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Title: You I Cannot Judge
Author: Victoria P. []
Summary: "You, I thought I knew you. / You I cannot judge."
Rating: NC-17, m/m sex, language
Disclaimer: All Smallville characters belong to DC Comics, Tollin/Robins and AOL/Time-Warner; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool, SSA
Feedback: Always welcome and more appreciated than you know.
Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Dot, and Meg. I blame Pete. And REM.
More Notes: Three fandoms, three couples, one scenario. Based on Nightswimming by REM, but not songfic in the traditional sense. To read the other two stories in the triptych, go to

You I Cannot Judge

Lex stared at the numbers on the page in front of him, not listening as two of his executive vice presidents argued over the merits of their latest ad campaign.

He was sick of this shit. He needed out, and he needed it now. He rose abruptly and they all scrambled to stand with him. "Saunders, Grant, just -- settle this." Disgust was evident in his tone, and their eyes widened. They knew that if the issue wasn't settled by the time he next raised it, one or both of them would be out of a job.

Lex rushed from the boardroom to his office. "Shelly, have them bring the Porsche around. I'm leaving."

"But Mr. Luthor-- The Governor is coming for dinner. With the RNC Chairman. You can't just walk out on them and expect them to support your candidacy." Shelly was the only one who questioned him, the only one of thousands of employees who didn't fear him. He supposed there might be another handful out amongst the various workforces scattered around the globe, but here in Metropolis, Shelly was the only one who wouldn't put up with his moods. It was why she got a six-figure salary that would have stunned most of his management team, had they known of it.

"Fuck that, Shelly."

"Mr. Luthor, I don't allow my children to speak to me that way, and I certainly won't allow you to do so."

He placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "Sorry, Shel. I have to get out of here before I kill someone. Clear my calendar for the rest of the evening -- and for tomorrow, too. Tell the Governor I had a family emergency, but that he and Rodrigo can still eat at The Villa on me. I'll meet with them on Thursday, when I get back."

"Where are you going?" Her voice held a note of concern. He did this sometimes, always after Superman had somehow foiled his plans. She understood his need to escape from the smothering existence the head of LuthorCorp led. He had always been too sensitive, according to his father, and that hadn't changed over the years, though he'd learned to hide it from all but a few who knew him.

He picked up his briefcase and said, "I don't know, Shelly. I don't know." But that was a lie. He knew it almost as soon as he said it.

"Call when you get there. Just to let me know you're safe."

"What are you, my mother?"

She smiled. "No, but I'm old enough to be, so you listen, or no more chicken soup for you."

"Okay, Shelly," he said in mock resignation. He had brought her from Smallville with him when his father died, the only person he had left from those heady days when he and Clark... And he wasn't going to think about Clark.

He slipped into the Porsche, still not-thinking about Clark and their argument the night before. He could no longer separate his ex-lover from the do-gooding superhero he'd become, and he found he no longer wanted to. He hated Clark for leaving him, and he hated Superman for never leaving him alone. It was just easier to hate the whole package now.

Forty-five minutes and a great deal of not-thinking later, he found himself in the woods outside the Smallville estate. He hadn't been here in ages, not since the final break-up with Clark, which had sprung from a court battle over the _Daily Planet_'s series on LuthorCorp's alleged toxic waste dumping.

He opened the glove compartment for a flashlight -- the night was dark out here, away from all the lights of the city -- and something fluttered out, brushing his hand.

A picture of him and Clark from happier days.

He felt the lump rise in his throat. He was engaged to one of the most powerful women in the Senate, and was planning on making his own Senate run himself in two years, and yet... and yet, he still missed Clark.

Missed his openness and his smoky green eyes, and those lips that were even softer than they appeared, which he hadn't believed possible until the day he'd finally kissed them, felt them run along the skin of his skull, his neck, his back.

He was sweating. He had to get out of this damned suit.

Stripping off jacket and tie, he left them on the seat of the car as he walked toward the lake. The night was deathly quiet, except for the hum of the generator and the singing of the katydids. The moon shone down, and he was grateful for the light as it danced across the water, rendering his flashlight redundant.

He remembered the first summer he'd spent here, swimming with Clark. Convincing him to skinnydip on one fateful night, which had led to that first kiss, and so much more.

Shuddering, Lex shucked his clothes and rushed into the water, trying to outrun his memories, to wash away his one and only failure.

When he surfaced, he felt eyes upon him.

Turning toward the bank, he saw Clark, sitting, arms wrapped around his knees.

"You always come here," Clark said.

Lex opened his mouth to make a scathing retort when Clark rose in one fluid motion and divested himself of his clothing. It never ceased to amaze Lex how fast Clark could move; he recalled sun-glazed summer days spent pushing Clark to his limits, which, Kryptonite notwithstanding, they'd never even come close to finding.

The scientist in him warred with the man, and, as always where Clark was concerned, the man won out.

He felt himself get hard, even in the cool water, as Clark approached him, that untamed mop of hair now slicked back and trailing water down that tanned skin and over those kissable lips.

With one large hand, Clark reached out to him. After the barest hesitation, Lex took it and allowed himself to be pulled into Clark's embrace, their earlier battle lost in the flare of desire he felt, saw reflected in Clark's eyes.

The kiss was desperate, as though he were trying to imprint the taste of Clark's lips on his own, the feel of his tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth, the soft sighing sounds they made as the kiss deepened.

The kiss lasted forever and ended far too soon. Clark pulled back and Lex followed, aching for more of his beautiful lover. Clark led him out of the water and lowered them gently to the grass.

Lex lay down, letting Clark take control, something he'd rarely done in the days they were together. But now, he needed it. Needed to know that Clark wanted it as much as he did, so much that he was willing to initiate and follow through on it.

He waited, and then Clark's lips were on his, softly, drifting up to taste his eyelids and then over and down the curve of his jaw, always, always stopping briefly to worship at the bare skin of his scalp.



Those strong, warm hands stroked Lex's body and Lex just grabbed Clark's shoulders and held on, shuddering as he feathered kisses along his chest, throwing his head back and exposing the column of his throat to Clark's thoughtful progress of kisses.

When Clark finally reached down and stroked Lex's erect cock, he thought he was going come just from the sheer joy of it, the way Clark slid his thumb over the slit and then jacked him in long, firm strokes from base to tip.

Lex bit his lip, trying to contain the moans as the tension inside built up to almost unbearable levels.

When the friction stopped, he cried out at its loss, but then Clark's mouth was engulfing him, warm and wet and better than any lover before or since.

Clark squeezed his balls as he opened his throat, taking everything Lex gave him, hips bucking up as he came, Clark's name on his lips, the white lights behind his eyes brighter than even the million billion stars overhead.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Clark whispered against his ear before kissing him senseless.

"No, you're not," Lex answered when his breath returned.

"No, I'm not."

"How dare you judge me?"

"I don't," Clark said, and Lex could hear the pain in his voice. "I can't. I love you, Lex. But I'm not going to let you hurt people. Not while I can stop it."

"I thought you knew me. I thought you trusted me."

Clark shook his head sadly. They'd had this discussion too many times, and the answers were always the same.

"'Hold your tongue and let me love,'" he quoted, but there was no heat in his voice as he curled his body around Lex. Warm and sated, safe in a way he never felt anywhere else, Lex fell asleep.

When he woke, he was alone in his bed, in the house. Only the scents of grass, water and Clark clinging to his bare skin proved the whole thing hadn't been a dream.


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