Author Notes: Special thanks to Raya_Luna, Hyperfocused,
Alee, Sugarrush and Perclexed for beta and previewing! This one is for my
girl, who loves the dirtywrong!fic. xoxoxo
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I would never, ever
treat them this way. That's what clones are for.
WARNING: Contains Clark/Lionel
non-con, rape and manipulation.
Air rushing in his ears, Clark flew home, desperate for Lex - he would know
what to do, know how to make this right again.
The pavement fractured under his feet as he landed
with punishing force in the alley beside their building. He kicked aside the
crumbled asphalt and took a deep breath, his mind flying in too many directions
to do anything but stall.
He reached out to the brick to steady himself and paused,
gathering courage. Lex was waiting for him inside. Maybe - fuck - probably
still on the phone with Lionel, reaping the fruits of Clark's... labor. Sacrifice.
God, worse than that.
He would walk in and Lex would smile triumphantly over
their victory, his voice heavy and thick, hands instantly on him, busy with
power-induced arousal. Lex would be impossible and irresistible in his win
over Lionel until he sensed that something was wrong. Until he learned what
price Clark had paid.
Then he would be... Clark couldn't even imagine.
Furious. God, so mad he'd lash out at Clark first,
then be able to think of nothing but revenge.
And after that, devastated, quietly mourning the defeat
when he thought Clark wasn't looking.
A car spattered through a puddle and threw droplets
of gritty water onto his shoes, but he didn't move. Couldn't. Not yet.
Lex would destroy his father, and Clark wasn't sure
he would stop him.
But worst, if there was a worst, would be the disappointment.
A final, thin curtain that would separate him and Lex even in their most intimate
And Clark would have to look at that disappointment.
A subtle accusation that would smudge every smile that reached the corners
of Lex's eyes from now on, if any of them were ever that genuine again.
That little smirk of pleasure Lex saved just for him
would be gone, too, and Clark wouldn't have any more opportunities to figure
out exactly what had been triggering it for years.
It was always something different that brought on the
small smile, a roulette wheel that never seemed to stop spinning.
When he was seventeen it had been him, naked on the
bed, sprawled and waiting for Lex to come dragging home from LexCorp, so exhausted
Lex hadn't had a chance, not even if Clark was underage; not even if he was
an alien. Then Clark had seen it out of the corner of his eye when Lex was
visiting and Clark had casually brushed off the advances of his RA in the
dorm at Met U. And a year ago, at the Christmas party, across the room - for
no reason that Clark could think of. Last week... when Clark was tossing popcorn
into his mouth during a movie. Whatever made Lex look at him that way, he
was sure he'd never see it again.
Not like that.
Clark glanced at the penthouse entrance, then as a
resident swept through the glass doors, he turned and ducked into a coffee
shop Lex deemed "a poor homogenized version of the Paris original"
every time Clark dragged him there for a cappuccino.
Inside, he slid into a booth and pulled his jacket
tighter around himself, murmuring for coffee when a waitress approached. His
table was in a corner, dimly lit and boxed in on three sides by two walls
and a massive plant. He could be quiet here, could think in the rich, full
scent of public solitude.
When he forced himself to concentrate, his mind pulled
at threads of possibilities, trying to sort out the tangle.
He could tell Lex what had happened, tell him about
Lionel's little cabinet and the smooth, cool wood pressing into his cheek
as he laid bent over the desk, helplessly spread and taken. He shivered and
shifted against the vinyl seat, the remembrance too near, too recent to shake.
Telling Lex was the only thing he knew was right, and
Lex would want details, as soon as his initial rage
faded. The worst of it was in the details.
Lionel had generously closed the cabinet doors a little
for his comfort.
By easing his pain, Lionel had practically given him
a choice. And Clark, mind swimming with too many threats against himself and
Lex and sick, so sick with an inexplicable need, incapable of resisting whatever
dark desire festered inside him, had come all over that broad oak desk.
And if he didn't tell Lex everything... well, he had
to, because he was sure Lionel would eventually.
He'd be another pawn in play between father and son.
Lex's piece, but Lionel's small, captured prey. A warning. A symbol of Lionel's
Or... Lex might sacrifice him for the sake of the game,
spend him now and somehow get the upper hand over his father. Lex was good
at seeing far into the future, seeing the entire game laid out before him
after the first basic moves.
The waiflike girl came back with his steaming coffee
and he reached for his wallet, eyes wide as he jerked back to reality. He
told her to keep the change from the five he handed her and she thanked him
and floated away to another table.
The caf hummed around him, soft, ethereal music droning
underneath the din of conversation. A long-haired college kid nodded at him
from behind a paperback book and Clark smiled briefly back, then panicked
when the kid got up and started walking to him, coffee it hand.
Clark busied himself with his menu and the miniature
pitcher of crme on the table, feigning surprise when the boy spoke to him.
"Hey, mind if I sit down?"
