Lex Luthor was on the ground, his brain scattered like marbles on the hardwood floor. He had been jumped by Clark Kent the moment he walked through the front door of the castle, after dealing with the situation at the plant. Patience, apparently, was an antiquated virtue, especially when faced with a horny teenage male. Lex wasn't complaining, however. His tongue was too busy anyway.
Hungry mouths devoured. Teeth bruised. Tongues dueled. Bodies thrust against one another. A silent statement was made on the floor in the front hallway: no more waiting.
Breathy gasps. A whimper. A drawn-out moan. Clawed fingers tearing at raven hair. Hips bucking against a thick, corded thigh.
Their clinch was inelegant. Uncouth. Wholly passionate. Everything a kiss should be. Lex never wanted it to stop.
Was that blood he was tasting? Maybe, but Clark was too busy kissing and biting Lex's lips to really care. Clark simply wouldn't stop. He needed to taste the bald young man. Clark wanted to devour his friend until they were one.
An intense jolt of pleasure ran through Clark's body when their bodies met through layers of clothes. Darn, he needed more, now, faster. When had his English become so limited?
Clark just needed and wanted. He was soaring and flying, getting close to the moon and the stars. Close, so very close. And Lex...
Clark opened his eyes, hoping that the blue orbs could scream the question that his mouth couldn't voice.
Lex had to stop. He didn't want to -- oh god, he didn't want to -- but his cell phone was vibrating in his pocket and carving a hole into his thigh.
"Clark. Phone. Wait..." And that was coherent. Lex pushed at Clark, getting him to move, and then fought to get the phone free of his too tight trouser pocket. He glanced at the display and then at Clark.
The look Clark gave Lex when he saw the cell phone would have made a lesser man tremble. Lex was not a lesser man. He trembled anyway, for entirely different reasons.
Without a word to Lex, Clark snatched the cell phone, hit the talk button, and said in a nasally voice, "The number you're trying to reach has been disconnected. Please don't call again." He terminated the call.
"Clark, that was my father."
Clark turned the power off the phone and threw it far, far down the hall. Lex didn't hear it hit. He was too busy being kissed again.
"Don't care. Waited too long for you." Clark would not let anything interrupted them. Not his parents, not his friends, not an act of God, and most certainly, not Lionel Luthor.
And it was true. Clark had begun waiting before he even realized what he was longing for. From the day on the bridge, he wanted the bald young man, wriggling under him. Clark just didn't know back then.
Now, he knows. Clark needed to feel skin and warmth. He wanted to touch Lex and be touched. His hands moved underneath the soft sweater that Lex was wearing and began pulling at it, trying to get it off.
Lex grabbed his hands and stopped him. Clark growled. No more interruptions. Me want Lex, NOW!
Lex chuckled at display of lust and impatience. "Upstairs, Clark. We can wait until we get to my room."
Now that his father had damped his ardor just enough, Lex was going to be level-headed about this, patient. He was going to do this in the right order, with foreplay and tender words, and with the certainty that Clark wanted this, wanted him. He was going to do this in a bed, not on the foyer floor. He was going to--
--be picked up and tossed over Clark's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Clark!"
Lex blinked in shock, swinging limply and not taking advantage of the close-up view of Clark's rear-end in tight jeans. "Did you just spank me?" he asked incredulously.
"Yep. For making me move. And use my brain." Whap! "That's for nothing."
Right. Forget order. Forget level-headedness. Forget patience. Clark wasn't going to be able to walk for a week, when Lex was finished with him.
Lex was smiling, despite the undignified position, as Clark closed the bedroom door.