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An Afternoon in the Loft

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An Afternoon in the Loft

by myownspecialself

An Afternoon in the Loft
By myownspecialself
July 2002

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to Aunty Mib for a thoughtful beta with lots of suggestions, feedback, and encouragement. A special salute to Elrond for beta-cheering me on and for having planted the idea by giving us "Barn Stories," in which an alien farmboy gets real bossy with a blond quarterback. For volunteering as my very first beta and offering kind words, thanks also to Voyuerer. Finally, a tip of the hat to MidKnight's "Pretty When You Cry" and Wileykit's "Early Morning," each of which provided the inspiration for a couple of phrases of dialog.

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. Yes, indeed.

DISCLAIMERS: Clark, Whitney, and Lex--not mine. Never have been, never will be.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is Clark/Whitney and Clark/Lex slash. Rated NC-17 because of. You know. All the good stuff: Bondage. Spanking. Implied non-consensual rape (Clark threatens Whitney). Also Hurt-Comfort. And Established Relationship, hence the snarky dialogue and kissing at the end. There are vague spoilers for the pilot and Nicodemus episodes. And Lex already knows Clark's not human.

Smack. The slap echoes in the cold air of the barn loft. Like a rifle shot. Clark smiles when the kneeling figure grunts.

"Did that hurt, Jock Boy?" he asks. He leans over to check the snugness of the bandanna around his captive's eyes.

"Hell no," the young man snaps. Clark purses his lips. He nods and grudgingly acknowledges his captive's spirit.

"How about another one? I promise it'll hurt this time," Clark taunts. He raises his hand high.

"Blow me, Kent."

Clark's cock twitches in his jeans. "Blow you?" he purrs. His eyes rake over the young man's lean nakedness. Over the smooth skin, which seems to shimmer in the afternoon winter light streaming in through the loft window.

"Now there's an idea." Clark bends down to trail a finger across the bare, warm back. "Or you could blow me." Clark's cock likes that idea and jerks again.

"Yeah, right. When hell freezes over."

Smack. "You're awful feisty, Quarterback Boy." Clark raises his hand again. High. Higher. "That'll change once I take the starch out of you." He swings very hard.

Smack. The slap lands with so much force that the young man lurches forward, scraping his knees on the wooden floor. He lets out a yelp. Like when someone kicks a dog, Clark thinks.

Smack. The young man inhales loudly. To ease the sting. Clark steps back and admires the handprint on the left buttock. "You should see your ass. Boy, is it red. Like your football jacket."

"Kent." This time the voice is not defiant. Ah. Clark feels something like lust flicker through his belly. Down to his groin.


"Look. I'm sorry, all right? I apologize."

The farmboy considers this for a couple of seconds. Thinks about how to answer. "Fuck you," he replies evenly. "Your apology doesn't cut it right now." His eyes narrow. "Take that."

Smack. This time the young man stifles a gasp.

"Stop. Kent. C'mon. Please."

Clark snorts. "Too much for Smallville High's rough, tough star quarterback?" He spanks again. Hard. And again. Even harder.

"C'mon, stop," the young man says in a choked voice. "It's cold. And the rope hurts my wrists, Kent."

"Oh gee. The rope hurts your wrists?" Clark sneers. "Gosh." He squats in front of his captive, relieved when his cock shifts to a more comfortable position in his jeans. He places his large hands on the young man's arms, which are tautly stretched above his head. A rope winds snugly around the wrists. Twice. And then stretches up to a beam in the rafters.

Clark lightly strokes the arms. Feels the curves of muscle under the pale skin. Nice, he thinks. He slides a hand over the bound wrists. He reaches down and lightly palms the firm, defined chest. Very nice. He teases his hand downward. Down to the flat stomach. Oh. Very, very nice.

He reaches above the prisoner's head. His fingers pluck at the rope. "The knot is good," Clark says, in a pleased voice. "It's the same one you and your football buddies used on me in the cornfield that night."

He draws his hand back. Remains motionless for several seconds. In a sudden blur, his hand shoots out and viciously tweaks an air-chilled nipple. His captive gasps. And damn if it doesn't seem like he leans into Clark's touch. The farmboy's hand resumes its meandering path down the lean, gym-toned torso, until it arrives at the cock, which is semi-erect. Rather thick.