He shook his head, then nodded, then forced out, "I'm...
I have a... I think I want to just be alone."
And God, if he told Lex, he would be alone soon enough.
His head spun and the caf seemed to blur as he avoided looking the boy in
"Okay, but... are you all right, man? You look
a little... sick."
Sick. Like fucking your boyfriend's father.
"Oh, God...no... no." Clark shook his head,
frantic and desperate, lost. Hands slapping on t-shirt and cheap vinyl, he
shoved the boy out of his way and pushed out of the booth.
He spun and rushed to the bathroom, barely getting
there in time, coughing and hacking behind the closed door of a stall. He
stood there for an eternity, eyes stinging and chest tight, gulping for air
around his dry heaving. A knock on the metal door behind him startled him
and he sucked in a deep breath. He smelled Lionel on himself and his stomach
convulsed again. "You want me to call someone?"
Clark shook his head uselessly, hands braced on the walls of the stall, knees
The bathroom door screeched open again and Clark froze
at the muffled words, "I don't think he's okay."
A female voice scratched on the edges of familiarity.
"Thanks, kid. I know where they live - it's close. I'll run to their
building and have them call Luthor."
"No!" The heavy wooden bathroom door shut
too fast, blanketing the noise of the caf. Whoever they were, they were gone.
And Lex would come and find him like this. Clark shook his head and straightened,
wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wishing he'd never brought Lex's
recognizable face in the caf. He opened the stall door and went to the sink.
The water was cold and he scooped up handfuls of it,
big freezing splashes numbing the horror of his own reflection. He stared
and stared into the mirror, the water rushing over his fingers, chin dripping.
He was ruined, tainted, nothing.
Or... it had never happened.
"I'm fine." He tried it out on himself first,
just to be sure he could pull it off. He cleared his throat and straightened,
wiping his face on his sleeve. "I'm fine."
Standing there, convincing himself with the evidence
of every lie he'd ever gotten away with telling that he could do it, Clark
rewrote the scene with Lionel from entrance to exit.
He'd gone there and just talked Lionel into helping
No, it wouldn't be that easy. He'd... he'd mentioned
some indiscretions that Lex had been saving for a rainy day. He'd played some
old cards that apparently still held power over Lionel Luthor.
And Lionel had threatened him with not enough Kryptonite
maybe. Lex would feel intimidated by Lionel's knowledge of that particular
vulnerability. It would put Lex on the defense, maybe deepen the gap between
father and son, which would mean Clark could avoid Lionel easier.
Lex might not believe his father if Lionel ever said
anything about the... the rest.
The small amount of Kryptonite hadn't been enough to
do anything but make Clark nauseous, but Clark had feigned more than a little
weakness just for show. Lionel had bought the ruse and smugly agreed to his
business request, the favor being that much more generous for Lionel's untapped
capability to control him.
The Clark in the mirror shook his head slowly, unconvinced,
but when Lex finally pushed open the door and found him hunched over the sink,
the new version of the afternoon was stuck, repeating in his head like a broken
It spilled from his wet lips as Lex's hand rested warm
and comfortable on his lower back. Clark lied fast and well, not saying any
words that would betray anything to accidental eavesdroppers, and Lex smiled
and nodded, listening in patient silence until the story was complete and
Clark declared himself fine.
"Are you sure you're okay now?" Lex looked
at him in the mirror, face full of guarded concern. Clark nodded and gave
him a weak smile. "Let's get out of here, then."
That night, he evaded most of Lex's questions and touches with the excuse
of post Kryptonite-exposure sickness. He rubbed his hands as if they ached
and took the longest shower of his life. When he came out in pajama bottoms
and a t-shirt, Lex was waiting for him in their bedroom.
He turned the light off and gotten into bed quickly,
regulating his breathing until he heard Lex's relax into a slow rhythm. Then
he slipped out from under the tangle of bedding and sat up the entire night
on their couch, smelling the two of them on the cushions when he pushed his
tear-streaked face into them.
The phone woke him at eight the next morning, eyes sandy and throat thick
and dry. Lex had left a note beside his head. He read it as he walked to the
phone to answer it.
Missed you this morning. Will be home late, but we'll celebrate tonight if
you're feeling better. -Lex
"And you practically qualify as one, don't you,
Clark closed his eyes and bit back the expletive that
burned on his tongue. "Lionel."
"I believe our initial meeting lacked some key
negotiations, Clark. I've arranged to meet with you this morning instead of
next week. My car will be at the 'Luthor residence' in twenty minutes. From
your voice, I assume my call woke you. I suggest you shower and shave quickly."
"You're insane if you think I'm going to-"
"You do remember our arrangement, don't you? I
would hate to have to provide the Inquisitor with photos of our cozy little
The phone creaked in his grip and he clenched his jaw
tightly closed. He was helpless and raging, seething and frustrated to the
point of tears.
