It's slow, even strokes. Something like being petted; soothing, not so much arousing as--comfortable. There's been worse ways to wake up, he has to admit. And he *knows* he's purring into the pillow with each long stroke across his back, slow and steady and strangely hypnotic, almost enough to keep him caught in that warm place of half-sleep, half-arousal, all very, very good.
Except, of course, he's reasonably sure he went to bed *alone* tonight.
Lifting his head, Lex shakes the drowsiness off, suddenly aware that there's not just stroking, but also a weight nestled firmly in the small of his back. Light enough to barely feel before he tries to push up, and then it's--very heavy. And does not move. Denim. Flannel. Smell of straw and sweat that Lex can just catch.
His fantasy life has either gone up a notch or life in Smallville has just become a hell of a lot better.
"Lex?" The clear, startled voice is a dead giveaway, and the worst part is, the hands *stop*. Which, frankly, is one reason that consciousness is very highly overrated.
"Clark, what are you... ah --" Clark's--*Clark*?-- hands push his shoulders back down, hands on his upper arms a bizarre combination of restraining and massaging. Then they drift; over his back, lightly across his shoulders, slowly down his neck, working into muscles that are going involuntarily liquid, and his body just fell in love with Clark's hands. Total, abject devotion, and he's *still* purring. He'll worry about that part later.
"I... God, I'm sorry, Lex, it's just... your *skin*..." Little choked sound like a groan, before talented fingers slide slowly over his shoulders again, feeling out every muscle like he's doing a class project in Anatomy and needs the A. All fine and good; Lex is always willing to help in the name of science. "You're just--"
Meteorites, surely. Somewhere, somehow, Clark had been influenced by them, giving him an uncontrollable desire to--rub? There's a sudden, sharp loss of warmth on his back before returning instantly, and those aren't jeans anymore, oh *fuck*, that's *skin*.
Naked farmboy skin. Everywhere.
He's dreaming. He has to be.
"Clark--" The drag of stubble against his spine makes the word cut off sharply, and a very strange sound escapes, something that hovers between a moan and a whine. Not very Lex-like. He can do better than that. He can-- "*Shit*, Clark...."
Not just hands. Long, lean chest, soft graze of hair, and very, very hard cock rubbing slowly down his ass. Clark moans into his shoulder and mumbles something before those blunt fingers are moving again. Inch by inch by--oh God--inch.
"Sorry, Lex, sorry." Doesn't stop him, but there's a shift in the weight distribution, pushing Lex's shoulders deeper into the pillow. "Just--oh God, you feel good."
So he gathers. Tight burn of arousal, full body stroking, and bizarrely, Lex can't even find it in himself to be that surprised. This is *Smallville*. He's been accosted by invisible men and snubbed by small psychic boys. Clark showing up to rub against him like a cat in heat really isn't that strange.
Or maybe he just isn't completely awake yet.
A wet stripe down his shoulderblade is plenty to bring him up, nerves suddenly interested in more than passive acceptance, but Clark's hand drops into the back of his neck, pushing him back down. Okay. So. Farmboy who assaults with--rubbing--and holds you down while he does it.
"It's just--" Clark lets out a hot breath and his tongue's moving again. Lex likes his voice, but likes that better, and the slick, hot patterns could almost be words if he could focus enough to figure them out. "You're just--teasing me."
"Teasing?" And a wonder, he doesn't sound like he's three seconds from begging. Good, good. Luthors need to control their base instincts. Maybe he can take his mother's maiden name.
"Always--God, Lex, you taste good." Another broad sweep from below his shoulderblade to the small of his back. "I--let me--" Another soft sound and Clark's hair brushes against the back of his head. Hot breath against his ear. "You have any idea how good you feel?"
"I--no..." Clark's stretching again, covering his entire back. Slow, even strokes of that tongue, and it's frighteningly arousing, and it shouldn't be. Because Clark has apparently gone insane and Clark is his friend, and friends don't--oh *God*, yes--don't let friends lick each other.
And it's criminally unfair that he can't return the favor. Another aborted movement and Clark drops his full weight on Lex, pushing him into the mattress.
