by Alexa Jones

By Alexa Jones (



Spoilers: Red/Rush/Calling/Exodus/Exile

Disclaimer: Didn't think up these characters, don't own 'em.

Summary: Clark leaves for Metropolis and becomes a male model.

Authors Note: Written for the Moment in Time challenge

Special thanks to my betas Dana, SugarRush, and Amandajane!

To make an exceedingly long story short, Clark Kent left for Metropolis and became a model with his exceedingly good looks.

To make an even more exceedingly long story short, when I was rescued from the island, one of the first sights to welcome me to Metropolis was a billboard of a familiar farmboy. Clark, wearing nothing more than tight purple vinyl pants and a wicked smirk.

I almost fainted, but tried to pass it off as dehydration. My father wasn't fooled.

"I expect you'd like to know more about the developments with the young Mr. Kent," he said. His voice boomed, echoing through the helicopter, and I hid my wince. It had been easy to forget the harsh voice in the relative silence of the island.

I glanced at my father, falsely displaying my most indifferent expression. "It's a surprise, to say the least," I said calmly, all concentration on keeping my voice steady. I had expected things to be different,

My father chuckled. "He's become quite the rage in the advertising industry in the past two months. Last I heard, he was being offered television commercial contracts."

I mm'ed noncommittally, turning my gaze out the window of the helicopter as it touched down on the hospital's landing pad. The whip of the wind and the grinding of the motor was loud; it reminded me too much of a crashing plane, but even that was welcome in comparison to my father's voice.

All the papers covered my rescue and arrival. There was no way that Clark could have missed the news of my homecoming, unless he was living in a hole. As an apparently busy and successful model, I doubted that.

Yet, Clark didn't visit me. Each time I heard footsteps, I'd look up, half expecting to see him and I hastily hid the magazines under the blankets. Thankfully, I had the excuse of needing to catch up on current events and pop culture, thus the ordering back issues of fashion and entertainment magazines was not considered odd by the hospital staff or reporters. Perhaps they wouldn't notice the dog-eared corners of various pages featuring a certain, popular model.

I was soon released from the hospital, but I was reluctant to leave Metropolis. My business was in Smallville, but the plant could survive on its own for one more week. I had more pressing business... such as the hiring of Clark Kent, model, for LexCorp's new public relations campaign. New, as in created specifically for the purpose of tracking down Clark Kent, after a few nights of casually cruising Metropolis' hottest nightclubs and other attempts to locate him had proven fruitless.

After I punched the button to cut off the speaker phone, ending a conversation with Clark's agent, I started to chuckle. It dissolved into hysterical laughter, and I'd never heard myself laugh like that. I wondered if the island had made me mad. I half expected to wake up the next morning and discover I was still sleeping on cold sand and it had all been an absurd wet dream brought on by delirium and sexual frustration.

Instead, it was the silk sheets I had only dreamed about sleeping in again, and a wake-up call from my assistant reminding me of my appointment.

I shook the agent's hand, pinching myself to make sure I was still in reality and to hold back more laughter. Clark Kent, small town farmer's son, who couldn't get any girls and whose closet was stuffed with flannel, was a model and had a manager. My wide smile the agent consequently received was probably the most genuine smile any business associate had ever seen from me.

Before the agent could say a word, I offered far more than what was likely the usual rate. There would be no lengthy negotiations. We arranged the details and the scheduling, and the manager pardoned himself with the addendum that he was to meet Clark at a photo shoot.

"I'm going with you," I told him. He looked as if he was about to protest, but I only had to raise my eyebrow, and he gestured me through the doorway. I may have been absent for two months, but I was still Lex Luthor and even the most gorgeous model couldn't compare to my power and influence. No one was going to forget that, either.

It would be my misfortune and my luck that Clark was doing an underwear shoot that day. He was wearing boxer-briefs and I had to admit, he filled them out nicely. It was hot in the studio from the photographer's bright lights, but I kept my overcoat pulled tightly around myself to hide my body's reaction, and waited for Clark to have a break.

He'd seen me, surprisingly taking the initiative to approach me first, but I had the first words.

"This is new," I said, waving my hand around the studio. I couldn't tell if he was glad to see me.

Clark's shoulders lifted in the slightest of shrugs. "I read that you came back."

The information was neither unexpected nor useful. "Are you coming back?"



