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by Hope

"It's not that you lied to me, Clark."

Lex let his voice trail off, intent on tracing angry weals along the curve of Clark's spine with his ring. The ring's green stone glittered ominously, staining impenetrable flesh with its touch. And there was so much to touch with Clark's arms pulled taut over his head, wrists bound with black steel and kryptonite.

He hung from the spare ceiling, high enough that only the tips of his toes grazed the floor. In this position, every muscle stood out in agonized relief, all the color faded from his usually bronzed skin. Stripped bare and sweating, he let his head hang, and if he opened his eyes, he only stared at the floor.

Brisk footsteps echoing on the makeshift platform around his prize, Lex moved to face Clark- to force Clark to face him. Curling his fingers beneath Clark's chin, Lex raised his head, peering into wary green eyes. "It's the way you lied to me."

"You lied to me, too," Clark rasped, pain thinning his voice to a wracked whisper. All the things Lex knew... Lex knew about the scarecrow, he knew about the pain and humiliation he'd felt, just hanging there... Clark squeezed his eyes closed. Of course he knew; Lex's mind was his best weapon.

With a quick smile, Lex caressed Clark's cheek with his ring hand, fingers flicking at his dark brows to make him open his eyes again. "We're both liars; I think we've known each other long enough to admit that, at least." Lex leaned in close, parting his mouth to breathe on Clark's lips, warm and taunting with proximity. "But I respected you when I lied to you. I never insulted your intelligence."

Clark jolted. The cool kiss of metal barely soothed the stone's burn when Lex skimmed his hand down his chest, and Clark swallowed hard when fingers lingered to trace a circle around his nipple. "I was sixteen..."

"And my father didn't love me," Lex said lightly, amused. Darting his tongue out, he tasted the edge of Clark's mouth, still peering into his eyes. "I'm tired of making excuses, aren't you?"

"Lex, don't do this." Straining against the chains, Clark winced when he swung slightly grazing against a cashmere-clad chest. Lex's body made an imprint on his, still lean and hard, still scented faintly of citrus and expensive cologne. Clark couldn't fight what that did to him, and Lex had probably anticipated that, as well. Those long, summer afternoons in the loft, those stolen midnights making heat in the middle of Kansas winterLex had sharpened those to weapons, too. Shoulders burning and cock starting to ache, Clark murmured, "Be reasonable, even if I wasn't." He kept Lex's gaze. "Please."

The unnatural light guttered behind Lex's expression. His cool, affected smile melted just a bit, and a quick flash of heat burned it away entirely. Taking a step back, Lex snapped into the dark, "Mercy!"

No one appeared, but the groan of machinery answered. A series of sharp, metallic clicks echoed, and Clark suddenly fell to his knees. The manacles had snapped open, and rose slowly, consumed by a hidden niche in the ceiling. His performance art broken by sincerity, Lex tugged a lead-laced leather glove over his ring hand and descended from the platform. "I trust you can find your way out."

A familiar hiss rustled the air, and Clark appeared in front of Lex, stopping him with newly-strong hands. "You think I'm going to let you walk away?"

Dragging his gaze down Clark's face, Lex lingered for a moment to examine his mouth, before looking up again. With deliberate, stilted grace, he peeled Clark's fingers from his arm, one by one. "As a matter of fact, I do. It's only fair, and you're nothing if not fair, isn't that right, Superman?"

With another flash, Clark slammed Lex against the wall, a hand cushioning his head, but the other latched firmly around his arm again. Now their bodies met without accident; deliberate pressure etched the heat of Clark's skin into Lex's, and leaning in just as close, Clark answered against his mouth. "But I'm not Superman right now."

Because Superman wouldn't force a kiss; he wouldn't thrust past Lex's lips with a hard, velvet stroke. Superman wouldn't murmur dark sounds, close to curses, or take advantage of being a thousand times stronger, a thousand times faster, to pin Lex in place and snap the buckle on Lex's belt. Superman wouldn't stroke Lex hard, and feed him fucking kisses... but Clark would.

Still, Lex had weapons. He bit Clark's tongue, and dragged blunt nails down his back, collecting sweat on his fingers before forcing them against Clark's hole. It wasn't enough for a smooth entry, not even close, but it worked in its rough, jagged fashion. Each time Clark stroked Lex's cock, Lex answered with a deeper jab, forcing another finger inside. He swallowed a grim smile when Clark shuddered; he allowed himself an internal moan when Clark bit his earlobe, panting hard and fast against his skin.

They fought with tongues and fingers, glancing blows with fevered flesh that had been soft, once, with mouths that had been gentle, once. The steel walls echoed each hard grind, picking up the strangled hints of grudging pleasure and magnifying it into a chorus. Sharpening the air with the thick scent of anger and sex, both attacked, relentless. Clark rolled his thumb over the head of Lex's cock to make him gasp; Lex thrust in deep and curled his fingers to steal Clark's strengthabusing mysteries discovered in a feather bed a long, long time ago.

When Lex came, he arched against the wall, turning his face to hide most of his expression. Teeth gritted and throat seared by withheld sounds, he took long, steadying breaths through his nose, never relaxing, even when Clark stroked away the physical tension with a gentler hand. He pulled his fingers free, rubbing them off in a derisive swipe against Clark's waist, and slipped from beneath him. Though he could smooth his clothing, he couldn't hide the sticky-dark stains spattered on the front of his pants, so he ignored them instead. "Feel better, alien?"

"Yeah, I feel great." Words thick with loathing, Clark lifted himself into the air, sticky with semen and sweat, mussed and broken-shouldered. Shadows caught beneath his brows, his eyes looked almost black, reflecting regret for a moment, then nothing. Rising fast, he punched through the ceiling, a blinding river of sunlight pouring in as he called back, "Until next time, Luthor."

And no matter what either of them thought, or swore; no matter their lies or disavowals, they both knew there would always be a next time.