aruan | Jun. 20th, 2002

Watershed
By: Jules

Title: Watershed
Author: Jules
Category: Angst, Drama, Episode-Related
Spoilers: Pilot
Rating: R
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd pose and experiment and make all necessary sleep sacrifices to find a way to make Lex look disheveled.
Summary: Lex is angry. Clark is confused. I make no promises that things will get better. Set after Craving.
Acknowledgements: Miranda talked me down from more hysteria ledges during the course of writing this than I can (or should be able to) recall. When Lex was ranting and raving and -still- without motive, when Clark was -still- standing there like a head of lettuce four and a half pages in, she helped ease my desperate frustration and reminded that I'm ultimately holding the reins here.
Feedback: The main course to the white wine of belly-warming satisfaction that is completing a piece. iwan2kno@ufl.edu

*

Lex enjoys water. Whether it's the manor's indoor pool or his cases of imported Ty Nant stored like fine wine in the cellar, he loves the way it feels: light, lapping, enveloping him in its ebb and flow. Sensuous as a silk scarf or brutal enough to erode mountains, water could soothe or betray under the less than tender ministrations of a Chinese torture expert, infinitely adaptable to any need or form. As a human, his next most imminent need to oxygen. As an unfish, nearly his unmaking/demise.

Ah, Clark.

He looks up and smiles at his reflection in the dressing mirror. My hero in shining blue denim. My beautiful liar.

He'll be the death of me yet.

Tries not to scowl at the IOU he already holds.

Lex raises his bottle in mock salute and puts it to his lips. Instead of drinking, he swirls the cool liquid around his tongue, letting his eyes slip closed to enjoy the way it takes on his body temperature almost instantly, finally swallowing in deliberately timed bobs of his Adam's apple.

Sighs in dissatisfaction and sets the glass down before he's tempted to make good on his twitching fingers' urge to seal his victory by shattering it on the opposing wall. He could make the very embodiment of the force of nature conform to his will, yet the answers to a very tangible Rubik's cube in the form of his blue Porsche and the criminally underage body of the eminently fuckable Clark Kent resisted solving.

Ah, Clark. Less rueful this time as his cock mimics his fingers' earlier reflex. Lex brings his chilled hand up to rub the back of his neck and squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck you, Clark. Fuck you and your lies and your cocksucking lips and your damnably disarming smile. Fuck your wholesome Midwestern farmboy facade, fuck you from the hair on your head to the calluses on your heel and it still wouldn't be justice.

"Lex?"

Fuck. Just fuck.

"You upstairs? There was no one in the kitchen and my mom needs to know how many of those green apples you wanted when they're ripe next week." Lex could already hear him taking the steps two at a time as he spoke, and why shouldn't Clark feel like he could wander the grounds as he pleased, but damn it, Lex did not want to see him right now. Not when the bitter taste of venom like bile was rising in his throat at merely the sound of Clark's voice even as his cock rebelled, half hard before he appeared in the open doorway. "Hey."

God but he was fucked.

Clark is all flushed cheeks and bright eyes, a smile playing on his lips as it always does when he first catches sight of Lex, even as a blur in peripheral vision. Innocence in it only belying whatever made the edges crinkle coyly.

"Hello, Clark." Nice, Lex, could we possibly have injected that with a little more antipathy? He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his black slacks for emphasis, damn it. Offers his own in return, more like a sugared sneer under politely pressed lips. "Three dozen would be fine."

The smile Lex always wanted to kiss off Clark's face with all the finesse of a raging hurricane fell and was replaced with a concerned knit of eyebrows. Clark glances about the space, but not coming closer than where he stands just inside the threshold. "Uh, yeah, okay, I'll tell her." Pause. Quick dart of tongue to wet his lips and his eyes finally come back to focus on Lex. "Is everything alright?"

Sure Clark. Why should being exiled by one's father to the armpit of North America, living to tell the story of an impossible near-death experience, and having friends who survive more than fatal automobile-meets-boy-meets-metal-railing crashes and remain spry enough to peel off car roofs like the top of a sardine can and convince you into madness that you only imagined the terror on his face as you watched the Porsche's hood plow into his solar plexus ruin one's appetite?

