Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s warm. Comfortable.

Clark is adrift in endless peace with neither past nor future.

Slowly, the thick substrate drains away around him and his back settles against a hard, metal surface. Heavy eyes struggle open against the bright world.

“It’s a miracle you’ve lasted as long as you have.” A distant, muted voice comes from somewhere above him.

Clark strains to see the hazy figure and his even hazier surroundings, but painfully tight bands on his wrists and ankles and across his chest keep him down.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” A large, firm hand cups Clark’s chin, roughly tilting his head back against the metal surface to bare his neck. “That was a foolish gamble even for you, but it all turned out alright in the end. I finally have you all to myself.”

It’s a man with sharp, narrow features and a smooth, bald head. His other arm is in a sling.

“Lex…” the name comes out unbidden.

The man—Lex—pauses, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Yes… What have we here?”

“What’s… going on? …Who…?”

Lex smiles and caresses the crook of Clark’s neck. His skin is sensitive and raw and it sends a shiver down his spine.

“Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?” Lex says.

Clark’s head pounds with the effort of trying to recall even the smallest thing. “I don’t… remember anything…”

“So that’s what red-gold Kryptonite does. We can work with this.” Lex’s fingers drag across Clark’s brow, brushing away a drop of sweat. “I am Lex Luthor, and you, Superman, belong to me.”

Clark offers no resistance as Lex knocks his head back against the metal surface, and lying flat comes as a relief. “Lex, I feel so weak…”

“I know,” Lex says with a grim twist of his lips. “It’s your own fault, but I’m sure I can fix it with your cooperation. I just need to run a few more tests.”

Clark lies still as Lex takes out a small scalpel. “What are you…?”

“I’d like to see you try to run any sophisticated test without samples.”

Lex digs his hand through Clark’s hair, letting the scalpel trail behind it, and grabs tight, pulling his head back again.

Clark lets out a groan.

“Good. Don’t worry, this will only hurt a little.” Lex slowly disentangles his hand from Clark’s hair and trails the scalpel down Clark’s face, stinging along his cheek.

Clark’s eyes fall shut as Lex’s fingers brush across the lids and down to his lips. Lex squeezes the base of Clark’s jaw to push his mouth open and he jabs in a swab. Clark gags and shudders against the restraints.

“You really are helpless without those powers of yours,” Lex murmurs, taking out the swab.

“Powers?” Clark chokes out, his throat still sore.

Lex shushes him, occupied with pressing his fingers along Clark’s neck; his jugular, his windpipe. Clark trembles beneath the tight grip, utterly at Lex’s mercy, but the thrill he feels isn’t just fear.

Slowly, Lex releases his hold and runs a hand down Clark’s chest pressing at his ribs as though he could push through to grab Clark’s shuddering heart and lungs.

“You may put on a brave face,” Lex remarks, “but your heart rate gives you away. Or do you mean to convince me that Kryptonians’ hearts are naturally this fast.”

Clark swallows, but answers levelly, “No, this isn’t my natural heart rate.”

Clark sees the moment Lex’s eyes drift down from Clark’s stomach and widen in surprise. A smirk follows close behind.

“You must be desperate to be aroused by a mere medical evaluation,” Lex drawls. “I’m surprised people aren’t lining up to bed the Man of Steel, or are you too noble to take advantage of them?”

Clark flushes. “This isn’t exactly a normal medical evaluation. I don’t think…”

“No, I suppose not. If I had known the Man of Steel was into being tied down, I might have had a much easier time capturing you, but my efforts have paid off regardless, and now…”

Lex’s hand wanders down to Clark’s hip, the sharp sting of the scalpel still following after making Clark shudder again. He slowly traces inward, across the plane of Clark’s hip, to the inside of his thigh.

And then, suddenly Lex pulls away and turns his attention to Clark’s arm. He presses with the sharp scalpel, drawing a white line down to Clark’s hand. Clark grits his teeth. It crosses Clark’s palm and when it reaches Clark’s finger, it bites down and he gives a writhing shout of pain.

Clark barely notices the restraints releasing, still sweaty from the white hot burn. “How can a small cut hurt so much?”

“Now you know what it feels like not to be invulnerable.” Lex brusquely bandages the slit of a cut. “In your current state, there’s no reason to keep you restrained, unless you’d prefer to stay tied up and covered in sweat.”

Clark flushes again.

He has enough trouble pushing himself upright that Lex, grumbling, pulls him up by the arm and then props up his back. “Just because you’re not a flying brick anymore doesn’t mean you’re any lighter.”

“Sorry,” Clark says sheepishly, his head spinning from the sudden movement.

Lex, however, doesn’t wait to pull Clark onto his feet, forcing him to lean on Lex’s shoulders for balance.

“You’re disgusting,” Lex says. “I won’t have you dripping stabilizing medium everywhere.”

“Whose fault is that?” Clark retorts.

Lex gives him a pointed look that says it’s his fault and no one else’s.

While Lex roughly towels him off, Clark’s head clears enough to finally take stock of his surroundings. They’re in a small, windowless lab with the table he woke up on in the center, surrounded by monitors and shelves of equipment, and a particularly nasty looking device hanging down from the ceiling.

