Son of cliche prompts
So, yesterday when I said, play with me? I didn't factor that I'm almost incapable of writing short fic. First I wrote a little HP snippet for satora_chan which I like quite a bit.
Remus cringed and gripped his book more tightly.
"I lied, alright?" The words come out tighter than he intended them to. Sirius stares at him with that impish, feverish amusement in his eyes, and he's not angry, but lying is a sore spot for Remus, always. "Persephone Phipps has a crush on me and I lied."
Sirius whistles. "Ravenclaw, blonde, and -," he gestures at his chest, grinning. "So you turned that down?"
Remus doesn't laugh. They're out of Hogwarts, but Sirius still tries to make a game of everything, still clings to all that rubbish like house rivalries. "I have little choice, have I? I can't go out with a girl who doesn't know what I am."
Sirius scowls. His changes of mood are always mercurial, but more than usually in moments like this, late night, languid, having returned from Merlin knows what kind of place that reeks of smoke - Muggle smoke, cigarette smoke, Remus' wolf nose tells him - voice raspy and eyes darker than usual. Shaggy black hair falls into his face. "So you're going to stay celibate for the rest of your life? It's sex, not marriage, Moony."
"She has a crush on me. It wouldn't be fair."
"So you told her you were into blokes." Sirius rakes a hand through his hair, then slumps back on the ratty old couch they're sharing. Everything in Remus' aparentment is some degree of ratty and old, or just weary. "Doesn't explain why me, though."
Remus raises a brow. "She seemed to find it pretty plausible."
Sirius scoffs. "Are you implying I'm the type who -"
"Sleeps with anything that's going to enrage his parents? You are."
Sirius pretends to contemplate it, but the glint of humour is back in his eyes. "I'd have to get their opinion on werewolves, though. I'm not sure they'd disapprove. 'Dear Mother, please give me advice on a subject dear to my heart. My friend, the fearsome creature of the night, is begging me to bugger him sensel-" the book hits him over the head, and Sirius laughs, sharp and delighted, as he catches it and throws it away, out of Remus' reach. "You're a sad, sad man, Remus Lupin. Condemning me forever to celibacy."
"I'm not condemning you to anything."
"You told her we're serious, right? So I can't very well go around picking up other creatures of the night, can I?"
Remus stares at him, because it was meant to be a joke, but the last part, the question, was sincere. Sometimes, Remus wants to let go of the four of them, wants to make his own life after Hogwarts like James and Lily did, sometimes Sirius' clinging annoys him. But he can't. Sirius, James, Peter, they lied for him for years, lied and pretended and turned into animals, just for him. It's like a life debt. A debt of lies.
And now Sirius is going to do this. Is going to replace one lie game with another, because he is bored, because he enjoys lying for Remus, who knows?
"Nonsense," Remus says softly.
But Sirius isn't listening.
"What's a lie without a grain of truth, though?" Sirius turns towards him, leans closer, hand on the arm of the couch, keeping Remus from escaping. "We'll go steady. Serious. We'll be in love, sweet-heart, like Prongs and Lily.."
It's a game, Remus reminds himself. Teasing. What guys do. Joking about things that make them uncomfortable. That manic, hungry gleam in Sirius' eye, that's just the joke. The game. The lie. "You'll never be faithful," he reminds Sirius.
Sirius smells of smoke, of his black leather jacket, of beer and wet dog. He makes a dog noise, between a bark and a growl, that sends a shiver of something down Remus' neck. "I'm man's best friend. I'm the most loyal bloke there ever was."
His breath is moist on Remus' cheek, like Padfoot's breath, but Sirius' tongue is clever, not sloppy, clever and hard and a little bit cruel.
Remus laughs, but the sound is choked and shaky. "Alright, Sirius, you had your - "
Sirius bites him, small, sharp, painful teeth, where his neck meets his shoulder and suddenly, everything shifts, suddenly, Remus' hands are clawing the leather of Sirius' jacket and his mouth is gasping for breath.
Suddenly, the lies and the truth are all jumbled together, and Remus can't remember where the lines went between them.
Then there's the second one, for jakrar who wanted:
Clark goes into heat, but -- perhaps because Clark touched Lex just after Lex was altered by the first meteor shower, causing a bonding of some type -- no one but Lex can sexually satisfy him. (Clark tries, but everyone else leaves him cold and aching, just as Lana did during their lukewarm sexual encounters, prior to Clark breaking it off and salving his conscience by telling himself it was for Lana's safety.)
So, yeah. This is NC-17, and 4107 words long and... probably the least original fic I've ever written. (It was hard, there are already so many good Clark-in-heat fics out there). Set somewhere in S6, Clark/Lex with a Clark/Ollie scene on top.
At first, Clark was just feeling itchy. Distracted. He wasn't hungry, or sick, or anything. Just restless.
*
The first incident was beyond embarrassing. Clark was zapping between channels on the TV and Lois came into the living room, insinuating herself onto the couch to boast about her newest achievement at the Inquisitor.
Clark's eyes kept straying to Lois. Lois was wearing a tight yellow shirt. Lois boobs moved under the tight yellow shirt when Lois waved her hands.
"Hey," Lois said, "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!"
"You're really hot," Clark blurted out.
There was a moment of mutual horror as their eyes met.
Then she laughed at him, long and cruelly.
*
Lois' reaction should have cured Clark from all sexual impulses for years to come, but he just couldn't concentrate. He kept forgetting, and his thoughts kept wandering and his senses…
Jimmy smelled of Chloe, but that was really no excuse for Clark's hand to even go anywhere near Jimmy's butt.
*
Clark was pretty glad that Chloe just called him, because all in all getting a hard-on from her angry voice on the phone was preferable to confessing his undying… lust for her.
He'd hurt Chloe too many times already.
*
Clark's working theory was that he was getting a new power, but by the middle of the week, Clark had given up on theories. Even the most trivial things would set him off, and thinking about his situation made it unbearable. He couldn't stay in the barn, because the barn made him think of jacking off. He couldn't watch TV, because all he'd see was sex, sex, sex, even on the news. He kept mentally undressing the news commentator, and that was just sick.
