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by Shaman

Author: Shaman
Pairing: Clark/other (That'd be giving it away!) Rating: NC-17
Category: Non-con and other squicky elements, be Oh So Warned. Spoilers for: Nicodemus. (Slight bending of plot, the bank didn't call the house until later.) Disclaimer: Not mine, never were. Smallville was created by Millar/Gough Summary: When he woke up, he didn't remember how the flower had affected him . . . but those closest to him would never forget. A/N: Okay folks . . . this is the story I've been afraid to write since I started publishing slash, but then I thought what the hell, the worst I can get is a flurry of flaming e-mails. Once again, this may contain elements that will squick sensitive people, but love it or hate it, let me know with feedback at Come visit me!

By Shaman

"Jonathan? Can you hear me?"

The sound of his wife's voice roused Jonathan Kent from the thick sleep-mud of his stupor, and he opened his eyes to see her blurred face hovering over his own. He blinked rapidly, and her tear-stained visage came suddenly into focus.

"Martha?" He asked, his voice hoarse and gravelly. He struggled to sit up, and she put a hand on his arm.

"Take it easy, sweetheart, you've been through a terrible ordeal." His wife replied, her kind, open face full of relief. Jonathan stared up at her from the hospital bed. It was obvious that he was at Smallville Medical, but why?

"What happened?" He asked, and Martha took his hand.

"You were exposed to a toxin from a plant called the Nicodemus Flower when you pulled that man from his truck. Do you remember?" She asked, and Jonathan shook his head numbly. He remembered driving to the hardware store to buy chicken wire and then singing along to one of his favorite Waylon Jennings tunes on the way home, but beyond that, there was nothing but white noise.

"I don't remember a thing." He admitted.

"The man you pulled from that wreck had also been exposed. He fell into a coma and died yesterday. Oh sweetheart, we were so worried about you!" Martha exclaimed, and squeezed his hand. "Lex found a cure for the flower's effects an in old Indian herbal cure book . . . you might not have ever woken up if not for him and Clark."

"Clark?" Jonathan frowned. "He was there?"

"He didn't tell me exactly what happened, but he stopped you from going into Smallville Savings and Loan with your loaded shotgun. He said he stopped you, but then you passed out a minute later. That's when he brought you here, and the doctors realized you had the same symptoms as the driver of that truck." She shook her head. "You really were acting strange . . . I'm so glad that you're all right." She leaned down to kiss him and Jonathan blinked as something- an image as quick as a camera flash- flashed through his mind.

Someone cleared their throat quietly at the doorway, and both Jonathan and Martha looked up to see Clark standing there, looking slightly embarrassed at his parents' show of affection for each other. Martha smiled and held out her hand, and Clark took it briefly as he walked over to the bed.

"Clark." Jonathan said softly, and Clark leaned down to hug him. Almost before Jonathan could return the embrace, Clark was straightening his spine again.

"I'm glad you're okay, dad." His son said, and Martha smiled up at him.

"I can't believe that you and Lex found the cure in that old diary! How are Pete and Lana?"

"Back to normal." Clark replied, and sat beside his adopted father's bed as the blond man yawned and his eyelids drooped.

"I'm still drowsy." Jonathan groaned softly, and Martha patted his hand.

"The doctors say that it's normal to feel that way, but there's no danger in going back to sleep now that you've come out of the coma. Get some rest, Jonathan, and I'll go see about when we get you discharged, all right?" She rose from the hard plastic chair, and Clark looked up at her.

"I'll stay with dad, mom." He offered, and Martha touched his dark hair with affection.

"All right. I'll be back." She smiled at them both over her shoulder, and left the room quietly. Jonathan had already fallen back into slumber. Clark took the seat that his mother had vacated, and looked down at his slumbering adopted father. Uncertainty weighed heavily upon his heart, and he wondered how much Jonathan remembered.

"Clark?" A voice asked softly from the doorway, and Clark looked up to see Lex standing there. He motioned his friend into the room with one hand while he brushed an errant lock of hair from his eyes with the other. Lex came to stand beside him, moving as silently as a big cat, his long black wool overcoat brushing his calves. The room was silent, except for the sound of Jonathan's deep breathing.

"How is he?" Lex asked.

"He's out of the coma, thanks to you."

"I didn't find that cure alone, Clark. You and Dr. Hamilton also had a hand in it."

"I know." Clark nodded, and Lex tilted his head to one side as he regarded his young friend.

"Clark? Everything all right?"

"Yeah . . . no." The teenager sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. Lex touched his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"Lex . . . if someone you cared about did something while under the influence of a drug or a toxin and then didn't remember afterward, would you tell them?"

