In Their World

Disclaimer:

This story is purely fantasy and is a work of fiction. It is not an implication of the sexual orientation of any of the characters whether fictional or real. It pairs Clark Kent (Superman) and Alexander Luthor, characters which are trademarks and copyright of DC comics.

The characters: Superman, Alexander Luthor and members of the (Justice) League are characters which are trademarks and copyright of DC comics.

This story contains homosexual themes. If you are offended by such topics or not of legal age to read such stories, please do not read on. The names of characters and their engagements are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life are completely coincidental.

Copyright (c) Anne 2009. All rights reserved.

IN THEIR WORLD

Chapter 2: First meeting

Putting down his game boy, Clark found that despite turning up the volume on his Discman the noise he was trying to drown out could still be heard. As the commotion was getting louder, Clark was sure that it wasn't inside his head, which if his logic was correct meant that he wasn't going insane.

In fact it was getting louder, meaning it was headed this way. A car, Clark thought. He leapt from his bed and went down the stairs three at a time. Leaving enough time to catch his breath he sought out his mom.

"Are we having company over?" Clark asked his mother. In her workstation, a place located between the office and the kitchen Martha Kent was surrounded by material for curtains she intended to hang in the living room. At hearing her son she remembered she had to get new curtains for Clark's room. She still couldn't understand how he had ripped them to shreds and he certainly wasn't going to inform her anytime soon.

She looked up over her glasses at the young man in front of her. `He certainly will be a heartbreaker.' She sighed, relieved that vanity had never found him and hoped it never would.

"I don't think so. Your father hasn't told me anything. Why, do you want someone to come over Clark?" Martha teased, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Clark rolled his eyes at what she was suggesting but couldn't stop the blush creeping up his neck. He went into the kitchen for something to eat.

"Get out of there you just ate. Maybe your dad has something for you to do." Martha knew her words were falling on deaf ears as she could already hear avid eating. "Chew before you swallow Clark."

"Never!"

"Make sure you clean up afterwards."

Clark found that the noises he was making as he was washing up the plate and glass wouldn't eliminate the whizzing sounds he could hear. He wasn't sure how he found himself re-organizing the upper cabinets of the kitchen, but halfway through the lower shelf of the second cabinet he realized that it didn't sound like other vehicles he had heard. He didn't know when it had started happening but he'd been recognizing the sounds cars made more and more lately. Clark knew the sounds that his dad's truck made and that they were different from their neighbour's, even though the trucks were the same make.

Next door's truck sounded like small stones grating against each other, as if they were contained in a small space. Their family truck sounded like dirt landing on a window from a short distance. The car Clark could hear made a sound similar to the one the iron made when it was hot and running over a shirt of some kind. It was smooth.

Clark couldn't control what he heard or understand why a particular noise was loud at one moment and normal the next. He still couldn't tell his parents about the night he seemed to be able to hear everything simultaneously, which made him angry with fear that he ended up shredding the curtains as a route to resolving his frustrations. Most thirteen year olds don't go through this, Clark kept thinking. He knew it would break his parents' heart, but he would have to find out more about his birth parents.

There was no reason for Clark's heart to be quickening as the smooth sound became louder. He bumped his head on the cabinet door and uttered a silent curse.

"Mom, can I um...help you with something?"

"Well, the bottom cupboards won't clean and arrange themselves," Martha replied naturally, speaking around the pins in her mouth. Lately something bad been bothering her son and Clark hadn't talked to either herself or her husband. When Clark had a problem he talked to his father, when he was nervous or scared he sought her out: like now. Martha knew that this was happening more lately and would happen less as Clark grew older. Listening to him work vigorously she shook her head and pressed the peddle of the sewing machine.

Fifteen minutes later Martha halted her efforts on the sewing machine as the sound of an engine on the gravel outside caught her attention. She pushed her hair behind her ears and removed the mountain of cotton that was surrounding her, so that she could see who was outside. Due to the surprise of unexpected company and the burden of other worries Martha has to be excused for not noticing that her son had been silent for the past five minutes. No pots clanging or cabinet doors banging. In fact as she was approaching the door Clark was sitting cross-legged, despondent trying not to cry. His imagination had gotten the better of him They've come to take me away,' he panicked they knew I'm not normal.'

