When I Want, I Take the Wheel
Title: “When I Want, I Take the Wheel”
Author: svmadelyn@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Thanks to Thistle for the wonderful, solid, quick beta work and to Caelum for the read through. Also thanks to Moonchild for the Russian translation. It’s…vaguely: “No fucking way!”
For Chopchica upon the occasion of her birth. (Well. Tomorrow. It’s almost there. I’m just impatient because I actually finished a story.) It started out as something of a “Hey, what can I do to cheer you up” sort of thing and over the months and months and months that passed, evolved into a “birthday story”. *coughs* Uh yeah. She wanted Clex tickling fic, we have Clex tickling fic. Happy Birthday, sweetie!
When I Want, I Take the Wheel
“I never thought of you as the sort to play baccarat.”
Clark stiffened and tilted his head slightly toward Lex.
“People change,” Clark said shortly, tongue twisting over the Russian accent for the first time all night. “I’m the banker, so…”
“Vasili…” Lex murmured, touching Clark’s arm in a way that made even the dealers zero in.
What the hell was Lex doing? And how did he know the name Clark was going under here? Well. That one was easily enough answered—it was *Lex*. Lex probably knew what color underwear Clark wore on any given day; it was something Clark did his best to ignore. He failed at it mostly, but oddly enough, he found the fact that Lex bugged his apartment and paid off Mrs. McPeters to report on his comings and goings….reassuring. Like Lex wasn’t going to be going anywhere anytime soon, and Clark knew that was stupid and that a psychologist would love to get a hold of him for that one, but, yeah, Clark had a point here, it was just lost in the fuzzy sensation of Lex all but dry humping him at a baccarat table. Clark tried to ignore the warmth of Lex’s palm on his forearm as he slid the cards across.
“Eight,” Clark grinned his dorkiest smile, and shoved his glasses back up his nose, ignoring an avidly watching Lex.
Seven was the closest, so Clark won again. “Perhaps I’m a lucky charm?” Lex queried, sipping his drink.
Clark managed to refrain from snorting, but only just. Lex motioned to the croupier that he wanted to be in for the new game, as two of the other men left and the dealer was shuffling all the cards in the shoe.
“I’m bored, Vasili,” Lex said idly, waiting for the new banker to deal his cards. Clark didn’t look down at his yet.
“Perhaps you should look into death sports,” Clark muttered, desperately wanting to know Lex’s purpose here. He’d been so quiet for the last few months—no robotic creations designed to help in his world-conquering schemes, no genetically engineered pygmies, no goo bent on swallowing Smallville, nothing. Clark should’ve known better than to start to relax.
Lex choked on his champagne, and fuck, was that ever gratifying.
So it was a bit of a surprise when he felt callused fingers brush across his cheek, holding him in place as Lex’s mouth pressed against his, and suddenly, there was chilled champagne in Clark’s mouth. Clark managed to swallow half, but the rest of it he choked on, and with a growing sense of distant horror, he realized it was dripping down the right side of his cheek. Lex leaned in again and ran his tongue down along the bottom of Clark’s chin, just barely touching his neck where the last of the liquid had managed to reach.
Clark, along with half of the table, gaped at Lex.
“Nine,” Lex said clearly, winning. Clark wiped the last of the liquid up subtly with the back of his hand.
***
Clark couldn’t concentrate, and that was bad. That was so bad, because he was supposed to be keeping track of Radek two tables down, listening in on his conversation, but hell, even Superman couldn’t multi-task with Lex practically breathing down his neck, and *touching* his hand like—like that. Clark shrugged off Lex’s palm for the third time.
“What the heck-ever is wrong with you stops now,” he hissed, low enough that not even the most tuned in members at the table would hear.
“I haven’t gotten what I came for yet,” Lex protested, just as quietly, letting Clark’s wrist go finally. “Gentlemen, if you’d kindly bow out of this round, I’d like to make a private wager with my old friend,” Lex called, clasping his arm around Clark’s back, in a tone that everyone recognized. His words weren’t a request.
And shit. Radek was leaving his table. Clark started to move after him but Lex placed his other arm on Clark’s chest so that Clark was standing in some sort of demented Lex-hug.
“The–”
“Mercy is taking care of it. You belong here. Would you like to be banker, or shall I?” Lex queried considerately. Clark stared back blankly.
“I’d like to place a bet with you,” Lex enunciated slowly.
