The Tuesday Accords
Title: “The Tuesday Accords”
Author: svmadelyn@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Notes: I was doing my thing where I clicked on people’s names who have me friended, and I came across a discussion with people lamenting the whole lack of fucking on the desk in the Oval Office. I realized, hey, this is something I can try to address, so uh—Happy Fourth of July! I can think of no better way to celebrate than by making the Oval Office far more appealing these days.
Complete PWP, Clex. That dreaded ‘u’ word, un-betaed. Wow. I–wrote something today. At my old, usual pace! I–whee!
The Tuesday Accords
“I cannot believe you did that,” Lex whispered, staring at the still slightly smoking hunk of wood before him.
“I—I can’t either,” Superman said, equally as hushed.
”You set. My desk. On fire.”
“I—yes,” Superman swallowed. “But. Um. I put the fire out.”
Lex’s eyes darkened even further. “The Resolute desk. Refitted by the United States as a gift to Her Majesty’s Navy, using timbers from a British ship that had been trapped in the ice of the Arctic. Queen Victoria had it sent to President Hayes in the late nineteenth century. Used by every president in the Residence, until Kennedy put it in the Oval Office. And now, you’ve *burned it*.”
“I—I didn’t mean to!” Superman almost yelled, and Lex placed his hands on the desk, but it wasn’t nearly as impressive, as it was—well, burned to a crisp.
“Get. Out.”
It was really creepy, he reflected, how Lex kept making monosyllables into complete sentences.
He sighed and jumped out the window, taking one last glance over his shoulder at Lex’s still form, hunched over the remnants of his desk. He flew back out into the bright lights of D.C., drooping a little at the fact he so wasn’t getting laid tonight.
***
“I like the new desk,” Superman said, about to run a hand over the sleek, highly polished wood.
“You don’t get to touch the new desk,” Lex said, swatting away Superman’s hand.
“It was an *accident*.”
Lex narrowed his eyes. “You don’t just accidentally open fire—literally—on a man’s desk, Superman,” Lex exhaled. “So why don’t you just tell me what really happened?”
Superman frowned. “You were talking on the phone.”
“….yes, I do that sometimes. And?”
“And I was standing here, for thirty-eight minutes, waiting for you.”
“It was the Prime Minister of Britain!”
“You were talking to him about the new Star Wars sequels!”
“We were figuring out a quiet way to get rid of Lucas! He has to be stopped!”
“We had plans!”
“We never have plans. You show up. We have sex. I’d hardly call those ‘plans’.”
“On Tuesday night, Luthor! Last night was a Tuesday! I had expectations!”
Lex’s eyes widened. He sat down slowly. “….we always have sex on Tuesdays,” he said distantly.
“Do not even tell me that this is the first time you’re realizing it,” Superman said dangerously.
“Of course I realized it!” Lex snapped, “I just….forgot that it was Tuesday. Thursday’s are the days you tend to scream at me for something and it felt like a Thursday.”
“How can you think Tuesday is a Thursday?” Superman asked incredulously.
“I get busy, there are days when I don’t see a calendar!” Lex said defensively.
“That is such bullshit. You knew perfectly well it was Tuesday; you were just being sadistic because I had to miss last week.” Superman made sure to put both of his palms on the desk, pressing hard, and watched in silent satisfaction as Lex narrowed his eyes.
“I get that floods come before nookie with the President,” Lex muttered, sinking further into his chair.
“….did you just say nookie?”
“So you set the President’s desk on fire—an American historical *treasure*, because you were upset over the fact I was otherwise occupied. That’s mature. Why are you even here tonight? You’re one day late to fuck, and one day early to fight. I have expectations too, Kal-El,” Lex sneered, ignoring him.
“Maybe I don’t like being so predictable!” Superman shouted, sliding over the desk in a blink, and pulling Lex to a seated position next to him. Lex stared at him for a moment, and then practically leaped over the few inches to crawl on his lap, knee crunching the stapler as he moved. He found himself pressed flat on his back to the new desk as Lex slid his fingers into all the well-hidden folds of the costume, fingers soon caressing skin.
