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The Great Hunt

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The Great Hunt

by Artemis

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimers: I don't own the pretty boys or their friends in the Smallville and Justice League universes. If I did, the CLex would be riftless and eternally in love. Neither money nor profits were made in the creation or posting of this story. See Author's Notes (NOTE) for additional disclaimers. Spoilers: Season 1 to mid-season 2. Summary: It's that time of year again. Lex is on the run, and Superman is hunting him. A light, humorous romp with a secret bunker, intricate plots, and a scheming Lex who just wants to be left alone. A PWP written for some humor to lighten the tax season (written March 02, 2004). Warnings: Same Sex (MALE/MALE) relationship. If this turns you off or offends, go back now. Slightly kinky sex (pretty minor kinkiness IMO). NOTE I: MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD. DO NOT READ IF YOU WANT TO READ THE STORY UNSPOILED. The reference to Clark's 'curse for perfect happiness' comes from the television shows "Angel" and "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" where Angel (a vampire cursed with a soul) loses his soul when he experiences perfect happiness. Clark, on the other hand, floats. Lex's 'Royal Consort' comment was inspired by the television series "The New Adventures of Lois and Clark" where Clark (Kal-El) was from a noble family on Krypton...and not just nobility, but high nobility. The idea of a mating hunt stems from my long and vast obsession with Dragonball Z and Vegeta/Goku (and to a lesser extent Trunks/Goten). Dragonball Z also inspired the purring: Saiyans are an alien race that many fanfic writers tend to have purr, where the relationship (and sex) between Vegeta/Goku is usually very primal. Additional notes and credits to Celli Lane, Jenn, and Henry Jones Jr for inspiration at the end of the story. March 2004.

The Great Hunt
By Artemis
March 2004

Lex crept quietly into the bunker. Sure, he knew there was no one around, that no one had followed him and that it was impossible for anyone to have seen him come in. But year after year of hard-earned experience had been hammered into a healthy deluge of paranoia when it came to certain pesky aliens and their agendas.

No secret was safe, no hideout secure.

Bolt holes. Secret labs. Bunkers. These last few years had seen desperate measures taken, and each year the alien always found him.

Not this year.

He'd taken precautions.

Okay, he took precautions every year.

After year, after year, after year.

Damn alien.

But this year was different. He took extra precautions. He'd been planning this for over three years, quietly having the work done by independent contractors, all paid in cash, who were never told the identity of their employer. No blueprints existed of the bunker built underground in a forest an hour north of Metropolis. A hidden door was built into a hollowed tree with a secret hatch lined with lead that covered a staircase leading down into the earth.

The entire structure was lead-lined so it couldn't be detected by sneaky, snoopy busybodies who couldn't seem to mind their own business, meddling into Lex's affairs.


But it got better. Because who would even suspect a secret underground bunker in the heart of a forest where no one lived within a thirty miles radius? Complete and utter wilderness. Genius!

The next step of the plan had hurt, but he'd answered an ad in the Met U campus paper and bought a ten-year-old Ford Taurus station wagon. Beat up and rusty with the back passenger window duck taped up with a sheet of plastic, it was complete with obnoxious bumper stickers that anyone with any sense of class or intelligence would rather walk than display on their vehicle.

It had seriously hurt.

But he'd paid in cash. The purchase made in person. He'd even dressed up as a college student. Hooded sweatshirt to hide his baldness, or at least look like one of those trendy athletic kids who shaved their heads. Contacts slipped in to make his eyes brown. A specially developed self-tanner applied to his skin to make it look olive, a Mediterranean look, easily taken off with another specially developed lotion.

He'd drawn the line at dressing in drag. Not even for a project this sensitive. This vital. This imperative.

No. He had to have some standards he held to.

And this year would be different.

The car had been parked for the last two weeks in a public ramp. Driven immediately from the campus to a nearby ramp where he'd had his own car parked, he'd left the unsightly station wagon there until the plan could be set in motion. He hadn't approached the vehicle until this morning, and no one knew of it but himself. He'd hidden several domestic cars in different parking lots across Metropolis. Four car switches in total. One even at a grocery store that Lex wouldn't have been caught dead shopping in. And finally getting into the station wagon dressed in a Yale sweatshirt, torn jeans, and ratty sneakers.

And he'd arrived. Anonymous. Without anyone the wiser.

He was taking a week off from work to get everything done. No distractions meant no mistakes, and this wasn't something to take lightly. Wasn't something to mess up. They'd come after him with guns smoking if he slipped.

Damn government.

Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?

Gabe and Phillip were in charge. What were senior Vice Presidents worth if they couldn't watch over their company's interests for one measly week?

Sean and Veronica were prepped and had their instructions. His personal assistants knew their jobs and would make sure his interests were looked after. All projects were safe in their hands until he could get back.

Charity was a gem. All five feet two of her, with her mop of blond curls she was a powerhouse that could take down a man or woman in thirty seconds with a blur of hands and feet. His personal secretary would guard his office better than a half dozen Dobermans.

