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Lois knew she should be happy since had worked her whole life for this. Now she was a respected journalist at the Daily Planet, one of the best in the city and she had her dream job. But god, sometimes it felt tedious. She couldn’t remember how many times she had typed out the same headline about Superman or the Justice Gang. Always some variation of, “Superman Saves the Day!”
It was the same thing over and over again, they just swapped one falling building for another, one Lex Luthor evil deeds for the next.
What she craved was the next breakthrough, something messy, something that actually made people gawk at the newspaper. But what was left? Another exposé on LuthorCorp’s latest “miracle” invention? Please. Just the thought made her body shudder. She had been inside that building enough times to know that every corner felt like someone was watching her back. She didn’t want to go near it again and wouldn't even touch that building with a ten-foot pole.
A fresh air, that's what she needed. She craned her head to see that Clark wasn't on his desk and she frowned, hoping that there wasn't a world ending threat in some part of the world.
Gathering her jacket and bag, she made a beeline towards the elevator, but as she passed the archive room, something made her pause. Voices, distinctly male voices seeped through the half-closed door. That wasn’t unusual; journalists dug through old clippings all the time. What was unusual was how they sounded. They were grunting, paired with hushed groans that didn’t belong in the middle of office hours.
Her brows knit.
Then one of them cursed. “Fuck.”
She would have dismissed it because reporters and journalists swore all the time, but it was Clark's voice, Mr. Boy-Scout himself, swearing like that? What the hell was going on in the archives?
Lois pushed the door wider, slipping inside before she could talk herself out of it. The air hit her first, it was stale and dust-heavy, shadows stretched between rows of metal shelves stacked high with files, dates scribbled across the edges in marker, 1993, 1997, 2001, and so on
She wound her way deeper, eyes scanning labels. The sounds were clearer now, low moans, muffled gasps and they were making Lois’ pulse quickened and she had to pause to figure out that the voices were coming from row 1A, far at the back.
She moved carefully, keeping low, ducking her head as though the shadows themselves might rat her out. At Row C she slowed, listening, then edged toward Row B.
Holding her breath, she slid a few heavy red files aside, peering through the gap.
Her blood turned to ice because she found Lex Luthor with his immaculate black three piece suit half-open, and he was staring directly back at her. But that wasn’t the part that shocked her, it was who was with him.
Clark.
Pressed up against Luthor, breathless. He started to turn his head, as if sensing her presence, but before he could, Luthor’s hand clamped firmly over his jaw, tilting his face back toward him. “Focus on me now, Clark,” he whispered.
Clark had his back to her, ridiculous muscles bulging against the seams of his white button-up, fabric pulled so tight it looked like one wrong move would split it straight down the spine. His glasses were nowhere in sight, his hair, though? A wild mess, sticking up every which way.
That wasn’t new but this was new.
Clark’s broad hands were fumbling with Luthor’s vest, unbuttoning then tugging at the silk tie like he’d done it a hundred times before. Lois’ eyes flicked from Clark’s muscled back to Luthor himself whose usual expressions usually ran the full spectrum of smug contempt, from sneering superiority to rage.
She had never in her life seen his face look in pure, indulgent pleasure.
The billionaire’s lips were parted, blue eyes were heavy with fondness. For Clark Kent, of all people.
How? How?! These two couldn’t stand each other. She’d watched him hammer out article after article exposing shady LuthorCorp practices, and Luthor? Everyone knew his obsession with Superman, his boiling hatred that was practically legend. He’d spent years throwing his fortune into weapons, machines, and smear campaigns just to bring Superman down.
Lois had been there when Clark would storm back from an interview with Luthor, cheeks red, tie askew, muttering about the man’s arrogance and she never asked for more details because come on, it was Lex Luthor for fuck’s sake!
But now after seeing this… was it really just an interview? Was that messy hair from rushing back across Metropolis or from hands tangled in it? Was the crooked tie from a tug of frustration or from Luthor loosening it himself?
So what the hell was she looking at now?
Her mind began pulling at threads, at everything she thought she knew. Every article Clark had written, every little spat between them suddenly looked… weird.
What the…
Clark lifted Luthor as though he weighed nothing, like hoisting the billionaire off the ground was no more effort than carrying a stack of papers which was probably what it was to him. Luthor’s legs wrapped automatically around Clark’s hips, socked feet curling in a telltale rhythm of pleasure as Clark’s right hand worked furiously out of sight. She didn’t want to imagine what exactly Clark was doing yet her imagination supplied it anyway, hot and vivid.
