The line of hopefuls outside the velvet rope of La Cruz snaked around the corner of the building, and down 27th. There was a spattering of the curious, with and without cameras simply mulling, hoping to get a look or a snapshot of celebrity.
It had been quarter to twelve when Lex’s people had finally latched onto the Daniakos trail coming out of Bungalow 8 in Chelsea and had tracked them to the smaller, very exclusive La Cruz. A new hotspot, that might retain popularity for a few months if it was lucky and then the fashionable crowd would find some new spot to frequent.
Lex had been out of the club scene long before La Cruz had ever opened its doors, but if the Twins were there on their after mid-night tour then he knew all he needed to about it. The drugs would flow freely as would the sex. The sort of place that paid through the nose to keep the police from interrupting the entertainments of its high profile patrons.
“Don’t drink anything anyone hands you,” Lex had told Clark.
And Clark had given him a look that very clearly said he was not an idiot and capable of taking care of himself. But the sort of crowd that circled around the Twins had no problem spiking drinks and Clark, no matter what his claims, had a look about him that just screamed ‘purity in need of corruption’.
And he looked good. The sort of good that would attract attention that Lex wasn’t sure he wanted him to attract. Lex wasn’t sure he wanted Clark on the Twin’s radar – – for a number of reasons. But chiefly because Clark tended to be intimidating when he was pursuing a cause, and Lex wasn’t out to blatantly intimidate just yet. He wanted to test the waters – – talk to them without their shields up, and see what his gut told him. His instinct was generally accurate and Niko Daniakos had a bad poker face. And if that didn’t work then he’d consider strong-arm tactics.
So he went in on his own, and let Clark park the car. And though it might have been years since Lex Luthor had made the round of the club scene, he was recognizable and like Clark had said in the hotel, the right attitude and a lot of cash could get you anywhere.
He strode right up the entrance, after exiting the god-awful yellow Ferrari, ignoring the stares and the stray paparazzi that suddenly realized that here was something more unusual than a strung out teen starlet. He heard his name uttered from people leaning out of line to stare. The suit with a clip board next to the two very large, black-t-shirted bouncers by the door, whose job it was to differentiate between the desirable elite and the desperate wanna be’s, inclined his head and smiled, ushering Lex in with a &endash; Mr. Luthor, good of you to join us, tonight.
Lex paused, slipping the man several folded hundred dollar bills, requesting softly that Clark be allowed in when he arrived. He got an affirmative nod, and stepped into the club.
Stepping inside was like being hit by a physical wave of sound and scent and motion. Strobe lights throbbed in time with the music and bodies mingled and swayed near the doors, voices raised to near yells to be heard above the music. The ceiling was bare beams and the tangled wire of lighting and speakers. Raw brick and welded iron framed walls that had been stripped to their guts. Demolition chic.
The bar in the central room was lined with neon lights, a constant beacon against the flashing overheads. There were thick I-beam supports dotted throughout, and stairs that wound up to a second half level where more bodies gathered. Catwalks where half naked people swayed or made out or stared vacantly down into the undulating masses.
Lex moved into the crowd, finding the press of overheated bodies less of a thrill than he had, once upon a time. Clark might have been able to see over the heads of the crowd and spot a familiar face or two, but Lex didn’t have that luxury, so he made his way to the bar, and slid a bill towards the closest tender.
“Blue room.” The bill disappeared and the bartender jerked her head towards the back of the main room.
Around the edges of the dance floor, where the music was deafening, and there were doorways in between leather upholstered booths, leading into individual lounges, each one emitting the soft glow of sullen light. Red, blue, purple.
He slid though the crowd towards the blue. A young woman pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, the hazy seductive smile on her face of someone at the apex of her high.
“Wanna fuck?” She smelled of Chanel and was sporting designer originals.
He caught her bony wrists and untangled himself from her grasp, not even bothering with a verbal response.
Stepping through the doorway into the blue room, the music was instantly a decibel or two lower, the light was soft and constant, and the bodies swayed here and there to the beat but left the manic dancing to the other room. There were a lot of booths with plush cushions where people lounged, and the walls were lined with blue tinted mirrors.
There was a space at the back, a raised portion of floor with sheer drapery and beaded strands, a big private booth that overlooked the floor. People seemed to gravitate to and from it, as if seeking audience, or at the very least the best drugs.
