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6/19/07 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Transference (yes, title—for now)
Fandom: SV
Pairing: please…
Rating: nc-17
Warning: non-con
The Previous Parts are here, watching the moom raths outgrabbe.
Clark shifted in deep sleep, turning away from Lois, rolling until he was nearly balanced on the edge of the mattress. He moaned quietly and dreamed, reached a hand across the sheets with a sigh….
"Now, now," the rough voice broke against his ear, and he groaned, stroked harder. "I want you, every way, I want you…" sweat tickled his back, he licked beads from his lip—heat soared in the room, his bed was wet with sweat, he could smell the two of them, their scents intermingled, made something new, the feel of slick oily sweat on their legs, dicks rubbing together—dark curls clung wet to a broad forehead, a classically beautiful face, his Antinous…
he begged him, urged him gently downwards, they whispered together, curses, pleas…ocean green eyes gazed down at him, large perfect hands brushed his cheeks, his mouth, the thumbs drew around his stretched and laboring lips..."you’re so beautiful," the voice said, and he knew that was wrong because he'd never say that, he would never call him beautiful, but that didn't matter when the perfect face crumbled, the perfect mouth dropped open and that voice called out, "so beautiful—make me come please, please--"
Liam thrashed his hand across the sheets and woke at finding nothing but cool empty bed. His thundering heartbeat steadied, and disappointment lanced him. It was him *begging* like that--even in his dreams, had the power to make him come. The very thought of being treated like he was cherished—it made him angry with himself that he could still be so pathetic. Still want it so very, very much.
The last wisps of the dream faded and melancholy reformed as bitter anger. That whole mess was part of another life, ages ago. He knew it was pointless and masochistic to inflict that kind of pain on himself any longer.
If only his heart was in tune with his mind.
He glanced at the clock—five AM. Time to start his day….
******
A mercifully short plane ride brought him to New York. He hated flying. He was absolutely convinced of his invincibility until the moment he stepped on a plane, a ridiculous thin can of flying metal. Ridiculous, yes but that's what a phobia was. He sighed and laughed at himself…sometimes, he was too human by far.
A rented car took him to the town Lucas claimed the cousin lived in. He looked at the map again. Turnersville. He looked at the scenery flashing by. It looked a lot like home, except for the mountains. It looked so much like home, it made him nostalgic.
Ever since Lucas invaded his life, he'd been thinking about the old days a lot—about Pete, and Chloe and…and life in general…about the strange happening and the good times. And the bad…it was the bad in his life that made him chose a life of purpose…
He sighed, and concentrated on the road. With any luck, he'd get this ridiculous little game over with quickly. Personally, he was thinking of going with, "Hi, I'm an acquaintance of your cousin Lucas, and he wants to know—do you have designs on his business, or convoluted Luthorian type plans to kill him? No? Yes?" Or maybe he should just tell the guy to run like the Devil was on his heels, as far and as fast as he could.
Clark drove through a post card pretty town, and past the town's high school—the building looked like it dropped whole out of the 1950s. White columns lined the brick front, the wings that jutted from the sides were all brick, there were even air conditioner units sticking out of a few of the old style double hung window, yet as obviously old as the building was, it was in good repair, the white paint fresh and gleaming in the sun. Like the rest of the town, it showed the people cared…it was like an idealized version of Smallville. The people watched him drive by, but their faces showed only friendly curiosity, not blank stares that barely concealed hostility.
He drove a little slower, curious…the building looked nothing like Smallville High, but it still made him long for home.
A flag on a wide green lawn snapped and waved in the breeze. In his mind, a silver Porsche rolled up the drive, an impatient horn blared.
He was startled out of memory by the sharp bleat of a car horn and saw in his rear view mirror, a late model BMW, hugging his bumper and bleating at him again. Clark jumped, felt disoriented, for a moment not entirely sure he was awake…
He realized he'd come to a complete stop in the drive—he waved the person around and they drove past, tossed him a wave in acknowledgment and Clark froze.
His heart thudded painfully in chest and he took a shaky breath. For one second, he would have sworn the man was Lex.
He swallowed, and took another deep breath. Okay, it was easy to guess who the guy was—had to have been the cousin. The resemblance was there, even though he had dark red hair, Clark could see the Luthor genes there. Hadn't Lex mentioned once that his hair had been bright red?
At any rate, first part of the mission accomplished. That guy had to have been the cousin, Miles, Liam Miles. It was an odd name, he thought. He shook his head. Now, he had to find out where he lived and hope that he wasn't as private a person as the Luthors. Or as insane….
