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Author's Cut: Commentary on ANTICLIMAX by velvetglove
subtitle this one cynics are romantics
So I was surprised that people wanted a commentary on this one. Because, well, it's all sex, all the time…except it's not just that. And I knew this story wouldn't be as well-liked as I wanted it to be, because it's actually pretty awful emotionally, and people don't generally like that, at least in fanfic.
Recently,hazy_daisy made a comment in regard to another story I'd written where she remarks that I "…always seem to be questioning the Clex relationship and exploring the possibilities," and it made me so happy that someone (and, thus, perhaps, other someones) doesn't think I'm just an idiot who can't settle down and write happy stories, but maybe I'm trying to explore things. A confession: I do sometimes think that I should just indulge my inner Diva and write happy-happy-all-the-time fic and soak up the love like a sponge, but I think I'd get bored very quickly.
Perversity is really ingrained, and it's not just to do with sexual behavior. I get praise for writing good sex scenes, so I want to write stories with no sex at all. Or, I want to write things like this, like Anticlimax, where there's lots and lots of sex that's hot and very physically satisfactory for the participants, but it's emotionally really fucked up. It's super-idealized stranger-sex, but it's taking place between two people who ought to treat each other better.
I called the story Anticlimax because the situation is such a let-down for Lex, and probably also for Clark, in a way. It's Lex POV, so we know more about what he's thinking, but I don't think this was easy for Clark at all. And also, because I'm twelve, I thought it was amusing to say "climax." Hehehe.
I had an Aimee Mann lyric quote that I used as the summary for this story, which is this:
And I can't remember whether or not I'd issued the Aimee Mann challenge or not, but I was thinking about it, and I had considered trying to make this into a challenge story (the song is Wise Up, btw), but I'm glad I didn't. Just because.
Jacyn, AKAstone_princess was talking to rhiannonhero via e-mail or something after she'd read through this story, and Rhi had come with the following quote from George Bernard Shaw and thought someone should write a fic based on it. Jacyn told Rhi that she should "give" the quote to me for the story, because it is indeed perfect.
Lex wakes and Clark is in the room; he knows it's Clark because he knows Clark. He knows the way he smells, the way he moves, the shape of the air he displaces.
"Clark?"
There's no answer except the soft impact of Clark's feet against the floorboards, coming closer.
It's his house, but he whispers anyway. "What are you doing here, Clark?"
This isn't onscreen Clark. This is post-Metropolis Clark. I had started to try to explain how Clark, especially, got to a point where he'd behave this way, but it bogged everything down from the very beginning, and was boring, and I don't even have a draft of it. Just deleted it.
Slither of smooth fabric across skin, and Clark's voice is low in the dark. "I just wanted to say hello."
Lex rolls over, squinting into the shadows. He can't see a thing. Say hello? "No, you didn't," Lex says gently. "If that's what you wanted, you would have called."
Clark chuckles, still so low that Lex strains to hear him. "You're right." He's undoing his belt buckle; Lex hears the jingle of the hasp as Clark pushes his jeans off his hips. "So, yeah," he says. "I could have called. Hello, Lex."
"Hello, Clark." Lex can see him now, a dark-blue shadow against an inkier background. He's pleased that his voice is steady when he asks, "Why are you undressing?"
"Why do you think?" Clark sounds almost playful. "If this was *you*, in *my* bedroom, why would you be undressing?"
Whoo! Clark flirts effectively! This isn't your father's Oldsmobile! Again, I hoped that the characterization, which is deliberately OOC, wouldn't throw people off this early. Because it is definitely in character for this story, i.e., with some assumptions about Clark's adventures in Metropolis. I wanted some banter, and I wanted to feel the control shift a little while they were talking and there was still no directly sexual physical contact.
"Hmmm..." Lex pretends to consider the options. "Maybe I...want to be arrested? Maybe I haven't had enough excitement already this year?" He should be angry, maybe, or even frightened, but he's just hard.
"Are you planning on calling the cops?" Clark asks politely. "Because if you are, I probably should leave. I mean, if you're serious about that." He might be joking, but he still keeps his distance, back in the shadows.
"I'm not calling the cops," Lex reassures him. "I don't want to get you in any trouble. After all, you'd probably be *grounded* if the police are involved. You *would* get a ride in a squad car, though. That's something you kids are supposed to think is exciting."
"You've been in the back of a squad car, right?" Clark asks. "Did *you* think it was exciting?"
"I was scared," Lex says. "That's similar to excitement in many respects."
"Heart pounding," Clark says. He pads across the floor to stand at the end of the bed. "Mouth dry." The light from the window is cut in half by the curtain; his chest and head are in darkness, but the moonlight shines bright on Clark's hips and thighs and the glistening head of his cock. "Tense and nervous."
Lex licks his lips. "Right. Every fiber of your being alert." His feet are braced against the mattress, thighs quaking, but he's not going to run away. He's not going anywhere.
And Clark's in charge.
"On fire," Clark agrees. He leans over, weight resting on his hands at either side of Lex's legs, and starts to crawl.
Lex chokes back a moan and Clark keeps coming on until his face is right over Lex's, the head of his cock dragging damp along Lex's thigh. Lex keeps his eyes open as Clark says, "I've wanted you for so long," and kisses him.
An admission which costs him not a thing...
Clark's lips are soft, his breath sweet and minty, and his mouth just-brushed. The tip of his tongue reaches out to touch Lex's scar, a point of bright heat, and Lex licks back. Clark's mouth opens and Lex tastes him again and again until the flavor of toothpaste is gone and it's just Clark, whimpering and liquid.
The kisses go on long enough that Lex's scar begins to itch with a pleasant, nagging tingle. Clark slides his wet, open mouth along Lex's jaw, tongue tracing the contours of his ear. Lex's hands move up and down Clark's biceps, squeezing and marveling because Clark is so hard everywhere. He's still thinking about Clark wanting him, marveling a little at that, as well. "If you want me," Lex gasps, "then you should have me." His voice breaks a little on 'have.'
"You want me, too, then." It's not really a question, it's just Clark being polite. He rocks his hips against Lex for emphasis.
Lex clamps his hands down on Clark's ass to keep him from moving. "More than anything."
It's my impression that Lex is still not aware that Clark is the boss of him. He's still playing the sort of jovial-snide Mr. Experience, even though Clark is seducing him. I think he's in denial. It's a big difference from the scenarios that have played in his head.
You know, it occurs to me I'm not adding much to the experience of the story. It just really seems to me in this one that it's all there. I'm probably not answering the questions that weren't asked. If you had a specific question about this story, please ask me and I'll tell you whatever I can.
"The way you always looked at me," Clark murmurs. He bends his head to lick Lex's neck, and his mouth is hot as blood. "It took me awhile to understand what it meant."
"And now you've got it all figured out?" Lex twists his head to the side, exposing more of his neck.
"Not really. But I was pretty sure tonight when you didn't make me get dressed and leave." Clark leans in and kisses him again, slowly this time. Clark's tongue is thick and sweet as syrup, and Lex opens up under his mouth as if melted. He can't pull Clark down, so he arches up, trying to put as much of their skin in contact as possible.
"You don't seem surprised, though," Clark murmurs. He rolls onto his back, pulling Lex on top. "About, you know, *this*."
"Oh, I'm surprised," Lex assures him. "I'm not totally convinced that I'm awake."
"You've had dreams like this?" Clark teases.
"You're usually not so forthcoming in dreams," Lex admits. "You usually require a bit of coaxing. I'm not entirely certain this is you." Right now, though, he doesn't care.
Clark frowns, brows arcing down over the bridge of his nose. "It's me, all right. I am who I always am." When Lex cocks a skeptical eyebrow, Clark gets a little defensive. "Just because I like Lana doesn't mean I can't want this, too."
"You're right, of course," Lex agrees. "What *about* Lana, anyway? Paying her any nocturnal visits recently?" He shifts, and Clark's cock is hot and hard as freshly-minted metal between them.
That should be forged, shouldn't it? Not "minted." Eh.
Power struggle! Lex plays dirty--or what would have seemed like dirty, were Clark not actually a different boy than Lex is used to.
"Don't play stupid," Clark says. "You know what Lana's like." He wraps his arms around Lex and kisses the side of his head, temple and ear and the joint of his jaw.
Lex just snorts, reaches to push Clark's hair off his forehead. "You grew up over the summer." There's a vein pulsing on Clark's temple and Lex dips his head to kiss it, tasting salt.
"So did you," Clark counters, a brat from the neck up. His surliness, in combination with his naked body squirming beneath Lex's weight, bring out an imperious arrogance that Lex has only pretended to outgrow. Clark needs to be shown who's boss, so Lex holds the boy's dark head with both hands, fingers tight in Clark's hair and at the angle of his jaw, and lets his tongue trace a leisurely path from the dimple at one corner of Clark's mouth to the other, coaxing his lips apart. Clark's eyelids drop haltingly as he sighs, a stuttering exhalation warm in Lex's throat.
I wanted Lex's attempts at dominating Clark to be a little pathetic. Like, tiny-pathetic, but then worse at the end of the story, when the incidents are cumulative. Which is mean, and I hate admitting it, but that was what I wanted. Or, another way of putting it: I want fatalism, the kind that leads to problem drinking.
But first I gave Lex some bits and pieces of what he's always thought he'd get if he ever got Clark, and I also let him push what he imagines are Clark's limits, because in this scenario, Lex knows Clark is special, but I think it's hard for a mere human to understand what "invulnerability" would feel like from either side.
Lex doesn't have to be careful, he knows that much. Clark's seeming indifference to abuse is responsible for Lex's slightly sinister durability kink. Whatever Clark is, he doesn't show wear. Lex's mouth closes on Clark's throat, licking away salt-sweat and exploring the differences in texture, smooth versus the sandpaper beginnings of a beard shadow. Clark gasps and clutches at Lex's hips, holds his ass with both big hands and thrusts against him in sinuous slow motion. Lex bites his throat, hard, and Clark responds with a sharp hiss, straining against him. Clark's cock jerks with each clench of Lex's jaw, wet spurts slick between their bellies. The marks almost don't appear at all, purpled semicircles fading into nothing in the wake of Lex's cannibal bites. Were Clark anyone else, Lex would be covered in gore; as it is, his jaw aches. Lex backs away, out from beneath Clark's greedy hands, and sits back on his heels to take a long look. Clark's chest heaves with rushed, panting breaths. He looks exactly as Lex has pictured him a thousand times, and then he says, "Lex, please!"
Lex feels his own pulse in his fingertips, his throat, the tip of his tongue. Where he touches Clark, their combined rhythm rushes out of control, pounding like fists against a door.
I'm not going to stop and admire every time I like something, but I do like that little paragraph very much.
Clark smells like he should, like Lex has always imagined: salt and soap and a light sheen of clean sweat. The taste of the flesh under his arms and then high up on the insides of his thighs is tinged with smokiness, like green wood burning. When Lex pushes the tip of his nose into the curls at the base of Clark's cock, the scent makes him shudder like an animal, almost blind with the intensity of his desire. He licks and sucks, nipping at the skin. The tendons at the junction of thigh and body are tense under his teeth and a hard bite makes Clark buck up with a whimper, but Lex doesn't get the impression that Clark is scared. He knows, of course, that Clark isn't hurt.
And then we go all stalkerish and obsessive and lavish attention over all the anatomy Lex can reach.
Lex starts at the sole of Clark's right foot, the toes curling like a dancer's in response to his kiss. The round dome of the ankle bone fits Lex's mouth perfectly. The dark hairs on Clark's calves are rough and resilient under Lex's tongue, a nice contrast to the smooth, silken pocket behind his knee. Clark cries out when Lex licks him there, so Lex does it over and over again until Clark is writhing and clutching roughly at Lex's head, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. The way Clark struggles to stay still for Lex's mouth, how much the effort hurts him, is so hot that Lex has to turn and do everything again on the other side. By the time he's licked his way up both thighs, Clark is propped up on his elbows, watching, whimpering impatiently. Clark has to know what's coming but, just to be sure, Lex tells him, "I'm going to suck your cock." Clark's eyes roll back in his head and he inhales sharply, shuddering.
I had mentioned the other day that I don't like "dirty talk" of what I consider a particularly pointless and annoying kind. However, direct statements that are dirty do, in fact, work very well for me. I don't have to have a cock to know that "I'm going to suck your cock," is a good thing to hear.
Smelling again, burying his face against Clark's groin and nuzzling; they're both groaning, a kind of call-and-response. Lex's cock is just as hard as Clark's, just as wet, and he pushes it against the nearest flesh--the top of Clark's foot--while he holds onto Clark's stiff cock and kisses the tip over and over, almost chastely.
Clark throws his head back and shouts some almost-word as his hips come up off the bed. When his body comes back down, he looks at Lex like they are in the midst of a miracle and pets his scalp with one shaky hand. "I knew it," he says. "I knew how good this would be."
"You've thought about it," Lex says, fishing. He's in an impossible position, up on one arm, hips grinding down atop Clark's large, bony foot, and he doesn't want to move, ever.
Hee! The foot! There were some comments about the foot, and I don't really remember how it came to be in this story. I go back and forth on whether or not I'm a foot/shoe pervert. I'm probably just a normalish woman in this way--if I am a pervert, it's a mild kind. I like shoes. I like my feet, both aesthetically and functionally. I'm not so interested in other people's feet. I don't like foot smells or anything like that. But I have had occasion for a naked penis to rest on top of my naked foot, and it's actually a very nice combination. The skin on the top of a foot has much more sensitivity than you might think. It was very sensual, not sexual. Had the penis owner been a foot pervert and actually wanted some sexy foot-penis contact, I'd have been completely willing, but it was just a transient thing on his part.
"Christ, Lex!" Clark says impatiently. He's trembling with excitement, maybe even fear. "Yeah, I did. I do! Oh, *please*..."
Lex holds Clark's cock tight in his fist and breathes on it, his mouth close enough that Clark has to feel the plosives and the sibilants when Lex says, "Please *what*?"
Clark groans, falling back, down off his elbows, and laughs shakily. "Goddamn it, Lex. Just blow me, will you?"
Lex rolls Clark's foreskin back, pushing with lips and tongue. He watches Clark's face go slack and helpless as the length of his cock is swallowed before he understands that he's not the first one to do this. Clark shifts, lets his thighs fall wide, and something about the way he adjusts physically gives it away. Lex can flatter himself that Clark has wanted this, that Lex's turn on his knees has been eagerly anticipated, but he's not the first. The stupid pain of this realization is swift and humiliating; he swallows hard around Clark's cock to force the feeling away and, in ironic counterpoint, Clark wails his name and draws his tense limbs up to cage Lex's skull. It's both protective and possessive, the big hands light on the back of his neck, the knees bracketing his shoulders, and Clark's voice so close, whispering his name.
I like that section. I like Lex having to face facts while he's got Clark's cock in his mouth. It's horrible for poor Lex.
Lex braces his hands against Clark's body, thumbs burnishing the crests of his hipbones, holding him as still as he can. Clark just keeps getting harder and harder, his rapid pulse throbbing solid against Lex's lip. All the little gasps, the sweet, desperate noises that Clark lets loose, just make Lex even more determined to make Clark forget all previous blowjobs, any prior sex, any touch before his. Clark needs to remember that Lex had claim on him first; he should have known it.
Were it anyone else, I think that Lex would have tried very hard to make this unpleasant for his partner from this point forward. His sense of betrayal is unreasonable--except that it's not. While technically, Clark owes him no fidelity, I don't think Lex is entirely unjustified in feeling that he does. There is something between them, and always has been, and they both know it.
Slow and steady, Lex eases his mouth down the length of Clark's shaft--it won't be acceptable to choke or gag, not this time. When Lex pulls back, lips tight just behind the head and tongue rubbing everywhere, Clark trembles and sucks in a shivery breath. "Oh--oh, god!" Lex glances up at the blue-lit angles of Clark's face, classic as a saint. Clark's eyes are heavy-lidded and shadowed by his tangled hair, but there's a glint there, like firelight in wine.
(Eep. There's a tiny RedK reference here, which will be covered in the Outtakes)
Cock heavy on his tongue, and he can feel blood rushing under the thin skin, feel how Clark's balls draw closer to his body, but he's not ready for Clark to come yet. Instead, he pulls off and bends to press a kiss to Clark's flat belly. Clark begs, "Don't stop! Please, Lex; please, oh fuck, oh *please*." He continues to beg as Lex bends lower, licking again between his legs. Still pleading, Clark spreads wide for him, dark and wanton and open. Lex strokes Clark's cock, slow pumps with a twist at the end, his thumb slipping over the head, while he licks the crease of Clark's thigh, wets his balls with a slippery tongue, and then follows his hand with crosshatching licks up the shaft. He can taste his own saliva dried on Clark's skin, sweet like sugar.
He pushes up on straight arms to kiss Clark on the mouth and the boy moans so that it resonates in the hollows of Lex's body, through his bones. Clark tries to pull him in, but Lex ducks his embrace and bends to take his cock again, mouth closing over the head. Clark's voice is almost angry when he says, "So fucking beautiful, you are; you fucking are." He sounds like he's arguing with Lex, trying to prove a point. He shakes his head while he holds Lex's still, hands over Lex's ears so that everything sounds like it's happening underwater.
Lex breathes in deeply through his nose, closes his eyes, and dives down until his lips press against golden skin through a black lace of hair. Clark groans, "I'm gonna...oh! God, Lex!" His hips lift and take Lex up, too, as Clark comes down Lex's throat. Lex pulls back to taste him and in this, as in everything, Clark is a little different, warm and salty and richly metallic, like blood.
After a few stunned moments, Clark grabs him under the arms and hauls him up until they're face to face. "Lex," Clark says, beaming. "Oh, Lex." He kisses Lex wetly and affectionately, moaning when he tastes himself on Lex's tongue. For a moment Lex thinks he'll come from just this, a sweet coda to Clark's orgasm like a contact high, but just as quickly he's wondering exactly who did this for Clark before, and whether or not they meant anything to him. Stung by uneasy jealousy, Lex's focus wanders and the surging in his cock ebbs.
Someone else, some stranger who can't be made to pay for poaching on his turf, had their mouth around Clark's cock and accepted his grateful, searching kisses as thanks. Someone else, not him, was first. He'd never taken Jessie seriously, nor Kyla, and he'd discounted the rumors about Clark's summer in the city, but he can't ignore the physical evidence: Clark knows how to stay out of the way while he's being blown.
Clark says, "That was...that was incredible, you know."
"Yes," Lex says, haughty and proud and not giving anything away. "I know."
Well, I'm hurting for him. And I'd happily elbow Clark out of the way and take over, if I thought it would make Lex feel better. But it wouldn't, so let's keep going.
~~~
Now it's Clark's turn to show off a little. Which is a kindness that looks (and feels) like cruelty. I think it would be worse if he pretended he was untouched and "pure."
Clark was raised right; he's going to return the favor.
Lex leans back against the headboard, Clark tilting in between his thighs. He's surprised at how good Clark is with his mouth--not that he'd expected that Clark wouldn't be good at this, but it's still a little unnerving. Clark must sense his pleased shock, because he says--half-bragging, half-shamed--"I learned a lot in Metropolis."
"Oh, did you, now?" The flicker of images in Lex's head are as violently pornographic as crime scene photos and make his cock flex with a thick pulse of lust.
"I thought about you," Clark claims, which is wrong and probably untrue, but it still makes Lex groan and tighten his grip on Clark's hair.
"No, you didn't," Lex says, but he can see that Clark understands how much he likes the idea.
This was a little different originally, and Clark was meaner, more mocking. However, my intent was misinterpreted by too many of the beta readers for the sentence to not need work, so I changed things. I made Clark marginally nicer, but I think it's still clear that Clark has some awareness of how much this experience is fucking with Lex's head.
"I thought about how I'd--" And here Clark grips Lex's cock at the base and runs his tongue in a slow swirl around the head, "--taste you, always you, no matter whose cock I was sucking." Long, thoughtful suck, pulling slowly back to give up the head of Lex's cock, admire it, lick it, and then suck it again.
"Jesus, Clark!" Lex wants him to shut up now. Clark's words ruin everything, every daydream Lex has had about his shy, virginal boy, every mental picture of Clark as unwitting carnal angel. Clark can never be just another fuck to Lex, but maybe the reverse isn't true.
Clark pulls off again and says, "When I thought you were dead? I kept thinking of all the things I wanted you to do to me, everything I'd been afraid to ask for. So," and here Clark pauses, avoiding Lex's eyes, "I did everything I'd thought about."
"You did everything." Lex's voice is flat, almost metallic. Everything. Clark did everything.
"I was so happy when you weren't dead, Lex." Clark gives him a squeeze and a slow, affectionate lick. "What about you, Lex? Are you happy?"
Lex growls and digs his nails into the back of Clark's neck; if Clark is sucking him, he can't talk, can't tell him things he'd rather not hear. No, he's *not* happy. He's ecstatic, but--ask any martyr--that's hardly the same thing. Clark's tongue moving against the underside of his cock feels so good that Lex has to grunt like an animal and thrust hard into Clark's mouth. Clark snickers, apparently pleased that he can make Lex lose control, and grins at him around his cock with a flash of fang tooth. Fucking Christ.
I like the martyr line. Sneer all you want--I think I'm pretty good at this ;)
Blood roars in his ears, and Lex realizes Clark has pulled away, looking worried. It takes a conscious effort to relax the muscles of his face, unscrewing a rictus of pain. "I'm okay," he lies. He strokes Clark's cheekbone with his thumb and tries to calm his own shallow panting. He has never shared anything willingly, and he has always considered Clark his, even though it's obviously not true. Clark submits to Lex's touch, leaning into the pressure of his hand. His breath scalds the bare skin of Lex's groin as he looks up through his lashes, waiting. "God, Clark, you're..." A deep breath, and then Lex continues, "You're going to kill me." Even the smile hurts, and it doesn't fool Clark for a second.
If there's been any question as to whether or not Clark likes Lex (or vice versa), the exchange here (above and below) between them makes it clear to me that they do care a whole hell of a lot. And Clark knows Lex is in pain, but because this is Lex, stopping would be humiliating and a whole host of other wrong things, so they keep going. Only forward.
"Not likely." Clark licks Lex's groin, sucks a kiss into the skin at the base of his cock, and says, "You're the strongest person I know." Clark's big hands encourage his thighs to part and Lex tries to relax. Clark's head bobs over his belly in time with his neat, precise lapping, the rough velvet tongue making him slippery everywhere. "God," Clark says, voice muffled against Lex's skin. "I love how you taste. I love how smooth you are." He gets up onto his knees and puts his hands on Lex's hips, pulling him down the bed until he's flat on his back. Clark sways over him on all fours, breathing hard, searching for something in Lex's face. He apparently finds it, because he grins, blinding beacon smile, and says, "You're going to let me do whatever I want."
"There's not anything you want that I didn't want first."
True, but also bratty and kind of young to say out loud.
Clark laughs and wraps his hand around the base of Lex's cock, holding it upright, then ducks down to close his lips around the tip. The sight of his cock disappearing again into Clark's mouth is so loaded with symbolism and implications beyond the sensation of pleasure that he has to close his eyes to keep from coming immediately. When he opens them again, Clark is looking up at him as he swallows around his cock, and this time Lex can't stop his body's reaction. Clark, startled, fights back a choking cough and keeps sucking as Lex pulses in his mouth. It seems like days later when Lex's heartbeat finally slows to normal, when Clark's tousled head rests easy on Lex's belly, and Lex's hand stops shaking enough that he can stroke the boy's damp hair.
