Word Count: 7,400
Notes and acknowledgements: Written for plnunn’s Clex Doujinshi Contest. Beta read by the one and only bop_radar. Future fic.
Summary: Lex wants to put his new ring to good use.
Feedback: Does Pinocchio have wooden balls?
Let The Games Begin, by Kate
“Mr Frobisher has arrived.” Kaitlyn’s flinty voice rings out over the speakerphone.
Lex smiles and leans forward, elbow on the desk, chin resting on his fist. “Send him in.”
The door opens and Frobisher enters: a weedy little man, with greasy, thinning black hair and freakishly long fingers. His suit is two sizes too big for him and his voice has an unpleasant nasal quality to it. “Good morning, Mr Luthor,” he says meekly, head bent submissively as he shuffles quickly towards Lex.
“Morning,” Lex says brightly. It takes every ounce of will power he has not to leap out of his chair, rush around his desk and snatch the box right out of Frobisher’s trembling hands.
“I hope this is to your liking, sir,” he says, placing the little box in the centre of Lex’s desk.
“As do I, Mr Frobisher.” Lex stares at the box for a few seconds, anticipation welling up inside him. “As do I.” He picks it up. It’s agreeably heavy.
He glances up at the terrified jeweler and grins toothily.
The latch opens easily and Lex lifts the lid, sighing with pleasure when he catches sight of what’s inside.
“Perfect,” he says, taking out the ring and sliding it onto the index finger of his left hand. Ostentatious enough to intimidate, sparkly enough to make Lex feel pretty, big and sharp enough to do some serious damage.
The ring itself is cool, gleaming white gold, and chunky. Male. There are four small diamonds set either side of the kryptonite. It’s magnificent; it’s even more beautiful than Lex had hoped for.
“You can go,” he says dismissively to Frobisher, who audibly releases the breath he’d been holding, before hurrying out of Lex’s office.
Lex can’t take his eyes off his new favorite possession.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs.
At eight o’clock Lex leaves the office in high spirits, slipping the ring's lead box into his coat pocket. On the drive home, he keeps his hand in his pocket as much as possible, fondling the box possessively, humming along to Chopin’s Etude in E. Arriving at his apartment building a little after eight thirty, he is cheerfully greeted by Roberto, the doorman. Lex responds with a small smile, strides toward the lift, and spends the long ride up to his penthouse drumming his fingers against his thigh impatiently and feeling increasingly aroused.
In his bedroom he stands in front of the full length mirror, and watches himself slide the ring onto his finger again. The rock glitters enticingly in the soft light, the bright green a striking contrast against his black attire.
His erection throbs.
He strokes himself with the hand wearing the ring and nearly comes in his pants.
A few minutes later Lex is in the shower, happily masturbating to a rather violent fantasy involving his ring and Superman.
He’ll strap him to a table, hit him, cut him, mark him. He’ll open him up and find out how he ticks. He’ll—
Lex orgasms a little prematurely. He’s irritated that he didn’t have more time with his fantasy, but feels nicely relaxed nonetheless.
God, he really is insane. He barely remembers the last time he had an actual sex fantasy. These days it’s all about hurting that goddamn freak of nature. Lex is working his way up to actually killing Superman in his head, but he’s delaying imagining it until he can’t stand it anymore. For now though, torment and torture are providing him with some disturbingly powerful orgasms.
Lex can’t wait to put his ring to good use. When he first came up with the idea it wasn’t about any urgent desire to attack Superman. Rather, it was about Lex’s desire to protect himself from Superman’s interference in his less than lawful vocational pursuits.
But now that he has it he’s itching to do something with it.
He turns to his laptop and improvises.
I have it on good authority that Lex Luthor is meeting with Dr. Jonathan Crane on Wednesday October 31 at ten pm in the abandoned warehouse block on the corner of 14th and Pearl.
Given their combined reputation, I truly fear what they might be planning, and ask that you consider intervening and putting a stop to whatever it is.
A concerned and disgruntled employee of LexCorp”
Lex leans back in his chair and chuckles. He doesn’t particularly care how obvious his trap is; there’s no way Superman will be able to resist falling into it.
He prints the note out on LexCorp letterhead and stuffs it into a small envelope, absently running his thumb over the LexCorp emblem on the front. Flicking quickly through today’s copy of The Planet until he sees Superman’s name in a headline, he carefully cuts it out then pastes it onto the front of the envelope with a glue stick. Satisfied with how absurd it looks, he slips it into a slightly larger, plain brown envelope, which he seals.
“Kaitlyn, come in here for a moment.”
She opens the door a second later, efficient as she is pretty, and steps into his office. “Yes sir?”
