The Rules of Blue
by Thamiris
The Rules of Blue
by Thamiris

An adolescence ago, Lex Luthor didn't sleep with Clark Kent.   He had a closet full of excuses, mostly about corruption and illegality, with a box of fear at the back.   Still, with the need cranked sun-high, Lex required a second strategy to keep his hands off one hundred percent pure farmboy: he refused to picture Clark naked.   Ever.   Even during Lex's frequent jerk-off sessions, Clark was always discreetly covered in flannel and cotton, more icon than player, suitable for a kid who got his kicks pulling drowning men from rivers. 

Amazing the mileage Lex got from Clark's Colgate smile, his wide, depends-on-the-light-colored eyes, his dark hair that always curled the wrong way.   And the longer he knew Clark, the more territory Lex covered in his masturbatory fantasies, turning fetishism into an art form, so that even the beauty mark on Clark's right cheek got its own time.   Lex discovered the power of that last one on the way home from the Kent Farm: still hyped on Clark, who always laughed at his jokes and countered Lex's cynicism with an earnestness that would seem contrived on anyone else, Lex had pulled off the road and done it fast and hard, picturing Clark in that vaguely museum-like way.  Afterward, he licked his own sticky hand, which tasted like hypocrisy. 

Another rule was that Lex had to stop his hand and couldn't start again for twenty-four hours if even the hint of criminally-bare farmboy skin crept into his head.   The Smallville water shortage of 2003 could be directly attributed to a very hot summer and a pair of tight cutoffs that gave Lex a glimpse of Clark's inner thighs as they sat together in Clark's loft.   It took two weeks of hour-long icy showers before order returned, and Lex still needed a Victoria's Secret catalogue in his hand the whole time, not blinking once, to prevent a recurrence.   Other people's skin didn't count; only Clark's, with its ability to transform Lex like a sexual werewolf, mattered at all. 

Not sleeping with Clark was astro-physics-complicated, and controlling his fantasies kept the obsession to a moderately-shameful level.   It looked, he hoped, more like hero worship and less like John Hinckley.  They'd be sitting in the Talon or in Lex's study, and Clark would be staring at him, head turned a little to the side, like Lex was either an alien or a butterscotch sundae.   The irony of the former perspective became clear later, when Lex did the kindergarten-level math and figured out that the hot extraterrestrial superhero in the skintight costume was, in fact, the savior of Smallville. 

Clark's makeover from geek to god required some adjustments to Lex's erotic proscription, since faded contact and a superficial antagonism didn't diminish the fascination.   Clark, whatever he called himself after he'd pulled away, was still running a saintly marathon, and Lex, in his own guise as resident evil, was still watching from the sidelines with his tongue hanging out.   The problem was Clark's choice of Superman running gear:  that blue pornographic dream of infinitely tight fabric.   When Lex relaxed his rule and included Clark's S-emblazoned chest in his catalogue of inspirational material, he zoned out in a meeting with the President of France, then compounded the mistake by leaving in the middle to give his stiff cock immediate attention. 

That orgasm in a small marble bathroom, extra powerful thanks to the image of Clark's nipples, started a chain reaction of missed appointments, embarrassing Freudian slips, and a variation on Carpal Tunnel syndrome.  It climaxed in a midnight phone call to Clark's Metropolis apartment.   This call actually helped rein in the chaotic lust because it wasn't Clark who answered, but a woman.   Lex recognized the voice as he hung up without saying a thing: Clark's colleague at the Daily Planet, Lois Lane. 

Hard to mistake her low, sarcastic voice.   He'd heard it often enough at press conferences, wording questions to put a sleazy spin on anything Lex did.   He'd never had luck with reporters, but to Lois Lane he was Genghis Khan in a very expensive suit.   While she wasn't the first woman Clark had slept with, Lex had drawn the line at serious jealousy of highschool girls or the occasional college pick-up.   (He defined serious jealousy as the inability to function normally; regular jealousy just meant a quiet, cancerous ache.)   Lois, though, with her smart mouth and smarter brain, was competition. 

Lex countered this latest attack by calling one of the girls in the newest Victoria's Secret catalogue and fucking her every night for two months.   That he chose one with black hair, a beauty mark on her cheek, and made her wear blue lingerie wasn't technically cheating; that happened only when he accidentally called her Clark during a blowjob.  As penance, he paid for her last year at Metropolis U. before sending her packing, and decided to give up on Clark- inspired masturbation for good.   That resolve lasted up to the New Year's eve, two nights later, when he went to a party at the mayor's mansion.   Then all hell didn't just break loose; it set up camp in his living room.

Lex was minding his own business, a glass of 1990 Louis Roederer Cristal in his hand, barely conscious of eavesdropping on Lois talking about Superman with an old friend on the other side of the column.   With more than a few glasses in her, she swayed to the music, and the edge of her red dress danced in and out of view. 

