Friends Don't Let Friends
Wear Plaid Schoolgirl Skirts




 

 

The ringing of the phone startled Clark Kent out of his doze. It took him a moment to get his bearings. He was in the living room of his house, sprawled on the couch in his boxers, watching the Godzilla marathon with his eyes closed. Godzilla roared at Mothra. The phone rang again.

Clark glanced at the clock on the VCR and bolted upright. It was after three in the morning. Panic infused him and he scrambled for the phone. His parents were in Metropolis for the weekend and the only reason he'd get a call this time of the morning was, if there was an emergency. Visions of car accidents and hospital emergency rooms splashed across his mind's eye as he grabbed the phone receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello, Clark."

"Lex?" Clark said worriedly. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

A smoky chuckle came over the line. "I'm feeling very good, Clark. Thank you for asking."

"Then what's wrong?" Clark asked. He peered out the kitchen window into the dark backyard. The sun wouldn't rise for another two hours, but the local meteor mutants tended to have no regard for the clock.

"I can't find my car," Lex sighed forlornly. In the background, Clark could hear a steady thumping.

"You called me at 3:20 in the morning to tell me you can't find your car?" Clark was confused. "You're not kidnapped or dying, or anything like that?"

"It's a beautiful car."

"Lex, are you drunk?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. Depends."

Clark took that as a yes. Still, he asked, "It depends on what?"

"If you count being drunk on love." Lex sighed again. "I want my car."

Clark put one and one together and got: "You love your car?"

"It's red," Clark was told, as if that made complete sense.

It was Clark's turn to sigh. "Lex, why did you call me?"

"Because I need help," Lex said, "and I always call you when I need help, and you always come." Lex giggled — giggled! — and added in what Clark supposed was a seductive tone, "Will you come for me, Clark?"

Ignoring the blatant double entendre, it wasn't a difficult decision. Clark couldn't leave an intoxicated Lex to fend for himself. If anything did happen to him, like kidnapping or death, Clark would never forgive himself. "Where are you?"

"Warehouse Fifty-One."

"Where?"

"Warehouse Fifty-One. It's part of Gordon Metals," Lex said. "My car should be here, but I can't find it. I miss my car."

Clark ignored the car woes, as he wracked his brain for the location of Gordon Metals. It definitely wasn't in Smallville. "Lex, are you in Metropolis?"

"Uh-huh."

Clark thought about Lex standing alone for hours while he drove to Metropolis. "Stay put. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"That's mighty fast," Lex said suspiciously.

"I'm already in Metropolis," Clark lied. "Our calls are being forwarded here." He crossed his fingers, hoping Lex wouldn't ask where ‘here' was.

"Okay," Lex said. "I'll be waiting." He disconnected without saying good-bye.

Clark hung up the phone, scrubbed a hand over his face, and headed for the computer. He needed to find where in Metropolis Gordon Metals was located, before getting dressed and running to rescue his intoxicated friend. Despite the late hour, Clark didn't mind; that's what friends were for, after all.



***



Running was its own form of intoxication. Clark felt like he was almost flying, the colors of the world blurring together, as his feet ate up the distance between Smallville and Metropolis. The crisp fall air felt refreshing against his skin through his jeans, blue t-shirt, and light-weight beige jacket. The early morning sky was clear, stars forming streaks across the dark heavens as he ran, until the artificial lights of the city became too bright. It was the perfect night for Clark to keep running until he met the sun, but Lex was waiting for a rescue and Clark would never disregard a friend in need.

Gordon Metals, along with several other companies, was located in the warehouse district of East Metropolis. The warehouse district wasn't too desolate or rundown, but it was not a place Clark would have guessed Lex would visit. Rusted metal and brick buildings, with broken windows and graffitied walls, were lined in rows for miles. Pallets, dumpsters, tires, and garbage littered the truck-wide streets between the warehouses. The air smelled dirty and smoky. Clark could see orange flames flickering behind a few windows and a quick investigation revealed homeless people sleeping around barrel fires inside the buildings.

Warehouse Fifty-One was in the heart of the district. Clark heard the sound of thumping long before he reached the warehouse. He slowed to a jog. A sea of various types of cars was parked along the sides of the streets, barely leaving room to drive down the center. He rolled his eyes when he spotted Lex's Mustang — the vanity plates confirmed it — parked between a brown Renault and a beaten up yellow Volvo, a couple blocks from Warehouse Fifty-One. The car looked to be all in one piece, so it was merely because Lex was intoxicated that he couldn't find his car.