"Sure, Clark."

He didn't elaborate; it would've been overkill. Clark could probably taste his resentment by proxy as surely as if he'd stuck his tongue down Lex's throat himself. "Did you need anything else? I was going to get some paperwork out of the way before the plant board meeting tomorrow." Knows he is being a real bastard, and now Clark's posture is showing all the signs of taking root right here until Lex either drops the attitude or throws him out forcibly. Lex had guessed by now that Option B was as moot a point as breathing life into the dead (ha!) and inwardly cursed himself. "Just let's not tonight, okay? You go home to Mother Kent and her meatloaf and I'll do whatever rich boys in drafty castles find to entertain themselves and their cobweb denizens, but no games tonight, Clark."

At this he does move to walk around Clark, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy's puzzled ones, like reflecting pools of his furiously searching mind, gauging how to even approach this Lex without getting his hand bitten for his trouble. Good, Lex thought, be a smart boy and know when you're out of your league. Live to fight another day.

A strong grip on his shoulder breaks his deliberate course toward the brandy in the office. The whirl around is of his own volition. "You really have an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation, don't you, Clark. Go. Home. For once listen to someone else when they're trying to look out for your best interest."

"You couldn't hurt me, Lex." He was still holding Lex's shoulder, firm enough to assert the truth of his softly spoken words. So matter of fact. So open, his eyes boring into Lex's in the dire hopes of finding whatever it was that put him on the business end of Lex's tone. And the words, oh his words. The irony alone was enough to wring a bitten-off laugh from Lex.

"No, Clark, I don't suppose I could," he says as he tears his eyes away to sear a path down Clark's body, throat to solid chest to well-defined abs he knew lay just beneath the soft cotton layers. Lingering a bit around his crotch as much to unsettle the boy as out of pure selfish enjoyment before moving back up to regard the hand fastened on his jacket. "Physically, anyway. But there are many, many ways to hit a man where it hurts much more than a gash that can be stitched up or a bruise that heals within a week." He was returning Clark's intense gaze now, all challenge to defy a Luthor on his home ground, at his own game. He brings his left hand out of his pocket to trace the makeshift lapel of Clark's opened jacket. "Places softer than the inside of your elbows and more tender than your fingers right after you learned the hot stove correlation." His eyes meet Clark's again and he leans forward through the already whisper of a space between them. Speaks his next words right into Clark's ear. "Know that. Remember who I am and what I can be capable of. I can make your life a living hell without ever even touching you."

To his credit, the boy doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink, doesn't give any clue but the quick involuntary clench of his jaw, bringing his five o'clock shadow to rasp against Lex's cheek. The sound is almost deafening, but the feel of it -- Lex couldn't resist repeating the contact, ending with the tip of his nose and a smirk as he moves around the statue of Clark's abruptly rigid body to resume his walk down the hall.

And suddenly, there's a solid wall of Clark where the banister should have ended. A solid wall of angry Clark, eyes flaring, breath quickened, barely contained power straining beneath that thin layer of skin and sinew. "What is this about, Lex? Care to fill me in on the particulars of whatever conversation you had with yourself where I was apparently convincing enough in my efforts to piss you off to make you make me want to prove to you just how unpleasant the ordinary kind can be? Maybe it would do some good in bringing you back to the reality where we're friends and definitely *not* playing 'Spin the Bottle of Doom' with the lives of the people I love."

Okay. This was new. Not beyond Lex's well-honed handling capabilities, but apparently Clark wasn't dismissed when he didn't feel like leaving. Maybe not so smart after all. "Ooh. Did I finally touch a nerve, Clark?" Another snidely appraising glance, and Lex would be snarling to get away from him right.Now. Clark just continues to stand, stock-still, no longer looming thanks to the stairs. But a determined Clark need not have his three-inch height advantage to be formidable, and he seems to have thrown down the sandbags against Lex's breached gauntlet. "Hit too close to the weak chink in your armor?"

"Don't do this, Lex, please, not with m--" Clark cuts himself off with a hard bite to his lower lip.

