The Memoirs

Megan Senatori was one of the most feminine, Irish, and beautiful women, in the world. She had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess from on high, hair of an angel and the voice of a siren. Singing along to her CD player while window shopping in Prague wouldn't have turned many heads, but in Small Town USA it was something to be gaped over. Not that she cared. Nothing could hold her back from shaking her very firm, very beautiful tushie as she gazed at a pair of earrings in the window she was singing in front of.

Her beautiful fiancée had made himself scarce earlier that day so he could speak to her older brother about their impending nuptials, and had assured her it was de mens bisseness.

She was marrying a Frenchman.

She... adored… him.

But, rather than stand in the line of her brother's fire, she'd gotten dressed and gone out to visit the little town she knew she was going to spend a lot of time in from now on. It was already exploding, culturally as well as economically, and a dozen new little shops had "Coming soon" signs in their windows, which pleased her, extremely.

Her dearest twin brother had all but told her to go fuck herself when she'd asked him to go shopping with her. Why? He hadn't said, but she wasn't THAT bad to shop with, right? Right. ...Maybe the time they went out and did it for 18 hours still plagued his mind, but no matter. She was having a boatload of fun all by her lonesome, and she was pondering on how much pocket change she had for the earrings as she danced.

Jackpot. Diane checked the tape recorder in her pocket, and the little wireless microphone in her hand as she pointed. "You see? There's Gina. I want her in the shot, with whatever she's looking at in the store window, all right? I'm getting audio, You get the visual, and we'll splice it together to play during the interview, you got me?"

The cameraman nodded.

"Good." Diane squared her shoulders, made sure the wireless mike was turned on and the tape player was taping. "Gina!! Excuse me, can I have a moment of your time?" Diane called it out as she was hurrying across the mostly empty street, cameraman in tow, and ended up tapping her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Gina?"

Megan turned around, gasped, and pulled the headphones off her ears as she stared. Oh! HELLO! "Diane Sawyer? Are you ever not allowed near me, madam, good day." And she turned, her needle heels clicking, firm, high tushie bouncing in her snug jeans as she made for the door of the shop.

"Is it true that you're Dominic Senatori's sister?" she shouted out.

Oh boy. Messing with the family and she looked over her shoulder, tossing her long hair over one pert shoulder. "Why are you so set on ruining the lives of those two men, Ms. Sawyer? They're going to give you your interview, I don't… understand why you're incapable of waiting, what, two more days?"

"I'm not trying to ruin anything, Miss... Gina? I'm simply trying to get some background material on Mr. Senatori and Mr. Luthor as they've both been impossible to get in touch with and have put me off several times. I'm only trying to be thorough and gather enough information to present them in the best possible light."

"I call your bullshit with a side of corn, Ms. Sawyer."

Diane smiled innocently. "I've heard some very curious information, miss, and I'm merely trying to verify what I can of it, so I will be able to conduct my interview."

She stepped up to her. "Yes, Dominic is my brother. My twin brother, to be exact. Diane... may I call you Diane?... if you, in any way, attempt to mar my brothers name, or the beautiful relationship he has with his man, I may be forced to bring your breaking the restraining order to court, as well as harassing me. My bodyguards?" She pointed towards an enormous black gentlemen, Roy, who had been in her employ for five years, and Steve, a large Hispanic man with a heart of gold and the face of the devil. "Will be sure to verify that."

Bingo. "Then perhaps, as his sister, you can verify something for me. Sources inside several fertility clinics around Metropolis have reported that your brother has been searching for a surrogate mother, is that true?"

"And why do you want to know, Diane? Hmm? Hundreds of thousands of people use fertility clinics all over the world, what's it to you if someone else does? You are such... a haggling little... BITCH. I cannot stand you. You put a bad name to the news industry, and my God, has anyone ever told you that raspberry is not your color?" Megan pointed to her lips, made a nose wrinkle at the woman. "And you need a lighter foundation. And the skirt? Frumpy. Also? Get a boob job, post hasty. You put a bad name to women, you disgusting little toad."

Diane pulled out the tape recorder, and made a show of clicking it off with a smile. "Thank you, Ms. Senatori. I believe that's all I need."

Megan just beamed. "If you put that entire thing on the air? I believe I'll orgasm myself to death."

"Mmm. Perhaps. But, whatever career you have will be over, because I've seen that pretty faces who don't have pretty attitudes? Won't work for long. Because you see? What you do gives you a reputation, and I've heard... from other sources... just what kind of reputation you have. I wonder what Mr. Luthor would think of knowing you slept with his son?"

"Amendment four of the Bill of Rights. Look it up." She said back, raising a brow. "The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized. I do believe. So you see, Ms. Sawyer, you're already breaking one of my rights just by being here. Not to mention that taping someone without their knowing is against the law of this beautiful land of ours. If you put that tape on the news, not only will I have your ass in a slinger, I'll have ABC and all of its affiliates sued so badly, so deeply, and so completely that you'll never work out of the system and you'll be on the street corner selling condoms."

"Look at the first amendment on that Bill of Rights, Ms. Senatori. You were well aware that we were conducting an impromptu interview, as you did answer my questions, however unkindly, and you cannot argue that you had no knowledge you were being recorded, as my cameraman has been standing over my shoulder this entire time and has continued to roll footage. So unless you want to get your pretty little behind kicked right back out of that courtroom, I suggest that you make another threat, and this time, one you can back up."

Megan simply pointed. "Rolling footage, was he?" She smiled, brilliantly. "Than why is the camera not on, darling?" She bat her lashes. "I was being harassed by a news woman who is not supposed to be within one hundred feet of me, asking me questions about the people I love and attempting in some way to slander the good name my brother had put out there for himself. Freedom of the press only goes so far, deary, and when it endangers, in any way, the people they are conducting said interviews with, its no longer within the law. Would you like to continue? Its against the law in Michigan, Minnesota, Virginia, Oregon, and good old beautiful Kansas to tape someone without their knowing it."