Clark cursed mildly in Russian under his breath, then went to the equivalent of ‘fuck off.’ Lex chuckled, stepped away, and dealt out two cards each.
“I win, you give me something. You win, I’ll give you something. That simple.”
Clark swallowed distractedly. He could make out a bright red ponytail following Radek from a short distance; had to be Mercy.
“….what are you talking about?” Clark asked, increasingly incensed. This was his Pulitzer, flying out the window before his very eyes. And um—a criminal. That he’d be putting away, while getting his Pulitzer. Everyone won in this scenario. Well, except Lex, who Clark would have to tie to a slot machine apparently, if he was ever going to get out of here. Clark pulled Lex further away from the table; Lex was apparently inclined to go wherever Clark led.
“Anything you want,” Lex continued silkily. “Money, land, certain members of the Russian mafia,” he murmured so low that only Clark’s super hearing could pick up on it.
“Oh, you’re good,” Clark said, meaning it. Mercy probably had Radek stashed away somewhere lead-lined by now. He turned to face Lex, resigned.
“I try,” Lex grinned.
“I’m not killing anyone.”
“Of course not,” Lex soothed.
“Or—putting them in cages, or poisoning them so your flunkies can kill them, or….”
“Stop, stop, I can’t write that fast. This is good stuff.” Lex had pulled out his Blackberry and was maneuvering the stylus across the sleek device. He looked up again, waiting.
Clark scowled and flipped Lex a particular finger mentally.
“Did you know baccarat means ‘zero’ in my native language?” Lex asked conversationally, escorting him back to the table. “It was based on an old Etruscan ritual of the nine gods. They prayed to a virgin while they waited on their tip-toes for her to throw a nine-sided die. If she threw an eight or nine, she’d become their priestess. If she threw a six or seven, she wouldn’t be permitted to participate in any other religious activities. Anything less than six, she would walk into the sea.”
Clark stared. “Did you rig this game?”
“No,” Lex said, taking a drink, eyes never leaving Clark’s face. Clark bit his lip and slid his chips in front of the player area. Lex placed his in front of the banker’s.
“Five,” Clark said, exhaling.
“Good thing you’re not a virgin in Etruscan times,” Lex said, turning over his own cards, Clark’s breath catching in his throat. Four, four, four, Clark willed.
Eight.
“Ni hooya sebe!” Clark cursed. Who knew what Lex would make him do to get to Radek? Give him access to the AI for ten minutes, help him stabilize some Kryptonian compound….
“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you.” Lex said, pushing away from the table.
Clark felt the card crinkle in his hand. “Huh?” he asked, waiting for Lex to add an ‘over’ or something.
“Wear something blue. It suits you,” Lex said, sliding Clark’s glasses back up his nose with a gentle tap. “Seven p.m., and you don’t want to be late or not show up altogether. Trust me on this….Vasili.” He glided away from the table, not looking back once, Hope re-emerging from where she’d been sitting at a slot machine watching his other side to lead the way.
Clark was left standing at the table, card the size of a spitball now. The dealer coughed lightly and held out his hand, not meeting Clark’s eyes.
Clark shoved the remnants of the card in the dealer’s hand.
He fled.
***
Clark was rummaging through his suitcase for something, anything blue, and had turned up with a pair of blue boxers and one of his oldest, most comfortable t-shirts. He pictured showing up in just that, and couldn’t help but choke a little at the image. Maybe he could just do a quick flight home, get out a suit, come back here. Then Clark realized he was thinking of dressing up for Lex, trying to look good for *Lex*, and wrinkled his nose. Lex could damn well deal when Clark showed up in khakis and a frown.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Clark tugged on a t-shirt on his way to answer.
“Mr. Luthor sent this for you,” Hope bit out, clearly incensed she had been relegated to delivery duty.
Clark took it wordlessly and shut the door in her face. He flung it on the bed and closing his eyes, forced himself to open the bag.
A suit. Blue shirt. Clark buried his face in his hands, trying to repeat, Pulitzer, Pulitzer to himself, but that only worked for Lois.
It figured. This one time, this *one* time, he’d decided to let his human self get a little credit, get a little windfall by breaking one of the most complicated stories in Western twenty-first century history, and kind of stick it to Lois in the process, it just figured that Lex would show up with one of his insensible games for Clark to tip-toe his way around blindly with all the grace of a cow.