Mercy and Hope were unhappy, but prepared. They hadn't liked leaving him alone, but he hadn't given them a choice. As co-VPs of the Security Division for all of LexCorp and her subsidiaries, they'd had duties to attend to even if their additional responsibilities as the heads of his personal security team made them angry that he was running around without bodyguards. However, he was still the boss, and he'd told them in no uncertain terms that one man was harder to find than a man surrounded by a squad of hired muscle.

They also had their instructions. As he'd traveled north to his lair this morning, they'd set their own phase of the plan into motion. While he was currently making his way through his home for the next week, dim yellow light illuminating the passages just enough to be able to walk, he knew they were still planting false trails and clues.

An actress yelping for help, mewling 'Superman, Superman, save me', had been left tied up in an abandoned warehouse this morning. The damn annoying twit always had a soft spot for damsels in distress, especially the pretty ones. So Lex had personally chosen the actress from the file the casting agency had sent. Long, straight dark hair down to her waist. Tiny and petite at five feet four, with a waist easily held in huge hands. Huge hazel eyes, shaped like almonds.

Ha! Kent always had been a sucker. More pretty face and rippling muscles than intellectual stud, his parents hadn't encouraged him to expand and hone his mind. For fuck's sake, he had a B.A. in journalism!

No, this year he was going to succeed.

A completed Ph.D. in biochemical engineering---Ha! Take that Dad!---combined with equivalents in genetics and physics, he owned some of the top labs in the world. He had his own personal lab he played in, and his name was well respected among the scientific community. CEO of one of the top corporations worldwide, LexCorp consistently outperformed themselves year after year, until it was now as much a household name as Microsoft, Apple, Yahoo, and Ebay. Heir to another financial empire, LuthorCorp was still run by an aged Lionel who refused to hand over the reins of his company to his 'rebellious upstart son' until he was in the grave. Not to mention he'd survived being raised the son of Lionel Luthor, a feat alone that was proof of his survival skills.

All this against a B.A. in journalism?

No, this year he couldn't lose.

Damn alien.

Lex moved through the dark corridors more rapidly, his gait speeding as his ire increased. Shoulders tense, his right hand gripping the nylon of his duffle bag so tightly he could feel the weave leaving an imprint on his palm. His other hand tightly gripped his briefcase, his laptop safely secured in the specially designed just-for-Lex-and-his-gadgets backpack on his back.

He felt his irritation spike as he had to actually fight to keep the scowl off his face.

Nothing was sacred any more.

Lex made his way through his underground complex, completely furnished in a manner befitting a Luthor. There was no point in living like a savage, even if it was only for a week. When he succeeded this time, he'd continue to use this bunker. Possibly keep it as a future bolthole in case of emergencies. Maybe even use it next year, that's how confident he was that he'd finally shaken the alien pest off his trail.

He strode confidently past the private labs, shiny new toys hidden behind locked doors that required passkeys and codes. Ignored all the doors as he passed into the wing housing the living quarters, room after room disregarded as he made his way to the very back.

He let out a small sigh, a smile finally lighting up his face.

His study.

Felt a wave of comfort as he noted an identical glass desk just like the one still at the castle. Bookcases lining the walls. Three computer banks and an advanced comm system set up in one niche, fully capable of linking to a LexCorp satellite, thus the outside world. Untraceable, of course. He wasn't an amateur. Mini-fridge and sideboard fully stocked.

Not that drinking was a good idea during this time of year. No. Mistakes were not to be tolerated, and he had to use all his guile and intellect to twist the laws as he saw fit. Bend them to his will. Create a masterpiece of pen and ink.

He was half-hard just thinking about it.

Lex smirked, setting the duffle bag on the leather sofa. The backpack was set on the armchair opposite his desk, his laptop extracted and placed on his desk with reverence. As it hummed to life, he opened his briefcase. He pulled up the file folders and 9x13 manila envelopes filled with receipts, notes, and paperwork, placing them on the desk in a pile, the edges lined evenly with the desk's edge in perfect precision. Booklets set out one by one in prominent display. Several pencils and pens---black ink---lined up on the desk in a functional, yet aesthetically pleasing, array.


It begins.

Lex sat down in his chair, sinking into butter-soft leather with pleasure, smug triumph singing a sweet song in his veins.

No one was finding him this year.

Lex reached up, stretching his arms and back, his spine arching out. He twisted around, letting his muscles stretch and pull, eyes shut in pleasure.

It had been a good four hours of straight uninterrupted work. Pure bliss, all that lovely silence.

He stood up, grabbing a bottle of TyNant from the mini-fridge. He went back to the desk, but stayed upright, flipping through the different envelopes and setting them into piles. Sorting and placing them in order of date and category, mumbling as he listed the contents to himself. He took a sip of his water blindly, parching his dry throat. It was a bad habit he'd gotten into when he was young, but he talked to himself as he plotted out strategies and ideas when he was working with numbers. It helped to hear the ideas out loud, to mull them over verbally to tempt any muses that might be listening in to whisper clever twists into his ear.