The thumping became louder and louder as Clark neared Warehouse Fifty-One, and he realized it was music that he was hearing. He could make out other tones when he concentrated. It was that weird, wordless dance music. Trance, maybe. Or Industrial. Clark wasn't too up on his music identification skills, but he did know it was the type of music that was played at raves.

Clark tried to wrap his mind around the idea of Lex Luthor, the cool sophisticate, at a rave. The only raves Clark had seen were on television, but he still couldn't picture Lex amongst the writhing, sweaty mass of bodies, dancing and doing drugs (at least, on television the ravers always did drugs). Lex was the right age to be at a rave, but it was Lex. Lex fenced and quoted history. He went to Dinners with a capital ‘D'. He ran his own company, lived alone in a castle (the servants didn't count), and drank old scotch from crystal glasses. Cutting loose to Lex was splurging on a new car and playing billiards or chess. He didn't even own a t-shirt!

Clark saw Lex leaning against the wall outside of Warehouse Fifty-One behind a black El Camino and smiled to himself. Lex was wearing a white shirt and dark striped tie, the only deference to casualness was that the tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. The shirt looked damp, but there were no rips or mesh, no leather, no strange makeup, no weird piercings or collars evident; it was just Lex as usual. Okay, he was sucking on an Icee Pop, half of the flavored blue ice gone from the clear plastic wrapping, and maybe there was a glittery sheen to his face and bare skull — and were those hickies on his neck? — but overall he was still Lex.

Except for the part where he had no pants.

"Clark, you're here!" Lex smiled a wide, blue-tinted smile of welcome.

Clark couldn't answer. Lex wasn't wearing pants. He was wearing a skirt.

Clark had come around the El Camino to find a pair of pale, muscular, freckled bare legs that had been hidden from view by the car, instead of the trousers he'd expected on Lex. Black socks were pulled up over Lex's calves, folded neatly at the top, his feet tucked into smudged dress shoes. His white dress shirttails were hanging loose, almost hiding a red, green, and gold plaid schoolgirl skirt.

It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Seeing Lex in a skirt was like... seeing Lex in a skirt. And no, Clark wasn't turned on by it, because that would be kinky and Clark was a good ol' boy.

Lex had cute knees.

Clark groaned inaudibly. Cute knees? Lex?? All right, Clark knew that he had a stronger-than-friendship attraction for Lex — which he forcibly ignored — but that was just wrong. Just like Lex wearing a skirt was wrong. "I'm here, but your pants seem to be gone."

"Stacey was cold," Lex told Clark with an absent shrug, which explained absolutely nothing.

"Who's Stacey?"

"The girl who was cold." Lex sounded as though he was speaking to an idiot.

"Um, okay," Clark said. "This girl, Stacey, was cold, and you gave her your pants?"

Lex nodded and sucked on his Icee Pop, slurping messily. The sound was extremely dirty, and being male, Clark's brain happily supplied images of other activities that caused that sound. In Dolby Digital.

Clark had the sudden urge to suggest playing Headmaster and Naughty Schoolgirl with Lex.

Groan.

Clark closed his eyes a moment. He needed to concentrate if he wanted to keep his sanity. There had to be a logical, perhaps even comical, reason why Lex was wearing what he was wearing. "And you're wearing a skirt because...?"

Lex rolled his eyes in a very juvenile manner. "I couldn't walk around half-naked, Clark. I traded Stacey my pants for her skirt."

"Of course." Because that made perfect sense. Not.

Casually, Clark leaned closer to Lex and sniffed. Lex smelled of sweat and a hint of spice, but not alcohol. Lex's eyes were focused, he wasn't swaying, and he hadn't slurred his words. Huh. Clark sniffed again, to make sure. No alcohol, but there was an intoxicating scent of maleness that made Clark inhale deeply again.

"Are you sniffing me?"

"Uh, yeah." Clark straightened and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I was trying to see if you were drunk."

"I'm not drunk, Clark," Lex said. "I told you that on the phone."

"But you're wearing a skirt."

Lex's smile was slow and seductive, his tone a velvety purr. "Does that turn you on, Clark?"