“And you could’ve come back, you know. After the floods,” Lex muttered insensibly.
“I don’t think the desk is meant to take this much weight,” Superman said, even as he slid up a little to allow Lex to pull down the slick, slippery material of his cape.
“The desk will take whatever weight it damn well has to,” Lex gritted out, practically choking himself as he tugged off his tie and whipped it in a corner. He waited for Lex to swiftly take off his shirt; Lex hated when Superman ruined his shirts. Pants were always okay, but the shirts got icy silence even while Lex was getting a blow-job, and that was hardly fun. The shirt came off, thank God, and Superman had his hands full of Lex’s warm, smooth skin. No matter how many times he had this, he could never get over the fact that Lex’s skin was the most perfect thing his hands had ever touched.
Lex was mouthing a wet path down the side of his chin, biting at just the right spot to make him shake. “Clark,” Lex hissed, working his way back up to the lobe of his ear. Clark loved it when he made Lex lose control enough to say that name. It wasn’t often, but still…
It let him hope for a time when maybe they wouldn’t have a regular day to fuck, when any day could be a day to fuck. When they didn’t need to have a regular day, because having a regular day meant they didn’t have to talk about things like secrets and lies and plans for world destruction.
Like they could be just Clark and just Lex again, and maybe they’d lost track of that for a couple of decades, but maybe they could have it back. Clark had learned over the years that second chances were few and far between, and he thought maybe Lex had finally learned that too.
Like….Wednesdays, Clark realized, choking a little as Lex licked behind Clark’s ear, hitting every single spot that drove him insane. “Hey, it’s Wednesday,” Clark panted.
Lex slid up slowly, looking down at Clark. “Hmm. Perhaps we should wait? I wouldn’t want to upset our status quo here.”
“Or—or maybe we could have a new one. Like a—Tuesday and Wednesday sort of deal,” Clark babbled, pulling Lex back down to his neck.
“And Thursdays would still be our fight days, right? I don’t want too much change all at once,” Lex said seriously. His hand clasped Clark’s chin and he pulled away again, staring. Sliding his other hand to Clark’s cheek, Lex leaned in and kissed him, slowly, tongue sliding deftly in Clark’s mouth, making it impossible to think. Clark wrapped his still clad in the suit legs around Lex’s waist as they slid back and forth against one another, Lex’s fingers digging into Clark’s cheeks, Clark’s hands kneading the muscles along Lex’s back, stroking Lex’s shoulder blades with a teasing finger.
“I didn’t replace the lube from the other desk. The one you burned,” Lex said, like Clark needed the reminder. The tights were rolled down Clark’s legs, inch by inch, Lex pressing his lips every few inches as the skin was revealed.
“I—I can go get some,” Clark offered helpfully.
Lex arched an eyebrow. “Hardly necessary. I always have back-ups.” Lex sat up and while the view of his pale ass walking away was worth it, Clark felt cold and shaky alone on the desk. He pulled out a dictionary and grinned his “Hey, I’m Going To Blow Something Up Now, And You Will Somehow Find It Very Hot Anyway” grin, and Clark couldn’t help but return the smile. Hollow dictionary, stacked with all the things a President could ever need to fuck a guy on his desk. Clark blinked a little at the pair of handcuffs in there, but it wasn’t Thursday, so they weren’t supposed to argue or ask questions.
It was a Wednesday and Clark had no fucking clue what they did on Wednesdays, but it apparently contained fucking in the Oval Office, and Wednesdays could become Good Days.
Lex climbed back on the desk, sitting back, putting his weight on his knees. “Part of me wants to chain you to this desk and never let you leave,” he said suddenly, flicking open the lube. “I’d get a lot of work done, you know.”
“How would that work?” Clark asked lazily, drawing up his thighs to give Lex the access he’d soon need.
“Inspiration. Make peace happen somewhere, get to fuck you. Forgive a third world country’s debt, fuck you. Stop an invasion of alien ants bent on taking over Florida, fuck you. You’d be like my bag of fudge-dipped Oreos and milk after patrol.” Lex said this as he’d pressed his thumb inside Clark, so it almost made Clark black out a little, the deadly combination of the words and the motion.