At that moment Clark heard grinding teeth, every other sound was distant, normal. He could hear his mother walking towards the kitchen door to answer the knock, the door opening.

"Mr. Luthor!" Martha said in surprise.

At that Clark frowned, afraid to hope that he wouldn't be taken away from his parents.

"Mrs. Kent please if you insist that I call you Martha then Lionel will suffice." The voice was deep, commanding without intending to be.

"Please come in."

`Luthor?' Clark thought. He had never seen a Luthor face to face. The papers always had a story on one, sometimes the father sometimes the son. All Clark knew about them was that he had once heard his father say the word "damn" before the name Luthor. By Clark's thinking if a Luthor could make his father curse then a Luthor was a bad person: worse than the IRS.

Relieved Clark stood up forgetting that he still had about four metal pots piled up in his lap, all of which clanged loudly as a result of his efforts to stand. Clark frowned at the commotion and bent down to put the objects back in their place. `How come that doesn't hurt my ears?' Clark thought to himself.

"Clark" Martha called out to her son, who as always seemed unaffected by anything happening outside his head and was now fighting with her kitchen utensils. His figure could be seen bobbing up and down from behind the kitchen counter.

The two men behind her were as confused as she was at the sight, but kept waiting silently.

"Clark," she called out with a warning tone, which her son knew well enough to listen to.

"Yes, I'm coming I almost just died, fine don..." his words leaving his throat before he could finish his sentence. Clark knew that there were two strangers in his kitchen; he knew that somewhere his mother was also present. However, all he saw at that moment was one figure. `He doesn't look like that in the papers,' Clark thought. Thankfully Alexander Luthor was looking around the kitchen, as if judging it.

Clark noted that the two men were dressed the same, as if Alex was a younger version of his father. Clark only ground his teeth when he was frustrated, he'd been doing it a lot lately. He wondered what Alex was frustrated about. Above his heartbeat Clark looked at his mother and realized she was saying something. Alex was staring at him.

"Aren't you going to say hi?"

"Um..yeah" rubbing his hands on his jeans unconsciously. "Hello Sir, I'm Clark Kent." Clark went forward and shook the right hand of the older of the two men. It felt dry and smooth.

"It's nice to meet you Clark, I'm Lionel and this is my son Lex,"

Lionel offered a small smile. But Clark saw that the smile wasn't like his dad's or Mr. Harrison's, it was all in his mouth; Lionel's eyes were a cold venomous green. Clark attempted a tight lipped smile to show that he had heard.

He mentally begged the "Powers That Be" as hard as he could `Please don't make me shake his hand.' Trying to control his breathing, Clark retreated back until he was next to his mother. At feeling her hands on his shoulders he felt safe again. Instead his mother seemed to be pushing him towards the other Luthor, whom for some reason Clark didn't want to be too near.

Then a thought saved him "I better get dad!" Clark said, not noticing that he was almost shouting.

His mother frowned at him before complying. Clark left the kitchen as quickly as his legs allowed and he headed for his dad, who was working in the barn. It turns out that his dad had heard the guests arrive and wasn't to pleased about it. He gave his son a reassuring pat on the back as he left the barn.

"I wonder what this one's about?" Clark heard his father say in a quiet voice.

Almost sad that his father had to go, Clark tried to find a way to stall his return to the kitchen. Wood' he thought we need wood.' Despite the heat of the summer that's what Clark found himself occupied with for the next fifteen minutes. Throughout the task he was trying to forget the figure that had been standing in his kitchen. Clark wondered why a man as notorious as Lionel Luthor would shorten his son's name so badly. Lex sounded like a dog's name or some kind of toilet cleaner. Whilst Clark had seen that Alex was neither of those things.

Then Clark found it of the utmost importance not to think about Alex at all. Or memorize how Alex stood, the brown of his eyes or the fact that his lips were thin but they looked firm. It was even more important to Clark that he forget how Alex smelled as he ran past him, or how he was shorter than his father but he still looked effortlessly strong, even beside a force as preponderate as Lionel Luthor. As he was working Clark was surprised that the list of things he should forget about Alex Luthor seemed never-ending.

