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Okay, Dark!Lex is in final form here, and I've also fixed Ruat Caelum for the last friggin' time by adding a third act. This is it, campers. Tell me you like it, tell me you hate it, tell me there are typos, but this puppy will post, but soon. Structurally, it turns out to be nearly the same as The Presence of Fire, though less complex in the middle.
Ruat Caelum
Summary: Let justice be done.
Author’s Note: This story is not related to “The Presence of Fire,” despite the reappearance of certain characters.
I. The Ballad of Reading Gaol
Alas! it is a fearful thing
To feel another's guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt.
Lex was leaning on the balustrade, highlighted against the sky like a Bronte hero, watching the last of the alien ships lift beyond the clouds. As always, by the time Clark saw him, he was already posed. It was one of his more annoying habits.
The wind stole the warmth from the air and made his cape flutter nervously around his legs. He looked at the burn scars on the stone wall beside him, the crumbled bricks not ten feet from the balcony, and wondered briefly about the building’s structural stability, but figured that Lex wouldn’t take unnecessary risks.
Superman cleared his throat.
“If you’re here to take me to prison, surely you won’t begrudge the condemned man one last sunset.” Lex’s voice was even, but then he’d known it would be.
“The League’s been in session for ten hours,” he said. “Bruce and I –“
“Ah yes,” Lex said, turning and resting his elbows on the stone railing behind him, “you and Bruce. Did you know that my father was nearly killed by a disgruntled employee when I was five years old? One lucky bullet, and I could have been Bruce. Do you ever think that maybe Bruce only wishes his parents were alive because they died young?” His skin was pale and smooth: milk, moon, pearls. The shrapnel wounds had faded away. Nothing since the meteor shower could touch Lex, and that was just a little too heavy-handed for Clark not to believe in fate.
All he could do was look at Lex, helplessly sorry.
“Bruce would never think something like that, though, would he?” Lex uncoiled from his relaxed posture and stalked towards Clark. A dozen stories below, people were still celebrating liberation; he could hear their laughter and shouting. There was barbecue, and beer in plastic cups. Lex had been the keystone in their victory over the Bugs, and no one denied that.
It was the other things that were problematic.
“A deal,” he said, gasping the words out as if they’d stop Lex from moving forward. “You can stay in the Fortress.”
Lex raised an eyebrow, actually surprised. “That would be a step up from Leavenworth. I suppose the actual analogy would be Elba. And would you be there for me, Josephine?”
“Yes,” he breathed. He couldn’t stop the League from breaking its word to Lex, but he could spend the rest of his life making up for it. He knew all about atonement.
“Except of course when someone else needed saving,” Lex said, dismissing him. He shrugged, for a moment looking small in his trademark black coat. “But then you do get all the satellite channels, don’t you? I could entertain myself.” His eyes, slate-hard, slashed across Clark’s face and then away.
“I assume your supercomputer knows better than to let me use the Fortress’s more interesting toys. But how would you get me to stay in the Fortress? Does the Justice League propose to trust the *word* of a Luthor?”
Clark couldn’t say anything.
“An implant, then. Perhaps a bracelet, or a … collar.” Lex was moving around him now, at the edges of his peripheral vision. “Would you like that?” His breath was hot and moist in Clark’s ear. “To bell the cat?”
“Curiousity killed the cat,” Clark said, for no reason other than that he couldn’t think when Lex was slinking around him like this.
“Satisfaction brought him back.” Lex’s voice was mild but still far, far too close and nowhere close enough. His hand stroked Clark’s back through layers of invulnerable fabric. “We might satisfy each other. And you’d have me on hand, in case something happened that required my -- unique talents.”
“You could have a lab,” Clark said, already calculating how to make it safe. Lex was standing behind him now, his hand moving over Clark’s shoulder, sliding down, pulling Clark against him. His exhalations raised the fine hairs on the back of Clark’s neck.
Lex tried to slip his hand under Clark’s belt, but the suit didn’t allow that kind of access. He gave up and just rubbed over the surface of the suit, over Clark’s hardening cock. They’d been together all of twice since Clark had convinced the League to ally with Lex’s forces (and Clark had never been more grateful for Lex’s obsession with secrecy, because his Leaguemates never would have listened if they’d known what the two of them used to do back in Kansas), and he was desperate for more.
“I’d rather be dumped in the exercise yard at Supermax with a tattoo saying ‘child molester.’”
Lex’s tone was seductive enough that it took Clark a few moments to process. And a few more to realize that he really ought to step away from the handjob if he planned to discuss this like an adult.
“Why not?” Clark managed to turn around and step backwards, and crossed his arms over his chest in good Superman form. The erection clashed with the image, but the stance still helped.
Lex laughed, a harsh sound over the distant cheers. “No human’s ever built a prison that could hold me, and you ask why I don’t want to be locked up in your Fortress?”
“It doesn’t have to be like a prison, Lex.”
“It couldn’t be anything else. Exactly how long do you think you’d want me if I weren’t dangerous? God knows you tried hard enough with that Lane woman –“
Lex’s shirt was expensive enough that the thick Egyptian cotton didn’t tear when Clark hoisted him up by his collar. “Don’t you say her name.”
He got a shark’s grin in return. “That’s my Superman.”
Disgusted and unsure with whom, he let Lex fall. Lex was straightening his shirt before he’d fully recovered his breath.
“Why does it have to be like this?” If he could have, he would have asked his mother, but neither of them were available, and it did him no good whatsoever to make himself lonely and miserable in the middle of fighting with Lex.
Lex cocked his head and looked at him, taking him seriously for once. “You’re not one of us. You shouldn’t be interfering. And I was meant to rule, by any means necessary. You’re the only thing I love, and the only thing standing in my way.”
He ignored the part about love and focused on the part he knew was false. “The League –“
“Listened to you, when you said I was dangerous.” Clark felt his stern expression slip. “What, you thought I didn’t know? I was going to be president, and suddenly I was a fugitive from justice, a damn *warlord* hiding out in Colombia. Going months without speaking a word of English, shooting men in the face to prove I’d do it. But you weren’t satisfied with making me an outlaw, were you? The League didn’t go after any of my competitors, and so it was a good thing I was already twice as ruthless as anybody else. You didn’t make me a gangster, Clark, but you sure as hell ripped off the pretty facade. And you know what? Half the world likes it better that way. Even when they call it democracy, they want a man who rules with his fist.”
