Wednesday 100s, 2004ish

A collection of 100-word challenge responses
from the livejournal Wednesday 100 list and other drabbles





"PJ Luthor!  Apologize this minute."

PJ made a sullen face at Lex's scolding and grumbled, "Sorry I called you a four-eyed spazoid who'd only get laid if you had a hamster."

Lex hadn't overheard that last part.

Sam shoved at his glasses and pretended to be unaffected.  "Fine.  Whatever. You're forgiven"

"Good," PJ said.  "Now, don't make me buy you a hamster.  Kurt won't be here long."

Sam's face turned as red as his hair, before squaring his shoulders and shoving past PJ out of the room.

PJ grinned at Lex.  "Thanks, Dad.  Maybe Sam will finally get a date."







He comes in through the window, speed-locks the door, and has you bent over his lap before you can say your villainous lines in this scripted play. Your trousers are around your ankles, your shirttails lifted out of the way; your already rigid cock is trapped against his muscled thighs.

The spanks are hard, ringing slaps on your upturned bare ass. Pleasure spreads through out your body caused by the pain. Your buttocks are bruised, radiating heat in punishment, and you wonder what lesson you’re supposed to be taught this time around.

You really only learn to do it again.







Clark flew. 

The air whooshed in his ears, ruffling his shaggy hair, buffeting his body. His shirttails waved behind him like a red plaid cape.  He was completely free, soaring through the open sky with nothing holding him up.

Thud.  "Ow."

Clark pushed to his feet, dusted off his clothes, and made a face at the body imprint in the ground.  With a sigh, he walked around the tall barn, climbed the ladder, and stood at the opposite edge of the roof.  He glanced around for witnesses, took a deep, fortifying breath, and threw himself forward once again.

Clark flew.





Seven Sexy Sins


Lust fueled Lex, as he feasted with gluttonous passion on Clark's cock.  He mouthed the rigid length, tongue licking greedily at the pre-come on the tip.  He licked around and under the foreskin, envious of the uncut flesh. With pride, he swallowed the shaft to the root, breathing in the scent of maleness and sex, coarse curls tickling his nose.  Anger flashed briefly when Clark came, ending Lex's pleasure of giving head.  He remembered, though, that it wouldn't be long, and he lay with his head on Clark's thigh in slothful repose until Clark was ready to be blown again.





Spring Break



It was the worst spring break ever. Clark was at Mardi Gras, with Pete and Chloe. But Clark had lost them, the crowd separating them, people pressing around Clark until he couldn’t breathe. The noise made him want to cover his ears, but instead he closed his eyes and was jostled along until he stumbled into someone’s arms.

“Sorry,” he said, opening his eyes. He was surprised by the familiar, scarred smirk that matched the amused blue eyes.

Beads dropped around his neck and a whisper caressed his ear. “Your room, ten minutes.”

It was the best spring break ever.





First Kiss


The first time he kissed a boy, he was scared out of his mind.

His heart hammered wildly in his chest, surely audible in the open loft. He’d stopped breathing the moment soft lips touched his own. He stared into the too close eyes in front of him, seeing blurry starbursts of gold in the bright irises. His fingers clutched the window’s edge, wood splinters digging under his nails and panic rising in his throat.

He hadn’t planned for this to happen. He wasn’t supposed to want his best friend. He didn’t like boys that way.

Until Clark came along.





Superman’s Kiss


His eyelids fluttered shut as their lips met. Soft, warm pressure against his mouth, breath hot on his upper lip, and a tiny trembling sigh. The kiss went straight to his heart, lifting and squeezing it until tears formed behind his closed eyes. It was perfect, kissing Clark, just like he’d imagined it would be. And there were no more secrets. Clark was welcome always, even as Superman…


Lex blinked. He was on his balcony, Superman hovering nearby. Hatred ignited instantly, even in his confusion about why he was outside. Superman was never welcome. “What do you want, alien?”





Different World


When Clark came back, everything was different.

“Can I come in?” Lex looked at him with hopeful eyes and a cookie-crumbed chin.

Jonathan Kent, 1960-2004

Clark shifted, gripping the hammock for balance, as Lex clambered in.

