Disclaimer: The following piece of writing is a fantasy. It never happened. It has nothing to do with Smallville or the CW or any of the creators of any of the permutations of the characters mentioned. It is no different than writing down a dream I had about a TV show in my dream journal and then sharing that dream journal with my friends via an LJ post. It is no different than talking in a public forum about how much better a movie would have been if it had ended a different way than it did and then lining out that different way. I don't make money from my fantasies, nor any other gain but to hear what other people of like mind think of said fantasies. And no one has domain over my fantasies nor how I choose to express them.
Feedback: Only if you're honest. Chocolate and champagne are always nice, but only if it's honest chocolate and champagne. I'm a sucker for good constructive criticism.
Warnings: Noticeable lack of plot. Slash. Angst. Humour... I think.
Spoilers: Hm. Not a damn one, now that I think about it.
Prequels: Second in the "Manual Transmission" series. Go home for the first.
Sequels: The next in this continuing series is "Grinding It Into Third." Link at the bottom.
Summary: Not every shift is a smooth one. Transmissions tend to stick...
Stuck In Second Gear byline: bipolypesca creation date: December 2005
* * * * * *
Lex spread his thighs wider on instinct as Clark settled like a warm blanket between them.
His kisses, as always, were sweeter than chocolate, warmer than summer, gentle as a mother's touch. His palm cradled Lex's neck carefully, softly, as if Lex might bruise if more were done. His hips didn't thrust, didn't even rub, just laid there, pressing heat against Lex's body, reminding him where they were, what they were doing, and what was bound to follow.
His hair, softer than satin, swept whispers against Lex's forehead as they kissed, making the skin tingle and come alive. Lips soft, so soft, on Lex's mouth; now a flushed cheek; capturing the pliant flesh of an ear; finding the hurried pulse on his overheated throat. Soft and moist, not wet, pressing here, dragging there, making the quietest, the smallest, of osculatory sounds against Lex's skin.
Breath on his flesh, moist warmth dampening his throat, and Clark's fingers crept a smooth, hot caress under the cool slipperiness of silk against his chest. Lex arched.
The buttons were butter. They slid, almost of their own accord, through the slits they'd easily occupied all day, until, chest bare, his arch was an invitation of meretriciousness. Areolae crinkled to near nonexistence, his nipples reached and strained, and were treated to a hot breath each, which offered very little relief.
Lex twisted in his arch, damp fingers trailing up and over the thick, flexing muscles of Clark's shoulders. He dug in behind both scapulae to hold on, and directed the teasing mouth back to his own, where he suckled at Clark's swollen upper lip and bathed it reverently with his tongue.
Scathing breath against his cheek, sudden and sharp, and then Clark was mirroring him with a gentle piety Lex could feel in his blood as it pumped through his tumid lips. Lex sighed: A quiet but penetrating thing that hung in the air long after it had been uttered.
The sound of cotton on denim dominated as Clark adjusted his hips, not for lewd pleasure, but for comfort, slightly lessening the pressure on Lex's turgid loins, and resting more completely in the soft crease to the side. Warm fingers, dry on his nipples, not flicking or pinching, just rubbing there, making them soften with warmth, then harden again with his growing desire for friction.
Lex's hips turned to the side, toward Clark's body that felt further away now, and sought out renewed pressure. The rough, textured stitching of the hip pocket of Clark's jeans pressed against him, hard and unforgiving with the sharpness of bone behind it, and Lex didn't mind. His hips strained farther, pushing engorged flesh into the harsh friction offered by that single tight swathe of fabric.
Lex's breath caught, his kiss stilled, then both started anew with a deeper passion. Hands came away, finally, from the plane of Clark's muscled back. A palm damp with sweat cupped Clark's cheek, the thumb smoothed the delicate flesh under an eye, then swiped gently at a bead of moisture poised on Clark's temple, before fingers delved with greedy relish into the incredibly soft haven of Clark's hair. They grabbed there, and tugged softly, and stayed buried in peace.
Clark's kisses were moving behind an ear that tried to twitch toward him but couldn't, leaving a hot prickle of expectation that balanced there until Clark's lips took pity and kissed firmly upon the shell. Lex swallowed and heard it, sighed, pushed harder against Clark's hipbone, and his free hand sought out a pearl of tightness on Clark's naked chest to skim and stroke and knead.
Clark's mouth came back to his own, and the hand that had so recently been occupied with Lex's chest now stilled his face for kissing; now slid up his cheek; now gently cradled his scalp, tracing across veins and damp skin as if to memorize their feel. His body pressed closer, and Lex's fingers skittered away before their chests collided with the slightly sticky sensation that sweat brought.
Those same fingers traced over Clark's back again, finding the indent of his spine with rapidity and following it down, down, down, sliding here, tripping there, until the tips brushed a silent but bold question across the edge of denim. His thumb slipped underneath it as Clark continued to kiss him, soft, sweet, and hot, lips on lips, and wet sounds without the licentiousness of intermingling.
His cheek grew damp from Clark's hot and moist breath trailing over it, warming him, and he took a breath of his own and slid his fingers under the waistband of Clark's jeans to caress firmly at muscles seated low, low down his back. Clark's body shifted again, dislodging Lex from his friction and causing him to slip instead into a soft place between Clark's hip and belly.
Clark sighed against his lips. "Oh, Lex."
"Clark," Lex whispered, and kissed him more and harder, using the buried hand to adjust the tilt of his head for depth and pressure.
As Clark's hands slid smoothly underneath Lex's shoulders and rested atop them, his kisses softened further and he sighed again. "Oh, Lex. I... I have to go. I have to go home," he murmured, his kisses trailing off across Lex's cheek.
The hand down Clark's pants slid up and pressed firmly into the center of his back. "No, stay for another half hour," Lex said, and turned to seek Clark's lips again and kiss his request in and Clark's agreement out.
Clark suckled at his mouth and began to draw up, soon hovering over him, letting the cold air in, making him shiver. "Lex... I want to," he said in between sweet presses of lips. "You know how my dad is."
Both Lex's arms wrapped more fully around him, tugging him back down. "Five more minutes," he murmured, and stretched up for Clark's mouth again. "Just stay for five more minutes. Come on, you can justify five minutes."
Clark kissed him once with his eyes open, then smiled very softly and nodded. He lowered himself back down, though not on top of Lex this time, but to the side, turning them both so they rested there face to face.
Lex struggled to get his breath back as Clark nuzzled into the space between his neck and the sofa cushion.
"God, this couch is uncomfortable," Lex mumbled among his panting.
Clark faced him again and smiled. "I kind of like it." He squeezed his arms a bit tighter around Lex's body just once, accentuating their closeness, and Lex smiled back, catching the point.
His naked skin was assailed with goose bumps as his sweat dried and the temperature of the room seemed to plummet. Clark held him closer, tighter, and kissed softly at his lips.
Lex's entire body flared, his slowly calming heart increased its rate again, and he pressed himself ever so slightly into Clark's kiss.
Clark backed away, his lips caressing as he left, and he began to sit up. "I have to go."
Lex's hand darted out, grasping a shoulder with a loud slap of skin on skin, and squeezed down. "You said five minutes. That was two. Come here."
