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– Absolutely not – Lex said, not looking up from the financial reports glowing on his tablet. He was draped over a white sofa, the picture of casual elegance, if casual elegance could also look like a predator considering its next meal.
From the spot where he was hovering above him, Clark Kent had just dropped a small, plush toy in the shape of a tractor.
– It’s from Ma – Clark said, his voice a rumbling intrusion into Lex’s atmosphere. He was already packing a duffel bag large enough to hold a small vehicle, which, for all Lex knew, it might – She will love to see him playing with it.
– Conner’s aesthetic is minimalist, – Lex replied, swiping to the next page. – He appreciates clean lines and high-contrast visual stimulation. That is going to affront his ocular development.
– He’s four months old, Lex. His aesthetic is things he can drool on. – Clark zipped the bag shut with a definitive sound. – And it’s from Ma. It’s coming.
Lex finally looked up, his gaze sharp.
– We are going for a weekend, Clark. You’ve packed enough for the three of us to establish a forward operating base.
– You say that every time – Clark chuckled, crossing the room. He plucked the tablet from Lex’s hands and placed it on the coffee table. – And every time, you’re grateful for the extra sweater when Pa turns the thermostat down – He leaned down, framing Lex’s face with his hands. – Stop stalling.
– I’m not stalling. I’m managing.
– You’re worrying – Clark corrected, his thumbs stroking Lex’s temples. – About everything.
He stood and approached the large armchair where Conner was seated, surrounded by pillows. Lex stopped before him, and for a long moment, simply looked at his son. Then, with a hesitation that was rare for him, he reached out and gently straightened the collar of Conner’s tiny onesie, his finger brushing against the warm skin of his neck.
Conner’s eyes, a mirror of Clark’s boundless blue, focused on Lex’s face. He cooed, a soft, questioning sound, and one tiny hand flailed out, grasping until it found Lex’s offered finger and held on with a surprising, fierce grip.
Lex felt Clark’s arms hug him from behind, the head of his husband coming to rest on his shoulders.
– He will be safe – Clark said, as if reading the tension in Lex’s shoulders. He always could. – It’s just a church, Lex. In Smallville. The most dangerous thing there will be Mrs. Henderson’s potent lemonade.
– It’s a building open to the public, Clark – Lex countered, his voice low, his gaze still on Conner. –And he is a high-value target, made even more so by our presence. It’s not paranoia, I cannot stop calculating the probabilities.
Clark used his hand to cup Lex’s jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes.
– I will be there. Nothing will happen to him. To any of us. This is a blessing, love. Not from a god I know you don’t believe in, but from Ma and Pa and from the community that raised me. It’s a way of saying he’s one of theirs now, too.
He kissed Lex then, a soft, lingering press of lips that tasted of coffee and sunshine. It was a cheat code because Lex’s arguments, meticulously built, dissolved under the simple warmth of it.
– Very well – Lex muttered against his mouth, a surrender that was familiar and not entirely unpleasant – But I’m having Mercy do a background check on the entire congregation.
Clark laughed, a bright, sunny sound that made Conner look up and wiggle, still holding Lex’s finger.
– Deal. – He leaned in and kissed Lex again – Now go and find something to wear that doesn’t make you look like you might acquire their farms.
– It’s called tailoring, Kent. You should try it sometimes.
There was nothing more antithesis of LuthorCorp Tower than the Kent farmhouse. It creaked. It smelled of lemon polish, baking pie, and the faint scent of the grass that clung to Jonathan Kent’s boots. The house seemed to live and breathe, and it unsettled Lex on a fundamental level.
Lex Luthor stood in the doorway, wearing dark jeans and a sweater – Clark had convinced him too, but Lex insisted that it would at least be a Prada cashmere sweater and Armani jeans – and holding all four of Conner’s bags. It would have made sense that the metahuman with superstrength be the one to hold them, but this arrangement worked for Lex, so that he could escape hugs as he wished.
– Lex! Clark! You’re here! – Martha Kent emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a checkered apron – She swept past her son and went straight for the baby in Clark’s arms.