As soon as Lex deems him no longer a hazard, he steers Clark out through a pair of high security doors, into the glitzy living room of a penthouse apartment that could belong to Bruce Wayne with a panoramic view of Metropolis—and which gives Metropolis a panoramic view of Clark. He’s still reconciling his new surroundings with where he woke up as Lex directs him straight into an enormous, glittering bedroom, dominated by a giant bed that’s far too big for one.

The master bathroom is no less opulent. Every surface is made of glittering marble that makes it look like an old Greek or Roman bath or even temple. Only as Lex deposits Clark in the bathroom does he remember Lex’s arm in a sling.

“What happened?” Clark asks despite himself.

A grimace flickers across Lex’s full lips, rosy in the filtered light. “You, as always. I couldn’t let Joker claim my prize, not after I’ve been working for so long to bring you under my power. Your foolish sacrifice left me no choice but to intervene.”

“You risked yourself to rescue me?” Clark can’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Nothing so heroic,” Lex insists, but there’s a light flush on his cheeks—or maybe it’s just the light.

Clark tests his uncertain legs, and when they hold takes his weight off of Lex’s shoulders.

“Let me.” Without waiting for Lex’s reply, Clark carefully helps him out of his lab coat and starts on the buttons of his shirt.

For a moment it looks like Lex is going to protest at being coddled, but then he raises his chin and allows Clark to serve him. As Lex’s shirt falls open, it reveals a surprisingly muscular chest, scarred from countless battles and experiments. Clark’s fingers run along the scars, delicately tracing out a difficult life full of adversity.

Clark hesitates when he reaches the waistband of Lex’s slacks.

“Go on,” Lex says.

Clark fingers at the button and feels the fabric begin to stir and strain as Lex’s body reacts to his ministrations.

Lex groans in impatience and mutters something about fucking aliens.

Clark obliges, finally letting Lex’s slacks fall to the ground, his boxers close behind. Lex is done waiting and pushes Clark straight into the shower stall, banging his back against the wall, drawing out a yelp of pain.

“I don’t need two hands to take you,” Lex hisses in Clark’s ear.

Clark’s hips writhe against Lex, every painful thrust tearing through him as though he were made of wet cardboard. By the time Lex turns on the water, Clark’s weakened body is like jelly. It’s only Lex pinning him to the shower wall that keeps him upright.

Lex scoffs. “I see I have to do everything myself.”

Lex is not a gentle man, but he massages soap through Clark’s stiff hair and scours his body, ensuring that every inch of him is scrubbed raw and stings in a constant reminder that Lex was there—that every part of Clark belongs to him. Clark feels a little guilty that he’s grateful Lex doesn’t ask him to return the favor, especially with Lex’s injured arm, but he expects he’ll get another chance to help Lex out.

Lex doesn’t take long anyway. Soon the water is off, and he drapes an immense, plush bathrobe over Clark’s shoulders.  It feels like being wrapped in a thick, warm cloud, and Clark doesn’t want to know how expensive it is. Fortunately, Lex is more than distracting enough. His good hand lingers against Clark’s chest, his fingers knotted in the dark, wiry hair.

Lex’s eyes are locked on Clark’s with such intensity, for a moment he wonders if Lex is about to push him against the wall for another round, but then he lowers his arm to Clark’s waist and helps him out into the bedroom with only a veneer of his characteristic impatience. He deposits Clark on the bed, Clark’s head spinning from all the exertion in his weakened state, while Lex fetches what must be a rich man’s loungewear; slacks and another, thinner robe.

Lex doesn’t seem to find it as easy to put on his own slacks and shimmering gold robe as it was to shower with just one hand. Clark hesitates to follow suit, instead folding the slacks and blue robe on the bed next to him.

“Why did you really rescue me?” Clark asks.

Lex turns, his slacks still unbuttoned and his robe hanging from one shoulder. “What do you mean, why did I rescue you?” he bites out in his frustration.

Clark carefully pushes himself up onto his feet and crosses the room to Lex’s wardrobe. With slow, deliberate motions, he helps Lex into his robe and buttons his slacks.

Clark’s arms still possessively wrapped around Lex; one hand on the hem of his robe and the other at the band of his boxers, and his chin resting just above the crook of Lex’s neck, Clark whispers into his ear, “You usually want me dead, don’t you?”

Clark feels Lex startle at his words, but he doesn’t quite shake Clark off—and Clark is grateful, because he’s relying on Lex to keep him balanced.

“So you do remember,” Lex accuses, his voice hard. “Why the show then? Hoping I’d give away my secrets, and now that you’ve realized it’s futile, you’ve given up the game?”

“No, I did have amnesia, at least at first.”

“And then?”

“Why did you step in to save me?” Clark counters.

Lex scoffs. “Is this supposed to be some kind of reward for good behavior? Trying to seduce me to your side?”

Clark shrugs, shifting against Lex’s back. “Is it working?”

Lex lets out a sharp, dry laugh. “You’ll have to try harder than that to convince me to give up everything I’ve worked for. Not all of us can bend the world to our whim as easily as thinking it.”

“You’re the one who has me at your mercy,” Clark points out, his lips against the shell of Lex’s ear.

Lex reaches around with his free hand to grab the back of Clark’s neck. “Don’t think a few pretty words will be enough to make me let down my guard.”

Clark drapes himself more heavily over Lex. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He can picture Lex’s smirk.