"Okay, I have to ask.   You barely say anything in your emails, but I'm dying of curiosity.   Just between us, what's he like?"

"Incredible," Lois said.   "Just incredible.   I thought he'd be a little uptight, you know?   All of that hero stuff.   But he's wild.   Stamina like you wouldn't believe, and he'll try anything once."

Lex took a very long sip and leaned back against the pillar, glad of the shadows in his corner.

"I knew it.   He's so gorgeous, too.   My daughter has a picture of him taped to her bedroom wall, and sometimes when she's at school, I just walk in and stare."

Lois laughed.   "If you tell anyone this, I'll have to kill you, but sometimes in the middle of the night, I turn on the light and look at him.   He always sleeps naked, sprawled on his back, and you've never seen anything like it."

The champagne flute fell from Lex's hand, and he caught it a second before it hit the floor.   His cock was rigid under the tuxedo pants, and he held the empty glass over it, rubbing slowly, his rules shattered like expensive crystal.   All of that skin, damp and flushed with sleep and sex, Clark's cock still half-hard and wet...

"You always were lucky, Lois.   Not only do you get Superman, but you also work with Clark Kent.  He may not be the Man of Steel, but he's still pretty cute."

"Clark?"   Lois' voice, so open before, folded in on itself.   "Clark's like my bratty younger brother.   I'm not into him at all.   I mean, he's nice enough and all that, but he's strictly a vanilla guy."

So she didn't know.   Lex, who was rarely surprised, almost dropped his glass again.  True love, it appeared, had its limits.   About to suppress his cheap glee, he embraced it instead.   His world wasn't so full that the little pleasures should always be avoided. 

"Maybe you could introduce me to Clark sometime," the friend went on.   Lex had seen her before he ducked behind the column: the thin, nervous type with perfect hair and too much mascara.   "Think he'd have a problem with a single mom?"

"Not at all.  He's really a sweet guy.   Only thing is, I think he's gay.   He never goes out with anyone, just spends all his time obsessing over Lex Luthor.   His main goal in life is to get an interview with him, but for some reason Lex keeps refusing.  Probably scared of what Clark will weasel out of him."

Lex, whose love affair with the champagne flute was reaching epic proportions, gave up and carefully put the glass at the base of the pillar.   Paranoid about listening devices, Lois, Clark and Superman always talked in shorthand, never naming names, leaving Lex's surveillance team more than a little confused.   Reading the transcripts--he refused to listen to the tapes or watch the videos--Lex could sometimes guess when they were talking about him, but this was the first time he heard himself discussed in an unadulterated form.   If he kept a diary, he'd record this night for posterity. 

"Lex is around here somewhere, isn't he?   Maybe you could introduce me to him instead.   All of that money, and he's so exotic looking.   He's not gay, if the tabloids are anything to go by.   Bi, maybe, but not gay.   I could live with that."

"Lex Luthor is a gangster.   Stay away from him, Fran.   Trust me.   Don't believe the hype in his papers about how he's really just misunderstood.   He's a ruthless prick, and he'll do anything to get what he wants."

Not a fair assessment, all things considered.   He was making love to a champagne glass, not trying to seduce her boyfriend.   Hell, he even respected Clark in his fantasies, and didn't gossip about him with horny housewives.   Lex felt oddly virtuous, and he embraced that emotion, too. 

"I don't know, Lois.   He's given a lot to the city.   My friend Judy, who works at Metropolis General, said that Lex is their biggest contributor."

"Guilt money.   He's scum."

"I guess Superman hates him?"

"Oh, Superman's always about forgiveness and looking under the surface.   It's always ‘his father was a jerk' this and ‘the media manipulates his image' that.   He doesn't trust Lex far as he can throw him--and Superman could throw him pretty far--but sometimes I think he actually admires him.   It's his only flaw."

"Admires him how?"

"Oh, he thinks that Lex is really strong in his own way.   I don't know.   It's all very annoying.   Look, I need another drink--I'm going to find a waiter.   Then I'll tell you just how Superman can use his superspeed."

For the first time in his life, Lex understand the trouble with too much information, and made a bee-line for a private bathroom on the next floor, where he celebrated the New Year by leaning against the stall, cock in hand, and stroking to a very confusing series of images.   Clark and Superman, truth and lies, clothed and naked, and Lex couldn't tell them apart, just knew he wanted it all.   And knew, just as certainly, that he'd never allow himself to have it.

Lex knew the day after Lois and Superman split up.   It was Lois who did it, and the reasons were murky, something about divided loyalties.   Superman got really angry, and when he took her to bed one last time made her come so much that the surveillance team, used to their sexual antics, added a sidebar note about it. 

