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DPJupiter part 13
So, in this bit Clark has a dream....okay, basically I just stopped and posted because I'll be working on this bit for the rest of my life, and it's the next part that's important. kind of.
so, with out further ado--look! Story!! *runs away*
Previous Parts are here, thinking deeply about joining the priesthood and giving up this life without purpose…or maybe just getting a forty and some head….
Clark stopped a few feet from the head of the driveway and watched the sun beginning to set behind his house. The house looked like it was glowing in the last light of the sun, the golden light made the yellow paint seem to blaze, the white trim shone like new snow.
It was home, and inside, waiting for him, were the people who loved him just because he was who he was.
He walked up the drive and cast a critical eye at everything –he could see the gutters needed a cleaning before Fall tried to pack them with more leaves, the trees on the left side of the house needed trimming…the barn looked like it could use a little work…he was at the foot of the porch steps when the screen door banged open and his mom was on him, hugging him hard and plastering his cheek with a big wet kiss.
“Mom! Stop! You’ll embarrass me in front of the guys!” He mock-whined and scrubbed at his cheek. She laughed and pretended to push him towards the door.
“Come on in—dinner’s waiting and so’s your dad.”
He walked into the kitchen, and stopped to inhale the wonderful smells, some of his very favorites--chicken, gravy and mashed potatoes…and apple pie!
His dad was sitting at the table ostensibly reading the newspaper but his eyes shone when Clark made his way over to him and he grinned from ear to ear when Clark leaned over the back of his chair and enveloped him in a huge hug.
Jonathan laughed and squeezed Clark’s elbows, all that he could reach of him. “Hey, weren’t you just here? Two visits in two weeks, we won’t know how to act!” he grinned at Clark and sighted over his shoulder. “You didn’t bring Bruce with you—or are you leaving right away again?”
Clark’s bright smile dimmed a little and Martha came over to squeeze his shoulder. “Is everything all right, honey?”
“Oh sure,” Clark smiled quickly, “Yes, everything is fine. Dandy.”
Jonathan looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “Dandy, hunh? You sure?”
“Well, Bruce and I—we’re not—we’re more like friends now.” It seemed Clark was testing the words, feeling them in his mouth. Checking them for rightness. He said again, “Just friends,” like it was part of an odd puzzle.
Jonathan looked angry for a second. “Did he—he didn’t do anything, did he?”
“Like what?” Clark asked, confused. “No, no--it was mutual. We just kind of outgrew each other—in that way,” he mumbled and reddened as the words stumbled off his tongue.
Clark couldn’t bring himself to say that Bruce had sent him packing with stern orders to figure out what the hell it was that he really wanted—not unkindly, just kind of Bruce and blunt. It wasn’t the end of the world. They cared for each other, quite a lot actually—but it wasn’t love, not in the way his parents loved each other. It had just been a wonderful arrangement that lately seemed to fit…not as well as it had.
And that was Lara’s fault. Or Lex’s fault or maybe Lucas—anyway—it was someone’s fault.
He glanced over to see his mother looking at him with an odd speculative expression. It made him feel uncomfortably as if the AI was diagnosing him.
After a really fine dinner and the best pie there ever was—he knew his mom claimed he said it every time, but this time it seemed true, he strolled over to the Fortress of Solitude. He smiled when he entered the barn. Fortress of Solitude… it had seemed so true at the time they named it. He’d had no idea what solitude really meant when he was a kid—
His life was the fucking definition of solitude. And the only person he felt comfortable enough to let into his life was a sarcastic, possibly psychotic guy with a hero complex and a twisted sense of humor who seemed to think that he was getting more out of their relationship then he gave.
Clark laughed bitterly. Batman—poor crazy Bruce--wasn’t getting anything from Clark. Clark knew he took and took and took and never gave Bruce anything in return…all those nights in the Fortress—the real one—waking up screaming—waking up burning with rage so deep he wanted to kill—Bruce took all those horrible memories away and gave him a little peace…and swore Clark was giving him something. What? What the hell was he giving Bruce?
