Disclaimers: If they belonged to me, the future would only look
ominous to the filthy unbeliever. Er... yes.

Spoilers: Vague ones up through Ryan.

Summary: Clark is figuring some things out.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Happy birthday, Miz E! As the Spike says, I am your
trained monkey.

Acknowledgments: To the Spike, Livia, and Jenn for audiencing. To
Bas for the title. To much of the world for listening to me whine ad
nauseam about this story. Extra love to Livia for the bunny.

Feedback keeps me flying. leytelj@gmail.com

*

He learns to fly in his dreams.

Not the ones about Lana, the ones where she looks at him wide-eyed
and open, without a hint of judgment or question. Not even the ones
where her head is tilted up to his, her breath puffing warm against his
lips.

He doesn't learn anything in those dreams that he doesn't already
know, though waking up with his face pressed to the ceiling teaches
him more than he ever wanted to know about the persistent sticky
filth of cobwebs.

A few nights of that and Clark finally gives up and steals his mother's
cleaning materials and a sturdy chair. He has the cleanest ceiling in
Smallville.

And if he could figure out a way to pad it without looking like a
freak...

Well.

It's not the ones about Ryan, either, though they spend a lot of the
time in the air. He runs around the edges of the hot air balloon -- and
sometimes on the balloon *itself* like a small deranged person, and
shouts for Clark to join him, play.

Tag at several thousand feet, and eleven year olds have no *right*
to make sixteen year olds look like wusses, even if Clark does spend
the majority of the dreams curled in on himself in the middle of the
basket -- such a *flimsy*-sounding word for such a vital piece of
equipment -- trying not to whimper.

Or clinging to the edges and trying to look anywhere but down,
while Ryan defies all known laws of physics running up, down, and
all around the balloon.

He wakes up from those grinning, until he remembers that Ryan is
dead.

It certainly isn't the more confusing dreams about Lex. Like the ones
where Lex smilingly tosses him the keys to his Ferrari, only the keys
turn out to be anything but. Weird vegetables and statues and, on
one horrifically memorable night, Lionel's severed head.

Or the ones where Clark dreams himself into Lex's study, and spends
all night struggling to understand what Lex is trying to tell him with
that raw, bleak look on his face. Lex spends the whole dream tearing
up a book, page by page, and throwing the crumpled paper in the
fire.

Or the ones where they're driving on a long, empty road to Metropolis
together, and everything is fine until Clark figures out that he's naked,
that he's *been* naked, and there's nothing resembling clothes for
him in the car. And when Lex finds out... when Lex looks over --

He wakes from those alternately uneasy and aroused, sweating and
tangled in the sheets and with a sincere desire to lock himself in his
own room until... well, until something.

But it's all made up for by the dreams when he's just running. Not
away from anything, or even *to* anyone.

Just running full out, picking up speed with every step, the air like
nothing so much as the warmest, tightest, most comfortable body
glove ever imagined, clinging to him all over and doing absolutely
nothing to hold him back.

Nothing can.

He leaps over fences, over *cars*, shouting against the wall of
wind resistance and grinning his head off and sometimes....

Sometimes the ground just stops being there.

The first few steps are always terrifying, like gravity has just given
up on him and he's about to run right up into the unknown, but
then he hits a groove. Sometimes it's a lot like remembering:

The air is the same up here, just harder to find.

The ground is always going to be down there, waiting for him.

And then he runs through the sky, higher and higher until the clouds
mist on his cheeks like sweet tears, like the most refreshing sweat
in the world, and sometimes he remembers he shouldn't be able to
breathe up there -- and that's panic-making, but only a little. He can
hold his breath for nearly two hours.

He never can convince himself the clouds are solid enough to lie on,
no matter how many cartoons and comics tell him different. He's
always too aware (awake?) for that, and tumbles down face forward,
eyes wide to the wonder of the ground rushing up to meet him.

He wakes up from those with his face pressed to the window, stiff
and vaguely sore from sleeping wrong.

Still, it's the first *good* feeling he's ever had about flying so... maybe
he does a little more running than usual. It's harder with the dry fall;
he has to make sure not to accidentally set fire to the fields with the
scorch marks he leaves. He's never been quite so heartfelt about
praying for rain before, childhood on a farm or not.