Clark grinned down at him. "Actually, you said ‘five minutes.’ And sorry, I didn't look at my watch."
"Well, I did," Lex lied, and grinned back. "And it's only been two."
With a look that was plainly half warning and half indulgence, Clark lay down beside him again. He held Lex's body gently in his arms and kissed his cheek, and Lex struggled to find a tenuous balance that let him breathe and remain still.
"How was school, anyway?" he mumbled against Clark's skin.
"Fine. Normal." Clark's body adjusted, and Lex's leg slipped in between his thighs. A slight pause, and Clark's slid over his hip, bringing them closer together and tangled.
Clark was still hard against his thigh, and Lex's own groin was throbbing out its frustration, but he made no mention of either. It was bad enough Clark had to leave; talking about what he was leaving behind was nothing more than irritable grousing, which Lex refused to employ.
"How was work?"
Lex couldn't keep from smiling. This, too, had become a ritual. "Boring. Normal," he droned back as Clark placed a trail of butterfly light kisses along his neck.
He shrugged Clark out, not subtly, and Clark changed direction, travelling up, and finally gave him the kiss he craved. Lex fell into it, pushed into it, tried tentatively for entrance and to squeeze himself closer.
Lex felt something change in the kiss, a kind of pulling away of Clark's body before he'd actually pulled away, and he tightened his grip around Clark's back. It didn't help. Lex didn't need to be told that Clark was stronger than him. Anyone could plainly see that.
Clark managed, while moving strongly, to move gently, sliding Lex's arms off of him, and finally taking Lex's hands in his own, placing a quick kiss on one of them. "That's more than five, I think. I'd better go," he said, and was not put off that goal by Lex's groping for his nearest biceps.
Lex groaned loudly, comically, which made Clark chuckle as he reached down for his shirt. He met Lex's eyes and smiled an indulgent and wry little thing that made his eyes sparkle and made Lex smirk back at him ridiculously. "Five more minutes?" Lex asked coyly.
Clark laughed out loud, pulling his shirt over his head. He didn't reply as he found his shoes and sat down inches from Lex's body to pull them on and tie the laces.
Lex sat up and got closer, of course. He snaked his arms around Clark's middle, locking them at the right wrist. "Why don't you call your dad and tell him I had a new security system installed and no one can remember the security code, and all the doors and windows are locked tight until the manufacturer can get here and reset it from the outside numerical pad?"
Clark snorted. "Jeez, Lex, someone would think you had a lot of experience lying."
"Someone wouldn't be entirely mistaken." He laid a few kisses up Clark's spine and licked at the skin visible between shirt collar and hairline.
Clark chuckled softly and reached back to rub at the wet spot he'd made. Not to be put off intention, Lex kissed his hand and licked at the webbing between first and second fingers. Clark's hand stilled and Lex moved on to tongue softly between second and third fingers.
Clark suddenly stood up, forcing Lex to let go of him or fall, and looked a bit flushed when he turned around. "I really have to go. I'm sorry."
Lex sighed quietly and tried out a smile of acceptance. "When am I going to see you?"
Clark's eyes shifted away, then back. "Um... Thursday?"
Lex's eyebrows went up. "Th—" He just as quickly composed himself. "Thursday," he repeated softly with a nod. "Thursday it is, then."
Clark swallowed, looking pained. "Sorry. You know I can't—"
"I know. Thursday's fine, Clark. Come here," Lex said, and reached an arm out toward him as Clark walked back to the sofa.
Lex's hand slid up behind Clark's neck and into his hair as Clark leaned down to kiss him for what would be the last time for four days. Lex made it a kiss that was built to last. It started out soft and sweet, no more than a press of lips, and then Lex chose first one, then the other lip to suck at before finally licking Clark's mouth open.
What he did inside of it brought Clark literally to his knees and caused him to wrap hesitant arms around Lex's body. Lex spread his legs wider and shifted closer, redoubling his efforts until the hesitancy vanished and the strength of Clark's embrace was a bit more respectable.
Lex moaned quietly into Clark's mouth as his unsatisfied erection came quickly back to life against Clark's sternum, begging Lex to unfasten his pants and relieve some of the restriction. Clark's hands slid up his back, wrapping their grip finally around Lex's shoulders, and pulling him that last possible bit closer. Heat pricked at Lex's temples, and his skin began to feel a little slick.
With a physical start, Clark broke their kiss, hid his face in Lex's neck as his hug tightened, then released him altogether and stood back up. "My dad's gonna kill me. I have to go," he said hurriedly. "Bye." He offered a quick smile that only highlighted the darkening of his cheeks, and turned to leave the room.
"Bye, Clark."
"Thursday. I promise." He glanced over his shoulder, his smile clearer this time, as he opened the door.
Lex smiled back just before Clark disappeared behind it, closing it as he left. With the soft click of the door, Lex's hand flew to his crotch and he pushed down hard at the aching flesh stretching the teeth of his zipper. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose, trying to listen through the blood pounding in his ears for the sound of Clark getting into his father's truck and driving away. He never did hear it.
With a harsh sigh, Lex lay back on his den's sofa, his head connecting with some force with the cushion. He turned to breathe in the scent Clark had left in the fabric where his hair had brushed repeatedly as he mouthed Lex's neck. It was a clean, fragrant smell of sweet hay and fresh air and some long-faded citrusy shampoo from this morning's shower. There was a slight tang of sweat behind it all, a thick, heady scent that got into Lex's brain and made his eyes roll back in his head.
His groin throbbed. He dug the heel of his palm in harder. It didn't help: some pleasure, some pain, and his body's urgent demand for more of either or, ideally, both. He turned more fully on his side and pressed his nose further into the cushion—into the scent—and unfastened his overtaxed zipper. His groan of relief was lost in the bulk of the sofa.
Lex suddenly jerked his face away from it and slid his hand up to rest on his chest. His brow furrowed as he stared with determination at the ceiling.
He wasn't going to jerk off on his sofa to the smell of Clark's sweat. It was beyond undignified—it was maybe even disturbed. He wasn't going to lie there and think of all the places they could have gone to if Clark hadn't had to go home for dinner. He wasn't going to ride out a masturbatory fantasy as if he had to ‘finish’ what Clark had ‘started.’ As if being held and kissed by Clark wasn't enough for him. As if his libido wasn't under his own control. As if Clark made him out of control.
Lex's cock twitched hard, and he closed his eyes against the resultant shock that travelled up his body. The hand on his chest was making small, slow circles, and was soon colliding rather pleasantly with one of his peaked nipples. He opened his eyes and tried to breathe steadily, rubbing his fingers over and over that hard piece of flesh. They pinched down on it of their own accord, making him gasp, and his head crept slowly to the side, burying his face in that lingering scent again.
There was the smell of oranges under it, from the juice Lex had offered him, and some barely noticeable mint, which he gathered Clark must have eaten just before he arrived. They had tasted wonderful together, mixed with the soft spice of Clark's own unique flavour, when Clark's tongue had tangled briefly with his own...
