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oiranIf you haven't read Part 1 yet, go here
The anteroom to Mr. Luthor's office is luxurious and understated, profoundly comfortable, and nicer than any room you've ever lived in. A woman in an expensive-looking skirt suit brings you soda and a plate of cookies while you wait. You try not to let yourself be lulled into complacency, but it's difficult not to want to trust the cookie lady and the bright art and the beautiful view of downtown Metropolis.
Lionel Luthor is in just his shirtsleeves, jacket tossed on a chair, and he ignores you while he talks to his assistant over the intercom. You cross your legs, then uncross them, then cross them the other direction. You remind yourself that just because you're meeting in an office doesn't mean he won't have you killed. Some of the others claim that the clones aren't really people, so they don't count as murders, but you don't feel that way.
After he pushes a button to disconnect from the assistant, he reads briefly from a folder without acknowledging your presence. "So," he says, still not bothering to look up, "Miss..." and then he mispronounces your name. You correct him. He smiles at you tightly, and you realize you've made another mistake. "I understand," he continues, "that you found yourself with a little free time in your schedule while you were working at my son's house?"
It's a question, sort of, but you have no good answer. It's not technically true, either, but you chance a simple agreement.
"I also understand that you have...a voyeuristic streak." He watches your face over tented fingers and you blush, silent. "I don't think my son would be happy to hear that a member of his staff spied on him, watched him in the act of making love." His arch tone manages to make it sound like a pathetic thing for Lex to have been doing. You blink several times in succession to stall your tears, embarrassed for yourself, for Lex, and for Clark.
Mr. Luthor considers you again; his scrutiny is like an unwelcome touch. You keep your eyes on your hands in your lap. He's silent for so long that you begin to wonder if you were supposed to say something, anything. The last thing he said, was there a question...?
He pushes back from the desk and the sharp abruptness of his movement makes you jump, loosening your tears, which roll down your cheeks unchecked; you're afraid to move to wipe them away. "Frankly," he says, his voice deceptively casual, "Dr. Teng and I were planning to terminate you from the research program." You know what that means; you're meant to know. "We've been very disappointed at the apparent loss of your extranormal skill set. We can't use you in our research any longer, you understand. However, I think I know of a way in which you might be able to be of some use to us."
You look up sharply, surprised. Mr. Luthor smirks, and it's probably supposed to look concerned and kindly. He continues, saying, "We have another project, a project, involving my son and...Joseph. You've met Joseph, I believe?" Tentatively, you nod.
Mr. Luthor says, "Good. Well. If you happen to find an opportunity to...observe my son going about his daily routine, I would encourage you to take notes on his behavior. Mannerisms, speech patterns, things like that. If we can work together on this, perhaps Dr. Teng and I won't have to terminate you after all." He bares his teeth in a smile and extends his hand to shake. You let him squeeze your fingers until the bones creak and retreat to the lobby to wait for Barnes to come collect you.
Since Philip's disappearance, there has been speculation in the dorms about Joseph, about what he's for. If he's meant to replace Lex, or even just stand in for him for some reason, there's a lot of work to be done. Vague, sad Joseph couldn't possibly act the part of a confident businessman, and he'd certainly never be able to fool Clark. Now that Lex is loved, he has become more difficult to replace.
You sneak in, on tiptoes, and take up your usual position. They're making a lot of noise, snorting breaths and long gulps of air punctuated with dirty whispers. Clark leans back against the headboard and Lex straddles his lap, rising and falling, the muscles standing out tense in his thighs. He has his arms around Clark's neck, presses kisses to Clark's upturned face. You've only seen them do this a few times in your months of watching; usually, Clark is the one being penetrated. This is a special treat for you. For them too, of course.
Clark is babbling, clutching at Lex's shoulders. You can't quite hear the words, but they're probably the usual: love, need, want, and compliments. Lex soothes him, moves over him, and slows for a moment, spreading his thighs further apart and sinking lower. He smiles and lets out his breath with a soft moan. Clark licks his big hand and wraps it around Lex's cock. Lex murmurs, "Oh, yes," and arches his back.
Clark says, "So good, you feel so good," and digs the fingers of his free hand into Lex's hip, tight around the bone. Lex rests his head against Clark's shoulder and breathes in rough gasps, nearly drowning out Clark's litany of "please, please, please," which is what he usually says when he's about to come. They move together, apart, then once more, and Clark throws his head back with an open-mouthed shout and lifts his hips up against Lex's ass. Lex winces but keeps moving, Clark keeps fisting his cock, and then Lex comes, too, shiny-wet against Clark's smooth skin. Lex collapses against Clark and their chests heave, greedy for air. Clark tilts them over, crashing sideways onto the mattress, and Lex makes that sound that must be his version of a giggle as they disentangle themselves.
