something else. Something that made his skin crawl, even before anyone had touched him.

A hand shoved into his back. Stumbling, pushed onward, he ended standing unsteadily by a large couch, facing the elderly man who sat waiting for him.

"Thank you, Toby."

"No problem, sir." Glancing to his side, Lex caught the man smiling. He had gold teeth in amongst the yellowed whites.

A cough, phlegm–laden, ugly, then with a grunt, the old man shifted, and Lex looked at him. Dressed in Oldworld clothes, smooth, clean, wearing dark glasses over his eyes. There was no doubting he was the power in the room.

"Toby, make him kneel."

Grabbed, shoved forwards, pushed onto his knees, Lex knelt, face tilted to the floor.

"Look at me, Lex Luthor."

Not 'Freak', but his name. All the unease coalescing into bitter, cold fear, Lex swallowed. Very slowly, he raised his eyes, hating that his breath was quickening, and that a pulse was beating, fast and irregular, in his throat.

"Ah, yes, you're afraid!" The old man was smiling. He lifted one hand and touched a finger to Lex's cheek. "I'm so pleased." Dry laughter, and the hand stroked up, over Lex's scalp, his dry fingertips like spiders walking on Lex's skin. "Lionel's son, scared as a girl."

"Julian thought you'd like him." Another voice. Concentrating on not throwing up, Lex couldn't look.

"I do, Jadi, I do! And he's kept locked up here. All this time and I never had any idea." He shook his head slowly, sadly.

"I'm glad I could be the one to show you."

"You'll be well rewarded."

"Thank you. He's such a weird thing — completely hairless, can you believe."

"They don't shave him at all?"

"Apparently he was a freak back in Oldworld, too." The man who answered walked forward, sick amusement in his voice. Lex glanced at him, what was his name? Jadi. Another bossman, but this one was young, heavyset, so packed with muscle the arms of his shirt were straining at the seams. Lex had to fight with himself not to flinch.

Another cough. "And he looks so young — do you know how old he is?"

"Older than Julian — forty–something?"

"And he looks no more than early twenties."

"They think he won't age at all. LuthorCorp did every test they could think of, but they couldn't pin down why. Something to do with the mutation that makes him heal so fast, but nothing that could be bottled."

"No wonder Lionel Luthor hates him..." Lex flinched, hating himself for the weakness. "See that? He doesn't like to hear that name. Shame. Daddy's getting old, Lex. You should see him — the wheelchair is getting harder to deal with every day. And then there's Julian — I don't suppose you like him much either." A liver–spotted hand stroked Lex's face. "Yet brothers should love each other. I hear Julian enjoys his visits here, very much. Do you enjoy them too?" Another stroke of dry fingers on his cheek, disgust like a memory, walking up Lex's spine. "Talk to me. Now!"

The hand suddenly wrapped around his jaw, squeezing viciously. Lex groaned softly, tongue working helplessly as he tried to speak. The man was laughing, then he just pushed Lex away, hard enough to send him sprawling onto his back.

"So, what else makes this the most expensive whore Skintown has to offer?"

"You can do anything. Come back in a couple of days and do it again. That — and his name. I was talking to one of the controllers here, and he said most people, they get a kick out of who he is. What he was."

"Freedom fighter." The words were spat.

"And Superman's lover."

"Ah, yes..." Interest. Vile, obscene. Lex bit down on the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to appear calm. "What was he like? Was he a superfuck?"

Laughter. Ass licking, sycophantic laughter from Jadi and Toby. The boy hardly stirred.

"Come on, Freak, you can tell us." A boot, nuzzling at his shoulder. Lex looked up, seeing jeans, excitement: the bulge in his pants was quite clear. "Or we can make you."

Lex shook his head mutely. He rolled away, fast, as the man kicked down with his boot. Not fast enough. It caught him hard on the shoulder.

"Jadi, now look, you've hurt him." The older man, arousal thickening his voice.

"Mr Gant, that's only the beginning."

Curling away, holding his shoulder, Lex breathed hard through his nose. Gant. Not a name he knew. But there had been a lot of changes. Pogroms, reforms, cleansing. All before the world finally blew itself to smithereens. And he'd been away from the city a long time by then.

His thoughts scattered as the next kick caught him hard in the ribs.

"Pull him up, Toby, I want to look at the Luthor black sheep." The guard grabbed him immediately, dragged him onto his feet, arms wrenched behind him. Panting, teeth biting down on the pain from his side, Lex forced himself to be still.

The old man leant forward. Inspecting. After a moment, he nodded. "It makes him look younger — being hairless."

"He's not pretty, though." Disparaging look from a man fully dressed, clean, probably smelling of soap. Lex couldn't hide his scorn. "And he's not broken."

"No, he isn't — make him kneel." Lex knelt. The impact of his knees on the floor was hard enough to rattle the window–frames. He was held still while the old man leaned over him, frowning. "Are you still unbroken, Freak?" A shake of his head, light catching on the cropped, grizzled hair. Gant pulled off his dark glasses, and stared deep into Lex's eyes. "Then you're going to know what we're doing and you're going to be sane enough to hate it. I'm pleased you're not broken. Though breaking you might become my new hobby." He smiled, breath scented of mint and age. "Jadi, Jadi, you're such a good boy for arranging this. Isn't he, Freak?"

Lex was silent too long. A hand clasped tight around his balls. "I, no..."

"Oh, you do talk." Squeeze. Lex gasped. "What don't you like? This?" Hard, twisting grip that shot pain right up Lex's spine. "That it, no more words? Then we'd better find a use for your mouth. Hadn't we?"

A hand slapped the back of Lex's head, and he stared down, seeing the purple shine of his flesh as old fingers squeezed it. Lex shuddered, a moan trapped deep in his throat. A finger lifted his chin. Slowly, he met the watery blue eyes staring hungrily at him.

"Jadi, you can play with him. Hurt him first, before you sample that generous Luthor mouth."

The hands let him go. Relief so sweet it almost hurt washed through Lex. Panting, sweat dripping down his skin, Lex watched as Gant sat back, crossing his legs as he wiped his fingers on an immaculate square of white linen. Folding the handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket, Gant rested his hands in his lap, looking for all the world as if he was waiting for the show to begin.

"Yeah, it'll be a pleasure." Jadi stepped forward, he was grinning. A hand slapped Lex's face, not even hard, just a casually brutal warning. "Though hurt me, and I'll fuck you with a knife, see how long your precious body takes to heal from that!"

Three weeks. Though that memory Lex kept to himself. He nodded instead. Survival was something that left no dignity; he had learned that a long time ago. He'd fuck them all. Suck them, play the whore. If he earned himself a few less broken bones from that, so much the better. Pain was something he had never quite gotten used to. It was a fresh surprise, every time.

Lex rubbed his thumb on his thigh. This moment, just before. It was almost the worst. Almost, though he could never say for certain. But the knowing — while he was still aware enough to understand everything in detail. He caught Gant smiling at him, and turned his head, seeing Jadi stripping off his shirt, the guard undressing.

He stayed kneeling until the two men simply lifted him, their hands sliding under his arms, hoisting him. Tall as he was, he felt dwarfed by them. Big men, well fed. Maybe that was the difference. They tossed him onto the bed, where he hardly bounced, the mattress thin, hard as stone. Immediately he began to turn, hating being on his belly. But they stopped him, pushed him down. Sweating, he pressed his face to the sheet, held still by their hands. There was little noise as they bound him, the cuffs already in place around the bed. The leather was stained. He wondered how much of the blood was his own.

Stretched wide, his head was turned to face left. Jadi, half dressed, smiling. His hands caressed a long, coiled whip. "My toy. You like?"

Lex tried to shake his head. He stared at the leather. Stared at it and couldn't imagine the pain it could cause. Suddenly he knew he couldn't afford to think, to imagine. He needed distance, or Gant would get his way. The thought was terrifying. He couldn't break. Not now. Not after so long. Not when...

No! That was something else he couldn't hope for, or think about, or dream. If there was to be anything of Lex Luthor left after this session, then he could only exist in the space of each breath. Now, this moment. It was all he was. Everything else was a luxury. And he couldn't afford them. Not one.

"I won't hurt you too much. Just soften you — for fucking."

He wanted to argue, to say they could fuck him as he was. But his mouth was frozen. He could only stare.

"Five lashes to begin, then we fuck you." Jadi leaned forward, he was smiling. "After that, then we'll just start again." He touched the whip to Lex's lips. "Kiss her."

He couldn't. Couldn't. The leather stank of old blood. Of pain. A fist punched him, hard, in the side. Lex groaned, his mouth opening.

"Kiss her!"

Gasping, he pressed his lips to the obscenity.

"Yeah. And you'll do that every time."

Every time. Lex shivered, and closed his eyes as the whip unfurled.

* * * * *

"Walk quiet, okay, Tank?"

Clark nodded. His heart was pounding in his throat. He wasn't sure if he could manage the task he had set himself. Eating alone, he'd almost choked on the bowl of stew, emotion clogging his throat. Seeing Lex alive. The reality was overwhelming —

Clark jumped when Nathan tugged his sleeve. "What?"

"Nervy. Looking forward to this aren't you?" God, that grin. The extra gold had made Nathan a very happy man.

"Yeah." Clark took a long breath, grinned the grin. "Looking forward to all of it."

"Come on."

Up a narrow, winding stairway, their boots scuffing in the dust underfoot. Listening, Clark could hear music — off–key singing. There were other sounds too, ones he didn't want to understand.

"How far we going?"

"Told you to be quiet!" Nathan turned quickly, whispering, fast and low. Clark jerked his head once in agreement. "Through this door. Keep your head down, watch through the gaps in the banisters. If they see you, then you'll get thrown out. When they're done with 'im, come back here. Wait for me. If anyone asks what yer up to, tell 'em you're lost — get yerself back down to the canteen, I'll find yer there. Alright?"

"Done."

"Good, now go and enjoy yourself." Nathan patted his inside pocket. "You've earned it." And he turned and jogged back down the stairs.

Clark put his hand on the door, pushed gently. The hinges were oiled, probably so Nathan and his like could sneak up here and watch the private groups. Clark crouched down as the door swung slowly inwards. A glance back and then he moved into the stifling heat of a narrow gallery. Voices were rising from the well of the room. He found a gap in the worm–eaten wood and peered down.

Pain was something Clark was beginning to understand. In Emerald, he lived with it, understood it. Every breath, every movement he took in the city made him ache. But none of it, not even the first few weeks when he had whimpered through every night, the Kryptonite dusting his sheets poisoning him steadily until his body began to acclimatize, was anywhere near as appalling as what was happening in the room. What Lex was enduring. Had endured.

In any other place in the universe he would have snapped whatever he was clutching. Here, his knuckles went white, and the wood creaked as he stared down at horror.

Lex was naked, spread wide, chained. There were weals curling around his body, each one welling dark red, evil.

Slowly releasing the wood, Clark clasped his hands, knotting the fingers together as if that alone was enough to keep him from leaping over the balcony — and getting them both killed for his efforts. Patience. After all this time he should understand that at least. He knelt, as much in supplication as need. And watched as a man dressed only in jeans lifted a long whip, and brought it down with wicked skill onto Lex's back.

Hands pressed tight to his mouth, teeth gnawing his own flesh, Clark heard the crack of leather on flesh echo harshly through the room. Heart hammering in his ribs, he watched as the long, pale body jerked and shuddered.

Clark tried to breathe evenly. He bit down hard, certain he had made a sound, even though through all of it Lex had not. But Lex did when they untied him. When they unsnapped the cuffs and turned him onto his back. He cried out then, arching, trying to lift his raw skin off the sheets.

Clark tasted blood. He didn't even notice it was his own.

The whip was tossed aside. Rocking on his heels, Clark watched the man strip off his trousers. He was erect, aroused by Lex's pain. Squeezing his eyes shut, Clark fought with himself. He'd wanted to know. To understand. But surely this was enough? He couldn't stay. Couldn't.

A laugh made him jerk his eyes open. The man, the one who had whipped Lex, had moved to kneel over Lex's mouth. He was forcing his cock inside.

Two years. Of this. Clark couldn't imagine his own sanity lasting longer than a few months.

Flicking his glance to one side, Clark watched an old man beckon to a boy, who knelt between thin legs and began to unfasten the buttoned fly. Drawing out a shrivelled, almost flaccid penis, he began to suck enthusiastically. Clark watched the bobbing head. It was easier than watching Lex. He hadn't known he was a coward. But he was.

Fighting, steeling his nerve, Clark looked back at the bed. The other man, already naked, had moved to between Lex's thighs. He lifted them, awkwardly, his hard cock nudging at Lex's exposed skin.

