An early morning fuck has been Lex's favourite for years. He loves the tousled, spiky look on a sleepy Clark. Coupled with muffled moans and gentle grinding, Lex wishes he could keep time looping in just this hour of the day forever. 

Spooning under the blankets, he slides open-mouthed kisses along Clark's shoulders and thrusts deeper. He wraps his feet around Clark's ankles for added leverage, groaning as Clark presses back. Their skin is damp; his hand haltingly slides to Clark's cock. He hears a ragged "Oh yeah, fuck me... fuck me."

He smiles against Clark's neck, and fucks him.
 

The sorting hat seemed quite amused, and declared him Gryffindor.

Used to hiding, and being neither wizard, squib nor muggle, he just tried to keep his head down and fit in.

Transfiguration class was okay. He simply swapped one item for another using super-speed, although McGonagall seemed to be at a loss over the absence of magical trail.

Flying lessons were almost a disaster, though. He forgot to use the broom at one point, but remembered to swoop down and grab it before anyone noticed.

One student possibly suspected him. That strangely bald seventh year Slytherin always stared too long.
 

The bottle teeters before settling on the tread next to Lex's thighs. He hardly notices; head thrown back, throat exposed as his hand moves faster.

He's close. No thoughts allowed as he nears completion, just staccato breath and half sobs, legs spreading wider, muscles taut, left foot entwining the banister.

A shudder and he arches, his climax almost painful. Twice he spasms and cries aloud a name that sounds like a plea for...

He cries out again as Helen sits next to him.

"You should tell him."

"Leave me alone!"

His arm knocks the bottle down the stairs.

It's caught.
 

A man is sitting on the 
stairs. 
There's something in his 
hands that holds his attention. 
A woman comes up from 
behind and sits down with him. 
Someone is headed in their 
direction, but hasn't been 
spotted.

Tell us the story.

Mercy's silent movements as she settles beside him make him jump, just a little.

"What's that?" she asks.

Clark shrugs. The breeze ruffles his hair and he shifts a bit on the landing below the penthouse observation deck.

"It's a lead lined box." he answers, quietly.

He turns it over in his hands, and swallows with difficulty.

“You’ve been out here a long time,” she says, eventually.

I’m thinking,” he replies.

- - - - - 

Lex lets the curtains drop, walks over to his desk and sits. He thinks about insurance, and wonders when risk assessment and out-thinking the competition became such a liability.
 

A man is sitting on the 
stairs. 
There's something in his 
hands that holds his attention. 
A woman comes up from 
behind and sits down with him. 
Someone is headed in their 
direction, but hasn't been 
spotted.

Tell us the story.

Lex is the master of all he surveys. At least if he isn't, he gives you the impression that he is, or soon will be.

It's innate confidence; not a result of Lionel's influence, rather a consequence of surviving it.

It's in the way he holds himself, the angle of his head, expressions on his face, and the way he walks. 

Which is why Clark is surprised to find Lex reaching to hold his hand as they approach the farmhouse. There are some circumstances where even Lex needs reassurance. Clark squeezes lightly, holding fast as his father opens the door.
 

I'm all about symmetry. 
Coming down from the hard 
and fast porn of last week, 
we need something slow. 
Clark and Lex holding hands,
and make them lazy, 
make every word last.

It was almost tantric. Raise his arms slightly, lower them, balancing Lex on his shaft as they both floated a foot or so above the floor.

Lex's eyes closed in bliss as Clark slowly impaled him, over and over.

Clark gently spun them till they looked out over the Metropolis skyline.

"Open your eyes, Lex," he whispered.

Lex gasped. From this angle, it appeared as though nothing lay between them and the city below.

Clark smiled as Lex's legs tightened around him, reacting against the sudden vertigo.

It seemed the gentlest way to help Lex overcome his fear of heights.
 

It's not a scary place. Some believe it is which suits him fine, but Lex's mind is his place of refuge.

His face hides much; behind it, he's running scenarios, strategies, weighing outcomes. It's his training; groomed for succession. His first line of defence is now his strength; once using his mind to escape, now to plan.

He doesn't focus only on business. 

There's other challenges to contemplate. He pokes at the enigma of Clark, calculating trajectories, pondering bright smiles and clumsy evasions. Imagines Clark moving beneath him. 

Lying in Clark's arms, no lies between them.

That's his favourite place.
 

Summer. They swam in the local pond, chasing away the day's heat. More often, they used Lex's private pool.

Clark tried not to be conscious of their exposed skin. As the season wore on, he grew quite comfortable with their almost-nakedness, easy with the occasional body contact and the ever-decreasing personal space.

It was almost - but not really - an anticlimax when they finally touched; deliberate trailing of fingers, lingering over muscles, leading into an embrace. The progression seemed so natural, and so right.

Clark didn't lose his virginity in one night. He lost it, in small increments, all summer long.
 

A laughing Clark whapped a pillow against Lex's butt as he rose to shower, but Lex was in a particularly forgiving mood. 

They'd spent the previous day with Clark enthralled, wandering through Disneyland, munching on junk food and screaming through the rides. Lex felt no small amount of enjoyment witnessing Clark's instant reversion to childhood, excitement shining from his eyes. If he felt a little younger, a little freer himself, well, who could blame him?

Day two had begun with breakfast in bed. Lex sauntered off to wash away the remains of Maple Syrup from the crevices of his body. 
 

Tuesday being Canada Day 
and Friday being the 
Fourth of July, this week's 
drabble must contain 
a piece of both countries - 
something distinctly
Canadian and something 
distinctly American.

Nothing would mar Lex's third wedding. Years after the damage from the previous marriages had passed, Clark worked to ensure this day would be good for him.

Straightening his tux, Clark took a circuit of the lawns and checked the caterers. All was ready, the first guests due to arrive soon.

Looking up, he frowned at the clouds starting to gather in the north. They were moving fast and low, and would impact the Smallville skies in less than half an hour.

A concerted burst of super heat, and Clark turned to hurry Lex along. They'd marry under sunny skies. 
 

"Mommyyyyyyyyyy!"

A blast rent the air, the woman sheltering her child from the pieces of wall tumbling around them.

"Quickly, under the mattress."

They sheltered there, in the darkness and the panic of the latest raid, praying that the bombardment would cease soon.

An hour passed; the sounds of destruction grew fainter as the missiles fell further north along the river. There was no clean water anymore; weeks of terror-filled attacks had tainted all the dams and catchments. Another casualty of the madness.

"Mommy?" whispered a choked little voice. "Why is President Luthor so angry at us?"

"Superman," she replied.