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Chapter Text

"Clark... Hey, ground control to Kent?"

Clark immediately comes back to his senses. What was he just thinking about? It couldn't have been the lunch he'd taken three bites from already, no... The spectacled man looked up at the screen in front of him, staring at the article he must have absentmindedly clicked on, regarding "Lex Luthor Return to LuthorCorp." He had somehow read through the entire part of the story that went over recent news - of Lex's recent (and by all accounts premature) discharge from Belle Reve and return to Director of his company, including recent updates to policy to "allow transparenty" between the company and the public - and had started reading about the history of LuthorCorp's founding and innovations towards the people of Metropolis. Clark looks away from the screen, and turns towards the voice that pulled him back to reality.

Jimmy stands in front of him, arms crossed, and leaning against the desk. Clark smiles at the photojournalist, "Hey, Jimmy, sorry. How long have you been standing there?"

The slouching man scoffs. "Long enough to watch you pick up that bite and put it down without eating it... twice."

Clark looks down and, sure enough, a preloaded bite of rice and ground beef sits atop his fork. He awkwardly laughs and picks up the fork, swiftly swallowing the bite. "Right, sorry. Must have been lost in my research."

And he remembers immediately what he was doing, exactly. He'd been assigned by Mr. White to get the scoop on news regarding Lex Luthor. 'Anything, really,' his boss had tasked. 'I don't care if it's good or bad, the readers want to know more about what's going on with Luthor since returning to the public eye, and we have an entire year of news to make up for.'

Clark was the kind of guy who tries to see the good in everyone - even a megalomaniac like Lex Luthor can't be all bad. Sure, he'd kidnapped and brainwashed a dog of all creatures. And sure he's tried to kill Superman more times than he could count. And sure he hasn't at all been transparent about his egocentrisism and sadistic nature in the past. But... There's gotta be some good somewhere in there.

Of course, if the only scoop Clark could find was slanderous - and factual - stories about Lex's plans to do even more evil mastermind nonsense... Then, Clark Kent would have to work with what he is given.

Jimmy clears his throat again, and Clark realizes he's been shoveling food in his mouth and oblivious outside his own thoughts over the last few minutes. Clark swiftly swallows and said, "Right, sorry. Got distracted. What's up, Jimmy?"

"It's fine, Clark," Jimmy shifts his weight from one foot to the other, while doing a quick scan to see if anyone in the vicinity could be listening in. "You're working on the Luthor scoop, right?"

A pair of dark eyebrows furrows. "Yep, no luck so far. For a guy who's publically claiming to being 'more transparent' on the company's work, there's not a lot of information on exactly what they're doing."

"Right," Jimmy looks over his shoulder again and continues, "Well, I might have a little intel, maybe it could be a lead in your story? But I got it under uh... discrete means, so it'd be best we keep our sources anonymous."

Clark smiles. Leave it to Jimmy to find juicy details through one of his various... sultry encounters. "Right, yep, lips are sealed."

Jimmy nods "Alright. I have a... friend who is personally vouching for philanthropy by Lexcorp. But it's not like something public knowledge. As far as I know, the donations and support are all under the table."

Clark's hands hit the table (with amazing restraint, mind) as he stands. "Jimmy, that's great. This is exactly the sort of story I'm looking for."

Jimmy smiles awkwardly. "Yep, I thought this would be right up your alley. But Uh..." Jimmy scratches the back of his head as he looks away. "Uh... Not really my place to give more details. But, I bet if you wanted to interview the source, I could probably get a sit down between you and her."

Clark rests and hand on Jimmy's shoulder, pulling the young man's attention back to him. "Jimmy," he smiles, "I would like nothing more."

And now Clark Kent finds himself seated at a coffee shop, directly across from a stunning young woman. She'd introduced herself already as Faye Smith, an accountant at LuthorCorp. She tosses her braids over her shoulder and gently sips on her iced coffee so as not to disturb her perfect lipstick. Clark feels a bead of sweat form on the side of his head - he should have also ordered something chilled so he could quench the thirst and subdue the lump in his throat. How does Jimmy continue to seduce such attractive women?!

As he recalls, this is the first woman he's spent time with since Lois Lane had moved cities about a month ago. Though they'd broken up some time prior (she had known that this step up in her career had been coming, and did not want to lead the gentleman on), they still remained good friends and talked frequently. Despite it all, Clark knows this is a professional encounter, and that he needs to remain focused to get to the bottom of this story.

"So, Miss Smith," he flips open his spiral-bound notebook and clicks his pen - once, twice, a third time. "You mentioned that you're an accountant for LuthorCorp, and you were willing to talk a bit about the company's recent filanthropy."

She smiles gently at his request for details. "Yes, Mister Kent. LuthorCorp has in the past supported many groups, including local charities in Metropolis for homeless shelters, food kitchens, and government-funded parks. Since Mr. Luthor's return to company head, he has redoubled his efforts to support these groups and has already donated millions to restrengthen the community."

Clark writes the entire statement with ease, and frowns. Though a solid (albeit corporate) answer to his inquiry, this was already public knowledge and no where near the 'big scoop' Jimmy had seemed to insinuate. "Yes, and these all incredible efforts to support our city. Though, I was lead to believe there have been... other recent expendatures? Something that isn't entirely... public knowledge."

Faye's smile widens - at first glance it's friendly, but Clark has done enough of these one-on-ones to know a smile like this is to disarm and distract. "Well, I'm afraid all I can share with certainty is when money is moved directly from the company's account."

"Right," Clark attempts to move on, feeling the question is already a dead-end. "Well, Miss Smith, would you be so kind to tell me more about your time working with LuthorCorp?"

"Certainly," she leans back and exudes confidence while the grin returns to a more subtle smile. "I've been working for LuthorCorp for almost seven years. I started with an incredibly mundane role and worked my way up in the company to a position where I could support myself and my partner. Mr. Luthor advocated for my growth and development within the company, he was also the one who facilitated my initial hire and made sure I had a roof over my head and clothes on my back when I had nothing. I am very much indebted for all he has done for me."

Clark pauses. Though the idea of Luthor supporting employees is not outside the realm of possibility, he finds it odd that he personally hired, clothes, and housed someone for an entry - level position. "Would you be open to sharing more about your background, the circumstances that led to your hire with LuthorCorp?"

"Certainly," she states before taking a long, careful sip of her drink. Clark does the same as she speaks. "I was kicked out of my home at a young age. As a transgender woman, my parents were not open to their eldest child identifying as a woman. I was homeless for... perhaps six months? Before my encounter with Mr. Luther. He personally saw to it that I was no longer unhoused."

Clark swallows again. "So that means... you're..."

Faye returns his glaze with cold eyes. A look that challenged him to say whatever close-minded statement she is used to receiving following coming out.

Clark recognizes this and trusts his better judgement to navigate the interview back on track. "It sounds like a very difficult situation to have been put in, I'm sorry to hear. I'm happy to hear that Lex Luthor went above and beyond to support you in your time of need."

The woman noticeably relaxes, hopefully realizing she is in good company. "Yes, I agree that Mr. Luthor did exactly that."

Clark jots a note down. "Would you say this is common practice with other employees that share your background."

"I can't speak on behalf of others' experiences," she shakes her head as she lifts her drink again. "But I can say, through first and second-hand account, Mr. Luthor cultivates a work envornment where queer employees feel safe and supported."

Clark nods thoughtfully as Faye takes another long sip. This is all news to the reporter, and the first time he's heard of anyone at the corporation feeling supported by... well, by the most egocentric person Clark knows.

From there, the conversation drones on - not particularly of details Clark felt would be relevant to the conversation, but lovely banter none-the-less. It's with his final sip of coffee that he realizes the time, and just how long they have been chatting.

"I appreciate your time," Clark says, as he stands with the empty cup hand. "I feel I've learned as much as I can, and I'm looking forward to writing more about the company's stance on support for transgender individuals. Thank you for agreeing to meet for this interview."

The woman smiles and stands as well. "The pleasure is all mine. I appreciate when reporters like yourself look to tell the stories of queer professionals, and I'm grateful you took the time to listen to mine."

Clark offers his hand, which she gently shakes. "And, off the record," Clark asks with a small tilt of his head, "Why did you agree to this interview?"

She smiles - a warm smile Clark felt he had not received from her since they initially met. "I know Mr. Luthor has been fighting an uphill battle since returning to work. There's a lot of eyes on him now, more than ever. We both know he's not a perfect man, and that he's made mistakes in the past. But, he's done nothing but support me when no one else would. And I feel like that's worth something."

Clark nods. "I see what you mean."

Faye pushes her braids behind her ear. "And... If you don't mind, would you say 'Hi' to Jimmy for me?"

Clark has to stiffle his laughter. Seriously, how does Jimmy keep finding these stunning women who are simply obsessed with him?! "Yes, of course. I'd be happy to."

"Pathetic. Worthless. You've been back for weeks and still you've made absolutely no moves to make your shareholders happy. What a waste. You are no child of mine, certainly not a son."

Inhale. Exhale.

Lex Luthor stands in his office. He stares out the window over the sprawling city of Metropolis. Even now, years after his father had passed away, he still hears the grating, disapproving voice. No matter his choices, good or bad, he always has something to say about it.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

True, it's been an uphill battle these last three weeks. It's hardly been enough time to stop the hemmoraging of the money left in the coffers and find better uses for those finances. The idiot left in charge while Lex was doing time had already been fired, blacklisted, and outcast by LutherCorp and other major tech companies in the country. No matter what the reaction, however, it does not save him from the fact that the company needed a win, and soon.

Lex Luthor has become the face of corruption. He appears less human and less of a man compared to the likes of the Man of Steel. He grimaces at the thought. To be even put on the same level of a thing from space was bad enough, but to be considered by the broader public as worse was enough to make the man's blood boil.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Keep it together, Lex. Today, we have a chance to make things right.

Almost as iff on cue, there's a knock on his door. "Mister Luthor," his assisstant called. "The reporter from the Daily Planet is here for the scheduled interview. Shall I let him in?"

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

"Yes," Lex responds evenly. "Please send him in."

The door opens and closes, all while Lex continues to stare across the city. One chance, he thinks to himself. If he can convince one man that he's turned a new leaf, that there's no schemes or plots, that he's simply a good man with nothing to hide... he's home free to return to what he started years ago. To destroy Superman and take his rightful spot as hero of Metropolis.

Inhale. Exhale.

Lex turns and smiles at the tall - albeit drab - reporter that just walked in. He walked across the room and offered a hand to shake. "Mister Kent," he warmly greets. "Thank you for inviting me to this interview. Please, have a seat."

Chapter Text

"Before we start," Clark Kent says, "I'd like to thank you for allowing me the chance to interview you, Mister Luthor."

Lex Luthor sits and watches the burly man in front of him open a spiral bound notebook and click his pen once. No part of him screamed 'city boy' (which Lex knew already - he would never allow a reporter a chance to sit with him one-on-one without doing an extensive background check first), from the thick unruly curls on his head to his stocky frame. Folks like him are the kind who ask free-ball questions and grant benefit of the doubt; both would be factors in taking the lead in this conversation and twisting the narrative to suit LuthorCorp's purpose.

Lex smiles - a sincere one, but not one with the intention of granting warmth. This would be too easy.

"I should be thanking you," Lex Luthor responds as he leans back in his plush chair. "You're the first reporter to reach out for an interview since my release." A lie; dozens of reporters have requesed an interview, hoping to write the story of a lifetime. But Clark Kent did not need to know that. "It's hard to imagine people are scared to talk to me, but I can't think of another reason why you're the only one to reach out."

Kent nods and jots down a note. It would seem that the interview has started. "Would you say it would have anything to do with your incarceration?"

The answer rolls off Lex's tongue so easily, just as he had practiced many, many times. "Perhaps. I would like to be clear that anything I did was for the good of the entire world, but I understand why it could cast doubt in the public eye. Since serving my sentence in Belle Reve, I have had plenty of time to review my actions and realize that there are better ways to make a positive impact. And today, I strive to do precisely that."

A pen scrawls across paper to get the quote in its entirety. "One of these actions includes your support to the Country of Boravia in the form of selling weapons. Did you know this would be used to invade the country of Jarhanpur?"

Lex nods and supresses the corner of his lip from being tugged. Even the hick's hardball questions were too easy to navigate. "I did not know the reason why Boravia's military wanted to buy arms. The country is an ally to the United States, so for all intents and purposes it was not morally reprehensable to provide aide to a country that does not oppose our own. Where I did fail," Lex leans his head against his hand in practiced forlornment, "was that I did not think critically on where those weapons would be pointed. Had I known that it was going to be used for such vile reasons, I would have never sold those weapons in the first place."

"Mister Luthor," Kent cleared his throat, "We previously covered a story that showed with conclusive proof that you directly benefitted from this confrontation, in the form of receiving land from Boravia. Do you have any comment on this?"

"I do," Lex leans forward, prepared to show his cards. "I was promised land by Boravia, which I was looking forward to building a technological utopia atop. I was led to believe the land would be withing the already existing border of the country, so when I learned that the the intent was to invade Jarhanpur and grand me land from there, I was appaled. I privately reached out to the late President Ghurkos, and pleaded with him to utilize non-violent methods to reabsorb their brother country, but by that point it was too late."

The gentleman across the table jots notes quickly. Luthor was thrilled, this was going better than he'd hoped. "And from what I'm hearing," Kent begins, "relinquishing the land was out of the question? If you knew blood would be spilt, why did you decline publicly admonishing the Boravian government?"

"Relinquishing the land was out of the question, by this time. Remember, I no longer had a say in what was happening. If I kept hold of that land, at least it could become a political refuge for the people of Jarhanpur, in hopes of keeping displacement to a minimum." Lex leans his head to the side, careful to cast a critical glare without it coming across a piercing. "And Mister Kent, just because I did not publically share my distain for these actions, does not mean I did not share them at all. I made my stance clear with President Ghurkos. Just because I have prestige, it is not my responsibility to be a figure of righteousness in the public eye."

Lies. All of it. With how often he once turned to the public and warned the citizens of Metropolis of Superman and his 'nefarious intentions,' he knew his words had a way of swaying the public. But Lex spoke with such certainty that he knew the reporter in the room would have no space to cast a shadow of doubt.

Kent does nod at this response, and moves on. "On the note of sharing your thoughts with the public, I would like to speak with you regarding your hatred of Superman. If you're not familiar," a small smile tugs at Kent's lips (which Lex notices and detests), "Over the last year, Superman has prevented nuclear fallout, redirected a meteor in space, subdued countless metahumans, and supported the our citizens in small ways too many times to count. Has your opinion on Superman changed, knowing that he has done so much good for Metropolis?"

Lex feels a pressure build behind his eyeballs. Keep it together. Inhale. Exhale. Of course the Superman Fanboy would be enthusiastic to share the good things that Superman has done in the last year, all while glossing over any mistakes, damages, and not-so-good deeds. Lex knew this would happen; he knew that agreeing to an interview with the only reporter in all of Metropolis that Superman would give the time of day would mean speaking to someone with a strong bias. But he's doing so well. He just needs to stay on track.

Lex continues after a small pause, voice and body language relaxed as always. "It's a relief to hear Superman has supported the city, alongside the Justice Gang," Lex grimaces at the title; it just doesn't sound quite right, but he moves on. "My stance on him remains largely unchanged; it's dangerous for us to rely so heavily on an all-powerful being with no failsafe in place. I urge the public to realize this, and treat his support with an understanding that, one day, it could be the city's downfall."

Yes, Lex realizes he sounds hypocritical. But when it serves the interests of the city - and himself - he know's he is in the right.

Kent writes for a long time, then looks back up at Luthor. "Let's move on," he says with an irritatingly mollifying smile. "I wanted to review some of the ways you and LuthorCorp have given back to the city of Metropolis since your return to the public eye."

Lex feels his shoulders relax as he transitions to the easiest part of the interview. He shares the company's past support of the city and recent donations made. All of which are public knowledge. Lex also shares plans to fund and sponsor events in Metropolis this coming season, including a 'Human's Day Parade,' which focuses on uniting all humans regardless of race, background, orientation, etc. Since, in Lex's mind, it's easier to bring one unified people together to oppose outside (alien) forces. But, Clark Kent did not need to know that.

Kent beams in response. "You're support of the city is astounding, Mister Luthor. It's clear you put your money where your mouth is when it comes to supporting your neighbor."

Lex smiles, knowing full well the reporter in front of him is as good as putty in his hands. "It's the least I can do. How can our city continue to prosper if we are not all happy, healthy, and supported?"

Kent has been jotting notes for a while, when he suddenly flips to another part of his notebook. "During my research," Kent starts, "I also recognized substantial support of LGBTQ+ organizations, with a strong empasis on rehousing unhomed transgender youth. I'd love to speak with you more on that."

Silence. The air of the room suddenly becomes stifling, much to the billionaire's horror. The once calm and composed Lex Luthor becomes rigid and distressed. How did he- Inhale. None of this was public- Exhale. Did I make a- Inhale. How do I- Exhale. Lex prays the man - the idiot - across from him doesn't realize what's going on. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

When he's composed well enough, he speaks. His voice is strained and tinged with firey anger. "I think you're mistaken, Clark Kent," he bites the name. "There are no records of my support for any of that."

"Well, no, not directly through LuthorCorp, but-" Kent pulls out of his breast pocket a printed paper. A percursory glance and Lex realizes it's an itemized document showing hundreds of millions of dollars donated over the past eight years to Metro LGBT Club and Queensland Queers, the two LGBTQ+ organizations in Metropolis. "I believe you moved the money away from the company and into a private bank account, before donating it under the name 'Lionel Luthor.' Am I correct?"

The spinning room suddenly stops and Lex feels unnervingly nauseous. Kent is so close - too unbearingly close - to the root of it all. To the truth. To the one thing he's kept close to his chest all his life, the truth that no one is supposed to know. 

Lex could kill him right now. He could reach into his coat pocket and shoot the reporter where he stands. He could call security to take him away to a far off prison. He could call in a number of meta humans he has in his pocket and ensure Clark Kent mysteriously disappears on his walk home from this interview.

For the first time in a long time, Lex cannot think straight, nor rationally. Clark Kent has learned too much, and Lex Luthor still does not know his intentions this information. For the first time in a long time, Lex Luthor is terrified.

"...Mister Luthor?"

"Get out."

The short response surprises both men. Kent clears his throat, "Mister Luthor, I think you're mistaken. I think this is an incredibly good thing, and I think if the public were to see this side of you-"

"Get out," Lex spits as he springs up from his chair, posturing at the wide man in front of him. "Get out of my fucking office, now." 

"Mister-"

"GET OUT!" Lex throws his chair across the room and towards the reporter. Kent stands swiftly and moves out of the way of the furniture, just barely avoiding meeting it square in the face. "GET THE FUCK OUT!"

A head pokes in from the doorway - Lex's assistant - who firmly directs the reporter to follow him out of the room. Lex hears the muffled conversation outside of the room, but sincerely he does not care what's being said. He turns to his desk and throws with force anything he can get his hands on - paperweights, pencils, mugs, nameplate - against the reinforced windows of his office.

Minutes later, he's standing in the middle of his mess, heaving. The only untouched item in his office is the desk too heavy to move. He feels himself crumpling behind it, curling up into a pathetic ball. His lungs heave as he lets out a heavy sob. His chest hurts, his head aches, his body is numb. He feels like a terrified kid again, curled under a tree hiding from the world that hates him for daring to be true to himself.

Lex allows this to continue for another ten minutes, before putting in the effort to collect himself. He stands and walks swiftly towards the door.

His assistand is standing there and immediately hands the absolutely collected man a glass with a shot of top shelf bourbon. Lex takes it and immediately downs it.

"Get someone to clean my office," Lex directs, as he hands the empty glas back to his assisstant. "But before that, get me every document we have on Clark Kent."

Lex Luthor resolves to do what he does best. Whenever someone enters his life that he does not like, he makes their life a living hell. The only way he can keep a reporter on sharing this story, is to choke him out of the city before he even has a chance to.

This has to be the worst day ever.

Clark stands in front of his favorite breakfast spot, hoping to grab a bagel sandwich as a pick-me-up, only to find the doors locked and a sign up front saying they are closed indefinitely.

Clark wipes the sleepiness from his eyes. He recalls every ounce of bad luck he's had since he got home from his interview yesterday.

He had stayed up way too late last night writing the Luthor article... though it ended abruptly, he has plenty of material to work with. He had been debating on whether or not to include the details that led to the abrupt end, but... before he could even get to that part of the article, the power went out, taking his computer with it. Clark was frustrated, but decided to take it as a sign to go to bed. Brownouts happen every once in a while in Metropolis, it wouldn't be the end of the world to wake up early and see what of the paper had been autosaved.

Except... when Clark woke up the next morning, he realized that his power was still out. Weird.

Clark's cell phone was almost dead - since it didn't charge at all overnight. He'd have to use a phone at work to call the electric company and see what's going on. But first, he needed to get ready for his day. He went to the restroom to take a shower and brush his teeth -only to realize that his water had been shut off, too.

It was at this point that Clark realized something must be happening. He's never had any issue with both water AND electricity not working at the same time. No, he shakes his head, This has to be a coincidence. A really, really weird coincidence.

He walks to work today - for some reason, the subway station closest to his apartment was closed for renovations... and so was the next station a few blocks away. And the next one. It seemed every station between Clark's apartment and the Daily Planet was out of commission.

No worries, he'd thought. My favorite spot is on the way. I can get something there for breakfast. That'll brighten my spirits.

And that's how Clark Kent ended up here, unshowered, tired, physically exhausted, and staring bug-eyed at the empty restaurant.

"What the hey?" Clark can't help but say allowed. How is it that everything bad that could happen, has happened?

Clark collects himself and moves on. He's close to the Daily Planet. He just needs to get to a computer and get to work, that will set everything at ease.

"Kent," the booming voice of Perry White meets him as he enters the building, stopping the man in his tracks. "You're late."

"Sorry, sir," Clark sheepishly responds. He hadn't realized the time, with all the roadblocks between home and here.

White sighs and shakes his head. "Clark," he says with a surprising softness to his voice, "Can we talk in my office for just a moment?"

Clark steels himself and nods. White turns to his office and begins walking in that direction, followed closly by the young reporter.

Once the door closes, While uses his hands to direct Clark have a seat. "Son," he starts with a small sigh, "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to get right to it."

Clark gulps once again. What on earth is going on?

"LuthorCorp have made a complaint to us regarding your interveiw with Lex Luthor. The company is demanding your release from The Daily Planet."

The reporter's heart sinks into his stomach. It all makes sense. Everything - the utilities, his job, the bagels for goodness sake - was all Luthor getting back at him. For the interview? And why? "Sir, I know this looks bad, but I can explain."

"Save it," White cuts him off with a small smile. "I'm not firing you. If LuthorCorp thinks they can squeeze The Daily Planet, they've got another thing coming. Our journalists are the best in the country, they'd have to uncover that you're a serial murderer before I'd even consider cutting one of my own off. That said..."

White sits at his desk and reaches into his drawer, pulling out a document. Clark reads over it quickly, it looks like a release. "I want you to sign this," he says. "It's offering a month of paid leave. I want you to take some time off and wait for all this to blow over. Whatever you uncovered," White pursed his lips, "well, I think it really pissed Luthor off. He's gone as far as threatening to buy out and decommission the paper itself."

Clark gapes back. "So, if he thinks I'm gone, he'll leave you all alone? But... How long will this take to 'blow over'? And what am I supposed to do for work in the meantime?"

White shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I don't have the answers. I just ask you trust me while I try and get this mess figured out. But for now," he pushes the paper across the table. "This is the best way to keep you safe, and keep everyone here employed."

Clark knows fully well, this is not a firing. But given the ambiguous timeline, he knows it may as well be. He signs the paper, in the same mindset as White that this is really the best we can do for now.

Clark leaves the Daily Planet with a box full of office supplies. While he was packing items up, he thought through his options - go back to Smallville, get a job to pay the bills, see if the paper Lois is the director of is hiring... Truly, what he feels is best is that he needs to smooth things out with Luthor himself. After all, no matter where he goes or what he does, he's certain Lex Luthor will ensure his life is a living hell.

I've got to talk to him as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

“Please, ma’am. I only need a moment of Mr. Luthor’s time.”

The receptionist’s eyes narrow. “And as I’ve already told you, Mister Kent,” she barks back, “Mister Luthor has made it very clear you are not welcome on corporate property. Please remove yourself immediately, otherwise I will call the authorities.”

Clark groans in resignation as he sees security personnel approach from the other side of the room. He offers a lukewarm ‘thanks’ under his breath as he escorts himself out the front entrance. 

The young man sighs as he runs his fingers through unruly curls. He’s not quite sure what else he expected. Luthor has made the reporters life unbelievably difficult - and I still don’t know why the whatsit he did. But leave it to Luthor to make it as difficult as possible to make amends.

Clark turns and power-walks towards the nearest alleyway. Fair enough, desperate times call for desperate measures.

A flash of blue shoots through the lobby and up the stairway, beguiling every individual it passes. Up the flash climbs, to the highest level and past a number of tidy cubicles until it stops directly outside the office of Lex Luthor.

The assistant stutters at the sudden presence of Superman. “Ah…” he shuffles papers on his desk. “Do you have an appointment, mister… Superman…?”

An incredibly dazzling smile flashes across the perfectly chiseled face. “I do not, but I’m sure Mr. Luthor could pencil me in.”

The young man stumbles over his words, not quite sure how to proceed, when both hear a crisp voice from inside his office calling:

“Let him in.”

Superman takes this invitation and reaches to open the door and walk in, leaving a speechless assistant standing there and in shock, thinking through what just happened.

The office is pristine, unlike how Clark had seen it last. Of course, it has been a few days since the interview, so he’s not at all surprised by this.

“See how easy that is?” Lex Luthor questions in an even tone, almost with a teasing lilt. He’s sitting at his desk with two piles of paperwork, swiftly moving through one of them and signing each page in different spots. “If you request to see me, I will allow it as long as I’m not otherwise occupied. No need to push past my staff or crash through my windows.”

The metahuman inhales a long breath through his teeth, thinking back to all the times he has done exactly that. Though it was all in the name of being a hero - and with the intent of saving the city (and at one point an unruly dog).

“Lex.” Superman nods. “I see you’ve settled in well since your release from Belle Reve. I’m quite pleased to see you’ve stayed out of trouble as well.”

Luthor clenches his jaws and his fist at the patronizing praise. “Well, as you can imagine, I have an entire year's worth of work to catch up on. The moron that was put in charge did absolutely nothing of value in my absence; so now it falls to me to get us back on track.” Lex clicks his pen before pushing himself up from his desk and sauntering over to the caped individual. “And believe you me; as soon as this company is back to its formal glory, I go back to making your life a living hell, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.

Of course Lex Luthor had been lying about turning a new leaf; though Clark could not say he was surprised, he was certainly disappointed to hear it straight from the horses mouth.

“Lex,” Superman pushes past the gnawing in his chest at the realization that this man would really stop at nothing to ruin his life. “I’m here because you’ve been harassing my reporter friend, Clark Kent.” 

“Oh, that buffoon?” Lex took a step back and waved his hand as if to brush away the accusation. “Well, we sat down for an interview a couple of days ago. I would hardly consider that ‘harassment’.”

“Cut the cow pie, Luthor,” Superman interjects. “His utilities have been cut, he’s lost his job - the bagels, man!” The last one Clark fears he put a little too much of his own emotion into, so he reels it back. “We both know you’re behind all it. Why?”

Lex scoffs in response. “Does a lion ruin the life of an ant by simply existing? If an ant fears being squished, it should know to stay in line and out of my way.”

Lex reaches to the glass on his table and walks behind his desk to the decanter stored in a glass cabinet along the wall. “Care for a drink, Superman?”

Clark grits his teeth. “I don’t drink, Luthor. And I’d prefer if you stay on topic.” He slides the desk out of the way as if it weighed nothing at all and walked up to Luthor, until his chest is a mere inch from Lex’s back. He feels heat radiating off the man, as well as the small hitch of his breath. Clark also hears his own heartbeat thumping in his chest; he didn’t realize he was angry enough for his blood pressure to rise… “Lex,” he continues, “we’re both reasonable men. Can you at least acknowledge that Clark Kent is a good guy, and wouldn’t do anything with the intention of hurting you.” A small pause as he leans forward to whisper into the slender man’s ear. “Even though you and I both know you’re a bad guy.”

Clark feels Lex’s entire body shudder, leading the former to believe his intimidation tactic worked. When Lex turns around with a glass of gin in hand, however, he is collected as ever. The hero wonders if his words had any effect at all.

“No, I’m not a ‘good guy,’ as you put it,” Lex starts as he takes a sip of his drink and savors the burn. “But I was perfectly content with playing the game and being what your reporter friend wanted me to be, for the sake of his damn article. But he dug too deep, and he learned what he - what no one - should know.”

Clark tilts his head. “Wait, are you talking about-”

“SHH!! Don’t say it out loud!” Lex frantically interrupts, before whispering under his breath: “Jesus, is there anything you two won’t talk about?!“

He still retains his calm demeanor, but is clearly… embarrassed. “But… yes, that. How he was even able to find that information is beyond me.”

Superman bites his tongue. He probably would have never found the records of donations to those LGBTQ+ organizations, if he hadn’t known where to look. After the conversation he had a week ago with Faye Smith, and hearing her vouch for his support for “queer youth,” he wanted to see just how far that support went. Imagine his surprise when he found the public records of donations under a Mister Lionel Luthor, who had been deceased for at least a decade. 

“Dont discount the capabilities of a competent reporter,” Clark merely shrugs, electing to move on. “I think Clark and I are on the same page, supporting the community is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a really, really good thing to do, actually.”

“Doesn’t matter what either of you think,” Lex returns to take a large swig from his glass. “If I do it off the record, I’m obviously not doing it with the intention of being praised. Even multi-billionaires can be altruistic from time to time.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Superman comments, as he notices Lex turning to pour himself another glass. Gracious, it’s too early to be drinking that much. “I don’t understand why that warrants ruining a reporters life, though.”

Lex Luthor turns back to Superman, fresh glass of gin in hand. He extends his finger and points at the metahuman. “Frankly, that is none of your damn business.”

As Lex raises the glass to take a sip, Superman places a firm hand atop it to get his attention. He doesn’t realize how close he is until he starts tasting the alcohol on Luthor's breath. They’re so close to one another, Clark is unsure of whose heartbeat is the one he hears drumming frantically in his ears.

“You are going to sit down with Clark Kent,” Superman states firmly, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Lex Luthor. “You will give him a chance to explain himself and apologize. You will agree to a follow-up interview, and you will give him a story that makes both of you happy. And…” Clark takes a breath to keep himself grounded, “…you will stop trying to ruin this poor man’s life.”

Lex is infuriatingly calm in response. Clark feels as a hand snakes across his chiseled stomach and rests upon his hip. He feels his face heat up - why is he the one who’s embarrassed when he’s not even drinking.  In an unbelievably level voice, Lex challenges: “I’m afraid you’re going to have to make me, Superman.”

Clark surrenders immediately, staggering back without much grace. A wide smile forms on Lex’s lips as he raises the glass to take a big swig, knowing that he has won that game of chicken.

“What do you want, Luthor?” Superman asks in a voice a little too meek for his liking.

Lex’s impossibly wide smile gets wider. “Well, I could ask for anything now, couldn’t I? The ball really is in my court.” He taps the crystal in his hands and he pretends to think about it. “How about an IOU? I’ll do this for you now, you do something for me later, no questions asked.”

Clark scoffs at the idea. “I’m not going to promise my arch nemesis a freebie like that.”

Lex shrugs. “Well, if I pull that IOU and demand you to do something, you can always flat-out decline. It’ll be a broken promise, and it really won’t do anything aside from reaffirm my opinion that you’re not a good person.”

“Which,” Clark continues, “you already wholeheartedly believe, and nothing I do will change your mind.”

Lex moves back over to Superman. “It would seem that’s the case.” He reaches out a hand. “Does that sound like a deal?”

Superman thinks it over before taking the hand and gently shaking it. It’s not ideal having this hang over his head, but at this point it’s what has to be done to get his own life back from being so dang miserable. “It’s a deal.”

Chapter Text

Lex knows as soon as his muddled thoughts clear that this is a dream.

When he was young, he mastered the art of lucid dreaming - which in itself was not a difficult feat for a super-genius. In his childhood, dreams were the only place where he had complete control, free from the critical glares of figures of authority, as well as freedom from the cruelty his father subjected him to.

Most often as an adult, Lex’s dreams are similar to the one playing out now; reviewing the events of the day and exploring what could have been.

He’s sitting at his desk, signing papers, when he hears a distinct and booming voice outside his door.

Lex calls him in; once the alien walks through the door, he commands time to a crawl in order to admire the brawny man. He may not have super powers in the real world, but here in his dreamscape Lex can do whatever he wants - the only limitation is his imagination. 

The way the light catches Superman’s face at this very second is nothing short of mesmerizing. His skin is radiant and perfectly flush - not enough to be noticeable in the moment, but here it’s clear as day. The light shadows on his chiseled features, the divots of dimples on his cheeks, the way his hair lays coiffed and begging to be ruffled up. This man is - always has been - incredibly handsome.

In the real world, Lex cannot afford the opportunity to drink this all in… But in his mind Lex can admire to his heart's content.

He’s hard now - 

That’s another perk of dreaming. He can just decide to be erect, immediately. He doesn’t need a pump or an incredible amount of foreplay. He just decides it happens, and it does. 

- Anyways, he’s hard now. Lex anticipates what comes next and with genuine impatience, he progresses the events at double speed. It resumes as normal when Superman is dangerously close and the men are breathing in one another. Lex's hand rests on the hero’s waist. In reality, that’s as far as he was allowed to take it.

But in his dreams, he can lean forward and claim Superman’s honeyed kiss. So, he does.

Superman’s plush lips taste like the sun - warm and salty against his own. The hero accepts this sudden contact and reciprocates eagerly. One arm reaches around and holds Lex’s lower back. The one that was once holding the glass of alcohol takes the drink and sets it on the table before reaching around to hold the dreamer’s neck in an effort to deepen the kiss. Even in dreams, the effect this contact has on Lex is dizzying.

Lex can’t hold back anymore. In desperate need of stimulation, he grinds his cock against the groin of the incredibly wide man in front of him. Superman shudders and moans before grinding in matching intensity, pulling a groan from Lex’s throat as well.

In his dreams, Superman typically unravels into a disheveled mess and begs Lex Luthor to fuck him. And typically, Lex Luthor doesn’t waste any time getting right to it. But tonight, he is drunk on the appearance of Superman kneeling on the floor, with his hands bound behind his back and a thick collar around his neck.

How exactly did they arrive at this point? Doesn’t matter. Lex is dreaming, he can manifest whatever he wants within his mind, and now what he wants is a pathetic and needy dog.

Superman is deeply flushed and panting, completely naked in front of Lex who sits upon his throne clad head to toe in one of his many fine suits. Lex realizes he’s holding a lead attached to the collar around the needy hero’s neck, and gives it a firm tug. He’s rewarded with a moan so delicious it makes the man’s stomach churn. 

Lex smiles down. “Who’s a pathetic little freak of nature?”

“I am,” Superman responds immediately, voice stained by desire.

“That’s right,” Lex coos. He unzips his pants and pulls out his fully erect cock, tugging the length lazily. Unfortunately, dreams cannot mimic the orgasmic feeling of masturbating in the real world, but the placebo of being stimulated still feels oh, so good. 

Superman whimpers - oh, fuck… he loves when that man whimpers. “I need your cock, please,” he begs and shifts forward. The metahuman’s pristine pecker twitches in excitement at the show. 

Lex sneers and he feels himself getting more excited. He tugs the lead up, eliciting another deep moan from the kneeling man’s chest. “A filthy creature like you doesn’t get to touch my cock.” He taunts as he continues his slow strokes.

Superman whimpers again, resting his cheek against Luthor’s knee and watching (pouting) as Lex continues to stroke himself. The hot breath on his inner thigh and the sweat rubbing against his pant leg are a good indication of the gentleman’s wanton desire, but Lex Luthor wants more.

The metahuman tears his eyes from the hypnotizing display of Lex touching himself. He stares, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. “Please, daddy, please, I wanna cum. Please, let me cum, daddy.” 

Lex lets out a shaky breath, his movements are a hint faster. He pulls the lead up, so the super human is upright. A small moan of disapproval leaves the crouched man’s lips at the break of contact, until Lex tucks one foot under the super cock, eliciting a sharp inhale from Superman. 

“You are too filthy for daddy’s cock,” he says with a cold smile, “but today, you get to fuck daddy’s shoe.”

“Thank you, daddy,” Superman responds, and he wastes no time chasing pleasure. Still bound, he immediately begins humping the leather upper of Lex Luther’s Versace shoe. The underside of his shaft rubs up with incredible speed and force, Lex is surprised he can take this display of superstrength. The delicious moans Superman lets fall from his lips, alongside the panting and the occasional “daddy,” was a symphony to the billionaire's ears. 