Clark closed his eyes. Sickened, he knelt, head resting on splintered wood. The men were laughing. He held his hands over his ears and kept still. There was no god left he could pray to, but he swore, cursed, hated. At a sound of pain, he looked up sharply. Saw Lex being fucked hard, his body struggling, muscles taut as he was treated as nothing more than meat.

At that moment, Clark knew he should never have watched this. Wiping his eyes, he began to crawl to the door. He moved slowly, careful not to make any noise. The door opened smoothly, and he scurried through, closing it behind him with unsteady hands, trying not to hear the obscene sounds that followed him. That would follow him, he was sure, for as long as he lived.

* * * * *

Lex shivered as he was dragged off the bed. Consciousness wavered as he was pulled to his feet, then it steadied. He wouldn't faint. Not yet. He knew his own limits far too well. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he looked blearily at Jadi — he was re–coiling the whip. The thick leather was staining his hands red. Vaguely, Lex wondered what animal the thing had been made for. It could kill a human. He wondered if it had.

The boy was pushed aside as Lex was dropped at Gant's feet. Catching his breath, Lex stared at the floor, trying to think through the pain; to be more than the sum of the whip marks that flamed around his back. Then he felt a touch. Looking up sharply, he saw Gant's hand tracing patterns on his skin. The old man looked very happy.

"Turn around, Freak. I want to see the whip–marks."

Fear, cold and merciless, trickling into his veins like ice water.

He couldn't turn. Couldn't move. In the end the guard dragged him around, making him whimper like a child, breath trapped in his lungs.

Lex moaned softly, deep in his throat, his teeth clenched tight as Gant bent towards him, breath hot and eager on his skin. Then a finger jabbed into a weal. Lex arched, but was held still, Toby's hands tight on his shoulders. Very slowly the pain in Lex's back expanded, swallowing him whole, as with deliberation, with unmistakeable pleasure, each mark was probed, stroked, opened further. A fingertip dabbled in wetness, the sound very loud. Blood. Lex bit down on his lip, closing his eyes tight, every muscle taut, quivering as Gant played. The darkness was dark red. He was bleeding. They'd whipped him. Fucked him. He remembered. He did...

Then the fingers did something. It hurt enough to make him flinch forwards, almost slipping from the guard's grip.

"I told you to hold him still!"

This time he was. The guard simply gripped his wrists, pulling them up, twisting them until he couldn't move without risking dislocating an elbow or a shoulder. Kept still, he bit his tongue, focussing on that, on the tiny pain, on the fact that his mouth tasted of stale sex and fresh semen. It was better than thinking of the old man stroking his open skin. And how much he was enjoying it.

"Jadi, this is beautiful work."

"Thank you." Oh, they were so damned polite. "He sucks cock better than a whore — you should try him."

The finger stilled. "Or..." It sounded as if Gant was smiling. "Stand him up, I want to see his genitals."

Manhandled onto his feet, Lex stood, was turned, held in place with his arms behind his back. He glanced at the boy, seeing the glassy blankness of drug–induced happiness. For a moment he wished blindly that he was high, that his body was reacting as if it belonged to someone else. Then the boy nuzzled the old man's shoulder. Like a pet. And Lex remembered why he needed his mind. Why the drugs fucked with his head worse than any sadist. Though perhaps even in that he could be proved wrong.

"Shan, come here." Eagerly, the boy knelt, rubbing his face on the offered hand. "Suck the Freak's cock. I want him hard."

Hardly any hesitation, then the boy's mouth was on him. Lex struggled once, then held still. The boy was good. Though not good enough to raise the dead. Lex simply stood in the guard's grip, and sweated, feeling the itch of blood drying on his skin.

Time slipped away. Then he jerked, sharp teeth drawing him back. Looking down, Lex could see fear replacing the eagerness in the painted face that sucked at him. It was almost enough to arouse pity. But not quite. Certainly not enough to make him feel. Though the pretty mouth was good, making soft wet sounds as it sucked, and the tongue wriggled and worked vigorously around him. Lex could appreciate skill, even if he couldn't quite transmute that appreciation into anything else.

But then the boy slid his hand between Lex's thighs, and pushed two long fingers into his ass. Easy slide, spunk as lube and his asshole already stretched and open. Nails scraped over his prostate. No signals fed into his head, just to his cock. Reaction, simply that. It was enough to make his face burn, even though he knew all the physiological reasoning.

Triumph in the boy's eyes, and amusement around him. Humiliation, what fun. The room swum, and Lex gasped as his arms were twisted. The sharp pain steadied him, clearing his vision.

The fingers inside him were pressing hard. Lex looked down, and watched his own cock swell. He caught his breath, a trickle of sweat dripping from his face down onto the boy's cheek. There was little doubt he would come if this continued. Numb indifference wouldn't stop that. Nor pain. He groaned...

"Enough." Blinking, Lex flickered his gaze up to Gant. The thin lips were wet, as his tongue flickered over them again and again. "Let me see."

The boy scampered to one side. Lex inspected himself. There were rings of sparkly pink around his shaft. Incongruous. As was having a hard–on while you dripped blood onto the floorboards. The room was wavering again, and Lex knew he would have fallen if the guard hadn't been holding him quite so firmly.

Gant's finger stroked him and he jerked, trying to flinch away from the wrinkled, bloodstained hand. "Hold him tighter."

Groaning, Lex slowly lifted his head. Jadi was there, big and strong; his skin flecked with dark pinprick marks of drying blood, one hand cupped around the weight of his freshly aroused cock. He was watching avidly. Helplessly, Lex let his head drop. The boy was back between the old man's legs, his mouth tight around sagging balls. Lex licked his dry lips. He was still quite hard. Curious.

Then he saw what Gant was holding.

"Hey, he's losing it!"

Laughter. "Maybe he needs more encouragement." Edging forward, Gant pulled Shan's head up by his long, beaded hair, smiled into his flushed face. "Get your fingers back inside him, boy, don't let him soften."

Lex, his eyes fixed on the metal–tipped flail glinting in Gant's hand, was hardly aware as the boy crawled forwards on his hands and knees. His anus spasmed when the boy shoved his fingers back into him, and that was enough to make him gasp. Warily, he lifted his head, and stared helplessly into old, rheumy eyes.

"Freak." The grey head nodded, happy. Gant was salaciously intent as he moved forward, sitting on the edge of his seat, his knees apart, his cock a stubby spear, thrusting up through his open fly. "Lionel's freak son."

