by Abi TheCaelum
Title: Mrs. Robinson
Authors: Abi and TheCaelum
Abi http://www.livejournal.com/users/justabi/ TheCaelum http://www.livejournal.com/users/thecaelum/ Rating: NC-17
Warning: Dirty, bad, wrong pairing.
Disclaimer: So not ours.
Notes: TheCaelum challenged Abi to finish this story. She did. She is very, very sorry. TheCaelum wrote the beginning; Abi took it places it was not meant to go.
The study was quiet, dark and lit faintly by the dying embers of a fireplace. From his vantage point behind the couch, with the benefit of 30 year-old Scotch to enhance well, everything really, Lex thought it looked almost cozy, and safe.
Granted, the subtle and not so subtle creaking sounds on occasion had been making his nerves jump and writhe under his skin, but since the bottle of Scotch was well on its way to empty, those same sounds now only made him look languidly in their general direction and raise his glass in a toast.
Luthors did not hide, and Lex was not hiding. Really, he wasn't. He was simply enjoying the support of the back of his couch, from a sprawled seated position on the floor with a half-emptied bottle of Scotch between his legs. Inside his several times locked study, with security on high alert, and the distinct possibility of newly acquired dogs patrolling the grounds. Because certain people in Smallville were ardent fans of the right to bear arms, especially against Luthors. Especially now.
Because Smallville had gone insane. This went beyond the daily insanity of suspiciously powerful and bored teenagers who lied badly and looked like Greek gods while doing it, which was unfairly distracting. This was full insanity, the kind of insanity that led to one being quietly and completely carted away to face a regimen of mind-bending medication and possibly a horribly unfashionable straightjacket. Although, as much as he hated to admit it, Lex found certain parts of his anatomy were not at all opposed to the idea of restraints. He glanced down at the empty glass, and then went for the source, taking a healthy swallow from the bottle as his mind wandered to the events that had transpired earlier that afternoon...
The kitchen at the Kent farm always smelled of food. Cinnamon, cloves, apples, whatever the specific scent, or layered combination of scents; it always smelled as if a dedicated troupe of frenzied Keebler elves had just engaged in an orgy of baking.
He knocked gently at the screen door, noting with mild curiosity the odd potted flowers on the porch. They swayed in the breeze, and seemed to follow his passage. It was vaguely creepy.
"Mrs. Kent?" He said as he stepped inside, an order form for the next week's worth of organic produce in his hand. The door closed behind him, and she was standing before the stove. Something was different, but Lex couldn't quite identify what it was, until she turned around and pinned him against the door with a heated gaze that seared into his skin and dove right for his crotch. Lex blinked and backed into the door as Martha stalked toward him.
"Lex," she purred as if it were a new and exciting form of verbal orgasm.
Lex blinked again, his mouth suddenly very dry. "I..." he trailed off.
Martha paused in front of him, her eyes raking over him from head to toe before she licked her lips. "So nice of you to drop by."
"Uh..." Lex attempted speech again, unsuccessfully. Martha pressed against him, her fingers clawing against his shirt.
Lex uttered a startled yelp and grabbed her wrists, gaping at her. "What are y-" and he got no further, because she pushed into him, pinning him against the door, and kissed him, hard and savage.
Lex made a series of confused, aroused, and bewildered noises as her hands wrenched free of his grip and dipped into the waistband of his pants, her knee sliding between his legs.
Lex turned his head from her kiss, his breathing strained. "Mrs. Kent... what are you doing?"
Martha bit down on his earlobe, and whispered seductively against the reddened flesh. "I like it when you call me Mrs. Kent." Her knee rubbed against the inner side of his thigh, sliding back up to apply delicious pressure to his crotch. Lex bit back a dazed groan and grabbed her shoulders, forcibly pushing her away.
"Why are you doing this to me?" It was like she wanted to torture him, and really Clark did enough of that for the entire family, county, hell, the whole state, thank you very much. He ran a hand distractedly across his scalp and took a shaky breath.
"I'd think that'd be obvious to a boy as smart as you, Lex. I want you." The sound of her voice was like a low purr and didn't sound right coming out of the mouth of a woman he had thought of as a surrogate mother.
"You're my best friend's mother," he appealed miserably. His shoulders slumped and his eyes drifted closed until he felt a cool hand caressing his brow, comforting and disconcerting all at once.
"My son says he hates you." The words stabbed him like a knife and he barely contained the whimper of pain that begged to well up from his chest.
Martha's hands continued to stroke his face and despite the tension now wound tight in his body, he began to relax in to the soothing touch that he had been denied since his own mother died. She gently pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder and he gave in to the embrace. He could feel his body shuddering and his eyes were blurry, but he wasn't crying.
"I can help you with that, if you let me," she whispered into the smooth skin of his temple.
"Mrs. Kent, Clark would never forgive me." His voice sounded broken even to his own ears.
"Clark will forgive you for anything, if I tell him to. Even the little room you keep hidden on the third floor." The wound was too new, the promise of forgiveness too dearly desired. It was too much, the flicker of hope echoing painfully through him.
"What about Mr. Kent?" He leaned back and closed his eyes, panting against the clean wall of the cheery farm kitchen.
The tender, almost maternal caresses moved from his brow and became decidedly less motherly. She ran her hands down his chest to his belly and strayed back to his waistband, but instead of dipping inside his slacks she cupped him through the fine wool. The rubbing had the intended effect and the bulge grew, swelled under her ministrations.
