Work Text:
Clark looked down, gazing over his city. But his thoughts were scattered and his stomach was squeezed up into his chest. Metropolis loomed below him; its many skyscrapers arranged around orderly canyons. Each one signaled a river of headlights and asphalt. As a collective, they battled against the night sky with luminous signs and neon glow. They fought off the darkness through sheer, belligerent force of will. But within that beacon of light was a tangled knot.
A knot that matched the lump in Clark’s throat.
“Superman.”
The sound came to him like a whisper. It originated two thousand feet below and tucked under an awning.
“Damn fool.”
This time was three blocks north of the first, and the speaker was considerably angrier.
He closed his eyes–just for a second. The air was cool. It whipped through his cape, causing the red fabric to billow behind him. The rustling sound should’ve been soothing. It should’ve reminded him of simpler times. It should’ve reminded him of home.
Home was so far away.
“War.”
That time, the noise was from someone’s phone. A thousand someones, all of them watching the same video. If he focused, he could hear the cacophony like it was screaming in his ear.
He didn’t focus.
Clark descended toward the city, telling himself it was for his usual evening fly-by. As he did, the skyscrapers rose to greet him. They were metal and glass behemoths. Their floors were stacked so high they blotted out the stars. Sometimes, on quiet nights, he liked to watch those stars. They were brighter for him. Bigger.
Cape flapping, he skimmed the side of the Daily Planet Building. There were still people inside. They were all burning toward some deadline or other. Clark might’ve joined them–
“Superman is a walking nuclear missile, and we don’t have the launch codes. You can’t seriously–”
With barely a sound, he pulled away. For a second, he considered falling. But what would that accomplish? A crater and a headline. He didn’t need another headline.
His stomach twisted. Bile inched its way up his throat. It should’ve stung, just like the night should’ve felt cold. But he was the man of steel. Pain didn’t touch him. Nothing could touch him. He balled his hands into fists, only to relax them. Another skyscraper materialized from the night. It taunted him. A single punch, and he could send it tumbling a thousand feet down.
With barely a thought, he twisted around the building. He couldn’t move too fast, or he might blow out the windows. But he couldn’t move too slow, or he’d never get anywhere. Never too fast. Never too slow. Never the right time. Never the right decision. Never satisfied. Never happy.
“He’s a danger,” whispered the city.
Clark gnashed his teeth.
“He’s a monster.”
That wasn’t–
“He’s killed.”
No.
“He’ll kill again.”
Clark caught himself speeding toward the side of a building. But he pulled back just in time to avoid a collision. His limbs jerked to a halt, leaving his body suspended in the air. He took a deep inhale, forcefully controlling the urge to curse. He couldn’t afford to crash into a skyscraper. He couldn’t afford a mistake like that. He couldn’t afford mistakes at all… Or he’d be the thing they all said he was.
The building gleamed: stalwart and tall. Strangely, it was completely silent. The lights were off. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was staring at mirrored glass. The lights only appeared to be off.
His brow furrowed. He glanced up, though he didn’t need to. He already knew where he was. Above his head, “LuthorCorp” stood out in bold, big letters. Of all the places to go. Of all the people he didn’t want to think about…
But…
He stared at his palm. He remembered the feeling of delicate bone cracking in his hand.
Clark couldn’t be trusted with her. He couldn’t be trusted with any of them.
A figure shifted behind the glass. They were staring at him. He didn’t need X-ray vision to know that.
“I…” Clark swallowed. “I need help.”
But of course, he was greeted with silence. He was greeted with coldness. With emptiness. The pit inside his stomach opened like a maw. It threatened to swallow him whole. He stared at the glass, wondering if he wasn’t about to laser it to smithereens.
“It’s Superman!” he heard someone shouting below. A child? It was only a matter of time before someone noticed.
He didn’t have time for this.
“Wait.”
Clark paused.
“Come in.”
Suddenly, one of the windows parted like water. Light flooded Clark’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. He blinked it away, ignoring the minute sting. Lex Luthor was standing there in his building without a care in the world. He was staring openly, but not to challenge–to examine. His eyes were startlingly blue. The color was bright even under the artificial lights.
Clark drifted into an obscenely large office. The window closed behind him, rushing back together. If he looked closer, he could almost imagine little robots reassembling it. But he didn’t look closer. Instead, he examined his surroundings. The furniture in the room was tasteful: a bookshelf here, a desk there. But it had an air of exclusivity and quality that you couldn’t find in Kansas. Even Luthor’s suit exuded an overpriced one-of-a-kind opulence.
“Superman,” Luthor said, ushering Clark toward a chair. “We finally meet.”
There were no weapons anywhere. Not on the desk. Not in the bookshelf. Clark’s X-ray vision flickered on before he remembered himself. He couldn’t be doing that. He couldn’t be using that. He was going to give Luthor cancer. He was going to give his family cancer–
He took a pained breath. His hands balled into fists again, and suddenly he was overwhelmed with a memory–cracks spindling through her bones.
Luthor pushed the intercom on his desk. When had he moved? Clark watched with wide eyes. He battled down a fresh wave of bile, barely managing to win against his stomach. His ears prickled; what were they saying about him now? But then he realized he couldn’t hear outside the window. The whispers haunting his every waking hour were silent.
He landed on the floor with a thud. His legs kept him upright, but only just. He felt wobbly. He felt off-kilter.
“A coffee for… Superman,” Luthor said into the speaker.
Clark glanced toward the window. He should leave. He should go. What was he thinking, coming here?
“Sit.”
He sat. The chair was right there. And Luthor’s tone left no room for argument. Across the room, a set of double doors swung open. One of the building’s many employees moved in. He was pushing a coffee cart. It looked heavy. It looked like real silver. The cart stopped next to Clark’s knee, leaving the man pushing it to pour dark liquid from a carafe.
“He’ll take it black,” Luthor waved off an unspoken question.
Clark accepted the coffee. The cup was scalding hot, but that didn't particularly bother him. Luthor, meanwhile, took a seat behind his expansive desk. He looked every inch a king back there. His black suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly. Everything about him was chiseled to a point, and that point was sharp. His expression was reserved, but his gaze lingered on Clark.
Not wanting to be rude, Clark took a sip of coffee. It was as scalding as he’d imagined. It was so hot, in fact, that he could almost imagine experiencing the temperature. The texture was a little strange, though. Perhaps some of the coffee grounds had made their way into the cup. Clark sank a little deeper into the chair. Whatever the case, it tasted good. And he couldn’t deny it was soothing.
“You didn’t expect to see me,” he finally said, breaking the silence.
“I expect to see you quite a lot.”
Luthor smiled, but it was a thin thing, and barely a curl of his lips.
“On the news,” he added, almost like an afterthought.
Clark looked away, his stomach turning. He was well aware of what they said about him on the news. He squeezed the coffee cup, only to realize he was milliseconds away from breaking the mug. A whole world made of cardboard…
“What can LuthorCorp help you with?” Luthor asked. He steepled his fingers. “What can I help you with?”
Clark twisted the coffee cup in his hand.
“It’s…” he trailed off. “It’s me. I’m… They’re not safe.”
Luthor didn’t answer. He just stared.
“I don’t…” Clark couldn’t form the words.
