by Kitty Fisher
Boys! Raise Giant Mushrooms in Your Cellar! Kitty Fisher
Disclaimer: Not mine
Warning: VERY SILLY!!
Summary: Don't ask...
Acknowledgements: For the Bradbury Challenge. And blame EleanorB, SHE asked for it!
If any of the possibilities dancing in his head were true, then the boy was going to deserve a present. Something even bigger and better than the truck - and Lex wasn't even thinking anything actually sexual, despite the words bigger and better, both of which made Lex's heart beat faster. Maybe a nice diamond collar from Tiffany's, or a solid platinum waffle maker Clark could give to his mom for her birthday. A lifetime subscription to Manure Monthly for his dad. A palace. More cows. Damn, he'd consider any of it cheap. If the possibilities were, well, possible.
Smallville was proving so exciting. He was even enjoying a walk across a field. A walk with a purpose of course.
"So, exactly how alien are you, Clark?"
"Just the average guy next door." Clark shrugged and looked over at Lex with his wide, innocent eyes set on maximum honesty. A Kansas breeze caught a lock of dark hair, curling into one eye, and he reached up and swiped it away. Lex wondered if he should give Clairol a call. Farmboy chic. It would make a change from emaciated TV star chic. Probably sell more product too.
Damn it, he'd buy it. Maybe the dogs needed shampoo. If he had dogs of course. Which he might.
"Clark, the average guy next door cannot see through the wall. Or run so fast he's invisible." Lex tutted, and wondered how far the fabled storm cellar was. His brogues were getting dusty. Diego was going to kill him. Another evening on his knees. God it was such a bitch being a slave to one's servants.
"Well, I guess I'm a little out of the ordinary." Slow smile. 5,000 watts minimum. "I'm a little bigger than your average fifteen year old."
Oh yes... Bigger. "Really?" Lex swallowed and tried again. At a lower pitch. Less of a squeak. "Really?" There, Paul Robeson eat your heart out - butch, baby, butch. He tripped on a mattock of grass, and sighed as he was caught easily. Neatly.
"Hey, watch your footing!"
"Mmm..." Maybe twelve inches wasn't being unreasonable. Conservative even. He swallowed; drooling was really most unbecoming, his house-master at Eton had taught him that eight years ago. Scholarship boys were given no leeway at all.
"Clark." Oh yes. All solid muscle and big hands and big feet and big... Damn maybe he was even bigger. And no one but Lex knew. No line of size queens paying court in order to have first suck of the monster. No siree. Just Lex, an alien kid and a cellar. Oh, yeah, and a spaceship, but really, who cared about that when there were serious matters to be investigated. "I'm fine."
"Good." Sideways look. Lex smoothed his shirt down. Unfastened his collar. A trickle of sweat ran down his spine. Midday in Fuckknowswhere, Kansas and he was walking across a field? Maybe he really did need more therapy.
And then again, maybe he was going to get it. Physical therapy. Reaching the parts other therapies didn't. And if Clark was anything over 12" then he really was going where no man had gone before. Or alien. True, some of the guys at the Meat Rack had been kind of weird. Though that could have been the drugs. Sometimes Lex put the whole issue of the Nineties down to drugs. Mescaline really had been a mistake.
And the mushrooms.
Though peyote had been a gas. He smiled reminiscently. There had been a guy in Mexico. He'd been 12" at least. Lex had never actually managed to measure him - except for internally - as he'd been too screwed to read the tape-measure.
Cynthia Plaster-Caster had the right idea - get the bastards hard and then slap on some plaster of Paris. No denying reality then. Nope. The doubters just had to look ,and gasp in awe and envy.
He wondered if there was anything suitable to be found on a farm. Seemed unlikely. It certainly seemed more in the manure and cow line than anything even faintly artistic. Though Mrs Kent tried, the testosterone quotient on the Kent spread was really far too high. Most of it from Mr Kent. Anyone would think he was trying too hard. Maybe it came from being blond as a boy. One guy too many hitting on you and maybe you turned either to God or to beer and the top shelf of the magazine stand. Lex wasn't at all sure that Mr Kent was up to reading Playboy. Maybe Big Bertha's Bazookas was more his style. At least he would enjoy the pictures. Oh yes, the big guns for Mr. Kent. The real man.
"Lex, we're here."
Lex stopped, dust kicking up around the tips of his shoes. "Here?"
Pot of Gold, El Dorado, mission accomplished. An alien mystery about to be unfolded. Fourteen inches and he would faint. Maybe. Maybe afterwards...
"Here?" There was a wooden door slanted into the earth.
"Yeah, it's a storm cellar, Lex. You don't build them fancy."
"Oh." Of course not. Mr Kent wouldn't allow it anyway. No frills in my cellar, thank you mister.
Clark levered up the doors. A distinct smell of damp earth and rusting machinery. Well, it would make a change from poppers and sweat.
Oh he was coming. Well, he was hard and that was a start. Lex followed obediently. Damn, life could be good. He rubbed his hands together and almost skipped down the wooden steps. "Lovely."
"Well, hopefully you wouldn't have to spend much time here..." Clark was shifting a tarpaulin. "Mom keeps a few basic supplies, but so far I've only ever spent a night." He stood back, rather like a conjuror's assistant displaying a favourite trick. "Ta da!"
