Kal/Morgan WIP
Jul. 21st, 2004 10:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Previous Parts
It really was easy to get into the crack house without anyone noticing him. Even with something like fifteen undercover cops around, Clark slipped past them with no problem. Inside, there were only four guys, and they all worked for Morgan meaning none of them were actually on drugs or high, which was good. Clark really didn't want to have to deal with all that. He just wanted to get in and get out without any problems.
"You Morgan's kid?" one of the guys asked Clark as he opened the duffle bag. Morgan told him to make sure the drugs were actually there.
"I trust my men," he'd said. "But not that much."
Clark did a quick count of everything before saying, "If you mean the kid Morgan sent to pick this up, yes. If you mean child, no." He flicked his eyes up and smiled. "That would be just gross." Then he zipped the duffle back up. "This everything?"
They nodded. "Morgan said you were going to start a distraction to get the police in here?"
"I am. If I were you, I'd find the closest exit." He slung the duffle over his shoulder and glanced at the couch. A quick zap with his eyes set it alight, and then he said, "They'll be in soon," before taking off.
It was easy enough to break into Jeffries's apartment. The guy had *tons* of security, but Clark got by most of them without them even noticing. If he tripped the security monitors, even better, because it might--*might*--bring the cops. And, if they didn't, Clark was supposed to call Quentin, who was phoning in an anonymous tip when Clark got out.
It should have gone off without a hitch, but it didn't. Not like it was planned. Clark had done exactly as Morgan asked: he'd hidden the drugs so they were easy to find, but not so badly it looked like they'd been planted. And it wasn't as if it'd taken him a long time; Clark was moving faster than humans could move, but not as fast as he could. He wanted to get everything in neatly since the rest of the apartment was fastidiously organized; it only made sense that Jeffries would also keep his drugs packed neatly.
And then, he fucked up. He didn't want to make a production getting out of the building, so he sped down the stairs, and stopped at the bottom. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Quentin's number. When the other man picked up, Clark said, "I'm out."
"Very good." He hung up.
Clark slipped his phone back into his pocket and folded the duffle underneath his jacket. Then, he casually sauntered into the lobby.
And ran into Rick Jeffries.
"Sorry," Clark stammered, losing his grip on the duffle bag.
Jeffries picked it up for him, eyes narrowed. "You need to watch where you're going," he said, studying Clark closely.
Clark tried to look innocent and like he belonged in the building. The second was pretty easy, since he was dressed in clothes Morgan had bought him. The innocent part would be easier if Jeffries wasn't looking at him so suspiciously. What was this guy's problem?
"I know you from somewhere."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I work the club scene. Maybe you've seen me around."
There was a pause and Jeffries looked him up and down appraisingly. "You were at Club Zero the night it burned down, right?"
Thank God; Clark was afraid Jeffries had seen him with Morgan. "Yeah, I was."
Jeffries nodded, then said, "And haven't I seen you with Morgan Edge?"
"Who?" Clark asked blandly.
"Right." Jeffries reached into his pocket and pulled a card out. "If you ever want to move up in the world, give me a call, kid." He slipped the card into Clark's breast pocket and tapped his chest. "I've got room for a face like yours in my organization."
"I'll think about it." Clark took the bag back, smiled and let his eyes run over Jeffries's form, then swaggered out of the building.
Jeffries was arrested, charged, and put out on bail within a matter of hours. Clark, who really didn't care if Jeffries was in jail or wandering the streets, went to Atlantis to dance.
And that's when it went to hell. Clark was in the middle of a tight knot of bodies, all writhing together as one, when gunfire opened.
Before Clark knew what was happening, he was trapped in a mob of screaming people. They were so panicked, and so forceful, Clark was actually knocked off his feet as they all tried to get away. There was more gunfire, more screams.
Morgan.
Clark shoved aside fear as he rose to his feet once again. Now that he was prepared, he was able to cut through the crowd easily, shoving aside everyone as they tried to get away from the gunmen.
And there were a lot of them. At least fifteen, which explained how they got past security. They didn't seem to care who they shot, but they were intent on doing as much damage as possible. On the floor were the injured--but not dead--bodies of club goers. The mirrors were smashed, liquor bottles were decimated. The bartender was dead, as was the bouncer and three security guards. Two guys from the other side had been shot.
Bullets bounced of Clark, but he didn't pay any attention to them. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, concentrated and melted the guns held by the attackers.
There were screams as heated metal melted over flesh. Some of the gunmen were able to throw the guns to the floor. The others shrieked as the metal cooled on their hands, trapping them.
Clark's heart pounded and his ears rang. He had no idea if any of the guests has seen him melt the guns, and he really didn't care. He just wanted to stop this.
Morgan's men took their place besides him. Their guns were out, and their presences steadied Clark; at least someone knew what to do.
"On your knees," Clark ordered, heart pounding.
There was a tense moment before the men dropped, some still trying to work the guns off their hands.
"So you don't know who Morgan Edge is?" Jeffries said, striding into the club. He had a gun resting casually at his side and a dangerous glitter in his eyes. "You dance in his clubs. You go to lunch with him. You probably let him fuck you blind, but you don’t know who Morgan Edge is, huh?"
Clark clenched his fists and tried to breathe steadily. "Okay, so I might know him. But you are so dead."
Jeffries shook his head. "You know, I've done some digging. It was easy to figure out what Morgan's most prized possession is." Jeffries raised his gun and fired. "You."
The bullet hit Clark in his left shoulder. It flattened on impact and fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Jeffries barely had time to gasp when Morgan came up from behind and shot him in the head.
