Trip At the Brain

by ierothestreet

Summary:

His better judgment screamed do NOT click it. Which, of course, meant he clicked it immediately.

The link whisked him away to an unfamiliar website. The header read; archiveofourown.org

The page the link had brought him to was one specific “work.” His eyes caught the bold red text beneath the title…

Rated: Explicit.

His pulse spiked.

“Oh no.”

In which Lex Luthor discovered erotic artworks and fictional stories about him and a certain illegal alien, it ruined his life figuratively and literally.

Notes:

title by suicide tendencies!

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Lex Luthor was no stranger to the internet. He knew Facebook, he knew YouTube, he knew Twitter—hell, he had personally posted millions of hate tweets about Superman on Twitter alone. Entire burner accounts existed purely for that purpose, each one carefully curated so the algorithm would feed him fresh outrage every day.

But unlike Eve, who plastered her selfies across every social platform like it was a job, Lex didn’t make a habit of scrolling mindlessly and considered social media a waste of time, it was a distraction from far more productive pursuits, like calculating Superman's downfall.

It was a lapse in judgment, really… During a perfect Sunday morning with sunlight streaming into his penthouse with coffee in hand, and instead of reviewing schematics for his next anti-Kryptonian weapon, he found himself doomscrolling on Twitter. 

Curiosity got the better of him when he noticed the #Superman hashtag sitting in the fourth spot on the trending list below some music awards tag. Of course it was trending. Superman was always trending. Half the time it was Lex’s own doing because of the genetically modified monkeys, but that was beside the point.

He clicked on the tag expecting a buffet of disdain, conspiracy threads and insults about Superman’s bimbo looks. For a few scrolls, it was exactly that and someone had even quoted one of his hate tweets with enthusiastic agreement. Lex felt a swell of pride at his handiwork.

He sipped his coffee and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

Then he saw it.

A drawing.

Superman was rendered in gaudy digital paint, heroically lifting a kaiju out of the ocean. The image was absurdly detailed, wait it was getting worse because it was actually flattering. Lex recoiled, his finger stabbed the “Hide” button without hesitation.

Unfortunately, the further he scrolled, the worse it got. 

Superman smiling as he rescued kittens from a burning building, Superman laughing with children, Superman drawn shirtless with his muscles glistening as if the artist had personally oiled him down. Lex’s blood pressure spiked. He hid every single one and started blocking the artists on principle. Not just the Superman illustrators—anyone who followed them, too.

By the fifth block, he replied under someone's drawing of Superman flying in the sky. “Drawing him that tall is a lie… his real height is 6’3” and a half, at most.”

By the eighth, he was slamming the block button hard enough to make the mouse creak.

As he scrolled further, a particular tweet stopped him cold. “I hate Lex Luthor so I make Superman fuck him in the ass.”

Lex blinked once, slowly. Then he reread it, certain he’d misinterpreted. 

Then he saw the attached image.

He choked, a mouthful of coffee sprayed across his pristine, custom-built keyboard. 

The artwork was, there was no other word for it, it was obscene. He was on his hands and knees, suit jacket tossed aside, shirt halfway off, Superman’s absurdly muscular frame towering over him. One of those ridiculous big hands was locked tight around his throat in a way that made the whole thing even more infuriatingly… lewd.

He stared at the image for five long minutes. Just… processing. Finally, he clicked the user’s profile and hit Block. Then he slammed the tab closed, logged out of Twitter and leaned back in his chair with a thousand-yard stare.

Five more minutes passed. The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. 

His coffee had gone cold.

Then reluctantly, almost guiltily, he logged back in. He opened his block list, scrolled until he found the username.

And, very deliberately, he unblocked them.

Not for reasons, of course. Strictly for monitoring purposes. Counter-propaganda. Research.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he opened the drawing.

Okay, nothing had changed obviously. The obscene image was still there, but now he noticed the metrics.

38K likes.

15K retweets.

Lex’s jaw clenched so hard it could have cracked a diamond. Outrageous. The sheer number of degenerates endorsing this filth was proof enough that society was on the verge of collapse.

He scrolled down to the top reply, bracing for more trauma. Instead, it was… a meme of a looping GIF of a cat licking a Barbie doll’s plastic ass, captioned with nothing. It had 1.1K likes.

Lex’s brain short-circuited. “Why?” he said aloud to his empty penthouse. “What does this even mean?” He didn’t dare click into the replies under that one. 

No, better to go back to the #Superman hashtag. At least there, the madness was diluted with what he considered “normal” artwork, of nauseating hero worship, free of… whatever that cat-Barbie thing was. He scrolled down and scanned for the weird ones.

It didn’t take long.

“Superman needs to spank that Luthor guy so he would stop whining on television, it’s embarrassing, really 😭”

Lex narrowed his eyes. The crying emoji made it worse. There was only one reply under it.

“YES!! I ship them.”

Lex blinked. Ship? Ship as in… boat? Cargo? Pirate jargon? The word rattled in his brain until his curiosity got the better of him. He opened a new tab, pulled up the online dictionary and typed it in.

The result made his eye twitch. Romantic pairing, him… and Superman. “What is wrong with these people’s heads?” he hissed at the monitor. “Do they need medical evaluations? Psychiatric commitment?” 

Him and Superman.

Oh, fuck. Just shoot him in the head now.

He refreshed the Twitter page, hoping for something marginally less brain-melting at the top of the feed.

No such luck.

The newest post, barely sixteen seconds ago, was short and simple. “I hope the real Lex Luthor doesn’t see this [link] #Superman.”

Lex’s stomach did a slow, unpleasant twist, he didn’t want to admit it, but his index finger hovered over the mouse with an unfamiliar sensation. Was it… fear?

No. Nonsense. Lex Luthor didn’t get scared over internet links, he could handle whatever this was…But still, what exactly was he going to find? Another meme? More cursed artwork? 

His better judgment screamed do NOT click it. Which, of course, meant he clicked it immediately.

The link whisked him away to an unfamiliar website. The header read; archiveofourown.org

The logo was clean, minimalist and innocent. Which made it even more suspicious. “What the hell is an archive of our own?” he muttered, squinting at the screen. An archive of what exactly? Banking records? Declassified files? 

The page the link had brought him to was one specific “work.” His eyes caught the bold red text beneath the title…

Rated: Explicit.

His pulse spiked.

“Oh no.”

Still, he powered through it. The first few paragraphs were tame enough, at least by his standards, a little melodramatic, sure, but not outside the realm of tolerable nonsense.

But then…

His eyes skimmed over the next lines…

“Superman eventually let his cock go and his whimpers got lost between their mouths at the sudden loss, but then Superman’s other hand found the waistband of Lex’s tailored trousers and dragged them down over his hips.”

Lex’s grip on the mouse tightened.

“Lex toed off his shoes until he was left only in white socks hugging his feet, grey button-down wrinkled and riding up, tie askew. They never broke the kiss once and two impossibly strong hands sliding under Lex’s thighs, fingers spanning the muscle, thumbs brushing the sensitive inside skin before hooking around to grip and lift. Lex’s body left the desk for a second and the effortless display of strength turned his stomach in ways he didn’t care to analyze.”

He blinked several times, this was… disturbingly well written. The kind of sentence structure and word choice he’d expect from a professional novelist, not some faceless internet degenerate. He found himself adjusting in his seat, suddenly aware of the fabric of his pants.

He dared to scroll further.

That was a mistake.

It escalated with zero warning, of Superman pinning him against the floor-to-ceiling glass window of his office, Metropolis glittering behind them, while—

Lex yanked his hands away from the mouse like it had burned him. His ears felt hot, his tie suddenly felt too tight, and his pants felt uncomfortable.

He stared at the screen, then at his reflection faintly visible in the black border of the monitor.

““What if anyone sees you getting fucked silly like this huh, Luthor? Bet anyone wouldn't guess that you're such a little slut.” Superman whispered in his ears and snapped his hips forward until stars were dancing in his eyes.”

Bitch, what?

The real Superman couldn’t even bring himself to say “hell” in a live interview without looking like someone had just kicked his dog. 

But then again…

Lex’s frown deepened.

What did he really know? Superman didn’t clock out at five and go home to a picket fence, he didn’t have a public address, he vanished for hours or sometimes days when he wasn’t flying all around Metropolis like an overprotective drone. Nobody knew where he went or what he did.

This… fiction painted a different picture entirely. One where the alien’s goody-two-shoes act was just an act.

And the private reality was…

Lex’s eyes darted back to the paragraph. His mind unhelpfully replayed the image of Superman whispering filth against his ear, those impossibly strong hands gripping his body—

This was absurd, deranged, utterly beneath him.

…And yet, the thought lingered.

What if there was a grain of truth to it?

Scrolling past the offending paragraph, he found the little comment box at the bottom.

His fingers flew over the keys as they typed.

“This is utter garbage. Lex Luthor would never bottom!”

He paused for a second, then added:

“The premise is inaccurate and the characterization is frankly insulting. If you’re going to slander Lex, at least get the power dynamics correct.”

Satisfied, he clicked Post Comment under the “Guest” option. With a dismissive sniff, he closed the page, then he closed every tab.

Of course, his phone pinged two minutes later with an email notification. Someone had replied to his anonymous comment.

“You ungrateful fucker!”

He ignored the reply.

 

---

 

Lex did not let it go.

His therapist had once told him he had an “obsessive compulsion” Lex had called it focus. 

These years, that focus happened to be trained entirely on Superman.

It was past two in the morning and instead of sleeping like a rational human being, Lex was hunched over his desk in front of his monitor, watching shaky, zoomed-in YouTube videos strangers had taken of the alien. Superman catching a falling bridge girder in slow motion, Superman hovering just above street level with his cape billowing behind him.

The little fiction from that morning had burrowed into his brain like a parasite, curling up somewhere behind his eyes and whispering, what if the real Superman is like that?

Lex clicked the next video.

Fuck, Lex didn’t know. His knowledge of Superman was vast, he had battle footage, transcripts, physiology reports. He estimated he knew 85% of the alien’s existence down to the hour. But that last 15%? The off-duty hours? The unguarded moments? The man behind the symbol?

That was a black hole in his data.

And certainly, he didn’t know, nor had he ever cared to know about Superman’s dick size or his bedroom habits.

…Until now.

Lex rubbed his temple, glaring at the pause screen where Superman’s face was frozen mid-smile. He hated that he was even thinking about this. 

Eventually, Lex’s “I’m not thinking about it” strategy crumbled. He was pulling up his browser history and clicking right back onto that archive page this morning.

The fiction had already gained 5,820 views.

And 87 comments.

His index finger hovered over the mouse in a tense standoff before giving in and clicking on the “Superman” tag at the top of the page.

1,332 results.

His eyes swept over the top listing… The summary mentioned something called “Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics.” Lex had no idea what that meant, but the tag list alone painted a horrifyingly vivid picture. From the suggestive keywords, he could only assume it was yet another thousands of words of him getting railed into the next sunset.

Scrolling down, the pattern became depressingly clear. Superman on top, Superman in charge, Superman doing unspeakable things to him.

Lex felt personally attacked.

Nowhere did he see what would have been a far more realistic narrative like his successful domination of the world, with Superman reduced to his attack dog. Lex in command, Lex victorious, Superman… useful.

That was a story worth telling. 

But no.

Apparently, the collective online imagination had the depth of a puddle and the fixation of a hormonal teenager.

He scowled at the search results like they had just personally insulted his mother. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, snapping the tab closed. “Billions of people, and not a single one of them with decent taste.”

His thoughts circled back inevitably to that Twitter artist, the one responsible for the extremely detailed depiction of him on his hands and knees. Lex pulled up their profile again, eyes narrowing at the pinned artwork that had started this whole spiral. His fingers flew to the Direct Message button. “I will pay you $1,000 if you draw Lex Luthor stepping on Superman’s head.”

Then he waited.

And waited.

His eyes flicked to the corner of the screen. 2:07 AM.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Right, sleep cycles, the fact that most people weren’t sitting in a glass tower plotting a specific Kryptonian humiliation at this hour.

He refreshed the DM page twice, then three times. By the fifth refresh, there were three dots as the artist was typing. “Is this a scam?”

“I can pay you right now.”

Then the artist sent him their bank information and Lex looked up the info; Jessica Kiramman, twenty years old, an art student enrolled at a second-rate university, dabbling in commissions to pay tuition and probably rent for some shoebox apartment.

He could almost hear the moral outrage if she knew who she was taking money from. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of making this little girl’s life a nightmare but he sighed instead and transferred the $1000 from a fake account under the name Alex, yes, that obvious. If she was too naïve to question it, that was her problem.

“OH MY GODD!!!!!! I will draw you the most perfect commission ever!” the artist replied in a frenzy as if she had just won the lottery.

Then she immediately launched into an avalanche of questions about character poses, background setting, outfits or no outfits, lighting preferences, expressions, accessories.

Lex stared at the chat box, each new message pushing the previous one upward so fast he barely had time to read them. He considered giving precise instructions but his pride kicked in. If he micromanaged, it would look like he cared too much.

So instead, he typed nonchalantly, “Whatever you see fit as long as Lex is humiliating him.”

 

---

 

He waited and waited. Obviously, the artist couldn’t finish the piece the next day like he had expected her to because apparently, talent took more than twenty-four hours. The audacity!! Which meant Lex, against his better judgment, was once again left to his own devices.

He ended up doomscrolling Twitter, picking through the #Superman hashtag, deliberately seeking the most outrageous fanart. And yet, more than once, he guiltily found his browser hovering over the cursed archive website, clicking back into bookmarked pages he pretended he hadn’t bookmarked.

It was research.

All of it was research.

Except…

Fuck.

One night, he jerked off to the mental image of Superman dominating him. In the story, Superman had brought Lex to the brink of orgasm without ever touching his cock and Lex caught himself wondering, really wondering, what it might be like to be pushed to the edge by someone dedicated and single-minded as Superman.

“Still so fucking tight, Lex,” he choked out, almost like a sob. “You’re so fucking perfect, fuck.”

It said on the story and wow, this website was starting to ruin Lex’s life.

“Lex was panting, body slick with sweat, a high-pitched whine slipped from his throat when fingers found his nipples and twisted, it was mean and fucking perfect. He started sobbing, big, shuddering sobs that made his shoulders shake. “D-don’t stop.” he begged, slurring the words. It was the only thing he could manage.

Superman only fucked him harder, gripping Lex’s hips and dragging him into each hard thrust, using him without hesitation. Lex’s legs were quaking as he felt Superman come deep inside him, the hot rush setting something off in his own body and it triggered his own orgasm too.

Superman was rolling his hips in slow grinds trying to savor it, his cock was twitching against his rim where he was so, so damn sensitive, and probably red and wet. He could feel it leaking, slick and warm, slipping out of him with every lazy shift of Superman's hips.”

Lex didn't hesitate as he chucked his phone somewhere on his bed and pushed his hand down his pants, he didn't even hesitate to pull his cock out and jerked it tight and fast, it was a little dry that skirt the line between pleasure and discomfort as friction dragged against sensitive skin, making Lex’s teeth clench. 

His eyes fell shut, shutting out the dim lamplight, shutting out the reality that Superman would never do this, especially to him. But in his mind, Superman was folding him in half, pinning his knees to his chest, forcing him to watch, see every relentless thrust, every stretch, the obscene rhythm of cock sliding in and out at a fast pace.

His fist worked faster, twisting at the head, drawing sharp jolts that blurred the edge between ache and need for release. His skin felt fever-hot as goosebumps prickled over his arms and the back of his neck. His heart pounded like it was trying to break out of his chest.

Lex cupped his balls, rolling them between his fingers, his thumb dragged firmly over his slit, smearing slick across the swollen head before pressing down just enough to make his hips jerk. A ragged breath burst out from his gaping mouth, chest heaving as his cock jerked.

He spilled over—thick ropes of cum spurting across his fingers, streaking up to his sternum and marking his flushed skin. His cock gave another desperate throb, twitching even as his thighs trembled and his back arched off the bed.

In his mind, there was only one image left of himself, in front of a mirror, the reflection showing Superman looming behind him, mouth at his ear, whispering filth in that maddeningly deep voice while one strong hand gripped his throat. Lex’s own reflection would smirk through the haze, ruined, and owned.

Damn that drawing and that cursed website!! He cursed them with every breath, because it had taken root too deep, dug under his skin and now it was all he could think about when his hand was between his legs.

 

---

 

Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t given the artist clear instructions, just a vague, “Make it humiliating.” And oh, the artist had certainly taken creative liberties. 

What???

Didn’t he say to make Lex humiliate Superman? So why, in the final illustration, was Lex the one on his knees with his head tilted back at a submissive angle, his lips stretched wide around Superman’s monster cock? His cheeks were hollowed in a way that suggested enthusiasm, not reluctant participation. A glossy black collar circled his neck, gleaming under the imagined studio lights, and in Superman’s right hand was a taut rope which was clearly attached to the collar.

The other hand? Oh, that was worse. Superman’s broad palm was cupping Lex’s jaw, thumb brushing almost tenderly across the reddened, spit-slick lips wrapped indecently around him. The angle even caught the slight sheen of moisture trailing down Lex’s chin and the whole thing looked less like degradation and more like… a possessive display.

Lex stared at it, torn between outrage, embarrassment, and an unsettling tightness in his gut.

He sent Jessica a $250 bonus.

Then he sat back in his chair, fingers steepled against his lips, mind whirring like an overclocked supercomputer. If the fiction stories were correct about that, what else had they nailed down with eerie accuracy? And more importantly, how, exactly, could he test it?

The problem wasn’t resources, he could use Ultraman the clone but he knew it wouldn't be the same as the real thing. The problem was… getting Superman into his bed was the big, massive, red question.

Lex almost wept in sexual frustration. The most infuriating part? He could imagine it so clearly, the heat, the weight, the fullness. It would be glorious and it would almost certainly never going to happen.

Unless…

He saw Superman fly past the Lex Corp building and he began to plot how to make the fiction stories theory come to life.

 

 

Notes:

come talk to me in my Tumblr

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Notes:

Guys… GUYS!! Holy shit, I didn’t expect this silly work to get so much attention. Honestly, I thought I’d be lucky if I got 5 comments!

After mulling it over, I feel like two chapters won’t be enough (at least not for me), so yeah... bear with me and my stupid idea for a little longer. 😝

He might be crazy and desperate, fine! He'd accept eccentric genius with occasional megalomaniacal tendencies but he wasn’t that crazy. Marching up to Superman and asking if he’d care to indulge Lex in a little… research? No, thank you.

Best-case scenario, the alien would give him that sanctimonious smile and fly away after rejecting him. Worst case? He could go the other route and manhandle Lex off the roof of Luthor Corp like a sack of trash. Sure, Superman would never let him splatter on the pavement because Lex knew that he was too good for murder and would swoop in at the last second, but that kind of humiliation? No. Absolutely not.

And honestly, Lex couldn’t decide which outcome would be more insulting. Him getting rejected? That word wasn’t even in his dictionary. Women and men alike had thrown themselves at his feet for decades.

Of course, Lex had never personally tried to kill those people, at least, not more than once and Superman… well, Superman might still be holding a grudge after, what? His twentieth attempt to rid the world of “illegal aliens”?

Lex was angry and horny, and Jessica, regrettably, was about to bear the brunt of it.

“Didn't i instruct you to draw Lex Luthor humiliating Superman?” He typed, and looking at her commission fee, paying her $1250 dollars was a bit excessive considering one piece of artwork should be $50. “I expect the right one tomorrow for how much i'm paying you!”

It wasn’t about the money, Lex would drop that on a bottle of wine without blinking, it was about control. If he paid for humiliation, he wanted the Kryptonian to look like he’d been emotionally flayed alive.

Anything less was unacceptable.

But still, his eyes remained fixed on the wrong artwork she’d sent him the night before because an honest-to-god bulge was swelling his throat as he was deep-throating Superman. Lex felt a slow but sure heat started to coil in his gut the more he stared at it. The caterpillar in his brain that always whispered inconvenient thoughts murmured again, is he really that hung?

Lex blinked and adjusted himself in his tailored slacks. 

Without meaning to, his cursor drifted to a well loved folder on his desktop, his private archive. Clicking it open revealed rows of saved Superman footage… high-definition, security feed stills, blurred screenshots from news coverage. He nitpicked them until the familiar flash of garish red underwear filled the screen, it was on the outside, no less, as if the man wanted to be a walking humiliation of aesthetic sensibility.

Yet even with that ridiculous fashion choice, Lex’s gaze lingered a moment too long.

Absolutely no sense that he was doing this, none! He was Lex Luthor, for god’s sake, a man who could bankrupt a small country before breakfast. 

And yet… those absurd, hormone-drenched teenage fiction stories he’d stumbled across online had been worming their way into his brain like a parasite. It was like a bad trip, the kind he’d seen ruin weaker minds, worse than any drug high he’d never deign to touch. 

The last thing he saw before he closed his laptop was Jessica’s message of… “Aye aye sir!”

---

Superman was being worshipped by the entire planet. 

His secretary would pipe up with a snide mark so low that he barely heard it, but it sounded suspiciously like worshipped by you too apparently Mr. Luthor. 

She was lucky he didn’t fire her on the spot, fuck, she was lucky he didn’t kill her outright. Him? Worshipping an alien? An it? Don’t make him laugh. 

The mere thought was offensive. 

Sure, he studied Superman’s every move, had memorized his voice, his flight patterns, but that was strategy. And if his research sometimes lingered on unnecessary details like the play of sunlight on the alien’s thick black hair or the exact timbre of his laugh, well, that was just part of knowing one’s enemy inside and out.

At least, that’s what Lex told himself.

“Sir? Sir!” Mercy snapped her fingers right in front of his face and his reflex was to slam the laptop shut a bit too hard, his palm stayed flat on the lid for a moment longer than necessary as if afraid of the total debauchery he saw on the internet would leap out.

There was probably a flush creeping high across his cheekbones, he didn’t need a mirror to confirm it, he could feel it, hot and traitorous because someone on Twitter had, in their infinite degeneracy, drawn him getting railed by Superman, again. Not exactly uncharted territory for the internet, but seeing it? Actually seeing it, mid-scroll, in full color? Lex still wasn't used to this thing yet, he wasn't sure if he would get used to seeing stuff like that.

“You have a meeting with Bruce Wayne in an hour,” Mercy said.

Lex blinked, the words passed right through him.

Mercy’s eyes narrowed. She repeated it, slower this time, like he was a malfunctioning robot.

“Cancel it.”

Mercy wanted to protest but he held up a hand. “Is there a way to have a meeting with Superman? A civil one? Without me having to… you know.” He made a vague flapping gesture with his hand, the universal sign for not trying to kill each other (the killing was mostly on his part, Superman? not so much).

Wow… Him, Superman, and civil? He’d never imagined those three words could exist in the same sentence, let alone have him be the one proposing it. 

Mercy’s expression didn’t change much, but the glance she gave him was the one she had for situations in which she was certain her boss had lost the last of his marbles. 

Not that it was a new look since Lex had earned it many times over. Usually it happened somewhere around hour two of his marathon rants about Superman’s supposed menace, when the talking points stopped sounding like political critique and started bleeding into something… stranger. 

He’d go from critique to obsessing over the physics of his cape, or how impossibly symmetrical his jawline was as if these were somehow evidence of an alien conspiracy.

He could admit to himself that sometimes his train of thought veered off into less-than-relevant territory. Like the time he’d gotten sidetracked calculating the exact strength of that ridiculous bicep. Or when he’d described, in detail, the way Superman’s eyes were such a vivid, unnatural blue it should be a warning sign in itself. 

Mercy always got that look then.

His interest in Superman was strictly tactical and if Mercy thought otherwise, she could keep it to herself. 

“No.” She smiled tightly and had privately wondered whether some part of Lex’s manic thoughts had less to do with hating Superman and more to do with the fact he couldn’t stop thinking about him. “Sir, you always plot to get rid of him more than twenty times already.”

Lex hummed, that made sense, he glanced solemnly at his laptop where another page beside twitter of the archive thingy titled i’d drink poison if it tasted like you was blinking back at him from the little gap between the screen and keys. He shut it a little further as if that would make the words vanish, then tapped his fingers against the desk. 

Testing certain… theories about Superman’s bedroom habits might prove more complicated than building his latest certain alien-free weapon system.

But then again, some experiments were worth the trouble.

---

Superman was flying in front of his building again like he was trying to goad him into doing something rash like launching a grenade launcher at the back of his head, and he might if he wasn't trying to get into his good grace (for research purposes of course). Lex watched the cape ripple in the wind before the alien tilted upward and vanished into the blinding glare of the morning sun.

Lex’s gaze drifted to his laptop. Jessica had sent another result from his deliberately vague commission. He opened the file, already bracing himself for disappointment, only to pause. 

This time… it was mostly correct. Mostly.

Lex was clearly standing over that overgrown boy scout’s head, heel digging into the side of it in a gesture of pure dominance. She had drawn both of them naked and not just naked, they looked like they were enjoying it.

First of all, the collar was a perfect addition, locked snugly around Superman’s throat, the leash running upward until it was clenched in Lex’s fist, taut between them. His heel pinned the alien's head at an angle that forced his gaze up. There were far too many hickeys scattered along Lex’s pale inner thighs, though… admittedly not a bad touch. Superman looked just as wrecked, eyes glazed with his mouth slightly open as he laid down on his front.

He sent another $500 bonus.

A few minutes later, he watched her latest tweet appear on his private feed. Finally able to afford a drawing tablet thanks to an anonymous gentleman!! 

“If ONLY you could follow instructions.” He replied under her tweet. So much for staying anonymous. Still, nobody would ever suspect that the account belonging to “noobmaster69” complete with a blurry cat profile picture, was the real Lex Luthor. 

Outside, Metropolis basked in the morning sun and somewhere up there, the real Superman was still floating around, he was like a fly that Lex couldn't get rid of. If the oaf only knew the depths of Lex’s… extracurricular activities.

He was about to dig back into that cursed fiction stories website—purely for “research,”—when the loud knack-knack of high heels on the marble floor echoed across the office. Lex’s head lifted just enough to confirm the source that it was Mercy.

In one swift motion, all questionable tabs were closed, replaced instantly with a corporate presentation he’d left untouched for a week as a result of his distraction. On-screen, an intern’s attempt to dazzle him with “recent development of a brand new phone” sat mid-slide, boasting an “innovative AI feature” in bold type.

Lex let his eyes skim it. Predictive text, voice assistance, facial recognition, it was more like a half-baked tech a few years behind his own labs’ prototypes. Cute, in the way a child’s cardboard fort is “architecture.”

“Yes?” He asked as Mercy crossed the last few feet, heels clicking in perfect rhythm until she stopped directly in front of his desk.

“It’s the usual request for a private interview from the Gotham Globe, Metropolitan, and Daily Planet, sir.” She recited it like a grocery list.

Persistent little vultures. They had the stubbornness of weeds; no matter how many times he tore them out, they returned every month like a goddamn clockwork as if this time he’d suddenly have the urge to spill his thoughts into their recorders.

“Reject all of them.” He answered immediately. Wanting her to leave immediately, if she left now, he could return to his… less corporate pursuits.

But she lingered and Lex gave her an irritated scowl that would usually make anyone cower in fear, but Mercy had been with him long enough not to flinch under that look, which was both admirable and incredibly inconvenient. “I suggest you consider the request from the Daily Planet, sir.”

“And why,” he said, voice all steel and silk, “would I willingly associate myself with a glorified birdcage liner?”

“One of their journalists is interviewing Superman on a daily basis. You might… gain audience with him through that journalist.”

Lex’s pen stilled. Now that was interesting.

His mind flicked through possibilities, if this was true and he had just been spoon-fed the opportunity.

Why hadn’t he known this before? Oh, right—because he avoided newspapers like the plague since every front page, every editorial, every soft-focus feature were Superman’s smug face plastered everywhere, grinning like the messiah.

Lex had grown tired of the constant worship long ago. But if this particular piece of journalistic fluff could give him direct access? That was… a different equation.

He sat back in his chair, fingertips steepling. “Tell me everything you know about this journalist.”

Mercy’s eyebrow ticked upward but she nodded.

---

He knew surfing through social media was a bad idea. no, no, it was a catastrophic one. The moment he’d stumbled across that deranged piece of artwork the first time, he should have deleted his burner account, nuked the device, and possibly the entire building just to be safe. 

But curiosity, as always, had a way of dangling its poisoned apple in front of him, and now here he was again, scrolling through the digital gutter like some masochist.

Today was no better. If anything, it was worse. 

Because nestled between political hot takes and cat videos sat his doom and despair of another lovingly rendered, disturbingly anatomically almost-correct illustration of him being railed by a certain caped alien in questionable position, they were flying for fuck’s sake. He zoomed in without meaning to, immediately regretting it when he noticed the unnecessary amount of shading in areas no one had any right to shade.

Was this what his public image had been reduced to? Not “visionary industrialist,” not “world’s greatest mind,” but apparently… “billionaire power-bottom.”

He stared at the phone screen, torn between disgust and a petty urge to email the artist to yell at them.

Still… the question lingered in the back of his mind. What exactly had he done to the public eye to make them so convinced he and Superman should be going at it like over-caffeinated rabbits? Because he’d like to undo it, preferably with fire.

He chucked his phone somewhere on the bed and judging by the sharp thwack and the way it rattled against the hardwood a second later, it had probably bounced right off and landed on the floor. 

Good. Let it stay there. Preferably until the battery died and the Earth stopped spinning.

Lex pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a soundless scream. He sat on the bed for a moment, breathing through gritted teeth before finally lowering his hands and glaring down at the most treacherous part of his anatomy.

Of course a man in his prime might have a perfectly normal biological reaction to an erotic image but that explanation felt weird as fuck considering of what the image actually was. Him and Superman in several highly creative, physically improbable positions. 

His cock should have taken one horrified look, shriveled up, and filed a formal complaint with his brain.

Instead, here it was, standing at full attention like it had RSVP’d to some private party Lex had not agreed to host.

“Traitor,” he glared as though shaming it might change anything. But nooooo, of course not, since his mind and his body clearly had separate, conflicting agendas. His brain was screaming that it was disgusting, while below the belt, his physiology was holding its own little parade.

He pushed himself up from the bed, it was awkward like the way a man might walk after pulling a muscle or in his case, while trying very hard to ignore the obvious tent in his pajama pants. His bare feet padded across the floor and he yanked open the balcony doors with a little more force than necessary.

Above him, the moon hung full and bright, spilling silver light over the skyline. Objectively beautiful, the kind of view people wrote poetry about.

Lex gripped the balcony railing and stared at the moon hard enough to burn holes in its surface, mentally commanding his body to calm the hell down. This was ridiculous. He would not stand here being aroused over an image involving a certain overgrown alien boy scout.

Yesterday had been a lapse in judgment, more like a one-time slip, a moment of weakness brought on by… well, frankly, he’d prefer not to analyze it too deeply. It had been late, he’d been tired, the bourbon had been particularly good, and—

Lex cut that thought off before it could finish itself. Absolutely not. He wasn’t going to spiral into self-incrimination while his physiology continued making a fool of him. 

“What are you doing here?”

That familiar voice came from above and Lex’s head snapped upward, and sure enough, there he was, Superman, in the middle of lowering himself onto Lex Luthor’s rooftop like he owned the place. 

Lex’s frown deepened instantly. “What are you doing here? This is my house!”

Superman glanced down in that maddening calm way as if this wasn’t a blatant case of property trespassing but merely… stopping by. His cape fluttered faintly in the breeze while Lex stood there simmering in silk pajama pants and barely contained annoyance.

“Alright alright, jeez, no need to bite my head off.” He drifted lower, hovering just a few inches above Lex’s head. The sudden closeness made Lex instinctively tilt his chin up and, damn it, his gaze flicked up and caught the unapologetic flash of red underwear.

Really? 

Before Lex could fire back a scathing comment or admit to himself where his eyes had just been, Superman shot upward and flew away. He didn’t even give Lex the satisfaction of a proper insult.

Lex stayed where he was, eyes tracked him until the figure finally slowed and landed on another rooftop across the street. Why?

His intrusive thought whispered you could've asked him to fuck you and end this curiousity once and for all! Lex froze, horrified at himself. That was not the kind of proposition people just… lob at Superman from a balcony. Not unless they had a humiliation kink.

A cold wave of shame chased the heat pooling low in his gut. He practically spun on his heel and marched back inside, trying to will the thought away. Then his gaze dropped and his stomach sank.

Still hard. 

Damn it. Yesterday’s lapse in judgment was one thing… but this? This was starting to feel like a problem.

Once could be dismissed as an accident. Twice was the beginning of a pattern

He wasn’t some lonely, hormone-drunk college kid. He was Lex Luthor, he had a private lab filled with projects, government contracts waiting for signatures. Unacceptable! Infuriating!

It wasn’t even lust, he told himself, it was curiosity, scientific interest, a desire to understand exactly what made Superman… Superman and maybe whether all of him was super.

Totally normal, right?

Absolutely not.

He pattered over the carpet, following the faint memory of where he’d tossed the thing and found his phone lying face-down near the leg of an armchair. Screen down, mercifully. He half-expected to see the spiderweb crack when he flipped it over, but it was still intact.

Unlock. Swipe, and he saw Jessica sent him a text.

Hey Alex!

His left eye twitched. Alex. What? Were they friends now? Did making a few anonymous commissions automatically made them friends? 

Have you read this one yet? [link] this is so good i think i busted my pants.

Lex stared at the words, then at the suspiciously innocent blue hyperlink sitting in the middle. He didn’t even need to click it to know. Oh, he knew. It was going to be another one of those cursed works from that godforsaken fiction site—

He clicked on it anyway.

The first few paragraphs were always tame, of some tedious build-up, a little banter, some vague scene-setting. His thumb scrolled automatically, eyes barely registering the words until…

“Superman’s cock inside of him was so thick it stretched him to the point of a delicious ache, the kind that made Lex’s toes curl and his spine arch involuntarily. Every withdrawal was painfully slow, dragging veins and ridges over his hypersensitive walls.”

His mouth dropped open and he had to sit down.

“He’s too big. He’s going to ruin me. The thought should have sparked some shred of resistance in him, but instead it made his cock twitch and his rim fluttered around the intrusion, clenching greedily as if to trap it there forever. Every time Superman pulled back too far, Lex’s hips jerked backwards, desperate to be filled again like an addict chasing the next hit.”

What the fuck??

“His massive hands clamped down on Lex’s hips, pinning him in place on his knees at the edge of the bed so he couldn’t chase his cock as he was pulling out. “Patience,” he rumbled, holding Lex down while the blunt head pressing insistently at his rim but not sliding back in.

Lex bit back a frustrated noise, heat crawling up his neck. He hated giving Superman the satisfaction of seeing him like this but the emptiness was driving him insane. “Fuck—” His voice cracked, “you.” Superman only smirked, then, with a hard and sudden thrust, he pushed back in, making Lex shout out loud, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember why he ever thought he hated him.”

Oh, he hated him alright. He hated him so much he could grind his teeth to dust.

Who wrote this nonsense? And why was his cock reacting like it agreed with every filthy word?

His cock was now leaking, actually leaking! and the thin cotton of his underwear felt damp. His eyes flicked toward the balcony doors.

Superman was still there. Not here here but close enough. A red-and-blue silhouette perched across the street, moonlit on the edge of some bland apartment rooftop.

Lex’s mind whispered treacherously, If you slipped a hand inside your pants right now, he wouldn’t know.

Surely he wouldn’t use his powers to peek in here. He was Superman, the self-proclaimed moral paragon of the skies, he wouldn’t waste those godlike abilities just to watch his archenemy writhing in his own bed, desperately fisting his cock.

…Right?

He swiped his phone, thumb hesitating just a fraction before he clicked on his gallery.

The first commission stared back at him, of him kneeling, lips stretched obscenely wide around Superman’s cock. His own eyes in the art were glassy, heavy-lidded, like he’d been at it for hours. 

He swallowed hard and swiped again to his second commission.

His inner thighs were littered with bruises in varying shades of violet and blue, fading into angry reds. Lex’s mind tripped headfirst down the rabbit hole before he could slam the door on it. How many times would Superman have to kiss, suck, bite to leave that many? Would he hold Lex down while doing it, pin his wrists, keep him squirming until every inch was marked? Would he murmur something condescending while working another purple bloom into his skin?

The image appeared in his vision caused his breathing suddenly became shallow, uneven. Tightening his grip on the phone until his knuckles whitened as if that would stop the heat pooling low in his gut.

Something made him glance up.

Through the glass balcony door, past the faint reflection of his own flushed face, Superman’s silhouette moved and Lex’s eyes tracked him automatically, watching the red and blue figure grow smaller, framed perfectly by the full moon. 

Superman disappeared into the night, swallowed by the horizon, and Lex was left staring mournfully after him with his pulse thundering in his ears. The glow of his phone burned at the edge of his vision, of some debauchery that Superman had no idea about.

His gaze slid back to the phone screen where the obscene commission still opened. Slowly, almost against his own better judgment, his hand drifted down inside his pants. His fingertips grazed his clothed cock and a shaky exhale slipped past his lips.

He imagined Superman standing in his room without hostility, without judgment. Close enough that Lex could smell the warmth of his skin, feel the shadow as he loomed over him, maybe even—

Even what? Goddammit. He knew he wasn’t the paragon of a healthy lifestyle, far from it even, but this… this new little hobby of his was starting to veer into territory even he couldn’t justify.

Nobody would know about it, not even a therapist, if he were foolish enough to ever set foot in one of those offices again. This was his own private war he kept losing willingly, night after night.

He blamed the internet, he blamed him for looking the way he did like a living monument of physical perfection. He blamed those rippling back muscles, the way the cape framed them like a goddamn red stage curtain. He blamed the impossibly wide shoulders that made every doorway look too small, every other man looked like a child by comparison.

And most of all, he blamed himself for noticing. 

 

 

Notes:

The biggest thank you to any writer is a nice comment to read! Let me know what you think!❤️

come talk to me in my Tumblr

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Notes:

posting new chapters are always making me nervous

 

If anyone noticed how glazed his eyes were, nobody dared to mention it. Lex hummed absently with his thumb brushing the edge of his jaw, he was the perfect picture of a man pretending to listen while his mind was still caught somewhere else entirely.

The D.O.D. kept going on and on through the speaker system, something about a failed failsafe in one of LuthorCorp’s prototype robotic soldiers, something about men injured in an “unfortunate misfire" He should be concerned but the words were blurred into meaningless syllables sliding in one ear and tumbling out the other.

Mercy’s heel connected with his shin under the desk and his eyes finally sharpened back into focus. He schooled his expression instantly, shifting the irritation from Mercy into a scowl aimed at the projection screen. “My condolences. Truly, tragic. Now—I’m afraid I have to wrap this up. I do have a company to run, gentlemen.”

The D.O.D. official was clearly caught off guard. Lex allowed himself the smallest curl of satisfaction, savoring the control, but in his mind… all he could think was how much easier it had been to picture broad shoulders and a cape rather than malfunctioning circuits and bureaucratic whining.

They turned off the projection. Surely, this would bite him in the ass later in the future because government men were vindictive when embarrassed but honestly, what could they really do against Lex Luthor?

“What else after this?” he asked.

Mercy flipped her files that she always carried around. “Interview with the Daily Planet in thirty minutes, lunch. Then another meeting with Bruce Wayne.”

“Again?” His brow furrowed, irritation dripping off his tongue. 

“Again,” Mercy confirmed, her face was perfectly composed, though the lack of projection glow couldn’t quite hide the weary downturn of her mouth.

Lex exhaled slowly through his nose as he felt everything was all so tedious. Mercy was watching him closely, one brow arched. “You’ve been distracted all morning, sir,” she said. “And not in your usual… scheming way.”

Lex’s lip twitched in amusement and he almost laughed. Scheming way? Of course… he had been kind of busy lately.

He wanted to say that he was always three steps ahead, that distraction was beneath him, that she was projecting. But the simple truth was she wasn’t wrong.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. “Perhaps I’m bored. The world’s problems are very small, Mercy. Tiresome, even.”

“Small problems don’t usually make you miss entire briefings.” 

For a fraction of a second, he felt heat crawl up the back of his neck but he blamed it on the air conditioner obviously. He made a mental note that he was going to yell at the technician team later today, maybe fire a few of them just for existing.

“Where’s the file about that journalist?” he asked suddenly and she pulled out the thin, crumpled stack of papers from her folder and handed it over without a word. The same file he’d already gone through yesterday, but once wasn’t enough.

He flipped it open again, eyes skimming over the familiar lines. Clark Kent. Son of Martha and Jonathan Kent, born and grew up in Smallville, moved to Metropolis at the age of twenty-two, started at the Daily Star and landed at the Daily Planet.

Lex’s mouth flattened into a thin line as his gaze lingered on the images on file. Somehow this farm-raised nobody had managed to gain a consistent audience with Superman, not once, not twice but repeatedly. Unacceptable! 

His thumb dragged across the headline.

“Look Up! It’s Superman!”

Another one…

“The Making of Our Newest Superhero.”

The kind of childish awe that sold newspapers by the thousands. Clark's words were practically dripping reverence from every paragraph.

And then there were the photographs.

Lex stared at one in particular—Superman mid-flight, framed against the skyline, cape unfurling behind him like some goddamn Renaissance painting, the angle was flattering, not that he would admit it out loud but this Clark dude got some good photos.

How had this Clark Kent managed to capture him like this? The man wasn’t even a proper investigative journalist; his track record was fluff pieces and morals dressed up as journalism. 

Lex narrowed his eyes at those annoyingly straight teeth, that blinding, camera-ready smile. Fake, he told himself firmly. All of it’s a mask, it has to be. Yet his gaze lingered longer than he’d like to admit, eyes tracing the lines of the alien’s jaw down to the too-square shoulders.

He was tempted to rip the photograph straight out of the file and shred it to pieces.

He wouldn’t let these glossy clippings, or those obscene fan-made artworks and fictions that circulated the internet, distort his focus. No, once he managed to quench this… itch, this curiosity, he would inevitably find the cracks beneath the golden veneer. 

Metropolis inflated rents and housing prices because some people wanted to live in the shadow of their flying idol despite the dangers that Lex unleashed on a daily basis. Cafés renamed themselves after him, murals sprang up overnight, and tourists flooded in just for the chance to crane their necks and spot him soaring between skyscrapers. 

To the city, every red-and-blue blur was a blessing, a good omen, proof that their protector was watching. 

But for Lex, it was suffocating.

People were worshipping him and every day that worship drowned out Lex’s voice a little more, made him into the villain simply for daring to say aloud what no one else would; that Metropolis wasn’t thriving under Superman’s shadow, it was rotting, slowly, beautifully, like a city gilded in gold leaf hiding rust beneath.

They would rather gawk at him than face the truth. They would rather build shrines in glass towers and plaster his symbol across their children’s backpacks than ask what it meant for humanity to lean so heavily on one alien. 

Because what happened in a hundred years, when his influence had soaked into every vein of society? When reliance calcified into dependency? No one seemed to care about the future they were surrendering, so long as they could catch their daily glimpse of him streaking past like some exotic beast in a zoo enclosure.

He knew that particular view better than anyone. Every damn day, like clockwork, Superman’s patrol carried him right past LuthorCorp building as if Lex was the prisoner under suspicion of constant misconduct.

Absurd, really.

Lex hadn’t attempted world domination in at least a week. He hadn’t destabilized any governments, or made another attempt to rid the world of its resident extraterrestrial pest. By any reasonable metric, it had been a calm week.

Calm, except for the war raging in his own head.

His mind and his cock had disagreed on many occasions, making it almost impossible to focus. Every meeting blurred together, every report droned past him unheard, while some traitorous corner of his brain replayed a goddamn smile that belonged in propaganda posters.

Thankfully, his company could run itself on autopilot, he only needed to intervene on occasion, usually when the urge to retreat into the lab grew unbearable, it was a habit he’d neglected when he picked up on his new little hobby.

And naturally, he blamed Superman.

All of it, his lapse in productivity, his sleepless nights, even the distraction that pulled him out of meetings were the alien’s fault. Lex Luthor did not lose control, he did not get distracted. 

No. 

The only logical explanation was Superman’s presence in his city, in his sky, in his line of sight, was corruptive. Yes… If his life had become a misfortune lately, then it was only natural to trace every last inconvenience back to the same source.

It was human nature to blame anything else, even the fucking wall but themselves. It wasn’t his fault if explicit, stomach-churning artworks of himself appeared on his feed in unspeakable positions with Superman. It wasn’t his fault that some deranged segment of the internet seemed determined to illustrate him being pinned against walls, folded in half.

And it certainly wasn’t his fault if his brain sometimes leaked sideways, if flashes of those obscene images crept into meetings or boardrooms or the lonely nights.

 

---

 

He was a hot commodity these days. 

Jessica apparently talked to a friend, who then texted him practically begging him to order a commission from this… artist. He squinted at the username, a string of letters and numbers so incoherent it looked like the product of a cat walking across a keyboard. What was he supposed to do with that? Memorize it?

The message itself wasn’t much better, it had a lot of capital letters, twenty crying emojis in a row, multiple exclamation points. His temples ached just trying to read it. 

He was in his office, waiting for Mercy to fetch the journalist from the lobby eighty stories below, and instead of preparing answers for whatever farmboy-turned-reporter nonsense Kent would throw at him, he was stuck staring at a text begging him to— please, PLEASE, just ask for Supes/Lex art, omg ur the only one who can make it happen.

Supes?

Against his better judgment, he opened the media tab on the artist’s account.

And… well. Damn it. They were good, really good. Not the sloppy cartoon sex he’d expected, but disturbingly lifelike renderings with hyper-detailed shadows, the colors were vibrant, and the subjects looked alive, it was almost photographic. 

Still, he understood why that hysterical fan had begged him because the artist’s prices were astronomical but Lex had the money to waste.

They hadn’t drawn him with Superman.

His thumb hovered over the “commission” link longer than he’d like to admit, before he locked the phone and set it down face-first on his desk.

It was the perfect moment for Mercy to open the door, she stepped aside and in trailed a man whose head was turning this way and that, cataloguing every corner of the office with wide-eyed curiosity.

When their eyes finally met, Lex allowed himself the smallest hum in the back of his throat. Interesting.

The request had originally come under the name Lois Lane, but Mercy had made it crystal clear that the interview would only happen if it was Clark Kent who showed up in person. And here he was.

Clark’s grin was almost indecent in its brightness, boyish in a way that made Lex’s teeth grind. The man looked giddy, like a golden retriever who’d been promised a walk. 

He hadn’t agreed to a private interview in years, not with anyone. For Clark, this was practically a miracle, an opportunity that could make his career and if the man knew what was good for him, he’d treat it as such.

Clark was… easy on the eyes. Crisp white button-up with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and locks of curly dark hair tumbling rebelliously out of its neat hair style into something far too artfully messy to be accidental. And then, of course, those big glasses perched on his face, he was handsome in a dorky sort of way.

Lex could suddenly see the appeal as to why Superman of all beings seemed to favor giving this man private interviews again and again. There was an approachable quality to him.

And when Clark smiled at him. A wide, earnest flash of white and too straight teeth. Lex squinted, his mind snagging on the familiarity. When had he seen that exact grin before? That same flawless dental perfection? not a single goddamn imperfection?

“Mr. Luthor.” Clark grinned again, though this time Lex caught the tell in a faint twitch in his jaw, the kind people got when they were trying to hold their nerves together in his presence. “Thank you for allowing us to do this… interview.”

The thought festered. It pulsed at the back of his skull like a migraine.

But Lex Luthor was many men, visionary, genius, villain, depending on who you asked but he could be charming when he wasn't having a meltdown and today, charm was as good a shield as any. “Likewise.” He flashed a smile of his own, nothing as wide as Clark’s but enough to pass as non-stuck up as he watched the man take a seat on the chair in front of him.

Mercy left them both alone to sit on her desk just outside of his office. Clark adjusted his glasses and turned on the voice recording. “Mr. Luthor, I’d like to start with the basics. LuthorCorp has been expanding aggressively in the last year, acquisitions, new research facilities, even foreign partnerships. What would you say is driving that growth?”

“Ambition, Mr. Kent. Something very human.” He clasped his hands together on top of the mahogany desk. “Unlike other… influences that have taken root in Metropolis.”

Clark blinked, pen hovering. “You mean Superman?”

“Do I?” Lex frowned. “Funny how quickly people assume.”

Clark’s pen tapped lightly against the page before he pressed on. “You’ve made no secret of your criticisms, though. Many citizens see Superman as a protector.”

“Shall I assume,” Lex answered, “that this interview is going to be another piece about Supershit? Or are you actually here to talk about the future of mankind?”

Clark’s smile was more like a grimace.

Damn it. The words came out hotter than he’d intended, laced with the hostility he had sworn to keep in check. He wanted Clark’s favor or at least his access and if he could be coaxed into arranging another meeting with Superman, then this entire charade would pay off. But antagonizing the man wasn’t the way so Lex forced his smile to soften.

Honestly, why was he even bothering with this? He could just as easily launch a bomb into the stratosphere, or derail a commuter train, and Superman would appear right on schedule. The man was nothing if not predictable.

Clark adjusted his glasses and the faintest flicker of irritation? was crossing his face before he settled into professional neutrality. “I assure you, Mr. Luthor,” he said, his pen poised above the page, “people are interested in more things than him. They want to know what’s next, where leaders like you intend to take the world.”

Leaders like you. The phrase tickled Lex, equal parts flattering and mocking, he couldn’t quite tell which way Clark had meant it. “Then let’s discuss that,” Lex said smoothly, leaning back into his chair. “The future of mankind is not found in a man who flies. It’s found in human ingenuity, in willpower, in our refusal to let destiny be dictated by a creature who fell out of the sky.”

Fuck, he failed again.

Clark’s pen scratched against the page, but his eyes stayed fixed on Lex’s face. He just… watched, the stare through those ridiculous glasses was sharper than it had any right to be.

Lex pressed on. “But I’m sure you’ll phrase it better in print, won’t you, Mr. Kent?”

His phone beeped again and when he flipped it over, the screen was lit up with that cursed notification from Jessica begging him, pleading in all caps this time, to commission the artist. What was wrong with these people? First the stranger and now Jessica too...

He ignored it. 

“Is something urgent?” Clark asked.

“No,” Lex answered with his practiced smile sliding back into place. He waved a dismissive hand. That ridiculous request. Superman and him, drawn like—

He cut the thought off with a sip of water.

Now was not the time to think about the explicit drawing he’d seen that morning, but the image forced its way back into his head anyway, of Superman going to town on his ass, Lex’s face thrown back in something dangerously close to bliss with one hand buried in those thick black hair. 

Right… the air condition’s fault as it suddenly felt too hot in the room and Clark looked alarmed for some unknown reason, before he smoothed it out with a professional smile.

Lex cleared his throat twice and grabbed his water again, taking a too-big gulp that clinked the glass against his teeth. He knew what would be perfect right now, a scotch, a bourbon, anything with enough bite to burn the unwanted images out of his head. But no. His secretary had confiscated the bottles he’d smuggled in earlier that morning.

Clark scribbled something, but Lex had the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t notes he was writing, it was observations about him.

“So… Superman.” Lex started, rolling the word on his tongue like it was a fucking slur. He caught the faintly puzzled crease in Clark’s brow and decided not to dance around it. “Are you his boyfriend?” he asked flatly.

There. Out in the open. The only logical explanation for why this farmboy masquerading as a journalist always had the exclusive interviews, the candid shots no one else had, photographs of Superman in moments no camera should’ve been able to catch. Lex had tried to track down the sources, he had databases of images, gigabytes of videos. But he got zero results.

Clark sputtered, his throat working around a sound that wasn’t quite a word as he nearly choked on nothing, cheeks flushing red.

Lex would have offered him water if he had any to give but he just drowned the only water source in this room. So he just leaned back in his chair, watching the man across from him flail in wide-eyed disbelief.

“You…” Clark finally managed, voice breaking before he coughed and tried again. “You can’t just ask that in an interview.” He turned off the recording.

“Why not? You follow him closer than anyone.”

Clark’s pen slipped in his grip, nearly rolling off the notebook onto the floor and he scrambled to catch it, muttering something Lex couldn’t quite catch but from the shade of his ears, it was likely a swear word that even Superman wouldn't be proud of.

“Your silence is… telling.” Lex pressed.

Damn, did Superman even like men? 

“He just approached me out of the blue.” Clark answered.

Lex arched a brow. “Approached you out of the blue,” he repeated slowly. “Yes, because the most powerful being on Earth simply happened to stumble across a random reporter in Metropolis and thought, ‘Yes, this one. This one I’ll trust with my secrets.’”

Clark stiffened, his grip tightening on his pen until it bent alarmingly. A hairline crack and he quickly slipped it under his notepad before Lex’s eyes could catch it. He cleared his throat, pretending to flip a page.

“Are you aware,” Lex drawled, “why I’m agreeing to this interview, Mr. Kent? Perry and I… had an agreement.”

“I was told you don’t usually accept private interviews,” Clark said carefully.

“Don’t usually,” Lex repeated. “Try never, Mr. Kent. I haven’t entertained one-on-one journalism in years. Your editor begged and somehow you’re the one sitting here.”

“Did you threaten Perry?” Clark asked.

“What? Is my reputation that low in your book? I simply wanted an audience with your boyfriend.” Lex answered.

“He isn't my boyfriend!” The denial burst out of him.

Lex just sighed, he should have just unleashed one of his prototypes downtown because it was always easier to get Superman’s attention when the city was in flames.

Instead, here he was, babysitting a flustered reporter with dimples.

“I’ve done my part in this interview,” Lex said finally. “Now you do yours.” He gestured lazily toward Clark’s notebook, “Ask your questions, write your piece. Whatever makes your editor happy and bring him to me.”

“Superman isn’t my—” He cut himself off, huffing in frustration. “This interview is supposed to be about you, Mr. Luthor. Your company’s projects, your future plans.”

“Everything is about me, Mr. Kent. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” Lex answered.

Clark forced himself to turn on the recording “Fine. Then how does LexCorp intend to handle the criticism about its monopolization of energy grids in Metropolis?”

Lex tilted his head. “Straight to business. Good boy.”

Clark flushed, scribbling furiously with another pen just to avoid looking at him.

“But here’s the thing,” Lex continued, “no matter how cleverly i phrase my answer, the public doesn’t care about energy grids. What they care about is Superman. His rescues, his heroics, his smile splashed across your front page.” 

“This isn’t about him.” Clark looked exasperated now.

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for Clark, he was saved as Mercy strutted in bringing a paperback of his usual order of sandwich. “Are you torturing him?” She asked as she approached the desk.

“Torture? I would never!” Lex’s hand pressed to his chest in mock innocence. “You know me, Mercy.”

Clark shot him an indignant glare over the rim of his glasses. He looked seconds away from launching into an argument of how impossible that was, but Lex winked at him which made him turn his head away.

“Mm-hm. Of course,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “Should I clear the rest of your schedule since you are too busy… enjoying yourself?”

Lex’s grin sharpened. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m conducting a perfectly legitimate interview. Isn’t that right, Mr. Kent?”

“Something like that.” Clark muttered.

Mercy arched her brow. “Right.” She gave Clark a once-over. 

“Mercy,” Lex cut in, “don’t undermine me in front of my guest. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“I think you do that just fine yourself,” she replied and turned to leave.

As the door clicked shut, Lex unwrapped his sandwich leisurely, eyes flicking back to Clark. “Now… where were we? Ah, yes. Your boyfriend.”

Clark groaned.

 

---

 

Lex managed to wring from Clark a reluctant promise to “pass along the message” to Superman.

Convince wasn’t the right word, bully was far closer. Clark had the stubbornness of a farm-bred ox, but Lex was every bit the predator who knew how to dig his claws in just right. A taunting remark there and the man had all but tripped over his own protests until finally agreeing just to shut him up.

They hadn’t set a time. Superman would show up when it pleased him, or not at all. Lex could be in Geneva or Shanghai or halfway through taking down a competitor’s empire by the time the alien finally decided to grace him with his presence.

But Lex wasn’t worried. Sooner or later, Superman would come. And if he didn’t?

Then he’d simply track down Clark Kent again. Sweet, soft-spoken Clark Kent, with his big eyes who was a sweet sweet summer child dressed in ill-fitting suits, practically begging to be poked, prodded, bullied. To  remind him that some promises weren’t meant to be broken.

But tonight, Lex was busy entertaining this new weirdo he talked to earlier. 

He was tempted to commission the new artist. Their work was undeniably good, if Jessica’s fee was around fifty bucks, this one was charging somewhere in the ballpark of three to five hundred. Still nothing compared to the absurd amounts Lex shelled out to actually pay Jessica including the bonus.

Not that he begrudged Jessica. Her art had its own charm and it had wormed its way into his daily life more than he liked to admit. The second commission she ever delivered was currently set as his phone’s homescreen, it was an indulgence no one had dared comment on, not that they would. Mercy was the only one brave enough to peek at his phone and she had long since acclimated to his “stupidest shit” as she called it, including his occasional meltdowns.

With a resigned sigh, he clicked on the commission link and typed out his request. Something tame this time, tame enough, at least. 

A scene of him and Superman flying. Nothing scandalous, just the two of them, suspended in the sky, looking at each other with Superman’s hands steady on his hips, holding him close. Perfectly innocent. 

Not that he’d ever admit it aloud, but he’d always been curious about what it would feel like to actually ride Superman—not like that, of course. He meant in the way people rode helicopters or planes, not in the vulgar sense his brain seemed determined to conjure. Though… the imagery didn’t exactly help his case.

Lex was no stranger to the sky. He’d been in planes, in jets, in helicopters so sleek and expensive they put most countries’ defense budgets to shame. But being carried by Superman? That was something else entirely. The man flew fast enough to break sound barriers without effort, fast enough that Lex sometimes wondered how the human body could endure it without liquefying from the pressure.

Would it feel like being thrown off a building? Would his stomach rebel, his organs shift, his intestines try to crawl up his throat in protest? Or… would it feel like control surrendered in the most unnerving way, with nothing but Superman’s strength between him and the pavement hundreds of feet below?

Lex’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, considering whether his commission request sounded too intimate. Tame, Luthor. Nothing they could hold against you in a board meeting if this ever leaked. 

And he clicked send anyway.

After that, he opened The Daily Planet newspaper wide, practically slapping it against his desk as if to prove a point to an invisible audience. See? He was being productive by reading actual journalism. He wasn’t going back to that cursed website again!

“SUPERMAN SAVES NATION”

Lex rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach from his skull. Oh em gee, when was he not? 

Of course its Superman again.

The man sneezed on a collapsing bridge and suddenly it was headline news. He scooped a cat out of a tree, front page. He prevented a nuclear meltdown, front page. He bought a kid an ice cream once, Lex was fairly sure Clark had made that into a heartwarming sidebar.

The Daily Planet was Superman’s most notorious defender, practically his personal PR department. If they could’ve printed the man’s laundry schedule, Lex was certain Perry White would’ve approved it for the Sunday edition. 

He was tempted to buy the entire publication outright just to crush it under his thumb until it was nothing but dust in the media landscape. It was a public service, really.

Oh, hell, what would Clark Kent write about that?

Lex could already see the headline, “LEX LUTHOR STRIKES AGAIN”

Billionaire crushes journalistic integrity in petty power play. Superman disapproves.

Lex snorted, tossing the newspaper aside. Of course it wouldn’t paint him in a good light and if Clark ever found out about these little… thoughts? These petty temptations? Oh, Lex could imagine the disappointed little frown, maybe even a lecture disguised as an interview.

Now that would almost be worth it.

He abandoned his attempt at journalistic reading not even ten minutes later. Journalism could wait; morbid curiosity, however, could not, so he opened the fiction website again, that pit of insanity he swore he’d only browse “for research”

Now what in God’s name was this about Alpha and Omega?

He blinked at the words on screen, scrolled, then blinked again. Like a fucking dog?

He opened a dictionary tab, skimmed, and promptly slammed the laptop shut. The definition alone was scandalous. Biological imperatives, heat cycles, knotting—

He exhaled harshly through his nose and pried the laptop open again and there it was, why, for the love of God, was he always painted as the Omega?

Lex Luthor, cowering, needy, pliant. Superman towering over him, noble and virile, swooping in like a knight in shining armor to save poor, trembling Lex.

Lex rubbed a hand over his face. “Absolutely not.”

He wasn’t frail, he wasn’t in distress, and if anyone here was a knight, it was Lex with intellect as his sword, empire as his armor. He’d built his world brick by brick, clawed his way into power with brain and his will. He didn’t need Superman holding his hand through it, much less… whatever this mess implied.

Omega.

He could do fine by himself, thank you very much.

He clicked on the top one most popular result and skimmed it, it had something to do about omega Lex self-lubricating ass and he was sure his brain was leaking out of both ears, neuron by neuron, the more he read. It was stupid, it wasn't even humanly possible yet his cock was perking up like the perverted piece of shit that it was. 

Another paragraph of Superman pinning him to a wall, Lex keening… he would never be keening like that!

Though there was a voice at the back of his mind, drawling, you’re pining, boss, and it sounded suspiciously like Mercy.

Lex’s eye twitched.

“Shut up,” he muttered to no one.

Pining.

He wasn’t pining. He was doing research.

Vital, humiliating, pornographic research into the depths of the internet.

That was all.

Lex slammed his fist against the arm of his chair. “I am not—”

Pining, Mercy’s voice sing-songed again.

He’d burn the whole site down later for the good of humanity, of-fucking-course.

If he was pining, then it was only because strangling Superman was taking longer than he expected.

His cock disagreed.

Still, he kept reading. Two chapters in, and he was staring slack-jawed at the sentence… “Something thick was catching on Lex’s rim, bigger than Superman’s cock yet burning just as hot. It pushed and dragged against his stretched hole, prying him wider with every torturously slow thrust.”

Lex blinked once, twice.

“What the fuck am I reading?” he said aloud to the empty room.

The next line was worse, “His lips were parted from broken cries he couldn’t hold back as his body shook uncontrollably. He was limp, too far gone to fight it, to even hold himself up, and if not for the sheer fullness spearing him in place, he would have slid helplessly off Superman’s cock. Instead, he was kept open, held there by the thickest part forcing his rim to stretch around it.”

Absolutely not. He was Lex Luthor, he didn’t cry, he didn’t tremble. But then, traitorous as ever, a whisper slithered up from the dark corners of his brain, but you haven’t tasted that cock yet, what would you know?

He ground the heel of his palm against his temple as though he could physically beat the thought back into silence. “Pathetic.” he hissed aloud, aiming the word at the screen but catching his own reflection in the glass. 

His cock, unfortunately, was hard, pressing against the front of his slacks like a traitor waving a little white flag.

Lex glared down at his pants. “You shut the hell up.”

He continued reading and the next paragraph had something to do with Superman snarling in his ear about how he was going to make sure he was well bred by the time his heat broke. Lex’s brain short-circuited. He barely had the time to sneer utterly barbaric before a knock rattled the glass wall behind him.

“Open the window, Luthor.”

Not his imagination, not the phantom growl of fanfiction Superman. 

The real Superman.

He snapped his laptop shut so violently it was a miracle the screen didn’t crack. He whipped around in his chair, trying and failing to disguise the tiny, undignified squeak that escaped his throat.

And there he was. Hovering just beyond the glass, cape rippling, hair annoyingly perfect, the living, breathing subject of every depraved sentence Lex had just consumed.

“Oh, wonderful.” Lex muttered, already sweating. 

He tried to straighten his posture, pretending like a man caught in an online board meeting instead of… whatever that had been. Unfortunately, the treacherous bulge still straining against his slacks did not share his commitment to composure.

Superman tilted his head, a curious little furrow in his brow.

Lex cursed every god he didn’t believe in.

 

 

Notes:

do y'all think superman caught what Lex is readinh?😂 Let me know what you think!

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Notes:

It’s 7 in the morning, and I’m running on 3 hours of sleep, so what’s a way to make it all better? An update, of course.

Also thanks to my friend ps2bambi for helping me to crack the science behind Superman's suit and make the sexy stripping possible!

 

Lex was saved, purely because his office had no balcony. If it had, he was certain Superman would have been hovering there already. Instead, he pointed a finger upwards, towards his penthouse five floors above where he was sure Superman was aware where he lived, and he rocketed up there in an instant.

The moment he disappeared from view, Lex sagged back against his chair, counting to three, then five, then ten. It didn’t really help because his pulse thundered like a war drum in his chest, far too fast, far too hot, and he stubbornly told himself it was nothing more than adrenaline from a surprise visit. Certainly not because of the alien himself.

He smoothed his tie. Control and dignity, that was what set him apart from everyone else, and he wasn’t about to lose it over some stupid oaf.

Taking his time, he strode toward the elevator. The ascent up five floors stretched so fast and he barely had the time to blink before the doors slid open.

There he was.

Superman lounged on Lex’s private balcony, resting his forearms against the railing and fucking sightseeing, taking in Metropolis city lights at night. Admittedly, it was a beautiful sight, and was one of the main reasons why Lex lived in the LuthorCorp penthouse slash office.

Lex’s throat went dry.

He pivoted and made a beeline to the bathroom. The cold water shocked him when he splashed it on his face, but it wasn’t enough. He gripped the sink, staring into the mirror at his reflection, he looked… heaven forbid, hysterical.

“This is ridiculous,” he berated himself. “You are Lex Luthor. You do not act like this!” He jabbed a finger at his reflection.

Well, he already bullied Clark Kent and, apparently, the man was true to his word by sending Superman straight to his balcony. There was no use in stalling, no use in pretending he hadn’t invited this upon himself.

Lex exited the bathroom with his face still slightly damp from the splash of cold water. He reached the living room and pulled the balcony door open. The soft hiss of glass sliding along its track was drowned out by the rush of chilled night air that swept inside and caused his socked feet to curl against the polished floor instinctively at the change in temperature.

The air brought more than just the bite of autumn, it carried Superman’s scent, hmm, a cologne? Lex drew in a breath before he realized what he was doing and scowled instantly at himself. 

He didn’t recognize the fragrance, it certainly was not one from his own extensive, curated collection. He owned entire cabinets filled with bottles worth more than most people’s apartments, and this wasn’t among them. No, it was something mass-produced, probably, stocked on drugstore shelves.

How fitting. 

“Luthor.” Superman greeted, he looked confused as though he hadn’t the faintest idea why Lex Luthor of all people had beckoned him up here. 

Lex couldn't just ask him to indulge in his little… research, right? A very unscientific, undignified theory that involved Superman’s body and the sheer excess of it. He couldn’t exactly phrase it as be a dear and indulge me while I make mental notes on your anatomy for research purposes.

He hadn’t quite realized until now just how tall the alien was when standing this close. It was one thing to see him at a distance while framed against the sky. But here… in his balcony, Superman was a damn wall of muscle.

Lex straightened his spine instinctively with his chin tilted upward, the way he did at board meetings to remind lesser men that they were standing in the presence of Lex Luthor. But it didn’t quite work here. No matter how tall he stood, Superman stood taller. No matter how broad he angled his shoulders, Superman’s frame still eclipsed him.

Ughh…

Lex Luthor was not a small man. He was six-foot-three, he had the broad shoulders and legs that, if one were inclined to admire, went for days. But next to Superman, everyone might as well have been carved from lesser marble.

Another question popped up in his mind. Was he born like this? Lex knew that no human alive could bulk into those proportions without an arsenal of steroids, a lifetime of weight training, and the metabolism of a horse. Even then, he doubted anyone could achieve this exact build. The bastard probably didn’t even have to bench press.

“Superman.” Lex said and stepped inside, Superman followed him.

“What do you want, Luthor?” Superman asked.

Hmm. So many delicious options. Death? That would be deeply satisfying. The alien’s head crushed beneath Lex’s Italian leather soles… yes, it was a fine image. Public humiliation? Now that held a certain poetry. Public execution? That one had always been a favorite, he could practically draft the guest list tonight and send out embossed invitations.

He could rattle off a dozen answers without lifting a finger. The real challenge was choosing the one that would crawl under Superman’s skin and stay there.

Lex let a slow smile curve at the edges of his mouth. His tongue traced the back of his teeth, enjoying the way the silence stretched, the way Superman’s eyes never left his. Ah yeah, finally got his full undivided attention now. 

He stepped closer, fingering where the red cape met the blue suit and successfully in making Superman look spooked. Up close, Superman’s blue eyes weren’t so dazzling. In fact, the pupils were blown wide, swallowing the baby blue color until they looked dark. Lex looked into his eyes, studying him like a specimen under glass. Adrenaline, maybe. Or low light. Not some… absurd other reason.

“So…” Lex’s voice lowered into a purr. “Superman. Take off your suit.”

Superman’s lips parted slightly, his throat working around a protest that didn’t quite make it out. Lex leaned in, close enough to catch the faint clean scent that clung beneath that irritating cologne. “Indulge me. Unless you’re shy?”

“Why would i do that?!” Superman asked, looking at him like he was crazy. 

Lex merely just rolled his eyes. “Why not? men take off their clothes in front of other men all the time.” Lex pressed on, relishing the flicker of discomfort in the alien’s face. “Locker rooms, gyms, military barracks, though I wouldn’t expect you to know much about the last one. But it was perfectly normal.”

The muscle in Superman’s jaw tightened and Lex leaned back slightly. “Come now. For someone who struts around in spandex, you seem unusually modest.”

Lex fingered the cape again, just now realizing that there was something connecting the shoulders to feet length red fabric, how it wasn’t seamless with the suit but attached by two hidden clasps at the shoulders. Lex’s fingers worked one clasp loose, then the other and it slid free, collapsing in a silken heap at Superman’s heels, spreading like spilled blood against Lex’s marble floor.

Lex smiled faintly, satisfied with himself. “See? That was easy.”

Superman stared down at him, Lex only smirked wider. “Relax. I didn’t bite.” He let his hand linger near Superman’s now-bare shoulder, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off the alien’s skin through that impossibly tight fabric. 

Superman’s incredulous tone was almost laughable. “What? You bullied Clark to… to what? Undress me?”

Lex’s smirk faltered for half a second before smoothing it back into something sly. To see how big your cock actually is, he thought viciously, the words burning at the tip of his tongue. To see if it lives up to the ridiculous worshippers online drool about, to confirm whether even that part of you is some godlike weapon.

But no. He wasn’t about to give the alien that satisfaction by admitting that he’d been wasting perfectly good brain cells scrolling through forums filled with unholy fantasies.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just testing a theory.”

Superman frowned. “What kind of theory requires you to strip me?”

Lex let his gaze flicker deliberately downward on the red underwear that was on the outside before meeting those blue eyes again. “Oh…” Superman said and the single syllable was heavy with realization. “No killing-me schedule tonight?”

Lex laughed. “Please. Murder is more of a… when the mood strikes kind of thing.” His eyes lingered again at Superman’s chest—then lower. “Right now, I’m in the mood for… something else.”

“You’re a strange man, Lex Luthor.” Superman’s voice carried a mixture of exasperation and something Lex couldn’t quite pin down, wary amusement, maybe.

Superman’s gaze lingered. From his face, across the sharp line of his jaw, dragging down his throat as though memorizing the way it moved when he swallowed, then further still. Broad shoulders, the tailored shirt stretched neat across Lex’s chest, and then… lower.

His cock was still half hard from those filthy “research materials” earlier, and though it had softened, it never truly deflated. Now, under Superman’s gaze, it was pressing against the fine fabric of his underwear, swelling toward a full curve.

“I’m a strange man, indeed,” Lex admitted because there was nothing remotely sane about him wanting to peel the layers off his sworn enemy, to test if the body beneath was as exaggerated as the propaganda posters suggested. No amount of late-night trawling through digital filth and fan-made… material could justify this.

And yet, Superman was also strange by turning around without protest and pointed at the zipper that ran between his shoulder blades. 

Lex took hold of the zipper and tugged, slowly, inch by inch until the blue peeled away, baring skin too smooth, too perfect, like marble sculpted for the express purpose of making lesser men feel inadequate.

Lex bit the inside of his cheek, fighting not to gawk, not to stare. But Christ, those rippling planes of muscle weren’t carved in any gym. This was perfection, each line of his back tapering down to a V that looked engineered to drive humanity to madness.

The suit slithered down Superman’s arms, clinging to his thighs before pooling in a heap at his feet and there he stood, stripped down to nothing but a pair of black briefs. Tight, obscenely tight. Not the ridiculous red underwear Lex had mocked a thousand times before—ah, so that had been nothing more than a costume.

And when he turned around, oh, he was hard too and the thin material of his brief left nothing to the imagination, the bulge beneath it straining the fabric to near obscenity.

Could this ET even fuck? That was the big red question. Was it different from a human? Was it better? Worse? He wanted to know how deep that power ran and whether it followed him into the most vulnerable moments.

The back of Lex’s neck prickled hot, the heat crawling up behind his ears. He could feel the flush rising to his face, and it infuriated him because his penthouse was climate-controlled to a perfect 69,8°F, but suddenly the air felt too warm. He blamed the alien for this.

Lex dared to approach him even closer and cupped the bulge before slipping down the brief and holy hell… this alien was hung. Not “generous,” not “above average,” but the kind of obscene endowment that made him briefly consider whether Krypton had some evolutionary quirk just to embarrass other species. 

A small, irritated part of him remembered the clone. How he’d deliberately scaled that down out of spite, a petty little knife-twist to keep his creation from being too perfect. But now, seeing the real thing, he realized he’d been wrong. His cock was something that could probably split him in half if Superman decided to get creative.

Lex wasn’t used to being the smaller one in any relationship. But standing here, looking at the sheer scale of the Kryptonian’s body, at every line of muscle, the impossible symmetry, he felt… small and he hated it. It was a reminder that in every measurable way, that Superman was more.

His instinct was to lash out, to throw something cruel and vicious, something that could shatter that aw shucks smile. But he bit it back, he was stuck in this strange limbo between resentment and an unwilling fascination.

“What are we doing?” Superman asked. 

“Sex, Superman, don't tell me you've never done this before?” Lex goaded.

Superman gave him a look and began to unbutton his pants and slid down the zipper, sure enough, there was already a dark patch blooming in the front of Lex’s black briefs. The alien’s thumb pressed there, dragging along the damp heat and Lex’s breath stuttered. “Interesting,” Superman murmured, not bothering to hide the curl of amusement in his voice. 

“Congratulations, you’ve discovered basic biology,” Lex sneered, though the flush creeping up his neck gave him away.

Superman hooked his fingers in the waistband of Lex’s slacks and tugged them down in one smooth motion. The cool air hit him first, followed by the weight of humiliation as his cock sprang free. 

His fingers wrapped around the length and gave it a few dry tugs that skirt the line between pleasure and discomfort as friction dragged against sensitive skin, making Lex’s teeth clench. He told himself that was why his breath came harsher, why his thighs tensed, not because of the man standing over him.

Still, his cock stayed hard stubbornly and each rough tug coaxed more thin dribble of pre-come. The slick traced down Superman’s knuckles, catching in the deep lines of his veined hand, glistening under the light.

Lex thought he knew everything about Superman, from his fighting tactics to his weakness, but he didn't know how hot he looked in a state of arousal, how those famous baby blues were almost gone, swallowed whole by the dark dilation of his pupils, leaving only a thin corona of color.

Lex’s gaze cataloged every change in his face, but he still couldn't predict the sudden move as Superman surged forward and Lex found his mouth covered in a kiss. 

He didn’t know what the alien would taste like, how the faint mint clung to his tongue, how he would nip at Lex’s bottom lip with surprising roughness before soothing the sting with an apologetic lick, but now he knew and it was making his mind scatter.

Lex refused to be physically dominated without clawing back some measure of control. His right hand gripped those impossibly broad shoulders, fingers digging in to test just how much strength lay beneath them, while his left slid lower, fingers splaying against the granite-like plane of a pec. 

When Superman finally let his cock go, the sudden absence made him whimper and the sound got lost between their mouths. The alien pressed closer, licking at the seam of Lex’s lips until he parted them, tongues met halfway but their noses bumped awkwardly and Superman let out a small laugh, it was warm and intimate against Lex’s mouth.

What startled Lex most was the realization that it wasn’t as repulsive as he had expected. Maybe his mind was clouded by every fictional story he had secretly consumed late at night, every forbidden artwork hidden in the darker corners of the internet that dared to imagine this exact moment. But regardless of whatever rationalizations he scrambled for, he kept kissing him back. 

Some petty part of him upturned its nose and purred with smug satisfaction at the fact that he had Superman right where he wanted him. All those rabid fans could only ever clutch at their fantasies, crafting art and dirty words, while he lived it. He owned it. And that, more than the heat coiling in his gut, made Lex’s chest expand with a heady rush of triumph.

The rest of the world could only guess what Superman tasted like, how it felt to dig nails into his shoulders and have him press closer instead of pulling away. For once, Lex Luthor was not the observer, he was the author, writing his own forbidden scene directly onto Superman’s body.

Superman pulled away first, and Lex was almost dizzy with the sudden loss of contact. His lungs burned with the effort to draw air while the alien stood before him looking maddeningly composed. Those kiss-swollen lips, red in a way Lex would never forget, curved into a smile, and the dimples appeared, deep and innocent like he hadn't just stolen Lex's breath away.

“I didn’t expect this when you came to me with your… proposition,” Superman said.

Lex hated that his own breath came ragged, hated the telltale tremor still buzzing in his hands, while Superman didn’t even pant. Not a drop of sweat, not a falter in his stance. But those eyes gave him away, they were a bit wild now like an untamed animal catching scent of something it couldn’t resist. How weird, this Superman.

“Well…” Lex drawled, painfully aware that Superman was as naked as a baby while Lex was pantless with his grey button up must be creased to hell and his tie was askew, and Superman began to unbutton his vest. “Yet you agreed anyway,” he said in a mean tone meant to disguise the quiver of anticipation running down his spine. “So that’s on you.”

“On me? You’re the one who made the proposition. You’re the one who wanted this.” Superman retaliated, and well… he wasn’t wrong about that.

His brain lagged a step behind, scrambling for the right phrasing that would make this sound less like a confession. This was… research, that’s all. Nothing but research. 

He wanted to test the wild theories people whispered and wrote about online, those grotesque little fantasies he’d scoffed at in public while privately cataloging every lurid detail. He wanted to know if the sketches, the illicit artworks he’d come across of Superman sprawled in impossible poses with his big cock were exaggerations or just… uncanny accuracy.

And now he knew.

The bastard was big.

Too big.

Lex wrapped his right hand around it just as Superman was working at his tie who looked about five seconds away from losing patience and tearing Lex’s shirt open like cheap wrapping paper, but even in his half-dazed state, Superman seemed to know that Lex would sneer and call him “utterly barbaric” and never let him live it down. So, instead, those big, careful fingers were undoing the buttons one by one.

Lex’s hand squeezed experimentally while his scientist’s brain was cataloguing every detail in spite of himself. It was warm, firm, veined like any other man’s and that irked him. Normal. So painfully normal. Where was the otherworldly grotesquerie he’d braced for? A split shaft? Some crystalline anatomy? Perhaps even a double cock, neatly proving every fevered internet theorist right.

But no. Superman’s cock was normal.

Lex narrowed his eyes, thumb brushing over the flushed head. “How very disappointing,” he said. “All this hype, and you’re just… normal looking.”

Superman’s dimples deepened, dangerous in their softness. “You're funny,” he said, tugging another button loose, “I'm just like any other human being, like you.”

“Like me?” His grip tightened. “We are nothing alike.”

Superman leaned closer, heat radiating off his skin, lips ghosting near Lex’s ear. “You bleed, I bleed. You want, I want. That’s alike enough.”

He paused his ministration on Superman's cock and they just stared at each other for probably about five seconds before Superman surged forward again and took his mouth in another kiss. This one was filthier, hungrier, nothing polite or restrained about it, teeth clashed, tongues sliding together with a wet, messy lick that left Lex gasping into the contact. He felt hands at his chest, impatient this time, tugging fabric aside until buttons gave way and his shirt was dragged off one shoulder.

Superman didn’t stop until the garment was wrenched completely down Lex’s arms, tossed away without ceremony until he was just as naked, left only in his black socks with the garters clinging to his calves. Lex tried not to think about how surreal it was that the man he hated most was kissing down his neck now. 

Lex's hand found itself tangled on Superman's gelled back hair and he mussed it up, it smelled like hair gel and shampoo and he pulled on it slightly as Superman sucked a mark on his skin. “I have an important meeting tomorrow.” Lex said.

“Yes, and?” Superman’s whisper pressed directly against Lex’s damp skin, each syllable carried on a hot breath that tingled and made him shiver.

“And,” he managed, fingers curling tighter in Superman’s hair, “I can’t exactly walk in there with your teeth imprinted on my throat like some—” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale as Superman’s tongue dragged across the mark.

“Like some what?” Superman asked, lifting his head just enough to let their eyes lock again, blue burning into blue.

“Nevermind.” Lex exhaled, though it came out closer to a sigh of pleasure than anything else, his lips parted as Superman ground his cock against him.

He let his hands pressed into Superman’s broad chest, feeling the hardness beneath the skin as he shoved… more like guide him backward until the backs of Superman’s knees met the couch. 

Lex straddled him and from this angle, Lex was taller, his chin angled down as he looked at Superman, drinking in the sight of the flushed cheeks, the slightly parted lips, and the storm of emotion behind those blue eyes.

He let his hand get tangled in Superman’s hair, tugging gently to elicit a shiver while the other one was tracing the strong lines of his pecs, thumbs brushing over nipples that hardened in arousal. 

Lex reached into the gap between the cushions of the couch and retrieved a small bottle of lube. Superman huffed out a disbelieving breath, dimples threatening to appear at his cheeks as his eyes flicked from the bottle to Lex’s face. “You planned for this?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Lex replied calmly.

“You’re bullying that poor journalist to have sex with me,” Superman muttered in disbelief though his gaze was already locked on the way Lex casually flicked the cap open.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Superman.” Lex repeated.

He poured the lube into his palm, letting it gleam under the lamp light before spreading it slowly over his fingers, he reached back and pressed one inside himself. He exhaled at the sudden burn and discomfort but the payoff was good enough because Superman was blushing hard, the flush spread down his neck, blooming hot and red around his chest as he watched him with rapt attention.

“It's not bullying. Just… persuasion.” Lex said between moans.

Superman’s hands slid from Lex’s hips to the curve of his ass, palms spanning the firm flesh warmly before squeezing hard enough to make Lex’s breath catch. He felt Superman’s thumbs pressing into the dimples of his lower back as they trailed lower, coaxing his cheeks apart and he nearly lost the battle for composure when one curious finger brushed over his rim.

His lips parted, a quiet gasp threatening to escape, but he forced them closed, watching Superman’s face instead, drinking in the way his brow furrowed and teeth sank into his plush lower lip. Another deep, resonant groan rolled up from Superman’s mouth and the sound mixed with the slick, wet rhythm of his own finger pumping inside himself.

Lex did his best to look unaffected as he slipped a second finger inside even though he knew that a rosy hue of blush was high on his own cheekbones. “Don't get too excited.” Lex teased and yanked at one of his nipples.

Superman’s eyes fluttered closed at the sharp, delicious sting, dark lashes brushing his flushed cheeks, and Lex let his gaze linger on the delicate curve of his eyelids. When Superman opened his eyes again, he looked directly up at Lex with his lips parted slightly, and Lex felt a faint, wicked thrill at the hold he had over him.

He felt Superman’s finger brush against his hole, slick with the lube already coating Lex’s own hand, and the slow, probing pressure made him wince. “Wait, wait, you—fucking oaf,” Lex muttered as his hole involuntarily clenched around the new intrusion. His own fingers spread wide, making room for Superman’s decidedly longer, thicker finger. The stretch was immediate and intense, forcing a shiver to run down his spine, there was no way in hell to look unaffected in a situation like this.

He could feel every deliberate glide of Superman’s finger as it pressed, twisted, and stroked, matching his own movements yet asserting its own rhythm. His hole felt impossibly full and blood rushed to heat his flushed face even further, imagining how full he was gonna be when he had Superman's cock inside. It was long and thicker than his own, he pictured the head that was angry-red, glistening as it pressed at his entrance. 

He pulled his fingers out but Superman's finger remained inside, pressing against his prostate that made him hiss in pleasure. “That's enough.” He reached back, gripping Superman’s wrist and guided the finger out of himself.

“Definitely not what I had in mind when I flew to your ugly building,” Superman muttered.

Lex immediately bristled. “Ugly?!” he repeated.

Superman’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, dimples threatening to form even as his chest rose and fell heavily with uneven breaths. “You heard me,” he said, obviously goading him.

“Shut the hell up,” Lex snapped. His hand wrapped firmly around Superman’s cock causing his head to fell back with a moan at the sudden stimulation, chest heaving while his hips twitched upward involuntarily. 

But a crease appeared between his brows. “You sure you’re ready?” he asked but Lex ignored the question entirely as he lined them up and began to sink down. “That wasn’t much—oooh my god—”

The blunt, swollen head pushed past the tight ring of muscle, Lex bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from crying out. His nails dug into Superman’s shoulders for leverage, the intrusion was far beyond anything his own fingers could have prepared him for.

Lex’s legs trembled violently and he paused halfway down Superman’s cock, the sheer thickness splitting him open made his vision blur at the edges. Fuck… he was only halfway down and already he felt unbearably stretched.

“Lex—” Superman groaned as his hands tightened on Lex’s thighs. His nails dug in, leaving pale crescents on flushed skin as though he was fighting the urge to thrust up and bury himself the rest of the way.

“Oh, so we’re on a first-name basis now?” he managed to grit out. 

Superman’s eyes fluttered shut as another moan escaped his lips. “You’re killing me,” he groaned, fingers clutching harder at Lex’s muscled thighs.

Lex lifted himself on his knees, thighs trembling as he rose just enough to ease the pressure before forcing himself down again. Inch by inch, he sank lower, his breath breaking into ragged gasps as he pushed past the thickest part of Superman’s cock until his hole swallowed the thick length whole and he sank all the way down, seated firmly against Superman’s hips. 

The sudden fullness made his vision spark white for a moment, hole clenching hard around the intrusion as he fought to breathe through the burn.

Superman groaned loudly beneath him, his head tipping back against the couch with his throat exposed.

Lex sat there, trembling faintly while trying to wrestle back his composure. He could feel every twitch, every throb of Superman’s cock buried inside him, the sheer fullness pushing him to the very edge of what he could endure. Still, he straightened his back, forcing his features into something resembling calm. “Well,” he breathed out. “you’re not nearly as impressive as the papers say.”

“Papers?” Superman asked. 

Oops. Lex realized too late he might have given himself away. The last time he checked, there were certainly no newspapers reporting on Superman’s bedroom habits, not even the Daily Planet.

He ignored the slip, his nails dug into the hard ridges of Superman’s abs, dragging red crescents down the rippling muscle and watched in amazement as the redness disappeared not even two seconds later.

His right hand reached back, planting firmly on the solid plane of Superman’s thigh and he rolled his hips down in a fast grind. Superman gasped, his cock throbbed deep inside Lex, the pleasure making his hands clutch tighter at Lex’s waist.

Lex rolled his hips again, then again, fast and merciless, driving himself down with each thrust until the wet slap of their bodies filled the room. Every rise and fall of his body was designed to wring another moan, another shudder, another helpless sound from the man beneath him.

“Lex—” he groaned. 

Ah… The world’s strongest man, reduced to a gasping  mess under him, undone by every roll of Lex’s body. Lex’s lips curved faintly. Yes, he thought smugly, setting the pace harder, this was exactly how it should be.

He pitched forward, planting one hand flat against Superman’s chest and up to shove two fingers between Superman’s lips, forcing past his teeth as if he could drag the man’s secrets straight out of his throat, stealing his name right off his tongue. Superman’s eyes went wide, blue burning bright with shock and for a split second Lex braced himself, fully expecting to be thrown across the room for his insolence.

But instead... Superman moaned. He closed his mouth obediently around Lex’s fingers and sucked, tongue laving along the pads in desperate, wet swirls.

He pressed harder against Superman’s chest, pinning him down and riding him with fast paced thrusts that made the frame of his couch creak dangerously.

The slick, hot suction around his fingers was almost too much, dragging fire up his arm and lodging in his groin. He curled them deeper into Superman’s mouth, daring him to gag, to choke, to push back, but Superman only moaned louder, eyes fluttering closed.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing Superman’s damp temple as he hissed, “You like being used, don’t you?”

Superman whined again, muffled around Lex’s fingers, and sucked harder in answer.

Lex pulled his fingers out slowly, savoring the obscene little pop as Superman’s mouth finally released him. He dragged those same damp fingers across Superman’s mouth, tracing the swollen curve of his bottom lip, smearing spit along the corner.

Those eyes were darker than Lex had ever seen them, a storm-swallowed blue that had gone almost black and they locked on him intense enough to make his hackles rise, but Lex only tilted his chin and smiled like a devil with a knife hidden behind his back

“Almost there, aren’t you, Superman?” Lex drawled, lazy enough to mask the frantic hammering in his chest.

Superman nodded with lips still parted like he couldn’t remember how to breathe without Lex’s permission.

He dragged his thumb over that trembling lower lip and let it linger just inside the heat of his mouth. “Keep that mouth hanging open and I’ll find a better way to fill it.”

Superman’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and the sound he made in answer was nothing short of desperate.

He leaned back, showing off the cut of his abs and planted both hands on the solid breadth of Superman’s thighs. Using them as leverage as he bounced harder, faster, forcing his body to take the full stretch again and again. Sweat trickled down the curve of his spine, sliding down onto the dimples on his lower back and he ignored the way his own thighs trembled.

The sheer heat radiating off Superman’s skin, the way the thick cock inside him pulsed and dragged against every nerve ending made him want to moan out loud. But he would not break first, he would not fall apart on top of him like some ruined, sobbing slut. 

The thought of becoming the pathetic, wrecked version of himself that the internet always painted who was red-faced, begging, undone by Superman was patethic. So he clamped down instead, tightening around Superman’s cock whose big hands scrambling to grip tighter at Lex’s hips as his breath stuttered. If anyone was going to fall apart here, it would be Superman. 

“Ah—Lex!” Superman suddenly sat upright and wrapped his arms around his body, buried his face against the line of Lex’s throat, breath coming ragged, damp against his skin. The grip was suffocating in its strength, pinning Lex’s movements until the only thing he could feel was the iron-tight hold and the molten heat flooding him deep inside. 

A slow, almost mocking smile spread across his lips as he lifted one hand to stroke through Superman’s mussed, damp hair. He felt every roll of Superman’s hips beneath him, every frantic push upward as the man tried to drive his cock deeper to empty himself entirely.

Lex allowed it, patting his head like a reward, even as his own body trembled from the heat pouring into his hole. “There you go, get it all out.”

But he didn’t allow him to savor it for long. Lex’s fingers twisted deep into the thick black curls, fisting cruelly as he yanked Superman’s head back. The sudden force exposed the long, unguarded line of his throat, stretching sun kissed skin tight over the powerful column of muscle. Superman's eyes went wide, startled blue flashing beneath the dark fan of his lashes.

Lex leaned in close, mouth brushing the corner of Superman’s slack gasping one, and whispered… “On your knees.”

This was the part he lived for— pulling a godlike creature down to the ground and making him kneel. Lex stood up on unsteady legs and yanked Superman down until the so-called savior of Metropolis was on his knees before him.

Superman was still shuddering from the force of his release, yet when Lex guided himself forward, that perfect mouth opened without hesitation, warm and wet as he slipped his cock inside.

He curled his fist tight in Superman’s hair, yanking hard as he set a rough rhythm, shoving him down until his nose brushed Lex’s stomach, then pulling him off again just to see his spit-slicked lips gasp for breath before driving back in. Superman moaned low around the intrusion, causing the vibration shooting straight through Lex’s cock and he sucked greedily on the head each time Lex gave him that fleeting mercy.

Lex pushed deeper, harder until Superman gagged, throat tightening around him. For a split second he thought the alien might pull away but he only took it as Lex slid the final inch in, burying himself fully inside. He hissed through his teeth at the obscene tightness, looking down to see Superman’s tear-rimmed eyes staring up at him, lips stretched wide around his cock.

The most powerful being on Earth, kneeling there with Lex’s cock buried down his throat, brought low exactly as Lex had always dreamed. This was nothing like the crude fantasies of those teenagers online, he was savoring the sight of Superman gagging and swallowing around him, utterly undone. 

He would keep gloating internally if not for the slow, sticky heat of cum trickling from his ass, sliding down the backs of his thighs. Superman noticed and lifted one hand from around Lex’s thigh and let his fingers ghost upward along the inside of Lex’s leg until his fingertips found the mess dripping out of his stretched hole.

Lex shivered when Superman gathered the cum on his fingers and pressed it back inside, pushing against the used rim. It made Lex’s knees nearly buckle, his cock twitching hard in Superman’s mouth and he bit down a curse, gripping Superman’s hair tighter, trying not to reveal just how much that filthy little act turned him on even more. 

“Fuck.” But the curse still slipped past his mouth anyway when Superman pressed two slick fingers right against his prostate at the same moment he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard on Lex’s cock. 

The sudden wave of pleasure blindsided him and cum flooded Superman’s mouth in hot spurts, too much for even him to swallow fast enough. Lex groaned low in his throat as he felt it spill past Superman’s lips, dripping down over his chin and wetting the heavy hang of Lex’s balls.

He kept his fist tight in Superman’s dark hair, holding him down, riding out every pulse of his orgasm until the pleasure dulled into a molten burn deep in his bone. His chest heaved, sweat slicking his abs, while his cock twitched against the wet heat of Superman’s tongue.

“Superman…” Lex’s voice came out hoarse. Fuck, his mouth… It was blisteringly hot and yet so wet and perfect he could swear he felt every nerve ending sparking alive. The tight seal of Superman’s lips around him was enough to make his knees weak all over again that no fantasy had ever come close to.

Superman’s mouth slipped wetly off his cock, leaving a glistening trail of spit down the length, and his fingers were dragging free from Lex’s stretched hole with an obscene, wet sound that made Lex’s stomach twist. 

The sudden emptiness was almost as jarring as the rush of air back into his lungs. He hadn’t even caught his breath when in the blink of an eye, Superman was already on his feet again, towering over him. Superman's cock was still achingly hard and angry red as though the orgasm from minutes ago had been nothing but a warm-up. Veins stood out along the thick shaft and Lex hated himself for the way his eyes lingered.

One second he was on unsteady legs, and the next he was hauled up effortlessly by the backs of his thighs. It was the closest thing he’d ever felt to flying with Superman and it was over almost as soon as it started. He barely got his legs locked around those hips before Superman slammed him down onto a table across the room.

Superman was fucking strong, Lex had always known that fact, had measured it in statistics, in battles witnessed from a distance, but knowing was nothing compared to feeling, to have all that golden power turned against Lex in the most intimate ways. This was the side of Superman the world never saw.

The table was cold and hard against his back, a sharp counterpoint to the scalding heat of Superman's body. Lex barely has a moment to bask in the corded muscles on a bare display on top of him before he feels the blunt tip of Superman's cock at his entrance. “One more time.” Superman said and his cock was already pushing in, sliding deep into the loosened, dripping hole that was still soft and pliant from their first round. 

Lex gasped at the sudden stretch, his sock-clad heel dug into the small of Superman’s lower back, clinging for leverage as his spine arched off the table. His head fell back, a sharp cry tearing free before he could bite it down while Superman sank to the hilt, filling him up all over again.

“You’re still tight, oh Lex, look at you, look how well you’re taking it,” Superman groaned, hips snapping forward with each thrust. “You’re hungry for it, aren’t you?”

Lex’s brain short-circuited. What the fuck? This was Superman, the golden boy who gave speeches about sacrifice and duty with that same mouth now spewing filth like a sinner in a confessional. Lex wasn’t built to withstand that whiplash.

But nothing prepared him for the next words.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Superman whispered suddenly.

Lex froze. His breath stuttered out of him, his mind tripping over itself like it had been shoved off a cliff. Beautiful? Where had that come from?

He looked up only to find Superman gazing down at him, hair flopping across his forehead as he flashed Lex another of those dimpled smiles.

For a man who prided himself on control, on manipulation, Lex suddenly realized just how off-balance he was. 

“Ah!” Lex cried out high and loud, his hands scrabbling at the smooth surface of the table as Superman fucked into him. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Damn, what did he get himself into?

 

---

 

Superman, surprisingly, stayed the night.

“Get out.”

Lex frowned down at the mass of muscle sprawled indecently across his bed like some prize-winning dog. Superman lay face-down, bare back rising and falling with the slow, heavy rhythm of sleep, dark hair mussed against the sheets he’d had custom-woven in Milan. 

The bastard looked disgustingly perfect, golden even in sleep, not a single blemish, not a mark. Lex remembered the way his nails had raked down that back and yet now? Smooth, unbroken skin as though it had never been touched, even a faint line remained. Fucking aliens and their goddamn healing factors.

He was already dressed in crisp white button-up, black suit tailored to kill, tie in place, and a charcoal scarf wound artfully at his throat. It was already 7 a.m. which was practically noon by Lex’s standards because he had a company to run, an empire to steer.

But first… a tedious meeting with the Department of Defense who was hunting his ass about the failed military robot prototype as if setbacks weren’t the point of research.

Superman blinked groggily like it was incomprehensible that Lex Luthor was the first thing he’d see when he woke. Lex sighed. 

He had his fill, his curiosity was partly sated, his body was still aching and he was furious that he had to wear a scarf. Who knew Superman was a biter? 

Superman stretched, muscles shifting under skin like sculpted marble. “Good morning,” he said.

Lex narrowed his eyes and Superman had the audacity to look sheepish. “Alright, alright, i'm going.” He got up, still naked and walking out of the bedroom in search of his suit and cape which was still left crumpled in the living room. 

Lex followed him, watched as he put them on and had difficulty pulling the zipper on his back. Lex took pity on him as he looked more nervous as the second dragged more.

Before Superman could argue, Lex’s hand slid up the smooth line of his back, catching the stubborn zipper and tugging it cleanly into place. Lex lingered too long with his palm resting flat between Superman’s shoulder blades and he pulled back as if burned, straightening his scarf.

Who was doing this for him every day? Surely, even Superman couldn’t bend well enough to manage it himself every time. Did he have help? Someone else’s hands closing him neatly into this ridiculous costume day after day? Was it that journalist? Clark?

“So… Lex?” Superman turned around, fastening the clasp of the cape across his shoulders. “I hope,” Superman continued, “there will be less killing me after this.”

Lex arched a brow. “Hmm… I don’t know. I do enjoy trying to kill you.” and he shifted on his heel, wincing as he felt his insides throbbed, not a surprise since it was practically rearranged last night.

Superman just sighed in resignation and walked toward the balcony doors, the morning light was pouring in around him, making him look ethereal and Lex had to look away. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you when you’re trying to kill me later,” he said.

Lex smirked, “I’ll call your boyfriend when I want to see you.”

Superman’s eyes widened, his voice pitching up in a startled squeak that would have been laughable if it weren’t coming from a man built like a god. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“And you’d better be coming when I call your boyfriend otherwise I might have to schedule an attempt on his life just to get your attention.”

Superman blinked at him, scandalized. “Screw you,” he glared before flying straight into the sky.

Lex chuckled, watching until the blue-and-red dot shrank to nothing against the clouds. “Wow. Superman cursing me out. Must’ve hit a nerve.” He shook his head, amused, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

With a few taps he reopened the fiction stories he’d been reading the night before and walked towards the elevator, absently rubbing at the bruises on his neck. The elevator chimed, doors sliding open, but Lex was still reading as he stepped inside. His gaze lingered on one particularly egregious paragraph at some laughable attempt to describe Superman’s cock in embarrassingly overwrought prose and his scowl deepened.

All of it was wrong, If only they knew… “Well,” he said to no one in particular, “at least I know.”

 

 

Notes:

guys this chapter is longer than chapter 1 and 2 combined, i'd love to write Lex crying and begging as he get fucked silly but i dont think it will fit in this. Some other time maybe...

let me know what y'all think in the comments!

there are two ways that this story could end. From Clark's POV or Lex's, and leaving Clark's POV mysterious. I need some time to think things through i guess.

come talk to me in my Tumblr

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Notes:

i stared at google docs for hours trying to figure out how to fit Clark's and Lex's POV into one, but... i don't think it'll be enough and i can't wrap it all in one chapter. I spent my weekend working on this!

I don't want to drag it more than necessary but adding more chapter is a must in this case. You'll know what i mean when you read the ending of this chapter😂 (i was planning to leave it like that but its so unsatisfying, but this was my vision when i decided to write more)

One thing or two Lex learned from his little research was that Superman was actually knowing what he was doing in bed. He knew how to touch, how to move, how to take Lex apart and much as Lex loathed the idea of giving him any sort of credit, he was left wrung out after the first night, satisfied yet still craving more. He would never say it aloud, of course, not even under duress.

But this time, he hadn’t planned some elaborate trap or hunt Clark Kent down to bait out the hero. Superman came to him… on his own!! And that was how Lex found himself bent over the glass of his floor-to-ceiling office window in broad daylight with the skyline of Metropolis sprawling endlessly beyond.

“Wow,” Lex moaned. “I didn’t peg you as someone this… kinky.” His palms flattened against the cool glass, fingers sliding uselessly against the smooth surface until they left smeared handprints. 

The sunlight burned bright and blinding, muting Superman’s reflection into little more than a blur at his back. But Lex could feel every inch of him, pushing insistently against places that nothing could ever reach. He was too big, the sheer stretch of him meant Lex’s prostate was hit without even the courtesy of a search and every thrust was sparking another jolt of pleasure up his spine.

Superman bent lower, his chest grazing Lex’s back until the heavy weight of him pressing Lex harder into the glass. “What?” His voice was a low rumble. “You mean public sex?”

Lex’s breath caught when Superman shifted, grinding slowly. “We’re ninety stories up. Not a normal person could take a look from the street below.” His mouth hovered over Lex’s reddened ear, breathing hot and shivery against Lex's overheated skin. “And you’re alone.”

“I don't, really. Mercy was just out getting me lunch,” Lex managed to say, and checked his wrist watch. “She'll be back in about fifteen minutes.” Then he arched his back, deliberately, his tailored dress shirt tugging tight across his shoulders as though to frame the line of his body. 

Lex knew he looked good, he always did when he wanted to. But what made him pause wasn’t the sight of his own polished reflection, it was the sudden flash of heat in Superman’s blurred eyes behind him. Even distorted by the glare of the sun, Lex could feel that look scorch through him.

The hand gripping his hip flexed hard enough to bruise, more pressure and it would be enough to crack him apart, to shatter delicate human bones. The thought made Lex’s pulse skip because it was one thing to seduce Superman, to drag that incorruptible Boy Scout into bed but it was another entirely to watch him falter, to see restraint peel away inch by inch until there was nothing left but.

Superman was looming over him, larger than life. “Fuck,” Lex breathed, hating the way it came out ragged, but Superman wasn’t helping, crowding him with his body all heat and weight and overwhelming bulk.

It hit him, suddenly, how much it looked like one of those deranged artworks he’d scrolled past online. Curiously, he caught Superman’s wrist and guided it higher, dragging that tight grip from his hip up to circle his throat. Just to test the theory… of course.

Superman’s palm fit snug against the column of his neck, fingers splayed wide with his thumb brushing the hollow of his throat. He didn’t need to squeeze hard as the weight of that hand was enough to make Lex’s pulse hammer against his skin, practically leaping to meet the pressure. 

When Superman did tighten his grip just slightly, just enough, Lex’s knees threatened to buckle, his vision flashed white at the edges, cock twitched, and eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

Ah… yeah yeah. His cock was a wet mess, and it was a wonder that he didn't come right there.

“Bet you'll come in less than a minute.” Superman said and snapped his hips forward. 

“That's a bold claim, Superman.” Lex said when Superman pulled back, cock grinding along every clenching inch inside of him. He didn’t pull all the way out, just left the head wedged deep past the rim, snug and obscene, and he clenched down, desperate to take it deeper, to pull it back in, to keep himself full. 

Fuck. Superman might actually be right. If he kept this up, he might come soon.

Lex wanted to look, he wanted the glass to turn into a mirror so he could watch Superman filling him, see the picture-perfect obscenity of himself bent over, wrecked, still dressed in his immaculate dress shirt and vest. But the thought alone made his gut coil tight, his cock throb harder, and if he saw those broad shoulders caging him in, saw the stretch of his rim around Superman's cock, he might actually die. But holy crap… what a way to go.

“Fuck me. We're on a time limit, hurry the hell out.” Lex demanded.

“Alright,” Superman murmured, voice deceptively gentle just before his hand around Lex’s throat tightened, cutting off his air. Lex’s gasp came ragged, his pulse hammering against Superman's broad palm.

Superman picked up the pace, drove in all the way, bottoming out with each thrust, dragging along every nerve-ending inside him, grinding over that one spot until sparks burst behind his eyes. Lex clawed at the glass, leaving streaks of dirty fingerprints down the window as his hole clenched down, trying to pull Superman deeper.

His breath came ragged when Superman finally loosened his grip, oxygen flooding his lungs in a dizzying rush that only heightened the pleasure rushing through him. Superman leaned closer, breath hot against his ear, “Time limit or not… you’re not lasting long.” And damn him, Lex knew he was right.

Lex was in the middle of cussing him out when Superman suddenly stilled, eyes snapping toward the office door. Lex froze too. “The door—” Superman said. “It’s unlocked.”

There was that rush of displaced air, a blur of movement, and suddenly his back collided with cool porcelain and Lex blinked because Superman had whisked him into the bathroom in under ten seconds and the loss of him left Lex’s hole clenching around nothing, it was an aching emptiness that had him furrow his brows in frustration.

His hip dug against the edge of the sink as he tried to steady himself with one hand bracing on the counter. “Christ,” he said, dragging air into his lungs.

“Your secretary is back,” Superman said.

Lex’s lips twitched. “Perfect timing,” 

But Superman was already closing the distance, crowding Lex against the sink until porcelain bit into his back. Lex’s leg hitched up, locking against Superman’s hip who took the hint without hesitation, his strong hand slipping beneath his thigh to hold it high, spreading him open again.

“Thought you could keep silent, Superman?” Lex taunted.

Superman pushed in and Lex nearly doubled over at the sudden invasion, a raw sound threatened to tear out of his throat, and he saw Superman’s head tip back, lips parting like he might groan out loud but Lex slapped a hand over Superman’s mouth. “Shut up,” he hissed. “Unless you want Mercy to come in here and see you balls-deep in her boss.”

Superman’s muffled groan rumbled against his palm anyway, hot breath seeping through his fingers and Lex shivered, hating how much he loved the sound of it.

It was shallower like this, Superman couldn't shove his cock in all the way, couldn’t spear him so deep that Lex felt it in his throat. But they were face to face, chest to chest and Lex could see every twitch of expression Superman tried to hide, lashes fluttering low. Muffled pleas bled against Lex’s palm, incoherent and half-bitten off, but Lex heard enough. Words like perfect, barely audible but unmistakable.

He pressed harder against Superman’s mouth, fingers digging in until he felt teeth behind his palm. “You’re pathetic,” he whispered. “Choking down your own noise like some desperate animal.” Superman's answer was to trust hard enough to make Lex’s knees nearly buckle. Another thrust and Lex barely stifled the sound that rose up from his throat, covering it with a hiss between his teeth. 

Superman slid in, repeatedly. Fucking good and hard into Lex's hole as he cupped the swell of his ass, gripping tightly, fingers biting deep into flesh until the bruises promised to bloom in the morning. Lex’s head went light from the sheer obscene strength behind it like every roll of his hips was meant to strip Lex’s brain down to liquid and he felt his orgasm inch ever closer with each hard, fast thrust that Superman slammed into him with.

Maybe it was the thrill of thinking that he might get caught or the way they had a standoff like this with Superman’s eyes locked on his face, unblinking and Lex refusing to look anywhere else. Whatever it was, it did it for him.

The first spurt of cum dribbled out of cock with a strangled sound he barely managed to bite down on. His cum spilled between them, hot and thick, dirtying their stomachs and chests. Superman chose that moment to slam forward in a thrust that wrung the orgasm right out of him, leaving Lex’s teeth gritted, eyes screwed shut as his body convulsed, helpless to the short rhythm pounding into him.

Superman didn’t speed up, didn’t slow down, but something in him shifted in a growing desperation of the need to come. His grip stayed iron-tight, dragging Lex against the sink, keeping him open and trembling while Lex just let it happen, breath coming out in ragged pants, gasping each time his sore, overstimulated prostate was pounded.

He kept his hand clamped over Superman’s mouth, refusing to let him make a sound. The heat of muffled breath and the slick drag of saliva against his palm made his nose wrinkle, he almost spat out disgusting, but then Superman groaned as he came.

The rush of it was sudden and overwhelming, molten heat spilling inside him thickly and its making him gasp, hole clenching involuntarily as it filled him while Superman kept thrusting in softly, savoring the slick wetness of his own cum as it made the glide easier, messier, wetter, and Lex couldn't help but clench around him, still feeling the aftershocks of his own orgasm still rippling through him.

His thighs trembled, knees threatening to buckle, but the grip on his ass kept him upright, kept him pinned in place as if Superman had decided his body wasn’t done being used yet. What a fucking freak.

A rational part of him knew they should have used protection since had work after this, not that Superman could catch anything, but because he had meetings lined up… with a suit that was already a mess, and he was sure that he’d go up to his penthouse still feeling it, the ache, the stretch, a constant reminder for days to come.

They just stared at each other when Lex pulled his hand away from Superman's mouth, hearing the telltale clack of heels on his office, no doubt that Mercy was looking for him. But Lex leaned forward to claim Superman's mouth in a kiss that surprised him because what the heck?

Superman hesitated briefly, then kissed him back, hard enough to make Lex’s fingers curl against his jaw. Outside the bathroom door, Mercy’s footsteps stopped.

Lex pulled back just enough to whisper, lips still brushing his. “Quiet.”

It was insane and utterly beneath him and yet, they kissed again like he’d never wanted anything more.

 

---

 

And if Mercy had the slightest idea what was going on with him, she had the good sense to pretend otherwise. She didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow when he emerged rumpled, tie crooked, and hiding the very man he called his greatest enemy in the bathroom.

If she noticed the edge of a bruise peeking from under his collar, or the way his voice went hoarse mid-meeting, she filed it away in the part of her brain where things were never spoken of again.

Except… that was two weeks ago.

He hadn’t heard from Superman ever since. Fine by him. It wasn’t like Lex was going to chase after him like some desperate schoolgirl waiting by the phone. He had better things to do, he had a company to run.

Besides, the website was always there to keep him occupied on long nights with “Superman seduces Lex” drivel written by people who had clearly never even been kissed in their lives, let alone fucked by any man. All that flowery prose about “burning passion” and “aching souls” as if sex was a Victorian poem instead of sweat, friction, and teeth made him roll his eyes.

Were these things written by thirteen-year-old girls sneaking their mother’s romance novels under the covers? Or worse, adults who never grew out of the fantasy stage and thought calling Superman’s cock “his throbbing manhood” counted as erotic?

The annoying part now was that he knew how Superman tasted like, how he sounded, the stupid little dimples that pressed against Lex’s palm when he cupped his face, how bitey he was, that Lex couldn't read anything not without picking ever single wrong fact and no, Superman didn’t taste like cigarettes, for fuck’s sake! The alien didn’t even smoke, he knew that firsthand. If anything, he tasted like mint like he popped one before flying to LuthorCorp.

And the way the stories described him moaning? Laughable, utterly wrong. He scrolled down to the comment section and began to type ‘Pure trash, also why are you making his dick size too small?’ He hit “send” as a guest before he could think better of it, watching the anonymous comment pop up two seconds later. The satisfaction lasted all of three seconds before it curdled into something worse.

Because now he was picturing it. Not the bad writing, but the reality, of heat, of pressure, of the wide stretch of it. Superman pressed close, trying and failing to smother those sounds against Lex’s palm.

Goddammit. He wasn’t supposed to want more. It was supposed to be a one-time thing to scratch an itch, to sate his curiosity. He’d gotten what he wanted, the taste, the feel of him, and it should have been enough but it wasn’t.

Because now his body remembered, remembered the weight of those hands bruising him, the strength pinning him open, the pleasure that made his knees buckle. His brain kept replaying it in flashes and worse was the way he wanted it again. 

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. Maybe Superman thought ignoring him would make it easier, that he could just fly off into the sky and pretend Lex Luthor hadn’t gotten under his skin like Superman did to him.

The nerve of him, showed up, ruined him in the most literal sense, then vanished as if Lex Luthor could be some fleeting indulgence.

His eyes darted automatically to the floor-to-ceiling window where Superman had bent him over. The glass was already scrubbed spotless by the cleaning service, every trace of handprint and fogged breath erased. It sparkled as if nothing had happened and Lex wondered if they had the slightest idea of what had been pressed against that glass.

Probably not… because to them it was just another window. To him it was a reminder of the way his own reflection had stared back at him while Superman held him there.

His phone dinged and he snatched it up, ready for another pointless update from some department head. Instead, his inbox displayed a single new email.

When he opened it, it was his last commission.

He had nearly forgotten about it because this one had dragged longer than necessary. But there it was, a high-resolution attachment waiting for him. He tapped it open and the image bloomed across his screen.

Lex zoomed in immediately, fingers pinching, dragging, until the details filled his vision. He and Superman looked disturbingly real, every line of his jaw, every angle of Superman’s face was drawn to perfection, exactly the way he’d demanded.

They hovered above the clouds with the sunlight pouring golden over them. Superman’s hand held him firmly by the waist while his own arms were looped around broad shoulders, and their eyes locked together. And also… why the fuck did they look like they were in love?

Goddamn it.

He pinched the screen smaller as if distance might strip away that softness in their expressions. But it was no use. Since he couldn’t ask for a refund, he decided right there he wasn’t giving the artist a bonus. No sense rewarding incompetence. 

Jessica’s commission mistakes he could forgive. But a mistake in tone, in feeling? No thank you, and besides, Lex Luthor wasn’t a sentimental man.

He sent the result to Jessica and her friend who he still hadn't learnt the name of before he shoved the phone face-down on the desk, and immediately fought the urge to open it again.

The replies chimed in five minutes later, and he’d spent those five minutes staring at the floor-to-ceiling window as if the glass might still carry some faint impression of fingerprints and. Of course, the cleaners had wiped it spotless, leaving him with nothing but his own reflection glaring back.

When he finally dragged his attention back to the phone, the first unread notification was Jessica’s friend. Predictably, it was a shrieking mess of capital letters and emojis, practically vibrating through the screen.

‘OMG ITS PERFECT!1!1!’ A follow-up buzzed through before he could roll his eyes. ‘How about an NSFW one next time?’

Lex typed furiously, thumbs jabbing the screen. ‘Listen here you little shit, who do you think you are?!’

The reply came back with infuriating speed.

‘Sorry Mr. Alex. But Jessica said you commissioned her NSFW art twice 😊’

Mr. Alex. Lex’s eye twitched in annoyance. 

He was going to have a very long conversation with Jessica about the concept of discretion and about never, ever spilling his banking information to some random people on the internet. Fortunately, the info had only been shortened to Alex, and there were millions of Alexes in the world. Still, the mere thought of his name being attached, however loosely, to this nonsense made his skin crawl.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, counted to three the way Mercy always told him to when he looked ready to strangle an intern.

The internet had truly liquefied people’s brains. They thought Superman was some golden-boy idiot who spent his days mooning after Lex Luthor of all people up in the stratosphere like a lovesick schoolboy? Pathetic. Delusional.

…Except.

Well.

A traitorous corner of his mind whispered that if people really knew… if they had the faintest idea what had happened in this very office, against the glass, in his penthouse…

They’d never describe Superman the same way again.

And yes, the sex had been toe-curling, groan-stifling, jaw dropping. Twice now, and both times enough to leave Lex walking funny for a few days.

If the internet thought they were writing fantasy, well. He almost laughed.

The truth was far filthier. And far, far better.

‘Whats your name, random person?’ Lex eventually asked.

He watched the three dots appearing and disappearing and appearing again before this person typed a simple ‘Cat!’ wow… what a fucking weirdo.

Of all the idiotic pseudonyms he’d come across in his online ventures, this one managed to be both laughably simple and irritatingly childish. Cat. What kind of grown adult chose that as an identifier? Or worse… was this a teenage girl?

Probably a college girl like Jessica since they were both friends, and unfortunately for Lex, he couldn’t dig up this Cat person’s info because it wasn’t a real name. Well… he could hack into their account, trace the IP, run it through his own systems and have a full profile within the hour but that would be a monumental waste of resources and Cat was not threatening enough for him to do that.

So instead, Lex only read the text.

The message blinked on his screen. ‘I mean… it’s kinda cute. These two are above the clouds like that 👀’

Lex set the new art as his homescreen.

 

---

 

He hit the three-week mark when he couldn’t take it anymore. There was only so much he could do with his left hand and his imagination before even that began to feel pathetic. 

He didn’t think he could stomach another one of those ridiculous stories either because each night they got progressively worse. Every click to a new story was some fresh hell of euphemisms that sounded like they’d been pulled from a thesaurus by someone who’d never seen a naked body.

A cock was apparently a rod, sometimes a member, one story even called it a love staff, and that one had nearly cost Lex his laptop when he slammed it shut so violently in disgust. Another one had the audacity to call it a pee pee. Pee pee!

Why couldn’t they just write like normal human beings? A cock was a cock. Or dick. End of discussion. 

He had an actual library of language to draw from and yet he was learning absolutely nothing useful except new levels of human stupidity. If this was the collective imagination of the internet, no wonder civilization was circling the drain.

This was how Lex wasted his perfect lunch break by storming into the Daily Planet with Mercy trailing silently behind him in heels that clicked loudly against the lobby floor. He could have called, yes, but where was the fun in that? Picking up a phone lacked the satisfaction of watching Clark Kent flinch in person, bullying him face-to-face was far more gratifying, like a game Lex would never get tired of playing.

The moment he stepped through the revolving doors, every head in the lobby seemed to turn. Of course they stared because these were journalists and they knew exactly who he was. Lex Luthor…. industrialist, genius, philanthropist, and, depending on which column you read, shady businessman. 

Their eyes tracked him with the same hunger as they tracked breaking news, whispers blooming as he stepped deeper inside. Lex didn’t so much as flick his gaze in their direction since he never gave away free attention. But he enjoyed the attention anyway.

Someone stepped in front of him, blue eyes, long black hair, Lex pulled off his sunglasses and handed it to Mercy. He read her dangling lanyard, Lois Lane, ah… so this was the one who sent the interview request, and Clark was the unfortunate one who got it. 

Although Clark didn't get much from that interview, yet still managed to churn out a good piece that for once that didn’t center entirely on Lex’s alleged attempts at killing Superman.

Progress, Lex supposed.

“Mr. Luthor,” she greeted.

He gave her a thin smile. “Ms. Lane.” 

“Are you perhaps here for an interview?” She asked.

“Of course not. I already gave you people one and besides, one interview is more than generous.” Around them, the place seemed to grow quieter, a dozen sets of eyes sneaking glances over their desks. “I'm here for Clark Kent.”

Lois tilted her head. “And what exactly do you want with Clark?” she asked, bracing for whatever villainous nonsense Lex was about to spit out.

“I believe that's a personal matter.” Lex said, patience running thin. He had maybe thirty minutes before he needed to return to the D.O.D. facility, and wasting them sparring with a nosy reporter wasn’t on his agenda.

“Everything about you is a public matter, Mr. Luthor. You don’t exactly inspire privacy.” She said and that earned a few muffled chuckles from desks nearby. 

“Where,” he repeated, “is Clark Kent?”

She eventually pointed toward the far corner, and sure enough, Clark Kent was hunched over his computer like the very definition of inconspicuous. Lex brushed past Lois without another word, briskly walked until he loomed directly behind the man he’d come for.

Clark hadn’t even noticed his presence. The man was so absorbed in whatever was on his screen that his ridiculous broad shoulders were the only “privacy screen” he had to offer. But Lex wasn’t so easily deterred. He leaned just enough to glimpse the monitor and…. Jessica chat window. Lex blinked, that art. His art. The one Cat had been pestering him about commissioning.

He hadn’t even had time to process how Clark Kent of all people was tangled in this absurd mess before the man hurriedly clicked away and fumbled open another tab. A private message window. Username: noobmaster69.

And then, in real time, Clark typed something and hit send.

A single second later, Lex’s phone chimed in his pocket. The sound made Clark jolt in his chair and turned around abruptly, blue eyes going wide behind those stupid glasses as he finally realized who was standing over him.

“Mr. Luthor…” Clark was gawking at him.

“Clark…?” Lex drawled. It fucking rhymed with Cat.

Clark went pale then flushed scarlet all at once.

 

 

Notes:

next chapter should be Clark's POV.

Comments are really really really appreciated...

the new artist that Lex is commissioning is inspired by him Twitter

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Notes:

Jessica is an OC loosely based between the combination of Caitlyn and Lux from League of Legends because they're both my main!

And i refuse to call Twitter by other name because what the hell is X? That's the worse rename that Elon ever did💀

 

Clark shot the real Cat an apologetic look over Lex’s shoulder who only arched a brow back at him as if to say ‘What?’

How did he end up in this situation? It all started when…

He didn’t remember the exact day, just that it was late, his jacket was damp from drizzle after another long day at the Daily Planet. He was heading up the stairs to his apartment when he saw a young lady with her arms wrapped around a box bigger than her torso, wobbling dangerously close to losing her footing.

“Need a hand?” Clark asked, already reaching for it.

The girl huffed a laugh, black hair sticking to her cheek. “Oh man, glad to have a good neighbor for once! Jessica.”

He smiled, shifting the box easily into his arms. “Clark. And welcome. These stairs are brutal even without carrying half a library.”

“Library? God, I wish. Just… hobbies.” She winced, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Clark adjusted his grip, and the box opened up just enough for him to peek, he instantly froze.

Because staring up at him from the top of the pile wasn’t a novel like he expected from a cardboard box labeled as books. It was a printed sheet of thick paper with Lex Luthor shirtless, sprawled across an expensive-looking chair, a glass of wine dangling from his fingers, mouth curled in that smug smile that Clark had seen too many times in real life.

He tripped on his feet and almost crushed the cardboard.

“Oh… careful!” Jessica gasped, steadying the box as if she were helping him. 

Not only did he recognize Lex instantly, the dip of his collarbone, the long lines of his arms, Clark’s brain filled him with a thought so sudden and uninvited it made his stomach drop, his shoulders are broader, though. “Oh! heavy box. You weren’t kidding.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Told you. And this is only box number three.” She beamed at him, completely oblivious to his inner crisis. “You’re a lifesaver, Clark. Seriously.”

He nodded mutely, hauling the box the rest of the way up the stairs, praying to every power in the universe that she wouldn’t drop another drawing in his path.

He wasn't able to peek into box number four, box number five was tame enough, just art supplies and more books.

Then came box number six.

He hoisted it easily, expecting more books, maybe kitchenware, but the second the cardboard gaped open… Staring up at him from a glossy printed mug with a bold red cape swirling across the ceramic was his face. Then a Superman logo T-shirt, even a cartoon figurine.

That was…fine. Fans existed. Merch existed. He’d signed enough things to know that.

But nestled between the mug and the figurine was something that made his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

It was acrylic. Glossy shiny thing of another Lex Luthor pressed up against him with their arms around each other. Their mouths—

He tightened his grip until the cardboard crumpled in his hands.

“Everything okay?” Jessica asked cheerfully, oblivious, locking her apartment door open with her hip as she carried in a lamp.

“Fine,” Clark answered with a voice an octave too high. He turned slightly so the standee wasn’t visible, though the image was already burned into his retinas. 

Lex. 

Him. 

Kissing. 

Why would anyone… how did they even… who manufactured this?

Jessica grinned. “You’re strong. I swear, I thought I was gonna die lugging that one up the stairs.”

He nodded stiffly, praying she didn’t notice how rigid he’d gone. Because if she asked why he looked like a spooked animal, what could he possibly say? Sorry, i just caught sight of a cheap plastic fantasy where my greatest enemy and I are apparently kissing.

Despite that, he curiously used his x-ray vision to know more of the content of box number six as he put it down on the floor. There was a keychain with Superman logo, alright that's normal, a keychain of some sort of cartoon dog, more books and clothes, vinyl, and stupidly… he pulled out a 21st Century Breakdown CD.

Jessica gasped behind him, rushing forward. “Oh!”

Clark held the CD awkwardly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to,” he muttered, and carefully slid it back into the box. 

He’d barely pulled his hand out when he caught a glint of an acrylic. He frowned, reached in again, and tugged out a small keychain dangling from a silver ring. 

It was…him.

Superman in a cartoonish style, beside him was no mistaking that mean glare, that perfectly pressed suit, Lex Luthor.

On the tiny acrylic charm, they weren’t fighting. They weren’t even scowling. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, almost fond, with Lex’s arm slung around his waist—“What’s this?” Clark asked before he could stop himself, holding it up.

Jessica’s face turned a shade of red so deep it rivaled his cape. She clapped her hands together nervously and let out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh my God, that—uh…it’s nothing! Just a souvenir, you know, from a con. People make all kinds of…cute stuff.”

“Cute,” Clark repeated faintly, staring down at Lex’s miniature face printed eternally in acrylic. Out of everyone on Earth, why Lex?

Jessica shifted on her feet. “Don’t judge me.”

“I…” Clark struggled. “I’m not. I just didn’t know they made these.” He was definitely judging, hard.

She smiled nervously, and for the first time since he’d lifted that first box, Clark wished he hadn’t been such a helpful neighbor.

By the time the last box was stacked neatly in Jessica’s apartment, Clark could feel his ears burning. He’d smiled, made polite excuses and even promised to drop by later to help her set up shelves. 

But the whole walk back to his own place, his mind replayed the same ridiculous image on a loop of Lex Luthor, in keychain form, clinging to him. It was absurd. Jessica’s collection of Lex trinkets wasn’t evidence of anything besides an eccentric hobby, maybe even a questionable sense of humor. 

But not even ten minutes later, he suited up and flew towards LuthorCorp.

It had been a calm week without world-domination speeches that Lex was spouting out in his presence, or another kaiju he unleashed on the street. And yet he felt like the quiet was simply wrong because Lex never stayed quiet unless he was brewing something and it suddenly put him on edge.

So here he was, hovering outside the gleaming glass of LuthorCorp Tower, trying to pretend he was only being cautious. Clark’s vision sharpened automatically, even though he told himself he shouldn’t pry, that he wasn’t some creep peeking into people’s homes. But if Lex was hiding tech, if he was perfecting some new weapon, if he was plotting the next disaster… it was Clark’s responsibility to know. That was the only reason he was here. Yeah, definitely that.

He hadn’t realized until now that the very top was designed like a penthouse with its own curtained floor-to-ceiling windows. Why had he never checked before? Maybe because he’d never wanted to see Lex’s private world. 

Behind the thick curtain, the lights were glowing a warm amber. At the center, on the massive bed was Lex himself.

Except… Clark wished that Lex was actually scheming something, maybe even pacing the floor as he whispered another speech about how Superman was the greatest threat to mankind. That would have been easier. He wanted that version of Lex, the one that fit neatly into the enemy box.

But he couldn't believe what he was seeing right now.

Lex was on his back across the enormous bed, alone and utterly unguarded. His shirt was cast aside on the floor, leaving his chest bare, his head was tipped back into the pillows, lips glistening where he’d bitten them raw. One hand was fisted white-knuckle tight in the sheets while the other worked steadily between his legs.

He diverted his gaze away so fast the world outside blurred. He shouldn’t be seeing this. God, he shouldn’t be seeing this.

And yet, the harder he squeezed his eyes shut, the clearer the image burned against the inside of his skull. Lex’s face was open and flushed, it was the first time that he was seeing an expression that wasn't a scowl. Features softened in pleasure, brows pinched together as his mouth opened in what Clark assumed was a moan.

The roll of his hips against his hand, the twist of his legs, the sheer need in every motion, it was vulnerable, human in a way Clark had never imagined Lex could be. 

Shame burned hotter than the summer sun, searing through him until he almost thought his cape might ignite. 

After that eventful night, he and Jessica simply became friends. It was easy enough, she had a knack for talking about everything and nothing in a way that kept his mind off heavier matters. One of those days, against his better judgment, he even asked her about the strange merchandise of him and Lex. 

Jessica’s whole face lit up, practically vibrating with giddy excitement. “That’s tame, you should see Twitter.”

Clark adjusted his glasses. “Twitter?”

She stared at him like he’d crawled out of a cave. “You don’t have Twitter?”

“Should I?” he asked, carefully neutral, though inside he was already dreading whatever answer was coming.

Jessica groaned and grabbed her phone. “You have no idea what you’re missing. People are obsessed with Superman online. Like… OBSESSED.”

“…Obsessed how?”

She was already typing furiously. “Hold on, I’m making you an account. You cannot go on like this, what if you miss breaking news?”

“I’m fine without it,” Clark said.

Jessica shot him a look. “Relax, i’m not signing you up for OnlyFans, it’s just Twitter. Besides, this way you can see all the Supershit.”

Clark winced. “Supershit?”

“That’s what Lex Luthor calls it,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “But the fandom sort of… adopted it. It’s like a tag now. You’ll see.”

And see, he did. Because the moment Jessica shoved her phone under his nose, his stomach lurched. Dozens, hundreds, of posts, artwork, memes, gifs… of him. Some heroic, sure, but far too many that had him blushing down to his collar and worse, because Lex was in more than half of them.

Jessica grinned. “Cute, right? They call it ‘Superlex.’ Honestly, people are insane, but you’ve gotta admit they’ve got imagination.”

Imagination was one word for it.

“I’m actually working on one right now,” Jessica said casually, tapping her stylus against the screen of her iPad balanced on her knee. “Some crazy person just paid me a thousand dollars for this commission.”

Clark nearly choked on nothing. “A thousand dollars?! That's almost half my rent!”

Jessica smirked, clearly proud of herself. “Perks of fandom, Clark. People will pay anything if it means they get their little fantasy drawn out.”

She turned the iPad toward him and Clark’s world tilted sideways. At first glance it was just another drawing… until his brain caught up with what he was seeing. It was own face staring back at him, his—oh, god, Lex on his knees, lips stretched indecently wide around Clark’s cock. There was a rope leash, a collar closed snugly around the long line Lex's neck with Clark's own hand pulled it taut, his face was rendered in shockingly accurate detail, head tilted back, mouth open in a groan.

Clark went scarlet instantly but his eyes stayed glued to the screen as Jessica kept talking, explaining line work or shading, but Clark barely heard her. 

That’s not the right shade, my cock’s a little lighter than that. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth, going through seven stages of grief. Did he actually just think that? About a drawing? About himself?

He darted a look at Jessica, sweet, harmless Jessica with her easy smile. She had no idea she was flashing him porn of himself. No idea she was sitting next to the very subject of her commission.

Clark forced a laugh that came out strangled. “Wow, uh. That’s… very… detailed.”

Jessica tilted her head. “Too much? Or not enough? People usually want them filthier.” She zoomed in on the line of spit hanging from Lex’s lower lip. “I’m still debating how thick to make this string of spit. What do you think?”

Clark nearly fell out of his chair. “I think it’s detailed enough!” His voice cracked so badly it sounded like he was fifteen again.

Jessica just laughed, tapping through her files. “You think this is detailed? Oh, this is nothing.” She winked. “You should see my Superlex folder. I’ve got like fifty pieces saved in there.”

Clark’s soul left his body.

Jessica added innocently, “Wanna see my favorite one? It’s a wedding where they're both in tuxes, well, mostly in tuxes. The rest kinda… comes off.”

Clark prayed for a meteor to hit their apartment building.

After that, Clark decided against all better judgment to see for himself what the big deal about Twitter was.

He was reluctant, almost queasy, hovering his thumb over the blue bird app like it might bite him. He knew Lex weaponized bots there, entire armies of them spitting out hateful, fabricated headlines about Superman being an evil being, a threat to humanity. Clark had avoided the site for years because of it.

But still… he was curious. So, he powered through.

The first ten minutes were tolerable. News updates, silly memes, pictures of cats. Maybe this wasn’t so bad until he clicked on a tag that had his logo in it.

And then the descent began.

He blinked at the screen. “…oh.”

Art. Everywhere. Stunningly detailed, gorgeously rendered, some of it better than what he’d seen hanging in actual galleries and he was genuinely impressed. These people were so talented… but the further he scrolled, the worse it got. Superman on his knees, Lex tied up. Whole threads dedicated to scenarios Clark didn’t even know were physically possible.

And the prices. Good Lord, the prices.

People were posting commission sheets ranging from $5 for sketches, $50 for colored pieces, $200 for a full scene, and some of them were charging $500 and still had their slots full. Clark frowned hard, “People… have that much money to spare? For… for porn?”

It wasn’t just the money, it was the sheer demand. There were waiting lists of people begging in the comments for an opening. All that time, talent, and effort and they used it for… porn?

Clark rubbed his face, exhaling loudly. He wanted to be mad, but instead he just felt confused. These artists could’ve been painting city skylines or illustrating children’s books, but instead they were drawing him and Lex in increasingly compromising positions.

But Clark wasn’t any better than the people he silently judged on Twitter. For all his righteous talk, he kept circling back to LuthorCorp night after night like a moth drawn to fire.

Every time, he told himself the same thing that he was just being thorough, just checking, making sure he’s not scheming. He repeated it like a mantra, even when the building was quiet, even when there wasn’t a single shred of evidence that Lex was doing anything except working late nights alone.

And then came the night he got caught.

Clark was lingering near the edge of the balcony when the doors suddenly slid open, then Lex stepped out. His cheeks were flushed and his pulse that Clark’s traitorous ears picked up, was racing far too quickly for someone just getting out of bed.

The impressive bulge pressing against Lex’s pajama pants explained it all.

He didn’t want to think about what Lex had been doing before he stepped outside. He didn’t want the images that instantly crowded his mind of Lex undone, fisting his cock with the same ruthlessness he applied to everything else in his life. 

Clark’s stomach knotted.

Heat crawled up his neck because now those drawings he’d seen on Twitter had a reference point. Something he wasn’t supposed to know.

And when Lex’s gaze flicked up, Clark realized with horror that he’d been hovering there too long.

Of course Clark was getting yelled at, and he flew over to the other building not far from where LuthorCorp was, watching with his x-ray vision as Lex stepped inside before he sat heavily on the edge of his bed with his phone in hand, the glow painting his face in pale light. 

He watched Lex’s breathing pick up while his free hand crept lower, sliding into the waistband of his pajama pants. Clark’s throat closed. Heat pooled low in his stomach, and suddenly he was fifteen again, clumsy and ashamed, caught between disgust at himself and the sick thrill of watching something forbidden.

Clark couldn’t take it anymore. He rocketed away, back to his apartment so fast he left windows rattling in his wake. When his feet hit the floor, he slammed the door shut and doubled over, burying his face in his hands.

But no matter how much he tried to shake the image away, it just wouldn't go. Clark sank down on his couch, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as though he could scrub the memory away.

It didn’t work.

Then they slept together twice to boot, and Clark had a crisis for three weeks straight. He replayed it every second, convinced there had to be an explanation that didn’t involve him simply wanting Lex. Red Kryptonite, he thought. It had to be because curiosity was one thing, attraction maybe, and he could even admit Lex was… not unattractive, but acting on it? Sleeping with a man who had tried to kill him more times than he could count? That wasn’t him. 

Except there was nothing.

Which meant the only explanation left was that it was him. That, on some deeper part of him, had wanted Lex Luthor. It was sort of an epiphany for him, he was going to visit him after work but Lex was already here.

Now… “Mr. Luthor,” Clark repeated and Lex scowled harder.

He’d been too close from typing Clark when noobmaster69 asked for his name before panic shoved his thumb toward the backspace. Cat Grant’s name had been the first to pop into his head, and he’d run with it. 

Now Cat herself was right there. Clark could feel sweat prickling at the back of his neck as Lex’s glare bored into him.

He swiveled back toward his computer just to do something with his hands, anything to look like he wasn’t sweating under that stare. The familiar chat window blinked open and, before his brain could stop him, he sent another message to noobmaster69—

Lex’s phone went off.

“Interesting timing,” Lex drawled, pulling out his phone without breaking eye contact.

Clark’s mouth went dry. Oh god.

Lex, or should he say noobmaster69… sent him a text and peered into Clark's computer. Out of nowhere, Lex pulled him out of his chair by dragging him up by his bicep and everyone suddenly looked alarmed. Jimmy gawked with his mouth half-open, and Cat mouthed holy shit.

“We’ll have a talk,” Lex muttered, his grip iron-tight until Clark wrenched his arm free, and with a discreet tap of his fingers, he shut off his computer screen because no way was he letting anyone walking by see that tab still open during working hours.

“Mr. Luthor, what the hell—” Clark tried, but Lex was already herding him straight toward the archive room. The one nobody ever used.

The door slammed shut behind them, Lex shoved him against the wall with his hands pinning his shoulders hard enough to make any normal person bruise. “So…” Lex’s face inches from his. “Clark, are you seriously this fucked up in the head that you’re asking strangers on the internet to make artwork of me and your boyfriend? Are you having some sort of fetish?”

Clark’s ears burned red hot. “First of all, I’m not Superman’s boyfriend. Second,” Clark pushed on, “what does it say about you, dummy? You commissioned a porn drawing of yourself!”

He didn’t know what to feel about any of it, he had been seeing the commissioned work-in-progress in real time, watching Jessica drawing line by line right under his nose until every filthy detail burned itself into his memory. 

The fact that the mysterious client was Lex Luthor, of all people and the person he had been chatting with wasn’t some random eccentric rich guy, but him.

His knees felt weak. Oh god, he thought faintly. To make it worse, Lex wouldn’t shut up about Superman being his “boyfriend.” It was ridiculous. If there was a narcissistic streak in his blood, it was microscopic, less than one percent, surely. He didn’t want to imagine he was kissing a mirror, eww. 

“Dummy?” Lex looked angry. “What i do on the internet is none of your business.”

“So what, you gonna hold it over me? Blackmail me with some artist’s sketch? That’s low even for you.”

Lex sneered. “Blackmail you? Don’t flatter yourself. No one cares enough about you. Now if it had been Superman…” 

Ugh. “Leave him out of this.” Talking about himself in third person is weird, really weird.

“What? Don't tell me Superman asked you to… to do that!” Lex asked, still dangerously close and attractive.

Clark’s mouth went dry. His brain screamed don’t slip up, don’t slip up, but his pulse was hammering so loud he could barely hear himself think.

“He didn’t,” Clark said firmly. “Superman doesn’t ask me to do… things like that.”

Lex arched a brow, lips quirking as though he’d found a vein to dig into. “Doesn’t ask you, hm? Interesting choice of words. So what, you just… take the initiative?” His voice dropped. 

Clark’s face burned hotter. “That’s not—he doesn’t—” He stopped, snapping his mouth shut before he could bury himself deeper. “You’re twisting everything.”

Lex smirked, leaning in closer, their noses almost brushing. “Am I? Or did I finally hit the mark? You should see your face, Clark. It’s practically screaming ‘caught.’”

Clark shoved lightly at his chest, trying to regain space. “Get over yourself. Not everything revolves around you and your… your obsession with him.” Lex Luthor was as annoying as ever, no contact with him for three weeks made him forget how annoying he could be but Clark could be a little shit too. “So… Mr. Luthor, you've been getting off with Superman's porn art? Imagine the headline I could make with this.” Clark goaded.

Lex’s eyes were narrowing into tiny slits. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed 

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Clark shot back, raising his brows in feigned innocence. “LuthorCorp CEO caught red-handed thirsting over Superman. Front page material. People would love that one.”

“You think anyone would believe a nobody reporter over me? Please.”

Clark tilted his head. “Oh, I think they’d believe me. After all, who’d have access to a private interview with Superman himself?”

Lex looked furious. “You smug farmboy—” he growled, shoving Clark harder against the wall. “You want to play games? Fine. But remember this… ruin my reputation, and I’ll ruin yours tenfold. I will find out every little thing you’re hiding.”

Clark’s pulse spiked. Shit. He forced his features into a reporter’s mask. “Maybe you should spend less time threatening me,” he said, “and more time winning public opinion. Last I checked, people were dragging your name through dirt.”

“Public opinion?” Lex's voice rose and Clark wondered if people outside heard them fighting. “You think I care what those sheep believe? You think their validation means anything to me when I am the one holding their future in my hands?”

Clark raised his brows. “Sounds like someone’s compensating.”

Lex slammed his fist against the wall just inches from Clark’s head. “You arrogant little nobody!” His eyes flashed with fury, dangerously close now, his breath hot on Clark’s face. “You don’t get to mock me, you are nothing. And yet…You stand here smirking at me like you have the upper hand.”

Clark swallowed hard but didn’t break eye contact. “Right now? maybe I do.”

Lex looked so angry that Clark wondered if he was actually going to strangle him. His hands bunched in the front of Clark’s white button-up, yanking him forward until their faces were only inches apart. “Fuck. You.” Lex hissed.

It was impossible not to notice how close they were, how blue Lex’s eyes were from this distance, burning with fury now, but he remembered them differently. Clark knew that shade too well. He’d memorized it the night Lex’s expression had been anything but furious, when the same eyes had gone hazy and heavy with pleasure, half-lidded and glazed as Clark had touched him, kissed him, been inside him.

He suddenly remembered what Lex was up to when he was… observing him (more like stalking if he was being honest with himself). Clark was invisible behind the glass with his x-ray sight when Lex had stayed late in his office. Clark had seen the glow of the screen, the obscene words flashing across it, words about Superman and Lex. He’d seen the way Lex’s jaw had slackened, how his hand had hesitantly slid past his belt.

Agreeing to sleep with the man had been a lapse in judgment. One he couldn’t justify, no matter how hard he tried but Jessica’s art commissions weren’t helping his case either, and Lex was actively, shamelessly, trying to get into his pants.

But maybe it hadn’t just been his lapse. Maybe it was Lex’s too. For a man who claimed to hate him, Lex had the audacity to those stories about them, letting the words sink into him until he couldn’t help himself. 

Research, Lex had called it and Clark almost laughed but he kept his mouth shut. Because what would be the point? Telling Lex what he knew, what he’d seen, would only enrage him. Lex’s pride was too high and to pierce it there would push him toward fury.

And besides… He was just as curious as Lex. 

That was the part that made Clark feel like the real hypocrite because what was he doing here, remembering the heat of Lex’s skin, the taste of his mouth, the sound of his voice when it cracked on a moan? What was he doing thinking about that night over and over again until it blurred into something less like a mistake and more like a craving?

Their first time… Clark could still pretend that was on Lex, the seduction, the provocation. He could lay it at Lex’s feet, convincing himself it was some sort of a calculated trap, a slip he had no choice in.

But their second time?

That had been all him. His decision. His weakness. And there was nobody left to blame for that but himself.

“Nevermind, Mr. Luthor. Let’s just… forget about it. I won’t write any papers about your hobby and you won’t blackmail me.” He plastered on one of his blinding smiles, dimples showing and straight white teeth flashing like sunlight.

Lex just gawked at him for far too long and Clark's grin faltered, still holding him pinned against the wall with eyes darting up to meet his gaze, then dropping to his mouth, lingering at his dimples. His right hand slid upward, unexpectedly gentle, cupping Clark’s jaw, thumb dragging slowly across the curve of his cheek before brushing over that damn dimple.

Clark should’ve stopped him when his other hand tugged the glasses off his face, but he didn’t. He just stood there, vision suddenly naked before Lex Luthor’s stare.

Lex froze. His pupils dilated, scanning Clark’s features as if overlaying them with another image in his mind. “That… can’t be it,” he whispered.

Then, as if to test his own theory, Lex leaned up and crashed his mouth against his. The kiss wasn’t tender; it was angry from the fight earlier, rough with too much biting. But Clark still met him halfway, his hands instinctively finding the narrow line of Lex’s waist and gripping it tightly, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

Lex’s hand clamped around his jaw, forcing his lips open, tongue pushing deep to taste him. He should be weirded out at the sudden turn of events, but Clark’s lower stomach clenched, chest heaving against Lex’s smaller frame, and his pulse jumped so hard he could feel it throb in the bruised line of his lip. 

Clark broke the kiss first, only to sink his teeth into the sharp angle of his jaw, then following the path down with his tongue. He licked across the ridge of Lex’s throat, tasting sweat and the faint tang of cologne clinging to his skin, tongue sweeping across the pulse point before closing over it with a wet suction. He sucked hard, leaving the flesh damp and reddened, lips dragging over the place where Lex’s heartbeat pounded frantically.

“You fucking freak,” Lex growled, fingers twisted in Clark’s hair, yanking hard, trying to drag back some control that had already slipped away from him. His grip was vicious, but it hurt so good, causing Clark to moan against the damp skin of his neck, teeth grazing the mark he’d just sucked into existence.

Lex pushed him away as if it burned and Clark leaned back against the wall, “What?” Clark smiled again. He plucked his glasses delicately from Lex’s hand to slide them back onto his face. 

“Motherfucker!” Lex yelled incredulously. He stabbed a finger at Clark’s chest. “You asked me to commission someone to draw porn of us together. Don’t stand there with your stupid smile and pretend otherwise.”

Clark’s ears burned, but his grin didn’t falter. “Well, technically, you’re the one who paid for it. I was just… curious, you didn’t exactly hesitate to agree.”

Lex’s jaw worked furiously. “That’s not the point!”

“Oh, I think it is,” Clark said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an infuriatingly calm little tap. “Because if you were really disgusted, you would’ve said no.”

Lex staggered back with a scowl twisting his mouth, fingers jerking his tie back into place with angry tugs. “We’re not done, Superman,” he said before he spun on his heel and stalked toward the door, he disappeared through the doorway without a glance back.

He took a moment to compose himself, ran a hand through his hair and tried to flatten the mess Lex’s grip had left in it. He tugged his collar back into place, straightened his tie, and forced himself to move as if nothing had happened, but pretty sure the rosy hue splotched across his cheeks was a dead giveaway. Anyone who looked too closely would know exactly what they’d been up to.

When Clark followed him out, Lex was nowhere to be found already. He went back to his chair and people were immediately crowding him. “What was that?” Lois asked and Clark just grunted, pretending to shuffle some papers, though his lips still tingled from the kiss. If they were redder than usual, no one dared comment—yet.

“Clark,” Lois pressed. 

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “The usual. Lex Luthor having a meltdown. You know the drill.”

Jimmy popped up from behind Lois, eyes wide. “Meltdown? He looked ready to punch a hole through the wall. Did you say something to him?”

Clark adjusted his glasses, giving them his trademark sheepish farm-boy smile. “Just asked him a few questions. Guess he didn’t like it.”

Lois’s eyes lingered on him a little too long. “What exactly did you ask him?”

Clark was fighting the urge to smile too broadly. “Nothing worth writing down,”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “You sure know how to get under his skin.”

Clark ducked his head, pretending to read something while his heart was still pounding. If only you knew.

His phone dinged in his pocket and he glanced around, secretly tugged it free, thumb swiping over the screen. A new message blinked up at him from noobmaster69… that disguise of yours is pathetic. i’d know those dimples anywhere.

Been thinking about my smile that much? Whatever happened to hating me? Clark hit send, then bit back a laugh, pressing his knuckle against his mouth to smother the grin threatening to break loose.

A pause. Three dots appeared, vanished, appeared again, i hate you.

Obviously, you make it clear every single day. Clark hit send.

“What are you smiling about?” Jimmy asked and Clark sobered up instantly, thumb hitting the lock button as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, uh—there’s this cute cat video on YouTube,” Clark said and turned away, hoping Jimmy wouldn’t notice the faint flush creeping up his neck.

“We're not done, Superman.” Hmm, what did Lex mean by that? A threat, obviously, because it always was with Lex, or was it?? Lex was confusing these days.

Clark pondered over that sentence for the rest of the day.

And Lex Luthor left him on read! 

 

 

Notes:

Of course i'm gonna mention Green Day because i'm a big fan. And when they talk about punk rock in the movie, i almost jumped in joy😭 that's literally my kind of music (beside metal) I WAS SOOO HAPPY.

come talk to me in my Tumblr

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Notes:

I keep stopping writing halfway from secondhand embarrassment so thats why this chapter takes longer than usual🤣

And 1000 kudos??? OH MY GOD!! I can’t even put into words how grateful I am. Thank you all so, so much for the love, support, and kind comments, you have no idea how much it means to me. When I first started this, I honestly thought I’d be lucky if maybe 5 people liked what I was doing 😭 Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to reach something like this. Thank you for being here with me💕💕

Like any reasonable person would, Lex had started digging into Clark Kent’s background. He already knew the basics since Mercy had pulled together a neat little dossier back when he’d agreed to the interview. At the time, Lex hadn’t given a damn. Why would he waste energy on some nobody?

But that was before.

Before he knew Clark Kent was Superman.

Now, Lex read them with fresh eyes, and the more he saw, the more infuriating it became because Clark had apparently won a debate competition in his senior year, number one in the state. Ah. So that’s why he’s such a little shit. Suddenly, Clark’s comebacks when fighting with him made sense. No wonder the man was mouthy; he’d been rewarded for arguing since high school.

Superman was hiding in plain sight, for a genius like him, he felt stupid for not recognizing him sooner. It should’ve been glaringly obvious. The broad shoulders crammed awkwardly into cheap department store suits, the ridiculous slouch meant to disguise height, the nervous little pushes of Clark’s glasses up his nose, the earnest way he leaned forward when asking a question. How had he not put it together?

And Lex had bought it.

Worse, he had seen Superman’s face countless times through footage and yet, when Clark Kent stood right in front of him, it hadn’t clicked. It was so fucking obvious when he thought about it now. The jawline, the eyes, the posture, the dimples. A pair of glasses… that was all it had taken to fool the world. To fool him.

God among men, savior of the world, was raised in the middle of nowhere surrounded by wheat fields and livestock. Lex actually had to rub the spot between his eyes as the image of Superman in muddy boots, smelling like hay, maybe even shoveling manure formed in his mind.

Did he have cows? Did Superman milk them? Feed them? Lift them for shit and giggles when no one was looking? A boy with the strength to break the world in half, entertaining himself by tossing around barn animals. 

And now that Lex knew who he really was, the questions wouldn’t stop multiplying. What did he eat as a kid? Did the Kents make him do normal chores like chopping wood or fixing fences even though he could probably plow the entire farm with one swipe of his hand? Did he have to pretend to be weak even back then, all while hiding godlike strength under those ridiculous plaid shirts?

It was all so very mundane unlike what Lex had in mind. 

He had expected Superman’s origin to be something grandiose, like raised by monks in some hidden temple, maybe, or secretly groomed by some secret government organization in a classified facility, at the very least surrounded by brilliance worthy of his power. Not with cows!

The more Lex thought about it, the more insulted he felt on behalf of his own intellect. He’d spent years dissecting Superman’s every move, calculating strategies, formulating theories of his upbringing and culture, imagining all the elaborate ways a being like that could have been made. And the truth? A farm boy in Kansas who came from mediocrity. From small-town values, home-cooked meals, and Friday night football. 

It made Lex grind his teeth. Because if someone born into such bland, pedestrian circumstances could grow into that, what did that say about him?

Men like him had to strive to survive while Superman was just born like that. He simply opened his eyes one morning and the universe had handed him the keys to everything Lex had spent a lifetime fighting for. It wasn’t fair, his worst “struggle” was probably deciding whether to plow the north or south field before dinner.

But oh well, Lex had learned the hard way that the world was simply unfair. Not that he accepted it, fuck, no, he was forced to live with the knowledge that no amount of brilliance, the world didn’t reward the clever.

 

---

 

Another thing he learned about Superman was that the man lived in a tiny apartment. Not in some slum like Lex half expected, but a modest place in a nicer part of the city. Mercy had dropped him off at the curb and driven away before he could change his mind, and now Lex was standing in the cramped hallway of Clark Kent’s building, wondering what the hell he was doing here.

If he wanted to go back to the tower, he could call Mercy again, though she’d probably make a point of sighing loud enough to echo down the phone line. Or… he supposed he could just ride Superman.

Lex banged the door again impatiently. “Open the door or I'm gonna blast this open!” Lex yelled.

The outburst earned him attention. The door next to Clark’s creaked open, and a head of messy black hair poked out cautiously. It was a young woman… her eyes fell on him and then widened to the size of saucers, hands slid up to cover her mouth as a stifled gasp escaping. “L-Lex Luthor!” she squeaked.

Lex’s gaze slid to her dismissively. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Now shut the door before I give you a reason to regret opening it.”

The girl froze like a rabbit caught under a hawk’s shadow but instead of retreating, she stepped further into the hallway and fumbled with her phone. “Can we take a picture together? I'm a big fan!”

Lex blinked. For a second, he thought he misheard her. “Picture?”

People didn’t ask him for selfies. They asked Superman, begged even. Lex Luthor, on the other hand, usually inspired panic, outrage, sometimes hushed admiration but never a request for something as trivial as a photograph.

He studied her face more closely, trying to decide if this was mockery but she really did look sincere with her phone already unlocked, thumb hovering over the camera app. Her breathing was quick, uneven, like she might faint if he stepped too close.

“Fine,” he said smoothly, straightening his coat as though preparing for a red carpet. “Make it quick.”

She approached him and raised her phone to take a picture once and that's when Clark's door opened. He looked shocked to see what he was doing. “Took you long enough.” Lex said, and the girl looked back and forth between the two of them in fascination.

“Clark! You know Mr. Luthor?” She asked.

Clark stepped out just far enough to catch Lex by the upper arm, his grip deceptively gentle but firm as iron. “Uh, something like that,” he said quickly. Before she could ask anything else, Clark tugged Lex across the threshold in one smooth motion and shut the door firmly behind them.

Once inside his place, Lex began to look around. His gaze caught on the modest shelf against the wall, where a row of books leaned haphazardly beside dozens of trophies. Lex stepped closer, squinting at the inscriptions, lips curling into a sneer as he read aloud. “Debate champion, Smallville High… debate finalist, Metropolis U…” He let out a laugh. “You live like this?” he asked as he gestured around the cramped apartment. Everything about it screamed painfully average.

Clark sat down on a couch in front of a floor to ceiling window. “I’m sorry that I can’t afford a place where my bedroom is the size of a baseball field,”

“You’re Superman,” he said, enunciating every syllable like Clark had somehow forgotten. 

Clark sighed. “Not everyone needs a penthouse, Lex.”

How did Lex end up here to begin with? Right… he was still somewhat angry to find out that Clark was behind the Cat account. But something warm had settled inside his ribcage at the thought that Clark also wanted him, whatever strange, roundabout ways those desires came in. If Clark didn’t want him, he wouldn’t have been so insistent, practically begging him to commission that specific artist, would he? 

And besides Clark hadn’t just asked for art. He’d asked for an NSFW one. The great Superman, Metropolis’ golden boy, had wanted to see Lex Luthor immortalized in something indecent. If Clark wanted him that way then maybe Lex wasn’t as alone in this obsession as he thought.

“So…” Lex drawled, approaching the couch and making himself comfortable on Clark's lap and draping his arms lazily over those broad shoulders. He shifted just enough to feel the way Clark’s thighs tensed beneath him, savoring the startled expression that looked entirely too innocent for someone who had left a mark the size of a coin on his throat not even six hours ago. “Did you jerk off thinking about me?”

Clark went crimson almost instantly. His eyes darted anywhere but Lex’s face, the floor, the ceiling like any of it could save him. His hands, though, tightened reflexively on Lex’s hips, not pushing him off, just holding, like he couldn’t help himself. “What…? Why would I do that!” he stammered.

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe the fact that you asked me for a porn artwork of us.”

Clark made a choked noise, something between outrage and mortification. His mouth opened like he wanted to deny it, but the flush across his cheeks, the way his pupils blew wide, gave him away completely.

“Admit it. You didn’t just ask for the art. You wanted the fantasy.” Lex said and well… Lex wasn’t opposed to indulging him. Far from it actually. The thought made a lazy warmth unfurl low in his stomach. It wasn’t like Lex was a size queen or anything, but Clark actually knew how to fuck and that brought more questions in his mind.

Because Clark absolutely had practiced and Lex felt his expression twist. His face must have shifted into what Mercy called his murder look that never failed to send interns running.

It clearly alarmed Clark, who stiffened under him, hands tightening on Lex’s hips. “Lex…” Clark said slowly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t like the thought of anyone else having Clark, coaxing those sounds Lex had only just learned he could make. His gut twisted with jealousy, a hot, sour thing he wasn’t used to admitting he could feel.

And where the hell had that come from? Less than a month ago, he’d been ready to put a kryptonite bullet through Superman's skull. Now he was sitting on his lap, obsessing over who’d had him before.

That dick couldn’t be that powerful. It was making him stupid.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Lex said flatly.

“What question?”

Lex leaned in until their noses nearly brushed, until Clark had nowhere to look but into his blue eyes. “Did. You. Jerk off. Thinking about me?”

He got his desired reaction as Clark sputtered again. A flush bled into his skin, racing up his neck, blooming across his cheekbones until he looked painted red in embarrassment. It was good to see him like this, gratifying in a way few things in Lex’s life had ever been. He was many men but he was not merciful and his grin widened as he caught Clark’s chin between his fingers as if saying you don’t get to run from this.

Clark stalled. “No really no, but you did! I saw you reading those stories and jerked off!” Clark realized his mistake and immediately clamped his mouth shut, eyes went wide like he’d stepped straight into a trap. 

“Oh did you?” Lex answered and tried to stop his own embarrassment from showing. “I wasn't aware that Superman is a peeping Tom.” He said. When? How? He didn’t keep tabs on the overgrown boy scout every waking second, he had pictured Superman dead in a ditch more times than he could count, not standing invisibly in the corner while taking a peek. “Tell me, do you hover outside all my windows?”

“I was just passing by, alright!” Clark said, refusing to meet his gaze but Lex would have none of that and gripped his jaw tighter.

He wasn’t jerking off every day but watching Clark squirm was a rare satisfaction. “Statistically, I’d say the odds of you ‘just passing by’ during one of those moments are… astronomical,” His grin widened a fraction. “Unless, of course, you weren’t passing by at all.”

“I was checking on you and making sure you weren’t, I don’t know… planning to take over the world or something,” Clark answered defensively.

Of all the excuses, that was the one Clark had gone with? Insulting, yes. Predictable, absolutely. And yet… something warm curled in Lex’s chest at the fact that Superman had been watching him as if Lex Luthor warranted that level of attention.

“Flattering, really. Out of all the people on this planet, I get the honor of having you peep through my walls.” His grip on Clark’s jaw loosened, turning more into a caress, studying the blush still high on his cheekbones. “You could’ve fooled me, though. That look on your face didn’t exactly scream ‘patrol duty.’”

“I’m not the one with a habit to jerk off to internet fantasy, though.” Clark countered. 

Touche. He really did get him there, Lex could admit that, at least silently. But admit it out loud? Absolutely not. He’d rather choke to death than that.

“So,” Lex said smoothly, “you’re admitting that you’ve been watching me.” 

Clark shifted beneath him. “That’s not what I said,” he muttered, gaze darting away again.

Lex didn’t let him. His hand returned to Clark’s jaw, forcing his chin up until their eyes locked again. “But it’s what you implied,” he pressed, “You can’t sling accusations about my… habits without admitting you’ve been peeking into places you shouldn’t,”

And really, Lex was calmer than he was supposed to be. By all accounts, he should’ve been horrified and utterly mortified that Clark had caught him doing the single most embarrassing thing imaginable. The thought alone should have made his stomach turn. But instead… there was a peculiar sort of thrill curling in his chest because Clark wasn’t running and screaming bloody murder. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Lex’s thumb brushed against Clark’s jaw. “You don’t look nearly as horrified as I expected either.”

Clark’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His grip on Lex’s hips only tightened and that was answer enough. 

Lex didn't need further instruction to read the room so he leaned in, closing the scant distance between them, and pressed his mouth to Clark’s. The kiss was far calmer than the one they had at the Daily Planet, less frantic, less angry, but no less gut clenching. 

Heat curled low in Lex’s stomach as Clark’s tongue swept against his bottom lip and Lex tilted his head just enough to deepen the kiss while his fingers tightened on that strong jaw, guiding, controlling, savoring the feel of Superman panting against his mouth. 

There weren't fireworks or something cliche like that but it was the best kiss that Lex ever had.

Clark’s hands slipped into the back pocket of Lex’s trousers, big palms pressing firmly against the swell of his ass and for a split second, Lex almost forgot how to breathe. But his brain, annoyingly, still had one functioning cell intact and it reminded him exactly what was in that pocket. His phone.

His phone, with a very incriminating homescreen.

Lex slapped Clark’s hand away, fumbling for the device and yanking it free before he could get an eyeful of his lockscreen. He shoved it into the inner pocket of his coat, tugging the coat off with hasty, jerky movements without breaking the kiss.

Clark pulled back just far enough to see the frantic maneuver, and then he bit down on Lex's lower lip, blue eyes darkened with something that looked nothing like gentleness anymore. Whatever softness had been clinging to Clark before was gone, burned out in an instant and replaced with raw hunger.

With a sudden, almost dizzying shift, Clark’s hands clamped firmly around Lex’s thighs, and before Lex could get out more than a startled noise, he was whisked away at inhuman speed, wind rushing past his ears until he was unceremoniously dropped onto a bed. His back sank into a ridiculously soft mattress while his coat was still half-sliding off one shoulder.

Something jabbed against him. Lex broke the kiss, annoyed, only to glance down and find a laptop wedged by his side. The glow of the screen caught his eyes. “What the fuck?” he hissed as he read archiveofourown in bold red font.

Clark froze and that absurd sheepish expression crawled back onto his face, the one that made him look less like an alien god and more like a farm boy caught sneaking a second slice of pie. “Can we… pretend you didn’t just see that?” he asked, clearly embarrassed.

Of course Lex ignored him. His eyes flicked to the screen, scanning over the open tab, his smirk faltered instantly. “BDSM…” Lex read aloud slowly, his brows inching higher the further he scrolled. “…inappropriate use of blood?” He turned his head slowly, fixing Clark with a stare so sharp it could’ve cut steel.

Clark visibly winced.

“Clark,” he said flatly, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Clark’s ears were red clear to the tips. “It was research! I just—” his words stumbled over themselves, frantic and defensive. “I wanted to know what got you off…” He made a desperate grab for the laptop, but Lex twisted smoothly out of his reach.

Lex’s eyes flicked down the screen again, and his face pinched as if he’d just bitten into something rotten. “I did not get off to inappropriate use of blood,” he said with withering disgust. “What's this?” he read another tag, “Double penetration?”

Clark groaned and dragged a hand down his face, mortified. “Lex—”

“And you couldn’t just ask me?” Lex cut him off. “No, instead you spend your evenings reading third-rate internet porn.” His index finger scrolled down further. “And you do realize all of these stories are wrong, don’t you?”

Clark’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a drowning fish. “I mean… some of them had… details?”

“Details? These aren’t ‘details.’ These are deranged fantasies written by people who have never been within ten feet of another human being naked.” Lex scrolled further, his nose wrinkling. “Prison sex? Really? And this…violent sex? Clark, what the actual fuck? Do you think I’m some deranged sadist with a hard-on for blood and questionable condition?”

“I don’t know!” Clark answered. “We weren’t exactly buddies, remember? It’s not like you ever sat down and confided in me about your—” He waved his hands helplessly, cheeks burning scarlet. “So what? You expected me to just ask you that?”

“Yes,” Lex said icily, “I expected you to have the bare minimum of social courage to look me in the eye and admit you wanted to know what I liked instead of skulking around the internet, and your opinion of me is so low it's basically in hell.” Lex checked the history again, and thankfully not all of them were mind boggling, but one thing caught his eye. “Mpreg?” Lex repeated. “You think i'm what? incubating your alien lovechild?”

Clark’s face went crimson so fast Lex almost laughed. “I didn’t know what counted as… popular, so i just read them all,” Clark stammered, his ears burning. “and how do you even know mpreg?”

Oops, Clark got him there. “I had my fair share of internet surfing,”

Clark blinked, surprised. “You mean you actually…” His voice trailed off as he realized the implications, and then his eyes widened. “You read mpreg with me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. My research habits are impeccable. I simply refuse to be out of the loop on what the general public thinks of me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Clark actually scoffed. “Should we try them all?” and gestured to the laptop.

“We are definitely not trying inappropriate use of blood or violent sex or,” his nose wrinkled in disgust, “fucking male pregnancy, you moron.”

Clark bit back a laugh. “So… not all of them.”

Lex rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t lodge in the back of his skull. “Don’t test me, if you’re going to experiment, at least pick something sane.”

“Oh?” Clark leaned closer, voice dropping low. “Like what?”

Lex should’ve shut the laptop, changed the subject, but Clark’s hand was warm on his thigh and suddenly his own brain came up with a list. A very unhelpful list.

Suddenly, the stories he had been reading circling back in his mind, of him moaning, of him begging, of him screaming until his throat was raw. He swallowed hard and covered it with another scoff. “No… no inappropriate use of kryptonite either. As much as I like to test it.” Lex was still scrolling down this cursed website.

Clark tilted his head, and his hand crept higher. “You mean there is an appropriate use of kryptonite?”

“Yes,” Lex answered absentmindedly “Not for…” he waved vaguely at the screen, “whatever that was.” to kill you, Lex didn't need to finish it but he knew that Clark had some ideas.

Clark leaned in, his chin brushing Lex’s shoulder as he peered at the scrolling page. “So if we’re crossing out blood, violence, and,” he coughed lightly, ears still red, “object insertion, that still leaves a lot.”

Lex’s finger froze on the trackpad. The tags blurred in his vision, words like bondage, overstimulation, praise kink, toys. His pulse jumped and he hated himself for it. “Hypothetically,” he said carefully, “if I were interested in something… it would not be written by some hormonal teenager.”

Clark’s grin widened. “Hypothetically,” he echoed, his hand squeezing Lex’s thigh. “But you didn’t say no.”

“No watersports.” Lex added, he was willing to try anything but actually getting piss on? Fuck no. Clark’s mouth opened, probably to ask what that meant, but Lex cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t even say it. Just accept that it’s a hard no and move on.”

Clark shut his mouth and nodded.

“Good boy,” Lex muttered, scrolling further. His eyes flicked to another tag and he grimaced. “Tentacles… of course. Someone couldn’t resist the alien angle. Lovely.”

“Not gonna lie, I did wonder about the mechanics of—” Clark cleared his throat. 

“Stop.” 

“Okay,” 

Reading this filth was making him hot and bothered despite every scoff and insult he’d thrown at Clark. It didn’t help that Clark was pressed close, all warmth and bulk, smelling like clean soap and aftershave, of all things. Subtle, but enough to make Lex’s pulse skip.

Lex pushed the laptop aside and turned toward him, fingers already tugging at the buttons of his coat and slid it off from his shoulders, letting it crumple onto the floor. 

“I do have some ideas about what you like from your commissions with Jessica.” Clark said, gaze heavy-lidded as it raked over him.

Honestly? He wouldn’t have minded the play of his foot planted firmly on Clark’s head, but that first commission? Ugh. His eye flicked automatically to the strain in Clark’s trousers, the obvious bulge pushing at the fabric. “She did a bad job on it,” Lex answered. “I asked for one thing, and she drew another thing. If that’s where you’re getting your intel, I suggest you get a refund.”

Clark’s lips curved in the faintest smirk, all innocent country-boy charm overlaying something much hungrier. “Looked like you didn’t complain too hard when she sent the drafts.”

Lex narrowed his eyes. “I don’t complain when someone is at least eighty percent competent. But that other twenty percent was hers projecting her own fantasies onto me. Which, frankly, I find insulting.” He leaned back slightly.

Clark shifted slightly closer, thigh pressing against Lex’s again. “So what should I be basing it on, then?”

“Me. Not the internet. Not some misguided artist. Me.” Lex said, leaning back slightly on the bed on his elbow. 

Really… his plan had been simple, confront Clark about being Cat on Twitter. But three weeks of a dry spell with just him, his own hand, and a spiral of increasingly irritating fantasies did wonders to corrode even his legendary self-control. And Clark was sitting close enough that Lex could feel the heat radiating off him. His stupid thigh brushed his, his stupid blue eyes looked at him like he was the only thing in the world worth watching, and Lex was five seconds away from climbing on top of him 

He shifted, but the movement only dragged his body closer. He saw Clark’s gaze dip, not subtly, to his mouth.

“You’re staring,” he said.

Clark didn’t even deny it. “You’re making it hard not to.”

Lex’s elbow nearly slipped out from under him as Clark leaned down to kiss him, it was slow and languid and Clark's heavy bulk was pressing on top of him, caging him in like a blanket he couldn’t shove off. Hello, hidden kink? Apparently so. Lex hadn’t even realized he had that since his previous partners had never been bigger than him, more easily maneuvered, people he could control with a look and a push. People who simpered, too eager to please who didn't taste like victory when he kissed them unlike Clark.

Shifting and breaking their too-sweet kiss for what Lex considered appropriate between enemies, Clark reached past him, snatched the laptop from where it lay on the sheets, and all but shoved it against his chest. “If you say everything is wrong,” Clark challenged, “then why don’t you write it yourself?”

The audacity. The gall. The sheer, godforsaken insolence of this man. If hatred alone could manifest heat vision, Clark would’ve been a pile of smoldering ash right there on the bed. “Every time you open your mouth,” Lex hissed, “you only make me mad.”

Lex threw the laptop against the wall but before it crashed, Clark snatched it with his inhumane speed. “Come on! it can't be that bad.” 

He could’ve strangled him. Or kissed him again. Both seemed equally viable.

 

---

 

Why did Lex even agree to do this to begin with? In front of him sat Clark’s laptop, cursor blinking expectantly at him on an empty document demanding words he had no business putting into existence. ‘Superman propped against the pillows with his muscled thighs spread, all spotless sun kissed skin and big hands working over his cock. Lex was thoroughly flushed and dazed by the sight in front of him, eyes sparkling with fascination and arousal’ 

He’d used his last functioning brain cell to type that, drawing from what had happened earlier. From the memory of golden skin, of a body big enough to make the entire damn bed feel small, of Lex himself sitting there like a moth before a bonfire, transfixed, and ultimately burned.

Turned out, Superman was a master of persuasion. Not with lofty speeches or altruistic ideals—no. Just a simple whisper against the shell of his ear, “Just type out what you feel.”

And now Lex was biting back a moan when Clark’s hot breath fanned across the back of his neck. Another shiver chased down his spine as Clark shifted his hips, the thick cock inside of him pressed deeper, dragging sparks of molten pleasure that zinged through every nerve ending. 

Lex’s fingers stuttered on the keyboard, nearly mashing nonsense as Clark fucked him open. “Fuck, this is ridiculous.” Lex erased a typo and didn't even try to concentrate on writing this filthy fiction. Not so much of a fiction when he was supposed to be writing feelings, a grotesque parody of confession, basically a fucking diary entry written in real time.

Clark shifted on top of him and a firm grip locked around Lex’s waist, pulling him up onto his knees like he weighed nothing. The casual, effortless display of power made Lex’s lower stomach clench harder than the hot red pleasure that came when Clark’s next thrust drove straight against his prostate.

A ragged groan slipped past his teeth as his forehead dropped forward, laptop screen blurring into unreadable light. He shoved it away and caused the device skidding uselessly across the blanket. He had no plan to continue writing but— “You were supposed to finish,” Clark murmured.

“Go to hell,” Lex ground out, though it lacked venom when another thrust dragged a shiver down his spine.

Clark only hummed, nosing against his skin, making Lex clenched, couldn't help. It dragged a groan out of Clark, low and guttural, the sound going straight to Lex's cock which didn't fucking need the encouragement since it was already hard five minutes since he stepped a toe inside Clark's apartment. 

And then Clark stopped, buried to the hilt and not moving an inch.

Lex turned his head sharply, ready to unleash hell with a glare alone. “What the fuck are you—”

“Go on,” Clark interrupted, tilting his chin toward the laptop screen.

The cursor blinked, demanding, as if the machine itself had taken Superman’s side.

Reluctantly, Lex pulled the laptop closer but it was hard to write when he felt like his brain was leaking out of his cock. “Superman is an asshole.” He typed and heard a snort from behind him, then Clark mercifully started moving again, looked like he didn't care that much about what he wrote and Lex would type no sense if it meant to keep him moving. 

Lex cursed, trying to backspace the insult, but his vision blurred when Clark shifted angle and brushed his prostate just right. His forehead thunked against the keyboard, typing out a string of gibberish.

“Keep going,” Clark coaxed, voice maddeningly gentle as if this wasn’t borderline torture.

Lex wanted to throw the laptop on his face. “I’ll continue when we’re done,” he hissed, voice tight with the effort of holding onto some shred of dignity while Clark was buried so deep inside him he could barely breathe.

He was staring at the half-formed sentences and insults, and none of them came close to the reality of what was happening to his body right now. It wasn’t hot, not compared to Clark’s breath brushing his skin, not compared to the steady grind of hips that made his cock twitch against the sheets.

He was a genius, a prodigy, a man who had rewritten entire industries with a single idea, but erotic writer? He wasn’t even a normal writer for fuck’s sake. His sentences looked like they had been composed by a drunk teenager.

Clark chuckled, like he knew exactly what Lex was thinking, and dragged his hips back just enough to make Lex’s vision white-out before sliding back in, slow and heavy. “You’re doing fine,” Clark murmured.

His thoughts had turned to static, a deafening rush that drowned out everything except the unbearable pleasure Clark was wringing out of him. Nothing else mattered, just the rhythm of Clark’s cock sliding into him, the steady pressure slamming over his prostate until his breath caught in ragged bursts.

Each withdrawal left him empty, achingly hollow, only for Clark to slam back in a heartbeat later, filling him so completely Lex’s vision blurred. And Clark still expected him to form a sentence? To string together words when his entire vocabulary had been reduced to moans and gasps and the scratch of his voice breaking apart?

‘Lex sobbed as the pleasure was rapidly building. He had no way to fight against it, pinned down by Superman's power and sheer bulk. No amount of writhing could set him free, but in reality, there was no real desire to escap—’

Lex’s head dropped forward with a frustrated growl as he backspace on the last sentence, his teeth gritted when another shock of pleasure shot up his spine. “You’re delusional,” he rasped, though it came out closer to a whimper. “You want coherent thought out of me right now?” He couldn't do it anymore.

Fortunately for him, Clark was not a merciless bastard like he was, and eventually, he took a pity on him. Withdrawing in one long, slow pull that made Lex’s hole clench instinctively around the loss, Clark flipped him onto his back, heat licking at his spine as Clark settled between his thighs and slid back in with a smooth, hard thrust.

“Fine,” Clark said, “we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Lex’s brain, sluggish and crawling like some pathetic caterpillar struggling through molasses, caught onto that word and refused to let go. 

Tomorrow.

And through the fog of pleasure, the thought slotted neatly into place, thank fuck this is a daily occurrence. Not the writing part, but the sex part.

 

---

 

Lex was still loose and sore the next day, still, he couldn't resist opening up twitter and the first thing he saw was his own face staring back at him. “GUYS GUYS!! I MET LEX LUTHOR OUTSIDE MY APARTMENT DOOR😱” 

The attached photo was him and that girl from yesterday, beaming with her arm looped through his before he’d shaken her off. Lex stared at it for a full minute while his brain was still slow to connect the pieces. Then the username hit him. Jessica. Clark’s neighbor. His jaw clenched so hard it creaked. Fucking what now?!

The post already had over 237 replies, the numbers climbing every time he blinked. He skimmed them, blood running cold.

WHERE 👏 IS 👏 THIS 👏

WHAT was Luthor even DOING there?? Like???

No bc there’s just NO WAY this is real rn.

And then her reply was... “oh he’s visiting my neighbor” 

EXCUSE ME??? your neighbor just casually knows LEX LUTHOR?? be so for real 😭😭

This has to be Photoshop, idc idc 💀💀

WAIT… is that a HICKEY on his neck or am I losing my mind 👁️👁️

Lex’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t dropped an address, but strangers on the internet were already triangulating Clark’s building from the background in the photo.

Lex turned toward the warm bulk beside him. Clark was still half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction, blinking blearily at him. “Clark. You’re moving out today.”

Clark just blinked at him, confused, before a slow frown tugged at his mouth. “What? Why?”

Lex shoved his phone into Clark’s hand. “Because your neighbor is spilling where you live to the entire fucking internet.”

Clark squinted at the tweet, then gave a sleepy little huff of a laugh. “Relax, she doesn’t know I’m Superman. I’m just a journalist, remember? Isn’t it normal for a journalist to know you?”

“Not normal that I’m visiting you!” He snatched the phone back, scrolling through the replies with increasing agitation. “There’s a difference between being seen at a press conference and being photographed outside your door.”

Clark only leaned back against the headboard, utterly unbothered. “Lex, you’re overthinking it. She saw a billionaire in the hallway and freaked out. Happens all the time.”

“Yes, but billionaires don’t usually show up in low-rent apartment complexes in Metropolis unless they’re buying the entire block.”

“Maybe not. But I’m not moving out just because Jessica got overexcited on Twitter.” Clark said calmly.

Lex ignored him entirely. He was tempted to just buy the whole damn building. Problem solved. He could gut the place, bulldoze it if necessary, and Jessica would be gone before she even realized what happened.

Of course, that came with complications. He’d have to funnel the purchase through subsidiaries, keep it far enough removed that no one would trace the move back to Lex Luthor, coincidentally seen outside the building two days earlier.

He rubbed his temple. This was exhausting.

And then another thought occurred to him. Jessica wasn’t even the worst neighbor Clark could’ve had. Honestly, Lex couldn’t decide what to do about her. Throw her out for being a liability? Or… reward her, in some twisted way, for indirectly leading him here. After all, hadn’t it been her constant presence on the internet, her artworks shoved in his face whenever he came online, that had somehow nudged him into bed with Superman in the first place?

Neighbors. He hadn’t seen that coming.

He saw her private message to him. “I CANT BELIEVE I MET HIM. Oh my god I feel like such a clown for drawing him getting railed every week. If he ever finds out what i turned him into, it’s OVER for me 😭😭😭” It was sent 10 hours ago when Lex was, ironically, too busy actually getting railed to notice.

He’d been immortalized in political cartoons, mocked in the press, torn apart in satirical columns, entire books had been written about his alleged narcissism and he did not take it kindly. But now… Lex did find out and Jessica was miraculously still alive, which in his book was either proof of Clark’s corrupting influence or his own growing tolerance for human foolishness.

Clark got up, still shirtless and trotted out of the bedroom. Lex just lay there, watching him go until the broad back disappeared around the corner, then burrowed deeper into the pillow. He really, really should get up and leave. Go back to his own penthouse, but it was cold there, and lonely, like living inside a glass museum where nothing felt alive. Here, though? Here the sheets still smelled faintly of Clark, the pillow was warm, and the low clatter of dishes in the other room was a sound Lex had never realized he craved until now.

Wow, that dick was really powerful. The thought made Lex want to laugh at himself but he swallowed it down, disguising it with a cough. Instead, he buried his attention in his phone, scrolling through the replies to Jessica’s damned tweet. Half of them were already meme-ing him, and several had looped Superman reaction gifs playing under snarky captions. Lex’s scowl deepened, but his eyelids grew heavy.

He must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he knew he was jolting awake to the scent of coffee and the edge of a mug practically bumping his nose. He blinked blearily, vision swimming until Clark’s big, too-earnest face came into focus.

“I need you awake enough to continue writing,” Clark said.

Lex groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. He took the mug anyway, muttering into the steam. “I’m not writing an erotic story. I managed maybe three paragraphs last night and it was excruciating.”

Clark only grinned, utterly unbothered. “Three paragraphs is progress. Imagine what you could manage with caffeine and… proper motivation.” He settled on the edge of the bed, all broad shoulders and dimples.

He took a picture of him and made a tweet.

Noobmaster69: Terrible for my blood pressure

Lex broke the internet that day.

 

 

Notes:

okay pretend the picture is Clark, alright??

Let me know what y'all think!

and remember... this is a crack fic😭😭

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Notes:

Unfortunately, this is the end 😔 I’m sad because I don’t want this story to be over, but everything eventually has an ending😭

Writing this has been such a fun experience for me. Thank you all for the support!! especially to those who took the time to leave such kind and encouraging comments. Every single word truly motivated me to keep going, i love you all!

I’ll be back with more Clex in the future (hopefully with a more serious story, though we’ll see where inspiration takes me!)😝

Fortunately for Clark, he wasn’t chronically online (Lois’ words, not his) and he didn’t spend every waking moment glued to a screen like most people did nowadays. Half the time he forgot his phone even existed because first of all, the suit didn’t have pockets, and second of all, what exactly was he supposed to do with it while flying? Tuck it in his boot? Hold it in his teeth? And besides, he had more pressing business at the moment… namely, keeping Lex Luthor entertained.

They fucked again this morning. Lex was demanding, milking him like he was trying to squeeze out every drop of him before Lex himself remembered he had an actual life outside of Clark’s bed. If Lex didn’t have to get back to the tower for a meeting, he was pretty sure Lex would’ve kept him there all afternoon, running him ragged and then accusing him of being slow about it.

Still, Clark did his civic duty and dropped Lex off at the rooftop of LuthorCorp, trying not to look too weirded out as he set him down. Hopefully no one with a long lens camera was lurking nearby. The last thing Clark needed was a blurry tabloid shot of Superman delivering Lex Luthor like some kind of massive stork.

Lex immediately straightened his coat and smoothed his tie, pretending he hadn’t just spent the morning with his legs wrapped around his shoulders. “You do realize,” he drawled, “if anyone saw that, I’d have to order their immediate assassination.”

Clark gave him that soft, boyish smile. “Don’t worry. No one saw.”

Lex narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “And how, exactly, can you be sure?”

Clark just shrugged his shoulders like it should be obvious enough. “Do you prefer it if i drop you off at the lobby?” He turned around and prepared to leap but—

“Wait, wait!” Lex's hand shot out, fingers snagging Clark’s cape.

He froze, glanced over his shoulder. “Lex…” he said warily.

“I want to test something.” Lex’s tone was calm, almost conversational, but Clark’s shoulders stiffened all the same.

Test. A harmless word in anyone else’s mouth, but on Lex’s tongue? It sounded like the prelude to disaster.

“Relax,” Lex rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to stab you with kryptonite or aim a death laser at your skull.” 

Clark sighed through his nose. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Consider it progress,” Lex stepped closer, one hand still wrapped in scarlet fabric. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. Instead…” He gave the cape another experimental tug before releasing it. Then, without warning, he turned and ran. Clark watched in confusion that quickly turned to horror as Lex vaulted over the railings and plunged down below. If he remembered correctly, this building was ninety-six stories tall. What was Lex thinking?

For an awful half-second Clark was frozen by the sight and then he dove, air screaming past his ears as he arrowed downward after him.

Lex’s coat ballooning out like broken wings in his freefall. He looked impossibly small against the yawning expanse of Metropolis’ skyline, already several floors down and the bastard was smiling.

It took no time at all for Clark to reach him; his arms locked tight around Lex’s middle as he rocketed back upward. They landed hard on the rooftop and he all but slammed Lex back onto solid ground. “What were you thinking?!” Clark roared, his hands still clamped on Lex’s arms because he didn’t trust him not to bolt for the edge again.

Lex only adjusted his coat with infuriating calm. “What? I just wanted to know how it feels to fly.” His mouth curved in that smug little smile that made Clark’s pulse spike for all the wrong reasons.

Clark’s left eye twitched. “We just flew from my place to here,” He jabbed a finger at him, incredulous. “You’ve already felt it.”

“Yes, but I wanted the authentic experience.”

“Authentic—” Clark cut himself off with a suffering sigh, dragging both hands down his face. “Lex, that was a ninety-six–story freefall. Do you understand that a human body would splatter—”

Lex interrupted. “I had full confidence you’d catch me.”

Clark froze. “That’s not the point!”

“Oh, I think it is,” Lex said. “Goodbye Clark.” With that, he strode toward the small door tucked into the corner of the rooftop, not once glancing back. The metal clicked shut behind him, leaving Clark staring at the empty space Lex had occupied only seconds ago.

Lex Luthor was a confusing man. And yet, Clark suspected that was Lex’s way of saying i trust you by throwing himself off a ninety-six–story building, of all things.

He shook his head before lifting off into the morning sky towards the Daily Planet. By the time his feet hit the rooftop, his cape was gone, suit stashed away, and he was buttoning the last of his civilian shirt like nothing had happened.

Inside, it was chaos. Phones were ringing off the hook, printers were already jammed, people were shouting across desks, and it wasn’t even nine a.m. yet.

Clark had barely made it two steps toward his desk when Lois snagged his arm. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“Oh… there were some pressing matters on another continent.” Clark almost winced at the lie, truth was he was too busy being balls deep in one Lex Luthor… ha-ha.

Lois shot him i dont believe you look, and fished her phone out of her pocket and thrusted it on his face. 

On the screen was a tweet from noobmaster69, and Clark’s stomach sank instantly. The photo was obviously him, still shirtless, hair a mess, smiling fondly at someone just out of frame. Clark didn’t need to see the rest of the photo to know exactly who that person was. Ugh Lex… why did he take this picture?

“Um,” Clark managed dumbly, his mouth suddenly dry. His brain scrambled, but every possible excuse sounded ridiculous even before he tried it out loud. “Are you going to believe me if I said that’s… not me?”

Lois arched an eyebrow so high it practically hit her hairline. “You’re really going with the ‘that’s not me’ defense? Clark, you look like the world’s most obvious cat caught with feathers in its mouth.”

He adjusted his glasses nervously, wishing for once he could just laser the phone out of existence.

“Perry wants you to write a piece about who this mysterious Superman’s lover is,” Lois said flatly, her arms crossing as she watched him squirm. “Honestly? I want to know too.”

Clark winced so hard his glasses nearly slid down his nose. “Nobody!” he blurted, his voice pitching higher than intended and he bolted for his desk, practically tripping over Jimmy’s chair on the way.

He dropped into his seat, shoved his bag aside, and yanked his phone out with frantic hands. His thumbs flew over the screen. What did you do?!?? He hit send and stared at the message, heart hammering. The worst part wasn’t even the picture itself, it was that he looked soft, smiling like a lovesick idiot while talking to his arch nemesis, and now the whole internet thought Superman was in love.

If only they knew who was on the other side of the photo…

The picture had gained 342K likes in such a short amount of time, Superman was trending number one worldwide.

Clark sat frozen at his desk. Every swipe of his thumb made his stomach twist tighter. People were speculating about who the anonymous “noobmaster69” was. Some thought it was Batman playing a prank, others insisted it had to be Superman’s secret lover leaking proof.

And then there were the comments.

I would sell my soul to bite that shoulder.

His smile just cured my depression.

How do I become noobmaster69’s neighbor??

People were thirsting over his bare body like vultures over a carcass. Comment after comment fawned over how broad his shoulders looked, how his chest would make “the comfiest pillow known to man” and thread after thread asking, “Do you think he could bench press all of us?” Haha. Very funny.

Clark nearly choked when he scrolled further. Someone had taken a gif loop of him adjusting his suit, it was honestly just a simple, unconscious movement but they slowed it down frame by agonizing frame. They’d zoomed in on the red part of his suit. The comments underneath were a storm of eggplant emojis, thirsty jokes, and people debating whether Superman wore anything under the spandex at all.

His ears went hot. He couldn’t even look at Lois because she’d definitely see right through him.

Jessica’s name flashed in his DMs. ‘OH MY GOD??? My rich commissioner knows Superman all along???’

Lex hadn’t replied to his text yet and it just dawned on him that he didn’t even have his phone number, he had no way to yell at him, no way to make him delete the picture.

God, this was a nightmare since the whole world was thirsting over his chest like he was some model in a pin-up calendar, and Lex Luthor of all people was behind it.

‘Is that Lex Luthor behind the account?’ Jessica asked via text and Clark ignored her.

‘Jessica just asked if the account is yours’ He hit send to Lex and stared at the three gray dots that refused to appear. Hopefully this would alarm Lex into deleting the damn picture before the internet did any more damage. But Clark knew it was probably too late because as he refreshed, the number taunted him back. 350K likes already. He was so doomed.

He shoved his glasses higher on his nose and sent another text. ‘Lex, I’m serious. Take it down.’

No reply. Not even a read receipt.

Clark resisted the urge to slam his forehead against his desk. 

‘Are YOU Superman?’ Jessica asked again.

‘No’ He replied a little too quickly. He winced at the obviousness of it, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen like he could somehow pull the word back.

‘DID YOU TWO FUCK YESTERDAY?’ Jessica asked again and Clark nearly dropped his phone. He jabbed the lock button instead of answering, as if ignoring her would erase the question entirely. 

Lois walked past his desk with a too sweet coffee in hand, and Clark forced his expression into something neutral. His phone buzzed again.

He didn’t look. He couldn’t.

Trust Lex Luthor to always disrupt his peaceful life. This was what he got for getting involved with the crazies.

 

---

 

Superman Breaks the Internet Shirtless: Who is his Mysterious Lover behind the picture?

By… Clark Kent.

Oh god, Clark was almost hysterical as he finished his piece. This was beyond humiliating. Was this his karma for making Lex write porn while he had him bent over and gasping the night before? It sure as hell felt like it.

Writing a news piece about himself was bad enough, but writing about his own shirtless photo that Lex Luthor of all people had blasted across Twitter? That was cruel and unusual punishment. He was supposed to be saving lives, not analyzing the way strangers on the internet described his “broad chest like a marble sculpture”

…The candid shot, which shows the Man of Steel looking decidedly off duty and talking fondly with someone just out of frame, was uploaded by the anonymous Twitter user noobmaster69. 

Who was Superman smiling at? Who snapped the picture? And more importantly, who exactly is this “mysterious lover” the internet has already dubbed the luckiest person on Earth?

While Superman has remained silent on the matter, fans have been tirelessly dissecting every pixel of the image, from the angle of his jawline to the glint in his eye. Some claim it’s proof he’s finally found love. Others insist it’s just “Superman being polite” Either way, the world seems equally invested in his heroics and his love life…

‘I hope you choke on your drink’ Clark sent another text, jabbing at the screen harder than necessary.

Miraculously, Lex replied immediately this time.

‘i’d never thought i’d see you hoping for someone’s death’ came his smug response.

Clark stared at the phone. Lex was ignoring the dozen unanswered messages he’d fired off earlier. Now, suddenly, Lex chose this to answer, with his usual brand of dry, insufferable wit.

He was tempted to just block him, god, it would make his life so much easier but instead Clark let out a long, suffering sigh and opened Instagram. Fine. Maybe Lex had slipped up somewhere. Maybe there’d be something useful, some dirt. Not that Lex Luthor would ever be dumb enough to incriminate himself on a public platform. His dirt was buried deep in a lab that Clark couldn’t exactly X-ray without breaking at least five laws.

So Clark scrolled. Aimlessly. One picture after another of Lex himself, dressed to kill. Every photo was perfectly curated, crisp suits, expensive watches that probably cost more than Clark’s yearly salary. One post had Lex looking sideways at the camera, lips parted, fingers brushing against them in a pose that looked like it had been ripped straight from a fashion magazine. His lips were startlingly pink, his sunglasses gleamed, and two gold rings were on his pinky and ring finger.

Clark’s thumb hovered over the screen a little too long. He told himself it was because he was suspicious. Definitely not because his chest felt weirdly tight or because his brain kept supplying images of those same fingers tangled in his hair. Definitely not.

He swiped to the next photo too quickly and it wasn't any better because Lex was leaning against a railing, he looked like he was on a holiday, except—who the hell went on holiday in a suit? Nobody normal, that was for sure. But then his eyes dragged lower and he realized it wasn’t just a suit. Lex was wearing black leather pants. Those long, long legs didn’t need any help looking endless, but the leather certainly wasn’t hurting.

Then there was the way Lex was holding his belt, fingers curled around the buckle like he was seconds away from undoing it as his thumb dragged along the silver obscenely.

‘Are you ignoring me?’ Lex texted again.

Clark stared at the notification for a long moment, debating if it was worth dignifying with a response. 

‘Yes’

The typing dots popped up instantly. 

‘Unbelievable. Come to the tower, I want to test something again’

Test something. When Lex said it like that, it could mean anything. Another insane jump off a ninety-six-story building? Trying to shove kryptonite under his nose? Or something Lex considered “science” but Clark knew translated directly to “torment Superman until he snaps”

“Honestly, Clark. If you found someone already, I’m happy for you, but I don’t understand why you’re so secretive about it.” Lois’ voice floated over his shoulder and Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. He fumbled with his phone, the screen flashing bright of Lex's model-like picture before he locked it in a blur.

He forced a laugh, stiff and awkward. “Secretive? Me? Lois, I… I don’t even date.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Then why were you just about to burn a hole through your phone with those puppy eyes? Who was it? don’t tell me it’s a dating app.”

Clark swallowed hard, his mind screaming definitely don’t say Lex Luthor.

“I’m just looking at the news circulating my name.” Clark said, which, apparently, was a terrible move.

Lois immediately grinned. “Right… did you have a one-night stand and they thought it would be funny to post your picture online?”

One night stand? If only. No, no, no, Lex had already sunk his claws in deep, and there was no climbing back out. This wasn’t something fleeting; it was a trap he’d walked into willingly.

He dodged the question by running towards Perry’s office to ask approval for his piece.

 

---

 

When he eventually floated in front of the LuthorCorp office window, Clark found Lex hunched over his laptop, frowning so hard it looked like he was about to declare war on whatever he was seeing on his laptop. Lex looked up at the faint tapping on the glass, and their eyes met. Clark lifted a hand in the most awkward wave imaginable and drifted upward.

He didn’t know what to expect this time. He stayed hovering on the rooftop, eyes scanning every corner of the rooftop for a trap. Lex Luthor wasn’t stupid. If anyone on Earth could build a trap to kill him, it would be the man currently walking up the rooftop stairwell. Surely Lex wouldn’t do that. …Would he?

Clark exhaled slowly, bracing himself. With Lex, it was always better to assume the worst.

Still, it shocked him when the rooftop door finally creaked open and Lex stepped out. No suit jacket this time, just shirtsleeves rolled neatly to the elbows and that unnerving little smirk curling his mouth. Clark was ready for insults, maybe even a kryptonite ring tossed his way.

What he got instead was Lex closing the distance in three confident strides, hands coming up to grip his shoulders firmly. Clark blinked, caught off guard by the warmth of his palms and the strange intensity burning in those pale blue eyes.

And then Lex said. “Come fly to the sky with me.”

…What?

Clark stared. 

“Why?” 

“No reasons apart from my curiosity, i want to know what it's like.” Lex said. 

Clark narrowed his eyes. “Are you using me for your tests and curiosity?”

That earned him a chuckle. “Of course I am. Don’t act surprised, you knew what you were getting into when you stepped through my balcony instead of flying away three weeks ago.”

Clark scowled, but Lex’s smirk only widened. “Relax. It’s not an experiment that’ll end in your death.”

“I’ll drop you if you so much as bring a real green rock near me, I’m serious.” Clark warned.

Lex lifted both hands. “I’m not bringing anything. Scan me if you’re that skeptical.”

He even took a deliberate step back, spreading his arms and turning slightly so Clark could look him over from head to toe. Clark’s gaze lingered, x-ray vision sweeping over Lex’s frame. Nothing. No kryptonite, no hidden weapons, no clever little surprises tucked in the lining of his shirt and dress pants.

“…Fine.” Clark sighed and stepped closer, sliding his arm firmly around Lex’s waist. The heat radiating off him was distracting and Lex’s hand settled over his shoulder, surprisingly trusting for his supposed enemy who he occasionally fucked.

“Hold on tight,” Clark warned and then launched them skyward. The rooftop shrank instantly beneath their feet. The wind rushed past, tugging at his cape and whipping Lex's tie against his chest, but Clark deliberately kept the ascent slower, not the supersonic blur he was accustomed to. He didn’t want Lex rattling apart in his arms.

The billionaire didn’t scream, didn’t even curse, he just tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing against the rush of wind and the brilliance of the sky opening around them. Above the haze of smog of the city, the sunset bled molten gold across the horizon, painting the clouds in pink and orange. Lex’s lips quirked, a twitch he seemed to bite back before it could become anything more.

Clark watched him from the corner of his eye. The infamous Lex Luthor, king of cynicism, sworn nemesis of all things bright, looked, for the briefest moment, like a man seeing wonder for the first time.

And Clark, against his better judgment, felt the grin tug at his own mouth.

Clark angled them higher, the air thinning, colder now against Lex’s cheeks. He tightened his grip instinctively, shielding as much of the rush of freezing wind as he could. “I don’t think you can handle much further up,” he warned quietly. “The oxygen’s thin. It’s freezing.”

Lex’s eyes were still on the horizon where the sun was dipping low. “No, no, it’s fine,” Lex answered, almost distracted. “Just… I want to see.”

Clark’s chest squeezed at the uncharacteristic softness. He’d expected mockery, or demands for altitude statistics, or a challenge about his limits. Instead, Lex’s hand clutched just slightly tighter at his shoulder, and he let his gaze drink in the fading light above the city as though he was afraid to blink and lose it.

“Never said I didn’t warn you,” Clark muttered, his grip stayed firm as he eased them another mile higher. The air thinned further, and though Lex didn’t say a word, Clark could feel the subtle shift in him, the tightness in his breathing, the way his chest rose quicker than it should.

Clark frowned, concern overriding everything else and without waiting for a protest, he dipped their trajectory downward until it grew warmer again. “See? I told you.” 

But Lex wasn’t listening. Not really. The rays of the sun caught him in a strange glow, gold bleeding across his face, turning the baby blue of his irises so bright while his pupils shrank against the harsh light. Clark’s stomach flipped at the sight, though he wasn’t sure why.

“You’re a very convenient plane, Superman.” Lex finally said, voice dry as ever, though his eyes still hadn’t left the horizon.

Clark chuckled. “It sure is useful.” he agreed, they passed beyond the edges of Metropolis before Clark even thought to slow. City blocks changed to coastline, and then only the darkness of the ocean stretched beneath them, vast and rippling like an endless sheet of glass. The world was quieter out here and Clark could hear Lex’s steady heartbeat inside his ribs.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“Hmm, Egypt?" Lex asked.

It took Clark a moment to remember exactly where Egypt was on the globe. He adjusted course with a tilt of his shoulders, angling them eastward, and his arms instinctively tightened, mindful of the very expensive, very fragile Lex Luthor–shaped cargo pressed snugly against him.

The miles stretched long, the black seam of the Atlantic rippling under the silver shimmer of drifting clouds. Clark was used to continents feeling like nothing but Lex wasn’t built for that, so he slowed down. It meant the journey took longer than usual, but he didn’t mind. 

Lex, for his part, didn’t complain once. His head turned constantly, the way a child might look out of the car window on their first long drive, eyes wide as he tried to soak in everything. Clark could practically hear the gears in his mind whirring, as if Lex were trying to memorize the entire world in one sitting.

When they finally reached Egypt, night cloaked the desert in velvety darkness but the stars overhead were blazing brighter than Clark ever saw them back in Metropolis. “Here we are,” Clark hovered at the very tip of the tallest pyramid before descending, sand crunching faintly as he landed and set Lex down carefully. 

Lex glanced at his wristwatch. “You’re faster than a plane." he said.

Clark just hummed and asked, “Where else?” 

Stepping closer, Clark caught the faint, expensive scent of Lex’s cologne and it nearly undid him. His hands were itching to tug down the stiff black collar of Lex’s shirt, just to confirm whether the bruise he’d left there that morning still lingered against the skin. 

“We could’ve taken a picture, but I didn’t bring my phone.” Lex didn't even realize the effect he had on him, he groaned as he patted his pockets. 

Clark shifted awkwardly. “Uhh… I could fly back real fast and retrieve it for you?”

“Never mind,” Lex dismissed with a careless wave of his hand, his gaze tipping upward toward the looming bulk of the pyramid. “We could just fly here anytime.”

Anytime. They could fly here anytime. Together. Like it wasn’t a one-off thing, like they weren't enemies anymore. Lex was being confusing again, and Clark wasn’t sure if the man realized the implications.

He caught Lex between his arms who let out a surprised squeak, flying them upwards towards the sky before leaning down to kiss him. Up here, it felt like they could be the only two people in existence.

 

---

 

Clark was this close to letting himself drown in an active volcano. Just sink into the lava, let it burn straight through him, and finally get some peace. Because this? This was torture.

All because of one picture. One single shirtless photo that Lex had oh-so-casually leaked onto Twitter a week ago.

Thanks to his super-hearing, the whole city had turned into his personal torment. 

Getting coffee? The barista nearly spilled his latte because she was too busy gossiping to her coworker about “how it would feel like to tug on his hair” The people in line behind him giggled when one of them said she’d use his chest as a pillow if she ever had the chance.

Grocery shopping? Worse. He’d barely turned into the bread aisle when two teenagers argued over whether his pecs looked bigger in the picture because of “lighting tricks” or if it was “just his girlfriend knowing how to take thirst traps” In the cereal section, he overheard a mom telling her friend she’d happily let Superman carry her like a princess too and her friend agreed.

Saving lives wasn’t safe anymore either. He stopped a car before it slammed into a schoolgirl and instead of saying thank you, she screamed so loud his eardrums rang. Not out of fear of almost dying, but out of joy. “Oh my god, you’re even hotter than the picture!” she squealed as her friends pulled out their phones like paparazzi.

Clark thought he might actually combust from embarrassment. It was humiliating.

People were still speculating about his supposed lover, and the theories were getting more ridiculous by the hour.

Some insisted it had to be a high-paying actress. “Come on! He wouldn’t date an average Joe like you!” their words, not his. Clark actually winced when he heard that one, what was so wrong about an average Joe? Wasn’t that exactly what Clark was?

Others were convinced it was the president’s daughter, complete with grainy side-by-side photos and conspiracy-thread. A few tabloids latched onto that rumor instantly, running with headlines like “America’s First Daughter Swept Off Her Feet by Superman?”

Someone else swore up and down that it had to be a princess from some foreign country. There were even heavily photoshopped images of him in royal palaces, laughing beside women he had never met before in his life.

And then someone suggested it was that one famous footballer. “No, guys! He’s a huge fan of Supes, right? Totally makes sense!” Cue an avalanche of jokes about Superman “scoring” on and off the field.

But of course, no wild guess was safe from being shot down. One reply had gone viral. “What? You’d think he’d date a fucking groupie?”

Clark was this close to deleting the internet altogether. If only that were an option.

Of course, some people were speculating it was Lex Luthor behind the camera, and Clark had checked as if torturing himself was part of his morning routine now. Eighty-seven new stories had appeared on the web overnight. Eighty-seven. Wow… that's a lot.

Most of them were porn, outright, lurid, badly written scenarios where Lex supposedly leaked a tape of Superman begging, moaning, shaking the bed frame with his super-strength. Half of them used the same overused “secret billionaire sex tape” angle, some even photoshopped Lex’s head over a stock image of a guy holding a camera.

Clark nearly threw his phone into orbit.

And yet, he wondered if Lex had read them yet. He could see Lex reading them, lounging in his high-rise office and he’d mutter “pathetic” at the bad ones and probably bookmark the decent ones for later. The thought made Clark’s ears burn.

Lex sent him another text via twitter since they hadn't exchanged numbers yet. ‘Come to the tower i want to test something again’ What? He was exasperated because this felt way too much like a booty call without the booty part. Lex never phrased things gently, it was always come here, do this, stand still while I poke you with a scanner. No please, no thank you. Just commands.

Still… Clark was floating out the window anyway. What was wrong with him?

He told himself he needed to make sure Lex wasn’t secretly experimenting with kryptonite lasers again. But the truth was far simpler, whenever Lex said come, Clark always came.

He landed quietly on the rooftop of LuthorCorp. Hopefully more kissing this time and less research. Then he immediately felt stupid and yet… Clark found himself standing there waiting, heart doing that ridiculous stutter in his chest like maybe, just maybe, Lex had called him here for something else.

But of course not. Because when the rooftop door finally swung open, Lex trudged up to him, not in his usual thousand-dollar suit, not even in a casual shirt. No.

In a full astronaut get-up.

Clark blinked. His brain stalled. For a man who’d seen aliens, this somehow ranked high on the list of most absurd things he’d ever witnessed. “What?” Clark blurted, eyes raking up and down the bulky white suit, the oversized helmet, the round glass reflecting his own face as he gaped at Lex.

Lex lifted his gloved hand and tapped the helmet once. “I couldn’t fly that high a week ago due to the oxygen. But now—” he spread his arms slightly, as if modeling his ridiculous ensemble, “—we will try again.”

Clark’s jaw went slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Lex asked, smiling faintly behind the glass, the curve of it catching the golden daylight.

Clark dragged a hand down his face. This man is going to be the death of me. 

“Fine." Clark muttered, already regretting every choice that had led him here. If babysitting Lex Luthor in a spacesuit kept him from unleashing havoc on the city, so be it.

“Hold on tight." he repeated the same warning from a week ago, though it felt infinitely more ridiculous now. He slid an arm firmly around Lex’s waist, the bulky suit was awkward against him. No warmth, no faint trace of cologne, no smugly raised eyebrow just inches from his face. Just layers of pressurized fabric and glass, like he was hugging a refrigerator.

Clark sighed, adjusting his grip. He’d never thought he’d miss the sting of Lex’s expensive cologne, the faint smell of his aftershave, or the heat of his body pressed against him, but here he was.

“Ready when you are.” Lex said.

Clark muttered under his breath, “You’re unbelievable.” before pushing off into the sky.

Lex was the same as a week ago, childlike wonder plastered across his face as they soared higher and higher, clouds thinning beneath them, the curvature of the earth slowly becoming visible. Clark could hear his sharp intakes of breath through the suit, tinged with awe rather than fear.

Into the stratosphere, into the mesosphere, higher and higher they flew, the air thinning until the last wisps of cloud fell away, leaving only the black canvas of space scattered with pinpricks of faraway stars.

The earth was vast and breathtaking, a living swirl of blue and white curling across its surface. It looked impossibly huge from this vantage point, yet fragile too as it was suspended in endless night.

“Wow,” Lex whispered. “How many people have been up here?” He tilted his head back, eyes wide as he drank it all in. “How many have seen the Earth like this, not through photographs, not on a screen, but like this?”

Clark glanced down at him, biting back a smile. He’d lost count of how many times he’d seen this view, but looking at it reflected in Lex Luthor’s wonder-struck expression made it feel new again.

A satellite drifted silently overhead as Clark flew them towards the moon and landed on the rocky surface. Lex was frantically looking around, and pushed off the ground experimentally, letting out a startled laugh when he shot upward higher than he’d intended, arms flailing as the low gravity carried him further than expected. He tried again, but the second leap nearly carried him too far.

Clark moved quickly, looping an arm around his waist before he could drift into the black. “Careful." he murmured, pulling him back against the moon’s ground.

“This… this is great!” Lex exclaimed, eyes glittering like he’d just discovered fire for the first time. He twisted, crouched, then leapt again, laughing breathlessly as he landed and bounced another few feet.

Clark’s lips curved into a smile. He’d seen Lex on TV, he always looked so cold, an untouchable figure who never let his guard down. But here, with the barren horizon of the moon stretching endlessly around them and Earth glowing in the distance, Lex looked alive in a way Clark hadn’t seen before, just a man overwhelmed by wonder with pure, uncalculated joy.

Clark’s voice was soft, almost lost to the vast silence around them. “Yeah… this is great.”

Through the helmet’s curved glass, he caught the reflection of Lex’s grin, it was genuine, nothing like the smirks he wore back in Metropolis. The sunlight fractured against the dome, scattering faint gold flares across Lex’s face. It wasn't the billionaire genius who could buy and sell half the city, or the villain whispered about in headlines, or even the self-declared rival of Superman. He looked… small, in the best way—just a man with his eyes wide in awe staring back at him.

Then Lex turned his gaze back toward the Earth. “Look at it, it's so small. All of it. Everything I’ve built, everything you’ve saved. Just a speck.”

“Build a sturdier suit, i'll fly you to Mars.” Clark promised.

Lex visibly perked up like a dog being promised treat, “Don't take your words back.”

Clark chuckled, shaking his head at the uncharacteristic brightness in Lex’s tone. “I won’t. But you better build something that doesn’t fall apart the second we hit a sandstorm.”

Lex tilted his head, grin stretching wider inside the helmet. “Oh, I’ll build something better than NASA ever dreamed of. And when we get there, I’ll be the first man on Mars… well, technically the second, since you were there first.”

“Yeah? Not calling me an alien anymore?” Clark asked.

“Alien, god, miracle, total bastard, pick your label, Clark. None of them make you any less… you.” His gloved hand gestured vaguely at Clark’s chest, like the suit and cape were just a costume and the man inside was the part that mattered.

Clark blinked at him, startled by the unexpected softness buried in the jab. “…That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Lex looked at him far too long with his bright blue eyes that Clark started fidgeting. “Don’t let it go to your head.” Lex turned his head to see the earth again, his gloved fingers fumbling against the seals of the suit. A sharp hiss of air escaped and then something small and metallic slipped free, drifting out in the low gravity. Clark instinctively reached out to steady it, only for Lex to snatch it mid-float with surprising speed.

“My camera,” he held up the device as it unfolded its panels. “Built it in five days.” He jabbed a finger at it, smugness radiating even through the helmet. 

The camera whirred to life, its lenses glowing faintly before it took off, hovering around them and snapping shots of the lunar horizon.

If he wasn’t so single-mindedly obsessed with destroying me, he’d be unstoppable in all the best ways, Clark thought, smiling to himself. He watched the little device circle them like an excited pet, reflecting the light of the sun in its lenses.

The camera floated in front of them, and Clark instinctively stepped back, the first flash caught Lex standing tall in his bulky suit with his wide grin, unrestrained, glowing brighter than the sun’s reflection on his helmet. Then Lex reached out and grabbed his hand, and the camera captured another picture with their fingers entwined.

Clark blinked, letting out a small laugh. The day hadn’t been what he expected but holding Lex’s hand and sharing the quiet thrill of the blankness of the space, it didn’t feel so bad after all.

 

---

 

If Lex had broken the internet with Superman's shirtless picture over a week ago, he was clearly intent on doing it again. 

LexLuthorOfficial’s Instagram posted a picture of himself in a pristine astronaut suit with a simple caption, “The 14th man on the moon.” 

But what really sent the internet into chaos wasn’t the technical inaccuracy of the caption since everyone knew there had only been twelve astronauts on the moon. Or even the absurdity of Lex Luthor casually standing on the moon surface like it was a weekend getaway. 

No, the real shock came from the background. Just behind him, unmistakable even in the grainy quality as the flash of a red boots and the trailing edge of a crimson cape hovered mid-frame, caught in motion as though its owner had been just about to float into view.

That was all it took. One small glimpse of Superman, hovering above Lex’s head, turned the billionaire’s post into the most viral image of the year. 

Within minutes, timelines everywhere were flooded, memes, conspiracy theories. Was this proof of a partnership? A truce? A romance? The photo was reposted everywhere until it drowned out every other headline on Earth.

And Lex, of course, hadn’t written a single word more.

Is that Superman photobombing Lex on the moon??

OMG are they DATING?? LEX LUTHOR AND SUPERMAN?? 

Wait wait WAIT, so LEX is the one who took the SHIRTLESS SUPES pic??? I’m actually losing my mind rn 😩

ok but like… this HAS to be photoshop bc there’s NO WAY Superman would wanna be within a FEET of this evil man 😭

like be fr… SUPERMAN + LEX LUTHOR??? nahhh the universe is glitching 

The Daily Planet released a morning newspaper that sold out like hot cakes the next week.

“Superman’s Secret Lover Confirmed.”

By: Clark Kent.

…The revelation has sparked a frenzy on social media, with hashtags such as #SuperLex trending worldwide, fan accounts exploded with reaction posts, and theories about how this unlikely pairing even happened. Some hailed the partnership as an unexpected alliance between the hero and genius, praising their intellectual and physical compatibility, while others voiced concern over what this meant for the future of Metropolis or the rest of the world. 

For decades, Lex Luthor had been known primarily as Superman’s arch-nemesis. Yet these recent developments shattered the narrative, hinting that even the most formidable enemies might discover common ground or perhaps, something far more than that…

Jessica slammed the newspaper onto her desk, eyes wide, and screamed, “I fucking knew it!” On her phone, a few tweets popped up.

SuperLex is real!! I’M CRYING!! 😭😭✨

Lex Luthor… dating SUPERMAN??? I didn’t sign up for this level of gayness but also I’M NOT COMPLAINING 

ok but like… THE REAL QUESTION 👀👀 who bottoms??

SUPERMAN DUH he’s soft

nahhh LEX has control issues, he’s the boss 😏

no no they switch don’t @ me

bro why are we having this discourse under an ASTRONAUT PHOTO 😭💀

 

 

 

THE END.

Notes:

can we ignore the scientifically inaccurate space thingy?

i have some vague ideas for an epilogue, keep a lookout for that i guess🤣

let me know what y'all think!