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I first noticed the weakness in early 2018, but didn't tell Lex. He was in the middle of plotting the campaign strategy to win his second term as Governor of Kansas, and things weren't going smoothly for him.

He had been voted in by the narrowest of margins in the previous election. His last name and past history had been enough to make people mistrust him. But those two strikes against him had been nothing compared to flack he had to take over me.

The moral majority had come out in droves to protest the fact that, if he won the election, a gay couple would be sleeping in the same bed in the Governor's Mansion.

It makes me smile even now when I remember his response.

"Sleeping in the same bed? I'm sure they're more upset about we do when we're awake in it," he had laughed merrily--completely unashamed.

That video clip was still being shown today.

Personally, I think that was what ended up winning the election for him--his complete disregard for the old ways.

At every rally, in all one hundred and five county seats, Lex had given the same speech. He had pointed to the great seal that adorned the state flag and had laid out his dream for Kansas.

He had talked about the covered wagons depicted on it and he had reminded people of the hardships the first residents of the state had survived. He had talked about how those pioneers had come here seeking freedom from social and religious persecution. He had promised a massive change in the way Kansas was run. He'd said how he intended to throw out the old system and start fresh, and he had.

He'd pointed at the State Flag again. He had drawn attention to the buffalo and the old horse drawn plow; he'd praised the farmers of the past for their hard work--their great fortitude. In the next breath he had promised continued support of the aircraft manufacturing industry. He had said he wanted to encourage other manufacturers to relocate to the broad expanse of the Kansas plains, while still keeping the farm as the spiritual root of the state. He had said how he wanted to merge the two and that his dream was that the youth of Kansas would have a choice; they could either drive to a good paying job or stay on the family farm

He had spoken of the bloody past of Kansas. He had challenged the residents to live up to their state motto - 'Ad Astra Per Aspera,' or 'To the Stars Through Difficulty.' He had warned the people that change would not be easy, nor would it be pleasant. That things would be hard for a few years, money would be tight and people would suffer--but he had promised them a brighter future if they stuck it out

Unfortunately, during his third year in office, when I started feeling sick, his predictions of tough times were coming true. The unemployment rate was at an all time high, revenues were down and the Federal Government was cutting back on aid.

Worry had creased his smooth brow as he had paced around. All he could do was wait. New companies had committed to build within the state, but these things took a while to come to fruition. Now it was a race against the November election to see if his changes would pay off before he was voted out.

I did what I could to soothe him.

He had fit into the role as Governor perfectly. I loved seeing him in the capital, strutting through the halls of that beautiful building. Many a time had I stood in the middle of the first floor and looked up at the bright flags and colors that adorned the inside of the Capital Dome. I had spent a great deal of time trying to figure out a way to make love to him beneath it.

It had taken me a while, but where there is a will there is a way. One night when things were looking bad and he was feeling particularly down, I managed to accomplish it.

I had bribed guards and broken government property as well as several laws. With my x-ray vision and super-hearing tuned to their maximum strengths I had lain my lover down beneath the dome.

~*~

I remove his dark power suit carefully, folding it and setting it aside. When he is naked, his white flesh glowing in the dim light, I place him on his back on top of a black velvet-draped pad. He lays stretched out on it, his face blank as he stares up at the blue and yellow patterns of the dome. He looks like a sacrifice. I kneel down between his legs, bowing to his beauty and power, worshipping him as I caress his hips and take him into my mouth. He lays still and silent, even when I lift his pelvis so that I can take him in deeper and still be able to see his face.

How I love him.

I love everything about him.

I love the feel of him in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around him, rubbing it against the veins that made the underside of his cock have a textured feel. It is the only part of his body that isn't as smooth as silk.

I love the mushroom-shaped head. The swells that I run my tongue over, the valley that I explore with the tip.

I love the slit. He shudders when I vibrate my tongue on it.

I love his taste. Sweet and salty pre-come beads out and I suck strongly--greedy for more.

I love his ass. I spread one hand out across the small of his back, supporting his weight on it so that my other hand is free to move. My fingers slid around his smooth cheeks and explore the cleft between. Gently, ever so gently, I sought out the puckered ring of muscle. Its tight opening pulses against my fingertips in time with my rhythmic sucks. Clenching and unclenching, it is begging for my entrance.

I watch him as I slide my fingers inside, timing their entrance, so that they glide in easily.

His arms are flung above his head, his hands clutching at the velvet, bunching and twisting it. His neck is bent slightly by the way I am holding his hips up. His shoulders and head press into the pad that protects his delicate flesh from the hard marble of the floor. His eyes are open--gazing up at the ring of fluttering flags of the countries that had once claimed Kansas as their own.

His mouth works silently, reflecting the pleasure his body is feeling. He tenses in my hands, his thighs clutching at my chest. I know he is close. I drive my fingers in deeper, harder and twist. His back arches and he cries out wordlessly. He moans--making those little mewling noises that never fail to bring on my own arousal, but I fight it back. This is for him, not me. I want to give him pleasure, not share it with him.

He is squirming now, I can barely keep a grip on his damp flesh as he twists and bucks. I slide my mouth up and down him--my lips milking his length. I swallow him deep and keep swallowing as he comes shooting down my throat.

Spent, he lays limply, his limbs askew as he pants and shudders with aftershocks. Even now his eyes are still open, gazing upward, longing clearly visible in their swirling depths.

"Yours, Lex," I whisper. "It's yours."

~*~

He had looked at me then, and nodded in renewed resolve. That's when I knew that he would win his second term. When a Luthor got that look on his face... stand back and get out of his way.

