Mad About You

by a campbell

Clark Kent/Lex Luthor NC-17

Thanks to fajrdrako for the speedy beta as requested.

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The Kansas countryside never made its best impressions on evenings like this. Cold and drizzly outdoors, wheat fields sodden with winter rains, damp, chill air in the barn…you certainly couldn’t get a decent view of anything, human or in the heavens, with the telescope.

Lonely and out of sorts, Clark sighed and sank back on the sofa, even though he was supposed to be studying for tomorrow’s civics exam. Now that Victoria was visiting at the mansion—Clark tried not to think crashing, freeloading-— he couldn’t hope for one of those visits from Lex that had grown more frequent as autumn faded into winter. Hard habit to break: he’d grown to enjoy the evenings when Lex would come ambling unannounced up the stairs, easy greeting stirring Clark from whatever reading or ruminating was going on. Sometimes, he’d even help with the homework.

Clark’s acceptance was casual at first. After all, he had other friends, and Lex was years older. Clark figured he probably only kept coming over because he was grateful for having his life saved and because he was new in town, cryptic comments about destiny notwithstanding. But before long, Clark would find himself thinking when afternoons at school dragged on, one class after another, “Maybe Lex will come by tonight.” And looking forward to it.

They’d traded stories, observations, and experiences during those visits. Clark missed them, everything about them, even the sorrow that settled in whenever he reflected on how barren and bleak Lex’s youth had been. Savoring the awareness, feeling privileged and special, that Lex was sharing more of himself than he ever had with anyone. That Lex was treating him, in a companionable way, like a grown man, a peer, and an equal. A welcome sensation, even if at times a somber and serious one.

But nothing in their relationship to that point had prepared him for the evening two weeks ago when everything had suddenly changed, shifted into a focus as stark and clear as a Kansas springtime afternoon. When he became a new person, not the person he thought he was, at all. He’d thought it was bizarre enough the afternoon Dad had told him he was an alien, but this was weirder still.

And now, he didn’t just nurse a casual craving for Lex’s company. He yearned, with an intense, focused desperation.

****

They’d been talking, just as usual, lounging on the threadbare sofa, one of them occasionally wandering over to the telescope, pointing it up at the frosty stars, and then drifting back. The moon had wheeled south and shone over the icy fields. Lex had stayed later than usual; he’d even brought some brandy in a flask that he kept swishing around as they talked, and before long, he began offering Clark one sip, then another. Though he knew his mom and dad would disapprove, he accepted, and before he knew it, Clark had drunk a good portion of the flask’s contents and was draining the final drops, giggling and choking like Lana and her friends when they shared one of those dumb girly inside jokes they would never let anyone else in on.

Lex was laughing, too, though Clark suspected it might be more at him and his lack of control than at the conversation. He did break off to mention more than once how pissed Clark’s dad would be if he knew about the brandy, which just made Clark snort and chuckle harder. He knew Lex well enough to know he hadn’t had many friends in his almost twenty-two years, and awareness that he was helping to assuage that ache filled him with warmth and pride. He might not get a chance to be hero on the football field or make the papers for halting a careening bus, but he could still do some good. He could be a friend to someone who needed one.

Lex was speaking more rapidly than usual, barely waiting for Clark’s hesitant responses. Clark always enjoyed Lex’s discourses about history and classical stuff, even if those weren’t his best subjects in the classroom. Even if he didn’t always catch the references. Even if he’d had a little too much to drink. He loved the way Lex made history easier to grasp, related it to things in Smallville, at school, in everyday life. Made it come alive, and Clark always learned something besides.

It was a good conversation that evening, even if Clark couldn’t quite resurrect the subject from his memory. All details had been blurred by what followed after. He could recall the warm, soft glow of Lex’s glance, illuminated by the burning candles in the loft. The way they’d drowsed in companionable peace as the dialogue wound down, though he couldn’t remember the words.

