Title: Broken
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Author's e-mail: Kelandris
Author's webpage: The Space Between
Disclaimer: They are on loan from DC Comics to Millar Gough Ink and the WB network. I own no interest in Smallville nor in its creators. Insignificant slasher passing under radar.
Category: BDSM/Established Relationship/Humor
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: For the pilot of "Smallville" only.
Summary: Lex agrees to a little restraint, and Clark gets a little unrestrained.
Author's notes: This is part of the Third Wave CLFF challenge, started December 1st, 2002. My challenge: Level 1 Challenge, 5,000 words or thereabouts. Further challenge: Do an NC-17 all-dialogue story. Furtherer challenge: Use one of philtre’s one-line challenges in the story: "Any luck finding the keys to these handcuffs?"
Additional: This challenge is going to kill me. And the nice little idea I had has vanished in the two week wait to write, so now I’m stealing an idea from *myself*! How sick is that?


"Broken"
by Kelandris the Mad


*tink*

"Oops."

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you just say, ‘oops’?"

"Um..."

"Clark..."

"Yeah. I, um...yeah."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"Why 'oops'?"

"Um..."

"*Clark*..."

"Uh..."

"And what was that sound?"

"What was...what sound?"

"Clark, just because I can’t see you, don’t assume it means I don’t know you’re blushing. Now, tell me what happened."

"I, um...I lost the key."

"You...what?"

"I--lost the key. To the cuffs."

"You...lost the key."

"Yeah."

"That’s not what it sounded like."

"Um..."

"Clark..."

"Lex, I’m sorry! Don’t you have another key?"

"Let me think. I don’t usually *need* a spare key."

"Oh, God..."

"Check the top drawer of the *armoire*. My side of the bed."

"Top--by that little--"

"No, where I usually keep the--"

"Oh. Um. The...yeah."

"Yes, Clark. Honestly..."

"What?"

"Well, as often as you’ve been in my room, you’d think you would know all the furniture intimately by now."

"Uh..."

"My. You look wonderfully stunned."

"Sorry. Um. Just. Thinking. About...about what you just said."

"You have a kink for furniture?"

"Lex! That’s gross!"

"What? It’s better than a road fetish."

"A road...I don’t want to know."

"Probably not. You’re much too young for such things."

"I am not!"

"Well. Advanced fetishes, very likely. Everyday average bondage, no, you’re becoming quite the expert. When you don’t lose the keys."

*slither*

*rummage*

"Oh."

"What?"

"Clark."

"What?"

"Forget the key. Just stay bent over like that. I’ll be right there."

"Lex!"

"What?"

"I’m trying to get you out of the cuffs, and you’re--you’re--"

"What, making you blush more? Don’t walk around naked in my room."

"I thought you liked me naked."

"I *love* you naked. In fact, I’d really love you naked over here."

"Lex!"

"Stop sounding so shocked."

"But, but it’s--it’s just so--"

"So help me, Clark, if you say ‘embarrassing’, I will come over there, handcuffs or no, and do something to you that will make you unable to look your mother in the eye for a week."

*fumble*

*tink*

"What was that?"

"Uh..."

"You can’t be serious."

"I, um...I’m sure I just, um...dropped it. Gimme a minute."

"What was it, the doing something to you line, or the won’t be able to stare your mother down line?"

"Um...both."

"At some point, when we have fewer restrictions, I should demonstrate."

"Demonstrate--oh, God--"

"No. Just me."

"Lex, stop it. I can’t concentrate when you use that voice."

"What voice?"

"That voice you’re using now."

"*This* voice?"

"Stop it!"

"But I thought you liked this voice."

"I do. When I’m flat on the bed and you’re over me and you’re about to...um..."

"Go on."

"Um...I mean..."

"You can’t even say it."

"I can so!"

"Then say it."

"S-say what?"

"Say *it*. Clark. *Say* it. Say, 'when you're about to *fuck* me’."

"Oh, my God--no, I didn’t--"

"You can’t. Six little words. You can’t get them out."

"I didn’t say that--stop teasing me!"

"All right. Say, ‘when you’re about to slide your cock into me, filling me up, stretching me wide, making me take every...single...inch of you...'"

*gasp*

"Lex..."

"Now, *that* voice, I could happily listen to for hours."

"What...voice?"