Gant raised his hand, showing off what he held. He swished its tails back and forth sharply. The metal–weighted ends whistled through the air. Lex jerked. Despite the pressure on his prostate his cock faltered. "Scared, little freak?"

A new horror to add to all the old. Lex was panting, sweat cold on his upper lip, stinging his eyes. He couldn't even shake his head in denial. Couldn't do anything but imagine.

"I want you to scream for me. And I don't think you'll do that easily."

Oh, he would. If he'd known that was what the bastard wanted he'd have screamed hours ago.

A dry hand clasped his cock, thumb scraping over the glans. Lex gulped in air as his vision blurred, then sharpened again. The long silver handle scraped down his shaft, a sharp edge sliding on his skin, blood beading in its wake.

Gant was humming to himself. His fingers vicious, gripping tight enough to leave marks. Lex watched the flail. Watched the cold, spiked tips trace delicately on his skin. He thought perhaps he was sobbing.

"Ah, yes..." Gant, sighing at his fear.

Lex wanted to be dreaming. To wake, back in his cell, Clark at his side, lifting him and carrying him away.

Wishes were worth less than his blood.

Gant grabbed Lex's cock–head. He was smiling, his mouth open, lips wet with excitement as he pushed Lex back, positioning him, the flail swinging in his hand.

The first blow was so fast, Lex had screamed before he registered why. Metal knotted into leather, hooking his genitals, curling between his legs. He would have fallen, but Jadi was there, holding one arm, the guard moving to the other. Suspended between them, Lex dully lifted his head.

Gant smiled, and with a twist of his wrist, let the flail fly again. He was groaning when Lex screamed brokenly.

Gasping, breath so tight he thought he might asphyxiate, Lex licked his dry lips. His throat was raw. Pain was swallowing him like a mouth, dark and hot.

"Yes... go on, scream again, Freak."

Hooks ripping his flesh, Lex obliged, his mind scarcely processing the spatter of semen on his skin as the old man came, grunting like an animal.

They must have let him fall, for Lex found himself with his cheek pressed to the dusty wooden floor. He knew they fucked him again, but the knowing was more a faint recollection than an immediate reality. After that he lay quite still for a long time. Only stirring when sudden pain rippled through him. After a moment he realized a boot was nudging his cock. Slowly he lifted his gaze, forcing himself to look up, seeing denim on long legs, a belt. Higher, there was a smiling face. Lex looked into Jadi's eyes and shivered.

He rolled his head aside. The boot tapped again and he gasped as pain shot through his clouded awareness.

Gant was laughing. Lex thought that they had to be talking about him. Focus. He managed it, watching as Gant stood up and walked over to look down.

"Lex, that was a most diverting evening."

Oh, yes. Diverting. Lex shivered, and tried to sit up. A boot slammed him back into the floor. Lying back, he stared up hazily at the men, his fingers scraping rhythmically over roughened wood.

"I must thank Julian." Gant was so happy. "And maybe one day, we can share a session with you. Would you like that, Freak?"

No. Lex breathed softly, shallowly. Were they going now?

A darkly grinning face loomed over Lex. Jadi, crouching at his side. "I'd be there, even watching would be a privilege, Mr Gant."

"Jadi, you flatter me." Gant, patting a solid shoulder, smiled.

"No, this was... amazing." Jadi lifted Lex's cock; grinning when Lex arched up, pain making him groan. "That flail — I've never seen anything quite so vicious."

"Thank you, I had it made to my own specifications. Perhaps I'll have one made for you, then we can come back here and try out your new toy."

"That would be perfect!"

"One good turn deserves another, Jadi."

They were coming back. In his head he was screaming abuse at them all, but his lips only parted softly as he gasped, fast and shallow.

"Good night, Freak. Come along, Shan, time to go home."

"Yeah, good night." And Jadi squeezed. His fingers clawing, twisting.

Lex may have screamed, he wasn't sure. After that there was nothing, and he was sobbing as he shuddered into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

Nathan patted Clark on the shoulder, and grinned up at him. "Here you go. Don't forget — I'll be back at dawn."

They had taken a different route, but ended up back in the corridor of grey steel doors. Clark nodded to Nathan. "Thanks."

"They, er, were a bit rough on 'im. Hope you get yer kicks okay."

Such care. "I'll be just great."

"Okeydokey. Oh, and you won't be able to get out until I open the door. Expect you won't be bored though." He laughed; his breath stank of onions and stale alcohol.

"No, I don't suppose I will." Lex was on the other side of the door. Clark could hardly breathe.

The bolts slid back. Nathan stood aside as the door swung open. "Enjoy."

Clark nodded once, then stepped into the cell. He heard the door slam, listened to the blots being rammed home. Waited until Nathan's footsteps receded down the corridor.

Then he allowed himself to look. Insipid light spilled from the recessed overhead and a faint green tinge was cast over everything from the high, barred window. The filth — same as he remembered. And on the floor — the floor for fuck's sake, as if they couldn't be bothered to drag the inert body to the bed — was Lex. Crumpled, broken, his body curled on one side.

Stomach twisting, Clark took the five steps across the room and knelt.

"Lex?" Clark whispered the name. His hands were reaching, hesitating over torn skin, and he hardly knew where to touch, where to begin, how to lift Lex up without inflicting more pain. In the end he was whimpering when he slid his hands under chilled skin. Turning Lex, easing him over, he held him close, folded into his arms, and slowly stood up, his fingers slipping on fresh blood as he carried the unconscious body to the bed. Settling Lex carefully, he eased him partially onto his side, trying to keep his back away from the filthy sheets.

After what felt like a lifetime of war, and worse, Clark hadn't thought he could still be sickened by what humans were capable of. But this was Lex. And nothing he had dreamed of — had nightmares of — came close to this.

Limb by limb Clark checked for broken bones, all the while cursing the poison that stole his x–ray sight. There was a softness over the right ribs that made him hiss, but otherwise the rest were intact. All the damage was to skin and muscle. Though when he realized why there was so much blood caked around Lex's groin, Clark was almost sick. He sat back on his knees. His hands were shaking. He held them out and stared at them, in the Krypton–tinted light the blood looked purple. He squeezed his fingers into fists, and then let them fall, uncurling slowly.