"Your silence is very reassuring, Clark. Twenty
The phone clicked and he threw it, shattering it and
the glass tabletop it flew through. The pieces spread across the floor and
he heard the maid's quick footsteps in the hall. He turned and pushed past
her as she opened the office doors to investigate, then ran as fast as humanly
possible up the stairs.
He somehow found his way, stumbling into the bathroom,
arms bracing on the walls all the way, then propped on the vanity just long
enough for him to get a disgusted look at his own reflection. He climbed into
the shower, soaping and scrubbing his skin over and over until he finally
decided that he had no choice. If he cared about Lex, this was necessary.
Maybe it was like his father had told him - no one
gets to live a dream without paying the price for it. Maybe Jonathan Kent
had seen the truth all along. He and Lex could never last. Their love was
too strong, too complete to be permanent. It would burn them up. Cremate them.
Maybe his dad saw it even in the beginning, when Clark
was still innocent and Lex was still pretending in a very obvious way that
they were just friends. Maybe his dad been trying to protect him from this
inevitable fire instead of the ones Clark had thought he was afraid of.
Clark dressed robotically, body going through the motions
and mind lagging far behind, stuck in stasis on the couch that smelled so
good and felt so normal.
He trudged to the elevator when the phone rang again,
announcing that his car had arrived.
Outside, a white-gloved chauffeur held open a gleaming
limousine door for him and he climbed inside, turning to take a seat as the
door closed solidly behind him.
He launched for the door and found it locked, fumbled
for the button and felt a warm, strong hand close on his. Lionel Luthor brushed
a thumb down the back of his hand, smiling.
"Be careful, Clark." Lionel's grip tightened
briefly, then with a strange smile and a small shake of his head, Lionel released
him. "If you've changed your mind, I can't stop you."
Clark didn't move, couldn't.
"Avoid television this evening and I'm sure you
and Lex can have one last peaceful evening together before the press vultures
descend upon you."
Clark turned his head and scowled at Lionel, but his
hand slipped quickly from the door.
"There, now. That's better, isn't it?"
Sitting back on the seat opposite Lionel, Clark couldn't
take his eyes off him. He was... feral. Suit jacket open and neat over pristine
white shirt, his black, patterned tie hanging unknotted and loose under his
collar, ends trailing down over his chest. Shoes shining, feet wide apart,
knees falling open further as Lionel leaned back, empty palms held out to
him in offering.
"No Kryptonite this time, Clark." Lionel
glanced pointedly at a small box on the seat next to him. "But it's on
hand if we require it."
Clark tried to look into the box and hit a lead wall.
He gritted his teeth. "You will."
He couldn't stop looking, couldn't stop smelling that
almost-Lex musk that laced every breath he took in the oddly claustrophobic
compartment of the limo. The windows cast a purple-grey tone to the entire
space, the black leather of the seats throwing dark slickness into the dizzying
illusion of false-privacy.
Lionel's brow was creased with mocking concern. His
lips curved, cheeks more hollow than Lex's, face longer and older, rough with
years that had broken all the good parts of Lionel Luthor. It was so much
clearer now, in forced close proximity. Now that he was looking at him, really
looking, instead of averting his gaze.
"...remember your father?"
He hadn't heard it, but he didn't like the way it sounded.
"Do you remember your father, Clark?"
The question startled him for a split-second, before
he realized that Lionel knew the answer already. Clark had no real reason
not to answer, though Lionel almost certainly had some reason for asking.
It was suspicious enough to make Clark pause. "No.
He... he left messages for me, but I don't remember him."
Lionel thumbed a button to his left and told the driver
to take the belt around the city. Clark shivered and looked out the rear window
as fat drops of rain blurred what little light shown that morning. The rain
was picking up and all the gray shadows deepened inside the car as they rode
in silence. When Clark looked back, Lionel was moving close, crouched to avoid
hitting his head, sitting down on the seat next him.
"If you are any indication, I'm sure he was a
Clark shook his head, jarred by the compliment, filled
suddenly with shame for having the audacity to instantly accept it. He stared
at the empty seat where Lionel had been sitting before. "I'm... I'm not
a great man."
Lionel's cuff brushed the back of his neck as an arm
snaked around his shoulders. "You will be, Clark. With your strength-"
"If I was strong, I wouldn't be sitting here,
would I?" He snapped his mouth shut on the smartass remark and glared
A thick eyebrow arched and Lionel pursed his lips,
then nodded. "I understand how you could mistake this..." A finger
stroked over his lips and Clark leaned back away from it. "... for weakness.
I have a very different perception of the situation."
The insinuation made him furious, steeled his nerves.
He blinked and his fingers squeezed around Lionel's throat. "I am strong...
I could end this."
Lionel smiled and gave a small nod, his chin brushing
Clark's knuckles. "You could, but we both know you won't."
Clark released him with a shove and turned away, his
eyes wet with frustration and anger. A thumb streaked along his cheekbone,
smearing the wet line of his tears.
