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roxyTITLE: Touch Fire
PAIR: Lex/Whitney
RATING: R
A/N: this is not the story I wanted to write for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lapetite_kiki. It just pushed its way out. I still owe you!
Whitney’s sitting with his back to the window, afternoon sun throwing long swatches of color across him, painting his white shirt and pants in unequal streaks. He turns his hand in the light, watching the color shift, but his expression doesn’t change, he doesn’t seem to be really interested. He just…has nothing else to do. He looks up to a sound across the room, and a shadow blocks the door way briefly.
Lex stalks into the study, an expression of mild surprise flits across his face when he catches sight of Whitney and then he’s smiling. “Feeling better? I’m surprised you’re up.”
“Yeah, I’m up. Listen, why am I here? Why would you want to bring me here?”
He makes an abortive movement with his left shoulder and he shuts down. The stump his left shoulder ends in twitches and he frowns at Lex, resists the urge to touch it. “What do you want from me?”
He stands and walks around until he’s between Lex and the door, standing a little sideways so he has a clear view of the door and of Lex. It’s almost instinct now, keep exits in sight, sit with your back to the wall….
“Not that I’m not…grateful, but we were never friends. There’s no reason for you to be concerned for my welfare. To do what you did. ” He tosses his head back, dark blonde hair lifts off his forehead and he’s angry for a split second—the movement is. Not what he wants to project. The lines that shouldn’t be there yet fan out from his eyes, bracket his mouth and deepen with his frown.
Lex watches the play of emotion over Whit’s face, he’s sure the boy thinks he’s unreadable but to Lex—Ah. How different he looks now than when he’d been Lana’s ‘Quarterback’, Smallville’s golden boy…he smiles as a tight warm rush spirals out from his gut. He strolls over to the bar, mixes himself a drink, scotch with a bare splash of soda—“Care for a drink?”
Whitney shakes his head, still frowning. “I can’t—pills.”
“Of course,” Lex smiles, glass already resting on his lower lips. Pulling it down slightly and he rubs the crystal against his lip, watches Whit watch the movement.
“Well,” he says after a swallow. “You want to know why you’re here. I think of it as an act of deference to a mutual friend of ours. Someone you love, and someone I cared for very much.”
Time twists and Whitney’s not sure what’s happening. He blushes angrily. “What do you mean? You mean you cared for--”
Lex leans against his desk, Whit watches his hip slide against it, caress the glass—he rubs a hand viciously over his face. God, it s too much, the pain, the pills, it’s just--Shit.
When he opens his eyes again, Lex is smiling at him, more a small smirk that barely turns up the corners of his wet mouth. “I brought you back for our mutual friend. I can give you back what you lost…if you want it.”
Whitney barks a laugh; he looks almost surprised as it bursts out of his throat, as if it’s something he’d forgotten he could do. “Everyone knows it’s Lana and Clark now. I’m a big boy; I know how to cut my losses.” He swings toward the door—fuck Lex and his little puzzles. Whatever he’s doing this for, in the long run, it’s going to hurt everyone—but not him damnit. “Thanks for finding me, thanks for bringing me back—now let me go.”
“If you don’t want what I’m offering, then let me give you something else you’ve lost back.” He steps closer and reaches out his hand, barely lays it on Whit’s arm, the stump—his fingers are light as air on him, quivering slightly, they dance over the skin, the scars, before floating away, back to rest at his side.
“I can do it, you know. I can make you whole.”
“You can make me whole.” Whitney shakes his head, and then pales, remembering a long ago Fall, remembering what it was like to be a god, on top of the world, in control, invincible, burning, remembering Wade holding him down….
“You figured out more uses for what Wade had, that tattoo stuff. You kept messing with that stuff.” Not questions--he knew—it’s what Lex would do.
Lex steps back from him, shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels slightly “Yes. And you can’t begin to imagine what *amazing* things are possible with it, incredible things. Trust me, Whitney; I can make it better for you. I can make you a new man.” He laughs.
Late that night Whit jerks awake, sweat running from him in rivers, the linens under him are soaking wet and twisted, he’s breathing hard and a nightmare is echoing in his ears, the last echo of it bouncing from the stone walls.
