Kill Switch

by s.a.

Title: Kill Switch

Author: s.a.

Rating: NC17

Pairing: Clark/Lex

Disclaimer: If only they were mine. But they're not. They belong to Other People, who are Not Me. Suing isn't fun.

Spoilers: No specific episodes, but know what's going on.

Feedback: Please. email:

Distribution: My site, SSA, Level Three. Just ask.

Author's Notes: This was made because of The Green Chick. We decided one night that we wanted to pull a Te - that is, try and improv a story. We started, I finished, but I never could've done it without her. Also, the PPO babes. Because they are wonderful. It was written for the XTitle challenge.

Summary: Lex shouldn't have been this easy.

Lex didn't know why he thought this would stay sweet. Maybe it was the total lack of shadow in Clark's eyes. Or they way his eyelashes fluttered so ... beautifully.

Now here they were, and Lex was reminded, not for the first time in his career, that pretty doesn't have to mean innocent. He'd played that game himself. But he'd always given himself away. He could never manage to look as untouched as this boy did. As pure.

He was always tempted to ask Clark if he'd ever kissed someone before. Other than him. The question would come to mind after one heady look from his overcharged, sex-addled boy. He never did ask, though, because he wasn't sure he wanted an answer.

It was, of course, a helluva surprise to Lex when Clark began to stop by every single day, losing pretense by the second and crushing his mouth to Lex's own amazed one. The first time, he thought it would be an aberration. Clark, just off from school, poking his head into Lex's office and throwing his backpack on the couch before doing some sauntering thing that hadn't been there before Lex had his dick in said sauntering ass. Clark took Lex's cell from him as he was in the middle of a conversation with the French ambassador, hanging up on surprised squawks from Paris before closing off any protestations with a long, wet kiss.

The kiss soon turned into a slow, agonizing blowjob that sent Lex's eyes reeling into the back of his head, and the determination that he was never getting rid of this chair for as long as he lived. But he had to unglue himself from his seat eventually, if only because Clark was already speeding up to the bedroom, pausing at the landing to toss off a look that said, "well, are you coming or aren't you?"

After being blown to within an inch of his life, Lex wouldn't have expected to be ready for another round so soon, but once he saw Clark's heavy-lidded eyes looking back at him from the stairwell, he felt his cock hardening yet again. He followed the kid up the stairs, couldn't help himself really. Followed that pouty mouth and perfect body, because he just had to bury himself to the hilt in the beauty that was Clark Kent.

The next day, Lex was detailing reports from accounting when he heard the now-familiar thump of twenty pounds of books hitting his brown leather couch. The computer screen almost got knocked over as Clark pounced on him, sliding across the desk and grabbing his shirt, hauling lavender silk to him for another bruising, claiming kiss.

That was a look that led to much fucking. All night fucking. All night fucking that got Clark grounded for a week because they both fell into unconsciousness after the third time inside each other and neglected to wake up until ten the next morning.

And god, if Clark didn't make it easy for him, pushing him to sit on the bed before slowly stripping out of flannel and denim, Caterpillar work boots and the classic country boy BVDs. For one fleeting moment Lex wondered "How did he know I liked to watch?" - though that thought was soon swept away by another. searing. kiss. How did he know Lex liked to watch - but then, how did he know anything? How did he know how to kiss? How to fuck Lex's mouth with his tongue? How to trail down Lex's body, hungry mouth leaving a neat row of beautiful bites down the smooth chest, how to pause, teasing, and look up with a hint of a grin as he reached the waist of his trousers? How did Clark, young, innocent, untouched Clark, know so perfectly what to do with Lex's cock?

It baffled him, entranced him, made him want to fuck Clark so hard that he couldn't move from Lex's bed for a week. Somehow, somehow, Clark always bounced back. Always had the wind for another round. Somehow managed to make Lex's wilting cock become half-hard even with the merest pucker of his lips. Every time those pestering questions crossed his mind, Clark would shoo them away with his mouth, his hands, his teeth, and oh christ his cock. His beautiful, reddened cock that responded with such eager attention whenever Lex brushed his hand oh so slowly down its length. And there, Lex felt his control being regained from this innocent farm boy. Innocent? No, he corrected himself. Coy.

Clark was slowly becoming his undoing. Work was being scorned, conferences rescheduled - slowly his underlings, as he liked to call them, were being given more responsibility as Lex found it was now his duty to fuck Clark whenever he came within three feet of his eternally uncomfortable cock. A small part of his brain, the only bit that wasn't being flooded with pheromones at any given moment, was screaming at him to leave the fucktoy! That he had a corporation to run, businesses to conquer, lives to control. Most often that little voice was squashed into oblivion when he took Clark into his mouth.

Of course, most of the time Clark initiated their little study sessions. He'd skip school, or swing by after classes let out - Lex remembered hearing some faint excuse about the library, or Chloe, or something equally mundane that kept the Kents at bay.

