Twist The Sinews	Twist The Sinews

 by FayJay

 Very, very loosely follows 'Fearful Symmetry'. (Not that you'd know it to
look at it - and I'm pretty sure Wm Blake wasn't planning on inspiring gay
pornography when he wrote 'The Tyger'.) 

 

  

 DISCLAIMER: Messrs Kent and Luthor are not mine. But you knew that
already. 

 COMMENTS: With thanks to the foamy PPO folks, especially The Green Chick
for Beta work.	

 The second time he ever tasted Clark's mouth it was an impulse brought on
by the latest in a long line of crazy Smallville days, and by rather more
Scotch than was strictly wise. Lex was bruised and slightly shaken, but
otherwise unharmed; and there was Clark perching on the corner of his desk
looking up at him, so close he could feel the body heat seeping through
flannel and the faintest brush of warm breath tickling his throat. 

 "But you're sure you're okay?" 

 Clark wore an achingly earnest expression of concern and Lex was seized
with the familiar urge to simply kiss him into silence. He had indulged in
countless leisurely fantasies of fucking Clark; of going down on him in
the hay; of unprotected sex up against a wall in the shadowed Talon; of
grinding him down into the kitchen table amidst the milk and cookies.
Deliciously wicked fantasies of transgression that always sent him over
the edge; but he had never thought it could be so simple. 

 This time, before his brain had time to remind his body of all the
reasons why he wasn't giving in to this temptation, Lex just leaned
unthinkingly into Clark's personal space and kissed him on his half-open
mouth, tongue sweeping in to explore the warm, wet hollow the way he had
done in imagination so many, many times. Clark tasted of toothpaste. 

 A heart-stopping moment while Clark stood unresisting in his grasp and
utterly failed to kiss him back; and reality came rushing back at
nauseating speed. 

 Shit. 

 Hazel-green eyes all liquid astonishment when Lex pulled his mouth away
and wondered how the hell to play this. His heartbeat sounded unnaturally
loud and the shock of unpremeditated action was like being doused in icy
water. He was horrified by how much this mattered; realised quite abruptly
that he couldn't stand the prospect of losing Clark. 

 There must be some combination of words that could fix this; something he
could say to salvage the situation and somehow make a joke of it before he
sent over six feet of shocked and heterosexual farmboy running back to
hide behind his white picket fence. Clark was too damned important to
lose; and although his innocence was like a constant entreaty to be
defiled, Lex had more self-control than that. Or he'd thought that he had.


 The belated surge of fear vanished when Clark's broad hands found his
nape and the small of his back, and tentatively drew Lex so close that
there was no more room for secrets; so close that clothing could not
disguise the swell of eager adolescent flesh. Clark's lips parted
willingly in a kiss which made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in
technique; and Lex was startled and delighted by the strength of Clark's
grip on the stem of his neck. 

 There would be more bruises in the morning. 

 Hands tearing at fabric and Lex was taken aback by the sound of seams
actually ripping open; shocked gasp of laughter into Clark's warm skin. 

 "Do you know how much this shirt cost?" 

 Entirely the wrong thing to say, but he was trying to keep an appearance
of control here and the words were out before he could stop them. Clark
froze against him and he could feel awkwardness rush back into the boy's
body. Oh, stupid, stupid Lex. 

 "I'm sorry - I didn't mean -" 

 "I don't care about the fucking shirt, Clark." And he wrapped himself
around Clark with an urgency that surprised them both, fingers buried in
the boy's clean hair and sliding over the broad back as his lips found
Clark's life-giving mouth again; and he poured all of his frustration and
tenderness into that kiss, willing him to understand and accept and braced
for everything to suddenly turn to shit. God, but he needed this so very
much. 

 The scent of his hair. The welcome rise of Clark's cock grinding against
his own, pure friction separated by a little layer of fabric. His arms
were once more full of taut and trembling boyflesh; but this time the
ragged breathing was entirely caused by him. Delicious. Intoxicating. Lex
felt like Nabokov's paedophile and didn't give a damn. 

 The pressure of Clark's thighs locked around his own was astonishing;
totally unyielding. Lex couldn't have escaped if he'd wanted to. Not that
he wanted to. Clark's strength took his breath away. 