“Address this envelope to Superman, care of Clark Kent at the Daily Planet, and have it biked over there this afternoon. Don’t include a return address.”
“Of course, sir.” She disappears.
Now all he has to do is survive the wait until tomorrow night.
The large room is dark and dank and empty save for a few old, rotting cardboard boxes and a rusted chair lying on its side. A yellow street lamp, filtering through the one filthy window in the corner, provides the only light in the room. It’s nine fifty seven. Any moment now he’ll be here and the games will begin.
There’s another room in the warehouse that has an old surgical table in it. The place was used for back street abortions back in the sixties; now it’s a lair for about half of Metropolis’s rat population. Lex doesn’t know whether he’ll take Superman to that room tonight, but he likes knowing that it’s there for him if needed. He even brought restraints with him, tucked away nicely—along with a number of surgical instruments—inside his briefcase, which sits on the floor beside him.
Every minute is an eternity, and at one minute past ten, Lex has a short panic attack. What if he doesn’t show up?
Of course he’ll show up. It’s not in Superman’s nature to ignore Lex’s taunts. He rises to them every single time.
Never one to disappoint, Superman zips into the room only two minutes late, and comes to a stop a few feet away from Lex.
“You’re alone,” he says suspiciously. “Where’s Crane?”
Lex purses his lips and pretends to be irritated. “You caught me,” he sighs in defeat. “Although it looks like I’ve been stood up anyway.”
“What are you up to?”
He backs away, as if offended. “Always with the accusations! What did I ever do to you?”
Superman folds his arms across his chest and glares at him. “Stop playing games with me, Luthor, and tell me what you want.”
Lex smiles. “Nothing,” he replies innocently, slipping a hand into his coat pocket. “I just like hanging out in deserted warehouses, that’s all.”
“Oh for— Is this some kind of decoy? I know you wrote that note yourself.” He looks away from Lex, off into the distance, listening for trouble elsewhere in the world. Perhaps something horrific, that Lex might be responsible for.
Lex fingers the latch on the box. He knows he needs to open it now before Superman gets bored with him and flies away, but he’s suddenly nervous.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies pleasantly.
Superman turns his attention back to Lex. “You’re wasting my time for no reason,” he spits out venomously. “You’re pathetic.”
Rage bubbles up in Lex’s gut from somewhere deep within. He pulls the box out of his pocket and opens it before Superman has a chance to react. So much for superhuman reflexes, Lex thinks spitefully.
Superman doubles over, clutching his stomach, then looks up at Lex in agonized shock. That he’s not expecting an attack of this nature irritates Lex. Even after all this time, after everything he’s seen, Superman has faith in human beings to play fair.
“What do you think?” Lex asks sweetly, slipping the ring onto his finger and holding out his hand to be admired. “Pretty, isn’t it? I must admit, Superman, I thought of you when I had it made.”
Superman groans and falls to his knees. He tries to speak, but the kryptonite is too close to him, crippling him in every way.
“You don’t like it?” Lex frowns. “That’s a shame. Because I love it and plan to wear it every single day from now on.” He grins wickedly down at Superman.
“P-Please,” Superman manages to utter.
“P-P-P-Please?” Lex mimics meanly. “Please what? Please don’t punch me?”
Lex swings his arm back then punches Superman in the jaw as hard as he can, cutting his lip with the edge of the ring. Superman falls onto his side, blood seeping from his mouth.
“Please don’t kick me?” Lex kicks him in the stomach, twice for good measure.
He stares down at the alien in disgust. “Who’s pathetic now?” he grabs an enormous arm and pulls Superman back onto his feet, then drags him over to the wall and throws him against it with all his might.
“Why are you doing this?” Superman wheezes. “Stop.”
“Hmm, let me think,” Lex says, backhanding him with his ring hand, leaving a deep, ugly gash on his cheek. “Because I hate you?”
He’s begging. Lex likes it.
“Shut up. I lost the last of my empathy a long, long time ago, Superman. If you think your pleas are going to make me feel bad about beating the crap out of you, you’re even more deluded than I thought.”
He pulls his arm back, ready to punch him again, but before he can swing, he hears a loud crack. Searing pain comes next, and in the second before he loses consciousness Lex realizes he’s been hit on the back of his head with something heavy.
When he comes to, it takes him a few long moments before he gets his bearings. He’s tied to the rusty chair, now upright, and his head hurts. Lois Lane is standing in front of him, staring at him coldly, arms crossed over her chest. Superman is standing behind her and to the left in exactly the same pose. Lex would laugh if his mind wasn’t already on other things.
“Where’s my ring?” he grunts, genuinely worried about it.
“Gone forever,” Lois says. “You disgusting weasel. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to smell a trap as soon as I saw it?”
Lex blinks. “That makes no sense.”
