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"Introducing for the first time: Mr. and Mr. Clark and Lex Luthor!"
Lex gripped Clark's hand so hard he was sure his knuckles were bright white. It might have even hurt, if Clark had been human. Good thing he wasn't. Clark raised their joined hands above their heads as they walked back down the aisle, passing family and friends lined up for the private ceremony. The reception was going to be bigger, with business partners and political pundits and PR photographers. But this... this was just for them.
Clark stopped them before they went through the doors, pulling him in for another kiss. Applause erupted from the guests, but it all seemed to fade away as Clark dipped him, kissing him hard enough for him to forget his own name.
But not Clark's.
Clark Luthor. Clark. Luthor.
Lex grabbed at Clark's curls, pulling him impossibly closer, style be damned. Clark Luthor. He still couldn't believe it.
The door to Lex's home office clicked open and he looked up from his desktop, locking eyes with Clark, who shot him a big grin. Lex had been spending a lot more time in his home office lately, rather than the inverse; he used to spend a lot of nights at work. Clark—his husband—didn't seem to appreciate that very much.
"Everything's finally official," Clark said. "Social security, driver's license, passport. Bank accounts, credit cards, even the dentist has my name change on file. Now I just have to work on my Clark Luthor signature."
Lex felt his own heartbeat speed up at the words as he stood up to meet Clark, pulling him into an embrace. "Say that again," he growled into Clark's ear.
Clark laughed. "Clark Luthor?"
Lex shuddered.
"Again."
"Clark Luthor."
Lex nipped at the skin behind his jaw. "One more time."
"Clark Luthor. That's me. Til death do us part."
"Mm. I disagree. Longer than that, definitely."
"Okay," Clark said, brushing his hands down Lex's sides. "Glad you approve."
Lex had made it a habit to read everything put out by the Planet even before the wedding. It was a little article that caught his eye today, made his stomach do flips inside his gut. Construction on Grant and 11th Delayed Two More Years — Will It Ever End?
Well, actually, it wasn't really the traffic article that caught Lex's attention. It was the byline.
by Clark Luthor
It was the first time Lex had seen it in print. His chest buzzed with a warm feeling as he stared at it. Clark Luthor, reporter. Clark Luthor, professional. Clark Luthor, published for everybody in Metropolis and beyond to see. Clark Luthor. His Clark.
So, Lex might have clipped that article, folding it neatly to fit in his sleek, black wallet. Something just for him.
"The gossip rags have found you, Clark," Lex said one night over dinner.
"Ugh, I know. I don't know what it is about Superman—"
"Not Superman," Lex said, "Clark."
Clark raised an eyebrow.
"Who is Clark Luthor? A Deep Dive Into the Farmboy Turned Billionaire," Lex read. "Says here that some speculate you're only in it for the money, that somebody like you would never like somebody like me."
Clark's voice squeaked as he repeated, "Somebody like you?"
"Rich. Conniving. Ruthless."
"You know I love you, Lex."
"They don't know that. Apparently they've also tracked some anonymous donations to animal welfare and children's causes to the private Luthor fortune."
Clark blushed. "And what's wrong with that?"
Lex laughed. "Nothing. You're incredible PR, Clark."
"I wouldn't have married you if I wasn't going to stand by you, Lex," Clark said, taking Lex's hand over the table. He brushed his thumb over Lex's knuckles. "They can say whatever they want. I know you."
"You might be the only one who does."
Clark held up Lex's hand, pressing a kiss to pale skin. "Then I'll love you enough for the rest of the unenlightened masses."
Lex's cheeks burned a little at that.
It was about a month later when a card written in Martha's steady, flowing script script arrived on Lex's desk. It was addressed to The Luthors.
He stared at it longer than he should have, phone blinking insistently with a call he was meant to take. The envelope felt heavier than paper had any right to. The name Luthor had been carved into him since he was young—razor-sharp, merciless, a brand that demanded perfection or punishment. Lionel had made sure it carried the taste of iron, of ambition, of blood.
And yet here it was, written in Martha’s hand. The same name, but her pen had gentled it, curved it into something that looked almost kind. Luthors, plural. And one of them was Clark.
Lex's jaw tightened as he carefully tore open the envelope. Martha left a kind note, bidding them to visit soon and mentioning looking forward to Christmas. Lex had never received anything like it.
He might have it framed.
No, that would be strange.
