I am SO sorry about how late this is. To be honest, I could have kept working on this for many more months, but I think I'd rather just give you your fic already. I'm not sure it's *quite* what you wanted... but at least it's done! Right? *bites nails*
Title: The Hero Of Yesterday
Pairing: Lex/Clark; Lionel/Martha
Word count: 8,850
Warnings: This story contains content that some readers may find extremely distressing. Please email me if that warning isn’t enough for you and you would like more details.
Notes: A very late, very dark, very sick and twisted birthday present for norwich36. Many thanks (and a million apologies) to toadstoolsmiles for the beta.
Summary: Lex and Lionel enslave Clark and Martha respectively.
Feedback: Very welcome.
This amazing cover was made for me by norwich36
The Hero Of Yesterday, by Kate
The pain is a constant, the nausea ever increasing, it’s hard to keep his eyes open, harder not to faint. He’s in a room with no windows and white walls.
Clark curls in on himself and tries to think but he can’t. Someone is saying his name, but it sounds like it’s coming from far away.
He groans in response, so they know he can hear them. The voice is familiar, in a comforting way. It almost distracts him from the pain. Almost…
He shifts so he can see another section of the room, so he can see who’s there with him, and it takes every ounce of the meagre strength he has left.
Moving makes him want to throw up.
His mother is mouthing his name at him. Or maybe she’s saying it. He can’t hear anything over his own heartbeat. He tries to call out to her. He’s not sure if he succeeds.
She’s not moving and it takes a few minutes to realize that it’s because she’s tied up. Clark needs to help her. He needs to get to her and rescue her. He attempts to move again and it makes his stomach clench up and his body convulse. Sharp spikes of pain tear through every muscle of his body.
Then there’s screaming and his mother is being dragged out of the room, her arms stretched out towards him, her eyes terrified, and Clark can only watch.
He wakes up in the same room. But he’s on a bed now and he’s in a lot less pain. There’s still kryptonite in the room somewhere because he has no strength, but he can move now.
He’s dressed only in a pair of black boxer shorts.
Sitting up makes his stomach lurch and he puts his head down between his legs, fighting the nausea, wondering what the hell is going on.
Clark remembers being at the Planet. He remembers walking home and not seeing or hearing anyone behaving criminally. He remembers walking into his apartment and sitting down at his kitchen table to open his mail.
He remembers sickness.
His mother here, then not here.
He lies back down, exhausted, and stares at the ceiling.
Lex is behind this, of that he has no doubt.
Perhaps sleeping again would help. He would have more energy if he got a little bit more sleep.
The door opens and Clark lets his head fall to the side, staring tiredly at Lex as he approaches him.
“Where’s my mother?” Clark mutters.
“She’s unhurt, Clark. She’s fine.”
“What do you want?”
Lex kneels down beside the bed and puts a hand on Clark’s cheek. It’s warm and dry and Clark shuts his eyes and sighs a little. Lex starts stroking Clark’s face gently.
“My father…” Lex says softly. “He needed you out of the way.”
Clark opens his eyes again, feeling mildly alarmed. “Why?”
Lex just smiles at him.
Is it fear or kryptonite that’s making Clark feel so sick? “What’s he going to do to her?”
“He won’t hurt her, Clark. I promise. As long as I keep you here, she’ll be safe.”
This doesn’t make any sense. Nor does Clark’s moan of protest when Lex pulls his hand away.
“Please let her go, Lex. You can do anything you want to me, but please don’t let your father touch her.”
Lex looks deeply sympathetic, which would probably enrage Clark under normal circumstances, but instead, it gives him hope.
“Clark,” Lex says gently. “My father does what he wants. You know that.”
“Why are you helping him?”
“Because we’re partners. And that’s what partners do.”
Clark stares at Lex until his eyelids start to droop.
“I need to save her,” he says drowsily, shutting his eyes.
“You can, Clark. By accepting the situation.”
Which seems to be that Clark is trapped in a white prison with no desire to do anything other than sleep.
Clark wakes up in darkness. He doesn’t have a watch and there are no clocks in the room, but it must be night time. He sits up and lets his eyes get used to the dark. There’s nothing in the room other than the bed and a chair and a door to freedom.
He rolls himself over and topples off the bed, landing on all fours, breathing deeply, trying to focus, and then he inches along the floor until he gets to the door. He takes hold of the door handle and tries to turn it, pulling at it as hard as he can, the effort draining him in seconds. He keeps twisting until he collapses back onto the floor, completely out of breath.
If he can get out, he can save his mother.
He falls asleep on the floor.
When he wakes again, the lights are back on. He crawls back over to the bed and lies down and there’s a half formed thought floating around in his mind: extended exposure to kryptonite makes it difficult to think. And feel.
His mother is in danger and that’s why he’s here.
Is that food he can smell?
“Did you enjoy the food, Clark?”
Clark nods at Lex, who’s sitting on the bed, smiling down at him.
“I brought you a book,” Lex says, handing him a pristine paperback and watching Clark carefully.
Clark glances down at it, then back up at Lex. “Catch 22?”
“It’s a good read. Very funny.”
“I know. I’ve read it.”
“It stands up to repeat readings,” Lex says.
“Thanks,” Clark says, closing his eyes. The idea of reading doesn’t appeal. “Can you read some to me?” he asks.
“Of course.” Lex opens up the book and flicks through to chapter one. “‘It was love at first sight…’”
Lex’s voice is deep and oddly sultry, and he’s funny too.