“How’s your head, Luthor?” she croons. “I hit you pretty hard back there. Sorry about that.”
“How did you know about the trap?”
“Well, don’t tell Clark this, but I snuck a look at your ridiculous note while he was out at lunch.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Lex says dryly, tilting his head and making eye contact with Superman, who quickly looks off to the side.
“So,” Lex says conversationally. “What now?”
“What now?” Lois repeats. “We call the cops and wait for them to come and take your sorry ass to jail!”
Superman sighs behind her and interjects. He knows as well as Lex does that calling the police would be an entirely pointless endeavor. “Lois,” he says gently. “Would you mind if I had a little time alone with Lex?” He glances at Lex and says through gritted teeth, “We have some things to discuss.”
Lois turns around and smiles up at him adoringly. “No problem. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”
Superman nods, smiles at her and holds her gaze, equally as adoring. “I can handle it. Thanks, Lois.”
Lex feels like vomiting, and not from the nausea caused by his head trauma.
When Lois is out of sight and ear shot, Superman instantly drops his bogus Mr Nice Guy act. He surges forward faster than Lex’s eye can see and wraps his hand around Lex’s throat. “You have no idea how tempted I am to snap your neck right now, Lex.”
“Go ahead,” Lex replies in a bored—if slightly strangled—voice. “The only downside for me is that, being dead, I wouldn’t be around to witness your turn to the dark side.” He grins widely.
Superman lets go and backs up a little, loudly breathing through his nose and looking more incensed than Lex has ever seen him. It’s a familiar thrill to be the cause of it.
“What were you planning to do to me?” His outrage is palpable. “Kill me?”
“Maybe.” Lex shrugs his shoulders. “Oh please. Don’t tell me you’re surprised by that. You’re really not very bright, are you.”
“Lex, it doesn’t have to be like this between us,” Superman implores. “I don’t wish you any ill will. I don’t want you dead.”
“That’s not what you said a minute ago.”
Superman sighs in frustration. “How can we move forward from this? There has to be a solution that doesn’t involve us killing or torturing one another.”
Lex scoffs lightly. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Lex,” Superman blurts impatiently. “That was not fun for me.”
“No, I don’t suppose it was.” Lex smiles, all the while trying to work his hands free from the scarf binding them together. Damn, that’s a tight knot. “It was a lot of fun for me, however.”
“How can you enjoy doing that to someone?”
“Someone?” Lex lets out a short, cruel laugh. “Something you mean.”
Superman’s eyes flash angrily but he doesn’t reply.
“I was only getting started too, Superman. I had much bigger plans for you.”
“Don’t say it,” he warns, in a low, steady voice.
“I’ve always wondered if you look the same as us on the inside too.”
That seems to push Superman over the edge; there’s a whirr of movement around him, a rush of wind, and suddenly he’s in another room. The room with the surgical table in it, and he’s no longer tied to a chair but lying on his back on the table, his coat nowhere to be seen.
“Is this what you wanted to do to me?” Superman demands furiously. “You wanted to strap me down? Experiment on me?”
Lex can’t answer. He’s too excited, which is an alarming turn of events.
“I won’t cause you pain, Lex. I won’t sink to that level. But I want you to get a taste of the humiliation. The helplessness.”
This is apparently how Superman justifies ripping Lex’s shirt off him and tearing it into strips. Even though the room is cold, Lex is feeling increasingly warm. He gasps when Superman ties one of his wrists to the metal bars at the head of the table. He’s panting by the time his other wrist has been secured.
It shouldn’t be arousing, it shouldn’t be. This isn’t what Lex wants.
“I want you to feel how cold it is in here,” Superman sputters. “I want you to feel more vulnerable than you’ve ever felt. I want you to feel afraid. And alone.” He tears Lex’s pants and belt off him, rips them free of his body like they’re made of paper, leaving Lex wearing nothing but black briefs and bruises. He’s breathing hard and he looks a little wild, lost, as if he’s not sure what he’s doing or why. His eyes flitter up and down Lex’s body. He’s visibly distressed.
It’s not every day someone causes Superman to lose his cool. Lex fights the urge to thrust his hips upwards.
It takes another few seconds before Superman notices Lex’s erection and it causes him to freeze and gape at Lex’s groin in shock.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says slowly, disbelievingly. “You’re getting off on this?”
Lex wishes he weren’t, he really does, and he’s not entirely sure why he’s so aroused; this is not the way he’d imagined things going down.
“I can’t believe you’re hard,” Superman says, his voice a little quieter than before, a little more like Clark Kent’s voice. And he’s still looking there.
“I can’t believe it either,” Lex says, grim and breathless.
Superman doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there awkwardly until Lex thinks he might faint from a combination of embarrassment and lust. He keeps his head turned away, staring into the darkness, trying unsuccessfully to will his erection away.
“Why are you so turned on by this?” Superman finally asks, but Lex doesn’t look back over at him.
“I don’t know,” he replies in a tight voice.
He’s being touched, although not where he wants to be touched. Superman is untying the wrist closest to him, slowly and gently, almost as if he were trying to drag the process out, make Lex crazier. He leans over Lex to get to his other wrist, cape falling onto overly sensitive skin, the scent of Clark so close to him Lex can’t help but inhale deeply, and when the cape flicks over his cock accidentally, he lets out a sharp yelp and comes.
Sadly the pleasure he might have taken from his orgasm is tainted by his less than ideal circumstances. Because now he’s lying there, completely humiliated, desperate for a shower and a change of underwear, the rest of his clothes in unwearable tatters on the floor, and Superman gaping at him, an expression of fearful uncertainty on his face.
Lex’s head falls back and he shuts his eyes. Goddammit.
When he looks back up he finds himself all alone.
Lex doesn’t remember the last time—if there ever was a time—that he was nervous about a press conference. He’s gifted when it comes to charming nosy reporters and deflecting difficult questions from the ones immune to his charms. But when he stands up on the podium in the foyer of LexCorp Tower, the first face that catches his eye is Clark Kent’s.
Clark is very carefully staring at his notebook and not at the podium, unlike Lois, who looks about ready to eat Lex alive and enjoy every second of it. Lois is not the one making him nervous, however.
He probably should have been more worried about her because she barely lets anyone get a word in edgewise, and, surprisingly, knows far too much about his budding friendship with Vladimir Putin. Lex laughs off her accusations, quips about her fertile imagination, and asks for the next question.
Dorian Doors, the Inquisitor’s faggy gossip columnist, pipes up with questions about his personal life. “You’ve been seen out on the town with Claudia Vanderbilt not once, not twice, but thrice now, Lex. You must really like her and who can blame you. She’s gorgeous! Will you be proposing soon or are you just using her for sex?”
Lex grins at the cameras and winks suggestively. “No comment,” he purrs. The crowd titters, except for Lois, who rolls her eyes, and Clark, whose face has turned a deep, fetching red. Lex deliberately avoids looking directly at Clark throughout the conference, and mercifully Clark doesn’t ask him a single question.
When it’s over and the herd begins to trundle away, Lex lingers a little longer than he normally would, and finally catches Clark’s eye. They hold each other’s gaze for a second, until Clark ducks his head, turns on his heel and flees.
Great. They can’t even be in the same room as each other anymore. Lex is trying very hard to repress his humiliation, but if Clark continues to behave like a princess freshly robbed of her innocence every time he sees Lex, that may not be possible. And what’s the big deal anyway? It wasn’t even Clark. It was Superman. There’s really no need for Clark to be acting differently around him.
As far as Lex is concerned, the sooner they can forget about what happened and go back to quietly despising one another, the better.
Seeing Superman hovering outside the windows of his lounge that evening isn’t quite what Lex had in mind, although he can’t say he’s unhappy to see him. He opens up the balcony doors and steps out into the cool night air.
“What do you want?”
Superman frowns and continues to hover. “I thought perhaps we should talk.”
He sucks in a loud breath and looks Lex dead in the eye. “May I come in?”
Lex narrows his eyes and turns around. “Sure,” he says, leaving the doors open behind him and heading for the bar. “Would you like a drink?”
“No thank you.”
“Right, of course. No drinking on the job.”
Superman laughs. He actually laughs.
And when Lex wanders over to the couch and sits down, Superman joins him.
“You look ridiculous in that costume,” Lex tells him.
“Thanks,” Superman replies sarcastically. “Would you rather I wasn’t wearing it?”
Lex’s eyebrows fly up and Superman looks instantly horrified. He hadn’t meant to say that. “I didn’t mean—”
It makes Lex chuckle. Superman joins him, the ice momentarily broken.
“I thought that maybe after what happened we might be able to reach some kind of—”
“It might help,” Lex interrupts.
“It might help if you weren’t wearing the suit.”
“I’m finding it hard to concentrate on what you’re saying. I suspect it’s all those primary colors. They’re giving me a headache.”
Superman gulps. “Wh—”
“You did offer,” Lex says with an easy smile.
“You want me to just -- take off the suit.”
“Of course not. Go away and come back wearing something else.”
“Oh!” Superman looks embarrassed and Lex feels pleased. “I guess I could—”
“Or you can just take it off right now if you want.”
Lex smiles at Superman until he sighs.
“Oh man, Lex. Stop messing with me. This is already weird enough, don’t you think?”
“Fine,” Lex concedes. “Say what you have to say.”