Diane just turned around and tapped the little red light on underneath the camera lens. "Look again, darling. And as for your restraining order, your identity is that of Gina. Your actual identity as Dominic's sister has been, until now, kept under wraps. Approaching you on a suspicion is actually quite legal, as there was no definitive proof of who you were. When you accepted the questions to speak to me, then you negated that order."

"You know what, Diane? Take your microphone and shove it up your ass." Megan said, very calmly. "You will not be getting any information from me, in any attempt to dig further into the personal lives of Dominic Senatori and Lionel Luthor. Leave me, my family, and my friends, alone. Are we quite clear?"

"As you wish, Ms. Senatori. I'll just look elsewhere in this town for people who'd be willing to give me their story on the Luthors."

"You'll be hearing from my lawyers." She answered, turning and nodding at Roy, who escorted her back down the street, to her car.

Diane looked at the cameraman. "Did you get that on tape?"

"Yes ma'am. All of it."

"Great. I want to cut it with the audio of Dominic telling me to fuck off at the site earlier in the week, and then the footage of the police shoving everyone away. Want to make them seem as unsympathetic as possible, since they're going this route with us."

"Yes ma'am."

Diane was packing up the mike and securing the tape safely in one of her bags. She pulled out the list of people she'd wanted to get footage of before the interview, and then turned to her cameraman. "Dan, I want you to edit out my commentary, and just show two of the speeches to Dominic and Luthor, because I want their reaction to her vituperation. Copy that tape in the van, and then send it up to the cutting room, and I'll cut out the two I want."

"Yes, ma'am."

When Diane turned around again, the bag over her shoulder swung with her, and ended up hitting a poor passerby in the leg.

"Ahhp. " Sandy blond hair ducked down to help the young woman pick up several things she'd dropped… mikes, clips, whatnot, and rose again, handing them over. "Sorry, ma'am. Seems I'm in the way these days."

Jonathan offered a friendly smile at her, before heading off on his way again.

"Mr. Kent!" she called out. "Could I speak with you for a few minutes?" She turned to hiss at her cameraman. "Get a fresh tape on this guy."

He turned, eyebrow raised. What the hell? He had a bag in hand from Rubenstein's hardware, tools and a few nails he'd run out of to fix his old sow's pen yet again, and he had a hand on the window sill of his truck when she called back to him. He probably hadn't ever seen her before in his life, and his brow elevated even more as he let the bag drop into the seat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

"Not yet. My name is Diane Sawyer, and I work for ABC television productions. I'm in town doing a profile on Mr. Lionel Luthor, and I'd like to know your thoughts; the word around Smallville is that your opinion is fairly well respected, and I'd like a meter of the town's thoughts."

Oh shit.

"I don't know if I should be speaking to you, Ms. Sawyer." Dominic's words were still bright in his ears. Don't. Talk. To. Her. "Besides, my opinion doesn't mean that much around these parts."

"That's not what I hear, Mr. Kent."

Sigh. "What is it that you'd like to know? How much we're likin' Lionel Luthor around here?"

"Would you like to sit down, Mr. Kent?" She nodded to benches on the sidewalk. "And yes, that's what we'd like to know. I haven't been in Smallville very long, but what I've heard is that you're the man to talk to about the Luthors."

He nodded, warily at her, and followed her to sitting on the bench, leaning back to take a moments rest from his hard day. "Opinion has really changed, to tell you the honest truth, mine included. He hasn't always been a good person, but he's changed his life 'round, and he's doing right by this town. Bringing business here is really going to help those of us who've lived here for decades, like my own family, and the Rubenstein's. He's good people, and that includes his husband."

"Hmm. And why do you think he's made this sudden... change, do you think, Mr. Kent?"

"Lots of things. Getting older, wanting to finally settle his life down, I'd think. His marriage has a lot to do with it, too, as well as his son, Lex." Jonathan was an excellent judge of character as a rule, and he was smelling rat.

"And, could you tell us a little bit about what he's done that's been such a change? Some of the good things he's done for Smallville?"

"Brought our economy up. After the plant exploded, he didn't fire all his workers. Been paying them, all this time, which means a lot to 2500 men with food to put in their children's mouths." He tipped his head. "Been a good man, a very good man."

She played innocent. "Can you tell us a little about the plant explosion, the circumstances or whatnot?"

"Don't know any of that, ma'am." he did. Not. Like this woman. She thought him a country bumpkin, and he could tell. "Its just a lucky thing that all those men didn't lose their lives."

"Yes, it is very lucky. I was reading some back articles of the local newspaper, and it mentioned that your son, Clark, had been involved, up to the point of saving Mr. Senatori's life. Do you have any comment on that?"

"Sure did. He'd been going to meet his friend, Lex, and saw Mr. Senatori stumbling out of the wreckage. If he hadn't gotten him away from the building, Mr. Senatori would have lost his life." Not said without a hint of pride for his boy, of course.

"You sound very proud of your son, Mr. Kent. And you say that he is friends with Lex? That's Lex Luthor, correct?"

"Yeah, that's correct." More uneasy by the moment. "I'm very proud of my boy."

"Is it true that you were once one of Smallville's most outspoken opponents of Lionel Luthor and his son's influence on your town?"

"That's right, ma'am. But I'm also a fair man, and when I see change, and I have seen it, there isn't really any need to speak against them. They've brought good work to these parts, and though I've had my problems with them in the past, its that. The past."

"So your change of opinion would have nothing to do with the relationship between your son and the younger Mr. Luthor?"

"The relationship between my son and Lex is not really your business. You came to talk to me about Mr. Luthors influence on the city, not about my son."