Lionel's voice was chillingly close. "We both
know strength of character is far more rare than physical strength, don't
"Don't call me that. I'm not your... son."
Clark shrugged away from the intimacy, but Lionel's hand closed tight on his
shoulder, insisting that he stay put.
A low whisper prickled into his ear. "No, you're
right. My son..." Lionel's breath moved, ghosting across his lips, warm
and confusing. "...would never sacrifice himself for love."
Blood rushed to Clark's face, heating against the cool
tip of Lionel's nose that brushed on his cheek. The soft scratch of beard
made him close his eyes and he could already taste the gentle lips that grazed
the corner of his mouth. The heat built steadily, torturously slow beneath
his skin. He ached, raged, hated the underlying need that crept dangerously
close to the surface.
Eyes closed, head lowered, he gave up trying to be
strong. "Please..." It sounded desperate, telling and too obvious
hanging in the stale air. "Please, just tell me what you want."
"Open your eyes."
He didn't want to, hung on to the last vestige of resistance
left in him. A moment of silent tension, then Lionel's hand fisted his hair
and pulled his head around so Clark was facing him, his eyes automatically
Lionel's lips were parted, tan skin and long hair reeking
of power, of experience and control but breath catching, Adam's apple moving
in a hard swallow, their lips an inch apart and Clark fighting, screaming
at his own mind to force his eyes to remain open and see the cost of Lex's
future instead of a strength he refused to admire.
The kiss was there, so close and threatening to just
happen and Clark held still, mind grasping for every reason he had to just
take this. He would never need anything like this, would never be anxious
for it, but as Lionel breathed into his mouth, he had to double his efforts
to convince himself that's how it really was. He held his breath and waited,
but Lionel leaned away, reaching for the box on his abandoned seat.
He handed it to Clark with a dismissive shrug. "Take
Clark snatched the box and threw it stupidly hard,
embedding it in the carpet and floorboard. "Why? What the fuck are you
trying to prove, Lionel?"
The small smile that played on Lionel's lips stoked
Clark's fury, and he grabbed at hard, lean arms that flexed in his hands.
Lionel grinned openly then, laughing softly, eyes twinkling.
Lionel shook an arm free and pulled the box from the
ruined floor, holding it in between them. Clark's fingers wouldn't release
the other arm, clutching at the sleeve of his suit until he spoke.
"I don't want it, Clark." Lionel's fingers
trailed over the box, then curved around the back of his neck. The smile faded
a little and Lionel cocked his head to the side, an almost patient expression
on his face. "Do you?"
Clark shivered and jerked away from the warm touch
on his neck. The nuance of thumb and finger toying with a curl lingered adamantly.
He turned away from Lionel and tripped, fell defeated, kneeling on the floor.
There was nowhere else to go.
The torn carpet was humped up and shredded where the
box had gone through. He reached for it, regretting the telltale display of
his strength, frightening himself with the blatant, hair trigger reactive
misuse of it. He smoothed it down, hiding the dented floorboard, pushing the
frayed edges of carpet together in a desperate attempt to repair the mistake.
"What's done is done." Lionel moved close
behind him and he stilled, then turned with a gentle urging from the hand
on his shoulder. "Let's begin again. Come, sit with me."
And he moved without will, sitting beside the long,
warm body on warm, smooth leather, tucking in closer than he meant to under
the offered arm, face right there, far more intimately placed that he would
have done if he'd been... if he hadn't been.
He glanced at the box that sat on the floor, his eyes
streaming and voice raw with conflict. "I have to. I need..."
Lionel patted his leg, then reached for the box. "I
know, son. It's perfectly understandable."
The hand on his knee squeezed firmly as Clark drew
his fingers over the dull gray latch on the box.
"I..." Trembling, numb and terrified of this,
of himself. "I can't..."
"Of course not. I'll do it for you." Lionel
gently removed Clark's fingers from the latch, then opened it carefully himself,
inching the lid up.
"Ugh... God... no..." Clark clenched his
fists, then stretched his hands wide open, the pain easing into his body in
a slow, steady flow, his veins constricting and pulsing open to make room
for the death to spread.
Lionel set the box on the floor and turned back to
him, hands moving fast and hard, wiping long streaks of confusion on skin
that responded against Clark's will. Strong, such strong fingers, brushing
his wet face, his hair, gathering the tail of his t-shirt in anxious fists
and lifting. Lionel shifted closer and Clark leaned forward with a groan against
the solid comfort of Lionel's chest. He tried to lift his arms so Lionel could
peel his shirt off, but they fell and a thick sob filled his throat.
"Shhh..." That breath, intoxicating and so
slow and heavy and God, like a drug he couldn't get enough of but hated himself
for wanting, needing. All over him. Neck, mouth, face, chest. Rough lick like
a cat's sandpapered tongue across a nipple and then down the center of his
chest, following the dip to his reaction-tight abs.
