Nightmare Scenario

by morefoul

Summary:

Lex has been having strange dreams. They may have something to do with the caped figure that he keeps seeing at his window.

Notes:

This is part of a series - check out the previous parts or proceed, the decision is yours.

Well folks, you asked for a part three and here is part three, clocking in at an insane word count that I don't even know how to explain. This was very indulgent, there's a lot of smut in this one so let's just all just grab a glass of water and hopefully you'll enjoy these freaks working it out on the remix as much as they do.

Thanks to everyone who's supported this series <3

“Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.”

– Unknown (frequently misattributed to Oscar Wilde)

 

---

 

Lex claws at the hand around his throat, not that it does any good. He’s doing it out of pure instinct, his arms flying up to grab and scratch at what he knows won’t budge. Besides, being released from the choke holds an even worse fate than its continuation. They’re high enough above Metropolis to make him dizzy, or maybe that’s just from the prolonged deprivation of air. Either way, the skyscrapers look like diorama blocks below. 

If Superman decides to let go now, or if by some miracle he manages to prise the large hand that’s around him like a collar off of his bruised neck, there’s nothing that awaits Lex but a long drop into oblivion. He kicks, but the wild movements of his legs do nothing but reaffirm how fucked he is as they find no purchase. 

It would be kinder for Superman to turn those glaring eyes into twin heat beams and just melt his head off right here. It would save the gut-dropping fall. Perhaps Lex would ask for this fate, but he can’t make a sound with how tightly his throat is being squeezed. Superman says nothing, he’s breathing heavily, those broad shoulders moving up and down, but his arm, the one outstretched and holding Lex, is rigid. He glowers from under his dark brow. Then, without a word of explanation or farewell, he releases. Lex flaps his arms uselessly as he falls.

He hits the floor of the penthouse suite gasping and coughing. His hands immediately fly to his throat, holding it but finding it unharmed. He scrambles in the dark, feeling the solid floor under him, realising he’s stopped his descent, that the distance that he has fallen is all of the three feet from his bed. Adrenaline is still pumping as Lex feels around for the lightswitch, turning it on and looking around the suite to prove to himself that he’s really here, on his floor in the middle of the night, and not still being held aloft above the city on a bright day. He wipes perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.

It only takes him a few seconds to come back around to reality. This is the third time it's happened this week after all. 

Tonight, however, it was worse than usual. More… visceral. He doesn’t usually fall out of bed. Plus, he notices, his nightwear is soaked with sweat. Both new developments. Of course, who’s really to say what’s normal for Lex. He doesn’t do dreams. He does things in the real world. Dreams, fantasies, that kind of thing; all so primitive.

Yet, this one is apparently inescapable. It began a month or so after his release – a point at which his life was very much falling apart, or so it had seemed at the time. The first time felt so real he woke up shouting and it took him almost half a minute to realise he wasn’t really plummeting to his certain death. The entire scene was thoroughly humiliating. If anyone had been around to see it, Lex thinks he might have just walked out to the balcony and thrown himself off for a taste of the real thing.

That first time had disturbed him so greatly that Lex had gotten halfway through booking an appointment with a dream interpretation consultant before he realised how utterly stupid he was being. The second time he had the dream, same as the last beat for beat, he awoke with the same fear and exhilaration he felt when Superman burst into his command room and charged towards him. The third time he had it, he found himself fucking his hand to the fading memory before he had even fully recovered from the false sensation of falling.

Then it visited him again, again, again, at least twice a week with unshakeable consistency. He’s barely known life without it since it began, always leaving him in various states of fear and arousal. The unpredictability of his body’s response is frustratingly irrational, particularly given that the events of this phantasmagoria always play out in the exact same way.

Nothing else for it right now but the bathroom. Lex strips off as soon as he gets there, throwing the pajamas straight down the laundry chute and turning on the shower. A splash of cool water on the face usually does the trick and he can go back to bed and drift off easily, but tonight’s iteration of the dream has left his skin slick. The flow of the water on his cold damp body induces a sigh of relief.

There’s a coil of something electric in Lex’s abdomen. He takes a few moments of pleasure as he runs his hands over his body with the shower oil, the spicy scent of neroli filling the room as he glides his hands between his thighs and feels the warmth inside him jump in excitement. He’s remembering the dream, letting the thrill of adrenaline finish working its way through him. Dreams are a sad second to real memories though, and Lex’s thoughts quickly turn to the one that occupies him the most.

It was the last time he had felt truly alive, and he had felt more alive then than he had ever been before. His body hitting the window, cradling his broken wrist, feeling his entire world coming crashing down. Superman had thought he had won in that instant and it was true, he had pretty much got as he wanted, that being a droll return to status quo, but Lex, under his tears, under the noise in his head telling him everything was over was clutching at his own victory. Superman had hurt him, was capable of making him hurt. 

Superman had told Lex he really was a monster, or at least that he could be.

Yes, fine, the dog had done most of it, but Superman had done precious little to prevent the manic animal, and Lex won’t ever forget how the air was forced out of his lungs as he flew across the command room from Superman’s powerful shove. This was more than just wrecking his office (the little tantrum and destruction of furniture the first time they met was almost cute); Superman had cracked two of his ribs with that shove. They hurt, even now.

So, he had failed to destroy Superman’s reputation. Hell, in the end he probably ended up bolstering it. But perhaps it was enough to know the truth of it for himself – of how Superman’s aggression was so barely contained. Sure enough, the memory of those handsome features wrought with hostility towards Lex had been almost a comfort during those long disturbed nights of his detainment on polyester sheets. 

As he considers this, Lex slowly and intentionally rolls his wrist joint, feeling the dull ache the movement brings. After it was shattered during the assault on him in his command room, Lex had been told by physicians at Belle Reve that it may be forever weakened by the injury. He's had some of the finest doctors examine his wrist since, but none had come up with a better prognosis.

The pain hasn’t been so bad – a soreness when he’s been typing too much, which is always, but nothing prohibitive. Lex has taken to rolling it in this way when he thinks about Superman and letting bolts of pain shoot up his forearm.

Lex turns his face up into the warm spray, closing his eyes as water runs down him. His hand travels up his chest, to the curve of his throat. He shudders despite the heat as he rubs the smooth skin. The water in his face makes it difficult to draw breath. In the dream, Superman looks at him so long and hard before letting go. Lex feels a wide smile form on his face. What a creep.

The shower squeaks a little as he turns the water off. That’ll need to be seen to. Stepping out, Lex catches his reflection in the anti-fog portion of the mirror and cocks his head to the side a little, examining the space under his jaw. No bruises. Of course there wouldn’t be. Sometimes it just feels so real.

He dries off with a thick white towel, then deposits that in the laundry too and wraps himself in a robe. The warm light of the bathroom opens into the suite’s bedroom, where the wall-spanning panoramic window shows him miles upon miles of blinking lights. Metropolis never truly sleeps, lights will be on at all hours and if he listens carefully, he’ll hear the roar of life below. From up here though, it looks still.

Lex goes to the window and peers down to the city. His city. Or, rather, the city that was once promised to him. The city he still plans on claiming but as of recently has required some additional patience. He enjoys the view most days and nights, but looking down now sends an unpleasant unease through him. He’s still shaking off the sensation of falling, he reasons and steps back. Little point in exacerbating it. He’s about to turn away again, find out what the time is and decide if it's close enough to morning to begin working (it will be, no matter what time it is) when a swoop of movement catches in Lex’s peripheral vision.

Lex’s breathing sticks in his throat as there’s another movement and he whips around to try and see it, but again it’s just out of his eyeline to be distinguished for its real shape.

It’s him again Lex thinks urgently, come to finish what he started. His eyes are wide and frantic as he swivels his head back and forth, scanning the window for another movement. When it comes, he moves on pure reflex, swiping a tablet that’s on his nightstand and launching it in the direction of the movement. It hits the window with an almighty crack, spooking the large pigeon that’s flitting by outside. 

The bird bats its wings a few times, recovering from its scare and flying off for the final time. Lex watches it go and how it leaves silent stillness in its wake. It was nothing. It was just a bird. It’s taking a lot of will power not to go over and slam his fists on the glass, scream at himself for being so ridiculous. 

Instead, Lex stays measured as he goes to fetch the tablet. It’s shattered. The fact of this means little, all of the data that’s on it is safely stored on LuthorCorp’s encrypted cloud and these devices are as replaceable as the staff who manufacture them, but seeing the damage Lex presses his lips together, jagged lines standing as testament to how hard he hurled the device. The screen is still functional though and through the web of cracks Lex can see it’s half five in the morning. In under an hour, sunrise will be creeping through the buildings, lighting the penthouse with its warm amber glow. Anyway, it’s not like he could return to sleep now even if he tried.

Lex moves through to the lounge area of the suite and places the destroyed tablet on his desk. He’ll call for breakfast up here and then go down to his office. As he’s making this plan, Lex notices that he’s touching his throat again, rubbing it slightly as if trying to soothe a crushed windpipe. He consciously removes his hand and looks at the window once more before heading over to his wardrobe to see what’s back from the dry cleaner. 

He’s got an empire to rebuild, one that does not entertain thoughts of Superman crashing through his windows or walls and grabbing Lex, choking him or, worse still, smothering Lex under his arm with those inhuman biceps until he’s too lightheaded to protest. The anticipatory curl of warmth in his gut that he first noticed in the shower gives a pulse at this possibility but Lex blinks a few times as he shakes the scenarios away, unsure what compelled him to concoct them up. It certainly does no good to languish in these types of thoughts.

He’ll work until he forgets about them, then, when exhaustion runs him into the ground, he’ll come back and fall into bed, where he’ll feel that hand around him again.

 

---

 

By the time Lex gets around to visiting his recently acquired robotics lab upstate he’s sure he’s not just seeing pigeons at his window.

It’s been happening too frequently, the shape, though still eluding the fullness of his gaze, is too humanoid but too large and too high off the ground to be really human. Moreover, Lex had some anti-bird spikes installed once he realised that the thought of filthy winged vermin making home on his tower was making him feel physically ill. Deciding to accept that Superman’s presence was not an imagined apparition but in fact truly there had been a wise choice. Now he can decide what to do about it. No longer will his body be at the whim of dreams or uncertainty. He won’t allow himself to chaotically pivot between fear and barely containable physical need without taking the situation into his own hands. It’s the most empowered he’s felt in months, the good mood that it’s inspired overflowing into other areas of his life. 

Take this lab visit: it’s going well, of all things. He’s being shown around by the newly appointed head lab technician with frizzy hair and thick glasses. She seems nervous, which Lex doesn’t see as a bad thing. He appointed her himself; had to after the previous head tech had been less than welcoming to what Lex had planned for the machines being built here. Lex had no time for these objections based on asinine notions of ethics or the good of mankind so he fired him and instated someone who actually wanted their research to make an impact rather than to hide behind bureaucracy.

