I AM THE CHEESE

I AM THE CHEESE

"I'm going to kill somebody in a minute."

It was weird the way Lex said that whilst leaning in and brushing a non-existent speck of dust from Clark's lapel, a soft smirk on his face so that everyone would think they were Confident and Relaxed. Lex's publicist was very big on Confident and Relaxed. 

"How much longer do we have to stay here?"

Lex took a surreptitious glance at his watch between the blinding smiles he was bestowing on everyone who caught his eye. "About an hour. Wouldn't want to appear rude." Lex lifted his glass in greeting to someone across the room. "Especially not with half the nation's press camped outside."

Clark sighed, trying to keep an expression on his face that didn't scream 'Bored To Tears'. It wasn't as easy as it was in his Lit seminars. "You know, I thought they were bad in Metropolis."

Lex turned to look at him then, and Clark got a real smile, the kind that was slightly lopsided and made Lex's eyes tilt up at the sides. "They're used to us in Metropolis."

Until they'd arrived in Edge City two days ago, Clark hadn't realized just how much that was true. In Metropolis he was usually able to get through the week with only a few cries of 'Hey, you're Clark Kent! You're Lex Luthor's boyfriend!' and maybe the occasional "So is he bald, you know, everywhere?'

Here it was a totally different story. Lex always said that the Metropolis paparazzi were bored with him now that he wasn't falling out of S&M clubs at three in the morning, or having ill-advised, highly public sex with Hollywood starlets, and that's why they got off so easy. (After the first flush of 'Luthor Scion takes College Boy as Lover' headlines, that is.) Apparently, the Edge City press were just as interested in a meteoric rise to business success as they were in teenage debauchery, because Lex had spent the last forty-eight hours smiling and waving for the cameras while Clark stood behind him and held his hand, low behind Lex's back where nobody could see how white his knuckles were.

"�want you to meet my partner, Clark Kent." Lex's hand had made its way from Clark's shoulder to his waist at some point, and it gave him a not-so-subtle nudge.

Clark blinked himself back to the real world and plastered on a grin, holding his hand out to be shaken by a tall, slender man in a blue ruffle shirt. He had a ponytail and a beaky nose. "Nice to meet you," said Clark.

"Darius Deriaty," said the man. Clark resisted the urge to say, 'of course you are'. "I must say it's wonderful to have you here. The Duchess is so very flattered that you found time to attend her little--" Darius made a fluttery gesture with his hand, making the wide sleeves of his shirt billow gently "--soiree."

"We wouldn't have missed it for the world. Would we Clark?" Lex's fingers slid warm through Clark's.

Clark, who had witnessed Lex's twenty-five minute whining session in the hotel room before they left, thought it best to just nod and smile while Lex and Darius exchanged weird little cryptic comments and semi-niceties.

Nodding and smiling was something he'd always been good at. From as long as Clark could remember, his dad had rambled on at every opportunity about how things weren't how they used to be, and the youth of today this and the state of the nation that. Clark had learned very early on that if he nodded, smiled, and threw in the occasional 'uh-huh' he could pretty much just get on with his day. Now there was college, and study sessions with Chloe where she ranted and raved about her latest Female Influence in the Modern World class, and before that there had been school, which taught the Nod and Smile far better than it did English or Math - and where he'd learned the 'Happy Place' technique from Pete. Why just tune it out, Pete had explained, when you could be in bed with Jennifer Lopez and Britney Spears?

"Don't they hate each other?" Clark had wondered aloud.

"Yeah, but that's half the fun." Pete had grinned hugely. "Imagine them fighting over you!"

He'd had a point. His fantasy bedfellows had ranged from Lana to Angelina Jolie to Pete's mom to Pete's sister to Madame Dupois who taught French, sometimes all in the span of a single lesson. Algebra had always been more fun after that.

And then Clark had met Lex. Lex took the phrase 'he likes to hear himself talk' to a whole new level. He didn't just like to hear himself talk, he liked to hear himself lecture. Give impromptu speeches. Expand at great length on the parallels between The New York Rangers and the troops of Alexander the Great.

Nodding and smiling? Clark was a pro. But still. He hated events which required him to do nothing *but* nod and smile for hours on end. Lex hated them too, and he was even better at it than Clark was.

"I hate these things," said Clark when Darius had apparently schmoozed Lex for long enough. He flitted off across the room, wiggling his narrow hips like a girl.