Ah. So he has noticed. Lex tilts his head in sly amusement. Do you like it, Clark? Get you hard enough to have to take your questions to the dumbly resonating bathroom tiles? Smother them in your pillows in the middle of the night with Ma and Pa in the next room? Doubts and curiosity and goddamn it how is he just standing there, why wasn't it making him insane?

"And just what grants you immunity, Clark? What makes you think that just because I want to fuck you I'll ignore a decade of Luthor boot camp and method?" That must've taken all of Clark's shock absorbers not to reel. His eyes become saucers before they dart away as he replants his foot for better balance. Too bad, junior, and Lex finishes his descent to circle Clark. "Kid gloves, is that what you want?" Trace of his finger up a thickly-clad forearm, phantom brush of Lex's hip against knuckles that clench in reflex. Lex smirks. "You're not a kid, Clark. If you've noticed, I only wear gloves with fast cars and fencing bouts. And I'm not in the mood for a pissing contest." Lex comes to stand before Clark, hands back in his slacks and waiting to properly field any objections.

Which is to say with a matador's whip.

That's it. Clark can't stifle a hysteria-edged laugh, shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. "What do you want from me, Lex?"

Not resignation, but there was definitely a calmness spreading through Clark. His entire frame relaxed, like he'd excused himself to the next room and had the fastest, most satisfying blowjob Lex has ever known. A little inward scowl of jealousy that translates to a dismissive smirk on his visage. Lex is still up though, and it was time to keep it that way. "Nothing you'd oblige me with," he spat.

Was appalled to hear his voice crack halfway through. Also, entirely *not* what he'd meant to say.

Flash of puckish audacity and of course Clark chooses this instance to call Lex out on their obscene little tete-a-tete. He settles back a little, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops and shifts his weight to his right leg.

Slowly.

"Try me, Lex."

Lex's eyes narrow in surprise, a conveniently conditioned reverse reaction. Nice tactic, Clark. Lex files away that husky tone laced with entendre for later that night. Composure reigned, he replies "Please, Clark. We're gentlemen. Playing the ass card should come as a last resort."

That stings, and Clark has to drop his gaze to the floor to avoid flushing scarlet.

"Not that you could even fathom the kinds of things I'd do to you if that became our venue of discourse." And that snaps his head back up faster than vertebrae were meant to withstand. "As opposed to all the on the level conversation we have now. At least that way, everyone could have a good time and at face value."

"You don't have any idea what you're asking."

"And you have no idea what I want."

"Don't I." Clark sighs, fingers clenching again. Despair in his tone now: "It doesn't have to be this way, Lex." Maybe pleading by the time the words leave his lips.

Lex can have anything he wants here, knows this. Knows that Clark, besides wanting to, would eagerly turncoat to become a lifesize distraction, get on his knees, his hands and knees, anything at all and things he'd never previously imagined but would gladly make up as he went along to keep this conversation from happening and keep Lex. But he's adamant now. There is going to be a point made of this tonight. "No, Clark, it doesn't. It shouldn't. I shouldn't have to question your integrity--"

"--just as I shouldn't have to question your intentions?"

"Oh that's rich, Clark. What are you now, lead prosecution in case I don't intend to make an honest man of you?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Fair enough. So what do you think you mean? That I'm not capable of handling something real without estimating its value or discerning its usefulness?"

"Oh fuck what you think you know about me, Lex. What do you see when you look at me?" Clark is advancing now, closing in measured, deliberate movements. "Innocence? Lies? Some naïve kid defiantly guarding, lording his singular thing of interest to the billionaire scion? Keep him in projects during his time out from the real world? I'm not here to amuse you, Lex, and I sure as hell don't get off on this dangling act you think I pull. Our friendship--" The word seems to shake something loose within Clark. He recollects himself before Lex has a chance to read it though, inhaling the resolve to continue. "Our friendship was never even supposed to happen. How many people can claim to have begun on a bang and a whimper? The Caesars would be impressed." Sardonic upturn of lips. "Maybe even your father."

Even more bitter irony behind Lex's matching grin. "I doubt that very much, Clark. Finding one's only son and heir fucking the overeager help against the wall of one's study is enough to sour any further male associations in said offspring's future. Even if he can quote T.S. Eliot." Quirks an eyebrow. "Courting the parent's vote?"