The orange juice. The orange juice had clung to Clark's lips when he drank of it. His tongue had come out, pink and shining, and licked it away. His red lips had pressed together, and he'd smiled. Lowered his eyes. Shy. But knowing—knowing why Lex had been looking at him as he had.
(The clasp of Lex's pants was constricting. That was why he was releasing it.)
Clark knew his effect. He had to. Lex didn't try to hide it anymore. He stared openly when they were alone, panted freely when Clark kissed him, let his eyes stay hooded with desire when they wished.
(His hand had simply stayed there after releasing the clasp. Its movement now was absent-minded and aimless.)
One could even say that since their relationship had shifted into ‘more than,’ Clark had been using his effect on Lex purposefully. In the past, Lex was certain the things that Clark did that sped up his pulse were accidental. The way he moved naturally affected Lex, and that was no fault of Clark's. But now that Clark knew... he seemed more aware of how he moved. More aware of the things he did that got Lex going. Now he seemed to try to push every one of them just a little farther.
Lex discarded his denial when his fingers slid underneath his briefs. Comparatively cool flesh stroked his burning erection, making him hiss and arch slightly.
His eyes. Clark had begun to use his eyes to their utmost potential. He held Lex's gaze just a little bit longer, looked down demurely just a little more often, blinked just a little slower, tilted his head just a little further when he looked up at Lex from under his eyelashes. Oh, he flirted. God, how he flirted.
Lex's denial was pointless. Clark did make him out of control. Clark took Lex's reserve and slowly tore it into long, uneven shreds before him, making Lex watch. And Lex was fascinated by it. He sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for Clark to do it again while Clark's eyes flirted with him about when and if he might.
His underwear were restraining. He couldn't move.
Lex lifted up and pushed his slacks and briefs halfway down his thighs. Lying back down, he gripped his sac in his right hand and kneaded it roughly while he spat into his left a few times. He spread the scant lubrication around the head of his twitching cock then slid his tightened fist over it and down the shaft.
A groan slipped past his clenched teeth, and the unexpected sound of his own pleasure made his balls tighten. Clark's scent began to get lost in the smell of his own musk and he pushed his face back into the cushion to recapture it. There he found his own smell and Clark's mixed together like a heady cocktail, and his eyes rolled back and fluttered closed.
They smelled like innocence and debauchery. They smelled pretty and raunchy. They smelled like sex in a bottle, like something you'd pay a thousand dollars an ounce for.
Lex squeezed himself hard and began to stroke at a feverish pace. Clark's flirting eyes and spicy mouth and teasing tongue. Clark's hands on his skin, breath on his ear, tongue in his mouth. Clark's lips around his cock.
Oh, god, Clark's lips aroun—
"Ah!" Lex's yell this time was not lost in the cushion, just muffled by it. He stroked himself hard to completion, his legs and head coming up, curling his body slightly, as the long delayed orgasm took him over.
He went limp again, panting, and it was a few minutes before he opened his eyes and looked down at himself. His semen had created a neat, small puddle by his navel. It was easy to swipe away with a tissue and pretend it hadn't happened.
He did distinctly remember telling himself quite firmly that he wasn't going to jerk off on his den's sofa to the smell of Clark's sweat. Oh, well.
It hadn't been the first time, anyway.
* * * * * *
Clark was a good liar. He had lots and lots of experience at lying. He lied basically every day of his life to basically every person he knew. Just... not to his parents. Who had taught him how to lie. Who had taught him how to fool everyone... except them.
But Clark really was a good liar! He had everyone fooled! ...Mostly. Pretty much. Well, fooled enough that they didn't know he was an alien. Of course, some people were suspicious about him. So... maybe he really wasn't all that good a liar, after all. But he really needed to be right now. Like every other day.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he opened the door. His mother was placing the roast in the middle of the table. She looked up at his entrance and smiled.
"What did I say? The boy has timing like a Thanksgiving dinner guest," Jonathan said, drying his hands on a paper towel.
Martha turned part of the way to shoot her husband an indulgent smirk. "Just in time, honey," she said back toward Clark. "Go wash up for dinner."
"M'kay." He shot up the stairs without delay, not actually feeling very hungry, just glad to put off having to lie. Maybe if he was very lucky, he thought as he scrubbed at his hands, his parents wouldn't ask the kinds of questions that would mean he had to lie. Maybe if he was very lucky, it would work out that he wouldn't have to utter a single untruth all night.
"Did you have a good time at Lex's, honey?" his mother was asking him before he was even fully settled into his chair.
He hoped he hadn't blanched, and reached for a roll casually. "Yeah. It was okay."
Jonathan checked his watch. "You were gone a long time, weren't you, son?" he asked. His tone of voice wasn't invasive, just curious. Clark struggled not to duck his head. "What do you boys do over there all afternoon?"
"Jonathan..."
"I'm just asking, Martha. Here, hand me the peas."
Clark didn't say anything, just made a displeased face at the mention of peas. It was as the silence stretched through his dad filling his plate that Clark looked up and found he was being watched by two pairs of eyes for the answer he was hoping to not have to give. "Um, nothing really. Just hang out."
He watched with an only slightly curled lip as his mother served him the agreed upon one spoonful of peas. "Do you have to pile it so high?" he asked morosely.
She shot him a look and scooped just a few of them back off of his plate and put them on her own. "Is Lex still teaching you how to play pool?"
"Yep." He buttered his roll intently.
"You must be getting very good at it by now."
Clark shrugged and took a bite so as to not have to respond. He helped himself to a couple slices of pork loin while he swallowed the bread down.
"Answer your mother's question."
Clark looked up with slightly wide eyes, glanced at his mom, then back to his father. "She didn't ask me a question."
"Clark..." Jonathan warned.
"I'm not that good," Clark mumbled, his gaze back to his own plate. He scooped some of the juices out of the roasting pan and let them drip onto his meat, watching it carefully as if not to spill. "It's a hard game."
"What kind is he teaching you?" she asked, interested. "Eight Ball?"
"Nine Ball. And Straight. We played Seven Ball a couple times, but there wasn't much to learn."
"Do you ever win?"
Clark looked up and met his mother's eyes finally, possibly for the first time that night. He smiled. "I think he lets me sometimes."
She smiled back at him and handed him the bowl of carrots when she was done. These, he piled liberally onto his plate. But he made sure they didn't touch the peas.
"Where did Lex learn so much about pool, anyway?" his dad asked.
Clark shrugged again. "Strategy game. Don't take the first shot you see, think instead about every shot that comes after and what the consequences, opportunities, and possible return will be. Every little mistake you make gives your opponent the chance he needs to defeat you... I'll give you three guesses who his teacher was."
There was a quiet pause, and Clark raised his eyes just long enough to offer a small, pained smile to his father. "...Right," Jonathan said, and dropped his gaze.
For a minute or so, no one spoke, just enjoyed their meal. Then Jonathan mentioned something offhandedly about the farm and it set off a whole different subject of discussion.
As his parents chatted with one another, Clark glowered at his plate. He folded up his napkin and began to dab in between the peas and his half-eaten pork loin.
His mom broke off in the middle of a sentence. "Clark!"
He looked up, incredulous. "They're leaking!"