Lex walked around to the barn door hearing wood being chopped. Getting closer he saw the young figure busy in his employment, undertaking the task at hand as if in a trance. His body used to the mechanisms of what he was doing, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Lex watched Clark's hands, the way his hair clung to his sweaty and creased forehead. Twice Lex had witnessed Clark's tongue venture outside his mouth to wet his lips.

Lex was unconscious of the fact that since he had started watching Clark he had unclenched his fists and removed his hands from his pockets, leaning casually on the frame of the barn's entrance. Lex had even stopped frowning; a feature his nanny claimed had been on his face since birth. Considering his upbringing it was understandable she had told him.

Watching Clark, Lex wondered `if he looks like this now what will the women and men of this world do with themselves when he's an adult.' Even at this early stage of his teenage years Clark was about an inch shorter that Lex's six feet. Clark's shoulders had filled a considerable space in the flannel shirt he was wearing. With the way the light was entering the barn area Clark appeared to have a golden light emanating from his head, his dark brown hair gaining a lighter tint. Lex felt an odd, unwarranted sense of ownership towards the figure he was watching. The thought that one day someone was going to have this vision everyday, made him feel uncomfortable and envious, for reasons he couldn't understand.

"How much wood do you need exactly?" Lex asked, his words an attempt at extinguishing his thoughts.

Clark surprised by the voice missed the woodblock he was supposed to be hacking into and the axe in his hand landed on the edge of the worktable in front of him. "Huh?" He was breathing rapidly and not because of the effort he had been putting into his work. `How come I couldn't hear him' Clark kept asking himself.

"I guess that saves you having to do it in winter." Lex continued by way of making a conversation.

"Umm..." Clark's mom was always telling him to give her a minute's silence, if she only knew how that was possible.

"You can put that down, I don't bite." `Much' Lex added silently, looking at the rosy spots on Clark's cheeks.

"Umm" Clark knew he could speak, he just wasn't sure that was possible with the other man in the same space as him. "Would you like some milk?" His throat had been getting drier and drier since Alex had been in his vicinity.

Lex who had noted the boy's nervousness tried to ease it as best he could. "As long as cookies come with it."

"Yeah," was all Clark could handle, smiling to himself proud of his efforts. He left the barn making sure to walk on the side of the workstation that didn't place Alex in his path. He hadn't managed to remain in the haven of the kitchen as long as he had wanted. After the stern look his mother had somehow managed to give him, Clark found himself returning to face his fate.

Well,' Lex thought idle hands are the devil's plaything' Lex tried undertaking Clark's task to amuse himself more than anything else.

Clark knew what was happening in the farm house before returning back to it. He tried to sneak up him but like any good predator Lex always seemed to know when he was being watched.

"I think I'll be sticking to my day job." Lex said looking up from his work and directly at Clark.

"Good idea," Clark frowned. `I don't want to touch him' he told himself, as he walked towards the worktable and put the tray of nourishing goods down. His eyes however, couldn't look away from the sweat that had built up over Alex's upper lip, from his brief attempt at being a farm hand.

"Wow, you went all out." Lex wondered if his heart could handle the amount of sugar each of the snacks held.

"My name's Clark." My name's Clark. My NAME IS CLARK! Shitforbrains more like. It felt like the first of school when he was around Alex.

"Lex Luthor. Nice to meet you" Lex held out his hand trying to hide his amusement, Clark promptly filled it with a glass of milk. Their hands touched briefly as a result of the exchange, making Clark bite his lower lip to stop himself from blushing.

"How come you're not with the grown ups?" An innocent question but Clark saw a flash of anger cross Alex's face.

"They're talking about things that don't concern me." Lex was trying not to sound bitter remembering his father's words `Why don't you go and play Lex.' It was meant to be a joke.

"Wanna look around?" Clark saw Alex's jaw clench and he didn't like it.

"Sure, why not,"came the amiable answer.

Clark had intended to tell Alex about the farm, tools, horses and machinery. But he found that he wanted to say everything at once and couldn't. The result was a series of sounds Clark had never heard leave his mouth before; they were between a groan and a mumble. Well at least he hasn't noticed me acting weird Clark consoled himself.

Watching Clark, Lex couldn't remember seeing someone so anxious; he thought Clark was about to combust. The pride for the farm was evident in his face, so Lex just prompted him on its features how this and that worked. Against his better judgment, Lex found himself listening to what the young Kent had to say and would later find himself seeking further information about the latest farm machinery.