"What? No," Clark said quickly, taking a step back. He was not aroused by a skirt, especially not by Lex in a skirt. Even if he had cute knees. "I think it's weird."

"I think you're lying." Lex took a step forward, then two, closing the distance between them. He dropped the Icee Pop, put a hand on Clark's chest, and leaned into him. Lex tilted his chin up, licked his lips with a blue-tinted tongue, and whispered huskily, "I think you want to fuck me."

Clark's eyes went round in shock. How did Lex know... wait, no. Just because Clark was aroused as heck, from the slurping and the skirt, and those knees, that didn't mean he wanted to lift Lex onto the hood of the El Camino and take him hard and fast while holding those knees open wide, until there was screaming and orgasming and spunk everywhere. How could Lex even think that? "Are you high or something?"

The glitter bright smile matched Lex's glittery head. "Or something." He stroked his hand downward. "Have you ever heard of Ecstasy, Clark?"

"YeeEEES." Clark jumped back a foot when Lex squeezed parts of Clark he shouldn't be squeezing in the state Clark's parts were in. "It's the touchy-feely party drug."

Another smile. "That's right."

"Is that what you're on?"

"Partly."

Clark was appalled. "Partly? You're on more than one drug?"

"Black market X is always cut with something else, Clark." Lex started prowling towards Clark. "What I took was no exception."

Clark grabbed Lex's wrists before he could touch Clark again. Okay, kink Clark could understand. Alcohol, too. But drugs? "What are you doing here, Lex? This isn't you."

Lex's fine brows arched. "Are you an expert on Lex Luthor behaviorism?"

"I'd like to think I know you well enough," Clark snapped.

"Ah, but if you did, you'd know that I came with someone, who ran off to come with someone else." Lex sniggered at his own unfunny joke.

"Do I need to worry about this woman, too?"

"No. Eric will be fine. He's probably being boned as we speak."

Clark couldn't believe Lex just used the word ‘boned.' He believed even less that Lex was out with a guy, and from the sound of it, they didn't go as pals. He would have to deal with the consequences of that revelation later, when he wasn't mad about Lex being high on god-knows-what. He released Lex's wrists. "Good. I found your car. Do you have your keys?"

The keys were in Lex's sock, along with his cell phone. He passed the keys over easily. "You drive. I'm under the influence."

"I'll say," Clark muttered angrily. He saw Lex shiver, removed his jacket, and offered it to the other man. "Here. Put this on."

Lex beamed a grateful smile at him and put on the jacket. "Thanks. Now I know why Stacey was cold."

The beige jacket, coupled with the untucked shirt, tie, skirt, socks, and glitter, made Lex look ridiculously sexy. Creamy skin begging to be touched, knees that needed to be kissed, long legs disappearing under the skirt, a bulge creating amok of the skirt's plaits. Catholic School Boy Gone Bad. Clark was going to hell.

Stay on track, Clark repeated to himself. He was angry. Grr. "What are you doing here, Lex? And why the hell did you do drugs?"

Lex shrugged. "I wanted to relax."

"There are other ways to relax besides drugs," Clark chastised sharply.

"I know, but I didn't have any condoms." Lex shivered again. "Can we go before my dick freezes off and I don't have to worry about needing rubbers any more?"

"Yeah. Come on." The sooner Lex was out of the public eye, the better. The thought of a picture of Lex dressed like a schoolgirl slut splashed across the front page of the Inquisitor made Clark hustle Lex to the Mustang and safely ensconce him inside the car.

Clark settled behind the steering wheel after adjusting the seat, put on his seatbelt, and started the car. He glanced at Lex, who was buckling himself in. "Where to?"

"Home."

"Where's that?" Clark asked patiently, wanting to know if he was driving back to Smallville or not.

"Anywhere you are," was Lex's response.

Clark hadn't seen that one coming. Lust and anger were quickly replaced by something different, something more. His chest tightened in a surge of emotion for his friend. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough when he said, "I meant, the castle or the penthouse?"

"The penthouse," Lex said, frowning out the windshield. "I should get a place of my own. I hate staying with Dad when I'm in town. I hate Dad."

Clark put the car in drive and got underway. He'd been to the penthouse before, and his photographic memory of the street map of Metropolis ensured he could find it without directions from the warehouse district.

