Devil's Deal, Part Three
Jan. 16th, 2007 09:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bagheera_sanI'm spamming today, but at least it's spam with content.
Title: Devil's Deal (3/?)
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Continuity: Smallville - animated DC - comics
Summary: Lex sells his soul to the devil to bring his son back from the dead.
Betaed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
averaird, who is the best, because she endured several versions of this chapter. You are awesome :)
Part Three - Peaceful
Clark leads him to the transporter pads. The watchtower is busy with vigilantes and ordinary human staff, probably because it is early morning and they're having a change of shift. There isn't a single person crossing their path who doesn't recognize them, Superman and former President Lex Luthor, and yet Lex is sure that he is the only one here who knows Clark and he knows for a fact that Clark is the only one who knows him. People give them a wide berth and curious looks, but no one is particularly alarmed to see them walking side by side, quiet and peaceable as they seem now, but maybe they're a bit awestruck.
They have to wait in line for a free transport, but Lex doesn't do lines. He ambles over to the big panoramic windows to watch the stars passing by, a multitude of them as is only visible from space. Clark trails him, quiet and yet oddly intrusive. The satellite revolves slowly around its own axis, and soon Earth comes into view, large and darkly blotting out the sun. Only her atmosphere is a halo of burning sunlight all over the rounded horizon. The watchtower orbits Earth, forever chasing sunrise, forever a step behind. Lex has been like that for years, racing forward so gravity couldn't pull him down, but now he feels cut loose, floating weightlessly away from the centre.
It feels nice. Lex feels free and more relaxed than he can ever recall feeling while he wasn't medicated or under the influence.
Clark's voice startles him out of his musings. "Why did you do it?" It's the first thing he has managed to say since the realization that Lex really did sell his soul settled in.
The emergent sunrise warms Lex face. He doesn't look away, lets it sear into his retinas. He knows what Clark is asking, knows that Clark will keep asking, now that he has found his question.
He has asked himself the same on occasion, so it's there, ready, just below the surface of his thoughts.
"Everything I touch withers and turns to dust. Everything I make is rotten. Everything I shape brings destruction," Lex explains. The images are more than metaphors – they're memories, nightmares. "But not him. I made him as a weapon, but he turned out so… right, Clark. He's everything that we aren't. So good that I'm afraid to come close to him."
Clark needs a long time to say anything. When he does, his voice sounds ragged. "You love Kon."
Love. On most days Lex can hardly bring himself to feel that other people are real, anything other than dress-up dolls and robots, little figures to move on large boards. Even the women he used to think he loved with all his life eventually became nothing to him, meaningless names, turned smooth and faceless like pebbles on the bed of a river.
Lex turns around. He has to blink for a moment, because compared to the sun, Clark is colourless. But when Clark's features become clear, he looks shocked and guilty, shame rising high on his cheeks.
Whether Lex loves Kon or not, Clark believes that he does. He believes that the bargain Lex made proves it, and since Clark doesn't love his clone, mistrusted him even, for a long time, Clark feels shamed. It amuses Lex how Clark always needs to be the better man.
Amuses him, especially because he felt that need himself for the longest time.
*
When they transport onto the roof of LexCorp, Lex notices Clark fidgeting and hovering. He ignores him and goes back to work. His company has been without him for two days now, it's time that he takes back the helm.
But in the afternoon, when Lex is winding down from a day that could have been busier, the doors slide open and Clark strides in like a force of nature. Clark has this way of barging into Lex's office and home that always reminds Lex of his late father. And like his Dad, he usually comes to make demands or express his disappointment with Lex.
Today, it's demands.
"My Mom is making dinner tonight to celebrate Conner's return. It's just us, family – I think you should come."
It's Clark's not wearing his Superman attire, but he isn't wearing his glasses, either, and he sounds exactly like Superman giving advice – you really shouldn't set loose those killer robots, Luthor, I'd be very disappointed in you if you did.
And Lex might be willing to concede that killer robots aren't the answer to everything, but Clark's suggestion seems like a spectacularly bad idea. "I hardly think your mother would want me at her dinner table, Clark. As you might recall I have on occasion tried to kill her son."
Lex trying to kill Clark was really just a short period in their overall relationship as enemies. But in those first five years with Superman, Lex really wanted to kill the alien at all costs. All that rage must have been cathartic. Lex didn't notice it, but the hatred is long gone, it seems, along with the pain.
"You did." Clark has stopped in the middle of the room, not advancing quite until Lex's desk. It's a matter of respect, not fear, because Clark's eyes telegraph confidence and conviction. In the few hours that Lex hasn't seen him, Clark has come to a decision. "But you also brought back her grandson. I think that matters more to her."
That Martha Kent thinks of Kon as her grandson is perhaps Lex's greatest achievement as a father. He did it by staying away from Kon.
"You're not going to tell him about the deal," Lex warns. "I won't let you undermine my efforts to keep him as far from becoming me as possible."
Clark looks heavenward. "Seriously, Lex. Have you ever even looked at the boy? There's no chance in hell that Conner's ever going to be you."
It's unlikely, yes, but this is an unexpected opinion coming from Clark. As far as Lex could tell, Clark was always wary of his clone, especially since he learned about his origin. Reminding him of that is probably the easiest way to make Clark go away.
"He was programmed at his creation to be my tool. I chose every bit of knowledge that the scientists planted into his head. I made him, more thoroughly than my father could ever have dreamed of making me."
Clark's takes a step back, and he looks sickened, but then he narrows his eyes at Lex. It's a pity Clark isn't as naïve anymore as he once was. He gives Lex a dark glare.
"He's still nothing like you, Lex."
Lex has lost this round. But he doesn't need to play by the rules. "I haven't got time for this now, Clark. You know your way out."
*
He expects the affair to be done with when Clark doesn't show up for two days. It's hard to get back into the usual rhythm of work. Lex still feels adrift, with his feet not quite on the ground, and the world muted around him.