Abruptly, Luthor leaned back. He tapped his desk. Then he pressed the intercom again, his mind seemingly made up.
“Bring out the insurance policy.”
“Sir?” a voice replied.
“You heard me.”
A woman entered that time. She was holding a sleek wooden case. It was about the size of her forearm. There was no visible clasp, but a quick smattering of X-rays revealed a syringe. Clark didn’t even feel guilty about checking. Who knew what Luthor would do to him, given the chance?
Luthor, meanwhile, accepted the case without a word. He waited for the woman to leave before moving again. But she lingered at the exit. Her gazed brushed over Clark’s body like the edge of a razor blade. Then she was gone.
With a single press, Luthor opened the case. It split neatly in two, revealing a black velvet cushion. Nestled on top of it was a tiny vial and a mean-looking syringe. The tip of the needle was bright, almost glowing green–
Suddenly, Clark stood up. He dropped the coffee at the same time. The cup shattered. The shards fell like a kaleidoscope, painting a picture no one would bother to remember. Liquid splashed over the floor and onto Clark’s boots, coating dull brown over the proceedings.
“What?” Clark almost snarled.
“It’s what you asked for,” Luthor replied calmly.
“I didn’t ask for that.”
He knew kryptonite when he saw it. A kryptonite needle, just for him.
Lex Luthor’s little insurance policy.
“It’s what you need,” Luthor closed the case with a snap. Then he slid it across his desk, leaving it to rest unattended at the edge.
Clark frowned. He never should’ve come here. He never should’ve left home. He never should’ve expected Luthor to be anything but a manipulative–
“Take it.”
He scoffed. But there was something about Luthor’s tone. There was something about his piercing gaze.
Clark snatched the case. He was already lifting into the air. His feet rose off the floor of their own accord. With a swish, gravity became nothing but an inconvenience. He flew straight for the window, accelerating rapidly. It opened just in time, giving him about a foot of play to slip through. He appeared on the other side, suddenly back in the gloom of the night. Greedy, he took a lungful of fresh air.
Behind him, the window slipped closed. But he could feel Luthor’s eyes on his back, watching, waiting.
****
Clark ignored the case for several days. Lois called him multiple times, but he sent her to voicemail over and over. Then his dad started calling, and that just made his stomach twist. As the voicemails racked up, he found himself craving the quiet of Luthor’s office and the warmth of his coffee. Things had seemed simpler in there, somehow. Like there were clear lines of right and wrong, and the knot in his intestines wasn’t quite so all-consuming.
He tried to work. He had a job, after all. But he couldn’t even bring himself to open his laptop. Hopefully, someone was making excuses for Clark Kent, because no one bothered him about taking a sick day.
Pathetic.
In the silence, he heard an echo of bone cracking. A memory. A ghost.
Unsteady, Clark collapsed into one of his kitchen chairs. He reached out, searching for something he knew he wouldn’t find. Instead, his hand landed on Luthor’s case. It was sitting innocently on his table. Kryptonite in his own residence. The kitchen lights were off. He didn’t need them on, after all. Outside, sunlight was fading fast. Night was rolling in. It stole over the city like a miasma, covering it. Suffocating it.
A shaky inhale rattled through his lungs. His neighbors were talking about him again. They’d been arguing about Superman for the last three days.
“Maybe he’s off saving the world, did you ever think of that?” one of them said, referring to his recent hiatus.
“Saving the world? Superman?” the other sneered.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what? Like this–”
Clark opened the case. The syringe glinted up at him. He realized the vial was glinting too. It contained a small amount of pale green liquid.
“He abandoned the city.”
“Dramatic much?”
The syringe was surprisingly light in Clark’s hand. He titled it this way and that, not so much examining as he was contemplating. His eyes were vacant. His mind was full of cotton. He noticed the syringe had no markings on the side. There was no indication of how much he should fill it.
“You need to watch that podcast–”
“I know, I know.”
“Listen. We all saw what happened.”
“I’m not arguing that.”
“So you agree?”
The vial was much the same as the syringe. It was delicate. It would only take the work of a moment to crush it. He couldn’t trust Luthor. He knew that. He wasn’t stupid. All he had to do was get rid of it.
“Don’t raise your voice at me.”
“I’m not raising my voice.”
There was a clattering. Clark ignored it.
“For chrissake.”
Idly, he pulled back the plunger. There was a bit of suction, but the resistance was minute. It was over in a split second, and then the syringe was full of air.
“Is it too much to ask for some safeguards?”
“What safeguards? I thought you said he ran away.”
“Yeah, cause he’s a fucking coward.”
Clark lifted the vial. Green. Green, green, green.
“Like you could do half the things he does.”
“If I could do half the things he could do, then I’d do them right. Which we both know–”
“He isn’t doing.”
Clark pushed the tip of the syringe into the vial. It slid home easily, too easily. Surely there should’ve been more resistance. Surely there should’ve been more ceremony.
“He needs to be stopped.”
Depressing the plunger released the trapped air, leaving the syringe empty once again.
“He needs to be controlled.”
Clark used two hands this time. The vial was in one, and the syringe was in the other. He tilted the former, leaving the latter to suck up a vortex of pale, jade-green liquid. The fluid swirled, eagerly filling its new home. And by the time the vial was nearly empty, the syringe was almost full.
“He won’t listen to the government.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Clark pushed an air bubble out. A few drops of liquid sprayed with it.
“He won’t listen to the rest of them.”
“Hey, I like Green Lantern.”
“Here we go about Green fucking Lantern–”
Clark stared at the needle. He stared at it for what felt like hours.
“You know, Lex Luthor has the right idea about–”
Suddenly, the needle pushed into Clark’s skin. He didn’t even remember moving it. It felt like a pinch, then it felt like a hot poker. His body reacted poorly to the kryptonite. In some ways, he was like a flower. He shriveled in the shade.
“Leave everything to Luthor.”
Clark depressed the plunger. The relief was instant. Something remarkably calming washed over him. It was like a warm bath and a comfortable snooze all at once. He slumped in his kitchen chair, leaning back, back, back. He wanted to straighten up, but he couldn’t. His muscles were abruptly, blissfully relaxed. Dazed, he made a strangled little moan.
A deep, quiet part of his mind was appalled. It protested his actions. It insisted that something was wrong. But that voice was slowly, intractably silenced. He felt happy. He’d never felt this happy. He was curious about the syringe before, but now he saw the truth of things. Now he understood. Luthor was right, of course.
This was exactly what he needed.
He closed his eyes, drifting on the soothing sensations. It felt like he was rolling through a cornfield on a summer day. The tall stalks brushed against his skin. Some of them were rough. Some of them were smooth. And the sun was so bright overhead. It was perfectly, wonderfully warm.
Everything was wonderfully warm.
When he startled awake, it was morning.
Clark eased himself upright. The needle slipped out of his arm. It silently dropped back to the table, rolling toward the center before stopping. He groaned. There was a crick in his neck. His fingers lifted to massage it, only to pause.
There was a crick in his neck.
He stood up so forcefully that his chair scraped over the ground. Baffled, he flexed his fingers. He was… weak? No. He lifted his kitchen table with one hand. But there was a difference. He could feel a difference. Scrambling, he ran toward his bedroom. He lifted his bed, too. But he noticed it. He noticed the weight.
