"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"

--William Blake

The first time he kissed her she had just accused him of murder.

OK, so maybe it wasn’t murder. She’d accused him of a lot over the last three years so it was hard to keep track, but whatever it was, it was less than flattering, as usual. In fact, it was all going as usual with them exchanging barbs and steely looks until he leaned over his desk and kissed her.

She’d done her research, naturally, enough research to take up a huge chunk of her hard drive, so she knew he had been a player in Metropolis. She’d seen the grainy tabloid photos that Daddy hadn’t been able to make disappear of sordid rendezvous in dingy back rooms of dance clubs, of blow jobs both given and received in dirty alleys. She’d even dug up a couple of statements from participants in said rendezvous and blow jobs that gave his performance a big thumbs, and other things, up. There was no doubt in her mind that he was an aficionado when it came to the ways of the flesh. She just never thought she’d have first hand knowledge of that fact.

It was meant to punish her, that first kiss. His mouth was stiff with anger and pushed her lips against her teeth hard enough to cut. He didn’t touch her otherwise, and when he pulled back, he didn’t have to tell her to get out. She turned tail all on her own and practically ran down the corridor and out the door to her car. Then she sat behind the wheel, her fingers pressed against her stinging lips, and wondered if she would ever have the nerve to face him again.

She really didn’t have to wonder. Her dad had always told her that she had more nerve than a fox in a hen house, and she knew that was true. Besides, a source is a source, and reporters didn’t win Pulitzers by keeping their proverbial balls in their proverbial briefcases. Therefore, when the safety inspector at the plant pulled a Quentin Tarantino in the employee cafeteria, she was back at the castle, with a mini tape recorder in her jacket pocket and questions at the ready.

He looked her calmly in the eye and explained that the employee in question was under great stress due to his wife’s illness, money lost in bad investments, increased pressures at work, ad infinitum, ad nauseum. It was the same company line of crap, pun very intended, that the PR guy had fed her, but she had to admit that this time around it was a little easier to swallow. That probably had something to do with the scarred lips that wrapped themselves so smoothly around the words, lips that looked deceptively soft, lips that quirked knowingly when he asked, "Was there something else you wanted, Miss Sullivan?"

She didn’t even have a chance to stutter out what would surely have been the least convincing lie of her career before he leaned over his desk and kissed her for the second time.

He wasn’t angry this time around as he moved his mouth over hers with a skill clearly honed over years of practice. If anything, she could taste amusement in the kiss, and then she tasted only him when he pushed his tongue between her lips.

Under normal circumstances, she didn’t take crap from anyone, especially from some guy who was copping the whole master and commander tude, but as his tongue swept through her mouth, she decided that in this case she would make an exception. She moaned in appreciation and encouragement and practically sat on the desk, trying to get closer to that talented mouth. Her capitulation wasn’t complete, however; when he put his hand on the nape of her neck, holding her nearly immobile, she broke away with a gasp.

He let her go immediately and took a step back. He was thoroughly unruffled, damn his eyes, standing there in his custom tailored shirt and looking not at all like he had just spent the last few minutes becoming intimately acquainted with her tonsils. For her part, she stared at him with her mouth agape and her heart racing. She probably would have stayed like that for the rest of the evening if he hadn’t reminded her that she had a deadline to meet.

She spent the next two hours in the Torch office staring at the computer screen and wondering what he looked like naked.

Most of the time her obsessiveness didn’t bother her. It was what made her a great reporter, and it even proved useful when she had a test to study for or a class project to finish. Granted, it could be an annoyance to be brushing her teeth with her head full of page layouts and causes of the French Revolution, but she could deal with that. Constant memories of talented lips and detailed speculations on just how many muscles were to be found under those designer clothes, on the other hand, were just slightly more distracting, and she finally resorted to reciting the periodic table in order to keep her recalcitrant thoughts in line.

The periodic table thing was only moderately successful, but after one of her sources told her about the odd (for "odd" read "meteor-mutated") vegetables the school district was buying for the cafeteria, she had plenty of things to obsess over other than really hot bald guys. In fact, she went almost two whole weeks without her eyes glazing over at odd moments when she remembered that thing he had done with his tongue. Yup, things were both hunky and dory until she celebrated finishing the story ahead of deadline by swinging by the Talon for a dose of piping hot caffeine.

OK, going to the Talon in and of itself was no big deal, considering that both good coffee and her roomie were to be found there on a regular basis. But what her traitorous, severely repressed brain failed to remind her of was that the Talon was also a financial holding of He Who Shall Not Be Named Or Fantasized About. So there she was at the counter, chatting with Lana and being blissfully unaware of the danger looming behind her until said danger spoke. "Miss Lang. Miss Sullivan."

