Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: For the Future CLex challenge. The day after Lionel’s death.

There was something inherently wrong with learning about Lionel Luthor’s death from the newspaper. Especially since it was the newspaper that Clark happened to write for, and a story that dealt with his particular area of expertise. Really, he should have been writing the damn thing, not reading it with his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He didn’t even like to think about the fact that Lex hadn’t called him when it happened. He could still vividly recall the days when Lex would have called him in the middle of the night, just to talk about whatever was bothering him. Whether it was as simple as a business deal or as complex as a decision he’d made regarding his relationship with his father, Clark had never turned him away. And now, on the day of his father’s death, Lex hadn’t even called him.

Of course, Clark hadn’t heard from him in a year or so, anyway, not even when Lionel’s brain tumor became public knowledge. But there was something shocking and final about not hearing from him about this. And as a rule, Clark didn’t like ‘shocking and final’ to be used in conjunction with a failed friendship.

Lex’s picture was splashed onto the front page, with a caption reading “Lex Luthor, the surviving son of corporate magnate Lionel Luthor, attends his father’s funeral with his personal guards in tow.” The picture showed Lex, dressed entirely in black and wearing dark sunglasses, stepping into his limo with men in suits surrounding him. Lex had almost as many bodyguards as the president.

Clark wished he’d known in time. Wished he could be there, though Lex would probably hate him all the more for it. Lex must be so lost and lonely now...

But it wasn’t Clark’s place to comfort him. Lex had made that abundantly clear at the bitter end of their friendship. Lex didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to talk to him, and certainly didn’t want anything that could possibly be construed as pity. Luthors didn’t do comfort, compassion, or sympathy, as Clark had found out the hard way.

But still. No one deserved to be so alone when they were in mourning.

***

The next day, on a whim, Clark stopped by the LuthorCorp building, where he knew Lex would be working until at least seven 'o'clock that night, fuck whatever extenuating circumstances there might be.

It was sometime around noon when Clark pulled his beat-up Honda into a parking space in the parking garage. He locked it out of habit, even knowing that his car would not be first choice for anyone looking to steal a car. The little blue Honda was surrounded by Porsches and Ferraris and BMWs, and looked distinctly out of place.

Much like Clark. It wasn’t so much his appearance, but the sense that he didn’t belong. This wasn’t his world. And the people around him knew that. The secretary at the desk looked down her nose at him as he shuffled his feet and asked for Lex Luthor.

“I’m sorry sir, but Mr. Luthor is not available. His father has just died, you know.” She said in a cold, condescending tone. Clark tried to remember all the ‘hard-hitting reporter tips’ that Chloe and Lois had drilled eagerly into him.

He cleared his throat. “I’m an old friend. Just tell him that Clark Kent wants to see him.” Clark was irrationally proud of himself for not stuttering or making a fool of himself. Perhaps Lois and Chloe had taught him something after all.

She eyed him suspiciously, and picked up her ear piece. “Mr. Luthor, there’s a Clark Kent here to see you. Yes, sir.” A pause. Then, “Yes, sir. That’s what I told him. Yes. Alright. You’re welcome, Mr. Luthor.”

She put down the ear piece and looked at Clark as though he were a bug trapped beneath a microscope. “Mr. Luthor would like to inform you that you are no longer welcome here, and have not been for some time. I recommend that you leave the premises immediately, or I’ll be forced to call security. Good day, Mr. Kent.”

Clark flushed a bright red, though from anger or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell. He tried his hardest not to stomp out of the building, though he did nearly rip his car door off when he opened it.

Driving back to work, he wondered why he’d even tried in the first place. Lex obviously didn’t want him there, or he would have called. There was really nothing he could have gained from this trip besides pain and humiliation.

But he didn’t like to think about what kind of person it would make him if he hadn’t gone. And still the image of Lex sitting alone at his desk writing contracts and crying himself to sleep haunted him. He doubted that Lex would cry, though. For that matter, he might have made a grave misjudgment, and Lex wasn’t upset at all. Perhaps Lex was happy. Or throwing a party. Hell, maybe he’d even orchestrated Lionel’s death himself.

But from what Clark could remember, Lex had never meant to be outright cruel. He’d never enjoyed the suffering of others. It just hadn’t bothered him if it was necessary to get what he wanted.

