Disclaimers: No one here is mine, and I hate that.

Spoilers: Vague ones up through season two.

Summary: Cliches are fun!

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: For Rivka T's Cliche challenge.

Acknowledgments: To Sarah and Jane for audiencing, and
even more love to Jane for inadvertently causing the last one
to happen.

Feedback is loved. teland793@sbcglobal.net

*
he blinded me with science
*

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing he had
ever done.

Meteor rocks being what they were and all, but there
was *important scientific*... stuff to be learned. And
since he wasn't *about* to go up to Lex and be, like,
"put me on a slab, buddy!" this was the best way to
go about it.

And who else could it be but Pete?

Pete, at least, wouldn't ever hurt him, and he had
some good questions. Like, what *exactly* the meteor
rocks did, and how much it took to do it, and hey,
what would happen if we put one in the corner of the
barn, sat up in the loft, and drank some of my dad's
whiskey?

And, okay, so maybe Pete didn't really need to help
him with the bottle. After all, they kind of already
knew what would happen if *Pete* finished off half
a bottle of Jack Daniels (or did a keg-stand after a
football game), and Clark was pretty sure that Pete
wasn't taking notes anymore, and wow, was his head
spinning.

Only in a good way. The whiskey made him all warm
and sweaty and giggly --

"Wow, Clark, you look like an *idiot*!"

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing a shoe on my head!"

And how had that happened, anyway? And wasn't that
*his* shoe? And wow, Pete's head sure was round.

But, yeah, he couldn't even really *feel* the meteor
rocks anymore. Or, at least, he didn't think he could.
Was he supposed to be all... woobily? Wobbly. Woozy.
Stuff.

Clark took another drink, and leaned back against the
couch. And then hit the floor and remembered that he
wasn't, technically, on the couch at all.

It didn't hurt, but there was this nice, meaty thump, like
the kind he imagined when he was thinking about
tossing football players.

And then his shoe hit him on the head.

"Ow," he said, and started snickering.

"Hey, are you all right, man?" Pete was leaning down
over him, and his eyes were even rounder than his
 head. One of them really needed to stop moving. Or
the world did.

"Why aren't you on the floor?"

Pete blinked at him, and looked really thoughtful for a
minute.

Clark decided to leave him to it, and carefully worked
the bottle -- which was still, thankfully, in his hand --
up to his mouth. There was something very important,
physics-wise, involving being flat on your back and
how it made drinking tricky.

"Hey, watch it, you're gonna spill it!"

And Clark remembered that he was on the floor and
Pete wasn't, and thus Pete was *dangerously* far
away from the bottle. Clark reached up and yanked
him down, and now Pete was on top of him, which
would make drinking even trickier, but at least they
were on the same place. In. Near. Planes.

Yeah.

Clark giggled some more and nudged Pete's
surprise-slack mouth with the bottle.

"Your turn!" he said, and this was very important.

Pete blinked and did a very neat move that involved
grabbing the bottle, rolling sideways off Clark, and
drinking. Well, okay, the move was spoiled a bit by the
fact that much of the whiskey missed his mouth, but it
was still pretty cool.

"My turn!"

Pete laughed, and then got kind of a weird look on his
face, but dude, he had to understand that in order for
Clark to execute the move, *he* had to get on top of
Pete. "Jesus, you weigh a ton!"

Clark nodded in agreement. He did, in fact, weigh a ton.
Lots of tons even. In that way where he actually didn't,
but was just kind of big-boned. He grabbed the bottle
and rolled, and -- yes!

Whiskey in his mouth. And his hair. And kind of all over
his face. Ewww. Clark wiped his face with his hand, and
then stared at all the drops running over his fingers and
down his wrists. That probably wasn't much neater, so
he very carefully and thoroughly licked his hand.

He tasted like salt and alcohol, which was kinda cool. And
he was just about to share this revelation with Pete --
and where was the notepad anyway? -- but Pete was
giving him another weird look and he forgot what he
was going to say. Because it was kind of a *Lex* look,
in a way he couldn't really define beyond thinking
"hey, that's a Lex look! On Pete!"

He suspected his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders.

More than that, he suspected that it was Pete's turn.
"It's your turn," he said, and hauled Pete on top of him
again.

And, okay, he was pretty sure that alcohol didn't sap
your powers, but it sure was harder to move Pete than
he thought it would be, especially when Pete was still
giving him that Lex look and kind of licking his lips like
he had whiskey there.

He jabbed the bottle at Pete's mouth helpfully.

"Man, I don't know if we should drink anymore."

And that was just wrong. "But it's research! And stuff!"

And Pete blinked, and looked really thoughtful for a
really long time, and Clark noticed that his eyebrows
were really neat and smooth, and wondered how you
went about complimenting people's eyebrows and
decided that Pete probably already knew. About his
eyebrows.

And that was really cool, because people *should* know
that they had nice eyebrows, so Clark grinned.

And Pete grinned back, and took a long swallow and then
rolled them *both* over and the bottle went spinning off
and they went spinning off and the top of Clark's *head*
went spinning off, because Pete's leg was between his own
and that...

