Work Text:
Clark never wants this day to end.
Maybe that’s why he’s the only member of the football team who’s made no attempt to change or clean himself up after the game. The locker room is crowded with his teammates in various states of undress, scrubbing towels over hair that’s still dripping wet from the shower and pulling clean t-shirts over their heads, stuffing their dirty shorts and jerseys into their gym bags, but Clark is content to loll back on one of the uncomfortable wooden benches, jersey sticking to his sweaty skin, absorbing the infectious energy that buzzes through the room with a smile on his face.
It feels good to rest. He’s worn out—not physically: his body still tingles with pent-up energy; he feels like he could run a hundred miles without stopping. Mentally, though, he’s exhausted from the intense mental focus of keeping half his attention on the game and the rest on reigning in his strength, ensuring that he didn’t let his excitement get the better of him while he played. He’d been a little tense the whole time, aware of Jonathan’s disapproving eyes following him from his seat on the bleachers, ready to chastise him post-game for even the slightest lapse in Clark’s control.
There wasn’t one. He won them the game, and his secret is still safe. The world didn’t end. The thought makes Clark glow with satisfaction.
He’s sure Jonathan will still find reason to criticize him, too busy fretting about the repercussions to be proud of him, but for once, Clark finds himself not caring. It’s enough to have the respect of his fellow players, who seem to have finally accepted him into their ranks, their dislike of him evaporating the second his final throw crossed the goal line. The same guys who have been jabbing elbows into his ribs and trying to trip him at practice for weeks are now vying to ruffle his sweaty hair and jostle him affectionately, shoving him around with grins on their faces that he can’t help but return.
This kind of playful roughhousing doesn’t come naturally to Clark, who’s spent most of his life carefully restraining himself to keep from hurting the people around him with a thoughtless touch, but he finds himself enjoying it: the attention; what it represents. There are no traces of his teammates’ earlier resentment. They’re like puppies playfighting, mouthing harmlessly at bare skin, careful not to mark him with their teeth.
His abilities usually feel like an impenetrable barrier separating him from the people around him, but for once he finds himself grateful for them. They’ve helped him to be part of the team, and he finally feels accepted, liked, in a way he’s craved for years. His cheeks hurt from smiling.
In all the chaos, he doesn’t notice Lex enter the locker room. One minute it’s a sea of rowdy football players, and then there’s a brief lull and his attention is drawn to the door, where Lex waits, watching Clark with warmth in his eyes. He’s like the sunlight shining through parted clouds, effortlessly beautiful in the pristine white t-shirt that had caught Clark’s eye from the bleachers, a flag of truce to symbolize the end of their feud, his bare, toned arms on display in the balmy summer air.
Clark is eager to go to him. He wants to catch Lex up in his arms and pull him close so he can share this moment with him, basking in the thrill of his victory and relief at the rekindling of their friendship, but he can’t figure out how to extricate himself from his teammates, and he certainly can’t be seen kissing Lex in the middle of a crowded locker room full of half-naked guys… or anywhere in Smallville. He smiles apologetically. Lex shrugs it off and plunges his hands into his pockets as he leans against the wall, seemingly content to wait.
It takes forever for the room to clear, but eventually, the last of Clark’s teammates grabs his gym bag and leaves with a friendly parting thump of Clark’s back, and he and Lex are finally alone, with nothing but the steady plink of the leaky shower faucets for company. The appreciative way Lex is looking at him makes Clark feel almost shy, his heart racing a little beneath his jersey.
“You played a hell of a game out there.”
“You could tell?” Clark jokes. “I didn’t realize you knew the rules.”
Lex feels about football the way Clark feels about Lex’s various opaque references to historical figures and Greek mythology: most of it is lost on him, but he likes hearing Lex talk about it anyway. Likewise, Clark doubts Lex will ever be able to summon more than polite enthusiasm about football or basketball, but if Clark’s excitable rants about them bore him, he never lets it show.
Lex smirks a little. “The screaming from the bleachers when you scored that touchdown was fairly self-explanatory.”
He crosses the room, hands in his pockets drawing attention to his tight waist, the slight sway of his hips. Clark follows the movement with his eyes, warm all over for reasons that have nothing to do with his exertions on the field.
Lex joins him on the bench, sliding along it until he’s sitting closely enough for his knee to brush against Clark’s muddy shins. Clark catches his teeth in his lower lip and looks at the floor, but gentle fingers tip his chin up, forcing him to meet Lex’s intense blue gaze.