The rutting becomes frantic and uneven. In no time at all, Superman cries out pathetically before he cums, shooting long white ribbons with careless abandon. Then, he falls to the ground, panting and spent. Lex watches the heaving chest of the man on the floor as his own pace increases. 

“Filthy mongrel,” he sneers. “You got your disgusting seed all over my pants. Do you know how much these cost?”

Lex rises from the chair and towers over Superman. He man-handles the overstimulated super so his firm ass is in the air, only to smack it with an open, greedy palm. As the sharp crack of skin on skin echoes in the room, Superman unleashes a moan that goes straight to Luthor’s cock.

He sheathes himself in Superman’s tight entrance effortlessly, and both men moan in an etherial duet. Yes, this requires a lot more preparation in reality, but I'm running out of time.

“Well, Superman,” he moans with a firm tug on the lead. “I think I know just how you’ll pay me back…”

…

…

…

The alarm sounds signifying that it is time to get up, and Lex Luthor reluctantly awakens from the delicious dream.

It’s early - the sun is just barely peeking over the hills in the distance - but Lex has a full day ahead of him and little time to spare. He laments being pulled from the lovely little fantasy he’s crafted, but part of being an adult is making responsible decisions. Besides, if he ever wants to revisit this encounter, all he has to do is think about it, and so it shall be.

For now… He needs a shower and a fresh set of boxers.

Clark Kent gulps, audibly, as piercing eyes seem to stare straight through him. He’s back in Lex Luthor’s office, and back in Lex Luthor’s presence as well.

It’s only been a day since “Superman” paid LuthorCorp a visit, and thank goodness for that. Clark really needed to get this beef settled as soon as possible... He’s tired of taking showers at Jimmy’s place. Bless the guy for offering a short term solution, but it’s just so bizarre being in that apartment when Jimmy has guests over. On the positive side, it was lovely - albeit slightly awkward - to see Eve and Faye again. It was surprising, though not unwelcome, to see how well those two get along.

Lex Luthor clears his throat to demand the reporter’s attention, which he immediately grants after a jump. “Mister Luthor,” he begins, “I am very grateful that you agreed to speak with me today. I want to take the time to-”

Luthor raises his palm, and Clark stops speaking right away. Lex leans his head against the same hand, looking almost bored - as if he’s listening to a business proposal, not to a man begging to have his life back. 

“Clark Kent,” Lex starts with a small shake of his head. “The one thing I value more than anything else is time. See, as a business professional, time is money. You…” his eyes narrow, “...Have already wasted my time. By all accounts you shouldn’t even be in my presence.”

Clark opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again promptly when he catches a very specific glance from the man behind his desk. Okay… he’s monologuing.

“But, you have a very, very special friend to thank for this second chance, and so…” Lex lifts his sleeve and fiddles with his watch before returning his attention to the nervous man. “I will be granting you two minutes of my precious time to make your case.” Then, he folds his hands under his chin and leans forward. “Pray you don’t waste my time yet again.”

Clark can hear the ticking of the watch - super hearing, or nerves? Regardless, he feels rushed to offer an explanation.

“Mister Luthor,” he starts, and continues rambling. “As you know, I’m writing a story for the readers of The Daily Planet. Everyone is very curious what you’ve been up to over the last year and want to know details that haven’t been reported yet. I did my research and saw your incredible support for queer organizations - which has never been recorded to my knowledge - and thought that would be an incredible story and a great return to the public eye. But I get it - that was stuff done in private, so I get that it wasn’t right to report on it. For that, I’m genuinely so, so sorry. I would like the chance to rework the story - we can forgo the parts that make you uncomfortable and just talk on end about how your return to Metropolis is a welcome one. So, give me another chance, PLEASE.”

The final word acts as a punctuation that reverberates around the room. Lex, seemingly unphased, waits another moment before responding. “Anything else?”

“Uh…” Clark blinks, almost dumbfounded. “No… No, that’s all.”

Lex pushes his sleeve up and takes a look at his watch again. He gives a small hm, before swiping the piece and pulling the sleeve down again.

“Mister Kent,” Lex stands and reaches for the glass atop his desk. “It’s clear you’re apologetic, and I appreciate you getting straight to the point. However,” he turns to the decanter, preparing to pour himself a drink. He’s at this again? His liver is going to give out by the time he’s fourty-five. “The issue isn’t specifically that I don’t want the public to know. The problem is, I don’t want anyone to know. Including you.”

He turns back, glass in hand with an amber liquid eagerly waiting to be consumed. “That means, you are a liability, Mister Kent.”

He downs the liquid in one gulp. Then, he saunters over to the seated man, a smidge too confident for Clark’s liking. He stops before Clark’s chair; the free hand grips the back of the chair just beside Clark’s head and he looms over. “Do you know what I do with liabilities?”

Clark isn’t thinking rationally at this point. The proximity of Luthor, combined with the pounding of his head and the need to show that he’s not intimidated, makes him weigh his options. Despite having a millisecond to think through the next smartest step, he makes the snap decision to do the most foolish thing he could possibly do.

Clark puts a hand on each side of Lex’s hips and with the absolute minimal strength pulls him closer.

He can see Lex’s eyes widen - it only lasts a second before he returns to his standard composure, but he still sees it. Finally, for once, he may have the upper-hand in this show of intimidation.

It seems like both men are holding their breath. Clark, with his legs parted and leaning back in his chair, and Lex, with a knee on that same chair and between those legs. A small smirk pulls on Lex Luthor’s lips as he moves the hand clenching the seat back down towards his neck.

A slender finger wraps itself around a tight curl on the back of Clark’s head, and a shiver overtakes his entire body.

“I apologize, Mister Luthor,” he blurts loudly as he stands immediately. His entire body is rigid and his face is flushed bright red. “I have no idea what came over me.”

That same smirk is pulling at the billionaire’s lips. He clearly seems amused by all this. “No, I think we both got carried away, my apologies.” He moves back behind his desk, before speaking over his shoulder, “Oh, it was so rude of me not to offer. Care for a drink?”

“Ah,” Clark briefly wonders if the liquid will help calm his nerves, before remembering alcohol has absolutely no effect on him. “No, thank you. It’s much too early to drink, I'm afraid.”

“Very well,” he responds, pausing before reaching for the alcohol again. Instead, he fogoes the liquid and opts to open a desk drawer and place the glass inside. “Well, we can always drink later, to celebrate finishing this article.” He closes the drawer and moves back to the front of the desk to lean backwards against it. “How about we get that done now, then?”

Clark can’t stop the flustered smile that crosses his face as he scrambles to grab the spiral-bound notebook out of his pocket. “I have nowhere else to be - thank you Mister Luthor.”

Lex also smiles, but his eyes remain fixed on the reporter and calculating as always. “No, the pleasure is mine.”

Chapter Text

Lois eats another chip, the static of the video call muting only some of the crackling of the bite. “So, everything’s good now?”

Clark sighs and looks up from his phone. Was it all good? His utilities have been turned back on thank goodness, and he’s allowed to return to the Daily Planet on Monday. The trade off is now he very much feels like he’s in the pocket of one Lex Luthor - a position no reporter should ever want to be in. He sheepishly replies, “I mean, I guess?”

“Good,” Lois nods as she munches another chip. Clark isn’t offended by his friend eating while they speak - Lois has been so busy with her new role as director at The Clearland Banner, the only free time she’s had to chat over the last few weeks has been during her short lunch breaks. She takes a drink from a bottle before continuing, “So it was Luthor wrecking your life?” A mischievous smile covers her face. “Now THAT is a story the people of Metropolis would love. ‘Multimillionaire Harasses Daily Planet Reporter, Closes Bagel Shop - Just Because.’” She playfully extends her hands across the top of the screen, as if visualizing a gripping headline.

Clark groans. “No, because I already promised I would write a story he wants.”

He feels Lois’s eyes piecing him, but he’s distracted by something outside his window. Yeah, totally not avoiding eye contact right now.

Lois sighs after a moment and takes a bite of her sandwich. “That’s how it’s gotta be, I guess,” she speaks with food in her mouth, somehow still with sufficient grace. She finishes the bite and speculates, “Still, it’s weird that he was ready to ruin your entire life just because of a couple of donations to gay orgs.”

He turns back and catches as she takes another bite. “Well, I wouldn't call seven hundred million over the course of eight years a ‘couple of donations.’ Besides, he made it clear that he made these donations privately, so it’s important I respect that privacy.”

Lois finishes her bite and stares back at the camera, “You don’t think he’s… y’know…”

She flicks her wrist. Clark looks at her in confused silence before answering. “No, I don’t think he’s broken his wrist?”

Lois scoffs. “No, doofus,” she comments as she waves another chip in front of her face. “That means gay. What if he’s gay?”

Clark’s jaw drops and he feels the tips of his ears burn. “Miss Lane,” he scolds. “Speculation of this sort of thing ought to be left to the tabloids, not the director of a major news publication!”

“Well, it would explain a lot,” she defends herself as she starts packing her lunchbag up. “You know, with his entire fixation on Superman.”

Clark frowns. “He’s not obsessed with Superman. He wants Superman dead.”

“You really think that, with how often he’s flirting with his ‘arch enemy’?”

“Like I said before, it’s an intimidation tactic.”

“Yeah, and when have you ever seen a straight man dress that well?”

“Often enough! When have you ever seen a gay man with so many girlfriends?”

“Clark, I’ve met gay men with wives.”

Clark scoffs back. “He’s not gay, trust me on this. He just donates to gay support groups. And why he does that isn’t really my business.”

Clark doesn’t have any way of knowing this for sure; he himself isn’t even gay. He can’t be. 

He remembers being a child, of holding a classmate's hand as they walked off the playground. He remembers Ma Kent, gently telling him that boys don’t hold hands on the car ride home. He remembers her saying other boys are going to be really, really mean if he keeps doing this. He remembers not understanding what she means, but accepting that’s just the way things are. He remembers her relief when she sees him walking off the playground the next day, holding a girl’s hand instead.

Ma Kent isn’t a bad person. She just worries about her son and the cruel world they lived in. Even back then, she knew Clark wasn’t gay, and he trusts her judgement. 

“Well, that’s my break,” Lois says over the phone. “Appreciate the conversation and banter, hot stuff.” She takes a serious tone, “No matter what, Clark, you have to make sure you’re putting out an unbiased story. Just facts. Don’t let Luthor make this into a popularity piece.”

Clark, returning his focus to the call, responds, “Of course. Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

“Yeah, a professional pain in my ass,” she jokes, lightening the mood. She opens her mouth and pauses; whatever she wants to say, it’s caught at the back of her throat. So she simply finishes, “Later, buddy.”

“Yeah,” Clark responds, “Talk to you soon.”

The phone clicks to signify the video call’s end, and Clark is alone once more in his apartment.

What did she want to say? If Clark had the guts, he’d ask her. Their previous relationship be darned, he missed his best friend, and how she once said whatever was on her mind without worrying about ruffling feathers.

That’s another thing. Gay men don’t fall in love with and date women like Lois Lane. Even if he was relieved to return back to their comfortable friendship when they did break up. Even if, deep down, he prefers being her friend to being her boyfriend.

He shakes his head and turns back to his computer. He has an article to proofread and submit.

Definitely not gay.

After countless revisions (and plenty of back and forth with Luthor on more appropriate - factual - topics of conversation), the article is finished and submitted. Lex Luthor has approved that everything would be appropriate for the public. Perry White has read through it and given the go-ahead to print. It’s not front page-worthy, but it will definitely be a story that Metropolitans will eat up.

And finally, Clark Kent is free from Luthor’s stifling grip. Finally he can get back to work, and write stories about his city and people. 

That is, he’ll be free after tonight; he’d promised his interviewee a drink to celebrate the completion of this story, after all.

Lex Luthor smiles and raises a glass to the reporter. “Cheers to your health and continued success.”

Clark has to bite his tongue to keep from commenting on how only a week ago, Luthor had been rooting for his downfall. “Cheers to a story that made us both happy.”

They tap the glasses together with a small clink that echoes around the parlor of Lex's penthouse condominium. Lex raises his glass to his lips, and Clark mirrors the move. He doesn’t drink often, since the substance doesn’t have any effect on him thanks to Earth’s Yellow Sun. Typically, he finds the taste unbearable, but this amber liquid is incredibly sweet and robust. The bite of alcohol still exists, but it is followed by warmth and honey that leaves a pleasant aftertaste in his mouth. 

Clark nods in approval as he finishes his glass, and Lex smiles. “I told you, I have incredible taste when it comes to the finer things in life.”

“I have to admit,” Clark smiles back (why is his charm so infectious?) “It’s better than any alcohol I’ve ever tasted.”

Lex reaches over to pour another drink for the gentleman. “Then by all means, let’s share another glass.”

Lex watches as Clark protests, but ignores him as he finishes serving a healthy amount for his guest. After, he pours himself an equally full glass. 

Lex Luthor knows Clark Kent doesn’t drink often - he’d said it himself just the other day. He assumes it’s because the reporter is a lightweight. Lex also knows he can handle his liquor, and he’s going to use this to his benefit. Once Kent is inebriated he’ll easily spill all the details: Superman’s identity, nefarious plans, weaknesses, affiliations, and more. All he has to do is drink his guest under the table; easy work. 

Lex is gobsmacked. Flabbergasted. Incredulous. Every other frillish word he can think of (he can’t think of many right now).

They’re four bottles deep at this point. Four bottles of really, really expensive liquor.  

I’m drunk. He wobbles a bit at the words knocking around and reverberating in his skull.

“I’m… durunk,” he says out loud. Damn, he can hear how far gone he is, with how he’s slurring the syllables together.

“Oh, me too.” 

Lex squints his eyes, focusing on the wobbly figure in the room that won’t stop shifting back and forth. Clark Kent is hunched forward and his sleeves are rolled up, but otherwise there’s no indication on his face nor in how he speaks that he’s drunk, too.

Lex is - well, he already admitted he was shocked. He planned to drink until the other man couldn’t stand straight, but lost track of the goal a while ago, and wasn't paying attention to signs the man was getting wasted alongside him.

Lex squints his eyes. “Nnno yuor not.” He accuses with a wobbling finger.

A bead of sweat rolls down Clark’s forehead. “No, I’m very drunk,” he says, and shifts his body back and forth in good measure to sell his point. The action seems to appease the other man, if only temporarily. 

Clark had tried to warn Lex to slow down. They’ve gone through both of the bottles Lex had in the parlor - one present at the start of the evening, and one locked behind the glass display. Clark was horrified when Lex walked away to use the restroom and came back with two more bottles, one in each hand. Clark has had so much that he was even starting to feel dizzy - an impressive feat considering he has the Yellow Sun’s reflection on the moon to keep him healed.

“Welllll Clarkkent,” Lex Luthor folds his hands and offers a wide smile. He’s trying to look intimidating, but he just looks silly. “Now I have you right where I want you.”

“Ok.”

“Now you’re a piece of putty in my hands, and I can play with you. Like a piece of putty. In my hands.”

“Uh…”

“For my first question…”

“…”

“Does he talk about me?”

Clark blinks. “What are you asking?”

“He talks about you to you, but does he ask-talk about me to you?”

Clark scratches his head. “Are you asking about… Superman?” Lex nods once. “Um… sometimes? If it’s relevant, I guess.”

Lex nods thoroughly, as if he’s uncovered the alien’s greatest weakness. “Next question. Who… is Superman.”

“Superman is a Kryptonian, from the planet Krypton.”

Lex nods. “But… Who? is Superman?”

“…Superman is… a Kryptonian… from the planet Krypton.”

Lex gasps, forgetting this is not new information. “Incredible.”

Clark stands. It shouldn't be too hard to find the kitchen from here. “I’m going to get us some water, Mister Luthor. I feel that would do you well.”

“Shuuuut it, I hate when you call me that.”

Clark pauses. “I’m sorry?”

“I hate when I’m ‘mister Luthor.’” He pantomimes air quotes around the title as a point of emphasis. “It’s not just you, mind you, actually no one can. Except when it’s for work stuff, or with complete strangers, or my father. But he's dead. So, everyone else can't.”

Clark is struggling to follow the man’s runaway train of a mind, but he can at least put two and two together. “Would you prefer if I called you by your first name, Lex?”

Lex sighs almost dreamily. “It sounds nice when he says it that way.”

Clark blushes and walks away quickly. He struggles to find glasses all while screaming at himself to calm down. Two glasses of tap water and a couple of breathing exercises later, he returns to the man lying lavishly across his chaise.

He hands the glass to Lex, who pouts at the gesture. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Too bad,” he responds simply before he chides the man. “You’re going to have a bad headache tomorrow if you don’t get hydrated now.”

Lex takes the drink begrudgingly and downs the entire thing. Not thirsty my caboose.

Lex stretches his arms and legs like a cat at a sunny window. He struggles to keep his eyes open. He’s removed his tie and unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt; it’s rare to see the normally put-together man look so disheveled. Clark has to push back the voice in the back of his head, wondering… just how much more messed up can this man possibly get?

“What was even your plan, here?” Clark asked. “Clearly, you were trying to get me drunk, but I want to know why.”

There’s that pout again, followed by the crossing of his arms. “I want the deets on Superman. You’re the guy closest to Superman. So I get you drunk and you tell me everything about Superman.”

“A bulletproof plan,” Clark deadpans. 

Lex nods seriously. “It is. Now, tell me everything about Superman.”

Clark has to hold back his laugh. This is the guy he was scared of? And the same guy who was trying without break to make his life miserable as recently as four days ago. In this state he is in no position to demand confidential details, much less form a complex thought. “At this point, you know just as much about Superman as I do, Lex. Probably even more.”

Lex blows a raspberry with his lips. “Well you’re useless. What’s the point of saving my first interview in the public eye for you, if you won’t even share his secrets with me.”

Clark pauses. He had an inkling but now he knows for sure.  “Wait, are you saying there were others that asked to write an article on you?”

“Dozens,” Lex flails his arms for emphasis. "So, so, so, so many before you reached out, and still more now even as we speak.”

Lex has loose lips; the reporter could really ask about anything he wants, and Lex would tell him. He has to fight the temptation to ask about what Lois had insinuated with their call yesterday - that would not be a very kind thing to do.

Instead, he settles on, “So why me, then? Why did you want me to write this story.”

“Duh, you’re the only reporter Superman will talk to. So, you know him best. And-”

Lex physically slaps his hand over his mouth in a gesture that even surprises Clark. “Nope,” he says through a covered mouth, “Secret.”

Clark knows what he has to do. He has to swallow his embarrassment to do it, but if he’s successful it would be the first time he can have the upperhand in a conversation with Lex Luthor. He looms over Luthor’s chair, gripping the arm rest he’s laying across on either side of his head. His legs slot against the armrest closest to him and between each of Lex’s relaxed legs. He leans closer, until he can feel the man’s breath against his hair.

This will intimidate him for sure.

Lex bites his lip, and Clark has to ignore how the action makes his stomach flutter. It’s just the alcohol. “Lex,” he says in a cool voice, “you can tell me anything. You should tell me why else you wanted me to write the article.”

There’s a small pause and the air feels heavy. Clark can see the pondering behind his eyes, and the silent sobering of his mood. Lex looks away, taking a moment and a deep breath. When he does finally speak, Clark isn’t quite ready for what comes out of his mouth.

“… You wrote the memorial article for Malik Ali.”

The room stops moving immediately, for both men. The once jovial air becomes sickeningly stifling.

Clark slowly stands and backs up. He feels the pinpricks of sorrow behind his eyes and feels his heart turn to lead. Clark almost forgot that in between spearheading comically evil plots, siccing mutant enemies on Superman, and endorsing petty crimes, Lex Luthor is a bad guy. Lex Luthor hurts the people around him because he can. Even a year later, the death of an innocent street vendor still weighs heavy on Clark’s heart. 

The death that Lex Luthor, single-handedly, is responsible for.

“Yes,” he tries to keep an even tone but can still feel the rage infect his words. He hopes that Luthor doesn’t notice. “I interviewed Superman, as well as Mali’s family, to write a story highlighting him as a true hero of Metropolis.”

Lex seems confused. “…His family? I thought he had no one.”

“Well, you were wrong,” Clark clenches his fist. “He had a loving family. A wife, a son, and two daughters.”

Lex slowly sits up, leaning against his knees with his elbows while his hands grip one another tightly. He looks utterly defeated, he gripped his hands like a lifeline. “Did Superman tell you… that I was the one who shot him?”

Clark chooses his words carefully. “Yes,” he responds evenly while staring sharply at the back of Luthor's smooth head. “We agreed to keep that detail out of his story, though. It was to ensure we were honoring his memory, not reporting on the crimes of someone who didn’t deserve the attention. We thought you being incarcerated was enough justice.”

Lex leans his head against the chaise’s back and covers his face with his hands. “I’m no fool,” he laments. “I know there’s plenty of blood on my hands - people who have died for my cause, willingly or unwillingly. But shooting Malik… that was the only time where it was personal. Where I was in complete control of... all of it.”

Clark feels no pity. He feels enraged. He could strangle the man right now, if he wanted. It would go against everything he believes in, but it would guarantee the justice that his friend deserves.

“I was so blinded by my hatred for Superman, I wasn’t even thinking I would do it. I really thought… he would keep getting lucky. There was only one bullet. Why did it have to be…”

He trails off. Clark realizes he’s shaking, and for a moment he stifles the rage. “I killed him. He collapsed at my feet. He wanted nothing more than to keep Superman safe. He didn’t even beg for his life. And I shot him dead.”

He looks up from his hands, his eyes wide in sorrow and shimmering. “Superman said I’m not a good person, and I know he’s right. But you’re a good person, so I bet you know already.” He stares back into Clark’s cold gaze. “How do I fix this?”

Clark isn’t sure if he’s asking for help or just being rhetorical. But he swallows the sob threatening to explode from his throat. “You don’t.”

Lex deflates. “That’s what I thought.”

Clark walks towards the entrance to grab his coat. He’s seen enough of this, and frankly some fresh air is needed to clear his mind. “I need to leave.” He says. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” 

A hand grips the back of his shirt, firmly. “I need you to stay.” Lex begs. Clark doesn’t even turn around to hear him out. “Please, I can’t be alone. Please. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need someone to tell me everything is alright. Can’t you do that for me, just this once.”

Clark can’t help the tinge of vexation in his voice. “I shouldn’t be here at all. If you really, really want my support, go to bed. Then, you should try and make a genuine attempt to ask for help when you’re sober."

He grabs the coat and heads towards the door. He turns a head over his shoulder. “Get another glass of water and go to bed. Good night… Lex.”

He leaves and closes the front door without turning around. He hears the thump of Lex’s body hitting the floor by the door, and decides that he has no obligation to turn around to make sure the man is alright. He’s confident Luthor wouldn’t do the same if the roles were reversed.

Clark sighs as he presses the Lobby button on the elevator door. He certainly wasn’t a good guy, by any account. But walking away like that didn’t feel like the superhero thing to do, either.

Chapter Text

It takes him longer than usual to realize that this is a dream.

When the brain fog clears, and Lex is in a jarringly different setting than the nothingness that is restful slumber… That’s usually when he realizes it. But in this instance, the room is spinning from the moment it came into existence, and the pounding headache is certainly not helping.

As he shifts, he suddenly gets a bearing for where he is: Lex Luthor is laying in bed, and he’s not alone.

There’s a massive figure laying flush against his back, breathing softly and evenly into the crook of his neck. Lex can’t help but sharply inhale and hold onto that breath for dear life.

What happened last night? He remembers the reporter, and the toast to celebrate a story finished. He remembers finishing a bottle. Then another. Then, another…

Lex groans. He must have had too much to drink; even now he’s still feeling woozy in the middle of the night. He’s too tired to think over why he allowed himself to get so drunk in the first place; that’s a conversation for his therapist tomorrow. For now, he’s thirsty and desperately needs some water.

Lex tries to push himself out of bed, only to realize that the hand snaked around his waist is firmly holding him down.

Lex gulps. He recognizes that hand anywhere. And that frame. Wait… why is Superman in this bed? And why are we both completely undressed?!

The man had been awoken from a deep slumber by that small movement. As he shifts his hold, Superman gives a long inhale through his nose before whispering in his ear. “Lex, it’s too early. Go back to bed.”

Lex groans, at first out of annoyance, then as a reaction to how badly his head hurts. He responds without turning to look at the face of his partner. “I’m just getting water. Let go of me, I’ll be right back.”

The grip only tightens. “I know you well enough,” the voice behind him retorts. “You’ll get water. Then, out of habit, you’ll start planning your day. Then you’ll get coffee, and by that point there’s no chance you’re coming back to bed.”

Lex scoffs. He’s right, of course. Though he doesn’t exactly oppose the warm expanse of Superman’s chest flush against his back, he knows his headache is only going to get worse if he doesn’t hydrate. “Just water, I promise. Then I’ll come right back.”

Superman doesn’t seem open to this option. He responds with a small smile in his voice, “Maybe I just need to give you a reason to stay in bed.”

Lex’s response hitches as the broad hand previously pinning him to bed reaches around towards his front. The gentlest touch graces his skin as Superman's hand inches closer and closer to the hungover man’s groin.

And that’s the moment that Lex realizes he’s dreaming…

…When Superman reaches between Lex’s legs, and a broad finger starts circling his vulva.

The world suddenly stops, and Lex realizes he’s hyperventilating. The room spins furiously, and the walls collapse closer and closer to him leaving very little room to breathe. This is a dream, he reminds himself. It’s not real. You’re a man. This isn’t worth the panic attack. Grounding techniques don’t work quite as well when you’re asleep. He’s struggling to calm down, but the headache and the ringing in his ears certainly isn’t helping.

What does cut through all of the noise is the voice of the man behind him, whispering in the softest voice he’s ever heard. “Shhhh, Lex. It’s okay.” Both strong arms wrap firmly around the trembling man in a deep embrace. “I’m here. You’re safe.” Lex realizes that Superman is breathing very loudly. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Lex can’t help but breathe alongside him.

They lay like this for minutes, until the stress has passed and the room returns to the calm it was before. “You okay?” The tender voice asks. Tinged with worry. It’s just a dream, though. There’s no reason for him to be worried.

He’s more than okay: he’s in control. Lex is freed from the fright, and is aware of the fact that he’s in his dream and in complete authority of the narrative. In theory, he can shift this encounter into whatever perverted fantasy he desires. He doesn’t need a dream like this, where for the first time in a long time, he feels safe.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds back, ultimately deciding that even if he doesn’t need this… It’s what he wants. “I feel a lot better. Thanks, Kal-El.”

He’s never said that name out loud before. Of course, he knew it - he watched that damn video message - the one his Kryptonian parents sent to Earth - so many times before sending it to linguistics to decipher. He couldn’t claim to speak Kryptonian, but he could pick that name out of the rest. Regardless of the complicated circumstances on how he learned of that name, it falls so easily from his lips like it was meant to be his to say.

Kal-El shakily exhales as he leans forward, planting his lips on the crevice between Lex’s neck and shoulder. Soft and slow and warm. Lex feels his stomach flutter, a warmth he didn’t even know was possible in his unconscious state. After what feels like too short a time, the lips pull away and whisper, “Of course, baby. I’ll always be here for you.”

A shiver goes up Lex’s spine. Baby. To be adored by someone so unquestionably and without any ulterior motive… Even if it’s just a dream, it still feels wonderful. Tomorrow, he can go back to hating Superman’s guts. Tonight, he can pretend that they are deeply, and unquestionably in love.

“Kal-El?”

“Mhhh?”

“…Will you make me feel good? Please?”

Usually Lex doesn’t have to ask. In dreams, he can command the alien to do his bidding with only his mind; no verbal prompt required. But the way Superman responds with a gentle kiss behind his ear and the words, “Yeah, baby. I’ll take care of you,” makes him melt further into the bed.

And Kal-El shifts so that the hand that was draped over the man’s torso starts ghosting down. Lex has to hold his breath - anxiously - but is relieved immediately when that warm hand wraps around the dreamer’s shaft. He’s half mast, but quickly hardens from the stimulation. The slow strokes are painstaking, in all the right ways. Lex’s eyes softly shut as he lets out a small moan as the broad hand continues its tender care.

Which, to Lex’s relief, doesn’t remain tender for very long. “I love it when you moan for me,” Superman sighs as his pace increases. The strokes - while controlled - become frantic. Every stroke is more stimulating than the last; Lex is not quite sure when the last time he’d felt so good from a dream was, but this moment, shared between two men that in the real world detest one another, feels very much at the top of his list.

Lex feels a hard member rutting against his ass with equally measured and frantic thrusts. Long and thick and so, so aggressively using his partner to get off. This thought alone makes Lex’s face flush. “Kal-El,” the man moans, and is rewarded with his partner’s loud groan and a shutter that makes the entire bed shake. Superman came quickly, shooting his release between the two flush bodies.

In any other dream, Lex Luthor would see this as weakness, that the Kryptonian was so desperate to get off that he would release over the bare minimum stimulation. But here, in Superman’s embrace, he’s never felt more flattered.

Lex felt his own orgasm building up, too. The combination of being touched, the voice in his ear, the knowledge that he’s made the superhero finish just by calling his name… With a loud and passionate cry, Lex cums as well.

They ragdoll and pant together for a long while, the stars in their eyes cast a warm glow that touches every corner of the otherwise simple room. Lex curls his body into the warm chest behind him. His headache is gone, and he’s too tired to even think about water.

Kal-El pulls the blanket up and covers both bodies. He doesn’t care much about the soiled sheets; that would be a problem for the morning. The hero plants another kiss on the side of his lover’s neck, butterfly-light and full of so much affection. “Finally, I’ve found a way to get you to listen to me.”

Lex scoffs. He’s about to roll his eyes and offer a witty rebuttal, when he notices something strange outside his window.

In the distance, he sees a flash of blue and red racing through the sky. He doesn’t need to squint to realize that blur is Superman himself. And he’s flying straight towards the floor to ceiling windows of his bedroom at an astonishing speed.

If that’s Superman, then-

Before Lex has a chance to finish his thought - much less a chance to turn around and see who he’s sharing his bed with - there is a sudden crash, and Lex startles awake.

He pants to catch his breath, all while trying to calm his racing heart. After he has the chance for his breath to return to normal, he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He’s laying in his bedroom, on top of a still-made bed. It’s still dark outside - it can’t be much later than two or three in the morning. He’s still wearing his shoes.

Lex groans as his entire body, all at once, convulses in protest of being woken from its slumber. When he sits up, he realizes he’s still feeling the effects of the alcohol in his system; he staggers to the bathroom, suddenly very sick. He barely makes it to the toilet before expelling what little alcohol remains in his stomach.

Shit, this sucks. I’m never drinking again.

When his alarm goes off a couple of hours later, Lex groans in protest. His body is weak as a result of the evening before - excessive drinking and inadequate rest. Still in his sleepy stupor, he dials his phone. It rings twice before a cold voice answers.

“Mister Luthor.” The voice responds simply. Mercy Graves, his personal body guard and escort, sounds as though she’s been awake for hours, even though he’s confident no human is awake as early in the day as he typically is.

“Mercy,” his groggy voice echoes- and he was taken aback by how fatigued he sounded. “I’m not feeling well. Coordinate with my secretary to reschedule my appointments this afternoon, and kindly request that Accounting start working on the documents that I’ve already signed off on. I’ll have to finish the rest tomorrow.”

The voice on the other line sighs, and Lex silently praises her for biting her tongue. They are both aware that Lex, in all his stubbornness, works through all illnesses, so calling a day off must mean something else is going on. “Very well, Mister Luthor,” she responds. After a pause, she continues, “Shall I collect anything while I’m out today? To treat your… Illness?”

Lex closes his eyes to calm the dull pounding in his head. He has everything he needs - water, medicine, food, leisurly reading - already in the apartment. But there’s still one thing he can’t stop thinking about… “Not something… Someone. Collect Clark Kent, please. We have some unfinished business.”

To say Clark was upset with Luthor is the understatement of the year. Upset is how you feel when you fail a test. Upset is how you feel when a dog trashes your Fortress of Solitude. Upset is how you feel when your favorite bagel shop closes unexpectedly. 

No, Clark is far past the point of upset with Luthor. He loathes the man, with every fiber of his being. Ever the pacifist, he believes violence doesn’t solve anything; that said, he has never wanted to hurt anyone as deeply as he’d wanted to hurt Luthor last night. Clark Kent wanted to make him suffer, as punishment for the pain he himself has caused.

Clark hasn’t slept; when he arrived at his apartment, he sobbed the tears he wasn’t allowed to share around his arch nemesis. He sobbed for Mali, a good man whose life was lost when it should have never been on the line, and the family he left behind after making his terrible sacrifice.

Clark would end up laying in bed all night, staring at the ceiling. He wonders why he let himself play games with a murderer, why he would treat their back and forth as trivial intimidation when truly, Lex Luthor should be behind prison bars.

Clark Kent loathes Lex Luthor. So it surprises him deeply when he walks out of his apartment complex in the morning, sees Luthor’s personal body guard waiting, and agrees to shuffle into the back seat of a Rolls-Royce with her.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep that’s guiding a poor decision. Maybe it’s his hope that Lex is asking for help. Perhaps it’s both, or neither, of these factors. Regardless, it’s curiosity more than anything that gets him into the car; curious of just how much of their conversation from last night Lex Luthor actually remembers.

When Clark finds himself riding the elevator to the top floor of Lex Luthor’s building, he can’t help but feel a little anxious for the conversation that’s to come. Last time he accidentally upset Luthor, he’d almost lost everything. Clark isn’t sure if he can go through all of this manipulation and petty aggression again.

When he enters the luxurious apartment, he finds the billionaire sitting in his parlor waiting. He’s wearing what he would likely consider ‘dressed down’ - an armani polo, slacks, and oxfords - and sipping hot tea from a mug. Finally, a beverage that's appropriate for this time of day.

Mercy Graves clears her throat. “Mister Luthor, Mister Kent is here to speak with you.” She spoke as if Clark was not in the room, or even within the man’s line of sight.

“Very well,” Luthor nods, “Please leave us.”

Ms. Graves returns the nod before turning and leaving through the front door. She does not look at Clark Kent on her way out, and he feels oddly ostracized as a result. 

“Please, Mister Kent. Have a seat.”

Clark’s gaze meets the seated man’s; it’s cold and collected. Without a word, he does as the man bids.

“It would appear you’re doing just fine,” Lex states with a raised eyebrow, clearly insinuating he was expecting Clark would be hungover. After all, both had indulged in several bottles of high end liquor the night before.

“Yep, I guess so,” Clark lies. “As it turns out, being a farmer’s son comes in handy when it comes to drinking games.”

Clark stumbles over the last word. This isn’t a game, he doesn’t want to treat it as such. This man is dangerous, cold, ruthless, and evil. Someone he needs to be careful around.

Lex only shrugs in response. “I don’t quite remember much of the evening, as you can imagine. Thankfully,” he says as he reaches for the tablet Clark is just now noticing on the side table, “I have cameras around my entire apartment, so I was able to review them and go over what happened.”

Clark’s heart drops when Lex turns the screen towards him. The footage shows Lex laying across his chair and Clark looming over him, gripping the armrest and inches away from his face. “Imagine my surprise,” he continues without waiting on Clark’s response, “when I see the reporter I’ve been working professionally with for the last week, trying to take advantage of me while in a drunken state.”

Clark’s heart is pounding in his chest. He has no idea if Lex knows he was sober the entire encounter, but at this point it doesn’t matter. The fact that this video exists at all is bad, and it’s incredibly condemning.

Clark sighs in resignation. He hates these games. He just wants to be free from the man’s oppressive grip. “What do you want, Luthor?” he asks.

Lex smiles in response; a predatory smile that threatens to chew him up and eat him alive. “Oh, eager, aren’t we?” He waits for Clark's rebuttal; when it does not come, he clears his throat and moves on. “Frankly, I don’t remember what we spoke about, but the audio from the cameras caught almost all of the conversation.” He shifts in his seat slightly. “I know… that we spoke about Malik. And you know that I want to…”

The sentence dies midway. Clark hates that he knows exactly what he’s trying to say. “You want to stop feeling guilty.” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “Frankly that’s the work for a therapist, not a reporter whose life you threatened to ruin as recently as… three minutes ago.”

Lex’s eye twitches, but whatever insult he’s about to throw he keeps to himself. “I was advised by my lawyers not to tell anyone if I ever need to… defend myself.” Clark’s chest constricts, and he hates that Lex continues speaking. “So aside from you and Superman, no living being knows that this happened.”

Clark suddenly stands, and stares down the man. “So, you can’t get rid of me, for fear of Superman spreading your dirty little secret in retaliation. Instead, you blackmail me into helping. Which, by the way, I would have been a lot more eager to do if you hadn’t immediately resorted to threats.”

Lex also stands and raises his voice. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“People who are trying to do the right thing don’t kill in cold blood and call it ‘self defence’!” Clark can feel his blood pumping through his entire body. Calm down. 

“Yeah, no shit?! Sorry I didn’t have an excellent little life on a backwater farm with parents who taught me good morals. Unlike you, I have every reason to watch my back and protect myself, because the moment I let my words get misconstrued, my life is OVER.”

