A Very Luthor Christmas - Part Two - finished
WAITING ON CHRISTMAS, TOO
Clark lay cradled in his hammock, surrounded by silence and his childhood. The scattered piles of books and CD's screamed out his youth and lack of sophistication. Dr. Seuss, Goosebumps and Tom Clancy for teens, nothing complicated, nothing with difficult ideas or hard words. The CD's were all alt-rock crap, with a little hip-hop, perfect prepackaged danger and teen angst, pap for mooks and baby-sluts. False edges and manufactured anger cleanly shrink wrapped for the priviledged children of the western middle class. As he lay in the hammock, head wrapped in the first quilt his mother ever made him, rubbing his cheek with the faded arm of a terrycloth Pooh Bear, Clark wondered if it could be any worse. If he could be any younger, any dumber, any less worthy of Lex Luthor.
He cursed himself for his impulsive behavior. Why had he chosen this shrine to his youth and inexperience to tell Lex the truth? He could have made his confession in one of Lex's cars, at the castle or in a field of fucking corn and it would have been better than here. But two days ago, with Lex teasing him about the pros and cons of Chloe over Lana, Clark couldn't take it any more. When Lex feinted towards him to slap the back of his head, Clark grabbed Lex by the wrist and pulled the older boy onto his lap. Lex didn't struggle or protest, he just went perfectly still.
Clark new about snakes before they struck and storms before they hit; but with Lex's ass pressed into his lap, he missed the clear warning. He pressed his forehead against the side of Lex's head and whispered in his ear. Whispered all the things that had been insidde him since the day on the bridge. Clark licked confusion and need and love into the shell of Lex's ear and savored the slow ache of his dick as it hardened under the weight of repression, lies and Lex.
For one joyful moment Clark thought it had worked. Lex had shifted to straddle him, put his hands in Clark's hair, leaned in and devoured Clark's mouth. For a hundred heartbeats, Lex had kissed him, sucking his tongue, caressing his soul, moving the ache in Clark's groin into his chest. Lex drank the noises Clark was making like he drank brandy and scotch, slowly savoring the taste, letting the sound fill his mouth and slip down his throat. Clark could feel Lex's hardness against his stomach and he needed to do more than kiss Lex. He needed to touch him, lick him, fill him, make Lex happy.
Then Lex drew back, put his hand on Clark's shoulders and looked into his eyes. A hundred heartbeats of happiness and then reality, because Lex's eyes were cold. Like glaciers or frozen milk or the coldest of the cold things in the most distant part of the galaxy, Lex's gaze froze time and Clark and himself.
Then Lex laughed and it was cold too. He laughed and began to rock on Clark's lap. Apparently the only insulated thing Clark had was his dick, because the feel of Lex's cock scraping over his created a spike of heat he couldn't resist. He began to arch up into Lex, who pushed down, his hands on Clark's chest clawing at his shirt, finding his nipples, pinching and tugging, spreading heat, inflaming. The cold wasn't gone, though. It burned in Lex's eyes, dripped out of his mouth into Clark's ear. Poison words about teenage hormones and half-truth's and second choices filled Clark, and he tried to struggle, tried to push Lex away and make him understand that it was not anything like that. But all the steel in him was between his thighs and he couldn't stop rocking. He couldn't muster his strength against the feeling. He tried to move his hands to touch Lex, to make him understand how much this was, the truth of what it meant; he tried to struggle against the cold and the heat and Lex's pain. All he could do was come.
While he was shaking and trying to move, Lex stood up, stepped back and ran his hand over his slightly rumpled shirt. Clark could see Lex's cock was still hard, but everything else was anything but cold as he stared down at the disheveled, juddering mess on the couch before him.
"Merry Christmas, Clark," was all Lex said. Then he turned like a knife in soft flesh and left Clark, sticky, sick and alone.
By the time Clark located his sanity, cleaned his body and changed his clothes, Lex was gone. His mother and father were at the castle helping Lionel place some old Christmas decorations and the staff was muscling the largest Christmas tree Clark had ever seen into the great hall. Eavesdropping, he discovered that Lex had had a huge argument with his father and left, likely taking the Luthor Corp plane to London.
So Clark was alone in his hammock, with his blankie and his bear, lamenting his lack of sophistication, wondering what exactly he should do. He couldn't run to London, but maybe he could swim. Or should he just wait? Lex would surely be back at some point; obviously Lionel was expecting him, or why the huge tree. And when he found Lex, what would he do? Try again to make Lex understand how badly Clark needed him, pretend nothing had happened between them, force Lex to admit that he wanted Clark just as badly, that he needed Clark to show him how to love another person.
Clark was pretty sure Lex's reaction was fear, not anger or disgust. He just had no idea where the fear was coming from or how to make it go away. No clue how to get Lex to let go of his iron control and let Clark love him. No one who could advise him, give him strategies, help him make a plan that would convince Lex to admit he loved Clark back.
Inactivity was foreign to him, but he had no choice. Clark would wait for Lex to come back and find some way to make him understand. Pandora's box was open and the truth was loose. Surely Lex would not be able to ignore it. Clark had shown Lex the possibility of happiness, now all he had to do was wait.
