Author Notes: Special thanks to Raya_Luna, Hyperfocused, Alee, Sugarrush and Perclexed for beta and previewing! This one is for my girl, who loves the dirtywrong!fic. xoxoxo
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I would never, ever treat them this way. That's what clones are for. WARNING: Contains Clark/Lionel dirtywrongness. Leave your inhibitions at the door, please.
Feedback: Go ahead, make my day!
Air rushing in his ears, Clark flew home, desperate for Lex - he would know what to do, know how to make this right again.
The pavement fractured under his feet as he landed with punishing force in the alley beside their building. He kicked aside the crumbled asphalt and took a deep breath, his mind flying in too many directions to do anything but stall.
He reached out to the brick to steady himself and paused, gathering courage. Lex was waiting for him inside. Maybe - fuck - probably still on the phone with Lionel, reaping the fruits of Clark's... labor. Sacrifice. God, worse than that.
He would walk in and Lex would smile triumphantly over their victory, his voice heavy and thick, hands instantly on him, busy with power-induced arousal. Lex would be impossible and irresistible in his win over Lionel until he sensed that something was wrong. Until he learned what price Clark had paid.
Then he would be... Clark couldn't even imagine.
Furious. God, so mad he'd lash out at Clark first, then be able to think of nothing but revenge.
And after that, devastated, quietly mourning the defeat when he thought Clark wasn't looking.
A car spattered through a puddle and threw droplets of gritty water onto his shoes, but he didn't move. Couldn't. Not yet.
Lex would destroy his father, and Clark wasn't sure he would stop him.
But worst, if there was a worst, would be the disappointment. A final, thin curtain that would separate him and Lex even in their most intimate moments.
And Clark would have to look at that disappointment. A subtle accusation that would smudge every smile that reached the corners of Lex's eyes from now on, if any of them were ever that genuine again.
That little smirk of pleasure Lex saved just for him would be gone, too, and Clark wouldn't have any more opportunities to figure out exactly what had been triggering it for years.
It was always something different that brought on the small smile, a roulette wheel that never seemed to stop spinning.
When he was seventeen it had been him, naked on the bed, sprawled and waiting for Lex to come dragging home from LexCorp, so exhausted Lex hadn't had a chance, not even if Clark was underage; not even if he was an alien. Then Clark had seen it out of the corner of his eye when Lex was visiting and Clark had casually brushed off the advances of his RA in the dorm at Met U. And a year ago, at the Christmas party, across the room - for no reason that Clark could think of. Last week... when Clark was tossing popcorn into his mouth during a movie. Whatever made Lex look at him that way, he was sure he'd never see it again.
Not like that.
Clark glanced at the penthouse entrance, then as a resident swept through the glass doors, he turned and ducked into a coffee shop Lex deemed "a poor homogenized version of the Paris original" every time Clark dragged him there for a cappuccino.
Inside, he slid into a booth and pulled his jacket tighter around himself, murmuring for coffee when a waitress approached. His table was in a corner, dimly lit and boxed in on three sides by two walls and a massive plant. He could be quiet here, could think in the rich, full scent of public solitude.
When he forced himself to concentrate, his mind pulled at threads of possibilities, trying to sort out the tangle.
He could tell Lex what had happened, tell him about Lionel's little cabinet and the smooth, cool wood pressing into his cheek as he laid bent over the desk, helplessly spread and taken. He shivered and shifted against the vinyl seat, the remembrance too near, too recent to shake.
Telling Lex was the only thing he knew was right, and he just...
Lex would want details, as soon as his initial rage faded. The worst of it was in the details.
Lionel had generously closed the cabinet doors a little for his comfort.
By easing his pain, Lionel had practically given him a choice. And Clark, mind swimming with too many threats against himself and Lex and sick, so sick with an inexplicable need, incapable of resisting whatever dark desire festered inside him, had come all over that broad oak desk.
And if he didn't tell Lex everything... well, he had to, because he was sure Lionel would eventually.
He'd be another pawn in play between father and son. Lex's piece, but Lionel's small, captured prey. A warning. A symbol of Lionel's impending victory.
Or... Lex might sacrifice him for the sake of the game, spend him now and somehow get the upper hand over his father. Lex was good at seeing far into the future, seeing the entire game laid out before him after the first basic moves.
The waiflike girl came back with his steaming coffee and he reached for his wallet, eyes wide as he jerked back to reality. He told her to keep the change from the five he handed her and she thanked him and floated away to another table.
The caf hummed around him, soft, ethereal music droning underneath the din of conversation. A long-haired college kid nodded at him from behind a paperback book and Clark smiled briefly back, then panicked when the kid got up and started walking to him, coffee it hand.
Clark busied himself with his menu and the miniature pitcher of crme on the table, feigning surprise when the boy spoke to him.
