Limitations of Control

by Leda

Lionel Luthor didn't know everything. Not every single thing. No matter how delightful it was to entertain notions of absolute omnipotence, he knew his limitations. Such as they were. And regarding his son, well, no doubt he didn't know everything there, either, but he was close. Very close. It was perhaps the only thing that made him question Lex's intelligence. The fact the boy seemed to assume that fool Senatori was the extent of his father's inquiries. Truly. The thought made Lionel sneer even now. He had eyes and ears everywhere. Places you'd never expect, places you'd never look. Material possessions could be enjoyable, certainly, but control... he'd never dreamed exactly how much control money could buy one. The pleasures in measuring, testing, stretching. Bending another to one's will simply for the joy of it. Simply because it was possible.

And this, of course, was precisely why Lex infuriated him so. Lex was the only one he couldn't control. His only challenge. Lionel needed his son. If he wanted LuthorCorp to survive him, then Lex was necessary. Needs were vulnerabilities; soft places where control was a tenuously constructed facade made mostly of bluff and sheer will. Blink first and you were down.

Lionel hated Lex sometimes; resented him always.

Because the one thing Lionel knew beyond any doubt was that this was the game to deny him victory. Oh for now he was leading. He'd in be in front for many years to come, there was no question. Lex was yet to tame the temper that made him so weak at times. But when the whiskey bottle was steadily emptying after yet another late meeting and Lionel's joints started to ache, his son's youth haunted him. Lex would win because all he had to do was wait. He might not know that, he might be impatient and ambitious, demanding everything and all of it right now, this minute, but no matter what he did, whatever stupidity his hotheadedness led him to, time would still move on. Money and power may be as good as deification in this world, but the next... The creeping cold fog of age was inexorable. Lionel sometimes woke from nightmares, sweating and shaky, smug laughter echoing inside his head amid glimpses of pale skin in a white suit that skittered on the edge of conscious mind. There was so much more Lex needed to be taught.

Lex's interest in the Kents had at first seemed somewhat puzzling. The boy had saved Lex, certainly, but there was a dogged tenacity to the investigations that was... unusual. Then Lionel had seen the photographs of Clark, beautiful in such an other-worldly way, and video of Clark and Lex together, seen the obvious like that existed so tentative and solid between them, something almost palpable. Lex's stance without guard, that defensive tension Lionel was secretly a little proud of, quite gone. It was unsettling to watch.

He bid his time, though. Quickly learnt of Clark's "talents," and waited expectantly for Lex to gather the same information. But when Lex called Nixon off... Lionel was shocked. Cool fury that his son could still surprise him, even now, and blindly make an error of such magnitude. Lessons he thought he'd instilled as second nature cast aside. Action was required.

Lionel paced the castle's kitchen, making calls. Lex was attending an urgent and hastily convened meeting in Metropolis and the housekeeper dismissed for the afternoon with an expensive bonus. Hearing the truck on the gravel drive outside, he switched the phone off and waited.

"Mrs. Anderson!" the boy called, setting boxes piled high with produce on the counter. "Delivery from Kent's!"

"Full of farm-fresh goodness, I have no doubt." Clark turned, startled.

"Oh, um, hi.... sir, Mr. Luthor." Blushed. So young. "I... didn't know you were in town."

"Just a short visit."

"Lex didn't mention..." Trailed off.

"Lex is in Metropolis today."

"Oh. Well, sorry to disturb you Mr. Luthor, I'll just get Mrs. Anderson to sign for this."

"Mrs. Anderson has the afternoon off." Lionel saw suspicion flare in the boy's eyes. Visibly tensed. Already. "But I can sign that for you." Scrawled on the proffered paper.

"Thankyou. Sir."

"You're most welcome." The boy turned to leave, walked toward the door. Lionel sat at the kitchen table and waited one beat, two, for just the moment when Clark would think the conversation was over. "Actually, Mr. Kent, I'd like to show you something. Would that be all right?"

"Sure." A little guarded, but so natural. He was amazed that of all people Jonathan Kent could teach someone to lie this well.

"Have a seat." Clark perched on the edge of a chair, face remaining blank as Lionel laid out some of the more interesting photographs.

"So?" No deference in his tone now.

"You wouldn't like to explain?"

"Explain what?"

"What these pictures prove you're able to do."

"They don't prove anything." Looked him straight in the eye.

"Come now, Clark. Let's not play that game. These," Lionel gestured, "are just a small selection. The 'best of,' if you will. There are many more."

Clark looked at him carefully. What he wouldn't give for Lex to have this kind of self-control. "What do you want?"

"Well, now there's a question." Smiled in just that way he knew unnerved people the most. "I want many things. But from you, for now, I want nothing."


"For now." They both stood, and petty vanity, perhaps, but Lionel was gratified to observe he was taller than the boy. Clark backed away.

"That`s it? I can go, can I?" Defiantly sarcastic.

"Of course." Again waited a moment. "But Clark, I want you to know: if you mention this meeting to your parents, I'll be sending these pictures straight to Lex." And the sheer panic on the boy's face at that... Lionel adjusted himself roughly as Clark sped from the room. The emotional torment of others was always somewhat arousing but this boy... so pretty, so conflicted. So very young. Oh, this was going to be good.

"What is this place?" The cabin was buried deep in the woods on the far reaches of the estate.

"It was built as overnight accommodation for hunting parties." Though of course, the only thing it had ever actually been used for was the more socially unacceptable of Lionel's casual trysts.

"Does Lex know it's here?"

"I very much doubt it."

"So I guess it's the Level Three of hunting cabins, then." Snidely.

"Touche, Clark."

Lionel sat calmly and observed. The boy was plainly uncomfortable, restless energy of his anger barely contained.

"So. Why are we here?"

"Indeed. Why are any of us here? The classic existential dilemma."

"Just cut the... Look, you asked me to be here. I'm here. The least you can do is tell what's going on. What's this about?"

Licked his lips and smiled. "Take off your clothes."


"You heard me."

"But... What...Why?"

Lionel feigned surprise. "I know you're relatively young Clark, but I would have assumed that even in Kansas..."

"Jesus Christ! You're sick... how can you even..." Clark was pale as he rushed toward the door.

Lionel smoothly pressed the speed dial on his cell. "Son. I have an urgent matter to discuss with you. No, as a matter of fact it can't wait." Watched as the boy paused and then retreated back into the room. Too easy, really. "Never mind, Lex." Hung up and waited expectantly.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can."

"You play with people's lives..."

"That's right. Now if you don't mind, I have a meeting later this afternoon that I`d rather not miss."

Clark looked like a beaten dog, utterly miserable as he took off his jacket. Bent to unlace his boots and stood, blushing furiously as he pulled nervously at the hem of his t-shirt.

"I don't plan to hurt you, Clark." Lionel stood, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as he circled the boy. "Though that wouldn't be possible, would it? Even if I wanted to?"

"Please..." Almost whined.

"Are you going to beg? I do like that, though I'd have thought Jonathan Kent's son wouldn't beg." And that hit.

Brief flash of low rage as the boy spoke. "Don't you ever say my Dad's name. Don't. You. Ever." Long, long moment as they both stared. Lionel felt the blood in his cock when Clark looked away and started to undress. That break in someone, the first moment of acceptance and pure submission. He'd always loved that.

Clark hesitated at his boxers, but a deep breath and they were gone. Lionel blatantly looked him up and down, appraising just as obviously as he could. The boy was quite clearly trying not to cover himself, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "You really are beautiful, Clark." Paused. "Now, lie on the bed."

Poor, brave determined boy. Fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides. Eyes closed and terrified, but doing his best. And the most fascinating and possibly most arousing thing was why. Lionel unfastened the buttons on his coat. Sat on the edge of the bed, and laid his hand in the centre of Clark's chest. Steady heartbeat, slow and sure even now.

"It's interesting, Clark." Little gasp when Lionel began to circle a nipple with his thumb. "I haven't threatened to expose your secrets to the world, haven't threatened to hurt your parents. You're allowing me to use you. I'm humiliating you, aren't I?" Nothing. "Aren't I?"

"Yes." His voice caught on a sharp inhalation as Lionel's hand moved down.

"And you're letting me do all this simply because I might let my son know what you really are." The boy was already hard. Gentle but firm touches. "You must care very much for Lex, to go this far for him. Be very afraid of losing his friendship.

"Do you touch yourself like this, Clark? Do you think about Lex when you do this?"

Whispered, breathless, "Yes."

"Say his name." Lionel stopped, moving back. Clark whimpered. "Say it."

"Lex." Almost hissed.

"Say, `Lex, please make me come.'"

"Please... Lex, make me come."

"Good boy." Put his hand over Clark's mouth. "Wet it for me." Lionel smiled as the boy writhed and licked his palm, knowing that it was him who got to see this, feel this. That Lex wasn't and would never be here, watching Clark Kent impale himself on his own shame and plead for more. Lex, with the faded remains of his mother's morals and some ridiculously misplaced sense of the right and noble, didn't get this. Lex didn't get what he wanted. Lionel got what Lex wanted, and he took it and shaped it into something better, something more powerful and beautiful. Blacker and dirtier, ashes compressed into cool hard diamonds. If Lex wouldn't learn, he must be taught. If Lex couldn't be controlled, he must be punished.

Lionel laughed out loud and stroked Clark harder, felt the hot pulse as the boy cried out for Lex, face twisted and so pretty. It almost looked like pain. Petit mort indeed. He lifted his hand and briefly tasted, then wiped the sticky mess on to Clark's heaving chest.

"Thankyou Mr. Kent." Picked up his phone. "I trust we'll be able to meet like this again." Clark said nothing and rolled on to his side, away from Lionel, pulled his legs up to his chest. "Goodbye."

And Lionel was proud of his self-control, proud of the fact that, despite being so aroused it was unpleasant, he sat calmly reading business papers on the limousine ride back to Metropolis. Proud that, coat safely buttoned, he collected his messages and spoke to his secretary before he walked through his office to his private bathroom, locked the door and came harder and faster than he had in years.

It hadn't taken too many of these meetings for Clark to start enjoying himself somewhat. Self-loathing and guilt were all very well, but shame was the addiction. Someone with that many secrets needed an outlet, a place to surrender his guard and feel human and frail. Last time he'd stood, back to the foot of the bed, holding on to the carved wood, moaning without holding back as Lionel stroked him and growled obscene questions. "Do you suck him, Clark? On your knees for him, with his hands in your hair? Or does he fuck you, tie you to the bed and hold you down? Does he say your name when he comes inside you Clark?" The boy chanted Lex's name like something sacred as he came, and Lionel knew. Because Lionel knew most things. It was time. A few days before their next meeting, he called the plant and arranged to speak with the workers. He'd measured Clark, watched him bend: now it was time to watch him break.

"What have you done?"

"It's always nice to see you too, Clark."

"What the hell have you done?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, I do many things." Clark grabbed the front of Lionel's coat and pushed him against the wall. Hard enough, but not too hard. The boy was furious, but still held himself back. All the better.

"Jesus can you cut the smug asshole routine for just one minute? Why are you closing the plant?" Odd but pleasing that this was physically the closest they'd ever been.

"I want Lex back in Metropolis with me. Where he belongs."

"And it doesn't matter that nearly the whole of Smallville will be out of work? This will kill the town."

"Your concern is admirable, Clark, but surely it's more than a few job losses that has caused this anger." The boy let him go and stepped back.

"You don't know him."

"No, you don't know him, I made him. He's mine."

"He won't go back."

"Oh, what do you think he'll do? Declare his intentions? Ask your father for permission to date you? Move you into the castle? And then you'll live happily ever after? Grow up, Clark, that`s not what happens. Luthors don't work that way."

And Lionel was back against the wall so fast he couldn't breathe, lifted up with a single hand in a stranglehold so tight there were black spots flickering in his vision. Clark's focused concentration so dark and lovely, and what this boy couldn`t do, what this boy couldn`t do with Lionel`s guidance. Dropped suddenly, managing to stay on his feet as he coughed and laughed. "Can't you do better than that? Is that all Clark Kent has in him? You hate me right now, you want to kill me, but you're still Daddy Jonathan's do-good puppy? That's pathetic, Clark, that's the saddest thing I've ever seen. What do you think your parents are going to say when they find out you've been fucking Lionel Luthor? What do you think your precious Lex will say?"

There. There it was. No more conflict. The end of the struggle to do the good and right thing. Nothing left in Clark's eyes but steady cold rage. He'd never looked more beautiful. "Well, gee, Lionel I know I'm from Kansas and all, but round here we don't call that fucking. Because our definition of fucking involves both guys getting their dicks out of their pants. Can't you do it Lionel? Can't you get it up? Do you have to just sit and watch, huh? Wait for your Viagra prescription to come through?" Clark grabbed him roughly and rubbed hard with the heel of his hand. Knelt with an icy, triumphant smile.

Lionel fumbled, trying to get his pants open but Clark pushed his hands away and ripped down the zipper. No preliminaries, no finesse, the boy simply took him out, grabbed his hips and pulled in him. Straight down, swallowing and using his tongue. Lionel wanted to thrust but was held effortlessly, enough hurt to bruise. Pushed ineffectively until Clark began to move. It didn't take much. Lionel tried to be quiet, to not give the boy the satisfaction, but couldn't help his moans as Clark pulled back when he came. Didn't swallow, though, and it barely registered until Clark stood, mouth full, looking Lionel straight in the eye as he spat in his face. Picked him up and threw him against the wall. Sneered at Lionel, a crumpled heap dripping with his own semen. Walked out and slammed the door so hard the beams shook.

Lionel pretended not to notice that he was shaking as he wiped his face. He suddenly felt very tired. There was a storm coming.

And here, exactly here is where all your carefully planned notions of control end up. In this place, an ageing man, trapped like an insect, pinned struggling. Pleading for your life. Sincerely praying for the first time. Praying that your son is not the man you've always wanted him to be, the man you've tried to create. And as he watches you and circles warily like a bloodied demon, you know. You know everything. You know what you deserve, you know what you've done. You know what it did to you. You know that control has limitations. And you don't seem to care. There's a pleasing numbness creeping over you. You stop moving and close your eyes.

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