Really felt kinda good.

He thought he would maybe like a minute to be thoughtful
about that, like Pete, but mostly he decided that he really
needed to tickle Pete. Because, man, Pete was *really*
ticklish, and giggled and screamed like a little girl. Which
made *Clark* giggle, because, hey -- he bet he could
make Pete scream even *more* if he took off his shirt.

Except that when he took off his shirt Pete gave him an
even *weirder* look, and Clark remembered that he was
supposed to take off *Pete's* shirt. "Oops."

"You are *so* drunk."

"Am... yeah, I am."

And then they rolled around some more, and Clark worked
at getting Pete's leg back where it had been, and Pete did
his damnedest to tickle Clark, but it didn't work until he
started fooling with Clark's navel, and then it didn't so
much tickle as --

"Ohh..."

"Clark?"

Clark rocked his hips a little and *there* was Pete's leg
and --

"Clark!"

"No, dude, you gotta --" And then Clark moved *his*
leg --

"*Ohh*..."

"Yeah."

And then there was just a lot of moving around, though
less rolling and much less tickling and --

"Mm --"

"Dude --"

"Oh *yeah* --"

Pants were really difficult all of a sudden. And bad. All of
a sudden. Clark yanked at Pete's, and Pete yanked at
Clark's, and the zippers sounded *really* loud and there
was a moment when Clark thought something very
similar to "the *hell*?" but it floated away on the Grand
Whiskey Sea because Pete's *hand*.

Was right *there*.

And his hand. Was... there.

And they looked at each other, and Pete looked so surprised
that Clark had to grin, and Pete grinned back.

And then there wasn't any rolling around at all, so much as
a great deal of stroke and --

"Oh *man* --"

Squeeze and --

"Yeah, like that --"

*Flick* and there weren't many words at all, because Pete
had his eyes closed and his fist was just the hottest and
tightest and most non-Clark-fist thing *ever*, and the look
on Pete's face suggested that *Clark's* fist was pretty
non-Pete-like and he was warm all over -- warmer than
even the whiskey, and Pete's chest was all dark and shiny
with sweat and his lips were all shiny with spit and Clark
thought "I could kiss that mouth" and he heard himself
make the most embarrassing sound *ever* and he came
all over Pete's hand and jerked Pete faster.

Because he wanted to hear the ridiculous sound Pete made,
only it wasn't really ridiculous at all. Kind of a growl and
a curse and a purr and Clark's dick twitched and Pete came
and fell off to the side.

Clark blinked.

Pete shuddered.

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"Uh...."

"Yeah."

Clark wondered if this was going in the notebook.

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"This is so not going in the notebook."

*
games people play
*

"Truth or dare, Bruce."

Bruce looked up from his chemistry textbook. "What?"

Lex grinned at him. It was a really *telling* grin. It was
that "let's go out and piss off my father" grin, which was
very similar to the "why do you own a bulletproof vest"
grin, but not quite the same. "Truth or dare."

Bruce wondered what showed on his face, but suspected
it was just one of those really annoying times when Lex
had him stuck between embarrassed and confused,
which happened often enough that *that* grin made
Bruce want to smack Lex. He looked back at his book.
"You said that already."

"But you didn't *answer*."

And now Lex was using *that* voice, which was the "you're
no fun" voice, and very similar to the "I've been drinking
for seventeen straight hours" voice, but not quite the
same. "It was a question?"

"Oh, don't tell me you've never played Truth or Dare
before, I won't... okay, I'll believe you, but that's... really
wrong. And sad. Do you at least know what Truth or
Dare *is*?"

Bruce thought about it. "Is it a game designed to
embarrass someone into sharing too much personal
information?"

"Well... there's also the booze component, but you're
pretty much on the money, I'd have to say."

Bruce nodded. "Not interested."

"I'll be your best friend..."

That was *definitely* the "I've been drinking for seventeen
straight hours" voice, and Bruce gave Lex a searching look.
He was kneeling up on the couch, grinning at him over the
arm and not -- quite -- bouncing. He thought back over
the past several hours. Polo practice, classes, staying up
all night making illegal fireworks (and just a few other
things, just for him. For... his hobby.) No drinking. Still...
"Have you been drinking?"

Lex grinned at him and whipped out a flask from seemingly
nowhere. Probably the base of his spine.

Bruce shook his head. "I can't believe you played polo
drunk."

"I didn't. I played polo *tipsy*. There's a small but very
important difference, Bruce."

"It would explain the quality of your game."

But Lex didn't rise to the bait. Just gave him *another*
grin. The "I'm going to get you" grin, which looked very
nice and right on his face, if not for the lack of subtlety.
"Truth or dare."

"We have a test --"

"Which we'll both get As on. Unless we study, in which
case Professor Carlton will simply come all over our
papers before giving them back."

Bruce wrinkled his mouth. "That's pretty gross."

A mocking bow. "Truth or dare."

He sighed. "Fine. Dare."

"Mmm." Lex leaned back and back until he fell down,
throwing his bare feet over the arm of the couch and
waving his toes at Bruce. He couldn't see his face. "I
dare you to stop studying."

