Title: Torture
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Author's e-mail: Kelandris
Author's webpage: The Space Between
Series/Sequel: Prequels "Frustration" (yet to be finished).
Disclaimer: Yes, practically everything I write involves characters originally created by other people. Those other people will hopefully feel flattered. Fans make the world go round.
Archive: Anyone who wants to, just write and ask.
Category: First Time
Rating: NC-17 because of homoerotic content; R otherwise.
Spoilers: None so far as I know. No specific episodes mentioned.
Author's notes: First CLex tale. Nervous. Very nervous. And did I mention nervous?
Summary: This week's produce delivery goes straight to Lex's head. No, the other one. Oh, all right, *both* of them.

"Torture"
by Kelandris the Mad


Lex Luthor woke with a start, from another dream of Clark's lips on his. He groaned, burying his bald head in the grey silk cover of the down pillow. For God's sake, why *now?* Why not another nightmare image?

**Though,** he thought ruefully, adjusting his legs carefully under the blanket, **that's part of the problem, isn't it? These aren't exactly nightmares...**

He made a disgusted sound, and rose, realizing an ancillary problem as soon as he moved from the bed. Damn it. This was not going to be *another* morning where he jerked off in the shower over a certain intriguing farmboy. He clung to one of the bedposts, carefully kicking off his pajama pants, hissing when he had to untangle his steadily hardening cock from the black silk.

He stood, breathing hard, looking around his room. Simplicity itself: the beautifully turned, pale birch bed as the central fixture, finished with a single coat of whitewash, a single coat of varnish, so that the original texture of the wood was still smooth under the palms. Simple, 250-count Egyptian cotton sheets, worn soft by repeated washings, napped to the touch. He had an unvaried palette for his bedroom, as he kept to an unvaried palette for most of his life--black, grey, lilac, cream. The silk pillowcases matched these base tones perfectly. The comforter was silk as well, Dupioni hand-brushed, hand-sewn squares of these four colors in Mondrian exactitude.

The walls were stone, the window floor-to-ceiling and stained glass, but the thick velvet curtains drawn over them were grey, with a lilac silk ribbon running along the base of each curtain. At one point he'd thought to have the curtains installed on all four walls, so he could draw them in turn and be surrounded by grey velvet--but, at the last moment, he'd decided to settle for two curtains over the single window to the east, and matching bed-curtains when he wanted the feeling of being entirely alone.

Not that, as his father's son, he was ever entirely alone. He grimaced at the thought and walked carefully to the bathroom, stopping only once to clutch at the doorframe.

Damn. This was delivery day. Of all the days to come...and Lex resolutely turned his mind from that word.

Why was he torturing himself like this?

***

Two hours later, he was working in the office, plotting out some intricate plan for asset seizure and subsequent disposal. It could work with just the right set of circumstances, and he'd be that much farther away from the yoke around his neck of this town, the plant. Courtesy of his 'loving' father. He heard wheels crunching gravel outside, and soon, the bell ring. He remembered, and shuffled the plans under other papers, free from casual inspection. He was standing by the time Clark walked in. And again, the word occurred to him: Torture.

That's what this was, torture. Weekly torture, bought and paid for. Willingly. He couldn't even say it wasn't his choice.

But he stepped forward anyway, nodding politely to the boy.

"Clark."

"Hey, Lex." His face lit up with that sunny, world-altering smile and Lex tried not to stagger from the 10,000-watt intensity of it. If he could bottle Clark's trademark Kent charm...well, he wouldn't be embezzling funds from his father, that was for damned sure. He'd be richer than Lionel ever dreamed of being.

"Busy?" he asked, the smile growing softer, growing fainter. Now why...?

Lex shrugged artfully, leaning against the pool table. He knew the purple baize was playing up the simple lilac silk sweater he'd worn, in lieu of anything more formal.

"Not overly so, no. Why, Clark?"

He grinned, this time looking slightly embarrassed. "Well, you said to increase the order this week, but you didn't say by how much, so Mom kinda...sent a little of everything."

**Everything? Really?**

He swallowed, clamping down on the hormones. He really had to watch himself. Jail, he said sternly, to parts of his anatomy that didn't seem to care. Jail. Or Jonathan with a shotgun.

His body got the point. He inhaled, turning, and walked slightly past where Clark stood, looking at him over his shoulder. Artful, artful. Draw them in and see how far they go. Then play them for everything they're worth.