Clark turned his head quickly, eyes squeezed shut. He could feel the wetness on his face from the blood and hoped desperately that was all it was. The thought that bits of brain might be stuck to his face made him nauseous. He noticed dully that there were no more screams, and also that he had to bit his lip to keep himself from screaming.
There was a moment of perfect silence as Clark struggled not to do anything embarrassing. Then Morgan started barking orders, "Sean, Marshall; dispose of the body. Quentin, wait outside for the cops; with any luck, Phelan will have enough sense to get here first. Jason, Thomas, Jon, go out back and deal with the crowd."
There was a hand on Clark's shoulder, squeezing it. "Kal, look at me," Morgan said with great intensity.
Clark forced his eyes open. His lashes felt sticky with blood, and his face was stiff.
Morgan looked grim as he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the blood gently. "Go home. Now. Run as fast as you can and stay there. If anyone asks, you spent the evening in watching movies."
"But..."
"Don’t worry. Witnesses have a funny way of remembering things incorrectly." Morgan squeezed his shoulder again. "Go. I'll be home when I can." Then, when Clark didn't move, Morgan kissed him and said, "Now."
Clark ran. He ran until the world was a blur around him, and he couldn’t see it. He ran until his heart started pounding and his ears hurt from the wind whipping over them. He ran until he was in a place he recognized, on the land he'd grown up in, on his parents' farm. He stopped just outside the barn, hesitated, then ran into the loft, pressing himself into a corner.
"Oh God," he whispered, trembling. He pulled the ring off his finger and set it aside. A shudder wracked him, and nausea built up once. "Holy shit."
There was blood in his hair. Blood in his eyes. The stink of blood all around him, on his bare chest and face. Blood of the man who meant to kill him, who'd tried and failed, only to be killed by Morgan.
Morgan, who was Clark's lover. And who was a killer.
Clark trembled harder and pulled his knees up to his chest. He pressed his forehead to his knees and tried not to see Jeffries's head exploding. He hadn't seen it, not exactly. He'd turned his head just as Morgan had fired, but he'd caught a glimpse. And he'd seen...
What was going to happen to Morgan? Was he going to be thrown in jail, or... or what? He belonged in jail, of course, but the idea terrified Clark. Morgan Edge wasn’t a good man, but he was a man and Clark.... Not loved. Not exactly. But Clark didn't want Morgan in jail. He wanted him free and in their apartment and for the world to just go away.
The stairs creaked, startling Clark. He froze, breathless as his mother ascended the stairs and entered the loft. She looked tired and pale. There were dark circles under her eyes and when she slumped on the couch, she looked as if moving was hard.
Clark swallowed, guilt rising in him. He'd done this to her. Clark had. He'd killed her baby and hurt her. Hurt his mother, and now she was tired and sad.
Tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn't brush them away. Mom simply rested her head against the back of the couch and allowed the tears to fall.
Mourning her baby, Clark knew. Morning over the life that Clark had killed. Clark had...
He was no better than Morgan.
Clark waited in the shadows until Mom fell asleep. Then, carefully, he rose and crept quietly across the room to her.
She was so beautiful. Perfect. She was his first memory and still the last thing he thought of before falling asleep.
"Goodnight, my angel, my baby, my falling star," she would always whisper to him when she put him to bed as a child. And then, she'd sit with him, combing his hair until he got used to the darkness and sleep took him. She always smelled like apples and cinnamon, and she had the most brilliantly beautiful hair he'd ever seen.
Swallowing painfully around the lump in his throat, Clark bent over and whispered, "Goodnight, Momma." He kissed her cheek not noticing as a tear fell from his eye to her face. Then he pulled away and took off, blurring over the miles back to Morgan's penthouse.
He didn't notice her opening her eyes when he kissed her, and he was gone when she rubbed the tear into her skin.
* * *
Clark was asleep, trapped in fitful dreams, when the bed dipped, waking him. He stirred and scrubbed at his eyes, ignoring the still sticky feeling of blood as he murmured, "Morgan?"
"No, not Morgan," said the drawling, nasal voice of Lionel Luthor. "He wanted me to stop by and make sure you were all right."
Stomach like lead, Clark sat up and threw the covers off him. "I’m fine. Where's Morgan? Is he all right? Is he in jail?"
Lionel laughed and stroked Clark's arm gently. "Don't worry, Kal, Morgan is fine. Men like him don't go to jail."
"Men like him?"
"Powerful men. Men who run the city. Morgan has a hand in everything in this city; if he were to disappear, the city would fall apart. The police, or a certain segment of the police, realize this, and so they know they can't ever actually find him guilty of anything."
"But he killed that man."
"Rick Jeffries? Who's going to miss him?" Lionel shook his head and touched the fringe of Clark's hair. "Don't worry, my boy. Morgan will be fine."
"He's fine. I'm fine. We're all fine." Clark pulled away. "You can go now."
Lionel made a face and shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure you are all right. You haven't even cleaned the blood off." His fingers rubbed the dried flecks and his frown deepened. "I think you should take a shower, and then we can talk."
"I don't want to talk. I just want to be alone. I'm fine." He got out of bed and went to the dresser. He was in Morgan's room, having come back and collapsed on the bed, mentally exhausted from the evening. He'd barely stayed awake long enough to strip out of his bloody shirt before unconsciousness took him, and he hadn't even thought of the blood on his face.
"Kal, I think it's obvious that you aren't meant for this life. Not really. Morgan thought to groom you to take over his organization, and it's a pretty idea, training your intelligent whore to become a criminal mastermind, but it won't be you. It can't be. If anything, this incident highlights that fact. But, you are intelligent." Lionel came up behind Clark, stopping so close, Clark could feel his body heat washing over his bare skin. "You are young. And you are ripe to be groomed towards something great." Lionel ran his hand up Clark's spine and then around his chest. "I could use a boy like you."