"I know. And I appreciate you coming with me." There was a brief but firm squeeze to his hand. "Did you have anything to eat?"

"Yeah, right." Clark scoffed. "Have you seen the stuff they're passing off as food? It wouldn't feed a mouse. Plus I can't tell what any of it is just by looking at it, and I never eat anything that I can't identify by sight."

Lex laughed and tugged Clark around to face him. Their hands, still linked, bumped against Clark's thigh. "You ate that Japanese food with me, that one time."

"That was different," said Clark, letting his free hand rest in the small of Lex's back. "You promised me it wouldn't be gross, and anyway I was eating it *off* you."

Lex gave a low, secret laugh that made Clark's toes curl inside his shoes. Clark took the opportunity to lean in for a kiss.

He'd barely touched Lex's lips with his own when he heard a high-pitched cry of, "Lex Luthor and Clark Kent!"

Clark pulled back and put his smile back on. He really hoped he was the only one who heard Lex's pained groan. 

The Dowager Duchess Wilkinson swooped down in a flurry of feathers and rubies, gifting lipstick kisses to the air on either side of Lex's face. "How terrible you are!" she cooed, doing the same to Clark. "You've been invited to every one of my little gatherings, and you only accept one invitation? For shame!"

Clark laughed nervously and stood closer to Lex, who went into charm mode and started flirting outrageously with the Countess. Clark thought about wandering off to find Lex another drink - he kept glancing at his empty glass. 

Before he got a chance, however, Lex was yanking Clark around the room, shaking hands and kissing painted cheeks and saying things like, "Lovely to have met you," and "Yes, we must do lunch next time you're in the city," and Clark's personal favourite, "Thank you so much for inviting us. It really was a spectacular occasion."

It was Clark's favourite part of the evening.

***

What he wasn't so keen on was Lex's next suggestion.

"Lex, our hotel is five minutes drive away. Why do you want to go all the way back to Metropolis tonight?"

"Because," said Lex, nodding to the driver as he shut the limo door. Lex started pulling of his jacket.

Clark reached over to help, sliding the charcoal gray material down Lex's arms. "Because what, Lex? Come on - it'll take us at least two hours to drive back to Metropolis."

"I know that," said Lex, yanking his tie over his head.

"And you're so tired. Don't you think you should get some sleep, and we can drive back in the morning?"

"I'm not tired," said Lex, turning around to face Clark. "I'm exhausted. And I'm sober, which is something I plan to rectify in the very near future. And I've been on display for the last forty-eight hours, making nice with rooms full of imbeciles who don't have half my intelligence just because there's a minute chance that one of them might be able to further my career in the future. I have very definite plans for the rest of my evening, all right? I want to get drunk, get fucked, and fall asleep with you in my own damn bed."

Well. There wasn't really much Clark could say to that except, "Okay."

***

By the time they got back to Lex's penthouse, a lot of things had changed. Lex, having rolled up his sleeves earlier and undone most of the buttons on his shirt, was no longer wearing socks or shoes. He was no longer wincing with the tension in his shoulders, because Clark had devoted himself fully to the complete removal of any and all knots in Lex's back. He was complaining that he had a dead leg (because he'd been slumped on the floor with his head on Clark's knee to allow Clark better access to his neck) and he was also extremely drunk.

For his part, Clark was still dressed, still sober, and starving. "Come on," he said, gathering up Lex's discarded clothing from the seat, "let's get you upstairs. Put your jacket back on."

Lex made a soft, protesting sound when Clark pulled him up onto his knees and propped him against the seat. He promptly slid down it again. "Hoo boy," he said from the floor, "it's amazing what a couple of months away from the scene will do to your tolerance."

"The 'scene'?" Clark grinned and stuffed Lex's shoes into the overnight bag they'd picked up from the hotel. "How very street of you, Lex."

"Shut up." 

Clark couldn't see his face, because it was pressed against the floor of the limo. But he could tell Lex was smiling.

In the elevator, to which Clark had insisted on carrying Lex due to the barefoot/dead leg/blind drunk situation, Lex babbled on about elocution lessons and horses, swaying wildly enough that Clark felt justified in wrapping an arm around his waist and just *holding* him upright. It was something that Lex would never have allowed had he been sober - but then, Lex didn't usually allow Clark to carry him around when he was sober, either. The morning after was going to be so much fun.

"Did anybody ever tell you that primary colours should never be worn together?"

"It's been mentioned once or twice."

