Seperis (seperis) wrote,

svfic: frantic, or, the day there were no porkchops 3/3

svfic: frantic 1/3
svfic: frantic 2/3

It looks nothing like any evil laser anywhere in creation.

Sitting back on his heels, Clark gives it a long look, then glances at Lex, currently engaged in watching his fingers wriggle mid-air.

It really makes him wonder what besides alcohol is in that blue bottle, really.

"Lex. Help here?"

Dragging his attention away from the antics of one solitary bending thumb, Lex gives him an annoyed look. "I'm busy."

"Suffocation? Is not a great way to go."

He actually *rolls his eyes*. "I'm sure you'll get us out of this, *Superman*." When Lex says it, it sounds like--oh. No. Don't go there. "Just--do your thing. Save us from danger." A wide, white smile splits his face. "I can be very grateful."

Clark is never wearing jeans again around Lex. Ever. "Does this thing look right?"

Lex eyes it for a second, like he might actually know what he's looking at, or like it's talking to him about Alexander the Great and the Parthians. "No."

And fuck. "Lex. Get your ass. Up. And. Get over here."

Lex considers it. "What do I get for cooperating?"

What does he get…? "You get to *live*. Breathe. Plot the conquest of the Asian continent and assorted islands. Get *over* here."

A graceful hand waves in the air, resembling a dying duck flapping its last. Clark reminds himself to tell Lex that someday. "I need more. Motivation."

More *what*? "What do you want?"

Like a cat, Lex uncurls, stretching full length on the floor, all bare skin and silk shirt and unbuttoned pants--unzippered pants. Whoa. "What do you think?"

Clark closes his eyes and wonders if Batman has to go through this with Joker.

Wow. Bad thought.

"No. Way."

Lex grins at him, eyes closing lazily. "Take it or leave it."


"All right."

A few years ago, Clark figured out that most people did not jerk off after fights with their arch-nemesis. Batman had told him. After *catching* him. Doing. That.

This, Clark thinks, could have been a clue. Maybe it should have led to more intensive session with his therapist. Instead, a long night's flight to think through how he really couldn't be blamed, since his early sexual development phase had been spent, for the most part, a few inches away from Lex Luthor, who pinged for everyone, anyone, and anything. So right. It was, in fact, merely hormonal, and therefore, he could do it, and it wasn't necessarily weird, just his thing. Like Batman's thing was the rubber and talcum powder and oversized athletic cups.

'Cause no way does Batman fill *that* thing out.

Lex, suspiciously, moves with a surprising amount of sobriety for a man on the verge of passing out in his own drool, and one second, vertical, staring at laser; next, on his back, staring at vivid blue eyes and then, it's all dark and wet and oh *God*, Lex is good at kissing.

Good at kissing, good at touching, not so great at world domination, but he tries *so hard* that Clark has yet to find the heart to tell him he'd be a lot less stressed if he took up competitive origami.

Long legs straddle him, and Clark reaches to touch, running his hands over wool as smooth and sleek as skin--wait. Possibly that *is* skin. Lots of skin. No bother of underwear, either.

Suffocation might not be that bad. "Lex."

"Later." Warm lips on his throat, Lex's fingers sliding down to jerk his shirt apart, buttons flying everywhere, and wow, later? That will be so embarrassing. Not now, though. Now is hot. Now is Lex's slick, soft mouth on his throat, his chest, cock against his stomach, grinding down to make Clark arch. Strange little whimpers keep disturbing the air, and it takes a while for Clark to realize it's him.

"Lex," he thinks he says, but it's all vowels and no syllables, or maybe no vowels; the rules of English grammar are so not in the room right now. Lex unbuttons his jeans and jerks them down with a sound that could be tearing, and hey, who knew the future humiliation in store for him once they leave here would make him hot? Clark sure didn't. "Oh God."

Lex sits up, grinning down at him, before wrapping one warm hand around his cock. And 'oh God' isn't adequate for that second at all.

"You know," Lex says, and maybe Clark's ears aren't working right, because it's possible Lex is *panting*, and that's all kinds of brand new and so very, very hot, "You know, if I'd known all it took to get you on your knees was this, I wouldn't have bothered with Kryptonite all these years."

Technically, Clark isn't on his knees, but that's grasping at the straws of logic when the haystack's already blown out the window--and today is not a good day for metaphors. At all. Through dazed eyes, Clark watches Lex let go, almost crying--so *close*--and licks his palm with an obscene amount of tongue before the strong fingers are wrapped back around him and ohh yes yes yes, right there, don't stop, don't stop--

"I'm not," Lex whispers, and Clark reaches for skin--smooth and sticky with sweat, reaching down with blind, clumsy fingers to pull at soft wool, already so conveniently unbuttoned just for him. Lex makes a sound unlike *anything* Clark has ever heard, pushing into his hand and stroking faster.