You've seen them do this so often that it's almost routine. Almost. You still get off on it, of course, but what you really enjoy now is watching them afterward, their intimacy. Despite being physically larger, Clark is often the one being held and caressed, nestled within the curve of Lex's arm. Clark likes to make the sort of sweet, ardent pronouncements that are rarely tested outside of a lover's bed, but even without the benefit of your extranormal abilities, you feel certain that he really does mean the things he says.
As always, Lex waits until Clark falls asleep before he slips from beneath the sheet. He moves quietly, throwing on pajama pants and a t-shirt before leaving the bedroom for the library, where he'll read e-mail or reports for an hour or so. Clark never spends the entire night. When Lex comes back to bed, they'll probably have sex again before Clark leaves.
Sometimes Lex just watches Clark sleep. In such moments, Lex looks so vulnerable, so unguarded. You can't help wondering if anyone will ever look at you like that; you're jealous. You've seen Lex wake Clark with kisses, watched Clark's eyes flutter open into an orgasm with Lex's mouth tight around his cock. You've seen Lex push Clark's legs apart and fuck him awake, kneel over his chest and rub his cock against Clark's parted lips, watched him jerk off onto Clark's stomach. You are of the opinion that Clark sometimes fakes being asleep.
That's typically how things happen, but tonight isn't typical. When Lex steps into the hallway, you readjust your own clothing and prepare to take your leave. If you'd been listening, you might have heard his footsteps, but the first sign that he's in the room with you is the hard muscle of his forearm squeezing against your throat. You make a little squeak and your feet kick out, connecting with the wall, but Clark doesn't even stir. He's really asleep this time.
"Polishing doorknobs?" Lex hisses. "At this hour?" You stop struggling, but he doesn't stop squeezing, dragging you out into the hallway with his arm still tight across your windpipe. You dig your fingers into his forearm, gagging and trying to get your breath, but he doesn't let up until he's thrown you into a chair in the library.
You're afraid you're going to wet your pants. You're scared, and your breath comes loud and harsh. He's not saying anything, just pacing in the dark, across the checkerboard of violet and moonlight and blood-red on the floorboards. "You're the one, aren't you? The girl from the barn." You know he doesn't expect an answer. "Still spying."
Until now, you'd never seen Lex lose his temper, never known him to be at a loss for words, but you'd heard things from long-term staff about the grand scale of the Luthor temper. With this in mind, it's almost flattering to be the subject of his wrath. He raises his left hand, a hand you've seen white-knuckled on Clark's shoulder, or tangled in his hair, and it falls open and swings down flat and hard against your face. Your head snaps back and away; you feel the impact down the length of your spine. The sting is cold at first, like electrical shock, but then it burns. Your cheek is already swelling; you'll have a mark.
You bring your hands to your face and cry quietly. You could scream, of course, but you don't. If Clark knew what had happened, he'd be angry at Lex, and Lex must know this, too. Oddly, you feel like you owe Lex your silence.
He paces. "What does my father give you?" he asks. "What do you get in return?"
You flinch every time he moves, even though he probably won't hit you again; he's made his point, and he's probably ashamed of having done it. But you still flinch; just because you might like him doesn't mean you aren't afraid of him. In fact, you're more frightened of Lex than of his father. From anyone else you'd run, but your fear of Lex keeps you frozen in this chair with your hands hiding your hot, numb face. Lex isn't who people think he is; he's not even who Clark thinks he is. Maybe you know him best of all, and perhaps he understands that about you.
"Well?" Lex asks. When you peer out between your fingers, he looks almost friendly. Polite and interested. It doesn't change the fact that he could kill you and no one would care. It's a fact you know he's aware of, too.
You clear your throat. He's waiting.
You could tell him that in exchange for spying, his father allows you to keep breathing, that you hadn't even thought to ask for more, and it would be true. But you do like Lex, or at least you understand him a little. If you can, you want to tell him something he can use.
Your voice is rough, rusty. It occurs to you that Joseph is only a negative so long as Lex doesn't know about him. You can change all of that.
You swallow hard, open your mouth, and begin to speak.
~o0o~
Thank you to everyone who sent me feedback for this story while it was anonymous; now that the names have been connected to stories, I'll be getting back to you ;)
~o0o~
The anteroom to Mr. Luthor's office is luxurious and understated, profoundly comfortable, and nicer than any room you've ever lived in. A woman in an expensive-looking skirt suit brings you soda and a plate of cookies while you wait. You try not to let yourself be lulled into complacency, but it's difficult not to want to trust the cookie lady and the bright art and the beautiful view of downtown Metropolis.