When Lex found himself clearing his calendar every day after three, he started to get a hint that maybe he wasn't as in charge of this thing as much as he liked to think. And he noticed that Heather, the chef, would send up peanut butter and apples and other things that reeked of wholesome goodness shortly before the young Mr. Kent would come bouncing in. The servants all avoided the right wing of the castle, and his assistants always seemed in a rush to get things done before their lunch break. It was many weeks into this arrangement before Lex realized he had structured his entire life around Clark Kent.

He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that nagged at him. He couldn't imagine Clark having any previous lovers. But he never dared ask. And he hated that he even cared about whether Clark had been as virginal as he'd looked when they'd first started their affair. But even more than that, Lex hated the idea that there was anything he didn't dare ask.

There were secrets, he knew. He had his own fair share of skeletons, and through small inklings from Clark he knew that there were things being kept from him. It wouldn't bother him so much if he didn't keep this image of Clark, tied like a scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield, looking for all the world a martyr, tucked in the back of his brain. No amount of cocksucking on Clark's part could rip that veil of innocence that always filtered Clark in Lex's mind.

He'd tried to start the conversation once.

"Hey, Clark?"


Lex realized fairly quickly that if Clark's mouth was busy with his cock, it wasn't the best time to start a conversation. And now that he thought about it, Clark managed to distract him from all the questions he really wanted to ask. "When was the last time you were home, Clark?" was brushed off with a morning kiss - how the hell did he escape morning breath? - and an offer of breakfast in bed. "What about school, Clark?" was met with a waving hand as Clark engrossed himself in the video game where he was dying.

Lex really didn't mind fucking Clark into the ground every chance he got, but niggling thoughts of reality broke into his intoxicating Clark-haze. Like when Jonathan Kent was going to storm the castle with shotgun in hand. Or when Dominic would come from Metropolis to see what the hell was going on with the plant. Or the unwanted scrutiny he was sure to receive from his father after over a month of absence from the business world. Of course, none of these people understood the addiction that was fucking Clark Kent. But they were sure to disapprove of it, for many different reasons. Least of which was the fact that said Kent teenager was a teenager, and sodomy was very, very illegal in Kansas. He was really beginning to wonder what had become of his life at this point.

Somehow Clark knew when those thoughts crossed Lex's brain, because he'd pad over in loose sweatpants or another of the easy-to-get-out-of clothes he'd taken to leaving permanently in Lex's residence. Large, smooth hands would fiddle with a button on his shirt and very, very quickly Lex would forget the thoughts that were trying valiantly to worm their way to the surface of his sex-crazed mind.

Their relationship had lasted far longer than Lex had ever suspected - ever hoped, for that matter. But that odd longevity was tinged by the fact that the relationship consisted mainly of sex. Not that sex was bad. Especially not this sex. This sex was fucking awesome, and the part of Lex that had its permanent attention towards that very act rebelled at the non-sex-related thoughts that invaded the actual-sex-having time. It was just ... they never went out. Occasionally, they swept by the Talon, but they never stayed and talked there, like they used to. "People would ask too many questions," said Clark. "I don't want to deal with it," said Clark. "Let me go home and fuck you senseless," said Clark. And who was Lex to respond in any way but in kind? Sure, there were the jaunts to Metropolis. But they just went to some dark club and dance-fucked all night long until they collapsed in a boneless pile of sweat-soaked skin in the penthouse. No one saw them. No one recognized them - which was, in all seriousness, probably a good thing.

For the most part, they stayed home - the castle, which was really as much Clark's home now as it was ever Lex's. They stayed home. And fucked, of course. But - they stayed home. Some odd part of Lex was awakened - a part that demanded attention for the couple he and Clark were. The part that didn't understand why Clark would shut him up or distract him or lick his cock rather than sit down and figure out what the hell they were doing here. Because yeah. There was great fucking. Mind-blowing fucking. Cell-exploding, nuclear powered fucking.

Yet they had ... nothing.

The stuff of legends. Friends - forever. Best friends, at that. Where had that gone? The talking, the sneaking around, the thinly veiled innuendo kept just at the surface but shoved down far enough to keep their odd friendship alive. Apparently, being fucked by Clark Kent eliminated the option of friendship. Which normally Lex would be fine with. But why didn't he have a say? It was all Clark. Clark's wants, Clark's needs, Clark's distractions. Maybe an outside observer would say that Clark was the one who gave up everything to be with Lex - his home. His family. School. Friends. His life. But Lex knew that was so very untrue. Clark was just getting what he wanted all along. Relief from the weight of the world. His parents. School. Friends. Lex was the one who gave his life. His work. His goals. His castle, his servants, his cock was at the mercy, the beck and call of Clark Kent.

His cock, the cock he knew Clark owned, really felt like shutting up the whiny housewife that had taken up residence in Lex's brain. Most of the time, his cock won. But the whiny housewife would come back with a vengeance. Why didn't they talk anymore? Didn't he matter? Didn't his thoughts have any impact on the nature of this relationship? Lex had never been good in the role of second fiddle. He was the leader. The decision-maker, the person who controlled other's lives and above all, his own. Apparently, a good rimming by a pretty boy took all that power away.