Lex takes a deep breath and swallows hard, holding back the words that threaten to well up out of his throat. Trapped, they make his chest feel tight, vaguely reminiscent of his childhood asthma, but he can't let them loose because love is potentially as messy as nausea. Neither one of them needs that kind of trouble right now.
There's a lot of, um, coughing imagery there. Is there even such a thing?
Clark suddenly lifts his head, lurching up to lean on an elbow. "You want to know what makes me different, Lex?" Clark asks, his tone light and casual, even as he licks a pearl of Lex's semen from the corner of his mouth. "I *know* you want to know. But, did you ever think that maybe it's just *this*?" A sweeping hand gesture takes in the length of their bodies entwined on the bed.
Lex shakes his head, suddenly so tired. He feels weak and overcome, and all he wants is to hold onto Clark, convey what he can of his own secrets with touch and tenderness. "No," he says. "I never thought that. That you're bi or gay or...whatever, isn't a secret your whole family keeps, Clark. But, listen--I don't* want* you to tell me."
"Liar." Clark's face darkens, frustrated. "Now you're afraid to know, aren't you?"
"You're not going to tell me anyway, so it doesn't matter." Lex forces himself to stop talking, biting back bitterness, but Clark only shrugs and looks embarrassed. Lex pets Clark's silky hair and feels his own unspoken words swell again in his lungs. "Everyone has secrets, Clark. I'm not telling you all of mine, either."
It's fatalism in action! Or, rather, inaction. And it's kind of crude and aggressive on Clark's part, which I found rather hot. And--dare I admit it--tragic.
Clark considers this, then nods. "Okay." He runs a hand down Lex's belly to the base of his cock. "Can I?" he asks, gripping harder. "I don't want to be done yet."
"Give me a minute," Lex says. "I don't want to be done, either." He rolls over on top of Clark, nose to nose, and licks into his mouth. Clark's eyes are no color at all in this strange light, beautiful and open and guileless. Clark used to look at Lex as though he had all the answers, could fix anything, but not now. Or maybe he never did, and Lex was just imagining hero worship where he wanted it most.
Why do I so love to hurt thee, Lex Luthor? I'm going to do it some more in the next paragraph, too.
~~~
He doesn't need to be reminded, but Clark must want to be certain. "You aren't the first, you know," Clark says, defiant set of his jaw, but he's blushing--he's still got that much innocence left. "I've done this before, more than once...different people, you know? So I could be sure I was doing it right."
"There's no right," Lex says shakily, trying to be reassuring, but he's almost sick with jealousy. Clark lies on his back, legs spread, one knee bent up and falling out to the side. The shadows on his skin rush to the center, leading Lex's eyes and hands. He can't not touch. Clark sighs when Lex's fingers brush the insides of his thighs and spreads them further apart.
"That's bullshit," Clark says, with an indrawn hiss of breath. "I've had it done wrong." He moves against Lex's touch and shudders again. "It was nothing like this." His skin is hot and slippery with a sheen of sweat, and he's eager and so willing, and Lex is trying to orient himself, reconcile actual Clark with the Clark who has long lived in his head--that shy, young Clark who needs coaxing and convincing. Clark must see this in Lex's face, because he says, "This is really me, Lex."
And what if it is? Because this isn't how it he'd always imagined it would happen. This isn't Clark's first time. Lex isn't even his first male lover. Ideally, Clark would have been his all along. He can tell himself that he should have been here, pretend that the timing would have been right, or he can issue a blanket condemnation of Helen and all that she wrought, but he can't escape the thought that Clark might never have come to him at all. The fact is, it probably never would have happened the way he's wanted it, anyway.
Which is the point, I guess. I almost used Rolling Stones lyrics for this story, i.e., You Can't Always Get What You Want. However, as much as I love the chorus of that song, the rest of it is kind of crap, and it certainly had no connection to the story. But sing the chorus to yourself as Our Boys continue to have angsty, broken-hearted sex.
~~~
Clark talks and talks, which should be sexy--Lex likes talkers. But each time Clark says, "I like that," he's not just talking about this time, now, the two of them. He's speaking from experience, a series of past encounters wherein someone was too aggressive or weak, used too much spit or not enough, annoyed him instead of ratcheting up his arousal.
Clark is definitely not saying, "Lex, I've never felt like this before."
And isn't that just a really "girl" thing to want to hear? Lex sees himself as tough, and he is tough, but I don't think he's nearly so hard as he's going to have to be to protect himself from Clark.
Clark looms across Lex's body, effectively pinning him to the bed. He paws through the nightstand drawer and Lex manages to get out, "It's a bottle. You're looking for a bottle." Clark makes a small sound of triumph and there's the muffled bounce of lube dropped onto the mattress near Lex's head. Clark dips down and circles Lex's right nipple with his tongue, wet licking followed by cool breath as Lex squirms. It's impossible to hold still and he's far too sensitive, but when he tries to pull away the angles change and he's blindsided by intensity from yet another direction. Rolling on top and pushing Clark's shoulders flat to the bed doesn't solve his problem, either. His cock is so hard that he's lightheaded; it throbs against Clark's belly, and he feels Clark's pulse follow right behind his own. The bed shifts beneath their weight like waves, and Clark laughs like this is *fun*.
They crash sideways and Lex twists awkwardly to retrieve the leaking bottle of lube from beneath his shoulder blade. Clark takes it and sits back on his heels. He pours too much in his hand, dripping all over the sheets, and says, "God, oh god Lex, I really want you to--" He doesn't finish the sentence, but instead grasps Lex's cock and slicks it with slow strokes. Clark straddles Lex's hips and says, "Help me," and takes Lex's left hand by the wrist, guiding it back between his thighs.
His fingers are slippery from the lube on Clark's hand, but it wouldn't be slick enough for him. However, it's apparently enough lubrication for Clark, who is hot to the touch, whose greedy body offers only token resistance before Lex's middle finger is inside him, sliding deep. He's seeking, then finding, and Clark says, "Oh fuck oh fuck no, no, stop!"
"Stop?" Clark trembles around him, wracked with shudders.
"I want to come when you fuck me," Clark gasps. "Not yet." He reaches back and Lex can't see what he's doing, but he feels it. Big, hot hand, silky-wet, positions him, and then Clark moves back onto him. They both groan when the head of his cock breaches Clark's body. Clark says, "Oh, yeah. That's so good," and if Lex could speak, he'd agree. Clark sinks deeper down, eyes fluttering shut. He draws back and looks Lex in the eye. "Jesus," he says. "This is you. I'm with you."
"No kidding." Lex can barely get the words out. He reaches up and pulls Clark down by the neck to kiss him. He feels skinless and tender, and the salt from their sweat stings him everywhere. He feels like he should be begging, but he doesn't know what he has left to beg for.
The experience of getting what you were sure you wanted and having it not be emotionally anything remotely close to what you thought it would be is really fucking confusing. I so hoped that this would come through with this story.
Lex has no control. If he ever thought he had control, he was wrong. Clark moves over him, hands bracketing Lex's head, lifting up and then plunging deep onto Lex's cock. His knees press tightly against Lex's sides. He looks so serious; Lex probably does, too. Clark leans forward, dropping down onto one elbow, and kisses Lex tenderly. Clark's tongue sweeps through Lex's mouth, thrusts matching the rhythm of his hips as they push back. Lex pulls Clark down, even closer, his arms wrapped around Clark's back.
Clark shrugs off the embrace and sits up, still moving, an excruciating drag along the sensitized flesh of Lex's cock. His eyes are slitted and he looks pained; Lex runs his hands along Clark's thighs in a gesture meant to soothe. Clark went soft when he first took Lex into his body but now he's hard again, leaking steadily onto Lex's belly. Clark seems to be mostly elsewhere, which Lex cannot tolerate. It's as if Clark is working on a personal project and Lex is merely a means to an end. Clark's hair hangs in his face and he breathes through open lips.
Clark's doing a one-night-stand kind of thing here. He knows how to get himself off and he's doing by using this other body as a sort of tool. It's a depressing attitude to be, um, up against. And it's definitely wrong in this situation. Or it should be.
"Clark," Lex says, wanting to draw him back.
Clark blinks and the dark, serious expression in his eyes makes Lex's cock surge. Clark picks up Lex's left hand and licks in broad strokes across his open palm. He says, "Touch me," and wraps Lex's hand around his shaft. But at contact, he throws his head back and stills his hips. "Oh, *God*, Lex!"
Lex swallows hard and waits, concentrating, his hand unmoving, trying to ignore the messages that Clark's body sends to his own. There are rivers of urgency under their skins, heading for the high places. He can't look at Clark or he'll go over. He closes his eyes and says, "You okay?"
A shudder wracks Clark's body, but he says, "Yeah. I'm fine." He pets Lex's forearm, so Lex looks up at him, moves his hand experimentally. Clark's eyes roll back in his head and a thick surge of fluid wets the head of his cock. "No," Clark gasps, "I guess I'm not."
Lex has no intention of stopping, but he asks, "You want to stop?"
Clark shakes his head. "Don't even think about it." He bends and presses his mouth to Lex's, cupping his skull in one huge hand. Between kisses, he says, "You know what I want, Lex. You can figure it out."
And it's a little tiny bit persona, a little hint that they do know one another, and Lex is special, and Clark is special, and they are special. It's a crumb thrown down for a whole flock to fight over.
It's no declaration of love, but it's close enough. Lex twists his hips beneath Clark's ass and gets a groan in response. Clark is so strong; he holds Lex against his chest and rolls them over, ending up on his back, Lex on top. With the first push, Clark melts a little and Lex gets a glimpse of him, really sees him, the boy he's been wanting all this time.
Clark says, "Fuck!" softly, like he's a little bit angry at himself. He pulls at his cock, a little frantic, until Lex interlaces their fingers, calming Clark's movements. Their fingers fold around the shaft and move together, slide and clasp. Clark opens his mouth to speak over and over, but always closes it again around nothing more than a sigh.
"Tell me," Lex whispers. He pushes Clark's leg up and back, braces against it with his right arm. At first, the skin of his thigh stuck and pulled against the skin of Clark's ass, but now they're both slick with sweat and the only physical friction is ground out where their bodies join. The fingers of his left hand are slick with lube and sweat but he's got a better grip on Clark's cock than Clark does; Clark is really just holding Lex's hand. "Just tell me."
Clark shakes his head, eyes and mouth shut tight, but when Lex begins to work the slippery head in earnest, massaging with his thumb, Clark's eyes fly open and he says, "God, Lex! Fuck me!"
With a wordless snarl, Lex drives into Clark's body, fucking him as hard as he can. Lex knows he can't break Clark; he'll be the one to come apart, and he's fine with that. He's intent on erasing, rubbing out everyone who came before. Lex is a little desperate because Clark has always refused his gifts; if Clark isn't going to accept this one, either, Lex really needs to make the thought count.
I like the gift line, and I believe it's true. And although things have gotten a little sweeter between them in the last few paragraphs, Lex is wary of giving that too much credence.
"Should have done this long ago," Lex says. "Fucked you, made you come, made you *mine*."
"God, yes," Clark groans. "Wanted you. Any time, I would have let you..." Clark moans, forgetting words on a particularly deep thrust. Lex thinks about years of this, of being there *first*, and he wants to kill someone, but it's not Clark and it's not himself, so he just keeps thrusting into Clark's ass. Lex needs both hands for leverage so he reluctantly releases Clark's cock, but Clark is right there to pick up the slack. The sight of Clark with his eyes slitted, mouth red and swollen, head thrown back, and his fist hiding and then revealing the fat head of his cock, makes Lex's mouth dry. He swallows hard, jerks his hips back until he's almost free, and says, "If I'd kissed you on the riverbank, you wouldn't have known to tell me 'no,'" before slamming back inside. Force of momentum makes his balls sting as if slapped with a hand.
At one point, before I had much of this written down but was thinking about it, I thought it would be a humorous piece. There are still bits of that hiding here and there, but I wrote this in order (as I do with most things) and it was certainly clear to me not long after I started putting words down that this wasn't going to be funny after all. Still, some phrasing remains from the mental version with the laugh track. Again, I know it isn't funny, but I just wanted to point that out here because I'm curious if that surprises anyone, or if it's still visible. Humor and a kind of horror seem very closely related to me. There's a kind of black, laughing bitterness that proves the adage about cynics being romantics.
"Jesus!" is all Clark says, but the look in his eyes tells Lex that he agrees; he wouldn't have known to stop him. Clark wraps his legs around Lex's waist, his gaze unfocused as if he's separated from Lex by several atmospheres. Clark's mouth opens and he looks like he wants to tell Lex something, something urgent, but instead a big hand cups the back of Lex's neck, a graceless paw, and their teeth clash in a frantic kiss. "Oh, god, Lex!" Clark whimpers. "You--you're--"
Clark's not finding the words, but Lex has plenty. He's an idiot, he's in love, he's going to regret this for some as-yet-unknown reason that's probably related to one of their dads--
"--you're so--" Clark moves against him with a grunt and bites down on his own lip. His hair curls in damp spirals along his hairline, sticks out crazily everywhere else, and twists in knots around Lex's fingers.
"Clark!" Seeing him like this is too much. He fights to slow his movements. He doesn't want this to be over and he's holding out, waiting to feel some sense of certainty that Clark belongs to him.
The blockage in Clark's brain must clear then, because he starts babbling, "Lex, Lex, oh God! You're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. I want you to come in me. I want to feel it."
Lex feels a surge in his cock at Clark's words, and he lets out a groan of lust and frustration because he's not ready for this to be over, but his hips are driving like a piston and his body is leaping ahead because this is how it's supposed to be, and it feels right. Perfect. So fucking right.
He belongs to Clark and he has no idea if Clark belongs to him. It's not seeming likely.
His cock never cares if it's jerking inside a man's body or a woman's, but this is Clark and he wants...something, a moment of silence, a salute.
"Come on," Clark urges. "Want this, want *you* so much."
Lex rests his forehead against Clark's and closes his eyes. His cock is full and sore, rubbed raw and wrung out, and he just needs to come and be done with it.
"Come for me," Clark coaxes. "And then I'll come for you." It sounds reasonable, but maybe it's a trick, or maybe it's a dream because Clark is completely in charge and Lex is too close to frantic to even think about what he ought to be doing. Clark decides it, with a hand on the back of his skull and the other in the small of his back, holding him tight and *in* while they kiss. Lex feels how hard his own heart beats, bumping against the solid wall of Clark's chest. Clark's pulse is a string of beads moving beneath the skin where their bodies join.
He doesn't want to move because, suddenly, it's important that he know where he stands with Clark, know why they're doing this, but he's harder than ever and he doesn't even have to move because he's coming anyway. "Oh, God, Clark," he whispers hoarsely. His back arches like a bow and his vision goes red. The sensation comes from so deep that each pulse of his cock seems likely to produce some primal horror, so he chases the throbbing with slow, deep thrusts that set them both gasping. Clark has a tight hold on Lex's hips but lets him move, groaning loudly each time Lex bends over him, deep in, all the way.
Lex is still shaking with aftershocks when Clark starts begging. "Please," Clark gasps. "Fuck me, please fuck me." Even though it feels as if he's peeling the skin off his cock, Lex straightens his elbows and lifts up to thrust without hesitation. Clark's moans sound almost frightened, the noises of a little animal and not a man, but so fucking sexy. He grabs Lex's hand and places it against his cock as he starts to come; he jerks in Lex's grip and calls his name.
When Lex rolls off of Clark, they lie facing one another and he lets Clark really see him. He doesn't close his eyes or turn away or talk to distract. Clark's own eyes are very bright as he touches Lex's cheek, traces the bones of his skull with gentle fingers, and looks right into him.
Clark must see something broken there. He's very tender when he says, "It's okay, Lex."
I really like this whole scene. I like Clark being all, well, Clarkish for a moment, sweet and maybe a little in awe of Lex, but it's temporary. After all, it's. Just. Sex.
~~~
He's almost asleep when Clark's voice jolts him alert. "You're a dangerous romantic," Clark tells him. "You're going to have to get over your disappointment."
And Clark's being jerky again. It's self-preservation, though; I don't fault him for it.
"Disappointment?" Lex murmurs, breathing in Clark's shampoo. "Believe me, Clark, I'm not disappointed."
"Liar." (Liar.) Clark pulls away so he can look Lex in the eye. "Do you want the numbers?"
There's something wrong with him that he even knows what Clark is talking about. He thinks, but does not say, "No." Instead, he shrugs.
Originally, Lex says "No.", but betas hated that and thought Clark was way too mean. To betas, I have to say: You're just lucky you never had casual sex with me.
"Okay then," Clark says. "I'll tell you." He grins when Lex frowns. "You're number seven."
Seven? That's more than he'd hoped, but not so many as he'd feared. Clark must see this on his face, because he continues. "Of the guys, I mean. You're the seventh guy. There were a lot more women than that."
Fuck. That's just...fuck. Lex laughs and shakes his head, closing his eyes. Lex laughs and shakes his head, closing his eyes and then hiding them with a forearm. "Please. I don't need any more numbers, Clark."
~~~
He must have slept for a little while after all, because the next thing he knows, Clark is saying, "This doesn't change anything, right?" He seems to be asking for confirmation, not reassurance.
Lex tenses up. How can it *not* change things? "I'm not sure what you mean."
They have been holding hands, side by side on their backs, but Clark withdraws his fingers and shifts up onto his side. "Lex," he says, his hand over Lex's heart. "What I said earlier...I really can't do it. I can't tell you. You'll guess, or you'll find out somehow--it's not like I don't know that. But I'm not *telling* you, okay?"
*Okay*? Of course it's *not* okay! Lex shrugs, and although Clark can't see him, he'll feel it, the mattress shifting under his shoulders. It's important that Clark not know how much this bothers him. Because, yes, he did think it would change things. Or, rather, he thought he knew which things it *would* change. But that was before Clark paid this late-night visit, came creeping between the sheets, put his lips and tongue, his cock, and his big hands everywhere, leaving invisible stains all over Lex's skin.
I had some idea that I'd "explain" this, but I think it's pretty well covered. If not, ask me specifically.
"Come on, Lex," Clark coaxes. "Seriously. I'm in *high school*. You're a *Luthor*. It's not like we can walk down Main Street holding hands." He's affectionate and a little patronizing when he says, "Besides--I *know* you. If there *is* a time for this, it isn't *now*, is it?"
Lex tries to picture it, but it won't come into focus. Still, no one patronizes a Luthor. "Perhaps not," he concedes. His fantasy has always included some sort of ownership, Clark meek yet glorious at heel, but he can't really say that would actually be better than the reality. He'd rather have Clark right here, right now, even if he insists on having a sexual past, even if he persists in explaining why they aren't a couple. It's not as though Lex thinks for a second that it's possible, either.
Which might or might not be true, regardless of what Lex tells himself.
But the secrets...the goddamn secrets! He has let Clark in so far, let him take so many liberties, and still Clark won't just admit that Lex hit him with the fucking car! He cringes inwardly when he says it, but he has to try: "Clark, can't you just tell me--"
Clark explodes. "Jesus, Lex! No, I *can't*." He slides his hand down Lex's belly and cups his abraded cock, making him hiss in pain. "This? What we did tonight? It's nothing in comparison--you know *that* much, anyway." Lex groans softly when his cock stirs at Clark's touch, can't help moving his hips into the pressure. They both watch Clark's fingers mold Lex's flesh into a column, straight and firm.
"Neither one of us," Clark continues, "can even admit--" he bends to lick at a bruise-swollen nipple--"to wanting *this*, not while we live here." Clark's tongue swipes over his nipple in time with the strokes of his hand, his fingers moving in a loose circle around Lex's cock. Lex could almost forget that they're arguing, but then Clark says, "What makes you think *my* secrets would be any easier to keep?"
Lex is livid. The question is completely unfair, completely irrelevant. He opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out except a moan that's a direct result of Clark's hand on his cock. Everything's boiling red and fizzing and he can't speak because--
--because Clark is right.
~~~
And if I did this right, you got to the end and you said/felt/thought "Ouch!" and maybe you hated me a little.
A lot of readers responded to this story by saying something to the effect of "Thank god you made a happy ending," which amazes me because I don't see one. I took that as an odd form of compliment, i.e., that I'd made something nasty enough no one was eager to face it as it was and brains started making their own loopholes and exceptions to make the story palatable.
It was kind of a let-down for me, too, and not just the characters, because I did what I wanted, and I think I did it well, but as a result, people were upset--whether with me, or the story, or whatever. And I don't want to sound "entitled," but I'm not unreasonable in expecting a certain amount of attention for porn at this point, and I didn't get it for this one, and knowing in advance that I wouldn't didn't make it any more fun. But I really like this story. It's one of my favorites of my own pieces. Going over it to do the commentary makes me like it even more. I find it very brutal, even though sometimes I wonder if the subtleties are 1) even subtle at all, or 2) perceptible by anyone but me. I wonder that about all of my writing, whether anyone sees what I think I'm putting on the page. There's no way to know.
EXTRAS
Results of the Jacyn Test:
Outtakes
I am very secretive, it seems, compared with other writers. I guess I sort of knew that, and I suppose eventually that could change, organically and gradually, and it could be just as easy to feed bits of story to someone via IM as it is now to post porn to a public webspace, but I don't even want to have someone else potentially shape my story. If I can't write my way out of something, then I'm going to stay stuck. Because that's my job, right? I am a huge control freak. I am perfectly happy to do things for people--audiencing porn on IM, offering suggestions on how to reshape things, etc., but I have no AIM chats to provide a "beta track." I'd be more likely to masturbate for an audience than write live for an audience, you know?
However, this story was significantly (in my opinion, anyway) impacted by the comments of one beta reader. Originally, Clark is wearing a RedK ring. Why? Because I had written some banter and an image that I liked. It was a red herring, because he gets rid of the ring right away, and the sex occurs without the influence of RedK. See? Pointless.
All of the betas had some vague discomfort about this, except forliviapenn, who is never vague about anything, so far as I can tell. While she didn't actually come out and say that the RedK part sucked, that's what I'm pretty sure she meant. And she was so articulate and adamant that I began to look at my phrase-and-mental-image combo and it began to reek most unpleasantly and not seem like such a special treasure to share with the world, blah, blah, blah.
So Clark lost the ring long before he ever reached the mansion, and that led to a bunch of other changes that I think were all to the better.
And when I look at this now, I'm wondering why, exactly, I was taken so much with this sort of bratty exchange. It doesn't do anything for me now. There are a couple other places where the ring is mentioned before this scene, but this was the part I wanted, and I wanted it for the last line, and it just doesn't impress me at all today.
And when all the readers saw the final cut posted, they all agreed that the redK annoyance had been the thing which bothered them, too. So, yay! Livia! Which is why beta readers are valuable and deserve accolades.
tobyfan and kiezh, and if you still have questions, please ask...Author's Cut: Commentary on ANTICLIMAX by velvetglove
subtitle this one cynics are romantics
So I was surprised that people wanted a commentary on this one. Because, well, it's all sex, all the time…except it's not just that. And I knew this story wouldn't be as well-liked as I wanted it to be, because it's actually pretty awful emotionally, and people don't generally like that, at least in fanfic.
