Platinum

by Meghan


Thanks to Val, as always.


He wears a platinum band on his left hand, ring finger.

It never mattered to either of them.

Actually, that's not completely true. When he stops to think about these clandestine meetings, he thinks of that platinum band and everything it stands for. Lex has never actually believed in the sanctity of marriage, perhaps because of his two abortive attempts at the matter, but that band has the way of making him rethink his decisions.

Rethink them until he's at another press conference that is. Picking one face out of the sea of reporters and knowing that it'll happen again. That Clark will give Lois some flimsy excuse after Lex announces he's not taking any more questions to meet Lex outside. Clark will look up and down the street in an exaggerated manner that never fails to make Lex laugh, before ducking into the open door of the limo.

In between the time that the door closes and Clark reaches across to touch him, Lex will close his eyes. He will keep them closed until slick nails slide against his lips, the end of one poking into the split on his upper lip. Clark always starts there first, the scar that Lex can no longer remember how he got, like the way he can no longer remember how this started. When, where, why. All that he can remember is how good Clark feels over him in the back of the limo and the way white bursts behind his closed eyes when their lips finally meet.

Later, they will be in Lex's bed. Clark on his face in the middle of the impossibly wide mattress, ass in the air. The moans that will be muffled by the thousand dollar pillows always manage to make the room spin a bit for Lex as he struggles against himself. He wants so badly to turn away, to say no. Not because of the platinum band that winks against the white sheets but because when Lex leans over Clark's back to press his lips against the long line of spine, he aches.

The ache intensifies as his tongue follows his lips, one long line that leaves his mouth dry but leaves Clark's back damp with sweat. It doesn't end there. Lex's fingers trail where his tongue was, chasing drying saliva, until they fall over the puckered opening that makes Clark moan even louder. He will watch his fingers be sucked into the hole, ears blocking out the moans that start to sound more like a club beat than sounds of enjoyment.

Somewhere in between finger fucking Clark and actually fucking him, Lex will lay his cheek against Clark's lower back and watch the other man's left hand. He refuses to closely examine this particular ritual, but it's something that he can't make himself stop doing. Skin rubbing against his cheek with every thrust Clark's body makes against his fingers, everything moving of it's own volition until Lex's eyes go dry because he refuses to blink them.

That's when he pulls his fingers out, lifts his face up and takes his cock in hand. Lube is almost an afterthought that happens seconds before he pushes the head of his dick past the first ring of tight muscle. Lex always stops here, an inch in, and blinks the shine from the band out of his mind before sliding the rest of the way in. He wants to only think of this when he slides out quickly, and then thrusts back in. He can only concentrate on this because the ache is starting to grow in his chest and he needs to keep control. If he doesn't, this fuck will end up like that time when he stared at the ring too long and he started to cry.

Clark didn't leave any press conferences for four months after that time.

By the time he remembers that, Lex will have fallen forward to brace his hands on either side of Clark's head. His only movement will be the pull of his hips back and the thrust of them forward in a hard roll that Clark will answer with short, jabbing motions. The friction always feels like combustion, like those times back in Smallville when he was set on fire or he was in something that exploded. Euphoria mixed with the knowledge that this is the end and no one can save him. Not even some disjointed boy in flannel.

Clark always did though and today, that boy is no longer disjointed and he never wears flannel. Not around Lex anyway. He doesn't save Lex from the inferno either. Instead he comes, squeezing around Lex until Lex follows him over the edge, falling against Clark's back.

Here, Lex floats. Here is where he cried that one time while he stared down at Clark's hand and wanted nothing more than to rewrite their pasts for a different future. Here is where he let his ache known to the world, when Lex has only ever defined the world as Clark.

It's a private ache that never shows. Just shines in the reflection of a platinum band.



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