The Prize

by velvetglove

Written for my dear Dana's birthday. She wanted to see Clark suffer at the, um, hands of the Luthor family. The word "gangbang" was mentioned.

Much gratitude to to Alee, Jacyn and Rhi for beta. Effusive thanks to Alax for audiencing. Thanks also to Maddy for writing something lovely that I read while finishing this story!

I beg prettily for kind or constructive words.

The Prize

Lex had specifically told Lucas to stay away from his office, stay away from Dad and Dominic.

Lucas countered with, "I'm a Luthor, too."

"She wasn't your mother," Lex snapped. "Your mother fucked Dad while my mother was dying."

"Get over it, bro."

"Don't call me that."

"Why, bro?"

James, slumped in a chair, his dirty Doc Martens marking the carpet, snickered appreciatively. "Yeah, bro," he chimed in. Lex doubted the Cockney accent was real; more likely, he was slumming, probably even an Excelsior boy.

Lex gave him a long look. "I don't even know you. I don't know what you're doing here. I suggest you shut up." It was all he could do to ignore the fact that Lucas' friend had a shaved head and dressed all in black, bearing an unfortunate resemblance to a rough trade version of himself.

Lucas grinned and went to James' side, slouching down on the broad arm of the chair. "He's my friend. He's keeping me company." He grinned at James and leaned down to kiss him, taking extra effort to make it as loud and wet as possible.

"He's trouble, just like you," Lex sighed. "Look, just stay here until Dad leaves."


"Fine. Whatever. Just keep it down."

"Where's the key to the bar?"

Frowning, Lex removed a small key from his key ring. "Don't waste it this time. If you pour it, drink it. And don't use the blender; it's too loud."

"Yes, grandma," Lucas jeered, flopping down on the couch and lifting his boots to drop them heavily on the coffee table.

Annoyed, Lex turned to leave the room, Lucas and his trick giggling like girls behind him.

"Hey," James called to his back, "Where's Clark?"

"Clark?" Lex stopped in his tracks.

"Yeah. Clark. Your pretty boy. Lucas told me about him."

Lex turned slowly and gave Lucas a long look through narrowed eyes. "I can't imagine what Lucas could tell you about Clark. They've barely even met."

Lucas smirked. "Is that what you think, bro?"

Seething, Lex stalked from the room, trying to reassure himself that Lucas' insinuations regarding Clark were baseless and, like the use of the quasi-word "bro," designed to aggravate him beyond all reason. Stopping on the staircase to take some deep breaths, as advocated in his anger management class, Lex tried to force himself to relax. Reasonably under control, he continued down the stairs to face the most challenging of his personal demons.

A late-night call from Lucas, who needed a place to stay due to some problems with "business" in Toronto, had resulted in Lex agreeing to let his brother and his faux-lowlife friend stay at the mansion. They'd been with him for four days and showed no signs of wanting to move on. James smoked in the house and then lied about it. Lucas borrowed clothes without asking and left them stinking of his cologne. Both ate and drank in quantity, and behind his back, as though he'd snatch the food from their hands if he saw them eating it. Unfortunately, discreet questioning of several staff members had revealed that this was--while not ideal--perfectly normal behavior for a sibling, especially a sibling who felt that he wasn't the favored child.

And today, Lionel was in town. Last week, Lex had agreed to see Lionel at the mansion in order to look over possible prototypes for the Lillian Luthor Heart Foundation Research Award. The recipient had been chosen already--Dr. Sarah Mosely, whose research into cardiac enzymes had opened promising avenues for further research--and Lex had been part of that decision-making process. However, Lionel had been adamant that he needed Lex's input to choose the award itself, which was why he was here, today, waiting downstairs in his office with Dominic and three possible trophy designs.

Lex had been serious with Lucas about staying away from Lionel. Lex wanted to keep Lucas safe from their father, but without Lucas' cooperation, there was only so much he could do.

By the time he reached the library, Dominic was finished unpacking the prototype awards, aligning them on top of the credenza. Lionel had already made himself at home, drinking a generous three fingers of scotch.

"Ah, Lex..." Lionel smiled at him, showing all his teeth. "Ready to make a decision?"

"Sure, Dad. What do we have here?" Lex approached the row with a critical eye, trying to keep his mother's tastes in mind. She'd been a champion of the avant garde, certainly, but, on the other hand, she collected Clarice Cliff pottery and put Devon Violets on her handkerchiefs. He'd just have to keep his 13-year-old self's vague concept of her aesthetic in mind.

There were three possible choices: one from a company which specialized in award designs, one commissioned from a prominent Metropolis sculptor, and another that was the product of a design contest.

The first, a calla lily in bronze, curved gracefully up from a marble base and flowed into overlapping folds that peeled back, revealing a stiff anther that practically begged to be licked... Lovely, really, but maybe a little too...vaginal. Besides, the lily idea wasn't original. Anyway, they were choosing for the Lillian Luthor Heart Foundation, not something gynecological.

The sculptor's design sat in the center of the credenza. A huge clump of blood-red crystals shot out from a heavy base (onyx? cast iron?) resembling fireworks, or maybe a spray of gladiolas. Modern, somewhat interesting, but kind of cheesy, too. Garish. And a little funereal.

"The red crystals were found when the excavation was done for the Luthor Wing at the Smallville Medical Center," Lionel told him. "Meteor rock of some sort, apparently; not the usual green. It's...a bit much, isn't it?"

It was always a nice surprise to be able to agree with his father. He rolled his eyes. "That's one way of putting it."

The amateur design was last in the row, and was also the most immediately appealing. A silvery metal heart, anatomical but highly stylized, was reduced to rounds and curves interrupted by the short, thick stump of the aorta. The sculpture fit into a depression on the base but wasn't attached to it. It fit nicely in his hand, felt good under the stroke of his thumb.

"This one."

"I rather thought so," Lionel said, smirking. "Do you think it should be metal, though? We were thinking crystal." We - was it the royal version, or the Dominic-and-I version?

"I like it as-is. It's different. If it's crystal, it will look like just another Baccarat turtle. The steel is unusual." He put it back on its pedestal, crossed to his desk, and leaned back on the front edge; ankles crossed, arms crossed. "Well, now that we've got that settled..."

"We have a long drive back and we haven't had lunch," Lionel commented, ignoring Lex's clear signals. "What wonders might your kitchen produce for us today, son?"

"Mrs. Thomas has the day off. There's only my dinner for me to heat up later. Might I suggest that you stop by The Talon on your way out of town? I can call ahead and ask them to make up some sandwiches."

"Lex, are you trying to get rid of us?"

"Whatever would make you think that, Dad?"

Lucas kicked James' foot. "C'mon. Let's go see what Dad's up to..."

"Lex told us to stay here," James muttered, reflexively clicking the remote for the big TV. Lex had at least a dozen porn channels in addition to the usual array of mainstream movies and sports.

"Don't be a cunt. Come on. Who cares what Lex says?"

"Not you." With a sigh, James put the remote back on the table and eased himself up out of the deep, soft cushions of the couch, making sure to collect his rum and coke as Lucas hustled him out of the room.

"I don't have to listen to him. I'm his brother, not his bitch." Lucas took James by the elbow and pulled him toward the staircase.

"Hey, Lucas," James began, "Had you noticed that I look something like your brother?"

"Shut up, bitch," Lucas said, slapping James in the gut with a half-hearted backhand. "It's a fucking coincidence."

"Surely you're a better host than this, Lex? Besides, son, I understand that Lucas is staying with you. I was hoping to see him."

Lex sighed, "What makes you think Lucas is here?"

"My spies, of course." Lionel chuckled, his back to Lex, idly fondling the red crystal points. "He's been seen all over town with that...shaved person." Lionel turned to face him. "You know, Lex, you could be a better influence."

