Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lex Luthor is a narcissist, a sociopath, and an eclectic multitude of other things. He knows that. Yet he can not ignore the retching feeling in his gut. The one that consumes his being, the one that yells at him: he is Lex Luthor, he cannot be ignored; yet after all his efforts, he’s left here standing alone. His body, soul, and rage: accumulating into his fist and how it shakes.

And for the first time in a long time, his heart hurts. He is accustomed to the passive feeling of failure, despite all his achievements, and the dislike for his father that the public hasn’t quite noticed. But he has. He knows that the tech-reign of the Luthor name will end with him. That he won’t give what his mother had wanted, and that, although dead, the sneer of his father's face would haunt any contempt of cockyness.

This is why he hates Him. How fucking carefree he is, how even after everything that’s happened, not a single bone in his body is capable of hating Lex. It disgusts him. He was supposed to be Superman's sworn enemy, mortal even. Yet when he’d looked at Lex, really looked at him, his eyes softened, his grip loosened.

And somehow, Lext felt guilty. It utterly consumed him. His throat was thick with spit, and his stomach a bottomless pit. He’d refused to let tears well in his eyes, because he is Lex Luthor, and Luthor's don’t cry.

Originally, he’d felt content with allowing Superman to die. It had been his one and only wish, his gift to humanity. Now that he’d sat in his dingy cell in Belle Reve for a good 5 months, he’d found maybe he didn’t wish Superman death. A painful hook to the stomach? Always. An eluted amount of time with kryptonite. Perhaps. But Lex couldn’t bring himself to wish death on the man, not after how he looked into his eyes.

Partly, Lex blamed this on his sanity. He’d been locked away since his official arrest in June, and the snow covered pavement was the only true indicator that any time had passed at all. It almost didn't feel real at all. The sludge that was considered food, the bruises in the form of hands that wrapped around his wrists, and the fact that he hadn’t spoken anything except in the form of grunts. Not that it mattered, not like anyone had come to visit.

His envy for the man of steel hit an all time high in the cafeteria. He’d finally been allowed to leave his confinement earlier that month, his so called “good behavior” had finally paid off. The tv was blaring some gaudy commercial for car insurance, and Lex sat pristine in his chair. No matter how hard they went on him, they couldn’t take his appearance, his suave that he had worked so hard to achieve. Which is why, even with dark circles under his eyes, he still ate his oatmeal comfortably; he had to.

Of course, he’d look up at the tv screen at the exact moment he appeared. He gripped his spoon. What a joke. Superman donating presents to orphaned children, Lex did that every year, and they didn’t cover that on the 8 AM timeslot. He rolled his eyes and let his posture drop, for just a moment. Nothing he’d ever done, ever achieved, every news article, every talk show, would ever amount to Superman. He breathed in deeply, a ball caught in his throat.
This was all His fault, Superman’s. If it weren't for him, Lex would still be in his penthouse, making decisions for his company, his empire, his life's work. But no, he was in this degrading facility, fallen so far, he’d allowed himself to get pushed around, abused by the staff. It was embarrassing, humiliating.

“Luthor.” Lex looked up at the guard in front of him, raising an eyebrow. For an awful half of a second, he’d figured it was time. He’d fucked up something, and they were putting him back in confinement. “You have a visitor.” Oh. That’s the last thing he’d expected.

...

The hallways he’d been led down were in a part of the hospital he’d never been before, with long white tile walls that matched the rest of the monotonous building. His footsteps stuttered as he was tugged along by the guard in front of him. “Move it, Luthor.” The cuffs rubbed his wrists painfully raw, the skin underneath red and spotted. The guard stopped in front of a set of doors, opening them with his set of keys. “We’re here, better play nice, Luthor.” He grins at Lex, unnerving. He’s standing there, Superman. In his tight blue suit, and even more ridiculous red trunks. Lex looks at him methodically. He looks about the same as last time Lex saw him, quite the contradiction from Lex. He sat in the chair across from him, Lex sits as his cuffs are chained to the floor.

“Luthor.” His voice is soft, demanding. He’d already had his way with him months ago. What could he possibly want?

His eyes narrowed. “Superman.” Lex’s speech quavered; he hadn’t spoken in months, his own voice feeling intrusive in his throat. “What could you possibly need?”

Superman smiled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I’m here even though the government told me everything was set in stone.” He paused, “I’ve been told you haven’t been speaking much?”

