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A thumping dance rhythm pounded through Clark as he wove through
the mass of bodies reaffirming their life forces on the dance floor.
Dodging elbows and sliding out from under the stray hands that landed
and lingered on his body, Clark squeezed out of the jumble of limbs
and ducked into an arched marble alcove just as two sated men stepped
out of it. The inside of the archway probably saw a thousand sexual
acts a night. It was time he and the marble both had a break from
writhing bodies.
Breathing in the hot air, thick with the scent of expensive colognes
and underlying sweat, Clark searched the large room.
...Tall, blond, muscular. Leather pants, no shirt…eyes stagnant
and murky like swamp water. No, not him. He might not remember the
terms of their agreement the morning after.
...Burnished skin, glitter flickering high on cheekbones, white-silver
glinting on two fingers and belt buckle as he rolled his hips, grinding
back against the zipper of a pair of tight black pants. His mark
turned, chin raised by a loose fist that bore a flash of metal that
matched his partner’s. The glittered man smiled then nodded
towards Clark, gesturing in his direction. Clark retreated deeper
into the darkness of his cubby.
Clark wanted one, not two. He had to start somewhere, yes, but
he could at least make this comfortable for himself.
Well, relatively comfortable anyway.
Another candidate pushed through the door of the club and Clark
made his way out of the shadows for a closer look.
Good looking, and that would definitely be a bonus. Well-dressed,
but then again, everyone in here shopped on runways instead of in
department stores. This man wore a shimmering shirt that slid over
tight abdominals and slick leather pants that clung like saran wrap
in all the right places.
Clark moved to the edge of the dance floor and stepped up onto
an empty platform, moving his body to the thrumming pulse of lights
and music, ignoring the tight pull of self-consciousness in his
chest. Hands on the thick metal railing in front of him, he narrowed
his eyes and looked through leather and more leather, into the wallet
of the man he’d been watching.
Four hundred dollars in cash. Clark briefly considered, tempted.
It seemed like a lot of money. A lot of money, but he’d
read that the truly wealthy, the kind of man he wanted to find tonight,
didn’t carry cash or plastic. He shook his head absently at
the concept of having so much money you no longer needed to pay
for anything. Okay, so… shit. Back to square one.
Absorbed in his thoughts, Clark spun and hopped off the platform,
heading back for his still-empty hole in the wall, and stepped headlong
into the path of…well, a candidate. God, how
fucked up was it that he was thinking like this?
Clark’s attention was drawn first to the man’s hands
that, lifted in defense, spread wide on Clark’s chest. Heavy
gold rings adorned long, manicured fingers, hands that looked strong
and… capable? Clark’s x-ray vision confirmed the misshapen
knuckles were a result of old breaks.
He automatically scanned the man’s pockets and his billfold
revealed what Clark had been looking for all night. No cash, no
credit cards. The jeweled cuff links that sparkled from snow-white
cuffs and the rich fabric of a dark, well-cut suit were all the
additional proof Clark needed. This man with a boxer’s hands
was undoubtedly wealthy enough for his purposes.
He raised his eyes to meet the stranger’s, who was looking
at him with open appraisal. Older, but handsome, blond haired silvered
at the temples. Arctic blue eyes, cold and distant, and Clark caught
himself suppressing a shudder as he looked into them.
“Pardon me.” The thick Russian accent clung in Clark’s
ears as the man’s touch slid lower and harder, rubbing over
his stomach and ribs in anything but apology.
Clark swallowed hard and tried to breathe, shaking his head and
forcing a smile. “No, it was my fault. Excuse me.”
The accent would be distracting. The hands, he imagined, would
grope like this even in the most intimate of caresses. Whatever
happened between them, it would be taken from Clark with little
or no regard for his pleasure—his feelings.
The man tilted his head and looked down, licking his lips in the
direction of Clark’s zipper. “Let me buy you a drink?”
Not really a question with his hand moving to grasp Clark by the
elbow. The man could guess what Clark was—what he was trying
to be.
Frozen stiff on the battlefield in his mind, caught between real
need and near-paralyzing fear, Clark found himself considering his
options for the fiftieth time that night. His mind raced through
the list of jobs he’d considered, through crimes that would
never be solved, all the possible solutions that didn’t involve
compromising his honor.
No.
As low as this choice ranked on the rungs of the morality ladder,
it wouldn’t hurt anyone.
One large, hard hand cupped his cock and Clark stopped breathing.
He smiled and stepped back, freeing himself. “Thanks but…
I don’t drink.”
Panic spurred Clark and he moved fast, slipping into a cluster
of gyrating bodies and glancing over his shoulder to see a strikingly
naked head appear over the Russian man’s shoulder.
Siphoning out the blaring music, Clark heard the words that formed
on pink, smirking lips. “No luck, Sergei?”
Clark grinned and ducked his head, effectively hiding himself from
the Russian’s sight as he craned his neck, searching the crowd.
“I want him, Alexander. Did you see him?”
“I saw him. He looked young.”
“I like them young, Alexander. Young like you.”
Straining to hear each word that seemed to be spoken unknowingly
in his defense, Clark wrapped his hands around the hips that rubbed
insistently back against his in the mindless movements of the group.
The music fell beneath his hearing, echoing far away like he was
in the bottom of a barrel, and Clark closed his eyes, reluctantly
letting hands roam over his body as he waited for the bald man’s
voice to find his ears again.
“I haven’t mixed business and pleasure in years, Sergei.
Besides, what would my father think? Let’s get you another
drink and see if we can’t find another nice young man for
you to frighten.”
Clark lifted his head and opened his eyes, finding a crack in the
jostling bodies and watching as the younger man clamped a hand hard
on Sergei’s shoulder and led him to the bar.
Alexander.
Clark tested it on his tongue, voice loud and uninhibited under
the roar of the music. As if he’d heard, Alexander turned
and smiled fast but genuine. Predatory and sincere. The wink cinched
it though, and Clark knew.
He wanted Alexander.
But Alexander, as sexy and compelling as he was, wouldn’t
be hard up for sex, wouldn’t need to hook up with someone
like Clark. He looked young, too. No way he could possess the kind
of independent wealth Clark needed.
No, Clark needed someone who coveted youth and chastity. Someone
with fangs who wanted to sink his teeth into fresh meat.
Someone like the man Alexander was with. Sergei, he’d called
him.
He’d hoped for someone nice, but Sergei could work. He’d
be able to distance himself from this man easily, take himself out
of the situation and put himself somewhere else while it happened.
From the way Sergei was tossing down shots, Clark figured at least
his first time would be quick. After that, well… he’d
just have to find a way to deal with it. Maybe he was only in town
for a few days—maybe this whole thing could be over by the
end of the week, and he could put it all behind him.
Maybe he’d get to spend time with Alexander, too.
He circled the dance floor, heading for the bar where Alexander
stood, looking right at him while talking to Sergei. Clark tried
to look casual at first, ambling through cliques of men that blossomed
up in his path, but then he stopped, eyes flitting across his goal,
and he saw Alexander relax back, arms propped on the bar behind
him, ankles crossed. The picture of confidence.
And Clark’s wavered.
Even at this distance, Clark could make out the crystal clear gaze
of blue, blue eyes, the sheen of sweat forming slick on Alexander’s
temple, the pink of full, sensual lips. Sergei’s back was
turned; he was swallowing another glass of the clear liquid, arm
raising in the air to toast each gulp. Alexander barely acknowledged
the Russian as Clark began to move again, this time with obvious
purpose, eyes locked on Alexander’s.
He was breathtaking. Bald, yes, but Clark couldn’t imagine
hair concealing that pale skin; couldn’t picture this man
with hair at all, even when he squinted his eyes and tried.
The smooth skin flashed white and blue and purple under the shock
effect of the lights, but it was most stunning in the brown-grey
darkness between the strobes, shining there from under the white
collar and dark tie. Bound up in propriety when Clark felt the waves
of individuality seeping into the air between them as he approached.
Starched and formal in the confines of hand-tailored fabric, Alexander’s
casual facade didn’t fool Clark. Underneath the cool exterior,
Clark could tell a beautiful body was aching to be free, to connect
with air and heat and skin. And Sergei was… a business partner?
No. Someone he was schmoozing, taking out on the town and showing
him a good time for the sake of the company. Alexander’s eyes
narrated the scene for him as he parted another crowd and stepped
closer.
A hard worker then, even if he did come from money. Or maybe he’d
earned every penny himself, working for someone else.
It didn’t matter which, not for his purposes.
He was targeting the Russian after all. Alexander was just…
a nice distraction. Something to take his mind off what he was doing,
and make the situation more… real at the same time.
