Through the t-shirt: "I went camping this weekend." His head reappears.

"They let you go off into the wilderness alone?"

"They trust me."

Clark Kent is too good of a liar.

It's too easy for him to kiss Lex, climb out of his bed, go home to his parents and friends like everything's the same. Much too easy, and Lex doesn't get it.

Lex understands lying, but it's different with Clark. There's something missing.

Clark keeps their secret like there was never a doubt about it, like he never thought of doing anything else. Lex knows this is the first time that Clark has lied to his parents, and there should be some hesitation. He should have doubts.

The boy should have some goddamned qualms, Lex thinks, and his anger surprises him.

Clark should feel something. Guilt -- lord knows Clark can mope with the best of them -- or even sadness. He should have some sort of regret that this is the way things have to be. Lex should have a full-blown, mind-numblingly earnest, teenage moral dilemma on his hands, but he doesn't.

Clark is young and almost innocent. He's good in a way that Lex didn't think people still came, and at first glance, his face is almost comically open. He should be pure. Honest. And maybe Lex has to claim partial responsibility for the lack of the former, but the honesty -- that was gone long before he ever came into the picture.

The lies slide off Clark's skin like water.

The boy pulls his jeans up over his hips.

"Clark--"

"Yeah?" He turns halfway towards Lex.

"Nothing."

He'd brought it up once. Felt completely justified in making up some excuse for wanting to know.

Clark had just shrugged. "Nobody likes lying to the people they care about, Lex. It's just the way things go," he'd said, and he changed the subject quickly.

And Lex let it go, wondering how he ever got himself into such a ridiculous position.

In Lex's most disgustingly maudlin moments, he's alone in the castle, Clark's taste still on his lips, pouring himself drink after drink in the study, till he's so smashed he can't walk and sentimental enough to get him disowned. Even then Lex can't make himself believe that it's about him.

If Clark can lie to the Kents, he can certainly lie to Lex. It's really all the confirmation he needs that Clark is lying to him, has been lying to him from the beginning, from the first words out of his mouth that day on the riverbank. Lips that were poisoned even as they breathed him life.

The question, really, is whether any of this really changes anything, and Lex wasn't ever that innocent. Of course it does.

"Do you want a ride home?" Lex asks. He stretches his arms lazily. "I don't know that I want you walking home in the rain. You might get sick."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Clark says. He walks into the bathroom

"It's a long way to hike, isn't it? Especially with all your gear? Didn't they expect you to get a ride?"

"I'll be okay. Don't worry about it, Lex." Clark's voice drifts into the room, and Lex thinks: damn him.

Clark isn't any different from Victoria or all the rest after all, and that hurts in a way that Lex had thought he was immune to, because this is Clark. Clark is different. Because Clark isn't the just a boy he sleeps with: Clark is his best fucking friend.

It's almost enough to make him laugh. Years of wasted effort on Lionel's part, trying to teach him this very lesson, only to get trumped by a sixteen year old farm boy. It's almost funny.

When Lex looks at Clark, he can see all of it -- every rescue, every shared look, smile, joke, argument, touch, kiss, fuck. If he tried, he could probably remember every word they've exchanged.

Fuck it. Lex's given him a million opportunities. If this is the way Clark wants it, this is the way it'll be. Lex has done it before, and he can do it again.

He just didn't want to do it with Clark.

Clark is mostly dressed now, standing in the middle of the room, looking around.

Lex climbs out of bed and wraps his arms around him from behind. He whispers lightly into Clark's ear, "You coming over tomorrow?"

"I don't know--"

He murmurs, "You can tell them I'm helping you with your chemistry project."

Clark twists around in Lex's arms and gazes at him for a few seconds before he kisses him. Lex could let himself think there's a confession in that kiss, a plea. But instead he pulls away and smiles. "Your shoes are under the bed."

Clark looks a little like he's just been slapped. "Oh. Okay." He retrieves them, and sits on the edge of the bed, concentrating very hard on tying his laces. He says suddenly, "Lex?"

"Hmm?" Lex leans against the wall, arms crossed.

"You know that I love you, right?" Carefully not looking at Lex at all, and Lex flashes to the first time. Months of flirting and knowing and waiting, and it still came out of nowhere when Clark leaned over and kissed him. Short -- too short -- and sickly sweet. Clark was beet red afterwards, and wouldn't look at Lex till he grabbed his chin and pulled him back.

"Yeah, I know," Lex says. It doesn't matter. It's not enough.

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