SV fic: The Dog (second part)

[roxy]

Title:The Dog
Fandom: SV
Pairing:Clark/Lex
Rating:nc-17
Warning: rape of a minor, non-consensual sex, dubious consent, humiliation, violence, prostitution
WC this part: 19,934









Chapter five
We give dogs time we can spare, space we can spare and love we can spare. And in return, dogs give us their all. It's the best deal man has ever made.
-M. Acklam

The apartment below the Luthor residence was converted to Lionel’s specifications. The floor plan was altered to remove what in the Luthor apartment was a master bedroom and bath. That area became a featureless open space with a large cage in the center. The cell contained a cot, a trunk and nothing else. A gymnasium was made out of a living room and kitchen area. A smaller kitchen was created from a small bedroom; a dining area became a living room. One of the bathrooms was gutted and tiled from floor to ceiling, it became a large shower room. Shower jets were on all four walls and a hose hung from a hook on one wall.

The apartment retained two other bedrooms and a laundry room. It was by no stretch of the imagination homey, but it would perform the function Lionel wished it to—a place to train his newest toy.

LuthorCorp Tower was a landmark in Metropolis. Lionel owned the building, owned several in downtown Metropolis and maintained apartments in all of them, but the original Tower was his sentimental favorite. His family—such as it was, lived in the Tower. He conducted the major part of his business in the Tower.

Another building he loved was the gym—the former Metropolis Athletic Club. It was an eleven-story Art-Deco style building, refurbished and returned to its former glory. Now it was home of several floors of extremely exclusive luxury condominiums, an actual athletic club, and an invitation only gentleman’s club. There was a private gym, two floors contained living quarters for employees. There was a pool on the sixth floor for the condo owners and the athletic club members. The private club members weren’t interested in the pool or the gym…they only had the basement level in mind when they entered the building—that and the private club on the third floor.

Not everyone who lived in the building knew there was a private club, or gyms…they paid a lot of money for privacy, these were people who had no desire to interact with others in any way—at least not on their home turf and Lionel extended the opportunity to live in complete anonymity. It was lucrative, but not nearly as much as the private games in the basement.

* * * * *
The boy lay on his back on the cot. The collar chafed, and if he scratched at it, it made him feel sick to his stomach.

He wondered how long he’d been in the cage. How long it was going to be before they came to get him. He sighed and rolled to his side. He held Bear a little closer to his face, and sniffed. There was hardly any home smell left---Bear was beginning to smell of the disinfectant they used on the floors…he pulled the blanket over himself and shivered. He hated that smell. Since the man put him in the cage, he hadn’t seen anyone. He fell asleep and food came, he ate it and fell asleep again and food was gone and the floors smelled. There was a bucket at one side of the cage, and an empty trunk on the other that he sat on sometimes. The light shined in his eyes all the time and he felt like he was getting sicker, weaker. He sat on the cot and told Bear what their names were over and over so he wouldn’t forget, so Bear wouldn’t forget. He told him stories about the farm. They had to remember.

One day, food came and he was awake. It frightened him so bad, he crawled under the cot while a big man put food on the trunk. He left without looking.

When he was finished eating someone came for the tray. He watched him from under the cot. He saw feet walk into the cage, and stop at the trunk and then a metallic clang as the door shut again. He hid for a long time, his face buried in Bear’s tummy.

It was a change in his routine, one he found hard to adapt to. When the men came with the tray, he rolled under the cot and stayed there, watching their feet move. It happened a few times and then the Bad Man came. He acted differently than the men that brought his food. He bent down and looked under the cot. His hair swung forward and covered his face for a moment before he swept it back and smiled at him.

“Hello.”

He stayed under the cot, Bear clutched against his chest.

“Come out.”

He shook his head and pushed back farther until he felt the bars at his back.

“Come out or I’ll take your animal. You know I can do it so don’t waste our time.”

He thought about that—it was true. The man would make him fall asleep and take Bear. He slid out and stood next to his cot, head down.

“Good, good, I see you’re not too stupid.” The man stood. “My name is Lionel, and you…”

He looked up, waited for the man to speak his name.

“…You’re my little pet. My little dog.”

He frowned, and stepped back. He was not a dog. He was a boy. He could read and do puzzles and everything. “I’m not a dog!” and pain exploded in his head, it was so swift and shocking that he was stunned into silence.

The man stood over him, and shook his head, a sad expression on his face. Something on his hand glowed green—“that was the wrong thing to say. You shouldn’t talk to your owner like that.” Pain blew up in his head again, and then he was face down on the cot. A streak of burning pain ripped across his legs and it took a few moments for the pain to fade and for him to breathe again.

“Once you understand your role, and who I am, it will be better for you. I will make you very happy—if you’re good. I will make you very sad, if you’re bad.” He knelt and the glow was gone, in a little box at his feet. He stroked a soft hand over his chin, over his cheek.

“It makes me sad when you’re not good”. The man picked him up and held him on his lap and hummed a song he didn’t know until his eyes became heavy and his limbs relaxed, he was dropping into sleep. He knew this man was bad, but he was so tired, and no one had hugged him for a long, long time…he felt a kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight little dog. We’ll continue the lesson tomorrow.”

* * * *
He sat on the floor of the cage and tried to remember the place where he was happy all the time, and it smelled good, and there were soft touches. It was right on the edge of his mind but it kept moving back the harder he reached for it.

“Deep in thought?”

Lionel stood at the bars. He held something in his hand-a book—the book! He jumped to his feet. “My book!”

Lionel shook his head. “My book.” He opened it and flipped through the pages, chuckling as he did so. “What clever little dogs. I wonder if you’re as clever? Do you think you are?” He came to the door of the cage and unlocked it. Lionel had a thick leather leash in his hand and called him over. Lionel turned his head to the side and clipped the leash to the collar. “Today you get to prove to me how clever you are.”

He set his feet and refused to move and Lionel smiled. He let go and picked up the book again. A page was torn out and held up. “Do you want it?”

He gasped, “Yes—“reached for it. This was terrible—Lionel was going to rip his book to pieces! It was a bad, bad thing to do!

“Then do as I say.” Lionel pulled at the leash again and he followed him, tears in his eyes at the thought of Bertie and Clark being torn apart.

* * * * *
He looked in surprise around him. He was in a big bright area with furniture and equipment he didn’t recognize here and there about the room—he was amazed and a little frightened. He’d begun to think there was nothing else in the world but the cage.

And then he saw something wonderful—sky, blue, blue sky and light and…the sun.

He ran to the glass doors and pressed his face against the warm glass and drank in the glow of the beautiful sun. He sighed in delight. The blanket of pain that was always wrapped around him lifted a bit. He felt just a little less ill, tired…He smiled at the sun and spread his arms against the doors. How he wished he could go outside and feel the rays on him, feel air touch him again.

“Come along,” Lionel said, “if you do what I tell you to do, and do it well, maybe we’ll go outside another day.”

He turned back to Lionel, hope in his heart. Could it be true? Would he let him go outside?

He nodded. “I promise,” and guided him gently to a table flanked by men in white, to begin the first in a long series of tests…but this wonderful new thing that happened, the opportunity to see the sun again, made it all worthwhile. He could accept anything as long as he got a chance to see the sun again.

* * * * *
“Good boy, can you lift more?” Lionel laid a hand on his head, smoothed back stray curls.

He nodded, eager to please, and waited while a man in a white coat added more weight to the machine. He pulled down on the bar in his hands and the weights creaked upwards. His arms shook a little but it didn’t hurt. He let the bar down slowly, Lionel didn’t like them to bang. He sat patiently while the man typed something on his little pad and then took his blood pressure, and his temperature. He knew the routine and waited.

This time though, the man in white also had a tray with needles in it.

He started to stand—he could run—but he’d never make it past the men with the green bracelets. He hated getting needles; they had to make him awfully sick before they could work the needles into his skin. Not even the desire to please could make him sit quietly. He whimpered, soft little sounds he couldn’t stop. He edged towards the end of the table; the paper seemed to crackle so loudly it drowned out the constant sound of music in the background. He wanted so badly not to get stabbed again; he wanted desperately to get away.

Lionel fixed him with a look. “Sit still. If you run…”

He gulped and nodded his head. He knew it was pointless to run. He let out a sob. He didn’t want to be bad, he didn’t want to upset Lionel, and most of all, he wanted his pages.


The doctor took his arm and cleaned it carefully, and painted a thick green paste on his skin. He bit his lip hard, hard as he could. Tears of pain ran down his cheeks. He took a deep breath and gasped again and again as the man pressed and wiggled the needle until it sunk into his skin. They took blood, tubes of it and just when he thought he’d have to scream, the needle was pulled out, glowing green, the evil glow he hated so much.

Lionel and the man spoke quietly together, glancing his way from time to time as another man in a white coat scrubbed the paste off his arm and the sudden lack of pain made him dizzy.

Lionel walked him back to the cage, there was going to be no sun today and that hurt him. He hoped to feel the sun today. He tried to keep the tears he felt burning under his lids from leaking out. This day had been sad. He didn’t want food or water, not even Bear. All he wanted was the impossible. He didn’t even get it in dreams now. Hard as he fought against it, a tear broke free, and rolled hot down his face.

Lionel came in with him instead of just locking the cage up and leaving. “You’ve been very good today. It was hard for you, I know.” He stroked his hair. “I’m pleased, very pleased. Show me the page you got today”

He reached into the trunk and pulled out the newest page he received and even though the words were kind, he worried that he’d done something wrong without knowing it and he’d lose this page, maybe all of them.

“Can you read it?” Lionel asked and something told him, don’t let him know everything. He shook his head tentatively, not really sure if he could lie to him or not….

Lionel studied his face and after a bit, smiled. “You keep that page; maybe you’ll earn the whole book.” He stood then and held his hand out; he did what he always did when Lionel held his hand out, and came close so that he could kiss him.

“Good night.” Lionel stroked his hair, his fingers lingered on his neck and then he was gone.

He lay on his cot and stared at the page…he almost didn’t remember the words, but he tried. He worked hard all night long, through dinner and snack, he tried to remember all the words, with Bear under his head and the blanket tucked around him.

Days passed but he had no idea how many. No one talked to him, only Lionel and Lionel didn’t tell him. There was no sun rising and setting to help him divide the days.

There was food and sleep. There was Lionel.

* * * * * *

One year later…

One day Lionel came and sat outside the cage, talking to him. He leaned against the bar and let him scratch his head, play with his hair. Lionel liked that. Lately His hands smelled so good that he wanted to smell them all the time. He would press them to his face and even though it puzzled Lionel, he would laugh and let him do it. Lionel would ask from time to time why, but all he could say was that it smelled good. It did, in his nose, and in his middle. He opened his mouth and breathed in. It smelled good on his tongue too.

“I have a treat for you today. You’ve been good.” He had been good--he’d won back all the pages and he rarely had to be disciplined anymore… Lionel twisted the collar around his neck and rubbed his finger over part of it, unlatched it and the feeling of rocks rubbing together under his skin faded.

“See this--” and he pointed out a shiny blank square on the collar. “Do you remember what I told you the day you came to live with me?”

He shook his head hesitantly. All he remembered was a yellow house, and the people in it making him leave, because he’d hurt one of them, or because they didn’t want him…It happened a long time ago. He didn’t like to remember that.

Lionel grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes. “I told you that I’d give you a name.” He stared into Lionel’s eyes and hoped he wouldn’t anger him—he didn’t remember anything about that.