But Clark...oh, good old farm-fresh Clark Kent. He wasn't worth that much, financially. Lex scanned him quickly; head to toe, noting the strength in the muscles and the puzzlement in the face as he began to turn to face him. Worth more in other areas, though, he was sure...

**JAIL,** he thought firmly. **Now say JAILBAIT. Everyone listening?**

Jesus, this *was* torture. Of the very worst kind, because nothing good would come of it. Just more obsessive dreams, more flirting that the boy was apparently too thick to pick up, more...just more. Uncomfortably more. More than either of them needed.

**At least right now...** his brain teased.

**Shut up.**

***

Fifteen minutes later Lex Luthor was leaning against the wall of the kitchen, trying not to breathe too audibly. He watched Clark Kent put away the weekly delivery from the Kent farm with a hunger he fought to keep off his face. Thankfully, the castle was equipped with several walk-in storage areas, so he wasn't watching those firm, young farmboy muscles bunch under soft farmboy flannels constantly.

He picked up a familiar blue bottle from the counter, taking a sip of still water, running his tongue around the rounded lip. He caught himself doing it a fraction after Clark looked up and saw. He shrugged, trying to look as innocent as possible. Clark quirked an eyebrow, but went back to work.

Three more boxes. It hadn't been his usual order because he'd had a dinner plan, but for once, he hadn't specified exactly what he'd wanted. On their trip out to the truck, Lex had looked over the selection, still gleaming with dew, and finally shrugged.

"I'll take it all," he'd said softly, watching Clark's eyes widen.

Which meant that this time, most of it wouldn't shuttle into his house and then shuttle off to the local food bank, because how was he going to eat that many vegetables? Good thing he was feeding the staff, too--otherwise, he'd never be able to clear out the growing mound of organic produce. Produced by Clark.

He was bored, that was it. He was out of the big city, and his familiar diversions were gone. None of his friends would come out to farm country. Middle of nowhere. Smallville, Kansas. *Smallville.* Even the *name* was demeaning. Really--who'd want to travel out here in the first place, unless they were excruciatingly bored? Or they had a father who decided to twist the knife in two directions and send his most hated son to the plant hated by everyone in town. Oh, yes, Dad. Having a wonderful time. Everyone hates me. It's just what you wanted.

"You okay?"

What? He realized he was snarling, his hand clenched around the bottle. Quickly he smoothed his expression.

"I'm fine, Clark." Smooth voice, modulated to the appropriate register through long practice. No loss of control here. He blinked his changeable grey eyes, the look in them vaguely challenging. He knew the look. He'd seen it in the mirror. He practiced all his looks until they were instinct.

"You sure?"

Of course, Clark, with those impossible green eyes, could see through most of them.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were..." He made a face. "Angry." He reached for the last box, shrugging.

Lex was half-tempted to smile, and schooled his face to stillness. He took another sip of water for composure's sake, and pressed the cobalt glass against his forehead, against his neck. Torture, he'd thought earlier. It was. It was wonderful, agonizing torture. Clark was going to kill him if he kept being dense like this.

He heard rustling in the pantry and Clark walked out, task apparently completed.

Pity. Lex was enjoying the mental battle of trying not to watch him work. Oh, well. Back to accounting, then, and embezzlement, and the apparently eternal battle of ensuring the fertilizer plant functioned at peak efficiency.

"I was just...thinking," Lex said, as an afterthought, realizing he'd never answered Clark's question. Clark walked to his side.

"About your father?"

Lex almost dropped the bottle. Where did--? He swallowed. He cocked his head to one side. "And from where, Clark, did you pull that tidbit of information?"

"Well, you don't like him, right?"

"I don't think it's possible to 'like' Lionel Luthor."

Hate, maybe. Despise. Resent. Endure. But like? Never mind the question of paternal *love*--

"You're doing it again."

Dear God, the farmboy as therapist. That was all he needed.

"Clark..." He sighed, put the bottle down, and stepped forward. He was amazed again when he reached him--eight boxes of produce, and not a drop of sweat, not a sign of fatigue. Of course, he probably baled fifty bales of hay a day and plowed the fields by night, to look at him. All those firm muscles...he could nearly trace each one by sight alone.

But not right now. No, of course not. That would be wrong.