Lex rolled his eyes. “I haven’t needed to.”

Superman raised his eyebrows. “No? You’ve always been so opinionated.”

Lex’s hand twitched. His eyes narrowed in on his enemy. “Get to the point.”

“Well, truth be told, I think you’ve been here long enough, Luthor. Of course, many people don’t agree, but I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Even you. Plus there are many people waiting for you to be back at Luthor Corp.” Superman sighs, “Capitalism waits for no one.”

Lex seethes. How dare he? How dare Superman assume he deserves anything? Pitiful. It disgusts him. “I don’t want anything from you, Superman. Ever.” He clenched his fist.

Superman looked down at his wrists, raw and unbothered. “And they’re treating you well?”

Lex stayed silent. Looking down at the floor. “I don’t want your pity as a Christmas present, Superman.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Lex, I don’t pity you. You’re a billionaire who has done the world wrong. You’ve done me wrong. But you’ve served your time; there are people waiting for your return.”

Lex laughs. “And they sent you because?”

Superman grins, “I get to do your Parole.”

Lex raged, fire behind his eyes. No way is Superman watching his every move. Absolutely not.

Chapter Text

One thing Lex Luthor is not is stupid. He knows when he’s been played, when he fails, and when someone is lying to him. Unfortunately, Superman did not lie to him, which is why, even though he’s been dismissed from Belle Reve, even though he’s in his own penthouse, he’s still on edge.

The shower ran as he stood looking at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t seen himself in well over five months. He is gaunt; the figure he had worked so hard for has deteriorated. He felt dirty, as if the grime that had accumulated over his body could never be washed off, and as he stepped into the running shower, the heat burned his skin. Painful in the most delicious way.

He let out a soft groan at the feeling. A sound he wouldn’t usually allow himself to make, especially with Superman in the room over, but he couldn’t help himself. The water washed over him, the steam collecting at his feet. It almost felt like when he was young, and his handmaid had drawn him a bath. It felt like innocence.

Stepping out of the shower had felt wrong. Like it was his only solace before he had to talk to the oaf. Superman was the last person he wanted to talk to, and unfortunately, he was sitting on Lex’s couch.

Lex walked out in his low hanging towel. He was asserting dominance, he’d thought… Maybe. Superman was right where he’d left him, sinking into the couch, smiling at something on his phone. Lex wanted to wipe that smile right off his face. “I didn’t know alien lifeforms knew how to use human technology.” Lex scoffed.

Superman looked up and smiled, “Well, I grew up on Earth, you do know that, don’t you, Lex?”

“Don’t call me that.” All Superman did was shrug.

“Alright, I won't."

Lex scowled at him. “Supershit.” He muttered as he walked to his bedroom. Little known to Lex, Superman let a small chuckle out as he left the room.

Lex entered his bedroom, remembering exactly where everything was. He’d lived here for years. Yet as he stood in front of his closet, he hadn’t a clue where to start. He stared at it all for a moment, overwhelmed with the number of options, his pointer finger digging into the side of his thumb, picking away at the skin. An unhealthy habit he’d picked up at Belle Reve.

Months ago, he'd already planned in his head what he would be wearing for the next week. Color coordinated and correct attire for each event. Now all he wanted was to be comfortable, reaching for his old sweatpants from college, ones he’d tried to hide away in the back of his closet; Ashamed.

Lex walked into the living room, morally unwilling. Superman was in his kitchen, sipping on a glass of water as he leaned on the counter. Lex scowled, the infringed emotion now stuck to his face. “So you’re just going to stand there and drink my water? Very helpful.”

Superman put the glass down, brushing at his costume as if Lex’s kitchen was anything but spotless. “You want dinner? I’m sure you want something warm after what you’ve been eating in Belle Reve.”

To Lex’s dismay, he was spot on. He’d been craving a warm meal for the last few months, but he shrugged it off.

Superman smiled coyly and crossed his arms. “Well, it doesn’t look like you have anything, we’ll have to order in.”

“Your incompetence is demeaning. You’d think you would’ve thought ahead, no, Superman?”

“It’s actually my first time here, Lex. I would’ve gotten something yesterday if I had access. Unfortunately, your team wouldn’t allow me to visit until I had you with me.” He stared at Lex blankly.

“I told you not to call me that.” Lex didn’t know how to respond any other way. It felt as if every witty comment, every diss he made towards Superman, didn’t matter anymore; it didn’t feel genuine, and that filled him with rage. How dare his own perception of the man change? It felt sudden, as if the moment he’d entered Belle Reve, he’d been hypnotized. He didn’t know how to hold himself and he didn’t know how to act.

