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Silence is the first thing that pierces his skin. A white, immense silence that seems to swallow even his heartbeat.
Lex takes a few steps forward, his shoes echoing against the floor as if each one were a challenge. He's never been in a place so vast and empty, and yet so... alive. It's not just ice, not simple crystalline formations: there's an order, a symmetry that breathes. As if this place were observing, evaluating, judging.
Although, to be fair, Lex has been here before. Once. But this time, he doesn't come with the intention of finding anything damning about Superman. And this time, he's not accompanied by Angela, UltraMan, and Eve. This time, he's accompanied by Superman.
"I guess heating is optional." H comments, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. His breath comes out in a white cloud, and that gives him even more reason to frown. "Aren't you supposed to be a man of the sun?"
Clark, at his side, smiles faintly, with that calm that seems intact even after facing half a dozen monsters.
Monsters, Lex thinks, glancing at the remains of scratches on the blue suit. There are always monsters, always someone who wants to destroy everything. And always Clark getting in the way, at a cost no one seems to understand except him, Lex, the only one who sees him up close.
Not so long ago, Lex was the monster Clark was fighting.
"I am. But... I don't know... this always seemed cozy to me." Clark says, his voice calm. The way his breath also turns into clouds seems almost ridiculous, as if the cold affects him in some way. Still, it makes him seem more human.
He is human. Lex knows that now.
He squints and scans the tall glass pillars that stretch into the air. Blue light filters in everywhere, reflected off hundreds of surfaces that multiply their own reflection: a tall man, dressed entirely in black, like a man preparing to enter an alien cathedral in the middle of the Antarctica.
"Cozy." He repeats, as if testing the word on his tongue, and then shakes his head with a low, sardonic laugh. "You have a peculiar definition of home. What's next? Invite me to see your living room? An ice sofa and a holographic fireplace?"
Clark looks at him, and there's something in his eyes, something warm that disarms any attempt at mockery. That's the real problem: Clark never defends himself against his irony, unlike the others. He simply looks at him as if he knows how to read between the words, as if he understands what Lex isn't willing to confess.
"I don't need a sofa." Clark replies with a half smile, looking at him as if he were the sun. "But..." He puts his hands behind his back and looks away from Lex. "...I have a room here. And a bed. We could use it."
Lex looks at him with a soft expression, it's inevitable, and a smile slowly begins to form on his lips. "Let me guess, is it made of ice?"
"It's not." Clark laughs, his cheeks flushed. Lex loves it. "It's a normal bed. Very comfortable."
"Is this your way of telling me you're gonna fuck me on your alien base?"
"It's not an alien base." Clark protests. He's red-faced. He's gorgeous. "And don't call it that."
"Sorry, but every time you say making love, I think of Lana Del Rey." He jokes, but then adds: "Okay, sleeping here will be interesting."
"Thanks for coming. I know it was all very sudden, but... it makes me very happy to have you here."
Lex clenches his jaw, uncomfortable. Not because of the words themselves, but because some absurd part of him feels his chest loosen, as if that answer had been too direct.
He turns a little, pretending to be overly interested in the crystalline formations to his right. Each one seems carved with surgical precision, almost like petrified circuits. Fascinating. He could spend days studying the place, finding patterns, calculating resonant frequencies.
But he's here as a guest, not as a thief, not as an enemy. For the first time in his life, that counts.
He trusts me enough to bring me here, he thinks, adjusting his left glove with an automatic gesture. He hadn't said it—Clark never says it that bluntly—but it's obvious. Lex is walking into Superman's heart, into the most private part, where no one else sees. And that's… unbearable. And intoxicating.
"What do you think?" Clark asks, stopping in front of him, as if what Lex thinks has any real importance.
Lex raises an eyebrow. "About what? Your monumental ice palace in the middle of nowhere? Or the fascinating psychology that drives you to call it home?"
Clark lets out a soft laugh that bounces off the pillars. The sound seems to fill the empty space in a way Lex himself never could.
"Everything." Clark replies, looking straight at him.
For a moment, Lex feels the silence return with a vengeance, this time between them. And there, in that silence, he knows he's trapped: he can't run away, he can't ridicule Clark without betraying himself. Because the truth is, what he thinks he can't say out loud, not this time.
Because this place is beautiful. Because it's pure Clark. And being here, by his side, makes him feel too close to something he'd never thought he deserved.
Lex takes a breath, forces himself to keep his voice steady, cold, exactly as he always does: "I think you should hire a decorator."