At least he had water. The flask was on a strap around his body. He tugged it off, and looked for something to use as a cloth. In the end he tugged his shirt out of his pants and ripped a section from the hem. Even after weeks of travelling, it was cleaner than the sheets. Sliding the cork free, he soaked the cotton, then leaned forward and began to clean Lex's face. Everything else would have to wait; he didn't have the resources or the time. What he needed was Lex, awake, aware.

All the injuries would heal. A mantra for sanity, Clark repeated the words again and again. Lex would heal.

But... Now, like this? It hardly seemed conceivable.

He was cleaning Lex's mouth when the unconscious man began to stir. Clark shifted, needing Lex to know he was safe. "Lex?"

A stillness. Clark watched as Lex froze, like a fox scenting the hounds.

"Lex, it's me, Clark!" He wrapped his hand around Lex's fingers. The visible fear eating at his gut. That Lex should be like this... There wasn't justice enough in the entire universe to make amends. "Lex, please, it's me..." A long, still moment, then he saw Lex swallow. A moment more and then pain–dulled eyes were looking at him. "Lex..."

The eyelids closed for a brief flicker, then Lex opened them again, narrowing them as he peered up. "Clark? You look... diff'rent."

"My hair's colored. Contacts to make my eyes brown." He shrugged. "But it is me."

"Thought...was dreaming..."

"No. I'm here." Clark almost wept as Lex's fingers flexed. "And I've got some water."

"Oh..." Lex licked at his dry, cracked lips.

"You'll have to sit up." Clark shifted, putting the flask and cloth down. Then he crouched beside Lex and helped ease him upright, Lex pushing with his feet until he was leaning one shoulder against the wall. When he was still, he was panting with exertion, his face sheened with sweat.

"Here." Clark picked up the flask. "It's okay." He cursed softly as Lex coughed, then eased himself more onto his side, his legs pulling upwards.

"'m, fine..."

"Yeah? You look just dandy."

Something that might almost have been amusement. "Better... already. Clark..." And Lex smiled, his lips twisting, the gesture unmistakable. Then the shadow was back behind his eyes, despair darkening his gaze. "Even if you're not real."

"Lex." Clark almost cringed. "Please believe me, you're not dreaming!"

"Maybe."

Clark took a breath. "Here, take a drink." He held the flask to Lex's mouth, tilted it. Watched as Lex sipped slowly, his hand lifting to touch Clark's wrist. He drank as if every drop was precious. Clark wondered how often the bastards who owned him bothered to let Lex drink. He could rarely have eaten if the thinness of his body was anything to go by.

Shallow, uneven breaths as Lex swallowed and licked his lips. He closed his eyes, head resting on bare plaster. His face was tight with pain, skin white, sickly in the dull, green–tinted light. His hand still clasped Clark's. After a little while it squeezed, lightly. "I saw you. You were... dead."

"No. They must have wanted to hurt you by saying that."

"I saw you. Dead. They made me watch."

Clenching his teeth, Clark wondered if his jaw would shatter. He wondered how long Lex had believed that his lover was dead. That Superman, and probably all the resistance with him, was destroyed. Fighting an anger so terrible it made him shake, Clark forced himself to be controlled. Made himself be calm. In the years since Lex had been taken, he'd had a lot of practice. Though now, at this moment, it burned him like acid to be so powerless. "Whoever it was, LuthorCorp must have set it up, maybe even altered someone to look more like me. I'm alive, Lex. Promise."

"Clark." Lex sniffed, then slowly wiped his nose on the back on his hand. Blood smeared onto his cheek. It was very bright.

"So are you."

Lex looked at him. "Am I?" He seemed to shiver. Then he nodded, once, his cracked lips splitting as he smiled. "Yes, I am."

"We had no idea what they'd done with you. But I never believed you were dead, not in my heart, even when logic said you had to be." Clark dabbed the cloth at a trickle of blood. "And I've come to take you home." Gripping the bruised fingers gently, he settled on the edge of the mattress, sitting with his legs twisted to one side. As he spoke he felt Lex's muscles jerk in his hand.

"But...Clark. The shield..."

"There's a plan. If everything works the beams will be sabotaged in just under an hour. Then I'm going to get you out of here."

"How?" Breathy word. Fear and hope wrapped in Lex's intensity. His next words spilled from his mouth as a whisper. "How did you do all this?"

"Planning. We need you, Lex." Clark bent forward, lifted Lex's hand and kissed the long fingers. "I need you."

"You came for me..." Awed understanding. "You are alive."

"Gods, Lex..." Clark buried his head in his own hands, Lex's fingers held softly to his mouth. "I'm sorry. Sorry it's taken me so long." He knew he'd carry the weight of guilt as long as he lived. But there had been no other options. That was a fact — a logical, incontrovertible fact. Yet he still felt like a traitor. As if he personally had consigned Lex to this hell and abandoned him. "For a long time we thought you were dead. Then we heard a rumor. So I came looking." He lifted his head, stared into Lex's eyes.

"Clark..."

In the foulness of the cell, they looked at each other. Clark felt a tension inside himself relax. A tension he must have unknowingly carried since the day Lex had disappeared. Lex was here. This was his body, his self. He was unbroken. Nothing else mattered.

As long as the plan worked. "As soon as that damned green glow fades, I'll be able to fly."

Lex moved awkwardly, shifting slightly with pain. "I dreamed this..." He was just looking at Clark, as if eating him with his eyes, consuming something he thought he'd never see again. "You."

Clark moaned, a soft sound deep in his chest, and bending towards Lex kissed him on the lips; gently, so gently, the touch little more than a brush of skin on skin. He straightened slowly, warmed himself on the answering light in tired grey eyes. Lex leaned into Clark, and Clark just slid his hands around him, carefully holding him, bringing him close. "When we're out of here, I'll get you anything you want. Anything at all."

"You. A bath maybe. Water."

"You want more now?" A nod. "Hold on." Clark lifted the flask, held it to Lex's lips. The cuts on his face were already beginning to heal. Miraculous, even if you knew.

Lex drank, deeper than before, sighing as he rested back into Clark's shoulder. "Thanks."

Clark put the flask back on the floor, then drew Lex close, stroking his shoulder gently. "I've built a house, high in the mountains on the other side of the world. I'll take you there, you can heal, away from everyone. Just us, and the mountains. It's safe — there's even clean water."

"Tease..." Weary, painfully effortful humor, that hurt to watch.

