Disclaimer: These characters are in no way mine, just humbly borrowing.
Warning: Sexual content.
Author's note: I have no idea where this fic came from, considering I was never a real fan of the Hex, but it just showed up one day and I decided to go with it. Feedback is more than welcome!
It was late; too late for confrontations really, but he was too angry for etiquette tonight. He could almost see himself; stalking down the hall, a bit out of control, (more than he normally would have preferred) ready to tear the door off its hinges. A momentary pause for deeper consideration about reasons for his fury would, most likely, have caused him to reconsider his rage. Perhaps he might have been able to resurrected his usual self-control. But he wasn't interested in thinking clearly, was he?
Storming into this room they shared, but somehow failed to adopt traces of either of their personalities, he saw her quickly close her laptop before turning to face his wrath. Wrath...ha. Wrath implied fear and she felt none. He knew she wouldn't, or at least would never show it. Overt emotion was a carefully guarded commodity for her. She would never waste something as precious as fear on him. But wasn't that what attracted him to her in the first place? He was a product of his up bringing, after all, no matter how much he fought it. Less emotional transparency equaled stronger character in the Luthor philosophy. But this wasn't the first time he found holes in his father's theories, he supposed.
"Maybe you'd like to explain this before I throw you out of my house." He gritted before slapping down a pile of surveillance photos onto the desk where she sat.
She let her look linger on him, gauging his foul mood while trying to catch his eye, but he refused to meet hers. Instead he waited for her to acknowledge the evidence in front of her. Finally looking down at the photos, she leafed through them slowly, nodding her head. When she looked back up at him, her face showed no guilt or regret, only calm. This made him even angrier.
"Do you need a moment to mount your defense?" his rage barely concealed and his faith slipping further as he observed her detachment.
"Well, if justice system metaphors are in vogue today, then I'd say you've already reached a verdict."
"Goddamn you, don't trivialize this. I opened my home to you. I trusted you, Helen and you betrayed me."
"The existence of these surveillance photos seems to suggest otherwise. And I seem to recall the phrase `I don't trust anyone, it's bad business' coming from your lips on several occasions," no anger in her voice, "I never expected you to trust me, Lex, just as I'm sure you never expected me to trust you. It was probably time for me to leave anyway. You know what they say about fish and house guests."
She rose from her seat and began to move past him, but he grabbed her by the arm, spinning her retreating figure to face him fully. He wanted a real answer, not this cryptic bullshit. She had a habit of starting in on these ridiculous word games when she became defensive.
"Then you don't deny making a deal with my father? You have nothing to say in your own defense?" He prayed for the evidence to be a manipulation. He truly wanted her to give him an excuse to believe in her fidelity.
"All I can say is that I may not trust you, but I would never betray you. It's just not in me to re-pay kindness with cruelty." Resentment crept into her tone for a moment.
"Then explain the photos," desperation in his.
"Can't or won't?"
It was time for him to leave. He was in danger of allowing his anger to turn into something different, something icy. He didn't want to lose his fire for cold calculation. There was danger in that.
"I want you out tomorrow," he seethed, turning toward the door, heading away from her, out of there.
"How I'll miss these special moments we have together." She quipped to herself as he left, but her words stopped his retreat.
He turned, walking rapidly toward her, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her up against the wall, pinning her there. He saw her eyes widen in surprise and a hint of that oh-so coveted fear emerge. She failed to realize the benefit of this slight loss of control. He still cared enough to be riled.
"You know how to hit right where it hurts, don't you? Take me down for your own personal gain and then, just for kicks, destroy every notion I had that we began to forge a mutual respect; that we ever shared a genuine companionship. Well, you've succeeded in making me feel like a fool. Remember this moment, not many people can say they've ever made a stooge out of Lex Luthor."
"God, Lex, listen to yourself. You can't even say it." her tone was frustrated, but laughing at him too.
"What are you talking about?"
