Category: Clark, Clark/Lex
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Everything through Craving.
Summary: Christmas parties at Luthor Manor. Boys sharing thoughts with brandy. And other things.
Author Notes: Lex said it first, Dracael had the idea, and I just had to try it out. Consider this an extended PWP, with an unfortunate amount of chatting. I'm still learning here.
Archiving: SSA, anywhere you want.
Disclaimer: God, I wish I did. I'd have my college loans paid off. But...no. Damn.
Feedback: Greeted with enthusiasm and an excessive amount of soda.
Dedication: Bethy and Molly, per standard operating procedure. Molly especially for the seal of approval.
by jenn
Think about it.
It's like waking up and realizing it's *not* Saturday yet, and Friday just isn't enough of a consolation for you to get through it without feeling cheated and bitter, resentful of the day that it's *not*....
No. Not like that. More--complex.
It's like--it's like going to a movie that you thought you'd love, but you ended up falling asleep halfway through, waking up to the smell of stale, greasy popcorn spilled over your lap and wondering what on *earth* you thought it was going to be....
No. That's not it, either.
It's like going to the prom and realizing you can't dance. Like eating a hamburger that you expected to be good and turned out to be celery-flavored tofu. Like waking up to rain on the day of the big game when you were going to *finally* pitch.
Closer. But....
It's the worst kind of disappointment, because it hits you from the direction that you didn't expect, never anticipated, and it's like a damn gut shot, leaving you dazed and feeling--*off*. Everything crumbled beneath your feet and nothing and nobody to catch you when you fall. And you hit *hard*.
Bingo. That's it.
Like some strange, pre-adolescent, emotionally-traumatizing memory of being slapped for something you had no idea was wrong.
Clark was processing the concept of it without any real idea of how he'd moved from *feeling* to trying to *define* what he felt. Very adolescent. Metaphorical, even. Made him feel tired and a little bitter and so damn young, younger than even his age, and that was really saying something.
Gut shot was a valid comparison, though. His English teacher would be impressed. And who knew that lecture on metaphors would apply to real life? Better yet, who did he know who would want to?
Vaguely startling, leaving him feeling as if he'd been the only one left out of the joke--or the only one that got it. It wasn't Lana's presence beside him, either, because God knew, she was turning out to be the only dependable thing this evening, fingers curled over his in a grip that probably even his strength couldn't dislodge, and watching the room with wide, wary eyes. Missing Whitney like an ache even he could feel, and that, at least, was just about in the line of how his life went--expected. A welcome kind of hurt, reminding him that his role was proxy at best and replacement body at worst.
Predictability. He was learning to crave it like a junkie did a fix.
She was beautiful, though, all dark blue dress and silky golden skin, and God, his first formal and he felt as if he should be the one *serving* drinks, not taking them from random, well-dressed men who managed to outclass the people they served with nothing more than razor-sharp haircuts and subtly expensive suits. Little twists to their lips that made Clark think they were more accustomed to high Metropolitan society and not--this. Surrounded by Smallville society and Lex's own quasi-egalitarian indulgence--*everyone* was here, even those that used the Luthor name like profanity in casual conversation and mocked the son as ruthlessly as they slurred the father.
Small town prejudice and the way Lex knew how to play with it, just because he could. He had a way of making a point when he wanted to be subtle and blatant at the same time, and Clark wondered if Lex just liked the fact that he was *doing* it, not that anyone else would quite get the joke. Except Clark, that is, and Lex would probably be amused, in his distant, slightly off-center way, that Clark *understood* exactly why Lex was playing this particular game.
Or that it was a game at all.
Wondered, a little uncomfortably, if Lex was counting on that. A sort of proxy, stalking horse-type of replacement conscience, someone to feel ashamed and nauseated for them when no one else would bother to check below the surface. He knew Clark well enough to figure out where the buttons were and how to push them to get the desired result.
It was a sickening thickness in the pit of his stomach, to think that Lex would trade on their friendship for--for *this*.
"Clark? Everything okay?" Slim little hand tightening more over the sleeve of his jacket, soft voice, worried.
Clark tilted his head to catch her clear gaze, nodding quickly and downing the rum punch that he'd taken off of a tray when no one was looking. Quick head-rush that faded too fast, thanks to superteenager metabolism, and damn, even the police chief was getting merrily drunk in the far corner. Not that *everyone* tonight wasn't doing that, the residents of Smallville crowded into this huge cavern of a room, brilliantly lit with what seemed like a small sun of a chandelier and candles dripping wax over flawless white linen, making it small and thick and *heavy*, enough so that Clark was beginning to wonder if there could possibly be enough air to breathe.
"Sure."
Another sort of slap, no less painful or unexpected, that he *wanted* to tuck Lana in with someone else, anyone else, and go home, crawl beneath the warm, shabby covers on his bed and get rid of the taste and feel and scent of this night, wipe it off his skin with a brillo pad and industrial strength detergent. The rich, almost overpowering sense of wealth and privilege and the fact that Lex was enjoying the fact he *could* do this.
Like his father shipping a castle stone by stone from Scotland to never set foot inside. More Luthor than Clark had expected, had believed, had really *thought* about.
Over Lana's shoulder, he could see Lex navigating the room--all that wonderfully liquid ease of movement and speech, deliberately cultured sophistication and warm, glitter-splashed smiles with hidden edges, and something unconscious just below the surface that was sharp and painful. Lex was *on* tonight, in a way that was--alien. As if something inside him had been flipped over and shot with adrenaline, brittle and bright and *surrounding* him like an aura. Almost impossible to look away from him, and that had been proven during the one failed dance with Lana, when he tripped over his own feet.
