Seperis (seperis) wrote,

birthdayfic for bonibaru: five very good reasons not to date luthors

A belated birthday present to bonibaru. *hugs* I'm so sorry this is so very late.

Five Very Good Reasons Not to Date Luthors by jenn


Reason 1: The disparity in income can cause problems.

"You're kidding."

Compromise is a new word in Lex's vocabulary--he's still working through all the variations that, oddly enough, have never appeared in the dictionary. Like, cannot buy boyfriend new car; instead, he has to watch Clark drive around in a frighteningly domestic Ford that shakes at sixty and leaks oil everywhere it travels.

Clark calls it 'compromise'. Lex calls it hell.

"No," Clark says earnestly, all huge dark eyes and way too big smile, and they're sitting on his dorm bed. T-minus two days to moving, with some things packed and most things not. Clark is letting Lex splurge and get movers after surveying the piles of things accumulated over two years. Lex considers that something of a minor miracle. "Lex, look--"

"Clark. How much do you make a month?"

Clark flushes. "Eight hundred. But--"

"Clark. You can't *get* an apartment in Metropolis for under a thousand. Split would be five hundred and you can't afford that." See, this is where the word 'compromise' gets that new definition, a Clark-specific definition. The 'I will live with you but make it as complex as possible'. Lex hates dorm beds. Hates the thin walls. Hates that Chloe and Lois and their little cabal of future mudrakers sat outside one night and recorded him saying some truly bizarre things at the top of his lungs.

Clark's mouth has that effect on him.

They held it for ransom. Lex still shudders when he thinks of them taking the Ferrari all across Metropolis for an entire week. The leather upholstery still smells of girl and department stores and pina colada mix.

"Sure you can!" Clark lights up in enthusiasm, reaching out to grasp Lex's hand. "I went looking--"

"Looking." Lex wonders if there actually are hairs on the back of his neck, because something is crawling back there. It's a lot like foreboding.

"Yeah, and there are a lot of places. This one efficiency--"

"Clark. Efficiency. That's *one room*." One scary combination room, and Lex has sudden visions of trying to survive.

"Okay, that did sound a little small." Clark frowns, then lights up again. "A one bedroom, one bath, right off sixth and Baltimore--"

Oh. The highest crime area of the city. The place that *drug dealers* are scared to travel in. Clark starts making happy noises about low rent and included water and how the tenth floor would be great. Even though they said there were problems with the elevator sometimes.

"Clark. We are not living anywhere near Baltimore." He used to get high in that area as a teenager. Lex almost asks for the complex name, a strange sense of revolted fascination taking over, much like watching a train crash in slow motion. There's a distinct possibility he's been there before. "It's dangerous."

Clark smiles sunnily. "I can protect you."

"*And* my cars?"

A thoughtful expression settles on Clark's face. "Yeah, they said something about the garage not being that great a place…."

"Clark, what's wrong with the penthouse? You practically live there anyway."

"Because I cant' afford the rent! Or half the utilities. I mean--" Clark trails off, looking up at Lex from under too-long bangs. Lex hopes he doesn’t' cut his hair any time soon.

"Clark," Lex says patiently, and suddenly, he's inspired. "There is no rent. The building is owned by LexCorp."

Clark looks mutinous. "That's the same thing. You're paying--"

"No." Think quickly, or you'll be living in the slums, Lex. The dorm room is starting to have a nostalgic appeal and he hasn't even gotten Clark out of it yet. "No, because the building is owned by LexCorp, which is owned by the board, not just me. The penthouse is rent free because I'm CEO." It almost sounds plausible. "It's like--like a perk of my job." Lex watches the conflict on Clark's face. "You can still pay half the bills." And Lex will be doctoring the bills every month for awhile. He can live with that.

Clark frowns. "It'll look like I'm living off you."

Okay, plan three. "Do you care what people think? We know the truth. You pay half, I pay half." Overlook the fact that Lex would be perfectly content buying whatever Clark wants for the rest of their lives. That's apparently something in the compromise column. As in, not happening, ever.

