#like i think maybe crisis and dcau lex come close!!!

[zacksnydered]

Always insane about how all the lex luthors i've read and watched, BvS Lex Luthor is the only one that WINS

[deathtrapnest]

All This And Love Too

fandom: Superman generally, can fit into comics/Smallville/DCAU/etc pairing/warnings: Clark Kent x Lex Luthor, NSFW/smut involved

summary: "you realize the one person in this world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” Lex needs love from Superman like he needs a hole in the head.

READ ON AO3 or under the cut:

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in this world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.”

- Richard Silken, from “A Primer for the Small Weird Loves”

 Lex has never considered “true love” in so many words. He isn’t so un-self aware to believe what he feels for Superman is purely logical nor is it purely hatred. It would be the height of blissful ignorance to not acknowledge how entangled and complex that particular set of feelings is.

 It is undeniable that wrapped up in all that rage, there is something much more. Frustratingly, something more than Lex can even properly put words to. Maybe not words, but actions at least, physical sensations at least- those he can process objectively.

 The curling satisfaction in the pit of his stomach when Superman’s face even for just a flash of a moment, loses its’ composure and Lex can attribute that change to his own caustic words and deeds.

 The adrenaline rush that makes goosebumps raise on his flesh and heat pool between his legs when Superman has him by the throat, has him pressed against a wall, has him in his grip of steel and for a moment that impossibly perfect body belongs to Lex, presed against him and devoted only to him, on stopping him, restraining him, holding him down.

 That flutter of familiarity- almost what Lex could compare to his understanding of the term ‘affection’- when he feels the prickle at the back of his neck that alerts him to the fact that he is being watched, and he needn’t even turn around to know that Superman is floating in mid air just outside his window. Probably complete with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

 And certainly Lex couldn’t avoid acknowledging the nights he spends alone in his office, the lights out after everyone has left, one hand wrapped around his length, grip nearly bruising, nearly punishing himself with his roughness, with thoughts of that alien in his head. Sometimes it’s genuinely more about himself than it is about Superman- the self satisfaction of his own genius at fulfilling a particularly dastardly plot had always been borderline sexual, but imagining what the blue boy scout’s righteous fury reaction would be is always what pushes it over the edge for him.

He thinks about those unnaturally blue eyes. The piercing focus that they bore into Lex’s whenever they stare each other down. The cut of his face, his body, as perfect as a Greek statue. And he thinks about what that creature could do to him with all its strength, all its power. All the power Lex has ever wanted but can never have. If only he could have it through him. To have that archangel pin him down, hands crushing and mouth unforgiving on his. In that defilement, Superman would be his.

 Other times Lex wonders if Superman is the closest thing he has to a true companion. He has some doubts about the concept. Certainly, they couldn’t be called ‘friends’. Lex had never had any of those, truly. He isn’t sure if he would know friendship even if it was right in front of him. He has people he’s taken a liking to, people who by their company a mutual benefit is achieved, people he is aquainted with- but few he considers anywhere close to being an equal. Superman alone presents a steep enough challenge to keep Lex entertained. Normal friends play sports with each other, Lex reasoned, while he and Superman play a game of wits, of power, with the fate of the world at stake. But for two people of their level, were those stakes not appropriate?

 Lex doesn’t know what to call that look he sees in Superman’s eyes sometimes. Is that love? He wonders. He thinks Superman probably doesn’t know that he notices it at all. Sometimes it comes when Lex is at his angriest, when he’s yelling and threatening, and essentially throwing a fit. Other times it comes unpredictably, a side long look from those sky blue eyes that lingers over him. A look that infuriates Lex because it is inherently pitying. To him it says “You could let it all go. If you wanted to. All the rage, all the fear. You could let it go and I would help put the pieces of you left over back together without it. You don’t have to hold onto all that. You could hold on to me instead.”

 Lex needs love from Superman like he needs a hole in the head.