***
At six fifty-nine exactly, Clark got in the elevator and went down to the lobby, looking around, trying to appear as cool and smooth as Lex undoubtedly would. He’d been trying to figure out what kind of aphorism “I’m going to fuck you” was for the last hour, and had given up. Lex probably wanted—League secrets, or something heavy moved quietly or—something.
Not that. Because—that would just be….well. The man bribed Clark’s former dates for written accounts. Clark tossed and turned restlessly in bed many nights trying to figure out what the hell *that* was all about; but mostly he was content whenever Lex wasn’t working on plans to blow up things. He could deal with bizarre stalking just fine if it kept Lex’s fingers out of other pots.
Well, Clark didn’t know what Lex would want, and he didn’t have to know, because Lex hadn’t meant it like that. Clark tugged at his tie, looking around.
“I pick out good clothes,” Lex said, stalking up, taking Clark’s arm.
“I’m going to kill you very slowly.”
“Promises, promises, Clark. I do miss the Russian accent though. That was nice. Maybe later? If I’m good?”
“What are you doing here, Lex?” Clark asked, desperately ignoring the weird innuendo.
“Hmm?” Lex gestured for Clark to get into the waiting limo outside, and proceeded to run a finger down the left cheek of Clark’s ass as Clark was bending to get in. Clark snapped back up so fast he hit his head on the roof of the car, and both he and Lex cringed hearing the bend of metal. Why couldn’t Clark stop *breaking* things around Lex?
Lex climbed in after him, saying nothing, so Clark continued. “Radek’s dealing arms to people who aren’t even friends of yours. People who have been giving LexCorp a lot of trouble in South America. You’d do well to see him put away too.”
“Radek’s an idiot and secondary for me tonight. You and I have our deal, and I’ll be generous, even though you lost, and give you Radek. Afterwards.”
“After what?” Clark exploded. “You can’t honestly expect me to–”
“Don’t worry. I realize you’re not a cheap date. Well. You are, but you should have higher standards. I’ll feed you, I’ll take you to bed, I’ll give you Radek. What’s the part that’s confusing you, Clark?”
Clark settled back into his seat, blinking.
Lex fingered the seat cushion idly. “….did you think what I said at the table was metaphorical?”
Clark couldn’t seem to make words come out of his mouth. “Why?” he sputtered.
The corner of Lex’s mouth twitched. “Because if I get you out of my system, I can go back to re-focusing my energy on destroying you and everything you stand for, etcetera, etcetera.” Lex made listless motions with his fingers. “Haven’t you noticed that I haven’t been my bright, normal self these last few months? I’ve been thinking. We’re in a rut.”
“A….rut.” Clark parroted.
“Yes. We’re all, ‘I’ll kill you’, or ‘I’ll drop you off this roof’ or, ‘I’ll eat your balls with a kryptonite spoon’.”
“You’ve never said that,” Clark told him faintly.
“But I’ve thought it a lot,” Lex continued smoothly. “I haven’t even been able to put together a good plot for your murder in weeks,” Lex said, disgusted, picking at his trousers lightly. “Clearly, this must be rectified.”
Clark made a couple of noises he hoped weren’t as high-pitched as they felt to his own ears, but couldn’t for the life of him string together two words.
“So. Sex for a criminal?” He managed. “That’s what you’re saying? I have to have sex with you, if you’re going to give me a guy who’s on more wanted lists than—well, you?
Lex huffed. “I hardly would put him in the same category as me. And sex for a criminal—you make it all sound so sordid. We had a bet. You lost. I’m just claiming what’s mine. My boon, so to speak.”
Clark sat silently.
“I’d love to suck you off in the car, but one, I think you’d fly away at this point, Radek or no Radek, and two, we’re here.”
Clark hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped. He continued to wait sullenly in the car so Lex couldn’t grope his ass, and once Lex figured out what he was doing, he broke out in a small laugh, so genuine Clark couldn’t help but twitch in return, and watch as Lex’s legs disappeared out of the car, slim hand still visible, held out to Clark.
With a sigh, Clark slid out of the car too, brushing past Lex and climbing the stairs of the restaurant.
It was times like these he got really pissed off that alcohol didn’t help the Kryptonian species one bit.
***
Clark speared another piece of fish, chewing happily.
“You’re pretending it’s my head?” Lex queried, spooning up his sauce.
