Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/237740.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Smallville, DCU_-_Comicverse
  Relationship:
      Clark_Kent/Lex_Luthor
  Character:
      Clark_Kent, Lex_Luthor, Dick_Grayson
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-10 Words: 5609
****** Ozone ******
by Jane_St_Clair_(3jane)
Summary
     Dick takes to small town life more easily than Lex did. Sequel to
     "Smog."
Dick takes to small town life more easily than Lex did.  He didn't like
the idea of going, though. Which isn't to say he yelled, or at least
not to Lex's face, but he was quiet and still in the way that
adolescent boys aren't supposed to be, ever. He sat in the Porsche,
facing front, and read comic after comic. Offers of food got a
'please' or a 'thank you', but other than that, he didn't say a thing.
At one point, Lex looked down and realized that Dick had taken his
shoes and socks off. Like it was perfectly normal for him to be
barefoot.
His stillness keeps unnerving Lex, even now, because he remembers Bruce
-- later in his teens, admittedly -- being just like that. Dark and
quiet, purely capable of ignoring you. Perfectly polite, and just a bit
off-putting. Bruce isn't like that anymore, or not visibly, but by now
he's old enough to pay attention to his image.
Lex and Dick came back to Smallville in the dark. Summer night, with
big, too-clear stars and no moon. Humidity and the grass. Dick got out
of the car as soon as it was stopped, and walked across the driveway
barefoot, looking at everything. He hugged himself for a second, then
turned back to Lex, and flipped on a frighteningly blank smile.
Followed Lex into the house, and settled himself with an utter lack of
fuss that Lionel would have approved of. Except that Lionel would have
been able to tell, instinctively, that Dick was nothing of his. He's
only a skinny almost-teenager, constantly barefoot, who looks a bit too
much like a thief.
Since that first night, Dick's been hard to find. Lex hunts him down
occasionally, to ask if what he needs, but that he never seems to need
anything. They're too far out of town for Dick to get into Smallville
easily on his own, but maybe he's used to that from living at Wayne
Manor. At least here the lights are left on.
Sometimes Lex finds him in strange places. Perched on bannister
railings, looking down like he wonders how well he'd land if he jumped.
Walking along a rail fence, two miles away from Luthor Manor, so
casually he could have been walking down a street. Once, soft-footing
along the tight-pulled wire of a fence. No barbs on it, but Lex wonders
whether it would have made any difference to Dick if he'd had to step
over sharp edges.
Until it's deep summer, and Lex comes in from the plant, and Dick's
actually in town, in the store, picking out comics. That look of
concentration that kids have before they start to think about what's
going on around them.
Lex reaches out and touches Dick's shoulder. "Hey."
Dick doesn't jump. He just glances over his shoulder. "Hi."
"How'd you get to town?"
"Biked. It's out front."
"Anything here worth reading?"
"Some stuff. I thought that small towns were only supposed to have the
cheap superhero stuff."
"They don't?" Lex looks at the shelved newsprint. None of it's as
colourful as it should be. He flips through a few pages. Sandman.
Lucifer, which makes him wonder whether the local fundamentalists have
been through here lately. Hellblazer. Some others that look like
they've been translated from Japanese, though nothing explicit. The one
he has open seems to have a lot of strange watercolour monsters lurking
around corners. "Is Bruce going to kill me if you start reading
Hellblazer?"
"He has his Preacher collection. I don't think he's allowed to judge."
Lex nods. He realised a while ago that the things that bother Dick
aren't the things that usually scare kids. And somewhere in his
father's house in Metropolis, he's got his own lovingly protected set
of Kabuki. He likes the disturbed edges of comic book life. There are
quiet object lessons in these little magazines about watching for the
less plainclothes parts of reality.
"Fair enough. You want a ride back?"
"My bike's not going to fit in your car. I'll be fine."
Lex nods. He can't imagine Bruce being anything like a father to this
boy, and Lex certainly can't manage it himself. It's more important
just to remember not to placate Dick by giving him things. Jonathan
Kent's wrath at Luthors bearing gifts is one thing, but Dick's mastered
a look of absolute contempt that even Lex can't shrug off. It's pretty
clear that he doesn't have anything Dick Grayson wants, and pushing
presents, or even excess kindnesses, on him only leaves Lex looking
weak.
