Morgan/Clark WIP
Jul. 16th, 2004 12:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Okay, just so y'all know, I'm going to have to change some things that should have happened according to the reporter!Lex fic,but i forgot about. If Clark or Morgan starts referring to things (such as Clark turning Morgan down for sex), I didn't put that in, but it will be in the final draft.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Life settled into a kind of pattern after that. Kal continued to be part wary, part seductive around Morgan, and Morgan continued to pretend as if he didn't notice. The less he noticed, the more comfortable Kal became until one day, perhaps four days after their talk, Kal pushed Morgan against the wall and kissed him.
Morgan allowed the kiss. Welcomed it. It was the first time that when Kal initiated something between them, he actually seemed to want it.
It was also gratifying that it happened while Morgan was wearing only a dressing gown and underwear. He wasn't unattractive by any means, nor was he ashamed of his body. But he was old. Old enough, his background check had found out, to be Kal's father. Was, in fact, older than the man who had adopted Kal by at least fifteen years. And time, while not unnecessarily cruel, had left its mark. Morgan knew the moment he made his offer to Kal that there was a good chance Kal would never actually want Morgan. What teenager wanted a man in his fifties?
But, as Morgan went back to his room to dress for the day, Kal appeared from his bedroom looking flushed, his skin damp with sweat, smelling of sex, and pushed Morgan against the wall. His hands slid inside the silk robe and brushed over Morgan's skin. His lips were salty and mouth tasted of toothpaste.
He kissed with all the enthusiasm of a teenager, but with more concentration and determination. As compared to their last real kiss, Kal hadn't improved all that much; he was still a little sloppy and unskilled. His teeth bit too hard and his tongue felt too big, which was usually a symptom of not using it quite right.
And, yet, he was so focused on Morgan, so intent on pleasing him. Kal's hands stroked up and down over his torso, making his skin tingle, and he worked so very hard at teasing with just his mouth, it was hard not to forgive any youthful ignorance.
Morgan's head fell back against the wall heavily. He had no idea what brought this on, but whatever it was, he was going to question it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Kal and kissed back, guiding again by example, but continuing to allow Kal to take control.
When Kal finally broke the kiss, Morgan was breathless and a little lightheaded.
There was a smug grin on Kal's face when he pulled back. "Morning," he said casually. As he backed away from Morgan, he allowed his hands to trail over Morgan's skin. When they emerged from the dressing gown, Kal straightened it carefully and tied it together tighter.
"Good morning, Kal," Morgan managed in an nearly steady voice.
The smug grew and Kal licked his lips. "Thanks." He turned and swaggered back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Negotiations with Lane Enterprises were stalled, and Morgan welcomed the interruption. Carl Lane had abruptly been called overseas, and Lois, unlike Lex, was not allowed to take any action without her father's presence.
The reprieve gave Morgan the time to concentrate on his business. He was still looking for the missing file for Lionel, of course, but he had troubles of his own to look to. There was a new punk in town, Rick Jeffries, who was making noises in the underworld. He'd already killed the top drug dealer in the city and taken his place. He was now refusing to deal with Morgan. Not only that, but Jeffries was starting a protection racket in three of the ethnic areas of Metropolis, blithely ignoring the fact that Morgan already had deals going. And the small business owners of the area were too scared to do anything but pay Jeffries, meaning they had nothing for Morgan.
He could, of course, demand the money be paid anyway and take it out in blood when it wasn't. But blood wasn't money and he wanted money. And it was bad for business to take down an entire community. Making an example of one or two shops kept everyone else in line; being forced to deal with an entire community spoke of weakness. If Morgan couldn’t stop an upstart from infringing on his racket, how powerful could he be?
The problem wasn’t taking Jeffries out. That could be done quickly, easily, and in a number of different ways. The problem was collapsing the organization in such a way that made a point to anyone else that was thinking of starting in this business without Morgan's blessing.
The answer came to him one night while he was watching Kal dance at the club. Kal had returned to the Atlantis after a short break, but not to his customers. Morgan had informed him that, should Kal want to set up shop once more, he was free too, but Kal demurred.
"I just want to dance," he said. And dance he did. Shirtless, often. Until he was drenched with sweat, every night. With men hanging off his every move, of course.
Morgan enjoyed watching, and often took breaks from work to watch from the upper balcony. Kal always knew and his moved so there was an unobstructed view.
The answer was absurdly easy. The cops were watching a house on Twenty-first that they suspected of being a crack house. Morgan was trying to get rid of the crack without alerting the police or losing customers. He'd have to lose customers, and seventeen thousand dollars worth of heroine, but Jeffries would be taken care of.
Kal looked up and met Morgan's eyes. Morgan smiled as the idea took form, then glanced at his office. He didn't expect Kal to take the hint, but, to his surprise, when he got to his office, Kal was waiting for him.
"What do you need?" he asked, propping his feet on Morgan's desk.
Before he answered, Morgan went to the bar and poured Kal a drink. Kal seemed to have no preference of alcohol; in fact, Morgan had noticed the boy rarely imbibed unless someone bought something for him. It was interesting only because Kal seemed to be rebelling so hard against someone or something. And yet, he didn't do drugs and he rarely drank alcohol.
Kal accepted the drink and sipped it cautiously.
"It's Scotch."