But on the afternoon of the third, a hot, dusty summer day, there's a call from an unidentified number on his private phone line. The noise is like a rip of reality through the shimmering heat.
"Got your company back under control?"
"You," Lex says flatly, angling for a sign whether he is talking to Clark or Superman. Lex can't quite tell, and there's no video feed. Clark usually hides from Lex, never approaching him unless it is in Lane's shadow, and Superman has no need for phones, considering that he can be anywhere within seconds.
It sounds like Clark is talking from a cell phone or one of the few old phone boxes that still operate in Metropolis. There's city noise wafting in, traffic and construction sites, but distant, like maybe Clark is in a quiet back alley. Lex doesn't know why he even bothers with secret-keeping, but the line isn't safe and he isn't going to be the one who reveals Clark's secret identity through a blunder.
If he does it, it's going to be entirely intentional.
"Yeah, me, Clark," Clark confirms, knowing exactly what Lex wants to know. "How's it going?"
Like they do this everyday. Like Clark's calling from a parallel world where Superman hangs out with Lex Luthor after hours. It's a distinct possibility. But Lex thinks he can hear the slight bemusement in Clark's voice, like Clark finds it a bit strange, too.
"Good," Lex answers absentmindedly.
"Great." He can hear Clark's stupid grin. "Then you're free tonight?"
Lex didn't factor this into his cost profit balance when he made the deal. "Clark. Are you checking on me?"
"No." Filthy liar. "I just thought it would be nice to...chat. Hang out. We haven't done that in a long time."
It feels redundant to remind Clark of the reasons.
"You are checking on me," Lex guesses instead.
"Maybe," Clark relents. "But I also thought that since Conner's back… we could make a bit more of an effort to… you know. Get along."
Lex eyes his desk and the work he isn't really doing. Lately he thinks maybe he should take some time off. Live a little. Change some things in his life. And that part that insists on being the stronger, meaner, tougher guy – because he can't afford to be weak in this world, can never afford it – is strangely silent today.
Clark wasn't part of these plans, but Clark with a mission is like Lex with a riddle. He's highly unlikely to let go.
Lex sighs. "I'm free tonight." His social graces are rusty, but he manages, "I suppose we could have dinner."
*
Lex has the long table decked in silverware and crystal glasses, regal and old-fashioned, Luthor intimidation techniques 101. It's all habit and when the help is done with it and Lex stands by the table in his stiff white suit and silk tie, he has a strange out-of-body moment where it all seems ridiculous. Why go to such lengths just to impress Clark Kent? Clark has seen him all-powerful and defeated, naked and dressed in the finest garments money can buy, Clark has seen him bound and helpless and armed to the teeth, his hands covered in blood both literal and metaphorical.
Clark takes the decision out of Lex's hands by coming to the penthouse dressed in jeans and a faded blue shirt – long sleeved, so Lex bets that he's wearing the suit underneath. He's got two big rustling biodegradable plastic bags in his hands and spares the decked table only a glance before aiming straight for Lex's favourite couch – genuine leather, completely politically incorrect today and just as much of an antiquity as Clark's jeans – to flop down on it and unpack pizza cartons and soda.
Clark looks good, the pizza looks good, and Lex thinks, what the hell, and takes off his pearly white suit jacket and his immaculate tie to join him at the coffee table. He sinks onto the sofa across from Clark. The last time they sat together was in the White House and their smiles were grim lies.
Clark seems young in that shirt, although it does a bad job of hiding the strength in those shoulders and arms, the width of the chest that bears the Superman crest. And it isn't some weird blast from the past sitting across from Lex sipping soda. It's very much present Clark, the man Clark has become, who's calm and comfortable in front of and behind a camera, a man resting in his power and his achievements.
A lonely man, and always a little bit awkward in social situations where he can't hide behind his dual roles. Right now he's gazing at Lex expectantly.
Pizza. It's been a while. "Artichokes?" Lex inquires.
Clark's grin widens slowly around his soda. He hands Lex one of the boxes.
You'd think it was last week that they last did this.
The pizza is good, good enough to take the expensive wine from the table and open it. Clearly, Clark's tastes have improved, but then, after being friends with Lex, Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne, it's only damn well to be expected that something rubbed off. He accepts a glass and actually looks appreciative after a sip from it.
"What is the League going to say to this?" Lex asks.
"They're not my parents, Lex." They'll damn well deal with it, Clark means but doesn't say. He's Superman, they can't do without him. "Batman is probably going to develop some paranoia."
"Well, we do have a history of proposing world domination to each other," Lex muses.
"I was going to propose something else, actually," Clark says, but doesn't clarify what. It might just be carelessness, from the innocent way he looks down at his pizza, but Lex suspects teasing when he sees a sly smile grace those full lips.
"And what would that be?"
Clark glances up, a flash of green beneath dark lashes, and bares his teeth in a small grin. He shakes his head. "I don't think I should tell you yet, Lex. We both have a tendency to rush into things, don't we? Let's take it slow this time."
Lex doesn't learn more that night about Clark's intentions. They circle around each other like in old times, only without the constant subtext of lies and deception. Lex is willing to let the reins slide a little, and give in to Clark's new game. Lets him select a movie, and then another. Clark is delighted at Lex's collection of old classics from their youth and so Lex ends up sprawled in front of the screen with Superman until the wee hours of the morning, when Lex feels mellow and drowsy and Clark's giggles have become a bit hoarse from so much talking.
When Clark leaves, Lex decides to take the day off.
*
There's a couple of days where Clark's only life-signs are a by-line in the Planet and Superman's appearances in the news – these days superheroes have their own segment in the news, like economy or the weather – but then there's another phone call, and Clark asks him if he's free on Saturday.
Lex admits that he's free on most evenings, really. Clark tells him to get a parka and wait on the roof. Lex asks him why he thinks he can just tell Lex what to do. Clark laughs and says, "Don't forget some gloves."
Flying isn't much of a thrill, even though Superman can naturally fly much higher than Lex's battle suits ever managed. Antarctica is the only continent Lex has never been to. Of course, Lex has been in space, light-years from Earth, and in places that technically aren't even part of this universe, so the South Pole isn't terribly exotic.
