Title: The Itch

Author: Alexia Luthor

Rating: R

Spoilers: Not really... I don't think so

Summary: Lex has an itch that he's not allowed to scratch yet... what will he do to pass the time?

Author's notes: Slash... I know Lex could be better than his father at anything, so I had to wonder... why didn't he beat him at fencing?

Archive: Mmmmm okay, but only if you ask nicely first

Feedback: Pretty please! With a Chocolate cover Lex on top!?

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this part.. oooh, but if I did *evil grin*

WARNING!: Slash ahead... not descriptive... yet

The Itch
by Alexia Luthor

~~~~~

Never let them see you twitch. You never let them see you effected, especially if your in business. You twitch and they know they have struck a nerve and they know exactly which buttons to press later. They see you flinch and you show them weakness. You don't go up to the bad guys saying, "Look at this bullet hole in my arm! If you touch it I'll keel over in pain!" that wouldn't happen.

So, never let them see you twitch is simple enough to ask a person to do, but then why am I fighting my own body from breaking the pen that I hold? I sit at my desk, looking at my father, breathing normally. I am composed from where he stands, but there is a crawling heat in my belly that I am trying to extinguish. The impulse in my body rages, telling me to pick up my sword and cut off his cool expression at the neck. A sword, more savage than fencing, or so says the man before me. I find power in the heavy steel, I practice with my sword more often then with a thin piece of metal that would break like dry spaghetti if brought against my blade.

I would surpass my father in a match, sword against sword. My Katana would cut through his skin and bone like it were kleenex. Yet, I keep myself sitting, not getting up from my chair to show respect, not really to rebel, but to keep myself in check until the time comes that I can overthrow the smug bastard without consiquence.

"Father." I nod and he smirks slightly at what he sees as defiance. Lionel Luthor continues to explain his presence as I try to ignore the itching under my skin, the near shaking of my hands that hold one another to keep themselves steady. There is a weight building in my throat, no amount of swallowing will destroy. This, anxiousness I feel will only leave after my Father is in a car back to Metropolis. Even as my Father walks into his beautiful home, I won't find a release until I can expel this rage, this
urge to kill.

I sigh and gain a little more calm, my father just smiles slightly, believing that I again try to defy him by being bored in his presence. Of course, he lets some subtle comments seep into his speech about how I screw up on occasion and how I have disappointed him in the past. Lionel should get fresh material, he's played this tune far too many times to count and I *am* bored. Bored and am counting the days until I get to see his face when everything he has melt away, go to the person he hates the most...

Me.

Oh come on, you don't really believe in that whole "a father loves his son no matter what." crap do you? I never did, never had a reason not too. Before you go and think I'm making up excuses for my criminal impulses, I'll tell you, I'm just saying, there is no love between my father and I. Lionel Luthor and Lex Luthor hate each other. Go ahead, *try* to find that shocking.

Oh, he's leaving. Too bad. He didn't even try to pick a fight with me. Rats, I thought maybe I would get out my own weapon. I smirk and rise from my chair, making my way over to the fireplace. On the mantle is my sword. The sword had a silver handle and the best blade money could buy. A beautiful Katana, narrow, lighter than the broad swords; manuaverable. I had it hand made, forged in the old fashion way. I decided that if the day comes that I actually kill my father, this would be the weapon I would use.

The itching is back, the tightening in my chest and the heat in my stomach flares. I long for a colorful pill, they were never in short supply at Club Zero and he never had to worry about dying. Lex almost laughed. It had been so long since he discovered what had happened to him that it was almost natural.

The meteor shower had given him more than a bald head, it had given him a new life. Lex never really thought about it when he was in the hospital, when all those doctors hovered over him, making him nervous. Lex didn't realize that his anxiety should have made him pant and weaze. Lex never had to reach for his inhaler... he did though, to satisfy his father, letting him see the weakness that didn't exist.

Lex had went home from the hospital, numb. His father surely thought he was dirt now, a freak. Lionel Luthor's son... full of weakness, now bald. Lex had woken up from a nightmare, a re-accuring scene that always caused him to bolt out of bed, scrounging for his inhaler. That night, he had bolted out of bed, panting, but not lacking oxygen. The next day, Lex ran and ran... never once having to reach for his inhaler. Lex was cured, he could breathe freely. Since then, Lex had yet to get a cold or flu. The young Luthor heir was constantly testing his limits, sat outside in the snow in shorts and a thin shirt; no body hair to keep him warm... never sniffled or sneezed.