He nodded and took another sip. "It's good." It was an obvious lie, but Morgan let it pass. He'd teach Kal about drinking later. "There's an important task I'm going to send you on. Not tonight. Probably not until a few days from now, but I want to make sure you're ready. It's a sensitive mission, and I can't afford having you fall ill again."
Kal's eyes darkened, but he merely nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
"You're going to help me frame a rival of mine. Well, no, he's not really a rival, per se. But he is an annoyance and I need him taken out."
"Am I going to have to ... kill someone?"
There was something like fear in Kal's voice and it put Morgan on alert. Here was a line, finally, that Kal seemed reluctant to cross. The challenge would be, of course, getting him to cross it, but Morgan was strangely hesitant to do so. Kal was wild enough when he wanted to be; did Morgan really want to unleash the killer that might be lying beneath the beautiful face?
"No," he finally answered, truthfully. For this particular mission, killing Jeffries wasn't necessary. Not yet and not by Kal. This was something he'd have to do himself. "No, you don't need to kill anyone. Not this time. But it's a delicate job. You'll have to sneak into a house and remove some merchandise. Then you'll move it to another location and leave it poorly concealed so that when the cops get there, they find it easily." He sat on the desk and folded his hands in front of him. "I haven't worked out all the details of the plan yet, but that's pretty much all you'll need to do. The concern I have, Kal, is that you'll have another episode like you did the other day."
Kal's face darkened and he ran his finger over the rim of his cup. "You don’t trust me."
"I still don't know what happened. You said you had an allergic reaction, but you didn't say to what."
Conflict warred in Kal's face. His eyes narrowed and he chewed on the corner of his mouth. As Morgan watched him, he pulled his right hand away from the cup and held it awkwardly in his lap. With his thumb, he rubbed the band of the class ring he was wearing (why a runaway would continue to wear a cheap reminder of his past was beyond Morgan, but it was there). Then, resolve settling over his features, he tapped the stone against the glass.
"When do you think you'll need me?" he finally asked, raising his head.
Morgan did the mental calculations to see how long it would take to set up. He had several men tailing Jeffries, and one who'd already infiltrated his organization. Getting Kal in and out of each place was simple enough; the only tricky part would be getting the police first into Morgan's soon-to be defunct crack house and then directing their attention to Jeffries. But they must be close to obtaining a warrant; they just needed a reason. And, after they search, and anonymous tip would get them into Jeffries, solving Morgan's problems.
"Two days from now." He'd call the dealers tonight, tell them to settle up with their customers then gather everything together. And he'd send a present to Jeffries in the form of a beautiful young call girl Morgan kept on retainer. "Will you be ready?"
Kal shrugged indolently and tossed back the rest of his Scotch. "I'll be ready. And don’t worry. I won't have another breakdown like I did before. I promise."
* * *
The red meteor rock didn't exactly work like most drugs. At least, they didn't have the side effects that were commonly associated with drugs. For example, it never stopped working. As long as Clark wore the ring, he was high. And he could feel it. His skin buzzed and his mind worked just a little bit slower. His emotions were more tightly controlled, and he didn't *feel* as acutely. He still got angry and sad and happy, but it wasn't like normal. And things that bothered him didn't bother him as much, so he could ignore them.
He also didn't crash like one did when drugs wore off. There wasn't any shaking or vomiting or headaches. Okay, yes, his skin was a thousand times more sensitive, and he cried more easily, but that wasn't because of the ring. It was because all those things he could ignore while wearing the ring came flooding back to him, and he had to *deal* with it all and he just *wasn't ready*.
Clark didn't think he'd ever be ready. He'd screwed everything up so royally when he'd left Smallville, and it *hurt*. A lot. So long as he wore the ring, it wasn't as bad, but when he took it off...
With a frustrated grunt, Clark rolled over and picked another piece of ice out of the bucket on the floor. The other problem with taking the ring off was how damned sensitive his skin got. He'd go into the bathroom and soak, but he didn't want Morgan walking in on him. Well, he a part of him did. The last time Clark had felt like this and had taken off his ring, Morgan had helped. Okay, so he'd just rubbed ice on Clark's head, but it'd felt nice. And what had felt especially nice was how he hadn't asked any questions.
And the thought of questions inevitably brought him back to memories of Lana Lang.
Miserable, Clark moved across the bed. The ice went into his mouth; his head went under the pillow.
He'd been in his room all morning trying to come down from the ring enough so he wouldn’t have to worry about burn out. He knew that the longer he wore the ring, the hotter and more painful his scar would flame up. Clark had gotten into the habit the last couple of days of showering without it on, and, when Morgan was gone, walking around for a couple hours without it. Today, the ring had been off five hours, and he'd spent each one of those hours in agony. And not all of it was physical.
Clark could still hear Lana crying when he took off the ring. Crying for him not to leave, begging him to tell her his secrets so they could be together. And he wanted that, badly, or he had until everything had happened and now...
But he was gay, apparently. *Really* gay. He didn't just fuck guys for the money, he honestly liked sucking cock. And, yeah okay, maybe he wasn't thrilled with anal sex (well, bottoming) but since arriving in Metropolis, he hadn't really been interested in girls. At all.
It wasn't like Clark could ever go home anyway. He'd made the paper with his exploits when he first came to Metropolis. His parents weren't even looking for him. They were probably glad that he was gone and they could get on with their lives. Maybe adopt a kid to replace the one he'd accidentally killed, even. And, as for Lana...
