Notes: toadstoolsmiles and I were bitching a while back about writers who have Lex cry, because, uh, LEX DOESN'T CRY. Heh. Except when I want him to. This is for nehellania.
I am, by Kate
Lex cries in his sleep.
He wakes up with tears streaming down his face, no memory of the dream but sometimes he’s so full of emotion he can’t stop crying for a while. Until he’s fully awake and then he wipes his eyes and feels empty.
Lex doesn’t think about that during the day. He’s got more important things to worry about than traumatic, forgettable dreams.
Sometimes, when he’s alone, he stares into nothing and he stops thinking altogether.
Sometimes he thinks about Clark.
Lex still thinks about Clark when he masturbates. Every time. Not that he doesn’t think about other people occasionally. About Lana. Or Chloe. Because he does. But Clark’s always there. If not in the fantasy itself then in Lex’s body, touching him, whispering into Lex’s ear, watching Lex, hating Lex, as Lex fucks Lana, as Lex slips his tongue into Chloe’s pussy.
Lex used to remember his dreams. Clark starred in so many.
He knows Clark’s face so well he could sculpt it out of clay with his eyes shut, and he’s never sculpted clay before. Clark’s face is imprinted on Lex’s brain. Every line, every angle, every curve. Every frown, every smile, every expression.
Lex is consumed by Clark.
He’s not horny but his dick is hard so he unzips his pants, reaches in and takes himself in hand.
Time to pick a fantasy.
He’s had them all. In his mind he’s had Clark every imaginable way, and he’ll always hate himself a little for never actually doing anything about it. He could have. And Clark… Clark might not have said no.
Would he say no now?
If Lex asked him to have dinner, for old time’s sake, would he stay? (Has Clark ever stayed for dinner?)
They could drink some wine and afterwards they could sit on the couch, next to each other, and talk. Lex could tell Clark stories and Clark would gaze at Lex, his lips slightly parted, his eyes green and sparkling in the candlelight.
Lex would be hard. He’d take Clark’s hand and push it against his erection and Clark would gasp.
They’d forget about everything that’s happened between them and they’d kiss.
They’d fuck right there on the couch, half dressed, because it’d be their first time and there’s no way Lex could wait long enough to get naked.
Clark would fuck him. He wants it that way. He wants to let Clark in, he wants Clark to feel like he owns Lex. Clark putting his dick inside him would be one way. One way for Clark to know the truth.
Later they’d be in bed and they’d be naked. Writhing around, sliding against each other, covered in sweat and come, reeking of sex. Clark would be so turned on, so beautiful.
Clark would suck Lex’s cock and he’d love it.
Lex would watch.
His cock disappearing into Clark’s mouth. God, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off it.
Then he’d fuck Clark. He’d do it hard, because he knows Clark could take it. And Clark would come again and feeling Clark come would make Lex… Oh God…
Lex gasps and groans through his orgasm, spilling come all over his own fist and dick.
He collapses back into the couch and stares at the ceiling.
He’d better go and wash his hands before his meeting. They’ll be here in ten minutes.
Lex stands up and heads for the nearest bathroom.