Title: Broken
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Author's e-mail:
kelandris@drakmail.net
Author's webpage:
http://kelandris.iwarp.com/media/smallville/between.html
Disclaimer:
They are on loan from DC Comics to Millar Gough Ink
and the
WB network. I own no interest in
Smallville nor in its creators. Insignificant slasher passing under radar.
Category: BDSM/Established Relationship/Humor
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: For the pilot of “Smallville” only.
Summary: Lex agrees to a little restraint, and Clark gets a little unrestrained.
Author's notes: This is part of the Third Wave CLFF challenge, started December
1st, 2002. My challenge: Level 1 Challenge, 5,000 words or
thereabouts. Further challenge: Do an NC-17 all-dialogue story. Furtherer
challenge: Use one of philtre’s one-line challenges in the story: “Any luck
finding the keys to these handcuffs?” Additional: this challenge is going to
kill me. And the nice little idea I had has vanished in the two week wait to
write, so now I’m stealing an idea from *myself*! How sick is that?
BROKEN
*tink*
“Oops.”
“Clark?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you just say, ‘oops’?”
“Um…”
“Clark…”
“Yeah. I, um…yeah.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Why ‘oops’?”
“Um…”
“*Clark*…”
“Uh…”
“And what was that sound?”
“What was…what sound?”
“Clark, just because I can’t see you, don’t assume it means I don’t know you’re blushing. Now, tell me what happened.”
“I, um…I lost the key.”
“You…what?”
“I--lost the key. To the cuffs.”
“You…lost the key.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not what it sounded like.”
“Um…”
“Clark…”
“Lex, I’m sorry! Don’t you have another key?”
“Let me think. I don’t usually *need* a spare key.”
“Oh, God…”
“Check the top drawer of the *armoire*. My side of the bed.”
“Top--by that little--”
“No, where I usually keep the--”
“Oh. Um. The…yeah.”
“Yes, Clark. Honestly…”
“What?”
“Well, as often as you’ve been in my room, you’d think you would know all the furniture intimately by now.”
“Uh…”
“My. You look wonderfully stunned.”
“Sorry. Um. Just. Thinking. About…about what you just said.”
“You have a kink for furniture?”
“Lex! That’s gross!”
“What? It’s better than a road fetish.”
“A road…I don’t want to know.”
“Probably not. You’re much too young for such things.”
“I am not!”
“Well. Advanced fetishes, very likely. Everyday average bondage, no, you’re becoming quite the expert. When you don’t lose the keys.”
*slither*
*rummage*
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Clark.”
“What?”
“Forget the key. Just stay bent over like that. I’ll be right there.”
“Lex!”
“What?”
“I’m trying to get you out of the cuffs, and you’re--you’re--”
“What, making you blush more? Don’t walk around naked in my room.”
“I thought you liked me naked.”
“I *love* you naked. In fact, I’d really love you naked over here.”
“Lex!”
“Stop sounding so shocked.”
“But, but it’s--it’s just so--”
“So help me, Clark, if you say ‘embarrassing’, I will come over there, handcuffs or no, and do something to you that will make you unable to look your mother in the eye for a week.”
*fumble*
*tink*
“What was that?”
“Uh…”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I, um…I’m sure I just, um…dropped it. Gimme a minute.”
“What was it, the doing something to you line, or the won’t be able to stare your mother down line?”
“Um…both.”
“At some point, when we have fewer restrictions, I should demonstrate.”
“Demonstrate--oh, God--”
“No. Just me.”
“Lex, stop it. I can’t concentrate when you use that voice.”
“What voice?”
“That voice you’re using now.”
“*This* voice?”
“Stop it!”
“But I thought you liked this voice.”
“I do. When I’m flat on the bed and you’re over me and you’re about to…um…”
“Go on.”
“Um…I mean…”
“You can’t even say it.”
“I can so!”
“Then say it.”
“S-say what?”
“Say *it*. Clark. *Say* it. Say, ‘when you’re about to *fuck* me’.”
“Oh, my God--no, I didn’t--”
“You can’t. Six little words. You can’t get them out.”
“I didn’t say that--stop teasing me!”
“All right. Say, ‘when you’re about to slide your cock into me, filling me up, stretching me wide, making me take every…single…inch of you…’”
*gasp*
“Lex…”
“Now, *that* voice, I could happily listen to for hours.”
“What…voice?”
