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The message had played well on TV, just like Lex knew it would. He’d written the pitch himself before handing it over to his media team to optimise, which included the two previous head psychologists at Iron Heights and the last administration’s speechwriter, only to then just rewrite most of their paltry contributions anyway. It was a strong narrative to make out of nothing -- Lex wouldn’t have even cared about the issue one way or the other if he hadn’t had another agenda -- but nothing sold as well as baseless prejudice these days.
He regrets the tie a little. It makes his neck look too thin, but he’d been meaning to fire his latest stylist anyway. All the clothes she put him in lately made his skin itch, ever since he’d worn state-issue polyester for that loathsome week before his fleet of lawyers had him released and back in single material fabric. Still, it was easily the best tie featured on the dross that was WGBS-TV’s entire programming. Very easily.
He was determined to make his way back onto the broadcast big leagues, to the primetime Metropolis News 8s, by the end of the year; that was part of the LuthorCorp Realignment and Refocusing strategy anyway. As Carol, his new Media Relations Director, keeps reminding him, a complete public redemption after a scandal of a worldwide scale took at least nine to twelve months in this climate without a dignified retreat from the public eye for an impractically lengthy period, a rehab stint, or a high profile PR romance to speed things along, all of which he’d refused. Lex is aiming for six.
He pauses the TV on his own face, spread ten feet across his office wall and lit up with unflattering studio lighting. He studies it, then rewinds seven seconds, pausing again. He doesn’t like how his lips thinned and turned down as he nodded in faux understanding at the host’s inane pre-agreed questions. It made him look gormless. He runs his fingers over his mouth absently. It wasn’t a fault he’d considered before, but that was before he’d seen what a truly perfect hundred watt smile looked like, seen the perfect ratio of dazzling white and deep vermilion red, studied the infuriatingly imperfect perfection of those naturally formed structures of calcified enamel. He slides his tongue over his own veneers and feels the sudden urge to rip them out of his skull at the root.
There’s a sound from down the corridor and the startled yelp of the latest secretary so new he hadn’t yet bothered to process the name, then his office door is bouncing off the wall, leaving a web of cracked lines that went all the way up to the ceiling.
“I was honestly expecting you sooner.” Lex doesn’t move from where he’s splayed out on the couch, facing away from the door, arm reclining along its back. He can see the bulky blue and red outline in the reflection of the TV screen. “It took an actual televised interview to get you up here, after I’ve been publicly gutting this programme for days. Maybe print media truly is dead.”
The door slams shut. “You’re going to stop this, Luthor.”
“Oh, am I?” Lex’s large, thin-lipped face disappears from the screen as it goes black, making the room seem much dimmer. The hulking reflection becomes all that clearer. Lex tosses aside the remote. “Because I’ve spent a great deal of time, money, and political clout to ensure that it does happen, so I am curious to hear how exactly you intend to stop me.”
“For God’s sake, they’re kids!” He sounds genuinely angry, like the first time Lex had heard that voice in person. It elicits the kind of satisfaction that was almost impossible to find anywhere else, the kind that gets the heart pumping and synapses firing. “Are you really willing to bring children into this?”
“I didn’t do anything.” Lex stands, smoothing down the creases in his silk shirt. “It wasn’t me who decided to use a first grade class as a way of humanising myself to the public. I wasn’t the one propping them up on my literal shoulders for photo ops to get myself on the front page.” He moves around the couch to perch himself on the edge of his desk, arms folded.
Then he looks at Superman. Those shoulders always looked obscenely large. It’s the cape, Lex is sure of it.
“You’re the one who made this about kids, Superman, not me.”
“To help raise the funding for their school lunches!” Superman has his arms folded too, the material of his ridiculous get up almost bursting at the invisible seams. Lex drops his hands to the desk. “If the government actually funded the programme properly like it’s supposed to, I wouldn’t have to--”
“You wouldn’t have to stick that alien nose into yet another issue that doesn’t concern you. Yes, it must be such a burden finding time for all these causes that no one asked you to meddle in.”
“The school administrator reached out and--”
“Oh, I’m sure. Just as I’m sure you had your best cape all steamed and ready for--”
There’s a whoosh of air and suddenly Superman is just a foot away from him, arms still folded. Lex blinks reflexively and hates himself a little for it. Sheets of loose floating paper from his desk descend back down to Earth. He’s been meaning to make the building go completely paperless just to prevent that from happening.