"I was very small." Hurt voice. Damn. Lex, remember to always admire other people's mode of transport. He tutted at his own gaucherie. "It's lovely, Clark." He moved closer. "Is this writing? Language from your planet?"
Ah, better. Clark smiled and began stroking the ship. He looked proud. "Yeah." Showing off his toy. Well, hopefully he had others slightly less inflexible. But only slightly.
"So, what else is different? You can run fast, see through walls, and have a spaceship that probably makes the Ferrari look like a slug, but what else?"
"You mean as in stuff I can do?"
Lex nodded. Smiled. Do. Oh, that was a nice word. Combined with 'me', it was one of his favourites. "Tall, handsome..."
"Cute. Stop blushing. And really up there with a few models I've seen. What else?"
"Lex! I'm just ordinary!"
"Yep, and I'm just about to be inaugurated as Pope Lex the first."
"Mmm." Maybe his blood supply was in danger. If he got any harder there was a distinct possibility his brain would just run out of blood altogether. Not that he needed his brain. Not right now. "I meant more... physically..."
"So, you make the other boys jealous in the shower?"
"Not that I notice."
There. He wouldn't notice. Clark Kent wouldn't notice a large building until it dropped on him, so he was unlike to catch a few stray glares while he was soaping and rinsing.
Lex collected himself. "Sure." He swallowed. "Clark? You ever kissed a guy?"
"No..." Clark shuffled slightly, head down. "I've kinda thought about it."
"Yeah?" Lex took a step closer. He kept his eyes on Clark's face. He didn't want to spoil the surprise by being too eager. "Who with?"
"Good. I've thought about kissing you a lot too." Another step. He hated preliminaries. "Clark?"
"You ever had a blow-job?"
"We can kiss too, if you want..."
The sound from Clark's throat was impossible to read. Lex took it as - get the fuck on with it why don't you, you teasing bastard. He dropped to his knees. The floor was damp. Oh well, rheumatism would be worth it.
Clark was open mouthed, staring down. "Lex..." Ah, he was drooling. Lex wiped his cheek. Licked his fingers.
"Don't worry. I'm really, really good at this."
God, he loved them young and inarticulate. If they were hung like a horse as well, so much the better. He half wondered if he should offer to marry Clark on the spot. A big wedding. Something to really piss off both their fathers. Mrs. Kent wouldn't mind. She could choose all the decorations, that'd make a change from shovelling manure, or whatever it was farmers' wives did to keep themselves occupied on an everyday basis.
A snap and the jeans were undone. The zip was a little harder due to the hardness beneath. Lex realised he was humming to himself. The 1812 overture. Damn, but his brain surprised him on occasion.
Oh yes, lovely farmboy jeans, peeling away. Boxers, oh, just how sweet was that. And there... he took a deep breath, thought he heard canon fire. Maybe a 21 gun salute...
Naked boy. Naked alien boy. Well, naked where it counted.
His jaw fell open reflexively.
Eyes wide in horror, he looked up. Tears catching on the stubs of his implanted lashes. Cheat!
"What's the matter? Lex?"
Lex sat back. Knew he was pouting. He hadn't felt this bad since Lionel had taken away his first dildo. And at least Lionel had made that up to him later.
Clark's cock was hard and weeping precum. It was pretty, flushed a pretty rose pink, the foreskin pulling back to show a lovely dark slit. But it was all very... Lex searched for a polite word... small.
Lex wondered if it would be rude to burst into tears.
He patted the nice, normal, five stiff inches. And jumped as spunk spattered over his shirt.
"Sorry..." Gasping breath. Clark groaning as he came. Quick and sudden, like a boy. A human boy. With a five inch cock.
Lex stood up. He wiped his shirt-front. The wet patches showed very dark on the lavender cotton. "Well, that was nice."
"Mmm. Thanks, Clark. I'd better be getting home. I think Mrs. Allinson is cooking a pot roast and she hates it when I'm late for dinner."
"It's three in the afternoon!"
"Is it? Oh." Lex blinked. Five inches. Fuck. He'd never be able to look him in the eye again. "Still, better to err on the safe side." He patted Clark's arm. "Pull up your pants, you'll catch cold."
"It's ninety degrees, Lex."
"Like I said, better to be safe..." He was up the steps and in the glare of the afternoon heat. Maybe Clark wouldn't be catching cold at that. Though it had been damp in the cellar. Damp and dismal. Why was life so unfair?
Lex trudged across the field. He turned once and waved half-heartedly at Clark, who was standing by the storm cellar, staring. He looked confused. Lex knew how he felt.
At least Enzo wasn't on vacation until the weekend. Enzo could help take the pain of disappointment away. Christobal too. Maybe he'd just line the male (Hispanic, illegal, hung) members of staff up and utilize their members. Sequentially.
Hell, he hadn't indulged in a gangfuck for at least a year.
It was that or go and tell Lionel. Daddy would know what to do. Even if he was only ten inches, boy did he know how to use them.
Lex perked up a little.
He swung open the Ferrari's door. Sat down. Sighed deeply. Life really was a complete slough of despond. Fuck.
He ignited the engine. Caressed the shift. Time to move on. No more mooning over farmboy aliens who promised more than they delivered. He could almost feel aggrieved.
It was all Clark's fault.
Really. It was.
There would be ways to make him pay. Revenge was sweet.
He picked up his cell. Thumbed speed-dial 1. Three rings. "Daddy?"
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