"It's nothing, Clark," he said, looking into green eyes brighter than emeralds. "Dear old Dad dropped by two days ago. Gave me yet another reason to fail in the heartland. So...I find myself a tad resentful. It will pass."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The boy stepped closer, and now, a whole different set of problems and equations were running through his head. What was the distance from the kitchen to the stairs, from the stairs to his bedroom? How much of a problem would Clark give him, if he asked him to go up those stairs? The problem of *Clark* in the first place--in Kansas, there *were* laws against what he was thinking, right now. Sixteen years old. Definitely still qualifying as a minor. There were words for this, and they started with 's' and ended in 'jail' and he definitely didn't want to go there. He'd already done his time in Claremont, thank you very much, and that was bad enough. Lord alone knows what they'd do with his hairless self in prison.

Especially if he went there after an episode of statutory rape, of a minor, of a *male*...in Kansas.

**Oh, just once?** his brain taunted, and he stepped back, regaining control of his breathing with an effort. The silence, he suddenly realized, had gone on too long.

**And let's not forget, Mr. Kent with the gun. Wouldn't that be fun for everyone involved? Can't have him deciding on a whim that the Luthor he so despises is not the only one hurting his family...**

Would it be, though, he thought. Hurting Clark. Would it be?

He shivered, blinking, and Clark stepped close to him again.

"You're cold," he said softly. Concern lit his eyes and, though they were nearly of a height, Lex seemed to look up and up and up at Clark's face, reading it as if it were written in a foreign language. Clark, concerned for him. Anyone, concerned for a Luthor. Hadn't anyone told him yet it was a waste of time?

Clark licked his lips, looking at him, and for a moment, he followed the sweep of that pink tongue-tip with his eyes, watching as the boy traced the bow if his upper lip.

**Oh, Clark,** he thought. **Are you *trying* to get me in trouble?** That was it, he was going insane. No other explanation for it. Boredom was no longer the issue. He shivered again, turning, almost wishing Clark would grab his shoulder to prevent him from moving.

He didn't. Which was probably just as well. For his sake, anyway.

"Now, Clark," he said lightly, moving out of the kitchen, "it's supposed to be cold in a castle. That's why they build them this way." He grabbed the bottle as he went, needing something to hang onto that wasn't breathing, and walked to his office. He knew Clark would follow. He almost wished he wouldn't. Then he remembered--end of the month, Clark gets paid. Right.

Damn.

He settled into the grey chair, digging out the household accounts book, laying the black leather cover open on the thick glass desk. Clark stood there, shifting from foot to foot. He looked...uncomfortable. Hmm. Interesting thought.

"Do sit down, Clark," he said, looking up only briefly. "I'm sorry if I made you nervous."

Oh, now where had *that* come from? Damn all farmboys. Maybe he should just order from Nicoletto's in Metropolis. More expensive, but less personal danger in the long run.

"You don't--you aren't--" He swallowed, dropping carefully into a chair on the other side of the desk.

Stammering now? Over what? For a moment Lex's mind turned over the possibilities, and then quickly shut down. No. No. No chains, no handcuffs, no naked skin. Just...no.

Now *he* was shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"You don't make me nervous, Lex," Clark said. Softly. Lex looked up, startled out of his reverie. Clark was looking down, the lights from the stained glass windows behind the desk picking out peacock highlights in his black hair, and didn't that spark a dim memory...He shook it off, picking up the pen.

"Well," he said, feeling obscurely self-pitying. "I'm glad for that."

He watched as Clark shrugged, obviously uncomfortable now. His eyelashes looked like smudges of soot against his cheeks, and he licked his lips again. Lex shoved away the sudden image of how they'd look together, all that expanse of honey-gold skin, tanned by farm work, against his alabaster pink and white...

Maybe they could count freckles, see how many he still had. He clenched his fist around the pen and forced himself to relax, concentrating on appropriate Lutherian script on the check. Carefully he tore it out, chanting his new mantra as he did.

**He's underage. He's underage. He's off limits. He's underage.**

He rose, watching as Clark rose from the chair, moving more stiffly than might be expected. Automatically, Lex scanned him, one quick once-over, and was there more of a bulge than usual in those faded farmboy jeans?

Really?

**Brain to Lex: UNDERAGE,** he thought to himself. Right, of course. How silly it would be to get sent to jail when his father just wanted him in disgrace, not the family at large. My, wouldn't Lionel be furious then...

He shook himself, snapping out of it. Clark still hadn't looked up yet. Good thing the boy was so self-involved at times. That did play in his favor.

He held the check out, and Clark reached out a hand to take it. He looked up as he did, and their eyes met, just as Clark's fingers grazed over his own. A shudder passed through Clark, and his eyes were stunningly open: the green altered and enriched by want, and need, and confusion, and just a little fear.