“*That* voice. That throaty, deep one. The one that says to me, ‘Lex, my God, I nearly came right now, all over your little *armoire*, and if you don’t come over here right now and suck my cock I’m going to just explode.’ *That* voice.”
*gulp*
“It’s a very good voice, Clark.”
*creak*
“Don’t break the *armoire*.”
“Lex…*stop*…”
“Mm. I am sorry. But it’s so much fun to see that look on your face.”
“Forget the look on my face.”
“Very true. I’d much rather look at your ass. Turn around again.”
“Lex!”
“What?”
“You’re--you’re--”
“Don’t say it. Remember, your mother’s sanity is at stake. She’ll get all worried about you, and then she’ll start asking you questions, and you’ll just give in and tell her everything--”
“--and she’ll turn and tell my dad everything, and he’ll come over here with a sledgehammer--”
“I always thought he was more the shotgun type.”
“Really?”
“Well. I’ve *seen* him with a shotgun. I’ve never seen him with a sledgehammer.”
“I’ve seen him with a backhoe, and you don’t see me saying he’s going to attack you with it.”
“Good point. I’ve seen him holding your mother’s purse in the bakery, too, and I never expected to be attacked soundly with that.”
“You saw my dad holding a purse?”
“About a week ago. Yes. Why?”
“Oh, I *gotta* tease him about that.”
“Mm. Are you going to tell him who told you?”
“Of course I--what?”
“And how you found out?”
“Um…”
“Yeah, Dad, Lex saw you holding Mom’s purse, and I just wanted to know…what? When? Well, he was naked on the floor of his bedroom in a pair of handcuffs, and--”
“On second thought, can we just…not talk about my parents now?”
“What, ruining your perfect afternoon of rape and bondage?”
*gasp*
*pounce*
“Lex, I’d never, *never* do that, you *know* that--”
“Clark--need to--breathe a little--”
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m--”
*scoot*
“Sorry.”
*inhale*
“No, no, all apologies should be mine, Clark. It was a small, and apparently very humorless, joke. Of course you wouldn’t. I…trust you.”
“You…oh.”
“Yes. I, oh. Pretty much the same for me.”
“Um.”
“Indeed.”
“But--”
“No. Of more pressing concern right now--”
“Yeah. I can *see* your *pressing concern*--”
“No, no, Clark. It’s another problem entirely to which I’m referring.”
“I don’t think so. You could carve diamonds with that thing--”
“Clark--”
“I want to--”
“Oh…God…*Clark*--”
*gasp*
*arch*
“Oh, that feels so…wait. Clark, wait.”
“What? You think I should--”
“No, Clark. The handcuffs. *Try* to stay focused.”
“I am focusing.”
*gasp*
“Ah. Right. Okay. Keep focusing. Fuck the handcuffs.”
“Oh, God, Lex--”
“Mmm. Do that again. Oh, *God*, do that--”
“Is that--?”
“Perfect…”
“What about--”
*gasp*
“*Damn* it! Wait, Clark. Wait. No. We can’t. *I* can’t. I’m sorry.”
“But--”
“No. As good as you feel, as good as your *hands* feel, I really need my hands back. And the cuffs off.”
“Oh. Those.”
“Yes. Please? Or do I have to beg?”
“Uh…”
“Bet you’d *love* to hear me beg.”
“Um…”
“Clark. *Clark*. Just find the key, all right? Bring it over here and unlock the cuffs and I’ll beg all you want.”
“Oh, God…”
*slide*
*rummage*
“Lex…”
“Mm?”
“You ever…begged anyone before?”
“Begged anyone?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Lots of times. ‘Please, don’t stop.’ ‘Please, please, touch me.’ “Please, I’m begging, *please* just fuck me, *right* now’…‘Please, take that knife out of my side’…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No--you said--”
“I have a tendency to get abducted by random strangers. I’ve never been sure why. Don’t let it worry you.”
“But--did they ever--”
“What?”
“Hurt you?”
“Frequently. In unwelcome ways.”
“In unwelcome…So there are…?”
“What?”
“Welcome ways to hurt you?”
“You don’t know that by now?”
“Um…”
“Clark, surely, you’ve observed some reactions of mine over these past few months. I do like a little spice in the sauce.”
“We’re not talking about cooking, Lex.”
“Well, *I’m* certainly not.”
“But…the handcuffs are bothering you.”
“Oh, those? My, I’d quite forgotten them.”