 Love is untrustworthy, untangible, uncontrollable. A volatile substance. Not unlike the alien himself. Lex has survived his whole life without it and done quite well for himself. He thinks he might be allergic to it. If the movies, songs, and poems are to be believed, then love is capable of impossible feats- of stripping a man down to his most vulnerable, exposing every weakness. It’s no wonder his greatest enemy might try to use it against him.

 More feelings that Lex can’t quite place. Maybe because there are no words in the english language specific enough for them, maybe because Lex is just unfamiliar with them.

 Lex doesn’t go long without thinking about Superman. He knows that that’s “obsession”. It doesn’t necessarily indicate love. But Lex has never been very straight forward in his feelings.

 When Superman is in danger- REAL danger, not the run of the mill type. Not even the sort of danger that Lex, despite his best efforts, can provide. In those times when it really appeared that he would die…. Lex feels it all in his chest and the pit of his stomach. His chest tightens with such force that he can’t breathe and its as if his ribcage has snapped shut like a bear trap around his heart. Piercing and unignorably painful. And lower down in his body something goes cold, so cold he has to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

He reassures himself that it’s because he wants to be the one to kill Superman. The grief he feels, the anxiety, is nothing but the blow it would be to his own pride to lose out the opportunity to get rid of the alien to someone else, someone less qualified and deserving.

 And yet, it is sometimes difficult to imagine life without Superman. He could cure cancer, solve the energy crisis, halt global warming, maybe… Somehow it is hard to feel motivated. The distraction of exchanging blows, matching wits, maneuvering and outmaneuvering, the alien has become too entertaining. Too fundamental.

 Lex wonders if he were a different person, a ‘better’ person… if he’d been the type of average, blissfully ignorant, citizen who wasn’t born a genius, who was loved as a child, who hadn’t sustained himself on rage and fear and ambition his whole life… If he could love normally too. If he could look at Superman- at the way his expressions reaches all the way to his eyes, the way his lips curve into a smile as honest and pure as sunshine- and feel the undeniable longing, the pull to him, the wrenching ‘want’, but without the twist of shame, the fear, that always accompanied it. A lifetime of self sufficiency, of rejection, made Lex feel naturally self protective. Those feelings, spawning in him unbidden, were as much an alien invasion as Superman’s first landing in Metropolis. He would do anything to be eradicated of them.

 - - -

 When Clark was a child he’d been read stories of princes falling in love with princesses and saving them from dragons. And he’d imagined himself the prince.

 When Clark got a little older he wanted to marry Lana Lang, from the cheer squad, because her hair was vibrant red and she always left a smell of wild flowers in her wake when she walked down the hall in a skirt short enough to awaken any adolescent boy’s fantasies.

 He’d pictured a life for himself not unlike the one his parents had. He’d find a girl who was sweet and beautiful and who made his heartrate go up and marry her, have children, be blissfully happy.

 Clark should have known that his life would never be that simple.

 No, instead, he’d somehow fallen in love with the dragon instead of the princess.

 Clark hadn’t intended to fall in love with Lex Luthor. He didn’t want to be in love with Lex Luthor… it’s just something that happened.

 It’s the opposite of everything Clark dreamed romance would be. He wanted soft touches, gentle kisses, a warm fuzzy feeling, whispered ‘I love you’s. Lex is shattered glass, the taste of blood, glares made of ice, the feeling of an expensive suit clutched in his fists. The love he feels for Lex is painful like a knife twisting in his gut. It is impure and ravaging, all consuming and distracting.

 Clark wants Lex and there’s nothing wholesome or romantic about it.

 He thinks he must be a worse person for it. For feeling the way that he does. He’s always been much less of the boy scout than everyone seemed to give him credit for but some of the things he wants from Lex, thinks about in his private moments… he wonders how to reconcile the Superman who saves cats out of trees and the Superman who wants to hold Lex down by the throat and kiss, lick, and bite the rage out of his system.