He held Alexander’s appraising…no—admiring—gaze
and chanted self-assurances in his head.
You can do this, Clark. You’re fine...
you can do this. Just keep moving... breathe.
Clark’s mantra faltered and he froze mid-step as a wide,
knowing smile flashed across Alexander’s face. Oh fuck.
What if he wanted to watch? It was more than Clark could handle,
more than he was up for this first time. He couldn’t imagine
looking into those eyes while huge, rough hands groped and grabbed
at his skin. Couldn’t imagine faking pleasure, making sounds
that Alexander would hear and undoubtedly know were just an act.
Clark turned away and started back towards his corner, but a hand
wrapped around his bicep, squeezing hard.
The hand yanked him back and Clark shifted his weight to keep his
balance, his back pressing hard along the muscles of Alexander’s
chest. The voice in his ear was already familiar—one he could
have picked out of a crowd if he’d had to.
“Didn’t you want to ask me something before you run
off?”
Clark licked his lips, trying to summon words from somewhere underneath
the white-hot thrumming of his pulse. “I… You—”
“What’s your name, pretty boy?”
Alexander’s
breath tickled hot on his earlobe and Clark tilted his head into
the voice, eyes rolling back in his head and closing as he fought
down the urge to turn and take.
“I’m,
um… Clark. But you can call me…” The line Clark
had practiced all night in his head stopped up his throat as a strong
hand rubbed down over his stomach and covered his cock. It wasn’t
that good of a line anyway.
“Clark.
I like it. I know what you’re after, Clark, and I’m
sure you’ll find Sergei more than willing to provide it. Join
my friend and me outside.”
Alexander’s
hand slid heavily up over his arm as he backed away, leaving Clark
to turn and stammer after him. “I’m…” Clark
looked between the two men who were watching him so intently, and
steeled himself. Now or never. “Okay.”
Alexander
gave him an approving nod before turning for the exit. Sergei smiled
and stood, hand landing possessively, low on Clark’s back
as they worked their way through the crowd to the club doors.
Clark
tried to ignore the palm scorching its way through his t-shirt and
instead concentrated on the way Alexander moved through the crowd—fluid,
unconcerned, like the crowd parting before him was his due. Sex
personified. If he wasn’t there when it happened
with Sergei, Clark knew whose face he would be picturing behind
closed eyes. He shook his head, mumbling to himself as they exited
the club. “Here goes nothing, Kent. Don’t screw this
up.”

Lex
eased into the soft leather seat of the limo, directly across from
Sergei and the boy. The chill blast of the air conditioning cleared
his senses of the cloying smoke and heat of the club, and the early
summer’s humid night. He reached for a glass on the bar, suspecting
he’d rather his senses be a bit dulled for the evening’s
next agenda item. “Shall I have the driver drop you both at
the Ritz?” he asked solicitously.
“Alexander,
you disappoint me. It’s early yet. Surely your daddy lets
you stay up past midnight?”
Prick.
He’d wanted nothing more than to scrape this piece of shit
off his shoe all evening, but he couldn’t be that lucky. He
swallowed a glass of scotch and poured another, regretting his earlier
resolve to remain sober tonight. “What exactly did you have
in mind, Sergei?”
“Just
a little fun with the boy.” The Russian seemed to have a limitless
tolerance for vodka and was pressing a shot into Clark’s shaking
hands as well. Lex watched as the boy threw back his lovely head,
long throat arching, swallowed, and held out his glass for more.
Smart kid.
Lex
pressed the driver’s intercom. “Take us around the park.”
Clark’s
eyes were on him again, big, frightened. A babe lost in the wilderness.
“Clark,”
softly spoken, holding the boy’s rapt attention, “You
said you didn’t drink.”
Momentary
confusion and a quick, guilty glance at Sergei as the boy remembered
brushing him off in the club, and Lex knew then exactly why Clark
had come with them. Stupid kid.
In
way over his head if he thought tonight could be about anything
other than him getting thoroughly fucked. Christ, you didn’t
walk into a place like Epitaph looking like a fucking wet
dream in faded denim, approach the two wealthiest men in the
club—who half the people present, the better half
and the more astute of the working boys, would have happily pointed
out—and think for one second that you weren’t going
to be treated like the piece of admittedly high dollar trade you
were.
“I,
um… don’t normally…” Clark appeared as surprised
as Lex was when Sergei tossed back one more shot and went down on
his knees to the floor of the limo, quickly unbuttoning the boy’s
jeans and tugging them down past slim, squirming hips. “Um…”
It
was a move Lex hadn’t expected from the arrogant Russian,
but he couldn’t fault the motivation. Clark was perhaps the
most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, all the more desirable
for his bumbling bashfulness, even if it were an act. Lex strongly
suspected that it was not. He wore innocence and naivete like a
cape on his broad shoulders, and now he was going to shed it forever.
Lex
felt a stab of regret even as his cock hardened at the erotic tableau
before him. Clark’s long, strong body thrummed with tension
as he appeared to fight his response to Sergei’s busy mouth.
Eyes squeezed tightly closed, long tan fingers digging into creaking
leather, his head thrashed slowly in denial.
His
mewling whimpers mixed with wet, sucking sounds that Lex envied
Sergei for, and fine perspiration broke out on hotly flushed skin.
Honey and rose-petaled perfection. A wet tongue swept out to linger
on slack warning-red lips and Clark must have heard Lex’s
low moan because he was looking right at him then, perfect fuck-me
mouth open and panting, eyes glazed but issuing mute appeal.
Lex
held his gaze, willing the boy to be calm. “It’s okay,”
he heard himself whisper, unaccountably, and then Clark was bucking
into Sergei’s mouth, coming with desperate, pained little
noises, fucking beautiful, grasping with his eyes, refusing
to allow Lex to release his shocky, wide-pupiled stare.
It
was all over in only a minute or two, confirming Clark’s rather
inexplicable inexperience as much as the look of complete astonishment
on his face. Lex wondered if perhaps Clark had played with girls
up to this point and was just exploring his attraction to men. That
would make a little more sense, because how the boy had gotten this
far in life unmolested was really beyond his comprehension.
Sergei
heaved his large frame onto the seat beside an endorphin-drugged
Clark, whose heavy eyes kept drifting open briefly, as if to verify
Lex’s continued presence in the limo. He was a pornographic
picture of corruption, t-shirt pushed up and jeans pulled down to
reveal an expanse of bronzed Adonis, limp cock laying red and glistening
in a dark thatch of hair. Thoroughly debauched.
“He’s
delicious,” Sergei confirmed, wiping his thick lips with a
snow white handkerchief, before switching to Russian. “Do
you want to fuck him first, Aleksandr? I’ll
bet he’s as tight as he looks.”
Any
other night he’d be flying high on a morality-numbing cocktail
of coke and ecstasy and hard alcohol. He wouldn’t think twice
about fucking Clark half a dozen different ways. Lex felt slightly
nauseous though his cock swelled hopefully. “That’s
very… gracious of you, but no. I’m sitting
this one out. Don’t let me stop you, though.”
Sergei
wasn’t listening to him, instead he groped at the rapidly
resurfacing Clark, who scrambled away from the rough hand snaking
between his legs. “Are you, boy? Are you a tight little virgin?
Whose big cock do you want to feel first in your little hole?”
“Jesus,
Sergei. Could you be any more vulgar?” Lex didn’t
hide the disgust he felt for the older man any longer, his voice
was thick with it. “I don’t think he’s frightened
enough. And a word of advice to you, Clark,” he watched as
the boy quickly refastened his jeans. “You’d be wise
to get your fee up front with this one.”
Clark
looked like he’d been thrown a lifeline, the opening he’d
been waiting for all night, no doubt. “Um, right… Well,
I am a virgin, so I was thinking—”
Lex
grinned big at his earnest attempt at negotiation before Clark’s
shaking voice was interrupted by a snarling burst of Russian.
“What
game are you playing at, Aleksandr?” Sergei looked
pointedly at Lex’s bulging trousers. “You want him
and I want you. Now you’re going to show me a good
time like your father told you to do.”
“My
father—”
“—told
us all about his disappointment with you, Leksi. In St.
Petersburg.” The man’s voice dropped menacingly. “You
know, he fears it might take a really nasty bit of business for
you to finally stop your whoring. I think he might be right.”
Lex
let his eyes go cold with warning, jaw clenching involuntarily as
he considered his move. How much his father might have said, and
how much the Russians might have learned about him through readily
available gossip or even published scandal, he didn’t know.
Whether or not his next words were a bluff, he couldn’t be
certain. Not when his father was involved.