He wonders how, exactly, he got whipped by a thirteen year old boy.
Not that it's important. Dick doesn't seem to want to carry any of
their power struggles outside the Manor. He's too used to living with
Bruce, maybe.
And the space between them is the safest thing they have going. No
hugs, no pretenses of affection. Strange, maybe that there hasn't been
a huge question in Smallville of where Dick came from. The explanation
that Dick's staying with Lex because he's a friend of the family seems
to be enough. They're a long way from Gotham, far enough that the Wayne
name doesn't ring easy bells, and Dick doesn't look anything like old
money. Nothing like money at all, if Lex is honest. In the heat, he's
wandering around in jeans cut off long enough not to raise to eyebrows
and an oversized t-shirt. No socks. If the ground were just a bit less
jagged with stray gravel, he thinks Dick would wander around beggar
barefoot.
Lex decides that he can work at the plant as easily as he can work in
the coffee shop, and it seems to be important to Dick to put a lot of
physical distance between them. Fair enough. Two more hours at his
computer desk and he'll have the details of the new shipping contracts
worked out, and he can have them e-mailed to Germany before morning.
And if he comes in late, as least he's moderately sure that Dick's
capable of feeding himself. He found the kitchen on his own, that first
morning. When Lex came down, Dick was sitting cross-legged on a counter
in that stainless steel cave, eating cheerios and watching the
television that wandered in to please the last resident cook.
The sun's only just down, now, but stormclouds pushed their way over in
the early evening and it's raining like God's finally determined to
drown all things Luthor off the face of the earth. No gargoyles here to
throw the water off, but Scottish castles know their rain. He can get
the car under cover and slip inside without soaking himself completely.
He wouldn't even have noticed the truck parked in front of the house if
his brain wasn't conditioned by now to spot it wherever it's parked.
Ladies and gentlemen, the lovely Clark Kent, Miss Kansas in person.
Sprawled on his stomach on the rug in a den at the back of the house
that Dick's claimed as his own. The TV in it's hooked up for satellite,
and the Playstation 2 on the floor is the one gift from Lex that Dick's
ever condescended to accept. There are comics in insanely neat piles in
the corner, the sort of compulsive arragement that makes Lex think that
Bruce must not be the only one that Alfred's got trained.
Dick's up higher than Clark, sprawled across the armchair with his
knees hooked over the side. Kicking his bare feet against the
upholstery and explaining something stupidly complicated about Final
Fantasy X. His enthusiasm doesn't really need an attentive audience,
but Clark's relaxed enough to look like he's listening, at least.
It's one of those things that Lex only remembers occasionally. Clark's
fifteen, closer to Dick's age than Lex's. Enough that Lex should leave
the two of them alone. And he would, except that Clark Kent's sprawled
on the floor of his den like the kind of bathing nymph who brings
trouble to wandering gods.
The plot he comes up with is too simple for him to name it anything
like a clever plan. Feed Clark, make him stay. Steal him away from the
child in the chair and talk to him until he doesn't want to leave. Ply
him with tiny, irrefutable gifts. Lick his neck any time he turns away.
Make Bruce Wayne come out here and take his psychosexual problem child
home with him.
Lex kicks off his shoes, comes back to the den bearing gifts of food.
Orange pop for Dick and hard lemonade for Clark. Pushes open the door
with his hip.
Finds them locked on the floor with Clark pinning Dick in some kind of
elaborate pro wrestling hold and Dick sinking his teeth into Clark's
arm.
There's a beat before Clark looks down. He doesn't yell before then,
but he yells after, and whips his arm away. Scrambles back to lean
against the couch and rubs his forearm with tentative fingers.
"Ow!"
Dick grins. "Told you I could kick your ass."
"Right. Which one of us was ass-up on the rug?"
"Dignity matters not, grasshopper."
For just a second, Lex thinks Clark's going to plaster the kid to the
floor and jump up and down on him until he stops grinning like that.
And maybe Lex is lucky that Dick never offers him anything more
dangerous to indifference, because he's not sure his self-control could
survive that much insolence directed at him.
His house, though. His rules.
Lex says, "Clark, if you break him, I have to pay for him."
Clark doesn't look over. "Considering you could afford to replace your
Porsche..."