There were at least a dozen bodies sprawled on the wrap around couches. Beautiful people, all. More than one celebrity face among them. The table in the center was a vice cop’s dream – – at least the dream of one not paid to purposefully ignore the goings on of the rich and famous here at La Cruz.
Nikolas Daniakos sat between two glittery blonde things, swarthy and broad, dark hair artfully mussed. He oozed that wealthy, Mediterranean look, wide jaw, dark eyes, slick attitude.
He saw Lex and his eyes widened a little, a flash of surprise crossing his face, a flash of something darker, before his mouth curled up in a lazy smile.
“Lex,” Sophia was right there, purring his name, no less startling a beauty today than she’d been almost ten years past. No less easy to refuse when she leaned in to kiss him. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and she tasted of cinnamon and the tart flavor of margaritas and the barest hint of something bitter. He pulled back, not as easy a conquest as he had been – – certainly less trusting of warm greetings after sub-zero business maneuverings.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls, Niko.” He had to half yell to be heard above the music, standing on the other side of a table crowded with glasses and drugs, staring down into the black eyes of a man who’d held a good deal of sway over him, when he’d been young and stupid. He didn’t even look at Sophia, who’d been the temptation that had led him into the Twin’s web, but he felt her hovering at his side, not quite touching his arm.
“Didn’t want to talk to you, Lex.” Niko ran his hand down the bare shoulder of the pretty young thing at his right and she leaned into the touch, pupils dilated, nipples hard under the sheer fabric of her top.
“Make the effort,” Lex suggested.
Niko met Lex’s stare for a moment, weighing his options, then he urged the girls on his left to move, and with little pouts of displeasure the couch on that side of him cleared. It was either stand there and show hesitation, or move in smoothly and take the body-warmed seat, despite the distaste. Sophia followed him in, settling in next to him, her thigh touching his, the smell of her perfume an underlying trigger to past things. He felt the tingle of goose pimples along his arms.
“You’ve been in the news, Lex.” Niko leaned in towards him, flash of white teeth, sly smile, his cologne so much more repulsive than his sister’s subtle sent. It didn’t just rise gooseflesh, it made Lex’s stomach curl a little. “LexCorp’s having trouble, no?”
“Nothing that won’t pass.”
“Ah, yes, I heard your father had to come in and save the company, Lex. He makes a habit of that, doesn’t he?”
“Too bad yours wasn’t around to bail you out while you were destroying his legacy.” Lex said with a humorless twitch of a smile.
Niko’s laughter held as much humor as Lex’s half smile. A waitress wove her way to the table with a trey full of drinks. Lex waited for her to deposit the full glasses and clear away the empties. Beyond the mulling bodies, he thought he saw the glimpse of raven hair and burgundy shirt, but he couldn’t be sure it was Clark.
“I can’t say you’re the last person I expected to see here, Lex, but it’s a close call. I thought you were all business, now,” Niko said.
“So boring,” Sophia purred, leaning against him, with that voice like warm honey. “And you used to be so much fun.”
“I’ve developed an appreciation for my brain cells intact,” he said. “Would you care to explain why my wife was meeting with your legal council?”
“Your wife?” Niko lifted a thick brow. “Which one? You’ve been through a few now, haven’t you, Lex? The one that tried to kill you, or the one you killed?”
Lex allowed a cold, dangerous smile to cross his lips – – the type of malice that didn’t offer idle threats, but promised in absolutes.
“Robert Hyde met with my wife six weeks ago in Metropolis. He was under contract with you at the time.”
“Hyde? We’ve quite a few legal vultures working for us. You can’t expect me to remember them all.”
“Funny, because I remember him from a few days worth of meetings six months ago, and he wasn’t even drawing a paycheck from me.”
Niko laughed. “What was it you said about brain cells, Lex? Do you remember such a man, Sophia?”
“You know I never pay attention to such things, Niko. She was pretty, your wife, wasn’t she, Lex?” Her dark eyes were intent, her full mouth curved in a smile. There was something of Lana’s look to her – – or Lana had possessed something of Sophia Daniakos about her. Long dark hair, doe eyes that so skillfully hid the glint of a predator. Sophia claimed to have no care for business, no care for anything but her pleasures and catering to her brother, but Lex didn’t believe that. Not anymore.