Lex didn't bother to deny that Lucas might, in fact, be lurking in the mansion. "What makes you think Lucas cares about my opinion?"

"He does run to you when he needs something, after all. You could make your assistance contingent on...certain concessions from him. I'm surprised you don't think of these things yourself, Lex. I did raise you as best I could."

"Oh, I learned my lessons, Dad," Lex assured him. "But I'd like my relationship with my brother to be a little more personal than that."

"You still insist on separating business and pleasure, do you? But isn't that what young Mr. Kent is for? Pleasure?"

"We're not discussing Clark." Lex hated that his fierce protectiveness toward Clark was so raw and obvious, and knew he was giving his father ammunition--full clips in large-bore guns.

To his relief, the phone rang.


Gabe Sullivan. He was relieved it wasn't Clark, not with Lionel right there watching him. After listening a few moments, Lex said, "Are they already there?" A few more moments, and he said, "Yes, all right. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Flipping the phone shut, Lex turned to his father and said, "Well, Dad, I'm afraid I'll have to cut this visit short."

"Chemical spill? Gas explosion?" Lionel looked supremely pleased at the prospect of life-threatening, work-halting events at the plant. Ignoring Lex's broad hint about visiting hours, he poured yet another generous glass of scotch.

"Nothing so drastic," Lex said, unplugging his laptop and sliding it into its case. "OSHA inspectors. It's a surprise visit. I need to be there."

"I certainly hope they'll find everything in order," Lionel said, sounding blatantly insincere. Lex didn't bother to dignify the remark with any comment.

As Lex prepared to usher his father out, Lucas and James barged through the double-doors, arms draped around each other's shoulders, both with drinks clinking in hand.

"Lucas!" Lionel crowed. "Son! I hoped you'd be here."

Lucas stopped in his tracks, instantly suspicious, and James collided with him. "Why?"

"Come, son; give me a hug."

Lucas approached his father with obvious trepidation. "Gee, Dad," he snarled. "Last time I saw you, you tried to shoot me."

"No, no, Lucas," Lionel laughed. "I didn't try to shoot you--I did shoot you. It's just that there weren't any bullets in the gun. Now come here."

Lucas let himself be held, impressed by Lionel's ability to put such enthusiasm into an unreturned embrace. When Lionel released him, it was with a smile of such glossy fondness that Lucas could almost be convinced there was actual affection backing it up.

"And who's your...friend, Lucas?"

James stepped forward, hand outstretched. "James Healey."

Lionel took the proffered hand and cocked an eyebrow. "Healey, Healey...any relation to Nigel Healey?"

James brightened at the mention of his father. "I'm his son! You know him, then?"

Lionel beamed at Lucas. "You're a good boy. Very clever." Turning, he called over his shoulder, "Lex, your brother does surprise me." James began to look a bit suspicious, but Lucas kissed the side of his face, distracting him.

Lips pressed in a tight line, Lex shouldered his bag. "I'm leaving. I expect you can find your own way out, Dad?"

"Don't worry about me, son," Lionel reassured him, brimming over with aggravatingly high spirits. "We're in no hurry."

Lex left without saying goodbye, leaving Lionel laughing, James frozen with confusion and mortification, and Dominic and Lucas both indifferent.

"Dominic, would you be so kind..." Lionel began, then turned to see that Dominic was already packing away the award prototypes. "Ah, thank you. You anticipate my every need."

"Jesus, that's ugly," Lucas said, gesturing at the red crystal formation. "That's not the one you've chosen, is it?"

"Yes," Lionel said, for the hell of it. "Yes, it is."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, gave his father a dubious glance, and shrugged. "Ah, what do I care? She wasn't my mother."

All three prototypes were tucked into the crate, carefully padded with tissue paper. They'd need to be returned to the artists. "Are we nearly ready, Dominic?" he asked.

Clark heard voices behind the doors: definitely Lionel, and was that...Lucas? Hesitating with his hand on the knob, the door open just a crack, a quick x-ray showed four skeletons, but none of them Lex. There was no reason to push open the door, no reason to enter, but he felt pulled by a murky undercurrent, a throbbing, and suddenly he wanted to be in the room. Warm bodies and hard pulses beckoned, the air thick and heavy with pheromones. He felt bathed in salt and seed on air currents that stroked his skin with insistent fingers.

For a frantic moment, Clark wondered what was happening to him, why he felt so good with Lex nowhere near, and looked around for the telltale red glow of meteorite. But then he took another step into the room and was oddly disoriented, moving deeper into complex chemical strata, his olfactory nerves buzzing and his skin tender as if seared.

"Hey, bro. Clark!" Lucas came toward him, drink in one hand and the other reaching to clap him on the back and reel him in. Lucas seemed juicy and bright, smelling a little like Lex under the leather of his jacket. "How've you been?"

"Great," Clark murmured. "Wonderful." And he had been wonderful, truly, and felt better every minute. He felt...alive. Full of energy and urgency. He let Lucas sling an arm around his shoulder and pivoted into him, leaning down to let his forehead rest against Lucas' gel-stiffened hair. "It's good to see you."

Lucas seemed surprised at the warm welcome and the hand that cupped the back of his skull. His breath was sharp and stinging, and Clark was suddenly aware of the layers of alcohol that threaded through the room. Vodka, sugary rum, earthy whisky, all mixed with bright-hot sparks of saliva. Four bodies suddenly skinless before him, pared down to an essence. His nostrils flared and a shiver moved down his spine, skull to tailbone.

"What's gotten into you, farm boy?" Lucas asked, pushing Clark gently away with a hand against his chest. "You're awfully friendly today."

"I want a drink," Clark announced, taking the glass from Lucas' hand and tipping it back, vodka and orange juice fizzing on his tongue.

"You're high," Lucas decided. He took Clark's arm and lead him over to the sofa; Clark's veins filled with fire at the point of contact and the heat radiated through his body, pumped through his heart.

"James, this is Clark." Lucas made a gesture that covered Clark from head to foot, and Clark knew immediately that Lucas had been discussing his appearance again. Normally, it embarrassed him, but today he didn't mind the appraising glances. In fact, he basked in the glow of their regard and his cock thickened with blood.

James had a shaved head, black suit jacket, black jeans, black everything. He looked kind of like a sleazy version of Lex with crooked English teeth. He stood to shake Clark's hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said, and all Clark could do was grin because the fingers gripping his were making a promise. James looked down at their clasped hands and grinned back. He tossed back the rest of his drink and gave Clark a look that said, I. Dare. You.

Hard footsteps rang off the hardwood. "You aren't, are you?" A thin, strong hand gave Clark's shoulder a gentle squeeze: Lionel, scaring Clark every time he looked at him. "You aren't high, Clark? I didn't think you were the type."

"I'm not," Clark said, "Not the type, and not high." Surprisingly, he liked Lionel's touch; it felt...good, even though Clark still found him terrifying. Lionel smelled hypermasculine, almost satyrish. The odor was strong, nearly vile, but something made him want to inhale it again and again.

Dominic, hovering just behind his master's shoulder, usually frightened him nearly as much as Lionel, but today he seemed to almost shimmer, his short beard glittering bronze. Clark felt oddly drawn to him, savoring a whiff of mixed skin and disdain tempered by cologne. He realized he was sniffing the air like a dog, everyone watching, and made himself stop.

"I don't think you're well," Lionel said. He didn't look concerned; rather, he eyed Clark as if he were a particularly interesting specimen. It should have been creepy, but it just gave Clark more shivers. "I've never seen you quite like this."

