Do Not Pass Go     Do Not Pass Go

 by Hope

 Goss and Slodwick wanted jailsmut. Ta da! 

 

  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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