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Clark discovered it by accident, looking for an apartment to replace the last one (destroyed by one of the Toymaker's nastier inventions, though Clark was pretty sure he hadn't known that the building had anything to do with Superman). And then he double-locked the door to his office and spent three hours scrolling through all the offers, hard through most of it. By the end he'd concluded that at least half the posts were just free porn, getting the posters off and incidentally thrilling the readers as well.


Some of them seemed serious, though. They listed neighborhoods and made promises just specific enough to tantalize. They offered everything, and everywhere. There was even one guy who, if he was to be believed, worked at the Planet and wanted to host an encounter in his office. Clark could have tried to figure out who, but he figured he was better off not knowing.

This being Metropolis, there were more than a few superhero fetish posts. Clark knew he probably shouldn't read them—but there might be a story there, after all, human interest. Lois would love it, though Perry would probably force them to focus on men seeking women and women seeking men, which might not even be a bad idea, since the point of the story would not be to identify a specifically gay trend but to address a more general issue. And Clark had a longstanding itch to understand how regular humans thought about metahumans; it didn't get much more revealing than sexual fantasy.

Still, it wasn't exactly research, which was why he was extremely grateful Lois was in Schenectady for one of her stranger stories.

RP, read the last entry he clicked on. You're the Man of Steel, I'm the evil magnate who opposes him at every turn. You show up to lecture me, but I require a more hands-on lesson. Attitude more important than costume. I host. The location was the finest luxury hotel in the city.

Clark shocked himself with how he nearly lost it, sitting in front of the computer. Naturally he'd had thoughts. An ordained Catholic priest who was a Kinsey zero would have had thoughts about Lex. But by the time he'd both understood and accepted those thoughts, Lex was long past reaching.

The time for the offer was nearly expired.

Swallowing, barely looking at the screen, Clark typed out a reply using one of his newsgathering aliases, offering costume as well as attitude.

Within half a minute, his email pinged, giving him a room number. The fourteenth floor. Clark couldn't help but think that the real Lex Luthor would never accept less than the penthouse suite, but he guessed he could roleplay that part of it too.

Clark stopped along the way to set his image distorter to something reasonably like Superman. He didn't like to do that often; two identities was already one more than he could manage well, but sometimes discretion really was the better part of not getting humiliated, and he definitely wasn't showing up for the date as Clark Kent.

He was nervous in the elevator up, avoiding the gaze of the camera in the corner even though it wasn't recording anything real. Nervous walking down the hall, nervous knocking, nervous waiting.

And then Lex Luthor opened the door, and Clark nearly fell over.

He'd used some sort of putty to change the shape of his nose and ears, and there was a prominent mole on his left cheek—just subtle enough to seem real, and he could have fooled almost anyone. But Clark wasn't anyone.

Lex looked him up and down, not lingering anywhere in particular, and nodded sharply, apparently taking Clark's frozen shock as standard practice. As Clark's brain came back online, he figured that it was probably acceptable to evaluate your hookup at the door. If you said no, you'd want to do so before the guy got in the room, after all. Lex took a step back and gestured him into the room.

"So," Lex began, and just the one word was enough to trigger all Clark's memories. Lex's effortless entitlement, his constant demands to set the terms of their interactions, his presumptions.

Lex, who'd set this up. Who deserved anything Clark thought to do to him.

Before another superior word could come out of that liar's mouth, Clark spun around and got in Lex's face. "No," he said. "I've had about enough of your excuses, Luthor."

Lex's expression flickered, like a city momentarily losing power, and then he unfocused his eyes and straightened further, radiating challenge. "Really, Superman? What do you want instead?"

Clark tugged at his tie, revealing the uniform underneath. "I want you to change your ways. You can start by getting on your knees."

Lex responded in classic Lex fashion: by raising his hand towards Clark's throat, apparently with the intent of touching the uniform. Clark grabbed his wrist, so gently that Lex would know that it could have been otherwise. "What did I say?" he asked, tilting his head chidingly.

Lex's pupils dilated in an instant. And then, amazingly, he sank down, making it look graceful, like some martial arts move that he was going to turn into victory very soon.

Clark almost ripped his belt apart getting the buckle open. The uniform was a larger challenge, but ever since he'd redesigned it after a very uncomfortable moment (thirty-six hours spent helping tsunami victims and he'd had to get naked to use the bathroom) it wasn't impossible, and in moments he was exposed, already hardening under Lex's hungry gaze.

Lex hesitated, which was the least Lexlike thing he'd done so far (all things considered, a secret identity engaged in roleplaying himself was actually in character) and then put his hands on Clark's thighs, fingers squeezing just enough to stabilize himself as he leaned forward and took Clark in his mouth, just sucking on the head at first, his tongue running around the rim and fluttering against the underside where the sensation was greatest.