Like seeing Lex shed a skin or put a better one on. And it *fit*.
Like these months of friendship had been with someone else entirely. Someone who drank bad coffee at the Beanery over spreadsheets and had taught Clark to drive a Porsche at one ten down the straightest road in Smallville. Someone who had searched through Metropolis for six hours looking for an ancient projector, finally hijacking it from a museum with a generous donation that Clark tried to feel vaguely guilty about.
It had made Lana smile, but it seemed like a de facto using of Lex to get something he wanted, even if Lex didn't seem to mind being used. Almost seemed to expect it, with that smile that was both amused and relieved, as if he'd been wondering what it would take, what limits would have to be defined between them.
"Clark, Lana!"
Voice bright and happy, tumbling like an enthusiastic puppy across the slick marble floor, Pete in a suit that didn't quite fit, and Clark lost sight of Lex as he disappeared gracefully into another group, though almost--almost could hear his voice even here. Saying something witty and probably double edged that no one else would pick up.
Clark put down the empty punch glass when he felt it begin to striate from his grip.
"Hey Pete." Lana, nakedly relieved and unable to hide it. Clark supposed he wasn't being the most interesting date on earth and tried to care a little more. Feeling her fingers pry loose of his arm and Pete was already with them, making this dark corner feel suddenly exposed and bright and *noticed*.
Clark hated being noticed.
"Great party, huh?" And Pete, by the roll of his eyes, had definitely been indulging in the punch and Clark wondered a little idly if the waitstaff's secondary job was to take car keys and drive the residents home afterward. Though it was closing on one in the morning now with no sign that anyone had any desire to go home. Not like Lex couldn't accommodate everyone in this terribly large--house? castle?--or maybe everyone would just keel over where they were standing and sleep the night away and wake up to a very solicitous waitstaff handing out the newest Luthor invention for hangovers in tiny crystal glasses with hidden sneers.
Clark shivered, though the room was hot.
"Wonderful," Lana answered, and if she sounded a little desperate, he couldn't blame her. "You want to dance, Pete?"
Rather like asking if Pete wanted to breathe. Lighting up like the Christmas tree across the room, and Clark handed over Lana with something like relief, watching them disappear through the tight meld of bodies as if will alone, or some strange new mutation, was getting them through.
Clark caught sight of Lex again, following his progress across the room, as Lex emerged from another thick knot of people like a spotlight, and it had to say something about Clark's maturity, that he hated this party most for the fact that he felt--
--forgotten. Unimportant. Relegated to simple status as bedazzled citizen of Smallville and nothing more. Pissed him off too much to acknowledge the hurt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Clark recognized how irrational he was being, but--but he'd never seen Lex's sadistic streak before, never even *felt* it there, and it was too much.
Worse, six months ago, he never would have realized what Lex was doing tonight.
He had to get out of here.
A stumbling step into the mayor, who smiled at him with expansive good humor and looked him up and down with that strange crawling feeling of long familiarity.
"Hello, Kent."
Clark shifted back, mumbling something vaguely polite and not enjoying the way people were looking at him now. Avoiding exposure was instinctive now.
"Clark. How have you been?" Heavy hand on his shoulder and too many eyes focusing on him with interest. Perhaps questions that the out-of-sight, out-of-mind principle usually kept leashed in short-term memory.
Clark felt himself flush, pulling back without even meaning to and mumbling an excuse that couldn't possibly hold water, escaping as the mayor's attention turned to someone else entirely, slipping between the wall and a knot of farmers from the east side of Smallville he only vaguely recognized. His father was among them.
Emerging from the ballroom with something like relief and leaning back against the hall door. Scent of candles and food and too many bodies fading slowly, and Clark let himself shut his eyes and just relax, breathe again. He could go home if he wanted to--Pete wouldn't abandon Lana and his parents wouldn't mind, might even think they understood. Turning, he glanced both directions, trying to remember where the coat room was, and then slipped quietly down the hall toward the main entrance.
Before today, he'd never even *seen* a coat room. Or been aware they existed outside of random movies portraying upper-upper class life, but there *was* one, and the clerk that had checked them in was nowhere in sight. With a breath of relief, Clark went in, flipping on the light, and stopped short at the sight of the rows of temporary racks that lined the floor like battalions of soldiers. Strangely comforting, all dim light and the smell of fabric and old stone, better than that damn ballroom.
Dear God. How the hell was he supposed to find his coat in here, though?
"You're going to miss the final toast."
Clark felt the skin on his back crawl and bit into his lip briefly. It never failed to surprise him that Lex could *do* stuff like this, just--appear. It shouldn't anymore.
"I'll survive."
Rows and rows and *rows* of unattended winter coats and hats and purses, like a burglar's wet dream come to life, and Clark went for the first row, roughly sorting through wool and fur. Looking for warm cotton and thick fleece that had seemed so incongruous over the dark suit that evening when they'd arrived.
"Anything wrong, Clark?" Lazy interest, so close Clark should have felt him approach.
Clark almost ripped a cloak of some fine material that didn't look like it was substantial enough to stop a summer breeze, taking a breath before slowly turning around to see Lex, coolly casual and ten times too calm, leaning against the doorway with that expressionless boredom that only supermodels and the super-rich ever seemed to perfect. For some reason, that was just the last slap he could take tonight and fuck getting his coat, he didn't need it that badly.