"Hey, mind if I sit down?"
He shook his head, then nodded, then forced out, "I'm... I have a... I think I want to just be alone."
And God, if he told Lex, he would be alone soon enough. His head spun and the caf seemed to blur as he avoided looking the boy in the eye.
"Okay, but... are you all right, man? You look a little... sick."
Sick. Like fucking your boyfriend's father.
"Oh, God...no... no." Clark shook his head, frantic and desperate, lost. Hands slapping on t-shirt and cheap vinyl, he shoved the boy out of his way and pushed out of the booth.
He spun and rushed to the bathroom, barely getting there in time, coughing and hacking behind the closed door of a stall. He stood there for an eternity, eyes stinging and chest tight, gulping for air around his dry heaving.
A knock on the metal door behind him startled him and he sucked in a deep breath. He smelled Lionel on himself and his stomach convulsed again.
"You want me to call someone?"
Clark shook his head uselessly, hands braced on the walls of the stall, knees like jelly.
The bathroom door screeched open again and Clark froze at the muffled words, "I don't think he's okay."
A female voice scratched on the edges of familiarity. "Thanks, kid. I know where they live - it's close. I'll run to their building and have them call Luthor."
"No!" The heavy wooden bathroom door shut too fast, blanketing the noise of the caf. Whoever they were, they were gone. And Lex would come and find him like this. Clark shook his head and straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wishing he'd never brought Lex's recognizable face in the caf. He opened the stall door and went to the sink.
The water was cold and he scooped up handfuls of it, big freezing splashes numbing the horror of his own reflection. He stared and stared into the mirror, the water rushing over his fingers, chin dripping.
He was ruined, tainted, nothing.
Or... it had never happened.
"I'm fine." He tried it out on himself first, just to be sure he could pull it off. He cleared his throat and straightened, wiping his face on his sleeve. "I'm fine."
Standing there, convincing himself with the evidence of every lie he'd ever gotten away with telling that he could do it, Clark rewrote the scene with Lionel from entrance to exit.
He'd gone there and just talked Lionel into helping LexCorp.
No, it wouldn't be that easy. He'd... he'd mentioned some indiscretions that Lex had been saving for a rainy day. He'd played some old cards that apparently still held power over Lionel Luthor.
And Lionel had threatened him with not enough Kryptonite maybe. Lex would feel intimidated by Lionel's knowledge of that particular vulnerability. It would put Lex on the defense, maybe deepen the gap between father and son, which would mean Clark could avoid Lionel easier.
Lex might not believe his father if Lionel ever said anything about the... the rest.
The small amount of Kryptonite hadn't been enough to do anything but make Clark nauseous, but Clark had feigned more than a little weakness just for show. Lionel had bought the ruse and smugly agreed to his business request, the favor being that much more generous for Lionel's untapped capability to control him.
The Clark in the mirror shook his head slowly, unconvinced, but when Lex finally pushed open the door and found him hunched over the sink, the new version of the afternoon was stuck, repeating in his head like a broken record.
It spilled from his wet lips as Lex's hand rested warm and comfortable on his lower back. Clark lied fast and well, not saying any words that would betray anything to accidental eavesdroppers, and Lex smiled and nodded, listening in patient silence until the story was complete and Clark declared himself fine.
"Are you sure you're okay now?" Lex looked at him in the mirror, face full of guarded concern. Clark nodded and gave him a weak smile. "Let's get out of here, then."
That night, he evaded most of Lex's questions and touches with the excuse of post Kryptonite-exposure sickness. He rubbed his hands as if they ached and took the longest shower of his life. When he came out in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, Lex was waiting for him in their bedroom.
He turned the light off and gotten into bed quickly, regulating his breathing until he heard Lex's relax into a slow rhythm. Then he slipped out from under the tangle of bedding and sat up the entire night on their couch, smelling the two of them on the cushions when he pushed his tear-streaked face into them.
The phone woke him at eight the next morning, eyes sandy and throat thick and dry. Lex had left a note beside his head. He read it as he walked to the phone to answer it.
Missed you this morning. Will be home late, but we'll celebrate tonight if you're feeling better. -Lex
"And you practically qualify as one, don't you, son?"
Clark closed his eyes and bit back the expletive that burned on his tongue. "Lionel."
"I believe our initial meeting lacked some key negotiations, Clark. I've arranged to meet with you this morning instead of next week. My car will be at the 'Luthor residence' in twenty minutes. From your voice, I assume my call woke you. I suggest you shower and shave quickly."
"You're insane if you think I'm going to-"
"You do remember our arrangement, don't you? I would hate to have to provide the Inquisitor with photos of our cozy little family."
The phone creaked in his grip and he clenched his jaw tightly closed. He was helpless and raging, seething and frustrated to the point of tears.