"You made these". Lex stated, after they had climbed the ladder to reach the second floor of the barn.

Clark wondered how Alex had guessed correctly. Most people were in awe of the chess pieces, thinking his dad had made them, giving Clark one of the few chances to boast. "Yeah I did."

"They're not bad." Lex couldn't understand how someone Clark's age could help around at home, go to school and find time to sculpt and paint a breath taking piece of work. Clark had interpreted various astrological signs into delicately well crafted wood pieces, that could be used in a chess game.

"Wanna play?"

"Alright." Lex couldn't miss the grin that crossed Clark's face. He'd that grin when he knew he was about to get something others wouldn't.

In the car heading back to his family house Lex Luthor had to either purse his lips or keep his mouth covered with his hand. A smile was threatening to invade his lips and remain. Clark had beaten him at chess, he still couldn't believe it. It had only happened once, but it had left its mark. A measly farm boy eight years younger than him, had beaten him at chess, a game that was his, Lex thought. No one, not even his father could beat him at chess. Not anymore.

As he was preparing for bed he realized for the first time that Clark never called him Lex. During the chess game Clark had said "Alex you're cheating." At hearing this Lex wasn't surprised, it felt appropriate and he hadn't questioned it. After that Lex went on to win another round of the game.

The chess game was a chance to finally resolve an issue he was turning over in his head. Clark's eyes were one of those that could either be green or blue depending on where he was and what he was wearing. He was less nervous when he was doing a task he was confident in, he also laughed more: the noise inducing an imperceptible tightness around Lex's chest and stomach.

Most kids would stare at Lex's head. Perhaps that was how his sixth sense had developed. Lex hadn't had hair on his head since he was seven years old. Rather than taking pity on himself, his father had told him that this would give Lex a chance to know who to trust and who to keep close when looking for something to shield bullets. This was one of the nicer pieces of advice his father had bestowed and Lex had taken it into consideration. Clark didn't even seem to bother hiding his interest about his baldness and asked him about it during the game but still looked into his eyes when they talked. Somehow Lex knew that Clark wasn't staring at his head behind his back, although he knew he was being stared at.

When they had said goodbye it was "Bye Alex, maybe you'll win next time." Lex remembered being thankful that his father wasn't within earshot when they parted. He didn't know what his father had said to the Kents' and didn't ask. He knew he still had a lot to learn about business, however, he did know that the decisions his father was making about family owned farms in the area would one day fall on him. He wasn't sure if Clark would be as happy to see him when that time came.

Later on in bed, Lex was wondering who had begun to call him Lex. The sharp monosyllabic form of the name seemed to please his father so he had kept it. He did know that his mother had been the only one to call him Alex and he had stopped others from calling him that since her. Lex couldn't understand why then if others were prohibited from calling him Alex, he still wanted Clark to call him that: over and over again.

For what would probably be a long time `Clark Kent' was the last whisper his thoughts made to him before Lex fell asleep.

• • • • • Clark was glad that he had learned how to do laundry. In fact he vowed that when he was a dad he would teach his kids this important facet of life in order to avoid any embarrassment. He knew his mother loved him, but this was something he would rather she didn't know about. Clark had been given "the talk" by his parents, first by his dad then his mom, then both of them. "We just wanted to make sure you were paying attention." They'd said. He found that he would blush less and concentrate more on what they were saying if he didn't look directly at them.

He had been warned about wet dreams, Clark thought as he watched he machine turn. Even as he started crying it didn't escape his attention that despite sitting close to the object the sound was once again at a normal level. He hadn't touched Alex accept when handing him the glass of milk, which had been enough of a warning. Clark remembered not to think about him. It had been a week since he had seen Alex. Already he had had to wash his sheets three times because of his dreams.

It didn't matter what he told himself when he was awake. When he slept all his mind wanted to do was think about Alex; running his hands over his face, his lips, drawing a map of someplace that didn't exist on his head as an excuse to touch it, just once. Suddenly hearing things he shouldn't be able to hear wasn't as frightening as his feelings for Alex Luthor. Even at thirteen Clark knew which obstacle he'd rather face.

tbc

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