“I’ll
repeat myself one more time, because it’s clear you’re
drunk,” Lex said. “ I am not included in your negotiations
with Luthor Corp. My father’s offered you and your partners
a very generous deal which I imagine they would be loath to have
fall apart under your rutting libido.” Lex watched the steely-eyed
man turn more apoplectic with every stabbing word. He charged relentlessly
forward, ignoring Clark’s careful silence and Sergei’s
indignation. “He did not offer me, and in all my days of whoring
I was never so far gone that I would have found you appealing in
any way.”
Suddenly
the big man’s hands were fisted in Lex’s collar and
he was being shaken like a rag doll, considering too late that perhaps
one ought not to provoke a man reputed to be a former KGB
agent—even one past his physical prime, even on American soil.
“Listen,
you little shit,” he spat, “You’ll show me some
respect, and you’ll show me a good time, or you’ll
have more to worry about than explaining to your daddy why you let
his deal fall through.”
“Fuck
off, Sergei. Get your hands off of me.”
Lex
managed to keep the panic he felt rising in his chest from sounding,
but one look at Clark and it all threatened to spill over. The boy
was wild-eyed, tugging on Sergei’s jacket, pleading, “Hey,
you don’t need him. Come on, don’t you want to…
fuck me, now? Like you said?”
The
situation was so absurd—surreal and ringing of a demented
after-school special, and Lex felt slightly hysterical until the
muscular older man dealt a vicious backhand to a perfectly sculpted
cheekbone.
Clark
absorbed the blow and turned back to Sergei in fury. Hope sparked
that together they might overpower the man until he found a long,
cold blade pressed under his chin.
Lex
froze, breath burning in his chest. He fought the urge to swallow,
knowing the knife would slice at the first movement of his Adam’s
apple.
Clark
was held at bay by the threat and stayed back while the car was
pulled over at Sergei’s demand. Lex kept his eyes on the knife
but could feel the boy watching him, looking for an opportunity
to act, perhaps. His head was clearing by the moment, and he began
to pray Clark wouldn’t do anything irrevocably stupid.
They
were deep in the darkness of the park when the blond man ordered
Clark out of the car.
“No,
I’m not leaving. I’m not gonna let you do this to him.”
“Clark—I
think you should just get out of the car.” Lex said calmly,
feeling more confident now of being able to defuse the situation
without the boy’s interference, and if he couldn’t…well,
he calculated the odds of Sergei actually killing him to be extremely
low. Regardless, the indignity of having the scene deteriorate into
an operatic tragedy in which he featured as the damsel to Clark’s
doomed hero was too depressing to contemplate.
“No.”
Clark glared at Sergei in open defiance guaranteed to set the tyrant
off, and Sergei, perhaps feeling more confident of Lex’s cooperation,
lunged at him with the knife.
It
was over before Lex could shout a warning. Clark had a furious Sergei
face down on the floor, one arm twisted painfully behind his back,
while Lex snatched up the knife which had been knocked to the floor.
“We
need to call the police.” Clark sounded completely reasonable,
Lex thought dizzily, almost as if being attacked by crazy knife-wielding
Russians were all a part of his day’s work. His work as a
virgin prostitute.
“No
police, please.” He flashed Clark one of his many smiles,
slight smirk tempered by a touch of self-deprecation. “I can’t
afford for this to make the papers, and besides, you’re as
likely to end up in jail as our friend, here.”
Clark
didn’t break from form, quickly following Lex’s lead,
and with little additional discussion, they left the richly dressed
man sputtering and lost in one of the worst sections of the park.
Doubtless Clark thought he was getting off easy.
“Do
you need a doctor?”
“What?
No, I’m okay. Are you?” Clark was looking him over intently.
“I’m
fine,” Lex answered, wiping away a trickle of blood from under
his jaw. “I could have sworn I saw you grab the knife blade
with your hand. You’re not cut?”
Clark
held up his hands for inspection. “Nope. Missed me, I guess.”
Lex
directed the driver to the penthouse then sat back and stared at
Clark, marveling at his calm, until the boy squirmed under the scrutiny.
“You moved fast. Have you had training?”
The
questions seemed to make Clark more uncomfortable, but he answered,
“Nothing formal. My dad taught me some stuff.” He looked
somewhat hopefully at Lex, “You know, I did try to get work
as a personal bodyguard, but I couldn’t get hired without
experience.”
Lex
nodded. “They’re highly sought-after positions. Very
well-paying.”
“Yeah,”
Clark mumbled dejectedly.
“I
don’t keep bodyguards,” Lex answered the question that
hung in the air, “But I would like to engage you for your
other services.”
Clark’s
eyes dropped in embarrassment, shame written plainly on his face.
Lex felt exasperation swell quickly to irrational anger. His cock
considered Clark to be sublimely fuckable, and the boy was clearly
for sale, but this reluctant routine was going to wear thin quickly.
“Clark,
what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
The
raven-haired youth took his meaning instantly. “Trying to
make money, obviously,” he shot back.
“And
do you intend to continue doing so by giving it away for free?”
Confusion
raced across the perfectly drawn features before Clark answered,
“What do you mean? I haven’t done anything yet.”
Lex
marveled at the level of naivete. “What do you think? That
Sergei was doing you a favor?” He practically screamed.
Christ, the boy needed a keeper. Which brought him back
to the discussion at hand. He took a deep breath and asked more
collectedly, “How much do you need?”
“Twenty
thousand dollars.”
Lex
raised an eyebrow. Quite a lot of money for a boy to need, but practically
chump change to himself. Finally they were getting somewhere. “What
does that get me?”
“What
do you mean? You get… me.”
Lex
noticed distractedly that they’d pulled into the penthouse’s
underground parking. “Yes, I gathered that, Clark. For how
long?”
Dark
brows pulled together as Clark fidgeted in his seat. A truly terrible
negotiator, Lex mused, but still he seemed to have somehow gained
the position of power because he had Lex hanging breathless on his
demands. At this point, Lex would probably agree to twenty thousand
for a single blowjob from that unbelievable mouth.
“What
do you think is fair?” Clark asked, chewing on his bottom
lip, and Lex felt another smile spread across his face. His shark’s
smile.
“Well,
I don’t know, Clark. I’d have to see what I’m
purchasing, first.” He let his eyes eat the boy alive for
a moment before suggesting they continue their conversation upstairs.
“O-Okay,”
Clark agreed, rapid breath hitching in a way that suggested anything
but reluctance.
He
had to give Sergei credit for one thing: the man had excellent taste.

“Let’s
begin again, shall we?” Long white fingers extended towards
him and Alexander’s patient smile drained some of his apprehension
away. “Lex Luthor. And you are?”
Clark
shook the offered hand, a smile twitching on his lips. This guy
had seen him get blown and now they were going to play
civilized? And Luthor. As in fertilizer-plant-owning, Metropolis
aristocracy, slimy, deal-breaking Luthors? He shook off the stale,
echoing curses Pete had made at every Luthor success they’d
read about in the paper over the years.
“Clark
K-” Clark looked at the floor, suddenly acutely aware that
he was giving out his identity to a total stranger. A stranger who
looked at him expectantly, and with soft, patient eyes. “Clark
Kent.”
“Well,
Clark Kent, it’s late and no doubt I’ll have a lot of
ass-kissing to do come morning.” Lex—it fit him better
than ‘Alexander’—tucked his hands in his pockets
and lifted his chin. “Let’s get on with it.”
Lex
was looking at him expectantly, all cool reserve and commanding
presence. So fucking sexy even just standing there, and there had
to be a catch because there was no way Clark was this lucky.
He
slowly sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself. Apprehension
twisted in his belly.
This
was it—he was actually doing it.
Lewd
scenes flashed across his mind and he saw himself sucking Lex off,
tasting the come coating his throat as he swallowed hard, Lex pulling
him to his feet, then pushing him down on his hands and knees on
silk sheets, hands sliding over his hips to grip and yank as Lex
drove inside. The tangle of arms and legs and sheets and sex in
his head did nothing to soothe his nerves, even as the knot of fear
low in his stomach changed to something… else.
Clark
shifted his weight; the short-lived friction of a seam rubbing against
his cock was a torturous tease. He felt his face heating, but guessed
that Lex would probably be pleased that he was already ready for
action. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who enjoyed waiting
on other people to catch up.
“Well?”
Head
jerking up, bringing him right back to the moment. Lex’s head
was cocked to one side, impatience written on those beautiful features.
“O…okay.
So what do you want? I can… I’ll do anything you want.
You can do anything you want. To me.” His own voice sounded
thick in his ears, young and shaky despite his resolve to do this.
Lex
rocked back on his heels, smirking. “Your idea of ‘anything’
may be a bit… underdeveloped, Clark. Don’t make promises
you’ll be unwilling—or unable—to deliver on.”
