by Aelita

I'd like to thank velvetglove for beta and dedicate this fic to her patience and support. You all should to because without her wisdom, you never would've seen this.

The first fifteen seconds stretch into something that feels longer than one of his father's lectures as Clark is trying his best to look tough.

That attempt fails. As a matter of fact, if Lex were here right now, he'd say that the attempt fails spectacularly. Though honestly, when Lex gets here he'll probably be too busy laughing his ass off to say anything. Hell, he'll clear his schedule for the next three weeks because he'll be busy laughing his ass off. Due to the fact that Clark is wearing a transparent red... not a shirt, even Chloe wouldn't call this thing a shirt, a stuffed black bra underneath, blue leather miniskirt, thigh highs, platforms and enough makeup to scare a child. At least Clark hopes that's why that kid ran away screaming. On the good side, the cheap plastic jewelry was taken away.

The next fifteen minutes are spent trying not to hyperventilate, with constant reminders to himself that whimpering is never a good idea.

It's a particularly horrible idea in jail.

Especially if you're a guy dressed as a hooker, and he is going to fucking kill Pete. At least then he'll deserve to be here. Hopefully he'll have time to change clothes first.

He never knew that mortification could breed terror.

It doesn't matter if he is invulnerable and that the heavily-tattooed, hairy-as-a-bear, dirty-leather-clad guy in the corner will not be able to make him his bitch. Let him smile all he wants because... oh shit, are those black things actually his teeth? Breathing might be good now. Thinking of all the fun ways he is going to torture his ex-friend-as good as dead ex-friend-helps.

A slight commotion brings him out of his reverie. A new prisoner, and things just keep getting better and better. Clark is not a small man, especially in five-inch platforms, but damn. That guy towers over even him, and that much muscle should be illegal unless you're a professional bodybuilder.

Some idiot whistles.

The new prisoner stops and growls.

Everyone smarter than a brick wall-surprisingly including Mr. BlackTeeth-stops breathing.

The new man lets his very pissed, very convincing glare pass over the inhabitants of the cell until he sees Clark.

Clark gulps.

The man stares.

Clark tries to fade into the wall. Unfortunately, the wall is dirty-gray, not rainbow, and that doesn't work any better this time than the previous.

The man glowers at the people sitting on the bench across from Clark. They scamper like cockroaches, faster than the eye can follow. He sits, leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

Everyone relearns breathing.

Clark shifts, trying to get a little more comfortable. The floor is cold and stinks of piss and shit, and he doesn't care if he sounds like a little girl. He wants to go home, he wants to go home now and really, really badly. It's not the first time he has been arrested. But this is the first time he's been arrested in Metropolis, and the city jail is a universe away from the empty, clean-and did he mention empty?-cells of Smallville jail. And dammit, his feet hurt, the skirt is a pain in all the wrong places, his face is hot and sticky under all the makeup, and he is reaching a whole new level of respect for women.

He can't imagine how his mom... oh, god. His parents. Who are going to drive all the way to Metropolis when they find out, and then there'll be lectures and disappointment and lectures. There must be a kryptonite rock laying around somewhere that he can eat for punishment instead. And yes, that is a whimper, thank you very much. Dignity be damned.

Heavy, steel-toed Harley Davidson boots stop right before him and he cautiously looks up. Tries to swallow as his face gets hotter and mouth drier. Black teeth show in all their natural glory.

"Ain't you a pretty little faggot." Oh, crap, he can smell that breath all the way to the floor, and it's so bad, his brain is refusing to register the insult. Pete is deader than dead. Think, Clark, think! You need to get out of this without showing your freak-side because there are cameras here.

"Leave 'im alone." Surprised, Clark blinks and glances around the cell to identify his defender. Surprise turns shock when he realizes that his protector is the latest addition to the criminal crme de la crme of Metropolis.

"Fuck off. This little ho' 's mine."

Before anyone can react, Mr. BlackTeeth is pinned to the wall, at least three inches above the ground. His captor glowers-which, Clark must admit, he does incredibly well-and says, "I. Said. Leave. The kid. Alone. Bitch."