"Depends on what kind of action we're talking about here, Clark." Lex pulled up another chair and sat beside Clark. "Want to tell me about it?"

Clark looked back down at his father. Jonathan Kent, who had loved and nurtured him since he was an orphaned three-year-old from another world, who never treated him as if he was a freak, who had never once hurt him- Clark turned his head away from Lex, ashamed of the tears in his eyes. Lex frowned, concerned.

"Clark?" He asked softly, and Clark answered him without turning to meet his eyes.

"It wasn't his fault, Lex. It was the Nicodemus pollen, not him."

Lex suddenly sensed something that made him decide to tread very, very carefully. "What wasn't his fault? Clark, did something happen between you and your father?"

The teenager finally turned to look at him, emotional agony more than evident in his green eyes.

"Not here. He might wake up, or be able to hear us. Come on. My mom will be back any minute, anyway." He rose from the chair and walked out into the hallway. Lex followed him, and Clark led him down the hall and out an exit that opened up into a small, enclosed brick patio that served as a smoking area. Two white wrought-iron tables, each with two matching chairs, stood off to one side. A large concrete-and-metal pedestal bolted to a thick concrete circle served as an ashtray. It was crammed with butts, and Clark glanced at them with obvious distaste as he lingered near the tables, his big hands shoved deep into the pockets of his blue jeans. Lex hung back. He hadn't known his friend very long, but he sensed whatever Clark had to say would be said faster if Lex gave him space. His instincts served him well, for after a moment Clark turned and took a few steps toward him.

"It was right after my mom left to go into town. She was worried because dad was still acting strange . . . you saw." He said, and Lex nodded. It wasn't likely he'd forget being on the receiving end of that beer-scented belch anytime soon.

"What happened after I left?" He asked, and Clark swallowed hard.

"My mom went into town, and just before she left, my dad was trying to, you know . . ." Clark made a vague gesture, and Lex nodded.

"I'd gone up to the loft to get a book that Chloe had asked to borrow, and when I turned to leave, dad was standing at the top of the loft steps." Clark's eyes widened slightly as the memory overwhelmed him and he was no longer standing on the patio, but in the loft, as he had been when the affects of the Nicodemus pollen had hit his father full force . . . .

"What are you doing up here, son?"

Clark turned to see his father standing at the top of the loft steps, still wearing that strange expression that he'd been wearing in the house after Clark had caught his parents making out in the kitchen. At least his father had been making out; his mother had looked absolutely taken by surprise, and even a little scared. There was no doubt about it; his dad was certainly acting weird.

"I just came up to get a book that Chloe wanted to borrow." He replied, and Jonathan smiled a little.

"That's good that you're going to see your friends, Clark . . . you know," Jonathan paused and looked around the loft, "sometimes I think you spend a little too much time alone up here. Maybe way too much time."

"Isn't that why you built it for me?" Clark asked lightly. "To have someplace to go when I want to be alone?" He asked, and was taken aback when Jonathan glanced at him with a decidedly angry gleam in his dark blue eyes.

"Don't you get smart with me."

"Sorry." Clark replied, and made a move toward the stairs. "I'm going to go meet Chole, I told her I'd bring her this book."

Jonathan stepped in front of his son as he brought his hand around from behind him, and Clark's stomach was suddenly gripped in a vise of pain and nausea. He fell to the loft floor, grunting in pain, and then looked up to see that his father was holding a fist-sized meteor rock in his hand.

"Dad-" He gasped, and Jonathan smiled a smug smile.

"See, Clark . . . I may not have all the answers anymore, but do know what teenaged boys do when they're alone. I was a boy once too, remember, so don't give me that `I came up here to get a book' garbage. I know exactly what you came up here for, and since your mother wouldn't give me what I wanted, well . . . I thought I'd join you." Jonathan set the meteor rock a few feet away from his son so that the worst of the pain stopped, but much of the weakness remained. He unbuckled his belt and slipped his jeans down past his knees so that he could kneel on the floor next to his son. Clark looked up to see Jonathan kneeling over him, an erection jutting out from the thick nest of blond curls at the juncture of his thighs. His eyes widened.

"Dad, what are you doing?" He groaned, and Jonathan reached down to unbuckle Clark's jeans. Panic slammed through Clark's body, and he tried to pull away.

"Dad, stop it! This isn't you, something's wrong, we need to get you to the hospital!"

