The Glass Onion Text too small or too big? You can change it! Ctrl+ (bigger), Ctrl- (smaller)
or click on View in your browser and look for font or text size settings.

Home/Quicksearch  +   Random  +   Upload  +   Search  +   Contact  +   GO List

Freud

by Te

     Subject: SV: Freud
     Date: Tuesday, November 19, 2002 4:59 AM

     Freud
     by Te
     November 2002
     Disclaimers: If they belonged to me, the future would only
     look ominous to the filthy unbeliever. Er... yes.
     Spoilers: Vague ones up through Ryan.
     Summary: Clark is figuring some things out.
     Ratings Note: NC-17.
     Author's Note: Happy birthday, Miz E! As the Spike says, I
     am your trained monkey.
     Acknowledgments: To the Spike, Livia, and Jenn for
     audiencing. To Bas for the title. To much of the world for
     listening to me whine ad nauseam about this story. Extra
     love to Livia for the bunny.
     Feedback keeps me flying. thete1@earthlink.net

He learns to fly in his dreams.

Not the ones about Lana, the ones where she looks at him wide-eyed and open, without a hint of judgment or question. Not even the ones where her head is tilted up to his, her breath puffing warm against his lips.

He doesn't learn anything in those dreams that he doesn't already know, though waking up with his face pressed to the ceiling teaches him more than he ever wanted to know about the persistent sticky filth of cobwebs.

A few nights of that and Clark finally gives up and steals his mother's cleaning materials and a sturdy chair. He has the cleanest ceiling in Smallville.

And if he could figure out a way to pad it without looking like a freak...

Well.

It's not the ones about Ryan, either, though they spend a lot of the time in the air. He runs around the edges of the hot air balloon -- and sometimes on the balloon itself like a small deranged person, and shouts for Clark to join him, play.

Tag at several thousand feet, and eleven year olds have no right to make sixteen year olds look like wusses, even if Clark does spend the majority of the dreams curled in on himself in the middle of the basket -- such a flimsy-sounding word for such a vital piece of equipment -- trying not to whimper.

Or clinging to the edges and trying to look anywhere but down, while Ryan defies all known laws of physics running up, down, and all around the balloon.

He wakes up from those grinning, until he remembers that Ryan is dead.

It certainly isn't the more confusing dreams about Lex. Like the ones where Lex smilingly tosses him the keys to his Ferrari, only the keys turn out to be anything but. Weird vegetables and statues and, on one horrifically memorable night, Lionel's severed head.

Or the ones where Clark dreams himself into Lex's study, and spends all night struggling to understand what Lex is trying to tell him with that raw, bleak look on his face. Lex spends the whole dream tearing up a book, page by page, and throwing the crumpled paper in the fire.

Or the ones where they're driving on a long, empty road to Metropolis together, and everything is fine until Clark figures out that he's naked, that he's been naked, and there's nothing resembling clothes for him in the car. And when Lex finds out... when Lex looks over --

He wakes from those alternately uneasy and aroused, sweating and tangled in the sheets and with a sincere desire to lock himself in his own room until... well, until something.

But it's all made up for by the dreams when he's just running. Not away from anything, or even to anyone.

Just running full out, picking up speed with every step, the air like nothing so much as the warmest, tightest, most comfortable body glove ever imagined, clinging to him all over and doing absolutely nothing to hold him back.

Nothing can.

He leaps over fences, over cars, shouting against the wall of wind resistance and grinning his head off and sometimes....

Sometimes the ground just stops being there.

The first few steps are always terrifying, like gravity has just given up on him and he's about to run right up into the unknown, but then he hits a groove. Sometimes it's a lot like remembering:

The air is the same up here, just harder to find.

The ground is always going to be down there, waiting for him.

And then he runs through the sky, higher and higher until the clouds mist on his cheeks like sweet tears, like the most refreshing sweat in the world, and sometimes he remembers he shouldn't be able to breathe up there -- and that's panic-making, but only a little. He can hold his breath for nearly two hours.

He never can convince himself the clouds are solid enough to lie on, no matter how many cartoons and comics tell him different. He's always too aware (awake?) for that, and tumbles down face forward, eyes wide to the wonder of the ground rushing up to meet him.

