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cover by Slodwick

It wasn't really autumn. It was technically the end of summer, but the scent of the next season was already on the wind and the light was failing earlier every night.

Clark had noticed his mother breaking the sweaters out of their mothball prisons in preparation for the cold snap everyone kept saying was just around the corner. And his father was speaking of harvest and the crops as though they were something holy. Clark supposed that he could concede that maybe they were, you know, in that mysterious birth-death-rebirth way. But he hated this time of year, it spoke to him of bitterness and never-coulds and never-woulds. And it wasn't just the Scarecrow thing; it had been like this forever, for as long as he could remember.

He had arrived at the beginning of autumn. He had plummeted to earth, trespassed on the planet, bringing devastation along with him. Maybe he didn't really blame himself any more for that, but hell, grief had been in the air when he stepped out of that space craft. Grief and the scent of coming autumn mixed forever in his mind with the unremembered trauma of losing his birthparents and what had to have been a terrifying solo flight through space.

No, it wasn't quite autumn yet, and it hadn't been then either, but the dying light was already marking his mood and the first of the brown leaves on the concrete sidewalks brought some odd feeling like tears to his throat. A sense of ending, a path already lost, a time vanished. Mainly just sensations of gone, gone, gone pulsing through his body and soul. And a bitterness in his mouth that said, "Too late."

Clark had abandoned the world for the day. He'd escaped to the edge of the back field and the gentle shadows of the oak tree. A giant oak that had stood the test of time and weathered the loss of its leaves over many an autumn. Clark had to respect that tenacity, that passive willingness to bend to the whims of the world. He pondered that being a tree wouldn't be so bad, it'd be pretty peaceful actually. A lot better than fighting everything all the time, better than struggling to keep your sanity, your hope. God, he hated the way this season changed him, drained him of joy.

He didn't sit up when crackling grass heralded the approach of narrow, well-shod feet. Too well-shod to be stomping around in fields. So, yeah, maybe Clark should have called and told him he wasn't going to meet him at The Talon today after all. Maybe just blowing him off had been pretty damn rude. But Clark didn't sit up; he didn't know what to say. Somehow he knew that Lex was more concerned than angry. He stared up into the tree limbs and shuddered at the hint of death in the leaves. Leaves that would soon let go and blow away. It seemed that so many things, like the leaves, blow away...forever.

The footsteps were even and sure as they drew close, snapping twigs and crushing the grass. Lex walked with certainty, like he knew what fate had in store for him, like he didn't even care what the edges of the horizon held or why the leaves blew away and no one mourned them. As though change was only something he held in his pocket and played with for fun...not a thing that snuck up and sucker punched him. Or told him there was a space ship in his cellar. No, Lex didn't have that kind of relationship with fate. But Clark did.

Lex dropped down to the ground next to him in silence, eyes focused out on the distant horizon, taking in the barren field. The grass, faded from too much sunshine, glowed brown and golden in the lowering light.

"I saw that your mother had the sweaters on the line to air out." Lex reached out to pluck a few tall wisps of grass, twirling them in his fingers absently. "Tell me again why that bothers you?" He glanced at Clark then just a little eye sweep, just to let him know that he was watching. Always watching.

Clark lifted up onto his elbows. "It isn't so much the sweaters...," he stated, eyes locked on Lex's profile, "...it's the light."

"The light." Lex peered out across the field again as though measuring the exact quality and texture of light pouring onto the grass. He leaned back onto the palms of his hands, stretching his legs out before him, careless of his tailored pants.

"Yeah." Clark sat up then, drew his knees up and hooked his arms over them. "Do you like it?"

"The light?" Lex frowned a little, obviously trying to determine if he liked the light.

"No, fall." Clark watched as Lex shifted his thoughts from the light to the season, he took a slow breath before continuing, "Am I the only one who hates it?"

Lex smiled a little then, leaned over and whispered, "No. Fall feels like sharp little teeth eating at the edges of my soul."

Clark gazed at Lex for a moment, mouth opened softly. "That's beautiful." He stared a little longer, taken aback at the poetic intimacy of the confession, "That's just how it feels."

Lex smiled again, genuine and jagged, "I know it well. I've had six more seasons of it than you."

"Maybe. Who really knows how long I've been alive?" Clark murmured, pushing overlong hair out of his eyes.

Lex's smile faded a little and Clark felt eyes studying him for several long seconds.

"Are you high, Clark? Is that the cause of this maudlin mood?" Lex leaned over and sniffed at the flannel shirt, "I don't smell marijuana."

"Of course not, Lex. I don't do that stuff." Clark rolled his eyes. "Just say no and all that."

"Right." Lex appeared skeptical but willing to believe as he returned his gaze to the far end of the field.

Clark smiled a little observing Lex in his blue silk shirt, black pants and dress shoes, sprawled in a field just because his best friend was here. Four years this year. And they had met in autumn too. A meeting that had led to a re-birth for both of them; Lex, alive and Clark, an alien.

A leaf fell from the tree and landed on Lex's shoulder. Clark reached to brush it off. The warmth of Lex leapt to meet his palm. From his peripheral vision, the sepia-toned light on the corn mocked him. Lex was another "too late". Unless he was bold, unless he was brave. He leaned close and sniffed at Lex's crisp shirt breathing in the prickly scent of warm cologne and soap.

Lex pulled back a little. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking to see if you smell like marijuana."

"Why? I'm not the one behaving strangely."

"No, but you are the one who said fall had sharp little teeth." Clark grinned, amused with himself.

"That's not quite what I said despite the fact that it's true." Lex rolled his eyes and jostled Clark a little with his shoulder.

Clark sobered again. "Fall, to me, is lost opportunities. And, personally, I'm sick of them."

He kissed Lex then. It was shocking to find autumn in Lex's mouth. There it was in the bittersweet tug at his heart, the sharp little teeth under his tongue, a sense of timelessness gone horribly wrong. Lex's mouth moved with his, kissing him back, but it was empty of what he needed, what he was seeking. He pulled away, afraid to look in Lex's eyes, afraid that he would see autumn there too.

Silence. Only the sounds of their hearts pounding, of Lex licking his lips and swallowing, of Clark's breathing. Silence of the most personal kind. The silence of opportunities that were years of lost.

It had been the most honest and painful kiss of his life. His eyes could not lift, couldn't bear to see the effects written on Lex's face. The grass, golden and dry, everywhere, everywhere. Autumn had come in for the kill, hadn't it? Pushing summer and hope so very far away.

Clark licked his lips, opened his mouth and the words came out, "I wish you loved me."

A terrible silence followed broken finally by Lex's voice, rough and unfathomable, "How long?"

"Years." Clark ran a hand through his hair and squinted into the horizon, the lump in his throat suffocating him, the dying light mocking him.

"What makes you think I don't?"

Clark looked then. Lex's eyes were blue, tinged in fall color around the pupil.

"Do you?" His voice was steady. Unbelievable considering the pain he was suffering, the clenching of his heart, the failing golden summer seeping into him like death.

"Yes." A simple answer for a simple question.

"But the kiss..." Clark looked away again. He'd kissed before, many kisses. He knew their's had been barren.

"You startled me."

"It was more than that, Lex." Clark blinked and frowned. "It's gone, isn't it?" He waved a hand at the field, the sun slipping in the sky. "Too late."

Lex growled, "No." He was suddenly on Clark pushing him down into the earth, insisting, "No. Not too late."

Lips crushed on his. The autumn there was passionate and warm, sepia-toned like his dreams. This time it was something timeless and terribly right. A graceful, hard body on his and the scent of cologne enveloped him. His hands moved to Lex's hips, his fingers slipping over the smooth material, gripping and grinding.

Lex pulled back, eyes plundering eyes, "Not too late."

Clark gazed up into the face above him, lips slick with saliva, scar enticing him to taste it again. "No. I guess not." An understatement but Lex appreciated those and Clark was too stunned to express the truth.

Lex began to roll away and Clark clung to him. "Don't move. Don't leave." His voice was low and a little desperate.

"I'm not leaving, Clark. I just think we should talk a little."

"No. No talking. Just this." He kissed Lex again, slower this time with gentle licks, tasting him. Maybe autumn could be about seizing the chance before it was gone. Maybe it wasn't always too late. And the never-coulds, never-woulds could go on a fucking holiday because finally, finally, after four years, this was happening.

Tongue against teeth, teeth on lips, lips on face and he kissed down to Lex's warm, spicy-scented neck. So easy to tuck his head and nuzzle there. The scrape of the silk shirt on his cheeks, the skin softer, more fragile, the pulse beating just below the surface, and how long? How long had he wanted this? Not just for years...forever. This was what he missed each autumn, this is what he needed to make it through the cycle. Just passion and sex and the earth against his back and Lex against his heart. If he wasn't a man, if he wasn't so well versed at holding it all in then he might cry at this homecoming. Instead he murmured words he'd needed to say for years, felt Lex's heart in his ears, and heard Lex's voice, scratchy, raw like that first day you need a jacket, "Always, always."

It had been a long time since Clark had come in his pants but it was going to happen and he didn't care. Just knowing that Lex felt that, knowing that he could bury his face in this neck and hold on tight. Lex had slid a leg between his thighs and he was rutting against it like the fifteen year old who had first dreamed of this. And it was real, this was real and he could have this and, goddammit, he was coming and shuddering in Lex's arms. Gentle hands, rough and calloused, soothed him, as Lex brushed hair off of his forehead and murmured nonsense. Clark's heart hammered then slowed and finally lubbed gently, contentedly in his chest.