"I'm not studying. I'm talking to *you*."

Another foot-wiggle. "Close the book and come over
here."

"Lex --"

"Or you have to take a drink."

"That wasn't in the rules."

"Oh, it really was. Shame on you for not asking, Bruce."

"I..." There was a reason for putting up with this.
Something about enjoying Lex's company. Something
about how Lex didn't look at him like everyone else did,
except when he did, and then it was only the way the
girls looked at him. Maybe he could talk Lex into a spar
and beat the crap out of him. "If I take the drink can I
keep studying?"

"Hmm..." Lex bent his long, queerly elegant toes one by
one. "No, I think not."

Bruce gave up and walked over to the couch, bending
Lex's legs up until he could sit down.

Lex promptly crossed his legs over Bruce's lap and
grinned at him. "Good boy."

"We're playing one of my games next."

And Lex gave him a look, which was probably the exact
same look as "do that again. no, that thing with the towel,"
and Bruce wondered if things would be different if he
knew any girls who looked at him like that. "Sure."

Probably not.

"Your turn."

Bruce leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling.
"Truth or dare."

"Hmmm... truth, I think."

And... damn. What the hell did he actually *want* to
know about Lex that he didn't already, or that wouldn't
lead to the kind of conversation he just didn't want to
have?

"You can ask me anything. One time offer."

Except that it wasn't, because Lex really talked a *lot*.
Especially when he was drunk, which also happened a
lot. Sometimes Bruce thought they were friends because
Lex knew Bruce would never share the secrets. Or think
about them too deeply. "Um."

Lex used his toes to knead Bruce's thigh like a cat, and
Bruce hated to make assumptions or uneducated guesses,
but he thought he could guess what sort of question Lex
wanted him to ask.

Right. Well, he could get this over with. "Who are you
screwing these days?"

"You don't already *know*?"

Bruce grinned despite himself. "Surprise me."

Lex snorted. "Okay. Professor Dean-Whitely --"

"I knew that."

"Freak. Jessica Byerly --"

"I knew that, too."

"*Amber* Byerly --"

"I was there, remember?"

"Yeah, but you left, and missed it when Consuela joined
in."

"Consuela? The cook?"

"Mmm. Yeah."

Bruce shook his head. He didn't really approve of that
sort of thing. It was one thing when it was their
schoolmates, or even the teachers, but...

"Stop that."

Bruce grunted non-committally. "Anyone else?"

He thought he could *feel* Lex's eyes rolling. "My
social calendar has been lacking lately. Truth or dare."

"Dare."

"God, you're predictable. Take off your shirt."

And you're not? But he didn't say it. Just unbuttoned
his shirt and shrugged it off, tossing it at the chair and
his books. "Truth or dare, Lex."

Lex ran his foot down the center of Bruce's chest.
"Truth."

"Why..." And that was... well. He *did* want to know,
even he didn't want to want it. "Why do you want to
have sex with me?"

"You're assuming I don't just enjoy flirting."

Bruce felt his mouth twist. "I *know* you like to flirt, Lex,
but --"

"Can't I just have an appreciation for your fine, manly
form?"

Bruce stared at Lex, and there was the teasing look, the
"ooh, it's so fun to mess with your mind" look, but it was
plastered over a different look entirely. "Your game, Lex."

And then it was the look the rest of the school -- probably
the rest of the world -- got. Blank and shuttered and more
obvious than Lex probably wanted to know about. Lex
sat up and moved in close, blue-grey eyes flicking once
over Bruce's face before just staring into his own.

Bruce didn't look away.

"You really want to know?"

He nodded.

"Because I want to see you lose it, Bruce. Really lose it.
Not like when you're pretending to be drunk, or pretending
to give a shit whether we win or lose at polo. But
something... else. And I know you know what I mean."

Bruce forced himself not to swallow, not to shift. "You
think you can make that happen?"

Lex looked down at his mouth and smiled. "Not your turn
anymore, Bruce. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Kiss me. On the mouth. A --"

Bruce kissed him before he could say anything else. And
the angle was awkward and Lex's teeth cut his lip and it
should've been terrible and messy, but shoulds like that
didn't factor in Lex, who twisted himself into a loose
straddle of Bruce's lap and licked his way into Bruce's
mouth and...

It didn't feel like a kiss anymore. It felt like being tasted,
or maybe just teased. He opened his eyes and found
Lex's eyes open, too, and that wasn't the right way to
kiss, either, but it was good to be able to stare at him
while he was teasing.

To see that it *was* teasing, that those eyes were just
as bright and hard as new coins, because it wouldn't do
to forget that, to forget who Lex was just because he
was sucking on Bruce's tongue.

And then it was over, and Bruce wasn't sure if he'd done
the right thing by keeping his hands at his sides. Wasn't
sure what message that sent, if any.

"Truth or dare, Lex."

A brief, low laugh, and they were close enough that Bruce
could feel it as much as he heard it. "Truth."

There were a lot of things he could ask, that he wanted
to *know*, but all of them said too much about him.
Gave away too much. "What would you do if we had
sex?"

