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"Name?"
"Clark Kent, I'm a journalist for the Daily Planet."
"And you're here to do what?"
"Interview Mr Luthor, if you would be so kind."
The guard quirks a sceptical eyebrow at him.
"Who cares what he's got to say? The guy's a traitor and a criminal."
Clark gives him a polite smile. "That may be so, but it's not my job to judge. In fact, this is a plan B piece, I might not even publish it if I get a better story. But there's always an audience who wants to hear the other side."
"Right", the guard nods, "all them true crime freaks. Guess even Ted Bundy sold papers." He rolls his eyes and buzzes the door open. "Follow me, kid."
Overhead lights flicker on an off as they pass through a long hallway. "Is your electrician on vacation?", Clark inquires.
"Nah. This whole wing was supposed to be under construction, really. There's only one cell with working locks and plumbing left." He points to the far end of the hallway. "But with the recent influx of inmates", he adds with a humourless chuckle, "our director figured the renovations could wait."
They come to a stop in front of a shoebox of a cell, dim lighting outlining a silhouette on the cot, facing the bare wall.
"Not exactly a penthouse", the guard smirks, turning away already. "You need anything, holler. I got a game to watch." And with that he's gone.
Clark clears his throat. Lex doesn't bother to acknowledge his presence. "I'd ask how you're doing, but I guess it's not good."
The sound of his voice does get him a reaction: Lex bolts upright, but in a fraction of a second his expression flickers to something like disappointment. "Oh. You're that little journalist. Superman can't even show up to gloat in person?", he spits. It sounds bitter.
"What makes you think he'd gloat?"
Lex huffs. "Please. Like Golden Boy isn't over the Moon to have me ruined." He lies back, staring at the ceiling. "Get out, Kent. I have nothing to say to you."
Clark chews on his lip. He's had enough of being misunderstood lately. It shouldn't matter to him what Luthor thinks anyway, except it does, and he's not in the habit of ignoring his gut feeling. "Superman doesn't hate you, you know. Maybe you two got off on the wrong foot."
He's met with stony silence.
"Alright, ignore me. But I'm going to tell you about him, since you seem to have the wrong impression."
"Oh for fuck's sake, shut up!" Lex is up again, glaring at him. "Has anyone told you that you have the same goddamn voice as the bastard?"
That gives Clark pause. They haven't, actually. Even his best friend Lois didn't mention it. He'd thought the glasses were just covering that aspect as well, but here Lex was, proving him wrong. Always surprises with Lex. Maybe that was what made him so interesting.
He regains his composure and continues, "As I was saying about Superman - " Lex grits his teeth and starts pacing the small cell. " - he's not as arrogant or petty as you think. Don't you think you're projecting a bit, Mr Luthor?"
Lex shoots him a death stare. "Oh sure, I bet he's a veritable saint", he says, words dripping with sarcasm.
The corner of Clark's lips quirks up before he remembers himself. "No, I definitely wouldn't say that."
"You seem to know suspiciously much for a guy who does the occasional interview", Lex narrows his eyes, stepping closer to the bars. "Almost like you know him personally."
"I know enough", Clark responds, not backing down an inch. Something makes him want to push, and before he has time to question it, he adds, "I know you're obsessed with him like a teenage fangirl."
He didn't think it through - never does, Lois would say - which is the only explanation he can think of for why it catches him off-guard: one moment he's taunting Lex, watching the way his nostrils flare in anger, and the next there's a fist flying through the bars right at his face. He moves just a millisecond too slow, narrowly avoiding the punch, and the next retort is already on the tip of his tongue when he belatedly registers the sound of his glasses hitting the floor.
Oh, heck.
He glances down at them. Back to Luthor. Yeah, no, the damage is done. The look on the other man's face is pure shock for a moment, but he recovers quickly. "Oh, of course. Why didn't I see it before?"
"It's the glasses, they -"
"The voice, the interviews, the way you talk about him - you..." He trails off, shaking his head. "That is the dumbest disguise ever, by the way."
Clark wants to object that it is not, thank you very much, but Lex is talking again, "I can think of at least 6 of my gadgets that would do a better job. No, make that 7." He's annoyingly smug again, and as much as Clark hates to admit it to himself, he does look unfairly good with that smirk. It used to be an inconvenient distraction, but come to think of it...
"You're not going to say a word to anyone", he says with as much authority as he can muster.
Lex's eyebrows shoot up. "And why exactly wouldn't I? I've got you now, Blue."
"No", Clark replies. "I've got you."
The bars are easy enough to bend, practically butter under his hands. This time he's expecting the next move, so when Lex opens his mouth to call for the guards, Clark's on him before he can make a sound. Has him pressed against the wall and breathing harshly against his palm faster than you can say 'damage control'.
"I'm not going to kill you", he clarifies, because he's starting to understand how the billionaire's mind works. Up close, he can see the twitch of Lex's eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"I'm going to give you what you want. What you would've killed me over, rather than to admit it to yourself." Clark's free hand trails down his body, and there's a mix of dread and anticipation in Lex's eyes, their clear blue darkened as his pupils dilate.
