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Twist the Sinews

by FayJay

TITLE: Twist the Sinews
FEEDBACK: That would be a resounding "Yes!" CONTACT:
SUMMARY: Songs of Innocence and Experience, Smallville-style. Very loosely follows 'Fearful Symmetry'. (Not that you'd know to look at it, and I don't think Wm Blake was planning on inspiring gay porn, but...) CONTENT/WARNINGS: Slash.
DISCLAIMER: Messrs Kent and Luthor are not mine. But you knew that already. COMMENTS: With thanks to the foamy PPO folks, especially The Green Chick for Beta work.

The second time he ever tasted Clark's mouth it was an impulse brought on by the latest in a long line of crazy Smallville days, and by rather more Scotch than was strictly wise. Lex was bruised and slightly shaken, but otherwise unharmed; and there was Clark perching on the corner of his desk looking up at him, so close he could feel the body heat seeping through flannel and the faintest brush of warm breath tickling his throat.

"But you're sure you're okay?"

Clark wore an achingly earnest expression of concern and Lex was seized with the familiar urge to simply kiss him into silence. He had indulged in countless leisurely fantasies of fucking Clark; of going down on him in the hay; of unprotected sex up against a wall in the shadowed Talon; of grinding him down into the kitchen table amidst the milk and cookies. Deliciously wicked fantasies of transgression that always sent him over the edge; but he had never thought it could be so simple.

This time, before his brain had time to remind his body of all the reasons why he wasn't giving in to this temptation, Lex just leaned unthinkingly into Clark's personal space and kissed him on his half-open mouth, tongue sweeping in to explore the warm, wet hollow the way he had done in imagination so many, many times. Clark tasted of toothpaste.

A heart-stopping moment while Clark stood unresisting in his grasp and utterly failed to kiss him back; and reality came rushing back at nauseating speed.


Hazel-green eyes all liquid astonishment when Lex pulled his mouth away and wondered how the hell to play this. His heartbeat sounded unnaturally loud and the shock of unpremeditated action was like being doused in icy water. He was horrified by how much this mattered; realised quite abruptly that he couldn't stand the prospect of losing Clark.

There must be some combination of words that could fix this; something he could say to salvage the situation and somehow make a joke of it before he sent over six feet of shocked and heterosexual farmboy running back to hide behind his white picket fence. Clark was too damned important to lose; and although his innocence was like a constant entreaty to be defiled, Lex had more self-control than that. Or he'd thought that he had.

The belated surge of fear vanished when Clark's broad hands found his nape and the small of his back, and tentatively drew Lex so close that there was no more room for secrets; so close that clothing could not disguise the swell of eager adolescent flesh. Clark's lips parted willingly in a kiss which made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in technique; and Lex was startled and delighted by the strength of Clark's grip on the stem of his neck.

There would be more bruises in the morning.

Hands tearing at fabric and Lex was taken aback by the sound of seams actually ripping open; shocked gasp of laughter into Clark's warm skin.

"Do you know how much this shirt cost?"

Entirely the wrong thing to say, but he was trying to keep an appearance of control here and the words were out before he could stop them. Clark froze against him and he could feel awkwardness rush back into the boy's body. Oh, stupid, stupid Lex.

"I'm sorry - I didn't mean -"

"I don't care about the fucking shirt, Clark." And he wrapped himself around Clark with an urgency that surprised them both, fingers buried in the boy's clean hair and sliding over the broad back as his lips found Clark's life-giving mouth again; and he poured all of his frustration and tenderness into that kiss, willing him to understand and accept and braced for everything to suddenly turn to shit. God, but he needed this so very much.

The scent of his hair. The welcome rise of Clark's cock grinding against his own, pure friction separated by a little layer of fabric. His arms were once more full of taut and trembling boyflesh; but this time the ragged breathing was entirely caused by him. Delicious. Intoxicating. Lex felt like Nabokov's paedophile and didn't give a damn.

The pressure of Clark's thighs locked around his own was astonishing; totally unyielding. Lex couldn't have escaped if he'd wanted to. Not that he wanted to. Clark's strength took his breath away.

Now that he'd started, Lex couldn't stop touching Clark. And he deserved this, after all; he was playing nice, working hard, doing good. Why shouldn't he have this one perfect thing for himself? He could make it so good for Clark - oh, the things he could teach him. Things Lana Lang would never have imagined in her wildest dreams - assuming that Lana had wild dreams.

Lex's shirt was hanging half off him now and Clark's blunt fingers began exploring the exposed skin with a mixture of uncertainty and determination that left Lex feeling almost giddy. He had never found lack of expertise arousing before, but Clark's awkwardness was just so fucking touching that it undid him. Nobody should be so open, so vulnerable.

There was absolutely nothing he would not do for Clark Kent.

"You're sure you want this?" Lex was pleased by how calm he sounded. He must be crazy to give Clark the chance to think here, but for some perverse reason he had to ask. He braced himself for rejection, in spite of the unmistakable lump of Clark's erection rubbing his thigh. Of course, the very idea of Lex being able to physically force Clark to do anything was laughable, but there were other ways to manipulate people and Lex was familiar with most of them. He didn't want to do that. He really didn't want to do that here. He was trying to be fair.

"Clark?" He couldn't quite hide the rawness in his voice, even though he was smiling his best smile of worldly reassurance. "It's okay, Clark. We can do whatever you want. I don't want to push you." Which wasn't entirely true, of course. Lex wanted to do every damned thing under the sun, but he didn't want Clark Kent to drop out of his life the next morning. This had to be just right.

A tiny pause, and Clark ducked his head; and the downcast sweep of lashes and Clark's sudden blush made Lex's cock jump again. He bit his lip and waited impatiently, wanting to hear it out loud. There was power in this.

"I want to do everything, Lex," Clark said breathlessly, the words all tumbling out as if they might burn his tongue. "Please. I want - I've wanted to, you know, to - for a long time. With you. I didn't think - I mean, there was Victoria, and, but - "

Lex couldn't stop smiling. Clark was his. All his. And he was such a pretty boy. It ought to be illegal. Of course, technically it was illegal, but Lex had no intention of getting bogged down with that particular train of thought.

Mouth to mouth again, and Lex thought he could lose himself forever in the wet slide of tongues. But it wasn't enough.

"Will you let me look at you, Clark? I want to see you naked."

This earned him a desperate shudder and a wordless nod. Lex scrambled back from his half-straddling position and stood quite still, taking in the beautifully debauched vision of Clark Kent sitting on the corner of his desk with pupils dilated and lips gleaming, and a very visible erection distorting the line of his jeans. He was blushing, but he wore a hopeful little smile of sheepish pride as he shrugged off the flannel shirt and then pulled the T shirt up over his head. Lex drew in his breath with an involuntary hiss. He remembered Clark's torso in vivid detail, but this time he wasn't all moonlight and shadows; this time Clark's skin was dappled with shafts of coloured light pouring through the stained glass window, blue and red and violet.

"Jesus, Clark," he breathed. "You're just - you're perfect. Flawless. Look at you. How did they make you so perfect?"

Clark shot him an uncertain look and Lex realised with a lurch that the boy honestly wasn't sure whether he was being teased. Christ. Fifteen; and it didn't seem so long since Lex had been fifteen, but he was sure that he had never been this young. The pink that suffused Clark's cheeks wasn't simply down to the rose-tinted glass; he was clearly balanced on the most precarious line between embarrassment and confidence, simultaneously craving and dreading the attention. He must know he was beautiful; it simply wasn't possible for someone to inhabit that body and that face and be oblivious to their own beauty. And yet he didn't seem sure of it.

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, don't you?" Lex asked, surprised by an uncharacteristic stab of guilt. God knows at fifteen he had been far from innocent, and had already fucked people older than twenty one; but Clark at fifteen wasn't Lex at fifteen. Which was why he was so irresistible, of course, but Lex felt an almost painful need to keep Clark safe from all this shit; from petty, callow jocks who would string him up in a makeshift cornfield Calvary; from pretty, shallow, doe-eyed orphans who would break his stupid honest heart; and from screwed up, ruthless multi-millionaires who wanted to own Clark body and soul.