He felt the need to wash up and refresh himself after the unpleasant morning, so he turned the car towards the road out of town. The address Lucas gave him was a few miles on the outskirts; the place he'd rented for him was supposedly a bed and breakfast kind of deal with him as the only guest until he was finished in the town.
It was nice--very comfortable and homey, totally unlike something Luthor would have chosen for himself. Clark figured he should be flattered that Lucas knew enough about him to know what he'd like, but being flattered by Luthor attention was a double edged sword…it was what screwed his life up in the first place.
Clark sighed and marched up the wide porch steps. That was wrong. His life wasn't screwed up—he was helping people and using his alien abilities to do something good. And that was definitely something a Luthor could never claim.
Lucas was an asshole. Nothing ever really changed.
The landlady was waiting at the door and she smiled wide at Clark. "Mr. Kent! How lovely to finally meet you in person! I hope you'll find the house a good place to write in. Your brother was quite specific about what you'd need. I hope everything meets your expectations. He seems a lovely person, your brother," she simpered, and little red spots appeared on her lined cheeks.
Clark blushed too, from anger. 'Brother'—that little bastard—what was he up to?
The woman, Mrs. Kerr, pointed out the private entrance towards the back of the house, a stair that led to a balcony and French doors that open to the rooms. It looked very cozy, with the small bistro set—a great place to drink his morning coffee.
He brought his bags in and swept the apartment for bugs as he unpacked—a Luthor was a Luthor after all. It was clean, which surprised him a little.
After all his clothes were neatly hung and tucked in drawers, he'd set up his work area on a little desk in the living room—he might as well treat this as a working vacation and actually do some writing on the book that lived in his head, an idea for a novel he hadn't had time to work on. He smiled to himself…maybe he'd let Lucas foot the bills for a while and stay here, really write. He had the feeling this thing with Mr. Miles could be quickly resolved, but Lucas didn’t need to know that. The little spark of guilt he felt just made the idea that much more interesting.
He felt hunger—it'd been a good twenty or more hours since he'd last eaten and he was getting interested in the idea of food. He'd go into town and get something and maybe do a little grocery shopping after….
He picked up his phone, ready to call Lois—he even started to enter her number, and then, hung up. He did it twice more before stuffing his phone in his pants pocket. Later—he really needed dinner first.
Dinner was uneventful, and shopping afterward was mildly interesting. He'd hoped idly that he might run into Miles on his outing but of course not, all he found was really expensive melon and some insipid vegetables. He'd have to find a farm market—there was no reason to eat really bad commercially grown vegetables and fruits in farm country. Maybe he should run home and pick something up…
Sleep came easily that night—it came quickly, more so than usual but Clark put his exhaustion down to flying—it did that to him sometimes.
He was stretched out, grateful that the bed was large enough for him, and sinking into that twilight place before actual sleep. His mind threw out random images, and he fixed on no particular one before he was gone….
Liam had agreed to meet with Aaron and his fiancé and another couple and surprise, surprise, a lovely girl they just happened to invite but they were meeting at a restaurant and he *had* promised Aaron to go if they combined blind dates with nourishment so….
He passed the old diner that he frequented when he was feeling nostalgic for his youth and parked his car outside of one of Turnersville's better restaurants, The Cove. Liam rolled his eyes and vowed solemnly not to make fun of the décor, or the menu…not that he would, not really. He wasn't that guy anymore.
Thank God.
He was almost inside when a voice called his name, a very familiar voice. He turned and tried to mask the pleasure he felt at spotting who'd called him.
"Mr. Miles—hi!" Jerry came loping up, a huge grin lighting up--the world.
"Why aren't you at home, working on all the homework I piled on you guys today?" He mock glared.
"Ha, Mr. Miles, you're so funny--"Jerry's forehead wrinkled, and he tilted his head. "You are kidding, right?"
Liam just smirked, and Jerry grinned weakly. "Yeah, well…going to dinner?"
"I better, I have a date." He bobbed on his toes, and waited for Jerry to tease him about the 'date', but he didn't. He looked crushed—it only lasted a moment, but the hurt was plainly visible, and he was definitely less bright when he spoke again.
"That's nice," he said. "I'll let you go so you can enjoy it. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Miles."
Liam felt like he should say something—something comforting, but he realized the impulse was silly. Jerry was probably just upset that Liam had a distraction—that he wasn't the focus he wanted to be. Liam had some experience with that type of person. It wasn't Jerry's fault, he was willing to bet the kid had overprotective parents—probably been raised in a way that made him expect that all relationships were equally as intense as the one he had with his parents.
Liam shook his head. That kind of thing was guaranteed to screw a kid up.
