Title: SNAP, CRACKLE, AND POP (Nourishment 2.16)
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
Feedback to: jfc@freeshell.org
Archive: Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission!
Category: Story, romance, Lex POV
Spoilers: None, but set in the two weeks before "Precipice"
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual interaction
Pairing: Clark/Lex established relationship
Summary: Weathering a storm

DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. Smallville is the property of Alfred Gough, Miles Millar, Tollin-Robbins Productions, and Warner Bros. Television, and based upon characters originally created by Jerome Siegel and Joe Shuster. This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The rest of "The Nourishment Series" can be found elsewhere on this archive - Enjoy!

DEDICATION: For Tiff, who brightens my skies.

COPYRIGHT (C) July 30, 2003, Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, jfc@freeshell.org

Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.


Clark likes thunderstorms.

I was frightened of them when I was a child, and last year's tornado brought some of those old fears back on a visceral level every time it so much as threatened to sprinkle even as my logical, adult self worked through the physics involved in the flashes and noise. But Clark, being a farmer's son, watches the heavens with fascination as eerie lights glow inside huge clouds, counts distances by the seconds between brightness and rumble, and estimates rainfall against seasonal surpluses and deficits. I've seen him walk unconcerned through a summer shower like the sun was merely turned to water, and stop mid-sentence to listen to droplets pound against a snugly-shut window.

Therefore, the sudden crash of thunder that echoed over the fields as I sped home from the office made me think of Clark that much more than he is usually on my mind. A quick mental rundown of my appointment calendar reminded me that Helen was off teaching a class until very late, so hurrying to a big, chilly, empty castle sounded unappealing when compared to touching base with the man I love. With a grin, I noticed how easily the steering wheel turned the car toward Kent Farm, even with the dangerous road conditions.

When I was about five miles away from their property, I watched in horror as a lightning bolt darted out of the dark sky and seemed to strike somewhere between the homestead and barn, which were just visible down the road. As I drew closer, leaning on the accelerator more firmly than I thought I should, I noted that most of the buildings were without light, despite the gloomy atmosphere.

A little gravel kicked up in the driveway as I parked my car. Rooting a large umbrella out from under the seat, I clutched the lapels of my coat together and headed out to see if any assistance were required, though I saw no damage.

Halfway to the house, I was greeted by Jonathan Kent, who was bundled up in a sailcloth jacket as he emerged from the barn. "Lex!" he called out cordially over the wailing wind. "What brings you out this way?"

"I was just driving by and saw the lightning. I wanted to check that you folks were all right," I answered more than fifty percent honestly.

"We're fine," he replied, walking past me to a piece of growling machinery. "The power's been out for half an hour, but the generator here is taking care of the essentials. I'd ask if you couldn't just have called, but the phone's out, too. Come in for a second and dry off," he offered casually, leading the way up the porch steps and inside the back door.

The change from the cheesy sea adventure outdoors to the Waltonesque comfort indoors was startling. No lamps shone on the entire ground floor, but the refrigerator hummed as if nothing were amiss. In the living room, a cozy fire had been lit in the hearth, and Martha crouched before it, jabbing at it with what I thought was a poker until I noticed a familiar noise from inside the fireplace: she was making popcorn in a well-used popper.

At the sound of the back door, she called out to her husband, "How are the animals?"

"Everybody's settled in for the duration. Have you got bowls out there?"

"Oh, I almost forgot! Could you bring me an extra one for Clark?"

With two stoneware bowls in his hand and a secretive smile on his face, Jonathan preceded me into the sitting room. "Why don't we have Lex here take it up to him?"

Martha's face was reddened with warmth as she turned to me with genuine surprise. "Lex! It's good to see you!" Jonathan took the handle of the popper from her and started shaking it efficiently as she dusted off the knees of her slacks and stood to greet me. I had stood my umbrella by the back door on the mat where I'd dried my shoes, but I let her slip off my coat and toss it on a wall hook as she spoke. "You haven't been by recently! I'd hoped that you and Clark were still on good terms..."

"Very good terms, Martha, thank you," I assured her as she gave me a quick hug.

"So, how have you been?"

Her oblique question allowed me to gloss over my life outside of their house for the time being, for which I was deeply grateful. "Not bad--I was more concerned about *you* folks tonight, but it seems I had nothing to worry about. Shall I go check on him, then?" I asked, needlessly.

