The blind shall be granted sight, and the seeing shall be struck blind. They were heavy words, laden with meanings and sub-meanings that carried any subtext he cared to imply. You are wrong, and I am right. You are haughty and in time will be struck down, while I will always triumph. But it had been too real a statement for him in those few harsh months before he'd regained his sight. He'd thought he could see things, but it was only when blind that reality came into sharp focus -- and sharper still when he continued to be 'blind', even after colors had once more blossomed into his vision. Cut off from the world, from petty day to day tasks that he'd let consume him, he could see the bigger picture once more. The subtle games Lex was playing with him were nothing new, but the motivations...

Those had shifted, ever so slightly. Lionel had noticed it, like a hound would catch the scent of a fox when the wind shifted unexpectedly. So much time spent with the Kent's adopted son had rubbed off on Lex, the innocent farm boy honing his son's predatory cruelness. The minor, theatrical, coup that Lex and Lucas had pulled off had fascinated him with a dark compulsion, even if it had cost him the guilt-inspiring 'blindness' that he'd been using to pry so effectively at Lex.

It was still astonishing to recall what people would do when they thought they weren't being watched. He would sit, listening to music, arguing with his protege and son, and watch Lex adjust himself repeatedly. If it had been a one-time thing, well, he could have excused it. Fascinatingly, it was not. To peer through 'unseeing' eyes at Lex, to see him rave and defend himself, and subtly caress his crotch gave insight into new levels of depth, and perhaps new levels of depravity, of his son.

Lucas was a twisted sociopath, so that behavior wouldn't have been so startling coming from him. But Lex was more a man of the people than that, more sociable, a true philanthropist. Was it an Oedipus complex gone wrong and lingering unresolved for years?

Perhaps it had been merely been a sign of Lex's sheer disrespect for his poor blind father that his mind had been on masturbation, rather than conversation.

Storming the gates of his own property seldom held such satisfaction for Lionel, as his motions carried the weight of his intent behind them, driving him past questioning servants and through heavy oaken doors. The weight of ages cleared before his promise of a new status quo.

Lex had without question heard the helicopter's approach, so Lionel felt no surprise to see his son sitting almost artfully behind his desk, tap tap tapping away as if deeply engrossed in his work. And perhaps he was, but that was no deterrent for Lionel. Lex was his son, an investment and property unlike any that he held shares in, and when he wanted a moment of the boy's time, he took it.

A lesson Lex had yet to learn. One of many that Lionel quietly hoped the young man would fast learn. He'd push him along towards learning them, if he had to -- like the lesson about love that he was so sure Lex had finally caught onto. Sweet, fleeting, dangerous even when it was just a game. Victoria had been a sweet fuck, but Lex had let himself be tangled too deeply into her web, even if he had played his cards with exquisite skill. So, Lionel had sealed the conquest for his son, and thus assured that any lingering affection Lex had for the woman was snuffed. And Helen... despite his best attempts to drive her away from Lex, her death hadn't been his doing.

The young widower -- what a fool his son was to throw himself so desperately, so thoroughly into love -- glanced up from his desk and gave Lionel a tight, grim smile. Sharks had teeth more sincere, eyes less ice-cold and dead. Yes, a lesson finally learned, albeit with a touch too much bitterness. Always so passionate, even in his hate and despair. Lex must've taken that from his mother.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Dad?" Lex had the same charmingly smooth, cold voice that Lionel savored provoking; even ice could be pitted with dirty flecks of emotion. Despair and hatred

"What better reason than to visit with my son?" Lionel asked archly in return, moving around the side of the desk to rest a hip against the edge. Even at his age, he knew the image he presented was one of power and lust-inspiring appeal. "I had business in Gotham, and Smallville was on the way..." More or less. "I deemed it appropriate to come and check on you. It's just as well I have, Lex. You don't look well."

"I appreciate your paternal concern." The grimace Lex passed off for a smile was wan, and he masked the expression with ice as he flicked his laptop to standby and rose to his feet. Lex was always a restless ball of energy after those months in the hospitals, unlike the pudgy, scared asthmatic Lionel sharply recalled raising.