He thought focusing on exposing Lex's nefarious mutant research would help. He thought Lionel's office would be safe, because… well, it was Lionel Luthor's office.
Clark avoided to look at any paintings or vases, though. Just to be safe.
Lionel had promised to find out where LuthorCorp had moved Level 33.1 to. He was showing Clark blueprints of a LuthorCorp facility on his laptop. Clark bent over the table to look at the screen.
Clark might have been staring a little too long, because Lionel had somehow rounded the desk and slunk behind Clark to point out the important parts.
"That's where Lex keeps the mutant research now," Lionel said, leaning close.
"Uh-huh," Clark said. He could feel the tip of Lionel's cuff brushing his wrist.
There was a blissfully unaware moment where Clark contemplated how the bristle of a beard would feel on the back of his neck. Then the pathetic rest of his reason kicked in.
He ran approximately as far as the Canadian border before stopping. It was the single most horrifying incident of Clark's life.
But he was still horny.
*
Ollie's reaction was a bit of a surprise, only not really, because Clark wouldn't have gone to him if he hadn't somehow expected it.
Clark might have said something, or maybe just stared and blushed, and Ollie smirked and took a step closer and then pushed Clark down on his expensive leather couch.
It was the first time anyone else had brought Clark off, and he buried his face in the leather, to hide and to drink in the strangely familiar smell, even while his hips pushed up into Ollie's hands, one bare and calloused, one clad in the Green Arrow's smooth glove.
"God, I'm so… I'm going to leave," Clark stammered when it was over and he could think clearly for a few wonderful moments.
Ollie's smirk grew wider and he chuckled, stroking the hollow of Clark's hips. Clark's jeans were still pulled down around his thighs, and despite the awkwardness, he was getting hard again.
"Doesn't look like you're done," Ollie observed.
"Lois," Clark rasped.
Ollie held up his gloved hand. Clark flushed hotly when he noticed the wet stains on the green leather. "Why would Lois care who the Green Arrow has fun with?"
It shouldn't have been a good reason to stay, but Clark didn't leave. Instead he kicked off his shoes and lifted his hips and stretched out his legs so Ollie could pull his jeans and boxers all the way off his legs.
They got as far as that, Clark naked from the waist down and Ollie wearing only the pants and glove of the Green Arrow's costume, when Clark was already painfully hard again, bucking greedily against every touch, all shame forgotten. It was better, much better, when Ollie seized his shoulder and pulled him around to push him on his belly and Clark could rub against the couch and bite his hand to stifle the noises he made, groans and keens like an animal in heat.
"Mmh, Kent you've been holding off on me," Ollie said while rummaging in his clothes, bent over Clark's back, and, "you're a lot more fun than expected," as he slicked himself while torturing Clark with a hand in his hair, stroking the nape of his neck with his thumb. It forced the pleas Clark was holding back out of his throat, loud and whining, begging for more even as Ollie gripped his hips and pushed in.
At first the pace was fast, frantic, jostling Clark deeper and deeper into the rush of desire, and he was racing towards completion, satisfaction, could taste it in his gasps, in the friction that he seemed to feel with all of his body. But then Ollie slowed down, fucking him hard and slow, exhaling harshly with each thrust, panting, "fuck," and, "yeah," and ,"good, you're great, you really need this, huh?"
Clark came, but he never reached that high that had been so close. Even as he shuddered through release, there was something lacking, a deep, murky emptiness between the desire that filled him with dread, made him feel incomplete, inhuman.
Afterwards, Ollie slumped back on the couch, a wide, shit-eating grin on his face, his hair slick with sweat and sticking up in odd places. He only seemed to come down from it when Clark started picking up his clothes, pulling them on with jerky, fumbling hands.
"Hey, you okay?"
"No," Clark said. "I'm not. I'm not… I'm wrong."
*
Clark had thought having real sex with someone would make it better, but instead, it made it ten times worse. By the time he arrived in the Fortress, he was jittery and nervous like a junkie, his eyes burning like sandpaper, his mouth tasting red, like blood, like violence.
It took him three tries to ask Jor-El what was wrong with him.
"Your body has matured. Kryptonians did not express desire the way humans do. For most of our lives we were unhindered by our base impulses, but in retribution it was imperial that we consummate the bond. Humans are not suitable to your needs, Kal-El."
"So what happens if… I don't consummate it?"
"When we sent you here, we prepared well for this time. We sent with you the stones of change, the tears of Rao. To you they are harmful, but to humans they are a source of great power. Each of these changed individuals is worthy of you, Kal-El."
Clark whirled around, furious that there was no one to yell at, just the serene Fortress and Jor-El's disembodied voice. "You mean, I have to have sex with a meteor mutant?"
"No," Jor-El boomed. "You are already within the latter stages of the bond. You have chosen and marked your equal and it is with your equal that you must mate."
"What do you mean I chose someone? I didn't choose anyone!"
"Your equal was marked by your touch, by your breath, and by the mark of the House of El. You must consummate the bond or you must kill the one you have marked, or else you will lose all reason and become but an animal, the basest of creatures, ruled by desire. Do not dishonour the House of El like this, my son."
*
Clark sat in the barn, sick and miserable. He couldn't think straight. In his mind face melded into face, touch into touch, memory into memory. Lana's mouth turned into Tina Greer's and the barn turned into the river and the river became the cornfield, and Clark was the scarecrow, naked and burning, the necklace red instead of green. And there was Alicia, gently stroking his cheek, her neck crooked and marked by ugly bruises.
And there was Kyla, a white wolf cowering at Clark's feet, her fur stained with the paintings from the caves, licking the blood from Clark the soles of Clark's feet. And the paintings sprang from her fur, spindly black figures, dancing through the shadows around Clark, howling and roaring, and Clark felt his body melting into shadows as well, growing fur and claws, swelling until the red necklace was a shard cutting into his skin, a thorn in his flesh.
Before Clark stood a little boy. The shadowy cave paintings danced around him, lashed out against him, but the boy reached up, standing on tiptoes, and pulled the thorn from Clark's flesh. It was all that was needed to release him from the cross, and Clark fell to the ground, still half man and half animal, crouching before the boy. But the boy was no longer a boy, he was a man instead, and gingerly moved his hand to touch Clark's head, like a blessing.
