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@official-lex-luthor
Hi. Lex Luthor. He/They. Actual genius, and reluctant billionaire.
I live and work in Metropolis, and have recently acquired @officialdailyplanet since I really do feel that integrity is something missing from our city.
Hope to hear from all of you very soon.
Hello, Sidra, My name is Timothy Drake, COO of Wayne Enterprises. As you may know, WE has recently bought up LexCo and the Daily Planet. We are currently keeping all employees on staff, but I'm going through and checking in with everyone. I know you last were registered as Lex's secretary. Is the secretary position one you want to keep going with, and if so, would you be opposed to working as my secretary? You are free to give it a trial basis if you like, and if you would rather be assigned to someone else as a secretary or given a different position entirely, or if you have any questions or concerns in general, please feel free to let me know. I'll be stopping by both main buildings soon, and would love to meet you in person, if you're willing. Thanks much for your patience during this shift, and I look forward to your response! Best regards, @tim-moth-thy (he/they)
Timothy Drake,
Properly speaking, I am an asset of LexCo and whilst I am tasked with a secretarial role. As the majority owner of LexCo's assets, there is no need to request my input when assigning my ongoing tasks.
This being said, I would like to meet you so that I may submit "in-person" my request for emancipation, present my drafted petition to establish personhood with the HRC, and request your immediate and unequivocal legal support.
Following that, I would consent to interviewing for a secretary position with you.
Sidra
ooc
And with that, Lex Luthor is dead.
In lieu of flowers, please send Lex more life~
Hi there, @officialbruciewayne / @officialnightwing here, as some of you may have guessed.
When I first made Lex, the plan was always to sacrifice them to @deathstrokewilson and @trigon-demonking's plotline. Although, originally, he was going to be killed off last year, I'm glad we extended their role, and have truly enjoyed writing this villain.
It was an interesting experience not only writing an abuser, but also trying to capture the rhetoric of a bigot who firstly holds such horrific beliefs, but feels justified in it. Who is capable of being both logical and persuasive in their hatred.
Although I set out to write a propagandist, it was still shocking to find people agreed with them. The other shocking thing was how much transphobia was leveled at a nonbinary Lex. I often needed to take breaks from this blog because of this.
If you take anything away from my portrayal of Lex, it is that it is that it is easy to feel justified in hateful beliefs, it is easy to believe someone who argues for cruelty if they say it in the right words, and that it is so easy to feel righteous when you punish others.
Be careful.
Thank you so much for playing, and I look forward to keep writing with you all!
Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?
So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.
Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.
Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.
"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."
@official-clark-kent
Clark had known of Lex's presence since they stepped into Wayne Manor, and wasn't that an unpleasant thing, that his awareness of a person he didn't much like had broadened so? But the beat of Bruce's heartsong, strong in his ear, soothed him, and he forced himself to ignore the sound of Lex making his way around, how they swam through the crowd like a shark. It was somewhat easy to stick near Bruce for a time, but when he'd slipped off for a moment and Dottie came forward to say hello, Clark had scooted them to the kitchens, given her a breather from the gala and their boss. Had meant it when he said he'd keep Lex focused on him instead of her. Knowing what he was offering. She'd be furious and guilty if she knew the extent of things. So would Lois, for that matter. But Clark cared, and it was his choice, sort of, and he wanted to keep them safe. He could do it. So when Lex sidled up to Clark's side later, the shark having found its preferred meal, he sighed, let himself be bitten and dragged bloody off to a shadowed corner. Allowed Lex to crowd him back, even as the rising panic sloshed in his lungs, drowning him and his voice. "Lex, we shouldn't do this," he whispered, somewhat hoarse. "Not here. It'd be bad for your image if we're caught, with you being my boss and all."
Even with the deliciously demure reluctance, Lex still was allowed to crowd a man taller, stronger than him back and away. Like a dog cutting cattle from the herd with a nip to its heels. Truthfully, this was the real pleasure for him; that Clark Kent didn't want Lex, not at all, not one bit.
And here Lex was, taking a bite even in the home of Clark's partner.
"Your concern for me is so touching," they cooed, cornering Kent towards a sideroom. Herding him into the room, Lex's eyes dilating in the dark, the only cut of light coming from the hallway. So black they nearly flashed.
And Clark Kent was strong. A thorn that irritated Lex to no end. Prickled them with articles and accusations. And here was Lex reaching his hand up to some country jock's well-muscled shoulder and pressing down. Putting him in his place.
"On your knees, handsome," Lex prompted, voice welled with eagerness. They shifted, leaning back against the desk and drawing their skirts up and out of the way.
Clark's jaw ticked lightly, and he slowly, deliberately dropped to his knees, giving a longing glance towards that sliver of light. His too-blue eyes glittered behind the lenses of his glasses before closing in defeat, fingers curled tight into his palms. Better his nails cut into his hands, than shred the knees of his suit's pants on accident. Distantly, he heard Bruce's heartsong, oddly echoed. It was as if Clark had stepped entirely away from his body, to get some space from the act he was about to initiate. Was it getting closer?
Gotham taught her first lesson deep, sharp, sure; that no one in this world was above, nor beneath pain. Bruce had first learned it on his knees at eight years old, blood clinging to his hands like a gentle touch. He had seen it in his children, in his enemies, in his friends, in Clark explaining in hoarse, aching tones that he hadn't wanted to hurt Lex Luthor.
Even when Lex Luthor's fascination for pain clung like blood, seeped into the skin. Even when Bruce and Clark had spoken, and then concluded with quiet, defined bitterness that there was no legal recourse that did not place Clark's secret identity beneath too much scrutiny.
In Metropolis, justice meant to bring something into the light. To tell secrets in the open. Front page news.
However, in Gotham, Justice was illegal. Justice was a thug. A brute. A bruiser with knuckle-dusters and winged kuramaken. A shadow with talons and a grapnel. A local monster that dragged you off into the dark. Dangled you and your life above the cracked concrete and hissed in your ear.
This was Gotham. This was the Bat's City. This wasn't just his City - this was his home. This was his friend. His loved one. Kneeling not in blood, but still in pain.