Maybe Clark should just give up on Lex. He hadn’t thought this much about his ex-friend in a whole year, and it was likely far too late to fix the enormous rift between them. But somehow, the realization that he was probably never going to see Lex again except in the papers shocked him into forming a ludicrous plan. It was dangerous, it was stupid, and as far as he could tell, it was just setting him up for more hurt. But he owed it to Lex to at least try.

He owed him at least that much, if not more.

***

Clark was no idiot. He knew that Lex had been closed off and damaged before they’d ever met. He also knew that a friendship with him, ultimately doomed and filled with mistrust and secrets, had hurt him even more. It pained him to think of it, but Lex had told him often that the only person he’d ever been able to trust was Clark. And when that had turned out to be a lie...

It bothered Clark to realize that he was probably right up there with Lionel in the ‘hurting Lex’ department. Guilt was a constant companion, walking hand in hand with memories of their final fight.

Superman hovered above one of the tallest buildings in Metropolis, and Clark Kent thought. And planned. And wished. And prayed. And then, when all was done but the doing, he let himself drift down to the penthouse window, where he knew Lex would be.

Clark didn’t like to think of himself in the stalker sense, but essentially, that was what he had been doing. Following Lex around, learning his habits. It was really absurdly easy for someone with x-ray vision and super speed. But what counted was that he knew now that Lex was hiding his pain and chaining his tears. Over their years of friendship, Clark had learned that a little was a lot with Lex Luthor, and that every little gesture and look had a meaning. And over the past few days, all of Lex’s body language had been reading anger and irritation. Not normal for Lex, who was usually able to keep up a flawless poker face without breaking a sweat, even in the most severe situations.

But this new Lex snapped at his secretary, lost his composure at business meetings, screamed at board members, and shut himself up in his office for hours at a time without accomplishing anything. Anyone who knew Lex at all could see that he was heading for an emotional breakdown. How he handled--or didn’t handle-- it could be disastrous.

Which was why he needed Clark, even if he didn’t know it yet.

Clark landed lightly on the balcony, reveling in his absolute control. It had taken him a long time to get the knack of flying, and he was very proud of his mastery of the skill.

The glass sliding door was unlocked; there was probably only one person in the world who could get onto that balcony from the outside. And Lex had other defenses for him.

He stepped into the room, trying not to be hesitant or timid, but intimidated by the lavish quarters. It had been a very long time since he’d last been up here, though he honestly couldn’t say that much had changed.

Except the picture. There had been a framed photograph of him and Lex from the Smallville days, smiling at the camera in the warm midday sun. A quick x-ray scan of the bedroom informed him that the picture no longer had residence on Lex’s bedside table.

Lex himself entered from the kitchen off to the right. He looked worn and tired and pale, and the dark circles under his eyes confirmed that you did not want to mess with him right now.

Clark was hopeful that his impervious skin would stand up to Lex’s death glare.

Lex didn’t notice him at first, which was surprising, considering that Clark was wearing a brilliant red and blue body suit. But it did bear testament to the fact that Lex had not been getting enough sleep.

When he did see Clark, the look on his face was something to behold. A violent rage swept across it first, chased by remorse and regret and then a more pure, indignant anger, and then all of it shut out behind a wall of ice.

“Superman.” Lex said coldly, loosening his tie.

Clark paused to consider his options. Lex had always been prickly and there had always been a trick to handling him, but it had been a long time, and Clark was a bit rusty.

“Lex. Please, call me Clark.” Lex sneered at him and sprawled himself gracefully on the leather couch.

“Have a seat, Superman. What can I do for you tonight?” Clark could see the tired quality in Lex’s eyes begin to seep away, replaced by a lively and familiar enmity. He grimaced. He was indeed helping, though at this point, merely by putting Lex’s focus on another, equally painful trauma.

“I wanted to see if you were okay, Lex.” Clark pointedly removed his brilliant red cape and draped it across a chair, and then sat. He was having second thoughts about coming in uniform. He knew it was important to be careful when flying, but at this point, he was just rubbing Lex’s face in the lies.

Lex gave a harsh, barking laugh. “Okay? I’m wonderful, Clark. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Lex, in his hysterical attempt to cover up any real feelings, had used Clark’s real name without realizing it. Clark took special note of this.

“Because your dad just died, and you don’t have anyone to talk to.” Clark said quietly, afraid of going too far. His Lex skills were indeed a little bit rusty.

“Superman, I’ve been waiting for that bastard to die since I was twelve. Honestly, his funeral was the happiest day of my life. And if you’ll excuse me, I’d really prefer not to have you ruin my happiness. So get the fuck out.” Lex’s genial tone turned venemous on the last sentence, and Clark flinched. He’d forgotten how skilled Lex was at manipulating other people’s emotions. Something he learned from his late father, Clark supposed.

Lex got up and stalked from the room, apparently done with Clark. But Clark wasn’t to be dismissed so easily. He was on his feet in a flash, and with an angry sort of control, managed to stride at a normal pace after the infuriating Luthor.

He grabbed Lex’s shoulder and spun him around forcefully. He regretted it when he looked into Lex’s now-vicious and vindictive eyes. He snarled and tore Clark’s hand off of him. “Get away from me, Clark. I don’t want to see you, don’t you get that?” Lex’s voice was honeyed, but beneath it lay a bed of razorblades. Clark let him remove his hand.

“Lex, you’re not alright, and you’re not happy, and I know you need someone to talk to. So just quit denying everything.”

“Even if what you said was true, I would want to talk to someone I trusted. Which puts you firmly out of the running. So if you’ll just please, leave me alone. I’m begging you, Clark. Just go away.” His voice was filled with intense distaste and venom. Despite his best intentions, Clark flinched away from him. But still, he stood strong, refusing to leave, and refusing to let go.

“I’m not leaving Lex. You can either talk to me or you can try to go to sleep and pretend that I’m not here. Either way, I’m not leaving.” He folded his arms across his chest and tried to look imposing. And also not to fidget.

Lex curled a lip in a sign of distaste. “Do you want to know what I really think, Clark? What I really feel? Because I can guarantee that you won’t like it.” His voice was laced with arsenic, and Clark wavered in his resolve, if only for a moment. He’d forgotten how intimidating Lex could be when he wanted to.

But he saw a vague look of loss and confusion beneath Lex’s anger, and he steadfastly nodded his head. “Yes, Lex. I can take whatever you have to dish out.” He tried a smug smile, but it came out a bit more nervous than he’d intended.

Lex stood stock still for a moment, and then a slow, shark-like grin spread across his face. Clark didn’t even have time to begin to worry before Lex had grabbed both sides of his face and was pressing their lips together in a violent, mashing movement.

Clark’s eyes widened in shock, and his mouth fell open a little bit, allowing Lex more access. His broad, flat tongue made sensuous sweeps through Clark’s mouth, causing involuntary shivers of pleasure despite the violence of the movement. Lex dug his fingers into Clark’s hair, and there was a kind of wildness about his movements, like he was searching for something. Or maybe clinging to something.

He drew back for an instant. And looking into his eyes, Clark knew that Lex was giving him a chance to leave, to escape. To go back on his word. The fearful nakedness on that pale face is what tethered him there. He couldn’t leave Lex alone. Couldn’t let Lex be hurt again. Especially not by his hand.

Clark stroked a hand soothingly down Lex’s back, feeling the wrinkles in his usually-perfect shirt, and the tense muscles beneath. Lex must have taken it as a yes, because he nibbled, almost delicately, on Clark’s neck. At least, it felt delicate to Clark.

Despite himself, Clark sighed a bit in pleasure. He struggled to keep his willpower in place. He couldn’t lose himself in pleasure. He needed to be here for Lex. If Lex wanted to fuck him, then he would allow it. He would probably enjoy it. But he wouldn’t let the passion take over. It would be far too easy to destroy Lex at this point.

Lex pulled back, and still wearing that look of hatred, he pushed Clark back, towards the bedroom. Clark let him, and submitted quietly to being pushed down on the bed and having his mouth ravished.

Of course it didn’t hurt him. If it would have helped Lex, he wished it would have. Lex bit and nipped at his jaw line, simultaneously using his hands to unzip the back of Clark’s uniform. The gaudy, stretchy material was pulled away to reveal Clark’s tanned and heavily muscled chest. Frantically, Lex’s hands roamed all across the bronzed expanse, reaching down to pull the bottom half of the uniform away. Almost disgustedly, he tossed the thing behind him on the floor, leaving Clark completely exposed.