“Seriously,” Lex says softly. “You were amazing.”
He’s close enough to kiss, and Clark knows he wants to from the way Lex is staring at his mouth, the way he traces his thumb over Clark’s lower lip, but he doesn’t close the distance. Waits for Clark to make a move.
Clark does so immediately, capturing Lex’s mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. His stomach flutters as Lex kisses him back, his hand framing Clark’s warm cheek, stroking his cheekbone as he nips and sucks and catches Clark’s lower lip between his teeth. Clark feels himself truly relax for the first time since they started fighting, the ever-present knot in his stomach finally working itself loose.
“Thank you,” he says.
Lex looks amused. “For kissing you?”
“Well,” Clark shrugs, “You’re kinda awesome at it.”
“You’re adorable,” Lex says. “But really, I should be thanking you.”
He kisses the corner of Clark’s mouth. It’s unbearably tender, the kind of kiss that had made Clark ache to think about when he was lying alone at night, staring at his bedroom ceiling, trying so hard to remember all the reasons he had to be angry with Lex.
“For what?”
“For letting me,” Lex continues, punctuating his words with another kiss. “For giving me another shot.”
He rests his forehead against Clark’s. Clark is a sweaty mess, splattered with mud from the football field, but Lex doesn’t seem to care, pressing hungrily up against Clark in his pristine white shirt and expensive slacks without even seeming to notice the state Clark’s in.
He leans in again. “So what are you thanking me for?” he murmurs against Clark’s mouth.
It’s pleasantly distracting. Clark’s eyelids dip for a second as he tries to hang onto his train of thought. Easier said than done. “For the new uniforms,” he says. “I know I kinda gave you a hard time...”
“A hard time” is an understatement. It makes him squirm a little thinking about it now, the way he’d furiously accused Lex of trying to buy back his friendship. Clark has never been very good at accepting Lex’s gifts gracefully, after a lifetime of stern lectures from his father about their family not asking for handouts, but he’d dealt an especially low blow with that one. It’s one of Lex’s most painful insecurities—the fear that the only thing of value he has to offer, the only incentive that makes the people he cares for stick around, is his money.
Lex gently kisses each of his eyelids. “Water under the bridge,” he promises.
“I just want you to know that I’m grateful,” Clark persists, though it’s getting harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying, and Lex seems keen to change the subject. His attempts to distract Clark are becoming increasingly obvious.
“I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to make it up to me,” Lex says. “But you shouldn’t feel too bad. I’m afraid I had an ulterior motive.”
“Oh?” Clark asks cautiously. “What’s that?”
Lex shrugs. “I really like you in red.” His lips twitch into a satisfied little smile as he tugs Clark’s jersey straight. Clark removed his shoulder-pads the second he got off the field, and without them to fill it out, the material hangs a little loosely. Lex takes his time adjusting it to his satisfaction.
“There,” he says, smoothing his hands down Clark’s chest. “I knew it’d look good on you. Although I can think of somewhere it’d look even better.”
“On the floor?” Clark guesses.
"Not on this floor. It's disgusting. There are Petri dishes in the LuthorCorp biohazard lab with less bacteria growing on them. The floor in my bedroom, on the other hand…” Lex nuzzles at the hollow of Clark’s ear, cool breath whispering against Clark’s neck and into the roots of his sweaty hair, making him go all shivery and pliant. “Clean enough to eat you off.”
Clark swallows. “Too bad we’re not in your bedroom.”
“It is too bad,” Lex agrees. “I guess you’ll have to keep it on.” His hand slides up Clark’s thigh, thumb rubbing over the inseam of his shorts.
Clark’s breathing is so loud that it’s a little embarrassing. Lex has barely touched him and yet he’s already a little hard, and getting harder by the second.
He swallows again. “Someone…” It’s hard to think, and even harder to talk with Lex’s lips moving against his skin. “Someone could walk in.”
“That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Lex’s thumb teases at the head of Clark’s cock where it’s starting to strain against his shorts. “But if you want to stop…”
Clark shakes his head frantically.
Lex’s teeth graze Clark’s earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Now be a good boy and go lock the door.”
Clark practically falls over his own feet in his haste to obey. The second the lock clicks into place, Lex is on him, shoving Clark roughly against the door face first, manhandling him the way Clark not-so-secretly likes.