He levers himself out of bed, standing on the icy floor, he doesn’t pretend to be in control, he doesn’t care, lets himself pant loud. He’s fucking scared about what he’s not sure, but his heart is racing and a desire to run is thudding in his chest.
‘Fuck!’ He jumps and curses when he’s startled by a knock loud as the crack of doom at the door. “What,” he barks. Who the fuck...
“Whit—are you okay?”
Lex. Of course.
“Yes,” he snaps, “Now go the hell away,” and Lex walks into the room.
“Go away?” Lex smiles, stops a few feet away with his hands on his hips. “It is my house, you know.” He’s wearing—barely--a pair of steel gray silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. Whit hisses air between his teeth, his ‘arm’ is throbbing and he’s in pain. He reaches for it and sways when his hand has nothing to stop against, his fingers scrabble against air and he curses again silently. Sweat runs cold down his sides, gathers in the creases of his neck. It feels cold and slimy and he wants a shower so bad it makes his stomach flutter.
Lex takes one look and marches over to the nightstand, shakes a few caps out of a bottle and pours water into a glass from the carafe, put there just for him and Whit is seething
He doesn’t want that guy waiting on him, taking—care of him. Bastard.
“Here.” Standing as far from him as he can, Lex hands him the pills, waits and hands him the glass and watches him swallow with a little paternal smile. He just keeps smiling, smiling and it’s driving Whitney crazy. He knows what Lex wants now, what he wants from him Lex wants from everyone. He wants—everything.
Suddenly he’s too close and too hot, right there in the blink of an eye. He almost drops the glass, because his cock decides suddenly now is the time. he wants to cover himself and he can’t, fuck, fuck. It’s been too long and his body chooses that moment to come the fuck back from the dead. His cock is heavy in his shorts, throbbing…damn. He tries to take a step back but Lex stops him with a hand on his shoulder, his bare shoulder. His skin twitches under Lex’s warm smooth fingers calluses faint where fingers join the hand, palm smooth as glass.
“Does it hurt?” His voice is low, and private, like he’s asking the most intimate thing and in a way he is, a question spoken just between them, words fill the space between the two. He steps fractionally closer and nods. Yes. Lex’s head tilts slightly. “Let me feel.”
Whit shakes his head no, his mouth dropping open and then Lex’s hand is on him, painful, sharp, soft, it hurts, it feels soothing, hot and chill. His knees are weak and horribly, he feels grateful--pathetically, weakly, grateful. Before he can bite it back a whimper escapes his mouth.
Lex puts the barest pressure on him, a feather touch urging him back, slow, close, steps backward, graceful as a dance and telling him with every touch, you can stop this, it’s your choice, end it if you chose and then he’s on the bed.
Lex was so close, speaking softly and evenly in his ear, “You’re very beautiful.”
He tries to shake his head and Lex holds him still. “You are. You’ll see.”
He runs that supernaturally smooth hand over his chest with the same soft slow movement, urges him to his back on the bed. Whit’s breath comes heavier, rasping through dry lips. “I…I…”
Lex’s hand drifts on its steady downward path, fingertips barely in contact, almost...worshipful, Whitney thinks and wants to laugh. Air escapes him in a burst and a gasp, Lex’s fingers curve around the swollen head of his dick. He feels his ass flex, hole clench in response. It’s got to stop; now, he needs to move—Lex’s hands reach into Whit’s boxers and peel them away from his over heated skin. His fingers slip around, tighten on his dick and squeeze. “Now?"
Whit groans and hisses, clamps his lips together. He’s lost the will to stop but he won’t make any noise, no more. Heat, wet, roughness, sucking—“Clark!” he gasps and a chuckle explodes against the head of his cock, he jerks. No!
“That’s fine; it doesn’t mean a thing…”
Slick warm fingers press against his hole, coaxing it open, sliding around the sensitive pucker and it flexes open, hungrily. Whit feels wave after wave of sensation, warm bubbling in his blood, he thinks he loves it, loves Lex’s fingers in him, sliding in and around, touching him inside, touch and press, rising, they find the spot inside, that place that sends white shocks through him, Whit loves the heat it generates —for a moment he loves Lex passionately and wants more, wants to be filled like Clark filled him. Should have.