– Oh, let me see him. Oh, goodness, Clark, he’s gotten so big! – Martha cooed, taking Conner effortlessly. The baby, who usually regarded most people with a skeptical, Lex-like furrow in his tiny brow, blinked his big blue eyes at her.
– Hello, Mrs. Kent – Lex said, his voice formal, a shield against the overwhelming warmth.
– Now, Lex, we’ve been over this. It’s Martha. Or Ma, if you’re feeling brave. – She winked at him before turning her attention back to Conner. – Who’s Grandma’s perfect boy? You are! Yes, you are!
Jonathan Kent appeared behind her, a solid, quiet presence. He clapped a hand on Clark’s shoulder and hugged him from the side.
– Son. Good to have you home. – His gaze then shifted to Lex, assessing with all the kindness – And you Lex, welcome.
– Mr. Kent, thanks for having me.
– Game’s on. – He nodded toward the living room. – You any good at pretending to understand football?
– I own a team – Lex said dryly and Jonathan’s mouth twitched in a smile.
– Ownin’ one and understandin’ it are two different things. C’mon. Let’s give the womenfolk the kitchen.
Clark choked on a laugh.
– Pa, please don’t start.
– What? It’s tradition. – Jonathan led a slightly bewildered Lex toward the main sofa.
From the kitchen, Martha’s voice floated in.
– Don’t you listen to him, Lex, dear! He’s just trying to get out of setting the table.
Then Lex was handed a cold beer, but before he could explain to Jonathan that he only drank from bottles which were at least 70 years old, Clark came from the kitchen passing him a mug with freshly-brewed coffee. The tasting was excellent.
Of course it was.
Later, after a meal that involved a casserole of delicious origin, they sat around the table. Conner was in a high chair gumming a teething biscuit with intense concentration.
– So, the service is at eleven tomorrow – Martha said, pouring Lex more iced tea despite his subtle attempts to wave her off. – Pastor Evans is lovely. Very kind. He’s so excited to meet you all.
– I’ve briefed him on the familial structure – Lex said, choosing his words carefully. – To avoid any unnecessary… discourse.
Martha looked at him, her head tilted.
– Oh, honey. Pastor Evans’s niece married her wife here last summer. He did the service. Only discourse you’ll get is about his tomato plants – She patted his hand.
– It’s over quick – Jonathan grunted from the head of the table, pinching Conner’s cheeks – Then we eat. That’s the best part.
For the first time all evening, Lex found himself in complete agreement with Jonathan Kent.
Later, after Conner was put down in the old crib that had been Clark’s, Lex found Clark on the porch swing, looking out at the star-dusted Kansas sky. Lex sat beside him, the swing creaking under their weight.
– He’s down? – Clark asked softly.
– Out cold. Not before me having to pretend to fly him around. You spoiled him. – Lex looked up at the sky, a sprawling, impossible dusting of stars so much brighter here than in Metropolis.
Clark, seemingly overcome by a wave of exhaustion and tenderness, let his head fall sideways onto Lex’s thigh, nuzzling against the soft wool of his trousers.
Lex’s hand, which had been resting on his own knee, began to card slowly through Clark’s dark curls, his touch precise and light.
– Thank you – Clark whispered. – For today. For all of it.
– You keep thanking me as if I’m performing a series of arduous tasks,” Lex said, his gaze still fixed on the heavens. – I do believe in the promise of a community. Of protection. It’s… a strategic alliance.
– A strategic alliance. – Clark repeated, a smile in his voice. – Is that what we are?
Lex’s fingers stilled in Clark’s hair. He looked down, and his expression was unreadable in the dim light, but his voice was warm and sharp as aged whiskey.
– We are the most elegant solution to a problem I spent years trying to solve – he said, his tone low and intimate. – I once believed the only way to manage a god was to destroy him. A costly, messy business. – His fingertips drifted from Clark’s hair to trace a slow, deliberate path down the column of his throat, coming to rest over his pulse. – I’ve since developed a far more efficient containment protocol. One that keeps you exceedingly well-behaved.