With a whoop of joy, Clark dropped his bed frame. It thumped loudly on the floor, but he didn’t even notice. He felt good. He felt better than good. He felt safe. With a little hop, he levitated off the ground. How fast could he go like this? His instincts supplied: not that fast. Of course, he still wasn’t normal; he wasn’t human. He was himself. But the edge was taken off.
He couldn’t hurt anyone like this. Not unless they deserved it.
That day, Clark Kent went to work. He apologized to his boss. He even talked to Lois. Her arm was still in a sling, but the sight didn’t pain him as much as usual. She tried to get a moment alone–a moment with Superman. But he brushed her off. Superman was fine. Clark Kent was fine.
Everything was finally going to be fine.
He decided to call his dad back. They made light conversation–maybe too light. But things were the same as usual at the farm. It was almost therapeutic to hear about tractors and corn and the various critters. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was a kid again, and the future was incredibly bright.
When Clark finally went to sleep, he realized he couldn’t hear his neighbors.
****
About a week later, he found himself caught in the throes of a nightmare. Desperate, he battled with his sheets. But the fiction clung to his consciousness, threatening to yank him under. He was sweating profusely; his back was hot and cold at the same time. In the dream, he was drowning. Lois kept reaching for him. She kept screaming at him. But when he took her hand, he crushed it between his fingers–
Clark jolted awake.
His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He blinked, unexpectedly remembering Luthor’s eyes.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered, running a hand over his sweaty brow.
His fingers came away faintly green.
Clark shuddered. He stood up, intending to throw himself in the shower. But he was still unsettled. His foot caught in his blanket, sending him sprawling to the ground. He tried to break his fall by reaching for his bed frame. But rather than halting his motion, he simply snapped a piece clean off.
“No,” he muttered. “No, no, no.”
He grabbed the underside of his bed. It lifted easily. Way too easily. With a guttural shout, he threw it against the wall. Thankfully, it didn’t sail straight through. His mattress buffered the impact, leaving the frame to bounce like a child’s toy.
Completely ignoring his scattered sheets and splintered bed, Clark shivered. The medicine had worn off. He didn’t realize it could wear off. But now that he knew, an itch had settled under his skin. He needed more. He needed more right now.
He remembered to put on his blue suit before blasting out the window–barely. It was still dark out, but dawn was quickly approaching. In a desperate rush, he accelerated starward. The higher he went, the faster he could go. He climbed higher, higher, until he was brushing the sky. Then he dive-bombed toward the city, letting gravity move him like a slingshot.
Luthor was still awake. Luthor was still in his office. Clark didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel it. He could feel Luthor’s cold and unyielding presence. It reached out for him like a caress, pulling him toward LuthorCorp's building.
By the time he screeched to a halt, he was desperate.
“Luthor.”
But Luthor didn’t respond. Clark gritted his teeth. He was jittery after the nightmare. And somehow, he was still sweating. He could feel it dripping wetly down his back. The cool air did nothing to ease the feeling; instead, the breeze felt like needles. Distantly, he realized instead of hovering he was bobbing up and down like a ship on the waves. How long had he been lurking there? A minute? Two?
“Please,” he couldn’t wait any longer. “I need your help.”
The window whooshed open. Clark swept inside eagerly. He landed with a little thump, already striding forward. Luthor, meanwhile, was sitting behind his desk. He looked as regal as ever. In his hand was a single sheet of paper. It looked official, whatever it was. And it was consuming his attention, because he didn’t so much glance up.
Clark cleared his throat.
“A moment,” Luthor declared.
Clark immediately started pacing. He ignored the desk in favor of staring directly at the floor. Why was Luthor making him wait? Had he done something wrong? But no, this wasn’t about him. It was about the syringe–it was about what the syringe contained. A serum? Could you call it a serum? A green serum. He needed more serum.
His boots tapped over the floor. He wiped sweat off his brow. Maybe he could look around for it. Just a little look. A short look. He–
“Sit.”
Luthor was still looking at the paper in his hand. But he’d spoken. He’d spoken to Clark. So Clark trotted over a chair and plopped himself down. He wanted to be calm. He wanted to inhale and exhale like it was the most normal thing in the world. Instead, he started tapping on the armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap. The serum had to be around here somewhere. Maybe it was out in the hall? He could check quickly, there and back before Luthor could blink.
“What is it?” Luthor was looking at him. Luthor was looking at him.
“I need more.”
“More…?” Luthor put his paper down.
“More,” Clark resisted the urge to wipe his sweat again.
Luthor put a case on the table.
But of course, even after Clark took the case–even after he flew out the window, went home, and used the syringe–even after all that, the serum wasn’t forever. It wore off again, leaving him shaking and frantic. He tried to talk himself out of getting more. He could control himself. Lois was fine. The city was fine.
Nothing was fine.
Clark flew to Luthor’s office with a wide-eyed, frantic expression. He didn’t say anything to the glass–the window was already sliding open when he arrived. So he breezed in, settling in front of Luthor’s desk like he’d never left.
“Luthor,” he greeted.
He was already scanning the room for another case. In Luthor’s hand, perhaps? But quickly, his excitement fizzled. The fuzzy feeling in his stomach curdled. There weren’t any cases in here. Not unless they were hidden in lead-lined canisters.
“Where is it?” Clark hissed.
Luthor raised an eyebrow.
“I know you have it–”
“I don’t,” Luthor interrupted.
“What?”
“It’s difficult to make.”
Luthor looked unfairly calm. His eyes were sparkling. It was the middle of the night and somehow his eyes were sparkling. Clark was torn between punching his head clean off his shoulders and doing something else with it entirely. He thought about leaning forward and putting his hands on the desk. Perhaps then he could see what made Luthor tick.
“There is… another option,” Luthor met his stare beat for beat.
“Yes.”
“Of course, there are risks involved. It’s currently unrefined– Sorry?”
“Yes,” Clark said again.
Luthor smiled. It was a fraction of a millimeter, barely a twitch of the lip. But it was unmistakable.
“...here…”
“What?” Clark stopped staring at Luthor’s mouth.
“Pay attention,” Luthor sighed.
He stood up, rising to his full height. And before Clark knew it, he was walking away. Every move he made was in slow and fast motion simultaneously. First he was here, then he was there. First he was cruel, then he was kind.
“Come on,” Luthor motioned him forward.
They walked together to a simple elevator. Clark wasn’t sure why seeing it was a surprise. This was a normal building, of course it had a normal elevator. He walked calmly at Luthor’s heels, finding him surprisingly easy to follow.
The ride was a silent one. Clark stood off to Luthor’s left, staring aimlessly ahead. Occasionally, he thought about the person beside him. They knew each other, but not in any way that counted, not really. They were enemies in every sense of the word, yet today, they found themselves friends. They found themselves peacefully riding down, down, down. Just how far down were they going?
Suddenly, the elevator stopped.
Luthor was first out of the doors. Clark was hot on his heels. He was eager for what awaited, but his desperation had dulled. The insatiable need had gone out of him. It was like now that he knew his satiety was assured, he could relax and let things run their natural course.