Clark paused in the act of unbuttoning his jeans and met Lex's questioning gaze; and it was all Lex could do to stand still just then. His mouth felt suddenly far too dry and far too far from Clark's.

"I know that," said Clark; and his face lit up with one of the sweet and painfully open smiles that gave Lex sleepless nights. "I trust you, Lex." And he did. He honestly did. A pretty little corn-fed lamb to the slaughter. Lex felt slightly sick and realised that he had crossed his arms in front of his chest automatically. He carefully relaxed his posture and pulled absently at the torn seam of his shirt, studying the unravelling lilac fabric with a wry half-smile.

"Well, you shouldn't."

It was wonderful how he had learned to sound amused in situations that were so wholly unamusing. He stepped back towards the desk and watched Clark lean unconsciously towards him, waiting for his touch; and instead he picked up the half-empty glass of scotch and sipped it blindly, concentrating all his attention on the ice-cubes brushing against his lips. "I'm really not a good man, Clark. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

The sunshine of Clark's expression dimmed and an earnest frown creased his smooth brow.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he said seriously. "It's not true. Just because - because some people expect you to be like your father, that doesn't mean you have to be that way. And I know you, Lex. You are a good person." His smile wobbled and then dissolved altogether. "Is this - are you saying you don't want me?"

Lex was only human, after all, and Clark was so tantalisingly close and so distractingly shirtless; one short step and he had a hand on Clark's waist, and one finger slid into an empty denim belt loop while the ball of his thumb ran over the warm skin of the boy's flat belly in a lazy circle. Lex pressed his own undiminished erection firmly against Clark's leg and pushed his face into the bare collar bone, tasting salt and breathing in sun-drenched quintessence of Clark. He licked the pale skin deliberately and was inordinately pleased by the moan that vibrated through Clark's chest. It made Lex's nose buzz. He laughed.

"Of course I want you, Clark," Lex said, only a little shakily. "That isn't the issue."

Clark's hand closed over the curve of his ass and pulled him in closer.

"That's the only issue."

"I don't think -" began Lex, only to find his sentence swallowed by a sudden mouthful of determined teenage boy. Who, as it turned out, was really starting to get the hang of this whole kissing thing. When he came up for air, Clark wore an unexpectedly wicked grin.

"You think too much," Clark explained kindly, and kissed him again.

Fuck it - saintliness had never suited the Luthors anyway. He carefully put the glass down on the desk before he dropped it (at this point he didn't think he was going to need to spill whisky on the boy's pants to get them off) and allowed himself to concentrate all his attention on the object of his most cherished and indecent fantasies.

Lex let Clark's large hands take his weight while he wrapped both legs around the denim-clad hips, then shifted until he was straddling Clark's lap again and kneeling on the desk. They were welded together belly-to-belly and chest-to-chest and the awkward graze of his erection over Clark's made the younger boy whimper against his tongue; and that was simply one of the sexiest sounds Lex had ever heard. He dug his fingers into the solid mass of Clark's shoulder and ground his hips forward slowly, deliberately, while he sucked the boy's tongue into his mouth. And there was that moan again; and he felt as much as heard the much-abused fabric of his shirt tearing again as Clark grabbed a fistful of purple silk and pulled.


If Lex had ever suspected for so much as a single second that they grew farmboys like this out in Smallville, he'd have hit the freeway the day he got his first car with his foot jammed on the gas the whole damned way. He should have done this months ago. He should have done this when he woke up on the riverbank with Clark's impossibly heated mouth pressed to his own cold lips.

"So you want to do 'everything', Clark?"