Threat made and acknowledged with pathetic gasps in a slightly weird alpha male ritual. Mr. BlackTeeth is released and they skulk back to where each was sitting before the little incident.

Clark has an urge to shake his head because suddenly everything just feels so. Freaking. Surreal. A little braver, he sneaks a few glances at his savior and realizes that there is something familiar about the man. There is even a name, something with a G. George? Geranimo? Giant? G-man?


Lex! His bestest buddy in the whole wide world have come to bail him out! He almost starts chanting "thank you thank you thank you" at the top of his lungs when he hears the familiar voice. Macho manhood be damned, he has never been this happy to see Lex in his entire life and he is perfectly willing to admit that in front everyone. Hell, he would even weep but he might smudge his mascara. He rises of the ground eagerly and... Lex is staring. With his mouth slightly opened and brows arched and a very strange expression that Clark has never seen before.

Realizes what it is quickly.

So this is what a Luthor in shock looks like. He almost wishes for the camera but then he remembers that, chances are, he'll be the one who is photographed, and this is not a moment he wants preserved for future generations.

At least Lex isn't laughing. Yet.

Lex shakes off the shock almost instantly, with the graceful effortlessness that was synonymous with his image. Pure concern and something fierce on his face, he moves closer to the bars. "You alright?"

Clark nods but knows he isn't fooling his friend when something very dangerous flashes in Lex's eyes. Voice intimidatingly low, Lex asks, "Someone gave you trouble?" Before Clark can answer, Lex glances around the cell and stops at the G-man. Tiny nod, practically invisible, and Clark suddenly remembers where he'd seen the man.

Lex's personal security.

How the hell did he get one of his men in jail this quickly, made sure that he was in the same cell as Clark and... it's possible that he really, really doesn't want to know.

"Someone tried but Geraldo here stopped him." Maybe smugness is not the best way to thank someone for rushing to bail you out of jail, but he can't resist. Then again, this is Lex, and maybe when it comes to Lex it is the best way, because Lex turns his attention back to him and smirks, without denying anything. "Your faith in my ability to take care of myself is inspiring."

"I have no doubt you're capable of taking care of yourself. You took care of the entire town for years. But you sounded... extremely distressed on the phone." Lex tilts his head and there is so much concern hiding underneath the sarcastic faade that Clark feels warm and content; Lex must be really worried to let this much show. Lex motions to the guards behind him and one enters the cell and starts putting handcuffs on Clark.

As they lead Clark out, Lex walks beside them and explains. "My lawyers are working on getting the charges dropped, but it's going to take a while. The nice police officers pleasantly agreed to my request to let you stay in one of the empty offices for now. At least you won't have to be in the common cell while we wait."

Right. And Santa Claus will be joining them for the baseball game next weekend. They enter a small room with a desk in the middle and two chairs. It smells of dust and stale coffee, but there is no glass wall, so it's not an interrogation room. For some reason it makes Clark feel a lot better. He rubs his wrists when the cop silently takes the cuffs off and waits until the guy leaves before glancing slyly at Lex. "Pleasantly agreed? What did you do, threatened to eat their babies for breakfast?"

Sharp grin, and Lex's presence really shouldn't make Clark feel this much better. He's in jail. Ten seconds ago he was wearing handcuffs. Ten minutes ago he was wishing he was humanly vulnerable and still had his ugly jewelry so that he could try and slit his wrists with it.

Now he's smiling and watching his friend inspect the room with a disdain of a spoilt prince.

"Lunch. You know I only drink blood of the virgins for breakfast." Lex glides one of the chairs from under the desk and stares at it like it's etched with his father's blessings.

"I'd still like to know where you find virgins in Metropolis."

"I have them delivered from Smallville. Organic fresh too." He finally shrugs and sits on the chair, slumping a bit but still managing to look more regal than even Princess Romanova. Clark knows; Lex had introduced them last year when she flew in from New York for some charity thing. "This brings back memories." Lex murmurs under his breath but Clark catches it easily.

"You've been here before?"