She’s being very affirmative. He’ll believe what she says when he sees it, but given the schematics he’s being shown, Lex truly has cause to expect LuthorCorp to start drilling for rare minerals in the Kuiper belt within the next three years.

Lex feels the most buoyed he has in months. He’s even smiling a little.

That is, until he’s about to be shown into one of the demonstration rooms and something flickers in the corner of his eye again, out the large window overlooking the grounds of the lab’s compound. He knows exactly what it is, but that doesn’t stop him whirling around fast enough to stumble. Superman has some fucking nerve showing up in broad daylight now, following him outside of Metropolis even. But there can be no doubt, it was red and blue, that garish colour scheme, had a cape, he saw it, he definitely saw it.

“Mr. Luthor?” Dr. whatever her goddamn name is, Lex doesn’t actually remember or care, is looking at him, a pair of safety goggles outstretched towards him. They were about to go and see one of the drills burrow into real martian rock. 

“You saw that!” It’s more of a demand than a question. He’s demanding she backs him up. For all of Lex’s certainty, no one else has ever seen what he’s seen. But he’s not going crazy. He can’t be. Metropolis’s beloved Superman is stalking him. He knows it. He just knows it. He sees it.

But the technician is looking between Lex and the window. Suddenly her round, soft face makes her look far too young and insecure for the job Lex has given her and he bristles at the observation.

“Did I see…” She starts.

“The alien hovering outside the fucking window!” Lex extends his arm in gesture, noticing the way he’s suddenly broken out in a sweat, “I thought this was supposed to be a secure facility?”

“It is.” She nods rapidly, looking out again, “But we are near an airbase. Maybe a plane–”

Lex is torn between gritting his teeth and letting out a rageful yell. What he does is worse than both, he tries to convince her, “No, it wasn’t a plane, it was Superman! Where’s your security footage?” He marches away from the drill room, towards where security guards are stationed. 

The technician follows him with a little run, “The cameras…” She sounds out of breath, like each word is an effort. Lex decides he hates her. “The cameras don't point out that way, just the entrances and outdoor walkways.”

Lex slows, looking out the window again. At his sides, fingernails are digging into his palms. The tension down his arms is making his injured wrist twinge with bone-aching pain. He doesn’t want to look at the technician. In fact, he may make sure he never has to see her again.

The two of them stand in silence in the empty lab for a few moments, Lex’s eyes still on the space of sky where he was sure he saw movement. It couldn’t have been a plane. The object in question was too large and far too colourful. If it was a plane he’d have heard it, surely.

The technician mistakes his silence for a readiness to move on. Lex can hear her fiddle anxiously with her clipboard, “Would you like to continue with the demonstration, Mr. Luthor?”

She almost makes him jump with the question. Lex shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, trying to regain composure. The idea of watching a robotics demonstration at the moment may be enough to fully send him off the deep end.

“No.” He replies with gritted teeth. He looks back to the technician, “We’ll finish this another time.”

“Um–” She starts, still clueless what to do with herself in light of this recent turn of events, “Are you…”

Does she have any idea what a knife’s edge she’s walking on right now? She’s about three words away from having to find new employment.

“Yes?” Lex prompts. They’re standing too far away from each other. A couple of lab benches between them. It’s making the conversation awkward as hell, he needs to be out of here, back to the Tower where his team is actually competent.

“Nothing.” She saves herself, “I’ll look forward to completing the tour of our facilities soon.”

Lex leaves without another word. He’s back in his car within five minutes, leaving through the front gates but he can’t get comfortable, drumming his fingers on the leather upholstery as he watches the Metropolis skyline come into view on the horizon. At least the car windows are tinted. The vehicle will have to be painted with lead paint next.

He swallows, but his throat is fine. It always is.

 

---

 

Two nights of being choked out and dropped in his dreams later, Lex is ready to take action. There needs to be an end to this insanity.

The visit to the robotics lab had been informative, though certainly not in the way Lex had hoped for. It had clearly shown him what a mistake it was to allow himself to sit around waiting to catch glimpses of cape or blue spandex and then behave like a lunatic when he did see them. He can’t disgrace himself like that again, he risks losing the credibility he had been working very hard to build back or maintain since the Jarhanpur affair.

He had considered a few options in how he was going to lure Superman to the penthouse. One was to completely outfit the building with cameras. Some would be on the building, others would hover around it like the ones he used to instruct Ultraman. It would provide indisputable proof of Superman’s deviant behaviour, a considerable benefit, but Lex scrapped this idea when he thought about how many personnel he’d need for such an operation and decided he didn’t like the idea of getting so many others involved. Whatever he does can’t have a bunch of engineers and camera techs floating around.

The next idea was to simply go to the press and make his accusation. This idea lasted even less time than the first. The press were not his friends at the moment. Besides, he tried something like that already, and look at what that got him – meta-humans more beloved than ever. What exactly would Lex do? Try and get that dopey Superman reporter at The Daily Planet to run some kind of exposè? The thought alone makes him cringe. Lex will not be attempting anything that requires him to kiss up to the hacks at The Sphere or The Daily Planet or any other of those so-called journalism outlets. 

The plan he lands on does lack elegance somewhat. What it does offer, however, is too good to deny: it’s discreet; requires essentially no resources; and most importantly it’s personal. If it works, and it will work eventually, he’ll get a private audience with Superman himself.

First he turns on every single light in the suite. His home looks overlit this way, the walls and furnishings washed out and cold, but the sense of wrongness that he’s created is, in this case, intentional. Then, to set the scene further, Lex adds a few crucial touches: an overturned chair here, a smashed plate dropped on the marble floor of the kitchen there... Nothing major, he’s not wrecking the place. He could have someone clear up whatever he does later, but making too much of a mess, even temporarily, makes his skin start to crawl. No, no need for a big fuss, just enough to give anyone who, say, tended to fly by or even linger outside of his eightieth-floor window pause.

The balcony lights go on too, all except one, leaving a convenient shadowy area just large enough for a deckchair and a table on which a drink could rest. By the time he’s finished, the penthouse can probably be seen from space for how it burns bright above Metropolis. It reminds Lex of the city north-west of here that’s become so overreliant on their overpowered vigilante that they’ve started to project calls for him into the night sky. He imagines briefly what it would be like if something along those lines was implemented here – a giant red and blue insignia projected into the clouds on an overcast day. It’s enough to set his teeth on edge. 

It’s not a perfect plan by any means. It’s cold and Lex isn’t particularly pleased by the idea of sitting bundled up and just waiting in the dark. Perhaps Superman won’t even bother to show up tonight. If he does, however, Lex knows he won’t fail to notice the chair or the smashed plate, and he won’t be able to leave without a closer look. He simply can’t seem to resist poking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

It almost feels tacky, like he’s a second-rate maniac lurking in alleyways and not in his own home, but it’s been too long since he’s faced Superman, and too many of their encounters so far have been through glass. Out here on the balcony Lex will be able to reach out and touch alien flesh. For that he’s willing to bear the risks associated with the fact that Superman will be able to reach out and touch him too, and he’s willing to bear the tedium of sitting out here waiting for him on a chilly October night.

Or at least, that’s what Lex told himself as he sat, crossed one leg over the other, and sipped his brandy in wait. But by the time the second hour comes around, the whole ordeal has become decidedly tiresome. It’s the longest time that Lex has spent awake and out of prison without checking his emails for as long as he can remember, but he won’t look at his phone for fear of the bright rectangle of the screen giving his position away.

As that second hour starts to reach its end, Lex is doing the unthinkable: he’s starting to doubt himself. He starts to ask himself if anyone has actually spotted Superman patrolling at night. His over-dependency on the sun means that he’s always threatening to pop up during the day, but after sunset he’s absent unless it’s an emergency. Lex runs his finger along the rim of his glass. Last time he thought he saw Superman here… Could it have really been a bird? 

He doesn’t like where his thoughts are going. Lex swipes up his glass and tosses back what’s left of the brandy. Fuck this. Lex will find another way to prove it. Why should he have to sit out here freezing when Superman’s the one who–

Lex is too busy getting worked up that he almost misses the swish that comes from somewhere just beyond the balcony. He stills. Listening and searching out into the dim light that comes from the city below.

He’s still holding the glass but doesn't dare put it down in case the sound of placing it back on the table is heard. There’s an urge to call out, tell Superman he’s been caught, but Lex needs him to come closer. If he springs the trap too early Superman will just flee and Lex will be left wondering again if it really was him.

Where is he, where is he? Lex can’t focus on anything in the darkness, but he can sense a presence.

Then he emerges from the night, landing on Lex’s balcony with the agility and grace of a cat, leather boots that look soft from wear barely making a noise as they connect with concrete. Lex watches him, breath held and on tenterhooks as he bides his time and waits for the right moment. Superman is definitely hesitant but he’s eyeing the disturbed chair and broken tableware. Lex can almost see the cogs turning in whatever passes for a Kryptonian brain.

Lex had left the balcony door open just a crack. Partly because if Superman did turn up, Lex wants to make it clear that smashing any glass is very much not necessary. Superman seems to take it as permission to open the door and take a tentative step inside.

Lex is careful as he stands. He slips out of his coat as he gets up – it was open already and the satin lining makes it easy for him to rid it by sliding it down his arms. He pulls his vest to straighten it and can’t resist smoothing his hands down the crisp sleeves of his shirt.

After living with the unnerving sense of being watched for so many weeks Lex enjoys the feeling he gets as he stalks across the balcony to the open door. Seeing the back of Superman’s head like this… it almost makes Lex think he could get the upper hand if he pounced on him. 

“Luthor?” Superman calls out, beginning to turn just as Lex slips inside behind him.

“Nice to see you’re making yourself at home.” Lex replies as the door clicks shut behind him. A closed door has never been an obstacle for Superman before and it wouldn’t be this time either, but shutting it still gives the impression that the trap has been triggered. It’s immensely satisfying.

“Lex.” Superman says, dropping the formality and going straight onto a first-name basis. He looks around at the lights and seems a little confused, “What’s going on in here?”

So much for hello. No ‘good to see you survived prison’, no ‘sorry about my out of control dog last time we met’. Not even a ‘how have you been?’.

Lex flips the masterswitch by the door and for a second they’re plunged into total darkness. Then he hits another and all the downlighting comes on across the suite, immediately warming the place. Superman blinks a few times as he looks around. It’s as if he’s never seen anything like it. Of course though, he has.

“What?” Lex asks, “Taking the place in?”