It turns out that Clark wants to watch polar lights.
It's dark, windy and ice-cold, surreal after the Metropolis heat, but Clark finds them a sheltered place between two out-crops of rock and does something Lex has only ever seen in old Star Trek episodes: he heats stones with his heat vision until they glow red and emit warmth like a comfy fire.
"So," Lex asks, still not very impressed, after a cursory glance at the wispy green and purple curtains of light, "this is Superman's stamp collection?"
Clark, sprawled on his back like a kid making snow angels, shakes his head. "Nope. You only get to see my stamp collection when we go steady."
"Then what's this? You can't tell me you really find northern lights terribly interesting."
"They're pretty," Clark shrugs. "I've always wanted to do this with someone. But Chloe hates the cold, and Lois hates the wilderness and Batman's always busy."
"You tried to date Bruce? I'm appalled."
Clark cuffs him with the back of his hand. Lex can barely feel it through his thick parka. "You're not supposed to know people's secret identities! And I wasn't talking about dating."
"If you say so. I'd hate to think of you as a gold-digger."
"I swear it's not the money, Lex," Clark says in a falsely heart-felt tone, grinning and batting his eyelashes at him. Lex smiles back, but the smile is only a front. He believes Clark about the dating, because Lex has always watched him very closely, and he'd know if Clark had dated anyone. But aside from a long flirtation with Lois that never came to fruition, and a few one night stands, Clark has stayed solitary all these years.
However, Clark is teasing him now, and Lex was never entirely sure how seriously to take Clark's teasing. Testing the waters by teasing back always seemed like too big a risk, too much of a variable, but now, Lex actually can't tell why it should be.
"Funny. I'd never have thought that Superman would be attracted to power."
Clark falls silent, and Lex thinks that he has maybe shocked him, but then he answers, quietly, "Maybe it's more that I'm afraid of weakness. It's so easy for people to get hurt."
Lex hasn't let anyone get too close to him for a long time, but he remembers why he initially walled himself off. "It is."
He gets a sad and gentle look from Clark for that, and then Clark reaches for the bag he brought along and makes Lex drink hot tea and eat cookies.
The arctic night isn't silent, but the wind howls and hisses over the ice like a song of desolation. It's a harsh, hollow noise that resonates deep within Lex, and fills him to the brim, fighting the warmth of the tea and winning. Clark is right. This place is beautiful. Lex would like to stay here for hours, until the cold steals all life from him and he falls asleep.
"We could have done this years ago," Clark says wistfully.
Lex doesn't regret anything.
*
So far this evening, twelve people have told him that he looks splendid – "What is your secret, Mr Luthor? In all the time I've known you, you only seem to get younger!" – and three have called him charming. A lot of them only seem to wait for their chance to tell him other, wilder things.
Lex has only drunk champagne tonight, but he thinks that he might be thirsty for wilder things.
This charity event is the first time Lex has thrown himself among the masses of Metropolis' upper crust since the deal. He's gratified to know that no one seems to see any difference. But then, these jackals and hyenas only know the smell of money and flesh.
Well, there aren't many constants in the world besides money and flesh. Lex finds this evening surprisingly enjoyable, with its insipid conversation and glittering, unreal socialites. He crashed down once, on an island in the deep blue sea, and part of him has been lost in the wilderness ever since, the blood and claws and survival of the fittest ruling his mind, the blend of madness and desperation like one continuous adrenaline rush from then to now. But it's over now, and he's coming down from it.
Now, he has opened his eyes and found himself on a tropical paradise.
Lex feels experimental, so the debutante he's set his eyes on is blonde and a little star-struck to be led around by a former president. Soon enough, he'll have her charmed out of that shyness.
Lex is jostled by someone almost bumping into him.
"Uh, sorry! Oh, hello, Mr Luthor! It's been a while since I've seen you!" Clark blinks owlishly from behind tousled hair and awkward glasses, balancing his champagne precariously. The debutante giggles, a sound so young and unaffected that it chills Lex to realize that he wanted to take this girl home tonight.
"Clark Kent," he drawls. "Isn't that a surprise. Darling, Mr Kent and I are old acquaintances."
Clark smiles, with a sly edge to it just for Lex. "Yeah, we go way back."
"Probably since before you were born," Lex goes on, suppressing a shudder. "Give us a moment, will you?"
She looks a bit disappointed, and in a sudden burst of confidence dares to kiss Lex on the cheek, only to disappear in a flustered hurry.
Clark frowns after her. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt because she wasn't your type," Clark says. "But she could have been your daughter."
"Did you assault me to save her honour, Clark?"
"No. I needed to save myself, for once." Clark takes Lex by the shoulder and steers him into a quieter corner, whispering close by his ear, "I was caught between my editor and my employer. Don't look back, they're probably looking for you, too."
"And you decided to ruin my enjoyment of the evening as well."
"Lex, you have no idea how Lois and Bruce get when they're in a room together." Clark winks at Lex. He leans even closer, so the tips of his hair brush Lex's temple, "It's worse than being caught between Darkseid and Brainiac."
"So you chose the arch-enemy behind door number three?"
Clark ducks his head with a grin, but the abashment is part of his persona. He's making fun of Lex. "I'd always choose you over those two. Even though you're worse."
Lex finds himself being led away from the crowd and towards the exit. Clark's going to sweep him away to another evening of easy companionship and teasing, everything chaste and tame, unspoken, unconsumed.
Lex stops when they're in front of the coat room. The hallway is quiet so early in the evening, aside from then, no one thinks of leaving yet. On the red carpet their steps are soft as the muted sounds of the party. Clark seems taller now, away from the looks of the crowd. All it takes is a bit of straightening up, and even the ugly suit looks good on him. Lex takes a step closer, well into Clark's personal space, until he has to look up at him.
"I had plans for tonight."
"What, to corrupt the innocent?" Clark is amused, but right under the surface, Lex can detect uncertainty, the tiniest shimmer of awkwardness.