She probably knew about Clark already anyway. Chloe had seen Clark in the alley with the first guy he'd been with. She followed him home and confronted him before Clark had kicked her out of his apartment. Knowing Chloe, she probably wrote an article about him in the Torch or Ledger. *Local Runaway Turns Queer*.
Everyone was probably glad he was gone. Clark was glad he was gone.
Moving so fast that he didn't quite remember even having the impulse to do so, Clark found he was sitting up, phone in his hand. It was ringing, and he held his breath, hoping no one answered.
"Hello?"
Tears sprung to his eyes, and Clark wished he hadn't called. Not like this, when he felt sick and hot and uncomfortable. He should have waited until he was wearing the ring again and didn't care.
"Hello?" Martha repeated, voice a little sharper this time. And then, it must have clicked in her head, because she said, "Clark? Clark, baby, is that you?"
He bit his lips and didn't answer.
"Oh, God, Clark, please. Baby, come home. I ... We miss you so much, we need you here, honey. I need you here." There was a pause, and Clark could hear his mother crying softly. "Clark," she whispered, anguished.
Feeling as if he were ripping a limb off his body, Clark tore the phone away and hung up. Then he fell back to the bed and shoved his head under the pillows.
The door opened, light flooding the darkened bedroom. "Kal. I want you to come out and eat lunch with me," Morgan said.
"I'm not hungry," Clark replied. He pulled the pillow tighter around his head.
There was silence, but Clark could hear Morgan's soft footsteps as he crossed the room. How such a big man could move so silently was beyond Clark; if he could figure it out, he'd feel like less of a klutz. Except, as Kal, he could do it. When he was high. When he didn't care and his skin felt a little better, he could move as quietly as he wanted.
The bed dipped as Morgan settled on it. There was a sigh, and then ice was being applied to the small of Clark's back.
"You said you didn't do drugs."
"What is it with you and your obsession with drugs?" Clark asked. He kept his head under the pillow, but he felt some of the muscles in his back relaxing.
"This is a bit beyond an allergy. It looks as if you’re trying to detox. The lights are dimmed; you're locked in your room. You're sweating and refusing to eat. What else is it but drugs?"
Clark groaned and rolled onto his back. After a moment's deliberation, he pulled the pillow off too, figuring it was stupid to roll over and then *not* look at Morgan. And, once the pillow was off, it felt stupid to be lying flat, so he moved up so he was propped against the headboard. The benefit to that was the fact Morgan moved his hand to his thigh and started rubbing the ice there. His hand slipped in between Clark's legs and while he didn't move any higher than the edge of his boxers, it still felt *really* good.
"Okay, well, it might be a little like drugs, but not the way you're thinking." He glanced at the ring that was on the night table and said, "I'm not like most people."
"That's something of an understatement." Morgan followed Clark's eyes to the ring. After a moment, he said, "The meteor shower."
Startled, Clark turned to him. "What do you know about that?"
There was a small, strange smile on Morgan's face that Clark couldn't quite interpret. When Morgan picked up the ring, Clark thought about taking it away, but he sat quietly and watched. "I had a friend who was in Smallville the day of the meteor shower. And I've heard rumors that the meteors ... affect people in different ways."
It took Clark a second. He'd like to blame it on the fact he'd been high for most of the summer, but truthfully, he just didn't like to hear anything he didn't want to. But it did penetrate and Clark went abruptly cold. "You.... Smallville?"
Morgan smiled and looked up at him. "Yes, I know where you are from." He went back to studying the ring. "What does it do?"
And that was it. "I know where you are from," and nothing else. No questions or demands, just, "What does it do?"
Clark licked his lips and grabbed another piece of ice from the bucket. "It makes everything bearable. Makes it seem far away. I feel a little buzzed, but still in control. The only problem is, if I keep it on too long, it starts hurting. It hurts my scar, especially. I mean, my skin is always really sensitive when I wear it, but it's not really a problem."
"Except for the scar."
"Except for the scar," Clark agreed. He sat up and took the ring from Morgan. Their fingers brushed together, and Clark felt a thrill run through him. "I want to be ready when you send me out, so I'm taking a break from the ring. I'm planning on not wearing it all day today, and then I'll take it off for an hour or two every day until the job is done."
"And then after?" Morgan let the ring go easily, but after Clark put it on the night table, he ran his knuckles over Clark's cheek.
Clark's mouth went dry. It was weird how Morgan could do that. Just sit there and be so sexual. Or just touch Clark in the lightest, most platonic seeming way, and for it to feel so... *good*.
If Morgan could make a light touch on his cheek feel like that, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have his cock up Clark's ass.
A bolt of fear when through Clark, and he pulled away without meaning to. "Um, I guess," he fumbled, feeling dumb. "I might take it off sometimes, just so it doesn't hurt quite so badly. It's just." He broke off and glanced at the phone, shame and loneliness filling him as he thought of his mother.
She really did sound like she missed him. A lot. And she called him "baby". And "honey", as if she still loved him. And, maybe she did, but Clark had *killed* her real baby and there was no way Mom could ever forgive him for that. He couldn’t forgive himself, and it was her body and her baby.
"Kal?" Morgan sounded concerned.
The question came out before Clark could stop it. "What's the worse thing you've ever done?"
From underneath the fringe of his lashes, Clark saw Morgan glance at the phone. Then he sighed and shifted his position, hand resting fully on Clark's thigh. His thumb and finger stroked the damp skin in a way that made Clark's groin tighten and stir, despite his misery.