By then, Jonathan had seasoned two bowlfuls of popcorn and handed them to her before turning back to a second batch. "Now there's an emergency light in the hall upstairs, so your eyes should adjust enough so that you don't lose your way..." she advised. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."

Something in her expression made me understand that her earlier loosening of the rules of propriety around the house was still in effect, despite my relationship with Helen. I took the snack from her carefully and caught her eye in the dim light, drawing her away from the fireplace for a private consultation with a twist of my head. In a hushed voice, I said, still picturing the box of condoms on the nightstand, "I wanted to thank you for your, um, little gift the last time I was here. It meant a lot to me that you trusted me that much, and I know it meant a lot to Clark, too."

"You're welcome, honey," she cooed, patting me gently on the arm so as not to jostle a kernel out of place, "but it really was his *father's* idea. Now, don't keep Clark up too late. It *is* a school night..." With a smile, she turned back to the firelit room, leaving me with my mouth hanging open in shock for a moment until I thought to hurry the popcorn upstairs before it cooled off too much.

I made my way to Clark's bedroom easily, finding the door open and flashes of lightning from the window illuminating the opposite wall. He sat in his desk chair, raptly watching the light show outside without even a radio for further entertainment. Arranging the second bowl in the crook of my elbow wordlessly, I knocked lightly on the jamb.

"Yeah, Mom?" he answered, his eyes fixed on the ferocious sky.

"I may love you, but I'm not your mother, Clark," I teased, enjoying the delighted smile on his face when he turned toward me.

"Lex!" he crowed, rising to meet me. "What are you doing here?"

"I bring sustenance," I announced, handing him a dish of fluffy corn and shutting the door behind me.

"Thank you," he replied, taking the bowl and a kiss simultaneously, "but why are you at my house?"

There was no longer any need to lie, even a little. "I missed you. What has it been--a week?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, his visible attention, like that of all boys, absorbed with his food. Taking his chair again, he waved me to a seat on his bed, where I got comfortable and started munching my own treat. "I never know when it's safe to come over, now that Helen's there all the time..." he added through a crunchy mouthful.

"You *could* call, you know," I chided, but feeling a bit of his frustration all the same. Just then, there was a distracting boom outside, making us both jump a little, and causing me to scatter salty kernels on his bedspread. "We'll work this out, baby. Don't worry," I said, chasing after every last bite.

"Maybe we'll have to schedule times to be together..." he suggested, sounding discouraged, but still too earnest to be sarcastic.

"That's an idea--'Three o'clock, stockholders. Four-thirty, division heads. Six-forty-five, Clark.'"

"'Six-forty-five to seven,' probably..."

He wasn't laughing, so I knew it was time to stop kidding around. "You know, you don't *have* to live like a monk while I'm making a life with Helen. I want you to be happy, too. Have you considered your half of the bargain we made with my dad?"

"What? That I date *girls*?" I will give him credit for not having grimaced like an eight-year-old at the thought. Instead, he made it sound more like an impossible dream.

"Why don't you give it some more thought? Some of those Smallville High girls would probably give their right arms to be with you. I'm sure I'm not the only one who appreciates your singular charm."

"*Singular*, or *single*?" he asked with a self-deprecating scowl, refusing to raise his eyes as he fished around his bowl looking for edible crumbs among the duds.

"Stop it, Clark," I said, the weather punctuating my exclamation with a well-timed crash. "You're smart, you're handsome, you're sexy, you're sensitive--hell, I could fall in love with you myself. And what do you know? I already have," I added with a twinkle I hoped he could see in the dark.

Lightning brightened the room to show me his gaze of hope still tinged around the edges with doubt. "I suppose I could ask somebody out sometime..."

"There you go!" I encouraged him. "Got anybody in mind? Maybe a new member of the debate squad who deserves a second look, or perhaps an old standby?" I let that question dangle in the air so he might not give up any possible option too quickly.

"I don't know yet--I'll think about it..." The next flash of lightning showed me that he hadn't taken his eyes off of my face in the intervening darkness. In a fluid motion, he rose from his chair and sat before me on the bed. He looked at me intently, making my pulse quicken with his shift in concentration. "Hold still," he warned. "You've got some butter..." Guided by his memory of the last bright shimmer, he raised his hand to cup my jaw, his thumb sweeping away a greasy smudge and a few salt grains from the corner of my lip.

