by C.M. Decarnin
"See, this, Clark, isn't this what it's really all about between us? Truth versus power, Clark. If you don't want what I have to give you, all you have to do is tell the truth, Clark." A hand on his belly, light, unthreatening caress. If not for these steel bonds at wrists and naked ankles. Lex seated lotus-like between Clark's naked thighs. Half-lidded eyes not like a Buddha's; analytical with lust.
The faintest hint of a tease on Lex's eyelids and his lips. One of Clark's knees held crooked, open, on the bed, by steel. Lex's fingers, greased, that touch down between Clark's tender, helpless cheeks. "Slot B," he says. And with uncalculated grace Lex rises to his knees so Clark can see, and lays the same slicked fingers on his erect cock, and glides them almost to its head, which pulses like a pair of wings. "Tab A."
"No!" Despair in his refutation of this entire nightmare anguish, deep and sick in the wide eyes that Clark lifts to Lex's. "No! Lex!"
The creaminess in Lex's eyes, rough velvet of his voice in his unaccustomed, lushly lust-drugged state bespeak no leniency. "Oh come on, Clark... If you don't want it... all you have to do is break free, superboy. You know, and I know, no one can make you do a damn thing you don't want to." Slight lace of bitter anger edging that, far below the point where most people could have noticed it, but bringing a clutch at reason back to teenage panic.
"You're wrong, Lex. Please. Whatever it is you think, I -- please -- it isn't true!"
Barely-there eyebrows rise, Lex bending slightly over Clark. "I'm never wrong, Clark. That's the thing with you and me. Me with all this intuition, you with all that strength... Ironic, isn't it, that I'm the stud about to service you." The farmyard wording freaking the farmboy out, too many BIG-ass members in his memory, too much pure pragmatism, inescapability, too much -- Clark's mind darting vainly for escape. This can't be true.
Lex finishes remorselessly, "The only thing holding you back is a lie."
"What if you're wrong, Lex? Please --" And some other thought is there, some feeling neither of them can identify, some wholly other fear. Clark whispers it again. "What if you're wrong?"
And Lex's feather touch again along his naked belly. And Lex leans down, this time, so close his breath's reflecting off Clark's skin. "Clark, have you ever, ever heard of any man as rich as me who was convicted of a rape?"
And Clark can no longer bear to meet his eyes, he looks away, and his once-innocent eyes close, in perfect misery.
"You'd better make up your mind, Clark, before I make it up for you. I'm not a man of steel, you know."
Lex's strong slender hand between them, slicking Lex's cock, and then, "Okay," Lex says, half you-had-your-chance resigned, half exultation, and probes the haft-hard intrusion at Clark's softness, finds the place that gives, and quickly, as if he has been wanting it too long to wait another second, pierces in, forces, and takes Clark's torn virginity with thick, tough thrusts that get him through, as Clark cries under him, a wail of impossibilities and sundering, betrayal, pain, and helplessness as endless hurtful length slides into him, as heat and hardness meet, and meld, and trust is seared, and Lex screams out with previously unimaginable open fury, "Liar! Liar, liar, liar!" as he rams his lust into him again and again. Scalding drops burning with broached geyser rage course down his hot-flushed cheeks and drop on Clark's warm teenage body, that twists and struggles naked under him, Clark silent now except for sobs of breath, too choked with horror, rage and heartbreak of his own to make another sound. Breath between them now is all there is, breath, pain and bliss. Lex sunk in hypnotic, shuddering, long pleasuring muscular deep thrusts, feeling around him flutterings of such delicate vast wings of the exotic moth he has pinned under him, Clark suffering the humiliating, obliterating torture with hard trembling of restraint, until at last he cries out "Oh God! Please!" and weeps. His shaking underneath sends Lex into an orgiastic frenzy, deep hard cries of "Uh! Uh! Uh!" surge him even harder into Clark's soft hot suffering, he comes making animal rasping yells and snorts and final howling, merciless in his ultimate plunging penetration and impregnation of Clark's soft, defenseless, helpless soul.
Waking with a gasp in tangled sheets, heart pounding, face all wet with tears, chest wet with sweat, and belly wet with semen, every muscle trembling and his mind alight still with that fearful, shameless, dream-depth, darkly glowing, utter lust.
Go on to Justice