Clark laughs again, and the sound is warm enough to melt any resistance Lex was trying to maintain.
His Kryptonian barely has time to remove his cloak. The red is stained with dirt and soot, one corner torn as if someone had tried to yank it off. Lex watches it fall to the ground, heavy, and can't help but think it's almost a symbol: the hero's banner turned into a rag on the ice.
"That doesn't fit with branding policy." he comments, raising an eyebrow. "Taking care of your image is fifty percent of the battle."
Clark just smiles, tired. He has that expression Lex had learned to recognize: that of a man who had used every fiber in his body to stop the catastrophe and yet fears he hasn't done enough. There's dust in his hair, a small line of blood at the corner of his lip, and a rip in the top of his suit that reveals skin marked by a purplish bruise.
Lex tenses.
A bruise.
A tangible reminder that even Superman can break.
"Don't worry." Clark says, sensing the gaze that had been fixed on his shoulder. "It'll heal soon."
"What a comfort." Lex replies, crossing his arms. "It's like a nuclear reactor telling me it just lost a little power."
Before Clark can answer, a soft whirring fills the air. From the invisible corners of the Fortress, four metallic figures emerge, moving with inhuman grace. Blue, tall, slender. Lex remembers seeing them before, barely, before Angela and UltraMan disposed of them. He watches them with analytical eyes as they surround Clark, who is lying on the gurney, with surgical precision.
Lex raises an eyebrow. "And here I thought you hated the idea of having servants."
Clark doesn't defend himself. He only grimaces briefly as one of the robots scans his torso with a blue light, another adjusts the edges of his damaged suit, another moves Clark's left arm in small circles, and the fourth deploys an instrument that looks like a cross between a needle and a laser.
Lex narrows his eyes slightly and begins to walk around them, not getting too close so as not to interrupt, but close enough in case something happens.
Now, alien machinery has never been a problem for him; on the contrary, he likes it, he's a genius, he likes discovering new things and playing with them. But seeing that technology applied to Clark, to someone who seems indestructible... that's a different story.
"What exactly do they do?" He asks, his tone meant to sound casual but leaning dangerously towards the edge of anxiety.
Clark barely glances at him, with a weak smile. "The same thing an ER doctor would do to you. Only faster."
Lex snorts. "Should I be jealous?"
"You're jealous." Says one of the robots. Fucking Gary. "Which makes sense."
Lex glares at him. "I'm gonna change your code, Gary."
Clark laughs, though it makes him wince a little in pain as the laser grazes his skin. Lex notices the gesture and his reaction is instantaneous: he takes off his gloves and throws them on a table.
He wants to get closer. He wants to push those stupid robots away and tell them to be careful. He wants… too much.
Instead, he forces himself to maintain control, to remain himself: cold, cynical, untouchable.
"I suppose it's convenient." He says tersely. "You have at your disposal a medical squad, trained, loyal, incapable of making mistakes… Oh, wait, also soulless. Ideal for you."
Clark looks at him again, with that ridiculous, unbearable patience. "Lex. I'm fine."
And he is. Or seems to be. The scan ends, the robots begin sealing the suit with a white glow, as if they were sewing with light. Everything efficient, impersonal, perfect.
Lex watches them work with surgical attention, every part of his analytical mind dissecting the processes, the possibilities. But beneath all of that lies another, lower, more intimate current: the knowledge that you are witnessing something no one else has seen: Superman, wounded, allowing himself to be cared for.
Him.
Lex Luthor.
His sworn enemy, the man who had sworn to destroy him, who had tried, who almost succeeded… now invited to witness his fragility.
The universe has a particularly cruel sense of humor.
And yet, there he is, unable to look away.
The robots have done most of the work: they've closed the superficial cuts, they've repaired the suit's fabric with that strange light that seemed to sew molecules into place. All efficient, all perfect.
Except for one thing.
On the right side of the suit, just above the ribcage, the blue fabric had hardened from the impact, a rigid plate that yields to neither the laser nor the light scalpel of the machines. The robots exchanged beeps, adjusting their tools, repeating the attempt with the same impersonal precision.
Lex blinks and sighs. "Brilliant. Your intergalactic nannies can rebuild cells, but a piece of torn fabric is beyond them."
Clark looks at him, a little embarrassed. "It happens..." He mumbles, as if it really is an everyday occurrence.
Lex takes a step forward before he can think about it too much. "Move."
"What?"
"Move." He repeats, with that firmness he uses in council meetings, when no one dares to contradict him.
