There aren't enough sheep in the world to send Clark to dreamland.
It's the wall's fault, stupid thin plaster that lets in every creak and sigh from the next room. And if he can hear Lex, Lex can hear him, so Clark's been doing his best impression of a dead guy, lying still as a corpse for fifteen itchy minutes. So Lex will fall asleep, and Clark can satisfy primary itch number one. It's been there all day, that itch, ever since that jerk Lucas showed up, acting like he owned the place, like he owned Lex. The two of them in Lex's car, pulling up to the farm, Clark already fighting the urge to punch that smug face, full strength, for being where he belonged. Fighting another urge, too, to take Lex up to the loft and finally strip away the looks, the hints--all the halfway stuff that's been between them for months.
There's a patch of quiet in the dark, and Clark's reaching down when the noise slips through. A low sound, almost a sigh, but rougher. His body knows it before his brain does, a stiffness that begs for his hand. Then it clicks, cartoon light bulb over Clark's head, which he shakes, because it can't be. Lex isn't. Not right next door, a wall away. Not with Lex's hand on his...
Clark holds himself without moving, listening hard, harder than he's ever been. Done. Whatever. He's rewarded with another sigh that isn't, and a picture blasts into his brain: Lex on his back, the covers scrunched at his feet, his borrowed pajama bottoms pulled down under his hips. A sound of his own rises, and he swallows it, but can't resist a long, slow stroke. A shivery warm rush zips under his skin, and the air gets tangled in his lungs.
More listening, his whole body tense, and nothing. Not at first. No whispery moans, just thick quiet. He's about to dare a second stroke, because maybe the sounds were wishful thinking, when there's another one, steady slap of skin on skin, hard, familiar jerks. Clark melts, human strawberry jam, his body not solid anymore. Well, most of it. A quick circle over the head of his cock, to keep things bearable, less unbearable, only his heart start pounding in time with Lex's hand.
Lex's eyes must be closed, maybe one hand cupping his balls while the other one does all the work. Serious temptation to confirm this with a look through the wall, but Clark's got rules about that. Stupid rules. Instead, he shuts his own eyes and pretends that Lex is thinking about him. It's not impossible, could even be likely if Chloe's right. "I think Lex likes you," she said one time at the Torch office, after Lex had been there.
"He should. We're friends."
"No, I mean like likes."
"What? You mean--?"
"As in Oscar Wilde likes. The love that dares not speak its name. Remember from English class? He gives you these looks like you're the butter on his popcorn."
And Clark had gone home, stunned and, yes, excited. He'd run most of the way, then walked the last mile, thinking about Wilde like and Lex. And found that, maybe, this wasn't as gross as it should've been. In fact, not gross at all, just weird and strangely good. Ever since then he'd watched Lex differently, reading him through the Wilde filter, and decided that Chloe might have a point, hoping she did.
Now here he is, listening to possible proof. Clark's hand likes this idea and matches Lex's rhythm, race to the finish line, wanting, wanting, wanting, and stops only at another sound.
Except, oh, God, it's Clark this time. So much for discreet quiet. His eyes snap open, and Clark lies there, vibrating with want and shame in the black silence. Lex must think he's a pervert, a sicko who should be locked up in the home for the terminally crazy about your best friend--
"Clark?" A real whisper through the wall.
His face gets even hotter. So easy to say nothing, and tomorrow be all, 'Oh, slept like a log, except for this really hetero dream about Lana and Chloe and a few dozen other girls.' He's told so many lies that this one should be easy. Only it's not. A cough that somehow sounds guilty, then, "Um, yeah, Lex?"
"You still awake?"
"You could say that."
"Having trouble sleeping?"
He nods, like Lex is the one with the X-ray vision. "I tried counting sheep, but it wasn't working. They kept bleating and eating my mom's sunflowers. You?"
"Strange bed. Strange noises. Strange day."
"I'm sorry. It's so not fair of your dad to kick you out. And Lucas is such a jerk, nothing like you." He pauses, panting from a combination of words, lust, and this weird sympathy for a guy with Lionel Luthor as a father. "If you want..." Clark Kent, human chicken. "Nothing."