"I think you've got the deeper hole to cajole yourself out of on that point." Another innocuously teasing glimpse of pink tongue and Lex's own curls hard and tight against his palate. Or maybe his brain's officially surrendered this obviously pointless resistance to the happy alternative of Clark's mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock.

Oh wait. Clark's still talking. Where did that righteous outrage go?

"Seriously, Lex. Are we fighting or venting sexual frustration? What is this about? Because as a general rule, hostility is not the way to get into anyone's good graces, much less their pants."

The smile's back. Which indeed. No jury could be impartial in light of that. "Is that what you think this is about? Indignance as a ploy to get under your judicious amounts of flannel?"

Clark pauses again. Hesitates for the duration of a leveled, steadying breath and looks straight at Lex. "I was hoping to convince you that it could be."

No disguising this reaction. He's been punched square in the jaw with less unmasked honesty yet Clark is just standing there, too close not to feel the spike of heat that shoots through Lex.

Something about wishing and that 'careful' habit those who couldn't afford to buy their problems off practiced.

That final step and Lex apparently isn't looking like he's sure Clark was serious. Isn't even sure he could've possibly heard him correctly when Clark brings his hands to hold the sides of Lex's head.

The verdict seemed to have come back as 'Prove it.'

Rush like he's back in that murky river and everything he's doing is happening in slow motion. Protests poised at the ready stifled before he could even muster the fortitude for their execution, his lips suddenly crushed against the insistent plushness of Clark's. Desperation sweet as eager inexpertise mixing and it's too much, too heady, everything else dissolving into the delicacy that is this beautifully innocent boy. Has to touch, grasp, gets a handful of shirt and blue jean hem and tugs at the mass of willing warmth before him. Takes the answering moan at their bodies' meet to thrust his tongue into the searing heat of Clark's mouth, mapping palate, teeth, goads his tongue into playing along and yes, god, just.like.That. His fisted fingers need more, tugging Clark's shirts free of his pants and delving under to lay on skin the color of Bohemian summers, soft like their flowing fabrics and as freely giving, all sighs and sharp hisses and Clark's hands are now at his nape and laying on his forearm, giving permission, begging gentleness and Lex could come from this, could stand to lose himself in just this and...

Could he?

It's Clark who finally breaks the kiss and tilts his forehead to Lex's. Concentrates to move his feet a bit further apart to support their mutual stance. "This is how much I'm willing to put on the line. See that, see how vital this is and please don't..." Reject it? Take advantage of it? Clark licks his lips and has to tighten his grip on Lex's forearm because Lex still has his eyes closed, standing there just breathing.

When Lex opens his eyes, the world as he thought he knew it hadn't quite righted itself. The boy before him is and isn't Clark, the sweet of him and late autumn peaches mingling on his taste buds and mangling the brilliant web he'd constructed to rival the best of his father's intricate machinations. His hands flex where they're still burrowed which makes Clark shift, more brilliant friction and he doesn't think his brain can handle this, can tear itself away from the decadent rush of this and he's laughing now, erratic little bursts of sound that catch in the back of his throat and come out sounding more like incredulous hiccups. Three, four, five, and he can't stop, lets his knees give out. The stone beneath his back is a revelation: real, as expected and strangely comforting in that, which only make the watery chuckles come harder.

Lex finally forces himself to stop and lolls his head sideways to regard Clark, who looks torn between sulking and bolting, his large frame made for neither to appear convincing. "Alright, Clark. You've proven that the conversations we usually have to front for this have become less innocuous than statutory rape, which you have to realize only goes to pique my interests as to who's been sponsoring that extracurricular education of yours."

Which is possibly the most asinine thing he could've come up with to say, and it showed in Clark's guarded tone. "What's it going to be, Lex. I need to know before I walk out on the closest friend I've ever had."

Lex's grin falters and fades as he contemplates the huddled boy before him. Clark has never looked more his age: hunched shoulders, arms wrapped around crossed legs pulled into his chest and not even looking at Lex.