Both men have been slowly moving towards one another, and now they’re standing close. Too close. Clark clenches both fists, tight enough that he feels the bite of his fingernails piercing his skin. “Superman is right,” he sneers. He doesn’t speak further, but both men know exactly what he means.

After posturing at one another for an entire minute in silence, Lex is, surprisingly, the one to give in. “He is right; I’m not a good person. I’m not even trying to be a better person. I’m doing this because it consumes me.” He turns to look at an empty corner of the room; Clark wonders if he sees anything there. “I drink to smother the guilt, but all it does is leave me feeling worse when I’m sober.”

He looks back at Clark, and the reporter hates Lex a little more when that glare is completely emotionless. Does he even feel bad for all the harm he’s done?

“So ask for help.” Clark says firmly. “Ask me for help. You might have a hard time believing it, but I’m not the kind of person to air your secrets out for the world to see. Maybe I want justice served, too. If you're trying to make peace with your demons and seeking forgiveness from Mali’s family… Perhaps that's something I want to help you with.”

Clark doesn’t realize he’s reaching for Lex’s hand until he feels the soft skin of the other man’s palm and the subtle recoil of that hand being withdrawn. Clark hates the pang in his chest at the silent rejection of physical contact. 

“I can’t afford to live like you, Clark Kent,” he answers simply, as he takes a step back. “I can’t afford to blindly trust others. Every time I do that, I’m the one who gets fucked over.”

Clark doesn’t understand, and he comes to terms with the fact that at this moment, he doesn’t need to understand. “You don’t have to blindly trust me. You can just trust me. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have published that story at any time over the last year. But, despite it all, our goal is the same. I want you to correct your mistakes.”

Lex doesn’t break eye contact. He’s probably searching for a reason to push the reporter away. But Clark is caught off guard - and pleasantly surprised - when Lex takes that figurative hand offering support.

“... Okay. Clark, will you help me make this right?”

Lex Luthor sounds so unsure, like he’s bracing for the rejection he believes is coming. Clark has no intention of letting him down.

“Yes, Lex. I will help you. Let’s figure this out. Together.”

Chapter Text

From a young age, Lex Luthor was taught that emotional vulnerability was the worst trait that any man could display. He blames his father - to be fair though, his father is responsible for nearly every insecurity he has. From his rage, to his self loathing, to his gender dysphoria: All thanks to the loving hand of Lionel Luthor

'Don’t you dare cry, you piece of shit.' A sharp pain, then the scream that follows. 'You were worthless as a daughter, I expect better from my son.'

Lex’s skin burns at the memory of abuse long since healed, and he reminds himself that he's safe from the man now. Inhale. Exhale. Up to this point of life, he's avoided any circumstance that could place him at the mercy of opening up. He has few friendships and shallow relationships. He knows how to cut ties with others when he - or the other party - gets too close. He’s been diligently taught that being honest about his feelings is what will lead to his downfall, so best to avoid it all together.

In truth, he didn’t plan on telling Clark Kent about the guilt he felt over being responsible for Malik’s death. It’s his own fault for drinking so damn much. He was hoping that at least he could get an account number, somewhere he could just send a lump sum of money as apology for really fucking up. He certainly wasn’t expecting the reporter to show any sort of interest in helping Lex Luthor… out of the goodness of his own heart.

Lex looks over to the man next to him in the back seat of the Rolls Royce. The way the sun catches Clark's profile and curls leaves the billionaire mystified. Lex can’t help the warmth bubbling in his chest, contained but still burning. Clark is here, and he's going to help make everything right again. There are good people, and he's one of them. Maybe opening up isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. 

The hope he felt during the ride, all while looking at Clark’s features while pretending to be looking out the window, dissipates immediately when both men depart the parked car. He finds himself outside of a home he doesn’t recognize, and suddenly freezes as he remembers what they came to do.

His father had taught him to avoid appearing weak at all costs… And here he is, about to walk right into the most difficult conversation of his life.

Clark, standing next to him, senses the hesitation. He puts a hand on his shoulder and leans to whisper into the man’s ear. “You want the guilt to go away, yeah? The first step is asking forgiveness.”

Lex nods. He’s terrified, but for some reason he trusts the hand on his shoulder… that Clark would never throw him into traffic, even if he himself thinks he deserves it.

Lex closes the distance and knocks on the front door, with Clark still just behind him. He holds his breath, feeling the burning of his lungs with each second that passes. When the door finally opens, he’s greeted by an unfamiliar woman. She's average height and wears modest dressings including a simple patterned hijab. What sticks out most though are her deep, brown eyes. They look dulled, exhausted… like eyes belonging to a much, much older person.

The tired look she sports brightens the moment she sees the reporter. “Mister Kent! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Miss Ali, it’s so nice to see you again,” Clark smiles warmly in response. Lex feels his stomach churn; he feels like he shouldn’t even be a part of this interaction. “My friend and I were in the neighborhood, and I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Lex exhales and takes the opportunity to introduce himself. “Yes, my name is Lex Luthor.” The introduction is a bit too stiff for his liking. It lacks his regular charisma. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman laughs gently and, graciously, chooses to ignore his clearly uncomfortable demeanor. “You don’t need much introduction, Mister Luthor. I’m quite familiar with your work, as is the entirety of Metropolis.” She gently takes the hand that Lex forgot he awkwardly extended. “I’m Fatima Ali, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

Clark smiles as he watches the two shake hands. Does he think this is going well? “We were talking about an article to follow-up our interview from earlier this week. Imagine my surprise when we found our way to your porch.” He lies so effortlessly, Lex doesn't believe the reporter was even capable of it. “May we take you out for coffee, or lunch?”

“Nonsense, any friend of yours is a friend of our family's.” She turns to smile at Lex, his breath catches in his throat. “Please come in, I’ll brew some tea.”

As Lex passes the threshold and into the home he should not be welcomed into, he feels instant discomfort. He doesn’t know how to feel about being let into the home of a person whose husband he murdered. And he doesn’t know how he feels about being referred to as Clark’s friend.

They are escorted to the living room; it is the most comfortable and lived-in room Lex has ever seen. The furniture was well worn, though in quality condition. The wide windows let in abundant light that brightens every corner of the room. Lex sees pictures of a family, standing and smiling together. He averts his gaze, telling himself he’s not allowed to see these precious memories. 

“How is Khalid doing?” Clark calls to the kitchen, where Fatima is heating a kettle of water. “Last we spoke he was in his junior year of high school?”

“Yes,” the woman responds from the other room. “He’s finishing senior year now, and he’s among the top ten percent of students graduating in our district.” The woman lets out a frustrated groan. “Now if only he’d apply to some colleges, then maybe he’d get an idea of what he wants to do once he becomes a man.”

“Well, what’s he interested in?”

“Video games, comic books, typical teenage boy things,” Fatima sighs. “He’s started doing the majority of cooking in the house, since I’m working. He’s quite good at it, but he’s never expressed doing that as a living.”

“You’re very lucky to have such a supportive son,” Clark responds as he saunters back to the center of the living room, where Lex stands awkwardly. He grabs his shoulders and gently guides him to sit on one of the couches. He smiles and nods in reassurance. “Can’t say I was that great a kid to my ma and pa when I was his age.”

“Nonsense, Mister Kent. You were a shining example of a character at a young age, of that I’m confident.”

As Clark moves back to the kitchen to help Fatima prepare snacks, Lex has to remind himself to breath. Lex felt so stiff, listening in on the conversation like an outsider at a family gathering. They speak further - about work, about Fatima’s daughters, about Clark’s girlfriend, (who he corrects Fatima about, saying they broke up and that she moved for a job promotion). Lex just sits there, eyes wide and deeply uncomfortable. 

Soon, both adults join Lex in the dining room. Fatima brings a pot of hot tea and a plate with sesame cookies, while Clark carefully handles three sets of teacups and saucers. He places a cup in Lex's hands before the woman pours the steaming brown tea with care. Lex smells sage and rosehip; it does wonders to calm his nerves already pulled taut.

“I hope this doesn’t come across as prying,” Clark says as he holds the tiny cup in his massive hands oh, so gently. “But how have you been? I noticed you’re not wearing black anymore.”

Fatima takes a sip of her tea before responding. “I’m well… as well as you can be, I guess. I’m lucky that I have my children, who all work very hard to keep our home in order so I can continue to work. I still miss Mali very much, but if he saw me still mourning a year later, he would frankly be disappointed in me.”

Clark laughs gently at her response. She laughs too, though it’s filled with melancholy.

“Mali and I met when he was about Khalid’s age, you know.” She smiles wistfully as she looks across the room at photo on the mantle, surrounded by candles and vibrant cloth. Lex grants himself permission to look at the man in the photo of Malik Ali, smiling and without care. “My parents hated him, but he didn’t care. He’d steal me away late at night for our dates. I loved the nights where we would lay in the grass and stare at the stars, joking about how we should spend the rest of our lives together.”

Clark nods thoughtfully. “He sounds like quite the Casanova.”

“Truly he was,” tears gather in the corner of her eyes, but her voice does not crack from the saddness. “For so long our families said we were much too young to get married, or start a family. But I’m glad we did. I got to spend as much time with him as possible. Not many can say the same.”

Lex Luthor’s heart aches as he hears more about the man - about the loving relationships he fostered. The pit in his stomach - the guilt - grew impossibly more complex, swirling and threatening to overtake every other part of his body.

“Miss Ali,” Lex finds himself speaking before he can hold himself back. “There's a reason I’m here. I wanted to speak with you about Malik.”

The woman’s weariness instantly returns. She’s surprised by his interjection and clearly sad. But she nods her head and invites him to continue.

“Miss Ali…” he hesitates. Why does his chest hurt so much? He’s not sure how she will even respond and being put in this spot is terrifying. He feels Clark’s hand gently on his shoulder, and looks over. Clark’s lips are pursed and his gaze is steadfast. He nods once, encouraging Lex continues; it’s this look that emboldens Lex to go on.

Lex takes a deep breath as he nest his teacup into the saucer's divot. “I’m the reason that your husband is dead. I am responsible. I’m so sorry.”

The warm room feels devoid of oxygen and comfort all at once. The only sound is the ticking of the clock and the shallow breaths of the men in the room. Fatima is quiet, though very clearly stricken by grief. 

“What do you mean,” she channels her controlled fury into her words, “You’re responsible for his death?”

Lex swallows, hard. “My actions are what killed him… I killed him. Please forgive me. I want to make this right.”

“You killed my husband,” the woman responds as grief swallows the room. “You killed Malik, the love of my life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are responsible for the death of an innocent man?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” she’s screaming now. “‘Sorry’ won’t bring him back.”

“I know. I’m sorry”

“You’re a despicable man,” she starts sobbing. “If you seek my forgiveness, forget it. You will never find it in this home.”

Lex tries opening his mouth to apologize again. What more can be said, aside from endless apologies that make Lex feel worse. Clark suddenly steps between the two bodies, as though blocking Lex from the woman’s view would calm her.

“Fatima,” he says gently, his back turned on the man. “I know you’re still struck with grief. I will never discount your feelings. I will never tell you how you should feel. Luthor is himself guilt-ridden. So even if you can’t forgive him, please understand that he does feel bad, and he’s honest when he says he wants to make it right.”

Fatima’s eyes meet Clark’s. Both adults have tears streaming down their faces. She opens her mouth, and closes it again, before crashing into his chest and letting out a deep sob. Clark wraps his own arms around her, offering as much comfort as he can in this moment.

Lex watches with some form of wanting. He wishes he could cry like the two adults in front of him. He wishes he could redeem himself by offering a grieving woman this level of comfort. He wishes he could be comforted in this way as well.

He successfully (to his own surprise) squashes the voice of Lionel Luthor in his head, chastising voice yelling how dare he allow himself to feel such strong emotions.

When Fatima’s breathing calms, the room finally returns to the previous warm aura. She pulls away, and wipes the tears from Clark’s cheek with her thumb. “Think about it,” Clark urges. “You still have my number, right? If there’s something Luthor can do to make this right, please give me a call.”

She nods, once. “For now,” she says carefully, “please leave our home.”

Clark nods, then turns to Lex. “I agree, I think we should take our leave.”

Lex nods, looking at Fatima. She is intentionally avoiding his eye contact. He thinks it’s for the best.

They’re on the porch of the home as the front door closes gently. Lex releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“If it's any consolation,” Clark says as both men walk back towards Lex’s vehicle, “I think you handled that well.”

Lex scoffs, he really didn’t think they made any progress at all. “I doubt you understand how it feels to apologize without being forgiven.”

Clark sighs. “Trust me, I do get it. But that’s the point. If you apologize only because you seek forgiveness, then you are apologizing for the wrong reasons.”

Lex can’t help but roll his eyes. “I know that,” he says as Miss Graves opens the back door, allowing her employer to slide in, then Clark Kent. “I don’t feel better, yet. But this was a necessary first step.”

Clark nods, as both men look out their windows and watch the neighborhood zip by. The ride home is mostly silent, save for the faint music playing from the vehicles radio. 

When the car drives over the bay and back into the heart of Metropolis, Lex feels something brush against his hand. He looks down to see Clark’s broad hand, resting on the empty seat between them and dangerously close to his own.

Lex is the one to bridge the distance. He gently places his hand atop Clark’s, betraying every voice in his head screaming at him to hold back.

Clark turns swiftly to look at the man next to him. He sees something in his eyes he doesn’t quite understand. “What’s wrong, Lex?”

“I…” Lex swallows. He’s deeply relieved the man hadn’t pulled his hand back. “I just… Thank you. I will make this right, thanks to your help.”

Clark takes a moment to understand the words Lex says, before his lips pull into a small smile. Lex feels his heart pounding in his chest, and he hopes the man beside him can’t hear it. Clark gently shifts the hand beneath Lex's so that palm is against palm, fingers gently intertwined. “I know you will,” he responds simply, with a small squeeze of his fingers.

Lex stares, in disbelief this is not a dream. He knows it’s not, otherwise he would close the distance and kiss that damn aloof reporter without a second thought. That damn reporter who knows just what to say, who sees the skeletons in his closet and chooses to support him still.

Lex wants to pull away. He wants to be closer. He wants nothing and everything.

As his heart continues to pound in his chest and his cheeks lightly blush, Lex realizes in horror exactly what he’s feeling. He's almost in disbelief, he didn't think he was capable of feeling such strong and sure emotions

I… I think I’m in love with Clark Kent.

Chapter Text

Twenty-Seven.

Superman’s eye twitches; he’s in disbelief.

Twenty-Seven high level mutant or metahuman attacks on Metropolis in the last week.

That’s like… four a day??

Clark Kent does not curse - his parents taught him better than that. But oh, he’s so close to using foul language as he watches his super peers combat a short, nightmarish man who continues to warp reality to his will.

“Finally, Superman comes to his senses and asks the Justice Gang for help,” the pompous, grating voice of Guy Gardner cuts through Superman’s thoughts.

“Justice TEAM,” Mr. Terrific narrows his eyes as he flicks his fingers. His robotic spheres zip in the same direction. “Though yes, we were wondering how many attacks it would take before you reached out.”

“We both guessed pretty low,” Guy snarks as a giant projection of a green hand appears and attempts to flick the metahuman they are all fighting out of the city; the foe narrowly misses the attack. “I guessed twelve.”

“I said eighteen,” Mr. Terrific points a thumb over his shoulder. “She was antsy and just anxious to get in on the action,” he says as Hawkgirl swoops by with a shrill shriek. “Didn’t even want to guess.”

Superman groans, “You know there’s a lot more going on in my life than petty villain fights, right? I don’t have a whole lot of time to send out a signal; you could have just come to help without my request.”

“Well, that doesn’t make sense,” Mr. Terrific responds evenly. “You’re Superman; you can handle everything. And for the things you can’t handle, you call in the team. That’s why the signal exists in the first place.”

“That, and so we can get our name out there. Don’t forget about the advertising,” Guy responds. The way he flips the bangs of his ridiculous haircut out of his face makes Clark want to scream.

Speaking of screaming, Hawkgirl interrupts her war cry - midattack - while chastising the men. “Can we talk about this later? You realize there’s a high level metahuman we need to deal with here.”

“Yes, that I can agree with,” Superman responds as he swoops in. The other men nod and point their focus on the fight ahead.

It takes a few solid bouts and a well-placed hit on the villain, but even a master of reality can’t beat an entire league of heroes. As the villain is bound and prepared to send off to Belle Reve, Guy extends a hand to the other three heroes, clearly expecting a high five. No one seems interested in returning the gesture, so he puts that hand in the face of an officer who reluctantly, confusedly, high fives him back.

“Okay, fight over,” Hawkgirl huffs. “That’s a lot of attacks in a short amount of time. Gotta wonder if there’s someone behind the scenes pulling the strings.”

Clark sighs at that statement, suddenly realizing. There’s only one person who would go out of his way to coordinate such a targeted attack… Though Kal-El has suspicions, he doesn't know quite why.

He lets out a sigh and responds simply, “Luthor.”

The fowl hero is about to respond, when another bellowing cry can be heard from the other side of the city. 

Clark feels his eye twitch again. Twenty-eight.

“Go talk to your boyfriend,” Guy commands. “We’ll take care of ugly.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Clark huffs, before flying in the opposite direction of the heroes and towards LuthorCorp tower. He doesn’t see the shared glance between the Green Lantern and Hawkgirl, nor the subtle rolling of eyes from Mister Terrific.

Superman walks right past the secretary outside of Luthor’s office, knowing the young man could do nothing to slow him down. While ignoring the firm directions from the much shorter man that Mr. Luthor is not taking visits, he saunters straight into the office.

“Mister Luthor,” the young man babbles, “I tried stopping him, but he-”

“It’s fine,” Luthor responds. He doesn’t even look up from the report on his desk. “I’ve got it, thank you.”

There’s something off about his response. The tone is completely neutral, absent of the usual charm and playful lilt he adds whenever around the super. Clark can’t help but wonder if Lex is feeling unwell.

“Luthor,” he says firmly. “These attacks need to stop.”

“No, not really,” he says, already bored of the conversation. This feels wrong; typically there’s some form of back and forth between the men before Superman has to coax Luthor to get straight to the point. “They will continue until you are dead, as was my goal from the very beginning.”

Superman states back, astonished. Lex sounds so detached, like he doesn't care that he's speaking to his rival. Like he doesn’t care enough about if Superman lives or dies. Like he doesn't even care that he has Superman’s undivided attention right now.

“The metahumans you are hiring will hurt innocent people-”

“They won’t,” he responds simply. He hasn’t looked up from his papers yet, he just flips the top page over and starts reviewing the words on the backside of that paper. “They were hired to hurt you alone, not others. They know the consequences of not following my directions, so they have been following it to a tee.”

Clark’s face burns. He reaches over the table to grab the pages out of Lex’s hands. Nothing of relevance to Lex’s master plan to defeat Superman on these documents; just papers for a property in Center Square with prices and features. Is he buying a new office? Lex scoffs and rolls his eyes, turning to his computer to click a few times. The printer in the corner of the room whirs to life as it prints another copy of the document.

“Look, Superman,” he has the audacity to sound disinterested. “I really have other things I need to get to, so if you’d do me a favor, would you please just go… die gloriously in battle? Or whatever.”

Kal-El wonders why his chest hurts at the words. He chooses now is not the time to navigate those feelings. “Is that really it?” He asks in disbelief. “You just want me dead?”

“What else is there? I’m tired of the games, and I’m tired of you.” He stands to walk towards the printer, grabbing the fresh copy and flipping to the page he was previously on. “The only value you are to me is when you agree to Clark Kent’s interviews, and even then it’s barely anything.”

What? Superman is incredibly confused. He tilts his head, setting the pile of papers back onto Lex’s desk. “Wait… What does Clark Kent have anything to do with any of this?”

At the mention of the name, Lex’s eyes light up in a way that Superman is all too familiar with, and it makes Clark’s throat clench upon itself. Obsession. “What does he- everything. All of it. His best and often most popular stories are the ones where he gets to interview you. If you want to provide any value to me, you should be talking to him and giving him the big scoop. Fuck, with all these attacks, that’s at least five front page stories already. And that's not counting the stories he’s already written since Monday.”

Clark looks back at his hand on the desk covered in papers. He realizes that among them are clippings of The Daily Planet; he recognizes the headlines for all of them - all as pieces he himself wrote.

What is going on? Is Lex sending metahumans to defeat Superman as a way of showing his appreciation towards Clark… Interesting conflicts, leading to interesting stories, leading to a happy Clark Kent? It seems awfully juvenile… but not outside the realm of possibilities. 

“You know…” he responds evenly as he withdraws his attention away from the desk and back to his nemesis… who is back to looking through the fresh papers in hand. “Once I’m dead, he won’t have any other stories he can write.”

“Nonsense,” Lex waves the thought away without looking up from his papers. “He can go back to writing about me. About LuthorCorp. About street vendors, teachers, and activists. The real heroes of Metropolis.”

“Luthor… you’re out of your mind.” Superman crosses the room and encroaches in Lex’s space. He’s shocked that with this show of intimidation, Lex doesn’t even bat an eye. His heart rate is unchanged. He really… He really doesn’t care at all. “If you think Clark will appreciate this, you don’t know him well enough.”

Lex does finally look up from those papers. His gaze is stoic, devoid of the fire he’s known for. “No, Superman, it’s you that doesn’t know him.” He walks right past the towering man to sit back at his desk. “You’re a danger to everyone here - including him. I won’t allow you to poison his mind any more than you already have.” 

Clark opens his mouth to respond, but Lex is dissmissive. “I’m done with our conversation. Leave now, before I have to call my own team in to remove you by force.”

Superman wants to offer a rebuttal, but he knows there’s nothing more that he can say to win the man over. Moreso, he’s confused why there's this sudden shift in attitude from Lex. Knowing there’s not much else that can be said, he walks out of the office as his nemesis continues flipping pages, not caring enough to see him out.

He decides to try and visit half an hour later, this time with mousy hair and thick glasses. Fine, if he won’t talk to Superman, maybe he’ll listen to Clark Kent.

“Sir,” the aid calls in, “Mister Kent is asking to see you.”

Clark can hear a small shuffle in the room, which he’s confident he can only catch due to super hearing. “Yes, send him in,” is the cool response over the intercom.

Clark thanks the secretary and walks into the office, careful to close the door gently behind him. He sees Lex nonchalantly leaning against his desk with a stack of papers in his hand. The same stack of papers Clark had seen a little while ago. The man looks up from the document with a feigned look of surprise; like he wasn’t expecting a visitor.

“Ah, Clark. What brings you here?”

Warm, practiced, charming. A stark contrast to the attitude he had with Superman an hour before.

“I was in the neighborhood, wanted to check in on you. See how you’re doing.”

Lex extends his palm towards the couch to invite him to sit. Clark accepts this invitation with minor hesitation. “I’m doing alright, been so caught up with work that I haven't had a chance to reach out.” He flips on a Smeg brand water kettle on a tea cart sitting by the entrance of his room. Since when has that been there?

“I figured you were busy, which is why I didn’t want to bother,” Clark answers as Lex comes and sits opposite of him.

“I’ve stopped drinking,” Lex says almost abruptly. His eyes show a glimmer of hopefulness, as if hoping to receive validation for this decision.

Clark blinks once, “Oh… oh, that’s… unexpected. But, hey! That’s really good to hear. How’s your body treating you?”

A broad smile stretches across Lex’s face. Smile lines pull under his eyes as well. It’s not conniving, which in itself feels very jarring to the reporter. “I’ve been feeling better than ever. You were right, I was drinking way too much. Cutting it out cold turkey is the right call. The first few nights were hell, but now I don’t even think about it at all.”

He stares expectantly. Clark can’t even tell if the man is telling the truth or not, his demeanor is so disorienting. Clark feels a bead of sweat on the back of his neck. “Well good for you. You should feel proud of yourself.”

He nods. The pot in the corner clicks and Lex rises to prepare two mugs of tea. He places one into Clark’s hands as he starts to sip the other. “So… has Fatima reached out to you yet?”

Clark sighs. “I’m afraid not.” Clark sent her one text after their conversation a week and a half ago, reminding her that they were still open to conversation if there was anything she wanted. According to the messenger app, Fatima had read and reacted to the message with a heart emoji, but other than that, no response.

“That’s alright,” Lex states as he hands the documents over the table to Clark, “I have an idea on what I can do. I bought a lovely little storefront on City Square; it’ll make an incredible spot for a quick-service restaurant. It’ll be a great spot for Khalid to start his own business, if that’s what he wants.”

Clark’s eyes boggle at the realization that he was reviewing property documents for this reason. “Lex, this is a lot of money to spend on a hypothetical. You don’t even know if Khalid wants this.”

The other man waves his hand dismissively. “Then I’ll rent the space to someone else. It’s a prime location, I’m sure plenty of people will be clamoring to put their business there. If that’s the case, it won’t be money wasted.”

He stares back at Clark Kent awaiting his response. There’s that look again; he’s looking for approval. He wants to be told he’s doing a good job. Why it had to be from Clark Kent and not Superman is beyond him.

“Even if this is a little… much… it clearly shows you want to support them while paying close attention to details.” Clark smiles and honestly says, “I’m impressed.”

Lex's smile becomes warmer. Clark doesn’t much like how the look makes his heart skip a beat.

“Well enough about me,” Lex brushes the topic away as he takes another sip. He looks over the edge of his mug with playful blue eyes… There’s that expectant look again. “How has work been? I saw your stories on the front page of the Daily Planet.”

Clark sighs, hopeful that he can navigate this conversation in a way that will result in Lex Luthor slowing down on his plans to literally kill him. “It’s been pretty busy. There’s been an unbelievable uptick of attacks on the city. Between interviewing Superman, writing these articles, and… other matters of importance, I haven’t had much time to myself.”

“That’s good, right?” the man nods encouragingly. “More interesting stories means a greater public facing profile. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

There’s that eager look again. Clark tries to swallow as he responds. “Actually, it makes me pretty… Worried.”

“… Worried?” Lex looks confused.

“Well… I won’t lie, the Superman stories have been a huge hit across the board. But there’s a huge risk having so many powered individuals rampaging around the city. And what’s worse, if Superman is hurt… I just…” Clark deep sighs to really sell his act. “I worry that the city could lose its beloved hero.”

Lex shifts in his seat, this act might be working. “Well, there have been quite a lot of attacks lately, and that can be scary for any reporter. But these,” he coughs, “powered individuals wouldn’t be acting if they didn’t have a reason.”

Clark bites his tongue. He knows the reason is because Lex paid them to. He waits though as he lets Lex finish. Before he does, the businessman sets his mug down on the coffee table before standing and walking around it. He kneels before the reporter and stares up at him. His gaze casts an expression Clark has never seen before from the man, and it makes his head spin. A hand lands gently on top of Clark’s, nested together upon the arm rest.

“Superman is dangerous. He’s a powerful being that’s not from Earth,” His voice is soft and sounds like tender pleading. “Citizens call him a hero and assume he’s here to serve the people’s best interests, just because he says so. But we can’t allow ourselves to take his word as law. I can’t protect the city if he turns on all of us. I can’t protect you.”

Clark shifts his own hand, intertwines his fingers in Lex's, similar to the comfort shared in the back of the Rolls Royce over a week ago. “I trust Superman, though.” He whispers back. He doesn’t realize he’s leaning in closer until their noses are almost touching. “I like to think I’m a fair judge of character. If you can’t trust him, will you trust me instead?”

They stare for a long while, and Clark wonders if the man kneeling before him can hear the ferocious pounding in his chest. The shimmer in Lex’s eyes dulls, displaying more than Clark was hoping he would see. He stands and carefully pulls his hand away. “I can trust you… in every matter but this one.” He faces away as he responds. “He’s poisoned your mind, I assumed as much. I promise… One day, you’ll see things my way.”

And almost as instantly as Clark hears the disappointment in his colleague’s voice, it’s gone. Lex walks towards the office door, turning back with that same smile on his face. “It’s pretty late - how about we find somewhere to eat? It’ll give us a chance to go over these documents together, too.”

The kryptonian’s fingertips buzz, craving the contact he had just moments ago. His brain screams that he should leave, that there’s no conversation that could be had to change Lex’s mind at this point. That staying here is doing more damage than good. Even so, he cannot stop himself when he stands and responds, “Yeah, that sounds good. How do you feel about pizza?”

Chapter Text

Clark Kent is a drug. Lex would know; he has an addictive personality.

At this point, everything reminds him of that goddamn man. Whenever he hears a song on the radio, he wonders if it was a band Clark might enjoy. Whenever he has a good meal, he makes a note so he can bring Clark there sometime. He’s started buying clothes, shoes, bags, and ties that flatter Clark's disctinct frame and style (he hasn’t had the guts to gift them yet, so it all sits piled in a spare room of his penthouse).

He can’t get his mind off the tall, muscular reporter with a goofy, lopsided grin. Clark Kent: The only decent person he’s ever met. The only person who has ever said he would stay on his side, and followed through with that promise one hundred percent.

He loves Clark so, so much that it has systematically consumed his every waking moment. Lex doesn’t even have time to focus on his other vices; as a result, he decides to cut them all out of his life. It’s a difficult, but necessary, sacrifice to make for the sake of his darling Clark.

The new code to follow is simple: No drinking. No sleeping around. No Superman.

Dropping his interest in Superman was a lot easier than he thought it would be. When the alien broke into his office two days ago, he was expecting to have some sort of attachment to the alien… Interestingly, he did not. His adoration for Clark Kent seemed to thoroughly smother the fascination he once had towards the hero. He’s quite proud of himself for this monumental accomplishment. 

He’s also stopped sleeping with women - another feat he’s quite proud of. Though he wouldn’t call this was a sacrifice; the hot and mildly entertaining models were nothing more than a lovely distraction from the real thing, after all.

And oh God, he craves the real thing more than a marooned sailor craves water. For weeks, Lex uses his precious dreamscape to fantasize about sucking Clark Kent’s dick, each figment more delightful than the last. Since he has no clue what to expect, the shape and taste of that massive member changes every time. Sometimes it’s hairy, sometimes it’s cut, sometimes it smells like sweat and musk. He loves dreaming of Clark Kent, of the brawny man sitting on his office chair - or at the foot of his bed - or in broad daylight - staring down at Lex between his massive legs. Clark always stares with adoring and cloudy eyes while his chest heaves, watching as Lex skillfully sucks him all the way down to the base, exchanging quiet moans and unbroken eye contact. 

Prior to realizing he had fallen in love, Lex had never had any sexual encounters with men. That wouldn’t do, since he wanted to ensure their first time together was perfect; the most logical course of action, in Lex's eyes, is to practice on other men. He hires armies of nameless men with pretty faces and boundless patience for the billionaire dropping to his knees, all with the intent of learning how to deep throat. One man with toned, tan skin and curly hair, became Lex’s favorite to fuck; he even agreed to practice penetrative sex with the gigolo. Lex was thankful to learn the process wasn’t much different than when he’d had anal sex with women in the past; all it takes is patience getting himself erect while gently working a tight asshole open. But being on the receiving end… He doesn’t see the appeal, though maybe he was just waiting for the right partner.

He did have to order the curly haired prostitute to stay quiet in bed. His voice was too high pitched and needy, nothing at all like Clark’s. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Lex has had more sex in two weeks than he’s had in the last year. Unsurprising, since most of his last year was spent in Belle Reve. But surprising still considering that even during his playboy prime, he was only taking home two to three ladies a week. That was necessary, though; he had to be very selective of the women he brought to his home, for fear that a woman too smart for her own good would realize that Lex wasn’t like other men, and then his secret would be out.

And now he’s provided fellatio for ten different men in the course of a week and a half; giving himself away without a care for the repercussions. The decisions we make out of love are truly unusual. 

Love. He loves Clark Kent. He ate pizza for Christ’s sake, because Clark Kent wanted pizza. He’d even gotten grease on his shirt, and didn’t complain about it once.

(He did complain about it, but not until he was in the comfort of his own home, with a glass of brandy and a tolerant ear from Miss Graves.)

Right, he’d said he quit drinking cold turkey. And he did… For several days. But he still has a shit-ton of alcohol in his penthouse that he needs to get rid of, and throwing it away would be a waste. Besides, he’s drinking much less than he was previously; that should be worth something.

The voice of Lionel Luthor hasn’t gone away. It still screams at him that he is a debaucher, a waste of space, a failure of a son, a sodomite. But for every cruel word from his worthless father, there’s a string of praise he hears in Clark’s voice. It’s much louder and it grounds the man without fail. 

If he had known Clark Kent existed sooner, he probably wouldn’t have needed any of these addictions in the first place. He’s never trusted another human before, it feels surreal that he can trust someone so blindly and fully. But he can, and he will forever, because Clark Kent has proven to be worthy of that trust.

The date across the table clears his throat. Date, he calls him… but this is just two men eating dinner and going over details of a legal document.

Lex is pulled free from his thoughts at the sound, and he looks over the bruschetta and into those stunning, baby blue eyes. He appears exhausted; perhaps Lex should find time to take the man to one of his getaway resorts for a much-needed vacation. “Is something wrong, Clark?”

Clark looks awkward across the table, hunched over his plate with a comparatively miniscule fork and knife in each hand while cutting at the caprese on his plate. He looks from Lex’s gaze, to the wide wine glass in his hand, and back to Lex again. “I thought you quit drinking,” is all he says.

Lex shakes his head before raising the glass to his lips and taking a small sip of the beautiful chianti. “I did; this is different though. Tonight, we’re celebrating; we’re changing lives tomorrow, it’s the exact sort of reason to let loose. Besides, it’s sacrilegious to eat Italian without a glass of wine.”

Clark opens his mouth, and closes it. Whatever rebuttal he has, he decides it’s not worth the hassle. He takes a sip from his water and continues. “I did get confirmation from Fatima that she and her family will meet us in City Square tomorrow at noon. What else do we need to prepare?”

“I have the legal documents prepared to sign, good for a two year lease paid for by LuthorCorp should the terms be agreeable.” He circles the glass in his hand before taking another delicate sip. He hopes Clark is enjoying the elegant show of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the sip. “I’m also asking Miss Smith, one of my finest accountants, to join us. That way, if Khalid has any needs leading up to the opening, she can arrange to have those needs met.”

“That sounds good,” Clark nods as he takes a bite of the antipasto. “And have you already prepared what you want to say?”

“What,” Lex offers a sly smile, “Do you want me to rehearse with you?”

The corner of Clark’s lip pulls up, a small smile in return. “I bet you’ve rehearsed in front of a mirror fifty times already.”

“Guilty as charged,” Lex lets out a little laugh as he takes another sip of the wine. Clark chuckles as well, the sound makes Lex’s heart flutter.

“How are you handling everything… truly? I imagine you’re navigating a lot of very difficult emotions right now.”

Lex thinks for a moment before setting the glass on the table and folding his hands in front of his chest. “Truthfully, I’m terrified. I’m more scared going into this conversation than I’ve been going on stage before thousands of people.”

Clark nods, “That’s good,” he says as he sets down the utensils. “It shows that you really care about the outcome. If you didn’t care what they have to say, then I’d think you weren’t taking this seriously.”

“Clark…” Lex extends his hand across the table with a palm up. He feels weightless when Clark takes that hand without a second thought. “I am confident that no matter what challenge I face, I can handle anything… As long as you’re right next to me.”

Clark smiles back. Does he know how intoxicating that smile is? He feels inebriated just being on the receiving end of it. “I’ll be there, so don’t be afraid to put your heart on the line.”

“Clark… I -” the words catch in his throat, and he holds onto the confession for dear life. Not yet, it’s much too soon.

“I trust you,” he does manage to say. The admission carries more weight than the mass of the entire Earth itself, and he hopes that it’s not lost on the man across the table.

The gravity of those words is not lost on the Clark Kent; still, the fact that Lex Luthor trusts Clark Kent leaves the man feeling culpable. He can’t help but wonder just how smart genius billionaire Lex Luthor is to have placed his unyielding trust in his greatest enemy, and that thought makes him nauseous.

Lex is looking at his watch, again. It’s only 12:02, but he’s checked his timepiece at least ten times since they arrived at the square. Clark bites the inside of his cheek, resisting every urge to reach out and shake the stress out of the man.

“He’s like that,” Faye Smith groans playfully beside him. They are both standing several feet away, leaning against the concrete planter overflowing with spring blossoms. She sips her iced coffee with proficient grace. “He’ll keep doing that until they arrive, and he’ll jump right back to it once they leave.” 

Clark turns to the accountant and nods in agreement. Faye, arguably, has known Lex Luthor for longer, so she knows all his tells; still, Clark would argue he knows Lex intimately enough to know this is his baseline, even if the accountant hadn’t said this out loud. “Doesn’t he know a watched pot never boils?”

Faye releases her straw and tilts her head to the side, her natural curls bouncing with the movement. “He knows, he just doesn’t really care. Maybe he just needs a good friend to remind him to calm down.”

She winks. Clark playfully rolls his eyes in response, though he knows her words are coming from a good place. Ever since their initial meeting, he and Faye have had several encounters. Whether going over documents for the new property, or over drinks and pupus at Jimmy’s apartment, they've been fortunate to get to know one another personally. So when she teases him, he knows it's from a place of friendly affection; she wants to see both men happy, after all. Despite the teasing, he does decide to follow her tip and approach the frazzled man.

