Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kon doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Kryptonite feels, the burning agony in his veins, the way it saps all of his strength and leaves him weak and helpless. He’s not used to feeling vulnerable. Sprawled on the grey carpet of Lex Luthor’s office, stripped down to his boxers, the sickly green glow of Kryptonite illuminating the room, Kon feels more vulnerable than he ever has in his life.

“I should have known that the clone would be a disappointment,” Lex says, prodding Kon in the ribs with the shiny point of his shoe.

“Don’t touch him,” Superman growls. He’s on the other side of the room, tied to Luthor’s office chair. He looks as terrible as Kon feels, pale and sweating, teeth bared in agony. “Leave Superboy out of this. Let him go.”

Lex laughs, a humourless bark of sound. “Why would I let him go when he’s the star of the show?”

He crouches beside Kon, head tilted as takes him in. Kon’s lip peels back from his fangs, snarling in warning. “Get the fuck away from me, you freak.”

Lex smiles indulgently, like Kon is an unruly pup. He reaches over, ignoring the way Kon snaps his teeth at him, and brushes the short hairs away from the nape of Kon’s neck. There’s a sharp pinch, Luthor injecting him with something.

“Lex,” Superman says, strained. “What is this? What are you doing to him?”

“Well I got to thinking,” Lex says. “That maybe my plan failed because he just had too much of your DNA.”

The back of Kon’s neck prickles. His stomach clenches, cramping and hollow. It’s hard to tell - beyond the all encompassing pain of the Kryptonite - exactly what the injection is doing to him, but knowing Luthor it can’t be anything good.

Superman’s voice is steady, deep with righteous fury. “Your plan failed because you think everyone is as terrible and evil as you. People want to do good. They want to be good.”

Lex rolls his eyes. “There he goes again. Don’t you ever get tired of listening to him prattle on?”

A hand fits over the nape of Kon’s neck, hot and heavy. Kon shudders. His stomach lurches, nausea and a shivery sort of heat twisting together in his guts. His cock twitches, filling in his boxers. His pussy throbs.

Oh. He recognises this squirmy feeling in his belly. He’s going into heat, although he’s not due to heat for another two weeks at least. Lex must have injected him with an inducer.

Cold dread slithers through his chest. There’s no good reason for Lex Luthor to want Kon in heat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Superman asks, and Kon can tell by the choked strain in his voice that he can smell Kon’s pheromones. This heat is coming on fast and strong, likely due to the drug. Kon can feel slick already wet between his thighs. He must have soaked through his underwear.

“The plan failed, but there might still be a use for the clone yet. An omega. A rather fortuitous designation.”

“I don’t understand,” Superman says. Kon’s pretty sure Superman does understand. At least as much as Kon does. There’s only really one way this is going to go.

Luthor touches Kon’s hip, cool fingers grazing the skin just above his waistband. Kon shivers, a soft whine rising unbidden from his throat. Lex isn’t pack, his presence doesn’t soothe him the way Superman’s would, or Ma and Pa. But he does smell like sire. Like this, with his instincts demanding he mate, it’s biologically repulsive. Kon’s body rebels against the thought of this alpha anywhere near him during his heat.

“I can make another,” Lex says. “This time with more of my DNA.” He hums. Grips Kon’s waistband and starts working his underwear down his hips. “Breed my own little army of superpowered hybrids.”

Superman makes an odd choking noise that Kon almost can’t hear over the pounding of blood in his ears. Adrenaline surges through him, coppery and acidic on his tongue. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, gritting his teeth at the effort it takes to do even that. His blood feels like sludge in his veins, burning him up. Heat and fear and Kryptonite a rancid, toxic mix.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Kon growls. “You bald headed, fuck ass creep.”

Lex plants a hand between his shoulder blades and shoves him back down to the floor. His other hand drags Kon’s underwear down his legs, baring him to the room, the smell of his slick and arousal spilling out into the air. Kon squirms, like a worm on a hook. Lex’s hand feels like an anvil on his back.

“You can’t be serious?” Superman gasps. He’s squirming too, thrashing against the ropes tying him to the chair. It creaks ominously, but Kon knows Superman won’t be able to free himself. If Kon feels this bad, this weak, under the Kryptonite’s effects, then Superman must be feeling even worse.

“Why not?” Lex grunts. He shifts around behind Kon, spreading his legs apart with ease. The sound of his zipper is shockingly loud in the thick, still air of the office. “I created him. He’s mine to do whatever I want with.”

As if Kon isn’t even a person. As if he’s Lex’s property. Just a prop for him to fuck and breed. The thought has Kon heaving, choking uselessly around the nausea in his stomach, his throat.

“This is sick! This is - he has half your DNA.”