The break-up was only part of the reason for Lex's internal fracturing.    Ever since Lois had described Superman naked on the bed, Lex got so tangled in his rules that he hadn't come in the intervening months, and, truth be told, he was cracking up.   Everything reminded him of Clark's body.   A glance out the window at the clear blue sky and he imagined peeling the skintight fabric off Clark before going down on him.   He banned blue paper and ink at  LuthorCorp in a memo titled "The Rules of Blue," then confused everyone further by painting his office that very shade.   Blue was everywhere: blue moon, blue movies, blue mood, blue blood... You could drown in it, and sometimes Lex wanted to. 

Meetings were a joke: he couldn't concentrate, and lost over ten million dollars because of missed details.   His father went on a rampage, ranting about incompetence and failure in a slew of phone calls, but mostly Lex ignored him.   After all, the accusations were nothing new, only more valid now, and apologies always sank like stones.   He didn't care about Lionel's rage, or making money, or controlling his destiny, the three things that underpinned his life; they all seemed like a series of jokes whose punchlines only now made sense.   It was time to change the rules, with the old ones yellowed and crumbling like the pages from a family bible.

Three months later, Lex planted a bomb in the downtown headquarters of LuthorCorp.

Wearing gloves, he'd typed a hate note to himself that morning on an old Smith-Corona, called in a bomb threat across town to keep the bomb squad out of the way, then headed to work.   He placed the note on his desk before rigging the small but deadly bomb to the base of the chair in his office, so that if he stood he'd be another layer of paint on the ceiling.   Next, Lex evacuated the building, activated the timer, and called the police. 

Superman showed up within minutes.   "I heard there was a bomb."

"Very perceptive," Lex said.   It was the repressed desire talking.   Apparently, the proximity of a guy's decade-long sexual obsession made him very sarcastic.   From his chair, he kept his eyes fixed safely on Clark's face, safety, of course, being relative, with that mouth the color of bubblegum and the lashes long as a finger.   "You know, Clark, I never understood why people don't recognize you.   You look exactly the same." 

Clark, who'd been kneeling beside him to study the bomb, went very still.   "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No joke.   Real bomb, real curiosity.   I mean, the glasses are a good touch, and the slouching, and the baggy suits, but it's pretty obvious to me."   Lex's mouth dropped open when Clark walked to the window and ran his fist in large circles through it, until there was a huge gap in the blue wall.   It was not the expected reaction.   "What are you doing?"

"I thought that with your impressive powers of perception you'd be able to figure that out."   Lex, it seemed, didn't have a monopoly on sarcasm.   "Put your arms around my neck.   We're going out that way."   Clark nodded toward the gaping mouth he'd created, where the sky poured in like a river.

"Isn't there some other way to do this?"

"Not with five minutes left on the timer.   I know you don't want to touch me, but your life's on the line, so make the sacrifice."

"What?"   He blamed the solid heat of Clark's body for the vanished wit.   Close enough to kiss, with Clark bending down to hold him, one hand cradling Lex's skull, the other under the seat of the chair.    Lex's cock, not quite clear on the mortality issue, and a little confused by an inadequate series of rules, was already full and desperate. 

"Nothing," Clark said.   "Just hold on tight.   And feel free to stop talking; I don't need any distractions."

"Are you always this chivalrous with the people you rescue?"

"You're not like other people, Lex." 

"Part of my charm."   They began to move, hovering above the floor, then through the hole and up into the sky, like a classical ascension.   Except for the chair, and the bomb, and the waiting arms of God.   Still, this was pretty nice. 

"Who do you think planted the bomb?"

"I thought I wasn't supposed to talk."

"Do whatever you want.   You always do."

"Not always," Lex said.   With Clark directly in front of him as they soared, he couldn't see Metropolis shrinking below, just feel the rush of summer air, then the cooler brush of clouds.   It could've been like a dream, only Lex had been feeling this way for months.   Maybe years.   Maybe since the time he woke up on the riverbank and Clark was there to save him.   Lex closed his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Just rediscovering a new fear of heights."   Somewhere, a bird squawked, annoyed at the interruption.

"I didn't know that Lex Luthor was afraid of anything."

"You'd be surprised, Clark."   When he opened his eyes, Clark was staring straight at him.   "You of all people should know that what you see isn't always the truth."   They were so high that Lex's breath came in gasps, and he mused briefly on his inappropriate reaction, not to near-death, but Clark's forbidden closeness.   His rule-book clamored for attention. 

"This really isn't the time for a philosophical debate.    Now listen.   I'm going to drop the chair, then move so that I'm between you and it.   You shouldn't feel a thing."

"You can move that fast?"