Lionel Luthor is in just his shirtsleeves, jacket tossed on a chair, and he ignores you while he talks to his assistant over the intercom. You cross your legs, then uncross them, then cross them the other direction. You remind yourself that just because you're meeting in an office doesn't mean he won't have you killed. Some of the others claim that the clones aren't really people, so they don't count as murders, but you don't feel that way.
After he pushes a button to disconnect from the assistant, he reads briefly from a folder without acknowledging your presence. "So," he says, still not bothering to look up, "Miss..." and then he mispronounces your name. You correct him. He smiles at you tightly, and you realize you've made another mistake. "I understand," he continues, "that you found yourself with a little free time in your schedule while you were working at my son's house?"
It's a question, sort of, but you have no good answer. It's not technically true, either, but you chance a simple agreement.
"I also understand that you have...a voyeuristic streak." He watches your face over tented fingers and you blush, silent. "I don't think my son would be happy to hear that a member of his staff spied on him, watched him in the act of making love." His arch tone manages to make it sound like a pathetic thing for Lex to have been doing. You blink several times in succession to stall your tears, embarrassed for yourself, for Lex, and for Clark.
Mr. Luthor considers you again; his scrutiny is like an unwelcome touch. You keep your eyes on your hands in your lap. He's silent for so long that you begin to wonder if you were supposed to say something, anything. The last thing he said, was there a question...?
He pushes back from the desk and the sharp abruptness of his movement makes you jump, loosening your tears, which roll down your cheeks unchecked; you're afraid to move to wipe them away. "Frankly," he says, his voice deceptively casual, "Dr. Teng and I were planning to terminate you from the research program." You know what that means; you're meant to know. "We've been very disappointed at the apparent loss of your extranormal skill set. We can't use you in our research any longer, you understand. However, I think I know of a way in which you might be able to be of some use to us."
You look up sharply, surprised. Mr. Luthor smirks, and it's probably supposed to look concerned and kindly. He continues, saying, "We have another project, a project, involving my son and...Joseph. You've met Joseph, I believe?" Tentatively, you nod.
Mr. Luthor says, "Good. Well. If you happen to find an opportunity to...observe my son going about his daily routine, I would encourage you to take notes on his behavior. Mannerisms, speech patterns, things like that. If we can work together on this, perhaps Dr. Teng and I won't have to terminate you after all." He bares his teeth in a smile and extends his hand to shake. You let him squeeze your fingers until the bones creak and retreat to the lobby to wait for Barnes to come collect you.
Since Philip's disappearance, there has been speculation in the dorms about Joseph, about what he's for. If he's meant to replace Lex, or even just stand in for him for some reason, there's a lot of work to be done. Vague, sad Joseph couldn't possibly act the part of a confident businessman, and he'd certainly never be able to fool Clark. Now that Lex is loved, he has become more difficult to replace.
~o0o~
You sneak in, on tiptoes, and take up your usual position. They're making a lot of noise, snorting breaths and long gulps of air punctuated with dirty whispers. Clark leans back against the headboard and Lex straddles his lap, rising and falling, the muscles standing out tense in his thighs. He has his arms around Clark's neck, presses kisses to Clark's upturned face. You've only seen them do this a few times in your months of watching; usually, Clark is the one being penetrated. This is a special treat for you. For them too, of course.
Clark is babbling, clutching at Lex's shoulders. You can't quite hear the words, but they're probably the usual: love, need, want, and compliments. Lex soothes him, moves over him, and slows for a moment, spreading his thighs further apart and sinking lower. He smiles and lets out his breath with a soft moan. Clark licks his big hand and wraps it around Lex's cock. Lex murmurs, "Oh, yes," and arches his back.
Clark says, "So good, you feel so good," and digs the fingers of his free hand into Lex's hip, tight around the bone. Lex rests his head against Clark's shoulder and breathes in rough gasps, nearly drowning out Clark's litany of "please, please, please," which is what he usually says when he's about to come. They move together, apart, then once more, and Clark throws his head back with an open-mouthed shout and lifts his hips up against Lex's ass. Lex winces but keeps moving, Clark keeps fisting his cock, and then Lex comes, too, shiny-wet against Clark's smooth skin. Lex collapses against Clark and their chests heave, greedy for air. Clark tilts them over, crashing sideways onto the mattress, and Lex makes that sound that must be his version of a giggle as they disentangle themselves.
You've seen them do this so often that it's almost routine. Almost. You still get off on it, of course, but what you really enjoy now is watching them afterward, their intimacy. Despite being physically larger, Clark is often the one being held and caressed, nestled within the curve of Lex's arm. Clark likes to make the sort of sweet, ardent pronouncements that are rarely tested outside of a lover's bed, but even without the benefit of your extranormal abilities, you feel certain that he really does mean the things he says.
