For K, because I wanted to.
He didn't think there was such a thing as a 'usual' week in a place like Smallville, with random mutants wandering the streets or lying in wait to knock him unconscious, but Lex was almost lulled into a false sense of security by the very blandness of the six days preceding that Friday.
Being a Luthor, he had a deep well of paranoia that never allowed him to be completely unprepared. For anything. So when the crazed six-footer with the glowing green eyes wielding the huge rubber mallet met him in the billiards room at the castle after he returned from a hard day nurturing his fledgling corporation, he didn't think twice. He ducked under the bulletproof table, hit the panic button to his security team, then ran and ducked and rolled and evaded the gibbering apparition like a professional.
With as much practice as he'd gotten since coming to Smallville, he no doubt qualified as a professional.
Ten men armed with everything from industrial strength tasers to twelve gauge shotguns converged on the room and surrounded the mutant ... a construction worker who'd spent a little too long in an excavation pit studded with bright green rocks ... but not before Lex sustained injuries covering over half his body. Since no bones were broken and he wasn't technically concussed, he considered it Standard Operating Procedure for living in Smallville and let the clean-up crew get to work.
There were days when he hated his life.
Pouring himself a brandy in the study, he glared out over immaculate gardens and decided he had to get the hell away from the place. He needed a break. Absently ghosting his fingers over an abrasion dotting half his ribcage, he winced. More than need, he deserved a break.
He'd go to Metropolis. Find someplace dark and smoky, with pretty women and pretty men and an old man playing something slow and soft on a piano, and drift for awhile. Nodding decisively to his reflection in the leaded glass, he went down the stairs. Sliding into his newest baby, a shimmering lavender Lamborghini Murcielago, he smiled as the soft leather seat embraced him and the V12 engine ate up the road. It was a three hour drive to the city; a lot less than that with a car that could top 200 miles per hour.
Which is why he sat there, mouth hanging open, ten minutes later, wondering how in the hell he'd ended up in the front yard of the Kent family farm when that certainly hadn't been where he'd headed.
True, he'd been busy lately and hadn't gotten his minimum daily requirement of farmboy fix, but he was a grown man. He could handle a little deprivation. If he was going to make it the three months left to Clark's eighteenth birthday without Jonathan Kent shooting him for poaching, he'd BETTER be able to handle it. His right hand dropped to the stick shift and his foot twitched. Neither moved enough to actually get the car out of park. He sighed.
Disgusting what the Id would do to a man when he wasn't up to fighting it.
Unfortunately, he wasn't up to a fight with Papa Kent, either. Lex had nearly made up his mind that the smart thing to do would be to turn tail and run when a clunky domestic sedan pulled up into the driveway. Martha Kent crawled out and beamed at him.
Shit. He was sunk. If his knees melted at Clark's broad grin, his backbone melted at Martha's. He let none of his panic show on his face, giving her a restrained smile of greeting as she came over to the side of his car. When she leaned a hand against the roof of the Murcielago he managed not to wince. He was rather proud of his inhuman restraint. It was a custom paint job on a quarter million dollar car, after all.
Distracted by the threat of smudges and possible scratching from rings and such, Lex didn't realize he'd nodded yes until she told him to "Come on in, then!" and turned to trot briskly toward the side steps leading into the kitchen. Running the last few moments of conversation back, he realized what he'd missed.
"Lex! Good to see you. I've missed you at the castle, and Clark has certainly missed you. Please come in. Clark's been ... a little down lately. Maybe a visit from a friend will cheer him up."
She'd sounded so obscenely inviting he'd agreed automatically. His eyes narrowed as he got out of the Murcielago and set the lock alarm. He had to do something about his lack of willpower around the Kents. Well, at least the mother and son. He had no problem at all avoiding the father.
Catching up with Martha and holding the door for her, receiving another warm beaming smile for his manners, Lex excused, "It's been busy lately at the plant."
It wouldn't do to admit he was avoiding his house in part to avoid his father and in part to avoid the temptation Clark posed every time he dropped in. Looking all farmboyish and happy to see Lex and slightly rumpled and incredibly fuckable. Lex swallowed with some difficulty and sternly told himself to stop thinking about sex and Clark while speaking to Clark's mother. He rapidly changed the subject.