He wakes up from those with his face pressed to the window, stiff and vaguely sore from sleeping wrong.

Still, it's the first good feeling he's ever had about flying so... maybe he does a little more running than usual. It's harder with the dry fall; he has to make sure not to accidentally set fire to the fields with the scorch marks he leaves. He's never been quite so heartfelt about praying for rain before, childhood on a farm or not.

And he tells himself he just wants to see if he's any faster than he used to be, at least at first. He tapes his shirt down over his cheap wristwatch (he's broken more wristwatches than dishware, and that's saying something) to protect it from anything he might bump into at high speed and...

Okay, yes. Definitely faster.

Even faster than that the next week.

And a month after that he can breeze right up to the Canadian border without breaking a sweat.

Lana's started giving him even stranger looks than usual at school, which just isn't fair as far as he's concerned. He hasn't done anything remotely weird around her for weeks, not when she was conscious at any rate, and he's been too busy with the... time trials for anything else.

Pete made up a spreadsheet and everything. Which, okay, is just a little obsessive, but then his other best friend is Lex.

Who's also giving him looks.

Worse looks than Lana's really, because Clark thinks he knows exactly what's behind that expression and it's...

It's a lot like Lex thinks Clark doesn't have time for him. And while that's technically true (at least with all the running), it's not because he doesn't -- and there just aren't words for that kind of thing.

Not the kind he knows.

So he just smiles ruefully at Lex when he makes his deliveries, and tries to look like someone who isn't deserting his friend, at least not for any real reason.

And he runs.

At night he runs all over town, which turns out to be a good thing, considering the fact that it gave him the chance to stop the thing that crawled out of the lake before it hurt anyone.

The lack of sleep just means he doesn't have to dream about whether or not the last thing the... creature said had sounded like human words.

He isn't timing himself anymore, not really. He can't quite pretend that, even though Pete's new stopwatch is really cool. Running around Smallville... that's just to let Pete and the rest of his family know where the meteor rocks are, so they can come behind him and bury them deep.

Running around town is just a way to stop thinking about the other dreams, the new ones he has where running into the sky is effortless as breathing, where he doesn't really run at all.

Just one leap...

He wakes up from those dreams clutching the mattress, sometimes so hard his fingers punch right through.

Because...

What if it really is that easy?

"People don't fly, son," his father says.

"People don't set things on fire with their eyes, either."

And his mother gets that worried-look on her face, the one that makes it look like she's trying to push all her features toward the middle and it hurts but she's going to do it anyway.

His father sighs and promises that even if he does start flying around the farm, they'll figure out something. Which might even be reassuring if he didn't look so helpless.

So he stops playing basketball with Pete, and does even more conspicuously worse in gym class than usual, and at night...

He runs as far and as fast as he can, longing to be tired enough that nothing can ever happen, even if he tries. Sometimes it works, leaving him sluggish at the breakfast table, making his mother worry... right up until he walks out into the cool, bright November sunshine, and all the (power) energy comes flooding back like...

He blushes hard every time it happens, and finally tells Pete that it's like coming.

Which makes Pete's eyes go comically round for several seconds, and then he falls off the couch because he's laughing so hard.

"Clark, man, you already know running isn't going to work," he says when he gets his breath back. "Why don't you try something else?"

(Just one leap) "Like what? Jumping off the roof? I don't feel like being an Afterschool Special, Pete."

"Dude, as entertaining as it would be to watch you repeatedly --"

"I'd only do it once."

"Repeatedly falling on your ass, I wasn't talking about country cliff-diving. I think that's for the advanced class, anyway."

Clark looks out the barn window, thinking about a swan dive. Maybe if he landed on his head he would lose consciousness. "Then what?"

"Hey, I've seen you play basketball remember? Really play. Like the man said, you got ups."

"Ups?"

"Come on, I'll call my mom and tell her I'm staying over tonight. Let's try some jumps!"

And that's definitely his heart in his throat. Possibly most of a lung, too. "Pete, you don't even have clothes here. And I thought you said you had a test to study for?"