His cheek pressed against the cool wood, Clark closes his eyes as Lex touches him, hands sliding around him from behind to roam all over his body. His fingers pinch idly at Clark’s nipple, teasing through the slippery fabric of his jersey, while his other hand sneaks down the front of Clark’s shorts. Cool fingers wrap around his cock. Lex strokes him slow and deliberate, and a low moan slips from Clark’s mouth.
“Brace your hands on the door,” Lex murmurs.
Clark shivers and obeys, flattening his palms against the smooth surface. He lets out a whine when Lex’s hand slides out of his shorts, but before he can protest further, Lex sinks to his knees on the filthy floor and eases Clark’s shorts and underwear down his thighs, releasing his hard cock into the cool locker room air.
He jumps out of his skin when Lex’s mouth latches onto the sensitive skin inside his knee. Lex chuckles at Clark’s reaction, then traces his tongue up Clark’s inner thigh. Clark’s breath catches in his throat as Lex turns his attention to the other leg, kissing him reverently, and then sucking, making Clark gasp. At the first hint of teeth, Clark bites back a moan.
Before long, he’s a desperate, quivering mess, his inner thighs slick and shining with Lex’s spit, his skin on fire. Clark screws his eyes tightly shut as heat licks at the insides of his eyelids and prickles at his lashes, his hands curling into fists with the effort of keeping his heat vision under control. He’s seconds away from losing it altogether and burning a hole right through the door when Lex kisses Clark’s trembling inner thigh and then gets to his feet.
Clark makes an awful, needy sound that makes his cheeks burn, humiliated by his own desperation, but before he can dwell on it, he’s distracted by the rasp of Lex’s zipper. The blunt head of his cock nudges the curve of Clark’s ass, and Lex’s right hand rests possessively on Clark’s hip, holding him still while Lex guides his cock between Clark’s thighs.
Cool fingers stroke Clark’s face and then trace over his lips. Clark tilts his overheated cheek into Lex’s palm and he kisses clumsily at Lex’s fingertips. Lex laughs again, the sound muffled against Clark’s back, before pressing an affectionate kiss to Clark’s shoulder-blade.
“Spit for me, sweetheart,” he says in a low voice.
Heat rushes to Clark’s cock with dizzying intensity. He’s so breathtakingly turned on that the request takes a second to fully register in his brain. Lex twitches his fingers impatiently, commanding, and Clark closes his eyes, shuddering as he spits obediently into Lex’s palm.
He feels Lex smile against his shoulder as he takes Clark in hand, and as Clark fucks into Lex’s loose, slippery fist, he sees stars behind his closed lids.
Lex’s hips rock forward, sweet friction against Clark’s trembling inner thighs. Clark lets each thrust drive him forward into Lex’s grip, sliding in and out of his hand, matching Lex’s pace, as close to fucking as they can get. Lex buries his nose in the damp, sweaty hair at the base of Clark’s neck.
“God, I missed this,” Lex murmurs, his lips brushing against overheated skin. “Missed you.”
He’s crushing Clark so tightly against him that there’d be bruises, if he was human. His thumb rubs lazy circles around the head of Clark’s cock. Clark’s knees buckle a little, his eyes rolling back into his head. He wants so badly for Lex to mark him. Wants to feel what Lex does to him for days after.
Lex’s voice is like velvet in Clark’s ear. “You have no idea what you do to me. Ever since I saw you in this fucking jersey, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. You, in my bed, wearing this.” He grips the slippery fabric and tugs on it, like he might rip it away from Clark’s body. “And nothing else.”
He pulls Clark more firmly against him, grinding roughly into Clark’s bare ass, and lets out a moan that makes Clark’s dick jerk in Lex’s hand, leaking precome all over Lex’s fingers. Lex just smears it around and keeps going; it’s filthy, obscene, and so fucking hot that Clark’s head spins.
“I want you to wear it next time you come over,” Lex tells him, with another tug on the material. “I want us to make a mess of it. I’m going to take my time with you, Clark,” he promises. I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name. And then I’m going to do it again, and again, until we’re both satisfied. Until you’re covered in it.” He lets go of the jersey and drags his palm up Clark’s stomach, towards his chest, like he can already feel the mess there, like he’s rubbing it into Clark’s skin. “My come.” Elegant fingers curl lightly around Clark’s throat. “Yours.”
“Fuck, Lex, please, I can’t—”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed, Clark,” Lex says, and now he’s the one who sounds like he’s pleading. “It doesn’t matter if you ruin it. I’ll buy you another one.” He buries his face in the crook of Clark’s neck. “Will you wear it, sweetheart? Will you do that for me?”
“Yes,” Clark hisses, and before he’s even fully got the word out, Lex curses and tears himself away, sliding out from between Clark’s thighs to take himself in hand. He jerks himself to completion in a few hard, frantic strokes, hot streaks of come landing on Clark’s bare ass and trickling down his thighs.
Clark almost loses it entirely when Lex goes to his knees again and starts tonguing around the curve of his ass in long, slow licks, tasting every inch of him with the flat of his tongue as he cleans up the mess he’s made.
It’s too fucking much—the heat of Lex’s mouth on him; the low, pleased sounds he makes in the back of his throat, like he could do this all day. He probably would, if Clark would let him, but he can’t… he needs to… he’s panting, so turned on he can’t think, can hardly breathe.
“Turn around for me,” Lex murmurs in between the sucking and biting that’s driving Clark out of his mind.
Clark can barely string a coherent thought together, but he obeys, turning to face Lex, and Lex immediately knocks Clark’s hand away from his dick and replaces it with his mouth, swallowing him down without warning.
The back of Clark’s head crunches off the door hard enough to dent the wood. A halo of cracks fans out behind his head, and Clark doesn’t care. His fingers twist in the soft white cotton of Lex’s t-shirt as Lex’s cheeks hollow around Clark’s cock, and Clark makes a sound he didn’t even know he was capable of.
He plants his feet harder, heels digging into the dirty floor, and shoves his back against the door so hard that the hinges creak in protest. His attention is being pulled in half a dozen different directions, and he’s trying so hard to remember not to break things, to be careful, but it’s impossible to focus on anything but the dizzying sensation of his cock sliding in and out of Lex’s mouth.
He thrusts a little harder than he means to, his cock nudging the back of Lex’s throat, and Lex just fucking takes it, swallowing around him, those blue eyes fixed on Clark’s—and Clark’s body locks up, and with a final “Lex,” he’s coming hard, flooding Lex’s mouth.
There’s so much that Lex chokes a little, but he doesn’t break his rhythm. He moans around Clark’s dick like he’s the one coming, until Clark is done trembling through the last shivery little pulses of his orgasm and Lex finally eases off. He looks up, his eyes glazed and a little teary, and his expression deeply satisfied.
A little trickle of come runs down Lex’s chin. Clark instinctively thumbs it away, then impulsively sucks it off his thumb just to see Lex’s reaction. It’s a good one: Lex’s eyes go dark and he surges to his feet to kiss Clark hard, even though he’s still naked from the waist down, his sensitive, softening cock trapped between them, sliding against the impossible softness of Lex’s shirt. Lex doesn’t seem to care, kissing Clark fiercely, like he’ll never stop.
“You’re incredible,” he tells Clark between kisses as Clark’s arms twine around his neck and his blunt nails scratch lightly at the base of Lex’s scalp. “Incredible.”
Clark grins into his mouth.
They’re both breathless by the time they finally stop, and Clark is beaming all over his face. Lex traces his thumb over Clark’s lower lip, following the curve of his smile.
“This looks good on you, too,” he says. “I wish I could have you like this all the time.”
“Half naked?”
“Happy.”
Clark softens. “You do make me happy, Lex.”
“Not always,” Lex says. “But I’m trying. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
They kiss again, softer and slower, until their bubble abruptly bursts when a familiar voice calls out, “Clark?”
Clark pulls away from Lex and hastily yanks his shorts back up, while Lex brushes dirt off the stained knees of his slacks. They’re barely presentable when Jonathan knocks on the locker room door and pokes his head in without waiting for a response.
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.” His expression sours. “Lex.”
“Mr. Kent,” Lex replies, cool as a cucumber, like he didn’t have Clark’s dick in his mouth less than a minute ago.
Clark wishes he were as self-possessed; he’s blushing, incredibly aware that he’s still damp and sticky inside his shorts. He avoids meeting his father’s eye.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jonathan says. There’s something faintly accusatory about it.
“I came to see Clark play,” Lex says. “He was amazing out there. You must be very proud of him.” He squeezes Clark’s shoulder, massaging the muscle where Clark’s tensed up.
Jonathan grunts noncommittally at that. “I’m surprised you showed up. Last I heard, the two of you weren’t on speaking terms.”
“Oh, I think we’ve managed to straighten things out. Right, Clark?”
Clark stands gently on Lex’s foot. “Right,” he says.
“Well, I’m happy for you,” says Jonathan, sounding anything but. “Now, Lex, I don’t mean to be rude—” (though Clark rather suspects he does) “—but Martha and I are taking Clark out to celebrate tonight and we’d hate to miss our reservation, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this short. Clark, are you ready to head out?”
“Almost. I just need to take a quick shower.”
Lex’s kneading grows more deliberate. Clark doesn’t dare look at him, but he can feel the heat of Lex’s stare, like he’s strongly thinking about joining him. It’s a tempting thought—though the mould-speckled, open-plan locker room showers aren’t very sexy. Lex’s large, luxurious en suite shower at the mansion, on the other hand…
“You haven’t showered?” Jonathan demands. “Come on, Clark, get your ass into gear and let’s move it.”
Clark hesitates. There’s a flicker of resignation in Lex’s eyes, which he covers with a smile, unsurprised by the dismissal. He’s used to this kind of treatment from Jonathan by now.
No, Clark thinks. Not today. That’s not how he wants this day to end, with Lex driving home to spend another lonely night in the mansion by himself while Clark is at dinner celebrating with his family. He wants Lex tucked up against him in the cramped little booth at the restaurant, knee pressed against Clark’s under the table while Clark gives them all a play-by-play of every second of the game.
Jonathan isn’t exactly thrilled with Clark as it is, and what he’s about to do won’t help matters, but Clark decides to push his luck. “Dad, about that reservation… do you think we could squeeze in one more?”
He’ll probably get the cold shoulder for the rest of the month for putting Jonathan on the spot like this, but the way Lex’s face lights up makes it worth it.
Clark half expects his dad to shoot the request down anyway, manners be damned, but Jonathan just says shortly, “You can bring the Queen of Sheba for all I care. Just be quick about it.” He checks his watch. “Your mother and I will be waiting out by the truck. If the two of you aren’t out there in five minutes, we’re leaving without you.”
“Why don’t you and Mom head over now and hold the table, and we’ll catch up?” Clark suggests. “Lex can give me a ride.”
Jonathan’s expression flickers through a full spectrum of unpleasant emotions, while Lex continues smiling pleasantly. His jaw working, he says, “Fine. The two of you can meet us there, but drive safely, you hear me?”
“You have my word,” Lex says, with such sincerity that even Jonathan can’t take offence to it.
With a final irritated huff, Jonathan leaves. The locker room door bangs behind him.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Lex is all over Clark again, sliding his arm around Clark’s waist as he purrs in his ear, “I can give you a ride, hm?” His lips seek out Clark’s collarbone. “You promise?”
Clark melts into him for a split second before his higher brain functions kick in and he plants a hand on Lex’s chest, gently but firmly pushing him away. He guides Lex down onto one of the benches. Lex seems to enjoy it if anything, letting himself be manhandled before he settles into a lazy loll against the wall.
“If you behave yourself at dinner then I’ll think about it,” Clark tells him, and sweetens the deal with a kiss.
“Mm,” Lex says as they separate, his gaze lingering appreciatively on Clark’s body. “Try not to think about it too hard. I’d hate for you to get distracted.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Clark raises his eyebrows. “I’m distracted?”
“Very easily. Case in point: you’re supposed to be in the shower and you haven’t even taken your clothes off yet. Feel free to rectify that at any time, by the way.”
Fighting a grin, Clark strips the sweaty jersey over his head, balls it up, and throws it. It hits Lex directly in the face and lands in a tangled heap in his lap. Lex shakes his head, visibly amused, and when Clark shucks his shorts, he has to dodge when Lex quickly twists the dirty jersey into a weapon with a flick of his wrist and snaps it at his ass.
“Missed me,” Clark says. He can’t stop smiling.
“More than you know,” Lex says, as if to himself. He shakes off the thought and promises Clark, “I’ll get you when you’re least expecting it. I’m keeping this, by the way,” he adds, bunching the jersey up in his lap. “I’m thinking of having it framed.”
“Knock yourself out, but if you want me to wear it for you again, then you’ll quit trying to distract me.” Clark disappears into the shower.
Lex lets out a put-upon sigh. “Fine,” he says, as the water starts pouring down on Clark’s shoulders. “I’ll be good. For now.”