"What's this about Clark being depressed?" All right, it wasn't much of a change to the Clark-obsessed, but at least it got Lex thinking about something other than stripping flannel off and licking naked skin.
Although there was nothing like a few endorphins to counter a little depression, and nothing quite like sex to release a nice big rush of endorphins -- Lex clamped down on his wayward thoughts again and concentrated on Martha. Busily stripping off her jacket, she hadn't noticed. Thank god.
"He's been making himself scarce, spending a lot of time in the loft, more than usual." She sounded worried. "And his temper's been short. It's not like him."
"It's not like Lex can do anything about that, Martha," Jonathan's irritated, and irritating, voice came from behind them. Lex controlled his instinctive start and turned smoothly to face his adversary.
Er, his best friend's father.
Jonathan glared at him as if he was a cockroach. Nothing new there.
"Clark's just being a typical teenager. It's a phase. He'll grow out of it." He sounded dismissive, and Lex narrowed his eyes.
"I've said that before, Jonathan," Martha replied with a hint of rebuke. "We both know how true that turned out to be."
Mr. Kent flushed slightly and stared at his boots. Interesting. Lex looked from one to the other and said softly, "If there's anything I can do --"
He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence, as usual, because Mr. Kent interrupted him. "I'm sure there isn't."
Lex contained a put-upon sigh and smiled politely at Martha. "Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Kent, but I really should be leaving."
"Probably for the best," Jonathan sniped.
Martha's eyes flashed in a way Lex had never seen. It was stunning, in much the same way being slammed skull-first into a granite wall would stun.
"I am not going to let my son go through whatever it is he's going through without the support of the people who love him," she told Jonathan. The words echoed off the walls. Amazing the projection a red-headed temper fit could give to a voice without it becoming an actual shout.
Lex spared a glance for Jonathan. He looked pale, his eyes a little glazed, and oh, wasn't that interesting? Lex looked back from Jonathan's tightening jeans to the slightly hazy expression on his face, and smirked.
Jonathan went from the beginning of arousal to full-blown anger in a moment. Not being suicidal, he didn't turn that anger on his wife; Lex was too easy a target to ignore. Being intimately acquainted with paternal ranting, Lex tuned it out the best he could, letting it wash over him like background noise. He waited for a break in the torrent to say his goodbyes to Martha and leave. He'd give Jonathan two minutes to vent then he was out of there.
"Jonathan, please!" Martha interjected. Jonathan ignored her, focused on Lex.
Before his self-imposed time limit expired, Clark came into the room. His entire face brightened when he saw Lex, then darkened like a thundercloud as he took in the all-too-familiar scene. Lex, standing there patiently while Jonathan insulted him and Martha stood at the sidelines, face growing redder by the minute.
This time, Clark didn't attempt to mediate. To Lex's shock, Clark yelled, "Leave him alone, Dad!"
Jonathan choked. Martha made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. Lex blinked at Clark, who glared at his father.
Then Clark sniffed the air.
The only thing Lex could think was that the call of dinner had distracted him from the argument, so he nodded to Martha and took a step toward the door. He could escape now before it escalated, and hopefully keep the peace. "I'll see you later, Clark," he said over his shoulder.
Only Clark wasn't behind him any more. Clark was between him and the doorway. Still sniffing the air. And staring at Lex with a disconcerting intensity that had Lex mentally reassuring himself that yes, he had bathed that day, and no, he certainly couldn't smell that badly. He had it on good, and multiple, authority that even when he was covered in sweat he didn't smell badly. Quite the opposite.
His feet carried him the next few steps toward Clark, momentum being a powerful force, before Lex could stop himself. He looked up at Clark, a question forming on his lips, then all thought died as Clark did the unexplainable.
He put his hands on Lex's shoulders, pulled him forward, dropped his nose into the curve of Lex's neck, and sniffed. Hard.
Instantly and incredibly turned on, and as instantly freaked out as much by his uncontrollable reaction as by Clark's actions, Lex tried to break Clark's hold. All he got for his trouble was the pull of already-aching muscles. Instinctively, Lex ducked, hearing the shoulder seams on his jacket give as he squirmed out of Clark's hands.
Clark stared at him, all big green eyes and trembling bottom lip.
"God," Lex prayed. He wasn't sure for what he asked, but escape or a soft bed and privacy ranked at the top of the list.
"You're hurt!" Clark said, his voice rising.
"I'm fine," Lex assured him, keeping a wary eye out for further attempts at capture from Clark and keeping his back to Clark's parents to hide the tent in his slacks. There was a strange light in Clark's eyes, somewhat feral and nearly uncontained. It made Lex more than a little nervous. "Just another mutant attack, but there was no harm done. He ... she ... it's been contained."
Clark looked even more distressed and reached out for him again. Lex tried to back up but his ass hit the kitchen counter. Trapped, he stared up at Clark and stood very still. It worked with wild animals. Maybe it would work with undomesticated farmboys.
"Oh, for god's sake, let him go, Clark. What's the matter with you?" Jonathan huffed at Clark, and Clark wheeled to face him.
Tension quivered through Clark's body. His fists clenched and his head lowered like a prize fighter heading into the final round. Lex winced again. This was ridiculous. He wasn't about to be the cause of a Kent Family Brawl.
Darting a glance over at Martha, who was watching everything with eyes nearly as wide as Clark's and a hand pressed to her mouth, Lex said calmly, "It's okay. I'll be leaving now."
Neither Clark nor Jonathan heard him, as they were too busy snarling at one another. Lex slid along the counter until he got to the door then stalked back to his poor Murcielago. A fine layer of dust already dulled the sparkling coat.
As he got in, Jonathan's bellow about untrustworthy Luthors and agendas clashed with Clark's yelling about unwarranted prejudice and blind hostility. Lex revved the engine and sped off down the road, the purr of the engine and distance finally drowning out the argument.
Never a dull moment in Smallville. Ever.
He really was intending on going to Metropolis. Maybe a dance club instead of a blues joint. Something loud and flashy and crowded and steamy. Where the music was strong enough to make him stop thinking.
As he pulled into the garage then walked slowly up the flagstone path toward the castle, he realized his subconscious wasn't going to let him go anywhere but directly to a whisky bottle then straight to bed. He shrugged.
He could live with that.
He'd heard all he wanted to hear and much more besides, and Clark was tired of it. Lex wasn't his father, any more than Clark was HIS, and the more Clark listened to his dad blame his own moral failure on Lionel by way of Lex the more Clark just wanted to smack him.
"It's not Lex's fault his dad's a jackass! Lex is NOT his father!" Clark yelled in his dad's face.
"The apple doesn't fall very far from THAT tree!" Jonathan bellowed back.
"Lex is not an apple! Lionel is not a tree! This argument is stupid!" By the end of the sentence Clark was screaming at the top of his lungs.
Given that his lungs were literally inhuman in strength, it made the windows rattle. In the shocked silence that fell while his parents were waiting to get their hearing back Clark realized something was wrong.
He couldn't smell Lex any more.
The itch that had been growing under his skin for the past several weeks peaked. "NOW look what you've done!" he yelped, looking around frantically for Lex.
"This argument IS stupid," his dad announced, "because I'm right and you know it. Lex is no good for you, and this so-called friendship will end up getting you in trouble."
Deep inside Clark's brain, in the Kryptonian variant of the reptilian center, something snapped. He growled, the sound rumbling up from his chest to rattle in his throat, and went on the hunt for his missing Lex.
"Clark? Are you listening to me?"
The angry words were an unimportant buzzing in his ears. The scent was gone, the sweet lemony scent underlain with the trace of coppery pain that Clark had to make better. There was a lump in his way as he headed for sunlight, following the trail of the scent on the wind.
Without pause, he swiped the lump out of the way. Dimly, he heard a scream and a thump, and a little internal voice that sounded oddly like Chloe told him, 'Now you've done it. You've thrown your dad through the refrigerator. What're you going to do for an encore? Toss your mom over the barn?'
He snarled at the voice and it shut up, but it did make him pause long enough to realize there was another, smaller lump in his way. This lump sparkled, and smelled like Home. He stopped, unsure, not wanting to harm the small lump but needing to find his Lex.
Torn between the impulse to protect his Lex and the impulse to not hurt the form in his way, Clark gave a howl and turned to the wall. It was as easy to tear as paper and he plowed a fist, then his shoulder, through it until he had an opening large enough to walk through.
