Tyson walked up to the Talon theater. The marquee above still needed work, but the renovations were nearly complete. He reached into his gym bag for his keys, fingers searching through the jumble of workout clothes and protein bars.
Nothing.
He checked the side pocket. Empty. The front pocket. Still nothing.
Where had he put them?
Tyson turned back toward the school, mentally retracing his steps. Field, locker room, probably left them on the bench when he changed. But his hand was already on the door, leaning against it, and it pushed open.
He froze.
The door swung inward. Tyson stared at the darkened lobby, certain he'd locked up that morning. He always locked up. The electrician had finished days earlier, and there were no other workmen scheduled for the week. He stepped inside and locked the door behind him, the deadbolt clicking into place with a solid thunk.
Everything looked in order.
The theater itself was empty. But he could hear someone moving around upstairs. Footsteps. The creak of floorboards. And he thought he could smell... meat? Something cooking.
Tyson's shoulders relaxed slightly. No one would break in with the intention of making dinner.
He walked to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The apartment door was cracked open.
He stepped inside.
Lana stood over the stove, spatula in hand.
"Lana, what are you doing here?"
She glanced over her shoulder with a smile. "Thought you could use some dinner after practice. Found these burgers in the freezer. You don't have a grill, so I figured I'd make them on the stove."
She was wearing one of his t-shirts. The fabric hung loose and oversized on her frame, the hem falling to mid-thigh, sleeves drooping past her elbows.
Tyson chuckled. "Make yourself at home."
"Already did." She said, flipping a burger.
"I'm going to hop in the shower." He walked toward the bedroom to put his bag down. As he passed the kitchen island, he noticed her bare legs beneath the shirt's hem. She must have changed out of the jeans she'd been wearing earlier. The shorts she had on weren't visible under his oversized shirt.
Tyson set his bag on the bedroom floor and tossed his practice clothes into the laundry basket. The smell of cooking meat followed him as he grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.
Steam filled the room as hewashed off, hot water sluicing away the dirt and grass stains from practice. He worked shampoo through his hair, eyes closed against the suds.
The door opened.
"If you have to go, you can use the bathroom in the theater," Tyson said.
"I don't need to go."
Tyson laughed. "Oh? Getting me back for the Mrs. Kent thing? Come on, that was funny."
He was rinsing out his hair when the shower curtain rollers peeled back, metal rings scraping against the rod.
"A voyeur?" Tyson said, eyes still closed against the shampoo. "I thought exhibitionism was your thing," he joked.
Then hands settled on his shoulders, beginning to massage.
He froze.
The hands were warm, slick with water. They kneaded the tight muscles of his shoulders.
Tyson turned comically slowly, water streaming down his face as he blinked his eyes open.
Lana stood in the shower with him.
Not joking. Not clothed.
Completely naked, water cascading over her shoulders and down her body. Her hair was already getting wet, plastered to her neck and back. She looked up at him with an expression that was neither shy nor uncertain.
"Lana—"
"You're tense," she said, her hands still working his shoulders. "Let me help."
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I just told you, I'm helping you relax." Her hands slid down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle.
Tyson's heart hammered against his ribs. "I know you're not Tina," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I took her power. Were you out in the woods again, by that accident site? I thought I burned that place to the ground."
Lana's hand traced lower down his chest, fingers splaying across his abdomen.
"I was at football practice the whole time, so you know I wasn't." Her voice was soft, certain. "It's me, Tyson. I just want to make you happy. I see how you look at me."
She stepped back slightly, water streaming between them. "Look at me."
Tyson had maintained strict eye contact, but now Lana moved back. The water ran in rivulets down her neck, over the curve of her shoulders. Her skin was flushed from the heat, droplets clinging to her collarbone before sliding down further. Her dark hair was plastered against her back, a few strands clinging to her chest. Her breasts sat high on her chest, large handfuls proportioned perfectly, topped with nipples that were quickly hardening. She was slender, athletic from cheerleading, with gentle curves the water seemed to accentuate. Her green eyes held his gaze without wavering.
He mumbled, "Didn't we do this already? The shower, you under the influence of some meteor rock thing or another. The almost kiss that I inevitably stop because I know it isn't right."
Lana stepped closer. Water dripped from her eyelashes as she looked up at him.
"Except now there's no clothes to get in our way. What about this doesn't feel right?"
Everything about this felt right in the worst possible way. The warmth of her body. The way she looked at him. The desire and tension building between them, her body that seemed so achingly familiar because of Tina, but he was only now seeing for the first time.
"Did you drink the Gatorade at football practice?"
Lana leaned in, rising on her toes like she was going to kiss him. Her breath was warm against his lips. "Yes."
Tyson gently pushed her away by her shoulders. He turned his back and shut off the shower. He reached outside the curtain and grabbed a towel, turning back to wrap it around her.
"What's wrong? I know you want this. Want me."
Tyson grabbed his own towel, wrapping it around his waist. He looked at her, the confusion in her eyes, the hurt beginning to creep in at the edges.
"The Gatorade was laced with meteor rock."
Lana blinked. "What?"
Tyson pulled up the toilet seat. The porcelain clinked against the tank. He turned back to her with an apologetic expression.
"I'm going to heal you now. It's going to get messy." He gestured to the toilet. "I'll hold back your hair."
Lana stared at him. "What?"
Tyson moved closer. "The last time I healed you from meteor rock exposure, you felt pleasure. I have a feeling this is going to be different."
"Tyson, I don't understand—"
"Trust me," he said. "Please."
She looked between him and the toilet, realization beginning to dawn. The towel slipped slightly, and she clutched it tighter against her chest. He positioned her in front of the toilet, one hand gathering her wet hair at the nape of her neck. "Ready?"
"No, wait—"
But Tyson had already placed his other hand on her bare shoulder.
His power flowed into her, but the pleasure she'd experienced last time didn't come.
Lana's stomach lurched violently.
The world tilted.
"Oh god—"
True to his word, Tyson held back her hair as she puked into the toilet.
Her body convulsed, expelling the contaminated liquid in violent heaves. The towel slipped from her grip, forgotten, as she braced herself against the toilet bowl. Tyson kept one hand in her hair, the other on her shoulder, continuing to channel his healing energy through her system.