Lex was breathing hard by the end of the speech, which would have been a screaming fit in any other man.
“You could be so much more,” he said. Maybe he was just saying it to himself, to the Lex of his memory, smiling up at him from the rumpled bed and saying he didn’t have to go, his parents would survive another hour without him.
“Not anymore.” It was the same face, unlined, probably another of Krypton’s tainted gifts. He remembered how it was when the sight of him could make Lex’s lips quirk in the slightest smile, how the room seemed to heat up and the air get heavier when they were together. The sharp-sour taste of the sweat over Lex’s collarbones, the satiny feel of his thighs as they wrapped around Clark’s waist.
Lex would never say, if you loved me you’d let me go. Never even think it. He knew that love was no excuse and no path to redemption.
They stared at each other, and the sun was behind Lex’s shoulder now, darkening his face and outlining the edges of his coat in fire.
Clark wasn’t sure who’d moved first, but they were twined like vines around each other, kissing as if they’d invented it. His hand dragged over the bare skin covering Lex’s skull, feeling the wind-cooled flesh move over the bone. Lex would be happy, in his way, if Clark could snap his neck like this, but it was another thing he’d never ask for and Clark would never give.
The setting sun glowed red through his closed eyelids, and he shook under Lex’s hands. Lex’s fingers, artificial and real, running through his hair, ruining his careful, controlled style. Kissing like it was the last time, and they’d always kissed that way so it didn’t have to mean anything.
“Federal marshals are on their way,” he said, gulping air, when their mouths finally parted enough to allow him to speak.
He could feel Lex’s smile against his lips. “Your doing, or that of the estimable Mr. Wayne?”
“Bruce told me you wouldn’t agree to the Fortress.” Lex’s body was warm and solid against his, whippet-thin and strong after years on the run. He couldn’t stop his hands from moving over Lex’s shoulders, down his back, tracing angel’s wings.
“He’s a wise man. It’s a pity it wasn’t Bruce’s car that crashed into you all those years ago.” It was nothing but truth. Bruce’s darkness could have been enough for Clark, could have challenged him and forced him to decide that methods mattered as much as ends. If Clark hadn’t already known Lex.
Clark tilted his head, not sure what to say, and decided just to kiss Lex again. As Lex cupped his neck and sighed into his mouth, he felt a sharp sting at the base of his neck, and the agony of Kryptonite radiated out like an deadly flower unfolding.
Staggering back, he clapped a hand to his neck and stared uncomprehendingly at his own blood. The Kryptonite continued its journey through his bloodstream, driving him to his knees. When he looked up, Lex was looking back down at him curiously and using a handkerchief to clean the watch his mother had given him.
Obviously, there had been some modifications since Lex explained the watch’s provenance.
The roaring in his ears proved not to be Kryptonite-induced, but an actual helicopter, rising just above the level of the balcony. A stocky blond man leaned out and yelled at Lex to get in, in Ukrainian-accented Russian.
It felt as if someone had set off a grenade in his chest, but years of experience allowed him to tell that it wasn’t going to get any worse. Deliberately calculated, or just a function of the maximum amount of lead-lined Kryptonite Lex could store in a watch? Lex would swear the latter and want him to believe the former.
Turning, Lex vaulted onto the balcony and reached his black-gloved hand to the man in the helicopter. Clark squinted up into the backwash, trying to regain his footing. “I’m going to come after you!” he yelled. Lex looked back, his expression clearly indicating that he knew Superman’s intent full well and thought it rather unnecessary to shout. He jumped into the helicopter, which immediately swerved away, heading out of the city.
Well, and hadn’t he known Lex would slip away from him? Like a compulsive gambler, rolling the dice one more time even though the house always wins. Bruce was right: he ought to let someone else take care of Lex. Let Lex have his little victory in that, and win in all else.
Blinking into the wind that whipped his tears away, watching the sunset paint the sky with blood, he knew where his duty lay.
II. Oh Who Is That Young Sinner with the Handcuffs on His Wrists?
Oh a deal of pains he’s taken and a pretty price he’s paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they’ve pulled the beggar’s hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they’re haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.
“Mr. Luthor!”
Hope’s voice brought him immediately to full awareness.
“What?” He was already slipping into his pants, because Hope didn’t raise false alarms.
“We’ve intercepted communications from the police. Federal marshals are coming with a warrant for your arrest and for a total search of the premises.”
“We’ll take the helicopters, and then blow the labs five minutes before they get here.”
Hope nodded briskly.
“Where’s –?” That Hope, the paragon of efficiency, the mortal enemy of wasted movement, took the time to give him a sympathetic look was all the answer he needed. He felt his face twist, but he had no idea what expression it was showing.
“Then we’ll blow the labs as soon as we’re in the air.” Clark would go in fast and first, and there couldn’t be anything left for him, or for the feds.
Lex stuffed his feet into the nearest pair of shoes, grabbed up his discarded shirt, and put his mother’s watch in his pocket. He didn’t have time to get rid of the ring Clark had given him, and leaving it behind would be criminally unsubtle.
He’d think of something to do with it, though.
****
Running, letting the leaves slap into his face, following Hope as she plowed through endangered and uncataloged species. President Diaz would have something to say in the U.N. tomorrow about national sovereignity, but that wouldn't help Lex outrun Green Lantern and his borrowed Army grunts.
The hot, wet air struggled against him as he trotted forward. The weapons cache was probably safe from the League's prying sensors. The men - well, the ones who made it would still follow orders, and that was really all that he required.
Down among the trees and vines, he couldn't smell a thousand acres of poppies burning, dooming hundreds of his people to starvation, displacement, prostitution, all the things that happen when your livelihood happens to conflict with someone else's idea of law. The Americans were always so confused when other people didn't like them - forget that Lex had built more churches than the Pope, more hospitals and schools and playgrounds than the government had managed in a hundred years. It was with drug money and so it shouldn't count, right?
Having the U.S. as your enemy was on occasion better than having it as your friend, albeit damned inconvenient at times like this.
He could move some of his people to the plantations on the other side of the mountains,
where even costumed superheroes feared to tread, float or apparate. The soil was already under significant pressure, though.