Lex pitched violently to the right. "You should take heed," he said, when Clark had righted him again.

"I don't think you're in any position to be poking fun at my color scheme, Mr. 'Everything in my closet is arranged by degrees of purple.'"

"Is not. Hey, are you going to carry me to the door, too?"

"Where's your keycard?"

"Jacket pocket."

Clark put Lex down and braced him against the wall as he felt for the card. It took longer than it should have, because Lex kept doing things like kissing his jaw and wrapping his arms around Clark's neck. Then he wrapped his legs around Clark's waist, which was very nice but led Clark to have serious doubts that Lex was as drunk (or as sane - security cameras, anyone?) as he was making out. Still, the bottom line was that he had Lex wrapped around him, which was never a bad thing and he'd get right down to taking full advantage just as soon as he'd eaten the entire contents of Lex's refrigerator and possibly a few cupboards as well. 

"Here," he said when he reached the kitchen island. "Sit down on this stool."

Lex sat.

Clark opened the fridge and placed a bottle of water in front of Lex. "And drink that."

Lex drank.

Clark busied himself finding sandwich ingredients, carting them all over to the breakfast bar and opening a loaf of bread. "You want one?"

Lex nodded.

Clark got to work.

"You know why there's holes in Swiss cheese, don't you?"

Clark, who had just picked a slice of it up, had a feeling he was going to regret asking, but he did it anyway. "Why?"

"Amoeba farts." Lex stood up. It took him a couple of tries, but he managed it.

Clark stopped, the cheese flapping mid-air. "What?"

"You heard." Lex grinned and picked up the packet of sliced salami. "Little bacteria in the cheese. Farting. Well, it's not all farts. Some of it's belching."

Clark put the cheese down - a little distance away from his sandwich - and fixed Lex with his best stare. The one he reserved for homophobes, Smallville residents with little green rocks up their mutated asses, and Chloe and Pete when they were stoned and stealing Clark's Ho-Hos. "Are you shitting me?"

Lex *giggled*, which wasn't what people were supposed to do when they get The Stare. They were supposed to�.cower, or something. No, that's not right. Succumb to his will? Anyway. They weren't supposed to giggle. *Lex* wasn't supposed to giggle. Even if it was kind of cute.

"No, I swear!" Lex picked at the salami, frowning at it when the pieces didn't separate. Of course that was always a hazard when the packaging was still on. "There's something wrong with this meat."

Clark took the packet from Lex and looked meaningfully at the stool. "Sit down."

Lex rolled his eyes. It went on for a while longer than usual, and he held onto the counter with one hand as he sat. "Yes, boss."

Clark opened the salami and layered a few pieces onto each sandwich. "Lex, are you serious?"

Lex blinked at him. "About what?"

Lex didn't get drunk very often, so it was always easy to forget that when he did, his brain went wandering at speeds even Clark couldn't keep up with. "About the cheese."

"Oh! Yeah." Leaning forward, Lex looked up at Clark with the sort of earnest, open expression that Clark might trust if he didn't use it himself so often when he was explaining why his latest English paper was late. Again. "It's caused by these bacteria in it called 'Propionibacteria shermanii.'" Lex was the only man alive that could pronounce that after consuming a whole bottle of whiskey. In fact he was probably the only human being alive, period, after that much alcohol.

Clark picked up his cheese again. It drooped in his hand, ashamed of its unsavory upbringing. "But the holes are huge! What the hell kind of bacteria blows a hole a billion times its size with a fart?"

Lex laughed again, his elbows slipping out from under him. "Ow," he said when his head hit the counter with a 'thunk'. Then, "It's not just a few microbes, Clark. It's *armies*." Of course it was. Did Lex ever tell Clark anything that *didn't* involve armies? "They eat the lactic acid excreted by the other bacteria."

Okay, Clark hadn't thought it could get any worse. The cheese fell limply the counter and Clark wiped his hands on his shirt. "That's just great, Lex. Not only do they fart in my cheese, now you're telling me they eat each other's shit?"

Lex ignored him for a minute, apparently fascinated with his reflection in the shiny tiled worktop. "You're pretty high and mighty for a guy who grew up on a farm," he said when he stopped trying to look down his own ear, "don't cows chew their own vomit?"

"It's called the cud, Lex." Clark picked up the lettuce, giving the offending cheese slice a wide berth. "And that's different."

