Title:  COTTON CANDY (Nourishment 6)
Author:  Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
Feedback to:  jfc013@merle.it.northwestern.edu
Archive:  Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission!
Category:  Story, romance, Lex's POV - sequel to "Moon Pie"  Caution:
Schmoop alert!
Spoilers:  Anything through "Leech" is fair game
Rating:  NC-17 for m/m sexual interaction
Pairing:  Clark/Lex
Summary:  Clark and Lex have a real date

DISCLAIMER:  These characters do not belong to me.  Smallville is the
property of Alfred Gough, Miles Millar, Tollin-Robbins Productions, and
Warner Bros. Television, and based upon characters originally created by
Jerome Siegel and Joe Shuster.  This story is just for the entertainment of
my online friends and myself, not for any profit.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  The rest of "The Nourishment Series" can be found on my
webpage at www.enteract.com/~jfc/stories.html - You don't have to read them
all first, but it might help.

DEDICATION:  For Tiff and those guys in that band who do *that* song...

COPYRIGHT:  (C) Janet F. Caires-Lesgold            February 25, 2002
            jfc013@merle.it.northwestern.edu
Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express
permission of the author.  Thank you very much.
_______________


Clark Kent's tongue tastes like cotton candy.

It doesn't hurt that he's holding a half-eaten paper stick full of the
stuff, which I hope to God he doesn't get stuck to my jacket as he kisses
me.

We are hiding in the shadows alongside the midway of the Smallville High
School spring carnival to steal a moment to ourselves, during an
honest-to-goodness date.  Of course, his friends, who have gone off to find
snacks of their own, don't know that.  All they have seen is me showing up
as they arrived in the parking lot, and Clark suggesting that I join them.
He is getting better at lying, to them at least, like when the blonde
(Chloe, is it?) accused him, correctly, as it so happens, of setting it all
up in advance.  His talent at lying to me still needs work.

I don't let his earlier fabrications bother me tonight, though.  Perhaps I'm
letting my hormones get the better of me, even while one would think I were
beyond that.  But Clark is so beautiful, so giving, so otherwise *honest*
that I cannot help but trust him.  In a world where I am betrayed by the
little tramps I take to bed, and even my own father, his trustworthiness is
a precious commodity.  So he has been cagey to me about events early in our
acquaintance.  Tonight I just don't fucking care.

Back to that tongue--the one that's coated in spun sugar and pressing hard
against mine at the moment.  Maybe it's just the carnival atmosphere: bright
colored lights, screams from the tacky rides, ear-splitting canned
music--something is making him even *more* enthusiastic than usual.  It's
quite affecting, to be honest.  I might have to find a more secluded spot to
give him a little more satisfaction later.

At last he breaks away and starts nuzzling my ear.  "Hadn't we ought to be
getting back?" I murmur into his neck.  "They've probably missed us by now."

"Oh, okay," he grumbles appealingly.  His eyes reflect the glow of the
midway behind us, and he looks just so incredibly *happy* that I give him
one more quick kiss and a smile before pushing him back out to the noise and
the crowd.

Pete is eating yet *another* hot dog when we find them, while Chloe wears a
very suspicious-looking white powder on her nose.  "Miss Sullivan," I
approach her, "have you been enjoying a treat that's illegal even in
Metropolis?"

"Huh?" she asks, a sentiment echoed by her two friends who look at me like
I've grown horns.

"Lex," Clark groans, "she's eating an elephant ear."  Before I can ask what
that has to do with anything, he reaches out and whisks the dusty smudge
away with a finger, then shows me the pastry she's holding wrapped in waxed
paper--which of course is covered with powdered sugar.

"Oh.  Sorry," I mumble, and everyone shakes their heads in wonder at the
weird city kid who's never heard of an elephant ear before.

Clark diplomatically breaks the moment by teasing his buddy.  "Say, Pete,
what's with all of the hot dogs?  Going for the county record?"

Polishing off his snack, he licks his fingers and replies, "I missed lunch
*and* dinner today.  Besides, I like hot dogs..."

He turns towards the hand-squeezed lemonade booth, whereupon Chloe whispers
to us with a worried look, "Whatever you do, *don't* make me go on the
Tilt-A-Whirl with him, willya?"

"Promise," swears Clark, smiling sweetly at her before she follows Pete away
from our spot.

"If you ask me," I whisper conspiratorially to Clark as we go after them,
"that boy's got an oral fixation."  That earns me an adorable blush from my
date, which makes me think even naughtier thoughts when he turns away.

Lemonades in hand, we begin to wander past the games.  "Hey, Clark," invites
Pete, indicating a booth outfitted with full-size hoops and nets, "wanna try
a couple baskets?"

"Naaah, I can't," Clark demurs, making us all examine him curiously.  "I
must have wrenched something during our pickup game the other day..." he
complains, working his shoulder in its socket and wincing a little.  "You go
ahead, though."