Jerry waved and slouched down the sidewalk, and Liam sighed, feeling pity, as well as annoyance. God. He needed to avoid that kid as much as possible.
Later that evening Liam was alone, and turning a scrap of paper over and over in his fingers. A telephone number was scrawled boldly across it. He thought and thought, and finally made a decision. He was damn tired of living a monk's life, and denying everything about himself. The dinner date had been interesting, Aaron and Celia had been—Aaron and Celia. The other couple had been interesting also…Ed owned a few buildings on Main Street and rented them out to a variety of businesses, and she—Gail—was a real estate agent. A match made in heaven.
His date had been a very pleasant young woman, a good conversationalist with knowledge of a wide variety of subjects and…he flipped the paper over again. He had the number nearly memorized at this point. He thought hard.
This thing—this action was guaranteed to hurt someone…but it wasn't his fault, he couldn’t really be held to blame if he did this thing…could he? God—wasn't that what that idiot used to harp on all the time—take responsibility, like it was a fucking cape you threw over your shoulders…Liam laughed, and dialed the number.
"Hello, it's me…yes, I'm a little surprised I called too…I would like to get together again. Yes, sure, call me when you're available—my evenings are fairly open. All right. Yes, I'm glad we met too. Good night, Ed."
Liam didn’t think about the evening, didn’t think about the phone call. He showered in his methodical way, brushed his teeth carefully and dressed in flannel pajamas before crawling into bed. He was exhausted, no idea why. He drifted into the place between waking and dreaming, random images firing in his mind…the guy gawking at the school flashed through his mind. He was pretty certain he hadn’t been a predator…too obvious, more than likely he'd been a tourist—they got lost in this area from time to time and wandered through town…he'd passed him so quickly he hadn’t seen him, not really—just got the over all impression of dark hair and height and those were the type of guys he automatically blocked. He yawned, and stretched and let sleep wrap him up….
The study doors opened wide and Lex looked up with surprise—Clark was standing there, dressed a little like a high school drama version of Lex Luthor, only instead of it being silly and a little endearing, it was…arousing. He shifted and closed the laptop trying to buy a little time to steady himself. "Clark?"
"Lex, if it's all right with you, I'm keeping the Ferrari a little bit longer." He looked around the room, eyes glancing over him, but they came back to settle on Lex with an intensity he'd never felt before. He shifted again and Clark smirked and Lex almost believed Clark knew he was a little hard. "I'll send it back when I get myself set up."
What? Now that was definitely wrong--"Whoa, slow down—what's going on, Clark?"
Clark leaned back against the fireplace in a studied pose—Lex was willing to bet he'd seen that lounge-lean look on Masterpiece Theater. Again, it wasn't as amusing as much as it was a little …threatening. He kept his hand off his crotch by sheer willpower.
"I left home."
He did what? Clark Kent? All-American boy and the perfect son? "What happened? Was it a fight with your folks?"
"My parents don't understand me. Truth is, there's nothing left for me here in Smallville."
Clark moved away from the fireplace, slinked across the floor until his hips were leaning against Lex's desk. Lex's mouth was instantly dry, his throat clicked when he tried to swallow. What the hell happened to Clark?
"Kinda—kinda sudden, isn't it?"
Pushed away from the desk, and his face darkened—he frowned, and Lex felt his heart slam in his chest. "Look, you're the one always telling me I need to think of the future—my destiny. Well, one thing is for certain, it's not here in Kansas!"
Lex stood and walked away from the desk—and Clark. "So you just packed your stuff and you're off." He slid his hands in his pockets and made fists. 'Get a grip, control yourself.'
Clark was right next to Lex. Lex blinked. How the hell did he do that?
"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Clark said intensely and Lex shivered. That sounded so…like threats, promises…offers….
"Really. Why don't you fill me in?" He gave Clark back the same look he'd been giving him—'two can play this game.'
"Let's just say, that when I'm through showing the world what I can do, I'll have everything I've ever wanted." He was staring down at his high school ring, and then he looked up at Lex and grinned, a predatory smirk. His eyes flashed and for a brief second seemed to glow red. "Everything."
'God.' "Maybe you're right to get away from your folks. Maybe I should do the same."
Clark let him come close, right into his personal space, so close he felt the heat of Clark's skin. Clark put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. It was uncomfortable, and Lex fought down a wince. "You can come with me."
Lex licked dry lips and tried to keep his voice even. "Nobody's using the penthouse in Metropolis. We can stay there."
"Clark Kent and Lex Luthor. I like the sound of that."
