roxy. Doing My Bit To Keep The Ho-yay Coming....

...she said 'coming'--*snickersnicker*. Remember that lovely word, Ho-yay? I miss it. So cheerful--so full of the promise of hot yummy porn....I'm all overcome with nostalgia these days. That's what happens to you when you get old--the candy bars get smaller, the winters get less snowy, and the porn has less rimming....

So, here's a story that I promise you will contain lots of Clex, porn, angst, boy kissing and stuff like that as it meanders it's long-winded way to a conclusion, but those of you who know me aren't surprised by that at all. There will be Clex--as usual, I will take my sweet time getting to it. There will be OCs, I'm funny that way. And gosh it's AU--I know!

Many many thanks to

danceswithgary for beta duty--if it's still riddled with bombs and wtfs that's entirely my fault--God knows she's trying. You guys know how I can be! *G* After all this yakking about it, I hope it's interesting to read!

so, step back with me to the 1930s, when men wore hats, and music was swinging....

Title: East of the Sun
Pairings/Characters: Lex/omc, eventually clex
Rating: varies, from PG to NC-17
Word Count: 1830

The spot changed from white to blue, and Alex took a step forward, closed his eyes and blew…lithe fingers danced up and down, light flashed off the gold band of a watch he always wore…sound poured out, round, sweet, weaving a tale. The notes looped and soared and pierced the heart. He lowered the clarinet, inclined his head to the applause and stepped back, stone faced, stiff, sweat gleaming on the naked curve of his skull. One quick nod to the audience and he was back in his shell, evaluating, thinking how he could have made it better.

The band leader glanced his way and nodded too. Walt smiled at him. Alex knew he'd got it solid, just like Walt expected him to.

After, some of the guys sat out with the crowd, getting drinks, talking, flirting with the girls who always stuck around after the set. Letting their hair down.

Not Alex. He drank quick, left quick. "What is a he, a saint or something? He don’t hang out with us?" Tenor Sax asked. He was pretty new, and hadn't any idea how things worked. Everybody knew Alex's business was Alex's business.

"Alex hangs out with Alex. We don’t question, we don’t ask. He's ready for each show. That's what matters."

"Yeah," Second Trumpet said. "What he does and where he does it is his business."

"He's some kinda pansy?" Tenor Sax persisted.

Everyone crowded around the table shrugged and went on to other things. Tried to.

Tenor Sax started in again. "I don't like being close to some queenie. He better not make a move on me--"

"Have you looked at yourself lately? You're kinda ugly." Second Trumpet sneered.

"What's that supposed to mean--?" Tenor Sax started to get up and Drums slapped him down.

"Shut up and get drunk. Or just shut up."

"Yeah, shut the fuck up—have a drink--say, we were in the groove tonight, fellas, no shit—solid man, we killed, junior, we killed—Hell gate, solid murder--Danny, did you see the new ticket taker at the Chinese? Daaaaammn…" They yelled back and forth, chatted and laughed and drank and ignored any mention of Alex….

In other words, Tenor Sax learned, Alex was Alex and nobody's business but his own.

@@@@@

Alex wiped and swabbed and packed the clarinet in its velvet-lined case and snapped it shut. He settled a white enameled bowl on the stand, filled it with water and gave himself a leisurely wash up. He meticulously cleaned a well-worn but still solid pair of patent leather shoes, and dressed, frowning at the beginning of wear on his shirt cuffs. He knew his collar was definitely getting frayed. He'd have the tailor take care of that. He reached for one of the two suit jackets he owned with a wry smile. European tailors made those jackets—they'd last forever…they'd fucking have to.

The radio in his room was gently exhorting him to buy Chesterfields, and promising a program of sweet music, that he only half listened to. His attention was on the oval dresser mirror, watching as his fingers twisted a strip of fabric into a bowtie. He smiled, reminded of his mother, and the social affairs that required him to dress and how wearing a bowtie then felt like punishment. He glanced at his watch, the one with the Napoleon face. He had lots of time for a few drinks, maybe a dance…sure. Walt Cook, the long-suffering band leader, didn’t expect them until ten. He could do a lot of things until then.

The neon sign from the drugstore across the street battled with the lamp on his writing table, blue alternating with red lit the dim gold glow in his room. He didn't mind the nightly light show much. He found the red and blue stripes painted across the truly ugly field of cabbage roses and ivy pasted over the walls rather more cheerful than the funeral parlor effect the paper usually had. He shrugged on the jacket, checked to make sure he had wallet and cigarettes. One last look at the dresser mirror as he settled his hat on his poor, cold, bald head…blew himself a kiss and locked the door behind.

Alex walked the dark street, other club goers hurried past him in the humid night, hurrying from one island of light to another. Alex took his time, enjoying the night, and the thick feel of the air…he craved heat. Cold even in the summer, he loved when Metropolis became a jungle at this time of year. He hummed a song that was the latest, sang a little under his breath—it wasn't something he did all that well, but he liked to from time to time. "It seems we stood and talked like this before, we looked at each other in the same way then…" he turned the corner, past a phone booth and the girl using it, who looked speculatively at him. He grinned, held his hands palm up empty—she looked away. "but I can't remember where or when…"

He was standing in a basement a flight below street level, waiting for a black-painted door to open. A leftover from the late, unlamented Prohibition, it had a little window set in the thick slab of wood--it scraped back at his measured knock, and a wet eye peered out. "Oh, it's you."