"What were you going to say?"
"We could talk, if you want. I mean, face to face. So we don't wake my parents." Which is possibly the dumbest suggestion in the history in the history of suggestions, given his present condition. And Lex's.
"We don't have to. I just know that you're feeling bad, and we can't sleep, and I'm sorry that I--"
"Should I come there, or you come here?"
"You come here." Clark adjusts his pajama bottoms, then the blankets, before leaning up against the headboard. There. Perfectly respectable, if Lex didn't look too close. If he didn't listen too close, with Clark still heavy- breathing like an obscene phone caller. And could his heart maybe give it a rest?
A creak from the other bed, then he hears Lex's bare feet padding to the door. It's really happening. Lex is coming to him. A click, then another one, and his door opens. With the curtains drawn and the lights off, Lex is just a pale blur moving closer, sitting on the edge of Clark's bed.
"Hi," Clark says, just to say something.
"Hi yourself." It's too dark to see any bulges, but Lex seems stiller than usual, like he's a ghost.
"So, are you going to be okay? About your dad and Lucas?"
"Trust me, Clark, this is just a temporary setback. Another hand in the Luthor house of cards. It's what we live for, whether we like it or not."
"Still, it sucks. You're worth ten times those two. More." When Lex shivers a little, Clark realizes that the room is cold. "My dad turns the heat down low at night. To save money."
"I noticed." He wraps his arms around himself.
"You could have one of my blankets. Or..."
"Nothing." There's a pause. "It's just that, like Pete told Lucas today, we're like brothers. You and me. You've even said it yourself." An annoying strike against the Wilde love, but if he squints, Lex looks vaguely like a lost puppy, not his usual Imperial Ruler of the Universe, and therefore more open to insane suggestions.
"Brothers. You could say that. I did say that."
It's starting to feel like a dream, to have Lex here, wearing Clark's old blue tshirt and striped pajama bottoms, the house silent around them. He figures that's why his brain is sending crazy things to his mouth. "If we're like brothers, then there's nothing wrong if we share."
"Share how?" There's an undercurrent to the question, like Lex is waiting for more than a straight answer.
"My mom says I'm a human heater." Clark throws back the covers beside him, keeping half for himself, because his body has a warped idea about brotherhood.
Lex doesn't move at first, then crawls up the bed, smooth even in his wrong clothes, and climbs in beside Clark, drawing the blankets over him. "That's better."
They sit there, leaning against Clark's pillow. "Want to lie down? It'll be warmer that way." Clark's said the wrong thing, though, because Lex nods at the door.
"Maybe I should go. Your parents might not understand."
"My dad sleeps like a log, but you can go if you want." So much for Chloe's theories. Clark takes a deep breath, aiming for bravery and not plain old hurt, only it comes out a sigh. A real one. Because this isn't how it's supposed to end. Lex is supposed to like like him, just the way he like likes Lex, and--
Lex is sliding down, tugging the pillow so that Clark has to lie down, too. They're face to face, maybe an inch between them, and Clark can smell Crest and Ivory soap. This time, he's the one who shivers, even though his temperature's in the triple digits. This must be what it's like just before you faint, wobbly inside and half blind.
"You okay, Clark?"
Lex's mouth is so close that Clark shuts his eyes, tries to wake up and find normal again. "I'm good. Are you warm enough?"
"Still a little cold. But I can feel how hot you are."
Lex gives the words a twist, and when Clark looks at him, Lex is looking back, very intent. "You can get closer," Clark says. "If you want." Someone else is speaking through him, since if Lex gets any nearer, he's going to find out that Clark's idea of brotherly love is a little out of whack.
"There's something you should know."
"Is it bad?" It has to be; reality doesn't like him.
"It all depends."
Lex doesn't blink, just inhales sharply. "I don't think of you as a brother. And if I move any closer, you'll be able to tell how I think of you."
"Are you serious?" It comes out squeaky, like he's five.
"You know I am. Don't you?"
He gulps. "I...Yeah. I think so. Maybe."
"I can prove it to you. If you want hard facts." Lex's teeth flash white in the grey light. "Or I can leave, and we'll never talk about this again."