Clark twisted around to lick the palm of his hand, and the last he saw was the red shard of the necklace, burned into the palm as the mark of the House of El.
*
Clark was still feverish from his dreams. He had tried to drink a glass of water, but given up after two glasses burst in his hand and drunk straight from the tap instead.
When he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, he heard steps, coming up the stairs to the loft.
Clark blinked, and rubbed his right arm, thinking about fur and blood and red kryptonite.
He smiled when he saw Lana, not sure if she was part of his dreams or not. She smiled back at him, sad and tentative.
"Hey," she said. "I called but you didn't answer."
Clark nodded and took a step forward, but Lana walked towards the window, her arms drawn up against herself. Her body looked tiny and breakable in a white silk shirt that was just translucent enough for Clark to see the soft lines of her body through it.
"Look, Clark, I… I came here to apologize. I said a lot of things to you because I was angry and I thought you were just jealous and trying to get between me and Lex, but -"
Lana went on, her voice a soft, monotonous trickle, soothing Clark's raw senses. He nodded and came closer, until she was within reach and had to look up at him, her eyes big and dark and trusting.
"I made a mistake, Clark. I need to let go of Lex before it's too late. Will you… can we be friends again?"
Clark took her hand into his, careful, because his was large, and in his dreams it had claws and maybe this was a dream, too. Lana smiled at him.
Clark pulled her hand to his mouth and licked it, a broad swipe across the palm and then in between the fingers, around her thumb - Lana yelped and slapped him.
"Clark!"
It tingled where she had hit him. Clark grinned. "Do that again?"
Roughly, Lana tore her hand out of his grasp and jumped away, her face scrunched up in disgust. "I can't believe you're - you're sick! You're a freak, just like - "
She stormed off and Clark sat down in a boneless heap in front of the couch and jerked off again. This time release was painful, and he screamed as he tugged at his erection, and buried his face in the couch with a whimper as he came.
As the sweat dried on his skin, Clark cooled down. He felt hollow and thirsty, but at least the red haze was gone from his mind for a moment.
Lana wasn't like him. Lana wasn't the one he had marked, she wasn't a meteor mutant, even though she had worn a necklace with a meteor rock for years. Clark had been stupid to try. Lana was untouchable, unreachable, she always had been and always would be.
The breath Clark let go was almost relieved. He hadn't failed, he didn't need to try anymore, it was just that Lana was something he couldn't have.
Jor-El had made it pretty clear what Clark could have.
*
By the time Clark reached the mansion, he knew he didn't have much time left. His vision was fuzzy, tinged with red, and had no control over his powers. The bars Clark tried to squeeze through were squished, and he had fried two rose bushes, a marble bust and the servant's entry with his heat vision.
In Lex's study, it was dark, and probably cold, if Clark had been able to feel anything but scalding heat in his veins. There was no fire in the fireplace. The room was tinged in quiet blue shadows, empty and haunted, and for a moment Clark was afraid that Lex wasn't here anymore, that Clark was too late and that everything was lost.
He fumbled with the lead box, trying to open it, when someone said, "I don't think I was being unclear when I said that I wanted be left alone." It was Lex, sitting with his back to Clark on the couch in front of the fireplace.
The world tilted a little bit when Clark heard his voice, and narrowed down to just this room, just this moment, just them. It gave him the necessary focus to go on.
"Lex," Clark tried to say, but it barely sounded like a human noise.
"Clark?" Lex asked, then laughed hollowly. "Have you come to gloat? Or are you just here to see if Lana is right and I am insane? 'A perverted, monstrous freak', I believe she called me."
A glass hit the empty crate. Clark through of red shards stuck in his flesh, then remembered the lead box he was carrying.
"I need you."
Lex stilled, then turned his head. "Come again?" His voice was ice-cold, threatening even, but Clark very nearly laughed at it. He could have crushed Lex with his hands.
Lex got up and walked over to him. His skin was pale in the dark, his eyes glittering. Clark thrust the box at him, but when Lex took it, their finger brushed and Clark grabbed his wrist. They both stared down at where their hands were joined. Clark swallowed, but even if the world had depended on it, he couldn't have let go.
"Open it," Clark rasped desperately. His grip became tighter, so tight it had to hurt. "Or I - I'm going to - "
Lex's face was a mask of repressed pain, but he flipped open the box. The effect was immediate and relieving, almost soothing as all strength faded from Clark's body and he dropped to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees.
In the green glow, he could see Lex raise his brows, unable to disguise his surprise. "Clark? Why are you giving me a piece of meteor rock?"
Clark took a shaky breath and licked his lips. "I'm dangerous."
Eyes narrowing, Lex took a step to the side, circling Clark watchfully. "Really."
Clark twisted around and stopped him with a serious look. "You know I am… I have powers. Something's happening to me. I'm dangerous. If you didn't have that rock right now, I'd be… hurting you."
"The meteor rocks weaken you," Lex said, stressing the 'you' in a way that made it clear that he didn't just mean Clark. "I could lock you up, Clark. I could do anything you right now, couldn't I?"
Even through the agony, a large part of Clark was thrilled by the words. He shifted, trying at once to get away from Lex and closer to him, ending up closer despite the pain.
"I nearly attacked Lana today."
Lex drew the hand with the box away from Clark at that, and Clark leaned closer with a pleased sigh. Lex, however, frowned. "That's interesting, Clark. There couldn't possibly be a connection?"
"Huh?" Clark blinked up at him.
Lex clenched his teeth, then tilted his head so Clark could see the small bruise forming on his left cheek. "It's been a strange few days. Last night, I… suggested something to Lana I shouldn't have. She tried to leave and I lost control for a second. Nobody was hurt. But I can see the difference if I had had your powers."
Clark hadn't consciously reached out, but when his hand touched Lex's thigh, Lex brought the rock closer to him again. Clark shuddered and dropped the hand to his own thighs instead, rubbing them restlessly, over his knees and up, brushing his fly, over his cock straining at the fabric and under his shirt, where his belly was slick with sweat that was both hot and cold, pain and desire, fever through and through.