The car was quiet. Clark drove the empty streets, listening to the purr of the engine in the otherwise silent early morning. The scenery passed by quickly, warehouses giving way to storefronts; storefronts to office buildings and high rises. False dawn turned the sky a foggy grey, and Clark noted that it looked like rain was in the forecast for later.

"I'm going to jack off," Lex said out of the blue.

"You're what?" Clark turned his attention from the road to Lex, and his eyes bugged. Lex's skirt was flipped up and he had his dick in his hand.

Gah.

"Where's your underwear?" Clark blurted stupidly, jerking his eyes away from Lex's crotch when Lex began to stroke himself. It was impolite to stare. But it was polite to offer a helping hand…

"Wasn't wearing any," Lex answered. He hummed in his throat. Clark whimpered in counterpoint. "God, this feels good. I've been horny all night. If I'd known Eric was going to drag me to Fifty-One, I would've stopped for condoms. It's been way too long since I've gotten laid."

Clark couldn't believe what Lex was doing. If Lex weren't on drugs, Clark would've taken Lex's display as a not-too-subtle offer for Clark to jump him. Instead, with his face burning, Clark kept his head facing forward.

He could still see Lex out of the corner of his eye. Lex used his left hand to jerk off. Clark was going to drive off the road.

"I'm kind of afraid to have sex, actually," Lex went on, oblivious to the fact that Clark was almost frothing at the mouth. "Apparently, every person I sleep with has had sex with my father, too."

"What?" Clark looked automatically at Lex in distress, got an eyeful of Lex's erection, and snapped his gaze quickly to the front. Lex was quite... freckled. And a redhead. And cut. And slightly curved. And visibly veined. And leaking pre-cum. And fit snugly in the circle of Lex's hand.

Clark cursed his photographic memory. He also cursed his painfully aching hard on. He wasn't allowed to be aroused by his friends anymore. Strangers, yes; celebrities, yes; friends, no, because that could lead to what happened with Chloe and she still wasn't comfortable around Clark after months post-breakup.

"It's true," Lex said conversationally, hand stroking away. "I haven't had sex since my darling father told me, in disgustingly graphic detail when I confronted him, of every one of my partners he's been with, too, which is basically anyone I can remember by name."

"That's disgusting," Clark sympathized.

"Isn't it?" Lex said. "That's one of the reasons I stopped coming on to you after Victoria. I would die if my father got his... hooks... into you."

"Gross!" Clark shuddered in revulsion. "I would never have sex with your dad." Wait, Lex had been coming on to him? When had that happened?

"So you say, but Lionel Luthor has a way of getting people to do what he wants." Lex sighed forlornly. "I wilted."

Clark shouldn't have looked, but he did. Sure enough, little Lex was limp. And still freckled. And surrounded by coarse red hair. And beautifully cut. And--

Clark stopped looking before he volunteered for fluffer duty. A bisexual teenager could only take so much and he'd always thought Lex was sexy, even though he'd forced any sexual attraction he had for Lex out of his mind.

Lex flipped down his skirt, sighed again, and muttered, "Thanks, Dad. Even when you're not here, you ruin my pleasure."

Clark didn't know what to say to comfort Lex. What could you say to the man who could no longer jerk off in the car in front of his best friend, because he'd lost his erection while talking about his father? Other than the obvious: 'want me to suck you off?'

The rest of the trip was made in silence. They reached the glitzy heart of downtown Metropolis where the Luthor penthouse was located. Across from Washington Park, the penthouse was on the topmost floor of a residential high rise. Security stationed at the entry to the parking garage let Clark in after seeing Lex. Clark ground his teeth at the smirk that curled the security guard's lips as he waved them by.

The second level of the garage was reserved for all the Luthor vehicles. Clark found an empty spot near the elevators and parked the Mustang.

"My coat and wallet are in the trunk," Lex said. Clark popped the trunk before following Lex out of the car.

The elevator ride to the penthouse was swift and silent. Lex used his key and pass-code to open the outer doors. "Are you coming in?"

Clark nodded. "If only to make sure you go to bed."

Lex smiled wolfishly. "I like the sound of that."

Clark lightly pushed Lex inside the penthouse. Having been there before, it wasn't difficult to traverse the dark halls to Lex's bedroom. Entering the room, Clark flipped on the overhead light and closed the door behind him. The bedroom reminded Clark of a hotel room, tidy and impersonal. A king-sized bed, flanked by matching nightstands, took up most of the room. An armoire across from the bed hid a television and stereo. Framed paintings of desolate landscapes hung on the beige walls.