"And you've come between me and my plans."
"Well, if you're that desperate – "
Lex lays a hand on the side of Clark's hair, silky hair and the hot shell of an ear under his palm and nips at Clark's lips. The first impression is fleeting, a warm, full softness, and Lex licks delicately at them to complete the picture. The taste is sour at first, the lingering aroma of champagne, and then salty. Clark smells the faintest bit of rain, pure and clear, like he has bathed in clouds. He takes a sudden breath, stealing it almost from Lex's lips, but it isn't shocked, just surprised. Lex twists his fingers in Clark's hair and lets go.
Clark's eyes are big. He's blinking rapidly, then touches his lips. "Lex?"
"Did you like that?" It's a command, as forceful as Lex can be. Suddenly he knows that this is what he wants. This is what he came looking for. He got lost in the undergrowth, but this is the path.
Clark is looking him up and down. His eyes jump from Lex's lips to his eyes to the hand that was in his hair a moment ago, and although he's nervous, he's also scrutinizing. Then he frowns. "I… didn't hate it."
"Good enough." Lex doesn't really care. He knows he can persuade Clark to go along. He retreats and Clark follows him like they're tied at the wrist.
"Good enough for what?" Clark asks as they step into the night air. Lex needs to reorient himself before he remembers his chauffeur and has his limousine brought to the curb.
"Good enough for what?" Clark asks again as he sinks into the cushions of the seat next to Lex.
"You want to know what I want?"
"I'd like you to clarify, yeah."
Lex seizes Clark's tie, curls his fist against Clark's firm chest and feels the fabric of Clark's shirt slide over some other, smoother fabric beneath. He pushes, and Clark, eyes still surprised, yields to the touch until he's pressed against the door and Lex is leaning onto him with almost all his weight. He undoes the tie with quick motions, and the buttons of Clark's shirt come next. Lex pulls it apart to reveal Superman's crest, red and yellow surrounded by blue.
Yes, this. This is what he was looking for.
"You know what I would think about when we kept fighting, Clark? Aside from putting a round of kryptonite bullets through Superman's head? I'd imagine you on your knees, finally shutting up because you were sucking me. But that's not all. Every time you threw me against a wall, were this close to putting your fingers a little too tightly around my throat, I'd picture you holding me down and fucking me with all that – "
"So this is about Superman?" Clark has tensed all of a sudden, and is frowning angrily at Lex. "This is all about your power games, Lex?"
Is it about power games? Lex is just reciting from memory the fantasies that have always worked for him. "I don't see a difference. You are Superman. I wanted you before Superman."
Clark exhales and softens again. "I thought... that maybe you did. You were sending mixed signals, you know." Clark reaches up tentatively and runs a hand down Lex's flank. The gesture is half comforting, half exploring. "You can be kinda confusing, Lex. In the end I didn't even know what I wanted anymore."
"You're easily confused."
"I, uh, haven't got a lot of experience –"
Lex keeps unbuttoning Clark's shirt, exposing bit for bit the blue that spans tightly over taut muscles. Clark keeps babbling.
"You aren't half as innocent as you pretend to be. I've watched. I know your little lapses and experiments." Lex looks up to see Clark flush and look away, and undoes his belt while he watches.
"It's a lot easier to have one-night-stands off-world," Clark mutters.
What's more interesting, though, is that Lex can feel Clark's erection through his pants, curving up to his belly and pushing against the fabric. He slips a glance at his watch, estimates that there's still time enough before they reach LexCorp and slides down between Clark's legs. Clark looks large from this perspective, and his powerful thighs are trembling a little as Lex runs his hands along the insides.
"I trust you can control yourself?"
The rest is easy. Lex sucks Clark in the limousine, more expertly than Clark requires, and makes him come before the limousine reaches LexCorp tower. It's been a very long time since Lex has done this, but his body remembers, even if his mind is still stumbling in the dark without direction. For a moment, when he rests his head against Clark's belly and exhales, he feels heavy and solid.
Clark looks beautifully ruffled when Lex buttons him up again, far from presentable and by the time they step out of the elevator, he has recovered enough to look at Lex with light and desire in his eyes and take the initiative from him.
Clark chooses the bedroom over all the other interesting places to continue. As Clark undresses him, Lex finds that he can't remember ever having imagined them doing this here, in this private and ordinary place, like two lovers instead of everything else that they are. And Clark's expression fits the theme, gentle and happy, is if he can look straight into Lex's soul as he kisses his lips, his forehead, spreads him out before him and claims him with his hands.
But Lex doesn't have a soul. That thing that Clark is seeing – it isn't there anymore. And that thing that Lex saw in Clark has become invisible to him. And still Lex keeps going through the motions, makes all the appropriate noises as Clark prepares him and slides into him.
Clark is beautiful above him, flushed and radiant, nothing between Lex and all this power. His hair falls down and he pants and bites his lips, and Lex yells as his body shakes with arousal.
He reaches up and claws at Clark's neck. He snarls, more in confusion than in fury, and urges him to become less gentle. Orders him to fuck him, then begs him, until Clark does it, long, hard thrusts that Lex should feel everywhere. And he does feel them. It hurts, in the end, and Clark looks worried and stills as he comes.
It doesn't matter. Lex feels it, but he doesn't care. Can't care. He isn't even sure if he ever cared at all, if he has forgotten how or just imagined it. The dizziness dwindles as Clark pulls out of him and curls around him, happily nuzzling Lex's shoulder.
It is replaced by cold hard clarity.
Lex stares at the ceiling. He feels like he's up there himself, looking down on them. He's not part of this. He's going to close his eyes and forget, and tomorrow he will lift his lids and leave it all behind. And bit by bit, the world will loose all colour, all rhythm, all force and all meaning. Lex will be one of the many people, sleepwalking through a life that knows only money and flesh.
He stares at Clark and feels nothing. The thing he has sold for his heart's desire was his heart's capacity for desire. And now he doesn't even desire it back.
