Disclaimers: No one here is mine, except when I have those dreams
involving battery acid and network executives.

Spoilers: Nicodemus.

Summary: Pete doesn't really have a plan.

Ratings Note: NC-17

Author's Note: You don't really have to read "Thick" first, but it helps.

Acknowledgments: To my We, for patience and understanding and
nagging and such. To Livia, because she will *always* be a woobie in
my eyes, no matter how ancient she gets. *g*

Feedback is a gender-confused something-or-other's best friend:
teland793@sbcglobal.net

*

Pete remembers... enough.

Not how he wound up in the hospital, not why his right hand smelled
like gun smoke (though he has suspicions), and not why he had such
a *headache*.

But... none of that is as important as what he *does* remember.

A sense, more demanding than instinct, more pure than memory, that
somewhere in the midst of the haze there was *proof*.

Lex is just another Luthor, screwing over everyone in his path to get
what *he* wants. No idea of what it means to be a friend, and Pete's
damned if anyone can convince him that he gives a fuck about that.

Lex is...

And he never wanted to be his father, or even *sound* like his father,
but he understands now. More than ever. That look in his eyes when
the Luthors are in the paper, and the raw ugliness of the feeling
behind it.

Pete knows what he'll see in his own eyes if he looks in the mirror.

God, if he could just *remember* --

No. That's not important right now.

Everyone's better now, out of the hospital, and Pete's been back at
school for a few days now. This... this whole flower thing is over
now, and it's not like there won't be *another* incident.

That day at the plant... God, what they'd done to *Earl*. All
covered up by the day after, of course.

Pete slams his fist against his locker and winces at more than the
hurt. Too many people in the halls for this. To see this.

Luthors and their money and even if some tiny part of him wants to
remind him about how Lex had walked in, unarmed...

No. Something about fire and... books?

All part of the awful flood of emotion just beneath the surface of his
skin. Close enough to bleed right out and drown the world if he isn't
careful. He can't go there, even if he knew the way.

There's not much he *can* do, but...

There is something.

And it's nothing as organized as a plan, because if it was then he'd
have to admit... things he doesn't want to admit.

Because it's not like he's... *like* that, but...

Clark.

And it had taken the dreams to tell him what he already knew. The
way Lex looked at Clark like something he could own if he could just
figure out the price. The way Clark *let* him look like that, and
never did anything about it but smile.

Clark's the most oblivious guy he's ever met. Smart in all the ways
that'll get him into a good college and maybe out of Smallville
someday, but he has no idea.

If he can't notice the way Chloe, God, *Chloe* who does everything
but show up at his loft naked, how could he notice Lex?

Another thing he doesn't want to look at too closely, because he
*knows* it's not going to happen. Chloe's been in love with Clark
pretty much since her family *moved* here, and it's a personal
source of pride that Pete hasn't humiliated himself on that score
publicly.

Much.

But Lex doesn't seem to care who sees him looking at Clark in ways
Pete wouldn't dare to look at Chloe in public. Probably doesn't think
the Smallville hicks understand. Knows he could crush any one of
them if they got in his way.

The silence hits him all of a sudden, and Pete realizes he's been
standing in front of his locker for long enough that the halls are just
about empty. Everyone either at practice or afterschool activities or
just on the way home.

Checks his watch. He's still got a little while before the meeting he
set up with Clark by the boiler room.

Doesn't want to think about all the questions in Clark's eyes about
that. They should've been jokes. Clark had spent all day shooting
odd and God help him *concerned* looks at him, while Chloe looked
at them both like people keeping a secret just to *spite* her.

He loves that look on her face with something like idiot completion.
Something too big to really understand, but *true*. Chloe's always
on behind those wide eyes, always thinking, questioning... no one
could ever be bored with her.

No one with a brain.

He wants to believe that if Clark ever turned around and *saw* her
that he'd be okay with it, that he could be happy for them -- because
how could Clark *not* be happy with Chloe?