"Jonathon has a weak heart. He can't do anything strenuous." Martha leered at him, licked her lips and pressed into him slowly, almost languidly. "We have an understanding."
"Your understanding includes people he hates?" Lex raised his eyebrow skeptically and met her gaze.
"Our understanding includes everyone under the sun, except your father." It made a certain amount of sense, Jonathon Kent hated no one more than his father, and though he probably hadn't ever even considered his wife might want to take someone as young as Lex to bed, he hadn't forbidden it.
An intoxicating fragrance invaded his senses as her body pressed up against him harder, grinding her body into his erection. She smelled like cookies and pie and something fresh and clean that reminded him of Clark. She smelled a little bit like love and he was starved for it.
"Please," he whispered into her hair, a plea for something he knew he could never have. He was a bad man, and that he was wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her in against him only served to remind him that he would never be worthy of Clark.
He kissed her tentatively at first, soft and almost chaste as he gave in to his need for her affection. Gentle caresses of his scalp were too tender for him to resist. The sensation of her tongue sliding into his mouth, lingering on the scar bisecting his lip on its way in, rippled through his body like a shock wave.
The hungry, demanding kisses that followed made him desperate. He was hard and her hips ground into his erection while her hands slid underneath his soft grey sweater to trail fire on the skin of his chest and belly and around to his back and suddenly the cashmere was pulled over his head and dropped in a heap on the linoleum floor.
"Come with me." Martha led him by the hand up the stairs.
The tiny twin bed in the guest room where he had once slept he might have expected had he been capable of rational thought at the time. Perhaps even the bed she shared with her husband, though the betrayal seemed some how greater that way. But she knew him too well for either of those unsatisfactory options, eschewing them for the one place Lex had never dared allow himself to even imagine.
"You want him, don't you?" Martha purred into his ear as she pulled him down onto the well worn navy blue flannel sheets. She ran her hands down his chest and worried a nipple with her teeth. "It's okay. I know what you need. I'll take care of you."
Lex groaned. Sex in this bed, the bed where Clark slept and dreamed and fantasized about Lana was so wrong a flood of arousal dizzied him. Not only was he about to have sex in Clark's bed, but he was about to have sex in Clark's bed with Clark's mother.
Deft hands relieved him of his slacks and the scrap of silk straining around his weeping cock. He couldn't contain himself; he rubbed the throbbing, drooling shaft into the cotton that still smelled of teenaged boy and farm work and god, cum, whimpering and doing his best not to touch himself. He could easily have brought himself off with just a few strokes, but he held on with a reserve of willpower he usually kept reserved for not killing his father.
Somewhere along the line Martha had shucked her clothing and the sight of her pale skin and red hair pooled on the dark blue fabric stole his breath for a moment. She was lying there, running the fingers of one hand around the pink border of her nipple while the other hand raked through her sparse patch of curly red hair.
Lex caressed her thighs with his face on the way up her legs and sucked kisses that would be bruises onto the white flesh. Martha shivered in his mouth and he smiled. He took a deep breath of her with his face mere inches from his goal. It was the scent of musk and need and want and more of that love he felt so hungry for.
Licking gently at her little, pink clit committed him to what he was doing more than the kissing or the petting or even the nudity. She moaned and spread her legs further around his head. A series of soft sighs punctuated sporadically by gasps assaulted his control as he lapped at the delicious wetness under his tongue.
When her gasps became cries, the tiny movements of her hips sped into wild bucking, and her thighs clenched tight on either side of his head he slid a finger inside her. She screamed loudly and Lex planted wet kisses on her belly as he moved up her body. Suckling her breast and dipping his fingers inside her caused tremors to wrack her body.
"Lex, Lex, fuck me, please fuck me Lex." Martha begged and shook her head wildly and grabbed hard at the sheets.
Pulling his fingers from her elicited a whimper that turned into a deep moan when he pushed inside her. Had he been thinking, he would have used a condom, but he wasn't thinking about anything beyond the willing body beneath him and the texture of the flannel under his knees and the smell of sex and Clark surrounding him. He was lost. Lost in the rhythm of thrusting into her body and the sound of her voice low in his ears and the feel of the heat surrounding her.
How long they lay there panting and grunting and smashing their bodies together he couldn't say, but when the door of the tiny bedroom flew open and Clark filled the frame time stopped. Just seeing his face made Lex scream his name and come blindingly.
"Mom?" Clark looked confused at first but then he met Lex's eyes. "Lex! What the fuck are you doing to my mother, you sick pervert?"
"Clark, honey, calm down," Mrs. Kent was back, no longer Mrs. Robinson seducing him in the kitchen. She pulled sheets and blankets haphazardly across her body as Lex jumped off her and backed into the wall as if burned.
And he could have been burned if the ring of flames in Clark's eyes as he slammed Lex into the wall were any indication. Lex gasped for breath as a too strong hand lifted him from his feet by the throat. Tears streamed down his face as his naked body flailed in the air, and then abruptly fell to the ground.
Lex wasted no time wondering at what happened, only grabbed a sheet as he ran from the room, down the stairs and out of the house. He'd never driven faster or with less joy on his way back to the mansion. He didn't stop shaking until after the second glass of scotch.
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