“I don’t understand.” Superman can hear something in Lex’s voice that troubles him and it shows, “I saw the mess, thought maybe a break in or something…”

Lex frowns like he has no idea what Superman means, “No. The only one here without permission is you.”

“Look, I can go, uh, I should go, didn’t mean to–” He watches warily as Lex cooly crosses the lounge.

“I think I may have one problem though.”

Superman is looking back over his shoulder at the city outside. He knows whatever Lex is about to say is bad, and he’s planning his swift exit again. Lex would never ask for his help.

“I think I’ve gotten myself an over zealous admirer. Someone keeps watching me through my windows. Tell me though, how can that be possible when my windows are so high up off the ground?”

Superman looks at Lex again with wide horrified eyes like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Well, Lex muses, that was easy. Guilt is written all across his face.

Lex cuts to the chase, “How often have you come to see me?”

“I– I–”

“Out with it.”

Superman huffs and turns his face away, his own actions and the lofty morals he loves to espouse coming to blows. 

“Just…” He appears uncomfortable in his own skin, or maybe it’s that atrocious outfit, “A few times. Since I heard you were out.”

“Is that so?” Lex’s smirk widens into a wolfish grin, “Remind me now, how did it go?”

“How did what–”

“Your obsession with me is getting a little…” Lex cuts back in, snapping his fingers a few times as if trying to recall, as if those words aren’t burned into his memory like a branding on his brain, ones that he returns to whenever he wants to feel the sear of hatred. Lex relishes repeating Superman’s own words back to him.

Superman avoids his eye.

“Ah yes. Creepy.” Lex finishes, “Your obsession with me is getting a little creepy, Superman.”

“I’m not obsessed.” Said a little too quickly. Lex raises his eyebrows.

“Then what exactly was the thinking behind it?”

“Uh…” Superman stumbles, searching the penthouse like something in the suite is going to present him with an adequate excuse. Lex quickly realises he doesn’t actually care about whatever he’s going to come up with, it’ll be bullshit anyway, so he asks a more pressing question.

“What did you see? Any cause to put me back in Belle Reve?”

“Well– okay, no. Look, it was bad, I’m sorry and I’ll admit that, but it was a preventative measure!”

Interesting how poorly Superman does under just a little pressured probing. He’s all over the place. It makes Lex wonder if all those trite interviews he does with that Kent dweeb are actually pre-approved questions.

“A preventative measure.” Lex repeats. He’s never in his life heard such a blatant self-justification be taken up so sincerely. It’s laughable. 

“Yeah, I–”

But Lex isn’t so easily distracted. Superman still hasn’t answered his question.

“So you didn’t see anything that’ll send me to jail again.” He interrupts, “But what did you see?”

“Nothing, I–” Superman halts and looks up. He’s going red rapidly as a blush comes over his cheeks, “Nothing.”

“What?”

Superman gives a hum and blinks rapidly up at the ceiling. Lex notices how he fidgets and shifts his weight from one foot to another. It’s genuinely quite unnerving for someone of Superman’s stature to suddenly go so shy.

“What?” Lex asks again, more forcefully.

“It really just–” Superman’s eyes dart over towards the bedroom and Lex feels himself go stiff, “I just think you could use some curtains or shutters up here from time to time.”

Oh… fuck no. No.

The entitlement. That may be the worst part. First to this world, then to calling himself ‘human’ and now to Lex himself. The fucking entitlement. 

Silently, in a rage that’s somehow at once icy and white-hot and that’s thrumming through him with enough intensity to physically hurt, Lex turns to where the counter of the open-plan kitchenette is behind him and takes a glass from where it lies out by the skin. He feels the weight of the glass in his hand as he turns back around.

“Lex…”

“You piece of shit alien!” He roars as he releases the fury in a single throw directed at Superman’s head.

“Lex–” Superman tries again as he catches the glass inches away from his face.

“Do you know why I don’t bother with curtains up here!?” He points an accusatory finger, “I don’t bother with them because no one is supposed to be looking through my fucking windows!”

“I’m really sorry, honestly, I left as soon as I realised what I was looking at!”

“Oh!” Lex laughs sarcastically, “Brilliant! One of the only flying freaks on this planet who can watch me up here, eighty stories off the ground, has the tact to leave after just a few seconds of watching me masturbate.”

Superman’s lips are pressed into a thin line, apparently out of things to say, so Lex continues his tirade,

“I can’t even have a moment of privacy because Mr. Faith In Humanity over here can’t resist spying on me! Please tell me you realise what a fucking joke you look like right now.” 

Superman furrows his brow, “I didn’t mean to see that part, but you’re dangerous, Luthor, someone needs to keep an eye on you. I was doing my job of protecting people.”

“You’re the one who’s actually dangerous, but as soon as I even suggest someone keep watch on you, the world turns against me.”

“Actually, Lex, I think they turned on you because you turned Metropolis into an inter-dimensional rift and tried to profit off of an almost-genocide!”

Lex holds his arms out, “And I served my time.” He tilts his head slightly and catches Superman’s eye, “I thought Superman believed in second chances." 

He’s talking crap, Lex is fully aware that his early release was the product of nothing more than good old government endorsed corruption. But the way Superman is getting more and more agitated, cape swinging as he’s unable to stay still, is getting exciting. If window peeping is the price of Superman getting so riled up, perhaps Lex can live with it. 

“They released you early because you’re rich and that’s it!” Superman snaps, stepping closer.

“That’s not how they put it to me. They told me they were letting me out because I’m powerful. There’s a difference.”

“It was unjust!” Superman’s voice is getting louder, more power behind his words. Lex thrills at the sound of it.

“Are you working for the DOJ?”

“No!”

“Then stay out of it. Justice has a very specific set of meanings these days.”

“You almost collapsed an entire galaxy because of your ego!” 

Lex sniggers, “If you just died quietly no one would have had to be put at risk.”

Superman looks furious, his own wrongdoing forgotten as Lex refuses to repent. Gotcha, Lex thinks. 

But he falters. As Superman takes another pointed and meaningful stride towards him, body humming with frenzied anger, Lex’s breath hitches and something instinctual gets a hold of him. He means to stand his ground, he’s so close to getting what he wants, but he breaks and stumbles back before he can stop himself. 

Superman’s face instantly changes from one of aggression into one of remorse and Lex curses inwardly. God fucking dammit he almost had him. Lex wants to bang his head against the wall for dropping the ball at the last second, for showing his hand so easily. 

It doesn’t need to be said, Lex has made it as obvious as that stupid initial on Superman’s chest, but Superman points it out anyway, 

“You’re… afraid of me.” 

There’s a heavy note of surprise in this statement, and Superman’s whole body has softened in a way that makes Lex howl internally in disappointment.

Lex just glares. He realises now how defensive he looks, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders tense and raised, his head slightly ducked. If he had hair it’d be standing on end.

“I’m scaring you.” Superman repeats, still disbelieving.

Lex sighs as he straightens, releases his fists and pushes his shoulders back, “Yes.” He admits bitterly, “But do me a favour and spare me the self-flaggelation, Superman. You threw me. You and that fuck-ugly dog broke my arm. If you didn’t think I’d be a little on edge seeing you again then you’re even denser than I thought.”

That he had accidentally managed to defuse Superman just as he was finally getting him where he wanted is highly frustrating, and he still can't quite believe that he fell victim to something as base as survival instinct. But Lex had still glimpsed it: the monster under the illusion of humanity. Just that brief sighting had been enough to make his skin tingle with adrenaline, to heat his blood. Lex pushes back against his jangled nerves in order to move closer again. 

Superman doesn’t move away as Lex steps towards him. Either he’s still too stunned to or he doesn’t want to, it makes no difference. Lex’s skin prickles as he closes the gap. Superman’s eyes are on him, watchful and bordering on wary, but he still doesn’t back off.

They’re facing each other, those maddening few inches between their heights making Lex tilt his head up. Something in the air has changed. It’s like a crack of lighting. It happened in an instant and it will just as quickly disappear again if they don’t seize on it. If they ignore the flare of whatever this is, the two of them could finish their sparring and part ways again. But neither of them are ignoring it. In fact, both seem to be holding on, letting the moment draw out.

Superman is quiet as he speaks, almost just to himself, “I kind of didn’t think you were afraid of anything…”

His pupils are blown wide. Lex swallows down a snide remark, his are likely no different. He wonders what exactly did it for Superman, although, if the reverence in his words is anything to go by, it was the moment of weakness Lex had just succumbed to. 

Superman’s anger, Lex’s fear. The parts of themselves that each of them were trying to hide revealed here in the heat of the moment, each leaving the other breathless.

The Kryptonian is searching his eyes, trying to find something – invitation, rejection, permission, anything that’ll give him a clue as to what he’s supposed to do now. Lex doesn’t want to give it away so easily. He wants to see what happens when Lex reaches out and takes Superman’s wrist. There’s no resistance as Lex lifts it, guiding Superman’s hand up and placing it on the top of Lex’s head.

Like this, Superman can do whatever he wants. He could push Lex away or crush him like an empty soda can here and now. It’s a little like Russian Roulette as Lex puts his fragile human body in Superman’s hand. 

When Superman makes his decision and chooses to push Lex down to his knees, Lex isn’t sure if it counts as a bullet or a blank.

Looking up, Lex can see Superman’s features have darkened with desire. It’s been some time since Lex has been on his knees but he knows what he’s doing. He runs his hands up the sides of Superman’s stocky thighs and maintains eye contact as he moves in and presses his face against the fabric of his trunks. He can feel something coming to life under them in pulses. Big is the only word that comes to mind, but that doesn’t even begin to cover it. Lex wets his lips.

Superman hisses through gritted teeth as Lex feels out the shape of him through the suit. Thick and with a nice curve. He reaches to tug at the trunks, eager to claim his prize. He can already vividly imagine the warm heft of Superman’s cock on the side of his face.

“Wait.” Superman steps back suddenly enough to make Lex cling to his legs for balance, “I don’t think I…” He glances back over at the bedroom, “We can do this, but not here. In the bedroom.”

How quaint. Almost old fashioned.

“Fine, but lose the suit while you’re at it.” He replies calmly, not letting Superman hear how secretly electrified he is as he draws back and gets to his feet.

Superman leads the way. Clearly he knows the layout, it’s like he’s been here a dozen times already. Lex rolls up his sleeves as he follows. Once they make it to the bed Lex watches with interest as Superman kicks off his boots and pulls the top half of his suit off, back rippling, acres of beautiful unblemished skin pulled over firm muscle. When he pulls the lower part of the suit down over his firm ass Lex notes a distinct lack of underwear. Good to know.