Recently,
hazy_daisy made a comment in regard to another story I'd written where she remarks that I "…always seem to be questioning the Clex relationship and exploring the possibilities," and it made me so happy that someone (and, thus, perhaps, other someones) doesn't think I'm just an idiot who can't settle down and write happy stories, but maybe I'm trying to explore things. A confession: I do sometimes think that I should just indulge my inner Diva and write happy-happy-all-the-time fic and soak up the love like a sponge, but I think I'd get bored very quickly. Perversity is really ingrained, and it's not just to do with sexual behavior. I get praise for writing good sex scenes, so I want to write stories with no sex at all. Or, I want to write things like this, like Anticlimax, where there's lots and lots of sex that's hot and very physically satisfactory for the participants, but it's emotionally really fucked up. It's super-idealized stranger-sex, but it's taking place between two people who ought to treat each other better.
I called the story Anticlimax because the situation is such a let-down for Lex, and probably also for Clark, in a way. It's Lex POV, so we know more about what he's thinking, but I don't think this was easy for Clark at all. And also, because I'm twelve, I thought it was amusing to say "climax." Hehehe.
I had an Aimee Mann lyric quote that I used as the summary for this story, which is this:
It's not
what you thought
when you first began it.
You got
what you want
now you can hardly stand it.
And I can't remember whether or not I'd issued the Aimee Mann challenge or not, but I was thinking about it, and I had considered trying to make this into a challenge story (the song is Wise Up, btw), but I'm glad I didn't. Just because.
Jacyn, AKA
stone_princess was talking to rhiannonhero via e-mail or something after she'd read through this story, and Rhi had come with the following quote from George Bernard Shaw and thought someone should write a fic based on it. Jacyn told Rhi that she should "give" the quote to me for the story, because it is indeed perfect.There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it. ~ George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman, Act 4 (1903)
Lex wakes and Clark is in the room; he knows it's Clark because he knows Clark. He knows the way he smells, the way he moves, the shape of the air he displaces.
"Clark?"
There's no answer except the soft impact of Clark's feet against the floorboards, coming closer.
It's his house, but he whispers anyway. "What are you doing here, Clark?"
This isn't onscreen Clark. This is post-Metropolis Clark. I had started to try to explain how Clark, especially, got to a point where he'd behave this way, but it bogged everything down from the very beginning, and was boring, and I don't even have a draft of it. Just deleted it.
Slither of smooth fabric across skin, and Clark's voice is low in the dark. "I just wanted to say hello."
Lex rolls over, squinting into the shadows. He can't see a thing. Say hello? "No, you didn't," Lex says gently. "If that's what you wanted, you would have called."
Clark chuckles, still so low that Lex strains to hear him. "You're right." He's undoing his belt buckle; Lex hears the jingle of the hasp as Clark pushes his jeans off his hips. "So, yeah," he says. "I could have called. Hello, Lex."
"Hello, Clark." Lex can see him now, a dark-blue shadow against an inkier background. He's pleased that his voice is steady when he asks, "Why are you undressing?"
"Why do you think?" Clark sounds almost playful. "If this was *you*, in *my* bedroom, why would you be undressing?"
Whoo! Clark flirts effectively! This isn't your father's Oldsmobile! Again, I hoped that the characterization, which is deliberately OOC, wouldn't throw people off this early. Because it is definitely in character for this story, i.e., with some assumptions about Clark's adventures in Metropolis. I wanted some banter, and I wanted to feel the control shift a little while they were talking and there was still no directly sexual physical contact.
"Hmmm..." Lex pretends to consider the options. "Maybe I...want to be arrested? Maybe I haven't had enough excitement already this year?" He should be angry, maybe, or even frightened, but he's just hard.
"Are you planning on calling the cops?" Clark asks politely. "Because if you are, I probably should leave. I mean, if you're serious about that." He might be joking, but he still keeps his distance, back in the shadows.
"I'm not calling the cops," Lex reassures him. "I don't want to get you in any trouble. After all, you'd probably be *grounded* if the police are involved. You *would* get a ride in a squad car, though. That's something you kids are supposed to think is exciting."
"You've been in the back of a squad car, right?" Clark asks. "Did *you* think it was exciting?"
"I was scared," Lex says. "That's similar to excitement in many respects."
"Heart pounding," Clark says. He pads across the floor to stand at the end of the bed. "Mouth dry." The light from the window is cut in half by the curtain; his chest and head are in darkness, but the moonlight shines bright on Clark's hips and thighs and the glistening head of his cock. "Tense and nervous."
Lex licks his lips. "Right. Every fiber of your being alert." His feet are braced against the mattress, thighs quaking, but he's not going to run away. He's not going anywhere.
And Clark's in charge.
"On fire," Clark agrees. He leans over, weight resting on his hands at either side of Lex's legs, and starts to crawl.
Lex chokes back a moan and Clark keeps coming on until his face is right over Lex's, the head of his cock dragging damp along Lex's thigh. Lex keeps his eyes open as Clark says, "I've wanted you for so long," and kisses him.
An admission which costs him not a thing...
Clark's lips are soft, his breath sweet and minty, and his mouth just-brushed. The tip of his tongue reaches out to touch Lex's scar, a point of bright heat, and Lex licks back. Clark's mouth opens and Lex tastes him again and again until the flavor of toothpaste is gone and it's just Clark, whimpering and liquid.
The kisses go on long enough that Lex's scar begins to itch with a pleasant, nagging tingle. Clark slides his wet, open mouth along Lex's jaw, tongue tracing the contours of his ear. Lex's hands move up and down Clark's biceps, squeezing and marveling because Clark is so hard everywhere. He's still thinking about Clark wanting him, marveling a little at that, as well. "If you want me," Lex gasps, "then you should have me." His voice breaks a little on 'have.'
"You want me, too, then." It's not really a question, it's just Clark being polite. He rocks his hips against Lex for emphasis.
Lex clamps his hands down on Clark's ass to keep him from moving. "More than anything."
It's my impression that Lex is still not aware that Clark is the boss of him. He's still playing the sort of jovial-snide Mr. Experience, even though Clark is seducing him. I think he's in denial. It's a big difference from the scenarios that have played in his head.
You know, it occurs to me I'm not adding much to the experience of the story. It just really seems to me in this one that it's all there. I'm probably not answering the questions that weren't asked. If you had a specific question about this story, please ask me and I'll tell you whatever I can.
"The way you always looked at me," Clark murmurs. He bends his head to lick Lex's neck, and his mouth is hot as blood. "It took me awhile to understand what it meant."
"And now you've got it all figured out?" Lex twists his head to the side, exposing more of his neck.
"Not really. But I was pretty sure tonight when you didn't make me get dressed and leave." Clark leans in and kisses him again, slowly this time. Clark's tongue is thick and sweet as syrup, and Lex opens up under his mouth as if melted. He can't pull Clark down, so he arches up, trying to put as much of their skin in contact as possible.
"You don't seem surprised, though," Clark murmurs. He rolls onto his back, pulling Lex on top. "About, you know, *this*."
"Oh, I'm surprised," Lex assures him. "I'm not totally convinced that I'm awake."
"You've had dreams like this?" Clark teases.
"You're usually not so forthcoming in dreams," Lex admits. "You usually require a bit of coaxing. I'm not entirely certain this is you." Right now, though, he doesn't care.
Clark frowns, brows arcing down over the bridge of his nose. "It's me, all right. I am who I always am." When Lex cocks a skeptical eyebrow, Clark gets a little defensive. "Just because I like Lana doesn't mean I can't want this, too."
"You're right, of course," Lex agrees. "What *about* Lana, anyway? Paying her any nocturnal visits recently?" He shifts, and Clark's cock is hot and hard as freshly-minted metal between them.
That should be forged, shouldn't it? Not "minted." Eh.
Power struggle! Lex plays dirty--or what would have seemed like dirty, were Clark not actually a different boy than Lex is used to.
"Don't play stupid," Clark says. "You know what Lana's like." He wraps his arms around Lex and kisses the side of his head, temple and ear and the joint of his jaw.
Lex just snorts, reaches to push Clark's hair off his forehead. "You grew up over the summer." There's a vein pulsing on Clark's temple and Lex dips his head to kiss it, tasting salt.
"So did you," Clark counters, a brat from the neck up. His surliness, in combination with his naked body squirming beneath Lex's weight, bring out an imperious arrogance that Lex has only pretended to outgrow. Clark needs to be shown who's boss, so Lex holds the boy's dark head with both hands, fingers tight in Clark's hair and at the angle of his jaw, and lets his tongue trace a leisurely path from the dimple at one corner of Clark's mouth to the other, coaxing his lips apart. Clark's eyelids drop haltingly as he sighs, a stuttering exhalation warm in Lex's throat.
I wanted Lex's attempts at dominating Clark to be a little pathetic. Like, tiny-pathetic, but then worse at the end of the story, when the incidents are cumulative. Which is mean, and I hate admitting it, but that was what I wanted. Or, another way of putting it: I want fatalism, the kind that leads to problem drinking.
But first I gave Lex some bits and pieces of what he's always thought he'd get if he ever got Clark, and I also let him push what he imagines are Clark's limits, because in this scenario, Lex knows Clark is special, but I think it's hard for a mere human to understand what "invulnerability" would feel like from either side.
Lex doesn't have to be careful, he knows that much. Clark's seeming indifference to abuse is responsible for Lex's slightly sinister durability kink. Whatever Clark is, he doesn't show wear. Lex's mouth closes on Clark's throat, licking away salt-sweat and exploring the differences in texture, smooth versus the sandpaper beginnings of a beard shadow. Clark gasps and clutches at Lex's hips, holds his ass with both big hands and thrusts against him in sinuous slow motion. Lex bites his throat, hard, and Clark responds with a sharp hiss, straining against him. Clark's cock jerks with each clench of Lex's jaw, wet spurts slick between their bellies. The marks almost don't appear at all, purpled semicircles fading into nothing in the wake of Lex's cannibal bites. Were Clark anyone else, Lex would be covered in gore; as it is, his jaw aches. Lex backs away, out from beneath Clark's greedy hands, and sits back on his heels to take a long look. Clark's chest heaves with rushed, panting breaths. He looks exactly as Lex has pictured him a thousand times, and then he says, "Lex, please!"
Lex feels his own pulse in his fingertips, his throat, the tip of his tongue. Where he touches Clark, their combined rhythm rushes out of control, pounding like fists against a door.
I'm not going to stop and admire every time I like something, but I do like that little paragraph very much.
Clark smells like he should, like Lex has always imagined: salt and soap and a light sheen of clean sweat. The taste of the flesh under his arms and then high up on the insides of his thighs is tinged with smokiness, like green wood burning. When Lex pushes the tip of his nose into the curls at the base of Clark's cock, the scent makes him shudder like an animal, almost blind with the intensity of his desire. He licks and sucks, nipping at the skin. The tendons at the junction of thigh and body are tense under his teeth and a hard bite makes Clark buck up with a whimper, but Lex doesn't get the impression that Clark is scared. He knows, of course, that Clark isn't hurt.
And then we go all stalkerish and obsessive and lavish attention over all the anatomy Lex can reach.
Lex starts at the sole of Clark's right foot, the toes curling like a dancer's in response to his kiss. The round dome of the ankle bone fits Lex's mouth perfectly. The dark hairs on Clark's calves are rough and resilient under Lex's tongue, a nice contrast to the smooth, silken pocket behind his knee. Clark cries out when Lex licks him there, so Lex does it over and over again until Clark is writhing and clutching roughly at Lex's head, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. The way Clark struggles to stay still for Lex's mouth, how much the effort hurts him, is so hot that Lex has to turn and do everything again on the other side. By the time he's licked his way up both thighs, Clark is propped up on his elbows, watching, whimpering impatiently. Clark has to know what's coming but, just to be sure, Lex tells him, "I'm going to suck your cock." Clark's eyes roll back in his head and he inhales sharply, shuddering.
I had mentioned the other day that I don't like "dirty talk" of what I consider a particularly pointless and annoying kind. However, direct statements that are dirty do, in fact, work very well for me. I don't have to have a cock to know that "I'm going to suck your cock," is a good thing to hear.