Clark scoffed. "No."

"Do your family and friends know you're here?"

Clark gave me an intolerant look. "I should think so, Lex. I'm not exactly in disguise."

I clenched my fists the material of my coat pockets to release some of the aggravation that kept building as the conversation progressed. I'd only seen him act this way twice before, and I never got a good explanation in either instance. "Allow me to rephrase.... Do they approve?"

"I doubt it. When this ad comes out, Lana will be shocked to see me in my underwear, that frigid bitch, Chloe will secretly love it and pin it on her bedroom wall, my father will prepare another lecture that he won't have a chance to give, and my mother will cry."

I almost choked. Seeing Clark model was one thing, but I hadn't expected the attitude change. I suppose I should have, seeing as the Clark Kent I'd known kept his clothes buttoned up. He'd seemed fairly mortified when I'd rescued him after he'd been chosen as the scarecrow.

"You don't think they're just worried or concerned about you?" I asked.

"Maybe. Obviously I can take care of myself." Clark eyed me. "They didn't ask you to come here, did they?"

"No, I haven't spoken with anyone. I came on my own."

Clark gave me a lazy smile. "Aww. You aren't worried about me, are you, Lex?"

I couldn't let him get to me. "As a matter of fact, you're modeling for my next LexCorp ad campaign. I arranged it this morning with your agent."

Clark's eyes widened slightly, then suddenly narrowed. "If this is some sort of ploy, Lex, it won't work."

I held up my hands. "No ploy. Luthors only use the best."

Clark didn't look like he believed me, but he was called back and didn't have a chance to respond.

I would have to wait until next week at LexCorp's photo shoot to see him again.

I chose a neat business suit and a pair of sharp wireframe glasses for my model to wear. It exemplified the young, successful businessman persona that LexCorp was hoping to lure, if I even bothered to have the ads make it to print.

Clark had a bad attitude and gave the photographer trouble. He ignored me throughout the shoot, until I pulled him away from everyone, including his agent, saying that we had to discuss something in private.

"Listen, Clark. I don't know what happened before my wedding or after, but if this is because you're upset that I married Helen...."

Clark laughed. "You can marry whoever you want, Lex. You know you'll find someone next week to take Helen's place. I'll look out for their names in the obituaries."

I couldn't hide my flinch. "I thought we had an understanding, Clark." We both knew there'd always been something between us. Nothing had become of it, and I'd met Helen. Neither of us had been ready, yet, to face the disapproval of our friends and family.

Clark gave a smile of satisfaction. "We did, Lex. But as much as you might want it to be, this isn't about you... although it's definitely funny to see you pleading with me like this."

"I'm hardly pleading."

"True," Clark answered thoughtfully, "if it was anyone but you. But I know you, Lex, and this is pleading."

I glared at him, daring him to insult me further.

He just grinned at me. "Like I said, this isn't about you. No hard feelings."


"Yeah." He leaned close to me. "In fact, I'll prove it to you. How about a personal photo shoot tonight? Just you, me, and a camera."

He was playing a game, and I'd play along. "I don't have another outfit for you."

"I said just you, me, and a camera, Lex."

I swallowed. Clark had never been so forward. "Fine, Clark. If you're sure it won't interfere with your busy schedule."

"I'm sure." He smirked. "I'll be at the penthouse at eight."

Clark was an hour late, smelling of heavy perfume. He came unannounced into my bedroom where I was sitting in my leather chair watching CNN on TV.

"Your lock is broken, Lex. You should have someone fix that. Metropolis isn't safe for a billionaire like you."

The lock hadn't been broken, but I let it go. I held the camera in my hand, lifting it up slightly. "The lighting in here isn't ideal, Clark. How about the living room?"

Clark squinted at it briefly, and then the corner of his mouth turned upwards. "You're not interested in pictures, Lex."

"What makes you think that?"

"There's no film in the camera."

He was right, the cocky bastard. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure?"

"I know."

Clark was starting to become careless. The evening could prove useful after all, even without film for the camera.

Clark shed his clothes without fanfare on his way to the bed, leaving them on the floor where they fell. He spread out his long body, hooking his arms behind him and resting his head back, hard already with no shame at being on display.

"How is this pose, Lex?"

I cast my eye over him, my hands beginning to unbutton my shirt as I answered, "It's a start."