Just that Lex said something philosophical and vulnerable before his voice slowed to a halt. Clark still wasn’t sure why, but he’d been suddenly filled with such sympathy and affection that he’d leaned over and kissed Lex on the cheek. He so didn’t know where that had come from.

Lex drew back, and then, for a solid minute, they’d just stared at each other, Clark suppressing a sudden, hysterical urge to giggle. Then, Lex’s eyes drifted closed, and suddenly, incredibly, they were sharing another kiss, tongues this time, grabbing and groping each other, a flurry of flannel, denim, fine wool and linen.

Lex was pushing down on the worn, scratchy couch cushions, half on top of him, and…a panicked thought raced through Clark’s head, screaming how crazy this was; they were both guys, and friends, and guys who were friends didn’t usually, shouldn’t usually be rolling around in a barn loft kissing each other. Shouldn’t be gasping and trading spit…or touching each other…there.

And, God, his cock shouldn’t be pressing, stiff and leaking against the denim of his jeans, just because he and Lex couldn’t keep their hands off each other--should it? He shifted when they stopped for air, trying to hide himself from Lex’s gleaming gaze, which, as usual, missed nothing.

“I want to see it, Clark.” Lex was panting, pinning him with one arm. His other palm was on Clark’s crotch, fingers tickling with a feather-light touch, up, down, then grasping firmly. Clark could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric. “I want to see you.”

And it was impossible to deny Lex anything when he spoke in that velvet voice. Once again, their gazes locked. Lex was waiting. With one lightning-fast flashback to years ago, a late-summer afternoon in the south pasture with Pete, "I’ll show you mine if you show me yours..." Clark just reached for his zipper as bidden and pulled, then drew himself out.

Lex just looked down at him there for a long moment, very still, and Clark swallowed hard, and waited, unsure whether Lex liked what he saw, or--

With one greedy grasp, Lex had him, and the warmth of his hand circled and stroked. Clark’s head spun, giddy with the sensation of someone else’s hands stroking him there, and when his vision cleared enough to focus on Lex’s face, he caught his breath, because Lex looked like he’d just learned his dad had died and left him the whole company and the manor besides. He paused long enough to lick his slim, pale palm with a broad swipe of his tongue, and then those nimble, wicked fingers were back.

Lex was spread half over him, warm breath whispering a hot, hoarse, dirty stream of words into his ear as he jacked Clark’s cock, slid the thin sheaf of skin up, then down, When he slowed to a stop, Clark moaned, because it couldn’t be over, not yet. When Lex sat back, then lifted his hand to his mouth to taste, Clark heard himself gasp.

"You like this, Clark?"

Clark nodded dumbly.

"It gets better," Lex crooned in a whisper.

And in a moment Lex’s mouth was back on his, Lex’s hand was back on his cock, and Clark pretty much stopped thinking altogether. Lex pressed into his thigh, and Clark realized with an excited thrill that he was hard, too, and humping him, not rabidly, just a quick, decisive thrust now and then. Clark remembered that his sneakered foot had slipped from the couch and hit the wooden floor with an embarrassing squeak, and that, blessedly, Lex paid no attention.

Clark just gave himself up, let it happen.

"Fuck," Lex panted in the sexiest, most desperate voice imaginable. "Fuck, Clark—“

Within seconds, Clark was in the midst of a full-body shudder, cock pulsing in Lex’s grip, and he was coming all over Lex’s hand, his clothes, everything, before collapsing back on the couch.

He glanced up at Lex through lashes and scraggly bangs as his breathing slowed, realizing gradually what a gigantic mess he’d made.

Just kill me now, he thought.

But Lex didn’t seem upset or grossed out. He stood up, coasted a palm over his wet trousers. Wet from inside, Clark was relieved to see, in addition to his own creamy strands rapidly soaking into the fine fabric from the outside. Lex hadn’t acted embarrassed at all as he reached for his jacket. Clark reached over, fumbling for the box of tissues on the end table, pulled out a handful and handed two or three to Lex as warm blood flooded his cheeks. He was trembling, hard, but Lex paid no attention, in fact, cleaned up quickly and smoothly, zipped up and reached down to trail a fingertip from Clark’s cheekbone down to his jaw.