**At times,** Lex thought, shivering slightly himself, **you're too honest for your own good, Clark.** He supposed it made up for all the time he spent lying to people. Lying to his friends.

Lying to Lex.

Still. He watched, trying to give no other reaction, as Clark slowly slid his fingers away from Lex--and oh, oh, he suddenly felt empty without those hands on him, dear *God*, did he have *no* shame?--and took the check. He looked down and gasped.

"What is it?"

"It's...this isn't..." He gasped again, as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He looked up. Now confusion was more prominent, but the want and need were still there too. Now Lex licked his lips, just to watch what Clark's eyes did.

His gaze immediately dropped to Lex's tongue, Lex slowly tracing the contours of his upper lip edge, about as obvious as he could be without throwing off his clothes and screaming, "Fine, *fuck* me already! Just--"

And Lex was anything but obvious.

**What?** he thought facetiously. **I can't fuck you silly, I have to overpay you on occasion. Have to figure out *some* way to make you gasp like that. You have *no* idea how much I want to hear you gasp...**

Dangerous. Dangerous. Arrestable thoughts.

Torturous ones.

"It's not enough?" Lex said, as innocently as he could manage at this point. "I admit, you usually deliver weekly, and this was an extra request, so I tried to include something extra for it. This was above and beyond the call of the contract."

"Yeah, but--"

"But what?" Lex couldn't resist stepping closer, looking up again. Clark looked afraid to move, forward or back. Heat poured from the boy's body in waves. Sudden, intense thought that nearly made him moan aloud: just the idea of standing here, washed in Clark's heat, neither of them moving.

Torture. He was sure of it. And he was paying for it. Wasn't that always the way?

"I, um..." Clark shook his head, then, and folded up the check with unsteady hands, tucking it into his shirt pocket. He tried to insert it folded side up, and the open halves snagged on his pocket. A few seconds of struggle, and Lex had to act.

"Allow me," he said softly. He removed the check from Clark's grip, flipped it, and deftly slid it into the pocket, the backs of his fingers grazing across Clark's left nipple. It hardened at a single touch, and Clark gasped again, and how was he going to pretend he hadn't noticed *that*?

Hmm. There had to be a way. There were far too many servants in the house for this. Or for anything else.

"I'm sorry. That was presumptuous of me."

"Don't--be," Clark gasped. Lex looked up, touched by an odd stirring of despair. He was morbid enough for the whole situation to amuse, but there was that pain starting, that want, that need--how much of it could he restrain, right now? How iron was the control?

He let himself smile, cocking his head again.

"Don't be--what? Sorry, or presumptuous?"

Clark's mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Clark? Are you home?" It was meant to be a light-hearted comment, but Clark's eyes darkened like a storm-front moving in. He stepped closer, raising a hand and running the back of it along Lex's cheek.

"I am, I think," he whispered. "But it...kinda scares me."

Lex couldn't breathe, suddenly. All the air had left him. With Clark's last five words he was back on the riverbank, cold, shivering, breathless, aching for air and warmth and life. And Clark...Clark gave it to him. That's when this had all started.

Eleven months, two days, a handful of hours ago. That's when he'd become fascinated with a farmboy. Oh, it wasn't like he'd *never* had a male lover; but that was, frankly, all the way back in prep school. For the most part, he'd been drowning in girls since then. And since he'd moved to Smallville, he hadn't had anyone to drown in.

He watched, trembling, as Clark reached out, touching his skin. He should stop him. He should do *something*. Preserve Clarks reputation. Prevent more damage to the Luthor name.

The crisp, dark hairs on Clark's fingers ruffled across his cheek, the cheek that had never known the touch of a razor. It made him shiver; for a moment, he closed his eyes, just riding the sensation of his touch.

*His* touch. *Clark's* hands, on his skin. Underage, innocent, clueless. Beautiful. Shit.

He opened his eyes, risking revelation for this. God. He would have risked *anything* for this.

**Even jail?** his father's voice asked sardonically.

**For this? Perhaps...**

Clark's emerald gaze had darkened, the pupils open and black as the meaning of midnight. His breathing was unsteady, and he was biting his lower lip.

**Dear God...one more move, Clark, one more move and I will no longer care about anything except kissing you...**

"...Lex?" Clark whispered.

"...Yes, Clark?" It was as even a voice as he could manage. It wasn't that even. He was fairly sure Clark knew he was shivering at this point. A combination of lust and unease, want and trepidation, fixed him in place while Clark's fingers dropped from his cheek. He looked up at the boy's dark eyes again, black just ringed with nearly glowing blue.

