scribblinlenore | Interactive story: The conclusion

Okay, so here it is. The rest of the story. You wanted Clark masturbating for Lex, and you got it. You wanted it sweet and...well, it's more sweet and sour. I did write this for

nerodi, and she wanted it raunchy. There was only so mean I could be to fifteen-year-old virgin Clark, but I tried at least to make it real.

Thanks to everybody who filled out the polls! I've always wanted to write an interactive story ,and it was really, really fun. Tomorrow, though, I go back to working on Al. *g*

Oh, and I also wanted to say that for anyone who wants to read it in its entirety, I'm going to clean up the story and post it tomorrow.

Thanks again!

Previous parts:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

Lex waits for Clark to come back, uncomfortably aware of the minutes ticking by. At last, he gets up to go check on him. Perhaps he suddenly took ill. He was certainly acting strangely.

In the bathroom, he finds Clark at one of the sinks in the long row against the wall, water running, a wad of paper towels in his hand, dabbing frantically at the front of his jeans.

"Are you all right?"

Clark must not have realized he was there, because he jumps and hurriedly turns his back to him. "I'm fine," he says in a strained voice. "I'll be right there."

Lex frowns and takes a step closer. "Clark, if you're not feeling well, I can--"

"No!" Clark says, sounding panicked. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. If you'd just go."

But he doesn't sound fine. Nothing has prepared Lex for moments like this, being responsible for another person's wellbeing, but even with this profound ignorance, he can't imagine that just walking away is the right thing to do.

He closes the distance between them, reaches out for Clark's shoulder. "Just let me--" Clark shudders at his touch, and he draws his hand back.

Clark closes his eyes and whispers, "Please, Mr. Luthor. I don't want--"

But Lex can't let it go now, too worried, too curious. He turns the boy around by the shoulders. Clark's face has turned so red it looks dangerous. There are dark spots on the front of his jeans and he's...

Lex stares, understanding at last, what the problem is, what the problem has always been.

He pats Clark on the shoulder. "It's okay. It's just-- the way things are when you're fifteen. I remember it well."

"That's not it," Clark says hotly, eyes locked with Lex's, the expression in them so earnest it makes Lex feel intolerably old. "I like you." Lex opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and Clark must think he misunderstands. "I mean, I like-you like you."

The air hangs heavily in the bathroom, humid, with the scent of industrial disinfectant and the slightly gamey odor of teenaged boys. Clark is the only truly clean thing in the room, smelling like fresh sweat and jeans damp with arousal and nervous anticipation, his heat shimmering in the space between them. Lex wants so badly to be the good man he imagines he has inside him, the man who would let the boy down gently and walk away, integrity firmly intact.

"Maybe you just need some special attention, Clark," he hears himself say instead.

Clark's eyes widen, and then a wild hope rushes into his face, and he practically lunges at Lex in his eagerness.

Lex holds a hand to his chest, stopping him. "Unzip your jeans. Show me your cock."

The thoughts going through Clark's head play out on his face, shock and confusion and finally lust, his breathing growing heavier, the dark spot on his jeans getting larger. His hands shake as he pops the button, pulls down the zipper, pushes down his underwear.

"God," Lex mutters, staring.

It seems his fantasies were right, after all. Clark is big all over. The boy lets out an impatient whimper, and Lex smiles. He's not sure when he's ever enjoyed having power over someone so much.

"Show me what you like," he tells Clark, a voice in his head insisting that this can't be so wrong if he doesn't actually do the touching.

Clark doesn't understand at first, and then he does, coloring spectacularly, even the rims of his ears turning a violent pink.

When he hesitates, Lex adds in a silken voice, "You got hard thinking about me, didn't you? Don't you think I should get to watch?"

The boy lets out a strangled groan, his cock turning a deeper shade of violet, and he bites his bottom lip, puts his hand on himself, starts to rub and stroke and pull at the head.

"Yes," Lex encourages him, "like that. Just like that."

It has the desired effect. Clark's confidence picks up, and he works himself harder, faster, his soft pink lips moist and parted, his warm, humid breath coming in puffs against Lex's cheek.