Lionel shrugged. “It’s perfectly okay not to remember. What name do you want?”

He felt dizzy, weak again. What name? He didn’t have a name. He looked at the little worn lump of fur on his cot.

He had no name to give him.

“You don’t have a name?”

He shook his head again.

Lionel smiled wide. “Give me your pages.” He pulled away slowly and opened his trunk. Lionel probably meant to take the pages back--but he didn’t want to say a name. He had no name.

Lionel looked at the pages and laughed. He pointed at a picture of a short brown and white dog, smiling up from the page, sitting in a big green meadow.

He remembered the words on the page.

“Which one, which name do you want?” Lionel pointed between the two dogs. “This one,” he said, pointing at the black and white dog, “Is Bertie.” He chuckled. “And this fellow,” he touched the brown and white dog,” Is Clark.”

He looked at the smiling dog leaning against the black and white dog, he knew their names. He chose the brown and white dog. “This one,” he said. “Him.”

A few days later Lionel came into his cage with a man and Lionel made him bend over the cot as the man did something to his collar, whatever he had in his hand buzzed and pressed the leather against his neck. He was feeling queasy by the time the man finished and left again.

Lionel gave him a mirror so he could see that the blank square on the collar had something on it now.

“It says Clark,” Lionel said. He touched his hair a lot and called him Clark. He kissed him over and over until he was very warm. “I love you Clark,” he said. “No one else in the whole world loves you like I do. No one else cares. I’ll never give you away. I promise.”

* * * * * **
“Clark. “

He turned to the name; he didn’t even have to think about it now. He smiled at Lionel, looking forward to a break in his day. Maybe they were going to the terrace, or to look at films, he liked that. At first the pictures of fighting bothered him, but now, he appreciated them as a change in routine. Some of the fighters were very good. Some day, when he was older, he’d fight for Lionel too, like the other men did. He’d make him more proud then the other fighters did.

“I think it’s time for you to learn something new—you’ll like it.”

Clark tilted his head and waited. He didn’t speak unless Lionel wanted him too.

“Take your things off.”
.
Clark was puzzled. Was it time to take a shower? He took off his clothes and folded them carefully, laid them on the trunk and stood with his hands crossed, waiting to go to the shower.

“Get on the bed.”

Clark was confused now. This was out of his routine completely. He sat on the bed and the collar stuck under his chin. He tried to move it and Lionel pushed him back.

“Shhh”, he said, even though Clark didn’t make a sound. He knew not to. He stroked him, from his throat to his knees and that was something he was used to. He relaxed a little and let Lionel touch him. Lionel put his hand on his belly and rubbed a little, and he relaxed more, feeling sleepy. Lionel smelled very good today, the good smell filed the air and he breathed deep

“This is going to hurt,” Lionel said and that was different, too.


Later Clark pulled his sheets over his head and rolled himself in a ball. Lionel told him that they’d come to take him to the shower. He felt sick and sticky and he wanted to get out of his skin. It hurt, that much was true. It hurt a lot. It confused him too. Why did he do that? Clark pulled the cover tighter over his head. He wished desperately that he didn’t feel sick all the time. If he could just get outside, out in the sun, it would be so much better. He sucked in a shuddery breath and tried to concentrate on what was good in his life. Food. Water. His…blanket. The terrace. When Lionel spoke nicely to him. When he petted him. When he smelled so good that nothing else could bother him.

He got tired of waiting and let himself fall asleep.

* * * * *
Lex wasn’t happy. The visits to Dr. K, instead of getting less like Lionel said they would, stepped up in the last year. Every couple of days he was at the clinic. It was awful; he was poked and stabbed like a pincushion and no one would tell him why.

Maybe…maybe he was sick and no one wanted to tell him. One of the guys at school had gotten sick, and no one would talk about him. He just disappeared one day. Later Jacob told him the kid had died, cancer or something, he’d said. Lex didn’t know whether or not to trust what Jacob said—he didn’t really give a fuck about anyone or anything. Jacob was kind of a jerk.

All he knew was that the tests were getting stranger and stranger. They’d made him lick a stone—lick a stone!—what the fuck was that about? And he’d had some green stuff shot into him, and had to go in that damn tube….that stuff made him feel bad, but they didn’t care. And since they’d started messing with him, he was healing faster and faster—to the point he had to hide it most times. He was enough of a freak; he didn’t have to give those jerk-offs more ammo. At least he wasn’t working one on one with Dr. K that much.

Once again, he sat on the table, ass out and freezing in the stupid office, doing the stupid waiting thing. When the door opened, it wasn’t Dr. K. It was some strange guy with little glasses and a bushy mustache. This guy didn’t even speak; he set a kit down on the table, sat in Dr. K’s tractor seat and opened a laptop and read something. He acted like Lex wasn’t even there and that pissed him off. Rude ass-hole. Fine. There was no need for him to be polite either.

The guy stood and said “hold out your arm,” like he was talking to a kid. Lex did so with a sneer. The guy rubbed his arm down, reached down into the kit, swept something out and stabbed him.

Lex howled and jerked violently. His arm twisted in the man’s grasp, but his grip was like iron and he made no sign that he cared, even noticed that Lex was in pain. He scrubbed a piece of gauze through the blood running down his arm.

“Interesting,” he muttered and released Lex’s arm. The gash that should have been there wasn’t—a pink scar was the only thing marking his arm.

Lex sat hunched on the table, sobbing, but otherwise silent. The man turned to him, eyebrow raised when Lex made no further protest.

Lex looked at him and cursed. “Why the fuck should I carry on? You wouldn’t do anything my father didn’t want you to do.”

“You are intelligent,” he said, with a small smirk. “In case you’re interested—this instant healing effect is temporary. When you no longer have the meteorite in your system, you will go back to normal levels of healing—or what’s become normal for you. We’d like to know why the effect is temporary…but your father isn’t interested in that.” He sounded extremely disappointed about that.

Lex felt an ice-cold grip in the center of him. Lucky him. “Are we done?”

“Dr. Keller will examine you next,” the man said, disinterested in Lex now that he was finished. He repacked his kit and left without a word.

Dr. Keller entered the room, quietly, almost furtively. He refused to meet Lex’s eyes, but after shuffling his papers back and forth a bit and fiddling with the adjustments on his stool he looked up. “I—I’m sorry,” he said, so low that Lex barely heard him. fuck you and your sorry he thought.

“I---I need to. Um. Take your gown down, please.”

Lex slid it off his shoulders and Dr. Keller went through the routine, stopping at the pale pink line running up his arm. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I would never have done that to you. I’d never hurt you.”

Lex wished he’d leave him alone, stop talking to him. Frightening and painful as his encounter with the other man had been, Dr. K was still creepier. This time, he made Lex lean back, he felt from his sternum to his belly, he pressed and hummed and asked if Lex felt pain, and then he was touching him again where it made him nervous. He touched his penis and asked him how it felt.
Lex looked at him.

“How does it feel? Like you’re touching me.”

Dr. Keller moved his fingers slower, stroking, skimming fingers over his skin. When he stopped he was breathing harder and Lex wanted to scald his skin. All he could think of was to get away.


He was quiet in the car, staring out the window. His parka collar was pulled up around his face, he didn’t look at Robin, he grunted when he spoke to him. Ray looked at him in the rearview mirror and Lex glanced up to meet the green eyes staring in concern back at him. His stomach twisted, he felt a little sick and he could feel his face turning red, he felt the heat of it. Robin glanced over and asked him if he was okay.

“Leave me alone,” Lex muttered. “I’m not a baby”

“Nobody said that. I just—you’re usually not this quiet. Was it rough today?”

“Jesus—leave me the mother-fuck alone, will you?” Lex snapped and kicked the back of driver’s seat. He left a long scuff of gray against the black leather.

“Hey!” Ray yelled, startled. “What the hell?”

Robin motioned Ray to pull over and when they sat idling at the curb, he looked hard at Lex.

“What’s the matter—“ he held his hand up”—and please don’t curse again.”

Lex nodded. “I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I don’t like Dr. K.”

“I know you don’t,” he said. “He’s a jerk. We all know he’s a jerk.” But he still looked concerned, and he was starting to look a little angry, even though the hand he put on Lex’s shoulder cupped him gently, squeezed just a little, in encouragement.

“Yeah well…he. He touches me. Touched me. I don’t like the way he….” Lex sank further into his parka and closed his eyes.

Robin leaned back against the seat and fixed Lex with an intense look. He asked him gently,” How do you mean touch, honey?” He spoke to him softly, the way he did when he’d gotten hurt or upset as a little kid and Lex wanted to cry like a baby, but he spoke as clearly as he could. “He touches me like—the way you shouldn’t, not like an exam.” He waited for Robin to yell at him for not telling sooner, to tell him he was crazy.

“Ray, you wanna drive back to the institute?” Robin was calm and quiet, and he put an arm around Lex’s shoulder.

“Hell yeah, I do,” Ray said, and wheeled the car around back the way they came. They pulled up in front of the institute and Robin got out. “Wait here, you need to stay with AJ,” he said firmly when Ray wanted to get out too. He nodded and the both of them watched Robin walk up the stairs and into the doors, tall, straight, head high, his coat billowing out in the chill fall breeze….

“Is he going to hit Dr. Keller, you think?” Lex asked.

“No, AJ, I think he’s going to beat the living shit out of him.”

Lex stared at the glass doors, the burst of activity he could see behind them. “Good.”


Minutes later Robin strode out of the doors again, shaking his coat back into place. He got in the car and said,” We’ll go home and tell your dad now, okay?”

Lex asked, “Do we have to tell Dad? He’s not going to care, you know. He’s got other things on his mind, more important things--”

“Don’t say that kid, it’s not true,” Ray said, catching Lex’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “You’re important to your dad.”

Robin sat back with his arms crossed over his chest; He stared out the window, silent, deep in thought. Silence filled the car and Lex sank back against the car seat. He knew it was just going to get worse.


Lionel called him into the den shortly before bedtime. Lex stood by his desk, eyes fixed on the sword hanging on the wall behind his dad’s head. He waited, hands behind his back, for his dad to say anything.

“So. Robin tells me he roughed up Dr. Keller. Broke his nose. Maybe his jaw. Most definitely a finger or two.”

Lex remained still and silent.

“Do you want to tell me why?”

Lex jerked his attention to Lionel. “You know why.”

Lionel smiled. “Go to bed.”

“What about Robin--”

Lionel smiled wider, and Lex felt ill. He moved back and Lionel came around the desk. He stopped Lex with a hand on his shoulder; the hand slid up his neck and cupped his cheek. His thumb rubbed over and over his smooth, nearly hairless brow.

“There’s a way to do things…chain of command. Robin should have come to me, but he ignored it.” Lionel spread his fingers, cupped the back of Lex’s head. “Now, I can’t let that go unpunished, can I?”

“Please don’t hurt him,” Lex begged and felt his eyes fill. He could see the amusement in Lionel’s eyes. “Please…” he whispered. His dad’s fingers tightened painfully on his skull.

“All right. I won’t hurt him. I promise.” He pushed Lex back against his desk, gently in a way, and touched his neck. The touch was so light he barely felt it. He could be imagining it

“Your skin is very…interesting.” He slid his fingers around until they touched his face. “So smooth, so cool…not like anyone else. Unique.” He splayed his hand over Lex’s cheek and bent down to touch his lips to it. “Like a pearl. Warms under one’s touch, like a pearl...” He straightened and let Lex go, and Lex moved quickly to the door.

