AN: there's some AU stuff in here, and I added a little bit of Clark/Whitney. Just warning you.
I was sitting in my office, with my laptop open and turned on, although I wasn't doing anything at all. Clark had called the previous night at 10:30, and begged me to let him come by so we could talk. I saw his name on caller ID and picked up instantly, trying desperately not to sound like I was hard, and lonely, and well…desperate.
"Hey, Lex, sorry for calling you so late," he said, in that sweet, adorable, teenage boy voice. "But, um, I really, really, really, need to talk to you about something." I tried my very best not to laugh.
"Only in Smallville would 10:30 be considered late," I was unable to prevent myself from saying. "Sorry, yeah, it's not a problem. I'll be here all day, so just stop by whenever." I had been reading something when he called—a memo from my father—but by the time I hung up, I was on the verge of exploding in my pants, and couldn't stop thinking about the night I'd found him in that field, all but naked, calling out my name, moaning, all shiny, and perfect in the moonlight. When I got him off the thing, and he was laying in the dirt, I thought about fucking him right there, but then he opened his eyes and mouthed the words, help me, and so I picked him up, drove him home, let him borrow some clothes—not that they really fit, but it was better than nothing—and handed the kid a hot cup of tea. He drank it and we talked about nothing until he felt like going home.
After that, I had plenty of material for my fantasies, but last night I masturbated three times, and still didn't feel any better. Knowing I'd never get to sleep on my own, I swallowed a couple Ambien, climbed into bed, and spent the night dreaming that Clark and me—as kids—were playing hide and seek in a cornfield, fireballs whizzing across the sky, my father's voice calling out to me. "We should probably go back," I said, tugging on his hand, but Clark pulled away.
"No, I have something I hafta show you," he insisted, lifting up his t-shirt, and spreading his skinny arms out. The skin of his chest was translucent; I could see all the way through to his heart. The red, pumping thing—that looked nothing like a Valentine—had to be twice as big as a normal heart, and it was glowing, bright golden light pouring out of him. It was amazing. It was beautiful. It was perfect. This is heaven, I thought. I never want to leave. "I had to show you, because it always does that when we're together," he whispered, reaching out to stroke the side of my face. "Every time I even think about you, my heart glows and gets bigger and bigger, and I feel so good. It's all warm and fuzzy, and happy. I think I love you, Lex."
"Oh, Clark," I cried, ripping my own shirt off as well. My skin was like his skin, and my heart was like his heart. It was big, and warm, and full of sunshine. "I love you too." Then he grabbed me, pulling us in close together. Our chests were touching, hearts closer than closer, glowing and glowing, beating together, one gigantic, strong, love-filled heart.
"I think I'm gonna explode," he said, pronouncing the words as if it were spelled with an s and not an x. "But it doesn't hurt or anything. It's good. I think—I think we're supposed to be like this, forever." I nodded, and the light got bigger, and bigger, enveloping us in its warm, heavenly goodness. I woke up all wet and sticky, for the first time since I was thirteen, climbed out of bed, took a cold shower, pulled the sheets from my bed, stuffed them into the laundry, got dressed, and went downstairs. I drank a pot of coffee, even though I was beyond nervous, ate breakfast, and got ready for the day. I tried to focus on some work stuff, the memo my father had sent me yesterday, but it was pointless. I wanted—nay needed—Clark, and the minute he walked through the door I was going to throw him down on the sofa, and fuck his farm boy brains out. This is what I told myself every time we got together, but I was a coward, and would never do it.
"Lex, we need to talk. I have. There's something I have got to tell you," he confessed, moving into my room, shuffling forward nervously. "I have a—uh—well I, um. I have this friend, but" He sighed. I smiled, knowingly.
"But you really like this person and are wondering what it would be like to be more than just friends with them?" He nodded, but gave me an odd look as if to say, how could you possibly know that? "Is this person dating someone?" I asked, carefully avoiding feminine adjectives, even though I was fairly certain that this was all about a girl.
"Well, the truth is, I don't actually know," he admitted. "I've seen my friend with somebody else. They were a date, I think, but…I haven't seen the other person since then, and—my friend doesn't mention anybody special."
"Well then it sounds like they are single, and since that's the case, I'd recommend you tell your friend how you feel. It's tough, I know. Rejection sucks, and we're all afraid of it, but there's always that chance that they feel the same way, and aren't really sure what to tell you." I hated myself in that moment. How could I expect him to do the exact same thing I was terrified of myself? But, of course, if I told Clark how I felt, Jonathan Kent would blow my brains out, whereas, if he told Lana he loved her, it would hurt for a while if things didn't work out, but he'd get over it, and if it did…
"But it's not—normal. I'm not normal." There was real terror in the poor kid's voice. I couldn't remember the last time I had been as scared as him, not about something that didn't involve someone trying to kill me, anyway.