“Lex. That’s not funny.”
“Amazing how used to something one becomes when one can’t get away from it.”
“Lex!”
“Or when one cannot manage to convince someone who purports to care to find the damn key and stop fucking around.”
“Stop it!”
*beat*
“Lex, tell me.”
“About the cuffs.”
“No, not about the…Yeah. Fine. About the cuffs.”
*pause*
“They are becoming slightly uncomfortable, Clark. Happier now?”
*mutter*
“What was that?”
“I said, I thought you liked pain.”
“Now, see, there’s an observant child--you *have* been paying attention.”
“Lex--”
“Oh, don’t sound so offended. We’ve had this conversation before.”
*mutter*
“What was that?”
“Maybe we need to have it again, *Lex*.”
“Well, *Clark*…no, I don’t see you as a child; yes, I think you’re capable of making your own decisions; no, I still think if someone found out I’d be in jail and you’d be in counseling.”
“Mm.”
“Better?”
“Slightly.”
“Found the key yet?”
“…No.”
“Mm. So. Hmm. What else can we talk about? Parents are taboo--I’d like to toss mine in there with yours, declare the whole thing off-limits for the day--”
“You do that.”
“Hmm. But the pain issue…that’s really bugging you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t get it, no.”
“Well, if it eases your conscience any, the cuffs wouldn’t have hurt for the half minute or so they would have been on, had you not…’lost’ the keys.”
“Lex--oh, *God*--I’m *sorry*--”
“Don’t be. And the answer to your question is, yes. I do like pain. *Specific* pain. *Chosen* pain.”
“*Chosen* pain?”
“Pain I choose to experience.”
“That makes no sense.”
“You’d be surprised, Clark. You truly would.”
“So…when the kidnappers had you…”
“At any particular juncture in which kidnappers had me; no, it was not pain I enjoyed, relished, desired, wanted, name your adjective. Believe me. Personally *inconveniencing* pain is just pain. And it’s not pain I particularly want or need.”
*gulp*
“Lex…”
“Mm.”
“Lex!”
“What?”
“You’re--looking at me. Like--”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to…swallow me whole. Or something.”
“You know, that’s an excellent idea. Come here.”
“Lex, I really should--”
*sigh*
“Of course you should. Ignore the fact that there are so many better things to do…”
“Like what?”
“Licking you all over comes to mind.”
*snap*
“Clark?”
“…Yes?”
“That sounded like wood breaking.”
“Um…”
*toss*
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
*sigh*
“Would you, just find, the key? All right?”
*mutter*
“Lucky for you I am a patient man, Kent. What did you mutter this time?”
“Nothing.”
“And how often has that dodge honestly worked on me, Kent?”
*mutter*
“*Yes*?”
“I just thought…I said, as often as you’ve been in handcuffs, you’d have, you know, some kind of secret trick or something for getting out.”
“I do.”
“You do?”
“Yes. It’s called having a key.”
“…Oh.”
“Clark…you’re very pretty, and you know I love watching you, but honestly, we’re moving into fifteen minutes in the cuffs, and--”
“Would you just…oh, man…”
“What now?”
“I think…I, um…wait a minute.”
“You, Clark Kent, are a very bad liar.”
“And you, Lex Luthor, are very pushy. So deal.”
“Ah, yes, the mature and adult response to a reasoned salvo.”
“Calling me a liar is adult?”
“No, I was referring to…”
“What?”
*sigh*
“Clark…”
“What?”
“Any luck finding the keys to these handcuffs?”
*rattle*
“Um…Yeah, maybe. Lemme try something…”
*slither*
*scrape*
*tink*
“Oh, *man*…”
“I take it the backup is not working?”
“No, it’s just--”
“It’s just what?”
“Nothing.”
“Clark, I believe I already mentioned--”
“It’s…smaller.”
“What’s smaller? Outside of your voice.”
“The key.”
“The key is making you whisper like that?”
“The key, it’s--too small…for the lock.”
“Of course, you’re kidding, Clark.”
*slide*
*rummage*
“What now?”
“I’m looking for the pieces of--I’m looking for the first key.”
“Pieces?”
“What?”
“You said pieces.”
“I said what?”
“*Pieces*, Clark. You said pieces. You snapped the handcuff key?”
“I, um…No! Of course not! How could I have done that?”
“And just how, precisely, *did* you do that?”
“I didn’t!”
“You’re still the world’s most terrible liar.”