“There’s a price tag on everything, Lex. Remember that. That’s the way the world works.”

Lex pushed out through the door, was that a warning or an explanation or was his dad just a heartless fucking son-of-a-bitch?

* * * * *
Lex wasn’t really surprised that Robin was gone within the week. He was heartbroken and devastated but not surprised. Robin knew he’d be fired the moment he struck Keller but he did what he felt was right. He told Lex that as he packed. “I’d do it again, AJ. I only regret not being here for you anymore. Ray will keep an eye on you. Trust him.”

Lex nodded, and concentrated on not crying. “Don’t forget your pictures,” he said and picked up a framed print of Robin and his son from his desk. Robin handed him the framed picture. “You keep this, I have lots of pictures of me and Robby.” He opened his carry on and showed him another picture. “I have the pictures you gave me.” He smiled at Lex and let him look in the bag. There was a picture of him and Ray at the park, there was a picture of Robin with his arm around him in front of the building. He remembered that day; it’d been his birthday….

“Hey, that’s great Robin. Those are great pictures…nice.”

Robin zipped the bag and set it down on the floor. He grabbed Lex and hugged him tight, hard, hugged him until his ribs creaked and Lex wanted him to hug harder.
“I’ll miss you. I’ll never forget you, okay? Never.”

“Me too,” Lex managed, jumped off the bed and ran from the room. He slammed into his own room and threw himself on the bed. He hated his dad so much, he hated him…but he’d kept his word so far. He’d fired him, but hadn’t hurt Robin. That counted for something.

Ray was gone most of the day. He came back late at night, and Lex found him quietly drunk and sitting in the back of the car. He was still wearing his LuthorCorp jacket, and he smelled of alcohol. Lex leaned in the open door and Ray barely lifted his head from the seat. He looked at him blearily. “What time is it?”

“After two, he replied.

“Fuck. You should be in bed. What the hell are you doing down here?”

“I thought…I was waiting for you.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He belched quietly and sank a little lower in the seat, taking up the entire seat and most of the floor. He had a bruise on his cheek, and what looked like blood under his chin. He looked terrible and Lex asked if he was okay.

“Yeah—stupid really…got into a fight and didn’t bother to win it…” His voice trailed off and when Lex moved closer he seemed to come back to himself. “Sure, sure, I’m fine. How ‘bout you, you all right? I know how important Robin was to you.” His voice sounded strained and rough, and cracked just a little on ‘Robin’.

“Ray…are you sure….”

“I just—I just drank too much, that’s all.”

Lex climbed over his legs and sat in the dark with him. They sat quietly for a while. Lex assumed that he’d fallen asleep, but he didn’t want to leave him like that, in the dark by himself.

He was startled out of a light doze when Ray suddenly started speaking, so quietly he was speaking to himself, Lex knew.

“I just couldn’t be here. I should never have told him…I’m an idiot.” he took a deep breath and said a little firmer, “I have no idea what I’m babbling about. “ Ray leaned across the seat and poked him a little. “Go to bed kid. It’ll all be better soon.”

Lex let himself be gently pushed out the car and went back upstairs. He thought about what Ray had said and he felt bad for him. It was scary in a way…he’d always thought grown-ups would have figured out the mine field of love but apparently not. He loved Robin too, but he knew it wasn’t just the difference in age that had made it impossible…poor Ray. Did he really think he was hiding it that well?

* * * * *
Fall became winter and neither he nor Ray heard from Robin, Lex hadn’t really expected to hear from him again, just…a little corner of his heart hoped that he’d try to contact him in some way.

He exhaled noisily and bit down on the filter of the cigarette he was smoking with a vengeance. Stupid really, it didn’t mean that Robin loved him any less—and it showed he had a healthy sense of self-preservation after all.

He still paid the price of his safety, let Lionel touch him whenever he wanted to and said not a word. At least he confined himself to just feeling his skin. Lex shuddered. He didn’t get it—what was the big deal? What the hell was so different about his skin….

He leaned against the sink and jammed the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, pulled his jacket collar up. As usual the ancient boilers were barely up to the task of heating the cavernous interiors of the J. Parker School for Burgeoning Homicidal Maniacs, est.1926. He felt the cold of the porcelain bite into the small of his back. He pulled on the cigarette again--couple more drags, by the time he was done, ceramics class should be over. Ceramics. He snorted. What the hell was the point of that? He was interested in things that had relevance to his life-- playing with mud was not one of them.

He hopped up on the edge of the sink, rolled the cigarette between his fingers and thought about blowing off the rest of the day. He was pretty sure no one would notice…Ray wasn’t allowed to drive him anymore, and the other drivers barely knew him. All he had to do was walk out the back doors, and he could go downtown, catch a movie, laugh at the hustlers…he watched gray clouds vomit snowflakes that splattered against the clear upper panes of the big windows--the bottoms being frosted for modesty. No doubt the sight of a bunch of brats peeing would wreak havoc on the folks in the opposite building. He wondered idly if they *could* see them and laughed to himself
.
“Something funny?”

He jumped—he hadn’t heard the door open. Jeremy, one of those ghostly underfed looking Benson twins, the twats, came over to the sink, dropping his bag on the floor. He knew them from social functions he was forced to attend with Lionel. He knew this one was Jeremy because of the long bright red hair, the other one was short haired and blonde. At least he was pretty sure….

“Why aren’t you in class?” Jeremy asked by way of greeting and knelt to rummage around in his knapsack. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a roll of tape. Lex looked down at what he had.

“Out of order?”


The kid tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear and smiled, taped the sign to the door. He shut it and turned a deadbolt set high on the doorframe.

“There. Privacy.”

Lex arched an eyebrow and lit another cigarette. “Privacy for what?” He was intrigued in spite of himself. He knew that the twins had a reputation for being…odd. The thought made him snicker.

“You’ll see.” Jeremy winked and took off his parka. He pulled out a little bag, set it on the edge of the sink, undid his tie and dropped it on top, and started to undo his shirt. He stopped. “I can change in the stall if you want.”

Lex’s swallowed hard around a knot in his suddenly dry throat, but he tried for nonchalance. “It doesn’t matter to me what you do.”

He felt uncomfortably warm for some reason. Jeremy just smiled and took his shirt off. He was wearing a pink wife-beater underneath and Lex found it hard to look away. He was really thin, Lex thought, scrawny…he had a small tattoo high on his shoulder, but Lex was afraid to look too closely or to ask.

Jeremy dropped his pants and shook out the wad of clothing he’d pulled from his bag and shimmied into a…a skirt? He dropped onto his coat, kicked off his shoes and lifted his legs, flashing a glimpse of bright purple underwear, something satiny and…Lex swallowed again—this was just too weird….

He rolled white socks up his legs, stood and slipped his feet into a pair of ridiculous thick-soled mary-janes. Lex gaped at the boy. Jeremy grinned and turned to the sink, opened the bag and began applying make up, lots and lots of eyeliner and lipstick and blush and Lex was open-mouthed and teetering on the edge between horror and total fascination. He didn’t even look like Jeremy, now some skinny little girl was grinning at him.

He rolled up his uniform and shoved everything into the bag.

“Why in the world…” Lex stopped, at a loss for words, and feeling too warm now. He dropped his collar and pulled his blazer open.

“Just because.” Jeremy shrugged, answering Lex’s unfinished question. “It’s so boring sometimes and this—this is just for fun.” Lex watched him coat his lips with gloss and Jeremy watched him watch. He came closer and laid a hand high on Lex’s thigh. “You won’t tell will you?”

“Oh…no…” Lex shook his head and breathed harder. He wanted to move his leg, but not away.

“You’re a good guy, even if you can’t speak in whole sentences. You should have a reward.”

Lex nodded, mesmerized by the sight of Jeremy with shiny pink lips…

“Come here,” he said, and pulled Lex close by his tie. Lex let himself be moved, closer and closer until his lips were touching Jeremy’s.

Sweet and warm. That was his first impression, cherry sweet and so warm, and soft and then his mouth opened a little and Jeremy swept his mouth with his tongue and that made him jump—it felt—good, really good. His tongue slid along Jeremy’s and he sighed. wow that feels good.

He sucked Lex’s tongue, brief little pulls that pumped electricity right into his groin, oh! He jumped again, and spread his legs and Jeremy leaned into him, deepened the kiss and rocked his hips against Lex’s growing erection. “Oh!” Lex gasped and tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let him.

He squeezed Lex, his fingers worked a rhythm against his dick, and he felt wetness leak into his underwear, cotton, white, and nowhere near as sexy as the purple shiny thing Jeremy was wearing and he wondered if they were getting as wet as his—another squeeze and he was groaning into Jeremy’s mouth.

“Let me see,” he whispered and Lex knew immediately what he meant. He started to growl hell no, and the hand in his crotch slid-squeezed-gripped him in a way that made his eyes roll back. “Okay, okay,” he stuttered, “just--” and Jeremy was already pulling his zipper down and reaching into his waistband.

“God, you feel like, like—like soft glass,” he laughed, nearly breathless, “So warm and—God!” He was pulling boxers and pants down in one go…Lex’s dick sprang out, slapped his belly and it sounded loud and…wet. He wanted to die and Jeremy snickered. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked

“Of course! Lots of times!”

Jeremy grinned. “With anyone other than your hand and imagination?”

“Fuck you.” he wilted slightly and Jeremy leaned over and licked him. Shit! He was hard as a rock again, twitching in Jeremy’s light grip. “Don’t, don’t …”

“Promise, I won’t hurt you.” He dragged his tongue around the head of his dick, squirming the pointed tip of his tongue briefly into the slit. “Much.” And he swallowed him down, right down until his glossy pink lips were nudging against him, leaving smears against his bare white skin.

His head flew back and smacked against the mirror and he lifted clear of the sink edge. Jeremy swallowed, bobbed his head once or twice and Lex heaved up again, trembling, thrust a time or two into his mouth and came with a loud, shaky moan.

Jeremy lifted his head, wiped at the lipstick smeared on his chin and licked the corners of his mouth. He grinned. “That was fast.”

Lex blushed dark red. “I...I…” he gave up, burning with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Jeremy chuckled softly. “I *am* awfully hot.” He grinned and looked so pleased it called an answering one from Lex. “But it’s more likely because it was your first time and all--trust me.” He leaned back and Lex could see there was a definite bulge lifting the front of the skirt. He knelt and rummaged about in his coat pocket and came up with lotion, and a condom.

“Guess what,” he said, “you’re going to learn something else new today. Lucky you.”

“Yeah.” Lex panted, his eyes kept going to the glossy ring of dark pink around his dick, it glittered, and he wondered if it still smelt like cherries. He grunted as his dick tried to lift again—somehow the lipstick smear was just so sexy and dirty and made him want to do it again…made him want to do it to Jeremy, but it looked like he had other ideas.

He was turned to the wall, and as Lex watched he slid the purple underwear to his thighs, he reached behind him and Lex almost fell off the sink—he pushed a lotion-slicked finger inside himself, slowly thrusting and twisting it and making little noises and Lex really thought he was going to die from watching. Oh my God, he thought oh that’s so wrong…I mean so hot, I mean….. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, Jeremy was leaning on the arm supporting him against the wall, and groaning as he inserted another finger and said, “Put that on.”

Lex stared at him. He croaked, “Put what on?”

