Smallville, Motorcycle

Title: Motorcycle [Clark/Lex]
Rating/Warnings: I’ve got a letter here from Lexcorp’s chief of counsel that says it must be at least PG-13.
AN: Written for the 2005 Sekrit Projekt, Track 20.
Summary:

Track 20: Motorcycle

Clark keeps the motorcycle for a while even after the red kryptonite is gone. His father asks questions with raised eyebrows over the breakfast table in a transparent effort to figure out if there are any lasting effects, or if Clark’s just found another stash.

When Clark finally says that he just likes the speed of the thing, he can see the memory of every time his parents have told him he can’t run because people will see flash across his mother’s face, and she tells Jonathan to put his pancakes in his mouth already.

It’s not a lie, really. He likes the speed very much, especially when it makes Lex press tighter against his back and shout in his ear that he’s going to get them killed, dammit. Clark’s reasonably certain that Lex isn’t really scared of that, or anything, because a second later he’s back to shouting geeky billionaire scientist jargon.

And there’s no reason why “imminent quark fusion” should be hot in the least, but Clark indulges in a brief fantasy that Lex has developed a speech impediment and cheerfully blames the ensuing erection on the pitted dirt road they’re tearing down.

Besides, Lex is pressed close enough that it doesn’t take x-ray vision to know that he’s having a similar reaction to the road conditions.

“Planning on going all night?” Lex asks, snapping Clark out of his daydream—something about rubber gloves and a particle accelerator? Clark’s subconscious is a scary place lately—and reaches out over Clark’s shoulder to point at the sinking sun.

“Yes!” Clark shouts back, gunning the motor to drown out whatever reasonable thing Lex is saying, and lets his lips quirk just a bit as, oh, there’s that slide of Lex against his back again, and Clark can admit while his face is turned away that this is the real reason he doesn’t wear the leather jacket that Lex replaced the ankle-length coat with, and not that fact that it’s too hot for the thing.

Also there’s the fact that Chloe said it make him look like he was trying out for a part in West Side Story.

Eventually Lex is going to make him turn around—he can see the headlines now, “OVERSEXED TEENAGER FROM SPACE ABDUCTS LUTHOR HEIR”—and eventually after that his father is going to take back his motorcycle, because it puts a look on Clark’s mother’s face that he doesn’t like to think about very hard.

So for now he pretends not to hear any of Lex’s shouts that don’t have to do with quarks, and whatever Lex’s suspicions are about Clark’s abilities, he doesn’t question it. Just like he didn’t question Clark’s plan to run away to Metropolis together, and Clark’s been pondering exactly what that means for the last few weeks.

He’s also been pondering why Lex is on the back of his motorcycle at all, since Clark stopped coming up with flimsy excuses for the drives four days ago, and now merely shows up at Lex’s door and guns the motor in lieu of a horn. And why Lex never gets sunburned on the top of his head. And why Lex’s fingers have been tracing idle lines along the inside seam of Clark’s jeans for the last few miles.

…whoa, what?!

Clark’s skid to a stop sends up a spray of pebbles on the roadside, and Clark jams down the kickstand and twists his neck to find Lex smirking at him, if anybody can manage to smirk innocently, and Clark would bet a plate of his mother’s sugar cookies that Lex engineered that ability in some lab somewhere and was the first guy in line for the injection.

Lex hasn’t moved his hand yet.

“Going back?” Lex asks, and his hand slips a little higher. Clark stifles a whimper. “Because I have to tell you, Smallville, I wouldn’t mind going a little further.”

Kansas farmboys aren’t built to handle this kind of subtlety; Clark reaches over his shoulder to grab a handful of Lex’s shirt and hauls him forward just enough to crush their lips together.

Lex tastes expensive.

Clark’s neck aches after about a tenth of a second, but he ignores it in favor of the way Lex’s hand is sliding into the crease of his thigh, the backs of his knuckles brushing firmly against Clark’s erection.

Lex pulls away first, leaning his head back and eyeing Clark appraisingly. Clark’s neck is on fire at this point, and he jerks his head back to facing front and begins busying himself with turning the motorcycle around. Why the hell did he do that, he’s so freaking stupid, and why isn’t the goddamn bike…

…oh right, the kickstand’s down. Clark flips it up and prays for a meteor shower. Smallville has them all the damn time, where’s one when you need it?

“Are you blushing?” Lex is clearly amused, but he’s actually starting to stroke Clark lightly, and Clark forgets to bristle when Lex leans forward and murmurs in his ear, “I’m disappointed, Clark. I thought for sure one your talents would be super seduction.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Clark retorts, and his voice is shaking so much that it somehow meshes with the shaking of the motorcycle and comes out sounding completely smooth. If the laugh he can feel buzzing against his back is any indication, Lex is not fooled.

Still, he doesn’t move his hand away from Clark’s denim-constricted erection during the trip back into Smallville, and Clark grins like a fool the whole way, even if it is totally just an unfortunate byproduct of the vibrations of the motorcycle.

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