by Hope

Happy birthday goss! Thanks to LaT for renaming this baby for me!

Following a high school Hun with his eyes, Lex bit down on a puzzled smile as he let himself into the Torch's office. When the kid decked out in a floor-length cloak and leather-laced boots disappeared from sight, Lex turned around and just caught himself before he laughed. Clad in a severe dress, her normally wild hair smoothed into behaving, Chloe fingered her way through the file cabinet.

"I stopped by to see how those computers were working out for you," Lex said, flipping his keys over in his hand then slipping them into his pocket. "But I get the impression that I'm a little underdressed."

With a roll of her eyes, Chloe spread her arms out. "Welcome to Mr. Hansen's idea of interactive learning, the sad and demeaning denouement to Living History Week. Do you have any idea who I'm supposed to be?"

Lex tilted his head. She looked out of place in the crisp, ironed lines of the dark grey dress, the collar buttoned practically to her chin. Apparently no slave to fashion in any time period, a pair of sneakers peeked from beneath the dress' hem. She could be anyone slightly Victorian, so Lex tried to guess at who Chloe might choose to emulate. "Susan B. Anthony?"

"Well, that's better than the guy who thought I was Lizzie Borden." Rolling her eyes, Chloe dropped herself in her chair, sighing heavily. "Nellie Bly. You know, one of the first investigative reporters, ever? Checked herself into an insane asylum to report on the conditions there? Ugh, if you don't even know, then I completely wasted my time and allowance, not to mention my mental health, searching for this outfit."

Taking another long glance, Lex offered half a smile. "If it's any consolation, it looks good on you."

Chloe looked away, the skeptical bent to her brows and mouth softened by a blush. "That's sweet, but the only thing consoling me right now is that Clark looks like an even bigger dweeb than I do." Perking up, she started to launch into a full-blown description, then cut herself off. "But you didn't come here to be regaled with tales of the educational process gone wrong, did you?"

"I can do both," Lex said, following her into the next room. Greeted by orderly rows of former LuthorCorp computers, Lex watched Chloe boot one up, then present it with a game show flourish.

"Ta da. One mini-school intranet, courtesy of Lex Luthor." Chloe punched a few keys, and made a face when the computer complained with a series of beeps. "Huh. It worked fine this morning..." Distracted by more beeps, Chloe bit her lower lip, and fiddled around on the keyboard until it flashed a blue screen. "Okay, I think I killed it. This is why I'm a Mac girl."

"Hey, Chloe, I was..." Clark's voice trailed off, and he smiled sheepishly when two pairs of eyes turned his way. Shrugging out of his backpack, he dropped it to hang in front of his bare legs, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. More sneakers, long socks... and then bare knees, brushed by the red plaid hem of a makeshift kilt that wouldn't have been too laughable if it hadn't been paired with a Smallville Athletic Department t-shirt. "Lex."

"Clark." Lex's gaze trailed down again, and he rolled a half smile on his lips. "Or should I say, William Wallace?"

"Robert the Bruce," Clark said. He didn't even glance over when Chloe laughed; his slumped shoulders told the tale of suffering much abuse for his semi-costume.

Pushing off the table, Lex walked a slow curve toward him. "Straight to royalty, you're moving up in the world. I'm not sure the shirt is authentic, though."

Happy to fill in the details of someone else's costumed pain, Chloe laughed. "It was this morning. He's been stripping in stages all day."

"I had to change for gym."

"Phys ed bows for no monarch." Under his breath, Lex leaned in to murmur, "Sorry I missed the show." Turning on his heel, Lex walked backwards out of the room, pointing to Chloe. "I'll send somebody to look at those, and by the way: 'Around the World in 72 Days,' worked for the New York World, married a multimillionaire and retired."

Chloe dipped her head, half-waving as Lex disappeared, then looked up at Clark. Pinker than usual in the cheeks, and watching the path of Lex's exit, since Clark was otherwise distracted, Chloe enjoyed another leisurely look at his legs beneath the kilt. "You know, if I didn't know better, I would swear our own private Rockefeller had a crush on you."

With a grin and a shrug, Clark tossed his backpack on the closest table and parried. "That's funny. I was just getting ready to say the same thing."


"Chloe thinks you have a crush on me."

Tugging Clark's lower lip between his teeth, Lex seemed more interested in working his fingers through Clark's dark hair than what the eidtor of the school newspaper suspected. "We're that obvious?"

"I think it's just her," Clark said, leaning in for another long taste. Slipping past Lex's lips, swirling over his tongue, Clark didn't finish his sentence until he'd thoroughly softened Lex's mouth against his. "She thought Peter and Harry were doing it in Spiderman, too."