Muttering under his breath as a new idea hit, blue eyes pinned to the papers in his hand, he moved back to his chair, ready to get back to work.

So absorbed was he, he didn't even notice as one hour went by, then another, and then another. His mind whirling, Lex's highly honed self-preservation instincts went unheard. The warning bells in the back of his mind were ignored, as was the flesh prickling at the back of his neck that always meant he was being watched.

Which was why Lex jumped as two thick arms suddenly plucked him out of his chair.

"NO!" Lex howled, twisting around. As he expected, it didn't work, and his yell was ignored.

Or maybe not ignored. The erection being pressed into his ass told him different.

Lex tried to jab his elbow into a conveniently placed rib, not that it would do any good, but a message had to be sent. A rumble of excitement vibrated against his back from an alien growl.

"Clark! Damn it! Get your hands off me! I mean it this time. This year you are stopping this nonsense and you're going to---"

Lex's rant was cut off as he was whirled around, his breath catching in his throat at being moved so quickly, and he found himself pressed to the wall of his apparently not-so-secret study, an excited and horny six foot four alien rubbing against him enthusiastically like a dog in heat. And Lex was his bitch.

God, he hated tax season.

Lex raised his arms, placing his hands flat against a black cashmere turtleneck---at least he didn't wear that damn suit---and pushed. It was like trying to move a house. Or maybe the castle. He curled his hands into fists and banged on broad shoulders once.

"Clark! I mean it! I demand you mmphngh..."

Opening his mouth had been a strategic error. Lex saw this immediately, just a moment before his brain cells started going offline, Clark's clever tongue shutting down all higher brain function. The only words left in his vocabulary were wet, hot, and more as Clark applied himself diligently. Deep, possessive kisses marking territory and demanding Lex's complete attention. Big, huge hands cupped his ass, drawing him up into a hard cock, which caused his eyes to roll back at the abrupt surge of pleasure from all directions.

Lex's head fell back, hitting the wall as half an eternity later Clark drew back, nipping at his lips once before that wet mouth mapped its way along his jaw, biting and licking at his neck. A sharp bite to the skin between shoulder and neck produced an embarrassing whine that escaped his throat, and Lex noticed blearily that his legs had somehow wrapped themselves around a trim waist, his hands wrapped around a strong neck, fingers clenching at dark strands of hair.

Clark continued rubbing and thrusting against him in a hypnotic, slow rhythm.

"No," Lex panted, his traitorous body accommodating Clark as he tilted his neck for the brunette's convenience. Legs refused to unlock, and hands were reluctant to leave hair nirvana. Cock definitely into the program, ignoring Lex's mental demands to start behaving.

Clark's response was to squeeze Lex's ass with one hand while the other slipped under his sweatshirt to tweak a nipple.

Another embarrassing sound as he yelped, his automatic jerk only causing his lower body to press against Clark harder. He tried wiggling back, not that there was really anywhere to go, but those clever fingers only followed, stroking and playing, as Clark pressed Lex against the wall even more firmly.

"Clark, taxes," Lex bit out brokenly. Damn cock. All the blood rushing to the south was saying to hell with taxes, his dick obviously loving all the attention it was currently being plied with.

"Mmmmm," Clark hummed. He straightened up, leaving Lex's neck alone, to reach up to lick Lex's bare scalp. He hummed again. "Yummy."

"Fuck," Lex breathed, tingles shooting down his spine. He'd never had a lover who'd dared to do that before Clark. Sure as hell hadn't had one who'd dared to do that after Clark, the brunette making it clear when they'd become 'an item' back in the day that he'd tear anyone to pieces if they dared to touch Lex.

Human puberty? Had nothing on Kryptonian puberty.

It hit later in life as compared to a human teenager, but at nineteen, the summer after graduation, Clark had shown up, thrown Lex on the bed, stripped him in under a second, and kept him there for two days as he got rid of every type of virginity the kid had left.

Super strength? Super speed? Super metabolism? Try super stamina combined with super hormones. Hormones that surged wildly for ten years. Ten years! Sure, he'd gotten more sex---and yes, Clark-sex was practically a religious experience itself---in that period than he'd had in his entire life prior to that summer day. And that was saying something, especially when taking into account his teen years.

And yes, Clark was incredible in bed. An animal. Savage and passionate. When he wasn't being gentle and tender. Or shy and sweet. And damn...okay, Clark was perfection in bed. But that wasn't the point.

Ten years of Clark demanding sex two, sometimes three times a day. If Lex hadn't been gifted with healing and regeneration by the meteors along with the hair loss, Clark would have either worn him out or broken Lex's cock. Or ass. Luthor stamina and an iron will alone couldn't match a Kryptonian male in the throes of puberty, especially one "suped" up by yellow sunlight and the unique radiation signatures from Earth's sun.

