Grey to Gold
It feels like the greyness is just seeping in, crawling down from the sky into my brain.
I'm not normally given to melancholy; it's a luxury I can ill afford. I know it, but ten minutes later I'm still standing here in the doorway, staring out at the sunless grey expanse of sky, when Clark pulls up in his parents' truck.
"Lex!" he greets me cheerfully, grabbing crates of fruit and vegetables I won't properly appreciate, but order from his farm nonetheless. I tell myself I'm just trying to support a friend's business, but I know it's really just so he'll have an excuse to come over to my house. I realize I'm woolgathering again when he touches my arm. "Is everything ok?" he asks, looking concerned.
I don't want to talk about it. "You know how there's some things that you know in your mind aren't important, you tell yourself over and over again how little they matter in the grand scheme of things. But then you still get all worked up over them, and just end up hating yourself for it?" I can't keep myself from telling him; he's like a magnet, drawing the truth from me before I can stop myself.
Clark's gaze turns quizzical, then thoughtful. I'm rarely this honest, no trace of sarcasm in my voice just this once. "Yeah, I do know." I wonder what he's thinking about. Football, homework... Lana.
"Did you know today's my birthday?" I didn't mean to tell him this. I don't normally tell anyone. My father used to throw a big party, everyone who's anyone came. Then one year I just got tired of all the fuss, and refused to show. I told him I thought it was a weakness, a way for people to feel like they could make me owe them. He, of course, approved. The parties stopped, but I haven't gotten a birthday present since.
I don't really miss the presents, but every year I have this secret hope deep down in my heart that someone will remember long enough to say it.
"I didn't know. Happy Birthday, Lex." Clark looks somewhat confused and slightly put out at this apparent change of subject.
"I don't usually celebrate it. In fact, you are now the only other person in Smallville who knows." Actually, Nell might know. But she knows enough not to tell.
Clark glances back at the truck, still laden with produce. He gets this calculating look, and then that Kent charm lights up his face like a beacon. "Are you busy tonight?" he asks.
"No, one of the few birthday luxuries I allow myself is to take the night off." I'm not feeling quite honest enough to admit that I usually start out moping and end up drinking. I trust Clark, but there's a limit to how pathetic I want to look right now.
"Then wait here. I'll be back as soon as I can finish these deliveries." The glint in his eye is disconcerting. I wonder what sort of evening activities he's planning.
"Just you. No one else gets to know my dirty little secret." I agree too readily, but I can't resist him. One of the many reasons I'm moping about this birthday is that it makes me one more year older than that beautiful, underage boy. One more year for the courts to throw in my face if I'm ever caught doing the things that I can't help thinking about whenever he's around.
His grin widens, the mischief clear in his eyes. He can't hide anything -- his face is open, innocent. That thought starts to lead down the paths that inevitably end in 'felony,' and I pull myself out of it with an effort. Another stray thought comes into my head. "What were you thinking of, earlier?"
He gets that guarded, furtive look. I guess I hit a nerve. "Nothing, really. I'll be back in a couple of hours." He climbs in the truck, waves goodbye. I turn back to the house, feeling the greyness draining away, replaced by tingly golden excitement. Anticipation for my birthday is new to me, and I revel in it as I undress. If I've got a few hours before Clark's surprise, I'm going to get out of my suit, shower, and try to dress like a human and not a Luthor.
I'm wearing jeans, which I'm sure cost as much as Clark's entire wardrobe, but are the closest I can get to casual without going shopping. I can't quite manage flannel, so I settle for a jewel-blue silk shirt over a black t-shirt. I still look rich and spoiled, but at least I'm not wearing a suit.
It's been almost 3 hours and the grey sky has darkened to charcoal. I'm staring out the doorway again, feeling foolish in my designer chic. The tingles are gone, replaced with this leaden feeling of disappointment. I'm not sure if he's coming anymore, my Metropolis cynicism is sure that he's at home now, regretting his impulsive offer. I'm about to give up, go inside, and commence the regularly scheduled alcoholic portion of my evening when I see headlights in the distance.
I guess my trust in him isn't misplaced. He jumps out of the truck, grinning. He's changed clothes, too, a rather nice grey sweater stretches over his muscular torso in ways that make my jeans seem too tight all of a sudden. His grin is wide enough to eclipse the sun, and warms me sufficiently to make up for its absence today. The last clinging tendrils of grey are burned away in its light.
"Happy birthday!" He says, handing me a small, wrapped package. I look over the lumpy bundle and raise my brow.
"Wrap it yourself?" I ask, half-smile replacing the maudlin expression I've been wearing all day. I can't resist his charm, and he uses that shamelessly to his advantage whenever he wants something from me. Not that I mind, he's the one person who never seems to want anything I wouldn't gladly give.
"You know it!" He reaches back into the truck, grabbing a bag off the passenger seat. "Plus, I brought you the perfect birthday cheer-up film, and my mom sent over brownies!"
"Jonathan Kent's wife sent brownies to Lex Luthor for his birthday?" I ask, disbelieving. The sarcasm is thick in my voice, as I try to hide my disappointment that Clark broke his word so easily.
