Chapter Text
Lex Luthor and his new opening gala at Lexcorp headquarters surprise the public: The press is allowed into the event for the first time.
Clark read that morning's front-page headline out of the corner of his eye, the hot coffee in his hands, the steam fogging his glasses for a moment. He takes a long drink, the scalding liquid, too sweet to give him diabetes, more like a lifeline to swallow the new.
The headquarters is noisy and more restless than ever. The news that Lex Luthor would allow journalists into that evening's gala causes an anxious flutter like butterflies around Perry's office, trying to get attention.
For his part, Clark is a lazy, quiet caterpillar, hovering among the branches of the tree, observing the whole scene with tired eyes and moving slowly so as not to attract attention. He hates those events, the refined and unpolite people; Looking down on anyone inferior to them, they haven't a shred of humanity behind.
He hates the lack of empathy in those places. Above all, he hates wearing formal suits to dinners. Naturally, he's a big guy, eating more than necessary, and with a physique acquired over the years of helping his father on the farm. After all, lifting hay and herding cows isn't that simple.
Suits don't usually fit him well; he doesn't have an ideal figure, and he's always hunched over with his head forward. A bad habit his profession instilled in him, added to the fact that it's much easier to go unnoticed for someone as shy as he is; he doesn't have exemplary posture, and his only formal suit is forgotten at the back of his closet at his parents' house.
He's not an option; he prays he's not on Perry's radar that afternoon.
Clark doesn't pray enough, and Lois arrives at his desk after lunch with the premise that Perry wants to see him in his office right now. He wants to laugh and cry at the same time, but he can only let out a heavy sigh as he adjusts his glasses on his face while crawling like a slow caterpillar toward the queen bee's hive.
Jimmy is there, waiting for him with wide-eyed eyes, his eager foot tapping the floor in a steady, short rhythm. They smile without saying much, and Clark silently nods his thanks when he opens the door as he arrive.
Perry's office reeks of cigars and freshly squeezed printer ink. The windows behind the desk are all the light inside. The chair is turned around, adding unnecessary drama and suspense, but it's kind of fun. "Lex Luthor is having a party today, and I'm sending my two best guys to help."
The face of the Daily Planet's editor-in-chief slowly appears behind the cigar smoke between his lips, accompanied by a cynical smile that makes the skin on the back of Clark's neck tingle. "Perry... I don't have a suit! It's a shame I can't go... hah, you'll have to choose someone else..."
Clark uses the surefire weapon. He uses the eyes of a wet, abandoned puppy dog on the roadside to get what he wants: not going to that gala. He has better plans than being surrounded by pretentious rich people, and that's to binge-watch Harry Potter again.
"Don't worry, Kent." Perry takes the cigar from his mouth to speak, gently tapping it to remove the remaining ash. "We can give you a little help getting a suit, it's just minor problems."
Clark's jaw almost touches the floor and he can hear a barely concealed chuckle next to him. He glares at Jimmy, who's covering his mouth with his hands to keep from bursting out laughing. Clark's shoulders slump heavily and he tilts his head like a scolded puppy.
They both leave Perry's office. This time, Jimmy leaves first, laughing rebelliously, and Clark is even more discouraged than before. He no longer has a plausible excuse to avoid going! The thought of postponing his plans to see Harry Potter saddens him even more as he walks several steps behind his friend.
When they both arrive at the office in opposing moods, Clark slumps into his chair as he sinks into his desk, his forehead pressed against the edge of the cold wood. He needs to start writing some questions to ask that night.
A soft creaking of wood beside him causes him to slowly raise his head from the darkness to see Lois's body beside him. She's subtly leaning there, looking at him with amusement in her eyes, but with a face a bit too stoic for Kent's liking. Lois gently reaches out to smooth Clark's messy hair before speaking.
"I see Perry didn't let you miss it." Her arms flutter across her chest in a natural motion, and she tries to hide a smirk by pressing her red lips together. "Don't worry, I'll watch Harry Potter in your honor tonight."
Clark makes mocking faces as he mimics his friend in a squeaky voice. He can still hear Jimmy's voice approaching, bringing with it the scent of freshly brewed coffee. A cup is extended in front of him like a lifeline. He decides to accept the peace offering.
"You should have seen it, Lois." Jimmy wipes away a fake tear after taking a sip of his own coffee. "He made those puppy eyes, but Perry just ignored him." He burst into laughter again, feeling Clark's glare stabbing him.
"He must be the only one who doesn't fall for that," Lois adds, now smiling uncontrollably as she watches her companion sink back into her arms, letting out a tired, stifled sigh.
Inevitably, night has arrived, and the noise of Metropolis slowly rises in the downtown area. Lights reflect in the sky, leaving no room for doubt: the main event is here, and everyone wants to witness it.
The night has a pleasant climate, and the sky is clear, revealing the stars above him. The taxi's noise is soft and becomes white noise as he disdainfully surveys the city streets, hiding a yawn with the palm of his hand. He could be in his apartment right now, eating junk food and staying up late watching movies.
He arrives at the event sooner than expected; a long line of luxury cars line up near the Lexcorp building. Clark decides to take a deep breath before getting out of the taxi, before reaching the real congestion of millionaires showing off their luxury cars.
"Thanks for the ride," Clark says aloud as he gives the money to the good man who brought him here. The noise outside the barrier is worse than he expected; the shouts and cheers of the people behind the fence intensify as he approaches.
Before arriving, he takes one last quick look in the reflection of a store. He fixes his hair but gives up when it falls unruly down his forehead. He stares with pursed lips at his body dressed in a suit that could look worse on him. It was actually the best option he got, according to Lois that afternoon when she went with him to buy one.
It's discreet, and that's enough for him. The navy blue contrasts with his skin and highlights his hair somewhat; it really could be worse.
He adjusts his glasses a few meters before reaching the main entrance; security is outnumbered by the number of people arriving and getting out of their luxury cars.