The lunge is a fencer's move, practiced and all Lex's fluid, catlike grace, as adapted for parallel rest start. Grabs another handful of shirt, this time landing Clark on the floor with Lex leaning over his prone frame. Belly-up and gasping from the latitude to longitude change, Clark blinks away surprise, but nothing more. There isn't room for anything else to cloud that pretty face, no more words but Lex's. Waiting. Honestly meaning everything he'd said, but...

The decision was his and Lex just as honestly didn't know if he'd be able to live with either alternative. The best tragedies are fueled by irony, he knew this, had made it his personal mission to find a way to fuck up its damning plans back in his maudlin poet days. Real life opportunity?

This could be priceless.

Lex smiles, a genuine smile of flooding realization. He brushes at a stray lock of hair from Clark's forehead, returning it to the rest of its wayward copatriots above. Maybe just a little more convincing. Successful replication being the litmus test of any valid hypothesis.

Lex draws his thumb across Clark's cheekbone as his fingers curl around the back of his head. Lets Clark see the predatory shift in his eyes before tightening his hold and bending to claim the registering gasp. No hesitation this time, and Clark just opens under his bruising touches. Groans as Lex catches his lower lip in an unsoothed bite, arches up off the floor into Lex at the pinch-twist of his hardened nipple, strokes Lex's back in long lines as Lex almost rips the collar of his shirt to mouth more skin. Pliant and ready and reciprocating as quickly as he caught onto what makes Lex shudder and go monosyllabic. Nibbles along the muscle joining shoulder and neck; drawing light pressure-circles into the small of his back; sucking on that spot just below his ear.

"God, Clark." Lex breathes into the hollow of Clark's collarbone. Trails a path back up Clark's throat, alternately sucking and tonguing and nipping at the tender skin there. Clark's keening and breathless by the time he kisses him again, lips dry from his desperate gulping. Lex licks a stripe across his lower lip before diving back inside. The kiss is messy and hard and wild, demanding and Clark gives as good as Lex, bolder now and learning the technique with each swipe of Lex's tongue along his.

Clark's hand flutters to Lex's hip, kneading in rhythm with the kiss. Lex moans at that, shifting just enough to move his thigh between Clark's and rubs it up and along their cradle to the growing bulge at Clark's crotch.

The resultant inviting spread of legs punctuated by a mindless thrust against his hip is the clincher. Lex stops and pulls back to gaze contemplatively at Clark, who's gone silent and still and sighing on the floor. His eyes are closed, his breathing ragged and every fiber recommitted to bringing it under sole personal control again.

Lex still hadn't answered after all.

"Clark."

The breath is deep, slow and Clark opens his eyes on the exhale. The earnest trust shining in them almost makes Lex look away. "Lex?" Still waiting. Still hopeful that there was more to this than it would seem; grown man, younger boy - pederasty would be the kind term for it.

"Clark." Shakes his head again. Lex had never been a sucker for earnest innocence. Well, not without plans to rectify the situation brewing from the moment he spotted it across the particular room. But it's not as if any of his tricks had been raised on a smalltown Kansas farm or gone out of their way from a guaranteed road to the netherworld to rescue their impromptu undertaker. But Clark had, and he did nothing if not relentlessly perpetuate the unjaded values of chivalry and Lex wants this, wants to know and feel and understand this impossibility of a boy.

"Do you want it to be that simple?" It was the last question he's ever wanted an answer to, but he needed to know that this wasn't about ensuring his loyalty. Clark had it in him, hero-martyr complex and this needed to be about them, not either's various issues.

"I can't--" Clark falters. But Lex's eyes are clear and focused, so the only thing that comes out is what's easiest. "I can't give you what you want, Lex. You either need this, need me enough, or we can't continue."

Lex can't laugh again or he's sure all he'd be left with is a faceful of backwash from Clark's exit. He really didn't see it though. Settles for rolling off of Clark to lay next to him, talking toward the rafters above. "You really don't have any idea what this is about to me, do you, Clark? Do you want to know why it's so important to me? Not because I want to know; there are enough unfortunate results of the meteor shower as it is." His hand goes up to stroke along his bald scalp absently. "I don't want sordid details or rehearsed explanations, Clark. I just--" Too much already, but. "I need you to trust me." Turns his head to look at Clark who's watching him anxiously, concern and maybe a little fear reflecting in his eyes.

