Space Oddity

by FayJay

For the Pornotopia challenge - thus the makeup & leather. Thanks to S.A. for Beta, to the PPO & all the lovely folks who read it whilst it was being written.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Empty calorie slash (with a dash of Chloe). Originally intended for the Pornotopia Challenge, thus it features Clark in Lipstick & Lex in leather. In the barn, no less. Captain Originality is not steering this particular tugboat.

DISCLAIMER: Sadly the denizens of Smallville belong to a whole host of people who are not even slightly me - DC comics, the WB etc. Don't sue.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks to S.A. for Beta work. Dedicated to the PPO crowd, and to Peggy & Hope & Kitty & co for their encouragement.

FEEDBACK: Pope. Shit. Woods.

Clark was trying to take his punishment like a man, but it was kind of difficult to be macho with all this cream on his face. And he was starting to find it really, really difficult to pretend that Chloe wasn't standing between his legs with her, her - well, her breasts (and his pants felt tighter just thinking the word) practically shoved in his face.

"Chloe, do I really have to - ?" he began without very much hope, shifting around in his perch on the arm of the couch. If she realised that he was getting a little inappropriately excited here, Clark was going to have to commit ritual suicide. Although he wasn't entirely clear on how he would manage it - maybe try sucking on a meteor rock, or something like that. Although sucking was probably not a helpful verb right now.

"Clark! Ssh! Which part of 'keep still' is it that you didn't understand? You'll ruin everything if you keep moving like this." Familiar Chloe-voice, all impatience and efficiency; and the look on her face was the kind of earnest concentration he was used to seeing when she was searching for a perfect headline. Professional. Dispassionate. But he couldn't help noticing that she was breathing kind of faster than normal. Not panting, exactly, but certainly breathing faster than normal. And he didn't think that the blush staining her cheeks had been painted on. "Nearly finished with the moisturiser," she assured him.

Really, it wasn't his fault. He was a teenage boy, after all; and although he didn't normally think about Chloe like this, he also didn't normally have Chloe standing between his parted thighs wearing a tight little top with (he was pretty sure about this, although he hadn't actually done the X ray vision thing) no bra underneath it, while she smoothed this cool creamy stuff slowly over his face. He didn't see why Chloe couldn't have let him put the moisturiser on himself, because, really, how difficult could it be? But she'd been pretty insistent; and after the first rush of embarrassment he realised that the pressure of her fingertips smearing the unscented lotion across the planes of his face was something he could learn to like. A lot. He was surprised it took so long to get it right, though; Clark would have expected the stuff to be rubbed in thoroughly by now, but Chloe kept right on stroking his cheeks and chin and running her hands over his temples and throat. It was incredibly intimate, but Clark reminded himself that this was only like having somebody wash your hair at the barber shop. It didn't mean anything.

He was really pretty certain about there not being any bra. Um. This was probably a good time to start thinking about Neitzche. Or - or something unsexy, anyway. Damn. Cold water. The Pope. Principal Kwan.

"Right," Chloe said, and he realised he was staring at her chest again. Oops. Eyes, Clark, look at her eyes. "I'm just going to put on a little bit of foundation, okay?" He nodded. It wasn't exactly okay, of course; having Chloe make him up like something from the 1970s was hardly at the top of his list of fun things to do on a school night, but he did owe her. He'd ruined her project and the deadline was 9am, so there was no way he could wriggle out of doing the decent thing. And besides, he was trying really hard to be nice to Chloe lately, because he knew that she wanted him to ask her to the prom; and she knew that he knew; and he knew that she knew that he knew; and boy, thinking about this was making him dizzy - but Clark still hadn't asked her. But he did at least have the grace to feel kind of guilty about it, especially when she'd stopped even dropping any more hints and just started looking kind of sad.

Clark watched Chloe squeeze gloopey pink stuff onto a spongey thing and tried not to flinch as it swooped towards his face. It wasn't so different from having your face painted at Halloween, he told himself desperately. Other than the breasts.