"Just trust me, Lex.   We've only got about thirty seconds left.   On the count of three.   One.  Two.  Three." 

Lex found himself lying face to face with Clark, his wrists held tight in Clark's hands, pressing into his stomach.  The sharp, clean ether seared his lungs, like he'd been holding his breath underwater.   Then the chair exploded below them, rocking the air.   Pieces ripped through the clouds as he and Clark shot even higher, and Lex wondered if he was dying.   Finally, they straightened, and no angels--or devils--appeared, just the two of them moving through the air like Cupid and Psyche.   With Clark's arms now around his waist, Lex slid his own around Clark's neck, and they began to sink. 

"Are you all right?" Clark asked. 

"Something like that."

"I'll take you to police headquarters.   They're going to want to talk to you about the bomb."

Clark's hair tickled Lex's fingers, and he closed his eyes again.   Time for a new set of rules.   Number one: don't fondle your rescuer no matter what.   No rubbing against him the strong, blue-clad body.   Above all, don't come.   "Clark," Lex said, then kissed him.   There was no lightning bolt, no burst of flame, no hand of God smacking him upside the head while a voice, sounding remarkably like his father's, intoned, ‘You're ruled by your emotions.   You always have been.   And that can be a fatal flaw.' 

Even though the touch stayed light, Clark shook his head, leaning back.   "What the hell was that?"

"Isn't that what people do in this situation?   A grateful kiss?"   He wondered if Clark could feel his hard-on. 

"We've already established that you're not most people."

Buildings grew around them while shadows fell, and the air crusted with pollution.   Reality.   "It was an impulse.  I'm sorry.   And don't tell me that you don't think that Lex Luthor can give in to impulses.   It doesn't happen often, but then this isn't a normal situation."   Cars honked, and voices filtered through Lex's daze.   "You act like I'm the alien.   You always have."

"Me?   You're the one who... Forget it.   We're here.   Take care of yourself, Lex.   Try not to piss off any more people." 

The sidewalk felt too hard under Lex's feet, his body too heavy as Clark flew off into the sky.   "I think it's a little late for that," Lex said, then headed into the police station to tell a few lies. 

That night, Lex called Clark from his freshly-painted blue bedroom.   "Come by my place tomorrow night and I'll give you an interview on my near-death experience."

"I was there, remember?   I don't need to speak to you."

"I'll toss off some good quotes and won't say anything that doesn't flatter you.   You can always edit out what you don't like."

"I'll send someone else."

"If you don't come yourself, I'll give the interview to the Mirror.   Be here at eight."   There was a long pause.   "You still there, Clark, or did you run off to rescue another bald billionaire's son?"   He used to ask that same question when Clark got quiet during one of their nightly calls. 

"I was just remembering how we used to talk on the phone all the time back in Smallville.   Before I left for college and a new start and...we stopped." 

"That was a lifetime ago."

Clark took regret for dismissal, and when he said, "I'll see you tomorrow," his tone was brusque. 

At the click, Lex hung up and lay quietly on his bed.   His cock was hard, and he wanted to jerk off, only he was scared that all the parts of Clark would fuse together in his head.    Then he'd have to unbox something hidden a long time ago, maybe from the second he'd opened his eyes after the accident and seen Clark's beautiful, worried face staring down at him. 

He didn't just need new rules, but a whole new system for operating in the world.   Clark was right: Lex really was the alien.

Lex spent the day avoiding reporters and generally getting nothing done, clock-watching like an expecting father.   At three, he decided to cancel the interview and take an extended vacation in the south of France with another lingerie model.   A blonde, this time, with brown eyes and a serious dislike of the color blue. 

Food made him queasy, so he skipped dinner and sat in his study listening to the hiccups and sighs of old jazz.    It occurred to him at seven thirty that Clark might not show up, too disturbed by the kiss.   And why wouldn't he be?  Served Lex right for indulging what his father sneeringly termed his weakness for poetic gestures.   ‘You're just like your mother, Lex.   Only you're not a woman, but my son.   Act accordingly.' 

When Lex poured himself a drink just before the hour, his hands shook, and he downed the first one in a few raw gulps.   By eight-thirty, he was well into his third drink, although every muscle remained tense.   His father, with his unerring sense of timing, called to berate him again about his job performance, and Lex, in the middle of listening to "Blue Monk," told him to fuck off.   It was liberating, and he half-hoped his father would call back so he could do it again. 

By nine, reeling a little from booze and rejection, Lex opened the forbidden box in his head.   Not deliberately: the information just inched forward, doing a strip tease, and reached him painfully bare.   After he sat gasping for a minute, it didn't seem quite that bad.   So what if he loved Clark?   It was nothing new, even if he'd never held that truth so fiercely before.   No matter how many rules he invented, how many ways he clothed it, that fact was always there and always would be.   No, Clark didn't love him back, and nothing could change that.   Like telling off his father, this was also a strange relief.   Knowledge couldn't screw him up any more than denial had. 