"I don't love you anymore," he says.
It feels peaceful.
Title: Devil's Deal (3/?)
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Continuity: Smallville - animated DC - comics
Summary: Lex sells his soul to the devil to bring his son back from the dead.
Betaed by
averaird, who is the best, because she endured several versions of this chapter. You are awesome :)Part Three - Peaceful
Clark leads him to the transporter pads. The watchtower is busy with vigilantes and ordinary human staff, probably because it is early morning and they're having a change of shift. There isn't a single person crossing their path who doesn't recognize them, Superman and former President Lex Luthor, and yet Lex is sure that he is the only one here who knows Clark and he knows for a fact that Clark is the only one who knows him. People give them a wide berth and curious looks, but no one is particularly alarmed to see them walking side by side, quiet and peaceable as they seem now, but maybe they're a bit awestruck.
They have to wait in line for a free transport, but Lex doesn't do lines. He ambles over to the big panoramic windows to watch the stars passing by, a multitude of them as is only visible from space. Clark trails him, quiet and yet oddly intrusive. The satellite revolves slowly around its own axis, and soon Earth comes into view, large and darkly blotting out the sun. Only her atmosphere is a halo of burning sunlight all over the rounded horizon. The watchtower orbits Earth, forever chasing sunrise, forever a step behind. Lex has been like that for years, racing forward so gravity couldn't pull him down, but now he feels cut loose, floating weightlessly away from the centre.
It feels nice. Lex feels free and more relaxed than he can ever recall feeling while he wasn't medicated or under the influence.
Clark's voice startles him out of his musings. "Why did you do it?" It's the first thing he has managed to say since the realization that Lex really did sell his soul settled in.
The emergent sunrise warms Lex face. He doesn't look away, lets it sear into his retinas. He knows what Clark is asking, knows that Clark will keep asking, now that he has found his question.
He has asked himself the same on occasion, so it's there, ready, just below the surface of his thoughts.
"Everything I touch withers and turns to dust. Everything I make is rotten. Everything I shape brings destruction," Lex explains. The images are more than metaphors – they're memories, nightmares. "But not him. I made him as a weapon, but he turned out so… right, Clark. He's everything that we aren't. So good that I'm afraid to come close to him."
Clark needs a long time to say anything. When he does, his voice sounds ragged. "You love Kon."
Love. On most days Lex can hardly bring himself to feel that other people are real, anything other than dress-up dolls and robots, little figures to move on large boards. Even the women he used to think he loved with all his life eventually became nothing to him, meaningless names, turned smooth and faceless like pebbles on the bed of a river.
Lex turns around. He has to blink for a moment, because compared to the sun, Clark is colourless. But when Clark's features become clear, he looks shocked and guilty, shame rising high on his cheeks.
Whether Lex loves Kon or not, Clark believes that he does. He believes that the bargain Lex made proves it, and since Clark doesn't love his clone, mistrusted him even, for a long time, Clark feels shamed. It amuses Lex how Clark always needs to be the better man.
Amuses him, especially because he felt that need himself for the longest time.
*
When they transport onto the roof of LexCorp, Lex notices Clark fidgeting and hovering. He ignores him and goes back to work. His company has been without him for two days now, it's time that he takes back the helm.
But in the afternoon, when Lex is winding down from a day that could have been busier, the doors slide open and Clark strides in like a force of nature. Clark has this way of barging into Lex's office and home that always reminds Lex of his late father. And like his Dad, he usually comes to make demands or express his disappointment with Lex.
Today, it's demands.
"My Mom is making dinner tonight to celebrate Conner's return. It's just us, family – I think you should come."
It's Clark's not wearing his Superman attire, but he isn't wearing his glasses, either, and he sounds exactly like Superman giving advice – you really shouldn't set loose those killer robots, Luthor, I'd be very disappointed in you if you did.
And Lex might be willing to concede that killer robots aren't the answer to everything, but Clark's suggestion seems like a spectacularly bad idea. "I hardly think your mother would want me at her dinner table, Clark. As you might recall I have on occasion tried to kill her son."
Lex trying to kill Clark was really just a short period in their overall relationship as enemies. But in those first five years with Superman, Lex really wanted to kill the alien at all costs. All that rage must have been cathartic. Lex didn't notice it, but the hatred is long gone, it seems, along with the pain.
"You did." Clark has stopped in the middle of the room, not advancing quite until Lex's desk. It's a matter of respect, not fear, because Clark's eyes telegraph confidence and conviction. In the few hours that Lex hasn't seen him, Clark has come to a decision. "But you also brought back her grandson. I think that matters more to her."
That Martha Kent thinks of Kon as her grandson is perhaps Lex's greatest achievement as a father. He did it by staying away from Kon.
"You're not going to tell him about the deal," Lex warns. "I won't let you undermine my efforts to keep him as far from becoming me as possible."
Clark looks heavenward. "Seriously, Lex. Have you ever even looked at the boy? There's no chance in hell that Conner's ever going to be you."
It's unlikely, yes, but this is an unexpected opinion coming from Clark. As far as Lex could tell, Clark was always wary of his clone, especially since he learned about his origin. Reminding him of that is probably the easiest way to make Clark go away.
"He was programmed at his creation to be my tool. I chose every bit of knowledge that the scientists planted into his head. I made him, more thoroughly than my father could ever have dreamed of making me."
Clark's takes a step back, and he looks sickened, but then he narrows his eyes at Lex. It's a pity Clark isn't as naïve anymore as he once was. He gives Lex a dark glare.
"He's still nothing like you, Lex."
Lex has lost this round. But he doesn't need to play by the rules. "I haven't got time for this now, Clark. You know your way out."
*
He expects the affair to be done with when Clark doesn't show up for two days. It's hard to get back into the usual rhythm of work. Lex still feels adrift, with his feet not quite on the ground, and the world muted around him.
But on the afternoon of the third, a hot, dusty summer day, there's a call from an unidentified number on his private phone line. The noise is like a rip of reality through the shimmering heat.