Lex groans, backs up and squirts lotion into his hand. “Watch,” he rasps and Whit raises himself to his elbows. God yes. Lex’s cock is long, slim. Elegant as he is, the head flares red, the shaft is pale still, his fingers curl and stroke and Whit’s jealous, he wants those fingers back on him, in him—Lex tells him to hold his legs and he grunts in frustration.
Lex is on him, grabbing the leg Whitney can’t hold, pushing it over his shoulder. “You hold that one,” he says, his voice low and smooth and as always in control. He pushes against the ring, pushing steadily until the head pops in, Whitney mouths a groan that starts in his toes, rushes through his body like rapids, bursts out of his mouth in a torrent of sound.
Lex lowers his head and begins fucking him like the world is going to end in a few minutes and he’s got to experience this so it’ll last him an eternity in hell….
It’s so good, so good, it makes his eyes water, makes his muscles clench makes his cock jump and drool and he feels like he’s going to come without being touched and then he is coming, hard, moans spiraling away, a pulse of heat hits him under the chin, hits his chest, heat splashes against his legs, Lex groans and touches his flailing cock. Whitney can feel him inside, the swell, his cock lifts, he can feel it jerk once and then heat floods him, for just a moment he can feel everything and then individual sensations are swept away. Lex collapses against him, gasping out “god, god” over and over like an incantation.
“What do you really want?’
Lex sighs. Whitney has a one-track mind. “Nothing. I don’t want anything. I want you to get better and to go back to your mother, back to Smallville. If that’s what you want.”
Whitney turns to his side, looks at Lex, what he can see of him on the dark. “I don’t know.”
“Well. You think about what you want. All I ask is that when—if--I need a friend, you’ll be a friend to me.”
He rolls to his back; the ceiling feels like it’s an inch from his nose. He laughs. “What are you, the Godfather? He grins even though it’s scarier than it is funny. “Whatever Lex. Whatever you want.”
“Good. Then tomorrow you can turn the corner, begin your life anew. But tonight....”
His hand slides down Whitney’s side, curls around his hip and Whitney feels a little, just a little, like a whore, and he’s not sure if he should, but he’s afraid to look at Lex’s eyes.
1-15-2006
PAIR: Lex/Whitney
RATING: R
A/N: this is not the story I wanted to write for
lapetite_kiki. It just pushed its way out. I still owe you! Whitney’s sitting with his back to the window, afternoon sun throwing long swatches of color across him, painting his white shirt and pants in unequal streaks. He turns his hand in the light, watching the color shift, but his expression doesn’t change, he doesn’t seem to be really interested. He just…has nothing else to do. He looks up to a sound across the room, and a shadow blocks the door way briefly.
Lex stalks into the study, an expression of mild surprise flits across his face when he catches sight of Whitney and then he’s smiling. “Feeling better? I’m surprised you’re up.”
“Yeah, I’m up. Listen, why am I here? Why would you want to bring me here?”
He makes an abortive movement with his left shoulder and he shuts down. The stump his left shoulder ends in twitches and he frowns at Lex, resists the urge to touch it. “What do you want from me?”
He stands and walks around until he’s between Lex and the door, standing a little sideways so he has a clear view of the door and of Lex. It’s almost instinct now, keep exits in sight, sit with your back to the wall….
“Not that I’m not…grateful, but we were never friends. There’s no reason for you to be concerned for my welfare. To do what you did. ” He tosses his head back, dark blonde hair lifts off his forehead and he’s angry for a split second—the movement is. Not what he wants to project. The lines that shouldn’t be there yet fan out from his eyes, bracket his mouth and deepen with his frown.
Lex watches the play of emotion over Whit’s face, he’s sure the boy thinks he’s unreadable but to Lex—Ah. How different he looks now than when he’d been Lana’s ‘Quarterback’, Smallville’s golden boy…he smiles as a tight warm rush spirals out from his gut. He strolls over to the bar, mixes himself a drink, scotch with a bare splash of soda—“Care for a drink?”
Whitney shakes his head, still frowning. “I can’t—pills.”
“Of course,” Lex smiles, glass already resting on his lower lips. Pulling it down slightly and he rubs the crystal against his lip, watches Whit watch the movement.
