The cab stank of sweat and whatever cheap cologne the driver had sprinkled liberally over himself to cover the fact that he probably hadn’t bathed in days. Lex leaned back in the seat, the back window rolled down the halfway that it would go and tried not to think about how unsettled his stomach was. Tried not to watch the buildings flash past, because it made the sensation of motion sickness worse and adamantly attempted not to dwell on the absolute mortification and dismay that had been on Clark’s face.
Lex could still feel the pain of the gearshift ramming into his side when Clark had shoved him away in his attempts to flee the car. He’d have a bruise there come morning. Maybe some others that he didn’t quite feel now, on the downside of whatever Sophia had slipped him.
Predictably, he’d reached the apex and come down hard and fast. The downside of the slope was never particularly pleasant, which was why his youthful drug phase had only lasted a few years before he got tired of fleetingly short periods of gratification backed by dismal downs. It had taken a ridiculous amount of hard drugs, mixed and matched, if he’d wanted to last the night. He supposed he ought to be thankful of that fast metabolism now, or he might still be making a fool of himself in front of Clark. And there was nothing Lex despised more than feeling the fool.
Clark. God. The last time he’d seen Clark so offended – – so mortally embarrassed – – Lex couldn’t even remember. He laughed, rubbing a hand over his eyes feeling a bit of mortal embarrassment himself. He added the other hand, palms pressed into his eyes – – thinking that all last year, when he’d been looking for a way to get Clark out of his business and off his back, the solution would have been so ironically simple. Back him into a corner, kiss him breathless, slip a hand down his pants and get a good firm grasp on what had to be – – and Lex could only guesstimate from feel alone – – a very impressive cock, and Clark would take off, never to show his face again, his puritan morality affronted beyond repair. A marvelous solution.
It would have been a wonderful way to keep him away from Lana – – if in retrospect keeping Clark away from Lana had been as vital a concern as keeping Lana away from Clark – – as keeping Clark from being happy. He laughed again and thought there was more of the drug still in his system than he’d assumed, because that wasn’t the type of rationalization he’d make lucid. Even to himself.
He wasn’t sure when hurting Clark had gone from a personal need close to his heart, a Luthor imperative to return pain given – – to a coldly clinical need for conflict. A curious realization and he couldn’t put his finger on the seeds that had started that particular portion of their war, but he thought that Lana might have been a casualty of it. Tactical ground won in dirty combat. And he’d done things to get her – – unfathomable things, that made his hands tremble a little now, trying to rationalize – – because at the time, losing had not been an option. When he looked back now, all things considered, loosing would have been the best thing for all involved.
He laughed again, silently and wondered how much black coffee it would take to knock Sophia’s crap out of his system completely. Niko liked to think he ruled his little roost, but she’d always been the sly one, the ingenious one who whispered suggestions into her brother’s ear. Lex had to wonder if most of their little games were spawned by Sophia’s fertile imagination instead of her brother’s. So beautiful and so twisted.
He took a breath of the fresh air whipping in through the window and tried to clear his head, then pulled out his phone and started making calls. He could get more of his own people down here in a few hours time, but he needed to make sure the Twins didn’t leave New York before then. He gave instructions and hoped the men here, who would not be his top choice for under-the-table work, could carry them out. Made another call and woke someone up who owed him a favor and got another ball rolling in another court.
The cab pulled up to the Mandarin Oriental and the driver got a hefty tip, thanks to Lex’s lack of small bills. He leaned against the wall of the elevator on the ride up, head clogged with a gummy film that he couldn’t quite shake. He recalled the feel of Clark’s lips. Soft. He’d known they’d be soft. Even pressed tight in a grim frown, you could see Clark’s lips would be supple and plush. He kissed like a novice though, uncertain of himself, uncertain of his technique – – except for that last one, in the car before he’d come – – then, he’d gotten into it – – gotten off, before he’d gathered the shreds of his moral values back together and fled.
Poor little Kansas farm boy led into temptation and falling to it, and then crying foul. Self-righteous bastard. Clark never changed. The high horse just got taller and taller.
Lex couldn’t quite recall what Clark had said, but he was certain there had been regret attached – – as if Lex didn’t regret latching onto Clark instead of some faceless stranger, who’d have happily given him a fuck in the club toilet and gone on his way. At least then he could have come down from it pissed, but not feeling as if he’d done someone a grave injustice. Done Clark an injustice – – as if it suddenly mattered again.