Lex rubbed his lips against Clark's before leaning his head back against the couch, and glancing up at the ceiling. "That'll lend another layer of tragedy to the relationship when Harry turns into the Hobgoblin."

"Spiderman's not gay, Lex." Clark sprawled back next to him, running his fingers along the warm, rough edge of Lex's watchband.

"Says you." Neutral-faced for a moment, Lex finally smiled. He could argue about the amazing Webslinger's sexuality all night long; he could probably make a pretty convincing argument that the sky was green, too, if he had the inclination. Rather than debate the finer points of perception and light refraction, Lex changed the subject. "I'm a little disappointed in you, Clark."

Unconcerned, Clark shrugged and slumped a little lower on the couch. He'd managed to work a pinkie beneath the watchband, and when he pushed it aside, he could see the faint, reddish impressions it left on Lex's skin. "Sorry. Why?"

With a slow gaze trailing down Clark's standard flannel and jeans, Lex took his time before answering. "You changed before you came over."

Rubbing his fingers against the grooves left on Lex's wrist, Clark shrugged. "You try baling hay in a skirt."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Lex said, finally turning his wrist over and opening the clasp on the watch to bare the skin beneath. "But I was under the impression that it was a kilt."

Clark rolled his eyes and spread out a little more, taking up two people's worth of space in one sprawl. "Yeah, me too, but the football team didn't see it that way. I think the only reason they didn't stuff me in a locker was because I wouldn't actually -fit- in a locker."

Not to mention the fact that he'd been known to lift two grown men at once, rescue random passers-by from car accidents, and dig girls buried alive from the ground without a shovel. The rumination passed as a flicker on Lex's brow, and he smiled. "If you put it back on, I'll make it up to you."

"Look, the only reason I didn't burn it..." Clark trailed off, watching Lex push off the couch and stride toward his desk. He moved with purpose, all sinuous grace as he rifled through the papers on his blotter. "Make it up to me how?"


Cupping a hand against the window, Clark peered out as the limo slowed in the shadow of a darkened cathedral. Crumbling spires reached toward the sky, and rainweathered gargoyles clutched at the corners, cast with permanent menace. A light rain stained the stonework, gathering to run in dirty streams in the gutters. The alley didn't seem like a place where a limo should stop- really, the far edge of Ryder's Mile didn't seem like a place where anyone should stop, but before Clark could think on it too deeply, the driver opened his door.

Clark stepped out, hesitant and scanning his surroundings. Just a long, wet alley, a dumpster played shelter to a feral cat which welcomed him with a hiss, Clark could just make out a hint of music, and since it was a church, he felt okay praying that this was just Lex's idea of being clever. Pushing his fingers through his hair, dark curls clung to his skin, damp and tangling under the fine mist of rain. With another glance down the alley, he picked left and started that way.

Behind him, a door slipped open, casting greyish light into the alley and shadowing a woman in its frame. "Mr. Kent!"

Relief flooded through him, warm against the cool night, and Clark smoothed his hands down his sides as he approached her. "That's me..."

"My apologies," the woman said, taking him by the elbow and leading him inside. "We had a problem in the confessionals, I was delayed. Right this way."

Sudden heat met them in a wave, thick with the scent of smoke and incense. Instead of the secrets of the universe, the watery light inside only illuminated a plain, wood-clad hallway. Clark tried to look casual while stealing glances at the woman hopefully leading him toward Lex. Thin and sharp, dark hair and pale eyes, she reminded him of a greyhound. "The confessionals?"

The woman answered with a shrug, and pulled open another door. Strobes and pounding choral music poured in, the shadowy shapes of hundred of bodies swelling and grinding together greeting them. Raising her voice over the music, she gave Clark a little shove. "Have a good time, Mr. Kent."

His eyes adjusted to the punctuated dark, but not quickly enough to catch the owner of the hand that brushed across his ass. Bewildered by the crush of bodies, music and heat, Clark turned a slow circle, searching for Lex in the crowd. Unfortunately, this particular club boasted more than a few tall, pale bald men in various stages of intoxication and debauchery. Between pulses of light, Clark caught glimpses of hands inside shirts, hands down pants, up skirts, thick sliding tongues and dances close enough for the couples to share a single skin. Another touch skimmed the small of his back, and this time, he turned quickly enough to catch the offender.

Offering Clark a glass, Lex tilted his head, shouting a little over the music. "Sorry about the cloak and dagger routine. Matthia's gotten a little popular in the last couple of years, I didn't want to risk you ending up in the tabloids."