"Let me just tie up some loose ends at the office. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back." He quickly left the room before he lost all sense and threw Clark in the car and just—ran…he'd get the phone in his bedroom, and call the Kents—
Clark was suddenly there. Pressing him against the wall, the heat of his body like a furnace, his hands were like vises.
"Clark!"
"What were you going to do, Lex? Who were you going to call?" Clark pushed him back until he was jammed against the wall, and Clark settled between his legs, and was leaning against him—rocking. He was rock-hard and hot as fire, and his breath scorched his neck. "I know what you want—what you've always wanted and now…now that I know I want it too…"
Lex was suddenly dizzy, flying—his skin felt like it was being sandpapered, and he was upside down, and right side up and suddenly he was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling over his bed.
He was naked, and felt bruised from head to toe and so hard he ached.
Clark was at the end of the bed, smirking at him—his clothes were gone, there was no trace of his friend Clark at all in this man's face and then Clark was on the bed, and over him, and crushing his mouth against his and it was wild, and it hurt, and when he drew back at last, Lex touched his lips, hot and puffy, raw—he felt like he'd been punched in the mouth.
Clark's dick bobbed and dripped on him and he growled. "I want to fuck you," and he looked a little surprised. "I've wanted to fuck you since I first touched you…" His eyes narrowed and he glared at Lex. "Why the fuck did you let me waste my time running after her? That was pointless—I hate pointless."
He threw Lex to his belly, it felt like all the air had been pressed out of him. He howled when he felt teeth in the cheek of his ass—God, he really thought Clark was going to bite through muscle, but he let go.
"That's for not telling me the truth."
His breath was hot and moist in his ear. "And now, we're going to seal that destiny you once talked about. Get ready."
Lex tried to say, no wait, tried to move, tried to tell Clark not to do this, he'd regret it, he would—all he could do was grind his teeth into the pillow as Clark ripped into him—the pain—
Clark sawed in and out of him, grunting, gasping, Lex groaned in agony when the boy's hands dug into his hips, he felt the skin spilt, and Clark's fingers slide in blood. He felt Clark's dick jerk inside of him, hot breath exploded against the back of his head, and suddenly a lance of liquid fire speared through his shoulder, and he couldn't keep the scream back. He shrieked as the pain rose and rose, and then he felt the broad flat swipe of a tongue over the bleeding tear in his shoulder. "Mmmm," Clark rumbled. "You taste so good."
Even through the pain Lex laughed, bitter and sharp. Every move Clark assaulted him with was a twisted parody of love. Clark's movements became frantic; he groaned and moaned, "Lex, I knew you'd be this good, this hot, so tight…"
Lex prayed he'd come, come and get out, leave, stop, stop, "Stop!"
Clark howled and Lex felt his dick rise and spill inside him and he hoped it was over, please, let it be over—Clark pulled out and splattered Lex's back with a final shudder and groan. The sudden pull against abused, raw tissue made Lex yell. "Clark—please--"
Clark laughed, "I love it when you beg--" and slapped Lex's ass hard.
An explosion of pain ripped up his spine, and made him want to throw up. The pain and fury filled him, made it difficult to breathe—Clark was just like the rest. Just like Dad, just like—"Get out," he snarled, "Get. Out."
"Come on, you know you like it like that."
Lex moved as fast as abused muscle would let him. "If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."
The bright green eyes glowed, and the red mouth curved up in a nasty laugh. "Pissed off? Don’t tell me you wanted seduction? Hell, we've had a year of foreplay."
"I'll make your life hell," Lex said, "I won't rest until you're standing knee deep in the ashes of everything you love," and he hated himself for sobbing "—everyone you love, you bastard."
For just a second, Clark's eyes held a flicker of fear, guilt, hurt—and then it was gone and he was zipping up. "I won't wash; I want to smell you on me--"
Lex grabbed a lamp and threw it at Clark with a roar and Clark laughed….
Clark woke up with a shout of horror. He tasted acid at the back of his throat, he had a raging hard-on. He ripped his hand from his crotch in disgust.
It hadn't happened that way, it had never been like that,never--not even close. Even that summer in Metropolis, he'd never been that—cruel. So stupidly cruel. That guy in the dream was a psychopath. And Lex…he'd hurt so terribly, body and soul. He'd broken him completely. He'd destroyed Lex, and didn't even realize it…terrible.
And again, he'd dreamed it all from Lex's view point. God, he he'd never been so happy to wake up. So odd…the way the dream implied some kind of longing on both their parts for each other. Weird, especially when Lex practically made it a hobby to get married. Clark wanted to feel the familiar spike of anger when he put Lex and marry in the same sentence but it wasn't there…maybe he was just too damn tired. "God, what I wouldn't give for a decent night's sleep."