"Your silence is very reassuring, Clark. Twenty minutes."
The phone clicked and he threw it, shattering it and the glass tabletop it flew through. The pieces spread across the floor and he heard the maid's quick footsteps in the hall. He turned and pushed past her as she opened the office doors to investigate, then ran as fast as humanly possible up the stairs.
He somehow found his way, stumbling into the bathroom, arms bracing on the walls all the way, then propped on the vanity just long enough for him to get a disgusted look at his own reflection. He climbed into the shower, soaping and scrubbing his skin over and over until he finally decided that he had no choice. If he cared about Lex, this was necessary.
Maybe it was like his father had told him - no one gets to live a dream without paying the price for it. Maybe Jonathan Kent had seen the truth all along. He and Lex could never last. Their love was too strong, too complete to be permanent. It would burn them up. Cremate them.
Maybe his dad saw it even in the beginning, when Clark was still innocent and Lex was still pretending in a very obvious way that they were just friends. Maybe his dad been trying to protect him from this inevitable fire instead of the ones Clark had thought he was afraid of.
Clark dressed robotically, body going through the motions and mind lagging far behind, stuck in stasis on the couch that smelled so good and felt so normal.
He trudged to the elevator when the phone rang again, announcing that his car had arrived.
Outside, a white-gloved chauffeur held open a gleaming limousine door for him and he climbed inside, turning to take a seat as the door closed solidly behind him.
He launched for the door and found it locked, fumbled for the button and felt a warm, strong hand close on his. Lionel Luthor brushed a thumb down the back of his hand, smiling.
"Be careful, Clark." Lionel's grip tightened briefly, then with a strange smile and a small shake of his head, Lionel released him. "If you've changed your mind, I can't stop you."
Clark didn't move, couldn't.
"Avoid television this evening and I'm sure you and Lex can have one last peaceful evening together before the press vultures descend upon you."
Clark turned his head and scowled at Lionel, but his hand slipped quickly from the door.
"There, now. That's better, isn't it?"
Sitting back on the seat opposite Lionel, Clark couldn't take his eyes off him. He was... feral. Suit jacket open and neat over pristine white shirt, his black, patterned tie hanging unknotted and loose under his collar, ends trailing down over his chest. Shoes shining, feet wide apart, knees falling open further as Lionel leaned back, empty palms held out to him in offering.
"No Kryptonite this time, Clark." Lionel glanced pointedly at a small box on the seat next to him. "But it's on hand if we require it."
Clark tried to look into the box and hit a lead wall. He gritted his teeth. "You will."
He couldn't stop looking, couldn't stop smelling that almost-Lex musk that laced every breath he took in the oddly claustrophobic compartment of the limo. The windows cast a purple-grey tone to the entire space, the black leather of the seats throwing dark slickness into the dizzying illusion of false-privacy.
Lionel's brow was creased with mocking concern. His lips curved, cheeks more hollow than Lex's, face longer and older, rough with years that had broken all the good parts of Lionel Luthor. It was so much clearer now, in forced close proximity. Now that he was looking at him, really looking, instead of averting his gaze.
"...remember your father?"
He hadn't heard it, but he didn't like the way it sounded. "What?"
"Do you remember your father, Clark?"
The question startled him for a split-second, before he realized that Lionel knew the answer already. Clark had no real reason not to answer, though Lionel almost certainly had some reason for asking.
It was suspicious enough to make Clark pause. "No. He... he left messages for me, but I don't remember him."
Lionel thumbed a button to his left and told the driver to take the belt around the city. Clark shivered and looked out the rear window as fat drops of rain blurred what little light shown that morning. The rain was picking up and all the gray shadows deepened inside the car as they rode in silence. When Clark looked back, Lionel was moving close, crouched to avoid hitting his head, sitting down on the seat next him.
"If you are any indication, I'm sure he was a great man."
Clark shook his head, jarred by the compliment, filled suddenly with shame for having the audacity to instantly accept it. He stared at the empty seat where Lionel had been sitting before. "I'm... I'm not a great man."
Lionel's cuff brushed the back of his neck as an arm snaked around his shoulders. "You will be, Clark. With your strength-"
"If I was strong, I wouldn't be sitting here, would I?" He snapped his mouth shut on the smartass remark and glared defiantly.
A thick eyebrow arched and Lionel pursed his lips, then nodded. "I understand how you could mistake this..." A finger stroked over his lips and Clark leaned back away from it. "... for weakness. I have a very different perception of the situation."
The insinuation made him furious, steeled his nerves. He blinked and his fingers squeezed around Lionel's throat. "I am strong... I could end this."
Lionel smiled and gave a small nod, his chin brushing Clark's knuckles. "You could, but we both know you won't."
