Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I think you'd look good in leather."

Lex says it with a straight face, and Clark spits Pepsi across the desk because the laugh comes into his throat so fast that he can't avoid it.

"You're kidding," he says, wiping the back of his right hand across his mouth.

Lex shakes his head and says, "No. You'd look good in leather."

Clark's eyes shift to the half-empty box of imported Swiss chocolates someone or other sent Lex the previous afternoon as a thanks for something Clark can't remember to save his life.

Might've been sex. But Clark thinks he'd probably remember Lex telling him that.

Do you send people a thank you for sex?

He's pretty sure that box was full and sealed when he stopped over with deliveries earlier that morning and saw it sitting on the counter. Now, judging by the state of Lex's fingertips, half a box of chocolates is swimming round in his stomach while the remainder succumb to his teeth.

Lex is staring at him through wide, unblinking eyes as he reaches for another piece, puts it to his lips and sucks.

Clark squirms.

No one should have chemistry with chocolate.

That's just.

It's.

Well.

Hot.

And the minute that word pops into Clark's head, he knows there's a problem here, because 1) this is Lex, and 2) ...

Okay, so Clark can't actually think of a second reason, but he's positive that there's something completely wrong here.

Then again, Lex does have chemistry with just about every inanimate object he touches. Clark isn't sure whether he should even acknowledge that he knows this. I mean. Wouldn't that make him...y'know. And there's just no way, because he's totally hot for Lana, and he doesn't really wanna---

Lex's tongue darts around the piece of chocolate, wet slurping noises, and he shuts his eyes.

---oh god.

He knows his face is flushing red, but Clark raises an eyebrow and tries to act cool. He fails miserably, but hey, at least he made the attempt.

"Sugar high?" he asks, and Lex languorously nods and pushes the entire thing into his mouth, lips closed around the tip of his finger.

Don't look, don't look, don't look... Clark's little mantra in his head. He forces his eyes back down to the textbook spread out before him and tries to read about...chemical bonds. Wow. This so isn't his day.

Lex is leaning over toward him, and Clark gulps.

"Have you ever had European chocolate?" Smoky smooth voice with the essence of cacao.

"No?" Clark is mortified by the high-pitched whine of his voice.

"These contain cordials," Lex continues, then lowers his tone. "That's liqueur," he whispers as a footnote.

"Oh."

"Do you want one?" he offers and slides the box forward.

"No, thank you," Clark says politely, pulling his arms very tightly against his sides, gripping the chair and wishing Lex would back off because he's all cologne and chocolate and if Clark keeps squeezing, there's no way the armrests are going to hold out much longer.

"Are you sure?" Lex purrs, and there's a sound like splintering wood.

"Yes?" Clark chokes out.

Lex pouts his lips and pulls the box back toward him, reaching for another piece and fondling it between his fingers as it melts all over his hand.

Clark clenches his jaw and looks up and wishes he'd never thought to ask Lex for help on his homework. He should be at the Talon, drinking coffee with Chloe and trying to see down Lana's shirt as she bends over to wipe out the display case, the same way Lex is leaning over now so that Clark can begin to see a stretch of smooth skin underneath his collar that he just wants to lick and god, did he just think that?

"I'd really like to see you in leather, Clark," Lex whispers, licking the chocolate from his fingers in a way that should be illegal, and Clark can feel the tiny hairs on the side of his neck prick up, and he shivers.

"You wanna play a video game?" Clark squeaks, and Lex blinks.

"A video game?"

"Uh huh."

Lex leans back into his chair and blinks again. "A video game."

"Yeah."

"I don't have any video games."

"Oh. Well. Um. I do, so. I should go home. And, y'know. Play them."

Lex smirks. "I could make a very inappropriate comment about joysticks, if it would make you stay."

Clark flushes. "Joysticks?"

"Joysticks."

"That is so eighties."

Lex shrugs. "Call me old fashioned."