So, Principal Kwan. Right.

Chloe swept the sponge over his skin in quick strokes, scanning his face critically. When she ducked down to get some new stuff from her little bag he got a sudden flash of cleavage that really didn't do his self-control any good at all. Damn.

Somewhere along the line Chloe had turned into a girl, and Clark was having definite problems getting his head around this notion. His penis, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly on board with the idea and all kinds of happy about it.

And right now Chloe was kneeling down between his legs. He stared at the ridiculously flippy mass of blonde hair bobbing around inches from his crotch as she fumbled around in the bag, and scrabbled for unsexy thoughts. How ever does she get her hair like that, Clark asked himself, clutching at straws. Flashing on "There's Something About Mary", however, was really not helping with easing the pressure in his pants. Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Here, Clark, would you hold these?" He very nearly fell over backwards when she reached up without looking and balanced a couple of shiny containers on his taut thigh. Incredible strength notwithstanding, Clark had never yet actually ripped through any fabric with force of his erection. There was always a first time for everything, though; and Chloe's fingers brushing him right there was dangerously close to being reason enough.

Fingers. Right there.

Principal Kwan. Think about Principal Kwan. The Pope. Cold water. Although cold water just reminded him of pulling Lex out of the river that day and that really wasn't helping to reduce his arousal one little bit. He shivered.


"Close your eyes, Clark," said Chloe briskly as she rose to her feet once more, brandishing what looked like the world's biggest paint brush. She pushed his legs further apart and reached down for the silvery compact that he was trying not to crush into his thigh. "Clark? You can let go of this now. It works better if I can actually open it, you know?" Oh, God. He really was the world's biggest idiot; and - please God - was it somehow possible that she hadn't noticed? Because right now he felt like people in other countries must be aware of the bulge in his pants. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so embarrassed. Chloe's body was less than an inch away from his. He could smell her light perfume and feel the warmth of her body; and if she leaned forward just the tiniest bit further, then her breasts (he was quite sure about the lack of bra) would be brushing against his T shirt. This was like some elaborate type of torture. Some really good elaborate type of torture that was going to be featuring in his jacking off fantasies for the foreseeable future. Although there would be less clothing and more touching and - and these were not helpful thoughts to be having. No sir.

He closed his eyes and felt the ticklish sensation of the fat brush slithering over his skin. It was way softer than he'd expected - like being stroked with feathers. Long, lingering strokes that caressed the planes of his face and made him shiver. And girls did this every day? He'd had no idea it was so - well, so sexy. (He hadn't really just had that thought. No way had he just had that thought.) The brush swirled playfully over his throat, his chin, his lips - and suddenly he found himself sneezing from a noseful of powder and rocking forward across that little innocent inch of air so that for an instant he brushed up against Chloe and every single nerve ending lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree.

Clark's eyes snapped open and he glanced to one side in horror before darting a mortified look up at Chloe. Surely she couldn't have helped noticing that? Her eyes met his for the briefest moment and then slid away quickly, and he was pretty darned sure that she was blushing now.

"Hold this." He took the brush and the compact automatically in one large hand. Okay, so either she hadn't noticed or she was just going to pretend it hadn't happened. Like the not-asking-her-to-the-prom thing. Which was cool. Denial was a good thing. Clark liked denial. "Now, look down. I'm going to draw on your eyes, so don't jump when you feel the pencil, okay? It won't hurt."

Looking down, unfortunately, pretty much meant looking at Chloe's breasts. Which was not such a bad thing, now that he came to think of it; how often was a guy actually told to look at somebody's breasts? But on the other hand it really wasn't doing his self control any good at all. Really, if he'd had any suspicion that accidentally crushing that floppy disk would result in being pinned to the sofa in his Fortress of Solitude and covered in makeup for Chloe's dumb project, he would have been a heck of a lot more careful.