"Oh. My. God. I'm making you hard," Clark drawls coyly. "Guess it's not that cold here after all." He flicks the semi-erection sharply with his finger, making sure the fingernail strikes the impressive cockhead. The young man emits a small yap. Clark thinks he sees the cock lengthen. Whoa.

He stands up. Clears his throat, switching gears. "If my mom and dad were home right now, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation. Doing this." Clark waves a vague hand at the rope to indicate the young man's. Um. Predicament.

"Just your rotten luck, huh?" Clark continues. "You happened to drop by while my parents are spending the weekend in Metropolis." The young man says nothing.

Still standing, Clark stations himself less than a foot away. Directly in front of the kneeling man. "Yep. If Mom and Dad were home right now, you wouldn't be naked. You wouldn't be on your knees." Pause.

"Unless, of course, you want to be on your knees." Another pause. "In front of me," Clark leers. He edges closer. The young man tenses. Aware that Clark's crotch is dangerously close to his face.

Hands on his hips, Clark thrusts his pelvis forward and lightly rubs the fly of his jeans against his prisoner's lips. The young man makes a startled noise in his throat.

"Say howdy to Clark Jr.," the farmboy smirks, thrusting the denim-clad bulge forward again. The young man tenses. Jerks his head back slightly. Only slightly, Clark notes.

"Don't be afraid." Clark moves forward until his crotch is about to make contact again, this time with his captive's nose. The young man breathes in silently and deeply. As if subtly trying to inhale as much of Clark as he can.

"I think Clark Jr. likes you, Football Boy. Wanna play with him?"

"No, thank you." Clark nearly guffaws at the Sunday-school politeness. Completely unlike Whitney, he thinks.

He does a double-take when he sees a flash of pink tongue slide across the young man's lips. He braces himself. A few seconds later, he sees the young man's tongue repeat the action. He reaches forward at super speed. Lightly grabs the tongue tip between thumb and forefinger and lets go. The young man gasps.

"Looks like you were thinking about my cock," Clark says. He watches the young man's neck and shoulders stiffen. As if he'd been discovered. Clark rubs the fly of his jeans one last time across his captive's face. Considers briefly whether to pursue the matter.

Not yet, he tells himself firmly. He reluctantly takes another step back.

"I'll let you suck my dick some other day, Jock Boy. Right now, we've got more important business to take care of." He thinks he sees the young man's shoulders slump. As if from disappointment.

Moving behind his captive, Clark enjoys the sight of the young man on his knees, ass-cheeks reddening from the first round of punishment. Mine, Clark thinks. Totally mine, and--

"Eggplant," the young man says. Clark is taken aback for a moment. Then he remembers: The safe word. Meaning time out. Clark steps around to face the young man. The blindfold has slipped. He sees the young man's left eye sparkling mischievously at him.

"It loosened. When you rubbed against my face," his captive explains, holding back a snicker. Clark removes the large bandanna. Carefully re-folds it before covering the young man's eyes.

"Everything else okay?" Clark asks as he meticulously knots the blindfold. Tighter this time.

"Yeah," the young man replies. "So far, so good." Clark nods and stands up. He thinks for a few seconds. Remembers where they left off. Oh yeah. He bends over and cups his hand on a swell of muscular rump. His pulse quickens. He gives the solid roundness an appreciative squeeze.

"Hot. Very hot," Clark murmurs. "I could fuck this ass all day long. Whether you wanted me to or not."

The young man follows Clark's cue. "Oh shit!" he almost wails. "You wouldn't do that, right, Kent? Jesus." He shudders. "C'mon, Kent. You don't wanna do that." He struggles to stand up. Clark calmly grabs a shoulder. Effortlessly shoves the young man back to his knees. "You wouldn't really. You know. Rape. Me?" the young man stutters in quiet disbelief.

"I sure as hell would, Pretty Boy. But not today," Clark sneers. The young man's nervousness sends adrenalin through Clark's veins. His heart pumps faster. As if trying to send all available blood to Clark's cock. He takes a deep breath.

"But don't worry. Before I raped you, I'd work your ass. So that you'd be ready. You know. Before I fuck you. Over and over and over."

"Oh God," the young man's whispers. As if horrified. He hopes Clark doesn't see him tremble. But his cock--traitor!--shakes anyway. Clark notices, but remains silent. Must concentrate. Focus on spanking, he tells himself. He waits a few seconds. Then--

Smack. "Man, I'll bet this ass is virgin," he says. Ignores his captive's yelp. Smack. "A nice, tight fuck." Another slap. "You're really cute, Jock Boy. Too bad you're such a bastard." Smack. "Meathead jock." Smack. He pauses.

"Why do you keep doing this?" the young man whimpers, when he catches his breath. "Why won't you untie me?"

Clark decides not to hold back. Lets his rage bubble to the surface. "You still don't know why?" he screeches, cheeks ablaze. "Don't you remember what you did to me in that damn cornfield? You and the rest of the football team? You don't remember how I begged you that night to let me go?" He delivers a vicious smack. Makes his victim choke out a moan.

"K-Kent, c'mon. I'm sorry. That's why I came by today. To apologize." A deep breath. "Can't we let bygones be bygones? Please?" Clark hears a note of desperation. His cock stirs, yet again creating tight discomfort in his jeans.

Shoving one hand down the front his pants, Clark adjusts himself. He reaches out with the other hand and yanks the rope up. Hauls the young man to a standing position. The young man grits his teeth as the rope bites into chafing wrists.

"Ow. Kent. Please--"

"Beg all you want, Football Boy. But begging's not gonna help you. Because right now it's payback time." Clark knots the loose rope to take up most of the slack. "Sure, you stopped by to apologize. And I accept your apology. But it doesn't end there. There's still the outstanding matter of your punishment." Clark enunciates the last word as dramatically as he can.

He gives the rope an angry tug. Makes the young man stumble. He thrusts his face forward so that each word brushes his lips against the young man's ear.

"Bygones will be bygones after I beat your ass until tears roll down your pretty face," Clark hisses. "After I finish with you, you're gonna think of me. Every damn time you sit down on your black-and-blue butt. You're gonna remember this beating. And you know what, you sick little fucker? We both know you'll be coming back. To beg me for more."

Clark savors the stunned silence. He inhales noisily through his nose and is pretty sure he smells fear. Humiliation. He feels that odd lust well up in his stomach once again. He positions himself behind his trembling prisoner.

"Spread your legs." He reaches between two lean, well-defined thighs. Roughly grasps the stiff cock. He tugs the cock down and then pulls back hard. As if trying to insert the head into the crack of that beautiful ass. He grins at the whined protest and imagines his captive's eyes widening in unexpected pain beneath the blindfold. He lets go. Snickers softly when the young man lets out a muffled sob of relief.

"This is really gonna hurt. So feel free to cry, if you want." Clark indulges himself with a short, diabolical chuckle. "I'll bet you're even prettier when you cry."

"Go to hell. I'm not gonna cry, damn you." At the indignant tone, Clark's eyebrows jerk up theatrically. Almost to his hairline.

"Really? Well, we'll see about that," Clark says evenly. "You may be a big bad senior, but I'm taller than you. Stronger. Jeez, I pinned you down, stripped you, and tied you up in less than a minute."

He reaches between the young man's legs. Grabs and tugs the cock once again. Wow. He's getting harder, Clark thinks. Draws an insinuating finger up through the young man's cleft. He hears a soft hiss of something like outrage. Clark wonders for a moment if it isn't consent.

"Right now it looks like I can probably make you do anything I want you to do. So if I want you to cry, well, by golly, then you're gonna cry." The young man winces. Lowers his head. Almost as if he suddenly realizes Clark may be right.

"God, Kent." The young man's voice is very soft. "How long are you going keep doing this?" Close to inaudible.

Good question, Clark thinks. For how long? Ah, yes. An evil smile crosses his face as he steps back and says, "That all depends on you, Pigskin Boy. The punishment is over whenever you shoot your load. When you come for me."

Clark watches as the young man raises his head quickly. Interested in what Clark has just said. "Enough small talk," Clark declares. "It's time to continue your spanking."

He takes a few seconds to bask in the tension that thickens the air. He leans forward. Swipes his large tongue into a defenseless ear. Makes his captive shudder and groan. Then with a sudden motion, he spanks the right butt cheek, simultaneously yelling "You asshole!" He smiles at the frightened yap that escapes from the young man.