"I feel great," Clark insisted. "I've never felt better." And it was true. His blood was singing in his veins, really singing; it was like the opera that Lex played for him, and it felt as good as the way he felt while Lex watched as he listened, intent and radiating sex. The sensation of his own pulse was making him hard. His cock felt heavy and dense, like it was full of wet sand. There was only one thing he knew of that would relieve the congestion, and...he wasn't in the room. "Hey, where's Lex?"

"He had to leave," Lucas said, moving toward him with a slow swagger. "Some surprise inspection down at the plant." The air flickered around Lucas in shimmering planes, flashes like lightning leeching away his color.

"Is everything okay?" Worry turned the air dark, doused the heat coursing under his skin.

Lucas put his hand on Clark's shoulder, gave a squeeze. Clark couldn't help leaning into the touch, dipping to rub his cheek along Lucas' forearm. Lucas laughed, curled his fingers around the back of Clark's neck. "Nothing major. He'll be home soon, I'm sure." Relief flooded Clark's bloodstream and the room filled with tiny points of light, sequins of pleasure. Lucas' face loomed close, oddly smooth, and he was aware this wasn't normal, but he couldn't seem to care, not when he knew Lex was all right, everything was all right.

Lionel's voice was dry and bored, like corn husks rattling in Clark's ears. "Lucas? Son, what are you playing at?"

"It's okay, Dad." Lucas sounded amused. Clark circled him slowly, admiring him. Lex's brother. So many things in common.

"I don't think so. Lex doesn't share."

"What are you worried about?" Lucas reached out, stopped Clark in his tracks, and hauled him in by a belt loop.

Lionel didn't answer, only watched and sipped.

From the very beginning, Clark thought, Lucas had always had an eye on him, watching his every move. At first, it pissed him off - why did Lucas think he was gay, anyway? What made him think his attentions were welcome, the looks and crude comments? Even though he was right about Clark, he should have been more respectful of his relationship with Lex.

But today, right here, Clark felt a keen affinity with Lucas, matching desire with desire. Sure, some of it had to do with them, but just as much of it was focused on Lex. They both wanted Lex, and now Clark could understand how Lucas could cross that line; after all, he was crossing lines himself. They circled one another, an impossibly slow dance. Fingers hooked inside the collar of his jacket and it was easiest to let it fall away from his shoulders, tossed aside onto a chair. Strong thumbs dug into the muscles on either side of his spine, fingers digging into the tops of his shoulders, and he arched into the massage, leaning into Lucas' touch. He smelled more and more like Lex the closer Clark got, and he wondered if they tasted alike.

Lionel cautioned, "There's something wrong with him, Lucas. Maybe you should leave him alone."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just standing here." Lucas let go and held his hands up, demonstrating his innocence. Clark took the opportunity to slide his hands along Lucas' ribs, over his shirt but under his jacket. He pushed his nose against the pulse in Lucas' throat, following the course of his blood. When he pressed his erection against Lucas' belly, they both groaned. Clark shivered as though the entire surface of his skin had been stroked with a hot, silken hand.

"Lucas, this is a disaster in the making," Lionel said, clearly annoyed. Lucas merely snorted and buried his hands in Clark's hair. "Dominic," Lionel snapped. "Get that boy off my son."

Dominic turned red, then pale and tight-lipped. Plainly, he didn't know how to even begin to separate them. He stepped closer, close enough for Clark to touch, so he did. Clark's hand closed around his wrist and pulled him in. Dominic smelled like ocean and iron filings, caramel and smoke. He buried his face in Dominic's neck, stunning him in to immobility. Lucas' hand slid back around his waist to rest on his ass as Clark pressed a kiss to Dominic's throat. He'd never kissed anyone with stubble before and nuzzled the line between beard and bare skin, licking like a tiger. Dominic groaned, pushed at Clark's shoulder, and backed out of his grasp.

"You stupid fuck," Lucas said with a snort, dismissing Dominic with a flick of his hand. He kissed Clark thoroughly. Clark, his heart on the verge of explosion, his mouth full of copper and sap, kissed him back. Their tongues entwined like the arms of starfish, and Clark felt drowned, breathless and sodden. Lucas pulled back and said, "There," with some satisfaction.

Clark lost his balance. His vision shifted unpredictably, phasing in and out of penetrating modes. The walls wavered and perspective shifted at odd moments. He noticed a wooden crate beside Lex's desk; the air around the box was bent and crooked. "Does it look..." he began, but then had no good words to describe it. "Does it look funny in here?" Lucas laughed at that, and James, who apparently did whatever Lucas did, was laughing, too. Dominic merely stared, frozen in place. Lionel sat behind Lex's desk, leaning backing his chair, and watching with a stern expression.

Lucas said something, his voice coming fast from the far end of a tunnel. Clark reached back blindly, grabbing at a hand, and ignored the wet smash of a tumbler hitting the floor. There were hands on his hips, a mouth at his throat. He could smell arousal, bitter and sharp as alum. He had a flash, a body memory of Lex up against him, just as James molded himself against his back, grinding against his ass and reaching around to clutch at Lucas. They kept Clark in between as they kissed, Lucas turning to nip at Clark's jaw.

"He's not well, Lucas. You should stop what you're doing."

"Fuck you, Dad."

"I'm not going to be responsible for Lex's actions."

"I wouldn't expect you to be," Lucas snapped. "Leave the room if this makes you so uncomfortable."

James slid around front to straddle his leg. Clark knew that it wasn't Lex, could feel the roughness of stubble, but his confused eyes were painting the room in broad, careless strokes, and it was hard to remember from second to second that this was a stranger sucking at his pulse and whispering to him about how much he wanted to fuck him. Clark agreed with everything the voice said, tasted the nicotine kisses, and mapped James' mouth with a frantic tongue.

The hands reaching around from behind, resting on his hips, were broader and warmer than Lex's. Fingertips grazed the skin under the waistband of his jeans, a thumb brushing against the trail of hairs on his belly, a series of tiny switches all flicking to 'on.' Lucas' mouth was hot on the back of his neck, whispering, "Do you like to play a little rough, Kent?" Tongue like a flame just tasting his skin. The hand gripping his hip tightened while the other slid further into his pants; Clark reared back, leaning into Lucas and throwing him off balance. Lucas staggered and just managed to keep them both from hitting the floor.

Lucas whispered things to him, things he wanted to hear, but Clark couldn't shake off the buzzing sound that kept obscuring the words. He was having trouble understanding what he was seeing, but when he closed his eyes, his skin sizzled and fizzed. Lucas' touch was like balm, his hand soothing the burn with a cool tingle that made Clark's flesh taut. But in the wake of that touch, his pulse flooded in, pinging against raw nerves. He couldn't be touched enough, but the more contact he got, the more he ached.

Lucas seemed to want to touch Clark everywhere, and he was grateful for the hands that unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and slid them over his hips. Lucas' hands were so warm, warmer than Lex's, as they slid over Clark's skin, stroking his lower back and the upper curve of his ass, and sent streams of percolating light through his veins. His skin was so sensitized that he could feel the ridges of Lucas' fingerprints scraping his skin. He rutted blindly against Lucas' thigh, wanting to be free of his boxers, which were wet through over the head of his cock.

A hand at his jaw turned him gently, and Lucas whispered, "Easy, easy," in his ear.

"Please," Clark whimpered. "Please don't stop."

"Lift your arms," Lucas said, tugging at the hem of Clark's t-shirt. Cotton rasped harsh against his skin as he shed the shirt, letting it fall to the floor. As more skin was exposed, hands reached to cover it, claiming his abs and the small of his back. Heat behind him, another set of hands, and Clark fell back against the pressure. The hands slid his boxers off his hips, then James leaned in from behind to kiss Lucas. Clark groaned, tipping his head back onto James' shoulder, the wet slit of his cock dragging silvery trails against Lucas' hip. There were flowers blooming in his throat, red and lush, and they unfurled as he moaned. He knew he was putting on a show, what Lex would laughingly call a "wanton display," but it felt so good to do this, touch and be touched.