Sophia’s light fingers brushed his knee and the touch felt – – good. Electric almost. She leaned across him so her brother could hear. “You look so good, Lex. Doesn’t he look good, Niko?”
“The years have been kind.” Niko admitted, a speculative glint in his eyes.
The weight of Sophia’s breast against Lex’s arm, the soft give of flesh through his coat came with a euphoric little wave of awareness. A ripple of tingly warmth eased up his body, like a hundred little fingers trailing over his skin. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his head, trying to keep the blue light and the glittering bodies from spinning. Her hand slid up his thigh – – God – – his cock reacted, lengthening into the touch and it felt amazing – – Until it hit him, with a dull sort of disgust, that she’d spiked the kiss. It had to have been the kiss, because he hadn’t had anything else in his mouth. That tartness on her tongue hadn’t been mixed drink but a hit of something potent. A slow burn that wasn’t the comforting high of X or the mind-bending trip of LSD, but some chemical cousin that might very well fuck him up in company that he dearly did not wish to be fucked up in.
“You bitch,” he shoved her off and staggered to his feet, bones feeling like rubber, body vibrating. Niko leaned back, while his sister scooted into the space Lex had vacated, curling under his arm, her gleaming rust lips curved up in a predator’s grin.
“What’s the matter, Lex?” Niko asked, the words seeming to run together. “Stay and talk. We’ll catch up on old times, no?”
Son of a – – He’d fucking kill them. As soon as he could focus his thoughts, as soon as he could harness the electric thrum that was making his nerves pulse.
Lex collided with someone, with several someone’s getting down the two steps to the floor. A body slid against his, hard and male, mesh shirt and leather, a murmured suggestion against his ear. A hand slid under his jacket and for a moment he went with it, all the wrong circuits tripping – – or the right ones. He shoved the body away.
He ought to be calling his people and having the Twin’s damned boat sank – – anything to ground them until he could force a meeting someplace under his control. Have them picked up maybe, on their way out of this club – – only he didn’t have that sort of manpower in New York. Not at short notice – – all he had was a few men already spread thin – – and Clark.
Clark. Who was at the edge of the Blue room, easy to spot now that Lex was out on the floor, taller than the people around him, Black hair and gorgeous face above a shirt the color of dried blood. No one in this entire club of wealthy, beautiful people – – people that could afford the best surgery could provide to improve upon Mother Nature, came even close to Clark.
And Clark had his eyes glued to Lex, a worried frown between his brows and even that looked good on him. Clark’s smiles were heaven, but his frowns were charged with storm cloud current and were no less thrilling, laced with the promise of leashed violence. And Lex liked violence – – violence possessed more honesty than sweet kisses and soft words, which were nothing more than dust jackets over volumes of lies.
Clark mouthed his name, but Lex couldn’t hear it over the throb of music. He grabbed Clark’s arm, pulling him along in passing, out of the blue room and into the louder din of the main club. Beneath the thin fabric of the silk shirt, Clark’s skin was hot, and his arm was solid and hard, the muscle twitching under Lex’s fingers when a girl flung herself against him, pressing her scantily clad front against his chest. One breast was bare and glittering with iridescent oil.
In the flashing lights, Clark’s expression was priceless. Smallville morality shocked into offense. Lex let him go, considering shedding the coat because the heat was stifling. He couldn’t think from it.
Clark caught his arm, pulling him around, yelling at him over the music. What’s wrong? What happened? Was maybe what he asked. There was a little glitter from the bare breast on Clark’s shirt. A little on his hand where he’d probably had to extricate himself from her embrace. If he lifted his hand and wiped it across his mouth, he’d have it on his lips. The image stuck in Lex’s head. Enticing. Erotic.
And Clark stood there, one still body in the midst of a hundred undulating ones, eyes large and dark and wary, face a work of stark art under the flashing lights.
Lex wanted him. It surged up, unhindered by rationalization and animosity. Lex shoved at him, and Clark took a step backwards, back against one of the I-beam supports, opening his mouth to make an apology that no body would hear over the music. Lex closed the space, pressed against him, and shocked Clark into true silence.