Glitter on the surface of Lex's eyes. Let me show you,
it said. That's not what you wanted to ask, it said even
more than that, and they were too close. Bruce could
just be being paranoid -- he knew he was prone to it --
but... Lex.

Was exactly as smart as he thought he was, when he
put his mind to it.

"I'd kiss you again. I'd kiss you... for a really long time.
You have a nice mouth. And I'd find every spot on your
body that you liked having touched. I'd suck you off. I'd
find a way to make you moan. But that's..." Lex shook
his head. Licked the scar on his upper lip. "I'd fuck you.
Hard. Not because I wanted to, or had some big plan. I
don't even know if you'd like it that way. But I know
what I like. I know what I'd *need* to do if I got you
naked. Does that answer your question?"

And it was... everything in Lex's voice, in the way he
was looking at him, just made it really *obvious* that
Bruce didn't just have his shirt off and have Lex on his
lap. He was half-naked, and Lex was *on* him. The
difference was crucial.

Bruce couldn't stop himself from looking, really looking.
Lex's shirt unbuttoned enough to show his collarbone,
and the lack of hair on his chest. The speed of the
man's breathing, the heat of his palms on Bruce's chest.

"Yes," Bruce said, and wasn't really sure what question
he was answering.

"Truth or --"

He pushed Lex off as gently as he could manage, noting
the flash of heat in his eyes that had nothing to do with
sex. "I'm done with this, Lex."

Lex ran his tongue over his teeth and just looked at him
for long moments before nodding. And then he rolled off
the couch into an easy stance. Watched Bruce while he
adjusted himself in his pants. Threw his backpack over
his shoulder and smiled, false and sharp. "I'll see you
around."

And Lex walked out.

Bruce took a breath and went back to his books.

Wondered, not quite idly, when they would get to *his*
game.

*
the great escape
*

Lex couldn't say he was *terribly* upset about the
situation.

Granted, he was trussed up like a bull on the wrong
side of a rodeo clown, moderately bruised, and trapped
in the trunk of a domestic vehicle, but hey, so was
Clark.

And even though it was dark... Lex didn't need light to
enjoy the situation. His head was about two inches
from Clark's sweet, innocent, farmboy crotch. Clark's
head was complementarily placed.

He hadn't had *this* fantasy more than seven or eight
hundred times, oh no, not at all. He chuckled to himself.

"You're taking this really well," Clark said.

Lex shifted so the boy could breathe a little harder on
him. "Oh, I don't know. Good company, fairly large
trunk... it could be worse."

Clark snickered -- yes -- breathily. "Yeah, because it
would be so much worse to be stuck in the trunk of
your Porsche."

"Spoken like a man who's never been *in* the trunk
of a Porsche."

"I... no, never mind, I don't want to know."

"Smart boy."

Clark shifted in the cramped dark, bumping Lex in
the head. Froze.

"Sorry."

"Clark, I think we can neglect the social niceties just
this once."

"I don't know, Lex. My mom says that the best people
manage to be polite in *any* situation."

A sudden, not-as-awful-as-it-should-have-been image
of Jonathan and Martha please-ing and thank-you-ing
through sex made him shudder.

"Are you okay? Well, okay, I know you're not okay,
but --"

"I'm fine Clark, really. Of course, I'd be even better if
we weren't being carted off to certain death, but hey,
I've always felt that it's important to accentuate the
positive."

"Large trunk..."

"And good company, yes."

Clark laughed again, and moved some more. Lex tried
to keep his thoughts clean, and then gave up on it
entirely.

"You wouldn't happen to be an escape artist, would
you?"

"Lex, I think Houdini was cool and all, but I couldn't
even make an egg disappear when I had a magic set."

"Hmm." And of course, there was no possible way Clark
would have a timely adrenaline surge and save them
both while Lex was inconveniently conscious. Lex bit
the inside of his cheek, abruptly unsure whether he
wanted to laugh or scream.

Because, really, nearly three years of friendship in the
barrel, and Lex was pretty sure the only way he'd ever
get Clark to spill was to... no, he was *absolutely* sure
Clark never would.

There were two appropriately hulking goons driving them
to God knew where after beating them up and dropping
them in a trunk, and Clark was just going to *let* them.
Clark *was* letting them.

Ah, well. Maybe he could provoke one of them into
knocking him unconscious so Clark could save the day.

Maybe he could close his eyes really tight and *wish*.

Maybe he could --

"Lex?"

"Hm?"

"Oh, nothing. You were just... kind of quiet for a minute
there."

And he didn't, *really* didn't want to say it. They were
doing so well. They were moving along, coping with
their lives and their love-lives and the town lives and
this was as close as he was *ever* going to get to
sucking Clark off and *fuck* it. "I was just wondering
what would happen if I were unconscious."

"What...? Jeez, Lex, don't even *say* that! The last thing
you need is another concussion."

"I... hell."

"What?"