But... that's just another part of this.

Because Clark smiles at Lex and looks at him -- sometimes, only
sometimes -- like he doesn't mind Lex's looks at all.

Like he maybe *isn't* that oblivious. Knowing just enough to...
something.

Nasty, skittering thought: What if it's already too late?

Too easy to picture Lex showing off his damned castle (and Clark
spends so much *time* there), sharing expensive booze and
turning Clark, their Clark, *his* Clark, into that loose-limbed,
giggling, helpless *thing* from Pete's dreams.

And he knows what Lex would do with him.

Pete shakes it off as best he can. Because even if it *isn't* a
plan, then it's at least something he can do. Protection.

Clark, who is maybe three feet taller than him and able to push
people through doors, *needs* this. Or something like it. Just so
he'll know.

Pete thinks maybe things would work out better for more people
if they knew there were always other options. And if there's
something sliding somewhere beneath that thought, something
more than a little dark and scary, well...

Sometimes you had to make sacrifices for your friends.

To keep them safe.

Pete looks around carefully before pushing open the door to the
boiler room. The administration could never keep a lock on the
door, and he thinks maybe one day they'll just stop trying.

Install a condom dispenser and put up pictures of everybody's
parents or something.

Mildly cracked laugh that he barely manages to swallow, and he
has just enough time to notice that some of the dark is *darker*
than the rest before there's a hand on his shoulder.

"Jesus --"

"Sorry, Pete. The light's broken." And Clark squeezes his shoulder
once before moving his hand. He sounds sheepish.

"I'm too young to have a heart attack, man."

Soft laugh in the darkness, and Pete can hear Clark shifting around.
Sitting? That would be... that would be good.

Pete drops his own backpack, thinks for a second, then pushes it up
against the door. It won't keep anyone out, but they'll have some
warning, at least. "Where are you?"

Clark's hand on his wrist. Warm and huge as the rest of him and
Pete's heart stutters a little. Too young. Right. "Over here." Brief
tug and then Pete's sitting down next to Clark.

Not as much difference this way. Closeness he hadn't even had to
take for himself. Pete's sweating beneath his jacket, voice in his
head very close to screaming things he doesn't want to hear,
*can't* hear right now. Because this is what has to happen.

He won't let it be a question in his mind.

"... secret, Pete?"

Pete blinks, and it's like time just got away from him, because... it's
not like he can really dick around now that he's here, right? That
would... that would be too much like lying. So Pete just takes a
breath.

"Pete? Are you okay?"

And rests his hand on Clark's thigh.

Clark gasps, tenses under his hand. "What..."

Pete squeezes his eyes shut, forces himself not to move, snatch his
hand away, make this a joke. Because. Because this has to happen
because he's getting hard because it's so dark and he can't let
Clark... "We... we're friends, right?"

He can feel Clark relax a little beside him. "Pete, of *course* we're
friends. God, you don't still think... I mean... how much do you
remember? About that night?"

"Enough, Clark. And... I remember other things, too." Pete turns in
a little, guesses he's probably talking at Clark's neck, but he can't
look up. Can't open his eyes. "I *know* other things."

And Pete can practically *hear* Clark's face scrunching up in
confusion. It's like being punched with something massive and soft,
low in the gut. "What... what do you mean?"

"It's... it's..." Squeezes Clark's thigh in frustration and shudders
when he realizes what he's doing. So many damned *layers* to this,
and Pete wonders if he can spit this out. If he's ever going to *really*
know what he's doing. If it makes a difference.

"Pete, it's okay, man, you know you can tell me anything..."

Can help laughing at that, and not because it's particularly funny.
"Clark." Pete's voice breaks a little in the middle of his name, and
suddenly Clark is right there, braced over him, hands on his
shoulders without even *fumbling* and Jesus one day he's going to
have to ask him how he does that, but...

