Pairing: Clark/Lionel; other pairings mentioned
Warnings: dubious consent
Summary: Red!Clark; bottom!Lionel. PWP-ish.
Disclaimer: The boys, and everything else from Smallville, are not mine. I'm not making money off them either, just playing around.
A/N: Thanks to the amazing Obscura for the beta. Any remaining errors are mine, not hers.
Clark rode off on his dad's old motorbike. The anger he felt towards his parents -- how dare they try to control him, those ridiculous, pathetic hicks -- was fading before he'd gone more than a half-section. The fierce, mindless ecstasy of freedom ran through his blood. The sense of speed, of his own power, of this world's infinite possibility made him laugh out loud. He could do anything he wanted, he could take what he wanted as easily as plucking an apple from a tree.
What did he really want? He mused as the wind whipped his hair back from his face. Possessing things was boring; he'd found only a temporary joy that vanished as soon as he became bored. So, what to do?
Clark grinned wickedly. He could always do Lana. He contemplated that for a moment -- taking Lana, holding her down and using her, spending his pleasure on her soft, lovely body.
The idea held remarkably little appeal. Before, when he'd been the old Clark Kent, he'd thought that he wanted her. Now he had complete access to his own desires, no morals or delusions or lifelong habits to get in the way. He knew what he really wanted.
Clark's grin returned, desire mixed with wickedness. He turned the motorbike towards Luthor mansion and picked up speed.
Lionel sat in the study, a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice in his hand. He sipped, savouring its sweetness on his tongue, sliding luxuriously down his throat. He might not be able to see anymore, but his other senses were still intact. Why not enjoy them? Lionel never took luxury for granted -- he knew what it was to be poor and desperate, to live on a subsistence level. He knew about pain, and abuse, and despair. Despite his background, he'd clawed his way to the top. Anyone who didn't claw his way up, Lionel suspected, was simply too weak, lazy or stupid to do so.
He knew what it was like on the bottom -- the powerlessness, the submissiveness of it. Distinctly unLuthor-like. He would fight like a tiger to keep himself on top.
He would also fight to protect Lex's right to be on top. Lex didn't know it, that much was obvious, but he was still a child. Luthors are always on top was the first and last lesson of his life. Lex would see, in time, that all Lionel had ever done was for Lex. To protect him, to secure his future. If Lionel had been harsh, well, the world was much harsher. Lex needed to learn how to survive and thrive in the cutthroat world of big business. He would thank Lionel some day, when he truly grew up. Lionel was a patient man; he could wait.
Lionel took another sip and turned his thoughts to Lex's current situation. It was ... less than desirable. Relocating to Smallville had been Lionel's idea, true. Lex had needed to be removed from Metropolis, at least for a time. He'd needed to learn discipline, and to respect Lionel's authority. Instead, Lex had bucked that authority at every turn, even hesitating when Lionel himself lay trapped and injured in the storm. Lionel felt his mouth curl in a pleased half-smile. Every inch a Luthor.
At least Lex had abandoned most of his wilder pastimes. As far as Lionel -- and his fleet of surveillance personnel -- could tell, the only throwback to Lex's Metropolis days was his taste for secretly bedding a different woman at least once a month. Lionel frowned. He had a theory about why Lex felt the need to do this, and Lionel knew it would have to be corrected soon. Soon, but with the greatest care. Lex was proud, and probably in denial -- God knows Lionel had been, at that age -- but he would learn how to have his cake and eat it too. A desire for women and men was perfectly natural, as far as Lionel was concerned. It could even be indulged, discreetly, as long as one married a tolerant woman and got her with child regularly.
Lionel wondered how he would teach Lex this lesson. His infatuation with the Kent boy had gone on long enough already, and his denial of it through bedding every pretty girl he met during his day trips to Metropolis was going to backfire sooner or later (diamond earrings notwithstanding). Not that Lionel couldn't see what Lex saw in the boy. Body like a Greek god, expressive eyes that would make any woman jealous, and a lovely curved mouth that was simply formed for sex. Beautiful. Lionel swallowed the last of the juice with relish. At least Lex had inherited Lionel's refined appreciation for the male form.
Lionel's fascination was more than aesthetic, though. Aside from Lionel's own role in Clark Kent's adoption, the boy was something of an enigma. It seemed young Kent been involved in almost every significant event to occur in Smallville since the day of the meteor shower. Lionel's world had been torn apart that day -- his only known son brutally deformed, rendered helpless and laughably weak. Terrible. But it had led to meeting the Kents, which had given him the key to Smallville. More importantly, it had drawn his attention to Clark Kent and all the mysteries surrounding the boy. Lionel knew that mysteries could be a source of power. He had a number of specialists following the Kents and their son; in time, he would learn Clark Kent's secrets.
