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“You’re an ass,” Lex scolds, shoving Clark through the bathroom door. Clark laughs, low and breathy, belying just how affected he really is.
“C’mon,” he goads, looming while Lex frantically turns the deadbolt on the heavy door behind them. He’s not quite paranoid, not yet, but he knows just how dogged the paparazzi can be at these types of events, and despite all his own showboating, he’s not quite ready to share Clark with the world yet. When Lex turns from the door, he turns directly into a broad chest that seems to be throwing as much heat as the fireplaces in the ballroom they’d vacated.
Lex looks up, momentarily startled, and meets Clark’s eyes as his smirk stretches higher at the corners. Lex scoffs and slaps the back of his hand to Clark’s chest dismissively, pushing past to stand at the marble countertops housing wildly ostentatious sink bowls and an unnecessarily large mirror that stretches all the way to the ceiling, showing the entire room in vivid detail.
The faux candle sconces lining the inset wash area are nice though, he notes absently. He wouldn’t mind installing them in a more private rest room someday.
Lex sighs, forcing himself back to the present as he twists on the cold tap of the sink, hastily unknotting his silk tie and tossing it in the bowl before shrugging off his slate grey suit jacket.
“This shirt is Armani!” Lex snaps, pulling open the buttons hastily and dunking the soaked fabric under the spray of the faucet. Already the water in the basin is tinged pink from the wine Clark had splashed across his chest, and while the ivory pink of the tie would likely be fine, the crisp, blue-white of the shirt may never recover. “And it’s my favorite.”
Clark breathes another soft laugh behind him, but manages to cool off, stepping up behind Lex at the sink.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he says, hovering just behind Lex’s left shoulder. He leans forward, pressing into Lex’s space, and while he wants to be charmed, he’s too focused on repairing the damage to his shirt as best as he can in an ostentatious gala bathroom. “You just… you looked so miserable out there, and I thought maybe that’s why you brought a bumbling farm boy out to this kinda shindig, ya know? To give you a reason to leave.”
Lex stares down at the twisted, sodden fabric in his hands, pink stain still plainly evident on the pale fabric, and sighs, dropping it in the bowl and turning off the faucet.
“You’re not some bumbling hick farm boy, Clark,” he says, still looking at his ruined shirt.
“Well I never said hick,” Clark mutters, but Lex doesn’t let him interrupt.
“I brought you because I wanted to… I don’t know, share this part of me?” He sighs, reaching for a paper towel to dry his hands, and finally looking up, meeting Clark’s vibrant blue eyes in the mirror. Clark’s look is… intense. Lex feels a hot flush start to rise to his cheeks, and he drops his gaze back to the sink, prodding at his shirt where it floats half submerged in the sink.
Without the running water, the bathroom is almost oppressively quiet, and Lex can feel his heartbeat in his throat. Clark shifts, so close that Lex can feel the navy jacket he’s wearing brush up against his undershirt. The thin fabric leaves very little to the imagination, and his hasty disrobing meant the heat of Clark’s body was apparent even at the slight distance between them.
He refuses to notice.
“Lex…” Clark starts, voice low and earnest. He sighs before he continues. “Don’t lie to me, Lex. I know you hate going to these galas.” Lex sniffs haughtily, leaning his weight onto his hands against the counter and refusing to look up.
“Of course I hate them!” he snaps. “Everyone is so vacuous and empty, or greedy and pretentious–”
“Like you?” Clark teases. Lex scoffs loudly, spinning to address Clark directly.
“Now you listen–” he starts, immediately choking on his next words as he finds his palm pressed against Clark’s chest rather than the pointed finger he’d intended.
“I–” he stutters.
“You?” Clark teases. “I’m listening.”
“You’re a menace,” Lex seethes. Clark hums in agreement, finally crossing the last distance between them to press his lips against Lex’s. The touch of skin is only chaste so long as Lex can control it; something about Clark makes him hungry and desperate in a way that feels wholly unique. Lex has had many of his own trysts, but none have left him feeling quite so vulnerable.
After a minute, an hour, some unending yet fleeting amount of time, Clark pulls back with a wet sound.
“But that’s why you like me so much,” he says, matter of fact. Lex blinks at him once, twice, brows pinching together.
