The finely striped line of the starched collar bit into golden
skin as Lex pulled the silk tie taut. A tiny gasp escaped the reporter’s lips,
but it was quickly overridden by a guilty twist of his expression. The reporter
– Kent – lifted his left hand and used it, with gleaming wedding band, to loosen
Lex’s grip.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” said the reporter in a voice that
was none too steady, “but I think you’d better stop.”
It was as though Kent were doing a bad impression of that alien in blue tights
which plagued Lex’s city; the voice was broken and the words were slightly too
wooden, or maybe not wooden enough. Lex cracked a grin and bit at the corner of
the reporter’s jaw, kicking the stall door closed and then resuming his grip on
the other man.
“I’m doing exactly what you wanted me to do, all through that press conference,”
Lex replied easily, enjoying the contrast of his own confidence against Kent’s
nerves and desire. “I saw you. I always see you.”
Kent couldn’t suppress a slight shudder at this admission, and Lex rewarded the
slip of self-control with another harder bite, closing his teeth on the taut
angle of bone and drawing them over late-afternoon stubble. “You see me?” he
asked, letting Lex move in closer, close enough for the merest brush of Lex’s
hip against something hard and insistent, something far more sure of itself than
the reporter was.
“I watch you,” Lex elaborated, and slid two fingers between shirt buttons under
the tie, feeling hot silky skin. “I watch you watch my mouth.”
Kent’s left hand, previously defensive, now turned traitor as well, smoothing
gently over Lex’s mouth. Lex caught Kent’s pinkie and let Kent watch this,
watch Lex sucking and licking so close to that badge of homosexual repression,
the gold band of propriety.
Kent wasn’t protesting anymore, not with words. He pulled his finger out almost
violently, but just as quickly, lost control again, and his wide hungry mouth
descended, his broad hands pulling Lex in with sudden urgency.
There was no mystery now, not with Kent’s hips pushing towards Lex, no mystery
whatsoever about what Kent wanted or when. Lex let Kent push on his shoulders
for a moment, taking the time to unknot the tie and tease open the striped
shirt, taking another moment on the way down to greet each of Kent’s nipples, to
rim his navel. Kent didn’t properly appreciate these attentions, judging from
the increasingly forceful way he was pushing Lex to the floor.
“Did you imagine this?” Lex asked. “When I was talking about the defense
department contract we secured? Were you thinking about me sucking your cock?”
Kent had been thinking exactly that. Lex could tell by the way Kent immediately
opened his own trousers, fumbling and shaky. And the scent of the reporter, the
sight of the dark spot that must have been spreading on his boxers through the
whole press conference, was almost enough to force Lex to surrender his control,
too. Lex pressed the heel of his hand against his own cock, glancing up to see
that Kent had closed his eyes, licking a fine sheen of perspiration from his
upper lip, the sign of a man who is either very ill or very aroused.
“Show it to me,” Lex ordered. “Show me what you have for me.”
Kent blinked his eyes open, as though there was some confusion about what Lex
meant, but he quickly tugged at his boxers and they fell to the floor, puddled
with Kent’s trousers on the tiles. Kent’s cock was heavy and flushed, his whole
body straining to this single point. For an instant, Lex imagined Kent tied to
his bed, this beautiful man as his plaything, ringless and wanton and able to be
this person outside the confines of a LuthorCorp toilet stall. But Lex blinked
the image away, and focused on what was in front of him, because there was no
point in indulging the fantasy. What he had now was all he would get, all he
needed, in point of fact. Lex’s obsessions were much more safely focused when
he was infatuated with someone or something not so temptingly simple to own and
destroy. Superman was a better target than a lowly closeted muck-raker.
But his cock went down Lex’s throat like silk, like water and like something hot
and hard and absolutely essential to survival. Lex felt Kent’s thighs tighten,
felt the reporter trying not to lose all sense, not to fuck Lex’s mouth raw.
Lex drew back and then went down again, consumed with the most basic of Freudian
pleasures, the pleasure of fullness, of satiety. Kent’s head tilted back hard
enough to crash against the stainless steel partition, the noise momentarily
drowning Kent’s frantic breathing.
