A/N:
Nope, no idea where this is going.
Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing and expecting different results? Considering that once in a while I expect the Muse to let me know what she is up to, I think I now qualify for a nice room with very soft walls. But then, my friends and co-workers have been hinting at that for years.
***
Lex blinked muzzily at so many strange sensations as he woke up. In the fraction of a second before he could remember what had happened and where he was, through instinct or habit or both, he had tried to pull away from the arms clasping him. Upon remembering everything, he listened to the steady cadence of Clark's breathing, reassured that he hadn't awakened him. Clark's arms were as solidly around him as before.
He still couldn't fathom what had happened. He'd have no problems reciting the events: Clark opening his eyes and smiling a blurry welcome at him, how he sat stiffly as he began the extended litany of explanations of just what kind of man he'd become, just what he had done, Clark's face as he had listened, the quiet questions that had been asked and answered--God, he hadn't been this honest since Clark left--and the eyes searching his. Finally, the absolute confessions and promises, and Clark's arms.
The room was slowly growing more light and Clark stirred faintly, as if trying to roll over. Lex felt the arms around him tighten and the legs entangled with his move, and suddenly Clark had rolled onto his back, Lex still held as firmly on top of him. Though still nowhere near awake, Clark gave a quiet grunt of satisfaction, having managed both to change positions and keep Lex in his arms.
Lex didn't even want to chuckle at the depth of his own infatuation, that the way that Clark merely turned over in his sleep filled him with an almost piercing tenderness. This way, he knew, led to doting on how Clark tied his shoes or the way he pronounced his words. And, he realized, this was just fine with him.
He wanted to keep just Clark-thoughts in his head. Subside all his storms into that. Every anger, stilled, every bitterness appeased. He wondered if he could.
Maybe Clark had been too ready, to quick, to forgive and accept. A wild past wasn't the same as a dark one. He kept his hand from snaking to touch the crow-wing glossiness of Clark's hair, fanned on the pillow.
The arms around him tightened as if Clark had read his thoughts and was protesting. He raised his head and saw Clark looking at him and smiling in satisfaction, as though everything in the world were just right.
"Morning," Clark murmured, voice throaty from sleep. Lex felt the vibration from just the one word seem to buzz through his entire body. "Scoot up."
That was something he'd never heard in bed before. Intimate. Secure. It was only through great effort of mind that he kept from admitting that it was cozy. He obeyed, and Clark lightly kissed his lips, then, as if it had rewakened his own sensuality, began a leisurely kiss, tongue stroking and seeking out every sensitive place.
Lex couldn't keep from responding, even if he had wanted to. If he'd been on the brink of falling off a cliff and had the choice of continuing the kiss or saving himself, he wouldn't even have considered it a choice, just kept on. Even the thought that seemed to insinuate itself in his mind couldn't stop him. Clark had never kissed him like this before. Never with assurance and...knowledge.
He remembered their first kiss all too clearly. Clark's tongue had charged into his mouth with all the finesse of a puppy's slobbering licks, as though he were intent on scrubbing Lex's mouth clean. His own tongue had retreated in shock, like a dowager cat when confronted with an enthusiastic alley kitten. It had taken him a moment to recover from the realization that not only was Clark a virgin, he hadn't even really kissed before. He'd all but melted at the thought, and couldn't keep his mouth from curving in an indulgent smile even as he lightly flicked the bottom of Clark's tongue with his own, barely brushing it before retreating coyly, to reapproach from the side.
He was glad he'd been leaning against the table, because his knees were ready to give way at the sudden realization in Clark's eyes that this was a kiss, not window-scrubbing, that it was teasing and promises and prelude. He made his tongue dance around Clark's, darting into his mouth to feather against the sensitive roof, lapping briefly at each side of Clark's tongue, watching the echo of this mirrored in Clark's eyes as they changed from startlement to sensual realization.
They'd kissed again and again that night, but Clark was awkward, hesitant, clumsy still. But now...now he was assured, unfailingly seeking out the spots that most shivered at the contact.
It shouldn't matter, he told himself fiercely as the kiss ended. Then the thought hit him. If Clark had become...experienced...it must have been...He felt every muscle tense with anger.
He was still a Luthor after all, he realized, deciding against continuing, against pawing aside Clark's t-shirt to bury his mouth in the lines of the collar bone and shoulder. Not even Clark, not even being in bed with Clark, could change that.