Lionel's mouth on him, biting and licking lower and
lower. God, Lionel, beard scraping around the softness of lips, the wet heat.
Eyes closed, throat working as he tasted Clark's skin slowly, carefully.
Clark bit down, swallowed a moan, mouth dry and he
licked his lips, tasted the copper tang of blood on his tongue.
Mind tired and sluggish, throbbing with waves of guilt,
his chest aching, he moved, trying to edge his way out from under the stabbing
pain beneath his skin. "Please, God. Let me- no... don't..."
Lionel's lips dragged low across his stomach and brushed
up along his length.
"God, it hurts... stop..."
"I know." Lionel leaned back, arms casually
draped over Clark's lewdly-open thighs, his head shaking and face the picture
of sympathy. "I know it does, son."
Long, thin fingers went to Lionel's collar and Clark
couldn't make himself look away as the tan, lean muscles were exposed. They
were edged in green everywhere Lionel's sweat shone on his chest, arms, shoulders.
Lionel twisted around to lay his shirt behind him on
the seat and Clark shifted, scooting his hips forward just a little more,
whimpering softly when he heard the slide of Lionel's zipper.
"It hurts me as much as it hurts you." Lionel
looked softer, calm and for the first time, not hovering on the edge of insanity.
"It's better this way. You realize that, don't you, Clark?"
And Clark thought he meant it, somehow. God, it could
be true. He wanted to believe it.
Clark nodded down at Lionel, one hand brushing through
the tangle of long, silver hair. Because it could be true - maybe Lionel needed
this as much as he did.
His hand was pushed harshly away, a dismissal that
Clark knew made it easier. Better.
For both of them.
His head dropped heavily back and thudded against the
glass of the window as Lionel gripped his hips and pulled him forward, his
long thighs falling open because, Christ, they hurt and shook and he couldn't
hold them up anymore, couldn't stand the pain.
Lionel was right, it was better this way, every response
taken from him against his will, virtue in tact. Not capable of anything but
simple thoughts and hardly even able to feel his zipper opening along his
hard cock or the release of underwear and pants sliding down his thighs.
His legs pushed together for a second as his clothes
were removed in a long-lost childhood sense memory of being undressed, then
his thighs fell again, hanging wide open on either side of Lionel's expensively
dressed and cologned chest.
Naked from the waist down, t-shirt pushed up in a bunched
line under his arms and too sick, too dizzy to even be embarrassed when Lionel
buried his nose against Clark's belly and inhaled deeply, then moaned the
Mind reeling as a cheek nuzzled against his cock and
lips slid softly all the way down the crease of his leg, down under into the
hair and another deep breath, revolting and hot and too, too much but not
enough, not even now, body on fire, fevered from nausea and heat and sweat
that sharpened his scent that fast. He shuddered and closed his eyes for an
instant as Lionel licked him, tongue sampling him slowly with a kind of appraisal
that made his stomach tighten with fear.
Clark shook his head in centimeters, the hazy glow
of Kryptonite shone too close, too bright, a perfect, sickly green against
the flat edges of the raindrops that pattered against the windows and streaked
down when the drizzle picked up. The road thumped beneath his feet, beneath
Lionel's knees and God, fuck, fingers felt him down there, pushed behind his
sack, up and almost in and he opened his mouth but he was weak, too weak even
to speak or scream or moan or decide which he wanted more.
Far off moans, adult and deep, resonated in the small
space around them and he focused his eyes, senses picking up everything and
nothing at all as Lionel produced a tube from his pocket and quietly, no...
silently laid it on the seat next to him.
Clark looked from the powerful father he never wanted
to the conduit of pleasure that he knew he couldn't - wouldn't refuse and
felt himself falling under, asleep almost. Blackness closed in like a tunnel
with shrinking walls around his vision until there was nothing but Lionel's
mouth and wide, concerned eyes and lips moving in too-quick words that reached
his ears garbled and senseless.
Death ate inside him, clung to him outside too, a gray
ghost that moved Lionel's hands and mouth, because his father - God, no, Lex's
father wouldn't do this to him.
Thickness jarred his denial, a thumb against his ass,
slicking its way up and in, pushing against his insides until they burned
and pulled and felt like they would never find their shape again. Numb, skin
frigid next to the heated touches of a man who would never be more than this
Fingers twisting inside him, stroking deep and slow,
rubbing long and smooth now and it was good, fucking unreal to feel himself
adjust and open, the pain buzzing into pleasure as Lionel's patient, deliberate
touches memorized him inside and out. So soothing and welcome, and his hips
rocking slightly to let Lionel know, jerking and gasping as Lionel's mouth
connected with his hip and slid wetly up his cock.
An electric peace crept in as logic seeped out, the
world concentrated down to the pulp of pain and pleasure, fear and comfort,
the basest of comprehension the only thing left. Foreskin rolled carefully
back, his length was sheathed in warmth, a moist, hot home he could lose himself
in; there were so many possibilities there.