“You are aware your actions will actively be making millions of children go hungry?” Superman asks, his tone utterly serious, as though he really wants to make sure Lex understands. “I spend one hour at a single school in Park Ridge and now every kid in the entire country has to suffer for it?”
“Well, yes,” Lex says, like it was obvious. “Look, we’ve done this enough times by now that even someone as dense as you must understand that this whole” -- he gestures vaguely at him -- “playing on my sense of moral decency thing will never work. Collateral damage is only something my legal team concerns themselves with. If these needy little scroungers want food, they can pay for it like the rest of us.”
Superman blinks twice. Hard. Lex gets a great deal of enjoyment out of that look. The god-being-freak from the other side of the galaxy, stunned into silence by him with a few words. Lex shifts against the desk, just barely, his trousers feeling tight.
“You’re going to stop this hate campaign against the programme,” Superman says again, voice lowered, just as infuriatingly certain as before but less of the anger.
“See, I don’t think I am. You’ve really given me no cause to do so.” Lex shrugs. “I’m having the program shut down because it’s something you want and not getting it will annoy you, and from where I’m standing I’m getting exactly what I want.”
Superman takes a step closer, looming. There isn’t the space for it, only inches between them now. Any closer and those stacked arms would brush against Lex’s chest. Lex straightens, hating the ones he loses from being seated. They’re almost the same height when he’s standing, he thinks of that often.
“There must be another reason to make you want to get it funded instead,” Superman says. “A better reason than just spiting me. Some loophole to be exploited or a benefit for LuthorCorp to be found. You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ll find it.”
Lex watches his mouth as he talks, the way it moves, the glimpses of shining white, unable to help himself. He thinks of his own up on the big screen, thin and unappealing. His bottom lip catches between his teeth without conscious thought. He quickly releases it. “And why would I do a thing like that?”
Superman leans forward, so his hands are braced either side of Lex on the desk, caging him in, alien fingertips with their utterly foreign dermatoglyphs touching wood. Lex can feel the hammer of his own pulse in his throat. Those steady, unflinching eyes are the same colour as the suit, a deep impossible blue. He swallows and it’s a laborious, painfully obvious action.
“You’ll do it because you like getting what you want, right Luthor?” The broad thigh that’s forcibly pushed between Lex’s makes him jump, his hips bucking up from the desk. It finds him hard, embarrassingly so, even more so than he usually is whenever Superman is successfully baited into being in his office. “And this time” -- Superman is so close, speaking directly into his ear, his voice pure vibration -- “I’ll help you get it.”
Air stutters out of Lex’s lungs as hard muscle grinds against him, slow and deliberate. How much effort is he using to do this? Is it simply a glancing brush for him? Does he feel anything at all? Lex’s fingers clench so tight over the lip of the desk, they tremble. “What makes you think I want this?” he spits, voice like a hiss.
“Oh, you don’t want this?” The friction immediately stops, retreating, and Lex whines. Piteous and unignorable. His hips roll instinctively, seeking it out again, cock throbbing painfully. “Your pulse is elevated to almost double its baseline, your pupils are fully dilated, and” -- Superman leans back a little, so Lex is unable to miss the way he pointedly glances down with a raised eyebrow -- “other areas are very much engaged.”
“Fine,” Lex snaps, voice rising. “Just. Just stay still.” He grabs onto that stupid cape, twisting his fingers into it, clutching on tight, and begins to thrust very purposefully up against the slab of muscle pressed against him. As instructed, Superman remains utterly still, just letting it happen, letting Lex just take what he wants. The thought sends a shiver through Lex, arousal pooling so fiercely in his gut it hurts.
It doesn’t take long, in fact it’s humiliating how very little it takes. Lex can’t say how long exactly -- he will review the security footage repeatedly later to properly dissect it -- but all too soon his body is seizing up, tensing right the way through, as he spills in his Armani trousers, wedged right up against Superman’s unmoving form. The catch of his breath and the needy groan that he can’t contain are the only sounds in the quiet office.
