A/N: Okay, this was written for momdaegmorgan for the Chlex by Request event I'm doing. Whereby people can post a prompt for me and I will write a ficlet for it in exchange for that person going and reviewing one story they've never reviewed before. This was momdaegmorgan's request--
Sabrina threw her review behind this request too, so I upped the word count. I also may have lost a little of the infected Lex thing (it's there but in the background), but I figured it was the sex that was probably more important. I hope this satisfies. And if anyone after reading this wants to play, go here and make your request. In the mean time, sit back and enjoy the site of Cy attempting naughty side of the tracks. Seriously people embrace the cliche here (and be a little gentle I'm rusty on the smut).Genre: Dark romance
Rating: NC17
Season: Your choice
Prompt: Lex is doing experiments on a new meteor rock (I'm not that well versed in the show, so I don't know what all the different types of meteor rock there are, but I'm going on the assumption that they haven't used every color yet) when there's an explosion or some other accident in the lab. Whatever the case, Lex becomes infected somehow and ends up with an insatiable hunger for sex. Where you go with it, why he ends up feeding that hunger with Chloe is entirely up to you.
Yes, I did just toss you the shag or die fic. Don't hurt me.
Timeline: This is set vaguely somewhere in early Season 5 (think just after Mortal before Clark regains his powers).
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They’re going to die here.
It’s the only thing Chloe can think and the thought seems absurd to the extreme.
Because it’s something to do, something that quells the rising tide of panic, she slams her fist against the door and yells for what must be the twentieth time, “Come on, you bastards. Let us out!”
“For the last time, you're wasting your breath,” Lex rasps, “They can't do anything. The biological-contaminant protocol is automated.”
She glances over her shoulder and instantly wishes she hadn’t. Lex stands as far away from her as possible, hands braced on a lab bench. Outwardly he looks calm, fucking complacent about the whole endeavor, which she supposes, considering it’s his facility, he gets to be. After all she’s the one who got caught breaking in, the one who will be facing serious and difficult questions when those doors finally open (if they ever open). While he’ll just walk himself out and go quietly to decontamination.
Still there’s something about his eyes, something overly bright and wildly predatory, that makes her press herself a little tighter to the door, makes her worry that even though the gas she accidentally released doesn’t seem to have affected her, he might not be quite so lucky.
----
He can hear her heart beat speed up across the room, and though he knows its fear, can practically smell the fight or flight response coming off her in waves, the rest of his body is too overcharged to make the distinction. It just registers adrenaline, registers excitement, registers female. And it wants . . .
God how it wants . . .
Maybe if he’s really honest with himself, it wants her a little bit because of the fear. Chloe Sullivan is the ultimate thorn in his side. Clark’s ever-present sidekick, always there, always in the middle of every plan that goes awry, every unexplained occurrence. The fact she could have been his, that if things had gone just a little differently, if he’d played a better hand, she might be breaking into places on his behalf and not that of a self-righteous farm boy, well that’s just salt in the wound.
Instead because of her, he’s a lab rat imprisoned in a cage of his own making, high on an experimental drug, that has all the benefits he anticipated—heightened senses, touch, taste, smell, hearing—and one unintended side-effect—every sensation, every emotion has been distilled, channeled into something almost base and primal, until his body seems to only want two things.
Fight or fuck.
And here he is trapped with the one woman in the world where he can’t decide which he wants more. His rapidly deteriorating mind has already constructed a compromise, envisioned a dozen scenarios that would satisfy both needs—bending her over that lab bench, wrists bound tight with his belt; fucking her into submission against that door, body writhing and bucking in a movement that might be mistaken for a struggle to get away, if it weren’t for clench of her muscles around him, the arch of her back towards him . . .
“You expect me to believe that you're just going to sit here quietly and wait on your minions to get their act together? Please.”
. . . Silencing that mouth with his cock.