Trust, he’d said. There was nothing more fulfilling, more moving than to give some one complete trust. Bruce said it shook him how much Clark was willing to trust. Clark thought Bruce was being an idiot.
Trust had nothing to do with what he felt. He knew Bruce wouldn’t hurt him because he couldn’t. It was impossible for him to truly hurt him. He’d watched Bruce, came to know him, observed his personality and knew he had traits that precluded him from fatally injuring another being. That was not trust. That was logic.
Trust. Lara exhorted him to trust—it was very irritating. His human mother hinted that he was lacking something. How could she understand? He could not depend on some phantasmal quality that humans professed to consider so important—if it could be measured and observed and tested, he believed.
Clark shook himself, the sun had set, it was full dark and the barn was cooling rapidly…wow, how long had he been daydreaming out here?
He clicked on a small lamp that cast just enough light to make out shapes, pulled out the couch and made it up with the sheets that were tucked inside. A pair of silky boxers were shoved down into the side of the sleeper. He colored when he realized they were Bruce’s and remembered how they’d got in there. He grinned, and shivered when his hand brushed against his bare skin as he undressed.
That had been some intense night…he liked it when Bruce wanted to role play, and all his high school stuff still hanging around had been the basis for a very interesting game—high school innocent and the billionaire…he shivered again and his dick began to rise, jerking against his feather light strokes. Bruce holding his head against the mattress, fucking him with his fingers and talking…telling him things, what he wanted to do—
Clark grit his teeth in annoyance when the fantasy billionaire turned into the tall slim bald version…fuck!
Clark lay down on the couch and frowned into the darkness. Crap! He was being stalked by Lex—the one in his mind. Every time he tried to jerk off, Lex was standing there, killing it for him. Clark sighed. He didn’t want to think about Lex.
His dick jerked.
He really didn’t want to think about Lex, he closed his eyes and practiced not thinking about him…Lex on his knees…Lucas looking at him with a weird expression of lust and triumph and…Clark frowned…pain, some kind of agony—his hand slipped down his belly, over the thick line of hair that trailed down from his navel. His dick surged against his palm as images rose in his mind….
Lex was bent over again, the dress riding up to his hips again but his time he was looking down on the scene from above, this time Lex’s dress was pushed up over his hips and Lucas was behind him—Lex had his arms braced against the chair and was sobbing. Clark could see Lucas’s thick dick gliding in and out of Lex, who threw his head back and howled…
Clark snapped his head back and forth and groaned—he was sick, sick…his stomach did a slow roll and churned, his face flamed and he felt a little lost. Feeling this way confused him and made him feel sad, and sometimes made him afraid to sleep, because he shouldn’t feel this way…it was why he needed Bruce, why he punished himself over and over, to drive away the sight of Lex and the look on his face when Lucas was …doing that to him—
And now comes this new vision of Lex, in between Lucas’ knees, wrapped so tight in that shiny black sheath it must have been hard to breathe and his ass…
He was disgusted with himself…but still so hard and dripping and his hand inched it’s way down, nails scratching softly over his skin and he pushed up under his balls and teased himself, his fingertip mimicked the movements of Lucas in Lex….
he stood next to the chair Lucas sat in and watched…he could see Lucas’ dick moving in and out of the lipsticked mouth, veins traced the skin his hands remembered as being velvety smooth and so hot, now streaked with gloss, shiny and wet, and …he could smell Lucas, feel the heat, Lex’s blonde hair hung over his face, gleaming strands pasted against him as sweat beaded his forehead and saliva rolled down his chin.
Lucas reached out and cupped him, pressing against the heat and hardness throbbing under his palm. “You want to fuck him, while he does me? Go ahead, he’ll love it.”