He dropped a kiss on the corner of Clark's mouth and explored the curves of his familiar face; then licked the rim of the boy's ear and closed his mouth over the soft lobe, sucking it wetly in between sharp teeth and biting down just a touch harder than he'd intended. Clark didn't seem to mind one bit, however; he gave a helpless groan and his hand clenched over Lex's ass so damned hard that Lex wondered for a startled moment whether his pants might go the way of his shirt; now that would give his tailor something to complain about. Christ, he was going to have a set of bruises on his ass. Possibly even a handprint. The thought of Clark marking him was doing unexpected things to his gut; and nakedness would be a good idea very soon, because there was actually a possibility that he might come in his pants.

"Everything," echoed Clark, sounding dazed. "Please."

Lex arched his back at that last desperate syllable; ran his hands down over Clark's smooth chest with a complete lack of finesse and roughly twisted the first eager nipple that brushed his seeking palm.

"Fuck, Clark. Say that again."

"Please." The sound was torn out of him. "And - oh, Lex, I - Harder. Please?"

"Jesus, Clark!"

An urgent scrape of cheek against cheek as Lex found Clark's mouth again and sucked the bottom lip into his mouth, biting it while he twisted the tight little nub of flesh savagely, and Clark shuddered in response. He had an irresistible image of one perfect drop of blood welling up on Clark's sweet nether lip and even the vision of Jonathan Kent with a shotgun and a lynch mob was barely enough to keep him from biting down hard enough to cut through the skin. The way Clark was melting into him was certainly no encouragement to restraint. He pulled his mouth away with difficulty and tangled his fingers in the soft hair, angling Clark's face towards him with a possessive shiver at how pliant and eager this body was under his touch. So big and solid, but entirely at his bidding. It was like riding a very large and powerful thoroughbred: his very own Bucephalus, obedient to no other hand. Christ.

"Clark, get your pants off. Now."

A ragged gust of laughter brushed his bare scalp.

"I - Lex, you're kind of sitting on me," pointed out Clark. "Um. Which is a good thing. But, you know, it kind of makes it difficult to, uh - "

Lex slid backwards, closing his eyes at the deliciously frustrating rasp of his cock against Clark's thigh. The sense of tactile loss was scorching once several feet of fortunate air separated the two of them, but he ignored the impulse to grab just Clark all over again and bury his face in the hollow of the boy's throat.

"Get your pants off," he repeated firmly, staring into Clark's eyes. "Now." He ran his thumb absently along the edge of his pants, shivering at the line his blunt nails were scoring into the smooth skin; watched Clark watching him and felt his whole spine fuse.

"God, Lex. That's so - that look on your face. Wow."

Clark eased himself off the desk and offered Lex another beatific smile which was not so much wholesome as it was - open. It made Lex want to do terrible things, that smile. He watched Clark awkwardly unbuttoning his jeans and reminded himself to breathe. He knew people who would pay serious money to see this. Hell, he'd have willingly paid serious money to see this himself. And - here was the thing that twisted in his gut and wrung his heart in a quite terrifying way - and it was Clark. Clark balancing on one leg to pull off first one sneaker and then the other, steadying himself against the desk and shooting heated, sheepish glances over at Lex. Clark with his generous erection outlined against the denim, looking for all the world like the bastard offspring of Norman Rockwell and Tom of Finland. Clark shrugging down his jeans and stepping out of the heavy puddle of fabric to stand in a shaft of blue light clad in nothing but a prosaic pair of socks and some boxers that his mother had undoubtedly bought, with his cock tenting the fabric.

"Jesus Christ, Clark." It appeared that the range of Lex's vocabulary existed in directly inverse proportion to his level of arousal. He had watched a good many lovers undress for him before now, and Clark was certainly as attractive as any of them had ever been; but Clark didn't know enough to make a game out of the unwrapping. There was no conscious exercising of power over his observer, just this tangle of inchoate lust and nervous, puppyish enthusiasm as he peeled away the fabric. It was - sweet. In a way that made Lex want to see him writhing. Lex rubbed his thumb over the outline of his own erection and watched Clark's mouth fall open deliciously. "Tell me what you want."

Clark paused on the brink of stepping towards him and blinked.

"I - you, Lex. I want you." So fucking sweet. Lex brought the heel of his hand down firmly on his cock and hissed quietly.

"Care to elaborate?"