Glowing with...love? That was the scariest thing of all. He didn't know if he could love anyone. He didn't know if he ever had. He certainly didn't know why Clark would want to love him.

And why was he even thinking about love, right now? Oh, this *was* torture, Clark should be hired out to South American guerilla squads, *anyone* would break looking up at those green-rimmed eyes...

"Lex," Clark said again, his voice softer, deeper than Lex had ever heard it.

"Yes," he whispered back. The hand was back, lightly caressing the nape of his neck now, the very sensitive nape of his neck. He felt as if he were a viola, the strings of which Clark was lightly plucking, over and over. He thrummed with desire, impatience, fear, frustration.

"You keep...looking at me," Clark said.

Was it a request? Or a question? For a moment he wasn't sure. But--"Yes," Lex repeated. It seemed safer than any of the other things he could have said.

**Okay, genius. Decide already. You want him or you don't. You're friends or you're not. Pick one. *Damn* it...**

"If...if you don't stop, I'm..." Clark paused, licking his lips. "I'm going to kiss you."

Lex's knees abruptly gave out and Clark caught him, bore him to the ground, leaned him up against the dark wood of the pool table. He stared at Clark with wide eyes, and there was nothing, nothing happening in his brain. It was blank, empty, humming like live current, and he was right here, in this moment. And it didn't seem like he was going anywhere soon.

Clark moved in, not breathing, and tilted his head. Lex still hadn't said anything. He didn't think he had anything to say. But he hadn't stopped looking at Clark.

Now there were words, but he couldn't force them out. **Go ahead,** he thought, faintly. **Go ahead. Go ahead and--**

Clark kissed him. Just the faintest pressure of his lips on Lex's, but it rocked him back to the day he'd been dreaming about, the day he was sure he'd hit Clark with the car. The day Clark had saved him. The first day Clark had kissed him.

And now, now he could move. His arms rose, willed by the brain that seemed to have power left only for this. Decision made, though it tore him to act.

One arm wrapped tightly around Clark's neck; one wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Clark, startled, spread his legs and ended up straddling Lex, pressed against him, and Lex moaned for the first time, feeling how hard Clark was. Not just muscles, though those were flexing and firm. But waist to waist, belly to belly, even through their clothes he could feel it. Clark's...

He moaned again. Oh, God. Clark's *cock*.

And Clark was still kissing him, exploratory licks at his lips, his tongue tracing the small scar over and over, as if he were fascinated by it. Lex parted his lips, wanting to know, needing to know what Clark would do.

Clark groaned into his mouth, slipping his tongue inside. Deep breaths carried the taste, the scent of him into Lex. Hay and green growing things and faint hint of oatmeal and the ever-present coffee he drank all the time. Lex nearly grinned. What must the innocent farmboy be thinking? All Lex had had for lunch was a little still water, and before that, two shots of vodka. Interesting.

He couldn't stop himself. He desperately wanted to, but thought the time for high moral ground was long past, on the grounds of Clark kissing him. He had no resistance to him, it seemed. But now, he curled one hand back over Clark's left hip, and slid it over straining denim to cup the bulge beneath the zipper.

Clark shot up, gasping, and Lex rose to his knees, keeping his hand in place, keeping them molded together. His fingers traced patterns across the bulge, growing bigger under his touch. His fingers stroked up the zipper.

"Oh, God...Oh God, Lex..."

"I'm here," he said softly. "I'm right here, Clark." **And apparently not going anywhere.**

There it was. His fingers found the zipper, and the metal snap above it. One-handed, he unsnapped Clark's jeans, sliding the zipper down. The sound was like a growl in the large room.

"Oh..." Clark said. Lex's fingers slipped underneath, stroking over his warm belly, stroking down to tangle in crisp curls, curling around hard, throbbing flesh, weeping at the tip.

"Oh, *fuck*--" Clark said. "Lex, oh, God, *please* don't stop--"

"I," he said, licking Clark's collarbone, "have no intention," licking up his neck, "of stopping." He didn't, he realized. Good or bad, he'd deal with the consequences, and hopefully buy off anyone in his way. God help them both if Clark was the regretting-things-later type.

He breathed into Clark's ear just to feel him shudder. He did, beautifully.

"Now, then. Can you stand?"

"I don't...think so..."

"I think you can," he breathed into Clark's ear again. He withdrew his hand with a real pang of regret, and fingertip-touches guided the boy to his feet. He was shaking, his eyes open and dazed, and he held onto the pool table for support.

