hackthis_archive | Thank you.

It’s the smallest acts of kindness that make the difference in the end. I am a firm believer in this.

Thanks to

ethrosdemon for never being around, except for when I really need her to keep me from mass destruction or dodgy characterization.
Thanks to

happyminion for making me smile when all I want to do is break things.
Thanks to

kattiya for thinking of me when she puts up her pretty pictures.
Thanks to

obsessedmuch for being my beacon of prettiness and patience in the void of my non-photoshop skills.
Thanks to

semisuper for her random acts of kindness.
Thanks to

serialkarma for being someone I can be stupid with,
And thanks to everyone who’s ever read one of my stories and found something they enjoyed.

Also, I have been having some serious issues with trying to write again now that Telegraph Avenue is over. I suspect it’s because all my other muses are pissed off that they’ve been around forever and then these upstarts came along and got the first and only epic. Tough shit.

*pokes Lex*

Work with me, damnit!

*silence*

Fine. Who wants to get laid?

*hears crickets in Montana*

Oh-kay. This could be harder than I thought. So, we shall start out small. Completely unbeta’d so that You Know Who can work on You Know What. Both of them, actually. I loves my girls.

It may not be a masterpiece, but it sure as hell made me laugh.

Smallville
Engine Envy

It’s a weak man who becomes jealous of piece of metal that runs on a few pins and some rubber circles, but Clark can’t really bring himself to care about that right now. He’s a college student, and he’s not supposed to be rational.

He had to wake up early to finish a paper; his chemistry lab did everything it *wasn’t* supposed to, and he’s already late to his history lecture. But then Lex called, and he wanted to show off his new toy. It's a nice toy.

Correction: it’s nice car.

That’s no reason for Lex to molest it in front of every Tom, Dick and Harry on the Met U campus.

His dad would probably say something about material possessions being the root of all evil and the devil take it, but Clark bets his dad wouldn’t make him return *this* car.

There’s a limit for everything, after all, but again, Clark can’t really bring himself to care, because he would probably do the same thing if he were in Lex’s place.

They're on a college campus full of sexual active people; it’s a beautiful Friday afternoon with half the student population suffering from selective class amnesia, and so what if everybody’s staring?

At least this time Clark knows it’s not at him and Lex.

It’s a really, really nice car.

Even Clark can see why Lex is stroking the hood and practically grinding against the side mirror. Of course, that could just be Clark’s growing sense of jealousy insisting that Lex should be doing that to *him*.

For all the attention Lex is bestowing on the car, he might as well jump on the hood and give the car a lap dance.

Or not. Definitely not because that would be bad, and again, they’re in a public place. And no, Clark is not jealous. Or maybe he is. Just a little.

God, it’s a nice car.

God, it’s a nice Lex.

Clark smiles when he realizes Lex has finally looked up from petting his newest toy.

“Nice,” he says admiringly, slinging his backpack over his right shoulder as he approaches the picturesque tableau in front of him. His Literature professor would be very proud.

A boy and his car. No, that’s a boy and his dog. Whatever.

If Clark thought the shine from the platinum chrome was blinding, it’s nothing compared to the grin Lex shoots his way.

“Just nice?” he inquires running a possessive hand along the driver’s side door.

Clark’s inner green jealousy guy, who sounds a lot like Jiminy Cricket but looks like the Hulk, rages.

Lex used to touch him like that. In his dreams.

“How about ‘very nice,’ will that make you happy?” Clark concedes.

Lex’s smile turns into a smirk, and over his shoulder Clark glares at a group of guys walking by them slowly and talking in hushed whispers. It’s only when he realizes that they’re talking about the car, and not he and Lex, that he stops frowning.

“Clark?”

He comes back to himself with Lex purposely turning to look where Clark’s been considering using his heat vision. Except that that would be a gross misuse of Clark’s powers, and even he couldn’t fob that one off as a random heat flare from the sun.

“Sorry, thought I saw a girl I knew.” It’s a lame excuse, but Lex can’t possibly expect him to be on top of his game when he’s leaning against the side of the car and stroking it.

Lex is *stroking* the damn car.

Clark’s dick twitches several times, making its point of view rather clear: Lex should be stroking *it*, not the car. But that would require Clark to come out the closet, and it would require thrice-married Lex not to be straight, and that’s just not going to happen.

So instead, Clark will have to watch Lex stroke the car and hope he doesn’t have a stroke himself. If his people can even have strokes. Judging by the way all the blood in his body and rushing downward, perhaps he’s about to find out.

*This* is why he wears his shirts untucked.