"Got your company back under control?"
"You," Lex says flatly, angling for a sign whether he is talking to Clark or Superman. Lex can't quite tell, and there's no video feed. Clark usually hides from Lex, never approaching him unless it is in Lane's shadow, and Superman has no need for phones, considering that he can be anywhere within seconds.
It sounds like Clark is talking from a cell phone or one of the few old phone boxes that still operate in Metropolis. There's city noise wafting in, traffic and construction sites, but distant, like maybe Clark is in a quiet back alley. Lex doesn't know why he even bothers with secret-keeping, but the line isn't safe and he isn't going to be the one who reveals Clark's secret identity through a blunder.
If he does it, it's going to be entirely intentional.
"Yeah, me, Clark," Clark confirms, knowing exactly what Lex wants to know. "How's it going?"
Like they do this everyday. Like Clark's calling from a parallel world where Superman hangs out with Lex Luthor after hours. It's a distinct possibility. But Lex thinks he can hear the slight bemusement in Clark's voice, like Clark finds it a bit strange, too.
"Good," Lex answers absentmindedly.
"Great." He can hear Clark's stupid grin. "Then you're free tonight?"
Lex didn't factor this into his cost profit balance when he made the deal. "Clark. Are you checking on me?"
"No." Filthy liar. "I just thought it would be nice to...chat. Hang out. We haven't done that in a long time."
It feels redundant to remind Clark of the reasons.
"You are checking on me," Lex guesses instead.
"Maybe," Clark relents. "But I also thought that since Conner's back… we could make a bit more of an effort to… you know. Get along."
Lex eyes his desk and the work he isn't really doing. Lately he thinks maybe he should take some time off. Live a little. Change some things in his life. And that part that insists on being the stronger, meaner, tougher guy – because he can't afford to be weak in this world, can never afford it – is strangely silent today.
Clark wasn't part of these plans, but Clark with a mission is like Lex with a riddle. He's highly unlikely to let go.
Lex sighs. "I'm free tonight." His social graces are rusty, but he manages, "I suppose we could have dinner."
*
Lex has the long table decked in silverware and crystal glasses, regal and old-fashioned, Luthor intimidation techniques 101. It's all habit and when the help is done with it and Lex stands by the table in his stiff white suit and silk tie, he has a strange out-of-body moment where it all seems ridiculous. Why go to such lengths just to impress Clark Kent? Clark has seen him all-powerful and defeated, naked and dressed in the finest garments money can buy, Clark has seen him bound and helpless and armed to the teeth, his hands covered in blood both literal and metaphorical.
Clark takes the decision out of Lex's hands by coming to the penthouse dressed in jeans and a faded blue shirt – long sleeved, so Lex bets that he's wearing the suit underneath. He's got two big rustling biodegradable plastic bags in his hands and spares the decked table only a glance before aiming straight for Lex's favourite couch – genuine leather, completely politically incorrect today and just as much of an antiquity as Clark's jeans – to flop down on it and unpack pizza cartons and soda.
Clark looks good, the pizza looks good, and Lex thinks, what the hell, and takes off his pearly white suit jacket and his immaculate tie to join him at the coffee table. He sinks onto the sofa across from Clark. The last time they sat together was in the White House and their smiles were grim lies.
Clark seems young in that shirt, although it does a bad job of hiding the strength in those shoulders and arms, the width of the chest that bears the Superman crest. And it isn't some weird blast from the past sitting across from Lex sipping soda. It's very much present Clark, the man Clark has become, who's calm and comfortable in front of and behind a camera, a man resting in his power and his achievements.
A lonely man, and always a little bit awkward in social situations where he can't hide behind his dual roles. Right now he's gazing at Lex expectantly.
Pizza. It's been a while. "Artichokes?" Lex inquires.
Clark's grin widens slowly around his soda. He hands Lex one of the boxes.
You'd think it was last week that they last did this.
The pizza is good, good enough to take the expensive wine from the table and open it. Clearly, Clark's tastes have improved, but then, after being friends with Lex, Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne, it's only damn well to be expected that something rubbed off. He accepts a glass and actually looks appreciative after a sip from it.
"What is the League going to say to this?" Lex asks.
"They're not my parents, Lex." They'll damn well deal with it, Clark means but doesn't say. He's Superman, they can't do without him. "Batman is probably going to develop some paranoia."
"Well, we do have a history of proposing world domination to each other," Lex muses.
"I was going to propose something else, actually," Clark says, but doesn't clarify what. It might just be carelessness, from the innocent way he looks down at his pizza, but Lex suspects teasing when he sees a sly smile grace those full lips.
"And what would that be?"
Clark glances up, a flash of green beneath dark lashes, and bares his teeth in a small grin. He shakes his head. "I don't think I should tell you yet, Lex. We both have a tendency to rush into things, don't we? Let's take it slow this time."
Lex doesn't learn more that night about Clark's intentions. They circle around each other like in old times, only without the constant subtext of lies and deception. Lex is willing to let the reins slide a little, and give in to Clark's new game. Lets him select a movie, and then another. Clark is delighted at Lex's collection of old classics from their youth and so Lex ends up sprawled in front of the screen with Superman until the wee hours of the morning, when Lex feels mellow and drowsy and Clark's giggles have become a bit hoarse from so much talking.
When Clark leaves, Lex decides to take the day off.
*
There's a couple of days where Clark's only life-signs are a by-line in the Planet and Superman's appearances in the news – these days superheroes have their own segment in the news, like economy or the weather – but then there's another phone call, and Clark asks him if he's free on Saturday.
Lex admits that he's free on most evenings, really. Clark tells him to get a parka and wait on the roof. Lex asks him why he thinks he can just tell Lex what to do. Clark laughs and says, "Don't forget some gloves."
Flying isn't much of a thrill, even though Superman can naturally fly much higher than Lex's battle suits ever managed. Antarctica is the only continent Lex has never been to. Of course, Lex has been in space, light-years from Earth, and in places that technically aren't even part of this universe, so the South Pole isn't terribly exotic.