"I've got you," he said quietly. "Just let it out."
Lana retched again, her whole body shaking. Tears streamed down her face. Tyson pulled the meteor rock from her system. Her body was doing the rest, purging the physical toxins the only way it could.
Another heave.
Another violent expulsion.
Tyson kept his grip gentle but steady, his healing energy flowing in controlled pulses.
"Almost done," he murmured. "You're doing great."
Lana coughed, spitting into the toilet. Her breathing was ragged, her skin clammy. She dry-heaved twice more before her body finally began to settle.
Tyson pulled the last traces of the meteor rock energy from her system. He withdrew his hand from her shoulder but kept holding her hair.
"Is it over?" Lana asked weakly.
"Yeah. It's over."
She slumped against the toilet, her forehead resting on her arm. Her breathing was still uneven, but the violent convulsions had stopped.
Tyson released her hair and reached for the toilet paper, tearing off several sheets. He handed them to her.
"Here."
Lana took them with a shaking hand, wiping her mouth. She didn't look at him. Couldn't look at him.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional drip from the showerhead and Lana's ragged breathing.
Tyson flushed the toilet and stood, giving her space. He retrieved the towel she'd dropped and draped it over her shoulders again.
"Take your time," he said.
Lana nodded, still not meeting his eyes. Her hands clutched the towel, knuckles white.
Tyson stepped back, leaning against the bathroom counter. He crossed his arms over his chest, the towel around his waist still damp against his skin.
The girl who had walked into his shower with such confidence was gone. In her place was someone smaller, vulnerable, wrapped in a towel, trying not to cry.
"Lana—"
"Don't." Her voice was hoarse. "Just... don't."
Tyson closed his mouth and waited.
Lana sat on the bathroom floor, the towel wrapped around her shoulders, her knees drawn up to her chest. She stared at the tile between her feet, tracing the grout lines with her eyes. Her breathing had steadied, but her hands still trembled slightly.
Tyson remained against the counter, chest tight. Not at her, but at this goddamn town and its endless supply of ways to fuck with people.
Three times.
Three times, he'd had something that should've been between just him and her. The first time with Tina wearing her face, he'd been violated, used. The second time in the theater when meteor rock infection made her strip. Now this? The third time in as many weeks?
The worst part was knowing how this looked from her side. Every time she tried to take control, something ripped that control away. Made her a passenger in her own body. Made her doubt whether anything she felt was real. And he couldn't fix it. Couldn't heal this. Couldn't use any of the abilities he'd collected to give her back what these situations kept taking.
All he could do was stand here and watch her process trauma he'd witnessed but couldn't prevent.
The silence stretched.
Water dripped from the showerhead in a steady rhythm.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Finally, Lana spoke, her voice rough. "This is the third time."
Tyson didn't respond, just listened.
"Tina." Lana's fingers tightened on the towel. "She pretended to be me. And you..." She paused, swallowing hard. "You thought it was me. You were with her, thinking she was me."
"Lana—"
"I don't blame you," she said quickly, still not looking at him. "I know you didn't know. But it doesn't change how it feels."
Tyson waited.
"Then in the theater." Lana's voice dropped lower. "I started taking my clothes off. And you stopped me because you knew something was wrong. You realized I wasn't myself." She finally looked up at him, her green eyes red-rimmed. "And now this. Two weeks later. Same thing. I throw myself at you, and you have to stop me again because I'm not in my right mind."
Tyson shifted his weight but didn't interrupt.
"Do you know what that's like?" Lana asked. Her voice cracked slightly. "To have someone else live out something that should have been mine? To try to do it myself and have it taken away? Twice?"
She pulled the towel tighter around herself. "I know you're a good man, Tyson. I know that. You stopped me both times because you wanted me to be safe. Because you wanted me to actually choose it, not have it be some meteor rock making my decisions for me."
A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.
"I appreciate that. I do. You could have... You could have just gone along with it. Both times. No one would have known. But you didn't." Her voice softened. "You made sure I was safe. That I was really consenting."
Tyson finally spoke, his voice gentle. "You deserve that."
Lana nodded, another tear falling. "I know. And that's what makes this so frustrating."
She stood slowly. Her legs were still shaky, but she managed to get to her feet. She faced him, the towel clutched around her body.
"Because the truth is..." She took a breath. "The truth is, I do want this. Want you. Not because of meteor rocks or mind control or whatever else this town throws at us. Just... because."
When she said it, Lana simultaneously terrified and relieved. She'd never been this direct before, not with Whitney, not with anyone. Whitney had always pushed, always assumed, always acted like her feelings were a given rather than something she needed to choose. She'd spent so much of that relationship trying to figure out what she was supposed to feel instead of what she actually felt.
But with Tyson, standing here vulnerable and honest after he'd just saved her from herself again, Lana realized something important.
She was tired of waiting for the perfect moment. Tired of second-guessing herself. Tired of letting fear or confusion or other people's expectations make her decisions for her.
Whitney had loved the idea of her, the girl next door, the cheerleader, the perfect small-town sweetheart, but never seemed interested in who she actually was beneath the surface. Tyson just... saw her. Messy and complicated, still figuring things out. And he waited. Let her come to him. Respected her enough to turn her down when she wasn't herself.
That mattered more than any perfect romantic moment ever could.
"I've wanted it since before Tina," Lana continued. "Since you saved me from Greg. Since you helped me with the flower shop. Since you've been there, just being you." She laughed, a broken sound. "And every time I try to act on it, something gets in the way. Either it's not me, or not really me, or I'm not really in control, or..."
She trailed off, looking down at herself. At the towel. At the situation they were in.
"Or I end up puking my guts out while you hold my hair back."
Tyson's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Not exactly romantic."
"No." Lana shook her head. "It's really not."
She moved to the sink, turning on the faucet. She cupped water in her hands and rinsed her mouth, spitting into the basin. She did it again, then splashed water on her face. When she straightened, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Hair plastered to her head. Eyes puffy. Skin pale.
"I look awful," she said.
"You are one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, even after all that," Tyson said. "A solid 8.5 out of 10."
Lana turned to face him again. "I'm being serious, Tyson. I need you to understand something."
"Okay."
