A/N: This is my first SV fic, so I welcome any constructive feedback. I
know I might've screwed some things up in here, so I apologize beforehand.
If I take some wrong turns, please point me in the right direction. Thanks!
And ending's a little twisted, just hope you can figure it out(which I'm
sure you will.)
Teeth Scales By Meixia
It was a kiss, bright and hot as brutal lips sealed against his in a promise, a threat, and a secret. He couldn't believe it; he didn't want to, because this was Clark, ex-best friend of so many years ago, but only a mere stranger now. And even as Lex told himself this, it hurt to feel so much pain and anguish rise up at the feel of those soft lips that slowly caressed his soul like it was on fire.
And Clark had betrayed him, damn it. Countless times.
Lex didn't care if technically it was Superman that foiled his every plan because it was still that same farm boy from Kansas underneath the red and blue. The same person Lex once dared to call a dear friend. And that was such bullshit, in hindsight.
Sick, despairingly so, was the feel of Clark's callused hands touching his body. It made Lex's skin crawl. Because how could Clark do this? After everything, how could Clark kill the last bit of pride left in him? He was a Luthor, first and foremost, and never, ever Clark Kent's lap dog.
The kisses turned his stomach. Shallow breaths fanned across his ear, the curve of his shoulder, a tongue dipped into the hollow of his neck - it was all so vile. And for the first time in his life, Lex felt cheap.
And that came as a surprise, because even though Clark did ruin everything Lex had tried to do, make, and create, it was still a serious mindfuck that Clark could make him feel cheap, like they had somehow reversed roles, and he was the one martyring himself. Like he was the angel being debauched as a dime-a-dozen hooker, while Clark played the evil, fork-tongued devil.
Hilarious, in some bizarre way, and Lex bit down a choking laugh, dragging his nails over Clark's mess of dark hair instead, scratching invisible lines down his scalp that ended at the back of his neck.
When Lex brought his hands away, he knew there should've been some skin and blood. It was that hard.
But Clark never bled, and he never got hurt. Clark saved the whole world, no, universe, and Lex was supposed to sit there and let him. He had no clue where Clark got a Messiah complex. He hoped to God that it wasn't from him or he would never forgive himself.
And damn it, he didn't like this.
"Stop." But it was still hard - so hard - to say that one little word. Felt like air was being forced out of him, squeezing his lungs.
Clark looked up, his expression blank except for the mercurial dance of colors in his eyes, and Lex had the sudden impression that hello, this was not Clark. This couldn't be Clark, because when did Clark suddenly sprout some balls and finally read into all those lascivious looks Lex had given him in Smallville?
God, why did it have to take so long? If Clark Kent had approached him four years ago, he would have a bounce in his step at the mere idea. But this - this was not what he wanted anymore.
When Clark merely shook his head and bent to taste the pale skin of Lex's neck, he whispered, "No," and Lex realized - he never wanted this. Ever.
Not. This. Not after everything Clark had done. Superman - fuck, whatever. In Lex's mind, they were the same person. Because all that time they had been friends, he knew Clark was lying. He was lying too, of course, about many things. But Clark had lied about the important stuff. Underneath the bond and the admiration and the hope that he would one day be able to taste those lips, in retrospect, he realized that he never wanted that. He wanted Clark's trust instead, wanted to know what secrets he kept behind that innocent face and hid with that Kent charm. He had felt that it was something big.
And fuck, was it big. So Lex should've seen this coming. Really. Clark Kent was just hundred shades of unpredictable.
"Yes." He said and brought his hands up to Clark's chest. Hands that felt heavy with lead, and pushed him away because he meant 'yes, get away from me,' not 'yes, fuck me.'
Because Lex didn't want to imagine Clark doing something like that, after he had betrayed him. It would lessen Clark in his eyes.
He'd been fucked by Clark countless times before, figuratively speaking, and he didn't have any desire to get fucked by Clark, literally, despite how hard it made his cock.
Simple battle he was waging inside himself, and he knew he was going to come out the winner. Manipulative though he was, Lex had always managed to run Clark off course in some way if he so desired. He planned on derailing his ex-best friend tonight, too.
The gun was in the second drawer, right side, shiny and new and plated in sleek, black titanium. The bullets were made of liquefied kryptonite, his own invention, encased by a thin layer of a special polymerized plastic that was hard enough to brake skin. Once it had succeeded, the shell would crack and leak the kryptonite into the body. He'd wager that on Clark it wouldn't even break the skin. The shell would still crack though, after impact, and the kryptonite would still seep out and into flesh and pores, happily infecting the bloodstream. Lex had experimented on some lab rats and they had died after mere minutes, but that was most likely helped by their compact size. On a full grown adult, it should still have the same deadly effects but less speedily.