Martha stopped just short of rolling her eyes, and took his napkin away from him. "Peas do not leak," she said seriously. "Eat them."
Clark scowled back down at his dinner and unostentatiously used his fork to pack the rest of his food tighter together, farther away from the ever widening circle of pea juice that seemed primed to devour everything pleasant-tasting in its path. It was insidious. Possibly lethal. Maybe even sentient.
"Can't I just have some spinach or something?" he mumbled. "Lima beans? Brussels sprouts?"
"You said you would eat a spoon's worth of them whenever I serve them, Clark," she reminded him. "We agreed."
With exaggerated gestures, Clark picked up his own teaspoon and showed it to her. "I meant this size spoon!" He stabbed viciously through the air with it in the direction of the bowl of peas. "Not that monster of a thing from, like, the nineteen twenties. You could pick up the whole roast with that thing!"
In unison, his parents’ forks clattered onto their plates, they each raised a hand to their mouth, and focussed their gaze on the tablecloth. Snickers came from both of them as they each tried very hard not to laugh.
Clark smiled, tasting victory in the air. "You wouldn't even have to take it out of the pan first!"
His father snorted and laughter bubbled out of his mother's mouth, her best effort all for naught. "Oh, Clark!" she exclaimed, leaning back in her chair.
Parents sufficiently occupied with laughter, Clark grabbed a new napkin, folded it, and resumed dabbing, determined, at the pool of pea juice which was coming dangerously close to contaminating his mashed potatoes. Because once peas succeed in contaminating mashed potatoes, there's nothing you can do to detoxify them. Clark knew that for certain from personal experience.
"Oh, for goodness’ sake, just scoop them back into the bowl!" Martha shoved the bowl of peas at him, giving in finally with a pitying shake of her head.
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Clark scooped the viscous little things back whence they came. He held the rest of his food back and practically tipped the plate vertical to divest himself of the noxious juice, then swiped the rest of it thoroughly away with his napkin.
After one last swipe to be certain there was no residue left behind, Clark happily resituated his remaining meal to fill his plate more evenly.
"Next time we have peas, you're having lima beans, young man. You have to eat green vegetables."
"I like salad," he muttered, and transferred some of his pork drippings to his potatoes.
"You like iceberg salad. It's nutritionless; it doesn't count."
"It's green!" he challenged, wide-eyed.
"It's white," Martha countered. "Like grapes. It doesn't count. Eat your dinner."
Clark pretended to be cowed, smiling all the while, knowing his parents were watching him with just the same amount of faux chastisement and humourous indulgence.
The rest of the meal went pretty well. He didn't have to lie. Well. Not really.
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
Thursday
"Do you think I'm gay?" Clark was asking, mouth inches from Lex's own, and gaze firmly fixed on it.
Lex tried to meet his eyes, but didn't want to move away, so he saw only a blurred version of Clark's face. He waited a moment, certain, as close as Clark was, that he would kiss him again before Lex had a chance to answer. He didn't.
"Doesn't matter what I think," Lex murmured. "Does it?" He moved his head just slightly, just enough to brush Clark's lips with his own. "What do you think?"
A pause, and then Clark was kissing him again. A little harder than he usually did, but still sweet, and still closed mouthed, and still enough to make Lex glad they were lying down because he'd just lost faith in his knees’ ability to support his weight.
Clark slackened his lips and parted them, rubbing back and forth and up and down over Lex's mouth and making the kiss sloppy and hot. He finally pulled away, his breath a little faster. He rubbed his thumb over Lex's still parted lips. "I don't think I'm exactly straight," he whispered.
Lex laughed quietly and Clark was kissing him again. Softer this time, but with an illusion of deepness that Clark seemed to be able to achieve simply by holding Lex tighter and closer every time their lips collided.
"Does that bother you?" Lex asked when Clark released his mouth again.
"What?" Clark asked absently, fingers trailing softly over the line of Lex's bottom lip.
"Being not exactly straight."
Clark smiled softly, still watching Lex's mouth, and shook his head in a definitive negative. "Sometimes I think it might bother other people, though. If they knew."
"It will," Lex agreed without hesitation. "Some people. Does that bother you?"
Clark shrugged a shoulder and placed a kiss where he'd been tracing. "Maybe," he whispered, and finally met Lex's eyes for a moment. "But not enough."
The corner of Lex's mouth went up moments before Clark resumed their kiss.
"Why don't we move somewhere a little more comfortable?" Lex suggested later, when Clark's kisses began to trail along his cheek.
"I like this sofa," Clark whispered, speaking from right behind Lex's ear, and causing a tingle of goose bumps to spread from there all the way down Lex's spine. "It's the first place in your house that you ever kissed me."
Lex smiled at the memory. "Sentimentality aside... there'd be much less chance of falling off of a bed and landing in an undignified pile on the floor."
"What, like this?" Lex gasped as Clark rolled them quickly off the sofa. He landed on his back with a thud, Lex sprawled atop him, both laughing.
"Something like this," Lex agreed, and adjusted to hands and knees, kneeling between Clark's thighs and smiling down at him. It took only seconds before the opportunities of this new position began to present themselves to him, one by sordid one, and he plucked a choice gently out of the air to initiate. He lowered to take Clark's smiling mouth.
Clark breathed a slow sigh as Lex deftly worked his way through Clark's closed lips and teeth, finally tasting of a tongue that wasn't often offered to him. He licked gently at it until it began to respond with sweet little flicks of its own, then spent several well used minutes encouraging it to dance with him.
When he finally broke away, he was panting, watching Clark's reddened lips turn up at him in a satiated smile. He smiled back in response, but Lex was far from satiated.
Swiftly, he went for an earlobe, which he breathed hotly at and teased with barely there licks from the tip of his tongue until the whole of the shell was candy red. He finally sucked the warmed flesh into his mouth and bit gently down, then retreated to blow cool air over it. The little hairs that lined the back of Clark's neck stood up and took notice. Lex blew cool air at them, too, and the skin goose bumped ever further. Then he moved to the other side to do much the same.
Clark's hands were under Lex's shirt, petting and stroking softly at his back. His touch was sweet and gentle and undemanding. In contrast, Lex's fingers were busily teasing a nipple to life while the other hand alternated between yanking Clark's shirt up farther and farther, and exploring each new piece of skin that was revealed.
Soon, his hands had gone as far as they could go, and Lex sat up to get Clark's shirt off the rest of the way.
Clark was still smiling up at him, that small smile of lazy contentment, as if he could spend years doing this very thing and be perfectly at ease. He lifted his arms over his head and arched his back as Lex pulled his shirt up. But the look of him there, stretched out, almost presenting, skewed Lex's attention. He held the shirt in place, inside out, imprisoning Clark's arms and keeping him blind, and swooped down to attack one of the hard nipples reaching out to him.
Clark arched further, in pleasure, or because he was trapped, or both, Lex wasn't sure. But the sight of it, and the feel of Clark's chest pushing up against his mouth, made Lex groan and throb. His underwear felt tight and damp, all of his clothes constricting. Clark made a small sound, a kind of grunt in his throat, and twisted his torso, which offered up his thus far ignored left nipple. Lex switched sides instantly.