"I still don't see what this has to do with Shakespeare," he said. And he realised immediately that he sounded like a whiney kid; but he was just trying very hard to think of things that weren't sexy, and dead old English guys were pretty high on the list. He felt the pencil dragging the soft skin of his eyelids and it was a strange sensation, but not at all unpleasant. Weirdly sexy, in fact. God, he was finding everything sexy right now. If Principal Kwan walked in Clark would probably think he was the most erotic thing since - hello, Clark? Actively thinking of sexy things to measure sexiness against was not a good idea either.

He tried to banish the image of Lex and that damned water bottle, but without much success.

"Gender ambiguity, Clark," said Chloe cheerfully, although his ears did pick up a slight tremble in her voice that wasn't usually there. "And it's not just Shakespeare; I'm taking it from Shakespeare's sonnets through to the present day, citing Kurt Cobain and Brandon Teena. Did you know that 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day' was actually written to another guy? And in England they've just found a painting of Shakespeare's patron, the Earl of Southampton, wearing makeup and a dress."

"Mmph?" Somehow this wasn't helping to quell his erection at all. Neither was the scratchy pressure of the pencil on his other eyelid. "And all this leads to me in makeup because...?"

"Because I'm feeling mean. Come on, Clark. You said you'd help. Look up at me now." He glanced up suspiciously, wondering how damned silly he was looking by this point. "God, Clark. You have the most amazing eyelashes - that's so unfair. Mine are hardly visible at all without mascara and yours are just - that's so unfair. Really. You hardly need mascara. Hang on."

She ducked down to rummage in her bag once more and Clark stared desperately up at the roof of the barn. Astronomy. He could think about astronomy. What could be less sexy than astronomy? All that cold, empty space. Right. Good.

Chloe bounced back to her feet, brandishing another little jar and a different brush.

"Close your eyes, Clark. I should have done this before, I think. Um. Anyway, close your eyes and let me put this on them." He could do that. His eyebrows arched nervously as she smeared another substance over his shuttered lids and he tried to will his erection into receding without any notable success. Astronomy. Telescopes. Long, hard telescopes pointing straight up at - no, this really wasn't helping. "Okay, look at me again." He looked at Chloe and tried really very hard not to notice that her nipples were kind of sticking out now. "Jeez, Clark. You look like Theda Bara," she said with a breathless little catch in her voice.

"Is that good? Who's he? Are you laughing? Chloe, you promised you wouldn't laugh. I only agreed to help you if you swore on your life not to laugh."

"I'm not laughing," she protested, grinning at him with an odd glint in her eyes. "Don't pout. And yeah, that's good. You're - quite the vamp, Clark." He sat up straighter, wondering whether it was bad to feel smug about that. A vamp. Heh.

"Are we finished yet?"

"Not quite. Mascara, then lipstick, then photos, then you can go and wash your face and I can go and spend the rest of the night trying to remember exactly what I wrote before someone who shall remain nameless broke my freaking disk. And I still don't understand how you managed to do that, Clark."

"Mascara? Is that this one?" he said hurriedly, passing her a stick of black stuff. Preternatural strength was really not something he wanted to discuss with Chloe any time soon.

"Yeah. Getting into it now, are you?" She was grinning that irrepressible Chloe grin and Clark couldn't help grinning back, although he suspected that he should be denying that the makeup thing was anything other than a pain in the ass.

"Just trying to help you out, Chloe."

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Don't worry, I won't tell Pete. Your secret's safe with me, buster."