Clark stroked the skin pulled tight over Lex’s hipbones, his fingertips tinglin, gliding over satin smooth skin…he pushed into Lex, feeling so hot—fire raced up his body and filled his head—all he could do was groan and push in and watch Lex suck his brother off and cry…
This time, he sat in the chair, and his dick was flooded with warmth and wet…he looked down the length of his body, and watched his dick disappear between Lex’s lips, so shiny and wet and purple…Lex looked up at him through a veil of blonde, hairs tickled and stroked his thighs and he groaned out loud when Lex sank down on him until his dick nudged the back of his throat …Lex pulled off until the tip of his dick sat on his lips, and the gloss made it smoother, slick—he could catch a scent of fruit in the air …he rubbed the head over his open mouth, the tip of his tongue slipping around the ridge and Clark stuttered ‘please’—Lex smiled. “We have time,” and slid down his dick again.
He heard a noise and in the shadows he could just make out Lucas, stroking himself and whispering orders, telling Lex what to do—telling him what Clark liked, what got him off…he was so hot it hurt, he was deep in the sensations Lex gave him, loving his lips around him, his tongue twisting around his dick, pressing into the slit and sucking hard on the head, he was deep into the feeling of Lex’s slim fingers sliding in and out of him, stroking him into a dizzying ecstasy, he was deep into the sound of Lucas’ fist flying over his own erection, the way the sound got wetter and wetter and--
And suddenly there were no clothes, no wig, no make-up and Clark jerked nearly upright—it was just Lex, naked and hard and holding his hand out, “Clark, come on, I need you.”
He arched as the orgasm raced through him, and for a blissful moment he wasn’t anywhere or anyone, just the center of an explosion of ecstasy and then…he was falling, he knew he was dropping from a great height and he was afraid—his eyes flew open and he was blinking at the rafters in confusion, feeling hot liquid cooling on his body, his skin slowly cooling from his fever heat…he was back, awake again.
Back again and so completely fucked up.
His eyes welled up and he wished again with a fervor that amounted to prayer--hoped with every fiber of his being, that what he did as Superman canceled out or at least balanced what he was as Clark.
Tbc!
so, with out further ado--look! Story!! *runs away*
Previous Parts are here, thinking deeply about joining the priesthood and giving up this life without purpose…or maybe just getting a forty and some head….
Clark stopped a few feet from the head of the driveway and watched the sun beginning to set behind his house. The house looked like it was glowing in the last light of the sun, the golden light made the yellow paint seem to blaze, the white trim shone like new snow.
It was home, and inside, waiting for him, were the people who loved him just because he was who he was.
He walked up the drive and cast a critical eye at everything –he could see the gutters needed a cleaning before Fall tried to pack them with more leaves, the trees on the left side of the house needed trimming…the barn looked like it could use a little work…he was at the foot of the porch steps when the screen door banged open and his mom was on him, hugging him hard and plastering his cheek with a big wet kiss.
“Mom! Stop! You’ll embarrass me in front of the guys!” He mock-whined and scrubbed at his cheek. She laughed and pretended to push him towards the door.
“Come on in—dinner’s waiting and so’s your dad.”
He walked into the kitchen, and stopped to inhale the wonderful smells, some of his very favorites--chicken, gravy and mashed potatoes…and apple pie!
His dad was sitting at the table ostensibly reading the newspaper but his eyes shone when Clark made his way over to him and he grinned from ear to ear when Clark leaned over the back of his chair and enveloped him in a huge hug.
Jonathan laughed and squeezed Clark’s elbows, all that he could reach of him. “Hey, weren’t you just here? Two visits in two weeks, we won’t know how to act!” he grinned at Clark and sighted over his shoulder. “You didn’t bring Bruce with you—or are you leaving right away again?”
Clark’s bright smile dimmed a little and Martha came over to squeeze his shoulder. “Is everything all right, honey?”
“Oh sure,” Clark smiled quickly, “Yes, everything is fine. Dandy.”
Jonathan looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “Dandy, hunh? You sure?”