Lex stalked down the hall to his room. Had to insert the key card twice because his hands were shaking too badly to get the door open the first time. His head was in a fine welter, thoughts chaotic and jumbled. He called down for a pot of coffee and a bottle of Tylenol. Once he got a cup or two down, he’d call and double check on the order’s he’d given, just to make certain they’d sounded as comprehensible to his man as they had to him when he’d been giving them.
He got into the shower – – as cold as he could take it and let the spray beat against his face. Got out chilled and shivering and slipped into the clothes he’d flown down in. The cart with the coffee had been left inside his door, along with the pills.
He swallowed four pills with black coffee, refilled the cup and tuned the TV onto CNBC to watch the early morning commentary on the soon to open market. The Japanese market was already open, and LuthorCorp was actually up a point and a quarter there. LexCorp was down .51 and Lex almost wished he hadn’t turned it on to see. As much as he hated admitting it, his father and the plan to distance LuthorCorp from LexCorp seemed to be working on the one front. In the grander scheme of things, if LexCorp went down, it would be an acceptable tactical loss, if its larger brethren escaped relatively unscathed.
Tactical loss. An easy term to bandy about when it wasn’t your company and your reputation on the line.
He turned the channel aimlessly, seeking something less depressing than business news, settled on a history channel special on human sacrifice and the Aztec culture, which was a definite step up. It was grim enough to fit his mood and kept his mind off other less productive things. Dark haired, green-eyed things that he ought not care one whit about the opinions of.
Lex focused on millennia old mutilated skeletons tangled in a newly unearthed mass grave in an Aztec dig site in Mexico. He idly wondered, while he was watching primitive art renditions of prisoners being eviscerated and decapitated, if Clark would ever be able to look him in the eye again without blushing. Would that even be so great a loss?
Except, that he liked Clark’s blushes. He liked the way he used to be able to rattle him with veiled sexual innuendo. He’d always wondered how much went over Clark’s head and how much he really understood and pretended to be oblivious of – – because he’d been scandalized or turned on and embarrassed because of it.
Lex shut his eyes and veered his mind away from that vein of thought.
He drifted off, and was jarred awake at around five by the ringing of his phone. He blinked himself awake and answered.
“It’s done, Mr. Luthor, exactly as you wanted.”
Okay, one problem down. He rotated a neck gone stiff from drowsing on the couch, and rose, heading to the bedroom for a few hours more comfortable sleep. Sooner or later the Twins would be calling on him. He guessed later, since with the hours they kept, they were notoriously late sleepers. If they got to sleep at all.
There was a t-shirt on the end of the bed and a worn flannel shirt. Evidence of Clark that he’d forgotten was here. He took a breath, and unbuttoned his own shirt, put it on a hanger in the closet, then hung his slacks over a pants rack. He tossed the flannel and the T on the chair by the window – – then hesitated, his own sense of radical order making him retrieve them, and put them both onto hangers in the closet.
He slipped between the sheets and sank into uneasy slumber.
He awoke not long after seven. He’d had dreams that had to do with Clark and Clark’s barn in the midst of high summer. There had been hay involved, he thought, with the refreshing awareness of actually being able to recall the details of a dream. And possibly bare, sweaty skin. No new dream, he just hadn’t had the like in a very long time.
He’d gotten less than four hours sleep, but he felt refreshed, energized almost. Maybe it was the lack of fuzz in his head. Or taking active measures to assure the twins would be making an effort to see him, after the little impromptu stunt they’d pulled last night.
He checked his phone for messages, but there were none that he cared to answer. Showered, and dressed in some of yesterdays acquisitions, he decided to go down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast.
He hesitated just out of the elevator, staring at a newsstand with today’s edition of the Wall Street Journal, which had a majestic looking profile of his father on the cover with a caption reading “Lionel Luthor Does it Again: Newly returned CEO pulls LuthorCorp from the brink.”
Lex ground his teeth, feeling a thrumming tension between his eyes. He walked past without picking up a copy, through the lobby towards the entrance of the Mandarin Café. Almost he missed Clark, wrapped up in lingering annoyance over the Journal cover. He slowed his stride marginally and cast a glance to one of the comfortable groupings of seating scattered about the elegant first floor reception area and sure enough, there was Clark, slouched in a chair, looking distinctly as if he’d been there for some while.