"*That* voice. That throaty, deep one. The one that says to me, 'Lex, my God, I nearly came right now, all over your little *armoire*, and if you don’t come over here right now and suck my cock I’m going to just explode.' *That* voice."

*gulp*

"It’s a very good voice, Clark."

*creak*

"Don’t break the *armoire*."

"Lex...*stop*..."

"Mm. I am sorry. But it’s so much fun to see that look on your face."

"Forget the look on my face."

"Very true. I’d much rather look at your ass. Turn around again."

"Lex!"

"What?"

"You’re--you’re--"

"Don’t say it. Remember, your mother’s sanity is at stake. She’ll get all worried about you, and then she’ll start asking you questions, and you’ll just give in and tell her everything--"

"--and she’ll turn and tell my dad everything, and he’ll come over here with a sledgehammer--"

"I always thought he was more the shotgun type."

"Really?"

"Well. I’ve *seen* him with a shotgun. I’ve never seen him with a sledgehammer."

"I’ve seen him with a backhoe, and you don’t see me saying he’s going to attack you with it."

"Good point. I’ve seen him holding your mother’s purse in the bakery, too, and I never expected to be attacked soundly with that."

"You saw my dad holding a purse?"

"About a week ago. Yes. Why?"

"Oh, I *gotta* tease him about that."

"Mm. Are you going to tell him who told you?"

"Of course I--what?"

"And how you found out?"

"Um..."

"Yeah, Dad, Lex saw you holding Mom’s purse, and I just wanted to know...what? When? Well, he was naked on the floor of his bedroom in a pair of handcuffs, and--"

"On second thought, can we just...not talk about my parents now?"

"What, ruining your perfect afternoon of rape and bondage?"

*gasp*

*pounce*

"Lex, I’d never, *never* do that, you *know* that--"

"Clark--need to--breathe a little--"

"Sorry. Sorry. I’m--"

*scoot*

"Sorry."

*inhale*

"No, no, all apologies should be mine, Clark. It was a small, and apparently very humorless, joke. Of course you wouldn’t. I...trust you."

"You...oh."

"Yes. I, oh. Pretty much the same for me."

"Um."

"Indeed."

"But--"

"No. Of more pressing concern right now--"

"Yeah. I can *see* your *pressing concern*--"

"No, no, Clark. It’s another problem entirely to which I’m referring."

"I don’t think so. You could carve diamonds with that thing--"

"Clark--"

"I want to--"

"Oh...God...*Clark*--"

*gasp*

*arch*

"Oh, that feels so...wait. Clark, wait."

"What? You think I should--"

"No, Clark. The handcuffs. *Try* to stay focused."

"I am focusing."

*gasp*

"Ah. Right. Okay. Keep focusing. Fuck the handcuffs."

"Oh, God, Lex--"

"Mmm. Do that again. Oh, *God*, do that--"

"Is that--?"

"Perfect..."

"What about--"

*gasp*

"*Damn* it! Wait, Clark. Wait. No. We can’t. *I* can’t. I’m sorry."

"But--"

"No. As good as you feel, as good as your *hands* feel, I really need *my* hands back. And the cuffs off."

"Oh. Those."

"Yes. Please? Or do I have to beg?"

"Uh..."

"Bet you’d *love* to hear me beg."

"Um..."

"Clark. *Clark*. Just find the key, all right? Bring it over here and unlock the cuffs and I’ll beg all you want."

"Oh, God..."

*slide*

*rummage*

"Lex..."

"Mm?"

"You ever...begged anyone before?"

"Begged anyone?"

"Uh-huh."

"Lots of times. ‘Please, don’t stop.’ ‘Please, please, touch me.’ Please, I’m begging, *please* just fuck me, *right* now’...‘Please, take that knife out of my side’..."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No--you said--"

"I have a tendency to get abducted by random strangers. I’ve never been sure why. Don’t let it worry you."

"But--did they ever--"

"What?"

"Hurt you?"

"Frequently. In unwelcome ways."

"In unwelcome...So there are...?"

"What?"

"Welcome ways to hurt you?"

"You don’t know that by now?"

"Um..."

"Clark, surely, you’ve observed some reactions of mine over these past few months. I do like a little spice in the sauce."

"We’re not talking about cooking, Lex."

"Well, *I’m* certainly not."

"But...the handcuffs are bothering you."

"Oh, those? My, I’d quite forgotten them."

"Lex. That’s not funny."