"Facts would be good."
Very slowly, Lex reaches out, takes Clark's hand in his warm one, and moves it down to undeniable evidence. The fabric stretched over it is hot and slightly damp, and Clark rubs without thinking. It's possible he'll never think again, his brain mush.
Lex gasps, the hottest thing Clark's ever heard. "Believe me now?"
"Starting to." He rubs again, a long, straight line, feeling it between his own legs. God.
"I could kiss you," Lex says, almost calmly. "If that would help."
"Help. I mean, yeah, kissing would do that. Help."
"I have a question first."
"I'll try to answer, but I have to warn you, Lex, it's kind of hard to talk right now. And breathe. And think."
"That could be an answer in itself."
The last part of Lex's sentence fades as Clark pulls up Lex's tshirt and strokes along the line of his waistband, skin soft as well-washed flannel. It's natural to touch Lex like this, not scary or wrong, and he goes with it, slipping his hand inside. Contact makes him flush, this step that'll change things forever, huge and small at the same time.
"For someone who was cold, you're really hot here," Clark tells him, his fingers tight around Lex's slick cock.
"I still have to, God, that's good. You're distracting me. You always distract me."
"In a good way, right?"
"In a make-me-crazy way. Okay, I remember it now: how do you think about me?"
Clark almost forgets to answer, touching Lex, exploring him, passing his thumb over the wet head as Lex thrusts against him. "Wilde like," he says finally. "Big, serious case of Wilde like."
The only thing wrong with the kiss is the dark. Clark can't see much, but, wow, he can feel it all, the warm, wet push of Lex's tongue into his mouth, the slight dent of Lex's scar as Clark licks it, the edge of Lex's teeth, sharp when Lex's lips are so soft. They shift positions--he's aware of this on some level, because his hand's empty--then both arms are around Lex's neck as Lex lies over him, their cocks pressing together.
"Clark," Lex says. Another kiss, tongue everywhere, possessive and demanding.
He tries to keep his eyes open. "More questions?"
"I have some other things I want to prove to you."
"There's more?" Clark's turn to kiss Lex, sliding his tongue against Lex's the way their bodies are sliding together. "I might not survive more."
"There's more if you want there to be."
"If?" He raises his hips, his hands under Lex's tshirt now, stroking his back. "I must be doing something wrong if you can't tell."
"You're doing everything right. But I want you in my mouth. I want you to come in my mouth."
Clark can't believe that Lex has said something so dirty. He can't believe his body's still in one piece. Lex is asking to go down on him. Lex. "Tell me why." Underneath there's this old worry that it's gratitude for saving Lex's life, a new one for taking him in when his father kicked him out.
He nods, holding Lex tight, licking his neck, which tastes salty and better than french fries.
"Because you're mine, and I want you to know it."
"I'm sorry. I thought--"
There's a stiff hurt in Lex's broken words, and he wants to kiss it away. "You've got it backward, Lex. You're mine."
Lex invents a new sound, a moan and a growl, before he nudges back Clark's head and bites his throat. "You're going to pay for that, farm-boy."
"Make me pay."
"Don't think I won't. Tell me what you want, or I'm leaving."
"Try me, and find out." Lex licks Clark's neck, long swipes with his tongue, then sucks.
"God." He arches up, grabbing Lex's ass in his hands, grinding against him until Lex pushes him back.
"What you said before."
"Say it, Clark."
A kiss follows, so deep and hard that Clark's eyes roll back, and he sees through his own eyelids. "That's a start."
"Tell me, or you won't feel my tongue on your cock."
Clark's whimper should embarrass him, except that he can feel Lex's reaction to it. "I want your tongue."
"Where? Here?" Lex returns to Clark's throat.
"Not that I'm complaining, but I'm still interested in what you said before. About your mouth. On my..."
"Your mouth," Clark says, squeezing the round curve of Lex's ass, "your mouth on my cock."
When Lex sits up, tugging Clark up with him, he thinks he got it wrong. But Lex only pulls off his own t-shirt, then Clark's, before sliding down Clark's pajama bottoms, pushing him back on the bed. Clark almost shuts his eyes as his trapped cock springs free, lying stiff on his stomach, but even in the dark he can see Lex's reaction, the way he licks his lips.
