The Tryst

Summary: In a different life, perhaps Clark and Lex could only love one another in secret.

Warnings: Rated NC-17. m/m

Border towns are all alike, Lex thinks. Seedy slums of iniquity where anything can happen. Where it's possible to buy and sell anyone. Where you can disappear never to be heard from again, not always because that's what you had in mind.

Lex hates border towns. He takes this as a sign of maturity, evidence that he is finally all grown up.

Edge City is not perhaps the full-scale freak show that, say, Tijuana is, but it is still ugly and dangerous enough to set Lex on edge. Only ten miles from the gleaming glass and steel of downtown Metropolis, but it seems like a distant, third world country, hardly a fitting gateway to the bucolic countryside that lies just beyond it.

Lex drives down the main street and winces at the thought of his "Lex 1" license plate glaring under the gaudy neon lights. It never occurred to him to drive something less conspicuous. He is Lex Luthor, and Lex Luthor always arrives in style, makes a grand entrance, leaves an impression. He doesn't sneak or slink or hide.

On occasions like this, it is very inconvenient to be him.

He parks along one of the slightly less grimy side streets. Gets out, hits the button on his key chain to lock the doors. The Porsche seems to glare at him reproachfully. It is used to better treatment than this, and for a moment, he feels like apologizing.

He hurries along the cracked and crumbling sidewalk, keeping his head down, hoping not to be recognized. The place they always meet is only a few blocks away, and he is already thinking of Clark.

So it startles him when a man comes barreling out of a bar, stinking of beer, and slams headlong into him. For a moment, he almost forgets where he is and starts to say something snide. But the look in the man's eyes, and he keeps his mouth shut. Carefully maneuvers around him. He can just see the headlines now: U.S. Senator Wounded on Way to Gay Sex Tryst. He calculates in his head how much it would cost to hush up something like that and is gladder than ever that he is a very wealthy man.

He shakes his head. The things he does for Clark.

A little farther, and he comes to the hotel, like something out of a bad cop show. On the outside, it is a saccharin vision of the American dream. There is even a picket fence. On the inside, though, it is all business. A bored attendant sits behind bulletproof glass, taking money, handing out keys, renting out illicit pleasure by the half hour. Lex always feels as if the building's innocent facade is somebody's bad joke, a mocking commentary on them all.

He waits in line behind a short middle-aged man and a very tall drag queen wearing a platinum blonde wig.

When it's his turn, he taps on the glass. The man glances up and says, "212."

The staircase is narrow and very dark. Lex doubts a light bulb has been changed in the place since leisure suits were in fashion. Upstairs, the hall is long and no better illuminated. He has to squint to make out the numbers.

Just as he is thinking what a bad idea this whole thing is, a door opens, and he is pulled inside. He has one true, cold moment of fear as he is pushed up against the wall. But the fear turns to thrill as a muscular body presses against his and greedy lips find his neck, kissing and biting and sucking right where he can feel the blood pounding.

"Clark," he gasps.

The pale light coming through the window highlights the planes of Clark's face, and Lex's breath catches in his throat. Not even the shabbiness of their surroundings can mute the impact of Clark's beauty. After all these years, it still has the power to knock him sideways.

Clark smiles as if he can read Lex's thoughts. Kisses him hard on the mouth. Then slides down his body, kneels in front of him and mouths Lex's erection through the fabric of his pants. Lex bucks up and bangs his head against the wall. It is almost embarrassing to want this much. He's been hard since his foot hit the first step, and every touch of Clark's hands and mouth makes his cock leak like he's an overeager teenager. Already, he can smell his own scent rising in the air.

Clark rests his head against Lex's hipbone and breathes him in. Lex's hands tremble as he strokes Clark's shoulder. He can feel the tension in Clark's body. He is in one of those moods, no nonsense, like an addict who has been deprived for too long. It is going to be hard and quick, and Lex's cock jerks at the thought.

Clark feels it and smiles. Scrabbles at the front of Lex's pants.

"Don't rip--" he starts to say.

But Clark has skill and experience in getting him out of his clothes. He won't tear them, no matter how frantic he is

"Did you have any trouble getting away?" Clark asks.

"No, not at all--"

He sucks in his breath as Clark wraps a hand around his cock. He has no idea what he was going to say, can't imagine why he would even waste time trying to speak. When all that matters is what Clark is going to do to him.

Clark strokes and fondles and works him over until his knees threaten to give out. Not that this is strictly necessary. Lex couldn't be any harder, any more ready. But this is part of the ritual, Clark getting reacquainted with Lex's cock, exerting his ownership over Lex's body. And it makes Lex tremble like nothing else ever has.

Clark looks up at him, his green eyes gleaming in the low light. "No matter what anyone ever thinks, you're mine. All mine."

Lex holds his gaze, knowing that Clark will see the "yes" in his expression. He strokes his hands through Clark's soft, soft hair, loving the way it feels as it slips through his fingers. Clark blows on the head of his cock, and every cell in Lex's body throbs in anticipation. Clark opens his mouth, and Lex tries not to whimper. But so wet and hot and sweet, and he presses back against the wall and cries out.


There is nothing teasing or flirtatious about this cocksucking. Clark clearly has only one goal in mind, to make Lex come so hard he can't remember his own name. He takes Lex's cock deep into his throat and does all the nasty, arousing things with his tongue that always drive Lex insane. He is soon fucking Clark's mouth wildly, his ass thumping against the wall. When he climaxes, he lets out a tortured wail as if someone is trying to kill him.