Clark nodded, but he didn't really hear the explanation. His attention had strayed, taking in leathered Lex with a slow, impressed smile. A battered black jacket framed Lex's shoulders, its silver zippers parted down the middle, and at his wrists. A second-skin black shirt outlined every ripple of muscle when the lights flashed up, and disappeared in a seamless transition into dark leather pants. Clark could smell heat rolling off of him, his spiced scent rubbed with earthy leather, and he quelled the urge to lean over and taste his pale throat by taking a sip of his soda. "You told my dad you were taking me to a museum exhibit."

"I am." Eyes sparkling with the sin of omission, Lex swirled his own drink before taking a sip. "Tomorrow."

Lighting with a grin, Clark rubbed his shoulder against Lex's. "Nice. But how exactly is this supposed to make..." Cutting himself off, Clark caught a feminine hand at the hem of his kilt, following it up a glittering wrist all the way to an iridescent-sparkling face with dark rimmed eyes.

"You were so pretty, I couldn't help myself," she chirped, catching the bottom of her lip between her teeth. Long, neon lashes fluttered once and she eyed his legs again. "Are you regimental?"

"Yes, but he's with me." Casual, Lex raised his glass to her, smiling until she shrank back into the crowd, little gauze fairy wings trailing from the shoulders of her dress. Even in the dark, Lex couldn't miss Clark's blush. "Starting to get the idea?"

With a quizzical smile, Clark brushed a hand down the kilt and shook his head. "She's probably high, Lex."

"She may be high, Clark. That doesn't make her blind." Lex drained the rest of his glass, and set it on a nearby table. Fingers brushing against Clark's wrist, he backed toward the dance floor, raising his brows and inviting him along with a subtle nod. "Come on."

Any protests Clark had were drowned out by the music. Everything seemed louder on the dance floor, electronicalaced hymns rising with raptured melody and beat so loud he could feel it on his skin. He could even taste the bass vibration on his tongue, tickling like the promise of a kiss as he followed Lex through twining bodies.

Amidst the crowd, people moved aside just enough to welcome two more, then closed in again, and dancing became more a necessity than a choice. The whole floor pulsed and throbbed with the music, skin on skin, familiar hands spanning Clark's waist, and a languorous, feminine pressure on his back.

The strobes stuttered, Lex's face washed free of lines and edges by the harsh light. He moved like sex, his narrow hips grinding into Clark's, one hand casually flicking at the buttons on Clark's dress shirt until it fell open to bare his skin. Too loud on the floor to be heard, Clark read the rounded shapes on Lex's lips, -relax-, and he offered a plaintive smile in return.

Nothing like the Wild Coyote, Matthia didn't allow room to breathe without sharing the breath with someone else. Clark let himself be moved, steadied by Lex's hand on his waist, keeping his pale face at the center of his focus. Overwhelmed by scent and touch, Clark blocked it out, closing his eyes and dipping his head to inhale Lex's scent, soothing and safe. Offered a kiss, he took it, catching Lex's lips with his own, suddenly grinning after the taste of his tongue. Like Christmas trees, he tasted like Christmas trees, with a hint of lime.

Mouthing a smile onto Clark's lips, Lex kept his eyes open enough for both of them, dancing until Clark relaxed against him. A swirl of partners shifted around them, androgyne boys brave enough to slip up and press against them for a few bars before melting away to pretty babydyke girls, glitter rubbing off with each pass, little splashes of lipsticked and gloss color staining Clark's shirt from white to a dirtied rainbow. Ave Maria gave way to O Fortuna, and Lex could feel the change on Clark's skin when he converted to one of the believers, feeling the music, made brave by so many admiring eyes on him.

On another shift in the music, Clark turned, his back against Lex's chest, actually smiling when another momentary partner shivered up to him. A little, vampy vixen filed in close to him, her black-bobbed hair cutting pretty lines against her cheeks, blood-red lips outlined to a perfect cupid's bow, and eyes drawn dark with soft, Egyptianesque smudges. Straight out of the silent movies, Clark thought she looked like a doll, pretty and perfect, and otherworldly when she smiled. With Lex's hand still on his hip, Clark dared to touch her. Chaste, just a hand on her waist, but it made her smile again, and made it even easier to sink into the endless, pulsing rhythm of the music.

Everything melted together in the heat: lights, music, time and bodies, all blended in a gold-glitter pitch of motion and adrenaline. Senses blurred by adrenaline, exertion, Clark would have happily danced on with Lex and the flapper if he hadn't felt a tug on his arm, leading him away. Before he could go, the flapper caught him by the collar and tugged him down to leave a perfect imprint of her lips on his cheek. With an endearing smile, Clark waved at her as Lex drew him from the floor with a steady lead. Away from the crowd, cooler air crept across his skin, burnished with the rub of heavy velvet. Red and soft, it brushed against his back when Lex let the curtain drop back into place.

"I thought it was okay, I didn't tou..."

Pressing him against the polished wood wall of this small cell, Lex erased Clark's protest with a claiming kiss. Parting his lips with the tip of his tongue, Lex traced sensitive lips before delving past them. Long, hot slides, he pressed into him, swirling over his tongue, then pulling back to seek newer, deeper angles. Spreading his hands out on Clark's chest, he pushed the shirt aside, fingers painting trails down his skin to make darkening stripes through the left-behind glitter. With another deep slide, Lex dragged his lips away, mapping the hard edge of Clark's jaw before sinking to trail that heat along his throat.

Swallowing hard, Clark cast his gaze up, his pretty features rippling with pleasure and disbelief. Above, a faux fresco swam with muted passion colors, Adam reaching out to God, and below, Lex stained his throat with passioned kisses, teeth catching on the curve of his throat. Grasping Lex's arms, the leather creaked under Clark's touch, more of its earthy scent stinging his nose. Music from the outside world seeped in, but the beat ran too slow, contrary to the pounding rush in his ears, tingling all the way to his hands. He could feel the hard press of Lex's cock against his hip, his own starting to ache when Lex shifted against him to savor the other side of his throat.

When he closed his eyes, Clark could see the strobes again, painting positive and negative cameos of Lex's face. Breathing him, feeling him, Clark clenched his teeth and moaned softly when a hot hand slid up the inside of his thigh. A steady slide, he slumped a little when Lex coaxed his cock from the front of his boxers. He could feel that touch everywhere, clutching in his chest, and burning down into his fingers, he turned his head blindly to find Lex's mouth.

He could feel his breath, hot and stuttered on his cheek, and he tried to follow it until Lex rolled his thumb over the head of his cock. Thrusting into the smooth fire of Lex's hand, Clark shuddered and opened his eyes again to find himself staring down into Lex's. He felt naked, and sort of worshiped, pressed into the wall and into Lex's hand, rolling his hips to meet his downward strokes.

Moving like dancing, like sex, Lex used his whole body to rub hard slides along Clark's cock, pale eyes darkened to storm sunset colors and devouring every flicker of pleasure that glimmered across Clark's face. Sometimes, on a long, slow pull, he'd catch Clark's lower lip, sucking it in time to his strokes, a hint of a smile touching the edges when Clark would shudder and press his head hard against the wall. Each soft sound, every whispered breath encouraged him, flipping his hand to stroke the inside curve of his cock, the silky round of Clark's cockhead rubbing the inside of his wrist. "Come for me, Clark."

That honeyed voice and heady gaze slipped into him, physical like Lex's touch. Muscles tightening all over, Clark's back arched, and everything coiled inside him snapped. Ruining Lex's rhythm with his own, he thrust senselessly, dragging his lower lip through his teeth to swallow back guttural cries, jerking and pouring out hot and slick into Lex's hand. Washing the heat back over him, the last strokes lingered long, swirling to trace the head of his cock, slipping all the way down to the base to squeeze in lazy pulses. Trying to catch his breath, Clark dropped his forehead against Lex's shoulder, his whole body shuddering with the stinging beat of aftershocks.

Bleary in the drugged haze of orgasm, for a long time the only thing that caught Clark's attention was Lex's shifting weight, and the soft, occasional press of lips against his. When his heart had settled back to a nearly normal pace, and he could exhale without wavering shudders, he found himself mostly tucked in, mostly buttoned up, and Lex licking the edge of his thumb before leaning in for another kiss. "Feel better about the kilt?"

"Yeah, I... uh, yeah." Laughing softly, Clark rolled his gaze away and pushed his hair from his face. "I think I should feel guilty, though. I mean, this used to be a church. And I didn't even try..." He dropped his gaze to the fly of Lex's pants, letting the look fill in the words.

"We have all night. Besides..." Pulling the curtain back, Lex smiled and gestured toward the dance floor again. "The longer I wear them, the more interesting the patterns they leave on my skin."


The black-bobbed wig fell onto the passenger seat with an unceremonious flop, and a quick swipe of tissue blotted away most of the lipstick. The beaded dress was a little uncomfortable in the driver's seat, so as soon as she hit the highway, she hiked it up around her waist. At worst, she'd give a trucker a glimpse of leg, and at best, she wouldn't have to check herself into the Smallville Medical Center for an emergency beadectomy. Reaching up to adjust the mirror, Chloe smiled victoriously at her own smeared reflection. "Told you he had a crush on Clark."

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