They didn’t walk far. The hallway outside the elevator was short. At the end of it, there was a single, metal door. It looked heavy. In fact, it looked lead-lined. Clark glanced around. Wherever they’d ended up, it was seriously secure. Luthor spun the handle, which rotated easily. The door swung open like the entrance to a submarine, revealing a cooler, darker environment.
Luthor flicked on the lights.
Clark hesitated.
The room looked like a standard hospital suite. There was a heart rate monitor and IV equipment. The bedside table had a neat row of alcohol swabs and packaged sharps. But that was where the similarities stopped. The hospital bed looked more like a reinforced steel frame. Behind it was a row of large, green vats.
“All this…” Clark muttered.
“All of it for you,” Luthor replied.
Clark stiffened. But he couldn’t make himself move away.
“We’re under government contract,” Luthor laughed; the sound rang hollow. “Take care not to mention that to the press.”
Clark shook his head. His eyes were locked on the green vats. He could feel kryptonite in the room. It thrummed under his skin, creating a resonance that bordered on painful.
“We can monitor your vitals here,” Luthor explained. “It will ensure things are administered… safely.”
“No,” Clark finally took a step back. “No.”
He could bust out of here in a heartbeat. He could fly up the elevator shaft, or punch straight through the earth–
“Are you sure?” Luthor put a hand on one of the vats.
Seeing fingers curling around the green… Understanding that salvation was here; it was within reach…
Clark swallowed.
“I…”
The corners of Luthor’s eyes crinkled.
“Okay,” Clark said.
“Good,” Luthor smiled. “Come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Clark was suddenly aghast.
“When the doctor is in.”
****
Morning couldn’t come soon enough for Superman. He managed to sleep on his broken bed, but it was fitful. When he did wake up, it was to stained sheets and a strange throbbing in his groin. He considered putting his bedding in the wash, but eventually just threw it on the ground. Everything was faintly green anyway; he was still sweating colors.
Luthor was waiting for him at the office window. It was their first daylight meeting. The warmth of the sun hit Clark’s body, bathing him in precious yellow rays. He used to love drinking them in, but now their comfort rang hollow. He looked longingly past the glass, his gaze drawn to the shadowy recesses at the back of Luthor’s office.
The window parted.
Clark didn’t bother to admire the way Luthor’s eyes looked in the sunlight. He didn’t linger on the cut of Luthor’s suit. Instead, he stared straight toward the elevator.
“As I tried to explain to you yesterday…” Luthor led the way down, but his voice quickly faded to a dull buzz.
Clark couldn’t focus. And he wasn’t exactly trying. Far from passively following Luthor out of the elevator, he practically raced toward the hospital room.
“Easy,” Luthor chuckled.
Chuckled? No, Clark must’ve been imagining it.
They went through the lead-lined door. Vaguely, Clark realized there were other people inside. But he only had eyes for the vats. His medicine was in there. His salvation was in there. Placidly, he allowed himself to be steered toward the hospital bed. Luthor’s hand was steady on his shoulder. It grounded him.
“We don’t know how you’ll react,” Luthor said, gently pushing him down. “The restraints are for your protection as much as ours.”
Clark nodded. A voice in the back of his head whispered: restraints? But he ignored it. Instead, he was wholly preoccupied. The hospital bed wasn’t comfortable. It was positioned at a forty-five-degree angle, tilting him toward the ground. He felt like he was perpetually sliding off. On top of that, the sides were solid steel rebar. In fact, the whole thing was. He could feel the struts pressing against his back, concealed by only the thinnest possible cushion.
Luthor consulted with someone off to the side. When he returned, he had a pair of heavy leather belts in his hands. One wrapped around Clark’s left wrist, the other wrapped around his right. Clark pulled on them experimentally. He could break these in a heartbeat–
“Ready?” Luthor asked.
“Please,” Clark licked his lips. His mouth suddenly felt dry.
Luthor snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves. He reached over, taking a kryptonite syringe off a tray. It was considerably thicker than the one in the case. And the reservoir attached to it was significantly longer. Clark almost raised an eyebrow, but he was too excited to really think about it.
He should’ve thought about it.
Luthor took “please” as “please inject me right now”. To be fair to him, that wasn’t exactly incorrect. But Clark wasn’t fully prepared for the needle to go in. He wasn't fully prepared for the sting. It felt far worse than injecting himself. The needle didn’t so much slide as much as it jabbed. Immediately, he hissed. The kryptonite burned. It was white-hot torment directly in his vein.
And then Luthor hit the plunger.
Suddenly, Clark screamed, convulsing in a throe of agony. He snapped the restraints. He snapped the needle–not that it mattered. The payload was delivered. The hospital room vanished, everything vanished. He tried to battle down the sensations–to suppress them as he always had. But no amount of mental fortitude could’ve prepared him for this. It felt like acid was pumping through his heart instead of blood. Something came out of his mouth; it was lime-green and tasted like napalm. He gagged, nearly choking on it.
The pain was worse than he’d ever felt. Or maybe he’d just never felt pain before. Maybe all those wounds were simply discomfort. But he knew now. He knew everything.
He arched on the bed, bucking and twisting. Then convulsed, pulling into himself like a corpse. His hands felt like claws. His every breath punched liquid fire through his body. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He was pretty sure he was seeing green.
“Lay back,” a voice murmured. “That’s it.”
Clark tried to form words. Something gushed out of his eyes. It hurt. It hurt.
“Shh,” a hand stroked his head.
The voice was kind. The voice was there to help. Clark sobbed, trembling from his head to his toes. He wanted to do what the voice said. He wanted everything to stop.
“There, it’s not so bad, is it?”
Clark heaved a desperate breath. He could do it. He could. He…
He forcefully relaxed his muscles, working before he squeezed himself to dust.
“Good.”
Now that he wasn’t fighting it, his pain rose like a tidal wave. He was helpless against the onslaught. The feeling built and built until no amount of tears or pleading would ease its ache.
All at once, Clark passed out, succumbing to silent, empty darkness.
He didn’t regain consciousness so much as he found his way back to his body. It greeted him like a stranger. The bones inside felt twisted and wrong. The muscles were aching–they’d been driven past the point of exhaustion and then some. And the veins had been hollowed out with a melon baller, leaving nothing but pits behind.
There was something soft above him. Something plush. And he wasn’t on a hard, uncomfortable bed. He was on… leather? A leather couch?
Clark didn’t want to open his eyes, so he simply didn’t. He curled into a ball, remembering the agony. His nerves still burned faintly from its aftereffects. What had he done? What had he done to himself? His fingers trembled. He reached out, finding the edges of a cushy blanket.
He felt vaguely dizzy. He felt weak.
Weak..?
Clark opened his eyes. But they were sticky with gunk, so he wiped them clean. A brief look around revealed Luthor’s office. He was curled up on the couch, nestled under a thick blanket. Curious, he flexed his fingers, trying to form a fist. But every motion felt heavy and slow. It felt like trying to move underwater.
Experimentally, he pulled at the blanket. But the threads barely came loose. He used a little more force… A little more…
“Are you feeling better?” Luthor interrupted his thoughts.