His hips shifted, bucked, rolled because they were
supposed to, because they had to, it was natural and normal and God, his cock
ached, excruciatingly starved and finally, finally getting to feast on the
truth his invulnerability covered with a lead blanket. This was the real version
of everything he'd felt before. Every dulled fulfillment had been a lie, an
almost-truth that he couldn't help but laugh at somewhere deep inside where
irony still made sense and didn't steal his sanity.
The rhythm on his cock built to torturous levels, was
broken now and again for slow, lingering kisses. He sank deep into Lionel's
mouth, tongue licking out tentatively at first, then hungrily, indulging in
the intimacy because he had to, because he could betray just that much truth
to himself, to Lionel.
Everything else seemed to happen too fast, every sound
far off and not meant for him, every touch over too soon. Like he was missing
them, catching just the barest hint of every stroke and every lick and wanted
them all back, wanted them all to just start over and go slower so he could
feel them. God, Lionel was so close to real, so close to freeing him because...
Lionel, God, Lionel - the most powerful man he knew.
Lionel, kneeling for him, taking care of him in a way that made it impossible
to refuse, one thumb rubbing and pressing along his ribs, other hand steady
as a river's flow on the base of his cock. Savvy in this as all other things,
reading him easily, knowing his triggers and weaknesses, his pleasure points
and most vulnerable spots. The pressure on his cock just right, the hand sliding
down his side to hold his hip securely in place, the chest that crushed against
the insides of his thighs and the knees that spread, pushing his feet further
apart, raising the level of agonizing tension in his legs.
An older, twisted version of Lex, unrestrained and
indecent, teaching him a harsh lesson with every hollow of his cheeks, every
fingernail's edge digging into skin that, for once, could feel the slicing
An earth father for his lost Kryptonian one, a man
who could have been Jor-El's equal, giving him this, teaching him truths he'd
ached for his whole life and never found.
The passion of basic, raw admiration. Of animalistic
need and the power to fulfill it. Power over a creature as strong as Clark.
Domination that he'd ached for from Lex - oh, God,
The scratch of beard scraping the inside of his thigh
was suddenly torture, the length of thumb pulling out so slowly and fingers
poking and scissoring inside him too deep now, the ill-making green light
cast over the whole thing turning his stomach as he blinked hard and used
strength he summoned from nowhere to turn his head away from the sight between
He wouldn't look, wouldn't watch, would spare himself
that memory if he could. He could feel it though, feel the building of blood
and heat and Lionel's humming moans around his throbbing cock and God, Christ,
nature was going to take its course and he couldn't stop it, not for his own
sake, not for Lionel's, not for... Lex's.
The roar of fluid leaving his body hurt, like his cock
was being skinned by Lionel's mouth, turned inside out with every slide of
the tight circle of lips. His skin tightened and crawled in ecstatic points,
prickling to life all over his body. Sharp fingers jabbed inside him and he
saw nothing, white, pure and pulsing brighter with every throb of orgasm.
His soul shook free and hovered a foot away and a half-second
behind. He held on, but his will slid on the slippery sheet of ecstasy and
control fell from his body. Pulses rocked him from toes to chest and shot
in streaks of light from his fingertips. He let go of the last strings tying
him to the world and slid back behind his own eyelids, into blank calm and
Then too soon, too fast, the pain and pleasure slammed
off like a switch, the tearing and ripples inside sinking hard and fast like
an anchor. The blunted sensation ruined everything instantly, a dull fullness
that made him swallow hard and jerk his head up with a hurried, forced reaction
of guilt and denial. "No!"
Everything green was gray again and he lay sprawled,
opened and damp with their sweat and his come, Lionel's spit and the generous,
slick gel that coated him inside and out.
He gagged and sputtered and moved his hips, growling
as Lionel rammed his fingers deeper, insisting on staying where they were.
Dazed brain sluggish and reacting to every tiny thing in turn, he realized
too late that it was already happening, Lionel was exposed and ready, insinuated
just behind the hand that remained between Clark's thighs.
"No, Jesus, please..." He pushed back into
the seat and pleaded with the box, his eyes willing it to open because he
couldn't, couldn't reach out and do it himself. "Stop! D- Lionel, God,
"Say it, son. Tell me what you want." Lionel's
eyes hard and sharp when Clark looked to him for help, furious and so fucking
"I- fuck-" He glanced at the box again, staring
at it as tears flooded his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and dripping to his
chest as he blinked hard and swallowed. His whisper cracked in the silence.
"Youknow what I want."
The fingers slid from his body and he gasped, tensing
his thighs automatically at the emptiness left behind.
"Please- I don't..."
Lionel's eyes locked on his. "Decision time, Clark."
Clark swallowed hard. The choice was almost his, the
The confession of Lionel doing this because he wanted
him to, or the safety of a Kryptonite excuse: Clark being vulnerable and not
able to stop it.