At the time, I had known that I'd have to put my weakness out of my mind. I'd also have to keep close watch on him--so he didn't cross any lines in his quest for his goal. He'd been remarkably ethical about his methods and practices since first running for office, but he wanted this so badly, that I knew I'd have to stay on my toes to make sure he continued to walk the right path. "The ends justify the means" had always been Lionel's philosophy. I'd spent a lot of time convincing Lex of the falsehood of that statement. I'd make sure that Lex would win re-election fairly, or at least, without committing any overt "Luthor" acts.

And win it he had.

His changes had started to bear fruit by the time the elections had rolled around. The State Legislature had started to work with him instead of against him and by the time Spring broke things were really looking great

Except for me. I was getting weaker and could no longer hide it from him.

As was his habit, he rarely spent the night in Topeka; rather, he would finish his business and board his private helicopter. He spent his nights here in the castle with me. I had been coming up with more and more excuses for staying at home. Apparently suspicious, he had returned early one Wednesday and caught me napping in the early afternoon.

When he woke me the nausea had hit full force and I had barely made it to the bathroom before losing my lunch. He had held me as I vomited, washed my face afterward, got me a glass of water to rinse out my mouth, and then he helped me back to bed.

Gently, lovingly he tucked me back in. He fussed over me, asking if I needed anything else. When I shook my head and a little color returned to my cheeks -- he had really let me have it.

He grilled me for an hour about my symptoms, ranting and raving at my idiocy until his face was red and I started worrying that he was going to have a stroke. I used my super-speed to grab him and press him down beneath me. Then I kissed him until he was breathless and I could get a word in to explain.

I told him I had been sick for a year now; how it was getting steadily worse. I told him that I was sick to my stomach more and more frequently. I told him how I often got short of breath, feeling as if my chest was constricting--sometimes my heart beat erratically.

He had listened carefully, asked me question after question, and then finally he had gone down into his lab to plan.

Now almost two years to the day since I had my first weak spell the pain tells me that the time is getting close. Lex slumbers beside me as the pain tears through me in waves.

I can see through everything except lead and my own skin. I don't have to see it to know that it's there, growing within me.

A tumor.

Just like Mom's. An ugly, evil growth expanding inside my chest, beneath my ribs. I can feel it pressing on my lungs and pushing against my heart.

There is a swath cut through Kansas--a cancer hot spot. It took Chloe, it almost took Mom, and now it was taking me. Lex had spent years and several fortunes looking for the cause and a cure. But even his exclusive lab hadn't been able to pinpoint the cause. They are making great progress on cures, but those cures are for humans--not for me.

What will he do without me? Will he revert to being a Luthor?

I don't want to leave him. I know he needs me.

For a moment I explore the idea of taking him with me.

He stirs beside me. Perhaps instinctive self-preservation wakes him, or perhaps, it's the low moan of pain that I can't quite choke back.

"Clark?" he reaches over and touches my sweating chest. "What's wrong?"

Clark is grasping at his chest, digging at the flesh, as if he means to tear himself open and rip out the thing we both know is in there, growing beneath his ribs.

He has such a look of pain on his face that I want to scream for him--to smash and destroy the world for its unfairness. All my life, whatever, whomever, I have loved has been taken from me. I clench my teeth to keep from screaming in frustrated rage.

As always, he senses my need. He reaches out and takes may hand in a gentle grasp only to pull it abruptly away as another spasm of pain contorts his pale and agonized face.

"Get yourself together, Lex," I whisper to myself.

Haven't I been preparing for this? Am I too weak to carry it off? I swallow my rage, my terror, and exhale slowly--calming myself. If I don't take control now--if I don't try--then he'll die for sure and I'll be alone.

Icy resolve fills me.

It's the early hours of the morning. I glance at the clock--two a.m. I press a kiss on him and then rise out of the bed to begin preparations. I have had a contingency plan ready. Time to put it into place and attempt to save the man I love.

I get on the house phone and give instructions to my most trusted staff member. He is to bring a certain box up from my lab. It would be easier if I could get Clark down there, but he has remained consistent in his adamant refusal to enter my private research space, and I have never pushed the issue. This is one area that we could never reach a compromise on. His fear is stronger than my curiosity and I love him enough to respect it.

I open my closet, unzip a plastic bag and slip into a set of sterile hospital scrubs. I stride purposefully back to the bed and flip a hidden switch. A sterile field pulses to life, shimmering the bed in a vaguely lavender shade of light. I know that a major danger in what I have planned will be bacterial infection. Clark has never really been exposed to infection before. His impermeable skin has always protected him.

I am about to change that--I am about to slice him open.

I answer the soft knock on the door and retrieve a large box. Clark watches me from the bed, his teeth clenched to keep from screaming. I open the lead-lined box and withdraw the straps. He lays still as I secure his ankles and work the long strap under the length of the bed. I pull it up through the headboard. He doesn't resist when I pull his arms up over his head and secure his wrists.

When I'm done, and he's tied down, I gather my courage to look at him.

He's lying there, completely vulnerable, and his eyes are … Oh, my dear Lord … his eyes are so filled with trust. I start to tremble--to fall apart. Who else ever looked at me that way?

"Clark," I gasp out. I catch myself before I say more. Now is not the time to beg him to get better, to stay with me, to comfort me. Now is the time for me to appear confident, to assure him he'll be fine, and to go to work.

As another wave of pain hits him, Clark tenses, testing the strength of his restraints. The strap is a mixture of steel, Lexlar (the same wonder fabric that his costume is made from), and tiny amount of Kryptonite. The strap holds. The bed creaks, and for a moment I worry that its solid steel frame will buckle--but it holds until the wave of pain subsides and Clark lies limply, panting.

I study his bare chest as I have a thousand times this past year. I know that it rests under the right side, hidden beneath his ribcage. My jaw must have fallen open at the sight of the slight bulge that has appeared from nowhere, protruding from beneath his ribs, because Clark whimpers in fear.

