Do Not Pass Go

by Hope


Goss and Slodwick wanted jailsmut. Ta da!


Even Italian cashmere and a lazy, casual sprawl on a cot couldn't make Lex seem more at home in the overbright cell. Bars all around him, bars on the windows, they cast venetian shadows over his face as the sun moved slowly from sunrise to sunset outside. With his hands tucked under his head, he counted stains on the ceiling, discerning a rabbit in one splotch, and a crab in another. If he closed his eyes a little, they blurred, chasing each other across the plaster field.

Occasionally, he would hear the clang of a nearby cell closing, voices trailing away along the garish art-deco hallway. Whoever had designed the Smallville Jail seemed to have foregone the concept of rehabilitation in favor of design punishment, orange walls with rust chair-rail stripes and azure on the bars, he mused that their soulmate was likely picking out paint chips for the new wing at Smallville Medical Center.

Caught up in trying to identify the various industrial scents assaulting his senses- cheap laundry soap, oily pine cleaner, just a hint of mildew, Lex didn't notice when voices came closer instead of receding, not until they stopped right in front of his cell.

"Could I share one, please?" Clark- uncertain and wary, but still polite, he towered over the sheriff, but hunched his shoulders down in a way that made him seem smaller than he really was. Clark shifted and rubbed his thumb against the handcuffs. They looked like toys on him.

Ethan considered Lex for a moment, then shrugged, unlocking the door and guiding Clark in with a hand on his shoulder. In an instant, he retrieved his handcuffs, then admonished them both. "First sign of trouble out of either of you, I won't hesitate to move you, you understand?"

They both said, "Yes, sir," but Clark actually sounded penitent, Lex- amused. When the door clattered shut again, and the sheriff disappeared, Lex didn't quite look over at Clark when he sat down beside him, instead keeping the black and scarlet shape of him in his peripheral vision. "Should I ask?"

"Probably not." Shaking his head, Clark slid back to lean against the wall. He smoothed his hands down his thighs, the whisper of denim being rubbed providing soft accompaniment to the creaking bunk and ticking water pipes. "This is kind of weird."

"You're fairly accomplished with the gift of understatement, Clark. I'm impressed." Lex propped his forearms on his thighs, letting his hands dangle briefly between his knees. All those industrial scents he'd been cataloguing had faded, replaced by essence of Clark, earth-worn and Ivory soap, warm cotton dried on a clothesline, and the hint of something sweet underneath. Mixed signals, just like the rest of him, and if he could get a patent on that, Lex really could rule the world.

Clark leaned his head back, studying the ceiling, and ignoring the sarcasm. "Chloe and Lana were leaving when they brought me in. I wonder who bailed them out?"

"I've been here since eight this morning," Lex said, as if that answered the unspoken charge leveled against him. He wasn't really paying attention; when Clark leaned his head back like that, he revealed a Michelangelo throat- pure, strong lines of fine art, pale gold and perfect. He could see his pulse fluttering there, a warm spot needing to be touched. Bereft of his usual props, Lex had to settle for brushing his thumb against his own lower lip, an unsatisfying compromise at best.

"Since eight?" A vaguely guilty smile flashed over Clark's face as he shifted, trying to get comfortable on the thin mattress. With a single, clumsy push, he closed the space between them, the back of his hand grazing Lex's thigh. Looking everywhere but at Lex, Clark rolled his lips and shook his head. "I can't believe you're still here."

With several hours of studying the cell in all its details, Lex had learned the rhythm of things. No one came back to the back without a reason, and they were always heralded by the jingling of a heavy ring of keys. All quiet but for the sound of their breaths, Lex leaned over and licked the taunting warmth of Clark's pulse, slipping a hand between his knees to trace the inside seam of his jeans. "Maybe all interested parties decided the world was safer with me behind bars."

A shuddering sigh rolled through Clark, and his body mixed signals to match his scent. He spread his legs by an increment, but caught Lex's hand before it slid closer to his crotch; his eyes fell closed but full lips parted, and he turned to murmur low against Lex's brow. "We're going to get caught."