 Now that he'd started, Lex couldn't stop touching Clark. And he deserved
this, after all; he was playing nice, working hard, doing good. Why
shouldn't he have this one perfect thing for himself? He could make it so
good for Clark - oh, the things he could teach him. Things Lana Lang would
never have imagined in her wildest dreams - assuming that Lana had wild
dreams. 

 Lex's shirt was hanging half off him now and Clark's blunt fingers began
exploring the exposed skin with a mixture of uncertainty and determination
that left Lex feeling almost giddy. He had never found lack of expertise
arousing before, but Clark's awkwardness was just so fucking touching that
it undid him. Nobody should be so open, so vulnerable. 

 There was absolutely nothing he would not do for Clark Kent. 

 "You're sure you want this?" Lex was pleased by how calm he sounded. He
must be crazy to give Clark the chance to think here, but for some
perverse reason he had to ask. He braced himself for rejection, in spite
of the unmistakable lump of Clark's erection rubbing his thigh. Of course,
the very idea of Lex being able to physically force Clark to do anything
was laughable, but there were other ways to manipulate people and Lex was
familiar with most of them. He didn't want to do that. He really didn't
want to do that here. He was trying to be fair. 

 "Clark?" He couldn't quite hide the rawness in his voice, even though he
was smiling his best smile of worldly reassurance. "It's okay, Clark. We
can do whatever you want. I don't want to push you." Which wasn't entirely
true, of course. Lex wanted to do every damned thing under the sun, but he
didn't want Clark Kent to drop out of his life the next morning. This had
to be just right. 

 A tiny pause, and Clark ducked his head; and the downcast sweep of lashes
and Clark's sudden blush made Lex's cock jump again. He bit his lip and
waited impatiently, wanting to hear it out loud. There was power in this. 

 "I want to do everything, Lex," Clark said breathlessly, the words all
tumbling out as if they might burn his tongue. "Please. I want - I've
wanted to, you know, to - for a long time. With you. I didn't think - I
mean, there was Victoria, and, but - " 

 Lex couldn't stop smiling. Clark was his. All his. And he was such a
pretty boy. It ought to be illegal. Of course, technically it was illegal,
but Lex had no intention of getting bogged down with that particular train
of thought. 

 Mouth to mouth again, and Lex thought he could lose himself forever in
the wet slide of tongues. But it wasn't enough. 

 "Will you let me look at you, Clark? I want to see you naked." 

 This earned him a desperate shudder and a wordless nod. Lex scrambled
back from his half-straddling position and stood quite still, taking in
the beautifully debauched vision of Clark Kent sitting on the corner of
his desk with pupils dilated and lips gleaming, and a very visible
erection distorting the line of his jeans. He was blushing, but he wore a
hopeful little smile of sheepish pride as he shrugged off the flannel
shirt and then pulled the T shirt up over his head. Lex drew in his breath
with an involuntary hiss. He remembered Clark's torso in vivid detail, but
this time he wasn't all moonlight and shadows; this time Clark's skin was
dappled with shafts of coloured light pouring through the stained glass
window, blue and red and violet. 

 "Jesus, Clark," he breathed. "You're just - you're perfect. Flawless.
Look at you. How did they make you so perfect?" 

 Clark shot him an uncertain look and Lex realised with a lurch that the
boy honestly wasn't sure whether he was being teased. Christ. Fifteen; and
it didn't seem so long since Lex had been fifteen, but he was sure that he
had never been this young. The pink that suffused Clark's cheeks wasn't
simply down to the rose-tinted glass; he was clearly balanced on the most
precarious line between embarrassment and confidence, simultaneously
craving and dreading the attention. He must know he was beautiful; it
simply wasn't possible for someone to inhabit that body and that face and
be oblivious to their own beauty. And yet he didn't seem sure of it. 

 "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, don't you?" Lex asked,
surprised by an uncharacteristic stab of guilt. God knows at fifteen he
had been far from innocent, and had already fucked people older than
twenty one; but Clark at fifteen wasn't Lex at fifteen. Which was why he
was so irresistible, of course, but Lex felt an almost painful need to
keep Clark safe from all this shit; from petty, callow jocks who would
string him up in a makeshift cornfield Calvary; from pretty, shallow,
doe-eyed orphans who would break his stupid honest heart; and from screwed
up, ruthless multi-millionaires who wanted to own Clark body and soul. 