*mutter*
“What?”
“Only to you.”
“Hah to that. And that wasn’t what you muttered.”
“Well, if you knew already, what did you ask *me* for?”
“I knew the shape of the words, I know they don’t match up to what you told me. I don’t know precisely *what* you said. I would like to, though. Plan on telling me any time soon?”
“Why, Grandma, what a sharp tongue you have.”
“Get me out of these fucking cuffs and I’ll show you exactly how sharp my tongue can be.”
*gulp*
“You’re serious.”
“Try me.”
“What would you--oh, God, I don’t want to know…”
“I think you do. I think you’re *dying* to know. Tell me something, Clark…if all bets were off, if you could do *anything*, anything at all, what would you do to me?”
“To you?”
“To *me*, Clark.”
“Oh. Um. *God*. I, um…”
“You have something.”
“No, I--”
“Liar. Tell me.”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Clark, I’m sitting on my knees in the center of my bedroom, stark naked, extremely grateful that it’s summer, by the way, even though the not moving is causing some pins and needles here and there…My arms are pulled behind me and it’s not going to be a large problem tomorrow, but every time I write a check or type something on the laptop, believe me, I’m going to feel every minute I’ve spent in these cuffs. I have a wonderfully muscled, gloriously nude young man right in front of me, near enough to touch, and not only can I *not* touch him, I *think* we’re about two seconds away from having our first fight. So, no, Clark, laughter is absolutely the last thing on my mind. All right?”
“Oh. Yeah. Um, okay.”
“So tell me.”
“Hickey.”
“That’s supposed to have some meaningful relevance in light of the larger conversation? Spell it out for the bald wonder on the floor, all right?”
“I want to give you a hickey. Some place collars won’t hide. I want to send you to work with something visible that people will notice and maybe comment on and you’ll have to know all day long that people can see the mark.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a good one.”
“Yeah.”
“Spent a lot of time thinking about that, have you?”
“Um…now and…um…again.”
“My. Up in the barn loft?”
“Oh, geez…”
“I’m right! You sit up there in the barn loft and think of marking me! It probably makes you so *hard*…”
“It’s making me hard now.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Um…Lex?”
“Yes?”
“What’s yours?”
“More complex.”
“Tell me?”
“Now?”
“Well, no, next Tuesday. Yes, *now*!”
“Mmm…I want you to fuck me.”
*gasp*
“Thought that would get you.”
“But--Lex, I, we talked about this, I’m not, um, comfortable yet--”
“Bullshit. To be crude.”
“What?”
“You’re *very* comfortable around me. You’ve gotten to the point where you can pop in on me in the shower. You’re very happy to have *me* fuck *you*, and very enthusiastic about it you’ve become. But when it gets right down to it, no matter what your body tells me it wants me to do…you say no. You say I can’t be inside you. You tell me I can’t have you.”
“Lex--I’m just not--ready--”
“I can have everything else, but not that. Why not that?”
“You--you don’t--”
“No matter how much I tease you about it, you just…won’t…budge. So that’s mine. The dream of sliding into you. Feeling you hot and tight around me, feeling you moaning and clenching around my cock, watching you. Wanting you. Watching how good it’s making you feel…Yeah. I want that. That’s mine.”
“Oh…God…”
“And, thank you for the handy distraction, and nice it was, too, but let’s circle back to the main point: what was it, exactly, that you muttered under your breath earlier?”
“When?”
“Clark, you’re a very smart boy, don’t make me hurt myself trying to slap you silly. You said something about the cuffs earlier. You told me you said ‘Only to you’. I called you on it. You tossed a distracting comment--and I’ll grant you, it was probably more distracting to me than it was to you--my way, and we were off. But now, I want to know what you said. About snapping the handcuff keys.”
*inhale*
“Lex…”
“Yes?”
“I said…oh, man…I said, ‘It wasn’t hard.’”
“What wasn’t?”
*swallow*
“Breaking the handcuff keys.”
*pause*
“Ah.”
“Ah? That’s all you can say?”
“No. There’s this: ‘So...case-hardened steel is something you practice against every day?’ What, you lift the tractor for fun down on the farm, too?”
“You don’t need to be sarcastic--”
“Sarcasm is very nearly required at this point. Believe me, Clark, this is *not* how I wanted to spend the afternoon!”
“You think this is what *I* wanted to do?”
“Don’t know your own strength, do you?”</