James was kneeling at his feet, untying his boots; he steadied himself holding Lucas' shoulders while he toed them off. James helped him get free of his jeans and underwear. Naked, he felt the lick of air currents, the possessive sweep of four pairs of eyes. Clark remembered the first time he stood naked before Lex, remembered the way Lex's hands moved over his skin, giving him dimension. He had never wanted anything so much as he'd wanted Lex to use him; anything to make Lex happy. It was strangely easy to superimpose Lex's face on the circle of watchers.

"On your knees." Lucas' hands on his shoulders guided him down. The friction of leather and fabric against his skin, against his tight, hard nipples, made his cock jerk while he moaned helplessly. He came to rest, thighs spread wide around Lucas' right calf, his face buried against the faded denim of Lucas' groin, nuzzling and sniffing, mouthing the stiffening cock (and a handful of change) through fabric. Warm hands slid through his hair, stroking his forehead and cheekbones. "God, Clark," Lucas said, sounding surprised and affectionate. James came to stand behind him again, his pelvis against Clark's skull, kissing Lucas with loud, hungry urgency.

Hands in his hair, touching his face. Clark sucked fingers, unsure whose, while unzipping Lucas' jeans. Lucas was naked under the denim, and his cock bobbed free, dark against Clark's cheek, nudging insistently alongside his ear. Lucas pushed James away as Clark buried his nose in the hair at the base of his cock, inhaling deeply as he nibbled and sucked, stringing a series of light bites across Lucas' groin. He held onto Lucas' ass, muscles flexing under his hands, and smiled wide against tan skin as Lucas hissed with pleasure.

James stepped back and lit a cigarette with a shaking hand. Lex had always hated smoking in the house, and Clark was about to say something, but the smell of the smoke hit him like a sledgehammer, poisonous and decadent, and made him lightheaded. His eyes rolled back in his head, his cock flexed as if it were the strongest muscle in his body, and it was all he could do to hold on to Lucas' hips and wait for his next breath to clear his head.

They were all still, watching, until Clark took Lucas' cock into his mouth, and then everything blurred, everyone moving. James muttered, "Shit," and put out his cigarette as he shucked his jacket. Dominic made an odd whining noise and stepped closer, opening and closing his fists. Lionel stood abruptly, Lex's desk chair reeling back and ricocheting off the wall, and stalked over to the liquor cabinet. Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw Lionel toss back a tumbler of Aberlour like it was a shot, then pour another.

Lucas let him do whatever he wanted, let Clark lead. He thought about what Lex liked and did those things for Lucas: licking around the head, pressing against the underside with his tongue, swallowing him down. Lucas said his name and touched his face. He heard the jangle of a belt unbuckling, heard it hit the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw James stripping down. He was skinny but muscular, wiry. He had freckles, like Lex but with the addition of pale amber hair circling his nipples, a line of light fur bisecting his torso and disappearing into his jeans. Skin against his spine, a body curving to match his, radiating heat and musk; Clark groaned with pleasure at the first touch of James' mouth against the skin of his back, the soft tickle of sparse hair. Lucas responded to Clark's vibrating groan with a hard thrust, his cock bumping the back of Clark's throat.

James fumbled with his pants and then his cock was free, pushing against Clark's ass, sliding up the cleft and along his lower spine, drawing a wet line. James' hand slid over Clark's hip and came around to circle his cock, "You're beautiful," James whispered, licking and sucking his neck. Clark moaned, a strangled gargle around the hard flesh filling his mouth. Lucas reached around to stroke James' stubbled scalp and smiled at him, and Clark felt the warmth of their affection like rays, solid bars of goodwill and warmth piercing through him.

Clark hoped someone would touch him, soon, tried to ask, but he couldn't expect to be heard around Lucas' thrusts; only the occasional "please" made it past his lips. James' hands slid down from his hips to his groin, briefly cupping his balls and then playing over the length of his shaft. Clark squirmed back against him, whimpering with pleasure.

Dominic came closer still, tense and panting, buttoned up in his dark shirt and suit. Clark reached for him, excited and a little frightened by his agitated energy. Clark heard Lionel drawl, voice dripping with disdain, "Go ahead, Dominic. You might as well share in the pleasure as well as the blame." Dominic flushed angry red, but came closer, unzipping his suit pants and letting Clark's fingers close over his hip.

Lucas pulled out of Clark's mouth, turning him toward Dominic instead. Clark reached inside the fly of Dominic's pants, fishing out his stiffening shaft. Clark gripped the base with one hand and lapped at the clear fluid oozing from the slit. Dominic let out a strangled yelp while Clark used his free hand to stroke his own dick. Lucas took pity on Clark and demanded of James, "Suck him." James managed to insinuate himself between Clark's hips and Dominic's legs. He batted Clark's hand away and bent to swirl his tongue over the head, making it shiny with his spit.

Lucas stepped away, making a cold gap in their small circle, taking his good Luthor scent with him. But then Dominic's hands on his ears and the cock bumping his palate reminded Clark that everything was all right, better than all right. The bare scalp reassured him, and the pressure of the hot mouth squeezing his cock was perfect. James rubbed his own dick against the side of Clark's ass, curled around him like a snail. Clark was dimly aware of Lucas opening and closing drawers in the credenza, end tables...

"Chess table," Clark managed to blurt out between Dominic's thrusts. Lucas opened the drawer and, finding the tube of lubricant, grunted his approval.

Clark was having a hard time processing what he was seeing, what he was doing, so he just closed his eyes. Lucas said, "Fuck off," and Dominic pulled out of his mouth, reluctant and grumbling. Lucas' hands on his hips encouraged him up off the floor; hands on his shoulders, guided him to the couch. Clark knelt on the cushions, bent over, leaning on his forearms, weight against the arm of the sofa. Dominic stood in front him, still hard and jutting, so Clark opened his mouth and took him in. James tilted his head back on the cushion beneath Clark's hips, managed the awkward angle, and began sucking him again. His cock felt heavy, leaden, but infinitely sensitive, with every drop of blood in his body pooled there. He found himself sucking Dominic in synch with the movements of James' mouth: he was taken in deep, and he swallowed hard in response. Lucas let his jacket and shirt slip to the floor and rubbed a hand over his own chest, his thumb idly teasing a nipple, watching Clark sucking and being sucked. Clark felt the cushions shift under his knees as Lucas knelt behind him. Hands on his shoulders, rubbing, then stroking down his back, a touch that was half-familiar, half as good as Lex's, made up of half shared cells. Fingers curved around his hipbones and he shivered as Lucas bent to lick a sloppy kiss up his spine.

He heard the sibilance of denim sliding over flesh, felt Lucas close behind him, cold metal of a belt buckle against his thigh. "I'm going to fuck you now, Clark."

Clark moaned in approval and Dominic slid deep into his throat. An oiled finger pressed into his ass and it felt like a spike of glass, molten and sparkling. His moan was answered by three others, and a second finger pushed in. He leaned back into the pressure, fucking himself open on Lucas' hand, then tilted forward again into the hot mouth that swallowed his cock down and down. Lucas twisted in a third finger and Clark arched his back hard enough to hear the bones crack.

Dominic groaned, held his breath on a sharp inhale, and came noiselessly, holding Clark's head in place and fucking into his throat with a few short, hard thrusts. Clark swallowed greedily and, as Dominic pulled away, Lucas thrust in, buried with one long push into his ass. Clark screamed like a wild thing forced into a cage and came hard on that first stroke, half in James' mouth, half on his cheek. As James sat up, swiping the back of his hand over his face, Lucas pulled Clark back hard onto his cock then sat back on his heels, pulling Clark with him, thighs spread over his lap. His hands encouraged Clark to rise and sink, setting off fireworks along his spine, pink and magenta and white-hot.