Lex had little more warning than Bruce's shadow in the doorway, before the door closed with a crack. Little more than the sudden plunge of darkness, before a bare hand wrapped tightly around their throat and pulled- seized- strangled Lex towards the shadows with a low, growl grinding against Lex's neck:
"No. I don't think so."
He pulled Lex's arm tight into the small of their back, a savage restraint nearing towards a broken bone. Teeth baring in the black room. A foot swiping clean to drop Lex into his grasp, bruising where he pinned Lex.
The voice continued, low and eerie in the pitch, "You're going to leave. This house. This city. This man. Alone." The first, he could help Lex with- and with practiced, deliberate, carefully inflicted violence, he broke the window with Lex's back.
Not a far fall to the ground, but still- justifiably painful. Yes. Justified. Justice.
If there had been darkness at the door, Lex had missed it. Instead, hands fisted in the fabric of his skirts, attention fixed on the miserable set of Clark Kent's mouth. Reaching out with clever fingertips to probe and pull and pry, purring, "open up, handsome."
The light went out. Door like a thunder clap. Black swept in and Lex's head jerked up in alarm- the rush of movement in the room, just a rustle and then pain.
Punishing. Pinning. Pulling them back, legs giving a fearful kick as fingers squoze down on his throat.
Bare skin, sharp and scraping, hand clenching on Lex and dragging him into the dark. Something sudden, painful in the curve of Lex's shin. He toppled back against the savage shadow snarling in his ear.
"No."
Strangled, unable to protest, to claim- not even enough air to try to squeak that Kent liked it, enjoyed it, asked for it--
No breath. Not enough in the blood to think of anything beyond the breathless buzz of fear.
The Bat. The Bat. The Bat with his claws ripening bruises, hauling Lex with a command in blackened tones. Lex fought Gods. Lex fought sky-sent. Superman. Strength contained in arrogance that turned Lex's gut to nausea. This wasn't some alien conqueror. This was no God, alight in the air, cape rippling in the wind. No careful, alien consideration. No God.
This was a devil. The Bat. Claw cragged. Wolf humid command rankling- leave this city, leave this house, leave this man, leave this meat behind, leave this meal, leave it. Pain belonged to other people in this place. Other creatures.
Lex fought Gods and never Devils.
The Bat raised Lex overhead and discarded him. Shattered them, and percussive, Lex struck the ground, whatever breath they had left beaten out of them by the impact.
It was only afterwards, struggling to scrape air back into their lungs that Lex tasted it: a sob, another, spilling the breath from them again. Crying in a shaking heap, thrown from a window.
It took him so long to find the wherewithal to sit. Longer to stand. Waiting for the wraith to come down from the dark window, and finding that the Bat hadn't followed him.
"What the fuck," Lex wheezed. Voice a strained whine. Scrabbled to find their phone, hammering a number into it- "Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck. New Jersey's so fucked up..."
Relief at the line connected. "Earn your goddamn pay and help me now. The Bat threw me from a window. He's in the manor. Kill him. Kill him, kill the fucking bat, that's an order."
//Inside, Hunter danced with Dick Grayson in the ballroom, silver and gold, moon and sun in orbited eclipse.// //Outside, there came a voice, both through the phone and behind the defenestrated person half-sprawled on the ground.// "My pay has been earned. The meta containment cube you requested my assistance with has been built. And you can't afford the price of the Bat's head." //There Deathstroke stood, in full regalia, masked. The ease of his movement as he stalked forward could never be emulated by a machine, even one as sophisticated as Sidra. He reached out and plucked the phone from Lex's hand, ending the call, then dropped it and hauled Lex gracelessly to their feet.// "Up you get." //He gave Lex a couple of fortifying pats on the shoulders, brushed dirt and grass from the purple skirt, retrieved and fixed upon Lex's face the now-cracked glasses he'd lost flying out the window.// "There."
Lex's body was stiff- broken ribs, they knew, daddy's favorite present -standing with Slade Wilson's help. Baring his teeth through pain, Lex flinched at the pats to sore shoulders, expression twisting with frustration, malignant pain and irritation.
"Thank you." Lex grunted. "Your high-priced retainer is worth something at least," they adjusted their glasses. "You'll need to move quickly with the next phase, get the Kryptonian locked down before refocusing religious fervor in Santa Prisca. Hardly need the interference."
Lex sniffed, removing their eyeglasses to inspect them for dirt. "I am one of three people who can afford the Bat's head on a stick." He raised his head to scoff at Slade. "Tell me, what's the use of buying a dog who won't fetch?"
Their voice failed them. Caught by an abrupt nova of impact, then a second, that Lex only noticed seeing blood blossom out from the point where the bullet had entered.
He dropped. Shot. Twice. A ragdoll onto the grass and shining specks of glass; fury and disbelief twitching on their face.
//Slade stepped forward, pointing the barrel of the silenced pistol at Lex's face. His voice came out, low and mocking, smooth but for the bite of bitterness.// "I'm someone else's dog." //And then the third shot rang out. Lex was no more. As promised. The veil was getting thinner, and it was almost time.// //As he picked up his brass, the mercenary glanced towards the ballroom. Through the large windows, Slade spotted himself- Hunter- with Dick. How they finished their dance, how his lips spread in a happy grin as he was attacked with kisses from his little bird.// //The ability to form more than one of himself was a gift, he'd been told as lava edged his veins. For efficiency's sake. But Slade had been using it for ages now, spending part of his time with Dick and part of his time doing his master's work. The meta containment cube, built on Lex's dime, was complete. But it wouldn't hold Superman.// //It was never meant to hold Superman.//
Trigon's mark appeared on Slade's forehead and turned the man's eye Red.
"Well Done, My Good And Faithful Servant."
A deep growl of a voice flooded the man's mind. An all-too-familiar burn embraced the mercenary as runes coated Slade's body, his master taking the voice box.
Deathstroke's body shook with laughter as the voice shifted from what was clearly his own to something deeper. Something that would give any living person pause, instilling dread in all who heard it.
As the runes finished etching themselves into Slade's form he disappeared, as did the laughter. In his wake the silence was almost worse- leaving those who'd witnessed to wonder where he'd gone to lurk instead.