On that thought, Lionel heard the study's door thrown violently open and felt a gust of wind blow through the room. He rose to his feet, cane held in front of his body. "Who's there?" he shouted.
Lionel recognized the voice and lowered the cane. "Why hello... Clark, isn't it?" he asked, his tone light and pleasant.
"Yes," Clark said. Lionel cocked his head to one side. The boy sounded like he'd grown up overnight. There was a confidence in that voice that hadn't been there before. "I've come for Lex," Clark went on. "Tell me where he is."
Lionel was startled, but gave no outward indication. Clark's voice held an unmistakeable note of command. "I haven't seen Lex today." He smirked, tapping his dark glasses. "So to speak, that is." He kept his tone carefully light, betraying nothing. It was possible this boy was more dangerous than Lionel's lapdogs had given him credit for. "I think he's gone into Metropolis for the day."
"I want him. Now." A note of real threat had entered Clark's tone. Curiouser and curiouser, thought Lionel.
Lionel turned to where Clark's voice was coming from and took a step forward, confronting him. "Well, I'm afraid I'm the only one here, Clark. Is there something I can help you with?"
Suddenly, Lionel felt the oddest sensation, as though a ray of fire was sweeping over his body. A rippling heat touched him, lingering on his chest, moving over his thighs, then settling on his groin. What the hell, Lionel thought.
"Yeah," Clark said, his voice deep and rich and commanding, "there's something you can help me with."
Lionel shook off the sensation. "I'd be glad to help you, Clark," Lionel said, his voice steady and devoid of inflection. "Any friend of Lex's is a --"
Lionel's speech was cut off abruptly as he was grabbed by the shoulders and pushed. The sensation this caused was similar to the feeling of sitting on a Concorde jet during takeoff. Almost before his body could register the feeling of rock-solid hands connecting with his shoulders, Lionel was being pressed against the wall on the far side of the room.
It had to be Clark doing this, but the body pressing Lionel's into the wall was as hard as stone. Impossible, thought Lionel. No human body could be that hard. He was completely trapped between two unmovable objects. It was obvious that Lionel had no chance of escaping. His mind spun with the implications of Clark's speed and strength.
He had been right about some things, it seemed. In that, he was still several steps ahead of Lex. The thought pleased Lionel.
Then Clark shifted against him, pinning him to the wall with one thick arm. His other hand slid down the front of Lionel's chest. Lionel could feel the fabric tear, buttons giving way under Clark's hand. Clark's quickened breathing --he could hear it, could feel it on his cheek -- told Lionel in no uncertain terms what Clark's intentions were.
Luthors are always adaptive, adjusting everything from their tone of voice to their morals depending on the situation at hand. Lionel, the patriarch of the Luthor clan, decided at this point to stop analysing and try to make the most of the situation.
After all, it wasn't that Clark was bad-looking; far from it. He'd seen enough of the boy before he'd lost his vision. Besides, he could still feel Clark's body, young and impossibly hard, against his. He was... aesthetically pleasing. And Lionel had no qualms about the gender of the people he fucked. He did, however, take issue with being, as it were, the bottom in these affairs.
Lionel growled, thrusting his hips against Clark. He felt Clark hesitate at Lionel's unexpected participation. Then, with a low growl, Clark thrust back.
Clark's rough hand found one of Lionel's nipples and gave it a violent twist. Lionel gasped, arching. It had been years... decades since he'd been involved in this sort of thing -- a dalliance with another man. It was generally an activity Lionel regarded as an indulgence of the immature or insecure. But the strong arms across his chest and the thick fingers tweaking his nipple brought such a rush of crackling pleasure that Lionel was seriously reconsidering his stance on the matter.
He writhed against Clark's arms, not to escape but to challenge. Clark responded by grabbing his torso with both hands and holding Lionel's ribcage hard enough to leave bruises. Clark ducked his head down and sucked hard at the juncture where Lionel's neck met his shoulder. Lionel hissed, feeling the blood pool under the skin marked by the boy's mouth.
To level the playing ground, Lionel deftly slid his hand under the fabric of Clark's tee-shirt. Clark didn't stop him, didn't even seem to notice as he continued to maul Lionel's shoulder. Lionel slid his hand up to the neckline, hooked his fingers in the fabric and tugged as hard as he could. It would have hurt a normal person; but against Clark's steely muscle, the fabric tore easily. Lionel pulled it off completely, and ran his hands over Clark's bare skin.
