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Bang!
The bookcase shook with the force of the blow, and Oliver winced when two heavy tomes fell from the shelf onto his right shoulder and head, respectively. That shove seemed to have stunned Luthor, though, which gave Oliver the chance to back off and rub at his mouth. He winced when he touched the spot where Luthor’s left jab had caught him earlier, and his fingers came away with blood on them.
“You little brat!” he snapped at the younger boy, who was still slumped against the bookcase.
Luthor was gasping like the impact had knocked the wind from him. His eyes were ice-blue with fury, however, and he glared at Oliver as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Next time,” Oliver warned menacingly, “I won’t be so—”
Before he could finish his threat, Luthor took in a deep breath and – winded or no – came at Oliver swinging. Oliver took a punch to the gut that doubled him over and was only saved from a nasty uppercut by his instinctive impulse to rush forward, ramming Luthor into the bookcase once again.
“You’re such a little psycho,” he hissed, wincing at the ache in his gut. “Do you have any idea what I could do to you?”
Luthor’s nostrils were flaring with rage, but he refused to say anything. Which, Oliver had always thought, was the creepiest thing about fighting Luthor.
This time Oliver didn’t made the mistake of giving him a moment to breathe. He pinned both of Luthor’s wrists back up against the shelf and pressed their hips tightly together so that Luthor couldn’t find an angle to kick at him. He also made sure to keep his head far out of range; he’d learned the hard way that Luthor both bit and head-butted.
For a few seconds they stood like that, Oliver holding Luthor down in every way possible and Luthor squirming helplessly to try to escape and attack Oliver once more.
“Give it up,” Oliver breathed, panting at the effort it took to keep Luthor secured. He may have been a small kid, but he sure was strong. Oliver didn’t even care that it sounded like he was pleading.
“Let me go,” Luthor finally snapped, sharp, overly formal consonants making the words sound like an imperial command.
“Because the last dozen times I did that, you didn’t punch me in the face or anything,” Oliver retorted, but it was almost a relief to hear Luthor speak after the silent anger that had characterized their battle so far.
Luthor glared at him and began struggling even harder. His knee almost jerked hard enough to jab Oliver in a very sensitive place, and Oliver instantly renewed his efforts tenfold, locking Lex’s pelvis between his and the bookcase, so that there wasn’t even the slightest room for movement. If anything, this seemed to heighten Luthor’s frenzy to escape.
“Look, can you just calm down?” Oliver suddenly felt very weary about the whole thing. He was sick of fighting this kid. Before Duncan’s death, Luthor had just suffered his abuse and come up with elaborate means of retaliation which usually involved Oliver getting suspended for things he hadn’t even done. Now, however, Luthor attacked him physically at the slightest provocation, and sometimes even without one. It didn’t seem to matter that Oliver was a head taller, at least fifty pounds heavier, and had ultimately won every one of their fights. The only thing that Oliver could figure out was that Luthor had a masochistic streak a mile long. Heaven only knew why…
“Why should I?” Luthor hissed and finally squirmed hard enough that he knocked Oliver off-balance.
The two of them fell to the floor in a mess of thrashing limbs, and Oliver let out an “oof!” of surprise when he hit the ground. In the interval, Luthor got one hand free and tried to punch Oliver in the face. Oliver ducked to the side just in time, and Luthor’s knuckles collided painfully with the hardwood floor instead.
The pain was enough to break through Luthor’s continued, baffling efforts to beat him bloody, and he swore and clutched at his hand while Oliver sat shakily up. And then Luthor wasn’t swearing at all, but biting his lip to keep silent, his shoulders shaking with the effort to hold something inside.
Oliver sat there with absolutely no idea what to do. The most obvious options were: 1) Punch Luthor in the face and run, 2) Go get the headmaster, or 3) Figure out what the hell was wrong with the kid. Number one was probably the smart move, two was kind of wussy but viable, and three was completely insane. Oliver had to wonder at himself that he chose option three.
“Hey, Luthor?” he asked cautiously, inching toward the other boy.
He got no response. Luthor cradled his wounded hand and hunched inward on himself, knees drawn up to his face and shoulders curved. Oliver could see the seemingly frail line of his back shake with some repressed emotion.
