Notes: Future fic. For Lyra, as always.
As you take off your clothes, you don’t look at him. You can’t. Instead, you watch rain pearl against the window as you fold your shirt just so, and tuck your wedding ring into the pocket of your jeans.
He stands behind you. You can feel his hands pass over your hair, lightly. You know he didn’t mean to touch you – not yet.
“What now?” you ask when you’re naked. It’s always cold in his penthouse; and your skin ripples tensely into gooseflesh.
You have never done this before. You have always wanted to, and you have always been ashamed.
You don’t know why you’re here now. You don’t know how it happened, what pushed you here – this is not the first night that there has been blood on your hands. This is not the first night that you have closed your eyes and seen the curve of his lips as you flew past his penthouse.
Lex’s breath is warm against the curve of your neck. “Look at me,” he orders, and the buttons of his shirt press into your back. His hands busy themselves at his fly – you feel his knuckles brush against your bare buttocks.
“Look at me,” he says again, and you bring your eyes up, to meet his in the glass before you.
Water runs over the reflection of the two of you, and you look young. You look afraid. He looks like he is drowning beneath the streams of rain, and his bright eyes look like two river rocks in the bed of his face.
Lex licks his lips, and the tip of his tongue brushes against your skin for a second. You shiver, and you feel his cock against your skin. It’s hot and wet. It shocks you, and you gasp.
One of his hands comes lazily around to your front, and you can’t look away as his fingers stroke your abdomen.
“I’m not the man you want,” he says flatly. “He died in Smallville.”
You say nothing, because you know he is wrong. You know he doesn’t think you capable of wanting what he has become. You know he needs you to be incapable of wanting him, so that he can go on wanting you.
He thrusts lightly against your ass, and you hear him hiss in a breath as you moan. You lose your patience, and you grab the hand still playing at your waist and drag it down to your cock. You wrap his fingers around you, and rock into them, and back against him. You drag your body against his, and he’s hard, he’s so hard, and his hand is tight around you.
This won’t last long for either of you, and you’re grateful. You begin to set a rhythm, his cock rubbing into your crack and you pushing into his hand, but he stops you. He holds onto your hip, and holds you steady.
He bites your neck. If you were human, he would draw blood. If he were human, he would break his teeth against your skin.
You both come away whole, though. “Does she ever – ” Lex begins, but catches himself before he finishes. He knows you’d never answer that question.
He knows you.
You buck again, and he cracks – pushes you forward, moves his hand fiercely, quickly on you, and you groan, brace both of your hands on the windowsill and spread your legs. He works you open with the fingers of his free hand, and you bite your lower lip to keep from screaming. Your head hangs down, and you watch his fingers as they work you. You watch his skin against yours – pale against blood dark, and you feel him inside you, blunt and pushing.
It doesn’t feel wonderful, it feels desperate. It burns. It feels the way it should, and you can’t stop keening wordlessly.
Lex is ruthless with you; he won’t let you come. He brings you to the edge again and again, but won’t let you over.
He fucks you fast. His belt buckle clacks against the tile floor as he snaps his hips into you again and again. And the friction, the push of his cock, the pull of his fingers, the electricity that crackles over the two of you builds and builds until he fists a hand in your hair and drags your head up.
“*Look* at us,” he growls, and over your shoulder, his teeth are bared and his eyes are dark caves.
Yours are the same. You have hollowed each other. You have darkened each other.
You turn your face, and you kiss the inside of his wrist, and then you set your teeth against it, pressing down slowly but firmly. He screams, and you taste his blood on your tongue as he comes inside you. His hand never stops moving, and neither do your hips, seeking his fingers, and finally you spill out your orgasm onto the plush purple of the carpet.
Lex’s face rests between your shoulders, and his arms wrap around your waist. You put one hand over his, and together you both catch your breath – his body curves around yours. You hold him up, and he covers you.
His lips brush your skin in an accidental kiss. “I’m sorry,” you want to say. You say nothing because if you start speaking your remorse aloud, you might never stop.
Finally, Lex steps back, and pulls his pants on. He reaches across you, and pulls your jeans off the chair. You put them on. He puts his hand in your pocket, fishes out your wedding ring and jams it on your finger until it catches on your knuckle. Then he walks away.
Your skin is still hot from him when you fly home, even in the cold hours before dawn beneath the gray sheets of driving rain.