This is really a TV slash - and there are days when I think Smallville is not just
AU to the comic series but totally 'did they even read the book?' AU. Still, I do
find the show fun. Consider this Smallville 'informed' by DCU cannon.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I just gaze with lust at the TV and sometimes make up stories. Would you want to sue a crazy lady?
Location: Post-Smallville. Futurefic. Slash.
Rated: R - but a pretty hard R.
Pairing : Clark Kent /Lex Luthor
Summary: Luthor thinks back
Archive: Where posted. All others please ask. (I'm easy, I just want to know.)
Lex Luthor stretched slowly, reveling in the still-warm satin of the rumpled bed. Empty now, but not yet cooled. Clark would have just left for his morning patrol. He would be back in an hour for breakfast.
Lex would have coffee. Perhaps toast. He was never a morning person. Clark would have his usual. Ham and eggs. Pancakes. Fried potatoes. And then? Lex rolled over, wincing only slightly as the edge of the mattress pressed against his still-tender cheeks. Another serving of Luthor for desert.
Lex smiled wryly at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. One blessing of baldness. He didn't have to look as rumpled as he felt.
How amused Schreck would be. Wayne. Tyler. Irons. Any of his so-called competitors.
That brought a half laugh.
Lex knew he had no competitors. Only slightly less small fish that the LexCorp shark had failed to gobble up yet.
Even so - he could just see the smirks on those men's self-satisfied faces if the knew the truth. Or this part of the truth.
Alexander Luthor takes it up the ass.
He did. These days. Usually.
Not quite what he had in mind when he had started this... whatever it was. Love affair? Obsession?
Back then it had been the sixteen year old farm-boy and the evil billionaire. Perfect pretty Clark spread naked on his bed. Sweet innocence flowing milk-soft as Clark's preposterously uncalloused skin under his hands. Dream-long legs resting on his shoulders. Space-blue eyes growing impossibly wide as the all-knowing master introduced his sweet pet to pleasures officially unknown in the grass-land purity of Kansas.
Then later. Clark moving away from home. Officially leaving to study at Metropolis University. Which he did. Brilliantly.
Clark moving into Lex's penthouse. Into Lex's bed. Into Lex's life.
Clark open and unashamed on Lex's arm.
Clark smiling and untroubled and young and truly Lex's.
Lex shook his head at the memory, heading for the bathroom and a needed shower.
Lex had been delighted to see Clark head out every morning, knowing he would be back by nightfall eager to rest his cheek on his Lexie's thigh and regale him with tales of secret heroism in between blow-jobs. And Lex would listen gladly, knowing Clark in turn would cheer Lex's day of schemes and strategies.
They were young then, and Lex was out to conquer the world. And Clark was his fan. His audience. His heart's ally.
Lex slapped the handle, starting the fountain of scalding water.
When had that changed?
When had it become Lex on his knees? Lex face down, clawing in frantic bliss at the scattered pillows? Lex bent over his father's desk, the hour after he had wrested final control from the old bastard?
And - why?
Simply because it was easier?
Because the passage of years had hardened that gentle body, adding daily to the unnatural strength until the once soft flesh took on much of the steel the newspapers so glibly named? True enough. If Lex wanted to delude himself, he could assign the switch to pure physiology. Insist that it was irrelevant. Immaterial.
After all, their pleasures had never been totally one sided.
That first week Lex had guided a blushing Clark above him, reveling in the sensation as Clark spilled his last virginity deep into Lex's tight heat. Lex had known his lovers taste. Watched heavy-eyed as Clark surrendered his body to Lex's wicked tongue. Guided Clark through every pleasure the boy had heard of, and then dozens more his midwestern naivete had never imagined.
Lex rolled his shoulders under the pounding jets, letting the tension melt under the easy force, remembering.
So many good memories.
Christening Clark's new truck. Breaking in Lex's rebuilt plant. Finding a new position to reclaim every room of the penthouse on the first day that Clark had moved in. Lex on Clark. Clark in Lex. Lex and Clark together.
A less self-observant man might tell himself that nothing had really changed. That no one was counting. That the details of who and what and how were irrelevant between lovers.
If asked, Clark might say that. Clark might even believe it.
Lex was wiser than to delude himself.
Why had his sweet pet become his master?
When was simple enough. A matter of counting. Of thinking back to the first days of Superman, and noting in retrospect how the dance had shifted. Subtly, it was true. A stronger kiss. A more urgent hand. A skillful pressure to shoulder or hip that claimed surrender before the battle was even known. Not Clark commanding, but Clark having no need to give commands.
And Lex. Brilliant, unvanquished Alexander. Bending. Obeying.
Lex opening himself to be mounted. Taken. Possessed.
Superman taking the center stage, with Lex Luthor the man at his side. Lex Luthor becoming the one who accompanied. Who waited. Lex Luthor who was Superman's-Best-Friend.
He stepped from the shower, snatching up the waiting towel.
Because Clark wanted it.
Again, answer enough for most. And no answer at all.
Lex refused not to know. He had many sins, and a few weaknesses, but ignorance was the one vice he had never indulged.
So then, why?
Because the demands of suffering humanity had worn away the gloss from Clark's innocent spirit? Because the honors given Superman had wounded the Kansas farm boy in a way that the torments of the elder Luthor never could? Or was it because this was what Lex's soul knew was the proper way of things?
That Lex rightfully belonged on his knees before this more-than-man?
His farm boy was a god now. And Lex - like the rest of the world - would worship him.