I smooth out my face into my practiced mask as I lay my hand over it, pressing down gently, trying to feel its size. Perhaps it is my imagination, perhaps too many science fiction movies, but I think I feel the bulge pulsing.

Clark tenses again as another wave of pain courses through him. When it passes the bulge is bigger, lower, as if it's sliding out from beneath the protection of his ribcage.

I sit beside him on the bed, trying to think. Something I hadn't dared to look at too closely tickles at my mind. I search my memories, shifting through notes I have filed away in the dark corners and forgotten about, until now.

Clark cries out as another wave of pain hits him and breaks my concentration.

He's crying now--afraid. I press my palm against his cheek, wiping away the tears. The cool, detached mask of resolve that I have donned slips and I nearly succumb to my fear as I look down into his pain-wracked eyes.

"I don't want to leave you, Lex," he sobs.

"I won't let you go anywhere without me," I promise in a trembling voice.

He squeezes his eyes shut and when the pain leaves him briefly he gasps out. "No, Lex. I don't want you to … follow. Promise me." I lie easily and give him my word, but inside I know that if things go badly, I'll either destroy this world or I'll leave it shortly after him.

Another spasm seizes him, worse than any other; the bed begins to bend up like a clamshell as he pulls at the restraints before blessedly passing out.

I take a calming breath. It is easier to regain control knowing he's no longer feeling the pain.

I lay my hand over the large bulge and then jerk it away in surprise. Hesitantly, slowly, I lay my palm back on it. I feel definite movement beneath his skin and muscles, as if whatever is in there is trying to fight its way out. Tiny pulses that start out strong and then, within seconds, begin to slow. A sudden sense of urgency grips me. Swiftly, I twist around, re-open the lead box, and withdraw a knife. As I bring its serrated blade close to Clark, it glows a dull green, as if the Kryptonite embedded in its blade is sensing Clark's alien blood.

I had studied human anatomy until I was as well versed as any surgeon. I knew the best way to slice through muscle--I had been preparing for this for a year. Still, I hesitate to use the blade on him--to cut him. This was Clark's nightmare come to life--laying stretched out, restrained, and being sliced open--only I'm trying to save him, not expose his secrets.

I take a deep breath as I gather my courage.

I do it swiftly, leaning in close so that I can see and, also, so that the mineral still embedded in my brain will combine with that in the knife to retard the healing process long enough for me to reach in and pull the foreign mass out of him.

I reach in with a gloved hand--thank God he's still out. I feel it. It moves weakly in my grasp. I clench my teeth and close my eyes as I pull--drawing it out. It is slippery. It squirms, flailing against me. I keep pulling. Even though the main mass of it has cleared his skin, a connecting cord of some kind still extends within him. I tug again and it comes loose with a soft sucking sound, a slithery mass oozing from the wound I have made. I want to fling it away in revulsion; I hold it in my hand instead. I open my eyes and pull back enough to watch the gash in Clark's torso close and begin to heal.

The thing is squirming. Shuddering, I drop my eyes trying to see it without actually looking at it. What meets my eyes makes me collapse onto the bed and start screaming for Martha, Clark's mother.

Russell had been standing outside the partially open door for just such purpose. He runs to the Kent's apartment on the ground floor and rousts them from their sleep.

Martha comes swiftly into the room, still spry for a lady in her sixties. She takes in the scene--Clark tied to the bed, blood on him, the knife on the floor, and me frozen into immobility. She covers her mouth with her hand in horror.

I shake my head, unable to speak. The best I can do is look down at the bloody mass on my lap and hope she will save me from it.

It lies there in the blood and afterbirth, looking right back at me with a curious look in its shinning, gray-blue eyes.

"Oh, my God," Martha gasps as she leans over me. The thing twists its little head and directs its gaze at its grandmother. I swear it even smiles at her.

"Get it off me," I manage to spit out. Bless Martha's heart, she does. She scoops it up, like it is the most precious thing in the world. Clucking and cooing, as she carries it off to the bathroom.

Clark is resting easily. He has more color in his cheeks now than I'd seen in the last six months. I use a towel to wipe the dark blood from his chest. The wound has healed, but strangely it appears to have left a thick, odd-looking scar.

I release him from the restraints and set about cleaning things up before he wakes. I work quickly and efficiently. I can't think. I won't think. I don't want to think about it. I pay close attention to the task at hand, knowing that if I don't keep an iron grip on my emotions I'll dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

By the time Jonathan manages to limp his way to our bedroom, the mess is gone, Martha has it wrapped up in a soft towel, I'm still pretending to be coolly detached, and Clark is just starting to blink groggily. Jonathan hobbles to the bed--he is nearly crippled with arthritis--his wrinkled face filled with dread.

I sit cross-legged on the far side of Clark, near his head, so that I can stroke the dark curls back from his forehead--as far away from it as I can get. Martha holds the thing out to show her husband. The look of wonder on his face makes him look twenty years younger. He sinks down onto the bed as his knees give out.

"My God, Clark, you had a baby?"

Clark's eyes widened and he seeks out mine. "Lex?"

Martha sits down beside her husband and lays the bundle down. She pulls back the towel to reveal an infant that looks nothing like a human newborn. It is tiny, I doubt if it weighs three pounds. It isn't round and pudgy, but long limbed, proportioned more like a preschooler. It twists around its little head, topped with fine red fuzz, looking at everyone with an intelligent, curious gaze. Somehow it seems to know me--it smirks, curling its little lips at the corners smugly and revealing tiny white teeth. I can't stop the shudder. It moves its gaze to Clark. A tiny little hand reaches out for him and the thing rolls its spindly body and crawls toward him.

"He knows his daddy," Martha says in an amazed whisper.

Clark twists and reaches out a finger that it grasps eagerly. He scoops the infant up in one big hand. It curls up, forming a tiny ball as he cuddles it close to his chest.