Superman nods and clears his throat. “Well, it -- seems to me that -- you don’t hate me quite as much as you pretend to. I know that being friends isn’t exactly going to be easy, but I’d like us to try.” He peers at Lex expectantly.
“That’s it?” Lex asks incredulously. “You think I suddenly don’t hate you anymore because of—” he stops and grits his teeth. The sheer arrogance of Clark’s assumption, to think that everything is different now because of that. To offer friendship to him, as if he’d leap at the chance because it’s oh such a wonderful offer. “Trust me, Superman, I still hate your guts. Now get out.”
“But. I thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
Superman gapes unhappily at Lex.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Lex yells, standing up and walking towards the balcony doors. He pushes them open and gestures for Superman to leave.
Superman stands up and walks past him, looking both confused and annoyed.
“Lex,” he says from the balcony. “I don’t care about the ring. I don’t care about you hitting and kicking me. I don’t care about your plans to torture me.” He shakes his head sadly. “I do care about the fact that you have -- feelings for me. Make of that what you want.”
He points his fist at the sky and flies off the balcony before Lex has a chance to scream at him some more.
Arrogant fucking prick.
Feelings. He does not have feelings. For anybody.
Lex spends the next few evenings at home, waiting for another visit from Superman, rehearsing speeches in his head that will be so cruel and cutting the freak will never even think about darkening his doorstep—or balcony—again.
He’s kept waiting and it infuriates him.
To cheer himself up, he calls Frobisher at seven o’clock on Friday morning and orders another dozen kryptonite rings to be made. He might not be able to deliver his speech to Superman but the ring sends a pretty clear message, and evidently he will need a few spares.
Meetings run until seven that evening, and he has a couple of hours to kill before his dinner date with Claudia, the thought of which makes his heart sink. She’s very attractive but not terribly interesting and Lex is really not in the mood to feign admiration tonight.
Driving too fast through the streets of Metropolis helps. His city, his beautiful city. No one loves Metropolis like he does, not even Superman.
Superman. The bane of his life, the thorn in his goddamn side. Something needs to be done about him and soon.
Which is why Lex decides to drive over to Clark’s apartment instead of back home. He’ll have a pleasant chat with him, make him an offer that will be difficult to refuse, and leave with his pride intact, right in time for his date.
“Door’s open!” comes Clark’s response to Lex’s knock. Lex shakes his head in exasperation. No one in their right mind keeps their front door unlocked in Metropolis, even when they’re at home. Yet one more way Clark is different from everybody else.
He opens the door and walks inside. He is instantly arrested by the sight of Clark in the little kitchenette, in jeans and a red t-shirt, barefoot, waving a sizzling frying pan around with confidence, and smiling warmly at Lex as if he’d been expecting him.
“Hi,” Clark says. “You hungry?”
It does smell very good, but Lex shakes his head. “No thank you. I have dinner plans.”
Clark nods and turns off the heat, leaves the pan on the stove, wipes his hands on the front of his jeans and looks around the kitchen with a puzzled expression on his face. “Would you like a drink?” he asks, wincing. “I don’t really have much… Ooh, coffee! Would you like some coffee?” He’s not wearing his glasses, and his hair sticks out at the sides.
“I’m fine,” Lex says, walking over towards the couch and standing next to it, not quite ready to sit down yet. This apartment is so small.
Clark comes over, edges past him and sits down, then gestures towards the armchair sitting adjacent to the couch. Lex takes a seat and wonders why Clark is behaving so hospitably. Is he trying to make Lex feel bad?
“So…” Clark says, big eyes on Lex. That means Lex has to start this conversation.
“Before I say what I came here to say, let’s get one thing out of the way first. I know you’re Superman. You know I know. Don’t try to deny it.”
Clark hesitates before replying. “Okay.”
“I hate your costume.”
“Your Clark Kent costume leaves a lot to be desired too.”
“I’m not convinced it’s possible for us to be friends again.”
Clark frowns. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I…” He bites his lip and looks Clark in the eye. “…want to even the score.”
The frown deepens. “What are you talking about?”
Lex cannot believe he’s doing this. He must be insane. “You saw me at my -- most vulnerable. If we’re going to be friends I would need to see you in the same state.”
“Lex, what are you talking about?”
He keeps his tone businesslike. “I want to give you a hand-job.”
Clark’s mouth falls open and his eyes look about ready to pop out of his head. “You’re not serious.”
“Perfectly. And then I’ll get out of your hair and you can eat your dinner in peace.”
“Uh -- Lex. It’s really not necessary.”
“I’m aware of that, but it would make me feel better about what happened.”
“Why should you feel better about what happened? You were planning to kill me.”