Maybe Lex did things like this all the time.

Lex shook his head, with that small smile Clark loved. "Don’t say anything, Clark."

And Clark dumbly watched him descend the stairs. The rev of the Aston Martin’s engine a few moments later broke the silence and within seconds had died away into the night.

Clark stayed in the loft till day broke over the fresh blanket of snow on the surrounding fields--no way could he go back in the house with his folks in there, his senses heightened, charged as they were. He lay awake during the night just remembering, savoring the new sensations, jacking off every hour or so to the memory of Lex’s hands on him, Lex’s tongue in his mouth, Lex’s mouth on his neck...He spent the whole next couple of days in a hazy daze of pleased, embarrassed satisfaction, though at times it was almost as if there were green meteor rocks lurking around. Clark looked forward to more, and soon. In fact, he could barely wait.

That weekend was the museum opening, their first real "date," but now that Victoria was at the mansion, Lex hadn’t dropped by the farm at all. And Clark didn’t know if maybe he hadn’t been good enough for Lex to bother coming back. Maybe he should have done more, been more active and aggressive, instead of just lying there letting Lex do it all. Maybe he sucked as a lover, so bad that Lex decided he didn’t even want him for a friend.

But he’d done his produce deliveries as usual, and Lex had been friendly, same cool, assessing expression as always, but Victoria was there every darn time, hanging all over him, challenging gaze keeping Clark at a distance and urging him to a hasty departure, slow burn of jealousy in his throat notwithstanding.

Maybe he should just try to train his thoughts back to focusing on Lana, and forget about sex with guys.

With Lex. Lex apparently had. And somehow, he felt alone and abandoned at the thought.

Oh, well. It was just a one-time thing, and no wonder Lex hadn’t been back to the loft since. The whole thing had probably freaked him out, and now that he had a girl like Victoria living with him--

Should have freaked Clark out, too, but it hadn’t.

He just wanted more.

***

A light touch on his hair, and he jerked awake with a sleepy snort, scrambled into a sitting position, to meet Lex’s drowsy, lidded gaze.

“Hey,” Lex’s voice was soft in the quiet air. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Clark rubbed his eyes. Then thanked God he was really awake and this wasn’t a dream.

Act casual, he ordered himself sternly. “Where’s Victoria?” he demanded with a yawn and a stretch.

“Sleeping. So I came over here for some company, but: must be one of those sleepy evenings.” Lex shrugged, and Clark wondered crazily whether he had the flask in one of his pockets again tonight.

“Oh. Um. Guess so.”

“Move over.”

One thought stood out in Clark’s mind, and one only, clear as the North Star.

Were they going to do it again?

***

He waited uneasily, not knowing what to say.

"You haven’t been over to the mansion lately. A delivery here and there, but no real visits."

"You’re always busy, now," Clark replied with a shrug. "With Victoria--she’s always—" He took a deep breath. "I never know what I’m going to walk in on." After speaking, he could have kicked himself, because it wasn’t as if Lex couldn’t do what he wanted in his own house, after all, and--

Lex turned to face Clark, reached out a hand. Clark looked down at Lex’s open palm, then up at his face, felt the smile fade from his lips.

"Victoria," Lex said slowly, holding Clark’s gaze. "Doesn’t change a thing between you and me."

Clark’s heart jumped at the words, and, no, he wasn’t going to get hard just from that. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, inexplicably cross, all of a sudden.

What’s to change? Clark wondered grumpily. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling suddenly cross now that Lex was here, which was just what he'd wanted. It was just that it had been two long weeks since…since that night, and he’d so yearned for them to be together again alone, and now Lex was making it sound as though he, Clark, was the one who had punked out on the friendship...the relationship. He should say that, say something like--

Would Lex kiss him again? Touch him? His fingers ached to touch the pearl-smooth skin of Lex’s face, his scalp.

