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Title: Phosphoros
Author: Flyingwoman (FlyingHigh, latetothpartyhp)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Chloe/Lex
Warnings: dub/non-con. Insults. Booze.
Spoilers: through Upgrade
Summary: Chloe must decide: Is the enemy of my enemy really my friend? Sequel to Hesperos.
Phosphoros - Greek. the morning appearance of the planet Venus, the morning star.
No one came.
Lex had spent the night on her bed -- well, her bed every-other-week -- sprawled out like an old tom in the sun, snuffling and snoring and occasionally shifting, until he was lying almost cross-wise, his feet hanging over the edges at four and six, his head wedged against the wall at eleven. She watched him from the couch, huddled under her old dorm comforter, ears pricked for any sound from the stairs.
None came.
After she was sure he was asleep, breaths even and jaw soft, she'd got up and dressed, put her shoes on -- and stopped. Anyone who did drop by would have a very sorry surprise waiting for them. She had no idea how much stock to put in his last statement. He'd been strong, and he'd been fast -- but was he faster-than-a-speeding-bullet fast? That would be an interesting experiment. If she was right, then she was fucked in more ways than one. If she was wrong, she had another corpse on her hands, and how to drag it to her car in one piece? Another body in the Talon dumpster would look suspicious, even to the Lowell County sheriff's department.
And there was pulling the trigger. She thought she could do that. From what Clark had seen of Lois' trip back to the future, her Red Dawn persona had been pretty kick ass with a bow. She could be with a gun, too. In cold blood, even. And with a sleeping victim. Absolutely.
She crawled from under the comforter to the kitchen and poured a shot or three of Lois' bourbon into her coffee.
Lex Luthor was alive. Alive and probably drooling on her pillow. Oliver hadn't killed him. And the moral of that was to never believe a known manufacturer of clones was dead until you'd seen all the bodies. Obviously Lex still had a facility they hadn't tracked down; she and Ollie would have to get on that. Right after she told him Lex was still alive. Because he would need to know. She would have to tell him. She'd promised him no more secrets, and she had meant it.
She had just never imagined she'd have a secret like this. Had Lex worn a condom last night? She had no idea.
A thump sounded below, and she jumped. Was it -- ? She heard the grinder begin to whirl. No. It would be Krista and Kaylee, pulling chairs from tables and brewing for the carafes. Now was the dangerous time: the bakery van would be pulling into the alley soon, the regulars who always tried to slip in before opening would show up, and every once in a while there would be a knock on the door and a barista asking if she had quarters they could borrow until the bank opened. It was morning now. She needed to get him out of here. That hair might work as a disguise in the rest of the world, but in Smallville there were plenty of coffee drinkers and former crap factory workers who remembered the face of Lex Luthor.
She walked over to the bed, not sure what the safest method of waking a potentially super-powered man would be. No doubt as gently as possible.
"Lex," she whispered. She put a hand to his mid-section, thinking it was the part of his body least likely to reflexively lash back, and pushed his skin back and forth a bit. He felt normal. But unresponsive. "Lex." Still inert. "Lex!" She tensed her arm to shake him a little more firmly, risky as -- and there was nothing to shake.
There was, however, breath blowing on her ear.
Which, she supposed, answered her earlier question about the bullet.
"I hope," he said, diction thrumming through her skull, "you weren't trying to get rid of me."
"Just trying to clean up. Hate it when stuff's left lying around."
"Oh, so do I. Especially when it could be put to use." His arms snaked around her, pinning hers to her sides, and she could feel it again, that difference in his touch. Effortless yet implacable. She was held until he let her go.
"I prefer to throw it out."
"No you don't. That would be wasteful."
"That you think you know what I prefer is amusing -- "
"But, I do know what you prefer. I know you Chloe Sullivan. You want me out so you can pretend I was never here, but you want me to stay so you can satisfy your curiosity. You're asking yourself, 'Why is Lex Luthor alive and in my cousin's apartment?'"
"Technically, my apartment. But since it appears telepathy is not one of your new-found powers, I'm sad to inform you I already to know the answers to both those questions."
"Lois' name is still the only one on the lease since, technically, the town of Smallville limits the occupancy of apartments this size to one person. You'll learn these things if you ever own rental property. And what you have are guesses. What I have are the answers."
Perhaps. Why was he here? To mess with her mind, or some other reason?
"You're alive because you would never send yourself to do a genetic replicant's job. That's why your DNA was found in the explosion debris. As for the speed, you obviously had a back-up of the Krypto-suit Lana didn't know about. More's the pity."
"You think?" His hands began sliding up and down her arms. "With everything that's happening in the world today, I would think you would be relieved."
"That there's a super-powered psychopath on the loose?" she asked, then yelped as his teeth tore at her ear.
"The self-righteousness and hyperbole were cute when you were fifteen." He lifted his hands from her arms and she fell belly-first onto the bed, pushed by a force so sudden she didn't feel it until she landed. Clothing ripped, the cool of the morning air hit her skin, pain burst from her lip as she accidentally bit it. Hot hands ran up her hip, her back, over her shoulders. "It's frustrating you never outgrew that holier-than-thou attitude. You would have been a brilliant journalist if you hadn't been a libel suit waiting to happen."
Bitter acid flooded her throat as she felt his body closing over hers like a warm, smooth platen, ready to imprint. "Nice retcon. Too bad every word I'll write about you will be true. And what will be even more frustrating is how little you'll be able to do about it with Ollie controlling most of your company now."
"Luthorcorp was my father's dream," he answered, sinking his weight into her, pinning his cock between them. "He had a very limited concept of power."
"And your concept is rape? How very broad-minded of you." The words left her lips and she found herself on her knees, upright, feathery fingers stroking over her stomach.
"Is that what you would call it?" His fingers moved down, down, down. Flirting with her hairline, tracing it, running his palm over it. "You're still here."
"Because unfortunately I haven't had the benefit of the nano-tech nip-tuck."
He kissed her shoulder. "I wouldn't have chased you last night. I wouldn't have even known you left."
"As if I would leave you here alone for Lois to stumble across."
"Or your New Coke Clark. Not quite like the original formula, is he? Is that why you needed all those video feeds of the Kent farm?"
Before she could think her arm had flexed and her elbow was on its way to his ribs. Before she could blink she was flat on her belly again, both hands behind her back, Lex's calves digging into her thighs and the tip of his cock dripping on to her ass. He wedged his hand underneath her; the fingers that had previously played over her belly curled into her short hair and pulled. She gasped with pain and awareness of the skin stretched tight over her clit.
"Don't try to attack me. You'll hurt yourself."
"Right, that's your -- " she began, his grip tightening. "--prerogative," she grunted.
"I do have more practice at it," he replied, and released her. The skin between her legs tingled and also ached, as if it were lonely for the hurt. His hand was still beneath her, pressing into her right at that spot where, if she tightened her backside just a bit, she could -- She froze, horrified. Her want threw itself on the ground, kicking and screaming; in contrast she held her body very, very still. She was not going to fuck Lex Luthor.
Except that he appeared very prepared to fuck her. His weight shifted, for a moment his calves pressing even more sharply into her legs until one knee lifted, prying her legs open, the other joining it when it had. Hip bones dug into her ass as he leaned forward, cock now butting against her labia.
"Don't do this Lex." Her voice was shakier than she would have liked. She took a breath and tried again: "Don't. Do. This."
His stomach slid over her again, followed by warm breath on her back and sharp teeth on her shoulder blade.
"Call Clark," he answered. "Yell for him."
"Is that -- ? Is that what this is about? You put on your little suit and filled yourself up with little green rocks and now you're trying to lure him in?"
"That wasn't my original goal, no, but it would be interesting to see if he'd come. You two aren't what you used to be, and he's never been one to put himself out." A finger poked at her until it found her entrance. She shivered as it slid inside her, exploring.
"Then why the house call? You can't possibly have been missing me." The finger curled, and she shivered again, tightening. Bracing for impact, she told herself.
"On the contrary," he answered. "I think there's always been something between us. We've both known how badly the world needs a hero. Now, at last, we both know it's not Clark."
The finger was removed. In one sharp thrust his cock replaced it, stinging and scraping the sides of her cunt. On reflex she tried to push forward, only to feel his hand, light as feather and heavy as lead pushing her chest into the mattress. He pulled back and thrust again, more stinging, more scraping, but this time the hand under her lifted her by her pubic bone, forcing her back to arch and her body to rock against it. He thrust and thrust, massaging her with his palm in time to his movements until she screamed between her teeth and began to seek the friction, rubbing herself against it, forcing him to a faster rhythm. Fingers replaced his palm; in gratitude she propped herself up on her elbows, lifting her ass higher. She spread her legs wider as well, exposing her clit further to his hand, which began vibrating over it so quickly her legs quaked.