"Amazing how used to something one becomes when one can’t get away from it."

"Lex!"

"Or when one cannot manage to convince someone who purports to care to find the damn key and stop fucking around."

"Stop it!"

*beat*

"Lex, tell me."

"About the cuffs."

"No, not about the...Yeah. Fine. About the cuffs."

*pause*

"They are becoming slightly uncomfortable, Clark. Happier now?"

*mutter*

"What was that?"

"I said, I thought you liked pain."

"Now, see, there’s an observant child--you *have* been paying attention."

"Lex--"

"Oh, don’t sound so offended. We’ve had this conversation before."

*mutter*

"What was that?"

"Maybe we need to have it again, *Lex*."

"Well, *Clark*...no, I don’t see you as a child; yes, I think you’re capable of making your own decisions; no, I still think if someone found out I’d be in jail and you’d be in counseling."

"Mm."

"Better?"

"Slightly."

"Found the key yet?"

"...No."

"Mm. So. Hmm. What else can we talk about? Parents are taboo--I’d like to toss mine in there with yours, declare the whole thing off-limits for the day--"

"You do that."

"Hmm. But the pain issue...that’s really bugging you, isn’t it?"

"I don’t get it, no."

"Well, if it eases your conscience any, the cuffs wouldn’t have hurt for the half minute or so they would have been on, had you not...'lost' the keys."

"Lex--oh, *God*--I’m *sorry*--"

"Don’t be. And the answer to your question is, yes. I do like pain. *Specific* pain. *Chosen* pain."

"*Chosen* pain?"

"Pain I choose to experience."

"That makes no sense."

"You’d be surprised, Clark. You truly would."

"So...when the kidnappers had you..."

"At any particular juncture in which kidnappers had me; no, it was not pain I enjoyed, relished, desired, wanted, name your adjective. Believe me. Personally *inconveniencing* pain is just pain. And it’s not pain I particularly want or need."

*gulp*

"Lex..."

"Mm."

"Lex!"

"What?"

"You’re--looking at me. Like--"

"Like what?"

"Like you want to...swallow me whole. Or something."

"You know, that’s an excellent idea. Come here."

"Lex, I really should--"

*sigh*

"Of course you should. Ignore the fact that there are so many better things to do..."

"Like what?"

"Licking you all over comes to mind."

*snap*

"Clark?"

"...Yes?"

"That sounded like wood breaking."

"Um..."

*toss*

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

*sigh*

"Would you, just find, the key? All right?"

*mutter*

"Lucky for you I am a patient man, Kent. What did you mutter this time?"

"Nothing."

"And how often has that dodge honestly worked on me, Kent?"

*mutter*

"*Yes*?"

"I just thought...I said, as often as you’ve been in handcuffs, you’d have, you know, some kind of secret trick or something for getting out."

"I do."

"You do?"

"Yes. It’s called having a key."

"Oh."

"Clark...you’re very pretty, and you know I love watching you, but honestly, we’re moving into fifteen minutes in the cuffs, and--"

"Would you just...oh, man..."

"What now?"

"I think...I, um...wait a minute."

"You, Clark Kent, are a very bad liar."

"And you, Lex Luthor, are very pushy. So deal."

"Ah, yes, the mature and adult response to a reasoned salvo."

"Calling me a liar is adult?"

"No, I was referring to..."

"What?"

*sigh*

"Clark..."

"What?"

"Any luck finding the keys to these handcuffs?"

*rattle*

"Um...Yeah, maybe. Lemme try something..."

*slither*

*scrape*

*tink*

"Oh, *man*..."

"I take it the backup is not working?"

"No, it’s just--"

"It’s just what?"

"Nothing."

"Clark, I believe I already mentioned--"

"It’s...smaller."

"What’s smaller? Outside of your voice."

"The key."

"The key is making you whisper like that?"

"The key, it’s--too small...for the lock."

"Of course, you’re kidding, Clark."

*slide*

"Clark?"

*rummage*

"What now?"

"I’m looking for the pieces of--I’m looking for the first key."

"Pieces?"

"What?"

"You said pieces."

"I said what?"

"*Pieces*, Clark. You said pieces. You snapped the handcuff key?"

"I, um...No! Of course not! How could I have done that?"

"And just how, precisely, *did* you do that?"

"I didn’t!"

"You’re still the world’s most terrible liar."

*mutter*

"What?"

"Only to you."