Clark obeys, still surprised, and Lex leans in. The chill of the place sharpens his fingers as he touches the edge of the damaged suit. The surface is rigid, still warm from the friction of battle. Lex analyzes quickly: lateral pressure, a twist angle... nothing a normal human could deduce without proof, but to him it's as natural as breathing.
The robots watch him, silent. Lex can feel their white eyes on him, and it only irritates him more. Useless.
"Stand back." He orders, without raising his voice, but with that cadence that even machines can't ignore. The four take a step back.
Clark opens his mouth, but Lex is already focused. With steady hands, he finds a point of tension in the seam and presses it with his thumbs. The fabric fractures with a sharp snap, revealing the reddened skin beneath. Clark lets out a pent-up breath, almost a moan.
Lex stops dead in his tracks. He looks up.
Clark's eyes stare into his, a blue too open, too vulnerable.
"Does it hurt?" He asks, without sarcasm, without armor. Just the naked question.
Clark shakes his head, smiling weakly. "No... actually, it feels better. Thanks."
Lex looks down again, annoyed with himself for the heat he feels in his chest at Clark's words. His fingers, careful, peel back the remnants of hardened fabric until the area is completely free. The bruise underneath is dark, spreading over his ribs. A sight that turns his stomach.
"It could have broken your ribs." He says quietly. It's not a reproach, but it sounds like one.
Clark laughs softly, affectionately. "You did."
Ugh.
"And I almost killed you. I'm not proud. That green thing could have killed you too."
"Many tried. No one got lucky."
"It's not funny." Lex looks at him again, his eyes narrowed. "You do realize that if someone ever succeeds, you won't have an army of robots enough to fix you, right?"
Clark doesn't respond right away. He lets him do his thing, lets him run his hands over his skin as if trying to test the strength of those impossible ribs with his own fingers. There's strength in his movements, but also delicacy. A gesture that, to anyone else, would seem invasive. To Clark, however, it seems natural.
It is.
When he speaks, his voice is low: "I would have you."
Lex feels the world stop for a second. His breathing, his thoughts, everything freezes in that absurd, simple, devastating sentence.
Him. Lex Luthor, the man who had sworn to destroy him. He would be Superman's resource.
Instinctively, he tries to regain lost ground: "Wow, what a privilege. To go from enemy to... nurse in training?"
Clark smiles, tired but genuine. "I prefer to call you partner."
The word hangs between them, brighter than all the blue light reflected in the Fortress's crystals.
Lex doesn't know what to say, so he continues working, silent, as if concentrating on that task would protect him from facing the abyss he'd felt opening beneath his feet.
But the truth is impossible to deny: he just wants Clark to be okay.
In the end, Clark rests comfortably on the white stretcher, his breathing more regular. The robots retreat without orders, as if they understand they're no longer needed. Fucking Gary. In the remaining silence, only the faint echo of the wind can be heard filtering through the heights of this impossible palace.
Lex stands in front of him, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black coat. His fingers are cold, but he doesn't want to put on gloves: he likes to remember feeling the warmth of Clark's skin underneath, seeing for himself that his stupid Kryptonian boyfriend is still intact.
Clark looks at him, with that serenity that irritates and disarms him at the same time. "You stayed."
"Naturally." Lex nods, feigning indifference. "I wasn't going to let your light sculptures improvise experimental surgery without supervision."
Clark laughs softly. It's a low, almost intimate sound, as if he wouldn't allow it for anyone else. "I don't mean that. I mean... you can leave, at any time. In fact, you could have never come. You didn't have to. But here you are."
Lex watches him in silence for a few seconds. There are too many possible answers, too many ironies ready to be fired. He could say he stayed out of scientific curiosity, strategic interest, mere arrogance. But none of them are true.
"I'm not that irresponsible." He says, finally, choosing the only truth he can disguise as logic. "Someone has to make sure you stay in one piece. Unfortunately, the planet depends on you, have you forgotten?"
Clark tilts his head, with that expression that pierces him like X-rays. "The planet can wait."
The phrase hits him harder than he expected. Because Clark said it, looking directly at him, the blue of his eyes shining under the crystal lights. As if truly, for a moment, the entire universe were relegated behind the simple presence of Lex Luthor.
"That's what I always say." Lex clears his throat, uncomfortable, and looks up at the ceiling. "This place needs redecorating."
Clark blinks, surprised. "What?"