It didn't take Chloe long to apply the mascara and Clark found it reassuringly unsexy to have the little wand pulling at his eyelashes. The lipstick, however, was another matter. He'd been expecting an actual stick, like the ones him mom used. Instead Chloe produced a little pot of red stuff and for some reason she couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"I managed to lose the brush somewhere between my house and the barn," she said with exaggerated casualness, "so I'm going to have to use my finger, okay? So - so you'd really better stay still, Clark. I'll kill you if you make me smudge it." She was breathing kind of hard by now, and her jeans occasionally brushed against his crotch, which was driving Clark absolutely insane. But nothing had prepared him for the sensation of her slicked fingertip rubbing his mouth, and he made a small, strangled noise as she stroked his full bottom lip. "Pull your mouth wide, Clark, like this," she said, her voice wavering. Chloe opened her mouth to demonstrate, stretching her lips tightly over her teeth, and Clark looked at her tongue all wet and trembling inside her mouth and all he could think about was how easy it would be to lean forward a few inches to kiss her. And that kiss could lead to his hand inside her top, and maybe (he couldn't believe he was even thinking this, but the image just wouldn't go away now that it had lodged in his brain) just maybe Chloe's mouth wrapped around his cock.

Yeah. Right. In his dreams.

Although these days his dreams more often featured Lex Luthor, which was something he blamed on those damned water bottles. And on the feel of Lex's mouth under him on the riverbank. And - and none of this was helping to quell his erection in the slightest; but he was glad Lex had decided to stay in Smallville.

He pulled his lips back the way she'd showed him and was rewarded by Chloe's reddened finger spreading more of the bright gloss over his lips. And this was quite possibly the sexiest thing that he'd ever had done to him by another human being in his life. Sexier, somehow, than even Lana's kiss had been. Chloe's eyes were a little glazed as she stroked his mouth and this was also taking longer than he'd have expected it to, but that was just fine by Clark. His eyelids drooped slowly down and he gave himself up to the sensation, and hoped desperately that he wasn't going to actually come in his pants. Didn't dare move, because anything like rubbing against his erection was going to make the whole coming-in-his-pants thing entirely too possible.

With his eyes closed, of course, there wasn't the distraction of Chloe's lack of bra. On the other hand, with his eyes closed this languorous touch could be anybody's. Could be Lana, or - oh God - could even be Lex. Jesus. His eyes snapped open in pure embarrassment when an involuntary moan left his mouth, and he found Chloe looking quite as distracted as he was himself. She pulled her hand away as if burnt.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing crimson, which was very un-Chloe-like. While Clark was trying to figure out what she was apologising for, Chloe ducked down to stuff the pots and brushes into her bag and stood up with her camera in hand.

"I - I really like that white T-shirt, Clark," she said breathlessly. "You should wear it more often."

"Mom bought it for me before the growth spurt," he explained, grateful for anything to take his mind off the raging hard-on that he was trying ineffectually to disguise. "It's kinda tight, but you said a white T-shirt and the other one was in the wash, and it does just about fit, so I figured it might be okay." Chloe made a muffled sound that was something like a laugh, but not quite.

"Yes," she agreed unsteadily. "It is quite tight. Um. Could you look into the camera? That's great."

Clark folded his hands over his erection as nonchalantly as he could manage and tried not to shudder too visibly at the contact while Chloe took photographs. Quite a lot of photographs, in fact.

"Chloe? You - you aren't thinking of using these to blackmail me for the rest of my life by any chance, are you?" he asked belatedly.

"Clark! Don't you trust me?" Which was an ambiguous reply.

"Um. Yes?"

"Good. Well, that's - um. That's great. Thanks." She looked at him like she wanted to say something else, but didn't. Clark had a feeling that something else needed to be said, or maybe done, but he couldn't think quite what it was. Because Chloe was being really good about not teasing him for his obvious erection (which she had to have noticed by now) and this was just all kinds of embarrassing. Hot, but embarrassing. Clark wished that he knew whether Chloe liked him. Probably not. But - maybe. Oh, God. Why wasn't he better at this? What would Pete do in this situation? Not that he could imagine Pete letting Chloe cover him in makeup - although, Christ, now he could. And it was actually kind of hot. Argh.

"Well, I'd better be going," Chloe said at last, looking vaguely disappointed.

"Yeah, that project won't rewrite itself."

"No," she agreed reluctantly. "Well, um. See you at school, I guess. And thanks again."

"No problem. Sorry about the disk."