Lex was watching him like a hawk now, but it was dark, so maybe he couldn't see what Clark was doing. Maybe he could only guess.
"Clark," Lex said sharply, a command. Clark stilled, but he couldn't stop breathing hard. "Explain to me exactly what is going on."
"I need… if I don't get… I'm dangerous. You hate me. So… make sure I don't hurt anyone." Clark himself didn't know anymore if he wanted Lex to want him or not, if he wanted to consummate this Kryptonian bond-thing or rather die, but he wasn't going to force anyone.
The box with the rock was moved away from Clark again, probably Lex thought it was the kryptonite that made Clark stammer like an idiot.
"You need what?"
Clark took a shallow breath. Another one, his nose filled only with this, cold fire in the grate, spilled scotch, dusty old books and freshly pressed shirts, sharp cologne, sweat, skin - his nose brushed over fabric, drawing a startled hiss from Lex, and Clark gave in and nuzzled Lex's pants, pushing his nose into the crease of his thigh. A wonderful peace spread all through his body, as if this alone was enough to turn him from a ravenous beast into a tame lamb.
"Fuck," Lex said, almost reverently, but then he was frustratingly coherent again. "The males of your species have got an estrous cycle. That's why you keep acting so strangely from time to time. You're in heat."
Close enough. Clark made an agreeing noise, but maybe he shouldn't have made right against Lex's crotch, because Lex dropped the box. It fell open on the wooden floor, and two green rocks fell out, a big one and a small round one that was about the size of a bullet, rolling away until they barely even glowed anymore.
Clark's stomach clenched in sudden fear. This was supposed to be his safety line, without this he was doomed to lose all reason and control, and he would hurt Lex, one way or the other, to consummate or to end the bond. With a shiver, Clark wrapped his arms around Lex's waist and hid his face against Lex's body.
There was a hand, hesitant at first, ghosting over his back and over his shoulder blades. Then Lex's fingers wove into his hair and pulled him up. Clark followed, numbly, like a dancer led by another, as Lex swung him around and pushed him backward, already devouring him with his eyes.
Lex's eyes were a mirror to Clark's fever, manic and bright, skirting madness.
Clark hit a hard corner with the back of his thighs and collapsed onto a smooth surface. Lex's desk.
Lex's hands rand over Clark's shirt until he seized the collar and leant close, teeth bared, almost a snarl. "I don't care anymore, Clark, I don't fucking care," Lex whispered. "I don't care if you're a liar or if I'm a monster. I - ," the rest was lost, as Clark had seized Lex's wrist, and pulled it to his mouth, like Lana's, mapping the palm with his tongue, drawing the mark where it had been burned into Lex's skin.
And Lex didn't pull back or slap Clark. Lex just froze, eyes riveted on Clark's mouth, biting his own upper lip in concentration until Clark paused for breath and the spell was broken.
"I'm going to fuck you, Clark. Now. Here."
Clark's eyes slid shut and he grinned, wide and sloppy. "God, yes. Now."
Clark barely felt Lex's hands as he deftly undressed, Clark's limbs like putty. Boots, socks, jeans, boxers, Lex was fast and efficient and only stopped when his fingers found their way behind Clark's balls. He slipped away, too quickly for Clark to hold him, and Clark was left to touch himself.
Lex watched him for a moment when he returned, face unreadable, and Clark would have blushed if he hadn't already been flushed all over, so slick his skin was sticky against the glass of Lex's desk.
From there on there was no clear thought for Clark anymore, only moving as Lex commanded him to, all tension gone from his body, only golden pleasure drifting through his body, completion spreading under his skin wherever they touched and Clark riding it, soaking it up.
In the end, he felt tingly all over, boneless and warm, and then slowly came back to reality, where he was sticky on Lex's desk, and his lips were swollen from biting and sucking them, and Lex wasn't inside him anymore, but he was still close, on top of Clark, holding his thighs.
Clark couldn't help stiffening. He was naked - mostly - with Lex. No scratch that, he'd let Lex fuck him, Lex saw him come, heard him beg for it, and so for that matter, had Ollie.
Lex was shivering a little, either from the cold that Clark could now feel as well, or from exhaustion. But he surprised Clark by sort of clinging on to him as he slid off the desk, so Clark had to slide with him unless he wanted to be the one who pushed Lex away. Because someone was going to push someone else away here, Clark knew.
Except that Lex was still splayed all over Clark, avoiding the floor that was cold and hard under Clark's body.
"Jesus, Clark," he could hear Lex say, low and raw against his collarbone, "You have no idea how fucking wrong my life always goes."
"Wrong?" Clark asked and was surprised when it came out anxious.
Lex rakes a hand along Clark's side, from his ribs to his hipbone, not gentle, but almost possessive. "I wanted this. I waited three damn years for this, told myself I couldn't have it, told myself I could wait, and then - then it all went to hell and I can't even hate you properly. And you're the best damn lay of my life."
Clark… had never had the feeling that he was particularly good at sex. Not enjoying it very much to begin with was probably a good sign for that. But he believed Lex, because Lex hated him and why should Lex be lying about the sex being good if he hated Clark?
Clark felt just the tiniest bit smug about being good at sex until he remembered the whole Kryptonian weirdness. Damn Jor-El. Couldn't he have warned Clark that this whole bond thing would happen? Then Clark would have…
Chosen someone else?
Probably, yes, but Clark couldn't imagine anyone else he knew going along with this the way Lex just had done, for the hell of it, and respecting Clark afterwards. Hating him, yes, but obviously neither disgusted nor disdainful. Just wistful. Bitter. Lex.
"Um, Lex?" Clark said.
Lex sighed.
"This isn't just… a temporary thing. I… uh… imprinted on you."
At first Clark was worried that Lex was choking, or sobbing, but Lex was chuckling. It quickly devolved into somewhat deranged laughter.
"You mate for life. Serves you right." Then a thoughtful little pause. "I'm not reforming for you. Not unless you make some really good concessions as well. And I'm not sharing."
"What?" Clark tried to sit up, but Lex didn't go along with it, so Clark slumped back down. "Lex?" he asked plaintively.