"That's unacceptable." Lex continues, scanning the glass walls. "Empty, cold, without a single decent piece of furniture. Not even a bar. What kind of host are you? Do you expect people to come sit on blocks of ice like... second-rate tourists?"
Clark lets out a full laugh this time, tilting his head back. The laughter bounces off the pillars, filling the space with a warmth that contrasts with everything Lex had said.
He can't help but smile. Soft, disarmed.
"A bar? Here?" Clark asks, amused.
"At least a decent couch. And paintings. And heating." Lex lists with absolute seriousness, as if he were designing a new building for LuthorCorp, although his lips are a soft smile. "I could turn this mausoleum into a functioning lounge in a matter of days."
Clark keeps laughing, and Lex allows himself to enjoy it; his smile stays on his lips and he looks at Clark with soft eyes: disheveled hair, lips curved in a grin, cheeks still flushed from the exertion of the fight. The greatest hero on the planet, giggling like a child because Lex Luthor is criticizing his igloo.
"You're incorrigible." Clark murmurs, still smiling.
Lex lifts his chin. "I'm practical. And frankly, if you're gonna drag me to the Antarctica, I deserve at least an electric blanket."
Clark's smile softens then. His voice lowers, more intimate: "Lex... thank you."
The sarcasm Lex had prepared dissolves before he leaves. Clark thanks him too sincerely, with that intensity that never seems forced, as if nothing is more true than this, than them.
"Why the hell are you thanking me?" He asks, trying to sound exasperated.
He fails.
"For everything." Clark meets his gaze. His eyes are soft, just like Lex's, and hold such a deep affection and tenderness that Lex's breath catches for a moment. "For accepting me. For letting me be in your life... and for agreeing to be in mine."
Silence falls again, but this time it's different: less icy, more human.
And Lex? Well, he's in love.
Clark remains lying on the stretcher, his shoulders now relaxed, his expression less tense. The bruise on his ribs still looks ugly, but Lex knows it will heal soon; tomorrow, when the sun rises.
He, without realizing it, had stopped observing the Fortress to look only at Clark. His movements, his breathing returning to a natural rhythm, the way his lips still hold a hint of a smile.
He approaches Clark slowly. Not out of fear, never, but because he wants to record every step, as if the moment could be shattered if he rushes. Clark looks up when he feels him getting closer, and doesn't move: he lets him approach.
"You still have dust in your hair." Lex says, his voice softer than he intended. His ungloved fingers reach up and comb through a stray lock of hair, shaking it gently.
Clark watches him, blue on ice, but warmer than this entire palace. "Are you gonna complain about that too?"
"Probably." Lex smiles, barely, a small, genuine gesture. "Although I must admit I like seeing you like this."
"Why?"
"It means you're alive."
Clark leans his head toward her hand, as if seeking contact, like a puppy starving for touch. It's such a simple, human gesture that Lex feels his breath catch in his throat for a moment.
"With me." He says, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Clark frowns gently. "What?"
Lex holds his gaze, never looking away. His eyes are no longer cold and calculating, but clear, soft, as if he's momentarily dropped all masks.
"You're safe with me." Lex says, almost whispering. "I'm gonna take care of you."
Clark smiles, slowly, with that tenderness that seems made just for him. "I know."
"Although it doesn't make sense for me to be here." Lex continues, with an attempt at sarcasm that already rings hollow.
"Not everything has to be logical."
But Lex is a man of science. "The world doesn't think the same."
Clark laughs, slightly, and leans a little closer. "I don't care about the world right now."
Lex looks at him slowly. He exhales fondly. "Me neither."
Clark doesn't answer. Instead, he brings his forehead to his, a slow movement, asking without words. Lex allows it, barely closing his eyes, feeling the warmth of that simple touch.
And then, it's the lips: soft, calm, without the urgency of a battle or the tension of a secret. Just a kiss that feels too much like home.
Lex holds him, one hand still tangled in his dark hair, the other resting on his shoulder. Clark reciprocates with the same gentleness, as if silently grateful that he's there, after all.
When they part, Lex doesn't move far. His eyes, shining tenderly in the blue light of the Fortress, let out a genuine smile. "I admit your robots aren't as useless as they seem."
Clark laughs, lowering his head, and looks at him fondly. "But you stayed anyway."
Lex looks at him directly, with a gentleness he rarely allows himself. "Of course I did." His eyes move away from Clark's and he looks down at his hands on his chest, sliding gently over his skin. "Now... why don't you take me to bed?"
Clark's smile could overshadow the sun.