This is a kind of a "missing scene" from the story ALLIANCE, in Lanning's Identical series (http://lanning.slashdom.com/). I've been fascinated by the character of her psychopathic Lex-clone, and couldn't resist the urge to write this little snippet from his POV. I wrote it purely for my own Id-indulgence, but assuming there are others who might get some enjoyment out of it, I decided to go ahead and post it here. Lanning was kind enough to give me permission to do so.
It won't make much sense unless you've read the Identical series. If you haven't, I highly recommend you do. :)
From Karloff's POV. Warnings for noncon fantasies apply.
Lex Luthor was a man who believed in miracles. After all, he'd been brought to life untimely not once, but twice in his admittedly short number of years.
The first time had been on the riverbank a little over a year ago, wrenched gasping and choking from a chill, watery tomb that he could still smell at odd moments when he closed his eyes. Looking up stunned and disbelieving into the beatific face of his unexpected savior, Clark Kent.
Settling back against his pillows more comfortably, he pressed the thin, rune-inscribed octagon he'd unearthed in Baker's Field against his stomach, drawing in a hissing breath when the cool metal touched his skin.
The second time he'd come to life wasn't something he enjoyed remembering, but he forced himself to think about it anyway, measuring his reactions to it with clinical detachment, a distant kind of objective awareness that centered on the cold alien object pressing above his groin.
Waking up on the research table in Daddy's laboratory, knowing even before he opened his eyes just what he was, who he was...
And who he wasn't.
Hatred then, sharp and extremely visceral, slamming into him with a shock that took his breath away. Finding its focus on the face of the man bending over him, eyes radiating a near-blinding display of greed and anticipation and fatherly concern.
Satisfying, the way hatred always was, and he'd savored the taste of it on his tongue. <I>I'm going to kill you...</I>
He was so damn hard.
Biting into his lower lip, he slid the octagon further down his body, letting its hard metal edges scrape along the insides of his thighs. Oooh, that was good. He grinned, staring up at the shadow-crossed ceiling of his bedroom, and let his thoughts drift to other things.
Like Clark Kent, staring down at him when he'd been brought to life the first time. Funny how that memory always remained crystal clear, when so many others had faded. Dark wet hair curled around the edges of his face, full lips parted and panting with the breaths he'd just breathed into Lex. Round green eyes, so wide and unbelievably <I>startled</I>. As if he was surprised that either of them was still alive.
Lex believed in destiny. Lived for it, in whatever intangible way he measured his goals in life. He believed in things like power, and wealth, and the intransitive joy that came from knowing he held the lives of others firmly in the palm of his hand.
He could teach Clark... so many things.
Clark would be shy at first, hesitant, but that was part of his allure. He might even believe he hated Lex, which would certainly make things... interesting. Lex moistened his lips in anticipation as he pictured it, pressing the metal octagon firmly against the underside of his balls.
Couldn't hold back the gasp that burst out of him at the feel of it.
It would be a joy to teach Clark all the things he needed to know. Teach him a thing or two about destiny, and the place he held in it. Show him what it was like to be possessed by the <I>real</I> Lex Luthor. Possessed and used and owned, body and soul.
He'd start with the boy's mouth. God, he had such a beautiful mouth. Lex could picture it: Clark Kent on his knees in front of him, broken and humbled and <I>his</I>, leaning forward to show Lex what that sweet-talking tongue of his could do. Maybe... maybe there would be tears in his eyes.
With a groan, Lex wrapped his hand around his cock and began to pump it, savoring the slow frisson of pleasure that skittered up his spine.
It would be so easy to tangle his fingers in that luxurious mop of black hair, holding Clark steady so he could fuck into his mouth. Clark would wrap those lips around him and lick him, suck him. He'd be a complete slut, once he realized that was what Lex needed him to be.
And Lex would fuck him hard, hurting, maybe -- just a little -- just because he could. And Clark would groan for him, and swallow him down deep, and tell him with his eyes that he loved him, that Lex was the center of his world.
Ah, Clark... He'd be so open, so willing, for whatever Lex wanted. He'd let Lex fuck him, right there on the table in the middle of those interminable LuthorCorp board meetings.
Lex's imagination spiraled from there, picturing Clark in his office in Metropolis, kneeling beside his desk. Eyes downcast, hands resting on his thighs. Naked and... Lex wouldn't be able to resist putting him in a collar. Black leather, perhaps, to match his hair, with the tiniest grain of meteor rock embedded in the buckle at his throat. Not enough to cause him pain, but enough to keep him weakened, tractable.
To remind him he was owned.
It was easy enough to picture Lex's father walking into the room, eyes widening as he saw Lex's newest acquisition. Lex would smile at him, slow and contemptuous, and lift a hand to pet at Clark's hair.
"Son," Lionel would whisper, a look of horror dawning on his face. Realizing that his "suitable heir" had passed entirely beyond his control, that Lex had managed to acquire the enigmatically powerful boy he himself had planned to extort and utilize. Seeing in Clark's submission his own clearly spelled-out doom. "What have you done...?"
And Lex would lean back in his chair and nudge Clark forward between his legs, holding his father's gaze all the while. Showing the bastard just how much power he held now. Clark, ever obedient, would bow his head and move without hesitation to unbuckle Lex's slacks, hands trembling as he bent to take Lex into his mouth. He'd blush so prettily, feeling Lionel's eyes on him, but he'd be hard because he'd learned to enjoy this kind of humiliation, too. Knowing he existed only for Lex's use, his own enjoyment of life measured only by how much pleasure he could give to Lex...
Then there'd be the nights when they were alone together, just the two of them, reaffirming their destiny between Lex's expensive Egyptian cotton sheets. Clark would look at him with the same eyes he'd worn there by the riverbank -- wide and disbelieving and oh, so eager for whatever Lex wanted to do to him.
<I>Begging</I> for it.
He'd be quite the beggar, Lex knew. So easy to picture that perfect mouth forming pleas and obscenities just for him. Words like <I>please</I> and <I>do me, Lex</I> and <I>fuck me now</I>...
And Lex would do it. Fuck him, claim him. Turn him face down on those pristine sheets and push inside, deep where only he belonged. Clark's hands would clench hard on the mattress, sweat springing up on his skin, and Lex would sigh as he licked it away. Lick him, bite him, taste him. And Clark would shudder under him -- so hard, so <I>needy</I> -- and Lex would fuck him roughly, demanding nothing less than total surrender.
There was no doubt in his mind that Clark would scream for him. Moan for him. Beg Lex to fuck him harder, to make it hurt, because the only time he ever felt <I>alive</I> was when Lex was inside him...
With a groan, Lex's orgasm spilled out over his hands, his back bowing up off the bed as pure electrified sensation crackled through every nerve ending in his body. The metal octagon, still held against his groin, was coated with it. He hissed Clark's name as his hand worked rapidly on his cock to draw out the feeling for as long as he could.
Finally, he collapsed back onto the bed and let his breath out in a ragged sigh. He lifted the metal octagon from between his legs and ran his tongue across it, tasting the tangy bitterness of his come. He closed his eyes in utter bliss and cradled the coveted object close against his chest.
"Clark," he murmured, turning his head to look out the window at the expansive Metropolis skyline. The name seemed to linger in the air around him, like a phantom caress tingling across his skin.
Soon, he told himself. Soon he would have the power he needed to make his dreams a reality. And neither his father, the Kents, nor the unsuitable heir would be able to stop him.
As soon as he got around to taking what was his.
Spoilers for ALLIANCE follow:
This shameless indulgence was inspired mainly by a quote of Lionel's in ALLIANCE regarding the octagonal spaceship key the Lex-clone had discovered:
"He's become obsessed with it. He keeps it on his desk during the day and takes it to his bedroom at night. He believes it's the key to controlling your son."
No question where my brain would go with that. Heh.