Clark comes home after a day of listening to Lois bitch and complain about the lack of decent coffee in the office. Personally, he'd rather have chai, but that's beside the point.

Lex is nowhere to be found, and when he walks into the living room, he spies a strange red lump on the floor.

He doesn't have to use his x-ray vision to know what's under a certain fluttering red cape.

He's just about to gently nudge the silent lump when he hears hissing from behind the couch.

"Don't! I'm trying to get the right angle!"

Lex is crouched over on his knees, fumbling with the digital camera. Clark knows better than to ask why it's perfectly acceptable for Churchill to drag Superman's costume out into the middle of the floor and make it his personal nest. Just last month, Lex had taken out what amounted to a restraining order to keep Churchill a safe 300 feet from his Italian loafers at all times.

Double standard, indeed.

***

Several days ago, Churchill had found Superman's boots. He loped into the kitchen with one of them in his teeth, a forlorn expression on his little smooshed face.

Lex almost fell off the counter laughing, telling Clark that Superman might want to look into investing in more boots, until Churchill let out a decidedly pathetic whine and dropped the boot.

It fell with a dull thud onto the tile.

Along with three of Churchill's teeth.

Lex stopped laughing.

The vet didn't even blink at the late night emergency call. Churchill was home a few hours later, his new caps shining brightly in the moonlight.

Lex just kept glaring at Clark, and railed against invulnerability, super strength, and goddamn, what *exactly* were those fucking boots made of *anyway*?

Clark had smoothed the spread back on the bed and guided Lex to lie down. When he pulled off Lex's shoes and socks, Lex was ranting about vinyl and leather and *goddamn vet bills*. When Clark tugged off his pants, he was blathering about research and soft plastics.

By the time Clark swallowed him in one breath, Lex was yelling Clark's name in garbled syllables and what might have been Kryptonian.

Churchill snoozed in the corner.

***

Clark sighs. He's not sure why Churchill has decided the cape makes a good bed. It's not like he doesn't have his own *room* or anything.

Or a miniature, custom-sized four-poster bed in Clark and Lex's room.

But again, Clark thinks, beside the point.

Because Lex is trying to take a picture of Churchill, snuggling in the red cape, his little pug nose barely sticking out from under one edge. And Clark has to admit, it's pretty damn cute.

Still, he protests that he has to wear it out tonight, but is only halfway through the complaint when Lex shoots him a look.

Clark snaps his mouth shut.

Not even Superman can get between Lex and his dog.

Churchill snores and stretches a little, his head emerging from the shifting cape.

Clark suggests a better angle for the picture. One that will accentuate Churchill's coloring and his fine bone structure.

Lex nods seriously, in total agreement.

He pets Clark absently and coos how intelligent Clark is, and oh by the way, has Clark remembered to pick up Churchill's suit from the cleaners.

Clark inwardly groans.

The suit.

For the party.

Lex has planned a huge party for Churchill's first birthday. There will be clowns. There will be balloons. There will be lots of doggie treats in the shape of the LexCorp logo.

There will be lots of other dogs.

Churchill, it seems, is popular with the bitches.

Lex is rather proud of this, although he does lament at times that the dog is straight.

Clark hadn't blinked when Lex insisted on handling all the party details himself.

He refrained from commenting on the bouncy blow-up castle. He bit his lip about the fortuneteller. He even restrained from grinning about the Churchill-inspired ice sculpture.

*Or* the personal decorator called in to transform the terrace garden into "Disney: Kansas v2.0."

Oh yeah. Clark doesn't come between Lex and his dog.

Clark smiles and assures Lex the suit will be picked up in time for the party.

But Lex is already leaving the room, dimming the lights and telling Clark that Churchill likes ambient lighting, and muttering something about aromatherapy.

Clark sighs and prays no one needs saving tonight. Superman's suit is apparently otherwise engaged for an indeterminate amount of time.

By the time Lex is snuggling up to Clark in bed, his hand slipping between Clark's thighs and his breath soft and warm on Clark's ear, Clark decides Churchill can sleep under the cape any damn time he wants.

***

The next morning, Clark finds Lex up early, sitting at his desk in the office. Lex is deeply immersed in a phone conversation, so Clark just gives him a quick kiss on his cheek.

Lex smiles, nodding, and sends Clark off with a pat to his rear end.

Clark turns the corner of the doorway just as Lex asks to speak with the manager of Lloyd's of London.

He hones in his hearing as he walks out the front door, in time to hear Lex let out a small exasperated sigh.

"Yes, that *is* what I'm asking. It's a simple request. One dog. Just fax over the insurance rates and the contract, and I can have my assistant get those back to you...."

Clark rolls his eyes.

He'll need extra chai today.