Hello, dearest, darlingest readers! This is a Beauty and the Beast fic (duh) partially inspired by queenmorgan23's fic "Hard Work" (super hot, go read). For those of you reading "Escape," yes I'm still working on it and no, I promise it won't go to the abyss that "Summer of Their Lives" disappeared to. Promise. I'm too invested in it. For those of you who are quite confused, ignore that and simply enjoy the sexual slavery—I mean…uh…we all know what Beast would have done to Beauty IRL. Don't you judge me. I do that with my BFF/girlfriend/spiritual adviser all the time. It's awesome.

ANYway. Clark. Lex. Gay sex. Oh my.

Also, Clark no powers. He was born human to John and Martha. FYI. I'm sleepy.

Enjoy!

-Forbala-

CHAPTER ONE: A TRADE

Jonathon Kent was going to Metropolis for a farmer's convention. "What can I pick up for you in Metropolis, Martha?" he asked his wife, putting his arm around her waist.

"I need a new cast-iron skillet," she told him.

"Will do," Jonathon replied, kissing her on the cheek. "And you, Clark?" he asked his seventeen-year-old son.

"I've been looking for a first-edition Superman number one. Barring that, nothing."

"Clark, you know how rare and expensive that is."

"I know. It's not that important."

"Well, I'll see what I can do, son."

"Be safe on your trip, dad."

"I'll be back in two days!" Jonathon said as he climbed into his car and drove away. Clark watched him until he disappeared, then went back into the house to finish his homework.

The convention went great, and Jonathon found a great skillet for his wife, but found no first-edition Superman number one for his son. As expected. Still, he felt bad. He hated disappointing Clark.

So Jonathon got in his car and began his drive home. It was raining, but not too bad. It didn't get bad until he was pretty near Smallville. He was just getting ready to pull over on the shoulder when he saw a mansion looming up ahead. Better there than the side of the road, right?

He drove up to the gate and pushed the button. "Hello?" he said.

"What do you need, sir?" a man answered.

"I'd like a place to stay. This weather is terrible and I'm still far from home. Can I come in?"

The man didn't respond, but the iron-wrought gate buzzed and opened and Jonathon drove in. When he pulled up to the door, it was open and a manservant stood waiting. He ran inside and shook off some of the pounds of water covering him. The man handed John a towel and led him into the dining room, where a fabulous meal was set up.

"Jeez, you sure work fast, don't you?" he asked, sitting, the towel wrapped around his neck.

"I'll get you some dry clothes, sir. Call for me when you're finished eating."

Jonathon ate the meal in a hurry and enjoyed every bite. When he'd finished, the manservant led him to a luxurious bedroom, gave him silk pajamas, and took his clothes to clean them while he showered. He slept like the dead that night on a down mattress and when he woke, his clothes were cleaned and pressed and sitting on the bench at the end of the bed. On a small table sat a gorgeous breakfast. Jonathon simply couldn't believe that anyone lived like this; it was insane.

He descended the grand staircase and looked at the art lining the walls. Grandeur in every corner of the place. Ridiculous.

As he walked down one long hallway, he noticed it was full of first-edition comics, overwhelmingly full of Superman comics.

There it was. A Superman number one. First edition. Just what Clark wanted.

Jonathon knew he'd never be able to find another copy, let alone afford to buy it. But could he take something so valuable from someone who had shown him so much kindness, even if he was a shadow?

It's not as though he'd miss it. He had valuable comics lining the walls of this one hallway. Jonathon took a deep breath and made a decision: He opened the Plexiglas case and lifted the comic. An alarm went off and within moments, a young man appeared in the hallway. He was perhaps mid to late twenties, yet completely bald, and perfectly dressed in an expensive suit.

"And what do you think you're doing?" the young man asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, I was just looking at it."

"No, you weren't. You were going to take it. And after I took you in, clothed you, fed you? How ungrateful. Tell me, what shall I do with you?" he asked, stepping toward Jonathon.

"Please, it's for my son. He's wanted a first edition Superman number one for years. It's the only thing he wants!" Jonathon pleaded. "I have to get back home. My wife and son need me!"

"Your son, eh? How old is he?"

"Seventeen."

"What's his name?"

"Clark."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a farmer."

"And does Clark work on your farm?"

"Every day. He works hard in school and at home, plays football. He's a good boy."

"All right, Jonathon, tell you what. I'll show you one more kindness: You can go home to your family and friends, and I won't press charges. But in exchange, you are to send your son here to live with me."

"What? Why?"

"I could use another hand here, someone who can work outside. He'd be well cared-for here. So go home, pack his bags, and I'll send a car for him tomorrow. If you or he disappears, I'll find you and kill you."

Jonathon gulped. He had no choice. He had to go back, or Clark and Martha would starve. "Fine. But please, treat him well."

"You have my word."

With a heavy heart, Jonathon climbed into his car and drove away.