"Shut up, I'm negotiating here."
Expect the rest of the prompt fics sometime in the future...
Remus cringed and gripped his book more tightly.
"I lied, alright?" The words come out tighter than he intended them to. Sirius stares at him with that impish, feverish amusement in his eyes, and he's not angry, but lying is a sore spot for Remus, always. "Persephone Phipps has a crush on me and I lied."
Sirius whistles. "Ravenclaw, blonde, and -," he gestures at his chest, grinning. "So you turned that down?"
Remus doesn't laugh. They're out of Hogwarts, but Sirius still tries to make a game of everything, still clings to all that rubbish like house rivalries. "I have little choice, have I? I can't go out with a girl who doesn't know what I am."
Sirius scowls. His changes of mood are always mercurial, but more than usually in moments like this, late night, languid, having returned from Merlin knows what kind of place that reeks of smoke - Muggle smoke, cigarette smoke, Remus' wolf nose tells him - voice raspy and eyes darker than usual. Shaggy black hair falls into his face. "So you're going to stay celibate for the rest of your life? It's sex, not marriage, Moony."
"She has a crush on me. It wouldn't be fair."
"So you told her you were into blokes." Sirius rakes a hand through his hair, then slumps back on the ratty old couch they're sharing. Everything in Remus' aparentment is some degree of ratty and old, or just weary. "Doesn't explain why me, though."
Remus raises a brow. "She seemed to find it pretty plausible."
Sirius scoffs. "Are you implying I'm the type who -"
"Sleeps with anything that's going to enrage his parents? You are."
Sirius pretends to contemplate it, but the glint of humour is back in his eyes. "I'd have to get their opinion on werewolves, though. I'm not sure they'd disapprove. 'Dear Mother, please give me advice on a subject dear to my heart. My friend, the fearsome creature of the night, is begging me to bugger him sensel-" the book hits him over the head, and Sirius laughs, sharp and delighted, as he catches it and throws it away, out of Remus' reach. "You're a sad, sad man, Remus Lupin. Condemning me forever to celibacy."
"I'm not condemning you to anything."
"You told her we're serious, right? So I can't very well go around picking up other creatures of the night, can I?"
Remus stares at him, because it was meant to be a joke, but the last part, the question, was sincere. Sometimes, Remus wants to let go of the four of them, wants to make his own life after Hogwarts like James and Lily did, sometimes Sirius' clinging annoys him. But he can't. Sirius, James, Peter, they lied for him for years, lied and pretended and turned into animals, just for him. It's like a life debt. A debt of lies.
And now Sirius is going to do this. Is going to replace one lie game with another, because he is bored, because he enjoys lying for Remus, who knows?
"Nonsense," Remus says softly.
But Sirius isn't listening.
"What's a lie without a grain of truth, though?" Sirius turns towards him, leans closer, hand on the arm of the couch, keeping Remus from escaping. "We'll go steady. Serious. We'll be in love, sweet-heart, like Prongs and Lily.."
It's a game, Remus reminds himself. Teasing. What guys do. Joking about things that make them uncomfortable. That manic, hungry gleam in Sirius' eye, that's just the joke. The game. The lie. "You'll never be faithful," he reminds Sirius.
Sirius smells of smoke, of his black leather jacket, of beer and wet dog. He makes a dog noise, between a bark and a growl, that sends a shiver of something down Remus' neck. "I'm man's best friend. I'm the most loyal bloke there ever was."
His breath is moist on Remus' cheek, like Padfoot's breath, but Sirius' tongue is clever, not sloppy, clever and hard and a little bit cruel.
Remus laughs, but the sound is choked and shaky. "Alright, Sirius, you had your - "
Sirius bites him, small, sharp, painful teeth, where his neck meets his shoulder and suddenly, everything shifts, suddenly, Remus' hands are clawing the leather of Sirius' jacket and his mouth is gasping for breath.
Suddenly, the lies and the truth are all jumbled together, and Remus can't remember where the lines went between them.
Then there's the second one, for jakrar who wanted:
Clark goes into heat, but -- perhaps because Clark touched Lex just after Lex was altered by the first meteor shower, causing a bonding of some type -- no one but Lex can sexually satisfy him. (Clark tries, but everyone else leaves him cold and aching, just as Lana did during their lukewarm sexual encounters, prior to Clark breaking it off and salving his conscience by telling himself it was for Lana's safety.)
So, yeah. This is NC-17, and 4107 words long and... probably the least original fic I've ever written. (It was hard, there are already so many good Clark-in-heat fics out there). Set somewhere in S6, Clark/Lex with a Clark/Ollie scene on top.
At first, Clark was just feeling itchy. Distracted. He wasn't hungry, or sick, or anything. Just restless.
*
The first incident was beyond embarrassing. Clark was zapping between channels on the TV and Lois came into the living room, insinuating herself onto the couch to boast about her newest achievement at the Inquisitor.
Clark's eyes kept straying to Lois. Lois was wearing a tight yellow shirt. Lois boobs moved under the tight yellow shirt when Lois waved her hands.
"Hey," Lois said, "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!"
"You're really hot," Clark blurted out.
There was a moment of mutual horror as their eyes met.
Then she laughed at him, long and cruelly.
*
Lois' reaction should have cured Clark from all sexual impulses for years to come, but he just couldn't concentrate. He kept forgetting, and his thoughts kept wandering and his senses…
Jimmy smelled of Chloe, but that was really no excuse for Clark's hand to even go anywhere near Jimmy's butt.
*
Clark was pretty glad that Chloe just called him, because all in all getting a hard-on from her angry voice on the phone was preferable to confessing his undying… lust for her.
He'd hurt Chloe too many times already.
*
Clark's working theory was that he was getting a new power, but by the middle of the week, Clark had given up on theories. Even the most trivial things would set him off, and thinking about his situation made it unbearable. He couldn't stay in the barn, because the barn made him think of jacking off. He couldn't watch TV, because all he'd see was sex, sex, sex, even on the news. He kept mentally undressing the news commentator, and that was just sick.
He thought focusing on exposing Lex's nefarious mutant research would help. He thought Lionel's office would be safe, because… well, it was Lionel Luthor's office.
