DISCLAIMER & NOTES: Smallville, Lex property of DC Comics and other folks. Used without permission. All made up. For entertainment only. Thanks to stuff and Katie.

JOEY

Lance calls from Russia and says, "Still watching that show, aren't you?"

Joey grins. "Yeah. So, okay, Clark or Lex? I know you've seen enough to have decided that."

"Lex. No question."

"Not Clark? Cause you know, from someone who's wanted to be fucking a should-be Abercrombie & Fitch model and now you're saying you don't want a WAS Abercrombie & Fitch model, well, I don't know that I believe you." Joey grips the phone harder, squinted into the sun. He has to be at the theater soon.

"Okay, first off, I'm way beyond the virgin thing. No more of that. Also, while Justin may bear a superficial type resemblance to Clark, let's pause for a moment. Justin Timberlake. Has super strength. Can run faster than a speeding bullet." Lance pauses. "And keeps it a secret."

Joey laughs. "Okay, Justin-Clark comparison withdrawn. So, Lex."

"Leeeeeeeeex." Lance purrs. "And I know you. You're all about Clark. If you chose to admit to having red-hot fantasies about guys, right?"

Joey laughs again. "You know it, man, you know it. But I leave that to you."

He tapes it, because he has a show when it airs, pacing the stage, dreams fulfilled. Great things. And a TiVo set-up that can't be beat, so he comes home at any time and there it is.

He's been watching since the first episode because, obviously, Superman. He has tapes. He bugged people with connections, or he's gotten Lance to, really, because Lance always knows more people, and he's gotten DVDs. The entire first season.

Which works out really well, because even though he started watching for Superman, man, Superman. But he likes the DVDs better because he just fast forwards to watch Lex. Lex, not Michael Rosenbaum. Because he's met the actor, he's a nice guy. But he's not Lex.

So he watches alone, late at night, before bed and he just pulls down his pajamas and boxers before he even hits play. Lex, he thinks. Dick in his hand already slicked with spit, like a fucking teenager. He lied to Lance, he'll keep doing it. Some things aren't worth talking about, too dangerous or foolish or a combo platter of both.

He imagines himself at the castle, in Lex's study. Just Joey, not famous Joey, just some guy. Maybe a gardener or some shit. And Joey's thinking he's got the upper hand, maybe, maybe he saw something but Lex would put him right quick, just with a look. Lex would say, "You think you can threaten me?" Casual like. Not surprised or scared at all.

Joey would say, "Never mind," and try to back out. Gardening's a good job, after all. At this point Joey at home, in front of the TV, is already starting to get hard. His hand moving slowly but tight.

So Lex would move fast and close the door, lock it. And casually, minimum of effort, turn Joey around and grab him by his shirt. His dirty shirt, soaked with sweat. Lex's hands would be hot through the cheap shirt. Joey would try to back up, shake off Lex's hands. Except then, Lex would surge forward and kiss him. Not a nice kiss, just hard and wet and tongue.

Joey would kiss back, of course he would. It's Lex. Then Lex would break off the kiss, smirk and say, "You're so easy to read." Because Joey is, he knows that. Lance tells him that all the time.

So Lex would push him back to the desk, turn him around. Joey would blink and find his face pressed against the wood desk. Nice veneer. Famous Joey, his hand moving faster, thinks it's a good desk. Like the one Lance bought for his first house. Joey settled for whatever Kelly and his mom thought looked good.

And Joey the gardener doesn't say anything, pushed against the desk, ass in the air. Lex would easily pull down Joey's crappy jeans, dingy no longer white briefs. Ass in the air, exposed. Joey would crane his neck, shift around as best he could to get a view. Lex, his pants open, hips visible and dick out. Joey doesn't know what that would look like really, he makes it up. Sometimes, he realizes, he's picturing Lance, maybe. He's almost had that view of Lance. Except the part where he's never seen Lance naked and hard, and Lex always is, in Joey's mind.

So he imagines, and his hand is slick already and moving faster, tighter. Joey spreads his legs, rolls his balls with his other hand. Lex, he thinks. He says it, too.

Lex would say, "This is what you wanted, right? Clearly." Because it is, it would be, and Joey wouldn't say a word.

Then Lex would be pushing in, slick fingers. Joey lifts his leg, does the same with his own fingers. Then Lex would fuck him. Hard, fast. Joey pictures it, imagines it, he doesn't have pretty words for it. But he knows it, the stretch and hurt and how fucking incredible it would feel. It matters, too, that he knows Lex wouldn't give a fuck, would be all about enjoying it for himself.

It's over too quick, because it always is. Lex would be done with him, shove him to the floor. Maybe even fire him, which Joey likes to add in while he gets that last squeeze, last tremor after he's come. He cleans up and washes his hands until they turn red.

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