Which he then did, following the elusive trail of his Lex. The itch urged him on to a blurring run, and for the first time in days he felt at ease with himself and the world around him.
As long as it stayed out of his way.
Martha Kent stared at the gaping hole in her kitchen wall and tried to remember how to breathe. She'd never seen such a look in her son's eyes, and she hoped to God she never did again. There'd been nothing of Clark in those fevered green eyes, only a light so alien, so fixated, for the first time in her life she truly realized how alien Clark really was. The only sign that gave her hope was the tiny spark of recognition she saw before Clark turned from her and ripped away half the wall
She really should call Lex and warn him. About something. Somehow. If she could only remember how to talk. And how to move. Unable to do either, she stood there for a moment, hanging on to the doorframe, and shook.
A pathetic whimper from over by the sink brought her attention back to her husband. Jonathan sat slumped against the dented refrigerator door, blank shock on his face being overtaken by pain. A lot of pain. Unpeeling her fingers from the wooden frame, Martha concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until she got to her husband's side. Then she gratefully let her knees give out and landed with an undignified thump beside him on the floor.
"What just happened?" Jonathan asked dazedly.
Martha stared at him. Shook her head. Asked patiently, "Is anything broken?"
He shook his head in turn, then carefully moved his limbs and felt his chest. "No, I don't think so."
"Good," she said sweetly, then smacked the top of his head. Hard.
"Ow!" he yelped. "What was that for?" He gave her an injured look verging on a pout, which she ignored from long practice dealing with the same expression on Clark's face.
"It's your own damned fault," she informed him. While he was still reeling from the unheard-of curse coming from his ladylike wife, she went on, "Lex has done nothing but good for this town. He's nothing like his father, and believe me, I know." Jonathan opened his mouth to interrupt but she glared him silent and swept on. He meekly shut his mouth and listened. "If Lex does turn out to be a monster it will be precisely because he's been told so often that he will be, and that's a damned shame, because he deserves better than that. And so does Clark!"
Jonathan's mouth opened again, but she didn't give him the chance to say anything.
"You've been telling him for nearly three years now that Lex is no good and Clark hs to stay away from him and where has it gotten us? Nowhere, that's where! And why is that? Because you're WRONG, Jonathan! You've seen Lionel every time you've looked at Lex ever since you met him and it's time for you to stop!"
Jonathan swallowed and gave Martha a hard look. "Are you finished?"
"No," she fired back, "but this is. Because whether you like it or not, for heaven's sake, whether LEX likes it or not, Clark has made his choice." She gestured at the destroyed wall, the shambles of the kitchen, and Jonathan himself, sitting against the broken refrigerator door. "It's your own damned fault for not recognizing the fact that 'love knows no bounds' is LITERAL when dealing with an alien son!"
"L-love?" Jonathan stuttered, looking like he'd just swallowed a very large bug.
"Love," she repeated firmly, then began to rummage for first aid supplies through the debris Jonathan had knocked from the countertop when Clark threw him across the kitchen.
He opened his mouth to argue. She stuffed the end of a dishcloth in it. While he was still spitting out cotton fluff, she stood, got the last bag of peas out of the freezer, and held it against the knot growing on the back of his head. She knelt back down beside him, holding the improvised ice pack to his thick skull, waiting for him to realize the inevitable.
Several silent moments later he said, very quietly, "Love?"
She looked at him. Nodded solemnly. His face crumpled. "Well, hell."
Martha nodded. "Get used to it." What else could they do, with a fait accompli?
The first indication Lex had that he wasn't alone was when the air blurred around him and the whisky bottle he reached for morphed into Clark.
His fingers felt bruised where they impacted Clark's chest, and he stared dumbly at his stinging hand. "Huh?" he asked intelligently.
Not that he got any response. Clark was sniffing him again, distracting Lex from the really important questions he simply had to ask, like how the hell Clark beat him from the farm back to the castle when Lex was driving a car that made the wind seem slow, and how muscle could feel like brick, and who won the argument.
Although the fact that Clark was there, at that moment, sliding to his knees in front of Lex and still sniffing, made the last question moot.
Made the whole concept of thought moot, really. Particularly when Clark added licking to his exploratory repertoire, supplementing the sniffing with an astonishingly agile tongue. Lex swayed, unsteady on his feet as Clark didn't bother unzipping his slacks, but ripped them from his legs as if they were made of tissue.