He could only hope.
This because poisoning was subtle, and Clark wouldn't realize what had happened until it was too late. After all, bullets enter fast and embed themselves deep. Not really a swift death by poisoning if the bullet didn't kill you first, but then that was the idea, wasn't it? He couldn't bring himself to use any other method since none of them seemed worthy for such an occasion.
And God, Clark was still grabbing for him with sluggish hands, even after he had pushed him away. Lex didn't want to be touched. He couldn't, not when he knew where the gun was and what it was for.
He chose this, damn it, so why the hell was it so hard for him to move? Cross the room, open the drawer. Slick glide of the cool metal burned into his hand at the first touch, and it felt like being given some divine right. The power to pass judgement - life for you, and for you, death.
Lex had always wanted to rule the world. Though it was becoming evident that Clark was stubbornly not going to let him.
He would fix that.
"Lex?" His name had never sounded so important, but he didn't look up from the gun. He hadn't even pulled it out yet. Black and cool, waiting to be used.
Lex wanted to use it. So bad.
"Something wrong?" Clark asked, as if they had been lovers before this. As if they've had this conversation before. But, fuck, they weren't even lovers now.
Slight indecision. Yet he never looked up, as he pulled the gun swiftly from the drawer and drew back the safety, the barrel aimed down at the floor for the moment.
"A. Gun?" Clark sounded physically unable to say the word, but Lex couldn't blame him. It was probably the last thing Clark had in mind.
"It's. My parting gift to you." He had rehearsed this, but now, it sounded too ridiculous to say. He felt like something more important should be said. They were on the precipice, and any moment now, Lex would push them off. One little push.
Checked the chamber, and - that's right. Only one bullet. He had taken the rest out earlier to prevent someone from killing themselves afterwards. Besides, kryptonite was bad news, so it wasn't to be used lightly.
"Kryptonite." Lex said matter-of-factly. Clark visibly shuddered and reared back, his eyes gone wide with wonder and fear.
Betrayel, meet my foot. Cause I'm going to shove it up your ass.
Lex smiled, big and wide with even rows of pearly white teeth to match the pearly white skin, and pulled the trigger.
Blotches of maroon dotted the carpet, Lex's papers on the desk, his lavender shirt.
Later, Clark wondered if Lex had done it on purpose.
Teeth Scales By Meixia
It was a kiss, bright and hot as brutal lips sealed against his in a promise, a threat, and a secret. He couldn't believe it; he didn't want to, because this was Clark, ex-best friend of so many years ago, but only a mere stranger now. And even as Lex told himself this, it hurt to feel so much pain and anguish rise up at the feel of those soft lips that slowly caressed his soul like it was on fire.
And Clark had betrayed him, damn it. Countless times.
Lex didn't care if technically it was Superman that foiled his every plan because it was still that same farm boy from Kansas underneath the red and blue. The same person Lex once dared to call a dear friend. And that was such bullshit, in hindsight.
Sick, despairingly so, was the feel of Clark's callused hands touching his body. It made Lex's skin crawl. Because how could Clark do this? After everything, how could Clark kill the last bit of pride left in him? He was a Luthor, first and foremost, and never, ever Clark Kent's lap dog.
The kisses turned his stomach. Shallow breaths fanned across his ear, the curve of his shoulder, a tongue dipped into the hollow of his neck - it was all so vile. And for the first time in his life, Lex felt cheap.
And that came as a surprise, because even though Clark did ruin everything Lex had tried to do, make, and create, it was still a serious mindfuck that Clark could make him feel cheap, like they had somehow reversed roles, and he was the one martyring himself. Like he was the angel being debauched as a dime-a-dozen hooker, while Clark played the evil, fork-tongued devil.
Hilarious, in some bizarre way, and Lex bit down a choking laugh, dragging his nails over Clark's mess of dark hair instead, scratching invisible lines down his scalp that ended at the back of his neck.
When Lex brought his hands away, he knew there should've been some skin and blood. It was that hard.
But Clark never bled, and he never got hurt. Clark saved the whole world, no, universe, and Lex was supposed to sit there and let him. He had no clue where Clark got a Messiah complex. He hoped to God that it wasn't from him or he would never forgive himself.
And damn it, he didn't like this.
"Stop." But it was still hard - so hard - to say that one little word. Felt like air was being forced out of him, squeezing his lungs.