It was better than Scotch, this. Clark's skin was almost hot to the touch, and so incredibly soft that Lionel, with his long experience of fine silk and velvet, was at a loss for comparisons. The muscle that rippled under his touch was hard as marble, but it rippled like water and gave under Lionel's fingers. Lionel quickly found Clark's nipples, and rolled them delicately with his fingers.
This had the desired affect. Clark gasped, pulling away from Lionel's neck and arching back. Clark's grip on Lionel's torso slipped lower, and he pulled them groin-to-groin, grinding hard. Lionel smiled. He could feel Clark's jutting erection against his hip, and his own desire began to coil and hiss and spring to life.
Clark leaned forward and took Lionel's mouth in a hard kiss. Forcing Lionel's lips open, he slid his tongue inside. Lionel was shocked, but as soon as he recovered he responded, giving as good as he got. Their mouths clashed, lips and teeth and tongues colliding in a thoroughly ungentle and completely arousing tangle.
Just as Lionel was really getting into it, Clark pulled away. Before Lionel could speak, or even draw a breath, Clark pushed him again. Faster than thought, he was being pressed into the back of the leather sofa he'd been sitting on before. He felt the dark glasses go flying off his face, and heard them shatter as they hit a stone wall. The leather of the sofa was sensuous beneath the bare skin of his back; Clark's chest against his was just as sensuous, but solid and unyielding. The sensation was intoxicating.
Clark's mouth met his in another wild, rough kiss. Soon, Clark pulled away quickly. Gripping Lionel's hips like a vise, he moved away. Lionel had time to gasp at the absence of that warm, hard chest pressed against his, and to wonder what the hell the boy was up to, when he felt teeth pull at the waistband of his trousers.
Surely not, Lionel thought in the split second before his trousers were ripped from his hips. It hurt -- Lionel wasn't in bad shape by any means, but his body was human, and the fabric required a fair amount of force to tear. He yelled in pain and struggled against the hands than held his hips in place.
The yell turned into an undignified squeak when Clark's mouth closed around Lionel's cock. The brief pain hadn't diminished his erection one iota, and he was dangerously close to orgasm within seconds. Clark was unbelievably talented. His mouth was fabulously hot. Lionel forced himself to focus, trying not to come like an inexperienced youth. He catalogued the sensations: the fever-like heat of Clark's mouth; the strange feeling not of wetness, but of living velvet, as though Clark's saliva was somehow different from an ordinary person's; the scent of sweat and sex; the unforgiving grip on his hips; the smooth leather behind his legs and ass; the tatters of his trousers around his ankles.
It even helped, for a short time. But Clark was so very good. More than not having a gag reflex, it was as though he didn't need to breathe. He had Lionel's cock fully in his mouth and throat, swallowing and humming. It was more than a man could take, really. When Clark's fingers crept from Lionel's hips to the cleft of his ass, he couldn't stop himself -- he started thrusting into Clark's mouth. He came within seconds, pouring himself out into Clark's mouth. It was the most intense orgasm he'd had in... well, a damned long time.
Clark kept sucking on his cock, still highly sensitized from orgasm. Lionel howled and bucked, but Clark held him firmly. The border between pain and pleasure crumbled, and Lionel writhed in agony or ecstasy. It didn't matter which. He clutched Clark's hair, pulling hard. It didn't affect Clark in the least. Lionel felt as though the entire world had narrowed down to this -- his cock and Clark's mouth, and infinitely overpowering pleasure-pain. Lionel experienced dozens of small orgasms, like aftershocks. They shook him to the core. It seemed to go on for hours. Only when Lionel's voice gave out and he was reduced to whimpering did Clark release him. His erection hadn't lost any vigour, despite the rough treatment; Lionel felt a dizzy pride at his own virility.
When Clark let go of his ass, Lionel slid to the ground, his legs no longer capable of holding him up. His mind went pleasantly blank for a few seconds, but then Clark took Lionel's face in his hands. His grip was not painful, but it was powerful -- certainly more than Lionel was capable of withstanding at the moment.
Lionel knew what was coming, even before he heard the short zip of Clark's jeans. Clark's fingers prodded his mouth open. Clark pushed the blunt tip of his erection into Lionel's mouth. Lionel almost choked just from that. He had never, never done this. It was strange and alien and completely un-Luthorlike.