The new fertilizer was just going to have to get a promotion from almost ready to ready. He wondered what those supercilious aliens of the League would think if they knew that America's megafarmers, paying for his patented innovations, were the source of his legitimate capital.
When Lex Luthor said "Earth for Earth," he was serious about it.
****
Superman’s face was covered with grime, and he let the door fall to the floor in front of him. “Your soldiers don’t respect a flag of truce.”
Lex stayed seated behind his desk, and waved a hand to keep Mercy from going for the defense of last resort. “Most of my soldiers can’t recognize a flag of truce, and half of them think that white is the color of death.” Oh, and he did enjoy that look on Clark’s face when he realized that there were cultures and moralities in between Kansas and Krypton.
Still, Superman had a mission, and he launched right into it. “We want an alliance.”
“You want my men to die to protect the wealth of America and Europe.”
Superman narrowed his eyes. “Was Bombay a wealthy city? Was Mexico City?”
“Well, from my perspective, yes, actually.”
“When they’re done with the First World, they’re coming after the rest.”
As if that were some kind of bulletin. Lex was fully aware of the danger in this game. Putting up just enough resistance that the Bugs would try to smash the better-armed, population-dense developed nations first, letting the Bugs weaken themselves against America and its protectors, and vice versa, required an exact sense of timing and an extreme tolerance for risk.
“What do I get out of the deal? I somehow doubt that your beloved adoptive homeland is going to be anxious to fund development projects in Bangladesh before it rebuilds the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Clark – Superman, he reminded himself viciously – pulled a sheaf of papers from somewhere and held them out. “Legitimacy. Recognition as the chosen leader of the Developing Nations.”
Chosen. He allowed himself a chuckle, bringing his living fingers to his cheek as if he were considering. It was true, if you counted choices made at gunpoint. He had a feeling that the members of the Justice League didn’t.
“Kill one man and you’re a murderer. Kill a million, and you’re a general. But you know what I am, don’t you, Superman?”
In reply, Superman only crossed his arms over his chest in the posture Lex privately thought of as his “you’re about one millimeter away from being grounded, young man” stance.
The question was, would the League break a promise to a ruthless dictator? A freak whose ascension to power was just another version of imperialism, who’d faced substantial (if minority) indigenous opposition throughout his lands before the invasion? This was a case in which asking the question got a long way towards the answer.
Still, he’d known it was almost time to take sides for a few months now. Try as they might, the Americans and their pet aliens were just holding on. They hadn’t made any attempts on the Bug ships in several months, and they hadn’t liberated a work camp for nearly five. No one knew how long it took for Bugs to breed (or make, or bud, or however it was done) more Bugs, but when that started happening, the Americans would be overrun.
“A real United Nations,” he said. “The United States signs the global warming treaty – not as traumatic as it used to be, considering the state of the infrastructure – and all other treaties to which three-fourths of the nations have already adhered. IMF debt forgiven in its entirety. Joint military command to be given to me, with the Justice League in an advisory capacity only.”
Superman opened his mouth, looking peeved, and then paused as he realized that they were in negotiations, which was his victory. He smiled, and for a second he was a beautiful boy and the only problem in the world was how they were going to avoid fatherly detection.
Lex pushed the memories aside and stared hard, fixing the image of the alien and his stupid costume in his mind. He wasn’t going to give any ground just because – He wasn’t going to give up any advantage he could squeeze out of the League and the scared countries huddled behind it like children who’d never learned that life could be cruel.
****
The floor shook and Lex could hear the distant whoomph of buildings collapsing. It was late to be wondering who’d betrayed them to the Bugs, so he simply snatched up his firearm and followed Hope into the hallway. Lights flickered, turning the run into a series of images, surprised and fearful faces, people looking to him for answers.
“Bunker or flyer?” she asked at the stairwell that would take them up or down, depending.
He jerked his head up, and she squared her shoulders and began taking the steps two at a time.
Gunfire and screaming in the distance. The Bugs never made a sound that the human ear could hear. He wondered whether the people dying to cover his retreat were his, or someone else’s.
Hope kicked open the door at the top of the stairs and they were out on the roof, tarry gravel under his feet. The mini-copter’s rotors were already spinning. Bo Mya was in the pilot’s seat, grinning in the way that only a man driven crazy by combat can. Hope grabbed a rocket launcher from inside the copter and positioned herself at its open door.
“Come on,” Mya called. Lex paused, thinking that he should really make Mya get rid of his KNU uniform now that the Karen rebellion was a moot point, and jumped in. He could see the shells whistling through the air – the antiaircraft guns were giving as good as they got – as the area filled up with smoke and fire.
“Where to, boss?” Hope asked as soon as they’d gotten their headsets on.
“League HQ.” It was the most secure place, for now, and as soon as the war was over it would be about as safe as a den of scorpions. Hope frowned and shook her head so that the beads on her braids rattled, but she didn’t dispute his order, not in front of other people.
****
Superman showed him the layout, introducing him to various people to whom he could give orders. They obviously worshiped Superman, but Batman was the one Clark saved for last. Clark was the symbol. Batman was the leader, the one who could make the tough calls. Lex appreciated that; the comfort of following orders spared Clark part of the pain when people died, unrescued, somewhere else.
When they reached the central command center, Clark took him around all the consoles and introduced him to all the techs before bringing him to the caped figure standing like a statue in the middle of the room.
Clark cleared his throat and bravely commenced the formalities. “Batman, this is Lex Luthor.”
Lex stuck out his hand. “Hello, Bruce.”
The mask couldn’t hide Bruce’s surprised blink.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “We *built* the prototype for the Batmobile when we were fifteen. If you didn’t want me to know, you should have changed the engine specs.”
Beside him, he could feel Clark trying not to grin. Failing miserably, if Bruce’s eyes were anything to go by.
“Supermen who don’t use masks shouldn’t wear smirks,” he said, and Clark iced up, moving several inches further away. “You clowns are just lucky I have some fashion sense and didn’t get my own skin-tight costume when all my acquaintances were doing it.”
Bruce brought his hands up, clasping Lex’s still outstretched hand between hard leather gloves. “Lex,” he said. “It hasn’t been long enough.”
“I missed you too.”