Don't do that, he didn't say. Don't start being this sweet
and caring *thing* who's worried about my brain health.
Don't. He sighed, wanting to go back to the place where
he could appreciate the way Clark shifted. Pretend his
warm breath had something to do with it. "Nothing,
Clark."

"No, really, Lex, you don't sound good."

"Clark --"

"In fact, I think you might be starting to hallucinate."

"The *hell*?"

"Yeah. You're raving, and you're all... bruised and stuff.
And I bet you think the back of this car just flew right off,
don't you?"

"Wha --" And suddenly Lex was staring at Clark's crotch.
Well, he hadn't stopped, really, but now there was *light*,
and *sky*, and *road* rushing past in the background
and the ropes around Clark just weren't there anymore
and --

"Don't worry, Lex!" Clark was yelling against the sound of
the wind. "I'm sure the hallucinations will pass!"

"Clark, what are you -- GAH!"

And then they were flying out of the back of the car, Clark
shielding him with his body, his large, warm --

"*Ow."

Hitting the ground hurt. A lot. Rolling hurt more. The bullets
would probably hurt even more than that, if Clark hadn't
picked him up and starting running. Really, *really* fast.

"Clark --"

"What's that, Lex? You think I'm outrunning bullets? Wow,
you probably *already* have a concussion!"

At least, that's what Lex *thought* he said, which was a
tough call considering the rush of the wind.

And then they were in what Kansas called a forest, which
wasn't all that impressive, but still looked a *lot* like the
speeder scene in Star Wars and he was thinking about
*Star* Wars and holy shit *tree* --

When Lex opened his eyes again, the forest was
somewhere beyond the broad expanse of Clark's chest and
they were in a field.

A blink and they were back on the highway.

Another blink and Lex was pretty sure he could see
Metropolis in the rapidly approaching distance.

Another and they were... at the farm.

Oh, of *course*.

Clark yanked the ropes off and set him on his feet gently,
ruddy-cheeked and panting -- a little.

"We..."

"Don't -- don't talk, Lex. We need to get you to a doctor
*fast*."

"Why, for the *windburn*?"

Clark smiled sheepishly. "They can really sting?"

"I... what..." Lex shook his head. The windburn really did
sting. Tried again. "Okay, Clark, tell me *why*."

Clark looked uncomfortable. And then he looked like he
was considering knocking Lex unconscious. And then he
squinted really hard for a minute and looked like he
thought better of it.

"Clark...?"

"I... didn't want you to get hurt. Um. More. Lex -- Lex,
you had to know I *couldn't*, right?"

And for a moment, Lex wanted to say he knew no such
thing. He wanted to point out that ropes *chafed*, and
that being knocked around by kidnappers was no fun
at all, and that it had been three *years*, and that Clark
could kiss his ass. But the moment passed, and Lex
sighed, scrubbing a hand over his scalp and wincing at
the sting. "I... okay, Clark. Just... okay."

And the look of hope on Clark's face should've been
illegal in all fifty states. "Yeah?"

Lex nodded. Looked at Clark.

Clark looked back, grinning and rocking on his heels like
he hadn't just run for a hundred miles.

Lex grabbed Clark by his shirt and yanked him in close,
kissing him hard enough that it almost wasn't sexy at all.
And then it was, because Clark's muffled noise of
surprise turned into something else entirely, and Clark
was holding his shoulders with shaking hands and Clark
was licking his tongue and Lex bit Clark's lip and pulled
away.

Dusted off his clothes with movements he knew were
jerky and graceless until he could make his brain work
again.

"Lex...?"

"You have to know I *couldn't*, right?" And it came out
about half as hard as he wanted it to, and about twice
as -- god help him -- meaningful, and Clark made
another one of those wonderful, awful, damning noises
and leaned into him like a sunflower.

"Lex. I... I want..."

And it was the work of a moment to shove Clark to the
dirt. Another to drop to his knees over him, on him, and
no work at all to kiss the shock off that too-pretty face
and rip the ugly plaid shirt open and get his hands on
*skin*. Under the t-shirt and it wasn't a kiss so much as
an angry nuzzle.

Lex was rubbing himself raw on Clark's stubble and Clark
was pushing his hips up and Lex caught a nipple and
pinched it as hard as he could and Clark made *another*
noise and the sun beat down on his head and working
his hips was necessary, beautiful.

Beautiful to feel this, to look up at that cheerful little
farmhouse and wonder if anyone was going to come out
and see this. Shoot him dead or yell and Lex knew he
wouldn't stop for anything short of buckshot to the
brain. Not with Clark's hands on his hips, not with Clark
pulling him in and getting them closer and --

"Oh Jesus, Lex --"

"Shut *up*." And he didn't mean that at all, not in the
least, but that was okay because Clark wasn't listening
to him. Clark was rolling them over and keeping his
head from hitting the ground in a move too fast for
anything like humanity.

Clark was opening his pants and opening *his* pants
and the denim scratched and burned and didn't matter
remotely because Clark's cock was hard and leaking.
Getting them both wet, getting them both *off*, and
Clark kissed him again.

Messy, wet, so hot, so fucking hot, and it kept going,
kept moving, burning him up and rubbing him raw and
Lex couldn't breathe and couldn't stop himself from
coming.