"You're scaring me a little here, Pete. C'mon, tell me..."

Pete fumbles enough for both of them, gets his arms up between
Clark's, his hands on Clark's face. He didn't mean to brush his mouth,
but he did, and it lets him know where it is.

"Pete...?"

"I've seen the way he looks at you, man..." Little shock that it comes
out without stutter or pause, not enough to stumble over.

"Who --"

"You *know* who. And you... you know why he looks at you like
that, right?"

Clark doesn't say anything, just shifts a little like he's about to pull
away. Pete tightens his hands on Clark's face. Holds on.

"You *know*, Clark, and he's... I know you think he's a great guy,
but Jesus, he's..."

"Pete." And there's a little heat in Clark's voice. A little anger. "All
he's done is try to help out this town, fix the messes his *father*
made --"

"He's *playing* you, man! He's playing *all* of us, and I don't
know how yet, but I know I saw..." (Book fire gun) "I saw
*something*, Clark, I swear..." His voice isn't steady anymore.

Clark's hand on his wrist, not tugging so much as squeezing.
"Pete, that flower had everyone *crazy*. How can you be sure?"

"I don't *know*! I just... I can *feel* it."

"You... you've been mad at the Luthors for a long time --"

"Yeah, nice of you to finally *notice* --"

"Pete, what...? How am I supposed to know things if you don't
*tell* me?"

Pete sighs a little. He wasn't going to *go* here. There's nothing
to do here. Bodies buried, everything pushed down so far that it
can't be found. "I... well, you know now, okay? I just don't want
you getting hurt."

He can feel Clark's smile in the dark. "Hey, I'm not completely
useless, Pete. I know how to keep my eyes open, okay?"

"Even when it comes to Lex?"

"... even then."

And it's not *much* of a pause, but... it's enough. "Clark..."

Another squeeze. "Christ, Pete! I mean, this is like asking me to
spy on you, or Chloe, or *Lana*!"

"None of us are Luthors, man --"

And Clark's gone from him, cold in his absence. Pete can hear him
pacing in the small room.

"Clark --"

"So we should all be judged by who we're related to? Is that it?
Because, you know, Nell's kind of a *bitch*, Pete. And what about
your grandmother? The one who keeps telling you to stay away
from 'them damned dirty crackers?'"

Pete can't hold in a snort. "Okay, but c'mon, Clark, you *know* us.
You *know* we're not like them --"

And Clark's back just like that, kneeling in front of him, hands on
Pete's knees. "Yeah, Pete, I *know* you. I got the *chance* to
know you, without everyone and their uncle telling me why I
shouldn't."

"But Clark --"

"God, Pete, why can't you... look, I've *seen* what kind of world
Lex comes from --"

"Right, exactly --"

" -- and ever since he *got* here he's been trying to become
something different, something *better* than what his father
wants him to be. Than what this whole *town* expects him to be."
Clark's squeezing his knees, and Pete doesn't need light to know
that Clark has that pleading look on his face.

And God, Clark always was a good judge of character, and he
never, never wants to not trust his friend -- *his* friend -- but...
fire.

"Pete, please. I just... I just want. Look, I know you have reason to
hate Lionel, but you can't even *remember* what happened that
night! Why can't you give him a chance?"

Pete shakes his head and Clark is squeezing hard enough to *hurt*
now. Pete grabs Clark's hands, or thinks he does. The next thing he
knows, Clark's holding his hands, fingers twined and Pete knows he
has about as much hope of breaking that grip as he does to grow
another foot. Something about the complete lack of tension... or
of *that* kind of tension. Hard to think and Clark is talking.

"... don't want to have to keep splitting my life up into all these
jagged little pieces, all of these spaces where I can be your friend
or Lex's friend, Lana's friend or Chloe's, my father's son or someone
with... with a *life* and and *fuck* I'm just so sick of this!"