His lips sharpening to a smile, Lex ignored the hand staying his, unfurling long fingers to rub the inside of Clark's thigh. "We're already in jail, what's the worst they could do?" He didn't wait for an answer, taking slow, lazy tastes, tattooing swirls and teases into Clark's skin with the tip of his tongue, pure, feral victory coursing through his veins with every surrender Clark offered. The hand fell first, instead of holding him back, it encouraged, pulling until Lex's palm pressed against the bulge of his erection. Words fell second, whatever protest he had left in him stilling when Lex grazed his teeth down his throat, leaving no physical evidence of their presence, but providing plenty of circumstantial in the shape of soft, bitten whimpers.

Easy, stealthy slides along the shape of Clark's erection, Lex worked the jeans' brass snap open, and made sure to rub the back of his fingers down the outline of his cock as he pulled the zipper. That pulse point, straining thick and hard, smelled even sweeter than Clark's throat. Slipping fingers through the fly of loose boxers, Lex breathed in deep, filling himself with the musky warmth that friction on bare skin added to Clark's scent.

Listening to Clark trying to stifle his moans was almost as delicious as causing them in the first place. For all of his complications, all of his secrets, this part of Clark was easy to capture. His body hadn't been jaded by other lovers; he was still new enough that even the slightest perversion sent him reeling, though Lex had to admit as he nosed through his dark curls and captured his earlobe to suck, that jacking off his best friend in a county jail was a novelty for him, too. Pressing his forehead against Clark's temple, Lex watched every flicker of startled pleasure, drinking up the details of pale eyes going dark, and teeth sinking into strawberry lips to cage whimpers.

The metallic crash of another cell door closing startled Clark, making him jump, forcing his cock into Lex's fist, and after a hiss died on his lips, he whispered again. "There's... we're..."

"Come for me, Clark." Lex licked the protesting part of Clark's lips, pinning him in his gaze and stroking faster. It wasn't the best angle for a hand job, cotton boxers limiting motion, the angle too awkward to fold his fingers over the head of Clark's cock and squeeze as if sucking him off, but it was the perfect position to watch his face: to watch his eyes fly open, his mouth round around stunned gasps, color rise to stain his cheeks, and to watch it all tighten to marble hardness then collapse in ruin. So alive, vibrating with conquest, Lex kissed him until their breaths stilled. He could feel Clark smile under his lips, and that was enough, exactly what he wanted, traced on his mouth with heat that would linger even when he pulled away.

Clark slipped back with self-conscious laughter. Blinking sleepily, he didn't quite meet Lex's gaze, but took the proffered handkerchief to clean up with low, whispered thanks. Rearranging his jeans, and making faces at having to zip himself up with come still sticky in his boxers, he glanced over again with a wry, warning smile that threatened retribution. "You're pretty twisted, Lex."

He nodded, rolling his shoulder and smiling crookedly- best compliment he'd had all week. Listening to the silver jingle of keys coming down the hall, he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees again and made his voice neutralbland. "Someone's coming." In a flash, Clark finished arranging his clothes to look slightly less molested, and he dropped himself to sit on the edge of the bunk, mirroring Lex's pose and trying not to look like he just found a stash of hidden Christmas presents.

Martha Kent laughed, exchanging amused conversation as he led her back to her son's cell. Her smile only widened when she saw Lex and Clark sitting side by side on the bunk. "I should have known."

Rubbing his hands against his jeans, Clark pushed off the bunk, heading toward his escape as Ethan unlocked the cell door. "He's been in here all morning by himself, mom."

"Well, I'm sorry to break up the party, but we need you back at the farm." Wrapping her hands around one of the bars, she shifted her attention to Lex. "You know you have Gabe Sullivan worried out of his mind. He said he tried to bail you out hours ago, but you wouldn't let him."

With a grin, Lex rose to his feet. "It's for a good cause. LexCorp is pledging by the hour. Besides..." Slipping his hands into his pockets, he tried to temper a wicked grin. "I want to be here when they bring my father in. I thought it was time he gave something back to the community."



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