Kill Switch	   Kill Switch

 by s.a.

 

 

  

 Title: Kill Switch 

 Author: s.a. 

 Rating: NC17 

 Pairing: Clark/Lex 

 Disclaimer: If only they were mine. But they're not. They belong to Other
People, who are Not Me. Suing isn't fun. 

 Spoilers: No specific episodes, but know what's going on. 

 Feedback: Please. email: sa@nodist.net 

 Distribution: My site, http://hole.nodist.net. SSA, Level Three. Just
ask. 

 Author's Notes: This was made because of The Green Chick. We decided one
night that we wanted to pull a Te - that is, try and improv a story. We
started, I finished, but I never could've done it without her. Also, the
PPO babes. Because they are wonderful. It was written for the XTitle
challenge. 

 Summary: Lex shouldn't have been this easy.  

 Lex didn't know why he thought this would stay sweet. Maybe it was the
total lack of shadow in Clark's eyes. Or they way his eyelashes fluttered
so ... beautifully. 

 Now here they were, and Lex was reminded, not for the first time in his
career, that pretty doesn't have to mean innocent. He'd played that game
himself. But he'd always given himself away. He could never manage to look
as untouched as this boy did. As pure. 

 He was always tempted to ask Clark if he'd ever kissed someone before.
Other than him. The question would come to mind after one heady look from
his overcharged, sex-addled boy. He never did ask, though, because he
wasn't sure he wanted an answer. 

 It was, of course, a helluva surprise to Lex when Clark began to stop by
every single day, losing pretense by the second and crushing his mouth to
Lex's own amazed one. The first time, he thought it would be an
aberration. Clark, just off from school, poking his head into Lex's office
and throwing his backpack on the couch before doing some sauntering thing
that hadn't been there before Lex had his dick in said sauntering ass.
Clark took Lex's cell from him as he was in the middle of a conversation
with the French ambassador, hanging up on surprised squawks from Paris
before closing off any protestations with a long, wet kiss. 

 The kiss soon turned into a slow, agonizing blowjob that sent Lex's eyes
reeling into the back of his head, and the determination that he was never
getting rid of this chair for as long as he lived. But he had to unglue
himself from his seat eventually, if only because Clark was already
speeding up to the bedroom, pausing at the landing to toss off a look that
said, "well, are you coming or aren't you?" 

 After being blown to within an inch of his life, Lex wouldn't have
expected to be ready for another round so soon, but once he saw Clark's
heavy-lidded eyes looking back at him from the stairwell, he felt his cock
hardening yet again. He followed the kid up the stairs, couldn't help
himself really. Followed that pouty mouth and perfect body, because he
just had to bury himself to the hilt in the beauty that was Clark Kent. 

 The next day, Lex was detailing reports from accounting when he heard the
now-familiar thump of twenty pounds of books hitting his brown leather
couch. The computer screen almost got knocked over as Clark pounced on
him, sliding across the desk and grabbing his shirt, hauling lavender silk
to him for another bruising, claiming kiss. 

 That was a look that led to much fucking. All night fucking. All night
fucking that got Clark grounded for a week because they both fell into
unconsciousness after the third time inside each other and neglected to
wake up until ten the next morning. 

 And god, if Clark didn't make it easy for him, pushing him to sit on the
bed before slowly stripping out of flannel and denim, Caterpillar work
boots and the classic country boy BVDs. For one fleeting moment Lex
wondered "How did he know I liked to watch?" - though that thought was
soon swept away by another. searing. kiss. How did he know Lex liked to
watch - but then, how did he know anything? How did he know how to kiss?
How to fuck Lex's mouth with his tongue? How to trail down Lex's body,
hungry mouth leaving a neat row of beautiful bites down the smooth chest,
how to pause, teasing, and look up with a hint of a grin as he reached the
waist of his trousers? How did Clark, young, innocent, untouched Clark,
know so perfectly what to do with Lex's cock? 