And he tells himself he just wants to see if he's any faster than he
used to be, at least at first. He tapes his shirt down over his cheap
wristwatch (he's broken more wristwatches than dishware, and that's
saying something) to protect it from anything he might bump into at
high speed and...

Okay, yes. Definitely faster.

Even faster than that the next week.

And a month after that he can breeze right up to the Canadian border
without breaking a sweat.

Lana's started giving him even stranger looks than usual at school,
which just isn't fair as far as he's concerned. He hasn't done anything
*remotely* weird around her for weeks, not when she was conscious
at any rate, and he's been too busy with the... time trials for anything
else.

Pete made up a spreadsheet and everything. Which, okay, is just a
little obsessive, but then his other best friend *is* Lex.

Who's also giving him looks.

Worse looks than Lana's really, because Clark thinks he knows exactly
what's behind that expression and it's...

It's a lot like Lex thinks Clark doesn't have time for him. And while
that's technically true (at least with all the running), it's not because
he doesn't -- and there just aren't *words* for that kind of thing.

Not the kind he knows.

So he just smiles ruefully at Lex when he makes his deliveries, and
tries to look like someone who isn't deserting his friend, at least not
for any *real* reason.

And he runs.

At night he runs all over town, which turns out to be a good thing,
considering the fact that it gave him the chance to stop the thing
that crawled out of the lake before it hurt anyone.

The lack of sleep just means he doesn't have to dream about whether
or not the last thing the... creature said had sounded like human
words.

He isn't timing himself anymore, not really. He can't quite pretend
that, even though Pete's new stopwatch *is* really cool. Running
around Smallville... that's just to let Pete and the rest of his family
know where the meteor rocks are, so they can come behind him and
bury them deep.

Running around town is just a way to stop thinking about the *other*
dreams, the new ones he has where running into the sky is
effortless as breathing, where he doesn't really *run* at all.

Just one leap...

He wakes up from those dreams clutching the mattress, sometimes
so hard his fingers punch right through.

Because...

What if it really is that easy?

"People don't *fly*, son," his father says.

"People don't set things on fire with their *eyes*, either."

And his mother gets that worried-look on her face, the one that makes
it look like she's trying to push all her features toward the middle and
it *hurts* but she's going to do it anyway.

His father sighs and promises that even if he *does* start flying around
the farm, they'll figure out something. Which might even be reassuring
if he didn't look so *helpless*.

So he stops playing basketball with Pete, and does even more
conspicuously worse in gym class than usual, and at night...

He runs as far and as fast as he can, longing to be tired enough that
nothing can ever happen, even if he tries. Sometimes it works, leaving
him sluggish at the breakfast table, making his mother worry... right
up until he walks out into the cool, bright November sunshine, and all
the (power) energy comes flooding back like...

He blushes hard every time it happens, and finally tells Pete that it's
like coming.

Which makes Pete's eyes go comically round for several seconds, and
then he falls off the couch because he's laughing so hard.

"Clark, man, you already know running isn't going to work," he says
when he gets his breath back. "Why don't you try something else?"

(Just one leap) "Like what? Jumping off the roof? I don't feel like
being an Afterschool Special, Pete."

"Dude, as entertaining as it would be to watch you repeatedly --"

"I'd only do it *once*."

"*Repeatedly* falling on your ass, I wasn't talking about country
cliff-diving. I think that's for the advanced class, anyway."

Clark looks out the barn window, thinking about a swan dive. Maybe
if he landed on his head he would lose consciousness. "Then what?"

"Hey, I've seen you play basketball remember? *Really* play. Like
the man said, you got ups."

"*Ups*?"

"Come on, I'll call my mom and tell her I'm staying over tonight. Let's
try some jumps!"

And that's definitely his heart in his throat. Possibly most of a lung,
too. "Pete, you don't even have clothes here. And I thought you said
you had a test to study for?"

"Aw, man, you're right. God, it's one of Mr. Essen's in-class essay
deals, too. How come you got the easy English class, anyway?"

Clark grins broadly and barely manages to avoid blowing out a
relieved breath. "Pure charm, man. Some guys got it..."

"Yeah, *right*." Pete throws his backpack over his shoulder and heads
for the ladder. "Talk to me when you get a *girl*, Dateless Wonder."

And that's the end of that.

Except it really isn't, because Clark winds up too twitchy to even run,
much less sleep. He's learned the hard way that running really fast
when you're not concentrating is the quickest way to minor head
injuries and major property damage.

Because the *first* thing Pete's going to ask him when they see each
other again is if he tried jumping, and running jumps, and jumping
from heights... all jokes aside, Pete was pretty scarily invested in
making sure Clark was all he could be.

And why had it seemed like a good idea to tell him again?

At least his parents would never actively *encourage* him to use
his powers, unless someone was in danger. And even then...

And he *could* just lie. Tell Pete that he'd hopped around like a
not-so-human pogo stick all night long with no joy. But that only
seems like a good idea to the part of his brain that's mapped out
every direct sight-line to the girls' locker room, and sometimes
spends quality time thinking about setting Lionel's hair on fire.

He suspects Lex (and probably even Pete) would tell him that it
was a useful part of his brain, and maybe one worth cultivating,
but... he doesn't like it all that much.

So in the end he just gives up on pacing the moonlight confines of
his barn and takes a running leap for the window.

For a moment his breath catches, he's going far further than he
should, much further, and is this it? Is this what he's been --

He turns his ankle when he hits the ground and just barely manages
to avoid rolling into the truck.

"Okay... no."

The pain fades in a flash, a miniature copy of those morning-after
rushes that leaves him shuddering and on his feet, looking around to
make sure no one can see him... what?

The Pete in his head is a sadistic bastard who laughs *far* too
much.

All right. Jumping. He can do this. There's no reason why it has to
be scary, even if it does work.

It doesn't have to mean anything.

After all, it's not like he'll be flying around town all day and night
even if it *does* work. There's just no way to explain a six foot
three teenaged boy in the sky, even in Smallville. Clark nods to
himself, aims himself vaguely westward, runs, and leaps.

And this time there's no doubt. He's definitely moving farther than
he should if he was just jumping, and he's not even moving his legs.
He's just...

Clark looks up into the dark indigo sky, the winter stars already
visible. Somewhere up there is where he (belongs) came from.
And the next thing he knows 'somewhere up there' is a hell of a
lot closer.

He pinwheels frantically, staring anywhere but down, *thinking*
anywhere but down, and the sky rushes closer, wisps of cloud
suddenly looking like something he could touch, if he just
thought...

And is that what this is?

Thought-based rebuttal of everything good, pure, and Newtonian?
Hell, he controls everything *else* by thinking about it, why not...

And suddenly he's swooping low and to the south, knocking a
branch off a tree and this close to screaming.

Or laughing.

Because... he's *flying*. Flying even faster than he can *run*, and
he thinks maybe he could even do *tricks*, like maybe --

Yes! He does an effortless triple back-flip, loops the loop until he's
not entirely sure where the ground begins and the sky ends, and
flies so many spirals he feels a little nauseous. And he's just
resolving to take it easy when he smacks into something face-first
and drops like a stone.

For about ten feet.

He could've sworn he was higher than *that* --

"You know, if you tell me you weren't flying just now, I'm going to
kick you very hard, Clark."

"Lex! I was... um... oh damn." Clark's mind helpfully supplies that
he's landed on one of Lex's balconies. Which would be okay, if Lex
wasn't there. Looking down at him with a glass in one hand and a
sheaf of papers in the other. Looking *amused*. "Um. You're
drunk?"

Lex takes a long, ostentatious sniff. "Ginger ale." Sharp little smile.
"Want some?"

Clark's going to stop gaping like a fish. Any second now. "Would
you believe it's a complete surprise?"

"In Smallville? This late at night? No. Now let me know if I'm going
to have to kick you so I can call Toby about my inevitable broken
toes."

"You should believe *more* things late at night, Lex!"

"Well, I believe a man can fly..."

"More... *other* things." And the flagstones under his butt are
*cold*, which is something Lex must know, because he just
snorts and reaches out, offering Clark a hand up.

Clark takes it wincingly.

"Did you hurt yourself slamming into the wall like a drunk sparrow
or just the castle?"

"You're having way too much fun with this. I mean yes. I mean no.
I mean... *damn*."

Lex shakes his head and walks back into the castle, gesturing Clark
to follow. "You aren't the worst liar I've ever seen, Clark, but you're
definitely the most *consistently* bad."