No answer, except for an arched brow that practically singsongs 'Wouldn't you like to know.'

Sighing, Clark takes the available chair and tries to sit down comfortably. He wonders if 'comfortably' and 'skirt' are even allowed in the same room, and if that sound he hears is Lex snickering... He glances sharply up but Lex is looking at the file in his hands. "Lex?"

"It's a copy of your charges." As he scans through the papers, Lex twirls a pen in his fingers and Clark gapes with fascination. He'd tried to learn that once. Dropped the pen 14 times before his fingers slipped and the pen ended up embedded in the wall. He tries to tell himself that he's simply admiring the skill, but the primitive part of his brain makes itself known by supplying visuals of what other things those impressively versatile fingers might be able to do.

He needs to make Lex stop doing that, because he may not have much experience with drag, but even he knows that erections and miniskirts just simply do not mix.

"Lex." Clark waits until he has Lex's full attention. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem." Lex looks at him for a few beats and closes the file, placing it and the pen back on the desk. "Clark, I know I've been a little busy for the last few weeks but you know I'm always here for you. And if you needed the money that badly..."


"What?" Lex motions at the file. Fuck. Well, at least that killed any stirring he had in his pa... skirt. "No, Lex it's not what you think."

Lex's voice is schooled, lacking any kind of judgment or emotion, and Clark hates when he sounds like this. "So, if not for money, were you selling yourself for pleasure?"

"No! I wasn't." And this conversation just went to hell faster than a speeding bullet.

"Prostitution, Clark."

"I wasn't..." He must be tired because he completely fell for it. He crosses his arms on his chest, which takes a couple of tries because his breasts keep getting in the way, and scowls at Lex, who is very obviously biting his lip to keep from laughing. "Bastard."

"No, that would be my father." At Clark's surprised sound, Lex finally lets out a lazy chuckle. "Family tree can be very telling, if you know what you're looking for. But we digress. So, you're not a lady of the night. Tell me."

"It's a long story."

"It's not as if it's 4 am on a Tuesday night and I have better things to do. Like sleeping."

He knows what Lex is doing and it makes it easier. "Guilt trip, Lex? Isn't it a little low?"

"Luthors fight dirty. Come on. We have at least an hour until the paperwork is done. I'm bored. Entertain me." And it hits Clark that Lex must be tired. He is acting more like a brat than usual and his sentences are getting shorter. There is tightness around his eyes that Clark only notices now, but he doesn't appear sleepy; he seems wired if anything, practically thrumming with energy. This isn't exactly different, Lex always looks as if he has unlimited reservoirs of energy, but it doesn't feel entirely natural somehow. Oh, shit, the trip...

"When did you get in from Hong Kong?"

Lex waves and stretches his shoulders discreetly. "Around six this morning. Don't change the subject. Spill."

That makes Clark feel even worse because he knows that Lex can't sleep on planes. Which would make this his second sleepless night in the row. But there is nothing he can do about it now except tell Lex to go home. Oh, yeah, that will go over very well. He doesn't even bother.

"It was a bet, ok? Pete made a stupid bet with some guys and we lost. As penance, Pete and I had to dress like this and stand on the corner until someone tried to pick us up. If the guy offered us money, we were supposed to come clean. I went first. When the guy revealed that he was a cop and arrested me, the others ran. I tried to explain but they didn't believe me. You know the rest." And it's finally hitting him that he doesn't even know what happened to Pete. Those guys could've just left him there, in the worst part of Metropolis.

Lex reads his mind, as usual. He takes out his cell, hits speed dial and waits, looking at Clark with an enigmatic grin. Clark has seen this expression before. Lex is masterminding. Clark is more afraid of masterminding Lex than the entire jail experience.

"Pete? Yeah, it's Lex. Yes, I'm aware of that. As a matter of fact, I'm with him right now."

"Tell him he's dead meat." Clark says it loudly, earning him an amused look.