Clark falls asleep giggling.
Days go by and Lex is there every day. He reads to Clark and talks to Clark about light and entertaining news from the outside world. He’s good company. He makes Clark forget about how sick he feels; he makes Clark laugh. He reassures Clark that his mother is fine and that as long as Lex keeps Clark here, Lionel won’t kill her.
Clark understands now that Lionel is planning to do something truly terrible and that Superman is the only one who can stop whatever it is. Lex is helping Lionel but Lex doesn’t want Clark’s mother to die any more than Clark does. And if Lex releases Clark, Lionel won’t hesitate to have his mother killed. He must have her imprisoned somewhere as well.
The nicest part of Clark’s day is when Lex touches him. Sometimes Lex kneels next to the bed and strokes Clark’s hair while he talks to him about Greek philosophy, or he tells Clark to roll over and lie on his stomach, and then he straddles Clark’s back and massages his shoulders.
Clark yearns for more physical contact but he never asks for it.
How long has he been here? Clark wishes he had kept track somehow, yet can’t find it in himself to start now.
He gets fed once a day. It’s a big, tasty meal which he can never manage to finish. They push the food through a flap in the door and leave it sitting on the floor. Clark stares at the plate for at least ten minutes each time before forcing himself off the bed. He eats it on the floor because it’s less effort and when he’s done he crawls back over to the bed, grateful that it’s low in height so climbing back up is… possible.
Waiting for Lex is the only thing keeping him occupied, and it gets more frustrating every day. There’s no natural light in the room. He’s glad the lights are kept relatively dim but even then it hurts his eyes. He’d be happier in total darkness.
Lex is caressing Clark’s chest.
“Does that feel nice, Clark?” he asks.
Clark nods his head and lets his eyelids droop. Lex’s hand slides lower, fingers lightly drawing circles around Clark’s belly button, alighting every nerve ending in his body. The sensations intensify around his groin and he instinctively starts clenching and unclenching the muscles of his ass.
He wants Lex’s hand lower.
Lex is reaching over with both hands and pulling at the top of Clark’s boxers, forcing Clark to lift his hips so Lex can take them off.
“Don’t,” Clark manages.
Lex tosses the boxers aside and studies Clark’s face. Then he wraps a hand around Clark’s cock and starts to stroke him slowly.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers. “I’ll stop if you want me to, Clark. I won’t rape you.”
Clark does want Lex to stop even though he’s thrusting up into Lex’s fist as eagerly as he can, and it feels like nothing he’s ever experienced before. He closes his eyes again and allows the sensations to wash over him. He’s too tired to resist this. It feels too good to resist this.
“I want you inside me,” Lex says, voice low. Clark groans and bucks up harder. “I’m going to stop touching you for a second, Clark. So I can take my clothes off. Okay?”
Clark nods and immediately misses the hand once it’s gone. He watches Lex strip quickly and gasps when Lex straddles him. It’s not too difficult to lay his hands on Lex’s thighs. His skin feels like silk.
Lex takes one of Clark’s hands and pours something onto his fingers, smoothing it down and making them slippery. Then he guides Clark’s hand around his body and pushes Clark’s fingers into the cleft of his ass.
“Put one in me,” Lex says, and Clark stares at Lex’s cock - which is pointing up at Clark, long and swollen - as he slides a finger inside. Clark manages to sit up a little, to make it easier, and then he pushes a second finger inside.
He starts thrusting.
“Yeah,” Lex sighs. He’s pouring lube into his own hand now and reaching down between them to cover Clark’s cock with it. He reaches around and grabs Clark’s moving wrist, then tugs it, pulling Clark’s fingers out of him.
Then Lex shifts, his arm still bent behind himself and he grabs Clark’s aching cock by the root. Lex slides the head up and down the cleft of his ass, then stops. Wriggles a little and then slowly, ever so slowly, Clark’s dick becomes encased in silken heat.
Lex sinks down, lower and lower, until he’s sitting in Clark’s lap.
The tiredness and nausea are gone completely and all Clark can feel is pleasure.
Lex starts to move, languidly fucking himself on Clark, his eyes dark, the muscles in his face taut. He collapses down on top of Clark, riding him all the while, never losing rhythm, and kisses Clark hungrily on the mouth.
“Tell me how it feels, Clark,” he pants. “Tell me how it feels to put your cock inside me.”
Clark won’t speak. The least he can do is not admit to enjoying this. Although it seems that Lex has no intention of shutting up.
“Your big cock. I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like inside my ass. God, finally.”
They’re starting to sweat.
“Tell me, Clark.”
Clark is close to coming, but after he’s come he has nothing to look forward to except queasiness. Clark wills himself to calm down and kisses Lex’s open mouth.
“I want to hear you say it,” Lex says. “Tell me how much you love it.”
And what Clark wants more than anything, suddenly, is for Lex to know.
“It feels amazing,” he admits with a whisper.
Their kisses grow increasingly passionate.
“You’re mine now, Clark.” Lex sighs. “I’ll make you happy.”
Clark takes Lex’s cock in his hand and starts to pump it in time with his upward thrusts.
“God yeah. That feels good, Clark.” They speed up. “Keep touching me.”
Their orgasms are close.
“I want to come,” Clark says helplessly.
“Me too, me too. Don’t stop. I’m going to come too. I’m nearly there.”
Lex is slamming his ass down onto Clark’s cock hard now, perfect repetition, and he’s looking more and more lost with each slow bounce.