Smelling again, burying his face against Clark's groin and nuzzling; they're both groaning, a kind of call-and-response. Lex's cock is just as hard as Clark's, just as wet, and he pushes it against the nearest flesh--the top of Clark's foot--while he holds onto Clark's stiff cock and kisses the tip over and over, almost chastely.
Clark throws his head back and shouts some almost-word as his hips come up off the bed. When his body comes back down, he looks at Lex like they are in the midst of a miracle and pets his scalp with one shaky hand. "I knew it," he says. "I knew how good this would be."
"You've thought about it," Lex says, fishing. He's in an impossible position, up on one arm, hips grinding down atop Clark's large, bony foot, and he doesn't want to move, ever.
Hee! The foot! There were some comments about the foot, and I don't really remember how it came to be in this story. I go back and forth on whether or not I'm a foot/shoe pervert. I'm probably just a normalish woman in this way--if I am a pervert, it's a mild kind. I like shoes. I like my feet, both aesthetically and functionally. I'm not so interested in other people's feet. I don't like foot smells or anything like that. But I have had occasion for a naked penis to rest on top of my naked foot, and it's actually a very nice combination. The skin on the top of a foot has much more sensitivity than you might think. It was very sensual, not sexual. Had the penis owner been a foot pervert and actually wanted some sexy foot-penis contact, I'd have been completely willing, but it was just a transient thing on his part.
"Christ, Lex!" Clark says impatiently. He's trembling with excitement, maybe even fear. "Yeah, I did. I do! Oh, *please*..."
Lex holds Clark's cock tight in his fist and breathes on it, his mouth close enough that Clark has to feel the plosives and the sibilants when Lex says, "Please *what*?"
Clark groans, falling back, down off his elbows, and laughs shakily. "Goddamn it, Lex. Just blow me, will you?"
Lex rolls Clark's foreskin back, pushing with lips and tongue. He watches Clark's face go slack and helpless as the length of his cock is swallowed before he understands that he's not the first one to do this. Clark shifts, lets his thighs fall wide, and something about the way he adjusts physically gives it away. Lex can flatter himself that Clark has wanted this, that Lex's turn on his knees has been eagerly anticipated, but he's not the first. The stupid pain of this realization is swift and humiliating; he swallows hard around Clark's cock to force the feeling away and, in ironic counterpoint, Clark wails his name and draws his tense limbs up to cage Lex's skull. It's both protective and possessive, the big hands light on the back of his neck, the knees bracketing his shoulders, and Clark's voice so close, whispering his name.
I like that section. I like Lex having to face facts while he's got Clark's cock in his mouth. It's horrible for poor Lex.
Lex braces his hands against Clark's body, thumbs burnishing the crests of his hipbones, holding him as still as he can. Clark just keeps getting harder and harder, his rapid pulse throbbing solid against Lex's lip. All the little gasps, the sweet, desperate noises that Clark lets loose, just make Lex even more determined to make Clark forget all previous blowjobs, any prior sex, any touch before his. Clark needs to remember that Lex had claim on him first; he should have known it.
Were it anyone else, I think that Lex would have tried very hard to make this unpleasant for his partner from this point forward. His sense of betrayal is unreasonable--except that it's not. While technically, Clark owes him no fidelity, I don't think Lex is entirely unjustified in feeling that he does. There is something between them, and always has been, and they both know it.
Slow and steady, Lex eases his mouth down the length of Clark's shaft--it won't be acceptable to choke or gag, not this time. When Lex pulls back, lips tight just behind the head and tongue rubbing everywhere, Clark trembles and sucks in a shivery breath. "Oh--oh, god!" Lex glances up at the blue-lit angles of Clark's face, classic as a saint. Clark's eyes are heavy-lidded and shadowed by his tangled hair, but there's a glint there, like firelight in wine.
(Eep. There's a tiny RedK reference here, which will be covered in the Outtakes)
Cock heavy on his tongue, and he can feel blood rushing under the thin skin, feel how Clark's balls draw closer to his body, but he's not ready for Clark to come yet. Instead, he pulls off and bends to press a kiss to Clark's flat belly. Clark begs, "Don't stop! Please, Lex; please, oh fuck, oh *please*." He continues to beg as Lex bends lower, licking again between his legs. Still pleading, Clark spreads wide for him, dark and wanton and open. Lex strokes Clark's cock, slow pumps with a twist at the end, his thumb slipping over the head, while he licks the crease of Clark's thigh, wets his balls with a slippery tongue, and then follows his hand with crosshatching licks up the shaft. He can taste his own saliva dried on Clark's skin, sweet like sugar.
He pushes up on straight arms to kiss Clark on the mouth and the boy moans so that it resonates in the hollows of Lex's body, through his bones. Clark tries to pull him in, but Lex ducks his embrace and bends to take his cock again, mouth closing over the head. Clark's voice is almost angry when he says, "So fucking beautiful, you are; you fucking are." He sounds like he's arguing with Lex, trying to prove a point. He shakes his head while he holds Lex's still, hands over Lex's ears so that everything sounds like it's happening underwater.
Lex breathes in deeply through his nose, closes his eyes, and dives down until his lips press against golden skin through a black lace of hair. Clark groans, "I'm gonna...oh! God, Lex!" His hips lift and take Lex up, too, as Clark comes down Lex's throat. Lex pulls back to taste him and in this, as in everything, Clark is a little different, warm and salty and richly metallic, like blood.
After a few stunned moments, Clark grabs him under the arms and hauls him up until they're face to face. "Lex," Clark says, beaming. "Oh, Lex." He kisses Lex wetly and affectionately, moaning when he tastes himself on Lex's tongue. For a moment Lex thinks he'll come from just this, a sweet coda to Clark's orgasm like a contact high, but just as quickly he's wondering exactly who did this for Clark before, and whether or not they meant anything to him. Stung by uneasy jealousy, Lex's focus wanders and the surging in his cock ebbs.
Someone else, some stranger who can't be made to pay for poaching on his turf, had their mouth around Clark's cock and accepted his grateful, searching kisses as thanks. Someone else, not him, was first. He'd never taken Jessie seriously, nor Kyla, and he'd discounted the rumors about Clark's summer in the city, but he can't ignore the physical evidence: Clark knows how to stay out of the way while he's being blown.
Clark says, "That was...that was incredible, you know."
"Yes," Lex says, haughty and proud and not giving anything away. "I know."
Well, I'm hurting for him. And I'd happily elbow Clark out of the way and take over, if I thought it would make Lex feel better. But it wouldn't, so let's keep going.
~~~
Now it's Clark's turn to show off a little. Which is a kindness that looks (and feels) like cruelty. I think it would be worse if he pretended he was untouched and "pure."
Clark was raised right; he's going to return the favor.
Lex leans back against the headboard, Clark tilting in between his thighs. He's surprised at how good Clark is with his mouth--not that he'd expected that Clark wouldn't be good at this, but it's still a little unnerving. Clark must sense his pleased shock, because he says--half-bragging, half-shamed--"I learned a lot in Metropolis."
"Oh, did you, now?" The flicker of images in Lex's head are as violently pornographic as crime scene photos and make his cock flex with a thick pulse of lust.
"I thought about you," Clark claims, which is wrong and probably untrue, but it still makes Lex groan and tighten his grip on Clark's hair.
"No, you didn't," Lex says, but he can see that Clark understands how much he likes the idea.
This was a little different originally, and Clark was meaner, more mocking. However, my intent was misinterpreted by too many of the beta readers for the sentence to not need work, so I changed things. I made Clark marginally nicer, but I think it's still clear that Clark has some awareness of how much this experience is fucking with Lex's head.
"I thought about how I'd--" And here Clark grips Lex's cock at the base and runs his tongue in a slow swirl around the head, "--taste you, always you, no matter whose cock I was sucking." Long, thoughtful suck, pulling slowly back to give up the head of Lex's cock, admire it, lick it, and then suck it again.
"Jesus, Clark!" Lex wants him to shut up now. Clark's words ruin everything, every daydream Lex has had about his shy, virginal boy, every mental picture of Clark as unwitting carnal angel. Clark can never be just another fuck to Lex, but maybe the reverse isn't true.
Clark pulls off again and says, "When I thought you were dead? I kept thinking of all the things I wanted you to do to me, everything I'd been afraid to ask for. So," and here Clark pauses, avoiding Lex's eyes, "I did everything I'd thought about."
"You did everything." Lex's voice is flat, almost metallic. Everything. Clark did everything.
"I was so happy when you weren't dead, Lex." Clark gives him a squeeze and a slow, affectionate lick. "What about you, Lex? Are you happy?"
Lex growls and digs his nails into the back of Clark's neck; if Clark is sucking him, he can't talk, can't tell him things he'd rather not hear. No, he's *not* happy. He's ecstatic, but--ask any martyr--that's hardly the same thing. Clark's tongue moving against the underside of his cock feels so good that Lex has to grunt like an animal and thrust hard into Clark's mouth. Clark snickers, apparently pleased that he can make Lex lose control, and grins at him around his cock with a flash of fang tooth. Fucking Christ.
I like the martyr line. Sneer all you want--I think I'm pretty good at this ;)
Blood roars in his ears, and Lex realizes Clark has pulled away, looking worried. It takes a conscious effort to relax the muscles of his face, unscrewing a rictus of pain. "I'm okay," he lies. He strokes Clark's cheekbone with his thumb and tries to calm his own shallow panting. He has never shared anything willingly, and he has always considered Clark his, even though it's obviously not true. Clark submits to Lex's touch, leaning into the pressure of his hand. His breath scalds the bare skin of Lex's groin as he looks up through his lashes, waiting. "God, Clark, you're..." A deep breath, and then Lex continues, "You're going to kill me." Even the smile hurts, and it doesn't fool Clark for a second.
If there's been any question as to whether or not Clark likes Lex (or vice versa), the exchange here (above and below) between them makes it clear to me that they do care a whole hell of a lot. And Clark knows Lex is in pain, but because this is Lex, stopping would be humiliating and a whole host of other wrong things, so they keep going. Only forward.
"Not likely." Clark licks Lex's groin, sucks a kiss into the skin at the base of his cock, and says, "You're the strongest person I know." Clark's big hands encourage his thighs to part and Lex tries to relax. Clark's head bobs over his belly in time with his neat, precise lapping, the rough velvet tongue making him slippery everywhere. "God," Clark says, voice muffled against Lex's skin. "I love how you taste. I love how smooth you are." He gets up onto his knees and puts his hands on Lex's hips, pulling him down the bed until he's flat on his back. Clark sways over him on all fours, breathing hard, searching for something in Lex's face. He apparently finds it, because he grins, blinding beacon smile, and says, "You're going to let me do whatever I want."
"There's not anything you want that I didn't want first."
True, but also bratty and kind of young to say out loud.
Clark laughs and wraps his hand around the base of Lex's cock, holding it upright, then ducks down to close his lips around the tip. The sight of his cock disappearing again into Clark's mouth is so loaded with symbolism and implications beyond the sensation of pleasure that he has to close his eyes to keep from coming immediately. When he opens them again, Clark is looking up at him as he swallows around his cock, and this time Lex can't stop his body's reaction. Clark, startled, fights back a choking cough and keeps sucking as Lex pulses in his mouth. It seems like days later when Lex's heartbeat finally slows to normal, when Clark's tousled head rests easy on Lex's belly, and Lex's hand stops shaking enough that he can stroke the boy's damp hair.
Lex takes a deep breath and swallows hard, holding back the words that threaten to well up out of his throat. Trapped, they make his chest feel tight, vaguely reminiscent of his childhood asthma, but he can't let them loose because love is potentially as messy as nausea. Neither one of them needs that kind of trouble right now.
There's a lot of, um, coughing imagery there. Is there even such a thing?