 Clark paused in the act of unbuttoning his jeans and met Lex's
questioning gaze; and it was all Lex could do to stand still just then.
His mouth felt suddenly far too dry and far too far from Clark's. 

 "I know that," said Clark; and his face lit up with one of the sweet and
painfully open smiles that gave Lex sleepless nights. "I trust you, Lex."
And he did. He honestly did. A pretty little corn-fed lamb to the
slaughter. Lex felt slightly sick and realised that he had crossed his
arms in front of his chest automatically. He carefully relaxed his posture
and pulled absently at the torn seam of his shirt, studying the
unravelling lilac fabric with a wry half-smile. 

 "Well, you shouldn't." 

 It was wonderful how he had learned to sound amused in situations that
were so wholly unamusing. He stepped back towards the desk and watched
Clark lean unconsciously towards him, waiting for his touch; and instead
he picked up the half-empty glass of scotch and sipped it blindly,
concentrating all his attention on the ice-cubes brushing against his
lips. "I'm really not a good man, Clark. You have no idea what I'm capable
of." 

 The sunshine of Clark's expression dimmed and an earnest frown creased
his smooth brow. 

 "You shouldn't say things like that," he said seriously. "It's not true.
Just because - because some people expect you to be like your father, that
doesn't mean you have to be that way. And I know you, Lex. You are a good
person." His smile wobbled and then dissolved altogether. "Is this - are
you saying you don't want me?" 

 Lex was only human, after all, and Clark was so tantalisingly close and
so distractingly shirtless; one short step and he had a hand on Clark's
waist, and one finger slid into an empty denim belt loop while the ball of
his thumb ran over the warm skin of the boy's flat belly in a lazy circle.
Lex pressed his own undiminished erection firmly against Clark's leg and
pushed his face into the bare collar bone, tasting salt and breathing in
sun-drenched quintessence of Clark. He licked the pale skin deliberately
and was inordinately pleased by the moan that vibrated through Clark's
chest. It made Lex's nose buzz. He laughed. 

 "Of course I want you, Clark," Lex said, only a little shakily. "That
isn't the issue." 

 Clark's hand closed over the curve of his ass and pulled him in closer. 

 "That's the only issue." 

 "I don't think -" began Lex, only to find his sentence swallowed by a
sudden mouthful of determined teenage boy. Who, as it turned out, was
really starting to get the hang of this whole kissing thing. When he came
up for air, Clark wore an unexpectedly wicked grin. 

 "You think too much," Clark explained kindly, and kissed him again. 

 Fuck it - saintliness had never suited the Luthors anyway. He carefully
put the glass down on the desk before he dropped it (at this point he
didn't think he was going to need to spill whisky on the boy's pants to
get them off) and allowed himself to concentrate all his attention on the
object of his most cherished and indecent fantasies. 

 Lex let Clark's large hands take his weight while he wrapped both legs
around the denim-clad hips, then shifted until he was straddling Clark's
lap again and kneeling on the desk. They were welded together
belly-to-belly and chest-to-chest and the awkward graze of his erection
over Clark's made the younger boy whimper against his tongue; and that was
simply one of the sexiest sounds Lex had ever heard. He dug his fingers
into the solid mass of Clark's shoulder and ground his hips forward
slowly, deliberately, while he sucked the boy's tongue into his mouth. And
there was that moan again; and he felt as much as heard the much-abused
fabric of his shirt tearing again as Clark grabbed a fistful of purple
silk and pulled. 

 Jesus. 

 If Lex had ever suspected for so much as a single second that they grew
farmboys like this out in Smallville, he'd have hit the freeway the day he
got his first car with his foot jammed on the gas the whole damned way. He
should have done this months ago. He should have done this when he woke up
on the riverbank with Clark's impossibly heated mouth pressed to his own
cold lips. 

 "So you want to do 'everything', Clark?" 

 He dropped a kiss on the corner of Clark's mouth and explored the curves
of his familiar face; then licked the rim of the boy's ear and closed his
mouth over the soft lobe, sucking it wetly in between sharp teeth and
biting down just a touch harder than he'd intended. Clark didn't seem to
mind one bit, however; he gave a helpless groan and his hand clenched over
Lex's ass so damned hard that Lex wondered for a startled moment whether
his pants might go the way of his shirt; now that would give his tailor
something to complain about. Christ, he was going to have a set of bruises
on his ass. Possibly even a handprint. The thought of Clark marking him
was doing unexpected things to his gut; and nakedness would be a good idea
very soon, because there was actually a possibility that he might come in
his pants. 