And Clark is pulling back again and he sounds like he's about to *cry*
and Pete can't think of anything to do but reach out. Shakes his
hands free of Clark's and pulls him into an awkward, semi-upright hug.
Clark between his legs and Clark's face hot, breath humid against
Pete's neck.

Pete squeezes tighter and tries to get his mind to work because
this... this is nothing like anything he knows.

It's not as though he hasn't blown off the "jock-straps" for Chloe
a million times, as if she doesn't *know* he always would, but
Clark...

Curling, slippery sense, dark and low, that this is maybe something
he can give that Lex can't.

More than that -- that this is the opening he needs, and maybe the
only one he's going to get.

Slips one hand between them, just as Clark is starting to pull away
again. Rests it against Clark's chest.

He can feel Clark's rueful smile against his throat, a parting of lips
and the absent press of teeth. Pete gets his other hand on the back
of Clark's neck. Pets, strokes just a little.

"Chloe's gonna have her first school-wide exclusive if someone gets
a picture of this, man. We'd *never* be able to explain."

Pete takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah, well... maybe there's
nothing *to* explain...." Cups the back of Clark's neck, lets him pull
away just enough that they're face to face again.

"Pete?"

"You remember back in middle school? The substitute health teacher
that told us *everything* before the school board found out?" Pete
can just catch the gleam of Clark's grin in the dimness. He's not sure
how to feel about how easily Clark gets used to every bit of closeness,
every *touch* that Pete takes. Like... like this is something he could
do. Anytime.

"They fired her so fast... I thought my Dad would have a heart attack
when I told him what made the other parents so upset..."

"Oh, man, they made you *tell* them? I would've blushed so hard
you could *see* it --"

"Like I didn't?" Clark's big hand resting on his shoulder. Clark's smile
so close. "So, c'mon Pete. Give."

"Yeah... yeah. Well. Remember how she. Uh. Remember when Dustin
made that fag joke and the teacher went off on him, and, like, kept
us late for lunch giving this whole big speech and everything?"

"Yeah, she was *pissed*. I thought she was going to make Dustin
eat the blackboard erasers or something."

Pete snickers. "Well, she wouldn't be the first teacher, or, like,
*person* to want to..."

"Pete... is this... are you...?"

"No! I mean... I mean, I..." Well, damn. Had he really not expected
Clark to ask that?

"Aw, hey, Pete, I didn't mean... I mean, it's okay if you are, I'd
never..."

"*Clark*."

"Hunh? Oh. Yeah. Guess I'm not doing too well here?"

Another wash of rueful feeling, and really... it's hard to know these
things for everyone right? "No, it's not you. I just... I was
wondering."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. About you. Because... and don't get mad at me again, man,
but Lex wants your *ass*." And Clark *does* laugh, but that pause
tells Pete all he needs to know.

"Jesus, Pete, you don't even --"

"You know what I'm talking about, Clark. Everyone sees how he
looks at you."

"Look, just because he's not all... all hung *up* on things like --"

"Like the rest of us small-town hicks?" Pete's even voice is back
again, somehow.

"No!" Clark squeezes his shoulder, somehow manages to move
even closer. They're almost *tangled* together now. "God, are you
gonna cut me even a *little* slack here? I was gonna say like our
parents. Like whoever got that teacher fired, okay?"

Pete nods slowly. He knows that. He *knew* that. "I just... it's a
little hard to stay... open-minded when it comes to Lex. I don't want
him to take advantage of you, man."

"Ooookay. And you can stop talking about me like some kind of
blushing virgin *any* time now, Pete."

"Well, you *do* bat your lashes and -- ow!" Pete rubs the side of
his head where Clark's slapped him. "You *do*!"

"I do *not*!"

"Yeah, you just keep on believing that."

Smiling at each other, and Pete can feel Clark settling a little,
loose-limbed but still very much *there*. Not like the dreams. Clark...
It must be the dark, because Pete thinks he'd go crazy really fast if
he was always this *aware* of Clark. How damned big he is.