Without so much as a hint of material burn on Lex's skin.
Looking down past his still-knotted tie and still-buttoned shirt at Clark's face, long lashes shadowing the flushed cheeks nuzzling into his naked groin, Lex wondered where his boxers went. Glancing around wildly, he saw a wisp of shredded silk lying in a mess of shredded fine wool. He curled his toes and realized that his shoes had come off sometime in the fray, and one sock, but the other sock still clung determinedly to the ball of his foot.
A particularly wicked slide of that tongue alongside his testicles caused his knees to give out, and Lex felt soft curls clenched in his fists before he'd realized he'd made fists. But that was all right, really, because if he was hanging on to Clark's head, then he could shift his weight forward and spread his legs, and that felt like exactly what he should be doing right that second. Clark made a sound that might have been approval, or a growl, or maybe he laughed, but Lex couldn't care less.
Not as long as he kept doing what he was doing. Which, at that moment, was expanding his oral repertoire still further to include delicate nipping bites that were slowly driving Lex completely insane. His eyes started to burn from staring without blinking at Clark, whose own eyes were closed as he feasted on Lex's skin.
Still pausing between licks and bites to take long sniffs.
It was a little kinky, but that was okay, because being scented had now shot to the top of Lex's own not-inconsiderable list of personal kinks. Clark could sniff him forever as long as he kept touching Lex, kept pulling him close and licking along the join of thigh and pelvis, kept nibbling his balls like he hadn't eaten in days and Lex was a buffet. As long as he stretched his mouth open -- just like that -- and swallowed down the length of Lex's cock, making soft hungry noises that made the flesh quiver. If Lex'd had any hair it would've all been standing on end.
As it was, all he could do was hold on to Clark's and pray the invulnerability his farmboy had shown since Lex had known him extended to his scalp. Or he'd be as bald as Lex by the time they were done.
Of course, Lex could have been overestimating his stamina, because with a rush that tightened every muscle in his body and made him scream out loud, he came down Clark's throat much sooner than he thought he should. Ecstasy like Clark's mouth came along so seldom it should be savored, but Lex was too busy wallowing in orgasm to worry about savoring.
Wallowing, and moaning, and collapsing like Clark had sucked all Lex's bones out the end of his dick, and finally lying in a crumpled heap against Clark's knees. Looking up blearily, Lex realized it was the second time that day he'd found himself on the floor looking up at an assailant. Clark was grinning at him again, but there was a feral edge to his grin that Lex hadn't seen before.
It looked good with the smear of come at the corner of his mouth. Lex moaned again.
Clark apparently took that as encouragement, because Lex hadn't finished his exhalation before Clark shifted him flat on his back with his legs spread as far as they could go, his knees hooked over Clark's shoulders, and Clark's tongue working at his ass. Lex was so surprised he squeaked.
Then he blushed. Luthors didn't squeak. Really. It simply wasn't done.
Clark shoved harder, and the second squeak he'd deny he gave came out twice as loud and twice as long, until it turned into a cry of "Oh, fuck, Clark!" without Lex's permission. A garbled response was pressed into his ass, causing him to writhe and buck as much as he could ... less than an inch in either direction. Clark had a hold on him professional wrestlers would envy. Lex gave a moment's thought to the bruises adding on to the bruises, then gave up thinking altogether as Clark added a couple fingers to the mix along with his tongue.
Whimpering. Now that, Luthors would do. Under the right circumstances. It didn't get much more right than this.
Until Clark moved again, arching back and working his cock into Lex's ass, sending Lex into an alternate plane of existence. Lex created a whole new definition of 'right' to encompass this new reality. He'd been fucked, yes, by masters of the art ... but they had nothing on Clark.
And not just because Clark was hung like an elephant.
It was the intensity. Lex looked up into fervid green eyes that glowed bright, holding him without effort, pure raw need pouring out of Clark in a constant flow. That, coupled with the iron grip keeping him in place, and the pole reaming him out, and the way Lex's name fell from Clark's lips on every breath, turned a superior fucking into something a hell of a lot more ... important.
As soon as Lex came, and Clark stopped pounding his brains out of him, and the world regained some sense of perspective, Lex would try to figure out what it was.