“Well,” he says after a swallow. “You want to know why you’re here. I think of it as an act of deference to a mutual friend of ours. Someone you love, and someone I cared for very much.”
Time twists and Whitney’s not sure what’s happening. He blushes angrily. “What do you mean? You mean you cared for--”
Lex leans against his desk, Whit watches his hip slide against it, caress the glass—he rubs a hand viciously over his face. God, it s too much, the pain, the pills, it’s just--Shit.
When he opens his eyes again, Lex is smiling at him, more a small smirk that barely turns up the corners of his wet mouth. “I brought you back for our mutual friend. I can give you back what you lost…if you want it.”
Whitney barks a laugh; he looks almost surprised as it bursts out of his throat, as if it’s something he’d forgotten he could do. “Everyone knows it’s Lana and Clark now. I’m a big boy; I know how to cut my losses.” He swings toward the door—fuck Lex and his little puzzles. Whatever he’s doing this for, in the long run, it’s going to hurt everyone—but not him damnit. “Thanks for finding me, thanks for bringing me back—now let me go.”
“If you don’t want what I’m offering, then let me give you something else you’ve lost back.” He steps closer and reaches out his hand, barely lays it on Whit’s arm, the stump—his fingers are light as air on him, quivering slightly, they dance over the skin, the scars, before floating away, back to rest at his side.
“I can do it, you know. I can make you whole.”
“You can make me whole.” Whitney shakes his head, and then pales, remembering a long ago Fall, remembering what it was like to be a god, on top of the world, in control, invincible, burning, remembering Wade holding him down….
“You figured out more uses for what Wade had, that tattoo stuff. You kept messing with that stuff.” Not questions--he knew—it’s what Lex would do.
Lex steps back from him, shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels slightly “Yes. And you can’t begin to imagine what *amazing* things are possible with it, incredible things. Trust me, Whitney; I can make it better for you. I can make you a new man.” He laughs.
Late that night Whit jerks awake, sweat running from him in rivers, the linens under him are soaking wet and twisted, he’s breathing hard and a nightmare is echoing in his ears, the last echo of it bouncing from the stone walls.
He levers himself out of bed, standing on the icy floor, he doesn’t pretend to be in control, he doesn’t care, lets himself pant loud. He’s fucking scared about what he’s not sure, but his heart is racing and a desire to run is thudding in his chest.
‘Fuck!’ He jumps and curses when he’s startled by a knock loud as the crack of doom at the door. “What,” he barks. Who the fuck...
“Whit—are you okay?”
Lex. Of course.
“Yes,” he snaps, “Now go the hell away,” and Lex walks into the room.
“Go away?” Lex smiles, stops a few feet away with his hands on his hips. “It is my house, you know.” He’s wearing—barely--a pair of steel gray silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. Whit hisses air between his teeth, his ‘arm’ is throbbing and he’s in pain. He reaches for it and sways when his hand has nothing to stop against, his fingers scrabble against air and he curses again silently. Sweat runs cold down his sides, gathers in the creases of his neck. It feels cold and slimy and he wants a shower so bad it makes his stomach flutter.
Lex takes one look and marches over to the nightstand, shakes a few caps out of a bottle and pours water into a glass from the carafe, put there just for him and Whit is seething
He doesn’t want that guy waiting on him, taking—care of him. Bastard.
“Here.” Standing as far from him as he can, Lex hands him the pills, waits and hands him the glass and watches him swallow with a little paternal smile. He just keeps smiling, smiling and it’s driving Whitney crazy. He knows what Lex wants now, what he wants from him Lex wants from everyone. He wants—everything.
Suddenly he’s too close and too hot, right there in the blink of an eye. He almost drops the glass, because his cock decides suddenly now is the time. he wants to cover himself and he can’t, fuck, fuck. It’s been too long and his body chooses that moment to come the fuck back from the dead. His cock is heavy in his shorts, throbbing…damn. He tries to take a step back but Lex stops him with a hand on his shoulder, his bare shoulder. His skin twitches under Lex’s warm smooth fingers calluses faint where fingers join the hand, palm smooth as glass.
“Does it hurt?” His voice is low, and private, like he’s asking the most intimate thing and in a way he is, a question spoken just between them, words fill the space between the two. He steps fractionally closer and nods. Yes. Lex’s head tilts slightly. “Let me feel.”