This was insane. Absolutely insane. What she should be doing, what any sane person would be doing was spinning on her heel, storming out, and pretending she had never set foot in this cursed archive room.
But Lois couldn’t move.
Her body refused to obey her brain, eyes locked on the writhing mass of muscle, straining, flexing, owning the man every headline painted as untouchable.
And because of the angle, Lois could see everything on Luthor’s face that was infuriatingly handsome in the worst possible way, and was drawn tight with raw pleasure while looking straight at her.
Clark’s mouth was at Luthor’s throat, lips dragging over the clean line of his jaw before sucking at the side of his neck. Lois could hear the muffled sound of it, the soft suction of skin and the low groan that followed. Luthor’s eyes fluttered shut, hands dug into Clark’s broad back hard enough that his knuckles stood out pale.
Then came the loud cry as Clark snapped his hips forward.
Lois clamped a hand over her own mouth, because holy hell. She knew plenty about Lex Luthor, he was a shady businessman, manipulative politician, world-class egomaniac. But this was nowhere in his bio, nowhere in his carefully polished media presence. It wasn’t written in his Wikipedia page, alright! And why would it be?
More to the point as to why would she ever need to know this?
Yet here she was, crouched in a dusty aisle of the Daily Planet archive room, watching Lex Luthor reveal himself as a total… exhibit while putting it all on display without shame.
“Yeah, mark me up, c’mon,” Luthor urged. Clark was sucking hard until a vivid, angry-red mark bloomed just below Luthor’s ear, he leaned back only far enough to drag his tongue slowly over the bruise, smoothing it with a final, sealing lick.
Lois’ stomach flipped.
Okay. Okay. Sure. She and Clark broke up a few months ago. Fine. That happens, people move on. But never, not in a thousand years had she imagined this would be the direction he’d move in.
Eccentric billionaire, arch-nemesis-of-Superman, probable sociopath Lex Luthor.
Seriously?
Her throat went dry as another sound reached her, it was soft, almost fragile, a noise she would’ve sworn on her career that Lex Luthor was physically incapable of making. A whimper.
Lex Luthor whimpered.
That was not the sound she expected from the man who strutted into every room like he owned it, who chewed out congressmen for breakfast and spat out their bones before lunch.
But what did she know, really? Apparently, not a damn thing.
She watched in rapt attention, eyes wide and unblinking, as Lex’s pale legs swung helplessly in the air. Clark had him pinned and was driving into him with a force that was a miracle the walls hadn’t cracked under the pressure. Luthor clung tight, his chest pressed hard against Clark’s torso as each thrust shoved him upward until his back was arching, only to be dragged down again by Clark's impossible strength.
She found her mind sketching the rest of the picture on its own, of Luthor’s cock trapped and straining between them, rubbing against Clark’s abdomen with every thrust forward. Clark’s abs, she knew, were hard as stone under those ridiculous white shirts and she could almost see the mess smearing across them with every rut of their bodies.
She had front-row seats to something no one in the world would believe if she told them and she couldn’t stop watching.
“Oh fuck, Clark,” Luthor whined again. “I’m gonna come.”
“Already?” Clark’s tone was almost mocking. “One good pounding and you’re done?”
Lois’ mouth went dry.
Holy crap. What the hell happened to the sweet Clark Kent she used to date? The one who blushed when she teased him, who was almost painfully polite when things got physical? He had never been this dirty with her, always a little shy, always bashful…
But with Luthor?—“Gonna fill you up so full,” Clark growled, snapping his hips harder, and Luthor gasped.
Lois pressed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from making a sound.
Luthor had lost his focus, eyes were now rolled back. Moans and broken whines spilled out of him, shameless and loud while Clark’s mouth never left his neck that was biting, sucking, kissing mark after mark blooming across his skin. Clark’s rhythm never faltered, his hips driving forward in a steady thrust that made Luthor’s toes curl even more.
Luthor’s hand slid down from Clark’s broad back down and down, tracing lower until it hooked over the waistband of Clark’s snug trousers. Her breath caught as she watched the fabric was tugged down just enough for one hand to slip inside, closing over the firm curve of Clark’s ass. His long fingers closed greedily over the firm swell of Clark’s ass, kneading possessively that made Clark’s hips stutter before he thrusted even harder, wringing another broken moan from the billionaire.
For a moment, Lois thought Luthor was too far gone, lost to the pleasure and the bruising kisses peppering his neck. But then his eyes blinked open, glassy and half-lidded and staring right back to her with the faintest shadow of a smile pulling at his lips even as Clark fucked him hard.