The touch of his warm palm on my face made my eyes slip shut just for a moment, as I rubbed against it like a cat, my mouth falling open a little in pleasure. The next thing I knew, his mouth was there, pressing mine urgently and sweetly. His kiss tasted of need and love beneath the buttery residue of the popcorn, and I set aside my bowl to link my fingers behind his head and hold him there to enjoy the flavor for as long as I could.

"I love you, Lex," he panted as soon as he'd taken his tongue back to swallow raggedly. "Don't wanna talk about girls tonight."

"What *do* you want to do?" I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer.

"Really wanna fuck you," he breathed, then kissed me hard once again.

"Okay," I replied, once I could do so without his mouth against mine.

"But I don't want to miss any of the storm," he murmured, looking wistfully out the window.

"I think we can work something out." With sure fingers, I unbuttoned his shirt, letting him do the same to mine and tug its tail free of my trousers. When he was finished with me, I stood up and shucked off my pants, boxers, shoes, and socks quickly, then moved to lean against the wall next to the window and drag the chair into position between me and the bed with one bare foot.

"Here?" he asked, rising to join me and dropping his jeans and underwear in a heap. Noting his discarded white socks, I remembered that I'd nearly tripped over his huge work boots when I'd come in the back door.

"Sure", I answered, giving him a wicked grin.

"Wait!" he interrupted, looking askance. "There's probably still some salt stuck to my hands. I don't want to risk hurting you..." Ever practical, he made a quick glance around, then went to the window and hoisted up the sash, sticking his arms out into the driving rain.

I laughed at first to see him scrubbing himself clean under the downpour, but I finally shrugged and did the same. After a quick rinse, we jumped away from the window to allow him to close it again, though he left it open a crack, smiling at me when he'd hit his desired noise level in the room. Snatching up his abandoned shirt, he dried his hands on it and gave it to me when he was done. As he retrieved a condom and lube from his nightstand, I tested my weight on the front edge of the chair and secured it against the edge of the bed.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he asked, one eyebrow coasting skyward.

"Come here and find out." With that, I balanced one foot on the seat of the chair and opened my arms to him. Naked and hard, he slipped into the space between me and the chair, nestling close to my body. We stood there embracing tenderly for a moment, losing ourselves once again in kisses and the feeling of bare skin rubbing warmly against bare skin. His impressive cock dribbled pre-ejaculate against my stomach, so I knew he was ready. Taking the rubber from the windowsill where he'd left it, I opened it and applied it to him, dousing it well with a dollop from the small bottle of fluid, then slipping my fingers between my legs to use the remainder on myself.

Steadying myself with my hands on his shoulders, I pushed myself up the wall with my foot against the chair and brought my other foot up off the floor to mirror it. By bending my knees, I lowered myself down towards my lover's erection, whereupon he got the idea and caught my hips to position me to his liking. "I love you," he mouthed as he breached my opening, and we worked in tandem to fit our bodies together intimately.

"I love you, too," I answered, pushing off again with my toes, then settling back down onto him. Soon we established a stately, waltz-like rhythm to match the pounding of the rain right outside the thick pane of glass, with me doing most of the work of fucking myself on my beautiful boy. The lightning flashed less often now, and the thunder came echoing across the fields from further away, but the electrical storm had relocated to the connection between Clark's body and mine.

"I've got you," he said at one point, and, grasping me under the arms and lifting his heels off the ground, raised my feet from the chair, leaving me dangling until I wrapped my legs around his waist and let him thrust into me harder. All that supported me was Clark and the wall, and the angles combined to make me feel nearly weightless.

Neither of us could grab my cock, trapped as it was between our bodies, but the friction we made stroked it sufficiently. My awareness narrowed to the cylindrical space where we stood, and finally just to my prostate and my penis, and with one last distant crash of thunder, I came in hot pulses in my lover's arms. In response, he impaled me even deeper and shot hard, muttering single-syllable words like "good" and "fuck" and "God".

At last, I opened my eyes, and I could see. The lights had come back on, and with them, Clark's radio singing softly about love. Slowly he raised his head to look at me, his gaze warm and green under rain- and sweat-plastered bangs. "I've got you," he repeated, smiling gloriously, then kissed me to prove his point.

In the coming months, as I start out on a new life with Helen, I will remember that day every time it rains. If my schedule permits, I'll drop everything and watch the storm with my lover, or perhaps enjoy it in some other way.

Clark loves thunderstorms, and for the first time, for a very special reason, I think I do, too.


Auto-Feedback Link! E-mail me with any comments!