"What if she wakes up and wonders where you are?"

Lex shrugged. "She’s a sound sleeper."

Okay, so it didn’t take much to cheer him up. Lex waited. Clark licked his lips and hesitated, then a quick intake of breath, and he continued.

"Besides, I thought maybe you were mad. About last time, I mean."

"Mad?" Lex gave a surprised chuckle. "Why would I be mad?"

"I don’t know," Clark said, flushing with discomfort. "Because it was...weird?"

It was a long moment before Lex responded, and Clark died a few thousand times before he did.

"Weird. I’d hardly call it that."

Clark turned a searching gaze toward him, but Lex didn’t meet his eyes. "Memorable. Fantastic. Maybe even destiny. But not weird."

Was he joking? Clark let it sink in, listened to instincts that told him Lex was dead serious. And that, even if those instincts were dead wrong, he was going for it. He exhaled and broke into a slow grin, and Lex smiled, too. He reached out as Clark leaned toward him, grasped Clark’s face, held him steady.

"Not weird at all." He leaned in and buried his face in Clark’s neck, gently and with a light caress of his tongue. Clark felt warm breath as Lex exhaled on a sigh and then licked up his jaw, and, wow, he couldn’t help it: he was really hard, now.

Lex nipped, light and beyond delicate, right by the jugular.

And that was it, and they were all over each other again. Lex breathing hard and fumbling at Clark’s fly, Clark panting as he tried to assist, both of them muttering curse words under their breath

Lex had him out in the cold barn air, and was falling to his knees on the dusty loft floor, not seeming to care about what might happen to his fine trousers. Clark’s chest rose and fell, he squeezing his eyes tight shut as Lex bent down, felt the firm yet gentle grasp of his fingers on warm flesh…he waited, and…and, God, that mouth…this was a million times better than last time, fantastic as those memories were. Clark could have kicked himself for the squeaky whimper that escaped from his lips at the intensity of the sensation. But Lex didn’t seem to notice. He just kept sucking hard and swirling that magic tongue of his around the head, making the sexiest slurping sounds, alternately deep-throating him until Clark’s was sure his cock was as deep in as it could go. Even as out of it as he was, Clark was careful to be gentle as he cupped Lex’s head in his hands, guiding him to touch, taste in just the right spots.

***

They lay quiet afterward, cuddled under the worn afghan made by Clark’s great-grandmother on the Kent side. A stupid cow in the pasture under the loft window kept making this dumb snorting sound, and it was so cold that Clark could see his breath in the dim light when he coughed. He lay on his back with his arm around Lex, who was curled on his chest and had finally stopped shivering. Clark was glad to have been the one to have helped him get warm.

Life was pretty good, right about now, he decided.

"Hey." Clark reached to tip Lex’s face up to his, then leaned in to tease his lips open with his tongue and bestow his best, most adult kiss: the one he’d practiced on his wrist all those nights when he was alone and wishing Lex were here with him. Mouth open, slow, lingering and wet, the small, smacking sound louder than you’d expect in the still, cold air. Lex seemed to like it just fine; his arms tightened around Clark as he returned the kiss. Clark was pretty sure he’d liked it when Clark sucked him off, too, giving as good as he’d gotten a few minutes before, and proud of being such a fast learner.

So, time to make his move. "You staying here tonight?" he asked, and waited almost in fear for Lex’s answer.

Which never really came. Lex pushed himself up on an elbow and stared down at Clark with what looked for a brief moment like confusion. And Lex was never confused, thought Clark, was always so sure of himself, so focused.

"Maybe I was mad," Lex said after a moment, seeming a little dazed. "Mad about you."

They gazed at each other for a long moment as a slow smile spread across Clark’s face.

Lex sank down beside him again and pulled him over. Clark curled up on his chest this time, eyes gliding shut. Because no way in the world could he argue with that, whatever tomorrow might bring for both of them.

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