He doles out two sharp swats. Then he lightly caresses the left buttock once. The young man jumps at the feathery touch. As if it were the bite of a whip.

And now Clark starts to spank in earnest, measuring out brutal smacks. He watches how the painful blush slowly spreads outward across the whole backside. He starts thinking of that night in the cornfield. Lets his anger grow. Teeth clenched, he mutters his grievances. He doesn't know if the young man catches the disjointed accusations through the haze of sheer physical sensation.

"Treated me like shit..." "Called me 'Scarecrow Boy'..." "Left me to freeze overnight..." "Spit on me..."

He pauses. Takes a deep breath. Roughly pulls the young man upright and around to face him. His captive's cock appears to be completely hard. Clark bends over and gives the balls a brutal, resounding slap. He is pleased when the young man obliges with a bark of pain. He moves back behind the twitching body. He resumes the spanking.

Between blows, he watches how his captive writhes. Jerks. A fine sheen of moisture covers the young man's body as he grits his teeth in an effort to hold back his cries. Clark sees how the slaps radiate from the ass. They become a fiery, pleasurable sensation that travels throughout his prisoner's entire body.

Clark's eyes run over broad, muscled shoulders. Over the tapering back. Down to the narrow waist. Delighted, he observes the subtle play of ripples beneath the smooth skin every time his victim arches into the stinging pain. Nor does he miss the way the young man's hard cock twitches erratically. As if lengthening even more.

"You want this as much as I do," Clark snarls. "Tell me you want it, cocksucker." Smack. Hears the young man moan something. It sounds like Clark's name. He increases the frequency of the slaps. The young man can no longer contain himself. He groans shapeless words loudly. Freely.

Clark senses that the line between pain and pleasure is almost complete erased. When he sees the muscles of the sweat-covered back tense completely and stay that way, he knows it's time to bring it all home.

Smack. "You like that, you slut?" Smack. "Next, I oughta punish your hot ass with my cock." Smack. "I'm gonna make you my bitch." Smack. "Hey, Quarterback Boy, I'll plow your tight end and turn you into a wide receiver." Smack.

Clark continues to jeer and insult. He's barely aware of his own raging hardness. The exertion makes him breathe loudly and his eyes are glued to that irresistible ass. He focuses on the heat beneath his palm. The heat of the paddled pink flesh that quivers with each stroke.

And when he realizes his open hand has finally brought his victim to point of no return, Clark yells, "Come for me!"

The young man throws back his head and obediently launches his orgasm with a roar, his cock pulsating slowly and violently. So fast that he's a blur, Clark moves in front of the young man and leans forward. Bites down on a nipple. His victim expresses his pleasure and appreciation with a grateful shudder and a howl.

Face flushed with arousal, Clark pulls out his own cock. Strokes it hysterically as he watches the young man spurt. He sticks out a hand to catch the release. Feels the young man's liquid heat wash over his fingers.

That's enough to push Clark over the edge. He cries out hoarsely. Shoots into his open hand, his come mingling with his partner's. As his contractions die down and his breathing returns to normal, he rubs the come between his fingertips. He brings them to his mouth. His tongue flicks out to catch the warm, sticky fluid. He tastes the young man. He tastes himself.

The only sound in the loft Clark hears now is an uneven gasping. The young man dangles drunkenly from the rope. His damp eyes squeeze shut against tears. Clark goes to his captive. Draws him to his chest. He locks lips with the young man. Thrusts his tongue as far inside as he can, trying to still the young man's irregular sobbing. He slides his large, strong hands up the sweaty torso. Up trembling arms. He encounters the rope. Carefully, he unties the knot and frees aching wrists.

The young man exhales loudly. Throws his arms around Clark's neck, collapsing against the broad, plaid-covered chest. With one hand, Clark gently tilts the young man's face upward. He snakes his tongue out. Licks away a tear.

"Boy. That was intense," Clark murmurs. Nuzzles the young man's ear. "Are you okay?" He strokes his partner's back and shoulders to warm the young man against the cold loft air. Avoids the throbbing ass-globes.