Clark suddenly lifts his head, lurching up to lean on an elbow. "You want to know what makes me different, Lex?" Clark asks, his tone light and casual, even as he licks a pearl of Lex's semen from the corner of his mouth. "I *know* you want to know. But, did you ever think that maybe it's just *this*?" A sweeping hand gesture takes in the length of their bodies entwined on the bed.
Lex shakes his head, suddenly so tired. He feels weak and overcome, and all he wants is to hold onto Clark, convey what he can of his own secrets with touch and tenderness. "No," he says. "I never thought that. That you're bi or gay or...whatever, isn't a secret your whole family keeps, Clark. But, listen--I don't* want* you to tell me."
"Liar." Clark's face darkens, frustrated. "Now you're afraid to know, aren't you?"
"You're not going to tell me anyway, so it doesn't matter." Lex forces himself to stop talking, biting back bitterness, but Clark only shrugs and looks embarrassed. Lex pets Clark's silky hair and feels his own unspoken words swell again in his lungs. "Everyone has secrets, Clark. I'm not telling you all of mine, either."
It's fatalism in action! Or, rather, inaction. And it's kind of crude and aggressive on Clark's part, which I found rather hot. And--dare I admit it--tragic.
Clark considers this, then nods. "Okay." He runs a hand down Lex's belly to the base of his cock. "Can I?" he asks, gripping harder. "I don't want to be done yet."
"Give me a minute," Lex says. "I don't want to be done, either." He rolls over on top of Clark, nose to nose, and licks into his mouth. Clark's eyes are no color at all in this strange light, beautiful and open and guileless. Clark used to look at Lex as though he had all the answers, could fix anything, but not now. Or maybe he never did, and Lex was just imagining hero worship where he wanted it most.
Why do I so love to hurt thee, Lex Luthor? I'm going to do it some more in the next paragraph, too.
~~~
He doesn't need to be reminded, but Clark must want to be certain. "You aren't the first, you know," Clark says, defiant set of his jaw, but he's blushing--he's still got that much innocence left. "I've done this before, more than once...different people, you know? So I could be sure I was doing it right."
"There's no right," Lex says shakily, trying to be reassuring, but he's almost sick with jealousy. Clark lies on his back, legs spread, one knee bent up and falling out to the side. The shadows on his skin rush to the center, leading Lex's eyes and hands. He can't not touch. Clark sighs when Lex's fingers brush the insides of his thighs and spreads them further apart.
"That's bullshit," Clark says, with an indrawn hiss of breath. "I've had it done wrong." He moves against Lex's touch and shudders again. "It was nothing like this." His skin is hot and slippery with a sheen of sweat, and he's eager and so willing, and Lex is trying to orient himself, reconcile actual Clark with the Clark who has long lived in his head--that shy, young Clark who needs coaxing and convincing. Clark must see this in Lex's face, because he says, "This is really me, Lex."
And what if it is? Because this isn't how it he'd always imagined it would happen. This isn't Clark's first time. Lex isn't even his first male lover. Ideally, Clark would have been his all along. He can tell himself that he should have been here, pretend that the timing would have been right, or he can issue a blanket condemnation of Helen and all that she wrought, but he can't escape the thought that Clark might never have come to him at all. The fact is, it probably never would have happened the way he's wanted it, anyway.
Which is the point, I guess. I almost used Rolling Stones lyrics for this story, i.e., You Can't Always Get What You Want. However, as much as I love the chorus of that song, the rest of it is kind of crap, and it certainly had no connection to the story. But sing the chorus to yourself as Our Boys continue to have angsty, broken-hearted sex.
~~~
Clark talks and talks, which should be sexy--Lex likes talkers. But each time Clark says, "I like that," he's not just talking about this time, now, the two of them. He's speaking from experience, a series of past encounters wherein someone was too aggressive or weak, used too much spit or not enough, annoyed him instead of ratcheting up his arousal.
Clark is definitely not saying, "Lex, I've never felt like this before."
And isn't that just a really "girl" thing to want to hear? Lex sees himself as tough, and he is tough, but I don't think he's nearly so hard as he's going to have to be to protect himself from Clark.
Clark looms across Lex's body, effectively pinning him to the bed. He paws through the nightstand drawer and Lex manages to get out, "It's a bottle. You're looking for a bottle." Clark makes a small sound of triumph and there's the muffled bounce of lube dropped onto the mattress near Lex's head. Clark dips down and circles Lex's right nipple with his tongue, wet licking followed by cool breath as Lex squirms. It's impossible to hold still and he's far too sensitive, but when he tries to pull away the angles change and he's blindsided by intensity from yet another direction. Rolling on top and pushing Clark's shoulders flat to the bed doesn't solve his problem, either. His cock is so hard that he's lightheaded; it throbs against Clark's belly, and he feels Clark's pulse follow right behind his own. The bed shifts beneath their weight like waves, and Clark laughs like this is *fun*.
They crash sideways and Lex twists awkwardly to retrieve the leaking bottle of lube from beneath his shoulder blade. Clark takes it and sits back on his heels. He pours too much in his hand, dripping all over the sheets, and says, "God, oh god Lex, I really want you to--" He doesn't finish the sentence, but instead grasps Lex's cock and slicks it with slow strokes. Clark straddles Lex's hips and says, "Help me," and takes Lex's left hand by the wrist, guiding it back between his thighs.
His fingers are slippery from the lube on Clark's hand, but it wouldn't be slick enough for him. However, it's apparently enough lubrication for Clark, who is hot to the touch, whose greedy body offers only token resistance before Lex's middle finger is inside him, sliding deep. He's seeking, then finding, and Clark says, "Oh fuck oh fuck no, no, stop!"
"Stop?" Clark trembles around him, wracked with shudders.
"I want to come when you fuck me," Clark gasps. "Not yet." He reaches back and Lex can't see what he's doing, but he feels it. Big, hot hand, silky-wet, positions him, and then Clark moves back onto him. They both groan when the head of his cock breaches Clark's body. Clark says, "Oh, yeah. That's so good," and if Lex could speak, he'd agree. Clark sinks deeper down, eyes fluttering shut. He draws back and looks Lex in the eye. "Jesus," he says. "This is you. I'm with you."
"No kidding." Lex can barely get the words out. He reaches up and pulls Clark down by the neck to kiss him. He feels skinless and tender, and the salt from their sweat stings him everywhere. He feels like he should be begging, but he doesn't know what he has left to beg for.
The experience of getting what you were sure you wanted and having it not be emotionally anything remotely close to what you thought it would be is really fucking confusing. I so hoped that this would come through with this story.
Lex has no control. If he ever thought he had control, he was wrong. Clark moves over him, hands bracketing Lex's head, lifting up and then plunging deep onto Lex's cock. His knees press tightly against Lex's sides. He looks so serious; Lex probably does, too. Clark leans forward, dropping down onto one elbow, and kisses Lex tenderly. Clark's tongue sweeps through Lex's mouth, thrusts matching the rhythm of his hips as they push back. Lex pulls Clark down, even closer, his arms wrapped around Clark's back.
Clark shrugs off the embrace and sits up, still moving, an excruciating drag along the sensitized flesh of Lex's cock. His eyes are slitted and he looks pained; Lex runs his hands along Clark's thighs in a gesture meant to soothe. Clark went soft when he first took Lex into his body but now he's hard again, leaking steadily onto Lex's belly. Clark seems to be mostly elsewhere, which Lex cannot tolerate. It's as if Clark is working on a personal project and Lex is merely a means to an end. Clark's hair hangs in his face and he breathes through open lips.
Clark's doing a one-night-stand kind of thing here. He knows how to get himself off and he's doing by using this other body as a sort of tool. It's a depressing attitude to be, um, up against. And it's definitely wrong in this situation. Or it should be.
"Clark," Lex says, wanting to draw him back.
Clark blinks and the dark, serious expression in his eyes makes Lex's cock surge. Clark picks up Lex's left hand and licks in broad strokes across his open palm. He says, "Touch me," and wraps Lex's hand around his shaft. But at contact, he throws his head back and stills his hips. "Oh, *God*, Lex!"
Lex swallows hard and waits, concentrating, his hand unmoving, trying to ignore the messages that Clark's body sends to his own. There are rivers of urgency under their skins, heading for the high places. He can't look at Clark or he'll go over. He closes his eyes and says, "You okay?"
A shudder wracks Clark's body, but he says, "Yeah. I'm fine." He pets Lex's forearm, so Lex looks up at him, moves his hand experimentally. Clark's eyes roll back in his head and a thick surge of fluid wets the head of his cock. "No," Clark gasps, "I guess I'm not."
Lex has no intention of stopping, but he asks, "You want to stop?"
Clark shakes his head. "Don't even think about it." He bends and presses his mouth to Lex's, cupping his skull in one huge hand. Between kisses, he says, "You know what I want, Lex. You can figure it out."
And it's a little tiny bit persona, a little hint that they do know one another, and Lex is special, and Clark is special, and they are special. It's a crumb thrown down for a whole flock to fight over.
It's no declaration of love, but it's close enough. Lex twists his hips beneath Clark's ass and gets a groan in response. Clark is so strong; he holds Lex against his chest and rolls them over, ending up on his back, Lex on top. With the first push, Clark melts a little and Lex gets a glimpse of him, really sees him, the boy he's been wanting all this time.
Clark says, "Fuck!" softly, like he's a little bit angry at himself. He pulls at his cock, a little frantic, until Lex interlaces their fingers, calming Clark's movements. Their fingers fold around the shaft and move together, slide and clasp. Clark opens his mouth to speak over and over, but always closes it again around nothing more than a sigh.
"Tell me," Lex whispers. He pushes Clark's leg up and back, braces against it with his right arm. At first, the skin of his thigh stuck and pulled against the skin of Clark's ass, but now they're both slick with sweat and the only physical friction is ground out where their bodies join. The fingers of his left hand are slick with lube and sweat but he's got a better grip on Clark's cock than Clark does; Clark is really just holding Lex's hand. "Just tell me."
Clark shakes his head, eyes and mouth shut tight, but when Lex begins to work the slippery head in earnest, massaging with his thumb, Clark's eyes fly open and he says, "God, Lex! Fuck me!"
With a wordless snarl, Lex drives into Clark's body, fucking him as hard as he can. Lex knows he can't break Clark; he'll be the one to come apart, and he's fine with that. He's intent on erasing, rubbing out everyone who came before. Lex is a little desperate because Clark has always refused his gifts; if Clark isn't going to accept this one, either, Lex really needs to make the thought count.
I like the gift line, and I believe it's true. And although things have gotten a little sweeter between them in the last few paragraphs, Lex is wary of giving that too much credence.
"Should have done this long ago," Lex says. "Fucked you, made you come, made you *mine*."
"God, yes," Clark groans. "Wanted you. Any time, I would have let you..." Clark moans, forgetting words on a particularly deep thrust. Lex thinks about years of this, of being there *first*, and he wants to kill someone, but it's not Clark and it's not himself, so he just keeps thrusting into Clark's ass. Lex needs both hands for leverage so he reluctantly releases Clark's cock, but Clark is right there to pick up the slack. The sight of Clark with his eyes slitted, mouth red and swollen, head thrown back, and his fist hiding and then revealing the fat head of his cock, makes Lex's mouth dry. He swallows hard, jerks his hips back until he's almost free, and says, "If I'd kissed you on the riverbank, you wouldn't have known to tell me 'no,'" before slamming back inside. Force of momentum makes his balls sting as if slapped with a hand.
At one point, before I had much of this written down but was thinking about it, I thought it would be a humorous piece. There are still bits of that hiding here and there, but I wrote this in order (as I do with most things) and it was certainly clear to me not long after I started putting words down that this wasn't going to be funny after all. Still, some phrasing remains from the mental version with the laugh track. Again, I know it isn't funny, but I just wanted to point that out here because I'm curious if that surprises anyone, or if it's still visible. Humor and a kind of horror seem very closely related to me. There's a kind of black, laughing bitterness that proves the adage about cynics being romantics.