"Nothing. Just tired. See you later."
And oddly enough, Lex stepped out of the doorway with a slight shrug, like it didn't mean anything, and look, wow, looked like it was his night for gut shots, except--
--except that Lex walked back in carrying something and shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
"What are you doing?"
"Locking the door. Oddly enough, every door in this house locks." Lex gave the doorknob a strangely preoccupied look, as if his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. "I've yet to discover exactly *what* is so important about downstairs closets that they need to be protected, but then again, my father can be very strict about security. The number of individual keys *alone*--"
"That's not what I meant."
That got him a little smile, but the blue eyes stayed expressionless. Not so much hiding as--protecting? Defending? Clark couldn't ever read Lex when he didn't feel like being read.
"I know."
Leaning back against the door, elegantly careless of the lines of the dark suit and head tilting in thought. Lex could say more with a look than most people could in a thousand words.
Clark shifted uncomfortably by the hangars, wondering how it was that Lex could make him feel utterly unbalanced without a single drop of effort involved. Feeling too tall and awkward and so damn *young* and painfully aware of it. Like hitting puberty all at once in the middle of gym in front of the class or something.
"Lex--"
"You're angry about something." And only Lex could state the obvious with such a straight face--if there was irony, Clark couldn't read it. Waiting with perfect patience, like a teacher with a recalcitrant student--or like a parent waiting out the tantrum of a small child until they became reasonable again.
"I'm not a kid," he muttered to himself, and flushed when he caught the edges of Lex's slow smile. "I'm just ready to go home, that's all."
"And leave the lovely Miss Lang to Pete's tender mercies? Or inability to hold a basic rhythm during a waltz? That's just cruel."
Belatedly, Clark considered the fact that Lex had been watching him, and something in him unclenched, just a little. He hadn't even thought Lex knew he was there.
"She's fine."
Lex nodded, the little smile still there, but Clark got the feeling that wherever Lex's body seemed to be--directly in front of him, so to speak--his mind was somewhere else entirely and getting farther by the second. Dropping his gaze, he took in the bottle of brandy Lex was holding casually in one hand.
Apparently, wherever Lex was didn't affect his observational skills, because the blue eyes dropped instantly and he lifted the bottle, giving it a glance.
"Auld lang syne," he said cryptically, and shrugged, looking around the coatroom as if he'd never seen it before. For all Clark knew, maybe he hadn't. "I'm used to something smaller and a little more formal, but most medieval castles didn't have coatrooms, you know." A careful look around the dimly lit room, then he shrugged, pushing himself off the wall in liquid-fast motion and reaching out with one hand to catch Clark's arm as he passed. "This'll do."
Frankly, Clark was too startled to not follow. Not precisely true, but he'd never had a reason to walk away from Lex, and there was no real reason now. At least, not one that seemed important enough to fight for. The long finger burned through his jacket and shirt, making him aware of the dim lights and the way the room didn't seem quite so overpoweringly large. Lex's presence alone was enough to make any place small.
"Uh, Lex--"
"Hmm?"
Well, good question.
"Don't you have a party to host out there?"
A slight shrug of black-clad shoulders, and Clark gave up, letting Lex lead him to the back spaces, farther from the central light, a corner hidden by two racks. Easily, he dropped onto the floor, releasing Clark's arm and looking up with raised eyebrows as if curious as to why Clark was still standing.
There really wasn't much else to do but sit down too, and Lex twisted the lid of the bottle and dropped it carelessly to the floor.
"There's something to be said for familiarity," Lex observed, glancing around with a slight smile and something that approached a sigh.
"Is there--" A reason you're acting so weird, Lex? Straight answers were *not* Lex's forte. Made Clark wonder about the coping mechanisms that they'd discussed in health class and which ones would account for that. Leaning back into the wall, he watched silently as Lex stripped off the expensive jacket and shifted until he could sit on it, glancing at the stone floor in annoyance. "Lex--"
"I should have gotten the entire floor carpeted."
"Why are we in here?"
Brilliant smile--something like light without heat, still that slight distance between body and mind.
"Would you believe me if I said I was bored?"
Clark snorted.
"You were having fun."
That earned him a little smirk, before Lex tipped his head back, taking a mouthful of brandy with an almost invisible shudder. The clear blue eyes met Clark's as he swallowed and Clark found himself reaching out and the bottle was pressed into his hand.
"Maybe just a little."
"Yeah." Brandy wasn't something he'd ever noted at the pre-game keggers or after football games. Whiskey, straight, just once had been enough to turn him off. More beer than he was comfortable admitting to. Some wine at his parents quiet dinner parties, well-watered. A few sneaked drinks of vodka from the liquor cabinet. He was sixteen, for God's sake. Resistance was futile. Rubbing his fingers into the neck, he regarded the dark liquor briefly, then sucked in a breath, lifting it to his mouth.
"Clark, you might--"
It burned *all* the way down. A cool hand covered his on the bottle, pulling it away as his fingers went numb, and Clark leaned forward, coughing, aware of a slow rub on his back through his jacket, Lex's voice soft and close to his ear. Brushing the tears from his eyes, he looked up and tried a smile.
"That is crap."
That earned him a little grin, and Lex had definitely returned to the room.
"Actually, it's extremely fine brandy." A pause, smile turning rueful. "I didn't like it when I first tried it either."