****
Someone had sent him a bottle of real scotch, not top-quality but better than he’d had since a few weeks after the invasion. He suspected Bruce; Clark wouldn’t have thought it that important. Mercy, already thoroughly familiar with the layout of the encampment, procured an ancient set of highball glasses.
He only needed one.
It wasn’t surprising when the intercom buzzer sounded and Mercy announced that Batman wanted to see him. “Send him in,” he said and poured another glass of scotch for his guest.
Bruce was still wearing his ridiculous getup; he supposed that it was full-time now. At the beginning, Bruce probably hoped to have a sybaritic lifestyle to return to, a cover story. Over time, it must have become permanent. People expected the Batman, not a human being.
Lex held out the glass to Bruce, who took it without comment. While Lex sat back in his chair, Bruce pulled another much-abused folding chair beside the desk and sat. He was perfectly still, holding his drink and watching Lex.
“I was sorry to hear about Alfred.”
“I thought those lilies might have been from you.” Bruce put his glass to his lips to fake a sip. Years of playboy subterfuge couldn’t easily be put aside, and he suspected that Bruce’s alcohol tolerance was substantially less than his. Bruce didn’t have the benefit of an amazing meteor-mutated liver, after all.
Lex continued without confirming or denying. “Selina?”
“Died blowing up the Gotham base.”
“My condolences. Dick?”
“With the commandos in Eastern Europe.”
“Good training. He’ll be ready for his own city when this is all over.”
“You’re that confident.” Bruce’s voice was flat.
It must have been hard for Bruce, never to be allowed to despair. Knowing that a moment’s hesitation would infect all those relying upon him, like a single widening crack in a mighty dam. “Of course. You’ll have the plan in the morning.”
This time, Bruce really did drink.
“How did Lois Lane die?” His tone was careful enough that Bruce might think it only information-gathering on the enemy.
“She was a lot like you, if you’d been a writer instead of a scientist. Never let anyone get away with anything. Dark sense of humor, not what you’d think Clark would want.” An answer to the question underneath his question; he had to remember that Bruce was probably his equal at mind-games.
He refilled his glass, and they sat in silence for a while.
“Lois never liked me,” Bruce finally offered, taking another real drink.
“Can’t imagine why, other than that you’re a violent lunatic in love with her husband. Trivial things like that are so important to women.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“No.” Not if you didn’t see the stunned, helpless look in your own eyes in the mirror every day. Bruce was studying him, and he’d be shocked if Bruce hadn’t figured out that the modern Hercules was his Achilles’ heel.
“You and I, we could have –“
“No. I never wanted justice for my father. I wanted him to lose, that’s all.” He took another gulp of scotch.
“No, I suppose not.” Bruce looked down at his hands. “Just –“
The buzzer sounded, and Bruce pulled away. Lex hadn’t even noticed him getting close. “Yes?” he said, annoyed, as he hit the intercom button.
“Superman to see you.” Mercy’s voice was either disgusted or amused. It was hard to tell.
“I’ll go,” Bruce said, rising, and Lex wished very much that he wanted Bruce to stay.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said and raised his glass to Bruce, finishing the alcohol with one swallow as Bruce waited for Clark to enter and then swept out, closing the door behind him.
Lex was refilling his glass when he felt Clark’s presence just over his shoulder.
“Lex.” He wouldn’t turn. He put the bottle back on the shelf, thinking that he’d never appreciated LuthorCorp’s offices until he was reduced to using bare metal and wood.
He picked up his glass with his true hand. “What do you want?”
Clark’s hand closed over his and used the leverage to spin him around. Caught between Clark’s hand and body-warmed glass, Lex’s hand hurt, but not enough to break his concentration.
“What I’ve always wanted.”
Now would be a bad time to bring up the Rolling Stones, though he was sorely tempted. “It never existed, Clark.”
Clark’s fingers flexed. Glass shards, scotch and blood dripped down his wrist and onto the floor. He could feel a large fragment pressing along his lifeline. “You never did give me enough credit for realism.” The hand surrounding his tightened further, and he couldn’t control his indrawn breath. Clark’s eyes were every color he’d ever dreamed.
When Clark released him, he actually staggered. But possibly that was just Clark’s hands on him, tearing at his clothes at the speed of thought. After glancing at his hand – looking for stray embedded glass – Clark pushed his shoulders down, and he went willingly, bracing both hands against his desk.
He never knew exactly how Clark got out of the suit, or really any of the logistics of the encounter, but Clark’s fingers were wet and blunt against him, and he gasped and threw his head back.
Clark fucked him for what seemed like days, ungentle, muttering something about whether this was enough for Lex, enough, enough. He still had perfect timing, his hand moving on Lex’s cock just when it was most needed. The orgasm left Lex collapsed to his elbows, panting long breaths that sounded too much like sobs. Clark reached around Lex’s hips and turned two handfuls of desk into dust as he followed.
Clark’s head dropped against Lex’s shoulder, and for a moment they could have been anywhere, some unused room at the plant or the Talon’s back office, with Clark’s breath hot in his ear, Clark’s sweat burning along his skin.
“I –“ he said and was spun around to be silenced by Clark’s mouth. The taste was just the same, human, as was only to be expected from a human diet. Still, he would have known that mouth even if he were deaf and blind. He ran his hand up Clark’s throat and into his hair, taking pleasure in the way that the clotting blood stuck to Clark’s impenetrable skin.
“Patrol,” Clark said when he broke away, and Lex blinked up at him, confused. “I, uh, have to patrol.”
“Of course.” It wasn’t Earth’s fault that it was under attack, though he always wondered whether the presence of one alien had drawn the others to this ripe juicy plum of a world. He bent to get dressed, and then picked up a pen as if to go back to work.
“Lex –“
There was a bloody handprint on one set of the papers on the desk. “Here,” he said, holding them out to Clark, who hadn’t left yet but wasn’t looking at him.
“What’s that?” Clark’s dubious tone had stopped being infuriating a few decades back, after he’d broken himself of the habit of wanting to hear something different.
“D-day plans. Might as well take it; it’s your copy.”
Clark’s face twisted, but he snatched the papers from Lex’s hand and stalked out.
Lex sat down and thought about what remained to be done. “Good luck,” he mouthed, but he didn’t say it, since Superman’s hearing could be unfortunately acute.
continued in next post...
Ruat Caelum
Summary: Let justice be done.
Author’s Note: This story is not related to “The Presence of Fire,” despite the reappearance of certain characters.
I. The Ballad of Reading Gaol
Alas! it is a fearful thing
To feel another's guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt.
Lex was leaning on the balustrade, highlighted against the sky like a Bronte hero, watching the last of the alien ships lift beyond the clouds. As always, by the time Clark saw him, he was already posed. It was one of his more annoying habits.
The wind stole the warmth from the air and made his cape flutter nervously around his legs. He looked at the burn scars on the stone wall beside him, the crumbled bricks not ten feet from the balcony, and wondered briefly about the building’s structural stability, but figured that Lex wouldn’t take unnecessary risks.
Superman cleared his throat.
“If you’re here to take me to prison, surely you won’t begrudge the condemned man one last sunset.” Lex’s voice was even, but then he’d known it would be.
“The League’s been in session for ten hours,” he said. “Bruce and I –“
“Ah yes,” Lex said, turning and resting his elbows on the stone railing behind him, “you and Bruce. Did you know that my father was nearly killed by a disgruntled employee when I was five years old? One lucky bullet, and I could have been Bruce. Do you ever think that maybe Bruce only wishes his parents were alive because they died young?” His skin was pale and smooth: milk, moon, pearls. The shrapnel wounds had faded away. Nothing since the meteor shower could touch Lex, and that was just a little too heavy-handed for Clark not to believe in fate.
All he could do was look at Lex, helplessly sorry.
“Bruce would never think something like that, though, would he?” Lex uncoiled from his relaxed posture and stalked towards Clark. A dozen stories below, people were still celebrating liberation; he could hear their laughter and shouting. There was barbecue, and beer in plastic cups. Lex had been the keystone in their victory over the Bugs, and no one denied that.
It was the other things that were problematic.
“A deal,” he said, gasping the words out as if they’d stop Lex from moving forward. “You can stay in the Fortress.”
Lex raised an eyebrow, actually surprised. “That would be a step up from Leavenworth. I suppose the actual analogy would be Elba. And would you be there for me, Josephine?”
“Yes,” he breathed. He couldn’t stop the League from breaking its word to Lex, but he could spend the rest of his life making up for it. He knew all about atonement.
“Except of course when someone else needed saving,” Lex said, dismissing him. He shrugged, for a moment looking small in his trademark black coat. “But then you do get all the satellite channels, don’t you? I could entertain myself.” His eyes, slate-hard, slashed across Clark’s face and then away.
“I assume your supercomputer knows better than to let me use the Fortress’s more interesting toys. But how would you get me to stay in the Fortress? Does the Justice League propose to trust the *word* of a Luthor?”
Clark couldn’t say anything.
“An implant, then. Perhaps a bracelet, or a … collar.” Lex was moving around him now, at the edges of his peripheral vision. “Would you like that?” His breath was hot and moist in Clark’s ear. “To bell the cat?”
“Curiousity killed the cat,” Clark said, for no reason other than that he couldn’t think when Lex was slinking around him like this.
“Satisfaction brought him back.” Lex’s voice was mild but still far, far too close and nowhere close enough. His hand stroked Clark’s back through layers of invulnerable fabric. “We might satisfy each other. And you’d have me on hand, in case something happened that required my -- unique talents.”
“You could have a lab,” Clark said, already calculating how to make it safe. Lex was standing behind him now, his hand moving over Clark’s shoulder, sliding down, pulling Clark against him. His exhalations raised the fine hairs on the back of Clark’s neck.
Lex tried to slip his hand under Clark’s belt, but the suit didn’t allow that kind of access. He gave up and just rubbed over the surface of the suit, over Clark’s hardening cock. They’d been together all of twice since Clark had convinced the League to ally with Lex’s forces (and Clark had never been more grateful for Lex’s obsession with secrecy, because his Leaguemates never would have listened if they’d known what the two of them used to do back in Kansas), and he was desperate for more.
“I’d rather be dumped in the exercise yard at Supermax with a tattoo saying ‘child molester.’”
Lex’s tone was seductive enough that it took Clark a few moments to process. And a few more to realize that he really ought to step away from the handjob if he planned to discuss this like an adult.
“Why not?” Clark managed to turn around and step backwards, and crossed his arms over his chest in good Superman form. The erection clashed with the image, but the stance still helped.
Lex laughed, a harsh sound over the distant cheers. “No human’s ever built a prison that could hold me, and you ask why I don’t want to be locked up in your Fortress?”
“It doesn’t have to be like a prison, Lex.”
“It couldn’t be anything else. Exactly how long do you think you’d want me if I weren’t dangerous? God knows you tried hard enough with that Lane woman –“
Lex’s shirt was expensive enough that the thick Egyptian cotton didn’t tear when Clark hoisted him up by his collar. “Don’t you say her name.”
He got a shark’s grin in return. “That’s my Superman.”
Disgusted and unsure with whom, he let Lex fall. Lex was straightening his shirt before he’d fully recovered his breath.
“Why does it have to be like this?” If he could have, he would have asked his mother, but neither of them were available, and it did him no good whatsoever to make himself lonely and miserable in the middle of fighting with Lex.
Lex cocked his head and looked at him, taking him seriously for once. “You’re not one of us. You shouldn’t be interfering. And I was meant to rule, by any means necessary. You’re the only thing I love, and the only thing standing in my way.”
He ignored the part about love and focused on the part he knew was false. “The League –“
“Listened to you, when you said I was dangerous.” Clark felt his stern expression slip. “What, you thought I didn’t know? I was going to be president, and suddenly I was a fugitive from justice, a damn *warlord* hiding out in Colombia. Going months without speaking a word of English, shooting men in the face to prove I’d do it. But you weren’t satisfied with making me an outlaw, were you? The League didn’t go after any of my competitors, and so it was a good thing I was already twice as ruthless as anybody else. You didn’t make me a gangster, Clark, but you sure as hell ripped off the pretty facade. And you know what? Half the world likes it better that way. Even when they call it democracy, they want a man who rules with his fist.”
Lex was breathing hard by the end of the speech, which would have been a screaming fit in any other man.
“You could be so much more,” he said. Maybe he was just saying it to himself, to the Lex of his memory, smiling up at him from the rumpled bed and saying he didn’t have to go, his parents would survive another hour without him.
“Not anymore.” It was the same face, unlined, probably another of Krypton’s tainted gifts. He remembered how it was when the sight of him could make Lex’s lips quirk in the slightest smile, how the room seemed to heat up and the air get heavier when they were together. The sharp-sour taste of the sweat over Lex’s collarbones, the satiny feel of his thighs as they wrapped around Clark’s waist.
Lex would never say, if you loved me you’d let me go. Never even think it. He knew that love was no excuse and no path to redemption.
They stared at each other, and the sun was behind Lex’s shoulder now, darkening his face and outlining the edges of his coat in fire.
Clark wasn’t sure who’d moved first, but they were twined like vines around each other, kissing as if they’d invented it. His hand dragged over the bare skin covering Lex’s skull, feeling the wind-cooled flesh move over the bone. Lex would be happy, in his way, if Clark could snap his neck like this, but it was another thing he’d never ask for and Clark would never give.
The setting sun glowed red through his closed eyelids, and he shook under Lex’s hands. Lex’s fingers, artificial and real, running through his hair, ruining his careful, controlled style. Kissing like it was the last time, and they’d always kissed that way so it didn’t have to mean anything.
“Federal marshals are on their way,” he said, gulping air, when their mouths finally parted enough to allow him to speak.
He could feel Lex’s smile against his lips. “Your doing, or that of the estimable Mr. Wayne?”
“Bruce told me you wouldn’t agree to the Fortress.” Lex’s body was warm and solid against his, whippet-thin and strong after years on the run. He couldn’t stop his hands from moving over Lex’s shoulders, down his back, tracing angel’s wings.
“He’s a wise man. It’s a pity it wasn’t Bruce’s car that crashed into you all those years ago.” It was nothing but truth. Bruce’s darkness could have been enough for Clark, could have challenged him and forced him to decide that methods mattered as much as ends. If Clark hadn’t already known Lex.
Clark tilted his head, not sure what to say, and decided just to kiss Lex again. As Lex cupped his neck and sighed into his mouth, he felt a sharp sting at the base of his neck, and the agony of Kryptonite radiated out like an deadly flower unfolding.
Staggering back, he clapped a hand to his neck and stared uncomprehendingly at his own blood. The Kryptonite continued its journey through his bloodstream, driving him to his knees. When he looked up, Lex was looking back down at him curiously and using a handkerchief to clean the watch his mother had given him.
Obviously, there had been some modifications since Lex explained the watch’s provenance.
The roaring in his ears proved not to be Kryptonite-induced, but an actual helicopter, rising just above the level of the balcony. A stocky blond man leaned out and yelled at Lex to get in, in Ukrainian-accented Russian.
It felt as if someone had set off a grenade in his chest, but years of experience allowed him to tell that it wasn’t going to get any worse. Deliberately calculated, or just a function of the maximum amount of lead-lined Kryptonite Lex could store in a watch? Lex would swear the latter and want him to believe the former.
Turning, Lex vaulted onto the balcony and reached his black-gloved hand to the man in the helicopter. Clark squinted up into the backwash, trying to regain his footing. “I’m going to come after you!” he yelled. Lex looked back, his expression clearly indicating that he knew Superman’s intent full well and thought it rather unnecessary to shout. He jumped into the helicopter, which immediately swerved away, heading out of the city.
Well, and hadn’t he known Lex would slip away from him? Like a compulsive gambler, rolling the dice one more time even though the house always wins. Bruce was right: he ought to let someone else take care of Lex. Let Lex have his little victory in that, and win in all else.
Blinking into the wind that whipped his tears away, watching the sunset paint the sky with blood, he knew where his duty lay.
II. Oh Who Is That Young Sinner with the Handcuffs on His Wrists?
Oh a deal of pains he’s taken and a pretty price he’s paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they’ve pulled the beggar’s hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they’re haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.
“Mr. Luthor!”
Hope’s voice brought him immediately to full awareness.
“What?” He was already slipping into his pants, because Hope didn’t raise false alarms.
“We’ve intercepted communications from the police. Federal marshals are coming with a warrant for your arrest and for a total search of the premises.”
“We’ll take the helicopters, and then blow the labs five minutes before they get here.”
Hope nodded briskly.
“Where’s –?” That Hope, the paragon of efficiency, the mortal enemy of wasted movement, took the time to give him a sympathetic look was all the answer he needed. He felt his face twist, but he had no idea what expression it was showing.
“Then we’ll blow the labs as soon as we’re in the air.” Clark would go in fast and first, and there couldn’t be anything left for him, or for the feds.
Lex stuffed his feet into the nearest pair of shoes, grabbed up his discarded shirt, and put his mother’s watch in his pocket. He didn’t have time to get rid of the ring Clark had given him, and leaving it behind would be criminally unsubtle.
He’d think of something to do with it, though.
****
Running, letting the leaves slap into his face, following Hope as she plowed through endangered and uncataloged species. President Diaz would have something to say in the U.N. tomorrow about national sovereignity, but that wouldn't help Lex outrun Green Lantern and his borrowed Army grunts.
The hot, wet air struggled against him as he trotted forward. The weapons cache was probably safe from the League's prying sensors. The men - well, the ones who made it would still follow orders, and that was really all that he required.
Down among the trees and vines, he couldn't smell a thousand acres of poppies burning, dooming hundreds of his people to starvation, displacement, prostitution, all the things that happen when your livelihood happens to conflict with someone else's idea of law. The Americans were always so confused when other people didn't like them - forget that Lex had built more churches than the Pope, more hospitals and schools and playgrounds than the government had managed in a hundred years. It was with drug money and so it shouldn't count, right?
Having the U.S. as your enemy was on occasion better than having it as your friend, albeit damned inconvenient at times like this.
He could move some of his people to the plantations on the other side of the mountains,
where even costumed superheroes feared to tread, float or apparate. The soil was already under significant pressure, though.
The new fertilizer was just going to have to get a promotion from almost ready to ready. He wondered what those supercilious aliens of the League would think if they knew that America's megafarmers, paying for his patented innovations, were the source of his legitimate capital.
When Lex Luthor said "Earth for Earth," he was serious about it.
****
Superman’s face was covered with grime, and he let the door fall to the floor in front of him. “Your soldiers don’t respect a flag of truce.”
Lex stayed seated behind his desk, and waved a hand to keep Mercy from going for the defense of last resort. “Most of my soldiers can’t recognize a flag of truce, and half of them think that white is the color of death.” Oh, and he did enjoy that look on Clark’s face when he realized that there were cultures and moralities in between Kansas and Krypton.
Still, Superman had a mission, and he launched right into it. “We want an alliance.”
“You want my men to die to protect the wealth of America and Europe.”
Superman narrowed his eyes. “Was Bombay a wealthy city? Was Mexico City?”
“Well, from my perspective, yes, actually.”
“When they’re done with the First World, they’re coming after the rest.”
As if that were some kind of bulletin. Lex was fully aware of the danger in this game. Putting up just enough resistance that the Bugs would try to smash the better-armed, population-dense developed nations first, letting the Bugs weaken themselves against America and its protectors, and vice versa, required an exact sense of timing and an extreme tolerance for risk.
“What do I get out of the deal? I somehow doubt that your beloved adoptive homeland is going to be anxious to fund development projects in Bangladesh before it rebuilds the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Clark – Superman, he reminded himself viciously – pulled a sheaf of papers from somewhere and held them out. “Legitimacy. Recognition as the chosen leader of the Developing Nations.”
Chosen. He allowed himself a chuckle, bringing his living fingers to his cheek as if he were considering. It was true, if you counted choices made at gunpoint. He had a feeling that the members of the Justice League didn’t.
“Kill one man and you’re a murderer. Kill a million, and you’re a general. But you know what I am, don’t you, Superman?”
In reply, Superman only crossed his arms over his chest in the posture Lex privately thought of as his “you’re about one millimeter away from being grounded, young man” stance.
The question was, would the League break a promise to a ruthless dictator? A freak whose ascension to power was just another version of imperialism, who’d faced substantial (if minority) indigenous opposition throughout his lands before the invasion? This was a case in which asking the question got a long way towards the answer.
Still, he’d known it was almost time to take sides for a few months now. Try as they might, the Americans and their pet aliens were just holding on. They hadn’t made any attempts on the Bug ships in several months, and they hadn’t liberated a work camp for nearly five. No one knew how long it took for Bugs to breed (or make, or bud, or however it was done) more Bugs, but when that started happening, the Americans would be overrun.
“A real United Nations,” he said. “The United States signs the global warming treaty – not as traumatic as it used to be, considering the state of the infrastructure – and all other treaties to which three-fourths of the nations have already adhered. IMF debt forgiven in its entirety. Joint military command to be given to me, with the Justice League in an advisory capacity only.”
Superman opened his mouth, looking peeved, and then paused as he realized that they were in negotiations, which was his victory. He smiled, and for a second he was a beautiful boy and the only problem in the world was how they were going to avoid fatherly detection.
Lex pushed the memories aside and stared hard, fixing the image of the alien and his stupid costume in his mind. He wasn’t going to give any ground just because – He wasn’t going to give up any advantage he could squeeze out of the League and the scared countries huddled behind it like children who’d never learned that life could be cruel.
****
The floor shook and Lex could hear the distant whoomph of buildings collapsing. It was late to be wondering who’d betrayed them to the Bugs, so he simply snatched up his firearm and followed Hope into the hallway. Lights flickered, turning the run into a series of images, surprised and fearful faces, people looking to him for answers.
“Bunker or flyer?” she asked at the stairwell that would take them up or down, depending.
He jerked his head up, and she squared her shoulders and began taking the steps two at a time.
Gunfire and screaming in the distance. The Bugs never made a sound that the human ear could hear. He wondered whether the people dying to cover his retreat were his, or someone else’s.
Hope kicked open the door at the top of the stairs and they were out on the roof, tarry gravel under his feet. The mini-copter’s rotors were already spinning. Bo Mya was in the pilot’s seat, grinning in the way that only a man driven crazy by combat can. Hope grabbed a rocket launcher from inside the copter and positioned herself at its open door.
“Come on,” Mya called. Lex paused, thinking that he should really make Mya get rid of his KNU uniform now that the Karen rebellion was a moot point, and jumped in. He could see the shells whistling through the air – the antiaircraft guns were giving as good as they got – as the area filled up with smoke and fire.
“Where to, boss?” Hope asked as soon as they’d gotten their headsets on.
“League HQ.” It was the most secure place, for now, and as soon as the war was over it would be about as safe as a den of scorpions. Hope frowned and shook her head so that the beads on her braids rattled, but she didn’t dispute his order, not in front of other people.
****
Superman showed him the layout, introducing him to various people to whom he could give orders. They obviously worshiped Superman, but Batman was the one Clark saved for last. Clark was the symbol. Batman was the leader, the one who could make the tough calls. Lex appreciated that; the comfort of following orders spared Clark part of the pain when people died, unrescued, somewhere else.
When they reached the central command center, Clark took him around all the consoles and introduced him to all the techs before bringing him to the caped figure standing like a statue in the middle of the room.
Clark cleared his throat and bravely commenced the formalities. “Batman, this is Lex Luthor.”
Lex stuck out his hand. “Hello, Bruce.”
The mask couldn’t hide Bruce’s surprised blink.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “We *built* the prototype for the Batmobile when we were fifteen. If you didn’t want me to know, you should have changed the engine specs.”
Beside him, he could feel Clark trying not to grin. Failing miserably, if Bruce’s eyes were anything to go by.
“Supermen who don’t use masks shouldn’t wear smirks,” he said, and Clark iced up, moving several inches further away. “You clowns are just lucky I have some fashion sense and didn’t get my own skin-tight costume when all my acquaintances were doing it.”
Bruce brought his hands up, clasping Lex’s still outstretched hand between hard leather gloves. “Lex,” he said. “It hasn’t been long enough.”
“I missed you too.”
****
Someone had sent him a bottle of real scotch, not top-quality but better than he’d had since a few weeks after the invasion. He suspected Bruce; Clark wouldn’t have thought it that important. Mercy, already thoroughly familiar with the layout of the encampment, procured an ancient set of highball glasses.
He only needed one.
It wasn’t surprising when the intercom buzzer sounded and Mercy announced that Batman wanted to see him. “Send him in,” he said and poured another glass of scotch for his guest.
Bruce was still wearing his ridiculous getup; he supposed that it was full-time now. At the beginning, Bruce probably hoped to have a sybaritic lifestyle to return to, a cover story. Over time, it must have become permanent. People expected the Batman, not a human being.
Lex held out the glass to Bruce, who took it without comment. While Lex sat back in his chair, Bruce pulled another much-abused folding chair beside the desk and sat. He was perfectly still, holding his drink and watching Lex.
“I was sorry to hear about Alfred.”
“I thought those lilies might have been from you.” Bruce put his glass to his lips to fake a sip. Years of playboy subterfuge couldn’t easily be put aside, and he suspected that Bruce’s alcohol tolerance was substantially less than his. Bruce didn’t have the benefit of an amazing meteor-mutated liver, after all.
Lex continued without confirming or denying. “Selina?”
“Died blowing up the Gotham base.”
“My condolences. Dick?”
“With the commandos in Eastern Europe.”
“Good training. He’ll be ready for his own city when this is all over.”
“You’re that confident.” Bruce’s voice was flat.
It must have been hard for Bruce, never to be allowed to despair. Knowing that a moment’s hesitation would infect all those relying upon him, like a single widening crack in a mighty dam. “Of course. You’ll have the plan in the morning.”
This time, Bruce really did drink.
“How did Lois Lane die?” His tone was careful enough that Bruce might think it only information-gathering on the enemy.
“She was a lot like you, if you’d been a writer instead of a scientist. Never let anyone get away with anything. Dark sense of humor, not what you’d think Clark would want.” An answer to the question underneath his question; he had to remember that Bruce was probably his equal at mind-games.
He refilled his glass, and they sat in silence for a while.
“Lois never liked me,” Bruce finally offered, taking another real drink.
“Can’t imagine why, other than that you’re a violent lunatic in love with her husband. Trivial things like that are so important to women.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“No.” Not if you didn’t see the stunned, helpless look in your own eyes in the mirror every day. Bruce was studying him, and he’d be shocked if Bruce hadn’t figured out that the modern Hercules was his Achilles’ heel.
“You and I, we could have –“
“No. I never wanted justice for my father. I wanted him to lose, that’s all.” He took another gulp of scotch.
“No, I suppose not.” Bruce looked down at his hands. “Just –“
The buzzer sounded, and Bruce pulled away. Lex hadn’t even noticed him getting close. “Yes?” he said, annoyed, as he hit the intercom button.
“Superman to see you.” Mercy’s voice was either disgusted or amused. It was hard to tell.
“I’ll go,” Bruce said, rising, and Lex wished very much that he wanted Bruce to stay.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said and raised his glass to Bruce, finishing the alcohol with one swallow as Bruce waited for Clark to enter and then swept out, closing the door behind him.
Lex was refilling his glass when he felt Clark’s presence just over his shoulder.
“Lex.” He wouldn’t turn. He put the bottle back on the shelf, thinking that he’d never appreciated LuthorCorp’s offices until he was reduced to using bare metal and wood.
He picked up his glass with his true hand. “What do you want?”
Clark’s hand closed over his and used the leverage to spin him around. Caught between Clark’s hand and body-warmed glass, Lex’s hand hurt, but not enough to break his concentration.
“What I’ve always wanted.”
Now would be a bad time to bring up the Rolling Stones, though he was sorely tempted. “It never existed, Clark.”
Clark’s fingers flexed. Glass shards, scotch and blood dripped down his wrist and onto the floor. He could feel a large fragment pressing along his lifeline. “You never did give me enough credit for realism.” The hand surrounding his tightened further, and he couldn’t control his indrawn breath. Clark’s eyes were every color he’d ever dreamed.
When Clark released him, he actually staggered. But possibly that was just Clark’s hands on him, tearing at his clothes at the speed of thought. After glancing at his hand – looking for stray embedded glass – Clark pushed his shoulders down, and he went willingly, bracing both hands against his desk.
He never knew exactly how Clark got out of the suit, or really any of the logistics of the encounter, but Clark’s fingers were wet and blunt against him, and he gasped and threw his head back.
Clark fucked him for what seemed like days, ungentle, muttering something about whether this was enough for Lex, enough, enough. He still had perfect timing, his hand moving on Lex’s cock just when it was most needed. The orgasm left Lex collapsed to his elbows, panting long breaths that sounded too much like sobs. Clark reached around Lex’s hips and turned two handfuls of desk into dust as he followed.
Clark’s head dropped against Lex’s shoulder, and for a moment they could have been anywhere, some unused room at the plant or the Talon’s back office, with Clark’s breath hot in his ear, Clark’s sweat burning along his skin.
“I –“ he said and was spun around to be silenced by Clark’s mouth. The taste was just the same, human, as was only to be expected from a human diet. Still, he would have known that mouth even if he were deaf and blind. He ran his hand up Clark’s throat and into his hair, taking pleasure in the way that the clotting blood stuck to Clark’s impenetrable skin.
“Patrol,” Clark said when he broke away, and Lex blinked up at him, confused. “I, uh, have to patrol.”
“Of course.” It wasn’t Earth’s fault that it was under attack, though he always wondered whether the presence of one alien had drawn the others to this ripe juicy plum of a world. He bent to get dressed, and then picked up a pen as if to go back to work.
“Lex –“
There was a bloody handprint on one set of the papers on the desk. “Here,” he said, holding them out to Clark, who hadn’t left yet but wasn’t looking at him.
“What’s that?” Clark’s dubious tone had stopped being infuriating a few decades back, after he’d broken himself of the habit of wanting to hear something different.
“D-day plans. Might as well take it; it’s your copy.”
Clark’s face twisted, but he snatched the papers from Lex’s hand and stalked out.
Lex sat down and thought about what remained to be done. “Good luck,” he mouthed, but he didn’t say it, since Superman’s hearing could be unfortunately acute.
continued in next post...
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From: (Anonymous)
no subject
Though, I have to admit, I rather did like it better when it flashed back and forth from present to future. I'm not quite sure why...but in any case, in any form, I love this story!
Mara Celes