Well, he was already a little strange.
He would think about it.
Lex didn't know when they had gotten to the point of lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. He rolled over on silk sheets, watched the rise and fall of Clark's chest until his eyes slowly fluttered open, and wasn't that a privilege. His and his alone.
Clark smiled, a sharp canine tooth appearing between his lips. "What are you thinking so hard about?" he asked, voice low and rumbling with sleep.
"You," Lex said, simply.
"That can be dangerous," Clark joked.
"I'm a dangerous man," Lex said. "Watch out."
Clark moved closer, strong arms coming to rest at Lex's sides. "I think I'll take my chances."
Lex moved to press their foreheads together, Clark's messy curls tickling his skin. "I'm glad you did."
"Best decision I ever made."
Clark leaned in, pressing a kiss to Lex's lips. It was soft, unhurried. Dripping with so much affection it made Lex's chest tight even after all this time.
He took a breath. "Do you ever miss it?" he asked as he pulled slightly back, "Being Clark Kent?"
Clark hummed. "I am Clark Kent," he said. "Just like I'm Kal-El, and Superman. But... no, not really. I like that everybody gets to know I'm yours. And you're mine."
"The Luthor name just comes with a lot of baggage," Lex pointed out. His voice was calm, but his body betrayed him. His shoulders curled inward, old muscle memory. His hand balled the sheets into his fist, knuckles white.
And in that small motion came a flicker: Lionel’s voice, sharp as the crack of a whip across the desk. Stand straight, boy. A Luthor doesn’t hunch like a coward. Lex had straightened until his spine ached, jaw trembling with the effort of silence.
Now, all these years later, his spine bent again, the old shame returning like an involuntary reflex.
Clark rolled his eyes. "It was a lot of paperwork, Lex. I don't really intend to change it back. Besides, we had this conversation before the wedding," he said. "What's bringing this up again now?"
"It's just—" Lex brought a hand up, squeezing at Clark's bicep. "—difficult for me, to believe, sometimes."
Another flicker: Lionel, standing over him, forcing his hand across endless sheets of parchment. Sign it again. Cleaner. Sharper. The name must cut. No son of mine will write like a fool. His fingers had cramped until tears stung, but he’d signed and signed until the letters blurred. Until the name itself felt like shackles.
He felt the ache return now, in phantom cramps that crawled up his wrist. He almost pulled away, curling into himself.
But Clark didn’t let him. He kissed the furrow between Lex’s brows.
"There's a lot about you to love, you know," Clark said, pressing a kiss to Lex's cheek. "Those tabloids have it all wrong." Another kiss, closer to his temple. "I've seen the way you care for people." A kiss to his forehead. "You never give up on anything." Lips pressed against Lex's bare scalp. "You're brilliant." Mouthing at his jaw. "You complete me, Lex."
Lex’s breath caught. The words slipped out, raw: “I don’t deserve you.” His shoulders hunched, trying to make himself small, invisible—Lionel’s shadow sneering in his ear: Luthors aren’t loved, Lex. Luthors are feared. Respected. Envied. But not loved.
Clark tightened his arms around him, gentle but immovable. “Maybe not,” he said, voice warm, “but you’re stuck with me anyway.”
Lex gave a small, broken laugh. He wanted to argue, but Clark tipped his chin up with patient fingers.
“Nobody gets to decide what the name means,” Clark said, steady as bedrock. He took Lex’s hand—the one that used to cramp under Lionel’s drills—and spread his fingers out against his chest. Beneath it, his heart thudded strong and unyielding. “He doesn’t get to decide who you are,” Clark said, ever the mind reader. "We do. You and me. Together."
Another flicker tried to intrude: Lionel at the dinner table, sneering at his mistakes, pointing at the family crest carved into the chair back. This name will outlast you, boy. You are only its vessel.
But then Clark threaded their hands together, laced them so tightly Lex could feel the pulse in every finger. Clark kissed each knuckle, slow, deliberate, rewriting the script. “Lex Luthor,” he said softly, like it was something safe. “Mine.”
The phantom image stuttered. Lionel’s voice faded. In its place was the steady hum of Clark’s breath against his skin, Clark’s body wrapped around his like a shield.
It was still hard for Lex to believe. Hard to believe he deserved such a thing as love, at all. Let alone from somebody like Clark Kent—Clark Luthor.
Clark seemed to sense the tension coiled beneath his skin. He didn’t push with words. Instead, his hands moved, tracing the lines of Lex’s shoulders, kneading gently at the knots of old anxieties. His touch was deliberate, grounding. Fingertips brushed the curve of Lex’s collarbone, slid down the plane of his chest, mapping territory Clark knew intimately like it was something novel. Lex felt the warmth seep into him, a counterpoint to the cold dread that sometimes pooled in his gut. He closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm of Clark’s breathing, the solid presence anchoring him in the silk-sheeted reality of their bed, not the echoing halls of his childhood.
“Look at me,” Clark murmured, his voice a low vibration against Lex’s temple. When Lex opened his eyes, Clark’s gaze held him, steady and blue-green. There was no pity there, only fierce, unwavering certainty. He leaned in, capturing Lex’s lips again. Deep. Claiming. It was a promise, pressed into Lex’s skin until he could almost taste it. Clark’s hands slid down, palms warm and broad against Lex’s ribs, thumbs tracing the dip of his waist. Lex shivered, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally.
Clark broke the kiss only to trail his mouth downward. He lingered at the pulse point in Lex’s throat, sucking gently until Lex gasped. “Every inch of you,” Clark whispered against his skin, his breath hot. “Every blemish, every flaw you think you see—I love it all.” His lips moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Lex’s collarbone, each one deliberate, unhurried. Lex’s fingers tangled in Clark’s hair, holding on as if he might drift away. But Clark was solid, real. He nipped lightly at the hollow of Lex’s throat, drawing a sharp inhale. “You’re mine, Lex Luthor,” Clark repeated, the words a soft growl. “And I’m not letting go.”
Lex’s breath hitched as Clark’s hands slid lower, palms skimming the taut planes of his abdomen. He arched into the touch, the silk sheets cool against his back where Clark’s warmth retreated for a moment. Clark’s gaze never left his, dark with intent. “Still thinking too much,” Clark murmured, a thumb brushing the jut of Lex’s hipbone. “Let me remind you.” He dipped his head, tongue tracing the line of muscle leading downward.
"God. You're perfect, Lex. Perfect."
Lex trembled as Clark's lips trailed lower, leaving a blazing path down his abdomen. Clark’s large hands, capable of shattering mountains, cradled Lex’s hips with tender care, thumbs pressing deep circles into the tense muscle. He shifted, his broad shoulders blocking the morning light filtering through the curtains as he settled between Lex’s thighs. The sheer size of him, the power coiled in every movement, should have felt overwhelming. Instead, it felt just like home.
God. Home. Clark Luthor. His home.
Lex gasped as Clark’s mouth found the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. The scrape of morning stubble was a delicious counterpoint to the soft, wet heat of his lips. Clark kissed slowly, deliberately, mapping the tense muscle with unhurried reverence. His hands slid down Lex’s legs, fingers tracing the long line from hip to knee, then back up again, kneading gently. Each press of his fingertips felt like a brand, searing away the lingering chill of doubt. "So strong," Clark murmured against his skin, the vibration sending shivers through Lex. "Carries you through everything." He pressed another open-mouthed kiss just above Lex’s knee, his breath warm. "Carries us."
Clark’s hands moved lower, palms skimming the curve of Lex’s hairless calves. He massaged the taut cords with firm, knowing pressure, thumbs digging into knots Lex hadn’t even realized were there. Lex let out a shaky breath, his body yielding under the relentless, tender assault. Clark’s lips followed the path his hands had charted, lifting his leg and kissing the hollow behind Lex’s knee, the sharp ridge of his shin, the delicate arch of his foot. Lex’s toes curled into the sheets, then relaxed completely as Clark’s thumb pressed into the sole of his foot, melting the last remnants of tension.
Slowly, deliberately, Clark worked his way back up. His hands slid along Lex’s inner thighs, parting them gently but firmly. His gaze, heavy-lidded and intense, fixed on the straining bulge tenting Lex’s silk boxers. A flush crept up Lex’s neck. Clark didn’t look away. He traced the outline with a single, feather-light fingertip, following the swollen curve from base to tip. Lex sucked in a breath, hips lifting involuntarily off the mattress. Clark’s palm settled over him then, warm and heavy through the thin fabric, applying a firm, steady pressure that made Lex groan. He rubbed slowly, circling the heel of his hand against Lex’s hardness, the friction delicious, maddening. Lex’s fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles white again, but for an entirely different reason. "Clark—"
"Shhh," Clark murmured, his voice thick. "Just look at you." He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Lex’s boxers, pulling them down with agonizing slowness. Lex’s cock sprang free, flushed and leaking. Clark didn’t touch it yet. He just looked, his gaze traveling its length with a reverence that stole Lex’s breath. "Perfect," he breathed again, the word a soft exhale of pure awe. "Every part of you is a masterpiece, Lex." His thumb brushed the swollen head, gathering the bead of moisture there. Lex jerked, a choked sound escaping his lips. "So responsive," Clark praised, his voice dropping to a low, possessive rumble. "So completely mine."
Then Clark bent his head. He didn't dive, didn't take him deep all at once. He savored. His tongue flicked out, a hot, wet point of contact that traced the thick vein running along the underside from base to tip. Lex whimpered, if a Luthor can do such a thing, back arching off the silk sheets. Clark hummed, the vibration resonating through Lex’s entire body. He laved the sensitive head with broad, slow strokes of his tongue, swirling around the ridge, tasting him. His hands slid back to Lex’s hips, holding him steady, grounding him even as he threatened to unravel. "Clark—" Lex gasped, fingers tangling desperately in Clark’s dark curls.
Clark pulled back just enough to murmur against the flushed skin, "I love how you taste." His breath ghosted over the wetness. "How you feel." Then he took him in, slowly, deliberately, sinking down until Lex felt the back of Clark’s throat. It was heat and pressure and perfect suction. Clark’s eyes locked onto Lex’s, watching every flicker of pleasure across his face. He hollowed his cheeks, his tongue working relentlessly beneath the shaft. Lex cried out, a ragged sound torn from his chest. What had he ever done to deserve this?
Clark’s hand slid beneath Lex’s lower back, lifting him slightly, angling him deeper. His other hand drifted down, fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind Lex’s balls before pressing firmly against his perineum. Lex bucked, a strangled gasp escaping him. "Easy," Clark murmured as he took a breath. He didn’t stop. His rhythm was relentless, deep swallows punctuated by the slick slide of his lips, the swirling pressure of his tongue. Lex could feel the coil tightening low in his belly, inevitable.
He tried to warn him, tugging weakly at Clark’s hair. "I'm so—close."
Clark just doubled down. He took Lex deeper, swallowing around him until Lex’s vision blurred. The coil snapped. Lex arched off the bed, a cry tearing from his throat as he came, pulsing hard down Clark’s throat. Clark held him there, swallowing whatever Lex had to give him, his gaze locked on Lex’s face, watching the ecstasy shatter the tension. He didn’t pull away until Lex sagged back, trembling and spent, the silk sheets damp with sweat beneath him.
Clark's lashes fluttered, a grin on his face as he pulled off of him. He licked his way back up Lex's body, salt and sweat on his tongue.
"See?" Clark murmured, settling beside him. He traced the damp lines of Lex's ribs. "Perfect."
Lex blinked at him, a little dazed. The afterglow still hummed beneath his skin, warm and liquid. "You have a very persuasive way of making your point," he managed, voice rough. His fingers traced the strong line of Clark's jaw, lingering on the faint stubble. "But I think you're biased."
Clark caught his hand, pressing a kiss to the palm. "Maybe." His grin was unrepentant. "Doesn't make me wrong." He shifted, pulling Lex flush against him, skin to skin. The solid heat of Clark’s chest against Lex’s was an anchor, chasing the last chill of doubt.
"I love you, Clark," he proclaimed. "Clark Luthor. My Clark. My alien. My husband." Lex pressed his face against Clark's chest, inhaling the scent of sweat that clung to him. "I love you so much it terrifies me sometimes."
Clark's arms tightened around him. "I'm not going anywhere." He traced idle patterns on Lex's back. Started writing out the loops of their names. Clark Luthor. Lex Luthor. "Whatever happens, I'm yours. Forever."
"I'm holding you to that," Lex said. "Forever."
Clark smiled, pressing another kiss to the top of Lex's head. "You have a way of getting what you want. I never stood a chance."
"I'd give it all up if it meant having you," Lex murmured.
Clark traced the curve of Lex's ear. "You have me." Outside their penthouse, Metropolis stirred to life—distant sirens, the rumble of garbage trucks, the first rush hour hum. Clark kissed Lex's temple. "You'll always have me."