With an odd grimace, Dominic reached in and twisted Clark's nipples cruelly hard; it should have hurt, but it just made Clark breathe like he'd been running for impossible miles, always ending up back here. Clark looked at Dominic's face and saw a gray golem, a column of ashes and mud, and thought dimly that he should be afraid, but instead he raised and lowered himself on Lucas' cock as James stood watching, slowly stroking himself and occasionally whispering an approving "Jesus Christ!"

Lucas' hands held Clark's hips steady as he fucked up into his ass. Clark felt boneless, impossibly aroused, and he was hard again. Too soon, but he was going to come again, and he moaned the words with his head tilted onto Lucas' shoulder, an arm flung back around his neck.

"Fuck, Clark," Lucas said. One last thrust up and in, and in, and Lucas came hard, with a loud bark, filling him with heat. Clark arched hard and exploded with a yelp of near-pain, semen splattering his belly and Dominic's shirtfront. Dominic lifted his arm and licked white droplets from his wrist, not meeting Clark's eyes.

James said, "My turn."

"Kent. Hey, Clark." Lucas smoothed damp hair back from Clark's forehead with gentle pets. "James is going to fuck you, too."

Clark's ass clenched and his cock jumped at the thought. "Oh, god, yeah," he said. "Please."

"Who knew you were such a freak?" Lucas wondered aloud, laughing. He pushed Clark away from him with a hand between his shoulder blades, his cock sliding wetly out of Clark's ass. He eased off the sofa and James took his place, reaching between Clark's thighs to finger his hole, slick with Lucas' come.

Clark's heart pounded, pulse throbbing so hard that his cock bumped his belly with each beat. Blood was so close to the surface, thin skin traceable as a map; his vision had gone crimson with his orgasm and hadn't returned to normal. "You're still so hard," James murmured. "You like this, don't you?"

"Mmmm." Clark didn't want to talk; he wanted to fuck, to be fucked hard. James slid a finger inside and stroked, stroked again, making Clark writhe. "Please..." he begged.

"Please, what?" James asked. "I want you to say it."

Clark could almost feel a cock (Lex's) breaching his body, slight burn of that first push, and he had to concentrate to understand that it wasn't really happening. Instead, he was begging a stranger to fuck his ass and he wished he didn't want this, but he did; he really did. He wanted Lex most of all, but this would do until Lex came home. Dimly, he realized that Lex wouldn't be happy about this, but Lex wasn't here.

"Please what?" James repeated.

"Fuck me." Clark arched his back, shameless. "Just fuck me."

It felt different than what he wanted. James wasn't Lex. The cock in his ass wasn't the right shape, didn't move the right way, and James fucked him with a jackrabbit rhythm that made him claw at the leather cushion with a weird mix of pleasure and frustration. Dominic and Lucas stood watching, breathing hard. Clark looked up at them through hair ropy with sweat. His smile was feral, showing all his teeth. Lucas said, "Dominic, you need to be in on this." Dominic just nodded, his eyes on Clark's.

The hips slamming against his ass were creating ripples, concentric circles that sprang out from their bodies and collided with the walls. Every time James made a sound, the echo came back rough to tease his cock. Bracing his arms against the arm of the sofa, Clark begged, "Touch my cock; please, somebody touch me."

"Touch it yourself," Lucas said roughly. The gravel in his voice abraded Clark's nerves and he growled deep in his throat. He let his head drop, looked at his cock, and began stroking it with his left hand; just like Lex's hand except without grace. It was only mechanics, pumping away, but it still made the blood rush under his skin. He licked his hand with a thick tongue, tasting a cocktail of spunk and saliva and sweat, and wrapped wet fingers around his shaft. He closed his eyes and thrust into his own fist, foreskin sliding over the sensitive head, slick as a tongue.

It wasn't Lex fucking him, and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to find the words to tell them he had to stop. It was easier just to keep his eyes closed and concentrate on the body moving against his, the cock opening him deeper and deeper, and the tight grip he had on his own shaft. He heard the purr of a zipper coming undone and the soft thud of shoes hitting the floor. He kept his eyes closed even as Lucas said, "Clark, look at me." He could smell musk and brine, a whiff of cologne; hands in his hair pressed his face tight against a naked hip. He couldn't help moaning, closing his mouth over the crest of bone and licking hints of his own sweat off of caramel skin.

Dominic murmured, "Slut," and Lucas laughed. The word stung. Clark's unease grew. He wasn't a slut. Maybe he'd started this, but it wasn't his fault. His lip trembled, but he wasn't going to let himself cry. Eyes still closed, he tried to pretend he hadn't heard the insult.

Stuttering shriek of furniture dragged across the parquet, then Clark opened his eyes when he was jostled hard, caught on the chin by Lucas' hip. James dragged him backward to make room for Lucas, who knelt on the arm of the couch, arms braced against a small table brought over from its usual spot by Lex's chair. Disoriented by the sudden appearance of firm, tan buttocks in his face, Clark reared back, only to be stopped by Dominic's hand at the nape of his neck pushing him forward.

"Eat his ass," Dominic insisted. James fucked him with hard strokes that pushed his face against Lucas' ass, cheek to cheek. Lucas reached back to spread himself wide.

"Do it, Clark. Please." Lucas was musky and hot, with a taste like apple cider. He couldn't begin to pretend this was Lex: there was hair against his tongue, everything completely unfamiliar. Tentatively, he licked up from behind Lucas' balls, encouraged by enthusiastic moans. His tongue circled lazily, darting in to pierce the muscle, and for a moment he forgot that he was rimming his boyfriend's brother's ass, lost in the feel of the crooked cock in his ass slamming repeatedly against his prostate. James gripped his hips hard, driving into him deep and still deeper. The head of his cock rubbed sparks that arced up through Clark's gut. "Oh god, oh god! Fuck!" James cried. He plunged deep again, bucked against Clark's ass, and came.

Clark was on the verge, whimpering, his thighs shaking. He nipped at Lucas' ass, tongued the hole, whispered, "Please" against spit-slicked skin, but no one heard him.

James had barely withdrawn before Dominic was behind him, shoving rough fingers inside and twisting. Clark's cock jerked painfully. Dominic slid a hand up Clark's back, ass to shoulder, then gripped the hair at his nape in a fist and hissed, "Slut," jerking his head back. Between the hand on his neck and the hand in his ass, Clark arched in a hard U and whimpered. It didn't really hurt him, but the intent was painful. "You're nothing but a hole," Dominic snarled. Clark tried to shrink away, but the press of bodies had him trapped; it took him a moment to understand that the high-pitched wail he heard was coming from his own throat.

"Hey," Lucas cautioned. "Easy on him." Clark looked up into Lucas' face, biting his lip as he rocked back onto the assaulting fingers. His ass throbbed and he was tired and hurt, but he couldn't stop craving the stimulation. Lucas bent to kiss him and Clark looped his arms around Lucas' neck, stretching up and hanging on, rubbing his mouth against Lucas' bare chest. Lucas ran his hands over Clark's torso, down his sides. He pinched Clark's nipples, one and then the other, and slid his hand down Clark's belly, letting his fingers split into a V around the base of Clark's cock. "Hey, James," Lucas said. "Come suck his dick again."

James knelt beside the couch and bent in to suck at the hypersensitive head. Clark twisted his hips to get away, but Dominic held his hips still and Lucas had his head. Wet lips sealed against his mouth, shutting in Clark's increasingly frantic squeaks. The head of his cock felt raw and skinless, scraped by James' teeth and bruised by the clench of his jaw.

