Summary: It was a slip of the tongue.
A/N: For two very talented ladies, Thamiris and Velvetglove. Thanks to Madelyn for the super-speedy beta.
Even the air is embarrassed, the setting sun staining it an appropriate blazing red. He feels it shifting uncomfortably around him, oxygen whipping his cheeks in punishment until they glow bitterly.
The fateful words still hang there, as clearly visible as though Clark had gotten a sky-writer to paint them for the entire world to see. Which wouldn't have been any more mortifying than saying them to Lex. And Lex, well, Lex is clearly not going to make this easy for him - Clark can see it in the grin sliding across Lex's face as he lounges against the Porsche, an evil grin if ever there was one.
"You're going to fuck my ass, Clark? Does your mother know you use language like that?" Lex does indignant shock better than anyone.
"Whup, whup your ass. That's what I, er, meant." Clark stammers helplessly and, he's fully aware, pointlessly. It had been a simple suggestion: that Lex might like to throw some hoops with him. And Lex, of course, had taken it as a challenge and agreed to it, and somehow, with bemusing speed, a simple slip of the tongue has landed him in this mess. And he's fairly sure that anything else he says is just going to dig himself in deeper, because that's the Clark Kent way, especially around Lex Luthor.
"Are you sure?" Lex's voice is low now, as deep and dark as a thunderhead. It feels as though there's a storm coming, hot and heavy, weakening Clark almost the way Kryptonite does.
Clark has rarely felt more of a gawky teenager than he does right now, even including all the awkward moments hanging around Lana in the days when she was meteor-protected. Because he knows what he wants to say, roughly, but there's simply no way that his brain is capable of ordering his limbs into place and controlling his tongue at the same time. So much for Jor-El's pronouncements of the superiority of his race. He'd bet Lex never has this problem; in fact, he's sure Lex could do anything he wants with his arms and his legs and the tongue that's just poking out of the corner of his mouth, innocently wetting his lower lip and, oh damn, now Clark's brain is truly fried.
He's not entirely sure he said that out loud, and his head is hung so low that he's addressing his boots, but Lex seems to have heard it anyway.
"So you would like to fuck my ass?"
Clark's no longer sure whether or not he can survive this conversation. It's entirely possible that he'll spontaneously combust any minute now. In fact, if the phrase 'fuck my ass' comes out of Lex's perfect, scarred lips one more time, spontaneous combustion won't be a possibility, it'll just happen. There'll be nothing but a pile of ash on the ground in front of his house, and Lex will have to explain it to Clark's parents when they get back from town and it'll serve him right for taunting Clark like this.
Not that that helps Clark any. And, good as revenge would be, he's only half certain that turning into a pile of ash would be worth it.
"Or, how about something else first?"
Clark looks up at the words and maybe, just maybe, Lex isn't as evil as he thought. Because the not-quite-evil Lex has moved around and is shepherding him backwards, against the car, so Clark doesn't have to rely entirely on his legs to hold him upright, and then Lex's hands are on his shoulders and he's pushing and supporting all at the same time. And there are little sounds, which must be Shelby in his kennel or the wind whistling in the eaves of the barn because it can't be Clark moaning and whimpering. But Lex is taking the sounds as consent, which is good because no way could Clark actually say anything right now, and Lex is moving in, full body, legs tangling up with Clark's legs and-
Lex's cock is pressed up against Clark's thigh. And-
Lex's cock! Against his thigh!
That's hotter even than spontaneously combusting. It's the hottest thing he can imagine right now.
Except that he seems to have lost some time absorbing that, because Lex is kissing him now, that tongue is inching its way between his lips, and Lex is proving that he does know exactly what to do with his legs and his tongue and oh-, his hands too, and this is even hotter, and he's going to die any minute now, which would be bad because he doesn't want to miss any of this.
Lex's hands are cool against his skin, Clark vaguely registers. And then realizes that means Lex has pushed his hands up under his shirt, is counting his ribs with lithe fingers, is rubbing up against his nipples, and who would have known that would feel so good?
Clark loves Lex's fingers, and he loves Lex's mouth, and he loves, no, blesses Freudian slips for giving him Lex's fingers and mouth and cock and every inch of his body that's plastered against Clark's.
And then his mouth is suddenly empty and Lex is pulling away, even though Clark is clutching him like he's the last piece of flotsam after a shipwreck.
Lex is asking him something, though he's not sure what, because even though Lex has pulled away a little, they're still snugly joined from the waist down which is effectively preventing any higher brain function like speech or hearing.
Obviously Lex realizes this, because now he's pulling away completely, and his words begin to impinge on Clark's consciousness.
That definitely isn't what he wants to hear. He looks at Lex in horror, then sweeps his head from side to side, vainly attempting X-Ray vision which doesn't work but leaves him feeling dizzy.
"Where?" he screeches.