The
warning was tempting, but no, he wouldn’t have any boundaries.
He’d decided that early on, after listening in on the negotiations
between other men and x-raying his way into macabre sex games in
the back rooms of the bar. No rules warranted the highest price,
the most payout for the least amount of ‘work,’ if it
could be called that. And as much as he believed he would enjoy
this, it meant he could get his life back to normal that much sooner.
“No,
I know some guys like… like pain or control. Dom—domination.
S&M. And, um…that’s fine. I’m up for anything.”
Clark shrugged, trying to instill an air of casualness into a sentence
he never imagined he’d say.
Lex’s
eyes narrowed and his tone changed from amused to all business.
“So you’re into those things?”
“I…
don’t know.” This wasn’t about him anyway. “It
doesn’t matter, really.” He was curious though, wanted
to know what he was getting into. “Do you? Like it, I mean?”
“My
taste varies. And it does matter, Clark. Don’t fool yourself
into thinking that just because this is a business proposition,
your trick shouldn’t care about your preferences.” Lex
closed the space between them with a step forward. “You won’t
satisfy many customers if you don’t participate in what’s
happening.” A finger lifted his chin, Lex’s eyes searching
his. “And I doubt you could pull off a ruse of pleasure. Those
eyes don’t look capable of lying convincingly.”
Clark
tried to keep his voice steady. “I… I wouldn’t
lie to you.” It sounded like a lie, even to him.
Lex
turned, walking across the room as he spoke. “No, I’m
sure you wouldn’t.” Pouring a drink, Lex’s voice
was smooth and confident. Demanding but not threatening. “Undress.”
Clark’s
fingers went to the hem of his shirt, obeying before his mind could
really catch up and wrap around the idea that another man was going
to be looking at him naked, appraising him like cattle.
Shirt
up and off, Clark stood up straight, flexing his muscles as subtly
as he could. Lex’s back was turned and Clark bit his lip in
anticipation.
Lex
drained the glass he’d poured and turned, eyes sliding up
his body with calculating slowness. “Good. And the pants?”
The
pants? Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Why was this so hard? Why
couldn’t he just distance himself? It’s not like Lex
hadn’t seen most of him anyway, in the limo. God, and he must
look like a fool.
Lex
crossed to him, a small smile curling his lips. “You’re
not shy, are you?”
Clark
sucked in air as Lex’s cool fingertips tickled into the waistband
of his pants, rubbing along his stomach.
“No…
I’m just…”
Lex
leaned in close to his ear, warm breath sending chills down his
spine. “I promise this won’t hurt.”
Lex’s
hands worked the button and zipper on his pants and Clark tilted
his head back, eyes closed and pulse pounding in his ears as Lex
mouthed the skin on his neck.
A hand
slid into his open pants, cupping his cock and Clark reached out,
hands connecting with Lex’s chest, then rubbing up to wrap
on either side of his face. Before he could stop himself or even
wonder if this was something Lex wanted him to do, his mouth was
sliding on Lex’s, opening under the insistent push of a hot
tongue.
Lips
parted, eyes closed, Clark rocked into the hard grasp of the hand
on his cock. He groaned against the open mouth that moved on his
and barely caught himself as the hand and lips stilled then disappeared.
Clark
opened his eyes and saw Lex licking his lips and shaking his head.
“So fucking young.”
Looking
down between them at the hardwood floor, he felt his face flushing
with embarrassment.
“Maybe
you should find another profession, Mr. Kent.”
His
eyes connected with the mocking blue of Lex’s, and Clark held
them fast, his nudity barely tugging at the edge of his mind. He
was sick of the games, sick of being teased and humiliated. He obviously
didn’t know what he was doing, but he was tired of bumbling
his way through this conversation while Lex laughed at him. He was
ready to have it over with, ready to fuck or be fucked and just…
put it behind him. And after all of this, he began to wonder if
Lex was just fucking with his head and really had no intention of
going through with it.
“Look,
this isn’t a lifestyle choice. It’s barely even a choice
at all. I’m—I’ve never done anything like this
and it’s obvious that you have, so just… tell
me what your terms are.”
Lex
filled the room with the straightening of his spine, with his fading
smile and the mask of seriousness that fell over his face. Clark
held his breath as Lex began to speak.
“One
month. Ten thousand up front, another ten at the end of 30 days.
Six evenings a week—Saturdays at my discretion—you’ll
come here, or wherever I choose. We’ll see if your definition
of ‘anything’ matches mine.”
A month.
It was longer than Clark had expected. He’d known the average
price for this kind of work from his spying at the club, but he’d
expected his youth and virginity to be worth more. Lex was young
himself, though, so maybe he didn’t care about that. Maybe
he’d be happier if Clark had some experience.
Still,
a month sounded good…short even. The price of month’s
work, even this kind of work, seemed so little to pay for his mother’s
peace of mind. He could do it—could manage some excuse about
working in the city to answer any questions she had.
A month.
Here, with Lex.
“Okay.”
Lex
smiled wide and laughed. “You don’t have a father waiting
on your porch with a shotgun, do you?”
“My
dad’s dead.” Clark’s chest tightened, his heart
thumping hard against his ribcage. “Can we just… get
started?”
Lex
stared at him for a moment, features unreadable, then stepped into
the next room with a murmured, “Wait right there,” closing
the door behind him.
Clark
reached down and fastened his pants, then bent to retrieve his dropped
shirt, checking to make sure the tag was in the back and slipped
it on, grateful for the thin cloak of modesty.
Looking
around the penthouse, he sank into the stark surroundings that betrayed
no evidence of a real personality. He couldn’t believe someone
with such a commanding presence lived in this dead space.
One
entire wall was covered with a built-in bookcase and Clark resisted
the impulse to check out Lex’s taste in literature. He was
a little surprised to realize how much he wanted to know this man,
understand him beyond his sexual preferences. The spines of the
books glinted with gold lettering and he did recognize some of his
favorites, some of the titles Chloe and Pete had scoffed at when
they’d caught him curled up in his loft reading. His fingers
twitched with the urge to pull the handsomely bound edition of To
Kill a Mockingbird off the shelf and flip through it, looking for
his favorite scene, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t here
for fun. This was business.
He
tuned in to the room that Lex had gone into and heard the silky
voice giving curt orders.
“K—E—N—T.
Right… I would assume somewhere near Metropolis, but that’s
not been confirmed.”
The
voice on the other end of the line didn’t hesitate. “Runaway?”
“I
don’t believe so. Just get me the usual.”
“Everything
I can lay my hands on?”
“Exactly.
Tomorrow afternoon at the latest.” The receiver was hung up
and Clark pulled back out of the room to the silence that surrounded
him. He hadn’t budged from the spot where he’d been
left, but when Lex appeared in the doorway again, he caught himself
stepping backwards toward the entry.
His
past—his secrets—were going to be examined by…
Jesus, he didn’t even know whom. This was a bad idea,
even with an employer he felt he could trust… fuck.
An employer he knew nothing about, except what he’d read in
the papers, and some of that wasn’t good at all.
He
didn’t have resources—couldn’t run background
checks. The trust he’d felt at Lex’s confident and careful
handling of their arrangement wavered and fear washed over Clark
like a wave.
It
was done though, and Clark couldn’t back out now. He needed
to make this work—had to make this work. Another
opportunity like this might be months in the making. Or, hell, why
not be completely honest? An opportunity like Lex Luthor was never
going to come around again. To make all the money he needed with
just one man, a man he couldn’t read well, but one he felt
he could trust. And even if he did act like he couldn’t put
two intelligent sentences together whenever Lex was in the room,
his body responded automatically to the man, and Clark didn’t
need any “professional experience” to know that a natural
connection like that didn’t come along often.
He
didn’t have a choice; he’d have to risk the investigation
if he wanted to do this.
“So,
um… should we get started?”
“Go
home, Clark. Be here tomorrow at six—we’ll finalize
this then.”
It
was a forceful dismissal, one he was clearly not supposed to resist,
so Clark turned on his heels and left, the mix of surprise, apprehension
and self-satisfaction swirling in his head.

Lex
poured himself a neat and liberal scotch from the heavy crystal
decanter and determinedly refused to look at the bar clock glowing
in the periphery of his vision. He’d be far better off if
the boy didn’t come back tonight, so complete had been the
error in his judgment. It hadn’t taken his father’s
fury or even his cutting disdain over the all but blown Nabokov
deal this morning for him to reach that inescapable conclusion.
“I
suspect he would have put out for you, Lex,” his father had
scoffed, “even without your white knight routine.”