Lex doesn’t take his own clothes off just yet, even though the teeth of his zipper are becoming very pronounced against his hardening dick. The sight of Superman reclining nude on his bed, legs slightly parted, semi-erect cock lying against his hip, chest rising and falling with the steadiness of his breathing, his whole body so strong and solid, makes Lex bite down hard on the inside of his cheek.

He nudges Superman’s legs further apart once he’s between them and Superman sucks in an inhale, looking up to the ceiling for a moment before back down to Lex. Lex has the generous girth of Superman’s cock in his hand. He quirks a brow as he meets Superman’s eye.

“See something you like?” Lex asks.

A tender look comes from the meta-human, “You have no idea how crazy you’ve been driving me.”

Lex smirks, not immune to a compliment, “I’m so glad things stayed interesting for you while I rotted in a jail cell.”

Superman gives a breathless laugh, “Please touch me.”

Lex dances his fingers up the thick shaft, “I am touching you.”

Superman cocks his head to one side with a smile in a way that suggests he’s enjoying the tease, “With your mouth. Please, Lex. I know we don’t see eye to eye but… Please.”

Oh, he’s going to be using his mouth alright. Since Lex settled between Superman’s legs here and caught sight of his balls, hanging heavily between muscular legs, Lex’s mouth has been watering. From here he can smell the punch of raw animalistic pheromones that radiate from the heat of Superman’s groin. He starts with an indulgent drag of his tongue up the crease of where Superman’s inner thigh meets his perineum and takes pleasure in the jolt that Superman gives as he gets a sensation he wasn't expecting.

As enticing as Superman’s cock is, Lex holds it to one side so he can better get at where Superman’s musk is most potent. Lex’s tongue is working at his taint, tasting, inhaling, feeling a pulse of arousal pulse that makes his slacks painfully tight as his nostrils fill with the scent.

“What are you doing?” Superman’s voice is slightly pitchier than usual, like he can’t quite figure out why he likes this feeling.

“Just shut up and let me have this.” Lex replies hurriedly, not even pulling his face back to answer.

He keeps up his devoted attention, slathering Superman’s intimate area with spit, stealing the salty and slightly sour residue of a day’s work for himself. Unable to resist any longer, Lex sucks Superman’s weighty balls into his mouth, feeling the soft firmness of them under his tongue. Superman gives a little “Ah–” at that and his cock twitches.

Yet, despite his very apparent pleasure, Superman continues to babble out excuses, “Sorry, I’m a little sweaty, it just gets real hot under the suit sometimes and I usually shower after I wear it all day but obviously– oh!” He squirms as Lex sinks his teeth hard into his thigh, “I can take a quick shower now if you want.”

“Shut up.” Lex says again. He can’t even imagine a worse suggestion. He’s pressing his tongue up against the delicate space between Superman’s cock and his ass and feeling the meta-human squirm at the sensation. 

Superman’s cock is rigid by now; Man of Steel indeed. Lex gives the shaft some wet kisses, lips reddened from the feverish mashing of his face into Superman’s crotch, eventually getting to the ruby-coloured head which is shiny with leaking precome. Lex can taste it when he tongues the slit, it’s richer and deeper in flavour than his sweat with more complex notes. The two mingle in his mouth.

Above him Superman is giving strained huffs. His hips are pushing up just a little, but he’s clearly trying to stop himself. That won’t do. Lex envelops the shaft and tightens his lips around it. It earns him a “Hahh–! Oh shoot, Lex–!” and a breaking of resolve as a hand comes down to cup the back of his head. The other hand balls into bedsheets and squeezes tight enough to damage them. 

Lex forces his head down far enough for Superman to feel the tight flex of his throat, “Oh, shoot, shoot!” Superman keeps saying, abdomen straining as he feels the shudder of Lex gagging around him. He pushes through the drive for self-preservation that’s screaming at him to draw back. By the time Lex’s nose meets the coarse hair at the base of Superman’s cock his mouth and throat feel entirely violated. His jaw aches badly as he continues to tighten his lips around the impossible girth.

“I’m close…” Superman tells him as Lex sinks back down again, “Gonna do it in your mouth. Your pretty mouth, Lex.”

Lex isn’t sure if the rough drag of his teeth up Superman’s shaft is a punishment or a reward, either way it earns him a whimper and the sight of Superman arching up off the bed saying, “Oh gosh, oh shoot, Lex, please, I’m so close–”

What a sight he is, face flushed, every muscle straining. Lex repeats the action on the upward stroke and pushes the flat plane of his tongue against Superman’s cock on the downward. Superman comes with a jerk and a broken groan. Hot spurts are deposited directly into Lex’s stomach as he takes that alien cock all the way to the base again. Lex can feel that hand on the back of his head again and experimentally tries to pull back. When he finds that he can’t, that Superman is holding him here with more force than Lex can counter, his whole body goes stiff, his nails clawing at Superman’s thighs. He’s swallowing what he can but his body convulses as loads come quicker than Lex can take them. Cum sluices down out past his lips, making his chin a mess of spit and Kryptonian semen.

It’s salty and astringent as it fills his mouth, thicker than Ultraman’s was and there’s more of it. Lex never did anything like this with his pet project, but he had taken samples of most of Ultraman’s DNA – hair, saliva, skin cells. The DOJ seized most of it but Lex has a few of those old assets hidden away, including a refrigerated sample of cum, genetically identical to what he’s choking on now. He’s been saving that for a special occasion. There’s a comparison to be made here, a half formed metaphor about free-range versus caged, but Lex drops it to focus on how his mouth and throat are being violated.

Lex sits back, looking at how the orgasm has left Superman softer but how his dick is soaked and slick from Lex’s mouth. He wipes the run of fluids from his chin.

“What’s the refractory period like for Kryptonians?” He asks in a lazy drawl, as if he’s not achingly hard. He’s never wanted a fuck this bad in his life and he’ll be catastrophically disappointed if the wait is anything significant.

Superman smiles sheepishly down from where he’s propped up on his elbows and Lex just knows whatever the answer is is going to piss him off.

“Pretty much non-existent.”

Of fucking course.

Lex rubs as his cramping jaw, pushing down at what bubbles up inside of him in favour of the more pressing need of getting his insides rearranged.

He crawls up the bed, clambours up the length of Superman’s body and takes his elbow with no effort to be gentle. He knows that his rushed, graceless movements are exposing how turned on he is, but Lex can’t bring himself to be any more considered. He’s driven by the need that was awakened in him tangled among bedsheets, when he realised how much he wanted to grind the residue of Superman up into a powder that he could rub onto his gums.

Superman lets Lex place his elbow above his head and Lex takes a moment to enjoy the anticipation he feels as he looks down at the exposed pit, unwashed from a day of exertion in that awful suit. Lex leans in to blow lightly on it first and can’t quite believe it when that makes Superman jerk his wrist out of Lex’s grip, pulling his arm back down with a wince.

“What the hell? You’re ticklish?” Lex asks incredulously, momentarily stunned out of his burning carnality by the incongruousness of Superman’s reaction

“Just a little…”

Lex’s nose crinkles in something between disbelief and contempt, “You mean to say that you’re invulnerable to all forms of bodily harm, but you’re fucking ticklish?”

Superman looks somewhat defensive as he shrugs, “I didn’t decide my biology.”

Lex shakes his head, “God, your kind is so fucking ridiculous.” He can’t dwell on it, more important things to do, “Arm up.”

Superman starts to slowly raise his arm but Lex has had enough waiting. He grabs the wrist again and yanks, Superman allowing this as Lex dives forward. Superman is big enough and broad enough that Lex can pretty much bury his entire face in his armpit. More of that smell – both human and not, raw and as powerful as the alien producing it. Potent enough that Lex could get drunk off of it. He’s attacking Superman with his tongue, pressing the flat of it against the skin. He doesn’t do kisses, he needs something more than that, he needs to fill his mouth entirely until he suffocates. 

This isn’t Superman, the city’s sweetheart with the million-watt smile, the legend that belongs to Metropolis and its residents; this is Kal-El, the living creature beneath the persona. It’s Kal-El who’s shifting his hot bare body beneath him, Kal-El, who Lex and only Lex found at that frozen fortress, in an unmade bed among crystal and ice, Kal-El who belongs to no one and who smells like no one or nothing else. Kal-El, who Lex can actually dig his claws into and who won’t dissipate or disappear into the smoke and mirrors trick of the Superman myth. 

As Lex swirls his tongue against sensitive skin and hears a gasped Hahh–! he feels like he’s staking a claim. He might never leave a mark on Superman, may never kill him with his own hand, but he can drink him in, inject Superman into his bloodstream like this. Now no one will be able to take Superman’s out of him, not even Superman himself.

Superman is a hope and a dream and a prayer, but the thing under Lex has flesh that can really be grasped. He’s vaguely cognisant of Superman’s touch, ghosting up his back. He’s more aware of how his dick is weeping in his underwear. Mostly though, Lex is lost among the overpowering miasma, of how he gulps down and inhales deeply again, like he’s trying to replace all of the oxygen in his body with this overwhelming and intoxicating musk. It sends his eyes rolling back into his skull.

When Lex draws away, Superman is panting and looks a little scandalised. Lex usually tries to resist thinking nice things about him, but even he can’t deny it’s sort of cute. It’s as if it’s genuinely never occurred to him that someone could get so much pleasure out of what Lex is doing. Lex just raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement of his enjoyment. He can accept if Superman doesn’t understand it, Superman doesn’t know, nor will he ever know, how many months Lex has wanted to do that, how he had been going mad in Belle Reve at the thought that he maybe never would. Without that context perhaps his actions do look a little strange. But then Superman shyly starts to raise his other arm. 

“Are you– Do you wanna, um, do the other one?”

Christ. He is cute. Who knew?

By the time he’s shown the other armpit similar treatment with just as much euphoric enthusiasm, Lex feels dizzy. He’s fully straddling Superman’s chest by now, no qualms about resting his full weight on the body beneath him. Superman’s hands are on his ass, thumbs hooked over the top of Lex’s belt and down the back of his trousers. He’s looking up with that frantic searching expression again, no idea what Lex could possibly do next. 

To Lex though, it’s obvious. He plants his hands either side of Superman’s head and leans down to claim his lips in a kiss that’s open mouthed and hungry. He pushes his tongue straight into Superman’s mouth, sharing the taste. Their tongues slide against each other, two wet muscles swapping spit until Lex needs to come up for air.

As they part Lex watches Superman lick his lips, getting any last remnants. Oh, Lex thinks with a twisted thrill, he likes it.

He decides then that he won’t let this night end until the entire penthouse is saturated with Superman’s natural funk, until Lex is left with no choice but to let it fill his mouth, nose and lungs, until it infuses into his skin. Until he chokes on it. 