"But as I've read in the papers, your son, and coincidentally, on your family, has touched most, if not all, of Mr. Luthor's plans for Smallville, in some way or another, and I'm merely wondering, what the connection is?"

"There's no connection, ma'am. My son is friends with Lex, and saved his life when he first came to Smallville. You read that in the papers too, haven't you?" easily spoken, as he looked across at her.

"Yes, sir, I have. And off-the-record, I've spoken to many people here in Smallville who don't share your equanimity about the Luthors. Several have in fact pointed out that your son--who is still underage, I believe?--is currently residing not at your home, but at the Luthor estate. That is a matter of semi-public record, Mr. Kent, and I'm trying to find out why that is, before someone who is less... scrupulous than I am might let that information leak out. I wouldn't, of course."

"To be very frank with you, ma'am, its not any of your business where my son sleeps or doesn't, and I'll thank you to keep him out of anything you might have to say about Mr. Luthor. He's my boy, and I won't hesitate to bring in my lawyer if he ends up on your program."

"But Mr. Kent, that's my point. Your family and the Luthor family seem to be quite intertwined, for all the hard opinions of them you've seemed to hold before, and I'm simply trying to get to the bottom of it."

"Why? This is about Lionel Luthor, not my boy. Lex doesn't have almost anything to do with LuthorCorp, or the move. Why do you want to know about Clark?"

"I don't want to know about Clark, Mr. Kent. I just want to know why you're okay with your underage son living in the home of people who, up until a six months ago, I have on good local authority that you completely despised."

"I think this interview is done, Ms. Sawyer." Jonathan rose to his feet, and started for his truck, heart jack tripping and anger furrowing the ridge of his brow.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Kent," she called out. And then she looked at the cameraman. "Dan? Get me a full jacket on this Kent kid. I want to know everything there is to know about him. Age, weight, height, what way he hangs it, anything you can find. There's somethin' up with the kid, and his daddy knows what it is."

Dan the cameraman scratched his head. "Think both Luthors are drillin' the kid?"

"I don't know, Dan. But whatever it is, it's gonna make a hell of a story."

- = - = -

The sound of music. No, not the movie. It's what was assaulting Shayla's eardrums a block and a half away from Pete's house.

And it wasn't even sing-along music, like Dido or Sarah McLachlan. Instead, it was a pounding, thumping, fuck your brains out kind of beat with lyrics basically comprised of, "Get up, get up, get busy, get up and move that body" which she vaguely associated with a group called Technotronic.

Why that would be pouring out of Pete's house, she had no idea. Nor, as she knocked, kicked, and pounded on the door with her elbow, did she know why all the furniture in the parlor seemed to be shoved out of the room. "HELLO!!!!" she bellowed, adjusting her purse and the plastic shopping bag over her shoulder.

Hey, when she came over? She came bearing gifts. Cokes, cookies, and a frozen pizza.

Flexing hips. Moving body, pulse that seemed to be thudding like a drum. Naked as the day he was born, but for a pair of sweat pants cut too short on purpose...roomy in the hips and thighs so he could move. Spandex on underneath that he'd never show a living soul, and he streaked in his socks to the door, leaping over his mama's end table, the music pounding, blaring, as he opened the door.

He was drenched in sweat, eyes glittering with deep, heavy, dark pleasure and that far-away expression of a man who was steeped in what he loved and he didn't stop moving, jumping from foot to foot as he opened the door wider for Shayla to enter.

Oh. Muuuu-ther of Gawd.

Sweaty, slick, and shiny Pete. Sexy, shimmying Pete, who was hopping and buzzing with energy.

She blinked. Opened her mouth, tried to speak. Couldn't.

He leaned in, grasped her around the hips, and dragged her in, slamming the door shut with an echoing bang. Let go and rubbed his hands over his face, the sheen of sweat making him rub his palm off on his equally sweaty belly, and winced as he reached over and pushed the 'stop' on the stereo, as he rubbed a hand down his face again, panting for breath as he smiled. "Hey," pant, "Shay!"

Gooey melting in her knees and her belly as he dragged her in, and she felt herself sniffing the scent of hot, sweaty, been-working-out Pete.

Smelled a lot like, after-sex-Pete, only, without the sex.

She liked the smell.

Oh. Talking. He'd said something. Work, brain. "Hey!" She held up the bag for a few seconds. "Pizza. Brought some. Want?"

Loud snicker, and he led her into the kitchen, where the towel and bottle of water were waiting for him. Picked up the towel, wrapping it around his shoulders, and took a deep, long drink from the bottle, swallowing hard before answering. Cool, lovely feeling in his throat and belly, and he sighed softly before smiling at her. "Working. Want to come see?"

Blinking as she watched water droplets roll down his throat and chest. "Uh huh." Blinding smile as she watched his throat work. "Love to see."

"Come on." He turned and brought the towel with him, cleaning his face and shoulders as his muscles burned with the familiar feeling of being worked, heated, and he pushed into his dancing tennis shoes. THE tennis shoes. He was not going ANYWHERE without the tennis shoes. They stayed in three places. The special lucky box he kept them. This hardwood floor. And the dance hall in Metropolis. He was terrified to wear them anywhere else and lose the magic, and he stepped into them, lacing them up and hitching up the sweats that looked almost like long shorts, as he put the stereo back on and flipped songs.

La Bouche's Be My Lover came in through the stereo, and he turned it back, putting the stereo on five second delay, and moving to his spot in the middle of the floor. He'd kicked his entire family out for the day because the need had stricken, and his mama, being his mama, had agreed and hustled everyone out for a day in metropolis.

Not thinking about his mama though. Thinking about the beat.