Clark arched further, then fell flat against the floor. His chest rosed. "Lex?" came a muffled question from under the shirt. "I can't—" He struggled his arms a little, reminding Lex he was still being held down, and still blinded.
With one last swirl of tongue around the bud in his mouth, Lex leaned up and pulled Clark's shirt the rest of the way off. His face was red underneath, his brow damp, and he was panting. Lex claimed his swollen lips even as he directed Clark's hands to the buttons at the bottom of his shirt. Lex himself started on the top, and undid four to Clark's two. From the slight clatter, it must have landed on the coffee table when Lex tossed it aside.
Clark's hands slid up Lex's chest slowly, then settled, one on the back of his neck, one on a shoulder. Fingers trailed over and over, delicately, across the soft indent at the base of Lex's skull. His shoulder was squeezed and released, and Clark began to knead it gently.
With a wide, rolling shrug, Lex tried to encourage the hand off his shoulder and down—encourage it to roam. It did slide down and over and then Clark was holding him close by an arm around his back.
Clark was hard against Lex's hip. Lex wanted very much to slide the two of them together, to feel the electric tingle of friction even through so much fabric, and to know that Clark felt the same thing at the same time. But there was a difficulty involved due to the both of them apparently having dressed to the left that morning. So Lex simply tilted his pelvis more acutely and let them each rub in the shallow dip beneath the other's hipbone.
Clark made no overt sound, no overt moves, he never did. But the thrust of Lex's body against his cock must have done something to him—his breathing was a little different, his kisses a little more uneven. A slight sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his cheeks darkened just a shade more.
"Do you like that?" Lex asked in a whisper. He hovered inches from Clark's face, watching him, watching his closed eyelids flicker.
Clark's neck flushed in streaks. "It's nice," he mumbled, his lips barely moving. Then he took a sharp breath in and finally opened his eyes. Finding Lex's gaze, he smiled, and the hand around Lex's neck tugged him down for another sweet kiss.
Fingers travelled over Lex's scalp, tracing gently, and one of his arms was being rubbed in soft up and down motion. He wanted more and elsewhere, but there was still a trail of goose flesh wherever Clark's fingers touched.
Lex tilted his head, kissed Clark deeper, plunged headlong into his mouth and requested a tango without ado. Clark's tongue tried to give him a waltz, but Lex tangled it up and went about transforming it into the dirtiest waltz anyone had ever danced.
Clark's erection was being pressed firmly into Lex's hip every time he rocked down to rub at it. His body was still, letting Lex move as he might, stroke them together as he wished, titillate as he wanted. Their kiss was still deep, and Lex's crotch was alive, feeling as if it might burst into flames at any moment if it wasn't eased with the friction it craved. He ground himself into Clark's hipbone hard, and grunted into his mouth at the bittersweet shock.
One hand twisted in Clark's hair, and the other raced down, suddenly, finally, to grasp and squeeze and massage at the hard length he knew was begging to be set free. Clark's body jerked, breaking their kiss sloppily, and he sucked a loud breath in through his teeth.
Then he shoved Lex's hand away.
"Don't," Clark whispered, not meeting his eyes.
Lex's kamikaze hand took up residence on the inside of Clark's thigh instead. He swallowed, and searched Clark's face with his eyes. "Just on the outside," he tried to ask. It came out more like a demand, but breathless.
"No," Clark said very quietly, and blushed harder than he had been. "Just... I..."
"Clark—"
"Just don't, okay?"
"Yeah, okay." He didn't want to say that, didn't want to agree, but he couldn't very well argue about what Clark wanted from him... or didn't want.
It had been the most daring, up front move he'd made in the two months since their relationship had shifted. And yet, somehow, the outcome of it wasn't unexpected. Somehow, he knew Clark wasn't ready for it, or just didn't want all of the same things out of them that Lex did. But he hadn't actually thought about any of that while he was doing it.
"You can touch me if you want," Lex offered, breathing the words across Clark's lips.
Clark glanced up briefly, caught Lex's eyes for only a second, shyly, then looked away again. He shook his head.
Lex sighed heavily, but kept it quiet and without rancor. Closing his eyes, he pushed his face into the side of Clark's neck and tried to stop panting.
Both Clark's arms went around his back and he was held close against Clark's chest where he couldn't make out the second heartbeat because his own was pattering so fast and loud. They laid still for a few long minutes until Lex's breathing was nearing normal again.
He took a deep breath and only barely adjusted his head on Clark's shoulder, and it opened up a sudden moment of expectant silence in the air. At the exact same time, they both filled it.
"I'm sorry."
Lex raised his head to look into Clark's face. He was smiling apologetically—the kind of smile you offer when what you want doesn't mesh with what someone else wants, and the someone else is just going to have to deal with it.
"You don't have anything to be sorry about, Clark. I'm sorry I overstepped a... boundary you've set," Lex finished with a shrug. He sighed shortly and tried out a lopsided smirk. "I'm sorry I ruined the moment."
"You didn't ruin it," Clark said quietly. He rubbed softly at Lex's back. "Not stopping when I asked you to, that would have been ruining it. Besides," he shrugged, "I kind of like this moment."
Lex knew his smile filled his face at the sound of that whispered admission. His body was frustrated but resigned, and now he just felt comfortable and close, lying on the floor, being held, and talking in honest, low tones. Really, he rather liked this moment himself.
Lex moved to kiss him.
"Lex, I—"
"Don't tell me," Lex interrupted, and smiled. "You have to go home?"
Clark laughed softly. "No. No, I don't have to go home yet. I was just going to say that..." he trailed off and swiped the back of a hand over his forehead. "It's kind of hot, isn't it?"
Lex chuckled. "Yeah, a bit."
"You want to go swimming? Pass the time? Maybe..." His eyes dropped and rose again very quickly, taking in the whole of them with a glance, and adding heavy meaning to his words. "Cool off a little?"
Lex held his breath. He wondered how to voice what he was thinking without coming off like a complete hormone case. "Did you... bring...?"
Clark shrugged. "My boxers are dark enough."
He let out the breath he was holding, and smiled. Adjusting up to elbows and knees, the former on either side of Clark's head, and the latter between Clark's thighs, Lex lowered to place a quick kiss on Clark's mouth, then got to his feet. "Sure. Let's go."
He reached down to help Clark to his feet, but there was little to no pressure actually put on his arm when Clark got up.
"I'll go make sure the temperature isn't set too high. Meet you down there?"
Clark nodded, but didn't move away. He didn't let go of Lex's hand, either. He simply took a step closer, wrapped his free arm around Lex's shoulders, and leaned down to kiss him long, slow, and deep. Even his tongue made an appearance, courting Lex's into a lover's slow dance.
Lex melted into Clark's chest, but locked his knees to avoid melting right onto the floor.
When Clark pulled his mouth away, it took several seconds for Lex's eyes to open again. When they did, Clark was smiling at him. "Thanks for understanding," he whispered.
Lex was busily constructing a reply, but it took too long, and by the time it made even a modicum of sense, Clark had left the room, presumably to divest himself of the rest of his clothes in a more private setting. So no one but Lex heard Lex mumble, ‘You're welcome.’