"Hah to that. And that wasn’t what you muttered."

"Well, if you knew already, what did you ask *me* for?"

"I knew the shape of the words, I know they don’t match up to what you told me. I don’t know precisely *what* you said. I would like to, though. Plan on telling me any time soon?"

"Why, Grandma, what a sharp tongue you have."

"Get me out of these fucking cuffs and I’ll show you exactly how sharp my tongue can be."

*gulp*

"You’re serious."

"Try me."

"What would you--oh, God, I don’t want to know..."

"I think you do. I think you’re *dying* to know. Tell me something, Clark...if all bets were off, if you could do *anything*, anything at all, what would you do to me?"

"To you?"

"To *me*, Clark."

"Oh. Um. *God*. I, um..."

"You have something."

"No, I--"

"Liar. Tell me."

"You’ll laugh."

"Clark, I’m sitting on my knees in the center of my bedroom, stark naked, extremely grateful that it’s summer, by the way, even though the not moving is causing some pins and needles here and there...My arms are pulled behind me and it’s not going to be a large problem tomorrow, but every time I write a check or type something on the laptop, believe me, I’m going to feel every minute I’ve spent in these cuffs. I have a wonderfully muscled, gloriously nude young man right in front of me, near enough to touch, and not only can I *not* touch him, I *think* we’re about two seconds away from having our first fight. So, no, Clark, laughter is absolutely the last thing on my mind. All right?"

"Oh. Yeah. Um, okay."

"So tell me."

"Hickey."

"That’s supposed to have some meaningful relevance in light of the larger conversation? Spell it out for the bald wonder on the floor, all right?"

"I want to give you a hickey. Some place collars won’t hide. I want to send you to work with something visible that people will notice and maybe comment on and you’ll have to know all day long that people can see the mark."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"That’s a good one."

"Yeah."

"Spent a lot of time thinking about that, have you?"

"Um...now and...um...again."

"My. Up in the barn loft?"

"Oh, geez..."

"I’m right! You sit up there in the barn loft and think of marking me! It probably makes you so *hard*--"

"It’s making me hard now."

"I’ll bet."

"Um...Lex?"

"Yes?"

"What’s yours?"

"More complex."

"Tell me?"

"Now?"

"Well, no, next Tuesday. Yes, *now*!"

"Mmm...I want you to fuck me."

*gasp*

"Thought that would get you."

"But--Lex, I, we talked about this, I’m not, um, comfortable yet--"

"Bullshit. To be crude."

"What?"

"You’re *very* comfortable around me. You’ve gotten to the point where you can pop in on me in the shower. You’re very happy to have *me* fuck *you*, and very enthusiastic about it you’ve become. But when it gets right down to it, no matter what your body tells me it wants me to do...you say no. You say I can be inside you, but you won't return the favor. And believe me, at this point--"

"Lex--I’m just not--ready--"

"I can have everything else, but not that. Why not that?"

"You--you don’t--"

"No matter how much I tease you about it, you just...won’t...budge. So that’s mine. The dream of you sliding into me. Feeling you inside me, filling me, huge and hot, making me yours...and watching you. Watching how good it’s making you feel, *knowing* how good it's making *me* feel...Yeah. Yeah. I want that. That’s mine."

"Oh...God..."

"And, thank you for the handy distraction, and nice it was, too, but let’s circle back to the main point: what was it, exactly, that you muttered under your breath earlier?"

"When?"

"Clark, you’re a very smart boy, don’t make me hurt myself trying to slap you silly. You said something about the cuffs earlier. You told me you said ‘Only to you’. I called you on it. You tossed a distracting comment--and I’ll grant you, it was probably more distracting to me than it was to you--my way, and we were off. But now, I want to know what you said. About snapping the handcuff keys."

*inhale*

"Lex..."

"Yes?"

"I said...oh, man...I said, ‘It wasn’t hard.’"

"What wasn’t?"

*swallow*

"Breaking the handcuff keys."

*pause*

"Ah."

"'Ah'? That’s all you can say?"

"No. There’s this: ‘So...case-hardened steel is something you practice against every day?’ What, you lift the tractor for fun down on the farm, too?"

"You don’t need to be sarcastic--"

"Sarcasm is very nearly required at this point. Believe me, Clark, this is *not* how I wanted to spend the afternoon!"

"You think this is what *I* wanted to do?"

"Don’t know your own strength, do you?"