 "Everything," echoed Clark, sounding dazed. "Please." 

 Lex arched his back at that last desperate syllable; ran his hands down
over Clark's smooth chest with a complete lack of finesse and roughly
twisted the first eager nipple that brushed his seeking palm. 

 "Fuck, Clark. Say that again." 

 "Please." The sound was torn out of him. "And - oh, Lex, I - Harder.
Please?" 

 "Jesus, Clark!" 

 An urgent scrape of cheek against cheek as Lex found Clark's mouth again
and sucked the bottom lip into his mouth, biting it while he twisted the
tight little nub of flesh savagely, and Clark shuddered in response. He
had an irresistible image of one perfect drop of blood welling up on
Clark's sweet nether lip and even the vision of Jonathan Kent with a
shotgun and a lynch mob was barely enough to keep him from biting down
hard enough to cut through the skin. The way Clark was melting into him
was certainly no encouragement to restraint. He pulled his mouth away with
difficulty and tangled his fingers in the soft hair, angling Clark's face
towards him with a possessive shiver at how pliant and eager this body was
under his touch. So big and solid, but entirely at his bidding. It was
like riding a very large and powerful thoroughbred: his very own
Bucephalus, obedient to no other hand. Christ. 

 "Clark, get your pants off. Now." 

 A ragged gust of laughter brushed his bare scalp. 

 "I - Lex, you're kind of sitting on me," pointed out Clark. "Um. Which is
a good thing. But, you know, it kind of makes it difficult to, uh - " Lex
slid backwards, closing his eyes at the deliciously frustrating rasp of
his cock against Clark's thigh. The sense of tactile loss was scorching
once several feet of fortunate air separated the two of them, but he
ignored the impulse to grab just Clark all over again and bury his face in
the hollow of the boy's throat. 

 "Get your pants off," he repeated firmly, staring into Clark's eyes.
"Now." He ran his thumb absently along the edge of his pants, shivering at
the line his blunt nails were scoring into the smooth skin; watched Clark
watching him and felt his whole spine fuse. 

 "God, Lex. That's so - that look on your face. Wow." 

 Clark eased himself off the desk and offered Lex another beatific smile
which was not so much wholesome as it was - open. It made Lex want to do
terrible things, that smile. He watched Clark awkwardly unbuttoning his
jeans and reminded himself to breathe. He knew people who would pay
serious money to see this. Hell, he'd have willingly paid serious money to
see this himself. And - here was the thing that twisted in his gut and
wrung his heart in a quite terrifying way - and it was Clark. Clark
balancing on one leg to pull off first one sneaker and then the other,
steadying himself against the desk and shooting heated, sheepish glances
over at Lex. Clark with his generous erection outlined against the denim,
looking for all the world like the bastard offspring of Norman Rockwell
and Tom of Finland. Clark shrugging down his jeans and stepping out of the
heavy puddle of fabric to stand in a shaft of blue light clad in nothing
but a prosaic pair of socks and some boxers that his mother had
undoubtedly bought, with his cock tenting the fabric. 

 "Jesus Christ, Clark." It appeared that the range of Lex's vocabulary
existed in directly inverse proportion to his level of arousal. He had
watched a good many lovers undress for him before now, and Clark was
certainly as attractive as any of them had ever been; but Clark didn't
know enough to make a game out of the unwrapping. There was no conscious
exercising of power over his observer, just this tangle of inchoate lust
and nervous, puppyish enthusiasm as he peeled away the fabric. It was -
sweet. In a way that made Lex want to see him writhing. Lex rubbed his
thumb over the outline of his own erection and watched Clark's mouth fall
open deliciously. "Tell me what you want." 

 Clark paused on the brink of stepping towards him and blinked. 

 "I - you, Lex. I want you." So fucking sweet. Lex brought the heel of his
hand down firmly on his cock and hissed quietly. 

 "Care to elaborate?" 

 "I want - Lex, you know what I want. Isn't it kind of obvious? I mean - "


 "Tell me." 