"Yeah--" Clark's wavering. Lex thinks of his bed, which would never fit in any apartment that isn't the size of the place he lives now, and how spectacular Clark looks stretched out on it. Of his study. Of his art. Of the crime rate.

Of the seventy inch LCD TV he just bought.


"Plus, the Penthouse is in easy commute. You'd add on an hour every morning just getting to school from Baltimore." If he didn't run. Which he never does, as Metropolis is not Smallville and people notice things like superfast winds suddenly whooshing by them.

Lex can see that he's wearing Clark down. Time to bring in the big guns.

"And your mother isn't exactly happy about the move anyway. What would she say if she thought I was taking her only son out of his safe, secure dorm room into the worst part of town?"

Oh yeah. Bingo. Clark frowns, staring at their hands. "Yeah, I didn't think of that. Mom would be pissed."

Letting out a breath Lex hadn't know he was holding, he pats Clark's hand. "Okay, then. We'll split the bills--"

"All the bills."

Jesus, Clark had better never find out how much a direct T-3 connection costs these days. "All of them." He's a pretty good forger. "Now can we go to dinner?"

Clark cocks his head, then smiles. "Sure."


Reason 2: Lex's associates with unsavory people.

"So--you're Lex's new boytoy?"

Wow, people actually use that word. Clark freezes, glass halfway to his mouth, and the pretty socialite smiles, like she knows she's drawn blood. She's too pretty, Clark thinks, and x-rays just to be sure that yes, she's had a nosejob and collagen implants, and blonde is so *not* her natural hair color.

That makes him feel a little better.

"Clark Kent," he says, because his mother taught him to be polite. She smiles, revealing capped teeth. Lots of them. She's had cavities and dental surgery. That makes him feel even better. "I don't believe we've met?"

"Amy Marks," she says pleasantly, like they're just engaged in all kind of civil conversation. "I attended Yale with Lex." Which you didn't, she seems to say. Hello, state-school boy. I'm very rich and much more interesting. Did I mention we used to fuck?

She really can say a lot with a smile.

"He's never mentioned you," Clark answers casually, taking a drink from his glass. It's only coke and ice, but they don't know that, do they? Being twenty sucks with the entire legal age thing on alcohol.

There's a vivid flash of red on both cheeks, and it makes her look a little too red with all that blush. Clark tries not to smirk and over her shoulder, he can see Lex stalking with intent, ignoring people, waiters, and trivial things like different rooms. Flicking his gaze out of X-ray, Clark watches Amy look for something to say.

"Have you known Lex long?" Longer than it took for you to get on your knees, farmboy?

"Years." Swallowing the last of his drink, Clark smiles over her shoulder as Lex appears, extending his glass around her. "Hey, Lex."

Wow, she's a really interesting color now. Lex takes his glass, sipping briefly, before circling fully around, giving Amy one of his best smiles. He looks happy. He's always happiest in orgasm or making an enemy miserable. That sound you hear, Amy, is your name going on Lex's 'They Annoy Me' list.

"Clark." Handing back the glass with a brush of fingers, Lex surveys the room briefly. "Amy. There's someone I want you to meet, Clark. If you'll excuse us?" Without waiting for a response, slim fingers slide through his, and Clark flashes her another smile. He's getting better at these social things. Or at least, better at gloating.

He has a feeling he'll be doing this a lot for the next few years.

"Lovely girl," Clark remarks casually. Lex flashes him a bright, brief smile, like he's wondering how she'd look during a corporate takeover.


"That, too. Your taste in women sucks."

Lex rolls his eyes. "I didn't date her. I fucked her. Different thing."

Right, different thing. Twenty-two and a half dates before Clark got Lex naked--to this day, Clark's not sure if the impossibly long wait was Lex making sure Clark was sure, or the fact Lex was really enjoying the entire concept of dating, with all it entailed. Flowers, chocolate, movies, dinner, some random acts of vandalism, and so much making out at a very stalled second base that Clark had been in a perpetual state of arousal for almost six months straight. He'd started to wonder if his cock was broken.