"Aw, man, you're right. God, it's one of Mr. Essen's in-class essay deals, too. How come you got the easy English class, anyway?"

Clark grins broadly and barely manages to avoid blowing out a relieved breath. "Pure charm, man. Some guys got it..."

"Yeah, right." Pete throws his backpack over his shoulder and heads for the ladder. "Talk to me when you get a girl, Dateless Wonder."

And that's the end of that.

Except it really isn't, because Clark winds up too twitchy to even run, much less sleep. He's learned the hard way that running really fast when you're not concentrating is the quickest way to minor head injuries and major property damage.

Because the first thing Pete's going to ask him when they see each other again is if he tried jumping, and running jumps, and jumping from heights... all jokes aside, Pete was pretty scarily invested in making sure Clark was all he could be.

And why had it seemed like a good idea to tell him again?

At least his parents would never actively encourage him to use his powers, unless someone was in danger. And even then...

And he could just lie. Tell Pete that he'd hopped around like a not-so-human pogo stick all night long with no joy. But that only seems like a good idea to the part of his brain that's mapped out every direct sight-line to the girls' locker room, and sometimes spends quality time thinking about setting Lionel's hair on fire.

He suspects Lex (and probably even Pete) would tell him that it was a useful part of his brain, and maybe one worth cultivating, but... he doesn't like it all that much.

So in the end he just gives up on pacing the moonlight confines of his barn and takes a running leap for the window.

For a moment his breath catches, he's going far further than he should, much further, and is this it? Is this what he's been --

He turns his ankle when he hits the ground and just barely manages to avoid rolling into the truck.

"Okay... no."

The pain fades in a flash, a miniature copy of those morning-after rushes that leaves him shuddering and on his feet, looking around to make sure no one can see him... what?

The Pete in his head is a sadistic bastard who laughs far too much.

All right. Jumping. He can do this. There's no reason why it has to be scary, even if it does work.

It doesn't have to mean anything.

After all, it's not like he'll be flying around town all day and night even if it does work. There's just no way to explain a six foot three teenaged boy in the sky, even in Smallville. Clark nods to himself, aims himself vaguely westward, runs, and leaps.

And this time there's no doubt. He's definitely moving farther than he should if he was just jumping, and he's not even moving his legs. He's just...

Clark looks up into the dark indigo sky, the winter stars already visible. Somewhere up there is where he (belongs) came from. And the next thing he knows 'somewhere up there' is a hell of a lot closer.

He pinwheels frantically, staring anywhere but down, thinking anywhere but down, and the sky rushes closer, wisps of cloud suddenly looking like something he could touch, if he just thought...

And is that what this is?

Thought-based rebuttal of everything good, pure, and Newtonian? Hell, he controls everything else by thinking about it, why not...

And suddenly he's swooping low and to the south, knocking a branch off a tree and this close to screaming.

Or laughing.

Because... he's flying. Flying even faster than he can run, and he thinks maybe he could even do tricks, like maybe --

Yes! He does an effortless triple back-flip, loops the loop until he's not entirely sure where the ground begins and the sky ends, and flies so many spirals he feels a little nauseous. And he's just resolving to take it easy when he smacks into something face-first and drops like a stone.

For about ten feet.

He could've sworn he was higher than that --

"You know, if you tell me you weren't flying just now, I'm going to kick you very hard, Clark."

"Lex! I was... um... oh damn." Clark's mind helpfully supplies that he's landed on one of Lex's balconies. Which would be okay, if Lex wasn't there. Looking down at him with a glass in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. Looking amused. "Um. You're drunk?"

Lex takes a long, ostentatious sniff. "Ginger ale." Sharp little smile. "Want some?"

Clark's going to stop gaping like a fish. Any second now. "Would you believe it's a complete surprise?"

"In Smallville? This late at night? No. Now let me know if I'm going to have to kick you so I can call Toby about my inevitable broken toes."

"You should believe more things late at night, Lex!"

"Well, I believe a man can fly..."

"More... other things." And the flagstones under his butt are cold, which is something Lex must know, because he just snorts and reaches out, offering Clark a hand up.

Clark takes it wincingly.

"Did you hurt yourself slamming into the wall like a drunk sparrow or just the castle?"