“The rubber, you nit!’

“Oh! Oh...I can do that…um.” He held up the packet and ripped it open and prayed briefly he’d get it right, and snickered when he realized what he was praying for. He looked at Jeremy, who was bent at the waist and breathing heavily and he could see the swell of his balls and a flash of dick between his spread legs, the skirt was around his waist, the panties around his knees and Lex was hard and throbbing as if he hadn’t gotten blown a few minutes ago. He rolled the rubber down, it was slippery and the heat of his own fingers made him twitch. He prayed the thing was on right. He glanced at Jeremy who was smiling over his shoulder at him and he changed quickly to praying he didn’t come on the short walk over to him…. He gulped. “Okay.”

Jeremy smiled wider. “Okay, put it in.”

“Right. Put it in.” he could do that—he slipped and squirmed around and his dick flew under Jeremy, nudging him in the balls a time or two before he finally, actually—put it in. Jeremy yelped and groaned and Lex froze. “Oh God—are you--”

“Fuck yeah, I’m fine…just--”

Lex shuddered and pushed in, he groaned as the feeling of being inside him flooded his body from head to toe, better than a blowjob, better than his hand, better than…he couldn’t imagine better than what. He became aware of a liquid noise on the edge of his hearing and realized it was Jeremy, jerking himself off, pushing back on him, doing all the work while Lex held his hips and shook and groaned and moaned. He finally slammed into him, off rhythm and shaky, began to gasp, sharp short bursts as delicious fire rose from his toes to his dick. He was almost at the point of pain, desperate for release and just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, he broke, howled, came sobbing as Jeremy tightened around him, squeezed him, stuttered and came against the bathroom wall.

Lex dropped back off his toes and panted for breath. He’d never felt anything so intense. Jeremy was gone, Lex still stood facing the wall, shaking and panting. He was unable to think, let alone move. He felt a soft kiss on his cheek and a gentle pat, “You better clean up, Lex, I’m leaving. Don’t let anyone catch you with your pants down. Flush the rubber, dude.”

Lex was alone; he stumbled into the stall, and fixed himself. Shuddered as he touched his dick. Dark pink lipstick still circled the base. He wasn’t a virgin anymore. He stumbled a bit and fell heavily against the wall. He wasn’t a virgin.

He walked out of the bathroom and straight into the arms of the Principal and the school disciplinarian. Jeremy hung from his hand, his arm twisted uncomfortably behind his back, his face twisted in anger, chagrin, and mounting fear, and when he met Lex’s eyes, remorse. “I’m so sorry,” he mouthed.

The Principal looked at Lex in disgust. “This is intolerable behavior. I’m afraid we’ll have to call your fathers, Mr. Benson, Mr. Luthor.”

Lex looked at the man and managed to sneer. Afraid? What the fuck did he have to be afraid of--he wasn’t the one who was probably going to get the ass-whipping of his life, the son-of-a-bitch.

* * * * *
The driver dropped Lex off at the Tower and he went in the main doors, took the public elevator to Lionel’s office. There wasn’t any point in going to the penthouse; he’d just call him down to the office anyway. He wandered around the outer office a bit, annoying Lionel’s secretary, touching the spines of the completely unused books in the cases that lined one wall. He glanced over at her—she glared at him over the silver rims of her glasses and Lex smiled in spite of himself.

He sat, he stood, he fidgeted and sighed until he heard a snap and looked towards the sound. The secretary was brushing a splintered pencil into the waste can by her desk. He even felt some sympathy for her but he wasn’t sure if he should just go on into the inner office or wait until called. Nerves were making the wait as tension filled for him as for the secretary. He sat on the very edge of the couch and jogged his leg. He felt a ticklish bead of sweat run under his collar. He ran his finger underneath the suddenly too tight band of fabric, and loosened his tie. He could hear himself gulp in air and he was slightly itchy, still sticky from the lube….

He had no idea what to expect. It wasn’t as if Lionel really gave a crap what happened to him—he’d proved that--but—it was possible he’d be angry if he thought that he’d embarrassed the Luthor name or whatever.

He narrowed eyes and glared at the foyer that led into the inner office. What if he got …jealous….

He huffed and leaped off the couch. The waiting was driving him completely nuts, as it no doubt was supposed to.

He walked quietly, trying not to rise on tiptoes like he was ten again, past the secretary’s desk. She sighed gustily and ignored what he was doing.

He crossed the vast space of the ridiculously huge outer office and peered into the small foyer that led to the real office. The door to the inner office was open, just enough so that he could see a bit of the room--sunlight poured in through the wall to ceiling windows, illuminating a patch of pale lavender carpet, a slice of dark gray leather couch, and Lionel, the sun making a halo of his hair as he bent over the couch.

His fingertips were under a dark haired boy’s chin, tilting back his head. The boy’s eyes were closed, and he accepted a kiss from Lionel. Or Lionel was making him take a kiss…Lex felt his stomach roll.

He wore some sort of uniform, one that Lex didn’t recognize and he knew most of the schools in Metropolis, this one was weird, the jacket had a high collar and he wore shorts. Who the hell wore shorts anymore?

The boy’s hands were folded in his lap and when Lionel moved out of sight, he dropped his head, opened his eyes and they were staring at one another. His eyes were green and wide, for a moment they were all Lex saw. His breath caught in his throat. He heard a tiny gasp and realized it came from the boy. He was leaning forward, his lips parted and he whispered something Lex couldn’t hear but strained to with every bit of his being and then his father was closing the door, smiling, speaking, “Please go sit down, it won’t be too much longer. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready. It might be wise to use this time to reflect on your actions today, don’t you think?”


It truly wasn’t much longer before Lionel called him back, the heavy drapes at the tall windows were drawn and the office was lit by artificial light.

Lionel wasn’t alone—the boy was gone but his personal barber and the man’s assistant were in the office now.

Lex sat on the couch, sliding without thinking into the spot the boy had been sitting and watched as his father was shaved. The barber lathered him, and put a keener edge on the razor.

“This is the only civilized way to get a shave, son. The straight edge affords a smoother, closer shave than…oh dear. Well, I suppose you needn’t worry about that, eh?” He chuckled and the barber carefully, slowly ran the blade over his throat, skillfully negotiating his Adam’s apple. Lex watched the path of the blade and smiled.

Lionel mirrored his smile, asked how his day had been. Reminded Lex that the principal had called, what an interesting conversation he’d had with him, smiled wider.

The barber trimmed his hair as he spoke, neatly, cleanly, little bits of hair drifted to the ground. He swept the drape from his shoulders and stepped back. Conversation stopped as they all watched the young assistant swiftly sweep up the hair, re-pack the implements, stow them on a cart and whisk it out of the office. The barber bowed and left the room. Lex blinked a moment or two. That had been…extremely efficient. A tad surreal, but efficient.

“Now,” Lionel said and stood. He settled his jacket on his lean frame. “Let’s deal with this shall we?”

Lex waited, fearing the worst.

Lionel waved his hand at him, indicating what he wanted. “Pants off, please.”

“What—what?”

“I’m sorry, was I not clear? Pants. Down. Now. Underwear also.” He began to look a little impatient and Lex unzipped and dropped his pants and boxers and tried not to wheeze. Lionel walked around and around him, and Lex suddenly, horribly, just *knew* that the lipstick was still there and he was afraid to look.

“Well, well, well,” Lionel shook his head and sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” He said in a tone one might use with a recalcitrant puppy.



Lionel unbuckled his belt, it made a serpentine hiss as it slipped against the fabric of his trousers and free of the loops. He held it a moment as if considering, and snapped it a few times in his hands. Lex winced, tried not to make a sound.

Lionel patted the arm of the couch and motioned Lex forward. “Here, grip the arm of the couch, bend over.”

“Oh no. I really don’t think I will…” He backed away from him, until his back was pressed against the wall. No, no, he was shaking his head, shaking his head, and then he was facing the wall. The belt whizzed through the air and looped around his throat, black stars filled his vision.

Lionel was against his back, the belt wrapped tight in one fist. “Fight back,” Lionel hissed. “Come on, stop me, fight back,” and Lex struggled to use what Ray taught him, but Lionel kept him off balance, lifted him off his feet. He laughed, bit him--hard. Lex felt as though his teeth were meeting in his neck. Shock made Lex go limp and Lionel pushed him harder into the wall. He was pinned between Lionel’s body and the paneling.

“Nothing’s free, remember that?” He pushed him into the wall again, slamming his head painfully, and jerked back on the belt. “I know what you think about, I know what you want…”

He was still shaking his head when Lionel pushed against him and he felt a stab of pain and cried out. Lionel’s hand was over his mouth in an instant, grinding his lips against his teeth.

“You’ll heal. You always heal fast.’

The pain was intense, transfixing and overwhelming. He couldn’t imagine this pain was right, it had been different for him and Jeremy, this---this just hurt and hurt and didn’t get better. His knees buckled and he put his hands out on the wall to keep from falling and he heard a grunt and wished he just wasn’t there and wished it hard enough to not be there.

* * * * *
Lex tried to refasten his clothing quickly, tried to stop his hands from shaking. His lips were pressed tight together. He shook, but it wasn’t fear or pain that shook him and that filled his eyes with tears.

Lionel swung his chair to face the draped windows. “Clean up and tell the housekeeper to help you pack.

Lex yanked his zipper back up, fumbled at his buttons with numb fingers. ”What? Why? Pack—where are we going?”

“You’re going. Someplace where you’ll learn control, I hope—for your sake.”

Lex’s fingers danced up and down his jacket, shakily plucking at his lapels until he was finally able to speak again. “What I did—it won’t hurt Robin, will it?” He swallowed hard as he tried to straighten his tie.

Lionel turned his chair back to him and smirked. “Robin? Robin—“ He laughed. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Protecting Robin? The day he was fired he ceased to be of any interest to me.”

Lex paled. “But—but you said…he was never in any danger? All that I did, I did for no reason?”

Lionel rose from the chair in one smooth movement, he adjusted Lex’s tie, his fingers lingering over the silk, and smiled. “I think you know the real reason why you did it, don’t you?”. He pushed Lex gently out the door and before he shut it, he said. “Really, son, this will be the best for you. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you.”

Lex held himself up against the wall and shuddered. He hoped his replacement would fare better than he did.




Chapter Six
Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate.
-Sigmund Freud

Seven years later….

“Do you understand how important this is to me? I’m right in thinking that you want this as much as I do?” Out of the corner of his eye Lionel could see the nod of assent.

“Good, good.” He let his hand rest briefly on the warm knee next to his before returning his attention to the road. “This is a step that puts me in position to get what I really want. You put me there. I won’t forget this if you succeed.” Unspoken of course was the promise of punishment if he failed. “Whatever happens, make sure that he thinks it’s his idea. Don’t be obvious. And make sure that he has an…enjoyable time.”

They drove on in silence a bit. The air was just beginning to warm, and flowing in the open window it brought with it the omnipresent scents of the city, the smell of the streets, of diesel and damp concrete, but teasing hints of spring, as well. Lionel felt unaccountably—pleased. Content, even. Promise in the air, Lionel thought. That’s what he was feeling…the promise of rebirth and growth and good fortune. Growth and good fortune was coming his way. He glanced at his passenger. And re-birth, certainly. He caught movement from the corner of his eye, fingertips scraping over and over the fabric covering the legs next to his. He frowned a little. It was out of character for him to fidget like that, particularly before an assignment. He’d checked on this one, it should be smooth sailing, even less trouble than usual. He wondered if the boy needed time off, time to…play. The fingers danced and jumped on his thigh and Lionel had to restrain a desire to crush them still. Instead he rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin on the back of the hand, worked his thumb under until he was stroking his wrist. “Don’t be nervous. You look good.”