Lex is muttering under his breath… he’s literally doing math equations. Clark has to stifle a laugh before placing a firm hand on his shoulder and bringing the man's mind back to earth. Lex jumps at the contact, but immediately calms once he hears the voice behind him. “Does doing math in your head really calm you down?”

“I’m not doing math for fun,” he pouts, “I’m doing very serious work right now.”

“Uh huh,” Clark can’t help but smile at the response, before putting on a serious face and moving to his peer’s side. “Hey, it’s totally fine to feel stressed right now. Just take it slow and show appreciation for their time, no matter what they say.” He takes Lex’s hand gently, and weaves their fingers together. It’s gentle and firm, and it leaves Clark’s fingertips burning.

Lex’s gaze meets his own, his shoulders relaxed but his gaze remains uncertain. Clark isn’t sure if he’s ever seen the man with such a vulnerable look. “You’ve got this,” he says as his heart clenches in his chest, all just from one look. “I’m right here, but I think you can do this all on your own.”

“Mister Kent,” Fatima’s voice calls through the crowd; Clark and Lex look towards the voice to see the woman and her children approaching. As soon as he sees them, Lex pulls his hand away and walks to meet the family. Clark turns to invite Faye to join, which both do swiftly.

Lex offers a hand to shake towards Fatima, which she does accept (Clark is eternally grateful for her willingness to try and be polite). “Let me start by saying, thank you for coming today. I’m grateful for the opportunity to speak with you about this property.”

Fatima nods in response, but otherwise her demeanor is disattached. Clark expected this, and he’s sure that Lex expected this too. When Lex turns to shake the hand of the young man, Clark can hear the sharp inhale of his breath. The young man is unquestionably Malik’s son; save for a clean shaven face and an age difference of almost 20 years, he’s the spitting image of the man.

Lex shakes Khalid’s hand, and turns to offer a hand to the young girls as well. They’re both too young to understand the unfortunate association he has with them, so they are much more enthusiastic to return his gesture. He dismisses the stress he carries in his shoulders before gesturing to the storefront ahead. “Please, let me show you what I’ve prepared.”

The collection approaches the shop. It’s Clark’s first time seeing everything, and he’s quite happy with the entire layout - he did help with having everything set up, after all. The ground-floor venue itself is small with big windows to let in natural light. On the inside is a service counter, a large chalk-board menu, two small tables, bench seating around the perimeter, and a large kitchen with every appliance needed to serve incredible food. 

“Khalid,” Lex starts as he walks behind the counter, “I understand you have an interest in cooking. If you were to start a restaurant here, what would you want to do?”

Khalid’s glare has been harsh since initally meeting, but that look softens as he thinks through his answer. “I think,” he answers slowly, finally landing on his response, “the only appropriate answer would be… I want to sell Falafels, just like my dad.”

Lex nods; Clark knows this is the answer he was hoping for. “I’ll get right to the point, then: I am coming to you with a business proposal. I want you to open a restaurant here in City Square, and I’d like for you to be my business partner. I will foot the bill for every expense. All income will be yours to spend or save as you want. The contract to start is for two years, and it is eligible to be extended based on LuthorCorp’s finances and your desire to renew.”

Khalid’s jaw drops open upon hearing this deal. His younger sisters feed off of this excitement, and start giggling and jumping up and down. Fatima stares, unsure of what to say.

Khalid swallows, “That sounds-”

“Hang on,” Lex interrupts with a serious tone. “There are a few conditions to this deal. First, you must finish high school. Second, you must attend a prepared business ownership and leadership seminar before opening. Finally,” He smiles as he looks at Clark, “Whenever my reporter friend comes through for lunch, the bill must be sent to LuthorCorp.”

Clark feels the tips of his ears burn, which he’s confident Lex notices. The corner of his lip tugs up as he turns his attention back to the young man. “So, what are your thoughts?”

Khalid crosses his arms, still thinking the offer through. Clark shifts his attention to the boy’s mother; she appears uncomfortable with being stuck just outside of this situation, and the tears collecting at the corner of her eyes threatening to spill over are not lost on the reporter.

The pause hangs in the air for several minutes, and Lex shifts uncomfortbly with the pensive silence. “Please,” he offers, “Please consider accepting my offer. If you were to honor your fathers memory by making his food for everyone, it would mean the world to me.”

Khalid’s gaze looks down, and he clenches his fist as the long silence continues. Clark can feel the anxiety coming from Lex; he’s ready for the young man to lash out at him and take out every frustration he has on the man who killed his father. Clark wishes more than anything that he could grab the businessman and remind him to just breathe.

Finally, Khalid meets the nervous man’s eyes, resigned and melancholy. “I accept your offer, Mister Luthor. I’ll do it, to honor my father’s memory.” He clenches his jaw and speaks through his teeth as he finishes his statement, “Not for you.”

Lex visibly calms, accepting this compromise. Both men sincerely expected Khalid to let his loathing guide his decision; Clark is proud that the young man did accept after all, even though he despises the benefactor. Clark is certain the bite of his response stings Lex Luthor, though he’s also certain that Lex would take this outcome in a heartbeat over being ‘no’ flat out.

Lex nods once before turning and extending his palm towards the woman behind him. “Faye Smith is my accountant; she will serve as a point of contact between you and me.” Faye walks up and extends a hand to Khalid to shake, which he shyly takes. “Miss Smith will support you in fulfilling all your finance needs; whatever you desire to get the restaurant running, please let her know and she will make it happen.”

Faye offers a stunning smile and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The young man, still shaking the woman’s hand, blushes slightly at the attention.

While the three continue to talk, Clark approaches Fatima with a small smile. She clenches the cloth covering her chest, demeanor unsure and on edge. “How’re you holding up?”

She smiles back, though the expression feels more sad than anything else. “This doesn’t really feel real; it feels too good to be true.” Her eyes ask for guidance from the tall man. “I know it’s not my decision to make, but… Is it wrong that I want Khalid to refuse, because I know how bad of a man Lex is?”

Clark places a warm hand on her shoulder out of reassurance. “You’re allowed to err on the side of caution. The wound is still fresh, after all.” He sighs, and says something both adults agree with. “Lex still has a lot of work to do to prove he’s a changed man. I think this is a step in the right direction.”

The tear Fatima has been holding back for so long does finally fall. It’s a singular drop that cascades down her cheek. “I think I agree with you.” There’s a brief, heavy silence before Fatima speaks up once more. “I miss Mali.”

Clark inhales slowly, careful to hold in his own sorrow in. “I miss him, too.”

She turns before gently asking. “How were you able to forgive him?”

“That’s the thing, Fatima. I haven’t. Not yet, anyways.” He looks at Lex, speaking with the young man and the accountant. He looks animated, overjoyed that things are moving forward; it’s endearing to see him like this, and the attitude is infectious enough to enthuse the other participants. “I believe that every human being can be good; all they need is the desire to make a positive change. As long as Lex wants to do better, I will support him and encourage him to make those good changes.”

There’s a strange glint in Fatima’s gaze, like she heard everything Clark said and a little more. Clark raises an eyebrow and asks, “Is there something wrong with what I said?”

She shakes her head. “No, nothing at all.” She breathes slowly, waiting a hair before sharing her thoughts. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t think you should trust him either.”

Clark nods solemnly. “I wouldn’t expect you to suddenly trust him just because of a grand gesture. Remaining guarded is a smart and safe choice.”

“But you… You chose to trust him? Despite everything?”

Clark thinks for a moment. “He’s given me enough reason to trust him… He’s placed his blind trust in me, so I feel compelled to do the same. But if I were being completely honest, I think… I think there’s a part of him that makes me want to trust him completely, even if he hadn’t earned it.”

There’s that raised eyebrow again; that look from Fatima ought to be lethal. “Mister Kent,” she responds in disbelief, “you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

He blushes deeply, not quite understanding her statement but still feeling shame for it. “I have no clue what you’re insinuating, ma’am.”

She holds her glare before letting out a soft chuckle. She thankfully drops her accusation. “Right, sorry to tease. I just…” She fiddles with her thumbs and carefully chooses her next words. “I have such conflicted feelings. He’s taken so much from us, and now he’s given us a future. One does not cancel out the other. I am grateful and repulsed. I hate him, and I acknowledge that he’s trying.”

Clark nods but says nothing; he wants to give the woman a chance to drain her emotions.

“I don’t think… No. I’m certain I will never forgive him for taking Mali away from us. But, I can feel this way while also recognizing that he feels regret and is trying to make things right.”

Clark smiles warmly. This is why he loves humanity; despite strong negative emotions, human beings continue trying hard to empathize with their peers. Despite the coldness of the world, people inherently want to see the good in others.

“But,” Fatima interrupts Clark’s thoughts with a finger jabbed into his face. “I will never like him. Even if he buys Khalid ten thousand falafel shops, that will not change.”

Clark guffaws before simply responding, “No, I don’t expect that. And I don’t think he expects it either.” Both turn their attention back to the alternate conversation; Lex is shaking Khalid’s hand, Faye is taking notes on a spiral bound notebook, and both little girls are running circles around the adults. “As I said, I believe people have the capacity to be good. It means the world to me that you can see he’s trying to do good.”

“I don’t see all of it, not like you do,” she admits with a shrug. “But as long as you have your faith in that man, I can try my best to place my own faith in him too.”

And honestly, that's all Clark could really ask for.

After two weeks of prepwork, hiring, seminars, and training, Mali’s Falafel’s opens its first ever store front. As expected, it’s an immediate hit for working adults and tourists; the location is a prime spot right in the heart of the city and an excellent stop for lunch breaks and evenings on the town.

Khalid is a natural behind the counter and on the grill. Of course, he has to trust his assistant manager for most of the day due to keeping his promise to finish high school, but his charisma is unmatched when he does find himself working. He interacts so well with customers, and is a leader and comrade towards his employees. Clark isn’t surprised that he accepted this role and is truly thriving in it.

Clark is relieved to take a break from writing about the still unbelievable volume of metahuman attacks targeting Superman so that he may write an article about LuthorCorp opening the restaurant. In it, he's sure to share details on the owner, Khalid Ali, and his story. It is placed at the front of the Entertainment and Travel Section of the Daily Planet; even though it was stuck in the middle of the paper, he feels proud to see that the line outside of the shop stretches a little longer the day after the publication.

Ma and Pa call the day after too; they ask what a “fall-fella” is, and Clark enthusiastically lets them know he’ll bring some home to try when he next visits.

A popular tabloid also released their version of the story, including a picture of Lex Luthor standing proudly outside of the restaurant with an oversized ribbon and large pair of scissors. In the photo, he’s peering over his shoulder and smiling wide; the photo doesn’t do it justice, but Clark knows Lex is looking towards a man behind him, whose massive frame is mostly cropped out of the photo. 

Lex was smiling for him.

Clark isn’t quite sure why this fact fills him with so much joy.

He pays the twenty-five dollars (egregious price) for the magazine before shoving it into his case. When he gets home, he plans on cutting that photo - their first photo together. He might even have it framed, for posterity’s sake.

Chapter Text

Within the goalpost of killing Superman, this may be the most brilliant plan Lex has come up with to date. Or, it could be his dumbest. But when it comes to fulfilling his mission and killing the alien menace, he is a man who very much believes in high risk, high reward.

In the director’s office of LuthorCorp, two men sit across from one another, only separated by an executive desk. To the undistinguished eye, two normal men are speaking about business; the stranger in the office has his arms crossed staring back with a gaze filled with languor. John Corben, or that’s how he’d introduced himself to Lex Luthor, was recommended to CEO by his very own lead robotics expert, Dr. Vale. Going into this conversation, Lex already knew there was more than what meets the eye, though he’s still unsure of how the man could possibly serve his grand purpose.

“What exactly are you capable of?” Lex asks, crossing his own arms and raising an eyebrow.

The emotionless man across from him sits up straight and simply responds, “Anything Superman can do, I can do; but better.”

Lex scoffs at the over-simplified explanation. “Great, another over-powered asshole. And how do you figure you’re better than Superman?”

Corben doesn’t answer; instead, he undoes the black tie around his own neck and unbuttons his shirt. Lex doesn’t startle upon the man revealing an expanse of pasty, hairless skin. What does make him jump, however, is the sudden cavity that opens in the center of his chest with a click and hiss. The steam that erupts from the opening clears to reveal his power source: a glowing, green gem casting ultraviolet light around the room.

Lex’s eyes widen, and he realizes exactly what has fallen in his lap. An android, with the strength and speed of Superman and a fist-size lump of kryptonite where his heart should be. Lex has to resist the urge to jump for joy; finally, a real threat to Superman, and the first metahuman with the potential to actually take him out.

Lex cuts straight to the chase. “Name your price.”

When it comes to friendly gatherings, Jimmy Olson is the unquestionable king. Whether it comes to the tunes, the company, the food, or the drinks, Jimmy always knows just how to make a memorable get-together.

It makes sense to Clark why Lois reached out to Jimmy, and only Jimmy, to let him know that she would be in town Saturday night. Clark would be lying if he said he didn’t feel that tinge of dejection that he found out his friend was in town through an outside source. Feelings aside, he’s excited he has a chance to just unwind with friends, especially considering that he hasn’t had a night to himself in several weeks.

He’s still exhausted by the metahuman attacks. He, thankfully, has been getting a lot of help from his powered friends, so now he can breathe and enjoy the good company, however brief the break may be.

When Clark arrives with a case of locally brewed beer, he’s relieved by Lois immediately jumping to hug the man the moment he walks in the door. He was worried how their first interaction would go following the move, especially since she’s been acting weird over calls with Clark.

The way she smiles up at him and says, “Hey Smallville,” kills every little voice in his head saying she was avoiding him.

“Hey yourself,” He says back with a small smile. He missed this; he missed his best friend.

Clark takes inventory of everyone else in the apartment. Jimmy is in the kitchen with Cat Grant, their stylish and incredibly cultured coworker, putting the finishing touches on a charcuterie board. Faye Smith waves at Clark from her seat on the couch; Eve Teschmacher, who was engrossed in conversation with the woman, looks over and squeals in delight when she realizes Clark has made his entrance.

Clark makes his break from the embrace and walks into the kitchen. He sets down the drinks and whistles at the spread. “Looks good, Jimmy!”

Jimmy smiles at his tall friend. “Actually, Cat did all the work. I was supervising.”

Cat pouts, likely in a joking manner. “Jimmy doesn’t know the difference between a brie and a cheddar. Thank goodness I’m here to make a board that looks good and - doubtless - will taste good too.”

“I know the difference,” Jimmy interjects. “One’s soft and the other’s yellow.”

Cat can’t help but roll her eyes, “See? Uncultured.” Clark chuckles as he picks up the board, delivering it to the coffee table in the living room to be picked at by the party-goers.

The thing that Clark appreciates most about this group of friends is that, no matter how long they’ve been apart, they can always fall back into comfortable conversation as if no time at all has passed. He smiles as he gets general updates around the room. Cat is following a new beat involving a growing crime syndicate. Eve announces she and Faye are dating (much to the surprise of Jimmy, whose look of stupefaction is laughable). Lois says nothing too exciting has changed for her, and the group does not push because they know work has been consuming every part of her life.

“What about you, Clark?” Lois asks with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Anything interesting in your life?”

Clark can feel the tips of his ears burning, though he’s hopeful the sharp woman doesn’t see it. “Nope, just work. Nothing interesting.”

“Uh huh,” she continues, not believing a word he says. “See I was hoping to learn more about your… colleague.”

Clark avoids eye contact like his life depends on it. “Nothing interesting there. Just a handful of publications, that’s all.”

The entire room bursts into laughter - Faye seems to be the only one whose laugh seems at least contained. Cat wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and says, “Oh my god, I’ve missed hanging out like this. Lois, you need to visit your ol’ stomping ground more often.”

“I can’t help it,” Lois deflates and whines. “This is the first weekend off I’ve had since I started at the Banner, and I still need to call in and check on everything in the morning.”

“You signed up for this,” Jimmy teases, “Director Lane.”

She scrunches her nose in disgust. “I finally get how Perry feels.”

“Oh my god, speaking of- that reminds me-” Cat stops herself and turns to Faye, “Sorry, is it okay if we talk about work drama? I know it’s your first time hanging with us, I don’t wanna scare you too much.”

Faye flashes her winning smile; she strikes Clark as the sort of woman who quietly thrives in overhearing gossip. “Nope, go right ahead. Just a fly on the wall.”

Cat turns back excitedly. “Right, you remember John Corben?”

Lois groans at the name. “How could I forget him? God, he was such a creep.”

Clark remembers the ‘John’ Lois once knew. Back while she was still a reporter for The Daily Planet, John Corben was a real piece of work. He would constantly show up to work hungover and unapologetic for his disheveled appearance. He would raunchily flirt with women in the office, including but not limited to Lois and Cat. While this made him incredibly upset, the most egregious crime, in Clark’s opinion, was when he was caught accepting money under the table: a bribe to write egregious and untrue stories filled with lies and smoke. John was not secretive about his life of excess, and often would strike conversations with coworkers about his love for drugs, sex, gambling, and his insatiable desire to seek thrill…

So when he suddenly stopped coming into work six months ago, everyone at The Daily Planet was fully convinced that he pissed off the wrong guy and ended up in a ditch.

“Yeah, well…” Cat pauses for emphasis as Lois leans in. Both Clark and Jimmy bite their tongues; they silently agree they cannot steal Cat’s thunder. “He’s back! He just suddenly showed up to work on Thursday, like he hadn’t been gone for half a year.”

Lois’s eyes grow wide, “No. Fucking. Way. I remember Perry saying, ‘If he ever shows his sorry ass here again, I'm kicking it to the curb.’”

“Well,” Jimmy says, “From what it sounds like, he got into a really bad car accident and ended up going back to his hometown for treatment. I don’t think Perry in good conscience would turn him away, especially after hearing that.”

Clark nods, “And the weird part is, he talks and acts like a completely different person.” Clark hasn’t personally greeted John yet; any time he’s spent in the office, he’s been in and out grabbing materials so he can ‘write on the go.’

He made eye contact with John once; Clark looked away to grab his pencil case, and when he looked back hoping to greet the man, he simply disappeared. 

Lois raises an eyebrow, “Weird in what ways?”

Clark shrugs, “Nothing I’ve seen yet, but I’ve heard rumors.”

Eve interjects, “Oh! Oh!” Since getting a job as Perry’s executive assistant, she’s had her finger on the pulse when it comes to tales around the office. “So he doesn’t speak to, like, anyone. I asked him what kind of coffee he wanted when I was going on a run, and he wouldn’t even glance in my direction. He ignored me… do you know how often that happens? Not often.” She pouts as Faye pats her gently on the back. Jimmy, noticing the action, hastily reaches to pat Eve’s arm as well. “Anyways… He’s already put out one story and it seemed just fine - Perry actually seemed disappointed by his work, but he wouldn’t say it directly.” 

Faye thinks before sharing her point. “I hear stories about people who get into major accidents and have their entire personalities adjusted. Maybe this is something similar?”

“It has to be,” Clark agrees. “The old John may have been a jerk, but at least he wasn’t catatonic. It’s hard to see him like this.”

Clark looks over at Lois. She’s making that face again - the one Clark knows she makes when there’s something she wants to say, but is holding herself back. Ever the reliable friend, he ignores that cryptic look and focuses on pleasant company instead.

As the night continues and everyone chatters in high spirits, the party quietly dies down, until several figures are slumped and resting in different parts of the apartment. Eve is curled between Faye and Jimmy, all three with peaceful faces and snoring softly. Cat, similar to her namesake, is curled in a tight ball on the loveseat. At this point in the night, it’s only Lois and Clark who are still awake; they talk about everything - from inside jokes during college years, to hopes for Lois’s publication. They sip on coffee and feast in each other’s company. Clark savors the conversation, like it was something he’s missed and fears losing once more.

“So,” Lois asks, as though she’d read his thoughts, “you missing me yet?”

Clark takes a look up from his hot mug, and stares at the woman next to him on the couch. “Yeah,” he answers, truthfully. “I’ve missed our conversations. I’ve missed you.”

Her smiling expression firms, just for a moment, before saying, “Well as I see it, you don’t even need me anymore.” She surveys the room, looking at all their sleeping adults. “You have plenty of good friends here, ready to jump to your aid if you need anything at all. I bet you prefer it over having me breath down your neck all the time.” She pauses again, before saying forlorn, “I don't think you ever really needed me in the first place.”

Clark sets down his mug and turns to the woman quite abruptly “I did need you, Lois.” He takes one of her hands into his own, ignoring the soft protest from her, “You strengthened my will to save everyone. Superman wouldn’t exist without you; I owe everything I am to you. So please, don’t say I never needed you; because I did. I still do.”

Lois opens her mouth, and closes it. Not again; not that cautious look on her face that he’s come to detest. There's something on her mind that she wants to say, but is convinced she’s not allowed to say it. Clark will coax the truth out of her, if it’s the last thing he does. He wants his old friendship back, damn it. “Out with it,” he says sternly.

“Huh?” She has the audacity to look perplexed, “What do you mean?”

“You do this thing,” he waves his hand up and down as if to sell his point. “With your face. When you want to say something, but then you don’t. I think you’re trying to avoid saying something I don’t want to hear.”

“I’m not,” she pouts, and turns her head away from the conversation. Clark gently grabs her chin and guides her back to his glance.

“Then tell me. What’s on your mind?”

She hesitates, stewing in silence for half a minute. “Fine,” she gives in, and Clark returns his hands to his lap. “I didn’t like what you’re saying. It sounded like you were confessing your feelings to me… and you know I don’t do well with feelings. I just…” she pauses, scanning his face to see if she can gauge his thoughts as well.

Clark takes the chance to share his piece, “Are you worried I still have feelings for you?”

Lois combs her hand through her hair. A nervous tick. “It’s less that - Well more specifically, we only broke up a few months ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if you are still in love with me. I tried keeping my distance, and I continue trying to keep you at arm’s length. I’m not trying to be cold; I just want to make sure you’re able to move on.”

“…Is that why you didn’t tell me you were going to be in town?”

She nods once. That’s really the only response he needs from her.

Clark exhales before placing a palm forward, inviting her to take his hand. She pauses for a moment, before resting her own hand atop it. “I get what you’re saying… I promise I wasn’t trying to talk about our old relationship. I consider you an important friend - my best friend, even. So being kept at arm’s length… It hurts me.”

She looks up at him, her eyes still cool but holding a small sparkle in the depths. “The truth is,” he continues, “I do love you, Lois. But the way I feel… It’s grown; it’s not in the way I thought when I confessed a year ago. I love you, like I love every other human.”

“You really know how to flatter a girl,” she laughs his response off, but the tone is missing that jovial note that would hint she finds humor in the situation.

“No, like… In my heart, you embody all of the best traits humans have to offer. I love everything about you, I wish more people could be like you - maybe then the world would be a much kinder place.” His hand wraps around Lois’s, with a strong grip that is still mindful not to exceed too much force. “I wish I could be as strong or brave as you are all of the time - maybe then I wouldn’t hold myself back when I make choices that are for me first.” 

Lois opens and closes her mouth. But this time, she sees his sharp glare and takes Clark’s desire to be let in to heart. “I have a feeling you’re scared to be honest about your feelings. Towards Luthor. I want you to know, no matter what you decide to do, I will always support you.”

Clark is a little taken aback by the statement. What does Lex have anything to do with this? “I appreciate your support, though I don’t think how I feel about Lex is relevant,” he dismisses. How do I feel about Lex? Clark inhales, then exhales as he puts his heart on the line. “What I’m trying to get at is, I wish you’d start talking to me like this all the time. Like a friend, not like an ex. That would mean the world to me.”

Lois smiles, and squeezes the massive hand she’s still holding. “I’m pretty sure I can do that. Let’s start again, as friends.”

“Yeah,” Clark smiles back, “I’d like that.”

Clark decides, after enough idle conversation and droopy eyelids from Lois, that it’s time for him to head home. He stands so Lois can sprawl against the couch, almost immediately after snoring inelegantly. Faye stirs, and realizes Clark is grabbing his cloak. She wakes Eve and Jimmy to say goodbye, before dragging both to Jimmy’s bedroom to retire for the evening.

When the warm air of the outside hits his face, Clark can’t help but feel relieved that he had this chance to talk things out with Lois. For the first time in a long time, he feels calm. Perhaps the dedicated night off from fighting crime really was all he needed; he would need to thank his friends in the Justice Gang for handling things around the city.

The man finds himself taking the scenic route back to his apartment and through the park outside Jimmy's home. He’s distracted and thinking about Lex. How he has been so good to ‘Clark’ but so cruel to ‘Superman.’ How is he supposed to change his mind if he can’t even convince Lex to call off the powered attacks.

How would Lex have handled being a part of the festivities? Eve would be cold, understandably, but Faye would be a calming and grounding presence. Lex and Lois would butt heads, but maybe after airing out the laundry they would be able to come to an understanding and talk about their respective leadership roles. Cat would flirt with Lex - that’s without a doubt. A handsome, charming, rich man is Cat-nip. But would he flirt right back with her? Clark feels a pit in his stomach. Why does the idea of Lex flirting with someone else make him so upset?

And what did Lois mean, when she was said she would support Clark in whatever decision he makes about Luthor? It doesn’t make sense. 

Without any preamble, every hair is standing on the back of his neck. A warning. In his distracted state, Clark realizes, a bit too late, that he is not alone.

Something - someone - collapses on the man, and he’s suddenly restrained. Clark fights to break free of the hold, and is terrified to realize that the firm hands holding him down are stronger than his own super strength.

“Found you, Clark,” the voice above him echoes with a metallic twang. Clark gasps; despite the time he still recognizes the tone.

“John?! What are you doing? Let go of me!” Clark realizes he’s struggling, and somehow he still cannot break from the hold. He feels incredibly nauseous, and has to hold back to keep from throwing up.

“Don’t struggle,” John Corben warns, his voice still apathetic but tinged with a hint of concern. “If I can transfer you in one piece, that would be the ideal.”

Clark shifts as best as he can to look at the man behind him. Though he can’t get a clear view, he does realize, with shock, that there’s a faint glow of green coming from the man’s chest. Kryptonite?! How is this possible? 

“John, please,” he gasps for air. He has to hold himself together as best as he can; he must keep his identity a secret, even if every part of his body feels like it’s rotting and deteriorating. “Please, let me go.”

“It’s Metallo,” he responds simply, “and I can’t do that, Clark. I need to kill Superman, and I'm confident you’re the best bargaining chip I have.”

“I don’t know anything,” Clark pleads, feeling his power draining by the second.

“I don’t really believe you.” Clark feels himself being lifted by the massive arms and slung over the shoulder of the solid man. “And even if I did… I still don’t really care.”

The last thing Clark can remember as he drifts into unconsciousness is the metallic creaking of joints rubbing together and the swift feeling of the man running at full sprint.

Lex won’t stop checking his watch. It started as a nervous tick, but has since grown to become manic behavior. 

He pulls out his phone, looks at his messages.

Morning Clark. Are you free to meet for breakfast?
Delivered 0823

No read receipt. Lex resists every urge to chuck his phone against the wall.

Inhale. Exhale.

Did Clark realize Lex’s feelings? Is he avoiding because he doesn’t know how to let him down gently? Maybe Clark is sleeping in because of a tryst from the night before-

Lex sees red. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Clark would never do that, would never betray his trust by sleeping with someone else. 

It’s only 1135; just over three hours since Lex sent that message. Still, something doesn’t sit right with the man. 

The frantic Lex calls the first mutual connection he can think of; Faye. He knows they’ve been getting along well since they started plans to open the falafel shop. What if they- Inhale. Exhale. No, neither would ever betray his trust. The phone rings several times, before the call clicks and the tired woman’s voice greets him. “Mister Luthor,” she yawns, evidence of just waking up. “Is everything alright? I thought the accounting department was closed today.”

“I’m trying to get a hold of Clark, but he’s not answering me.” No formalities, just straight to the point. Lex has one track mind and is focused on getting the information he needs. “Have you seen him?”

Faye shuffles on the other end of the line, recognizing the frantic tone of his voice. “He was with us last night - we were at a… mutual friend’s place. He left a little after eleven, he said he was walking home.”

“Which friend?”

“Jimmy Ol-” Lex hangs up before she can finish, then turns to rummage through the bottom drawer of his executive desk. He pulls out a folder, carefully labeled ‘friends and coworkers,’ before haphazardly throwing it open and shuffling to the page marked ‘Olson.’

Lex reads with his finger down the page. Photo, name, date of birth, occupation, address. Address.

Without any pause, he turns to his computer and pulls up security systems for Metropolis. Taxpayer dollars at work. He plugs in the address for Jimmy Olson’s apartment, and finds the security camera closest to the entrance. The time is plugged in - 2155, for good measure - and he waits and watches. 

He stares at the screen, sharing captured footage from last night, waiting for evidence of Clark Kent leaving the building. When he does finally see the burly shape, he lets out a small sigh of relief. Clark is moving slowly… He walks out of frame and towards the park across the street. Lex pulls up the police camera closest to his path and watches him walk lackadaisically down the sidewalk through the park.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary, aside from the slow pace that Clark is walking at. He's walking an appropriate path between the two homes, albeit a longer route than he personally would have taken. 

Then, dropping from out of the frame - seemingly out of nowhere - there’s a slender figure with dirty blonde hair. The assailant is facing away from the camera, but Lex recognizes them all the same. 

He clenches his teeth. Metallo.

He watches in horror as the android restrains Clark; his chest screams when he watches Clark struggle to break free without luck. Then, Metallo slings Kent over his shoulder like a sack of flour, before sprinting off camera.

Lex frantically follows the metal man’s trail as he continues his run through the heart of the city. When Metallo walks across the bridge and outside the range of his watchful eye, Lex screams with every fiber of his being.

He wants to throw something, destroy everything. But he stops himself. He has to stay focused. He needs to save Clark. 

He snatches his phone and makes a call. After three long rings, a deep voice with a metallic tinge answers.

“Luthor,” Metallo greets, “No update yet.”

“Fuck you,” Lex spits as he starts pacing around the office, “Abducting Clark Kent was never part of the deal.”

“I’m not abducting him,” Metallo says simply. His voice is infuriating; it sounds placating without the empathy to care why exactly Lex is pissed off. “I’m using him as bait. Superman will follow my trail, and when he arrives he will submit himself to save the reporter.”

“That’s too great of a risk,” he screams, hands clenching into fists. “Let Clark go, now. Or you can say goodbye to our deal.”

“Don’t care,” Metallo responds simply, and Lex’s blood runs cold. “Weird, right? I’ve been hoping to feel anything since having my consciousness moved into this body. Pain, touch, emotion… Nope, nothing. Not even the simple thrills that used to get me excited. I simply. Don’t. Care.” The voice pauses, undoubtedly hearing the huffing breaths from the billionaire on the other side of the line. “Does that upset you, that your money doesn’t work on me? I don’t care. Money won’t buy what I want.”

“Return Clark Kent, now,” He growls. He knows he’s getting riled up, but he can’t hold himself back. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Why isn’t this working?! “When I find out that you’ve hurt a single hair on his head, you are dead. If it’s feeling something you want, it’s feeling something you’ll get. I can guarantee your death will be painful and slow. I can promise that you’ll be dissected and ripped apart by my top scientists, and I can guarantee the last thing you’ll feel is indescribable pain.”

There’s a pause, and Lex in horror realizes he can hear the malicious smile in Metallo’s voice, “See, that almost got me excited. The idea of getting the shit kicked out of me by Superman… By you… Damn. This is what it feels like to have powerful enemies, huh? I think I can get used to this.”

The call ends with an unceremonious click.

Lex doesn’t dare breathe. He calls again. 

Busy signal.

Lex manually forces himself to breathe. Calm down.

The phone in his hand is flung against the wall, shattering into hundreds of pieces of shrapnel and plastic.

It’s not enough. Lex grabs the decanter behind his desk and throws it full force as well. Glass and booze shower the wall and floor. Then the glasses, the mugs, the tea cart. Anything he can pick up is thrown, at full force. And still, Lex doesn’t feel any calmer.

When Lex is standing in that trashed office and trying his damnedest to catch his breath, all he can think of is that Clark is in danger. By a foe that Superman, undoubtedly, cannot defeat. And it’s all his fault. 

Chapter Text

Metamorpho can manifest every element known in the galaxy. The only one he can seem to make now are the beads of sweat drenching his forehead.

It’s unsurprising that he’s feeling anxious, all things considered. After all, he’s standing awkwardly in the office of LuthorCorp’s very own CEO. The very same one who, almost a year ago, had blackmailed him into incapacitating Superman in order to save his darling son. 

Metamorpho is standing in Lex Luthor’s office, and it’s absolutely trashed.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he looks around at his fellow Justice Gang members. Guy stares aimlessly while he chews on a fresh stick of gum, while Michael stares at nothing and discretely types the air - he’s multitasking… The only person who at least presents as wanting to be here is Kendra, and even she’s fiddling with her mace impatiently as she waits for Luthor to share exactly why he requested their company on such short notice.

“I won’t waste any time,” the disheveled billionaire starts, making it a point to avoid Rex’s eye contact (which the hero is silently thankful for). “Clark Kent has been abducted by an android named Metallo. He’s been taken to an unknown facility outside of Metropolis; I need you to go collect Clark Kent, and bring him back to me.”

Clark Kent… Metamorpho knows the name is familiar, but he can’t remember why, exactly.

Before the elemental can dwell on it further, The Green Lantern cuts in to respond: “No can do, Luther.”

Luthor, in stunned silence, lets his jaw drop. His eyes almost bug out of his skull in genuine disbelief of the abrupt response from the de facto leader of this band of heroes. He does eventually speak up, with an incredulous voice, and asks, “Excuse me?”

Metamorpho is just as dumbstruck as the man who called them to visit. Something feels strange about this entire interaction, and it’s more than the fact that his comrades are not jumping straight into action.

“Going out of the city to save one reporter doesn’t sound like a good use of hero resources.” Lantern continues as he incessantly chews on that wad of gum.

Right, Metamorpho suddenly remembers. Clark Kent - the reporter from The Daily Planet. How on Earth did he get caught up in this mess?

“What my colleague is trying to say,” Mister Terrific tersely adds, “is that we are already stretched very… very… thin. Defending the city. You know…” he raises an eyebrow and casts an accusatory glance at the slender gentleman, “From all these metahuman attacks. We can’t afford to all leave, just to save one man.”

Luthor babbles for a moment, making it a point to not comment on the recent uptick of attacks on the city. “Then just one of you goes. The rest stay here and defend the city. That seems like an appropriate option.”

“Yeah, no. I’m out.” Hawkgirl interjects, stretching her wings as if preparing to take off. She’s bored by this interaction. “I’m not in the mood to fight a tin can.”

“I’m out, too,” Terrific agrees, leaving no space to share his thoughts on why. 

Metamorpho opens his mouth to speak, but is shut up by a firm stare from the technomancer. ‘I’ll explain later,’ his glance seems to say.

“So, there you have it - not happening.” Green Lantern reiterates as he takes a small strut around the office. When he’s close to the frazzled man, he leans in. “But hey - ever consider asking Big Blue for a hand?”

Lex grits his teeth - even in a distressed state his hatred cannot be contained. “I would sooner die than ask that thing for help.”

Guy shrugs as he turns back to his team. “Well in that case: I hope this Mullato fella is patient enough to wait for Supes to figure it out on his own. Or, you know-” the man looks over his shoulder as he makes an inelegant swiping movement across his neck and follows it with an unflattering bleh .

And the three other members of the Justice Gang agree, with no words, that it’s time to depart. Metamorpho looks over his shoulder at Luthor, taking note of his astonished expression, before turning to take flight with his peers.

When they are a sufficient distance away from the LuthorCorp building, Metamorpho finally speaks up. “I don’t get it. Why aren’t we helping Clark Kent.”

Guy looks over his shoulder, seemingly confused by the question. “Wait, are you serious?”

He surveys Metamorpho’s expression, realizing that yes, he is serious.

“Kent is Superman.”

Metamorpho gasps, the figurative lightbulb in his head clicking on. He thinks back to the only interaction he ever had with Clark Kent, perhaps nine months ago?

Clark Kent sat Metamorpho down to interview him on his recent joining of the Justice Gang. He was curious to learn how the superhero had adjusted to being in the public eye. Metamorpho asked during the interview and with a hint of amazement, “Mister Kent, how do you know so much about the superheroes and villains of Metropolis?”

A small shimmer appeared behind the thick glasses on the man’s face. “Off the record?” he smiled, and Metamorpho couldn’t help nodding in response. Kent leaned forward and whispered, “I’m Superman.”

Metallo looked at the reporter for a long while, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. He shook it off as a joke by the reporter - he looked nothing like Superman, after all.

Metamorpho shakes the memory off, focusing back on the matter at hand. “Right, Clark Kent is Superman, I totally knew that. But, if Metallo really is that strong, does Superman have a chance? Maybe we really should be helping him.”