Lex kept walking, feeling a little surge of satisfaction, followed by a peel of irritation, a nudge of curiosity, a twinge of victory and then back to the satisfaction. Having run the gambit of emotional reaction in response to the simple presence of Clark Kent, he dredged up the additional one of disgust and aimed it at himself.
“How many will there be?” the hostess greeted him at the entrance to the café. He could almost feel Clark’s presence approaching from behind.
He glanced casually over his shoulder at Clark, burgundy silk shirt untucked and no less attractive because of it, hair tousled to the point that if Lex had to guess, it hadn’t been touched by a comb since they’d left the hotel for the club the night before. Again – – no less attractive from the lack. Maybe even more so. Or perhaps Clark just seemed so much more attractive than usual because Lex had gotten up close and personal, first hand taste, first hand touch and it was coloring his perception.
He tore his eyes away and looked back to the hostess.
“One.” He said and she glanced behind him to Clark, then back with an unfaltering smile.
“This way, please.”
Of course, Clark trailed him and stood there, shifting a little in either impatience or annoyance while the waiter descended with coffee and inquired whether Lex would be having the breakfast buffet – – which was quite expansive if he recalled correctly – – or if he’d prefer to order from the menu. He’d actually had an appetite coming down, but between his father on the cover of the Wall Street Journal and Clark surprising him before 8 am, it had dwindled.
“The buffet, please.”
The waiter nodded and went off.
“Listen, Lex,” Clark started, as Lex rose to wander down the line of silver covered serving platters. “I brought back the car.”
“Give the keys to the concierge.” Lex took a plate and chose a selection of fruit, a toasted bagel and creamed cheese and considered the smoked salmon. He decided against and strolled back to the table. Clark was still with him.
“Was there something else?” he asked mildly, as he might a hovering assistant who needed a prod to be about their business.
Clark stood there, tense, working the inside of his cheek like there was a mountain of something else’s that he’d like to broach, while Lex spread cheese across the top of one half of the bagel.
“The front end was sort of banged up.” Was what he said instead, so very clearly not what was really on his mind.
“Humm. I’d assumed you could drive something not manufactured by Ford. My mistake.”
He didn’t look up at Clark’s expression but Clark’s fists, which were more at eye level clenched and there was the distinct sound of cracking knuckles. Lex wondered how much it would take to push Clark over the edge.
“We need to talk,” Clark said bluntly. Lex considered the even spread of creamed cheese and finally looked up to meet Clark’s eyes. There was no blush, which was a surprise.
“No. We really don’t. I think we’re long past the point where heart to hearts are required to hash out differences. I assure you I won’t be spreading tales, so you can rest easy.”
“I wasn’t worried about that.” Clark leaned down, palms flat on the crisp white tablecloth. “I was worried about you.”
Worried about him? That was laughable. And annoying. It struck a chord of defensiveness that set Lex’s nerves on end.
“Shouldn’t you be long past that, too? What is it with you, Clark, that you always have to play someone’s savior? You’d think that with Lana dead, you could find someone more in need of it than me. Chloe, maybe? Lois certainly seems to attract trouble – – why not go and bother her?”
“At least they don’t deserve the shit that hits the fan around them.” Clark snapped.
“And of course, I do.” Lex took a bite of bagel.
“Yes.” Clark agreed immediately – – then took a breath and gathered frayed calm, adding in a much lower voice, though teeth that were practically clenched. “But you didn’t deserve what happened last night and I’m sorry I didn’t – – handle it better.”
Lex speared a strawberry, spent a great deal of time pretending to examine the quality if the berry while he turned that over in his head.
“In what way? I’m a little foggy on the details.” Lex finally asked – – even if he wasn’t – – because, well, he was curious and if it made Clark uncomfortable answering that was an added bonus.
“You were on something – – not thinking straight,” Clark pulled the chair out and flopped down so he could lean in on his elbows and whisper.
“Obviously,” Lex agreed dryly, trying a piece of cantaloupe.
“Its like – – its like if somebody roofies your date, the last thing you do is go and take advantage of it and I was just freaked out and didn’t know what to do and it got out of hand.” Clark finished with a deep breath and almost comically serious look.
Lex rolled his eyes at Clark’s attempt at rationalization. “First of all, it wasn’t a roofie – – it was nowhere close. Second – – your date? Third, if you had taken advantage you’d have fucked me in a bathroom stall, instead of acting like a frightened virgin while I got a little handsy. So get over yourself, Clark. Oh, and by the way, obviously some part of you knew exactly what to do, when you were coming all over my hand. Accurate assessment?”