*
Lex was generally more of a Speedo man. But he wasn't an idiot, and he didn't particularly care for being embarrassed by obvious, unwanted erections. So he was wearing the baggiest swimming trunks he owned.
He was squatting by the water's edge, running his hand through it, and nodding at the cool, but not cold, feel of it, when the sound of large, bare, pattering feet got his attention. He turned toward the sound without standing, and long, defined legs framed by soft cotton, dark blue boxer shorts went right past him. A single finger trailed along his shoulder as a kind of ‘hello.’ Lex's cock leapt in his trunks. Good decision, the trunks.
"Water good?"
Lex swallowed down the tightness in his throat and spoke normally. "Perfect for swimming."
"Great!" Clark said with a smile and began jogging around to the deep end.
Once there, he got a short running start and dove into the water like a long, lean slice of sex.
Cool off. Right.
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
Several Weeks Later
"I can't. I have... plans."
"‘Plans’?" Chloe parroted, grinning from ear to ear. "Hear that, Pete? Clark has ‘plans.’"
Pete laughed and joined in. "Ohh, I get it. Those ‘plans’ wouldn't happen to have long, dark brown hair, big brown eyes, legs up to here," he gestured at his neck, "and be just a touch overly fond of pink, would they?"
Clark's eyes shifted to Chloe, who looked down and tried not to appear offended or uncomfortable at the mention of Lana's legs, but she didn't really pull it off. She never did. Pete didn't seem to notice.
Clark looked back to Pete and smiled. He shook his head slightly. "Nope. ’Fraid not."
Chloe leaned forward, sliding halfway into reporter stance. "Well, do tell, Clark. What are these super secret ‘plans’ you're not letting anyone in on? And we want details."
"Yeah," Pete agreed, and sat forward as well.
Clark shrugged, feeling his face heat. "No super secret plans," he said casually. "I'm just hangin’ out with Lex, that's all."
They sat back again in unison, and this time neither of them covered up their offence very well. "Since when is hanging out with Lex ‘plans’?" Pete asked.
"Why don't you just hang out with him some other time?"
"Yeah, Clarkbar, why don't you just cancel?"
"You'll have more fun with us anyway."
It was a double-barrelled barrage. He couldn't fit a word in between them.
"I can't," he said when they were finally done. He tried to sound apologetic.
"Why not?" in stereo.
"It's just, I told him... that..." Clark trailed off and tapped at the desk with the pen he was fidgeting with. "See, he's got this new... video game," he lied with a shrug, "and we kind of planned to... try it out to-night."
Chloe sat back, crossing her arms over her chest and looking far from satisfied, but Pete was suddenly both more interested and more forgiving.
"Which game?"
"Um..." Clark watched Chloe, who worked on changing her expression from mildly annoyed to mildly interested. She failed. "That new one. I forget what it's called."
There was a quick beat of silence while Pete thought about it. "What, Unreal Championship?"
"Yeah, that one." Trust Pete to be able to come up with the name of the newest, coolest video game that one could both conceive of Lex Luthor buying, and understand Clark ditching his friends to try out.
"Awesome! Hey, see if he'll let you borrow it. You could come over this weekend and we could try it out on my Xbox."
"Oh. Okay." Great. Now he either had to say Lex was an asshole and wouldn't let him borrow it, or he was going to have to ask Lex to buy the stupid thing. Clark didn't even know what Unreal Championship was.
"Great." Pete hopped down off the desk he was sitting on and clapped Clark on the shoulder. "You have until then to prepare for getting your butt whooped. C'mon, Chloe." He gestured for her to follow, and she slowly got out of her chair, watching Clark the entire time. "Let's see who else wants to go."
"Okay. See ya, Clark," she said as she passed him, and touched his arm. "Enjoy your... game."
"Thanks."
As soon as they were out of the room, he sighed heavily and tossed the pen onto the papers scattering the desk.
Clark didn't want to go to the stupid party, anyway. It was going to be like every other stupid party Chloe and Pete had ever dragged him to. He'd really much rather spend the night hanging out with Lex.
He just wished he hadn't had to get himself caught up in a stupid lie that he was going to have to recount to Lex so that Lex could buy a stupid video game he probably didn't want, so that it wouldn't be found out Clark had told the stupid lie in the first place. Not to mention he had vivid visions of spending about thirty hours of his upcoming weekend trying not to damage the buttons on the Player 2 controller to Pete's Xbox. He'd been through two other controllers already, and Pete's dad looked at him with narrowed eyes every time he got near the stupid game system anymore.
Clark sighed again and his line of sight wandered the room. It ended up landing on the clock. He stared at it until the minute hand moved, and then realized what it was trying to tell him.
Great. He was late for class.
* * * * * *
Lex stared at the clock. The minute hand moved.
Three months.
That wasn't how long he'd been looking at the clock, of course. That was how long it had been since he and Clark'd had their ‘shift.’ Three months since their first kiss, and three months since their last sleepover.
Three months of necking. Three months of bare chests and fastened trousers. Three months of kissing, cuddling, and stolen moments. Three months of cold showers and unused condoms.
Lex was a frustrated, horny, sad little man.
He leaned back into his headrest and ran a hand down his face.
When was anything ever simple, smooth, and expected with Clark, anyway? After all, Lex hadn't ever expected the shift to happen—certainly not the way that it had—but it did. He'd never expected to be in the position he was in now, thinking about how kissing Clark for three months didn't seem to be enough for him.
They'd known each other for a year and a half before anything had changed. When it did, it was sudden and incredible and stopped Lex in his tracks. It was jarring. Clark was always jarring. Maybe Lex and Clark's relationship was always going to stick one way or another. Maybe nothing between them would ever be anything less than jarring. Maybe that was how they were destined to interact with one another.
Then again, Clark was young. He was inexperienced and maybe even scared about what came next. Maybe Lex was even being foolish about the entire thing. Perhaps three months—or much more than—of nothing but necking was normal for a high school kid Clark's age. How the hell did Lex know what was normal?
He'd been eleven the first time a girl had sex with him—and she had definitely been the one having sex with him, not the other way around. Lex didn't think he'd moved once the entire episode. He'd been thirteen when he'd received his first male blowjob, fourteen the first time he'd had anal sex with another boy, and fifteen when he'd had his own figurative cherry plucked.
What exactly constituted normality for a sixteen year old in his first gay relationship in a medium-sized town in rural Kansas? For all Lex knew, this was supposed to go on for years before they evolved.
If Lex was honest with himself, this wasn't precisely what was bothering him. If Clark had said, ‘I've never done this before and I want to go slow,’ it might have been a bit easier to swallow—a lot easier. Sure, Lex found it puzzling and disconcerting that things were moving so slowly. It was snail-like compared to anything else he'd ever experienced. But what actually worried him was the fact that Clark didn't seem bothered by it.
Or, more exactly, Clark didn't seem bothered by him. Clark was a red-blooded American teenager whose hormones should be raging like a freight train ready to jump its tracks. But he never seemed close to losing control with Lex. He never made more than the slightest of noises, or a single random, jerky movement. He never acted like he was overexcited, or like Lex was driving him crazy.