Clark released him with a shove and turned away, his eyes wet with frustration and anger. A thumb streaked along his cheekbone, smearing the wet line of his tears.
Lionel's voice was chillingly close. "We both know strength of character is far more rare than physical strength, don't we, son?"
"Don't call me that. I'm not your... son." Clark shrugged away from the intimacy, but Lionel's hand closed tight on his shoulder, insisting that he stay put.
A low whisper prickled into his ear. "No, you're right. My son..." Lionel's breath moved, ghosting across his lips, warm and confusing. "...would never sacrifice himself for love."
Blood rushed to Clark's face, heating against the cool tip of Lionel's nose that brushed on his cheek. The soft scratch of beard made him close his eyes and he could already taste the gentle lips that grazed the corner of his mouth. The heat built steadily, torturously slow beneath his skin. He ached, raged, hated the underlying need that crept dangerously close to the surface.
Eyes closed, head lowered, he gave up trying to be strong. "Please..." It sounded desperate, telling and too obvious hanging in the stale air. "Please, just tell me what you want."
"Open your eyes."
He didn't want to, hung on to the last vestige of resistance left in him. A moment of silent tension, then Lionel's hand fisted his hair and pulled his head around so Clark was facing him, his eyes automatically flying wide.
Lionel's lips were parted, tan skin and long hair reeking of power, of experience and control but breath catching, Adam's apple moving in a hard swallow, their lips an inch apart and Clark fighting, screaming at his own mind to force his eyes to remain open and see the cost of Lex's future instead of a strength he refused to admire.
The kiss was there, so close and threatening to just happen and Clark held still, mind grasping for every reason he had to just take this. He would never need anything like this, would never be anxious for it, but as Lionel breathed into his mouth, he had to double his efforts to convince himself that's how it really was. He held his breath and waited, but Lionel leaned away, reaching for the box on his abandoned seat.
He handed it to Clark with a dismissive shrug. "Take it."
Clark snatched the box and threw it stupidly hard, embedding it in the carpet and floorboard. "Why? What the fuck are you trying to prove, Lionel?"
The small smile that played on Lionel's lips stoked Clark's fury, and he grabbed at hard, lean arms that flexed in his hands. Lionel grinned openly then, laughing softly, eyes twinkling.
Lionel shook an arm free and pulled the box from the ruined floor, holding it in between them. Clark's fingers wouldn't release the other arm, clutching at the sleeve of his suit until he spoke.
"I don't want it, Clark." Lionel's fingers trailed over the box, then curved around the back of his neck. The smile faded a little and Lionel cocked his head to the side, an almost patient expression on his face. "Do you?"
Clark shivered and jerked away from the warm touch on his neck. The nuance of thumb and finger toying with a curl lingered adamantly. He turned away from Lionel and tripped, fell defeated, kneeling on the floor. There was nowhere else to go.
The torn carpet was humped up and shredded where the box had gone through. He reached for it, regretting the telltale display of his strength, frightening himself with the blatant, hair trigger reactive misuse of it. He smoothed it down, hiding the dented floorboard, pushing the frayed edges of carpet together in a desperate attempt to repair the mistake.
"What's done is done." Lionel moved close behind him and he stilled, then turned with a gentle urging from the hand on his shoulder. "Let's begin again. Come, sit with me."
And he moved without will, sitting beside the long, warm body on warm, smooth leather, tucking in closer than he meant to under the offered arm, face right there, far more intimately placed that he would have done if he'd been... if he hadn't been.
He glanced at the box that sat on the floor, his eyes streaming and voice raw with conflict. "I have to. I need..."
Lionel patted his leg, then reached for the box. "I know, son. It's perfectly understandable."
The hand on his knee squeezed firmly as Clark drew his fingers over the dull gray latch on the box.
"I..." Trembling, numb and terrified of this, of himself. "I can't..."
"Of course not. I'll do it for you." Lionel gently removed Clark's fingers from the latch, then opened it carefully himself, inching the lid up.
"Ugh... God... no..." Clark clenched his fists, then stretched his hands wide open, the pain easing into his body in a slow, steady flow, his veins constricting and pulsing open to make room for the death to spread.
Lionel set the box on the floor and turned back to him, hands moving fast and hard, wiping long streaks of confusion on skin that responded against Clark's will. Strong, such strong fingers, brushing his wet face, his hair, gathering the tail of his t-shirt in anxious fists and lifting. Lionel shifted closer and Clark leaned forward with a groan against the solid comfort of Lionel's chest. He tried to lift his arms so Lionel could peel his shirt off, but they fell and a thick sob filled his throat.
"Shhh..." That breath, intoxicating and so slow and heavy and God, like a drug he couldn't get enough of but hated himself for wanting, needing. All over him. Neck, mouth, face, chest. Rough lick like a cat's sandpapered tongue across a nipple and then down the center of his chest, following the dip to his reaction-tight abs.