He shows his press ID to one of the guards after climbing the velvet-carpeted stairs. He feels a few flashes bounce off the corners of his eyes, but he doesn't turn around. He feels uncomfortable as the noise increases, the shouts turning into an exhausting murmur. His gaze is on the floor until he hears a voice that comforts him amidst the chaos of people.
"Jimmy!" He says with such relief that he lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding back. He drops his hand on his friend's shoulder as the two begin walking together inside the large and imposing building, chatting about the last details before beginning their work.
The main entrance looks cheap compared to the main hall. The giant glass walls rise imposingly, revealing the city, which glitters, eager for attention and prestige. The chandeliers fall elegantly over the heads of the aristocracy of Metropolis and surrounding cities. Butlers walk around with trays in hand, carrying and carrying glasses of the most expensive champagne Luthor could probably find for this occasion.
Businessmen laugh and share caviar while talking about things that really make no sense. The night is young, and business can spring from every corner in that room. Beautiful high-society women laugh boisterously, hiding behind their fans as they judge everyone there, some accompanying their husbands like the trophy everyone envies.
Clark feels out of place; the smell emanating from the room makes him dizzy. The murmur is filled with music from a live band; there's no room for silence. He fiddles with his ID card while pretending to take small, catlike sips from a champagne glass he's holding since Jimmy offered it to him.
He's pacing everywhere; he lost his friend when he went out to take a few photos and interview minor celebrities in the tech market. Clark, for his part, is just wandering like a ghost, moving among the crowd, avoiding being too noticed by the rest of the crowd.
He reaches for his watch to check the time, wondering if the host of this whole circus is taking too long to make his big presentation tonight.
Almost like magic, a wish granted, or a coincidence, the lights began to dim, and large white lanterns were pointed at the upper floor of the hall. Smoke began to rise from the floor, revealing bright lights that shone brightly.
The audience fell silent, and the murmuring ceased completely at the impressive sight before them, the camera lights blinking in unison, too quickly.
Lex Luthor, imposing and immaculate, stands there on the same platform that has just emerged from the ground.
His iron-colored suit blends perfectly with the clean, polished aesthetic of the party. The applause erupts loudly without him saying a single word. He stands there, hands clasped in front of him, with an arrogant smile so typical of him.
The platform is a showcase of the new technological inventions promoted by LexCorp. Devices that Clark can't fully understand, but are arranged on a long, shiny wall, displayed like works of art. The artist in front of them, commanding all the attention as he begins to descend the long stairs with slow steps.
The applause continues as he steps down to the dance floor. He waves in the air as his smile widens even further.
The crowd parts as he passes, like a Messiah in holy waters. A gentle gesture makes the great hall fall silent as the chandeliers shine once more. "Welcome to this presentation of LexCorp's new acquisitions. It's an honor to have you here tonight." Lex cheer, joined by a horde of imitators. "We have several special guests here tonight. I hope the press does them justice."
The room laughs softly, and Lex continues to move easily around the dance floor. The lights and the gazes follow him like a figure beyond human comprehension, observing him with implacable admiration. "Enjoy the evening."
Clark is observing everything attentively, taking out the small notebook he hides in the inside pocket of his jacket to take quick notes. His gaze shifts to more calmly search for Jimmy while Luthor gets lost in the crowd that once again settles in every corner.
He passes some colleagues from other newspapers along the way and is relieved to find his peers among so many different from him. Someone who doesn't look down on him.
He finds a temporary refuge with other reporters while they chat pleasantly about trivial matters. He hears Lex's voice near his group. Everyone looks up as the man walks by, and like animals eager for fresh meat, they begin to frantically crave the tycoon and get some kind of statement.
Clark wants the earth to swallow him up right now. He closes his eyes for a moment but goes back to rummaging through his suit for his pencil and notebook, settling in among his companions to be able to hear something of what Luthor is saying.
Everyone is crowded around him, and Clark can see the man's ego growing with every word he says. They are bored, empty words.
There's a precise moment when Clark has to raise his gaze to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and his blue eyes meet those cold green ones that look at him with something beyond the indecipherable depths of their pupils.
It's a ethereal connection; he even wonders what he was hallucinating when he saw him. His brain shut down for a moment, and he forgot—whatever he was doing—that man managed to make his hands tremble slightly with the notebook and pen in his hands. He takes a breath; he doesn't know when he stopped breathing.
"Hey Clark!" Jimmy's voice echoes in his ears, but it takes him longer than necessary to react to his partner's call until his hand rests on his hair, waking him from his wide-eyed reverie. Clark has to cough to compose himself and look into his friend's eyes.
"Jimmy, I've been looking for you." His gaze moves around him, and there's no one around anymore. A waiter is passing by with a tray of champagne flutes.
He decides to snatch one and take a long sip so he can fully wake up. Olsen's face is a poem that's hard to read, but a smile appears on his face as he laughs at his friend's irrational behavior.
"Me too, buddy." Olsen holds the small camera he had with him that night in his hands while lazily flipping through the photos he'd taken. "Lex was around here, I didn't get a good shot." There's a childish pout on his lips.
"Yeah, he just showed up." Clark licks his lips, which suddenly feels dry. The noise of the people around him is starting to make him dizzy, but he's better than he'd expect after two glasses of champagne. Is its price relative to how quickly it relaxes him? He can handle alcohol quite well, but for some reason this time is different.
"I'll go see what else I can get. I heard the big shots are finally arriving. Will you wait for me here?" Jim spoke as he quickly set up his camera, searching Clark's face for an answer and eliciting one of his usual soft smiles that softened his heart before he started walking toward the lobby where most of the prisoners were waiting. "Remember to eat something."
Clark nods as he says goodbye to his partner once more. At least he knows where he will be, so now he can walk more calmly among the people. He jots down everything that might be interesting or relevant to his section.
He's so focused on his notebook that he suddenly bumps into something without noticing.
His glasses almost slip off his face, but he manages to keep everything in place at the same time that a sigh of surprises escapes his lips. His head jerks up in horror, hoping he hasn't hit someone too important.