“Huh?” he says when he realizes Lex is actually talking to him while stroking the damn car.

He hates the car.

“So, you do like it?”

Clark only *thinks* he’s chokes. “Yeah – yeah. It’s nice.”

Lex smirks. “You already said that.”

“Oh, well, yeah. You seem to like it though,” Clark points out, finally having learned the art of evasion.

“The Mercedes SLR McLaren,” Lex says, adopting his lecturing tone, “Comes with a V8 engine. It tops out at well over 200mph, although first estimates said it would be around 320 mph…”

Clark’s internal girl sighs, and acts a lot like Chloe when she likes a new guy; and since Clark obviously wasn’t suffering from enough blood loss, now Lex is using that particular voice timber guaranteed to cause Clark’s pants to shrink to the wrong size.

“It also comes with naked women and lap dances,” Lex says, finally stepping away from the damn car.

Clark breathes a sigh of relief. And then the confusion sets in. “What comes with what?” he asks brilliantly.

“Were you listening to anything I just said?” Lex smirks, again.

Clark flushes. He was listening to Lex talking, just not to what he was saying. It’s the voice.

First, the car, and now, the voice.

“I, uh. It comes with lap dances?”

Knowing how much Lex's cars normally cost, Clark isn't really that surprised, but Jesus, what kind of car dealership supplies strippers with their cars?

Successful ones.

Lex makes a noise that would be a laugh from anybody else. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Clark opts for the offensive approach. He moves towards the car, slowly, waiting for Lex to step between Clark and his object of affection at any moment. He’s more than a little shocked when Lex doesn’t stop him.

It would be wrong for him to punch a hole in the car. It is a nice car. It’s just that Lex should be looking at *him* like that, not a stupid car that can’t return the sentiment.

Plus, Clark’s dick is really starting to hurt from all the blood that’s trying to fit into such a confined space. His backpack is digging into his arm, and his fingers are twitching with the need to touch something.

And hey, he can see the red leather interior through the windshield, that’s kind of nice.

Maybe there’s a good reason that Lex likes molesting the car, but Clark’s entire body convulses when Lex breathes in his ear. “You can touch it, if you want.”

Whatever Lex is talking about, Clark highly doubts they’re on the same wavelength. If they were, then *he* would be the one saying the misleading lines and Lex’s hand would be in his jeans, making sure that blood starts circulating to the rest of his body, again. Eventually.

Whatever noise Clark makes, it’s not a word.

He twitches again when Lex’s hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him forward a little, urging him to touch the car.

He’s changed the mind again: screw the car.

The car doesn’t deserve to have Lex touching it this way.

He glances around nervously, there are still a lot of people looking at the car, but nobody’s noticing that he’s about to make a mess in his pants.

Ah, the obliviousness that is college.

“It *is* nice, isn’t it?” Lex is way too close for Clark’s comfort. Of course, at this point, the same area code is too close.

Clark’s heart stops when he realizes that a) his hand is on the car b) Lex’s hand is on him but not on the car c) since Lex's body is almost blanketing his body, Lex’s other hand is most definitely not on the car.

When he tries to swallow, the matchbox car in his throat refuses to go anywhere.

Lex is talking, but Clark has no idea what he’s saying. When he turns to ask, Lex is looking at him in *that* way. That predatory, car-lust, Warrior Angel-toy, Kurosawa-film way.

It takes every fiber in Clark’s being not to push a major dent in the hood of Lex’s car. Lex is breathing on him; his dick is going to make a hole in his jeans any second; and okay, maybe it is a nice car.

“Yeah. Nice,” he repeats.

Lex licks his lips, and Clark’s dick waves the white flag of surrender.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” Lex asks, pointedly ignoring Clark’s full-body shudder.

Clark just nods.

He’s too embarrassed to ever speak again. Talking is overrated anyway. He didn’t even need to tell Lex how he felt in order to be seduced using a damn car. That's why he just came in his pants without any friction at all.

What self-control?

His cock twitches again when Lex presses himself against Clark’s hip. “Maybe you should change, first,” he suggests.

Clark means to glare, but fails miserably when Lex licks the scar on his top lip. “Need help?”

Clark swallows again. “That would be –“

“Nice,” Lex finishes.

Clark just nods again. “Yeah.”

Lex’s hand tugs Clark away from the car and back towards his dorm. “And they say nice guys finish last.”

-end-

Notes: Ladies and gentleman, the Mercedes SLR McLaren . Yes, drool buckets on your left.

For Kat. And Sarah. And Wendi. And Miss Don’t Match-make-me-damnit!

Thank you.

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