"I made a deal that was the ruin of three of the most precious lives I've ever had the honor of being connected to," he said at long last. "One never had a chance to see what life might bring. One died before I could even think of making amends. And the third ... the third is a star that burns so brightly, I should be very much surprised if he lives to see twenty-five, much less thirty. And there is absolutely nothing I can do. I made the deal willingly, with both eyes open. And, I can't say I wouldn't do it again, even knowing the outcome."
That was suitably vague. But at least two people were dead, so Clark felt that Morgan would know what he was talking about when he asked, "What do you do? I mean, knowing that your actions caused people to die. How do you live with it?"
Morgan raised and lowered his shoulders in an elegant motion. "It gets easier. You learn to move on. The guilt stays, as well as the nagging sense that there was something you could have been able to do, some way to prevent it all, but the fact remains that now you can't. Not now. Not anymore." A bitter smile played over his mouth and he said, "Eventually, you will stop running, Kal. Either stop running or lose yourself so completely that nothing matters anymore."
Clark swallowed hard and said, "I think I'd like to lose myself."
He laughed softly and touched Clark's cheek again. "If that were true, you would never take off the ring. You'd continue to wear it until it consumed you, and there was nothing left." Then he rose and bent over Clark. His hands--big, with blunt fingers that had slightly calloused pads that caught on Clark's skin--rested on Clark's neck as Morgan pulled him into a kiss.
Clark liked Morgan's kisses. They were strong and forceful. Full of purpose, with tongue and teeth all working together to consume Clark's mouth, to take him and turn him inside out. It was so unlike kissing Lana or Chloe or any of those boys he'd kissed at the club. Morgan knew exactly how to make Clark's stomach turn over and his cock to rise to attention.
"Lunch," Morgan said on pulling away.
Clark rose to his knees, bunching the fabric of Morgan's shirt in his fists. "Why do you always do this to me?" he asked roughly between fierce kisses. "You make me so hard and so horny and always just leave."
Morgan climbed onto the bed, forcing Clark back against the padded headboard. "What do you want, Kal? Do you want me to push you down and fuck you? Cover you with kisses? What?" His teeth sank into Clark's neck, and Clark winced, hoping his bulletproof skin didn't break teeth.
He felt dizzy and lightheaded as Morgan licked and bit down the side of his neck, along his collarbone. His hands stroked down Clark's sides, lighting fires where he touched. His thigh wedged between Clark's legs and he pressed against the bulge there, making Clark moan out loud.
"What do you want, Kal?" Morgan breathed into Clark's neck.
The words, "Fuck me," were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted it. He needed it. Clark could feel his blood pounding in his body, making him burn hotly, making him ache with the *need* for something, to be filled, to be take, to not have to worry.
He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sudden churning of his stomach. He wanted this. Really. He did, it would feel good. It wasn't like nothing had ever been up his ass before, and he'd been playing there, and it felt good, and....
"No," he choked out suddenly, terrified. He couldn't do it; not like this. Not without the ring. Not without something to help.
Frantic and shaking, he pushed Morgan away. God, Morgan was going to be *so pissed* at him, and....
"Calm down," Morgan said, voice heavy and tinged with frustration. He caught Clark's hands and squeezed. "Calm down," he repeated more firmly. "I'm not a rapist."
That wasn't exactly soothing. Shame suffused Clark, and he couldn't look at Morgan. "I'm sorry."
"I simply came in to make sure you ate something today."
With great difficulty, Clark forced himself to meet Morgan's eyes. "Aren't you getting sick of me?"
"No. I'm not." He touched Clark's jaw with feather-light fingers and said, "I want you, Kal. But I want you to give yourself to me willingly and without fear."
"I don't know if I'll ever be not scared," Clark admitted, feeling stupid. "It's a little ... daunting."
"But pleasurable." Morgan dropped Clark's hand and rose. "Get dressed so we can go to lunch. This is not a request."
"So I can't say no?" Clark asked with a lopsided smile.
Morgan returned the smile and shook his head. "Not to this. I call the restaurant and make reservations."
Clark went to the closet, but hesitated. "Are you showing me off or something?" he asked.
This time, Morgan's smile was lustful and sent ripples of anticipation down Clark's spine. "You are my most beautiful possession," he said in a purring tone. "I think I deserve at least this." His eyes ran the length of Clark's body, lingering on the tenting fabric of Clark's boxers. Then, with a smirk, he turned to go. "You have half an hour." Then he left.
Achingly hard, Clark threw himself on the bed, head full of Morgan. He had half an hour, and he intended on using every second of it.
TBC...
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Life settled into a kind of pattern after that. Kal continued to be part wary, part seductive around Morgan, and Morgan continued to pretend as if he didn't notice. The less he noticed, the more comfortable Kal became until one day, perhaps four days after their talk, Kal pushed Morgan against the wall and kissed him.
Morgan allowed the kiss. Welcomed it. It was the first time that when Kal initiated something between them, he actually seemed to want it.
It was also gratifying that it happened while Morgan was wearing only a dressing gown and underwear. He wasn't unattractive by any means, nor was he ashamed of his body. But he was old. Old enough, his background check had found out, to be Kal's father. Was, in fact, older than the man who had adopted Kal by at least fifteen years. And time, while not unnecessarily cruel, had left its mark. Morgan knew the moment he made his offer to Kal that there was a good chance Kal would never actually want Morgan. What teenager wanted a man in his fifties?
