Together by Pearl-o
Lex likes Clark on his back. Legs wrapped around Lex's waist while Clark lifts his hips to meet every slow, deep stroke; one arm strung helplessly over his face while Lex fucks himself on his cock; hands on Lex's shoulders, body rigid with barely-restrained want as Lex moves his mouth to Clark's cock or ass. Sleeping, even, posed on the bed with his effortlessly sprawled limbs and gentle breathing.
Clark likes fucking on their sides, laying down. He likes Lex on his lap, face to face so they can kiss, back to front so he can rest his chin on Lex's shoulder and watch his hand on Lex's cock. Likes Lex standing against the wall while Clark drops to his knees. He has a sentimental fondness for old couches, and hours-long makeout sessions.
Lex knows exactly what they both like. He knows their tastes, their limits, their preferences. A good part of the last four years has been spent exploring how the two of them fit together. He would never have admitted it to Clark, but that sort of complete knowledge could be ... unsettling. Too comfortable, maybe, or easy. Lex could appreciate all the benefits of commitment and intimacy, really, and he loved Clark, but ... it wasn't what he had expected, after all.
It's amazing what a difference a few weeks can make, Lex thinks. It feels changed now, unknown again.
Clark's hands frame his face, holding him still and fixed, the same way Clark's body holds the rest of him, pressing him up full-length against the bedroom wall. Clark hasn't even taken off his denim jacket yet -- one of his buttons is heavy against Lex's chest, not quite hard enough to hurt. Clark still carries the scent of beer and stale smoke, as well, doubtless left over from whatever crowded hole Ethan dragged him to tonight. His mouth, though, doesn't taste like either.
Lex scratches one hand across Clark's neck beneath his fluffy overgrown hair, the other down his back, clutching him closer.
"So stupid," Clark mumbles. "*Idiot*." Lex isn't sure which of them he means. Clark steps back from the wall, dragging Lex along with him as they kiss again. There's a quick twirl, and Lex falls backwards as his legs hit the bed. Clark's jacket is already on the floor and his tshirt is halfway over his head by the time Lex gets up on his elbows.
Three weeks. God. He'd thought...
"Jesus, I missed you," Lex says throatily. He sits up and reaches out to Clark's golden chest, his perfect abs, all that flawless fucking skin. Another kiss is Clark's best way of shutting him up, and he sucks on Clark's tongue as he's pushed back onto the bed and Clark crawls over him.
As the kiss ends, Clark pulls back, raises himself up enough to look down at Lex's face. He lost the glasses not long after he arrived, somewhere between the awkward greetings and the breathless attack. Somewhere around "I want us back", maybe.
"You missed *me*?" Clark says, halfway between exasperation and laughter. He runs his hand down Lex's side, stopping to grip his hip. "You're the one who ran away. I waited a few days so we both could cool down, and you were on a different *continent* already." He squeezes Lex's hip, hard and lingering, and then moves his hand between them.
Lex stares up at him, surprise catching the breath in his throat as Clark works on his fly. He'd thought it was permanent. He'd moved up his next trip to London up a few weeks; he thought the whole thing would be easier somewhere where every last thing didn't remind him of Clark. He'd come back as soon as it became obvious it wasn't.
He pushes Clark up, rolls the two of them over on the bed, stares down at Clark's sex-slow face before kissing him for a long moment. Clark arches up beneath him with a small cry, grabbing Lex's ass and pulling him down as he thrusts.
"I want you," Clark breathes out softly, and Lex is struck with the urge to just laugh, let the relief and the *now* and *here* bubble over.
"Do it already, Clark. Fuck me."
Clark grins suddenly and gives Lex a quick peck on the lips, before twisting to slide out from beneath him. Lex rests his forehead against the bed for a second as he listens to Clark fumble in the bedside table. When he looks over, Clark is naked; Lex watches the muscles in his back and ass as he straightens up from the drawer, one hand clenched shut.
Lex sits up, wriggling out of his pants, already falling off his hips from Clark's earlier efforts. Clark drops the contents of his hand by the pillow and kneels on the bed beside him. Placing each of his hands on Lex's shoulders, Clark glides them slowly down his chest, brushing the smooth fabric against his skin, before drifting back to Lex's top button. His gaze follows the track of his hands, before rising again to Lex's eyes, and he leans in for a kiss as he begins to unbutton the shirt.
It had struck Lex all at once, midway through the London trip, the sudden realization of his freedom. He'd taken another sip of his wine as he listened to LexCorp's European vice-president smile and tell charming anecdotes over dinner, and the thought had come to him unbidden: *I could sleep with him*. M. Lambert was giving out all the signals, and Lex didn't have any doubts that the seduction would succeed beautifully. It wasn't that that sent him back to his hotel bed alone.
"So gorgeous," Clark says, pushing the cloth back from Lex's shoulders. Lex shrugs it off, and tosses the shirt to the floor beside the bed with the rest of the clothes. Clark's hands find a nipple, the side of his stomach. Together, the two of them sink back down to the bed.
Clark's cock is hard, wet against Lex's thigh, and his breath is hot and sweet along Lex's jaw. Lex's own breaths are deep and slow as he strokes Clark's hair and the place where his neck becomes the top of his back. Clark mumbles against his skin as he mouthes down his neck, across his sensitive collarbone, licking at one nipple and then the other before sinking his teeth into a gentle bite. Clark has always talked; half the time Lex can't make out the words, but he's learned to let it go.
Clark fumbles up by the pillow with one hand as he lowers his mouth to Lex's belly. Lex closes his eyes, groaning and digging his hands into Clark's hair as Clark nips across from one hipbone to the other.