 It baffled him, entranced him, made him want to fuck Clark so hard that
he couldn't move from Lex's bed for a week. Somehow, somehow, Clark always
bounced back. Always had the wind for another round. Somehow managed to
make Lex's wilting cock become half-hard even with the merest pucker of
his lips. Every time those pestering questions crossed his mind, Clark
would shoo them away with his mouth, his hands, his teeth, and oh christ
his cock. His beautiful, reddened cock that responded with such eager
attention whenever Lex brushed his hand oh so slowly down its length. And
there, Lex felt his control being regained from this innocent farm boy.
Innocent? No, he corrected himself. Coy. 

 Clark was slowly becoming his undoing. Work was being scorned,
conferences rescheduled - slowly his underlings, as he liked to call them,
were being given more responsibility as Lex found it was now his duty to
fuck Clark whenever he came within three feet of his eternally
uncomfortable cock. A small part of his brain, the only bit that wasn't
being flooded with pheromones at any given moment, was screaming at him to
leave the fucktoy! That he had a corporation to run, businesses to
conquer, lives to control. Most often that little voice was squashed into
oblivion when he took Clark into his mouth. 

 Of course, most of the time Clark initiated their little study sessions.
He'd skip school, or swing by after classes let out - Lex remembered
hearing some faint excuse about the library, or Chloe, or something
equally mundane that kept the Kents at bay. 

 When Lex found himself clearing his calendar every day after three, he
started to get a hint that maybe he wasn't as in charge of this thing as
much as he liked to think. And he noticed that Heather, the chef, would
send up peanut butter and apples and other things that reeked of wholesome
goodness shortly before the young Mr. Kent would come bouncing in. The
servants all avoided the right wing of the castle, and his assistants
always seemed in a rush to get things done before their lunch break. It
was many weeks into this arrangement before Lex realized he had structured
his entire life around Clark Kent.  

 He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that nagged at him. He
couldn't imagine Clark having any previous lovers. But he never dared ask.
And he hated that he even cared about whether Clark had been as virginal
as he'd looked when they'd first started their affair. But even more than
that, Lex hated the idea that there was anything he didn't dare ask. 

 There were secrets, he knew. He had his own fair share of skeletons, and
through small inklings from Clark he knew that there were things being
kept from him. It wouldn't bother him so much if he didn't keep this image
of Clark, tied like a scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield, looking for
all the world a martyr, tucked in the back of his brain. No amount of
cocksucking on Clark's part could rip that veil of innocence that always
filtered Clark in Lex's mind. 

 He'd tried to start the conversation once. 

 "Hey, Clark?" 

 "Hmm?" 

 Lex realized fairly quickly that if Clark's mouth was busy with his cock,
it wasn't the best time to start a conversation. And now that he thought
about it, Clark managed to distract him from all the questions he really
wanted to ask. "When was the last time you were home, Clark?" was brushed
off with a morning kiss - how the hell did he escape morning breath? - and
an offer of breakfast in bed. "What about school, Clark?" was met with a
waving hand as Clark engrossed himself in the video game where he was
dying. 

 Lex really didn't mind fucking Clark into the ground every chance he got,
but niggling thoughts of reality broke into his intoxicating Clark-haze.
Like when Jonathan Kent was going to storm the castle with shotgun in
hand. Or when Dominic would come from Metropolis to see what the hell was
going on with the plant. Or the unwanted scrutiny he was sure to receive
from his father after over a month of absence from the business world. Of
course, none of these people understood the addiction that was fucking
Clark Kent. But they were sure to disapprove of it, for many different
reasons. Least of which was the fact that said Kent teenager was a
teenager, and sodomy was very, very illegal in Kansas. He was really
beginning to wonder what had become of his life at this point. 

 Somehow Clark knew when those thoughts crossed Lex's brain, because he'd
pad over in loose sweatpants or another of the easy-to-get-out-of clothes
he'd taken to leaving permanently in Lex's residence. Large, smooth hands
would fiddle with a button on his shirt and very, very quickly Lex would
forget the thoughts that were trying valiantly to worm their way to the
surface of his sex-crazed mind. 