"Does this mean on my home world I'm … female ?" he asks in amazed horror, looking first at his parents, then at me.

I shake my head at him, putting all the pieces together.

"I think what it means is that on your home world there's no difference, or, at least not much."

The hints were there from the very beginning--Clark's strange sexual idiosyncrasies.

Physical stimulation has rarely aroused Clark, the very first time it had actually repelled him. He has always been driven by emotional closeness, getting extremely aroused whenever I confess my tender feelings for him. In fact, he only ever climaxes like a human male when we are in his favorite sixty-nine position, or some derivation of it. His throat...of course, I should have guessed long ago--that strange spongy back of his throat.

Then there is the hologram of his birth mother, that tall, handsome woman who he so resembles. I pictured her with her hair cut short and wearing men's clothes. Yes, definitely possible.

Now I understood many of his small quirks. His need to smother me with constant care. His great affinity for children. His softness that still had him rescuing kittens from trees. Also, I recall his violent, jealous rages whenever someone gets too close to me, or, heaven forbid, leaves their scent on me. Through the years he had calmed enormously, but he still would occasionally insist on scrubbing me down if I came home with perfume clinging to me.

Clark was both male and female and had the characteristics that went with both. No wonder he had been so confused and uncontrollable when he first hit sexual maturity.

I sit there staring blindly down at my hands where they lay folded on my lap, for how long I'm not sure. It is the utter silence that breaks my concentration, that and the feeling of eyes watching me.

Jonathan is scowling at me, nothing new there. Martha has a worried look on her face as her eyes meet mine then flick to Clark. I follow her gaze. Clark meets my eyes with a strange, fearful look that I haven't seen him wear since the day he had accidentally discovered his laser vision. He looks like he is waiting for me to call him a freak and shove him away.

I still feel eyes on me. Against my will I lower my gaze to meet my image in miniature. It's snuggled against the thick red scar that mars Clark's otherwise flawless skin, resting its head against him, almost as if it is listening to the familiar beat of his heart.

The realization hits me as I meet its liquid crystal eyes.

I was a father and I was scared to death.

January, 2027

"So … do you think he'll actually show?" Marge asked as she shuffled the papers in her lap, trying to organize the notes for the meeting.

"Of course." The ice clinked soothingly as Maury nervously swirled the golden liquid in his glass. "Luthor wants this very badly."

"Not him--the other one." Marge peered out over the half-glasses that had slid down her long nose. "Do you think he'll show?"

Maury lifted his glass to his lips, tipped his head back, and swallowed the remainder of the liquid down. He then parted his lips and allowed the ice cubes to slide into his mouth. He worried them with his tongue, rolling them around for a minute before ending their agony and crushing them with his teeth. The sharp cold seemed to help him to gather his thoughts.

"He has to, or this campaign won't stand a chance." He scowled, drawing his thick brows together to form a solid line. "I still can't believe I accepted this job." He shook his head and looked at his long-time friend and partner. "Luthor's convincing--I'll give him that. He did a spectacular job in Kansas. That'll go a long way. He's rich enough to fund his own campaign--no obligations to contributors. He's an Independent so there'll be no party affiliations; that's both good and bad. All in all, I think we'd stand a good chance of winning the Oval Office if he weren't gay."

"His official stance is--Bi," Marge corrected.

"Whatever," Maury rolled his eyes. "The public has gotten used to sex scandals in their candidate's private lives, but this … this is brand new territory." He rose from the private jet's luxurious seat and walked to the small bar to refill his glass. "We'll have to handle this very carefully." He took a sip of the scotch. "Much of it will depend on the mysterious Mr. Kent."

Marge nodded. She picked through the case that rested on the seat beside her and selected a certain file. Even though she was very familiar with the contents, she still wanted another look. She skimmed the sparse information quickly.

"He has been very reclusive. There is suspiciously little information available on him," she said apologetically. It was part of her job to research their clients--to dig up the dirt and sanitize it. She had failed abysmally in finding out details on this subject. "Luthor has protected his privacy very well."

"That sort of thing might work locally--Kansas was already familiar with him--but on the national level?" He shook his head. "No way. The people will want to know all the details of his private life. They'll not only want to know whether he wears boxer or briefs; they'll want to know what he prefers Kent to wear as well." Maury took another drink. "I should never have taken this job."

Marge smiled at him. She had seen him nervous before, he got this way at the start of every campaign, but she had never seen him second-guessing his decision to take on a candidate. Normally, once Maury made up his mind, he was gung-ho and never admitted to having a single doubt. "Confidence," he would say, "brings victory."

She glanced down at her silver wristwatch and hoped their clients would arrive soon. It was the waiting that was getting to Maury. He had met with Luthor a month ago and accepted the position as campaign manager. Since then he had been gathering his team, gathering information, and agonizing over his decision.

Maury had spoken with Luthor a few times on the phone, but Lex Luthor, former Governor of Kansas, was not easy to reach--and that rubbed Maury wrong. So he had demanded a private meeting with just the four of them--himself, Marge, Lex Luthor and Clark Kent.

Luthor had replied that he'd be more than happy to meet, but that Mr. Kent was unavailable. Maury had Marge send a letter stating that they would have to resign from their positions if they weren't allowed access. It stated, in no uncertain terms, that a meeting with the candidate's significant other was routine, and required, if any sort of successful campaign was to be run.

Luthor had let them stew for a week before agreeing. He made arrangements for his private jet to pick the two of them up and fly them to Metropolis, where he and Mr. Kent would meet them. They would then fly back to Maury's headquarters in Philadelphia where they would meet the rest of the staff. The flight would be the opportunity for the private meeting that Maury had demanded.

