Fell Down

by Pearl-o

Lex lets his hands rest on Clark's knees, just for a moment before he slides them down the back of his calves. Muscles there, strong, and the denim's soft beneath his fingertips. He presses down lightly as he glides his hands back up the sides, so it will be barely more than a tickle. Back at Clark's knee, he squeezes.



Sneakers first. Clark's are old, well worn -- have to scrape every last bit of use out of them. The laces are grubby and thick, and they're tied in a double knot. Lex looks up and smiles.

"Your mother tie your shoes for you?"

Clark's mouth opens and shuts, but he says nothing. One of his hands is clenched in the arm of the chair. He moves the other toward Lex's head, and his fingers rest there, barely brushing the scalp as Lex turns his concentration back to the ground.

It's simple, really, and Lex works slowly, steadily. He can afford to be patient right now, and he lets Clark's foot have his full attention.

The first knot untangles easily under his fingers, and he moves on to the left next. Then back to the first, and he holds Clark's leg, straightens it just enough to slip each shoe off in turn.

Socks now. Thick and white, with a single red stripe: athletic. They glide off in a fluid motion, and Clark's feet are bare. Big feet, scrunched toes, and curly black hair that spreads down past the hem of his jeans. Lex wants to bite these feet.

Lex wonders what Clark's blood is like, and what it would take to make Clark bleed.

He lifts Clark's hand off his head, guides it back to the chair, and sits back. "Stand up."

Clark stares at him for a few seconds, blank, and then stands up much too fast, gawky and awkward and almost tripping over himself.

"Careful," Lex says, and he places his hands on Clark's hips to steady him.

Clark sucks a breath in through his teeth. The act leaves a sharp noise in the air. "Careful," Lex repeats, rubbing his thumbs in small circles.

Clark nods, and Lex watches carefully as he moves his head closer. Clark's keeping his breathing reasonably steady, but his eyes are huge and locked, and his mouth parted.

Lex thinks to himself: This is the closest anyone has ever been to touching Clark.

It's a highly satisfying thought.

His eyes are still on Clark as he unbuttons the jeans and begins to pull down the zipper. He lets the back of his hand brush against the front of Clark's boxers, just long enough to feel the heat behind.

"Lex," Clark says, and he bites his lip hard. Lex smiles, an expression he knows could be either comforting or arrogant; either one will work.

He ducks his head so he can pull down the pants. Clark shifts as he does so -- trying to help without touching or getting in the way, probably. Lex places them on the pile after Clark steps out of them, on top of the shoes and socks.

Only boxers left here, but Lex is taking his time, so he stands up now to face him.

Clark is slouching, leaning in towards him, and perhaps Lex should be worried about the fact that he's finding Clark's expression right now this endearing, but that can wait. He lays his hand flat on Clark's chest, directly over where his heart should be. Is.

Clark's hands are on his shoulders, and they move down to rub softly across his shoulder blades. "Are you--"

"Not yet." Lex is still fully clothed, down to his tie and shoes. "We're working on you."

The shirt is cotton, red plaid in a pattern that makes Lex somehow think of curtains and tablecloths, though he doesn't believe he's ever seen ones like this. He's almost surprised that the buttons don't pop off whenever Clark takes a deep breath. There are six of them, and with each one he undoes, Clark's fingers seem to clutch at him a little bit more. After the last, Lex steps away, out of reach, and waits.

Clark blinks, looks down at himself, and back at Lex. He strips off the shirt slowly, eager but self-conscious; he's not used to an audience.

Lex has seen Clark more naked than this: cutting him down from the post in the field in October; swimming sessions in the castle all through the summer. But Clark in boxers and a t-shirt now is different. Clark's ready now -- breathless and hard and just this much more time to wait -- ready for Lex and what's coming next.

He bends over to place the shirt with the rest, and when he stands again, he catches Lex's eyes and smiles. Beams is probably a better word, though, for that type of expression, starting in his mouth and spreading over his entire face till there's nothing else left in the room but Lex, and Clark here in front of him.

"Come here," Clark says, and Lex raises his eyebrow, but he goes anyway, and lets Clark wrap his big hands around his skull and the small of his back, and kiss him until one of them has to gasp for breath.

Not Clark, of course.

"I never thought you'd want this."

Lex stretches to whisper in his ear. "Liar."

"No. You're -- older, and experienced, and all those girls, and then you never said anything..."

"What should I have said?"

"Just ... anything," Clark says. He arches his head back, eyes shut, as Lex pulls them closer together and begins to rotate his hips. "You never would have touched me. Just ... left it like that."