"Enemies--don't do this," Clark hears himself saying, and wait, is he trying to talk Lex *out* of handjobs? That doesn't make any sense at all.

"Near-death sex. You've seen the movies." Lex braces a hand on the floor, knees on either side of Clark's hips, giving him leverage to twist and rock into Clark's hand.

Yes, he has, and they really gave him a terribly unrealistic view of how his life as a superhero would go, because wow, the entirety of the Justice League combined could probably count on one hand how many times they've gotten laid this year. Clark's are in decimals, if he counts one accidental kiss with a heart-attack victim, but he tries not to, since it was kinda gross and the guy was kinda eighty.

And-- "Oh!" Oh. Oh Lex, and his wonderful slick tongue in his mouth, and his wonderful damp hand around his cock, and his oh God, yes, now, now, now, nownownow… "*Fuck*."

Here, in Lex's evil secret lab, Clark sees stars, galaxies, and discovers the meaning of life (so not 47). His hand is damp and the remains of his shirt are forever ruined and my God, does he not give a shit. "Lex." He tightens his grip, watching Lex's lip get caught between clenched teeth, the tiny drop of blood, the crinkle of his forehead, and reaches up with his free hand and pulls Lex into a kiss, feeling him shudder, stopping short and coming with a groan that Clark can feel in his toes.

They lay there for a while, panting up the useable oxygen, and while carbon monoxide death may be in their future, the future is not now and now has Lex a sweaty, come-stained, liquid mess in his arms.

Life? Better than it was ten minutes ago.

Lex noses at his throat, licking idly at sweaty skin, stopping every so often for a thoughtful scrape of teeth, and the second Clark's refraction period is over, this is going to double the amount of sex he's had this year. Again.

Finally, a slow sigh. "Imminent death?" Because it will suck, in so many non-recreational ways, if asphyxiation is involved, not to mention bad, bad, bad.

Slowly, Lex lifts his head, shifting his knees back to the floor to take his weight as he sits up. Damp shirt, flushed, swollen lips, glistening with sweat, he's pretty much Clark's longest running wet dream. The slight glaze in the blue eyes helps. They could surely fit in another round before the imminent demise thing. Surely. "Right. Laser." Shifting onto the floor, Lex gives it a glance, then reaches over and moves something, before collapsing into an elegant sprawl. "Go at it."

Sitting up, Clark looks suspiciously between Lex and the laser. "You said you didn't know how to put it together."

Eyes closed, Lex smiles in satiation. "I lied."

Well, fuck.


If there's a humiliation greater than being a superhero in civilian disguise holding up their pants mid-air because *someone* ripped the zipper apart, Clark's never heard of it.

Lex, perched on his back like an experienced horseman, isn't helping. "Get closer."

From fifty-nine feet up, it's about all Clark can do to stay airborne. "I go closer, we both become goo-chow. It's *huge*. Why do you need to be closer?" Roughly the size of the valley, Clark could spit and hit it. It's tempting, but again--airborne? Taking all available energy at this time.

"I want to be sure it hits at full strength."

Clark glances over his shoulder and wishes he hadn't. Lex's look of unholy glee (Unholy Glee #2, still second to Anytime Lex Shoots Clark) is a lot less reassuring than it should be. Good thing, Lex is focusing all that malevolent-ness at someone (-thing?) else. Bad thing, that it's a lot more hot than when it's directed at, say, Clark.

Clark grips the front of his pants together manfully and refuses to think about it another second. His cock doesn't quite agree. This so isn't happening. Desperate, Clark tries to force the torn zipper together and wobbles mid air. Lex's shift on his back stops his heart for a brief second before the long thighs clamp around him like a steel trap.

"Stay *still*!" A cuff to the back of his neck, like an unruly horse.

"I'm *losing strength* here. You know, kryptonite? Kind of, I don't know, *deadly*? Take the damn shot! And stop hitting me!"

Lex murmurs something uncomplimentary, but the next thing Clark sees is a shot of something reddish hitting it. No real effect, but at least all the waving stops. Wobbling again, Clark clenches his teeth as Lex's heels begin to dig into his stomach. It doesn't *hurt*--but it's not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination. "Uh, Lex, could you--"

Another shot, and Lex's heel is slipping downward. In a way inappropriate to flying and, well, survival. Clark's cock's interest in the matter heightens, and oh God, if anyone could *see* this--

Another shot. And the goo--is definitely going away. Retreating with goo-slowness, but definitely moving *away*, and Clark enjoys a few seconds free of the feel of the stuff before Lex spurs him with a heel. That? Is annoying.