Obviously, he's Clark Kent, and that's synonymous or bad luck.
Lex Luthor is standing there in front of him. One eyebrow raised in surprise and amusement, behind him is one of his assistants who retreats as soon as the man turns to face the reporter who hit him.
"I'm so sorry, sir! I'm sorry! I-I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm really sorry." Clark speaks, his words tumbling off his tongue as he stumbles. He feels truly intimidated by the man in front of him, his head down as he clutches his notebook like a lifeline. His eyes are squeezed shut, hoping he hasn't caused a scene.
A soft touch on the center of his chest unnerves him, and he slowly opens his eyes to watch a pair of long, bony fingers delicately touch his ID card, gently lifting it. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet."
"Y-yes, sir..." Clark catches his breath; Luthor's actions have left him bewildered, and the heat has crept into his neck. His fingers tighten their grip on his notebook as he finally looks up, meeting those icy eyes as green as a forest again.
"Don't call me sir, Kent. I'm barely an adult." Lex laughs naturally and pleasantly as he drops the card against the reporter's chest once more, adjusting the sleeves of his suit. He takes his time before speaking again and looking at Clark. "You can call me Lex."
"O-of course, sir... Lex." Clark manages to correct himself at the last moment and lowers his gaze once more. He feels exaggeratedly intimidated and uncomfortable; he feels several eyes on both of them, but he admires the way Lex can handle it with ease and simplicity Clark envy that skill.
"Don't be so nervous, Kent. You look like a rookie reporter; I understand that you are more than that." Although at first glance it may seem like a scolding, Clark knows that it is more than just a scolding on his part. Lex knows who he is; he doesn't doubt it for a second, so it is more like advice that he should take—or leave it.—
"Sorry, I'm not used to everything..." Clark takes a second to look around, at the luxuries, ostentatious and poorly disguised. He sighs softly, like a puppy after too much play. "This... This isn't my world."
Lex looks at him carefully while the reporter looks sideways, taking his time to study every feature of the boy in front of him before lowering his head for a moment to hide a smile that wasn't measured on his part. He begins to walk, leaving Clark behind, but he has no doubt that Clark is following him from behind. "Would you believe me if I told you this isn't my world either?"
The question lingers as Lex extends one of his hands in the direction of Clark, who is a few steps behind, obviously following him just as he deduced.
One of the doors near the grand staircase Lex descended a moment ago opens into an elevator that recognizes Lex's fingerprint when it touches a blind spot on the wall. It's as if by magic.
Clark doesn't understand why, or how it happened, but he also extends his hand to gently rest it on the man's hands, inviting him to a silent escape from all the bustle of the great hall.
They both leave the party without anyone noticing.
Clark really hope so.
The ride was faster than expected. Clark was able to consider his actions in the deafening silence of the elevator as they headed to— only God knows where—
The metal doors opened, revealing a long hallway of dark, inky windows, but revealing the beauty of Metropolis even higher than the Great Hall they were both in before.
Clark sighs in surprise as he walks slowly, following closely behind the man, who keeps a firm step, not overly charmed by the usual views. The hallway connects to a large, heavy metal door, opening just a few feet from Lex's ability to even touch it. It revealed a private office so luxurious that Clark felt out of his league; probably just one of the decorative plants in the room would cost more than a year's salary at the Daily Planet.
Lex didn't look back, walking confidently and with complete freedom. He began to move like a cat at home, taking off his suit jacket, revealing a small, darker vest underneath. His white shirt remained perfect and wrinkle-free. Clark stands in the doorway, afraid that his mere presence might ruin the aesthetics of the room. His lips are parted in fascination with every detail his eyes can find.
The room is filled with wood and metal, contrasting the beauty of one with the other. The sober, rather dull colors are a perfect reflection of who owns this place. It's rather simple, understated, yet elegant in a way; Clark can't even imagine the price of the small silver sculptures that decorate the small table in the room.
Lex sits at his desk, the shiny dark leather swivel chair moving toward the reporter. His hands are clasped in his lap as he closely observes the opposite body, which, still frozen in the doorway, looks like a work of art. "Come in, Kent. The door can close when you're fully inside."
Clark gasps in shock at Luthor's suddenly loud voice echoing through the room's windows and walks quickly and nervously to stand in front of him at the desk, taking a seat in one of the smaller, slightly more uncomfortable, leather chairs. Lex knows how to play with power; everything in the room shows who's in charge and why he's the one everyone worships.
He feels small and almost helpless under the cold, inquisitive gaze of the man behind the desk. He tries to shift his weight in the chairs so he can better appreciate the missing details of the room in silence. Once again, they share a silence that isn't awkward; besides, it's a silence that gives the reporter space to capture the details that words couldn't describe.
"This is my world." Lex speaks again, settling more relaxed in front of Clark, sliding down his chair to cross his legs one on top of the other. His hands hang at his sides as he rocks gently in place. "My office, the lab, is my place in the world. Not the parties or all those fourth-rate aristocrats."
Clark directs his light blue eyes at the man, taking a second to try to respond to his words. He studies Lex Luthor's sharp, masculine face in silence until he decides to speak. "It's really beautiful. I understand why you prefer this."
"Yes, I like to keep beautiful things in here." The sentence hangs between them. Luthor never changes his expression, nor is there any hint of anything in his eyes other than a constant, mysterious emptiness hidden behind that philanthropic, egocentric facade. "What is your place in the world, Kent?"
"My home. In Kansas." Clark answers immediately, without a second's hesitation. He's honest, his intentions too pure, and behind those blue eyes there's nothing but kindness and warmth, also offered by that gentle smile that never disappears under any circumstances. "But I don't think this is about me, isn't it?"
Clark reaches into his suit for his notebook and pen, this time also taking out the small voice recorder he always keeps with him. The atmosphere changes, and Lex can't help but smile. He's not sure if the idiot reporter is flatly avoiding his intentions, or if not, if he's truly committed to his work that night.
Lex settles in once more, the amused smile never fading from his lips. His chest stretches out on the desk as he clenches his hands into fists, changing the atmosphere to a distinctly professional one. If Clark Kent wants an interview, it's the least he can give him.
It won't be the only thing Kent will receive that night; Lex is determined.
The questions start off gentle, Lex charmed by the reporter's genuine curiosity about his work. He answers everything in great detail, giving him everything he wants and perhaps more than a regular reporter. There's a tenderness that bubbles over as he watches Kent's constantly changing expressions throughout the interview while excitedly taking notes, trying not to forget any details.
"Now, Mr. Luthor." Clark speaks without looking directly at the man, quickly realizing his mistake and raising his eyes in embarrassment accompanied by a grimace that attempts to be a smile. "Lex, I'm sorry."
"Mr. Luthor is my father, I'm just his remnants." Lex smiles as he tilts his head slightly, trying to better focus on Clark's face across the desk. The lights of Metropolis create a halo of light around him as he adjusts his glasses on his face with a tight-lipped smile. "What's the next question?"
"It wasn't part of the original list, but someone insisted too much on this." Clark clears his voice after the warning, his posture becoming awkward for several seconds, and it's evident to Luthor that he isn't missing a single expression. His eyebrows furrow, his lips forming a fleeting pout that disappears so quickly that he misses him.
Clark thinks about all the favors he'll ask Cat once he gets out of there. He composes himself after putting his phone in the inside pockets of his suit and finishing jotting down several things on a fresh sheet of his notebook. "As an investigative journalist, it's strange for me to actually ask these questions." He can't help but let out a small, nervous laugh as he adjusts his notebook to take new notes.
Lex is silent; he already knows what ground they'll be covering next, but he avoids rolling his eyes. He stands still, but his shoulders slump at the boring conversation that's following right now. Clark, as a journalist, is more interesting than the gossip his newspaper publishes in weekly columns. "Go ahead."
"You been known for being the most brilliant mind of recent generations. Does a brilliant mind like yours have time for love?" Everything around Clark changes drastically from one second to the next, despite the discomfort he displayed a few seconds ago regarding the subject. There's a new perspective taking over him, disguising himself as a character that doesn't belong to him, but Lex finds it amusing.
Clark crosses one of his legs over the other, leaning his body back slightly, his thick-framed glasses falling subtly down his nose. His blue eyes peer at him over the frames; the position makes those warm eyes look like those of a doe.
Lex doesn't respond immediately; instead, he just lets out a small "Mmh." The question floats in his throat as he stands from his seat, a silence that isn't awkward. Clark gives him the time he needs to answer.
The man walks to one of the refined wooden walls, gently touching it with his fingertips to reveal a small, hidden bar stocked with bottles of alcohol in various colors and flavors. The metal-clad table is beautifully lit, softly illuminated by warm lights that create a spectacle for his eyes.
"Do you have anything to drink, Kent?" Lex asks, still preparing a glass of chilled whiskey, moving the ice around for a couple of seconds before the sound of the vintage bottle brought from Sweden breaks the silence. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye searches for a quick answer.
"Something light, I think, would be fine." The reporter answers, smoothing his hair with his fingers. The small, unruly curl falls over his forehead, and a pout forms on his lips. Lex doesn't hesitate to prepare him a glass of white wine, his favorite from Portuguese vineyards.
Lex doesn't spend too long at the bar. As he begins to walk away, the table once again hides behind the wall and magically disappears. A piece of the most refined technology, really.
The glass is placed on Lex's desk, near Clark's voice recorder, while Clark stands to one side of the reporter, who shifts his body slightly to move in his direction. Lex sits softly on the edge of his desk while fiddling with his whiskey glass for several seconds, taking a short sip to carefully consider his response. This isn't Clark Kent, not the genuine curiosity of the reporter who nervously moves around him with puppy dog eyes and messy hair. There will be no consideration in quoting his words, bending them, and inventing new ones from an initial premise. That's how gossip works, that's why he hates them.
"Being the most brilliant mind has its setbacks." A fleeting glance at Kent's face beside him, holding his glass at the tips of his fingers while playing with the ice that slowly melts there. "One of them is not leaving the lab, but going out has given me pleasant surprises. But nothing extraordinary yet."
Clark searches the man's gaze with a frown but jots down everything in the privacy of his notebook; the position doesn't allow Lex to read anything from there. "Lex Luthor is the man of the moment, but you've never been seen with anyone in a compromising photo. Careful or just no one up to par?"
The question makes Lex's eyebrows rise in surprise, and he can't help but let out a small laugh that escapes between his lips as he gently shakes his head. His gaze is momentarily lost in the infinity of the office panorama. "You're interesting, Kent."
"Thanks." Clark wears a crooked smile, and the confusion is obvious in his expression as he hides behind the fine wine glass he finally tastes, his tongue feeling strange against the milder alcohol going down his throat.
"Careful, I'd say." Lex answers and hears a small laugh escape from Clark; after a smile, which he also hides behind a long sip of his glass. It's almost empty this time, and the tickling in his fingers is a sign. The atmosphere becomes more fun than he would have expected before; these are not new or original questions. But this time, answering them is different; the company changes the meaning completely.
Clark jots everything down, even writing more despite the few words. He's so focused on his writing that it takes him a while to notice the fresh scent that suddenly surrounds him.
His eyes meet Lex's; the forest green grows clearer in the proximity, becoming an endless prairie. His breath immediately catches and he freezes in place, his fingers clinging to the simple pages of his notebook as he feels lost in the abyss that Lex Luthor's gaze represents right now. He can feel his slightly warm breath against his lips, but there isn't a single coherent thought in his head.
"I should be careful with you too, shouldn't i, Kent?" Lex asks in a whisper, his voice becoming raspy and deeper at the proximity. It causes an automatic blush to grow from Clark's cheeks to his ears, such soft, shaky breathing escaping him.
"No, not really." He barely manages to form a coherent response, his gaze slowly shifting to Lex's thin lips, which are parted slightly and releasing small, hot, slow breaths. Everything about Lex Luthor represents control, an obsessive control.
Their lips meet after a very long night, a kiss that isn't gentle. He is needed and dominated by Lex in a purely carnal act, lustful and mundane. He relishes human filth when he hears the soft gasp that escapes the reporter when he bites his lips hard, the act causing him to be able to insert his tongue almost immediately.
Lex explores Clark's oral cavity with need without shame. He can feel the hands of the man beneath him slide down his shoulders to dig his fingers needily into them. He slows his pace so he can taste his favorite wine from Kent's lips as he licks, sucks, and sucks everything within reach.
Clark needs to detach himself from those obscene lips, he needs to think, and he needs to get the air circulating through his lungs again.
He squeezes Lex's shoulders a little tighter so he can understand his nonverbal language, and Lex does so, but not before gently biting his lower lip. Provocatively, he draws a gasp from his throat.
He shouldn't be there, kissing the most powerful man in the country in the middle of an interview. He shouldn't have her breathing ragged, nor should Lex Luthor himself be leaving soft kisses on his neck while he feels his hot breath brush against his sensitive skin, which prickles at his touch.
He adjusts his glasses with a jerky movement; he needs to focus on his thoughts and ignore the pounding of his heart in his ears. Clark Kent has professional ethics, he's an honest reporter, and...
"When you put those glasses on and you behave like this." A deep groan escapes Clark's throat. He can feel Lex's warm, wet lips whisper in his ear after placing chaste, noisy kisses around the shell of his ear. They're damp from the saliva they've shared.
"W-what?" Clark searches Lex's cold gaze to make sure he heard his words correctly; he feels his cheeks hot as fuck. The green eyes are connected to his, there isn't a hint of any reaction on his face, but he can notice the tips of his ears starting to turn pink.
It's unfair; Clark is a bundle of nerves and red cheeks, and Lex is immaculate as always, not letting out a single expression that isn't measured and thought out beforehand.
"When you start acting like this, what are you looking for, Kent?" Lex speaks again, close to his face; the tip of his nose brushes against Clark's like a feather, but he feels his breath on his face. Flustered and hot, the confused expression in eyes that hold pupils dilated with lust makes him smile wide.
He can't help but grip the sides of the seat where Clark sits, transfixed, watching his every move. He wants to play with the doe-eyed reporter, ruin whatever makes him so pure in his eyes. Destroy that angelic face.
With a swift movement, he straightens once more. The forgotten glass of whiskey on the table is now empty of ice and has melted into a single liquid; Clark's wineglass is damp and sweating. It smacks the refined wooden tabletop of his desk.
"Get up, I want to show you something." His entire demeanor changes, radically. The gentle, kind Lex disappears behind a smile that stings his lips and he can't contain. He remembers who he's: Lex Luthor, the most brilliant mind of recent generations. «To quote Kent.» Philanthropist, genius, and above all, powerful.
He likes power, it turns him on to have power.
A half-smile appears on his face when the large body of the farmer in front of him rises, imposing in size, but in his eyes there is only smallness and curiosity about what's next. His hands are clasped in front of him, his glasses messy, and his unruly hair falls over his forehead, giving him a tender look. There's a small size difference between them, but it won't be a disadvantage for him.
Lex wants to ruin him so bad.
He extends one of his hands to invite Clark to follow him; it's only a couple of steps until he's on the other side of the desk. Lex moves his chair with his free hand to create a space, placing Clark right in the middle, himself standing silently behind the reporter. A sigh of surprise falls from the man's lips, amazed and enchanted by the views from that spot, mesmerized by what he's seeing.
The bubble bursts when Clark begins to feel Lex's lips on the back of his neck once more, as he begins a slow, noisy trail of kisses from the base of his hair to the collar of his shirt. His body tenses between the hands that aren't touching him, but they have him pinned against the desk as gentle pressure rests on his back.
Clark moves quickly, facing the man with trembling lips and probably the most scared face Lex has ever seen. He can tell from the small laugh that escapes him when they lock eyes once more.
Clark's hands are on the man's chest; he can feel Lex's muscles beneath his shirt and how his skin radiates a heat he's never felt before. It's strange even to think about it; someone as cold and distant as Lex Luthor can radiate heat like this, in this close proximity.
"What's wrong, Kent?" Lex says loudly, his voice demanding and slightly deeper than before. But there's nothing compelling Clark to answer; it's a mind game for him, a constant provocation that makes his legs clench together. Clark can see Lex's face dimly illuminated by the lights of Metropolis, by the lights that beckon to that night's gala.
But in the office, there's no gala, no noise, no people. It's just the two of them, in the dark, with too much tension surrounding them to escape alive.
"Lex, I think..." Clark tries to reason. He really shouldn't be there in that situation! He's a professional; he doesn't sleep with his interviewees or have sex in exchange for private notes, but all ethical and moral thoughts crumble one by one when one of Lex's thighs gently opens his legs and presses against his center with a light, gentle pressure. He lets out a moan, unexpected and low.
"I'm gonna ruin you." Lex says, smiling softly but still not moving. It's an unprecedented statement, and the boldness makes Clark feel hot again, his cheeks tinged with red once more. "And you will take me like a good boy, won't you?" Lex's knee presses once more, but he doesn't move too much, hoping Clark will continue to groan in embarrassment and trembling.
Clark brings his hands to the tie Lex hides under his dark vest, tugging just enough to bring Lex's face close to his. He has to swallow hard, trying to find the courage to do so. He finally does so after several seconds. Lex doesn't pressure him. "Yes, I will."
Their lips meet once more. Lex's hands almost immediately close around his waist and lift his body so he can lift him onto the desk, dropping him down and causing all the small artifacts there to tremble slightly, even their glasses.
This time they both fight for control of the kiss. There are too many smacks and saliva between them. Lex bites and sucks Clark's lips shamelessly while Clark can only moan and whimper when he can't get his tongue into Lex's mouth.
Their hands grow restless, desperate to feel each other's warmth directly. The clothes feel uncomfortable, tight, and damp for both of them; they need to feel each other as the room fills with panting and teeth constantly clashing. Clark takes the initiative, his hands shaking and his movements blind as he tries to undress the man who's pressing his body against his own.
His fingers move haphazardly, successfully removing Lex's vest as he drops his tie to the side on the desk. He feels a smile against his lips; he unconsciously smiles back as he tilts his head when Lex's lips move over his cheeks and down his neck again; now he feels teeth scrape and bite subtly against his skin.
Lex begins to peel and tug at Clark's uncomfortable suit while trailing kisses down his neck, getting rid of the jacket first, throwing it somewhere in his office, but definitely away from Kent's body. His more experienced fingers begin to unbutton the white shirt as his kisses move behind Clark's ears. He can feel him tremble.
The reporter's milky, pale skin is tinged with a tender, dirty pink that spreads from his face and cascades down his shoulders. He can see his pink nipples begging for attention right in front of him, eager for whatever Lex can give them.
Lex's kisses don't stop. He begins a slow, wet, and noisy trail of kisses that go down Clark's neck to his shoulders and down his chest. He grazes his teeth provocatively but doesn't really linger too long; he knows his place. He bites and sucks on the areas that won't be visible, even though it makes him uneasy in the back of his mind. He wants to mark that angel who is writhing, begging for more, right in front of him.
Clark is panting with his eyes closed, his head tilted as if all the sensations are too much for him to handle. His legs are spread for Lex, giving him just enough room to move as he pleases, his fingers squeezing his shoulders and squeezing with Lex's disheveled shirt.
"You're so hot, Kent." Lex whispers against the journalist's hot skin, his kisses never stopping, his hands never modest. They move eagerly, kneading the man's hips so hard that his fingers will probably leave marks there. "So big, yet you're so docile like a doll."
"L-Lex..." Clark murmurs, lowering his gaze and feeling the heat burn in all the right places. He's starting to feel too hot, sweat beginning to break out, and with it, his natural scent, soft and subtle. Clark looks down to find Luthor's head trailing down his pecs, giving suggestive licks that make him groan for more. "More... please."
"Beg for it." Lex dares him to talk when he wraps his mouth around one of Clark's nipples, beginning to suck and lick viciously. He bites lightly and hears the surprised moans and whimpers that come from the other mouth. He inevitably begins to salivate like a rabid animal at how receptive Clark's body is under his mouth. It encourages him to be rougher and needier. With his free hand, he begins to play with one of Clark's free tits, pinching and kneading the nipple between his fingers.
"Oh, Lex... Lex... p-please." The older man's name spills from Clark's lips like honey, smooth and sweet. Clark can't help but slump at the strong sensations within his body. His breathing becomes ragged and he has to start breathing through his mouth, desperate for the breath Lex steals between kisses. He can hear the soft grunts the bald man is making against his skin.
"Keep doing it like that." Lex pulls away from Clark's sensitive, pink skin. He's proud of how red the two bumps on his chest are, the bite marks on his aeroleas his special touch. Lex begins stealing soft kisses from Clark's mouth, feeling his lips wet and his saliva beginning to stain everything around him.
Clark is leaning forward, desperate for more kisses from the other man, his eyes closed as he blindly kisses and smears his face with his saliva. Lex smiles at the sight, so desperate for his touch that he reaches for Kent's hands to guide them to his chest. He's starting to get hot, but he doesn't want to do all the work.
Clark gently opens his eyes the moment his fingertips touch the refined fabric of Lex's suit. He sees both of his hands on the man's toned chest and searches his eyes for confirmation to continue. A smirk is enough.
He slowly begins to unbutton the shirt, one by one, creating unnecessary tension. His hot, labored breathing is matched by Lex's, which is also labored, and everything around them disappears.
Lex's body is noticeably smaller than his, but there are muscles that look so attractive. Lex is in shape, and his body seems sincerely intent on maintaining his strength. Clark confirmed this when he lifted him onto his desk with too much ease. Lex's skin is sleek, pale, and oh ...shiny? He's fascinated.
Lex doesn't take long to return to his work; his ego has grown enough when he saw that pure gaze dilate into the filthiest lust. Their lips quickly meet, Clark's hands now blindly navigating the other's body, while he enjoys Lex's kisses between moans. Clark once again confirms the strength Lex doesn't show when, breaking away from the kiss, his face now against the cold wood of his desk in a single movement.
He raises his gaze slightly and can see the glasses of alcohol they had shared earlier. A pitiful moan escapes his lips when his sensitive nipples hit the cold surface. His body is too sensitive and he can't help but protest, but he receives a spanking in his ass as response.
"You're prettier moaning for me, not complaining." Clark can feel Lex on his back; his voice is demanding again, loud and bouncing off every corner of the office to fall directly into his ears, descending to curl around his lower abdomen. He squeezes his legs tightly because of this.
Lex grabs his own tie, which isn't too far away. A treacherous smile appears on his lips as he holds Clark's wrists so he can tie a knot tight enough to avoid trouble. The movement also causes Clark's hips and ass to begin rubbing against him, a moan escaping his chest.
Clark can't help but gasp when he feels Lex's prominent bulge against his body, his feet barely touching the floor. His body goes beyond his thoughts; everything in his head is blurred and melted by the pleasure that short-circuits his mind. He can only act and moan, thinking of nothing but Lex.
Clark's hips move gently, in small circles that steal his breath while his face is hidden against the wood of the desk, avoiding the embarrassment of shamelessly rubbing against Lex's body. The muscles in his back contract and the skin on his wrists burn from the constant friction with the tie.
Lex enjoys the show with a smile on his face. He stands there doing nothing, and Clark's body acts, needy and bending to him, trembling as whimpers and gasps escape his mouth. One of his hands grips tightly around the knot, and his body leans down enough so he can speak into his ear, his voice raspy without losing that hint of amusement. "You're rubbing yourself like a needy whore, Clark."