Clark avoided to look at any paintings or vases, though. Just to be safe.
Lionel had promised to find out where LuthorCorp had moved Level 33.1 to. He was showing Clark blueprints of a LuthorCorp facility on his laptop. Clark bent over the table to look at the screen.
Clark might have been staring a little too long, because Lionel had somehow rounded the desk and slunk behind Clark to point out the important parts.
"That's where Lex keeps the mutant research now," Lionel said, leaning close.
"Uh-huh," Clark said. He could feel the tip of Lionel's cuff brushing his wrist.
There was a blissfully unaware moment where Clark contemplated how the bristle of a beard would feel on the back of his neck. Then the pathetic rest of his reason kicked in.
He ran approximately as far as the Canadian border before stopping. It was the single most horrifying incident of Clark's life.
But he was still horny.
*
Ollie's reaction was a bit of a surprise, only not really, because Clark wouldn't have gone to him if he hadn't somehow expected it.
Clark might have said something, or maybe just stared and blushed, and Ollie smirked and took a step closer and then pushed Clark down on his expensive leather couch.
It was the first time anyone else had brought Clark off, and he buried his face in the leather, to hide and to drink in the strangely familiar smell, even while his hips pushed up into Ollie's hands, one bare and calloused, one clad in the Green Arrow's smooth glove.
"God, I'm so… I'm going to leave," Clark stammered when it was over and he could think clearly for a few wonderful moments.
Ollie's smirk grew wider and he chuckled, stroking the hollow of Clark's hips. Clark's jeans were still pulled down around his thighs, and despite the awkwardness, he was getting hard again.
"Doesn't look like you're done," Ollie observed.
"Lois," Clark rasped.
Ollie held up his gloved hand. Clark flushed hotly when he noticed the wet stains on the green leather. "Why would Lois care who the Green Arrow has fun with?"
It shouldn't have been a good reason to stay, but Clark didn't leave. Instead he kicked off his shoes and lifted his hips and stretched out his legs so Ollie could pull his jeans and boxers all the way off his legs.
They got as far as that, Clark naked from the waist down and Ollie wearing only the pants and glove of the Green Arrow's costume, when Clark was already painfully hard again, bucking greedily against every touch, all shame forgotten. It was better, much better, when Ollie seized his shoulder and pulled him around to push him on his belly and Clark could rub against the couch and bite his hand to stifle the noises he made, groans and keens like an animal in heat.
"Mmh, Kent you've been holding off on me," Ollie said while rummaging in his clothes, bent over Clark's back, and, "you're a lot more fun than expected," as he slicked himself while torturing Clark with a hand in his hair, stroking the nape of his neck with his thumb. It forced the pleas Clark was holding back out of his throat, loud and whining, begging for more even as Ollie gripped his hips and pushed in.
At first the pace was fast, frantic, jostling Clark deeper and deeper into the rush of desire, and he was racing towards completion, satisfaction, could taste it in his gasps, in the friction that he seemed to feel with all of his body. But then Ollie slowed down, fucking him hard and slow, exhaling harshly with each thrust, panting, "fuck," and, "yeah," and ,"good, you're great, you really need this, huh?"
Clark came, but he never reached that high that had been so close. Even as he shuddered through release, there was something lacking, a deep, murky emptiness between the desire that filled him with dread, made him feel incomplete, inhuman.
Afterwards, Ollie slumped back on the couch, a wide, shit-eating grin on his face, his hair slick with sweat and sticking up in odd places. He only seemed to come down from it when Clark started picking up his clothes, pulling them on with jerky, fumbling hands.
"Hey, you okay?"
"No," Clark said. "I'm not. I'm not… I'm wrong."
*
Clark had thought having real sex with someone would make it better, but instead, it made it ten times worse. By the time he arrived in the Fortress, he was jittery and nervous like a junkie, his eyes burning like sandpaper, his mouth tasting red, like blood, like violence.
It took him three tries to ask Jor-El what was wrong with him.
"Your body has matured. Kryptonians did not express desire the way humans do. For most of our lives we were unhindered by our base impulses, but in retribution it was imperial that we consummate the bond. Humans are not suitable to your needs, Kal-El."
"So what happens if… I don't consummate it?"
"When we sent you here, we prepared well for this time. We sent with you the stones of change, the tears of Rao. To you they are harmful, but to humans they are a source of great power. Each of these changed individuals is worthy of you, Kal-El."
Clark whirled around, furious that there was no one to yell at, just the serene Fortress and Jor-El's disembodied voice. "You mean, I have to have sex with a meteor mutant?"
"No," Jor-El boomed. "You are already within the latter stages of the bond. You have chosen and marked your equal and it is with your equal that you must mate."
"What do you mean I chose someone? I didn't choose anyone!"
"Your equal was marked by your touch, by your breath, and by the mark of the House of El. You must consummate the bond or you must kill the one you have marked, or else you will lose all reason and become but an animal, the basest of creatures, ruled by desire. Do not dishonour the House of El like this, my son."
*
Clark sat in the barn, sick and miserable. He couldn't think straight. In his mind face melded into face, touch into touch, memory into memory. Lana's mouth turned into Tina Greer's and the barn turned into the river and the river became the cornfield, and Clark was the scarecrow, naked and burning, the necklace red instead of green. And there was Alicia, gently stroking his cheek, her neck crooked and marked by ugly bruises.
And there was Kyla, a white wolf cowering at Clark's feet, her fur stained with the paintings from the caves, licking the blood from Clark the soles of Clark's feet. And the paintings sprang from her fur, spindly black figures, dancing through the shadows around Clark, howling and roaring, and Clark felt his body melting into shadows as well, growing fur and claws, swelling until the red necklace was a shard cutting into his skin, a thorn in his flesh.
Before Clark stood a little boy. The shadowy cave paintings danced around him, lashed out against him, but the boy reached up, standing on tiptoes, and pulled the thorn from Clark's flesh. It was all that was needed to release him from the cross, and Clark fell to the ground, still half man and half animal, crouching before the boy. But the boy was no longer a boy, he was a man instead, and gingerly moved his hand to touch Clark's head, like a blessing.
