Title: Consequences Galore
Disclaimer: Quite alot of sex - borderline Non-Con
Feedback address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Summary: Hurt-Comfort, Angst
Challenge: Clark fixes broken Lex
Beta: Elegantly done by MeLi
Note: for ClexFest at: http://www.kardasi.com/Lexclusive/ClexFest
Clark looked down at the shoulder Lex had touched, just to check if it was on fire. It wasn't, of course, and he should have known really, because actual fire didn't spread inside your body. Ordinary fire burned cloth and flesh; the fire in his arm was making his dick hard. His groin twitched as he thought about Lex being hard too. Maybe stopping the car at the end of the road, to touch his own pale skin, unzipping those pants to imagine Clark touching him instead.
He flopped back into the hammock and tried to think. This Desiree thing had . . . implications, serious implications and Clark knew he had to ignore his hardness and think very carefully. He scolded pretend-Lex out of his brain. Telling him to either come back here and touch Clark like a man or to go home and do it like a normal person, in a bed.
Alone and frustrated, Clark tried to work out a new plan. Before this pheromone nonsense the plan had been to wait. Eventually Lex would have to touch him. He knew that like he knew the sun rose in the East. For Clark it was all very simple. Lex loved him, he loved Lex. He wanted Lex and Lex wanted him. Simple. Simple. Simple.
Except Lex was broken. The universe was not kind and Lex was so fucking broken, he couldn't let go and do what he and Clark desperately wanted. He couldn't just think -- "Fuck you all. I love Clark Kent and I'm going to lay down, right here, and suck him until his brain explodes." Lex couldn't do that any more then a paraplegic could walk.
Oh no. Lex's inner voices included a mime, an organ grinder and a Greek fucking chorus. Clark could see them all behind Lex's eyes, when the moments between them got too charged. His face would relax and his eyes would go deep slate blue. At those moments Clark could see these voices flit over Lex's face as he listened to the cacophony and tried to decide what to do.
Clark hadn't really worried about it. He knew how standing next to Lex felt. So sweet and hot and -- fuck -- tumescent, it could not be resisted indefinitely. All he had to do was wait. One day Lex would touch him and he would touch Lex. They would love each other and Clark would fix Lex.
It was a good plan, except for where it sucked. Because Clark hadn't realized someone could come along and break Lex some more.
The pheromone queen had accomplished just that, adding yet another twist to the scarred labyrinth that was Lex Luthor's brain. Somewhere in that abandoned Elizabethan hedge maze, all overgrown and discontinuous, some new phantoms had taken up residence. Lex probably had to listen to Morris dancers now, consider the opinions of Zeno and Crates. Tonight, before Lex had touched him, Clark had watched the expanding multitude in Lex's head chant loud and long. He could hear them in Lex's profile, which was mostly all he got to see these days. Lex had stopped looking directly at Clark sometime after the tornado. This had started out as a bad thing, but Clark thought it was a good thing now, because he couldn't imagine watching pleasantly, silently as these vast inner voices ripped Lex into pieces. Etching the litany in muscle twitches under the smooth white skin.
Luthor's don't love people. Emotions are bad for business. No one has, does, can or will love you. Ever. Get used to being alone. You're pathetic. You're stupid. You're weak. You let that creature fool you. You should have known no one would want to save you. Clark is lying and you're just too dumb to figure out how.
As Lex had given his calm distant speech about passion and restraint, Clark was horrified to realize he was out of time. He was completely unready and Lex was crazier than he was, and broken. Damn the woman. It may not go well, but it was going to have to go soon. A moment's inattention and some other mutant Shiva could come along and shatter Lex completely. Another Victoria, another Amy, shit, even more Lionel could take Lex beyond Clark's help. He wondered, maybe, if it was too late to fix Lex even now.
Steamy fixing Lex thoughts were not good for his concentration. His hands had taken on a life of their own, one tightly wrapped and fisting, the other cupped behind his sack, probing. His hearing had expanded without his permission and it took Clark a moment to realize what the noise was. He came when he heard Lex softly call his name, under the slap of wet flesh and the purr of the Healy at the end of the drive.