Pete merely shrugs and gives the carny a dollar for three balls to try his
hand.  A few minutes and a couple of dollars later, he is the proud winner
of a rather hideous stuffed toy crow with a ridiculous red cape.  Clark
congratulates him, asking, "So, are you going to give that to your little
brother?"

"Heck, no!" spouts Pete.  "I won it.  It's mine.  Let him win his own crow!"
We get the chance to look at *him* like he's an alien before moving on to
the next game.

A few booths down the path we come to a row of apparatuses facing us bearing
bowling balls balanced on a narrow track of metal rails.  "Ah," I say, "a
finesse game.  I'll give it a shot."

The machines take quarters, but I'm only carrying three.  "Gee whiz, Lex,"
gripes Clark, "haven't you ever been to a carnival before?  You *never* show
up without a pocketful of quarters."  He fishes around in the pocket of his
jeans and extracts about six provocatively warm coins, which he tucks neatly
into my hand.

"Actually, no," I answer.  "Carnaval in Brazil, yes.  No carnivals, though."

"Guess there's a first time for everything, huh?"  His grin is directed
precisely at me, reminding me of his upcoming birthday party and the gift he
hopes to receive, and deserves as well.

After putting two quarters in the appropriate slots on the machine, I pull
back the lever to release the bowling ball into my hands.  I heft it
slightly with my fingers to test its weight, then give it a shove at the
target dip in the track.  All eyes follow the ball as it rolls over an arch,
through the dip, and right past the target, bumping against the "Danger"
button on the back of the machine.  "Awwww," everybody groans along with the
"loser" buzzer as the ball returns to its starting position.

"Too hard," I say, mostly to myself, as I feed the machine two more
quarters.  I give the released ball a more gentle push this time, only to
have it roll right back down the near side of the arch and activate the
loser switch again.

"Oh, too bad, eh, Lex?" laughs Pete.

I ignore his casual use of my first name and insert the last two warm
quarters into the machine.  "I think I've got it now," I brag lightly.
"Just have to concentrate."

Before I pull the lever, I feel an uninvited hand press hesitantly against
my shoulder and realize that Clark is taking advantage of his friends' rapt
attention on my game to touch me surreptitiously.  Rather than distancing
myself from his contact, I use it to focus my concentration, and roll the
ball one last time.

Nobody breathes as the ball rises over the arch and swoops carefully down
the other side, easing almost to the "Danger" button, but finally coasting
back down to the safety of the dip.  A harsh metallic clanging, which must
signal my success, assails our ears from somewhere in the booth.

"And we have a winner!" shouts the pimple-faced carny, who hands me a plush
figure of a howling coyote.

I thank him, even though he's off to make change for another customer, and
look at my prize for a moment while Clark and his friends congratulate me
heartily.

"Nice game, Lex," cheers Pete, clutching his little crow.

"And you didn't think I could do it," I taunt him in reply, then turn to
Chloe.  "For you, my dear," I announce gallantly, offering her the stuffed
toy.

"Gee, thanks!" she gushes, hugging it delightedly, dropping her veneer of
almost-woman to show the eager child beneath just for a moment.

"You're welcome," I answer, enjoying her reaction.

We stand in the path awkwardly for a minute, whereupon Clark catches my eye.
"Is it okay if she...?" he trails off, gesturing slightly with his head.

"Hmmm?  Oh, of course!" I respond, picking up on his hint after a beat, and
opening my arms to her.

The girl holds back for a moment, looking to Clark almost for permission.
He grins at her, insisting, "Go on!  You know you want to!"

At last, she jumps before me and gives me a grateful little hug.  It is
nothing like Clark's hugs, of course, but I think it gives all three of us a
little thrill, if the look on his face is any indication.  She steps away
shyly and cuddles the toy for a moment longer before shaking off the cute
schoolgirl enthusiasm and regaining her professional journalist's demeanor
once again.  Pete has begun to stalk off down the midway, dejectedly holding
his crow by one wing, and we go to follow him.

Chloe stays a little closer to us after that, badgering me with questions.
"You've been to Brazil for Carnaval, you say?  What was it like?  How does
it compare to this carnival?"

"They had a few more women in skimpy costumes," I begin.

"Which reminds me," snarks Pete, "where *is* Lana tonight, anyway?"

"I don't know," answers Clark, scanning the area a moment as if he's
actually going to see her.  "Wait--there she is!"

Startled, I follow his pointing finger with my eyes to a small booth further
down the path.

"Kissing booth?" Chloe reads incredulously.

"Guess it's for charity," Clark suggests.

"What are we supposed to do?  *Watch* 'em?" asks Pete.  Sure enough, as we
come up to the booth, the head cheerleader and the quarterback are sitting
very cozily inside, wrapped in a positively soap-opera style clinch.
Quickly, I observe Clark for any sign of discouragement, but he seems just
as amused as his pals at the display before us.


(...to be continued in part 2)