Superman sighed, glancing over at Lex. “Can I get you anything? LeMarvin? I heard that's where you frequent.”

“So you read tabloids about me now?”

“I- well.. No!” Seeing Superman struggle to defend himself brought Lex a small amount of joy; it serves him right, he thought.

“I’ll have the 10 oz Wagyu ribeye. Gravy on the side of the mashed potatoes, I don't like when they’re mushy… And the brussels sprouts as well.” Lex left the room, feeling he had nothing more to say. He was sure Superman had some ulterior motives, but what exactly he wasn’t sure yet.

He was sure that LuthorCorp had been left in the wrong hands. His sister Lena had been no contact since the incident, his guess was she’d been needed to clear the family name, and although he felt for Mercy, he doubted her ability to find someone to replace him–he was, in fact, irreplaceable. It was daunting for Lex; he had to live up to his own name, his own principles. When in fact it felt as if he’d failed miserably.
He made his way to his office, a stack of folders neatly arranged in front of his computer. Lex sighed. It was thick, most likely filled with memos and reports going back months. Despite the fact that he’s been looking forward to this moment, he had a sudden lack of motivation. He didn’t feel worthy of his position, and the alien lump in the other room was not making him feel any better about this. How was he supposed to do his best work when Superman’s thick, heavy breathing could be heard from the other room?

Lex was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard a knock on his door. “I got dinner.” Superman's voice was low and soft. Lex let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

His dinner was already plated, and he’d noticed Superman had changed from that ridiculous costume into something more suitable, a pair of dark sweatpants and a maroon sweater. Lex sat. “This is… acceptable.” He said, taking a bite.

“No thank you?” Superman asked.

Lex chose not to respond.

…

Lex had gotten used to the silence, of course he had. He barely talked to Superman, only seeing him in the morning and at dinner. He wasn’t allowed to leave his apartment yet, he’d still need to be cleared for that, so Lex’s days consisted of working at his desk until he fell asleep and actively ignoring the other man.

He left his office expecting his home to be empty, but he rolled his eyes seeing Superman watching something on the tv, about him of course. The man quickly turned it off. “Well, what do they have to say about me?” Lex didn’t know why he asked, he didn’t particularly care.

“Nothing you’d want to know–just uh, about the company.”
“I’d prefer you actually answer my questions.” Lex pressed.
“Well, you’ve been declining all of your interviews. Why’s that?”
“I don’t trust anyone to paint my experience in any sort of light, Superman. You of all people would know, wouldn't you?” Lex crossed his arms.
“Well, I do know a quite unbiased journalist-Clark Kent is an amazing-”

Lex grunts and cuts him off. “I have no interest in what that oaf Clark Kent wants to write about me. The Daily Planet is a dumpster fire waiting to happen, not to mention Lois Lane.”

“I wouldn’t say Clark-”

“You couldn’t force me to do it.”

Chapter Text

Lex wished he could eat his words.

He was finally seated at his desk at LuthorCorp, if only for a moment, a mumbling idiot named Clark Kent seated across from him. He had large, broad shoulders that tucked in on himself, and was wearing a painfully ill-fitted suit. He was a disgrace to fashion in Lex’s professional opinion.

He was awkwardly shifting in the seat in front of him. “Thank you so much for having me Mr. Luthor.” His voice was forcibly high pitched Lex noted, unbearably so.

“Yes, well, I’ve been told I ought to.” He paused. “Please, let's skip the pleasantries and get to the interview.”

Clark shifted in front of him. He grabbed his bag for his papers. His cologne softly hitting Lex’s nose, he wished it were unbearable, but the musk caused him to shiver.

“Well, first off, Mr. Luthor, you had quite the controversial arrest this past June. Would you say you’ve done your penance?”

Lex had to remind himself to fix his poker face at this moment. “Of course, I’ve paid my penance Mr. Kent. I would say it was paid within my first week at Belle Reve. I have never seen anyone more poorly treated than in that facility.”

“Does this mean you’ve extended an olive branch to Superman?”

Lex scoffed. “My opinion on Superman is unwavering, but alas, it does not matter right now, does it, Clark?” He leaned back in his seat, arms still crossed below his stomach.