"Yeah." The young man's voice quavers. "Fuck. You are hot." His arms tighten around Clark's neck. "A natural-born spanker, Clark. A phenomenal stud."

The compliment makes Clark blush. He almost ducks his head. Almost scuffs the toe of a boot on the loft floor. Instead, he brings one of the young man's wrists to his lips. Tries to kiss away the rope burn. Realizes his partner is still shivering in the cold air.

He tightens an arm around the young man and slowly edges them both across the loft towards the couch. Where a blanket and an old quilt are folded and draped across the back.

"You did incredibly well for your first time. You controlled your strength almost effortlessly," the young man says. His voice is muffled against Clark's chest. "And you really got into the role. You weren't Clark Kent, the geeky, alien Boy Scout anymore. Although I adore that Clark Kent," the young man quickly adds. "But you were possessed. Almost as if the Nicodemus flower had gotten to you. I've never heard you say so many cruel, nasty things. I loved it."

"I'm glad you talked me into this," Clark replies. "You were right about role-playing. It really helps get it all out." He sighs. "I kept it bottled up inside for months. I feel much, much better now. Thanks."

"You're quite welcome. And thank you." The young man kisses the hollow of Clark's throat. "I haven't come like that in ages. It was a catharsis for both us."

They're at the couch now. Clark breaks free of the young man's embrace for a second. He flashes a goofy grin. Does a super-fast strip. In a millisecond, Clark's boots and folded socks appear next to the couch as if by magic. The young man feels a breeze as flannel, denim, and cotton whisk off and away from Clark's body and fall neatly next to the boots and socks.

Naked, Clark falls backward slowly onto the couch. He pulls the young man on top of him. Unfolds the blanket and the quilt and spreads them over their bodies. They sink into a contented silence full of lazy caresses.

(Five minutes later)


"Hm?" Clark widens drowsy eyes. Strokes his partner's cheek.

"Correct me if I'm wrong." The young man searches for words. Lets Clark nip-kiss him on the nose. "Um. Did I actually hear you say 'Hey, Quarterback Boy, I'll plow your tight end and turn you into a wide receiver'?"

Clark nods reluctantly. "Yeah, I may have said. You know. Something like that." Warily. "Your point being...?"

"I don't want to seem hypercritical, Clark. However." The young man pauses when the farmboy arches eyebrows in mock belligerence. "In retrospect, your folksy, Kansas barnyard humor rings somewhat. Um. Corny." He snickers at Clark's indignant expression. "And furthermore, would you be so kind as to tell me in what godforsaken galaxy it's acceptable to use cheesy phrases like 'Say howdy to Clark Jr.'?" The young man giggles. Maliciously. "'Clark Jr.'? Puh-lease."

"Um, hello?" Clark retorts. He pokes his partner in the ribs. "I'd like to point out that at the time I was very busy whacking your slutty little ass. You know. To make you come. So, yeah, I wasn't completely focused on improvising witty dialog." He shoots the young man a sly look. "And by the way, earthling, if you object so much to Clark Jr.'s name, maybe I should just. You know. Take him elsewhere. To some other planet where they actually want to say howdy to him?"

"Oh, no no no no no!" the young man hastily replies. "Hey, Alien Boy. Don't get me wrong. Clark Jr. is most definitely welcome here on Earth." The young man gently gropes Clark's crotch. "Indeed, it's always a pleasure to greet Clark Jr. But he needs a new name. Like. Mmm." He finds himself suddenly trying to speak through a generous mouthful of Kansas farmboy tongue.

It takes a huge effort to suck and nibble Clark's mouth into submission, but the young man is finally able to continue in a weak voice. "So, the next time we play this game, I propose that we. Mmm." He falls silent again. This time because Clark's mouth refuses to accept defeat. Demands a re-match.

After a while, the young man tries to pull away from insistent, pouty lips. "Excuse me, but. Mmm. I believe I was trying to make a point here. Before. Mmm. Your prehensile, outer-space tongue attacked me." Clark reluctantly stops feasting on his partner's mouth. Listens with comically exaggerated patience. "So Clark, next time let me think up the snappy repartee. You can be Whitney. Okay?"

Clark doesn't answer right away. He licks at the small, sexy scar on the young man's upper lip. Kisses the smooth, hairless skull. "Sure, Lex. Whatever you want."