Chapter Text
Lex stood in line on the front lawn of Smallville High, spaced roughly six feet apart from the people before and after him. On plastic folding tables under a pop-up tent sat rows of little plastic baggies of masks and hand sanitizer, packs of travel tissues and bars of donated hotel soap.
One of the volunteers standing behind the table caught his eye. He’d never really been one to go after do-gooder types, but something about the precarity of current circumstances increased the appeal.
His prior frustration at the slow line melted away into gratitude for ample time to savor this eye candy. Lex was quite familiar with this type of man. Biblical knowledge, one could say. High school, maybe college athlete once upon a time. Metabolism has slowed down in middle age, but still keeps fit. Hair shorn in an athletic buzz cut, silver coming through at the temples. Probably stayed busy by coaching his kids’ teams. He looked the part. Polo shirt, khakis. All that was missing was a silver whistle around his neck.
Lex loved it when men wore khakis. The gray sweatpants of the middle class. It killed him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sidle up to this guy in a steam room anytime soon.
He could really go for a steam. There was one off the side of the home gym (of course), but he couldn’t cruise for sex with a stranger in there, now could he?
“Lex?”
Ah. Not a stranger after all.
He squinted at the Daily Planet logo on the polo, then actually looked more closely at the guy’s face. Even with the mask, the square jaw was evident. But there was something familiar about those intent blue eyes.
“Clark Kent? No fucking way.”
“Never thought I’d see you around here again.”
“Desperate times.”
Lex looked around at the operation—the orderly plastic baggies, the neat, spaced-out lines, the general air of calm. “Did you organize all this?”
“I helped. Leaned on the Planet for funding, organized with some neighbors here and connections I had in Metropolis. They’ve got similar stations set up in the city.”
“I—that’s awesome. Uh, if there’s anything I can do to help—” Lex fumbled for his card, awkward with the latex gloves. “—give me a ring.”
Clark’s eyebrows raised. “All right, I will.”
“Well I’ll—see you around, I guess. Neighbor.”
Lex climbed into his Mercedes, flung his mask and goodie bag into the passenger seat, and drove back to the manor.
The moment he was in the garage, he cut the engine and jerked off furiously. He squeezed the button for the garage door with his free hand and finished as the door clanged shut.
He used tissues from the goodie bag to clean up the mess.
Clark fucking Kent. What a blast from the past. He’d been devastatingly handsome enough twenty years ago—who the fuck gave him permission to sit around aging like a fine wine?