“You said during your last interview with Lois Lane that you’d stop at nothing to have Superman exterminated. Does that still stand? I have inside information that he’s the one helping with your parole–”

“Off the record, my interview with Lois Lane is not to be under discussion; it was a moment of pure unadulterated rage.” Lex sighed, “At this moment, no, I do not wish death on Superman. I do wish he’d leave my fucking house… But I’m sure he’d like to leave just as well.”

Clark perked up in his chair, “On your parole Mr. Luthor, how has it been?”

“Your friend not keeping you up to date?” Clark raised his eyebrows, and Lex decided to actually respond. “It’s been… Fine. I don’t see him much, I don’t talk to him, that’s been the way it's been, and I’m okay with that.” Lex shifted, his voice rough. He knew he was coming off harsh. It had to be that way, he certainly wouldn’t allow this lousy journalist to see how far he’d truly fallen. “The food was slop, and they treated me poorly. That should be enough, yes?”

“Well, I’d like to ask you a few more questions Mr.-”

“Please leave, Mr. Kent.”

“Of course…”

Lex Luthor didn’t cry, however much he wished he had.

…

“I hate you.” Lex stalked into his penthouse, Superman standing at the stove.

“That’s nothing new.”

“That interview was humiliating. Did you pay him? God, what a waste of space.” He threw his gray coat to the floor, not bothering to hang it on the coat rack.

“Clark Kent?”

“Yes, obviously. Who else? He’s an absolute shame to society, god, he can’t even hold himself. He’s hunched like Quasimodo, and he might as well dress like him too.”

“I think he dresses fine-”

“I’m sure you do.” Lex reaches for the buttons of his vest, the gray three piece he’d thrown together this morning no longer felt like butter to his body; it felt restricting, as if every curve had a hand at its grip. He quickly ripped off the shirt and threw it onto the couch. “You know, Superman, you act much more like a housewife than a parole officer.”

“That implies you actually enjoying my presence, Luthor.”

Lex scoffed, “I’d never.”

Superman stood over a pot of boiling water. Lex had to admit whatever he’d been making did smell delicious, not like he’d ever tell him, though. “Oh, of course not. How dare I assume Lex Luthor might actually not want to strangle me at any given moment.”

“I don’t want to strangle you.”

“No?”

“No, I’d rather see you get hit by a bus.” Superman snorted, the sound absolutely appalling to Lex’s ears. “Don’t ever do that again.” He moved past the man, choosing a crystalline glass and one of his higher end bottles of scotch. “Now, excuse me, I have some brooding to do.”

Lex poured himself a hefty glass before displaying himself against the couch, unbuttoning the top half of his button down, and he finally felt relaxed. The drink gently burned at the back of his throat, and the man in the kitchen felt like a white noise. Lex closed his eyes, letting the darkness consume him, only for a moment, before a large hand grazed his shoulder.

“Want dinner on the couch tonight?” Superman's voice is low, husky. As much as he’d wanted to tell the man off, that an individual of his stature would never eat on the couch, he’d be wrong.

“Please.” Soft clattering came from behind him. Lex opened his eyes as a plate of rigatoni was placed in front of him.

“Vodka sauce, Mercy said it was your favorite.” Lex sent him a short nod before picking up his plate. The pasta felt thick in his mouth, warm and comforting.

“I’ll thank her.” He paused. “Where did you learn how to cook?” God knows why Lex felt compelled to ask this.

Superman paused, as if he was surprised Lex had asked. “My Ma. She taught me when I was young, she told me: to please a lady, I’d have to learn how to make a decent meal.” Lex let out a surprised cough. “Funny, I know. You’re not a lady, and I’m sure as heck you’ll never be pleased.”

Lex looked down at his hands. His plate of pasta half eaten, his ears ringing with guilt. “That isn’t true.” His voice sounded choked, wavering, he’d never wanted to sound like this in front of him. “Thank you, Superman. For the meal.”

“Oh.” Lex stood, his knees locked before he stumbled back, Superman shooting up to catch his shoulders. “You’re okay.” He whispered softly. Lex’s hand grasped his wrist, stabilizing himself against the other man. He inhaled deeply, his brows furrowed, for just a moment. He’d recognized that scent. Lex let out his breath. Nevermind.

“I’m okay.” He pushed Superman’s hand off quickly. “Let go, it’s fine.” He took a step forward, the glass of scotch hitting him harder than it used to.

“Let me walk you to your room?”