Hormonal mood swings, fierce possessiveness, and territorial instincts flaring wildly. Lex had had to put out a mortifying memo that all women and men who worked in his office couldn't wear cologne or perfume, citing some lame allergy when the reality was a younger lover who went insane if he smelled a fragrance or scent of another person on Lex or Lex's clothes. Lex's personal bubble had increased because just the brushing of clothes in the hall had been enough to send Clark into an episode.

The tongue baths and body petting had been hot the first ten times, but once Clark got started he wouldn't allow Lex to move, continuing his sexual torture and reclaiming until he was done. Hours later. Hours and hours later, sometimes.

And okay, maybe, just maybe, he occasional brushed against someone on purpose, an accidental stumble so foreign hands straightened him out. Tongue baths were fucking hot. That wasn't the point. The point was that Clark's stupid alien hormones were out of control, starting with his territorial tongue rituals.

Yeah, Lex could be as territorial as hell, too. Possessive. Demanding. But damn it, he left Clark alone when Clark had to work. Or when he insisted on going out to play superhero, rescuing that idiot Lane woman, or Chloe, or saving all the other morons out there from their own nitwit choices.

The natural disasters. Alien attacks. Supervillians. Lex was on board. Totally got it. He'd read Warrior Angel. Had been a member of the official fan club. Bought into the X-Men franchise. Hell, even funded the latest movie and had all the actions figures in display cases in a room at the castle. Started his own Superman, Batman, and Justice League merchandising empire, even applying for the patents and copyrights for their trademarks, name brands, and logos personally to make it all legal, and that was a whole other topic that was best left alone. Could Lex help it if no one else had thought of it first?

His inner Luthor snickered. He was making a killing in the market, especially in America, and sales were only increasing with each showy rescue. Toys. Clothing. Books. Movies. Cartoons and comic books. Coloring books and kids bed sheets. He'd created a financial empire alone just on that marketing scheme. Bruce and Clark had been livid, but couldn't deny that Lex had gotten to the patent office before they did. Nothing illegal had been done, even if it hadn't exactly been polite.

Luthors didn't always play well with the other kids. If Bruce and Clark forgot that, it was their own fault. He who made it to the patent office first was the only one who laughed.

So, yeah, see. Lex left Clark alone to do his stupid superhero gig even when he should be at home like a good spouse. Doing...spouse things. Maybe writing another book...or something. But could Clark extend Lex the same courtesy? Could Clark leave Lex alone to work on something as important as their taxes?


Lex scowled, pushing at a black covered chest again. Futilely. "How many times do I have to tell you how important this is? The IRS doesn't like people who file late and---"

"It's February," Clark broke in, lifting his mouth briefly from smooth skin.

Lex just glared. "Our joint return. Not to mention Superman's. Plus, I like to go over LexCorp's numbers to make sure everything is in order. And since you keep insisting you're the official leader of the League for tax, business, or charity purposes, that means I have more work to do because lord knows you won't be---"

"C.P.A.," Clark muttered, brows scrunched together in a look that would have been adorable, pretty face all screwed up in concentration, if Lex hadn't been working himself into a fit.

Lex just had time to gasp at the audacity for Clark to even suggest an accountant when he found Clark tugging on his sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath, tangling Lex's arms up as he shoved the material over a smooth hairless chest and up Lex's arms. Lex tried struggling, yelping at Clark to leave him alone and to not touch his clothes, but Clark just ignored him.

Like he did every year.

Damn it! Clark was undressing him at human speed just to get Lex worked up even more, but knowing that didn't make it easier. Didn't make him less ticked. For some reason, every year without fail, Clark got off on pouncing on Lex, and the more Lex struggled and got pissed, the more Clark got excited.

Stupid alien hormones.

Not that hormones had anything to do with it. Supposedly. He'd asked Jor-El and Lara multiple times. He'd done his own research and experiments. And all of it came up with Clark being Clark with no extra hormonal surges that he could find.

Lex had his own personal theory. He thought it was a psychological reaction, Clark's body and mind remembering ten years of conditioning during that first decade of tax seasons. He only had himself to blame, not that he would ever, ever admit to that even under pain of death by slow dismemberment. He had unknowingly set it all in motion that first year. Clark had been attending his first year of college, but living with Lex at their penthouse. Unsurprisingly, in the throes of his first year of puberty, Clark had refused to leave him alone to do taxes. After several weeks of interruptions and Clark yanking him to the floor or speeding him to the nearest bedroom, Lex had finally thrown his hands in the air and announced he would go somewhere else, finding refuge at LexCorp.

Clark had just followed. Next came all the multiple pouncings in his office, sex either on the sofa or on his desk. Clark really had a desk kink, with either of them thrown on top or bent over. Clark didn't care who played desk slut or which position was used. The brat claimed it had to do with four years of watching Lex behind his desk, working and drinking water. (Like that made sense?) Lex wryly pointed out each time how Clark had spent those entire four years chasing after Lana Lang, so the sight couldn't have been that interesting, but Clark would only send him weird looks in return, something disturbingly like pity in those green eyes. (Which made even less sense.)