“And that didn’t work out. The way it panned out in the end doesn’t exactly make us even and you know it.”
Clark rolls his eyes. “You’re crazy.”
“Be that as it may, do you agree to it?”
“Um… I… What, you want—you wanna do it right now?”
“Is that a problem?”
“I have a dinner date later tonight so the sooner you make up your mind the better.”
“I… Where… This is insane. You really don’t have to do this, Lex.”
“Lie back on the couch,” Lex instructs him softly. Clark continues gaping at him for a few seconds, then obliges.
Lex stands up, throws a cushion onto the floor in front of the couch and kneels down on it. Clark flinches in surprise when Lex reaches over and pops the top button on his jeans. Lex looks up at his face and finds Clark staring at him, lips parted, eyes full of uncertainty, but he doesn’t stop Lex unzipping his fly, and he lifts his hips cooperatively when Lex tugs down his jeans.
It’s warm in Clark’s little apartment. Comfortable.
“Lift your hips for me again,” Lex murmurs. Clark does so and Lex pulls down his boxer shorts, exposing his semi-erect penis. He’s uncircumcised, naturally. And he’s big, unsurprisingly.
Lex wants to bury is face in Clark’s pubic hair and just breathe him in, but it’s important that he maintains his composure this time.
So he picks up Clark’s cock instead and squeezes, feels it stiffening in his hand.
“Oh,” Clark moans softly, shutting his eyes and letting his head roll back.
Lex starts stroking, and the harder Clark gets the harder Lex gets. It’s difficult to decide what looks better: the cock in his moving fist or the expression on Clark’s face. Beautiful red lips, shiny because he keeps licking them. Green eyes, slightly unfocused, gazing down at Lex as if Lex is an angel. Beads of sweat springing up on his cheeks and forehead.
“Does it feel good, Clark?”
“Yeah.” He’s breathless, words coming out like a pant, hips thrusting up now, urging Lex to jack him harder, faster.
He looks incredible like this.
“Take off your shirt,” Lex says.
Clark moans a little louder than before and does it.
“Jesus,” Lex breathes out, stroking Clark’s huge, beautiful chest with his right hand, working Clark’s huge, beautiful cock with his left.
“If you wanna—” Clark gasps, staring between Lex’s legs. Lex looks down at himself and sees that his erection is quite noticeable.
“What?” he murmurs. But before he gets an answer—permission to touch himself he suspects—he bends down and licks the head of Clark’s penis.
“Oh my God,” Clark whispers. “Oh my God.”
He tweaks one of Clark’s nipples as he swallows his cock, sucking as hard as he can, bobbing his head up and down, and it doesn’t take long, not long at all. Mouth full of hot superhero spunk, every muscle in Clark’s body rigid, Clark calling out his name, and as Lex gulps it down, his plan to not let Clark see him come again is suddenly not sounding quite so brilliant.
Lex isn’t sure if alien penises get sensitive after orgasm, but he errs on the side of caution, suckles the head one last time, then releases it. He yanks down his own fly and pushes down his pants and underwear, wraps his hand around himself and starts jerking off.
Clark isn’t meant to be seeing this, but it won’t matter as long as he manages to draw it out a little bit longer this time. Although the way Clark’s watching him so avidly is going to make that tricky.
He lets go of his cock and stands up. Clark pushes himself up into a sitting position, as if to follow him, watching his face, waiting for a cue.
“Stay there,” Lex says, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks. Clark nods and lies back down, eyes widening as Lex pushes his pants and briefs the rest of the way down and steps out of them.
Clark looks very curious about what Lex is doing but doesn’t ask, and doesn’t stop him when he climbs onto the couch and straddles his lap.
Lex resumes his masturbation, jacking himself hard and holding himself up with a hand on Clark’s chest. He knows he’s just using Clark’s body now and he’s vaguely aware that he’s completely lost his mind, but it feels so good he can’t bear to stop.
“Lex.” Clark is moving his hips again, and he’s…Christ, he’s still hard. Lex stops moving and stares at Clark’s erection in wonder. Then he pushes the head of his cock against it, slip-slides it down the thick length, then up again. “Oh my God, Lex.” Clark sounds close to losing it.
His hand is practically a blur on himself after that and then his body is ablaze, pleasure rocketing through him, shuddering, ecstatic, come spurting out onto Clark’s belly, all over Clark’s erection. Clark’s hand on himself, smothering the thick liquid all over his dick, slicking himself with it, looking ready for more.
Lex collapses back onto the other arm of the couch and starts unbuttoning his sodden shirt. He’s too hot, he can hardly breathe.
“Come back,” Clark says, wriggling out of the remainder of his clothes and holding his arms out towards Lex. “Come here.”