"You think I should have come on to my only friend? There are more important things than sex, Clark." He punctuates his remark with a thrust, and a bite to the space between Clark's collar and throat.

"Oh, wow." Clark gasps, and Lex slips his hands underneath the t-shirt, skimming along the warm skin of Clark's ribs. "Are you -- are you sure about that?" Clark kisses him before he can answer, messy and wet and excited. One of Clark's hands is drifting all over Lex's arms and back, light but insistent, as if he's trying to just get to him through all that fabric, but still careful. His other hand is on Lex's skull, still, cupping and rubbing. It's disorienting, the sensation of being cared for like a well-loved pet.

He pushes back on Clark, gentle pressure, and Clark responds immediately, falling back on the chair.

"How long have you wanted this?" Lex says, and he begins stripping himself as he talks. Matter of fact, almost, none of the ceremony he gave Clark. "How long have I been making you wait?"

"I don't even remember anymore. A long time. Too long." Eyes like he's just seen a flying saucer, fisted hands almost shaking on his thighs as he leans forward, and Lex wonders if he's ever had Clark's attention this fully before. There's always something else going on with Clark, something else occupying his mind and attention -- always some sort of distraction, never completely there. It's one of the things that made him interesting back in the beginning, maybe.

What would it take to distract Clark, now? How much for duty to start calling -- a scream, maybe, or just a general sense of unease? That's always the question with Clark: how long do you have him for?

Right now, Clark looks like a bomb could consume all of downtown Smallville, and he'd still be here.

Lex's clothes are on the floor now, and he kicks them aside. And maybe he should know better than to have expectations from Clark anymore; when hasn't he broken them, rendered them ridiculous and meaningless? Still, he's caught off his guard when Clark grabs him, drags him forward the last few inches that separate them.

Clark whispers Lex's name, reverent against his skin as he nuzzles his stomach. Lex rubs Clark's head slowly, the hair soft, fluffy to his touch. It's entirely possible that Lex has memorized the smell of Clark's shampoo, entirely too sweet and artificially fresh. He could probably follow the trail of the scent through a labyrinth, with Clark in the center.

Has he ever told Clark about the Minotaur? "Clark," he says, but when Clark looks up again, Lex changes his mind. "Take off your shirt."

Clark nods, but his hands don't move from their position at Lex's waist. Lex reaches down, brings one of the hands up to his face. He mouths the back of the hand slowly. It's fleshy, covered with tiny hairs, and he turns it over to lick at Clark's salty palm and the linked skin between his fingers. Clark's fingers, big and long, and Lex glides one into his mouth. Clark makes a surprised noise, almost inaudible. Lex pulls the finger back out and drops the hand back into Clark's lap.


Clark shakes his head, not arguing, more like pushing away some stray thought. "Yeah." Over his head, slow and easy, giving Lex time to appreciate each inch of skin in turn as it appears.

Lex takes the shirt from Clark's fist, drops it to the floor as he pushes Clark back in the chair. "I think I've figured out where your parents are going wrong with their business strategy," Lex says, straddling him, knees against the outside of Clark's thighs.

"What?" Clark says absently. He spreads his hand out wide over Lex's chest, and draws it down slowly, stopping a few inches before his cock.

"They're not utilizing all their assets." Lex leans forward to murmur in Clark's ear. "You're a perfect advertisement. People would be lining up in droves if they thought organic produce got this sort of results."

Clark shivers then, full body, and he moves both his hands to Lex's back to bring him closer, but he says, "You suck, you know that?"

Lex has to smile. "Now that you mention it..." He scrapes his teeth along Clark's jaw, lets the stubble rub against his own cheek.

It takes Clark a second to get it, and then he just says, "Oh" in a surprised voice, and takes Lex's head in his hands to guide him back for another kiss.

Lex places his hands on Clark's shoulders, closes his eyes and lets himself begin to rock in his lap. Worn, soft cotton; warm, soft skin. Clark makes a small noise, not entirely different from the one Lex has heard from him in the past: the satisfied hum of Clark victorious at pool, or ridiculously gorged on chocolate ice cream, or just -- fuck, just being Clark, when they're not even doing anything, just sitting on the couch in the filthy goddamned loft.

"Clark." He's always enjoyed saying Clark's name -- the way it fills his mouth full, the way it pushes his tongue forward to curl over his teeth. "Clark. What made you change your mind?"