"Oh *fuck*, Lex, I can't --"

Opened his eyes just in time to see Clark jerking himself
off fast and hard, teeth gritted. Flushed right down to
his chest, working and working, other hand sliding in
the mess on Lex's belly, painting him, *finger* painting
him and Lex couldn't have looked away if he tried.

"Have to -- oh god --"

And Clark came all over both of them, shaking like a
body-specific earthquake and gasping. And then he
half-fell, half-cuddled his way onto and over and partially
around Lex, pushing his face against Lex's neck and
apparently unconcerned about being mostly naked in
his own dooryard.

"Lex... mm."

"Comfy?"

"Better than the trunk."

"I don't know, you had your head in a very interesting
place in the trunk."

Clark leaned up and looked at him like he was high. "You
were thinking about this in the *trunk*?"

"Well, look, I know you were having a deep, existential
crisis about honesty and your freaking *superpowers*
in the trunk, but I was *bored* and trying to focus on
anything but imminent *death*."

Clark gave every impression of thinking this over before
snuggling back into him again.

"You think I'm a pervert, don't you?"

Lex could feel Clark's smile against his skin. "Nah, I'm
just pretty sure you have a concussion."

"I hate you with the passion of a thousand fiery suns."

Clark squeezed him. "Okay."

*
fever when you kiss me
*

Clark was really pissed with his Dad. Well, not his *real*
Dad, but his alien dad. Biological -- don't think about
biology don't think -- dad. Because all that stuff about
 ruling the world was cool and all, and he was definitely
going to give it some thought, but you think he could've
*mentioned* just a little more about, oh, maybe, his
Kryptonian biology?

Because it was bad enough to set fire to things whenever
he got -- and he wasn't going to think about that, either.

To be honest, he didn't want to think about *anything*.
Especially not what he'd spent the past three weeks
doing (and doing and doing), but thinking had to happen,
and it seemed pretty safe to be pissed off and thinking,
because then he wasn't...

Oh, hell.

Oh *fuck*, even, because he wasn't fooling anyone,
least of all himself.

Because it was all well and good to have superpowers
that let him help people and stuff, but he thought it
would've been *nice* if his Dad mentioned the whole
"turn seventeen and want to have sex with everyone in
the known universe" thing.

Oh, sure, it started *out* okay, and even was fairly
manageable. Chloe and Lana lived in the same house,
and Chloe's Dad worked a lot of hours, and once
they'd talked about it and they'd sniffed him a bit, it had
all worked out fine.

Really, really fine with Lana's hair brushing him all
over and Chloe's mouth going all those great places
and hot and wet and tight and Chloe had looked *so*
good bouncing on him like that and it had been even
better when Lana had straddled his face and Jesus yes,
that was great. That was fine.

Why, he'd go over there right now if they hadn't nailed all
that wood up to the door and surrounded the house with
meteor rocks.

Girls got sore.

*Humans* got sore.

Humans, with their legs and their breasts and their mouths
and --

Thank God masturbation still worked. Granted, it didn't
work all that well, and it had been really embarrassing
when he had to do it in the showers and all the guys
had looked at him funny.

But then they had looked at him even funnier, like there
was a really good... *something* in the air, and okay,
maybe Dad could have mentioned the bisexuality thing
in between the whole take over the world thing, but
really, he was a well-adjusted kid. He could handle what
life threw at him.

Even when -- especially when -- it was most of a football
team.

Pete with his eyes all wide and his dick all hard and it had
been... really, really *shivery* to just get on his knees
and open wide and that Trevor guy had gotten behind
him and boys... had hard hands.

Big hands.

*Good* hands, hands all over him and after a while he
didn't know who belonged to which set anymore, and he
couldn't think because they were *doing* things, all
kinds of things, for, like, *hours*.

But it was really kind of creepy when they were all passed
out on the floor like that, and he thought Paul maybe
would've drowned if he hadn't turned the showers off.

Still, though, it had been a lot of fun, and Pete had all
those brothers, and then there was Mrs. Billings in the
teacher's lounge, and Mr. Jackson, and Miss Carlton with
those flowery panties and the gardenia perfume and up
against the wall and... yeah.

School was fun for a while.

But people had started calling in sick and Clark was so
*hungry*.

And there was a little distraction in there, some nice
meteor mutants to play with, and the frog-girl's tongue
was a memory he would treasure for a long, long time,
not to mention that weird old guy with the six extra arms,
but the frog-girl had to go back to the lake and the old
guy had a heart attack and it was *meteor* mutants, so
of course, of *course* it all led back to the castle.

Because sooner or later, a meteor mutant had to either
try to kill a Luthor or stalk Lana or both, or they lost
their powers or something. It was a thing.

So here he was, bent over Lex's pool table, and it wasn't
his *fault*, even.

He'd had to knock that weird blob thing unconscious
before it would leave Lionel alone, and he didn't think it
even *had* any interesting holes, even if it wanted him.
Stupid mutants. Stupid Lionel with his hair all wavy and
his nostrils flaring and those cool sunglasses that he
didn't even *need*, the big faker and that *look* on his
face and who knew Dads carried lube in their jacket
pockets?