"When I'm ready, when I'm actually ready, and it's actually me making the choice, I'm going to come to you." Her voice was steady now, despite everything. "And I need you to believe me when I do. I need you to trust that I know what I want."
He studied her face. "How will I know it's really you? That you're not being influenced by something?"
"Because I'll tell you." Lana met his gaze directly. "I'll use a safe word or something. I don't know. We'll figure it out. But I need you to know that this..." She gestured between them. "This isn't just meteor rocks. It's not just chemicals or mind control or whatever. There's something real here."
She stepped closer, close enough to see the water droplets still clinging to his shoulders.
"I'm not asking you to do anything about it right now. I know the timing is terrible. I know I just threw up, and I'm standing here in a towel, and this is probably the least sexy moment of my entire life." A small, self-deprecating smile touched her lips. "But I need you to know. When the time is right, when I'm clearheaded and safe and actually choosing it... I'm going to choose you."
Tyson's expression softened. "Lana..."
"You don't have to say anything," she said quickly. "I just needed you to hear it. The real me. Not Tina. Not meteor-rock-influenced me. Just... me."
Tyson stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders.
Lana tensed slightly, then relaxed as his healing power flowed into her.
The connection was different this time. More intimate than any previous healing. Maybe it was the context. Both of them barely dressed, emotions raw and honest. Maybe it was because Lana was finally choosing to be here, to let him help her, without chemicals or confusion clouding the moment.
The warmth spread through her body, gentle and soothing. Not the violent purging from before. This was restoration.
Her muscles unknotted.
The nausea faded completely.
The weakness in her legs disappeared.
Color returned to her cheeks.
And yes, there was pleasure. Not overwhelming, not controlling. Just a gentle wave of it washing through her system as her body remembered what it was to be whole and healthy.
He couldn't fix the violation of having her agency stolen. Couldn't heal the pattern of meteor rocks targeting her specifically. But he could give her a body that was whole and strong. A moment of genuine care with no strings, no expectations, no hidden agendas.
Lana's eyes fluttered closed.
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
When Tyson pulled his hands away, she opened her eyes to find him with that same gentle expression.
"The timing isn't terrible," he said quietly. "It's just right."
Lana blinked. "What?"
"You think this is the worst moment. That you're not at your best." His hands remained on her shoulders, thumbs brushing against her collarbones. "But you're wrong. You're beautiful, Lana. Even now. Especially now."
Her throat tightened.
"You're honest," Tyson continued. "You're vulnerable. You're real. That's more beautiful than any perfect moment could ever be."
A tear slid down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away.
"And when you're ready," he said, his voice dropping lower, "when you come to me and tell me that's what you want... I'll accept you."
Lana looked up at him. He'd saved her from Greg. From Tina. From meteor rocks three times now. He'd helped with the flower shop. He'd listened to her talk about Whitney, about her confusion, about her feelings, and never once tried to push her toward any decision. He'd pushed her away twice when she'd thrown herself at him, not because he didn't want her, but because he wanted her to actually choose it.
Everything the others weren't, Tyson was.
Whitney had been impatient, always pushing for more, for commitment, for her to be what he needed. Tyson waited. Tyson let her come to him.
Clark looked at her like she was fragile, something to be protected. Tyson looked at her like she was strong enough to make her own choices.
And standing here, in his bathroom, wrapped in a towel after he'd just healed her from meteor rock poisoning, Lana realized something.
She'd spent so much of her life waiting. Waiting for her parents to come back, waiting to understand what happened to them, waiting for the grief to fade. Waiting for the right moment, the right feeling, the right certainty before making any choice that mattered.
But there was no perfect moment coming. There never was.
Life in Smallville had taught her that if nothing else. Tomorrow she could be struck by a meteor rock. Could be possessed, controlled, or killed by any of the weekly disasters that seemed to target this town. Hell, tomorrow, Tyson could be gone, moved away, killed saving someone, or just disappear like so many people in this town eventually did.
The only moment she actually had was this one.
Right here. Right now.
Standing in Tyson's bathroom wearing his towel after he'd saved her from herself for the third time.
And the truth, the real, honest truth she'd been dancing around for weeks, was that she didn't want perfect. She wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted to stop letting fear and timing and other people's expectations dictate when she was allowed to feel what she already felt.
She was so tired of being careful. Of being good. Of waiting for permission from the universe to want something for herself.
She didn't want to wait.
She wanted him. Now. The real her wanted the real him, and that was enough.
"Tyson," she said.
"Yeah?"
Lana reached up and placed her hands over his, still resting on her shoulders. She held them there.
"What if I don't want to wait?"
His expression shifted, became more cautious. "Lana—"
"I'm clearheaded," she said quickly. "You just healed me. I know exactly what I'm saying and what I'm doing."
"You just went through something—"
"I did," she agreed. "And you were there. Like you've been there every time something happens to me in this town." She squeezed his hands. "That's not trauma talking. That's me realizing something I should have realized weeks ago."
"You're emotional right now. You're grateful, and that's—"
"Stop," Lana said firmly. She pulled his hands down from her shoulders but didn't let go. "Stop trying to protect me from myself."
"I'm trying to make sure you don't do something you'll regret."
"I won't." She stepped even closer, until there was barely any space between them. "Do you know what I would regret? Waiting for some perfect moment that never comes. Pushing you away because I'm scared or confused or worried about what other people think."
She looked down at their joined hands, then back up at his face.
"You're a good man, Tyson. A good friend. You've been patient with me when I didn't deserve it. You've been honest when everyone else in my life keeps secrets." Her voice wavered slightly. "You're what I want."
"Lana—"
"I know what you're thinking," she said. "You're thinking I'm confused. That I'm mixing up gratitude with attraction. That I'm rebounding from Whitney or any number of things that aren't true."
She released one of his hands to reach up and touch his face, her palm against his cheek.
"But I'm not confused. I don't want to wait anymore. I don't want to make you wait. I don't want some perfect moment. I just want you."
Tyson closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, something raw flickered across his face.
"You're sure," he said. Not a question. A confirmation.
"I'm sure. This is me," Lana said. "Just me. Choosing you."
She rose on her toes, bringing her face closer to his. Close enough to feel his breath against her lips.
"I'm choosing you, Tyson," she whispered. "Right now. In this moment."