“Alright.” Superman gripped his shoulder, leading Lex towards his bedroom.

“I haven’t drunk in a while.” Lex said, his speech slightly slurred.

Superman nodded slightly, “I was wondering when you’d break out the whiskey.”

Lex fell back onto his bed, Superman standing above him. “Draw me a bath, you fat oaf.”

“You really enjoy calling me that, don’t you?”

“It suits you quite well, doesn’t it?” Superman scowled, crossing his arms, looking down at Lex.

“Why don’t you ask nicely?” Lex pouted, the feeling foreign on his face, feeling oddly childish for the situation, for the man he was supposed to be.

“Please?” He lay back as the sound of Superman left his room. Running water replaced the silence.

The other man walked out, nodding shortly. “It’s ready.” He left the room, and a deep, hidden part of Lex Luthor wished he hadn't.

Lex stripped off his clothes, barely caring if he’d popped a few buttons off his Bironi formal shirt. His pants felt tight. His bulge fighting against his boxers. God, he felt disgusting.

As he lay back in the tub, all he could think about was that scent, how it attacked his senses. His hand palmed down his chest, feeling up every crevice, he imagined they were larger, rougher.

Looking down at himself, he felt dizzy, the tip of his cock was fiery red, precum oozed from its tip. He grunted quietly, sinking deeper into the painfully hot water. He let his hand reach for himself, his head falling back as he rubbed his slit. His left hand slammed against his mouth to muffle the sounds. His right worked quickly against his length, the lack of lubrication felt disgusting, he loved it. He whined softly, desperate as he reached down and kneaded at his balls. The water in the tub sloshed onto the floor. It was loud, messy. Lex hoped the man in the room over could hear him.

Lex worked himself until his wrist hurt, none of his usual fantasies worked to bring him over the edge. Thin blonds with large bouncing tits above him, another down mouthing his cock.

Large, broad shoulders cornering Lex further into his bed. The frame slammed against the wall at every thrust. Lex breathed in sharply before he spilled over his hand, his spunk splattered all over his stomach.

Lex whipped his hand against his chest, his throat felt heavy, and his eyes wouldn’t move from his still half hard cock. He shut them tightly, holding his breath. He submerged his head under the water.

Chapter Text

It’s not like Clark was a prude, no, not at all. He couldn’t help but overhear things at times, his senses were heightened, especially his hearing. His face was burnt red, his cheeks so hot he could only pray Lex would go straight to bed. His arms felt as if every hair was standing, the mixture of hot and cold causing him to feel feverish. His body tensed as he heard yet another softer set of moans. Clark was embarrassed, he knew if there had been anyone else in the apartment, they wouldn’t have been able to hear Lex. He felt like a walking invasion of privacy. He shifted in his seat, his growing bulge heavily constrained against his suit.

Clark usually knew what to do in situations, believe it or not, he wasn't the stumbling goof everyone thought he was, but he couldn’t move. His body was frozen to the couch. He shut his eyes tight, focusing on his breathing. Anything to forget what was going on in the other room. Finally, the sounds stopped, and Clark let out a breath. He waited until the sound of the bed creaked, it’s what he did every night, leaving after Lex’s breathing soothed, and he could tell the man was asleep. He slipped his way out of the balcony, letting himself fall, just for a moment, before shooting off into the sky.

Clark's apartment was cold when he walked in. He figured it would be, the metropolis snow seeped deep into his bones, the chill air somehow affecting his metahuman body. It’s just the way it was, the way it’s always been in the cold city. The rooms were small, a shoebox compared to Lex’s home, but it was what he could afford while sending half of his pay home to Smallville.

He fumbled for a moment, pulling his skintight suit off his body, he always did. Lois had found it mildly embarrassing to watch, the memory now engraved in his mind. It was one of the many reasons they’d drifted away. Clark had always found it hard to fully be himself in a relationship, and when it’s two people always deflecting, it got hard. Even after he’d revealed his identity to her, they’d still find themselves arguing, why Superman did this, why only Clark interviewed him, the construing questions she’d ask when he’d finally sat down with her as Superman. Clark figured it’d always be easier to have a mortal enemy than a girlfriend.

He’d turned the shower onto hot, he needed his skin to burn, to feel clean. He let the water run down his face, brushing his curled black hair away from his eyes. He dutifully ignored his painfully hard cock, the hot water doing nothing for its growing size. He groaned, annoyed. His hands worked his soap bar across his body, reaching everywhere but there. He felt gross, perverted, like a stalker. He swallowed hard and turned off the water, stepping out onto the chill of his apartment.

