Love ≠ Good Sex

 

 

He loved Clark. He really, truly did. He loved the way Clark smiled, pouted, and brooded like a teenager. He loved the way Clark smelled when he held Lex and how he was always so warm. He loved the curl in Clark’s hair, his fang-y teeth, and the gorgeousness of his body. He loved how Clark lied so badly, telling Lex the truth even though he couldn’t or wouldn’t verbalize it. He loved how Clark listened to him ramble on or the way he didn’t pepper the silence when the silence was comfortable. He loved how Clark’s hugs made him feel protected and kisses made his knees weak.

Too bad the sex sucked.

Lex’s thighs burned and he was getting a cramp in his left calf. Clark’s hands held Lex’s hips as Lex rode him, but he wasn’t helping any. He just lay there as Lex did all the work.

It might have been forgivable if Clark were a virgin, but they’d been having sex for months and it still sucked. Lex tried repeatedly to get Clark to fuck him, really fuck him, leaving him limp and sated afterwards, to no avail. Clark was a passive sex partner, even though he was the top.

Lex could switch, but what fun would that be? He could fuck girls if he wanted to top. He knew plenty who’d take it up the ass, so that wasn’t an issue. Being with another man meant he could be the one to get fucked and, damn it, that’s what he wanted. If only Clark would cooperate and do something, instead of lying on the bed like a dead fish.

Hiding his sigh of frustration, Lex pulled off and moved to his hands and knees beside Clark on the bed. Clark gave him a quizzical frown. Lex wanted to shake him. “My legs are tired. You get to work for a while.”

Clark’s frown turned into a sheepish smile, which had Lex’s heart squishing and reminded him why he put up with the bad sex. Clark rolled up to his knees, big cock stretching the condom thin, reminding Lex of the other reason he put up with the bad sex. Eventually, Clark had to learn how to use his massive tool, whether he just needed more experience, more suggestion, or more confidence in himself.

Lex moaned softly, dropping his head to cradle it in his palms, as Clark thrust inside him. Clark’s large palms planted themselves on Lex’s sharp hips and he began a slow, steady, annoying rhythm. It felt good, but not great. Lex wanted great. He deserved great. He was Lex Luthor, for hell’s sake.

“Faster,” Lex begged. “Harder.” But, as usual, Clark’s definition of faster and harder didn’t match Lex’s desires. It was almost as if Clark didn’t believe Lex when he said that he wasn’t fragile and wouldn’t break. Leaving out books on sadomasochism and tips for gay anal sex hadn’t helped, either. (It had led to Clark blushing fetchingly and sixty-nine on the couch in the office – Lex couldn’t find fault in Clark’s oral skills.)

Clark sped up a little bit, breathing becoming ragged when orgasm neared. It didn’t last long. Lex pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes and suppressed his disappointment once again as Clark came.

Gentle kisses peppered his bowed back and then Clark pulled out. Lex schooled his expression, turned over, and propped the pillows against the headboard, while Clark disposed of the condom. Settling against the pillows, Lex spread his thighs and stroked a hand over his insatiated erection. Clark got this hint, crawled between Lex’s legs, and lowered his head.

Lex carded his fingers through Clark’s hair, as Clark worked him orally. The blowjob was spectacular already. He rested his head on the pillow, stared up at the bedroom ceiling, and wondered if he could survive a lifetime on blowjobs alone.

 

 

End

 

 

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