"Hey --"

"I used to find that insulting," Lex continues blithely, "but then I
realized that, given the way the more... showy mutants in this town
usually end up, discretion was probably the better part of valor on
your part." A smile.

"I'm not --"

Lex makes a small but definite kicking motion.

"Okay, fine, I was flying."

Lex rolls his eyes. "Unless the ability to do mindwipes is one of
your powers I was taking *that* as a given."

There has to be something he can use to change the subject. A
quick look around tells him he's in no part of the castle he's seen
before. What with there being a large, turned-down bed, a bar,
and more bookcases than he's ever seen outside a library. And
what looks like the full line of Warrior Angel action figures on one,
prominent shelf. Oh. "Is this your bedroom?"

"You know, I *could* help you with this, Clark." Lex is still smiling
at him in the entirely wrong way. One of those smiles Clark dreams
about much too often for his own peace of mind.

"With what?"

Lex sips his accursed ginger ale and smirks. "The lying, the
oh-so-casual subject changes when people get too close to whatever
truth you're trying to hide at the moment... but then you're so
*endearing* like this. Come on, lie to me some more."

"I reiterate, *way* too much fun."

"Aw, come on. You have to admit it's funny. I put all that time and
effort into figuring out the car crash, into investigating your family,
when all I had to do was stand on my balcony and wait for you to
do your Greatest American Hero impression."

"What? I mean... seriously, Lex, I really haven't. Um. Flown. Before
tonight, that is. That's why I haven't been around much. I've been
trying to figure out *how*."

"Well, that would explain why you're so *bad* at it --"

"Hey! I was doing tricks and everything!"

Was that a snicker? "Okay, you're not bad. You're just... untrained.
I'll just call up my other invulnerable best friend who flies and set up
some lessons."

"I never said anything about being invulnerable!"

"Clark. You were going about forty miles an hour when you decided
to get up close and personal with the castle wall, yet you don't have
a scratch on you. There is, on the other hand, a highly fascinating
pile of rubble in the general vicinity of where you landed. You may
have missed it, what with being busy trying to come up with a good
lie."

"I... *damn*."

Lex is rocking on his heels, smiling as wide as Clark's ever seen him
do without first being under the influence of a meteor mutant. "So
let's see. Invulnerable -- I hit you with my car? No, wait, pretend
that wasn't a question, because it really wasn't. You can *fly* --
have I mentioned how cool that is yet? Because it is. What else?"

"I think I need to lie down."

"I'm sure it'll pass. I assume this is what you were planning to
take over the world with while you were going through your
remarkably brief rebellious phase?"

"I --" Well, okay, so he really *was* planning on taking over the
world. "It seemed like a good idea at the time?"

And that's definitely a snicker.

"Look, Lex, I was... um. You know the meteor rocks?"

"The ones that tend to do bizarre and fascinating things to the
Smallville youth?"

"Er... those."

"They did bizarre and fascinating things to you, yes I got that."

"No! I mean -- they did. That time. With the megalomania."

"Clark, come on, it's not like I'm going to *judge* you for being a
mutant --"

"I'm an alien, okay!"

Lex pauses mid-heel-rock and stumbles into a bookcase, sending a
six inch miniature of Warrior Angel tumbling to the floor.

They both spend really a large amount of time staring at it.

And then it's just Clark staring at it, and he can tell because no one
stares like Lex and he can *feel* Lex staring at him.

"Er..."

"I think I'm going to kick you anyway."

"Um..."

"'Oh, men don't *fly*, Lex, there's no such thing as *aliens*, Lex,
don't be *crazy*, Lex --'"

"Hey! Discretion! Valor!"

Lex opens his mouth and closes it again without saying anything.
Raises an eyebrow. "Okay, you're a better liar than I thought.
Marginally." And Lex gives him a look that on Pete would practically
scream 'I'm trying to figure out where your antennae are.'

"I don't have antennae."

"I... okay, you caught me. Clark -- you do realize I'm not going to
use this against you in any way, don't you?"

"Yeah, well, you're not the one who winds up on a slab if you
change your mind, so you'll excuse me if I just take this time to
curl up in a little ball and whimper."

"Fuck, Clark -- look at me."

Clark does, and the look on Lex's face is at once familiar and
confusing, because he can't remember seeing Lex *ever* look
like that.

"I won't ever do that to you. I wouldn't."