"You heard? He looks pretty pissed, I don't think Mexico is far away enough.... No, he's not out. If it was just prostitution, I would've gotten him out by now but the assault of a police officer is a serious offense. Even my lawyers are having trouble. He's facing from five to ten and I don't mean months.... What?..." Lex glances at Clark and his grin widens with satisfaction. "He says one of the cops who busted him liked him too much and got a little frisky. He was trying to protect himself, but proving it is impossible. Listen, Pete, I'm calling you for a reason. I spoke to the Kents and they are driving out. I booked them a room in the motel by the university but they'll be dropping by the dorm to talk to you and find out exactly what happened... Yes, I hear Antarctica is very nice this time of year. Have a good night, Pete." He hangs up with a flourish.

Clark can't help it, he starts laughing. "You are twisted. I won't be surprised if he does run for the North Pole."

"Speaking of your parents." That kills Clark's joy quickly, and he groans, dropping his head on the desk with a loud thump. "You think you could place a camcorder in the room when you tell them? I'd really like to see it." Clark looks up and practices his best glare. It doesn't faze Lex in the least. "I'd come personally, but I'm sure your father would find a way to blame it on me."

"That's an idea! I'll just tell them it was your bad influence." He may be twenty years old but he can still sulk like a teenager.

"You can tell them anything that would make it easier. And if you don't want to tell them anything at all, it'll be fine as well." Lex's voice is soft and sober and Clark looks up with surprise. "I was twelve the first time I was... detained." Oh. "I was infinitely more terrified of my mother finding out than my father." Lex picks up the pen again but doesn't do anything with it, except look at it as if it has the latest stock reports ticking across its surface. "I knew how upset she'd be and I hated the thought of being the cause of it."

Despite Chloe's best efforts, she'd never managed to find anything about Lex's arrests anywhere. His police records were clean. Newpapers didn't have anything but unconfirmed rumors. Clark was never fooled by the lack of information. Lex's throwaway comments gave his imagination enough material to that just because information was seemingly buried didn't mean it didn't exist. He had always been sure that Lex's wild youth didn't start until his late teens, fueled by his mother's death and his father's disregard. Maybe he was wrong.

"Why were you arrested?"

He expects that self-depreciating smirk that always reveals itself when Lex talks about past mistakes. But Lex's smile is real, if slightly detached. "I broke into the NIH medical research database from my school's computer." He shrugs at Clark's shocked expression. "There was a rumor on one of the medical boards I frequented that the NIH got its hands on some medical miracle that could cure anything. Stupid if you think about it, but I was getting..." He doesn't finish and he doesn't really need to. "The point is, Clark, you don't have to tell your parents. I'm sure Pete can keep a secret, as well can I."

It's a lot more tempting than Clark is willing to admit. "What about the charges?"

"There will be no charges or any records of the arrest anywhere." Lex's tone is confident and Clark...can finally relax. He knows this isn't exactly right. He could justify it any way he can, trying to spare his parents pain and disappointment, but he knows he is doing this for himself.

He doesn't care. This was a misunderstanding and he doesn't deserve to have his future ruined because of it. 'Arrested for prostitution' really doesn't look good on a resume, even a journalist's one, and he wants that job at Daily Planet when he graduates.

He should probably thank Lex. But his selfish insight makes him feel uncomfortable and he is desperate to drop the subject. He smiles instead, knowing that Lex will understand.

"So what was your hacker name?"

A warning, amused glare shot his way. "You will never find out. And I'm not a hacker. I can do a few things that aren't exactly... legitimate. But I've never had the patience to learn the more complicated stuff."

"Because breaking into a medical database is as easy as learning an alphabet."

Lex chuckles. "You'd be surprised."

"What else can you do?" Clark throws just enough challenge into his question to make sure that Lex answers.

Lex puts his hands into his pockets and slides forward on his chair a little, stretching his legs. "Not anything I should mention in here." Which is probably true, but not good enough.

"I thought you liked to live dangerously."

"Only if I have something to gain from it."

Clark rests his elbows on the cheap Formica and inspects Lex, trying to figure out how far he can push before the other man locks down. "Lex, you've already said more than you should've."