And then Chloe was walking away with her bag and her camera, and Clark had this feeling that he'd messed something up; but he was very, very glad to have the place to himself, so he could lie back on the couch and unzip his jeans and let his cock finally come out to play in the happy knowledge that his Mom and Dad wouldn't be back from the Jacksons' for another hour or two.

Head right back and eyes closed and spine arched, one long leg stretching down to the floor and the other hanging over the end of the couch. Clark wriggled the jeans down over his hips and managed not to tear them in his haste (because clothes were expensive and money didn't grow on trees), and finally he let his erection nod up and out into the cool night air. Didn't actually touch it for a moment, because now that he finally could it was okay to drag things out that tiny bit more. He rested his palm flat on his belly until it became unbearable and then he wrapped long fingers around the heated flesh and pulled back his foreskin. Wetness was pulsing out of his cock and Clark needed to jack off right now or he might just die; and Chloe hadn't been wearing a bra; and he was wearing makeup, like, like he didn't know what - like some kind of pervert, or, or not a pervert, like David Bowie or those guys in that film Chloe had liked so much, "Velvet Something-or-other"; and actually they'd been pretty hot. Ewan MacGregor and some other guy. He ran his thumb around the leaking slit and rubbed some of the wetness down over his shaft, groaning softly. He'd fantasized about the guys in that film for weeks afterwards, and now the image of one of them, or both of them, or, or both of them and Chloe all licking his cock was - oh Christ.

This was the thing Clark didn't normally let himself think about in the daylight, when it was real, but it was nearly dark now, so that made it okay, didn't it? Okay to think about - men. Hard smooth torsos and arms and asses and mouths and cocks. His hand moved more quickly, buttocks clenching and unclenching and thighs rigid; everything concentrated on the tight, swollen pressure of his erection as he fucked his fist and thought about disembodied breasts and mouths and asses and hands and cocks. And Lex. Christ, Lex. It was always Lex, eventually. Naked. Lex naked and crouched between his thighs, licking his hipbones and his navel and then closing his mouth around the end of Clark's cock, and -

And there was somebody else in the barn.

Shit. Shit. What was the point of having superhuman hearing if your brain decided to just ignore it in favour of concentrating on jerk-off fantasies? Shit.

Clark opened his eyes very slowly, trying to figure who would be the least mortifying person to be caught by. Not Mom. Please God, not Mom. Or Chloe. Or -

Lex. Wearing an darkly iridescent top and black leather pants, for all the world like he'd stepped straight out of another of Clark's favourite jerk-off fantasies. Lex looking more than slightly stunned, with his blue eyes wide and his lips parted in a way that made Clark's cock jump. Lex, for once, totally speechless.

This would be an absolutely perfect moment for a meteorite to crash into the barn and kill them both. Shit. He was still clinging on to his erection like an idiot, as if it might just fall off without the protection of his fingers, and Lex was staring at it with the damnedest expression on his face - which did absolutely nothing to make it any softer. Damn. Superhuman speed was so not going to help him right now, not when he'd been well and truly seen. Clark moved at last, his whole body one horrified blush, and tucked himself back into his dishevelled clothing with some difficulty before swinging his feet back to the floor. He sat very stiffly on the far end of the couch, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him, or that he'd instantaneously develop the power of invisibility or teleportation. Could happen. Lex was openly staring at his hastily covered crotch, and that was both excruciatingly embarrassing and weirdly hot simultaneously. He darted a glance at Lex and saw an unreadable smile beginning to curve the very mouth that he'd been imagining so vividly only seconds ago.

"I - uh," said Clark intelligently. He tried again. "Uh. I didn't hear you come in. Um." Was Lex laughing at him?

"No. No, I rather got that impression," agreed Lex with the same catch in his voice that Chloe had had earlier - and really, short of some guy appearing with a camcorder and telling him he was going to be on America's Funniest Home Videos, Clark didn't think this could get much worse. He was squirming. And he was still hard as steel. And why was Lex still here?