Lucas pulled away and Dominic let go of his hair, but pushed him hard toward the cushion. Caught off balance, he fell forward, his face pressed into the leather. He heard the snick of a belt being pulled loose, the jingle of the buckle. "Hands behind your back," Dominic snapped. Clark hesitated, then jumped at the snap of leather against his back. "Behind your back." Stunned, Clark complied. Narrow band of crocodile tightened around his wrists, traction pulling his elbows straight, with Dominic's fist wrapped in the excess length. With his other hand, he spread Clark's ass, thumb pressing inside the sticky hole and twisting. Clark moaned, and his face slipped against the cushion, greased by his own saliva. He tried to sit back but Dominic held him down.

"Hold his head," Dominic snapped. James put a hand on his neck, put weight behind it.

Clark was frightened. His thighs were pushed farther apart and the head of his cock rubbed against leather, leaking. He thought he might collapse entirely, and it should have been a simple thing to get away, but he felt helpless and weak and small. The hand on his throat tightened, and then Dominic lined up and shoved his cock into Clark's body. His muscles protested, spasming around the intrusion, and he whimpered fearfully as he struggled to get his knees underneath him to brace against the assault.

Lucas slumped on the arm of the couch, a hand fisted in Clark's hair, kissing James. James released his hold on Clark's neck, but rested his weight on his bent knee, which sank into the cushion beside Clark's face. As Lucas kissed him harder, James' hip came to rest against the sofa back, trapping Clark's neck. Clark had never known he was claustrophobic before, and was suddenly panicked by a memory of smooth walls of curved metal closing in, shutting out light.

"Let me up," Clark pleaded, but his voice was muffled against leather. "Please let me up." James shifted again, nearly sitting on his head.

"You're so special, aren't you?" snarled LuthorCorp's best employee. "You think Lex will protect you, but Lex...he takes, and he takes, and he doesn't--think--oh, god!" The rhythm of the thrusts began to break up, Dominic plunging wildly into him. Hard slap to his ass, one side and then the other. Clark winced as Dominic pounded into him, whimpered, telling himself it would be over soon. Despite his increasing fear and hurt feelings, Clark's cock stayed hard and sensitive; it dragged against the cushions making him grunt and twist his hips back against his tormentor's thrusts. Suddenly, Dominic pulled out, digging his fingers into Clark's hip. He sprayed semen over Clark's ass and lower back, then rocked back and forth, rubbing his cock in the sticky cleft. James realized he was sitting on Clark's head and got up. Clark began to cry.

He was scared, though not sure of what. When Dominic came on his ass, spattering him with scalding slime, he felt dirty. Degraded. Before today, he'd only been with Lex. But in just this last hour he'd fucked three men in Lex's office while Lex's father watched. He was poisoned, or under some spell, and he'd swear it was red kryptonite except why would Lex have red kryptonite? And where was it hidden?

Dominic pulled out, glaring at him, disgusted. Clark watched as he zipped himself away, tidy and prim as always. "You fucking slut," Dominic sneered, spitting on him. He spit on him! Clark could have leapt up from the couch and hit him, smacked him, killed him, but instead he just shivered and curled into a fetal ball, crying soundlessly.

He knew Dominic hated him. Lucas might have actually liked him at one time, but they've been in competition for Lex all along. Lucas had always claimed to want to fuck him and now he had; it seemed possible that he'd win Lex's attention, as well. James--well, James was a total fucking stranger. He'd let a stranger come in his ass, and even though he knew he couldn't get sick, what if Lex got sick from fucking him...

Oh my god. Lex would never want him again.

Dominic poked at him and Clark flinched. "Leave me alone." His voice sounded young and whiny and powerless.

"Fucking whore." Dominic poked him again.

"You're done."

Clark looked up. Lionel stood in front of him, speaking to Dominic.

"You're through, Dominic. Get away from him."

Dominic said nothing but turned sharply on his heel and let Lionel take over.

Clark huddled in a corner of the couch, arms wrapped tight around bent legs. His cock was hard, still, or maybe it was hard again, and he couldn't help it; the way the room smelled made his cock leak and twitch. His thighs and ass were sticky with semen, and each time he shifted on the couch he had to peel his skin away from the leather. They all stood looking at him, breathing hard, still hungry because he couldn't be used up.

Lionel stroked his face, cupped his chin and tilted his head back, forcing Clark to meet his eyes. "You know that Lex is going to be very upset with you, don't you?" He smelled primal and dangerous; like Lex, but strong and crude.

Clark shivered. He dipped his head, darted a tongue against Lionel's palm. Salty, meaty shock straight to his cock, and he whimpered. He felt like a rabbit held between the paws of a beast.

"You know what happens between Lex and me, don't you, Clark?" Clark tried to look away, but Lionel held his head steady. "I use what's his, and then he doesn't want it any more." Clark started shaking. He couldn't help it. Lionel petted his face, smoothed back his wet hair. "You're very special to him, Clark. I wonder if he'll be able to give you up, even after I've sullied you." Without taking his eyes off Clark's face, Lionel said, "Dominic, will you please clear off the desk?"

Dominic began clearing Lex's desk, unplugging equipment and cross-stacking piles of paperwork so as not to mix them up. Lionel kept stroking Clark's cheek, sending raw streams of grainy heat directly to his sore cock. "You understand why I'm doing this, don't you?" Clark shook his head, refusing Lionel's words. "I'm curious why you're allowing this to happen, Clark. I know we couldn't force you. I hope you'll tell me what's going on. I you."

"I...don't know," Clark admitted. "I can't..."

"Very well," Lionel said, dismissively. "No matter. Come over here, Clark. Sit up here, on the edge." He patted the lip of the desk, leaving smudges on the glass. Clark's legs went a little weak, inner thighs spasming as he walked the few feet to the desk. He could barely focus, the air bending around the desk in violent, broad arcs, disorienting and disruptive. The only thing keeping him grounded was the sound of Lionel's voice and the reek of too much sex.

The glass was cool against his heated flesh. Lionel's hand in the middle of his chest pushed him back, gentle but insistent, and he let himself be moved, the curve of his spine first meeting then lifting away from the chill of the glass as he rolled down. Finally, shoulder blades and upper ribs pressed the surface, the arch of his back touched by a breeze that lifted gooseflesh along his forearms and thighs and the jumping flesh of his belly. Lionel pushed his thighs apart and they slid over the glass with a rubbery squeak. Lionel. Lex's father.

"No," Clark said softly, but he didn't convince even himself. Need moved through him like a fist, stretching his throat, compressing his lungs, and twisting his guts all the way down into his pelvis, where it slammed through his cock and made him spurt hot drops of semen. "Don't. Please." He felt so weak, overwhelmed. There was a flush heating the front of his body, cock to throat. His nipples tightened, hard enough to sting. Lionel stood looking down at him, drink in hand, seeming to consider his options.

"I'm very interested in why this is happening, Clark. I'm offering you another chance to explain to me..."

"Really," Clark gasped. "I don't know, I just--" Lionel's hand closed over his cock, and he screamed and bucked up into the touch. "Please stop, please--"

"Sssh," Lionel said. "There, there. You're a stubborn boy, Clark. If you won't tell me why you're behaving like this, I'm going to have to assume it's because you want me to fuck you."

"Oh, god!" Clark panted, choking, trying to control his breath. "No, I don't--" Lionel slid his thumb through the slickness at the head of Clark's cock. The shock of it made Clark howl. He was almost sick with apprehension and desire: Lex's dad. It shouldn't happen.