"Nice people."

Lex snickers. "Believe it or not, most of them are."

"Right." He knows Lex is right, though. His Yale roommate, Chuck, had been a lot of fun, not to mention really hot, and the pretty brunette Lex had introduced him to earlier in the night, Penelope, was sweet and reminded him a lot of Chloe. "Who are you introducing me to now?"

"An old friend." Lex must see his suspicion. "Friend, Clark. Friend-friend." Clark doesn't change his expression. "As in, I've never considered sleeping with her, ever."

Clark sees why when the introductions are made. She's old enough to be his grandmother, but a lot scarier than any older woman Clark's ever met. "Clark, Eliza Jordan, CEO of Jorex." A small, wiry, extremely *strong* hand takes his, and if he'd been human, there'd be broken bones involved. Wow. "Liza, Clark."

"New boyfriend?"

Clark smiles over clenched teeth and wonders if they all think he charges by the hour. "Nice to meet you."

She has black eyes and white hair, and she's about two feet shorter than him, but he's intimidated. Oh yes. Liza looks at him like a piece of questionable art. Lex looks like that when he is evaluating the latest exhibit at the Met Gallery. "Likewise." Gorgeous voice, though--low and deep and rich, and Clark can see Lex smiling at her a little fatuously. Okay, so she can't be too bad. Lex looks like someone talking to their first crush. "MetU student? Journalism, I hear?"

Clark bets she probably knows his high school GPA and what his dorm room number is too. She seems like that kind of a woman. "Yes, ma'am."

"Martha Clark's child?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lex still has that fatuous look.

"I knew your grandfather, Clark, before he retired." Giving him a smile, her eyes flicker to Lex. "And you bring him here?"

Lex flushes a little, but the blue eyes never waver. "You'd rather I dropped him into a benefit dinner as a first time? Please." Glancing around the cocktail party Lex had characterized as 'small', Clark wonders what, exactly, a benefit dinner entailed. "Besides, I knew you'd be here."

"Hmph." Her eyes flicker between them. "Your father would be incensed if he could see this. It's a cheering thought." With a warmer smile, she turns back to Clark. "Give your mother my best, Clark."

Lex steers him away as another group of penitents--er, businesspeople--approach. She looks like she's having a good time putting that expression of worry on their faces.

"Lex--" Clark looks at his glass. Alcohol may not affect him, but he'd like to try it again and see.

"She liked you. Just relax. We'll be leaving soon."

"How many people in this room *haven't* you slept with?" Train wreck fascination. When he glances at Lex, the flush is back. "Oh God."

"Including Liza? About half."

Clark sighs and sees Lex's slow, thoughtful smile, before the hand frees his, sliding around his waist and bringing them to a halt.

"Want to leave now?" A low whisper in his ear, and Clark tries to pretend that Lex's voice isn't an aphrodisiac. Because this is a really crowded room.

"So you can fuck your boytoy out of his pouting?" Wow, he's a brat tonight.

"So you can fuck me out of remembering everyone else I've slept with."

Clark feels the glass in his hand crack. "Let's go."


Reason 3: Lex doesn't share well with others.

Moving sucks.

The penthouse is a disaster area of boxes, clothes, and scurrying servants. Clark is standing in the middle, looking around like a conqueror intent on the acquisition of new territory.

Lex downs his brandy. He's glad he locked his study before Clark could get in there.

Compromise, Clark had said the night before. Our home. We'll redecorate together. It'll be fun. And Clark had reminded him that his mouth is probably the most valuable commodity on the planet. He used it well.

Lex pours another glass as Clark asks that the Rembrandt be removed from the living room and a lovely frame poster from the Star Wars; Attack of the Clones is reverently hung by two shell-shocked servants.

They keep looking at Lex like they expect rescue, but well, they're as doomed as he is. Like the revised dinner menus and the presence of domestic beer, it's just something that's going to have to be endured.

Lex pours more brandy.