He tangled his fingers in the silk, nails scraping the flesh beneath, wanting to mark, wanting to raise welts and bring blood to the surface – – he was still hard – – hard all this time and pressing up against Clark made it want to explode. But it was the drug talking – – the best stuff always made him horny – – something in his metabolism that sent hormones into overdrive, fast and furious before it worked its way out of his system at a fraction of the time it took for anyone else to come down.
Sophia had tasted of cinnamon – – he wanted to know what Clark tasted like. He’d always wanted to know what Clark tasted like. And Clark was standing there, not quite knowing what to do, aghast maybe, but not shoving him away in indignation – – not moving away from the grind of his body, or the grasp of his fingers.
“I’m on something. I don’t know what,” Lex yelled, because it needed to be said, because there needed to be a validation before he lunged forward and kissed Clark.
He saw colors and tasted bliss. Clark’s soft lips parted in surprise and Lex slipped his tongue inside as if it belonged there. Clark’s tongue retreated, and Lex chased it down, a hand tangled in Clark’s hair, one scraping down the back of his arm, until Clark’s tongue flickered forth to meet him. Artless and messy and hot, and Lex wanted to devour him, wanted to wrap himself around Clark’s body and stake a claim.
Clark’s hands didn’t know what to do, where to settle – – on Lex’s shoulders or his hips, and ended up grazing under his coat, skimming the line of his torso from armpits to hips and the jolt of sensation went through Lex like he’d been tazered. Either the drug was absolutely fantastic or Clark was – – he couldn’t decide which, and didn’t quite care, because he felt the rub of Clark’s erection against his own, hot and hard beneath the denim that Clark had refused to part with.
Fucking in some dark corner of the club didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t in the past. He didn’t recall it ever seeming so vital, he didn’t recall ever wanting to slip his hand down the front of a man’s pants as badly as he wanted to get into Clark’s. But then again, he didn’t think he’d ever wanted a man as desperately as he wanted Clark and maybe that didn’t have a fucking thing to do with whatever Sophia had slipped him. All her little Mickey had done was broaden his perceptions.
Clark pushed him away, fingers gripping Lex’s arms so hard the pain got through the haze, face flushed and shocked, mouth parted, lips red and wet. Lex’s own felt tingly and swollen – – everything felt tingly and parts of him were definitely swollen. Which was amusing enough to make him grin like an idiot and try to grind close to Clark again, but Clark swung him around, a death-grip on Lex’s left arm above the elbow, and stalked towards the faint glow of the exit.
“We need to get out of here.” Clark yelled at him. And it was a wonderful idea. Somewhere private. The car would do, or the alley, Lex didn’t particularly care as long as he got Clark there alone – – or not alone. It didn’t particularly matter at the moment.
People parted for Clark like he was a barge breaking through ice, dragging Lex in his wake. It was distantly embarrassing and the grip hurt and it was unbelievably hot, Clark taking the initiative.
It was easier getting out than in, and the air was a hundred times cooler and fresher, even in the depths of the city. The absence of bone shaking music was like a gift from the gods. But he’d forgotten the crowd outside and the paparazzi and there were a few flashes that the bouncers glared at, and Clark ignored, while Lex tried to wrap his mind around the idea that a sex scandal in the gossip rags might out shadow the corporate one in the business section.
The car was a few blocks down, nearest parking and Clark was taking the sidewalk at a good clip, hand still fast on Lex’s arm. Mouth set tight now, and eyes hard, no less of a turn on. But then most everything was now.
“God, Lex!” They reached the car and Clark swung him around, against the passenger side door. “I thought you told me not to drink anything.”
“I didn’t,” he said, pushing off from the car and against Clark, pressing his mouth against the bare skin above Clark’s collar, tasting the faint salt of sweat and something indefinable and Clark.
Clark breathed a curse, hands on Lex’s shoulders as Lex worked a hand between them, palming the front of Clark’s jeans. Clark hung to the right and his cock was still a half hard, impressive length. Clark’s fingers clenched and a spasm of pain shot through Lex’s shoulders and might have dropped him to his knees if Clark hadn’t been there to shore him up. He had a fleeting memory of the thing that had worn Clark’s face, with its hands that could break bone and rip muscle without even trying.