“That’s against the code,” Guy cryptically says. After a dramatic pause, he continues, “By order of The Green Lantern Corps: you don’t fuck with a super-bro’s arch nemesis.”

“Oh, how convenient, another creed for Gardner to religiously follow for the next twenty minutes,” Mister Terrific barks. “But, yeah. It would be so damn annoying if we…” He sighs, not wanting to dictate exactly what he’s thinking. “…got wrapped up in all of that.”  

Metamorpho, confused by all of this, continues, “What are you talking about?” Instead of waiting for a respoinse, he shakes his head hoping the jostling makes all of this suddenly make sense (it does not). “We should really check in on Superman, just to be sure he’s not in any danger.”

“Nope, he’s fine” Terrific responds confidently.

“And you’re sure of this?”

“Absolutely.”

“How so?”

Mister Terrific points up to the sky. “If he needed help, he would've flashed the Justice Crew signal.”

“Finally, something we agree on!” Lantern punctuates his statement with a loud clap of his hands. “The signal. Not ‘Justice Crew.’ Blegh. That title sounds like a room full of babies came up with it.”

Metamorpho’s at a loss of words. All he can say in this state is, “You can’t be serious.”

Guy, in complete sincerity, responds, “I am serious. Babies come up with the stupidest names.”

Michael, deadpan and with the intent of humiliating the Lantern, adds, “You know how a room full of monkeys will eventually write Shakespeare? A room full of babies will eventually come up with a team name that isn’t ass.”

Metamorpho, realizing there’s no space left to argue with the men, turns to Hawkgirl, hoping he can speak to just one level-headed hero today. “What are your thoughts, Kendra? If there were anyone itching for a good fight, it would be you.”

She turns to the elemental, and with a firm nod states, “Oh, yeah. For sure. I’ll never turn down a good fight. But the guys are right; not our place to fight Clark’s battles.”

“Not even if the enemy is an indestructible android?”

“Especially if the enemy is an indestructible android. I was serious, by the way.” She rolls her head to stretch her neck. “When I said I don’t feel like fighting a tin can.”

As Guy and Michael bicker, and Kendra groans in frustration refusing to mediate the conversation, Metamorpho stares blankly at the rest. Clearly, they weren’t as concerned about Superman - certainly not enough to speak seriously about going to save him.

Maybe I’m overthinking it, then. The heroes land on the walkway leading towards the Hall of Justice, before waltzing into their modest fortress. If they’re not concerned about it, maybe I don’t need to be, either…

When Clark comes to, the first thing he feels is the cold ground he’s lying on. The second is the piercing sensation of acid burning through the lining of his stomach and dissolving every organ in his body. He doesn’t know whether he should be relieved - that his body is staving off the kryptonite poisoning considerably well - or distraught - that he is effectively a rabbit in a snare.

He pushes himself weakly off the ground, pulling himself up by grasping the metal bars keeping him contained. Bars… This is a jail cell. Gauging by the low lighting, likely in a basement. Perhaps an abandoned laboratory - likely outside of Metropolis.

“Sorry, Clark,” a metallic voice speaks up, pulling Clark out of his thoughts and instilling a sense of dread. “I confiscated your phone and wallet. I don’t need you calling for help. No hard feelings.” John Corben rises from a chair adjacent to the cell, and leans against the bars. His eyes glow with a strange, fluorescent backlight. “I promise I’ll give you everything back once this is all over.”

“John,” Clark feels his throat close up as the man leans. He has to hide his secret identity, no matter what. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing all this?”

“It’s Metallo,” He responds simply, as one hand reaches forward to pat the reporter on his shoulder. Clark doesn’t know if this action is meant to soothe or scare. “Luthor hired me to kill Superman. I have a feeling that as long as I have you, he will find his way to me.”

“You can’t do this, John,” Clark begs, breaking out of the grip and backing away to the far side of the metal cage.

“Please,” his voice clicks and his eyes glow a tinge brighter, “get this through your thick skull. My name is Metallo. John Corben died in a car crash. All that’s left is the mind which LuthorCorp uploaded into this body.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, knowing that his words have no effect on the metal man. “Superman is not your enemy. He is trying to protect the world, not destroy it. You have to realize that Lex-”

Metallo slams his arm against the bars of the cage, a loud CLANG piercing the room and shattering the caged man’s eardrums. “Shut up, Kent! You think I care - about Superman? About Luthor?? I don’t! I don’t give a shit! I’m tired of you - of everyone - telling me what I should feel. How I should feel. I know what I want; I will not stop until I have it. No amount of money, no amount of hopes and dreams, will ever change that.”

Clark gasps for breath, pushing against the opposite side of the prison. It’s become clear, with these words, that John is gone and has been replaced with a machine with every intent to kill. He realizes that the man before him, this cold facsimile of his former coworker, is as great a threat as Lex Luthor has proven to be - perhaps someone even more dangerous.

Metallo stands back, releasing Clark from his burning gaze. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says simply. “Just tired of people deciding what I’m feeling. Wanna be able to figure it out on my own.”

Before Clark can respond, a light beeping noise goes off. Metallo turns his attention to the blinking light on the back of his hand. “Ah, it’s that time already,” he simply says as he turns towards the staircase behind him. He calls behind him as he walks away: “I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay where you are.” Once he’s at the top of the flight, a heavy door closes behind him, leaving the prisoner by himself in the unknown space. 

Clark is in total darkness, but his enhanced vision allows him to see his surroundings clearly. Clark is relieved that alongside his super vision, his strength is returning too. Thankfully, Metallo has not figured out Clark’s secret identity, and he has made a fatal error: leaving Superman alone behind what is effectively chicken wire.

He tests his returning strength by grabbing two parallel bars and forcing them in opposite directions. Without any resistance at all, Clack bends an opening wide enough for the man to slip through, and in no time at all he is free from his confines. He surveys the room to find his belongings. Even with X-Ray vision, he doesn’t see them. He groans in annoyance; he doesn't have time to tear this entire building apart. He’s just going to have to deal with leaving his stuff behind for now, and finding a way to get everything back later.

During his earlier survey, he had noticed windows close to the ceiling; it’s pitch black outside, so he must have been missing for at least twenty-four hours. He shoots towards the one closest towards him, bursting out of the basement and straight into the sky. From this vantage, he can see the familiar lights cascading off of Metropolis - maybe thirty-five miles away. 

As he starts flying back towards those twinkling lights, he makes a plan. Fly home. Get his suit. Recruit the Justice Gang. Defeat Metallo. With any luck, this whole thing will be resolved by dawn.

And thank goodness for that. Metallo is a megalomaniac, and one with incredible power to back his threats up. He needs to be taken into custody immediately; there’s no telling how much damage a man with no feelings can really do.

He arrives at home - Check. Everything seems to be in order. His pothos plant looks a bit withered, but he can water her in the morning.

He races towards his closet and throws on the Superman Suit - Check. He feels just a bit more powerful with the bright crimson emblem on his chest.

He takes flight; next stop is the Hall of Justice. He hopes that the team isn’t too upset with him using the Hall’s Computer System to send a signal, and that he’s not waking everyone from deep slumber either. But without a phone, he has to make due with the tools he has on hand.

Clark stops dead in his tracks (literally and mentally) when he hears a voice screaming his name: “SUPERMAN!!”

The call makes Clark’s heart drop straight to his stomach. Without a second thought, he shifts directions and zips straight towards the direction of the yelling. Straight to the top floor of the most exclusive apartment complex in all of Metropolis. Straight to Lex Luthor.

Superman lands softly on the balcony outside of Lex’s apartment. Without taking the time to wonder exactly what Luthor’s motives are, or what trap could be lurking inside, he slides open the glass doors and swiftly walks into the living room.

The first thing Superman notices is that the room reeks of alcohol. Spirits burn his nose and force his tear ducts to shed hot droplets in an effort to ward the noxious fumes from burning his eyes. He hears glass crackling beneath his feet with every step. Furniture has been flipped over, tossed, or thrown and broken into pieces. Curtains ripped. Potted plants shattered. And in the middle of it all, he just stood there.

Lex Luthor. The way the moon touched his pale skin made Clark’s ears burn red hot with embarrassment - how can any human being look this ethereal simply in the light of the moon. The man before him heaves, holding together what little dignity he has, staring daggers at the hero who just entered the sanctity of his home. 

How many tears has he shed? How long has he been left alone like this? How many people have seen him like this: raw, and feral, and scared? Clark feels the lump in his throat as he swallows. He wants nothing more than to close the distance between the two men, hold his friend close, and give him a moment of comfort right between his arms. A space where no one can see him like this - no one except for Clark.

Clark Kent would have given Lex Luthor this comfort in a heartbeat. Superman cannot.

Clark ignores how this thought makes his eyes water just a little bit more.

“Lex,” he speaks gently, as though worried he’ll startle the creature and scare it away. He moves closer to the heaving gentleman. “What happened? Your home… Did someone hurt you?”

“Whatever,” he responds shortly and with small heaving breaths. “I got mad and- yeah. It doesn’t matter.” He’s flustered, but his choice to be blunt is one that Superman understands. “Superman,” he says as he makes an attempt to pull himself together as if he weren’t one step away from snapping. “Clark’s been taken. By Metallo. Please, save him.”

The superhero waits a beat before taking a quick breath. That’s it? All this stress over who hurt Lex Luthor… This was all just Lex’s anxiety over whether or not his friend was okay? “Ah… There’s no need,” he responds awkwardly. “I already saved him.”

Lex blinks towards Superman, twice. The latter has to remind himself not to hold his breath. It looks incriminating if he doesn’t portray himself as completely comfortable and honest. “Are you telling the truth, Superman?”

He nods vigorously. “Yep, he’s totally fine. And back at his apartment. Getting some rest now, so-”

“If he’s back home,” Lex bites, his shoulders hunched and posture aggressive as he takes a step back, “Why hasn’t he answered my messages yet?”

“Oh. Ah…” Clark rubs the back of his hand. “Well I busted him out but Metallo still has his phone… and stuff. I was gonna…” he awkwardly shuffles as he points both thumbs over his shoulder. “Y’know. Go and get the Justice Gang and… Take down Metallo…”

He pauses, awkwardly waiting to see if Lex will take this tale without asking more details. Lex’s icy blue eyes bore into the hero’s, dissecting the statement word by word to decide if it's all truth… but more importantly, figuring out if he can trust the account given by a hero he already struggles to trust.

Lex does finally let his shoulders deflate. “You’re telling the truth, then. Clark’s alive.”

Superman relaxes his posture in turn. “He’s alive, and he’s unharmed.”

Lex takes a few deep breaths, catching up on the oxygen he’s deprived himself of for who knows how long. His shoulders start to shake as the sob he’s been holding back ripples through his entire body. And still, he’s smiling through everything - relieved. “He’s alive. He’s okay.”

Clark is sufficiently confused by the reaction from the other man. Bearing in mind that Lex does have trouble dealing with guilt, and that he likely feels responsible for his abduction, he can’t help but feel he’s missing some crucial detail. “Lex,” he says cautiously as the man calms himself down. “I’ve never seen you like this before. I don’t understand. What…” he swallows thickly. “What’s going through your mind?”

Lex looks up, that vulnerable expression is still there, and the super has to do his best to keep the sharp inhale as quiet as he can. “Clark is…” Lex pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues. “He's the only person that’s ever seen all of me - even the vile parts - and refused to walk away. If he was hurt because of my decision, I would never forgive myself. I don’t deserve forgiveness for a lot of the mistakes I’ve made. But I certainly wouldn’t deserve forgiveness for hurting someone I care about because of my own blind hatred.”

Superman’s heart pounds in his chest. Does he understand exactly what he’s saying? “You should tell Clark this. Next time you see him. I think he’d be grateful to know you value him so highly. And that you’re starting to understand that blind hatred isn’t the way.”

Lex looks at Clark, and Clark stares right back. Blue meets blue. In a small moment, between two men that outside of this apartment are supposed to be sworn enemies, Clark can’t help but feel relieved to see a side of Lex Luthor that is finally seeing that there are tangible consequences to hateful actions.

“Superman…” Lex says. He looks ashamed, almost tentative to say what he’s thinking. But he continues on: “I still have that IOU. Can I ask a favor then?”

Clark crosses his arms; though it's strange to ask now, he’s not opposed to hearing the man out. “What for, Lex?”

“…Bring Clark to me. I want to see him with my own eyes and make sure he isn’t hurt. It would really put my mind at ease.”

Clark thinks this through, heart still pounding in his chest. On the one hand, he has a duty to stop Metallo before he realizes Clark is gone. That should be his priority. But the way Lex stares at him, expectantly, vulnerable, willing to put everything on the line just to make sure his friend is okay, it makes it so, so hard for Clark to say no.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he finds himself saying and feels the flutter in his stomach when Lex’s eyes light up at the answer.

Just a quick addendum. Lex. Justice Gang. Metallo. He can still do everything by Sunrise.

“Lex?” Clark tentatively calls from the balcony. 

As it turns out, racing home to change back into his civvies wasn’t time consuming at all. What did end up taking too much time was finding a way to sneak onto the lanai without being noticed. Lex had been pacing in front of the windows for fifteen minutes straight before finally turning his back on the city skyline. Yes, the man was anxious, and he’s finding appropriate ways to calm himself down. But WHY is it that when Superman is on a timecrunch, Lex also chooses that time to make stealthing in difficult as possible?

Lex’s head snaps from looking into the fridge and in the direction of the glass doors. His eyes widen the moment his gaze lands on the man outside, mouth slightly agape. Clark can hear the man’s heartbeat accelerate as he shuffles quickly through the mess and towards the sliding glass door.

“Clark,” he says as he throws that door open.

“Hey, Lex,” he responds back with a smile.

There’s a beat, where both just stare at one another, before Lex’s open palm smacks the other man’s upper arm. “Don’t ‘hey’ me! You were missing!”

“Yeah, I know,” Clark laughs as he rubs his arm, pretending the smack stung, “but I’m okay. No harm done. See?” He lifts out his arms, showing full range of motion hoping to display that he truly is unharmed

Lex inspects the man, as if he has X-ray vision and can see past the clothes on his chest. His glare is intense, until it suddenly isn’t. It softens to one that Clark has seen too much for his liking as of late; Lex looks vulnerable. Like this is all too good to be true, and that Clark is going to disappear and leave him as a mess without a second thought. Like he would ever break his heart by leaving him all alone.

Clark finds himself wondering how his actions could break Lex’s heart, and why that’s something he would ever do. He doesn’t pay mind to the voice in his head saying, this isn’t a thought that men who like women think about.

So he does what he wanted to do when they initially met this evening. He takes a step forward and wraps his arms around Lex’s shoulders, pulling him into a firm hug. The shocked man in his embrace softly protests, but does nothing to push away; after a minute of just breathing, he feels a pair of arms wrap around his back and return the embrace.

“Clark, I’m so sorry,” the strained voice says as he rests his forehead against Clark’s shoulder.

Clark doesn’t wait when he responds, “I forgive you.” Lex has plenty of mistakes he’s made that he may never receive pardon for; Clark decides this is one he is allowed to freely give.

“You don’t understand,” he clenches his teeth as the grip on the back of his shirt tightens, “I hired Metallo.”

“I know, he told me himself. I also know you didn’t hire him to hurt me.” Clark feels his shoulder dampening. He starts rubbing circles into his partner’s upper back, hoping it provides some form of comfort.

“I was so worried,” Lex finally responds meekly, his dextrous fingers gripping and tangling in the fabric; holding firm as though scared that he might lose the man again. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“That’s right; I’m here. I’m okay.” Clark rests his own head in the crook of Lex’s neck, inhaling the unfiltered smell of the man.

His scent is unlike anything Lex has ever encountered; it’s strong and distinctly Lex. It makes his head spin and reminds him of home: warm summer afternoons, running through corn fields as long leaves tickle his face, his parents calling him inside to wash up for dinner. It makes him think of the way Ma and Pa beam with joy at their precious son.

When Clark inhales again, he thinks of the sun. The celestial body that keeps him alive and grants this world true warmth and life. The sun is beautiful, tempestuous, dangerous, stunning - everything that he wants and needs it to be.

Clark realizes that Lex smells like the sun, and that is because to him, Lex is a sun.

“Please, stay here tonight,” Lex finally speaks up, and Clark feels his heart pounding harder than it ever has before. Before he can answer, Lex continues: “I have a spare room, you can sleep there. I can call in Raptors to patrol the area and make sure you can rest soundly.”

Clark’s head is spinning, the request seems out of the question bearing the fact that he only came to show Lex he’s okay. His entire brain short circuits when Lex’s head turns to face his neck, soft lips hovering barely-there over his pulse, “Please. I need you here. I need to know I’m doing everything I can to protect you.”

Clark knows his duty should come first. Metallo is an incredibly dangerous metahuman to leave unchecked. He should be focusing on getting his superpowered peers and working together to defeat him, not lingering in the warmth of this embrace. But the way Lex holds on for dear life, and practically begs him to stay makes his chest pull tighter. It makes Clark feel wanted in a way he can’t confidently say he’s felt before.

The small voice of Lois Lane playing in the back of his mind, urging him to make a choice for himself first for once, is what guides him to say, “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

Metallo cannot feel rage, not like a normal human can. Even so, he understands that this should rightfully piss him off.

He’d returned to the basement several hours later to find Clark Kent gone. So Clark couldn’t even follow those simple directions to stay put.

Analytical, Metallo inspects the bent bars; a being with super strength very easily could have twisted the cage in this way.

Superman was here; this is a fact.

But, Metallo never saw Superman enter through the building; his security cameras on the front and back door would have sent an alert if there was any movement at all.

He looks up and sees the shattered window; an entry point for Superman.

But if that’s the case, where is the shattered glass? Surely it would be all over the floor of the basement.

Unless - the android rushes up the stairs and out of the lobby. He circles around the side of the building to where he knows the broken window will be. He steps across the lawn and over countless shards of glass towards Superman’s point of entry.

Not a point of entry; a point of exit.

Metallo feels the pull of a smile on his lips. If he could laugh, he would.

This is getting interesting.

Chapter Text

Clark’s grip on his knees clenches so tightly, it could bruise a normal man. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t feel anxious. He signed up for this , after all.

Still, sitting at the bartop with the view of Lex’s back turned away as he cooks over the stovetop makes this entire circumstance feel a little too real. Clark had been hoping he could play off his decision to stay last night as a moment of support between friends. But as the smell of vegetables and meat fills his nostrils and the sound of frying potatoes fills the air, he can’t help but feel that this is all a little too intimate.

Then there’s the buzzing in his ear - the Raptors of Planetwatch patrolling the penthouse floor of the complex - to serve as a firm reminder that yes , he signed up for this. He’s more or less trapped with no real way to sneak back to the Hall of Justice. Not without express permission of the man currently making breakfast.

“Did you sleep well?” Lex asks, interrupting the guest’s running thoughts.

Clark didn’t sleep at all. Not that he needs sleep, mind. But it would have been nice to quiet down and let sleep suppress his imagination running wild. He spent all night overthinking the fact that he’s agreed to stay the night with Lex, fully expecting… something (but what ) to happen. 

When Lex had stood in the doorway of the bedroom last night and wished him sweet dreams, Clark’s heart beat out of his chest and he felt a lump forming in his throat. He fought with his own brain, first on what he wanted out of that farewell, then whether or not he’s relieved that the conversation ended with Lex walking to his own chamber and with his own lips lonely and untouched. If he had just leaned in-

Clark shakes his head, refusing to grant his mind more space to overthink about what could have been. No, Clark did not sleep. His thoughts were perseverative, and no matter what he tried he couldn’t get himself to calm down. That, and the fact that he couldn’t figure out why he wouldn’t stop thinking about it, thus creating a sick ouroborus. He couldn’t even take off his glasses to relax; the ever-present fear that Lex could walk in at any moment and see Superman lying in his bed.

“Yeah,” Clark lies. “Those beds are real comfortable.”

Lex shrugs as he turns from the hot pan, sharing a small smile with Clark. “Like I always say, I have incredible taste when it comes to the finer things in life.”

Clark smiles back. “You certainly do.”

The chef smirks and turns his attention back to the stovetop, and Clark can’t help but feel a small pang of guilt for being dishonest to his guest. There’s so much he’s holding close to his chest; he wishes he could be more honest with the man who has done nothing but give for so long.

Lex uses his spatula to cut the omelet in the pan in half, plating it beside the potato pavé. He turns and carefully places the plate on the table in front of the guest, turning back to prepare his own plate as well.

Clark beams as he stares at the plate, drooling slightly at the beautiful meal. The potatoes are nothing like he’s ever seen at a diner or back home - at least a hundred layers of potato sliced thin, stacked, and deep fried. Hot steam rises from the eggs, and Clark can already see the cheese oozing out from the cut recently made by the chef. “Wow Lex, I never woulda guessed you’d be quite the chef.”

“I can’t take credit for the potatoes,” he admits as he turns back with his own plate. “My personal chef prepared them last night, all I had to do was slice it and fry it this morning.” He sets his plate beside him at the bartop and turns to the fridge. “Did you want juice to drink? Or milk?”

“Milk, please,” Clark responds. Lex pours two glasses of milk and walks around the kitchen island to sit right beside his guest. 

Clark starts with the omelet, and practically melts. Egg, ground sausage, cheese, zucchini, onion, garlic… some sort of herbs, he can’t tell which. It combines together so well Clark can’t help but love that bite, and every bite following it.

Clark notices the small smile on Lex’s face as he watches the guest excitedly eat the meal. Shoulder to shoulder, with a fork in each gentleman’s hand, Clark can't help but revel in how domestic this all feels.

“But to your point: yes, I cook,” Lex does continue after a few bites. “Not often, since I don’t have much free time outside of work. But whenever I have the chance to make a meal for a guest, I can’t pass up on the opportunity.”

“Oh, so you’re just showing off, then?” Clark teases after swallowing a bite of omelet.

“Well, I did learn all this in boarding school - I think I have a fair excuse to show off,” Lex smirks, waving a bite of potato in Clark’s face.

Clark, without thinking, bites down on that potato, pulling it off the fork with his teeth and chewing spiritedly. Oh, that is good , he thinks, realizing he hasn’t tried the spuds on his own plate yet. Lex turns away and coughs shakily before taking a large sip of his beverage.

“What time were you going to work today,” Clark asks as he starts cutting a piece from his own potatoes.

Lex turns back as he sets his own glass of milk down. “I won’t be going in today,” he answers, reaching a hand to touch the others’ shoulder. “I wanted to make sure that I’d be completely available to you today. You were just kidnapped, after all.”

“I’m fine,” Clark tries reassuring the other man. “I feel well enough to go to work, actually. I was going to head there after breakfast.”

“There’s no need,” Lex waves the statement away. “I had my assistant call to let your director know you were unwell and would be taking the day off.”

Clark bites the inside of his cheek. He prays that Perry isn’t quietly investigating why Lex Luthor’s assistant is calling out sick in his stead. He doesn’t need rumors spreading around the office that-

He cuts his thoughts off before they can go too far. “That’s quite considerate,” Clark says, resting his fork against the plate, “but I can’t take time off right now. It’s my duty to share this story with the public. Metallo is a dangerous criminal, and I must do everything I can to make sure the people of Metropolis know.”

That, and Superman literally needs to go stop the android. Neither can be done while trapped in this penthouse.

“In that case, let me lend you my laptop,” Clark deflates at Lex’s suggestion. “You can use it to write your story and send it for publication. That way, you’re still working and you’re still safe.”

“Lex,” Clark sighs, turning again to look at the man. “I can’t stay here forever. I really, really need to leave.”

“You won’t be here forever,” Lex firmly replies. “You’re right, Metallo is incredibly dangerous. And he knows that if he has you, his mark will follow. Not forever. Just until I’m confident that Metallo isn’t a threat anymore.”

Clark opens his mouth to protest, and stops himself when he’s looking in Lex’s eyes. The icy blues are expectant. With just a glance, he knows that all he wants is to protect him. Keep him safe. He doesn’t want the blood on his hands. Clark wishes he could tell Lex the truth. I’m Superman, the admission rings in his head but doesn’t escape. He’s stronger than any other human in existence; he doesn’t need to be protected. 

Though the feeling of Lex’s hand clinging to his own, just firm enough to signal that he’s sincere in his earnest attempt to save Clark Kent, is what causes him to pause the argument. Clark briefly wonders when that hand reached out; he didn’t realize it was happening.

Lex doesn’t want to let Clark go; Clark doesn’t want to be let go, either.

“I’ll stay,” Clark resigns, finding excitement in the small squeeze on his hands. “But only until tomorrow morning,” Clark says firmly. “I can’t take too much time out of the office, or people will start talking.”

“Let them talk,” Lex growls, slightly annoyed but otherwise accepting of the compromise. “I’ll send some of my men to survey outside of Metropolis, see if I can find the facility where Metallo was holding you. Maybe they can take him out before Superman even has a chance.”

Clark smiles and bites back the irony - that it will be impossible for Superman to do anything for a while.

Today has to be, without a doubt, the best day of Lex Luthor’s life. He refuses to rank it among his other ‘best day evers’ for fear of it potentially losing ranking.

Clark Kent is in his home. Eating his food. Using his shower. And now he’s standing outside the bathroom in only a towel - There’s no way he isn’t doing this on purpose. 

“I forgot that I don’t have any clean clothes,” the guest says sheepishly.

Lex catalogues everything he can in a snapshot. Every detail: damp hair gently curling, thick glasses fogging with excess steam, rippling muscles covered in a sheen of water. The last of which is what the man is most surprised by. He knew Clark grew up on a farm, so it’s no surprise a strapping young man would have his fair share of manual errands; he just didn’t expect the farmboy to be so well defined. Lex has to stop himself from drooling; he takes a moment to thank whatever higher being is out there, granting him this opportunity to see mankind’s finest. 

“There’s a few suits in your guest room, you can check there for something that you like.” Lex responds casually, as if he hasn’t been ogling the shirtless man for the last five seconds.

Clark nods and quickly walks over to the guest room, doing his best to avoid dripping water everywhere. Lex waits patiently for the man to reenter the hallway, and he’s grateful he does. Clark walks out wearing dark blue dress pants and a cream dress shirt rolled to the elbow. As he anticipated, it’s quite flattering to his frame, especially when he leaves the top two buttons undone. He takes a moment to pat himself on the back for guessing correctly on the man’s measurements and most flattering colors.

He was torn between blue and red. But goodness, Lex knows it would be a sin letting the other man walk around the city in red pants .

Lex nods, stifling the pride and adoration he feels, and simply comments, “That looks good on you.”

Clark smiles in response, oblivious to the other man’s overly-casual demeanor. “Ah. Thanks! Yeah these fit perfectly. I like how comfortable the pants are, too.”

“If you like it,” Lex responds with an air of apathy, “then it’s yours”

“Lex-” Clark’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The pants alone cost as much as my rent. I can’t possibly keep these!”

“It’s no trouble at all. In fact, I bought it for you in the first place.”

There’s a small pause, then an uncertain voice asking, “You got this… for me?”

The other man nods simply, adding, “I got everything in that closet for you.” As if that made the choice any easier.

Clark’s cheeks turn beet red - he’s babbling and Lex has to hold his own laughter in. “I hope you like it,” Lex does respond as he walks back towards the living room. He looks over his shoulder and gives a cheeky smile, teasing, “Maybe after you’re done with work, you’ll give me a little fashion show.”

Clark’s deep blush gets impossibly deeper, and he continues to babble in non-response. Eventually, he does begrudgingly follow the other man, slumping into a vacant spot on the couch. Lex leaves him alone for just a moment to collect an unused laptop from his office, and he can’t help but chuckle when he returns to find Clark still staring dumbfounded out the window and over the Metropolis skyline. 

Lex hands him a laptop, which Clark takes with a small “thank you.” He helps Clark make a new profile and once he’s comfortably set up, the reporter begins typing on right away. Lex lays leisurely across the loveseat opposite to the coffee table while reading the Monday morning edition of the Daily Planet. Both enjoy their time together and separate, focusing on individual activities while enjoying the shared company.

The billionaire does eventually get up to pour two fresh cups of coffee. He walks back into the living room, standing behind Clark and offering the hot mug. Clark nods in thanks, taking the coffee and a tentative sip. Lex doubts he even notices that the coffee is prepared with cream and sugar - just as he knows Clark likes it.

Lex leans over the couch, careful not to pry too deeply. “How’s the writing going?”

“It’s going fine,” Clark responds, taking a moment to read over the last paragraph. “I’m doing my best to include details of my abduction, as well as whatever details I can share about his alias.”

The other man nods, offering no verbal feedback hoping to keep him in the zone. The reporter does return to fervently writing, noting as many details as he can. 

As his posture relaxes, Clark doesn’t realize that he’s leaning into Lex’s torso as he’s typing. Lex, the ever patient host, doesn’t correct him. Despite the buzzing of Raptors patrolling the outside of the building, Lex can’t help but feel this moment is private and personal. He feels his heartbeat slow and calm, finding simple joy in just this proximity.

Without any formal announcement, Mercy Graves clears her throat and causes Lex to jump slightly. She must have let herself in. “Mister Luthor, your personal chef is on her way now. She’s wondering what you’d like to have for dinner.”

He turns to Clark, “Any requests?”

The man smiles in response, “Do you have Julia Child’s cookbook?”

Lex’s smile widens in response, “I do. Something from there?”

“Beef bourguignon. It’s my favorite.”

“Then beef bourguignon we shall have,” Lex responds in a slightly jovial tone as he claps his hands together. Though the tone and gesture are both quite goofy, it’s worth it when he notices Clark’s eyes twinkle in response.

Mercy does not roll her eyes at the gesture, and he’s grateful that she’s keeping her thoughts to herself. She is free to scoff at Lex’s overly charming demeanor once she is in private.

The woman leaves, and both men return to work. Clark typing his breaking news story on the couch, and Lex working from his phone on the loveseat. He sighs as he swipes through multiple applications, putting out whatever fires he can. Emails complaining about missed meetings. Urgent notices from his tech engineering team. Requests for interviews. One complaint regarding the cleanliness of the LutherCorp lobby restroom. All things he could defer to others.

Lex pinches the bridge of his nose, fed up with the petty work he has to do when he has company. He could really use a drink.

No , he immediately scolds himself. Not while Clark is here. Besides, you shattered everything last night.

Though, he could always request his chef bring more- No, Lex. You can last one day without a drink in hand. You did it before.

Almost as if he’s had a premonition, the very private chef enters the home with arms full of paper grocery bags. She realizes that both are still engrossed in their individual work; she silently acknowledges them and gets right to work.

The droning sound of Planetwatch patrollers is soon masked by the soothing sounds of the kitchen - from running water, to a knife against a block, to the simmering of oil on a stovetop. Over time, the living space smells of cooking onion, garlic, browning meat, and simmering red wine.

Clark closes his laptop, signaling he’s finished with work for the day. “I think your chef will be done soon,” he says as he hands the laptop back to the gentleman, “I’ll go wash up.”

Lex nods in response and tries wrapping up his own work. He’s spent the majority of this afternoon responding to and forwarding emails as necessary. He checks LuthorCorp’s stock, just to ensure that the whole company hasn’t gone up in flames as a result of working from home for one day . He closes out of every application before slipping his phone into his pocket and walking over towards the dining room.

Looking over the expansive dining room, Lex immediately notices that the two place settings at far opposite sides of the long dining table. Lex picks up the plate and glass closest to him, and moves it to sit directly next to the other setting.

Clark returns - it looks like he fixed his hair by adding mousse and pushing it back - and takes a seat at the empty spot at the head of the table. They don’t even have a moment for idle chatter when the Personal Chef walks over with hot dishes. Lex whole-heartedly laughs as he sees Clark’s mouth literally water, earning a sharp glare from the other man.

The meal is plated perfectly, with herb mashed potatoes and a healthy scoop of beef stew ladled directly next to it. She sets each dish upon the table, hurriedly walks back to the kitchen, and returns moments later with the half-empty bottle of wine. 

“Wine, Mister Kent?” She asks as she displays the bottle for his consideration.

“No, thank you,” he politely declines.

She nods before turning to the other man, leaning over to pour a glass for him. Lex raises a hand before a drop can be wasted. “None for me, thank you.”

The chef is taken aback, but recovers appropriately. “Yes, Mister Luthor.”

Lex’s fingernails dig into the palm of the hand under the table. It’s just one night. He’s done this before. He can live without the drink, even if it would do wonders for his nerves.

The food is as divine as Lex would expect from a former Iron Chef. The entire meal, his eyes are trained on Clark’s expression, watching how he savors every bite. Both are quite silent - an incredible indicator that both are too busy enjoying the food to engage in conversation.

“This is incredible,” Clark does eventually say, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin beside his plate.

“Great choice on meals,” Lex agrees as he leans his chin against his hand. 

“Well,” Clark jokes as he cuts another bite of red meat, “one perk of being held captive is that I get a few great meals out of it.”

Lex pouts, uncaring if he looks silly. “You aren’t captive here.”

Clark can’t help but giggle at the reaction. “Lex, you all but strong-armed me into staying for the day.”

“You’re the one who decided to stay,” Lex protests, watching the other man raise a bite to his mouth and start chewing.  He stills the shiver running down his spine at the sight of Clark's chiseled jaw slowly working. “You could have left if you really wanted to.”

He says nothing at first, due to the food in his mouth. He does finally swallow that bite, and waits a moment before meekly saying, “Maybe, but you were so insistent on me staying.”

Lex scoffs, “Then it’s your fault you gave up without a fight.”

Clark sits quietly, ignoring the probing look from the other man by instead focusing on the hands in his lap. The tips of his ears turn bright red, and he finally rebuttals “I… I wanted to stay, though.”

Lex’s heart jumps up and starts beating in his throat upon hearing these words. The room is silent, though he hesitates to call it an uncomfortable one; silence only accompanied by the buzzing of flyers outside. Lex Luthor, self-proclaimed smartest man alive, wonders if he’s allowed to ask the only question on his mind. He looks at Clark, inquisitive and hopeful, finally deciding that he must know. “What made you want to say, Clark?”

Clark gulps before looking back with a goofy smile. “I liked that you wanted me to stay,” he answers simply, and the other man’s entire soul ignites.

If only Clark Kent knew how those words affected Lex. How he would burn down the world - everything he loves - just to hear him say again.

“What did you say,” Lex absently asks. He doesn’t realize how needy he sounds until the words leave his mouth.

Clark’s blush deepens and he responds with exasperation, “You heard what I said, Lex! Don’t make me say it again!”

Lex pouts once more, making Clark chuckle in response. He stands and takes both dirty plates to the kitchen sink before walking back to the dining room and offering the man his hand. “We have a moment before bed. Let’s watch the sunset - I bet you have a killer view from up here.”

Lex accepts the hand and lifts himself. “You’d be correct on that.”

Both walk to the balcony overlooking the city and stand side by side, watching the sun set over the hills outside of Metropolis. Yellows and reds tinge the sky, but Lex’s focus isn’t on the setting sun… He’s watching Clark, and how he seems to glow with the light reflecting off his features. He’s more stunning, in this moment, than he’s ever appeared in his life.

“It’s pretty beautiful,” Clark comments out loud.

“Yeah,” Lex responds absently, his gaze not breaking from the other man’s profile. “Beautiful.”

They stand in silence, watching the celestial body finally fall behind the horizon. When the sky is darkening and the stars begin to greet them, Lex is the one to escort Clark back inside.

The host flips a switch, which causes the fireplace to erupt and cast a warm glow around the room.

Time goes on, and both men chat into the night. About nothing, and everything. Lex feels the most calm he’s ever felt in the presence of Clark Kent. Even idle chit-chat, which usually feels tedious and frustrating, feels right and comfortable as long as it’s Clark’s smooth voice providing back and forth.

He does have to pull himself away from autopilot when Clark states very clearly, “Lex, there’s a question I’ve wanted to ask you.”

Lex clears his throat, signifying his willingness to answer. “Of course, Clark. What is it?”

Clark hesitates, taking a moment to look at Lex’s face, reading his expression. “I still don’t get why you were so worried about people… finding out about how you donate money to gay organizations. Why is that?”

Lex pauses, sucking his cheeks. He has the opportunity to be completely honest, and it’s been all but handed to him on a silver platter.

But… He’s not ready. Not yet.

Lex breathes. Inhale. Exhale. He’s nervous about opening up about such a private part of his life. But then he remembers; this is Clark. This is the man who has seen him at his absolutely worst, and still chosen to stay beside him. He would never hurt Lex.

He returns his gaze to Lex. “When I was a child,” he responds evenly, clearly frazzled but holding it together. “There was… a girl, who was very special to me. She had a really difficult life; her family made it impossible to live on her terms.”

Clark waits patiently for Lex to continue, but when he realizes Lex is having a hard time finding the words, he offers to help. “Was it Faye?”

Lex smiles softly. “No, Faye I met much, much later in life. But she was the exact same in that she was transgender - even though she was born a girl, she didn’t identify as one. And her family hated her for it.”

