"Acrylic on heavy-weight watercolor paper, a bit of an experiment on the artist's part. Note the texture of coming through the paint, the colors brighter than watercolors or gouache."

Clark turned to see Lex standing in the doorway, hands in pockets and a knowing smirk on his face.

"Lex. Uh, hi." Clark, embarrassed at being caught handling the painting, felt trapped between setting it down guiltily and acting as though there was nothing unusual about him touching Lex's things. And, if truth be told, there really wasn't anything unusual about that.

Lex strode up to stand right beside Clark, just like always. Lex was always in his personal space, always making Clark a little nervous with his proximity.

"It's a Pattini, Clark. Do you know Pattini?"

Clark shook his head. "No. Should I?"

"Not with the state of Smallville's Art Education. Obviously, I should donate more to the school's program. Pattini was an unknown in the 1970's but now that he's dead, the painting in your hands is probably worth more than your farm." Lex chuckled.

Clark swallowed and set the painting back on the glass desk carefully. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"Hey, no problem, Clark. It's beautiful and it's normal to want to touch beautiful things." Something about the way Lex looked at him as he spoke made Clark's mouth go dry.

Clark shifted a little and felt the brush of Lex's arm against his hip. So close. "So you're a fan?"

Lex smiled softly. "Of beautiful things?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "No of Pattini, goof."

"No, not particularly. That's a painting he did of my mother when she was in her twenties."

Clark looked at the painting again more closely, looking for something to tell him more about his elusive friend, to find something of Lex's past in his mother's youth. A beautiful woman's face gazed confidently from behind hair decorated with pink flowers and red hearts.

"It's so--young."

Lex moved away slightly, leaning forward to touch one of the red hearts with the tip of his fingers. "She was young. Only twenty-two when this was painted."

"The same age as you."

"Yes." Lex smiled a soft, wistful smile. "She was beautiful and filled with so much hope. That's what this painting says to me."

Clark looked at the red, white and pink representation of a time lost long ago and saw too little of Lex reflected in that playful painting. "It makes me think that she had a good sense of humor."

Lex laughed. "She did. Well, she did when I was younger, before she was sick."

"Lex?" Clark turned until he faced Lex completely, the painting just a pinkish smudge in his peripheral vision. "I want to see a painting of you like this."

Lex's eyebrows went up. "You want me covered in red flowers and hearts?"

Clark was suddenly struck with a powerful image of Lex spread out naked on a bed, white skin on black sheets, and Clark, wielding a small brush, painting red hearts over his body, on his scalp, over the heart beating in his chest.

"Yes."

Lex snorted. "I think not."

Clark smiled. "I think yes."

Lex shook his head and Clark grabbed his chin, leaned in and kissed his sweet, heart-shaped mouth. Lex jerked, startled, but Clark held him fast, gently kissing him until Lex responded in kind.

Clark pulled away. "I'll paint you myself." And he drew the shape of heart on Lex's chest with his finger.

Lex, eyes glazed and mouth swollen, just nodded. Clark smiled and kissed him again.

Lex, his living portrait of hope, his living valentine.

The End