A Private Little War

Throughout history, war has been a constant reoccurrence. Brother against brother, friend against friend, neighbor against neighbor, country against country; the theater changes as the years pass by, as does the reasons for fighting. Each battle is waged with a passion, neither side giving ground until they have achieved victory, only to start again. War is played on many levels, but it boils down simply to this:

It starts with a challenge—

“Over a thousand channels on your television and there’s nothing to watch.”

“How about this?”


“It’s educational.”

“Jeopardy is so easy.”

“Oh really?”

“Bet I can answer every question. Or put questions to every answer.”

“You’re on.”

-and grows from there.

“Yep, they’re in here practically every night playing NTN trivia against each other. They both nearly max every round, with the final score coming down to who pushes the button first. It makes our regulars cross, sometimes, because they don’t stand a chance at coming in first with them two around.”

It becomes a private little war between them—

“Hey, Clark, want to go shoot some hoops?”

“I can’t, Pete. I’m meeting Lex at The Penalty Box.”


“What do you mean?”

“You’re always with Lex, playing trivia. Never once have you asked Chloe or me to come play with you two. I guess you’re too smart to hang out with us.”


“Don’t bother. Us dumb folks have better things to do.”

--but in war, there are no winners—

“What’s wrong?”

“Pete thinks I think he’s dumb, which I don’t.”

“Of course not.”

“He’s just mad because I’m here with you, not shooting hoops with him.”

“Clark, when was the last time you played basketball with him?”


“I think maybe we should take a break. You should visit with your other friends.”

“You just don’t want me to beat you a third time in a row.”

“I’ll have you know, I plan to win tonight. And don’t change the subject.”

“Okay, I’ll admit, I might be neglecting Pete. But what about us?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be around.”

--Except for Tchaikovsky in the War of 1812.


“It’s cultural.”

“The men wear tights.”

“That’s the best part.”

Battlefields may change—


“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“This is Lois Lane, your new partner. Lane, this is Clark Kent. Hails from Smallville, where my grandmother used to live.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lane.”

“Great glasses. I assume you have a pocket protector, too?”

“Uh, no.”

“Perry, forget it. I’m not taking on a partner.”

“Then you’re fired.”

“But Perry—”

“Can it, Lane. You and Kent are on Luthor at the Metropolis Fine Arts Center tonight. Take Jimmy with you.”

“Lex Luthor, or Lionel?”

“The cueball.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“Get used to it. Now, c’mon, Smallville, let’s find you some decent clothes. You’re playing with the big city dogs now.”

--but one thing is always certain—



“Nice tights.”

“Bet you can’t find the zipper.”

--It starts with a challenge.

Lex’s hungry blue eyes met Clark’s steadily as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. On the penthouse balcony of LexCorp towers, Lex began his exploration, hunting for the hidden zipper in Superman’s suit. His hands stroked the muscles visible beneath the tightly stretched material, finding and tweaking a nipple with unerring accuracy. A hitch of breath from Clark was all that was needed to repeat the action on the opposite nipple, and Lex smiled in the dim light coming through the open balcony doors behind him.

His fingers scratched down Clark’s front, around the symbol of truth, justice, and the American way emblazoned on his chest. Alexander’s shield – appropriate, as Clark belonged to Alexander…

Clark moaned softly, muscles rippling beneath the cloth. Lex dragged his nails down the taut stomach to the golden yellow beltline, and then slid his hands along the seam to Clark’s sides. Clark obliged by lifting his left arms slightly as Lex’s fingers crept up his ribcage to the zipper hidden beneath his arm.

Lex lowered the zipper, the teeth clicking slowly with the unhurried decent. He licked his lips and slipped his hand beneath the material. He lifted his chin expectantly, stroking Clark’s bare back. Clark’s eyes darkened, and he dipped his head, taking Lex’s lips in a kiss.

A battle was waged with tongues as weapons, dueling in ravaging passion. Clark thrust his tongue into Lex’s mouth, pillaging its moist depths with ferocity. Lex put up a strong defense, sucking on the intruder and chasing it back to Clark’s mouth. His lips were bruised under the returning onslaught and the second attack won surrender.

As his mouth was ravished, Lex found the zipper again and continued its downward pull. The zipper curved under the seam around Clark’s waist. Lex switched hands, fully unzipping the uniform, ending mid-back.

Lex pulled away from Clark’s hungry kiss and lowered to his knees. He tugged the tights down Clark’s thighs. The Man of Steel was an appropriate nomenclature. The freed shaft rose from a nest of black curls, flushed dark with blood. Lex wasted no time in taking Clark in his mouth, tonguing the prominent veins and under the hood of foreskin.

Clark’s heavy panting and Lex’s wet sucking were the only noises so high up in the city. Lex’s lips stretched thin around the thick erection, cheeks hollowing with every pull on the hard flesh. His hands held firm to Clark’s narrow hips, head bobbing rhythmically. Clark’s balled fists hung by his sides and his body trembled as he tried not to thrust.

Lex watched from beneath his lashes as Clark’s slack face contorted. The choked sound of Clark’s orgasm filled the balcony. Lex’s Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed repeatedly. He suckled the softening flesh until Clark stroked his hand along Lex’s bare skull, fingering the knob in the back.

Lex released him and looked up with a Cheshire grin. “I win.”

Clark descended forward, mouth a hairsbreadth away from Lex’s, and whispered huskily, “The war has just begun.”


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