But, as Morgan went back to his room to dress for the day, Kal appeared from his bedroom looking flushed, his skin damp with sweat, smelling of sex, and pushed Morgan against the wall. His hands slid inside the silk robe and brushed over Morgan's skin. His lips were salty and mouth tasted of toothpaste.
He kissed with all the enthusiasm of a teenager, but with more concentration and determination. As compared to their last real kiss, Kal hadn't improved all that much; he was still a little sloppy and unskilled. His teeth bit too hard and his tongue felt too big, which was usually a symptom of not using it quite right.
And, yet, he was so focused on Morgan, so intent on pleasing him. Kal's hands stroked up and down over his torso, making his skin tingle, and he worked so very hard at teasing with just his mouth, it was hard not to forgive any youthful ignorance.
Morgan's head fell back against the wall heavily. He had no idea what brought this on, but whatever it was, he was going to question it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Kal and kissed back, guiding again by example, but continuing to allow Kal to take control.
When Kal finally broke the kiss, Morgan was breathless and a little lightheaded.
There was a smug grin on Kal's face when he pulled back. "Morning," he said casually. As he backed away from Morgan, he allowed his hands to trail over Morgan's skin. When they emerged from the dressing gown, Kal straightened it carefully and tied it together tighter.
"Good morning, Kal," Morgan managed in an nearly steady voice.
The smug grew and Kal licked his lips. "Thanks." He turned and swaggered back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Negotiations with Lane Enterprises were stalled, and Morgan welcomed the interruption. Carl Lane had abruptly been called overseas, and Lois, unlike Lex, was not allowed to take any action without her father's presence.
The reprieve gave Morgan the time to concentrate on his business. He was still looking for the missing file for Lionel, of course, but he had troubles of his own to look to. There was a new punk in town, Rick Jeffries, who was making noises in the underworld. He'd already killed the top drug dealer in the city and taken his place. He was now refusing to deal with Morgan. Not only that, but Jeffries was starting a protection racket in three of the ethnic areas of Metropolis, blithely ignoring the fact that Morgan already had deals going. And the small business owners of the area were too scared to do anything but pay Jeffries, meaning they had nothing for Morgan.
He could, of course, demand the money be paid anyway and take it out in blood when it wasn't. But blood wasn't money and he wanted money. And it was bad for business to take down an entire community. Making an example of one or two shops kept everyone else in line; being forced to deal with an entire community spoke of weakness. If Morgan couldn’t stop an upstart from infringing on his racket, how powerful could he be?
The problem wasn’t taking Jeffries out. That could be done quickly, easily, and in a number of different ways. The problem was collapsing the organization in such a way that made a point to anyone else that was thinking of starting in this business without Morgan's blessing.
The answer came to him one night while he was watching Kal dance at the club. Kal had returned to the Atlantis after a short break, but not to his customers. Morgan had informed him that, should Kal want to set up shop once more, he was free too, but Kal demurred.
"I just want to dance," he said. And dance he did. Shirtless, often. Until he was drenched with sweat, every night. With men hanging off his every move, of course.
Morgan enjoyed watching, and often took breaks from work to watch from the upper balcony. Kal always knew and his moved so there was an unobstructed view.
The answer was absurdly easy. The cops were watching a house on Twenty-first that they suspected of being a crack house. Morgan was trying to get rid of the crack without alerting the police or losing customers. He'd have to lose customers, and seventeen thousand dollars worth of heroine, but Jeffries would be taken care of.
Kal looked up and met Morgan's eyes. Morgan smiled as the idea took form, then glanced at his office. He didn't expect Kal to take the hint, but, to his surprise, when he got to his office, Kal was waiting for him.
"What do you need?" he asked, propping his feet on Morgan's desk.
Before he answered, Morgan went to the bar and poured Kal a drink. Kal seemed to have no preference of alcohol; in fact, Morgan had noticed the boy rarely imbibed unless someone bought something for him. It was interesting only because Kal seemed to be rebelling so hard against someone or something. And yet, he didn't do drugs and he rarely drank alcohol.
Kal accepted the drink and sipped it cautiously.
"It's Scotch."
He nodded and took another sip. "It's good." It was an obvious lie, but Morgan let it pass. He'd teach Kal about drinking later. "There's an important task I'm going to send you on. Not tonight. Probably not until a few days from now, but I want to make sure you're ready. It's a sensitive mission, and I can't afford having you fall ill again."
Kal's eyes darkened, but he merely nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
"You're going to help me frame a rival of mine. Well, no, he's not really a rival, per se. But he is an annoyance and I need him taken out."
"Am I going to have to ... kill someone?"
There was something like fear in Kal's voice and it put Morgan on alert. Here was a line, finally, that Kal seemed reluctant to cross. The challenge would be, of course, getting him to cross it, but Morgan was strangely hesitant to do so. Kal was wild enough when he wanted to be; did Morgan really want to unleash the killer that might be lying beneath the beautiful face?
"No," he finally answered, truthfully. For this particular mission, killing Jeffries wasn't necessary. Not yet and not by Kal. This was something he'd have to do himself. "No, you don't need to kill anyone. Not this time. But it's a delicate job. You'll have to sneak into a house and remove some merchandise. Then you'll move it to another location and leave it poorly concealed so that when the cops get there, they find it easily." He sat on the desk and folded his hands in front of him. "I haven't worked out all the details of the plan yet, but that's pretty much all you'll need to do. The concern I have, Kal, is that you'll have another episode like you did the other day."