Lionel set his drink down on the surface of the desk, next to Clark's hip. "Bring your knees up," Lionel told him, and he did, seemingly willingly. A hand against the back of his thigh pushed a bent leg up against his chest. Fingers probed, adept but passionless; a knuckle against the flesh between cock and asshole made him squirm and cry out. Lionel's face was unreadable; Clark knew the same couldn't be said for him. He panted through swollen lips and hated himself for allowing this to happen.

"I think you could stop me if you wanted to, Clark..." Lionel leaned over him, his breath hot against Clark's chest. He traced an idle circle around a dark nipple with a fingertip and Clark was embarrassed by the gurgle deep in his throat; he couldn't help it, and he couldn't stop it. He whipped his head around, looking desperately for something that might help him explain his behavior to himself. Lionel continued, "I think there's another explanation, a good one, and it isn't that you want me to fuck you. But since you won't tell me what it is..." He held out his hand. "Dominic?"

Wordlessly, Dominic handed his employer a foil packet. He'd already torn the corner to make it easier for Lionel to open it.

Lionel sheathed his cock in latex. "I don't know about these other three, Clark, but I take precautions. A boy who behaves like you? God knows where you've been. And I'm well aware that you fuck my son. You know Lex has a profligate past, do you not?" Dominic retrieved the lube from the couch and brought it to Lionel. "Whenever I fuck someone who's been with my son, I'm very, very careful." Fingers slick with cold gel circled his hole, then slipped inside. "In your case, Clark, I have to wonder..." Lionel positioned himself and pushed, a look of supreme concentration on his face. Two thrusts and he was buried; Clark could feel the rasp of Lionel's pubic hair against his groin. "I have to wonder who's getting dirtier, you or my son." Clark bit his lip to keep from shouting, pressed his eyes shut to try to stem tears. His cock leaked, sticky threads stretching between the tip and his belly. He pushed at the desktop, trying to scoot back, away from Lionel.

"None of that, Clark," Lionel admonished. He jerked his head at Dominic. "Hold him. Get his arms."

Clark should have been able to fight off Dominic--he should have been able to fight off the whole lot of them--but he couldn't make himself push hard enough; instead, he bucked back against Lionel's thrusts, writhing, tear-streaked and just on the verge of coming again. He hoped he wouldn't, not again, and not with Lionel. Dominic leaned against his wrists, holding them to the desktop above his head.

Lucas kissed James, fondled him, and they watched Clark apathetically, despite their erections. "How many times can this guy come?" James asked of no one in particular.

Lionel laughed and stroked Clark's cock with rough efficiency. "Clark is special. I don't think we've come close to reaching our Clark's limits here."

Clark gasped, miserable and aroused as Lionel became more serious about fucking him and stopped talking.

Lucas groped James, pushed him down on his knees as they watched Clark get fucked. Clark could feel James' eyes on him, watching through the bottom of the glass desk. Clark's flesh compressed and distorted, sliding on the sweat that dripped from his body, made milky with the semen residue dried on his skin.

Dominic watched Lionel's face intently; Clark watched Dominic with anger and disgust, then closed his eyes and came hard all over himself; chest, throat, face. His body was still straining up, back arched, as the door latch clicked.

Lex walked in. He dropped his laptop case and it popped open; the computer slid out and papers skidded across the parquet. His face went white; his mouth fell open. Clark moaned on seeing him, renewed lust making him writhe.

Lionel gave a final, decisive thrust and came with a gravelly chuckle, rocking hard against Clark's ass. "Hello, son." He pulled out, snapped off the condom, and dropped it in Lex's wastebasket.

"Clark." Lex's voice was small; Clark's name fell from his mouth like a lump of gristle.

"Oh, god, Lex!" He flung out his arm, reaching. Lex looked back at him, at his hand, his arm, then his body--which, while unmarked in any usual sense, seemed used somehow. Dried fluids in flaky, white patches. The line of hairs leading from navel to cock wet with slime. His hair matted and stringy. His eyes guilty and frightened. "Please, Lex..."

A rush of air--Lex could move surprisingly fast when he wanted to--and Lex was on his father, arms swinging. Years of persecution had made Lex tough, efficiently vicious. His experience of breaking cheekbones, noses, collarbones--and his own fingers--was concentrated in this moment.

Dominic stepped in to defend his employer. James stood with his mouth hanging open, but Lucas tried to pull Lex away. Lionel fought back, going for both sons. Clark unpeeled himself from the glass and got between Lex and Lionel. Lionel knew better than to punch Clark, but Dominic didn't. Clark was miserably hard again just smelling them, tasting aggression. Dominic hit Clark, hard, in the gut, and reeled back clutching his hand. He tripped over the crate holding the award prototypes, knocking it over.

Big, gaudy, ugly, heavy, giant spray of red crystals exposed. Clark's cock surged with a thick pulse of lust and he screamed, high and desperate. Lionel looked at the stone and knew; Lex suspected. "Please," Clark begged. "Get it away, get it away."

Lex looked at Clark's colorless, horrified face, and yelled, "Get that out of here, NOW!" and Dominic hurriedly repacked the box, dragging it across the parquet to the door and leaving long scratches in the wood.

Lionel stood leering at them. "Your Clark is...quite the boy, Lex."

"Get OUT!"

Lionel sauntered out, the door closed behind him, and they were alone. Lex turned toward him, his face a ghostly mask. Clark's shaking legs were in imminent danger of collapse. He put a hand out to brace against the wall, then slid to the floor. He drew his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms around his shins, and turned his face to press against the cool plaster.

"Clark." Lex's voice was arid, tired. "Look at me."

Clark didn't want to turn, didn't want to see the hurt in Lex's eyes. His chest grew tight with contained screaming and his shoulders shook.

"Clark, you've got to talk to me. You've got to tell me something that will help me understand what the fuck happened here."

Clark curled in tighter on himself; maybe this was all a dream, Lex would walk in and they could start this day over, just the two of them. Just Clark in love with Lex, faithful to Lex.

"It's something with the rocks, I know that much." Lex turned and paced the few steps over to the couch. He started to sit but saw the dried fluids on the leather. With an angry shout, he threw the cushion, which collided with the bookshelf and knocked over a bust of Alexander. He strode across the room and grasped the front edge of his desk, heaving it over with a crash. He came to stand over Clark, fists clenched, breathing hard. "Just tell me, Clark." When Clark said nothing, he sneered and turned away.

"I know the green meteorites hurt you, Clark. I know they make you weak. The red ones do something, too, don't they? Lana found a red stone on the floor of the Talon along with your shirt. Is that why you were kissing Chloe? Is that why you were such a shit to me that day?" He cocked his head, looking down at Clark, but didn't seem to find what he sought. "If you're going to tell me more lies, Clark, you'd better just leave now."

Clark opened his mouth but no sound came out. He licked his lips, tried again. "Wait, Lex." He licked, swallowed. "You're right."

Lex looked at him, a long moment full of tension. He paced, picking up random objects and then throwing them forcefully away, face hard with disdain. "Did you fuck them all? Did you, Clark? Couldn't you just stop?"

Clark wanted to explain that no, in fact, he couldn't stop. He wanted to tell Lex how sorry he was, that he hadn't really wanted to do those things...but that would be a kind of lie, and he wanted to stop lying to Lex, forever, now. He was dirty, he wanted a bath, and he needed a hug, but he was afraid to say any of it, or to ask. Instead, he just sobbed quietly, forehead against his knees.

"I want to understand, Clark. I really do. But don't you think it's time you told me what's going on? I mean, I stopped asking you questions long ago because we were both tired of the lies--god knows, I was, anyway--but this...this is too much." He sat on the arm of the sofa, leaning toward Clark, eyes wet and angry. "The way I feel about you, Clark...I thought this was something good, that you were good, but now I've got to wonder. I have to wonder if maybe you're the worst thing to ever happen to me.