“Well, Bruce and I—we’re not—we’re more like friends now.” It seemed Clark was testing the words, feeling them in his mouth. Checking them for rightness. He said again, “Just friends,” like it was part of an odd puzzle.
Jonathan looked angry for a second. “Did he—he didn’t do anything, did he?”
“Like what?” Clark asked, confused. “No, no--it was mutual. We just kind of outgrew each other—in that way,” he mumbled and reddened as the words stumbled off his tongue.
Clark couldn’t bring himself to say that Bruce had sent him packing with stern orders to figure out what the hell it was that he really wanted—not unkindly, just kind of Bruce and blunt. It wasn’t the end of the world. They cared for each other, quite a lot actually—but it wasn’t love, not in the way his parents loved each other. It had just been a wonderful arrangement that lately seemed to fit…not as well as it had.
And that was Lara’s fault. Or Lex’s fault or maybe Lucas—anyway—it was someone’s fault.
He glanced over to see his mother looking at him with an odd speculative expression. It made him feel uncomfortably as if the AI was diagnosing him.
After a really fine dinner and the best pie there ever was—he knew his mom claimed he said it every time, but this time it seemed true, he strolled over to the Fortress of Solitude. He smiled when he entered the barn. Fortress of Solitude… it had seemed so true at the time they named it. He’d had no idea what solitude really meant when he was a kid—
His life was the fucking definition of solitude. And the only person he felt comfortable enough to let into his life was a sarcastic, possibly psychotic guy with a hero complex and a twisted sense of humor who seemed to think that he was getting more out of their relationship then he gave.
Clark laughed bitterly. Batman—poor crazy Bruce--wasn’t getting anything from Clark. Clark knew he took and took and took and never gave Bruce anything in return…all those nights in the Fortress—the real one—waking up screaming—waking up burning with rage so deep he wanted to kill—Bruce took all those horrible memories away and gave him a little peace…and swore Clark was giving him something. What? What the hell was he giving Bruce?
Trust, he’d said. There was nothing more fulfilling, more moving than to give some one complete trust. Bruce said it shook him how much Clark was willing to trust. Clark thought Bruce was being an idiot.
Trust had nothing to do with what he felt. He knew Bruce wouldn’t hurt him because he couldn’t. It was impossible for him to truly hurt him. He’d watched Bruce, came to know him, observed his personality and knew he had traits that precluded him from fatally injuring another being. That was not trust. That was logic.
Trust. Lara exhorted him to trust—it was very irritating. His human mother hinted that he was lacking something. How could she understand? He could not depend on some phantasmal quality that humans professed to consider so important—if it could be measured and observed and tested, he believed.
Clark shook himself, the sun had set, it was full dark and the barn was cooling rapidly…wow, how long had he been daydreaming out here?
He clicked on a small lamp that cast just enough light to make out shapes, pulled out the couch and made it up with the sheets that were tucked inside. A pair of silky boxers were shoved down into the side of the sleeper. He colored when he realized they were Bruce’s and remembered how they’d got in there. He grinned, and shivered when his hand brushed against his bare skin as he undressed.
That had been some intense night…he liked it when Bruce wanted to role play, and all his high school stuff still hanging around had been the basis for a very interesting game—high school innocent and the billionaire…he shivered again and his dick began to rise, jerking against his feather light strokes. Bruce holding his head against the mattress, fucking him with his fingers and talking…telling him things, what he wanted to do—
Clark grit his teeth in annoyance when the fantasy billionaire turned into the tall slim bald version…fuck!
Clark lay down on the couch and frowned into the darkness. Crap! He was being stalked by Lex—the one in his mind. Every time he tried to jerk off, Lex was standing there, killing it for him. Clark sighed. He didn’t want to think about Lex.
His dick jerked.
He really didn’t want to think about Lex, he closed his eyes and practiced not thinking about him…Lex on his knees…Lucas looking at him with a weird expression of lust and triumph and…Clark frowned…pain, some kind of agony—his hand slipped down his belly, over the thick line of hair that trailed down from his navel. His dick surged against his palm as images rose in his mind….