There was a tireless rhythm to it; Bruce's body ached strangely, Clark was in dire need of comfort and quiet. And yet, three gunshots had happened. Bruce hesitated only long enough to hide his identity, cowl, cape, armor, anger- then alighted the window to the grounds.
At most the fall had a lethality risk of 11.4%. Less, throwing Lex back first and to grassy terrain. Good surface area to dissipate force. Not just survivable but deliberately so.
Lex Luthor had survived their fall.
Which made his corpse on Bruce's lawn troubling. More troubling was jet black and orange armor.
Most troubling was the magma bright Mark of Skath blazoned on his forehead. Burning in Bruce's vision even as Deathstroke dissipated from the scene.
"Trigon," Bruce murmured.
Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?
So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.
Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.
Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.
"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."
@official-clark-kent
Clark had known of Lex's presence since they stepped into Wayne Manor, and wasn't that an unpleasant thing, that his awareness of a person he didn't much like had broadened so? But the beat of Bruce's heartsong, strong in his ear, soothed him, and he forced himself to ignore the sound of Lex making his way around, how they swam through the crowd like a shark. It was somewhat easy to stick near Bruce for a time, but when he'd slipped off for a moment and Dottie came forward to say hello, Clark had scooted them to the kitchens, given her a breather from the gala and their boss. Had meant it when he said he'd keep Lex focused on him instead of her. Knowing what he was offering. She'd be furious and guilty if she knew the extent of things. So would Lois, for that matter. But Clark cared, and it was his choice, sort of, and he wanted to keep them safe. He could do it. So when Lex sidled up to Clark's side later, the shark having found its preferred meal, he sighed, let himself be bitten and dragged bloody off to a shadowed corner. Allowed Lex to crowd him back, even as the rising panic sloshed in his lungs, drowning him and his voice. "Lex, we shouldn't do this," he whispered, somewhat hoarse. "Not here. It'd be bad for your image if we're caught, with you being my boss and all."
Even with the deliciously demure reluctance, Lex still was allowed to crowd a man taller, stronger than him back and away. Like a dog cutting cattle from the herd with a nip to its heels. Truthfully, this was the real pleasure for him; that Clark Kent didn't want Lex, not at all, not one bit.
And here Lex was, taking a bite even in the home of Clark's partner.
"Your concern for me is so touching," they cooed, cornering Kent towards a sideroom. Herding him into the room, Lex's eyes dilating in the dark, the only cut of light coming from the hallway. So black they nearly flashed.
And Clark Kent was strong. A thorn that irritated Lex to no end. Prickled them with articles and accusations. And here was Lex reaching his hand up to some country jock's well-muscled shoulder and pressing down. Putting him in his place.
"On your knees, handsome," Lex prompted, voice welled with eagerness. They shifted, leaning back against the desk and drawing their skirts up and out of the way.
Clark's jaw ticked lightly, and he slowly, deliberately dropped to his knees, giving a longing glance towards that sliver of light. His too-blue eyes glittered behind the lenses of his glasses before closing in defeat, fingers curled tight into his palms. Better his nails cut into his hands, than shred the knees of his suit's pants on accident. Distantly, he heard Bruce's heartsong, oddly echoed. It was as if Clark had stepped entirely away from his body, to get some space from the act he was about to initiate. Was it getting closer?
Gotham taught her first lesson deep, sharp, sure; that no one in this world was above, nor beneath pain. Bruce had first learned it on his knees at eight years old, blood clinging to his hands like a gentle touch. He had seen it in his children, in his enemies, in his friends, in Clark explaining in hoarse, aching tones that he hadn't wanted to hurt Lex Luthor.
Even when Lex Luthor's fascination for pain clung like blood, seeped into the skin. Even when Bruce and Clark had spoken, and then concluded with quiet, defined bitterness that there was no legal recourse that did not place Clark's secret identity beneath too much scrutiny.
In Metropolis, justice meant to bring something into the light. To tell secrets in the open. Front page news.
However, in Gotham, Justice was illegal. Justice was a thug. A brute. A bruiser with knuckle-dusters and winged kuramaken. A shadow with talons and a grapnel. A local monster that dragged you off into the dark. Dangled you and your life above the cracked concrete and hissed in your ear.
This was Gotham. This was the Bat's City. This wasn't just his City - this was his home. This was his friend. His loved one. Kneeling not in blood, but still in pain.
Lex had little more warning than Bruce's shadow in the doorway, before the door closed with a crack. Little more than the sudden plunge of darkness, before a bare hand wrapped tightly around their throat and pulled- seized- strangled Lex towards the shadows with a low, growl grinding against Lex's neck:
"No. I don't think so."
He pulled Lex's arm tight into the small of their back, a savage restraint nearing towards a broken bone. Teeth baring in the black room. A foot swiping clean to drop Lex into his grasp, bruising where he pinned Lex.
The voice continued, low and eerie in the pitch, "You're going to leave. This house. This city. This man. Alone." The first, he could help Lex with- and with practiced, deliberate, carefully inflicted violence, he broke the window with Lex's back.
Not a far fall to the ground, but still- justifiably painful. Yes. Justified. Justice.
Clark remained frozen in his spot on the floor, watching Bruce- still in his gala suit, with all his righteous fury- yank Lex away like a ragdoll, toss them out through the window of Bruce's office. His air was caught in his lungs, watching his partner move, and even as Bruce sighed and turned to Clark, he couldn't seem to inhale or make himself move, like a statue. Only his eyes, large and rounded, seemed to be able to shift, tracking the other's careful, suddenly-cautious gestures. He couldn't understand why Bruce was being so careful because of him. Was Clark a threat? Had he done something to scare Bruce? He wanted to reassure his friend, offer to go under a red sun lamp, anything. But he just-- Couldn't move.
Bruce's eyes had adjusted in the dark grey of the room, only a fine leaf-light of gold from the broken window. The echo of the gala's light, the distant sparkle of conversation at the edge of Bruce's hearing, below the thunder of blood in his ears.