Lex's legs fall open and he spreads them further, back towards him. Clark makes a pleased noise, and one hand goes back between Lex's thighs just as his lips first touch his cock, brushing over the head. Lex's hips move of their own accord, back and forth from Clark's soft easy mouth drifting further and further down to his slick determined finger, entering him with slow unpausing pressure.
Clark pulls off his cock, lapping along the length and base and down to his balls. He twists his finger as it sinks the rest of the way in; Lex tugs hard at his hair, swallowing his own half-gasp. He can see Clark further down the bed, hips rubbing frantic circles against the sheets, belying the dedicated control he's showing Lex.
Lex has the strong urge to just push him off, skip the preliminaries, cock instead of fingers, fucking *now* -- but it's been a month, and Clark is big. So instead, he just pulls his hair again and grits out, "More."
Another finger, more quickly this time, and now there are two moving and twisting in him. Clark raises himself up on his knees, sitting back to watch Lex with glittering eyes. He jacks Lex's cock firmly with one hand as the other works him open.
It's good, so good, Clark's big strong fingers filling him up as he rocks himself back, and he wants to say he forgot how good this is, how good Clark always is, but that's a lie.
"God," Lex says, blinking roughly. He slams his foot down against the bed with a harsh jerk as Clark rubs back and forth along his prostate. "Now. Do it now."
Clark leans over, kissing him slowly as he pulls out. Sitting back again, he pulls on a condom and slicks his cock, still watching Lex and biting his lip. Lex hadn't realized he still *had* condoms in that drawer, but he doesn't stop to think it over, because his ankles are locked over Clark's shoulders, and Clark's cock is pressing against him.
"Lex, Lex, Lex," Clark says, some sort of perverse chant; his face is horribly sweet and almost pained-looking as he pushes in.
It hurts, and Lex sucks a deep breath in through his teeth as Clark slowly sinks further. But by the time Clark pauses, all the way in, bent over and breathing heavily, the discomfort has started to fade.
"Ready?" Clark whispers. He's almost trembling with the effort of keeping still, waiting.
"Ready," Lex says, and he pushes his hips up, pushing himself back on Clark's warm, hard cock. Clark starts to pull out slowly, and then thrusts in again. And again. The next stroke is firm against Lex's prostate, and Lex hisses as he arches up.
"Perfect, so good, so right," Clark mutters, his continuous babbling commentary. His eyes are shut tight. The next thrust is confident, and it hits the spot; Lex bucks, shifting his legs and pulling Clark down hard on top of him. Clark stops his monologue to groan as Lex scratches fiercely down his back. He follows the groan up with a kiss, blindly seeking Lex's lips with his own as he fumbles between them for Lex's cock. His tongue is already in Lex's mouth as he finds his grip.
Lex digs his nails deep into Clark's back as he breaks off from the kiss. "Harder," he says, holding on tight.
It's times like these -- with Clark's fist moving fast and slick over Lex's cock, keeping perfect rhythm with his hips as they pump away, fucking Lex completely -- that make Lex wonder how Clark can be so coordinated here, and still dance so badly.
"Love you, yeah, missed you, *Lex*," Clark says, voice breaking into a moan on the last word, as Lex rocks up to meet the next thrust. "Lex, yes, please, like that." He leans in again, sucking furiously at the indentation where the base of Lex's neck meets his shoulder -- and forget everything about he was saying about familiarity, Lex thinks, because god, there's a lot to be said for it, after all.
"Yes," he hisses, "right *there*," and he wraps his leg around Clark to clutch him as close as possible as he comes between them. He arches up, back curled for a long second before he falls back on the bed.
Clark's still talking, faintly now so that Lex can only tell by the movement of his lips. His face is tense with concentration, his bangs slick with sweat, and his eyes still squeezed shut.
Now that Lex has come, each stroke of Clark's cock is that much more intense, and a harsh grunt escapes him as he moves his hand up to pet Clark's face. "Ah, Clark. Come on..."
Clark's eyes open as Lex spreads his fingers across his cheekbones, jaw, lips. Clark's tongue peeks out to catch at the skin of his hand, and Lex has the sensation of a sudden memory of the two of them in another bed, another house, four years ago, where Clark touched Lex like he thought he would break and then came laughing, shocked and amazed.
"Oh," Clark says; he buries his head in Lex's chest as he comes, and Lex wraps his arm around him, holding him through the shaking, and after, as they both begin to catch their breath.
After a little while, Clark pulls out slowly, with a kiss to Lex's breastbone. Lex flings his arm over his eyes with a sigh, listening to his breathing slow as Clark pads away. There's some noises from the bathroom, a toilet flushing, and then Lex feels a washcloth wiping him gently off before Clark's weight settles next to him on the bed once more.
When he looks over, Clark is on his side with his head propped up on his arm, wearing a serious expression.
"What?" Lex says lazily. He feels pleasantly satiated.
"I need to tell you something."
Lex waits.
Clark scoots closer and rests his hand lightly on Lex's belly. "When we were broken up. I slept with somebody."
For a moment, Lex can't saying anything. It's hard to swallow around the bitter taste in his throat.
Softly, Clark says, "Lex?"
"Who?" he asks, waiting for the name he already knows is coming. He can kick Ethan's ass without breaking a sweat; that's not a problem. It's just a matter of deciding how.
"Someone you don't know. From my journalism class." Clark hesistates, rubbing a slow circle on Lex's skin. "Her name's Michelle."
Lex takes a few more breaths before he stands up. From the bed behind him, Clark says, "Please don't freak out," in an earnest voice.
"I'm not. I just need a drink of water." He slips his robe on, and walks to the kitchen. There he pours himself a glass of water and drinks it quickly, in two swallows, before placing it back in the sink and waiting for Clark to follow him.
It's only a few seconds before Clark appears, boxers back on, hunched and worried in the kitchen doorway.
06/25/03