It was the way just the tip traced every inch of skin on his ass. Nothing was missed. He was licked, coddled with that tongue, electrified, liquefied. His ass was putty in Clark's, well, mouth. He could have sworn he'd inhaled the entire ozone when Clark ohsogently pulled his cheeks apart and let that small, puckered hole just ... respond to the air. His breathing steadied somewhat over the seemingly endless time Clark just stared. Blowing on it. Hell, just looking at it seemed to get Clark off. And Lex off, as a result, though that effort was squelched once Clark realized that Lex's small rubbings against the comforter were vain attempts to hit his climax - and Clark reached down and shut things off. The intake of breath that followed wasn't really one of pleasure.

Of course, the breath was soon quelled by that tongue. The tongue that traced up and down the inner skin of his asscheeks and never seemed to go anywhere near the spot that was just begging for it. Lex probably would have thought Clark was just being a prick - if he could still pull off the coherent thought thing. Which he couldn't. When the tongue that was delivering such evil, wonderful torture finally slipped into that pulsing hole, it wasn't the gentle nudge Lex was expecting. It was hard, and fast, and constant. Lex would have gasped if any part of his brain was working at all. Instead, as Clark dipped in and out of his ass faster than a - oh, who the fuck cares, Lex just opened and shut his mouth with eyes rolled so far to the back of his head he later swore he could see his own brain.

Needless to say, Lex shuddered and came, and Clark not soon after that with a quickie handjob and a leery smirk Lex almost wanted to rub off his face.

Lex shouldn't have been this easy.

The cycle kept repeating itself - Lex would start wondering where their relationship was going, what happened to the real world, why his entire existence had shrunk to the right wing of the castle and Clark. Clark, in response to those thoughts, would suck Lex into oblivion, or fuck him into the ground, or guide Lex's ever-willing cock into his eternally tight ass. Days, weeks, months passed. Time somehow ceased to matter. And still Lex never changed a thing, never tried to get his life back. What had happened to him, that he had become kept, rather than the keeper? When had that innocent boy turned into a kinky prick that Lex couldn't help but submit to? Why the fuck was Lex the bottom in this twisted relationship?

All questions went unanswered. Lex slowly felt each bit of resistance slip away. Worries about business and family and life were all taken care of. Though really, looking at Lex's life, the castle, at Clark, what he had was comparable to anyone's paradise. Still, Lex sometimes felt this overwhelming claustrophobia that held his acquiescence in check. It was back and forth, so much so that Lex wondered if he wasn't going insane, if that pretty mouth hadn't killed off a few thousand of his brain cells that shattered Lex's well-honed control.

The day came so quickly. A year since he made his first move on Clark Kent. A year since that mouth had fastened to his with a fervor that overwhelmed him. A year since Lex's dick first made it's way into Clark's ass and a year since Clark felt a hand other than his own jerking him off. It called for a celebration, of sorts - the now-standard arsenal of edible sex toys, aphrodisiacs, and a brand-new dildo Lex had no clue how Clark had procured.

Lex was laid out, spread-eagled on the bed, watching the ceiling with studious disinterest as Clark spread chocolate syrup over his body. The nosing questions returned, of course, and Lex was retracing the now-familiar queries and their equally familiar non-answers in his mind when he noticed that Clark had stopped licking his chest. Instead he was looking at Lex with a darkened curiosity that was almost more sexy than Clark in drag.

Lex propped himself up on his elbows. "Yes?" he asked.

"Why don't you leave, if you're not happy here?"

Lex paused; this was certainly unexpected. Of course, Clark was nothing if not unexpected. The uncertainty was what kept the convoluted relationship going. "Why would I leave? It's my own castle." Another pause. "Though it really seems as much yours as it is mine now."

Clark cocked his head, that damned tongue peeking out to wet dark brown lips. "Does that bother you? That I'm here, in your life, your home?"

Lex let his eyes close for a moment. Of course they had to talk about this now. "Why would it?"

"You're avoiding this. Do you want me to go back to the chocolate sauce now?"

The normally beat down part of Lex's brain began to shout at him - he was going to lose this opportunity if he didn't stop fucking around. "Why are you here, Clark? I don't understand."

He could almost see the little mouse on the wire wheel in Clark's brain speed up. There was a deadened silence where Lex could only look on expectantly, waiting for an answer. "I'm here because ... because I can't get enough of you. I need you - my body needs you. You're ... mine."

Lex sucked in a breath.

"I love you, Lex."

There was the pause again. Only it was his turn to speak.

He picked himself off the bed, shrugging into a shirt and pulling on the previously discarded boxers. He walked to the door of his bedroom, not looking back at Clark, who just ... sat there.

"I'm not yours."

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