He pants in short, sharp gasps against Superman’s neck in the aftermath, his mouth extremely close to the space of exposed skin above his collar, his hand still tangled in the cape keeping him close. The smell of soap and something utterly foreign overwhelms his senses, until the scent of his own release reaches him, then he shoves him off him with a sudden wave of disgust.
Superman stumbles backwards. An odd thing to see, given how irritatingly sure footed he always is and how moving him even an inch usually requires several tons of heavy artillery.
There’s a small, dark stain on the impeccable suit, right near the line where blue meets the ridiculous red of external underwear.
“Go,” Lex says, and he hates how unsteady and reedy his voice sounds. His sticky thighs are trembling. “Get out.”
A second later, probably less, he’s alone in his office. Lex tears the too-thin tie from his throat with unsteady fingers and flings it to the floor.
When the new LuthorCorp sponsored ‘Lunches for Little Ones’ bill is passed and Lex is enjoying a well earned glass of non-alcoholic Bloom La Cuvée on the balcony of his DC penthouse, he sees him again.
“You did a good thing, Luthor.” Superman always looks eerie suspended effortlessly in the air. There had been many comparisons to celestial beings and angels when he’d first entered the scene, in the typical God-fearing American fashion, but Lex had always thought the effect looked more like a hanging victim, swinging from the noose.
“A very good thing I’d say.” Lex sips his wine, the brilliant sun flashing off his Gucci sunglasses. “The amount of addendums I crammed onto that bill will keep LuthorCorp in government contracts until the next century. My shareholders are extremely happy.”
“You are LuthorCorp’s only shareholder.”
“And I’m practically giddy.”
Superman descends gracefully so they’re more or less eye level, cape rippling in the breeze. “Well, the kids of Park Ridge Elementary thank you. It looks like everyone got what they wanted.”
Lex wets his lips. He might just imagine the scent of soap and something else undefinable on the breeze. “You know I’m just going to use the incredibly vast amount of government resources I just acquired to kill you, right?”
Superman just smiles his brilliant, faultless smile. “One battle at a time, Luthor.”
*
“The sun, Luthor? Seriously?”
“You know in civilised Earth circles we usually use doors,” Lex drawls, not looking up from the tediously long email from his DOJ contact-cum-mole he was skimming, “ask permission of entry, leave private property not destroyed. But you probably don’t know that, given you’re not local.”
The sliding glass door slams back into place; an utterly pointless gesture as the contents of its frame now lay in shards all over the carpet. “Are you really going to preach about manners when you’re trying to block out the sun?”
Lex stands from his desk, tugging down his waistcoat. He’d been eagerly anticipating this conversation and had dressed in his best Brioni for the day’s press conference. “Drink?” he asks, approaching his drinks cabinet. He pours himself out something without looking at the decanter’s label, too busy watching Superman’s seething reflection in the cabinet’s glass.
“You are aware that the sun is the thing keeping everything on Earth alive, right? That does include you too.”
“And we’ve become entirely too reliant on it. Why are we all so happy to base our entire civilization on the existence of one singular thing? What happens when it burns itself out, engulfs Earth, and leaves our entire solar system to wither and die?”
“Yes, in billions of--”
“That’s without any freak metahuman or alien interference,” -- Lex turns to face him -- “of which there has been a lot of lately.”
Superman rubs at his brow, letting out a little sigh, those impossibly broad shoulders slumping a little. Another piece of glass falls from the shattered frame. Lex sips his drink; virgin whiskey, not his favourite but right now it tastes delicious.
“This isn’t going to kill me,” Superman says wearily. “I can leave and recharge in space whenever I want. It’ll take seconds. You’re going to cause the suffering of billions of people for no reason.”
“No, not no reason.” Lex points with the hand holding his glass. “That expression right there. The defeated look of utter misery. That’s the reason.”
Superman’s mouth flattens into a grim, steely line. It looks commanding and handsome rather than weak and ugly. “You’re not going to do this.”
“I can assure you the mass production of LuthorCorp’s Solar Replacements as part of the Sun Eradication scheme is already well on its way, and construction on the Earth’s shield will be approved in a matter of days. Soon, every continent will be fully supplied with their own personal, non-Superman-enhancing sun.”
“How can you do this?” Superman demands. “How can you use such incredible, unfathomable genius only to hurt people?”