To christen his self-confession, Lex decided to give in to months of suppression (okay, years, if he added in the emotional content), and jerk off in style.   Sure, this defined pathetic, but it was worse to sit here waiting for the impossible, stuck in the groove of memory with want and hurt like twin succubi gnawing on his bones.   The stairs wound up ahead of him, and he began to climb in the slow, heavy-footed manner of dreams.   Then the  doorbell rang. 

"Sorry I'm late," Clark said, his glasses falling down his nose.   "Something came up and I couldn't get away."

"Not a problem.   It gave me time to work a few things out."   He led Clark into the study, collapsing beside him on the blue leather couch.   Acting normal had never been such a bitch.   "Ready when you are."

Clark pulled out a tape recorder, but didn't turn it on.   "Can I ask you something first?   I've just been thinking and..."

"Sure."   Anything to make this last. 

"When did you figure out that I was Superman?"

"It was less about figuring out than just knowing.   Who else could it be but you?"

"You mean because you always knew I was weird.   That's why you were always after me to tell you what happened in the accident on the bridge."

"Weird's not the word I'd use.   Different."   The inches between them felt like miles, and Lex wished he'd had the foresight to plant a bomb under the couch. 

"But that's still the reason you never...This is stupid.   I'm sorry.   Let's get to the interview."

"What were you going to say?"

Clark looked down at the tape recorder, rubbing his thumb over the buttons.   "It's just...I got here late because I was thinking.   About the past.   About us."

"I was thinking about that, too."

"I never told you this, Lex, but you were always a great friend to me.    You helped me work things out with my dad, helped me get together with Lana, even if..."

"Even if what?   There's no point holding back now, Clark.   Maybe it's time we got everything out in the open."   His mother had said that to him once, a month before she died. 

The couch creaked as Clark shifted.   He took off his glasses, rubbed the lenses absently against his thigh, then put them in his pocket.   "You had to know that I had a...a crush on you back then.   I mean, I liked Lana and everything, but it wasn't the same.   Lex, what's wrong?   You look a little sick.   I guess I shouldn't have told you." 

Lex had never really understood regret until then.   It hit hard right in his stomach and pushed his temperature high.   He reached for his drink, knocked it onto the floor, smooth as sandpaper.   The glass rolled noisily across the room, but he didn't move.   "You mean like hero-worship?   Because I was older and had money and all of that?"

"Not exactly.   Can we not talk about this?   I know I brought it up, but it wasn't to disgust you or anything.   More like it was something I always wished I'd told you, even though I knew how you'd react."

"Is this some kind of trick, Clark?   I've always thought of you as pretty honest, secrets about alien birth and superpowers aside, but I feel like I'm missing something here.   If this is about convincing me to keep your secret, don't worry.   Like I said, I've known since the beginning, and I'm not going to start telling anyone now, no matter what.   For what it's worth, you have my word on that."

"You had to know about the crush, Lex.    Everyone did, even my mom and dad.   Pete did, Chloe did, Lana did.   Even my ex-girlfriend figured it out.   I guess I need you to say it out loud, to tell me why you never did anything about it.   It's not fair to ask, but I need...I just want it to be over already.   It's like you're always there, even when you're not, and I need you to say it so I can move on."

The conversation had taken a surreal turn, like Dali had stepped in to direct things, and Lex wasn't sure what to say or where to go.   "Maybe you could start by saying why you think I didn't do anything.  Why I didn't touch you."

The tape recorder broke in Clark's hand, and he threw it down.   "Because you knew I was a freak.   Because you liked me as a friend, but couldn't stand the idea of touching me, no matter how hard I tried to get you to do it.   There was this one time in the summer.  It was boiling, and I was wearing these old shorts that were too tight and I was so hard and you just left.   You just left."

God, Lex decided, was obviously a sadist.   Who had a rule for a world turned upside down? 

"Maybe I should go."

When Clark tried to get up, Lex grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.   "I was scared," he said, too loudly.   "It was too intense.   I thought if I touched you, I'd...I don't know.   Break.   Stupid, I know.   My father always said emotions were for the weak, but he got it backward.   I wasn't strong enough."


"Probably not the closure you were looking for."   His smile felt rusty. 

"There's another way I could get it.  The closure, I mean."   He met Lex's eyes, and the lightning bolts and bursts of flame missing after that first sky-kiss decided to make an appearance.   No hand of God, though, just Clark's, landing soft as a cloud on Lex's knee. 

"Are you sure, Clark?"

"I am, but I kind of need you to be willing."   Clark's grin made him look fifteen again.