Lionel's mouth on him, biting and licking lower and lower. God, Lionel, beard scraping around the softness of lips, the wet heat. Eyes closed, throat working as he tasted Clark's skin slowly, carefully.
Clark bit down, swallowed a moan, mouth dry and he licked his lips, tasted the copper tang of blood on his tongue.
Mind tired and sluggish, throbbing with waves of guilt, his chest aching, he moved, trying to edge his way out from under the stabbing pain beneath his skin. "Please, God. Let me- no... don't..."
Lionel's lips dragged low across his stomach and brushed up along his length.
"God, it hurts... stop..."
"I know." Lionel leaned back, arms casually draped over Clark's lewdly-open thighs, his head shaking and face the picture of sympathy. "I know it does, son."
Long, thin fingers went to Lionel's collar and Clark couldn't make himself look away as the tan, lean muscles were exposed. They were edged in green everywhere Lionel's sweat shone on his chest, arms, shoulders.
Lionel twisted around to lay his shirt behind him on the seat and Clark shifted, scooting his hips forward just a little more, whimpering softly when he heard the slide of Lionel's zipper.
"It hurts me as much as it hurts you." Lionel looked softer, calm and for the first time, not hovering on the edge of insanity. "It's better this way. You realize that, don't you, Clark?"
And Clark thought he meant it, somehow. God, it could be true. He wanted to believe it.
Clark nodded down at Lionel, one hand brushing through the tangle of long, silver hair. Because it could be true - maybe Lionel needed this as much as he did.
His hand was pushed harshly away, a dismissal that Clark knew made it easier. Better.
For both of them.
His head dropped heavily back and thudded against the glass of the window as Lionel gripped his hips and pulled him forward, his long thighs falling open because, Christ, they hurt and shook and he couldn't hold them up anymore, couldn't stand the pain.
Lionel was right, it was better this way, every response taken from him against his will, virtue in tact. Not capable of anything but simple thoughts and hardly even able to feel his zipper opening along his hard cock or the release of underwear and pants sliding down his thighs.
His legs pushed together for a second as his clothes were removed in a long-lost childhood sense memory of being undressed, then his thighs fell again, hanging wide open on either side of Lionel's expensively dressed and cologned chest.
Naked from the waist down, t-shirt pushed up in a bunched line under his arms and too sick, too dizzy to even be embarrassed when Lionel buried his nose against Clark's belly and inhaled deeply, then moaned the breath out.
Mind reeling as a cheek nuzzled against his cock and lips slid softly all the way down the crease of his leg, down under into the hair and another deep breath, revolting and hot and too, too much but not enough, not even now, body on fire, fevered from nausea and heat and sweat that sharpened his scent that fast. He shuddered and closed his eyes for an instant as Lionel licked him, tongue sampling him slowly with a kind of appraisal that made his stomach tighten with fear.
Clark shook his head in centimeters, the hazy glow of Kryptonite shone too close, too bright, a perfect, sickly green against the flat edges of the raindrops that pattered against the windows and streaked down when the drizzle picked up. The road thumped beneath his feet, beneath Lionel's knees and God, fuck, fingers felt him down there, pushed behind his sack, up and almost in and he opened his mouth but he was weak, too weak even to speak or scream or moan or decide which he wanted more.
Far off moans, adult and deep, resonated in the small space around them and he focused his eyes, senses picking up everything and nothing at all as Lionel produced a tube from his pocket and quietly, no... silently laid it on the seat next to him.
Clark looked from the powerful father he never wanted to the conduit of pleasure that he knew he couldn't - wouldn't refuse and felt himself falling under, asleep almost. Blackness closed in like a tunnel with shrinking walls around his vision until there was nothing but Lionel's mouth and wide, concerned eyes and lips moving in too-quick words that reached his ears garbled and senseless.
Death ate inside him, clung to him outside too, a gray ghost that moved Lionel's hands and mouth, because his father - God, no, Lex's father wouldn't do this to him.
Thickness jarred his denial, a thumb against his ass, slicking its way up and in, pushing against his insides until they burned and pulled and felt like they would never find their shape again. Numb, skin frigid next to the heated touches of a man who would never be more than this to him.
Fingers twisting inside him, stroking deep and slow, rubbing long and smooth now and it was good, fucking unreal to feel himself adjust and open, the pain buzzing into pleasure as Lionel's patient, deliberate touches memorized him inside and out. So soothing and welcome, and his hips rocking slightly to let Lionel know, jerking and gasping as Lionel's mouth connected with his hip and slid wetly up his cock.
An electric peace crept in as logic seeped out, the world concentrated down to the pulp of pain and pleasure, fear and comfort, the basest of comprehension the only thing left. Foreskin rolled carefully back, his length was sheathed in warmth, a moist, hot home he could lose himself in; there were so many possibilities there.