Lex can’t resist the invitation and doesn’t try. He flings his shirt away and crawls over on top of Clark again, straddling his belly and leaning down to kiss him.
Their first kiss. Tongues entwined and greedy and wet, and Clark manoeuvring Lex down into a slightly different position so he can rub his erection, still slick with semen, up and down the crack of Lex’s ass. They both freeze when the head of Clark’s cock comes to rest at Lex’s opening, staring at each other with wide eyes. If Lex pushes back a little Clark will enter him.
It’s been a while since he’s been penetrated so it’s probably unwise for them to attempt this without a warm up, but Jesus. It might be worth the risk.
When he pushes back it doesn’t go in at first, but he starts to rotate his hips ever so slightly, working himself open on the slippery head of Clark’s dick. And there it is.
They both gasp loudly.
“Are we really doing this?” Clark asks, but the look on his face tells Lex that it’s exactly what he wants.
He sinks down further, takes more inside. The stretch is phenomenal; almost painful but not.
“I guess we are,” Clark puffs out, throwing his head back and groaning.
Lex fucks himself on the thick shaft, keeping it shallow at first, taking a little more inside each time, until he’s sitting right down on Clark’s lap and feeling quite awed by the fact that the entire length of Clark’s cock actually fits inside him.
And that Clark wants this.
The sounds he makes are like music to Lex’s ears. The things he says—
“I’ve never...felt...anything...” Kiss. “...like this...” Hips thrusting up hard, cock pushing in deep.
“Me either,” Lex replies truthfully.
“Can I see?” Clark asks him and he nods. Climbs off and turns around. On his hands and knees, Clark filling him up from behind.
It feels just as big, the stretch just as intense, in the new position. And Lex has to look back over his shoulder to see Clark now, but it’s worth it. The look of aroused concentration on his face as he stares down at himself fucking Lex. The way he holds Lex’s ass cheeks apart so he can watch himself slide in and out.
“Looks so good,” Clark pants, speeding up, pounding in. He pulls right out. Pushes all the way in. Again, and again.
When Lex feels fluid running down the inside of both his thighs, he realizes Clark is having an orgasm. Half inside him, half out. Inside, Clark shudders and holds Lex still, then out again, spilling come down Lex’s ass crack so it dribbles down over his balls.
He pushes all the way in again, one last time, then pulls himself out and moves back, one hand on Lex’s hip, breathing loud and uneven.
Lex turns around and flops onto his back. This couch is going to be covered in come stains after tonight.
They stare at each other in silence for a while, until Lex feels the need to speak.
“Now we’re even,” he says with a grin.
Clark laughs and chucks a cushion at his head.
“Oh crap,” Clark mutters. “I have to go.”
All of a sudden, Superman is standing in front of him, looking extremely apologetic.
“Sorry,” he leans down and kisses Lex on the lips. “Lock up when you leave?”
And then he’s gone.
Lex sighs. It seems highly inappropriate to him that Superman should save lives whilst stinking of sex, but trouble waits for no superhuman alien, he supposes. He stands up and starts to get dressed, already planning what he’ll say to Claudia over dinner.
Clark visits him at his house the next evening. Clark, not Superman. He’s casually dressed and he smells like cheap but pleasant aftershave, which makes Lex smile.
“Hi,” Clark says, walking into Lex, wrapping his arm around Lex’s waist, and kissing him on the mouth. “Sorry I had to bail on you last night.” He kisses Lex again and doesn’t stop until Lex is gasping for breath.
“Just promise you won’t do it again,” Lex croons into his ear before licking his neck.
“I can’t promise you that, Lex,” Clark whispers, kicking the door shut behind him and dropping to his knees. “So we should hurry.” He unzips Lex’s fly and Lex grabs hold of his head with one hand, the other he uses to help Clark push down his trousers. “I want to—” Clark finishes the sentence by sucking Lex into his mouth.
“Oh yeah,” Lex breathes out, rocking his hips forward gently. “Make me come before you go save the world. That’s right... Oh God yeah... You’re so good.”
Clark moans as he sucks, and he doesn’t mind when Lex grabs him by the sides of his head with both hands, holds him still and starts pumping in more forcefully. The women Lex fucks hate it when he does that.
“Clark. You look so beautiful like this.” Pretty mouth stretched around his thrusting cock. “You were born for this. Oh fuck. Suck my cock, Clark. Suck me—nnng—uhhh.” He holds Clark’s face to his belly and comes down Clark’s throat and when he lets Clark go he wobbles a little on his feet, lightheaded and breathing erratically.
“Jesus.” He gapes at Clark in amazement. “That was—”
“Can we go to the bedroom?” Clark asks impatiently. “We’re not done yet.”
