Clark is flying.
Fleeting wisps of clouds cling to the folds of his clothes, a rush of air skims along his body and Clark is a dark blur against the velvet-blue sky. Shadowy stretches of cornfields and the vague outlines of trees flash by beneath him, and Clark stretches into a dive, reveling in the sudden skip of his stomach, an oddly pleasing sensation. The ground rushes up to meet him and at the last minute, he pulls out of the fall, cornstalks swaying in the wake of his passing.
Already, he is miles higher and cloaked in the obscurity of a few passing clouds, he hovers, lazily drifting on his back, eyes closed and a smile lifting the corners of his lips.
And this is how Clark knows he is dreaming. His smile wilts a little at that realization, but the sensations still feel real enough that he can momentarily ignore it.
He doesn't want to wake just yet.
In the distance, he spies the hulking form of a dwelling he knows only too well, and with a twinkle in his eyes that may or may not be the glint of moonlight's reflection, he races towards it.
It's easy enough for Clark to find the second story window he is looking for. He tentatively tries to open it, and because this is a dream, the window easily slides up. He steals inside, floating over dark furniture until he finds himself hovering over the king-sized bed at the far end of the room.
He stares at the figure sprawled haphazardly across tangled sheets, drinking in the sight of bare limbs and moonlit skin.
Like so many of his dreams that start out this way, Clark begins to feel the stirrings of desire gathering heat in his belly. His eyes roam over the soft expanse of sheets pulled tight against naked flesh, outlining every contour, and the heat slowly starts to spread southward.
A small voice in the back of his head prays that he won't wake up and break his bed again.
Clark inches closer, one hand outstretched, the tips of his fingers itching to touch, to feel.
He hesitates for a moment, strangely shy, and he almost laughs out loud when he realizes how utterly absurd it is to be this chaste in his own wet dream. For god's sake, does he have to be a saint in his subconscious now too? He's having a hard enough time as it is without adding celibacy on top of everything.
More determined now, and with the ache in his groin urging him on, Clark experimentally brushes his fingertips across bare skin. The slight moan this elicits sends an electric shock of desire straight to his cock, and Clark tries to suppress the groan threatening to spill out of his lips.
He shifts over, lowering himself to the bed and slipping underneath the sheets, spooning the sleeping figure before him. The sudden proximity of warm, exposed skin is too much, and Clark fervently pushes himself closer, running his hands up and down over smooth muscle, his lips skimming frantically over rounded shoulders, following the curve of the spine downward.
"Mmm...Clark..." His name's a muffled sigh into the pillowcase, and Clark grins, silly, almost smug, satisfaction spreading over his lips.
Palm flush against firm muscle, he smoothes his hand over flat stomach and sharp hip, scraping his fingernails lightly on the inside of a pale thigh. The resulting sigh and shiver prompts him to repeat this action. With his teeth.
Pushing down his boxers, he licks his palm before closing his fist over his eager cock. He rubs his thumb over the head, taking care to slick saliva and pre-cum liberally along the length of the shaft. Slowly, he eases himself in between already spread thighs, gasping at the sudden resistance. Pushing until he's all the way in, Clark stops for a moment, trying desperately to hold onto his control.
They're both sweating, two slick bodies sliding together, and Clark begins moving in and out slowly, so slowly, because even though it's just a dream, he's still afraid of hurting the one person he cares about the most in the world.
His cock is begging for a faster rhythm but with a strength of will Clark didn't know he possessed, he slows down even more, groaning out loud with the effort.
"Clark, please... Please, Clark..." This, accompanied by an insistent plea for friction, ass pushing back against him, and it's too much for Clark, who involuntarily rocks his hips forward. It's enough to break his resolve, and he lets himself go, his rhythm becoming more frantic; his hand slipping around a slim waist to stroke between clenched thighs.
They both come in a tangle of limbs and sharp cries, the echo of Clark's name still lingering in the air.
Clark waits until the room goes silent, soft panting finally evening out into regular breaths, before he slips quietly from the bed and leaves, closing the window behind him.
The moon is close to setting now, but there's still time for Clark to do a couple more laps over the fields, darting in and out amongst the clouds before he heads back home.
Sunlight is streaming through the castle windows and Lex wakes up slowly, stretching languidly, a sleepy smile still fixed on his face. He had had the most wonderful dream...
He can almost still feel Clark's hands on his body, Clark's lips on his skin...
Shaking his head, Lex tells himself it was only a dream. And that he's only imagining the dull ache in his backside.
Also, why not join
Level Three, the Smallville all-fic list?