"Follow it!"

Well, fucking *duh*, Lex.

Clark has no sense of how much time passes as they sweep over hill and down dale, the green goo slowly running from them and, if the effect on him as they get closer to it every time is any indication, getting smaller. It's like Clark imagines driving a herd of cattle. Just--less cattle. Lex's joy in destruction is almost palpable, and he uses his heel way too often for Clark's peace of mind. And they're coming into occupied territory now.


Lex is in his zone. It's kind of nice, Clark thinks, to see him so invested in doing *good* for once. "Not now."

"Um. It's a lot smaller." Like, an acre now. Maybe less.

"So?" Glancing over his shoulder, Clark watches Lex line up another shot. "Just a second and--"

"Maybe we should--"

The next shot is probably the longest, and if one were, say, suspicious, one might think Lex was taking out some repressed aggression on the green goo, since he has that look on his face that promises dire consequences to all who dare to cross him and blah blah blah, evil, whatever. It would be yawnworthy if Clark wasn't aware that they're disturbingly close to a major highway and the possibility that someone might see them soon.

See two half-naked guys, one armed, hovering over the greater Smallville area, while one tries to avoid an aerial indecency charge with his pants doing their level best to gape open. Not a particularly shocking sight for a longtime Smallville resident perhaps, but that doesn't make it less embarrassing.

Also, no green goo.

"I'm landing," he says, and grits his teeth, not bothering to angle his line of descent so Lex won't be uncomfortable. He just doesn't feel that sympathetic right now. Finding land, Clark jerks up the jeans, feeling Lex slide onto the ground like a man getting off a kiddy roller coaster. The bastard doesn't even *stumble*.

"Well," Lex says, and Clark doesn't dare turn around to see the satisfied expression on Lex's face. He's always like that after winning. "That certainly made the day more interesting than expected." As casual as if his shirt isn't gaping open, he's barefoot, and he still smells like Clark. And sex. Very much like sex.

Clark glares, but on some level, he's aware that there is no way to pull off Superman's glare when his jeans keep trying to slide down to his knees and his poor, confused cock, now aware of Lex-skin being a very attractive thing, desperately trying to climb out. It's beyond humiliation. "That was so your goo."

There's comfort in the fact that Lex, also not looking his immaculate best, can't quite pull off Evil Archnemesis with any sort of credibility while holding up torn wool. "I did *not*. Now, could you get the fuck *over* the drama and get us back to civilization?" Lex gives his ruined pants a betrayed look, like he expects more of trillion dollar wool than to gape open in such an unseemly way.

Clark doesn't look. Much.

"Get you back--" It shouldn't be a surprise, but it is. "I--you--"

Lex looks up, all wide-eyed innocence, and he pulls it off, too, which is just the most annoying moment in history, right up there with the fact that by now, Dad's eaten every pork chop in the house and Clark will be reduced to hunting the fridge for last night's spaghetti. "Clark--"

"You--you have *got* to be kidding. After--after your *goo* and after--"

Lex smiles. He also drops his pants. That shouldn't be sexy. It really, really is. "I can be *very grateful*."

Clark reassesses the situation. Lex can make him do that.

They might be here for a while.


Son of the Goo by Madelyn

Clark winced as he picked up a large rock.

"God, you’re a Neanderthal!" Lex protested, scooping up the tiny creature. It—it dissolved into a flat puddle in his hand, and Clark and Lex both watched, shocked and not just a little curious, as it reformed into its previous shape. "We’re not going to crush it to death. Jesus, Clark." Turning his attention back to the goo, he murmured, "Shh. We’re going to take you to my lab and find out how you got so big," Lex said, eyeing it steadily.

"*We’re* not doing anything. I can’t even take off if you’re holding that thing." Clark protested, growing increasingly high-pitched.

"Hmm," Lex said non-committally. "Oh, a truck." Clark made a noise that sounded disturbingly like a squeak and flattened himself to the ground so that exposure was at its minimum.

Lex made a small sound of disgust and tucked the goo into his pocket. He ran to the side of the road, waving his arms over his head calmly. The truck actually stopped and Clark continued to observe, awed, as Lex leaned into the window and said something. He then pointed at Clark lying on the ground, and a startled laugh rang out from the car. Lex nodded and continued talking as Clark pressed his body into the sweet, cool ground. Maybe it would suck him in.

The car was on its way half a minute later, and Clark looked up cautiously as he got to his feet. Lex was now airily tossing around a lead pipe, complete with gleeful smirk.

Clark blinked. "Well, get that into some sort of shape to hold it already," Lex instructed impatiently, handing over the pipe. Clark bent and twisted this way and that, by rote. Wordlessly, he handed the misshapen pipe to Lex, who carefully pulled the goo back out, and placed it inside the pipe. He tucked it neatly under his arm and looked at Clark expectantly.

Resigned, Clark bent slightly so Lex could climb on again.


One month later…

"I want to show you something," Lex grinned, twisting out of his suit jacket and tossing it carelessly on a table on their way through the penthouse.

"I’m up for anything you want to show me," Clark told him a little breathlessly, tugging off his tie and throwing it over his shoulder. He was getting so much better at this flirting thing, even if he did say so himself. He was managing double entendres these days. Lex was proud of him, even if he didn’t say it, Clark thought. And turned on.

Really, really turned on, Clark swallowed as Lex pivoted and placed his hands on both sides of Clark face. Even though Lex was the one walking backwards, Clark was the one who stumbled as he followed Lex into the bedroom. Lex was unbuttoning Clark’s jeans, almost had them halfway past his hip bone when--

A dim green light in the corner caught his eye.

"This is….new," Clark said blankly, ignoring Lex’s surprised protest as he pulled away. Clark peered closer, frowning. It—it was the goo.

In Lex’s *bedroom*. The goo was in Lex’s bedroom and it was *watching* him. Them. Lex. Clark couldn’t tell what the heck the goo was focused on. It sat placidly on a small brightly colored purple rock in the front corner of the terrarium

….could goo even sit?

"I thought some more landscaping might be nice," Lex said thoughtfully, coming up behind Clark and tracing a finger along the glass. A tentacle landed with a muffled thwap against the glass. Clark shivered.

"Lex, you can’t possibly be thinking of keeping the goo in your *house*!" Clark protested.

"We’ve run every test we can think of at my labs," Lex said softly, stroking as the goo made oddly contented sounding noises that could plainly be heard through the terrarium. "I’ve made its new surroundings as safe as they can possibly be. I’d like to be able to keep an eye on it."

Clark continued to eye the little green glob. It wasn’t eyeing him back. It wasn’t. Clark repeated it a couple of times. It could be the new yoga mantra he’d been looking for for the last month. Lex turned his back on the glass, facing Clark again. He slid a warm hand underneath Clark’s t-shirt and rubbed his stomach, leaning in closer to Clark’s neck, rocking his body against Clark’s silently.

"Lead-lined plexiglass," Lex murmured with a lick, and Clark doesn’t want to ask just how Lex managed that one, "filtered air going in and out of the tank." Clark rocked helplessly at Lex’s slow rhythm. "An immediate alert--" the tip of Lex’s tongue behind the cartilage of Clark’s ear—"to security if the mass weight of the tank does not fall within preset parameters.

"Its diet is based on—well, we don’t really know for certain yet. It can apparently eat anything and gain some form of sustenance." Clark glared at Lex. "The trick is to feed it in minimum amounts, enough for it to live comfortably, yet still not be able to gain enough energy to grow to anything remotely approaching the size we saw in Smallville. Also, it needs to be kept away from heat."

"Does it get sick?" Clark asked, biting his lip as a tiny tentacle flopped shyly against the plexiglass next to Lex’s ass.

"No," Lex said slowly. "It fed off your heat vision; it sucked up those cars like they were nothing. And the goats--"

"Got it, got it." Clark muttered.

"But I’ve got it all under control. It’s under constant surveillance. Nibbles can’t do us any harm, Clark." Lex had managed to get them closer to the bed, and Clark had absolutely no clue how.

Wait. What? It had a name? Nibbles? "Lex, Ni--"

Lex was kissing him again, hard, and it should be hot, and it *was* hot, but….Clark could feel tiny eyes boring into his back, and his cock responded by softening slightly. Lex pushed off him slowly as he felt it against his thigh.

"I feel like trying something in a chair! In a living room chair!" Clark said brightly, swiftly pulling Lex behind him.

"You are bogglingly transparent."

Of their own volition, Clark’s pants slid down two inches. Clark smiled tensely, weight moving from foot to foot.

"Fortunately for you, I am easily swayed," Lex breathed, following Clark out of the bedroom.


If the two had looked back behind them, they would have seen the green glow fade a bit; his tentacle finally falling from the glass as Nibbles observed the pair leaving the room. He had so looked forward to the chance to observe the Lex in his natural environment.

But soon. Soon, he will have the Lex.

He will.
Tags: fic: smallville 2005, sv: frantic
  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →