stay in school ('cause it's the best)
by skazka

stay in school ('cause it's the best)

skazka

Summary

Teenage dirtbag malcontent heirs, like ships that pass in the night.

Notes

Long ago, I made a promise: to write this weird crazy-eyes crossover crack pairing, or die trying. RIP superhero franchises; you were great.

Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 8033059.

Chapter 1

Of course, he's only seventeen. What was Lex doing when he was seventeen years old, lo those many years ago? Oh, yes -- salvaging a viable multi-industrial empire from the crumbling remains of his father's great capitalist vision. Seventeen years old and Osborn still dresses like a schoolboy, with an expensive haircut hanging smoothly over his forehead as he twists his lip and grinds clumsily against Lex's leg. He can't keep his hands off, and Lex's decision to wear a light knit blazer and a tee shirt that says I Want To Leave instead of an actual suit and tie was completely justified because Osborn's jabbing stick-fingers are peeling up the hem of his shirt and plunging past his conspicuous lack of a belt.

"Easy, easy, easy," Lex says, holding up his hands, and Harry Osborn pauses only long enough to jerk his head back and give him a doleful crazy-eyes stare out from under his prodigious eyebrows before he goes back to ransacking for erogenous zones. "I'm not going anywhere. We've got plenty of time."

The edge of the desk is hard against his lower back and Jesus Christ, is Osborn prepared to hop right on, right here? In the middle of dad's office. It's fucked up, but Lex can understand the gesture. The place has been swept of anything sensitive enough for industrial espionage, so why not get down and dirty?

Lex hitches back his hips and yanks Harry against his lap, knocking over a desk lamp and sending it straight to the floor. Harry makes a sharp little sound, like maybe pain; his hard-on is unmistakable. Lex palms at him nice and slow through his high-end pants and enjoys the way it makes his breath hitch.

Seventeen, and he still looks like high-fashion prettyboy jailbait with no more muscle mass than the first time they locked eyes across the floor of a crowded gala. Or maybe a birthday party, Lex can't keep track of these things any more but Mercy would know. There was a lot of green liquor. It had to be a birthday. They haven't met since then. Lex is nineteen and master of his own destiny. He is nothing if not metropolitan wherever he goes.

Conspicuously, Harry hasn't tried to kiss him once. Maybe he's sentimental, saving himself for somebody else, or a dude's tongue in his mouth would be the last straw in today's festival of denial, but it just makes Lex want to bite him.

And rumor has it that the scion of Oscorp is being punted from the nest before the summer's out, so they're both trespassers here, really. Both tumbling like Icarus in freefall.

Lex takes the unlucky kid in hand, flushed with blood and warm, and thinks about Oscorp's stock prices. There has to be something kinky you can do with high-end office supplies, but Lex's faculties of invention are failing him just now and they don't, in fact, have plenty of time. The clock is ticking on mankind in general, but for them in specific, Lex is due to be escorted briskly out the front door in maybe five minutes. Leeway, but not much leeway. Lucky for him, little rich boys don't have much in the way of staying power.

It's always nice to be the first time for something. That way you know they'll never forget it. Norman Osborn's only son is sweating and squirming against his lap, clinging to him like a sexed-up koala bear while Lex relentlessly jerks him off.

Dad would be proud. It was all about what you could get away with, with dad. Broad daylight, corporate sector, absolutely no witnesses.

When he finishes, Lex wipes the spatter from his wrist with his tongue. Norman Osborn is a little too high-end to keep a box of Kleenex around the place, and there must be no evidence of their little tryst. Not even security footage -- you'd have to be crazy to put this place on film. The businessman's holy of holies. Take only photographs and leave only footprints, and so on, and so on. Harry watches him do it.

This can't really be the first time. Kids get up to all kind of kinky bullshit in expensive private schools. Lex should have fingered him if he wanted to do something really special -- but time is running out. The sand's through the hourglass.

"You wouldn't tell anyone," Osborn breathes from above him, haunted and foolish. "Don't tell anyone I let you come in here."

All things considered, only Harry came. Lex will get off to this later, in absolute privacy. Right now is spoiled, and he believes in absolute control. But it's all the same, Lex is fumbling for the buttons of his fly, which lends the whole event some perspective. "Well. My lips are sealed."