Linger

It's heavy, slow, reverent, and Lex could get used to this.

Sex is playful, sex is fast with passions and fades with morning. Sex doesn't linger.

That's just not the way that he does things.

But this is different, and important, and if he saw past two months with Helen, he wants to lose sight of where this thing is going with Clark. Having no destination is nice for a change, he thinks, because it doesn't matter where they go or how off course it becomes, as long as Clark's there it's a vector and there's a point in the distance where they are headed. Intent is just as good as an actual end.

He lets himself taste, slowly, carefully, because even though this isn't the first time or the last time, this is still a time with Clark.

He ignores whatever the hell Clark is whispering since Clark's sex talk is incomprehensible anyway, and he learned that about the second month into this thing. He ignores it and does what he knows that Clark will like, and presses his tongue into all the dark, secret places that he's marked off for himself over the years: tracing territory. His hands are braced along Clark's thighs, still-pale skin along still-tanned flesh, and he remembers thinking that they were beautiful twined together.

He doesn't have any idea where this is going, and he knows from experience that he can do this for hours. He might just have to, hearing the delicious, wet sounds that Clark is making from the back of his throat.

He's had years to fuck him fast, hard, and roughly. He's done it sweetly and gently, too. They've had laughs and kinks and a thousand different variations on the same dance, and today, Lex is doing what is most native to his disposition: studying him.

Clark's hands stroke along his shoulders and Lex remembers post-coital murmurs about how it's not fair that Lex doesn't have any hair for Clark to pull.

He likes how this is slow and sticky, soft but not at all gentle. This is all insistence and demand: in the rise of one hip, the jerk of one smooth, bronze thigh, and the gasped voices of two people who have been in rhythm for a long time. This is every kind of excess, splendidly slow and thick like molasses.

He's damp from closeness and he suddenly changes direction, pushes himself up and slides against the flat planes of Clark's stomach until they're face to face again: sleepy green eyes staring into his own, looking winded and bemused.

"Having fun?" Clark manages.

Lex grins, makes one downthrust, hard enough to make Clark whimper and feels their cocks sliding together. "Maybe."

"You're such a fucking tease," Clark chokes out, placing two large, brown hands on Lex's hips and forcing down for another tight, burning stroke. "Fuck."

"That," Lex gasps, "is the idea."

And then they don't talk, just move in time to one another: the same way that they did during Clark's sophomore year of college, when all of this was totally new and Lex wanted to ease Clark into the idea. This isn't nearly as deep and complicated as anything that built between them over the years, and departure, Lex decides, is a truly inspired sort of thing.

A shallow gasp and he knows it is going to be soon.

How long has it been since they'd come together, he's almost forgotten.

But he remembers why this happened: old lovers and old habits and sex becoming mechanical, so he decided to regress them. "What are we, fifteen?" Clark asked him earlier. That was before the licking.

He pauses just long enough to dart in for a kiss -

He doesn't want to see Clark come, he wants to feel it.

- and one last stroke.

Lex doesn't bother to stop himself from biting down on Clark's bottom lip and the kiss isn't enough to hide the sound of Clark's moaning, or stop the way Clark's arms wind around his torso and squeeze - just hard enough to leave bruises for tomorrow.

Clark snaps back into focus remarkably quickly after sex, and if it's one thing that Lex really hates, it's that.

This time is no exception.

"I reiterate, fifteen," Clark says lazily, shifting them. The best part of a ridiculously large bed is that no one has to sleep on the wet spot.

Lex is now sort of face down in the pillow, and his limbs are cheerfully ignoring him in favor of blindly seeking Clark and familiar skin to stroke.

It takes a few minutes, but Clark's learned to be patient with him in situations like this.

"Nothing like this happened when you were fifteen," Lex finally says. Lex knows this for sure because he remembers looking up Kansas' legal codes many, many times, just to check if maybe this wasn't an option.

Lex can feel Clark's smile against his skin before a close-mouthed kiss on his shoulder.

"No wonder I was such an uptight kid," Clark says lightly.

Lex wants to mumble something witty in response, but if Clark's incoherent during, then he's useless after so he settles for pressing in closer and closing his eyes.

He's got all the time in the world.

The End