"You're having way too much fun with this. I mean yes. I mean no. I mean... damn."

Lex shakes his head and walks back into the castle, gesturing Clark to follow. "You aren't the worst liar I've ever seen, Clark, but you're definitely the most consistently bad."

"Hey --"

"I used to find that insulting," Lex continues blithely, "but then I realized that, given the way the more... showy mutants in this town usually end up, discretion was probably the better part of valor on your part." A smile.

"I'm not --"

Lex makes a small but definite kicking motion.

"Okay, fine, I was flying."

Lex rolls his eyes. "Unless the ability to do mindwipes is one of your powers I was taking that as a given."

There has to be something he can use to change the subject. A quick look around tells him he's in no part of the castle he's seen before. What with there being a large, turned-down bed, a bar, and more bookcases than he's ever seen outside a library. And what looks like the full line of Warrior Angel action figures on one, prominent shelf. Oh. "Is this your bedroom?"

"You know, I could help you with this, Clark." Lex is still smiling at him in the entirely wrong way. One of those smiles Clark dreams about much too often for his own peace of mind.

"With what?"

Lex sips his accursed ginger ale and smirks. "The lying, the oh-so-casual subject changes when people get too close to whatever truth you're trying to hide at the moment... but then you're so endearing like this. Come on, lie to me some more."

"I reiterate, way too much fun."

"Aw, come on. You have to admit it's funny. I put all that time and effort into figuring out the car crash, into investigating your family, when all I had to do was stand on my balcony and wait for you to do your Greatest American Hero impression."

"What? I mean... seriously, Lex, I really haven't. Um. Flown. Before tonight, that is. That's why I haven't been around much. I've been trying to figure out how."

"Well, that would explain why you're so bad at it --"

"Hey! I was doing tricks and everything!"

Was that a snicker? "Okay, you're not bad. You're just... untrained. I'll just call up my other invulnerable best friend who flies and set up some lessons."

"I never said anything about being invulnerable!"

"Clark. You were going about forty miles an hour when you decided to get up close and personal with the castle wall, yet you don't have a scratch on you. There is, on the other hand, a highly fascinating pile of rubble in the general vicinity of where you landed. You may have missed it, what with being busy trying to come up with a good lie."

"I... damn."

Lex is rocking on his heels, smiling as wide as Clark's ever seen him do without first being under the influence of a meteor mutant. "So let's see. Invulnerable -- I hit you with my car? No, wait, pretend that wasn't a question, because it really wasn't. You can fly --have I mentioned how cool that is yet? Because it is. What else?"

"I think I need to lie down."

"I'm sure it'll pass. I assume this is what you were planning to take over the world with while you were going through your remarkably brief rebellious phase?"

"I --" Well, okay, so he really was planning on taking over the world. "It seemed like a good idea at the time?"

And that's definitely a snicker.

"Look, Lex, I was... um. You know the meteor rocks?"

"The ones that tend to do bizarre and fascinating things to the Smallville youth?"

"Er... those."

"They did bizarre and fascinating things to you, yes I got that."

"No! I mean -- they did. That time. With the megalomania."

"Clark, come on, it's not like I'm going to judge you for being a mutant --"

"I'm an alien, okay!"

Lex pauses mid-heel-rock and stumbles into a bookcase, sending a six inch miniature of Warrior Angel tumbling to the floor.

They both spend really a large amount of time staring at it.

And then it's just Clark staring at it, and he can tell because no one stares like Lex and he can feel Lex staring at him.

"Er..."

"I think I'm going to kick you anyway."

"Um..."

"'Oh, men don't fly, Lex, there's no such thing as aliens, Lex, don't be crazy, Lex --'"

"Hey! Discretion! Valor!"

Lex opens his mouth and closes it again without saying anything. Raises an eyebrow. "Okay, you're a better liar than I thought. Marginally." And Lex gives him a look that on Pete would practically scream 'I'm trying to figure out where your antennae are.'

"I don't have antennae."

"I... okay, you caught me. Clark -- you do realize I'm not going to use this against you in any way, don't you?"

"Yeah, well, you're not the one who winds up on a slab if you change your mind, so you'll excuse me if I just take this time to curl up in a little ball and whimper."