Kal's face darkened and he ran his finger over the rim of his cup. "You don’t trust me."
"I still don't know what happened. You said you had an allergic reaction, but you didn't say to what."
Conflict warred in Kal's face. His eyes narrowed and he chewed on the corner of his mouth. As Morgan watched him, he pulled his right hand away from the cup and held it awkwardly in his lap. With his thumb, he rubbed the band of the class ring he was wearing (why a runaway would continue to wear a cheap reminder of his past was beyond Morgan, but it was there). Then, resolve settling over his features, he tapped the stone against the glass.
"When do you think you'll need me?" he finally asked, raising his head.
Morgan did the mental calculations to see how long it would take to set up. He had several men tailing Jeffries, and one who'd already infiltrated his organization. Getting Kal in and out of each place was simple enough; the only tricky part would be getting the police first into Morgan's soon-to be defunct crack house and then directing their attention to Jeffries. But they must be close to obtaining a warrant; they just needed a reason. And, after they search, and anonymous tip would get them into Jeffries, solving Morgan's problems.
"Two days from now." He'd call the dealers tonight, tell them to settle up with their customers then gather everything together. And he'd send a present to Jeffries in the form of a beautiful young call girl Morgan kept on retainer. "Will you be ready?"
Kal shrugged indolently and tossed back the rest of his Scotch. "I'll be ready. And don’t worry. I won't have another breakdown like I did before. I promise."
* * *
The red meteor rock didn't exactly work like most drugs. At least, they didn't have the side effects that were commonly associated with drugs. For example, it never stopped working. As long as Clark wore the ring, he was high. And he could feel it. His skin buzzed and his mind worked just a little bit slower. His emotions were more tightly controlled, and he didn't *feel* as acutely. He still got angry and sad and happy, but it wasn't like normal. And things that bothered him didn't bother him as much, so he could ignore them.
He also didn't crash like one did when drugs wore off. There wasn't any shaking or vomiting or headaches. Okay, yes, his skin was a thousand times more sensitive, and he cried more easily, but that wasn't because of the ring. It was because all those things he could ignore while wearing the ring came flooding back to him, and he had to *deal* with it all and he just *wasn't ready*.
Clark didn't think he'd ever be ready. He'd screwed everything up so royally when he'd left Smallville, and it *hurt*. A lot. So long as he wore the ring, it wasn't as bad, but when he took it off...
With a frustrated grunt, Clark rolled over and picked another piece of ice out of the bucket on the floor. The other problem with taking the ring off was how damned sensitive his skin got. He'd go into the bathroom and soak, but he didn't want Morgan walking in on him. Well, he a part of him did. The last time Clark had felt like this and had taken off his ring, Morgan had helped. Okay, so he'd just rubbed ice on Clark's head, but it'd felt nice. And what had felt especially nice was how he hadn't asked any questions.
And the thought of questions inevitably brought him back to memories of Lana Lang.
Miserable, Clark moved across the bed. The ice went into his mouth; his head went under the pillow.
He'd been in his room all morning trying to come down from the ring enough so he wouldn’t have to worry about burn out. He knew that the longer he wore the ring, the hotter and more painful his scar would flame up. Clark had gotten into the habit the last couple of days of showering without it on, and, when Morgan was gone, walking around for a couple hours without it. Today, the ring had been off five hours, and he'd spent each one of those hours in agony. And not all of it was physical.
Clark could still hear Lana crying when he took off the ring. Crying for him not to leave, begging him to tell her his secrets so they could be together. And he wanted that, badly, or he had until everything had happened and now...
But he was gay, apparently. *Really* gay. He didn't just fuck guys for the money, he honestly liked sucking cock. And, yeah okay, maybe he wasn't thrilled with anal sex (well, bottoming) but since arriving in Metropolis, he hadn't really been interested in girls. At all.
It wasn't like Clark could ever go home anyway. He'd made the paper with his exploits when he first came to Metropolis. His parents weren't even looking for him. They were probably glad that he was gone and they could get on with their lives. Maybe adopt a kid to replace the one he'd accidentally killed, even. And, as for Lana...
She probably knew about Clark already anyway. Chloe had seen Clark in the alley with the first guy he'd been with. She followed him home and confronted him before Clark had kicked her out of his apartment. Knowing Chloe, she probably wrote an article about him in the Torch or Ledger. *Local Runaway Turns Queer*.
Everyone was probably glad he was gone. Clark was glad he was gone.
Moving so fast that he didn't quite remember even having the impulse to do so, Clark found he was sitting up, phone in his hand. It was ringing, and he held his breath, hoping no one answered.
"Hello?"
Tears sprung to his eyes, and Clark wished he hadn't called. Not like this, when he felt sick and hot and uncomfortable. He should have waited until he was wearing the ring again and didn't care.
"Hello?" Martha repeated, voice a little sharper this time. And then, it must have clicked in her head, because she said, "Clark? Clark, baby, is that you?"
He bit his lips and didn't answer.
"Oh, God, Clark, please. Baby, come home. I ... We miss you so much, we need you here, honey. I need you here." There was a pause, and Clark could hear his mother crying softly. "Clark," she whispered, anguished.
Feeling as if he were ripping a limb off his body, Clark tore the phone away and hung up. Then he fell back to the bed and shoved his head under the pillows.