"I think that this qualifies as willing," Lex said, and placed Clark's hand over his hard cock.   "I could pretend that true confessions turn me on, but I'm always like that around you.   Even when you're not here."   For a second, the ghost of Lionel Luthor appeared, telling Lex to shut the hell up and be a man.   Lex mentally gave him the finger.  "Let's go upstairs." 

"God," Clark said, and stroked him like a favorite puppy.   "I don't know if I can walk."

"So fly, then, or I'll take you right here."   He felt Clark's moan, and had to order his legs to move. 

They made it to the landing before Lex pinned Clark against the wall and kissed him.   He meant to do it lightly in case this was another example of epic miscommunication, but Clark's mouth opened under his, and their tongues slid together and it turned deep and hard and wet.   When Clark cupped his ass, drawing him closer, Lex felt the pressure of Clark's belt buckle, the harder pressure of his cock.   There was also the size of Clark everywhere, wider and more muscled than he was as a teenager. 

Lex's brain spun, and his heart, and the buttons popped off Clark's shirt as Lex ripped it, needing the skin he'd spent years avoiding.   His hands slipped over it, so smooth except for the hard nipples, the soft line of hair that started low on Clark's stomach.   He went for the nipples first, teasing them with his thumbs while Clark made a sound against his mouth, then pushed his tongue deeper.   A bomb could've gone off, and Lex wouldn't have noticed or cared, not with Clark whimpering for more. 

With his hand under Clark's chin, Lex tilted his head, licking his neck, flat, long swipes that had Clark grinding into him.   When his mouth closed over Clark's right nipple, Lex forgot his rule about slow and easy and bit him before sucking it better.   Watching Clark's skin react, get tight and red, Lex forgot about everything else, some retroactive amnesia that wiped away even the blue wall at Clark's back.   He felt like Pygmalion. 

Too aware of Clark's cock to stay far from it for long, he licked down Clark's chest to his stomach before kneeling at his feet.   The belt undid easily, then the pants and boxers, until Clark was free, his cock swollen and ready.  Big like the rest of him, the head shiny, and Lex squeezed it, watching the drops form.   The first press of his tongue had them both groaning, which got him so hot that he leaned forward and sucked Clark into his mouth, deep as he could, until he was full with it, stretched and satisfied.   No finesse to the blowjob, no sweetness, just this raw, wet hunger as he gorged himself on Clark's big cock.   When he looked up, Clark was melted against the wall, his face flushed, wanton and virginal at the same time. 

"Lex," Clark said, and his voice had never sounded like that before, rough and desperate.   "Let's go upstairs before it's all over.   I want it to last."

Riding the perfect, dark, dirty fantasy of Clark coming in his mouth, Lex didn't stop, just sucked and licked with a frenzy he'd never felt with anyone else. 

"You're going to kill me.   Like Kryptonite, only good."   His hands closed over Lex's shoulder in a shock of pain, but Lex kept sucking as Clark rocked into him.   "It's...not fair.   I want to do it to you."   Clark had to pull him away, and they stood there, staring at each other, panting.   "Your mouth...God.   Your lips are swollen."   He touched them with a finger, and Lex, hungrier than ever, took it into his mouth.   "Upstairs, now." 

They stumbled up, pausing to kiss and stroke.   By the time they arrived at Lex's bedroom, Clark's shirt was gone, his pants barely on, their shoes and socks trailing like breadcrumbs behind them.   When Clark reached out to undo Lex's pants, he stopped him.   "Yours first.   I want to see you."

Clark naked.   Lex didn't blink, didn't breathe, just stood there frozen, staring.   Better than a fantasy, better than an icon, solid lines and curves, the light casting shadows.   With his hand on Clark's shoulder, Lex turned him around, saw the planes of his back, the hollows between each vertebrae in his spine, in the cheeks of his ass.   Perfect though it was, Lex missed Clark's face, the one part he always had, and turned him back to see it. 

"You now," Clark said, still in that same rough voice.   "I hate your clothes.   I want them off, so it's just you and nothing else."

As Lex peeled off his shirt, stepped out his pants and boxers while Clark followed his every move, the regret faded over the eternal delay.   If he'd fucked Clark back then, it wouldn't have been like this.   It would've been his experience against Clark's innocence, with the balance all out of whack.   And much as he hated knowing that Clark had done this with other people, at least now the control wasn't onesided.   Another revelation for Lex, that he liked his own diminished power, and he didn't move while Clark studied him. 

"Lex."   He sounded young now, like a startled kid, but his hands were very sure as they passed down Lex's chest.   "You look..."   Like Lex had done, Clark turned him around, his fingers now grasping Lex's hips.   Then he gave a little push, and Lex fell face down onto the bed.   "Just let me do this," Clark said behind him, and Lex was spread wide before he felt the soft wetness of Clark's tongue as he eased it inside him. 

Lex cried out into the sheet, silk against his mouth, silk entering him in slow circles.   He wanted to push back into Clark's tongue, and down onto the sheet, rub his cock against them, so, torn, he did nothing, just made unstoppable sounds that years ago weren't right for a Luthor.   When Clark finally flipped him over, Lex was open, could see Clark reacting to that, his eyes narrowing, his tongue sliding over his lips.   His cock jutted out, and Lex swallowed, wanting to taste it again.   "Come here, Clark.   I need you here."

With a speed that left Lex blinking, Clark was on him, hands everywhere, mouth buried against Lex's neck.   A sting of teeth, and Lex arched up, his arms wrapped around Clark's neck, their cocks aligned.   With Clark distracted, Lex rolled, taking Clark with him, and ended up straddling his hips. 

Beneath him, Clark watched, sleepy-eyed with lust.  "Five minutes of control over Lex Luthor.   Must be a record."

"Clark," Lex whispered, bending to his ear, "I think that you like control as much as I do."

"That's Superman."

"No, that's Clark Kent.   You've always been like that.   You just don't like to admit it."   Lex kissed Clark's shoulder, nuzzled it, then moved lower, covering every part of Clark with his hands, testing, stroking.   He found a ticklish spot under Clark's third rib and another beauty mark above his left hip.   After kissing both, he spread Clark's legs wide and went for the insides of his thighs, remembering a boy in cutoffs sitting on a couch one very hot summer.   They were sensitive, with Clark shivering at every lick and suck and kiss, smooth as the sheet when he rested his cheek there.   When Lex opened his mouth for Clark's balls, the skin softest here, Clark shuddered, his hands in fists at his sides before they closed over Lex's skull. 

"Lex, get on your back."

"Why?   You don't like this?"   He used his fingers to wipe the damp traces left by his mouth.

"You know I do.   I just want to do that to you." 

One of those superfast moves like the wind blowing through the room, and Lex lay on his back with his knees up and Clark between them.   Lex raised himself on one elbow to watch as Clark took his cock in both hands, gripping it at the base, then bent down.   The heat of his fingers was good in itself, but when Clark licked the head, Lex jerked so hard that Clark had to hold him down. 

"Don't," Lex said.   "Please.   Don't."

Clark ignored him, licking in circles around the head as the skin filled almost painfully tight. 

"Seriously, Clark.   It's been a long time and...God.   Your mouth."   His thighs started to shake while his cock leaked, and Clark just kept licking, so concentrated on the task that he didn't even look up.   "Clark.   I'd really hate to die before I've fucked you.   Think of the headlines."

"You won't die, Lex.   You might come, but that's not the same thing.   I want you to come."   To prove his point, Clark opened wide and took Lex down his throat, one hand still on Lex's hip to stop the shaking. 

The sight of it, Clark's mouth filled with him, the warmth of it, made him cry out and arch again, which pushed him further along Clark's tongue.   Aware that he was sweating only because his eyes stung, and breathing only because he wasn't dead, Lex sat up, placed his hands on Clark's cheeks and slowly but forcefully pulled him off. 

"Why do you always have to fight me, Lex?" Clark asked, sitting beside him on the bed, his hands always busy over Lex's skin.

"The thing is, Clark, I'm not fighting you.   I just need to touch you." 

Clark suddenly grinned.   "You know, you could've just said that, instead of rigging a bomb to bring me to you." 

"I...What makes you think I did it?"

"I didn't.   Not at first.   I was more worried about saving you.   But after, I started to think, and some of it just didn't make any sense.   Like how a guy could get into your place with the kind of security you have, or how you conveniently got everyone out of the building first."

"You just have a very suspicious mind."

"I can't believe you risked your life like that.   What if I hadn't been able to save you?"

"Let's just say it was a risk I was willing to take."

"Next time, just call, okay?   I like you in one piece."

"That's how I like you."   He stilled Clark's hands.   "I need to be inside you right now.   Don't fight me."

"You're forgetting who's the guy with superpowers here."   His grin got even wider, and he dropped back onto the bed, his legs spread far.   "But I'll give you the first one."

Lex reached over and pulled a tube of lubricant from the bedside table, spreading it over his fingers and cock.  It was cold after the heat of Clark's mouth and hands.   "Very generous of you.   I'll remind you when you're coming that you're doing me the favor."

"Is that what you're doing now?" he asked, as Lex teased him with his finger.   "Reminding me how much I want it?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes."   His skin was slick now, drops of sweat collecting on his sternum, and when Lex penetrated him for the first time, he gasped, his eyes going wide.   Pure Clark Kent.   "God, Lex, yes."

Clark's cock rested on his stomach, heavy as Lex grasped it, stroking lightly.   His finger sank deeper, with Clark holding him immovably tight, and Lex waited until he relaxed.   It helped him focus, too, not drown in the sheer fucking pleasure of watching Clark taking him, his hair a wild curly mess, his lips parted, his body gleaming.  "Beautiful," Lex said, and after another push found what he wanted, giving little caresses that left Clark writhing. 

"Lex.   You win.   I want it.   Please."

"What do you want?"

"All of you.   In me.   Now."

He withdrew his finger and let go of Clark's cock to hold his own, positioning it against him.   Clark tried to force him, pushing back, but it was Lex's turn to hold him down.   "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for years, Lex.   Do it."

Gripping the back of Clark's right leg, lifting it high, Lex rocked his hips, just a bit, and felt the overripe pressure as the head of his cock entered Clark Kent for the first time.   Clark's face went even softer, open as the rest of him, and Lex rocked again.  If it weren't so damn hot, it would be unreal, the fulfillment of the fantasy that never was, with Clark about as iconic as a very beautiful man with a cock in his ass.   A third push gave him another inch, and he wanted to give back to Clark for sharing this with him.   "I used to have these rules," Lex said.   The room was so humid that it felt like summer.

Clark made a wordless sound, staring up under his long lashes. 

"About what I could and couldn't think about when I jerked off.   God."   The final slide, and he was there, encased, breathing like a runner.   "What I could and couldn't think about you.   I was obsessed with you."


"Just like you used to have a crush on me."

"Lex, I hope..."  His eyes closed as Lex began to thrust, then opened halfway.   "I hope you're not going to run once you know that the past tense was kind of an exaggeration.   It's more of a past and--yes, like that--present thing."  His legs closed around Lex's waist, and he met every thrust with a low moan.

"So this isn't about closure?"

"Not exactly.   Unless that's what you want."

"No," Lex said, and kissed him, a warm press of lips.   "That's not what I want.   Just you, and no more rules."    No more words, either, just a series of steady thrusts that he matched with his hand on Clark's cock.   It felt like they were flying again, clouds around them, rushes of steamy air, and somehow, even with his muscles rigid, Lex relaxed and let go. 

Erratic strokes now, Clark's body permanently arced, his skin firm and vividly real under Lex's touch, his eyes that always changed color locked on blue.   Staring into them, Lex flew higher, every box in his head open, and he started to speak again, say secret things, break rules he never even knew he had.   Clark got wilder, noisier, uttering cries that became Lex's name, over and over, until finally he shouted, went dead still, then came in blood-hot bursts all over Lex's hand. 

Lex slowed to watch, but it was too much, too many years in the making, and he came, too, buried inside Clark, spilling everything he had.   It was perfect and messy and intense, and lasted for years, burst after burst, until Lex had nothing left to give, at least for now.   Finally, collapsing on Clark, who was, after all, strong enough to take him, Lex started to laugh. 

"I hope that's not a comment on my abilities," Clark said, giving Lex a sleepy kiss, then rolling onto his side, taking Lex with him. 

"Just in a very good mood."

"I think they call it happiness."

"I'll take your word for it.   It's one area where I'm not exactly an expert."

"Not my field of expertise, either."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to help you with that."

"You already have."   Clark rested his head on Lex's shoulder, draping his arm over Lex's stomach.   "Not too many people try to blow themselves up to get my attention, then take me to bed."

"The last part's not true.   Everyone wants to be with you."

"Not me.   Superman."

"You are Superman, Clark.   A good guy with a penchant for saving people, just like you've always been.   Only now you have a cool costume."

"Sometimes I hate that thing.   I'm not me when I wear it."

"If it helps, I don't want you wearing anything when you're around me.   Ever."

"I'll see what I can do," Clark said, rubbing his eyes like a kid tired but happy after a day at the fair. 

Not long after Clark fell asleep, Lex borrowed a page from Lois Lane's guide to sleeping with hot superheroes, and got up from the bed, turned on the lights against the evening gloom, and studied Clark's still form.   It was like seeing Girodet's Endymion Asleep, admiring the beauty but outside it.   Better to lie beside Clark, pressed against him, tasting the saltiness of his skin, breathing the peachy smell of his hair.   The problem with injunctions about what could be touched and what couldn't, Lex thought, settling in beside Clark, was that you missed the whole for the parts, the outside for the inside.   Other people's, and your own. 

When Clark mumbled, "Missed you," and lazily nuzzled Lex's chest, Lex cheated and constructed one last rule: the next time he was alone, he'd think not only of Clark's bare skin under the bright blue costume, but of the man underneath. 

Superman might be one hot hero, but he had nothing on Clark Kent. 

The End

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