As always, Lex waits until Clark falls asleep before he slips from beneath the sheet. He moves quietly, throwing on pajama pants and a t-shirt before leaving the bedroom for the library, where he'll read e-mail or reports for an hour or so. Clark never spends the entire night. When Lex comes back to bed, they'll probably have sex again before Clark leaves.
Sometimes Lex just watches Clark sleep. In such moments, Lex looks so vulnerable, so unguarded. You can't help wondering if anyone will ever look at you like that; you're jealous. You've seen Lex wake Clark with kisses, watched Clark's eyes flutter open into an orgasm with Lex's mouth tight around his cock. You've seen Lex push Clark's legs apart and fuck him awake, kneel over his chest and rub his cock against Clark's parted lips, watched him jerk off onto Clark's stomach. You are of the opinion that Clark sometimes fakes being asleep.
That's typically how things happen, but tonight isn't typical. When Lex steps into the hallway, you readjust your own clothing and prepare to take your leave. If you'd been listening, you might have heard his footsteps, but the first sign that he's in the room with you is the hard muscle of his forearm squeezing against your throat. You make a little squeak and your feet kick out, connecting with the wall, but Clark doesn't even stir. He's really asleep this time.
"Polishing doorknobs?" Lex hisses. "At this hour?" You stop struggling, but he doesn't stop squeezing, dragging you out into the hallway with his arm still tight across your windpipe. You dig your fingers into his forearm, gagging and trying to get your breath, but he doesn't let up until he's thrown you into a chair in the library.
You're afraid you're going to wet your pants. You're scared, and your breath comes loud and harsh. He's not saying anything, just pacing in the dark, across the checkerboard of violet and moonlight and blood-red on the floorboards. "You're the one, aren't you? The girl from the barn." You know he doesn't expect an answer. "Still spying."
Until now, you'd never seen Lex lose his temper, never known him to be at a loss for words, but you'd heard things from long-term staff about the grand scale of the Luthor temper. With this in mind, it's almost flattering to be the subject of his wrath. He raises his left hand, a hand you've seen white-knuckled on Clark's shoulder, or tangled in his hair, and it falls open and swings down flat and hard against your face. Your head snaps back and away; you feel the impact down the length of your spine. The sting is cold at first, like electrical shock, but then it burns. Your cheek is already swelling; you'll have a mark.
You bring your hands to your face and cry quietly. You could scream, of course, but you don't. If Clark knew what had happened, he'd be angry at Lex, and Lex must know this, too. Oddly, you feel like you owe Lex your silence.
He paces. "What does my father give you?" he asks. "What do you get in return?"
You flinch every time he moves, even though he probably won't hit you again; he's made his point, and he's probably ashamed of having done it. But you still flinch; just because you might like him doesn't mean you aren't afraid of him. In fact, you're more frightened of Lex than of his father. From anyone else you'd run, but your fear of Lex keeps you frozen in this chair with your hands hiding your hot, numb face. Lex isn't who people think he is; he's not even who Clark thinks he is. Maybe you know him best of all, and perhaps he understands that about you.
"Well?" Lex asks. When you peer out between your fingers, he looks almost friendly. Polite and interested. It doesn't change the fact that he could kill you and no one would care. It's a fact you know he's aware of, too.
You clear your throat. He's waiting.
You could tell him that in exchange for spying, his father allows you to keep breathing, that you hadn't even thought to ask for more, and it would be true. But you do like Lex, or at least you understand him a little. If you can, you want to tell him something he can use.
Your voice is rough, rusty. It occurs to you that Joseph is only a negative so long as Lex doesn't know about him. You can change all of that.
You swallow hard, open your mouth, and begin to speak.
Thank you to everyone who sent me feedback for this story while it was anonymous; now that the names have been connected to stories, I'll be getting back to you ;)
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no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 03:35 am (UTC)...and shortly after posting this, your award your f-list with one perfectly hot wonderful story to demonstrate your point. Of course no-one doubted your word for a split second, still a very big thank you. *G*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 05:35 am (UTC)I love this story!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 07:36 pm (UTC)i totally thought you wrote it :))
i loved this story so much, and i pimped it out to like, everyone i knew who might not have read it. you are fabulous.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-21 07:36 pm (UTC)Creepy as hell, hotter than a hot thing and Voyeur!Fic besides - Voyeur!Fic being my pet, particular kink.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 09:33 pm (UTC)the thing is though, endings like that always make me want more. more
smutexplanation...closure. anything.*paws at empty space at end of fic*