“Head….other parts, who can say,” Clark said, swallowing. “If we’re going to do this, can we just—go?” He asked, unable to take it anymore. For the last hour, Lex had been—charming. Freakishly charming. Telling odd stories about his boardroom members, the time Mercy had choked on a cantaloupe and shot at the street vendor who’d sold it. Clark had found himself talking about the two times he and Lois had gone out on dates before they’d figured out that the whole—touching thing and sex thing was just hideous and wrong between them. Lex just looked so *interested*, and Clark couldn’t stop talking.
It was like—like they were friends, like they’d rewound the clock to ten years ago and Clark wanted it to stop. Maybe Lex had the right idea—one night, one time; get it out of their systems. Clark liked knowing where he stood with people, especially Lex, and a Lex that was acting this unusual…. Lex needed to go back to his peculiar stalking from afar, not the direct and close-up version he was employing now.
Lex wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it carelessly on the table. “I’m staying just down the block. We can walk. It’s a nice night.”
Clark stood up and followed Lex out of the room, not noticing Lex’s smile as for the first time, he didn’t twitch when Lex touched him.
***
Lex stood at the window, one hand in his pocket, the other nursing his glass of scotch next to his chest.
“How are we—doing this?” Clark asked, sitting on the edge of the very nice chaise he’d commandeered from the moment they entered the room.
“It’s pretty straightforward. I take off my clothes. You take off yours. I–” Lex’s words were cut short when the decorative pillow Clark flung at him hit his head.
Both Clark and Lex stared, stunned at the pillow on the floor.
“I didn’t expect it to actually hit you,” Clark offered, in way of an apology.
“Naturally,” Lex agreed. Even with the drive-by pillow attack, he still hadn’t dropped his drink.
“Well. Get on the bed.” Lex directed, finishing off the drink. Clark bit his lip and sat down gingerly, the bed practically conforming to his shape. Without thinking, Clark spread out a little more, just to feel the soft mattress.
“I am so buying one of these,” he said, flexing into the bed.
Lex didn’t respond, so Clark leaned up a little. He’d never seen Lex so intent on anything, and intent was an oft-seen expression on Lex Luthor’s face.
And fuck, was it hot. “Radek’s in Room 349. Mercy has been instructed to give him to you whenever you show up. In whichever guise.” Lex said suddenly, loosening his tie and sitting on the other side of the bed, as far away from Clark as possible.
“Wait, what?” Clark shifted to his elbows again.
“You didn’t honestly expect me to use a bet over a game of baccarat to fuck you, did you? I do have a modicum of class, Clark,” Lex said, rubbing his nose slightly.
“But we had a deal!” Clark’s protest surprised himself as much as it apparently did Lex, who only turned to look at him thoughtfully, moving an inch closer.
“I don’t go back on my bets. Deals.” Clark said, trying to cover, feeling his cheeks brighten with each progressive word.
Lex’s cheek twitched a tiny bit. “I’m not saying this is the end of it by any means; I’m simply saying that my partners are with me because they want to be, for one reason or another.”
“Then—what was the point of any of this?” Clark asked, flushing angrily, wondering what Lex must think of him—of his willingness to do this, and he’d have *done* it.
He still….wanted to.
“Clark. Be sure, very sure, of what you’re saying. I just gave you your out. I won’t give you another one.”
“Don’t you want to see if it works?” Clark asked.
“What?”
“Getting me out of your system,” Clark whispered.
Lex started, closing his eyes. He gripped Clark’s thigh and pressed him down with a palm to his chest. Clark’s head hit the bed so hard it bounced.
***
With every inch of skin that was revealed underneath the suit, Lex felt his chest become tighter and tighter. It hadn’t been a risk, giving Clark the option of leaving, not really. He’d seen the dilation of Clark’s eyes as the evening progressed, felt how Clark had timed his steps to match the rhythm of his own on the short walk over. It hadn’t been a risk, yet it had felt like the stupidest maneuver Lex had ever tried. He wanted to make this good—no, he wanted to make this un-fucking forgettable, so that whenever Clark saw him for the rest of his goddamn alien life, he’d see this in his mind’s eye, he’d feel Lex over him, under him, in him. Those thoughts weren’t exactly conducive to getting the man “out of his system”, but surely Clark wouldn’t be shocked that Lex had lied about that particular point. Clark flies; Lex lies, they were basic fundamental truths that had started sinking in finally just a few years ago.