"Mutual respect...genuine companionship? I thought we were supposed to be in love." She smiled bitterly. He thought he could see tears glistening in her eyes, but couldn't be sure it wasn't just a trick of the light. "I suppose this is partly my fault, the whole `hard edged physician with a heart of gold' act tends to be impossible to resist." She teased, but regret slithered, ever so slight, into her manner.
He grasped onto the regret, wanting the sentiment to be real. "That `heart of gold' thing was always a little under used, in my opinion."
"Well, I didn't want to overplay my hand," Her voice softened and she reached up to caress his face, but he refused to allow her the act of familiarity. His hand came up to intercept her touch, roughly seizing her wrist.
They stared at each other, suddenly serious. A scalding look passed between them as his anger battled her barely concealed resentment at his accusations. Instead of jerking her wrist out of his grip, however, she stepped closer, bringing her lips to faintly brush the sensitive skin of his neck. He remained stock-still, refusing to allow himself a reaction.
"Come on, Lex. Shouldn't we at least say goodbye?" The flippancy of her words, as though she could care less, changed something in him. He loathed being dismissed, always had, but the way she glibly negated the relationship began to defeat the shades of grief he felt at the thought of losing this; losing her. She was right, it was time to say goodbye.
He broke the stand off, moving into her body and roughly capturing her mouth. The hunger surprised him, but his manner held an icy edge. It felt more like an act of battle, than a kiss. Their hands were clumsy and rough as they disrobed one another. Buttons popping and small rips being put in clothing were casualties of the rush to feel skin, but as soon as he relieved her of her clothing, the teasing began. A sinister calm had taken charge.
She was still rabid, writhing against him, but he was slow now, tasting, biting, sucking. He wanted to memorize, for the last time, the texture and curve of her body. Most of all, he was enjoying the growing frustration. There was a mounting tension of impatience he felt in her. She didn't like being teased. She let out a strange growl, pushing him off of her. Shoving him back bit-by-bit, predatory, she moved toward the bed until he was forced into a seated position. She stood over him for a moment, enjoying the vantage point before slowly lowering herself down, always watching his face, almost daring him to look away. Her hands ran up his bare thighs while she kept her eyes locked on his, trying to convey to him she had the power. She was daring him to challenge it.
But she was wrong. Even as she began her own attempt at teasing, he became more and more aware that he'd already crushed the allure she once represented in his mind. She moved slowly toward his waiting cock, using her tongue to barely taste the tip, before running her lips softly down the side. Such minimal contact, so controlled. He could barely resist using his hands to guide her head right where he wanted it. He knew better, but it was a struggle not to. When he thought he might finally betray his frustration, her mouth closed around his cock. Warm and wet, he could feel her Cheshire smile as he let out an indulgent groan. She suckled gently, bringing him fully into her mouth, and he felt his tip hit the soft palate of her throat. An unwelcome gasp he was unable to suppress, evidence that she could still get to him even in this disaffected state, made him flinch. She circled her tongue around his head expertly. He couldn't deny how amazing that mouth was; he was going to lose control. He needed to stop her. If he came right then, they would both know she had won the strange competition they had started.
He would not let that happen.
He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, practically yanking her away, tossing her onto the bed next to him. She laughed a bit, smiling at her small success in putting a ripple in his controlled exterior. He marveled at how playful she seemed when he felt only a bitter tightening within. He loomed above her, bringing his mouth to her neck, tasting, nibbling, tracing a scorching language over her skin. He found satisfaction in the way her warm, soft body reacted to his touch seemingly against her own will.
The familiar taste of her skin made him ache before he could push away the feeling. He always considered her taste to be something like the air around a campfire at night. The thought always struck him as trite, but most women he'd slept with tasted like scented bath salts and perfumes, most men tasted of musk and aftershave. She tasted like fresh air. He could remember that first kiss, a chaste and gentle affair, and how it brought the sensation of smoky expanse to his mind. The quality was strange and addictive. He could almost blame this whole mess he allowed himself to walk into on her scent alone.