"To let me love you enough to tell me."

Lex doesn't need to be facing him; he can feel Clark's body tense. Apparently, no one had bargained for that much honesty tonight.

Clark's features rise then settle even as his blush begins along his collar. "Lex, I--" The words come out more air than actual sound; Clark's swallow is almost more audible. "I'm sorry. I didn't--"

Just like Clark to apologize. Lex looks back to the vaulted ceiling again, folding his hands on his chest. "So in answer, Clark, yes, I'd like for it to be that simple. Denying that I want you would be ridiculous. But it isn't, not for me. Not with you."

"Why--"

"It didn't seem relevant until just now."

"Everything is relevant with you, Lex."

The smirk is easy this time. "I don't know, Clark. You make a good case for blissful ignorance."

Clark can't help but grin in return. Hauls himself off the floor and extends his hand to Lex. He accepts, grabbing hold and letting Clark effortlessly do the rest.

Except he doesn't let go once Lex is on his feet. Clark goes still again and just studies their twined hands, brushing his thumb across Lex's knuckles, the back of Lex's hand. Brings it up to his face, closing his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against it. Clark steps closer, inhaling next to Lex's ear. His fingers brush past Lex's jacket to trace along his side, the faint outline of his ribcage.

Selective attention suddenly seemed easier to manage next to this kind of sharp, instant desire, knowing that all he had to do was turn his head those few scant inches and he could let himself forget the details of this wondrously eager boy. Space. Now, or he'd be liable to take Clark for his own right here, imprison him in this damnable castle to fuck each other's doubts and frustration out their ears until they collapsed from exertion. Days and nights spent in a haze of sweat and sex and sleep until there was nothing else: no LuthorCorp, no mangled Porsche in his garage, nothing between them but skin, nothing in the air but musk and the kind of truth that imbues with vitality, not suffocates with festering contempt.

Lex's hand trembles a little as he brings it up to still Clark's. His voice comes out more than a little ragged, worn and low. "You really do need to be getting home, Clark." Steps away slightly, voluntarily relinquishing Clark's personal space for perhaps the first time since he's started their thinly veiled charade. "It's past eight and your parents are probably worried."

"I." Off Lex's gentle insistence at his back. "Yeah."

"Beanery tomorrow?"

"I'll raise you a roll in the hayloft."

Angry alpha Kents with shotguns and miles of countryside in either direction.

Focus. Right.

"I'll walk you out."

They turn and walk through the manor's heavy oak doors. Lex stays on the stony outcropping as Clark descends to the truck parked in the cul-de-sac driveway.

"I--" Clark pauses at the foot of the stairs, turning to look back over his shoulder. Lex is still there, watching him go with that lazy, reassuring smile. "Bye, Lex."

"Goodnight, Clark."

*

Lex opens his eyes to the blank ceiling above his bed. He'd been lying there for the better part of the past two hours, only now he's finally giving up instead of pointlessly attempting sleep. Still wound from the new sensations of the night, if not its precursing emotion.

The floor is cool and smooth under his bare feet, and Lex decides to indulge. Perhaps a little to feel the movements of what he's doing.

He takes the stairs noiselessly down to his office.

Clark had asked for immunity in exchange for the hostage of their friendship. Only he's already given away more than Lex could simply shove aside with a little plausible deniability. And that kiss...

Clark's more than a little desperate for Lex himself.

As if Lex could deny him anything.

Pouring himself a snifter of Scotch, Lex empties it in one swallow before refilling the glass. He regards the phone across his desk for a long moment. Genius and madmen never slept. An ingenious madman? Lex had been there, obsessed and implacable. Made a mint on the monogrammed purple results, too. Now?

Honesty is a two-way street after all.

He picks up the receiver and dials Hamilton's number from memory.

"Yes." Second ring.

"I trust you've found the facilities adequate. Keep me posted on your findings."

"Sir."

Lex sits back and holds up the glass to capture the faintly red glint of moonlight through the window. Gives the contents a thoughtful swirl before downing it in another single move.

It's not as if he would sleep anyway.

End.