Lex swallows, ripeness lingering on his palette like fermenting fruit.

Those large explorative hands have roamed upward, pulling Lex’s shirt out of where he keeps it tucked into his trousers to let himself under so he can run his palms over the bare skinned tapering of Lex’s narrow waist. 

“Now then,” Lex says as he pushes himself off of Superman’s chest, “What I want to know is exactly how you found me that night you took it upon yourself to come see me.”

Superman laughs nervously as he continues to catch his breath, “I really didn’t look for very long.”

Lex stands and massages his wrist where it has started to ache, “I’d be willing to overlook it, you know, if you show me what you saw.”

Those intense blue eyes dance up and down the length of his body, “Okay, well… For one you weren’t wearing any of that.”

Lex feels a smile pull at his lips. That’s more like it.

“Then tell me: what was I wearing?”

Superman looks upward, remembering, “A robe. But it was open anyway. Not exactly preserving any modesty.”

Fucking incorrigible. “It’s not exactly as if I thought I had company to dress up for.”

Superman is sitting up now, “So, you were essentially naked.” He concludes.

Lex steps closer, into Superman’s reach, “Show me.”

Superman looks up at him darkly. He really wasn’t lying, he looks horny again already. It would infuriate Lex if he wasn’t going to so directly benefit from this little quirk of Kryptonian biology.

For a brute, Superman is surprisingly deft as he unbuttons Lex’s shirt. He sits on the edge of the bed to do it, Lex standing in the wide V of his legs.

As he waits to be undressed Lex tries to learn something from this carefulness. Is it that Superman is rich enough to realise the worth of Lex’s clothes? Or is it the opposite – that he’s poor enough to be intimidated by the Italian silk he’s handling? Lex smirks as he decides it must be the latter, not even his top executives at LuthorCorp could afford Lex’s wardrobe. A welcome buzz of superiority flushes through Lex as Superman pushes the open shirt off of his shoulders and it falls noiselessly to the floor. 

Superman tugs his belt buckle open, free hand roaming up the flat plane of Lex’s stomach. Lex responds with a pleased shiver, taking the moment to run his hands over the broad shoulders before him, letting his fingers follow globes of super-strong musculature and allowing his trousers and underwear to be pushed down. 

“Hey, look at you.” Superman says with just the most shit eating grin, leaning back to take in the lithe body before him, “Aren’t you gorgeous under all that pouting you do?”

He should have known not to trust Superman even with such a simple task as removing clothes. Apparently he can’t do even that without passing unwelcome comments. Suddenly irritated, Lex steps back.

“Don’t piss me off.” He says sharply to Superman’s confusion at the move.

Superman blinks a few times, dark eyelashes fluttering as he frowns, “I didn’t mean–”

“I was somewhere on the bed, I presume?” 

If Superman was going to say anything more he drops it, instead nodding and beckoning Lex to lie down, “On your side.” He instructs, patting the spot in front of him. 

As he settles onto his smooth cotton sheets, Lex looks down the bed to the large window that opens onto miles of night. He imagines Superman out there for a moment, watching wide eyed as Lex fucked himself. He releases a shaky breath at how careless he’s been for letting Superman watch him so much without Lex even noticing. He’s been too busy wrapped up in dreams about the alien dangling him over Metropolis to even realise how close he might have been to such a vision becoming reality. 

What comes over him now, having Superman manipulating and positioning his body isn’t far away from that heartracing aroused terror he feels when he jerks awake from that dream, only this time he won’t wake up. When he feels that imposing body behind him, on him, Lex can’t snap out of the scene. He twists one leg over another as this thought sends a pulse between them and a shiver through the rest of him.

The movement of his legs has apparently caught Superman’s attention because no sooner than Lex is feeling the small relief of pushing his legs together, a hand is working a hand between them.

“You had a leg up in the air.” Superman informs him, “Kind of just let it hang there.” He trails his fingers up Lex’s inner thigh as he puts it in position. He goes to the end of the bed, viewing Lex’s nude form from another angle to see if the way it’s lying fits what he remembers and smiles broadly when he confirms that it does. He takes Lex’s ankle and kisses the top of his foot, “It was pretty hot, actually.”

Lex tuts and prods Superman’s face with his toes in a half-hearted kick, “Then you stayed long enough to form an opinion.”

Superman laughs gently, “It wasn’t exactly something I could easily forget.” He catches Lex’s foot again and places a kiss again, this time on the inner arch. Lex’s face heats at the sight and tries to yank away but Superman’s grip, though it feels gentle, doesn’t budge. Seeking relief, he turns his face into the pillow, but this only provokes another laugh.

“Hey, you did that too!”

Superman releases his foot and Lex fixes him with a questioning glare, “Did what?”

“The face in the pillow thing. Probably why you didn’t see me.” He explains as he settles back behind Lex.

Great. Now he can’t even do that without referencing Superman’s sick voyeurism. 

“And you had a hand…” Superman continues, putting one of his over Lex’s, guiding it over the dips and slopes of his body, back and down, “Down here.”

Lex squirms a little as Superman positions his arm, leaving it once in place to give his ass cheek a prolonged squeeze, like he just wants to feel the shape and softness of it.

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me I wasn’t just stretching out after a long day?”

Superman gives a low chuckle at that.

“Maybe in a sense you were…” He speaks quietly and softly now, right by his ear, “Had some kind of toy you were using, don’t know how big but…” He just finishes the sentence with a knowing hum.

Lex takes a moment to steady his breathing, “I’m surprised you didn’t take it upon yourself to find out. Given your recent track record.”

“Seemed like a breach of privacy.”

“Good one.” Lex cranes his neck to look behind him. He wishes he hadn’t. He had been trying to look at the bedside drawer where he keeps his playthings, but instead he just sees Superman who smiles warmly as their eyes meet. He flips back around quickly, “It’s in that cabinet by the bed. Top drawer.”

“I don’t know Lex… I think I wanna see you with something real this time.”

Lex swallows laboriously, his leg starting to ache where he holds it aloft. He starts to lower it but Superman catches it, keeping it in place.

“So you think you can do me better than I can do myself. Bold statement.”

“I know I can do it better than that thing you were using. I think you needed me that night.”

Lex’s laugh is shallow and tight, “Needed you? In that case why didn’t you come crashing in? Not as if you hadn't done that before.”

The hand holding his leg travels further up his thigh so that Superman’s knuckles are grazing Lex’s cock. He keens into the touch.

“Better late than never, right?”

Lex’s hand slaps onto the back of Superman’s one as it moves from his leg to wrap around his dick, “Lube’s also in the top drawer. Get it.”

He feels the massive body behind him shift. Without its heat right behind him Lex feels a chill on his back. He twists to watch.

First Superman pulls out the green dildo. He raises his eyebrows as he inspects it, obviously comparing the size of it to what he had in his head. It’s decent. But decent is not satisfactory to Lex Luthor. It was a bad buy. He had purchased it soon after leaving Belle Reve and just fingering himself to the memory of a dream of being dropped from 20,000 feet above Metropolis had no longer been cutting it. Lex had been attracted to the model because it was the only one he had seen that was green. From the moment he saw it Lex could only think to compare the colour to Kryptonite and that ticked him enough to press buy on the online shopping website without truly considering his purchase.

There’s nothing physically wrong with the toy. It just doesn’t do what Lex needs it to do. It doesn’t get him off. Privately he wonders if he and Superman may finally agree on something: he needs something real. He’s tried settling for facsimiles before, and it doesn’t measure up. If he’s going to take cock, Lex needs it to be a real one. 

Superman tosses the toy and seems to delight in doing so, letting it clatter across the floor to somewhere out of sight. Lex smirks. It’s almost as if the alien is feeling jealous of the artificial dick. Good, Lex thinks, let him come at this with something to prove. 

The lube is found next – a sleek black bottle that’s a sumptuous blend of ginseng and aloe vera and that costs about as much as a nice bottle of wine at most midtown restaurants. 

Lex is about to lie back down, happy for his toy to have been so aggressively disregarded, but Superman draws his attention back again.

“Um…”

He’s holding an unopened condom between his finger and thumb, looking at it with some uncertainty. He looks like he thinks he should ask if he should wear it but isn’t sure how to navigate the conversation so he just stalls, looking between the condom and Lex, ready to follow the other man’s lead. 

Just the sight of protection is enough for Lex to purse his lips in disdain. He reaches over and snatches the little foil packet, attempting to throw it in the same direction as the dildo, but it just flutters lamely to the floor beside the bed. At least it’s out of sight.

Superman watches the condom fall with some amusement, “Alright.” He says.

Lex scoffs as he returns to his position on his side. Superman is acting so nonchalant, as if he doesn’t need the raw bare tug of Lex’s insides against his cock. Lex can feel it in the energy between them, neither of them are going to settle for anything less than that precise sensation.

“Why would we even need it?”

“Seemed polite to ask.” Superman shrugs as he leans back down and that overbearing heat returns, “Thought you might start fussing over Krytonian diseases.”

“Should I?”

Superman smiles against the side of his face, “Of course not.”

Hands again, always those damn hands, roaming all over his naked body, now sliding down the line of his side, moving Lex’s leg back up into position, leaving a trail of goosebumps and making Lex shiver.

“Then get on with it.” He hisses.

Lex stays facing away as he listens to the sound of lube being squirted from a half empty bottle. Lex doesn’t watch as Superman gently breathes on it to warm it up, he just curls his grip into the pillow and braces himself. He doesn’t mean for Superman to see how he tenses but when “Relax…” is murmured behind him he knows he’s failed. 

He startles a little when he feels touch on the most intimate part of him, his passageway clenching as it anticipates what’s coming.

“Relax. I got you.” Superman whispers again. He’s slowly massaging the lube onto the pucker of Lex’s entrance. He’s used a copious amount and despite his efforts, it’s still cool, sending an involuntary shudder up Lex’s back as the outside of his hole is thickly coated. Superman hasn’t even breached him yet but already Lex can hear the cap of the lube click open again.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re not supposed to use it all.” Lex criticises through gritted teeth, bracing himself for another cold smear, “I don’t just keep it there for your convenience, you know, I’d like some left for myself.”

“I’ll get you more.” Unbothered and unrepentant. Entitled ass, and he’s not even from here.

“No you won’t, you’ll get me some cheap drugstore shi– ah!” Lex is cut off by two huge, lube coated fingers pushing into him, Superman working his way in slowly.

“There you go…” He says, too softly and too fondly. Lex shuts his eyes tightly and immediately tries to wiggle back for a deeper penetration, but Superman is too in control to let Lex take any more than he’s giving.