Come spills out of Lex’s cock, spattering Clark’s belly and dripping down all over his fingers. It looks so sexy that Clark’s brain turns instantly to glorious mush as his own orgasm takes hold. He lets go of Lex’s dick and grasps Lex’s thighs, holding him down so Clark’s cock is as deep inside as it can go, and he’s shuddering with bliss. He can hear his own desperate groans and all he can see now is Lex’s eyes, open wide and focused on Clark’s face.
He looks psychotic.
“Beautiful thing,” Lex says, grabbing hold of Clark’s cheeks and falling onto his mouth, smothering it with a wet kiss.
He tongues Clark passionately and it’s a minute before he carefully lifts his body up, Clark’s dick sliding out of him. He climbs off Clark and stands next to the bed, gazing down at him with a pleased smile.
“Get some sleep,” he says affectionately, tilting his head. Clark watches dazedly as Lex pulls on his clothes, the smile never leaving his face. Another kiss and then Lex is leaving the room.
“See you tomorrow,” his parting words.
Clark shuts his eyes, too exhausted to hate himself, and falls into a dreamless sleep.
There’s a lot less talking when they’re together now. Lex walks in each day and kisses Clark on the mouth quickly, then takes off his clothes. Clark can’t keep the smile off his face when Lex pushes Clark’s thighs apart and swallows him down.
Clark sometimes thinks he could be happy like this.
On his hands and knees with Lex behind him, pumping his cock in slow and easy, stroking the skin on Clark’s back lovingly, whispering words of worship into Clark’s ear.
“So perfect, so sexy.” Thrust, thrust, thrust. “So fucking gorgeous, God, Clark. My beautiful, beautiful alien…”
Clark’s new life revolves around orgasms and Lex’s body and naked skin and… nothing else.
Each day their sessions get longer and longer. Clark knows this is a good thing.
Lex doesn’t leave straight away anymore either. He lies on the bed with Clark, naked and damp, caressing Clark tenderly and kissing him. It always feels wonderful, even though he’s becoming increasingly weak.
Clark needs sun and he needs it soon. He thinks he might be dying but he’s not sure.
“I love you,” Clark murmurs against Lex’s cheek, pulling him closer, vaguely wondering how Lex will react.
Lex gasps a little and wraps his arms around Clark, pressing into him, and Clark can feel Lex’s cock against his thigh, getting hard again. Lex starts thrusting a little desperately.
“I love you too,” he pants, climbing between Clark’s legs and pushing Clark’s thighs up, calves thrown over Lex’s shoulders, and this is the first time he’s fucked Clark twice in one session. But there it is, the blunt head of Lex’s cock cleaving Clark open.
After a sloppy kiss on the mouth Clark speaks. “I need sun.”
“Anything you want. We’ll move you to somewhere with sun.” Another kiss.
Afterwards Clark asks Lex to stay with him. “I miss you when you’re not here,” he says.
A trail of little kisses all over his neck and chest and belly. “I miss you too.”
But Lex leaves and Clark wonders if he’ll remember the request to be moved.
A few days later Clark wakes up in a new room.
“What do you think you’re doing, Lex?” Lionel asks. He takes a sip of coffee and regards his son coldly. Lex is sitting across from him in the café, holding a frothy cappuccino in both hands, with an air of smugness that irritates Lionel to the point of disgust.
“I’m not interested in killing Clark. He had to be moved.”
Lionel nods. “I see. And how long do you plan to keep him… imprisoned?”
Lex’s face is a mask of hard confidence. “Why do you care? I did you a favor.”
Lionel laughs derisively. “Indeed. You kidnapped Clark for me. I’d forgotten.”
When had Lex become so deluded?
Lionel raises his eyes to the ceiling. “How do you think she is, Lex? She’s worried about her son.”
Lex chuckles. “Having trouble wooing her, Dad?”
“You’re sick, Lex. You need help.”
Lex looks at him with bored contempt. He looks at his watch. “I have to go.”
“Late for raping our prisoner again, are we?”
Lex narrows his eyes and his sneer is so unnerving that Lionel nearly flinches.
“You don’t know anything about us,” Lex spits out scornfully, then turns on his heel and walks out.
Lionel takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly, watching his son disappear from sight, faintly revolted.
He stands up, drops a fifty on the table and strolls out.
The shower is scorching hot and the memory of lunch with his son is burned unpleasantly on his mind. He doesn’t know what lie he’ll tell Martha yet.
“You look stunning tonight, Martha.” He kisses her cheek and lets his lips linger on the soft skin a little longer than necessary, knowing she won’t mind. Then he pulls back and watches her reaction.
She drops her eyes, practiced shyness, like any socially savvy woman who knows she’s gorgeous but is too humble to preen.
“Thank you, Lionel,” she says quietly.
Their table is nearly private, the lights are flatteringly dim, the waiters knowingly discreet. The 1928 Chateau Margaux looks like ink and tastes like liquid heaven. The woman opposite him is perfection personified.
“How are you?” he asks, soft and gentle.
“Okay,” she says lightly. “I spent most of the day arguing with the bank manager, so this little distraction from… real life is a… blessing.” She smiles at him then looks down at her glass of wine as if it might explain to her where happiness went.
Lionel doesn’t smile back.
“I saw Lex today, Martha.”
She looks up at him sharply, thoughts instantly concentrated only on one thing. On the one reason she’s here at all. She doesn’t say anything, she just waits.
“He won’t tell me where Clark is but he assures me that Clark’s safe. He’s deluded himself into thinking that it was all for me.”
“For you?” Martha says, her voice high pitched and rich with shock.
“Yes.” Lionel sighs and stares out into the dusky light of the restaurant. “He knows how I feel about you.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
She’ll understand what he meant in a moment.
“Martha. You have to understand the kind of person we’re dealing with. Lex is unstable and we need to tread very carefully around him.”
Martha’s eyes and head won’t stop moving. Back and forth, back and forth, she’s trying to process the information, trying to come up with a question that will give her the answers she wants.
“Is Clark okay?” she asks, anxious and upset.
“I believe so.”
She might burst into tears at any moment.
“It’s been a month!” Voice like crying. “I want my son back, Lionel. Please.”
“We’ll get him back. I promise.”
Desperate eyes bore into him.
“What does Lex want? What is he doing to him? What do I have to do?”
Timing is essential. The right words are essential.
“Lex told me that he won’t hurt Clark… if--” Lionel pauses and stares grimly at the wooden pepper grinder.
He laughs a little, but bitterly. “It’s ridiculous. I can’t bear to say it.”
Her eyes are wet and her lips quiver so prettily Lionel allows himself to imagine a time when he can kiss her without deception. “You’ve been a good friend to me over the past month, Lionel. But you’ve not been straight with me and I’m sick of it. I just want to know what the hell is going on.”
“Martha,” he says gravely. “Lex believes that… Lex will kill Clark,” another pause so he can listen to her gasp, “if you don’t…”
Martha narrows her eyes and Lionel knows he misstepped, but it’s too late now.
“I want us to be together Martha. I want you to marry me.”
She leans back in her chair, realization there. Horror too.
“It was you. This is all you,” she says flatly.
Lionel shakes his head. “No Martha. This is all Lex. But he will kill Clark if I tell him to.”
Her voice is barely even a whisper when she speaks next. “What do you want?”
He swallows his emotions and looks her squarely in the eye. “Come home with me tonight.”
She’s not really here. This isn’t really happening. Clark is at home in his friendly little apartment, sleeping soundly. Lex is dead. Lionel is a good man.
Martha sits down in an armchair in the living room of Lionel’s penthouse and folds her hands in her lap. She looks around the room and swallows hard. It’s cold in here, not in temperature, but in all other ways. Lionel’s taste is starkly impeccable; clean lines and hard angles, cool colors and understated grandeur. Priceless pieces of art on display, within touching distance. Within breaking distance.
There is personality here but it’s a personality that frightens Martha. She hates this place.
It’s everything she’s not and everything she might have been.
Lionel is in the corner of the room pouring brandy into two glasses. The glowing amber liquid swirls around the glasses in his hands as he walks towards her, wicked eyes fixed on her face, full of ghastly intent.
She feels it in her groin. She hates him.
But she’ll die for her son. She’ll give her life for Clark, and that’s all this is. Nothing more.
She takes the glass off Lionel and stares into it.
Getting drunk would make this easier, she thinks a little distantly, and she takes a hefty slug. It burns her throat as she swallows but she wanted it to. She shivers, then looks up at Lionel, who’s gazing down at her with an expression on his face she can’t read. Doesn’t want to read.
“Where is Clark?” she says, her voice mercifully clear and unwavering.
“Martha. I didn’t lie to you about that. I really don’t know where he is.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says icily. “I think you kidnapped both of us so you could scare the fuck out of me.” She spits out the word ‘fuck’. She’s never said it before and it sounds strange and unnatural but it feels good. “And then you fabricated my rescue and you gave my son to… him, and you’re using my son to get me to do what you want. And I don’t have a choice, because I believe that Lex would kill Clark and I believe that you’d let him.” Her voice doesn’t break once and she keeps her cold stare fixed on Lionel’s face, but he doesn’t even flinch.
“It was Lex’s idea,” he replies, his voice soft and hypnotic. “I’m merely reaping the benefits.”
Martha blinks, shocked, despite herself. Don’t believe him. Never believe him.
She needs to get away from him, not far, but not this close either, so she can think. No, so she can stop thinking. She stands up and walks past him and heads for the front door. She stands in front of it and stares at the glossy mahogany surface, black in this light.
She’s not planning to open the door but she feels like making a point. She finishes the brandy and it zips through her body, a rush of sensation that makes her gulp for air, and she drops the glass onto the tiled floor beside her. It shatters and the sound echoes through her head in slow motion and it makes her smile, even though she’s vaguely conscious of a sharp stab of pain in her leg where a shard of glass must have pierced her skin in the blast.
Cold, dry hands squeeze her arms and Lionel stands too close behind her. He’s always invaded Martha’s space and Martha has always liked it. She closes her eyes and lets Lionel pull her hair aside and kiss the back of her neck.
She thinks back over the last month. Lionel’s distressed concern for Clark, his apparent attempts to find him, his constant… presence in Martha’s personal hell. Every day he was there; giving her hope, taking her mind off it, making her smile. It wasn’t easy to stop herself from wanting more, from wanting to forget about Clark for a while, but she managed it. While she was awake anyway.
Had she suspected anything? Had she really trusted him? Or had her attraction to Lionel stopped her from seeing the truth? It was right in front of her eyes. And she’d been blinded by the devil’s smile.
“I’m in love with you, Martha,” Lionel whispers in her ear. “I have been for years.” He takes his hands off her arms and places them on her ribcage, the tips of his index fingers lightly touching the undersides of her breasts. Then he smoothes them down her sides and grasps her waist. He spins her around and she doesn’t resist and his face is right there.
Within kissing distance. Within breaking distance.
He kisses her on the mouth, a passionate, confident kiss, and she keeps her eyes open as she kisses back. Arousal, heightened by the alcohol in her system, courses through her and she wants this. She can’t help it. She hates him.
Lionel wraps his arms around her and she curls her own around his neck. She wants to kiss harder, hungrier, but she won’t give him the satisfaction, so she keeps her face clear of feeling. She won’t show him her want. She hates him.
When they break apart and Lionel takes a step back, Martha attempts to breathe silently, and fails. She takes the hand offered to her and they walk through the shadows until they get to the bedroom.
Despite the fact that she hasn’t been with anyone other than Jonathan in more than twenty years, Martha doesn’t feel shy. She decides to keep her performance businesslike and she stands next to the bed and starts formally removing her clothes, turned on by the act itself and by the eyes boring into her as she does it.
If he doesn’t like her body, if she’s too fat, too old, he can put a stop to this. Her love for Clark allows her to feel that and to mean it. She might want Lionel but the only reason she’s here right now is because of Clark.
She lies on the bed, completely naked, and watches Lionel approach her, his mouth slightly open, his brow furrowed and his eyes black. She holds back a moan.
He’s running wondering hands all over her skin. All over her belly and then her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples gently, then lips closing over one of them, the rasp of Lionel’s beard sending shockwaves through her body. He slides a hand between her legs and she knows she’s slippery and she hates him for that.
Martha likes it that he’s fully dressed. It makes her feel baser, cheaper, more like a whore. His fingers are insistent and practiced, slipping in and out, rubbing his palm against her clitoris in a slow building rhythm. She’s getting hotter and moving harder against him. The pain in her leg throbs and she knows she must be leaking blood onto the bed. Closer…
He’s watching himself, he’s watching himself thrust his fingers into her, and Martha watches too. Her belly and hips move under him and he hits the right spot every time. She can feel it coming, she can’t stop it and she doesn’t want to. She wants to feel this, needs to feel this…
The force of the orgasm makes her gasp again and again; it goes on and on. Lionel keeps driving in and doesn’t stop until Martha’s body goes limp. She keeps her eyes closed but she can hear Lionel removing his clothes.
He’s between her legs, he’s naked, his breath smells of brandy, he’s pushing inside her, he’s kissing her, he’s fucking her.
Slow and steady and deep, driving her higher again, making her want to see again, but when she finally opens her eyes she almost screams in terror, because it’s Lionel; the face of power and death and lies and cruelty, staring down at her with eyes full of love. She leans up and kisses him.
She’s Lionel’s whore.
Clark wanders around his new home. It’s a penthouse with huge windows that he can’t get near and a skylight that is too high to reach. Sometimes when he bathes in the sun and his body feels almost normal, he thinks he could fly up there and break out.
He can’t fly.
It’s nice living with Lex. Lex comes home from work and they eat together and watch TV together and play cards together. They talk about trivial things and Lex assures him every day that his mother is safe.
Clark knows that if he saw Lionel now he would kill him. Lex won’t tell him what Lionel’s up to, he won’t tell him why Lionel needed Superman out of the way, but it must be bad.
When Clark questions Lex too much about Lionel, Lex quietens him with kisses. He takes off clothes and touches Clark’s body and makes Clark forget what he wanted to know.
Clark hates Lionel. He hates Lionel almost as much as he hates Lex.
Lex thinks about Clark continuously. All day, all night. He thinks about nothing else. He loathes being away from Clark and he loathes everyone who isn’t Clark. No one measures up.
He wonders how long he can keep Clark imprisoned and he wishes it could be forever.
The public are angry with Superman, the press have been unkind to Superman…
Lois Lane is the only one who suspects Lex of being behind his disappearance but she has no evidence and so the Daily Planet has been mercifully free of her accusations. She will have written the stories, she will have turned heaven and earth around to try and get them printed, but Perry White isn’t a foolish man, and slandering Lex’s name would only earn them a very large lawsuit.
Still, she badgers him on a daily basis. Barking down the phone at him, demanding to know where Clark is.
“I have no idea. I don’t know why you’ve gotten it in your head that I know of Clark’s whereabouts, but you’re mistaken. Did you want anything else? Or did you really just want us to have the same conversation we had yesterday again today? I’m a busy man, Lois, and I don’t appreciate having my time wasted. Try to be more original tomorrow.”
Lex enjoys his talks with Lois.
Martha Kent is not allowed to set foot in Lex’s office. He hasn’t seen her or talked to her once in the past three months but he knows that she’s sleeping with his father now. He has no respect for her. No one who lets Lionel touch them deserves respect.
Metropolis is becoming a dangerous city to walk around in at night. People are dying all over the world that Superman could have saved.
Lex couldn’t care less.
No one goes to the apartment but Lex. No one knows where it is. He won’t even hire a cleaner, which is problematic because Lex is deeply unenthusiastic about cleaning and Clark never lifts a finger. Lex can’t quite bring himself to criticize Clark for that.
They lie on their sides on the couch, Lex pressed into Clark’s back, his cock sliding in and out of Clark’s ass. It’s about eight o’clock in the evening and Lex has been home for an hour.
When Lex had walked in, Clark was watching gay porn on the large screen television in the living room, naked and jerking off. Lex felt unbelievably lucky and he removed his own clothes quickly, positioned himself in front of Clark and held his cock away from his belly. Clark moved forward eagerly and took Lex in his mouth, sucked on him for twenty minutes and swallowed Lex’s come. Clark had then smeared lube onto his cock and without any further preparation had pushed himself deep into Lex’s ass.
He fucked Lex for another twenty minutes before coming.
Lex wasn’t ready to stop.
Now they’re watching porn with Lex inside Clark and they’ll do this all evening. Lex won’t need another orgasm for at least an hour and the thought that he can keep fucking Clark until then makes him feel happy. They take little breaks so they can conserve their energy; Lex fully encased, kissing Clark’s neck and face, holding him close, crooning into his ear. Lex strokes Clark’s cock tenderly.
Sometimes he gets worked up, thrusting in as brutally as he can, teasing himself with the prospect of orgasm, but stopping just before he reaches the point of no return. Lets himself calm down again, licks the sweat off Clark’s shoulder.
After two hours he can’t stop himself anymore. The porn has finished and he has Clark on the floor on his hands and knees and Lex is pounding in violently, shouting out his groans of pleasure, feeling the orgasm building.
He pulls himself out and forces Clark to turn over so he’s on his back then he moves up Clark’s body until he’s straddling his chest. He wraps one hand around the back of Clark’s head and jerks it up, holding it in place, and the other he wraps around his cock, which he pushes into Clark’s open mouth. He strokes himself once, twice, then comes down Clark’s throat.
Lex watches as Clark jerks off and he lets Clark come on his face.
Clark is getting kinkier. He wants to be tied up, he wants to dress up, he wants to wear makeup, he wants to be spanked, he wants to be cut.
They film themselves and sometimes when Lex gets home from work he finds Clark watching the films. He sucks Clark’s cock as Clark watches them fucking.
Clark is getting increasingly stranger. There’s enough kryptonite lining the house to keep him tame but not enough to hurt him. He doesn’t seem to be getting physically weaker, although their conversations are becoming harder to follow. Clark is unable to concentrate on things for very long and when he talks to Lex over dinner or cards he goes off on tangents, chatting about unusual things that Lex doesn’t understand. He hates not understanding but he likes how placid Clark is.
In the bedroom it’s different. Clark is energized only by sex and he’s impressively focused. It’s the thing that gives him the most pleasure. He’s an ecstatic, imaginative lover, who Lex is deeply in love with.
Clark howls with pain and pleasure when Lex whips him with a cat-of-nine-tails. His wounds don’t heal and he’s got scars on his back, which he admires in the mirror. He stares at his scars and fingers them with blank curiosity for hours sometimes.
Clark develops a twitch.
Clark starts to complain about things. He moans about the mess and the fact that the house isn’t clean. He moans about the food and the wine; he says they taste disgusting. He moans about the décor and the plotlines of the television shows he watches. He sometimes moans about the news, although he only seems to watch the news on “good” days. When he’s more lucid and more like himself. He doesn’t ask about his mother anymore.
He moans when Lex fucks him, but not in protest.
Lex doesn’t mind that Clark’s not entirely… there anymore. Clark might not be able to have a conversation about anything other than the simplest, most trivial matters, but when he squeals with delight as Lex pummels him with both a dildo and his own cock, nothing else matters.
Lex spends his days concocting new ways to get Clark off.
After sex, Clark is moody and argumentative, although he tires quickly and falls asleep before it can really get on Lex’s nerves.
Clark begs to tie Lex up. Once he gets the idea in his head he won’t let it go, pleading every day for it, promising that he won’t try to leave, that he’ll untie Lex if Lex wants him to.
After a week of it, Lex gives in and Clark quickly gets the leather cuffs from the dresser and arranges Lex so he’s face down on the bed, arms stretched out in front of him, both wrists cuffed to the headboard. He kisses Lex lovingly and promises him it’ll be okay.
Lex isn’t afraid but he does wonder what Clark is going to do to him now.
Clark pushes his dry dick into Lex’s ass without delay and starts fucking him hard.
It’s agonizingly painful and Lex cries out for Clark to stop, but Clark doesn’t stop.
Lex begs Clark to use lube but Clark ignores him.
“I’m gonna fuck you all night like this,” Clark whispers shakily, elatedly.
Lex regrets allowing for this to happen.
Clark comes but he’s ready again in five minutes, stroking his cock into an erection and pushing inside Lex again. It’s not as painful as the first time, come slicking his ass a little, but it’s still painful.
Clark fucks Lex until Lex passes out and probably after as well.
Lex wakes up and he can’t walk. He calls the office and tells them he won’t be in.
Clark doesn’t seem remotely bothered by what he did and he doesn’t seem to notice that Lex is giving him the cold shoulder. He sits on the couch in front of the TV in his boxers watching soap operas and eating popcorn.
Lex lies on his side on the other couch and tries to ignore Clark.
But Clark doesn’t make it easy. After his shows have finished he takes off his underwear and jerks off, watching Lex as he does it. He comes all over himself and rubs the come into his skin.
Lex wonders how many times Clark does that when Lex isn’t around and he decides he better get out of the room before he gives in and makes up with Clark.
He hobbles to the bedroom and lies on his stomach on the bed. He doesn’t see Clark again for a few hours. They haven’t exchanged one word all day and Lex isn’t happy about it. But he’s still too angry with Clark to forgive him so when Clark comes into the bedroom, naked and hard, he pays no attention.