“Luthor?” he repeated, slowly reaching out with one hand. Maybe Luthor was really hurt. Maybe he should get the nurse and…
“Go away,” Luthor sniffed.
“Lex?” Oliver’s hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned Lex to face him. He kind of expected that the kid would be crying, but instead his face was completely, eerily composed, as if he refused to let whatever was wracking through his body affect his countenance in the slightest.
Luthor just stared at him regally. Oliver had no idea how Luthor did that; somehow, even though Oliver was the one leaning in, it seemed as though Luthor was looking down at him.
“Uh… Are you okay?” He felt kind of stupid for asking. The schooled expression on Luthor’s face seemed to mock the very notion that he’d ever need help. His body continued to shiver helplessly, however.
“Quite,” Luthor snapped. “Now, I’m sure there are others on your daily bullying schedule.”
“Uh…” Luthor had always been kind of strange, but Oliver had absolutely no clue how to deal with this. It was so beyond weird that it was bordering on neurotic. “Do you want the nurse to look at your hand?”
Luthor looked down and seemed surprised to realize that he was still cradling his hand. “It’s fine,” he insisted, releasing it and slowly moving the fingers one at a time. His knuckles were bloody, but he didn’t seem to be in too much pain. Not broken, then. “See?”
“Great. Fine.” Oliver realized with some consternation that his hand was still on Luthor’s shoulder. He pulled it back reflexively, even though there was something about the delicate curve of Lex’s naked head and the lean yet determined set of his shoulders that made Oliver want to…want to…something. He gulped and scrambled to his feet. “Whatever, you bald freak.” And he ran for it.
***
Bang!
The goalpost fell to the ground, and Oliver suddenly found himself hopelessly enmeshed in the netting, trying to counter the blows that Luthor was raining down on him. He managed to roll them over, shoving Luthor’s face into the mud behind the goal, while what seemed like their entire class screamed, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” in the background.
“Think you can foul me?” Oliver all but growled, letting Luthor up for a moment to breathe before shoving his face back into the mud.
Somewhere, a whistle blew.
Oliver was about to pull back when, out of nowhere, Luthor got his hand around a big clod of mud and threw it directly into Oliver’s eyes. “Fuck!” Oliver cried out, trying to wipe it out.
That was all the leeway Luthor needed to turn the tables, rolling their bodies over and pinning Oliver between his thighs. Punches flew once more, and Oliver ducked and dodged as best he could, still only half able to see through his mud-caked vision. Realizing it was his best shot, he grabbed for Luthor’s fists, catching the right on his first try and locking it down by Luthor’s hip.
Unfortunately, Luthor seemed quite handy with his left hand and got in three more punches before Oliver caught that wrist as well. Their bodies slid and struggled against each other in the mud, and Oliver could feel that the nasty goop had gotten inside his soccer uniform, slick and cold and cloying.
“You fucking brat!” Oliver screamed and threw Luthor off of him, tangling them both even more in the net in the process.
“That’s enough!” screamed Coach Saunders, blowing his whistle some more just for good measure.
Oliver slugged Luthor right across the jaw, too furious now to worry about their teachers. Luthor fell at the force of the blow, his upper lip split and bleeding, and the net fell with him, yanking Oliver back into the mud as well.
He landed on top of Luthor with a gasp, and Luthor kneed him hard in the side. Oliver swung, but his fist got tied up in the net, and they both ended up twisting uselessly in the net for a minute before Coach Saunders finally braved the mud and the flying limbs and all but yanked Oliver out by his ear.
“The fucking prick was asking for it!” Oliver glared at Luthor as Coach Saunders dragged him away.
“Watch your mouth, Queen!” Coach Saunders’ voice boomed.
Matt, the assistant coach, was trying to untangle Luthor from the net and keep him from rushing Oliver again, all at the same time.
“That’s it!” Oliver sneered. “Don’t even deny it, you fag!”
Luthor sniffed haughtily and rubbed at his upper lip, which was still bleeding. Oliver suddenly had the giddy thought that, if it scarred, at least the kid’s lips would match now. He giggled and probably swore some more as he was dragged away.