Lex toed off his shoes and collapsed face-first onto the bed with great fanfare, giving Clark a spectacular view of Lex's ass. Nice. Clark shook his head and went in search of Lex's pajamas in the walk-in closet before he attacked his drugged friend. He located a pair of cotton boxers in one of the drawers set into the closet wall and returned to the bedroom, to find Lex standing beside the bed, wearing only freckles, glitter, and a big, shiny smile.

Urf.

Clark could only take so much. One hundred-percent naked Lex would turn anyone into a slobbering puddle of drool, and Clark was definitely anyone.

But... Lex was high.

It was possibly the toughest thing Clark had ever done in his life, but he managed to do it. "Get dressed, you idiot." He chucked the boxers at Lex. They landed on Lex's glittery head, covering half of his face. The smile grew, and he grabbed the boxers off his head and stepped into them.

"Stay and watch television with me?" Lex asked, climbing onto the bed.

Clark really wanted to run to the safety of his empty home, where he could jerk off to the vision of a certain bald man with sexy knees, but his heartstrings were being tugged by the hopeful look Lex was wearing and the decision was taken out of his hands. "Sure. Let me hit the head, first."

Lex's smile returned, and Clark fled to the en suite bathroom. Door locked, pants down, erection in hand, and Lexlexlexlexlexlexlexlexlexlex....

Seven minutes later, Clark returned to the bedroom, relieved and ready to sit with Lex. The overhead light was off and the television on. He shed his shoes and joined Lex on the bed. He propped pillows against the headboard, leaned back, and comfortably stretched his legs in front of him. He was thoroughly surprised when Lex glommed onto him. One arm and one leg were thrown over him, and Lex nuzzled Clark's stomach. A soft, content sigh warmed Clark's skin through his t-shirt.

Clark pulled his trapped hand from beneath Lex and put it on Lex's bare shoulder. He felt Lex smile against his stomach.

It was very odd to have Lex acting so non-Lexian. Clark didn't mind the near-cuddling, he'd grown up in a demonstrative home, but Lex was selective in his displays of affection. He and Lex had shared only two hugs in all the time they'd known each other. The anti-drug lecturers weren't kidding when they called Ecstasy the touchy-feely drug.

Clark focused on the television and tried to relax. He didn't have to worry about being away from home since his parents were gone, and chores could wait. He had a brief thought for Lionel, but didn't care enough about him to worry.

Lex was quiet for a while, lying snuggled against Clark and watching television. Woody Woodpecker segued into Bugs Bunny, and Clark had started to wonder if Lex had fallen asleep when Lex said, "Would you make love to me, Clark?"

Clark blinked slowly. On the television, a dress-wearing Bugs swooned in Elmer Fudd's arms.

Lex moved from his half-draped position to fully draped and rose up on his knees, straddling Clark. The light from the television caused the glitter on him to twinkle as he put his hands on Clark's shoulders, leaned forward, and—

"Woah, woah, woah, Lex." Clark stopped Lex a hairsbreadth away from kissing him. Hands on Lex's chest, Clark kept him from closing the distance between them. The cold water of morality doused the lustful shock of Lex's request. "I can't. You're high."

"You can, because I'm high," Lex responded cryptically. He ground his groin against Clark's.

"I can't," Clark repeated as tightly as his jeans had become. "It would be taking unfair advantage of you."

"But I want you to take advantage of me," Lex said, trying to kiss him.

Clark moved his lips out of range. "No, Lex. I won't have sex with you while you're on drugs." Damn morals.

"Make love," Lex corrected, "and if I wasn't high, that wouldn't happen at all. I know myself and accept my faults. I wouldn't take the risk of harming our friendship for a few hours of pleasure."

"Then why chance it now?"

"Because we can blame the drugs in the harsh light of day." Lex's gaze was pleading. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't make me beg, Clark. I very much want to make love with you. I have for a long time and this may be my only chance. Don't say no."

Oh, wow. Clark bit the inside of his cheek at the beautiful, soft-spoken plea. A battle raged inside his mind: give in or hold firm, take the offer or do the right thing; the classic devil versus angel duking it out. Only the devil in this case may be in refusing Lex.

