My friends, let this filk serve as a warning to you all about the evils of chatting on AIM with several friends while you are all in a silly mood and under the influence of eggnog, alcoholic or otherwise. Not betaed by anybody, though there are several people who were in that chat that had better be warned I will be naming names when I get down to the fiery place and Lio--I mean the Devil demands to know who's responsible for this. Title from the poem "Noel: Christmas Eve, 1913," the author of which I can't remember now, but it's not me.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town, not a mutant was spawning, not even to drown.

The stockshares were placed on the market with pride, in hopes that investors would rise like the tide.

Lex Luthor was nestled all snug in his bed, while visions of produce boys danced in his head.

And Clark Kent in his flannel, of checked red and blue, had just settled down to dream of Mom's stew.

When out in the yard there arose such a racket, Clark ran down the stairs without grabbing a jacket.

Away toward the barn he ran like the...Flash, climbed up to the Fortress and stopped with a crash.

The moon coming in through the wide open door gave the lustre of true love to the man on the floor.

When what to Clark's sweet hazel eyes was revealed, but Lex Luthor asmirk like he'd just won the field.

With a Christmas gift wrapped up so shiny and bright, Clark knew in a moment he'd get no sleep tonight.

So sexy in leather the billionaire moved, and he strutted, and shimmied, and purred as he grooved.

"Now let's dance. Now let's touch. Now let's kiss and fuck. Come on, Clark. Come on, babe. You want me to suck?"

"I'll get down on my knees. I'll go down on you slow. Just say yes," he breathed, his voice oh so low.

As kingdoms that before conquering armies fall, so Clark soon surrendered, no true loss at all,

He held onto Lex gently as Lex took him in, made him beg, made him come, then pulled off with a grin.

And then, dazed and happy, Clark heard on the air the sound of sweet laughter as he met Lex's stare.

"Do you want me now Clark?" said Lex with a smile. One thing was for certain, his teasing had style.

He undressed Clark slowly, from plaid shirt to wool socks, 'til boxers and leather separated their cocks.

And then Lex stepped backward to unzip his pants, and he looked like a porn star; Clark was entranced.

His cock--how it tempted! his balls how they swung. There was no doubt about it, this richboy was hung.

His hands were so gentle as he petted Clark's chest, and his voice was a promise, "I'll give you the best."

He urged Clark to the sofa and then kissed him deep. And this was one Christmas present Clark wanted to keep.

They kissed and they touched and they moved with sweet friction, 'til they both came at once (remember, it's fiction).

Then Lex took Clark hard, the way slashboys can, and at last they were sated, at least for a span.

They lay there in silence as midnight drew near; they said not a word, for they knew it was clear:

The best Christmas present was giving of self, not anything brought on a sleigh by an elf.

And when they recovered, they continued to give, and deigned that this giving was a good way to live.

And now we shall leave them in their barn full of cheer. Happy slashing to all, and to all a hot year!

~END~