The long, soulfully black and utterly sexy voice of La Bouche came out through the stereo, lalaladeedadading, and for the long solo at the beginning, Pete stayed completely still, then slowly reaching upwards, body tight, muscles hot, as her voice increased in volume and length.

And as soon as the hard beat began he moved. Like the floor was made of electricity, each jump, movement, hip and leg became snapped movements of a professional. He was IN the music, like he was IN the beat, the woman's singing voice like he was a back up dancer, shoes barely squeaking against the floor as all the good energy he had came to use. He was jiving, shaking, moving, all but grinding the air with blatantly sexual, blatantly arousing, and completely incredible movements that God had graced him to have.

Shayla just sat on the floor right outside the doorway and watched.

It was incredible to see Pete moving like that, even though she'd known he could do it. He was fluid, moving gracefully and sexually, and every other adjective she could think of as he danced. His feet seemed to glide across the floor, the soles barely squeaking against the hardwood floor as he moved.

Big, strong, little-linebacker-like Pete moved like... she couldn't even come up with an analogy. Something... lithe and limber and un-football-player-like.

He'd dreamt about this exact routine, from the way his shoes squeaked against the hard floor to the way Shayla watched him out of the corner of his eyes. Dreamt it all, from each pound of his heart to the end, which he struck a pose. A pose that needed a woman by his side to complete, because even though he'd dreamt of himself, he'd also dreamt of his steps matching a woman's.

And he gasped, panting and laughing out loud as he collapsed on the floor, spread eagle, fighting for a breath as he did so.

Shayla scooted her butt across the floor, picking up his water bottle as she scooted, and ended up sitting on the floor beside him and gazing down at his face. "You're damned good, you know?"

He kept panting for breath as he shook his head at the water yet… cold water too soon made him cramp up, and he chuckled softly as he toed off his lucky sneakers and rolled on his belly on the hardwood floor. "Thanks. I--" Pant, "I try. Got a question to ask you though, and a few things to tell ya."

"You succeed." She pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her chin on them, and stared. "Ask me, tell me. I'm here for you."

She was acting a bit strangely, and he looked up at her, grinning as he rubbed the towel over his face. "First, to tell you, I went this morning to get the Tegaderms taken out. Talked to a counselor, who I'm gonna see every week, 'bout my shit."

She bit her lip. "Did they come out all right? Are you okay?"

"They were fine. Everything healed up great." He rubbed his cheek lightly, feet bopping in the air above his backside. "I felt pretty damn good 'bout myself after talking to the counselor, so I came home and told everyone to get the fuck outta the house. Been here ever since… was gonna call you 'bout noon, but," Craned neck at her watch. Nearing four o'clock. "Lost tracka time."

"Oooh, I'm glad she could help you. She? He? Either way, I'm glad. I'm glad you feel better bout yourself." She straightened her legs out, then mirrored his pose, rolling onto her stomach and putting her feet up in the air, so that they were face to face, but not quite nose to nose.

"I am too. Second thing I gotta ask you?" His brow came up, wickedly. "How you feel 'bout being my dance partner at the 2003 NDA's this year?"

Blink. "You mean, like, me, white girl with no sense of rhythm?"

He blinked right back. "Shay? You got so much rhythm it drives me crazy, what're you talking about?"

"You're kidding. I get out there on the floor, and I look like Angel dancing."

He swallowed a laugh at that. "Naw. Come on. Lets try, alright? Nothin' fast, we'll start slow. I just know, in my spirit, its gotta be you, Shay. I understand if you don't wanna, but I want you to."

"You're kidding. I'd love to do it with you. But I guarantee, you'll regret it when I've stepped on your feet about ten times."

"Shoes lucky, girl." He rolled over and climbed to his feet, still ready to keep going as he grinned down at her, broadly. "Plus, can't be datin' a girl like you and gyrating against Helena Broskitt. Girl's got game, but nothing like my Shay. Want you out there with me."

"Who the fuck's Helena Broskitt?" Shayla asked, grabbing onto his hand and pulling herself up. "Okay. Shoes, socks or bare feet?"

"Bare feet. We'll work our way up to shoes." He leaned over and tugged off his own slightly stinky socks, wriggling his toes on the bare floor as he rubbed the towel over the back of his neck, and dumped it all in a corner of the room. A large mirror that was foldable and sturdy, sat in a three quarter curve in front of them, and he moved to angle it better so it sat flatter against the floor. "Helena was Lana's best friend and dance partner."

"Bare feet I can do." Shayla kicked off her tennis shoes, and then pulled off the little white bobby socks that were under them, then wiggled her bare toes. "They do same sex dance teams?"

"Course. They're an open minded buncha folks, as all of them are fags, babe." He was staring at her very… constricting clothing, and just shook his head, motioning his hand at her. "Jacket and jeans need to go. T-shirt can stay. Boobs gonna bounce around? Got some ace bandages around here so you don't get um all bruised."

She gave him a dubious look. "You think these little things are gonna bounce around? You gotta be kiddin'." But she peeled off her jacket anyway, tossed it into the corner, and unzipped her jeans. "You gotta know I ain't wearin' my skivvies in front of anybody else."

"Ain't nobody else comin' in, beautiful." But he passed a glance over her as she shimmied out of her jeans, his mouth watering slightly as he cleared his throat softly and smiling at her. "Ain't little, sweetheart. Ever listen to Christina Aguilera?"

"Yeah, they are." But she kicked her jeans in the corner, and turned back around. "No. Or, well, maybe. What does she sing, and I'll tell you if I've ever heard it."

"What a girl wants. Whaaat a girl wants, what a giiiiirrrll needs." He sang a bar or two of it, raising a brow at her.

"Whatever makes her happy, can't you see!" She bounced. "That one I know!!"

She bounced, everything bounced, and he cracked up, rolling his eyes around as he turned to put the stereo on, clicking through CD's until he got to his mix. Flipped through a few songs...aha. " Alright, I've got it on repeat with a three minute delay in between each take, kay? We can take it off any time. Got five minutes to get shit set up, so c'mere."

"Set what shit up?" But she went over to him, and put her chin on his shoulder. "Okay. We're not gonna do the whole Patrick Swayze-Jennifer Gray thing from Dirty Dancing, are we?"

"Don't think I don't have that soundtrack." Was all he said, as he gently took her hand and effortlessly turned her around so her back was facing him. He slid her so the back of her left hip pressed against the front of his right, and he bent slightly to arrange her legs. One slightly forward, the other slightly back, and he took each of her hands so her arms were straight, smiling down at her. "I did this number a few years ago, when this song first came out. Look in the mirror, look at yourself. Fluid, graceful. Imagine yourself a cat to the jungle of the dance floor, Shay." He let her go and stood right next to her, striking the same pose. "See? Easy. I do what I want because I tell my body what I want it to do. Follow my move. I'm gonna follow the same pattern for a while, you just follow, catch up, and follow when I add stuff in, alright?"

"You're assumin' I'll be able to do this in the first place. I feel like I'm in a freakin' Madonna video." But she didn't say anything else, just making sure her body stayed in the pose that Pete had put her in, and forcing her body to relax. "Easy. Right. Easy for you."

"Bull. After this song is a slow song. We're gonna start with this. Ready?" Christina's voice came through the stereo and Pete leaned forward, foot on his tiptoes, his heal snapping down as the top of his body rolled forward and his hips shook twice to each side.

Alright, body. You're going to listen to me. You're going to do exactly what Pete does. You hear me, feet? No tripping over each other. No getting tangled up. And be graceful! Your sister's a fucking supermodel, she's got to get it from somewhere and you share her DNA! So just fucking do it!! She nodded stoutly after her inner monologue, and as Pete started moving, she sighed. Okay, body! That's your cue! Do your thing!

For a second, she didn't think her body was going to comply, then she felt her brain shutting off physical thought, and instead, went into mimicry mode, making every movement that Pete did.

He kept doing it, following the beat, and every movement and step hit a certain beat. He was watching her, in the huge mirror, and once she was certain she'd got it down, he added another move. After his hip shake he swiveled on his left foot half a body and leaned back, then forward, doing the same steps as before.

"Jeeesus," she swore softly, watching him add in a new move. "Okay, body, we're going to do this, just like the others, okay, so no... fucking... up!!"

Her leg pivoted like a dream as her body snapped back and forth, then falling back into step with Pete.

"Good body," she muttered.

Pete cracked the hell up as she spoke to her body, his movements smooth and without hitch as he snapped his fingers to the beat, continuing to do it as he carefully picked her hands up, sliding one of her hands into his palm as he moved slightly behind her now, hand sliding down to her hip. "You're doin' great baby, keep on. You got a knack, a gift."

"No, what I've got is the body of a supermodel's sister that fucking well knows it better not let me down!" But she was smiling as she yelled at herself, moving just as Pete's body nudged and directed hers to move.

As they moved he let her get into the music, and they faced the mirror now, hips swishing as he had fun, his fingers rubbing over her body as he grasped both hips, running both his hands down her hips as the erotic part of the song came on and he ground very, very lightly against her as he slid down her body, feeling the tense muscles in her legs with each dancing step they took in sync, and he beamed at her in the mirror as she moved. "Have fun with the music, Shay. Run your fingers through your hair, touch my hands, have fun. Dancing is joy, not fear."

"Right. I'll have fun with it as soon as I'm sure I'm not going to break my neck, your feet, or any other vital parts."

"Ain't gonna break, chicklet." He chuckled, as he suddenly grasped her hip and turned her to face him, grasping one hand, the other on the small of her back, and brought her close. "Ain't gonna break at all. Do the same steps. Don't think about them, just do them."

"Don't think, just do. Yeah, I'm down with that." Shayla had her back to the mirror but it didn't matter now, cause she was moving with Pete, against him, moving in contrast to what he was doing, pulling with his thrusts, pushing with his pulls, and turning into his twists.

"Christ, you're a natural." The song ended and he laughed, beaming as he let her go and did a little dance. "You're gonna be perfect. If you'll have me, baby girl, baby girl, the fun we're gonna have."

She blinked. "Of course I'll have you." She laughed at his little... well, she assumed it was a victory dance. "You... uh... for a dancer? Your victory dance needs work."

"Course it does, its a victory dance." But he beamed and leaned in to give her one of the first real kisses they'd shared, pressing full lips to her more slender ones and kissing her, very, very softly but lovingly. "Thank you, Shay, girl."

"Mmm." She raised her hand to rub over his face gently, returning the soft kiss, and licking over his lips, tasting the sweat. "You're welcome," she whispered against his full lips.

"No. I mean... thank you." And because he was feeling so good, so alive and full of joy, he brought her tiny hand into his, lacing the fingers, than brought it down to where he was half hard in the tight shorts under his sweats.

There were tears shimmering in his eyes.

"Thank you."

Shayla stroked the hardening bulge once with their interlaced fingers, then leaned up to kiss his eyes closed. Then she kissed down his cheeks, down his chin, then back up to his mouth again. "Thank you," she whispered into his mouth again, closing her own eyes as she kissed him again, not half as softly as before, but harder, more firmly than the first.

He kissed her back, firmer too, deeper, as his free palm came up to stroke through pink hair that still hurt his eyes, and wrapped an arm around her little chest to hold her close in a tight embrace. He didn't trust his voice at the moment, even as his erection faded, and kissed her shoulder, her neck, her throat. "I love you, Shayla Senatori."