"Clark --"

"Pete, what if... oh, sorry. What were you going to say?"

"No, it wasn't anything important. Go ahead."

"Okay... uh. Yeah. What if... I mean, it's not like I'm... I mean.
*Shit*."

"What is it?" Pete takes a chance and rubs the back of Clark's neck.
Squeezes when he feels him shudder a little. He thinks he knows.

"What if I *do* know a little about Lex wants. What if... what if I
maybe possibly sort of might want it, too. Maybe. A little."

"Aw, *man* --" And Pete cuts himself off. Knows enough that his
first response isn't going to get him *anywhere*, and Clark's all
tensed up in front of him, around him... Jesus, so *big*. Would
probably be *behind* him if his back wasn't to the wall. "Look.
Look. You *know* I wouldn't... I wouldn't treat you any differently,
right? You're my best friend --"

"But it's Lex."

"It doesn't have to be."

Sharp, sudden gasp kicks off a long, heavy silence. Clark is still
tensed up, and Pete can't tell if he's looking at him or not.

"Clark?"

"Pete... you... what. What are you saying?"

Something like shock to realize his other hand is still pressed to
Clark's chest. Holding him back, maybe. Or just... touching him.
Splays his fingers out and presses a little harder, tightening his
hand on the back of Clark's neck to make sure he knows that Pete
isn't trying to push him away.

"Oh..."

Not a no, not yet, and it's funny the things your mind finds to hold
on to when you're going insane. Pete runs his hand down the
center of Clark's chest, frustrated more than he thought he *could*
be by the layers of clothing between them. Bites his lip hard and
tries, uselessly, to *see*.

Winds up fumbling at Clark's waist for the hem of his shirts,
brushing the fly of his jeans with a gasp of his own. Gets his hand
under and shit, why does Clark always wear so many layers? So
*warm*. Has to touch, stroke, barely aware of what he's doing
because some part of him isn't convinced that he's not burning, that
Clark's smooth skin will feel less like something desperately vital if
he just keeps touching.

Soft sound when his palm hits one small nipple and Pete's not sure
which of them made it.

Clark's hand squeezing his shoulder, Clark's other hand scrabbling
something like a code on the wall behind them and. Jesus.

Pete's hard again, too fast, too easily for anything like comfort and
Clark still isn't *stopping* him.

Takes a chance and pulls his other hand from around Clark's neck,
down under his shirts.

Both nipples between his fingers now, hard and. God, just *there*.

"Pete..."

"Yeah." And he knows he isn't answering the question. Knows there
*was* a question by the way Clark's shaking now. Turned on. Turned
*on* and he wanted this. This is *between* them now.

This is them. Right here.

Pete's going a little lost with it, a lot crazy. Pulls up Clark's shirts
enough to duck his head into the warm, blind cave of them. Messy-wet
mouth on Clark's chest and Clark is curling away now.

Stilling sudden and telling when Pete gets his mouth on one nipple.

Another, deeper shudder when Pete sucks (Chloe, Chloe's breasts look
so heavy and he wants to hold them), something like a moan when
Pete bites, just gently.

"Oh God. You're really -- *Pete* --"

Bites harder and twists and it's not that different from the time his
sister's friend Liz had let him do this. She'd liked biting, too. Twists
and bites at the same time and Clark's hands slide down his back,
slow and it feels a little helpless.

Like Clark *wants*.

Hands digging into the muscle there, fast and hard enough to make
Pete groan, and then they're gone again.

"Pete oh Jesus *Pete* --"

Twists one more time and keeps sucking and biting while he lets his
hand slide down Clark's chest again. Both hands on Clark's hips for a
moment and they're both sweating. It's so *hot*.