"So big." Lex runs one hand along Clark's thigh, then urges his legs apart and climbs between them, always moving in the same easy way.
"I'm offering you a blowjob, and you want me to wait?"
"Take your bottoms off. Fair's fair."
"Fine. But first..." He gets up, going to Clark's desk for a chair, which he positions under the door handle. "Just in case any bears awake from hibernation and come to check on wayward cubs." Then, standing beside the bed, he yanks down his pajama bottoms.
Even before they're off, Clark reaches for him, closing his fist around Lex's hard cock, aware that his mouth is opening, so hot to taste this private skin.
"Wait your turn," Lex says, twisting away, then returns to his position between Clark's legs. "I should've known you'd be like this," he adds to himself.
"Challenging me every step of the way."
"Do you like it?"
"Always, Clark. You're the only one who does it without a cruel intention. You do it from, " Lex smiles, "wild like." Then he bends and licks Clark's stomach, tracing the line of muscle, Clark's cock resting beside his cheek.
Clark thought that the wall was torture, separating them, but he'd take ten walls to the slow teasing, as Lex kisses his hips, moving higher, never touching Clark's cock, until his mouth closes over Clark's right nipple, gently sucking. Lex's cock is hard on Clark's thigh, and he rubs against it, trying to anchor himself, stay sane, not crash and burn like Lex did when they met on the bridge that first time. One hand on Lex's shoulder helps; he brings the other one to his mouth, biting down to stop the moans. Good thing he learned to control his heat vision or his room would turn into the towering inferno.
At his other nipple, Lex sucks hard until it feels stiff and swollen, and holds Clark down when he tries rocks up. "One of these days I'm going to have you in my bed, all the lights on, so I can see how red your nipples get after an hour of sucking and biting."
He drops his hand to Lex's skull. "Lex, please."
"Please let me come. I'll do anything you want. Wash your car. Beat up Lucas. Suck your cock. Anything."
"You in my bed," Lex says, like he's not even listening. "You, like this, on your back, wet everywhere from my mouth, your cock hard like it is right now. I'd fuck you all night. All day, until you couldn't move. Until you stopped fighting me, until all you could say was my name, over and over."
"Is that what you were thinking before? In the other room?"
Lex looks up, his eyes shining. "Yes. It's what I think all the time. Months and months of thinking it, of wanting you, making you mine."
"Suck me, Lex. Suck me. Please. Now. I need it. I need it so much." Clark can't stop moving, twisting against the sheet, legs spread wide, body covered in sweat, cock aching.
Finally, Lex begins to lick down, still too slow, but steady. Then he wraps his hand around the base of Clark's cock, holding it to his mouth, close enough that Clark feels warm air. "Mine."
Desperate to see, Clark raises himself on one elbow. "Do it. Now. Please, Lex. I want you mouth so much it hurts." And it does inside, like his guts are tangling, pulled tight with need. He's not even sure he can come, or that he hasn't, or that he hasn't been coming ever since Lex joined him in bed. "Take me in your mouth. Suck me. Suck my cock." It's like Lex has scraped away everything, that this is who Clark is, this desperate, begging thing who doesn't care about being good or controlled, only about being inside Lex, part of him.
"God, I want you. I want your cock." Then Lex has it, the head sliding between his lips, against his tongue.
Nothing separates them anymore, and Clark can't feel the bed, the sheet, just the hot, slippery smoothness of Lex's mouth on his cock. His bones are water, his muscles stretched wire, electric together, and Lex is bending lower, taking more in, sending sparks from Clark's fingers to his toes. And it's not a dream anymore, because his dirtiest dreams were a kid's cartoon compared to this. "I think I'm dying," he says, and swears that Lex smiles around his cock.
Mindless sucking before Lex pulls off, brutally gradual, and does obscene things with his tongue across the head. His other hand skates around Clark's balls, then lifts them, and Lex's tongue is there now, before he opens wider and sucks them, too. Clark's thighs are wet, wet as his cock, wet as his balls, and above the sucking sounds, he moans, can't stop moaning, as Lex jerks him off, his hand moving faster than his mouth.