Except that he can, in the dreams where nothing Lex says makes
any sense. "That's... that's a really big promise to make, Lex."

"Would it be if this was one of your other friends? Never mind,
Clark."

A rueful smile that makes Clark blush and stare at his shoes, and
Lex is right there, hand on his chin. Forcing his head up and
searching his face for a long, weirdly *heavy* moment until
settling on his eyes.

"It's your *life*. And no one keeps a secret like a Luthor."

Which just makes his shudder again, because -- God! What if
he'd landed on a balcony with *Lionel*?

Lex squeezes his jaw until Clark focuses on him again. "And *this*
Luthor has every intention of keeping you safe." And suddenly
Lex is smiling again. "Which, of course, would be easier if you didn't
insist on flying head-first into people's walls while said people are
right *there*."

Clark has to smile. "You're not going to let me live that down
anytime soon, are you?"

"No, probably not..."

And the long silence should probably be awkward, what with Lex's
hand still on his face, Lex's gaze still on him like something living
and hungry, Lex's Warrior Angel doll -- no, *action* figure -- still
in a terribly compromised position on the floor... but it's not.

It's just Lex, taking the initiative to share a very small area of space
with Clark and not looking at all put out about it.

Looking, really, pretty satisfied with the whole arrangement. In that
way he has of suddenly looking settled under his skin, as if
something's just happened to put the universe to rights and Clark
somehow missed it. It makes his heart pound, a little. A nervousness
that doesn't really feel like any kind of nervousness he knows. New.
Different. (Adult) Wild.

"Sometimes I dream we do go to Metropolis together," he blurts,
and Lex... strokes Clark's jaw with his thumb.

Just once, yeah, but that was definitely a stroke. "You mean when
you were feeling... rebellious." There's a smile in his voice, even if
it isn't anywhere near his face.

"I... yes and no? I mean, I'm normal in the dream. As... normal as
I get." And why is he telling this story? This could only go badly.

"Hmm. Do we ever get there?"

Funny how Lex sounds so... like he's asleep. Like he has nothing
whatsoever to hide. Funny how he's *still* so close. And waiting
for an answer. To a question. What question? "Uh... what?"

Tiny smile. "To Metropolis, Clark. Do we ever --"

"Oh! I mean. No... we're just. Driving. In one of your cars." And
I'm naked. Really, profoundly naked. Just tons of Clark-skin
everywhere, really. A lot like the skin you're still touching.

"That's a shame..."

And Lex is staring at his mouth, staring like he's just one more
absent thought -- does Lex have absent thoughts? Clark wouldn't
have thought so -- away from touching it with his thumb. And
abruptly Clark can't think of anything but how that would feel.
The weight of it on his lower lip, pressing down, encouraging him
to open... "Yeah..." And that doesn't sound like his voice at all.

"Clark..."

"Yeah?" There's a little voice in his head, getting progressively
louder and more insane, wondering when Lex is finally going to
touch his mouth.

"We *are* in my bedroom. Just. To answer your question." And
it sounds like Lex is laughing, somewhere behind his voice, but
Clark isn't sure who he's laughing at at all.

"I. I figured. Lex --"

And it's one of those moments, those really exceptionally *large*
moments where intellectually you know that a lot of moments
have passed but it all feels like one: Lex shudders, squeezes his
eyes shut like he's in pain, and backs away. Only he doesn't get
very far, because somehow that very insane part of Clark took
over and the next thing Clark is aware of is Lex's pulse under his
thumb.

Lex's eyes on him so much (hotter) darker than anything that light
in color should be able to manage.

"Lex... we were... I wan --"

And he'd definitely been about to say something, something
downright definite, irrevocable, even, except there's nothing he
could've possibly said that was more to the point than Lex's
mouth on his own, Lex's *teeth* closing on his lower lip hard
enough to make something bright and hot and confusing spark
in Clark's backbrain, make him moan and definitely kiss *back*.

And later, maybe he'll tell himself something about inevitability,
bedrooms, and action figures that hump the floor, but right now
all Clark cares about is closer, and more, and wet, and tongue, and
all those other words that are so much less than the concepts they
embody.

Lex's hand is in his hair now, pulling him down, tilting his head,
putting him right where he wants him and his tongue is in Clark's
mouth and... oh.

