In His Place
by Signe

Lex rapped loudly, two sharp taps, on the farmhouse door, worry lending urgency to his knock. In a flash it was opened, and Clark was leaning casually on the doorframe, brow raised quizzically, as though he hadn't been anticipating this visit.

"What's the problem Clark? You sounded urgent on the phone." Lex affected an angry tone to cover the fear that had gripped him since Clark's call 15 minutes earlier. A call that had been vague, but the tone desperate. Lex had imagined all sorts of horrors on his drive over, yet here was Clark, looking carefree and full of himself. And even more gloriously, beautifully fuckable than normal in his tight jeans and deep blue shirt.

"Oh, I don't think there's any problem," Clark drawled, "at least not now you're here." He sounded--, not drunk, but certainly not his usual self. Admittedly, since Clark's return home, just a few weeks ago, he'd seemed different, and still hadn't opened up to Lex about what had driven him away. One more secret between them. But in general he'd been subdued, taking the guilt of the world on his broad shoulders, as though it was his fault that his parents had lost the baby, and Lex had had a string of bad luck.

Now though he was ebullient, like the time he'd turned up in his brand new designer clothes, all ready to run off to Metropolis with Lex. And Jonathan Kent would never know how hard it had been for Lex to throw over *that* opportunity.

"Maybe I should come in."

"That's certainly the first part of the plan."

"The plan?" Lex queried as he entered the homely kitchen, the atmosphere all Martha's despite her apparent absence.

Clark ignored the question, walking across to the fridge and throwing the door open. "Wanna drink? My dad's left some beer in the fridge: Old Milwaukee of course, but then he's always been tight with money."

"Clark, I didn't rush over here just to be offered a beer." This time the anger was real. Lex didn't appreciate going through torments of worry for nothing. "What the hell is going on?"

"What's going on is that my parents have actually trusted me to be alone for a couple of hours without running off, so I'm going to make the most of it."

Lex shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sure they know you won't run off again. But anyway, wouldn't it be a better idea to prove their trust right?"

"God, Lex, how old are you, twenty-three or sixty-three? I have a couple of hours in which to have some fun and forget my fucked up, miserable life, and some things just aren't so good alone. Or so I've been told."

Lex tried for reason, ignoring the possible implications of the last comment. "Well, drinking beer is better done in company, that's true, but we don't need beer to have a good evening."

"No, we don't. Company yes, beer was just an optional extra." Clark closed the fridge door, and crossed the room to Lex, moving in just a little too close.

Lex didn't like the turn of the conversation at all. He wanted to leave, come back another day and find the Clark he knew. The Clark he'd seen only yesterday in the Talon: a little dejected, a little too quiet maybe, but happy to share a few minutes with Lex over coffee. But, if he left, who knew what this Clark might do. He'd left home before, vanished for three months without even phoning his parents. A few months earlier he would have sworn that the boy he knew would never do anything like that. The Clark here in his place might be capable of anything.

"How about coming over to my place." Lex tried to stall for time. "You can pick out a DVD for us to watch."

"Lex, stop pretending you don't know exactly what I want right now."

"Frankly, Clark, I haven't a clue," Lex replied softly as he tried to relax, to emanate an aura of calm.

"OK, if I have to spell it out for you I will." Clark leaned nonchalantly against the kitchen counter, hands clasped behind his head. "I want you, on your knees, sucking me off."

Lex heard himself gasp as though from a distance. Not from the words: he'd heard those exact words often enough before. In seedy back rooms at the sort of nightclubs he used to frequent on rebellious nights. They came out of the mouths of men he'd never met before and would never meet again. He'd even heard them in Clark's voice, once or twice in his fantasies, although normally it was him saying the words to Clark, then jerking off frantically. But he'd never heard this voice. He didn't want to either. He wanted to hear desperation and longing, lust or love, not this arrogant certainty that Lex would obey.

He stumbled for words, tilted out of his usual poise. "Clark, you're- -, you're not yourself. This is--."

"Lex!" Clark's voice dripped menace like toxic honey. "You're not going to pretend that you don't want this. You can't eyefuck me, check me out whenever you think I won't notice, and then turn me down when I offer you what you want. What I want, too. We both know this is going to happen, so," Clark took Lex's right hand and placed in on the bulge in his jeans, "why don't we make the most of the time we've got."

Temptation came in many forms, Lex thought, but this was surely one of the craziest. Everything he'd wanted offered him on a plate, and he didn't even have to sell his soul to have it. Just blow a probable virgin in his parents' kitchen.

"Surely you don't want your first time to be like this?" Lex heard the desperation in his own voice, and knew as the words left him that they were pointless.

"Wasting time, Lex," Clark said warningly. He squeezed Lex's hand harder against himself. It hurt: Lex's fingers ached from the pressure. He wondered how Clark could take it.

Lex found himself on his knees on hard tiles, no certain knowledge of how he'd got there. Clark's hands hadn't pushed him down, and he didn't think he'd decided to do this. It seemed his traitorous body had made his mind up for him. Only Clark had ever had this effect on him, that he would instantly give way to any and all of his demands or slightest whims, had done so from the start of their friendship. A friendship that had quickly become one of the most cherished things in Lex's life.

The pressure on his hand eased, but still remained, a reminder of what Clark was expecting from him. His fingers were numb, pale and bloodless. He became aware of his own state of arousal, an angry pooling of blood in his groin. He brought his left hand up and clumsily undid buttons, finesse tossed away with Clark's sanity.

Clark impatiently shucked his jeans down, boxers too, leaving them as cuffs around his ankles. Lex unbuttoned Clark's shirt, fumbling in his haste, not sure if his eagerness was to do this, to see Clark fully exposed, or to get it over with.

Damn teeshirt. He wanted to rip it off Clark, hear the jagged sound of tearing, vent in some primitive manner his frustration at being so out of control. He tried to grip the tee, then felt his hands batted away. Clark tore the shirt himself, letting it hang like a massacred flag. He stood haughtily, his long hard cock, as big as Lex had imagined, curving up his flat belly, the uncut head leaking pre-cum like miniature beads of molten sugar. Heavy balls, swollen and dark.

Tongue tip poking out, he moved in, a quick taste, then rolled his tongue against the bridge of his mouth to savor it. Bitter, not sweet - deceptive. Like Clark. Beautiful, innocent, vicious Clark.

"Lex, I'm really not in the mood for teasing." Clark emphasized his words by placing his hands firmly on Lex's shoulders, not forcing or moving him. But Lex knew the strength in those arms, had felt it all the times Clark had saved him. Now though, they didn't feel like the arms of a savior.

He took Clark in, barely making the effort to cover his teeth or make this pleasurable. He wanted this, had wanted it since waking up from drowning with cold, wet lips on his, yet equally he hated it. He'd never considered himself a romantic, yet when it came to Clark, he clearly was. He longed for this to be slow and gentle, a perfect first time, Clark lying on clean sheets, looking nervous but hopeful, while Lex taught him the meaning of bliss. He pictured sloppy kisses, gentle bruising bites for remembrance. They would have explored each other, finding sweet, unique, sensitive points that would make each other gasp. It would have felt like a beginning, not an end.

Distracted, it startled him when Clark's cock hit the back of his throat, making him gag helplessly. He moved his hands to Clark's hips, needing some sense of control, however false. Clark allowed it, toying with him now that he was doing as Clark wanted. Now he was in his place, on his knees, obedient.

Lex's pride reared up, beating down the apathy and distaste for the way this was happening, even now determined that he would do a good job. Clark would remember this, not just for being his first time, but also for being the best.

He pulled back, admiring the wet cock, glistening with his saliva. He kissed the head, almost gently, lazily tonguing the slit, then moistened his lips and slid down. He willed his throat to relax - he'd practiced often enough in the past - and pulled on Clark's hips. Clark made a little 'mmmh' of pleasure as his penis was taken down into the tight, tight ring of Lex's throat. Lex held on as Clark slid in and out, trying to convince himself that he was the one in charge. He'd never been the weaker partner, never before felt the niggling fear that was crawling like worms around his brain, never felt his heart beat faster for all the wrong reasons. He held on tighter.

Make believe.