 Lex makes Clark angrier than anyone else. But he also makes him angry in a way that’s different than anger he feels toward anything else. If Darkseid kills people, if he threatens Clark’s city… that makes him angry. Sure enough. But Lex… Lex is continuously frustrating in a way that’s completely different. Frustration bordering on desperation. Like the moment bordering on orgasm. Clark had noted that with embarassment and a little curiosity. He’s exasperating.

 Everything Lex does illicits a reaction somewhere in Clark. He flies between being shocked, angry, impressed, weary, suspicious, and often enough that it’s a problem: hopeful.

 After all, everything would be much less frustrating if Lex was hopeless. Clark sometimes wonders if Lex really is a lost cause. But most of the time he knows that he’s not. Lex is the smartest man alive. He could do great things. The person who stops him isn’t Clark, as much as Lex would never admit it. The person that stops Lex is Lex. But every once in a blue moon Clark gets a glimpse of what Lex could be like… if he could let go of his hatred. Of what THEY could be if Lex get of his hatred. Together.

 It’s stupid, Clark reprimands himself repeatedly.

 Even a reformed Lex… could never give Clark the life he imagined for himself. But ever since they’ve known each other, deep down, Clark knows he’ll never be satisfied with his white wedding and family home with kids on a farm. What he wants is Lex Luthor. God help him.

 He wants Lex’s self satisfied smirk that equal parts enrages him and arouses him. He wants Lex’s green eyes, always watching him with a fierce analysis, wants them to keep watching him always. In the tight fit of his tailored suits, when he sees the fabric stretch over the muscles in his shoulders when he leans over, or tighten over his thighs when he sits down- he wants Lex’s body, wants to be able to touch him whenever he wants, feel all over him and memorize every inch of skin. Wants to hear him talk about his inventions at length, too fast and too complicated for any laymen to understand but going on regardless as if it doesn’t matter. He wants to be the one to understand Lex.

 Clark thinks he knows Lex’s darkness almost better than anyone. Has seen through so many of his schemes, halted his world domination ambitions not a second too soon on almost a weekly basis, seen firsthand the damage and destruction he could cause. But he also knows the goodness in him. When there has been a larger, more imminent, threat to the world and humanity than Superman, Lex has always been one to step up to help. In a funny way, Lex is almost as protective of humanity as Superman is.

In those moments, where Lex and Clark are on the same side, Clark can’t help but think ‘why can’t it always be like this?’. But possibly the only thing Clark can trust Lex with is to be perverse.

 Clark wishes Lex knew. Clark wishes Lex knew he’d make the world turn backward, kick the moon out of orbit, if something, anything, could dislodge that hatred, that obsession, that kept them apart. That seems to drive Lex while destroying him at the same time. But Lex isn’t the type to want to be saved. And Clark has learned that even that part of him, he’s come to love.

 - - -

 The first kiss is a mess. Lex goes for Clark’s upper lip, Clark goes for Lex’s lower lip, their noses clash somewhere between. Clark accidentally rips the front of Lex’s shirt in the desperate scrabbling of his hands and Lex steps on Clark’s foot. These mishaps do nothing to deter either of them.

Clark presses the back of his hand against Luthor’s lower back, pushing their hips together and hears the other man’s moan before he has time to stifle it. Everything moves between extremes of gentleness and roughness. Lex runs his hands through Clark’s hair then tangles his fingers in it and pulls hard. Clark runs his tongue across Lex’s lip then bites it, taking care not to draw blood, but with enough force that he feels Lex’s body twitch under his.

 Lex retaliates by scraping his fingernails against the front of Superman’s suit. Clark pushes them back so that Lex’s back knocks against his desk, then leans forward, forcing him to arch his back over it until he’s lying face up, Clark on top of him. A few pens and papers fall to the floor. The red cape falls over their bodies like a curtain.

 Clark pulls his hand down the already ruined shirt, ripping the buttons as he goes and he notes with some satisfaction that Lex’s breathing is strained- he’s biting his lip, and he’s hard- his arousal evident and straining against the silken fabric of his dress pants.