So good to suck on it, better when Lex shoves his fingers under
the waistband of Clark's jeans and *yanks* and now they're closer
than ever, pressed tight and somehow Clark never thought Lex
would feel so *warm* against him.

Had he thought of this? Surely enough that it isn't that much of
a surprise to feel the hard, lean length of his body, even if the
way Lex is teasing Clark's tongue into his mouth with his own *is*.

Even though the way it's making Clark feel like there's nothing
solid about him but his growing erection is definitely a surprise,
because sex -- oh God, this is *sex* -- has never seemed like
*that* much of a huge deal, not like something that could bring
him to his knees (is that where Lex wants him?) without much
effort.

"What do you want?" He says, and it freezes Lex, something
Clark thinks he could enjoy seeing, if it didn't mean he stopped
doing those things to his neck with his tongue, stopped moving
his fingers around so tantalizingly close to where he needs them.

"I want to turn that question around," and Lex's smile is... really
pretty evil. And sexy.

And hey, it's a night for newness all around, because Clark hadn't
thought --

"C'mon, Clark. Tell me..." And Lex bites him high on the throat, a
bright flare of pressure and *good* that goes straight to his cock
and makes him jerk.

"I... I asked first..."

"I want to make you come so hard you don't care what I do."

And for an encounter that started with him slamming face-first
into stone, the night's looking pretty good. "Oh," he manages,
and while he is aware that Lex is pushing and nudging him
backwards toward the bed, he's mainly aware of Lex's smile,
wide and wild, and the amount of Lex's body being rapidly
revealed.

Shirt, off. Shoes, kicked away, and hey, that's definitely the bed
he's just landed on, and that's definitely Lex crawling up over
him just far enough to get their hips lined up and the first thrust
makes him arch so hard he nearly throws him. Grabs Lex to hold
on --

"Superstrength, check --"

"I never said --"

-- and then just grabs him because it feels so *good*. Lean, hard
hips, strength in them like something that he has to keep learning,
because he can feel the shift in them every time Lex pushes
against him. Every thrust, every little grind that he can't help but
return in kind, and air is something like an imperative now,
something to gulp and gasp and use only for all the stupid begging
sex words that he never thought he'd hear himself say.

Lex stares down at him, looking so hungry it's almost scary, looking
so dazed it *is* scary and --

"It's even better naked, Clark..."

And that's just the best idea ever. It's not easy wriggling out of your
clothes when you're flat on your back, but Lex helps, or maybe
hinders, or maybe just makes it better and hotter and wilder. Big
pale hands on his chest, pinching his nipples --

"I wonder why you can feel this. I wonder *how* you feel this..."

"Oh God..."

"Yeah, Clark, I think you know how long I've wanted this."

And he doesn't, or he didn't, but he does *now*, and it's like being
knocked into the sky, like being kissed again to remember every look,
every touch that would seem hesitant from anyone *but* Lex. And
it's all he can do to hold on. "Lex, please --"

Okay, nothing like being kissed again, because being kissed again is
all about losing air, sense, and everything resembling sanity. Open-
eyed and hungry and fierce, fiercer when Lex finally closes his eyes
and grinds into him even harder.

(He's not trying to be careful with me.) And why should he? God, no
one should ever be careful with him again, not if the opposite means
rolling around on a bed with Lex's hand in his pants, Lex's fist around
him and stroking like he knows exactly what he's doing, like he's
been thinking about doing just this, maybe with his hands on
himself --

And Clark comes hard, shouting surprised and utterly lost into Lex's
mouth.

Nothing he can do but stare, try and fail to catch his breath as Lex
slides his hand up between them and.

Fuck.

Licks it clean.

Clark's cock twitches much too soon, almost painfully, and he has to
roll them over again, press Lex to the mattress with his weight, hold
onto his wrists and watch those blue-grey eyes flare in something
between possession and shock.

"Gonna hold me down, Clark?"

"What?"

"You can. I trust you." Another flare, and Lex is rolling his hips,
pushing up hard and his cock is hot and hard and obvious, even
through his pants.

And Clark has no idea what to do, only that he wants to do everything
possible to keep that look on Lex's face, keep Lex this hot and... yeah.
Out of control. Does his own half-experimental grind and Lex throws
his head back, baring his throat and oh, God, Clark remembers exactly
how good it felt when Lex kissed him there.

Bit him there.