Pulls back just enough to lick, suck the salt from Clark's chest before
diving in again, lick his way to Clark's other nipple and mouth him
*there*. Clark's hands back on him again, pressing on his head
through the shirts, skittering down to Pete's hands like he doesn't
know what to do with them. Or any of this.

Small, dark twinge of guilt and victory. Lex hasn't done this, hasn't
touched him or made Clark feel like this or... anything. Catches
himself smiling against Clark's nipple and bites again.

"Oh God, Pete, I can't believe you're doing... you *want* this?"

His laugh is harsh to his own ears. "What does it *look* like, man?"
It isn't as honest as it could be, even though it is.

Clark's laugh isn't any better. "I didn't know... oh God, Pete, that
feels..." Broken off into a long, low moan when Pete catches Clark's
nipple *hard* between his teeth and flicks his tongue there again
and again.

And then Clark's pulling away, giving Pete just enough time for his
stomach to drop and his heart to rise before he realizes that Clark's
pulling his shirts off, flinging them into the distance.

Hands on Pete's face, pulling him up and the kiss is awkward.
Rough. He's had better -- *much* better, but Clark seems so
*determined*.

Like this is something that has to happen before anything else can.
Thick, wet tongue in Pete's mouth and he sucks before he realizes
he wants to, and if the kiss isn't any calmer, it is... better. Hotter.

Kisses.

Clark mumbling words things that half make sense --

"just had to --"

Clark's sucking his mouth and --

"so soft. Hard... kept *noticing* --"

Hauling Pete closer until he's half in Clark's lap and it's out of control,
barely enough time to breathe and the fear of getting caught is in
his *veins*, rushing and electric and no more ruthless than Clark's
hands --

"Pete... *fuck*, why didn't you --"

-- under his own sweater and touching him, holding him, almost
*lifting* him, and Pete's never felt this helpless in his life. Not at
the plant, not watching Chloe watch Clark, not *ever*. "Clark,
wait --"

"Wha...?" It freezes him immediately, and they're panting into each
other's mouths for long moments before Clark stiffens. Pulls back.
"Pete." There's something... off in Clark's voice.

"Sorry, man, I just needed to --"

"Pete. Why are you doing this?"

And the wire is ice, just like that. Pete swallows. "Uh... Clark? You
may have noticed that I've been hitting on you for, like, hours
here."

"Pete... you spend all this time warning me about Lex, and now
you're all over me --"

"Hey, I had some *help* here --"

" -- just like you haven't been in love with Chloe for as long as I've
*known* you --"

"This isn't *about* Chloe --"

"No. No, it's about Lex, right? Jesus, Pete... you... I can't *believe*
you! You'd... you'd have sex with me just to keep me away from
him?"

And something in the way Clark sounds so *betrayed*, so
incredulous, like... like protecting someone from Lex isn't something
 that needed to be done... Pete scrabbles until he catches Clark's
wrist.

"Pete, no -- Jesus --"

Presses Clark's hand against his crotch. "Does this feel like I'm
playing you, Clark? Like I'm doing this for... for..." And Pete swallows
against the bile in his throat because this feels familiar, too.

Familiar like everything he's come to regret, every time he hurt
someone. Every time he (lied) disappointed himself, but Clark...

They *need* this.

"Oh." Fingers curling slowly over Pete's erection through his jeans.
"Pete... you're hard."

And his laugh feels *awful*, but he can't hold it in. "Yeah, no
*shit*, Clark. You were... you were turning me on."

"I... oh, man, Pete, I'm so sorry --"

And he *can't* hear that, shakes his head sharply and lurches in
to take Clark's mouth, bumping teeth hard until he can get it.
Clark, thank God, doesn't try to stop him, just opens his mouth and
accepts. Sucks Pete tongue and Jesus, he's learning so fast.

Rubbing Pete's cock through the jeans hesitantly and kissing like
he knows exactly what he's doing, exactly what they both want.

At least there'll be one livable lie.