Until then, he'd stay there, curled up on his shoulders, trying not to choke on the tie that was still knotted around his neck, hips held in place as Clark rammed into him. He'd scream, and he'd moan, and he'd come again, and he'd enjoy it. After all, he'd already learned it did no good to try to fight the inevitable.
Destiny was easy. He could fight destiny. Clark? His body's reaction to Clark?
Not in this lifetime.
Clark bucked one last time and gave a strangled cry, could have been Lex's name or a prayer or a curse, Lex couldn't tell. Lex felt the surge against and inside him, and if he'd had anything left to give he'd've given it. As it was, he could only shiver and whimper some more. Not that Clark seemed to mind. Not judging by all the cuddling and petting.
He gave a startled sound when his hands encountered Lex's shirt, now wrinkled and stained beyond redemption, and started to tug at it. Lex gurgled, one hand wrenching at the tie around his throat, and Clark muttered, "Sorry," as he quickly stripped it off. The shirt followed shortly thereafter. Somewhere in all the thrashing Lex had lost his other sock, and it felt good to finally be skin to skin with Clark all the way down their bodies.
Even if he was a boneless, wrung-out, satiated wreck. Perhaps especially because he was a boneless, wrung-out, satiated wreck. Sprawled under Clark's weight, feeling his muscles spasm as Clark slipped out and eased his legs down, Lex realized he was grinning like an idiot but couldn't do a thing about it.
Then Clark moved, and the grin slipped. Lex felt a faint stirring of alarm as Clark pulled away. It died quickly as Clark began a minute examination of Lex's body, hovering over every bruise and scrape, of which the day had brought many. Every abrasion, every purpling mark earned a kiss, soft as breath against his skin.
Lex had been feared, hated, used, and even loved before. He'd never been worshipped. He had the vague feeling it should unnerve him a great deal more than it did. As it was, it felt ... wonderfully right. Every time Clark touched him, his nerves sparked, as if each kiss was a steamy little promise of protection, and love, and endless hot sex for as long as Lex could stand it.
There were days when he loved his life. He had a feeling there were a lot more of them to come.
The beep of his cell phone interrupted his drifting thoughts. He glanced down at Clark, who ignored the noise and went right on mapping Lex's bruises with his tongue. Lex felt his mouth curl up into a tiny smirk. He rather hoped it was Lionel.
To his horror, it was Martha Kent. As soon as he heard her voice he made an abortive attempt to push Clark off, feeling his entire body start to blush. Clark ignored that, too.
Lex stared wide-eyed down at Clark, now mouthing the inside of Lex's thigh, and gave a strangled, "Hello, Mrs. Kent." He emphasized the name. Clark still ignored him. Lex rolled his eyes.
Well, if it wasn't going to bother Clark to have sex with Lex while Lex was on the phone with Clark's mother then it wasn't going to bother Lex. Much. He gulped.
"I wanted to give you a head's up that Clark may be on his way over to your place."
Head's up? Lex looked at his rising erection as Clark slurped along a bruise on Lex's lower belly. Too late. He didn't realize he'd said the last couple words aloud until Martha answered him.
"Oh! Is everything all right?"
If one didn't count terminal embarrassment, everything was fine. Great. "Wonderful," he answered honestly.
There was a long pause, and Lex wondered if he should say something to mitigate his honesty. Unfortunately, his thoughts were scrambled by the tiny licking kisses Clark was giving the head of his cock, and there was no way on earth he was going to admit that to Martha. To his relief, she broke the silence.
"Well, that's good." She sounded amused, and warm, and oddly unsurprised, and if Lex'd had even a single working brain cell at that point he would have called her on it. But he didn't, so he didn't even try. She told him, "Tell Clark not to worry about his father, I've taken care of him. Have fun. I'll see you both later."
She hung up, and Lex automatically punched the button to turn off the cell phone before tossing it in the general direction of his pants. One last coherent thought hit him before Clark melted his brain to mush.
He'd have to get Martha to tell Lionel. She was perfect for the job.
Then Clark got serious, inhaling him until Lex had to come or die, and either was a serious possibility. Lex was grinning when he came so hard he passed out, and still grinning when he swam back to consciousness. Clark grinned right back at him.
Lex could live with that.