The compliment, however framed, spreads heat like wildfire in Lex, filling him with a searing, greedy satisfaction. “Not people,” he says, his eyes unwavering from the man who wasn’t a man before him. “You.”
There’s a moment of silence where they just look at each other over the gulf of space between them. Lex is extremely aware of where the soles of his feet bound in Italian leather connect to the carpet under him, and the cool, hard glass in his hand.
Then in a flash, his back is hitting the sage suede of the office’s couch, his head bouncing off the flat cushion. Superman kneels over him, staring down at him with the same firm expression. There’s something unreadable there too. Irritatingly opaque. Lex’s glass rolls on the carpet, back where he’d stood moments ago, leaking amber.
Lex smiles, a little unsteadily from how heavily he’s suddenly breathing. He can feel the blanket of the cape draped over his legs. “Control slipping?”
It wasn’t, Lex knows it wasn’t. Though Lex had been bodily manhandled, there is no pain from any injury, no discomfort. He hadn’t even hit the couch that hard. Superman’s hands are still holding onto him at his ribs where he’d lifted Lex across the room, palms burning hot even through his layers of clothing with his inhuman body heat, but there are no other points of connection despite how he’s physically on top of him. All deliberate, careful control, and all utterly disappointing.
“There are currently seven cameras in here,” Lex starts, “all currently--”
“Turn around,” Superman interrupts, voice entirely calm. Lex immediately goes quiet, lips parted, his eyes widening.
“I don’t know what you think--”
“Turn. Around.” Superman cocks his head, like that insufferable dog he sometimes brings out. “Or is this not what you want?”
Lex opens and closes his mouth, his mind racing but no actual practical thoughts forming. All the blood in the world is pounding at his temples and between his thighs.
In the tight cage of Superman’s powerful limbs, Lex turns around.
He whimpers as he’s partially undressed, propped up on tense elbows tucked in close to his chest. His belt is removed, his trousers lowered, then his sticky underwear, all left bunched around his knees and all done with attentive care. His bottom lip is bitten raw as he tries to muffle the sounds he continually makes but even a glancing brush of a touch elicits more from him. He’s so on edge he feels he could come if Superman even looked at his cock where it hangs heavy and twitching between his legs where he’s half up on his knees.
“Have you done this before?” he’s asked at some point, all earnest, disgusting concern.
“Shut up. God, just shut up.”
When he’s entered, Lex lets out a sound he’s never heard before. Desperate, eager, and pathetic, like all the air was leaving him and being replaced with something infinitely better. A hand pushes his head down, into the suede to muffle some of it, a firm grip right at the base of his neck, but it just makes him moan all the louder.
Then he’s getting fucked more thoroughly and generously than he’d ever thought possible.
After he comes for a third time, thighs quaking as his spent cock dribbles where it's trapped between the couch and his belly, his knees having given out a while ago, adding to the soaked puddle of drool, tears, and come under him, Superman eases out of him, still fully hard and unspent.
“Should I… do you want me to call someone to… for you?”
Lex blinks sluggishly with heavy lids, his eyes glassy and unfocused, lashes still wet with overstimulated tears. It takes a few tries to get his slack jaw to form words. “No,” he slurs, the sound mostly lost to the couch his cheek is still pressed against. “And don’t… don’t break another window on the way out.”
He doesn’t even hear the sound of the sliding door or crunch of broken glass as he leaves, but then again, he wouldn’t.
*
The course correction of the Sun Eradication scheme into the Solar Energy Enhancement scheme (or SEE Lex had smugly branded it) is much easier to sell on a global scale. Far less people needed to be bribed, removed, or disposed of. The general consensus on keeping the sun around had been overwhelmingly and annoyingly positive. His PR team is thrilled. Carol actually breaks down into tears on the other end of the phone when he tells her. It’ll move up the public image rebrand schedule by at least three months, she tells him through sobs.
LuthorCorp, and specifically Lex, becoming the face of solar energy is admittedly satisfying, especially as there had been one lone figure who’d had the monopoly of the sun’s association for a while now. Construction of the shield would have been a pain anyway, and all the efforts of sourcing and mining enough steel on other planets to build it a major time suck.