She couldn't remember being this desperate to orgasm, and she was frightened she wouldn't, that he wouldn't let her, that it was all a set-up for frustration and humiliation. She was getting weak from the stretching and the squeezing and the way her leg muscles were practically seizing, and he was so deep in her, hitting hard, it was difficult to keep up. Panting like an animal, the air making her dizzy, she clenched hard, and hoped. Please. Please. And then, Oh. God.... Her pelvis tipped up as if pulled by a marionette string, her arms and belly now shaking as her as her legs, her throat making noises she barely recognized as her voice. His hands on her hips were actually tight, as if making an effort to keep her place, and she realized some of the tremors were coming from him.
Then she was sprawled back on the bed, waiting for the world to right itself. His forehead fell to her breast, his hot breath prickling her skin. "Somebody had to have heard that," he said
Oh, please not; the last thing she needed was someone knocking on the door, asking if everything was alright in there. Even if they had, the baristas at least might assume Ollie had spent the night. He did sometimes when Lois was gone, and everyone on the Talon schedule always seemed to know about it afterward. So hopefully they would respect her privacy. Hopefully. Not everyone might, though. Lois might be down there now, stopping in for a shower and change before heading to work. Or Clark. If he was down there he definitely would have heard, and despite what Lex had implied he wouldn't stop at knocking, he would walk right in and then "clash of the titans" wouldn't even begin to cover it.
She put her arms to Lex's shoulders and tried to push him off. When that failed she kicked, twisted, and bucked. All useless efforts, as she had learned the night before, but now panic was setting in.
"Stop it," he said sharply, but she couldn't.
"Get off of me!" she shouted. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, although if Clark was in the building he'd have been in the kitchen by now. Perhaps it was her near-hysteria,or perhaps he had reasons of his own, but slowly -- or perhaps merely at regular human speeds -- he rolled off her and stood. She tore at the bed covers as soon as he was up, pulling them to her neck and glaring.
"Now get out," she hissed.
In return, he smiled and pulled on his pants. "Is this your way of telling me it wasn't good for you?"
"Leave!"
"I'm trying." He waved a pair of oxfords. "Shoes don't tie themselves."
"You can put them on and be out of this building faster than Justin Bieber can sell out a concert. So why don't you try it? It'll be as close to heroism as you'll ever come. "
He turned to her from the perch he'd taken on the side of the bed.
"You know, I've been scratching my head these last few months wondering what kind of blunt object had to have hit Oliver in the head to drop that cover girl he was seeing -- what was her name? Nenenna? -- to take up with you, but after this morning: mystery solved. What I can't believe now is why Clark didn't take advantage of that all those years you were ready to drop down in front of him like a dog."
"You can insult me all you want, Lex. It won't change the fact that they are both good men, and despite all the artificial flavors and colors you've added to boost your shelf appeal, that's something you'll never be."
His face froze for a moment, his eyes so hollow he looked as if his soul had fled. Was he...? But the suit... "Lex?" she whispered.
He smiled. She flinched. He stood and pulled on his jacket while she recovered. Had he absorbed any kryptonite through that suit? How much? What was it doing to him?
"I'm disappointed. I'd thought, seeing this," he said, pulling something out of his breast pocket, "that your common sense had overcome your stubborn loyalty." The something from his breast pocket turned out to be a lead-sheathed hunting knife, looking more like something from the Lord of the Rings prop shop than anything that would retail at Cabela's. Sliding the knife out from the lead, he paused as if to admire the green crystalline blade. "It appears I was wrong." He re-sheathed the blade and tossed it on the edge of the bed.
She stared. "Where did you -- ?"
"I told you, you owed me one. Several dozen, actually." He walked to the door. "Does Krista still work here? She made the best dry cappuccino."
"Don't you dare -- "
"You need to make a decision. There isn't much time. I'll call you in a few days."
He walked out the door, shutting it behind him. She picked up the knife with shaking hands. Another thump sounded from below, and she jumped yet again. And listened. No one was one the stairs. No one was coming. She pulled the blade out. How many had he taken? Had he saved any of the arrowheads or darts? What about the long swords? If she knew which stash he'd taken she could evaluate the inventory, formulate a plan.
For whom? Someone would have to use them. Someone. Ollie. She would have to tell him. Something. No secrets. She had promised.
She would have to break that promise.
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