It was only years of a reporter’s experience of showing no surprise at anything that kept her from jumping straight into the air and clinging to the ceiling by her fingernails like a cartoon cat. He didn’t say anything else to her directly, just stood immediately at her shoulder while he talked to Lana about some business matter or other, exuding personality and body heat and expensive cologne all over her personal space. She clenched her cappuccino cup as hard she dared to keep her hands steady and stared resolutely at the Formica while muttering atomic numbers and masses under her breath. She could get through this, really, she could, and if she ignored him hard enough, he would eventually go away.

And glory hallelujah, it seemed to be working. The conversation was short and to the point, and then he was making polite good-bye noises and moving away from the counter. And brushing his hand over her ass as he went.

Not even a reporter’s experience could keep her eyes from popping wide open and her jaw from dropping to her chest at the sensation of those well-manicured fingers curving over her tush. The obsessive, hormonal part of her was thrilled with this turn of events, naturally, but the part of her that stood up to him in the first place was incensed. Lex. Luthor. Just. Touched. Her. Ass. In. Public. And now he must die.

She made a hasty excuse to Lana and started pushing her way through the Friday afternoon crowd that was between her and her quarry. She hit the sidewalk just in time to see him turn the corner down a quiet side street, and she pelted after him.

He was waiting for her, leaning against his silver Porche with his arms crossed over his chest and his lips twisted into a smirk. "Miss Sullivan."

"What the hell was that?" she demanded. "What the hell was that? ‘Cause if that’s an example of the vaunted Luthor seduction technique, color me unimpressed."

"The vaunted Luthor seduction technique?" The smirk transmuted into something resembling a smile. "Generally the last name is seduction enough."

She gave a huff of disgust. "I’ll bet."

"That," he continued, ignoring her comment, "was a reminder. An invitation."

He pushed away from the car, moving toward her with the fluid grace of a panther, and she grabbed onto her righteous indignation with both hands. Oh, no. It wasn’t that easy. She was the wronged party here, damn it, and he couldn’t make it go away by looking at her that way with those cool grey eyes. It was time to tell him off and leave, but then he was beside her, not quite touching her but holding her in place all the same.

"I want you willing." His nose was against her temple, his breath warm against her ear, and she couldn’t help the shiver that traced her spine. "Willing and pliant or not at all." He drew a single finger slowly down her arm from shoulder to elbow to wrist. "Whatever you decide, you know where to find me." His lips ghosted over her cheek, and then he was leaving.

She wanted to yell, "Yeah, well, I want you not as a prick or not at all!" at his retreating back. She wanted to throw rocks at his retreating tail lights, but she couldn’t bring himself to do either. After all, what had he done that was so horrible? Touch her butt? Have a private conversation with her? Treat her like an equal, giving her a chance to decide what she wanted? Heinous crimes indeed.

As a newspaper reporter, she was firmly in the anti-cliché camp despite her dad’s Kansas-bred tendency to use them on a regular basis. One of his favorites that he dusted off whenever her curiosity got the better of her was to be careful or she would catch a tiger by the tail. Her normal response to said cliché was an eye roll and a muttered, "Yes, Dad", but for once her life she knew exactly what he meant. She was holding a very sexy tiger by his tail, and she honestly wasn’t sure what she wanted to happen when she let go.

For one thing, it was beyond absurd that Lex even wanted her. Seriously, why would he be interested in a high school student with flippy hair and an attitude the size of the Midwest, especially when he could have his pick of any beautiful woman or man in the civilized world? And why didn’t he just jump her when they were in his castle instead of giving her a chance to make up her own mind? In short, why couldn’t he just act like a damn Luthor and be done with it?

She hadn’t found satisfying answers to any of those questions by the time she arrived home, and then she had to put all thoughts of the whole fascinating, alluring, terrifying problem to the backest of all back burners for family dinner and talk time. Lana and her dad were both too perceptive for her comfort sometimes, and the last thing she needed tonight was to give them any indication that all was not well in Chloe Land. And what would she say to them if they asked what was wrong? "Oh, everything is fine except for the fact that I’ve been macking on Lex or he’s been macking on me or maybe the macking’s been mutual but anyway now he’s propositioned me and I have to decide if I want to have sex with him or go back to being just friendly adversaries. So what do you think? Do I sleep with him or cut and run?" The tears and recriminations that that comment would spark weren’t even worth thinking about.

But what was worth thinking about was Lex and her and sex. And in reality, it wasn’t even the sex that was the issue. When she was 15 and all of her friends had started giggling in the locker room about "doing it" with their boyfriends out in their dad’s back forty, she, naturally, got curious. She hadn’t had a boyfriend at the time, so she had convinced her dad to let her visit her friend Jana in Metropolis for the weekend. Jana wasn’t in Metropolis that weekend, of course, but her 17 year old brother Rob was. His first reaction to her request for sex had been riotous laughter, but no hormonal teenage boy could resist a willing female in a red lace push up bra for long. The experience had been enlightening but far from earth shattering. Frankly she hadn’t seen what all the fuss was about, but at least she could join in the locker room giggle fests.

But with Lex? With Lex she had no doubt that it would be enlightening and earth shattering and probably life changing, red lace push up bra notwithstanding. And she had to decide if she was ready for that.

She spent a sleepless night trying to decide. Laying in the dark, she made list after list of the pros and the cons of getting involved with Lex. For every con, like, oh, the fact that she was seriously underaged, was balanced out with a pro, like the way he always let her have her say, even when she was telling him how unethical he was. By the time the sun rose, the only conclusion she had reached was that pros/cons lists were just another way to express indecision.

She spent a restless day in school trying to decide. Sitting in class, she took a serious look at the guys around her, trying to imagine herself with each one in turn. That proved to be as helpful as the whole pros/cons thing as most were hot and stupid or geeky and smart or Pete and Clark. None of those were roads she wanted to travel, either once or again, but affirming that still didn’t resolve anything.

It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the Wall of Weird would ultimately supply her with an answer, but it did. She was sitting in her editor’s chair, clicking a pen open and closed and staring vaguely at the patchwork of photos and clippings. Instead of headlines and leads, though, she saw only victims—victims of the meteor rocks, victims of the mutants, victims who had all of their choices taken away in one horrific afternoon. Well, she had never been the victim type, and was the choice before her really such a hard one to make? With a final click, she tossed the pen on her desk and headed for the door.

Getting out of the house wasn’t a problem. Her dad hadn’t questioned a late night at the Torch since she was a sophomore, and she wasn’t stupid enough to actually spend the night. Wardrobe proved to be a little trickier, but what else were adoptive sisters for? A quick trip into Lana’s closet solved that problem, and then she got in her car and drove before she could change her mind.

She hadn’t figured out yet if the hulking man who always answered the door at the castle was a butler, a valet, or just a big-assed bodyguard, but regardless of his exact duties, he was always nice to her. He ushered her into the office with his usual politeness and closed the doors noiselessly behind her. Not that she would have noticed if he had slammed them shut with Richter scale force because Lex was there and she was alone with him and there should be a law that all men had to wear Hugo Boss because he hotter than hot in that charcoal grey suit.

He glanced up from the file he held, his face impassive as he took in her appearance. "That dress doesn’t suit you."

She plucked at the lavender gauze skirt that clung a little too tightly to her curves. "Yeah, well, most of my clothes say ‘Don’t piss with me’, not ‘I’m willing and pliant’." So there it was, her reason for being there right out there in the open for him to laugh his ass off at because in spite of what he said by his car that day, he could have come to his senses and decided to send her on her way with a lollipop and a pat on the head.

She was aiming for nonchalance while she waited for his judgement, fighting not to bite her bottom lip or to wipe her icy palms against her skirt while he stood motionless behind his desk. At least she had had plenty of practice with holding his gaze in awkward situations. She was able to keep her eyes on his, even when he dropped the file he held and reached across the desk to press a button on the phone.

There was a beep, and then a disembodied voice replied, "Yes, sir?"

"Send the staff home, Peter." He paused, and for the first time since she had walked in, he dropped his professional mask. His mouth softened and his eyes warmed as he said, "I have everything I need for the evening."

She couldn’t stop the little giggle of relief that bubbled out of her and could only hope that her grin wasn’t as goofy as it felt. And even if it was, that was OK. The tiger hadn’t bitten her after all, and it looked like she was going to get her chance to see if she could make him purr.

Lex circled his desk, trailing his fingers along its glass surface, and crossed the floor to stand in front of her. He traced the neckline of the dress, skimming the tops of her breasts with his glass-cooled fingers. She shivered at the touch, her tightly strung nerves amplifying the fleeting contact.

He smiled at her reaction, a sexy, predatory smile she had never seen before, and she shivered again. "Perhaps I dismissed this dress too quickly." He moved closer, dipping his head so his breath teased across her cleavage as he spoke. "It does have a certain appeal."

She wanted to force his head down until his lips were on her breast. She wanted to run her hands down his chest and under that $1000 waistband. She wanted him to lay her back on his desk while his tongue tangled with hers. She wanted so much, but all she could do was grab his forearm and whisper, "Lex."