Nope, no idea where this is going.
Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing and expecting different results? Considering that once in a while I expect the Muse to let me know what she is up to, I think I now qualify for a nice room with very soft walls. But then, my friends and co-workers have been hinting at that for years.
***
Lex blinked muzzily at so many strange sensations as he woke up. In the fraction of a second before he could remember what had happened and where he was, through instinct or habit or both, he had tried to pull away from the arms clasping him. Upon remembering everything, he listened to the steady cadence of Clark's breathing, reassured that he hadn't awakened him. Clark's arms were as solidly around him as before.
He still couldn't fathom what had happened. He'd have no problems reciting the events: Clark opening his eyes and smiling a blurry welcome at him, how he sat stiffly as he began the extended litany of explanations of just what kind of man he'd become, just what he had done, Clark's face as he had listened, the quiet questions that had been asked and answered--God, he hadn't been this honest since Clark left--and the eyes searching his. Finally, the absolute confessions and promises, and Clark's arms.
The room was slowly growing more light and Clark stirred faintly, as if trying to roll over. Lex felt the arms around him tighten and the legs entangled with his move, and suddenly Clark had rolled onto his back, Lex still held as firmly on top of him. Though still nowhere near awake, Clark gave a quiet grunt of satisfaction, having managed both to change positions and keep Lex in his arms.
Lex didn't even want to chuckle at the depth of his own infatuation, that the way that Clark merely turned over in his sleep filled him with an almost piercing tenderness. This way, he knew, led to doting on how Clark tied his shoes or the way he pronounced his words. And, he realized, this was just fine with him.
He wanted to keep just Clark-thoughts in his head. Subside all his storms into that. Every anger, stilled, every bitterness appeased. He wondered if he could.
Maybe Clark had been too ready, to quick, to forgive and accept. A wild past wasn't the same as a dark one. He kept his hand from snaking to touch the crow-wing glossiness of Clark's hair, fanned on the pillow.
The arms around him tightened as if Clark had read his thoughts and was protesting. He raised his head and saw Clark looking at him and smiling in satisfaction, as though everything in the world were just right.
"Morning," Clark murmured, voice throaty from sleep. Lex felt the vibration from just the one word seem to buzz through his entire body. "Scoot up."
That was something he'd never heard in bed before. Intimate. Secure. It was only through great effort of mind that he kept from admitting that it was cozy. He obeyed, and Clark lightly kissed his lips, then, as if it had rewakened his own sensuality, began a leisurely kiss, tongue stroking and seeking out every sensitive place.
Lex couldn't keep from responding, even if he had wanted to. If he'd been on the brink of falling off a cliff and had the choice of continuing the kiss or saving himself, he wouldn't even have considered it a choice, just kept on. Even the thought that seemed to insinuate itself in his mind couldn't stop him. Clark had never kissed him like this before. Never with assurance and...knowledge.
He remembered their first kiss all too clearly. Clark's tongue had charged into his mouth with all the finesse of a puppy's slobbering licks, as though he were intent on scrubbing Lex's mouth clean. His own tongue had retreated in shock, like a dowager cat when confronted with an enthusiastic alley kitten. It had taken him a moment to recover from the realization that not only was Clark a virgin, he hadn't even really kissed before. He'd all but melted at the thought, and couldn't keep his mouth from curving in an indulgent smile even as he lightly flicked the bottom of Clark's tongue with his own, barely brushing it before retreating coyly, to reapproach from the side.
He was glad he'd been leaning against the table, because his knees were ready to give way at the sudden realization in Clark's eyes that this was a kiss, not window-scrubbing, that it was teasing and promises and prelude. He made his tongue dance around Clark's, darting into his mouth to feather against the sensitive roof, lapping briefly at each side of Clark's tongue, watching the echo of this mirrored in Clark's eyes as they changed from startlement to sensual realization.
They'd kissed again and again that night, but Clark was awkward, hesitant, clumsy still. But now...now he was assured, unfailingly seeking out the spots that most shivered at the contact.
It shouldn't matter, he told himself fiercely as the kiss ended. Then the thought hit him. If Clark had become...experienced...it must have been...He felt every muscle tense with anger.
He was still a Luthor after all, he realized, deciding against continuing, against pawing aside Clark's t-shirt to bury his mouth in the lines of the collar bone and shoulder. Not even Clark, not even being in bed with Clark, could change that.