TBC
Fandom: SV
Pairing: please…
Rating: nc-17
Warning: non-con
The Previous Parts are here, watching the moom raths outgrabbe.
Clark shifted in deep sleep, turning away from Lois, rolling until he was nearly balanced on the edge of the mattress. He moaned quietly and dreamed, reached a hand across the sheets with a sigh….
"Now, now," the rough voice broke against his ear, and he groaned, stroked harder. "I want you, every way, I want you…" sweat tickled his back, he licked beads from his lip—heat soared in the room, his bed was wet with sweat, he could smell the two of them, their scents intermingled, made something new, the feel of slick oily sweat on their legs, dicks rubbing together—dark curls clung wet to a broad forehead, a classically beautiful face, his Antinous…
he begged him, urged him gently downwards, they whispered together, curses, pleas…ocean green eyes gazed down at him, large perfect hands brushed his cheeks, his mouth, the thumbs drew around his stretched and laboring lips..."you’re so beautiful," the voice said, and he knew that was wrong because he'd never say that, he would never call him beautiful, but that didn't matter when the perfect face crumbled, the perfect mouth dropped open and that voice called out, "so beautiful—make me come please, please--"
Liam thrashed his hand across the sheets and woke at finding nothing but cool empty bed. His thundering heartbeat steadied, and disappointment lanced him. It was him *begging* like that--even in his dreams, had the power to make him come. The very thought of being treated like he was cherished—it made him angry with himself that he could still be so pathetic. Still want it so very, very much.
The last wisps of the dream faded and melancholy reformed as bitter anger. That whole mess was part of another life, ages ago. He knew it was pointless and masochistic to inflict that kind of pain on himself any longer.
If only his heart was in tune with his mind.
He glanced at the clock—five AM. Time to start his day….
******
A mercifully short plane ride brought him to New York. He hated flying. He was absolutely convinced of his invincibility until the moment he stepped on a plane, a ridiculous thin can of flying metal. Ridiculous, yes but that's what a phobia was. He sighed and laughed at himself…sometimes, he was too human by far.
A rented car took him to the town Lucas claimed the cousin lived in. He looked at the map again. Turnersville. He looked at the scenery flashing by. It looked a lot like home, except for the mountains. It looked so much like home, it made him nostalgic.
Ever since Lucas invaded his life, he'd been thinking about the old days a lot—about Pete, and Chloe and…and life in general…about the strange happening and the good times. And the bad…it was the bad in his life that made him chose a life of purpose…
He sighed, and concentrated on the road. With any luck, he'd get this ridiculous little game over with quickly. Personally, he was thinking of going with, "Hi, I'm an acquaintance of your cousin Lucas, and he wants to know—do you have designs on his business, or convoluted Luthorian type plans to kill him? No? Yes?" Or maybe he should just tell the guy to run like the Devil was on his heels, as far and as fast as he could.
Clark drove through a post card pretty town, and past the town's high school—the building looked like it dropped whole out of the 1950s. White columns lined the brick front, the wings that jutted from the sides were all brick, there were even air conditioner units sticking out of a few of the old style double hung window, yet as obviously old as the building was, it was in good repair, the white paint fresh and gleaming in the sun. Like the rest of the town, it showed the people cared…it was like an idealized version of Smallville. The people watched him drive by, but their faces showed only friendly curiosity, not blank stares that barely concealed hostility.
He drove a little slower, curious…the building looked nothing like Smallville High, but it still made him long for home.
A flag on a wide green lawn snapped and waved in the breeze. In his mind, a silver Porsche rolled up the drive, an impatient horn blared.
He was startled out of memory by the sharp bleat of a car horn and saw in his rear view mirror, a late model BMW, hugging his bumper and bleating at him again. Clark jumped, felt disoriented, for a moment not entirely sure he was awake…
He realized he'd come to a complete stop in the drive—he waved the person around and they drove past, tossed him a wave in acknowledgment and Clark froze.
His heart thudded painfully in chest and he took a shaky breath. For one second, he would have sworn the man was Lex.
He swallowed, and took another deep breath. Okay, it was easy to guess who the guy was—had to have been the cousin. The resemblance was there, even though he had dark red hair, Clark could see the Luthor genes there. Hadn't Lex mentioned once that his hair had been bright red?
At any rate, first part of the mission accomplished. That guy had to have been the cousin, Miles, Liam Miles. It was an odd name, he thought. He shook his head. Now, he had to find out where he lived and hope that he wasn't as private a person as the Luthors. Or as insane….