Sex had always been something sacred for Lex. Even with strangers, the absence of emotional connection never affected his respect for the act. He understood that pleasuring your partner increased the pleasure of the entire experience. His life required suspicion and doubt of everyone around him, but physical actions and reactions didn't lie. Pleasure as something pure; he loved the idea. It was always harder for the body to deceive than the mind. And this was no exception. He was bringing all devastation, all hope, all anger into this act, letting it drain away from him. He would feel nothing when this was over.
His hand moved down between her legs, dipping a finger in to test her wetness. He always found this to be the most erotic moment; feeling how wet a woman was, how ready her body. He knew that at its base, this aspect of arousal had to do with little more than physical stimulation. Emotionality was only a small influence, personal will even less, but he couldn't help but count it as an accomplishment. Encountering this slickness was one of his biggest turn-ons and she was as wet as he'd ever felt her.
He slid a second finger in to join the first and she gasped, her hands jumping up to grab his shoulders. A familiar reflex. His thumb came down onto her clit and she ground her hips up, eyes meeting his in satisfaction. The look on her face was so focused. She needed him to give her release, relied on him to be the generous lover he had always been with her. He started a steady rhythm with his fingers and felt her match it. She was on the verge. Her body began shaking softly; her gasps became more urgent. And right then he stopped.
Her eyes snapped open, a smile creeping onto her face. Now it looked as though he were winning. "You fucking bastard," she grinned.
He grinned back, playing along, but not sure if she knew how serious he really was. He wasn't ready to forgive yet, was forgetting the meaning of the word.
Back in control of herself, a gleam of ruthlessness appeared in her eye. He saw desperation; frustration. She wanted to be fucked. Throughout this fly-by relationship, it had never been like this between them. They'd been subdued and respectful. Lex had wanted it that way. He wanted something more than lust with her and he succeeded. But here was her unchecked hunger emerging and he wondered if this was what she wanted all along. There was a rage emanating from her as she switched her vantage, straddling his torso before lowering herself onto him. Wrapping her heels under his thighs for leverage, she ground her hips down, taking him deep inside and he gasped despite his intention. She leaned forward, hands on his chest while she pushed her ass back, then rocked forward. Her nails dug into the delicate skin of his stomach.
This was killing him. Vivid and terrifying, he felt fondness bubble-up through his loathing. Pain mixed with the feeling of being buried in her warmth seemed appropriately discordant, but he recognized the tendency of pain to linger longer than pleasure. She looked as though she was enjoying watching him at her mercy. She wasn't completely wrong. He wanted her mouth, wanted to kiss her. He wanted the familiar taste that reminded him of comfort and the possibility of permanence.
He grabbed her shoulders, moving her down to the bed underneath him. He ran his hand under her thigh, bringing her leg up to wrap around him, moving in and out of her more earnestly now. Watching her moan and clutch desperately at his back; seeing her meet his gaze occasionally with a small smile or chuckle, brought a fresh wave of conflict within him. This unlikely event had impressed him, it was intense, it was tumultuous, it was angry and bitter, it was yearning at moments. He couldn't stop the ridiculous thought from entering his head that this was the best sex they'd ever had.
On impulse he reached up to touch her face, a rush of memory from these past months invading. Moments when they were alone and she allowed herself to be outwardly affectionate toward him. Quiet talks sprinkled with soft laughter. Lex almost wished the memories into oblivion. It would be easier if every corner of his mind despised her.
He was on the verge when he felt her walls contract around him. Her eyes closed instantly, a cry ripping from her throat. And that did him in. He felt the room expand, a pulse of pleasure run through his body and he let go. Whispering her name like a curse, he let his body relax onto hers.
Her arms wrapped around him and he settled his head onto her chest, detesting how well they fit together. Resentment arose at the comfort of their bodies intertwined.