*gasp*

"Clark? Clark, what? Tell me!"

"Nothing--"

"Nothing, hell, you should *see* the look on your face--"

"I’m--fine."

"The hell you are."

"Look, when I say I’m fine I’m--"

"Fine?"

"Lex--"

"Never mind. Far be it from me to expect anything from you. Save for the cuffs off. Which I’d really like to have. Any time now, actually."

*sigh*

"It was your idea."

"Sullen boy."

*growl*

*sigh*

"Lex...what are you thinking?"

"Pondering the twin natures of honesty and deception."

"Honesty and...what?"

"Clark, you’re squeaking."

"I am not!"

"You are. Sadly, we must needs proceed. As entertaining as the thought of you making mouse sounds is."

"Mouse--why?"

"Because I’d like the use of my hands again sometime this week."

"Oh, um...yeah."

"Clark, you’re very beautiful when you’re trying to prevent the inevitable."

"What’s inevitable?"

"I am so very tempted to answer that with the dictionary definition just to see you squirm."

"Lex, for God’s sake--"

"See? You squirm so beautifully. And you’re blushing again. My, it does travel down your entire body. That’s...God, Clark, get me out of these cuffs."

"I...can’t. The keys--"

"Clark..."

"What?"

"Moment of honesty coming."

"Honesty?"

"Yes. You ready for it?"

"Ready--"

"For the honesty."

"Lex, what are you talking about??"

"The cuffs."

"The cuffs."

"And the key."

"The key."

"The key. Or keys. Or key bits. All pretty much the same at this point, am I not right?"

"Lex, what are you *talking* about??

"Fragments. Splinters. What am I going to find when I walk in the closet, Clark?"

"In the--what?"

"Honesty."

"Honesty leads to splinters?"

"With you. Or fragments."

"Fragments."

"Shards."

"Shards?"

"Of metal."

"Of--"

"Clark."

*gasp*

"*Clark*."

*gasp*

"*Breathe*."

"I’m...breathing. I’m breathing. I am."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"Right. Ready?"

"For--?"

"This. So...you snapped the handcuff key. Big deal. You can just snap the chain on the cuffs."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"But...Lex, I--can’t, I’ve never--"

"There is a large part of me at this point that doubts that. Or, perhaps not--maybe you haven’t ever snapped a handcuff chain before, but I’m sure you’ve done something equivalent. Broken a fence chain, or pounded out a dent in the truck, or something. I’m very nearly sure of it."

"I..."

"Any time you feel like confirming any of this, I’m more than willing to hear you out."

*gasp*

"Clark?"

"Fine, I’m fine, it’s just--"

"You’re trembling."

"No--"

"You are. I can feel it."

*slide*

*scoot*

"Clark, look at me."

"Lex--"

"I know you’re different. Remember? I still have the Porsche in the garage?"

"You, um--yeah..."

"And I haven’t asked for complete revelation, have I? Not before the relationship, not after it started."

"...No."

"And I’ve given you an amazing amount of leeway, considering you’ve never been honest with me."

"Lex--"

"Shh. Don’t whine. Believe me. I’m not asking now. It’ll just be one more thing for the Clark Strangeness Factor."

"Chloe, you’d be so proud."

"Chloe? Why?"

"I’m my very own Wall of Weird."

"Wall of...Clark, you aren’t making much sense."

"If you knew, Lex. If you knew...I would be."

*nuzzle*

"Oh, God, Lex..."

"I, of course, am limited by what I can do, hands bound behind my back...Don’t you think it’s time you got me free?"

"I--I can’t--"

*nuzzle*

"Oh, God--"

"Think how much more I could do, if I had my hands free."

*lick*

"Oh..."

"I could pinch your nipples, make them all nice, and hard, and watch you squirm..."

"Oh..."

"And I could bite your neck...like this..."



"And I could lick up the vein to your ear, and...nibble on the lobe...and breathe..."

"Lex--"

"And lick across your collarbone, lick down your smooth, firm chest...lick down, trace each muscle with the tip of my tongue..."

"Oh..."

"You want me to do that, don’t you? With my fingers?"

"I want you to do *everything*..."

"I will. But first, the cuffs."

"The..."

"Clark. I trust you."

*lick*

"Uhh...wait. You--what?"

"You heard me."

*murmur*

"Not that time."

*chuckle*

"I--*kiss*--trust--*kiss*--you. *kiss* Okay?"