Clark twisted around to lick the palm of his hand, and the last he saw was the red shard of the necklace, burned into the palm as the mark of the House of El.
*
Clark was still feverish from his dreams. He had tried to drink a glass of water, but given up after two glasses burst in his hand and drunk straight from the tap instead.
When he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, he heard steps, coming up the stairs to the loft.
Clark blinked, and rubbed his right arm, thinking about fur and blood and red kryptonite.
He smiled when he saw Lana, not sure if she was part of his dreams or not. She smiled back at him, sad and tentative.
"Hey," she said. "I called but you didn't answer."
Clark nodded and took a step forward, but Lana walked towards the window, her arms drawn up against herself. Her body looked tiny and breakable in a white silk shirt that was just translucent enough for Clark to see the soft lines of her body through it.
"Look, Clark, I… I came here to apologize. I said a lot of things to you because I was angry and I thought you were just jealous and trying to get between me and Lex, but -"
Lana went on, her voice a soft, monotonous trickle, soothing Clark's raw senses. He nodded and came closer, until she was within reach and had to look up at him, her eyes big and dark and trusting.
"I made a mistake, Clark. I need to let go of Lex before it's too late. Will you… can we be friends again?"
Clark took her hand into his, careful, because his was large, and in his dreams it had claws and maybe this was a dream, too. Lana smiled at him.
Clark pulled her hand to his mouth and licked it, a broad swipe across the palm and then in between the fingers, around her thumb - Lana yelped and slapped him.
"Clark!"
It tingled where she had hit him. Clark grinned. "Do that again?"
Roughly, Lana tore her hand out of his grasp and jumped away, her face scrunched up in disgust. "I can't believe you're - you're sick! You're a freak, just like - "
She stormed off and Clark sat down in a boneless heap in front of the couch and jerked off again. This time release was painful, and he screamed as he tugged at his erection, and buried his face in the couch with a whimper as he came.
As the sweat dried on his skin, Clark cooled down. He felt hollow and thirsty, but at least the red haze was gone from his mind for a moment.
Lana wasn't like him. Lana wasn't the one he had marked, she wasn't a meteor mutant, even though she had worn a necklace with a meteor rock for years. Clark had been stupid to try. Lana was untouchable, unreachable, she always had been and always would be.
The breath Clark let go was almost relieved. He hadn't failed, he didn't need to try anymore, it was just that Lana was something he couldn't have.
Jor-El had made it pretty clear what Clark could have.
*
By the time Clark reached the mansion, he knew he didn't have much time left. His vision was fuzzy, tinged with red, and had no control over his powers. The bars Clark tried to squeeze through were squished, and he had fried two rose bushes, a marble bust and the servant's entry with his heat vision.
In Lex's study, it was dark, and probably cold, if Clark had been able to feel anything but scalding heat in his veins. There was no fire in the fireplace. The room was tinged in quiet blue shadows, empty and haunted, and for a moment Clark was afraid that Lex wasn't here anymore, that Clark was too late and that everything was lost.
He fumbled with the lead box, trying to open it, when someone said, "I don't think I was being unclear when I said that I wanted be left alone." It was Lex, sitting with his back to Clark on the couch in front of the fireplace.
The world tilted a little bit when Clark heard his voice, and narrowed down to just this room, just this moment, just them. It gave him the necessary focus to go on.
"Lex," Clark tried to say, but it barely sounded like a human noise.
"Clark?" Lex asked, then laughed hollowly. "Have you come to gloat? Or are you just here to see if Lana is right and I am insane? 'A perverted, monstrous freak', I believe she called me."
A glass hit the empty crate. Clark through of red shards stuck in his flesh, then remembered the lead box he was carrying.
"I need you."
Lex stilled, then turned his head. "Come again?" His voice was ice-cold, threatening even, but Clark very nearly laughed at it. He could have crushed Lex with his hands.
Lex got up and walked over to him. His skin was pale in the dark, his eyes glittering. Clark thrust the box at him, but when Lex took it, their finger brushed and Clark grabbed his wrist. They both stared down at where their hands were joined. Clark swallowed, but even if the world had depended on it, he couldn't have let go.
"Open it," Clark rasped desperately. His grip became tighter, so tight it had to hurt. "Or I - I'm going to - "
Lex's face was a mask of repressed pain, but he flipped open the box. The effect was immediate and relieving, almost soothing as all strength faded from Clark's body and he dropped to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees.
In the green glow, he could see Lex raise his brows, unable to disguise his surprise. "Clark? Why are you giving me a piece of meteor rock?"
Clark took a shaky breath and licked his lips. "I'm dangerous."
Eyes narrowing, Lex took a step to the side, circling Clark watchfully. "Really."
Clark twisted around and stopped him with a serious look. "You know I am… I have powers. Something's happening to me. I'm dangerous. If you didn't have that rock right now, I'd be… hurting you."
"The meteor rocks weaken you," Lex said, stressing the 'you' in a way that made it clear that he didn't just mean Clark. "I could lock you up, Clark. I could do anything you right now, couldn't I?"
Even through the agony, a large part of Clark was thrilled by the words. He shifted, trying at once to get away from Lex and closer to him, ending up closer despite the pain.
"I nearly attacked Lana today."
Lex drew the hand with the box away from Clark at that, and Clark leaned closer with a pleased sigh. Lex, however, frowned. "That's interesting, Clark. There couldn't possibly be a connection?"
"Huh?" Clark blinked up at him.
Lex clenched his teeth, then tilted his head so Clark could see the small bruise forming on his left cheek. "It's been a strange few days. Last night, I… suggested something to Lana I shouldn't have. She tried to leave and I lost control for a second. Nobody was hurt. But I can see the difference if I had had your powers."
Clark hadn't consciously reached out, but when his hand touched Lex's thigh, Lex brought the rock closer to him again. Clark shuddered and dropped the hand to his own thighs instead, rubbing them restlessly, over his knees and up, brushing his fly, over his cock straining at the fabric and under his shirt, where his belly was slick with sweat that was both hot and cold, pain and desire, fever through and through.
Lex was watching him like a hawk now, but it was dark, so maybe he couldn't see what Clark was doing. Maybe he could only guess.