Although Lex had hoped the movements would stop as a result of his words, they did the opposite. Clark buries his face a little further, growling as his hips lose their softness and he begins to buck backward, his fists clenching tightly until his knuckles turn white.
Lex drops his hand once more to Clark's ass as he laughs aloud. "Alright, sweetheart, be patient." The sweet nickname; An intimate feeling escapes Lex beyond measure, and the cloud of lust dissipates for a moment when he realizes his mistake. But Clark takes it well, moans and nods shyly, the whore performance slowly ending, and the vestiges of a flushed, throbbing, and trembling body remain on the table.
He can't help but shake his head with a smile. Lex places his hands on either side of Clark's hips to begin pulling down his pants. He can see the reporter's hips gently rise to help him, his eyebrows furrowing in amusement. When Lex exposes Clark's ass on the front page, he feels like his jaw is on the floor right now.
Clark's legs instantly close when the sound of his belt hits the floor. The cold breeze passes through his privates and makes him moan softly. He hides his face in the wood once more, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn't want to hear anything Lex has to say, and he's mentally prepared for rejection. The silence hangs between them, Lex's heavy breathing all that can be heard.
"Oh my god, Clark .... that's a?." Lex says it out loud, clearly surprised and bewildered, but not at all disgusted. Clark sighs, feeling exposed, weak, and shy. He moves his face just enough to catch his breath and try to see Lex's true face out of the corner of his eyes.
"I don't like talking about it. It's embarrassing and... Oh, Lex!" Whatever thing Clark had prepared escapes in a long, pitiful, and surprised moan when he feels a warm tongue lick him long, soft, and slow over his wet pussy.
Lex says nothing. His knees are hitting the floor, his hands holding Clark's inner thighs so he can't close his legs. His face is buried too deep in the pussy that God brought to him. He can't help but breathe in the scent. He's too immersed in the wetness that stains his mouth and drips down his chin, soiling his pants.
His dick twitches inside his pants when he feels the taste of Clark's pussy on his tongue again. Hot and there's too much of it everywhere. Clark's wetness is soiling everything around him, and he hears the moans, groans, and sighs that the journalist is making on his desk. There are small streams of cum coming out of his pussy, staining the floor beneath his feet and part of Lex's pants.
Lex is committed to eating that pussy like no one has before. His tongue enters Clark's hole. It's hotter and hotter, and everything feels so good that he can't escape the pool of lust he's fallen into too deep. He's drowning, but he doesn't really care.
His fingers squeeze the tender flesh of Clark's thighs, leaving marks. Then he uses one of his hands to slide two fingers inside. Clark's pussy sucks hard, feeling velvety and wet. He begins to scissor while his tongue sucks as much as it can, teasing and licking Clark's swollen clit. His head moves up a little higher, also licking and moistening Clark's anus with the moisture from Clark's pussy, running his tongue all over the slit while soft grunts come from his busy mouth.
Lex is so lost in the sensations of Clark's pussy clamping down on his tongue that he loses track of time. He could be on his knees all night eating it out. His own erection doesn't matter now; the discomfort in his pants fades into the background as he listens to Clark's broken cries. "Fuck, Lex... oh God."
The moment Lex lifts himself off the floor is when Clark's knees start to shake too much. He knows he's close to his second orgasm. There's a cold emptiness between Clark's legs, and a loud moan leaves his lips, a pout on his lips. Glasses cluttered on his face, tears streaming down his pink cheeks, he looks over his shoulder at Lex with fury in his eyes.
"I'm gonna ruin that slut face of yours," Lex declares, wiping the moisture that trickles down his chin. He's still damp, but he also licks his lips to preserve the taste of it. The metallic sound of his belt unbuckling draws an expectant sigh from Clark as he settles onto the desk, swaying his hips and offering himself shamelessly to the man.
"Please, do it." Clark begs for it, feeling anxious and empty. Lex's fingers were a great comfort, but he needs something more, bigger. A pitiful moan escapes his battered lips with need the moment Lex's cock hits his ass. It's bigger than he could have expected, and that makes him smile without him even realizing it. But Lex obviously sees it and smiles back.
"Is it big enough for you, Kent?" Lex doesn't wait for an answer and begins rubbing himself against Clark's slit while leaning forward to wrap one of his arms around the journalist's neck, causing Clark's back to arch and their hips to pressed too close together. "Be honest, angel." Lex narrows his gaze, and a provocative smile touches Clark's lips; that's enough for him.
With a jerk, he separates himself from the reporter's body, his arm suddenly released, and Clark's face hits the table once more with a thud. A painful moan escapes in the form of a groan at Lex's sudden rudeness. Lex's right hand snakes through the hair on the back of Clark's neck to hold his head flat against his desk. With his left, he begins to slowly masturbate while listening to Clark's soft cries.
Lex spreads his own semen from the oozing tip just enough to make it slippery; it's already too wet, and he knows Clark is tight, and there's no need to do that. He adjusts his cock to slide so slowly into Clark's pussy that he holds his breath as he does so, feeling the walls of his insides completely adjust to his size as he slides in with such familiarity that for a moment he thinks Clark is made for him.
He looks down so he can see Clark's hole sucking him in with more excitement than his stifled moans show, "You're taking me all the way, you dirty slut." Lex's breath returns to his lungs when his hips are pressed against Clark's ass at once, feeling suffocated by the force of what his pussy is doing to his cock.
"Oh, fuck you, Lex," Clark curses in a soft murmur, his head spinning and there isn't a single coherent thought in his mind right now; it's all about Lex Luthor, and his cock filling every inch of his womb to the end. He assumes he's a mess, but he enjoys it; it takes him a little while to get used to the size, and he's even clenching his toes, which are dangling off the desk.
"Watch your fucking mouth." Lex has a handful of Clark's hair in his hands as he begins thrusting at a rapid pace, the smacking of their sweaty skin and their fluids mixing morbidly, filling the office with noise. The pace begins to increase, accompanied by Clark's broken moans, his body moving in time with the thrusts while small tears moisten his face.