Clark snorted. "For what? From everything I've heard about you, you're straight."
Lionel's smirked and tightened his hold. "I've a passing interest in anything beautiful. And it wouldn’t just be for sex. I have room in my organization for someone like you. With a little training and a lot of education, you could conceivably take over LuthorCorp one day."
"You have a son."
"Whether or not I'll have a son in ten years is debatable. But you. I've heard you were shot at the club. And yet, there's not a mark on you."
Clark sighed as Lionel pressed his hand into his shoulder. This guy was so obvious, it was sad.
Throwing Lionel off, Clark turned. "Look. I've said it once, but apparently, it didn’t register. You? Are boring. And I'm not interested in your corporation or your millions or your body or you. I'm not going to leave Morgan for you."
"Who said anything about leaving Morgan? You can stay with him. You'll simply train to enter my world instead of his."
"I don't want anything to do with your world. I don't want anything to do with you."
Lionel's eyes went back and his face darkened. "Listen, young man, I…" His cell phone cut into whatever he was going to say. Annoyed, he pulled it from his pocket. "Yes?" Listening, he frowned deeply, one hand coming up to rub his beard. "I see. No. No, don't do anything yet. I'll come down." He snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket. "We'll continue this discussion at a later date. Perhaps having Morgan wit you will help you both see the light on this subject."
"I'm not going to change my mind," Clark called to Lionel's retreating back.
"We'll see," Lionel tossed back. Then he was gone.
Clark showered quickly then parked himself on the couch. He flipped to every news station there was, stomach twisted in agony as he tried to find any word of Morgan.
There wasn't any. There wasn't even a report on the shooting at the club. Clark didn’t understand, but he was grateful that Morgan hadn't been exposed.
He gave after the ten o'clock news. His stomach was still tight with worry, and he wanted to go out and look for Morgan, but he didn't know where he could look. So, instead of doing anything, he fixed himself a sandwich, went back to Morgan's room, and crawled into bed.
Clark couldn't say how long he was there before he fell into something resembling sleep. All he knew was it seemed like minutes before Morgan was sitting on the bed, saying, "Kal?" in a soft voice.
Clark woke at Morgan's gentle touch to his face. Rolling onto his back, he felt a wave of relief crash over him at the sight of Morgan's calm face. "Hey," Clark said, throat dry. "Are you okay? What happened? Where have you been, I've been worried, I was afraid..."
"Shhh," Morgan soothed. He touched Clark's lips gently to silence him, then bent over and kissed him. "It's okay. Everything has been taken care of."
"But... What about Jeffries? You killed him? And the shooting. I thought you were going to go to jail."
Morgan shook his head and caressed Clark's face. "No, I'm not going to jail. Everything has been taken care of. It's all right." He kissed Clark again, this time more insistently. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Clark said softly. His hands came up to thread in Morgan's hair, and he kissed Morgan insistently. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You're not hurt?" Morgan pulled off Clark's shirt and tossed it to the floor. His hands smoothed over Clark's shoulders, caressing, eyes hungry. "I knew the bullet bounced off you. I knew you are bullet-proof, and yet I've been afraid..." He broke off abruptly and bent to the spot Jeffries had tried to shoot Clark through and kissed the skin.
Clark closed his eyes and held Morgan's head lightly, hands messing his hair as Morgan dropped a trail of hot kisses over his collarbone and up his neck. It felt like he was lighting a fire over Clark's skin, and his muscles turned to liquid as one of Morgan's hands slid underneath the waistband of his pants.
"I'm fine," Clark whispered, kissing Morgan's ear. "He didn't hurt me. I was so scared for you, though. I wanted to hear from you, and I didn't know what was going on."
"I'm sorry." Morgan kissed him. His tongue parted Clark's lips and delved in deeply. He tugged at Clark's pants until he lifted his hips.
Clark tugged at the buttons on Morgan's shirt. "Get undressed," he gasped. He ripped the shirt open and slid it off Morgan's shoulders.
Morgan quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off, then pushed Clark onto the bed. There was lubricant in the night table, and he wasted no time in squeezing it onto his fingers.
"Should I roll over?" Clark asked. He propped himself on his elbow and jacked Morgan's cock slowly, his own hard and throbbing already.
"No. I want to see your face," Morgan said. His hand covered Clark's as he spread the lubricant over his cock with a shaking hand. Then, he lifted Clark's legs so they rested over Morgan's shoulders and brought his cock to Clark's entrance.
Clark groaned, back arching as Morgan pushed slowly, not bothering to stretch him beforehand. It didn't matter, didn't hurt, but Clark was so *tight*. He could feel Morgan's cock spreading his passage, opening him, filling him.
"Fuck," Clark hissed, fingers digging into the sheets. Then he reached back and grabbed the headboard, holding tight.
"So beautiful," Morgan grunted, hips slapping wetly against Clark's buttocks. He gripped Clark by the shoulders, moving in and out. His mouth worked across Clark's chest, and Clark didn't care that Morgan was touching the scar, just as long as he never stopped moving.
Clark twisted underneath Morgan, riding the thrusts, trying to guide him to that spot. His body was shaking with need, cock hard, trapped between their bodies. The friction was unbearable, and Clark was moaning constantly, nerves on fire as Morgan pounded into him, driving into his body as if he owned it.