Whit shakes his head no, his mouth dropping open and then Lex’s hand is on him, painful, sharp, soft, it hurts, it feels soothing, hot and chill. His knees are weak and horribly, he feels grateful--pathetically, weakly, grateful. Before he can bite it back a whimper escapes his mouth.
Lex puts the barest pressure on him, a feather touch urging him back, slow, close, steps backward, graceful as a dance and telling him with every touch, you can stop this, it’s your choice, end it if you chose and then he’s on the bed.
Lex was so close, speaking softly and evenly in his ear, “You’re very beautiful.”
He tries to shake his head and Lex holds him still. “You are. You’ll see.”
He runs that supernaturally smooth hand over his chest with the same soft slow movement, urges him to his back on the bed. Whit’s breath comes heavier, rasping through dry lips. “I…I…”
Lex’s hand drifts on its steady downward path, fingertips barely in contact, almost...worshipful, Whitney thinks and wants to laugh. Air escapes him in a burst and a gasp, Lex’s fingers curve around the swollen head of his dick. He feels his ass flex, hole clench in response. It’s got to stop; now, he needs to move—Lex’s hands reach into Whit’s boxers and peel them away from his over heated skin. His fingers slip around, tighten on his dick and squeeze. “Now?"
Whit groans and hisses, clamps his lips together. He’s lost the will to stop but he won’t make any noise, no more. Heat, wet, roughness, sucking—“Clark!” he gasps and a chuckle explodes against the head of his cock, he jerks. No!
“That’s fine; it doesn’t mean a thing…”
Slick warm fingers press against his hole, coaxing it open, sliding around the sensitive pucker and it flexes open, hungrily. Whit feels wave after wave of sensation, warm bubbling in his blood, he thinks he loves it, loves Lex’s fingers in him, sliding in and around, touching him inside, touch and press, rising, they find the spot inside, that place that sends white shocks through him, Whit loves the heat it generates —for a moment he loves Lex passionately and wants more, wants to be filled like Clark filled him. Should have.
Lex groans, backs up and squirts lotion into his hand. “Watch,” he rasps and Whit raises himself to his elbows. God yes. Lex’s cock is long, slim. Elegant as he is, the head flares red, the shaft is pale still, his fingers curl and stroke and Whit’s jealous, he wants those fingers back on him, in him—Lex tells him to hold his legs and he grunts in frustration.
Lex is on him, grabbing the leg Whitney can’t hold, pushing it over his shoulder. “You hold that one,” he says, his voice low and smooth and as always in control. He pushes against the ring, pushing steadily until the head pops in, Whitney mouths a groan that starts in his toes, rushes through his body like rapids, bursts out of his mouth in a torrent of sound.
Lex lowers his head and begins fucking him like the world is going to end in a few minutes and he’s got to experience this so it’ll last him an eternity in hell….
It’s so good, so good, it makes his eyes water, makes his muscles clench makes his cock jump and drool and he feels like he’s going to come without being touched and then he is coming, hard, moans spiraling away, a pulse of heat hits him under the chin, hits his chest, heat splashes against his legs, Lex groans and touches his flailing cock. Whitney can feel him inside, the swell, his cock lifts, he can feel it jerk once and then heat floods him, for just a moment he can feel everything and then individual sensations are swept away. Lex collapses against him, gasping out “god, god” over and over like an incantation.
“What do you really want?’
Lex sighs. Whitney has a one-track mind. “Nothing. I don’t want anything. I want you to get better and to go back to your mother, back to Smallville. If that’s what you want.”
Whitney turns to his side, looks at Lex, what he can see of him on the dark. “I don’t know.”
“Well. You think about what you want. All I ask is that when—if--I need a friend, you’ll be a friend to me.”
He rolls to his back; the ceiling feels like it’s an inch from his nose. He laughs. “What are you, the Godfather? He grins even though it’s scarier than it is funny. “Whatever Lex. Whatever you want.”
“Good. Then tomorrow you can turn the corner, begin your life anew. But tonight....”
His hand slides down Whitney’s side, curls around his hip and Whitney feels a little, just a little, like a whore, and he’s not sure if he should, but he’s afraid to look at Lex’s eyes.
1-15-2006
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