A small commotion signaled that their candidate had arrived. Marge glanced at her watch. One-thirty on the button; Luthor was well known to be a punctuality freak.

She looked up as they entered the compartment, the familiar, bald, dapper figure of Lex Luthor in front. He was dressed just as elegantly as expected. He walked confidently and energetically despite the cane he carried. She knew from her research that while he did have a bad knee; he carried the swagger stick out of habit rather than need.

She only had time for these first quick impressions of the man they were trying to get elected President because her attention was suddenly, sharply drawn to the man who followed Luthor. He was tall--taller than she had expected. She could see his face clearly over his partner's shoulder.

Handsome … no …gorgeous. Her mind fumbled for descriptions. Compelling.

She stood abruptly and moved to meet him as Luthor began introductions. The files that had rested forgotten in her lap spilled to the deck. Mortified, she bent to retrieve them. Her glasses slipped completely off her nose to dangle and sway beneath her on their chain. She gulped as large hands started helping her straighten her papers. Still crouched down, she lifted her gaze to the loveliest eyes she had ever seen. Soft, gentle, aqua eyes that looked deeply into hers, causing her mouth to drop open in wonder. He smiled at her before dropping those eyes back down as he swiftly completed the clean up job. Gently he took her elbow and helped her to her feet. Her legs seemed to have gone numb and she swayed slightly toward him.

"Eh, Clark, looks like you got another disciple," said an amused voice.

Marge turned her dizzy head to see a dark haired woman grinning at her.

"Don't worry, honey," the familiar-looking woman smirked, "after you've been around him for a few years, you learn to ignore his charm. Either that, or Lex'll make sure you're not allowed near him," she added with a laugh. "I'm Lois Lane, by the way." Marge shook the offered hand, her mind still in a fog. "Clark, you dolt, let go of her arm and get away from her so she can think."

Marge felt a shaft of disappointment as the warm hand dropped her elbow and the man took several steps back. He stood there smiling gently, a slight flush coloring his high cheeks.

"Better yet?" Lois asked abruptly. "I don't need to slap you, do I?"

"Lois …" Clark warned.

"Cripes, Clark, relax. I was only teasing." Lois moved to the bar. "Pour you anything, Lex?"

Marge watched as he shook his head. "No, and perhaps you should wait until after take off. Don't forget we have a schedule to keep."

She rolled her eyes at him as she started to close up the bar. Her actions as she stored bottles and closed cabinet doors clearly indicated familiarity. Obviously, Lois Lane had traveled on Luthor's plane frequently.

The five people took their seats and buckled in as the jet lifted off.

~*~

"I'm glad to meet you, Miss Lane. This is an unexpected pleasure." He raised his heavy brows curiously.

She lifted the Bourbon and took a big swallow before answering. "Yeah, I know. You wanted a private meeting, but the great man ," she indicated the amused-looking Luthor with her chin, "gets all antsy whenever Clark is out in public." She grinned. "He figured I could help out--ease the tension, provide a diversion, that sort of thing."

"Which you never fail to do, my dear," Luthor said smoothly. "Lois is my biographer. I have no secrets from her." His blue-gray eyes narrowed. "Not that I haven't tried to keep a few."

She laughed in delight at what she evidently considered a compliment.

"Now, Mr. Goldstein," Luthor said with a serious tone, "shall we get down to business?"

Maury nodded. He had been taking careful mental notes about Lex Luthor and his lover since they had first boarded. He had noted with amazement the reaction Mr. Kent's arrival had on the usually unflappable Marge. He had felt similar, though admittedly less, attraction himself when he had shaken the big man's hand and looked into his sparkling eyes.

"Yes, of course, and as this flight will only take an hour, I shall be blunt. The reason I demanded this meeting is so we can decide on a strategy to market your personal life--Mr. Kent's role in it to be precise." He swiveled his plush seat so that he could look at the handsome man in question.

"I don't think his role has ever been questioned," Luthor said smugly. "He's my partner, my lover. It's never been any sort of secret."

Maury glanced at Kent and was met with wide, honest eyes.

"Yes, but Mr. Kent -"

"Call me Clark."

"Clark has always kept a very low profile. Which worked fine in your home state, but will not satisfy the curiosity of national politics." Maury swallowed his anxiety. "He will have to be seen and heard in this campaign. The public, no matter how qualified you are," he glanced at Lex, "will demand to know about him and your relationship with him--his place in your life, etc."

Lex Luthor's face tightened almost imperceptibly. If Maury hadn't been trained by years of dealing with slippery politicians he would have missed the slight hardening around the eyes and the tiny hardening of the lips.

"I'd rather not do any in-depth interviews." Clark smiled "Besides, I'm legally bound to speak only to Lois. I'm sure she'd let me give a sound-bite or two her competitors?" Lois gave a groan of pain, but nodded. "Would it be enough if I was just seen hanging around? Showing my support and commitment at the rallies?"

Maury blinked, shocked at the astuteness of the question. "You seem to have a good grasp of the situation."

"What's the matter, Goldstein?" Lex asked coldly, when he noted Maury's surprise. "You didn't think he could grasp political situations? Hell, he researched available campaign managers and selected you. He liked the way you ran Linda Lemar's senatorial race." Lex narrowed his eyes dangerously. "I suppose you thought he was just a pretty piece of -"

"Lex!" Clark cut him off abruptly before saying very gently, "Behave. He wasn't insulting me." Luthor scowled fiercely but remained silent.

The big man turned his apologetic gaze to Maury. "That is why I don't go out much in public with Lex. He gets so darn protective." He gave his partner a warm, openly loving look. "He thinks I can't take care of myself."

Lex snorted and turned his head to look at the clouds outside the window.

"Weellll, Clark, you are such a softie," Lois threw her two cents into the pot.

"I can handle myself."