For a long second, Tyson just looked at her.
And Lana was seen in a way she'd never experienced before. Not as the girl who lost her parents. Not as the popular cheerleader, the flower shop girl, or Whitney's girlfriend. Not as someone who needed protecting or saving or careful handling.
Just as Lana. Messy and confused and still figuring things out, but knowing what she wanted right now.
Something shifted in Tyson's expression. Not surprise, exactly. More like relief. Like he'd been holding his breath for weeks, waiting for this moment, but never willing to push for it. Never willing to take the choice away from her, even when it was offered.
That's what made this different from every other almost-moment they'd had. This time, it was really her. No meteor rocks, no mind control, no alcohol or adrenaline or any other excuse to hide behind. Just Lana Lang, standing in front of someone she cared about, making a choice.
And for the first time in a very long time, Lana was powerful. Not because of some external force or meteor-given ability. Because she was finally, finally in control of her own story.
And then she kissed him.
— Lemons Begin —
The kiss started gentle, tentative, like Lana was still half-expecting him to pull away. But Tyson didn't pull away. He leaned into it, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her damp hair.
Lana made a soft sound against his mouth, her free hand sliding up his bare chest. His skin was warm under her palm, and his heartbeat was steady and strong.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Tyson's eyes searched hers.
"Still sure?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Lana said. No hesitation.
Tyson's hands moved to her waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifted her onto the bathroom counter. Lana let out a surprised laugh, gripping his shoulders for balance as he positioned her on the cool marble surface.
"Better?" he asked, stepping between her legs.
"Much better," Lana said, grinning. The height difference was gone now. She was eye-level with him, and it was right. Equal.
She wrapped her legs loosely around his waist, drawing him closer. The towel around her body shifted with the movement, loosening at her chest.
Tyson noticed. His gaze dropped briefly, then back to her face. "Your towel's slipping."
"I know," Lana said.
She didn't move to fix it. Didn't pull it tighter or adjust it. Just looked at him.
The towel slipped further, exposing the curve of her shoulder, the top of her chest. Still, she didn't move.
"I want you to see me," she said simply. "All of me."
Tyson's hands remained on her waist, his thumbs brushing against her skin just above the towel. "You're beautiful."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Lana reached up and touched his face again, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Then show me you mean it."
Tyson leaned in and kissed her again. This time there was more heat to it, more urgency. His mouth moved against hers with purpose, and Lana responded in kind, her fingers sliding into his hair.
The towel slipped further. The top edge dropped below her breasts, catching at her waist.
Cool air hit her skin, then Tyson's chest pressed against hers, skin to skin.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, her head tilting back slightly.
Tyson's mouth didn't stop. He kissed along her jaw, down the side of her neck. His lips were soft, reverent, taking his time with each touch.
"Tyson," Lana breathed.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured against her skin.
"Don't stop."
His kisses moved lower, across her collarbone, down to the hollow of her throat. Lana's hands tightened in his hair.
When his mouth reached her chest, he paused. Looked up at her.
Lana met his gaze and nodded.
Tyson's lips brushed against the swell of her breast, feather-light. Then again, firmer. His hands came up to cup her, gentle but sure, and Lana's breath caught.
"You're perfect," he said quietly.
Then his mouth closed over her nipple, and Lana's whole body arched.
His tongue circled the sensitive peak, his lips creating suction, and a sound between a gasp and a moan escaped her.
"Oh god," she whispered.
Tyson's hand came up to her other breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in time with the movements of his mouth. The dual sensation made Lana's head spin.
She'd never been touched like this before. Whitney had touched her before, but rushed, always pushing for more. This was different. This was worship.
Tyson took his time, lavishing attention on her breast, his tongue swirling and flicking, his teeth grazing gently. When he finally pulled back, Lana whimpered at the loss.
Then his mouth moved to her other breast, giving it the same devoted attention. Lana's hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly as the pleasure built.
"Tyson," she gasped. "That feels so good."
His hand slid down her side, over the curve of her waist, coming to rest on her hip. The towel had fallen completely away now, pooled around her waist on the counter. She was bare before him, and instead of exposed or vulnerable, she was seen. Cherished.
Tyson's mouth continued its exploration, kissing down the center of her chest, across her ribs, down to her stomach. Each kiss was deliberate, purposeful, like he was mapping every inch of her.
"So perfect," he said between kisses.
Lana's breath came in short bursts. Her whole body was alive, every nerve ending singing. She'd never been worshipped like this.
"I want you to enjoy this," Tyson said, his hands stroking up and down her sides. "I want you to feel good. That's all that matters right now."
"I do," Lana managed.
Tyson smiled against her skin. "Good."
His kisses moved back up, across her ribs, between her breasts. His hands cupped her face, tilting her head down so he could look at her.
"This is your first time," he said. Not a question.
Lana nodded, suddenly shy despite everything. "Is that okay?"
"It's more than okay." Tyson's thumbs brushed across her cheekbones. "It means I get to make sure it's everything you deserve."
"What do I deserve?"
"To feel safe. To feel good. To be in control." He kissed her softly. "To know you can stop anytime, and I won't be upset or disappointed or anything except supportive."
Tears pricked at her eyes. "You really mean that."
"Every word."
She pulled him into another kiss, this one deeper, more passionate. Her legs tightened around his waist, drawing him flush against her. She could feel him through the towel around his hips, hard and ready, but he made no move to rush things.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Lana rested her forehead against his.
"I want this," she said. "I want you. But I'm also nervous."
"That's normal," Tyson said. "We can take it as slow as you need."
"What if I'm not good at it?"
"Lana." He pulled back to look at her. "There's no 'good at it.' There's just us, figuring it out together. And I promise you, whatever happens, it's going to be good."
Some of the tension left her shoulders. "You're really good at this."
"At what?"
"Making me feel like I'm not going to mess it up."
Tyson smiled. "You couldn't mess this up if you tried."
He kissed her again, slow and deep, and Lana let herself sink into it. Let herself stop worrying and just feel.
His hands roamed her body, learning her curves, finding the places that made her gasp or arch or sigh. Every touch was careful, attentive, focused entirely on her pleasure.
"Tell me what feels good," he murmured against her lips.
