There Are Four Lights

by jacquez h. valentine

For Basingstoke, who asked for Clark/Chloe, Lex/manservant, Lionel/Victoria, and Pete.

There Are Four Lights

I. Shiver.

Clark had kissed girls before. He'd kissed Chloe before, or she'd kissed him, but that was different.

That wasn't over at her house while her dad was out of town and his parents thought they were watching a movie. That wasn't in the flickering light of the TV, with her shirt riding up a little so his hands touched the skin just under her ribs, and her knee slipped between his.

She was wearing a kilt, and that left only her panties and his jeans between her and him. He could feel the curve of her butt against his leg, and that her - he couldn't think of a word for it that wasn't crude or clinical, but whatever - her crotch was damp in a way that made him want to slide his hand down and under the kilt, but he wasn't sure she'd let him.

Instead he pulled her closer against him, and she whimpered and her nipples poked him in the collarbone. He traced her shoulder with one hand - no bra strap. She was wearing just the shirt.

He wondered if she'd let him unbutton it, let him trace her nipples with his fingers. Maybe kiss them.

She whimpered again, and pressed against his hard-on. He decided to risk a bit - ran his hand up, over the smooth skin of her ribcage, brushed his hand against her breast.

She shivered and gasped, and he smiled against her mouth and shivered back.

This. Ruled.

II. My Man Godfrey.

Godfrey found Mr. Luthor asleep on the floor of the library. He roused him gently. "Come," he said, "do you wish me to help you to bed?"

Mr. Luthor smiled sleepily and draped his arm over Godfrey's shoulders. He breathed warmly on his neck, soft whiskey-scented puffs of air. "Godfrey," he said, "have you ever - no, nevermind."

"As you wish," Godfrey said, and Mr. Luthor pressed against him as they climbed the stairs.

In the bedroom, Godfrey tried to take off Mr. Luthor's shoes, to get him settled in bed. He was too tired, or too drunk, to do it himself - but suddenly the arm around his shoulders tightened, and Mr. Luthor was holding him close, chest to chest, knee to knee. "Godfrey," he said, "if I wasn't Lex Luthor, would you fuck me?"

Mr. Luthor had a peculiar sense of humor sometimes. "If you were not my employer," Godfrey answered, because if there was one thing Mr. Luthor had no humor about, it was falsehood, "yes."

"If I wasn't Lex and wasn't your employer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can't you pretend?" Mr. Luthor's tone was wistful, and he was very near, and his eyes very intense. "You can call me Al, if you want."

Godfrey laughed, and that felt good, with Mr. Luthor's arms around him, almost like an embrace. "Am I your bodyguard?"

Mr. Luthor smiled back. "Manservant. But this isn't--this is Godfrey the man, not my manservant Godfrey." He looked suddenly worried.

Godfrey leaned forward and kissed him. "I can pretend," he said, and then, because he had to, he said, "But I will call you Lex."

And Lex laughed, and pulled his shirt off over his head, and fumbled with the buttons on Godfrey's suit, and they tumbled into bed, still kissing, still laughing, and Godfrey felt almost like a free man.

III. Shark.

Typical of Hardwick, Lionel thought, to teach his daughter to fuck her way to the top. Couldn't think of another way for a woman to get ahead.

That was Hardwick's problem, he thought, as he flipped Victoria over and wrapped a hand in her hair, holding her head back and her back arched. He could have taught this girl to be a shark. If she had half the wit he thought she did, he could have made her into a force to be reckoned with.

Instead, she was - well, this.

Pretty. Fuckable. A way to get at Hardwick in this - he slammed into her, enjoying the way she braced herself and squeaked - visceral way. God, she was good for that, as he'd known she would be, as Lex had implied she was.

He thought about telling Lex he'd fucked Victoria, just to drive it home to him: there's nothing you have that I can't have. But he didn't think Lex wanted Victoria; the effort would be wasted.

He flipped her again, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and shuddered, her lipstick smeared, her breasts bouncing. He bit one nipple, hard, and she came, her fingers clawing down his back.


He'd have to rely on Lex for a report of her expression when she realized that both the Luthors had fucked her and betrayed her; he himself would be looking at her father.

He smiled down at her and let orgasm take him.

IV. Comfort.

There was, Pete thought, completely and obviously some justice in the world, because when Chloe had dumped Clark's ass for disappearing on her one too many times, who did she come to for comfort?

Pete Ross, that's who.

And this wasn't some stupid "you're my best friend" comfort, either, this was some "Clark didn't fulfill my needs" comfort, this was "I bet you can fulfill my needs" comfort.

This was pretty much the birthday-and-Christmas-present of being come to for comfort, actually, because it involved a lot of cuddling with Chloe in the basement den, and a lot of necking with Chloe in the backseat of the car, and occasional naked groping with Chloe when her dad was at work, and a lot of holding Chloe's hand around town while Clark looked sulky and hung around with that jerk Lex Luthor.

Which was just fine by Pete, because who needed him, anyway?

He had Chloe, and Chloe kissed like there was no tomorrow and had pretty breasts with small peach-colored nipples and long strong legs, and she painted her toenails with weird patterns, and he bet - he just bet - Clark didn't know that about her, or the way she looked just after she'd gotten fingered until she came, and he knew for sure that she'd never looked up at Clark and bit her lip and said, "Can we - have you - will you be my first?"

And he said, "If you'll be mine," and she blushed bright red, all the way from her forehead to her nipples, and his hands shook so badly that he tore the first condom, but the second went on just fine. She closed her eyes when he pushed in the first time, and then she said, really soft, "Oh!"

He rested his head on her shoulder and thought about math tests, which was hard because she smelled so damn good. He was actually having sex and he didn't want it to be over, not yet, so he focused on those math tests for all he was worth, until Chloe relaxed a little under him. "You OK?" he asked, because he heard it sometimes hurt for girls.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm -" and she took a deep breath - "a little scared, still."

"Me too," he admitted, which made her smile, and then he added, "I love you," because it was true.

She smiled and mouthed "I love you" back, and hugged him, and when she moved, oh God, that was all she wrote.

He held the condom on like his older brother had told him you had to when he pulled out, and Chloe curled up naked with him and pressed her nose to his shoulder. "We smell funny," she said, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Like sex," he said, and she laughed. He felt it all through his body, that laugh.

It was good. Like the best kind of comfort ever.

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