It's beyond good how Lex goes at him like an animal, back on his cock, sucking hard. Good is summer vacation, Christmas, a game of basketball. This is better than a month of wet dreams, better than saving people, better than anything in his life a million times over.
Then it gets better. Letting go of Clark's balls, his cock, Lex eases back Clark's legs until his knees are pressed against his chest, and licks a finger. As he swallows Clark's cock again, he rubs that wet finger against Clark's ass, teasing, dirty, mean, wordlessly good.
Pressure, the sweetest pressure ever, and Clark opens for it, lets Lex inside him, while he stays inside Lex, hard as only Lex can make him. His eyes don't work anymore, his heart either, as Lex, as Lex fucks him with his finger. Clark tries to catch his breath, tries to say what's happening to him, how full he feels, bought and paid for, but can only grunt, ugly sound before now, but Lex loves it, looking up again, his mouth stretched for Clark's cock, his finger stretching him.
Then Clark remembers what to say. "Lex. Lex. Lex." Another sweep of raw feeling, another, too many to count now, pressing finger, sucking mouth, hot, wet. "Lex..." Twist, push, deep slide down Lex's throat, finger hitting something, open everywhere--
And Clark snaps, breaks, dies in a rush inside Lex. The scream's there, ready to tell the world what's happening, but Lex's free hand clamps down over his mouth, muffling it, as he swallows hungrily. There's supposed to be an end, only it's lost like everything else, and Clark comes for a year, until he's drained, sucked dry, empty. Vague knowledge that Lex is moving up the bed, slick weight as he settles across Clark's heaving chest, his cock stiff between them.
"More truth," Lex says. "I used to hope that once I'd had a taste, it would be over. You'd be out of my system, and I could get on with my life."
Lex's tongue is bitter and creamy from Clark's come, and Clark sucks it, raising heavy arms to keep Lex in place. They kiss, Lex rubbing against him, until Clark says, "But I wanted to..."
"Next time. Can't wait. You feel too good. God, I can still feel you coming in my mouth." He's fucking Clark into the mattress, biting his neck, his shoulder, his tongue. "Love your cock. Love your ass. Love your mouth..." The rest disappears in a kiss.
Under Clark's hands, Lex's back gets damper, muscles corded, as he thrusts against Clark's still-wet cock. Clark forces his hips higher so Lex will get more contact, so Lex will come on him. He never thought about that before, to be covered in Lex's come, how hot it will be, and whispers this in Lex's ear. The trembling starts then, Lex so tense, and Clark wraps his legs around him, thrusting back. "Come on me. Do it. All over."
"Clark. Don't stop."
"No, you don't stop. Keep doing it. I love how your cock feels against me," he says between kisses. "So hard. I want to suck it. I want to taste it. Own it. Own you."
"That's it, Lex. Come. I need you to." And Clark does, needs Lex to break, lose the control that's been keeping them apart. "Lex."
Lex is shaking, his kisses messy, his thrusts ragged as his breathing. "Clark..." He gives Clark a kiss that's surprisingly soft and sweet, then tenses even more before going still. "Clark."
"God, it's so hot, Lex," he says in awe, as Lex comes against him. "So hot and sticky and wet."
When it's finally over, Lex rolls off, sliding an arm around Clark and pulling him close. He says nothing, kissing Clark's collar bone, his cheek, his mouth, while rubbing his come over Clark's skin, spreading it across his stomach, his cock, his nipples.
Before it dries, Clark catches Lex's hand and brings it to his mouth, licking him clean. "Next time, I want it in my mouth."
"How can you even think about a next time right now?"
"I admit it's more in theory than in practice. I'm wiped." Clark nuzzles Lex's throat. "I wish you could spend the night in here with me."
"At least the wall is thin."
Clark touches the cool plaster. He'd hated the wall so much before, but now it's like an old friend. "You can talk to me through it until you fall asleep."
"It won't take long," Lex tells him, stroking Clark's hair. "You've worn me out with your wild like."
With a last kiss, his yawns growing bigger, Clark says sleepily, "Beats counting sheep by a long shot."