Lex keeps lube in his car and Clark needs a plan. A better plan, one that would work.
It is a horrible stinking day. The plant is crap filled both physically and metaphorically, and his Dad is being ten kinds of difficult. The castle is full of trades, sweaty men with pig eyes who stare at Lex like he is from another planet. Their ambivalent mix of envy and hate makes him feel dirty and guilty, even though he's sure he hasn't done anything wrong. Or almost anything. Or nothing they could possibly know about. Lex wonders briefly whatever happened to cap tugging and downcast eyes.
Since the storm, there are people everywhere, rubbing up against him, skin, brain and soul. Lex is pretty sure if he can't get a moment alone he'll shatter. Just start screaming and screaming and shaking and shaking until he curls up in a corner and they take him away.
" Luthor's don't break, Lex," a voice states in his head. His father's, in Latin.
He is so fucked.
Desiree seems to have filled and smoothed the grave over his ability to act decisively. Distractedly he writes the epitaph.
Here lie Lex Luthor's balls. Requiescat in Pace.
And he's in his room now, naked without even remembering how he got there. Tired and dirty and his groin on fire, Lex can hear the men in the hall whispering and even here he is not safe, not even close to safe. Desiree was all chemicals and lies but three weeks of her has wracked his libido up to teen-age heights. For a moment he entertains a fantasy of finding her and explaining chemicals and lies are just up his alley, have been for years. He'll give her everything she'd ever imagined and more if she'll just breathe on him, touch him, take him inside her so he's no longer alone.
He is so fucked. He heads to the shower.
Which starts off warm, but rapidly switches to cold, because it's the only way he can stop touching himself. Which he can't do, because these horrible men are builders and they might have holes somewhere. Invidious detestation brings its own justifications and he can picture them planning some way to watch the freak when he least expects it. Catch him doing exactly what he wants to do, maybe video tape it, so everyone can see the freak doing it to himself. Show it at parties, put it on the Internet so the world can watch and cheer the bathos that has become his life. And since two days ago he was doing it in his car at the end of Clark's driveway, calling the fifteen year old's name as he came, he knows he's too far out of control to risk it.
His skin is blue and numb, he doesn't feel clean or calm and while his dick is not hard anymore, the desire is not gone. It's just hiding. Resting. It's taking a little vacation time to get bigger and stronger and hotter, harder for him to control.
"Luthor's have perfect control Lex," his father's voice again, in Mallory's English this time, but he wonders why he can hear bells.
He's so done, completely and totally done. He's leaving because if this continues everything is going to get worse, much much worse. He has always known he was lucky, but had assumed since the storm his luck has changed. It was a big storm. Today it occurred to him he might still be lucky, and if he wasn't how much worse it could already be.
This preoccupation thing has its good points, though. He's packed and in the garage before he comes back to himself. Picking a car is easy, the black Healy 4000. It smells like him imagining Clark. Perverse, filthy, dirty things he wants to do to Clark until they both scream. So they fall apart together and he's not alone. He's on the road and moving like a ghost, no ultimate goal, but he has to force his foot down hard on the gas as he passes the turn to the Kent place. Everyone in his head agrees there is nothing for him there.
Lex is still pretty fucked, but it's better out here in the powerful car, blending in with the night, everything slick with the moon. The air is fresh and scented with growing, toil done by proud hard men like Jonathan Kent. The music is loud and the car's responsive under his hand, his desire is still there but muted at the back of things, enjoying the ride. The tension is draining out of him, mile by eaten mile, Lex is alone and young and rich and in control of his world again.
After a while, he stops, hauls out his laptop and figures out where in Kansas he is, uses his cell to book the penthouse of the best hotel in the nearest city. He'll be there soon, mostly anonymous. A hot shower, clean sheets, room service, horrible hotel porn and he'll touch himself until he screams anybody's name he wants. Maybe he'll even have somebody sent out from Metropolis, but probably not because an actual body will make it too hard to pretend.
