A floor above the dormitories, the cavernous attic smelled of unsettled dust and almond oil. Air hung motionless, its heat draped from the steep rafters, all the way down to a hardwood floor scuffed by generations of discarded furniture and the shoes of important boys from important families in search of solitude. Set into the walls at precise intervals, windows let in streaks of blue moonlight and glimpses of a world pastoral beyond the gates of Green Oaks Academy.
Hidden by trunks and abandoned bookcases, a narrow bed occupied the far north corner of the attic. Once, its pine frame and narrow length had graced a student's room; now, with a threadbare mattress and wobbly joints, it existed only as a witness to clandestine midnight meetings. Between the bed and window, someone had wedged a peach crate, its open end turned to the wall to hide illicit goods: candle stubs, matches, cigarettes, girlie magazines.
Lex rarely looked at the magazines; there was no challenge in a doe-eyed, dewy Miss December already undressed in front of a fireplace. After an endless parade of housekeepers and housekeeper's daughters warming his lap, he only craved what he couldn't have- and there was precious little Lionel Luthor's son couldn't have if the whim struck him. Like his namesake, Lex conquered, acquired, and debauched at an alarming rate, and he'd yet to find anything to shock his jaded senses.
He wouldn't tonight, either. His fingers worked by rote, unfastening buttons one by one to free himself of his starched shirt. Keeping his keen eyes fixed on the window, he undressed himself, never looking up to acknowledge that he was not alone in the stuffy boarding school attic. He could feel the warmth of another body, and occasionally, while uncoiling his belt and sliding his pants down slim hips, he grazed against masculine flesh not his own.
Shame didn't keep his gaze averted. He just didn't care to see himself reflected back in Bruce's arctic eyes. In fact, he didn't really care to see Bruce at all. They were too much alike, both constantly vying to fill the same space, rich boy, orphan boy, masters of destinies they couldn't quite conceive, and simply, they just didn't like each other very much. Vast wealth and influence made them perfect allies, but they would never be friends. Keep your enemies close... a wry, hidden smile touched the edges of Lex's lips as he spread a hand against Bruce's chest, the touch mirrored on his own.
They knew each other's secrets well, playing their pleasures like a particularly skilled game of chess. Coursing his fingers through the dark thatch of hair on Bruce's chest, Lex's hand rose to curl against his throat. One thumb caressing the carved notch beneath his adam's apple, Lex pressed into the soft flesh there until he could hear Bruce's breath fall thick and shallow. Against his hip, Lex felt the hard imprint of Bruce's erection taking shape, and he reveled in drawing the first strike.
Leaning into Lex's touch, Bruce parried. His broad hands were well trained, sliding roughly over Lex's dusky nipple to catch the peak between his fingers to squeeze and pull. Lex closed his eyes, shutting out their surroundings so he could concentrate, maintaining his grip on his throat, swallowing the groans that rose up in him each time Bruce's fingers rasped over his nipple. Rough pleasure closed the space between them, subtle shifts of power passing back and forth with each artfully crafted torment until both of their cocks strained for attention.
Insinuating his free hand between them, he taunted Bruce with a brush of fingers over the silky cap of his cock, feeling it twitch and surge toward his grasp. He wrapped a fist around Bruce's thick, blunt length, prompting him to match him motion for motion. Now Lex had the advantage. He liked the unrefined sensation of unlubricated flesh stroking over him, the rawness of smooth skin crushed to glide over the harder core beneath. His whole body flexed with it, narrow hips rocking to thrust into Bruce's hand, savoring each grasping pull almost as much as he enjoyed feeling Bruce's frustration and hunger grow. Lex liked it dry and a little rough- Bruce didn't. If he'd only planned ahead...
Lex forced Bruce to concede defeat on this point, still stroking the vulnerable dip in his throat and feeling the furious growl rumbling beneath his thumb as they sank down together- Lex to sit on the edge of the bed, legs splayed, Bruce to kneel between them to pay his penance for failing strategize. Pale and smooth, Lex haunted the darkness, arching and falling back on to relax in selfish ecstasy. Hands free of obligation for the moment, he kept one clasped on the inside of his own thigh, parting his legs to thrust past the petulant round of Bruce's lips, past sharp teeth into the deep, vaulted heat of his mouth.
The other hand, he brought to his own mouth- drawing the edge of his thumb over his lips. He felt the scar that the perfect bow of his upper lip, a memento of his father's hand, Lex's only success at making him completely lose control. Lex was proud of that scar, and he liked the way his tongue rasped against it when he licked the curve of his thumb.
The flavor of his own skin pleased him, salt with a hint of sharp citrus beneath it, so he tasted the tip of his index finger as well, pulling it roughly against his teeth to leave a lingering bit of himself behind when he dropped his hand to caress his own nipple. Time slipped away, and with it, calculated thought. It was perfect masturbation without the work, Bruce clasping the base of his cock to guide him into his mouth, sinking down again and again to swallow him, his breath steaming against the thick, auburn curls between his legs.
Soon, too soon for Lex's liking, a familiar tightness started to inch through him, starting at his toes at one end, his jaw at the other. The steady pressure spread quickly, actually squeezing a moan from him as the two points sped to converge at the center of him. His hips no longer rolled in measured strokes, instead jerking in spasms, trying to bury his cock deep into the inviting heat of Bruce's mouth to cum, but even on the edge of orgasm, he knew that would never happen.
A rush of cool air shocked his skin when Bruce pulled away, lush fire replaced with the hard, perfunctory strokes of a tight fist to finish him off. Lex clenched his teeth, grasping the frame of the bed to keep from arching off of it as the first jolt crushed through him. Semen, hot and thick, spattered across his belly, and his throat ached from withholding curses and moans, the only sound uncontrolled the staccato sharpness of shallow breaths. With each shudder, a little more of him drained away until there was nothing left but a few weak shudders.
Impatiently, he brushed Bruce's hand away, and for the first time opened his eyes to peer down at him. It was a reward now, he couldn't see himself from here- only Bruce's annoyance at having lost this round. Lex smiled, cool and crooked, his brows lifting to furrow the smooth curve of his forehead. It was an invitation to a consolation prize- Bruce could fuck him if he wanted to, but that would mean working twice as hard to get half as far as Lex had with one good opening gambit. Bruce rose to his feet, his expression ominously neutral as he pulled on his clothes.
Lex watched him go without a single word passing between them. Sinking back to unwind and enjoy the quiet and lingering pleasure before returning to his dorm, he entertained himself with the concept that sometimes, they were exactly alike. Bruce Wayne hated to lose, and he only craved what he couldn't have. Oh well, Lex thought. Better luck next time.
As if luck had anything to do with it.
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