Lex has stopped scolding, but as Superman gets down to the second knuckle he continues to justify himself, nosing into the side of Lex’s neck, “I know it’s a lot, but you’re so tight, Lex. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lex swallows. He wants Superman to hurt him, to keep hurting him until he knows as well as Lex does exactly how inhuman he really is. But he can’t articulate this desire, not as the delicious curl of those two thick digits is making his back arch and toes curl. Instead he can only give a moan that’s thick with need and almost melodic as it passes through his mouth. 

Superman moves in and out, scissoring, making room for himself as he goes deeper into Lex’s body with every push. The lube has made the fingerfucking noisier than it has to be, a wet squelching that’s just obscene but makes Lex clench around the magical fingers that make his entrance burn nicely with stretch.

“It doesn’t have to hurt.” The whispering in his ear is warm and breathy, “See how good you’re feeling now? I want to make you feel good.”

“I need more.” He sounds strained, bordering on hoarse, “I want it deeper. To– hurt– Fuck.” He’s undermining any authority he might have had with the way his voice jumps. His whole body is threatening to start trembling. He’s so excruciatingly aware of the presence of the meta-human inside of him, of the heat and thickness as he squeezes Superman’s fingers.

Superman nips at the shell of Lex’s ear. He’s gotten all the way to the base now. Lex can feel the rest of his hand cupping the curve of his rear.

“What’s the rush, Lex? Come on, you’re doing so good. You wanna try being a little patient?”

Good. Patient. Lex wants to spit the words back at him. Who exactly does Superman think he’s dealing with?

“Screw your patience. What patience did you have when you were shoving my head down to the root of your cock and shooting your load down my throat? Think you can toy with me now you’ve gotten a bit of head? Fuck you, you’re wrong.”

Superman just laughs like he thinks this is all a game. Lex makes a noise of desperate frustration. The feeling of Superman moving his fingers back and forth, the way he strokes and massages at Lex’s walls, grazes at that precious bundle of nerves at his core, makes Lex feel like he could melt, sink into the bed like hot butter and be submerged in this pleasure for the rest of his days. But he wants something rougher, deeper, stronger, something that’ll make him feel like he’s dying. Needs it. It’s almost pathological. He needs it so intensely he’s starting to verge on panicking.

He tries again to shift his hips and do himself faster and more forcefully on the fingers inside of him, but Superman catches his hip before he can even start.

“No–!” He wails. He hates how needy he comes across, how much despair is in his protest, “I need– I need–” He’s running out of breath despite the way his chest heaves.

“Let me take care of you.” Kisses peppered against the base of his skull. “I know what you need.”

“Then give me more!” Shit, he’s going to cry. So fucking pathetic, “Please, this isn’t fair!”

It hits that he’s not getting away from these fingers until he’s in pieces. He can’t help a broken sob as this realisation comes to him, that for all the soft cooing and kisses Superman places on him, he’s putting Lex through this torture on purpose. Lex scrubs his eyes with the back of his palm. He needs that cock spearing him more than he’s needed anything in his life, he’s clenching around the two digits and his own dick is sore with an unbearable need to feel that unreal girth inside him. It’s fucking Superman of all people who’s denying him. Another reason to hate him, as if Lex needs any more.

He gives up on wiping his eyes when Superman starts to give Lex’s leaky cock slow, loose strokes. Lex bites down hard on his lip as the sensations combine in the depths of him. The fullness of Superman’s fingers are too much and not enough. He needs them jammed up into him, hammering Lex’s ass with the ferocity he knows the meta-human is capable of. In fact, Superman must be exerting so little of his power that this whole thing is just nothing to him. Lex heaves with this thought, a feeling racking him with such potency that he physically convulses. He’s called this feeling a number of things, most famously envy, but also hatred, fear, and now white hot need. 

Then Superman is over him again, his stupidly huge wingspan allowing him to loom heavily over Lex while still keeping his wrist pushing in and out. Lex whimpers when he realises how blurry his vision is, how quickly and easily he’s come apart. He looks up at the meta-human with an expression he knows he’d hate himself for if he ever saw it in the mirror – brows furrowed, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Superman’s hand moves from Lex’s cock to hold his chin and for a second Lex is sure he’s going to move in for a kiss but instead when Superman leans down he feels the wet heat of a tongue dragging up the teartrack on Lex’s face, all the way to Lex’s lower lashes where he laps up the bead of salty tears that cling there, “I’m sorry I made you cry, gorgeous.” He murmurs in that addictive baritone against Lex’s temple, “I just couldn’t help myself.”

It’s so overwhelming that Lex feels a coil of heat so intense that he shouts out and grabs the base of his cock, panting as he pinches the base hard enough to stave off the earth-shattering orgasm that threatens to make him cum just on two fingers.

“I need it, I need it…!” When the ringing in his ears dies down, Lex is shocked and horrified to realised the pleading babbling voice in the room is his own.

“What do you need, Lex?”

He opens his mouth to answer but all that comes out is a whine as another finger is slipped in, making it now three fingers opening him up, touching the deepest tender parts of his body.

I need you to hurt me is what Lex thinks, but he has just enough mental wherewithal to instead say, “I need you to fuck me.”

The breath that’s exhaled by his neck is heavy and affirmative. Superman leaves Lex empty. More lube. The squirts of the bottle sound like Lex will have to purchase more soon but he’s far past caring about that now. Superman makes a low pleasured noise as he glazes his bare cock in the gel.

Superman hoists Lex’s leg up again. As the blunt head is pressed against him it occurs to him for the first time that Superman’s size may actually damage him. Beyond the damage to the psyche he’s getting from being so completely undone by the touch of this freak alien, that is. 

“You sure about this?” Superman cups under Lex’s chin and tilts his head back so there’s room for a smattering of kisses where Lex would rather he leave bruises.

“Pretty idiotic of me to beg for it so humiliatingly if I wasn’t.” Not one of Lex’s best, but the part of the brain that functions in quips and sarcasm isn’t really functioning properly at this point.

“Mmmh, you wanna try using that pretty mouth to just say ‘yes’?”

The stretch as Superman inches in is like nothing he’s ever felt before. Lex is wide eyed and silently open mouthed as Superman lets out a rough groan.

“Gosh darn it, how are you still so tight?” He hears Superman do something with the lube again and almost jumps at the coolness of another blob of it being smeared around his entrance, but Superman doesn’t pull out, he keeps pushing deeper into the tight hot clutch of Lex’s body. 

Part of Lex, some hazy deep down part of him, knows it’s not good to entirely come apart like this in front of his sworn enemy, let alone in the arms of that enemy as reassurances are murmured into his ear in a low rumble that goes right through him. Superman’s hand moves down to hold Lex’s hips in place and though he’s not pushing or squeezing, Lex can feel the power in just that light grip. Lex chokes out another moan at the blissful stretch, how it's making every one of his nerves sing, ecstatic pain sending his eyes back into his head. 

Superman is saying things but Lex can barely hear them over his own laboured breathing and the noise in his head that is telling him at once to get away from the impossible thickness sliding inside of him and to jerk back onto it.

By the time Superman does bottom out Lex feels fuller than he ever has. The knowledge that nothing – no human, toy, machine, clone or alien – could ever live up to this feeling is almost enough to make Lex weep. He can feel Superman’s eyes on him and it’s all Lex can do to prop himself up on one elbow and shakily crane around to see Superman looking down to where they’re connected. His pink tongue has stopped midswipe of his lower lip, giving the impression of something between concentrated effort and desire.

Superman’s soft eyelashes flutter as he looks up to Lex, his eyes are almost black, just a pair of sapphire rings around two blown out pupils. He’s been looking at the way Lex has stretched to take him, his expression suggesting nothing short of amazement.

“Lex…” Superman is looking between where his cock disappears inside of Lex and Lex’s face. 

Lex can sense another round of saccharine praise so he halts it by weaving his hand into Superman’s glossy hair, its perfect styling becoming a mess of dark curls in his grip. He tightens his hold as much as he can, enough to make a human cry out but only enough for Superman to give a pleased sigh, like a dog getting its ears scratched. Superman rewards the effort by leaning in, at first mouthing over Lex’s jaw before kissing him on the lips. Lex certainly doesn’t complain when the kiss begins to verge onto forceful, the wet thickness of Superman’s tongue pushing past parted lips, deep into Lex’s mouth in a way that’s unexpected and almost as overwhelming as the superhuman dick inside him. It makes Lex want to hold on tighter, suddenly feeling as if this mad cocktail of sensation is going to fully untether him from reality, or at least from his sanity.

He’s clinging like this as Superman lowers him back down to the bed, taking the hand that Lex was using to prop himself up and holding it like it’s something delicate and precious, massaging the knuckles. He’s being so gentle, all while ruining Lex’s hole with smooth rolls of his hips. Lex holds him close, something Superman may assume is for comfort but is really so Lex can bathe in the gorgeous stink of him again.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Superman asks as their lips part and Lex snarls at the term of endearment. 

“Get on with it and fuck me.” He’s not ready, he can feel his pulse in his ass and his survival instincts are crying out for him to stop, but he wouldn’t want it this much if it was anything less. He wants it like this, bone-deep and hard enough to make his teeth rattle out of his skull.

Superman leans down again, his head coming to rest in the curve of where Lex’s neck and shoulder meet, “I really don’t want to hurt you.” He says softly, but if the steel pole hardness is anything to go by he’s at least partially lying. Lex wonders what exactly Superman is secretly enjoying. Is it the way his eyes are watering? The way he spasms around the thick shaft? Or is it simply the affirmation that he can have Lex totally helpless like this, flushed, needy and ready for breeding? The way Superman has started to fuck him in slow toe-curling thrusts and the way his breath hitches at the cries that rip out of Lex’s throat makes Lex think it could be all three.

Superman’s a chatty lay. As he settles back behind Lex to find a rhythm he can’t stop running his mouth.

“Look at you, Lex,” He says, “you’re taking me so well and you look so beautiful on my cock. Darn it, so pretty, Lex, can’t take my eyes off you. Do you even know how crazy you’ve been making me?”

He carries on like this. His voice is sweet and rich like honey wine but with something almost desperate in it. The words just spill out like he can’t stop them, like he’s been holding them in for a while. He trips over his sentences occasionally as he gets a thrust that hits just right and these – the gasps, the stutters – are Lex’s preferred accompaniment to the filthy overture of skin slapping on skin that fills the room. He can feel the generous heft of Superman’s balls and the only thing that can compensate for the fact that they’re not back in Lex’s mouth is the knowledge that they’re about to be emptied inside of him. 