"Everything," Lana breathed. "All of it."
"Be specific. I want to know."
Lana's cheeks flushed, but she pushed through the embarrassment. "When you... when your mouth was on my breasts. That was really good."
"Like this?" Tyson's mouth found her nipple again, sucking gently.
"Yes," Lana gasped. "Just like that."
His hand slid down her stomach, fingers splaying across her skin. "And this? Does this feel good?"
"Yes."
"What about here?" His hand moved lower, stopping just above where the towel still covered her.
Lana's breath hitched. "I... I think so. I don't know. I've never..."
"We'll find out together," Tyson said.
He kissed her again, and Lana's nervousness melted away. Whatever happened next, she knew she was safe. She knew she was cared for.
She knew she'd made the right choice.
Tyson's mouth returned to her breasts, his tongue circling one nipple while his fingers teased the other. Lana's head fell back against the mirror.
He took his time, alternating between gentle licks and firmer suction, until both peaks were tight and sensitive.
"Oh," Lana breathed, gripping his shoulders.
Tyson kissed down the center of her chest, across her ribs. His hands slid to her hips, fingers curling around the edge of the towel still bunched at her waist.
"Can I?" he asked, looking up at her.
Lana nodded, not trusting her voice.
He unwrapped the towel slowly, letting it fall away completely. Lana sat bare before him on the marble counter, her legs still loosely wrapped around his waist.
"Perfect," Tyson said quietly.
His hands returned to her hips, and in one smooth motion, he slid her forward toward the edge of the counter. Lana let out a surprised giggle at how easily he moved her, like she weighed nothing at all.
"Strong," she managed.
"Perks of the job," Tyson said with a small smile.
The giggle died in her throat as he knelt before her, his hands spreading her thighs wider. Lana's breath caught. She'd never been this exposed to anyone, never been looked at like this.
Tyson kissed the inside of her knee, then higher, along her inner thigh. Soft, reverent kisses that made her skin tingle. His hands stroked up and down her legs, soothing and arousing at the same time.
"Tell me if anything doesn't feel good," he said between kisses.
"Okay," Lana whispered.
His mouth moved higher, and Lana tensed in anticipation.
When his breath ghosted across her most sensitive area, she jerked slightly.
Then his tongue touched her, and Lana's eyes flew wide.
"Oh god," she gasped.
The sensation was unlike anything she'd imagined. Warm and wet and impossibly good. Tyson's tongue moved slowly, exploring, learning what made her gasp or arch or grip the edge of the counter.
"That's... oh..." Lana couldn't form complete sentences.
Tyson's hands held her thighs steady as his mouth worked. He started with broad, flat strokes of his tongue, then more focused attention on the small bundle of nerves that made her whole body jolt.
"Too much?" he asked, pulling back slightly.
"No," Lana managed. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
His mouth returned, and this time he added suction.
Lana's hips bucked involuntarily, and Tyson's hands tightened on her thighs, holding her in place.
She tried to relax, tried to stop thinking and just experience. The pleasure built steadily, making her toes curl and her fingers dig into the marble. Tyson varied his approach, alternating between gentle licks and firmer pressure, between broad strokes and focused attention. Every time Lana thought she'd gotten used to one sensation, he'd change it, keeping her off-balance in the best possible way.
"Tyson," she breathed. "That feels so good."
His tongue circled that sensitive spot, then flicked across it rapidly.
Lana's back arched, her head pressing back against the mirror.
"Oh god, oh god," she chanted.
One of Tyson's hands left her thigh, sliding up her stomach to cup her breast. His thumb brushed across her nipple in time with the movements of his tongue, and the dual sensation made Lana cry out.
"You taste amazing," Tyson said, his voice rough.
The words sent a fresh wave of heat through her. No one had ever talked to her like this, made her feel desired like this.
His tongue moved lower, dipping inside her.
Lana gasped at the intrusion, her inner muscles clenching. Strange and good at the same time.
He did it again, his tongue pushing deeper this time. Lana forced herself to relax, and the sensation shifted from strange to pleasurable.
He worked her slowly, his tongue moving in and out while his thumb continued to circle her nipple.
His mouth returned to her clit, and this time he added a finger, sliding it slowly inside her.
Lana took a shaky breath, then another. Tyson didn't move the finger, just let her adjust.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Okay," Lana said.
He began to move, slow and gentle, his finger sliding in and out while his tongue worked her clit. The combination was overwhelming in the best way. Lana could feel pressure building low in her belly, something coiling tighter and tighter.
"Tyson," she gasped. "Something's... I think..."
"Let it happen," he said against her. "Don't fight it."
His finger curled inside her, finding a spot that made her whole body jolt. He stroked it deliberately while his tongue flicked rapidly across her clit.
"Oh god, oh god, I can't... I'm going to..."
The pressure built to a breaking point, and then Lana shattered.
Her whole body went rigid, then convulsed. She heard herself cry out, heard herself say Tyson's name over and over, but it was distant, like someone else was making those sounds.
Tyson didn't stop. His mouth and finger continued their work, drawing out her orgasm until Lana was shaking and oversensitive and begging him to stop.
When he finally pulled back, Lana slumped against the mirror, boneless and spent. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.
Tyson stood, his hands gentle on her thighs. His face was flushed, his lips wet.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Lana nodded, still unable to form words.
Tyson smiled and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then finally her mouth. Lana could taste herself on his lips, and instead of being embarrassed, she found it arousing.
"That was..." she finally managed. "I didn't know it could feel like that."
"Good," Tyson said. "It's all part of my master plan to ruin you for any other men."
Lana laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Mission accomplished then."
Before she could say anything else, Tyson's hands slid under her, and in one smooth motion, he lifted her off the counter. Lana yelped in surprise, her arms wrapping around his neck instinctively.
"Warning next time!" she said, but she was grinning.
"Where's the fun in that?" Tyson easily carried her through the doorway into the bedroom.
The bed was still unmade from that morning, sheets rumpled and pillows askew. Tyson lay her down gently in the center, his hands supporting her head until it rested on a pillow.
Lana looked up at him, her hair fanning out around her face. Her body was flushed pink from her orgasm, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. She'd never been more exposed or more safe at the same time.
