Lex turned out to be sitting on the sofa in his den, enfolded in a rather massive amount of flannel. Clark's mouth twitched when he realized that the TV show Lex was watching with every expression of pleased contentment was Animaniacs.
"Should have known you'd be a fan of Pinky and the Brain," Clark called from the doorway.
Lex didn't seem surprised to see him there. "Clark, you're just in time for the saving grace of Western civilization."
"Cartoons?" Clark said skeptically. "Not science, not computers?"
"Cartoons," Lex affirmed solemnly. He squirmed suddenly and freed a corner of the flannel blanket. "Going to join me? Everybody's a sucker for dead mime jokes and 'Good Idea, Bad Idea.'"
Clark thought about it for all of half a second before settling down on the couch and sliding underneath the blanket. The commercial break came on, and Lex's attention was turned toward him again. "Not that I mind, Clark, but don't you have school?"
"Half-day today," Clark said happily, relishing being anywhere but in linear algebra class. Pete had asked him if he wanted to come over, but Clark had begged off. "And what are you doing home? Shouldn't you be at the plant or in your office?"
Lex smiled beatifically. "I'm taking a sick day."
Clark's hand was against Lex's forehead before he was even aware of it. "God, are you okay? I thought you never got sick!"
Lex's fingers curled around Clark's wrist, gently pulling it away from his skin. "Relax, Clark. I'm not sick. I'm just vetoing this day."
"Vetoing?" Clark echoed.
"The veto is a very important part of civic power, Clark," Lex said calmly. "With the power of the veto in Rome, the Tribunes of the people could catapult themselves to fame and change the Empire."
"And here I thought your brain was rotting from the stupid squirrels in this show." Clark teased.
Lex still hadn't let go of his wrist, though he had somehow managed to shift it down to the space between them. And maybe it was his imagination or maybe he was reading way too much into this, but he thought Lex's fingers weren't so much around his wrist anymore as they were pressed against his palm.
Lex narrowed his eyes. "What have you got against the squirrels? Come on, everyone likes 'Elelator go down the hooooole.'"
Clark laughed helplessly. "Your face," he gasped. "God, say it again, Lex!"
Lex snorted. "Be nice or I won't give you any Cheetos."
"Since when do you like Cheetos?"
"Since I decided to take a sick day. I'm going for the whole experience here, Clark." Lex shifted again, wrestling with the blankets at his side before a bag of Cheetos emerged.
All the maneuvering resulted in Lex's thigh being pressed warmly against Clarkfs own. He swallowed. If only Lex would veto days more often. "What's with all the flannel, anyway?"
Lex considered a Cheeto gravely before popping it in his mouth. "Flannel's supposed to be the material of choice when you're feeling under the weather." He paused, and his fingers slid up Clark's palm before lacing their hands together neatly. "Besides, I'm finding it's one of my new favorite things."
Clark took a deep breath. And then another. Because Lex was holding his hand. And Lex's thumb was lazily sliding over the back of his hand, like holding hands with your best friend was the most natural thing in the world.
Actually, Clark thought dizzily, maybe it was.
"Clark."
Clarkfs eyes jerked up to meet Lex's. Lex's gaze was warm and sort of quietly happy, and Clark wasn't sure he'd ever seen Lex look that way before, but knew that he wanted to see it again. Immediately. As often as possible. For a long, long time.
A polite knock on the door made Clark jerk away, but Lex had some sort of death grip on his hand and Clark remembered belatedly that underneath the mountain of flannel, no one could see anyway. Which was a good thing, for a variety of reasons.
"Come in," Lex called. The housekeeper entered with a tray and set it on the table in front of them. Lex grinned at Clark. "I took the liberty of ordering lunch - hope you don't mind."
Clark's brow furrowed. "You didn't know I was going to show up!"
Lex shrugged delicately. "My staff are resourceful. What are your feeling about orange juice?"
"Orange juice?" Clark looked at the contents of the tray for the first time. Tall glass of cold orange juice, warm bowls of chicken noodle soup that looked good enough for Clark to have traitorous thoughts with regard to his mother's cooking, and perfectly neat grilled cheese sandwiches. "Um, I like it?"
"That's wonderful, Clark, but I was really talking about whether you're in the pulp or no pulp camp."
"Lex," Clark said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone, "Orange juice is supposed to have pulp in it. It comes from oranges, remember? Based on a fruit that occurs in nature?"
Lex sighed. "Clark, Clark, Clark. Pulp is the natural equivalent of floaties. Backwash. It should not occur in my orange juice."
"You are so weird," Clark informed him. Lex's lips curled up into a smile. "Um, Lex? If we're going to eat, I'm kind of going to need myc" he trailed off and squeezed Lex's hand.
"Only if you're unimaginative. You grab one side and I'll get the other, and we can move the tray-"
"Lex, there's hot soup on there, do you really want to-"
"Work with me, here. On the count of three-"
They hefted the tray up, and without spilling anything - which was a minor miracle in itself. Lunch was every bit as good as it smelled, because homemade noodles were not to be missed, and the grilled cheese was warm and gooey and wonderful, and Lex's throat was entrancing as he swallowed his pulp-free orange juice.
Lex's thumb was still brushing his skin periodically as they ate, which improved neither Clark's concentration nor coordination. But somehow they finished, with the dishes all in one piece and nothing spilled, the tray safely back on the table.
Clark was going to ask Lex what traditional sick day activity he wanted to indulge in next, but it seemed that Lex was disinterested in conversation. At least, that's all he could come up with when Lex leaned over, his breath ghosting softly over Clark's mouth a mere second before his lips followed.
Lex pulled back, his features schooled to stillness. "It seems to me there's a fine tradition of 'kiss it and make it better' that I never got to take much advantage of."
Clark didn't much trust himself to breathe. "I think, mostly, you have to show that you're hurt. To get...um, kissed and all."
"Ah," Lex breathed, his eyes still holding Clark's. "So does procedure require visible evidence, or can I just tell you?"
Clarkfs heart was beating too fast and too loud - they could probably here it in the next city. "Why...why don't I kiss you, and you can tell me if I got it right."
Lex closed his eyes, and waited.
Clark leaned forward a bit. Sitting down, he was about the same height as Lex, and it didn't take much effort for his lips to come comfortably in contact with the softness of Lex's cheek.
"Right," Lex whispered.
Somehow, that made things easier for Clark. Feeling braver, he pressed a kiss to the light scar on Lex's mouth, earning him something that might have been the tiniest of gasps.
"Right," Lex whispered again.
Clark kissed the tip of Lex's nose, earning him another "Right," and a small chuckle.
He was kissing Lex. Lex was his best friend. Lex cared about him and listened to him, and let him observe Lex doing silly things, like watching cartoons and eating junk food. Lex told Clark that he had plans, and more and more often lately, Clark thought he might be part of them.
Lips a scarce inch away from Lex's, he said, "You must have a lot to make better, or I wouldn't keep being right."
Lex opened his eyes, and one of his hands slid up to rest on Clark's cheek . "Or maybe it's just that you couldn't ever be wrong."
Well, with that kind of encouragement, even the worries of a first-time kisser like Clark seemed pretty unimportant. Actually, worries in general took a back seat for a good hour, with "right" and "good" and "best thing ever" and other equally positive adjectives the only conversation between them.
The chiming of the grandfather clock pulled Clark out of the warm nest of flannel and kisses and Lex and into near-panic, remembering chores and dinner were waiting for him at home. "I have to go," he told Lex regretfully.
Lex eyed him sleepily and was quiet for a moment. "You know, Clark, I think maybe you're not feeling so well yourself."
Clark drew in a deep, uncertain breath, before letting it out slowly. "I don't get sick, Lex. I mean, I really don't get sick. Ever."
Lex smiled like this was no particularly extraordinary declaration. "Me neither. But who knows how you'll feel tomorrow morning?"
Clark smiled back, understanding, and said softly, "Hopefully, every bit as good as today."