"No. The water is clean and sweet. It's like somewhere from Oldworld, Lex." It had been what attracted him. The peace, the hope that seemed to be imbued into the ancient rock. He'd discovered it by accident, and found himself going back time after time. After a while it seemed sensible to make a home. Just in case. "You've been here a long time. At first, when they took you, I thought I might go mad from thinking you were dead. I had to do something other than fight. Building a house was a kind of therapy. Apart from bringing in materials, I made it the human way, no superspeed, just patience." He smiled, mocking himself. "It took a while. I've furnished it simply, but it's clean, and you can watch the sun rise over the lake. No one knows about it. No one will find us."

"Can we swim?" Like Lex was asking for something from another world. Maybe he was.

"Yeah, if you'd like. Though the water's cold enough to freeze your bones."

"Perfect..." Long, soft sigh.

"Bet you change your mind after a few months!"

"Maybe." Lex reached over, touched his fingers to Clark's. "Thank you."

"Don't!" Clark shook his head. He had no right to Lex's thanks. None at all, certainly not yet. "If I'd known, I'd have been here a long time ago. Saved you from bastards like Gant."

He felt Lex flinch. "Gant?"

"I watched." Clark squirmed inside. Hating himself for his cowardice in not staying. Hating the fact he had been watching at all. "A little." He shrugged gently. "I wanted to know. So that I'd understand."

"And do you?" Curiosity in his voice, more than anything else.

"No. Lex, I'm sorry..."

A hand touched his face. "Shush."

"But, the things they did!" He whispered the words, hardly able to admit what he had seen. He felt the tension in Lex's body, heard in his voice when he spoke.

"They were no worse than others."

Which didn't help at all. Clark took a deep, shuddering breath. "I wanted to kill them. I will, one day."

After a while he realized Lex was looking at him. "You've changed."

"I've grown up, Lex."

"Don't grow up too much..."

Clark laughed then, the sound rusty, half forgotten. "I've missed you."

Lex smiled, his cracked lips lifting, the old scar livid. "Yeah. Me too."

And then Clark heard a sound, turning as the door was slammed open. "Nathan, what...?"

But it wasn't Nathan. Two guards, both armed, dressed in black with heavy boots on their feet, stalked into the room, followed by another guard, and a middle–aged man, his red hair receding from his high forehead, his eyes eager, his white suit so at odds with his surroundings, he could only have chosen it on purpose.

Disentangled from Lex, Clark stood protectively by the bed, and, for the first time since arriving in Emerald, he began to doubt he would ever leave.

"Hello, brother dear. Another admirer enjoying your charms? I'd have thought that after Elias Gant you'd be a little jaded..."

Clark watched Lex's brother walk into the cell. He knew too much about the man Lionel Luthor had groomed as his successor to feel anything but hatred, disgust and fear.

"Julian." Lex's voice.

Clark turned quickly, and found Lex clawing at the wall in order to stand. "Hey!" Clark got a hand under Lex's arm, and eased him upright — though he could feel that Lex was shaking by the time he got there. Lex simply stared at the intruder, his eyes flat and stark as polished steel.

There had been no sign of a trap. None. But that this man should be here now... Clark wondered if everyone could hear his heart beating.

"What do you want, Julian?" Lex sounded stronger than he was. Adrenalin, fear, strength found from somewhere. Clark watched as Lex gathered his resources, his face showing nothing but resignation.

"Just to see what he left of you. Elias hates Daddy, and he was very pleased when I saw him just now, so I couldn't help but wonder. Well done, Lex, you seem to have given good value for money — yet again." Julian Luthor clapped his hands together softly, laughing when Lex couldn't hide his reaction.

"You sent him." Accusatory. Misery there too, like a thread in Lex's voice.

"Maybe. I thought you might be getting bored."

The laugh that came from Lex was dark, colored by pain. "Here? Never."

"So I see." Pale blue eyes flickered over Clark. "Very nice, in a rough and ready way. But step away from my brother, whoever you are, I want to inspect him."

"No."

"Do as he says... Please."

Clark turned and looked at Lex. He was pleading, silently now; leaning hard into the wall, blood like paint on the plaster. Clark ground his jaw closed and stepped away, lifting his hands to show his compliance. There wasn't long to wait. He glanced hopefully at the high window, but the sky still was tainted green.

"Nathan told me his little scam. He's being suitably punished — we took the gold away this boy paid him. He should know better, and he will next time. Though, I am amused to find you two being so cosy. From what Nathan was saying I'd have thought you'd be screaming by now, Lex."

"He wasn't conscious when I got here. I didn't pay to fuck a carcass."

"Oh, and he talks. Adri, just keep an eye on him." One of the guards moved to Clark's side, his gun suddenly unholstered and ready. "Thank you."

Clark gritted his teeth. How long now? He cursed silently. There was a knot in his gut, the hopelessness of his own lack of strength. He was good enough, as a human, but against guns? They could kill him now, with his body poisoned by the shield, his abilities negated. Yet they didn't know who he was. And that was almost too good to be true.

He stared at Lex's brother. At the smile teasing his full lips. At the feverish, obvious pleasure he was taking.

"You didn't pay to fuck a carcass? Lex, you're not dead yet, are you?"

"Not yet."

"Though you don't look exactly lovely. Was Gant very inventive? Was he as good as me?" Julian's lips pouted. "Oh, don't say that, please."

"No one is like you, Julian, you know that."

"Ah, sweet words, brother." He took a step closer to Lex, motioning a guard to hold the damaged man still. "You know, I used to wish that we'd grown up together, that you loved me. I was very lonely you know." He touched Lex's face, stroked his cheek, smiling as Lex flinched.

"And I wish that you had died in your cot, the way Lionel said." He gasped, as long nails were dug into his lip.

"That was so I wouldn't be softened by that bitch Lillian, the way you were." He tore his hand away, leaving blood dripping down Lex's chin.

"I'm still sane, Julian. Look at yourself, see if you can say the same."

Julian stepped back, his mood swinging to amused again. "I wonder for how long. Sanity is a delicate matter, brother. A few more months in here. A few more customers like Gant, men who worship at Daddy's feet but hate his guts. I wouldn't put any money on your long–term sanity at all."

"I'll survive."

"So stubborn!"

Lex licked his lip; his glance flickered towards Clark, then was pulled firmly back. He lifted his chin. "Yeah."

"Ah, Lex, if we'd broken you easily, I would have been terribly disappointed." Julian frowned for a moment, then he smiled. "I think I want to watch. Boy?" He turned to Clark. "Whatever you were going to do — get on with it."

Clark found himself pushed forwards, he stumbled slightly. "What...? I can't!"

"No?"

"Not with an audience!" Clark shook his head.

Julian sighed. "Oh, dear. Well, I'm not going away until I've had some fun. Lex, Lex... looks like it's just us, again."

"No."

"No? Lex, you do know it wasn't a request?"

"Fuck off, Julian." Lex gasped as the guard gripped his arms, wrenching them behind his back. His voice was weakening. "Let the boy go."

"Let him go? Ah, I remember, you hate an audience too..."

"Look, I paid — " Clark broke off with a gasp as a gun was slammed into his gut, falling to his knees as pain exploded behind his head. On all fours, gasping for air, sweating. "I — "

Another hit, this time in his back, and Clark fell to the floor. Sucking in breath after breath he stared blearily at the pocked and splintered floorboard by his eyes. After a long moment, he pushed up, easing himself onto his knees. No one stopped him, though a gun muzzle followed his movements. He knelt back, peered at Lex through streaming eyes.

Julian was touching him, his hands crawling over Lex's belly.

Clark jerked as if to move, but the gun knocked against his temple and he stilled, panting, every fibre of his being praying for strength. Then the hands dropped to Lex's groin.

"Stop it..."

"Adri, please, I can't concentrate."

Clark groaned as an arm was slid around his neck, gripping tightly. "You heard, shut the fuck up." Clark tried to lever himself free, but the guard just ground a knee into his back and laughed. "I've got him, sir."

"Thank you." Julian was smiling into Lex's eyes. "Well, Elias did play nasty. And he seems such a charming man when you meet him."

A dry sound, almost a laugh, slipped from Lex's throat. "Delightful..."

"Glad you agree." He smiled again, and jammed a finger into one of the open wounds. Lex shuddered, arching back into the guard who supported him. "Pretty. Maybe your cock should be whipped daily, it does look impressive you know. Or maybe I should pierce you — get a tag with my name on it and hang it through your dick."

Clark was choking, the hold tight around his neck as Lex answered. "I'd rather... be dead."

"I'm sure." He turned. Clark saw there was blood on the white suit. "But that's not an option. I think I'll have a tag made up — though it might have to be welded into place." He was thinking out loud, a master craftsman contemplating his art. Clark looked at him, seeing no resemblance to Lex, seeing nothing but a foul excrescence that had no right to live. No right to have power over another being.

When he began to shirk off his jacket, Clark moaned incoherently.

"Please..." Lex, eyes hugely dilated, staring at Clark. "Please!"

Clark wasn't sure what Lex was begging for, but listening to the broken words burned acid into his veins. He glanced quickly up at the window. And prayed.

"Come along, Lex, you know what to do. I hear practice makes perfect — and all that time with Superman must have taught you something other than to hate your family." He didn't strip. Just unfastened his fly and pulled his cock free; it was half–hard.

"I hated you before that."

"Ah, yes. The day you found out I was still alive — and that you were no longer Daddy's heir. I've watched that tape again and again." He sighed contentedly, one hand pulling on his shaft. "And now you get to do my every bidding. Come on, Lex, on your knees."

Clark watched as Lex was pushed down. Watched as he almost passed out as he hit the floor. The time had to be soon. The saboteurs couldn't have been caught. Lex was shaking his head, trying to back away.

"Open wide — no biting or I'll rip your teeth out and we can see if they still heal as fast as before..."

Gods... Every sense on edge, balanced on a pit of misery, Clark fought nausea as Lex, his head cupped in his brother's hands, opened his bruised mouth.

"Eyes open — look at me, Lex. Let me see quite how much you hate this."

Did he really need more? The hatred was tangible, visible in every fibre of Lex's being, in every sinew and muscle, in the emotionless glaze that shuttered his open eyes. Clark wanted to howl and scream. This pitiless act as obscene as any that he'd witnessed before. Lex was choking.

And the green light was gone.

A heartbeat, two, and Clark felt the change in his body. Strength like water after drought. He laughed, the sound so shocking that everyone looked at him.

Throwing off his captor's arm, Clark slammed him backwards into the door, the metal buckling under the impact. Panic was only just spreading on the other guard's face when Clark snapped his neck. Power flooding through him, Clark turned to the group around Lex. He walked forward, three steps, boots loud on the wooden boards. Reaching out he gently eased the gripping hands from around Lex's arms, lifting the man and tossing him hard into a corner. The building shook, plaster falling in chunks from the ceiling.

Finally, as if in slow motion, Clark focussed on Julian. On the fear in the puffy, over–indulged face.

Already backing away, wiping his mouth, Lex was trying to stand. Clark eased him upright, hating the way the movement made him gasp, sliding one arm around him, supporting him without effort. Under the blood and bruises his face was so starkly pale that Clark wondered how he was conscious, but he was. He was staring at his brother.

"Please..."

"You want mercy?"

Clark knew he sounded outraged. He was. There had never been any mercy for Lex. He reached, one–handed, for Julian, catching him around the neck.

"I'll pay, anything... please!" High–pitched plea. Clark ignored it.

"Julian." Lex, his voice steady, cold. "Meet Superman."

Fear like a river, flooding Julian Luthor's face.

Lex turned his face to Clark. "He should never have lived."

"Shall I?"

A nod. "Goodbye, Julian."

Clark squeezed, once. He dropped the dead body at their feet.

Lex sighed. Then he pressed his face to Clark's shoulder.

"Lex, we have to leave."

"Clark..."

Lex was almost out of it. Clark leaned him against the wall. "Cover your eyes." It only took a moment to punch a hole, large enough for them both to exit through, in the wall. He turned, plaster and brick dust floating around him, as masonry crashed to the ground outside. "Come on."

Lex let himself be picked up. He smiled once, then closed his eyes.

"We'll be home soon."

It was enough of a promise. Clark ducked through the ragged hole in the wall, and with Lex safely in his arms, flew into the night.

* * * * *

Epilogue

The lake was a clear expanse of green water. Ringed by mountains, it was a still reflection of sky and clouds and the rising, spiralling flight of two eagles. A man swam near the shore, his lazy, effortless stroke scarcely breaking the surface, the lake rippling in circles away from his body as he glided on. After a while, the swimmer turned, diving under the water, disappearing, only to re–emerge closer to the shore, nearer the cabin that sat, a long, timber building, in the lee of the mountainside.

He stepped onto the shingle, bare feet crunching, his naked body shivering instantly in the cold.