The image is so potent, so deliciously perfect, he’s suddenly achingly hard, barely able to structure a coherent answer. But because she’s Chloe and he’s Lex and she doesn’t get the last word, he manages to gather the shreds of thought, and fire back, “I expect you to believe that the seals on that door are time-locked for amount of time required to completely vent and recycle the air. And those locks aren't designed to be negotiable. Whatever you think of me, I'm not about to release an untested potentially hazardous biochemical agent through sheer negligence.”
She crosses her arms and glares, “Oh well, the fact you'd only release it deliberately completely changes my assessment of you.”
He goes back to imagining those lips wrapped around him, that sharp tongue doing something far more pleasant for a change, and just smiles.
Lets her get the last word after all.
---
Lex’s silence makes her uncomfortable, makes her a little crazy in a way that has her pacing the length of the lab like caged animal. She can feel his eyes watching her move, trailing over her in way that’s simultaneously appraising and appreciative, like she’s prey, like a deer a hunter might think is beautiful even as he lines up the kill shot.
The sensation is enough to convince her she’s completely fucking lost it, because really even when they were ‘friends’ (or as close to what passes in Luthor vocabulary) he displayed all the sexual interest of her gay cousin. And the comfy ensemble of dark-colored workout clothes she’s wearing because they don’t inhibit movement? Not exactly designed to allure.
Except his eyes linger over the strip of exposed skin where her pants meet her top, like he wants to taste it, wants to expose a little more. Its invasive and obnoxiously sexual, makes her skin crawl in a way that’s three parts unease and one part arousal.
What the hell is wrong with her?
Is she so hard up, so desperate to be seen by anyone that being blatantly objectified by a man she should hate (does hate, she corrects herself), does it for her?
The thought makes her want to lash out, and—because hey, not her lab—she winds up laying waste to a tray of empty glassware.
“Do I need to tie you up?” Lex asks in way that sounds more like an offer than a threat, causes something hot and needy to settle low in her gut.
Apparently, yes, she is exactly that hard up.
----
“I’d like to see you try,” she shoots back with an arched eyebrow, and crossed arms that’s obviously intended to be defiant, derisive.
It might work too, if he couldn’t smell her arousal from across the room.
She leans back against the door, the edge of her long-sleeved black top riding just a bit higher, practically calling to him to tattoo her hip-bones with finger-shaped bruises.
He moves towards her, shedding his jacket. Starts to undo his tie.
After all, who is he to ignore such a request?
----
Chloe sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Lex advancing on her, of that silk tie sliding through his fingers in a way that leaves no doubt what he intends to do with it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No,” she tries to laugh, but it sounds thready and uncertain, like maybe she’d been serious after all. Sure enough the protest has no effect and he slides his hand over the exposed skin of her hip, like he’s memorizing it, like she feels different from other women. She tries again, “What? You’re turned on by chemicals and corporate espionage?”
“Chloe?” His fingers tighten on her hip-bone. “Shut up.”
Before she can get another word out, his mouth descends on hers. It’s not so much a kiss as an assault, a full scale attack on all her defenses. He pins her to the door with his mouth, his hands, his body, and she can feel him pressed hard against her, fully erect and deliciously wanting.
It’s surreal and laughable and possibly the most insanely erotic moment she’s ever experienced.
Which probably says a lot about her experience.
But then in a blur of movement Lex has pulled her t-shirt and sports-bra up over head, twisting them tight around her wrists like handcuffs. The illusion of imprisonment makes her core clench and her nipples tighten, and she realizes maybe it has nothing to do with experience at all, maybe its her and him and this.
Maybe she’s the girl who gets off on being fucked in a cold lab by her worst enemy.
Because whoever she might be, she’s never been a spectator. Never been someone who just let things happen to her without making some kind of decision about it, she frees her hands and begins to tear at the buttons on his shirt.
Chloe doesn’t get half-way through the process, when he grabs her wrists and forces them back behind her, tying them tight with that tie he’d been threatening her with earlier.
Her eyes snap open at the realization to stare at his self satisfied smirk.
Son of a bitch.
----
God if looks could kill . . .