"Lex, it’s not--I don’t want to hurt you--"

"You won’t hurt me. Or, at least, I’m reasonably sure you won’t. Trust me, Clark."

*press*

"Wait. No. Wait. Lex--"

"What?"

"Listen."

"I’m listening."

"It’s not you I don’t trust."

"Then, who?"

"I don’t trust--me."

"Clark...you’ve seen the car, haven’t you?"

"The--"

"--Porsche, yes."

"So?"

"That would be a no, then."

*slide*

*straddle*

"Oh, Lex--"

"Now, what you truly need to realize is, there’s a Clark-shaped dent in that car. That’s part of why I kept it. That’s something I’ve known about since day one. Day *one*, Clark."

*sigh*

"Clark? Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say, you knew that I knew."

"But I didn’t know *anything*--"

"Then, Clark, you were lying to yourself."

"I’m gonna have to...think about that."

"You do that."

*beat*

*beat*

*slither*

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Handcuffs. Now?"

"Um..."

*sigh*

"Still hesitant. Very well. Let me tell you of the second thing I’ve known, since that first day. I’ve known I was attracted to you."

"You were--"

*kiss*

"Oh..."

"From the first. From the moment I saw you, leaning on the bridge. From the moment I called out to every god I don’t believe in to help me swerve out of your way. From the moment I went under after watching you nearly crash through the windshield."

"Oh, God--"

"From the moment you saved my life, the moment I looked up at you, there on the riverbank. A watershed moment, Clark, in its truest sense, and...and maybe...love at first sight."

"Love at--"

"Yes. As trite as that sounds."

"Love."

"...Yes, Clark."

"But you never say love like you mean it, Lex."

"No, I don’t, do I? I should endeavor to rectify that."

*beat*

*beat*

"Clark?"

"Yes?"

"At least check on my hands; I’d like to know if there’s any circulation left."

*whimper*

"Now, Clark."

"I’m hurting you! It’s all my fault!"

"For not attempting the impossible? No, absolutely not. But if you’re not doing something out of fear, not doing something you *can* do...*easily* do...then, I should say yes. It is your fault. It’s entirely your fault."

"But--"

"Hmm. Maybe I can make this a bit easier."

*scoot*

*press*

"Oh--"

"Mmm..."

"God, Lex, that feels so...oh, my *God*--"

"Mm-hmm."

"Aaaah!"

*pop*

"Oh, you stopped..."

"You sound so disappointed."

"Well, you--oh, *GOD*--"

*swallow*

"Oh God oh God oh Lex oh God--"

"Mm?"

"You don’t know how...how good you look, kneeling like that...I know, I know you want the cuffs off, but, God, you look--*so good*--"

"Mmm..."

"Lex...you keep doing that I’m going to come--right--*now*--"

*slurp*

"*LEX*!"

"Mmmph--"

"Lexxx..."

*lick*

"Oh...Lex...you’re so...good at that..."

*twitch*

"I do try. Now, about the cuffs...?"

"Um..."

"I cannot *believe* this."

"But--"

"Clark, if you can’t, you can’t, I’ll have you call a locksmith, and I’ll pay him very well never to speak of this day, and we’ll all get on with our lives. But it’s very irritating, on a personal and *profound* level, to have to *cajole* one’s lover into doing something that I *know he can do!*"

"One’s...lover?"

"Don’t get caught up in the details, Clark."

"But...first you said ‘love’, and now--"

"Yes, Clark. I love you. I adore you. I think of you as my lover. I think of you *daily* as my lover. And if you don’t get me out of these cuffs *right* now, we may have to have a long and *serious* talk about how *long* you’re going to *stay* my lover--"

"But--"

"Fellatio notwithstanding."

"Oh, God--"

"And, you know, the occasional break for anal sex. But nothing more."

"God. God. Talk to me, Lex."

"What?"

"*Talk. To. Me.*"

"Now, really, this is--ohh..."

"Mmm...you have really nice--shoulders, Lex."

"You really should--"

"And I love the taste of your skin."

"C...lark..."

"And this little curve, right here, where your neck meets your shoulders--I just want to..."

"Clark! Dear *God*!"

"Yes?"

*mutter*

"Oh, no. You won’t let me get away with that."

"I *said*, your mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon."

"Really?"

"Truly."

"A compliment."

"Heartfelt."