"Huh." Wiping his mouth with a hand that trembled, Clark looked at the bottle beside Lex's hip and drew a leg up to his chest. "What are we doing in the coatroom?"
"Apparently drinking."
Clark tilted his head, tightening an arm around his leg and leaning his chin down. A general dizzy-round feeling from the shock of hard liquor on an empty stomach, making him watch Lex, noticing things like the way Lex breathed and the long fingers clenched on his lap, as if he was trying to hold onto something.
"Did you like--doing that?"
A sharp glance.
"You know what I'm talking about." Liquor was a wonderful thing. He was pretty sure that he never would have pushed otherwise. For a second, Lex's expression remained utterly still, then he released a breath, leaning back into the wall, the memory of a smirk curving his lips.
"Yes, I do, and yes, I enjoyed it very much." A pause. "It wasn't aimed at you, Clark. You know that."
Clark shrugged, picking at the fine material of the suit pants, at a stray thread probably dislodged during his escape.
"You *do* know that, don't you?"
"But I'm the only one who felt it, you know. So it might as well have been aimed at me."
A blink, and Clark could almost see the calculations going on behind those unreadable eyes.
"So I should have just continued enjoying the fact that this little hick town gets off on seeing how much they can smear my name?" A soft snort. "I'm tired of it."
It occurred to Clark that Lex *did* look tired. Not physical--something in the eyes, the set of his jaw, the way he looked around the darkened room as if searching for more enemies. God knew, Lex had enough and to spare.
"I understand," Clark murmured, and felt Lex's eyes on him. He continued to pick on the stray thread. "It's everyday little things that break you up in the end, not the big things. I know all about it. Being something of a loser myself, you know."
"No, I didn't know." Sharp, some sort of warning, but Clark didn't quite get why. Lifting his eyes, he sighed a little.
"It's--I mean, I do get it, why you did all this. Once in awhile, I'd like to just--just do something, you know? Something big and cool, that would make everyone stop and say, wow, he's not that--he's not--"
A hand brushed against his face, light as air, and Clark turned into the touch.
"It won't always be this bad. Freshman year is always rough unless you can pay off the bullies or your family name exempts you from general torment." Slight smile, and the fingers slipped, almost accidentally, to thread through his hair. Clark sighed a little.
"No. I get the feeling that this is going to be what--I am." Clark pressed a cheek into the soft material. "But you--it's like you wanted to confirm everything they said about you tonight."
The hand against his face stilled, then continued the light, absent stroking. As if he didn't even know he was doing it. Clark hoped he wouldn't notice anytime soon.
"Maybe that was part of it. Luthor snobbishness and excess and general dissipation. It was--relieving, I suppose. It could have been worse."
Clark fixed one eye on Lex, letting the smile show.
"Like what?"
"Flew everyone to Malta for Christmas?"
Clark snorted. His father hated to fly.
"In what?"
"My jet."
Clark straightened and Lex's hand withdrew. He missed the warmth, almost caught himself reaching out to bring it back.
"You have a jet?"
Lex grinned--and there it was, that look, just simple, almost childish pleasure, like when Clark used to steal the gerkin pickles from the Thanksgiving table before dinner, hiding behind the door to grin and eat them, ruined appetite be damned. Just--mischievous, and so not-Lex that Clark matched the grin without even thinking about it.
"Yeah. Birthday present. Of a sort." A little twist to the lips and Lex leaned back against the wall, picking up the bottle thoughtfully. "So you think I went too far?"
"I think the fact that my mother was worried about eating off the plates might say something about how you redefined the word 'excess'," Clark answered as Lex took a drink. Almost unwillingly, he extended a hand, brushing the glass of the bottle and the tips of Lex's fingers. "Give it here."
A little frown.
"You said you didn't like it."
"I don't, but it's the rule, you know."
Both eyebrows went up and Lex let him take the bottle.
"Rule?"
"Don't drink alone." With that, Clark tossed it back. The burn was just as bad, but not nearly as unexpected and his eyes only watered for a few seconds. Opening them again, he saw Lex watching him. "Is it that bad in Smallville?"
Almost pensively, Lex drew a leg up to his chest, kicking lightly at the floor.
"It wouldn't be so bad if--"
"--you weren't a Luthor?"
A little grin, not quite free of bitterness.
"If my father didn't feel the need to put a twenty-one year old, inexperienced college graduate in charge of the plant. Firing the older, more established, well-liked manager in an obvious ploy to free up that particular position." Lex leaned back into the wall, eyes narrowing in memory.
Yeah, Clark remembered talk about that. Wincing, he wondered how much Lex had overheard. If he knew Lex, probably most of it.
"He was a bad manager," Clark offered. Even his father admitted that.
"True." Lex took another drink of the brandy, shaking his head. "A very bad manager. I spent the first two weeks rewriting the books just to figure out what the hell he thought he was doing." A pause. "But that's not the part that matters. Most of my employees are twice my age and have far more experience than I do. Even turning the plant around hasn't exactly endeared me to them much." The tiniest twist of a smile. "After all, who would want to admit the spoiled brat they thought they were getting is actually *good* at business and production?"
Clark nodded slowly, hearing the edges of frustrated anger in Lex's voice.