“I’m not nervous.”

Lionel’s hand dropped onto the boy’s thigh when he moved his hand. He heard the slide of fabric on leather; the movement caused Lionel’s hand to come to rest high inside the thigh. He glanced over and met clear piercing eyes and a smirk.

Lionel frowned at him. “Don’t presume to know my mind.”

“Oh no sir, never, sir.” The response was mild, soft and his face was clear of any expression, eyes wide and innocent.

They pulled to the curb in front of an exclusive high rise, and Lionel asked him again if he knew exactly what to do, how to work him. He got a smile in response and with a liquid move that still had the power to draw and hold Lionel’s eyes; he slid out of the car. He was moving up the stairs with a grace that turned heads and Lionel felt a sharp claw of jealousy hook into his chest before dismissing it. This is what he made him for. He shook off the feeling. Business was business.

“Lex,” he called and obediently as always, he swung about to face Lionel. He looked almost delicate in the gray evening light. His face was a smooth pale oval that seemed to float above the dark smudge of the charcoal suit and black wool coat he wore. The last rays of the setting sun caught and illuminated the square of purple silk folded in the breast pocket of the dark gray suit coat.

“What is it, Dad?” he called back and laughed. “Surely you’re not worried about your little boy?”

Lionel said, “I’ll meet you here in two hours. Unless you’d rather have me send a car for you?”

Lex smiled smoothly. “Why don’t you do that, Dad? I’ll have your contracts ready and waiting for you tonight.” He winked, whirled around and disappeared into the dark lobby.

* * * * * *
Clark looked about him in wonder. He’d been out of the room before, many times, and in the car a few times but this…here were the fighters, this is where they lived. They looked frightening. It was different than working with them one on one in the little gym in the apartment. There were no windows in this place; it was lit with the same white light that lit his room day and night. And the people, so many of them, and it was so loud, his ears were ringing with the sound of their voices and the sound of the machines they worked with. He could hear flesh hitting flesh and grunts of exertion and pain, smelled sweat and leather and metal and blood…he shivered under the sensory assault and tried to pull back, but his handlers pushed him into the room.

“Stop fucking around before I hit you,” the one named Max said. “The Boss wants you to work out—so work out.” He kicked Clark in the back of the leg, and he stumbled and fell into the sparring area.

“Watch out, Boss isn’t going to want his pet bruised unless he says so.”

“How the fuck is he gonna tell who bruised him how?”

Clark was quaking, terrified. The pain was making it difficult for him to focus. It was especially sharp today, he had extra bracelets on. Lionel explained that he needed to be more human in order to compete fairly.

A trainer finally took pity on him and took him in hand, and slowly Clark learned what was expected of him. As much as he hated it, he began to learn to fight.

The other fighters took him for older than he was and showed him no favor, were harder on him because it was rumored that he was Lionel’s favorite. Rumors ran like wildfire through the fighter’s commune: Clark was the result of some sort of breeding project, he was altered surgically to be stronger than normal, he was Lionel’s son, he was Lionel’s lover, he was a clone of someone famous…he was an object of scrutiny and jealously for quite a few of them.

His routine had begun to change in the past few months. Lionel came rarely now, the occasions when he did come were always wonderful. He never met him in the cage now. His handlers would bring him clothes and special soap and shampoo. He’d smell so good after his shower, and then he’d sit in the living area of the room and there would be delicious things to eat and drink. Sometimes candles, candles everywhere, he loved the flickering gold light. It soothed his eyes, not to be in the harsh white light that normally burned day and night.

Lionel would talk to him about his business, some time he’d talk about someone he called Lex, things he really didn’t understand, but he listened and tried to look knowledgeable, nodding in what he hoped were the right places. More often than not, Lionel laughed and he knew that was good. He was allowed large amounts of dinner wine. The wine was so good; and enough of it made his aching bones feel somewhat better, almost like wearing just the belly chain and not the collar.

The times Lionel came to visit were very good, yes. After dinner, he’d lay down with him and he would do things to him. That was fine. It stopped hurting long ago, and sometimes it made him feel like he had bubbles in his head, his belly. When Lionel used to have a good, good smell it was better. He was sad that he no longer smelled that way.

Clark wandered around and around the edges of his cell, walking in a square and then crossing the floor to walk the other side, back and forth, back and forth. It kept his legs from cramping when he walked, and he thought better when he moved. Sometimes he’d do it for hours, or until Ernie or Max came in and yelled at him to lie down.

He bent and picked up a little scrap of fabric that once was a blanket. Where it came from he didn’t remember, but it made him feel comfortable to hold it. He sat on the end of his cot and rubbed the fabric between his fingers and remembered…

His thoughts went back to a day, long ago, in Lionel’s office, sitting in the wonderful sun and feeling as good as he ever did and suddenly the smell that teased him and soothed him flooded his nose, so strong for a moment, that it rendered him senseless, ecstasy so intense it was almost worse than the pain--just for a moment….

When he opened his eyes there he was, more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen before. And something about him had been familiar. He knew this stranger. Somehow they had a connection; he’d felt it in his bones.

Right after Lionel had sent him away without a word. All the way down in Lionel’s private elevator, as he’d changed to indoor clothes and was locked into his cage, the beautiful stranger was in his mind.

Clark flopped back onto the cot and watched the scenes in his mind unreel again. He rubbed the little piece of fabric over and over his cheek.

Why did the stranger smell like Lionel? Did he belong to Lionel too? Maybe there was a room in this place that was like his, where the stranger lived. Maybe he went to the ring too, and worked out, and learned to fight. Did he have days in the sun too? Clark liked to fill empty time by imagining it was so, that one day, a door would open and he’d be there, smiling at him.

Clark got up again and continued his pacing. But no—he was probably like Max and Ernie. He most likely slept in a bed like they did, and had a room with a TV in it, and a chair and had a real bathroom. He probably came and went as he pleased. He didn’t belong to anyone.

Clark looked at the bucket in the corner of his cage. He’d rather have the toilet too. He wandered another few steps. He’d rather have the bed big enough to fit him. He’d rather have the chair, and the rug, he’d…tears ran down his face and he wasn’t sure why. He wanted to be held. He knew that sometimes it was just a touch of arms and it made you feel better. He imagined being held by that stranger and he liked the thought. Being held, being warm for a little and surrounded by that good smell.

The thought made him gasp and he felt himself growing bigger. He pressed his hand over himself and felt his penis grow, move against his palm. His face grew warmer and he breathed a little harder, and closed his eyes—thought about the beautiful stranger. He leaned against the cold metal bars, felt the bite of the belly chain as it shifted against his skin. He heard footsteps outside the cage, but didn’t stop. It wasn’t a new sound…he pulled his pants down, and gathered the moisture flowing from his penis into his hand, and began stroking from root to tip, slipping the skin back, twisting his hand at the top and pressing his palm over the tip, down, up again. The boy in his mind smiled at him and helped him. He laid his hand over Clark’s and stroked with him. Clark smiled and his hips moved, thrusting himself in and out of his fist. Moisture ran freely over his hands, his fingers and the wet sound his fist made as it flew over his penis made the heat rise faster and faster in his blood. It was never like this when Lionel did it. Never with anyone else. He frowned and felt a lessening of the heat and forced his thoughts back to smooth, clean skin, the sky colored eyes and bright and warm and…he felt his thighs tighten, heard from far away, “yeah, that’s so hot…”

Orgasm bowed his back and made his hips snap in and out of his wet hand, and come filled his free hand, he knew he was being watched and hardly had the means to care. His whole life had been lived in an iron barred cage, open to everything.

It was Max at the bars, his lips twisted into a weird snarl of a smile.

“You really are a slut aren’t you?” He looked at Clark, his eyes sliding all over his skin, and he opened his mouth to say something—he looked to the cameras and walked away.

Clark unrolled a few sheets of tissue from the roll on the floor next to the bucket and sighed as he wiped his hand, and tossed the crumpled wet mass into the bucket.

* * * * * **
Lionel sent for him the next morning and Clark was excited. This meant an outing, an escape. Max and Ernie took him to the shower. Ernie unbuckled the collar as Max stood by with the club his handlers used. He walked into the shower, held out his arms and Ernie sprayed him down. Ernie tossed him a bottle of some sort of soap, too and ordered him to wash.

Clark enjoyed the fresh scent of the wash and scrubbed every bit of himself thoroughly, in no time he was clean from head to toe, the way Lionel had instructed him always to do for him.

Ernie and Max were red-faced by the time he was done, and Ernie shoved a towel at him. “Dry yourself.” Clark applied himself to the task, blocking out their hot eyes on him.

Car rides were dizzying as well as exciting for him. With the stone filled bracelets he was made to wear in addition to the collar, he was even weaker, disoriented. His sense of direction was thrown off and not knowing precisely where he was made him feel off balance and uneasy.

In a few minutes he was in a parking garage under a building. He could feel that they were deep in under ground.

Across the brightly lit area was a guarded doorway, and separate parking area for expensive private cars. Lionel stood by the door with his entourage. He looked very handsome and Clark’s heart beat faster when he saw him. Lionel gestured for him to come forward, and Max took the bracelets from his wrists. He trotted over to where Lionel stood and waited. Lionel reached up and squeezed the back of his neck, pulled him close until their foreheads touched.

“Clark, today is going to be wonderful for you. You’re going to learn something new today,” he said and swung open the door behind him.

Equal parts dread and curiosity seized him. He was never certain what would happen when Lionel said that….

They rode the elevator down a flight and Lionel took Max and Clark into a small dark room that smelled like sweat, blood, and semen—Clark looked to Lionel for his reaction but he didn’t seem to notice the odor. Max didn’t either, so Clark assumed he was the only one that could smell it. That happened to him sometimes. He shrugged and waited for Lionel to tell him what to do.

Lionel wrapped his arms around him and he closed his eyes, leaned on his shoulder and relaxed into his warmth.

“Clark—do you want to make me happy? Clark nodded but Lionel was already speaking. “Tonight, you will have to fight, for me. Do you remember what to do?”

Clark nodded, he remembered.

“There are going to be people, more people than you’ve ever seen before crowded into one space. It will be hot, and loud, very noisy. Are you ready for that?”

Clark nodded, a little doubtful, and Lionel went on.

“There will be an arena. You understand? The man you have to fight will be waiting for you and he’ll try to hurt you, badly. You can’t let him do that, all right? Don’t let anything else distract you. You go into that pit and stop that man.”

Clark said slowly, “Yes…I’ll stop him…”

“If you don’t stop him, my enemies will kill me.”

Clark jerked his head up, alarm widening his eyes. “Kill you?’

Lionel nodded gravely in return and put his hands on Clark’s face.

Clark startled. That good smell, it was back, so faint, but…he grabbed at Lionel’s hands and whimpered.

“Go—do what I tell you and everything will be fine. Understand?” Clark told him that he did. Lionel reached out and unbuttoned his shirt. “Take your shoes off, and your socks. We can safely leave them in this room, it belongs to me,” he said when Clark hesitated. He did what Lionel told him to do and stood waiting, wearing nothing but his jeans, his waist chain and the collar. Lionel nodded approval and took him by the arm.