Clark searched his best friend's eyes. "Lex..."

"Please, Clark." Lex pushed against Clark's blocking hands, which slowly gave way, until Clark felt more than heard Lex say against his lips, "Please..."

Clark's body said yes before his mind, and he opened beneath Lex's kiss. His eyes fell shut, and he gave over to the slow, languid exploration of his mouth. The wet, velvety slide of Lex's tongue against his sent frissons dancing down his spine and goosebumps breaking out on his skin. He inhaled a shaky breath through his nose. Under his palms, he could feel Lex's heart beating wildly in his chest.

Clark opened his eyes when Lex pulled away. Lex's pale, freckled skin was tinted blue by the light from the television, his boxers tented by his arousal. His gaze was heavy-lidded and hungry. He was gorgeous, and Clark was sunk.

"This is such a bad idea," Clark murmured, rising up to capture Lex's lips in another kiss. His hands slid behind Lex, palms splaying over the sharp blades of his shoulders. Lex carded his fingers into Clark's hair, twisting the thick strands into sailors' knots, humming throatily as Clark mapped the inside contours of his mouth.

Clark dragged his fingers down the bumps of Lex's spine, under the waistband of his boxers, and cupped the firm globe of his right buttock. Clark rolled them both, holding Lex firmly against him, settled into the cradle of Lex's thighs, and began to move against him. Lex's cotton-covered hardness rubbed against the catch of Clark's jeans, grinding against the turgid flesh hidden underneath the denim. Clark curved his hand on Lex's ass-cheek, his fingers slipping into the hot cleft as he lifted Lex to meet each downward thrust of his hips.

Lex made a strangled sound of need when Clark brushed his hole. He tore his mouth from Clark's with a: "Yes, yes!" His head arched back on the pillow, exposing the glittery column of his throat.

Clark's hooded gaze alighted on the bruises left by others on Lex's pale skin, and his lips curled in displeasure. The primitive male desire to mark and posses made him lower his head, cover a bruise with his mouth, and suck hard. Simultaneously, he penetrated Lex with his middle finger, and Lex cried out, his body bowing under Clark.

Lex writhed wantonly beneath Clark, making unintelligible sounds, hands clenching and tearing at Clark's hair, while Clark obliterated all traces of the previous hickies and created several more of his own. Clark bent and stroked his finger inside Lex; Lex's sweat providing just enough moisture for Clark to push fully into him.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming," Lex babbled nearly incoherently, his lower body thrusting wildly against Clark's. Lex's solid thighs gripped Clark's hips and he jerked spasmodically as he came.

Clark raised his head and watched Lex splinter into pieces. His eyes were scrunched shut, his face flushed, a constellation of freckles appearing across his cheeks and nose. The glitter on his skin sparkled in the pale light from the television. It was a wholly intimate moment, to witness Lex in the throes of orgasm. Clark felt almost like he was intruding, except it was overpowered by the pride he felt that he caused the beauty beneath him. Cue the Tarzan yodel and chest-beating.

Panting breathlessly, Lex opened his eyes, and his emotions were right there for anyone to read: devotion, happiness, sated desire, and a touch of self-deprecation. "You made me come in my pants," he said, after he caught his breath. "I haven't done that since..." He paused, surprise adding to the repertoire of emotions in his gaze. "Never. I've never done that."

"Never?" Clark... liked that. He liked it a lot. He'd brought pleasure to his jaded, worldly friend in a way no one else ever had. If only Lex wasn't high...

Remorse and guilt crept into Clark's conscience. While Clark was happy that he'd given Lex what he'd wanted, the feeling that Clark had taken advantage had returned tenfold. If Lex weren't high, what had just happened would have been special, maybe one of those momentous turning points in their friendship, where they would realize they were in love with each other, with Happily Ever After waiting in the wings.

"Clark, what's wrong?" Lex appeared concerned in the muted light of the television. "You look sad all of a sudden."

"I'm fine," Clark lied, and lowered his head, covering Lex's mouth with his own to prevent more questions. Clark was still erect, painfully so, but he'd take care of it in the bathroom.

Damn morals.

Lex sighed contentedly into the kiss, winding tighter around Clark. Clark felt a pang of regret that they both weren't sober, but he accepted what he could now, kissing Lex deeply. He waited as long as he could before he freed his hand from beneath Lex's boxers and, with reluctance and necessity, broke the kiss and completely disentangled from Lex.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Clark said a bit desperately.