"And no, having my surname doesn't help that at all. If I hadn't been--persuaded--to come here to take over, the plant would have had another year of operation in it before it went bankrupt. And those of my employees with basic math skills know that too, and they don't like it that I could do what they said couldn't be done. Since I took over, we've inched our way out of bankruptcy and closer to the black every quarter. Might even make a profit soon. But being a Luthor, I must be doing it by some means that screws them over, even with the paycheck jump and the current job security." Lex took a drink, then put the bottle aside, frowning suddenly, as if he'd realized he'd said too much. Then shrugged. "So I got pissed and decided to--act out." A twitch of Lex's lips. "I knew no one would understand, and that made it better. Something of a no harm no foul situation."
"I knew."
"It wasn't aimed at you."
Clark sighed softly.
"It's at my father, my family, my friends." The closeness coatroom was warm--absently, Clark pulled his jacket off, loosening the tie his mother had so carefully fixed for him. "I--never mind."
"I wouldn't hurt you, Clark. You know that."
Clark tilted his head and wished he'd done it earlier--the world spun beautifully and he straightened, shifting forward as his center of balance took a strange twist, enjoying the sudden kick of euphoria.
"Clark!"
And why was it that he could see the ceiling so clearly now? Nice ceiling too.
Blinking, Clark took stock of his current situation. Wonderfully leaden body parts, stretched on the floor, the ceiling lovely and dark and there above him, and apparently, the floor was very nice right here, because it wasn't hard stone but--
--oh.
"Huh."
"Shit. I can't believe two shots did this to you. Your father is going to put out a warrant for my arrest."
Clark tilted his head back, letting Lex's face swim into view. Huh. How did Lex get so close? Turning a little, his cheek brushed the fine material of someone's suit pants, and he was going to guess they were Lex's.
Hmm. Lex made a good pillow
"I'm laying down, aren't I?" Had to be, or certainly he wouldn't be able to see the ceiling.
"Yes, you are. I'm currently imagining how to decorate the cell I'm doubtless going to be enjoying very soon."
Clark grinned, snickering a little, and reached over, catching Lex's hand. He felt the run of tension in the muscles beneath the skin, then Lex relaxed, letting him take it.
"Don't worry--fast metabolism."
"That's less than comforting."
Clark shrugged against the stone floor, cautiously moving into a more comfortable position and wishing vaguely that he'd removed his shoes. Looking up, he caught Lex's steady gaze and smiled.
"I forgive you."
"For what exactly?" Nothing but amusement.
"For making me feel very, very unsoph-sophistrated--sophisticated tonight."
Instantly, the hand in his stiffened, and Clark twisted around, trying to catch Lex's face. Pale blur of movement and he blinked, watching everything go to X-Ray briefly. Interesting. Vaguely nauseating. Alcohol didn't affect that.
"I'm sorry, Clark. I'll be more--careful--next time. I didn't mean for it to hurt you."
"S'okay." Clark drew in a breath, letting it out, fascinated by the sound of his own breathing. "Did you follow me in here?"
Tiny pause, but thick. Almost as if Lex was weighing possible answers and discarding them--
"Yes."
What a wonder. Straight answer.
"Why?"
Another pause, equally heavy.
"I was worried. After all, it would usually take a catastrophe or crowbar to pry you from Lana's side."
Nodding, Clark pulled Lex's hand over, catching sight of the gold watch and turning his wrist over carefully. Everything was a lovely golden blur. He had to try this alcohol thing more often. Carefully, trying to keep his eyes on the face of the watch, he traced the band with the tip of one finger. "Nice watch."
"Yes it is, thank you. What else is bothering you?"
Clark frowned, blinking, and tried to get Lex in view. Something was very odd about his voice. Pushing a foot into the floor, Clark pivoted his body so he could twist his head around and caught an unmistakably surprised expression on Lex's face.
"Am I that easy to read?" A disturbing thought. His future with a secret identity could be in jeopardy of Lex could figure out what was going on in his head. Even more so if Lex figured it out before he did.
"Usually" Dry. "Remind me to teach you to lie properly."
"That's what brothers are for, right?" Did he sound--snarky? God, he hadn't even realized that memory of that conversation grated so much. The fingers in Clark's froze again and the alcohol was making the entire focusing situation difficult. Kept his grip on that slim hand, though.
"Clark--" Almost a sigh, except Lex didn't sigh. More silence, enough that Clark began to feel the effects of the alcohol try to disperse. That wouldn't be a good idea, not now.
"What?"
"You still have my hand."
Clark was sure that was entirely different from what Lex meant to say.
"That bother you?"
"No, but--"
"Friends, right?" Deliberately, he rubbed his thumb into Lex's palm and heard a soft catch of breath. He had to wonder what Lex was thinking--more importantly, he was wondering what he himself was thinking, exactly. It wasn't like he didn't know--but more like he wasn't quite ready to admit it. Alcohol was keeping it fuzzy and comfortably uncertain, letting him go with the moment. A good thing--if he thought this through, he'd already be running. "So we can, you know, talk about stuff."
"Stuff."
"Yeah, stuff. Like, you know, how old you were when you first had sex." The words tumbled out of Clark's mouth and he was *almost* sure that he hadn't had any intention of saying anything like that.
Almost.
There was this commercial that came on that Clark vaguely remembered from childhood, with phones and pins, and Clark wondered if this might make a good commercial right now. He would swear Lex had stopped breathing.
"I don't believe you just asked me that."
"Honesty in alcohol, you know." Courage and stupidity too, but he kept the fog in place.
"So I see." Meditative. "Clark, my hand?"
"I like it."