“I want sex,” Clark says, twitching, climbing on to the bed.
Lex rolls away from him and eyes him incredulously. “Fuck off. You’re not touching me tonight.”
Clark crawls over to him and is about to push Lex down and straddle him when Lex shoves him away. “I said, fuck off.”
But Clark persists. And even though he’s weak he manages to pin Lex to the bed. Lex keeps his thighs squeezed together but Clark forces them apart with one knee, then another knee, then he yanks Lex’s boxers down over his ass.
“Yes,” Clark whispers. “I want to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you.”
Lex screams when Clark pushes his cock inside him.
Through the pain Lex considers the irony of being raped by his own prisoner.
Clark chants about Lex’s blood slicking his dick as if it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
Lex escapes after Clark falls asleep and calls Mercy to drive him to his other apartment.
He misses Clark horribly during the days it takes for his injuries to heal, but the break from each other is necessary.
When Lex walks into their home a week later he’s wearing his kryptonite ring.
He finds Clark in the bedroom and when Clark notices his hand he looks afraid. He stands up and tries to get past Lex and out of the room, but Lex just grabs Clark’s face with his ring hand, instantly aroused by the expression of pain on Clark’s face. Clark drops to his knees helplessly and Lex punches him in the face, splitting his lip with the ring, and then Clark falls to the ground. Lex kicks him in the stomach twice.
Clark’s already naked, which is convenient, and Lex quickly moves behind him, between his legs, and unzips himself. He pulls out his cock and slicks himself with spit, then enters Clark with a quick hard thrust.
God he’s missed this. A week without Clark is a week too long and he’ll never let that happen again. He takes the ring off and flings it away.
One hand holding the back of Clark’s neck, the other flat on the small of Clark’s back, his cock back where it belongs. It pleases him that Clark is pushing back, getting off, enjoying it. It pleases him that he’s not nearly as crazy as Clark is.
Lionel tells Martha that he’ll have Lex kill Clark if she doesn’t marry him.
The ceremony is small and tasteful. Their picture is on the front page of the Daily Planet. Martha’s smile looks real but it wasn’t. Lois Lane’s report mentions that she’s the mother of Daily Planet reporter, Clark Kent, who’s on sabbatical in Europe.
They go to Paris for their honeymoon and they have sex every night.
Knowing that being Lionel’s wife is what’s keeping Clark alive gets her through the day.
Clark finds out about the wedding by seeing it on the news.
He’s enraged. About that and about other things: The shower is filthy and the bath is rimmed with black scum. There’s dust everywhere. Clark doesn’t wear shoes or socks and he’s sick of his feet sticking to the floor when he walks around the house. He’s sick of the smears on the bathroom mirror. He’s sick of the way their sheets reek of old sweat and dried come. He’s sick of eating and of drinking and of living.
It feels like he’s been here for years.
He’s been here for eight months.
His mother married Lionel and his entire existence is based on a lie.
“How could you not tell me?” he yells at Lex that evening.
“I didn’t know about it,” Lex says. He’s lying.
“Fuck you. Let me go.”
Lex has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”
It’s true that Clark hasn’t asked to be freed once since his kidnap. He’s not sure why that is.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“If I let you go my father will kill your mother. Do you understand?”
“Bullshit. This is fucking bullshit. Stop lying to me you freak.”
Clark feels exhilarated and determined. He needs to get out. He thinks about the roach he saw in the kitchen this morning. He’d watched it exist in his filth, crawling all over the dishes in the sink, sitting on a crusty plate, looking at him, challenging him, daring him to destroy it. He’d picked it up in his bare hands and crushed the life out of it.
“You’re upset about your mother,” Lex replies calmly.
Clark feels angry.
“No, I’m upset about me,” he spits out. “I’ve been your little love slave for months now under false pretences. Lionel isn’t going to kill my mother. He loves her. And what my mother doesn’t realize is that you’re not going to kill me. That’s why she married that son of a bitch.” His breathing is harsh and loud. “And you let it happen.” He glares all of his hatred into Lex. “Let me go!” he shouts as loud as he can.
Lex looks at him coldly. Then he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.
“Let me go!” Clark screams after him, collapsing onto the couch and bursting into tears.
Clark isn’t speaking to Lex but he crawls into bed beside him at about midnight. Lex slides over and kisses him on the mouth but Clark doesn’t kiss back, although he does allow Lex to keep kissing his neck and chest and belly and cock. Lex sucks on Clark, who’s very hard, and Clark comes within minutes. He doesn’t return the favor, which irritates Lex. He just turns on his side, facing away.
Lex considers raping him but decides against it and jerks off instead. He comes on Clark’s back and ass with a groan.
It carries on like that. Clark refusing to talk to him except to say, “Let me go”, refusing to touch him, refusing to do anything other than sleep next to him.
Lex jerks off next to Clark in bed and even though Clark can’t help but watch he won’t touch. When Lex orgasms Clark finally reaches down and touches himself, coming instantly.
It becomes a nightly ritual but it’s starting to bore Lex. He misses Clark’s ass, he misses Clark’s cock, he misses Clark’s taste.
He says nothing for a month and Clark doesn’t speak to him the entire time. He just stares into space and he sometimes cries.
“Clark,” he whispers when Clark climbs in beside him one night. “This is ridiculous. I need to you touch me.”