A thumb stroked along his cheekbone, then across his
lips. "Use your strength now, son. Ask me for it."
Clark shook his head, fingers digging into the leather
trim of the seat, hating this, hating himself and Lionel and fuck, Lex for
"No... I can't let... don't do this. Please..."
Clark's hands slid on the seat as he shifted his legs, hugging them to Lionel's
thighs. "God, please."
Lionel's mouth curved into a cruel grin and he reached
for the box. "So be it."
The emerald haze filled the car and Clark sank back,
helpless and weak, aching as his body jerked with sobs. He moved a slack hand
between his legs, shielding himself from Lionel's access, but it was tossed
aside with a low growl.
Clark couldn't even beg now, wasn't sure what he would
beg for if he could. He closed his eyes and waited, open and ready, and Lionel
was fast, slick.
Sucking in breath that burned everywhere, Clark's hands
went to shoulders he could've crushed a moment ago, but now he couldn't summon
strength enough to stop them from closing in against him.
Lionel drove in and Clark clutched at his back, pulling
him in against his chest, hands sliding on Lionel's sweaty skin, mouth closing
on his shoulder.
"Yes, that's it, son..."
Clark sobbed a plea against salty skin, couldn't stop
his teeth from sinking in, and Lionel groaned, sheathed himself until their
hair caught and pulled a little on every outstroke.
"Did you like my mouth on you? Sucking you?"
Lionel's breath was hard, panting against his ear.
"God, I-" Clark shivered and held on tighter,
his legs wrapping around Lionel's. "Fuck... fuck..."
Clark dug his fingers into Lionel's back and squeezed
his eyes closed, the white behind his eyelids replaced with flashes of red
and black and the pressure of each thrust exchanging Kryptonite poisoning
with a soul sickness that decayed faster and left him more dead than alive.
"Does he fuck you like this?" Fingers digging
into his hips. "Do you want him to hurt you, Clark?"
"Yes, God, no-" His whisper was hoarse, sounded
far away buried in Lionel's shoulder.
Thrusts quickening, deepening, hands hooking his shoulders
and Lionel pounded in, the leverage gaining an inch inside. Clark held on
through the white flashes of pain, held the tension in his arms and legs,
pressing them hard against Lionel's working, heated body. The effort shredded
Clark's muscles, made them vibrate with pain but he wouldn't give in, wouldn't
Low, full groans became ragged and quick, Lionel's
grunting voice rising from its depth as he stroked closer to the edge. "You
want this. You need this. Need me..."
"No... God, no..." Clark tucked his wet cheek
into the curve of muscle along Lionel's neck and gasped as the bluntness of
cock hit deep inside and slammed against a bundle of nerves that left him
wide-eyes and breathless.
Lionel pushed back and stared down at him, cock deep
and hips jerking in slow, deliberate thrusts as he took his last strokes,
mouth open and small, angry groans punctuating the pulses of his orgasm.
He squeezed his eyes closed and waited in silence as
the fullness inside him slipped out and his body adjusted to the loss. He
clung to the sharp throbbing pain that stung his cock and ass, burned every
muscle in his body, knowing it would disappear any second.
Lionel's handkerchief pressed into his hand and the
click of the box lid shut off his senses, sharpening his guilt. Wiping his
face first, he slowly came back to life in the darkness of the limo. A coffin
for the last of his honor.
When Clark managed to look up, a perfectly presentable
Lionel gazed out the window and sipped a glass of amber liquid, indifferent
as an atheist in the church of emotion Clark had once belonged to, but never
Lionel dug into a compartment and threw a suit jacket
onto the seat next to him, light tweed, brown that matched his hair flecked
by green that matched his eyes.
"Put that on, son. Let's introduce you to the
Straightened and wiped and tucked back in, fingers
combed hastily through hair, put back together so well that the world might
not suspect, the limo door opened and Clark slowly followed Lionel's silhouette
into the bright sun that broke through the clouds and cast odd shadows on
the statuary outside LuthorCorp.
He trailed a few feet behind as Lionel introduced him
as a LexCorp business associate with winks and sharp smiles for those who'd
known Lex before he'd branched off on his own. He was the son-in-law, and
the father-in-law was proud, beaming, showing him off.
An hour passed in a slow, steady flow of faces he'd
never remember and names he didn't hear. The bathroom called to him but he
couldn't stand the thought of taking off a stitch of clothing on LuthorCorp
property, not today, not... God, no.
When Lionel's assistant reminded him of a lunch appointment,
Clark was sent on his way with a generous offer to use the limo. He refused
quickly and curtly and left, his pride trailing behind him like a piece of
toilet paper stuck to his shoe.
The jacket went in a trash can a block away.
Eleven o'clock, home, if it ever could be called that again, brain shut off
and body chilling against the casual advances of Lex, Clark slipped under
the sheets and turned his back, reaching to the nightstand for his book.