"That's my question, Clark. Where are they? Are they home?" Lex asks patiently, his words and questions thankfully short and simple.
"No. In town. Smallville Farmers' Association meeting."
"Good." Lex grins, and Clark can see how he might have thought it was an evil grin earlier, but now he's on the side of evil too, which makes evil very, very good.
He's not moving back in on Clark, though, despite the grin and the look in his eyes that has to be lust and which Clark is sure is mirrored on his own face.
So Clark hints. He daringly puts his hands around Lex's waist, even though he's not sure what to do with them now they're there. He could do with some of the confidence that comes with red Kryptonite, because he wants this so badly and the thought of getting so close, yet again, and not having this, not having Lex, is more than he can bear. He wishes he could say it, tell Lex this, but all that comes out is one word.
"Lex." It's a plea and permission and determination all rolled into one word, and Lex is smart. Lex understands Clark's pitiful language, probably better than Clark himself does.
Clark feels like Lex is reading every movement of his eyes, every contraction of his pupils, every gasp of breath he takes. His gaze is holding Clark hypnotically - even if he wanted to, Clark doesn't think he'd have the strength to look away.
And now Lex's fingers are back on him, but not where they were before. He's unzipping Clark's jeans, and sliding inside, first one layer, so Clark can feel him intensely through the thin fabric of his boxers, and then Lex has found his way inside those too. And it's good, it's amazingly good, a million times better than the feel of his own hands, but he wants more, so before Clark is even conscious of what he's doing he's slipping his jeans down over his hips, and Lex is helping, pulling his boxers down too, until they bunch up around his knees.
The air is chill against his skin, and he's suddenly, painfully aware that he's outside, in his own front yard where anyone could drive up at any moment, half naked, and very hard. But his body is betraying him - it doesn't mind one iota.
All it cares about is getting Lex's hand back where he needs it most.
He tries the word again, the one that worked so well before.
"Lex," he begs.
And now Lex is dropping to his knees, careless of the dust or stones (and that tells Clark more than words could just how Lex is caught up in the moment), and he's not looking at Clark's face any more. He's fully intent on Clark's groin, and Clark would blush if he weren't all out of shame for the day.
His tongue comes out and he licks, the head first, and Clark's cock twitches at the delicacy of the touch. Then he's dropping down further and licking all the way up the ridge of vein that's pulsing underneath. Clark wants to push into the touch, wants to shove his cock right down Lex's throat (and maybe he hasn't run out of embarrassment because he can feel the blush blooming at the thought) but he tries to resist. Tries to concentrate on the look of Lex's head, sunk between his legs, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his scalp.
He's inside Lex. Lex has swallowed him down. His cock is down Lex's throat and Lex is on his knees in front of him and they're right out in the open and Lex's fingers are reaching behind his balls and touching, circling, fuck-pushing into the whorl of skin there and his other hand is pressed into Clark's ass, nails digging in enough to hurt a human, and now Lex is moving up and down on him and it's all too much. Clark is holding on to the car like his life depends upon it, and trying desperately not to come this quickly, but he's a teenager and a virgin and this is Lex's head bobbing up and down around his cock and Clark might be able to do many things but holding on right now is way beyond even his powers.
"Gonna-" Clark tries to warn Lex, but he's misplaced coherent sounds and vowels so it comes out more like "Gnnnn."
Lex glances up at him, eyes teasing him through pale eyelashes, then squeezes the base of his cock, just a fraction, but enough to give Clark precious seconds longer. Then he's back to work, sucking tightly as he pulls off, his hand in opposing rhythm to his mouth. And yet again Clark has to re-evaluate his opinion of the hottest thing in the world, because Lex's sheer concentration is so unbelievably sexy.
And that thought is enough, too much, and he's shuddering and gasping for breath, head tilted back in rapture as he comes down Lex's throat. Lex is swallowing around him until it becomes painful and Clark jerks back. Even then, Lex doesn't lift his head but licks his limp cock gently until he's clean and damp with saliva.
Clark doesn't really feel the cold, but he shivers slightly as the evening air caresses him.
Lex pulls his boxers up and then his jeans, zipping them, and Clark would never have believed how intimate an action that could be, even more than undressing him earlier had been. He half moves, half falls into Lex, into an embrace and a kiss that go on forever. And Lex tastes bitter now, tastes of sex, not coffee like he did earlier, but it's not disgusting at all. It's a little weird, but it makes Clark feel older, as though he's learning an acquired taste that only adults understand.
Clark thinks he'll be able to manage a few words soon, words like 'barn' and 'now' and even 'blow-job', but he's enjoying the feel of Lex's erection against his thigh again and Lex's tongue is intent on tasting every corner of his mouth, so moving elsewhere can wait a few minutes.
He's never felt so good in his entire life; even the air is celebrating with them, the sky a joyful red that shrieks of sex and blow jobs and fucking.
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