"And that's incentive for me say more how, exactly?" Lex snaps and Clark blinks. Lex usually has unlimited patience with him, and maybe he did push too far. Clark thinks that maybe it's time to change the subject and tries to come up with something that won't feel too obvious.

Lex stares at the tops of his shoes and Clark notices that some of his energy is gone. Lex looks more relaxed and much more worn out. His voice is flippant when he speaks again but there is this tension underneath that makes Clark uneasy. "I can make a person disappear. Birth records, social security, credit bureau. The works." He doesn't look at Clark and this must be what Bluebeard's latest wife felt after opening the door. "I can infiltrate a worm into the system that will divert a tiny amount, not enough for most systems to notice, of company's funds into the bank account of my choice." He pauses. "I can also build a nuclear bomb in my cellar, I even know where to get uranium. Doesn't mean I plan to do any of that." Lex looks up and meets his eyes unwaveringly and relief rushes through Clark's system. Not adequate to squelch all of his suspicions, because the fact that Lex is so absolutely sure that he can do all of this is terrifying in its own way. He ignores it. He ignores the careful choice of words as well, because 'not planning' isn't the same as 'will never' but it's probably the best Lex can do.

"I'm afraid to ask what professionals can do."

"A lot more." It's clear that Lex considers this conversation closed and Clark thinks this might be a great idea. They've both had a rough night, they're both tired and grumpy, and he doesn't think either one of them wants a serious discussion that will most likely end in a fight. Lex rubs the back of his neck and murmurs softly. "Jesus, it's hot in here." His fingers rest on the collar of his sweater, as if he wants to pull it down but hasn't decided whether it'd be appropriate. Clark spends a few moments sending telepathic messages regarding what he thinks is the proper decision. Instead, Lex rolls his sleeves up, places his hand on the desk and starts tapping impatiently.

Silence is comfortable, but without distraction Clark realizes just how much energy the emotional roller coaster had sucked out of him. His mind is foggy and the only thing stopping him from yawning is deep belief that once he starts, he won't stop until his jaw breaks. He reaches up to rub his eyes but his wrist is seized before he can start rubbing them. He can move faster than Lex, though sometimes he has his doubts, but he'd give his right hand to be able to move as gracefully as him.

"Don't. You'll ruin your makeup."

Very innocent. So freaking innocent that Clark wishes that Lex knew about his heat vision. Not that he'd actually use it on the arrogant bastard, but it'd be nice to be able to threaten him. He settles for simply scowling. And pretends he doesn't notice that Lex's hand is still wrapped around his. Lex leans closer, so close that Clark can smell him and that's a shock. Lex always smells like expensive soap and French cologne. Now those fragrances are still there but muted, layered under something else, something more primal, more male. He can't quite place it but...he likes it. Likes it so much, he has to fight the urge to lean over and lick at the available stretch of skin. Lick until he can taste the scent.

"You know, Clark. Underneath that horrible outfit and that garish makeup, hides a very attractive lady." There is a ghost of a smile on Lex's face and Clark's line of thought is broken. "I think you need more wintery colors though. Bright lime eye-shadow does not work well even for your green eyes."

Clark is going to kill him. No, wait. First, he'll wait until Lex gets him out of jail and then he'll kill him. Slowly. "Prick." Lex smiles. "Asshole."

Lex smiles wider and leans back, finally releasing Clark's hand. He makes a show of intense concentration as he looks at Clark. "I bet if we could put you in Gaultier, you'd look *fab*ulous."

Clark remembers Gaultier. That's the only designer in Lex's wardrobe Clark remembers. Since even though he'd never seen Lex wear it, he had spent a lot of time trying to imagine Lex in mesh shirt with purple demons on it. "Damned sadist."

"That too."

"You're just jealous because for the first time I'm dressed in more striking clothes."

"You're right. I'm just stunned by having to face such a great, quiet magnificence." Lex reaches to rub his neck again and there is a red bruise on his wrist. Clark almost grabs the arm but hesitates when he realizes that the bruise looks a lot like a bite mark.

Everything clicks. The strange energy. Why Lex looks more rumpled then usual. The scent. Why he was awake when Clark called.