"Sorry, sorry." Warm lick to his ear and Clark shifts, doing that mindbending stretch that has to be either impossible or illegal, or fuck, maybe both. Settling his cock just in the cleft of Lex's ass and bearing down a little. Mouth sucking a path from ear to throat. Hands just--doing things. Moving constantly, and there's a good chance Lex might come just from this.
Pathetic, pathetic. Who cares.
"Clark..." he murmurs, shifting his head on the pillow and trying to get a clear view. Of something. Anything.
"Walking around in--clothes. All around town. Everywhere you go." Clark sucks sharply on his shoulder, sending a shock straight to Lex's cock. Oh yes. Oh God yes. "It's just--teasing. Little hints when you look--oh, look at your watch. When you--when you work out. Like--" Clark mumbles something directly into his skin and those big, wonderful hands slide down to Lex's hips and Clark rocks into him, gasping sharply. "Like you don't know what you're doing."
Lex really, really didn't. No idea.
"You knew you looked like that when you left the castle!" Almost vicious bite right below his ear and Lex moans, knows it, can't help it, and honestly doesn't care.
"Clark--" It comes out breathless and more like begging than asking for information. A lot like desperation, but really, who the hell could blame him? "Today--you see any little green--oh *fuck*--rocks. Lying. Around? Maybe?" Hamilton is getting a bonus if he figures out how to replicate this effect.
"And--God, Lex, you just *stay* dressed. All. The. Time." Another sharp bite, and Clark worries the skin a little before letting go. Unmistakable sound of Clark licking his lips after, before that warm tongue is back, softly running over the bite. "I could just--" trails off, soft burn as Clark rubs his face into Lex's back, slow draw down. Every nerve in Lex's body is screaming, and there's nothing he can do but--lay here. Feeling this. "--every day."
Lex breathes out, pushing his hips into the mattress--not enough pressure, not enough friction, not enough *anything* except frustration.
"So soft," Clark murmurs against the small of his back, dragging his cock over Lex's thigh before straddling his legs and pressing it down between. Soft, almost casual licks across his waist, and Lex has leverage now. He can--
Oddly, he isn't even sure he'd actually *gotten* his elbows under him before Clark is pressing him back into the mattress, full weight and *still* rubbing. God. Please. "No, Lex. Just--like this. Or." A breathless pause, Clark moves, and the loss is--shocking. Unacceptable. Wrong on so many levels, not just one, but it's only seconds, and he's on his back, Clark swinging a--yes, naked--thigh over his body, settling down on his stomach.
"God--all over," Clark murmurs, and both big hands are on his chest, slowly stroking down, fingers stretching to touch as much as possible. Amazing. "You. And you *hide* this!" It's an accusation, and Clark drops to his elbows, their faces inches apart. "You *hide* this from me *every* day!"
"I'm--sorry?" Bizarrely, it seems--appropriate? Logical? He can't be dreaming--dreams just don't go this well. Ever. "You--" Fingers track his arms, down to his wrists, and Clark closes his eyes, making a soft sound like he's edging on orgasm. Dear God.
"Shh." Clark's mouth covers his briefly, tongue pushing inside, apparently doing a dental survey as well. Slick, hot, wet kiss, not even a hint of finesse and hot as hell. Clark's doing this by instinct and doing it beautifully. Suck to his lower lip, and Lex reaches for him, hindered by the fact that Clark's pinning his wrists to the bed. "No, no. You--you had your chance. Lots of chances. Lots of them. Walking around clothed and teasing and drinking water." What? Water--? "Just--okay. Yeah. Um. Tell me if this is too tight."
It's unnaturally fast--even now, very aroused, a little weirded out, and maybe partially asleep, Lex knows that people shouldn't blur. Nor should his hands be tied to the headboard in less time than it takes to form a question.
"Better," Clark murmurs, sitting back, head tilted to admire his handiwork. Reflexively, Lex tests the loops, and they are quite firm. And also seven hundred count cotton sheet, shredded. He should--think about this. "Now. Yes." The slow, careful stroking, like Clark can't quite make himself stop, even when he's talking. "You. Just feel good."
"I--gathered that." Another test, just to see, but no, he's not getting out of this. Hmm. "Clark? Are you--okay?"
The low laugh is really familiar. That's--weird. Oh fuck, this whole fucking *town* is weird. It's just now, he's actually getting to enjoy it. "I'm fine, Lex. And you feel great." Clark's head dips down, slow and easy, sucking softly at his collarbone. Little sharp teeth cut briefly before a slow lick. "Just can't imagine how anyone could stop themselves--I mean..." Clark breathes out, sucking another bruise into his skin, and Lex wonders a little vaguely how he's going to explain hickeys to his employees tomorrow.
"Clark... do you know what you're doing?" And he's really going to have to work on that horny desperate panic thing.
Clark smiles sunnily. "Enjoying myself. Later... later we can do other things." Lex shivers as Clark's tongue slicks his collarbone, inch by inch. Slow. Careful, like he's worried he'll miss something.
"Oh. Christ, like what?"
"Everything you promised when... when you looked at me..."
Fuck. That's--licking Clark on his body, his fantasy life up close and personal in his head, and that's--a lot of things.
"Like what--oh *God*--" Clark's wonderful, warm, incredibly *good* hands are closing on his cock. Not even a stroke, just--feeling. Mouth back on his neck, hand on his cock, and his own hands tied above his heads. Life really doesn't *get* any better than this.
"No hair at all," Clark murmurs, almost as if he's talking to himself. "Look at this..." Another sucking bite, before Clark edges down his body, tongue finding a nipple. Lex arches, can't quite help it, pushing up into that warm mouth that's doing utterly incredible things, teeth skimming and tongue moving and lips sucking ever so lightly. "You--just can't do that anymore."
"Do--" Lex pushes up with his hips, but God, Clark's strong. No movement, his cock wants something--anything, please, just move your hand a little, Clark--and he's beginning to get lightheaded from all the sheer lack of actual sex.
"Clothes. Just." Lick. "Wearing them. Don't."
He wants to laugh, but the sound coming out of his throat's more like pleading and. Okay. If it works....
Clark makes a sound against his nipple, biting down for a wonderfully painful moment, before lifting his head. Wide eyes and mouth a little slack. Breathtaking.
"You even *sound* sexier without clothes."
Lex can't help laughing through the moan, and Clark draws a line with his tongue to the other nipple, sucking it into his mouth. Circling it briefly, wet and hot, and Lex feels a shock like the very edge of orgasm. He's not coming from this. He's *not* coming from this, dammit. He's--
"So smooth," Clark murmurs, slick mouth sliding over his stomach, stopping briefly at his navel. "It's just--you know, you have to know. How good you feel. And you just--don't touch. Anyone. Me." Slow, thoughtful kiss into his stomach, sucking bite, then slow lick. Clark looks up, and Lex can't think around the look on his face, the wet lips slightly parted.
"Yeah, talk. It's like--yes. Talk to me." Clark drops his head again, and Lex breathes out, shutting his eyes, trying desperately to control the tremors shaking his body. "I mean, it's not fair. All those bottles of water and--the clothes."
And Clark sits up, shifting a little farther and resting on Lex's thighs, head tilted as he looks down at Lex's cock. Big hands circling him again, and it's stroking so light that it's a tease practically guaranteed to kill him. Biting his lip, Lex arches his hips and Clark slides down the length with only the tip of his fingers.
"Clark, please--" It really is involuntary, but Clark twitches when he does it,--full-body shudder that's fascinating to watch and quite enough to make Lex's cock jerk. Pretty, full mouth falling open just a little, then Clark bends down and oh, God, yes...
Lightest trace of Lex's cock with the tip of his tongue. Sampling. He's going to die. He's going to enjoy it *a lot*.
"Wow," Clark whispers, looking up, and Lex jerks his hips up again. Two hands clamp down on his hips, yes, strong boy, really fucking strong, he's not going anywhere at *all*. "You taste good *everywhere*."