Clark smiled, and stepped out of the shade. He was holding up a towel. As Lex smiled at him, he wrapped it around his lover, and kissed him deeply.

Sighing, Lex rested his forehead on Clark's chin. Clark hugged him close, staring at the clouds.

"I wondered when you'd be home."

"I'd have been back days ago if I could."

"I know."

"How you doing?"

"Fine. I've been swimming a lot."

In six weeks Lex's body had healed, though there were still scars, both on his skin and in his mind. He hid here, in the mountains, and seemed quite happy. He talked more now. The healing was slow, steady. His body should have healed completely, but every now and then Lex would turn, and the light would catch his skin just right, making the scars, otherwise almost invisible, show like patterning on his body. Not that Lex was anything but still beautiful. Clark watched him everyday, just awed. Lex was alive. In a world gone insane, it was enough to make him content.

"You look a lot better."

"In three days?" Lex poked him in the ribs. "I'm sure."

"You do." He stroked Lex's wrist, smoothing his thumb over the silvering that ringed the skin. "This is fading."

"Good." Satisfaction. "Was everything okay?"

Clark nodded. "Very." He took a deep breath. "Gant's dead."

"Oh." A flicker of deep reaction. Lex sighed, then smiled wearily. "Thank you." He stood quite still, as if the knowledge was percolating right through him, very slowly. He let out a long breath and blinked. "Clark, what about you, are you alright?"

"I needed him dead too. For more than what he did to you, but for that I killed him."

Lex eased his shoulders, then straightened. "Good. What about all the rest?"

"We're getting there. Another few months and we should be in control." The world, what was left of it, was being wrested, mile by mile, from LuthorCorp. The old empire was crumbling. Maybe there was even hope for the future.

"About time." He sniffed the air, then looked at Clark. "Let's go inside?"

They began walking, hand slipped into hand. "I brought some extra food up with me."

"Mmm, you can cook."

"Pasta, okay?"

"Sure. You know, the lake's getting colder."

"It'll be winter soon, the water will freeze and the mountains will be covered in snow."

"I'm looking forward to it." Lex nodded calmly, then he glanced at Clark, almost shyly. "Bring me some more books, if you find them?"

"Sure." Lex had thousands. Clark was already considering building them their own extension to the cabin.

"Thank you. You indulge me."

"And why not?"

"Why not indeed..."

They walked together into their home. Up the flight of steps to the porch, then through the insulated doors. Immediately, Lex knelt by the fire and added another log. Clark shrugged out of his coat, hung it on the door. Then he knelt by Lex's side, watching him as he sat, his eyes reflecting the sparks upward flight.

Lex sighed, rubbing his hand over his knee. "There's no need to be guilty, Clark. I wish you wouldn't."

Clark swallowed. "I can't help it. For the fact that the meteors changed you, as much as anything else."

"You think I'd swap normality for you? Don't be an idiot."

"They wouldn't have hurt you so much, if you'd been normal."

"I'd be dead."

"Lex..."

"So stop it. I think the bargain was well worth it, Clark. I got you. Nothing else really matters at all. The past is done." He turned, smiled. Warmth reflected deep in his eyes. "Believe it."

"Lex..." Clark kissed him again. Long and slow and sweet. He tasted of water, of clean air, of clouds. When Clark pushed the towel away, he moaned, and leaned into the offered warmth. Clark groaned. So aroused. Needing Lex as much as he needed freedom and strength.

Very carefully, he spread Lex onto the thick rug, moving to lie next to him, holding him, kissing his face, his neck, running his tongue over the marks as if he could rub them away by willing it so. Lex sighed, reached up and pulled Clark closer.

"You're over–dressed."

"I'm in a hurry."

"Leaving again?" Not uncertainly, just teasing.

Clark noted the difference, and tried not to hope too much. "No, just... it's been three days. I want you, to touch you."

"Please." Ah, warmth and echoed need. Lex was smiling.

Clark slid down the water–chilled skin. There were droplets still there, trickles of moisture on the curve of hipbone, in the concave dip of belly. Clark licked them away. He pressed his mouth to the sweet, soft skin around Lex's groin. Watched as his cock swelled, filled, curling away from wet skin to rise flushed and eager.

"You too?"

"Always, Clark. You know... ah, Clark!"

His mouth full, Clark was silent. He sucked teasingly at first, then deeper, cupping his warm hand around Lex's balls, sucking him all the way, swallowing him there, again and again until Lex arched up, his fists tight in Clark's hair, his voice breaking as he cried out, coming so fast that Clark was surprised, swallowing quickly, holding him in his mouth until Lex was dry, and his cock was twitching emptily.

"Bastard..."

"You needed that."

"You noticed."

Quirking smile. "Yeah." Clark eased back to Lex's side, settled next to him.

"Clark?"

"Mmm?"

"Did you come?"

"No."

"Then fuck me."

Startled, Clark looked at Lex. Met his level gaze and saw a new certainty that wasn't in his own imagination. He nodded. Joy. That was the feeling, like wine in his bloodstream. "I'll get undressed."

"No, like this." And Lex turned, pressing his ass into Clark's groin.

Groaning, Clark held him close. He was so hard. But to do this, now. "I've nothing to use, Lex..."

"Spit, Clark. Just do it."

Clark leaned up, kissed Lex's cheek. He looked into calm blue eyes, then nodded once before reaching down and unzipping himself. That was all, he didn't remove any more clothing, just spat into his palm and slicked himself up. Nudging into Lex's ass cleft, he hesitated once, but Lex pushed back impatiently, and Clark was lost. More spit licked onto his fingers, rubbed into the soft entrance to Lex's body. Then he pushed his cock inside.

He stopped when the head was through, watching Lex carefully, seeing him panting, eyes closed, firelight warm and bright on his skin. Another small push and Lex opened his mouth, moaning softly. He arched, catlike, then pushed back. Clark groaned in return, and slid deep. Bliss, exaltation, a final coming home. Slow and easy, murmuring soft words into Lex's ear, stroking him, Clark wiped away the darkness of his own memories. When he came, he called out Lex's name, again and again, until he was breathless, wordless.

Curled by the fire, they stayed just so for a long time, Clark's softening cock slowly slipping from the grip of Lex's body. Clark pressed his face to the elegant nape of Lex's neck. Kissed him, just there. After a moment he stilled, one arm loosely wrapped around warmth. Neither of them slept. Contentment was enough.

END