The many photo ops in all the sun-deficient regions is still a chore. Tromsø in Norway is especially bleak; such terrible food. But it does feel mostly worth it when Superman surprises them in Utqiaġvik, USA, a place where sunlight doesn’t reach for months at a time, and even poses for a photo standing alongside Lex and a small crowd of grateful local residents, bathing in the rays of their own LuthorCorp powered small yellow sun.
*
He doesn’t see him again for four long months. LuthorCorp work keeps Lex more than occupied in that time, especially with all the new projects he’s acquired of late.
He’s leaving a meeting in Seoul, where he’d been pitched by four separate companies from all over the globe on the most viable and stable way of recreating Kryptonite, when he’s literally plucked off the street and placed back on the rooftop garden of the city’s LuthorCorp building.
Superman isn’t even all that angry, more irritated by the whole thing, especially when Lex drops that he now knows the exact effects of Red Kryptonite on a Kryptonian body. He doesn’t know why he's annoyed by that, it sounds quite fun.
They talk each other in circles for a while, the usual heavily opposing moral standards clashing, both getting worked up in their own ways. Superman looks striking in the soft neon light of the city, even more ethereal than usual. The encounter ends with Lex on his knees, hurriedly helping Superman tug garish spandex down powerful thighs, and seeing how deep he can take an alien cock into his throat, a broad, impossibly warm hand cradling the back of his head.
*
The soft knock on the glass alerts Lex to the figure hovering outside the french doors of his bedroom. Irritating, as there should have been at least eight alarms and three teams of security to warn him about this very thing.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering to act all civil at this point,” Lex says, swiping to the next page of the interview notes for his profile for News 8 the next day on the tablet resting on his bent knee. “We both know you could, and often do, walk through glass like it’s tissue paper.” Still, he reaches over to the panel of controls by his bed and unlocks the doors. Superman steps through them, hands clasped behind his back, making his cape look stupid.
“It’s late,” he says, almost awkwardly, closing the door behind him, “and this is your home.”
“Oh, so you were being courteous when you only destroyed the many doors, walls, and windows of my various work buildings then?” Lex tosses aside the tablet, aware that the glow of the screen underlit his face unflatteringly. “If this is a home visit, I can only assume it is also of a personal nature?”
Lex can’t be sure in the dim light of the room, but he could have sworn that Superman was blushing. “Isn’t all of this personal, Lex?”
Lex isn’t used to hearing that name from him. It strangely makes him feel more vulnerable than the fact he was laying in bed, wearing only his silk pajama trousers. “I suppose to the extent that I consider you a person.”
Superman sighs, casting his eyes about the room. Maybe looking for some item or memento of Lex’s to gain a better understanding of him. If so, he would be out of luck. There was none of that nonsense here. “Why do you always have to make this so difficult?”
“Opposed to what? What part of this is supposed to be simple?”
Superman is quiet for a moment, eyes returning to where Lex sits against his headboard, one leg tucked under him. “I know what you’re doing. What you’re trying to get me to do. You’re not even being subtle anymore. Your lab worker leaked the information to one of the only journalists I’ll do interviews with.”
Lex blinks cooly, utterly unphased. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If there are whistleblowers at my company, I can assure you I will--”
“The clone was one thing, Lex,” Superman interrupts. “It was… Well, it was weird and unsettling, and quite frankly hurt quite a lot. But that was before. Now I just…” he trails off, looking a little lost. “This project, what you’re doing in that lab… I don’t even know why you’d want--”
“But isn’t that exactly what you were put here to do?” Lex asks snidely, giving up the pretense he didn’t know exactly what he was referring to. “Make beautiful overlord babies with the locals? A test tube is much the same as the traditional route. Preferable, really.”
Superman’s face drains of colour, then slowly it hardens into something cold. Lex, surprisingly, doesn't care for it. “That is not what I want. It never has been and never will be. The very idea makes me ill.”
“Well, you certainly were eager to use my mouth rather than anything else, I suppose.”
Lex had almost been giddy on the deserted rooftop in Seoul, the front of his shirt ruined by copious amounts of his drool, his trousers and briefs equally soiled by his own release, when he’d stuck his fingers down his throat and forced back up a pool of premium Kryptonian seed onto the astroturf.