It had taken a week to realize his LexCorp office, or any other office in any of the towers, wasn't going to work. So he'd moved on. One traumatized evening later after having his father walk in on them and immediately launching into a lecture about fucking the Kent boy---with Clark still under him!!---had LuthorCorp crossed off his list of possible hideaways as well.

The library. Coffee shops. Met U campus. Centennial Park. Two weeks of constant movement and constantly being found had made public places taboo. Being glomped on or sped away to the nearest ally, empty room, or largest bush had put those ideas to rest. Especially when important tax documentation could have been lost or stolen while Clark was acting like a sex crazed maniac.

That first year, Lex barely got his taxes in by April 15. For the first time ever! He always turned them in February! The sooner he got the paperwork in, the sooner he got his returns, which meant he received the interest from those funds and not the government.

Sadly enough, naively enough, it hadn't occurred to Lex that a pattern was being set. That he had years of puberty ahead. After a few years of Lex heading out trying to find hiding holes to get their taxes done and Clark finding him every time, Lex had gotten fed up.

He'd taken a page out of the supervillain handbook. Maybe even the superhero handbook, too. The Bat Cave and the Fortress were lairs no matter how much Clark tried to deny it, all pouty and sullen. So he'd turned to bolt holes and secret labs. Underground and aboveground bunkers. Once, an empty crypt in a cemetery. The trauma that followed after that ill-conceived idea ensured it was the only time.

Clark had mumbled something about Buffy and Spike and hotness when Lex had tried to protest, just before the big oaf had tackled him.

Each year his plans got more and more Machiavellian, more twisting and complex, more intricate and devious. Determined to outwit Clark and to get one damn week alone without distractions or marathon sex hot enough to fry his brain. Five days. That's all he asked for.

Unfortunately, as each year's schemes got more and more intricate, the plots more and more wild, Clark's stupid alien brain began to interpret it as one big game. A huge cat and mouse game, a mating hunt with Lex as the prey, and now the stupid idiot was hardwired to feeling a mental pubescent influx of hormones and aggression every year during tax season when Lex tried to go into hiding.

And Lex refused to believe Clark couldn't turn on his rational brain to overcome his baser urges for five days. Five. Days.

Either that, or he was just a horny son of bitch who was getting his inner alpha off.

Lex gave into his own inner alpha, snarling as he jerked Clark's head up, claiming those full lips in a hard, deep kiss.

Damn Bruce, too, while he was at it. Bruce and Batman both just egged Clark on---as well as that stupid blue-suited moronic alternate persona, and Lex sometimes had serious concerns about Clark developing a multiple personality disorder---somehow getting Clark worked up every time the brunette was around the playboy billionaire. Justice League emergencies and playdates with Batman were days mixed with dread and excitement, a combination Lex did not like.

Lex liked sex. Lex liked sex with Clark. Lex did not like Caveman Clark coming home beating his chest, trying to drag Lex back to the cave to ravish him.

Every time he was around Bruce Wayne. Every. Time.

Damn alien! And it got even worse when the CEOs of Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp had to meet for business, or even on the rare occasion when he was in Gotham or Bruce was in Metropolis, which naturally meant they went out to dinner or lunch. And why would they spend the extra money and put up with the impersonal nature of a hotel room when they each had dozens of empty, unused bedrooms in their prospective homes? Damn it! Lex was allowed to have friends, and Clark went caveman on him every fucking time!

Bruce had to be egging him on, but neither of the two brunette Neanderthals would admit to a thing.

Lex's hand kept its grip on Clark's head, his other hand clutching at Clark's back. Thoughts of that bastard Bruce began to disappear and he started getting lost in the kiss, forgetting where he was and why as a warm, wet tongue stroked his, engaging in the best kind of duel. Lex hummed in approval when hands stroked his chest and back, Clark still rocking into Lex.

Blue eyes shot wide open as Lex came, cock jerking as he came in his pants like a virgin with his first sweetheart.

Mortifying. Just mortifying.

Lex's shoulders and spine slumped, bones liquefying as he leaned into Clark. The soft cashmere made his skin prickle pleasantly, making him want to rub and arch into Clark like a big cat. He ducked his face into Clark's neck, lips tugging down into a ferocious scowl as he heard a low, smug, knowing chuckle break out. He used his left hand to pinch Clark's side, but Clark just kept up his slow rocking, infuriating smugness radiating from the man.

"No!" He cried out just as the idea occurred to him, Clark's erection and a flashback of their third year when he'd fled to the castle for a weekend when Clark was supposed to have gone to an intramural basketball tournament, but it was too late. He found himself naked on his desk, an equally naked Clark pressed against him before he'd finished speaking.