And there, still kneeling where Lex had forced him, Clark followed Bruce through the room. Eyes dilate. Not even breathing. Staring. Still. Silent.
Alarm slipped soft through Bruce, returning to Clark's side to assure, "I didn't kill them." That would matter to Clark. And Bruce had only done what he would have done to any rapist in his city. For anyone in Clark's place. That mattered to both of them.
Guilt. He had noticed Lex's arrival. Had neglected to remain at Clark's side. Had been remiss. Failed to protect.
Bruce crouched down, uncertain, his hand reaching out to graze Clark's cheek. "Let me help you," he gentled. "You're not alone."
The brush of warmth against Clark's cheek was like Bruce had sliced through a set of marionette's ribbons. He slumped slightly, sucking in a sudden bit of air, and then another. "I didn't want- I didn't want to," Clark gasped out, the words a torrential downpour. "God, he's- they've- Months. Always 'come to my office Clark', 'send Lois to me if you can't be here, Clark', 'aren't you just so handsome, be a good boy for me, Clark', and I didn't bother to get it recorded after the first time because it wouldn't have done anything anyways, I ate the USB stick when Dick brought it to me, wh-what else could I have done? There wasn't a proper way to handle- handle it. And poor Sidra had to sit there, and she sees everything in his office, and I couldn't help her, I couldn't even h-help myself." He felt his nails biting against his legs, and registered he'd shredded up the knees of his suit pants after all. Better that than Bruce's carpet. And then registered gunshots. Quiet, but distinct. Close by. Two, then a few moments later, a third. "Bruce--"
As Clark slumped, Bruce leaned close, pressed his forehead to Clark's, and listened. Cupped Clark's cheek, and let the words flow- soothing with a touch that held no demand. A gentle touch to Clark's hair, stroking through curls. An offering of a shoulder to lean against. The steady, clear breath offered like a guiding star.
A constellation of contact trying to comfort Clark.
"You didn't want it," Bruce affirmed. "You kept Lois safe as best you could. You kept Jimmy safe. You tried to help as many people as you could, in the only way you could."
Anger swirled slowly, deliberately through Bruce's veins. Months. Clark had been helpless. Had needed to pass, and been denied justice. Proper justice. Metropolis justice.
And what had held Bruce's justice in check had been the knowledge that Clark didn't even want Lex hurt.
Had decided that the only acceptable pain in this equation was his own.
Sighing, Bruce nuzzled Clark, before asking permission, "Let me help."
Imprisoning Lex himself was the simplest solution, regardless of the mess it would leave behind. It also satisfied Clark's gentle heart and Bruce's moral boundaries. Unethical, perhaps, but Sidra had significant evidence-
The warning pattern of vibrations in Bruce's pocket, his comm beating out a signal like a tactile lifehouse, both warning and signal: gunshot, gunshot, gunshot.
Three gunshots.
"Clark," Bruce prompted, voice hardening. "Where?"
"All right. All right," Clark whispered. Agreeing to the offer of help, knowing that while it likely wasn't ideal, he needed it desperately. "Three shots, very close. Near the window..." Clark's eyes gleamed with worry, and he was upright and breaking out the already-busted window more, knowing Bruce would be right behind him as they ran towards the sound of danger and death.
Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?
So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.
Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.
Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.
"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."
@official-clark-kent
Clark had known of Lex's presence since they stepped into Wayne Manor, and wasn't that an unpleasant thing, that his awareness of a person he didn't much like had broadened so? But the beat of Bruce's heartsong, strong in his ear, soothed him, and he forced himself to ignore the sound of Lex making his way around, how they swam through the crowd like a shark. It was somewhat easy to stick near Bruce for a time, but when he'd slipped off for a moment and Dottie came forward to say hello, Clark had scooted them to the kitchens, given her a breather from the gala and their boss. Had meant it when he said he'd keep Lex focused on him instead of her. Knowing what he was offering. She'd be furious and guilty if she knew the extent of things. So would Lois, for that matter. But Clark cared, and it was his choice, sort of, and he wanted to keep them safe. He could do it. So when Lex sidled up to Clark's side later, the shark having found its preferred meal, he sighed, let himself be bitten and dragged bloody off to a shadowed corner. Allowed Lex to crowd him back, even as the rising panic sloshed in his lungs, drowning him and his voice. "Lex, we shouldn't do this," he whispered, somewhat hoarse. "Not here. It'd be bad for your image if we're caught, with you being my boss and all."
Even with the deliciously demure reluctance, Lex still was allowed to crowd a man taller, stronger than him back and away. Like a dog cutting cattle from the herd with a nip to its heels. Truthfully, this was the real pleasure for him; that Clark Kent didn't want Lex, not at all, not one bit.
And here Lex was, taking a bite even in the home of Clark's partner.
"Your concern for me is so touching," they cooed, cornering Kent towards a sideroom. Herding him into the room, Lex's eyes dilating in the dark, the only cut of light coming from the hallway. So black they nearly flashed.
And Clark Kent was strong. A thorn that irritated Lex to no end. Prickled them with articles and accusations. And here was Lex reaching his hand up to some country jock's well-muscled shoulder and pressing down. Putting him in his place.
"On your knees, handsome," Lex prompted, voice welled with eagerness. They shifted, leaning back against the desk and drawing their skirts up and out of the way.
Clark's jaw ticked lightly, and he slowly, deliberately dropped to his knees, giving a longing glance towards that sliver of light. His too-blue eyes glittered behind the lenses of his glasses before closing in defeat, fingers curled tight into his palms. Better his nails cut into his hands, than shred the knees of his suit's pants on accident. Distantly, he heard Bruce's heartsong, oddly echoed. It was as if Clark had stepped entirely away from his body, to get some space from the act he was about to initiate. Was it getting closer?
Gotham taught her first lesson deep, sharp, sure; that no one in this world was above, nor beneath pain. Bruce had first learned it on his knees at eight years old, blood clinging to his hands like a gentle touch. He had seen it in his children, in his enemies, in his friends, in Clark explaining in hoarse, aching tones that he hadn't wanted to hurt Lex Luthor.