"I want - Lex, you know what I want. Isn't it kind of obvious? I mean - "

"Tell me."

"I want -" he trailed off imploringly, and his discomfort was irresistible. Mrs Kent's little boy didn't use bad words. "Lex, I -"

"Tell me."

"I want you to fuck me." The words spilled out desperately as Clark stepped up to him; and then there was a world of bare skin pressed up against him and Clark was planting wet and feverish kisses on his scalp, his forehead, his eyelids, his cheekbone, finally finding his mouth and licking it fiercely. "I want you to fuck me, Lex. Please."

Lex shivered with proprietorial lust and ran exploring hands over Clark's back while he let himself savour the moment. Clark was his, body and soul; and that was just as it should be. He could feel Clark's arousal soaking through the thin cotton of the boxers where they rubbed against his own flat belly, and knowing that Clark was hard because of him was sending pulses of frustrated desire through Lex's neglected cock.

"Clark," he said between kisses," I'm going to fuck you so hard you come screaming. Is that what you want? My dick in your ass? In your pretty mouth?" Clark froze for a moment and made a ragged, incoherent noise in the back of his throat; and again Lex was taken aback by the sheer strength of Clark's grip.

"Yes," Clark managed eventually. "Oh, God, please, Lex. Just do it."

And here was the proof that there was, in fact, a God; but first Lex slid down to his knees, dragging his tongue roughly over the canvas of Clark's skin and shivering at the delicate rasp of leg hairs against one peaked nipple; and when he buried his face in the thin cotton and inhaled the warm musk of ardent boy Clark gasped out his name like a prayer. Beautiful.

Lex hooked his thumbs into the waist of Clark's boxers, lightly brushing the slick tip of his erection, and slid the cotton down to fall around Clark's ankles while he finally made the acquaintance of Clark's hot and quivering cock. His eyelashes brushed against the underside of the rosy flesh as Lex devoted careful attention to the balls; dark curls tickled his cheekbone as he lost himself in the pattern of suction and darting wet strokes of the tongue, exploring every warm and satiny inch of Clark's engorged penis.

It was delicious, but Lex realised quite quickly that something was wrong. Clark's hips were bucking with desperate arrhythmia, but his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides and he seemed to be fighting himself; until at last he actually pulled back and his cock slid free with a messy sound. Lex wiped the saliva from his chin with the back of one hand and looked up at Clark's contorted face.

"Relax, Clark," he said reassuringly, dropping a wet kiss on the slick head of Clark's erection and feeling it jump under his tongue. "It's okay. Just let go."

"I can't," said Clark, sounding thoroughly miserable. "I thought - but I can't. Lex, I don't want to hurt you." Lex's smile was indulgent.

"Clark, you aren't going to hurt me. I have done this before, you know."

"You don't understand. It's too much." And Lex was astounded to see tears welling up in Clark's eyes. He was on his feet in one startled, fluid motion, wondering what he could possibly have missed here as he wrapped his arms around the boy. His blowjob technique, he reflected ruefully, did not generally have quite this effect. Lex had the sense that he was missing something crucial.

"It's okay, Clark. Really, it's okay." Clark made a choked sound somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh and after a painfully tense moment he relaxed into the embrace.

"I'm sorry. I - I can't explain this. Shit. I'm sorry, Lex. I really want you." Clark sniffed, and it was not a sexy sound by any standards, but it made Lex squeeze him closer regardless. "I'm such a freak. I - I don't want to hurt you, Lex, but - I'm afraid I won't be able to help it. I wish I was normal."

This really was not going according to any of Lex's jerk off fantasies, but he was surprisingly calm about it all.

"I just want to make you happy, Clark."

And this, it turned out, was the unvarnished truth. Shit. It struck Lex for the first time, with a dull sense of horror, that this was quite possibly what all the fuss was about. The songs, the poems; the Taj Mahal, the Siege of Troy. He was in love. There probably ought to be a punchline somewhere, but all Lex could think of right now was soothing the boy who was trembling in his arms. "Ssh. It's all okay," he repeated, dropping kisses onto every bit of Clark within range of his mouth and running gentle fingers through the soft hair - so endearingly innocent of gel or mousse. Such a wholesome, old-fashioned boy. Such a boy.