Still, he drew himself up a little. He supposed that a blowjob worth doing was worth doing right.
Opening his mouth, he allowed Clark's cock to slide past his tongue to bump the entrance to his throat. Mercifully, Clark didn't try to push harder. His cock was hot, like his mouth had been. The skin was smooth. He could feel, on his tongue, that Clark was uncircumcised. Lionel could taste slick salt on the back of his throat. He struggled not to gag as he sucked and licked. He knew he wasn't doing nearly as well as Clark had earlier, but Clark seemed to be enjoying it nonetheless. He moaned wantonly and made shallow thrusting motions.
Lionel felt the soft curls below Clark belly brush his nose, smelled their warm musk. He breathed deeply, then sucked Clark's cock into his throat a little. His throat closed, and he gasped for air. But the noises Clark made -- high, keening, needy noises -- made Lionel tamp down his panic and concentrate on making Clark come.
Lionel moved one hand up to cup Clark's balls. "Oh, fuck yes," Clark ground out. Lionel rolled them in his hand, stroking them gently with his fingers. Clark moaned, a low shuddering sound. Lionel slid his finger back, stroking the soft folded skin behind Clark's balls. The noises coming out of Clark were incredibly arousing. He could feel Clark's muscles tensing, his balls pulling up in that tell-tale way, when Clark pulled out of Lionel's mouth with a wet popping sound.
One hand left Lionel's head, the other gripping it in place. Lionel could hear Clark jerking himself off inches from Lionel's face. It was so good, so sweet to hear that Lionel's cock spasmed in a sympathetic orgasm.
Suddenly Clark gave a wrenching groan, and his hot come hit Lionel's face.
To be more precise, it hit his eye.
Lionel gasped and tried to jerk away, but Clark's hand held him in place. Lionel flinched -- he knew this should hurt like a sonofabitch. Once, during his youth, he'd gotten come in the eye of a one-night stand. She'd screamed and clawed at her eye like he'd doused her with acid. Even after several rounds of water and half a bottle of eyedrops, her eye had been swollen and bloodshot. Lionel had even felt slightly guilty about it.
Miraculously, Clark's come did not hurt like a sonofabitch. It didn't even sting. It actually felt pleasant, like manna dropping into his eye.
With a satisfied sigh, Clark released Lionel's head. Exhausted, Lionel slumped back against the sofa. He could hear Clark zipping himself back up.
"Thanks, Mr. Luthor," Clark said, his voice rough and cocky. "I guess I didn't need to find Lex after all. Be seeing you," he said. Lionel heard him walk away, and heard the door close behind him.
He didn't hear much after that. He may have fallen asleep, despite the hard floor and the numerous bruises he now sported.
When Lionel regained consciousness, it was because of the bright sunset light shining in his eyes. Groaning, he raised his hand to cover his eyes and shield them from the light.
With a startled grunt, he opened his eyelids, the quickly narrowed them against the light. "Dear God," he whispered.
He could see.
The red-orange sunset flared through the stained-glass window and hit his face where he lay against the back of the sofa. He could see the office, the desk, his own feet with the remains of his trousers still around them. He could see his own hand as he used it to block the bright light from his sensitive eyes. Every detail of his vision was perfect. If anything, it was better than it had been before he'd lost his sight.
"Fascinating," Lionel muttered to himself. Yet another one of Clark's amazing abilities, and one he was betting no one else knew about, possibly not even the boy himself.
He hauled himself up with as much dignity as he could. It wasn't much -- he was naked, sticky, and sore from the day's activities. But still, he was a Luthor. He gathered up his torn shirt and trousers, and the discarded cane. Seeing the smashed dark glasses against the far wall, he picked up those too. Then he carefully crept to the office door and opened it silently. Seeing no servants around, he darted as quickly as he could to his bedroom.
A long shower and change of clothes, and Lionel was ready for the evening's supper with Lex. He was putting the finishing touches on his hair when he noticed another set of dark glasses on top of the chest of drawers. He hesitated, thinking hard. Coming to a decision, he slipped them on. Grabbing his cane as he left, he hobbled downstairs, pretending to feel his way.
Lex was in the dining room when Lionel arrived.
"Hello, father," Lex said to him as he poured Lionel a glass of orange juice. "Anything happen today?" Lex lifted Lionel's hand and pressed the glass into it.
Lionel sipped the juice, feeling it burn on his rather raw throat. "No, Lex," he said. "Nothing you need to know about." Lionel watched Lex's brow furrow from behind dark lenses. He gave a small smile. "Nothing at all."