He felt the need to wash up and refresh himself after the unpleasant morning, so he turned the car towards the road out of town. The address Lucas gave him was a few miles on the outskirts; the place he'd rented for him was supposedly a bed and breakfast kind of deal with him as the only guest until he was finished in the town.
It was nice--very comfortable and homey, totally unlike something Luthor would have chosen for himself. Clark figured he should be flattered that Lucas knew enough about him to know what he'd like, but being flattered by Luthor attention was a double edged sword…it was what screwed his life up in the first place.
Clark sighed and marched up the wide porch steps. That was wrong. His life wasn't screwed up—he was helping people and using his alien abilities to do something good. And that was definitely something a Luthor could never claim.
Lucas was an asshole. Nothing ever really changed.
The landlady was waiting at the door and she smiled wide at Clark. "Mr. Kent! How lovely to finally meet you in person! I hope you'll find the house a good place to write in. Your brother was quite specific about what you'd need. I hope everything meets your expectations. He seems a lovely person, your brother," she simpered, and little red spots appeared on her lined cheeks.
Clark blushed too, from anger. 'Brother'—that little bastard—what was he up to?
The woman, Mrs. Kerr, pointed out the private entrance towards the back of the house, a stair that led to a balcony and French doors that open to the rooms. It looked very cozy, with the small bistro set—a great place to drink his morning coffee.
He brought his bags in and swept the apartment for bugs as he unpacked—a Luthor was a Luthor after all. It was clean, which surprised him a little.
After all his clothes were neatly hung and tucked in drawers, he'd set up his work area on a little desk in the living room—he might as well treat this as a working vacation and actually do some writing on the book that lived in his head, an idea for a novel he hadn't had time to work on. He smiled to himself…maybe he'd let Lucas foot the bills for a while and stay here, really write. He had the feeling this thing with Mr. Miles could be quickly resolved, but Lucas didn’t need to know that. The little spark of guilt he felt just made the idea that much more interesting.
He felt hunger—it'd been a good twenty or more hours since he'd last eaten and he was getting interested in the idea of food. He'd go into town and get something and maybe do a little grocery shopping after….
He picked up his phone, ready to call Lois—he even started to enter her number, and then, hung up. He did it twice more before stuffing his phone in his pants pocket. Later—he really needed dinner first.
Dinner was uneventful, and shopping afterward was mildly interesting. He'd hoped idly that he might run into Miles on his outing but of course not, all he found was really expensive melon and some insipid vegetables. He'd have to find a farm market—there was no reason to eat really bad commercially grown vegetables and fruits in farm country. Maybe he should run home and pick something up…
Sleep came easily that night—it came quickly, more so than usual but Clark put his exhaustion down to flying—it did that to him sometimes.
He was stretched out, grateful that the bed was large enough for him, and sinking into that twilight place before actual sleep. His mind threw out random images, and he fixed on no particular one before he was gone….
Liam had agreed to meet with Aaron and his fiancé and another couple and surprise, surprise, a lovely girl they just happened to invite but they were meeting at a restaurant and he *had* promised Aaron to go if they combined blind dates with nourishment so….
He passed the old diner that he frequented when he was feeling nostalgic for his youth and parked his car outside of one of Turnersville's better restaurants, The Cove. Liam rolled his eyes and vowed solemnly not to make fun of the décor, or the menu…not that he would, not really. He wasn't that guy anymore.
Thank God.
He was almost inside when a voice called his name, a very familiar voice. He turned and tried to mask the pleasure he felt at spotting who'd called him.
"Mr. Miles—hi!" Jerry came loping up, a huge grin lighting up--the world.
"Why aren't you at home, working on all the homework I piled on you guys today?" He mock glared.
"Ha, Mr. Miles, you're so funny--"Jerry's forehead wrinkled, and he tilted his head. "You are kidding, right?"
Liam just smirked, and Jerry grinned weakly. "Yeah, well…going to dinner?"
"I better, I have a date." He bobbed on his toes, and waited for Jerry to tease him about the 'date', but he didn't. He looked crushed—it only lasted a moment, but the hurt was plainly visible, and he was definitely less bright when he spoke again.
"That's nice," he said. "I'll let you go so you can enjoy it. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Miles."
Liam felt like he should say something—something comforting, but he realized the impulse was silly. Jerry was probably just upset that Liam had a distraction—that he wasn't the focus he wanted to be. Liam had some experience with that type of person. It wasn't Jerry's fault, he was willing to bet the kid had overprotective parents—probably been raised in a way that made him expect that all relationships were equally as intense as the one he had with his parents.
Liam shook his head. That kind of thing was guaranteed to screw a kid up.
Jerry waved and slouched down the sidewalk, and Liam sighed, feeling pity, as well as annoyance. God. He needed to avoid that kid as much as possible.