"Clark," Lex said sharply, a command. Clark stilled, but he couldn't stop breathing hard. "Explain to me exactly what is going on."
"I need… if I don't get… I'm dangerous. You hate me. So… make sure I don't hurt anyone." Clark himself didn't know anymore if he wanted Lex to want him or not, if he wanted to consummate this Kryptonian bond-thing or rather die, but he wasn't going to force anyone.
The box with the rock was moved away from Clark again, probably Lex thought it was the kryptonite that made Clark stammer like an idiot.
"You need what?"
Clark took a shallow breath. Another one, his nose filled only with this, cold fire in the grate, spilled scotch, dusty old books and freshly pressed shirts, sharp cologne, sweat, skin - his nose brushed over fabric, drawing a startled hiss from Lex, and Clark gave in and nuzzled Lex's pants, pushing his nose into the crease of his thigh. A wonderful peace spread all through his body, as if this alone was enough to turn him from a ravenous beast into a tame lamb.
"Fuck," Lex said, almost reverently, but then he was frustratingly coherent again. "The males of your species have got an estrous cycle. That's why you keep acting so strangely from time to time. You're in heat."
Close enough. Clark made an agreeing noise, but maybe he shouldn't have made right against Lex's crotch, because Lex dropped the box. It fell open on the wooden floor, and two green rocks fell out, a big one and a small round one that was about the size of a bullet, rolling away until they barely even glowed anymore.
Clark's stomach clenched in sudden fear. This was supposed to be his safety line, without this he was doomed to lose all reason and control, and he would hurt Lex, one way or the other, to consummate or to end the bond. With a shiver, Clark wrapped his arms around Lex's waist and hid his face against Lex's body.
There was a hand, hesitant at first, ghosting over his back and over his shoulder blades. Then Lex's fingers wove into his hair and pulled him up. Clark followed, numbly, like a dancer led by another, as Lex swung him around and pushed him backward, already devouring him with his eyes.
Lex's eyes were a mirror to Clark's fever, manic and bright, skirting madness.
Clark hit a hard corner with the back of his thighs and collapsed onto a smooth surface. Lex's desk.
Lex's hands rand over Clark's shirt until he seized the collar and leant close, teeth bared, almost a snarl. "I don't care anymore, Clark, I don't fucking care," Lex whispered. "I don't care if you're a liar or if I'm a monster. I - ," the rest was lost, as Clark had seized Lex's wrist, and pulled it to his mouth, like Lana's, mapping the palm with his tongue, drawing the mark where it had been burned into Lex's skin.
And Lex didn't pull back or slap Clark. Lex just froze, eyes riveted on Clark's mouth, biting his own upper lip in concentration until Clark paused for breath and the spell was broken.
"I'm going to fuck you, Clark. Now. Here."
Clark's eyes slid shut and he grinned, wide and sloppy. "God, yes. Now."
Clark barely felt Lex's hands as he deftly undressed, Clark's limbs like putty. Boots, socks, jeans, boxers, Lex was fast and efficient and only stopped when his fingers found their way behind Clark's balls. He slipped away, too quickly for Clark to hold him, and Clark was left to touch himself.
Lex watched him for a moment when he returned, face unreadable, and Clark would have blushed if he hadn't already been flushed all over, so slick his skin was sticky against the glass of Lex's desk.
From there on there was no clear thought for Clark anymore, only moving as Lex commanded him to, all tension gone from his body, only golden pleasure drifting through his body, completion spreading under his skin wherever they touched and Clark riding it, soaking it up.
In the end, he felt tingly all over, boneless and warm, and then slowly came back to reality, where he was sticky on Lex's desk, and his lips were swollen from biting and sucking them, and Lex wasn't inside him anymore, but he was still close, on top of Clark, holding his thighs.
Clark couldn't help stiffening. He was naked - mostly - with Lex. No scratch that, he'd let Lex fuck him, Lex saw him come, heard him beg for it, and so for that matter, had Ollie.
Lex was shivering a little, either from the cold that Clark could now feel as well, or from exhaustion. But he surprised Clark by sort of clinging on to him as he slid off the desk, so Clark had to slide with him unless he wanted to be the one who pushed Lex away. Because someone was going to push someone else away here, Clark knew.
Except that Lex was still splayed all over Clark, avoiding the floor that was cold and hard under Clark's body.
"Jesus, Clark," he could hear Lex say, low and raw against his collarbone, "You have no idea how fucking wrong my life always goes."
"Wrong?" Clark asked and was surprised when it came out anxious.
Lex rakes a hand along Clark's side, from his ribs to his hipbone, not gentle, but almost possessive. "I wanted this. I waited three damn years for this, told myself I couldn't have it, told myself I could wait, and then - then it all went to hell and I can't even hate you properly. And you're the best damn lay of my life."
Clark… had never had the feeling that he was particularly good at sex. Not enjoying it very much to begin with was probably a good sign for that. But he believed Lex, because Lex hated him and why should Lex be lying about the sex being good if he hated Clark?
Clark felt just the tiniest bit smug about being good at sex until he remembered the whole Kryptonian weirdness. Damn Jor-El. Couldn't he have warned Clark that this whole bond thing would happen? Then Clark would have…
Chosen someone else?
Probably, yes, but Clark couldn't imagine anyone else he knew going along with this the way Lex just had done, for the hell of it, and respecting Clark afterwards. Hating him, yes, but obviously neither disgusted nor disdainful. Just wistful. Bitter. Lex.
"Um, Lex?" Clark said.
Lex sighed.
"This isn't just… a temporary thing. I… uh… imprinted on you."
At first Clark was worried that Lex was choking, or sobbing, but Lex was chuckling. It quickly devolved into somewhat deranged laughter.
"You mate for life. Serves you right." Then a thoughtful little pause. "I'm not reforming for you. Not unless you make some really good concessions as well. And I'm not sharing."
"What?" Clark tried to sit up, but Lex didn't go along with it, so Clark slumped back down. "Lex?" he asked plaintively.
"Shut up, I'm negotiating here."
Expect the rest of the prompt fics sometime in the future...