Tyson stood beside the bed, the towel still wrapped around his hips. His gaze moved over her body, not leering but appreciative, like he was memorizing every detail.
"You're staring," Lana said.
"Can you blame me?"
He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself above her. His weight settled partially on his forearms, keeping most of his body suspended so he wouldn't crush her. Lana could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could see the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi." Tyson leaned down and kissed her.
This kiss was slower, deeper, more intimate somehow. Lana's hands came up to his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as their mouths moved together.
When they broke apart, Tyson's forehead rested against hers.
"We can stop here if you want," he said. "What we just did, that's more than enough for one night."
Lana shook her head. "I don't want to stop."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." She looked into his eyes. "I want all of it. With you."
Tyson kissed her again, and lowered his body lower slightly, more of his weight pressing against her. The contact was good, his bare chest against hers, his hips settling between her thighs.
She could feel him through the towel, hard and ready. The knowledge sent a fresh wave of heat through her.
"Tell me if anything hurts," Tyson said. "Or if you want to slow down. Or stop completely."
"I will."
His mouth moved to her neck, kissing and sucking gently. Lana tilted her head to give him better access, her hands sliding down to his shoulders.
Tyson shifted his weight to one side, his hand moving to the towel at his waist. He unwrapped it slowly, letting the fabric fall away and drop to the floor beside the bed.
Lana's eyes widened. She'd felt him through the towel, but this was different. He was bigger than she'd expected, and a flutter of nervousness went through her stomach.
"Hey," Tyson had noticed. "We're going to take this slow. I promise."
Lana nodded, swallowing. "Okay."
He settled back between her thighs, his body warm against hers.
"Look at me," he said.
Lana met his eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Tyson said. "And if anything doesn't feel good, you tell me immediately. Deal?"
"Deal."
He kissed her, slow and deep, and Lana some of the tension leave her body. His mouth moved to her neck, then lower, across her collarbone. His hands roamed her sides, her hips, her thighs.
By the time his hand slid between her legs, Lana was already breathing hard again.
His fingers found her wet and ready, and he stroked gently, building her arousal back up.
"That's it," he murmured against her skin. "Just relax."
His fingers worked her slowly, one sliding inside while his thumb circled her clit. Lana's hips moved instinctively, seeking more friction, more pressure.
Tyson moved his fingers slowly, letting her adjust, and soon the strangeness faded into pleasure. Lana's hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly.
"How does that feel?" he asked.
"Good," Lana managed. "Really good."
He continued for several minutes, his fingers moving in and out while his thumb worked her clit. Lana felt the pressure building again, that same coiling tension from before.
"I want you relaxed and ready."
His fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made her whole body jolt. He stroked it deliberately while his thumb increased its pressure, and within moments Lana was crying out, her second orgasm crashing through her.
This one was different from the first. Less intense but deeper somehow, radiating through her whole body. Her inner muscles clenched around his fingers, and Tyson worked her through it until she was trembling and oversensitive.
When he finally withdrew his hand, Lana was boneless and pliant, her body completely relaxed.
"Perfect," Tyson said softly.
He shifted his hips, positioning himself at her entrance. His head pressed against her, and her breath caught.
"Ready?" he asked.
Lana nodded. "Yes."
Tyson pushed forward slowly, just the tip entering her.
Lana gasped at the sensation. He was bigger than his fingers, the stretch more pronounced. She forced herself to take a deep breath, then another.
He held still, giving her time to adjust.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Okay."
He pushed forward another inch, moving glacially slow. The stretch increased, her body accommodating him. It didn't hurt exactly, but it was intense.
Another inch. Lana's hands gripped his shoulders tighter, her breathing coming in short bursts.
"You're taking me so well."
The praise sent a flush of warmth through her. She focused on his voice, on the gentle encouragement, and tried to stay relaxed.
Tyson's hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit. He circled it gently, and Lana gasped as pleasure cut through the intensity of the stretching sensation.
"That's it," he said. "Focus on how good that feels."
He pushed forward again, and this time Lana barely noticed the stretch because his fingers were working magic between her legs. The pleasure built quickly, and she found herself rocking her hips slightly, seeking more.
"There you go," Tyson said. "Move however feels good."
Lana experimented, tilting her hips up slightly.
The angle changed, and suddenly he slid deeper, nearly all the way in.
"Oh," she gasped.
"Too much?"
"No. It's... it's good."
Tyson pushed the final inch, seating himself fully inside her.
Lana was impossibly full, stretched in a way that was both strange and arousing.
He held still, his fingers still working her clit, giving her time to adjust. Lana took several deep breaths, her body slowly relaxing around him.
"How does it feel?"
"Full," Lana said. "Really full. But good. I think."
"You think?"
"I don't know yet. It's a lot."
Tyson smiled and kissed her forehead. His fingers increased their pressure on her clit, and Lana pleasure begin to override the strangeness. Her hips moved slightly, and he shifted inside her.
"Oh," she breathed. "That's... do that again."
Tyson pulled back slightly, then pushed forward. A slow, shallow thrust that made Lana's eyes widen.
"Like that?" he asked.
"Yes. Exactly like that."
He did it again, establishing a gentle rhythm. His fingers never stopped their work on her clit, keeping her arousal high. Lana found herself moving with him, her hips rising to meet his thrusts.
The combination of sensations was overwhelming. The fullness of him inside her, the friction as he moved, the pleasure from his fingers on her clit. Lana's whole body was alight with sensation.
"Faster?" Tyson asked.
"A little."
He increased his pace slightly, still careful and controlled. Each thrust sent sparks of pleasure through her, and Lana heard herself making small sounds of enjoyment.
"You feel amazing," Tyson said, his voice rough. "So tight and wet and perfect."
The words made Lana flush with pleasure. She'd never heard anyone talk to her like this, never been made to feel so desired.
"Tyson," she gasped. "It feels really good now."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I didn't think... I didn't know it would feel like this."
He smiled and kissed her, his hips never stopping their steady rhythm. "It gets better."
"How?" Lana asked breathlessly.
"Like this."
He shifted the angle of his hips slightly, and suddenly he was hitting a spot inside her that made her whole body jolt.
Lana cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders.
"Oh god," she gasped. "What was that?"
"That's your G-spot," Tyson said. "And I'm going to make you feel so good."