But Clark was saying sorry, muttering it, in the same breathy tone he’d used for the curse and Lex thought that if Clark wanted to hurt him, that might not be such a bad thing. He might just be able to get off on that, and they’d both have something they needed. He murmured something along those lines against Clark’s neck and felt Clark shiver.
He slid his hand up under Clark’s shirt and touched the skin beneath. He felt goose pimples form under his fingers and that was simply erotic. He wanted to get his mouth on the same spot, but Clark wrapped an arm around his waist and walked him backwards to the curb, got the car door open with his other hand and maneuvered Lex into the seat.
So apparently making out against the car was a no go.
He leaned his head back against the headrest, while the car settled around him. Being off his feet provided an oddly weightless sensation – – the muffled quiet behind raised windows was curious. Clark opened the driver’s side door and let in some of the city’s residual noise. The car shifted a little under his weight when he got in, and the noise went away when he closed the door.
The red shirt was half untucked, and the jeans were tight across Clark’s thighs, tighter now that he was sitting than the loose fall of them standing. Lex leaned across the gearshift and ran a hand up taut denim. Clark made a strangled noise and caught his wrist. Held it up between them and met Lex’s eyes with desperately serious green ones of his own.
“Lex – – could you not – – are you okay? Should I call someone? Take you somewhere?”
“Its not so bad,” As highs went, this one was really rather nice. He liked the feel of cool leather seats and the smell of the car. He liked the feel of Clark’s fingers circling his wrist. “Home.”
“Hotel?” Clark countered and certainly that was as good an alternative as any. It had a bed.
“I like how you say my name.” Lex leaned in closer and Clark swallowed. “You use it like a curse one moment and a supplication the next.”
He got close enough to feel the warmth of Clark’s lips against his own, before Clark pulled away, pushing Lex firmly back into the confines of his own seat. Clark’s hands were shaking as he fumbled with the key and the ignition.
The engine purred to life and Lex slumped back, a dull sense of disappointment pricking the edge of his thoughts. Clark was a killjoy. Clark was a tease. And if Clark wouldn’t oblige him – – he ran a hand between his legs, squeezing and his cock seemed indifferent in the matter of whose hand was touching it, as long as someone was – – he could take care of it himself.
Clark pulled out into the street, trying not to look at Lex or listen to Lex or think about Lex. Lex was bad enough stone sober with a grudge – – boneless with hands that wanted to roam everywhere, with a mouth that was no less clever on lips and skin than it was with words – – he was overwhelming. And wrong. And out of his head on something he’d warned Clark to steer clear of.
Clark had seen Lex drunk, but he’d never seen him stoned or high or whatever this was that had him hazy eyed and slurred, and deep into the realm of sexual overdrive. And God – – Lex’s tongue had been in his mouth, all sly and wet and rough velvet and his lips had been slick and silken on the inside and – – stop thinking about it. Stop thinking.
Clark had listened to the conversation with the Greek twins, had tuned out the music and focused on the voice he knew like the back of his hand and the responding, slightly accented others. How Lex had gotten the drug, he didn’t know, but there had been nothing particularly revealing or incriminating in the short conversation. But if these people were anything like Lex, they could lie without missing a beat.
Lex made a sound that sort of went straight past Clark’s brain to his spine and traveled down. He had to glance over and wished he hadn’t because it was hard to tear his eyes away when Lex had his hand down the front of his pants, stroking in cadence to his little breathy moans. And the image hit Clark’s brain of Lex’s cut cock and how different it looked from his own uncut one, and how when it was hard the skin would probably stretch taut and shiny across the tip – –
Lex arched in his seat half growling, and Clark caught a glimpse of the rosy head slipping past the edge of Lex’s underwear. Then the flash of headlights coming down the intersecting street and he jerked the wheel hard, throwing out an arm to keep Lex from flying forward when he slammed on the brakes, but not soon enough to avoid the curb and the trashcans that the nose of the Ferrari sent tumbling across the sidewalk and into the road.
Clark blinked through the windshield at a couple of startled homeless men taking shelter a few door stoops down. A taxi swerved around his tail end, passing by without slowing. Lex was laughing, low and soft next to him.
He looked over and the fact that he’d wrecked a half million dollar rental car wasn’t nearly as distracting as Lex slumping in the seat next to him, bringing up a hand, fingers glistening with spots of what had to be come and sliding one after the other into his mouth, like he was licking melted ice cream from his fingers or honey or – – ah, God, Clark was so hard it hurt.
Lex leaned over, across the gear shift and his hand landed on just the right spot – – or the wrong one and Clark shuddered and bit back a groan, thinking if he shoved Lex away now, he’d likely fling him hard enough to tear the door off the car – – and Clark had damaged the car enough already – – and Lex had strong fingers and they were kneading through the denim.
The jeans were so constricting and Clark thought he just might rip a seam – – or come in his shorts, which seemed more likely when Lex surged up, one knee on his seat and slipped his tongue into Clark’s mouth again. Lex kissed like it was an art form and he a master of the craft and there was just no place to go to avoid it, trapped in a car that had been built for looks instead of spacey comfort. Nothing to do but lift his hands to the sides of Lex’s neck, curving his fingers around the smooth, sleek skin at the back of his skull and sink into it. Because really – – really, you just didn’t get kissed like this everyday – – maybe ever – – where it sort of sapped rational practicality like a sponge and dropped IQ a good fifty points.
Clark felt the button of his pants give, felt Lex’s clever fingers squirm under his jeans and a little spark of reason flared up, pounding on the outside of his brain to let him know he needed to stop this. It was wrong on so many levels, not the least of which was Lex being stoned out of his mind. It was taking advantage – – the next best thing to rape, though Clark was a little foggy on who was getting molested – – and Lex would probably be rightfully outraged when he came down.
Only Lex’s fingers touched his cock and Clark lost his train of thought, half coming up off the seat as sensation shot through his body.
“Ah – – God. Lex – – Lex, I can’t let – -” Lex bit the side of his neck and the words tumbled into inarticulate gasps.
“Yes. You can,” Lex murmured into his ear, hot breath, grazing hint of teeth at the lobe, fingers wrapped tight around Clark’s cock. “You know you want to.”
He didn’t. Really, he didn’t. Lex was the last thing he wanted. He wanted Lex naked with nothing between his hands and that smooth, smooth skin. He wanted Lex face down, fine lean body crushed under his, gasping after breath, begging for it – –
Clark came, crying out, spasming, balls throbbing as they emptied, come spewing up across his belly and fine new shirt, on Lex’s hand. Lex’s hand, which was squeezing the head of his cock like he was trying to milk the last drop.
Clark saw lazy stars. They settled like the trailing brands of fireworks, sizzling out into blackness with the acrid scent of spent gunpowder left in their wake. And like a fireworks show, once the explosions were over, there was nothing but darkness and the muted silence of the night – – and he’d just had sex in a car with Lex. On the side of a New York street, with a couple of homeless not fifteen feet down the sidewalk and the occasional cab flashing its headlights in the rear view mirror.
Breathing became suddenly difficult. The last time Clark had hyperventilated he’d been six, but he felt a bout coming on now.
“Oh, God.” He got the door open, got out from under Lex and stumbled onto the sidewalk. Leaned with his hands on the hood of the car and fought the urge to just run. To the other side of the world where no one would suspect what he’d just done. Where he could hide his face in shame and maybe pray to some pagan god that Lex would have hazy memories at best of tonight’s activities.
What were the chances? Slim to none, with his luck.
He took a breath and circled the car, needing to move, to get his mind on something else. He accessed the damage to the right front end. The headlight was shattered and the frame crumpled around it. It honestly looked as if the car had taken more damage than the trashcans. You’d think anything this expensive would be built to take more than a love tap without needing major reconstructive surgery.
You’d think, even if he couldn’t toss a tractor across the county line, that having four inches and thirty pounds on Lex, he could have staved him off. You’d think it would have been first instinct – – instead of second or third or washed away entirely by the press of a body against his. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ignored a dozen or more eager bodies pressed up against him this very night once inside the club – – and most of them had had breasts. Of course none of them had skin like Lex’s and maybe Clark had a skin fetish that he was only just discovering because he’d been fixating on Lex’s for a while now. Maybe it was a blossoming Kryptonian thing.
He’d paced to the end of the block and not even realized it. He turned around to start back, and the passenger side door was open and Lex was squatting down with his back against the side of the car, the long tail of his jacket trailing off the sidewalk and into the gutter. Clark wasn’t sure whether to speed up or slow down. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out here running circles in his head.