"Fuck, Clark -- look at me."

Clark does, and the look on Lex's face is at once familiar and confusing, because he can't remember seeing Lex ever look like that.

"I won't ever do that to you. I wouldn't."

Except that he can, in the dreams where nothing Lex says makes any sense. "That's... that's a really big promise to make, Lex."

"Would it be if this was one of your other friends? Never mind, Clark."

A rueful smile that makes Clark blush and stare at his shoes, and Lex is right there, hand on his chin. Forcing his head up and searching his face for a long, weirdly heavy moment until settling on his eyes.

"It's your life. And no one keeps a secret like a Luthor."

Which just makes his shudder again, because -- God! What if he'd landed on a balcony with Lionel?

Lex squeezes his jaw until Clark focuses on him again. "And this Luthor has every intention of keeping you safe." And suddenly Lex is smiling again. "Which, of course, would be easier if you didn't insist on flying head-first into people's walls while said people are right there."

Clark has to smile. "You're not going to let me live that down anytime soon, are you?"

"No, probably not..."

And the long silence should probably be awkward, what with Lex's hand still on his face, Lex's gaze still on him like something living and hungry, Lex's Warrior Angel doll -- no, action figure -- still in a terribly compromised position on the floor... but it's not.

It's just Lex, taking the initiative to share a very small area of space with Clark and not looking at all put out about it.

Looking, really, pretty satisfied with the whole arrangement. In that way he has of suddenly looking settled under his skin, as if something's just happened to put the universe to rights and Clark somehow missed it. It makes his heart pound, a little. A nervousness that doesn't really feel like any kind of nervousness he knows. New. Different. (Adult) Wild.

"Sometimes I dream we do go to Metropolis together," he blurts, and Lex... strokes Clark's jaw with his thumb.

Just once, yeah, but that was definitely a stroke. "You mean when you were feeling... rebellious." There's a smile in his voice, even if it isn't anywhere near his face.

"I... yes and no? I mean, I'm normal in the dream. As... normal as I get." And why is he telling this story? This could only go badly.

"Hmm. Do we ever get there?"

Funny how Lex sounds so... like he's asleep. Like he has nothing whatsoever to hide. Funny how he's still so close. And waiting for an answer. To a question. What question? "Uh... what?"

Tiny smile. "To Metropolis, Clark. Do we ever --"

"Oh! I mean. No... we're just. Driving. In one of your cars." And I'm naked. Really, profoundly naked. Just tons of Clark-skin everywhere, really. A lot like the skin you're still touching.

"That's a shame..."

And Lex is staring at his mouth, staring like he's just one more absent thought -- does Lex have absent thoughts? Clark wouldn't have thought so -- away from touching it with his thumb. And abruptly Clark can't think of anything but how that would feel. The weight of it on his lower lip, pressing down, encouraging him to open... "Yeah..." And that doesn't sound like his voice at all.

"Clark..."

"Yeah?" There's a little voice in his head, getting progressively louder and more insane, wondering when Lex is finally going to touch his mouth.

"We are in my bedroom. Just. To answer your question." And it sounds like Lex is laughing, somewhere behind his voice, but Clark isn't sure who he's laughing at at all.

"I. I figured. Lex --"

And it's one of those moments, those really exceptionally large moments where intellectually you know that a lot of moments have passed but it all feels like one: Lex shudders, squeezes his eyes shut like he's in pain, and backs away. Only he doesn't get very far, because somehow that very insane part of Clark took over and the next thing Clark is aware of is Lex's pulse under his thumb.

Lex's eyes on him so much (hotter) darker than anything that light in color should be able to manage.

"Lex... we were... I wan --"

And he'd definitely been about to say something, something downright definite, irrevocable, even, except there's nothing he could've possibly said that was more to the point than Lex's mouth on his own, Lex's teeth closing on his lower lip hard enough to make something bright and hot and confusing spark in Clark's backbrain, make him moan and definitely kiss back.

And later, maybe he'll tell himself something about inevitability, bedrooms, and action figures that hump the floor, but right now all Clark cares about is closer, and more, and wet, and tongue, and all those other words that are so much less than the concepts they embody.