"Fair enough. Break him at will." It's enough. He's made an entrace; he
can put himself into the room. Feed them later if they still need it.
Except. Dark, glittering gypsy eyes and blue ones, full of the evil of
teenaged boys.
One very small sentence. "Get him."
If he'd known. Clark's got Lex down before he has time to jerk back.
Sitting on him and shining with endorphins and easy joy, laughing. Too
much energy, playful in a way Lex hasn't ever coaxed out of Clark on
his own. Dick's somewhere above his head, holding his hands, laughing
like hysterical breath.
Clark bends over him. "Give up?"
"For now."
Lightning outside. It makes Lex jump, and Dick lets go of him. He
doesn't gain enough leverage to knock Clark loose, even if he was
seriously trying, but he has enough to buck up.
Clark just keeps smiling at him. Waiting for some larger sign of
surrender, probably, since it's obvious by every rule of adolescent
play that Lex doesn't *really* give up.
He's decided that it's time to make Lex scream, apparently.
And when Lex has lost his breath completely, and he's curled up tight
enough that not even Dick's tiny, evil fingers can reach his ribs,
Clark's still there, close enough to share body heat and pressing a
knee to the back of Lex's neck.
"Uncle?"
His father would go insane. Lex wonders whether he should mention that
he's holding Bruce Wayne's teenaged ward as a kind of foster-hostage.
If it could create a new, amazing plane for corporate warfare.
"Dick, stop *now*, or I'm going to give you to some random trucker."
Dick smirks down at him. Evil imp. "I'm too expensive for you to give
me away."
"Watch me. Rugrats come cheap."
"Yeah, but if you lose me, Bruce'll have to make war on you."
Clark boggles audibly. "'Make war'?"
"You've obviously never seen Bruce doing his corporate takeover thing."
Clark nods. Lex can see it just at the edge of his vision. Someday, in
a more just future, Clark will be forced to suffer in this position
instead of him.
"Clark, make Dick go away. I'll make it worth your while."
Clark nudges a teasing finger at Lex's waist, making him wrap up
tighter. "I'm listening."
"I'll buy you a tractor."
Dick snorts. Clark pokes Lex hard. "Pathetic. Try again."
"Your own football team."
"Won't make me any more macho than I am now."
"Furs!"
"Made of Thumper? That'll impress Lana."
"A walk-in humidor!"
Clark pauses. "What's a humidor?"
"It's... never mind. I'll give you Dick. You can force him to do your
chores."
"Do I get a say in this?"
"No," Lex snaps.
Clark bends over him. Whispers in his ear, "You lose. I win."
Not acceptable.
And if he has to win...
Clark's fast, but he doesn't expect Lex to uncurl suddenly. Nor to grab
him. Heavy and off-balance, easy for Lex to roll down. Lie on his
chest. Kiss him hard.
Even in play, it's wonderful. Liquid, sweet-edged. Charged with the
manic energy Clark's been running on. It obviously takes him a few
seconds to decide whether or not they're still playing, and by then,
Lex has his tongue between Clark's lips, and he's working on making the
kiss very gentle and very serious.
Somewhere else in the room, there's a tiny gasp that he's completely
and utterly capable of ignoring. Nothing here's as important as Clark
and the way Clark's finally relaxing under him. Strong enough to push
Lex off if he wants to, but he isn't doing it. He's kneading Lex's
shoulders with his fingers, instead. Whimpering a bit. Breathing like
he might drown.
Wet air all around them. This huge charge in the air.
Lex pulls back, finally, because he needs to hold the taste of the kiss
without Clark's mouth to distract him. Looking down on his boy from a
distance of three inches, smiling to see if he can make Clark smile
back.
Outside the range of his attention, a body hits the wall.
It's not interesting to him, but Clark twists around to look. Something
comes out of him that might almost be a whimper, and he twists *hard*
under Lex. Throws him off and crouches on the floor, looking towards
the door. At Dick.
"Oh my god, Dick. I'm sorry."
Dick walks out. Doesn't make even one more sound.
Clark scrambles to his feet. Pushes Lex's hand off when he reaches for
the soft sleeve nearest him. "I think I have to. Something." He walks
out.