Lex shook himself, he was getting off track and his lack of focus only let the twitch in his body grow. Release, he needed to... destroy something; something pure.

Clark.

Clark was more pure than anything he had come into contact with. Clark had this appeal to him, if Lex could harness that... no one would be able to resist the boy. With a wicked grin, Lex resolved to start a new project. Lex Luthor would set out and corrupt the Kent boy, lure him away with sex, money, power and if need be, love. Lex would take Clark in, give him everything, teach him and he would be a great ally.

A partner.

An equal.

It would be a great feat. Could Lex Luthor seduce local farmboy Clark Kent and take him away from Smallville... his home? His family? Lex would bet his soul he could, if he could be sure he had one. Lex let his lips curl and his mouth water slightly at the thought of Clark Kent living with him, his little toy, debauched and tainted by their... jaunts through experience. Lex laughed deep in his throat, heat sreading through his body.

Yes, he would do it. He will make Clark Kent his own personal angel. Clark Kent will stand at his side as he rises up in the world, smiling at every victory... Grabbing his coat, Lex left the room, heading to his car, ready to drive over and see Clark. *His* Clark.

*****

Clark was up in the barn, I guess its better than being in such close quarters with your parents, especially at his age. I can just see Clark, sweaty and trying to be quiet as he jerks off. For a second there, I half expect to walk in on Clark actually masturbating. I don't though, he's doing his homework. Such a well behaved boy... yawn.

"Hey Clark." Clark looks up at me and gives me that blinding smile, doesn't seem to see that conspiratory glint that I know is hiding in my eye. I can feel my unsmiling face fix itself in that devious smirk. Can't seem to help myself, not with the thoughts I have running around in my head.

"Lex, hi. What brings you to my meager accomidations?" Meager, I guess he does know there is something more out there and wouldn't mind exploring it.

"I had a thought about the upcoming long weekend." Long weekend, how much excitement those two words could bring to this boy. Now, let me see, how could I top that one? My evil smile widens in my mind.

"You did?"

"You don't have any plans do you?" He stands, shaking his head.

"Nothing concrete, the usual 'oh, we should get together' talk, but that's about it."

I smile outwardly, just ever so slightly though. "So you would want to come with me to Metropolis then?" Clark's eyes widen and I know what he's thinking, the usual 'Big City, Bright Lights' stuff. Or was that the other way around? Doesn't matter.

"Wow! That would be so much fun!" Clark's face falls and I can practically hear the 'but my parents' begin. "But my parents..."
Dingdingdingding! Winner!

"Will be glad that you're going to see the DaVinci exhibit at the finest art museum in Metropolis."

Clark's nose wrinkles. "DaVinci is at the art museum? Since when?"

"Since tomorrow." I honestly expected Clark to whine and say 'Oooh, the art exhibit!?' and throw his arms around. I like this reaction better. Clark gives a whistle and I'm glad that he likes DaVinci, he won't be as brainless as some of my other conquests.

"I still don't think they'll let me go." Anger floods into my brain making me nearly shake. God!! He's too good, too honest, sometimes I just want to choke him until he's begging or beat him into *my* submission, not his parents. Thoughts of Clark in black leather pants with no shirt and a steel collar with thin chain hanging off of it pounces into my mind... I should get that outfit made.

"I can talk them into it, I am a business man you know."

"Go ahead, try. Don't say I didn't warn ya."

*****

"I can't believe they said yes." I think that's about the fifty-second time he's said that. We're in Metropolis now and he's looking
up at the big buildings that tower over even him. I just smile, not trusting myself to look at him, I may just end up kissing him so
he'll shut up.

"We're here." At my loft in Metropolis, I've called ahead and arranged to have some clothes waiting for Clark... custom made. I know he won't have the right clothes for the places I'm taking him. We've walked into the building by now and are in the elevator.

Clark is silent, either awed or has run out of things to say, maybe a mix of the two. We're in my loft and I'm showing him his clothes for the museum, black suit pants and jacket with a nice shirt, blue.

"This is for...?"

"The museum." I put the outfit on his bed.

"And this is for?" I turn around, I didn't even hear him move. Clark is holding up black pants, an odd material, like they've been covered in sparkles that have smudged together, a glaze. The pants are accompanied by a completely see-through black t-shirt, made from a fine net-type material.

"Clubing."

"I'm not old enough to club."

I hand him a perfect, fake ID. "You are right now." Clark looks at me with shock, I just smirk my evil smirk.

END PART 2