Clark shifted his hold on Luthor’s thighs, huge hands sliding down pale skin to grip just above the knees, spreading him wider and tilting his hips back to line up the angle. Lois could see the subtle change, the way Clark’s stance widened, the way his shoulders bunched and then he slammed forward with conviction. To her shock, Luthor gasped out, “Harder, come on, yeah…”
“You’re a demanding little slut,” Clark growled, and Lois froze where she stood because Clark had never said anything like that to her.
But it was exactly what Luthor wanted. His whole body arched, back bowing off the wall, fingers clawing into Clark’s shoulders as his face contorted into something that was almost beautiful, eyes rolling back as he let out a helpless cry. He came hard, violently, and Clark didn’t even slow down, he fucked through Luthor’s climax, pounding him like he wanted to drag every last trembling shudder out of him.
“Fuck, don’t stop! Don’t stop.” Luthor keened and his hand tangled hard in Clark’s hair and yanked his head down to claim his mouth in a kiss.
The sound of it made Lois’ lower stomach start to tingle. Their mouths crashed together wetly, lips parting and sealing again with little gasps between. The sloppy smacks echoed almost as loudly as rhythmic slap of Clark’s hips against Luthor’s body. There were flashes of pink tongues tangling, sliding, retreating only to lunge forward again, teeth clashing in a scrape that should’ve hurt, but made Luthor whine.
Clark angled his head, deepening the kiss until Lois could see his jaw working, muscles straining as he swallowed Luthor’s moans straight from his mouth. When Clark groaned, it was nothing like the shy little sighs he used to give her.
Their lips shone wet, glistening with saliva when Clark pulled back for breath, only for a string of it to stretch between them before snapping as Luthor dragged him back down again. Clark kissed him harder as though sealing him shut was the only way to contain the noise spilling out of him.
Luthor clawed at him, holding him tight, his back bowing with every thrust, legs trembled where Clark held them aloft, and Lois could see the strain in Clark’s forearms from the way his muscles flexed to keep Luthor suspended, fucking into him hard.
It didn’t take long for Clark to come, too. Lois recognized the sound before she even realized what was happening, it was that little, breathless sigh he used to give when he was close. But instead of being muffled into her hair or whispered into the crook of her neck, it was spilling hot and open against Luthor’s swollen mouth. Clark kissed him through it as his hips ground forward in sharp thrusts.
Luthor arched his back, legs quaking in Clark’s iron grip, babbling helplessly between kisses. “Can feel you inside me, oh God, so good, fuck, so good—” The words tumbled out wet and broken, each syllable punctuated by the slap of bodies colliding, by Clark’s desperate little groans as he rode out his climax.
Lois blinked, almost dizzy from what she was hearing.
Luthor’s voice pitched high on a whine, teeth catching Clark’s reddened bottom lip and pulling him back into another filthy kiss as though he couldn’t stand to let him go for even a second.
Clark was trembling, too, Lois could see it in the way his shoulders shook, the way his breath hitched as he pressed in close, rutting helplessly, grinding deeper like he was trying to fuse himself to Luthor from the inside. His sighs turned to broken moans swallowed down into Luthor’s mouth, and when he finally stilled, their lips clung wetly together before parting with a string of spit that glistened in the low light.
She prepared to leave because surely, surely, they were done? Clark was panting, flushed, Luthor limp and boneless against him. That was the end of it. It had to be.
Clark was pulling out, Luthor’s legs slowly sliding down from around his waist. For one moment, she thought that they’d both fix their trousers, button their shirts, and maybe pretend none of this had happened.
Except Clark didn’t give him that chance.
Suddenly, Clark grabbed Luthor by the shoulder and spun him around and was shoved face-first against the wall with his cheek pressed to the smooth surface. Clark’s big hand splayed at the back of his neck. It was rough, domineering, and utterly unlike anything she had ever seen Clark do.
Luthor was smiling. Wide, filthy, hungry. His lips parted on a gasp that tipped into a moan, eyes fluttering half-shut like this was exactly what he’d wanted all along.
Clark’s knees hit the floor and from her vantage point, Lois could see how huge his hands looked against Luthor’s ass, fingers splayed as if he couldn’t resist palming and kneading the flesh while holding him open.
Jesus, Lois thought wildly, her heart hammering as Clark used his thumbs to spread him wider. A bead of come slipped free and trailed down the crease, and Clark followed it with his index finger like it was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen.