Clark puts one hand there, rubbing his palm teasingly slow and puts his other hand loosely around Lex’s throat, holding him down against the table as he opens his mouth to another kiss. Lex growls against his mouth, cants his hips up against Clark’s hand, and fists the handful of hair he’s holding harder. He manages to snap Clark’s head back and goes for his throat, ghosting his teeth against it, sucking against as if hoping to leave a mark on his indestructible flesh.

 Clark grunts and forces Lex back down. More things clatter off the desk. Clark takes his hand off of Lex’s crotch (Lex swears at him) and uses it to pin Lex’s arms above his head. Lex wiggles like a trapped animal but it only serves to enforce the friction between their bodies.

 Clark feels like he’s on fire from the inside. Sensory overload. He can smell the sweat on Lex’s body, can hear his heart beat deafeningly loud, drowning out every thought he could possibly have. He groans against the curve of Lex’s neck as he ruts against his thigh. His teeth dig in too hard and suddenly he tastes Lex’s blood.

 “Do it already” Lex says between gritted teeth like the words are acid on his tongue.

 And Clark regains some of his senses and he looks up at Lex, all the anger drained from his face, blue eyes shocked and wide, his open mouth drippng with Lex’s blood even with such an innocence expression. He drops his grip on Lex and pulls away, balancing himself on the desk on his elbows.

 Blood is pooling on Lex’s collarbone. His wrists are red in the shape of Clark’s fingers.

 “I’m so-“ Clark starts weakly but Lex grabs him by the nape of his neck, pulling him forward again.

“Shut up.” he hisses. “I want this. I want this.” his voice is more desperate than Clark’s ever heard it. And when Lex forces their lips back together, he can feel it. The need. As he knocks his teeth against Clark’s tongue, opening his mouth as if he’s trying to devour Clark’s.

 “N-no,” Clark manages weakly against Lex’s mouth, pulling him away easily despite Lex’s efforts. “Not like this…”

 Clark presses one hand lightly on Lex’s chest, lays him flat against the desk and looks down at him, eyes searching. Then with feather light touch brushes his lips against Lex’s. Barely a butterfly kiss. It deepens, Clark’s hand on the back of Lex’s neck for support. When they break apart Clark litters tender kisses against the side of Lex’s mouth, across his jaw, along his cheekbones. Clark looks like he might cry- his eyes moist and the smile on his face uncertain and quavering. He trails his fingers down either side of Lex’s face, pausing at his lips before he kisses him again.

 Lex abruptly bucks under his touch, pushing Superman’s hand away from his face. Clark doesn’t move and Lex can’t quite manage to wriggle free without his cooperation even as he claws at the stronger man’s biceps to break out of their embrace.

 “Lex…” Clark whispers mournfully. The way he touches Lex’s arm to still him is utterly gentle, comforting. Lex recoils from it as if he’s afraid it will dirty him.

 “I can’t do this” Lex mutters under his breath and Clark is surprised to hear the crack in his voice. The other man turns his head away from him, shaking it gently as if he’s talking to himself frantically in his head- hashing out an argument that isn’t happening. Clark stands up and lets Lex turn his back on him, pulling the remains of his shirt around himself protectively. “Just get out…”

 Clark frowns but he can’t say anything either. His throat feels tight and as much as they just bared it all to each other, he doesn’t feel ready to cry in front of Lex like this. Lex apparently doesn’t feel ready to do the same either, as he doesn’t let Superman see his face, turns toward the window stubbornly until he hears the door close behind him.

 - - -

 Lex feels stupid. He’s been standing on his balcony in a bathrobe for 24 minutes (he’s been checking his Rolex every few seconds) and saying “Superman” over and over. Not too loudly. In a firm, clear, voice, that he hopes doesn’t belay the embarassment he feels. A few times he clears his throat. He takes sips from a glass of whiskey he holds in one hand. He paces back and forth and frequently turns as if to go back inside but stops himself. On one such turn, though, when he turns back around, the man himself is floating before him, cape billowing in the wind. A perfect image. The light from Lex’s bedroom cutting panes of shadow on the angles of his chiseled face.