The door opened, light flooding the darkened bedroom. "Kal. I want you to come out and eat lunch with me," Morgan said.
"I'm not hungry," Clark replied. He pulled the pillow tighter around his head.
There was silence, but Clark could hear Morgan's soft footsteps as he crossed the room. How such a big man could move so silently was beyond Clark; if he could figure it out, he'd feel like less of a klutz. Except, as Kal, he could do it. When he was high. When he didn't care and his skin felt a little better, he could move as quietly as he wanted.
The bed dipped as Morgan settled on it. There was a sigh, and then ice was being applied to the small of Clark's back.
"You said you didn't do drugs."
"What is it with you and your obsession with drugs?" Clark asked. He kept his head under the pillow, but he felt some of the muscles in his back relaxing.
"This is a bit beyond an allergy. It looks as if you’re trying to detox. The lights are dimmed; you're locked in your room. You're sweating and refusing to eat. What else is it but drugs?"
Clark groaned and rolled onto his back. After a moment's deliberation, he pulled the pillow off too, figuring it was stupid to roll over and then *not* look at Morgan. And, once the pillow was off, it felt stupid to be lying flat, so he moved up so he was propped against the headboard. The benefit to that was the fact Morgan moved his hand to his thigh and started rubbing the ice there. His hand slipped in between Clark's legs and while he didn't move any higher than the edge of his boxers, it still felt *really* good.
"Okay, well, it might be a little like drugs, but not the way you're thinking." He glanced at the ring that was on the night table and said, "I'm not like most people."
"That's something of an understatement." Morgan followed Clark's eyes to the ring. After a moment, he said, "The meteor shower."
Startled, Clark turned to him. "What do you know about that?"
There was a small, strange smile on Morgan's face that Clark couldn't quite interpret. When Morgan picked up the ring, Clark thought about taking it away, but he sat quietly and watched. "I had a friend who was in Smallville the day of the meteor shower. And I've heard rumors that the meteors ... affect people in different ways."
It took Clark a second. He'd like to blame it on the fact he'd been high for most of the summer, but truthfully, he just didn't like to hear anything he didn't want to. But it did penetrate and Clark went abruptly cold. "You.... Smallville?"
Morgan smiled and looked up at him. "Yes, I know where you are from." He went back to studying the ring. "What does it do?"
And that was it. "I know where you are from," and nothing else. No questions or demands, just, "What does it do?"
Clark licked his lips and grabbed another piece of ice from the bucket. "It makes everything bearable. Makes it seem far away. I feel a little buzzed, but still in control. The only problem is, if I keep it on too long, it starts hurting. It hurts my scar, especially. I mean, my skin is always really sensitive when I wear it, but it's not really a problem."
"Except for the scar."
"Except for the scar," Clark agreed. He sat up and took the ring from Morgan. Their fingers brushed together, and Clark felt a thrill run through him. "I want to be ready when you send me out, so I'm taking a break from the ring. I'm planning on not wearing it all day today, and then I'll take it off for an hour or two every day until the job is done."
"And then after?" Morgan let the ring go easily, but after Clark put it on the night table, he ran his knuckles over Clark's cheek.
Clark's mouth went dry. It was weird how Morgan could do that. Just sit there and be so sexual. Or just touch Clark in the lightest, most platonic seeming way, and for it to feel so... *good*.
If Morgan could make a light touch on his cheek feel like that, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have his cock up Clark's ass.
A bolt of fear when through Clark, and he pulled away without meaning to. "Um, I guess," he fumbled, feeling dumb. "I might take it off sometimes, just so it doesn't hurt quite so badly. It's just." He broke off and glanced at the phone, shame and loneliness filling him as he thought of his mother.
She really did sound like she missed him. A lot. And she called him "baby". And "honey", as if she still loved him. And, maybe she did, but Clark had *killed* her real baby and there was no way Mom could ever forgive him for that. He couldn’t forgive himself, and it was her body and her baby.
"Kal?" Morgan sounded concerned.
The question came out before Clark could stop it. "What's the worse thing you've ever done?"
From underneath the fringe of his lashes, Clark saw Morgan glance at the phone. Then he sighed and shifted his position, hand resting fully on Clark's thigh. His thumb and finger stroked the damp skin in a way that made Clark's groin tighten and stir, despite his misery.
"I made a deal that was the ruin of three of the most precious lives I've ever had the honor of being connected to," he said at long last. "One never had a chance to see what life might bring. One died before I could even think of making amends. And the third ... the third is a star that burns so brightly, I should be very much surprised if he lives to see twenty-five, much less thirty. And there is absolutely nothing I can do. I made the deal willingly, with both eyes open. And, I can't say I wouldn't do it again, even knowing the outcome."
That was suitably vague. But at least two people were dead, so Clark felt that Morgan would know what he was talking about when he asked, "What do you do? I mean, knowing that your actions caused people to die. How do you live with it?"
Morgan raised and lowered his shoulders in an elegant motion. "It gets easier. You learn to move on. The guilt stays, as well as the nagging sense that there was something you could have been able to do, some way to prevent it all, but the fact remains that now you can't. Not now. Not anymore." A bitter smile played over his mouth and he said, "Eventually, you will stop running, Kal. Either stop running or lose yourself so completely that nothing matters anymore."
Clark swallowed hard and said, "I think I'd like to lose myself."