"So do I, which is part of the problem, I think." Clark felt Lex pull and grinned, twining his fingers through Lex's, easily holding it at bay. There was a moment of invisible struggle, then Lex shook his head. "I do know better than to fight the intoxicated."
"Better." Clark studied the difference in their skin, fascinated with the concept of focusing his eyes. Pale white and post-tan winter gold, Lex's longer fingers. Skin to muscles and tendons to bone, then back out again. Irregularities in the bone, the calluses on Lex's fingertips and flat of his fingers, along the base of the thumb. Rubbing his own thumb against the hardened skin, Clark glanced up.
"Fencing?"
Lex was looking down at him with a completely unreadable expression.
"Yes. And polo. Among other--" Lex sucked in a breath softly. "Maybe we should go back out now--I can drive you home."
"Nah. I like it here. It's nice."
"You're not intoxicated enough to mean that."
Clark smiled a little.
"Just enough to enjoy being very still, thank you." Clark paused, turning Lex's hand over. "You didn't answer my question."
"Noticed that, did you?" Was Lex uncomfortable? Clark twisted around again and yes, indeed, Lex Luthor, who somehow managed to keep his composure very soon after being resurrected from a watery grave, looked remarkably like something unpleasant was occurring in his stomach. Interesting. Clark braced a hand on Lex's knee and sat up, blinking at the head rush and a little surprised too. Alcohol always ran out of his system pretty fast.
"You don't want to tell me?"
"Somehow, I think discussing my sex life with the underaged is not a good idea."
"What do you think kids do these days, stay in our rooms diligently studying to improve our minds?" Clark asked, and had the privilege of seeing the expression crack and Lex smile a little. "You won't corrupt me."
"It wasn't that long since I was a teenager, Clark."
"So you stayed in your room and studied all day?" Clark shifted his legs, finding them slightly less leaden, the buzz slowing in his bloodstream, but seemed to be keeping a nice, clear fog over his mind. In some small part of his brain, he *knew* he'd be writhing in embarrassment tomorrow, but--
"No, I didn't, but--"
"So." The point of this conversation was what again? Clark realized he was still putting a lot of weight on Lex's leg and still had that tight grip on Lex's hand--also came to realize that Lex wasn't just looking at him. Lex was *watching* him. With some sort of indefinable intensity that made Clark wonderfully aware of the undone collar of his shirt and the warmth of Lex's leg under his hand, the fingers twined in his. "What did you do when you were my age, Lex?"
"I'm not nearly intoxicated enough to answer that question."
Clark freed Lex's hand, reaching over to get the brandy bottle in the corner. Holding it, he looked at Lex. He'd been hit by a car and attacked by a variety of Smallville mutants, but nothing could quite match this moment for sheer terror.
It had to say something about his personality that he was learning to like the rush.
"You tell me, I'll tell you."
He'd surprised Lex Luthor. Who knew?
"I'm taking you home." The long legs began to gather up, preparing to rise, and Clark grinned and moved, faster than Lex could possibly find his balance. Straddling Lex's thighs and still holding the brandy, grinning at the unaffected shock on Lex's face. Both hand came up, then stopped just short of Clark's body. A disappointment, that.
"Clark, if I ask what on earth you think you're doing, am I going to like the answer?"
"That depends on how you answer the question." Clark didn't feel drunk anymore--at least, not on brandy. Lex, warm and not really fighting him off. Very warm, better than the cool stone of the floor. Definitely better. Carefully, he pushed the bottle into Lex's free hand. "Get drunk enough to tell me."
Lex's eyes met his, searching, God knew for what, and Clark waited, resting his hands against his thighs, moving slightly on the legs he was currently trapping and seeing Lex draw in a breath that he let out slowly, eyes closing.
When they opened, they met Clark's with something like a challenge.
"I might shock you."
"You do that every day," Clark murmured, and Lex put down the bottle, reaching to touch Clark's face lightly, the callused edge catching on his cheek. Warmth flooded his face, slipping downward by degrees through his body that had nothing to do with the brandy and everything to do with the way Lex was looking at him. Turning his head just a little, keeping his eyes on Lex, he brushed Lex's palm with his mouth, almost as if by accident.
"Clark--" Lex shook his head a little. The hand against his face slid to the back of his neck, and Clark shivered a little as long fingers slid inside the collar of his shirt, rubbing into his skin in slow, deliberate circles. He was getting hard from this alone, and that was definitely a first. "Tell me."
"Wha--" Still shivering from the feel of those fingers on his neck, Clark blinked a little, trying to reorient himself into the real world, into Lex's low voice. It wasn't easy. Lex's other hand was resting on his thigh now, unmoving, thumb only inches away from what was rapidly becoming the most important part of Clark's entire body.
"What you do. Instead of studying like a good little boy." Clark felt himself shifting closer, moving until his knees were pressed into the wall, feeling Lex beneath him--Lex, who was just as hard yet wasn't doing a damn thing about it.
"I'm--not a little boy."
"Right at this minute, that is probably the worst thing you could have said." The hand on his thigh moved over his hip, warm against the small of his back, and suddenly, he was pressed directly against Lex, body to body. Clark sucked in a quick breath, looking down into smokey blue eyes.
"Lex--"
Pressure on the back of his neck, tilting his head down, until their lips almost touched. Clark heard his own breath, quick and noisy, felt as if all the air in the room was disappearing. "Tell me, Clark." Warm against his lips. The air tasted of brandy.