Lois laughed. "He can't say, 'No' to anyone. He looks for people to help," she said confidentially to Maury and Marge. "Why if Lex and, um, other things didn't keep him occupied back in Smallville, I have no doubt he'd be flying all around the world looking for people to save and crises to avert." She winked at Clark and leaned back in her seat.

"So, you care deeply about World Peace?" Marge asked him a bit breathlessly.

"Um, yeah."

"Good. We can use that," announced Maury. "Anything else?"

"Um, well …"

"Education, literacy, personal freedom, freedom of the press, civil rights, women's rights, alien's rights, kids and puppies--see, he's the perfect first lady," Lex offered with a gentle smile.

"All that is marketable. We could - " began Maury only to be interrupted by his partner.

"Really, Maury," Marge said softly as she looked between Lex and Clark. "All he has to do is stand around and look at Mr. Luthor the way he is right now." She smiled, as the handsome man suddenly looked shy and self-conscious, even more adorable--if that were possible. "The women will swoon over the love in his eyes and the men … I think they'll get it too." She turned to Maury. "Don't you?"

The political expert scowled darkly as he studied Clark Kent. "I suppose that's the route to take; shy, dark, and handsome. We'll keep him in the picture, but limit contact with the press. We'll leak it that he is deeply concerned with the appropriate issues. That he expresses those concerns to you and that he uses his influence -"

"That's a new word for it," Lex muttered under his breath, but loud enough to be heard.

Clark blushed, Marge gasped, Lois snickered, and Maury continued, "… uses his influence to keep you committed to them." Maury sighed deeply. "Mr. Luthor, please refrain from making off-hand remarks. 'Loose lips, sink ships'. And I would hate to see the next President of the United States suffer any embarrassment from a joke he made flippantly."

"So you think I'll win, do you?" Lex twisted his lips.

"No, sir. I know that we will win." Lex raised his wispy brows in question. "This is a team effort from here on out," the political expert stated confidently. All his doubts had been overcome in the few minutes that he had spent observing Lex Luthor and his lover, Clark Kent, interact with each other. He knew they could pull this off.

They spent the remainder of the flight getting to know each other and working through some details. Lex wanted to kick off the campaign at Lebanon, in Smith County, Kansas, the geographical center of the contiguous states. He wanted the sunflower, the state flower of Kansas, to be his symbol. Luthor was flexible on many issues--except the issue of Clark's public appearances. He insisted that they would be kept to the absolute minimum.

It wasn't until the plane had landed and they rose to disembark that Clark felt the nausea hit him. He staggered as the color drained from his cheeks. Maury watched with interest as Luthor rushed to steady him.

"Are you ill, Mr. Kent?" Maury asked with real concern.

"No," Kent replied.

"Yes," Luthor disagreed. "That's another reason his attendance at functions will be strictly limited." Lex Luthor's eyes turned to silver and Maury already knew better to argue or inquire too deeply.

"I'm fine, Lex." Clark was indeed looking better. "I'm certainly not sick," he looked at the campaign manager. "I just get a little weak and lightheaded at times." He turned his head and gave Lex, who still had a supporting arm wrapped around him, a glowing smile. "Actually, I'm feeling rather pleased about the whole thing."

Lex snorted in disgust.

Lois laughed in delight.

Maury and Marge looked at each other in total confusion.

June 2029

Jonathan looked around him at his family.

They were all there.

Martha sat beside him, holding his hand. He squeezed her hand and thought of how beautiful she was. She was still as lovely as she was on the day they had first spoken. He had noticed her in class, of course. Who could have missed that glorious hair? It had burned like fire in the light streaming through the classroom windows. When she had approached him, asking shyly if she could borrow his notes, he had wanted to run off with her that very day. He smiled as he looked at her aging face and graying hair. She would be so shocked if she knew how close she had come to being kidnapped, married, and ravished that very afternoon, so long ago.

As he held her hand, he wondered what he would have done without her. She made everything she touched so much better than it had been before.

At the inaugural ball she had looked as regal as any queen when Lex had led her out for the opening waltz. The press had eaten it up. The brand new President dancing with his mother-in-law. Their picture had been flashed around the world. Her head had been thrown back in laughter as he twirled her across the floor. Lex had been teased mercilessly about not dancing with Clark. He had handled it well--with the old joke about Clark always wanting to lead. The press had a field day with that remark. Lex had merely smirked.

Jonathan let his eyes shift to Lex, standing a short distance away, leaning elegantly against the bedroom wall.

The President of these United States was starting to look his age. The smooth face had fine lines radiating back from his eyes and the silken skin now had faint texture, like fine parchment. The full cheeks were slightly sunken; Lex was getting gaunt with age--much like his father had.

Hooded gray-blue eyes stared back at him--still expertly hiding his thoughts. Jonathan had never been able to read Lex the way Clark or Martha could. The only time they had ever really connected was the day that Cameron Jonathan Kent--Lex had insisted that the Luthor name would end with him--came into the world. Lex had been terrified, horrified, and repulsed. For once it was he, Jonathan, that understood the complicated man's fears. He had reached across Clark's legs and placed a hand swollen with arthritis on Lex's shoulder.

"You'll do just fine as a father, Lex. I'll help you," he had promised.

The gray-blue eyes had lifted, filled with gratitude, and the thin body had started to tremble with the strength of his suppressed emotions. For what must have been the millionth time, Jonathan cursed Lionel Luthor and the way he had raised Lex. He blamed Lionel for the scars, the deep-seated wounds, which not even Clark's love and acceptance could quite heal.

Lex had literally collapsed that day. Luckily, Clark had recovered quickly from the birth. He had handed the baby to Martha and pulled his mate to him. He had comforted him, kissing and soothing the sobbing Governor until had he eventually calmed down. Emotional and physical exhaustion had taken a heavy toll on Lex.