"No, I told my mom I was watching movies tonight at a friend's house." He gives me the exasperated look. "She assumed I was going to Pete's and sent brownies." He looks hurt, like a puppy that's been kicked. I feel awful for doubting him.
"Oh. Sorry." He lights up again, and I actually feel worse. "Come inside, and let's see this masterpiece of cinema." I motion him inside so I can watch his ass. Look but don't break any major laws, that's my rule. Of course, I have a bad habit of breaking the rules.
I shake the box surreptitiously as he figures out the VCR in that real-men-understand-technology sort of way. I almost ask him to set the time for me, but I don't think he'd get the joke. I may have been a bio engineer and not electrical, but I understand stereo instructions. Besides, the man my father paid exorbitantly to select and maintain the equipment set the time on everything. No blinking 12:00s in the Luthor Empire.
Clark grins and says, "Open it!" over his shoulder as the TV lights up with FBI warnings about piracy and jail. I rip open the paper, and Clark's hand settles over mine just as I'm about to unveil the mystery.
"Lex, I... I made this a while ago. I was just waiting for the right time, and tonight... Well, if you don't want it, I won't be mad." I'm dying of curiosity now, his sudden shyness just making it worse. This is the first birthday present I've had in 8 years, and I've never had one with such an intriguing preface. He moves his hands, and I look inside.
It's a box. Inside the cardboard box is a small handcrafted wooden box. It's got intricate inlay, and I realize it's calligraphy. He gave me a box with my initials. And not just LL, either, but the full AJL. I didn't even know he knew my full name. Not many people do.
But then, he's not like most other people.
"It's beautiful, Clark. Why wouldn't I want it?" He shyly reaches out and opens it. Inside, I find a second set of initials, in a smaller, simpler script. CJK. Clark J. Kent.
"What's the 'J' for, Clark?" I ask, pretending there's no question of me not wanting it, which of course there isn't. I'm trying to distract myself from the tightness in my chest, the warmth that's spreading out from the butterflies that just settled in my stomach. The voice in my head that's mockingly singing, "Lex and Clark, sitting in a tree."
"Um, Jerome. Mom says it's a family name." He's blushing now, standing up and pulling away both mentally and physically. He thinks I don't get it, that this gift, with our initials, doesn't mean the same thing to me that it does to him.
"Huh. Mine's Joseph."
"I, uh... I know."
"How did you..." He looks vaguely guilty. I wonder if he got Chloe to investigate me. That would be irony, or at least really amusing coincidence, so I decide not to push it. I stand up and follow, looking him in the eyes. "It's perfect, Clark. It's everything I ever hoped for." I stand close to him, my gaze becoming speculative. This overture is a big risk on his part. Maybe it's time I took some risks of my own. "You're 15, right?"
Confusion clouds those clear blue eyes as he answers, "Sixteen, why?"
"When was your birthday?" I'm surprised. That's old enough that my lawyers could probably keep me out of jail, if not in my father's good graces. And since I'm already running a crap factory in Smallville, there's not as much for me to lose as I thought.
"Right before you came into town. Mom threw me a party in the barn." He blushes, as the movie behind him finally gets going. It's '16 Candles' and I almost laugh.
"Sweet 16. Why didn't you tell me? I could've given you a belated birthday present." I lean in close. "I know just what I would've gotten you." I brush my lips over his, just enough to gauge his reaction. He surprises me again, whimpering and pulling me close. His mouth moves over mine, clumsy but sincere. I can't help myself; I deepen the kiss, my hands moving of their own accord to caress his back, his chest. His are curled around my head, gently feeling the contours of my skull.
The heat coils down into me, and I'm hard. Well, harder. It seems I'm always half-hard around him and his full lips that I always imagine wrapped around my cock. Right now they're working magic, exploring, tasting and caressing my face, moving down to my neck.
He kisses me like my lips hold all the oxygen in the world. Like he's trying to memorize this feeling, because he'll never get to feel it again. I tangle my hands in his soft hair, and his reach around to hold me tight. After a minute, one hand creeps down to grab my ass, squeezing tentatively as though expecting to be slapped. I press myself close to him, hands running down his front now, feeling the broad chest.
I slide up under the sweater to find his nipples. God, his skin is flawless. It's like he's never had a blemish or a scar, velvety soft over work-hardened muscles. He moans against my mouth, his hand on my ass jerking closed, hard enough to bruise. I'll definitely think of this every time I sit down for the next week.
He's pulling away, panicky. I don't know what's wrong. "Clark?" I ask, reaching out to touch his cheek. "What did I do?"
"Nothing... It's not you, I -- I don't want to hurt you." He looks genuinely concerned.
"You didn't hurt me, Clark. I'm fine." Even on my skin, I don't think the bruises will have shown yet. "Want to see?" I'm unbuttoning my jeans. His breath hitches as I strip completely.
"You don't have to..." He looks like it pains him to say that, and my cock twitches as I realize how much he really wants to see me naked. I try to keep casual as I hold my arms out and turn slowly. He walks forward as if hypnotized.