Maybe it was a Luthor thing.

He really *hoped* it was a Luthor thing, because even
though Lionel was fucking him so hard he could see
stars, even though he was yanking Clark's hair and
saying all those nasty, great things, Clark had already
blown him twice and he didn't think all the shaking was
from lust.

"Fucking *Christ* --"

And Lionel came so hard he didn't so much stop moving
as... fall off.

Clark sighed and prodded the man with his toe --
gently -- but it didn't look like he was going anywhere.
He brought himself off, eyed Lionel's shrinking dick
longingly, and sighed some more.

Tucked Lionel away. Patted him.

Shook him a little. Sighed again.

"Clark...? Jesus, what happened to my Dad?"

Clark jumped up and tried to look innocent. "He's not
dead! See, he's breathing and everything!"

Lex looked down at his father. Looked at Clark. Looked
at Clark *really* hard.

Clark licked his lips. Lex was in one of the purple shirts.
One of the *silk* shirts that clung here and hung loosely
there and... yeah.

"Uh... Clark?"

"Lex, you once said something about never getting sick.
Does that apply to, you know, your stamina?"

"My stamina? Clark, what are you --"

Clark got within sniffing distance.

"Oh. *Oh*."

Clark pounced, and, okay, Lex's father was right there,
and that was kind of creepy, but he was mostly
unconscious and Lex didn't seem to mind.

Lex was sucking on his neck and clawing at his chest and
humping and oh *yeah*.

Clark shoved Lionel under the pool table.

If all else failed, he could always run to Metropolis.

*
the whores hustle and the hustlers whore
*

Chloe didn't do this often.

It was... well, it was really fucking shady, and sick, and
dangerous, and a lot of other icky things.

But it was also... really fucking hot.

Rolling down the streets, the kind of neighborhoods her
Dad always tried to keep her away from when she was
growing up, when she was Daddy's girl and everything
was possible.

The kind of neighborhoods where *stories* happened,
and that was the excuse.

Well, that was the excuse when she started out. The
Planet had her officially covering gardening shows and
society marriages and other useless crap, but she'd
never been passive. She knew the only way to move
up the ranks and get herself a byline would be to go
out and *find* the news.

And so she drove through the bad neighborhoods, and
sat in the dives and got hit on by skanky guys from a
fucking rainbow coalition of races and creeds. And she
still did, and sometimes she actually *got* good stories.

But that wasn't why she was out tonight.

Sure, if a good story came along she'd hold onto it with
both hands, but... but. She was driving slow. She wasn't
looking for anything but what she wanted.

And they knew her here. The ones that read had liked
her story about the way the cops took advantage. *Her*
story, even though it wasn't her name where it counted.
They smiled at her and walked right up to her car and
waved and pointed and make her feel even warmer than
she already was.

Made her feel -- a little -- guilty.

Some of them didn't know what she was really here for.
The ones that did know...

Chloe wanted to be the kind of journalist who didn't do
stuff like this, wanted to be the kind of woman where it
didn't matter that she was good, that she never really
hurt them... wanted to be the kind of *person* who
could never make distinctions like that.

But mostly, she wanted... that.

Her.

Obviously a new girl. High heels, short skirt, cheap little
baby t. Dark, shiny hair hiding her face the way only the
really old ones or the really inexperienced ones did.
Holding herself like she was cold, despite the heat.

She pulled up to the curb. "Need a ride?"

The girl jerked like Chloe'd goosed her, and looked up.
Wide eyes, strangely exotic features. She looked young,
but then Chloe was only in her twenties. Who really
knew? She walked over, tottering just a little on the
heels.

It was something between endearing and infuriating.
"Get in," she said, and the girl just looked at her for
long moments, searching her face for God only knew
what. Chloe popped the lock and pushed the passenger
door open, forcing the girl to totter back a few steps.

She wondered if she'd have to give the speech, but the
girl just slid right in and closed the door.

Fastened her seatbelt and folded her hands in her lap.

Chloe pulled back into traffic. "How much?"

"I. Um. I haven't --"

"Just tell me what your regular rates are."

"F-fifty. For. For oral. One hundred for all the way. Three
hundred for the whole night."

Chloe nodded and kept driving. She could feel the girl
looking at her. Knew her eyes would be big and dark and
bottomless if she looked over. She reached over and
grabbed the girl's small breast, not really surprised to
feel a bra under the t-shirt. Gratified at the small gasp.
"That'll be fine."

"I... are you... what do you want?"

Chloe rubbed until she could feel the girl's nipple get
hard and then squeezed. "I haven't decided yet," she
lied.

She kept her hand right where it was while she drove.

The All Nighter was just another skanky cheap motel, but
it was a little out of the way so it stayed reasonably clean.
Not too many raids.

She could hear the girl swallow when she paid for the
whole night, and Chloe smirked to herself. There was a
ghost of feeling in her right hand that held the shape
and warmth of the girl's breast. She walked to their
room quickly, enjoying the uneven click-clack-click of the girl
stumbling along behind her. Enjoying it more than she
wanted to think about.