“Jealous? I’m sure when I’m done you can have a go at him too.”

Superman makes a spluttering, furious sound. Kon’s already queasy stomach gives another lurch, saliva thick in his mouth. Their relationship might have been strained at first, but Kal is like a brother to him. The thought of him wanting to fuck Kon is absurd.

“Please,” Superman begs, as Lex presses in behind Kon, layering himself over his back. “Please don’t do this. He’s just a boy. It’s me you want. You can - you can fuck me instead. Just let him go.”

“Ha! Are you an omega, Superman? Can I breed you? Fill your belly with a litter of my pups?”

It’s clear the idea excites Luthor. He’s breathing hard, his stench thick and bitter with lust. His hands grip Kon’s hips, hard enough to bruise.

“You’re a sick fuck,” Kon manages, around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll do anything, anything you want,” Superman says. Kon closes his eyes against the pleading, desperate words. He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want Superman to suffer instead of him. Doesn’t want to give Luthor the satisfaction.

“This is what I want,” Lex says. Then he presses his hips forward, the blunt head of his erection slipping thick and hot against Kon’s slit. Kon jerks. Whines. Lex adjusts his grip, shuffling on his knees. He rolls his hips and this time when his cock slips between Kon’s thighs, the head catches. He shoves inside in one brutal thrust.

Kon screams. He can’t help it, even relaxed from his heat hormones, wet with slick, Lex feels enormous. And Kon isn’t used to pain, especially this kind of pain - intimate, violating. Luthor’s cock stretches him open, hips pressed tight to Kon’s ass. He bows over Kon’s back with a groan.

“No!” Superman shouts. He renews his struggles, thrashing hard against the restraints. Kon heaves again. Superman is watching this, watching him. His hero - his big brother - is watching him get fucked.

Lex draws his hips back, then slams home with a grunt. Kon jerks, flailing against the carpet, the rough fibres scraping his cheek and his knees. Despite the pain and the horror, there’s a part of him that feels good as Lex thrusts into him. A primal, instinctive part of Kon that’s pleased he’s being mated. That preens over an alpha at his back.

It makes Kon want to cry, or maybe puke. That anything about this could feel good seems incomprehensible. Lex is - is raping him. The alpha that’s by all biological definitions his sire, is trying to breed him.

The sob that tears out of his throat takes him by surprise, wet and loud. His face feels damp with tears and saliva, smeared over his cheeks. Another sob builds in his chest like a bubble. He bites his lip hard to stop the sound escaping. Tastes the iron tang of blood.

“Superboy,” Kal gasps out. When Kon glances up at him, he can see that he’s crying too, wet streaks over his pale face. “Kon I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Lex moans. He leans low over Kon, hips still working against him, picking up speed. “Oh I do so enjoy seeing you cry, Superman.”

“A-alpha,” Kon whimpers. He can’t seem to tear his gaze away from Superman. He’s right there. He could make Kon feel better. He could soothe his heat with his safe, calm, pack alpha scent. Kon wishes he was curled up in his nest, Superman warm and steady beside him, Ma Kent’s homemade stew in his belly. He wishes he was anywhere but here.

“It’s okay,” Superman says, high and wavering and not at all believable. “I’m here, Kon. It’s going to be okay.”

Luthor’s thrusts quicken, the slap of skin against skin almost obscene. Kon rocks with the movement, face smushed into the carpet, drool stringing from his gasping mouth. His pussy throbs around the thick pressure of Lex’s cock.

“Please,” he begs. Please let this be over soon. His stomach hurts. He just wants to go home.

Lex bends further over him, breath hot and damp on the back of Kon’s neck. He makes a low sound of pleasure, hips jerking hard against Kon, then stilling, sealed tight to his pelvis.

“Fuck,” Lex grunts. He pushes impossibly closer. The skin between them is slick with sweat. Kon can feel his cock throb, his knot starting to swell.

Panic surges through Kon’s veins, pulsing through him in sickening waves. He pushes himself upright, arms shaking beneath him, and throws his head back, trying to hit Lex in his ugly ass face. His skull hits Lex’s jaw, but the blow is weak. It barely even jostles the alpha above him.

Luthor snarls, grabbing him by the neck and shoving him back down hard enough that Kon’s pretty sure he’s going to have carpet burn on his face. He strains against him and Kon can’t help but cry out as Luthor’s knot swells, stretching Kon so wide he feels like he’s going to tear. Lex lunges down over him. His teeth sink into Kon’s nape, the pain so sudden and huge that Kon screams, thrashing beneath Lex. It’s not a mating bite - thank god - but it’s a claim nonetheless. Lex marking his fucking property.