Clark was led through a set of double doors—they swung open from the cool quiet dark onto a roar of sound and an over powering explosion of color. Everything was happening at once, too much to comprehend. His eyes watered from the harsh lights and jittering, pulsating jumble of colors. His ears suddenly opened to every individual sound in the building, they rang and buzzed and even the green stone didn’t help to dull the crushing assault of noise, every single voice was distinct and demanding his attention, every crinkle of paper, rustle of fabric, the click of ice cubes in dozens and dozens of glasses, every gasp and moan and shriek and slick slide of skin against skin, every bone breaking, every splash of blood on concrete crashed into his head at once with no filter, no end….

He staggered and dropped to his knees, keening, trying to dig into the back of his mind, to be alone, quiet….

Lionel grabbed his chin and yanked his head up. “Look at me, Clark. Pay attention just to me. Concentrate!” he shouted and Clark, desperate for an end to the torture, focused on Lionel’s mouth, on his eyes. He concentrated with every fiber of his being to Lionel’s words, until the noise once again was a babble of undifferentiated sound

“Okay, okay, now…” Clark panted, inhaled loudly and risked licking Lionel’s fingers. He grinned and took Clark’s hand, helped pull him to his feet. Clark shook himself like a dog and waited for orders.

Lionel pulled him through a narrow walkway lined with screaming people, even the men tightly wedged around Lionel couldn’t stop all the hands from touching Clark, scraping at him, yanking at his hair. He rocked from side to side and rising fear made him jerk away from the hands, the smells--

Lionel stopped abruptly and Clark narrowly avoided running into him. “Look.”

Clark looked—they were standing at the edge of a deep square cut out of the ground. There was a man barely dressed in leather on the floor of the square. He was chained to the wall, and he lunged mindlessly on the chain. Clark smelled fresh blood; he saw blood on the man’s hands, sprayed across his chest. He was standing in blood. “That man belongs to the people who want to hurt me. I want you to stop him, okay?”

Clark bit his lip. He was frightened. This was different than sparring with Lionel’s men. He didn’t know if he could do it—the man in the pit was horribly frightening and nothing like the fighters that Lionel owned.

Lionel touched his belly and Clark jerked his attention back to him. He heard a metallic click and a bit of the queasy feeling, the constant thumping behind his eyes, was gone. He sighed in relief—he felt better, he had more control over his vision, his hearing didn’t overwhelm him now. He was able to ignore most of the noise. He leaned closer to Lionel and touched his open mouth to his cheek, smiled when his beard tickled him.

Lionel said, “Face the pit Clark.” Clark turned. “Bend your neck.” He did. Lionel whispered, hot and wet in his ear, “Kill him!” and snatched the collar off.

For the first time ever that he could remember, Clark was free of the stone.
Free.

A feeling like a tidal wave of hot pulsing power forced its way through his veins, filled him, burning like white light through him. It ignited his blood, cleared his mind, pulsated in every part of him. The world sang all around him, crystal clear, bright, hard, and he was alive. Every part of him was alive.

He flew from the edge of the pit and felt the concrete crumble under his feet at the impact. The moment the other man’s chain was slipped, he flew at Clark, howling like an animal. Clark smashed a fist into his chest and for a instant he was somewhere else—he held a small dead shape in his hand and he had a fleeting moment in which he felt what he’d done was horribly, horribly wrong--and then it was gone under a wave of euphoria, excitement, triumph as he tore through the man’s chest--skin ripped with a noise like cotton shredding, heat flowed up his arm, and ribs broke beneath his fingers like glass.

The man dropped, sliding off his arm to collapse in a loose liquid heap on the floor and the screams of the crowd flowed over him like fingers on his skin. Clark inhaled, drew in a deep, deep breath and luxuriated in being able to do so—the lights were like stars, the blood smelled dark and rich and he felt good, so good… then he heard his name called and looked up, the warm wet thing in his hand dropping to the concrete.

Lionel called him to the edge of the pit. He grinned at him. He felt…*incredible*. He felt like nothing could hurt him, nothing in the world…Lionel called again and he leaped up to the edge of the pit and the crowd screamed again.

“Lionel.” It came from his throat deep and rough; he hardly recognized the sound of his own voice. He pushed through the crowd around him and grabbed his throat. Lionel’s eyes widened for a moment and the men around him yelled and then Clark kissed him roughly, biting as much as he kissed him, sucking on his tongue, forcing his head back and licking around his mouth and groaning and then—

“Clark, stop, I have to put the collar back on, okay?”

Clark drew back abruptly, he was hard, aching and needing release. He was dizzy, and he caught the faint echo of pain--Lionel held the collar up.

“Okay,” he sobbed, and bent his head. He felt himself folding up; Lionel snapped the collar on and Clark groaned as the pain bloomed anew. He put the chain around his waist and stroked his hair. “Clark, every time you fight, it will be like that.”

Clark raised his eyes to him. “Really?”

“Yes. Did you like it?”

“Yeeees,” he said. “It was…good.”

Lionel smiled. “You can have that every time you’re here. I’m pleased. You performed beyond my expectations.”

Clark sighed. “Good. I’m happy. He leaned his head on Lionel’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”

* * * * * **
Max and Ernie took him back to the room, and told him he had to shower before bed. Clark was glad, he was sticky with blood and sweat, and with the collar and chain working on him anew, sweat ran down his body like water. He mopped his face over and over with the shirt he’d reclaimed from the room.

Max took him to the shower and Ernie stood by with the glowing green baton as Max unlocked the collar. Clark touched his throat. He’d never thought about not having it touch his skin before and now…he trailed his fingers over and over around the skin of his throat.

He felt a nudge in his back.

“Stop dreaming and get the fuck in the shower, will ya?”

The showerheads blasted him from all angles and sluiced the blood and dirt and sweat away. He felt the men’s eyes crawling over him and knew that he wasn’t going to be spared tonight. He turned to them and a ghost of the feeling he had in the pits ignited in his chest—he didn’t mind, he thought maybe he might want to do that, tonight.

* * * * * **
The shower tiles squeaked under his knees and under his palms, water making them slick enough for him to slide with each impact. His jaw ached and jagged bolts ripped up his spine, into his gut.

Ernie pushed into him, pulling his buttocks apart and groaning, telling Max what it looked like to have his cock in the kid’s ass, so tight, so fucking hot, like fucking a glove, shit, he’s sucking it in, you gotta fuck him…Max moaned and pumped his hips harder driving his penis deeper into Clark’s throat, and Clark concentrated on quelling his gag reflex, let his jaw relax and breathed hard through his nose. He felt his own penis lengthen, harden. It bobbed under his belly and the bead at the end of the chain struck the tip from time to time and made him groan—Max went crazy when he did.

Ernie gasped and he was coming, jerked Clark back on him hard, he could feel the penis inside him lift, throb. Heat filled him and Max grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled him forward, thrusting hard and flooding Clark’s mouth. He choked and tried to swallow all his semen and Max ground his face down into the coarse hairs at the base of his penis before stepping away, Ernie pulled free of Clark at the same time.

“Where the fuck are you?” The intercom burst into life, startling Clark and the men. “I’m waiting for you.”

“Damn!” Ernie pushed the button and spoke back. “We’re in here. In the shower. Sir”

Yeah. I’ve been watching you shower. Let the kid clean up and get out here.”

“Uh…I’ve still got the collar to…”

“What? Collar, so what?” The voice was impatient, distracted…Max and Ernie looked at each other.

“I’ll explain.” Ernie said. “I’m on my way now.”

Ernie tossed the collar to Max and hissed “Scrub ‘em down fast! I’ll go talk to him.”

Clark was thankful to shower again, however quickly. The feeling of euphoria from the evening had swiftly worn off under the onslaught of the handlers. He wanted nothing more than to get back in his cage and sleep.





Chapter Seven
The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

“Dad, Dad!—Don’t put me on hold again—damn it! God damn it!” Lex yanked at the tie around his throat, the damn thing refused to sit right. He threaded it through the collar again, and retied it, staring at himself in the mirror. His lips were curved in a snarl and he struggled to compose himself. Talking to his father in the grip of a tantrum was not going to win him points. He ran his fingers over the tie, smoothed the bit of purple silk in place.

“Lex.”

Finally. “I’ve been on hold way past the point of any psychological effect, Dad. I’m not intimidated, I’m not angry. I am slightly annoyed—was that what you were going for?” His voice tone of voice was mildly sarcastic and lightly amused.

His father’s rich chuckle vibrated in the headpiece and Lex grimaced. He walked about the unfamiliar office, looking at the titles on the bookshelf, pulling back the long gray drapes at the floor to ceiling windows.

He got to the point of his call. “Why am I dropping one of these boys off? Isn’t that a job for their handlers? And this one--a cage, Dad--isn’t that a bit extreme, even for you? Nice office by the way. Spend a lot of time here, do you?” Lex took in the fully stocked bar and fridge in one corner, the plasma TV on one wall…A long deep leather sofa that looked smooth and soft as a glove faced away from the bank of draped windows.

"I did, son. Lately, other, more important aspects of the business, keep me away. That boy in there is special. He needs special treatment. Which is why you’re taking my place.”

“What? I don’t have time to baby-sit some barely literate fighter. He’s your toy, not mine. I’m afraid my taste is a wee bit more conventional than yours—I don’t keep my toys in a cage.”

“You’re in charge of him now. All you have to do is take care of him. Take him to the arena. I’m putting you in charge of all of that business. I want you booking the fights, collecting the take--and make contacts, son. There are always opportunities to conduct business. Trust me Lex, you’ll enjoy the Arena, there’s a lot there to suit a man of your… tastes.”

Fuck you. “Be that as it may. Dad, I have a lot on my plate now. I’m working with Harmon to finalize the deal you made me a part of and we’re set to fly out to Tokyo at the end of the week. I’ve been working hard on that. We need that market--”

“And that’s all been handled, with an acceptable replacement for you--my self. The work you did was more than adequate, but I want Clark to be your primary concern now.”

“Why?” Lex felt his blood pounding in his temples. “I worked hard on that deal. I did everything you told me to, everything I thought would make it come together. You promised me I’d only be involved in the legit business, you promised me a year in Japan…”

“Legit business?” Lionel chuckled again. “It’s all one business, Lex. Like it or not, it’s all LuthorCorp. Besides, one might think you didn’t enjoy being close to me. You’ll like living in the Tower again. Your things will be sent to you.”

“But—but…” Lex stopped and took a deep breath and composed himself. “All right Dad,” he responded calmly. “I’ll do the job to the best of my abilities.”

“That’s all I ever ask.”

Lex listened to silence for a moment before ripping the headset off and throwing it. He kicked the desk chair and sent it flying into the wall, threw a glass somewhere into the wall, and was cursing violently when the door creaked open.

“Ahh, I knocked. A lot.”

“Come the fuck in then,” Lex snarled. He turned away to face the windows and waited a beat to pull himself together.

“I—unh—I’m Ernie, the other guy is Max. We handle the…it…umm. Guy in the cage.” Ernie fidgeted under Lex’s glare.

Lex took in the doughy face and thick hands, the sloppy shirt and scuffed shoes. “Um. Well, Ernie, Mr. Luthor has decided it’s time for a change. I’m in charge here. I’ll be here full time. Get that guy dressed, Mr. Luthor wants a farewell party. “ He stopped and pulled a cigarette case out of his jacket pocket, selected one and made a show of lighting it. “I’d make sure he was clean…everywhere…if I were you.” He blew a stream of smoke into the air as Ernie scrambled for the door.

* * * * * *
Clark waited on the couch in the living room for the men to bring him to the elevator. He was happy. He was going to see Lionel, he might be in the big soft bed, he loved that bed. Lots of room to stretch, and sometimes Lionel let him watch the TV in the room. He enjoyed watching science programs, and what Lionel called classic movies.

He heard Ernie talking to Max, and stretched again. He’d had a third shower, and was clean as possible. He smiled to himself. He smelled like flowers now. He sniffed deeply at his palm. Nice. He heard Ernie’s voice, and the unfamiliar one that had come over the intercom, looked up--and Clark’s entire world blew into pieces.

The smell…the smell, the look, the boy. The boy in the doorway in Lionel’s office. His chest hurt, his heart beat so hard, and the smell made him raise up from the couch, his eye were blurred with tears.

Finally. He was here.

He rubbed his eyes clear and stared at the boy. He was so tall now, not so terribly thin as he’d been then, but his eyes were still the color of winter sky. He still smelled so very good. Clark waited for him to recognize him.

“Okay, okay, come on, enough staring. That’s the new boss. That’s all you need to know.”

New Boss, Clark thought. Did that mean Lionel was leaving again? More of Max and Ernie? He felt cold inside. That’s why Lionel wanted him. He was leaving. Which meant dinner, the bed and back to the cage. No sleeping, no TV, just more of--that—and he looked at Max with as much anger as he dared.

The new Boss was walking away as if he had no idea who Clark was and with a sinking heart Clark knew he didn’t know. He didn’t remember.

Stupid really. Why should he? He was someone more important than Clark was –why would he worry about a nothing…dog?

* * * * * *
The elevator was quiet. The sound of breathing was deafening in the small pace. Clark kept stroking the wood paneling at his back because he wanted so desperately to stroke the skin so close to him, separated from him by mere inches and a little silk. His fingers crept slowly closer, and he touched the little bit of bare wrist he could reach.

smack “Stop that, for God’s sake, that’s just…creepy.” He stared at Clark, his eyes dark with annoyance and Clark wilted a little. If he could just tell him—talk to him. But every time he tried to open his mouth, he was told to be quiet.

The elevator eased smoothly to a stop, and Clark walked out, with Ernie and Max on either side of him and the boy stayed in the elevator, smoking another one of those awful cigarettes. Clark frowned unconsciously. It masked his smell. He didn’t like it…Clark blushed and looked down. He had no right to like or dislike anything the men did. It was their prerogative to do what they wanted and he had no say. He sighed slightly and cast another glance under his lashes towards the slim figure in the car. Just before the doors closed again, he thought he saw the boy looking at him.

* * * * * **
Lex ground the butt into the carpet of the elevator and cursed, low and monotonous under his breath. Whatever motivated Lionel to turn that kid into some kind of toy, he’d done a thorough job of it. The kid was—disturbing. There was something wrong with him; something had been cut out of him. Lex shivered. The kid was like the ultimate expression of Lionel’s need to control. Had he ever been normal, he wondered?

The elevator sighed to a stop and Lex got out at his new home. So *his* cage was bigger, better appointed. So what? He poured a little club soda in a glass and sat at his new desk. He opened the drawers. Empty. He stood and went to the bank of closets at one wall. Empty. The bathroom was the same, shelves sparkling and empty. Ready for him to move in.

He wandered around the apartment, sipping at his drink. The cage room was featureless; obviously retrofitted into the apartment. Windowless, pitch-black—or would be if it weren’t for the ceiling lights blazing away. He wrinkled his nose at a faint odor, piss, shit…there was a bucket in the corner of the cage. God. What the fuck was the old man doing here? He broke out in goose bumps as hair he didn’t have tried to raise. God—that bucket was going. He couldn’t have that—stink—in here, not if he had to live here.

He walked into the living area, small, simple but comfortable, made of the space left over by the construction of the cage room. A small kitchen, a large shower, a ridiculously large shower—he realized this was the kid’s shower room, where Ernie and whatever the other one’s name had been entertaining themselves. His lip curled. He’d have to do something about that.

There were three very small bedrooms, no doubt for the handlers, and a large bedroom-sitting room with a very civilized bathroom at the far end of the apartment. His now, he guessed. The closets and storage in that room were empty also. Lex had the feeling it was rarely occupied. It had a smell of-dust and disuse about it.

He went back to the office and considered calling Lionel, asking just when his stuff was supposed to arrive, when a knock at the door broke into his thoughts. He opened the door to a personal shopper from one of Metropolis’ most exclusive mens clothing store. The man was burdened with an armful of clothing.

“Mr. Luthor sent measurements and some color and material choices--we selected several items we thought you might find to your liking. We included robes and pajamas, underclothing also to Mr. Luthor’s specifications for you. If Mr. Luthor would like, you can model them and we’ll take away whatever isn’t suitable.” His voice was so carefully neutral, it practically screamed insinuation.

Lex stared at the little man and said slowly and clearly, “Mr. Luthor is my father.”

“Oh!” The little man actually looked then. “Oh my yes! Of course! Pardon me. I didn’t mean to…I’ll just go now, um.”

“That might be best,” Lex said, a little smirk bowing his lips. He eyed the pile of clothing and grimaced. Would he have to model, he wondered? He fingered the heavy silk sleep pants and thought about a shower with longing. The phone rang and he went to answer it.

“Hello—Dad. Yes, I got the delivery, thank you. I look forward to getting my own wardrobe tomorrow, but thanks. I need a change. Listen, these two you have in here watching that—boy. I want them fired or whatever. I don’t want them back in here. Fine thanks. Do I have final say on firing and hiring? Good. I’ll come get the kid—now? All right. On my way.” He hung up and lit a cigarette quickly, exhaling noisily as he thought. Fuck, I just stuck myself with that kid.
* * * * * *
Lex interviewed a few men from inside the fight business, and selected a man to be the new handler, with a thought to finding someone outside of the business for the other handler. He was pleased to find that the kid’s fights were infrequent, which meant besides making sure he had the basic necessities he didn’t have to interact with him. That suited Lex fine.

He was surprised to find that he did enjoy the fights, or rather the drama surrounding the fights. The crowds were the best entertainment. He marveled at how badly people behaved when they knew there’d be no repercussions. It was instructive, to say the least. He felt much less guilt--guilt probably being too strong a word—for being a part of it, when other people around him were misbehaving so badly.

Typically, his world narrowed to what was expected of him. He devoted himself to trying to win Lionel’s approval. He woke, he showered, he ate, and when he wasn’t handling Lionel’s business he gave whatever time he had left over to handling his own.

He avoided the creepy kid in the cage as much as possible.

* * * * * *
“Mr. Luthor—Lex, I’m sorry—Clark looks ill.”

Lex was deep in thought, and it took him a moment for Philip’s words to sink in. He dragged his attention away from the laptop. “Who? Clark?”

“The…young man in the…” He gestured towards the cage room. “He looks ill.”

“Well, call in a doctor then,” Lex said and looked at the man. “You could have called a doctor in to see him, and sent me a memo, instead of wasting my time this way.”

Philip winced slightly, but pressed on. “I think it’s, well, mental.”

Philip didn’t move, so Lex finally snapped the laptop shut. “What exactly is it that you’d like me to do?”

He stood silently before the desk, with his hands crossed behind his back. It reminded Lex unpleasantly of Ray, whom he hadn’t thought of in years. Fuck.
Lex stood, “well, let’s go take a look.”

The kid was lying on his side almost under the cot, a piece of cloth twisted in a fist.

“Why’s he on the floor?”

Philip turned to look at him, a very careful expression of distaste on his face. “The cot is too short for him. He has to roll in a ball to lie on it. His knees hang over the edge when he does.”

Lex looked at the tall figure on the floor, plainly too long to sleep with any comfort on that cot. He noticed the bucket. “Oh. I meant to…”

The man leveled a blank stare at him. “He asked me if he could see the sun.”

There was no inflection in his voice and still Lex felt horribly guilty. He’d meant to check on the kid, he really had, but there was so much work to do, and he had to make sure everything was perfect and the business running just the way it would if Dad were handling it…”Clean up this mess. Get rid of that bucket. See if a bed will fit in here.”’

“But—all right. Sir.”

Lex wheeled around, but the expression on Philip’s face was as empty as the tone of his voice. Nothing at all was revealed in the steady look. “Bring him in the office.”

A tremor ran through the kid’s body as he spoke. ”Clark, that’s his name?”

“Yes, sir. He’ll be ready in a minute.” Philip looked down and his face and voice warmed a fraction. “Right, Clark?”

The kid nodded but didn’t move more than that.

“Well.” Lex said, “Well.” And turned to leave.

* * * * * **
Less than an hour passed, Lex sat on the sofa and waited. The heavy gray drapes behind him were wide open, and sunlight flooded the office. There was a tap at the door and he called “come in.”

The kid walked in the door first, his eyes focused over Lex’s head. He smiled, and it was a wide happy smile, free and open and it made you want to smile right along with him, Lex thought. His eyes were so—the color of sunlit oceans. They dropped, black lashes lay on his cheeks and then he raised them, and Lex felt like he’d touched a live wire.

He leaped to his feet and hissed, “It’s you--” Rage swept him. “You’re the one--”

Lex towered over him, hand raised. “It’s your fault—all this—your fault!” and Clark fell back as if he’d been struck.

The man pushed Lex back. “Hey—I was hired to protect him as well as you. Sir.”

Lex struggled not to punch the impertinent son of a bitch in his face. He pulled himself together and stepped around the cowering heap on the floor. “I’m going out. Have him back in that cage before I come back. He has an hour of sun,” he sneered.

* * * * * *
Clark lay with his head pressed to the floor, and Phillip waited a few steps away until he got up again.

“You okay?” He went on at Clark’s nod. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s an
asshole—“

Clark gasped, “Please don’t say that.”

Philip stared at him and shook his head. “Poor idiot. Come on Clark, let’s get you back in the fucking cage.”

Clark trudged behind Philip and waited patiently as he unlocked the cage and locked him inside.

“Great, he wants the bucket out, so why won’t he let me keep the cage open—call me if you need a bathroom break, kid. Try not to do it at the ass crack of dawn, okay?”

Clark watched Philip walk away and sighed. He wasn’t anything like anyone who’d been a handler before. He didn’t want anything from Clark and Clark wasn’t sure what to think about it. Ever since he could remember, the handlers wanted something. Long before he’d out grown the cot, long before Bear was worn smooth, they’d wanted something—that thing-- from him. And Philip didn’t.

Clark sighed, his breath caught in his throat. Neither did Lex. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out this was the Lex that Lionel talked about, this was his son, his favorite. The one he really loved, for whom Clark was just a pale substitute.

Lex hated him! Lex hated him…because…why? Clark’s breath hitched again, and he bit his lip hard. He did something. Lex had said it was his fault, something was his fault. He sobbed again, and shoved the ragged little square of blanket in his mouth. His shoulders shook and his eyes were hot, the tears made his cheeks burn and itch.

Philip came to the door of the cage. “Clark?”

Clark threw himself away from the door and sat with his back to him, pretended that he had some privacy. He heard the lock click open, and footsteps and then a warm hand fell on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, really.” The hand patted him; the blanket from the cot was tucked around him.

