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A hand ran up Lex Luthor's smooth inner thigh, skating along the newly bared skin. Superman wanted to look away, had since he realized that this wasn't Luthor sneaking off to some new secret laboratory, but in fact one of Lex's rare moments of privacy. But he couldn't bring himself to turn off his x-ray vision, or tear away eyes that avidly followed the trail of long fingers up the crease of a jutting hipbone.
Guilt burned in Superman's gut, and his whole body flushed with shame. He was sure that had to be what he was feeling, some new sort of horror at his own actions that made his skin feel too tight. His breathing caught in time with Luthor's as a palm skidded roughly over a nipple. The other hand trailed down cheekbones bright with lust, fingertips gliding across lips just begging to be kissed.
Clark remembered a time when he'd been allowed to get close to that skin, to sling a friendly arm around deceptively muscular shoulders. He remembered far too clearly the few stolen touches, the back of Lex's hand or the heated cheek it was now running over. Lex let few people into his personal space, and Clark had taken that privilege for granted until it vanished. He wondered if Lex's skin was still as soft, still invited a leisurely exploration of every available inch.
All those inches were exposed now, and the journey had been a torturous one. First one cufflink, then the other, the tie tossed aside, shirt slowly parting one button at a time, interrupted as fingers tweaked a nipple or delved into his belly button. Pants slung low on slender hips for long, cruel moments before dropping unceremoniously to the ground, revealing the one thing Superman had never sought, and Clark had never been willing to acknowledge he wanted.
As Lex lay there, legs spread, head thrown back in unselfconscious abandon, Superman began to wonder why he'd never accepted those implicit invitations. He sagged against the cool wall, heated flesh welcoming its rough touch, attention unerringly drawn to Lex's hands, meandering everywhere but the cock rising in a curve to drip glistening pearls of pre-come onto a washboard stomach.
Clark licked his lips, hands imbedding telltale marks into a wall no one would ever see, and wondered if it was really too late. He reached a hand down to adjust his own erection, an unbecoming bulge in tights that were supposed to be about truth and justice, not showing the world that Superman was uncircumcised. Which made him flush further as his eyes focused on the barely discernable scar of Lex's own circumcision.
He wondered what it would feel like, if it would be rough or smooth, how tight the skin must get when it grew hard. Like it was now, bobbing gently in time with the gentle rocking of Lex's hips. Two fingers thrust in and out from equally scarred lips; Clark knew that this scar felt the same as the rest of Lex's mouth, at least when it was cold and slack.
It was slack now, lips glistening with moisture, those fingers leaving a trail as they drifted downwards. Lex drew up one leg, and Clark gasped as they circled Lex's opening and his x-ray vision began flickering in and out. His heat vision was threatening to kick in and melt the barrier between them as one finger dipped gently inside, the other hand gently cradling his balls, lifting them up as if to clear the view.
Clark had a moment of panic that this might be another ploy to trap Superman, and his heart almost stopped when Lex softly moaned, "Clark."
It was followed by a deep thrust of Lex's fingers and, "Yes, right there, oh please." Clark's heart started back up again, but it stopped again as it hit him that here, in his most private moment, Lex was calling for him. Not Superman the nemesis, not Kent the reporter, but his friend Clark. A thousand what-ifs cascaded through his mind, and he wondered if this was his true last chance.
"Lex," he whispered softly, throat tightening even as Lex's hand closed over his shaft. Finally Clark tore his eyes from Lex's arching form, looking instead for a way inside. He zipped around and snuck in a window, stripping his suit and identity as he went. By the time Lex had completed the upstroke, Clark was there, mouth dry and cock leaking.
When Lex's thumb swiped over the head, Clark gasped.
Lex's eyes flew open, and confusion and shock flickered over his features. They both froze for long minutes before Clark licked his lips nervously, and something broke open in Lex's face. His hands plucked fitfully at the sheets as he said hoarsely, "If you're really here, then come kiss me. You're late."
Clark crawled into bed, moving up Lex's body until he was hovering over him, held up on his hands and knees. "But not too late?" he said softly, words gliding over Lex's lips in a puff of warm breath.
Lex shivered beneath him and said, "Not quite."
Clark closed his eyes as their lips met, and he knew in that moment why he'd really remained chaste all these years. He hadn't been saving himself for marriage to Ms. Right, or afraid of hurting a fragile human partner. He'd been waiting for this perfect moment where his limbs melted, and skin met skin like hot silk. Lex's mouth was bitter with the taste of coffee and regret, his tongue stroking Clark's with mindbending skill.
When the kiss finally stopped, they were floating near the ceiling, Lex draped over Clark's body. Their eyes met, Lex's wary and Clark's hopeful, and with a deep breath he said, "I never knew... I thought you'd leave if you knew I was an alien. If you knew how I-I loved you."
Lex's eyes closed briefly, and when they opened, there was a sad, hopeful love shining out of them. "Finally."
Title: With Abandon
Warnings: Slash, voyeurism
Summary: Superman follows Lex Luthor, and sees more than he bargained for.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to katkim for the bunny, kelex for the audience and fizzabith for the swift and thorough beta.
All of the works contained herein are labours of love, unauthorized by those who hold the rights to such things, and no profit is made from them. No harm is meant, and hopefully no offense given.