Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Was it wrong
To go along with insanity?
I guess it wasn’t really right
I guess it wasn’t meant to be
It didn’t matter what they said
'Cause we were good in bed
I guess I stuck around so I could watch us fight
For all the wrong reasons...
It’s just a little hard to leave
When you’re going down on me
-Nickelback, "Fight for All the Wrong Reasons"
"Going somewhere, Clark?"
Clark Kent didn't glance up at Lex's question. He stood in the bedroom they'd shared for years, a bedroom filled with masculine cherry furniture and leather-bound books and artwork they'd picked out together. He was throwing dark suits and flannel shirts into a shabby old suitcase, and he didn't look at all happy about it.
"I'm moving out," he said through his teeth. "I should have done it a long time ago, and we both know it."
"Clark." Lex Luthor took a step closer to his lover, and Clark looked up, a wary expression in his eyes. "We go through this about once a month. Every time you say you're leaving... but you never do."
Clark glanced away, as if avoiding Lex's gaze. "I have to go, Lex."
"No," Lex answered, very softly. "You don't."
"I can't help it." Clark threw a silk tie Lex had given him for Christmas into the suitcase with unnecessary violence. "The papers paint me as the embodiment of good in Metropolis. And here I am, shacked up with a guy who runs ethically dubious experiments on a daily basis."
"Maybe Metropolis would be better off if the papers didn't insist on portraying you as perfect," Lex suggested. "Maybe it's not good for anyone to have to try to live up to that kind of reputation."
"I'm an example to the kids of Metropolis, damn it. I mean, darn it."
"Oh, for God's sake, Clark, quit trying so hard to be something you're not. No matter what the papers say, you're not this morally pure, unsullied, innocent Boy Scout. You're just a guy."
"I'm not just a guy, Lex. That's the problem."
"But you are." Lex took a step closer and put his hand on Clark's shoulder. "Yes, you can fly, and you have all these superpowers, but deep down, you're not that different from the rest of us. You're not perfect, Clark. You swear, you love sex, you cheat at solitaire. And if you keep trying to live up to that image instead of debunking it, sooner or later it's going to tear you apart."
Clark stared down moodily into the suitcase. Lex knew he'd had it since he was a teenager in Smallville, and compared to the luxurious furnishings of their bedroom, it looked tattered and cheap. "It's just that you've done some really bad things, Lex..."
Lex nodded, doing his best to look earnest. It wasn't a look he did well. "I know I've done some horrible things in the past, Clark. But I've changed. You know that, even if the papers don't."
He'd changed because of Clark, and they both knew it. But they also knew that he wasn't incapable of changing back, if the situation demanded it.
Clark glanced at him from beneath his dark fringe of lashes, then chewed on his full bottom lip, worrying it in a way Lex found extremely distracting.
"The papers still think you're an archvillain," he said at last. "And Metropolis' hero sleeping with Metropolis' archvillain... well, it doesn't look good, Lex."
Lex scowled, trying to look wounded. "So you're dumping me because living with me makes you look bad? Seriously? When did you become that shallow, Clark?"
Clark's massive shoulders slumped, just a little. "It isn't just that," he said softly. "It's the things you're still doing, the experiments you're still running. Some of them are... well... a little on the borderline, Lex. Especially lately."
"Clark." Lex reached out and wrapped a hand around the younger man's muscular forearm. Clark didn't pull away, and Lex took that as a good sign. "You know I have good reasons for everything I do."
"Good reasons in your mind," Clark muttered. "Not necessarily in mine."
"Clark..." Lex squeezed Clark's arm, in a gesture that was equally affectionate and possessive. "We both know you're not leaving."
"I have to go, Lex. I know we've been lovers for a long time, but I can't... Lex. No."
Lex had reached down. He began to unbuckle Clark's wide leather belt, then began to unzip his jeans. Clark took a step backward, but he wasn't really putting up a protest, and they both knew it. Considering he could have been in Florida by now, he hadn't made a serious effort to get away.
It was all part of the charade they acted out every so often, the charade in which Clark appeased his conscience by announcing he was going to leave, and in which Lex managed to convince Clark to overlook his lover's misdeeds, at least for a while.
Lex shoved down Clark's boxers-- the plain cotton variety, which Clark persisted in wearing despite all the expensive silk ones Lex had given him over the years-- and took a look at what he'd exposed. Clark was already half hard, and a half-hard Clark was a very impressive sight. Lex encircled him with his hand and began to stroke, slowly and firmly, and Clark gave a long, shuddering sigh.
"You aren't leaving me," Lex said, very softly. His hand stroked Clark steadily, until Clark's erection was huge, so hot it almost burned Lex's skin. "You'll never leave. And it's not because you love me, or even because of our history together. It's just because of... this."
He dropped to his knees, Clark's cock still throbbing in his hand, and began licking at it, with slow, teasing, lingering strokes of his tongue. Clark's spine arched, and he made a suffocated noise, the sound of a man struggling to hold back his reactions.
Lex's tongue swept over him a little faster, licking away the drops of precome that beaded at the tip, and Clark gave up trying to control himself. His big hands settled onto Lex's skull, holding him in place, and he spoke roughly.
Ordinarily, Lex didn't allow people to tell him what to do. He was an internationally famous billionaire, the CEO of a multinational corporation, and one of the most influential men on the planet.
But in this particular relationship, with this particular man, he was willing to submit, to kneel, to do whatever Clark wanted.
Because Clark was superstrong, immensely fast and powerful, and one of the ironies of their relationship was that only submission could allow Lex to dominate him.
He opened his mouth wide, drawing Clark inside. Clark was huge, far larger than the average human guy, and the first time Lex had tried this he'd found it almost impossible. But over the years, he'd learned how to make it good for Clark, how to bring him to an intense peak of ecstasy, how to make him scream.
How to make the strongest man in the world weak.
Clark thrust eagerly into his mouth, still holding his head in place, low growls of pleasure rumbling from his chest, and Lex took him in, as deeply as possible.
"Damn you," Clark whispered, thrusting hard and fast. "Damn you, Lex..." He gasped for breath, creating a gust that made the heavy draperies blow wildly. "Ahhh, fuck, fuck..."
Lex could sense him trying to hold back, but failing entirely. Lex was in charge now, and they both knew it. He stroked his mouth along the thick shaft of Clark's cock a little faster, and Clark's whole body jerked.
"Yes. God, yes..."
His cock spasmed in Lex's mouth, and then he was coming, in long, hot bursts. His head dropped back, his muscles tensed, and he uttered a drawn-out roar that was so loud it shook the rafters.
Lex didn't let him go until the very last aftershock faded and Clark's cries faded into silence. Then he released the other man with a popping sound, and got to his feet.
Clark was still standing, but he was swaying, his eyelids heavy, his lips parted, his body relaxed. He looked like what he was, a man who'd been satiated so completely that he could barely keep on his feet, let alone move.
"Son of a bitch," he said, very softly.
Lex patted him on the shoulder, doing his best to keep his smug self-satisfaction concealed. Clark didn't appreciate being bested, and he definitely didn't appreciate having his lack of control rubbed in his face.
"You're not fooling me, Clark," he told the younger man. "I don't even think you're fooling yourself anymore. You're not leaving me. Not now, and not ever. You might be sticking around for all the wrong reasons... but you're sticking around."
Letting his confidence show in the set of his shoulders, he turned and headed for the hall. Behind him, there was a long silence. At last he heard Clark's heavy footsteps, moving away from the suitcase and following him, and he smiled to himself.
He always won.
For whatever reason, right or wrong... Clark was his.