His hips shifted, bucked, rolled because they were supposed to, because they had to, it was natural and normal and God, his cock ached, excruciatingly starved and finally, finally getting to feast on the truth his invulnerability covered with a lead blanket. This was the real version of everything he'd felt before. Every dulled fulfillment had been a lie, an almost-truth that he couldn't help but laugh at somewhere deep inside where irony still made sense and didn't steal his sanity.
The rhythm on his cock built to torturous levels, was broken now and again for slow, lingering kisses. He sank deep into Lionel's mouth, tongue licking out tentatively at first, then hungrily, indulging in the intimacy because he had to, because he could betray just that much truth to himself, to Lionel.
Everything else seemed to happen too fast, every sound far off and not meant for him, every touch over too soon. Like he was missing them, catching just the barest hint of every stroke and every lick and wanted them all back, wanted them all to just start over and go slower so he could feel them. God, Lionel was so close to real, so close to freeing him because...
Lionel, God, Lionel - the most powerful man he knew. Lionel, kneeling for him, taking care of him in a way that made it impossible to refuse, one thumb rubbing and pressing along his ribs, other hand steady as a river's flow on the base of his cock. Savvy in this as all other things, reading him easily, knowing his triggers and weaknesses, his pleasure points and most vulnerable spots. The pressure on his cock just right, the hand sliding down his side to hold his hip securely in place, the chest that crushed against the insides of his thighs and the knees that spread, pushing his feet further apart, raising the level of agonizing tension in his legs.
An older, twisted version of Lex, unrestrained and indecent, teaching him a harsh lesson with every hollow of his cheeks, every fingernail's edge digging into skin that, for once, could feel the slicing thinness.
An earth father for his lost Kryptonian one, a man who could have been Jor-El's equal, giving him this, teaching him truths he'd ached for his whole life and never found.
The passion of basic, raw admiration. Of animalistic need and the power to fulfill it. Power over a creature as strong as Clark.
Domination that he'd ached for from Lex - oh, God, Lex...
The scratch of beard scraping the inside of his thigh was suddenly torture, the length of thumb pulling out so slowly and fingers poking and scissoring inside him too deep now, the ill-making green light cast over the whole thing turning his stomach as he blinked hard and used strength he summoned from nowhere to turn his head away from the sight between his thighs.
He wouldn't look, wouldn't watch, would spare himself that memory if he could. He could feel it though, feel the building of blood and heat and Lionel's humming moans around his throbbing cock and God, Christ, nature was going to take its course and he couldn't stop it, not for his own sake, not for Lionel's, not for... Lex's.
The roar of fluid leaving his body hurt, like his cock was being skinned by Lionel's mouth, turned inside out with every slide of the tight circle of lips. His skin tightened and crawled in ecstatic points, prickling to life all over his body. Sharp fingers jabbed inside him and he saw nothing, white, pure and pulsing brighter with every throb of orgasm.
His soul shook free and hovered a foot away and a half-second behind. He held on, but his will slid on the slippery sheet of ecstasy and control fell from his body. Pulses rocked him from toes to chest and shot in streaks of light from his fingertips. He let go of the last strings tying him to the world and slid back behind his own eyelids, into blank calm and total freedom.
Then too soon, too fast, the pain and pleasure slammed off like a switch, the tearing and ripples inside sinking hard and fast like an anchor. The blunted sensation ruined everything instantly, a dull fullness that made him swallow hard and jerk his head up with a hurried, forced reaction of guilt and denial. "No!"
Everything green was gray again and he lay sprawled, opened and damp with their sweat and his come, Lionel's spit and the generous, slick gel that coated him inside and out.
He gagged and sputtered and moved his hips, growling as Lionel rammed his fingers deeper, insisting on staying where they were. Dazed brain sluggish and reacting to every tiny thing in turn, he realized too late that it was already happening, Lionel was exposed and ready, insinuated just behind the hand that remained between Clark's thighs.
"No, Jesus, please..." He pushed back into the seat and pleaded with the box, his eyes willing it to open because he couldn't, couldn't reach out and do it himself. "Stop! D- Lionel, God, I-"
"Say it, son. Tell me what you want." Lionel's eyes hard and sharp when Clark looked to him for help, furious and so fucking desperate.
"I- fuck-" He glanced at the box again, staring at it as tears flooded his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and dripping to his chest as he blinked hard and swallowed. His whisper cracked in the silence. "Youknow what I want."
The fingers slid from his body and he gasped, tensing his thighs automatically at the emptiness left behind.
"Please- I don't..."
Lionel's eyes locked on his. "Decision time, Clark."
Clark swallowed hard. The choice was almost his, the dare palpable.