"Huh."

"Clark, get me *out of these cuffs!*"

"Lex..."

"What’s wrong now? You sound...strangled."

"I--I haven’t been..."

"Honest with me? Clark, I know that. Or haven’t you been listening to large earlier sections of this conversation?"

"But--you said..."

"I said what, exactly? I’ve told you I knew I hit you with the car. I’ve told you I loved you at first sight. Did you want to hear the third thing I knew from the first?"

"There’s a third--thing?"

"Yes. And if that doesn’t get you to help--"

"I’m not--"

"You are. But just listen."

"Okay. I’m...listening."

"Wonderful. Hate to think I was speaking to an empty room."

*seize*

"Clark--need--oxygen--back--off--"

"Sorry, sorry, but--you aren’t alone, Lex, I didn’t go, I’m not going to go, you’re not alone!"

"My. That touched a nerve."

"I just--I--love you so much--"

"You’d do anything to avoid having this conversation, wouldn’t you?"

"What?"

"Don’t sound so panicked. It’s true. Just admit it. You’ll be happier."

"I..."

"Third reason."

"Third..."

"I know you can hurt me."

*beat*

"What?"

"I know you can hurt me. I hit you with a *car* at 60 miles an hour, and you were *fine*. A little unsteady on your feet afterwards, bit of shock setting in, but you were *fine*. And you forget, I’ve watched you do chores."

"You’ve...watched...?"

"You’re just dying to ask when, aren’t you?"

*beat*

"When?"

"Not telling. But that’s not the point."

"What is the--"

"That I know how strong you are. I know how much you have to restrain not to hurt me. Badly. I know how much it takes to get you to release some of that iron control, and I know the times you’ve bruised me, and you’ve felt guilty about it."

"I don’t like hurting you, Lex."

"You’re hurting me more keeping these handcuffs on, Clark. Maybe I haven’t explained it properly--it doesn’t seem to matter *what* I do to you, Clark, you never bruise, you never break, you never scar. Nothing I do. Nothing I try. But you get a little excited, and you start to forget, and I have a *stunning* reminder of just how powerful you are. It’s made me...quite distracted at the plant."

"I--forget--"

"Yes. And I *love* when you do, Clark, don’t get all knotted up over the fact that you give me bruises. I *love* it when you bruise me."

*rub*

"I love it when you lose control around me."

"God--"

"I love it when you touch me, period."

"Lex--"

"I love looking down, and seeing the imprint of your fingers on my arms, or on my hips, like you just couldn’t let me go, just then. And then I remember when that was. And I have to absent myself for a bit, go sit in some quiet place, and think about you. Touching me. Touching me with hard fingers. *Possessive* fingers. Because you *are* possessive, aren’t you, Clark?"

"I--I love you--how possessive should I be?"

"Still trying to avoid things. That’s--very sad, Clark. You have no idea how sad that makes me."

"I don’t want you to be sad--"

"But you won’t be honest with me, either. So I have no choice."

"No--choice?"

"None. Whatsoever. If nothing I’ve said has decided you--"

"I..."

"--and it looks like it hasn’t--"

"But--"

"Then, I’ll just have to give you some final--and, rather painful, painful in a way that’s not going to be remotely good--incentive."

"Incentive--"

"To act."

"To--but--painful--what--"

"Clark. You’re stuttering."

"I...um."

"So. Ready for round two?"

"Round...?"

"I really don’t want to be in these cuffs anymore. So I’m going to start pulling against them about ten seconds from now. They’re going to cut into my wrists--"

"Lex, no!"

"--and they’re going to hurt me. I might even get scars out of it."

"*Scars*? But, Lex--"

"No ‘buts’. I’m going to pull *hard*, Clark. I’m going to use the strength I have that you *haven’t* seen. And I won’t break the cuffs, Clark. I won’t even bend them."

"Lex..."

"I don’t have that kind of strength. Only one person I know does. And I’m not him."

"Lex--"

"No. I’ll just flex my arms, and strain against them, and *pull* with all the strength I have. And I’ll bruise, Clark. I’ll bruise badly. The blood will pool under the skin and it will look nearly black at first. And it will hurt. It will hurt *terribly*."

"No--"

"I might even cut the skin, and then I’ll be bleeding on this lovely dark grey carpet. If I don’t pass out from blood loss, I’ll have to buy a new carpet, and I’d be reluctant to do that, because this carpet has built up a considerable amount of emotional attachment for me. Considering the first night we slept together, we never made it to the bed."