"No, Clark!" From a lesser man that might have been labeled a wail. He looked around in despair as papers, envelopes, and files flew all over in a slow drift of scattered paperwork. It might look romantic and sweepingly dramatic on TV or in the movies, but it meant hours of sorting when he was finally allowed to crawl out of bed. Damn, damn, damn!! Not again!!

Clark really liked Lex's glass desk.

Clark kissed a trail down Lex's neck, nibbling along a collarbone. A hand snaked down, stroking a hip and petting a hipbone Clark had a fascination with.

He tried to tug Clark's hand away from his hip, determined to have a serious talk about taxes and respecting a work period---not that he hadn't tried that dozens of times before to no avail---but it only resulted in Clark clamping a big hand on his wrists and dragging them over his head as Clark continued to use the other to touch and stroke bare skin.

"God, you're such a brat," Lex moaned, body starting to writhe from all the attention and over stimulation. He felt himself hardening again, and he let his head fall back, giving up the battle, even if he was determined to win the war.

"Love me like this," Clark murmured, tonguing a wet kiss on pale hard abs.

Lex shook his head, and in response Clark pushed a "miraculously" slick finger into Lex, causing Lex to buck his hips wildly. Damn superspeed!! Lex bucked again as Clark twisted with unerring accuracy to hit his prostate.

Damn x-ray vision!!!

"Love me like this," Clark said again, voice low and insistent.

Lex set his face in determination. He would not break. He manfully tried to ignore the questing finger twisting inside him. And the second. And the third.

Much teasing and twisting later, Lex was panting, sweat dripping from his forehead and at the small of his back, thighs quivering.

"Love me like this," Clark said one last time, growling the words, chest rumbling. Demand clear in his voice.

"God, yes," Lex babbled obediently. "Love you like this. Always. So much. Bratty and sexy and so pretty..." He thrust down frantically, fucking himself on Clark's fingers. Talented mouth on his nipple. "So perfect. So beautiful. Loveyouloveyouloveyou."

Fingers withdrew from his ass and Lex whined in protest. He found himself a few seconds later on his stomach, the cool glass slippery against his damp skin. Cock clutched in a tight fist, cheeks pulled apart by the other hand, the move practiced and smooth. Lex didn't have time to say anything before a big, hot, hard cock was being pressed into him slowly.

He tried to push back, but a hand on his hip kept him perfectly still. Clark just moved at his own pace, so slow and so good it hurt. When he was all the way in, balls resting against Lex's ass, Clark draped himself over a pale long back.

"Mine," he growled before biting down on Lex's neck, again where the shoulder met the base of his neck, hard enough to break skin.

Lex's dick tried to twitch in Clark's grip as he felt Clark sucking, and then lapping, at the wound. Bloodletting. God. It was going to be one of those nights.

Fuck, did he love tax season.

"Mine," Clark growled again.

"Yours," Lex gasped, a warm mouth sucking and licking at the bite that must still be bleeding.

Clark began a slow, small thrust. He moved back, hand stroking Lex's back and thigh, his hips speeding up more and more. The brunette began jacking Lex, finally getting verbal for the first time since he'd appeared. His dark, low voice filling the air, mixing with Lex's own babbling, telling Lex how beautiful he was, how perfect and tight and hot and perfectperfectperfect.

Hips snapping into Lex, a fast, hard fuck, chanting Lex's name. Lexlexlexlexlexlex...

Lex doing the same. Clark's name ingrained in his heart and soul, Clark's name on his lips, a repeated prayer. Clarkclarkclarkclarkclark...

His cock pulsing and burning, his hands on the edge of the desk in a death grip, he arched as he lost control and came. Felt a rush of joy mixing with pure pleasure as he felt Clark jerk, coming inside him. Filling him.

Clark and Lex. Lex and Clark. How it was meant to be.

Lex melted into the desktop, the cool glass nice against his skin. Muscles completely relaxed and loose, a heavy relaxed Clark draped over him. Cock softening inside him, a trail of semen running down his thigh, and he shuddered in response.

He sighed softly, a mixture of contentment and exasperation. "We really need to talk."

A raspberry was blown between his shoulder blades as Clark moved his head slightly from where it was resting.

"I'm serious, Clark. I need to get our taxes done."

A cheek was nuzzled into his back. "You will. You always do."

"Before April 15."

"You always do," Clark insisted, voice stubborn.

Lex rolled his eyes, even if it was wasted since Clark couldn't see it.

"I took a whole week off just to get this done because---"

"A week you should have wanted to spend with me," a petulant voice drifted over his shoulder. "If you take a whole week off for anything, you should take it off for me."

"Clark..." Lex frowned.

"No! The League knows I'm unavailable unless hordes of alien overlords descend upon us and start enslaving the population. Wally said he'd keep an eye out for anything too crazy in Metropolis, though as far as I'm concerned, the city can survive a week without us."

Lex sighed.

"I'm serious, Lex. I'm going to be keeping you so busy you won't have time to want to do anything else. Except me."