All the while, Luthor continued to affix him with that impassive, unearthly stare. His lips moved to shape one word, and somehow there was a lull just then, so Oliver heard it, despite the recent cacophony.
“Murderer,” Luthor breathed, before being dragged off to his own punishment.
***
Bang!
Oliver didn’t know what it was about Luthor now, but ever since he’d seen the younger boy almost break down, he’d gone from just snidely distasteful of Luthor to downright furious. The whispers and rumors that had followed him since Luthor’s accusation on the soccer field didn’t help anything. Suddenly, everyone seemed to be wondering whether the official report on Duncan’s death was accurate, and just why was Lex Luthor so pissed off at Oliver Queen, anyway?
Oliver didn’t need the disdain of his peers, just like he didn’t need the reminder, every time he saw Luthor’s perfect, porcelain features, that he could make that pretty face bruise and bleed. There was something inherently wrong about the way Luthor made Oliver feel. A boy shouldn’t look beautiful to him like this, elegant and exotic and impossibly expensive. And the only thing Oliver had found that would block out those feelings was to hurt Luthor, and hard.
Hence his sneaking into Luthor’s room and sucker-punching him as he came in to bed. Luthor hadn’t been issued a new roommate since Duncan had died, so Oliver had known that he wouldn’t be caught.
Luthor spun and almost went down with the blow, but he caught himself against the edge of the dresser and, with that ever-silent rage, rushed at Oliver once more.
Luthor’s right eye was already blackening from the blow, and that made Oliver feel so much better. No longer was the boy tempting him with that frail grace. Now Luthor looked no better than anyone else, and Oliver wanted to make sure he stayed that way.
Luthor collided with his midsection, and they both fell tottering backward onto the bed. The mattress creaked and groaned, as they rolled together atop the sheets, throwing in punches whichever way they could and, in Luthor’s case, bites as well.
Oliver let out a strangled scream when Luthor’s teeth caught in his shoulder, and he backhanded Luthor back down onto the bed beneath him. Luthor lay out before him, thin chest heaving with effort, still dizzy from the power behind that last blow. Oliver licked the sweat away from his upper lip, and Luthor watched him intently, pupils dilated.
And, suddenly, the black eye and swelling cheek didn’t make Luthor any less attractive, like they’d always used to. Luthor looked so desirable right then, and Oliver realized that he was between Luthor’s legs, holding him down onto his bed, and…
A wicked, knowing smirk curved Luthor’s lips as he felt Oliver’s cock harden against his thigh, despite Oliver’s best efforts to leap away in time. “Is that what you want?” Luthor all but purred, shifting his hips on the mattress in a way that was impossibly seductive.
Oliver stumbled back in shock, his sweat turning cold at the desire that was now throbbing through his body and focusing squarely in his aching cock. This wasn’t supposed to happen; he was supposed to hate Luthor and beat him to a bloody pulp, and then he’d never have to think about dark dreams where Luthor writhed and moaned beneath him ever again.
“I’m always in the mood for a good fuck,” Luthor continued to taunted him, the word ‘fuck’ snapping harsh and loud throughout the narrow confines of Luthor’s bedroom.
“Fuck you,” Oliver breathed, scrambling from the doorknob.
“That was what I was offering.” Luthor’s smile was downright menacing, and he rolled his hips once more.
Oliver’s dick wanted nothing more than to take everything Luthor had; Oliver’s hand turned the doorknob and somehow got him outside and to safety.
He could hear Luthor’s mocking laughter all the way as he ran down the corridor.
***
Bang!
The bed frame slammed against the wall as Oliver was suddenly, unexpectedly tackled onto his mattress. “What the fuck?” he demanded, squirming at the solid weight on his back.
“You didn’t think you could leave me hanging forever, did you?” Luthor’s voice breathed into his ear, those soft, lush lips just brushing the lobe.
Oliver’s entire body shivered at the contact. “What on earth is wrong with you?” he demanded, trying to worm his way free. “That was three weeks ago.”