"Who is she?" The whore.

"Pardon me?" Lex looks genuinely confused at Clark's question.

Clark points at the bruise and tries his best not to look jealous. "Or was it a he this time?" The gold-digging twinkie. Ha!

Lex keeps staring at him though, looking slightly defensive but peculiarly pleased. "They are acquaintances of mine."

They? Maybe not that peculiarly.

"They?" His voice did not crack. Nope.

"They." Lex practically purrs the word but doesn't say more.

"Lex. Give the poor prisoner details. We're not allowed to have sex in jail." That's it. He's just curious. That's normal. All guys want to know whom their best friends fuck. Right.

"You've been here for five hours, not exactly a life sentence."

"Leeeeeeex!" He doesn't care if he's whining. He wants to know. He needs to know. And Lex is a damn tease.

"Remember the calendar you found in my office?"

"The one you were hiding between Nietzsche and Marx?" Lex nods and it finally hits Clark what he's talking about. The calendar featuring couples doing things he didn't think were humanly possible. Remember it? It's burned into his mind. Clark has watched porn that was less intense than that calendar. He has a long, satisfying relationship with the memories of that calendar. His mouth suddenly goes very dry. "You didn't."

There is a glint in Lex's eyes that speaks for itself. "I stumbled upon Mr. and Ms. July in the airport."

Clark mentally flips through the pages until... Oh. Shit. The absolutely gorgeous, long-legged, redheaded, impressively limber Ms. July. As for Mr. July...

"Does he really have twelve-inch dick?"

"I can assure you that they are both even more exquisite than in the pictures."



This was a really, really bad idea. This was probably the worst idea he's ever had. Because now he has these images in his head, images of two gorgeous people with Lex in the middle, and there is enough jerk-off material to last for years. But having those images completely overrun his psyche right now, with Lex sitting less than two feet away from him, is incredibly, horrifyingly bad. And who knew that leather makes that much noise when it's being pushed by a very insistent cock?

But there is also anger in there, coming from a place inside of him that he doesn't like to think about. He has no right to be angry, he knows it, but he can't help it. He tries to hide it from Lex and says, "And you left them in your bed to get me out of jail?"

"You got lucky. We didn't get very far. I was still wearing my clothes."

For some reason that makes Clark even angrier. "Are you going back after we're done here?"

He must not hide his feelings very well, because Lex stares at him and says, "Do I detect a hint of disapproval, Clark?"

A flash of guilt and he really needs to shut up. "Of course not. Just jealousy. Because you didn't invite me." Lex's eyebrows rise and it takes a moment for what he said to sink in. And it's not as if Clark had never thought of Lex that way but he doesn't necessarily want Lex to know it. "I mean..."

There is a long, tense pause during which Lex doesn't react in any way, doesn't even breathe, and Clark feels like someone poured gasoline over him and lit it up.

Clark isn't stupid. He has always had suspicions that Lex wanted him. Even before Lex threw a few well-placed hints at him. Perfectly balanced hints too-not so obvious that they couldn't be disregarded as a simple misunderstanding, but clear enough to be considered as a first move if acknowledged.

A first move that wasn't reciprocated as of yet.

Every now and then, there is this perfect moment when all he has to do is simply acknowledge it. Not even say anything, really, but just admit his attraction to his best friend in any way. A glance. A touch. Anything. And things will become a hell of a lot more interesting. And different.

He chickens out every time.

He knows the routine.

He'll watch Lex hide his disappointment. And will ignore his own rapidly beating heart and the bitter taste in his mouth.

Lex will disappear under the shroud of business for a couple of weeks.

And then they'll go back to their normal flirt and dance routine.

"I understand what you mean, Clark." Lex finally looks away. He gets up and moves only a few feet away from the desk, but it feels as if he just caught a jet across the country and left a lifeless hologram in his place.

Clark wonders how long before Lex gives up on waiting for him.

He wonders how come he still hasn't.