I dropped my shirt on the floor, crawling onto the bed and took his ankle, lifting it from where it was crossed with the other, pushing his leg back until his knee bent and his foot rested flat on the mattress. I nudged his thigh with my knuckles until he spread his other leg.

"That's better," I said, hastily divesting myself of my slacks and boxers before moving between his legs and kissing his pouting mouth.

Even as the subject, Clark refused to relinquish control. His hands moved over my scalp, caressing and it felt good but soon he was insistently pushing me down his body. I kissed his stomach and tongued between the defined muscles, but Clark wasn't having any of it and simultaneously scooted up while pushing me lower until the head of his cock brushed against my lips. I stuck my tongue out to taste him, and he took the opportunity to shove into my mouth. Clark was overzealous, and lucky I was practiced and didn't choke too much. From the way he eagerly fucked my mouth, I knew he wouldn't last long and I wouldn't have to endure my aching jaw much longer.

Clark's hands were on my head, squeezing too hard, his ring cutting into my skin. I grabbed his hands and managed to pull them off, just as he came into my mouth. His body fell limp against the mattress, and he didn't realize what I was doing as I took the opportunity to slide the ring off his hand. No doubt with a teenage boy's recovery time, he was going to want me to do it again sometime soon and I didn't want to have to wear a hat in the summer for the first time in my life.

As the ring left his finger, Clark sat up and lunged for it, held tightly in my fist, but just as suddenly as he moved for it, he sat back, and a look of utter confusion passed over his face, followed by what could only be guilt and horror.

He glanced down at himself, then up at me, and threw the sheets over his lower body.

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Lex." He reached his hand out, almost seemed embarrassed as he swiped his thumb over the corner of my mouth, wiping away the last hint of his semen from my lips.

I blinked and my brows furrowed. Clark's confidence and attitude seemed to have vanished. "It's okay you were a little rough, Clark. You're young, I know."

Clark shook his head. "No, not that. Well, that, too," he rambled. "Just for everything." He drew his knees up close to his chest, resting his face on them.

I watched him for a moment. I didn't know if this was another act, but on the chance it wasn't, I'd take the risk of letting him fool me. I touched his shoulder gently. "Sleep, Clark. We'll work things out in the morning."

He looked up at me only long enough to nod his head, and I thought I could see a hint of tears shine in his eyes.

I took a blanket from the hall closet, and curled up on the couch. The night was far more restless than any I'd spent on the island.

I'd finally fallen asleep when loud clanging from the kitchen woke me. A spoon scraping against metal, and it made me wince and want to stuff the pillow over my ears. Instead, I sat up and watched Clark shuffle around the kitchen. He was in his t-shirt and boxers, looking as if he were trying not to make too much noise. Anyone besides me probably wouldn't have been bothered.

I got off the couch and made my way to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. Clark turned around, his eyes meeting mine briefly before shying away back to his cooking.

I was tired of his games, and I'd been expecting Clark to have been long gone already.

"Hungry?" Clark asked.

"Sure." I wasn't, but if Martha had taught him how to cook, it'd be worth trying to eat.

I sat at the table and a plate of French toast was put in front of me.

"Mom always makes French toast on Saturday mornings," Clark said.

I nodded slowly. Clark sounded nostalgic when talking about his family tradition, a complete turn around from the previous day's discussion about his family. "It's good," I replied.

Clark finished his food fast, and I sat regarding him for a moment before I decided to just jump in and ask. "What's been going on, Clark?"

He glanced up at me, looking startled. "I... I don't want to talk about it," he said hesitantly.

"That's fine." I hadn't expected anything different, but I'd take any chance to lure information from him. "You regret last night, don't you?"

Clark bit his lip and refused to look me in the eye.


"I'm sorry, Lex."

"Was it your first?"

Clark's eyes shut tightly, almost as if he were trying to ward off bad memories. "No."

Two months ago, I'd have been shocked to hear it. Strangely enough, now I was relieved that I didn't have to deal with that guilt.

Clark stood up awkwardly. "I'm going to go home."

"You want me to drive you?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm okay."

"How will you-"

"I'm okay, Lex. Just take my word for it." He glanced at me quickly and headed off to the bedroom, presumably to get his jeans.'

'Oh, I will, Clark. I will,' I muttered to myself. It wasn't over between us.

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