"When--" Clark licked his lips, watched Lex follow the motion. "I go out with my friends. And--stuff."
"That's all?"
Clark drew in another short breath as Lex's breath warmed his cheek, so close he could feel the heat of his skin.
"No--" Maybe this had been less than a good idea. Or not.
"You tell me, I tell you, right?"
Well, something like that. Clark drew in another breath, unable to help rocking a little, the pressure against his groin like a goad, just--*pushing* him to move, do something. The hand on his back encouraging, rubbing into him, pulling up the edge of his shirt and slipping under. Against bare skin, and Clark breathed out, one hand resting on Lex's shoulder.
Lex's lips so close to his ear that he could feel the heat of them.
"You're too pretty to do nothing, Clark."
"Smallville isn't exactly the most exciting place to be," Clark answered, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes. "Don't do much--" A soft gasp, as Lex pushed up against him, feeling his cock rubbing just--perfectly. God, it was rarely this good when he was doing it himself. "You're not scaring me, you know."
Lex went still under him, drawing back, and Clark caught the hand on his back before it could move, holding it against his skin. Staring down into the blue eyes that for once weren't unreadable at all. Heat and confusion and something that may have approached shock.
He had to make this work and fast, because brandy wasn't going to keep this up for them forever. Leaning forward, Clark brushed his lips against Lex's, pausing for a deliberate instant, then drawing back slightly to watch.
"I know what I'm doing. Work with me here," Clark whispered, and God, sobriety was rearing its head and maybe, just maybe, he was completely wrong. Completely. Maybe Lex had been just--just *playing* with him like he'd played tonight with Smallville, and felt the flush heating his face. "Lex--"
Lex's hand on his face, tilting his head forward, and he got to taste him, finally, a brutally hard kiss, reminding him vaguely of Tina except this was *good* and expert, opening his mouth without being really aware he was doing it. Lex's tongue circling his lips before pushing inside and Clark caught it between his teeth with a little moan he couldn't control.
Letting go in a breathless instant, and Lex's eyes were hot and searching, fingers tight in his hair.
"Tell me you're sober, Clark."
"Yes."
"Good enough."
Thank God.
The hand on his back pulled away, but only to the front of his shirt, unbuttoning the soft cotton so quickly that it was almost a shock to feel the shirt part and Lex's hands on his bare skin. Pulling him close, Lex's mouth against his throat, a quick, possessive bite just below his ear that made Clark arch hard, pushing down on Lex's erection and earning a soft groan.
Getting an arm around Lex's shoulders to pull him close, wishing a little vaguely that his suit pants weren't *quite* so fitted, and pressing his lips against Lex's scalp.
"Lex," he whispered, feeling the brush of fingernails over his nipple, too light to be anything but a tease. Getting his hands up to Lex's collar, pulling the tie loose by some miracle without mishap or strangulation and fumbling the buttons with thick fingers. Gave up and jerked, hearing the sound of the tiny buttons hitting the floor, and probably that was *such* a bad idea, but he could have cared less. Finally *touching*, silky skin, ducking his head to Lex's collar to taste him, hints of sweat and cologne and just--him. Across the collarbone, catching the skin at the juncture of throat and shoulder, feeling the shudder of Lex's body and rocking down into him. Bearing down just a little with his teeth. "You--you taste--"
Both Lex's hands dropping from his skin, like withdrawal, but settling below his thighs, and he had no idea Lex was *that* strong, lifting him in one single movement, stone under his back and head, Lex's knees between his, tongue buried in his mouth, and hands buried in his hair. Kissing him like he was trying to crawl inside his body through his mouth, and God, yes, yes...
So. It worked. Even if Clark wasn't exactly sure he'd planned it. He tangled his arms over Lex's shoulders and held on, freeing one leg enough to lock around the back of Lex's knee, pushing them together *hard*.
"God--" Lex bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood on a normal person. Clark wasn't normal, and right at this instant, he was regretting that *alot*. "You have any idea what--"
"I'm hoping you know what we're doing, since this is pretty new to me."
A snicker, before Lex was finding new and interesting places on his throat to explore, the tip of his tongue hot and quick and moving too fast for Clark to respond to anything more than echoes.
Then Lex sat back on his heels, one hand pressed to Clark's chest when he would have followed.
"Don't. I want to look at you."
Clark didn't move, didn't even breathe, feeling the trace of Lex's eyes over his body. Before he met Lex, he'd never known eyes could have so much weight. His pants were far too tight now, and it was a physical effort not to reach down and fix the problem himself. Just looking at Lex, shirt unfastened, silky pale skin and reddened lips, hot blue eyes, would probably be enough.
"God, you're gorgeous." Almost breathed.
Slowly, the palm pressed to his chest slid down, fingers splayed to feel every inch of skin and muscle, over his stomach, trailing through the line of short dark hair before arriving at the button of his trousers. Pausing for a second, and God, please, no second thoughts, because Clark just wasn't verbal enough to try to argue them away.
But Lex didn't say anything, just traced the line of his waist, almost tickling, staring at him with that sudden distance back again, and God, Clark needed to be touched.
"Please, Lex--" Pushing his hips up a little, the almost-accidental brush of Lex's palm against his cock just *not* enough. Not even close. "I want--"
"Yeah." And both hands were on his waist, unfastening the pants and pulling them down, and Clark braced his feet and lifted his hips enough so Lex could pull them down. "Fuck." A hiss. "No underwear."