Lex felt Clark move slightly, slipping out, hands starting to wander slowly over Lex. Feeling and touching.

Alien hormones. Psychologically induced or not, it was both a blessing and a curse. Not that he was complaining, exactly, but he knew Clark was being very literal when he said he would be keeping him busy.

Damn it. Maybe the Edge City apartment complex he bought three years ago was an option. He still had two months to try to get enough uninterrupted time away from Clark to get their taxes done. And there were the lower levels in LexCorp, though that might be pathetically predictable. And knowing Clark, if the brat found him, they'd be making a detour to his office if he went anywhere near the Towers.

He really felt like banging his head on the nearest wall. Several times. Because every year Clark found him no matter what he did or where he went. A huge hide-and-seek hunting game that Clark refused to take seriously, other than to seriously fuck and be fucked.

"You're such a brat," Lex muttered.

"And you love me for it," Clark said smugly.

Lex didn't comment, but he didn't have to as Clark's hands got more adventurous. Clark's soft purring an unconscious and uncontrollable act, a byproduct of extreme happiness and sexual afterglow. Floating was another byproduct, one that came before the onset of puberty, and Lex liked to joke that it was Clark's 'curse for perfect happiness.' The purring, on the other hand, hadn't popped up until after Clark entered puberty and had sex for the first time.

No wonder Clark had never fucked Lana, Jessie, Kyla, Chloe, or any of the girls that he'd flirted with throughout his high school life. The poor kid might have been looking for romantic love, his environmentally learned human psychology telling him he was ready for a relationship; however, the kid had physically NOT been ready for a sexual relationship, which was why he'd never physically been aggressive with any girl, not even high on Red K. A few kisses with tongue and some breast petting, the kid had acted like he'd hit a home run. He hadn't even realized until years later when he'd finally had access to the Fortress why it was he'd made out with girls for those pre-Lex years, but had never consciously pushed things further.

The Fortress. Even the word sounded forbidding and gloomy to Lex.

Two miserable years he'd spent in that freezing over-blown fort of ice, alien crystals, and alien technology. Clark had still been in the throes of puberty, needing sex at least daily without feeling absolutely miserable and horny enough to fuck the nearest convenient hole, so Clark had dragged Lex along when the stupid subliminal signals the damn fort sent made Clark shoot for the North Pole like a homing pigeon coming to roost. Lex plucked out of a restaurant during a business lunch like some damn abductee in a bad spy thriller.

Naturally, when they'd found out that due to 'Kal-El finishing his education at the human learning center' that Clark now had to enter a period of two years dedicated to Kryptonian education, Clark had insisted Lex had to move in with him. The damn brat wouldn't even listen to reason or try to compromise. So Clark had flown Lex into Metropolis five days a week for work---there was no way he could have left LexCorp alone for two years and still have a company to go back to, not with Lionel trying to get Lex back into the LuthorCorp fold through means fair and foul---and picking Lex up eight hours later. Overtime and work on the weekends had been non-negotiable. Gabe and Phillip had been given all traveling assignments.

Other than his eight hours of work, the rest of the time he'd spent being cold, shivering and mentally cursing alien puberty, trying to put on a brave face for Clark. As fascinating as learning about Krypton and gorging on all the knowledge contained in the Fortress had been, it had still been a wretched experience.

Well, other than the sex. And seeing the excitement on Clark's face as he learned how to control his abilities and use them to their full extent. As he'd finally started to learn about himself and his birth parents, settling into his skin for the first time since Lex had met him. Not to mention, it had been pretty cool to get to play with all the alien gadgets, learning stuff that was light years beyond human knowledge. And okay, it had been really, really cool learning about Krypton and all the other inhabited planets and cultures they'd had on file.

But still. Inconvenience. Like Clark's stupid Pavlov response to tax season. Refusing to see this as anything other than a game. His increased libido to all things tax related, especially in relation to Lex and taxes.

"You have issues, you know that?"

Clark pressed a wet, messy kiss on a shoulder blade. A dreamy voice filled the room. "You're just so hot. All intense---"

"Because I'm working," Lex muttered.

"---and looking so serious---"

"We're talking about the IRS here."

"---that focused look that makes you look so intelligent and hot---"

Lex snorted.

"---and talking about accruals, and tax credits, and deductibles, and work related expenses, and tax shelters, and---"

"Okay, okay," Lex grumbled, but Clark kept on talking in a dreamy voice.

"---dividends, and charities, and trust funds, and property taxes, and marriage benefits, and---"


Lex sighed in the silence, Clark's alien purring still tickling his back in a good way.

Comforting. Safe. Home.

Damn it. He hated tax season. Trying to do the damn right thing, which was laughable for a Luthor, but since Clark was a Luthor on paper that meant trying to keep the name worthy of Clark. And okay, maybe worthy of Lillian, too. And Julian. And there was the possibility he and Clark would decide to have kids together.