All the words Clark wanted to say jammed inside his throat. He wanted to say he'd been so worried, and that he was relieved Morgan was all right. He wanted to tell Morgan how scared he'd been, and how his dreams had been jammed with images of Jeffries's head exploding open, only sometimes it was Morgan's, and Clark didn't know what he'd do if Morgan were killed. He wanted to say…
But he didn't. Not with words. They were too hard, too confusing. Because Morgan *did* own his body. He paid good money to fuck Clark, to push him down in bed and use him. And even though Clark knew that Morgan wasn't using him, that there was something more going on than just a john fucking his whore, Clark couldn't say the words.
"Morgan," he whispered raggedly. His voice caught when Morgan hit his prostate, stars bursting behind his eyes.
Morgan did it again, thrusting hard into him. Fire raced through his blood in an inferno, and Clark exploded.
Morgan kissed his hair and continued thrusting steadily. One arm was wrapped around Clark's body as he held him, tightly, against his body. His breath whispered across the shell of Clark's ear, not words, or, if they were, he was speaking to fast for Clark to understand. But it didn't matter.
Clark scratched down Morgan's back, lethargy sweeping over him even as Morgan continued to move. Morgan was sweating, his forehead pressed into Clark's neck, lips and teeth tugging and sucking on Clark's skin in between his whispers.
"So beautiful," Morgan growled, fucking harder. "So perfect. God, Kal, why?"
"Why what?" Clark gasped, twisting underneath Morgan.
Morgan shook his head and thrust again. Then his body tightened and he came.
Clark turned his head and caught Morgan's mouth with his. They kissed, and Clark tried to say everything with his tongue and lips that he couldn’t say with words.
When the broke apart, Morgan was breathless and panting. He rested his head against Clark's shoulder and held him tightly.
Heart pounding, Clark licked his lips. "I was worried about you," he said quietly, half-hoping Morgan wouldn't hear.
He did, though, and tiredly pet Clark's side. "There was no need. I had everything under control."
Clark licked his lips and said, "But you killed a man."
"I've killed before. I'm still free. And if there's no body, there's no murder, now, is there?"
How could he be so flippant about it? How could he not understand that people were *dead* and that was *illegal*. It wasn't like robbing a bank, and that wasn't even really the point. People saw Morgan kill Jeffries, and he could go to jail, or worse. "There were all those witnesses, Morgan. All the people at the club saw you shoot him. Someone is going to tell."
Morgan smiled and ran his finger down Clark's nose. "I guess you didn't notice. The witnesses were rushed out the back of the building before I shot Jeffries. And my security detail was blocking anyone who might have still been back there's view. I've spent the day doing damage control, and in a few days, this will all just disappear."
"Will it?" Clark asked, swallowing hard. What if Morgan was caught? What if it didn't just disappear?
"It will." Morgan kissed his cheek. "Kal, I've done this hundreds of times before. I know the business. It's been my life since I was a teenager."
Clark swallowed hard and nodded. "You promise you'll be all right?"
"If I were you, I'd be more worried about myself. What are you, Kal?"
"I'm an alien." Clark met Morgan's eyes, heart pounding wildly.
Morgan looked serious, but calm. He didn't freak out or run away or look disgusted. He just nodded and stroked Clark's face. "Don't let Lionel find out."
"Won't you tell him? I thought the two of you were good friends."
"You're mine. And I'm not going to let him take you away from me." Morgan kissed Clark's forehead and held him closely.
Clark sighed and relaxed into the embrace. By all rights, Morgan should be ready to sell him to the highest bidder tomorrow. To exploit Clark and his abilities and the fact he was proof of extraterrestrial life. After all, Morgan was the epitome of what his father had been warning him against his entire life.
But, right now, safe and warm in Morgan's arms, Clark just couldn’t bring himself to be frightened. He felt too safe.
TBC...
It really was easy to get into the crack house without anyone noticing him. Even with something like fifteen undercover cops around, Clark slipped past them with no problem. Inside, there were only four guys, and they all worked for Morgan meaning none of them were actually on drugs or high, which was good. Clark really didn't want to have to deal with all that. He just wanted to get in and get out without any problems.
"You Morgan's kid?" one of the guys asked Clark as he opened the duffle bag. Morgan told him to make sure the drugs were actually there.
"I trust my men," he'd said. "But not that much."
Clark did a quick count of everything before saying, "If you mean the kid Morgan sent to pick this up, yes. If you mean child, no." He flicked his eyes up and smiled. "That would be just gross." Then he zipped the duffle back up. "This everything?"
They nodded. "Morgan said you were going to start a distraction to get the police in here?"
"I am. If I were you, I'd find the closest exit." He slung the duffle over his shoulder and glanced at the couch. A quick zap with his eyes set it alight, and then he said, "They'll be in soon," before taking off.
It was easy enough to break into Jeffries's apartment. The guy had *tons* of security, but Clark got by most of them without them even noticing. If he tripped the security monitors, even better, because it might--*might*--bring the cops. And, if they didn't, Clark was supposed to call Quentin, who was phoning in an anonymous tip when Clark got out.
It should have gone off without a hitch, but it didn't. Not like it was planned. Clark had done exactly as Morgan asked: he'd hidden the drugs so they were easy to find, but not so badly it looked like they'd been planted. And it wasn't as if it'd taken him a long time; Clark was moving faster than humans could move, but not as fast as he could. He wanted to get everything in neatly since the rest of the apartment was fastidiously organized; it only made sense that Jeffries would also keep his drugs packed neatly.
And then, he fucked up. He didn't want to make a production getting out of the building, so he sped down the stairs, and stopped at the bottom. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Quentin's number. When the other man picked up, Clark said, "I'm out."
"Very good." He hung up.
Clark slipped his phone back into his pocket and folded the duffle underneath his jacket. Then, he casually sauntered into the lobby.
And ran into Rick Jeffries.
"Sorry," Clark stammered, losing his grip on the duffle bag.
Jeffries picked it up for him, eyes narrowed. "You need to watch where you're going," he said, studying Clark closely.
Clark tried to look innocent and like he belonged in the building. The second was pretty easy, since he was dressed in clothes Morgan had bought him. The innocent part would be easier if Jeffries wasn't looking at him so suspiciously. What was this guy's problem?
"I know you from somewhere."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I work the club scene. Maybe you've seen me around."
There was a pause and Jeffries looked him up and down appraisingly. "You were at Club Zero the night it burned down, right?"
Thank God; Clark was afraid Jeffries had seen him with Morgan. "Yeah, I was."
Jeffries nodded, then said, "And haven't I seen you with Morgan Edge?"
"Who?" Clark asked blandly.
"Right." Jeffries reached into his pocket and pulled a card out. "If you ever want to move up in the world, give me a call, kid." He slipped the card into Clark's breast pocket and tapped his chest. "I've got room for a face like yours in my organization."
"I'll think about it." Clark took the bag back, smiled and let his eyes run over Jeffries's form, then swaggered out of the building.
Jeffries was arrested, charged, and put out on bail within a matter of hours. Clark, who really didn't care if Jeffries was in jail or wandering the streets, went to Atlantis to dance.
And that's when it went to hell. Clark was in the middle of a tight knot of bodies, all writhing together as one, when gunfire opened.
Before Clark knew what was happening, he was trapped in a mob of screaming people. They were so panicked, and so forceful, Clark was actually knocked off his feet as they all tried to get away. There was more gunfire, more screams.
Morgan.
Clark shoved aside fear as he rose to his feet once again. Now that he was prepared, he was able to cut through the crowd easily, shoving aside everyone as they tried to get away from the gunmen.
And there were a lot of them. At least fifteen, which explained how they got past security. They didn't seem to care who they shot, but they were intent on doing as much damage as possible. On the floor were the injured--but not dead--bodies of club goers. The mirrors were smashed, liquor bottles were decimated. The bartender was dead, as was the bouncer and three security guards. Two guys from the other side had been shot.
Bullets bounced of Clark, but he didn't pay any attention to them. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, concentrated and melted the guns held by the attackers.
There were screams as heated metal melted over flesh. Some of the gunmen were able to throw the guns to the floor. The others shrieked as the metal cooled on their hands, trapping them.
Clark's heart pounded and his ears rang. He had no idea if any of the guests has seen him melt the guns, and he really didn't care. He just wanted to stop this.
Morgan's men took their place besides him. Their guns were out, and their presences steadied Clark; at least someone knew what to do.
"On your knees," Clark ordered, heart pounding.
There was a tense moment before the men dropped, some still trying to work the guns off their hands.
"So you don't know who Morgan Edge is?" Jeffries said, striding into the club. He had a gun resting casually at his side and a dangerous glitter in his eyes. "You dance in his clubs. You go to lunch with him. You probably let him fuck you blind, but you don’t know who Morgan Edge is, huh?"
Clark clenched his fists and tried to breathe steadily. "Okay, so I might know him. But you are so dead."
Jeffries shook his head. "You know, I've done some digging. It was easy to figure out what Morgan's most prized possession is." Jeffries raised his gun and fired. "You."
The bullet hit Clark in his left shoulder. It flattened on impact and fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Jeffries barely had time to gasp when Morgan came up from behind and shot him in the head.
Clark turned his head quickly, eyes squeezed shut. He could feel the wetness on his face from the blood and hoped desperately that was all it was. The thought that bits of brain might be stuck to his face made him nauseous. He noticed dully that there were no more screams, and also that he had to bit his lip to keep himself from screaming.
There was a moment of perfect silence as Clark struggled not to do anything embarrassing. Then Morgan started barking orders, "Sean, Marshall; dispose of the body. Quentin, wait outside for the cops; with any luck, Phelan will have enough sense to get here first. Jason, Thomas, Jon, go out back and deal with the crowd."
There was a hand on Clark's shoulder, squeezing it. "Kal, look at me," Morgan said with great intensity.
Clark forced his eyes open. His lashes felt sticky with blood, and his face was stiff.
Morgan looked grim as he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the blood gently. "Go home. Now. Run as fast as you can and stay there. If anyone asks, you spent the evening in watching movies."
"But..."
"Don’t worry. Witnesses have a funny way of remembering things incorrectly." Morgan squeezed his shoulder again. "Go. I'll be home when I can." Then, when Clark didn't move, Morgan kissed him and said, "Now."
Clark ran. He ran until the world was a blur around him, and he couldn’t see it. He ran until his heart started pounding and his ears hurt from the wind whipping over them. He ran until he was in a place he recognized, on the land he'd grown up in, on his parents' farm. He stopped just outside the barn, hesitated, then ran into the loft, pressing himself into a corner.
"Oh God," he whispered, trembling. He pulled the ring off his finger and set it aside. A shudder wracked him, and nausea built up once. "Holy shit."
There was blood in his hair. Blood in his eyes. The stink of blood all around him, on his bare chest and face. Blood of the man who meant to kill him, who'd tried and failed, only to be killed by Morgan.
Morgan, who was Clark's lover. And who was a killer.
Clark trembled harder and pulled his knees up to his chest. He pressed his forehead to his knees and tried not to see Jeffries's head exploding. He hadn't seen it, not exactly. He'd turned his head just as Morgan had fired, but he'd caught a glimpse. And he'd seen...
What was going to happen to Morgan? Was he going to be thrown in jail, or... or what? He belonged in jail, of course, but the idea terrified Clark. Morgan Edge wasn’t a good man, but he was a man and Clark.... Not loved. Not exactly. But Clark didn't want Morgan in jail. He wanted him free and in their apartment and for the world to just go away.
The stairs creaked, startling Clark. He froze, breathless as his mother ascended the stairs and entered the loft. She looked tired and pale. There were dark circles under her eyes and when she slumped on the couch, she looked as if moving was hard.
Clark swallowed, guilt rising in him. He'd done this to her. Clark had. He'd killed her baby and hurt her. Hurt his mother, and now she was tired and sad.
Tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn't brush them away. Mom simply rested her head against the back of the couch and allowed the tears to fall.
Mourning her baby, Clark knew. Morning over the life that Clark had killed. Clark had...
He was no better than Morgan.
Clark waited in the shadows until Mom fell asleep. Then, carefully, he rose and crept quietly across the room to her.
She was so beautiful. Perfect. She was his first memory and still the last thing he thought of before falling asleep.
"Goodnight, my angel, my baby, my falling star," she would always whisper to him when she put him to bed as a child. And then, she'd sit with him, combing his hair until he got used to the darkness and sleep took him. She always smelled like apples and cinnamon, and she had the most brilliantly beautiful hair he'd ever seen.
Swallowing painfully around the lump in his throat, Clark bent over and whispered, "Goodnight, Momma." He kissed her cheek not noticing as a tear fell from his eye to her face. Then he pulled away and took off, blurring over the miles back to Morgan's penthouse.
He didn't notice her opening her eyes when he kissed her, and he was gone when she rubbed the tear into her skin.
* * *
Clark was asleep, trapped in fitful dreams, when the bed dipped, waking him. He stirred and scrubbed at his eyes, ignoring the still sticky feeling of blood as he murmured, "Morgan?"
"No, not Morgan," said the drawling, nasal voice of Lionel Luthor. "He wanted me to stop by and make sure you were all right."
Stomach like lead, Clark sat up and threw the covers off him. "I’m fine. Where's Morgan? Is he all right? Is he in jail?"
Lionel laughed and stroked Clark's arm gently. "Don't worry, Kal, Morgan is fine. Men like him don't go to jail."
"Men like him?"
"Powerful men. Men who run the city. Morgan has a hand in everything in this city; if he were to disappear, the city would fall apart. The police, or a certain segment of the police, realize this, and so they know they can't ever actually find him guilty of anything."
"But he killed that man."
"Rick Jeffries? Who's going to miss him?" Lionel shook his head and touched the fringe of Clark's hair. "Don't worry, my boy. Morgan will be fine."
"He's fine. I'm fine. We're all fine." Clark pulled away. "You can go now."
Lionel made a face and shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure you are all right. You haven't even cleaned the blood off." His fingers rubbed the dried flecks and his frown deepened. "I think you should take a shower, and then we can talk."
"I don't want to talk. I just want to be alone. I'm fine." He got out of bed and went to the dresser. He was in Morgan's room, having come back and collapsed on the bed, mentally exhausted from the evening. He'd barely stayed awake long enough to strip out of his bloody shirt before unconsciousness took him, and he hadn't even thought of the blood on his face.
"Kal, I think it's obvious that you aren't meant for this life. Not really. Morgan thought to groom you to take over his organization, and it's a pretty idea, training your intelligent whore to become a criminal mastermind, but it won't be you. It can't be. If anything, this incident highlights that fact. But, you are intelligent." Lionel came up behind Clark, stopping so close, Clark could feel his body heat washing over his bare skin. "You are young. And you are ripe to be groomed towards something great." Lionel ran his hand up Clark's spine and then around his chest. "I could use a boy like you."
Clark snorted. "For what? From everything I've heard about you, you're straight."
Lionel's smirked and tightened his hold. "I've a passing interest in anything beautiful. And it wouldn’t just be for sex. I have room in my organization for someone like you. With a little training and a lot of education, you could conceivably take over LuthorCorp one day."
"You have a son."
"Whether or not I'll have a son in ten years is debatable. But you. I've heard you were shot at the club. And yet, there's not a mark on you."
Clark sighed as Lionel pressed his hand into his shoulder. This guy was so obvious, it was sad.
Throwing Lionel off, Clark turned. "Look. I've said it once, but apparently, it didn’t register. You? Are boring. And I'm not interested in your corporation or your millions or your body or you. I'm not going to leave Morgan for you."
"Who said anything about leaving Morgan? You can stay with him. You'll simply train to enter my world instead of his."
"I don't want anything to do with your world. I don't want anything to do with you."
Lionel's eyes went back and his face darkened. "Listen, young man, I…" His cell phone cut into whatever he was going to say. Annoyed, he pulled it from his pocket. "Yes?" Listening, he frowned deeply, one hand coming up to rub his beard. "I see. No. No, don't do anything yet. I'll come down." He snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket. "We'll continue this discussion at a later date. Perhaps having Morgan wit you will help you both see the light on this subject."
"I'm not going to change my mind," Clark called to Lionel's retreating back.
"We'll see," Lionel tossed back. Then he was gone.
Clark showered quickly then parked himself on the couch. He flipped to every news station there was, stomach twisted in agony as he tried to find any word of Morgan.
There wasn't any. There wasn't even a report on the shooting at the club. Clark didn’t understand, but he was grateful that Morgan hadn't been exposed.
He gave after the ten o'clock news. His stomach was still tight with worry, and he wanted to go out and look for Morgan, but he didn't know where he could look. So, instead of doing anything, he fixed himself a sandwich, went back to Morgan's room, and crawled into bed.
Clark couldn't say how long he was there before he fell into something resembling sleep. All he knew was it seemed like minutes before Morgan was sitting on the bed, saying, "Kal?" in a soft voice.
Clark woke at Morgan's gentle touch to his face. Rolling onto his back, he felt a wave of relief crash over him at the sight of Morgan's calm face. "Hey," Clark said, throat dry. "Are you okay? What happened? Where have you been, I've been worried, I was afraid..."
"Shhh," Morgan soothed. He touched Clark's lips gently to silence him, then bent over and kissed him. "It's okay. Everything has been taken care of."
"But... What about Jeffries? You killed him? And the shooting. I thought you were going to go to jail."
Morgan shook his head and caressed Clark's face. "No, I'm not going to jail. Everything has been taken care of. It's all right." He kissed Clark again, this time more insistently. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Clark said softly. His hands came up to thread in Morgan's hair, and he kissed Morgan insistently. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You're not hurt?" Morgan pulled off Clark's shirt and tossed it to the floor. His hands smoothed over Clark's shoulders, caressing, eyes hungry. "I knew the bullet bounced off you. I knew you are bullet-proof, and yet I've been afraid..." He broke off abruptly and bent to the spot Jeffries had tried to shoot Clark through and kissed the skin.
Clark closed his eyes and held Morgan's head lightly, hands messing his hair as Morgan dropped a trail of hot kisses over his collarbone and up his neck. It felt like he was lighting a fire over Clark's skin, and his muscles turned to liquid as one of Morgan's hands slid underneath the waistband of his pants.
"I'm fine," Clark whispered, kissing Morgan's ear. "He didn't hurt me. I was so scared for you, though. I wanted to hear from you, and I didn't know what was going on."
"I'm sorry." Morgan kissed him. His tongue parted Clark's lips and delved in deeply. He tugged at Clark's pants until he lifted his hips.
Clark tugged at the buttons on Morgan's shirt. "Get undressed," he gasped. He ripped the shirt open and slid it off Morgan's shoulders.
Morgan quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off, then pushed Clark onto the bed. There was lubricant in the night table, and he wasted no time in squeezing it onto his fingers.
"Should I roll over?" Clark asked. He propped himself on his elbow and jacked Morgan's cock slowly, his own hard and throbbing already.
"No. I want to see your face," Morgan said. His hand covered Clark's as he spread the lubricant over his cock with a shaking hand. Then, he lifted Clark's legs so they rested over Morgan's shoulders and brought his cock to Clark's entrance.
Clark groaned, back arching as Morgan pushed slowly, not bothering to stretch him beforehand. It didn't matter, didn't hurt, but Clark was so *tight*. He could feel Morgan's cock spreading his passage, opening him, filling him.
"Fuck," Clark hissed, fingers digging into the sheets. Then he reached back and grabbed the headboard, holding tight.
"So beautiful," Morgan grunted, hips slapping wetly against Clark's buttocks. He gripped Clark by the shoulders, moving in and out. His mouth worked across Clark's chest, and Clark didn't care that Morgan was touching the scar, just as long as he never stopped moving.
Clark twisted underneath Morgan, riding the thrusts, trying to guide him to that spot. His body was shaking with need, cock hard, trapped between their bodies. The friction was unbearable, and Clark was moaning constantly, nerves on fire as Morgan pounded into him, driving into his body as if he owned it.
All the words Clark wanted to say jammed inside his throat. He wanted to say he'd been so worried, and that he was relieved Morgan was all right. He wanted to tell Morgan how scared he'd been, and how his dreams had been jammed with images of Jeffries's head exploding open, only sometimes it was Morgan's, and Clark didn't know what he'd do if Morgan were killed. He wanted to say…
But he didn't. Not with words. They were too hard, too confusing. Because Morgan *did* own his body. He paid good money to fuck Clark, to push him down in bed and use him. And even though Clark knew that Morgan wasn't using him, that there was something more going on than just a john fucking his whore, Clark couldn't say the words.
"Morgan," he whispered raggedly. His voice caught when Morgan hit his prostate, stars bursting behind his eyes.
Morgan did it again, thrusting hard into him. Fire raced through his blood in an inferno, and Clark exploded.
Morgan kissed his hair and continued thrusting steadily. One arm was wrapped around Clark's body as he held him, tightly, against his body. His breath whispered across the shell of Clark's ear, not words, or, if they were, he was speaking to fast for Clark to understand. But it didn't matter.
Clark scratched down Morgan's back, lethargy sweeping over him even as Morgan continued to move. Morgan was sweating, his forehead pressed into Clark's neck, lips and teeth tugging and sucking on Clark's skin in between his whispers.
"So beautiful," Morgan growled, fucking harder. "So perfect. God, Kal, why?"
"Why what?" Clark gasped, twisting underneath Morgan.
Morgan shook his head and thrust again. Then his body tightened and he came.
Clark turned his head and caught Morgan's mouth with his. They kissed, and Clark tried to say everything with his tongue and lips that he couldn’t say with words.
When the broke apart, Morgan was breathless and panting. He rested his head against Clark's shoulder and held him tightly.
Heart pounding, Clark licked his lips. "I was worried about you," he said quietly, half-hoping Morgan wouldn't hear.
He did, though, and tiredly pet Clark's side. "There was no need. I had everything under control."
Clark licked his lips and said, "But you killed a man."
"I've killed before. I'm still free. And if there's no body, there's no murder, now, is there?"