Never very comfortable with himself or his body, Clark resigned himself to feeling a bit uncomfortable and tried not to roll over to cover himself. Or to hump the bed. Lex’s piercing, eagle-esque gaze wasn’t helping much. Clark’s cock twitched and rose a bit in interest.

Apparently done with foreplay, Lex reached into the nightstand door and withdrew a tube of lubrication. Clark couldn’t figure out why Lex would keep lube in his nightstand, but gave up on trying when Lex inserted a finger into him.

Clark screwed his eyes shut and focused on relaxing. He knew he couldn’t afford to lose control, especially not now. His preternaturally strong muscles could crush Lex’s finger...and other parts...to a pulp. And that definitely would not help with the healing process.

Lex added another finger, scissoring them to increase stretching. Clark sighed softly and continued to concentrate on that elusive control.

Lex must have gotten impatient then, because he didn’t bother with a third finger. Clark wondered if he knew of the risk to himself, and then decided not to mention it. That would have been a mood killer, for sure.

Lex slid into him roughly, creating beautiful friction against Clark‘s inner walls. It was almost as if Lex wanted to be rough, wanted to take him hard and fast and damn the consequences, but couldn’t quite manage it. The thrust wasn’t as hard as it could have been, though Lex couldn’t have hurt Clark.

Or could he have? Lex grunted and pulled out, reaching again into the nightstand drawer. When he withdrew the lead box, Clark thought he had an idea about what was going to happen next.

Lex didn’t meet his eyes. He pulled out the kryptonite ring and slipped it on to his ring finger. A wave of dizziness and nausea rolled over Clark, and he fell back on the bed, panting for breath. His erection began to wilt and his hands clutched the bedcovers in an effort to keep from passing out.

Lex smirked and then slid back into him. Clark whined when the pain hit him. God, sex hurt. Lex wasn’t being too gentle with him, either. He bit his lip harshly and tried to stay relaxed. Lex’s thrusts were becoming more and more ragged and arrhythmic as he got closer to the edge. With a soft sigh, he pushed in one last time and came deep inside Clark.

Clark got a small shock when Lex pulled out his softening cock and he realized he was bleeding. As one not accustomed to pain, Clark could definitely say that it was not a pleasant experience.

Lex crawled up the bed and gave Clark a wet kiss. Clark clung desperately to it in an attempt to forget the pain, and at least try to enjoy himself.

He only prayed that he would have the strength and the insight to deal with what came next.

***

The next morning, Clark woke up sore all over. Lex, of course, was gone, and the side of the bed he’d been occupying was cold with his absence.

Clark stood and pulled his cape around him like a robe. “Lex?” he called.

There was no answer. Clark eventually found him, sitting alone, completely dressed, at his work desk. The laptop in front of him was closed.

For a moment, he didn’t even register Clark’s presence. Just sat still and stared ahead in space. Clark came closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Lex?”

“How can you even stand to touch me?” He asked forlornly.

“Because I like you. I might even love you. You’re my friend. And you need me.”

It would have been so easy for Lex to react with venom, like he had the night before. But instead, he said, “Clark, I haven’t been your friend for a long time. I practically raped you last night. How can you say you like me?”

“Because it’s true. You’re a good person, Lex. You’re just a little...lost right now.” Clark gently tilted his chin up so that Lex was forced to look at him.

“I haven’t cried for him. I’m glad that he’s gone,“ he said suddenly. Lex wrapped his arms around himself. “He made my life hell, and I’m glad he’s dead. And I don’t want to be like that, Clark.”

“I know, Lex. I want to help you. If you’ll let me.” Clark wrapped his arms around Lex’s shoulders, and rested his cheek on Lex’s bare head. At first he was worried that Lex would recoil at the contact, because from what he could recall, Lex didn’t like to be touched. But to his surprise, Lex made an awkward attempt at hugging him back.

A single tear rolled down the Luthor’s face, and it fell razor-sharp on Clark’s bare arm. He lifted his head and their eyes locked. “I thought I’d forgotten how to cry.” Lex said. The sharp morning light reflected on him, making him look even more washed out and pale. “Thank you, Clark. You made me remember.”

As he held Lex and the tears began to fall more steadily, it occurred to Clark that it hadn’t taken much to breach the rift between them, after all.