 Their relationship had lasted far longer than Lex had ever suspected -
ever hoped, for that matter. But that odd longevity was tinged by the fact
that the relationship consisted mainly of sex. Not that sex was bad.
Especially not this sex. This sex was fucking awesome, and the part of Lex
that had its permanent attention towards that very act rebelled at the
non-sex-related thoughts that invaded the actual-sex-having time. It was
just ... they never went out. Occasionally, they swept by the Talon, but
they never stayed and talked there, like they used to. "People would ask
too many questions," said Clark. "I don't want to deal with it," said
Clark. "Let me go home and fuck you senseless," said Clark. And who was
Lex to respond in any way but in kind? Sure, there were the jaunts to
Metropolis. But they just went to some dark club and dance-fucked all
night long until they collapsed in a boneless pile of sweat-soaked skin in
the penthouse. No one saw them. No one recognized them - which was, in all
seriousness, probably a good thing. 

 For the most part, they stayed home - the castle, which was really as
much Clark's home now as it was ever Lex's. They stayed home. And fucked,
of course. But - they stayed home. Some odd part of Lex was awakened - a
part that demanded attention for the couple he and Clark were. The part
that didn't understand why Clark would shut him up or distract him or lick
his cock rather than sit down and figure out what the hell they were doing
here. Because yeah. There was great fucking. Mind-blowing fucking.
Cell-exploding, nuclear powered fucking. 

 Yet they had ... nothing. 

 The stuff of legends. Friends - forever. Best friends, at that. Where had
that gone? The talking, the sneaking around, the thinly veiled innuendo
kept just at the surface but shoved down far enough to keep their odd
friendship alive. Apparently, being fucked by Clark Kent eliminated the
option of friendship. Which normally Lex would be fine with. But why
didn't he have a say? It was all Clark. Clark's wants, Clark's needs,
Clark's distractions. Maybe an outside observer would say that Clark was
the one who gave up everything to be with Lex - his home. His family.
School. Friends. His life. But Lex knew that was so very untrue. Clark was
just getting what he wanted all along. Relief from the weight of the
world. His parents. School. Friends. Lex was the one who gave his life.
His work. His goals. His castle, his servants, his cock was at the mercy,
the beck and call of Clark Kent. 

 His cock, the cock he knew Clark owned, really felt like shutting up the
whiny housewife that had taken up residence in Lex's brain. Most of the
time, his cock won. But the whiny housewife would come back with a
vengeance. Why didn't they talk anymore? Didn't he matter? Didn't his
thoughts have any impact on the nature of this relationship? Lex had never
been good in the role of second fiddle. He was the leader. The
decision-maker, the person who controlled other's lives and above all, his
own. Apparently, a good rimming by a pretty boy took all that power away. 

 It was the way just the tip traced every inch of skin on his ass. Nothing
was missed. He was licked, coddled with that tongue, electrified,
liquefied. His ass was putty in Clark's, well, mouth. He could have sworn
he'd inhaled the entire ozone when Clark ohsogently pulled his cheeks
apart and let that small, puckered hole just ... respond to the air. His
breathing steadied somewhat over the seemingly endless time Clark just
stared. Blowing on it. Hell, just looking at it seemed to get Clark off.
And Lex off, as a result, though that effort was squelched once Clark
realized that Lex's small rubbings against the comforter were vain
attempts to hit his climax - and Clark reached down and shut things off.
The intake of breath that followed wasn't really one of pleasure. 

 Of course, the breath was soon quelled by that tongue. The tongue that
traced up and down the inner skin of his asscheeks and never seemed to go
anywhere near the spot that was just begging for it. Lex probably would
have thought Clark was just being a prick - if he could still pull off the
coherent thought thing. Which he couldn't. When the tongue that was
delivering such evil, wonderful torture finally slipped into that pulsing
hole, it wasn't the gentle nudge Lex was expecting. It was hard, and fast,
and constant. Lex would have gasped if any part of his brain was working
at all. Instead, as Clark dipped in and out of his ass faster than a - oh,
who the fuck cares, Lex just opened and shut his mouth with eyes rolled so
far to the back of his head he later swore he could see his own brain. 