Lex's hand is in his hair now, pulling him down, tilting his head, putting him right where he wants him and his tongue is in Clark's mouth and... oh.

So good to suck on it, better when Lex shoves his fingers under the waistband of Clark's jeans and yanks and now they're closer than ever, pressed tight and somehow Clark never thought Lex would feel so warm against him.

Had he thought of this? Surely enough that it isn't that much of a surprise to feel the hard, lean length of his body, even if the way Lex is teasing Clark's tongue into his mouth with his own is.

Even though the way it's making Clark feel like there's nothing solid about him but his growing erection is definitely a surprise, because sex -- oh God, this is sex -- has never seemed like that much of a huge deal, not like something that could bring him to his knees (is that where Lex wants him?) without much effort.

"What do you want?" He says, and it freezes Lex, something Clark thinks he could enjoy seeing, if it didn't mean he stopped doing those things to his neck with his tongue, stopped moving his fingers around so tantalizingly close to where he needs them.

"I want to turn that question around," and Lex's smile is... really pretty evil. And sexy.

And hey, it's a night for newness all around, because Clark hadn't thought --

"C'mon, Clark. Tell me..." And Lex bites him high on the throat, a bright flare of pressure and good that goes straight to his cock and makes him jerk.

"I... I asked first..."

"I want to make you come so hard you don't care what I do."

And for an encounter that started with him slamming face-first into stone, the night's looking pretty good. "Oh," he manages, and while he is aware that Lex is pushing and nudging him backwards toward the bed, he's mainly aware of Lex's smile, wide and wild, and the amount of Lex's body being rapidly revealed.

Shirt, off. Shoes, kicked away, and hey, that's definitely the bed he's just landed on, and that's definitely Lex crawling up over him just far enough to get their hips lined up and the first thrust makes him arch so hard he nearly throws him. Grabs Lex to hold on --

"Superstrength, check --"

"I never said --"

Lex stares down at him, looking so hungry it's almost scary, looking so dazed it is scary and --

"It's even better naked, Clark..."

And that's just the best idea ever. It's not easy wriggling out of your clothes when you're flat on your back, but Lex helps, or maybe hinders, or maybe just makes it better and hotter and wilder. Big pale hands on his chest, pinching his nipples --

"I wonder why you can feel this. I wonder how you feel this..."

"Oh God..."

"Yeah, Clark, I think you know how long I've wanted this."

And he doesn't, or he didn't, but he does now, and it's like being knocked into the sky, like being kissed again to remember every look, every touch that would seem hesitant from anyone but Lex. And it's all he can do to hold on. "Lex, please --"

Okay, nothing like being kissed again, because being kissed again is all about losing air, sense, and everything resembling sanity. Open-eyed and hungry and fierce, fiercer when Lex finally closes his eyes and grinds into him even harder.

(He's not trying to be careful with me.) And why should he? God, no one should ever be careful with him again, not if the opposite means rolling around on a bed with Lex's hand in his pants, Lex's fist around him and stroking like he knows exactly what he's doing, like he's been thinking about doing just this, maybe with his hands on himself --

And Clark comes hard, shouting surprised and utterly lost into Lex's mouth.

Nothing he can do but stare, try and fail to catch his breath as Lex slides his hand up between them and.

Fuck.

Licks it clean.

Clark's cock twitches much too soon, almost painfully, and he has to roll them over again, press Lex to the mattress with his weight, hold onto his wrists and watch those blue-grey eyes flare in something between possession and shock.

"Gonna hold me down, Clark?"

"What?"

"You can. I trust you." Another flare, and Lex is rolling his hips, pushing up hard and his cock is hot and hard and obvious, even through his pants.

And Clark has no idea what to do, only that he wants to do everything possible to keep that look on Lex's face, keep Lex this hot and... yeah. Out of control. Does his own half-experimental grind and Lex throws his head back, baring his throat and oh, God, Clark remembers exactly how good it felt when Lex kissed him there.

Bit him there.