Lex curled up on the parquet floor, smiling, and untied his boots, slipping each one off, pulling his socks off and tossing them aside as well. Then he reached up, slipping down the briefs and the jeans, while Clark made wonderfully agonized noises overhead. At last, he was left with Clark, nude from the waist down, and his lovely, lovely cock bobbing just above eye level.

He was beautiful, Lex thought. He was uncut, as Lex himself was, and long, and thick. He shivered, thinking of Clark on his knees, Lex sliding in and out of him, filling him, listening to the wonderful noises he was making now...He exhaled slowly, and rose to his knees again, lipping the head of Clark's beautiful cock.

"God! Lex!" the boy yelled. He bucked forward, on autopilot, and Lex opened his throat. Nice to know certain skills never really went away. Contentment rose in him, slow rising pleasure, and that was a first too, wasn't it? He'd had some truly nerve-searing experiences, but he couldn't remember sleeping with anyone that had made him this...happy.

Hmm. That was a dangerous thought. Instant happiness, add young Kansas boy that could easily get him thrown in jail? For this very act?

"Unhhh..." Clark moaned. "Lex, oh, God Lex, you keep...you keep doing that I'm going to...I'm going to...oh *God* Lex, that feels so *good*..."

He pulled off, dancing his tongue from the bobbing tip to the base, angling his head down to lick his scrotum, sucking a testicle carefully into his mouth. Clark twitched overhead, and he licked and lipped his way back to his cock, tasting every inch. He savored the warm, salty taste of Clark's skin, the fluid oozing from the tip.

"That's the idea, Clark. I want you to come for me."

"Oh, God--"

"Problem?" Yeah, he thought, *big* problem. There were other things he wanted to do with Clark, other things he wanted Clark to do with *him*, but he seemed perfectly content for the moment to suck Clark off, waste all that marvelous hardness on a blow-job. Mmm, but he tasted so *good*...

"No...yes...no...I--oh, God, I've *dreamed* about this--"

Lex pulled off with a slurping sound.

"What?"

"Oh, you stopped," Clark whined.

"Only for a moment." He raised a hand, loosely curling the fingers around Clark's straining cock. He pumped him, slowly, gently, and Clark shuddered.

"Faster," he breathed.

"No," Lex said. He smiled. "Wait for it."

"Bastard--"

"Anything's possible." He yanked Clark forward, feeling him flail for balance, and slid his mouth over the boy's cock, purpling with arousal. His nose bumped Clark's belly, smelling salt and sweat and hard, hard boy. Oh, yes. This was torture. Of the very best kind.

Clark started to thrust, trying to hold himself back, and Lex murmured along his shaft, making his thighs twitch and clench.

"God...Lex...gonna..."

One hand, trembling, laid on his bare skull, and then a sudden thrust down his throat, and Clark was coming. Jets of salty semen filled his throat, and he swallowed, swallowed for what felt like days, nearly coming himself just from the sounds Clark was making.

He had barely enough warning to pull his legs out of the way as Clark fell beside him. He could have sworn the floor tilted slightly. Clark was shuddering, breathing hard, his eyes wide and dilated. He turned to Lex, looking at him, dazed.

"Is it...always like that?" he asked.

"Sometimes," Lex said thoughtfully. "Sometimes...it's better."

"Better? I think...'better' might kill me."

"Well, we'll have to work on your endurance."

"Lex--"

Clark looked at him, strangled sounds filling his throat, a lock of jet-black hair falling in his eyes, and then lunged. Lex drew back instinctively, but Clark was too fast, and caught him, pulling him forward into a kiss that scorched along every nerve ending he had. Maybe even invented new ones. It was sloppy, it was desperate, it was charmingly inexpert...and it got him harder than anything he'd done to Clark so far.

He felt dizzy, actually dizzy, just from kissing him. And his lips felt...bruised. An insane surge of desire spun the world for a moment, as he wondered what else would get bruised if he bedded the boy. God. *Please*.

His hands slid up the taut muscles of Clark's back, hands caressed by softly napped flannel, and--

Clark pulled back and bit his lips, looking away.

"Let me guess," Lex said softly, leaning back. He dropped his arms, running a finger along the brass inlay on the hardwood of the pool table. "You expected to be shot down and sent home in disgrace."

"Um...something like that..."

"Did you want to be...sent home?"

His gaze flew to Lex's again. "God, no!" he cried. "I want--I want--I just want--"

Lex stepped closer, laying a long-fingered hand against each cheek. They felt hot against his hands with the blush that was racing through Clark. He stared at him for a long moment.