He hadn't told Lex, had barely told himself. The hot
water tanks ran cold from his endless shower, and still he hadn't moved from
under the stream. He scrubbed himself inside and out with Lex's soap, brushed
his teeth until the bristles of his toothbrush frayed, then emptied his stomach
of the bowl of soup the cook had forced into him because he'd looked pale
for the first time since she'd known him.
By the time Lex had gotten home after his late meeting,
Clark was ready to run. He couldn't confess, couldn't leave Lex with that
kind of pain. Instead, he'd blame himself for being too weak to trust anyone,
though Lex had proved himself a thousand times by then, and he'd go.
Home, maybe. His parents would never imagine what Lionel
had done to him, and he'd never have to see the suspicion in their eyes, never
have to admit anything. He could leave a note, pack silently after Lex fell
asleep, slip out and never look back, at least not until he was far, far away.
Lex climbed into bed beside him, skin connecting along
his back like a magnet to his dread. Smooth, naked, ready. Asking. Clark reached
back and patted Lex's thigh in what he hoped was a gentle refusal, then turned
a page in his book.
Lex's lips brushed his ear, "Clark?"
Swallowing hard, muscles nearly shaking with tension,
he shook his head slightly. "I just... I feel like reading."
It wasn't the first time he'd turned Lex down, but
unlike the first time, he had no plausible excuse and wouldn't be changing
his mind and waking Lex up in the middle of the night to find comfort he'd
thought he hadn't needed.
No, this time, he knew he needed it and had no right
to ask for it, no excuse for needing it. No matter what Lionel had threatened,
Lex would never, ever understand.
Clark shot upright, clearing the bed by a foot and
staring wide-eyed at Lex. "What?!"
"You're right, we should read." Lex pushed
up off the bed, walking smoothly to a bookshelf and pulled a book from it,
turning back to him with a forced look of seriousness, smile playing under
his expression. "The Kama Sutra?"
It was over, dead. They were dead. And Lex had no clue.
He'd been convinced that Lex would sense something,
pick up on his misery and guilt and dig it out of him. But the fact that he'd
completely missed all of it was worse than being forced into confession. This
way, he was almost doing the right thing. Too little, too late and it made
him feel worse that he'd not told Lex earlier, not to spare himself, but Lex.
"No. We can't... I can't... I need to. Lex, something...
something happened." Clark stared at the book in his hand, fingering
the spine absently. "At your dad's office. And again today."
Lex tossed the Kama Sutra on the bed and folded his
arms. "Something you didn't tell me."
Clark nodded, turning his back and sitting on the edge
of the bed, grateful for the anonymity of Lex not staring him down.
The mattress tilted as Lex crawled onto the bed to
sit behind him. "Something you don't want to tell me." Lex didn't
touch him. He was just a vague presence behind him, bearing down on him.
Clark shook his head and swallowed. "Something
"He... he had more Kryptonite than you said he
did, didn't he, Clark?"
"How did you-"
"I didn't know, but... now I do. Did he hurt you?"
Clark dropped his book and felt it hit his foot, knew
he'd lost his place. Another nod, this time hesitant and slow. His tongue
felt too big for his mouth, his eyes almost cloudy, everything registering
on his brain just a half-second slower than it was happening.
"Did he..." Lex took a deep breath behind
him and moved a little closer, one leg touching against his right hip. "What
did he do?"
Wooden, drugged, apart from himself like he'd been
sliced from his own body and tossed into a metal pan for examination. "He..."
He didn't know how to say it. All the words seemed
vile, the admission too big for one person to handle on his own. But as he
sat there in silence, he felt Lex understand.
The room boiled, the air thick and muggy, impossible
to breathe. The bed moved under him and he knew, somehow, that Lex was done
talking. A drawer rolled open on whispering soft casters, the thunk of thick
metal against thick wood registering a warning and Clark moved before he really
knew, but he was right.
He was always right about that.
Lex, gun in hand, eyes wide and wet, insane and so,
so bright they almost glowed in the dim light of the room. Naked, cock half-hard
and gun solidly hanging there at his side and Clark didn't know anything else
to do but reach for him. No, reach for the gun because Lex couldn't do that,
couldn't pay so much for him, spend his life for honor Clark didn't even have.
His hand closed over Lex's his thumb shifting the safety
on the gun back into position. "No, Lex. No."
Lex glared at him with those wild eyes and Clark flinched,
pulling the gun with him as he stepped away from the rage that heated Lex's
"Today...you met with him again."
Clark shrank further back, lowering his head, turned
his back, set the gun on the nightstand.
"I should have known."
The insinuation throbbed in his ears and Clark shook
his head, tears falling to his socked feet. "You couldn't have."
"Keep the gun."
Clark turned to see Lex walking into the bathroom.
He paused in the doorway and Clark shivered at the
hate in Lex's voice. "There are better ways."