The first tentative touch with his tongue makes Lex gasp, makes Clark grip those wrists a little harder out of some vague, language-free terror that Lex will try to get away --

"Oh fuck, Clark, yes --"

Scrapes his teeth along the tendon and Lex bucks up against him, pushing against his hands and writhing. Like he wants more of this, more of being touched, held down... damn.

Pulls back just enough to get his hands on Lex's pants, because mutual nudity is suddenly necessary. Lex's hands on his face like he can't get enough of touching; in his hair and on his mouth and when Clark opens wide, Lex just pushes in, stroking his tongue and --

"Suck them, Clark..."

Nothing to do but exactly that, and suck harder, move closer when Lex starts to pull away, but then he starts thrusting and that's... God, suggestive doesn't even cover it. Hot doesn't cover it. Nothing covers having your mouth fucked by Lex Luthor's fingers, knowing exactly what Lex wishes were there instead, knowing how it would feel...

Clark groans and squeezes Lex's cock through his boxers, tries to get his hand to work well enough to get inside.

"Wanna touch me, Clark?"

He has no idea what's showing on his face, but whatever it is makes Lex's eyes narrow, makes his cock twitch and suddenly Clark has him, all heat and slick and more smooth than anything has a right to be, and it's all he can do not to bite down or swallow too far, because Lex is looking at him like he's just answered every prayer he ever had.

And Lex is pushing up into his fist --

"Tighter, Clark. Harder --"

Pushing into his fist, fucking into his fist and into his mouth and braced up on one elbow and just watching him.

Or maybe... showing him.

Flush like a stain on his chest, words Clark can barely understand. Only that they're hot, and a little dirty, and he never wants them to stop.

"You're gonna make me come -- fuck --"

And Lex pulls his fingers out of Clark's mouth and drives them into his hair, pulling him up and over for another one of those spine-liquefying kisses that leaves him barely able to think. But he can still move, still stroke, swallow every small noise Lex makes and press against him, push him down and stop kissing long enough to watch himself jerking Lex off and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Hotter when Lex grabs his shoulders --

"Oh God, Clark --"

"God, Lex, c'mon, I want to see you, come for me, please --"

"Fuck --" Every muscle in Lex's body goes rigid for a second, two, and then he's coming, shooting all over Clark's fist and digging his fingers into Clark's shoulders and breathing like it's something he has to learn all over again.

And after, all Clark can do is look at Lex's sex-drunk face and grin like an idiot. Because... he did that. He flew over here and had sex.

And his parents have stopped asking where he goes every night, so he could, conceivably... "We need to do this again really soon."

Dazed laugh. "Excellent plan. In fact, you don't really need to go to school for at least a week, do you?"

"I'm a speedreader, I'll catch up."

"Speedreader. Uh, huh. I'll just bet. Superspeed, check..."

"Hey!"

And Lex's laugh this time is broad, rich, wide open as Clark feels. "God, Clark, just give up. Or don't. Ve haf vays of making you tok."

"Dirty sex ways? Because I'm betting you could probably make me talk really fast if you just. Um. Kept looking at me just like that, actually."

Easy grin. "C'mere, you dirty stinking liar. I want to sleep with you."

"I thought --"

"No, actual sleep. For about..." A quick glance at the clock, then back at Clark. "Three hours?"

"Oh. I... oh." Hand on his face, and the kiss this time is slow and soft and so full of promises that Clark has to grab Lex again, clutch him to him and try to answer in the only way he knows how. "I can do sleep," he says, when Lex breaks the kiss.

"Good. Because, you know, I really wasn't planning any big seduction scenes tonight."

"I'd think those involve more leather, anyway."

"I really think I need to hear more about your fantasy life, Clark."

"Um..."

Lex chuckles and strokes his hair. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you before you have to go home."

Clark yawns and settles half on top of Lex, grinning to himself at the surprised little 'oof.' He can take it. "Okay."

And he wonders, vaguely, what kind of dreams he'll have now, what with the flying and the sex, but he's not especially worried about it. Maybe he'll dream up a way to make all of this as Not Terrifying tomorrow as it is right now.

He's willing to be creative with his superpowers, if necessary.

End.


If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Te

Home/QuickSearch  +   Random  +   Upload  +   Search  +   Contact  +   GO List