The door opened, music and voices washed out into the humid night. "Come on in," the fantastic creature purred, and managed to open the door while also holding her hand out. Eyebrows in a color and shape nature never imagined climbed the white-powdered forehead when Alex dropped the cover and a pretty good tip into the gloved palm and smiled.

The club he was walking into was a lot different from the one he'd played at earlier that night.

"Enjoy, sugar, enjoy."

Alex winked, and walked down another short flight of stairs into the club proper.

It was dark and hot, thick with smoke, the smell of booze, a hundred different colognes, and the bodies, swirling on the floor, stuffed into nooks and crannies here and there. The stone walls of the basement room were painted red, candles lit tables, and they became islands of light in the dark, their orange light and the red walls made the place look like Little Hell.

Alex leaned elbows on the bar in the rear of the place, off the tiny dance floor. He kept his back to the mirror over the long length of marble bar, and watched the couples on the floor, thought about cutting in and sighed. He didn’t want to dance. He wasn't in the mood. His mood had been pretty strange lately anyway. He was dissatisfied, with his music, with his life in general. He was drifting, truthfully, had been since he'd been cut out of the Luthor orbit. Almost penniless he'd been, but at the time, it'd felt like complete freedom, out from under a man who gave Satan a run for his money. Hell, if he'd known being found out queer was all it took for the old man to cut him loose, he'd have shouted it from the rooftops years ago, world be damned.

He hoped his brothers were dealing better with all that Luthor shit than he had. He shook his head. Julian, poor sweet kid. He hated leaving him alone with the old man…maybe Lucas could protect Jules, maybe he had the balls to deal with Dad he'd lacked.

He sipped at his drink—a pretty good Manhattan, and sent a little prayer of gratitude heavenward, didn't have to worry about going blind swigging bathtub gin anymore—and eyeballed the crowd on the floor. Reached in his pocket and brought out a small, intricately engraved lead case. He rubbed his thumb over the lid, smiled softly before drawing a cigarette from it. He lit it and inhaled, waited for whatever happened next.

"Would you like a dance," a deep voice at his ear said.

"Not all that much," Alex replied.

The voice moved closer, he could feel warm breath caress his ear. "You wanna fuck?"

"Now that sounds promising," he murmured and turned to look at the young man standing to his right. "Yes, indeed, it does." He was close to his type, and he wasn't going to be picky tonight. So what if the kid's eyes were blue and not green, his hair was blond and not black…he was tall, broad and had a sweet smile…his eyes said he knew what he wanted.

"You want to go to your place?"

Alex shook his head. "Hell no. Out back is fine."

There was a flicker of disappointment in the blue eyes that Alex ignored--the young man nodded. "Okay."

On the way out the door, he said, "I know you. I come see you play sometimes. The way you look when you play--"

Alex cut him off. "Can we have less chatter? I'm pretty much only going for one thing."

"Sure, sure. Sorry," the kid said and actually looked sorry. Alex bit the inside of his cheek. He only wanted one thing, he wanted to get off. No complications, no…nothing.

In the alley, leaning against the rough brick wall, one hand scrabbling for purchase against the crumbling brick, the other buried in blond curls, Alex rocked his hips, slow, concentrating on the rush of feeling. For a few minutes, this thing was all there was. Warm, the slick rub of his dick against wet softness, the hint of a moan, fingers touching in all the right places. He dropped his head and watched the pink pointed tip of the blond's tongue dance over the deep rose head of his dick, twist into the slit, lick up drops of precome—he hissed and pumped his hips, harder when the blond moaned and rubbed himself through his pants. He closed his eyes and ordered himself to let go, and he filled the man's mouth, held his head and carefully thrust as deep as he could, gasping as his come spilled over the blond's lips. He pulled the guy upright, slapped his hand away and pushed his own hand into the open fly. He jerked him off, roughly, and whispered filthy things in his ear--he called it right, this guy loved dirty talk. He lurched against Alex and came with a breathy moan. He leaned against him, breathing hard and then jerked upright.

"Oh, I'm sorry—did I get you--"

"Don’t worry about it," Alex said, "I'm not." In a fit of…something, stupidity--he kissed the guy and the blond smiled at him.

"Maybe…I could come to the club sometimes…maybe we can…"

Alex laughed. "Thanks—for tonight."

The guy nodded. "Okay. Some other time. Or later on…"

"Ah, ah, ah—bedtime. Early to bed, you know. And it's four in the morning, so I guess that's early." Alex laughed and walked away.

part 2

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Posted by

herohunter.livejournal.com

Oh, how wonderful!

*sits in the club audience with Rita Hayworth hair, a deep red dress and lipstick on, and claps at you and Alex with equal fervor*

Posted by

Doing My Bit To Keep The Ho-yay Coming....

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