Lex took one last sip of coffee and rose, leaving Clark with the beginnings of that oh so satisfying blush on his cheeks.
Lex ground his teeth all the way across the lobby to the elevators. He picked up a copy of the Journal while he waited for the car to arrive, just to give himself more fodder for irritation.
Of course Clark would take the martyr’s route. Taking blame on himself, even though Lex knew at heart he thought he was just an innocent victim of Lex’s drug induced horniness. Just happened to kiss back like he really meant it and just happened to get a hard-on of porn star proportions. An accident. A twist of cruel fate. Clark hadn’t enjoyed it at all. Of course it wasn’t the corn-fed, self-righteous prick’s fault. Nothing ever was.
Lex stepped into the elevator car, paper curled in his fist and the doors almost made it closed before a hand inserted itself into the gap and forced them back open. Clark stepped in, red cheeked and pissed and Lex pressed his lips, frankly surprised Clark had the nerve to prolong a painful conversation.
They stood there, at silent odds while the car stopped at the second floor, picked up a pair of women in fashionable sweats who had obviously come from the hotel’s gym. They got off on the Fourth floor and Lex could practically hear the grind of Clark’s teeth.
“Why did you kiss me?” The straightforward question caught Lex off guard.
“I thought we’d established I was high?”
“The place was filled with gorgeous women. Why me?”
When Clark actually stopped and thought, he was annoyingly perceptive. Lex shrugged, gathering forces, wondering how much it would take to make Clark run screaming. Wondering how much it might take to make him stay.
“Didn’t you know, I don’t have a problem with men?” He stepped closer, right up into Clark’s personal space. “But, I think the question is, why did you kiss me back? Repeatedly.”
Clark swallowed, took a half, nervous step backwards, which put his back against the elevator wall, and Lex had no qualms closing the distance, pressing his advantage.
“So I can only assume, you don’t have an issue with men, either. ” he grazed the back of his hand across the front of Clark’s jeans. Rubbed his knuckles up and down the flap covering the zipper and felt reaction underneath. “Or is it just me?”
Clark caught his wrist, brought it up between them, and Lex looked up from the captured hand to Clark’s eyes. Dilated pupils with a ring of angry green. Lex smiled the sort of smile that offered all manner of things to a man willing to throw caution to the winds and take him up on the offer. Which of course Clark wouldn’t, because the sorts of risks Clark took, weren’t of the scandalous nature.
He leaned in, brushed his mouth across Clark’s and felt the full body shiver that rippled over Clark in response. “If you’d care to explore options, make an appointment. I’ll see if I can squeeze you in.”
The doors opened and Lex pulled back, lifted a questioning brow and Clark released his wrist as if it had sprouted thorns. Lex strolled down the hall, not looking back, feeling a distinct sense of victory, even if it did come with simmering frustration.
He got the door half open when he felt Clark press in behind him, pressing him into the room, up against the inside wall while the door softly swung shut behind him.
“You’re a son of a bitch.” Clark growled, breath close to Lex’s ear.
“I thought we’d already established that.” He shoved Clark back – – or made the attempt and failed, Clark caught one wrist, held it fast against Lex’s side while he leaned in.
His hand was going a little numb from Clark’s grip, but the rest of him was very aware of the press of Clark’s body. He could feel the thud of Clark’s heart against his back, the external wave of heat that radiated from his skin. The harsh breath against the back of his head.
He pressed his free hand flat against the wall, seeking leverage that didn’t seem to make a damned bit of difference trying to move Clark when Clark didn’t want to be moved.
“Is there a plan to go with this bit of spontaneity?” Lex inquired, less control in his voice than he might have liked.
Clark made a sound that might have been a growl – – frustrated, low in his throat. “You – – just – – make – – me crazy.”
Which in certain circumstances, might not have been the most undesirable of things. Might have been a very good thing indeed, considering Clark was half erect against his ass – – if Lex had plunged into this little contest with sex as the goal, instead of sex as a means to drive Clark away. After the utter embarrassment of last night, he simply wasn’t up to more of Clark’s horrified regrets in the face of impulsive physical reactions.
“You’re not making my life any easier, either. Get off,” Lex growled back, bucking against Clark uselessly.
“Why did you kiss me?”
Ah, god, back to that again. Clark was steadfast as granite.