"No, I don't think you do, Lex." Lex's gaze snaps back at him, carefully aloof, and it makes Clark ache deep in his chest. He meets it stubbornly and he wants to say *'I don't want Mr. Twelve-inch, I want you'* but he's suddenly terrified that maybe he misinterpreted; maybe he's already too late. Maybe the reason Lex hasn't made the first move is because he'd never wanted this, and Clark was simply projecting his own desires.

Maybe he is simply a big, stupid, gay alien who is so in love with his best friend that he has convinced himself that the friend is in love with him, too.

Or maybe not. Cool, indifferent blue darkens with something intense and fervent and so full of promise that Clark has to swallow a groan. There is a tiny rise of panic that he'll simply combust if things progress further, but he doesn't care because it would be one hell of a way to go.

Now that Clark has finally admitted that he wants, all that is truly left is to take. If he can only move...

Lex is sauntering toward him, slowly, as though giving Clark one more chance to change his mind. His heart is racing and he can't look away. His timing sucks. He's in jail and anyone can come in, and whatever they'll see will only serve as additional proof of his guilt. But that fear flees quickly because Lex is touching him. Not a detached clap on the shoulder or carefully casual grasp of the arm. It's nothing more than a gentle brush of fingers against his cheek but it's different in ways he can't explain.

It makes him feel fragile.

It steals his sanity.

He leans into the hand that is cradling his face because he cannot not do it.

Lex makes a soft sound that Clark wants to hear again. He wants to record it and listen to it all the time. Or better yet, just glue himself to Lex and keep doing whatever he can to earn the pleasure of hearing it over and over again. Without breaking contact, Clark turns his head and places a kiss on the palm.

And that is the magic touch because suddenly he has a lap full of Lex, and Lex is kissing him. Hard and wet and vicious and, Jesus Christ, he is starting to understand the expression 'never been kissed' because he's never been kissed like this. As if Lex has been waiting his entire life for this, and now that he's been given permission, he's going to devour him. Melt him into a Lex-worshipping puddle with those tiny sharp nips and then swallow him whole.

Lex even tastes like desire, golden and salty and bright, like flying over the ocean on a sunny day.

He doesn't really need to breathe but he's lightheaded with want and craving. Lex is human though, and he should've come up for air hours ago, but Lex isn't pulling away; he just keeps on kissing. He feels heavier than Clark had expected, rocking liquidly against his hips, and it makes this more real somehow. Clark's hands are moving on their own accord, pushing, pulling at clothes, and he thinks he's whimpering but doesn't give a damn. Lex's fingers are in his hair, running down his neck and shoulders, and he can feel a hint of nails digging into his skin through the thin mesh of his shirt, making every stroke singe.

Lex finally releases Clark's lips and moves lower, licking his way down his neck and if Clark thought he was merciless before, boy was he wrong. There is sucking and biting and Clark is moaning now. His skin feels hypersensitive and feverish everywhere Lex touches or bites-or whatever he is doing with his tongue-just please don't let him stop.

"You know what the best part about skirts is, Clark?" Lex doesn't give Clark time to even understand the question. "Accessibility." He slides his hand down Clark's torso and dives right under the skirt, shoving his briefs aside and--oh, fucking God. He wraps his fingers around Clark's cock and rubs the head lightly against the feathery-smooth suede and Clark has found a new religion. One that involves Lex, Lex's hands, and skirts because skirts rock. They are the best invention since space shuttles. He is going to have this skirt bronzed, he's sure Lex knows someone who can do that, and fuck anyone who doesn't understand.

Lex starts jerking him off slowly and Clark can feel him watching his face. He doesn't remember when he closed his eyes but he has no will to force them open. He moans Lex's name, softly, trying to put all his need into that one word because more aren't an option.

Lex slides his second hand under the shirt and-shit-skin on skin feels even better. So fucking hot and smooth.

Lex pinches his nipple, unexpectedly and cruelly, and Clark arches off the chair, feet planted on the ground and back pushing the chair until it starts toppling over. There is a brief moment of panic before the wooden frame hits the wall, halting the fall, and Lex just rides it out with a natural, wild grace of a professional bullfighter. The mental image of Lex in bullfighter regalia-complete with a gold and red hat-might've made him laugh except Lex doesn't. Stop. Just tightens his grip-he isn't careful, not at all-and carries on stroking, twisting, biting, and Clark is so close it aches.

Clark is shaking violently and his grip on Lex's thighs tightens. He thinks he will leave bruises-darker, bigger then the one on Lex's arm-and that makes him buck harder. Lex doesn't seem to mind, his breathing frantic, as he keeps whispering in Clark's ear, senseless things about beauty and obsession and madness; soft seductive murmurs of being wasted following the lights of the dead, lying stars and deserts full of empty souls. Things Clark somehow understands because Lex's voice alone is bound to drive him through the gates of insanity without a glance back. Lex's hands can't hurt him, no matter what he does, and he seems to know it because he is ruthless, fucking savage. Yet it's his voice that matters, his voice that wraps around Clark like malleable silk made of passion, deceptively light and easily torn but stealing all his will and balance. And the sharp edges of hunger in the harsh gasps between the words and kisses are ripping into Clark, scraping him raw and making him vulnerable.

It scares the hell out of him.

But not as much as awareness of how much he loves this.

Every muscle in his body feels rock-hard tight, and he doesn't realize that the only reason he didn't come yet is because he wasn't given permission.

Until that permission comes in a softly spoken command, and he screams into Lex's mouth as release rushes through him, almost painful in its force. He can feel it pulsing in every cell of his body, from his toes to his lips, melting the tension into something warm and fluid; rendering him boneless and incapable of moving.

He isn't sure how much time passes before he manages to finally open his eyes.

Wants to kick himself for not doing it before because Lex...

Lex is sucking Clark's come off his fingers and watching him. His eyes are luminous with delight and satisfaction that shouldn't be there, considering that Clark can feel exactly how unsatisfied Lex is. Yet. Lex's lips are red and swollen and there are teeth marks on his neck that Clark doesn't remember leaving. Not that his memory is anything to go by because the spelling of his name? Gone. His completely blank mind can only produce one word but it keeps chanting it like the best prayer ever.

"Lex, I want..." interrupted by a long, languid kiss that is a complete opposite of the viciousness before. He sighs when Lex pulls away, smiling like a maniac.

"Later." Lex slides of his lap and passes Clark a handkerchief with his monogram. It'll take ten of those and a bath for Clark to clean up but he tries his best.

Clark barely has time to make himself semi-presentable before the door bursts open. The intruder looks so much like Bruce Willis that Clark has to take a double take. The man is heavier though, and at least a decade older. He blinks when he sees Lex, looking almost startled.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor, I didn't realize you were still here."

Lex looks back, one brow raised in a silent question.

"Charges have been dropped, Mr. Luthor. Mr. Kent is free to go."

"Thank you, Jack." Dismissed, the man slinks out, silently.

Clark times his attack carefully. The door clicks closed and he pushes Lex against it before he can object. Another kiss that starts out slow but quickly deviates toward frenzied and fierce. He coerces Lex's tongue into his mouth and sucks it, like the best kind of promise.

When he pulls away, Lex is smiling again; looking positively debauched with his mouth open and lips wet and shiny. Clark loses the fight with common sense quickly and leans for another kiss but Lex presses his fingers against his lips.

"My bed is much more equipped for what we both have in mind, don't you think?"

Clark groans in disappointment but nods his assent as he steps away. Suddenly he remembers about Mr. and Ms. July. "What about your sex toys?"

For a fraction of a second Lex looks confused and there is a part of Clark that does a little but very undignified dance. Dancing dies when Lex speaks. "I thought you wanted to join us?"

He must look as terrified as he feels because Lex grabs his arm. "Clark, I'm kidding. They're already gone. You really think I'd leave anyone but you unattended in my penthouse?"

That's actually a pretty good point. Doesn't excuse Lex though, because he should know better about man's thinking capacity during orgasmic afterglow. "You are a mean and evil man. No wonder people hate you."

Lex chuckles as he drags Clark closer and places a quick nip on his lower lip. "Let's go home, jailbird."

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