"My father fucked you, Clark. He was fucking you, and you came, and you liked it. I saw it happen. The way the rest were looking at you, and the way you fucked them. You fucked my dad and my brother and Dominic and Lucas' goddamn friend, whose name I don't even remember--and you probably don't even know--and now you're crying." Lex looked down at the floor, the space between his shiny shoes. "I need a good reason to forgive you, Clark. A fucking incredible reason."

Clark thought that, maybe, just maybe, he might have that incredible reason. He began, "You're right, Lex. I haven't told you everything...but I can start telling you some things now..."

"I'm listening."

"It was the red rocks, Lex. I'm...allergic, or something. I don't know what to call it. And the green ones, too. The green ones hurt. The red ones make me...uninhibited, but that's with just a little rock. That was...a really big chunk of meteorite, Lex. I couldn't stop wanting..." He cried, a harsh sob. "And when you came in, god, I wanted you so much, Lex; you're the only one I really want and I knew you'd never want me again."

"You let my father fuck you."

"I couldn't help it! Please believe me!"

"Clark, why do the rocks affect you like this? Are you a mutant?"

"A mutant? No, I'm not."

"Then what, Clark?" Lex looked so tired, so broken, and suddenly older than his 23 years. "What possible other explanation is there?"

"I'm...not like other people, Lex. You know that." Oh god, oh god; deep breath, then Clark said, "I'm not...people." He hugged himself but couldn't stop shivering.

Lex was up, moving across the room, and sat beside him on the floor, almost but not quite touching. "Clark." Feathery breath against Clark's shoulder pulsed across his skin in wavering ripples. "Tell me."

Maybe it would be better to just be direct. Clark bent his head, spoke against his knees. "I'm not human. I'm from another planet." The shivers turned to shudders, full-body shaking.

Lex drew back for a moment, his face blank with shock, but then his sharp brain performed some amazingly fast and satisfying series of calculations and he relaxed, grinning.

"Really? From another planet?" Lex laughed, delighted. "I wondered. I thought maybe...Oh, Clark," he said, such warmth in his voice. "Come here." He held out his arm, inviting Clark into the circle.

Clark burst into tears and clung, holding tight to Lex's shirtfront with both hands. "I'm so sorry, so sorry about everything." He took a huge, gasping breath, then sobbed harder. "It's just...the rocks! I can't help it...and now I stink and I'm filthy and I...fucked...Oh, god, Lex!"

"Sshh..." Lex whispered. "It's all right, Clark. I thought I understood before, but I didn't understand anything." He pressed kisses to Clark's forehead. "It all makes sense now, it does." Clark made a small noise, bunnyish, and curled into a ball, holding Lex tight enough to bruise.

Clark's tears gradually abated. Lex's shirt was a wet mess, tears and snot and saliva, but he didn't seem to mind. He stroked Clark's hair as he began to speak.

"You know, Clark," he began. "If you'd told me this before, I'd feel so much differently about what's happened today."

"Lex?" Clark started to lift his head, but Lex's hands encouraged him to stay still.

"If I'd known about the rocks, Clark, I'd have made my father remove that hideous trophy from the property as soon as I saw it, and none of this would have happened. If you'd trusted me, I could have protected you."

"Lex, I do trust you!" Clark insisted. "I didn't want to lie to you."

"But you did." Lex kissed his ear, then rubbed his nose in the soft hair at his temple. "You told me so many lies, Clark. Do you have any idea how many?"

"Lex?" Something was wrong, very wrong.

Lex pushed Clark's face off his chest, just far enough to look into his eyes. "Precious. So special. You belong to me now, don't you, Clark?"

"Lex?" Clark's heart pounded harder.

"You're mine. Your secret is mine." Lex stroked dirty hair off Clark's face, gentle, thumb smoothing dark brows. "I own you."

"Lex?" Something didn't feel right.

"You have a ship, don't you?" When Clark nodded, Lex continued, "I've got a safe place we can hide it. We don't want the wrong people finding it, right?" When Clark looked dubious, Lex soothed him with cool hands, looked into his eyes with sincere concern. "It's my secret now, too, Clark. It's okay."

Lex kissed him then, liquid and searching. Clark melted under his mouth, moaned with the gentle probing of Lex's tongue, gave himself over completely. Bones soft, flesh like water. He willed Lex to push him down on his back, to cover him, but instead Lex pulled away, leaving him with a gentle, chaste peck. "I can taste them on you, you know." He held Clark's face in his hands, rubbed his thumb across Clark's lower lip. "Did you blow all of them?"

Clark jerked in surprise and his lip trembled. He blinked rapidly, and whispered, "No, no. Not...your dad."

"Good." Lex pushed him away and Clark sat on back his heels, watching as Lex unbuckled his belt, unclasped the fly of his trousers. "I'm going to stand up, and then you're going to suck me." Lex straightened his legs, pushing up the wall.


"Clark, stop saying my name like that. Just...suck."

"Lex, please..." Clark held Lex's hips but gazed up at him with wide, wet eyes. "Why are you--"

Lex held Clark's face, a hand spread over his cheek. "Stop talking, Clark. Stop. Talking." He gave Clark's head a little shake, a pinch of the rosy flesh over the cheekbone. Thick, pink cock nudged at his lips. "Wait." Lex drew back. "Turn around."

Tears rolling down his cheeks, Clark did as he asked, kneeling with his back to the wall. Lex stood over him, hands braced against the wall. He nudged Clark's thighs apart with a shiny oxford, stood between his legs. "Come on. Suck my cock."

"Lex, I--"

"Sssh; just do what I say." Wanting to please, Clark reached for Lex's cock with a shaking hand, opened his lips to engulf the leaking head, reached with his tongue for the salty wetness at the slit. "That's right...oh, that's good." Lex stroked his hair, curled his fingers around Clark's ear, and used it as a handle to guide Clark's mouth up his shaft. A deep thrust left Clark choking, his throat closing convulsively around Lex's cock, but Lex just said, "You can take it, baby; I know you can," and kept pumping. He tried to relax, but Lex's thrusts were gagging him, knocking his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, let the tears roll down his cheeks, and waited for Lex to come.

"That's right, that's right," Lex whispered. "Use your tongue, Clark--don't go to sleep on me, now." Clark renewed his efforts, pressing his tongue against the underside of the thick cock, the velvet skin that he loved, and tried to pretend none of the rest of this mattered. It was still Lex, still the only one he wanted. He pulled off to the side, twisting to draw back and hold just the head of Lex's cock in his mouth, tongue swirling, cheeks hollow. Lex groaned, "Ah, fuck!" and his hips jerked, slamming Clark back into the wall as his cock convulsed, flooding Clark's mouth with thick, bitter slickness, heavy on his tongue. As Lex came, Clark realized his own cock was hard again, throbbing, bone-dry and painful. Lex slumped against him, his softening length slipping deeper into Clark's throat, and Clark knew that if he were human, he'd be struggling for air by now. He wondered, cringing, if Lex realized this.

"I'm going to miss fucking you," he said, in a deceptively conversational tone. "You'll understand why I can't, I think." Lex took a deep breath, pushed away from the wall, and tucked himself back into his beautifully tailored trousers. He smiled at Clark, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Find something to put on."

Clark hurried across to the couch, gathering his clothes from the floor. "Lex, what...I mean, are we okay? I can tell you anything you want to know. I can--"

"We can talk later," Lex said, almost sounding like his old self. "But I want to show you something first. I've got a room where...well, I've got some things there that I think might interest you. It's kind of a museum for our friendship."

"Lex?" Clark felt desperate, frightened. He only had one thing left to offer. "Lex, I-I love you."

Lex smiled, shook his head. "That's all right, Clark. Come on." He took Clark's arm, pulled gently. "Let me show you."

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