The confession of Lionel doing this because he wanted him to, or the safety of a Kryptonite excuse: Clark being vulnerable and not able to stop it.
A thumb stroked along his cheekbone, then across his lips. "Use your strength now, son. Ask me for it."
Clark shook his head, fingers digging into the leather trim of the seat, hating this, hating himself and Lionel and fuck, Lex for not... knowing.
"No... I can't let... don't do this. Please..." Clark's hands slid on the seat as he shifted his legs, hugging them to Lionel's thighs. "God, please."
Lionel's mouth curved into a cruel grin and he reached for the box. "So be it."
The emerald haze filled the car and Clark sank back, helpless and weak, aching as his body jerked with sobs. He moved a slack hand between his legs, shielding himself from Lionel's access, but it was tossed aside with a low growl.
Clark couldn't even beg now, wasn't sure what he would beg for if he could. He closed his eyes and waited, open and ready, and Lionel was fast, slick.
Sucking in breath that burned everywhere, Clark's hands went to shoulders he could've crushed a moment ago, but now he couldn't summon strength enough to stop them from closing in against him.
Lionel drove in and Clark clutched at his back, pulling him in against his chest, hands sliding on Lionel's sweaty skin, mouth closing on his shoulder.
"Yes, that's it, son..."
Clark sobbed a plea against salty skin, couldn't stop his teeth from sinking in, and Lionel groaned, sheathed himself until their hair caught and pulled a little on every outstroke.
"Did you like my mouth on you? Sucking you?" Lionel's breath was hard, panting against his ear.
"God, I-" Clark shivered and held on tighter, his legs wrapping around Lionel's. "Fuck... fuck..."
Clark dug his fingers into Lionel's back and squeezed his eyes closed, the white behind his eyelids replaced with flashes of red and black and the pressure of each thrust exchanging Kryptonite poisoning with a soul sickness that decayed faster and left him more dead than alive.
"Does he fuck you like this?" Fingers digging into his hips. "Do you want him to hurt you, Clark?"
"Yes, God, no-" His whisper was hoarse, sounded far away buried in Lionel's shoulder.
Thrusts quickening, deepening, hands hooking his shoulders and Lionel pounded in, the leverage gaining an inch inside. Clark held on through the white flashes of pain, held the tension in his arms and legs, pressing them hard against Lionel's working, heated body. The effort shredded Clark's muscles, made them vibrate with pain but he wouldn't give in, wouldn't let go.
Low, full groans became ragged and quick, Lionel's grunting voice rising from its depth as he stroked closer to the edge. "You want this. You need this. Need me..."
"No... God, no..." Clark tucked his wet cheek into the curve of muscle along Lionel's neck and gasped as the bluntness of cock hit deep inside and slammed against a bundle of nerves that left him wide-eyes and breathless.
Lionel pushed back and stared down at him, cock deep and hips jerking in slow, deliberate thrusts as he took his last strokes, mouth open and small, angry groans punctuating the pulses of his orgasm.
He squeezed his eyes closed and waited in silence as the fullness inside him slipped out and his body adjusted to the loss. He clung to the sharp throbbing pain that stung his cock and ass, burned every muscle in his body, knowing it would disappear any second.
Lionel's handkerchief pressed into his hand and the click of the box lid shut off his senses, sharpening his guilt. Wiping his face first, he slowly came back to life in the darkness of the limo. A coffin for the last of his honor.
When Clark managed to look up, a perfectly presentable Lionel gazed out the window and sipped a glass of amber liquid, indifferent as an atheist in the church of emotion Clark had once belonged to, but never could again.
Lionel dug into a compartment and threw a suit jacket onto the seat next to him, light tweed, brown that matched his hair flecked by green that matched his eyes.
"Put that on, son. Let's introduce you to the business."
Straightened and wiped and tucked back in, fingers combed hastily through hair, put back together so well that the world might not suspect, the limo door opened and Clark slowly followed Lionel's silhouette into the bright sun that broke through the clouds and cast odd shadows on the statuary outside LuthorCorp.
He trailed a few feet behind as Lionel introduced him as a LexCorp business associate with winks and sharp smiles for those who'd known Lex before he'd branched off on his own. He was the son-in-law, and the father-in-law was proud, beaming, showing him off.
An hour passed in a slow, steady flow of faces he'd never remember and names he didn't hear. The bathroom called to him but he couldn't stand the thought of taking off a stitch of clothing on LuthorCorp property, not today, not... God, no.
When Lionel's assistant reminded him of a lunch appointment, Clark was sent on his way with a generous offer to use the limo. He refused quickly and curtly and left, his pride trailing behind him like a piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
The jacket went in a trash can a block away.
Eleven o'clock, home, if it ever could be called that again, brain shut off and body chilling against the casual advances of Lex, Clark slipped under the sheets and turned his back, reaching to the nightstand for his book.
