You don't really know how it came to this, but it has and you can't stop it now. The first time it happened was an accident. You were busy. When the phone rang, you didn't answer it, even though it was right there on your bedside table. But your mom did answer it, and she knew you didn't have anything to do, so when you yelled downstairs that you were too busy to talk, she yelled your entire name and told you to pick up the phone right that instant.

So you did. And then you heard it. The way Lex said your name.

You were already hard, already so damn close, but it still surprised you so much that you dropped the phone when just the sound of Lex's voice made you come all over your stomach. He asked you if there was something wrong when you got back on the line, and there was something wrong, terribly wrong, only Lex couldn't help you with it this time.

So you lied like you always did.

When he called again a week later, you answered the phone. You weren't busy so it wouldn't be a problem. Only it was. You could feel your face flush when he said your name, and it was just too embarrassing to be in the same room with your mother right at that moment, so you hightailed it to your room and laid down on the bed and tried to pay attention to what Lex was telling you about the plant and how it somehow related to Alexander the Great. About ten seconds before you came you realized that you were rubbing yourself into the bed the way Mrs. Anderson's poodle did your leg the time you stayed for tea after you delivered her produce.

Somehow it escalated from there.

Every time Lex called you, it happened and you felt so guilty that you stopped spending so much time at the Mansion. But you couldn't stop taking his calls, and then it wasn't enough to wait for Lex to call you. It had been days since you last heard his voice and you needed it and you couldn't wait. So you called him. You had been friends for years, and it wasn't like you'd never called him before.

Only, you'd never called him with a bottle of lotion and a box of tissues laid out on your nightstand. The conversation was kind of awkward, but Lex sounded pleased, if a little surprised to hear from you. You managed to wait three more days before calling again. Then two. You were strict about only calling every other day for months, but then one day, an off day, out of the blue Lex called you.

It was strange that you hadn't noticed before then, but Lex hadn't called you in a very long time, and your insides twisted all around and you came twice before he hung up the phone. You think that might have been when you lost control, but it might just as well have been the first time you heard his voice. You've never wanted to lose control around anyone else.

You've long ago let go of the pretense that you aren't going to do it again. You actually made it until the handset hit the receiver a couple of times, but it was never quite enough without his voice washing over you. You feel like a pervert sometimes, but you tell yourself it isn't like that. You aren't stalking him, or anything. You could just as easily stand out in his yard and look through the walls of the castle and watch him shower if you wanted to, but you don't. You don't need to see him to get off, or smell him, or collect him. You just need his voice in your ear and what Lex doesn't know won't hurt him.

Besides, you care about him, and that makes it alright.

So here you are, lying in bed, perfectly comfortable talking to your best friend on the phone the night before his wedding, naked and jerking off like a pervert in a park.

The first time you heard it you were certain you were mistaken. Clark would never do something like that. But then you heard it again. And again. You tried to ask him about the sounds coming through the phone from his end, but he lied like he always has: badly. He said he was doing pushups. Who does pushups on the phone with their best friend? But you let it slide, because it was easier.

And then it was too much to just let go, because Clark was embarrassed around you like he'd never been before, and he stopped coming around and you needed him and if this was what he wanted from you, then you would let him have it. You never asked him about it again, but you listened for it every time he called, ever other day like clockwork, and you started arranging your schedule around it.

You took his calls in your office at first, but you felt exposed sitting behind your glass desk with your dick in your hand two seconds after you hung up the phone. And besides, it made talking to Clark there awkward and he came around so infrequently those days that you couldn't waste it the time. Then you switched to your bedroom, where you could let yourself draw it out, tease yourself a little while you talked to Clark, listened to him come, so fucking quiet, just a change in his breathing and twist to the way he says your name that makes you so hard you can barely see.

You never touch yourself while you talk to him. Somehow, you think, he would know and then the game would be up and since you'll never get to touch him, you take what you can get. One day it isn't enough, though. You can't stop thinking about him, can't stop wanting him and it isn't the day he calls you and you know it's against the rules, but you can't wait. To be safe you have one off before you call, because you don't know if you'll be able to stop yourself if you don't. Which is a good thing because Clark is just a little bit louder, just a little bit hotter, just a little bit happier to hear your voice and fuck you if he doesn't come twice while you are on the phone lying there in bed with your dick curled up hard on your belly, drooling all over anyway.

The pattern changes then. You call him the days he doesn't call you, and just the anticipation is enough to make you come before you pick up the phone. Sometimes it's enough, that quick fix before you hear his voice, sometimes it's not and you spend the rest of the night fucking yourself with the thick silicone dildo in your bedside table drawer. Either way makes you want to drink, and most nights you do, though you always maintain your sobriety until after you get off the line.

Then Helen moves in and you think you can stop, that she'll be enough. But she isn't and after the third time you fuck her after Clark hangs up, you vomit in the bathroom and let Helen worry about your drinking instead of your twisted relationship with your jailbait best friend. You build the room, your shrine to Clark, your sanctuary, the place you take your important calls at night before you come to bed. You collect little bits and pieces of him to put in the shrine, because this game is driving you nuts and as long as you are going insane you're going to be obsessive, too. It's the Luthor way.

She leaves you when she finds out, but you still take Clark's call that night, the night before you were supposed to get married.