Clark lay cradled in his hammock, surrounded by silence and his childhood. The scattered piles of books and CD's screamed out his youth and lack of sophistication. Dr. Seuss, Goosebumps and Tom Clancy for teens, nothing complicated, nothing with difficult ideas or hard words. The CD's were all alt-rock crap, with a little hip-hop, perfect prepackaged danger and teen angst, pap for mooks and baby-sluts. False edges and manufactured anger cleanly shrink wrapped for the priviledged children of the western middle class. As he lay in the hammock, head wrapped in the first quilt his mother ever made him, rubbing his cheek with the faded arm of a terrycloth Pooh Bear, Clark wondered if it could be any worse. If he could be any younger, any dumber, any less worthy of Lex Luthor.
He cursed himself for his impulsive behavior. Why had he chosen this shrine to his youth and inexperience to tell Lex the truth? He could have made his confession in one of Lex's cars, at the castle or in a field of fucking corn and it would have been better than here. But two days ago, with Lex teasing him about the pros and cons of Chloe over Lana, Clark couldn't take it any more. When Lex feinted towards him to slap the back of his head, Clark grabbed Lex by the wrist and pulled the older boy onto his lap. Lex didn't struggle or protest, he just went perfectly still.
Clark new about snakes before they struck and storms before they hit; but with Lex's ass pressed into his lap, he missed the clear warning. He pressed his forehead against the side of Lex's head and whispered in his ear. Whispered all the things that had been insidde him since the day on the bridge. Clark licked confusion and need and love into the shell of Lex's ear and savored the slow ache of his dick as it hardened under the weight of repression, lies and Lex.
For one joyful moment Clark thought it had worked. Lex had shifted to straddle him, put his hands in Clark's hair, leaned in and devoured Clark's mouth. For a hundred heartbeats, Lex had kissed him, sucking his tongue, caressing his soul, moving the ache in Clark's groin into his chest. Lex drank the noises Clark was making like he drank brandy and scotch, slowly savoring the taste, letting the sound fill his mouth and slip down his throat. Clark could feel Lex's hardness against his stomach and he needed to do more than kiss Lex. He needed to touch him, lick him, fill him, make Lex happy.
Then Lex drew back, put his hand on Clark's shoulders and looked into his eyes. A hundred heartbeats of happiness and then reality, because Lex's eyes were cold. Like glaciers or frozen milk or the coldest of the cold things in the most distant part of the galaxy, Lex's gaze froze time and Clark and himself.
Then Lex laughed and it was cold too. He laughed and began to rock on Clark's lap. Apparently the only insulated thing Clark had was his dick, because the feel of Lex's cock scraping over his created a spike of heat he couldn't resist. He began to arch up into Lex, who pushed down, his hands on Clark's chest clawing at his shirt, finding his nipples, pinching and tugging, spreading heat, inflaming. The cold wasn't gone, though. It burned in Lex's eyes, dripped out of his mouth into Clark's ear. Poison words about teenage hormones and half-truth's and second choices filled Clark, and he tried to struggle, tried to push Lex away and make him understand that it was not anything like that. But all the steel in him was between his thighs and he couldn't stop rocking. He couldn't muster his strength against the feeling. He tried to move his hands to touch Lex, to make him understand how much this was, the truth of what it meant; he tried to struggle against the cold and the heat and Lex's pain. All he could do was come.
While he was shaking and trying to move, Lex stood up, stepped back and ran his hand over his slightly rumpled shirt. Clark could see Lex's cock was still hard, but everything else was anything but cold as he stared down at the disheveled, juddering mess on the couch before him.
"Merry Christmas, Clark," was all Lex said. Then he turned like a knife in soft flesh and left Clark, sticky, sick and alone.
By the time Clark located his sanity, cleaned his body and changed his clothes, Lex was gone. His mother and father were at the castle helping Lionel place some old Christmas decorations and the staff was muscling the largest Christmas tree Clark had ever seen into the great hall. Eavesdropping, he discovered that Lex had had a huge argument with his father and left, likely taking the Luthor Corp plane to London.
So Clark was alone in his hammock, with his blankie and his bear, lamenting his lack of sophistication, wondering what exactly he should do. He couldn't run to London, but maybe he could swim. Or should he just wait? Lex would surely be back at some point; obviously Lionel was expecting him, or why the huge tree. And when he found Lex, what would he do? Try again to make Lex understand how badly Clark needed him, pretend nothing had happened between them, force Lex to admit that he wanted Clark just as badly, that he needed Clark to show him how to love another person.
Clark was pretty sure Lex's reaction was fear, not anger or disgust. He just had no idea where the fear was coming from or how to make it go away. No clue how to get Lex to let go of his iron control and let Clark love him. No one who could advise him, give him strategies, help him make a plan that would convince Lex to admit he loved Clark back.
Inactivity was foreign to him, but he had no choice. Clark would wait for Lex to come back and find some way to make him understand. Pandora's box was open and the truth was loose. Surely Lex would not be able to ignore it. Clark had shown Lex the possibility of happiness, now all he had to do was wait.