“I’m going to see what I can do, Clark. Try to sleep”

Philip was gone, and Clark wrapped the blanket around his face to block out the light.

* * * * * **
Another day, another trip to the pit, but this time was different, this time it was with Lex.

Clark was on edge, crowded against Lex. Touching him, always—touching him. No matter how he tried to move away, Clark was right there, almost panting in excitement. He practically jittered out of his skin, shifting from foot to foot until Lex grabbed the collar and yanked his head down.

“Listen to me,” he snapped and waited until Clark’s eyes were pinned on his. Clark pushed closer, as close as Lex’s grip would allow. “Don’t kill this man. Right away,” he snarled between gritted teeth. “Make it last. Lionel says so. Understand?”

Clark’s head jerked back and he searched the crowds. “Lionel?”

“He’s not here, I spoke to him on the phone, okay? He wants you to use…skill… with this one.”

Clark swallowed. “With the collar…like in the gym….”

“No,” Lex said. “Lionel promised you no collar here, no chain, no bracelets.” Lex bent his neck. He unlocked the collar and the change in Clark was sudden, dramatic. His skin pinked, he seemed taller, broader. His cheeks and lips flushed red, and power poured off of him.

Clark looked down into his eyes and smiled, slow and full of heat. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and slid them down until a thin edge of black hair underscored the line of the gleaming chain circling his hips. “You forgot this,” he said and the rough edge to his voice called to that part of Lex that liked flying high without a net. It made him even more angry.

When Lex tried to release the belt clip, his fingers fumbled and slid around Clark’s sweat damp skin. Clark made a little noise and Lex realized--the kid was hard. He was staring at Lex with such intensity and heat he felt heat flow into his dick. Shit.

Lex turned him to face the pit. “Get him,” he said and pulled the chain loose.

Clark drew in a deep, deep breath. “No killing, not right away,” he said in a languid, dreamy tone of voice and was suddenly gone. Lex blinked. What the fuck—the fucker disappeared…he heard the crowd screaming hysterically and dashed to the edge of what was once upon a time, a swimming pool.

Clark was in the pit. He fought single mindedly, obviously holding back, but steadily beating the man back towards the wall.

Lex watched, and though Clark had decent form, skill was not winning the day here; the other fighter was worlds better--or would have been. Lex grunted. Clark couldn’t be hurt. It could never be a fair fight. Clark without the stone was unbeatable, apparently invincible. All that was happening here was a long, slow, death by beating.

The crowd loved it.

Clark was smeared in blood, he and the other man were sliding around in it, and still kept attacking. Lex guessed that a drug fueled berserker rage was all that kept the other man on his feet. He was certain the poor fucker didn’t even feel what was happening to him….

Lex moved back from the edge, moved back against the wall. He knew what was going to happen down there. It was time to see what was happening in the crowd, make contacts as Dad said. Gather…information.

He swept his eyes over the avid faces in the throng lining all sides of the former swimming pool. Most were riveted to the massacre below, but some were moved by the dance taking place there in an ancient way—a primal response to blood and death.

There was an executive that he’d dealt with a few times before his sideways promotion, Lex mused. The woman on her knees in front of him wasn’t his wife—or his mistress. Or a woman, under all the silk and paint. Lex raised an eyebrow and made a mental note. That might come in handy some day. He adjusted himself as discretely as possible and spent a few moments admiring talent that deserved to be rewarded. He’d have to find out who that was…and schedule an evening together.

He spent a few minutes watching other couples have sex on the narrow seats set in tiers around the pit and sighed. So little time…he adjusted himself again.

The crowd noise rose to an ear-shattering shriek, so Lex made his way back to the edge of the pit. Pit. Former pool. God—sink hole of horror. He looked over the side, blood splashed the walls and the floor, and Clark stood in the middle of it all, beautiful white teeth gleaming in a rust colored smear.

He looked up and caught sight of Lex at the edge. Lex saw his mouth move, his lips formed his name and the crowd roared again when he leaped up to the lip of the pit.

Clark towered over him, the power and energy flowing off of him pushed Lex back from the edge and the men around him moved forward, but they were used to post –fight Clark—they were alert but not alarmed. He yanked Lex forward and pushed his nose into his neck, groaning and sniffing, loud deep whuffling noises that put him in mind of a puppy, and the image would have been cute, if Clark wasn’t covered in blood and grinding his steel hard dick into his leg…God this kid was big. Curiosity made him reach between them and feel just how big he was. Clark bucked against his hand and groaned so loud that Lex felt himself respond, his dick surged hard and he had to bite down on a groan himself—“fuck, where’s that collar--give me the god-damn collar--”

Clark immediately dropped his hands and stepped back, head down and eyes to the floor. Lex buckled the collar on and replaced the chain, the bracelets and Clark shrunk, paled, turned inside himself. He was silent, a lone tear washing a trail through the blood smeared on his cheeks.

“For God’s sake,” Lex snarled. “Take him back and clean him the fuck up.”

“What about you, sir?” Philip asked, his voice shook—he swallowed. “Aren’t you riding back with us? I don’t think—I mean—“ He whispered harshly, “Is he safe --” Philip’s face was white as paper—this was his first time at the Arena as well. Lex snarled. It was one thing to be told about it…something else entirely to witness it….

“Is he safe? What in the hell do you get paid for? Get him back to his room.” He made a dismissive gesture and sneered. Philip reached out for Clark’s arm, and then yanked his hand back, flinched when Clark touched him. Clark seemed to deflate even more. Lex watched Clark shuffle along in Philip’s wake. He didn’t look back.

* * * * * **
Philip sat in his room and listened to the kid cry. He felt like vomiting. That—that--thing in the other room, crying like a little kid, beat a man to death. And liked it.

What the hell was he—it? What happened to that…to make it into something so inhuman?

Maybe the rumors were true. Maybe Lionel did make it. It was…without the collar and other things, it was unbeatable. Not a fucking bit of the blood he’d washed down the drain had been his. And he—it—wasn’t bruised, marked in any way at all. Shit. And it stood under that spray…hard…that shit made it hard. Fuck!

Philip jumped up and stalked around the room, furious, and not sure why. Damn it. He needed out—he needed to get out of the building, get around normal people, do normal things—get drunk, get a girl, get unconscious….

He closed his eyes and sighed. It was still crying….

He got up and walked to the room, looked in the doorway. It was on the floor.

“Ah…Clark…the doors unlocked, you know.”

It nodded and scooted into a tighter ball. There was something in its hands, and Philip stepped carefully closer and looked, nervous of it now. He peered into the gloom of the cage and when Clark shifted a little, got a clear view of his hands.

Oh fuck me. Philip dropped into a squat, his head lowered. Fucking hell.
The kid had a stuffed bear or something crammed against his chest. Christ. Philip felt like he’d been kicked hard in the chest. He felt like goddamn Alice.

“C’mere kid, why the hell are you crying?” And he nearly choked on the words.

“I’m not crying.” The voice rose a little, sounding insulted and Philip smiled in spite of himself.

“No, you’re not crying. Come here.” He reached out and laid a shaky hand on the kid’s head, and after a moment, let out a soft huff. It was just a kid. *He* was just a kid.

At the light touch, Clark slid a little closer, but wouldn’t meet Philip’s eyes. Instead, he muttered,” Do you know why he hates me so much?”

Philip eased down to the floor. “The boss? He doesn’t hate you.” Philip winced.

“You’re lying,” Clark said, with no heat to his words, it was simply a statement of fact.

“Oh--no really, he just doesn’t know you.”

“He didn’t like the fight but I did it like I was supposed to and it always made Lionel happy. Why won’t it make Lex happy?”

Philip gaped—speechless. What could he say? He was still trying to get used to the idea of a merciless killer crying over a stuffed bear. Fuck, what did Lionel do to this poor shit?

He found himself with his arm around Clark’s neck, and leaning back against the bars. Clark was quiet and after a while, deep regular breathing told him he was asleep.
Lex had to do something. He had to know this kid was just that—whatever the hell his father had done to him, inside, he was still a kid.

* * * * *
Lex turned over what Philip said in his mind. He thought about it, watching Clark try to stretch out on the fold away bed that replaced the cot. He thought about the description Philip gave him of Clark crying, and -–and the bear, the stuffed animal. The kid was a giant, and he slept with a toy? Fucking turned to a toy for comfort. It chilled him. He’d seen him with Ernie and Max. It didn’t add up.

He watched the tapes from the room and thought about Clark.

Lex decided it was time to find out more about Clark. What was he? Some kind of experiment? Lionel had turned his own son into a science project once upon a time—maybe Clark was a successful project. It would explain a lot. He knew the collar and chain contained the meteorite from Smallville. Lex face twisted at the thought. He knew that it could change a person. Maybe Clark was an infected person also. Maybe his dad infected him on purpose. Lex felt icy tendrils wrap his spine… he’d probably been in this cage since the first time he saw him, slowly being altered, molded into a monster…he couldn’t imagine what was worse, that his father could do this or that he found it so completely easy to believe.

He hated to admit that he was scared of anything; he’d cut his own tongue out before he’d admit it out loud. But this was…something you should be scared of. Clark scared the hell out of him. And what scared him had to be examined, turned inside out and upside down until it had no power over him. Lex turned off the feed from the cage room camera and laughed sourly. That worked for everything but his major nightmare. He smiled at the picture of his dad sitting on the gleaming desktop. He imagined everyone had one fear they were helpless against.

* * * * * *
He stood outside the cage room and watched Clark. It was becoming a hobby.
Clark looked up and smiled, and it sent a little bubble of warmth through him, and on the heels of that a sharp stab of anger. It made him mad, the effect he had on him. And Clark, always so fucking in tune to whatever he was feeling, looked like he’d been kicked and turned his eyes to the floor again. How the fuck could anyone like him have so much fucking hope? Was he really that stupid?

“What are you doing?” He asked and the boy in the cage said,” I’m—I was thinking about grass.”

Lex blinked. Clark always answered him with strange, off the wall responses. “Okay, grass. What about it?”

“Is it ever curly?” He glanced quickly at Lex and stared at the floor.

Lex laughed. “Curly? Ah—no. It’s short or long or maybe bent a little, but it’s not curly. Why?”

“I had a dream it was. Can…can I ask about going to see the sun? I haven’t been to see it…”

Lex made a sound of annoyance and Clark huddled closer to the floor. “Philip!”

Philip came around the corner quickly, with a hard look for Lex. “Yeah…Sir?”

“Whenever he wants to see the sun, take him. In fact Clark, when you want to see it, go in the living room. You can leave the cage you know. Did you tell him?” He directed that at Philip.

“Yes, Sir. I said. I’ve told him many times. Sometimes, he creeps to the bathroom by himself.” He kept looking at Lex like it was his fault.

Lex took a deep breath and walked into the cage. He sat gingerly on the edge of Clark’s bed and said. “Did you hear Philip?”

Clark nodded.

“Look at me when I talk to you.”

Clark raised his chin and blinked nervously. “Yes, Le—sir.”

Lex sighed. “Don’t call me sir. It’s Lex. For both of you.”

Clark glanced at Philip and Philip smiled at him. Clark said yes.

“Okay.” Lex looked around the cage, noted the positions of the cameras. Decided maybe he should check them more often. He stood. “Well. Do you want to go now?”

Clark leaped up, the puppy happy grin in place again, and Philip looked at him with an actual smile. Lex stalked past him, refusing to smile back.

His approval was worthless, he could care less.

end part two

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