Clark's pliant nature encourages all those dangerous impulses in Lex, the part of him that drives too fast and risks money on questionable investments and always has to push just a little bit too far. "I think about you," he finds himself saying, against all better judgment, against any claim to sanity. There is no safety net to catch him any more, no one to bail him out of this mess if it careens out of control the way everything always does for him. But that just makes it all the more delicious, undeniable. "I think about all the things I would do to you if I ever got my hands on you."

Clark whimpers like a helpless puppy, hand clenched around his cock, his knuckles white, lips pressed together in a grim line of need.

Lex leans closer, brushes his mouth over Clark's cheek, telling himself this doesn't count as touching, and whispers urgently in his ear, "Come for me."

Clark does, eyes wide and almost frightened, his whole body clenched, a severe expression on his face, as if he is in actual pain. Afterwards, he holds onto the white porcelain sink, gasping hard, his back rising and falling with the effort, and Lex brushes the sweaty hair back from the forehead. "It's all right. You're all right."

He tucks Clark's cock back into his underwear and zips him up, almost clinically. Now that the scorch of the moment has receded, the survival part of his brain is racing with the need to get out of this bathroom, distance himself from what just happened, not end up registering as a sex offender for the rest of his life. Clark understands none of this and launches himself at him, mouth finding Lex's, hands going everywhere at once, all over Lex's body. Lex tries to pull out of his arms, tries to say something, denial, rebuke, but Clark's insistent tongue steals his words, the heat of his body sinking deep into Lex's bones.

Clark's hand settles on his erection. "Let me." He strokes Lex's cock through the fabric of his pants.

Lex takes a shaky breath and then an emphatic step back. "No, Clark. No." He runs a hand of his head. "Come on. I'll drive you home."

He turns his back on the boy and walks purposefully out of the bathroom. He doesn't wait for him, won't look. He refuses to give in to the hurt he knows he'll see on Clark's face. Because this is about survival now, and he can't afford any weakness.

Back in his classroom, they collect their things, not talking, not looking at each other. Clark trails behind him outside to the car, and Lex starts to apologize for the battered, second-hand Toyota Celica, but Clark just settles into the passenger seat, without seeming to give it a second thought. Lex starts the engine, rolls down the window, drives, the tension in the car like something he's drowning in, something he can't escape. He doesn't have to ask directions to Clark's house, he's driven this road before, and he feels a sudden, intense stab of dislike for himself.

He turns onto Route 12, not far to Clark's house now, and he starts to anticipate being able to breathe again.

Until Clark's voice breaks the uneasy silence, begging, "Please pull over. I need to talk to you." When Lex doesn't respond, he grows more urgent, "It's really important. Please, Mr. Luthor. Please?"

Lex knows he shouldn't, but he braves a glance over at the boy, his eyes are shining, intent, and Lex lets out a heavy sigh. "We're just going to talk," he says in his sternest teacher's voice.

It becomes clear rather quickly that he's truly not cut out for this profession. The moment the car comes to a stop beneath a grove of trees, Clark is on him, kissing frantically, any authority Lex ever thought he had a mere mirage.

"No, Clark," he tries to say, "I did the wrong thing. I was wrong. Do you hear me?"

But Clark doesn't seem to care. He latches onto Lex's throat, kissing and sucking and leaving what Lex is sure is going to be the mother of all hickeys.

"Not wrong," Clark mutters under his breath. "It feels so good. You feel good.

A better man would try harder to stop this, Lex feels certain, but when Clark impatiently pulls his shirt out of his waistband, fumbles with the opening to his pants, he doesn't say anything, not even "no." Clark pulls his cock from his underwear, a little awkwardly. He stops and stares, licking his lips. Then his broad palm closes around Lex's erection, and all Lex can do is curse, with heart-felt vehemence.

Clark looks very pleased with himself. He says with a confidence Lex would not have expected after his near tearful reaction to being discovered in the bathroom, "I knew you wanted this. I could tell. The way you always look at me."

"I shouldn't have." Lex draws in a shaky breath. "I should have been more discreet."

"I don't want you discreet," Clark says, frustrated, maybe even a little angry. "I want you."

