Feel Everything

by jenn



Author Notes: Andariel is the enabler from hell. Lines, promises of porn, BLACKMAIL.... Val, Jack, Molly, and Bethy being disgustingly encouraging. The Red Pornfic Support Group is a scary sight to behold.

Feedback: Go for it.

Archiving: SSA, level_three, otherwise ask


"Let me tie up some loose ends at the office. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back."

There's a full second where he actually thinks he's going to make it out of this room. Door in view, Clark sprawled in some kind of absolutely illegal invitation on the couch, and he's wondered for a long time just how strong his willpower really is. Apparently, Smallville's done more for him than he ever expected, because he's already thinking of how the hell he's going to phrase this to Clark's dad.

A breath of air against his ear--vaguely reminds him of a bullet, cold, sharp and fast, rushing by, and he turns his head, catching a peripheral view of--

--an empty couch.

Fuck.

"Lex." The doors close sharply, Clark leaning casually into the wood with that impossibly bright smile. The one that Lex has never seen framed in quite that way, with eyes as green as summer grass, edged with something dark that's never been there before. Like hunger. For everything. Everything.

"Clark?" He's stopped--no way to hide that, and shit, he's lost what little sense he still has if he's going to be making mistakes like this. He's trying for casual curiosity, and he knows he's failing by the way the smile widens, those glittering eyes sliding down his body like a physical touch, as blatant as it is hot. Stopping short at just the worst place possible, and Lex can't help drawing a sharp breath, and God, where's his father?

The novelty of actually wishing his dad to come in pretty much kills any further ability to speak, but the sound of the lock flipping sharply into place makes him take another step. Because, really, this can't--

"Somehow, I don't think you're going to the office, Lex." An almost frightening amount of jaunty self-confidence expressed in nine words, knowing Lex, recognizing the bullshit, and responding without a trace of hesitation.

Fuck.

"Clark--"

Pushing off the door, Clark takes a step toward him, and Lex fights the urge to back off a step--instinct speaking, telling him exactly what he should have figured out last night. The smile widens briefly, tellingly, before Clark detours, smooth walk to the pool table, picking up a forgotten pool cue from the floor. Fingers sliding the length, dark eyes holding Lex's before sliding down to the table. Lex has sweat through more than one shirt imagining moments a lot like this one, but the difference between fantasy and this is fucking unreal.

"You were going to go tell on me, weren't you?" Smooth slide of the cue between long fingers, lining up a non-existent shot, and Lex keeps his gaze fixed, taking a single step toward the door. How the hell did Clark get there that fast anyway?

"Clark, I wouldn't--"

"Destiny, Lex. Remember?" Clark looks back up then, straightening from the bend slowly, knowing Lex is watching and enjoying every second of it. Enjoying it openly, and something is fucking wrong with this, every instinct is yelling.

"How long again?" The question's rhetorical at best, but Lex feels as off-balance as he's ever been.

"What?"

"How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Lex?" Jesus. "A year? Just about?" The smile is slow and dark and it promises--God, promises things. Things Lex isn't sure he could ever say no to. "Guess what." The pool stick hits the floor, but the sound of breaking wood isn't even close to being enough to pull Lex's gaze away. Slow, even pacing of the twenty feet between them that becomes ten, five, one. Air measurable in less than inches. "I wanted to fuck you too."

There's nothing Lex can even think to say to that. Not with Clark so close, fine silk shirts and one jacket the only barriers between them, and Lex is breathing in air that has nothing to do with rural life and corn and all the things that have kept Lex stationary until now.

Nothing even close to the pretty, innocent boy he's fantasized about, and the fingers that brush casually against the front of his shirt are--

"Do you--Clark, are you okay?" Pulling away is a wonderful theory.

"Better than okay." Warm brush of breath against his temple, and he should step away, because this *isn't* Clark, can't be. He feels the first button sliding free, and then a sudden push that sends him against the wall. Hard, catching him before he can fall, cool wood against his palms, and this--this can't be happening.

"Clark, stop." But he barely gets the words out--barely even has time to wonder if he means them--before the long, hard body is stretched against his, right, fantasy life in the office, anyone could find that door locked and wonder what the fuck is up. Solid heat, warm mouth brushing the point of his jaw, quick, hard bite, and then Jesus, Clark's mouth is against his--hot and hard and ruthless, Lex can taste blood from the sharp bite to his lip, the aggressive stab of Clark's tongue in his mouth.

The taste--God, metal-warm, slick, fast, wet, messy, so good, like Clark knows exactly what he's doing and how the fuck could he know that? Pretty smalltown girls and--God, yes--no fucking way, this isn't Clark, this isn't Clark, this isn't--

"I'm going to fuck you, Lex." Tongue tracing from the corner of his mouth to his ear, and a hard palm settles over his groin, pushing. The smile widens, hot and amused and something else Lex can't quite identify. "Whether you want to or not." A soft bite just below his ear, on soft, insanely sensitive skin that makes Lex tense, drags out a sound he's never heard himself make before, cock jumping against Clark's palm. "Clear enough for you?"

No. Maybe. Yes.

"This isn't you."

"This is more me than I've ever been." Fumbled movements at his waist, then the tear of fabric, Clark's impatient, instant-gratification, and Lex sucks in a breath at the confident hand sliding inside, the blinding, knowing smile. "Tell me no again."

"Fuck you." It sounds more like an offer than anything else.

"After." Warm breath tickles the side of his neck, sharp teeth marking some path Lex can't follow, and he's---Jesus, bucking into that warm, hard hand, Clark's cock rubbing against his leg, and he's--not reaching, not touching, not trying to find skin, silky skin just below the hairline, fingers sliding through dark hair and jerking Clark back.

Wide, green-gold eyes and a wet red mouth and a thousand dark promises, all staring back at him, and no one human could say no to that and mean it.

"No," he whispers.

Clark grins, wide and carefree, the ghost of a rural kid vanishing, and his other hand rips down, buttons hitting the floor and scattering, but Lex never looks to see. Not when the wood of the wall digs into his back and Clark takes his mouth--God, so good, not sweet, not kind, it's taking and wanting and everything that Lex never knew could turn him on. A hard hand jerking him off in time to the tongue thrusting into his mouth, then Clark whispering in his ear--fuck....

"Like this? I was looking at your desk earlier--you'd be so hot bent over it, Lex, those tailored pants around your ankles, begging for it. You'd beg me, wouldn't you?" Softer bite and a slow, insinuating thrust into his ear. "Lex Luthor on his knees. On his back on the floor. Bent over that pool table, just for me. Think about it."

Lex isn't sure he'll ever be able to think of anything else. Just holding on, breathing, feeling, it's everything he can do just to do that much, stay like this, feeling Clark's hand tight and hot around him. Enough to have this, however the fuck it's happened, is happening, pretty corrupt boy wrapped around him.

"Come on, Lex." Sharp, hard bite on his jaw, and that's going to show, the pain shooting down, hitting his cock like electricity, and he's coming--God, hard, black spots in front of his eyes, Clark the only thing holding him up, snickering soft and satisfied in his ear. "Good." A long lick across his mouth, pushing between slack lips, and Lex takes the kiss, every muscle liquid, water, like moving is never happening again. "So which one?"

"Which--"

"Desk or pool table? Three seconds to decide. Two. One." And Clark's grin--Jesus, no one can look like that, should look like that, and no one human can move that fast, he's pushed down, felt against the side of his face, and when he tries to push himself up, a hand drops between his shoulder blades, flattening him back against the surface of the table. "Just like this. Perfect."

The most insane thoughts start drifting through his head--afterglow's a bitch for analysis, always has been, Lex just doesn't like to think during sex. And certainly not this sex--rough, knowing hands on his hips, jerking his pants down, then a slick--how?--finger teasing lightly at the hole. The push inside's a shock, stiffening, but the hand's on his back again, holding him against the table, another finger sliding inside and twisting, searching, finding--

"Jesus Christ--" Lex breathes, shuddering.

"I want to hear you yelling, Lex. Do it." A sharper twist, and he bites down on his lip, only a muffled moan escaping. Clark's laugh is soft and so sure, thinks he knows, and hell, he might.

The next finger's sudden, a stretch-burn that makes Lex wince, and only Clark's hand on his back keeps him down. Held down, forced, and that's the hottest thing yet, the one thing he never thought Clark would have ever learned, ever wanted to. How to take.

"I think you're ready," Clark murmurs, soft and wet against his ear, that mouth sliding slow and careful across the back of his neck, sucking brief and hard just above the collar of his shirt. Wet sounds behind him, Clark slicking himself--Jesus, with Lex's own come, and this isn't going to be easy, and that's how Clark wants it, and God, that's how Lex wants it too.

Feel it. Feel everything.

The first blunt push is a slow, uneven stretch--Clark's never fucked anyone before, still working it out, but God, a fast learner in every sense. Fingers closing tight on Lex's hip, pushing again, more depth, more stretch, shock of pain Lex can muffle, tasting blood in his mouth. Another thrust, harder, more sure, and God, shit, that hurts, and Clark knows it, has to, fingers sliding soothingly down his back and a soft scratch to just below the edge of his shirt before both hands close over his hips and Lex sucks in a breath....

He may scream, may say something, has to have, because Clark close again, leans over his back, brush of expensive silk on the back of his head, and his throat's raw and sore. "God, Lex, you feel amazing."

"Fuck--"

"Yeah." Low, wild laugh, unsteady, and Clark settles himself, making Lex gasp, try to shift, try to get more. "Yeah, exactly."

He's getting the hang of it. Slow, even thrusts, then Clark finds his rhythm, finds how to make Lex squirm against the felt, hands grasping at nothing until long fingers close tight around his wrists, pinning them down, warm body covering him and Clark's grin is in his voice. "I've wanted to do this to you since I first saw you."

"Liar." Can't imagine that, wrap his mind around the idea of it, not Clark, this isn't Clark, and that boy never would have done this. Never would have said that. Never would have thought it.

"You'd be surprised. You don't know, Lex." The sharp point of Clark's tongue traces the shape of his ear, every thrust sure and even and God, so hard, Lex can feel it everywhere. His cock's aching against the edge of the table and there's nothing he can do, no way to reach it and it hurts and it's good and it's Clark.

This Clark, whoever the hell he is.

"Come on, Lex. Yell for me. Feel me. Feel this."

Like his body doesn't know that obedience has never been a Luthor trait. Clark.

"Say my name, Lex."

Fuck you, Clark, but words are gone, thought's gone, nothing's left but this--rhythm and need and heat and he's never felt this, trapped and helpless and still wanting, still needing, and when Clark hits that spot--perfect, so perfect--Lex knows he says something, yells something into soft, wet purple felt. Knows it's Clark's name. Ripped from his throat and body, orgasm a flood of overloaded sensation, and he's never coming down from this.

Never wants to.

A long eternity later when Clark comes--aftershock rushes like electrical current, making him jerk, groaning and not caring if Clark hears, not caring if his father hears, not giving a shit if the entire staff comes in right now and sees this. Sees him bent over the pool table like a two dollar whore and writhing from it, wanting more, wanting it now.

Clark pulls out, slow and easy, then presses his cheek against Lex's back.

"Wow." Smug satisfaction, wonder, and that current of everything else underneath. Satiated and still wanting, possessive hands running idly down his sides, warm and slow strokes to his hips. "We've got to do that again."

"Not--now." Yes, now. Yes, later. Yes, whenever, however, wherever. It's a lie, and Luthors are good at it, but Clark know that already. The soft laugh brushes his shirt, and Clark pulls away, and Lex winces, burning soreness in his ass, misused muscles stretched too long too awkwardly, and when he turns around, Clark smiles like he knows everything Lex is thinking.

The Ferrari's keys dangle enticingly from one hand.

"I'm driving," Clark says, and idly lifts one hand, still shiny-slick, sucking one finger into his mouth. Lex shudders at the twitch of his cock, too soon, too sensitive, and Clark leans close enough to brush an almost-chaste kiss across his mouth. "Ready, Lex?"

No.

"Yeah." His voice cracks, but it doesn't seem to matter. "Let's go.

The end



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