Clark hadn’t noticed him before, but now, he couldn't look away. Luthor’s expression was calm, maybe bordering on thoughtful. His demeanor was unruffled. So unruffled, in fact, it made Clark wonder if the injection had been a nightmare. Maybe he'd just flown in here and fallen asleep.
But then he saw flecks of green on Luthor’s shirt collar.
“Yeah,” Clark suddenly remembered to answer. “Yes. I’m fine.”
He pulled himself off the couch with blind force of will. He couldn’t linger there. He couldn’t rest there. He needed to go home and clean himself up. Then he could take stock of everything. He could figure out if the medication had worked properly. Maybe this time he was finally, finally safe.
Pushing himself, he walked away from the desk, only to glance down at his suit. It was stained green. A giant, ugly splotch covered up his symbol.
“Perhaps you can find the front door next time,” Luthor remarked as the window melted open. “Spare the uniform.”
“Right,” Clark stumbled toward the makeshift exit. “I’ll do that.”
****
Clark pressed decline on his phone, ignoring a call from home. So what if he’d been MIA for a few weeks? The farm could function without him. The city could function without him. He’d been enjoying his newfound physicality–or lack thereof. Whatever Luthor had given him, it worked. It worked way better than the previous dose, and it lasted way longer.
That being said…
Clark shivered. A bead of sweat ran down his back. He could feel the tell-tale signs of his strength returning. Yesterday, he’d smashed a mug trying to set it down. And the day before, he’d woken up covered in sweat. Well, not just sweat. But he wasn’t ready to think about the other thing. He wasn’t ready to contemplate the pleasant ache in his cock, and the way imaginary hands felt on his skin–
He forced himself to go to bed early. If he slept, his metabolism would slow down. He could make the medicine last a little longer. He could go to work and drink coffee and eat lunch and be like everybody else. He could give a handshake or a hug without fearing that he would squeeze too hard.
The serum was a gift. The serum was everything.
But the next morning, Clark felt twitchy. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but they lingered on the tip of his tongue. He knew he’d felt soft caresses on his body. He’d felt a pleasure that built into ecstasy, only to vanish as quickly as it had come. But much like his sweat, any evidence of the night’s activities vanished down the shower drain. Then he was left alone in his cold bathroom, lacking any more visions to keep him company.
Clark made it as far as getting dressed before he started pacing. He wasn’t in a hurry to take another shot of liquid agony, but on the other hand, Luthor had said they were refining it. This time would be better, right?
He made it until noon before bursting out of his front door. Sunlight hit his face–it was a hot day. But regardless of the heat, he was dressed in his usual suit and glasses; his hair looked like a mop on his head. Apparently, Clark Kent was visiting LuthorCorp. Clark Kent was going to walk through the front door. He didn't really have a plan after that. Maybe he could change in the bathroom?
But his suit sat abandoned in his closet.
The LuthorCorp building had security. Clark expected them to put up a ruckus when he arrived. But maybe he was too used to being Superman, because they waved him through the metal detector without a second glance. Unfortunately, there was some holdup with his personal effects. He waited a few minutes before his phone and wallet were back in his hands.
“Superman?” someone materialized in the lobby.
“I– What?” Clark pushed at his glasses on impulse.
“He's expecting you.”
Clark nodded. Then he spared a second’s thought for turning around and running straight out the door. Was his identity compromised? Obviously, it was. But was that even a problem? One thing had become increasingly clear: with every injection, he was less and less interested in being Superman. He couldn't even remember the last person he'd saved. It all felt so tiresome now.
His phone lit up: Lois.
He declined the call.
Clark rode the elevator all the way up to Luthor’s office, then all the way back down to the hospital room. For Luthor’s part, his greeting was even more polite than usual. He looked excited, though. That sort of energy was unexpected for him, but there was a certain allure to it, too.
“We’ll begin right away,” Luthor said as the elevator doors opened. “There’s been considerable improvement–”
He paused.
Clark stopped beside him.
“Go ahead,” Luthor waved him forward.
The doctor was waiting in the hall, lingering with an agitated expression. Clark eased by with a stiff nod, beelining toward the lead-lined door. It was already open, inviting him inside. But from behind, he heard Luthor sigh.
“This isn’t what we agreed on yesterday.”
“It’s what I’m telling you today. Just look at his condition,” the doctor hissed a little too loudly.
“I’ll talk to him,” Luthor said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Clark stepped into the hospital room. A pit was starting to open up in his stomach. They couldn’t be talking about him, could they? They couldn’t be thinking of stopping all this. Not now. Not after everything he’d given up to be here.
“Superman,” Luthor stepped beside him.
“What?” Clark’s voice sounded pathetic to his own ears.
He turned toward Luthor’s face. But what he saw there wasn’t reassuring. Instead, Clark felt a cold finger of dread run down his spine. For a long moment, he felt his whole future slip away. But he’d put too many eggs in this basket for them to rot. He had to do something. He had to fight.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Luthor soothed.
Clark didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe a single word.
“The doctor has some concerns about the dosage.”
“What concerns?” Clark asked.
“Concerns.”
“Luthor–”
“Don’t think about it as a setback,” Luthor said. “Improving the side effects of the medication reduced the half-life, that’s all.”
For the first time in a long time, Clark tasted bile.
“The doctor isn’t sure it’s safe to inject you that frequently.”
“I don’t care,” Clark nearly shouted. Anger ignited in his chest. It burned so viciously and so quickly that it drowned out everything else. He couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t go back. Not to way it was before.
“Superman–”
Clark punched the wall. He punched it hard enough to shake the entire room. Beakers and cups rattled in their cabinets. A cart jiggled several inches out of place. The worst of it was the wall. It splintered from the force, fracturing in a spiral pattern. A crater the size of a sewer grate was left in the center.
“Lie down,” Luthor snapped.
Clark inhaled sharply, his mind teetering between screaming and throwing another punch.
“If you want it that bad, you can have it,” Luthor pointed at the hospital bed. “So lie. Down.”
The tension in the room thickened. Clark narrowed his eyes. He was hanging on a precipice. This could all end if he snapped Luthor’s neck. But then, in a rush, the feeling popped. He wanted the serum. Luthor knew that; he knew that. So he stalked toward the bed. They’d upgraded the restraints since the last time. The rebar now featured two shiny metal cuffs. Briefly, he entertained crushing them in his hands. But he didn’t. Instead, he lined up his wrists like a model patient and let the metal snap shut.
“Doctor,” Luthor called.
“No,” Clark locked eyes with him. “I want you to do it.”
Luthor paused, then slowly wet his lips.
“What about last time? I might have exacerbated your… discomfort.”
“I don’t care.”
Clark felt a hesitation. Then he felt that hesitation vanish.
“Very well,” Luthor pulled the door closed.
“Wait–!” the doctor’s words fell on deaf ears.
It was just the two of them in the room now. Luthor washed his hands in a small sink, then pulled on a pair of gloves. He moved methodically. He moved purposefully. Clark couldn’t help but examine the motions. Sometimes, he felt like Luthor was more machine than man. But other times, he’d put a hand on Clark’s brow and speak the pain away…
Luthor took a vial out of a centrifuge. Then he took a needle out of a cabinet.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” he said, turning around with a full syringe.
