Title: Pon Farr, the Smallville Remix
Am-Chau Yarkona
Rating: very adult
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Cliche fic for RivkaT's challenge. Clark has Pon Farr. Lex has a pool table.

 

"So let me get this straight," Lex said, slowly. "You are an alien."

Clark nodded, urgently, and tried to adjust his trousers. This was getting to be a desperate situation.

"And you're going through some sort of… pon farr…"

Clark nodded again, and tried to ignore the fact that Lex seemed to watch Star Trek. This wasn't the moment to start mocking. Or, for that matter, quoting Klingon love poetry.

And he didn't think the Vulcans wrote love poetry, as such.

"… which means that you have to have sex with me. Now."

"Yes," Clark said, and swept the pool table clear. "Now."

"Err… Clark," Lex started, as he found himself pushed backwards onto the green baize. "You do know I'm not gay, don't you?"

That made Clark pause for a moment. "You're not gay?"

Lex shook his head.

"But you don't mind having sex with me, do you?"

"It's… not something I'd thought about before, to be honest."

Clark shrugged. "Good. It doesn't matter, anyway." He swooped in for a kiss, and Lex had to admit that if all men were like Clark, he'd seriously consider playing for the other team.

"Clark…" Lex gasped, when the kiss ended, "you're gay?"

"Well… no," Clark admitted. "But Lana refused, and this isn't exactly a problem my parents can help me with."

"Did you ask Ch…" Clark kissed Lex again before he could finish that question. His hands were working on stripping Lex faster than should be humanly possible… oh. Alien. Right.

Lex decided to try and stop being a scientist for a while, and just enjoy this.

He was being fucked. On his pool table. By a… stop. right. there.

By Clark, who is hot and sexy and… Lex moaned… has found the lube you hid in the ball rack in case Helen ever got ideas like that again, and has a finger up your ass.

At this point, asking how Clark knew things like that seemed a trifle redundant. Besides, the ability to form whole words, let alone whole sentences, seemed to have left for parts unknown, leaving him with a stock of moans, vowel sounds, and other pre-verbal noises. They weren't exactly discouraging Clark, which was a good thing.

Hands on his shoulders—one, two of them, lifting him up—which meant… gah.

Clark was still talking, which had to be one of those alien superpower things. "Lex… oh God… Lex… that's… that's right… move for me, Lex…"

Lex moved, hips thrusting almost of their own accord, legs wrapping around Clark's waist… fuck… fuck… fuck… Clark's hand jerking him off… and he was coming, spurts of warm liquid on his chest, on Clark's chest, probably ruining the fabric of his pool table, too.

He couldn't quite bring himself to care about that.

Clark kissed him, quickly, and shoved—once, twice—and came, he could see it on Clark's face, pleasureheatmovementcoming, an overwhelming wave of feeling to drown in.

"Clark?" Lex asked when Clark's eyes opened again. "Do you… how often does this happen?"

Clark tipped his head to one side, thoughtful. "Err… does four times a week suit you?"

 

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