It amazing to him that an indignant Chloe Sullivan, stripped half-naked, hands tied behind her back could look anything other than ridiculous. But she does, she looks like vengeance personified, like a irate goddess, a terrible, frightening thing.
He’s never wanted anything more in his life than to experience the pleasure of toppling her, the power of turning that ire into something soft and yielding.
Slipping a hand into her pants, he says a prayer of thanksgiving for the give of spandex, as his fingers find her clit, begin to stroke and tease in a way that is so practiced he might find it boring were it not for the challenge of her.
She fighting her release with every fiber, every ounce of that formidable will, and that just makes each gasp and quiver he tears from her that much better, that much sweeter. Just when she’s close, when she’s desperate, he pulls back, slows.
This has gone beyond the drug, beyond the slavering unfocused need that sees female, sees release. This is sharp and focused and intent on one thing—Chloe. He wants her in every way, in any way. She’s aggravation and pain and fight and struggle.
And it feels like being alive. So much more alive than he’s been in ages.
He’s still teasing her, absently, tortuously, stroking one finger inside, rolling the nipple of her breast between her fingers. Until finally . . .
“Dammit Lex!”
Taking the curse as the plea he’s been waiting for, he undoes his belt, yanks down the zipper on his pants.
Chloe’s hand closes over his cock, a smile of triumph in her eyes as she holds up the tie in her other hand for him to see.
He nearly comes right then and there.
----
Lex crushes her to him with a sound that’s almost a growl, claiming her lips in another kiss. It’s still hard, still demanding, but the assault is softened by desire, by something that feels strangely affectionate almost laughing. And the next thing she knows, he’s hoisted her up, and she’s wrapped her legs around him, pressing her center against his cock, her breasts against the exposed skin of his chest, trying to get as close as she can and wanting to be closer.
He sets her on the lab bench, yanking down her workout pants as she struggles to toe-off her shoes in a frantic flurry of movement, that’s mindless and base and completely inexplicable. And she knows she’s going to regret this tomorrow. Half regrets it right now except his mouth is on her breast, and his hands are gripping her thighs, pulling them open, and . . .
God.
He enters her with one rough thrust, and her hands fly out scrambling for purchase, to brace her body as he drives into her, as she feels every inch of him move inside.
It feels like he’s laying siege, battering away at her barricades, stripping her of her defenses, and she can feel herself losing, feel her orgasm coming closer, whether she wants it or not.
“I want to hear you scream,” he whispers, breath hot against her ear.
“You first.”
And then his fingers are at her clit and his mouth is at her neck, and as her orgasm shatters over her she has to bite her lip so hard she draws blood.
Lex comes a second after.
He bites down on her collarbone and doesn’t make a sound.
----
When its over, and an hour later she’s standing underneath a decon shower, listening to Lex’s doctors talk about things like expected half-life, and problematic side-effects, to confirmation of her earlier assessment, something heavy settles in the pit of her stomach.
Lex was drugged, was out of his mind. That’s why he touched her.
She wishes she had the same excuse. Tries to convince herself that maybe she does.
Doesn’t succeed.
Lex doesn’t try to detain her, don’t ask her uncomfortable questions or threaten her for her silence. She guesses she bought her freedom with the fuck.
He keeps her bag and equipment though. She wonders how good she would have had to have been to get those back too.
----
Weeks go by and she pushes it back, relegates it a cobwebbed corner of her mind where she keeps every bad decision. Lex looks through her when he comes into the Talon, and she starts tracking something hinky about his latest project and just when she thinks everything has gone back to normal, when she’s almost convinced herself it never really happened, a courier arrives with her bag and its contents.
The flashdrive has been wiped of all her files (of course) but its not blank.
There’s a video file on it—security footage from the lab.
A minute later her phone buzzes with a new text message.
Still want to hear you scream.
She doesn’t hesitate, just types.
You first.
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All right Sabrina, Jenny . . . you owe people reviews now.
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Originally Posted by cypanache
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