scribblinlenore | (no subject)

In the last poll, you selected a locker room fantasy for Lex. Here it is.

The bell rings, and Lex tries not to sigh too loudly. Back to the academic salt mines. He gathers up his books and papers and makes himself smile at Mrs. Rayburn on the way out, even though she's gone from coffee-slurping to teeth-picking, a sound that is only marginally less obnoxious than fingernails on a chalkboard.

He closes his eyes for a moment, stalled outside the door to the teacher's lounge, and tries to remind himself why he's doing this. To show his father he can make his own way in the world. Prove the old bastard wrong. Get back to where he really belongs. He sighs again, opens his eyes and continues up the hall.

At least, there is something to look forward to in fourth period, third row, fourth desk from the front, trying to hide at the back of the room, although how a boy who looks like that believes he can escape notice is beyond anyone's wildest guess. Lex has been able to think of little else since that first day when Clark Kent came shuffling into his classroom, five minutes tardy, red-faced as he stuttered, "Sorry, Mr. Luthor. Got out of gym late."

Oh, that had given him fantasies, all right. It's the rare night when he doesn't jerk off to thoughts of a steamy locker room, the way those dark curls would look in the humid air. He likes to imagine the entire strip tease, from start to finish, sweaty shirt being pulled over strong shoulders, shorts pushed matter-of-factly down to his ankles and then kicked away, the straps of the athletic cup framing firm cheeks, because only a pervert would fantasize about a fifteen-year old probable virgin, and if you're going to be a pervert, you might as well go all the way. Once the cup comes off, Lex likes to tease himself, allowing only a quick peak of a long, thick cock, before the boy swaddles a towel around his hips and heads off to the showers. Here, Lex lets himself linger, picturing the hot spray streaming down a well-muscled chest, large hands gliding soapily across bronzed skin...

He has to shake his head hard to clear these thoughts as he unlocks the door to his classroom. He goes to his desks and arranges his books and notes. Today, they'll be talking about Alexander the Great, a subject dear to Lex's heart. Sadly, he can even now picture the bored look of incomprehension that will greet his namesake. Really, teachers deserve danger money. Spending too much time with teenagers has to be bad for your health.

Slowly, the students start to trickle in, taking their places, chattering on about some inane nonsense that Lex doesn't even bother listening to. Just as the final bell rings, his favorite student comes bolting through the door, knocking into a neighboring desk in his haste to take his seat.

"Good morning," Lex greets the class.

The students mutter in response, all except Clark, who keeps his head down, his eyes riveted on the floor. Lex smiles faintly to himself. He knows what that body language means. Somebody didn't do his homework. Yet again.

Part one

I'm about to leave the office, so this poll will close when I get home. Help choose Clark's lame-ass excuse.

[Poll #486450]

Poll Closed: I'll get back to you tomorrow with some water damage and the next question.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

tronella.livejournal.com

ooh, liking this :)

From:

Not a homecoming queen

(no subject)

Navigation

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags