Title: Ungay Hide Away
Author: FlowDi

Rated: Heh. R. But that’s cause Lex has a potty mouth.

Feedback: LadyFlowDi@aol.com  

URL: http://www.geocities.com/dianasdestination

Beta reader: I luff my Elizabeth :) Thank you, darling, you rock the friggin tizzalicious.

Spoilers: Not any. Set during the first season. :)

Disclaimer: Clark and Lex aren’t mine; I just like to put them into compromising situations.

Summary and/or challenge: Clark and Lex are running way from someone or something. They hide, and get locked up in a very small closet. What happens? (kira-nerys)

Notes : Clark and Lex. Tiny closet. Christmas. ::sighs:: yes, its one of those stories. But I had to! And their will be a sequel, which is already half done :)

*Ungay Hide Away*

I had the Piña Colada song stuck in my head.

Yeah…you know. The one. ‘If you like piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain…if you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain. If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape. Then I’m the one that…’…. you get the picture. Damnit.

I hummed it softly, raising the flute glass to my lips as before me, apparently, seven lords were leaping. Snerk. Lords. Gay lords maybe. …heee! Okay. Serious. I can be serious. Right? Right. …. Not that I’m gay. Or would know. About gay lords. And the like.

This song makes no sense. Okay…so some guy is looking at the personals one night, after having sex with his lady, he meets this woman through it, goes to go meet her at O’Malley’s…and suddenly, his lady walks in? And she’s the woman from the personal ads? And they *laugh*? The guy who wrote this had to be either very gay, or very retarded. Every woman I’ve ever come in contact with would probably club the guy over the head with a beer bottle and take his nuts home in a jar.

I have this problem with trying to detach myself from situations I’m uncomfortable with, as you should know by now.

“Falala-lalalaaa…falalalala…faaalala-la-la!” Only these people could have one of the biggest pop princesses of all time singing Christmas songs at their party. “Oh, so much joy at Christmas time…the spirit of giving is in our liiives…”

Red. Green. Gold, for as far as I can see. Velvet, satin, shining faces with a backdrop of snow covered windows and the snow currently tearing through the Bible belt like Satan on a snow sled. It was beautiful, perfectly orchestrated in that Luthorian manner that was all pomp and circumstance.

It was so, *so* cheesy.

Drinking, the lovely voice of Ms. Spares. Or whatever her name is. Reserved, baritone laughter. Cookies that probably cost more than my education. Tuxe’s cut to perfection, smiling faces and holiday ‘cheer’ all around me. Women in dresses that must have been in the upper thousands, tinkling feminine voices and the glint of 24 caratt diamonds.

I will never, for as long as I live, forgive him. Ever. Him, of course, being my best friend in the world, rich kid, playboy billionaire. Bastard. He dragged me into this, and then split. Or, well, went into hiding.

Not that I blame him, so to speak.

I mean, at first…. I really hadn’t known Lex needed help. In fact, I hadn’t even been aware of it at all until one morning, when I’d been delivering Christmas orchids to his waiting staff to spread about the mansion. See what I mean about Lex being a cut above the rest? No one was gonna see those orchids but him and the maids, and he gave half of them to the lovely woman. See? There *is* such a thing as a sweet cutthroat.

I noticed his funk right off the bat. Sitting alone in his office, staring out the window and brooding to high hell. A glass of brandy in his hand and he chugged it like a fish, muttering to himself something akin to “ba humbug,” which at the time, had been outstandingly funny. Now, though, that I was in the midst of his nightmare, I wish I were old enough to take a sip of that lovely champagne the waiters kept walking by with.

So far 6 women had propositioned me. ….And 3 men. Yeah. You know. *That* kind of propositioning. What, do these people have nothing better to do than sit around and have sex all day? Are they that bored? And hello, do I look like I’m gay? I felt slightly indignant…and insulted. Well, kinda. The hot babe wearing the eye patch in front of me was making me feel better. Kinda. …Not really.

There was so much money in these four walls right now, so much jealousy, greed and envy that it was almost a physical entity. It lay like a thick blanket over the room, giving it a strange tension I’d never felt before.

Don’t believe me, do you? All right, well, take the older woman and man standing next to me.

“So, have you talked to Jameson about getting Harold into Yale?”

”Oh, yes, darling, we’ve already taken care of the tuition all the way through medical school, and furnished the west wing of the school for him. Nothing less for my darling little boy.”

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful.”

“Yes, yes, he makes us proud. What of Richard?”

“Princeton. We finally bought the mountain estate…yes, the one that’s been there for nearly 400 years. Pleasure to remodel, I tell you. Pulled a few things with the president, and all. The Bushes are such sweet people. We also bought Richie a few new vehicles to get himself around town. The Astons his favorite.”

“Oh, well, perhaps Harold can pick him up in his plane sometime and they can go on a jaunt overseas. Perhaps back pack through Europe. They could even visit Harold’s Italian château.”

“Only if they see the Villa in Spain first.”

Dude. People are fucking retarded. How the *hell* Lex managed not to loose what’s left of his mind around these people, how he managed to just step out of this bubble of snobbery and become his own sleek, intelligent, wonderful self is gonna be the first question I ask him when I find him.

Emphasis on “find him.”

I’ve got a confession to make. I’ve…well…Lex gets in trouble, more often times then not. Somehow he manages to nearly kill himself every other week. Frankly, I don’t want to see him die, as I’d be lost without him, and no, that’s not gay. So shut up. Anyway, to prevent his imminent demise I’ve memorized his skeleton. You know. From the knit bones to the scarred ribs, the pins in his shoulders and the one in his knee. Missing appendix. I could tell him apart from a lot of people…not that I stared at him or anything. He’s my friend. I’m *supposed* to glance casually.

So there.

Anyway. Somehow, throughout this living hell of nauseating Christmas cheer, the diamonds and food and fake laughter, not even the woman’s voice on stage could salvage my desire to stay. Cause…dude, she’s hot. Cause, yeah. Girl. Mrowr. All blond and foxy. And…blond. And...well, foxy.

I smiled a bit at the lady who’d been right next to me, touching my arm and laughing at nothing, and shook her gently away. “I’m going to go find the rest room...I…I ate some really bad…. beluga earlier, and...yeah.”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times, eyelashes fluttering, the hand she’d had clasped to my arm coming to her chest like I was a virus. I could barely hold the snicker in. “Well…feel better. …How old are you, again?”

Sixteen. “Twenty four.”

“Oh. Well, Mr. Kent, if you’re ever in Metropolis again….” She reached into her purse, and extracted a slim note card, which she slid into the palm of my hand. Soft smile, and after a few more moments, walked reluctantly away.

Hell. Yeah. Cause Clark Kent is the fuckin’ *master*.

I grinned after her, tucked the card in my pocket, and turned to the double doors that were only a few feet behind me.

And ran smack into Lionel Luthor.

Lionel is…well…magnificent. Yes. That’s the perfect word, here. Magnificent. With the long hair and the stately build and the rich guy voice, he’s got the entire package of “Lookit me, I’m a trillionare!” going. Don’t get me wrong—I hate him with a bloody passion, but I do respect who he is and what he does. Kind of.

“Clark…I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Ah…thanks, Mr. Luthor.”

“How are you enjoying the party?”

It sucks. People are dumb. And rich! “Its great. Foods great, music’s great…everything’s…great.”

“Ah, wonderful. Have you by any chance seen my son?”

I raised a brow. The way he’d said that had been kinda…sharky. I didn’t like it. “I actually haven’t.”

“Ah, well. Probably went off to the clubs. Let me know when you’re ready to go home, Clark, and I’ll have one of my staff take you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Luthor. That’s very generous.” *And very amusing because my dad threatened your balls if you left me in Metropolis to fend for myself*.

“Think n—“

“Mr. Luthor.” A slim, blond man tapped Lionel on the arm, and when Lionel turned to look at him, I almost jumped. “Will you be needing anything else of me tonight?”

“No, thank you Jimi--…” He glanced at me, blushed (Yes, Lionel Luthor. I know!) “Dominic. I trust I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Yes.” A soft, tender smile that was meant to look companionable and only came off enamored. The…*Christ*. Chemistry, blood, pure sex and deep love jumping between the two like an invisible ping pong game, and okay, I’m seriously naïve but damn. Damn. Even *I* saw it. The blond man gently rubbed a few fingers through his goatee to ward off the blush, and I turned on my heel and left...but not without a backwards glance. Wow. So…Lionel…was…wow.

Wow.

I pushed through the enormous doors leading out of the ballroom, glass still in hand, and stepped into the muffled, quiet hallway. Sigh. Thank God. Another minute of the piña colada lyrics and the Lionel/assistant eye fucking and I was gonna loose it.

That wasn’t gay, the way I just said that, right?

Luthor Manor was impressive. Not just on a grand scale, but what was *in* it was what blew one away. Gold, mahogany, *old*. It smelled like money. A lot of it. Like someone who can afford to have this place scrubbed from basement to attic every day of the week. Well, lemme tell you, that’s damn hard.

I walked casually down the hall, smiling at a couple walking by me. The runner underfoot was cushy and rosen, the wallpaper the same pale shade, paintings of fields and gardens lining the walls. Who knew Lionel liked flowers. Who knew Lionel liked flowers enough to make his main hallway motiefed in them. Not that he’s gay. Or very gay. Like me. A bunch of ungay guys just hanging around, drinking seven up and eggnog and shootin’ the shit.

I grinned at the mental imagery of Lionel Luthor attempting that very thing and snickered.

The hallway turned to the left sharply, leading down about 20 feet to a huge window. Four doors lined the hall, vases and sculptures, and I admired the way it was decorated as I leaned against the wall comfortably. Always nice to know at least someone was doing his or her job, even if it was interior decorating.

Not that I’d know. About interior decorating. Or decorating, period. I was a man, after all. An ungay man.

I focused…dancing skeletons. Damn. I will never, ever get used to that. Ever. I shuddered down in my toes, watching the mingling people drinking, chattering, and what could only be the pop princess’s body. Silicon, anyone? I skimmed….someone using a bathroom…further, behind him, a couple having some outrageous—

My cheeks burned and I quickly looked away. Two maids…a dog…crap. He couldn’t have left. One, Lex’d never leave me alone, two, his car was still here, and three, he’d never leave me here *alone*! Ever! Because he knows that the revenge would be out of this world, and so, so sweet.

I sighed, looking down through my hand…then yelped loudly before I could strangle it.

There, in the wall right by my leg, was Lex. Or, well, Lex’s skeleton. Drinking from a bottle.

Sigh.

There was a discreet door in the wall with a lovely rosin knob that twisted effortlessly under my hand. I turned it, opened it a crack, and peaked in.

And there he was. All six feet of him sprawled out in the bottom of the…it was a closet. He was leaning against the wall, one leg tucked to his chest, the other curled underneath the raised one. His skin was flushed with alcohol, his dress shirt partially undone and his tie rumpled with his jacket and shoes in a ball on the floor beside him. Thick yellow candles were lit, and they cast the tiny room in a yellow glow as a breeze from a partially hidden vent in the ceiling made it cool and comfy. Above him, furs hung…apparently the guest’s coats, as there had not been enough room in the coatroom.

He was playing Solitaire.

“Lex?”

”Close the door, Clark.”

“What are you doing in the closet?”

“Close the door.”

I blinked a little…once…twice. Then stepped in and closed the door behind me. “Lex… what?”

“I’m playing cards. What does it look like?”

”Its Christmas Eve.”

“It’s a tradition.”

“To get drunk and play Solitaire?”

”To stay away from my father and drink responsibly.”

“I just talked to him.”

“Yeah?”

”He said he thought you’d gone out clubbing.”

“Should have. But its hollow.”

“Why?”

”Cause you’re not there.”

I blinked down at the crown of his head…then looked into his face when he tipped it upwards. Hazy awareness, a slow smile sliding across softer lips. “Ah….I’m only 16. I can’t go clubbing. Besides…it would be weird.”

”Would it now.” He took another long drink of the bottle, and I averted my gaze from the…the way his tongue wrapped around the…I’ve mentioned I’m not gay?

“You’re wasted.”

“Am not.”

“So says your breath…I can smell it all the way up here. What the hell are you drinking?”

”Vodka. 1943. Good year for liquor, bad year for everything else.”

I almost couldn’t hold the laugh in. “Interesting choice.” I held out my partially empty glass.

He glared.

“Oh, come off it. Like you weren’t immune to tequila at my age.”

“I was also a party animal and a seasoned veteran in the manners of sex and drugs.”

 

“I’m a party animal.”

“Bad to the bone.” Low, amused drawl

“You’re toasted.”

“Not quiet, but I sure as hell hope to be before the nights over.”

The closet was small, but I just managed to sit down and relieve my aching feet. I was an alien, not a super human, here, people. I shoved my constricting jacket lapels off my shoulders, feeling his gaze on my neck…eyeing me as only he had as I dropped the jacket atop his. Off came the tie, Windsor knot tugged and yanked till it came undone, shoes next before I dragged my fingertips through my hair. He was staring. “What? Did you actually think I enjoyed one minute of that? Tell me again why you put yourself in one every day.”

“You’re adorable when I’m half pissed, I didn’t think you’d enjoyed it, no, and I’m a billionaire and plan to keep it that way.”

“You’re very chatty when you’re drunk.”

“Why thank you, Clark.” He leaned over and poured a finger of the liquor into my glass of seven up. “If you get tipsy from that I’m gonna laugh. Know this, right off the bat.” He grinned and rose the slim bottle to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the top again to….I’m not gay.

I swallowed hard and rose the glass to my own mouth, taking an experimental sip as I watched his throat muscles work at the liquid being poured.

Very suddenly, I knew why Lex’s body struggled to take it down.

I coughed, hacked as the hot fire and caffeine tumbled down my throat, exploding in coughs and gasps as I tried not to throw it up. My belly was positively revolted, and glared as Lex hit his head against the wall laughing.

The sound was long, hardy, sweet in a way and I realized suddenly that it was the first time I’d ever heard him laugh. It made my heart pound and my blood sing. …not in a gay way. “Okay…Lex….remember, deep breaths…man, you are *really* out of it.”

“I am.” He wiped dramatically at his eyes and swept the cards up, shuffling them. “Let’s play strip poker.”

“Let’s not.”

“Oh, come on, Clark. You scared?”

”Frankly?”

”Chicken shit.”

“Am not!”

“Scared someone’ll find you naked here with me?”

”You’re really retarded when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not so drunk. Come on.”

I paused to look into those amused gray eyes, watching the crinkles around his eyes as the creased around his grin.

Damn.

“Fine. But only if you promise to tell me what you’re doing in here.”

“Only if you promise to tell me how many ways of saying drunk that you have.”

“Deal.”

“I’m hiding.”

“How come?”

He stared at me. “Have you not seen the group of ravenous hyenas my father calls business partners sitting around in that room chatting about the weather and who exactly they plan to take over next and who’s on the list to be exterminated? And oh, the wives, the lovely, lovely old women in dresses they shouldn’t be wearing, looking for sex because they don’t do anything but sit around at home and plan charity auctions and wear their jewelry and wonder if Abigail is going to get together with Rico on General Hospital.”

“Women asked me.”

He blinked, as if confused after his tirade. “Huh?”

“Women. They asked me to go home with them.”

Another blink but this one was pure surprise, and his lashes fluttered a moment. “I…wow. And you said no?”

”Yes! Of course I said no!”

“Moron.” He took another long swig of the bottle. “Why?”

Cause I’m …NOT GAY. “Seemed wrong. Plus, their husbands were like, right there.”

He snickered again. “Your turn.”

“To?”

 

“Tell me your phrases for drunk.”

”Oh, yeah. Okay...well…lets see.” I rolled my shoulders, pulling a creak from them as I got comfy. “Hammered. Wasted. Stoned. Drink. Pissed. Faced.”

“And you’re assuming I’m all of that right now?”

I rose a smile up from under my lashes. “Not quite yet.”

“I thought so. Want a cookie?”

”Wait a minute. Not only do you have a bottle of vodka, you have those three hundred dollar Christmas cookies?”

”Whole plate.”

“Gimme.”

He grinned and reached behind him into the closet before a plate of golden, frosted gourmet cookies was set between us. They were really pretty, and I would have admired them if I weren’t admiring something else. He stuck his legs deep into the closet and lay there, on his belly, propped up on his elbows so the shirt was taut against his chest…against his nipples. His socked feet swung in the air, and…he was wearing snowman socks.

It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen in my life.

“How in the hell did you manage to smuggle an entire plate of cookies back here?”

“You say that as if anyone thought that Lex Luthor grabbing a plate of cookies, a bottle of vodka, and walking off is strange.”

“Lex?”

”Yep?”

”You are very weird.”

 

“Why, thank you, Clark.”

“So…strip poker, then?” I swallowed and stretched out as well, leaning on one elbow. “You start us.”

“Ah, yes. Like I wasn’t gonna.” He shuffled the brightly colored, Christmas hued cards in his hands, feet bopping against the tense muscles of thighs and ass that flexed with every--…a thing that I don’t know about because I’m not gay. “You ever play before?”

I started, meeting his eyes and in a small part of my mind, I thanked god for that bottle there next to Lex’s elbow. If he weren’t half pissed…he’d be asking a lot of questions about me staring at his ass.

Not that anything happened. Was memorizing his pelvis bone. Yes. That’s it.

“Can’t say I have.”

“Are you still a virgin Clark?”

 

My gaze shot up in surprise and I choked on the first bite of snowman cookie I’d bitten into. I gasped, gagged, cursed my moron gene as he reached over and thumped me on the back with the heal of his hand. “Christ! Is it on a bill board somewhere I’m not aware of?”

 

“Not exactly.” He smiled. “You just wear your innocence on your sleeve.”

Sure, Lex. I’m innocent every night when I’m jacking off to—Lana. “Not so much.”

“Yes. Yes, you are. You’re naïve and sweet and innocent.”

“And I suppose you’re a regular wolf.” I rolled my eyes.

“Grr, baby, *yeah*!”

And promptly burst out laughing. “Man, the blackmail opportunity here is priceless.”

“You wouldn’t. You love me too much.”

”And you’re lucky, cause anyone else would pounce.”

“Would you ever blackmail me? Really?”

”Nah. Don’t have the heart.”

”But if you did?”

”I’d blackmail you for a days use of your Lamborghini.’

“What about a days use of my ass?”

I went deadly still. Deadly still, in my ungay way. “What?”

”Nothing. Lets play.”

“Lex?”

”Yup?”

”…I don’t know how to play poker.”

His smile was just this side of sharky as he passed each of us five cards. “Really?”

”Really.”

”Eee-excellent.”

“Le-ex.”

“Alright, alright. Quick run down.”

”Lex, before you begin…” I stared down at the cards under my palm, and if I could have, I probably would have been able to see the blood drain down out of my face.

“Yeah?”

”These…uh. These cards have…” I cleared my throat. “Naked men having sex on the back.”

“Just noticed, huh?”

”Yeah. Uh…” I peaked under my palm and practically tasted myself turn crimson. “Yeah.”

“Aren’t they sexy?”

”I….can I ask you why exactly you have naked men having sex playing cards?” I stopped and stared at him for a long moment.

He just stared right back at me.

Oh. Ohhh. Oh! OH! So…oh! Ohhhhhh. Oh, God. “You’re….you know?”

”Clark, I’m playing with cards that have naked men having sex on the back. The spades are penises. The hearts are nipples. What do you think?”

“You’re eccentric?”

”Ding. Try again.”

“Wow. I…Lex.”

”Yup?”

”Are you just really, really hammered?”

”I am, but I’m also not lying.”

 

“’Also not lying’? Love your English.”

”What can I say? My verbal skills suffer when I’m drinking.”

”But not your poker game?”

”Hell no.”

”Show me how to play?”

 

“How about we just get naked and have sex?”

My heart leapt all the way up into my throat, where the blood that had drained out of my head was trying to come down, and it just set my skin to fire. “I…what?”

 

“Sex. Lets have some.”

 

“Lex…”

“Yeah. You know. You get naked. I get naked. I lick you until you scream. My cock generally goes in the vicinity of your ass. I jack you off as I pound into you. Sex. Really, really hot sex.”

I stuttered…fell silent.

 

Sproing. Instant erection.

But…I wasn’t…gay.

“C’mon, Clark. I’m not dumb. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same. Don’t tell me I’ve misconstrued all those looks you gave me. Don’t tell me any of that stuff was a lie, cause I’ll so totally call *you* a liar.”

“Like, for sure.” I mumbled in valley girl speak.

“Dork.”

“Ass pansy.”

“Cock sucker.”

I was crimson.

“A-ha! See? So you *have* had sexy thoughts.”

“No…I just never thought you’d say the words ‘cock sucker’ in a sentence. Here I thought you were a cultured guy just caught in the lusty cross fire.”

”So lust has been fired.”

“More then once.”

His eyes met mine in amused surprised. “Are you saying you’ve fired due to lust?”

Now or never. ”Every night.”

”About me.”

”Usually.”

“Clark, can I touch you?”

So much for my heart going anywhere. It bobbed in my throat as I worked to swallow…then rose my eyes from the naked men in my hand and the surprise in my expression must have spoke volumes.

“I’m not very drunk. Just tipsy. Enough to know I shouldn’t be saying all of this, but I’m glad I am.” He gently reached foreword, over the cookies and candles and naked men, and tucked a lock of hair hanging in my eyes behind my ear. A smile lit his face at just the tender touch, and his eyes… “Please. Clark.”

“Don’t ever plead, Lex. You don’t have to. Not…not ever. Not when you’re…with me.”

“You…” His throat worked. “With you?”

”I’m not gay.”

He blinked a little in surprise and almost cringed back at my sudden proclamation. Almost. “I thought…”

“I’m not. But my penis is very, very hard right now.” I paused, watching him as his throat worked in the candlelight. “And I guess that means something. The thought of you inside me is…well. Scary. But good. And I’m kind of desperately in love with you. Not that I’m gay.”

“Of course not.”

“I got a number.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I did!”

”I know. People recognize nice farm boy ass when they see it.”

“You’re so verbally eclectic.”

“Why thank you, Clark.” He was smiling. “So you’ve imagined us having sex?”

“In your bed, in your shower, on the floor. I’m not gay. I just…I’d like to be with you. In those places.”

“But you’re not gay.”

“Hell no.”

“Got it.”

“Good.”

“Clark?”

”Yeah?”

”Got anywhere important to be?”

”I’m pretty much thinking this is the most important place to be right now.”

“Clark?”

”Uh huh?”

”Yes, I like piña coladas…and getting caught in the rain.” He climbed to his feet and shook his hips, bottle in one hand, turning in a circle and dancing. “I’m not much into health food…I am into champagne.” He punctuated it with a slurp. “I’ve got to meet you by tomorrow noon and cut through all this red tape. At a bar called O’Malley’s, where we’ll plan our escape.”

“Lex?”

”Yeah?” He plopped down and swallowed a burp.

 

“If you sing one more word of that song, *ever*, I will stab you in the head.”

“Hehehe.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re very drunk.”

“Clark?”

 

“Yeah?”

”I think I’m gonna hurl.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s romantic.”