He thrust again, hitting that same spot deliberately. Lana's back arched, pleasure shooting through her like lightning. His fingers worked her clit faster, and the dual sensation was almost too much.
"I can't... it's too much," Lana panted.
"Yes you can," Tyson said. "Let it happen. Let me make you feel good."
He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming firmer, more purposeful. Each one hit that spot inside her, and combined with the pressure on her clit, sent Lana hurtling toward another orgasm.
"Tyson, I'm going to... I'm..."
"Come for me," he said. "Let me feel you."
Three more thrusts and Lana shattered.
This orgasm was different from the others. More intense, more consuming. Her whole body convulsed, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around him. She heard herself cry out his name, heard herself make sounds she'd never made before.
Tyson didn't stop. He worked her through it, his hips and fingers maintaining their rhythm until Lana was shaking and oversensitive and begging incoherently.
When the waves finally subsided, Lana collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving. Her whole body was jelly, warm and satisfied and utterly spent.
Tyson slowed his movements, then stilled completely, still buried inside her.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Lana nodded, unable to form words yet.
"That was incredible," Tyson said. "You're incredible."
She finally found her voice. "That was... I can't even describe it."
"Good incredible or bad incredible?"
"Very, very good incredible." Lana looked up at him. "You haven't... you didn't..."
"I'm fine," Tyson said. "This was about you. Making sure your first time was everything it should be."
"But don't you want to...?"
He smiled. "Of course I do. But we've got plenty of time."
Tyson grinned and rolled Lana onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She let out a surprised laugh, her hair spilling across the pillow.
"Hey!" she protested, but there was no heat in it.
Lana shifted, getting comfortable on her stomach. Then she did something that made Tyson's breath catch. She arched her back slightly and wiggled her hips, her bottom lifting in a way that was both playful and incredibly enticing.
"Like what you see?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder with a mischievous smile.
Tyson's gaze traveled down the curve of her spine to the small of her back, where an intricate tattoo marked her skin. He'd seen it before, of course. But now, in this context, with her body flushed and relaxed from pleasure, it added a new layer of eroticism. The tattoo was beautiful work, the lines clean and precise. Feminine and artistic, perfectly suited to Lana.
Lana wiggled her hips again, more deliberately this time. "Are you going to stare all day or actually do something?"
Tyson laughed. "Oh, cheeky. You want more?" He ran his hand down her spine, tracing a path to the tattoo with his fingers. "Haven't had enough?"
Lana turned her head to look at him fully, her green eyes bright with amusement and desire. "I think I can handle it."
"Is that right?" Tyson's hand moved lower, cupping the curve of her bottom.
"Mmhmm." Lana shifted again, pressing back against his hand. "Unless you're too tired?"
"Too tired?" Tyson positioned himself behind her, his hands settling on her hips. "I'll show you tired."
He helped her adjust, guiding her up onto her knees while her upper body remained pressed against the mattress. The position displayed her beautifully, the tattoo on full display, her body open and inviting.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Very," Lana said, her voice slightly muffled by the pillow.
Tyson ran his hands over her back, down her sides, across her hips. He took his time, enjoying the view, the feel of her skin under his palms. Lana made a small sound of contentment, her body relaxing under his touch.
When he finally positioned himself at her entrance, Lana's breath hitched. He pushed forward slowly, watching as her body accepted him inch by inch. From this angle, he could see everything; the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the way her fingers gripped the sheets, the way the tattoo on her lower back almost seemed to shimmer.
"Oh god," Lana breathed as he seated himself fully inside her.
"Still okay?" Tyson asked, his hands gripping her hips.
"Better than okay." She pushed back against him experimentally. "This feels different."
"Different good or different bad?"
"Different amazing." Lana shifted again, finding an angle that made her gasp. "You're so deep like this."
Tyson pulled back and thrust forward, establishing a rhythm. This position let him go deeper, hit different angles, and from the sounds Lana was making, she was enjoying every second of it.
"Yes," she gasped. "Just like that."
He increased his pace slightly, his hands sliding from her hips to her waist. Lana's back arched more, changing the angle again, and Tyson groaned at the sensation.
"You feel incredible," he said.
Lana laughed breathlessly. "You're not so bad yourself."
Her breathing became ragged, punctuated by small moans and gasps. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her whole body trembling.
"Tyson," she panted. "I'm close again. How am I close again?"
His thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. Lana's back arched impossibly further, her body taut as a bowstring.
"Come for me," Tyson said. "One more time."
It only took a few more thrusts before Lana's inner muscles began clenching rhythmically around him. She cried out into the pillow, her voice muffled but still clearly full of pleasure.
The sensation of her orgasm pushed Tyson over the edge. His own release built, that familiar pressure at the base of his core. At the last possible second, he pulled out, his hand moving quickly to stroke himself through completion. His release spilled across her lower back, painting the tattoo and the skin around it.
Tyson took several deep breaths, his heart pounding. Lana remained where she was, her body still trembling slightly from her orgasm, her breathing heavy.
"Don't move," Tyson said softly as they came down.
He grabbed the towel he'd discarded earlier. Gently, he cleaned her back, wiping away the evidence of his release. The towel was soft against her skin, and Lana made a small sound of contentment.
"That feels nice," she murmured.
Tyson finished cleaning her, then tossed the towel aside. He lay down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her face.
Lana turned her head to look at him. "I don't even have words." She shifted slightly, wincing. "Though I might be a little sore tomorrow."
Tyson placed his hand on her lower back, right over the tattoo. He channeled a small amount of healing energy, just enough to soothe any soreness or discomfort. Lana's eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a long, contented sigh.
"That's incredible," she breathed. "Like a warm bath but better."
"One of the perks of dating someone with powers," Tyson said.
Lana laughed softly. "I could get used to this."
— Lemons End —
— Meteor Freak —
Lana paused, her eyes opening. She shifted onto her side to face Tyson properly, the sheet pooling around her waist. "Wait. Dating?"
Tyson met her gaze. "Is that a thing you want?"
"I don't know." Lana propped herself up on one elbow, mirroring his position. "What do you think? Want to go public or sneak around? Just our little secret?"
She said it lightly, but there was a genuine question underneath. They'd crossed a line tonight, a significant one, and now they had to figure out what came next.