To Clark’s astonishment, Lex Luthor was telling the truth. The injection was barely a prick. And when the plunger depressed, it felt like the very first time–no, it felt better. It felt way, way, way better. Clark actually moaned aloud. He couldn’t help it. Instantly, nothing else mattered but more of this.
His vision swam and his pulse fluttered. He slumped against the bed, unable to keep himself upright. The pleasure was overpowering. It surrounded him like a torrent, cutting off his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams. But he felt like he was dreaming. He felt a tell-tale stirring between his legs.
“Clark?”
Dazed, he blinked sluggishly. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. There was no way of knowing. There was only bliss.
“Superman?”
He nodded slowly.
“Can you do me a favor?”
He smiled. He knew that voice. He liked that voice.
“Snap these.”
The voice ran a hand over the cuff securing his wrist. Clark gave it a tug. He expected it to pop off easily, but it didn’t. Confused, he frowned.
“You can try a little harder than that,” the voice murmured.
Clark flexed his right arm. He battled with the restraint, putting in more effort, more effort. For a moment, it all seemed hopeless. It seemed like he was doomed to disappoint the voice. But then he felt a little twitch–a little creak in the metal. Panting, he fought forward.
The cuff groaned again. Clark gritted his teeth, straining. The muscles in his neck stood out. They curved a line all the way to his forearm. He blinked away green, trying to clear his vision. He could still feel the medicine in his body. The pleasure hadn’t subsided. But he was focused on the task before him.
With a pop, the cuff snapped free. Clark almost hit himself in the face, he was straining so hard. But he managed to avoid it, blinking up expectantly.
“And the left?” Luthor asked.
Clark shook his head. He was too tired. Too, too tired.
“Good boy.”
The voice–Luthor stood up. He walked to the door, opening it to talk with an angry person on the other side. Clark watched the two of them with a vacant smile. He couldn’t hear the words, and every time he waited too long to blink, he started seeing in shades of green.
Time passed in a fuzzy haze. Clark’s head lolled on his shoulders. His right arm dangled against the bed. He’d broken the shackle off, but it still clung to his skin. His whole body felt comfortable and warm, even though he wasn’t in a comfortable position. He even dozed off for a while, only to wake up to a soft noise.
“Superman,” Luthor nodded at him.
He was rummaging through a tall cabinet near Clark’s head. Clark lifted his hands to help, only to be yanked back by his trapped left wrist. Confused, he tugged at the restraint. Luthor lifted up onto his toes, reaching higher. His shirt moved too, shifting only to be trapped by his belt.
“I’ll… help,” Clark tried to say, but he wasn’t sure the words came out right.
Luthor sank back to his heels. He was holding a mug in one hand and a bag of coffee in the other. He turned without acknowledging Clark’s words.
“Luthor…?”
Something hissed in the corner of the room. Clark heard bubbling water. He blinked a fresh wave of green from his vision, trying to stabilize himself. It was difficult, though. Feeling a little dizzy, he swayed on the hospital bed. The pleasure suddenly curdled in his stomach. He felt off. He felt like he’d been drugged.
“Luthor,” he repeated.
There was no reply.
He lifted his right arm and used it to wipe his eyes. His fingers came away green. Frustrated at the lack of consideration, he started tugging on the left cuff. But he couldn’t get it to budge. He even got his right hand involved in the process. It didn’t help. He felt weaker than he had mere minutes ago.
For the first time in his life, he felt helpless.
Luthor turned. He was holding a steaming mug. Then Clark watched him take a slow, deliberate sip.
“Let me out,” Clark said.
Luthor stared at him over the lip of the mug.
“Please,” Clark told himself he wasn’t begging.
Yet again, Luthor didn’t say a word.
Clark was forced to wait for him to finish his coffee. What else could he do? Laser off the cuff? But he wasn’t sure if his laser vision would work. And if it did, could he control it? What if he took Luthor’s head off? What if he sliced through a vat and caused the whole room to explode?
He twitched on the bed. He didn’t like the silence. It felt cloying. And he didn’t like Luthor’s eyes on him–well, he told himself he didn’t, anyway. His shirt suddenly felt too tight, especially around his neck. He closed his eyes for a while, trying to battle the sinking feeling he’d made a horrible mistake.
Suddenly, Luthor’s fingertips brushed over his forearm. Clark shivered. His eyes snapped open. The cuff snapped open, too, freeing his trapped wrist.
“Come back tomorrow,” Luthor said.
“Okay,” Clark replied, but his voice was so small.
****
Clark had come to expect the strange, vivid dreams that came with taking the serum. So when he woke up face down in his bed, rolling his hips against the sheets, he didn’t question it. He didn’t question the hazy figure that lingered in his mind’s eye.
Good boy.
He fisted a hand into the bedding, moaning quietly at the same time. His motions had been languid before, but he slowly picked up the pace. Little green specs danced between his closed eyelids. Patterns formed and broke. Occasionally, they made shapes: naked bodies, whispered words.
Clark buried his face in his pillow. Somewhere between awake and asleep, he moved faster and faster. His erection brushed across the top of his bed. It was a sweet, stunted friction. Precum oozed out of his cockhead, dribbling onto the sheets. He could feel the wetness clinging to the tip.
“Please,” he murmured into his pillow.
He rolled his hips again, dragging the entire underside of his cock against the bed. It felt good–almost as good as the serum. His thoughts went fuzzy around the edges.
Clark loved the serum.
Lie down.
He bit his pillow. He was lying down.
What can I help you with?
His breath clung to his pillow. His nipples brushed against the sheets. The sudden contact sent a twinned vibration to his cock. Groaning, he did it again, chasing the sensation. As if in reward, he felt his balls tighten up. He was close. His toes curled toward his heels. Just a little more… Just a little farther.
Clark.
He came with a gasp, spraying his load over the sheets. The orgasm slammed into him with considerable force, leaving him panting and moaning. It took him about a minute to regain his bearings, at which point he untangled his fingers from his bed. A few weeks ago, he might’ve torn the box springs after coming like that. But now, he’d barely clawed at the topper.
Feeling pleased, and a little floaty, Clark flipped onto his back. He ran a hand down his chest, stopping just above his navel. That was–
He looked down, only to notice his semen was faintly green.
Strange. That was strange.
He stared at his ceiling.
These days, he had a well-established routine. He woke up and went to work, making sure to avoid anything inconvenient while he was there. The Planet wasn’t happy with his articles lately, but he didn’t particularly care. He wasn’t very energetic these days. What was the point in going above and beyond? Every article they printed was about Superman’s disappearance anyway.
Lois kept dropping them on his desk like he couldn’t read.
Pointless.
After work, he had dinner. Usually, he picked something light. Something that wouldn’t sit heavy in his stomach. Then, he headed to LuthorCorp. Security didn’t even bother with him anymore. They just waved him through. Lex was joking about getting him a badge. Clark secretly wanted one. He was practically living in the building these days. He went home at night, sure. But usually it was after midnight, and by that point he was dead tired.
At least the injections didn’t hurt.
Today was a weekend, though. No job. He reached for his phone, only to remember he’d stopped charging it a few days ago. There were fewer distractions that way. He took a half-hearted shower, watching his neon cum swirl down the drain.
He was just going to head over to LuthorCorp early. That was it.
