Title: Break Free

Author: AriellaGiselle

Rating: NC-17

Fandom: Smallville/The Invisible Man crossover

Pairing: Lex/Arnaud, Lex/Clark implied

Distribution: my usual haunts; anyone else, just ask.

Author's notes: future-fic, AU

Summary: Lex muses on his life with Arnaud.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. DC owns Lex and Clark, Stu Segal owns Arnaud, and Queen owns "I Want to Break Free." I'm making no dinero off this work.

Break Free
by AriellaGiselle


He's home; I can feel him coming in. I don't know how long I've been sitting here, staring at the walls, imagining I'm back in Metropolis, back in Smallville, back with Clark. I've missed him these past ten years, the weight of every day without him is crushing, and I can't take it much longer. Kent's all famous now, superstar superhero, and I'm his arch-nemesis.

Heh, what an absurd thought, arch-nemesis. It's true that we're on different sides of the blurred lines, but he still feels it just as much as I do. He can't deny what we once were. He can't deny that I was the one he craved all those years ago. And the same goes for me.
But the difference is that I still crave him.

Ah, here's my new lover, my partner in crime. "Arnaud, where have you been?" I ask slyly, crossing my legs at the ankle, laying out my long, lanky form for him to see. His green-grey eyes flicker over my body as he considers an answer.

"Out." A short, clipped, curt word that spills from his mouth. Damn, I was hoping for a little more.

"Out where? Causing more terror and mayhem?" The sardonic tone that the questions ring with is not what I'd intended, but it'll do. He takes another moment to think about whether or not he'll dignify my questions with answers.

"Yes, and without you. What shame I do not have." Is he mocking me? I think so. His lithe body is slinking toward my own, and it's all I can do not to shift in my chair. He stares at me with those eyes, and I'm helpless, like I was all those years ago when Clark
would advance on me, that look of subtle, lustful determination painted plainly on his face. "When will you start thinking about what I've asked?" His question takes me aback. I never would've expected him to ask that when the air in this room is tinged with such desire and the smell of sex is so heavy now that I almost choke on my answer.

"When I'm good and ready, Arnaud. I'm not sure about it all, but it is a good plan, I'll grant you that." And I'm not lying. His idea, one involving a little surgery of my own and the turning over of half the LuthorCorp stock to him in exchange, is undoubtedly appealing, but am I ready to give this bastard -- and that is what he is in my eyes, no matter how much I may want him pinned under me, night after night -- half of my company, half of my birthright? It is a deal with the Devil, from whatever way I look at it.

"That's not good enough, Lex. I need to know. And you know why, too." Damn, why did he have to go that road? I know why. Clark's getting to be a danger to his organization and mine too, but I can't just let him be killed or silenced in such horrible designs as Arnaud's. I still care too much, I suppose. "Let's not worry over those things right now, monsieur. I have much better plans."

Oh, and don't I know it. His hands are gentle, but his need is fierce. Our clothes are peeled away slowly, those long, graceful fingers playing over my skin, and I cannot stop the moans escaping my throat. He pays a special attention to my neck and shoulders, nipping, licking, sucking, kissing.

I pull him back, so he lands on me as I topple onto the bed. He smiles mischieveously and reaches around me to the nightstand, pulling out the bottle of oil he keeps stashed there. Not a lot of foreplay with Arnaud, unlike with Clark, where every night we spent together was an adventure for him, a learning experience, and for all his fumbling and nervousness, I never could refuse him the knowledge he wanted, and he never refused my
darkest kinks.

One slick finger enters my body, probing, searching, and my hips arch up of their own volition; I'm incapable of doing anything on thought; it's all instinct from here on in. Two fingers as he brushes that sensitive nub, the lightning shooting up my spine, through the top of my bald head. Three fingers, and I'm positively slutty now, begging and writhing and whimpering. A gentle nudge, and I know what to do. My knees come up, giving him
better access as he pushes in, inch by inch, agonizingly slow, and I can feel the pleasure/pain of it, and the reminders I shall have in the morning. He hovers over me momentarily, dropping feather-light kisses on my cheeks and lips. I thrust up gently, and he responds in kind, pulling out all the way to the tip of his cock and slamming back in. He likes it rough and fast, but not too rough, which is fine with me.

As his thrusts grow more and more frantic, I'm spiralling back in time to the castle and to my four poster bed and to Clark. He's hitting my prostate with every movement, and I'm close, so very close; teetering on that cliff between reality and oblivion, and his hand is on my erection, pumping quickly in time with this familiar rhythm. And before I know it, I'm crashing down, with Arnaud following close behind, landing in a heap of sweat and tangled limbs. He pulls out and I feel the emptiness immediately.

Sighing in fulfillment and sated contentment, he rolls over, his skinny arms wrapping around my body, pulling me close to him and kissing my shoulder. He's always like this, saving the sweet, loving side of himself for that post-coital afterglow.

"Sleep. We'll talk in the morning," he whispers against my pale skin. And I do as I'm told.

*****

"I want to break free, I want to break free
I want to break free from your lies
You're so self satisfied I don't need you
I've got to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free"

--"I Want to Break Free" by Queen--

*****

I have to agree to what he wants. He'll make my life a living Hell if I don't. Not that I'm scared of him; I'm not, but I want to keep what we have and I can't do that if I don't give in.

It won't be so bad. I'll have a quicksilver gland of my very own, and I'll have him, and I'll still have half of my father's legacy. Father would be very proud of me, of making such an adult and important decision on my own, but he wouldn't agree with my choice. Nothing was as important as the company to him, not even me and Mother.

And that was what was so sad about Lionel Luthor. He only had time for his money and his stockholders and his board of directors, but that's okay, because, through the lessons that I have learned from Arnaud -- and I still had many to learn when I met the Swiss-Frenchman -- I am twice the business man my father was. And I'm fine with that.

I've broken free from the Luthor curse of monitary lust and have come into my own and created my own brand of lust. Money and sex, nothing's better, and that's the lessons that the world has bothered to teach me.

Arnaud's sleeping in the other room, as I sit here, nursing my scotch, and for a moment, I consider leaving and never returning. Would that be so wrong of me? To find Clark, apologize, ask for the chance to love him again?

Yes, because that would be running away, and I can't do that and live with myself.

So, here I am. With Arnaud, on the verge of being the greatest and doing those great things I told Cassandra I was going to do, and all I want to do is run back into the arms of the boy whose virginity I took a decade ago.

And all I want to do is break free...


FIN~