Before Lex can say anything else, use words like "impossible" and "dangerous," notions he doesn't even believe in, Clark kisses him again, all aggressive tongue and teenaged enthusiasm, and Lex can see that he lost this battle a long time ago, before he ever went looking for Clark in that bathroom.

Clark pulls away, his lips a messy pink, bright spots of color glowing in his cheeks, the energy vibrating off him pure sex. He moves his hand on Lex's cock. Lex has certainly had more practiced partners, but nothing has ever felt as jarringly real as Clark's strong, surprisingly gentle touch.

"I love the way you look, Mr. Luthor," Clark whispers, "so much."

"Lex," he says, his voice harsh, grating in his own ears, distorted by need. Being called Mr. Luthor at a time like this is more irony than even he can handle.

Clark's gaze is locked onto his face. "I want to-- Let me--" He starts to bend his head.

"You don't have to."

"Just tell me if I do anything wrong."

"Clark--"

The boy's name ends in a loud, drawn-out hiss, the hot, wet touch of his mouth jolting through Lex's entire body. How could this ever be anything but right? His fingers tangle in the boy's hair, holding him there, the angel of his better nature forgotten entirely. He wants this boy's mouth, and he's going to have it, if it's the last thing he ever does. Clark offers no protest, lapping contentedly, clumsily. The wind whistles outside the car windows. A flock of starlings sings in the tops of the trees. The country lane winds though the countryside, only a scant few yards away. The boy's head bobs in Lex's lap. Anyone could happen by, see them, realize. It's the hottest damned thing Lex has ever experienced, and when he feels the orgasm building, he fights away the impulse to give warning, because he wants, needs to come in this boy's beautiful mouth.

If Clark is surprised by it, he hides it well, swallowing in long gulps, then sitting back, wiping his mouth with his hand. It takes Lex a little longer to recover, breathing hard, tucking his shirt back into his pants with shaking hands.

"Was it," Clark casts a hesitant glance over at him, "okay?"

Lex gives him a tired little smile. "Nothing has ever been more okay. I assure you, Clark."

Clark beams. Lex is already composing his resignation letter in his head. He'll go see Principal Kwan in the morning, say he's urgently needed back in Metropolis. He'll put his dignity aside, beg for one of those jobs from one of those people he was too proud to pander to before. He'll get the hell out of Smallville, forget all about this, like it never even happened. Maybe he'll write Clark a note. Maybe he won't. Maybe it will be better that way, so the boy can truly see what a mistake it was.

He starts the car, and drives, can feel the weight of Clark's eyes on him, that yearning, admiring gaze. And Lex won't do this again. He's resolved. He won't ruin any more of Clark's sweetness than he already has. Won't become the same human stain his father is.

They turn down the long lane to the Kent's home, and Clark directs him, "Pull over here. I want to kiss you goodbye."

Lex does, and Clark does, and Lex holds onto him a little too long, tucking a stray curl behind his ear before letting him go. The resignation letter remains inked in his head, but the rest of his plans start to blur, other possibilities presenting themselves. With the LuthorCorp shares he inherited from his mother, he could throw in with the workers, buy the fertilizer plant from his father, make a go of it, become somebody in this town. In the afternoons, Clark could come by, delivering produce from the family farm, and they could spend those long after-school hours together, completing his education.

Clark kisses him again, opens the door, and glances back over his shoulder. "Whatever you think you did to me, you didn't. Really."

He slips from the car, and Lex calls after him, "Clark!" The boy turns, and Lex tells him, in a voice that's not nearly as authoritative as he'd like it to be, "Do your homework."

Clark's smile is goofy and pleased and so filled with light it's hard to look at it for very long. He heads on down the driveway and into the yellow house at the end of it. Lex turns the car around, and as he drives away, he thinks that he's not quite as good a man as he'd like. But he's not quite as bad as he could be, either. And maybe that's just the best he'll ever be able to hope for.

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From:

norah.livejournal.com

Ah! *happy sigh* Just right. I spent all last night-re-reading all your stories after enjoying this so much. Thank you!

From:

Not a homecoming queen

Interactive story: The conclusion

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