“Why do you think?” Lex hissed.
Clark was silent, leaning into him, his weight oppressive, subtly thrilling. Then suddenly it was gone, and it was just Clark’s hands on either side of him against the wall. Lex turned, caged, not desperate enough yet to surrender dignity and try and duck under Clark’s arms to escape. Not sure he wanted to.
He’d made a hobby of reading Clark, once upon a time. Certainly no complicated undertaking, since Clark wore his emotions as plainly as credits on the big screen. His lies had always been as easy to read as his truths. There was honest emotion there now. Honest confusion. Honest frustration. Honest guilt, because upstanding young Kansas farmers didn’t sport erections pressed up against other men.
What would it take to make Clark just give up and go home? To stop fucking with Lex’s head with this sudden surge of interest – – with the sudden reinsertion of his presence in Lex’s life when it had taken Lex a damned long time to get over the abrupt departure in the first place.
“I don’t know,” Clark said softly and Lex hissed, because it was lie. Another damned lie because Clark did know.
“That’s bullshit.” Lex took the half step open to him, between Clark and the wall, got right up in Clark’s face, and damned if he wasn’t a little hard too, from anger, from Clark’s closeness, from Clark’s aggression. It grazed against Clark’s and it was like a shot of pure electricity.
“You were never that naïve,” he bit out, mouth very close to Clark’s jaw and Clark wasn’t moving, Clark’s arms were brushing his shoulders. “You were just so used to lying to everyone else, that lying to yourself about a little deviant attraction was no great stretch. Admit it, Clark. If I’d been anything but reputable back then – – and I so fucking was – – I’d have had you bending over for me every – -”
“Shut up,” Clark shoved him backwards. Hard. Lex hit the wall with enough impact to drive the air from his lungs, to make him see stars when his head hit. His knees went watery, would have given out entirely if Clark hadn’t caught him by the arms and pressed up hard against him, mouth covering his, slamming his head back against the wall, all over again.
It was desperate and demanding, Clark’s tongue invading like he was waging war, giving no quarter, thick and strong and wet, thrusting inside Lex’s mouth like he was fucking. Oxygen starved and half dazed, Lex tried to get his bearings, but it was easier at the moment, to simply submit. To rub his tongue across Clark’s, to suck at the meaty fullness of it, to let Clark pull his into his mouth, wet and messy and wonderful even if he was on the verge of seeing black around the edges of his vision from the lack of air.
Clark pulled back and Lex gasped, pulling in a shuddery lungful of air. Clark’s perfect, perfect lips were glistening, his eyes so dark a green they were almost black.
“God,” Clark said, in the same sort of voice he might use at the scene of a horrific accident.
Lex could see it in his eyes, Clark thinking about Lana hardly six weeks dead, and his mother, and his self-righteous father and all his carefully constructed pre-conceptions about what it was to be a man – – and Lex didn’t care. Not about Lana or Clark’s moral values or even his own recent desires to drive Clark as far and as fast away from him as he could.
“How’s it taste? That straight shot of honesty?” He asked, voice shaking just a little, but he didn’t care about that now either.
Clark stared at him, mouth half open, throat working and so damned hard. Lex was and he shifted, grinding against Clark and Clark gasped. Lex saw a flash of pink tongue. He grasped Clark’s shirt, pressing up and kissing him. Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, biting it enough that Clark shuddered and made a sound that went through Lex like the best drug in the world. He slipped his tongue inside, slow easy, tracing the silk on the inside of Clark’s lips, the slick feel of his teeth and Clark’s tongue flickered out to meet him, practically shy after the intensity of his first kiss, but growing stronger and Clark opened his mouth and drew Lex in.
Clark’s taste was euphoric, half remembered from last night, but clear headed, in possession of all of his faculties, it curled through Lex’s senses like fine liquor.
He worked his hand down between them, cupped Clark’s bulge and Clark’s body jerked against him, up against his hand. He let his mouth slide to Clark’s jaw, biting, scraping his tongue, sucking against the angle of clenching muscle and bone. Clark was muttering, prayers or curses – – all of it unintelligible past the pounding blood in Lex’s ears. Clark’s hand moved up from his arms to his neck, big, callused fingers rough/soft against his skin, sliding under the collar of his shirt to splay out across his shoulders. A button popped off and another as Clark tried to work his hands down more of Lex’s chest and that was okay. Buttons could be reattached, new shirts purchased. Clark’s fingers on his skin were beyond price.