"I'll call you drunk," he says, recovering. "How many of those have you had?"

Lex grins and licks his lips. "Lots."

"I think you should stop," Clark tells him.

Leaning forward on his elbows, Lex whispers conspiratorially, "I think you like me like this."

"That's not the point."

"Let's make it the point," Lex declares, smacking the desk with his palm.

Exasperated, Clark frowns and stands up.

"Look, maybe I should come back when you're not..."

"Hitting on you so blatantly?" Lex suggests.

Clark looks down and kicks at the floor. "Yeah."

"Why? My subtlety obviously hasn't been working. Do you know how many goddamned bottles I've sucked off around you? Did you honestly expect me to keep staring at you for obscene lengths of time, just hoping that maybe one day you'd realize what the hell was going on?"

"What?"

Lex sighs dramatically and puts a hand to his head. "You're much easier to deal with when drunk."

Clark stares. "What're you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, because I know you do," Lex spits at him. Green eyes narrow, and Lex sighs and continues. "I'm talking about you, Clark. And me. And the fact that I want to fuck you into next year."

Clark's face is red, and his chest heaves with the huge breaths of air he's drawing in.

"Do you have an idea what it's like being around someone like you who flirts with me for hours and then comes back the next day to talk about his girl problems?"

Scorned, Clark's jaw drops. "I do not flirt."

Lex laughs and shakes his head. "If you don't flirt, then I've got a headful of red hair as long as my father's."

Blinks. "You were a redhead?"

"Yes." Frowns. "Wait. Don't change the subject."

"Sorry."

"You should be," Lex tells him. "I've lost sleep over you."

Clark toes the ground. "Really?"

Lex laughs, but it's got an edge to it. "You have no idea."

Clearing his throat and looking down, Clark asks, "A lot of sleep?"

"Why so interested all of a sudden?" Lex asks, raising an eyebrow.

Shrugging, Clark says, "I dunno." He ducks his head.

Lex closes his eyes and rubs his left temple. "Maybe you should go."

"I thought you wanted me to stay." Clark's voice is small.

"I do want you to stay. But I know that if you stay, the chances of my doing something terribly inappropriate will increase exponentially."

"Um," Clark begins, but he doesn't move.

"You don't understand what you do to a man," Lex sighs, reaching for his collar.

Clark reddens. "...what're you doing?"

Lex looks down at his hands, then up at Clark. "Taking off my shirt," he announces.

"Why?" Clark asks, and he sinks deep in to his chair.

"Why do you think?"

Clark gulps as the pale blue silk falls to the floor and Lex's fingers start working at his belt. Pull it free and drop it without looking. Buttons pushed aside, one two three, and Clark watches black fabric slide over those pale, slim hips and fall. His breath hitches when Lex's thumbs trail over the elastic band still circling his waist. Swallows hard when Lex pushes it down, down, down until he's all skin and feral smile.

"Oh, god--" Clark squeezes his legs together tightly and bites hard on his lip.

Lex stands before him, arms spread wide, and proclaims, "This is it, Clark. You can either go home or follow me upstairs, because I'm going to sober up in about twenty minutes, and you might never get this close again."

And then he turns and stalks off in all his naked glory, leaving Clark behind, nonverbal and sweating.

Blinking, he looks from the retreating backside to his textbook and back again.

Damn.

Several thoughts are currently surging through his head.

Lex. Naked. Lex. Naked.

Perhaps several is an exaggeration.

Lex. Lex. Lex.

And Clark knows what that rhymes with.

That'd count as studying, right?

Studying Lex's tongue, but studying, nevertheless.

Of course, that'd make him, like...gay. Or something.

Then again, he's already an alien. How much more stigmatized can he possibly get?

"Are you coming?" Lex calls, loud and drunk and brilliantly aware of the double meaning.

Grinning, Clark grabs a piece of chocolate and high-speeds it up the stairs.

He can always blame it on the cordials.

Or chemistry.