“Messy little thing,” Clark said, almost like admiration. He pressed his finger harder against Luthor’s taint, dragging upward until he reached the reddened rim, smearing slickness there deliberately before circling it slowly.
Luthor craned his head back to see but his expression wasn’t one of humiliation, it was pure, open-mouthed hunger. His tie dangled forward, brushing against the wall with each panting breath, he looked destroyed, decadent, and utterly willing.
Clark leaned closer, nose brushing the curve of one cheek. “Still clenching,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Still twitching around nothing… greedy hole just begging me back in.”
“Don’t just look at me.” Luthor whined again.
Clark chuckled at the demand, sliding the same messy finger inside him, watching it disappear while Luthor’s hips jerked back helplessly to take it deeper.
“God, you’re tight even after I’ve already wrecked you,” Clark whispered, spreading him with his free hand so Lois saw everything. “I should keep you like this all night, Lex. Bent over, dripping, begging.”
She blinked. When she went to work today, she hadn't expected to see Lex Luthor’s hole, holy crap….
“Fucking do something already, Superman.” Luthor demanded again and dragged the title like it was slur words.
“You can’t ever get enough, can you? If you could, you’d keep my cock inside you all the time. Keep it nice and warm for me, hm?” Clark said and Luthor loudly moaned, lifting his right arm and reaching back to grab Clark's hair as he grinded his ass back against his face.
Clark let out a low, muffled groan against him as he buried his face between his cheeks. Lois’ nails dug crescents into her palm where she clutched her hand tight, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Clark’s tongue dragged a long stripe up over the messy rim, lapping up everything he himself had spilled there. “You taste like mine,” he breathed before pushing his tongue in deep.
Luthor’s head snapped back, a noise spilling out of him. His hand twisted tighter in Clark’s hair, yanking hard enough to make the tendons in Clark’s neck stand out. “That’s it.”
Clark’s hands pinned him open obscenely, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of his ass as he devoured him. “Don’t you dare stop. All I want—” He pulled Clark’s hair, yanking him closer, almost painfully tight. “All I want is your mouth. That tongue right there, harder.”
Lois’ face burned as she stared, horrified but unable to look away. Clark’s broad shoulders flexed as he devoured the man against the wall, his fingers digging bruises into pale hips.
It was weird watching Lex Luthor, of all people, undone and panting and begging, but worse than that was the throb of heat curling low in her stomach.
“Ahh, shit…” Luthor rasped, his normally perfect diction wrecked and slurred. “You want me messy, Clark? You want me dripping down my thighs so every time I walk into a meeting, I’ll remember you had me bent over, used up, fucking ruined—”
There was no way in hell she’d ever be able to listen to another Lex Luthor press conference without flashing back to this exact moment.
There was a slap of skin against skin, gentle enough not to break any bones but rough enough to make Luthor keening low in his throat and reddening the skin of his right ass cheek, she watched Luthor glared down over his shoulder and taking off his suit jacket and letting to crumple unceremoniously at his feet, a piece of Armani discarded like trash.
Clark stood up in one smooth motion and he pressed forward, looming, crowding Luthor against the wall until there was barely space for him to breathe. Now, now… Lex Luthor was a tall man, he was intimidating in presence, broad in the shoulders, never one to be dwarfed by anyone. But here? In front of him? He looked smaller, fragile even, like every ounce of his height and arrogance had been stripped away beneath Superman’s shadow.
Lois cursed the angle, again! Clark’s barn-door build made it impossible to see what exactly he was doing to Luthor. She only had fragments of Clark nudging Luthor’s feet further apart with a kick of his foot, spreading him wide.
That was when Lois saw Clark’s cum dripping from Luthor’s hole, sliding in slow, humiliating rivulets down those inner thighs. It gleamed as it traced the hard lines of muscle, dripping further until it stained the floor beneath them.
Oh wow, that was dirty.
Luthor’s voice came out muffled, broken against the pressure of Clark’s broad palm clamped firmly over his mouth. Lois’ eyes went wide at the sudden slick, obscene noise that followed as Clark thrusted in deep, bottoming out in one steady push that made Lex arch off the wall with a strangled sound.
“Shh… shh,” Clark murmured in that impossibly low baritone voice, his lips were right against Luthor’s ear now, close enough that Lois could see that he was biting it. “You can be as loud as you want when we’re in your penthouse…” His voice dropped lower. “But not here.”
Lex’s eyes fluttered shut, his throat working as he swallowed back the cry clawing up his chest. There was another muffled cry as Clark’s hips ground forward, holding him in place, filling him to the hilt.
“You want it so bad that you can't wait until I get home, huh?” Clark whispered with another snap of his hips.
Clark’s hand tightened over his mouth, the other gripping firmly at his hip to keep him spread open and grounded in place. “Couldn’t even make it through the day without me ruining you, could you?”
Luthor’s answering moan pitched high, breaking into a startled muffled shout as Clark drew back only to drive forward harshly, the impact of skin meeting skin echoing in the confined space.
Lois could feel her pulse pounding in her ears and a hot flush was crawling down her neck and chest as sweat prickled along her skin. She pressed her thighs together, shifting uncomfortably in her shoes because the heat pooling low in her stomach was almost unbearable.
Clark didn’t give Luthor even a second to recover, burying himself to the hilt again and again, dragging out guttural sounds from a man who normally spoke like every word was an insult.
His hands scrabbled uselessly at the wall before finally grabbing onto Clark’s wrist, clutching at the one covering his mouth and holding on for dear life and his muffled cries bled against Clark’s palm, wet with breath and broken with pleasure.
Her heartbeat was pounding too fast, so loud she was sure it would give her away. She knew the longer she lingered there, the more chance there was that Clark would catch her watching, that’s it if he hadn’t already noticed. Forcing her legs to move away though not without stealing one last look at Luthor’s face, flushed and slack with unrestrained pleasure with his lips parted to let out a sound that made her knees threaten to buckle.
Holy shit.
Breakthrough or not, there was no way in hell she could ever write about that. Superman and Lex Luthor fucking each other like animals? Sure, the public speculated all the time about there being something more between them, but she couldn’t be the one to put it in ink. Not when the memory of Clark’s filthy words and Luthor’s shameless cries were still hot in her ears.
By the time she reached her desk, she dumped her bag onto her desk, jacket sliding off the back of her chair but she didn't even bother to pick it up. She speed-walked straight for the bathroom, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet in her hurry. The door swung open and she bolted for the last stall, shoving herself inside and slamming it shut harder than she meant to.
She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the involuntary sound rising in her throat as her other hand was diving under her skirt desperately. The thin lace of her panties clung damp to her skin, soaked through from the heat pooling between her thighs, and when her fingers slipped beneath the fabric, she nearly gasped aloud.
She was dripping, aching and the more she tried to shove Clark and Luthor’s voices out of her head, the more vividly they returned. Clark growling and Luthor moaning his agreement with that ruined voice that now made Lois get even wetter.
The next day at the office, Lois couldn’t bring herself to look Clark in the eye. Every time she even thought about turning toward him, yesterday’s images hit her in flashes and her stomach twisted with heat and mortification all over again.
The TV mounted on the wall was tuned to the Metropolitan News Station. An anchor was reporting on how LuthorCorp was expanding into another state, promising new jobs and economic growth. The footage cut to Lex at the press conference, immaculate as ever, only this time in a navy three-piece suit that fit him so perfectly it made Lois swallow hard before she could stop herself.
She forced her eyes back to her notepad, tapping her pen against it like she was actually paying attention to work.
But when she risked a sideways glance at Clark... He was leaning back in his chair with his elbow propped on the armrest, his right hand supporting his head lazily as he watched the screen. There was something in the curve of his lips; it was small, private, utterly damning. He was smiling and it wasn't meant for anyone to see.
Lois blinked.
And just as quickly, Clark cleared his throat with a cough as though the smile had never happened. His face was settling into that familiar mask of mild, unassuming interest. But Lois had seen it.
Her pulse skipped. Did he know she had seen what happened yesterday?
He probably didn’t. Or if he did, Clark Kent was one hell of an actor.
Yesterday, when he finally reappeared at his desk, he’d been noticeably ruffled. His tie wasn’t quite straight, his hair just a little too out of place, and his lips were flushed red in a way that didn’t scream “biting your own mouth while thinking hard.” And those pupils were wide and dark, they still hadn’t quite shrunk back to normal.
But the moment she walked up to him, he’d spoken to her as if nothing had happened at all as though she hadn’t just nearly tripped over herself escaping the room to avoid him.
Interesting. Very interesting.
If Clark was going to play this little game, fine. Lois wasn’t about to be the one to break it. Let it be her secret that Superman, the world’s greatest boy scout, was sleeping with Lex Luthor who was a voyeuristic bastard who got off knowing someone was watching.
All she needed to do now was brace herself for the inevitable moment when some LuthorCorp lawyer came knocking, shoving a stack of NDAs across her desk. Thousands of them, probably, each one stamped with Luthor’s immaculate signature.