Lex stares at the ceiling and contemplates the ego blow. Picks himself
up when it's fairly obvious that he's going to be alone for a long,
long time.
Upstairs, he can strip off his shirt. Open a few necessary windows. The
house was built for rain, but not for this kind of heat. It doesn't
have air conditioning yet, but he might need to do something about that
soon. He's never experienced the full rage of a Kansas summer, but it's
something he can really live without.
Exhausted, sprawled on his bed, shirtless and stretching towards the
headboard. Listening vaguely for the engine of Clark's truck. He's
going to sleep like this tonight, work out in the morning how he could
have fucked up this badly all over.
He's not quite brooding, because he doesn't get to do that until he's
drunk, and he's not. Even the drink he's mixed himself is just sitting
there, resting on his stomach and slowly dripping condensation onto his
skin.
Drifting, not quite asleep. Wishing vaguely for the manservant he let
go during the winter because he'd decided he was capable of taking care
of himself. Aching with the want that he still can't shake off.
"Lex?"
Clark in the doorway. Wide shoulders blocking out some faint, distant
light. Hunched a bit.
"Clark."
"I'm."
"I'm sure you are."
"He wasn't expecting you to kiss me."
"I don't suppose you were either."
"Yeah, I was kind of hoping you wouldn't mention that."
Clark walks toward him through the dark. It's a moment where Lex has to
decide whether the tactical importance of standing upright outweighs
the aching comfort of being supine. Decides that just tonight he's
going to let the ache rule. Shuts his eyes and lets Clark move wherever
he wants.
"Consider it unsaid. Undone too, if you like."
"Give me a minute or two to think about that one?"
"You've had an hour."
"It's not like I got to think much while I was talking to Dick." Sigh.
The foot of the bed shifts when Clark drops himself down on it. "You
scared him."
"I doubt it."
"Lex..."
"Clark, were you going to go home?"
"I didn't get as far as that one."
Shift of the bed, and Lex realizes that Clark's stretching out beside
him. Arms behind his head, not quite close enough to brush Lex
anywhere. Looking up at the ceiling like there are stars.
Just quiet, for a long time. Clark's breathing's this steady,
irresistible force, demanding that he relax. And really, he should be
relaxed. He was the one who started this; it's Clark who's had the
living daylights scared out of him tonight. And even he hasn't left. He
just wandered off to talk to the child Lex's taken in. A child who's
much closer to Clark's age than Lex is, though he's working on not
thinking about that part.
Then soft breath, close to his ear.
"Can I try that again?"
The smile twists across Lex's face before he can suppress it. Like the
hedgehog at the trial, put into a sack and sat on. It's a disruptive
smile. Clark reaches out a finger, very carefully, and touches it, and
steals any possibility that Lex might say no.
"Be my guest."
Pliant and relaxed while Clark leans over him. Breath against his face,
lips against his mouth. Closed and careful, just the barest hint of a
tongue sliding out between them. Like Clark's still learning to
navigate his way through an adult kiss.
The coax of that mouth makes Lex soften. Nothing to be gained by
playing angry when he's not, really. And he's not even willing to admit
that his feelings were hurt. He's supposed to be strong enough that his
feelings are just a kind of mesh layer lining his emotional armour.
Clark's tongue slides in. Cautious against his. Wet sliding from
Clark's mouth to his, soaking the edges where their mouths meet. Tight
burn of Clark's stubble on Lex's face, bright reminder of masculinity
and willingness. The awkward enthusiasm of the kiss is a force that he
doesn't really appreciate until he feels Clark's weight settle onto his
chest. Break and breathe, and Clark lays soft, damp kisses all over
Lex's face. On his neck, his throat, down onto his chest. Clark's touch
on his bare skin is tentative. Surprised at being allowed to touch
another human being.
Eyelash flutter against his shoulder. "If I tell you that you smell
good, am I going to sound really stupid?"
"Nope." Heavy masses of hair in his fingers. Soft, warm, friendly boy
who keeps touching him so tentatively. Who curls into Lex as soon as
he's offered something close to a hug.
If he was feeling a lot more melodramatic than he is, Lex could
probably make some kind of analogy between Clark's enthusiasm and the
electrical storm. Charge and current and ground and anticipation and
shock. But he's not going there. Thinking more that if it rains just a
bit harder, he can probably convince Clark to call his parents and
claim that it's not safe for him to drive home. What they need is a
downpour to wash the roads out. One that makes mud of everything and
demands that everyone stay where they are.