 The past few weeks, since the night in Lex’s office, there’s been hurt in Superman’s expression that he can’t quite cover up even with his most convincing attempt at an impartial scowl. He can see it in his eyes. As pitiful as a puppy dog. Lex shudders to think how his own shame at their trespass must manifest. He’s been too quick to snap at Superman, too hot headed, even in contrast to his usual. He wonders if its noticeable to others that they’ve both lost the grasp on the control they’ve been holding onto so tightly for so many years, or if only the two of them can see it.

 “What took you so long.” Lex drawls and is pleased when Superman’s face twitches with genuine annoyance as opposed to manufactured.

 “I was putting out a fire. Your tone didn’t seem urgent.”

 “It’s nothing urgent.” Lex agrees, inspecting the rim of his glass of whiskey as if it’s far more interesting than their conversation.

 “What is it? Need help opening a jar?” Superman bites back sarcastically.

 Lex looks back up at him, hoping his expression relays nothing.

 “I want to try it your way.” he says simply.

 Lex thinks the way Superman’s jaw drops will make any further humiliation he has to suffer in the coming activities wholly worth it. Or at least he can justify it to himself that way.

 - - -

Every muscle in Clark’s body is tightly wound. He’s scared to move too fast, too hard, too strong… Lex’s bed is covered in silk sheets and Clark shivers at the feel of them against his naked skin. He’s tempted to cover himself. He’s embarassed to be seen this vulnerable in front of his arch enemy but Lex takes it all in his stride as if it’s of no consequence to him. And Lex is equally unabashed when he drops the robe he’s wearing and pulls Clark against him across the bed, guiding his hands across his body.

 Lex’s tongue is still more aggressive than Clark can almost bear. He’s not used to feeling ‘breathless’ but when Lex has their mouths joined, struggling against his like his life depends on ‘winning’ the match of their kiss, somehow… Clark feels his arms and legs go limp.

 They spend a while doing nothing but kissing, touching. Clark wraps his arms around Lex and pulls him close so their chests are flush against each other. Lex’s hands roam over the contours of Clark’s body, as if analyzing him, squeezing and caressing to see what makes Clark tremble or moan. Clark nuzzles his face against Lex’s throat, lathing him with kisses, nibbles, licks. Lex is twitchy- Clark keeps fearing that he’s going to push him away again. But he doesn’t this time. He wraps his legs around Clark’s waist and reaches his hand between their hips, grabbing Clark’s length with one hand. The other reaches for a bottle on his night stand and he drips lubricant over his hand before starting a languid rhythm.

 Clark grips the headboard to steady himself. Lex’s fingers are slender and they twist as they come to the head of his cock, before sliding his palm down the shaft. It doesn’t take long before Clark is painfully hard and jerking his hips into Lex’s hand.

 But Clark is nothing if not magnanimous and he reaches out and applies a liberal amount of lubricant to his own hand before taking Lex’s cock and squeezing hard enough that Lex throws his head back with gritted teeth. Clark’s technique is not as elegant. He knows his strength, how to apply it just right, but his rhythm is messy and unpredictable. That only seems to make Lex harder. They look each other in the eye as they touch each other, Lex still practically sitting in Clark’s lap, one leg pressing against Clark’s tailbone everytime his hips jerk forward. Clark catches a drop of sweat collected in the space beneath Lex’s lower lip with his tongue. It turns into a kiss. And then he’s falling into Lex, pushing him flat against the bed, his cock sliding against Lex’s stomach.

 “I can’t wait any longer.” Clark whispers. Lex nods. His eyes are heavy lidded, his lips parted. Clark’s seen Lex injured, on the edge of death, vulnerable, needing to be saved, so many times, but never quite like this.

 Lex takes Clark’s wrist, the hand that’s still slick with lubricant, and guides it between his thighs. “Touch me here.” Lex says, quietly, but yet still somehow with a sense of authority. He cants his hips up against Clark’s fingers.

 “Are you sure?” Clark says. “I can-“

 “No.” Lex cuts him off. “It has to be this way.”