Lex groans around his mouthful of flesh, hips rocking, humping against Kon as he cums. Kon’s whole body spasms. For a moment he’s sure that he’s about to puke all over the carpet, then suddenly he’s cumming too, pulsing around Lex’s knot, cock spurting over the floor.

Bile surges up his throat. He heaves uselessly, sobbing. He can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. Every wet, gasping breath is tinged with Lex’s alpha scent, the smell of sex. His mouth tastes of blood. It feels like his insides are peeling apart, the Kryptonite corroding him from the inside, Lex’s semen seeping into the cracks and staining him irrevocably.

“You’re a monster,” Superman says. His voice sounds as wet as Kon feels. He almost laughs. Tell us something we don’t know, Superman.

“Not the best fuck I’ve ever had,” Lex says, sitting back on his heels, hips still pressed to Kon’s. The cool air of the office prickles over Kon’s sweaty, oversensitive skin.

Superman growls, loud and furious. “You won’t get away with this.”

“It would seem that I already have.”

Kon turns his face into the carpet, shivering beneath Lex. He feels disgusting, his cunt clenched tight around Luthor’s knot, the alpha’s seed plugged up inside him.

It’s not the first time Kon’s had sex, but it is the first time he’s had sex while in heat. It seems a stupid thing to care about, but Kon can’t stop thinking about it. Just another thing Lex has ruined.

It seems to take an age for Lex’s knot to go down. Every so often he’ll roll his hips, cock throbbing, moaning softly, but otherwise no one moves. Superman starts crying again, hitching, gasping sobs. Kon shuts his eyes and pretends that he’s somewhere else. Anywhere else.

When Lex finally pulls away, it feels like he’s taking part of Kon with him, tearing out a little bit of his soul. Wet fluid runs down the inside of his thigh, slick and semen. Maybe blood. His pussy aches, a deep, intimate pain that makes Kon want to puke.

Lex pats him on the ass, like some sort of prized thoroughbred, then stands up, moving away. Kon listens to the sound of his zipper, the soft thud of his expensive shoes on the carpet. Kon keeps his face pressed to the ground, still propped up on his knees. He should move. It’s strangely embarrassing, being exposed like this. Superman can probably see the way his pussy gapes, clenching around nothing, still desperate for something to fill it. He can probably see the cum on his thighs.

His stomach flips, salt prickling over his tongue. His throat feels too tight, sharp and jagged like he’s swallowed broken glass.

“Hopefully whatever abomination comes out of that slutty hole will be more of a success than you. Used up piece of shit,” Lex says, aiming a kick at Kon’s stomach.

Kon grunts, the pain dull and barely registering over the sickening ache between his legs. He lets the momentum carry him over onto his side, curling up around his own knees. He thinks maybe Superman is saying something, deep and angry, but Kon can’t find the energy to care anymore. Everything hurts. He just wants to curl up in his nest and go to sleep.

The glow of the Kryptonite fades as Lex picks up the tiny chunk and pockets it. “I trust you boys can make your own way out. Do try not to leave a mess on the carpet.”

Kon doesn’t watch him leave. He stays where he is, shivering on the carpet. With the Kryptonite gone, Kon can feel his strength returning, the aches and pain disappearing like they were never there. The only sign that anything had happened is the semen on his thighs and the lingering heat, softer and less painful now.

Wood creaks. Kon jumps at the sound of the chair breaking, curling up tighter. Then the feel of air displacing as Superman crosses the distance between them in less than a second.

“Kon. Oh god, Kon, buddy. It’s okay.”

A big, warm hand rests gingerly on Kon’s shoulder. The whimper that comes out of Kon’s throat has his face heating in embarrassment. He’s fine, totally fine. The Kryptonite is gone, so why is Kon still lying on the floor like this? He should get up, tell Superman he’s totally okay and he doesn’t need him to coddle him.

The hand slides from his shoulder to gently cup Kon’s cheek. It brings Superman’s wrist close to his nose, and Kon is suddenly breathing in the scent of his pack alpha, bitter with distress, thick with protective fury.

“Alpha please,” Kon whines. More hot tears spill over his cheeks. Superman sweeps his thumb beneath Kon’s eye. He makes a shaky, crooning noise, then a low alpha grumble.

“I’ve got you, bud. I’m just going to pick you up now, okay?”

He grips Kon’s waistband, working his boxers back up over his hips. Then tucks one arm under Kon’s shoulders, the other under his knees, and lifts him. It’s sort of embarrassing, being carried bridal style like some damsel in distress when he’s not even hurt. When he’s totally fine. But like this, he can feel how solid Superman is beneath his cheek, can tuck his face into the warmth of his neck and breathe in his scent.

Kon keeps his eyes shut, his face pressed into Superman’s throat, as he takes off. He has no idea where Superman is taking him, but anywhere is better than that office.