Lex brought his hand up to cradle her face, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone with more tenderness than she had believed him capable of. "I need you to be sure, Chloe." His voice was like raw silk. "I don’t give up the things that are important to me easily."

Wrapping his perfectly tailored tie around her hand, she pulled him against her. "I’m familiar with your obsessive streak, Mr. Luthor." His want and her hormones made her bold, and she shifted her hips again his. The sheer fabric of the dress made a hissing sound as it slid against the fine wool of his suit. "I kind of like it."

"Well, then," he said with a lift of his eyebrows, "that begs a question." He drew his hand from her chin along her neck and down the line of her back until it rested once again on her ass. "What else do you like?"

Before she had time to do more than wriggle her butt against his palm in response, his mouth was on hers. She had thought that their first kisses were amazing, but these kisses, fueled by mutual desire instead of anger or frustration, were mind blowing.

An entire herd of meteor mutants could have trouped through the office doing the hula and she wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing that mattered in the universe at that moment was that Lex was touching her with lips and tongue and strong, agile hands. She didn’t even notice that he had maneuvered her out of the room until he released her at the bottom of the staircase and urged her to climb with a hand on the small of her back.

His bedroom was vast and well decorated, or at least that was the impression she got before he lowered her to the bed and the world disappeared again. Her senses blurred as he moved over her, leaving her with isolated flashes of memory—her palms running over the smooth skin of his scalp, his lips closing around her nipple, her knee brushing against his outer thigh, his fingers digging into her shoulders, her breasts pressing into his chest as she arched against him and came apart.

When at last the rushing in her ears quieted and the thudding of her heart slowed, she opened her eyes to find Lex propped up on one elbow and staring down at her with a faint smile. For once in her life, words failed her as she gazed up at him, his features more relaxed than she had ever seen them before. She wanted to say so much to him, to try to describe the desire and the gratitude that were swirling through her, but all she could do was lift her hand and touch his scarred lip with a gentle fingertip. That seemed to be enough for him; he kissed her finger and then settled beside her on the bed, drawing her close to rest against his chest. With a contented, sleepy sigh, she closed her eyes and snuggled into him, confident that he would wake her up before it got too late.

He did indeed wake her a short while later with warm kisses and a variety of nudges. "Come on, Chloe. You need to get home before your father worries."

She glanced at the bedside clock and saw it was already well after midnight. "He usually doesn’t start having kittens until 1:00, but still." Reluctantly she rolled out of the bed, grabbing the duvet as she went to use as a makeshift bathrobe. Underwear, check. Dress, check. Shoes, well, shoe, check. She bent over, looking under the edge of the bed for the other one.

"Chloe."

Flipping her hair out of her face, she straightened up to look at him. He was leaning against the headboard, the sheet draped low on his hips, and was studying her with the same concentration she had seen him pay to his spreadsheets. She could feel her cheeks reddening under his scrutiny. "What?"

"You’re remarkable."

She wasn’t used to getting compliments like that, and she knew the blush was probably heading south from her cheeks by now. However, she did have an idea about how to respond. She sat beside him on the bed and placed her hand on his chest. "So are you, Lex." The kiss she gave him was shorter than she wanted, but he was right. She did need to get home. With a final nip at his lower lip, she stood again. "Walk me to the door?"

His smile almost made up for the briefness of the kiss. "It would be impolite to do otherwise."

They managed to keep their hands to themselves while they dressed, but as they descended the stairs, Lex’s hand found her butt with unerring accuracy.

"Why, Mr. Luthor," she said with a coy look, "I’m beginning to think that you have a thing for my ass."

"That’s just like an investigative reporter," he replied, giving said ass a friendly squeeze. "Always jumping to conclusions."

She was too realistic to jump to any conclusions where she and Lex were concerned, though. She hadn’t concluded, for example, that it meant anything when he stood in the open doorway until she was safely in her car. After all, theirs was not a grand passion meant to inspire operas or even made-for-TV movies. The only thing they were destined for was a white hot beginning that burned out into an apathetic ending, and she was fine with that.

But neither had she concluded that there might be something more between them than just the sex. Yeah, she knew he would be an amazing lover, but he’d been so careful with her, so intent on ensuring her pleasure before taking his own, that she knew he saw her as more than a convenient body. And when he had looked down at her after he kissed her good night, the affection in his eyes had made her heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with hormones. So maybe, she thought as she slipped between the covers of her small and lonely bed, their end wouldn’t be as apathetic as she had first assumed.

And she was fine with that, too.

The End