Tyson was quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on her lower back. "What do you want, Lana? Not what you think I want, or what would be easier. What do you actually want?"
Tyson had been nothing but honest with her from the start. He'd helped her when Tina impersonated her, never judged her for the confusion and hurt that followed. He'd been patient tonight, careful, making sure everything was about her pleasure and comfort.
"I want..." Lana took a breath.
Whatever Lana was going to say died on her lips as the apartment door swung open with a sharp crack.
She yanked the sheet up to her chest. Tyson was already moving, rolling off the bed and onto his feet. He positioned himself between Lana and the door.
Jason Teague stood in the doorway, swaying slightly. His hair was disheveled, his shirt untucked and wrinkled. In his right hand, he held a revolver. The metal was tarnished with age. Even from across the room, Tyson could make out the pentagram carved into the wooden grip.
His eyes had the glassy, unfocused quality of someone who'd been drinking, but underneath that was something worse. Something manic and desperate and barely holding on to rational thought.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His skin had a sallow quality that suggested he'd been running on adrenaline and obsession. His shirt wasn't just untucked. it was misbuttoned, inside out at the collar. His hair stuck up in different directions like he'd been running his hands through it compulsively.
The gun trembled in his grip. Not from weakness. From chemicals flooding his system that were never meant to be there, warping every emotion into something sharp and dangerous.
"Fuck," Tyson said under his breath.
The Gatorade.
Jason had been drinking the same kryptonite-laced punch as the other football players. Tyson should have anticipated this.
"Jason!" Lana's voice was sharp with shock. "What are you doing?"
Jason pointed the gun at Tyson with an unsteady hand. "Get away from her."
"Jason, put the gun down," Tyson said, keeping his voice calm and level. He didn't move, didn't make any sudden gestures. "You don't want to do this."
"Don't tell me what I want!" Jason's voice rose, cracking slightly. He took a step into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. "You think you can just... just take whatever you want? She's mine!"
Lana sat up straighter, clutching the sheet to her chest. "Excuse me? I'm yours?"
"We have something special, Lana." Jason's gaze flickered to her, then back to Tyson. "We had a future. And then this... this thing shows up and ruins everything."
"I'm not a thing," Tyson said quietly. "And Lana's not property. She makes her own choices."
"Choices?" Jason laughed, the sound bitter and slightly unhinged. "You manipulated her. Used your powers or whatever the hell you are to get inside her head."
Tyson's jaw tightened. "I didn't manipulate anyone."
"Jason, you need to leave." Lana's voice was firm despite the fear in her eyes. "Right now. Before you do something you'll regret."
"Regret?" Jason's hand shook as he kept the gun trained on Tyson. "The only thing I regret is not seeing what you were sooner." He took another step forward. "I've been watching you. The way you move, the things you can do. You're not normal."
"Lots of people in Smallville aren't normal," Tyson said.
"Not like you." Jason's voice dropped lower. "I've seen you. The healing, the strength."
Tyson didn't respond. His mind was racing, calculating distances, angles, possibilities. The gun was old but it was still a gun. Even with his powers, a bullet could do serious damage and he needed to make sure Lana didn't get caught in the crossfire.
"I did some research," Jason continued. "Asked around. Talked to people who've seen things in this town. And you know what I figured out?" He laughed again, that same unhinged sound. "You're not human."
Lana made a small sound of protest, but Jason ignored her.
"I don't know what you are exactly. Vampire? Some kind of Demon? Doesn't really matter, does it? Point is, you're not one of us. You're something else. Something dangerous."
"Jason," Tyson said. "That Gatorade did something to you. You're not thinking clearly."
"Ever since you showed up, everything's been wrong. People getting hurt, strange things happening. And you're always right there in the middle of it."
"That's not fair," Lana said. "Tyson's helped people. He saved you from Dan. He stopped Eric Summers. He—"
"He's fooled everyone," Jason interrupted. "Made you all think he's some kind of hero. But I see through it. I see what you really are."
Tyson's hands clenched at his sides. He could feel the electricity building under his skin, responding to his stress and anger. "Put the gun down, Jason. Last chance."
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Jason's smile was sharp and cold. "Go ahead and try. See what happens."
"I don't want to hurt you," Tyson said.
"That's the difference between us." Jason's finger moved to the trigger. "I don't have a problem hurting you."
"Jason, please!" Lana's voice broke. "Don't do this!"
Jason's face softened slightly when he turned to her. "I'm doing this for you, Lana. For us. Once he's gone, we can be together like we're supposed to be."
"We were never supposed to be together," Lana said quietly. "I never felt that way about you."
Hurt, anger, and betrayal flickered across Jason's face. His grip tightened. "You're just confused. He's gotten into your head, made you think—"
"He hasn't done anything except treat me like a person," Lana said. "Like someone who can make her own decisions."
Jason's jaw clenched. He turned his full attention back to Tyson. "It doesn't matter anyway. What you are, what you can do, none of it matters."
"Why's that?" Tyson asked.
Jason's smile returned, wider this time. "Because this gun is special."
He held it up slightly, showing off the pentagram on the grip.
"Back in 1835, when Halley's Comet was overhead..." Jason's voice took on the cadence of someone reciting a story they'd heard many times. "The same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun."
Tyson's stomach dropped.
His mouth went dry.
His pulse hammered in his ears.
"He made it for a hunter," Jason continued. "The story goes he made thirteen bullets. This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him."
"Jason—" Tyson started.
"They say..." Jason's eyes glittered with something dark and triumphant. "They say this gun can kill anything."
The apartment fell silent except for the sound of their breathing.
Tyson stared at the weapon in Jason's hand, at the pentagram carved into the grip.
His chest tightened.
His hands went cold.
He'd absorbed powers from meteor freaks. Had felt confident in his growing abilities. Had started to believe he could handle whatever this town threw at him.
But the Colt wasn't meteor rock.
It was something that operated on different rules.
He'd died once already, or close enough that the distinction didn't matter. Waking up in Smallville with no memory of how he'd arrived. The thought of dying again, permanently this time, with Lana watching…
His breath came shorter. His legs felt unsteady.
For the first time since arriving in this insane town, Tyson wasn't sure he could survive.