He hadn't told Lex, had barely told himself. The hot water tanks ran cold from his endless shower, and still he hadn't moved from under the stream. He scrubbed himself inside and out with Lex's soap, brushed his teeth until the bristles of his toothbrush frayed, then emptied his stomach of the bowl of soup the cook had forced into him because he'd looked pale for the first time since she'd known him.
By the time Lex had gotten home after his late meeting, Clark was ready to run. He couldn't confess, couldn't leave Lex with that kind of pain. Instead, he'd blame himself for being too weak to trust anyone, though Lex had proved himself a thousand times by then, and he'd go.
Home, maybe. His parents would never imagine what Lionel had done to him, and he'd never have to see the suspicion in their eyes, never have to admit anything. He could leave a note, pack silently after Lex fell asleep, slip out and never look back, at least not until he was far, far away.
Lex climbed into bed beside him, skin connecting along his back like a magnet to his dread. Smooth, naked, ready. Asking. Clark reached back and patted Lex's thigh in what he hoped was a gentle refusal, then turned a page in his book.
Lex's lips brushed his ear, "Clark?"
Swallowing hard, muscles nearly shaking with tension, he shook his head slightly. "I just... I feel like reading."
It wasn't the first time he'd turned Lex down, but unlike the first time, he had no plausible excuse and wouldn't be changing his mind and waking Lex up in the middle of the night to find comfort he'd thought he hadn't needed.
No, this time, he knew he needed it and had no right to ask for it, no excuse for needing it. No matter what Lionel had threatened, Lex would never, ever understand.
Clark shot upright, clearing the bed by a foot and staring wide-eyed at Lex. "What?!"
"You're right, we should read." Lex pushed up off the bed, walking smoothly to a bookshelf and pulled a book from it, turning back to him with a forced look of seriousness, smile playing under his expression. "The Kama Sutra?"
It was over, dead. They were dead. And Lex had no clue.
He'd been convinced that Lex would sense something, pick up on his misery and guilt and dig it out of him. But the fact that he'd completely missed all of it was worse than being forced into confession. This way, he was almost doing the right thing. Too little, too late and it made him feel worse that he'd not told Lex earlier, not to spare himself, but Lex.
"No. We can't... I can't... I need to. Lex, something... something happened." Clark stared at the book in his hand, fingering the spine absently. "At your dad's office. And again today."
Lex tossed the Kama Sutra on the bed and folded his arms. "Something you didn't tell me."
Clark nodded, turning his back and sitting on the edge of the bed, grateful for the anonymity of Lex not staring him down.
The mattress tilted as Lex crawled onto the bed to sit behind him. "Something you don't want to tell me." Lex didn't touch him. He was just a vague presence behind him, bearing down on him.
Clark shook his head and swallowed. "Something I can't..."
"He... he had more Kryptonite than you said he did, didn't he, Clark?"
"How did you-"
"I didn't know, but... now I do. Did he hurt you?"
Clark dropped his book and felt it hit his foot, knew he'd lost his place. Another nod, this time hesitant and slow. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, his eyes almost cloudy, everything registering on his brain just a half-second slower than it was happening.
"Did he..." Lex took a deep breath behind him and moved a little closer, one leg touching against his right hip. "What did he do?"
Wooden, drugged, apart from himself like he'd been sliced from his own body and tossed into a metal pan for examination. "He..."
He didn't know how to say it. All the words seemed vile, the admission too big for one person to handle on his own. But as he sat there in silence, he felt Lex understand.
The room boiled, the air thick and muggy, impossible to breathe. The bed moved under him and he knew, somehow, that Lex was done talking. A drawer rolled open on whispering soft casters, the thunk of thick metal against thick wood registering a warning and Clark moved before he really knew, but he was right.
He was always right about that.
Lex, gun in hand, eyes wide and wet, insane and so, so bright they almost glowed in the dim light of the room. Naked, cock half-hard and gun solidly hanging there at his side and Clark didn't know anything else to do but reach for him. No, reach for the gun because Lex couldn't do that, couldn't pay so much for him, spend his life for honor Clark didn't even have.
His hand closed over Lex's his thumb shifting the safety on the gun back into position. "No, Lex. No."
Lex glared at him with those wild eyes and Clark flinched, pulling the gun with him as he stepped away from the rage that heated Lex's face.
"Today...you met with him again."
Clark shrank further back, lowering his head, turned his back, set the gun on the nightstand.
"I should have known."
The insinuation throbbed in his ears and Clark shook his head, tears falling to his socked feet. "You couldn't have."
"Keep the gun."
Clark turned to see Lex walking into the bathroom.
He paused in the doorway and Clark shivered at the hate in Lex's voice. "There are better ways."
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