"Clark, I know it feels that way right now, but trust me, everybody goes through this. We all feel like weirdoes in those awkward teenage years, but…well, uh, here's the thing. It's perfectly normal. Nothing bad will happen to you, the dreams are just part of growing up, and it is okay to, um—how do I put this delicately? It's okay to—you know, touch—yourself…to um, you know…" Clark blushed, and cut me off.
"No, Lex, this isn't about that. I know what you're talking about, but I didn't, I don't—my dad already told me about those things, but my. Um—you see. I don't really like Lana. I just used her as an excuse so we—so I could talk to you about stuff I couldn't tell anybody else. I um. I don't like Lana, because…I don't I like girls. I'm sorry, I know it's really weird, but I figured that since you're from a big city, you might have at least met somebody like that before. I used to be able to talk to—I used to have someone to talk to, but he left, and now…well nobody else in Smallville is like me." I sighed, running a hand over my head. This poor kid, I thought. He really thinks that being gay is an abnormality, that there's something wrong with him. He saw the look in my eyes, and must have mistaken it for anger or disgust, and started to cry. "I'll never bother you again. Sorry." I stood up, raced over, and hugged him, holding his body as close to mine as I could. I wanted to show him that it was okay, and that he was too.
"Hey, relax, it's alright. There's nothing wrong with you, or your feelings. Being gay is just—lots of people are like you. Listen to me, it's okay. You're normal; I promise. I think I know more gay people than straight ones, at least before I moved to Smallville anyway."
"But what if he doesn't like me, or worse, he decides to tell everybody I'm a—everyone hates fags," he sobbed. I wanted to cry. This was more painful than when I realized I was gay.
"No, they don't, and if your friend doesn't like you back then he doesn't deserve anybody as sweet and funny and smart and beautiful as you, alright?" He shrugged. "Say it," I ordered.
"Okay," he whispered, pressing his face into my shoulder, crying hysterically. I felt his tears soaking through my shirt, and tried to touch his back without doing anything that might weird him out. "I like you." I smiled, and wrapped my arms around him tightly. He closed his eyes, sniffling.
"I like you too, Clark. You're my best friend. Well, uh, then again, you're pretty much my only friend." He started to cry even harder, grabbing a hold of my arm so tightly that I was afraid I might get hurt. "Are you okay?"
"No, you don't get it. I like you, Lex. You're the 'friend' I was talking about," he confessed between sobs. "I never should have said anything. I just knew that this was gonna happen. I'll go now. I'm sorry."
"Clark, please, please don't go," I begged, grabbing a hold of him again, pulling his body in close to me. "Clark, it's okay. It's okay. I like you too. I like you too, all right?" I asked, kissing his hair. "I didn't say anything before, because I was afraid that you wouldn't understand. Just like you said, there aren't exactly a lot of open-minded people around."
"You really like me?" he asked, lifting his head from my shirt for the first time in almost twenty minutes. He looked up into my eyes carefully. I nodded. "Really? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
"No, of course not," I chuckled. "Actually Clark, I love you, and I have ever since the day we first met." He kissed me, sloppily, but not terribly. It was as if he hadn't done very much kissing ever before in his life. I led, sticking my lips over his, pushing them open, slipping my tongue inside, wrapping it around his, and showing him what to do. Clark got hard, and impatient, grunting, and grinding into my leg roughly.
"We have to go upstairs, if you wanna do something, but if you and I—I don't…um, what do you wanna do? Um that is—I guess I'm asking, I know that this is your first time and everything, so you probably don't even—"
"Lex, you're not the only person I ever…I sort of knew that I was this way, before, 'cuz I had this huge crush on Whitney, the football player, and we sort of—we didn't…you know, but I don't know exactly what that would have made us," he explained, tugging at his collar nervously. "He and I did this thing with our," he whispered the next word, blushing slightly. "Cocks, and our hands. I touched him and he touched me. I really liked it, and he showed me this movie; it had two guys in it and one of them put his—I… This is kind of embarrassing," he admitted, blushing, again.
"Did you do what the guys in the movie were doing?" I asked, worrying, wondering how I could ever sleep with somebody six years my junior, who was scared out of his mind just talking about this, and had no idea what he was doing. He's just a kid, I thought. He isn't old enough to drive yet. Just break his heart and tell him it was all a lie; you don't like him. In the end it's safer, especially for him. I was about to say something, but Clark dropped to his knees, and kissed my pants. "I looked up a lot of those movies, on my computer, and in a lot of them, the guys do this…to each other."
"Are you sure you want to try?" Part of me seemed thrilled, excited, and horny, but I also felt a remarkable amount of guilt. I knew he wasn't completely ready. He wasn't like me. I lost my virginity at 12, and by the time I was his age, had given blowjobs to half a dozen guys at Excelsior Prep. "You never answered my question from before. What did Whitney do to you?" Clark shook his head desperately, and unzipped my pants, sliding them down slowly. "Stop it, Clark."