 Needless to say, Lex shuddered and came, and Clark not soon after that
with a quickie handjob and a leery smirk Lex almost wanted to rub off his
face. 

 Lex shouldn't have been this easy. 

 The cycle kept repeating itself - Lex would start wondering where their
relationship was going, what happened to the real world, why his entire
existence had shrunk to the right wing of the castle and Clark. Clark, in
response to those thoughts, would suck Lex into oblivion, or fuck him into
the ground, or guide Lex's ever-willing cock into his eternally tight ass.
Days, weeks, months passed. Time somehow ceased to matter. And still Lex
never changed a thing, never tried to get his life back. What had happened
to him, that he had become kept, rather than the keeper? When had that
innocent boy turned into a kinky prick that Lex couldn't help but submit
to? Why the fuck was Lex the bottom in this twisted relationship? 

 All questions went unanswered. Lex slowly felt each bit of resistance
slip away. Worries about business and family and life were all taken care
of. Though really, looking at Lex's life, the castle, at Clark, what he
had was comparable to anyone's paradise. Still, Lex sometimes felt this
overwhelming claustrophobia that held his acquiescence in check. It was
back and forth, so much so that Lex wondered if he wasn't going insane, if
that pretty mouth hadn't killed off a few thousand of his brain cells that
shattered Lex's well-honed control. 

 The day came so quickly. A year since he made his first move on Clark
Kent. A year since that mouth had fastened to his with a fervor that
overwhelmed him. A year since Lex's dick first made it's way into Clark's
ass and a year since Clark felt a hand other than his own jerking him off.
It called for a celebration, of sorts - the now-standard arsenal of edible
sex toys, aphrodisiacs, and a brand-new dildo Lex had no clue how Clark
had procured. 

 Lex was laid out, spread-eagled on the bed, watching the ceiling with
studious disinterest as Clark spread chocolate syrup over his body. The
nosing questions returned, of course, and Lex was retracing the
now-familiar queries and their equally familiar non-answers in his mind
when he noticed that Clark had stopped licking his chest. Instead he was
looking at Lex with a darkened curiosity that was almost more sexy than
Clark in drag. 

 Lex propped himself up on his elbows. "Yes?" he asked. 

 "Why don't you leave, if you're not happy here?" 

 Lex paused; this was certainly unexpected. Of course, Clark was nothing
if not unexpected. The uncertainty was what kept the convoluted
relationship going. "Why would I leave? It's my own castle." Another
pause. "Though it really seems as much yours as it is mine now." 

 Clark cocked his head, that damned tongue peeking out to wet dark brown
lips. "Does that bother you? That I'm here, in your life, your home?" 

 Lex let his eyes close for a moment. Of course they had to talk about
this now. "Why would it?" 

 "You're avoiding this. Do you want me to go back to the chocolate sauce
now?" 

 The normally beat down part of Lex's brain began to shout at him - he was
going to lose this opportunity if he didn't stop fucking around. "Why are
you here, Clark? I don't understand." 

 He could almost see the little mouse on the wire wheel in Clark's brain
speed up. There was a deadened silence where Lex could only look on
expectantly, waiting for an answer. "I'm here because ... because I can't
get enough of you. I need you - my body needs you. You're ... mine." 

 Lex sucked in a breath. 

 "I love you, Lex." 

 There was the pause again. Only it was his turn to speak. 

 He picked himself off the bed, shrugging into a shirt and pulling on the
previously discarded boxers. He walked to the door of his bedroom, not
looking back at Clark, who just ... sat there. 

 "I'm not yours."   
 If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to s.a.

 Also, why not join  Level Three, the Smallville all-fic list?