Lex had his fingertips to his forehead. He looked up from under his hand when Clark ventured close and there was something a little more collected in his eyes. Clark couldn’t think of a damned thing to say, but if the heat in his cheeks were any indication, his expression probably spoke volumes.
How did you say, ‘jeeze, sorry I let you stick your tongue down my throat and your hand down my pants when you were drugged, because I don’t even normally swing that way – -‘
“Fuck,” Lex muttered and shoved himself up. He held out his hand. “Keys.”
“What?” Clark stared dumbly. It was the same hand that had recently been around his cock, and recently had come smeared fingers sucked into Lex’s mouth. Clark wondered if Lex had licked off what he had spattered on his hand. The notion actually made his newly spent cock twitch.
“Clark,” Lex’s voice got through his mental meanderings. “Give me the keys.”
Keys? As if Lex needed to be behind the wheel of a car. He had bad enough luck stone sober.
“No,” Clark said. “I’ll drive.” He might not be able to look Lex in the eye at the moment, but he wasn’t prepared to let him endanger himself, or anyone else.
Lex tightened his mouth, as if being flat out refused wasn’t something he was used to when he gave direct orders. Which he probably wasn’t.
“Obviously you’re in the midst of a moral dilemma here, so I wouldn’t want to impose,” Lex said carefully, as if his brain’s connection to his mouth wasn’t as lightening fast as usual. There was a hint of offense in his tone that he usually hid so much better when he was being defensively sarcastic.
Clark looked up and caught a glimpse of unshielded turmoil in Lex’s eyes, a mishmash of emotion that he couldn’t even begin to interpret.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” Clark blurted. “I should have stopped it. I don’t know what I was thinking – – and you weren’t – – and I was supposed to be the responsible one and its as much my fault – -”
Lex hissed through his teeth, spinning on his heel and stalking into the road to wave down an oncoming taxi. The cab had to swerve a little to miss hitting him and Clark shut his eyes, trying to slow the thumping of his heart, because things were really swinging miserably out of control.
Lex got into the cab without looking back and Clark stood there next to the badly used rental and wondered if he just went home and pretended tonight hadn’t happened if he would wake tomorrow and go on with life as usual. Something that happened a thousand miles from home, in the heat of the moment, shouldn’t irrevocably change a life. People had casual sex all the time. Strangers met, got drunk, knocked boots and never saw each other again.
But of course, Lex wasn’t a stranger and Clark hadn’t been drunk and they both lived in the same small town so the option of avoiding each other was a little slim. They hadn’t done a particularly good job at it when they’d been at odds and actively engaged in cold war. Clark wasn’t entirely sure the idea of steering clear of Lex really appealed now.
A trio of teenagers had slowed in their progress down the sidewalk to appraise the car. Ferrari hubcaps had to be worth a pretty penny, much less the other salvageable parts. They were skinny and armed with switchblades in the pockets of their ridiculously low slung pants, and despite the appeal of the car, Clark fixing them with a ‘you really don’t want to try me’ look, decided them against attempted carjacking. They kept walking, looking back over their shoulders.
The longer the car was here, the more chance a police cruiser would pass by and he’d have to explain the reasons why, or trouble that he’d have to physically deal with would saunter up, so he carefully pulled back the front bumper so it wouldn’t gouge the tire when it turned, and pulled out onto the road. Hopefully accident insurance came with such rentals or Lex was going to get a hefty repair bill.
He glanced over at the passenger seat. It was embarrassing to admit, but he was almost certain he’d never seen anything quite so hot as Lex with his hand down his pants, slowly jerking off. Those peeks of flesh had been riveting. The sounds Lex made better than any porn Clark had ever snuck over Pete’s basement to watch – – better than Lana’s quiet little breathy moans – – and that made him feel guilty and deviant.
He could have held Lex off. Could have done any number of things – – if he hadn’t liked what Lex was doing. If Lex hadn’t sparked every sensory receptor in his body and then some. If he hadn’t wanted – – very badly – – was Lex had been offering.
He had a Ferrari and a city mercifully sparse of traffic in the wee hours of the morning – – maybe if he drove long enough, he could figure out exactly how he was going to deal with this.