"Come on," Clark rasped, "you can take more." The working portions of his brain were sending urgent signals to the rest of him—what in heaven's name are you doing, this is nuts, this must be a trap—but his brain had been outvoted in a landslide. Or maybe an earthquake, because the earth was certainly moving.

Lex moaned and pressed forward, swallowing until his nose was just brushing Clark's groin. Clark felt the flutter of his muscles, just the right amount of pressure, the scrape of teeth nothing but an extra thrill.

Clark stuffed a fist in his mouth and bit down so that he wouldn't scream out loud enough to bring the building down around them, pushing his hips forward as he came. Lex sat back on his heels, swallowing, and let the last pulses hit his mouth, covering the nearly invisible scar; Clark did groan, then.

Lex had his hand in his lap, working himself. "I'm not done with you, Luthor," Clark snapped, and Lex's hand stilled. "Strip."

Rising with the same sinuous ease, Lex tugged off his cheap businessman's tie and began to unbutton his shirt, his fingers flexed so that it looked somehow like a taunt. Clark was kind of stunned that Lex would allow non-bespoke tailoring to touch his skin, but then Lex always did know how to commit to a role.
By the time Lex was naked, Clark was hard again, which earned him a nearly respectful raised eyebrow.

"On the bed," Clark ordered, and Lex being Lex, he backed up and sprawled out lazily, letting his legs fall open so that Clark could get the best possible view of his erection, which was admittedly a nice one.

Clark remembered that he was supposed to be Superman, and he was so turned on that the thought wasn't even funny. He owed Lex some enjoyment out of this, at least, given what Lex had just done for him, not to mention the charge he was getting from knowing one of Lex's most closely guarded secrets, so he didn't take off the uniform despite how objectively ridiculous he knew he must look. "You need to stop testing my limits," he growled, grabbing the condom from its oh-so-helpful position on top of the bedside table.

Lex sneered. "You need to give up the idea that you have any say in what I do."

Clark's knees hit the bed. "Everything you do is to get my attention, Lex. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Lex turned his face into the pillow, refusing to answer, and Clark pushed two fingers between his lips. Lex sucked them with the same enthusiasm he'd devoted to Clark before.

Clark hurried to shove Lex's legs up to his chest, pressing his spit-slick fingers into Lex about as fast as a human would dare to move.

"This is all you ever needed, isn't it?" Clark demanded, freed by the subterfuge to ask without risking giving away more than he meant to. Because Lex had his eyes closed, he got the condom on at superspeed, guiding himself in with one hand as he put his weight on the other arm, resting across the backs of Lex's thighs to keep him in just the right position.

They both gasped when Clark bottomed out, Lex with a sort of gulp that told Clark he was fighting hard not to show how much he wanted this. Which, considering the lengths to which he'd gone to set up this sordid little encounter, was the most perverted aspect of the whole thing.

Clark began to give it to him in earnest. Lex was so hot and tight that Clark could almost believe he was the first, alone in a universe of their own making. The bed creaked with their efforts. Lex was using his minimal leverage to best advantage, rocking his hips in counterpoint to Clark's thrusts. Clark pulled back just enough that he could move his hands to cup Lex's face, bringing their mouths together despite Lex's initial resistance.

Lex tasted just like Clark had imagined, like he'd never gotten that last slight bitterness from the river out of his mouth.

When Lex jerked and spilled under him, Clark allowed himself to follow.

After, he listened as Lex cleaned himself up—not bothering to offer Clark a towel or anything like that, of course—and dressed. He wondered idly whether Lex was going to be "generous," as they said on Craigslist. Probably not, because Lex could probably get out of a report that he'd met a man for an anonymous hookup, but his image would never survive needing to pay for it.

"The room's paid through tonight," Lex said, pausing by the door. "Feel free to order whatever you want from room service, Clark."

Yeah, like he was going to—wait, what?

"Wait, what?" He sat straight up, hands coming up defensively.

Lex snorted. "You think I don't know the real costume when I see it? And the illusion field you use emits a slight but noticeable hum when it comes in direct contact with another living being."

Clearly, defensive action was required. "You put an ad on Craigslist for someone to impersonate me!"

Lex swallowed, but straightened his shoulders. "Need I point out that you answered it?"

Well, yes, there was that. "I—"

A sigh, not quite as theatrical as the ones Clark had grown used to hearing from Lex. "Don't make this more than it is."

Which sounded dismissive, except that: "It's already a lot, Lex." Lex's flinch told him that he'd guessed right. This next part was tricky, balancing the extent to which Lex would lash out from being off-balance with the multiple excuses he'd come up with if Clark gave him time to think. "I want to continue this conversation. Wearing our real faces, tonight."

Lex stood, shaking so slightly that a human wouldn't have been able to see it. He closed his eyes briefly, then reached for the doorknob once more. "I won't have Mercy shoot you if you come by."

It was, Clark thought, not a bad start.

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