Sergei
had of course put his own spin on the evening’s events and
Lex saw little to gain by defending himself on that point. The man
would be dealt with. So Lex had sat quietly, jaw clenched in anger,
and waited for his father’s lecture to reach a more productive
level. Which it quickly did.
They
agreed that the deal could be repaired with little more than a token
show of contrition on Lex’s part—Nabokov needed Luthor
Corp in St. Petersburg far more than Luthor Corp needed to be there,
and both parties knew it. Cheap labor was plentiful in Eastern Europe,
after all, but international corporations were hardly lining up
to jump in bed with the Russian mafia, however profitable the venture
might prove.
It
was Lex’s dignity that took a rather harder hit than the deal
last night, and not in his dealings with the crude Cossack. No,
it was the ease with which a puppy-eyed teen from the sticks had
manipulated him into the sweetest deal a rank novice in the field
could have hoped for—twenty thousand dollars for a pretty
virgin who might prove unimaginative and unenthusiastic, a bore
beyond the undeniable pleasure of being the first to fuck him.
But
Clark was pretty, and Lex woke up this morning drugged
with the memory of his kiss, nervous and eager and unbearably innocent.
Lex would pay for that…purity. Money enough to wallow in the
decadence of taking it and exit with a clear conscience after he’d
corrupted it.
He
allowed the thought that’d gnawed at the edge of his consciousness
all day to take form, wondered if Clark would show after having
a day to think about their arrangement. He’d given Lex total
latitude on all matters sexual. The canvas was blank and the palette
full of rich, dark colors just waiting to be dipped into and spread
there. Surely a boy like Clark would have second thoughts about
what ‘anything’ could really constitute.
Lex’s
investigators had delivered a thick file on the Kents before he’d
even left for work this morning. Clark Kent was apparently the most
anomalous, most inexplicably mysterious open book Lex had ever read.
A straight ‘A’ student, son of organic farmers—Lex
smirked, wondering if that would ever cease to amuse—reporter
on his high school paper—Lex would have preferred
him a few years older—and frequent accidental hero.
He’d
been surprised to learn Clark’s intervention with Sergei last
night wasn’t the first such incidence. In fact, he had an
apparent knack for being in the right place at the wrong time, saving
lives, putting out fires. But he’d been too late to save his
own father in what was described as a ‘freak’ farming
accident.
The
police report stated Clark had just arrived home from school with
a friend to find his mother screaming for him. In a rush of adrenaline
he hadn’t merely lifted the three-ton combine; he’d
flipped it, rolling it away. Or so the officer had reported. Lex
was somewhat skeptical of that particular detail. Whatever actually
happened, he’d been too late for Clark’s father, and
over the last 12 months the farm’s debts had risen like a
stagnant tide. The paltry life insurance policy on Clark’s
father had been eaten away by debtors within weeks, and their land
had been parceled off to remaining creditors until all that remained
was the house itself and a few acres of surrounding orchards. And
a mortgage with a balance very near twenty thousand dollars.
If
Clark Kent didn’t deliver on the promises intrinsic to his
sinful mouth and eager eyes, well, Lex had at least contributed
to less worthy charities. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder
if he’d gotten it all wrong. Perhaps he’d had more to
drink last night than he thought, because surely no one’s
mouth held that much promise.
Lex’s
musings were interrupted by the low buzz of the intercom. He walked
to the door of the penthouse and thumbed the button without waiting
for the visitor’s name to be announced. “Send him up,
Franklin.”
“Yes
sir, Mr. Luthor.”
Wearing
a variation on last night’s jeans and t-shirt, Clark looked
much as Lex had recalled. Young and farm-fresh, with bashful downcast
eyes, clutching a ratty backpack in big, likely calloused hands.
Clark mumbled a “hey” in Lex’s general vicinity.
“Hello,
Clark,” Lex said in an even tone, not moving from his spot.
“You can put your bag down anywhere.”
Clark
looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, or perhaps
as if he weren’t seeing it at all. Lex had to admire his courage
in getting this far, as terrified as he clearly appeared.
“There’s
a cashier’s check for ten thousand dollars on the table.”
Lex nodded to indicate the long formal dining table behind Clark.
“Your background check was in order, obviously. As we agreed,
you’ll receive the remainder when the terms of our agreement
are fulfilled.”
Clark
dropped his bag on the table and touched the check with his fingertips,
leaving it where it lay. He turned and met Lex’s eyes unblinkingly.
“Thank you.”
“You
didn’t tell me last night that you’re still in high
school.”
“I’m
18,” he declared. “I’ve graduated.”
“You’re
still living at home? Won’t your mother wonder where you’re
spending your nights?” Lex searched Clark’s apparently
open face for any hint of deception. Playing with a boy like Clark
could leave some with the impression that Lex had vulnerabilities
to exploit. That would be a mistake. “She won’t be phoning
the authorities, I trust?”
Clark
shook his head. “No, of course not. I told her I have a night
job. She doesn’t expect me home.”
“A
very well-paying night job. I’m sure she’d be proud.
Then again, you’re a teenager. You probably don’t care
what she thinks.”
The
stricken expression on the boy’s face confirmed his blow was
accurately aimed. A tremor slid through Clark’s voice as he
answered, “No, she wouldn’t be proud. And yes, I do
care, but… Lex, I don’t think our agreement included
talking about my mom.”
“It’s
not too late to change your mind, Clark. You’ve yet to do
anything irrevocable.”
Clark
squeezed his eyes closed and sighed deeply, then spoke with calm
determination. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do,
but… I need this money. There isn’t another way.”
Clark
opened his eyes and Lex nodded his understanding, feeling something
like sorrow for the choice the young man had made threading through
the immense satisfaction he felt on his own behalf. He wanted Clark
badly, his throbbing cock weeping a protest at the unexpected offer
to let him off the hook.
Lex
considered the tall, awkward farm boy shifting nervously beneath
his regard.
Beautiful.
Exquisite.
Breathtaking. Hot as fuck. There simply were not enough superlatives
to do sufficient justice.
“I
want to look at you, Clark. Will you take your shirt off for me?”
Polite
courtesy was easily extended when there was no question of Clark
refusing the request, and Lex’s cock twitched even before
a golden expanse of skin was revealed. Clark dropped his shirt on
the table behind him and flattened his tousled bangs in a disturbingly
boyish mannerism.
Lex
satisfied himself that there was nothing boyish in the broad muscular
shoulders, smooth chest and small pebbled nipples, lean ribs and
narrow line of silky dark hair that disappeared temptingly beneath
low-slung jeans. Mesmerized by the blush that crept up Clark’s
body, finally disappearing into his hairline, Lex set his drink
on a side table that brought him closer to Clark, straightened and
made the request he knew might be refused.
“Get
on your knees.” Lex’s quietly-voiced demand was met
with a slightly shell-shocked look. Not the best of signs.
“Wh…What?”
Clark blinked at him.
Best
to start out as one means to go on, Lex reminded himself when something
that felt suspiciously like guilt washed over him. Guilt.
Over asking his extremely well-paid amateur escort to suck him off.
He could practically hear his father’s laughter ringing in
his ears.
“I
want to fuck your mouth,” he said, choosing his words with
purpose. “That’s best accomplished with you on your
knees.”
Lex’s
earlier offer to let Clark off the hook was a mere courtesy; he
knew this was the moment of truth.
But
the boy didn’t hesitate to cross the short distance between
them, stumbling past his own feet twice before he reached Lex and
dropped heavily to his knees. Dark lashes fell to blazing cheeks
a moment before large hazel eyes were lifted deliberately to meet
his. So damned earnest, and what did he want Lex to see
in their depths, he wondered?
It
didn’t matter.
Lex
threaded his hand through thick curls, rubbing the silky strands
between thumb and forefinger before fisting, anchoring his hand
in the warmth. His eyes roved over Clark while he released himself
from his trousers with his free hand. Over flawless skin, honey
toned and just as sweet, Lex knew with certainty. Over strawberry
lips, full and ripe, begging to be tasted, and slightly parted in
unconscious sensuality. A natural.
Gripping
the base of his throbbing erection, Lex pulled Clark forward until
the head of his cock bumped and slid across that mouth, leaving
a slick trail that Clark’s shiny pink tongue hesitantly sampled.
Clark’s brows furrowed at the new taste but after a moment
he tilted his head back, exposing a long, supple throat, he and
opened his mouth wider in blatant invitation. Lex didn’t disappoint.
He held Clark’s wide, worried gaze as he slid into the soft,
wet heat.
He
felt Clark’s tongue move experimentally against the underside
of his cock, stroking firmly against the long vein while Lex pressed
further into the soft heat. Hazel eyes flared in panic when Lex
nudged the back of Clark’s throat. He released Clark’s
hair, slid his hand around to grasp the nape of his neck, traced
the hollow of one perfect cheek with the other, and pushed resolutely
past the resistance, into the maddeningly tight sheath of Clark’s
throat.