Then he's there and the suite is adequate in a Midwestern sort of a way. But the shower stall is huge and pulsing, the water more than hot. Desire has returned from its R & R. Lex runs his hands over his silky wet body, using some kind of herby, musky gel that spreads the tingles out over his skin and digs them deep into his chest as he rolls and tugs the tips of his nipples.
The pounding water touches him everywhere; his hands stay away from his rampant cock and his yearning asshole. Amping himself up, revving his body like it was the Healy, higher and higher, more and more. Stopping just before climax, sprawled against the side of the shower, arms behind thighs, hands gripping his ankles, spread under the pulsing water as it beats his shaft and balls, trickling between his cheeks.
Lex is almost humming as he leaves the bathroom, using a towel to dry himself off, looking down, admiring his length and hardness, wondering if his over-worked brain thought to pack the vibrator with the special gel.
He looks up at the sound of a throat clearing.
"Lex." Clark offers this as a statement. From a half naked, jeans only sprawl on the big white hotel bed.
He is so fucked.
Can't go there, not even for a moment, not even in jest. So he does the next best thing and panics. Scrabbles for a robe. First with his eyes and then with his hands. Babbling, even to his own ears. And desire doesn't seem to mind this because he's harder now, harder then he's ever been, harder then he's ever imagined being. He has the robe in his hand, but he's scared to put it on because the silk on his skin might make him come, in front of Clark. And that makes his flesh shudder, which makes his dick pump pre-come obscenely into the air.
Lex thinks he might cry.
Then, for just a second, Lex thinks it might be okay. Because without moving more than air Clark is gone from the bed and is inches away from him. So close, he can feel Clark's breath and the chorus in his brain chants,
"It's a dream Lex." This time a score of fathers, in Greek.
This lasts until Clark smiles at him, hunter to prey, reaches his big blunt hand over Lex's shoulder around the back of his head and tugs gently. Their foreheads touch and Clark smiles, moving his mouth to Lex's face, placing a broad lick along the curve of his jaw to his ear lobe, biting gently and whispering something that sounds like mine.
The final straw in a long, perfectly horrible day and Lex's last few brain cells explode and die as he collapses. Into the strength and comfort of Clark Kent's arms.
Seconds, hours, an eternity later he comes to himself flat on his back on the crisp white sheets of the hotel bed. It's better because he's verbal now and his brain has been marshaling his arguments and has some questions ready to change the subject. It's worse too, because the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the back of Clark's dark head resting on his chest.
"I don't know what's going on, what you think you're doing," Lex starts. Only to stop when he feels a smile push against the place the peak of his ribs meet the soft flesh of his belly.
So again. "Clark," he says very firmly, " this is a very bad idea." He actually starts to roll away. "How did you get here?" He is awfully proud of the frown in his voice.
Clark just licks him. For about a second, with the tip of his tongue. And he's on fire.
"Clark," and apparently he's moving straight to begging, "please. Just wait one . . ."
Maybe because he's asked nicely Clark sinks his nose in to Lex's soft upper belly, stretches his tongue flat against the flesh and licks and inhales and devours.
"Oh Christ," thought Lex "He's going to suck my dick before I've even kissed him." For the first time in forever the only voice in his head belongs to him.
Lex has to take control. There is no doubt now this is going to happen and he is happy about that, but he has to have control, so Clark will do this with him again. And maybe again and some more and even always. Forever. If Lex can just take control. So he fists his pale hands in the black hair and yanks hard.
"Clark, just come up here, I want to look at you." He hears his own voice and it made him shiver, it is dark and cool like shaded water. Lex wonders briefly who the calm fool is, because he's so hot that watered silk voice is nothing of his. After a moment of effortless resistance, Clark gives him what he wants. Slowly moving towards Lex's face, Clark grazes the tip of his nose and the end of his tongue over Lex's skin. He runs a solid wet line on the side of Lex's body, snaking across ribs, sternum, into the hollow of his throat, his neck, until they are heart to heart. Forehead to forehead. Eye to eye.
And again. "Clark. We need to talk about this."
Clark smile, parts his lips and just kisses him. Hot and pointy and slick like the Healy had looked under the pale fat Kansas moon. Then Clark pulls back a bit, looking very serious, like Oedipus with a riddle, and tells Lex,
This made indignation an option and he leaps on it.
"Damn it, Clark. You can't stalk me 500 miles across fucking Kansas, break into my hotel room and jump me." He squirms some, under the weight of Clark. "Let me up."
Still thoughtful above him, Clark says calmly,
"Lex, are you saying anything anyone in this room is interested in?"
Then a lazy half shift centers Clark between Lex's legs and the kissing begins again. Slower this time, thorough, everything tried, every theory tested.
He is fucked. Totally. Completely and utterly fucked.
Or about to be.
The random thought makes him smile. And the smile under his mouth makes Clark's stomach ripple against his hard cock like a big hand stroking. The heated mouth moves to the side of his face, touches his ear lobe and whispers,
"I'm going to make you beg me, Lex. I'm going to make you ask me for everything you want." The belly rippled again. "Say 'Yes Clark'."
Lex tries to force Clark off him. Tries to flip him over. Even tries to wish him away. But the solid weight of Clark forces him back into the soft mattress, grounding him, leaving him nowhere to hide. He tenses and screams only to feel Clark's mouth steal his sound, his breath and all his substance. Something breaks in Lex then, not with a snap, but with a sigh. Like an earthen dam breaking, it washes everything away a cubic centimeter at a time.
His mouth formed the words, but any sound gets lost in the hot mouth sealed over his.
"Yes, Clark," his brain says as the last of the horrible pressure bleeds away.
There were no voices in his head at all, not even his. It is perfect peace and cold fire. Elysian.
The amazing stomach dances with his cock again and Clark's laugh rumbles between their chests.
"Good boy, Lex. Now put your hands above your head. Move them or maybe I'll tie you." He almost comes at the promise.
"You'd like me to tie you, wouldn't you, Lex." Clark's hands are around his throat, pressing and he is still looking thoughtful. "I will one day, but today you're just going to lie still. If I tie you, tomorrow you'll convince yourself this wasn't your choice."
The hand moves down and strokes his chest, scrapping his skin a little, marking him gently.
"In fact, say it, Lex, choose me. Here. Now. Out loud or I'll leave."
Lex can't, absolutely cannot do this. Will not beg for it. Not here, not now, not to Clark. Tornado, blindness, yet another fucking head injury, it's all too much, too raw, to exhausting. He'll just explain to Clark, make him understand. He knows Clark is feeling sorry for him, he understands Clark is trying to help him. He just cannot do this and remain sane and whole.
What actually comes out is "Please, Clark, fuck, God, please."
Clark laughs again, deep in his chest and it vibrates Lex to the roots of the hair he doesn't have.
"Say my name, Lex," the hand on his heart pushes, heel digs under his ribs, presses the breath from his lungs, the blunt fingers trace his nipple. The initial soft brush becomes a firm pinch and he obliges.
He'd like to say his voice is like honey or syrup or fucking mead, but there was nothing sweet or thick about it. He prays the name, some primitive chant, three syllables, the drawling short 'a', rounding his mouth in adoration, the hard 'r' twisting his tongue into thin high-pitched pleas.
"What do you want me to do, Lex."
"More, now, just more . . ." soon he will have no voice at all and be all need.
"Not that easy, Lex. Be specific, detail is appreciated, open your eyes and tell me what you want me to do."
"Fuck you." he arches and screams, "Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you."
The younger man lifts, the broad lightly furred chest pulls away from Lex's and Clark balances his weight on one arm. Looming. He smiles down at Lex's face and grinds his hips down. They are cock to cock, balls to balls, neither of them alone anymore. All the pretence melting, shocking as ice in hot dry mouths.
"Don't come, Lex. It's going to be a long time before I let you come. Tell me, use my name and tell me."
"Clark, please, touch my chest, my nipples, fuck you, please."
Magically Lex's wish was granted. Clark's blunt fingers scratch his chest, tracing script on the parchment of his skin. Writing books between his shoulder and his navel, soft fingers scratching his nipples, the occasional nonchalant pinch forcing his breath and his hips to hitch.
"Clark, no, I can't stand it.... fuck, you're killing me," his voice belongs to an alien.
"Beg some more, Lex. I love your voice." Then frighteningly fast, right in his ear. "If you beg, maybe I'll use my mouth. Would you like me to suck your nipples, Lex? Hard? Or should I just tug on them some more?"
Then back again, and Clark has his nipples between the soft pads of his thumb and forefinger, rubbing like he was sampling cloth.
"Please Clark, suck them, put your mouth on my tits, Clark. Bite my nipples. Oh God, please." He feels liberated and perverse. His weakness and his freedom makes this hard thing easy as dying.
Clark laughs at him, and stands up. Lex starts to move, although he has no idea why or where. Maybe he'll just stand up or maybe he'll just crawl over and lick Clark's feet. Feet are attached, you know, to calves and thighs and eventually to a lightly furred erection.
"Don't run away, Lex. There's nowhere for you to go and you don't really want to. Just stay there, I won't be long."
That's just a lie because Clark is already longer and harder than anyone Lex has ever seen. It's flat against his stomach and Clark's just ambling around the room, looking for something, God only knows what. He can't really focus because Clark is absently touching himself as he strolls. Nipples and dick and when he squats to look in the black bag, Clark's hand reaches down to caress his firm ass and run a single blunt finger between his cheeks.
Clark looks over at him and smiles. "That's a good noise, Lex. Is that for me?" His big hand reaches into Lex's bag and retrieves a bottle of scotch. Walking back to the bed, he settles himself again, slowly opening the bottle. Taking a mouthful, Clark bends down and kisses him, dribbling the amber Clark-warmed alcohol into Lex's mouth. Lex hadn't believed he could be needier, hadn't imagined it could get worse. His hands begin to come forward as he lifts off the bed. He has to touch Clark, exert himself before he fades into nothingness, make some kind of mark before he is swallowed. However, Clark reaches back and grabs Lex's dick and what Lex does is spasm, and whine.
"Oh Lex, you are so hot, so smooth," his hardness is nestled into the soft valley of Clark's ass. "I'm gonna use my mouth now, Lex. Do you want it hard or soft?
"Fuck, Clark. Hard, do it hard, suck me, bite me, now Clark. Or whatever happens after this, I'll never let you near me again."
Clark just smiles, some kind of benevolent demented God towering above him. "Lex, you shouldn't let you mouth write cheques your body can't cash," and then Clark tightens his ass, lifts his hips and drops his mouth down to Lex's chest.
Mauling Lex's nipples, all teeth and strong tongue, slick and sharp around them, nipping, sucking pressure somehow in counterpoint to Clark's ass around his length, driving him under and higher at the same time. Clark dripps more scotch into his mouth and moves his mouth back to Lex's chest. Heated patches of skin, raw from the mauling sting, connecting his nipple to his groin in a unique and scary way. He can't breathe and Clarks weight pressing his ass deep into he mattress seems to root him and set him free. He was going to come and nothing could stop it, not God or Satan or his father or Jonathan fucking Kent. Lex was going to come and die, trapped between Clark's ass and a hotel bed. The horror, the press, the indignity and Lex doesn't care. He is so close nothing could halt it. He feels himself pucker and tighten, moments from uncoiling all over Clark's broad back.