 "I want -" he trailed off imploringly, and his discomfort was
irresistible. Mrs Kent's little boy didn't use bad words. "Lex, I -" 

 "Tell me." 
 "I want you to fuck me." The words spilled out desperately as Clark
stepped up to him; and then there was a world of bare skin pressed up
against him and Clark was planting wet and feverish kisses on his scalp,
his forehead, his eyelids, his cheekbone, finally finding his mouth and
licking it fiercely. "I want you to fuck me, Lex. Please." 

 Lex shivered with proprietorial lust and ran exploring hands over Clark's
back while he let himself savour the moment. Clark was his, body and soul;
and that was just as it should be. He could feel Clark's arousal soaking
through the thin cotton of the boxers where they rubbed against his own
flat belly, and knowing that Clark was hard because of him was sending
pulses of frustrated desire through Lex's neglected cock. 

 "Clark," he said between kisses," I'm going to fuck you so hard you come
screaming. Is that what you want? My dick in your ass? In your pretty
mouth?" Clark froze for a moment and made a ragged, incoherent noise in
the back of his throat; and again Lex was taken aback by the sheer
strength of Clark's grip. 

 "Yes," Clark managed eventually. "Oh, God, please, Lex. Just do it." 

 And here was the proof that there was, in fact, a God; but first Lex slid
down to his knees, dragging his tongue roughly over the canvas of Clark's
skin and shivering at the delicate rasp of leg hairs against one peaked
nipple; and when he buried his face in the thin cotton and inhaled the
warm musk of ardent boy Clark gasped out his name like a prayer.
Beautiful. 

 Lex hooked his thumbs into the waist of Clark's boxers, lightly brushing
the slick tip of his erection, and slid the cotton down to fall around
Clark's ankles while he finally made the acquaintance of Clark's hot and
quivering cock. His eyelashes brushed against the underside of the rosy
flesh as Lex devoted careful attention to the balls; dark curls tickled
his cheekbone as he lost himself in the pattern of suction and darting wet
strokes of the tongue, exploring every warm and satiny inch of Clark's
engorged penis. 

 It was delicious, but Lex realised quite quickly that something was
wrong. Clark's hips were bucking with desperate arrhythmia, but his hands
were clenched into tight fists at his sides and he seemed to be fighting
himself; until at last he actually pulled back and his cock slid free with
a messy sound. Lex wiped the saliva from his chin with the back of one
hand and looked up at Clark's contorted face. 

 "Relax, Clark," he said reassuringly, dropping a wet kiss on the slick
head of Clark's erection and feeling it jump under his tongue. "It's okay.
Just let go." 

 "I can't," said Clark, sounding thoroughly miserable. "I thought - but I
can't. Lex, I don't want to hurt you." Lex's smile was indulgent. 

 "Clark, you aren't going to hurt me. I have done this before, you know." 

 "You don't understand. It's too much." And Lex was astounded to see tears
welling up in Clark's eyes. He was on his feet in one startled, fluid
motion, wondering what he could possibly have missed here as he wrapped
his arms around the boy. His blowjob technique, he reflected ruefully, did
not generally have quite this effect. Lex had the sense that he was
missing something crucial. 

 "It's okay, Clark. Really, it's okay." Clark made a choked sound
somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh and after a painfully tense moment
he relaxed into the embrace. 

 "I'm sorry. I - I can't explain this. Shit. I'm sorry, Lex. I really want
you." Clark sniffed, and it was not a sexy sound by any standards, but it
made Lex squeeze him closer regardless. "I'm such a freak. I - I don't
want to hurt you, Lex, but - I'm afraid I won't be able to help it. I wish
I was normal." 

 This really was not going according to any of Lex's jerk off fantasies,
but he was surprisingly calm about it all. 

 "I just want to make you happy, Clark." 

 And this, it turned out, was the unvarnished truth. Shit. It struck Lex
for the first time, with a dull sense of horror, that this was quite
possibly what all the fuss was about. The songs, the poems; theTaj Mahal,
the Siege of Troy. He was in love. There probably ought to be a punchline
somewhere, but all Lex could think of right now was soothing the boy who
was trembling in his arms. "Ssh. It's all okay," he repeated, dropping
kisses onto every bit of Clark within range of his mouth and running
gentle fingers through the soft hair - so endearingly innocent of gel or
mousse. Such a wholesome, old-fashioned boy. Such a boy. 