"There's nothing wrong with me that a little slap-and-tickle won't cure." Jonathan laughed, and unbuttoned Clark's jeans. He unzipped them, and then pulled both them and his son's underwear down. Clark looked up at him helplessly, the meteor rock making him so weak that he could do little more than bat at his father's hands. Jonathan rose long enough to grab a tube of lotion off the old, scarred end table near the couch. He knelt back down by Clark with a grin.

"Tell me that you keep this around just in case Lana or Chloe comes by, right?" He laughed, and used it to coat his hands. He greased his erection liberally, and then Clark's perceptions of reality were shattered like spun glass when Jonathan reached down to wrap his other hand around his son's virgin flesh. Clark cried out weakly, and Jonathan looked down at him with a disapproving expression.

"Oh c'mon Clark, it's not like I'm even your real father. There's no blood between us, so just relax. I did this a few times in college, and it's harmless." Jonathan began to move both of his hands in a slow, steady rhythm, and Clark threw his head back in despair. He'd done this exact thing more than once when up in the loft by himself, but never in his darkest thoughts did he think that his father would ever be touching him like this. He groaned in shame as he tried to ignore the sensations that his father's slick hand was giving him, but it was impossible. A moment later, he was hard in Jonathan's hand. Jonathan chuckled.

"That's very impressive, son!" He nodded, and then moved his hands faster, caressing both his own flesh and Clark's with the same steady rhythm.

"Dad, please stop!" Clark cried, his dark head thrashing on the scarred wood of the loft floor. His booted feet made irregular drumming noises on the planks as his legs jerked weakly.

"Come on, son. Come on and give it to me. I know you want to." Jonathan moved his slick, slippery hand expertly, and Clark's hips twitched upward. His father's own erection was inches from his face, as Jonathan was kneeling next to his head, and Clark squeezed his eyes shut. Jonathan nudged him with one knee.

"Open your eyes, Clark! Come on now, your mother is always saying that we don't do enough together anymore! Just imagine what she'd say if she saw this!" Jonathan laughed, and then tensed as his own erection grew rock-hard and began to spurt its load. The thick stuff splattered on Clark's cheeks, mixing with his tears.

"Aaah, yeah." Jonathan groaned, and then gave Clark's erection a few expert tugs. Clark cried out as his own orgasm began and pumped his alien seed over Jonathan's hand. Clark writhed and sobbed as his sanity stretched and threatened to snap.

"No, no! Oh, God!" He cried, and finally Jonathan let the exhausted flesh drop from his hand. He grabbed up the meteor rock, tossed it out the open loft doors, and rose to his feet as he pulled up his jeans at the same time. Clark sat up and wiped his face with the sleeve of his over shirt, smearing tears and come onto the fabric. Panting and choking back sobs, Clark looked up at his father as Jonathan gave him an almost predatory smile that was so reminiscent of Lionel Luthor's that a full-body shudder wracked Clark's large frame. Jonathan buckled his belt.

"Just remember Clark . . . if your mother knew about this, it'd break her heart. Are you willing to hurt her like that? I know I'm not. See you later." Jonathan turned and walked down the loft steps. Clark stood and pulled up his underwear and jeans, his knees like jelly and his body in chaos as it tried to sort out pleasure from nausea. Finally, he wobbled over to the couch and sank down upon it while his mind cried to him that his father needed help, and that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong . . .

"My God, Clark." Lex said softly as his friend finished his story in a quiet voice that teetered on the edge of tears. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." Clark turned to face him as he wrestled his emotions under control. "I know it wasn't really him. It was the Nicodemus plant. It's just- how am I going to be able to hide from him what happened? I can't tell him the truth, Lex; he'd feel guilty for the rest of his life!"

"Sometimes we have to keep secrets to keep the people we love from being hurt." Lex replied. "It isn't always an easy burden, but unfortunately we don't always have the luxury of choice."

"I know." Clark answered miserably, knowing that Lex truly did not understand the wisdom of his words. After all, hadn't Clark been keeping secrets from him since the day they had met? Guilt weighed down his heart, and Lex leaned forward to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Clark, he's your father. He's loved you and protected you from day one, and that's the thing that you have to remember." Lex lifted a pale brow. "Right?"

"Right." Clark agreed with a sigh, and Lex slid an arm around his shoulder as he turned him toward the door that led back into the hospital. Clark felt strangely comforted by the motion.

"Come on. Let's go back inside, I bet he can't wait to hear about how you saved him."

Clark smiled as Lex's arm lingered across his broad shoulders and the older boy used his free hand to push open the entrance door. Clark leaned into him the slightest bit as they walked down the hall toward the room where his parents were waiting for him.

Read more at Shaman's Secret Garden