"Jesus!" is all Clark says, but the look in his eyes tells Lex that he agrees; he wouldn't have known to stop him. Clark wraps his legs around Lex's waist, his gaze unfocused as if he's separated from Lex by several atmospheres. Clark's mouth opens and he looks like he wants to tell Lex something, something urgent, but instead a big hand cups the back of Lex's neck, a graceless paw, and their teeth clash in a frantic kiss. "Oh, god, Lex!" Clark whimpers. "You--you're--"
Clark's not finding the words, but Lex has plenty. He's an idiot, he's in love, he's going to regret this for some as-yet-unknown reason that's probably related to one of their dads--
"--you're so--" Clark moves against him with a grunt and bites down on his own lip. His hair curls in damp spirals along his hairline, sticks out crazily everywhere else, and twists in knots around Lex's fingers.
"Clark!" Seeing him like this is too much. He fights to slow his movements. He doesn't want this to be over and he's holding out, waiting to feel some sense of certainty that Clark belongs to him.
The blockage in Clark's brain must clear then, because he starts babbling, "Lex, Lex, oh God! You're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. I want you to come in me. I want to feel it."
Lex feels a surge in his cock at Clark's words, and he lets out a groan of lust and frustration because he's not ready for this to be over, but his hips are driving like a piston and his body is leaping ahead because this is how it's supposed to be, and it feels right. Perfect. So fucking right.
He belongs to Clark and he has no idea if Clark belongs to him. It's not seeming likely.
His cock never cares if it's jerking inside a man's body or a woman's, but this is Clark and he wants...something, a moment of silence, a salute.
"Come on," Clark urges. "Want this, want *you* so much."
Lex rests his forehead against Clark's and closes his eyes. His cock is full and sore, rubbed raw and wrung out, and he just needs to come and be done with it.
"Come for me," Clark coaxes. "And then I'll come for you." It sounds reasonable, but maybe it's a trick, or maybe it's a dream because Clark is completely in charge and Lex is too close to frantic to even think about what he ought to be doing. Clark decides it, with a hand on the back of his skull and the other in the small of his back, holding him tight and *in* while they kiss. Lex feels how hard his own heart beats, bumping against the solid wall of Clark's chest. Clark's pulse is a string of beads moving beneath the skin where their bodies join.
He doesn't want to move because, suddenly, it's important that he know where he stands with Clark, know why they're doing this, but he's harder than ever and he doesn't even have to move because he's coming anyway. "Oh, God, Clark," he whispers hoarsely. His back arches like a bow and his vision goes red. The sensation comes from so deep that each pulse of his cock seems likely to produce some primal horror, so he chases the throbbing with slow, deep thrusts that set them both gasping. Clark has a tight hold on Lex's hips but lets him move, groaning loudly each time Lex bends over him, deep in, all the way.
Lex is still shaking with aftershocks when Clark starts begging. "Please," Clark gasps. "Fuck me, please fuck me." Even though it feels as if he's peeling the skin off his cock, Lex straightens his elbows and lifts up to thrust without hesitation. Clark's moans sound almost frightened, the noises of a little animal and not a man, but so fucking sexy. He grabs Lex's hand and places it against his cock as he starts to come; he jerks in Lex's grip and calls his name.
When Lex rolls off of Clark, they lie facing one another and he lets Clark really see him. He doesn't close his eyes or turn away or talk to distract. Clark's own eyes are very bright as he touches Lex's cheek, traces the bones of his skull with gentle fingers, and looks right into him.
Clark must see something broken there. He's very tender when he says, "It's okay, Lex."
I really like this whole scene. I like Clark being all, well, Clarkish for a moment, sweet and maybe a little in awe of Lex, but it's temporary. After all, it's. Just. Sex.
~~~
He's almost asleep when Clark's voice jolts him alert. "You're a dangerous romantic," Clark tells him. "You're going to have to get over your disappointment."
And Clark's being jerky again. It's self-preservation, though; I don't fault him for it.
"Disappointment?" Lex murmurs, breathing in Clark's shampoo. "Believe me, Clark, I'm not disappointed."
"Liar." (Liar.) Clark pulls away so he can look Lex in the eye. "Do you want the numbers?"
There's something wrong with him that he even knows what Clark is talking about. He thinks, but does not say, "No." Instead, he shrugs.
Originally, Lex says "No.", but betas hated that and thought Clark was way too mean. To betas, I have to say: You're just lucky you never had casual sex with me.
"Okay then," Clark says. "I'll tell you." He grins when Lex frowns. "You're number seven."
Seven? That's more than he'd hoped, but not so many as he'd feared. Clark must see this on his face, because he continues. "Of the guys, I mean. You're the seventh guy. There were a lot more women than that."
Fuck. That's just...fuck. Lex laughs and shakes his head, closing his eyes. Lex laughs and shakes his head, closing his eyes and then hiding them with a forearm. "Please. I don't need any more numbers, Clark."
~~~
He must have slept for a little while after all, because the next thing he knows, Clark is saying, "This doesn't change anything, right?" He seems to be asking for confirmation, not reassurance.
Lex tenses up. How can it *not* change things? "I'm not sure what you mean."
They have been holding hands, side by side on their backs, but Clark withdraws his fingers and shifts up onto his side. "Lex," he says, his hand over Lex's heart. "What I said earlier...I really can't do it. I can't tell you. You'll guess, or you'll find out somehow--it's not like I don't know that. But I'm not *telling* you, okay?"
*Okay*? Of course it's *not* okay! Lex shrugs, and although Clark can't see him, he'll feel it, the mattress shifting under his shoulders. It's important that Clark not know how much this bothers him. Because, yes, he did think it would change things. Or, rather, he thought he knew which things it *would* change. But that was before Clark paid this late-night visit, came creeping between the sheets, put his lips and tongue, his cock, and his big hands everywhere, leaving invisible stains all over Lex's skin.
I had some idea that I'd "explain" this, but I think it's pretty well covered. If not, ask me specifically.
"Come on, Lex," Clark coaxes. "Seriously. I'm in *high school*. You're a *Luthor*. It's not like we can walk down Main Street holding hands." He's affectionate and a little patronizing when he says, "Besides--I *know* you. If there *is* a time for this, it isn't *now*, is it?"
Lex tries to picture it, but it won't come into focus. Still, no one patronizes a Luthor. "Perhaps not," he concedes. His fantasy has always included some sort of ownership, Clark meek yet glorious at heel, but he can't really say that would actually be better than the reality. He'd rather have Clark right here, right now, even if he insists on having a sexual past, even if he persists in explaining why they aren't a couple. It's not as though Lex thinks for a second that it's possible, either.
Which might or might not be true, regardless of what Lex tells himself.
But the secrets...the goddamn secrets! He has let Clark in so far, let him take so many liberties, and still Clark won't just admit that Lex hit him with the fucking car! He cringes inwardly when he says it, but he has to try: "Clark, can't you just tell me--"
Clark explodes. "Jesus, Lex! No, I *can't*." He slides his hand down Lex's belly and cups his abraded cock, making him hiss in pain. "This? What we did tonight? It's nothing in comparison--you know *that* much, anyway." Lex groans softly when his cock stirs at Clark's touch, can't help moving his hips into the pressure. They both watch Clark's fingers mold Lex's flesh into a column, straight and firm.
"Neither one of us," Clark continues, "can even admit--" he bends to lick at a bruise-swollen nipple--"to wanting *this*, not while we live here." Clark's tongue swipes over his nipple in time with the strokes of his hand, his fingers moving in a loose circle around Lex's cock. Lex could almost forget that they're arguing, but then Clark says, "What makes you think *my* secrets would be any easier to keep?"
Lex is livid. The question is completely unfair, completely irrelevant. He opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out except a moan that's a direct result of Clark's hand on his cock. Everything's boiling red and fizzing and he can't speak because--
--because Clark is right.
~~~
And if I did this right, you got to the end and you said/felt/thought "Ouch!" and maybe you hated me a little.
A lot of readers responded to this story by saying something to the effect of "Thank god you made a happy ending," which amazes me because I don't see one. I took that as an odd form of compliment, i.e., that I'd made something nasty enough no one was eager to face it as it was and brains started making their own loopholes and exceptions to make the story palatable.
It was kind of a let-down for me, too, and not just the characters, because I did what I wanted, and I think I did it well, but as a result, people were upset--whether with me, or the story, or whatever. And I don't want to sound "entitled," but I'm not unreasonable in expecting a certain amount of attention for porn at this point, and I didn't get it for this one, and knowing in advance that I wouldn't didn't make it any more fun. But I really like this story. It's one of my favorites of my own pieces. Going over it to do the commentary makes me like it even more. I find it very brutal, even though sometimes I wonder if the subtleties are 1) even subtle at all, or 2) perceptible by anyone but me. I wonder that about all of my writing, whether anyone sees what I think I'm putting on the page. There's no way to know.
EXTRAS
Results of the Jacyn Test:
Q: Did it make her cry?
A: Yes.
Outtakes
I am very secretive, it seems, compared with other writers. I guess I sort of knew that, and I suppose eventually that could change, organically and gradually, and it could be just as easy to feed bits of story to someone via IM as it is now to post porn to a public webspace, but I don't even want to have someone else potentially shape my story. If I can't write my way out of something, then I'm going to stay stuck. Because that's my job, right? I am a huge control freak. I am perfectly happy to do things for people--audiencing porn on IM, offering suggestions on how to reshape things, etc., but I have no AIM chats to provide a "beta track." I'd be more likely to masturbate for an audience than write live for an audience, you know?
However, this story was significantly (in my opinion, anyway) impacted by the comments of one beta reader. Originally, Clark is wearing a RedK ring. Why? Because I had written some banter and an image that I liked. It was a red herring, because he gets rid of the ring right away, and the sex occurs without the influence of RedK. See? Pointless.
All of the betas had some vague discomfort about this, except for
liviapenn, who is never vague about anything, so far as I can tell. While she didn't actually come out and say that the RedK part sucked, that's what I'm pretty sure she meant. And she was so articulate and adamant that I began to look at my phrase-and-mental-image combo and it began to reek most unpleasantly and not seem like such a special treasure to share with the world, blah, blah, blah.So Clark lost the ring long before he ever reached the mansion, and that led to a bunch of other changes that I think were all to the better.
"You don't seem surprised," Clark murmurs. He rolls onto his back, pulling Lex on top. "About, you know, this."
"You're wearing one of those rings," Lex points out. "I know the red stone does something to you. I'm not sure if you're really yourself." He doesn't care, though. It doesn't matter who Clark is now, or it matters only a little.
Clark frowns, brows arcing down over the bridge of his nose. "I'm who I always am. I'm me. I just wear it for…courage. Mom and Dad don't want to think I'm like this, but I am." He brings his hands up between their faces and pulls the ring off, tossing it away. It makes a bright, tinny sound as it bounces across the floor. "I don't need it, Lex."
"Good." Lex takes up Clark's hand and kisses it. "Like what?" Lex asks. Clark's cock is hot and hard as freshly-minted metal between them. "They don't think you're like what?"
"Like this. With you." Clark shrugs, disinterested. He wraps his arms around Lex and kisses the side of his head, temple and ear and the joint of his jaw.
"Where do you keep finding the rings, anyway?" Lex asks, his voice muffled against Clark's neck.
"Why?" Clark asks belligerently. "Do you want one?"
And when I look at this now, I'm wondering why, exactly, I was taken so much with this sort of bratty exchange. It doesn't do anything for me now. There are a couple other places where the ring is mentioned before this scene, but this was the part I wanted, and I wanted it for the last line, and it just doesn't impress me at all today.
And when all the readers saw the final cut posted, they all agreed that the redK annoyance had been the thing which bothered them, too. So, yay! Livia! Which is why beta readers are valuable and deserve accolades.