Later that evening Liam was alone, and turning a scrap of paper over and over in his fingers. A telephone number was scrawled boldly across it. He thought and thought, and finally made a decision. He was damn tired of living a monk's life, and denying everything about himself. The dinner date had been interesting, Aaron and Celia had been—Aaron and Celia. The other couple had been interesting also…Ed owned a few buildings on Main Street and rented them out to a variety of businesses, and she—Gail—was a real estate agent. A match made in heaven.
His date had been a very pleasant young woman, a good conversationalist with knowledge of a wide variety of subjects and…he flipped the paper over again. He had the number nearly memorized at this point. He thought hard.
This thing—this action was guaranteed to hurt someone…but it wasn't his fault, he couldn’t really be held to blame if he did this thing…could he? God—wasn't that what that idiot used to harp on all the time—take responsibility, like it was a fucking cape you threw over your shoulders…Liam laughed, and dialed the number.
"Hello, it's me…yes, I'm a little surprised I called too…I would like to get together again. Yes, sure, call me when you're available—my evenings are fairly open. All right. Yes, I'm glad we met too. Good night, Ed."
Liam didn’t think about the evening, didn’t think about the phone call. He showered in his methodical way, brushed his teeth carefully and dressed in flannel pajamas before crawling into bed. He was exhausted, no idea why. He drifted into the place between waking and dreaming, random images firing in his mind…the guy gawking at the school flashed through his mind. He was pretty certain he hadn’t been a predator…too obvious, more than likely he'd been a tourist—they got lost in this area from time to time and wandered through town…he'd passed him so quickly he hadn’t seen him, not really—just got the over all impression of dark hair and height and those were the type of guys he automatically blocked. He yawned, and stretched and let sleep wrap him up….
The study doors opened wide and Lex looked up with surprise—Clark was standing there, dressed a little like a high school drama version of Lex Luthor, only instead of it being silly and a little endearing, it was…arousing. He shifted and closed the laptop trying to buy a little time to steady himself. "Clark?"
"Lex, if it's all right with you, I'm keeping the Ferrari a little bit longer." He looked around the room, eyes glancing over him, but they came back to settle on Lex with an intensity he'd never felt before. He shifted again and Clark smirked and Lex almost believed Clark knew he was a little hard. "I'll send it back when I get myself set up."
What? Now that was definitely wrong--"Whoa, slow down—what's going on, Clark?"
Clark leaned back against the fireplace in a studied pose—Lex was willing to bet he'd seen that lounge-lean look on Masterpiece Theater. Again, it wasn't as amusing as much as it was a little …threatening. He kept his hand off his crotch by sheer willpower.
"I left home."
He did what? Clark Kent? All-American boy and the perfect son? "What happened? Was it a fight with your folks?"
"My parents don't understand me. Truth is, there's nothing left for me here in Smallville."
Clark moved away from the fireplace, slinked across the floor until his hips were leaning against Lex's desk. Lex's mouth was instantly dry, his throat clicked when he tried to swallow. What the hell happened to Clark?
"Kinda—kinda sudden, isn't it?"
Pushed away from the desk, and his face darkened—he frowned, and Lex felt his heart slam in his chest. "Look, you're the one always telling me I need to think of the future—my destiny. Well, one thing is for certain, it's not here in Kansas!"
Lex stood and walked away from the desk—and Clark. "So you just packed your stuff and you're off." He slid his hands in his pockets and made fists. 'Get a grip, control yourself.'
Clark was right next to Lex. Lex blinked. How the hell did he do that?
"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Clark said intensely and Lex shivered. That sounded so…like threats, promises…offers….
"Really. Why don't you fill me in?" He gave Clark back the same look he'd been giving him—'two can play this game.'
"Let's just say, that when I'm through showing the world what I can do, I'll have everything I've ever wanted." He was staring down at his high school ring, and then he looked up at Lex and grinned, a predatory smirk. His eyes flashed and for a brief second seemed to glow red. "Everything."
'God.' "Maybe you're right to get away from your folks. Maybe I should do the same."
Clark let him come close, right into his personal space, so close he felt the heat of Clark's skin. Clark put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. It was uncomfortable, and Lex fought down a wince. "You can come with me."
Lex licked dry lips and tried to keep his voice even. "Nobody's using the penthouse in Metropolis. We can stay there."
"Clark Kent and Lex Luthor. I like the sound of that."
"Let me just tie up some loose ends at the office. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back." He quickly left the room before he lost all sense and threw Clark in the car and just—ran…he'd get the phone in his bedroom, and call the Kents—
Clark was suddenly there. Pressing him against the wall, the heat of his body like a furnace, his hands were like vises.