Mechanically, he put on his suit and glasses. He had a quick swig of water from his sink, then splashed some more water on his hair. It didn’t help. Still, he was in high spirits. He had a feeling today was going to be one of the good ones.
Clark made it to Lex’s office in record time.
“Superman,” Lex greeted from his desk.
“Lex.”
“Must you call me that?” Lex sighed.
Clark shrugged. He looked expectantly toward the elevator, but Lex didn’t stand up.
“What is it?” Clark drifted closer.
“It’s the dosage again,” Lex flicked through what Clark now recognized as his medical chart. He’d gotten well acquainted with it over the past few weeks.
“I can handle it.”
“No,” Lex sported a slight frown. “You probably can’t.”
Clark deflated.
“But–”
“No need to punch anything,” Lex set down the chart. “There are other options.”
Clark flushed an ugly, splotchy red. He hadn’t meant to punch the wall. Well, he had, but… But he couldn’t be held responsible. The withdrawals had been brutal; that was all it was. Now that he had a consistent injection schedule, his mood was much more stable.
“I’ll do it,” Clark said before he realized he was speaking. “Anything.”
“Anything?” Lex raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“Hmm,” Lex leaned back in his chair. Then he leaned forward, his gaze sharpening at the same time. “We’ll start with keeping you overnight. For observation.”
“Okay.”
He sat down on Lex’s couch, intuiting it wasn’t quite time to go downstairs. That was his fault for being early, anyway. Lex always worked weekends–Clark wasn’t sure if he ever stopped. But that was to his benefit, now. So he wasn’t exactly complaining. Quietly, he grabbed a book off Lex’s shelf.
Lex liked him to wait quietly.
Clark was about halfway through the book when Lex stood up. He put it down without a second thought, drawn to the elevator like a moth to a flame. If someone had asked him about the contents, he couldn’t have answered a single question. The words ran in and out of his head in a green haze, there one moment and gone the next.
They did the injection like normal, restraints and all. But Clark rolled up his sleeve beforehand to make it easier, and Lex was gentle with the syringe. And for his part, Clark felt fine afterward. The rush of pleasure from the serum had been fading lately. Instead, he yawned, feeling unexpectedly sleepy.
“Lex,” he mumbled.
Lex put a hand on the cuff trapping Clark’s wrist. Behind him, the doctor stared down with a strange expression.
“You really think this’ll work?”
“Oh,” Lex smiled. “It’ll work.”
“What…?” Clark’s eyes drooped closed.
“Shh,” Lex murmured. “Lights out.”
Clark’s world went black. For once, it was a dreamless, vacant sleep. He had no thoughts in that perfect, silent darkness. It was peaceful, though it was a bit lonely. He was almost reluctant to wake up again afterwards. In the emptiness, he didn’t have to be anything at all. He could just… disappear.
Mumbled voices echoed over his head. He cracked an eye open, only to recoil. The hospital room was way too bright. An heretofore unseen overhead light was on. It bathed him in a blinding-white circle. He squinted, reaching a hand up to cover it.
His hand stopped.
Right, the restraints.
Clark blinked against the light. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. And his clothes… Was he naked? Clark lifted his head. He must’ve taken them off… Before…
“Hey,” Lex leaned into his view.
“Hey,” Clark rasped. His throat was bone dry.
“We’re gonna run a few tests, okay?”
Clark nodded. He felt weird.
Weird and hot.
“Clark?” Lex was looking at him expectantly.
“Yes,” Clark answered.
“Good boy,” Lex patted his leg. Was that a cuff on his ankle?
“Patient consents to twenty ccs of…” the doctor started rattling off something to the nurse.
Clark blinked at them in confusion.
“We’re just going to draw some blood,” Lex soothed him. “Not such a big deal, right?”
“Right,” Clark repeated.
They drew his blood with a kryptonite needle. Clark wasn’t entirely sure if they needed to, though. His skin felt prickly. It felt thin. Without his clothes on, he was exposed. He’d become a raw nerve, his body laid bare for others to examine.
“I need to check your gag reflex,” Lex pulled on a pair of gloves. “Say ‘ah’.”
His gag reflex?
“Ahhh,” Clark said obediently.
Lex lifted a strange plastic ring. It had a clear strap on each side. Was it for measuring? For something else? But before Clark could close his mouth, Lex pushed it firmly behind his teeth. Clark gurgled, confused. He could squeeze it a little; the ring was flexible. But it kept his jaw open. He certainly couldn’t talk–not intelligibly. Slowly, he ran his tongue over the plastic, unconsciously feeling at the edges. Lex took the opportunity to fasten the straps behind his head, buckling them over his hair.
“The ruler?” Lex asked the doctor.
“Just use your finger.”
Lex chuckled.
“I suppose.”
Lex pushed two fingers into Clark’s mouth. He wasn’t particularly kind about it, either. They slipped into the top of Clark’s throat, causing him to choke. Saliva aspirated into the air, flying up around Lex’s hand. The excess landed on Clark’s lips, wetting them. He jerked on the hospital bed, tugging fruitlessly at the cuffs.
“It’s mediocre at best,” Lex remarked.
He twisted his fingers, corkscrewing his way in deeper. Clark’s throat fluttered around the intrusion. He made a choked-off gargle, fighting against the riot breaking out in his stomach. He wanted to hurl. He wanted to cough. Lex’s fingers were thick. They were heavy on his tongue. His palm hovered over Clark’s chin; it threatened a tighter grip.
“I was hoping for more.”
“We can discuss surgery,” the doctor said emotionlessly.
“Hmm,” Lex turned his fingers again. “Not yet.”
Suddenly, he pulled out, leaving Clark to sputter on a mouthful of saliva.
“I like watching him struggle.”
Wordlessly, the doctor handed Lex an oxygen canister. It was attached to a breathing mask: the kind that went over a patient’s mouth and nose. Clark watched it come toward his face with a mounting sense of confusion. He was still trying to get his bearings. And the plastic ring was still in his mouth. He was working overtime to swallow his saliva.
Between his legs, he felt a distinct throbbing.
Lex placed the mask over his face. Clark took an easy breath. Then another. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lex adjust something on the side. His next breath wasn’t so easy. The one after that was even harder. He could fill his lungs, but something was wrong. Already, he felt faintly lightheaded.
The mask stayed over his face for a few minutes. Clark started taking deeper and deeper breaths, trying and failing to ease the ache. He didn’t understand what was happening. Had he done something wrong? Was Lex mad?
“Better than we expected,” the doctor eventually remarked.
“He can handle more,” Lex said.
The doctor leaned over and clipped a pulse oximeter on Clark’s finger.
“Go ahead.”
Lex twisted the knob again. Clark tried to breathe, but he couldn’t get any relief. He tried again, sucking desperately at the mask. But whatever was in the canister now, it wasn’t breathable. A wave of wooziness passed through Clark’s body. He trembled on the hospital bed, trying and failing to get his bearings.
Above him, Lex stared down with impassive eyes.
Clark jerked his head. But he wasn’t strong enough to unseat Lex’s hand. He took another breath, but it did nothing to ease the burning in his lungs. It was getting increasingly hard to think. He didn’t know what to do. Overwhelmed, he stared up at Lex. His vision swam.