Clark barely had to flutter his eyelashes to drive Lex crazy. Where was the balance, damn it?
As time went on and nothing changed and nothing moved and everything just seemed to stick, Lex became more and more worried about what it was, exactly, that he was participating in. He kept running that first night through his mind over and over again, analyzing every move, every word, every full silence. Had he misunderstood? Had he assumed?
What did he mean to Clark? Were they friends that kissed? Was he an experiment? Was Clark even affected by him at all? Lex was no fool—he knew that sometimes the chemistry only went one way. Was Clark just afraid to say that Lex simply didn't do it for him? Had Clark started something that he didn't know how to finish without ruining the friendship they'd worked so hard to build?
The question it really came down to in the end was: Was Clark holding himself back because he wanted to go slow or was Clark holding Lex back because he just didn't want anything else? It was a simple question, and it should be easy to ask. But in all the opportunities he'd had, Lex never seemed to be able to get it out.
To-night, he decided. To-night he'd bite the bullet and voice the question he'd just spent the better part of his afternoon mulling over. It was no use losing any more productivity over this than he had to.
* * * * * *
Lex got to his feet at the sound of door opening behind him. "Hey, Clark."
They met, as usual, in the den. Lex had first brought Clark in there almost three months ago to discuss what had happened a few nights before in Clark's bed. When Clark had asked why this room that he'd never even seen before, Lex had told him that the conversation was so different from any they'd ever had, he felt a new venue was appropriate. After that, it just became ritual. They had built their friendship in Lex's office and library. They'd build their romance here.
"Happy anniversary."
Lex was astounded to turn and find Clark walking toward him with a gorgeous bouquet of butter yellow Asiatic lilies in his hand.
He stood there, stunned, possibly even with his mouth hanging open, as Clark crossed the room, kissed his cheek, and offered the flowers, blushing to the tips of his ears.
Lex jerked in place and finally thought to reach out for them. As soon as Clark's hands were both empty, he shoved them roughly into his back pockets. Lex stared, dumbfounded, at the myriad of blossoms and the pods yet to bloom. Their rich, sweet scent rose up invitingly to tickle his nose.
He met Clark's eyes finally. "I... w— Thank you... Clark," he stuttered out, his voice sounding as amazed as he felt.
Clark shrugged, grinning goofily.
"I hadn't..." Lex looked back at the flowers, just then realizing the extravagance of them. Clark got a petty weekly allowance, for god's sake. "Jesus, Clark, these are very expensive," Lex breathed.
Clark shrugged again, still grinning, and said nothing.
"You didn't have to do this."
"Do you like them?"
"Like them? They're incredible."
"Then I'm glad I did it."
It was Lex's turn to grin like an idiot. It faded a few seconds later as he realized that he hadn't gotten Clark a blessed thing, and he'd been all set to have a serious discussion about what Clark was expecting from their relationship.
Here it was their three month anniversary, Clark was giving gifts, and Lex was brooding.
"I'm going to... find something to put these in. I'll be right back."
He squeezed Clark's arm as he went by, and left the room still staring down into the flowers. On his way to the solarium, two staff persons separately asked him if he'd like them to take care of the flowers, but Lex waved them each off. Besides that Clark had given him the gift, so it was only appropriate that he care for it himself, he could use a moment alone to think.
There was a one-day old bouquet of lavender roses in the vase Lex wanted to use—the Waterford Julia—so he tossed them carelessly onto a display table and set about rinsing the vase out. The crystal wasn't dirty, but it bought him some time and would be a viable excuse if he was asked what had taken him so long.
One solitary anniversary gift—an extravagant anniversary gift—had just managed to turn everything on its head. Clark was taking them seriously. Very seriously.
Damn it! Lex couldn't believe he hadn't thought to get a gift!
Three months felt like such a long time. But he and Clark only saw one another about twice a week. They had both been very determined to keep this development a secret, and that meant not changing their behaviour toward one another in public, nor seeing each other any more often than they normally did. So, what did that mean time-wise?
Lex counted it up quickly in his head.
It was more like a month, wasn't it? A month of actually being together. A month wasn't that long of a time. It especially wasn't that long of a time for a serious relationship.
Lex was jumping the gun. He was worried about nothing. He was paranoid. He was being impatient. He was being an asshole.
An asshole without a gift. Damn it!
*
When Lex came back to the den, vase carefully in hand, Clark was crouching by the entertainment center, laughing.
Clark didn't laugh that hard very often that Lex had heard, so he couldn't help smiling as he rearranged some things to find the perfect place to display his flowers.
"Normally people laugh while they're watching movies, not just looking at the boxes."
He turned as Clark was pivoting toward him, holding up a rectangular case with lettering on it that Lex couldn't make out from where he was standing.
"Why? What is it?"
"Unreal Championship!"
Confused, but still smiling, Lex slid his hands into his pockets. "I bought it last week. Have you been wanting to try it out?"
Clark chuckled some more and shook his head. "No, not really. But Pete does. Would you mind if we borrowed this for the weekend?"
Lex shrugged, unconcerned, and began to cross the room. "Knock yourself out."
"Thanks." Huge smile on his face, Clark reached up to put the game on a higher shelf alone, presumably so he wouldn't forget it later.
For a split second, Lex considered lying through his teeth and saying he'd purchased it for Clark as an anniversary present. But a well timed prick of conscience told him to knock it the hell off.
"The lilies are beautiful, Clark. I really appreciate that."
Clark's cheeks coloured as he got to his feet, hid his hands in his pockets, and shrugged again.
"And I'm..." Lex glanced away and laughed once, sardonically, at himself. "I'm really rather embarrassed to admit that I haven't gotten you anything. I didn't forget," he rushed to add. "I knew it was three months to-day, it's just... gifts didn't actually cross my mind. I'm sorry."
"Oh, that's okay," Clark said. He didn't sound resigned. Rather, surprised to receive an apology. "I wasn't expecting anything. We didn't really discuss it."
"Still." He stopped advancing a couple of feet away. "Let me make it up to you. Why don't you tell me something you'd like?"
Clark literally waved him off, shaking his head and looking uncomfortable. "I don't need anything, Lex. Let's just..." he gestured vaguely toward the sofa, "...hang out and watch a movie or something."
Lex nodded at the game. "Don't you want to try that out?"
"Are you kidding? I'm gonna get repetitive stress injuries in both thumbs this weekend having to play it with Pete for two four hour blocks each day. No thanks."
Lex chuckled and gestured toward the monstrous cabinet in the corner where most of his DVDs were kept. "Your choice," he said, and settled himself onto the sofa.
Clark crossed the room and opened the cabinet. He almost immediately only seemed interested in the DVDs located below the middle rack, and he was not bending at the knees.
Lex let out a slow, steady breath, and dropped his head back to tear his eyes away from the manner in which Clark's jeans seemed to cup and hold up for display each perfectly proportioned globe of his ass. He had to have known he was doing that.
Closing his eyes against their struggle to take ‘just one more peek,’ Lex hoped very much for a G-rated Disney movie.
* * * * * *
Lex saw the credits rolling out of the corner of his eye and couldn't have cared less. They'd only made it through three quarters of the thing, anyway, and Lex had seen it before. The character whose actress had first billing was the one who lived to be killed off in the first five minutes of the next sequel. In the shower, of course.