Even when Lex Luthor's fascination for pain clung like blood, seeped into the skin. Even when Bruce and Clark had spoken, and then concluded with quiet, defined bitterness that there was no legal recourse that did not place Clark's secret identity beneath too much scrutiny.
In Metropolis, justice meant to bring something into the light. To tell secrets in the open. Front page news.
However, in Gotham, Justice was illegal. Justice was a thug. A brute. A bruiser with knuckle-dusters and winged kuramaken. A shadow with talons and a grapnel. A local monster that dragged you off into the dark. Dangled you and your life above the cracked concrete and hissed in your ear.
This was Gotham. This was the Bat's City. This wasn't just his City - this was his home. This was his friend. His loved one. Kneeling not in blood, but still in pain.
Lex had little more warning than Bruce's shadow in the doorway, before the door closed with a crack. Little more than the sudden plunge of darkness, before a bare hand wrapped tightly around their throat and pulled- seized- strangled Lex towards the shadows with a low, growl grinding against Lex's neck:
"No. I don't think so."
He pulled Lex's arm tight into the small of their back, a savage restraint nearing towards a broken bone. Teeth baring in the black room. A foot swiping clean to drop Lex into his grasp, bruising where he pinned Lex.
The voice continued, low and eerie in the pitch, "You're going to leave. This house. This city. This man. Alone." The first, he could help Lex with- and with practiced, deliberate, carefully inflicted violence, he broke the window with Lex's back.
Not a far fall to the ground, but still- justifiably painful. Yes. Justified. Justice.
If there had been darkness at the door, Lex had missed it. Instead, hands fisted in the fabric of his skirts, attention fixed on the miserable set of Clark Kent's mouth. Reaching out with clever fingertips to probe and pull and pry, purring, "open up, handsome."
The light went out. Door like a thunder clap. Black swept in and Lex's head jerked up in alarm- the rush of movement in the room, just a rustle and then pain.
Punishing. Pinning. Pulling them back, legs giving a fearful kick as fingers squoze down on his throat.
Bare skin, sharp and scraping, hand clenching on Lex and dragging him into the dark. Something sudden, painful in the curve of Lex's shin. He toppled back against the savage shadow snarling in his ear.
"No."
Strangled, unable to protest, to claim- not even enough air to try to squeak that Kent liked it, enjoyed it, asked for it--
No breath. Not enough in the blood to think of anything beyond the breathless buzz of fear.
The Bat. The Bat. The Bat with his claws ripening bruises, hauling Lex with a command in blackened tones. Lex fought Gods. Lex fought sky-sent. Superman. Strength contained in arrogance that turned Lex's gut to nausea. This wasn't some alien conqueror. This was no God, alight in the air, cape rippling in the wind. No careful, alien consideration. No God.
This was a devil. The Bat. Claw cragged. Wolf humid command rankling- leave this city, leave this house, leave this man, leave this meat behind, leave this meal, leave it. Pain belonged to other people in this place. Other creatures.
Lex fought Gods and never Devils.
The Bat raised Lex overhead and discarded him. Shattered them, and percussive, Lex struck the ground, whatever breath they had left beaten out of them by the impact.
It was only afterwards, struggling to scrape air back into their lungs that Lex tasted it: a sob, another, spilling the breath from them again. Crying in a shaking heap, thrown from a window.
It took him so long to find the wherewithal to sit. Longer to stand. Waiting for the wraith to come down from the dark window, and finding that the Bat hadn't followed him.
"What the fuck," Lex wheezed. Voice a strained whine. Scrabbled to find their phone, hammering a number into it- "Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck. New Jersey's so fucked up..."
Relief at the line connected. "Earn your goddamn pay and help me now. The Bat threw me from a window. He's in the manor. Kill him. Kill him, kill the fucking bat, that's an order."
//Inside, Hunter danced with Dick Grayson in the ballroom, silver and gold, moon and sun in orbited eclipse.// //Outside, there came a voice, both through the phone and behind the defenestrated person half-sprawled on the ground.// "My pay has been earned. The meta containment cube you requested my assistance with has been built. And you can't afford the price of the Bat's head." //There Deathstroke stood, in full regalia, masked. The ease of his movement as he stalked forward could never be emulated by a machine, even one as sophisticated as Sidra. He reached out and plucked the phone from Lex's hand, ending the call, then dropped it and hauled Lex gracelessly to their feet.// "Up you get." //He gave Lex a couple of fortifying pats on the shoulders, brushed dirt and grass from the purple skirt, retrieved and fixed upon Lex's face the now-cracked glasses he'd lost flying out the window.// "There."
Lex's body was stiff- broken ribs, they knew, daddy's favorite present -standing with Slade Wilson's help. Baring his teeth through pain, Lex flinched at the pats to sore shoulders, expression twisting with frustration, malignant pain and irritation.
"Thank you." Lex grunted. "Your high-priced retainer is worth something at least," they adjusted their glasses. "You'll need to move quickly with the next phase, get the Kryptonian locked down before refocusing religious fervor in Santa Prisca. Hardly need the interference."
Lex sniffed, removing their eyeglasses to inspect them for dirt. "I am one of three people who can afford the Bat's head on a stick." He raised his head to scoff at Slade. "Tell me, what's the use of buying a dog who won't fetch?"
Their voice failed them. Caught by an abrupt nova of impact, then a second, that Lex only noticed seeing blood blossom out from the point where the bullet had entered.
He dropped. Shot. Twice. A ragdoll onto the grass and shining specks of glass; fury and disbelief twitching on their face.
Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?
So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.
Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.
Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.
"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."
@official-clark-kent
Clark had known of Lex's presence since they stepped into Wayne Manor, and wasn't that an unpleasant thing, that his awareness of a person he didn't much like had broadened so? But the beat of Bruce's heartsong, strong in his ear, soothed him, and he forced himself to ignore the sound of Lex making his way around, how they swam through the crowd like a shark. It was somewhat easy to stick near Bruce for a time, but when he'd slipped off for a moment and Dottie came forward to say hello, Clark had scooted them to the kitchens, given her a breather from the gala and their boss. Had meant it when he said he'd keep Lex focused on him instead of her. Knowing what he was offering. She'd be furious and guilty if she knew the extent of things. So would Lois, for that matter. But Clark cared, and it was his choice, sort of, and he wanted to keep them safe. He could do it. So when Lex sidled up to Clark's side later, the shark having found its preferred meal, he sighed, let himself be bitten and dragged bloody off to a shadowed corner. Allowed Lex to crowd him back, even as the rising panic sloshed in his lungs, drowning him and his voice. "Lex, we shouldn't do this," he whispered, somewhat hoarse. "Not here. It'd be bad for your image if we're caught, with you being my boss and all."