How could he be so flippant about it? How could he not understand that people were *dead* and that was *illegal*. It wasn't like robbing a bank, and that wasn't even really the point. People saw Morgan kill Jeffries, and he could go to jail, or worse. "There were all those witnesses, Morgan. All the people at the club saw you shoot him. Someone is going to tell."
Morgan smiled and ran his finger down Clark's nose. "I guess you didn't notice. The witnesses were rushed out the back of the building before I shot Jeffries. And my security detail was blocking anyone who might have still been back there's view. I've spent the day doing damage control, and in a few days, this will all just disappear."
"Will it?" Clark asked, swallowing hard. What if Morgan was caught? What if it didn't just disappear?
"It will." Morgan kissed his cheek. "Kal, I've done this hundreds of times before. I know the business. It's been my life since I was a teenager."
Clark swallowed hard and nodded. "You promise you'll be all right?"
"If I were you, I'd be more worried about myself. What are you, Kal?"
"I'm an alien." Clark met Morgan's eyes, heart pounding wildly.
Morgan looked serious, but calm. He didn't freak out or run away or look disgusted. He just nodded and stroked Clark's face. "Don't let Lionel find out."
"Won't you tell him? I thought the two of you were good friends."
"You're mine. And I'm not going to let him take you away from me." Morgan kissed Clark's forehead and held him closely.
Clark sighed and relaxed into the embrace. By all rights, Morgan should be ready to sell him to the highest bidder tomorrow. To exploit Clark and his abilities and the fact he was proof of extraterrestrial life. After all, Morgan was the epitome of what his father had been warning him against his entire life.
But, right now, safe and warm in Morgan's arms, Clark just couldn’t bring himself to be frightened. He felt too safe.
TBC...
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no subject
Date: 2004-07-21 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-22 10:08 am (UTC)I'm really glad. I think a lot of people are avoiding reading this fic because they can't bear to read Clark with anyone else. Well, that, and i guess they find the idea of Clark and Morgan (a significantly older gentleman) squicky, but what are you going to do? I dont quite get it, because we all know the outcome; it's been written and they've all read it. It's not like this is a rape or darkfic (which I understand not wanting to read); it's just another of my weird, very long fics that happens to have a pairing other than Clark/Lex.
Sorry. I'm just venting a little. ;)
You have such a well-rounded characterization of Morgan going, with all his wisdom and confidence, contrasted with his insecurities. This is such a great story.
Even though he was technically a one-note character (Bad!!!), Hauer managed to convey this wonderfully developed man on screen. I just love playing with him. ;)
Thanks for your support!
Squicky No More
Date: 2004-07-22 05:16 pm (UTC)I think part of it is knowing that at the end Clark will find Lex. And it helps in understanding the man that Clark becomes and the way he relates to his past and Lex's past.
This part for example, Kal cares for Morgan who is a killer. When the time comes for Lex to learn about Lionel, Clark would be able to help him understand and deal with fact that he still cares/loves/misses someone who was a killer.
I truly hope that eventually you go back to Lex Luthor: Ace Reporter and continue with the relationships between Clark/Morgan and Lex/Morgan, I feel there's a lot of things that Morgan knows that could help Lex deal with his past.
Re: Squicky No More
Date: 2004-07-23 10:39 am (UTC)Thanks for your comments!
no subject
Date: 2004-07-21 11:08 pm (UTC)I very much liked the scene with Clark in the loft, very moving that.Interesting too, how he wrestles with the idea that his lover is a murderer,and seems to just file that away instead of deal with it.Clark is going to have so *much* to deal with after this--
Of course, I'm kind of drawn to this killer too, hmmm...
no subject
Date: 2004-07-22 10:12 am (UTC)He really is. And it's going to be fun if I get a chance to show grown-up Clark interacting with Morgan after "Lex Luthor, Ace Reporter." Again, it'll be a matter of Clark knowing the truth, having the information, but knowing the man intimately and having to reconcile this man who cared for him and made him safe, with the man who is capable of killing in cold blood.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-22 05:17 am (UTC)I also liked that Clark is not at ease with the idea that Morgan can kill quite easily, and very calmly. It's interesting to note that despite the uneasiness, he still trusts Morgan enough to tell him what he is, and feel safe at the same time.
And this line is wonderful, "So beautiful," Morgan growled, fucking harder. "So perfect. God, Kal, why?"
Morgan showed just how much Kal had got to him with the one sentence.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-22 10:17 am (UTC)It's a strange conflict, isn't it? On the one hand, Morgan has given him this safe space for weeks on end, demanded nothing of him, and waited patiently for Clark to be ready for sex without pushing. He doesn't demand any secrets from Clark (and we've seen on the show that he's more likely to open to up someone who doesn't ask Clark to be anything except himself). He's a killer and a criminal, and CLark knows that, but he makes Clark feel safe, so it's just strange. I think it's almost like a dare. Morgan is the most powerful man he's met (except for Lionel), and Clark's already seen him at his worst.
It's a fun conflict to work around, reconciling Clark's upbrining with is not wanting to care, with him actually caring about something, but revealing himself anyway.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-25 02:03 am (UTC)*Snerk* Gee, what a 'cuddly' cold-blooded killer Morgan is. Between your writing and Rutger Hauer's delightful portrayal, I never had a chance.
Thank you for posting more, hon.
{{HUGS}}
no subject
Date: 2004-07-25 12:45 pm (UTC)I'm beginning to drag my feet in writing it, because it's going to be harder than I thought it woudl to break them up. My saddness when Clark finally leaves.
Gee, what a 'cuddly' cold-blooded killer Morgan is.
Isn't he thought? ;P