He laughed softly and touched Clark's cheek again. "If that were true, you would never take off the ring. You'd continue to wear it until it consumed you, and there was nothing left." Then he rose and bent over Clark. His hands--big, with blunt fingers that had slightly calloused pads that caught on Clark's skin--rested on Clark's neck as Morgan pulled him into a kiss.
Clark liked Morgan's kisses. They were strong and forceful. Full of purpose, with tongue and teeth all working together to consume Clark's mouth, to take him and turn him inside out. It was so unlike kissing Lana or Chloe or any of those boys he'd kissed at the club. Morgan knew exactly how to make Clark's stomach turn over and his cock to rise to attention.
"Lunch," Morgan said on pulling away.
Clark rose to his knees, bunching the fabric of Morgan's shirt in his fists. "Why do you always do this to me?" he asked roughly between fierce kisses. "You make me so hard and so horny and always just leave."
Morgan climbed onto the bed, forcing Clark back against the padded headboard. "What do you want, Kal? Do you want me to push you down and fuck you? Cover you with kisses? What?" His teeth sank into Clark's neck, and Clark winced, hoping his bulletproof skin didn't break teeth.
He felt dizzy and lightheaded as Morgan licked and bit down the side of his neck, along his collarbone. His hands stroked down Clark's sides, lighting fires where he touched. His thigh wedged between Clark's legs and he pressed against the bulge there, making Clark moan out loud.
"What do you want, Kal?" Morgan breathed into Clark's neck.
The words, "Fuck me," were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted it. He needed it. Clark could feel his blood pounding in his body, making him burn hotly, making him ache with the *need* for something, to be filled, to be take, to not have to worry.
He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sudden churning of his stomach. He wanted this. Really. He did, it would feel good. It wasn't like nothing had ever been up his ass before, and he'd been playing there, and it felt good, and....
"No," he choked out suddenly, terrified. He couldn't do it; not like this. Not without the ring. Not without something to help.
Frantic and shaking, he pushed Morgan away. God, Morgan was going to be *so pissed* at him, and....
"Calm down," Morgan said, voice heavy and tinged with frustration. He caught Clark's hands and squeezed. "Calm down," he repeated more firmly. "I'm not a rapist."
That wasn't exactly soothing. Shame suffused Clark, and he couldn't look at Morgan. "I'm sorry."
"I simply came in to make sure you ate something today."
With great difficulty, Clark forced himself to meet Morgan's eyes. "Aren't you getting sick of me?"
"No. I'm not." He touched Clark's jaw with feather-light fingers and said, "I want you, Kal. But I want you to give yourself to me willingly and without fear."
"I don't know if I'll ever be not scared," Clark admitted, feeling stupid. "It's a little ... daunting."
"But pleasurable." Morgan dropped Clark's hand and rose. "Get dressed so we can go to lunch. This is not a request."
"So I can't say no?" Clark asked with a lopsided smile.
Morgan returned the smile and shook his head. "Not to this. I call the restaurant and make reservations."
Clark went to the closet, but hesitated. "Are you showing me off or something?" he asked.
This time, Morgan's smile was lustful and sent ripples of anticipation down Clark's spine. "You are my most beautiful possession," he said in a purring tone. "I think I deserve at least this." His eyes ran the length of Clark's body, lingering on the tenting fabric of Clark's boxers. Then, with a smirk, he turned to go. "You have half an hour." Then he left.
Achingly hard, Clark threw himself on the bed, head full of Morgan. He had half an hour, and he intended on using every second of it.
TBC...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2004-07-16 01:24 pm (UTC)Hope
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Date: 2004-07-17 10:45 am (UTC)Wow. That must mean i'm doing something *really* right. I never thought I'd hear someoen say that. Thanks!!!
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Date: 2004-07-17 02:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-16 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-17 10:47 am (UTC)Me too! I mean, the first scene they have together, Kal is in bed wearing either norhing or just his boxers! It's the perfect set up for more slash, and then no one did anything. I guess the old man factor threw them, except he's the same age as John Glover and sexier. *shrugs* go fig. :)
I really like the way this story is coming along. Morgan and Clark seem to be developing a real emotional bond
They really are. I want to make it believable as I can without softening Morgan unrealistically or writing them completely OCC. I think I'm mangaging.
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Date: 2004-07-16 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-17 10:49 am (UTC)I go back and forth on this. I'd like to kind of resolve everything between Morgan and Lex, but, at the same time, I dont' want to upset the balance of LLAR. It is, i think, the best fic I've ever written and I'm afraid if I try to tie up too many strings, it'll come apart. Plus, the part I like best about Lex in that fic is his depression, and have this feelign that I'll get too caught up in that and ruin it. So, we'll see. Right now, I plan to kind of tag this fic back with LLAR by having Clark visit Morgan in prision at the very end of the fic. But, if I do that, it'll pave the way nicely for a sequel, so we'll see. :)
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Date: 2004-07-18 05:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-18 05:49 pm (UTC)This was probably the most important thing I wanted to do, and was worried about pulling it off. When Clark's wearing the ring, he's still *Clark*, just unihibited and wild. But I really think all the emotions and things he's experiencing are still him, just wouldn't express under normal circumstances. And I wanted him to be attracted to Morgan for reasons other than he's being paid and he's high. Morgan's sexy and playing Kal perfectly.
It's just so well-written,
Thank you!! I love hearing that. :)
Your icon is really pretty.