"Clark, just--" Begging. That's definitely begging, no way around it, but Clark tosses out one of his most charming smiles, far more appropriate for use after being handed a gift than right before--*fuck* yes, warm lips around the head of his cock, and Clark's sucking as if he's been doing this for years.
It's a fucking *spectacular* novice performance, Lex thinks hazily, hands somehow wrapped up in the strips of sheet around his wrists, straining to keep breathing. Just breathing. Not so hard. Oh God, yes, Clark taking more and relaxing, hands petting his hips now, slow and gentle, studying him. Over his stomach, down to his inner thighs, fingers finding his balls and playing lightly.
Feeling. Tactile contact. Huge, massive lack of ability for Lex to do anything but quietly and sincerely bless his father for sending him to Smallville, because, *God*, who the fuck would have *guessed*?
"Fuck. *Yes*. Good, right there. Right--" Clark drops his mouth a little further and it's impossible not to thrust up, in, wet sucking mouth and beautiful full lips wrapped around him, the sort of Clark-induced wet dream he's perfectly willing to admit he's had several of. Pretty boy going down on him like it's some sort of new and interesting hobby, and Lex jerks again, fingers digging into the soft cotton and moaning--something. Anything. Lots of things. "Oh Clark--"
And cruelest thing ever, when Clark's mouth is--gone. Clark grins and those big fingers stroke over his balls, lightly scratching the soft skin just behind that makes Lex twitch all over, every muscle asking, begging, pleading, *anything*, for more.
"Clark, don't--please, just--" Babbling, babbling, but who could blame him? Woken in the middle of the night, felt up like a two dollar hooker, and half-blown--there should be *laws* against this. Or more specifically, laws against *stopping*. He's running for president. He'll see to that one personally. "Fuck, Clark, don't--"
But Clark's back in fetish land, doing his feel-up routine that's notching Lex's nerves up even tighter, and he's so hard it *hurts*. Big hands smoothing over his thighs, Clark's mouth following like there's an actual trail, and another wet, hot kiss to the inside of his thigh. He's--going to die. It's going to be in all the papers, everywhere. People are going to envy him. Until they found out he died *still* hard. Firm strokes down his legs, Clark's cock brushing every so often, leaving a sticky-wet path, and then Clark's pushing his thighs apart, kneeling between.
"You--can't get enough--" And oh thank God, Clark's mouth is on him again. Hot, wet, a little faster, and beyond words so good that Lex digs his heels into the bed, involuntary muscle jerks every few minutes. So hot. So *fucking* hot, and what *do* they teach smalltown boys these days?
Then Clark swallows and it's goodbye rational thought. Which is fine--rational's never done much for Lex. In a rational world, boys don't wander into your bedroom to molest you into orgasms, and that's a shame. Lex feels for those who aren't him right at this moment.
"*Fuck*--" Lex manages, and then, it's over. Over. Like being hit with something very large, like flying off a bridge, amazingly like the best blowjob ever invented and that mouth is worth the entirety of LuthorCorp. Maybe he could patent it. Keep it safe somewhere. Never let anyone else touch it. "*God* Clark, yes, yes..."
Swallowing and following the jerky movements of his body, Clark's apparently taking to the entire sex thing with real talent. A gift. A fucking *prodigy*. It's an eternity of nothing but pure sensation, Clark's hands soothing and warm and wonderfully smooth, gliding all over him; Clark's mouth finally pulling away with soft final suck and a really satisfied smile, then he's climbing Lex's body and looking down at him with a far too-pleased expression on his face. Lowering himself down on Lex's body with another full stretch so every inch of skin possible is touching and Clark's head rests on his chest, rubbing rhythmically.
Lex tries to remember how to breathe.
"Clark." Not terribly Lex-ruler-of-all-he-surveys. More Lex-pathetically-grateful. Not a very good sign for that future as a world leader.
"Hmm?" Sleepy sounds. Lex twists against the distressingly tight sheets and glances up to see if there's any way they're ripping yet. No. Fuck.
"That was--" Unbelievably good, and he's going to sound far more like a moron than he already does. "Untie me?"