“Where were you?” Chloe asked flatly, betrayal in her stare, the only part of her face still recognizable.

Lex wiggled and settled. Gordon barked. “Can Gordon come in, too?”

Martha’s boyfriend wore nothing but boxers, drinking coffee from Jonathan’s favorite cup.

Clark set the hammock swinging, listening to the giggles of the childish man cuddling the puppy beside him, and wished he hadn’t returned.





Love Letters



From the private collection of A. J. Luthor:


Now I lay me down to sleep
Silent are the tears I weep
Memories of you cloud my head
As I lay alone in my empty bed

With each breath that I do take
Remembrance causes my heart to ache
How I wish I could apologize
To you, my love, for all my lies

If you should read this before the dawn
Know I’ve waited all night long
To tell you one thing that is completely true:
I will always, always love you.


I never said I was a poet
Come home.







Muscles straining, sweat slicked skin glistening in the low lamplight, fingers slipping over sharp-boned hips, thrusting, thrusting, bending over the concave arch of a smooth, muscular back. Panting raggedly, dry lips brushing across heated flesh, pelvis rocking, slapping, bumping, eliciting guttural nonsense words. Shadows on the wall shifting, sliding, blending into one. Dark hair curling in damp tendrils on a tense neck, bed rocking, sheets bunching, hands gripping tighter, tighter. Rushing from the toes upward, teeth clenching, blood pumping, ecstasy exploding, leaping, falling, flying. Body trembling, vision blurring. Soaring without wings.

“Do you believe a man can fly?

Lex did.







Clark ducked and counter-swung. His fist cracked against Tommy’s jaw, sending the Kryptonite-infected jock staggering, but he didn’t go down. Tommy growled and launched in a flying tackle at Clark, and they both went over the edge of LuthorCorp Tower.

Mid-air, Clark shoved hard, sending Tommy safely back onto the roof. Gravity snatched Clark, however, and he plummeted to the pavement. Luckily, it was late and therefore he only had to explain the person-shaped crater to Lex, who was staring down at him lying in the hole.

“Something you want to tell me?”

“I’m changing my name to Wyl E. Coyote.”





For Edie


Michael has a lot of T-shirts. Simply by the sheer number that he had, he wouldn't miss one, right? Tom stuck to that belief as he picked the discarded t-shirt off the floor and surrepetiously hid it down his zipped jacket. Later that night, he lay in bed alone wearing the shirt. The soft, well-washed cotton stretched tight across his chest and arms. It smelled like Mike after a long day: not too pleasant, but still welcome. It was very teenage girl of him, but he didn't care, because wearing the t-shirt was the closest he'd ever to get to Mike, except for in his dreams.





Lenore’s Bad Day


Sex on the stairs caused rug burns on Lex's ass and sharp, evenly spaced pains in his back. His tie was trapped over his shoulder, half-choking him, and his shirt shoved up his chest. Clark held his bare legs up and open, black sock-clad feet pointing towards the ceiling, pounding into him with a furious expression, snarled lips and narrowed eyes. He could taste Clark's cock in the back of his throat with each savage, jabbing thrust. He was stretched, filled, taken, conquered, and all he could do was moan.

Later, when Clark was done and Lex was nothing more than limp fettuccini on the hallway stairs, Lex petted Clark and asked, "Bad day?"





Sixty-Nine, First Time


Lex didn’t know what to do, other than to hold on. His fingers dug into the backs of Thomas’s bare thighs. Thomas stood over him, feet planted shoulder-width apart, so Lex could see across the dormitory each time Thomas pulled back. His head hung over the edge of the bed, blood pulsing in his temples, jaw aching as Thomas’s penis slid between his tightly stretched lips. Luckily, Thomas’s prick was short and fat, and Lex didn’t have to worry about choking, though it was still difficult to breathe. Thomas’s balls kept smacking Lex’s nose and drool itched Lex’s face around his mouth.

Lex supposed he should be grateful his own prick was getting worked on. Hot and wet, Thomas’s mouth slid up and down Lex’s erection in rhythm with the thrusting of his hips. Lex’s toes dug into the cold stone wall on the opposite side of the bed as Thomas slurped and sucked, drooling on Lex’s abdomen and making it itch, too.

Lex closed his eyes and tried to let the sensation of the blowjob bring him to orgasm, but the ache of his jaw, the painful stretch of his lips, and the pounding in his head prevented him from enjoying himself. Sixty-nine, while good in theory, was awful in application. He wouldn’t be doing this again.





Election Night


Lex gripped the edge of the desk and held on as Clark fucked him hard and fast. He pressed his forehead against the desk pad, the paper causing a friction burn on his skin every time Clark thrust forward and back. Face down over the desk, trousers around his ankles, suit coat and shirt tails thrown up over his back, Lex was pinned in place by a strong hand between his shoulder blades – not that there was anywhere else he’d rather be.

A muffled cheer rose outside the office at the same time Clark fisted Lex’s cock. Lex’s eyes rolled as the rapid strokes brought him right to the edge.

The door cracked open and a voice drifted inside. “You won, Luthor.”

Lex climaxed in a rush of heat and exhilaration, choking on a cry of victorious release. Red, white and blue sparkled behind his eyelids. He shuddered and rode out the best orgasm of his existence.

Clark leaned over and whispered hotly in his ear. “Let me be first to congratulate you, Mr. President.” And he fucked Lex some more.

Lex smiled in lazy satisfaction, rocking against the surface of the desk. Life didn’t get any better than this.







“Clark, I need to speak with you.”

Clark stared. “Um, how can I help you?”

The man looked at him. “I’m Lex.”

Clark stared some more, wondering if he was supposed to laugh.

“I’m Lex, Clark.” The man pinched the bridge of his nose in a very familiar fashion. “I went to bed as myself and this morning I woke up like this.”

“There has to be more to it than that,” Clark said.

“I… might have made a wish.”

“To be Robin Williams?”

Robin Williams – Lex – smiled ruefully. “To have as much hair as I lacked on my body.”





One Ornament


Lex had grown up with stunning, perfect Christmas trees that meant nothing to him.  So when they'd started their lives together, he'd decreed that they would choose one ornament, mark it with the year, and hang it on the tree.  There were no other decorations, lights, or garland, only one ornament for each year they'd celebrated Christmas together. Lex sipped his eggnog and watched the reflections of the firelight dance in the ornaments on the tree.  The ornaments twinkled like starlight, sixty-six of them weighing down the branches of the short pine. 

He'd never seen a more beautiful Christmas tree.





Lex, Lies, and Videotape


Lex leaned closer to the monitor. The jerky quality of the webcam recording didn’t deter his repeat voyeurism. He pressed his hand against his erection trapped beneath his trousers. Licking his lips, he exhaled slowly in anticipation.

His arousal spiked when Clark shucked his jeans and fell into a languid sprawl on the couch. Bare from the waist down, Clark hooked a leg over the back of the sofa, the other foot flat on the floor, revealing everything to the hidden camera in the loft.

Lex hissed and nearly came on the spot as Clark’s lies were exposed once again.





Sincerest Apologies to The Mickey Mouse Club


Who's the leader of the free-world
That's pretty damn scary?
L-E-X L-U-T H-O-R is he.

Hey-there, hi-there, ho-there
Up in the air, what can it be?
S-U-P E-R-M A-N is he.

Lex Luthor!

Lex Luthor!

Yelling and fighting and starting World War Three.

Come along and sing this song
And wish they'd kiss already

Because they so want the other and, instead of bickering like children and causing mass destruction, they should just get on with it and fuck each others' brains out like crazed, rutting weasels, and stop pretending that they hate one another.






New Year’s Resolution


Lex lay on his side, gazing out the window. Explosions of color brightened the night, accompanied by booms in salute of the New Year. He smiled when he saw his favorite: starfish filaments sparkling in a shower of gold dust.

The arm draped over him shifted and a gust of air warmed his neck. He heard a snore and a softer smile graced his face. Fifty New Years had passed in a similar manner, lying in bed with his sleeping partner, watching the fireworks light up the sky.

He resolved to spend another fifty years in exactly the same way.




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