Clark looked up, his expression blank except for the mercurial dance of colors in his eyes, and Lex had the sudden impression that hello, this was not Clark. This couldn't be Clark, because when did Clark suddenly sprout some balls and finally read into all those lascivious looks Lex had given him in Smallville?
God, why did it have to take so long? If Clark Kent had approached him four years ago, he would have a bounce in his step at the mere idea. But this - this was not what he wanted anymore.
When Clark merely shook his head and bent to taste the pale skin of Lex's neck, he whispered, "No," and Lex realized - he never wanted this. Ever.
Not. This. Not after everything Clark had done. Superman - fuck, whatever. In Lex's mind, they were the same person. Because all that time they had been friends, he knew Clark was lying. He was lying too, of course, about many things. But Clark had lied about the important stuff. Underneath the bond and the admiration and the hope that he would one day be able to taste those lips, in retrospect, he realized that he never wanted that. He wanted Clark's trust instead, wanted to know what secrets he kept behind that innocent face and hid with that Kent charm. He had felt that it was something big.
And fuck, was it big. So Lex should've seen this coming. Really. Clark Kent was just hundred shades of unpredictable.
"Yes." He said and brought his hands up to Clark's chest. Hands that felt heavy with lead, and pushed him away because he meant 'yes, get away from me,' not 'yes, fuck me.'
Because Lex didn't want to imagine Clark doing something like that, after he had betrayed him. It would lessen Clark in his eyes.
He'd been fucked by Clark countless times before, figuratively speaking, and he didn't have any desire to get fucked by Clark, literally, despite how hard it made his cock.
Simple battle he was waging inside himself, and he knew he was going to come out the winner. Manipulative though he was, Lex had always managed to run Clark off course in some way if he so desired. He planned on derailing his ex-best friend tonight, too.
The gun was in the second drawer, right side, shiny and new and plated in sleek, black titanium. The bullets were made of liquefied kryptonite, his own invention, encased by a thin layer of a special polymerized plastic that was hard enough to brake skin. Once it had succeeded, the shell would crack and leak the kryptonite into the body. He'd wager that on Clark it wouldn't even break the skin. The shell would still crack though, after impact, and the kryptonite would still seep out and into flesh and pores, happily infecting the bloodstream. Lex had experimented on some lab rats and they had died after mere minutes, but that was most likely helped by their compact size. On a full grown adult, it should still have the same deadly effects but less speedily.
He could only hope.
This because poisoning was subtle, and Clark wouldn't realize what had happened until it was too late. After all, bullets enter fast and embed themselves deep. Not really a swift death by poisoning if the bullet didn't kill you first, but then that was the idea, wasn't it? He couldn't bring himself to use any other method since none of them seemed worthy for such an occasion.
And God, Clark was still grabbing for him with sluggish hands, even after he had pushed him away. Lex didn't want to be touched. He couldn't, not when he knew where the gun was and what it was for.
He chose this, damn it, so why the hell was it so hard for him to move? Cross the room, open the drawer. Slick glide of the cool metal burned into his hand at the first touch, and it felt like being given some divine right. The power to pass judgement - life for you, and for you, death.
Lex had always wanted to rule the world. Though it was becoming evident that Clark was stubbornly not going to let him.
He would fix that.
"Lex?" His name had never sounded so important, but he didn't look up from the gun. He hadn't even pulled it out yet. Black and cool, waiting to be used.
Lex wanted to use it. So bad.
"Something wrong?" Clark asked, as if they had been lovers before this. As if they've had this conversation before. But, fuck, they weren't even lovers now.
Slight indecision. Yet he never looked up, as he pulled the gun swiftly from the drawer and drew back the safety, the barrel aimed down at the floor for the moment.
"A. Gun?" Clark sounded physically unable to say the word, but Lex couldn't blame him. It was probably the last thing Clark had in mind.
"It's. My parting gift to you." He had rehearsed this, but now, it sounded too ridiculous to say. He felt like something more important should be said. They were on the precipice, and any moment now, Lex would push them off. One little push.
Checked the chamber, and - that's right. Only one bullet. He had taken the rest out earlier to prevent someone from killing themselves afterwards. Besides, kryptonite was bad news, so it wasn't to be used lightly.
"Kryptonite." Lex said matter-of-factly. Clark visibly shuddered and reared back, his eyes gone wide with wonder and fear.
Betrayel, meet my foot. Cause I'm going to shove it up your ass.
Lex smiled, big and wide with even rows of pearly white teeth to match the pearly white skin, and pulled the trigger.
Blotches of maroon dotted the carpet, Lex's papers on the desk, his lavender shirt.
Later, Clark wondered if Lex had done it on purpose.