It turns out that Clark wants to watch polar lights.
It's dark, windy and ice-cold, surreal after the Metropolis heat, but Clark finds them a sheltered place between two out-crops of rock and does something Lex has only ever seen in old Star Trek episodes: he heats stones with his heat vision until they glow red and emit warmth like a comfy fire.
"So," Lex asks, still not very impressed, after a cursory glance at the wispy green and purple curtains of light, "this is Superman's stamp collection?"
Clark, sprawled on his back like a kid making snow angels, shakes his head. "Nope. You only get to see my stamp collection when we go steady."
"Then what's this? You can't tell me you really find northern lights terribly interesting."
"They're pretty," Clark shrugs. "I've always wanted to do this with someone. But Chloe hates the cold, and Lois hates the wilderness and Batman's always busy."
"You tried to date Bruce? I'm appalled."
Clark cuffs him with the back of his hand. Lex can barely feel it through his thick parka. "You're not supposed to know people's secret identities! And I wasn't talking about dating."
"If you say so. I'd hate to think of you as a gold-digger."
"I swear it's not the money, Lex," Clark says in a falsely heart-felt tone, grinning and batting his eyelashes at him. Lex smiles back, but the smile is only a front. He believes Clark about the dating, because Lex has always watched him very closely, and he'd know if Clark had dated anyone. But aside from a long flirtation with Lois that never came to fruition, and a few one night stands, Clark has stayed solitary all these years.
However, Clark is teasing him now, and Lex was never entirely sure how seriously to take Clark's teasing. Testing the waters by teasing back always seemed like too big a risk, too much of a variable, but now, Lex actually can't tell why it should be.
"Funny. I'd never have thought that Superman would be attracted to power."
Clark falls silent, and Lex thinks that he has maybe shocked him, but then he answers, quietly, "Maybe it's more that I'm afraid of weakness. It's so easy for people to get hurt."
Lex hasn't let anyone get too close to him for a long time, but he remembers why he initially walled himself off. "It is."
He gets a sad and gentle look from Clark for that, and then Clark reaches for the bag he brought along and makes Lex drink hot tea and eat cookies.
The arctic night isn't silent, but the wind howls and hisses over the ice like a song of desolation. It's a harsh, hollow noise that resonates deep within Lex, and fills him to the brim, fighting the warmth of the tea and winning. Clark is right. This place is beautiful. Lex would like to stay here for hours, until the cold steals all life from him and he falls asleep.
"We could have done this years ago," Clark says wistfully.
Lex doesn't regret anything.
*
So far this evening, twelve people have told him that he looks splendid – "What is your secret, Mr Luthor? In all the time I've known you, you only seem to get younger!" – and three have called him charming. A lot of them only seem to wait for their chance to tell him other, wilder things.
Lex has only drunk champagne tonight, but he thinks that he might be thirsty for wilder things.
This charity event is the first time Lex has thrown himself among the masses of Metropolis' upper crust since the deal. He's gratified to know that no one seems to see any difference. But then, these jackals and hyenas only know the smell of money and flesh.
Well, there aren't many constants in the world besides money and flesh. Lex finds this evening surprisingly enjoyable, with its insipid conversation and glittering, unreal socialites. He crashed down once, on an island in the deep blue sea, and part of him has been lost in the wilderness ever since, the blood and claws and survival of the fittest ruling his mind, the blend of madness and desperation like one continuous adrenaline rush from then to now. But it's over now, and he's coming down from it.
Now, he has opened his eyes and found himself on a tropical paradise.
Lex feels experimental, so the debutante he's set his eyes on is blonde and a little star-struck to be led around by a former president. Soon enough, he'll have her charmed out of that shyness.
Lex is jostled by someone almost bumping into him.
"Uh, sorry! Oh, hello, Mr Luthor! It's been a while since I've seen you!" Clark blinks owlishly from behind tousled hair and awkward glasses, balancing his champagne precariously. The debutante giggles, a sound so young and unaffected that it chills Lex to realize that he wanted to take this girl home tonight.
"Clark Kent," he drawls. "Isn't that a surprise. Darling, Mr Kent and I are old acquaintances."
Clark smiles, with a sly edge to it just for Lex. "Yeah, we go way back."
"Probably since before you were born," Lex goes on, suppressing a shudder. "Give us a moment, will you?"
She looks a bit disappointed, and in a sudden burst of confidence dares to kiss Lex on the cheek, only to disappear in a flustered hurry.
Clark frowns after her. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt because she wasn't your type," Clark says. "But she could have been your daughter."
"Did you assault me to save her honour, Clark?"
"No. I needed to save myself, for once." Clark takes Lex by the shoulder and steers him into a quieter corner, whispering close by his ear, "I was caught between my editor and my employer. Don't look back, they're probably looking for you, too."
"And you decided to ruin my enjoyment of the evening as well."
"Lex, you have no idea how Lois and Bruce get when they're in a room together." Clark winks at Lex. He leans even closer, so the tips of his hair brush Lex's temple, "It's worse than being caught between Darkseid and Brainiac."
"So you chose the arch-enemy behind door number three?"
Clark ducks his head with a grin, but the abashment is part of his persona. He's making fun of Lex. "I'd always choose you over those two. Even though you're worse."
Lex finds himself being led away from the crowd and towards the exit. Clark's going to sweep him away to another evening of easy companionship and teasing, everything chaste and tame, unspoken, unconsumed.
Lex stops when they're in front of the coat room. The hallway is quiet so early in the evening, aside from then, no one thinks of leaving yet. On the red carpet their steps are soft as the muted sounds of the party. Clark seems taller now, away from the looks of the crowd. All it takes is a bit of straightening up, and even the ugly suit looks good on him. Lex takes a step closer, well into Clark's personal space, until he has to look up at him.
"I had plans for tonight."
"What, to corrupt the innocent?" Clark is amused, but right under the surface, Lex can detect uncertainty, the tiniest shimmer of awkwardness.