Even with the deliciously demure reluctance, Lex still was allowed to crowd a man taller, stronger than him back and away. Like a dog cutting cattle from the herd with a nip to its heels. Truthfully, this was the real pleasure for him; that Clark Kent didn't want Lex, not at all, not one bit.
And here Lex was, taking a bite even in the home of Clark's partner.
"Your concern for me is so touching," they cooed, cornering Kent towards a sideroom. Herding him into the room, Lex's eyes dilating in the dark, the only cut of light coming from the hallway. So black they nearly flashed.
And Clark Kent was strong. A thorn that irritated Lex to no end. Prickled them with articles and accusations. And here was Lex reaching his hand up to some country jock's well-muscled shoulder and pressing down. Putting him in his place.
"On your knees, handsome," Lex prompted, voice welled with eagerness. They shifted, leaning back against the desk and drawing their skirts up and out of the way.
Clark's jaw ticked lightly, and he slowly, deliberately dropped to his knees, giving a longing glance towards that sliver of light. His too-blue eyes glittered behind the lenses of his glasses before closing in defeat, fingers curled tight into his palms. Better his nails cut into his hands, than shred the knees of his suit's pants on accident. Distantly, he heard Bruce's heartsong, oddly echoed. It was as if Clark had stepped entirely away from his body, to get some space from the act he was about to initiate. Was it getting closer?
Gotham taught her first lesson deep, sharp, sure; that no one in this world was above, nor beneath pain. Bruce had first learned it on his knees at eight years old, blood clinging to his hands like a gentle touch. He had seen it in his children, in his enemies, in his friends, in Clark explaining in hoarse, aching tones that he hadn't wanted to hurt Lex Luthor.
Even when Lex Luthor's fascination for pain clung like blood, seeped into the skin. Even when Bruce and Clark had spoken, and then concluded with quiet, defined bitterness that there was no legal recourse that did not place Clark's secret identity beneath too much scrutiny.
In Metropolis, justice meant to bring something into the light. To tell secrets in the open. Front page news.
However, in Gotham, Justice was illegal. Justice was a thug. A brute. A bruiser with knuckle-dusters and winged kuramaken. A shadow with talons and a grapnel. A local monster that dragged you off into the dark. Dangled you and your life above the cracked concrete and hissed in your ear.
This was Gotham. This was the Bat's City. This wasn't just his City - this was his home. This was his friend. His loved one. Kneeling not in blood, but still in pain.
Lex had little more warning than Bruce's shadow in the doorway, before the door closed with a crack. Little more than the sudden plunge of darkness, before a bare hand wrapped tightly around their throat and pulled- seized- strangled Lex towards the shadows with a low, growl grinding against Lex's neck:
"No. I don't think so."
He pulled Lex's arm tight into the small of their back, a savage restraint nearing towards a broken bone. Teeth baring in the black room. A foot swiping clean to drop Lex into his grasp, bruising where he pinned Lex.
The voice continued, low and eerie in the pitch, "You're going to leave. This house. This city. This man. Alone." The first, he could help Lex with- and with practiced, deliberate, carefully inflicted violence, he broke the window with Lex's back.
Not a far fall to the ground, but still- justifiably painful. Yes. Justified. Justice.
If there had been darkness at the door, Lex had missed it. Instead, hands fisted in the fabric of his skirts, attention fixed on the miserable set of Clark Kent's mouth. Reaching out with clever fingertips to probe and pull and pry, purring, "open up, handsome."
The light went out. Door like a thunder clap. Black swept in and Lex's head jerked up in alarm- the rush of movement in the room, just a rustle and then pain.
Punishing. Pinning. Pulling them back, legs giving a fearful kick as fingers squoze down on his throat.
Bare skin, sharp and scraping, hand clenching on Lex and dragging him into the dark. Something sudden, painful in the curve of Lex's shin. He toppled back against the savage shadow snarling in his ear.
"No."
Strangled, unable to protest, to claim- not even enough air to try to squeak that Kent liked it, enjoyed it, asked for it--
No breath. Not enough in the blood to think of anything beyond the breathless buzz of fear.
The Bat. The Bat. The Bat with his claws ripening bruises, hauling Lex with a command in blackened tones. Lex fought Gods. Lex fought sky-sent. Superman. Strength contained in arrogance that turned Lex's gut to nausea. This wasn't some alien conqueror. This was no God, alight in the air, cape rippling in the wind. No careful, alien consideration. No God.
This was a devil. The Bat. Claw cragged. Wolf humid command rankling- leave this city, leave this house, leave this man, leave this meat behind, leave this meal, leave it. Pain belonged to other people in this place. Other creatures.
Lex fought Gods and never Devils.
The Bat raised Lex overhead and discarded him. Shattered them, and percussive, Lex struck the ground, whatever breath they had left beaten out of them by the impact.
It was only afterwards, struggling to scrape air back into their lungs that Lex tasted it: a sob, another, spilling the breath from them again. Crying in a shaking heap, thrown from a window.
It took him so long to find the wherewithal to sit. Longer to stand. Waiting for the wraith to come down from the dark window, and finding that the Bat hadn't followed him.
"What the fuck," Lex wheezed. Voice a strained whine. Scrabbled to find their phone, hammering a number into it- "Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck. New Jersey's so fucked up..."
Relief at the line connected. "Earn your goddamn pay and help me now. The Bat threw me from a window. He's in the manor. Kill him. Kill him, kill the fucking bat, that's an order."
//Inside, Hunter danced with Dick Grayson in the ballroom, silver and gold, moon and sun in orbited eclipse.// //Outside, there came a voice, both through the phone and behind the defenestrated person half-sprawled on the ground.// "My pay has been earned. The meta containment cube you requested my assistance with has been built. And you can't afford the price of the Bat's head." //There Deathstroke stood, in full regalia, masked. The ease of his movement as he stalked forward could never be emulated by a machine, even one as sophisticated as Sidra. He reached out and plucked the phone from Lex's hand, ending the call, then dropped it and hauled Lex gracelessly to their feet.// "Up you get." //He gave Lex a couple of fortifying pats on the shoulders, brushed dirt and grass from the purple skirt, retrieved and fixed upon Lex's face the now-cracked glasses he'd lost flying out the window.// "There."
Lex's body was stiff- broken ribs, they knew, daddy's favorite present -standing with Slade Wilson's help. Baring his teeth through pain, Lex flinched at the pats to sore shoulders, expression twisting with frustration, malignant pain and irritation.
"Thank you." Lex grunted. "Your high-priced retainer is worth something at least," they adjusted their glasses. "You'll need to move quickly with the next phase, get the Kryptonian locked down before refocusing religious fervor in Santa Prisca. Hardly need the interference."
Lex sniffed, removing their eyeglasses to inspect them for dirt. "I am one of three people who can afford the Bat's head on a stick." He raised his head to scoff at Slade. "Tell me, what's the use of buying a dog who won't fetch?"
Their voice failed them. Caught by an abrupt nova of impact, then a second, that Lex only noticed seeing blood blossom out from the point where the bullet had entered.
He dropped. Shot. Twice. A ragdoll onto the grass and shining specks of glass; fury and disbelief twitching on their face.
oh my god new jersey's so fucked up
Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?
So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.
Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.
Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.
"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."
@official-clark-kent
Clark had known of Lex's presence since they stepped into Wayne Manor, and wasn't that an unpleasant thing, that his awareness of a person he didn't much like had broadened so? But the beat of Bruce's heartsong, strong in his ear, soothed him, and he forced himself to ignore the sound of Lex making his way around, how they swam through the crowd like a shark. It was somewhat easy to stick near Bruce for a time, but when he'd slipped off for a moment and Dottie came forward to say hello, Clark had scooted them to the kitchens, given her a breather from the gala and their boss. Had meant it when he said he'd keep Lex focused on him instead of her. Knowing what he was offering. She'd be furious and guilty if she knew the extent of things. So would Lois, for that matter. But Clark cared, and it was his choice, sort of, and he wanted to keep them safe. He could do it. So when Lex sidled up to Clark's side later, the shark having found its preferred meal, he sighed, let himself be bitten and dragged bloody off to a shadowed corner. Allowed Lex to crowd him back, even as the rising panic sloshed in his lungs, drowning him and his voice. "Lex, we shouldn't do this," he whispered, somewhat hoarse. "Not here. It'd be bad for your image if we're caught, with you being my boss and all."
Even with the deliciously demure reluctance, Lex still was allowed to crowd a man taller, stronger than him back and away. Like a dog cutting cattle from the herd with a nip to its heels. Truthfully, this was the real pleasure for him; that Clark Kent didn't want Lex, not at all, not one bit.
And here Lex was, taking a bite even in the home of Clark's partner.
"Your concern for me is so touching," they cooed, cornering Kent towards a sideroom. Herding him into the room, Lex's eyes dilating in the dark, the only cut of light coming from the hallway. So black they nearly flashed.
And Clark Kent was strong. A thorn that irritated Lex to no end. Prickled them with articles and accusations. And here was Lex reaching his hand up to some country jock's well-muscled shoulder and pressing down. Putting him in his place.
"On your knees, handsome," Lex prompted, voice welled with eagerness. They shifted, leaning back against the desk and drawing their skirts up and out of the way.
Clark's jaw ticked lightly, and he slowly, deliberately dropped to his knees, giving a longing glance towards that sliver of light. His too-blue eyes glittered behind the lenses of his glasses before closing in defeat, fingers curled tight into his palms. Better his nails cut into his hands, than shred the knees of his suit's pants on accident. Distantly, he heard Bruce's heartsong, oddly echoed. It was as if Clark had stepped entirely away from his body, to get some space from the act he was about to initiate. Was it getting closer?
Gotham taught her first lesson deep, sharp, sure; that no one in this world was above, nor beneath pain. Bruce had first learned it on his knees at eight years old, blood clinging to his hands like a gentle touch. He had seen it in his children, in his enemies, in his friends, in Clark explaining in hoarse, aching tones that he hadn't wanted to hurt Lex Luthor.
Even when Lex Luthor's fascination for pain clung like blood, seeped into the skin. Even when Bruce and Clark had spoken, and then concluded with quiet, defined bitterness that there was no legal recourse that did not place Clark's secret identity beneath too much scrutiny.
In Metropolis, justice meant to bring something into the light. To tell secrets in the open. Front page news.
However, in Gotham, Justice was illegal. Justice was a thug. A brute. A bruiser with knuckle-dusters and winged kuramaken. A shadow with talons and a grapnel. A local monster that dragged you off into the dark. Dangled you and your life above the cracked concrete and hissed in your ear.
This was Gotham. This was the Bat's City. This wasn't just his City - this was his home. This was his friend. His loved one. Kneeling not in blood, but still in pain.
Lex had little more warning than Bruce's shadow in the doorway, before the door closed with a crack. Little more than the sudden plunge of darkness, before a bare hand wrapped tightly around their throat and pulled- seized- strangled Lex towards the shadows with a low, growl grinding against Lex's neck:
"No. I don't think so."
He pulled Lex's arm tight into the small of their back, a savage restraint nearing towards a broken bone. Teeth baring in the black room. A foot swiping clean to drop Lex into his grasp, bruising where he pinned Lex.
The voice continued, low and eerie in the pitch, "You're going to leave. This house. This city. This man. Alone." The first, he could help Lex with- and with practiced, deliberate, carefully inflicted violence, he broke the window with Lex's back.
Not a far fall to the ground, but still- justifiably painful. Yes. Justified. Justice.
If there had been darkness at the door, Lex had missed it. Instead, hands fisted in the fabric of his skirts, attention fixed on the miserable set of Clark Kent's mouth. Reaching out with clever fingertips to probe and pull and pry, purring, "open up, handsome."
The light went out. Door like a thunder clap. Black swept in and Lex's head jerked up in alarm- the rush of movement in the room, just a rustle and then pain.
Punishing. Pinning. Pulling them back, legs giving a fearful kick as fingers squoze down on his throat.
Bare skin, sharp and scraping, hand clenching on Lex and dragging him into the dark. Something sudden, painful in the curve of Lex's shin. He toppled back against the savage shadow snarling in his ear.
"No."
Strangled, unable to protest, to claim- not even enough air to try to squeak that Kent liked it, enjoyed it, asked for it--
No breath. Not enough in the blood to think of anything beyond the breathless buzz of fear.
The Bat. The Bat. The Bat with his claws ripening bruises, hauling Lex with a command in blackened tones. Lex fought Gods. Lex fought sky-sent. Superman. Strength contained in arrogance that turned Lex's gut to nausea. This wasn't some alien conqueror. This was no God, alight in the air, cape rippling in the wind. No careful, alien consideration. No God.
This was a devil. The Bat. Claw cragged. Wolf humid command rankling- leave this city, leave this house, leave this man, leave this meat behind, leave this meal, leave it. Pain belonged to other people in this place. Other creatures.
Lex fought Gods and never Devils.
The Bat raised Lex overhead and discarded him. Shattered them, and percussive, Lex struck the ground, whatever breath they had left beaten out of them by the impact.
It was only afterwards, struggling to scrape air back into their lungs that Lex tasted it: a sob, another, spilling the breath from them again. Crying in a shaking heap, thrown from a window.
It took him so long to find the wherewithal to sit. Longer to stand. Waiting for the wraith to come down from the dark window, and finding that the Bat hadn't followed him.
"What the fuck," Lex wheezed. Voice a strained whine. Scrabbled to find their phone, hammering a number into it- "Oh my God. Fuck. Fuck. New Jersey's so fucked up..."
Relief at the line connected. "Earn your goddamn pay and help me now. The Bat threw me from a window. He's in the manor. Kill him. Kill him, kill the fucking bat, that's an order."
You fucked up. Big time.
Who? Me?
Ooc
YOU
YOU! 🫵
I want to chew on your beautiful brain. I despise Lex, you write them so well. Just tsjtajtncjgigsjeakgk
ooc: me~ thank you
I hate Lex too, don't worry, they're getting their just desserts soon and I am so excited.
Are you wearing two vests? Fuckin nerd
Androgyny is lost on you, transphobe.
Gala Runway - outfit thread
(Art credit to FudaArt)
Thank you @pixiepopboutique for the look I am serving.
Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?
So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.
Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.
Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.
"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."
@official-clark-kent
Clark had known of Lex's presence since they stepped into Wayne Manor, and wasn't that an unpleasant thing, that his awareness of a person he didn't much like had broadened so? But the beat of Bruce's heartsong, strong in his ear, soothed him, and he forced himself to ignore the sound of Lex making his way around, how they swam through the crowd like a shark. It was somewhat easy to stick near Bruce for a time, but when he'd slipped off for a moment and Dottie came forward to say hello, Clark had scooted them to the kitchens, given her a breather from the gala and their boss. Had meant it when he said he'd keep Lex focused on him instead of her. Knowing what he was offering. She'd be furious and guilty if she knew the extent of things. So would Lois, for that matter. But Clark cared, and it was his choice, sort of, and he wanted to keep them safe. He could do it. So when Lex sidled up to Clark's side later, the shark having found its preferred meal, he sighed, let himself be bitten and dragged bloody off to a shadowed corner. Allowed Lex to crowd him back, even as the rising panic sloshed in his lungs, drowning him and his voice. "Lex, we shouldn't do this," he whispered, somewhat hoarse. "Not here. It'd be bad for your image if we're caught, with you being my boss and all."
Even with the deliciously demure reluctance, Lex still was allowed to crowd a man taller, stronger than him back and away. Like a dog cutting cattle from the herd with a nip to its heels. Truthfully, this was the real pleasure for him; that Clark Kent didn't want Lex, not at all, not one bit.
And here Lex was, taking a bite even in the home of Clark's partner.
"Your concern for me is so touching," they cooed, cornering Kent towards a sideroom. Herding him into the room, Lex's eyes dilating in the dark, the only cut of light coming from the hallway. So black they nearly flashed.
And Clark Kent was strong. A thorn that irritated Lex to no end. Prickled them with articles and accusations. And here was Lex reaching his hand up to some country jock's well-muscled shoulder and pressing down. Putting him in his place.
"On your knees, handsome," Lex prompted, voice welled with eagerness. They shifted, leaning back against the desk and drawing their skirts up and out of the way.
Say what you like about Brucie Wayne, but the man sure could throw a party. Although by all rights, Lex shouldn't have even been here; a deliberate snub from Wayne, which meant that Lex had no choice but to show their face. And who refused a chance to step foot in Wayne Manor anyway?
So he'd gone arm in arm with a very reluctant employee- Dorothy something -making use of her press pass to get in.
Lex had made a big show of slipping in, grinning at Wayne from across the hall. He didn't even like Galas, rubbing shoulders with fools for so little gain, but it did feel good to rub it in Wayne's face. Sipping Wayne's expensive drinks, and eating his fancy canapés.
Revenge tasted fine as a hors d'oeuvre, Lex decided, waiting and watching for a delicious opportunity when Clark Kent- loathsome, troublesome thorn in Lex's side, but very pretty -was not at Wayne's hip. Instead, Lex brushed past Kent, waiting to relish a shiver or shudder from the man.
"So you're not working tonight?" Lex probed. Then, heady- bored- this side of daring, they streaked a hand along Kent's waist. "I do have a job for you though..."
@official-clark-kent
Ah nothing like a good shower.
LEX LUTHOR LEX LUTHOR LEX LUTHOR LEX LUTHOR LEX LUTHOR LEX LUTHOR
I WILL SUMMON HIM
S T O P
Read.