“Ah, yes,” Luthor agreed. “You’ve done an excellent job avoiding me. However, you underestimated my persistence.”
Oliver twisted and pulled free, rolling out to one side. Luthor fell to the bed beside him, startled for a moment at being so roughly dislodged. Oliver swore and realized that Luthor was right; what on earth had he been thinking telling Alden to go out to the theater ahead of him? Now he was just as trapped as he’d had Luthor last time, only Oliver was willing to bet that Luthor wouldn’t run away chicken like he had.
Indeed, Luthor twisted sinuously on the mattress and, before Oliver could react, pinned Oliver back down beneath him, only this time face-to-face. Luthor offered him a wicked little smile before leaning in and kissing Oliver hard, so violently that he split his own lip on Oliver’s teeth and Oliver could taste his blood.
It was possibly the most erotic taste Oliver had ever known.
He tried to fight against Luthor’s invading mouth for a moment as a sort of token resistance, but Luthor was too pretty and Oliver wanted this too much for him to struggle long. Soon, he was biting back as hard as Luthor gave it to him. His hands came up to cup the fine, aesthetic lines of Luthor’s skull, pulling him in even deeper. He moaned at the onslaught of Luthor’s tongue in his mouth and even more at where Luthor’s hips ground down into his with aching persistence. The whole kiss had Oliver impossibly hard in seconds and, god, he wanted more…
He let out a little whimper of protest when Lex pulled back so that he was kneeling over Oliver’s supine body.
Luthor merely smiled that enigmatic smile in response. He shrugged off his blazer and slowly, methodically, set about to removing his tie.
Oliver gulped at the sight and wriggled his hips so that his cock slid against Lex’s inner thigh, precious little friction though it was.
“How long have you wanted this?” Luthor whispered in a husky voice, as he flung aside his tie and began working on the buttons of his shirt. “How long have you wanted me?”
“Fuck…” Oliver breathed, reaching up to touch the lean muscles of Lex’s chest as they were bared before him. Luthor tolerated the touch with a bemused little smile. “Always,” Oliver answered with frightening truthfulness.
Luthor’s smile faded slightly at that. “Then why didn’t you just take me?” he demanded, leaning in to unbutton Oliver’s shirt as well.
“I…I… God, yes!” Oliver cried out when a skilled thumb began thrumming against his right nipple. Clearly, Lex knew exactly what he was doing. Oliver didn’t care, though. He just wanted it to continue.
Thankfully, Luthor didn’t seem to need an answer to that last question. “Are you going to take me now?” he wondered idly. “Or are you just going to lie there, wanting me, like you’ve done every night for years?”
Oliver couldn’t tell if Luthor was seducing him or taunting him; maybe to Luthor they were the same thing. What he did know was that he wanted this badly enough that he wouldn’t chicken out this time. With an angry roar, he rolled them over so that Lex was beneath him, shirtless and breathless, and Oliver kissed him with everything that had been boiling inside him for all these years.
And suddenly it all did make a frightening sort of sense. Why he always picked on the delicate, pretty boys, and especially this delicate, pretty boy. Why he tussled with Luthor whenever he could, pressed their bodies together in every way that would be impossible if they weren’t fighting. Hell, Oliver probably would have pulled on Luthor’s pigtails if he’d had them.
Lex moaned and writhed beneath him now, his hands all over Oliver. Short, manicured nails sunk into his back through the fabric of his opened shirt, scraping slowly down to cup Oliver’s ass and pull him in closer. At the same time, Luthor’s legs wrapped around his waist, bringing their cocks into perfect alignment, and they rubbed against each other in the most wonderful way.
“Fuck, Lex!” Oliver breathed hard, gasping for breath. “Just like that… Yes!”
“Just like that?” Lex still had that mocking little smile on his face. “You don’t want more?” His left hand slid between them and cupped Oliver’s erection through his pants.
“Oh god, more…” Oliver sighed in ecstasy.
Lex – and just when had he become Lex, and not Luthor? – did as he commanded, unzipping Oliver’s fly and pushing his slacks and underwear down around his hips. His hand was smooth and hot around Oliver’s cock, and Oliver thrust into the fist Lex made several times, shuddering with each stroke.