Jonathan let his eyes drift downward to Cam. The redheaded boy stood in front of his father, his usually laughing gray eyes looked solemn and sad with the knowledge that he was about to lose his grandfather.

Jonathan had lavished every bit of love on this child that he could. He delighted in the boy's warmth, sweetness, and gentleness as well as his sometimes irreverent humor. Cam was like Lex in miniature, or rather the way Lex could have been. Everything that Lionel had failed to teach his own son; Jonathan had delighted in teaching his grandson.

He watched as Lex placed a pale hand on the boy's shoulder and gently guided him over to Clark.

His eyes turned to Clark--his son. He recalled the little boy that had found them. His bright, beautiful, special, sweet, loving son. There was nothing in his life that he was more proud of than his boy. Clark looked back at him sadly. The big aqua eyes were shining with unshed tears. He tried to hide them by nuzzling down into the dark brown hair of the little boy that clung to him. Clark had, to his great joy, had a second son the year after Lex was elected to the Presidency. This time everything had gone much more smoothly. The baby had been strong enough not to need any assistance when he had fought his way into the world.

Lex held out his arms and Clark handed him their youngest son. With a final respectful nod, Lex left the room with the two boys.

"Dad," Clark said softly, his voice cracking with sorrow. Jonathan watched as Clark's mouth continued to move, but he couldn't seem to hear the words. He didn't need to.

"I love you, too." He tried to say, but his mouth didn't seem to want to work.

He knew it was time to go and he was nearly ready. His only regret was that he wouldn't see his grandsons grow up.

He would miss the mischievous glint in Cam's gray eyes, the cocky little smirk. He'd miss the baby's shy smile and big dark eyes. The boys were … joys in his life … shining lights of …

"Jonathan. Jonathan!" he thought he heard Martha calling to him. Her voice faded and faded until it was gone.

October 2035

"More popcorn, Clark?" Lois asked as she elbowed him in the ribs.

"Um, no thanks," he answered absently.

His eyes were scanning the full to capacity ballpark in a manner she understood.

"Relax, Clark, he'll be fine." She dug deeply down into the bag and shoved a large handful of the buttery snack into her mouth. "Security's so tight, that if I wasn't so damned old, I'd have enjoyed all the guards patting me down. Nearly had an orgasm as it was," she said around the popcorn in her mouth

"He shouldn't go out there," Clark complained, as he glanced nervously at the pitcher's mound. "I tried to tell him. It's not worth the risk."

"Ha! Like he ever listens." She took a deep suck of her Pepsi, making the straw slurp loudly. "Besides I don't agree. This is a historic day. The Cubbies are finally in the World Series. Who'd a thunk it?"

They quieted as the players were introduced and Star Spangled Banner was sung.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said loudly from the press box over home plate, "throwing out the opening pitch … President Lex Luthor."

The crowd exploded in applause and cheers as Lex walked out. Clark tensed. The jumbo-tron zoomed in to show the President's happy smile as he waved to the spectators.

Clark was the only one who heard it -- the "whoosh" it made when it was launched from a nearby rooftop. The crowd's cheering was so loud that it drowned out the high pitched scream it made as flew through the air...straight toward Lex.

Even with his super-speed, Clark barely made it in time. He took the missile full on his chest, a mere yard in front of his partner. Flames engulfed him as the deadly payload ignited. He let his body drift back to protect Lex from the fire. The force of the explosion deflected around the big chest, shielding the slender man behind and sparing Lex from serious injury.

When the smoke cleared, the stunned, silent crowd gasped in horror. They weren't sure what had just transpired. All they saw was the blackened pitcher's mound, a few shards of still burning rocket parts, and the President's cane laying abandoned in the dirt.

Lois, like everyone else, was on her feet, desperately scanning the field for signs of the President. She, however, had hope in the fact that Clark was absent.

Security teams rushed out onto the field.

Minutes passed.

Panic started.

Hysteria threatened.

President Lex Luthor swaggered back onto the field.

He emerged from the Cubs dugout as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. His limp was barely noticeable as he made his way back toward the mound to retrieve his cane. He waved his protective security guards away and raised his arm up to the crowd. He motioned for a microphone.

"Well," he said when the noise dropped sufficiently. "I'm fine and I think things are pretty much under control." He glanced up at the stands.

Lois gasped. Clark was back at her side, wearing different clothes. He nodded at Lex, but still looked upset.

"Please stay in your seats." Lex looked around at his security. "You guys relax and let the groundskeepers out to clean up this mess." He raised his head and his voice as he spoke to the crowd. "We're not going to let anything stop this game!"

The crowd went wild again--cheering and screaming.

Lex waved a final time before he let his anxious guards surround him and lead him away.

~*~

What Lex and Clark didn't know was that seventeen high-resolution television cameras had been shooting the game that day. Most were focused on Lex, but several had been directed at Clark. The unflinching eye of the cameras had caught the whole thing.

Lex had tried to get the tapes destroyed, but not even he could get his hands on all the copies. The video feeds had been beamed live around the world and it was less than an hour later that the enhanced videos began to play on the news programs.

Clark was clearly seen zooming through the air toward Lex. The Superman insignia was plainly revealed where the fire had burned away his sweater and shirt. The gentle way he had scooped Lex up and zoomed to safety in the Cubs dugout was achingly apparent. His re-appearance in a different sweater was also duly noted.

Superman was officially, incontrovertibly, outed.

Lex only had two more months left in his Presidency. Most of that remaining time was spent avoiding the press. Clark remained safely hidden in the castle.

It was Martha who faced down the media.

~*~

"Mrs. Kent, may I call you Martha?" asked Jeanie Lord, the highly acclaimed talk show host.

"Yes, of course," said the small elderly lady.