An idea strikes Lex and he reaches out, scrabbling across bedsheets for a small remote on the nightstand. Superman barely seems to notice his struggle, something both sickening and thrilling, but he does catch on and gives a curious “Hm?” when he notices Lex swipe the bedside remote.

It’s almost concerning how Lex fumbles with the device – one he’s used everyday since he moved into this suite five years ago, but he can barely make out the buttons, even less recall their functions. He only needs one though and he finds it, jabbing it ungracefully.

“What–” Superman begins to ask but he’s cut off by the sight of the wooden panels on the large closet across from them beginning to retract. It only takes a few moments before the full length mirror is revealed. Used mostly for dressing himself of course, but Lex knew when he installed it that a mirror with such a privileged view of the bed would have other uses.

“Look at yourself,” Lex instructs as he looks at Superman’s dumbfounded face in the reflection, “You’re doing exactly what they sent you here for, aren’t you? And you pretend you’re not interested in that destiny.”

He’s watching the way that inches of Superman’s shaft become visible with each drag out, his thick thighs as he mounts Lex from the behind and on their sides like this, but just as he’s getting into the show Superman blinks and starts to get up.

“You wanted to see what I see? I’ll show you everything...” 

As Superman pulls out it feels as if he might take half of Lex’s guts with him. It makes him feel horribly empty, his vocalisation of this feeling coming out in a whine before he can stop it. Superman pays no heed, he’s manhandling Lex, tugging eagerly at his arm to get him to sit up. It’s just rough enough to hurt, something that Superman clearly doesn’t realise in his excitement. Lex’s bottom lip catches between his teeth, he hopes for a few marks.

Superman is still behind him, he hooks two impossibly strong arms under Lex’s thighs and bends his knees up to his chest. Lex’s back is pressed against Superman’s chest, and it’s like this, folded almost in half and feeling totally exposed that he feels his ass lift off the bed.

For a moment Lex thinks they're both levitating, but as titillating as the idea of being given a private demonstration of Superman’s flight abilities is, the reality is even better. Superman is on his knees, hoisting Lex up by gripping his legs and pressing him back against his chest, supporting his body entirely and he doesn’t even appear to notice the effort. 

He’s so momentarily enthralled that he doesn’t even give his own body a second look. He’s too busy trying to glimpse Superman’s thighs again. They look clammy and Lex is momentarily taken over with a need to have the meta-human sit on his face and smother him.

Superman, meanwhile, seems unconcerned with how his own powerful physique is being shown off. He’s entirely preoccupied with exposing Lex’s now empty and desperately needy ass.

“There.” Superman purrs, finally getting Lex into a position he’s satisfied with. 

Lex sees himself and gives a half moan at how utterly ruined he looks. His hole is wet and puffy as it twitches around nothing. Superman’s zealous use of lube has made it slick and his delicate entrance is flushed, a raw looking pink. It’s been stretched and loosened beyond any point Lex thought was possible. He catches his face and sees he’s not faring much better there, jaw slack, lips kiss-bitten, eyes teary.

Lex only lasts a moment before he looks away, unable to stand it any longer. His face is burning. Superman meanwhile has shifted hold on one of Lex’s legs so that he can thumb at the sloppy mess of an opening. Lex looks at him in the mirror and finds he’s looking down at the reflection of the sight with such intensity that Lex wonders for a second if his eyes might be starting to glow red.

“You’re so soft and still so tight around me…” Superman’s voice is slightly muffled by Lex’s shoulder, his breath is warm against the sensitive skin at the bottom of his neck, “How can it do that?” He sounds in genuine awe. 

Lex’s eyes dart down again. As Superman speaks he notices how he pulses, balls seizing up. He can’t hide anything like this, so totally exposed and forced open. It’s horrible and overwhelming and all he can think about is how he wants more: to be fucked deeper, stretched further, prised even more open. It’s incredible, he feels out of his mind.

“Look at what you’ve done and tell me you still think you’re a goddamn human.” Lex’s voice is more reedy than he’d like it to be, too clipped with desperation. He’s pushing his head back, exposing his pale throat. He’s taunting and submitting at the same time. Playing with fire.

Superman seems to enjoy Lex’s snippy comment. It’s been so defanged by Lex’s current position. Perhaps that’s why he’s so willing to play into his alien-ness, lick a stripe up the skin behind Lex’s ear and watch his face in the mirror as he whispers, “Maybe we should see what else I can do to you, Lex? Think Kryptonian cum could put a baby in you?”

The sound that comes out of Lex is ungodly. He grips tightly onto where Superman holds him up because he needs to hold onto something. His hips are writhing, neglected cock throbbing uselessly. 

Superman hums in a low rumble, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I knew it! I knew it, you fucking freak!” It’s all he can manage, spluttering childish accusations as he feels Superman smirk against the skin at the back of his neck. His nails are digging into Superman’s arms.

“I told them– I told everyone, but they didn’t listen!” Lex continues as he’s put back down on the bed. “Fucking groomer… ” He’s on his back now, letting Superman push his legs up to his chest again.

“You’d be mine, Lex… I’d watch over you then, keep you safe and make you happy.”

Through the stomach turning volley of feelings that suggestion gives him, Lex catches the quiver in Superman’s voice. The idea of that scenario clearly affects him deeply. As Lex is re-entered he doesn’t fail to notice the disturbing ease with which Superman slides back inside his body. It’s like his entire being has been re-shaped to fit this body on top of him.

“Tell me how it feels, beautiful.” The kisses on the side of his face are almost too much, the fluttering of plush lips being what’s tipping the scales into over-stimulation.

“Hurts. Don’t you dare stop. Fuck.”

And it does hurt, in a way that feels mind-breakingly perfect. The thrusts inside him are so powerful that it’s like Lex really is going to be split on the cock inside him. The pleasure is still there too, amplified times a thousand by the way it combines with the pain, developing into something exhilarating.

They’ve both got their heads turned towards the mirror. Lex isn’t looking at himself through, he’s looking at the sex-drunk face of the man-shaped thing pumping into him. Superman’s brows are pushed together, redness spreading on his cheeks, down the column of his neck and over the tops of his shoulders in a way that looks like sunburn. So devastatingly and desperately beautiful in a way that makes Lex fume. He’s vaguely aware that he’s the one in the mirror underneath this otherworldly creature but Lex can’t even fucking glance at himself for how utterly inconsequential he feels. 

He has to look away when he notices that as he’s been unable to look away from Superman’s reflection, Superman has been making that dopey, almost adoring expression while watching Lex’s. Something twists harshly inside of him for a second but the feeling immediately crystalises into something rageful and he rakes his nails up Superman’s back as hard as he can manage. The anger that seizes him is almost violent. Maybe it would be violent if he didn’t know that anything he tried would only further reveal his own impotence.

Superman is entranced by the mirror image of Lex on his back, ass presented for Superman to use, long limber legs up and knees by his ears. Lex wants his phone but it’s out of reach – he wants a photo of what he sees in the mirror. He’ll blur his own face and share it everywhere, let there be no doubt about exactly what Superman is. Let the world see the self-satisfied pleasure on Superman’s face as he watches himself mate. Lex can hardly stand to see it any longer. He’s jealous of his own fucking reflection.

“Look at me.” Lex demands.

“I am, baby.” Superman’s blissed out smile forms those gorgeous and deceptively human dimples on his face. He’s still looking at the mirror. If the remote was to hand Lex would hurl it at the glass, shatter the thing so Superman would be forced to pay attention to the three-dimensional Lex Luthor he’s using to milk his cock.

“Fuck the mirror.” Lex glares up at Superman, “Look at me. Tell me how deep you are inside of me.”

Superman gets Lex’s meaning and faces him again. The fullness of his gaze on him so close and so real makes Lex gasp, pushing his head back into the pillows as he tries to grind his hips on that unreal girth.

“Too darn deep. Feels like I could break you. Shoot, Lex– you shouldn’t feel so good like this.” Superman is looking between Lex’s eyes and his mouth.

Lex gives a half laugh half moan, “You are going to break me. You’re going to fuck me full of your repulsive alien offspring.”

That appears to have hit somewhere dark. Suddenly Superman is all over him, a palm is on the back of his head again, this time pulling him in close as the final vestiges of restraint are cast aside and Lex feels the heat of Superman in his bones. The noise of Superman drilling into him with the uninhibited resonant moans that he keeps making between sloppy, tongue-heavy kisses is obscene. 

Lex feels the other of those large hands slip around his throat. He urgently gulps in air, afraid of the hand around him suddenly tightening. It doesn’t, but Lex would be entirely powerless to stop it if it did. The feeling that hits him is sublime, it’s the one he’s been searching for almost every night as he sleeps, the same heart-racing immediacy that he hasn’t felt since Superman sent him flying across his office. His back pushes up as the orgasm hits like an exorcism, like something is being wrenched out of the pit of him. His moans finally break into sobs at the release. The penthouse has disappeared. No past, no future, just the way he’s being penetrated, bred, claimed.

Warm wetness coats them both as Superman continues to grind up into him.

Superman doesn’t slow down through his own orgasm. His voice is so close to Lex’s ear that his words might as well already be in his head, “Gonna give you what you need, Lex, gonna take care of you, gonna make you feel so– darn it– so good–”

Every time Lex thinks he’s finished he’ll feel another spurt of Superman’s load be deposited among his pulverised insides. There’s enough that for a fleeting moment Lex wonders if the stuff really will knock him up. It feels like it’s infiltrated every part of his body. Even as he cums, Superman is still relentless, placing kisses where in their last encounter he had left cuts and bruises.

When Superman eventually pulls out Lex can’t stifle the gasp at the hot gush that follows. The feeling is strange and immobilising; all he can do is lie there and let what Superman left in him flow out over his sheets. Goddamn it, what a mess.

“Sorry, beautiful.” Is all Superman has to say. 

 

---

 

Once he’s managed to unfurl himself and, on shaky limbs, get to a reclining position in which he can recover, Lex has nothing against catching his breath and letting the ringing in his ears die down in silence. Yet as he lies, head propped against his plush velvet headboard with his eyes closed he can feel Superman looking at him. He opens one eye out and to his dismay, does indeed see a gaze as blue as the sky on a summer’s day watching him, head tilted slightly to one side inquisitively.

Shit, now what?

“Can I help you?” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Superman’s voice is full of undue sincerity. It would make Lex roll his eyes if he didn’t find it so odd.

“Talk about it?” Lex repeats, genuinely with no fucking idea what Superman is talking about. There’s the matter of the load still making his insides feel hot and wet that Superman just emptied into him but he can’t think of anything much more to be said about that. “Talk about what exactly?”

“Well,” Superman either doesn’t mind or doesn’t notice that Lex is side-eyeing him, “You seem to have a thing about anger and pain. You were asking me to hurt you.”