There’s a small pause. Lex clenches his own hand tighter, to the point where his knuckles are turning white. It’s Clark , he reminds himself, Clark would never hurt me. “That girl died,” he lies. “I never want anyone else to feel like she did. So helping others this way is cathartic to me.”

Clark gives the other man a chance to continue, but when he senses there’s nothing more to add, he responds. “I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a friend is always so, so difficult. I can only imagine the pain you had to go through.” He pauses, placing his hand on Lex’s shoulder before continuing, “I was honest before, when I said I think it’s an incredibly kind thing to do, and I think your friend would respect and admire you greatly for it.” He offers a gentle squeeze as though to punctuate the thought. “Is that why you helped Faye out, then? Because you wanted her to have a more secure life?”

Lex nods. “Faye reminds me deeply of her; I couldn’t sit idly by when she had nothing. She was the first, actually. I ended up helping others get back on their feet, either directly out of pocket or with the donations to those clubs.”

Clark nods thoughtfully. “Okay, and that raises another question. You made the donations under your dad’s name. Why?”

“Oh,” Lex responds with a mischievous grin. “It’s purely to piss him off. I hope he’s rolling over in his grave, knowing money from his company and under his name is going to them.” He throws his head back and laughs deeply. “May that bastard rot.”

Clark chuckles alongside him, before pulling Lex into a firm side-hug, earning a small grunt of feigned protest from the other man. “Leave it to Lex Luthor to be driven by spite,” he jokes. “But seriously, thank you for sharing this with me.”

Lex smiles as he nuzzles deeper into the embrace. They stay there, in peace, for a moment. The only sounds to be heard are of the crackling fire, the whirring of soaring raptors, and the gentle breathes on each others’ skin.
It doesn’t take long for Lex to realize the breathing tickling his forehead has slowly morphed into the sounds of soft snoring from the guest. He lets out a small laugh, realizing that it is quite late, and that this man clearly needs help getting to bed.

“C’mon you dork,” he says affectionately, as he shakes the man. Clark yawns and stretches, looks at Lex through sleepy eyes. Lex must do his best to swallow down the erratic beating in his chest.

He pushes the man away and stands, offering a sturdy hand to help the other up. They shuffle towards Clark's bedroom, where Lex leans against the doorframe with crossed arms. Clark stands on the opposite side of the door frame; He’s exhausted, but clearly not ready to retire to his bed just yet.

“Will you wake me up early tomorrow morning, please?” He asks as he wipes the sleep from his eyes.

A soft smile graces Lex’s face, “I will.”

“Good,” Clark smiles back. “It’s my turn to make you breakfast.”

They stay there for a moment, staring into one another’s eyes in silence. Lex, missing the contact from the couch and without weighing the repercussions, suddenly leans forward and catches the other man in an embrace. His stomach flutters when he feels a strong pair of arms wrap firmly around his torso in return. “I’d like that,” he whispers while in the tight hold.

After not nearly enough time, they break apart. “Good night, Clark.”

“Good night, Lex.”

Lex walks away, down the hallway and towards his own room. He ignores the voice of Lex Luthor, screaming in the back of his head telling him to turn back around. No, he already decided that if anything would happen, Clark needs to be the one to make the first move. Based on his preliminary research, he’s certain that Clark has never dated men before - a few girls in high school, and Miss Lane during the tail-end of her career at the Daily Planet. 

Lex wanted to be Clark Kent’s very first, and he wanted it to feel real and natural. Lex did not want Clark to feel pressured into anything.

When Lex returns to his room, he immediately collapses into bed, turning after a minute to stare at the ceiling. Though his heart flutters over a great day, he can’t help but feel stressed. He needs to tell Clark the truth , and he’s not sure how to tell him.

He told part of the truth today, and it’s something he’s quite proud of. Still, how does one gently let a prospective partner know that, even though he’s unquestionably a man now, he wasn’t always one? He took the news of having a transgender friend well. Does that mean he’s open to the idea of dating someone… Like him? He wants to believe, deep down, Clark wouldn’t care. But a small pull in his gut makes him worry over the potential of rejection, and how life ruining that truly could be.

His running thoughts are interrupted by a shrill sound from his phone. Lex checks to see a number he recognizes - Doctor Kirby, one of his lead robotics engineers. He never calls.

Lex answers the phone after the second ring. “Speak.”

“Mister Luthor-” Dr. Kirby responds with a slight air of agitation. “Sir, I’ve sent several messages today. I have an important update on the Warsuit Prototype.”

Lex groans and rubs a hand firmly down his face. “Yes, I saw. Apologies, I was out of the office today.”

“Well, sir, the prototype has been completed and is ready for tests.”

After hearing those words, Lex lets out the sigh of relief. He’s been holding his breath for days now, waiting for any news regarding the Warsuit. Lex learned the hard way that he cannot depend on hired talent to take down Superman, especially if the foe is smart enough to kidnap Clark Kent and use him as bait. 

When you want something done right, you do it yourself. 

“Good to hear. Begin testing first thing in the morning.”

“Will you be in tomorrow? We are expecting your immediate feedback.”

Lex pauses, thinking of Clark smiling over a good meal. He thinks of the sun touching his skin. He recalls the warmth being curled up next to him on the couch

He hears Lionel’s grating voice. “Sodomite, weak, useless.”

“Yes,” Lex lies. “Let’s arrange a meeting in the afternoon.”

The engineer scoffs at the vagueness of that timeframe but does not comment on it. “Have a good night, sir.” He says before the line clicks.

Lex rolls over to stare at the ceiling. He laments the empty space in his bed next to him. He wishes, more than anything, that Clark was there.

Chapter Text

It’s never a dull moment in the Hall of Justice, to Michael Holt’s genuine dismay. Even as early as three in the morning and after an entire evening of defending Metropolis under the superhero alias of Mister Terrific, there’s something particularly infuriating about the back and forth in the barren lobby between a man made of elements and another with a shitty cut.

Mister Terrific chooses not to engage. Everyone in the room knows him well enough to understand that he’s exhausted and vexed by his colleagues, whom are too lively for this time. Metamorpho appears empathetic but still passionate, insisting they take action to help a friend. Guy also seems to not care, but elects to rile up the other man - for fun? To annoy the technomancer? Who knows. Hawkgirl is equally annoying at this point, sprawling across the couch with her head thrown back, groaning loudly and doing nothing to mediate the conversation. 

“It’s been days ,” Metamorpho exclaims as he paces around the room. “ Days with no word from Superman.”

“It hasn’t even been forty eight hours,” Hawkgirl sighs as she rolls her head forward, chin touching her chest.

“It’s been fourty-eight hours!” Guy interjects, throwing his hands in the air and clomping in the opposite direction. “Hardly enough time for any real damage to be done. He’s fine, we’re all fine.”

“Fine?? Do you hear yourself-” Metamorpho takes a deep breath, releases the tension in his shoulders, and turns back to the Green Lantern. “If he's fine, why hasn’t he been spotted since Clark went missing? We really should just try and help him.”

“And he really should learn that we’re not his personal butlers,” Guy wags his finger in the other man’s face. “We’re not gonna just pop in whenever he needs a hand. He needs to respect the signal. Respect us !”

“You’re unbearable,” the masked man groans under his breath, though no one else in the room hears him say it. This bickering has been ongoing for the last half hour. With this unending conversation, the team as a whole is too tired to do anything at all, and much too wired to lay down for bed.

“If it’ll shut you both up,” Michael speaks up, hoping to put an end to this, “I can track him.”

“Wait,” Metamorpho pauses, then turns to the man seated leisurely in his preferred armchair. “You can track people?”

“Only people who have my nanites in their bloodstream,” He responds lazily. As if this information is as straightforward as how he prefers his steak, and not paying mind to the caveat that this could have been relevant information to share at all in the last few days.

Metamorpho opens his mouth to respond and is cut short by Mister Terrific’s explanation: “Yes, everyone in the Justice Squad has my nanites. Even you.”

Metamorpho gasps, “But how-”

“When you passed out on the couch here, back in October.” 

“How did you-”

“Injection. On your forearm.” 

Metamorpho opens his mouth again, but is cut short by Mister Terrific’s terse sigh. “No, it wasn’t easy. You broke the first needle. But I figured it out. Do you want Superman’s location or not?”

Metamorpho is stunned but decides he has more pressing matters - Michael will have to emotionally prepare for the upcoming lecture about consenting to procedures, even if said procedures are overall good for the safety of the team. “Fine, we’ll discuss that later. For now, let’s track Superman.” Metamorpho scans the room to grab the attention from the other two heroes. “And maybe once we realize he really is in danger, we can move forward on saving him.”

Hawkgirl groans at his holier-than-thou demeanor. The Green Lantern scoffs at the idea of having to put in work that’s not needed. Mister Terrific holds whatever condescending thought he has, focusing instead on getting his peer the information that will finally encourage everyone goes the fuck to sleep.

The technomancer sighs, swipes his hand so that four T-Spheres circle around in front of him, cameras clicking on to create a 3D projection of Metropolis. The hologram creates a perfect digital replica of towering buildings, parks, offices, and even the bridges reaching to the opposite side of the river. The red matrix includes several glowing dots blinking slowly. White, Green, Yellow, and Purple are all glowing in their exact spot in the Hall of Justice. He scans the projection before finding the last blinking, blue dot.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Mister Terrific grumbles.

Guy lets out a long, loud whistle before cracking a crooked smile. “That son of a gun.”

Hawkgirl peers over the map, scoffing as well before throwing her hands in the air and walking away. “I’m going to bed. I can’t deal with that trainwreck of a man now.”

Metamorpho seems to be the only one out of the loop. He looks back towards the man piloting the projection. “Huh? What do you all see?”

Mister Terrific sighs, clearly annoyed that Metamorpho hasn’t figured it out yet. He points at the blinking blue light, which resides high above the rest of the city. That, in itself is not abnormal - the man can fly, for God’s sake. But he didn’t point to a random spot in the sky; he’s pointing at the top floor of Metropolis’s most exclusive condominium. The same one owned by LuthorCorp, and the same one that is occupied by exactly one man .

Guy is the one who makes the comment, and for once Mister Terrific is glad he doesn’t have to be the one to spell it out. “The boyscout is having a slumber party!”

“Wait,” Metamorpho stares blankly back. “Isn’t that where Lex Luthor lives?”

“Yep,” Michael pops the last consonant of the word.

Finally, finally … Metamorpho seems to get it. “Was this all… Like… Are they playing some sort of game?”

“There’s probably some truth to the metal man,” Hawkgirl yells from the other side of the hall, still not turning back as she approaches her private chamber. “But yeah, there’s a non-zero chance this was all just foreplay.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to get mixed up in this,” Mister Terrific sighs, swiping his hand to dismiss the droids and standing to move towards his own room. Somehow, he’s more exhausted now than he was five minutes ago.

Literal steam rises off of Metamorpho’s body, since now he’s realizing the implications that the team has been making all along. “Wait. Are you saying that-”

“Go to bed,” Hawkgirl peeks her head out the doorway and calls to the elemental. “It’s not worth the brainpower.”

Mr Terrific groans as well, making his way back towards his individual room. He ignores the grinning from Guy and the embarrassed stare from Rex, moving with purpose towards his bed. The entire way, he curses at the situation and the irritating amount of work he had to do - all just to confirm the suspicions he’s had for a very long time.

He really needs a break from these damn heroes. 

Clark Kent is a man of his word; though the promise to make breakfast in the morning wasn’t one of great importance, he’s happy to keep that promise and make a delicious meal all the same. 

It’s nothing fancy: pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. He loves the meal because of its no-frills, simple sustenance. Simply, it’s something he could eat at any diner across the entirety of Metropolis - the entirety of the world. But the way Lex’s eyes light up after the first bite has Clark totally convinced he’s made the single greatest meal known to man. Lex, at the very least, seems to think so.

Clark sits down at the countertop next to the man currently eating with appreciation. “Everything taste good?”

Lex turns to nod, finishing his bite before speaking. “What did you put in the pancakes? I can’t stop eating them.”

“Sorry, Lex,” he smiles as he cuts his own bite. “Ma’s secret recipe. You understand I can’t tell just anyone .”

Lex laughs as he cuts another bite. “I’ll just have to meet her and charm the recipe right out of her.”

“Knowing you, you’d likely succeed,” Clark laughs back. “I bet she would love you right away.”

Lex pauses, the air slightly stagnant and filled simply with the sound of buzzing of Raptors patrolling the building once again. “Would you let me meet her? Your family?”

Clark nonchalantly shrugs as he chews a bite of the hotcakes. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. They haven’t gotten to meet many of the friends I made after I moved away. I think they’d be happy to see I’m surrounding myself with good people.”

Clark realizes what he says just a bit too late. He called Lex good . Despite murdering in cold blood, despite literally tearing the city in half, despite every plot to kill Superman. Clark called Lex good.

Does he himself even believe that?

Lex seems to notice the choice of words as well, and his eyes shimmer at the praise. Clark lets out a small cough and lets it go. Even if he’s not completely convinced that he’s turned over a new leaf, seeing Lex beaming… It's reason enough to allow him this small victory.

They sit and eat in silence, though for once it isn’t one born from discomfort. Sometimes, meals are just so good they leave no room for conversation. This simple breakfast is proving to be exactly this.

After Clark uses the last of his toast to wipe excess syrup off the plate, he stands, grabs both empty plates, and takes them to wash in the sink. While he’s working over the sink, he calls back to Lex, “Glad you enjoyed breakfast. Once I’m done washing dishes, I gotta head out to work.”

“Are you sure?” Clark can hear the pout in his voice; he imagines Lex’s deflated posture with a full, lower lip jutting out, and Clark has to hold back his laugh. “Can’t you work from here today? Perry seemed happy with your article yesterday. Besides, it’s still dangerous out there.”

Clark sighs. So that means Planetwatch still hasn’t found Metallo's secret hideout. He had a feeling they wouldn’t, but he was still hopeful this could have been swiftly resolved. “Lex…” he starts chiding as he turns back to the man.

But the expression on Lex’s face shuts him up immediately. There’s an ounce of worry, but primarily a stern look that seems to command, stay. Not as a request; rather, a silent and firm demand. Why is it that the gleam in his icy blue eyes makes Clark bend so easily to his will?

Clark surrenders, though he doesn’t feel he put up much of a fight. “Fine,” he says as he wipes his hands on a clean towel. “One more night. But tomorrow, I need to return - no buts! I really, really can’t stay here forever.”

Lex’s attitude changes right away as he recognizes another small victory - two in one day. Clark has to internalize a groan. Lex is playing me… there’s no doubt in my mind about it.

Clark does walk back to the other man, preparing to make plans to start his day. As he approaches, he notices the small splotch of maple syrup sticking to the corner of Lex’s mouth. “Oh, Lex,” he starts without thinking, “You have syrup on your face.”

“Oh, where-” Lex speaks, but his sentence is cut off by a small gasp. Clark’s thumb, without forewarning, starts firmly rubbing the corner of the other man’s mouth, wiping the liquid sugar off.

The proximity is unbearable - too close. They are face to face, Clark looming over the other man sitting at the bar top, craning his neck to look down. Chest to chest, breath to breath. Clark’s gaze is locked on the lips of the other man as he lifts his own thumb and gently licks the syrup right off of it. He feels the full-body shudder from Lex and can’t help the wave of excitement that washes over him. Excitement over the fact that he caused this reaction.

The voice in the back of his head chastises him. Straight men don’t get excited when they tease other men. Straight men don’t want to kiss other men.

In slight horror, Clark recognizes the nature of those thoughts and has to correct himself. I don’t want to kiss Lex Luthor.

“Sorry,” Clark meekly apologizes. He backs away from the other man slowly. There’s a gnawing at his chest suggesting that he is still craving that warmth and closeness. 

“No,” Lex responds simply. His voice doesn’t betray his thoughts, but his eyes - pools reflecting longing - do. Was he hoping for something? “I appreciate it.”

Lex stands rigidly, and moves a bit too quickly out of the room. “I’ll be working in my office. The laptop from yesterday is in the living room.”

Before Clark can even respond, the other man is gone and he’s left alone. Clark pants, somehow seemingly out of breath.

He grants himself a moment of nothingness, not even entertaining the thoughts spinning in his head. Once the minute has come and gone, he surveys the situation to see if he can find a way to sneak out, if only for an hour, to get the Justice Gang’s attention. Metallo is still on the loose, left unchecked for an entire day can only lead to more mayhem than he’s prepared to handle.

He analyzes the situation.

Raptors are flying around the building, and there’s a lot . Clark is confident he could fly out fast enough that no one would see him, exactly. But they would see something, and he wouldn’t put it past Lex to put two and two together. 

Plus, there’s a chance that the entire condominium is bugged. Lex was able to get video of them both from the night they were drunk together in his parlor. He has to assume that there are cameras everywhere.

Clark refuses to survey the room for cameras. That would look suspicious.

He already knows sneaking out the front door is not an option. Mercy Graves seems to be posted there at all hours, and she has made it clear that she is an ally to her boss, Mister Luthor. She would not turn a blind eye to the man trying to sneak away, and he means that in the literal sense. Clark is convinced Miss Graves is hiding some sort of cybernetic enhancements, though he’s not confident what exact upgrades she has. It could include some sort of visual enhancement, and if that’s the case there’s no way he can sneak or speed past her. 

He sits on the couch and grabs the laptop off the coffee table, logging in without issue. He thought about using the internet yesterday to send a message to one of his super friends, but he didn’t, suspicious that the laptop is under surveillance as well. He tried adding a pretty straight forward message at the end of the article he worked on yesterday, simply saying:

“It is the belief of this reporter that Superman, along with the support of the Justice Gang, should act immediately to support the city of Metropolis to subdue this threat.”

He was frustrated this morning to see that the bold part of the message had been reformatted by the editor, but he’s hopeful the team still got the memo. 

As of this point in time, that’s all he can do under the circumstances. The next best thing is to directly tell Lex he needs to leave, and that hasn’t gotten him very far.

Clark can't help but stop and think, why exactly is he playing this game? He could have chosen to avoid jumping through these hoops, been straightforward and insistent that he shouldn’t be here… but he hasn’t. He can’t. All it takes is a look and he wants to do whatever he can to make Lex Luthor happy. How far does that level of control over Clark’s very will extend? 

Then there's the fact that he still hasn’t forgiven Lex - for putting the entire world at risk, for killing an innocent man. They’ve both been distracted by this domestic fantasy, but he knows deep down Lex is still not a great guy. 

He thinks about breakfast, when he’d called Lex a “good person.” The way his eyes sparkled, like that’s the only thing he ever needed to hear.

He thinks about Lex walking away from the room in a shameful hurry. They were so close together, they were breathing each other’s air and absorbed by the air of want. He thinks of the pair of thin lips he’s only now realizing he stared at for far too long. Was that almost a kiss?

He thinks about their embrace last night, the feeling of warmth that bloomed across his chest as the other man careened into him. Was that supposed to be a kiss?

He thinks back to several nights ago, in a tight embrace. He blushes as he remembers the feeling of Lex Luthor’s lips, just barely on his neck and whispering against his pulse, gently begging him to stay the night. Was he hoping that was a kiss?

Clark, embarrassed and flushed, closes his laptop with a firm snap. He’s questioning every little interaction between the men, like a schoolboy with a crush. And that’s the most frustrating part, because he’s not gay and he doesn’t see Lex Luthor as anything more than a friend. 

But when exactly did that start? Because they never formally decided that they considered one another friend, right? Lex was trying to ruin Clark’s life, and that was only a few months ago. 

Clark hates him. He killed Mali in cold blood. He can never forgive Lex Luthor for causing this undue, irreversible pain.  But he’s trying to make things right. And Clark believes everyone deserves a second chance. 

Lex is blinded by his jealousy of Superman. He will do anything to kill Superman, even if it puts the people around him at risk. 

Lex learned his lesson. That is evidenced by their conversation last night. Lex was apologetic - he truly didn’t mean to put Clark in danger. Clark forgave him - Lex has so few pardons offered, this is one that Clark felt comfortable freely giving. 

Clark thinks of the soft lips against his pulse two nights ago, begging him to stay. He envisions what it would feel like if those lips would push just a bit closer, gently gracing his neck, trailing down-

Lex would not be gentle. He would bite, without a second thought. Lex would hurt him. 

He’s not quite sure why that thought causes his heart to beat just a bit harder, stampeding straight through his chest.

Lex Luthor is not soft or safe. Lex is dangerous, he will hurt if given the chance. 

But he would never hurt Clark.

Except, he has already. And he apologized.

He apologized two nights ago, in that tight embrace. He looked vulnerable, feral, terrified to be left alone. Clark would never abandon him. Clark envisions that conversation, of Lex’s lips gently kissing down his neck, begging Clark to stay the night, begging Clark to sleep with him-

This isn’t a fantasy straight men have about other men.

Clark doesn’t feel himself moving, with haste, towards the home office. He doesn’t understand, but he needs answers. And only Lex can provide those answers.

He swings the door open with such excessive force that it startles both men. “Clark?!” The businessman exclaims in a hushed tone, clearly trapped in the middle of a call. 

Clark opens his mouth to speak, but has to pause as he surveys the office. This is clearly the backdrop to a formal space occupied by the world’s richest CEO. There’s the massive desk Lex is sitting at now, rows and rows of books all around, long beautiful windows overlooking Metropolis, and an entire wall covered in…

News clippings. All stories about Mali’s Falafels, a new restaurant that opened in downtown Metropolis. The same place they had both worked together to get up and running. There’s a picture smack in the middle of Lex holding a large pair of scissors and smiling at a bulky man just outside of frame. 

Lex is proud of all that he’s done. 

Clark, feeling fondness blossoming across his chest, turns to Lex as the other man quietly shuts down the desktop computer. He surveys the tabletop and sees two pamphlets for the most exclusive all-girl’s private school in Metropolis. There’s also paper applications for the school’s robotics club and debate club.

Immediately, the image of two young girls with thick, black hair comes to Clark’s mind. Two little girls, with infectious laughs and imperfect smiles. Fatima’s daughters.

Clark’s chest heaves, unsure if he wants to cry or laugh. Still, even now, Lex is thinking about this family’s future. He’s done something unforgivable and still he’s truly trying to make a better life for everyone.

Fatima’s voice echoes in his head: “I will never forgive him for taking Mali away… I can feel this way and still recognize that he is trying to make things right.”

Lois’s voice echoes in his head: “Be honest with your feelings about Luthor.”

“Clark?” Lex asks cautiously. “Did you need something?”

Clark turns to Lex - their gazes meet and he sees that look of want he recognized earlier in the day.

He is not in love with Lex Luthor.

He wonders if Lex can see the want in his own eyes, too. 

Lex is just a friend.

Make a choice for yourself for once.

He’s charging across the room before he has even a second to think his actions over. Lex stands, almost defensively, but doesn’t move from his spot. He knows Clark would never hurt him. He trusts Clark.

The panting man cradles Lex’s face in both hands, thumbs gently brushing lightly flushed cheeks. Lex stares back, his expression for the first time is completely readable. Secure. Trusting. With unquestionable desire.

Lex’s eyes flutter and close; Clark’s heart thunders out of his chest.

Make a choice for yourself.

Clark does.

He leans forward and, without much grace, he crashes his lips against Lex’s. The first word that comes to mind is warm. He feels contradicting comfort and fluttering deep in his core, everything is bright and so, so right. Lex kisses back hungrily, like it's the only thing he’s ever truly craved. Reflexively, Clark mirrors this, uses his firm grasp on the man’s jawline to pull him deeper into the contact. He feels dextrous fingers crawl up his back, gripping the shirt. Lex tastes better than he could have ever imagined - plush and sultry and salty. Lex tastes like the sun. Lex is the sun.

Lex’s mouth opens slightly, inviting the other to take more; Clark can’t hold back when he opens his own lips and runs his broad tongue against the other man’s bottom lip. A gentle, obligatory moment of asking for permission - when Lex’s mouth opens wider he doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Not very chivalrous, he acknowledges, but he’s had a taste and craves more.

Lex moans against his partner’s mouth, forcing a shudder that rattles Clark his entire body. The Kryptonian’s head spins, enthused by just how much Lex is willing to give. He loves the feel and warmth of Lex’s mouth, Lex’s tongue, Lex’s pulse racing beneath his fingers. He wants, and Lex gives. Clark can’t help but wonder, in the middle of this embrace, what else he can take.

Slow down. 

He can’t slow down. For the first time ever, Clark has everything. He feels he’s winning, like he finally has the upper hand in Lex’s game of intimidation.

You’re not gay.

Clark breaks away first, hardly breathless. He rests his forehead against the other man’s and studies the face opposite his own.

It’s an expression he’s never seen from the billionaire. Lex Luthor looks unraveled; flushed, panting, lips puffy, pupils fully dilated with a thin blue outline. Clark is obsessed with this look, and he’d give anything to see it every day for the rest of his life.

Lex Luthor looks ravaged. Clark Kent wants to ruin Lex Luthor even further.

Straight men don’t kiss their friends. Straight men don’t get hard after putting their tongue into other men’s mouths.  

That’s when he realizes the straining in his pants - the unbearable discomfort of his dick throbbing and wanting more. Yeah, totally straight, a snarky voice in the back of his head says. He doesn’t care whose voice it is. Not right now. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says between shallow pants. 

Lex  growls. “Shut up. If you’re going to kiss me, just fucking kiss me.”

Clark doesn’t need any clearer of an invitation. He crashes into those lips again, just as needy as the first time. He takes control, with purpose and demanding, and Lex allows himself to be pliable, granting exactly what the other man wants. 

Slow down. Clark ignores the warning signs. He doesn’t have any reason to hold back: both men want this.

They break apart, and still Clark craves the taste of salt and sweat. After lacing his fingers behind the other man’s neck, Clark kisses his jawline, then down the front of his throat. He extends his tongue and takes a long swipe back up his neck, earning yet another loud moan. Lex’s skin tastes intoxicating, and it leaves Clark’s head spinning. 

He feels a firm knee push up between his legs and gasps when it comes in contact with his crotch. He feels himself rutting against it and groans at the contact, even if it’s separated by several layers of clothing.

Lex’s hand reaches up to tangle in black curls, gripping gently but without showing intention of releasing. He turns his head, breaking the contact of those lips against his throat, and looks directly in the other man’s eyes. “How far do you want to go?”

Clark feels off-balance, one firm hit from being knocked right over. He’s surprised he’s able to present as calm and put together, when in reality he’s seconds from falling apart. “I don’t know.” He responds, intoxicated by the other man’s breath on his face. “I’ve never really done this before.”

Lex’s expression shifts to one that looks surprised. Clark knows the man well enough to know he looks much too excited to hear he’s inexperienced . “Clark, you’ve never -”

“Wait,” he interjects, slightly embarrassed by the other man’s elation. “I’ve done this, yeah. Just not with…” Clark trails off, Lex nods understanding.

“You’ve never done this with a man before.”

Clark blushes, but Lex continues. “We can take it as slowly as you want. We don’t have to do anything at all.”

Clark licks his lips before leaning in and kissing the corner of the other man’s mouth feather light. He feels the small gasp beneath the touch and exhales slowly, trying to keep himself composed. The longing Clark feels is real; he needs more. He pulls back and looks into the other’s eyes and says, “I want you.”

Lex stares for a moment, his gaze firming to be both hungry and fond. He rests his forehead on the other man’s shoulder, inhaling and exhaling with the intention of calming himself down. The hands in Clark’s hair and tangled in the shirt continue to hold firm, as though fearful this moment could end at any moment. “Clark Kent,” he says in a quiet, shaky voice, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

Clark’s own hands release from around the back of his partner's neck, moving to rest on either side of his hips with a firm squeeze. “And you know exactly what you do to me?”

“I know everything about you,” Lex’s face turns so he’s mouthing against Clark’s pulse, leaving small pecks that pull a moan from the other man’s throat. “I’m a very analytical person.”

Clark ignores the irony of the statement and focuses instead on the lips traveling down his neck. His running thoughts could never do this justice. “So what, you’ve been waiting this whole time knowing I’d make the first move?”

“Yes,” Lex responds simply, tilting his head and gently pulling at the curls so they’re looking into one another’s eyes. “I would have waited until the end of the world for you, Clark.”

The fluttering in Clark’s stomach overtakes every other sense. It quiets every thought and fools him, just for a moment, that this is an appropriate thing to want. It feels good being wanted so desperately, and it feels even better to be granted everything he wants without any hesitation. He sighs, refusing to hold himself back as he leans forward to claiming those lips yet again. 

The reporter returns back to his ravenous pace. Lips dancing together, pleased to feel the other matching that pace and pushing closer together. He moans into the other man’s mouth, and Clark feels a sense of pride when the other man shudders at the reverberation.

Lex releases his hold on Clark, swiftly repositioning so he has a firm grasp on the front of the reporter’s shirt. Without releasing that grip or the kiss, he feels himself being pushed back against the wide set of bookshelves. The kiss remains ravenous, but for a moment Lex is taking the lead - pulling and kissing desperately - and Clark is happy to match that pace.

When he does break out of the contact, the billionaire is on his knees before Clark can realize it’s happened.

Clark groans when he does look down and sees Lex Luthor, sociopathic genius, on the ground, mouthing the bulge at the front of his pants and staring up at him in a cloudy haze. He runs his tongue up the front of his slacks, firmly pressing against the prominent bulge, all without breaking eye contact. Clark shutters, unable to look away.

“Do you want me here?” Lex asks in a parched voice, rough with need. “Do you want me to suck your dick?”

“Yes,” Clark doesn’t hesitate, eyes still transfixed on the panting figure beneath him. “God, yes. Please.”

Lex slightly smirks as he unzips the front of those trousers slowly. He loses his own collected composure as he hastily pulls down the fly and reaches to pull the cock out of the underwear, smeared from the inside with precum.

Clark watches as Lex gets started - the man doesn’t even take a moment to admire it - and takes that throbbing member directly into his mouth. Clark’s head rolls back and he lets out a loud groan that rattles the entire office. Crap, he thinks, I need to tone it down.

But the man kneeling before him doesn’t seem to get the memo - in fact, he seems quite emboldened by it. He already has half of the member in his mouth and is sucking leisurely before he sinks down even further; in no time at all, Lex has taken the entirety of it into his mouth, his nose buried in the patch of pubic hair just above the shaft.

Lex closes his eyes and inhales - deeply enough to be overwhelmed by the man’s musk - and releases a shuttering moan - long and loud. Clark feels shaken to his very core, and moans in response to the stimulation.

He looks up, catching eye contact once again as he starts to bob his head - forwards and backwards. He hollows his cheeks with every pull, sucking that dick as though he’s holding on for dear life and refusing to let it go.

Clark feels his heart accelerate, breathing matching the same tempo. He looks back down to admire the sight below him - Lex, his Lex, on his knees with his pretty little lips wrapped around him and bobbing, taking him all the way to the hilt without a single complaint.

And through it all, Lex is still looking up at him. Clark is convinced he hasn’t looked away once. That attention - that obsession - he knows Lex Luthor is consistently guilty of is burning when he knows that it’s all directed at him, studying every minute reaction to the way his body moves. Lex Luthor is obsessed with him. In this moment, with tear dotted eyes and a throat full of cock, Clark Kent is obsessed with him, too.

Clark feels tension building in his body, like a chain pulled to its maximum and ready to shatter. Clark doesn’t want this to end, all the while craving the feeling of release.

“Lex,” he speaks out loud, not recognizing his own huffing voice, “Lex, I’m close.”

And the man below him takes that as his cue to give one final, firm suck before bringing his lips back with a satisfying pop. The strand of saliva lingering between his lips and the tip of the cock is downright provocative, and Clark has to bite his lower lip to keep from cumming right then and there.

“Clark,” Lex says as his long fingers lazily wrap around the dick. “I want you to use me.”

Clark takes a deep breath, taking his time to decode the message he just received. Still, out of sheer confusion, he asks, “Huh?”

“Use me, Clark,” Lex responds, pumping once, then again, loosening his grip and placing a small kiss on the tip. “Use my mouth until you cum.”

Clark feels his face flash hotter, somehow he’s more turned on now than he ever has been in his life. “I-I don’t know if I can- I mean, I don’t want to overdo it.”

Lex rests leisurely against the back of his legs. His gaze says everything. He trusts Clark enough to know that he couldn’t hurt him. If only he knew. “I can take it,” he responds simply.

Clark throws his head back and lets out a small cry - not out of frustration, but rather shock that this is happening. Lex Luthor - the man known to take and hurt - is on his knees, offering everything on a silver platter. Clark wants, Lex gives freely.

Clark thanks every higher being in existence as he looks down and sees the man, eyes glazed in sticky need. He gently reaches to hold the man’s head on either side, all whilst gently coaxing the mouth open with his thumb. Lex’s lips wrap around the member once more, gently sucking as Clark slowly sheathes himself all the way once more.

Once comfortably seated in Lex’s mouth, Clark curiously reaches a thumb down to push against the front of his throat. He pushes against the bulge of his own member, locked within the tight, warm heat, and groans as he feels that member twitch at the contact, through a layer of flesh.

“Lex,” he breathes. “You look so good like this. Look so good taking all of me.”

Clark has never been one for rapacious sex - with any of his exes he’s always been an extreme gentleman. But seeing Lex wrapped around him, nose to pubes, eye watering and wanting, all the while willing to give up everything for him… It makes Clark want more.

He starts by propping one leg onto the office chair directly to his right and bucking into the other man’s mouth.

It takes a while to find a rhythm that works - he needs to start as slow as possible to avoid hurting the man, and he needs to find a comfortable way to fuck into that tight heat that ensures he hits the back of the man’s throat with every thrust. Ultimately, he finds himself wrapping both hands around the back of Lex’s smooth head, extending his fingers to cover as much surface area as possible, before holding that head in place and fucking into the open orifice with feeling.

Clark loses himself in the moment, blinded by the pleasure building behind his eyes and deafened by the sloppy sound of pushing himself deeper and deeper than he ever thought possible. In the haze of euphoria, he looks down at Lex.

Lex. Eyes still looking up, studying his every move. Lex, whose hand is firmly working on the front of his own pants. 

Clark pants, trying to catch his breath as he tries to seek release. “Take it,” he thrusts. “Take it,” he pushes deeper. “Take it all,” he punctuates every push, not just with his words but with loud groans as he gets closer, and closer to sweet release.

He could swear he sees Lex Luthor smiling around his cock as he pushes as deep as he possibly can and comes down the other man’s throat. 

He snarls, holding the other’s mouth in place as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm. Even after, he stays sheathed and enjoys the feeling of the gentle swallows around his member as Lex sucks as much of it down as he possibly can. He rolls his head back as he pulls himself out, sighing and craving that warmth as soon as he hears the satisfying pop of the head being pulled out.

Clark leans back against the bookshelf, deep panting and doing his best to get his bearings straight. He feels the soft hands of Lex Luthor, traveling above his shirt and up his chest.

“Well, it looks like you’re already looking forward to round two,” Lex laughs, his voice completely raw.

Clark, to his own horror, realizes he’s still hard. He turns beet red in embarrassment - this isn’t typical for men to have this level of stamina.

“I wish we could keep going, I really do,” Lex continues, as his hands - controlled and without faltering - straighten out the fabric and rebutton the top of that dress shirt. “But I have important work to get back to. You understand, don’t you Clark.”

Clark does understand, but his mind is so blank he can hardly respond more than a vigorous nod of his head. Lex snickers as he reaches down, tucking the still hard member into the other’s pants and zipping it up. He gives a proud smile and a gentle pat to the bulge at the front of the pants before rotating Clark and pushing him gently out of the office.

“We can finish our discussion later, yes?” he smiles, closing the door to the office as soon as the massive man is outside of the threshold.

Clark doesn’t feel himself walking towards the guest bedroom. He doesn’t even realize he’s plopped down onto the bed until he feels the fwoomp of comforter concave to his figure.

Did that actually just happen?

It certainly felt like an out of body experience, and one that Clark wasn’t completely ready to analyze.

For now, he’s exhausted. He decides he needs a small nap. He can figure out everything - work, the encounter, the relationship - once he’s awake.

The relationship.

With Lex Luthor. Another man.

He’s too tired to hear out the voice in the back of his head, telling him he should have slowed down while he had the chance.

Chapter Text

Lex’s hands feel unnaturally clammy, and no amount of rubbing palms against his pants leg can help in removing the sweat. Hell, he can hardly focus on the remainder of video conferences. A shame, that the world’s most powerful man is reduced to an impatient, needy bastard vying for the attention and affection of one man on the other side of the condominium.

He has a harder time keeping his thoughts clean, though. Who can blame him, though? Hours ago, Clark had barged into his office, grabbed him with such fervor, and kissed him. It wasn’t like anything he’d hoped for; rather than slow and timid, it was rough and brazen. Clark wasn’t afraid to show his want, and Lex wasn’t afraid to give it without a care. He dwells on the desire tainting Clark's every action - from the look in his completely dilated eyes, to the loud moans, to the leaking cock he’d shoved with excessive force into the back of the kneeling man’s throat. Lex felt wanted without feeling used - a rarity when taking into consideration how often he has to avoid the manipulative tactics of those around him.