Lex
pushed until he was buried, until he felt Clark breathing heavily
through his nose against Lex’s smooth belly. He waited there
in that moment with Clark swallowing down his gag reflex, blowing
hard and loud like a racehorse, throat muscles rippling along Lex’s
hard length. Strong hands clutched at his hips, bruising him perhaps,
but he was too far gone to be sure.
Gone
in this boy’s body and his eyes; lost in the perfection of
the supplicant before him.
His
hips began to thrust of their own accord, seeking release. No chance
he’d last long, not with Clark making noises, whimpering sounds
that Lex could tell had as much to do with need as fear, and Lex
closed his eyes against the sight of him sucking hard on his cock,
cheeks hollowing with the effort, swallowing convulsively to bring
Lex off. He threw his head back and listened to Clark moan low in
the back of his throat, felt Clark’s moan in the
base of his spine and his sharp thrusts became fast and sporadic.
Felt his flesh swell and harden in the moments before he came down
Clark’s throat with a hoarse cry.
Clark
swallowed twice before choking on the thick liquid, releasing Lex’s
softening cock to cough and wipe at his lips and chin with back
of his hand.
Lex
leaned heavily on Clark’s shoulders for a long moment before
brushing the hair back from the boy’s face, wanting to see
his eyes, body sated enough for his brain to click into damage control
mode. “Clark?”
Clark
was trembling beneath his fingertips, still licking his lips to
rid himself of the remains of Lex’s orgasm. He turned his
face up to Lex, blushing bright with embarrassment, eyes showing
complete amazement. But his coy smile was something else, entirely.
Clark was… pleased with himself, all but gloating
over his success.
He’s
mine.
Lex
reeled slightly at the unexpected thought. One month. That was all
the time he had with Clark, and more than he would need. He pulled
himself upright and adjusted his clothing with practiced efficiency.
“I
have some work to finish up, Clark. When you’re here, I want
you to make yourself at home.” Lex tilted his head to indicate
the entertainment center. “DVDs, stereo, CDs. There’s
a bar in the corner. Sodas.” Lex briefly considered explicitly
granting permission to Clark to drink his liquor, but decided against
it. He wouldn’t stop Clark from doing so, but there were plenty
of laws already being trampled without encouraging them.
He
blindly retrieved his own untouched glass of scotch as he strode
out of the room without a backward glance.

Rubbing
his eyes to relieve the strain of sitting too long in front of a
glowing screen—with the exception of his meals and Clark’s
arrival he’d been on-line since being dismissed by his father
this morning—Lex mentally played ‘connect the dots’.
He couldn’t see exactly where they were leading him, but the
path was taking him through some unsavory terrain. Sergei’s
meltdown the previous night had solidified his previous unease about
the St. Petersburg venture.
Lionel
was convinced that they were dealing with one of the more established,
non-violent factions of the notoriously powerful Russian mafia.
The Nabokovs were deeply rooted in that city’s banking industry
and had been doing business with the West for years, even before
the fall of the Soviet empire. But under closer scrutiny, Lex could
see a changing-of-the-guard had been taking place in the organization’s
upper echelons. Whether Sergei was anomalous or an indication of
the group’s new leadership had yet to be determined, and further
investigation would have to wait till morning.
Lex
clicked his laptop closed and reached for Clark’s file with
a resigned sigh. He’d accomplish nothing more tonight; his
mind was too firmly focused on the boy down the hall and the insistent
ache in his groin.
He
pulled the photo free of academic transcripts and financial statements
and drained his glass of the aged scotch, savoring the rich amber
liquid. Why should he have any more qualms about enjoying Clark
than he would feel at pouring another glass of the expensive liquor?
It wasn’t as if purchasing sex was unfamiliar to Lex. He’d
never had to, strictly speaking, but he frequently chose
it as a convenient route to physical release sans inevitably
one-sided emotional entanglements.
But
this was different. He’d never kept anyone before.
He knew his father occasionally kept women, but for recreational
purposes, Lex was more partial to men and hadn’t met one yet
he trusted to be totally loyal. What was the benefit of keeping
a partner long-term beyond the assurance they were and would remain
clean? Lex frankly found the variety of his bed partners more than
compensated for the annoyance of condoms.
Now
Clark Kent appeared to be the exception to his rule and Lex was
at a loss how to proceed. Contrary to his earlier fear, and despite
Clark’s innocent demeanor, the boy was anything but
unresponsive, and imaginative or not, Lex couldn’t foresee
himself growing tired of him anytime soon.
How
did such a boy reconcile selling his body with the rest of his life?
By all accounts he’d had a Rockwellian upbringing, his father’s
tragic death notwithstanding. Lex could imagine the difficulty of
being a gay teen in a town the size of Smallville—the name
said it all—but could that account for the apparent ease of
this double identity?
Lex
stood and stretched the stiffness from his limbs. He was being foolish,
all but hiding in his office when the object of what was
fast becoming an almost obsessive fascination was waiting to fulfill
his every fantasy. It shouldn’t matter to him what the boy
might end up feeling at the end of their arrangement. Pain or regret
or shame—it didn’t matter. He’d offered
himself up to Lex and the deal was done. That price was Clark’s
to pay, and Lex vowed not to let it weigh on his conscience any
longer.
He
made his way down the corridor and found Clark sitting motionless
in the dark, silent living room. He hadn’t turned on the TV
or stereo, not even the lamp sitting within easy reach. Feet flat
on the floor, all long legs and awkward clenched hands, he seemed
to be shrinking in on himself, lost in his thoughts. Dwelling on
Lex’s earlier power play, perhaps, and worrying over what
was to come, and that couldn’t be good. Lex mentally
kicked himself for leaving the boy alone so long.
Crossing
to the bar to refill his glass, he asked, “Would you like
a drink, Clark?” Good intentions crumbling like a house of
cards.
“Um,
I grabbed a Coke earlier.”
“I
thought you might want something a little stronger.” Lex clarified.
“To help you relax.”
“That
sounds good.”
Lex
could hear the smile in Clark’s voice. So maybe he wasn’t
as far gone as Lex had feared. “Scotch okay?”
“I’ve
never had scotch.”
Lex
decided to interpret that as a “yes” and pressed the
cool tumbler into Clark’s outstretched hand, his breath catching
at the radiant smile Clark briefly turned on him from under a dark
fall of bangs. He sank into the deep sofa, tucking one leg up to
study the bent head, exquisite in profile. He laid an arm on the
back of the couch and tugged gently at raven locks. Clark blushed
lightly, keeping his eyes averted, fixed on the drink cradled in
his lap.
Lex
followed his gaze and swallowed a groan at the sight of Clark pressing
the glass’s edge against the bulge in his jeans. Had he been
sitting here hard for Lex all this time? A mere kick wouldn’t
do, Lex mentally flogged himself.
“Clark,
I’d like to take you upstairs now.”
“Okay.”
Clark
quickly drained his glass before setting it aside and rising to
follow him up to Lex’s suite at the head of the stairs. Lex
turned the lights on, dimming them, wanting to see all of Clark
but knowing he’d feel more comfortable without full light.
Lex
watched, amused, as Clark nervously surveyed the room, done in tasteful
if somewhat unimaginative beiges and blues, eyes touching on every
objet d’art, fingers trailing over the burnished
chests and bureaus—giving attention to everything but the
room’s most striking occupant—the enormous down-covered
bed that Lex stood beside, toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning
his shirt while Clark moved to the full length window covering one
wall.
He
stood there looking out over the sparkling lights of downtown Metropolis
for so long, Lex had to wonder what he saw in the view; if Clark
felt any of the Luthor-inherent compulsion to conquer and own, to
bend men, government and industry to his will. It seemed doubtful.
Clark was more than likely only delaying the inevitable—a
very un-Luthor-like tactic.
Lex
breathed a small sigh of relief when Clark finally crossed to stand
in front of him, gaze darting once to the bed before chasing back
and locking relentlessly on Lex’s. Green and gold mottled
eyes clung to him like a drowning man to a life preserver, and Lex’s
lips twitched at the irony.
Clark
lifted his t-shirt over his head again without being told, leaving
them both shirtless and inches apart. Lex could feel heat pouring
off the golden skin and ran both hands across the warm flesh of
Clark’s broad chest, thumbs brushing hard little nipples before
trailing down to deeply muscled flanks, delighting in the shiver
that ran down Clark’s lean body.