“Please,” he slurred.
Lex brushed his hair out of his eyes. He held the mask for another second, another, three, two, one–
The mask lifted. Clark sucked in a desperate, greedy breath. It was more a gasp than an inhale, life-giving air suddenly filling his lungs. He exhaled in a rush, inhaling again before he’d properly emptied his chest.
“Good job,” Lex praised. He rubbed his thumb across Clark’s forehead, soothing his wrinkled brow. “I’m proud of you.”
The words sent a little shiver down Clark’s spine. His cock bobbed between his legs, rising steadily into the air. He fought for a few more breaths, unsure if the air was a privilege he might soon lose. Darkness retreated from the corners of his vision. He blinked a few times, relief settling in his chest.
“The preliminary blood work should be done soon,” the doctor remarked.
“Excellent.”
Lex patted Clark’s cheek.
“What’s in that DNA of yours?” he murmured. “The secret to immortality?”
Clark tongued the ring in his mouth.
“No,” Lex sighed thoughtfully. “But maybe we’ll find something better.”
He stood up, letting go of Clark’s face at the same time. Clark groaned quietly, already missing the warmth. The hospital bed was uncomfortable, but when Lex looked at him, he could just about bear it. When he was alone… he couldn’t.
Quietly, he shifted. He was definitely hard. His cock ached, and his balls felt swollen. No one said anything, though. No one seemed to care. Clark shifted again. The cuffs holding his ankles open were thicker than the ones at his wrists. They felt heavier, too. He didn’t like them, he decided. Maybe Lex would take them off?
“Lex,” Clark tried to say.
But Lex was busy consulting the doctor. Clark huffed, exhaling heavily through his ring. He tugged at his cuffs, but failed to make any progress. They weren’t coming free in a hurry. Superman could’ve busted out. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have even broken a sweat. But things were different now.
Everything was different now.
Lex looked over his shoulder, smiling broadly. Clark tried to smile back.
Why was he trying to smile back?
Something didn’t feel right. Something wasn’t adding up.
But then Lex walked back over, and suddenly, Clark didn’t care about right. He didn’t care about anything. He was right where he needed to be. He’d been led there, after all. He trusted Lex more than he trusted himself at this point. After all, who had fixed him? Who had saved him?
“Sit up.”
Clark shifted as much as he could. It wasn’t much, but he managed to get his chest off the hospital bed. Saliva dribbled out of his mouth. It coated his chin, slowly oozing toward his neck.
“I got you a present,” Lex said.
Clark perked up.
“It’s very important that you wear it.”
Lex lifted his hands, revealing a bulky, silver collar. It was made of shimmering metal, almost like it was alive. There was a panel on the side. Currently open, it revealed a small vial of green serum.
“That’s right. This is going to give you a continuous drip of your medicine.”
Clark tried to make a noise, but the ring swallowed the more complicated sounds.
“There are some other goodies in here,” Lex added conversationally. “Barbiturates, mood stabilizers… What did we land on, lithium?”
The doctor said something back that Clark didn’t catch.
“Can’t forget the sildenafil, though you’re already enjoying that,” Lex smirked.
“What?” Clark tried to say.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing we haven’t been giving you already.”
Lex opened the collar by pulling on both sides. It ran open like water–like the window in his office had. The inside looked smooth and clean. There was even an indent for his throat.
“Let’s give it a whirl, shall we?”
Lex reached forward. Clark couldn’t help but match him, craning his neck. They met in the middle. Clark’s throat touched the metal. He was surprised it wasn’t cold; it was pleasantly warm. With a ripple, the two ends sucked closed. There was a little jab–barely a pinprick. Clark groaned anyway.
“Shh,” Lex smiled.
“Administering…” the doctor started saying.
Clark slumped back onto the hospital bed. Just what was going on…?
Where…?
Lex?
He blinked back into himself on a gynecologist’s chair. His neck felt heavy. He swallowed, acutely feeling the collar against his skin. There was something in his mouth, something short and fat. It trapped his saliva, leaving the excess to leak out of the corner of his lips. He sucked on it experimentally, too dazed and confused to do much else.
His legs were spread wide, lifted into the stirrups. Cuffs kept them in place, making it impossible for him to move. Similar cuffs pinned his wrists and chest, locking him to the chair. There was a lighting shining down on him; it was too bright. He screwed his eyes shut, trying his best to ignore it.
“He’s awake.”
“I can see that, thank you.”
Clark exhaled. His breath was hot in his plugged mouth. His cock ached between his legs. He tried to squeeze his thighs together, but the cuffs were too secure. He tried again anyway, craving stimulation. He would’ve happily fucked against something: a blanket, a hand. Even a shoe. But instead, there was nothing.
“I assumed this would be a confrontation. But you can’t understand what’s happening, can you?”
Clark blinked his eyes open. Lex Luthor smiled at him. He was wearing a lab coat and nitrile gloves. In his hands was a piercing gun; the tip of it glowed ominously green.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
Lex didn’t line up the piercing gun with Clark’s ear. Instead, he brought it down to Clark’s chest. Carefully, he aimed it directly at a peaked nipple. Clark only had a second to prepare before blinding heat reverberated through his chest. He groaned around the plug, slumping backward.
Between his legs, his traitorous cock squirted precum.
“I had these specially made for you,” Lex said, fiddling with something. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”
Clark’s breath hitched. He felt rather than saw the kryptonite barbell sliding home. It stung. It hurt. It prickled like nettles against his sensitive skin.
“This way, they won’t close up.”
Lex pierced Clark’s other nipple. He jerked in his bonds, groaning as loudly as he could.
“You can’t use that on his frenum.”
Was that the doctor?
“Can’t I?” Lex mused.
“You shouldn’t. Let me–”
“No,” Lex put a hand up. “He wants me to do it.”
Clark’s cock gushed another spurt of precum. He wanted Lex to touch him. He wanted Lex to tell him how good he was. He wanted Lex to say:
“Good boy.”
Clark shuddered.
“He’s surprisingly coy.”
The doctor huffed, stalking toward the back of the room.
“Just one more. Then you’ll be ready,” Lex said soothingly.
He ran a thumb down the side of Clark’s cock. Clark moaned openly in response. The contact was delicious, even as stunted as it was. He wondered what he could do to earn more. He wanted to earn more. He wanted to deserve more.
Something sharp pressed against the underside of his cock.
“Three, two–”
Clark shouted into the plug. Pain lanced through his groin. It stripped away the pleasure, leaving him with nothing but discomfort. Lex manipulated his cock, moving it this way and that before suddenly letting it drop. It hurt too much to tell for sure, but Clark was left with the distinct feeling of something in his piss slit.
He blinked away green, breathing heavily.
Something whirled inside his collar. He felt the vibrations all the way up in his jaw. There was a sudden click, then a prick.
“The diuretic,” Lex said. “Right on time.”
Clark’s head lolled. This was too much. He was burning up. His cock hurt.
“Superman.”
He ignored the voice.
“Clark.”
He straightened up, dragging his head back to center. Lex smiled at him encouragingly. He waited patiently for Clark to look at him, neither speaking nor moving. Clark blinked at him sluggishly.
“There's going to be some changes from now on, okay?” Lex said. “So listen close…”