"I'm totally unharmed. Look, touch." Please, touch. My cock is aching from this display, and it's cold in here. You'd be surprised how cold you can get with no body hair in certain strategic areas. Testicles were not meant to brave the cold air completely unprotected, but mine have learned to cope. Although, tonight they're starting to think about crawling back up into the warmth of my body.
He seems to sense this, and his arms enfold me, hands going up and down my back and arms in gentle warming caresses. "Let's go to bed." He's so sultry, and here I thought he'd be a nervous virgin.
"The coast is clear," I reply, grabbing my clothes. I sent the servants home, allowing whim to make this a truly private little two-man birthday party. I can't believe what I'm actually doing. "This is certainly an improvement over the last 8 years of drinking myself to sleep on my birthday." Where the hell did that come from? Again, the self-propelled honesty leaves my mouth before my brain can stop it.
"If I have anything to say about it, you'll never have to have another lonely birthday." I don't know how he manages to sound so sweet and innocent while stripping his way down the hall. His clothes go from worn to carried before we hit the bedroom door.
He tosses them in a corner and repeats my arms-out display. I follow his stellar example and wrap my naked body around his. He's so warm, I just want to crawl inside him and never come out. Instead, he sweeps me off my feet, literally carrying me to the bed like a blushing bride. God, he's strong. I mean, I may be smaller than him but I'm not an insubstantial man.
Curiosity and a misplaced sense of responsibility win out over my desire to just ravage him, and I ask, "Clark, have you ever had sex before?"
He blushes again. He's naked, I'm naked, we're in my bed, and it makes him blush. He mumbles something that sounds like a no, and looks up. "I was saving myself for someone special."
I don't know what to say to that. He's offering me everything, and I feel like I've got so little to give him. Still, there's one thing I can offer that, while not untouched, is at least uncommon for me. Especially on a first date. "Make love to me, Clark." I lie back on the bed, spread my legs and try my best to look fuckable. Evidently it works, because he whimpers a little and dives right in, covering my face with little kisses, ravaging my mouth, pressing our cocks together.
At this rate I won't last, and I want to feel him deep inside me. He's already worked his way into my heart, saved my life, and generally made things easier for me here in Smallville. I gently push him away, and squirm over to the nightstand. It's a good thing Metropolis habits die hard, and I've got a 'just in case' stash of lube and condoms in the drawer.
I hand him the bottle of lube, palming the condom. If my wild youth in the city taught me one thing, it's the most enjoyable way to put one on, and I intend to surprise Clark. He looks lost, and I take the bottle from him and squirt some on his fingers. "Rub your fingers together to warm it up, then gently slide one inside of me." I can't believe I'm dictating sex tips to a virgin farmboy so he can fuck me up the ass.
He looks like he's going to come at any second. I guess talking dirty really does it for him. I move his hand down between my legs, and his face transforms to wonder as a finger slides inside easily. I've been told I'm a natural bottom, by the few men I've allowed to have me. Then Clark's probing finger hits my prostate and all thoughts of the past are banished from my head.
He starts to pull out, and I stop him, forcing my brain to form words. "That was my prostate." He looks confused "Just trust me that it feels good, and I'll explain later." I pause, unsure how he'll take my next request. "Add another finger?" I know I'm acting like a slut, but I can't help it I'm almost hot enough to come right now. Evidently he's not bothered by my wantonness, since he adds one, then two more fingers. Three thick, farm-callused fingers inside me and I'm moaning, begging incoherently for his cock.
He pulls out and I take the near-forgotten condom and slip it into my mouth. It tastes terrible, but the look on Clark's face as I lower my mouth to his cock is worth it. I put all my skill to use making him feel like the condom's a sexy part of the proceedings.
When I pull away, he has to take a minute to just breathe before he lubes up. I roll over and present my ass, wanting to feel him take me from behind. He spends a few precious moments caressing my back and ass. Then I finally feel him pressing into me, thick and hot and oh so fucking hard. He leans in and licks the back of my scalp, tongue going over all the little curves of my skull. He thrusts slowly for a few minutes, just reveling in the feeling inside of me, then leans back up, holding me to his chest so I'm sitting in his lap. Evidently virgin doesn't mean ignorant in the age of the internet. His tongue continues its journey as his hands wrap around my cock and balls.
His hips undulate beneath me, thrusting faster and faster as he jacks me off. I lean my head against his shoulder and roll with his thrusts, feeling my orgasm starting in my toes. It sweeps over me, and I scream his name as I come, raking my nails over his legs. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close. Half a dozen more thrusts and his rhythm gets erratic, soon enough he's coming inside me.
We stay that way for a few minutes before a quick cleanup. I slide under the sheets, wanting to hold him. I hold out my arms, half-smile devoid of its usual cynicism "I don't suppose you can stay?"
"Actually, I told my parents I might stay if it got late. Since tomorrow's Saturday, I can slack a little, but I do have to go take care of chores in the afternoon." He snuggles into bed with me, warm and comforting. Gold contentment laps around the edges of my brain, and somehow I think I'm in love, but I keep it to myself.
There have been enough surprises for one birthday.
Title: Grey to Gold