Clark’s breath hitched. The air between them thickened, charged with the history of what was and the heat of what is.
– This is you containing me? – Clark asked, his voice husky. He turned his head, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Lex’s wrist.
Lex’s sharp intake of breath was the only sign he was affected.
– The most effective one I’ve ever designed – Lex’s palm slid lower, over the plain cotton of Clark’s shirt, past his belt, coming to rest with a firm, knowing pressure right at the junction of his thighs, where a distinct and growing firmness strained against the denim of his jeans.
Clark’s entire body jolted at the contact. A sharp, ragged gasp was torn from his lips, his hips arching involuntarily into the touch.
– I get to keep the world’s most powerful weapon on its knees. – Lex affirmed, his thumb stroking a slow, maddening circle through the fabric. – Just not in the way I originally anticipated.
The words were pure Lex – a blend of arrogance, strategy, and a searing power that went straight to Clark’s core.
A low, wanting moan escaped Clark’s lips before he could stop it and the sound seemed to jolt him back to reality. His eyes, dark and blown with desire, flew open. He tilted his head back to look up at Lex, his expression a mixture of sheer need and panic.
– Lex… my parents are right inside – he whispered, his voice strained and pleading.
A slow, predatory smile spread across Lex’s face. He leaned down, his lips brushing against Clark’s feverish ear as he spoke, his voice a dark, velvety promise.
– Then I suggest we take this to our room – he murmured, giving one last, deliberate squeeze that made Clark’s breath catch. – And you prove to me you’re well behaved by being quiet.
He stood up, leaving Clark lying on the bench, breathless, flushed, and visibly affected. Lex offered him a hand, his smirk all sharp edges and sinful intent. After a stunned second, Clark took it, letting Lex pull him to his feet and lead him inside, the screen door swinging shut softly behind them.
Being with Clark was the only miracle a man like Lex could ever be convinced to believe in and the greatest definition he could give to the word ‘sacred’ was when he got to watch Clark cries of pleasure.
The Smallville Methodist Church was a small, whitewashed building with a modest steeple pointing toward the vast Kansas sky. The morning sun beat down on the parking lot, warming the hoods of pickup trucks and one conspicuously sleek, black sedan.
Lex stood on the entrance,, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. He’d opted for a simple, impeccably tailored black suit. No tie. A concession to the alleged informality of the occasion.
Clark warned him that he looked like he was attending a corporate funeral.
His husband, beside him, looked like he’d stepped out of a catalogue. A navy blue suit, slightly too broad in the shoulders, a crisp white shirt, and a smile that could power the entire town.
In his arms, Conner was swaddled in a christening gown of antique lace, a Kent family heirloom that Martha had produced with tears in her eyes.
They got smiles, nods, a few waves directed at Clark… An older woman with kind eyes came right up to them.
– Clark Kent! Our Smallville boy returns home as I live and breathe! And this must be your family. – She beamed at Lex, who offered a tight, polished smile in return.
– Yes, ma’am. This is my husband, Lex. And our son, Conner.
– Oh, he’s adorable, Clark. Takes after his daddy, that’s for sure – she said, cooing at the baby before turning her attention fully to Lex. – She looked him up and down, with an appraising twinkle in her eye. – Well, aren’t you a sight? Clark, you smart boy. Went and found yourself a handsome one, didn’t you? Good for you, honey. Good for you both. – She patted Lex’s arm familiarly before winking at Clark and moving on.
He felt Clark’s hand find his, lacing their fingers together. He held on, giving Clark’s hand a slight squeeze.
– Told you they’d like you – Clark murmured, his voice low and warm beside him.
– She didn’t say she liked me – Lex corrected automatically, his voice a hushed whisper. – She said I was aesthetically pleasing and she complimented you for your choice.
– In Smallville, that’s their seal of approval. C’mon.
The service began. Lex stood when others stood, sat when they sat. He didn’t sing, but he listened.