Lex barely has time to nod before Clark scoops him up and zips them to the bedroom, stripping them both in super time and throwing a naked Lex onto the bed, an equally naked Clark leaping on afterwards, mouthing and licking every inch of Lex’s body from his feet on up.
“God, Clark. You’re really horny,” Lex observes, delighted.
“I haven’t had sex in years,” Clark pants, sucking on one of Lex’s nipples. “I’d forgotten how good it feels. If it’s okay with you,” he looks up at Lex with big, pleading eyes, “I want us to have a lot of sex.”
Lex nods dumbly. “That’s okay with me,” he says, pulling Clark up the bed until his face is hovering over Lex’s and their mouths are mere inches apart. He leans up and kisses Clark slowly, making it as passionate as he possibly can. Clark may have to leave at any minute so every kiss, every touch has to count. Has to mean something.
Clark is breathing heavily, crowding Lex, huge body above him, against him, fingers trailing over Lex’s face as he kisses him, other hand stroking his arm from shoulder to wrist then back again. His cock bumps Lex’s belly repeatedly, stiff and leaking at the tip, and his pupils are fully dilated. He’s magnificent.
Clark moans. He’s so worked up now Lex thinks there’d be no way he could possibly leave, no matter what the crisis, no matter who else in the world needed Superman’s assistance.
“Lex.” He sounds so turned on. He rolls off Lex suddenly and falls onto his back, spreading his legs and stretching his arms above his head in possibly the most pornographic move Lex has ever seen in his life. Only it’s infinitely better than porn because there’s no performance in it whatsoever. It’s just Clark without any inhibitions, displaying himself to Lex because it feels good to do so.
His eyes are shut and he looks completely blissed out. “Do whatever you want to me,” he croaks.
Lex’s nostrils flare. He gazes at Clark, spread out on the bed, waiting for him, and he licks his lips.
Whatever he wants?
He’ll strap him to a table, kiss him, suck him, bite him. He’ll open him up and crawl inside, find out how he ticks.
He’ll love him.
They don’t go out together in public, but they often end up at the same functions, and they almost always leave at roughly the same time as each other.
Rumors fly around Metropolis.
“Lex, you can’t hide from me!” Dorian Doors shouts cheerfully. “I have spies all over the city, and they tell me you have a new beau! Tall, dark and geeky. But cute! ” He tilts his head to the left. “Sitting in this very room in fact. Just a few rows back! Gotta say, Lex. I’m a tad jealous.”
Dorian swivels his head around and flutters his eyelashes at Clark, whose face is beetroot red.
“I hear he’s up for a Pulitzer,” Dorian purrs at Clark.
Lex keeps his silence as stony as possible, although he’s laughing on the inside.
“Oh please!” Lois Lane bellows. “No one cares about his stupid love life.”
A number of the other reporters boo her.
“Lex, why don’t you tell us about the meeting you had with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad last Thursday night?”
Lex winces internally and plasters on his ‘I’m innocent and I have no idea what you’re talking about’ face. He can see Clark’s deepening frown in his periphery.
“I don’t know who your sources are, Ms Lane, but you’re paying them too much,” he says pleasantly. “I was out with an old friend last Thursday night, and believe me when I say, his name is definitely not,” he deliberately, and slowly, corrects her pronunciation, “Mah-mood Ahh-mah-dee-nee-zhahd.” He looks at Clark and smiles.
Clark glares at him coldly.
Well, what does he expect? For Lex to change overnight?
Once the conference wraps, Clark weaves his way over to Lex, still glowering at him.
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Clark,” Lex tells him reassuringly, gripping his arm and staring up into his eyes. “You know I was with you.”
“Not for the whole night,” Clark says stonily, teeth gritted. “I’m angry, Lex.”
Lex can’t hide the hitch in his breathing. “You are?” he whispers.
Clark leans towards him and speaks directly into Lex’s ear, the chill in his voice enough to make every muscle in Lex’s body tense up. “You better be home in twenty minutes. We need to have a conversation.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”
Clark snorts. “No, I’m afraid not. See you in twenty.” Then he walks off, leaving Lex feeling terrified and horny.
The last time Clark punished him for his misdeeds he hadn’t been able to walk properly for an entire week. He wonders if Clark will be wearing the suit this time.
“Take me home,” he tells his driver, hopping into the backseat of the Bentley. He sucks in a deep breath and blows it out slowly.
Images drift through Lex’s mind on the drive home, of handcuffs and blindfolds; hot candle wax and enormous dildos; of green eyes, red capes and full, wet, parted lips. Of the dozen kryptonite rings he has stored in a display cabinet in the personal vault in his office…
Oh yes, Lex thinks, reclining back against the plush leather upholstery, and smiling contentedly. Sometimes it pays to be bad.