He got the button of Clark’s jeans undone, fumbled after the zipper and got it down enough so that he could get his hand down, but Clark caught his wrist before he could do more than brush his fingers across the moist tip of Clark’s cock.
Clark pushed him back against the wall and pinned him there, the strength in his hands unforgiving – – entirely frustrating. Clark looked at him for a moment, eyes bright and fevered, throat working.
Clark was thinking. Lex could see it. The second guessing going on behind his eyes. The doubt. If he could just get his hands on Clark’s cock, he could banish that unwanted thought. Get down to basics.
“What are you waiting for?” he sneered. “Me on my knees, sucking you? I could do that for you if its what you need to get back on track.”
Clark twitched, fingers tightening on Lex’s wrists, grinding bone together, maybe the animal part of his brain thinking about that option and liking it. Lex hissed and arched forward, closing the distance between their hips, grinding his erection against Clark’s. It was the deciding factor. Despite all of his high and mighty ideals, his homespun values, Clark was only human.
Clark was back against him, sucking his tongue into his mouth and Lex dug his fingers into his silk slick hair, ran them down a silk covered back, feeling muscle roll and flinch under his hands.
Clark moaned, hauled Lex up by the elbows until his feet were half off the ground, chest sliding across chest. He could feel Clark’s hard little nipples through the thin material of his shirt, biting into his skin like brands. He wanted to taste them. Roll them in his mouth. To bite hard enough to make Clark scream.
Clark’s mouth was on his neck, not gently, and it felt fucking fantastic, but there were things that would feel better. And he had Clark willing – -more than willing, damned insistent – – and not denying it and that was unprecedented and not to be chanced on unpredictable mood swings.
Clark let him slide down, a slow drift between Clark’s body and the wall, and somewhere along the way Clark finished mauling his shirt, big hands drifting down his ribs, to his hips, sliding around to the small of his back like he couldn’t get enough of Lex’s skin.
Lex got his hand on Clark’s cock, felt it jump under his touch, gripped the head hard, sliding the foreskin down so he could press a thumb to the tip. He wanted to see it, to see all of Clark, golden and naked, confirming the details he’d only ever had his imagination to supply him with.
“No,” Clark said, slipping around behind him, too swift by far, for Lex’s peace of mind, too strong. One hand curled around his waist, the other tugged at his zipper, pushed his slacks and underwear down over his hips and as frustrating as this little stubborn streak of Clark’s was, it was just as exhilarating. An exquisite little power play that Lex didn’t particularly mind Clark winning, as long as he didn’t back out before the game was over.
The pants slid down and his cock bounced up, craving attention. Lex drew Clark’s hand down and Clarks fingers tentatively touched his skin, touched the place where pubes would be if meteor radiation hadn’t stolen his ability to sprout them.
Clark’s fingers circled him, callused and strong and it felt like a little brush with the dirty part of heaven, that first flex of his hand. Lex’s head fell back against Clark’s shoulder, he thrust into the grip and Clark’s other hand spread out flat against his hip, pressing him back, preventing the friction he craved.
“You fuck,” he breathed, digging fingers into Clark’s forearm, but his nails didn’t leave marks, not even the little white streaks that would flush to pink before fading.
“I want to hate you.” Clark breathed against his shoulder, covered the warm spot with his mouth and bit down. His hand tightened, warm and large around the head of Lex’s cock.
“Yeah?” Lex was seeing stars. Feeling little tracery explosions traveling from the bite to his cock, secure in Clark’s grasp.
“I did, when – – you and Lana – – you went out of your way to make me.”
It wasn’t an entirely inaccurate statement. He’d been a son of a bitch. But Lex was having trouble concentrating. He was generally very good at multi-tasking, but not apparently, when Clark was slowly, firmly jerking him off.
“You make bad choices, Lex.”
God, wasn’t that a loaded statement. It could have covered so very many things, to Clark’s way of thinking. None of which he felt particularly inclined to debate at the moment. Lex got a hand behind him, found Clark’s rigid cock, pressed between them, wrapped the shaft in his fingers and flexed. “Practical choices.”
“Doesn’t make it right.” Clark gasped.
He swallowed and thought agreeing to anything at the moment might be his best option to get Clark to get on with it. “Maybe not. Do you want to fuck or do you want to talk?”
Clark groaned, maybe liking the notion, maybe just liking Lex’s hand on his cock.
Lex found himself against the wall again, face first, Clark’s hand still gripped firm around him, Clark’s cock, mostly escaped from the band of his shorts, pressed against the cleft of Lex’s bare ass. The whole of his body clenched, coiling and wanting. Wanting Clark’s hot fist to move again. Wanting Clark’s other hand to slide up his body, pinch his nipple – – Wanting Clark’s mouth on his shoulder, or his neck or anywhere as long as it was doing something. But mostly – – mostly wanting Clark’s cock, slick with pre-come, and hot and heavy, even if it would hurt like hell without the kindness of lube.
Lex couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted as badly as he did now – – and the prospect of blood mixed with the gratification made him shudder in anticipation. If he begged Clark to get on with it, he wondered if Clark would appease him, or continue on doggedly at his own pace. If he pissed Clark off again, badly, that might do the trick.
“It took less time to get Lana to spread her legs, than it’s taking you to work up the nerve to fuck me,” he said, lacing the words with spiteful humor.
“Don’t,” Clark warned, his voice shuddery with anger/passion/revulsion/want.
Lex ground his hips back, felt the bite of the zipper of Clark’s jeans against his thighs. Clark groaned and thrust against him, cock sliding in his cleft, but not inside. It was okay, because Clark’s hand was moving with his thrusts and Clark was making the type of moaning sounds that could only be issued through clenched teeth. His hands were so strong and so hot, moist with sweat and the come leaking from Lex’s cock. He ought to be crying out from the intensity of the grip, – – couldn’t differentiate between the pain and the pleasure, but they were so intertwined that it didn’t matter.
He felt Clark tense, the grip tightened and Lex did cry out, face pressed against the wall, while Clark spurted over his lower back. Hot, searing spatters of come branding his skin.
Lex would have come himself, if Clark’s grip hadn’t been so tight around the base of his cock and then the grip was gone, Clark backing off like Lex had sprouted thorns, job unfinished. Hateful, son of a bitch.
Lex groaned, support gone and sank down the wall to his knees, in the tangle of his pants. He didn’t even look at Clark, didn’t want to see the expression on his face this time, just took his aching cock in hand and stroked it hard. Four, five times was all it took, and he was spilling over his hand, across his own belly.
He slumped, shoulder against the wall, feeling the residual ache of Clark’s fingers now that passion was spent and indignation was rushing in to take its place.
“You can run away now,” he said, fixing as impassive a look as he could manage on his face before he looked up. He felt numb. Drained. Like this had been considerably better sex than it had ended up being. But, he couldn’t shake the notion that even if he’d had to finish up himself, it still ranked up near the top. Because – – God – – it had been Clark. And it might never be Clark again and that hurt – – raking across something that felt surprisingly like vulnerability inside of him. He hated the feeling.
“You know, I imagined you having better staying power,” he remarked lazily. “Is that why you couldn’t keep Lana? No follow through?”
“You’re a son of a bitch,” Clark said softly, with something very much like tentative hurt in his voice.
Lex laughed, cradling one bruised wrist, feeling the aches of quite a few others. “And you’re a prince, Clark. We were made for each other.”
If Clark had a response for that, it was swallowed by someone rapping smartly on the door to Lex’s suite. Wonderful. Perfect timing. Whoever it was could fucking well come back.
“Lex,” Clark said softly. “Its the woman from the club.”
Lex groaned, opened his eyes enough to squint at Clark who had a hand gingerly on the door, apparently having checked the peephole.
Are you sure, he mouthed and Clark nodded.
Fuck. Leave it to Sophia Daniakos to show up at half past nine in the morning, when Lex was in the midst of recovering from an extraordinarily compromising situation.
He pushed himself up, yanking up his pants, finding the zipper mangled halfway down. His shirt was buttonless, and there were no doubt finger marks on his skin. Fucking priceless.
He growled and cast Clark a glare. Clark had zipped and buttoned up and there were no apparent splotches of telltale bodily fluids on his person. Apparently everything had been magnetically attracted to Lex, because he had more than his fair share.
“Tell her I’m in the middle of a call. Don’t make small talk. Don’t let her leave before I come out.” He headed towards the bedroom, gauging how quickly he could step under the shower, dry off, get redressed in undamaged clothing and get back out here.
Leaving Clark in a room with one of the twins was not high on his list of intelligent moves. But then, Clark had shown a surprising bit of predator himself this morning, so maybe he could hold his own.