As the pastor spoke of the son who squandered his inheritance and returned home in shame, Lex’s mind, against his will, drew the parallel. He thought of his own father, a man whose love was a transaction. Lionel Luthor would have let him starve in that distant country. He would have cited his failure as proof of his weakness. Lex had spent a lifetime ensuring he never gave his father the chance; he was the son who never strayed, who never made a mistake, and he had still never been worthy of a fatted calf, let alone a father running to meet him. Love had always been conditional on everything he did right. The idea of it being bestowed for simply returning was… alien.
His gaze drifted to the crucifix, but the story felt more real than the symbol. It was a story of a love so profound it defied logic. A love that…
His eyes left the crucifix and found Clark. His husband was looking down at Conner, his expression so full of pure, unguarded love that it was almost painful to witness. At that moment, Lex understood. This life, this messy, beautiful, terrifying family, was the feast.
He had spent so long believing he was unworthy of this goodness, rehearsing his defenses. But Clark had never asked for a speech. He had just… opened his arms.
Lex extended his hands to caress Conner’s hair. He made a silent promise that his son would always have his ring. He would always, always have a place at his table. No matter what he did, no matter how far he wandered or how badly he failed, the door to Lex’s world would never be locked. His love would not be a reward for good behavior; it would be the unwavering truth of his existence.
Lex Luthor believed in science, in data, in the tangible. But he also believed in the presence of his son under his hands, the warmth of his husband’s, the stubborn, the goodness of his in-laws, who welcomed him even after he tried to kill their son.
Lex thought that was a good set to a trinity.
Then it was time.
They walked to the front. Clark handed a now-sleeping Conner to Lex. The weight of the baby in his arms immediately centered Lex.
– Do you, Clark Joseph Kent, and Alexander Joseph Luthor – the pastor began, his voice warm and carrying through the quiet church – promise to raise this child in love and righteousness, to teach him the ways of kindness, and to be his protectors against evil’s destroying forces?
– I do – Clark said, his voice clear and sure, resonating with a conviction that was deeper than faith. It was truth.
All eyes turned to Lex. He could feel them. He could feel the weight of the promise, the absurdity of it. He, Lex Luthor, who had been a destroying force of evil himself.
He looked at Clark, whose eyes were shining. He looked at Conner, who was staring up at him with that unnervingly focused gaze, as if waiting for his answer. He looked at Martha and Jonathan, their faces open and hopeful.
He cleared his throat. The sound was too loud.
– I do – he said. His voice was quieter than Clark’s, raspier, but it was absolute.
The pastor smiled. He took Conner from Clark, supporting his head with a practiced hand.
– Then by the grace given to us, I baptize you, Conner Kent, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
He cupped his hand, brought water from the font, and let it trickle over Conner’s forehead.
Conner’s eyes, wide and surprised, blinked. His little body stiffened. For a horrifying second, Lex was certain he was going to scream his lungs out, as he did on those nights to steal their sleep.
But then, Conner’s face broke into a wide smile and he let out a happy coo, wiggling in the pastor’s hold as if the water was the most delightful surprise.
A soft wave of laughter and affectionate sighs moved through the congregation.
Lex, however could only stare. His heart was doing something strange and violent in his chest. He worried it might be a seizure. But why would he have a seizure over the fact that this tiny, perfect creature, his son, was being welcomed into a world of kindness, and was happy about it?
The pastor handed Conner back, and Clark immediately cradled him close, but Conner’s gaze was fixed on Lex, his tiny hand reaching out. Lex, without thinking, offered his finger. Conner grabbed it, holding on tightly, babbling softly as if telling him all about his adventure.
The rest of the service passed in a blur. The final hymn, the benediction, the rustle of people standing. They were swarmed almost immediately by well-wishers, a sea of handshakes and congratulations and comments on how beautiful the baby was.
Lex endured it. He even managed to smile a few times.
He shook Pastor Evans’s hand.
– A beautiful service – Lex heard himself say. – Thank you.
– It was my honor – the pastor replied, his grip firm. – You have a lovely family, Mr. Luthor. Remember this as the foundation that really matters. Whoever tells you this is not divinely blessed doesn’t deserve to be heard.
That, Lex could understand.