It's an issue he can approach soon. Later. Maybe.
For now, he's willing to settle for sitting up when Clark tugs at him,
and bending so Clark can kiss the back of his neck. Fingers stroking
his scalp and tracing behind his ears, careful enough to make him arch.
"Fuck. Clark..."
Whispering, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Hey."
"Thank you." Kiss to his fingertips that ends with a wetter kiss to his
palm.
Achingly hard, and yet. He's not fifteen anymore, but Clark is, and
Clark feels like this is something close to a first kiss. Virgin boy,
friendly and curious and gentle.
That damned, inescapable grin. "You're welcome."
Clark gives him a worried look. "Oh god. How stupid do I sound?"
"You don't. Come here." Willingness that he'll settle for. His fingers
lace through Clark's hair, pull him in. Kiss him and kiss him, until he
can feel the body shaking against his. "Let me take your shirt off?"
"Lex..." Doubt.
"Just that. Shhh." Kiss to his ear. "Not going to fuck you tonight,
Clark. I just want to touch you." One hand at his waist, under the
flannel, rubbing at the cotton-covered ribs. Under the t-shirt, on that
unreasonably soft skin. It seems like Clark should have some kind of
sun-and-wind damage, even at his age.
"Lex."
"Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?"
Beat. "No."
"Trust me, then. I'm not going to do anything you don't want." Grin
that he's actually in control of. "I don't think I could. You're
freakishly strong."
Pause. Twitch. Clark starts to pull back.
Unacceptable.
Lex hangs on, follows him over until they overbalance and Clark's on
his back with Lex laid across him. Maybe not the best time to keep
trying to undress him, though. Kisses are good. Shallow, friendly ones.
Lots of attention to Clark's lips, both together and each individually.
He pauses sometimes, tilts his head far enough to press their foreheads
together.
He just wants this. It's the least demanding he can remember being, but
the answer to this question is *not* 'no'.
And when Lex shifts off, Clark peels his own shirts off. There's a
moment of self-conscious exposure when his stomach and chest show for
the first time, and one hand that slides down to half-cover the hair
that traces down from his navel.
It's a hand that Lex can move away, eventually, and replace with his
own. Hand on Clark's lower belly while they kiss. Carefully sprawled
beside each other on Lex's bed, during this huge, impossible storm.
Like something out of a romance novel, though he doesn't think it's
quite this oppressively hot in the pulp literary version. Only Clark's
unnatural attachment to layering could have kept him in two shirts.
Slowly sliding into the half-forgotten practice of necking. Something
that might be even more fun in a car, but they can try that later. Even
just in the garage. When he's not so tired. Just about asleep in spite
of his arousal, shivering a bit when the air pushing through the open
windows hits his back. Tongue in his mouth slowly licking forward
towards his teeth in a way that he can feel through his whole body.
"Mmmph. Clark."
"Yep." He sounds like he's laughing.
"At the risk of breaking the mood, do your parents know where you are?"
"I'm allowed out on my own. I'm a big boy."
Kiss. "It's a quarter to twelve."
Clark stiffens. "Shit!" He pulls away. Crawling across the bed looking
for his shirts, fingers touching the mouth-wetness Lex's left on his
skin.
Lex hands him his cell phone. "Tell them you're washed out."
Clark stops. "What?"
"It's pouring. Impossible to drive. You've taken shelter over here;
you'll be back in the morning."
Clark's time on the phone gives Lex a minute or two to breathe deeply.
He's been hard way too long. Hours. And the angry, demanding Lex who
lurks at the back of his mind takes the opportunity to point out that
he might be able to do something about it if he hadn't sworn he
wouldn't.
There's a brush on his shoulder as Clark hands him the phone. "My dad
wants to talk to you."
"Mmmmph. Hello?" He knows he sounds sleepy. He is sleepy. Exhausted
when he got home, strung-out and weirded and sulking and aroused since,
and really all he wants to do is curl up. With Clark, if he's got the
choice.
"Lex?"
"Speaking. What can I do for you, Mr Kent?"