It was honestly naive and irresponsible of Superman to assume Lex wouldn’t do this, not when he’d personally provided him with such a plentiful sample. But Superman hadn’t exactly been thinking much of anything at the time. He’d profusely apologised at least three times after he’d held and kept Lex flush to his groin as he emptied himself directly into his stomach, offering his cape to clean up the mess, then made an awkward and hasty retreat, his spandex still a little twisted.
“I want you to stop this project now.” Superman has an edge to his voice, an approachable authority that insists on being listened to. It just makes Lex want to do the exact opposite. “It’s not right to do that to a… a child. Stop this before you go too far and it can’t be undone.”
“Aren’t you even a little bit curious?” Lex sits up on his knees and moves across the mattress, closer. “To know exactly what a mixture of our DNA could achieve? The perfect blend of brains and brawn?”
“You don’t know what’s going to happen!” Superman snaps. “How could you? You don’t know the first thing about what’ll happen when you force two completely different species DNA together like that! No one does! You could create something dangerous, or something that will only ever live to suffer. It’s cruel, Lex. Beyond cruel.” He suddenly scoffs, utterly without humour, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I have to explain this to you of all people. You, the most xenophobic person I’ve ever--”
“I can know,” Lex says, a strange sort of manic excitement fluttering in his stomach. “I know I can do it because I’ll do it over and over until it’s right. And I will do it, you know I’ll get there in the end, because I want it. I won’t stop until I have the perfect Earth child.” He lets out a little laugh. “He’ll look like you, I know he will.”
He’s flat on his back on the bed in the span it takes for him to blink. Superman has one of his wrists pinned above his head, the other he uses to gently touch Lex’s face. He’s looking down at him intently, searchingly, eyebrows creased and brow furrowed, as though he’s trying to make sense of some impossible, complex puzzle. He traces the shape of his mouth, the arch of his cupid's bow that was still too thin.
“What are you trying to find?” he murmurs. “What’s all this for? What isn’t enough?”
“Everything,” Lex whispers back. The air is dry and suddenly his eyes sting. “Nothing is ever enough.”
The roaming thumb traces his cheekbone. “You’re beautiful,” Superman says, utterly and painfully sincere. “Just as you are. The rest, you don’t need it. None of it. Can’t you see that?”
Lex blinks away wetness that rolls down his cheeks as he surges up and claims his mouth. He kisses him savagely, insatiably, nails raking across his scalp. He was expecting him to be hard and unmalleable but he’s soft, moving wherever Lex wants him. He tastes faintly of mint and bad coffee. So excruciatingly human, Lex has to bite down, even though he knows he’d never break skin.
He insists on the entire suit coming off. Despite its ridiculousness, it’s an effective design, he’ll give him that. It peels off easy, revealing perfect, hard muscle that’s easily twice as thick as Lex’s own. Lex wants to lie on top of him, line them both up perfectly and see proof of this. See how the perfect runs all the way through like rings in an old tree.
Superman doesn’t let him, instead pins him to the bed, tugs the sleep wear down his hips, then puts his mouth on him, swallowing him down effortlessly. There’s no hope of staying quiet, even if Lex ever could. He sinks his teeth into his forearm to smother some of the sounds, hard enough to taste copper, until Superman notices and gently tugs it free.
To punish him for it, Lex claws and yanks at his hair with bloody fingers. It doesn’t affect his leisurely, suckling pace, nor how he’s slowly easing Lex open with two torturously slow fingers, but it does make Lex feel a little better.
He tries to turn over again after, but he’s held in place, knees pushed up to his chest like he’s an infant. Then Superman is over him, inside him again, filling him up in a way that feels wholly and utterly right as so few things do. And he’s so devastatingly beautiful. Lex feels tears come again. He can’t look away, wide eyes leaking as he watches the shifting expressions pass over this baffling, perfect creature’s face as he moves inside him, his lids closed, dark lashes fanning on his cheek, his lips slightly parted.
He’s never seen him like this before, never properly watched his face when they were like this, together. When he’s vulnerable and open. It’s strange, seeing the affable steel pulled back and all the softness that lay beneath. It’s more familiar than he realised.
“Is this even an effort for you?” Lex gasps out, sounding more desperate than he intended. His wet eyes dart across that perfect face, cataloguing everything. “Can you feel any of it?”
Brilliantly blue eyes blink open, staring down at him, and suddenly he wished he’d never said anything. “All of it,” Superman says, voice sounding strained even though he couldn’t possibly be. “Everything.”
Lex drags him down into a kiss, unable to stand it. He feels hollowed out, despite how full he feels. “Harder,” he hisses into his mouth. “Do it harder.”
Superman laughs. “Not if you still want use of your pelvis.”
“Fuck you, do it harder.” He obliges, fractionally, and still it makes Lex’s eyes roll back and speech elude him for several long moments.
When he’s got his ankles hooked around Superman’s waist, barely holding on against the unwavering rhythm rocking through him, trying not to think too much about how his left hand is clutching onto Superman’s right on the sheets by his head, Superman says, “You’re going to stop that project.”
It takes a while for Lex to circle back far enough to remember what they’d been talking about, functional thought a little beyond him at this point. “Like fuck I am,” he gets out, voice wavering with a tremor from the ferocity of the thrusts shaking him. “One fuck and you think” -- he cries out, toes curling, eyelids fluttering -- “I’ll just… roll over and-and give you anything.”
“If you stop,” Superman says, voice unbearably even, his breath hot on Lex’s face, “I’ll do my very best to put a real baby in you tonight.”
The thought makes Lex come instantly, spilling copiously over his own stomach, whining so loud he barely hears the soft laughter above him. He is just barely recovered enough to feel it when, moments later, Superman’s hips buck stiltedly, those broad shoulders stiffening, the fingers wrapped around his own tightening, as he pours his own release deep inside him.
Lex just catches the muffled little groan that’s kissed into his neck, and hums, the warmth spreading through him down to his very toes.
When they’re cooling on top of the sheets after, Lex still leaking and faintly shuddering but extraordinarily content, Superman murmurs against his temple, “Do you think it’s taken?” His hand smooths over the flat plane of Lex’s lower stomach.
“Fuck you.” Lex shoves him half heartedly away from him. He might laugh if he had any more energy, or do something about how his spent cock twitched valiantly at the notion.
Superman does laugh, rolling over on the mattress where Lex pushed him, then up into a sitting position. He smiles down at Lex, his hair a rumpled mess, looking curlier than Lex ever remembered seeing it. He looks odd without the suit and cape, like he wasn’t quite himself, or maybe just not the image Lex had built up of him in his head. He looks good; softer, warmer, more like something you could touch. That smile could heat the entire world.
Lex watches him go through the far more clumsy process of getting into the suit than out of it. It’s satisfying to see even he is still ungainly and thick-fingered when a little come-drunk. Another sliver of humanity gleaned. Superman fumbles with the attempt of shoving his foot inside his boot, dropping it with a mumbled “Oh darn,” so genuine that Lex needs to fold his arms across his eyes and take several deep breaths just to cope with it all.
“I hear you’re getting The Nobel Prize in Physics for your solar project.” Lex lowers his arms to squint suspiciously at him. Superman is fumbling with the fastening of his belt but glances up at him to meet his eyes. “That’s really something, Lex. Congratulations!”
From anyone else it would be a snide dig, something passive aggressive and gloating. Lex plays it back in his head five times and can’t hear any of that, only exactly what was said. The award had been hard earned and surprisingly not even paid for. He nods and doesn’t say anything else.
When the suit is finally in place, in all its absurd glory, Lex gets up on his knees and pulls him back into a kiss. Slow, deep, and exploratory, his fingers tangled in those dark curls. They part and Superman blinks wide, slightly stunned eyes, which quickly crinkle with another smile.
“Dosrenea has acquired nukes and will most likely threaten to invade its three neighbours with them soon,” Lex says in a sudden blurt of information. “They tried to buy them from me but as if I was going to arm such a waste of a country. It’s landlocked, for God’s sake. They went to Maxwell Lord instead. The base is near its south east border.”
Superman looks a little stunned again, then slowly a grin spreads across his face from ear to ear. Perfectly dazzling. He gives a little nod, curls swaying. “Right, I’ll check that out. Thanks, Lex.”
Lex doesn’t know what to say to that, not entirely sure why he’d even said it in the first place. He kisses him again instead.