Lex is too focused on not losing his shit completely, desperately trying to maintain his breathing while appreciating every detail of Clark just beneath his body.
His pink neck, covered in red marks, his hair disheveled in his hands, his wrinkled shirt revealing contracted muscles in some areas where sweat sticks the fabric to his skin, his hands trembling, tied to the knot of his gray tie. If he looks down even further, the main event is his flushed ass, his skin beaded with sweat and his own fluids while the tender flesh bounces against his hips. Clark is charming, even in this state. His voice fills his every thought and is the guiding light in his mental fog of lust. "Oh Lex, more. Please Lex." "Lex, Lex, Lex..."
He had never heard his name spoken with such desire as Clark says it to him. He calls for him, needs him.
"Breed me" Clark asks, his nose hitting the wood and his ears even redder. His orgasm is near, and he can recognize it. He could avoid further questions with the excuse of "climax fog." He can feel the rhythm of the thrusts slowing down, but not their intensity. He feels Lex sinking deep into his body, almost to his stomach.
"W-what?" Lex's tired voice surprises Clark, his hands squeezing the reporter's hips tightly as he tries to return to earth to understand his words.
"Impregnate me, God please... Lex!" Clark speaks a little louder, the moan long and strong, he feels the famous tickling sensation in his lower stomach, he begins to fuck himself when Lex loses his rhythm, perhaps from bewilderment.
"Oh you're a fucking slut, Kent." Lex composes himself when Clark tries to impose a rhythm, his fingers dig into the soft flesh of his hips and the rhythm of his thrusts into his pussy becomes more abrupt, there is no rhythm anymore, it is an uncontrolled movement as he deviates one of his hands to toy with Clark's clit so that he can have his orgasm sooner. "Do it for me first."
Clark does it, it is almost an order to him. His lips opens in a tender "O" as a silent moan catches in his throat; His pussy clenches tightly and hot jets of cum shoot out as his body convulses violently. His ears pop with the abnormal rhythm of his heart beating, his back hunches, and his hips shake violently. Lex's thrusts don't stop even afterward.
"Take me all, i will impregnate you sweetheart." Lex rasps, his thrusts slowing as his climax hits him like a whiplash from the beginning of his spine and makes him shake harder than ever. He's never held back an orgasm for so long, and hot jets of cum pool in Clark's womb as he catches his breath.
Lex's head is spinning when he opens his eyes, and a small blanket is covering his body. The morning sun in Metropolis always bothers him too much, so bright, the city waking up alongside him.
Lex shifts his gaze around as he stretches his arm to the side, but it's empty there. He's alone in his office, covered with a stupidly soft blanket, and the office temperature is high enough that he doesn't feel cold. He lifts the blanket a little to discover that he's even wearing boxers.
"It would have been nicer to wake up with you," Lex mutters under his breath, frustration rising in his chest, accompanied by anger and disappointment. He doesn't understand. They had sex all damn night in every corner of his damn office, but he's not brave enough to be there in the morning.
He runs one of his hands over his head, rubbing his fingers over his forehead as he reaches for the remote control, which is lost among the clutter, and pulls down the curtains, which somewhat block out the bright sunlight outside.
Lex stops himself from laughing when he sees the dried saliva marks against the glass table in front of him. He can still vaguely remember Clark Kent moaning for him while leaning his face against it.
Before the annoyance of his own bitter memories can completely ruin his morning, the sound of the metal door opening and the voice of one of his assistants passing by uninvited makes him even angrier. The resident arrives at his side, her gaze up and straight ahead, their eyes never meeting.
"Who the hell do you think you are, barging in like that?" Lex says with anger in his voice. He's about to throw anything within reach at the girl, but when she lowers the tray she's carrying, there are several things there.
A note, a flash drive, today's Daily Planet and several newspaper options. Lex lowers the book he was already holding and throws it somewhere else, leaving the things on his lap. Without saying a word, the girl disappears again behind the metal door.
Lex opens the yellow note and can recognize the handwriting almost instantly.
It was good, but I can't stay.
I sent you a copy of the full interview. I forgot to turn off the recorder.
I 'll make the note. Cat will do her job too.
C.K.
Lex sets the note aside and, with his fingertips, touches the small device. It contains at least 45 minutes of the interview and more than an hour of them having slightly drunken sex.
He's not sure what to think. He now takes the Daily Planet newspaper in his hands. The cover shows him at last night's gala, walking down the stairs. Jimmy Olsen did it justice to him, with what little he could get. The main headline: "LexCorp: The Billionaire's New Tech Acquisition. By Clark Kent."
The report is honest, even slightly flattering in some paragraphs. Lex accepts that Clark did a great job putting the interview they both had on paper; he's a professional, and applauds for it. He doesn't want to know what the gossip section is saying about him; he's not really that interested.
He settles into the couch as he curls up in the blankets, his brow furrowed with the bubbling anger of an early dumping. Clark drained him dry with so much sex, and then he left! He searches among the cushions for his television remote.
The 95-inch plasma TV slowly lowers from the ceiling and turns on the Metropolis morning news. The moment he's about to change the channel, his name and photo appear on the screen almost in close-up.
Lex Luthor and his escape from the Gala with a mysterious reporter.
As if all the anger he's holding on the tip of his tongue weren't enough, there's now a damn photo of him escaping with Clark toward the elevators.
An incoming call on the office phone. It must be his team of advisors trying to fix this shit. But he doesn't need to talk to anyone else. Something in his hands itches sharply, and his gaze shifts to the rest of the newspapers forgotten beneath the front page.
"Lex Luthor and his new lover."
"Luthor and his date to the Gala."
"Lex Luthor's new love?"
"The strange disappearance of Lex Luthor and his new fling."
Lex throws all his papers to the floor, quickly getting up from the couch where he thought he'd spent the whole morning (or the whole week). With a single click, the intercom is being received by his assistant.
"Send me a suit, and get Clark Kent's phone number. Now."