“Let me go,” Clark replies.
Lex sighs, crawls over and straddles Clark, who doesn’t attempt to stop him, he just stares up at Lex and keeps his arms flat on the bed. Lex leans down over him and kisses him on the lips.
“Come on, Clark. Don’t you miss touching me?”
“Please Clark. Please touch me.”
“Can I have sex with you?” he asks, grinding down into Clark’s erection. “Please?”
“Let me go.”
Lex reaches over and picks up the bottle of lube he’d put on the bed earlier, he shifts back a little and slicks Clark’s cock, then he sits on it. He moans loudly as he fucks himself, knowing it turns Clark on. Clark starts moving too after a while and the rhythm gets faster, harder, deeper. When Clark is close to orgasm he reaches up and clutches Lex’s arms.
“Let me go,” he cries out as he comes.
Lex leaves the front door open when he leaves for work the next morning.
Superman returns to Metropolis and offers no explanation for his absence, and the world becomes a safer place once more.
Clark returns to the Planet and refuses to tell Lois where he was.
Martha doesn’t divorce Lionel and Clark idly plots to kill his new stepfather.
He thinks about Lex continuously.
Clark can’t look Martha in the eye anymore. He’s as nice as ever but there’s something fundamentally different about him. It hurts her to spend time with him now. She misses her son. She misses the relationship she used to have with him. She knows it might be different if she left Lionel and she considers it seriously every single day.
But she doesn’t leave.
They’re eating lunch at a busy little café near the Daily Planet. She’s not comfortable there because she knows she’s surrounded by journalists; journalists who probably want to eat her alive, but Clark doesn’t care about that. It’s unspoken but she understands his message: if you didn’t want the press to be interested in you, you shouldn’t have married the most powerful businessman in the world. Clark has no sympathy for Martha.
She’d never expect him to.
He’s been back a month. He looks the same; still handsome behind those thick glasses and mop of hair. Still hunched over slightly, making him seem strangely small, dressed in a bad suit that doesn’t fit, fumbling and nervous in front of the pretty waitress, who barely even registers his existence. But when there’s no one within earshot except Martha, he’s the Clark she knows, if a little more sober and philosophical than he used to be.
“I want to enjoy it again, I really do,” he says reflectively. “But I’m finding it hard to…” he knits his brow. “Care.”
“Have you considered-”
“No. I’m not, ha.” A short, bitter laugh. “Pressing charges. I know you want Lex behind bars and I understand how that might make you feel better about… everything, but it’s not going to happen. And that isn’t the solution to my problem anyway.”
Martha sighs. Clark hasn’t told her what happened. All she knows is that he was Lex’s prisoner for nine months and then suddenly he was free. He returned to the Planet, Lex carried on as normal, Superman came back - albeit somewhat infrequently – and Clark refused to tell her anything.
She’s still unable to get anywhere near Lex, which is probably a good thing, because she wants nothing more than to watch him die.
“Things will get easier,” she says, irritated that she can’t come up with something less clichéd. “You’ve only been back a month. You’re strong, Clark, and not just physically. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met and you’ll get through this.” She stops, but it’s not enough. “And I’ll always be here for you,” she adds pathetically.
He looks up at her, but his eyes aren’t on her face, they’re staring just to the side of it. It’s unsettling.
“Thanks,” he says, then he looks back down at his half eaten sandwich. “I better get back to the office.”
He kisses her on the cheek before he leaves; a quick, perfunctory kiss that means nothing and everything all at once.
Lex has no contact with Superman or with Clark for two months. He’s miserable and full of hate and anger. He destroys people’s lives and he gains more and more power in the criminal underworld. Lionel takes a back seat and doesn’t question anything Lex is doing. He doesn’t care. He’s in love, and bored with anything that’s not Martha.
Life without Clark is barely worth living, and he wants to hate Superman like he used to, but Superman isn’t the same as he was. He’s pickier about who he saves and no one notices this but Lex. It’s impossible to hate him.
“Clark Kent from the Daily Planet is here to see you,” his secretary tells him over speaker phone.
The news hits him hard, right in the gut; it winds him. It’s difficult to breathe.
He thinks about the kryptonite stored in the safe, thinks about getting it, trapping Clark in his office, taking him home, never letting him leave again. He sobs a little at the prospect. It would be so easy… But he doesn’t move. He just sits still and waits. His heart beats quicker with every passing second and he might need to throw up.
What does Clark want?
The door opens and Clark walks in, eyes cast downwards. He closes the door slowly behind him and removes his glasses, putting them in his jacket pocket, standing still and not looking at Lex.
Lex gets up and walks over, blinking, needing to be closer, to smell, to touch, to devour.
He stands in front of Clark and stares into his eyes; wide and green and full of yearning. Lex pulls Clark into a tight embrace and kisses him on the mouth feverishly. Clark responds. He picks Lex up and carries him over to the couch and he removes their clothes unhurriedly, mouth on Lex’s the entire time.
They make love and it’s perfect and Clark talks under his breath as he slides in and out of Lex but Lex can hear every word. “I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.”
Afterwards, Clark gets dressed, kisses Lex once more, then leaves.
That night, Superman saves the lives of more than 300 people, by catching a plane that had veered off course and was about to fly into a mountain. He flies it to safety and poses for a few photos before soaring back into the sky. It’s the most heroic thing he’s done since his return.
A year ago a feat like that would have boiled Lex’s blood.
Tonight, Lex feels proud.