"That was just - I was, um." Clark scrabbled for an explanation, but there was really, really no possible alternative to 'I was jerking off', so he said nothing. At least Lex didn't know what he'd been thinking of at the time.

"Yes. Yes, I rather got that impression too." And he was laughing. Damn. "I'll tell you a secret, Clark," said Lex with amusement, in a low-pitched voice that Clark hadn't heard before. "Everybody does it. Everybody. There's nothing to be ashamed about. Although perhaps you might want to stick to masturbating in places with lockable doors in the future, if you don't want to be caught - ah - in flagrante."

"I - um. Right," said Clark, staring at his shoes in pure humiliation. Lex was moving towards him very carefully, as if he were afraid that Clark might be easily startled into running away. Like the cautious way his dad approached a fractious beast in the field.

"Clark, you really are wearing makeup, aren't you?" Lex sounded almost dreamy as he drew closer to the couch. Clark had actually forgotten about the makeup in all the embarrassment of being caught with his pants down. Turned out there were extra layers of embarrassment that he'd managed to overlook.

"I - um. Yes. Yes. It was Chloe."

Lex sat on the couch very gently, and although they had been far closer than this before, it had never been at a moment when Lex had just seen his cock.

Lex had just seen his cock.

Clark closed his eyes and dragged in a lungful of air with a sudden hiss. He had a feeling that his erection might just be a permanent fixture from now on. And Lex was right there, within touching distance, wearing black leather pants that clung to his legs like something obscene and creaked faintly as he moved.

"It looks good on you," said Lex, and it took Clark a moment to realise he was referring to the make-up. "Really very - good. Jesus, Clark, you're just full of surprises, aren't you? Did you know that Achilles disguised himself as a girl when he was around your age? I always wondered how that must have looked." And he sounded - what? Amused, yes, but not unkindly so. Like he was laughing at himself instead of at Clark, but there was more to it than that. Clark shivered and before he could stop himself he asked:

"Do you?" Shit. He stared at his kneecaps as though they had the secrets of the universe inscribed upon them. This conversation was possible just so long as he didn't actually have to look at Lex. Who was wearing leather. Who should have to wear leather every day for the rest of his life, if Clark had any say in the matter.

"Do I what? Do I look good in make-up?" Lex sounded even more amused. And something else too, something that wasn't about amusement at all. Was Lex flirting? Clark drew in a deep breath.

"No. No. Do you - that." If he could do it, he could say it. "Jerk off." Ridiculously, uttering the words out loud actually made his cheeks burn even more. He felt so - dirty. God.

"Oh." There was an odd note in Lex's voice. "Yes. Yes, Clark, of course I do. Everyone does." And now he was back to sounding controlled and amused and older brotherish; but for a moment there Clark was sure that Lex hadn't been feeling brotherly at all.

"What do you think about?" asked Clark, astonished at his own daring.

"That's rather a personal question, Clark."

"I know." He probably fantasized about Victoria. But what if Lex was flirting? Clark often wondered about this, but generally dismissed it; because of Victoria, and because what on earth would Lex see in a geeky kid like him? But what if Lex wanted - oh, God. And there wouldn't be another opportunity like this, because everything was weird and the rules were different right now; because Lex had just seen his cock. "But this is kind of a personal moment, Lex. I mean, you saw me - you know." And his voice cracked with the sheer embarrassment of it all. "Like that." Someone without superhuman hearing would probably have missed the tiny hitch in Lex's breathing. But Clark heard it. And that was - God, that was unbelievably hot. "So. What do you think about? When you - you know. When you. Touch. Yourself." There was a pregnant pause, and Clark could hear how quickly Lex's heart was beating. Because of him.

"I - I think I should probably be going now, before you make me say something we'll both regret," Lex said very carefully. "I'm on my way to a party, where everyone will be safely over the age of consent and where I plan on doing more than just fantasizing about sex; and it's several hours' drive away, so really I shouldn't be wasting any more time." That stung. But 'safely over the age of consent' suggested that he was thinking about - oh. OH. "I just dropped in to say 'Hi'. See how you were getting by without Ryan. But I can see you're, ah, handling - it - very well." The dry inflection was not lost on Clark. It made him shiver.