It was only a few hours ago and at this moment it feels too long to be separated from Clark, his beloved. His perfect Clark, free of any ounce of hatred in his heart. The man who saw Lex Luthor at his worst and stood by his side still. Kissing Clark was better than any other feeling on this planet, and he’s kissed his fair share of beautiful people. But none who looked at him that way - with a deepening flush every time he looked down to see Lex, lips wrapped around his immaculate cock and gazing up, never once looking away.

Lex didn’t want to tease just how embarrassed the other man looked, but at the time it seemed fair; Clark was no gentleman, after all. He was just as desperate for this encounter. He was the one who grabbed Lex’s face, lead most of the kisses, grabbed the back of his head and fucked into his mouth with careless abandon.

“Mister Luthor, if you wouldn’t mind,” a stern voice pulls him out of his thoughts - and thank god for that, he could feel himself getting a bit too excited. “I’m hoping to hear your immediate feedback.”

Lex clears his throat, successfully shelving his dirty thoughts. “Of course, Doctor Kirby. Everything looks in order thus far, and I’m quite impressed with the fact that made a prototype of this size in two days. I’m hoping for the final product we can upgrade the material to Tungsten Steel, though.”

The doctor nods, accepting this feedback and completely fooled into believing that his boss had been paying thorough attention this entire call. “Of course, we did have to make the prototype with lower quality materials due to the time constraints, but we will upgrade the material once we are satisfied with the build and power source.”

Dr. Kirby steps out of the camera’s frame, showing the stunt room in the background complete with decoy furniture, a test dummy, and a green chrome suit piloted by another doctor with a similarly tall, lean frame. The pilot demonstrates the armor’s strength by picking up the couch with ease, and throwing it with force against the back wall. The furniture crashes through the reinforced wall and continues flying, only stopping once it collides with - and dents - the metal wall of the laboratory. 

“As you can see,” Kirby continues, “the power armor will be able to read the actions of your basic movements and apply additional force in order to mimic super strength. We are currently looking into other requested features, including flight, speed, and laser-vision enhancements.”

Lex feels a cruel smile cross his entire face. Everything is going exactly as he wanted it to: a super suit to rival Superman himself is just within his grasp. He has learned the hard way that he can't trust the litany of hired metahuman talent - either due to their individual failures, or their unpredictable nature. If he wants Superman dead, he will need to take power into his own hands and do the job himself.

“Excellent work,” the CEO praises his scientist. “Please continue focusing on this. I’m expecting a finished product by Friday morning.”

The scientist gulps audibly. “Sir, I don’t think that’s possible. Due to the nature of this deliverable, it will take much longer getting other features added, tested, and adjusted. It’ll take weeks to even get enough tungsten steel-”

“I have a private supplier,” Lex dismisses with the wave of his hand. “I can have whatever you need delivered by noon tomorrow, so please focus on those features so your team can start constructing the suit tomorrow evening.”

The glance in Dr. Kirby’s eye is difficult to capture through the lens of the web camera. He looks stressed by the abrupt deadline, thrilled to have a hand in such an incredible job, understanding that Lex Luthor does not make demands even he could not fulfil on his own. Kirby understands, though no words are spoken to dictate as much, that the fate of Metropolis rests on the shoulders of this team, and their creation of this suit.

“Yes, thank you Mister Luthor,” he gives a solid, resolute nod. “I would like to show you further updates tomorrow morning - in office, please.”

Lex sighs in response. As much fun as it’s been hiding away and spending all of his time with Clark, he had to return back to earth eventually. “I understand, Doctor. I will be in the laboratory tomorrow to test the suit myself.”

Kirby nods back before abruptly ending the call. Lex doesn’t mind; it’s a sign that the man is turning his focus on more pressing matters.

Those pressing matters being, building a Warsuit that Lex Luthor may use to kill Superman once and for all.

He will be the last line of defense for the city of Metropolis against the supernatural, all-powerful foe. His hatred for Superman has not simmered in the last several weeks, even despite the one kind gesture of saving Clark Kent and bringing him to the safety of that penthouse.

He recalls the interview with Clark, all those months ago. How he said, with certainty, that it’s dangerous to place all your trust in one superhero with no failsafe in play. And he still believes it. It’s thanks to the one-on-one therapy sessions with a professional that he’s able to acknowledge that there’s more to it than that.

Superman is the definitive vision of what strong and manly look like. He doesn’t have to fool anyone into being the face of masculinity; he just is. He is the man of the people without even trying, all the while Lex has to try so hard and mind every little thing just to ensure no one can figure it out. Everything - from his crisp appearance, to the way he talks, to the things he’s passionate about - is carefully manufactured with the intent of leaving no doubt that Lex Luthor is the Man of the Future. That Lex Luthor is unquestionably a man.

One slip up, and the tabloids would have a field day. One slip up, and the entire world would be talking about it. Lex Luthor the transvestite-

Lex suddenly feels nauseous. He takes a moment to just breathe, calm down. No one will know. No living person knows - after the passing of his father, there’s no one left who could possibly know. Anyone else who would know - from previous caretakers, to doctors, to one very nosy teacher - were all removed from the picture before Lex was even aware.

Lionel Luthor was similar to his son in many ways. Lionel was thorough - he was the one who ensured that no one would know about Lex Luthor's sudden gender change. Lionel was ruthless - he was the one who orchestrated the gender reassignment the very moment Lex expressed that he didn’t feel like a girl. Lionel was advantageous - he was the one who dug his oppressive claws into Lex, his son, the moment he realized there was something to gain from pretending to be on that child’s side.

Though, he wasn’t truly on his side. He just wanted the Luthor Legacy to continue. He had been livid when Lex’s mother left without a trace before producing a viable male heir. He hated Lex, resented that the woman didn’t take the child with her when she ran away.

“You’re useless to me,” Lionel screamed, grabbing the twelve-year-old by the neck and pushing him roughly against the wall. He’s angry - he’s always angry, but this time it was different. What had Lex done to really piss off the man this time…? “You will only be of use to me when you bear a child, like your whore mother.”

Tears welled in Lex’s eyes as he snarled and fought back with full strength - to no avail. “You think I don’t know that?” the tightened voice responded. “You think I wanted to be your daughter? You think I want to be a girl at all?? I wish she had taken me too, then I’d be free of this hell!”

There was a small pause, before Lex was dropped to the floor. The fabric of the dress cascaded around the figure that was gasping for air that his lungs had just been devoid of.

Lionel was still standing - looming, with the eyes of a predator - over the child. “Explain,” is all he said.

Lex looked up, refusing to let fear show to the man clearly trying to intimidate. “I don’t have to explain a single thing to you, you wretched-”

Lionel growled and swiftly grabbed a fistfull of hair - long, at that point, and maroon red just like his mother’s - and Lex let out a pained scream. “You are my daughter, you will speak when I demand it.”

Tears fall freely now. One day, Lex would learn how to hold all those emotions in, and how not to show fear to the man they fear most. But that day has not yet come. All he could do is use spite as a weapon, hoping to shame Lionel Luthor as much as possible. “I’m not your daughter,” the words were spat back. “In all ways but one, I am a man.”

Lionel’s eyes grew wide, staring at the child for a long while, before he finally released the grip and let the body collapse to the ground again. Lex didn’t hesitate, he turned his gaze back up to the man above, and with horror he saw a look he didn’t recognize.

“You would do that for me?” Lionel asked as he knelt. His voice was soft, like speaking to a beloved baby. Lex hadn’t been spoken to in that way for years; he hardly recognized the man who seconds ago had his hands wrapped around his neck, his figners tangled tightly in his hair. “You would let yourself be my son… Just for me?”

Lex wanted to scream in response. Lex wanted to be a man for himself, not for anyone else. But the dangerous look in Lionel’s eyes - one snap away from formally wringing the child’s neck - is what allowed him to succumb to the oppressive gaze. He waited a moment, catching his breath, before responding: “I would.”

Lex jumps as he hears the alarm on his watch go off - pulling him back in a cold sweat. He looks at his wrist - five o’clock. End of the work day, though he can’t help but feel he hasn’t gotten enough done. He is pleasantly surprised to find that even in his distracted haze, he had managed to complete several tasks on autopilot, so thankfully he’s caught up through tomorrow’s workload.

He shuts down his computer and all but runs out of the office. It’s been hours, and he needs to find Clark.

He walks past the kitchen to see his private chef already at work. She wordlessly nods back at the man as she continues her mise en place for tonight’s dish - pot roast, per Clark’s request from the other evening. He nods in return before continuing through the kitchen and past the dining room. He turns the corner into the living room to see Clark typing away at his borrowed laptop, and his heart flutters with fondness.

Clark seems to be engrossed in his work and doesn’t even look up to greet the man. Lex knows he’s sensed his presence though; the tips of the reporter’s ears turn red as he sits on the opposite side of the couch and starts reading a book. No matter, he thinks. Let him finish his work. We can chat after.

It thankfully doesn’t take more than a half hour for Clark to finish writing. Lex finishes the third chapter of The Great Gatsby as Clark gently clicks the laptop close, turning his gaze over to the man pretending to be engrossed in the book. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Clark apologizes with an awkward smile. “How was work today?”

Lex closes the book, finding it unnecessary to keep track of the page he’s on. “It was fine. Busy, but that can be expected. How was your day?”

“Busy as well,” Clark responds as he stands. “Wrote an article about The Mayor's recent interest in updating Metropolis’s infrastructure. Jimmy has a connection through the Mayor’s secretary and was able to introduce us on a call today.”

Lex nods thoughtfully. It takes every fiber of his being not to stand and wrap his own arms around the other man, claiming the contact he so craves. There are several eyes watching - in the form of raptors languidly floating past the windows and the chef in just the other room. “Very interesting,” he simply responds as he stands as well. “Shall we get ready for dinner?”

Clark nods, turning a bit hurriedly and shuffling towards the restroom. Lex moves to sit at the dining table, pleased to see his chef got the memo from yesterday and already set the table with two spots directly next to one another.

When Clark walks in and sees the setting, he blushes as he takes his seat. Clearly, something is on his mind, but he has yet to dictate it. Likely, he’s waiting for company to leave before sharing his thoughts. 

Once they’re both seated, the private chef sets the dishes down before returning to the kitchen to work on dessert. The pot roast is delicious, as expected. Clark doesn’t say much of substance - simply that it tastes great - as he devotes all of his focus on the plate in front of him. Lex sighs and accepts he’s going to need to be patient in waiting to have an honest conversation with the anxious man.

Lex had been craving something decadent and requested chocolate raspberry souffle after dinner, but now he’s cursing his short sightedness. Clark won’t talk openly until the chef leaves, and she remains to bake at the billionaire’s request. He’s grateful that there aren’t any windows in the dining, so at least they’re shielded from the watchful gaze of Planetwatch. Still, he has to keep it together while anxiously waiting for Clark to speak freely, say what’s got him so bothered. 

When they finish with both of their plates, the chef removes the dishes and swiftly replaces them with a small ceramic ramekin with the piping hot dessert. She warns both men not to touch the dish - as it’s just out of the oven and scorching.

They eat dessert in silence as well - it’s just as delicious as Lex was hoping it would be, and it satisfies his craving. Clark seems to enjoy the dessert as well, though has yet to say a single word about it.

She returns to the table once more to collect the empty ramekins. She adds those final dishes to the dishwasher before returning to the dining room. “If you’ll excuse me, Mister Luthor,” she bows as she makes her intention to leave clear to the men.

“Yes, thank you for your hard work,” Lex nods, granting her permission to go.

Clark’s head turns towards the direction of the woman walking down the main hallway and towards the entrance of the abode. He stands quickly and without a sound, listening carefully to the sounds of the front door being unlocked and opened. Lex, reflexively, stands as well.

Once the sound of the front door being firmly closed echoes through the hallway of the home, Clark turns and exuberantly claims the other man’s lips. 

Clark tastes incredible - firm with lingering chocolate and raspberry - as his mouth moves ravenously against the other. He kisses like he’s starving, like the meal they just finished did not sate his appetite. Like he wanted more. Lex’s heart sings in response to the greedy embrace, so eager to give Clark whatever his heart desires.

Lex is surprised when Clark suddenly picks him up and pins him against the dining table; the entire time, the kiss remains unbroken. He feels a sturdy palm reach under his shirt and move up his chest, pausing to pinch gently at his right nipples. Lex whines softly at the contact - a noise he didn’t even think he was capable of making. He feels dizzy and deprived of oxygen - whether from the kiss or from the proximity of being caged in, he does not care so long as Clark is the cause.

All he cares about at this very moment is that he is kissing Clark - the only person he’s ever cared about. The man who adores him without question. He’s waited his whole life for this - nothing can do it justice. No air-headed girlfriend or string of one-night stands will ever grant him this feeling of adoration. He wants Clark - all of Clark.

His thoughts come to a still as the man above breaks the kiss. He’s flushed, panting, and staring down with a worried look, like he’s done something wrong. “Why aren’t you stopping me?”

Lex blinks twice, trying to understand the question. “Am I supposed to?”

“No- I mean-” Clark groans, breaking the contact completely and taking a step back, much to the other man’s dismay. “That’s not what I meant. I’m clearly demanding so much from you - from all of this. Doesn’t it feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”

Lex props himself on his elbows, tilting his head to the side. “Not at all,” he says simply. “If you couldn’t tell, I want this too.”

Clark’s lips purse. The billionaire can tell with just a glance that he’s overthinking all of this. He knew from the start that this would all be difficult to navigate - being Clark’s first intimate relationship with a man. He promised himself he would take things as slowly as necessary, and leave Clark to be the one calling the shots. What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was Clark’s tendency to seek affection and need space, and how quickly he can flip between the two.

“What are we?” Clark asks quietly. 

Lex shrugs as he answers, faking an air of indifference, “Whatever you want us to be.”

“See; that’s what I mean,” Clark is starting to pace around the room, clearly agitated by the response - perhaps the entire situation. “You’re Lex Luthor - probably the richest man in the world. You can have anything you want, and you don’t even care if we are…” he clamps his lips closed before turning to the man. “Can you at least tell me if you’re serious about this, please?”

“I am the richest man in the world, and I am serious,” Lex says simply as he props himself to sit at the edge of the table. “I don’t make it a habit of sucking the dicks of men I’m not serious about.”

Clark’s blush deepens at those words. “That’s another thing,” he says as he turns back to the other man with a dramatic flair. “I’m not gay.”

Lex leans against one hand and waves off the comment with the other. “That’s fine. I’m not gay, either.”

Both look at each other for a long while after that. A silent battle to decide who among them is the liar, and who is just confused beyond confused. Lex knows he is neither; he’s not interested in men. He’s only interested in one man - the one in the room with him. He’s convinced if Clark were a woman he would love her just as much; gender has nothing to do with it.

The fact that he hired a dozen male escorts all with the intention of practicing fellatio is irrelevant. The fact that he allowed one of those escorts to fuck him is just another needless detail. 

Clark sighs, surrendering after a short period - likely realizing how wrong he is. “You don’t make any sense.”

“Then let me help you understand," Lex says as he slides off the table and approaches the man. “You have questions; ask away. I’ll answer as honestly as possible. Anything to help you get me better, so you know I’m serious about this.”

Clark gulps quietly as the man encroaches on his space. He subconsciously takes a step back, which Lex accepts as a sign of needing space. “If I’m being honest,” Clark starts carefully, “something that bothers me is that I don’t get your relationship with Superman. What is it?”

There’s a moment of quiet where all that can be heard is the buzzing of Raptors from in front of the living room windows. Lex feels himself flush - not out of embarrassment, but out of anger. Even here, in a private moment between two potential lovers, the cursed alien still finds a way to infuriate him. Why is it that Superman has to infiltrate every part of his life?!

“I hate him,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling his grip tense at his sides. “I’m tired of people always taking that thing’s thoughts and feelings into consideration. Including now, during a moment that’s supposed to be about us.”

Clark’s gaze is difficult to read, even with Lex’s immense knowledge of the other man’s personality. If he were to take a stab, he would use the adjective betrayed, though the why behind it doesn’t make sense. All he’s certain of is that it hurts Lex to be looked at so critically. “That’s really disappointing,” he responds calmly. “I thought, for some reason, you’d at least be willing to hear me out. Understand that Superman isn’t your enemy.”

“And you’re an authority how, exactly?” Lex feels his blood pressure rising. Calm down. Inhale. Exhale. He recognizes that it’s jealousy that guides his rage - jealousy that Clark cares more about the metahuman than him. He simply doesn’t care. “You’re just a reporter with an incredible stroke of luck. Some hick from a no name town that’s quite fortunately found himself in that thing’s pocket.”

“Enough, Lex,” Cleck starts bellowing, moving closer to the enraged man, making the heat and closeness unbearable and charged with quiet fury. “After everything, can’t you understand that Superman is just as human as the rest of us?”

“Just as human, huh?” Lex scoffs, moving to follow the other. “If he’s just as human, why is he still in hiding, when Metallo is still a great threat? Why does he have a secret fortress in the arctic where he - and this is completely true - houses robot servants to carry out his every whim? What’s keeping him from enslaving all of humanity the exact same way?”

“Luthor, that’s speculation at most and you know it,” Clark's posture changes to one hunched over and prowling- one that, save for the thick glasses, sends a chill down the other man’s spine. “Superman has done absolutely nothing to earn your ire aside from simply existing.”

Lex sees red. Calm Down, he tells himself before screaming the response he wants to hold close to his chest. “See, Clark; you just don’t get it. I’m tired of being compared to a creature that shouldn’t even be in the picture. Do you know how hard I have to try to even just match his level - just to be considered close enough to his standard of a definitive man. Am I not enough of a man for anyone - am I not man enough for you?!”

The response staggers Clark momentarily. “Lex, calm down,” he tries appeasing the other man without understanding why he’s upset. His tone has shifted to one annoyingly neutral. “I think you’re blowing things out of proportion. It’s never been about comparing you to Superman.”

“No, I think my money’s right on,” Lex bites back. “You can’t get into Superman’s pants, so you seduce me, instead. You know that makes you a pretty despicable person, right?”

The neutral tone Clark was trying to hold on to dissipated - that didn’t last very long. “You’re not listening to me. I’ve been trying so hard to keep a level head, but you just refuse to listen. You’re the despicable person, Lex. You hurt people around you to get what you want, whether it’s by stealing, or threatening to tear apart the entire world, or murdering…” Clark’s eyes shimmer with tears and his voice clenches in his throat. “How am I supposed to know you’re not using me as a way to get back at Superman - how can I be confident you’re not taking advantage of my feelings in an effort to hurt him?”

Lex feels a pain in his chest. “Superman was never in the equation,” he lies. There’s no doubt that in the beginning, he had every intention of using the reporter as a pawn in his game of chess, with triumphing over the alien as the winning condition. He’s not quite sure when that goal shifted, though. To one where victory meant winning the heart of the Reporter. “I just want you, Clark. He’s only a part of this conversation because you wanted him to be.”

“And I’m supposed to trust that, at face value?” Clark turns, trying his best to hold his voice as firm as possible. “You’ve already admitted before that you wanted my interview because you were hoping to get information on him from me. But hey - maybe things have changed, and you really do want me. Maybe you won’t use me to hurt Superman, not at first. But I’m confident that eventually, the temptation will become one you can’t ignore.”

There’s silence. Lex has to stop and think, when has he ever used his lovers as a pawn in his plots to kill Superman. Too many times to count.

“Clark, I would never,” he lies. Both men know, fully well, he would if the circumstance called for it. “You’re so precious to me. I would never make a decision that would put you in harm’s way.”

“Except, you did,” Clark responds coldly. “When you hired Metallo.”

“I didn’t think he-”

“I know,” Clark shouts back, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “He said as much. You said as much. But at all hours - even now, darn it - you’re blinded by your hatred for Superman. I thought, at the very least, you would think critically about how decisions made from blind hatred hurts people around you.” Clark pauses, sucking in a small breath. “Hurts me.”

The silence in the room is so overpowering, it drowns out the buzzing of Planetwatch on patrol. Standing in the silence are two men - one who is not ready to offer a rebuttal, and the other not ready to elaborate.

“I think I overstayed my welcome,” Clark responds with a tinge of regret in his voice. “It’s been nice staying here. Fooling myself into thinking this could be something. But, I don’t think I can handle being the second most important person in your life.”

Lex is stunned by the words, but once he realizes Clark is walking towards the front door of the penthouse, he hurriedly follows.

“So that’s it, then?!” Lex shouts as he bounds after. “After everything I’ve done - after knowing how I feel about you, you’re just going to walk away?!” He feels a pull at his chest, he can’t handle being abandoned yet again.

“If it’s any consolation, you had me fooled for a long time,” Clark says over his shoulder, refusing to turn back. “Fooled that you wanted to be a better person.”

Lex speeds up to the man, stopping him before he can reach the door - and grabs him into a firm embrace, trying to steal the other man for a kiss. Maybe, if he puts his entire heart into it, Clark could understand in a way beyond words that he would tear apart the world and rebuild it again if it meant he could live the rest of his life with Clark.

What he doesn’t expect is for Clark to roughly match his tempo and kiss him right back. He doesn’t expect the man to grab him by the front of his shirt and shove him roughly up and against the wall opposite the parlor. Lex’s legs dangle helplessly as the other man steals moans and lips passionately, without any regard for the argument that led up to this point.

Lex can’t breathe, he feels inebriated just by being overwhelmed by Clark. He wonders briefly, if this is how he dies… suffocated in the kiss from a man he trusts without question. It would certainly be a poetic way to go. He opens his eyes to analyze the glance of pure rage from Clark; his hair is mussed and his face is flushed. His glasses rest on the tip of his nose, just one bad hit from being knocked clean off his face.

Clark opens his eyes shortly after and breaks the kiss. He stares back for a solid five seconds before his expression softens to one of guilt and finally, finally sets the other man down on the floor. While Lex gasps for air, the other man is shaking, eyes downcast to avoid eye contact altogether. “Why,” he pleads in an equally shaky voice, “are you making this so difficult?”

“I’m making this difficult,” Lex responds in a raspy voice, “because I can’t just let you go, Clark.”

Clark sucks in a deep breath, and Lex swears he can hear the other man’s heart - loud, thundering, threatening to shove the man over the edge and into a careening cavern of recklessness. To think that he has equally as strong an effect on the reporter’s emotions… It sets Lex’s entire heart ablaze. 

After what feels like an endless silence, Clark does finally look up. Blue eyes meet blue eyes. He’s gasping with short breaths - in, and out - steadily holding that eye contact, as though fearful the moment of calm will break as soon as he looks away.

The man standing against the wall, however, takes that chance. He leans into the taller man’s neck and kisses that warm patch of skin; the sounds Clark makes - the hitch of his breath followed by a high pitched whimper - emboldens him, encourages him to suck small bruises into the neck and gently bite whatever skin he can touch. Clark’s neck tastes better than his lips - just as warm with hints of salt and funk from a long day. 

Lex licks the most recent bite, ensuring he didn’t pierce the other man’s skin (thankfully, he did not) before turning and begging the other, “Tell me to stop.”

Clark moans in response, before whispering back, “I can’t.”

It only takes those two words to rile up Lex even further. He lets go of the resentment and rage from only a few minutes ago as he nips at the other man’s neck harder than before, encouraged by the stifled moans in response. His hands roam as well, reaching for the buttons on the other man’s pressed shirt and working down the line to unbutton each one. Once that toned chest is free, Lex’s hands roam the skin - over every muscle cut across that broad canvas. He’s enamored with Clark - his beloved Clark, who would never hurt him.

Except, he has. He just did. He was ready to abandon all of this - just like your mother.

Lex ignores that voice. Both men were angry. Clark didn’t mean a single thing that he said. Clark would never willingly hurt him.

Lex feels himself moving backwards as a pair of sturdy hands gently hold his upper arms, pushing gently until they’re both in the parlor. Lex, bearing his surroundings, pushes Clark to sit on the couch; he does so without any pushback. Once seated, Lex straddles the other man’s lap, kissing those perfect lips once more as broad hands grab each of his ass cheeks and move him up and down over his steadily throbbing member.

Just a few minutes ago, the men were ready to tear one another’s throat out, and now they’re making out so salaciously, filling the air with loud moans. Rather than deterring from the situation, though, it just makes it all the hotter.

Lex breaks the kiss and leans in, his still clothes torso rubbing against the other’s bare chest. He begs, “Clark, I want to be inside you. Please, please, let me fuck you.”

Lex feels dizzied by his own words, so he can only imagine what effect it has on the awkward reporter. He sees the look of haze in the other man’s eyes attempting to regain focus, eyebrows knit together as he processes the request. 

Clark is blushing furiously but otherwise is quite composed. “I think we should stop,” he responds firmly, immediately lifting his hands off of Lex’s rear and awkwardly folding them over his chest instead. “We’re both still running high on emotions, and I want to talk about it.”

Lex takes a deep breath before moving off of the other man’s lap and sitting directly next to him on the couch, ultimately accepting this answer. It wasn’t a no and it wasn’t a flat out rejection. Clark wants to talk, so he will talk.

Lex does wait before speaking, unsure if Clark wanted to lead the conversation or not. Clarks’ gaze seems to express expecting an explanation, and so Lex volunteers to lead the conversation. “I know I’m not a perfect person,” Lex validates, “but I am trying. Change isn’t supposed to happen overnight, and it’s not supposed to be beautiful or easy, either. I thought you understood that.”

Clark sighs before rubbing his palm down his face. “You’re right, I know it’s not supposed to be easy. I guess I just hoped that… At least, you’d choose how you felt for me over how much you hate Superman.”

Lex thinks for a moment. He tries weighing the two in his mind; does he love Clark more than he hates Superman? All it takes is one look at Clark’s dejected expression to realize his truth… That his love for Clark surpasses everything else.

“I want nothing more than to make you happy,” Lex responds truthfully. He resists the urge to move his hand to caress the other man’s cheek. “What can I do to prove this to you? I will do anything.”

There’s a warmth shimmering in the other man’s eyes - warmth that makes Lex’s heart stammer in his chest. “If you’ll do anything,” Clark asks, rotating his body to better face the other man, “will you call off the metahuman attacks that have been targeting Superman for the last month?”

“Yes,” Lex answers honestly. “I already called them off, after Metallo proved to be too much of a liability.”

He doesn’t pay mind to the voice in the back of his head, asking how did Clark even know? He knows the two talk. It wouldn’t be that surprising if the alien let that information slip somewhere along the line. He’s more surprised that Clark knew and didn’t hold it over his head.

Clark lets out a long sigh, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Thank you, Lex,” he replies. He reaches to grab one of Lex’s hands, which Lex offers willingly. He enjoys the feeling of Clark’s palms wrapped around his digits. “You’re right. Growth isn’t supposed to happen overnight. It’s supposed to be messy and bring out the ugly in all of us.”

Clark takes a breath to calm the shaking. Lex sees this and lets the man collect himself before continuing. “I have something to confess… I don’t know when it started happening,” he says slowly, “but I’ve developed unhealthy feelings. A part of me resents that you’ve done a lot to hurt others. And, when I touch you…” he pauses, looking down at his own hands, “I want to make you feel that anger. I want to take everything I can away from you.”

Lex looks back, slightly surprised by the honest confession. Clark wants Lex to feel this way. Did he hope that their encounter earlier - in the office, where Lex graciously dropped to his knees and allowed Clark Kent to use him - would hurt? 

Because, in Lex’s mind, it didn’t hurt. He actually enjoyed it.

“Clark, I trust you,” he responds surely. “I know that you couldn’t hurt me, even if you wanted to.”

Clark scoffs before cryptically responding, “You have no idea.”

Lex wonders what on earth he means by that. He decides now is not the time to ponder on it. “Well, regardless I still trust you,” he sighs, realizing for the first time how dangerous misplaced trust is, but choosing the risk is worth it. “I was taught I should never trust a single person in life, and it feels strange to make that exception just for you. But… It feels right.”

Clark takes a deep breath, allows a pause before asking, “Be honest, Lex. Tell me the truth, please. Do you have feelings for me? You’re not just doing this as a ploy to get something out of me?”

“Yes,” Lex doesn’t hesitate, he feels his chest burn with the profession. “I love you, Clark. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone else in my life. 

Clark’s head snaps up at those words, face burning bright crimson. “You don’t mean that,” he stutters.

“I do,” Lex continues, taking his cue to kneel on the ground before the other man, with one hand still clenched tight in the other’s grasp. He looks up into Clark’s eyes; he intends for it to grant a vulnerability, to show Clark that he’s being honest and should not be feared. “You’re the first person to see all of me - the good and the bad, and choose to give me a chance anyways.” He rests his free hand on Clark’s cheek and feels a sense of calm when the other man rests the weight of his face upon it. “I would do anything for you, Clark. I would burn down entire cities if it meant keeping you safe. I would rip apart the entire world if it meant showing how deep my affection lies.”

Clark looks back with sad eyes. “Why does it always have to be grand gestures? Why do you show your feelings using overblown theoreticals?”

Lex pouts. “It’s not theoretical. I could - and would - do that, if it meant impressing you.”

Clark can’t help the small laugh; it’s simply music to Lex. “Well…” he says, with a small bite to his lip while leaning forward. “There are much, much easier ways to get my attention.”

Lex takes the hint and smirks in response, leaning forward to crash their lips together yet again. This kiss is different from every other time their lips have touched thus far. Gone is the greediness of taking and probing, and in its stead a gentle and slow contact that rocks Lex’s body down to its core. 

“Forgot to ask,” Lex says as he pulls away, a sly smile gracing his face, “Are we still fighting? Is seducing you off the table for tonight?”

Clark groans, wanting to give a clever rebuttal but not finding one, “I think we’ve had enough talking for one night.”

Lex celebrates as he leans in, claiming those lips once more. The kiss starts slow again, until Lex finds himself standing to get better leverage on the other man. From above, he’s pushing Clark deeper into the couch and moaning needily into the other as the kiss gets warmer and sloppier.

It takes a moment before he realizes Clark had let go of his hand, electing to move his fingers to timidly unbutton the top of Lex’s trousers.

“Hang on,” Lex says as he pulls away from the kiss. Clark’s face is priceless - a gaze of wanton tinged by the stress that he maybe did something wrong. “I’m going to get something. Stay here.”

Clark sucks a breath before his entire face turns red as he nods vigorously several times. Lex holds a laugh back as he moves towards his bedroom.

Once in his room, he hurriedly looks through the drawers by his bedside table before finding the small bottle of lubricant - the same brand recommended by the curly haired prostitute from all those weeks ago. All the while, Lex opens his fly and moves a palm to steadily apply pressure to a discrete bump on his inner thigh. Since blood doesn’t naturally flow down there, he needs to manually pump himself to get hard. It only takes a few minutes to be fully erect, and he can expect it to stay that rigid for at least an hour.

After finishing his prep, Lex turns and is shocked to see Clark standing in the doorway, completely naked and staring at the other man ravenously.

This is the first time he's seen the man completely naked, and nothing - not making out shirtless on the couch, not seeing him out of the shower in only a towel, not even having his entire dick in his mouth earlier today - could have prepared him for the sight. Tanned, muscular, with small beads of sweat collecting on different parts of his body. Lex drinks in the entire sight, feeling his mouth watering. Clark is perfect. And Lex loves what he sees.

Judging by the way the nude man is biting his lip and staring with an unbroken gaze at Lex’s cock poking out from between the zipper, Clark liked what he sees, too.

“I told you to wait,” Lex says with a slight bit of worry in his tone. How much did he see?

“I couldn’t possibly,” Clark says as he stalks the other man, “Not when I knew you were probably touching yourself in here.”

Once nose and nose yet again, their lips catch once again for another long, passionate kiss. It stays slow this time, with no fervency nor hunger. A kiss filled with the longing both men had for each other and were too withdrawn to admit.

Clark’s careful hands reach to loosen the tie around Lex’s neck. Lex, still in a kissed-out haze,  panics slightly. Is tonight the night where Clark will see all of him? Lex isn't prepared for it emotionally, but he can steel himself for this.

Clark is about to see everything - from the scars of top surgery, to the unquestionably feminine hipbones. Nothing will remain hidden. He wanted to at least have a chance to tell Clark the truth first - share the one secret no one else knows. The one he can tell the man he trusts more than anyone else. The secret that could drive an entire wedge in this - whatever this is.

But what happens after the truth is out there? Will Clark still grant him the same affection? Or will he simply see him as a freak? He can trust Clark. He can trust Clark would never hurt him. Except, he has already. He did as recently as twenty minutes ago.

“Lex, breathe.”

It’s Clark’s voice that brings him out of his winding thoughts, and it’s then he realizes his arms are crossed tightly over his chest. His fingernails dig deep enough in the skin of his forearms to hurt, and there’s tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m…” Lex stutters. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Clark says as he wraps his arms around the other man in a tight embrace. In those arms, Lex feels safer than he ever has in his life - protected from the cruel world outside this bedroom, and protected by the self-sabotaging thoughts stuck inside his mind.

How could Lex ever think this man would want to hurt him? He’s done nothing but support from every angle he possibly could. He loves Clark - he told Clark tonight that he loves him, and Clark didn't turn away his affection. And though Clark has yet to say it in return, he feels Clark loves him, too. He will share the truth with Clark. Not tonight, though.

“I’m not ready yet,” Lex responds meekly after a moment of breathing, returning back to being calm.

“That’s fine,” Clark says without a second thought. “I don’t mind stopping here, we don't have to do anything at all.”

“No,” Lex responds almost too quickly. “I don’t want to stop, I just… I can’t take my shirt off.”

“That’s not a problem,” Clark responds calmly before turning his head to kiss the other man’s temple. “I have an idea for something else we can try.”

Clark releases his hold on Lex - much to the clothed man’s dismay - before moving back to sit on the edge of the bed. He extends a hand to the other man, inviting him to sit on his lap. Lex takes the invitation and straddles the other man, gasping slightly as his member pushes against Clark’s. Side by side like this, Clark’s is definitely larger, but that can’t be helped. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

Clark pries the bottle of lube out of Lex’s hands - with no resistance - and squeezes a small amount on his palm. Lex eyes the man carefully, curious on what he will do next. He can’t help but throw his head back when Clark wraps that lubed hand around both members, squeezing them together with an unbelievable pressure. 

Lex moans deeply at the contact and finds a small pang of pleasure to hear Clark’s moaning mirroring his own. This is the closest he’s ever felt to the man, dick next to dick with his arms wrapped around the muscular man’s shoulders. Clark’s massive hand is large enough to wrap around both of them at the same time, and the encompassing of those fingers is so delicious.

Clark starts moving his hand up and down around both members, and Lex isn’t prepared for the already incredible pleasure to get any better. He holds on to the other man, digging his fingernails into the back of his neck as though grappling and in fear he’s going to fall. He feels Clark’s second hand wrapping around to grab Lex’s still-clothed ass, in an effort to keep the man as close as possible.

Clark bites his lip to stifle a long, loud moan before suddenly cumming between the two men. Lex looks, transfixed, on the way the red member shoots his seed up and onto his bare chest. The image alone is what pushes Lex over the edge, before he cums as well, his own release leaking around the wide hand wrapped between them

Lex leans his forehead against Clark’s, and both sit and spend minutes catching their breaths. After a sufficient time of breathing, Clark leans up and kisses Lex again, unhurried and with unrestrained warmth. Lex kisses back, feeling warmth blossom in every part of his body.

When the kiss breaks apart, Lex sees the small smile pulling at the other man’s lips. “You’re still hard,” Clark says simply.

“So are you,” Lex smirks. “I’m ready for round two.”

Clark chuckles quietly as his hand starts pumping again. “Good, me too.”

Lex lost track after four incredible orgasms, and as predicted it took an hour before he was completely flaccid again. Clark, on the other hand, came much fewer times than the other, and actually ended up going soft after the third explosive shot of his load. Ever the doting lover, he continued pleasuring the man on his lap until Lex was ready to tap out.

Once Lex does finally call it quits, Clark takes a moment in the en suite bathroom to collect a towel and wipe his torso and hand of cum and lube. He gently tries cleaning the spunk off of Lex’s button-down, with no luck. “You should probably take a shower,” Clark advises as he walks back to dispose of the towel in a dirty linen basket.

“I’ll take it in the morning,” Lex responds lazily.

Clark can’t help but laugh, cuddling next to the man and pulling him close, as tight as he possibly can. “Fine, but I better not hear you complaining about your clothes being ruined.”

Lex groans before cracking an eye open and looking at the other man. “You know, for a guy who’s not gay, you seemed to really enjoy fooling around with me.”

“We can talk about that in the morning,” Clark responds with a small chuckle.

Lex yawns, not long for this world. “Good night, Clark.”

“Good night, Lex,” he responds, just as the other man falls asleep right in his arms.

Clark feels his heart slowly thumping in his chest. There’s no doubt all of that just happened - and it was one of the most incredible intimate experiences he’s ever had. It was soft, and affectionate, and riddled with praise and based in clear conversation and understanding.

For the most part.

Clark feels a small tinge tinge of guilt as he recalls, he’s been lying to Lex this entire time about his hidden identity. He worries that as soon as he tells Lex the truth, it will all be over. His hatred for Superman is evidence enough; the moment he knows these men are one and the same, will all of this go away?