"Mmm?" Clark's hands are on Lex's hips now, pressing him closer, increasing the tempo of their movement. Lex tightens his grip and digs his nails into Clark's back; it's not going to hurt him.

"Why tonight? Why now?"

"It -- I --"

Lex opens his eyes. Clark's head is thrown back again, his eyes barely slit open.

Lex could put Clark's moods and expressions on display, each neatly memorized, labeled and accounted for, but the one on his face now is new, and Lex can't even make out the individual emotions there. Excitement, wonder, pleasure, nervousness?

"Tell me, Clark." Lex is speaking low and quiet, almost a whisper.

"Earlier," Clark says, and his voice comes out harsh and rough; he's almost shaking now, as they move faster and harder, and his fingers are kneading Lex's skin in a way that's not quite painful. "And we were in your office, and you just had to finish signing those papers--"

"My paperwork gets you hot?" Lex murmurs, amused. He leaves tiny dry kisses across Clark's cheeks and chin and nose as he talks.

"And I sat on the couch, there, and waited, and -- oh -- and when you were done, you came over, and you were satisfied and exhausted and you -- you looked happy, Lex." Clark twists sharply, and arches up in a manner that suggests Lex's weight on top of him is a completely negligible factor. "Oh, jeez, Lex, I'm--"

"Here." Clark's grip on him is tight, and he slides his hands down to pull on Clark's hands ineffectually. "Let me...." Clark gets the hint, lets go, and Lex slides off the chair down onto his knees.

Clark has always smelled good, like sugar and sunshine and everything else so earnest and sweet it should make Lex choke, but somehow it's comfortable instead. Clark stills smells good now, as Lex tugs at his underwear, exposing his cock. Different, with the so-adult scents of maleness and arousal mixed in, but still very recognizably Clark.

Lex breathes it in, deep as he can, as he brings his face flush against Clark's cock for the first time. Wet, and so hard, and Clark definitely is shaking now, whimpering at the light touch of Lex's skin against him. Lex just smiles and turns his head, lets Clark's cock fill his mouth; Clark is coming then at the touch of Lex's tongue, groaning and arching up for a long moment, before falling back heavily against the back of the chair.

Clark tastes a great deal like Lex expected. Clark, but not essentially different from any other guy Lex has blown. Clark's distinctiveness is more subtle than that. When it's not being painfully obvious, at least.

Lex hears himself laugh as he stands up and sits again astride Clark's thighs. Clark is staring towards the ceiling with a stupid, stupid grin, and Lex has to kiss it off of him.

Kiss Clark, rub against Clark, his best friend, his fantasy for -- how many fucking months now? Clark, who's still largely out of it from his orgasm adventure, but who seems to getting into Lex's party now, too. Lex leans back, rests his weight back against Clark, wraps his hand around his cock and starts jerking himself off, fast and rough.

Clark is just watching -- still with that stunned and frozen look, except not, because Lex knows what an illicit thrill looks like, and Clark could be a twelve-year-old who just managed to shoplift his first pack of gum. Clark is clean, and wholesome, and here. Right here, letting Lex -- no, corrupting himself.

Sweet, honest, dirty boy. Lex grunts, hips thrusting forward, and Clark surprises him again when he reaches down between them and lays his hand over Lex's. He mumbles Lex's name softly, and Clark is awkward and inexperienced and virginal as he strokes Lex's cock, and it doesn't matter. Lex comes hard, teeth on Clark's shoulder and body trembling against him.

He moves off Clark's lap, falling beside him on the chair. There's room for both -- or would be, if Clark wasn't so huge; Lex sits diagonally, legs sprawled across Clark's.

When Lex catches up with himself enough to check, Clark is watching him, with big, big eyes. "I think..." Clark begins, and he bites his lip thoughtfully.

"What?" Lex says. He stretches out, and yawns quietly. With one of his hands, he reaches out blindly for the pile of clothes next to the chair, and grabs at something. Clark's t-shirt will do fine. Clark doesn't seem to notice as Lex defiles his shirt, wiping them both off.

He's still thinking, it seems. "That was..." Clark says, and there's a long enough pause that Lex briefly considers that sex has stripped Clark of the power of intelligent speech. "That was different," Clark says finally.


Big pleased smile again, as Clark nods. "Yeah."

It was, at that, Lex thinks.

Clark glances at him again, with a sudden worried air. "I mean, good different. Obviously."

Lex can feel the corner of his mouth curl up again. "I can work with that," he says.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Pearl-o

Also, why not join Level Three, the Smallville all-fic list?


Level Three Records Room