Clark drags it out, inching lower until his left hand reaches the undeniable proof he was looking for, obvious through the thin fabric of the prison suit. He risks sliding his other hand from Lex's mouth to the side of his neck. "Go on then. Tell me I'm wrong."
He can feel the pulse rabbiting under his fingers, even as Lex grits out, "I hate you." It's undercut by the way he pushes up into the touch.
"Maybe. But that's not all, is it?"
Clark's left hand squeezes, eliciting a groan from Lex. "Say it", he challenges, not surprised when all that gets him is a spiteful glare. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. He changes targets, ducking to lick a stripe up his neck, and relishing the sharp inhale that produces. "Say. It."
Lex is nothing if not stubborn though, even as he makes no attempt to alert the guards. Clark smiles to himself, proceeding to mouth at his carotid, slow and torturous. He adds some light stroking with his left hand for good measure.
"I hate you so much", Lex pants.
"I know."
It's a stalemate for a minute, nothing but the sound of laboured breathing in the quiet room. Time for Superman to up the ante. He looks right into Lex's eyes as he snakes his hand under his clothes, skin on skin, and his enemy must be close to breaking now, if the twitch of his dick is anything to go by. He keeps it frustratingly slow, stroking almost tight enough but not quite. Another minute or two goes by, and still no confession.
Pride is one hell of a sin, isn't it? Lex has his jaw locked so tight his teeth might break soon. Determined to win this round apparently.
Alrighty then. Final tactic.
Clark takes a step back. "No, huh? Guess I was wrong."
He turns to leave, and just as he takes a step - "Wait."
Gotcha.
"What was that?"
Lex still looks mutinous, but clearly at the end of his rope. "You were right", he mutters.
"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
If looks could kill, he'd be one dead Kryptonian. Still, he's not heartless, so he plasters himself flush against Lex before he asks again, more coaxingly, "Come on. Tell me."
Those pretty blue eyes flick down to his lips for a moment, and then an exasperated whisper: "Alright, yes. I want you. Stupid alien."
"Guess tall, dark and Martian is your type after all", he can't resist the jab. And just to have the last word, he presses their mouths together in a deep, claiming kiss, until whatever retort Lex had is long forgotten.
When they break apart, Lex looks a little drunk - being able to hold his breath for an hour might make Superman forget how often others need to breathe, oops - but more docile too. Clark pushes two fingers into his mouth. "Get 'em nice and wet." He's half expecting more resistance, but that ship seems to have sailed: Lex sucks on the digits like he's getting paid to do it, and gosh darn that's hotter than it has any right to be.
Their teeth clash with the force of the next kiss, as Clark reaches back behind him and pushes a finger in. He's rewarded by a filthy muffled moan, before Lex pants, "Two. Gimmie two."
"I don't think - "
"Don't think, just fucking do it."
He does, and then it occurs to him: "You like pain."
Lex just looks at him like he's stupid, and yeah, okay, fair. He distracts himself with more tonsil hockey, which at least seems to be one thing they're on the same page about. Lex pulls on his hair, and nuh-uh, Clark's not going for matching haircuts, so he pins his wrists above his head.
"Oh fuck yes." Well. Another serendipitous discovery.
The day seems to be full of them, because he never had a thing for being given hickeies, but having his former(?) enemy gnawing on his own neck is suddenly a turn-on. Go figure.
"Now. 'm ready."
"Are you sure?"
"Ask me that again and all of Metropolis will know your identity."
Point taken. Clark flips Lex over so he's facing the wall and starts to push inside, spurred on by the occasional "yeah, yeah, c'mon", and oh - it's like, the yellow sun. Concentrated yellow sun, holy hell.
He doesn't realize he said it out loud until he hears Lex laugh breathlessly, "Have I told you you're an idiot?"
"You have", Clark retaliates by biting his earlobe, though that backfires, since the little shit actually likes it. They find a good rhythm surprisingly fast. Or maybe not surprisingly. Clark's thinking he might really be an idiot for not doing this sooner.
"Fuck... Need you to... Need -", Lex seems to give up on words and just drags his hand to his own neck. Oh. Okay.
It's a balancing act, squeezing with just a fraction of his strength, mindful to let up every now and then, but there's also a thrill in it because this is Lex trusting him with his actual life. It hits him like a freight train, because that's what this is, and he's talking without thinking again, "You know, I never understood why you'd envy me."
"Seriously?", Lex pants, "Now? You wanna talk about this - ah - now?!"
"You're brilliant. You're - ngh - you're incredible."
"Oh shut up."
"And you're being so good for me right now."
That gets and honest-to-god whimper out of Lex. "Yeah. You are."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So good. Perfect."
He's caught off guard for the second time when Lex comes untouched, turning into a vise grip around him so he has no choice but to follow him over the edge.
"Jesus", Clark pants, trying to catch his breath.
"Yeah yeah", Lex grumbles half-heartedly. "My legs are about to give out, will you get off."
"Just did", he quips, just to get another eye roll out of him.
Maybe Clark Kent will decide to write a book about Superman's arch enemy. It will take many interview visits for sure.
Unsupervised visits.
***