Somewhere along the way, Lex must have unzipped his own pants. Oliver hadn’t noticed it, but then he’d been distracted at the time. He did notice, however, the first time their cocks brushed together, bare skin against bare skin.
“Oliver?” Lex whispered softly, intimately, against Oliver’s cheek.
“Yeah?” Oliver panted in response, stealing a quick kiss while he could.
“Let me up.”
Oliver blinked down at him in surprise. “What?” The thought that Lex was stopping now sent him into a state of downright panic. God, they couldn’t be this close and then not…
“It will make it better for you in the long run, I promise,” Lex retorted calmly.
Oliver couldn’t tell right then whether Lex was playing him or not. But some part of him that always believed the best about everyone let Lex go.
Lex rose calmly and, with a coy look back to whether Oliver lay half-dressed on the bed, began to shimmy out of his pants.
There was something in the movement of Lex’s hips that was mesmerizing, hypnotic. Oliver watched that lithe body twist gracefully until Lex was completely naked before him. He reached out for Lex then, but Lex gave him a mischievous smile in response and walked around to the other side of the bed. There, he found his blazer and extracted a small bottle and condom from the right pocket.
“Here.” He tossed them to Oliver.
Oliver gulped when he saw that the label on the bottle read ‘Astroglide.’
In the meantime, Lex positioned himself at the head of the bed, on his hands and knees, and looked back over his shoulder at Oliver. “Do me,” he demanded.
It wasn’t the kind of order Oliver was ever going to disobey. He nervously opened the bottle and looked to where Lex had spread his legs, the dark opening between his ass cheeks beckoning. Now, in theory Oliver knew how this was supposed to go. In practice, however, Lex was the first boy he’d ever been with. As much as he wanted what Lex was so generously offering, he wasn’t quite sure how to take it.
“Just one finger at first,” Lex sounded mildly annoyed that it was taking this long. “You’ll have to slick it up first.”
That, Oliver could do. The Astroglide was cold and greasy and a little clammy. He moved so that he sat right behind Lex and cautiously reached out to touch the tight opening he wanted so badly. For a moment he just touched there and didn’t go in.
“Harder.” Lex’s breathing had quickened, like he really wanted this, and that just made Oliver hornier, which he would have thought was impossible.
He pushed a bit roughly, and suddenly he was inside, Lex’s tight muscles yielding around him and letting him thrust slowly in and out. It seemed that this wasn’t Lex’s first time…
“You can do more,” Lex instructed him. “Get me up to three, and then…” He cut off with a gasp when Oliver’s second finger slid inside.
Oliver’s cock twitched in response to the ‘and then.’ His fingers continued to slide slickly in and out of Lex’s ass, and he marveled all the while at how easily Lex opened to him. His third finger entered with just the right amount of resistance, and then Lex’s hole worked open further, and Lex fucked himself back on Oliver’s fingers.
“Now?” Oliver practically begged.
“God, yes.” Lex sounded as close to the edge as Oliver felt.
Oliver got the condom on and added more lube just in case, while Lex braced himself against the bed and raised his ass up further in offering. It took Oliver a bit of maneuvering to get himself lined up right against Lex’s hips, and then he had to fight that initial resistance again when he got his dick lined up with Lex’s opening.
Lex took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then pushed back, taking the first few inches of Oliver inside with one long push.
“Holy fucking shit!” Oliver cried out, wide-eyed at the feel of Lex all around him. This was nothing like even his wildest dreams. Lex was so much tighter and so much softer inside. Without even thinking about it, he thrust in hard, all the rest of the way, so that his balls slapped against Lex’s ass with a resounding smack.
Lex grunted but bore it, his fingers twisting into the sheets.
“D-Did I hurt you?” Oliver asked warily.
“I want you to hurt me,” Lex snapped back at him. “Now, fuck me already.” His hips ground and rolled back, letting Oliver inside impossibly deeper.
And there was something sick and kind of twisted in that request, but Oliver was only human – and a teenaged human, at that – and he was buried inside the world’s tightest, prettiest ass hole. So he did what any horny kid would do and started thrusting roughly, completely out of control, taking Lex hard and fast.
Lex moaned and grunted beneath him and bore everything Oliver had to give him. Lex definitely knew what he was doing, to judge by the perfectly timed counter-thrusts of his hips and the way he squeezed in around Oliver every time he tried to pull out.
Oliver let out a shaky laugh at that and began moving even more roughly. If Lex could handle it, there was no need to be so gentle, especially when Oliver was aching so hard for more that he thought his balls would turn blue.
“What?” Lex gasped out from beneath him.
“Nothing,” Oliver insisted, suddenly embarrassed by the thought. Lex was being so wonderful, and Oliver had the nerve to think that…
“You think I’m a slut.” There was a grin in Lex’s voice.
“No,” Oliver breathed against the bowed curve of Lex’s neck, kissing him once there, tenderly. He slowed his pace just to make sure that Lex was enjoying this as much as he was, even if doing so nearly killed him.
“I am, you know,” Lex hissed as the two of them stilled, Oliver buried as deep in Lex’s ass as he could possibly get. “I’m a hopeless little slut.”
“Don’t say that.” Oliver tried to turn Lex’s head to kiss him, but Lex evaded the reassurance. Oliver suddenly wished that they were facing each other so that he could see Lex’s face and that, in turn, Lex could see him, see how wonderful Oliver thought he was just then… “You’re beautiful,” he whispered against the flawless curve of Lex’s scalp.
“Murderer,” Lex hissed in response.
Oliver froze at that, suddenly horrified at what was happening. “I-It wasn’t my fault…” he insisted, trying to pull out. Lex’s hand whipped out lightning-quick, however, and caught Oliver’s ass, holding him in place. “I never meant for your friend to…” he gulped.
“Not you,” Lex replied, and it was like a benediction that Oliver didn’t deserve. “I’m the murderer.”
“What?” Oliver stared at the curve of Lex’s spine in disbelief. “No, it wasn’t your fault either…”
“I deserve to be punished,” Lex retorted coldly. “I thought I could depend on you to punish me, if nothing else.” And he slammed his hips back into Oliver’s, hard.
Oliver gasped with the conflicting sensations. On the one hand, he wanted to reassure Lex that he was wrong, he wasn’t a murderer and he didn’t deserve to be punished. He deserved… God, he deserved everything. On the other hand, Oliver was only seconds away from coming, and Lex was thrusting against him, writhing like he wanted it so bad.
In the end, Oliver wasn’t strong enough to give Lex the tenderness he clearly so desperately needed. Instead, he rammed in hard and fast, probably the exact kind of emotionless rutting that Lex wanted, and came in an explosion of ecstasy deep inside Lex’s ass. He couldn’t be sure, because the world turned dizzy and black when he finally released his pleasure, but he didn’t think Lex came at all.
It was his greatest moment of bliss and his greatest moment of shame all at the same time.
And then he slumped down onto Lex’s back, and he must have lost some time in there because, when he awoke once again, he was lying in bed alone and Lex already had his pants back on and was pulling on his shirt.
“Lex?” he murmured in protest, reaching out for the beautiful, delicate boy he suddenly realized that he had frighteningly deep feelings for.
Lex’s eyes glanced over his body for a moment, and his lip curled into a sneer. “I hope it was good for you, too.” He angrily slung his tie around his neck, but didn’t bother to tie it. “You can keep this as a souvenir.” He chucked the lube onto the bed, picked up his blazer, and headed for the door, shirt still unbuttoned.
“C’mon, Lex,” Oliver soothed. Even in the vulnerable position he was in now, Lex’s act didn’t fool him. All the bottled rage and shame were so clear in the younger boy’s shoulders that Oliver marveled that he’d never noticed them before. Suddenly, crazy notions were running through his head. Maybe he could help Lex, show him that he wasn’t worthless, that he deserved love just like everybody else and…
Lex stilled for a moment at the door, his shoulders shaking again as if he was still fighting that internal battle that Oliver had first witnessed in the library all those months ago. “I don’t need your help,” Lex insisted, his voice shaking, breaking on the final word.
And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him with a Bang!