“You—you know about my Oreos?” He asked, ignoring the alien ants thing. Lex still read far too many comics. But then—there could be alien ants, Clark supposed….
“There’s not much about you I don’t know; you should honestly realize that one of these days.” Another finger, another finger, three all in a row with no adjustment time. Clark slid up on the desk an inch from the surprise. Lex always took his time, he seemed to like the sensation of his fingers in that tight warmth.
“It’s…endearing,” Lex said in an odd voice, and Clark opened his eyes to see what was passing over his face, but Lex’s eyes were closed and he was biting his lip hard. Clark reached up and pressed a hand to Lex’s lips, smoothing them.
Lex’s eyes flew open, and before even Clark realized what was happening, Lex had moved on top of him, his hand pulled free, now curling around Clark’s gel-slicked hair, completely ruining the whole Superman effect, but then, Lex *always* did that and fuck, was he babbling that out loud? From the slow smile spreading across Lex’s face as he entered Clark, he was.
The desk scraped across the floor worryingly for all of a second, and Lex froze his motion. Clark managed to withhold a scream, but gripped Lex’s ass tightly, urging him to go on. “I’ll get you a new desk. Napoleon’s, if he—had a desk. If it’s still somewhere,” Clark breathed.
Lex kissed his nipple, tongue flicking out a little, just a tease, as he resumed moving. They waited for the desk to slide again, and when nothing happened, Lex moved harder, faster, gripping Clark’s hair with one hand and the corner of the desk with his other, his whole body stretched out over Clark’s, and fuck, Clark could see Lex’s ass in the reflection of the window, and they were fucking on the desk, and this shouldn’t be this hot, only it was, and Clark thought he might be okay with staying chained to Lex’s desk and rewarding him for fixing the world.
And fuck, he had to have said that aloud too, because Lex was inside him so deep that Clark screamed around Lex’s gel-slicked hand that always, always knew when Clark was about to break and make any sound the Secret Service would raise their eyes on. They knew, of course they all knew, but Lex had probably told them it was some way of negotiating, and Clark didn’t care that Superman’s name was maybe a little sullied amongst the agents, not so long as he got to have this. Clark came suddenly, and tried to aim away from the small stack of papers they hadn’t managed to clear off the desk yet, but Lex just ran his fingers through the come on Clark’s stomach and rubbed it all over the pages.
“Hmm. I’ll have to burn those now, don’t want others having access to your DNA,” Lex said thoughtfully, and it should bug Clark that Lex still managed to think things like that after good sex, but that was Lex, and Clark had figured out he would have him any other way. Lex was still slowly moving, in and out, in and out, building the pressure, Clark too spent to do anything but try and watch Lex and try and watch Lex’s ass in the window.
“That’s—nice of you.” Clark grunted.
“I didn’t really like that contract anyway,” Lex murmured. “Thank you for providing an excuse.” Clark stared as Lex closed his eyes and came, gripping Clark’s hip enough to see the fading imprints of his fingers for a moment. He rested his head on Clark’s shoulder, and drew up his legs so they weren’t halfway over the desk.
“Maybe it’s the trappings of power,” Lex said, “Fucking you on the desk of the President of the United States. My desk,” he said, like it needed reiteration.
“For you, maybe.” Clark thought it….might do a little something for him too.
Maybe. Just a little. But only a tiny bit.
“I have a communications center in the Fortress,” Clark said sleepily. “It’s flat. It could be my desk.”
Lex froze, his motions of stroking Clark’s stomach ceasing.
“I mean. Only if you—wanted.”
“I want,” Lex said, hand idly starting up its motions again. Yes. A Tuesday and Wednesday thing, and maybe Thursdays would be different sometime too. Then they could work on Fridays.
“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to touch the desk,” Clark snickered, remembering suddenly.
“I make exceptions, every now and again.”
Saturdays would be nice too, Clark thought, shutting his eyes; he didn’t have to patrol, and he was off from the Planet, and all Lex ever did was wave out of Marine One. Saturdays could kick Tuesday and Wednesday’s asses.