"I think we should get different rugs," Clark says, stepping back to check the perspective on the poster, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. His socked foot kicks irrelevantly at the subtle-colored, soft Persian beneath his foot, tasteful in soft earth tones. It matches everything.

Lex takes a bracing drink and tries to look alert from the sofa. "What were you thinking?" He's not going to like it.

"I like red."

Of course he does.

"Did you have something in mind, Clark?"

"Give some color to the room." Clark glances at the door briefly, eyes widening abruptly. "Okay, um. Well. I actually do. Lois and I went shopping this afternoon--you know, for the move. And we found this great rug--"

From the front door comes the rough sound of--feet. Moving feet. Standing up, Lex nods at his frightening butler, watching the man warily navigate the hall to the door.

"And it's really cool, Lex. Lois said it was perfect."

Lex swallows the rest of his brandy and takes a deep breath as the door opens.

It comes in an innocuous roll, carried by two obviously displaced delivery boys who keep staring around the penthouse, possibly wondering why on earth they've been dispatched here. Lex had the entire penthouse decorated by a professional once upon a time, with an eye to theme and personality, and he thinks of her face just as he glimpses exactly what Clark meant by 'red'.

"Okay, move all the furniture back," Clark says impressively. He's getting to like ordering people around. He's very good at it in bed, too, Lex has noticed. "Yeah. Okay, hold on. Lex, you're going to have to move your chair."

Lex nods blankly and allows himself to be gently pulled to the wide doorway by one of the maids while his comfortable leather recliner is taken away like a sacrificial victim, obviously aware he's lost simple motor function. It's like a horror movie--all too fast, but the slow motion commences with the unrolling of what has to be the reddest rug in creation.

Solid. Fucking. Firetruck. Red.

Lex looks mournfully at his glass and watches in interest as a maid is revived against the doorway. He thinks his staff will be drinking tonight.

"This looks great," Clark enthuses, looking at Lex. Obviously, he doesn't need much from Lex but his presence to confirm how great this all is. "Okay, go ahead and move the stuff back. Lex, you mind if I put something on the sideboard?"

Lex crosses the room, and how odd, the rug is just as red when he's walking on it as it is when he's just staring at it from a distance. It clashes with everything, even things that don't exist.

But Clark was right. It does have color.

Picking up his brandy bottle from the sideboard, Lex pulls himself a drink.


"My blue lava lamp."

Fuck the glass. Lex drinks straight from the bottle.

Somewhere in the distance, Lex hears his butler start to cry.


Reason 4: Lex is immoral and unethical.

Clark's finding it almost depressingly easy to get around Lex when he gets--ishy.

Cocking his head, Clark considers his boyfriend, currently at his desk and plotting the destruction of--something. Company, business, person, major landmark, whatever. It's something interesting--right, company. What's the name again?

For some reason, he'd thought there would be a challenge involved, and he remembers thinking noble thoughts of steering Lex toward the right thing, subtly guiding him from his father's influence and example, showing him a better way of doing business, of making decisions.

Save Lex, he'd thought then, envisioning long, hard years of patient work, prodding, the careful derailing of Lex's possible future nefarious deeds. He'd had a flow chart made, to follow his progress. He'd had long conversations with Chloe and his parents, detailing his strategy.

As it turned out, he didn't need it. Two days after moving in, Clark regretfully burned them in the fireplace, watching his noble future go up in smoke. It'd been really depressing.

Leaning into the study door, Clark takes in the dark, rather sterile room, making a note to redecorate a little next time Lex goes on a business trip.

Right now, Lex is plotting how to pay off a Semtec scientist to fuck with some lab results. He's making mental lists of possible people, deciding how much each would cost. He's budget conscious that way. What inspectors he'll need to pay off. How long he'll wait before the stock prices fall to start buying and stage a corporate takeover.

Clark glances at his watch.

Right now, Lex is just about to put the plan into motion, reaching for the phone--

Clark clears his throat and quickly adjusts his posture against the door.

"Clark? Just a second." Fingers touching the number pad, ready to--

"Hey, let's make it an early night."