The first tentative touch with his tongue makes Lex gasp, makes Clark
grip those wrists a little harder out of some vague, language-free terror
that Lex will try to get *away* --

"Oh fuck, Clark, yes --"

Scrapes his teeth along the tendon and Lex bucks up against him,
pushing against his hands and *writhing*. Like he wants more of this,
more of being touched, held down... damn.

Pulls back just enough to get his hands on Lex's pants, because mutual
nudity is suddenly *necessary*. Lex's hands on his face like he can't
get enough of touching; in his hair and on his mouth and when Clark
opens wide, Lex just pushes in, stroking his tongue and --

"Suck them, Clark..."

Nothing to do but exactly that, and suck harder, move closer when
Lex starts to pull away, but then he starts thrusting and that's... God,
suggestive doesn't even cover it. Hot doesn't cover it. Nothing covers
having your mouth fucked by Lex Luthor's fingers, knowing exactly
what Lex wishes were there instead, knowing how it would feel...

Clark groans and squeezes Lex's cock through his boxers, tries to get
his hand to work well enough to get *inside*.

"Wanna touch me, Clark?"

He has no idea what's showing on his face, but whatever it is makes
Lex's eyes narrow, makes his cock twitch and suddenly Clark *has*
him, all heat and slick and more smooth than anything has a right to
be, and it's all he can do not to bite down or swallow too far, because
Lex is looking at him like he's just answered every prayer he ever
had.

And Lex is pushing up into his fist --

"Tighter, Clark. Harder --"

Pushing into his fist, *fucking* into his fist and into his mouth and
braced up on one elbow and just *watching* him.

Or maybe... showing him.

Flush like a stain on his chest, words Clark can barely understand. Only
that they're hot, and a little dirty, and he never wants them to stop.

"You're gonna make me come -- *fuck* --"

And Lex pulls his fingers out of Clark's mouth and drives them into
his hair, pulling him up and over for another one of those spine-
liquefying kisses that leaves him barely able to think. But he can still
move, still stroke, swallow every small noise Lex makes and press
against him, push him down and stop kissing long enough to watch
himself jerking Lex off and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Hotter when Lex grabs his shoulders --

"Oh God, Clark --"

"God, Lex, c'mon, I want to see you, come for me, please --"

"*Fuck* --" Every muscle in Lex's body goes rigid for a second, two,
and then he's coming, shooting all over Clark's fist and digging his
fingers into Clark's shoulders and breathing like it's something he has
to learn all over again.

And after, all Clark can do is look at Lex's sex-drunk face and grin
like an idiot. Because... he did that. He *flew* over here and had
sex.

And his parents have stopped asking where he goes every night, so
he could, conceivably... "We need to do this again *really* soon."

Dazed laugh. "Excellent plan. In fact, you don't really need to go to
school for at least a week, do you?"

"I'm a speedreader, I'll catch up."

"Speedreader. Uh, huh. I'll just bet. Superspeed, check..."

"Hey!"

And Lex's laugh this time is broad, rich, wide open as Clark feels. "God,
Clark, just give *up*. Or don't. Ve haf vays of making you tok."

"Dirty sex ways? Because I'm betting you could probably make me talk
really fast if you just. Um. Kept looking at me just like that, actually."

Easy grin. "C'mere, you dirty stinking liar. I want to sleep with you."

"I thought --"

"No, actual sleep. For about..." A quick glance at the clock, then back
at Clark. "Three hours?"

"Oh. I... oh." Hand on his face, and the kiss this time is slow and soft
and so full of promises that Clark has to grab Lex again, clutch him to
him and try to answer in the only way he knows how. "I can do sleep,"
he says, when Lex breaks the kiss.

"Good. Because, you know, I really *wasn't* planning any big seduction
scenes tonight."

"I'd think those involve more leather, anyway."

"I really think I need to hear more about your fantasy life, Clark."

"Um..."

Lex chuckles and strokes his hair. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you before you
have to go home."

Clark yawns and settles half on top of Lex, grinning to himself at the
surprised little 'oof.' He can take it. "Okay."

And he wonders, vaguely, what kind of dreams he'll have *now*, what
with the flying and the sex, but he's not especially worried about it.
Maybe he'll dream up a way to make all of this as Not Terrifying tomorrow
as it is right now.

He's willing to be creative with his superpowers, if necessary.

End.