He bites his lip as one of Clark’s fingers breaches him slowly.

“Otherwise” he continues with strain in his voice, “how could you trust me?” he lets out a huff of a laugh, smirking as he lowers his hips against Clark’s hand, fucking himself on the one digit inside of him. “Otherwise this could just be some extended ploy for me to dominate you, couldn’t it?”

Clark frowned at his cynicism. “I know it isn’t.”

Lex quirked an eyebrow at him. “Really? Maybe you don’t give me enough credit.”

Clark leaned forward, so his face was over Lex’s, and smiling smugly as he added another finger. “I give you plenty of credit.”

 Clark knows Lex well enough to know he’d never complain about pain. So he has to be careful. And Lex is too high strung. His body protests at the invasion and he squirms against Clark, unable to relax. Clark has to soothe him. He works him open slowly, the entire time leaving no lack of attention or affection to the rest of his body- kisses down the center of his chest, his shoulders, his ribcage… 

He uses his other hand on Lex’s cock. He goes slow enough and switches off between touching him there and massaging his thighs, his hips, that he’s never in danger of bringing him off too soon. He can tell it’s frustrating to Lex but when has Superman ever done anything that didn’t frustrate Lex Luthor?

 By the time he has three fingers inside of him, Lex is trembling. Clark kisses him on the lips and Lex seems to relax, his body going limp. Soon Clark is thrusting three fingers into him easily without much resistance.

 “Is it okay?” Clark whispers against his ear, his arms are around Lex, holding him, surrounding him with his warmth. Lex nods again.

“Then say it.” Clark insists.

Lex looks for a moment like he’s about to argue but then he stares straight into Clark’s eye and without challenge says “I’m ready.”

 Lex’s cock is leaking the moment Clark begins to enter him. His fingernails drag down Clark’s shoulderblades and he cries out, then muffles it by biting down, clenching his jaw. Clark wishes he’d let himself moan. He wants to hear it.

 Lex is shaking again, his arms flung around Clark’s neck.

Clark is about to ask if he needs to stop but Lex says “please… please…”

 The rhythm is slow, careful. Clark holds his arms around Lex to support him and lets him set the pace by moving his hips. Clark’s never had sex like this before- sex that made him feel the same way he did when he was flying. Like his chest had the whole sky in it.

 In the desperation of coming to climax, they both move faster.

Clark wraps his hand around Lex’s cock and Lex sobs brokenly. He muffles it by burying his face against Clark’s shoulder. Clark knows the feeling. It hurts to be so undone. Clark has never had as many walls put up around himself as Lex has, but they’ve all been stripped down now. All his excuses and explanations and denials. He feels laid bare and its as tender as a raw wound. In this moment all that he can possibly feel is love. And it’s painful. To feel anything so deeply.

 Clark is trembling now too. Because this is nothing like he expected. And more than anything he could’ve asked for.

Lex digs his fingers into Clark’s shoulders and pulls him closer, his chest heaving with every breath, and Clark feels their heartbeats a drumbeat in sync as they come at the same time.

 Clark sees white behind his eyelids and when he opens them again he’s flopped on top of Lex, his body so limp he couldn’t move it if he wanted to. There’s a streak of a tear from the corner of Lex’s eye and his chest is heaving from every breath but he’s calm now. Back in control after briefly falling out of it. Clark realizes he has tears on his own cheeks but he makes no move to swipe them away. Just pulls Lex closer against him and presses his face against the crook of his neck.

For once, Clark dreads the sunrise. He wonders if everything will go back to being the same. If this was a brief respite. An armistice. But he can live with it. He thinks he can live with anything now.

He splays his hand across Lex’s chest to better feel the pulse of his heart beat under his palm. And to his surprise, Lex puts his own hand over his, and twines their fingers together. When Clark looks up, Lex’s head is turned from him. He’s staring out toward the balcony, watching the sky turn shades of lilac as the sun comes over the horizon.

“Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it.”

- Richard Silken, from “Scheherazade”