(no subject)

[roxy]

Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating:4
Summary: Alternate Universe. Repeat after me….


The Previous Parts are here, drinking absinthe and reciting beat poetry....groovy man, groovy.



Perfect Day

Someone named Clark kept track of time, and the other one named Mariposa got hurt. Someone deep inside cried a lot, but Mariposa shrugged. It was nothing. The shots were useless any more but she was smart enough not to say… she found a place inside that worked almost as well.

You have to get out some how some way or you’ll die. Clark heard it and knew, but Mariposa wasn’t concerned. She knew their whole life they’d been waiting to die. It was—someone’s fault her fault, his fault…it was almost over now….

Van sat on Clark’s legs and licked his mouth, chewed the gloss away, and his man worked on Clark’s back, had been working for what felt like hours. A butterfly grew, stretched its wings on him. The tip of one lay over his shoulder and the tail wrapped around his ribs…Bobbie told the artist to add more green, more purple, because Mariposa was royalty.

Van laughed. “Do his dick next.”

Bobbie pushed Van away and took Clark in her mouth, making him hard. She pointed at the base of his dick. “Right there, a little one for me.” She smiled up at Clark, “Because I love you so much,” she said, and he wanted to vomit.

The pain streaked into his groin and grew and grew as the needle worked. He bit his lip and thought about dying and he sighed. The thought did bring some comfort.

******

The plain is familiar. I’ve been here before. The wind blows the stalks of wild grass down, the seed heads rustling together bring back the familiar sound, a sound my human trained ears hear as the ocean…he’s coming closer, coming out of the grass, the frozen snow clumped in the grass squeaks, crunches under his footsteps. Ice breaks, but it’s not cold here. It’s right, the way it should be. The fat red sun is high in the sky, and he looks up, the light make his eyes look like emeralds, his lips look red against his golden skin. I look like snow next to him. It shames me.

Not your fault he says. You do what you have you do to survive— you have to fight. If you give in, you will die. And you’d take everything with you. All the memories…

I say I really want to die, and if he loved me he’d let me go, but he shakes his head. You have so much more to do, so much more. He takes my hands and begs me to please hold on, just hold on a little more. He looks like he might be crying, and I am crying and then, at the edge of the field, far out on the edge, someone stands calling my name, waving me to him and my heart swells.
He’s here, finally he’s here….

Clark woke to another day. He crushed down the deep feeling of disappointment, and left the bed. He was alive, so he had to begin his day, another day he owed his owners.

******

He bent and groaned, the thick shaft driving into him rocked him forward, burning deep inside with each thrust. Big hands wrapped in his hair and pulled him down on the long heavy dick in front of him. His lips stretched so wide, the corners of his mouth burned—saliva dripped steadily, down the shaft, ran down his chin, he tried to swallow, and with each attempt his throat convulsed and the body under him shook. Little hands danced over him, scored deep scratches on his hips and tightened the restraints locked and wrapped around his wrists, jerked his hands higher behind his back until it felt like his bones would pop through his skin.

His ass burned, his legs, his balls tightened now—his dick was jerking, drooling--he didn’t have the power to feel shame at all any more. In the beginning, when it started, he tried to get away—not now. Now, he tried to get more of the thick shaft inside him and Bobbie grabbed the base of his dick and squeezed—hard. “Slow down, precious,” she scolded, “Van’s not ready…”

Van slapped him, hard. Again and again, until he was panting harder and harder and finally thrust deep into Clark’s throat and came, yanking handfuls of hair loose, pulling back and spilling over Clark’s face. Bobbie let out a low hoarse scream, and Clark groaned and met her as she drove the strap on deeper, and she finally let him come. He sobbed gratefully, and in the same moment tried to blank it out.

“You stink, Van hissed. “You are the worst cocksucker in the world. Why is it still here?” he asked Bobbie.

“Don’t say that, my Mari is very sweet, aren’t you? We love, you, yes, we do,” she crooned, and licked Clarks face, kissed him, cleaned him while Van watched.

******

Clark knew that there were two types of people. People who hurt him and people who didn’t. It was pointless to think beyond that. He didn’t get angry when Van passed him around or when Bobbie used him like furniture--because it wasn’t him. What happened on the outside had nothing to do with the inside.

He watched what happened to the body from the safety of the inside of his skull. Separate and safe and he hated. Hated everything about himself. Hated the butterfly that marked him as less than human. Hated whatever it was that made human beings want to hurt him. He stared at himself a lot, trying to find it, what it was that made him an outsider. Was it in his eyes? He couldn’t see any difference there, or in the feel of his skin, or his hair…he scrubbed and scrubbed—was it in his smell?

What marked him as different? What made it all right to do this to him?

He brought the ring on his finger to his mouth, pressed it against his lips. He touched the tip of his tongue to the blood warm stone. He had to remind himself to survive. Somewhere, someone he loved wanted him to.

******
Eyes closed because he was allowed to close his eyes. Throbbing wet heat surrounded him, pulled his dick in. Push in, pull back, push in…and think of anything except Bobbie on him, writhing, groaning, or Van watching, hands on her breasts, her neck. Kneeling between her legs and licking her, sucking at her clit, his balls. He was wet from her leaking pussy, and Van’s frantic mouth working both of them. The smooth wet flesh around him tightened, squeezed him and he shuddered. Pushed up into her, his eyes tightened more and he thought of dying, thought of death reaching out and crushing him made him even harder, he jerked his hips and tried to push in deeper, her ass flattened against his thighs and Van knelt between her legs kissing her. He reached past her, and snatched a handful of Clark’s hair, wrapping it around his wrist he pulled Clark closer and kissed him—he felt the vibration of Bobbie’s groans through his hands, through the grip he had on her ribs. He could feel her pussy tightening, fluttering spasms gripped him and made him moan, Van whispered in his ear, “Come now,” and with a sharp gasp, Clark came. He felt heat, wet and thick on his legs, and felt Van’s fingers grip painfully on his thighs.

Over, over again and now, peace for a little bit.

Bobbie slid off the bed, and ran to the sitting area in the bedroom. She grabbed a little bag from a side table by the couch, almost skipped back to the bed, grinning from ear to ear. She opened the bag in front of Van. There was a syringe inside, filled with a pale yellowish fluid. “This is a special present from the Luthors to you, Van.”

“Leave us alone.” Van growled at Clark, eyes on the needle. Clark stood as quickly as he could. Bobbie slapped him, lightly, playfully. “You’re so funny, Mari, honey. You know we love you.”

Clark moved out of the room, as quickly as he could without appearing to be running. Luthors? He remembered Lex Luthor. He remembered feeling afraid of him, and excited by him. His chest ached, and he felt sad, sad…Lex was like these people…it shouldn’t be possible that he could still feel hurt….


tbc really really fast.

Comments

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WHEN IS LUCAS GOING TO KILL THEM, GODDAMMIT?!?!?