by C.M. Decarnin
"Why don't you like my cars?"
They stood in the vast garage. Clark turned startled eyes toward Lex. "I love your cars, Lex."
Lex had on his analytic look. "No. You don't worship my cars. You don't hang over them as if they were voluptuous women stretched out on a row of beds, looking at you with come-hither eyes. You don't reach out to touch them as if they had naked skin. Your voice doesn't sound like you're in church. You don't talk to them."
Clark tilted his head and looked out across the shining hoods and back at Lex. "You want me to have a crush on your Porsches?"
"No. I'm just wondering why you don't."
Clark looked baffled, and finally said, "Cause I'm a sissy-boy?"
A grin broke Lex's lips apart. Dear -- fucking -- GOD -- he heard his own, unrecognizable, voice yelling in shattered ecstasy amid an explosion of sheets and grabbing and lifting and bouncing springs and angles and flying pillows the like of which neither he, nor, he was pretty sure, anyone else on earth had ever felt before.
"You don't talk to them that way," Clark pointed out.
Lex's eyes noted the deflection smilingly. "They're mine. I'm jaded. And... I never was demonstrative." He paused. "My genuine teenage years didn't really overlap my driving years. But I know what the normal male hormonal reaction to a Ferrari looks like."
Clark reached down and stroked the burnished finish kindly. "I love riding in them with you. And driving them is a blast." Lex had let him exactly twice.
"I think it's power," Lex decided.
Clark looked up guilelessly.
He was already there, Lex realized.
"You're faster than they are," he said softly. "You're stronger than they are." He looked out across all the cars, and then back at Clark standing there in his garage, in the jeans and tee and flannel shirt. He touched the soft flannel where it hung down in back of Clark's waist. Denim, and muscle, under it. "They can't make you more than what you are already."
"They're still chick magnets though." Clark looked at him from the corners of his eyes.
"This is true. And that said, if I catch any foreign bodies clinging to you I'll degauss your ass so fast it'll make your head swim."
Clark turned around and plunked his butt on the Ferrari's fender, and pulled Lex in. He didn't say anything, just looking lovingly into Lex's eyes.
The look gradually got more and more serious.
"Sometimes I think you're too much car for me, Lex." But he didn't let go of Lex's hips, and his touch was gentle.
Lex looked into his eyes. "I'm not." He stroked his palms softly down Clark's cheeks. "I'm not as scary as I look." He swayed in and back a little. "And you're strong. You're going to be the strongest person I know before you're done. Stronger than my very scary Dad. Certainly stronger than the gun-molls I was dating before you."
Clark listened to this prediction without comment. Then carefully, with the diffidence he still displayed in handling Lex's body, he pulled him to a kiss.