Summary: Fuck or die. A pretty easy choice for Clark and Lex.

Warnings: Rated NC-17. m/m. Slight spoilers for Season Four.

The room seems to ring with the question, and Clark can't answer. Doesn't know where to look. Isn't completely certain he's even heard Lex right.

"Yes, well," Lex says dryly. "I can see by your reaction that the idea of having sex with me is repellant to you. Forget I mentioned it."

"No! That's not--" Clark says in a rush. "It's just-- I don't know what you think is so special about my--" His face turns hot, just thinking the word.

Lex sets his jaw. "Look, Clark, I'm not asking for a confession here. This isn't about you or your secret. It's about me and my life. I don't have time to go into a long, drawn-out explanation about why I believe you can help me. Suffice it to say that if you don't, the poison will certainly kill me."

Clark takes a step closer, wants to put a comforting hand on Lex's arm, but isn't sure it will be welcome. So he hovers instead, trying to project reassuring thoughts. For all his poorly considered declarations about ending their friendship, the last thing he'd ever want is for anything to happen to Lex.

"You really think this will work? You really want me to--"

"Need, Clark. I need you to fuck me."

It's the "need" that finally does it. When has he ever heard Lex sound like that? "Okay," he says softly. "If you think it will help."

Lex gives him a hard look of appraisal that goes on so long Clark is aware of each beat of his heart, every soft tick of the antique clock on the mantel. At last Lex says, "Let's go take care of it then."

He leads Clark to the stairs, and they're halfway up them when it seems necessary to say, "This still doesn't change things, just so you know."

"Of course not." Lex's tone is clipped.

Clark doesn't even realize that Lex has been holding his hand until he lets it go, and then he really wishes he'd just kept his mouth shut.

Lex's bedroom is dark wood and pristine white everything else, just as Clark remembers it from the one time he was here before, helping Lex to bed after some meteor mutant attack. Lex turns back the covers with a business-like flick of the wrist, shoots Clark a meaningful glance. Perhaps it is only a question, are you sure?, but there's something in Lex's eyes that makes it feel more like a challenge. Clark pulls his shirt over his head, shucks his jeans, stands there with his hands on his hips, as if to say, there, take that!

The half-tortured look of longing on Lex's face hits him hard, a turn-on for sure, but a painful reminder as well, of why that room of masturbatory facts was such a blow. Clark has always needed to believe there is more between them than just secrets and lies.

Lex strips off his own clothes, quickly, efficiently, neatly folds them across the convenient back of a chair. It strikes Clark then, seeing him naked, how little he has ever seen before. Lex is always so crisply pressed in his long-sleeved shirts, so buttoned up, and Clark can't honestly say he hasn't wondered what was beneath all that linen and silk and fine-gauged wool. Now he has the answer: perfection.

"Have you done this before?" Lex asks.

Clark doesn't answer, but then he doesn't have to. Lex reads it in his expression, the truth he'll never admit out loud about his lost summer in Metropolis.

"I see." There is no actual note of disappointment in his voice. Lex is too smooth, would never allow that, but Clark knows him well enough to feel it.

"Sorry" starts to form on his lips, but he won't give in to it. He refuses to apologize when it's Lex's own fault he wasn't the first, letting opportunities slip by one after the other, out of some ridiculous sense of honor.

At least he doesn't seem to have any hesitations now. He moves closer, runs a hand down Clark's side, making him gasp out loud. "Let me get you ready."

Lex gets to his knees, and Clark could point out that he doesn't really need any help in that arena, but when Lex takes his hips in his hands and darts out his tongue, there doesn't seem to be any sense in arguing.

Of course, Lex knows what he's doing. Clark would have expected nothing less, but that doesn't prepare him for just how wickedly talented he is with his hands and his mouth and his tongue.

It doesn't take long at all before he's pushing at his shoulders, telling him in a strained voice, "That's good, Lex." When he doesn't stop, Clark insists, "That's good."

He doesn't want to come in Lex's mouth, even though that might serve the purpose just as well. Lex said "fuck me," and Clark has every intention of holding him to it.

Lex wipes his mouth with his hand, breathing heavily. "Just give me a minute." He gets to his feet, goes to the bedside table, takes something out of the drawer.

When Clark understands what he means to do, he crosses the room, takes the tube from his hand and takes care of Lex himself.

"God!" Lex gasps at the first slick touch.

It makes Clark hotter, bolder. He strokes Lex's cock as he works his fingers deeper, presses wet kisses to the warm, salt-sweet curve of his neck.

"You're so beautiful." It just slips out, and he freezes, thinking maybe he really shouldn't have said that, maybe Lex doesn't want to hear it, not from him, not anymore.

But his worry is for nothing, because Lex looks him square in the eye, his expression stark and wanting, and kisses him, his mouth hard and hungry.

Clark doesn't remember exactly how they end up on the bed, not that it really matters, just as long as he has Lex underneath him. He touches every bit of skin he can get his hands on, kisses Lex's jaw, his belly, bites his nipple to just hear him say "fuck!" When he presses inside, Lex's eyes are locked on him, his expression more open than it's ever been before, and Clark thinks maybe this does change something, after all.

He starts to move, and Lex feels so unbearably good, and Clark realizes. He doesn't just want to fuck, he wants to own him. Lex wraps his legs around his waist, so hard anyone else would not be able to breathe, digs his fingers into Clark's shoulders almost viciously, like he plans to own Clark right back. If Clark weren't busy with more important things, he'd laugh at himself for ever thinking he could just call this off. For better or worse, they have a destiny, and nothing will ever change that.

"Come on, come on!" Lex chants.

And Clark does, eyes squeezed tightly shut, sheets twisted in his fists. Lex bucks up, shouts something deliciously dirty, and comes against his belly.

Afterwards, Lex turns on his side, away from Clark, his back rising and falling with his labored breath. Clark rests against him and feels Lex go stiff.

"That should do it. I appreciate the help." It is cool, a dismissal, and that would surely sting if Clark didn't know it was bullshit.

He runs a finger lightly along Lex's arm. "Don't you think you might need a second dose?"

Lex holds his breath. "I suppose that's possible."

Clark pulls him into his arms. "Maybe I'd better stay then."

For long moments, the only sound in the room is their breathing, and then Lex says, "What if I need a lot more doses?"

Clark smiles and presses a kiss to his shoulder. "I'd better stick close then."

Lex says quietly, "This still doesn't change anything." But his fingers curl around Clark's, holding on tight.

"Maybe not," Clark says, resting his forehead against Lex's shoulder, letting out his breath in a contented sigh. "But it's a start."