"Why is Clark still over there?" Very calm, very reasonable parent-
voice. It's the one Lionel uses in the long minutes before he gets
visibly angry.
"He was hanging out with Dick, I think. It got late. This is quite a
storm; I didn't want to send him home in it."
"Hmmmm."
"I promise you I've got room for him. You'll get him back in the
morning, safe and sound."
There's a long, doubtful silence on the other end. Llex wonders whether
Clark woke Jonathan when he phoned. Distrustful, mendacious
conversations between the sleepy could prove to be a horror beyond
words.
"Thanks for taking him in."
"You're welcome. Good night."
The phone folds in his hand, so at least Lex can use his free one to
rub his forehead. Faint visions of Jonathan Kent's paternal fury keep
running through his brain. At least one involves a horsewhip.
To get rid of the thought more than anything, he asks Clark, "What were
you talking to Dick about?"
Clark says, "You scared him."
"Hmmm?"
"I have bad news. You're the grown up. You're not supposed to do things
like that."
"Like what?"
"Jumping innocent boys."
"Being allowed to act on my sexual impulses is one of the reasons that
I'm actually *grateful* to be an adult. And you aren't that innocent."
Clark nuzzle's Lex's shoulder. "I said 'grown up', not adult. You're
taking care of him, remember?" Kisses Lex's neck. "You shouldn't do
that again."
"Jump you?"
Clark clamps down on Lex's shoulders. Big, serious expression that Lex
can just make out. "Lex, he was *playing*, and you made it about sex.
And you scared him."
Lex shakes his head. "*That* bothered him?"
"Well, yeah. He's a kid."
"He's thirteen."
"He reads comics. He plays video games. He rides his bike places. He
wonders why the hell he got sent off to live with you. And he was
playing."
There should probably be something like guilt in him, but it's not
something that's willing to line up in his brain. He's still aching,
warm and tense and pushing hard against the front of his pants.
Smelling Clark's skin and mouthing at it.
Whimper. "Lex..."
"I'm behaving. You just feel good."
"I know. You too. I mean, I just." The warm flashes against his mouth
have to be a blush.
"What?"
"Jesus, Lex. *Hard.*" Clark clamps a hand around Lex's wrist and drags
it down. Hard cock pressing the fly of Clark's jeans into his palm.
Making Clark whimper.
"Clark..."
"Lex, it *hurts*." Almost whimpering.
"So do something about it."
"What?"
"I promised I wasn't going to do more than ask you to take your shirt
off, remember?" Not even deliberate cruelty, though he can feel Clark
getting angry at him.
"I hate you."
"No you don't." Kiss on his cheek. "C'mere."
Easy enough to settle back against the pillows, and pull Clark in
against him. Head on Lex's shoulder, hips between his legs. Weight
against his already aching cock, but that's an open secret at this
point. It gives him something to rub against, at least. And bare skin
against his arms. Warm Clark with Lex wrapped around him. Guiding
Clark's hands to his own fly.
"Lex..."
"I'm going to be right here." Behind him. Mouthing his shoulders and
the back of his neck. Little reminders that one of these days he *is*
going to fuck Clark. Just the mental image of a naked, moaning Clark
Kent under him enough to send shocks from his heart down to his ass
like the edge of a full-body orgasm.  
Easy to let his hand slide past Clark's, into the open jeans, to wrap
around him. Clark tenses, almost to the point of shivering. "Has
anybody else ever done that?"
"Besides me?"
"Yes."
"No."
"I didn't think so." He lets go, and goes back to just holding Clark
against him. Can't resist running his tongue across his suddenly-slick
palm, though, and he can feel Clark shiver when he realizes what Lex is
doing.
Still moment before Clark nods. Slides his hand down and wraps it
around himself. And whimpers. Shaking hard enough that Lex actually
needs to hold him, like he's been holding onto this for too long to let
it go without breaking.
"Yell if you need to." Hissing into Clark's neck. He tastes so *good*.
"Dick..."
"Dick will *live*. He's old enough to figure out what I'm doing to you
in here."
"You're not."
Lex wraps his hand around Clark's. "Close enough." Clark's still tense
enough to play like piano wire. "Clark, *relax*. It's just me. Nobody
but us here, and it doesn't matter how much noise you make. Nobody here
to hear you who doesn't want to. I want to. Come on, you need to
relax." Guiding Clark's hand, slow enough that this won't turn frantic
in a matter of seconds. Holds Clark across his chest with his other
arm, kisses his neck and shoulder, the side of his face. Mouth in
Clark's hair.
"Jesus, *Lex*."
"Feels good?"
"Yeah." Long gasp that Lex can't resist milking.
Easier every time he kisses Clark, every time Clark slides closer.
Heavy against Lex's own cock. Just getting Clark off for now, though.
Body against his that he can hang onto, hand that he's still holding,
so that they're jerking Clark off together. A slide of the cock's tip
against the side of his hand makes them both moan. It'd be so easy to
lay Clark down and just suck him. Quick and fast, an easy orgasm for
somebody that young.
He can't quite. But. Pulls his hand away from Clark's, and licks it.
Brings it back and wraps the wet skin around the tip of Clark's cock.
That's all it takes. One wet touch and he's catching semen in his palm,
rubbing it back across the cock in his hand. Kissing Clark's mouth
where he's twisted around to catch Lex's.
Lex rolls Clark down as soon as he can. Lies next to him and kisses him
frantically while he works to get his own pants open. Too close to be
anything like subtle. Gets a hand around himself and his hip hooked
over Clark's and fucks against him hard.
"So fucking gorgeous, Clark."
Kissing and rubbing, and any pretense of casualness he had is long
gone. Should have done this when he kissed Clark the first time, and
fuck all promises, fuck Dick and fuck Bruce and Jonathan Kent and green
rocks. Fuck Clark, sometime very soon. All that innocence spread out
underneath him.
Comes growling, spattering Clark's jeans. They're going to have to wash
them before he can send Clark home.
And when he's got enough breath back to focus, Clark has one hand on
the back of Lex's neck, and one touching the semen-spatters on his
thigh. Curiosity, or at least something that isn't disgust.
"You *came* on me."
"You noticed." One more kiss that pulls them into an exhausted full-
body grind. It slides into a hug, eventually, and between the sheets
sometime after that. Close enough to Clark to be able to mouth his
spine in the night. Run a hand along his belly until he's touching his
cock with his fingertips.
Wrapped around him and dozing. Waking up long enough to close the
windows when the lightning's too close to ignore. There's water on the
floor that he'll have to have taken care of in the morning.
Clark sleeps like someone at the height of his sleeping powers. Like a
log who mumbles to himself occasionally before settling deeper into the
bed. He presses back against Lex if Lex touches him, but he isn't a
cuddler, and eventually Lex shifts back to his own side of the bed to
sleep.
Tearing thunder wakes him. Sitting straight up in bed, wondering how
deaf he's just become. Ringing in his ears like glass.
Clark hasn't moved. He twitched, Lex thinks, but just barely. Down so
far it doesn't seem possible that he'll ever wake.
Lex is still waiting for his heart rate to fall when the door scratches
and opens, and he's left staring at Dick peering at him around the edge
of the doorframe.
"What's up?"
"I was just." Dick slides into full view. "It sounds like bombs or
something."
Lex nods. "It woke me."
Big, serious eyes on him. "I." He looks at Clark, who's curled against
Lex's hip. "Oh. Sorry."
Lex pushes himself up in bed, enough to let Dick see that he's still
got his pants on. "It's okay." Trying to draw up some usable model of
adult-like behaviour to go on. No way he can hug the kid without going
in for some major indecency possibilities. Or invite him in.
But he understands now how Bruce ended up with Dick in his bed. Quiet
and scared, and demanding protection and not wanting it. His boy. Not
Lex's, not at all. Doesn't even *like* him. But Clark does, and it's
utterly different, but...
"I'm sorry, Dick."
Dick looks at him, and nods. In the hall half-light, Lex can see Dick's
wrapped in the blanket off his bed, walking around in it like a sort of
coccoon. He pads away, a small, miserable person going back to bed.
Beside him, Clark stirs in his sleep, and rolls over. Pulls one of the
pillows in against his stomach and curls around it, easier to handle
than another person.
Lex lies awake, fingering Clark's hair for hours. He only manages to
sleep when the lightning's miles away, too faint to hear, and it's
almost morning.
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