No wonder Luthors had so much money. Clark would have signed over the farm and probably part of his soul to hear that low voice every night.
"Yeah." Pushing the heel of his foot into the floor and the dress shoe came off effortlessly. The other one followed, kicked off his toes. Lex bracing a hand on either side of him, licking along his collarbone and drifting slowly downward, finding a nipple as if by accident.
"Mmm..." Clark felt every bone in his body liquefy at the soft lick, a quick circle by a wet tongue, and his hands found their way to Lex's head, brushing the tips of his fingers over the sensitive skin.
The sharp bite that followed arched his entire body, and through the pounding blood in his ears, he would almost swear Lex laughed.
"Lex--"
"Shh." Moving lazily to the other nipple, and the edges of Lex's shirt brushed his cock, sending a rush of frustrated sensation through him. An almost painfully slow progress down his chest, stopping to lick at his stomach for a few long, exquisitely frustrating moments, before both Lex's hands were on his hips, holding him still, and Clark realized he'd been thrusting into empty air for longer than he could remember.
"Lex, please--" At this point, he would beg. Grovel. Whatever it took. Lifting himself on his elbows, he caught Lex's eyes and shivered at the utterly unmasked heat staring back at him.
"Watch."
Clark didn't think he could look away if he tried.
The tongue that had been playing him so skillfully slid over the head, and Clark couldn't help bucking into it, even with Lex's restraining hands. With a sound that was half groan, half laugh, warm heat suddenly enclosed him, and *God* yes, that was perfect, better than anything he could have imagined, and he'd spent some quality time trying to imagine just this. Hot and wet and Lex was *sucking* and then the feel of Lex swallowing around him.
Lex. Lex was--
"Lex, God, yes, please--" Verbal skills going straight to hell, and Clark couldn't look away, as Lex slid a hand behind his balls, lightly stroking the sensitive skin in ways that were new and made Clark wonder why he hadn't thought of that himself. Thrusting up with Lex's hand on his hip guiding him, touching him, then a warm and somehow damp finger slowly circling closer to his ass, tracing the cleft lazily, as if he had all night to find out what made Clark twitch.
That would be just about *everything*, actually.
It hit him from nowhere, or maybe just from everywhere, with Lex's wonderfully steady sucking and the touch of his hands and the way he looked up as he pulled back briefly, meeting Clark's eyes, and *nothing* could be that sexy, and Clark gave up, head going back and the heat rushing through him, out of him, almost painful in its intensity.
Lex had said man could fly, and Clark got it now. Completely.
Unable to breathe and not really caring, collapsed back on the stone of the floor. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might just take off from his chest.
"My God," he heard himself whisper. Lex pressing his mouth to the inside of his thigh, then little bites to his stomach, and he reached down, trying to find skin to touch, but his coordination was just *gone*.
"Clark, I--" then stopped, and Clark looked down to see Lex sit up, a suddenly interested expression crossing his face. Clark opened his mouth to ask what was wrong--
--before Lex's hand on his arm pulled him around on the floor and pulled him back to the corner.
"Lex!" Strangled when Lex clamped a hand over his mouth. What the hell....
Oh, that wasn't his heart after all. That was someone pounding on the door.
Which opened.
"Shh." Against his ear, Lex's chest against his back, and his dress pants were just *sitting there* in the middle of the floor. And his jacket. Fascinated, Clark couldn't look away as the conversation in the front of the room took place.
"It's brown fur, ankle length, please, one leather purse, and one dark blue hat."
"Let me look, ma'am. Do you have your ticket?"
Clark looked up at the rack that currently hid their position. There was no fur. Thank God.
"Thank you."
"I can't imagine how this door locked, ma'am. Sorry for the inconvenience...." Tapering off, door shutting, and Lex's hand dropped from his mouth, resting lightly at the base of his throat.
Clark heard himself begin to giggle, and the arm locked around his waist tightened, pressing him against Lex and reminding Clark of the fact that only one of them had gotten off so far.
But here....
"Lex, people are leaving."
"Noted that." Lazy against his ear, and a warm mouth settled on the back of his neck.
"They're going to wonder where you are."
"Hmm." Sucking on his shoulder, and Clark shut his eyes, leaning back against the warm body.
"They may look for you." Though really, maybe not for awhile. Clark tipped his head forward, giving Lex all the access he wanted.
"They'll be looking for a very long time." A sharp nip to the back of his shoulder, and then Lex's tongue warm over it. Clark sucked in a breath.
"They'll want to say goodbye."
"They know where the door is."
"Their coats are in here."
A soft growl against his throat, deliciously vibrating. Clark shivered and shifted on Lex's lap, and Lex thrust lightly up at him from the pressure.
"I'll buy them new ones."
"Lex--"
Head tilted back as Lex cupped his jaw and turned him, and Lex was kissing him again, twisting around him in an act of flexibility that Clark would have sworn was impossible. Warm hands strong on his back, massaging from base to shoulder, and he could taste himself in Lex's mouth.
Long, slow, thorough kiss, and Lex dropped a hand to his stomach, absently stroking and making Clark think that it wasn't really that cold outside and people *did* have heated cars after all.
"Shouldn't we--you know, talk about this?" Because, in all honesty, Clark hadn't made a run for it expecting to be deliciously molested in the coatroom tonight--his fantasies had mostly been based in Lex's car.
A thoughtful nip to his lip, matched with a mischievous grin.
"Maybe later."
The End