"Hey." Lex sat up suddenly, and Clark had to reach over and grab the front of his shirt so he didn't topple over backwards. "Hey!" Lex complained, batting his hands away, "You'll bruise the silk!"

"You're welcome." Clark stabbed the lettuce with a knife.

"It's a beautiful, natural process," Lex insisted after a moment of silence, elegant fingers picking through a box of cherry tomatoes. "They eat, they get indigestion, they fart, et voila! Swiss cheese. Plus, it gives the manufacturers an excuse to charge for something that's mostly just air." He popped the selected tomato into his mouth and chewed morosely. "I wish I'd thought of it first."

Clark put the knife down. "Look, " he said, "It's just not the same without Swiss cheese."

Lex grinned and ate another tomato. "So put it on the sandwich, then. It's not like it's any different than before. You just know more about its origins now."

"Yeah. Cuz that never inspires negative reactions in people." 

"I said I was sorry about that."

"You threw a bowling ball at my head!" 

"Well it's not like it could hurt you!" Lex got up from his stool and wobbled his way over to Clark. "Look," he said when he got there, "I'm sorry I ruined your sandwich."

Clark glowered at him. "Bastard. I should throw you out of that window."

Lex tutted and put his hand on Clark's shoulder. "Come on, you're a Journalism major." He turned Clark around until he stood with his back to the counter. "Where's your vocabulary?"

It was very difficult trying to think of words when you had Lex Luthor pressing himself impossibly to close to you and just�*breathing* on your neck. "What?"

Lex licked a stripe up to Clark's ear, blowing cool on the wet skin. "The correct word," he murmured, chuckling softly at Clark's shiver, " for throwing someone out of a window. It's defn - detfen - defenestration."

"Oh," said Clark, but it came out more like, "Ohhhhhhhh�" because Lex chose that moment to drop to his knees.

"If I make it up to you," he said, smiling wonkily up at Clark, "will you promise not to defenestrate me?"

"I'll think about it."

Lex raised an eyebrow, a challenge that made Clark swallow in anticipation. Then he had a thought.

"Lex," he said, pulling him to his feet, "didn't you say something about wanting to get fucked tonight?"

Lex grinned, slow and pleased. "I did."

"Huh." Clark took Lex's face in his hands and kissed him until Lex was sucking on his tongue and pulling hard on his hair. "Then maybe things would work better this way."

Lex evidently agreed, because the moment Clark deposited him on the counter - after a very satisfying sweep of his arm that sent all the food tumbling to the floor and made Clark feel like he was in a movie - he lay back, hissing when he came in contact with the tiles.

"Too cold?" Clark pushed Lex's shirt up and pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his stomach.

"Nnn." Lex arched up against him, his heels digging into Clark's back. "'Sgood."

Clark grinned and bent his head again. He loved Lex's skin. Loved the taste, the smell, and the unique smoothness of it. He especially loved being the only one to see all the little markings. Lex had a mole on the back of his left calf, and three freckles in the shape of a triangle just above the dip of his right hip. Clark traced them now with his tongue, connecting the dots. Lex sighed underneath him and twisted, muscles moving in a sweet shift that Clark followed with his mouth. He pulled back slightly, tugging Lex right to the edge of the counter; being sure to rub as much of himself against Lex's burgeoning erection as he could. 

"Clark," moaned Lex, "don't tease."

Clark chuckled softly, getting a hand between them. "Would I do a thing like that?" he breathed, dropping the lightest of kisses onto the skin just above Lex's waistband.

"Little fucker. Don't you have some missing years to go on or something, you great walking Messiah metaphor?"

Clark looked up as he worked open Lex's belt buckle. "Now, Lex. It's not good manners to - Lex?"

Lex had gone very still. Clark lifted up a little and looked at him.

The bastard had passed out. Right there on the counter, head lolling back between a jar of pickles that had somehow escaped Clark's dramatic counter clearing, and the much-maligned slice of Swiss cheese, that was no doubt chanting "You got yours! Uh huh uh huh!" to itself. Lex's right hand had killed off an innocent tomato that was now splattered all over the counter like some horrific salad-specific car accident and he'd knocked over his water bottle. His mouth was wide open and as Clark looked, he let out a deep, reverberating snore.

Clark picked him up, carried him to the bedroom, stripped him down and put him under the covers. Then he wandered back to the kitchen to see if he couldn't make up with the cheese slice and get a sandwich after all.

He'd get Lex back tomorrow.