"First of all, let me say how thrilled we are that you agreed to this interview."

Martha inclined her silver head regally.

"The world has been in an absolute uproar for the past two weeks, ever since your son, Clark, was - "

"Revealed to be Superman?" Martha asked with a small smile.

"Yes. Can you tell us how this is possible?"

"Well … it's a long story, and it's very private. I don't intend to go into any sort of details, but I will tell you this much." Jeanie leaned forward in encouragement. "Most of what is known about Superman is true--it just isn't everything. Clark may not have been born on this planet, he may not be exactly human in the physical sense, but he has human emotions just like everyone else. In fact, he feels things more deeply than most normal people do. He is shy, and good, and sweet, and just wants to live a quiet life. To be as 'normal' as possible," she smiled, "and he has been in love with Lex Luthor since they were boys."

"Can you tell us how they met?"

"Lex had just been sent to Smallville when he had an auto accident. He was driving too fast, not paying enough attention and," Martha giggled like a girl, "he actually ran over Clark. The car went over a bridge rail and landed in the river below. Clark, of course, was unhurt, but Lex nearly died. Clark fished him out and gave him CPR. He was the first person Clark, or Superman, ever saved, and from what the boys have said, they fell in love that very day."

"But there was a span of nearly ten years when President Luthor lived in Europe?"

"Yes," Martha said with remembered sadness. "That was a very bad time. They had a falling out, but eventually patched things up."

"How did you and your husband feel about the fact your son and the President were together?"

"Well …" she laughed again. "Don't forget that we were pretty used to the unusual by then and, actually, their relationship makes perfect sense. They are the two most powerful beings on Earth. Why wouldn't they be attracted to each other?"

Martha stood up slowly to indicate that she had said as much as she was going to say.

"Please, Martha, just one more thing?" Martha hesitated. "There was a photo taken several years ago, the day of your husband's funeral, that included yourself, your son, and the President... along with two small children," Jeannie said in a rush.

Martha shrugged her shoulders, smiled, and walked away.

"I'm getting old, Clark."

"You'll never be old."

Snort. "My bones ache."

Clark carefully gripped the bony hips and adjusted his love into a more comfortable position on top of him.

"Better?"

"Um." Lex stroked the firm, smooth flesh of Clark's upper arm and shoulder. Lub-de-dub … Lub-de-dub … went the great heart beneath his ear. "I'm seventy years old." Lex propped himself up so he could look down into the aqua eyes. He let his gaze sweep over the face of the man beneath him. Clark was so beautiful. Black hair, sculpted brows, high cheekbones, lovely nose, red lips and strong jaw...but it was the eyes that made him so special. They glowed with love, love for him, and stubborn denial of the facts of human life. "You still look thirty-five." Clark frowned slightly and moved his lips as if he were going to argue. "Shsh, you idiot," Lex said with a smile as he laid his head back down onto the broad chest. "You may be Superman, Clark, but there is nothing you can do to still the hands of time." Lex chuckled softly. "Even with all my money, I can't do it either."

"Lex," Clark said softly. He rubbed his hands up and down the fragile bones of his lover's back. "I'll give you a nice, warm bath. That'll make you feel better."

Lex snorted again.

"I'm glad you'll have the boys to look out for you." Lex paused when he felt, more than heard, the soft growl of denial escape the man beneath him. "Cameron," he continued. "Yes, I trust Cam to take care of the rest of you. He's the most like me--a ruthless little bastard. He'll do what needs to be done." He shook his head and smirked with pride. "He's such a character. Where does he get that wildness from?"

"Um, you?"

"Kenneth won't be much help--too moral. He's so much like Jonathan, it makes me wonder if you didn't somehow truly absorb some Kent genes."

"Anything's possible," Clark smiled as he recalled his father.

"And the baby," Lex continued as if he hadn't heard Clark. "He's so sweet--such a simple, pure-hearted child." Lex thought about their youngest and his heart nearly burst with love. "He's so much like you, Clark."

Clark rolled them over gently. He leaned close and tenderly kissed the man he loved. He traced the smirking lips with his tongue as his fingers drew a circular design in the hollow hip. He chuckled as Lex's body responded.

"See … no one's old who can spring to life so quickly." His warm mouth began its well-traveled path southward across the jutting rib bones, the concave belly …

"Dad!" Kenny shouted from outside their bedroom door. "Kyle's stuck in the rafters again! He's crying and refusing to come down!"

They groaned in unison -- so much for a lazy afternoon in bed.

"The only thing he inherited from me was my fear of heights," Lex muttered. "A twelve-year-old who can fly up into the beams above the Great Hall, but can't bring himself to jump down?" Lex shook his bald head as Clark grinned at him.

"Give him a break," Clark said as he rose to dress, slowly, obviously in no hurry. "He's can't help it he floats around so much."

Lex snorted yet again. "He can't stay on the ground and Kenneth can barely leave it." He frowned as he pondered the strange and varied mixtures of gifts that the boys had inherited from their Kryptonian father.

Kenneth was nearly as strong as Clark, but he had never been able to master the power of flight, much to his annoyance. It always irked him to watch his baby brother defy the laws of gravity with such unconscious ease. Of course Kenneth had the super-speed, all the boys had that, but he only had the most basic of Clark's other powers -- unlike Kyle and Cam.

Lex scowled as he recalled the many and various ways that Cam had mischievously put his powers to use.

"You and your sons," he said with a sigh. "It's no wonder I'm feeling so old."

"You'll never be old, Lex." Clark gave him a smile and a quick kiss before heading out to rescue their youngest.

"Hey," Lex complained from the bed as Clark reached for the bedroom door. "What about my bath?"

"Just stay put, old man." Clark smiled softly, sensuously. "I'll take care of Kyle, then I'll be right back to take care of you."

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