"Okay, Clark?"

"I...yeah." He flushed a little but didn't really care. "I needed to get the edge off I guess."

Lex smiled affectionately down at him. "You're always a surprise."

Wasn't that the truth? And Lex didn't even know the half of it. Suspected most of it, hinted that he could handle the truth constantly, and, yeah, Clark would tell him soon.

Lex shifted against him. Clark could feel the evidence of Lex's arousal pressed against his leg and he was going to take care of it, cement this bond between them. "Let me touch you, Lex."

Lex's eyelashes fluttered and he nodded, allowing Clark to shift him down to the ground. Lex was different from the girls he'd held in his arms, more solid, hard and toned. It was more like what he needed, like holding onto the solidity of mass itself, the stones of the earth made into bones and tendons and sinew.

He'd lost a whole planet, a family, a life one long ago autumn but gained a fucking solar system here, today, in Lex. He didn't mind being in orbit around Lex's sun. A relief to have a focus, a goal beyond the weight of responsibility he held on his shoulders. This man, these arms around him, the vulnerable belly being exposed as Clark's fingers fumbled with tiny buttons and tinier holes, the trust in his face...this was the miracle. It was like the fucking salt of the earth his father spoke of with such firm confidence. Not quite what his dad had in mind but it was the reality of Clark's need. This breakable man who offered himself up like this was nothing, like he wasn't giving Clark salvation with his rapid breaths and nipples hard in the evening air. Finally, trembling fingers managed to undo the fastenings of Lex's pants and to pull the hard cock free. Clark looked up to blue eyes watching him intently. Lex was a star and Clark was going to swallow him down.

A hand in his hair steadied him as he lifted the red cock to his lips, brushing a chaste kiss on the head before tonguing the slit. The taste settled on his tongue. It too was full of autumn...and autumn was turning more beautiful every second. He felt the weight of the moment pressing on his eyelids, closing them against a sudden pricking of tears that was wholly unexpected. The hand in his hair gently stroked, soothing, not rushing, patient even in passion. Lex, always patient with him, strong for him, waiting for him to give when he could, never taking more than Clark was ready to give. Tip of his tongue to the slit again, lapping up the sweet taste before slowly opening his mouth and taking the cock in, careful of teeth, cradling with his tongue, closing his eyes to the overload of emotion as Lex gasped above him and fingers tightened around his hair.

This wasn't how he had imagined it would be; he'd thought it would be wild and hotter than the spices his mother added to chili. But this was more intense, the immensity of this moment pouring out of him into Lex, absorbed like rain into a dry earth. The light was softening, the sun sinking around them, but all he could really think about was the cock in his mouth, the needy groans above him and the overwhelming truth of his feelings. This was it. It. The thing that people spoke about and he'd never found. This could be his future. Never to be alone. Never without Lex.

It was with complete inexperience that he slid his mouth up and down Lex's cock. He tried to remember what he had liked when Chloe had done it to him but even so, he wasn't sure if he was doing it right. He didn't worry about it. Lex obviously wasn't worried either because all Clark could hear from him was his throbbing heartbeat, whimpers and his name murmured with a tight voice; a voice reflecting what could only be called awe and devotion. Devotion. From Lex. Clark's heart wrenched in his chest. He needed to be deserving of it. He hit a rhythm that seemed to be the right one because the fingers dug into his scalp a little and Lex bucked up into his mouth involuntarily. The power of Clark's position dawned on him, the power of making Lex buck, whimper, moan and twist on the earth in pleasure from his mouth. He felt stronger than when he took down the freakiest mutant. This, this, was pure power and he could take it in and he was taking it in as the cock swelled, stilled and, then, pulsed in his mouth, on his tongue and Lex was crying out a nonsense syllable that sounded like coming home.

He cleaned Lex with his tongue before tucking his cock away, then climbed the length of the long body to rest his head on Lex's chest, listening to the heart beat. Gentle tugs on his chin had him looking into the eyes of the man who would be his future. There was no doubt in him now. He took a deep breath of the sepia-scented evening wind and murmured, "What now?"

The smile that slit him wide with rightness opened to form words, "We go home. We have dinner. We talk."

Clark found a hand with his own. "Yes. Talk." He flicked his eyes up to meet Lex's again, "We're going be together?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Good."

He rested his head back on Lex's chest and contemplated the sticky situation in his pants with a contented smile. The air smelled of sex now and he didn't mind at all. A new scent for his memory in autumns to come.

Lex and love and grief that could be spun to gold.