"And you've come between me and my plans."
"Well, if you're that desperate – "
Lex lays a hand on the side of Clark's hair, silky hair and the hot shell of an ear under his palm and nips at Clark's lips. The first impression is fleeting, a warm, full softness, and Lex licks delicately at them to complete the picture. The taste is sour at first, the lingering aroma of champagne, and then salty. Clark smells the faintest bit of rain, pure and clear, like he has bathed in clouds. He takes a sudden breath, stealing it almost from Lex's lips, but it isn't shocked, just surprised. Lex twists his fingers in Clark's hair and lets go.
Clark's eyes are big. He's blinking rapidly, then touches his lips. "Lex?"
"Did you like that?" It's a command, as forceful as Lex can be. Suddenly he knows that this is what he wants. This is what he came looking for. He got lost in the undergrowth, but this is the path.
Clark is looking him up and down. His eyes jump from Lex's lips to his eyes to the hand that was in his hair a moment ago, and although he's nervous, he's also scrutinizing. Then he frowns. "I… didn't hate it."
"Good enough." Lex doesn't really care. He knows he can persuade Clark to go along. He retreats and Clark follows him like they're tied at the wrist.
"Good enough for what?" Clark asks as they step into the night air. Lex needs to reorient himself before he remembers his chauffeur and has his limousine brought to the curb.
"Good enough for what?" Clark asks again as he sinks into the cushions of the seat next to Lex.
"You want to know what I want?"
"I'd like you to clarify, yeah."
Lex seizes Clark's tie, curls his fist against Clark's firm chest and feels the fabric of Clark's shirt slide over some other, smoother fabric beneath. He pushes, and Clark, eyes still surprised, yields to the touch until he's pressed against the door and Lex is leaning onto him with almost all his weight. He undoes the tie with quick motions, and the buttons of Clark's shirt come next. Lex pulls it apart to reveal Superman's crest, red and yellow surrounded by blue.
Yes, this. This is what he was looking for.
"You know what I would think about when we kept fighting, Clark? Aside from putting a round of kryptonite bullets through Superman's head? I'd imagine you on your knees, finally shutting up because you were sucking me. But that's not all. Every time you threw me against a wall, were this close to putting your fingers a little too tightly around my throat, I'd picture you holding me down and fucking me with all that – "
"So this is about Superman?" Clark has tensed all of a sudden, and is frowning angrily at Lex. "This is all about your power games, Lex?"
Is it about power games? Lex is just reciting from memory the fantasies that have always worked for him. "I don't see a difference. You are Superman. I wanted you before Superman."
Clark exhales and softens again. "I thought... that maybe you did. You were sending mixed signals, you know." Clark reaches up tentatively and runs a hand down Lex's flank. The gesture is half comforting, half exploring. "You can be kinda confusing, Lex. In the end I didn't even know what I wanted anymore."
"You're easily confused."
"I, uh, haven't got a lot of experience –"
Lex keeps unbuttoning Clark's shirt, exposing bit for bit the blue that spans tightly over taut muscles. Clark keeps babbling.
"You aren't half as innocent as you pretend to be. I've watched. I know your little lapses and experiments." Lex looks up to see Clark flush and look away, and undoes his belt while he watches.
"It's a lot easier to have one-night-stands off-world," Clark mutters.
What's more interesting, though, is that Lex can feel Clark's erection through his pants, curving up to his belly and pushing against the fabric. He slips a glance at his watch, estimates that there's still time enough before they reach LexCorp and slides down between Clark's legs. Clark looks large from this perspective, and his powerful thighs are trembling a little as Lex runs his hands along the insides.
"I trust you can control yourself?"
The rest is easy. Lex sucks Clark in the limousine, more expertly than Clark requires, and makes him come before the limousine reaches LexCorp tower. It's been a very long time since Lex has done this, but his body remembers, even if his mind is still stumbling in the dark without direction. For a moment, when he rests his head against Clark's belly and exhales, he feels heavy and solid.
Clark looks beautifully ruffled when Lex buttons him up again, far from presentable and by the time they step out of the elevator, he has recovered enough to look at Lex with light and desire in his eyes and take the initiative from him.
Clark chooses the bedroom over all the other interesting places to continue. As Clark undresses him, Lex finds that he can't remember ever having imagined them doing this here, in this private and ordinary place, like two lovers instead of everything else that they are. And Clark's expression fits the theme, gentle and happy, is if he can look straight into Lex's soul as he kisses his lips, his forehead, spreads him out before him and claims him with his hands.
But Lex doesn't have a soul. That thing that Clark is seeing – it isn't there anymore. And that thing that Lex saw in Clark has become invisible to him. And still Lex keeps going through the motions, makes all the appropriate noises as Clark prepares him and slides into him.
Clark is beautiful above him, flushed and radiant, nothing between Lex and all this power. His hair falls down and he pants and bites his lips, and Lex yells as his body shakes with arousal.
He reaches up and claws at Clark's neck. He snarls, more in confusion than in fury, and urges him to become less gentle. Orders him to fuck him, then begs him, until Clark does it, long, hard thrusts that Lex should feel everywhere. And he does feel them. It hurts, in the end, and Clark looks worried and stills as he comes.
It doesn't matter. Lex feels it, but he doesn't care. Can't care. He isn't even sure if he ever cared at all, if he has forgotten how or just imagined it. The dizziness dwindles as Clark pulls out of him and curls around him, happily nuzzling Lex's shoulder.
It is replaced by cold hard clarity.
Lex stares at the ceiling. He feels like he's up there himself, looking down on them. He's not part of this. He's going to close his eyes and forget, and tomorrow he will lift his lids and leave it all behind. And bit by bit, the world will loose all colour, all rhythm, all force and all meaning. Lex will be one of the many people, sleepwalking through a life that knows only money and flesh.
He stares at Clark and feels nothing. The thing he has sold for his heart's desire was his heart's capacity for desire. And now he doesn't even desire it back.
"I don't love you anymore," he says.
It feels peaceful.