"In the back of the truck, on the way to the cornfield, Whitney and I made out. He unzipped his pants, and pushed my head down, towards it. He had a hard on, but I was really sick, so I couldn't—I was pissed at him, and scared. So, after what they did, we didn't talk for weeks. Then, he came by the farm one day, and we went up to the loft together, and Whitney kept saying how sorry he was, begging me to forgive him. I said, I would, but only if he told me why he let them do that."
"Let me guess, he told them you were gay, and they freaked out. So, he refused to tell them that he was too, and when they decided to hurt you. This was the least damaging, least fatal thing he could make them agree to?" I wished I had been the on to kill the stupid punk myself. I massaged his shoulders, pulling him back up onto his feet.
"They were gonna take turns—with me. I don't know why they would of done that, but I—he said that sometimes people think they can—'fuck it out of you' those were his words. Anyway, he said he wasn't going to let that happen, and I said, 'so you didn't want me?' He took me into his arms, and kissed me over and over, and then he, made love to me right there on the couch. But it was over so fast, and he…we. He joined the Marines right after that, and I never saw him again. But, to be honest, I didn't really like him that much. He knew I had the biggest crush on you, and so we couldn't of been together forever."
"So, you have slept with someone before?" He nodded, lowering himself again, opening his mouth to breathe on my underpants. "Are you sure about this?" I asked, carefully pushing his face away from my crotch. "Look at me for a second. I love you, Clark, and I never, ever wanna hurt you."
"You won't," he whispered, talking into the soft fabric of my silk boxers. "And I can see how much you want me, Please, please, I know how. I'll make you feel really, really, really good."
"Okay, but it's not a good idea for us to do anything out here in the open where anyone can just walk in," I explained, taking him by the hand, and carefully leading him up to my bedroom, closed and locked the door, and carefully peeled off his shirt, pushing him down onto the bed. I watched him pop the button on his fly, unzip and pull his jeans off. Clark got back on the floor, pulled my boxers down to my ankles, and held my cock in one hands, while slowly licking all along the shaft, from base to tip, and back again. "Oh, God," I moaned, as my entire body shuddered with pleasure. He flicked his tongue against my balls and dickhead, lapping up the tiny drop of precut as it oozed out of me. The beautiful farm boy took my entire length into his mouth, his lips sucking hard, rubbing up against my balls. "Clark?" I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut, and gripping his face I my hands, while he sucked and licked me. I thrust my hips forward, harder and harder, my eyes still shut tight. Even after I came, and felt him sallow the hot, white fluid, I kept them closed. I was terrified to look down, and discover that the whole thing was nothing but a dream.
"Lex? Lex are you okay?" he asked, nervously shaking me by he arms. I looked down and saw his sweet, beautiful face, looking up at me, his eyes filled with concern. His hair was soaked with sweat, sticking out all over the place, and there was still a single strand of cum hanging out of the side of his mouth. "Did I do that right?" he asked. I nodded, unsure as to whether or not I was actually capable of real speech just yet. He giggled, his firm, perfect body wiggling slightly. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," I said, breathing heavily, as I lowered myself to his side, wrapping my arms around him, kissing the kid's cheeks, and hair. You are so, remarkably beautiful and sweet, and funny, and smart, and nice. Nobody is ever nice to me. Not even—nevermind. I've never been with someone like you. Usually the people I date are women that my father thinks I should marry, and the guys I met at clubs are just—after my money, or my name, or they have no idea who I am but want to fuck me, because…they always say, but…I think I've always been so willing to do whatever you wanted, because you were nice to me, and might fall in love one day." Clark kissed my neck, blowing against it softly. I laughed. "Oh, is somebody ticklish?" he asked, digging his fingers into all my most sensitive areas, neck, stomach, armpits, feet. I let out a loud chuckle, squirming and trying to get away from him. "Uh-oh, what are you gonna do now, hmm?"
"Stop it, or I'll hide your clothes, and make you walk back to the farm in your birthday suit."
"You wouldn't do that. You're too scared that my dad would stick his shotgun in your mouth…or up your ass, he said, and laughed a little. I smiled, using every ounce of strength in my body to push myself forward, and tackling the kid. Obviously Clark saw the move coming; he was twice my size and an ex-football player to boot. I thought about tickling him back, but had already attempted that during a particularly vicious game of pool, only to discover that he wasn't the least bit sensitive to the thing. So, I just lay there, for a while, smiling, perfectly happy to be close to him, knowing that he knew how I felt, and more importantly, that he loved me back. Life was good, for—pretty much—the first time in my entire life. "I love you Lex," he whispered, later, as the two of us climbed into a bubble bath together.
"I love you too, Clark. I love you so much."