Clark wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins, a little smugly. But then, this is the way it always is when they meet here. Someone has an orgasm before even a single piece of clothing hits the floor. Neither of them can ever seem to wait for that first touch, that first taste.

Lex tugs Clark up to his feet, kisses him, more leisurely this time, now that the edge has been taken off a little. They look and touch and kiss as they undress one another.

"Do you think anyone suspects anything?" Clark asks.

Lex shakes his head. "I don't think so." He traces the lines of Clark's beautifully sculpted abdomen. "And I don't care if they do."

He pushes Clark onto the bed, a tumble of long limbs, hair tousled and boyish against the pale sheets. Clark laughs.

"I've missed you, too."

Lex climbs on top of him and kisses him deeply. He could spend all night doing just this, but he can feel Clark's need, his cock hard and throbbing, pressed against Lex's leg. He takes it in hand and strokes it and murmurs whatever affectionate nonsense comes into his head. He knows Clark's cock as well as he knows his own, every hot spot, every erotic trip wire. It is not long before Clark is gasping and thrashing beneath him and begging for more.

"Lex!" he cries out, more than a little desperately.

"What do you want, baby? Tell me."

Not that it's even necessary. Clark's eyes have turned serious and dark, almost black, and it makes Lex's stomach flutter. These trysts are always about one thing: possession. Lex just likes to hear him say it.

"I want to fuck you." Clark's voice is low and gravelly with need.

Not his sweet Boy Scout tonight, and the realization is an electric jolt all through Lex's body.

He smiles, leans forward, kisses Clark lightly, teasingly. "Whatever you want."

He grabs the tube of lubricant that Clark left on the bedside table and slicks his fingers. Clark's eyes are huge and intent. He likes to watch. Lex slips a finger inside himself and starts to stretch. Clark slides his hand up and puts it on top of Lex's, to feel everything Lex is doing. Lex may not be as young as he once was, but he'd have to be dead not to find that arousing. And he starts to get hard again.

When he is ready, he lowers himself onto Clark, and the sensation of being filled, stretched almost to the point of pain, is just as raw and overwhelming as it was the first time Clark fucked him. Lex starts to move, and Clark rubs his hands along Lex's thighs, reassuring, encouraging.

"God, you're so beautiful. You feel so amazing. I love you so much," he murmurs.

Lex moves faster, taking him deeper and deeper, until Clark is so frenzied that he flips Lex onto his back and starts to pound into him. And this is exactly what Lex wants, Clark over him, on him, in him, Clark everywhere, taking, possessing, owning him. Not the Lex Luthor people see on television or in the boardroom or on the Senate floor. Not the self-possessed Lex Luthor who is the master of his domain, the captain of his destiny. But the Lex Luthor who spreads his legs as wide as they will go and begs and sobs and gives himself up completely, for Clark, only for Clark.

When he comes, the orgasm is almost blinding in its intensity. He can hear his own voice in the room, but he has no idea what he is saying. He is too far-gone in his own pleasure, and he seems to lose time. When he comes to his senses again, he is cradled in Clark's arms, warm and safe and wonderfully sated.

They lay quietly for a long time, enjoying the sense of connection.

It is Clark who finally speaks. "Thank you for doing this." His fingers trace a light pattern on Lex's shoulder.

"My pleasure." He presses a kiss to Clark's chest. "I am curious, though. It's been a while since we've played this game. Why tonight?"

Clark shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I just think it's important for us to appreciate what we have. If things had gone even a little differently, this sneaking around-- It could be our life."

Lex snorts. "Oh, please. No matter what ever happened, I would never bring you to a cheap motel on the wrong side of the tracks. The idea of it just appeals to your crime reporter's sensibility."

"Plus, it is kind of funny to see you squirm on polyester blend sheets."

Clark laughs, and Lex bites his nipple playfully.

"Try to tell me that high thread count doesn't make a difference."

"You'd never believe me if I did." Clark's voice is amused, affectionate.

"There is something I'd like to know about this fantasy of yours."


"Yeah. I wonder why you always want me to play the married man."

"Well, you are the politician with the reputation to protect. And you were actually married once."

"Am I going to have to regret that stupidity with Desiree for the rest of my life?"

Clark smiles cheerfully. "I certainly hope so."

His tone is light and teasing, but still, something bothers Lex. He props himself up on his elbow, so he can look more closely into Clark's face.

"I wouldn't have chosen any other life, Clark. I've never loved anybody but you. You know that, right?"

Clark touches his face, gently. "I know, Lex. I just--"


"I like the idea that you would always come to me. No matter what."

Lex's heart does something funny in his chest, and he kisses Clark like he will never get enough, even if he lives forever. They make love again, more slowly this time, more tenderly, the way they do when they are at home in their own bed. When Lex comes inside Clark, he is murmuring I love you.

Afterwards, they fall asleep in each other's arms.

When Lex drifts back to consciousness, Clark is already awake.

"Hey," he says.


"You want to go soon?"

Lex nods. "But drive back with me, okay? I want us to go home together. I don't care if it isn't part of the fantasy."

Clark kisses him on the ear and whispers, "Are you kidding? That's the best part of all."


Back to the homepage

Fa-la-la-la-la-la feedback