Jor-El and Lara kept pushing the issue.

Royal consort his ass. Sad, sad, sad. He had one pushy father and two sets of pushy in-laws. Between the three sets of set-in-stone-I-know-what's-best-for-you attitudes, he was lucky he still had his own balls. And Clark was useless when it came to standing up to parental units. The problem with good boys was that they were raised to be obedient and polite. Thank god there was a bad boy---even if he was reformed---in the relationship.

Hell, Clark was lucky. If he'd married Lana, the Kents would have walked all over the couple. Nice was for the damn birds.

But that didn't get the taxes done. Damn it, it wasn't fair.

He kept trying to do the right thing when all he wanted to do was curl up into Clark. Make love to Clark. Fuck Clark. Be fucked by Clark. Suck and lick and bite and...Lex quashed his line of thought. The point was, he was trying to be a responsible adult and Clark wasn't helping. The Luthors still needed to get their tax returns in.

Lex frowned at the reminder of Clark not using their name as part of his writing career. Either as a freelance journalist or later as a novelist. Clark still freelanced whenever the mood struck him, wanting to write about some issue or grabbing a film crew from WCLK to go to the Amazon or Africa on some crusade to educate the masses. Since Lex had given the Metropolis television station to Clark for Christmas one year---Lex couldn't help himself by renaming the station after Clark, though his second choice had been WLEX---he didn't really care what Clark did with it as long as it made him happy.

He would have bought the Daily Planet for Clark if the green-eyed imp had asked, and everyone knew what Lex thought about newsprint journalists. Jackals.

That had been a fight in and of itself, Clark wanting to keep Clark Kent as his pen name. He hadn't actually been that upset, even if he had fought to convince Clark to use the Luthor name with pride. He'd mostly made the expected noises, not happy about the nom de plume but extremely grateful that Clark had decided to freelance. Even now, between Superman, the TV station, his own freelance career, and his novels, Clark kept busy. Clark continued to work out of their home, and Lex personally couldn't imagine a life where Clark didn't.

An eight-hour job, plus the commute, plus any required overtime, and adding in Superman to the mix would equal Clark never being around. Plus, how in the world would Clark explain his constant absences and disappearances? It hadn't worked with Lana their freshman year and that was before the suit. Clark hadn't even lasted a week before he got fired. Despite the fact that Lana had held some vague crush-like feelings for Clark.

A lick at his ear interrupted his musing.

"This is important, Clark." Lex had to at least try, and he waved a hand at all the scattered papers on the floor.

"I am, too," Clark said.

Lex twisted around at the timid tone, concerned. Clark moved easily enough to accompany Lex's movements. He brought a hand up, touching one of those unbelievable cheekbones. Christ. The kid could have been a model easily.

"You are," Lex said, leaning forward and bussing his lips. "Nothing's more important."

Suddenly Clark beamed, an impish, brattish look of glee dancing across his face. "Good! Then we can go somewhere...more comfortable."

A huge blur and two seconds later had them in a bedroom, floating four feet above the bedspread. Clark's hands moving languidly and with intent, lips sucking at the bite he'd made earlier, opening it up again.

Aerial sex.

God, he loved taxed season.



NOTE II: The premise of Superman or the Justice League paying taxes is weak---but hilarious to work with as an idea---because presumably none of the superheroes or the League accepts money for the service they provide, unless it's as a donation to the League for upkeep, gizmos, and such. (And I think most people assume Bruce funds the whole damn thing.) However, maybe our intrepid heroes didn't bother to apply to be tax exempt, especially if Bruce keeps to himself in his dark manor and even darker town, not bothering to mention to anyone else that they don't have to pay taxes.

NOTE III: Thanks to Celli Lane and her really cute, funny fic "The A Word" at and Jenn for her really hot, hilarious fic "Resident Alien" at for the idea of Superman having to pay taxes. "The Great Hunt" was obviously a "spin off" idea of poor Lex being stuck with ALL the taxes related to Clark, Superman, the League, as well as himself and LexCorp. Damn that pretty farmboy!

NOTE IV: Other kudos to writers who inspired tongue baths as the ultimate hotness with their incredibly hot and sweet fics: Jenn with "Fetish" and "You Belong to Me" by Henry Jones Jr Both these fics are among my all time favorite stories and are highly recommended reads.

NOTE V: Last note...sadly enough, this was intended as a lighthearted PWP. I think I failed miserably as Lex's thoughts kept interjecting, adding a lot more detail to this 'universe' than I'd originally intended. But hopefully, it was still a fun read, and I'm still labeling it as a PWP.

NOTE VI: For anyone who didn't figure out how our green-eyed boy finds Lex time after time every year: How does Clark always know when Lois is in trouble in the comics or cartoons? Super hearing that seems to be sensitive to Lois' voice, perhaps? Add in the CLex version of "Smallville" plus how a certain bald genius mutters aloud while doing his taxes and you have one horny alien using his ears to track down his, beloved!