Rather than worry, Clark decides he cannot let those thoughts ruin an otherwise perfect evening. He will tell Lex the truth, when the time is right. Of that, he is positive.

Chapter Text

If a gaze could kill, Angela Spica is convinced the man across the room would be dead.

Angela - The Engineer - takes pride in being an unstoppable force in every environment. She’s prior US Armed Forces, a Metahuman, and a high-ranking leader within Planetwatch. She’s led several successful raids, suppressed countless foes, and fought for a cause in which she believed. Coño, she’s the only person who’s even gotten close to killing Superman.

She was disappointed to get the call from Lex earlier this morning - to suspend the previous command to search for Metallo. She was motivated by a fight with a powerful foe - one she could rip apart in the same satisfying way she ripped apart a group of Kryptonian robots a year ago. Now she’s stuffed in an uncomfortable suit, with the new order to play bodyguard for a no-name reporter.

Except this isn’t some no-name reporter. The body-frame, the curled black hair, the piercing blue eyes… Bad posture and an ugly pair of glasses are a weak disguise to a combatant with photographic knowledge of the people she’s been hired to kill. Angela is almost certain she knows exactly who is sitting beside Lex, awkwardly sipping coffee. It takes every ounce of sheer willpower to avoid flying across the table and strangling the man who is desperately avoiding her eye-contact.

Verga, why is Superman in Lex’s home? Vergación, why is Lex so calm, like nothing is wrong?

At least, she’s eighty-five percent convinced that she’s right, though his trembling posture certainly isn’t helping his case. The anxiety in her presence is to be expected - she did almost kill him once. He’s likely terrified of being the target of her wrath again.

“Good timing,” Lex speaks up as he walks over to the woman who just entered the room. “Clark, this is Angela,” he introduces the two, gently guiding The Engineer to approach the seated man. She suppresses the cold smirk as she notices the seated man shrink just a bit on her approach.

Good, she thinks. You know I can destroy you.

“Ah, Angela?” Clark says shakily as he extends his hand. “I’m Clark - Clark Kent. It’s nice to meet you.”

She does not take the hand and only continues to stare down at him. “I know who you are.”

He inhales quickly - imperceptible to the human ear, but Angela is a professional. She can register even the faintest sign of weakness in her foes. Ninety-two percent certain.

“You’ll have to forgive her curtness,” Lex steps so he is standing adjacent to both adults. “Angela is very, very focused on her work, so her social skills could certainly use some fine tuning.”

Lex gives his mercenary a look and a raised brow, one that demands she make an adjustment to how she addresses the guest. Angela raises her brow in turn, hopeful this non-verbal exchange is clear - this man is an enemy, he certainly shouldn’t be sitting in the Luthor Penthouse and drinking coffee. Lex’s response is a gaze that hardens to send the message loud and clear: be nice.

Angela finds herself cursing under her breath. Lex Luthor has no idea. “I apologize,” the woman says through clenched teeth. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Clark Kent.”

Still guarded, the other man responds, “Clark is fine.” He remains wary, as though worried the woman will attack at any moment. Good. She has half a mind to do so, in the name of protecting Lex, as well as to complete what she considers unfinished business.

But if she spilled that creature’s blood on Lex’s apartment floor, she would never hear the end of it. She will need to bide her time, and strike at the most opportune moment.

“I know how important work is for you,” Lex continues, seemingly pacified by the display of friendliness, “So, I asked Angela to accompany you today and serve as your body guard.”

Kent swallows, hard. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he starts as he nervously pushes his glasses farther up his nose. “Metallo hasn’t been seen for days, right? I think I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Clark,” Lex responds sternly, “Thinking like that is what got you abducted in the first place.”

Angela watches in abject horror as Lex gently takes Clark’s chin and guides the seated man to look into his eyes. “You want to be able to work, and I want you to stay safe. This is the only compromise I can come up with.” The other man is immediately calmed by the contact, and Lex’s previously sharp gaze softens…

Softens to one filled with fondness.

Angela pinches the bridge of her nose. Hijueputa, this cannot be happening.

The alien speaks up to respond, and Angela officially feels she’s outside of the conversation. “Okay, Lex. This is fine, until Metallo is stopped. I promise, I’ll be safe.”

“You don’t have to promise,” Lex’s suddenly soft voice makes Angela want to throw her hands up and walk straight out of the room. “I will keep you safe, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Angela’s eyes are still closed, but she can hear the gentle sound of lips smacking against skin and she feels her stomach churn at the soft noise. Taking Superman out would be a lot harder than she thought.

She feels Lex walk away and releases her grasp on her own face, allowing her features to look stern and, by all accounts, completely normal. “Clark, I want you to return back here tonight after work,” he continues as he walks back into the kitchen with an empty mug.

Clark smiles and - she sees those dimples pulling at the edge of his smile. For fuck’s sake, he doesn’t see it?! “I was planning on it, anyways,” the creature responds. “I’m looking forward to what your chef whips up tonight.”

Angela does not break her gaze on the man when she hears Lex responding by the coffee pot, “Is that all you’re looking forward to tonight?”

Clark blushes furiously, like he wasn’t anticipating the other man saying something so suggestive with company. Angela remains stoic in her unbroken gaze and emotionless face, though in her mind she screams at the absurdity of this interaction as a whole.

“Lex,” she interrupts, still not turning to look away from Clark Kent. “I’d like to have a word with you. Privately.”

She hears Lex walk back towards the entryway, and finally breaks that gaze to follow. She hears the sigh of relief from the nervous man, like he’d been holding his breath for the last five minutes. Ninety-three percent certain. 

She joins her boss, who is leaning against the wall and sipping from a warm, fresh mug of coffee. “Lex,” she approaches the conversation carefully as she peers into the other room. Clark Kent seems in his own little world, focusing entirely on the mug in his hands. Superman has super hearing - so if she’s right about his identity, he will hear everything she says. “It’s not safe to be around him.”

“Angela,” Lex chides, “I’m an adult, and I’m capable of making smart decisions.”

“Lex,” her gaze does not falter as she watches the man in the other room. “Do you know who he is?” Clark Kent does not give any tells that he can overhear their conversation. So either, he’s an incredible actor, or she’s wrong about the man’s identity.

“Of course I do. I’ve done very thorough research - all before even agreeing to interview him.”

Angela wants to rip her own hair out. Your research is missing something very, very important.

“Are you sleeping with him?” she asks bluntly. She notices Clark Kent coughing mid sip, his lips still nested at the side of his mug. Ninety-seven percent convinced

Lex scoffs, “Frankly, Angela, that’s none of your business.”

“Frankly, Lex,” She whispers back in a biting tone, finally looking back at her employer, “It is my business if he is using you.”

Lex sighs at the response. “Angela, this is Clark we’re talking about. He’s just a reporter, and otherwise a good, trustworthy guy. He wouldn’t even hurt a fly.”

He’s Superman, she wants to scream. He’s the reason I let myself become a machine - for you, and your cause. She senses the alien shifting in his seat - the smallest movement that displays the most incredible, concealed power. Its strength is well hidden to the untrained eye, and it just makes Angela nauseous. She has a treacherous thought - that Clark Kent could race across the room and snap both their necks in under a second if he felt like it. He’s the most dangerous creature in the universe, and he’s sitting unassumingly in your kitchen.

And that thought alone is what compels her to hold her tongue. Superman is dangerous. If Lex knew his secret - that Clark Kent and Superman are one and the same - there’s no telling what he would do. Angela knows how to defend herself from this foe - she’s done it once before and survived. She’s convinced if Lex were the target of his wrath, however-

“Right,” she snarls as she starts walking back to the kitchen. “This conversation is not over,” she yells over her shoulder.

She approaches the other man, who despite appearing calm and collected shakes slightly at the sound of the approaching woman. “Kent,” she barks. “Get your shit. We are leaving now.”

Lex gawks at her snappy demand towards his guest, but Kent seems flushed and compliant to her curt direction. As soon as he’s standing with a satchel in hand, Angela corrals him out the door, like a dog guiding sheep into a pen, towards the elevator without so much as a goodbye. 

There’s a tense quiet for a moment as they wait in the elevator. Angela is convinced he’s not even breathing; a futile effort to minimize attention. It only raises her suspicions, gives her reason to hone all her attention on the withdrawn man.

When they exit into the lobby, she follows closely behind Kent as he walks towards the glass revolving door. Even his normal footfalls are contained; Angela can sense that if he walked without holding back, the reverberations would shatter every window in the room.

Clark Kent carefully climbs into the back seat of the hired limo, followed closely by Angela’s slender, shorter frame. Once seated, he swiftly puts on his seatbelt; she has to wonder what mind game he’s playing. Obviously, Superman doesn’t need a seat belt… Is he still trying to fool her into thinking he’s mortal? Or perhaps he’s displaying he has no intention of running away. Either way, the woman does not buckle in; she wants to be ready for anything.

The vehicle starts, and begins driving away, and that tense silence continues. Angela is aware of this rare moment, though; she only has fifteen minutes, max, alone with the man to confirm her suspicions. She rolls up the partition, to ensure the driver cannot overhear their conversation. Kent, confused by his action, finally turns his head from looking out the window and to the woman next to him.

“Kent,” she starts with an even tone. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Superman has been out of the public eye for several days?”

He gulps, audibly. “Has he?” He asks with a nervous laugh. “I haven’t been paying much attention, to be honest.”

“Mhm,” she responds, narrowing her eyes. “Seems the last time he’s been spotted was Sunday evening.” She pauses, careful to watch his expression before she continues. “Isn’t that the same night you arrived in Lex’s home?”

She catalogues the small tensing of his neck, just behind his right ear. He’s biting hard, aware of the implications she’s making. “It is,” he responds, his voice not betraying his contained frustration. “What a strange coincidence.”

“Strange, indeed,” she responds. She notices a bead of sweat budding on his forehead, as well as the redness tinting the tips of his ears. Ninety-eight percent.

There’s another small break before The Engineer continues. “I don’t know your angle, but I know what you are.”

Clark does finally inhale, but his voice is no less nervous. “I don’t know what you mean,” he responds, allowing his face to contort to a confused expression.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she answers, before leaning in, her face just an inch from the man’s. “I’ve been inside of you - I might be the only person who knows you inside and out. You may have Lex fooled, but you can’t hide the truth from me.”

His entire face turns red - a deep crimson displaying… Embarrassment? Angela had used her Nanites during that brutal fight a year ago, to fill his lungs and try to stop the man’s heart. She’d failed in the moment, but succeeded in the long run of learning her mark intimately.

The creature’s breathing calms and his gaze shifts to one of silent pleading. The rosy tint of his cheeks remains as he whispers, “Please, don’t tell him.”

Angela scoffs, forgetting for a moment that the man in front of her is a brutal, powerful foe. At this moment, he looks as weak as any mortal man - it’s easy to overlook the way he’s clutching his satchel with the same force he would crush a metal beam. “I think that’s for me to decide, Superman.”

Superman sighs, finally allowing the nerves to leave his body and leaving behind a tired man. The Engineer recognizes this surrender but does not let her guard down. “I want to tell him,” he admits, his tone even and brutally honest for the first time this morning. “This whole… whatever we have… It’s been a real whirlwind. I’m just trying to find the right time.”

Angela tilts her head - curious, but no less cautious. “You’re telling the truth,” she says, certain. “What’s your endgame here? Why are you targeting Lex?”

“I’m not- I just-” He groans, unsure of how to get his point across. After a second, he continues, “I know Lex has feelings for me. It feels wrong - letting him feel this way, and not knowing who I am. I want to be honest, I just… I don’t want to push him away. It has to be right.”

Angela feels her stern expression soften, and she has to remind herself that even if he sounds sincere, this could all be an act. She needs to remain focused on her objective - protect Lex at all costs. “Answer my question, alien,” she barks, ignoring the way she says the word makes Superman visibly recoil. “What do you gain from all of this?”

Clark takes a slow breath before continuing, “I… I just want to help Lex.” He doesn’t let the woman interject, rushing forward with his words. “He’s not a perfect man. He’s made so, so many mistakes. But he’s trying to right his wrongs. I just… I want to help. I want to show him it’s possible. I want to be there to celebrate with him once his conscience is clean.”

Angela pauses, waiting and wondering if he’s going to admit one last key detail. If he’s honest, and that his intentions are not to hurt Lex, then there’s only reason why Superman would allow himself to be in this mess in the first place. “You have feelings for him.” She does not ask this; she’s confident that she’s correct.

The man gulps and his blush deepens once again - for just a moment, she’s completely convinced he’s just a normal man. “I never said that,” Clark objects, just barely getting the statement out without a stutter.

She smirks - she physically feels herself smirking.

Angela finally understands just how great of an upper hand Lex has on this entire connection. Kent is head over heels for Lex - Angela wouldn’t be surprised if Lex, in all his genius, knows this and knows his secret. That’s why Lex told her to play nice. That’s why he wasn’t concerned with having the metahuman trapped in his home. Lex must be planning something big; he would never let a silly thing like emotion cloud his judgement.

Angela’s face becomes stone stoic once again. She would follow Lex’s unspoken directions. Be nice. Watch carefully. Don’t raise any suspicion. Granted, Lex never gave her this command, but she gets that’s what he must have been trying to tell her while sharp ears were listening in. She knows Lex intimately, after all.

“Fine,” she surrenders, leaning back to give the impression that she’s satisfied with his explanation and that her guard is down completely. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Clark sighs, and nods, as the limo finally pulls up to the curb right outside the Daily Planet. “Thank you, Angela. For protecting me.”

She sneers at the response. “I’m doing my job, nothing more,” she responds as she exits the vehicle. “Que ladilla, you’re being too nice. Stop it.”

Clark shuffles out of the vehicle while scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he responds sheepishly, as he walks towards the modest entrance. Angela follows closely behind, ignoring the firm glances of the pedestrians and employees watching in confusion as she enters the building.

Kent walks, mostly silently, towards the center of the hall towards a slightly messy desk. He gives short, noncommittal greetings to coworkers he passes, seemingly avoiding the engagement since an unwanted pair of ears is following closely behind.

As soon as the man sits at his desk - and Angela leans against the pillar behind him with crossed arms - a completely unfamiliar face rolls up in an office chair. He looks quite plain and sounds unremarkable. “Clark,” the stranger says with a sigh of relief. “I was worried about you, man. I haven’t seen you since dinner on Saturday. I thought someone was ghost-writing for you, there.”

Angela barely notices Clark ripping a piece of paper from a stack on his desk. “Hey, Jimmy. Yeah- I got abducted - by John.”

“Wait,” the man - Jimmy - responds with widened eyes. “Like, John Corben? Our coworker? The guy who disappeared for months, and popped up again like nothing happened?”

The Engineer stares for a long time at the man’s animated reaction. She has to admit, he has a certain charm about him. He seems to contain an unassuming level of charisma, hidden beneath a dopey exterior. The man could be an actor if he wanted. 

“Yeah,” Clark confirms with a nod, looking up from his desk. “He goes by Metallo, now. I wrote an article about it on Monday, but I didn’t disclose his name.”

Clark extends his hand towards Jimmy, who takes it and shakes it without a thought. Weird, Angela can’t help but feel the handshake is a little out of place, but doesn’t think much of it. 

Jimmy pulls his hand back, fist curled into a gentle fist. “That’s intense,” Jimmy responds, looking down at the palm that just shook Clark’s hand.

“Yep, but I’m okay. That’s what matters,” Clark responds a little too quickly.

Jimmy looks up again and directly into Clark’s eyes. He scowls but says nothing, all the while his shoulders deflate with a long exhale before perking up again and abruptly standing from his chair. His endearing gaze shifts from the man seated before him right to Angela. “Clark, aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely friend?”

Lovely? Angela visibly scoffs. She’s been referred to in many ways - ruthless, powerful, unstoppable - but never lovely. Trying to flirt will get you nowhere, patan.

“Oh, forgive me,” Clark says hammily, “Jimmy, this is Angela. Angela, meet Jimmy.”

Jimmy walks closer to Angela and extends his hand, offering to shake. She doesn’t move, just stares daggers at the man in direct line of sight. “Angela,” he says while recovering his hand, realizing she’d never shake it. “That’s a lovely name. ‘Messenger of God,’ right? That explains why you look like an angel.”

Angela tilts her head, her gaze growing a bit colder. Lovely? Angel? Who does this clown think he’s fooling? Praise means nothing to a mercenary like her - even if they’re accompanied by a bright, flawless smile.

Jimmy laughs subtly, before looking at her crossed arms. “Oh, I like your nails,” he compliments. “The color looks really nice. Did you paint them yourself?”

The Engineer looks down at her crossed arms, almost confused by the statement. She sees her hand - manicured, albeit slightly grown out. That’s right - she’d gone on an impromptu spa date a few weeks ago with a friend from out of town, very much against her will. The paint is a royal blue - she wanted it clear, but her nail technician insisted the blue would look very fancy against her skin tone.

“Uh… Thanks,” She responds, slightly taken aback by how shy her voice sounds. “I should probably get them redone, I didn’t notice how much it’s grown out.”

Jimmy’s hand clasps over his chest and he lets out a soft sigh. She looks back, perplexed. “Sorry,” he laughs gently, like chimes in the wind. “I’m sure you hear it all the time, but your voice… It’s so, so nice.”

Angela can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She doesn’t hear that her voice is nice, not all that often. Nor do people compliment her nails. She’s never really been the target of such praise - of a man showing interest in her as anything more than a weapon of war. 

“Oh, thanks,” Angela responds awkwardly. “Your voice is nice too.” She holds back a groan at how incredibly lame she sounds. Táte quieta, you sound like an idiot.

Thankfully, Jimmy chuckles softly and seems unaffected like her weak attempt at flirting. “Thanks,” he responds smoothly as he steps to the side - directly between her and the seat Clark is occupying. “So, Angela… is that what your friends call you?”

Angela giggles - Mierda, literal giggles. She’s starting to notice women around them - staring at the exchange, whispering, and staring daggers at the intimidating woman. All these attractive women, and here she is with Jimmy’s undivided attention. That’s right, she thinks to herself. Be jealous.

“No, just Angela,” she says as a small smile pulls at her lips, “but if you have a nickname in mind, I’m all ears.”

Jimmy smiles and leans his hand against the pillar, right beside the woman’s face. She feels flushed by the proximity but does her best not to let her body language betray it - even in a slightly flustered state, her demeanor remains calm, attentive, and powerful.

Angela doesn’t notice the man - her mark, the one she was hired to keep a close eye on - taking this opportunity to slip away from his desk and bolt towards the back entrance of The Daily Planet.

It’s only after Clark has donned the supersuit and begins his flight towards the Hall of Justice that he realizes just how big of an ask it is to flirt with The Engineer. Jimmy - the greatest friend to ever exist - did such an amazing job distracting the woman so Clark could slip out of her sight, and Clark is certain he owes his poor friend for the favor.

Not in the I’ll treat you to lunch, or I’ll drive you to the airport sort of way. More like, I owe you my life and fifteen thousand dollars sort of way.

Clark says a silent thank you as he flies on. Sure, having The Engineer on his tail now wouldn’t be that big of a deal - she already knows his secret alias, after all. And for some reason she doesn’t seem to hang the truth over his head like an anvil - that’s a thought process to dissect another time. All said, he’d prefer to keep the inner-workings of the Hall of Justice from her shrewd view. He also needs a moment to plan the next course of action against Metallo.

Metallo. An incredibly dangerous metahuman that has been left unchecked for days… because for the first time in his life, Clark decided to do something that was for him first. He pushes down the guilt as it starts to bubble: the guilt that his choice to be with Lex means Metallo had free reign to plan his next offensive. 

Clark thought long and hard about it, but he’s since decided that he doesn’t regret his choice - to be simply adored by Lex, to be kissed so passionately, to be given anything he wanted without a second thought. Lex would give everything if he only asked. He knows it’s the truth; Lex said it himself last night. He loves Clark Kent. He loves Clark Kent more than he hates Superman.

Memories from last night's intimacy become all too clear. Clark recalls the way Lex’s face flushed when Clark’s broad hand circled both their cocks last night. The sound of soft gasps that pulled from the other man’s throat as he threw his head back and came over and over again.

This isn’t something straight men think about.

Clark barks back at the voice in the back of his head: I’m pretty sure we’re past that point. 

He ignores the burning sensation of his face flushing and flies just a bit faster towards his destination. 

It only takes a minute for Superman to land on the grand staircase leading up to the Hall of Justice and stride through the grand entrance. It takes even less time to survey the open hall and realize just how unaware the Justice Gang was of the encroaching threat.

Green Lantern stretches across his favorite chair, clipping his fingernails haphazardly. Mister Terrific sits at a monitor, left hand gently resting on the W-A-S-D keys. Hawkgirl is flipping a water bottle, seemingly trying to land it cap-side down.

It’s Metamorpho who notices the metahuman’s entrance and speaks up first, “Superman - you’re okay!”

All heads turn to the man and swiftly stand at attention. Like they’ve been ready for action this entire time. Though, Clark can’t be one to judge. They’re this far set back because Clark had-

“Good to see you’re…” Terrific interrupts his thoughts before raising an eyebrow, “…In good health.”

“More or less,” Superman sighs, ignoring the gentle insinuation and the fluttering feeling of embarrassment in the pit of his stomach.

“How was the slumberparty?” Guy asks as he saunters over, clearly not getting the memo.

Kendra smacks the man who just spoke, firmly and on the back of his shoulder, “Guy, show a little respect.”

“You had two days,” Terrific drawls as he rolls his eyes, “and that’s what you came up with?”

“Nothing wrong with being straight-to-the-point. The ladies love it!”

“Hi, lady here,” Kendra interrupts as she crosses her arms, “We don’t.”

Guy extends his arms out as he starts pacing the room, “Oh, so now you’re an authority on all ladies?”

“Pretty sure she’s got better games with the ladies than you, Guy.”

Superman, flushed by the entire conversation unfolding, interjects before it truly gets out of hand. “Guys, can we focus, please?” He says a bit too loudly.

Thankfully, the room quiets and Clark is back to being the center of attention. He clears his throat before saying, “I need the Justice Gang’s help.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t take any effort at all to convince the team of Heroes to jump into the T-Craft and spring into action. It’s like they already knew, to some extent, what was going on. Clark can’t help but wonder - if they already knew this was happening, why haven’t they acted until now? The hero decides now is not the time to figure that out.

After a swift trip past the sweeping cityscape of Metropolis, the ship gently lands outside a familiar crumbling building. Though it’s been several days since Clark made his escape from the Laboratory’s basement, the setting is all too familiar and puts the superhero at genuine unease.

“This way,” Clark directs the rest, doing his best to hide the straining of his chest and the anxiety he feels knowing he’s about to run into Metallo again. He goes first through the front entrance - because of course he does. Even if he’s the target of this attack, better he be hurt than the friends who agreed to come to his aide.

Once everyone is inside, Clark recognizes the foreboding energy of complete vacancy. Not the feel of someone’s eyes watching from a shrouded corner. Rather, it’s the feeling of nothing at all. Like there was never a living soul in the building to begin with.

“We can split into two groups,” Superman directs as his eyes continue to scan the lobby. “One group checks the second floor, and the other checks the basement and ground level. Call out if we run into him.”

The members nod; Guy and Michael take the upstairs, while Clark and Metamorpho move to the basement. Hawkgirl goes back outside to survey the building from the sky, in case Metallo tries to run away.

In the basement, Clark takes a clearer survey of the space now that there’s sunlight filtering through the raised windows. It’s a lot less terrifying in the middle of the day, and without the glow of green dancing off every corner. Clark looks helplessly for clues - anything at all, that could be a lead to the android’s whereabouts. Despite the thorough search of table tops and drawers and even a flimsy safe, there’s no proof Metallo - or Clark, for that matter - were ever here.

Even the bars that had been bent by Clark several days before were back to their original position. Is this the right lab? Instinctually, Clark looks up at the window he remembers crashing through; it remains shattered. So at least he’s confident that this is the same space.

The team reconvene at the front of the building; The upstairs squad and the eyes in the sky confirm what he feared: there was absolutely no trace of the enemy.

“Are you sure this is the right building?” Green Lantern asks. For once, the tone of his voice is sincere and devoid of his regular smarmy attitude. He’s just as perplexed as Clark is. “The upstairs makes it look like the building’s been untouched for at least a decade.”

“I’m positive,” Clark responds, as he starts walking away. He waves his hand to invite his peers to follow him, which they do. The entire group circles around the building, careful to step carefully over small shards of glass across the lawn, and Clark points to the shattered window. “I flew out this window when I escaped.”

Mister Terrific pauses before pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a long, irritated sigh. “You flew out?”

“Ah…” Clark responds, recognizing the agitation in the other man’s tone. “Should I not have?”

“Should you not- Man,” Terrific breathes, trying desperately to regain his composure. “Think critically for once, Superman.”

The hero stares back, dumbfounded. Terrific sighs again before speaking. “Imagine you’re Metallo. You have a hostage that suddenly goes missing. There’s evidence of shattered glass on the lawn. It means that there wasn’t a break-in, but a break-out. It doesn’t take a super genius to figure out how you escaped.”

Clark feels the dread set in, realizing the excellent point his friend is making. “Metallo probably knows my alias.”

“Yep,” Mister Terrific responds, making sure to pop the last syllable.

Metamorpho looks back and forth between the men in the conversation. “So what now?” He asks. “How are we supposed to find him?”

Clark thinks for a moment. “If he knows my identity, he’s probably waiting for a chance to catch me off guard. If that’s true, then there’s no way we can all ambush him at once.”

Kendra sighs as she rests her mace against the back of her neck, hand resting over either side of it. “And like that, it gets way more complicated than it needs to be.” She turns her head towards Metamorpho, “This is why I didn’t want to get involved.”

Green Lantern rests his hand over the lower half of his face, reflecting on the situation. It’s refreshing - though slightly jarring - to see Guy actually acting like a leader. “If we can’t ambush him, the next best thing is to let him ambush you. How can you do that safely, though?”

Terrific nods once, in agreement with the Lanter’s line of thought. “Let’s fly back to the Hall of Justice. We may be able to come up with a plan while we’re there.”

The best the team could come up with, as it turns out, was giving Superman a panic button of sorts. Mister Terrific had one already made - “For another project,” he insists. But it will do in a pinch.

So the plan as it stands: Stay in Metropolis, completely alone. Let Metallo attack, use the panic button to call in backup. Pray the team arrives before Metallo has the chance to do Superman in.

Last time the two met, Clark was extremely lucky that Metallo didn’t have the sense to use the Kryptonite in his chest to immediately drain the other’s strength. Clark is confident that this time, however, Metallo will not make the same mistake again.

Before closing the conversation, Clark did have one request which the team now seems apprehensive to accept. “I just need one more night,” Clark pleads as the other heroes stare back with deep concern. “Please, I just need to talk to Lex and tell him the truth.”

The four others in the room look back, unsure of how to say what they are all thinking. “Clark,” Hawkgirl approaches carefully. “Luthor is the reason we’re in this mess at all. Are you sure that talking to him is a good idea? He…”

“I know,” the man sighs. “He hates me. But… I can’t keep this secret any longer. Lex deserves to know. Especially if things don’t go well-”

“Hey, Blue,” Green Lantern interjects. “Things will go well. Nothing’s gonna happen.” Guy offers a crooked smile; it seems like he can’t let himself end on too sincere a note. “You have the Justice Gang on your side, and we’re the best there is for a reason.” 

Clark nods solemnly, scanning the room until his gaze locks with Metamorpho’s. The elemental man sighs before speaking up.

“I don’t really get it,” Metamorpho says quietly. “This is Lex Luthor we’re talking about. He killed your friend. He held my son captive. And now…” Rex looks away; Clark sees the way his jaw is clenched. “Now you’ve just moved on? Spending nights with him and making decisions based on what’s best for him?”

The room feels a bit more stifling than before. No one speaks up, and the gaze of every metahuman is locked onto the man in blue. Though no one says it, Clark knows with certainty that they are all thinking the same thing.

“It’s…” Clark looks away from everyone. “It’s complicated.”

“It sounds pretty straight forward to me,” Metamorpho says with a cold tone as he crosses his arms over his chest. “It sounds like you forgot the ways he hurt you - the ways he still wants to hurt you - all because you want his affection.”

“He doesn’t want to hurt me,” Clark argues back weakly. “Just Superman. But he- he won’t want to anymore, once he knows we’re the same guy.”

Mister Terrific steps forward. “What Superman wants to do is his business. Not ours.” He turns back to look at Clark. His eyes say something else entirely; they seem to cast doubt that Lex would really let his anger go if Clark shares that secret. Clark feels the pit in his stomach grow, knowing deep down that he himself shares and fears the very same thought.

Clark looks around the room. He wishes he had the will to say what’s on his heart - that Lex has yet to earn his forgiveness, but he’s trying. Human beings have the capacity to be better, and Lex wants to be better, too. Walking out now would only make things harder. Clark can’t say it, because there’s a part that he’s not ready to admit - that Lex Luthor loves Clark Kent… and Clark has an inkling that he has feelings to return.

“One day,” Guy coughs and speaks up. “Get your business done, and get ready to act tomorrow morning.”

Clark, grateful for the broken silence, nods. Though the tight deadline doesn’t seem to put him at ease, knowing that in just under a day, everything will change.

Clark Kent - dressed back in his normal attire - returns to Angela just after that, slightly deflated. He ignores her grimace and the string of Spanish (what he assumes to be) curses. She puts so much venom into the way she rolls her r’s there’s no way she’s saying something friendly.

He says thanks to his chaperone - Hawkgirl, who was kind enough to fly him to the Daily Planet as both a bodyguard and an alibi - before walking back into the building to get started on work. He’s thankful he had the foresight to create a draft article yesterday; he adds finishing touches on it and submits his work just before the 5PM cutoff.

With a sigh of relief, he cleans his space and walks back to the entrance with the Latina woman in tow. The building is a lot less occupied towards the end of the day, so it doesn’t strike him as odd that the few people he walks past avoid conversation. He does take notice of how deeply Angela blushes when Jimmy - who completely ignores both adults - walks past.

Clark blinks, twice. “Did I… miss something?”

The Engineer sharply turns to gaze back at the man, growling. “You’d know, if you were here.”

As they pile into the back of the limousine, Clark profusely apologizes once more. Angela seems uninterested in his words, continuing to curse under her breath.

The ride to Lex’s penthouse feels much longer than the ride to work this morning. Clark wonders if it’s the nerves just making everything feel more drawn out. He does what he can to allow himself to stay calm. Giving in to his anxiety won’t make the evening any easier.

The cab ride, the walk through the lobby, and the ride up the elevator are all painfully quiet. Clark is surprised to find the Penthouse equally quiet. He turns to the woman, “Is Lex still at work?”

She inhales in response, “He’s probably caught up and working late. You’d do well to make yourself comfortable - he probably won’t be home until much later.”

“Right, yeah,” He responds with a small blush. “Um… are you going to stay here, too?”

Angela’s eyes narrow in response. “I was going to go home. But now I have the idea that leaving you by yourself is a terrible idea.”

Clark gulps, but ultimately is grateful. Being alone in an unfamiliar apartment - even if he has been staying here for the last few evenings - wouldn’t do his nerves any good.

And so the waiting game begins. Clark sits in the living room with The Great Gatsby - the same book Lex had been reading a few days ago. He didn’t have the heart to look around for anything else. Angela sits across from him, staring at the reading man with disturbing scrutiny. He jumps when he hears the door open; he's disappointed to see it's just the chef, though, making her hurried and otherwise unremarkable entrance to start prepping dinner.

Lex doesn’t show up as the smell of sauteed vegetables and browning meat fills the kitchen. He doesn’t show up when two plates are set on the table, nor when the Chef places the third serving into the heating tray just before making her leave for the evening. He doesn’t show up once the sun starts setting over the hills outside of Metropolis.

It’s here, this late into the evening, that Clark starts to worry that Lex isn’t going to show up at all. “Can you call him?” he asks, his voice a bit meek.

Angela scoffs as she finishes washing her plate. “He doesn’t take calls - not unless they’re important.”

Clark is about to make his counterpoint - being this late seems pretty important - when the front door swings open with a loud boom that echoes through the entire home.

Clark turns abruptly, just in time to see the man stomping down the hallway. Clark’s relief fades immediately, though, once he recognizes the expression on Lex's face.

Rage. Lex is furious.

His eyes snap to Angela, who stands at attention near the kitchen sink. “Out,” he says sharply, in a tone that doesn’t leave room for negotiation. She pauses, only slightly, before following his direction and walking back towards the front of the house. 

When the sound of the front door closing softly reverberates through the hall, his attention returns back to Clark. Lex’s stance is untamed, as though holding back from flinging himself at the man. His eyes are piecing and his breath is ragged.

Underneath it all, though, Clark sees something more. Fear. Lex is terrified.

“Lex, what’s wrong?” Clark asks, as he steps forward. His heart drops when the other man reflexively takes a step back.

There’s a moment where both men just stand there. One breathing and on the verge of hyperventilating, the other terrified to even draw breath. The vast hall suddenly feels so, so much smaller than either man is used to.

Then the distance between the two is swiftly closed when Lex flings himself forward with a snarl, wrapping his arms around the other man and pulling their lips together. Lex kisses hungrily, like he’s trying to steal every positive wish that’s escaped the other man's mouth. Clark kisses back, but quickly finds the other man is outpacing him. 

Slow down.

“Lex,” he says between the movements, “Slow down.”

But he doesn’t. Lex refuses to let go. Clark trusts the voice in the back of his head, for once. It’s warning him there’s something very, very wrong.

Lex’s lips move to the side of Clark’s throat and bite down, hard. It’s not seductive, and it doesn’t send a wave of heat through Clark’s system. It's feral - Lex is biting with the intent to hurt.

Lex is scared - he wouldn’t act this way unless he felt he's being backed into a corner. Clark is scared, too - though he’s not sure what of.

Clark uses the barest amount of strength to push away, but finds Lex isn’t giving way. His arms are still locked tightly behind the other man’s neck and his teeth are still trying with all their might to pierce the other man’s skin. Clark has no choice but to use a greater force - one that’s easily outside the typical strength any human can exert - to push the other away.

So he does. And he’s met with a look from Lex that breaks his heart.

Lex’s glance darts from Clark’s face, to his hands, to his neck. His eyes show heartache and betrayal. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks in a raw voice. “Say it.”

Clark returns that gaze. There’s a lot he wants to say, but he’s not sure what the other man is hoping to hear. “Say what, Lex?”

“Tell the truth,” Lex says as he backs up, slowly. “Tell me how you were able to push me away with inhuman strength.” Lex reaches under the lip of the kitchen island, pressing something discretely. “Tell me why you’re not bleeding, even though I was just trying to tear your throat out.”

Clark shutters at the words. Was Lex really trying to hurt him? If Clark were human, that would have done him in. Perhaps Lex knew that already… He’s not sure what to say, but he has a feeling he has little time to go off of now. “Lex, I don’t think-”

“ENOUGH,” Lex yells as he throws one hand in front of him. The fingers twitch as though wanting to throw something blunt, though he restrains himself from it this time. “I’m done, you fucking freak. How long did you plan on stringing me along with false promises of a future? How many of my secrets were you going to use against me?”

“Lex,” Clark feels his heart drop at the words. “I never wanted to hurt you-”

“Then why did you pretend to be someone you’re not?”

There’s a pregnant pause as both men stand. I have to get to the bottom of this. Who knows when reinforcements will arrive…

“Say it,” Lex says once more, refusing to meet the other man’s gaze. “I already know the truth. I just want to hear it from you.”

Even so, Clark still can’t say it. “I’m not pretending, Lex. This is who I am.”

Lex clenches his fist. The sound of drones surrounding the building can be heard outside.

“I was confused for so long - how you were able to worm your way into my life,” Lex says in an unnervingly calm voice. “I should have realized it from the start. Luthors don’t wear their hearts on their sleeve, and they certainly don’t fall in love. But my behavior is in the realm of possibility when you realize that the person I was obsessed with has the ability to manipulate feelings.”

Clark breathes in, though is genuinely confused. “Lex, I don’t follow. I didn’t make you feel anything-”

“See, I don’t believe you anymore,” Lex says with nonchalance, his cool demeanor returning as he leans against the kitchen island. There’s a small pause, before Lex looks back up and stares into the eyes of the man he once claimed to love deeply. “You’ll come to regret making an enemy out of me, Brainiac.”

There’s a blip in Clark’s thoughts, but before he can say anything in rebuttal the sound of buzzing crests as dozens of drones crash through the windows of the living room and surround him. Clark uselessly swats at the machines that swarm before deciding that - since his cover is more or less blown - the best course of action is to fly away.

And he does. Clark flies out the window and tears through the dark evening sky. He ignores the piecing feeling of rain whipping his cheeks and the sinking feeling in his aching heart. He ignores the tears threatening to spill and the sob that wants to tear from his throat.

All he is allowed to do now is what he set out to do at the start of the day - defeat Metallo. And an additional mission: find out who the heck Brainiac is, and why Lex is confusing Clark Kent with him.