"Breathe, Clark."

He inhaled and exhaled, several times. Shakily. Lex inhaled with him, exhaling through his open mouth, and waited until Clark was imitating him. Then he looked up at Clark again.

"All right. Now, try it again."

"I want you," Clark said, his voice thick and dazed. "Do you...hate me for that?"

Lex smiled quirkily again. Hmm. Been on his knees for the boy, and by his own choice, and if *anyone* found out about that, there *would* be jail time in the future, which was something he'd started caring about since he'd hit eighteen...He reached up, smoothing back a lock of Clark's jet-black hair. Suddenly he wanted to see him naked so badly, he ached, and it took him a moment of quiet breathing to regain control.

"Clark, I couldn't hate you...for something I've wanted to do myself."

The boy suddenly relaxed in his arms, nearly slumping to the floor.

"Oh, God...I thought...oh, man..."

"What? You think I just sucked you off because we're such close friends?"

He wasn't sure if it was the sarcasm or the crude phrasing, but it got the boy to clench his hands on Lex's hips, hard enough, Lex thought, to leave visible dents.

"But--you--how long have you--God, I've been so *stupid*..."

"Since you kissed me on the riverbank," Lex said softly. It was almost physically painful for him to lean away from the circle of Clark's arms. "And remember local ordinances. What two men would do together is illegal in this state. What a man and an underage boy might do together is *also* illegal. I have no desire to be sacrificed on the altar of your father's rage."

"I'm not a boy," Clark muttered.

"And you're not stupid. Remember, I've seen some of your homework scores."

Clark grinned again, the sly one that made him want to corrupt the farm right out of him. Then Lex had to suppress a laugh--wasn't that what he'd just done? He shook his head, looking back into those wide, green eyes.

"Do I have to spell it out? I'm over sixteen. You are sixteen. There's a phrase for this situation."

"But if--if I don't press charges, or--" His hips shot forward, and Lex nearly moaned again. He shook his head, head still spinning.

"Oh, you're assuming your father will let me live to be tried and sentenced. That's not something I'm willing to risk."

Clark's fingers drummed impatiently on the pool table, on either side of Lex. He could feel the vibrations through the back of his skull. It was vaguely unsettling.

"I really, really want you, though. I want to...I want you to...fuck me," he whispered. He ducked his head, and Lex saw the brilliant flash of blush that raced down his neck and under the collar of his t-shirt. Oh, dear God, how much trouble was this going to bring him? Two more minutes of this and he'd throw *all* caution to the wind, and throw Clark on top of the pool table, and--

**Breathe. Breathe. Just--**

"Why, Clark," he said aloud, only slightly breathless. "I didn't know you used such language."

"I, um...I don't, usually. But you..." He darted his head forward, pulled it back, bit his lips again. "You're just so *hot*, Lex. I can't stand it."

Now, *that* was a stunner, he thought dazedly. The strong farmhand, jet-black hair, brilliant green eyes, a smile that could melt a snow queen, thought *he* was hot. Oh, fine, maybe in the proper amount of leather and swagger and in the right setting, but...now? Lying sprawled half-under a pool table on his knees, wearing simple black pants and a lilac sweater? He was hot, looking like this?

He realized he'd said at least the last bit out loud when Clark shook his head, tracing one finger along his lips.

"You always look hot, Lex. I've been...thinking about you for a long time, now."

"How long?" he managed to gasp. He opened his mouth, pulled Clark's finger in, and began sucking on it, hard. Clark twitched, his mouth dropping open, and he began to thrust his hips forward.

God, he *had* to get this boy out of clothes.

"Um," Clark gasped. "Since I...since that day...on the riverbank--"

Lex released Clark's finger. "Eleven months, two days," he said softly.

"What?"

"Handful of hours."

"What are you--?" Clark looked at his finger, shivered, shaking his head. "What are you talking about?"

"That day. By the river. When I went over the bridge and you pulled me out. Eleven months, two days, a handful of hours ago."

"You know how long it's been."

"Give me a few moments, I could probably work out the seconds."

Clark stopped breathing, leaning in. His eyes seemed impossibly wide. Lex's fingers drummed impatiently on Clark, now, manicured nails tapping against Clark's sun-warmed legs.

**Kiss me. Go ahead. Kiss me, already. Or I've laid all this groundwork for nothing--**

A knock sounded on the door, brisk, businesslike. Imperative.