He needed his own release. His cock ached for touch, but he willed the throbbing out of his mind. He smoothed his hands around Clark's ass, so round and perfect it was agony that he couldn't enjoy it. One hand strayed further, finding the crease at the top of his thighs, sliding along until he reached darker, sensitive skin, feeling Clark's involuntary shudder at the unaccustomed touch.

He pulled off Clark for a moment, and wet his middle finger, sloppily. Clark held off his protest but tensed in readiness; Lex knew he wouldn't be allowed to move away.

Back onto Clark's cock, and Clark made him pay for the moment's loss of contact, setting up a punishing rhythm that would leave his throat raw tomorrow. Lex didn't care about the pain, and didn't even care if he hurt Clark now. He rammed his finger in Clark's ass, hard, in one brutal thrust. The resulting jerk sent Clark even further down his throat, left him almost suffocated in coarse pubic hair. He crooked his finger, aiming for the nub that he knew would finish Clark off, even this Clark who'd lasted far longer than any virgin had the right to.

Clark screamed and spurted frustration and lust down Lex's throat, pulsing into him until Lex truly thought his neck wouldn't survive the motion. He felt Clark soften inside him, and even now he couldn't help gently soothing his cock with his tongue, licking him clean as he slowly pulled his finger free. Thoughts of what might have been.

The crash, broken china across the room, caught him completely off guard. Then gasps, one female, one male. He thought randomly that Martha had lovely crockery, and she would hate to have a piece broken when she was always so careful. He tried to pull himself together and looked up briefly at Clark. There was no surprise on his face. No shame or dismay either. None of the emotions that should have been playing across a teenager's face when his parents walk in on him getting a blow job in their kitchen. Just satisfaction, desire sated.

Lex couldn't begin to imagine how he must look. Seeing the looks on Martha and Jonathan's faces was more than even he could deal with. It was more than enough to imagine the shock and disgust, disappointment probably. He didn't move, knelt, head hung low.

"Clark, son, let Lex go," were the first shocking words he registered, although he wasn't certain if he'd missed others. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, other than a desperation to be anywhere but here. For the first time in his life he understood the desire to sink through the floor.

Clark laughed, a merry sound that echoed in the pretty kitchen as incongruously as a priest praising Satan in a holy place. "Hi, you're home early."

"Lex, are you all right?" Lex was sure that was Martha's voice, but he couldn't have understood the words properly. She sounded concerned for him, when she should have been dragging him away from her son. He wanted to move away from his horribly obvious position in front of Clark, but he didn't know if he could stay on his feet once he got up. And still a little part of him, the part that couldn't believe in this Clark, was trying to protect the half-naked boy from his parents' view.

"You'd better go now, Lex," Jonathan added. Lex couldn't process this, why Jonathan sounded shamed and almost apologetic, when Lex should be grovelling at his feet (and wouldn't that just be an inappropriate gesture right now). Lex thought maybe he was becoming hysterical, although his only experience with hysteria was childish tantrums that his father had rapidly and efficiently beaten out of him.

He heard mutterings of frenzied conversation, whispered, 'ring' and 'destroyed' and 'why' and 'how' in staccato bursts. Clark was silent, seeming unperturbed by the chaos around him.

Lex forced himself to look up from his close examination of the kitchen floor, and to his relief, found Clark had his pants up and fastened. The mistreated teeshirt hung as a ragged reminder though, and the smell of sex lingered heavily around them.

Denial impossible.

Footsteps behind him, Jonathan's he guessed by the heavy tread, and then a strong arm pulled him to his feet. He stood groggily, all trace of arousal gone, and at least that was one thing to be thankful for, because that would make so much difference to the way this family, whose opinion and respect he'd come to long for, thought of him. He almost laughed. Thank heavens he didn't seem to be able to speak, because if he babbled as badly as the nonsense milling around in his head, who knew what he would say.

He walked in the direction that he vaguely recalled led outside, to fresh air and darkness and maybe sanity. He tried to keep his head up, but he couldn't look at anyone, couldn't see whatever was in their eyes.

"We'll do this again soon, Lex," Clark called after him, as though they'd had a family evening playing cards or watching television.

Lex didn't turn around, refused to look back.

He got into his car, not even registering which one he was driving. Dust flew up behind him as he careered out of the driveway.

Metropolis. It was time to leave Smallville behind for good.


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