"Mmm? Oh. No."
Lex chooses to believe his laugh is edged, as opposed to hysterical. "No? What about... all those promises I made?"
Contented yawn. "Too late now."
"What about *you*? Don't you want me to touch you? Suck you?"
In a rational universe, the one that Lex doesn't really live in apparently, this would be accepted with enthusiasm. Or at least thought over, but Clark shrugs a little and returns to that slow stroking that's going to make Lex hard again far, far, far too soon. He hisses a little at the first surprised jerk of his cock, and Clark glances down idly before rubbing his face into Lex's stomach. Little murmurs against his hip before another one of those hard kisses, and this is--God. Like being trapped in a high quality porn movie. Or--something.
He's never going to sleep on his stomach again with any kind of complacency.
"Clark--please." Luthors don't beg. What was his mom's maiden name again?
Clark grins, bright and really frighteningly enthusiastic, setting up an elbow on either side of Lex's ribs and giving him a long, long look.
"What would you do? If I was the one tied up?" Head tilting, tousled hair, and that expression the same one he used while trying to work on math homework. It's--cute, disturbingly so. Norman Rockwell Does Hustler. The Gay Edition.
Therapy in the future, and Lex laughs, and no, that's not edged, that's *hysterical*, but he just got an *expert* blowjob from a high school freshman who made him forget his own name. He's owed a little hysteria.
"Put a collar on you."
Clark catches his breath, his fingers stopping their idle tracing of his chest briefly. Mouth opening just a little, tongue sliding out to wet his lips. And Lex groans as he feels his cock start getting hard again, way too soon, and way too fast.
"Collar?" Soft. Shocked, even, and that's another very, very good look on him.
"Yeah." Think, Lex. But Clark's tracing his throat as if he's wondering how it would feel, and okay, he's officially gone insane. It's really fun. He should have done this years ago.
"What..." Clark swallows, fingers jerking away from his own throat at the feel. "What kind of collar?"
"Leather. Wear it all the time." Utterly amazing vision of Clark stretched out on his bed wearing that. He's going to need medical attention soon. Very soon. Right after he fucks Clark into utter oblivion. Right after that. And his hands free. Can't forget that part. But then again, that's optional. Lex is flexible and creative. Just.... "Everywhere you go."
Clark sucks in a breath that borders on a whine, eyes widening.
"Look at you. Stretched out on my bed, just like this. Hands behind your head. I'd use handcuffs. Lined. Can't move your arms at all." Clark's breath catches. "Then I'd touch you. Think about all the things I can do with you. To you. Your mouth, your ass, your cock."
Clark swallows again.
Lex can't help smiling. "No. I'd sit on you and jerk off. Let you watch." On that flat stomach. Watch Clark's eyes go wide and hungry. Sweat and straining muscles and in a fair universe, an irrational universe of course, where Lex is planning to stay for the rest of his life, Clark will be moaning and twisting and begging under him for *hours* before he comes.
Clark's breath catches audibly, and his hand's back at his throat. Almost stroking, which is--oh, very hot. And Lex just wants to--touch him. Taste him, full lips and silky skin and cock and ass. Drive him absolutely out of his fucking mind.
Then fuck him. For a very, very long time.
It's like some alternate universe version of a campfire tale on some level--odd, endearing, really strange, but appealing in a way Lex doesn't want to really think about too hard. Mostly because Clark's ass is brushing against his cock when he moves, and he's starting to move a lot.
Pretty, hot teenage boy naked in his bed and he's--telling him a story? Vaguely appropriate.
"Lick you. Your pretty mouth, your neck, your chest, your stomach, your ass. Slow. Not your cock. Watch you twitch. Wait for you to beg, and you *will* beg." God, he could get off listening to himself describe this. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.
Clark breathes out sharply and looks down for a second, flush staining his face, and it's just the second most surreal moment tonight with stiff--heh--competition. Lex grins, knows it looks like he's gone crazy and not giving a damn. Then Clark's head is up, eyes wide and dark and utterly guileless.
"Can we start now?"