"I really want to suck your cock."

This was shaping up to be the most unpredictable evening since Lex had arrived in Smallville. Which was really saying something.



"Please? Can I?"

Now what was the correct etiquette for this situation again?

"Yes?" Lex said experimentally.

Dear God, but Clark moved fast. And yes, his tailor really was going to be royally pissed, because that was unmistakably the sound of ripping fabric and Lex was abruptly very naked, with no clear idea of quite how this had come to pass.

"Jesus, Clark! What are you?"

Clark Kent, kneeling naked at his feet, looked up at Lex imploringly through wet lashes and tangled bangs, and Lex felt something break inside.

"Don't ask me that," said Clark; which was the sort of reply that really begged a whole Spanish Inquisition of questions, but Lex bit his tongue and nodded wordlessly.

And then his rigid cock slid between the same pretty lips that had breathed life into him on the riverbank long months ago; and Lex forgot all about questions and answers and Luthorcorp and Metropolis and everything else but the burning, liquid pressure of Clark's wet mouth and darting tongue. Large hands wrapped around his waist, pinning him into place while Clark moved at a speed that made Lex cry out. There was absolutely nothing of sophistication or technique to this; it was all hot and wet and fast and hard; impossibly fast. Clark's tongue was everywhere. Lex found himself losing language and when he finally came - far sooner than he'd expected - the only word left to him was Clark's name.

In the stunned aftermath Lex found himself gently laid down on the floor with the ragged remnants of his very expensive pants pillowing his skull; and this was just as well, because his legs were decidedly unsteady. Little tremors were still running through his limbs and his whole body felt light and languorous. The capacity for rational thought was still a little way off. The floor seemed like a good place to be.

And meanwhile he had an unimpeded view of Clark Kent kneeling over him with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, his hazel eyes darker than Lex had ever seen them as he fucked his own clenched fist and stared at the naked sprawl of pale limbs splayed before him. The concentrated lust on Clark's face made Lex wonder how he had ever thought the boy was wholesome; and it was all entirely for Lex. Jesus. Lex had never seen anything sexier in his whole damned life and the wordless sounds Clark was making as his hand moved too fast were better than the most costly pornography. When he came it was all over Lex's chest, marking him as surely as the bruises; and then he collapsed onto Lex in a boneless heap.

This was not what Lex had expected; but it turned out to be exactly what he wanted. Lex found that he loved the feel of being pressed down under the boy's weight. He felt safe. Owned. And that was unexpected too.

"That was - that was quite something," said Lex, when he could remember how to string a sentence together. Clark rolled onto his side and scooped him up into an awkward embrace, planting lazy kisses on the crown of his head and the nape of his neck.

"Mmm," agreed Clark, with what could only be described as a snuggle. Lex wasn't used to sex being quite this cuddly, but he definitely thought he could get used to it.

"You're sure you haven't done this before, Clark? Because that was - that was really quite something. Although it does seem to have destroyed my ability to articulate. Hopefully this is just a temporary side effect." He thought about the strength and the speed and the wreckage of the Porsche and chewed his bottom lip. "Clark, are you - well. No. Okay, I'm not asking. But we're going to have to talk about this at some point, you know."

"I know," said Clark in a very small voice. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It can wait." They lay in comfortable silence for a little longer. "Do you want to come upstairs to bed, Clark? It's actually a lot more comfortable than the floor." Lex wasn't quite sure when he'd started grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Mmm," replied Clark agreeably, kissing the corner of his ear. "And maybe in a little while we could do this again? Or, you know," and Lex could practically hear the blush, "maybe - other stuff?"

"What? 'Everything'?"

"Well, maybe not everything. I don't know how safe I'd be with - but, you know. Other stuff. We could maybe find out. Carefully."

"Very well, Clark," said Lex, wondering whether this dopey grin might become a permanent fixture. "If you absolutely insist."

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