Whoa. More now.

And I don't even watch the show.

Dayum.

He could understand why Lex had been spying, after all: why he'd wanted to read Dr. Bryce's notes on Martha, and why Lex had been trying to gain access to the sample of Clark's blood she'd taken. There were clues there he wouldn't mind having himself—and Lex probably had the scientific knowledge to make use of them.

That didn't stop it feeling like a betrayal of trust. Clark knew that he'd not exactly played fair with Lex, letting his friend open up to him about his family and business, about his feelings, without ever telling Lex the whole truth about himself.

He had done his best, though, within the parameters set by youth, upbringing, and safety. He'd tried to let Lex know that his affection was genuine and that the secrets he kept back were kept for a good reason.

It hadn't been enough; Lex had needed more, tried to get it, and Clark had sent him away. Sent him away to get killed. Murdered and robbed in a dark alley.

Lex was dead, murdered, and Clark knew that it was his fault.

For a moment, the tears came, silent tracks down cheeks that were smeared with the dust of the farm. Then Clark took a deep breath, came to a decision, and sped away in a blur of motion, fast enough to be invisible to normal eyes.

• * *

Luthors didn't do things by halves, Clark thought, as the heavy wooden door of Lex's bedroom swung shut behind him.

Lex—the body, Clark reminded himself—was laid out on the bed, in a formal suit. He looked… a lot like Lex had done in life, except stiller. He wasn't sure how Lionel had managed to get the police to let him go, but he was glad that he could see his lover one last time, and not in a morgue.

For a moment, Clark entertained the notion that this was a joke, that any moment now Lex would be sitting up, breathing again in ragged gasps as he had done on the bridge, the first time they met; laughing at Clark for being taken in, that slightly cynical grin that loved to take advantage of Clark's gullibility.

But it didn't happen—he listened, and there was only one heartbeat in the room, only one set of lungs breathing. Clark wasn't as gullible as he liked to let Lex think. His lover was dead, and that was… terrifying.

He took a deep, sobbing breath, blinked sudden salt water out of his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. Lex had been murdered, he knew that. He needed to know what had happened. He needed to make sure that the person who did it was caught—punished, hurt, sent to prison or better still Death Row.

Not wanting to touch the body or disturb the formal clothes, Clark used his x-ray vision to examine Lex—no broken bones, no bruising… just a gaping tear at his neck, the shadow of something digging in deep and ripping, biting… draining.

Lex's body was pale, paler than usual, and the veins and arteries had collapsed, nothing in them.

His body had been drained of blood.

Which was weird, even for Smallville. And very puzzling. And, without warning, making Clark feel nauseous.

He couldn't leave fast enough, even at super speed. The door banged behind him, but he didn't hear it.

• * *

Lex did. Perhaps a mystical trigger, perhaps the slamming door; it didn't matter. He woke up, and found that he was dead.

The feeling was new, but strangely familiar. Waking up alive when he should be dead was very similar to waking up dead.

He'd just missed Clark. Lex swore for the first time in his unlife.

He sat on the bed for a moment, noting the dimmed lights, the dramatic candles, and the way that he could *smell* Clark—hay and blood, ink from his school books and a whiff of farmyard.

The he stood, aware of the power flowing in his body, and of a hunger deep within him. Lex felt his face shift into strange planes as he took another deep breath of the scent of Clark. His lover. His prey.

Lex followed in Clark's footsteps, slower but determined, sure he could trace him anywhere. Especially if the housekeeper would just—fangs in her neck, blood in his mouth, like fine wine curing the hangover he hasn't got—stop screaming and let him think.

• * *

The hunt took most of the night. Clark ran, letting the wind take the tears off his cheeks; and Lex tracked him, pushing himself to top speed, testing his new abilities the way he'd test a new car.

Finally, the tears dried on Clark's cheeks. He slowed, then stopped, standing on the top of some nameless hill way out in the fields.

Lex found him there perhaps an hour later, head thrown back to watch the stars twist slowly in the heavens. He looked beautiful in the starlight.

On silent feet, Lex crept until he could have reached out to touch Clark with a relaxed arm, and said, "Hi."

When Clark's feet reached the ground again—he'd jumped at least a foot straight towards the sky—he said, "Lex?"

Then he blinked, hard; and pinched himself, harder; and Lex was still there, smirking.

"That's right, Clark."

"But…" Clark said, as intelligently as he could. "But… how?" He thought he should still be angry, or upset, or rejecting this, or something. Instead, he only felt happy to have Lex back. Impossible things could be the easiest to accept.

Lex shrugged, an easy rolling motion that hadn't changed at all. That couldn't be right. "How can you run at the speed of sound, or however fast it is you go?"

"I'm an alien," Clark told him, sure this was a dream. "You?"

"Vampire," and there was the smirk again.

"Ah." It probably wouldn't make any more sense when he woke up.

"Are you planning to take over the world, then?"

"Not really." Clark didn't say, the ship says I will. He didn't say, it sounds like fun.

Lex said, "I am. Coming?"

"In which sense?" Clark asked, because this was a game he knew.

"Both." Lex looked like he was going to keep smirking until the end of the world, and Clark moved in for a kiss.

He was surprised when he felt Lex's mouth on his neck instead of somewhere more conventional, like his face; but apparently nowhere near as surprised as Lex was when magically sharpened teeth couldn't break the skin.

They both pulled back, confused.

"You can't hurt me, Lex. I'm an invincible alien."

Lex just nodded.

"Well, unless you've got a stock of green meteor rock handy. It helps, with the hurting me. But otherwise…" Clark trailed off, aware that he was babbling.

"Where shall we start?"

"With what?" Clark was still confused, so he wrapped his arms around Lex. That was nice and simple, even if his lover's body was cooler than he would expect.

"Taking over the world. We've a destiny to forge out together, you know."

"Oh. Okay."

Lex laughed, a quiet sound that had always carried menace, and kissed Clark.

It was simple. Clark knew that, and so he abandoned though in favour of feeling.

Lex knew it, and left planning until the morning, when they'd have hours in which he would hide from the sun, sleeping and plotting.

He also knew that it was going to be fun.

Whoa. More now.

I've just posted all I've got so far, deb. And you're one quick reader.

Holy CRAP, Am. I have never watched one episode of Smallvlle, and I love this.

He'd just missed Clark. Lex swore for the first time in his unlife.

SuhNERK.

I have never watched one episode of Smallvlle, and I love this.

I've seen counts on fingers of one hand not very many episodes, so I don't think having seen the show is exactly needed here.

I'm glad you like it. Writing it made me giggle.

Wow. That's really good, Am. I love the idea of Vamp!Lex.

American Idiom Nitpick:

I… I thought I fancied her.

"Fancied" is britspeak. An American teenage boy would say "liked" or "had a crush on" or "had a thing for" or "was into."

Yup - what Lyra said. "fancied" is UK-specific.

I missed that, first time around, with the giggling.

Sunday 100 du jour.:

Title: Magic is...
Challenge: Magic
Rating: PG
Pairing: W/T

Magic was her mother's hands healing a bloody knee with a chant and an herbal poultice, setting a fairy light to frighten away the monster in the closet.

Magic was her father, red-faced, calling her mother a goddamn witch, shoving her down the stairs.

Magic was a book on vengeance spells hidden behind her dresser in high school, fondling the pages, promising herself she'd only use it if she couldn't get out.

Magic was Willow, softness and warmth, red hair and scent of patchouli.

Magic was Willow, danger and power crackling around her.

Magic, Tara knew, was danger, life, love.