Lex does roll his eyes now, snorts a little too. How ridiculous. One lay and Superman wants to take on the role of therapist. If Lex wanted or needed someone for that he’s got the means to afford someone who actually knows what they’re talking about. He certainly doesn’t need this dope who’s probably never faced any real hardship in the entirety of his existence.

However, there’s something mildly amusing in Superman’s earnestness, as if he wasn’t fucking Lex brainless into the mattress mere minutes ago, enjoying the impossible stretch of almost tearing Lex in two. Because of this, Lex decides to entertain himself by playing along,

“Ah, well you see, Superman, daddy-Luthor was oh-so cruel to me and I really didn’t have anyone else being his protege and all, so I couldn’t possibly recognise any other affection that isn’t a backhanded slap to the face. The cuts from his ring were like little kisses goodnight.” Lex sighs dramatically, “Say, what were your parents like? Let’s start with their names and their address and go from there.”

Superman ignores these final lines. His brow creases as he gently runs a hand over Lex’s arm in a way that Lex is sure he thinks is comforting but all Lex can think about is how Superman could shatter his humerus with just a sharp squeeze.

“Is that true?” 

Lex has lost the necessary patience for this conversation. He pulls his arm away from the soft touch, “No, I actually had a fantastic childhood and am extraordinarily well-adjusted.”

His words on his relationship with his father had been Frankenstein-ed from various things exes had tried to tell him about himself. The ones who got close enough to think they knew him invariably drew the same conclusions and thought that they were so emotionally intelligent for working him out, as if the past five bimbos before them hadn’t also managed to come to that exact assessment. Was the story true? Yes and no. It had been a little exaggerated – his father only hit him on a handful of occasions, and he didn’t wear any ring. He had also locked Lex out of the Luthor family lodge in the Alps one skiing trip when he was fourteen and Lex’s lips had gone purple, but that was by the by. It was true that he did receive a slap more often than a goodnight kiss but it’s not exactly saying much to be more than zero.

Was Lex interested in whether or not his father made him who he was? Not in the slightest. Lex didn’t want to have to thank that man for anything. He was too proud of his accomplishments to give anyone as inconsequential as Lionel Luthor credit for making him into the man who was able to do what was needed to achieve them.

Superman has been looking out the window in contemplative silence. Then, apropos of nothing, he says, “Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” He pauses, seemingly to let his words sink in, “I think Oscar Wilde said that.”

“Wrong. Wilde is a common misattribution, he didn’t say that. No one knows who said it first, meaning it’s probably by some nobody with no idea what they’re talking about. Besides, I’m not looking to start a book club with you, so you can piss off with your attempts at being erudite.”

Superman grins like he hasn’t heard a word Lex just said, “A book club would be fun.”

God, Lex wants to kill him. Wishes he could kill him. He’d scratch that stupid handsome face to shreds if he could. 

Lex turns on his side, away from the other body. If he can’t destroy it, it’s unfair for him to have to look at it.

After another brief pause Lex can’t resist reciting a quote of his own,

“I beseech you, my brothers, remain faithful to the earth, and do not believe those who speak to you of otherworldly hopes. Poison mixers are they, whether they know it or not.” He pauses before explaining, “That was Nietzsche, on the topic of the dreaded Übermensch, or, as it is in some translations, Superman.”

Beside him Superman chuckles softly, his hand moving to the dip of Lex’s waist and drawing lazy lines across his skin. Must he always be touching?

“Is that why you’ve declared war on me, Lex? Because you don’t like my name?”

Lex’s fury neither begins nor ends with Superman’s name, but it certainly never endeared him. He doesn’t feel like getting into the precise nature of his hatred right now though so he just lets the question hang.

Superman rustles the sheets as he moves in to speak into Lex’s ear. His voice is soft as he says in his distinct timbre, “I say unto you: one must still have chaos to give birth to a dancing star. I say unto you: you still have chaos in yourselves.” It’s Nietzsche again. Of course Lex recognises it immediately and Superman graciously spares him the tedium of pointing out this obviousness. Instead he just says, with a subtle but undeniable smugness, “I read too, you know.”

Lex scoffs, trying and failing to ignore the heat in his face and the stir of arousal that comes as Superman says this and loosely grips the ridge of his hip. 

“Show off.” He mutters, “What are you still doing here anyway? Don’t you have someone else to posture in front of?”

“You don’t want me to clean you up?” Superman has drawn back a little, but he’s still close, the curve of his body following Lex’s.

“I don’t know what you think you did to me, but I can still walk myself to the shower.” At least, Lex thinks he can.

He can hear the grin in Superman’s words, “I wasn’t thinking of a shower.” His touch goes lower until his warm palm is cupping the roundness of Lex’s rear.

Lex looks up at the face leaning over him. Seeing it again suddenly doesn’t seem so bad. Accepting the advance so easily feels weak so after a few moments of exchanged looks he just gives one sharp nod and shuffles onto his front, arching his back and bending his knees so that his ass is aloft, his entrance still feeling sore and swollen, sensitive and still oozing with Kryptionian cum.

“Gosh, you’re pretty.” Comes the low voice behind him, not letting Lex forget for a minute who he’s presenting himself to.

“Shut up. Eat me out already or get lost.”

He feels Superman’s smile in the kisses he places on his thighs, “Who’s angry now, huh?” He teases, “Maybe it really is all about power.”

 

---

 

Once his hole has been cleaned and thoroughly tongue-fucked, Lex allows his bedfellow to jerk him off with a few fingers inside of him until another completion, he manages to hold himself together through this one but only just. It feels as if the air is knocked out of him as he heaves through another orgasm. His eyes are wide open, but as his hole is played with and dick massaged, Lex can only see those chaotic dancing stars from their talk of philosophy.

Superman, the base alien that he is, has gotten himself hard again from these activities and Lex is treated to a show of exactly how the Kryptonian gets himself off. Lex reclines, satisfied and spent on the pillows as Superman sits across from him, thighs open, and works his hand up and down his thick length. He’s as loud and unrefined with it as Lex knew he would be. He watches with academic interest, wondering how next time this might be filmed for further analysis. 

Not that there’ll be a next time necessarily. Lex hopes to have the meta-human threat annihilated before too long and then there’ll be no need for any more study of his behaviours.

It’s almost dawn by the time they finish. Despite everything, they still face away from each other as they dress. Lex just puts a robe on. Superman has to suit up. Lex can only imagine what it must be like having that thick tight spandex over skin that’s still damp from their endeavours. The entire suite reeks of sex, and Superman just has a way of making everything more pronounced. He’d demand to keep the suit if he didn’t know Superman would insist on flying out in it. For more analysis, obviously.

He half-expects Superman to just disappear wordlessly while Lex is getting his robe from the bathroom, but once his cape is clipped back into place he stays, meeting Lex’s eye when he returns with an unreadable nod. Sunrise is casting first light into the apartment and Superman glows golden. Lex has to squint as the sun hits his eyes. Unfair.

“If you’re going to keep creeping around, the least you can do next time is to bring me a donut or something.”

Superman’s strange expression breaks into a smile, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“A good one, no shitty chain restaurants. Glazed. If there’s sprinkles on it I’ll have the next person you smile at jailed.”

A soft laugh, “You’re the boss.”

Lex raises his chin in approval. That’s right. He is the boss.

Superman puts his hands behind his back as he does when he’s trying to appear official and turns to look out at the city.

“I’d say goodnight but…” Superman starts as they both watch sunrise glimmer off of skyscrapers.

“Nothing so gauche.” Lex says sharply and turns away. He’ll still shower. Despite Superman’s efforts to clean him, he’ll need to wash the night they’ve just had away before he can reasonably be expected to begin work.

“I guess it’s just see you around.”

Lex turns back, cutting remark on his lips but it dies when he sees the room now empty, the balcony door left ajar. Lex tuts as he goes to close it, not wanting cold Fall air to chill the suite. Really, was Superman raised in a barn?

Lex touches his throat without thinking as he watches out the balcony and across Metropolis. Unharmed, as always, but this time he can still feel where Superman had his hand around it. He takes one last scan of the skyline, watching for a flutter of cape or something soaring across the horizon. There’s nothing. 

 

---

 

The second visit to the robotics lab was far smoother than the first. Dr. Klein, as Lex now remembers, has retained her position as head technician. Lex really did have it on his agenda to replace her, but various distractions meant he never got around to it. She did well today though. Lex supposes he’ll keep her after all. 

He’s already brainstorming where he’ll aim to sell the minerals from the mining project as he leaves the facility. This going well could get him another government contract. Military, ideally. As those had proved so pivotal in getting him out of jail, Lex is putting them high on the priority list. By the time he’s through, the very notion of putting him back in prison will bring the country’s state services to their knees.

He’s ready to go, the car door opening for him when there’s a call of his name, “Mr. Luthor, sir!” 

He turns to see one of the security guards jogging over. In one hand is a small white paperbag.

Lex just raises an eyebrow, waiting for the man to make his point and not delay his departure any longer.

The bag is proffered to him, “This was left at our station. I’m really sorry, we never saw who put it there, but it had a note–” He pulls out a folded yellow post-it with his free hand. Lex snatches the note before the bag and flips it open. Just one word in neat cursive: ‘Lex’.

Well, he supposes the small mystery package could be dangerous, but he doesn’t remember the last attempt on his life that smelled so strongly of sugar. He slips the note in his jacket pocket and takes the bag, peering inside. It’s a single donut, glazed, no sprinkles. Lex plucks it out by the napkin conveniently tucked in next to it and takes a bite. Damn, it’s good.

He doesn’t allow the pleasure to show on his face, not in front of the guard. He just nods at the man, “If that’s all, return to your station.” 

The guard nods back, unable to look away from the donut in Lex’s hand. Lex imagines that he might have been expecting some kind of explanation as to who had been covertly leaving pastries for him within the bounds of a secure facility. He takes pleasure in denying the man answers.

He takes another bite of the donut as he slips into the car, licking sweetness from his lips. This is from his favourite shop downtown. The fact that Superman knows this means he must have been getting tailed more than he realised. Lex smirks. Next time he has enough clout to attack Superman publicly, he’s definitely bringing up the stalking. Lex rolls his wrist once in anticipation.

For now though, he’ll just enjoy the benefits.

Notes:

If you made it this far I applaud your stamina and persistence. I'm marking this series as complete for now. I might return to it, but for now I have a few other ideas that I've had cooking. On a related note, if there are any detroit: become human fans in the house then perhaps you might want to join me on my next adventure?

Thanks again for all the support. Any comments or kudos appreciated, your readership means a great deal to me.

#gofreaks

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Thought Experiments