"Shit!" they said in unison. Immediately Lex stood, brushing at his pants, his sweater, and then his mouth dropped, realizing Clark was naked from the waist down. **Oh, dear Lord in heaven, no--**

He glanced down, seeing one long arm reach out and grab pants and boots, the other reach out for a ball on the pool table and--no, this wasn't happening--Clark slithered under it, flexible as a cat.

**What on--**

He shook his head. He looked around, grabbing a pool cue. "Enter," he said calmly. As the door opened, he grabbed the 2-ball, rolling it against the precise triangle of balls waiting to be played.

Enrique walked in. The balls slowed down as he crossed the floor, the cue held loosely, Lex draped languidly against the pool table.

**Show nothing but curiosity,** his father's voice said. **Be calm. Be interested. Above all, be able to rise above the unexpected. You never know when anticipating the improbable will clinch a deal.**

**Yes, father. Do drop by again,** he thought, irritated.

"Yes, Enrique?"

"The menu for next week. We need final approval..." Enrique turned, hearing scuffling behind the pool table.

"Mr. Luthor, what--"

Clark popped up, nearly on cue. He was fully dressed, slightly dusty, grinning like a maniac and holding a cue ball aloft in his left hand.

"Found it," he said, tossing the ball back onto the pool table. "Man, don't you *ever* dust down there?"

Lex turned to Enrique. "See to it."

The man bowed, turning to leave. It's on your computer," he said. "We'll finalize purchase plans for any specialty items as soon as we receive it back."

"Thank you."

They both watched the slim, precise figure leave the room, closing the doors behind him. Lex thought for a moment about fainting, breathing out one long, careful exhalation.

"Lex?" Clark asked. "You okay?"

"Other than seriously contemplating passing out, no, I'm perfectly fine. And you?"

Clark grinned. "I saved your butt."

"Excuse me?"

"I saved your butt. Again. Admit it."

"I will do no such thing! It didn't need saving, just needed a little...discretionary action."

"The ball thing worked, though."

Lex's mind melted into slag. He stood unsteadily, dropped the pool cue, and blinked at Clark.

"Excuse me?"

"*And* you have a dirty mind. The *cue ball*?"

Lex blinked, looking around his office. It had seemed such a safe place, before. No one barging in, save for Clark--no overactive farmboys slithering under his pool table--nothing about Clark naked from the waist down...

Lex rubbed his eyes. "I need more privacy," he murmured.

"What, in the castle? You have, like, two hundred rooms!"

"Half-full of servants and occasional guests, yes."

Clark thought for a moment.

"Um. You could. Come by the farm," he said shyly.

"Excuse me?" Oh, he was starting to actively hate those two words.

"Well, I spend more time in the barn anyway, than in the house, and it's not like my folks ever check--"

Lex looked at Clark, considering. Late-night rendezvous. He could park behind the barn so Mr. Kent wouldn't automatically snarl after Luthor blood on his property. He and Clark in the 'Fortress of Solitude'. That...

"...Sounds like a plan, actually," he finished aloud.

"Great. So, um, maybe tomorrow you could, um..." He looked down at his hands, making strange little nervous motions, and caught the time on his watch.

"Oh, no! Lex, I have to go--I'm supposed to be home and run some more posts for the new fence--I--I'm sorry, I--"

He darted closer, pecked Lex's cheek quickly, darted back with a nervous expression on his face. Lex just looked content, and he was amply rewarded. One of those soul-washed-clean smiles was bestowed upon him, and he chose simply to bask in its radiance. And then the boy fairly *sprinted* for the door, pausing at the threshold.

"I'll--see you tomorrow night? Midnight?"

"I'll be counting the hours."

Clark blinked, shivering, and for a moment his eyes dilated again, all big wide circles of black rimmed in dark lime. Then he grinned.

"Okay."

And he was gone.

**Hmm,** Lex thought, returning to the desk to ponder. He heard clattering of boots on stone and the massive front door being opened by Neils, and closed again. **Score one for the castle, minus one for Lex.** Then he shook his head. **Well, score half a point for the Luthor charm, I did get him *partially* undressed.**

Lex tapped the mouse-pad of his laptop, sighing. Great. He'd probably dream again tonight, and tomorrow was going to just creep by, and was it too late to go back upstairs and take that shower after all?

Aaaagh.

**I was right,** he thought grimly, accessing his email. **This *is* torture.**

END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
oozing grace and charm is not my forté


Write me. In case you'd forgotten.

Simple exit menu--press here to go back.