And Lex was getting to his feet with a decisive creak of leather; and the thought of all that leather wrapped around Lex's skin was doing weird things to Clark's insides, and his cock felt even harder than it had done before and he had to stop playing safe some time and actually do something before Lex just walked away and he'd missed his chance, the way he always managed to miss his chance; and he was absolutely terrified of screwing this up, but if he didn't ask then he wouldn't know and Lex was going to leave now if he didn't say something and it was Lex and so -

"I was thinking about you," said Clark, still staring fixedly at his own knees. And heard Lex freeze.

Oh. My. God.

Had he really just said that? Out loud? Shit. Shitshitshitshit. Clark held his breath and heard Lex sink slowly back down onto the couch.

"You were thinking about - well." Clark risked another glance at Lex, who at least wasn't running away, and the expression on Lex's face took his breath away. Wow. Wow. And he'd been trying very hard not to look at Lex's crotch, but he couldn't help it, and the black leather wasn't exactly good at concealing the fact that Lex was all kinds of happy to see him right now. "Really just full of surprises," repeated Lex. He seemed to be having some difficulty breathing and he looked oddly defenceless; and it struck Clark that Lex really wasn't all that old himself.

Seize the day. Right. Or seize - well, seize something.

And, astonishingly, it turned out to be the easiest thing in the world to close one large hand over Lex's leather-wrapped thigh and just lean in and kiss him. At first Lex didn't move at all and didn't make any attempt to kiss back; and Clark felt a tidal wave of fresh humiliation rushing towards him at having so completely misjudged the situation. Before he could start to pull away and look into meteor-rock-assisted ways of committing ritual suicide, however, Lex's mouth opened under him and swallowed him whole, teeth tapping against his teeth and tongue tangling around his tongue; and Lex's fingers locked in his hair and pulled him closer; and Lex was squirming under him like the best thing ever. Bump of nose against nose and this wasn't anything like kissing Lana or Chloe or any of the other meteor-prompted kisses he'd experienced to date. This was something else altogether. Molten. Fierce. Possessive. Lex.

Lex tasted like coffee and something else less familiar; and there was nothing soft or sweet about his mouth. Shit, Clark hoped he was doing this right. He hadn't quite figured out what qualified as being a good kisser but - oh. Wow. It seemed like Lex had had enough practice for both of them; and it turned out that the nerve endings inside Clark's mouth and on his tongue were directly wired up to the ones in his cock, because every suck and lick and bite was making him harder and wetter and - wow. He'd had no idea that kisses could be so dirty. That was really the only word. Dirty. In a really, really good way.

Clark already knew the contours of Lex's body through clothes nearly as well as he knew his own, but this time there was no life-saving going on. This time he was touching Lex simply because he was touching Lex; and Lex's hands were everywhere, sliding over skin and slipping under the tight white T shirt to scratch and pinch and twist in ways that Clark hadn't known to dream about. Clark had to keep reminding himself to be gentle, be gentle, be gentle, because if he really let go right now he was liable to break Lex in two. A quick scramble of leather-clad limbs and skin against skin and then they were horizontal, with legs tangled awkwardly, and Clark could feel Lex's erection through the leather and the denim. Lex was shaking against him and realised, after a befuddled moment, that it was at least partly with laughter.

"Do you have any - idea - how long I've been - wanting to do this?" Lex asked between kisses. "Jesus, Clark. Where did you get this T shirt? You look like - fuck, yes. Do that again."

The lipstick was all over Lex's mouth now, and smudges of red stained his cheekbone and the tip of his nose. Clark found this evidence of his own kisses almost unbearably arousing. He couldn't believe how easy this was. "How long?"

Lex laughed against him and squeezed the bulging denim. "Christ, Clark. Always. Always. Now shut up and kiss me again, before I remember what a very, very bad idea this is."


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