"Hurry back," Lex murmured huskily, but which Clark had no intention of doing.

Once again behind the locked bathroom door, Clark took care of his hard on, coming with Lex's name on his lips and a strange attraction to the gold, phallic bath fixtures. He cleaned up with a maudlin cloud hovering overhead. Doing the right thing really stunk sometimes, though his dad would be proud.

Not that Clark would ever tell his parents about the tête-à-tête with Lex. God, he could imagine how that conversation would go: "Mom, Dad, somewhere between the skirt and glitter, Lex's knees, and my finger up his ass, I had an attack of conscience, thanks to you both raising me right."

Clark made a face at himself in the mirror and left the bathroom to explain to Lex why they wouldn't be having further sexual interaction, without hurting Lex's feelings, drugged or otherwise.

Only, it didn't look like he'd need to say anything. Lex was curled in the center of the bed, those adorable knees pulled up to his chest, sound asleep. He was even drooling on the pillow.

Clark smiled softly, a surge of tenderness filling his heart. He walked over to the bed and flipped the edge of the top comforter over Lex, careful not to wake him. Clark shut off the television, set the remote back on the nightstand, and started for the door. He kicked something in his path and looked down to see the plaid skirt Lex had been wearing. Clark scooped it up, glanced at Lex, grinned, and took it with him as he left for home.

 

***

 

Clark looked up at the footsteps on the barn loft stairs. The fading daylight shined through the windows, casting long shadows across the worn, wooden floorboards. His homework was spread in front of him, a warm soda and plate of cookie crumbs perched on one corner of his desk. He'd been there all afternoon, waiting for the man with the familiar, glitter-free bald head to appear.

Clark had done a lot of thinking since he'd left Lex the previous night. He knew he was attracted to Lex — how couldn't he be, now that he'd seen those knees? Still, it was their friendship that was most important to Clark, and to Lex, also, he was certain. It was imperative that Clark do everything he could to keep their friendship intact.

"Lex, hi," Clark greeted warmly, with a hint of a teasing smile. "You're looking clothed today."

"That's why I'm here," Lex said, his expression somewhat pained. He paused awkwardly at the top of the stairs, dressed in a high-collared blue shirt and dark coat, with Clark's beige jacket over his arm. "God, Clark, I'm sorry for how I acted—"

Clark interrupted. "Don't worry about it, Lex. We'll blame the drugs."

"But—"

"Lex," Clark gave Lex a steady look, "don't worry about it."

Lex pressed his lips together and nodded. He turned away, and tossed the beige jacket on the couch. Still tense, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stared intently at the barn wall behind the couch. After a strained moment, he asked, "Friends?"

"Always," Clark answered immediately, trying to ease Lex's discomfort. There were three choices Clark had, which he'd thought of earlier: to ignore what had happened, to joke it off, or to jump Lex's bones. Trying to ignore what had happened was like trying to ignore the pink elephant in the room, and suggesting sex while his parents were in the house was a no, but that was an idea to put on the back burner for when they were both completely sober and had a long night alone.

That left joking it off, and Clark had just the skirt for the situation. He stood and clapped his hands together. "How about we grab a coffee?"

Lex turned to face him. "All ri—" He stopped mid-word and goggled. "Clark, what in the world are you wearing?"

"What, this?" Clark smoothed the pleats of the red, green, and gold plaid skirt, nearly hidden by his red-checked plaid flannel. His hairy bare legs were exposed, his feet tucked into his unlaced workboots. He grinned lopsidedly. "Stacey was cold."

Lex groaned loudly and covered his face with his hand. "I really dislike you, Clark."

"You don't think I look good in a skirt?" Clark pouted obnoxiously.

Lex lowered his hand with a chuckle. "Not as good as me."

"Maybe if I had some glitter..."

"Get dressed, you idiot," Lex said with a fond smile and a faint blush, freckles coming out to be seen. "I know you like plaid flannel shirts, but I have to draw the line somewhere."

"I'll have to remember that." Clark's eyes twinkled. "Friends don't let friends wear plaid schoolgirl skirts."

"Clark?" Lex smiled sincerely. "Thanks."

Clark winked at him, and changed the subject as he retrieved his jeans. "So, how are things with the business in Metropolis...."

 

 



End



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