Shayla wrapped her arms around Pete's chest, squeezing as tightly as she could. "I love you too, Peter Ross. Forever, I promise." Tighter squeeze to his chest, and right then, she looked up at him. "You guys got any nail polish remover in the house?"

"Maybe not forever. Maybe just until we're old and gray and bitching old ladies." Was all he responded, eyes dancing as he squeezed her close, tightly to his icky sweaty chest, not that he cared, as he kissed her forehead and her nose. "Nail polish remover?"

"Yeah. Nail polish remover."

"I think my pops got a thing of it in the garage. Ain't no one in our house wear nail polish to warrant it." He let her go and motioned with his shoulder, as he cut the CD player off. "Why you want it for?"

"I need the acetone in it to get rid of the hair dye."

He blinked, turned… stared. "What? Now? What?"

"Yeah. I need about... half a cup of nail polish remover to get rid of the hair dye. I rub it in, let it sit for about two, three minutes, then wash it out with shampoo and hot water."

"You're free to use the shower, my rents and shit won't be back till tomorrow." But he was looking at her, warily almost, from the corner of his eye. And rather than say anything else, he nodded, knowingly. "Sexier as a blond."

"You're staring."

"You're sexy. can't help it."

"You're also a bad liar." She turned around and looked at him. "Am I weirding you out?"

"About?"

"I asked for stuff to get this stuff out of my hair and you're just... you don't know it, but you're eyes are like, half the size of your head."

He just… his throat bobbed, the smallest bit. "Just... wasn't expecting you to say you were gonna change it back. Truth, didn't think you ever would." He swallowed again. "Wasn't sure, is all. I'm glad, though. You're my Shay when you're blond."

"I told you, Pete. I'd change it back when I felt better. When I felt right again. Well..." She looked down, picked up his hand and squeezed it. "I feel right again. With you."

"I'm so happy you do." Long fingers grasped slender ones, and Pete brought their clasped fingers to his lips, kissing once, twice, three times, and then bringing his arm around her gently as they walked. "I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am right now. Shayla, I adore you."

Shayla followed him through his house. "I told you, Pete. I told you that I wasn't going to be happy with anyone but you. And that it was always going to be you, but you didn't believe me." She hugged his waist gently. "You're beautiful, Pete. You're beautiful, you're smart, and you're mine. Even when I'm angry and hurt, you're mine, and nobody's ever taking you away. Understand me?"

"Understand you." It was said with a wide smile. "I do love you, girl. I wasn't kidding 'bout that, you know."

"I know you weren't." She smiled back up at him, and put her head on his shoulder. "I wasn't kidding either."

"Shay? Its a little early to ask… but will you go to Spring Formal with me? And spend the night with me in Metropolis?"

"Yes, I will." Didn't even have to think about it. "I'd love to; I'll start looking for a dress right after my birthday, cause I know Graham, and he'll give me money to buy clothes cause he can never pick out what I like."

"There's this little Bed and Breakfast right outside the city skirts, on the Kansas River. View of the bay, the water. I'd love to take you there...maybe go with Whit and Chloe too, you know? Spend a night together."

His eyes widened. Considerably. "Not! TOGETHER together."

"That... sounds beautiful." Then she snickered. Had to. And then had to kiss him, because he was just so cute. "No, I know, baby. You and me together, not like three's company and four's more fun."

He gaped at her. "Dude. That'd be... I mean, the Chloe and youness'd be wicked hot, but…" He wasn't ready to talk about touching a man, let alone think about it, and he coughed softly and reddened slightly as the sweat began to cool on his skin. The garage door openers latch opened and he tugged it open, out into the mild air of the day, and went to one of the back shelves to take down a slender little bottle full and never opened. "Here we go."

"But you wouldn't be ready to deal with Whit," she guessed softly, and took the bottle from him. "Okay. Point me towards the bathroom, cause everything else that I need's in there. And if you want to help, you can, but you gotta put on rubber gloves cause I'm not sure if you're allergic or if this would irritate your skin."

"Naw. CJ dyes his hair like women get their nails done, girl. Boy was born with the flat ass out idiot gene. Come on, sweetie, I'll help ya."

Pete wasn't a jealous guy. Not usually, anyway. But his brother, and the little psuedo relationship he was forming with Pete's girlfriend did not at ALL sit well in his belly. His arm was carefully linked through hers, and he tried to ignore the pound of anger and the instinctive mine! that he wanted to yell. All he did was kiss her temple softly, trooping up the steps with her.

Wanted to shower with her. But he wasn't altogether sure that would be the right move at this juncture. Plus? The house was a mess, and he needed to clean it up and rest. So his feet were silent on the hardwood floors as he led her up, stepping onto cushy carpet as they reached the top. "There's a linen closet in there, shampoo, you name it, kay?"

"You wanna help me wash my hair? Not gonna bother with a whole shower yet; I'll do that when I get home and have clothes that won't mind if I drip acetone on them."

"If you need? I'm game." he said quietly, though he smiled just a little and rubbed her fingers in his. "We cool, Shay?"

She rubbed his fingers back, and then leaned over to rub her cheek against his slightly scruffy one. "We're cool."

At the little rub he softened, incredibly, sighing softly and deeply as he kissed her cheek, her nose, each eyelid, and let his free hand slide from hers. He was getting riled up, with each little stroke, and rather than have his body wonder what the fuck to do, he calmed and kissed her neck and throat.

Shayla giggled softly as Pete's mouth slid down her neck, the soft puffs of warm breath skating across her skin. "Oh, that's nice." Her hand rested on his hip, pulling him a little bit closer to her as they stood at the top of the stairs. "Mmmm. Warm."

"Warm." He whispered, but with a single little nibble more he let go, clearing his throat softly and swallowing as they got to the bathroom. "Want to do it in the sink, or the bathtub?"

Giggle. "There's more room in the bathtub, but... I think the sink's safer."