“What?” Clark just grins and presses another, more chaste kiss to Lex’s lips. Lex thinks that perhaps he shouldn’t be so easy to silence, to distract, that his father would say it was unbecoming of a Luthor. Lex also really doesn’t want to think of his father right now, however, and as Clark pulls away again, he takes a chance to catch his breath.
“You’re a menace,” Lex says, and even he can hear the affection in his voice, tone unpleasantly saccharine, but Clark just tilts his head back and breathes a laugh, leaning his hips against the marble counter.
“So you’ve said.” Lex hadn’t been intending to pull away, but regardless, Clark doesn’t let him, broad hands hooking over his narrow hips to pull him into the space between his legs. Lex decides if Wayne can blow all propriety at every bull shit gala he attends, Lex can afford to blow it at least once.
Or twice.
He lets himself be manhandled into Clark’s space, leans their chests together as Clark’s hands slip easily into his rear pockets, long, thick fingers tantalizingly prominent through the thin fabric. He hums in satisfaction, looking up at Clark, slipping his own arms around his broad torso beneath his jacket.
“Have I said anything else particularly compelling?” he asks, and Clark’s lips twitch immediately in response.
“Not yet,” he says, flexing his fingers against Lex’s backside. Lex’s vision wavers, hips thankfully not jerking forward but coming close.
“Well, that’s something we should fix immediately,” he snarks, lifting his hands higher beneath Clark’s jacket to grope over the rippling planes of muscle, feeling his shoulders shift with each breath. “Wanna fuck in the bathroom of a multi-million dollar charity gala?”
The grin that splits Clark’s lips fills Lex with a rush not incomparable to driving over a hundred miles per hour in one of his swanky sports cars. It feels dangerously thrilling.
“Now that is a good idea,” Clark agrees, already stooping to press their lips together again. Lex lets him, knowing full well he’d be unable to refuse, and unwilling to. He slips one hand from beneath Clark’s jacket to tangle his fingers in the dark curls atop his head, making them an even bigger mess than before, and welcomes Clark’s tongue as it presses at the seam of their lips. He feels consumed by Clark, each press of their lips and slide of their tongues hot and vibrant, vibrating in his core.
Part of Lex thinks he should be too old to get hard from a kiss, but Clark Kent makes the impossible feel… well, possible. Clark’s hands grow bolder the longer they’re pressed together, one slipping from his pocket to tug at the buckle of his belt. Lex is ready to step back, help open the confounded thing, but before he does he feels the pressure at his hips loosen and hears the slide of expensive leather and clatter of the buckle against the tile floor.
Both of Clark’s hands pull away from Lex for a moment, but only long enough to pry apart his fly where they stand and pull his dress pants down. He shivers as the conditioned air passes over his bare legs, pulling apart their lips with a wet smack.
“What’re you–” he starts, be he interrupts himself with a yelp as Clark’s hands grab beneath his ass and whirl them both around. Lex blinks away the momentary vertigo before locking eyes with Clark again. His pupils are wide, dilated from the low-light, and maybe something else Lex isn’t ready to fully believe in. He hums in momentary displeasure.
“How on Earth can you pick me up like that?” he says, hands idly trailing over Clark’s shoulders. He feels one lift in a shrug, Clark stepping forward so that now he’s the one pressed between Lex’s thighs, and he certainly has to spread them wide to fit Clark between them. He feels himself flush at the vulgar display they must make, eyes darting towards the door to remind himself he’d definitely locked it.
“You’re hardly half a bale of hay,” Clark says by way of explanation. Lex is forcibly reminded of several of their illicit encounters in the repurposed hay loft of the Kent family barn, and runs a palm over the swell of Clark’s biceps. They certainly hold a strength that most of the people in Lex’s life have never quite possessed, so he lets himself take Clark at his word.
Lex shifts his weight slightly, somehow only encouraging Clark to tug his hips forward until he’s barely on the edge, back connecting to the mirror behind him in an attempt to maintain balance.
“Whatever,” he manages to say. Clark pulls back slightly, looking down at Lex and looming. Lex feels his heart skip a beat but refuses to acknowledge it. Instead, he pushes forward, trusting Clark to hold him steady and safe as he teeters on the edge, and presses their lips together. Their teeth clack, uncomfortable at first, but the sharp pain accompanying the tender slide of their tongues together seems so them.
Lex feels Clark’s fingers flex on his backside, and he wants to luxuriate in the feeling, roll his hips back into the touch, but he holds no control of himself in this moment. He has nothing, no contact at all until Clark presses even closer, rocking his groin into Lex’s. Their mouths rip apart with a shaky moan and a wet suck at the first teasing pressure. Lex loses himself for a moment, feeling Clark’s heat through the tight, tailored trousers he’d made sure he wore tonight. He wants to feel his skin, his hair, pressed up against him. He wants to touch him, to be touched, to feel everything.
Lex is barely aware of the whine crawling out of his throat as his hands lose their grip at Clark’s shoulders, instead grabbing desperately at Clark's pants. He doesn’t bother with the belt, just rips down the fly and shoves his hand inside, ignoring Clark’s quiet hiss as he grabs along his bulge until he finds the pocket of his boxers and slips his fingers through that as well. Clark’s hips jerk at the touch of Lex’s hand on the hot, velvet skin of his cock, and Lex preens at the response his touch elicits, love to know he’s the one that gets to draw it out of Clark.
“Fuck,” Clark moans, half breathless. Lex hums, almost absently, freeing Clark’s cock so it sticks out of his pants and sighing at finally getting to hold it firmly in his palm.
“I need it,” he groans. “Jesus, Clark, what you do to me…”
Clark shifts, hands flexing almost painfully tight into Lex’s ass cheeks before manually rocking them together. Lex gasps at being jostled, now fully unseated from the counter, but Clark seems wholly unphased. He ruts his cock through Lex’s fingers, against the swell of his cock trapped beneath his silky boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination, and he feels like he’s about to lose control.
“Shit,” he curses, freezing in place and burying his face in Lex’s neck.
“Clark,” Lex whines rolling his hips as much as he can through Clark’s grip. After another long moment, Clark blows out a long breath and slowly lowers Lex until his socked feet are on the floor again.
“Turn over,” he says, voice rough and tone clipped. Lex just nods frantically and spins, barely having the presence of mind to ogle himself in the mirror. Clark steps up behind him immediately. He yanks down Lex’s briefs and presses into his bare backside, leaving no chance for his ass to get cold waiting. Lex feels the drag of Clark’s cock over the top of his crack as he frots against him for a moment, almost lost in the sensation, until his thick fingers creep down and spread his cheeks, letting Clark rut against his hole instead.
Lex’s hole twitches, desperately eager, legs unconsciously slipping further apart to welcome the intrusion, despite not preparing any lube. He’ll bite his hand if he has to.
Instead of plunging in, raw and unprepared, however, Clark drops to his knees behind him. At first Lex is confused, he turns to look back at him, but instead of a question, a lewd moan is pulled from his tongue instead as Clark’s laps at his hole. Lex’s knees quiver, and he has to face the mirror again to keep his balance. Clark… doesn’t stop.
Clark seems to relish it, plunging in with as much gusto as when ravishing Lex’s mouth, and aside from a single, brief thought about toothbrushes, Lex’s mind is wiped clear. It’s all he can do to keep air in his lungs, chest pressed to the white marble, nipples hard from the chilly stone and pressed uncomfortably against it. His breath is sharp, shallow panting when Clark moves from just licking and sucking his rim to plunging faintly inside. It feels dirty in a way even double dealing with his father’s criminal cohorts doesn’t, and he can’t bear to see his reflection, knowing his face is splotchy and red.
Clark must think he’s not enjoying himself, isn’t moaning loud enough, or something, because he takes that moment to pull one of his hands away from where it had wrapped around his hips. The child from the air is sudden, but before he can wince, a fit fingertip is pressing against his hole alongside Clark’s tongue. There’s a wet squelch as it slips inside, facing almost no resistance, and Clark hums in satisfaction.
“J-Jesus,” Lex whines, voice rough and pitchy. Clark huffs a laugh, slowly pumping his finger in and out, reaching further and further each time until Lex can feel his knuckles brush against his taint. It presses in further, then, even though there’s no more finger to feed him, just pressure, and he whines wordlessly.
“Clark is fine,” Clark breathes, and Lex doesn’t even have the brainpower to be annoyed at the snark, because instead of letting him rest another moment, he slips out his finger and begins pumping again in earnest. He laves his tongue against where his finger is pumping into Lex’s hole, slipping inside every other thrust until a second finger presses against the tight ring of his rim and bullies its way inside. Once both are seated, he takes it further, stretching at the muscles and slipping his tongue between them. Lex moans into his arms, unaware of when he’d folded them beneath his face, but glad for the reprieve until Clark starts curling his fingers.