"No--Lex--"

"Bruising, Clark. More and deeper than you’ve ever given me. And cuts, bleeding, deep cuts, cuts across the veins so the blood will keep pumping sluggishly out. And the cuffs will still be on, and I’ll have to put more effort than I have into getting out of them. Eventually I will pass out. If I’ve done enough damage to myself, I might not wake up--"

"NO!"

*wrench*

*hiss*

*gasp*

"There."

*slide*

"Oww..."

"Lex?"

"Hmm?"

"Give me your arm."

"This one?"

"Either one."

*sigh*

*snap*

"Oh. My."

"Now the other one..."

*sigh*

*snap*

*clink*

*chime*

"Okay. They’re gone. Are you...um...okay?"

*pause*

"Absolutely, Clark. I hiss air between my teeth all the time. In fact, I say ‘oww’ daily; it’s a ritual."

"What?"

"Never better, Kent."

"Stop it."

"What?"

"Being sarcastic."

"Sorry, comes with the territory."

"But you asked me--and now you’re all--"

"What, you expected the perfection of gratitude for this? I do apologize. It’s just not there."

"What?"

"I’m...vaguely disappointed."

"With me?"

"Who else is here?"

"You’re...disappointed in me? Why?"

"You sound as if you’re going to start crying, any moment. It’s a small bit of disappointment. It will pass."

"But--you--*why*?"

"Because the confession of inner Clark knowledge did not work. The confession of true love did not work. The confession of trust did not work. But the death threat worked. It’s...disappointing."

"Oh."

"Plus..."

"What?"

"Well...I pushed you into doing that, though I already knew you could. So I suppose the person I’m truly disappointed with, is myself. But lucky you, you’re here to take the brunt of it."

"Did that make sense?"

"To me. Not to you?"

"I guess not."

"Hmm."

"Your wrists are red."

"Well, yes, someone large and strong just snapped handcuffs off them. They got a tad chafed in the process."

"Lex, I am so...I am *so* sorry."

"For what? Getting me out of the cuffs? Don’t be sorry for that."

"For...no, for...not telling you."

*rub*

"Oh, that feels good."

"Mm."

"So, Clark...why didn’t you tell me?"

"Dad. Mostly."

"Mr. Kent? Saying Luthors can’t be trusted?"

"Yeah."

"And what else?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Being untrustworthy."

"Well, yes, that would do it, I suppose."

"Lex..."

"Yes?"

"Can we not...talk about this, right now?"

"As near as I can figure, we’re not truly talking about it now. We’re laying framework on the edges for a future conversation, but we haven’t actually started discussing it with any depth or detail to date."

"Lex?"

"Yes?"

"What the hell did you just say?"

*sigh*

"I agreed, Clark."

"I thought so."

"You’re not stupid."

"I’m not stupid. But you lose me sometimes with the theoretical stuff."

"I highly doubt that."

"Well, I’m dodging the conversation about the conversation, then."

"Which you’re welcome to do."

"Yeah."

"And now I’d really like to take you to bed and fuck until you can’t form words."

*gasp*

"Why, Clark."

"...Yeah?"

"You’re blushing again."

"I am not!"

"Looks beautiful on you. Come here."

"I’m here."

"Good. Stay there."

"Oh, God--oh, Lex--your *mouth*--"

"Mmm."

*pop*

"Ahh!"

"Clark?"

"Hrr--Please..."

"In a minute. Clark--"

"What?"

"If I let you mark me--"

*twitch*

*inhale*

"Yeah?"

"Will you fuck me until I can’t stand up?"

"That would...take a lot."

"I’m sure."

"Lex, um...I forget. You’ve seen me. I--I get excited, and I can’t control everything, and I...I--don’t want to hurt you. I really, *really* don’t want to hurt you."

"What? By fucking me?"

"Lex!"

"What?"

"You’re--deliberately trying to embarrass me now!"

"Ooh...you said that word."

"What word?!?"

"*That* word. My advice: start wearing sunglasses around the house. That way your mom won’t know when you can’t meet her eyes."

"Lex, what do you--oh!"

*flip*

*lick*

*suck*

"Oh, my God--Lex, my God--I didn’t know you could *do* that..."

"Mmm..."


END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
eyes that bite and mouth that stings


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