He recognises the Kent farm as soon as they land. It smells like home, like Ma and Pa Kent. Like safety.

“Clark?” It’s Ma, her voice rising in pitch as she gets closer. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Ma,” Superman says, voice breaking. Kon can feel the hitch in his chest as he starts crying again, clutching Kon tight against him. “It’s Conner. He…”

Ma gets close enough that Kon can smell her, sweet and floral and beta. “Conner? He’s hurt? John! John, come quick!”

“He’s…” Superman tries again, then cuts himself off.

“Well get him inside for goodness sake.”

She hustles them both into the house. Superman lays him down on his childhood bed. It smells like Clark. Kon feels bad that he’s dirtying the sheets, messing up Superman’s room.

He can’t help the whine as Superman pulls away. Except Ma is already there, filling the space Superman leaves behind, a gentle hand stroking the hair back from his face. Kon feels small and weak and stupid. There’s nothing even wrong with him and here everyone is fussing over him.

“What happened? Conner, sweetheart, are you alright? You smell like you’re in heat, baby.”

Kon leans into her soft touch, breathing in her scent. Pa crouches on the other side of the bed, petting at his hair in tandem with Martha.

“‘M fine,” Kon mumbles, because the shame is almost too much to bear. He can’t imagine telling Ma what happened. Putting into words the filth and disgust.

“Luthor. He had…he had Kryptonite,” Superman says in a trembling voice. Kon wishes he would stop. He doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t want Ma and Pa to hear this. “He injected Conner with a heat inducer.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath, the hands pausing a moment before resuming their stroking. Kon trembles, a wet sob hitching from his chest.

“Oh, baby,” Ma says.

“We should - uh - he needs…” Superman stops. Kon risks cracking one eye open to peek up at him. His fists are clenched so hard his knuckles are white, silvery tears still tracking silently over his cheeks. He meets Kon’s eye. “You need emergency contraception, bud.”

Kon’s stomach clenches, nausea rolling through him. Emergency contraception. Because Lex Luthor’s seed is inside him. Because Kon’s in heat and the alpha that’s his biological sire bred him.

He gags, heaves. Someone turns him onto his side and he retches down the side of the bed instead of over the sheets.

“Will it even work on me?” he manages between bouts of retching, coughing miserably.

“I don’t know,” Superman says. “I’ll talk to someone, find out what we should do. Just - it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it okay.”

Kon wishes he would stop fucking saying that. It’s not going to be fucking okay if the emergency contraception doesn’t work. If Lex’s seed catches. If Kon is pupped with some incestuous baby that Lex Luthor wants to use for his nefarious plans.

The thought makes him heave again, but nothing comes up this time. He sags back onto the sheets, feeling sweaty and sick, despite the fact that his super healing should be taking care of it.

“Clark, dear, would you fetch the bucket and mop before you go?”

Kon’s chest seizes in sudden panic. “No. No, don't go. Don’t leave me, please.” He’s distantly aware of how pathetic he sounds. But he can’t seem to stop himself. He doesn’t want his alpha to leave him like this, in heat and vulnerable. Even though logically, Kon knows that without the Kryptonite Lex never would have been able to hurt him.

“We’ll be with you, son,” Pa says, cupping Kon’s face gently in his big, calloused hand. “And Clark will be back in a jiffy, won’t you?”

“I promise. I won’t be long.”

Then he’s gone, the bucket and mop deposited carefully by the door. Kon’s stomach clenches, hollow and aching. He turns his face into the pillow but there’s no trace of his pack alpha left. Only the clean, slightly floral scent of Ma’s laundry detergent.

Pa sits on the bed beside him, and Kon lets the dip of the mattress roll him until he can tuck his head onto the beta’s thigh. Behind him he can hear Ma moving about, cleaning up his vomit he thinks. Guilt and shame clog his throat, wet and sticky.

“I’m sorry,” he says into the rough material of Pa’s jeans. “I should - I’m fine. I should stop being a bother.”

“Nonsense!” The bed dips again, Ma leaning over him. Something wet drips onto the side of his face. He’s made her cry. “You’re not a bother, baby. You’re never a bother.”

“This is what pack’s for ain’t it?” Pa says gruffly. “No bother about it.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Ma says quietly. “I’m so sorry that this happened. My sweet boy.”

Kon sobs, curling up tighter between them. His stomach is still cramping with heat, his pussy aching for something to fill it. Lex’s cum is still smeared between his thighs. He feels small, and filthy. But like this, bracketed between the two betas, between his Ma and Pa, he feels safe in a way that he hasn’t since Luthor had held him down against that rough carpet.

“It’s going to be okay, you’ll see,” Pa says. “I promise, it’s all going to be okay.”