 "Lex?" 

 "Yes?" 

 "I really want to suck your cock." 

 This was shaping up to be the most unpredictable evening since Lex had
arrived in Smallville. Which was really saying something. 

 "Lex?" 

 "Yes?" 

 "Please? Can I?" 

 Now what was the correct etiquette for this situation again? 

 "Yes?" Lex said experimentally. 

 Dear God, but Clark moved fast. And yes, his tailor really was going to
be royally pissed, because that was unmistakably the sound of ripping
fabric and Lex was abruptly very naked, with no clear idea of quite how
this had come to pass. 

 "Jesus, Clark! What are you?" 

 Clark Kent, kneeling naked at his feet, looked up at Lex imploringly
through wet lashes and tangled bangs, and Lex felt something break inside.


 "Don't ask me that," said Clark; which was the sort of reply that really
begged a whole Spanish Inquisition of questions, but Lex bit his tongue
and nodded wordlessly. 

 And then his rigid cock slid between the same pretty lips that had
breathed life into him on the riverbank long months ago; and Lex forgot
all about questions and answers and Luthorcorp and Metropolis and
everything else but the burning, liquid pressure of Clark's wet mouth and
darting tongue. Large hands wrapped around his waist, pinning him into
place while Clark moved at a speed that made Lex cry out. There was
absolutely nothing of sophistication or technique to this; it was all hot
and wet and fast and hard; impossibly fast. Clark's tongue was everywhere.
Lex found himself losing language and when he finally came - far sooner
than he'd expected - the only word left to him was Clark's name. 

 In the stunned aftermath Lex found himself gently laid down on the floor
with the ragged remnants of his very expensive pants pillowing his skull;
and this was just as well, because his legs were decidedly unsteady.
Little tremors were still running through his limbs and his whole body
felt light and languorous. The capacity for rational thought was still a
little way off. The floor seemed like a good place to be. 

 And meanwhile he had an unimpeded view of Clark Kent kneeling over him
with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, his hazel eyes darker than Lex had
ever seen them as he fucked his own clenched fist and stared at the naked
sprawl of pale limbs splayed before him. The concentrated lust on Clark's
face made Lex wonder how he had ever thought the boy was wholesome; and it
was all entirely for Lex. Jesus. Lex had never seen anything sexier in his
whole damned life and the wordless sounds Clark was making as his hand
moved too fast were better than the most costly pornography. When he came
it was all over Lex's chest, marking him as surely as the bruises; and
then he collapsed onto Lex in a boneless heap. 

 This was not what Lex had expected; but it turned out to be exactly what
he wanted. Lex found that he loved the feel of being pressed down under
the boy's weight. He felt safe. Owned. And that was unexpected too. 

 "That was - that was quite something," said Lex, when he could remember
how to string a sentence together. Clark rolled onto his side and scooped
him up into an awkward embrace, planting lazy kisses on the crown of his
head and the nape of his neck. 

 "Mmm," agreed Clark, with what could only be described as a snuggle. Lex
wasn't used to sex being quite this cuddly, but he definitely thought he
could get used to it. 

 "You're sure you haven't done this before, Clark? Because that was - that
was really quite something. Although it does seem to have destroyed my
ability to articulate. Hopefully this is just a temporary side effect." He
thought about the strength and the speed and the wreckage of the Porsche
and chewed his bottom lip. "Clark, are you - well. No. Okay, I'm not
asking. But we're going to have to talk about this at some point, you
know." 

 "I know," said Clark in a very small voice. "I'm sorry." 

 "It's okay. It can wait." They lay in comfortable silence for a little
longer. "Do you want to come upstairs to bed, Clark? It's actually a lot
more comfortable than the floor." Lex wasn't quite sure when he'd started
grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't seem to stop. 

 "Mmm," replied Clark agreeably, kissing the corner of his ear. "And maybe
in a little while we could do this again? Or, you know," and Lex could
practically hear the blush, "maybe - other stuff?" 

 "What? 'Everything'?" 

 "Well, maybe not everything. I don't know how safe I'd be with - but, you
know. Other stuff. We could maybe find out. Carefully." 

 "Very well, Clark," said Lex, wondering whether this dopey grin might
become a permanent fixture. "If you absolutely insist."   
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