Lex looks up briefly, frowning, obviously ready to explain that it's, a, only six in the evening, and b, he's doing work.

He blinks. Once.

Clark watches in satisfaction mixed with a kind of pitying triumph as the phone falls carelessly onto the desk, forgotten. That takes care of incoming calls.


Clark stretches. He'd wondered if maybe he was overdoing it, but Lex has the strangest affection for Clark wearing towels right after showers.

Especially if he's only holding it in one hand.

There's a small pool of water forming under his feet, but somehow, he just doesn't think Lex minds all that much. "What are you working on anyway?"

Lex looks down, like he's forgotten he's still sitting at his desk.

"I'm--not sure." The blue eyes come back up instantly, and Clark pushes off the doorway and smiles. He's pretty sure Lex just stopped breathing. "Clark--"

"I'll go dry off in our room," Clark says, turning away, smiling at the sound of the chair hitting the wall and quick steps behind him.

Okay, so right, this wasn't *exactly* what Clark had in mind when he was thinking of saving, but hey, it works.


Reason 5: There's just really not that much they have in common.

This makes red rugs worth it. Makes that Ford in the garage worth it. Makes--oh God--so much worth it.

Lex gave up on actual thought about an hour ago. Caring soon followed. And pretty much anything outside this bed, where Clark is currently engaged in proving that his mouth is worth the entirety of LexCorp's current holdings and probably its future ones, too.

Jesus *God*.

His fingers are clenched in the sheets, fingernails ripping tiny holes that will be smirked over by the household staff when they change the bedclothes tomorrow. Clark is making those sounds--careless, thoughtless, hot, wet, someone who knows what they're doing and enjoying it. The hands on his hips are like steel, trapping him against the mattress, and the ceiling's gone hazy grey.

Clark's--God, Clark's *good*.

It's a flawless technique. Quick slide down, an almost-scrape of sharp teeth that makes him twitch, shake, sounds breaking from behind clenched teeth to form meaninglessly in the air. A slow pull back from a warm throat, sucking eagerly, like Clark can't quite let go. Gifted--God, *genius* tongue clinging to the head, circling, then back again, quick and slow, sharp and lazy, hot and completely mindblowing.

Unclenching a hand, Lex reaches down enough to touch soft hair that clings to his fingers, brush a line across Clark's cheek. A quick, rough swipe of Clark's tongue over his fingers, a quick grin and then Clark's back.

He comes with a shudder, heels digging into the mattress, Clark's weight and strength the only things that could possibly hold him on the bed. He could be screaming. That's just fucking *fine*.

Breathless moments later, the long body's draped on the bed beside him, and Lex breathes out and opens his eyes, watching Clark watch him with more than a trace of smugness.

"Early night?" Lex is impressed his voice doesn't change octaves.

Clark snickers, rolling on his stomach and pulling a pillow under his chest, head gently resting on folded arms. "Afternoon classes tomorrow." One hand reaches out, smoothing along Lex' bare chest with hard fingertips. Too sensitive still, and he's trembling just from that. The green eyes grow smoky-dark, like he's imagining things. "Unless you have something really important to do tomorrow morning…." The hand slides down, resting blamelessly on Lex's stomach, but it's enough to make him close his eyes.

He *does* have something, doesn't he? Unfortunately, that part of his mind's short-circuited in favor of feeling Clark shift closer, skin to skin. Lex is touching without even meaning to, wiry hair and silky-smooth skin beneath that he runs his nails over, enjoying Clark's shudder.

"I--" Something important?

"We can have breakfast in bed," Clark murmurs against his throat, followed with an open mouthed kiss on the skin behind his ear. "Pancakes. Strawberry syrup."

Oh Jesus yes. "I think--"

Clark kisses like he sucks cock--into it completely, body and mind, and Lex loses his train of thought, lethargy, and any desire to argue.

When Clark lifts his head, swollen, red lips and dark eyes, Lex's hands are digging into his back.

"--that I can arrange it."

That smile just might be worth it, too.
Tags: fic: smallville 2003
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