Deeper. Faster. Kent’s cock sliding down Lex’s tongue, Kent’s fingers clamping
on his shoulders hard enough to *hurt*, dammit, but it was so good. This was
what Lex had been thinking about at every press conference for months, this
moment of completion when Kent needed Lex this much, so much that it made Kent’s
breath escape in tinny shallow wheezes. Lex tuned his hearing more finely, and
listened to the messy sounds of his own breathing, his movement, the wet click
of his mouth against skin. Lex’s cock was hard, so hard, but that would wait.
Right now, Kent needed to be full, too.
He had never had a finger in his ass before. He even made some motion to stop
Lex, but Lex moved quickly and hit Kent’s prostate in time to deactivate all
rationality. Lex pictured the sterile and perfunctory sex Kent must have, he
and his picture-perfect little wife from some useless town in Buttfuck Kansas,
the way Kent probably held himself over the wife like a hovering angel, like a
monument or a firmament or maybe a suffocating blanket, the way she would
dutifully fake an orgasm, the way he would dutifully fake his, squeezing his
eyes shut and thinking of – of Lex.
Lex’s mouth and fingers working in tandem now, and Kent’s grip had abruptly gone
from ragingly fierce and painful to slack and trembling. He was close. He was
shouting, short sharp bursts of almost-hurting noise, as though he was close to
screaming or death. Lex drew Kent in as far as he could and sucked, holding
Kent’s cock still while Lex’s fingers pumped in and out of Kent’s ass, hard,
vicious, unforgiving.
Lex looked up, eyes rolled up in his level head like a medieval saint, just in
time to see Kent come. His messy hair was sticky with sweat, his mouth open and
wet, his eyes open but unseeing, his brows drawn with agony. Lex felt the
orgasm after he saw it, two separate points of pleasure, visual climax and then
oral, Lex’s own eyes fluttering closed to concentrate on tasting and feeling.
Kent’s stomach muscles were still twitching when Lex shook himself out of his
daze and clambered to his feet. Fast, this had to be fast before Kent began to
feel that band tightening on his finger. Lex turned Kent by the shoulders,
slamming him against the partition, and opened his own pants, settling his cock
in the hot groove of Kent’s buttocks. It wouldn’t take long, not the way Lex
was feeling, but he needed Kent to stay muzzily compliant for – oh, Christ –
about a dozen more thrusts, Lex’s hands pinioning Kent’s wrists against the
steel like the Vitruvian Man. Kent’s ass crack was slippery with sweat, and
that helped, that made it faster, better. God, Lex wanted *in*, he wanted more
than this shallow half-embrace, more than this harried race, but no, this was
what it was and Lex didn’t need more, didn’t need more than what he had, no more
than this unsatisfying and slippery-fast headlong tilt into – Kent’s back
muscles tightened, and he was tugging at Lex’s grip, and it had to be now.
Now.
Lex reached down and gave himself one hard stroke, stepping back just enough to
watch himself come in messy spurts on Kent’s ass. Kent jolted at the hot
splash, but he didn’t turn until it stopped, tense and still and a study in
post-coital regret and self-disgust.
Lex retreated to the opposite wall to sag into relaxation, giving Kent enough
room to maneuver himself into order and clothing again with eyes averted.
“You think it’ll be better now,” Lex said, zipping up his own pants and buckling
his belt. “Now that we’ve fucked, you think you’ll get over it, right?”
Kent wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t answer, just stared down at his fingers while
they buttoned the striped shirt, knotted the silk tie.
“But next time,” Lex said, reaching for the stall door’s lock, “it’ll be even
worse. Because you’ll know what it’s really like.”
Kent had no idea, not like Lex did. Unfulfilled fantasy was always safer than
the other variety. It was lucky for Lex that he had chosen such an
unspectacular specimen to fulfill his own fantasies, he mused as he glanced in
the mirror on his way out of the bathroom. Unlike poor clumsy Kent, Lex
wouldn’t feel the desire to do this again.
Up close, the reporter didn’t actually look that much like Superman.