by victoria p.
The Lies We Tell Ourselves
The cold tile of the kitchen floor was biting into his knees when he felt Clark breathe out sharply. He grabbed for the counter at the first shock of fingers against his ass.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw the focused look on Clark's face.
It made him so hard he ached.
"Clark," he hissed as Clark's hands kneaded his ass. Not gently, no. This was anger and raw need.
Need was the one thing neither of them had ever been able to escape.
If he hadn't been so turned on, he might have laughed.
Was this how it was supposed to be? Lex wondered. Angry fucking in secret and two lovers with no love between them, just the lies and betrayals digging deep and leaving scabs that never fully healed?
He pushed away the glimpse of truth. He loved Clark, and Clark loved him, and if they came together more in anger and pain these days than in love...
He couldn't think about that now.
And then he was beyond thought as Clark's long, strong fingers slid into him, slick and cool with lube, preparing the way for his cock.
Lex felt himself quivering -- wanting -- needing this. This was the only true thing left.
And then Clark was moving in him, one large hand covering his mouth, muffling his cries of pleasure as Clark pushed in and in, and he was drowning in the pleasure of it all, the amazing feeling of Clark covering him like a blanket, fucking him so hard he'd probably be walking funny later.
But he didn't care, didn't think of that now. The world had telescoped to nothing but him and Clark -- Clark's cock buried deep inside him, Clark's hand stroking him hard from base to tip, the two of them moving in a perfect rhythm that even their current anger couldn't diminish.
He felt Clark shudder and come, spilling deep inside his body, and then he felt himself come as well, spurting over his belly, Clark's warm hand and the cool kitchen tile.
They collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily.
"What was that about?" Lex said, regaining his equilibrium first. "Do you know what that could have cost me -- us?"
"That was to remind you who you are, and who you belong with," Clark said, already cleaning himself up.
"If this is about Lilith--" he stopped. It was always about Lilith. Clark could forgive him anything -- his dreams of dominion, his shady business dealings, even the chasm separating him from his beloved parents, but he would never forgive him for Lilith,
The wife whose political connections were paving his way into the White House.
Along with Luthor money, of course.
Fucking Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter, would never get him there, even if he'd have preferred to have Clark at his side, openly.
The country isn't ready for a gay president, he thought, but he didn't say the words. He didn't have to. He said some variation of them to Clark each day, every day when they parted, sneaking around like they used to back in Smallville.
Only now, it wasn't simply fear of Jonathan Kent's shotgun, or being ostracized by the football team that kept them in the closet. It was everything Lex had ever worked for, his shot at national politics.
"They're going to put me on the ticket, Clark." Vice President Luthor. He turned it over in his mind. Yes. It was the next best thing, and in eight years, it would be President Luthor, and nothing would stand in his way.
Not Superman. Not even Clark.
"I know." Defeated, shoulders slumped, Clark finally looked at him.
He rubbed his thumb over Clark's lower lip, amazed as always at how beautiful he was, and how much he still resembled the sixteen-year-old boy who'd saved his life all those years ago.
"I said, I know. That doesn't mean I like it."
"Don't sulk." Clark didn't respond to the rebuke. "You know I love you, Clark."
"Empty words," Clark said bitterly. "If you really loved me --"
"What?" Lex challenged, rising and wetting a towel so he could clean himself up. The kitchen staff were waiting impatiently to get back to work in here, he knew. Banishing them for a quick fuck during a fundraiser wasn't the brightest thing he could have done, but he and Clark had been together long enough for him to know when he could be cajoled out of his anger, and this had not been one of those times. He'd been implacable.
And God, just the thought was turning him on once more.
Publicly, they were the worst of enemies, Lex Luthor, billionaire businessman and politician, and Clark Kent, righteous journalist looking out for the little guy. Not to mention Clark's secret identity as Superman, defender of all that was just and good.
He almost laughed again.
The public had so bought into the myth of enmity they'd created that no one ever believed the occasional odd story about their weekend getaways to the Vineyard or their vacations together in Bali.
He just worried sometimes that Clark had bought into it, too, and would leave him someday. And while Lex had conquered every other obstacle in his path, the mere thought of being without Clark nauseated him.
He turned, his pants still around his ankles, a wet towel in his hand. Clark rose up on his knees, grabbing Lex's hips and easily capturing his half-erect cock in his mouth.
Lex dropped his head back, closing his eyes, as Clark's lips and tongue and, God, teeth, slid up and down his shaft. He was getting too old for this, he thought, opening his eyes and imagining Lilith bursting through the doors to find out where the hell he was.
It wasn't like she didn't know, but somewhere deep inside, he needed to twist the knife, to make sure she knew that while she might have his name and status, she'd never have his heart.
"Clark," he groaned, hips bucking spasmodically as he came again.
Clark was up on his feet in a blur, his mouth on Lex's, and Lex could taste his own come. It added a salty tang to the sweetness of Clark's mouth, and he knew that Clark's anger had blown over.
Clark was tempestuous, but Lex was strong enough to weather his storms.
He just had to keep believing it was true. The lies we tell ourselves to keep from falling out of love are all that keep us together, he thought, vaguely discomfited.
Clark washed him clean and he redressed, tucking his lilac silk shirt back into his trousers, once again the debonair captain of industry and soon-to-be Vice President of the United States.
He walked back into the dining room, signaling the kitchen staff that they could begin their clean up. Clark had disappeared, faster than a speeding bullet.
He pasted the smile on his face and slid an arm around Lilith's waist as she chatted up the DNC chairman.
He threw himself into his role as devoted husband and concerned public servant, and he could almost believe the interlude in the kitchen had never happened at all.
His earlier thoughts echoed in his head, but he pushed them aside.
They'd all come too far, and he wasn't going to be stopped now. Clark would deal with Lilith, and Lilith would never have to deal with Clark. Lex's life, built on lies, would never come crashing down.
So he told himself, and he almost believed.
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