He presses around, digging into Lex’s walls seemingly at random, but he knows Clark knows exactly what he’s looking for, and he knows Clark knows exactly when he’s found it. At first the tips of Clark's fingers barely brush over that bundle of nerves deep inside him, and his leg twitches involuntarily. After that, Clark is relentless. He stabs his fingers into his prostate with a single minded focus, seemingly milking him from inside. His cock is drooling against his thigh, occasionally jerking at a particularly robust thrust of fingers, and while he’s never come untouched before, Clark always makes him feel like it’s possible.
“Clark,” Lex whines, voice ragged and wet. “Pleeease.” Clark stills, fingers slipping all the way in again and pressing on either side of his prostate as he stands. The way his fingers are curled inside, Lex almost worries he intends to lift him by his asshole, and despite the zing of pleasure that thought triggers, he doesn’t think it’d be fun to learn exactly how fragile his backside is tonight.
Finally, Clark pulls his fingers free, and Lex involuntarily whines at the loss. He feels so pathetic like this, wet and used and spread across the countertop like a cheap concession, but Clark’s touch is so gentle as he skirts his palms over Lex’s flank. Lex glances up, lets their eyes meet in the mirror, and Clark’s expression is so warm and tender that Lex can’t hold his gaze. The way Clark looks at him makes Lex’s chest ache in a way that feels dangerous.
Clark leans down, chest looming as he presses a chaste kiss to the back of Lex’s neck. The sides of his jacket hang down, tickling Lex’s sides as he stands up again. Lex can’t see exactly what he’s doing with his hands, but he has a good idea as he watches Clark’s brows pinch together in the mirror as he sucks in a breath. After a heartbeat, he feels the head of Clark’s cock pressed against his hole. Clark is focused on his movements, not paying attention to how Lex watches him in the mirror.
The first push is still a lot for Lex, even with how loose and sloppy Clark made him feel with his tongue. If Clark’s fingers were thick, his cock is something else entirely, head wide and spongey, shaft fat and long. It curves up perfectly, almost completely symmetrical, but Lex has spent enough time on his knees and worshipping it to know it does in fact lean a little to the left. Now, as it pushes inside of him with a sharp burning stretch and not enough lube, it just feels immense.
And then, Clark… stops. His progress inside of Lex stills, and he feels impossibly stretched and full already, but from how far away Clark is, he knows he’s not all the way in, not fully seated, and it’s all Lex can do not to whine any louder.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, breathless. “Come on, Clark.” Clark’s fingers flex from where they’re wrapped around Lex’s hips again, each fingertip pressing in carefully, pointedly, and he feels his spine quiver along with his lower lip. He’s still teasing.
“Brat,” he hisses, so close to satisfaction and being wound up in another direction once more.
“Aw, Lexi,” Clark teases, rolling his hips and letting himself slide in another inch. “But you’re so cute when you’re mad.” Lex huffs, and he is mad. He’s mad, and horny, and so, so close to coming and he’s flustered, and his eyes are wet and he’s so close, and–
Lex chokes on a sobbed moan as Clark shoves his dick the rest of the way inside. Lex knows he’s fully seated, can feel the tickle of Clark’s pubes prickling against his overwrought rim, and the firmness of his thighs against the back of Lex’s own.
“Clark!” he nearly yells, too desperate to be admonishing. Clark just hushes him, rocks his hips so he grinds somehow deeper into Lex, and he feels his eyes nearly roll back as Clark leans down and kisses his neck, his cheek, his temple, everything he can reach hunched over as he is. He barely gives Lex enough time to brace himself before he’s pulling back and thrusting again. The pull is slow, dragging, making sure Lex feels every inch, but the push is rapid, violent, bucking Lex’s hips into the marble. The corner stings as his bone and muscle bangs against it and Lex scrambles to brace his hands against the mirror, the counter, something so that the impact isn’t as sharp.
He knows Clark can see him doing it, but also trusts that Clark won’t stop, won’t ease up, will let him batter himself silly.
Clark shifts, only slightly, adjusting his grip until each push of his cock slams against all the most important parts inside of Lex. He hisses and splutters and drags in several heavy, wet breaths, knowing he’s making a mess of himself and somehow only reaching a higher peak for it.
Oh, if his father could see him now.