"Clark!"
"What were you going to do, Lex? Who were you going to call?" Clark pushed him back until he was jammed against the wall, and Clark settled between his legs, and was leaning against him—rocking. He was rock-hard and hot as fire, and his breath scorched his neck. "I know what you want—what you've always wanted and now…now that I know I want it too…"
Lex was suddenly dizzy, flying—his skin felt like it was being sandpapered, and he was upside down, and right side up and suddenly he was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling over his bed.
He was naked, and felt bruised from head to toe and so hard he ached.
Clark was at the end of the bed, smirking at him—his clothes were gone, there was no trace of his friend Clark at all in this man's face and then Clark was on the bed, and over him, and crushing his mouth against his and it was wild, and it hurt, and when he drew back at last, Lex touched his lips, hot and puffy, raw—he felt like he'd been punched in the mouth.
Clark's dick bobbed and dripped on him and he growled. "I want to fuck you," and he looked a little surprised. "I've wanted to fuck you since I first touched you…" His eyes narrowed and he glared at Lex. "Why the fuck did you let me waste my time running after her? That was pointless—I hate pointless."
He threw Lex to his belly, it felt like all the air had been pressed out of him. He howled when he felt teeth in the cheek of his ass—God, he really thought Clark was going to bite through muscle, but he let go.
"That's for not telling me the truth."
His breath was hot and moist in his ear. "And now, we're going to seal that destiny you once talked about. Get ready."
Lex tried to say, no wait, tried to move, tried to tell Clark not to do this, he'd regret it, he would—all he could do was grind his teeth into the pillow as Clark ripped into him—the pain—
Clark sawed in and out of him, grunting, gasping, Lex groaned in agony when the boy's hands dug into his hips, he felt the skin spilt, and Clark's fingers slide in blood. He felt Clark's dick jerk inside of him, hot breath exploded against the back of his head, and suddenly a lance of liquid fire speared through his shoulder, and he couldn't keep the scream back. He shrieked as the pain rose and rose, and then he felt the broad flat swipe of a tongue over the bleeding tear in his shoulder. "Mmmm," Clark rumbled. "You taste so good."
Even through the pain Lex laughed, bitter and sharp. Every move Clark assaulted him with was a twisted parody of love. Clark's movements became frantic; he groaned and moaned, "Lex, I knew you'd be this good, this hot, so tight…"
Lex prayed he'd come, come and get out, leave, stop, stop, "Stop!"
Clark howled and Lex felt his dick rise and spill inside him and he hoped it was over, please, let it be over—Clark pulled out and splattered Lex's back with a final shudder and groan. The sudden pull against abused, raw tissue made Lex yell. "Clark—please--"
Clark laughed, "I love it when you beg--" and slapped Lex's ass hard.
An explosion of pain ripped up his spine, and made him want to throw up. The pain and fury filled him, made it difficult to breathe—Clark was just like the rest. Just like Dad, just like—"Get out," he snarled, "Get. Out."
"Come on, you know you like it like that."
Lex moved as fast as abused muscle would let him. "If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."
The bright green eyes glowed, and the red mouth curved up in a nasty laugh. "Pissed off? Don’t tell me you wanted seduction? Hell, we've had a year of foreplay."
"I'll make your life hell," Lex said, "I won't rest until you're standing knee deep in the ashes of everything you love," and he hated himself for sobbing "—everyone you love, you bastard."
For just a second, Clark's eyes held a flicker of fear, guilt, hurt—and then it was gone and he was zipping up. "I won't wash; I want to smell you on me--"
Lex grabbed a lamp and threw it at Clark with a roar and Clark laughed….
Clark woke up with a shout of horror. He tasted acid at the back of his throat, he had a raging hard-on. He ripped his hand from his crotch in disgust.
It hadn't happened that way, it had never been like that,never--not even close. Even that summer in Metropolis, he'd never been that—cruel. So stupidly cruel. That guy in the dream was a psychopath. And Lex…he'd hurt so terribly, body and soul. He'd broken him completely. He'd destroyed Lex, and didn't even realize it…terrible.
And again, he'd dreamed it all from Lex's view point. God, he he'd never been so happy to wake up. So odd…the way the dream implied some kind of longing on both their parts for each other. Weird, especially when Lex practically made it a hobby to get married. Clark wanted to feel the familiar spike of anger when he put Lex and marry in the same sentence but it wasn't there…maybe he was just too damn tired. "God, what I wouldn't give for a decent night's sleep."
TBC
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6/22/07 04:04 am (UTC)