Title: Lazarus Kiss (1/1)
Disclaimer: If they were mine, we'd be off in Jamaica doing body shots.
Archive: Ya, mon.
Summary: Nights like these were made for dangerous games.
Notes: We be jammin' on homework for Rasta Andy's School of Smut.
Warning: Don't try this at home, kids.
Almost midnight, and still eighty degrees, listless currents stirred in air so humid it hung with physical presence. Veins of heat lightning pulsed in an inky sky, charged with a storm that refused to come. This kind of restless night would've been considered sultry in New Orleans; in Smallville, it was just hot. Hotter still inside Lex's bedroom, the windows thrown open to court the optimistic hope of a Kansas breeze.
Sprawled back in a field of pale blue sheets, Lex shimmered in the scant light, his skin bathed in sweat- his, Clark's. Sexual humidity, made by long, deep strokes that pinned Lex beneath the gothic arch of Clark's body, sweetened the heat between them. Hands spanned on those narrow hips, Lex murmured soft nothing sounds, tongue flicking lazily to rasp against the broad hand cradling his face. Beautiful Clark, his beautiful Clark, dark brows knit in distant concentration and moving so slow, moving inside him, drunk on the steady cadence of a languid summer fuck.
Lex ached. His body, his flesh, ached, surrendered to a hard cock that fit and filled him as if made just for him, just to feed his base, bare hunger for all things corrupted and incorruptible. On nights like these, when nature sank down to silence, this, Clark, was all he needed. All he would ever need, to be caged by a frame of strong arms and suffering the ecstasies of a lover who'd never known anyone but him. Trailing a hand up to curve against Clark's, he shaped his fingers to draw one between his lips, sucking it in time to the same endless rhythm stroking into him. -His- beautiful Clark, who'd reshaped him with his own breath.
Breath Lex could feel falling in uneven flutters on his throat, venerating his name with a mouth that lied by daylight, but not in the dark. Not buried in him, not when he tasted of semen and sweat. Not when Lex pressed a formless kiss to the tips of Clark's fingers before wrapping them around his own throat. Thumb filling the depression beneath his Adam's apple, fingertips curling against the nape of his neck, twitching with hesitation before tightening. Tentative at first, and Lex melted into the sheets, licking the part of his lips to whisper, "Don't stop."
Already hard, Lex's cock throbbed between them when Clark's grip tightened again. Their pulses mingled, erratic beats that thinned with Lex's breath. Midnight came, the hour tolled by a distant grandfather clock, pealing the lifting of the veil. Such strong fingers, steady and surecontrolled, belying the way Clark drove into him harder, the headboard starting to thrum in glancing blows against the wall. Stealing Lex's voice by increments of pressure, slight gradations of tension, Clark lifted his head, eyes wide open, mouth moving in a ghost of a kiss.
Lex returned it, scarred, pre-Raphaelite lips brushing at air he couldn't taste anymore. Jesus, he was alive, locked in Clark's gaze and swallowing hard against his hand. Blood pounded in his ears, screaming a desperate beat, and he ached again- in his chest, lungs burning hot and cold in the fight for a breath he couldn't take. Exquisite agony, the ecstasy of Saint Lex, he could shape words to be read even as his own eyes grew dark, scrubbing away the image of Clark coiling in tension above him. "Please don't stop. Not yet."
Lifted on black fire, seeing nothing but nothing, Lex stretched out, feet arched to points, back bowed to breaking. Everything burned, everything ached, and he swum in a void of electric stars, far above the earth, split again and again on Clark's urgent thrusts. Lightning struck, spasming a shock of sensation, unbearable. Body tearing, shattering, falling away, falling to pieces: disintegration, the beginning, the end. Sticky heat spilled on his skin, and into it, Clark plunging into him on a shuddered, pleading cry.
And then his mouth, warm and sweet, swollen with casual, sensual abuse- sealing to Lex's, sinking down to feed him another Lazarus kiss. Slow velvet, long tastes skimming past his teeth to swirl over his tongue; letting his hand slip away to leave a cooling imprint on Lex's throat. Clark whispered between gliding kisses, still coaxing him back to Kansas in summer, to four stone walls thick with the scent of their sex, to his arms. Home. "'Love you, Lex."
Oh God, and in the dark, it was the truth.
Also, why not join Level Three, the Smallville all-fic list?