He
teased his fingers into the waist of worn jeans and pulled Clark
in for a kiss, tongue lightly tracing soft, bee-stung lips before
dipping inside the warm, slick cavern of Clark’s mouth. Clark’s
tongue slid hesitantly against his and they both moaned at the contact,
Lex probing deeper, lapping Clark’s teeth, the roof of his
mouth, searching for a trace of himself, wishing he’d tasted
Clark earlier in the evening before Coca-Cola
and scotch had washed him away.
He
nipped Clark’s upper lip before pulling away; noting Clark’s
chest rising and falling more rapidly, big farm-bred hands clenching
open and closed at his side.
“Do
you want to touch me, Clark,” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
Surprisingly soft and tactile hands were lifted instantly to Lex’s
shoulders, squeezing lightly before sliding down the paler skin
of his arms, lingering over the play of muscles as Lex unbuttoned
Clark’s jeans. “Your skin is so soft. You’re really
beautiful, Lex.”
Lex
felt his cock harden at the breathy compliment and chided himself.
“You don’t need to flatter me, Clark. That’s not
what I’m paying you for.”
Clark
jerked his hands away as if he’d been burned. “You didn’t
forget that I am paying you?” Lex mocked softly.
He didn’t know what game Clark was at but he was determined
to make it clear from the beginning that Clark couldn’t expect
to win. Lex was a master at all games worth playing—sexual
or otherwise.
“No,
I didn’t forget. I won’t forget.” Clark blinked
rapidly and ducked his head, attempting to hide his distress by
pushing his jeans and boxers down to the floor and kicking them
away before moving trembling hands to the closures of Lex’s
pants.
Lex
leaned back, letting Clark strip him, and brushed off the uncomfortable
sensation he had of being caught kicking puppies. Clark knelt in
front of him, lifting his feet to slip off his socks after shedding
the pants. Lex watched him take a calming breath before sliding
dark silk boxers over Lex’s hips.
Clark
gasped as he exposed Lex’s penis, engorged and completely
smooth, hanging heavy in front of him. He looked up guiltily and
Lex knew he’d guessed right. Clark had only just realized
his baldness extended beyond his scalp; he’d been too understandably
shaken during the earlier blow job to notice, and Lex had still
been fully clothed at the time. He felt a hard smile settle on his
face, daring the boy to comment.
Clark
reached out to him then, innocent reverence in his touch. “You
are beautiful, Lex.” Clark said, meeting his astonished
stare defiantly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
Blood
pounded thick and sluggish behind Lex’s eyes and his cock
throbbed with the sudden need to be inside this boy, fucking him,
claiming him. He handed Clark a foil-wrapped condom from
the nightstand, his voice sounding harsh in his own head. “Put
it on me.”
Clark
fumbled with the wrapper several seconds before finally ripping
it and the condom apart in his shaking hands. He looked up apologetically
and stated the obvious. “I… it tore.”
Lex
grabbed another, tearing the foil wrapper open between his teeth
and removing the latex sheath before handing it to Clark, glad to
have his blood cooled slightly by the reminder of Clark’s
inexperience. He wove his fingers through Clark’s curls before
tracing the strong jaw, cupping his chin and forcing his head up
to meet Lex’s eyes.
“Relax.
It’ll feel good, Clark. I promise.”
The
teen burned crimson. “I…aren’t I supposed to make
you feel good?” Clark asked as he unrolled the condom
clumsily down Lex’s length.
Lex
laughed shakily, beating back the urge to fuck his way down Clark’s
throat again. So tempting with the boy on his knees and blushing
so prettily. “Oh, you will. I’ll make sure of it.”
Hazel
eyes searched his face, and Lex couldn’t miss the fear in
them, the first real fear he’d seen Clark show. His cock twitched,
responding predictably to the sight of the angelically lovely, physically
powerful young man kneeling vulnerable and frightened at his feet.
Luthors were bred to conquer and fear was a goad to his ego. He
wasn’t even sure whether his next words were designed to soothe
Clark’s fear or stoke it higher.
“I
won’t hurt you any more than I have to.”
Clark
looked up at him blankly for a moment before a slow smile lit his
face. “You won’t hurt me, Lex.”
Anger
spurred Lex at the trust placed so naively into his care. “I
will hurt you, Clark. It will hurt. But I’ll
be as careful as I can be.” And still find my pleasure
in your body, he didn’t finish. Clark would find out
soon enough.
He
pulled the younger man to his feet and pushed him face down on the
cool blue sheets, unwilling to wait any longer. Straddled Clark’s
legs and urged narrow hips up to stuff a thick pillow underneath
before wedging a knee between long, heavily muscled thighs, forcing
them wide apart.
He
knelt between Clark’s legs and slicked his fingers and cock
with lubricant from the bedside table, watching the supple back
ripple as Clark strained to see behind him. Clark moaned low in
his throat at the first press of a thick thumb into his ass, pulled
a pillow closer and buried his face in it, clenching his fists in
the soft down.
Lex
wanted to protest, wanted to hear every cry and whimper, but couldn’t
find the words. He slid the digit in and out of the clinging heat
repeatedly, mesmerized by the sight and feel of the lithe body writhing
beneath him, silently begging for more. Clark’s passage tightened
momentarily as Lex slid his second thumb in beside the first, before
easing into the sensation again. Lex rotated his thumbs, slowly
twisting and pulling, stretching Clark. He bent low and pushed his
tongue into the tight space opened to him.
Clark
shouted his surprise, back arching violently at the unexpected touch.
Lex moved one hand to the small of his back while the other pushed
a thigh higher up, wordlessly demanding Clark submit, while his
mouth continued to devour him. He laved Clark’s hole, tasting
the almond flavored lubricant and the boy beneath until Clark relaxed
again under his ministrations. Thrust his tongue in and teased the
tight ring of muscle with his teeth until the skin of Clark’s
back was slick with perspiration beneath Lex’s hand and his
inarticulate babbling became a clear mantra:
“Please,
Lex…please….please….Lex, please...”
Lex
crawled his way up the glistening body, lapping at the salty hollow
of a fluid spine, and lowered himself, hard cock nestling in the
warm crevice of Clark’s ass. Tongued and nipped at Clark’s
earlobe and teased, “Please what, Clark? Tell me what you
want.”
“Please,
just… do it.” Almost imperceptible shiver fluttered
beneath Lex.
“Do
it?” Laughter rumbled in his chest, and the body under
him shuddered. “You want me to ‘do it’ to you,
Clark?” Clark whimpered and bucked his hips back into Lex,
who groaned and thrust hard in response. “God, you’re
so fucking hot.”
“Fuck
me,” Clark panted, twisting beneath him.
Lex
quickly adjusted and slid home with one long, slow thrust, his own
hoarse cry twining with Clark’s, engulfed in molten flesh,
a tight velvet glove sheathing him. And he’d meant to give
Clark a chance to adjust to him, but the lithe body was begging
for him now, long legs spreading a fraction wider, knees
seeking purchase on the soft sheets to thrust backwards.
Enthusiastic
virgin, made for this—felt custom made for him—and
Lex started to move. Slow, powerful thrusts and sweat slicked skin
sliding back to chest. He pinned Clark’s arms above his head
and nuzzled damp curls at the nape of his neck, every murmur and
mumbled plea driving him harder, faster, more erratically into the
pliable flesh.
Too
much... too hard. Virgin... kid...
Slow, Lex...Don’t hurt him. But
he couldn’t stop, not even if Clark asked him to, and the
sounds coming from the boy were all about encouragement, anyway.
“Don’t
want to hurt you, Clark… brave fucking boy…oh, God,
you fucking love it, don’t you,” he rasped,
wondering how he could get deeper in the hot, tight body. So perfect,
inferno’s flames licking at his skin, firing off every nerve
ending in a bio-chemical chain reaction that shouldn’t feel
any different than any other time he’d been here, but it did.
Felt fucking unbelievable.
Lex
braced one hand into the mattress and pulled Clark onto his knees,
grasping both hips and pounding into him, brutal with his body and
the boy’s. And Clark had to be hurting now. He had
to be feeling this.
Awareness
drew Lex back, reigned him in a notch; he didn’t want
to hurt Clark, shouldn’t be using him so roughly. Clark was
whimpering at the slowing of the pace, and he shouldn’t be
doing that. Anger flared in Lex. Was Clark on something? Had he
lied about being a virgin? Did it matter?
Lex
stilled deep inside him, forehead resting between his shoulder blades,
and drew deep gasping breaths into burning lungs. It did
matter.
“S’good,
Lex. Don’t stop,” Clark panted. “So close, please.”
“Am
I hurting you, Clark?”
“Wha-?”