…

Lex didn’t remove himself from the bath for another 30 minutes. Unbeknownst to him, there was a flushing man of steel in the doom over, trying his best to distract himself with a book, not that it was working very well; he’d heard everything.

When Lex finally stepped out of the water, he dried himself off with a plush Turkish cotton bath towel. He’d found himself lying against his satin sheets, his body cooling against the fabric. He was too tired to care, too drunk. Lex sighed as he pulled his duvet over his body. He’d deal with everything in the morning, all he could think about was sleep.

The sun breached through Lex’s window, and he curled in on himself, his hand rubbing at his face, missing his eyes entirely. “Fuck.” He groaned, his head splitting open, the cloud covered sky just barely making his morning less miserable. He stumbled out of his bed, wondering why he hadn’t even bothered to put on a pair of boxers the night before. He grabbed the first pair he saw, unfortunately, tighter than what he found comfortable.

Lex walked out into his kitchen, and the strong aroma of brewing coffee hit his nose. His mind was moving at hundreds of miles an hour. He poured himself a coffee, mindlessly scrolling on his phone until he saw an article from the Daily Planet. ‘Billionaire Lex Luthor Experiences Five Months in Isolation.’ A Critique of Our Current Prison System by Clark Kent. Lex scoffed. Of course, Kent had taken what he'd said and spun it into some sob story. He tossed his phone to the side and leaned his head in his hands. This isn’t how he intended to be perceived. Anything but, sure, some public sympathy was good for publicity, but he was Lex Luthor, cut by stone.

He noted the balcony door opening softly, the man of steel standing before him, another day. “I see your interview went well; public perception of you has gone up by 38%.”

Lex took a sip of his coffee. “Sure, if I’d wanted to seem like a blubbering baby, then this worked quite well.”

Superman's face fell, god knows why. “Well, I thought the article did a good job-”

“Doesn’t matter if he did a good job, he made me look like an idiot.”

“I’m sure you’re just overthinking this Lex.”

Lex made a face and poured the rest of his coffee down the sink. He caught what he thought was a look from Superman, but the man quickly flushed and looked away. “What’s up with you?” Lex scowled.

Superman went frigid, his body stiff, like a child that’d been caught stealing. “Nothing.” He choked out.

“Yeah, okay.” Lex chose to ignore the blatant lie, if Superman wanted to fake in front of the smartest man in Metropolis, then so be it. He moved away from the counter, now remembering his lack of clothes. Superman’s eyes widened, letting out a strangled cough. “Oh. My apologies.” He moved past the other man quickly, the red of his ears not able to be covered.

Lex felt as if his falls had fallen around him. He had let Superman see him in a way he’d never let anyone else before. He paced down his room. He’d let the man make him a home cooked meal, he’d carried Lex back to his bedroom while he was absolutely inebriated. He clenched his fist. How was he supposed to feel about this? It’s not like he wasn’t able to know his own emotions, but how greatly did he want them buried?

Lex got dressed more casually than usual. He dropped the three piece suit and decided on one of his cotton button ups and linen slacks. He stomped out of his bedroom and towards the elevator. “Where are you going Lex?” Superman’s voice echoed throughout the hallway.

“Work, obviously. Some of us have jobs, Superman.” Lex shot him a glare for good measure.

“You do know it's Saturday, right?”

Lex paused and swallowed thickly. “Sometimes I like to go over sales…” He choked out before leaving. He sighed in the elevator, “Sales.. Really?” God, he’d turned into a blubbering idiot, just like Kent.

…

The stacks of papers could only distract Lex for so long. His mind worked faster than every person he’d employed, so by three pm, he’d finally finished his last policy rework. He’d unashamedly ignored his thoughts about the night before. He’d felt his head splitting behind his eyes that morning, so disregarding his actions, his night before had been easy. The way Superman had looked this morning was different. Lex couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d drunk more than he should’ve when he’d gone up to the penthouse, he’d eaten… Oh. Oh.

Lex had been loud last night, quite the exhibitionist in fact. Intentional or not, he’d been heard. His face flushed, red hot. He couldn’t just apologize and confirm that Superman’s suspicions were true. He could not let Superman know that he knew that he knew… How was he supposed to look him in the eyes? His breath hitched, Lex was utterly fucked, and this time he had no clue what he was going to do.