CLex! Yay! Rated R for language and sexual situations.

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*

It wasn't that Lex didn't enjoy Clark's company. It wasn't even that spending five evenings in a row with each other was *that* unusual. It was a little out of place, but it had certainly happened before whether by design or circumstance. It was just that, an hour into the fifth evening - when Lex simply *happened* to be studying the profile of Clark's face in the movie theatre - it occurred to him that to an outside observer, someone who wasn't him or Clark, these evenings together might appear suspiciously...date-like.

It was nothing overt. Clark's hand gentle against his back as they walked into a building, Lex automatically ordering for both of them at a restaurant (though mostly because Clark wasn't confident with his French, and had in fact seemed extraordinary pleased to hear Lex speaking it), long looks shared over a highly symbolic telescope in the barn.

It didn't necessarily add up to dating. It didn't have to *mean* anything. But Lex wondered anyway.

The first evening had been his idea. He and Clark hadn't spent much time with each other lately aside from the odd attack by a meteor mutant, but Lex didn't really consider that quality time with his best friend. So, he'd suggested Clark come over on Monday night so they could play pool, watch a DVD, mock his father's hair - anything. Just as long as it was together.

All of the subsequent nights had been Clark's idea, not that Lex had been particularly hard to win over. His wasn't a 9 to 5 job, but one phone call from Clark and suddenly he was telling his assistant that he'd have to work on the bi-weekly reports later.

Really, it didn't *have* to mean anything, but when Clark turned towards him in the theatre and grinned - because of him or something on the screen, Lex would never know - Lex leant forward and asked the question.

"Clark, what are we doing here?"

The smiled widened as he shrugged. "Being friends, Lex."

Friends. Good. Perfect.

Friends.

Wonderful.

*

Friends, apparently, liked to touch a lot. Lex had never particularly enjoyed it when people touched him without permission - no doubt some aspect of his childhood brought to the fore - but Clark was *Clark*; he had unspoken permission to do things that no one else would dare to even think of.

Not that any of it was particularly shocking. Fingertips passing across the back of his hand as Clark reached for something. A friendly nudge with his shoulder after Lex groaned at one of Clark's incredibly bad jokes. A hand on his arm that didn't move, didn't caress, just stayed firmly there as Clark tried to explain his love of really quite awful 80's movies.

And then there were the kisses. Nothing big; they were usually more on his cheek than his mouth. Even so, the first one left him so stunned that for several moments he actually experienced a cliche and honestly couldn't remember his own name.

So it was with some luck that Clark said it, blushing as if he hadn't intended to do what he'd done. Had he been able to appreciate it, Lex would have found the reaction satisfying. "Sorry Lex...was that...uh, too much? I didn't mean...I guess I just see friends doing that sometimes..."

Lex should have asked what kinds of friends Clark had now. Instead he managed to roll his metaphorical tongue back into his mouth and murmur something that somewhere, with really good hearing, might have been English. "No, I...just surprised. That's all." This was bad. He didn't murmur. It wasn't dignified.

"Good!" Clark said, grinning that damnable grin again before sauntering...*sauntering*? Out of the castle.

Clark. Sauntering.

Clark.

Sauntering.

Hmm.

*

Lex was really, *really* sure that even a best friend wouldn't be sucking his cock right now. He'd just about put it all together, just about realised that he really wasn't imagining things, but Clark's lips around his cock was the clincher. The fucking *biggest* clincher, ever.

Friends didn't casually invite you into their barn (and really, with a line like that, how had he not seen this coming?), sit next to you on the worn sofa, and then slowly rub their hand along your thigh. They generally didn't stick their tongue down your throat, either.

But then friends also didn't clear out every evening appointment for an entire month, just in case they needed to be available. A friend wouldn't weave their hands through that dark head of hair, tilt their head back and shout "Fuck, yes!" as they came and tried to tell themselves that they weren't losing a friendship, just gaining something more.

A friend *definitely* wouldn't return the favour and then snuggle - snuggle! - uncomfortably on a sofa that really wasn't meant for two people.

And a friend definitely, absolutely, wouldn't thank God that someone's parents were out of town as they grinned, sighed, and leaned down to kiss their lovers face.

~FINIS

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