And Pete can't stop. Gets up on his knees and pushes closer, thigh
between Clark's and God, yeah, he's hard, too, and that's enough
of an invitation. Gets his hands on Clark's fly and has a pure
vertigo moment at the *angle*, of all things, but...

It's not so different. Clark's cock fits against his palm, demands to
be stroked with every pulse and jump and --

"God, Pete, do you want --" Another squeeze, harder this time.

"Yeah, please --"

Awkward and awkward and Pete's just about to try to help when
Clark gets him out, gets him in hand and starts jerking him off
without pause and Pete barely has time to feel the cry building up
in his throat before he catches Clark's mouth with his own.

Moaning together and it's fast and he's so *hard* and Clark's hips
are pumping and so are his and Clark's other hand is on the back
of his head. *Holding* him there, holding him still and kissing him
so hard Pete thinks he can maybe feel his mouth bruising. Not
letting up and he hopes his hand knows what it's doing, because
there's not much oxygen getting to his brain anymore.

No air at *all* and it's like the dreams, thick and sweaty-hot and
raw and the helplessness is back, the need maybe never left.

*Clark*.

Thumb over the head of his cock and yeah, God, yeah, and Pete
has tricks of his own. Adds a little twist and now Clark is groaning
into the kiss, jerking him faster, harder, so good, so *good* and
Pete comes whimpering into Clark's mouth, shaking and needing
and finally having to *yank* his head back.

Gasping and squeezing Clark's cock convulsively and --

"Oh *God*, Pete --"

Clark's coming all over his hand, sticky and. And.

Oh, Jesus, he just *did* this.

They just...

Wipes his hand on his jeans before he can think about it, and he
can feel Clark looking at him. Wishes he could get something a
little better than dumb *shock* on his face, but it's pretty
hopeless.

He'd just jerked off his best friend.

No, he'd just had *sex* with his best friend, and that's different,
because he wasn't supposed to... Pete wasn't supposed to *want*
this that much, and now he's not going to be able to not think
about it.

This is always going to have happened, and there's nothing he
can do about it, and fuck, for all Clark knows...

"Wow. That was... Jeez, Pete, were you saving it up for a *year*?"

Pete manages a shaky smile. "What can I say? I *produce*,
bro-tha..."

Clark punches his shoulder lightly and snickers.

For all Clark knows, nothing is wrong with this at all. Pete swallows
hard, shifts back until he can sit down again.

"So... Pete."

"Yeah?"

"Um... what now?"

Pete blinks. "Uh... I. Uh. Hmm."

Clark snickers again. "Yeah. Did you want... I mean. Uh..."

"Yeah?" He can hear Clark running a hand through his hair. He
*really* hopes he used the right one, and boy did he ever not
need the Something About Mary flashback. Bubbling hysteria
*right* under the surface.

"Was this... was this like a... one time thing?"

"Um..."

"'cause... heh. It beats doing it yourself."

Pete doesn't need to see Clark's smile to be terrified. And for all
the wrong reasons. Forces a laugh through bruised lips. God.
"Yeah..."

"Cool," Clark says, as if Pete had answered everything, and settles
in next to him again. Strangely familiar *wet* sounds and Pete
realizes that Clark's *licking his fingers*.

Pete shivers as his cock gives a painful lurch.

"You okay?"

Not even remotely. "Yeah. Just... aftershock, you know?"

Clark bumps shoulders with him. "Heh. I got you good." Pete can
hear the grin in Clark's voice. It's too infectious to ignore.

"Trust Clark Kent to take sex to the five year old level."

"Oh, that's... That's kinda gross, Pete."

"Oh, *man*, *ew*." Pete socks Clark in the arm and they're
wrestling like it's middle school again, like this had never, would
never happen, only...

Clark's arm around his back and Clark's thigh up around his waist
and it all comes back. All of it.

Breathless laughter and the scent of them in the air like a stain.

And Pete can't stop thinking of Lex's smile.

End.