They were off to a great start, Lex had to admit. Clark was warm and red and sprawled all over the bed, mouth falling open in surprise every time Lex did something particularly talented and Lex knew the videos would be enough to get him through the next few months it might take to get Clark here again. There were plenty of evil-doers; many of them were in Lex’s Rolodex after all. He’d hand over every single one if that was the only way to have this.
Then—then, it happened.
It was an accidental discovery, like when Lex was six and found out that if you mixed enough vinegar and baking soda you could make a volcano that would cover the entirety of the kitchen floor, or like that time in college when he invented that whole new methamphetamine.
Lex brushed his fingers along Clark’s thigh, his nail scratching light patterns along the skin. Some of the lube had leaked on the blanket. Lex’s hand slipped a fraction and suddenly, there was a hitch in Clark’s breath and he started shaking.
Reviving slightly, Lex looked up lazily, expecting a big soft grin to greet him, but instead, Clark’s whole face was tilted toward the ceiling, his eyes watering, breath coming out shallowly.
“Clark?” He drawled, pulling his hand away. It was like someone had flicked off a light switch and the electricity stopped pumping its way through Clark.
“Lex?” Clark blinked, choking a little around his name. “Do—do that again.”
“Do what?” Lex asked, genuinely confused.
“That—thing. With your hand,” Clark gasped out, hands swiping at his eyes.
Bewildered, Lex started to move toward Clark’s cock, pleased to see it was already half-hard, only to have Clark’s fingers wrap around his wrist. “No, not—not there. On my thigh.”
“I was just touching you,” Lex said, but repeated the motion again, slowly.
“No, no.” Clark uttered impatiently, “Like you were doing it before, with your fingers going back and forth.”
Arching an eyebrow at Clark’s directive, Lex nonetheless complied, moving his hand along the same place where he’d rubbed the lube into Clark’s skin. The bed started shaking, and Lex glanced up again, startled.
Clark was laughing, laughing so hard the bed was *moving*.
“Are you okay?”
“Just—harder.” Clark—and there wasn’t any other word for it—giggled.
“Clark, I’m just tickling you.” But his hand had automatically started the motion; it was almost like any Clark-issued request immediately bypassed his brain for the permission and Lex’s body was always pleased to comply.
“I—yes, good.” Clark started sliding up along the sheets, his own hand twisting in them on his right. Fascinated, and finally aware that there was something a little different going on, Lex decided to try his luck on another patch of skin and started tickling with a little more dedication.
Clark’s back arched so high that Lex had to reach a bit, to maintain the slight pressure and the quick movements.
“Yeah, yes, mmft.” Clark muttered low. Lex sat up and started on the other side with his left hand, and Clark’s eyes were tearing up again, but his cock was fully hard and the sheets were ripping in Clark’s grip.
Huh. Lex shifted so he could tickle a little harder, hands flickering along Clark’s sides, up his stomach, and Clark positively *screamed*, thrashing on the bed, the loud tear he was inflicting on the sheet echoing throughout the room.
Clark spasmed one final time and came, head cracking the solid headboard neatly along the middle, and Lex was going to mount that on his private office *wall*, the come mostly landing on his own stomach and thighs, but reaching Lex’s chest as well.
Clark exhaled, eyeing Lex warmly. “Well.” Lex started, “that was…interesting.”
And the hottest damn thing he’d seen in the whole of his life. Lex wanted to try it again and again, just to see what would happen.
“I can see you thinking. Stop it.” Clark directed fuzzily, pulling Lex down next to him. Lex landed awkwardly on his side and smoothed Clark’s sweaty hair back.
“Has that—ever happened?” Lex asked curiously. No one had ever reported back anything remotely like it—Clark coming this hard, this fast, this close together, because of….tickling.
“No,” Clark’s breath hitched. “That was new.”
“And good?” Lex wanted to hear it fall from Clark’s very own lips.
Clark narrowed his eyes to slits. “It almost hurt, but in a good way. Very, very good,” he said almost to himself. Lex soaked up the still drying come with part of the sheet, and wrapped the other half around himself, propping his arm up on an elbow to stare at Clark.
“Am I out of your system?” Clark murmured, but Lex could tell he was more asleep than awake.
“That will never happen,” Lex told him, pressing a kiss to Clark’s temple, letting his lips memorize the sensation.
But between the Rolodex and the fact that he could now wield….tickling as a sparkling new weapon of doom, Lex thought it was a pretty safe bet he wouldn’t have to find a way to do that after all.