"I could have loved you, if you knew how to let me." She whispered into his neck, her voice reverent for the first time that evening, "I wanted to be able to love you."
Maybe that was the truth. There was a frightening prospect of validity in her mummers. That he was really just deceiving himself about his own capacity for love. And thinking back, it was easy to see that she never tried to exaggerate her own emotion. Even when prompted for outward proclamation, her eyes had never lied to him. Yet he continued to think of her as his destiny and convinced himself of the validity in the idea. She was a simple choice, so he took it. But the possibility existed that his ability to trust was already gone, long before she arrived. That he hadn't ever felt love for her, only a desperation to preserve those unraveling threads of belief that he could depend on someone other than himself, seemed probable. And that's really why he despised her now. Not for whatever game she was involved in with his father, but because she was his last attempt at a life resembling normalcy and he had failed.
It was his own failure that made him hate her.
The gentle rhythm of breath in her body beneath him: rise, fall, rise, fall. So common, but he was focused on it now. He rolled next to her, perching above her slightly and she opened her eyes to watch him as he began running his fingers along her jaw; her collarbone; the slight curve where her neck met her shoulder.
"Even so, you never really tried did you?" he spoke softly as he brought his lips to the small hollow of skin at the base of her throat. His thumbs followed, runnning over the spot where his lips had been.
"I've learned the hard way not to break my own heart," she whispered.
He barely heard her words, could sense his focus turn completely to the feel of her neck beneath his hands. Beginning to increase the pressure in his thumbs, he wrapped the rest of his fingers around her delicate throat. She let a muffled cough escape, but nothing else. He marveled at how calm and still she remained as he moved fully above her, closing away more and more of that precious oxygen. Eyes watering, lips trembling beneath him and finally she began to react. A hand snaked up to grip his left forearm, clutching urgently and a breathless gasp...
Within moments her lids drooped, the hand dropped away from his arm, but he could still feel it there, the shaking, urgent grip. Her lips parted, frozen in a moment of startled awe, lifeless. Yet he could still hear her voice growing louder, more desperate.
Lex -- confusion.
Lex! -- pleading.
LEX -- fright.
The impossibility of the unnatural voice made him jerk his hands away from the hold around her throat and the world began to bend around him.
A jolt of light suddenly blinded him, shooting needles of pain into his brain.
"Hey, are you awake?" a familiar voice.
And his sheets-- his bed vanished. Her warm body disappeared from beneath him. Blinking against the invading light, his mind fought to make sense of this disjointed awareness.
"She's dead," a groggy awe in his voice.
"Who's dead?" Startled to hear the disembodied voice again, Lex turned to catch a sun-blurred outline occupying the space next to him.
"Helen, I killed Helen," and he felt a sting saying it.
"Lex, she jumped out of a plane. It wasn't your fault that you couldn't stop her."
The memory crept in. Indeed she had, months ago. He knew it was true, but somehow he couldn't quite believe it right now. His eyes began to adjust to the glaring rays of the sun and he realized he was in a car. The scenery of rural highway flashed past on all sides.
"Hey," a placating tone, "we're almost there. You'll feel better after you stretch your legs a bit."
He turned to watch the wind rippled wheat fly past. The sensation of yielding flesh clung to his finger tips, but as he studied them he could see no answer there. They looked like the same hands he'd always had.
"She's dead," he said again, but this time the statement was more to test the validity out loud. More fact, less awe in his tone.
"But you're alive."
He looked over at his travel companion, still unable to shake the vivid dream. Unable to come fully into the waking world.
"How can you be so sure?"
An awkward, dismissive chuckle came from the driver's seat. Obvious discomfort at the idea of pursuing that haunted question tainted the laughter. But the truth was, sometimes he couldn't be sure, couldn't always trust his memories or his mind. He feared that he would never be able to shake the strange but persistent idea that he may not be truly and fully alive.
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