Clark lay atop him, straddling his legs, and setting his neck afire with sharp scrapes of teeth and soft brushes of lips. Lex's shirt lay unbuttoned and wide open. Clark's was already on the floor with their shoes.
Lex's hands traversed the plane of Clark's back, stopping just short of sneaking under the band of his jeans every time, with conscious effort. He panted quietly at the ceiling, taking the time to swallow occasionally against his dry mouth and throat.
He was hard and aching—he was always hard and aching—and he struggled to refrain from pressing himself up against the warm body hovering over him. Clark was kissing his mouth now, sweet and soft and dry. A hand travelled flat over the muscles of Lex's chest, pausing nowhere, offering no favouritism. Lex twisted toward it, first right, then left, trying to direct it to the most sensitive places, but fingers only brushed gently over his nipples without stopping to investigate.
He buried a hand in Clark's hair and probed with his tongue, his mouth suddenly watering with the thought of tasting Clark's. With almost no hesitation, Clark let him in, and though he didn't quite tango, he certainly wasn't playing a waltz. Lex's trousers grew warmer, and damp. He moaned into Clark's mouth.
Clark remained on his knees, not putting enough of his weight on Lex's body, offering only the occasional and accidental brush of jean clad warmth against Lex's crotch. It was maddening.
He wanted touch, friction, contact. He had to have it, and he finally gave in to that. He squirmed—knew it was squirming, and did it anyway—trying anything, any move, any shift, to press himself more firmly against Clark's body. In his gyrations, one of his knees came up between Clark's legs, and Lex stopped its motion just in time to avoid hurting him.
At that moment, Clark had been kissing a trail down Lex's neck, and his body had shifted lower, pressing Lex's thigh against his crotch. It was all the suggestion—intentional or not—that Lex needed. Almost without even thinking about it, he took up a constant rubbing, side to side, and up and down as much as he could, which wasn't much, over the hard, beckoning length in Clark's jeans.
Clark felt as hard as he was. Lex's cock twitched at the thought. "Clark," he groaned near a blood red ear, and sucked the lobe of it into his mouth.
Clark made one of those small sounds: A kind of a part sigh and part quiet moan without ever opening his mouth. Then his pelvis rolled slightly, giving a short moment of sweet connection between Clark's hip and Lex's erection. Lex bucked into it and whispered Clark's name again.
The fingers of one hand gave up the struggle and delved beneath the barrier of Clark's jeans. His fingertips stood precariously just below, but on top of, the band of Clark's briefs. When there was no immediate objection forthcoming, the other hand raced to slide alongside the first.
Clark's mouth was buried somewhere behind his ear, his nose pressed against the shell of it and blowing puffs of hot, moist breath into Lex's ear canal. Goose bumps started at the back of Lex's neck and raced halfway down his back. He arched up in a wave from chest to thigh and fought to yank Clark's body down, more firmly atop him. Clark finally gave in and laid flat, and found a place to suck on behind Lex's other ear.
He was so quiet. Coming along because Lex wanted him to, and getting very close to the moment when Lex knew it would stop and there would be cuddling and talk with a stark lack of that floaty afterglow feeling. Right now, he didn't care. He just wanted everything he could get for now and the rest would wait ’til later. The rest could keep—until Clark was ready and everything was exactly the way he wanted it to be.
Lex tried to shrug Clark's face out of his neck, wanted to taste the spice of his mouth again, the chocolate still lingering there from the drink he'd been served, the mint almost completely faded away from whatever sugary candy it was that he ate right before he arrived every time, and the exotic, unique spiciness of his own taste. But Clark wouldn't budge. His face was pressed tightly against Lex's skin, his breath coming fast and making a warm, moist place by Lex's pulse.
Lex chanced pushing his hands further down Clark's jeans and tried grabbing at what firm roundness he could reach. Clark made a strange, guttural sound, jerked in place and shuddered, and Lex's hands stilled, awaiting the command to retreat.
It didn't come.
Clark's cheek felt like fire on Lex's neck, and he'd gone completely still, panting there, not kissing.
"Are you all right with this?"
There was the sound of a swallow and the quiet smack of Clark's mouth opening, but then it closed again and he said nothing. Just breathed there, skin burning.
"Clark?" Lex's hands began to retreat on their own. Silence was not an affirmative answer. He tried to shrug Clark out of his neck again. Clark's face was pushed harder into him in protest.
"Clark, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" It seemed like it was going to be a struggle to lift Clark's face out of his neck using even his hands, but then Clark suddenly allowed himself to be pulled back and Lex got an eyeful of his red, shining face. Sweat had clung to his hair, making it curl wetly on his forehead, his eyes were closed tight, the lashes wet, and he panted loudly.
Mouth poised to ask a question, Lex felt a sudden and surprising single damp spot on his thigh.
He looked down, but could see nothing for Clark's body pressed tight against him.
"Clark...? Did you just...?"
"I'm sorry." Clark wrenched his face out of Lex's grasp and shoved it flat against Lex's chest, hiding. "I'm sorry. I was trying not to."
Lex felt heat travel up his body and colour his face. "Trying not to...?"
"You kept rubbing your leg on... you know." The words were muffled, but easily understood.
Lex actually had to think about it—think back to it—but then remembered he had been doing just that. He'd been rubbing Clark's groin with his thigh, automatically, absently... and he'd caused Clark to come right in his pants. He had the sudden ridiculous urge to pump his fists in the air.
"I'm really sorry."
Lex's hands had been uselessly hovering in shock over Clark's body. He finally lowered them to rub at his slick back. "Sorry? Don't be sorry. I didn't realize... Are you all right?" A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth—a very self-satisfied grin—but he bit it back.
"Yeah." It was high-pitched, sounding comical, and Lex did let out a single chuckle.
"Do you want to go clean up?" he asked. His smile was beyond his control now.
There was a pause. Then, "What about you?"
Lex laughed out loud. "Trust me, Clark, I couldn't be more satisfied."
Clark's face stayed buried against his chest for nearly a minute while his body tensed up tighter and tighter until he finally mumbled, ‘be right back,’ shot off of Lex and the sofa, and straight to the nearest bathroom without ever looking Lex in the eye once.
Lex was still grinning like a moron when the den door slammed behind him.
‘Happy anniversary,’ indeed.
Lex's paranoia was going to bite him in the ass one of these days. He'd been obsessed over the possibility that Clark wasn't interested in him, when the fact of the matter simply was that Clark was a slow and gentle lover. He'd probably always be a slow and gentle lover. That didn't mean he wasn't interested.
Lex had apparently spent too much of his life surrounded by sluts and whores. Here someone came along who wasn't overt, crude, crass, or otherwise fast to bed, and all Lex could think was ‘he must not like me.’
He shook his head at himself, still grinning. He hadn't gotten a goddamn thing done at work to-day, but he'd made Clark Kent come in his pants this evening, and that was worth a helluva lot more than a lost day's productivity in his book.
He didn't exactly pump his fists in the air. But there was a close to unreasonable amount of flair when he stretched.