Chloe tugged the girl into the room and stood her in front
of the bed. "Stay there," she said, and tossed herself onto
the bed. Rubbed herself through her work slacks and
watched the girl try to look everywhere but at her.

"What... um. What should I do?"

"What's your name?"

"La -- Lydia."

"Uh, huh. Strip, Lydia." Do it slow, she didn't say, and
regretted it a little, because the girl took her clothes off
like she was in a locker room.

But then... she didn't. Standing there in her heels and her
bra and staring down at herself. Blushing. God, that
was... it was wrong and it was dirty, the way it made
Chloe feel. But this was one of *those* nights, and
dammit, she was allowed.

"Leave the shoes on."

'Lydia' blushed even harder, the stain going right down to
the edges of her bra. Nodded and peeled out of her bra.
Shimmied out of her panties. Made an abortive move
toward the bed.

"That's right, come on. Crawl up here."

"Be... beside you?"

"On top of me. Straddle my thighs."

She nodded jerkily and crawled onto the bed. Eased
herself over Chloe. Chloe spread her legs wider so the
girl would have to do the same, and she nearly fell
over. Caught herself on the cheap headboard.

"Mm. Stay like that."

Chloe watched gooseflesh trail up the girl's body as
she touched her and felt her pussy seize up. Fuck,
she was wet, and she'd probably have to toss her
own underwear after this. Whatever, she had a job.

She cupped the girl's breasts, just testing their weight
for a few moments. The softness of the skin. Then she
played with her nipples, watching the girl's face. It
didn't take long for them to get hard, and she wanted
to see them, but...

Mmm.

The girl had her eyes squeezed shut and was biting her
lip. Blushing harder by the second, and she was maybe
even going to *cry*.

Chloe never thought she'd ever see anything like it in
Metropolis, but who knew? Maybe the girl was in from
farm country or something. Maybe it was her first
time.

She twisted both nipples at once and the girl made a
sound like a wounded crow.

"Hurts?"

"I... a little..."

Chloe did it again.

"*Please*..."

She still hadn't opened her eyes. "Please what?"

"Please don't do that so... so hard."

Chloe felt her pussy clench and bit back a groan.
Soothed the girl's nipples with her thumbs and wondered
what they'd feel like in her mouth. What they'd taste
like. "Want me to touch you someplace else, Lydia?"

"I... y-yes..."

Chloe shoved two fingers into her mouth, licked them
just enough to get them wet, and stroked her way into
the girl's pussy. Her little clit was easy to find, easier
when she started rubbing, and the girl made
encouraging sounds. Tiny sounds, almost *hurtful*
sounds, shaking her head until her hair was moving like
curtains in the wind. And yeah, that was something to
see, but Chloe wasn't here to get *her* off.

Up and into the girl's cunt and *fuck* she was tight.

She made an even better sound at the first stroke, and
shifted her legs for a better position. Chloe fucked
her fast and hard, watching her breasts bounce. Watching
her face.

"Open your eyes."

She didn't do it right away and Chloe used her free hand
to slap the girl's ass.

"I said, open your eyes."

The girl did it, a flash of anger and fear covered quickly
and badly in a show of obedience.

"Good girl. Keep them open."

Chloe didn't slow down, just kept pushing up and in,
shifting her fingers to find the spots that made the girl
wince, made her gasp and bite her lip. Pretty girl.
*So* pretty, and Chloe wanted to know what the hell
she was doing in this life, but most of all she just
wanted to keep doing this.

She used her free hand on the girl's clit, and that
was even better. She clenched around Chloe's finger
and mewled like a cat, moving her hips into it. Her
eyes glazed over while Chloe watched, and she knew
the girl was close. Hell, *she* was close.

She smiled up at her and stopped. Slid her hands out
of the girl's pussy. Gave it a goodbye rub and brought
her slick fingers up to the girl's mouth, open in a cute
little 'o' of surprise. "Suck them."

The girl did, brow furrowing at the taste. Chloe fucked
her mouth for a little while. Normally, she'd get the girl
to fuck her, or eat her out, but this one didn't look
good for much of anything but being used.

She took her fingers away. "Roll over. Get on your back."

"I... okay..."

Chloe crawled on top of her and straddled her knee.
"Bend it a little -- yeah, like that."

And Chloe rocked herself off, playing with the girl's tits.
Thought about offering her extra for the chance to
spank them, thought about the look on the girl's face.
Thought about the Lane woman at the Planet with her
manicured nails and manicured smile and long, long
legs leading up to nowhere Chloe would ever get and
pinched the girl's nipples until she jerked and mewled
again and came in her pants.

Closed her eyes and breathed through the small,
unsatisfying aftershocks.

"Are you... do you want --"

"Shut up."

Chloe crawled off the girl and dug in her purse for her
cigarettes. Lit one and watched the smoke curl up to
the stained ceiling. Watched the girl shift beside her,
all soft golden skin and discomfort.

She had her for the night.

She would make it count.

End.