Clark grunts, hips stuttering slightly, and his pace hastens. Lex feels it, tells himself he can feel Clark’s balls drawing tighter beneath him, and he knows he’s done for. Clark rolls forward and Lex is coming, cock jerking, untouched, and seed splattering against the underside of the marble sink counter. He feels his hole fluttering and clenching, entirely without his own control, and loves how it makes Clark seem to stumble behind him. His fingertips squeeze where they hold Lex, and if he weren’t before he’s sure now he’ll carry bruises from it. Clark moans, deep and throaty, sweaty forehead pressing against Lex’s nape. The wet hair tickles, just another flavor of stimulation against his worn out skin, and Clark finally comes inside him.
It’s long and slow, Clark twitching minutely but standing stock still. Lex’s sweat cools quickly on his skin, especially where he’s pressed against frigid stone and glass, and by the time he’s shivering, Clark seems to be finished. He doesn’t pull out right away, content to drape himself over Lex’s back and press kisses into his flesh wherever he can reach. He hands slowly unclasp from their death grip and pet over Lex’s bare skin, leading to another shiver.
“Brute,” he scoffs, batting at Clark’s hands without any seriousness. Clark snorts a laugh and still his wandering hands, but not before pressing another chaste kiss to the back of Lex’s head.
“Only you think so, Lex.”
Clark finally lifts straight, pulling out, and shivering as the cold air touches his wet cock. Lex grimaces at the sensation, braced against the counter for one, two deep breaths before pushing himself upright as well. He can feel a trickle of Clark’s cum snake down his cheek to his inner thigh and makes a face.
“You’re staying over tonight,” he demands, knowing he’s being presumptuous but unable to keep the haughty tone out of his voice. Clark takes it in stride, however, ducking into one of the toilet stalls. He’s in there for a long moment before flushing the toilet and coming out with a wad of paper in his hand. Lex leans back against the marble sink, but instead of going for it dry, Clark leans over the basin and turns on the tap, wetting the toilet paper before approaching Lex. He smiles knowingly as Lex’s cheeks flush before he averts his gaze.
The wallpaper is just that interesting, naturally, along with the bizarre and undoubtedly expensive abstract watercolor painting that’s framed and hanging over the rubbish. He lets Clark wipe over his stomach, between his thighs, and he thinks if he were a softer man, he’d find it endearing that Clark takes care of him. Instead, he feels almost bitter at having to wash away Clark’s claim, wanting to revel in the stink of it, the pulling sensation of spunk drying on his skin, tacky and illicit.
Instead, he folds his arms over his chest, knowing it looks defensive but unable to deny himself the small shield, even from his lover.
“You’re forgiven,” he says. Clark smiles, the kind that Lex knows means he wants to laugh but is trying to be polite.
“Thanks, Lex,” he offers. He tosses the wet paper into the trash before wrapping his arms around Lex’s hips, tender instead of possessive. “Now let's get out of here.” Lex scoffs, but there’s really no heat to it.
“You still ruined my shirt,” he snipes, already looking around for his underwear. Most of his loose clothes have wound up kicked under the counter, irreparably wrinkled.
“You wanna wear mine ‘til we get back?” Clark offers, tugging on the collar as if he isn’t still almost completely dressed. Lex eyes it for a moment, then shrugs on his jacket without a shirt.
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll just be quick.”
Now dressed, Lex and Clark stand at the door, Clark with his ear pressed against it, listening for a safe moment to escape. He unlatches the lock as he does, Lex impatiently behind him, and despite Clark saying they’re safe, opening the door and rushing Lex through, Lex still looks both ways and moves carefully. He doesn’t want to get caught by any paps with his pants metaphorically down, after all.
They rush out, Clark leading, and somehow they manage to escape through a side door without even being spotted by any of the venue staff, let alone a party guest or other unsavory acquaintance. They run across the moonlit grounds to one of Lex’s absurd sports cars. He unlocks it quickly with the fob, ushering Clark to climb in, and he slips into the driver’s seat. The seat of his pants is a little uncomfortable when he settles in, but when he glances over at Clark and catches his knowing smirk, he decides not to say anything.
Perhaps, once they’re holed up in his bedroom later, they’ll repeat the performance with a little more care and proper lubricant. Until then, he’ll let the smooth purr of the engine soothe his sore muscles and let Clark’s fingers intertwine with his over the gear shift.
He speeds the entire way, of course.