"We've got a shower head that you can take off the wall. We can bring it down, it'd be better for you, too. Got some shampoo, long as you don't mind manly Head n' Shoulders." He was calm. He was cool. He was about to lose his mind.

"I don't mind at all; I'll use my Raspberry Wishes when I get home." She beamed. "Head and Shoulders is what Graham uses. Bet he'd love to know he's got one more thing in common with you."

"Yeah, cause the dudes crazy about me, right?" Pete said blandly, though he gave her a little smile as they entered the spacious bathroom done in all American colors. "Man, 'scuse the girly accent shit. My ma loves to decorate."

"Oh!" Little gasp. She was in love. "Oh." Yep. Totally in love with this bathroom. "Oh."

He stared at her. "For a Canadian, you're feeling the American love."

"It's not just that. It's just... oh. Look. It's coordinated. Everything matches. The little soaps? They're stars, Pete! They match! No way I can get this bathroom dirty!!! It's... beautiful!"

Another blink at her. "Four boys use this bathroom, Shay. If my mama didn't make us keep it like you could eat off the fuckin' floor, I doubt you'd even walk in here, let alone use whatever you need." But Pete snickered softly and closed the door behind them, and opened the side door, with the towels. "How many we gonna need you think? three?"

"Yeah, three's good. And wow. You guys do a GREAT job keeping it so... neat!!" Little femaley sigh of appreciation. "I can't believe I'm about to desecrate this place. Lex's place? Not so much you can do to decorate stone."

"Got to. My mama comes after us with her shoe if we don't." But his smile was that of pride, and he pushed back the plastic shower curtain, the little glass window shining to the sunny sky as he leaned down, putting the bathtub on and taking down the handheld shower head from its shower hook. "You might wanna take your shirt off, babe."

"Already on it." Shayla had put the bottle of nail polish remover on the toilet seat and got on her knees beside the tub, peeling her shirt off and tossing it safely out of the way, over the towel rack where it would stay dry. She wrapped one of the towels around her shoulders, and looked up at him. "Okay. Just enough to get my hair wet, and then the nail polish remover."

"Okay." he said softly, and didn't try to look at her breasts, held in the soft, pale bra, so carefully and beautifully. The taste of them flooded his mouth and he almost couldn't speak in the remembrance, swallowing hard and coughing a little again. "How… uh. How much?"

"Bout... half a cup. Which is... about three of my cupped hands full." She held her head out over the tub. "Hit me with the water, and then you'll have to help me lather up."

"Alright." He leaned over her, half sitting on the tubs side, and reached up to pull the window open. He tipped her head in further to the tub a little and put the sprayer on, hitting the notch until it moved to a slower spray than what he normally used, and began to moisten her hair. Short but glossy, shiny, and his fingers slid easily through it.

Shayla waited patiently until she felt her hair getting heavy, and she nodded. "There we go. That's good enough." Her hand reached up and slid over his thigh before finding the bottle on the counter, and unscrewing the cap. "Okay. Pour... about three caps full onto my hair."

"Okay." He let the shower hose down on the bottom of the tub and filled the little cap, letting the liquid fall on top the back of her head where she was leaned over the tub. Another cap… then another, and he set the bottle to the side as his fingers came to her hair. "Now what, baby?"

Her fingers slid into her hair right alongside his. "Scrunch until you see it lathering." She rubbed her hair briskly, fingertips getting stained with pink bubbles as she scrubbed.

He stared as the pink bubbles started to come up, and brought his thicker fingers down, doing the same. The soft locks stroked through his fingers, which were turning a lovely shade of pink, working the liquid into her hair quickly, and gazed down at it with thoughtful strokes and touches as he did. "Will it all come out, Shay?"

"Uh huh." Her voice was muffled as she talked down into the tub. "It'll all come out. You'll see." She stuck her hands out, and used her wrist to nudge the knob and start the water flowing. She rinsed the pinky lather off her fingers, and held out clean hands. "Okay. Gimmie shampoo... big handful."

"Alrighty." He leaned over her to the small shelf his dad had built in to hold their shit, moving past CJ's electric razor and Berluce's special shampoo to get rid of the oil, and took the first of four bottles of Head and Shoulders. It was brand new, and he pushed the cap down and squeezed it into her fingers, listening to the bottle's farts as it sucked air in, and then pushed some more out into her hands. "That enough Shay?"

"yeah, that's good. May need a little more but this is good." She rubbed it over both her hands and put it back on her head. "Okay. Squirt me. Just a little, to help the bubbles, and then stand by to rinse."

Okay. Squirt me.

Had he been standing, he'd have fallen on his back.

Squirt me belonged in a porn flick of some sort, and his throat bobbed, eyes wide, as he looked down at her craned head for a moment. A half naked female with her back arched and tushie in the air, asking him to squirt her.

He could barely think about sex, but this? This was very, very good. "Uh..yeah."

"Pete, you okay? You sound kinda... weird."

"Fumes."

Barely held back the squeak.

"Fumes? You need to go get air? I can finish up, if you want, just squirt me before you go."

Ugghuhnd.

Cock. Raging hard.

Fuck.

"No… uh. I'll stay, thanks. Need me to do you?" His eyes widened a beat later. "UH. Anything else. For you."

Shayla giggled, and she couldn't help it. She shielded her eyes with one hand, and straightened up, giving Pete a broad grin a second later. "You can do me..... a favor. Squirt. Me."

He barely kept his eyes from rolling around in agonized teasing in his head, instead dragging the water over and putting the shower head on. It sprayed everywhere for a moment before he caught hold and angled it to her soft hair, throat bobbing tightly as he began to rinse her out.

Shayla put her head back down and started lathering, and as the shampoo lather started washing out, blond hair peeked out of the pink. The more she scrubbed and lathered, the more blond hair peeked out.

"Oh! Hey!" He exclaimed, his slightly less than steady fingers coming up to stroke through the pink, watching it as it began to wash out and roll down the drain. "I knew you where in there somewhere." he scrubbed harder, the shampoo lathering through it as he scrubbed, angling the water over where he'd scrubbed a moment later.

"I was always in there, dork." But the smile in her voice was unmistakable, and she kept scrubbing. "More shampoo, please."

"You weren't. Some pink headed pixie was." He lifted the hair hanging down from her forehead, rinsing it out as more of the gorgeous blond locks came into view, and he couldn't help running his fingers through them, over and over and over.

"It was still me." She kept scrubbing, sighing softly as his fingers ran through her hair, rinsing it thoroughly without even having to be told. She kept working on the top of her head now, bangs and crown mostly were all that were left pink.

Pete let her work, watching quietly as he still ran the water down her head, fingers not stopping their tender stroking as he leaned down to press soft, warm kisses to her neck, her back, her shoulder blade, watching as she worked it out with a soft smile.

"That feels nice," she said softly, rolling her shoulder appreciatively under his mouth. Her fingers still worked up a thick pink lather, rinsing it out under her fingertips as the last of the pink washed down the drain. "There we go. There'll be streaks for a couple days, but that's okay."

"That's okay." He echoed, carefully pulling the towel from her shoulders so she could wrap it up the way women knew how to do, palm gently stroking down her back, and as she sat up he unclasped her bra, leaning down to press kisses to the little breasts that came into view. So perky and full, small but firm, like little peaches. He kissed and licked each one, tongue scraping the nipples into view. Didn't move other than to press his lips to her chest, gently, throat bobbing as he did it, but he did it anyway.

Because he wanted to. And pain wasn't going to claim his life.

Shayla didn't say a word, just used one of the clean towels to wrap her hair in, making a quick little turban on top of her head, murmuring softly as teeth scraped over her nipples. As she finished the turban, she didn't say anything, just slid her hand down her back and unfastened the hooks of her bra, and let it slide down her arms. "Better?" she asked softly, stroking his neck and the back of his head.

He didn't answer, just wrapping his lips around one as much as he could and sucked, sliding down until just the tip was in his mouth, sucking softly at it as his free hand skid ever so tentatively up to the other, stroking a few soft, warm times before swallowing and pulling back, eyes on hers. "I had to." He said softly, catching her face gently in his hand, stroking across her ear, and letting it fall away.

She caught his hand and brought it back up to her face, and then leaned in to kiss him. "I'm glad you did," she said against his lips, pressing sweet little closed-mouth kisses to his mouth.

He didn't think she was, and he swallowed as he searched her face for a moment before letting go and climbing to his feet. "Come on. You can get dressed in my room. Want to eat that pizza and watch a movie? Got a hundred billion DVD's to chose from, babe."

She shook her head softly. "I don't know what you were just looking for, but I can guess." She sighed, quietly. "I don't know what you need from me, but all I can tell you is... I do want you, Pete. When you're ready and when I'm ready."

His throat bobbed and he held her hand, very, very tightly, as he sank back down to the floor in front of her, cupping her face gently in his own before bringing her tightly close to him. "Am I still desirable to you, Shay?"

He was close to tears. But Ross's didn't cry, especially in a public place like the bathroom had become for them, and he just held her close to him for a moment, his body fighting to understand as he swallowed.

She blinked. "You... thought you weren't? Jesus." She wrapped herself around him as much as she could. "Yes. I still want you. I think... I think about you at night, when I touch myself. I think about you when I talk to Chloe and she says how great her and Whitney were doing, I think about you when I see Lex and Clark together. I still want you, so much, I never stopped wanting you, even when I was mad."

"After what..." His throat was gruff, and he cleared it hard as he swallowed and looked at her quietly. "I've been wanting you...I had to work my courage up to tell you I did. You... you're just so beautiful. And...this is Pete Ross, shutting the hell up."

"And this is me, un-shutting you the hell up." She pushed him back, just enough to straddle his lap, and her hands went on his shoulders. "You don't know how much I've missed you. I couldn't even watch my Buffy tapes because you weren't there to hold me when I cried or yelled or yicked out. I want you, Pete. In my bedroom, in my bed, sitting in my bus seat, helping me study for my tests. You hear me?"

"I know." He looked up at her, as his hands moved around her waist to hold her close to him, pressing his lips together as he looked away. "I know, Shay. Just been hard baby. Sex isn't the all out of shit, and I didn't want to make it seem like it was a priority, cause I don't know if I can even perfo… perform."

"It's not a priority. Okay? It's not. I don't care--okay, lie. I do care. But I don't care right now. I just... want you around. The rest'll come in time."

"You're my best friend, Shay." Pete said it, softly, but frankly, as his eyes skittered up to hers... held. "You're my best friend, and I love you."

Shayla didn't blink, didn't do anything to mess up their eye contact. "I love you, Pete. You're my best friend, my closest friend, and I don't ever, ever want you to think you're not important to me."

"I know. I'm just... kinda needy right now, in a disgusting way."

"You're not disgusting, Pete. And you're not needy, either."

"Yes, I am." he said it, softly, firmly, as he looked up. "That's why I'm getting help. For you, for us, for me, and because I want you again. I want to have you, but I can't yet."

"You can have me, whenever you're ready. I'm not going to stop you or say no, believe me. I'm here, whenever you want me--literally." She smiled at him, as he looked up at her. "I'm here."

"It helps." He said it, quietly, smiling a little… then more than a little, as he squeezed her fingers. "I love you, Shayla Senatori. You're one sexy little blond."

"I love you, Pete Ross. You're one hell of a sexy ass dancer."

 

-fin-

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