Sexual haze a truth serum revealing only genuine confusion. “Please,
Lex, I didn’t know… never imagined it’d be like
this…so good.” Clark pushed back in unconscious
incitement. “So close, Lex. I need it… need you.”
Lex
groaned at the urgency of Clark’s pleas, at the thrumming
body beneath him. He reached under Clark to grasp his rigid cock,
stroking in concert with his own sharp thrusts into Clark’s
ass, feeling his orgasm bearing down on him with surprising speed.
“Come
for me, Clark,” a voice he didn’t recognize demanded,
and Clark spasmed with a cry, body shuddering around Lex’s
own pulsing cock as they spilled their orgasms, each trembling aftershock
rocking the other until they were both completely spent.
They
collapsed together, a sweaty, sticky pile of limbs on rumpled sheets,
gasping for long moments until their hearts slowed, and Lex rolled
off Clark onto his back, damp skin drying in the cool room. Finally,
he stood and walked to the bathroom, disposing of the used condom
and cleaning himself off before wetting a towel for Clark, who was
still sprawled, loose limbed and all but comatose, across the greatest
portion of his bed.
Lex
climbed in beside him and dropped the warm cloth on Clark’s
chest before leaning down to trail his tongue across the taut stomach,
smeared with tacky come, promising himself a deeper taste of the
addictive boy after he’d slept off a bit of his current lethargy.
Turning
over, he beat his pillow into submission before pulling the covers
up. Clark rolled over with him, not touching, but close enough that
Lex could feel moist breath tickling his spine.
“Lex?”
“Yeah,
Clark?”
“Should
I—do you want me to leave now?”
Anguished
uncertainty in the whispered question, and Lex found himself stunned
by the response Clark engendered in him. There was an undeniable
impulse to chase away Clark’s fears, to protect him
from… what? From himself? From the bargain they’d struck?
An impossible task, and one that was diametrically opposed to his
own desires. Sending Clark home right now was the smart move, but
it was the last thing he planned on doing.
“No.
Get some sleep first.”
“Okay,”
Clark replied, his relief evident.
The
bed bounced under him as Clark eagerly shifted under the covers,
finally coming to rest flush against Lex, one strong arm slipping
around to stroke his chest, pulling him tight against the overgrown
puppy Clark had apparently morphed into while he his back had been
turned. Lex stiffened involuntarily at the unexpected and unaccustomed
post-coital contact. The…cuddling.
“Is
this all right, Lex?”
Shyly
voiced query, but Lex was onto him now, and only snorted his response.
Too tired, and entirely too satisfied with the situation to object,
Lex drifted into sleep with the disquieting suspicion that he was
as far out of his depth as Clark certainly was.

Rays
of sun peeked through the curtains and warmed the carpet in bright
ovals as Clark stepped carefully across the room. Dawn was just
yawning wide over Metropolis and Lex Luthor wasn’t stirring
on the pillow bunched under his head. The belt on Clark’s
jeans clacked metallically as he lifted them, and he made a beeline
for the door of the bedroom, closing it carefully behind him to
avoid disturbing Lex.
He
leaned heavily back against the wall outside the door, hair catching
on the bottom of a light fixture and pulling a little as his head
fell forward, shaking in denial.
He’d
done it.
No
longer a virgin, no longer an innocent kid from the sticks.
Looking
up, he caught his reflection at the end of the hallway in a large,
gilded mirror.
He
looked… well-fucked.
Hair
a tangled mop, but that was nothing unusual at this hour, chest
youthfully muscled but still, still more underdeveloped
than he wished it was. Stomach taut and flipping gently inside as
he noticed his half-hard cock hanging heavily under a patch of dark
curls.
He
smelled well-fucked too, come and sex and lubricant mixing together
into a sharp, musky cologne that he wished he could splash on every
morning for the rest of his life. Sex was… something he knew
now, something he could have and enjoy. Any intimidation he felt
was quickly being worn away by the fast and furious workings of
his mind. He wanted to know it all, wanted to feel it all. Wanted
to turn and burst through the door, yank Lex out of his sleep and
demand more now.
Chloe
had warned him—told him that after she had done it, she’d
gone a little mad with it. She’d wanted sex all the time,
wanted more whenever she did have it, imagined having it with almost
everyone just so she would know them that way, too. It
opened an entirely new part of herself, an entirely new world full
of the people she knew, but made her suddenly aware that she had
never really known them at all. Not completely.
And
now Clark knew Lex like that. Lex knew him like that.
It
was backwards for them though, starting here but with nothing
behind them to bind them to each other. The incident with Sergei
hardly constituted the basis of a relationship, not to mention the
ten thousand dollar check waiting for him downstairs, and Clark’s
chest pulled tight at the realization that as wonderful as it had
been, it had meant nothing.
His
head knocked back against the wall and he gritted his teeth at the
loud sound it made—hoped to God it didn’t wake Lex.
He couldn’t face a distant employer this morning, and he was
sure that’s the only version of Lex he would see if they met
at the breakfast table.
Still,
it had been incredible. He had been incredible—he’d
made Lex feel so good and Lex had been so… considerate seemed
too Puritan a word for the situation, but he had been. It hadn’t
felt like just a fuck, hadn’t made him feel cheap
or used or like a piece of meat. Maybe it wasn’t an emotional
epiphany, but the sensations, the raw desires and reactions of his
body as Lex touched him still echoed on his skin, sending electricity
shooting through his veins.
The
idea seemed ludicrous now, but in the thick fog of sweat and sex,
he’d lost himself in the purest connection he’d ever
felt with anyone.
He’d
forgotten the farm and his mother and even the ten thousand dollar
check on the table downstairs. He’d floated on the smooth
stroking in his ass, the skin that slipped and rubbed wet against
his, the sucking, biting kisses that weren’t anything but
lust. And this morning, when a stray arm slid warm and heavy across
his chest, it had taken everything he had to open his eyes and see
his employer lying next to him instead of the boyfriend his sleep-lazy
brain had let him imagine. He’d accepted the reality though,
and rolled out from under the arm to make a silent and stealthy
escape from a temptation that sat too bitter-sweet in the pit of
his stomach.
Clark
smiled shyly back up into the mirror, then grinned at the ridiculous
sight of himself, debauched, analyzing everything like he should
be wearing an inspector’s badge. Maybe he was going to go
mad with fucking too, just like Chloe. Running a hand through his
hair and smelling the sweat that clung beneath the sex scents, he
shook his head.
He
never would have believed that he would look forward to meaningless
sex. But tonight was just fourteen short hours away, and Clark wasn’t
sure he’d make it.
Slinging
his jeans and shirt up over his shoulder, he sped down the stairs,
pausing in the living room to dress before heading into the kitchen.
A glass of water and he’d be on his way. Lex should have something,
too—from the stark surroundings of the penthouse and the lean
body he was beginning to know so well, he gathered that Lex didn’t
indulge often, and there were no sweet, sugar-charged breakfast
foods in the pantry, no cereal of any kind. He did find strawberries
and yogurt though, and ice of course, so he whipped them up and
stuck the mix in the fridge, using a decorative magnet to hold a
short note to the door so Lex would know his breakfast was waiting
for him.
Lex,
Hope
I didn’t wake you. There’s breakfast in the
fridge. It’s just strawberries and yogurt,
but I thought you could use an energy boost this morning.
Thanks for...
Clark
paused—how do you thank someone for fucking you? His cheeks
heated at the thought and he couldn’t help but grin a little,
the memories of the night before flashing through his brain in a
sexy montage. Clark closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then looked
back down at the paper and sighed.
...
everything. I’ll see you tonight.
—Clark
He
stood there, staring at the note for half a minute, mind completely
devoid of anything but the remembered softness of that perfectly
blank skin.
Turning
to pull his jacket from the back of the chair he’d hung it
on, his fingers slid along the table, scooping up the check and
folding it in half before his eyes could see the bold handwriting
he knew was scrawled across it. If he thought about it, he’d
leave it and never come back. No, he had to concentrate on the other
part—the part that swelled and rose against the zipper of
his jeans at the thought of a sleepy, willing, naked Lex who would
wake and find him gone and maybe even miss him all day long.

“Mom,
where are the deposit slips?” Clark rifled through the desk
in the hallway, noticing the fat stack of unpaid bills, the really
late ones thumb-tacked to a piece of corkboard by the phone.
“Mo-om!”
He was excited, too excited to worry about the no-yelling-in-the-house
rule his mother enforced with a flash of her eyes.
“I’m
right here. Stop yelling!” There was the flash, and Clark
answered it with a wide smile.
He
turned, leaned casually back on the desk, the check dangling down
by his thigh. “Where are the deposit slips?”
“In
the bottom drawer. Why?”
Clark
grinned, holding the check out for her to re |