Lex was bent over again, the dress riding up to his hips again but his time he was looking down on the scene from above, this time Lex’s dress was pushed up over his hips and Lucas was behind him—Lex had his arms braced against the chair and was sobbing. Clark could see Lucas’s thick dick gliding in and out of Lex, who threw his head back and howled…
Clark snapped his head back and forth and groaned—he was sick, sick…his stomach did a slow roll and churned, his face flamed and he felt a little lost. Feeling this way confused him and made him feel sad, and sometimes made him afraid to sleep, because he shouldn’t feel this way…it was why he needed Bruce, why he punished himself over and over, to drive away the sight of Lex and the look on his face when Lucas was …doing that to him—
And now comes this new vision of Lex, in between Lucas’ knees, wrapped so tight in that shiny black sheath it must have been hard to breathe and his ass…
He was disgusted with himself…but still so hard and dripping and his hand inched it’s way down, nails scratching softly over his skin and he pushed up under his balls and teased himself, his fingertip mimicked the movements of Lucas in Lex….
he stood next to the chair Lucas sat in and watched…he could see Lucas’ dick moving in and out of the lipsticked mouth, veins traced the skin his hands remembered as being velvety smooth and so hot, now streaked with gloss, shiny and wet, and …he could smell Lucas, feel the heat, Lex’s blonde hair hung over his face, gleaming strands pasted against him as sweat beaded his forehead and saliva rolled down his chin.
Lucas reached out and cupped him, pressing against the heat and hardness throbbing under his palm. “You want to fuck him, while he does me? Go ahead, he’ll love it.”
Clark stroked the skin pulled tight over Lex’s hipbones, his fingertips tinglin, gliding over satin smooth skin…he pushed into Lex, feeling so hot—fire raced up his body and filled his head—all he could do was groan and push in and watch Lex suck his brother off and cry…
This time, he sat in the chair, and his dick was flooded with warmth and wet…he looked down the length of his body, and watched his dick disappear between Lex’s lips, so shiny and wet and purple…Lex looked up at him through a veil of blonde, hairs tickled and stroked his thighs and he groaned out loud when Lex sank down on him until his dick nudged the back of his throat …Lex pulled off until the tip of his dick sat on his lips, and the gloss made it smoother, slick—he could catch a scent of fruit in the air …he rubbed the head over his open mouth, the tip of his tongue slipping around the ridge and Clark stuttered ‘please’—Lex smiled. “We have time,” and slid down his dick again.
He heard a noise and in the shadows he could just make out Lucas, stroking himself and whispering orders, telling Lex what to do—telling him what Clark liked, what got him off…he was so hot it hurt, he was deep in the sensations Lex gave him, loving his lips around him, his tongue twisting around his dick, pressing into the slit and sucking hard on the head, he was deep into the feeling of Lex’s slim fingers sliding in and out of him, stroking him into a dizzying ecstasy, he was deep into the sound of Lucas’ fist flying over his own erection, the way the sound got wetter and wetter and--
And suddenly there were no clothes, no wig, no make-up and Clark jerked nearly upright—it was just Lex, naked and hard and holding his hand out, “Clark, come on, I need you.”
He arched as the orgasm raced through him, and for a blissful moment he wasn’t anywhere or anyone, just the center of an explosion of ecstasy and then…he was falling, he knew he was dropping from a great height and he was afraid—his eyes flew open and he was blinking at the rafters in confusion, feeling hot liquid cooling on his body, his skin slowly cooling from his fever heat…he was back, awake again.
Back again and so completely fucked up.
His eyes welled up and he wished again with a fervor that amounted to prayer--hoped with every fiber of his being, that what he did as Superman canceled out or at least balanced what he was as Clark.
Tbc!
no subject
and don't feel guilty--heck , I wrote it so what does it say about me? Shhhhhh....