Then all pressure is removed and a vice seals the orgasm in. Circling the base of him, distracting him with almost pain and complete denial. Lex moves, propping himself up on his hands and looking down. Sin and unbearable temptation is Clark between his legs. A breath from his trapped erection, with the tip of his tongue between his teeth. For a heart beat everything stops, Clark's eyes meet his along the length of his body. And he just squeezes the base and oh God, licks from the crook of his thumb to the head of Lex's cock, forcing his tongue into the slit.
"Beg Lex. Don't bully or bluster, beg me. It's easy."
"Fuck, fuck, suck me, now, please. I'm sorry, just suck me, Clark."
Instead, he finds himself on his knees with Clark's cock buried in his throat. He is stretched out and down and over and inside. His blood is surging, his heart stuttering. He wants to beg, plead for Clark to finish this, ease him.
Suddenly Clark's hands are on the bare skin of his skull, forcing himself deeper and deeper, come corkscrewing into Lex's open throat. Hands under his arms lift Lex up and Clark swallows him whole. Suspending Lex upright and against his mouth one more heartbeat and Lex lets go, screaming and babbling and shattering in Clark's throat.
Well and truly fucked.
The boy was sprawled, torpid, half on top of Lex and, fuck, half hard. Face down and boneless, Clark's head is beside his on the pillow and Lex knows if he turns his head he can see Clark's sleepy, swamp eyes eating him. The arm across his chest is so long Clark is grasping his forearm, the big farm hardened hand swallowing Lex. He sees that hand clearly behind his eyes, wrapped around his cock. He feels Clark smile and move a smidge closer, wiggle deeper into him.
His groin twitches and he can hear all these things in the hitch in his voice.
"How long have you been planning this?"
The answer surprises him.
"Tonight? About 2 days, except I didn't expect you to run, Lex. You should never run away from me." Clark's wide blunt tongue paints his cheek. "I was set up in the loft, Lex. I had some place to hang you."
He tries not to find that erotic, but fails miserably. His skin is electrified, his nerve endings spread the arousal to odd places. It flashes around his throat, shivers the back of his skull, Lex doesn't really understand why he can't stop talking.
"So two days ago you just decided to hang me from something?"
The wiggle again and now Clark's mouth nuzzles at the warm place his skull and neck meet.
"I've known about you and me since I heard your car on the bridge that day, Lex. I really like your cars. They sound so good and the smell . . . makes me hard. Just like you, Lex." The nuzzle turns into a suck, a deep breath in and a small nip. "There would have been way more licking in the loft, Lex. You would have liked it."
He knows if he starts laughing, he'll never stop, and he finds his off switch. He has nothing more to ask, no wonder left in him. This is the first moment of complete peace he's known since he realized his mother was going to die.
"Lex?" A little grind against his hip, in and up. "You're not going to run any more, are you?"
The grind turns into a slow stroke and Clark moves a little more on to him, pressing him harder into the mattress, like Clark will stop him from running away.
"You won't make this hard to do again, will you, Lex?" Clark is between his thighs now, all parts of them lined up and touching, seconds away from rubbing and he doesn't understand this as anything like a choice.
"I only had two days, Lex, and so I need you to teach me to fuck. I didn't have time to research the fucking."
Clark isn't kissing him really, just creating friction between their faces, marking him like an animal marks home.
"And I want you to do . . . the stuff we did tonight, only to me, Lex."
The whine is all his, he owns the way his ass contracts and pushes him up into Clark's soft belly and steel dick. The heat and the pressure and, shit, the rubbing, the rubbing is setting him alight.
"No one is ever going to break you again, Lex."
The kiss comes finally, unexpectedly, completely, properly. Clark is sucking his soul out through his mouth and pressing it back in through his groin.
"I love you, Lex?" and after all this weirdness and heat, the boy can still make it a question. They are both way too young for this to end well. Too maladjusted, too isolated, too stubborn, too much their father's sons.
He pretends it might be possible if they can just stay here forever, in this room, like this. Being verbal only to be matter of fact about fucking and eating and
"I love you too, Clark."
He is so fucked.