He moved, he paced, he posed rather than stood. The bottle of water he retrieved under his father's watchful eyes was more practiced motion than for need of a drink. Such peace could only mean...

"You could have at least attended her funeral."

"I was busy, Lex. You know how these things are." Or perhaps he didn't, after all. Lex had never really understood Lionel's avoidance of memorial services; but Lex had reacted differently when Lillian had died. His wife, beautiful and sweet, with such brilliant red hair... Never mind that he'd cheated on her as she lay dying. Never mind that he'd replaced her with other russet-haired women.

Never mind that he hadn't been with her when she died. Much like he'd not been with Lex that fatal day the meteors had rained down upon Smallville.

He missed Lex's red hair, the bright and silky auburn curls. He'd never confess to having kept those sweet curls, caught up in the jacket he'd been wearing that day. And even if he did confess, would Lex believe that it was done for any reason other than to start the spin of some game between them? No, of course not. There was nothing between them but games, games that tangled them irresistibly together in bonds of dark, sweet paranoia.

Trust no one but yourself, and even then, doubt. Doubt and doubt, and doubt until you are sure that the best decision possible was being made. Blind faith in anything but family, power...

"I'll put it down in my PDA to be busy for your funeral." Lex drank the water like it was liquor, and perhaps it was -- the cobalt blue glass couldn't be seen through, and Lex was standing too far to be smelled.

"If it pleases you, Lex." It almost made him feel grim, really, to know that his son held so little respect for him. Almost. In a strange, twisted sort of way, it made him proud, as well. "Of course, it won't make any difference to me, as I'll be dead. It might make a world of difference to you, however."

And it would, but Lionel couldn't see Lex's no doubt knee-jerk facial reaction to that truth. He was turning away to look out the window, bottle of water still in hand. Lex was enough of a different creature from Lionel that he wouldn't have closure unless he attended the funeral. And even then... "This topic is a little too grim to me right now, Dad. Why're you really here?"

"I told you, it was convenient to come and visit with you." Moving forward, Lionel practically slithered towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You were on my way between meetings, and occasionally, I miss my son." Missed him looking so pretty, so much like his mother, with wide gray-blue eyes and shocks of red hair. Martha's family reminded him altogether too much of things he had long ago decided he could not have, including the love of his son. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he'd rather spend time away from Smallville these days.

Under his hand, he could feel Lex's muscles start to knot up with tension. Lex's shoulder twisted, jerking away from his touch. His son could've retreated to another place in the room, too, but he twisted around and rested one hip on the edge of the window seat. "I'm in no mood to spar with you today, Dad."

"Then don't." Such a simple solution, and yet so very impossible. He'd brought Lex up to be a driving force, a great man, nurturing a need in him to supplant the dangerous vulnerability of love. In so many ways, it was all his own fault, really, the edges, the lack of softness, even if the roundness of yesteryear did linger faintly on his face. His boy...

"Then, get out." Lex's jaw firmed, eyes cold -- but Lionel could read the wounded pain behind them, the warring thoughts and felt his pulse quicken. What could those warring thoughts be? Was he thinking back to when his father had been blind, and he'd touched himself so blatantly in his presence? His seemingly discreet arousal hanging rich and tempting in the air, those accidental touches as he passed him fine cognac with slim elegant fingers. He would have counted himself truly blind to not have seen the picture drawn out in subtle inadvertent colors.

"No, I rather think I'm not ready to leave just yet. Son." The last word was breathed, practically in his ear. "After all, I have missed you." Missed him, missed those obvious, sexual motions, been wrapped up in thoughts of him...

Lex kept still, but the tension in him was shifting again, slowing, morphing into something that Lionel decided he had a liking for. "Go stalk down Lucas."

"Your brother doesn't hold the same... interest... for me that you do, Lex. After all, you have so many qualities granted to you by your mother..." As did Lucas, actually, which was the disturbing part about him, but never mind that. "I enjoy visiting with you."

Sociopathy wasn't quite as attractive as Lex's studied restraint. "I'm glad to know you have time to harass me at odd hours for no apparent reason." Bitterness about the funeral glinted in Lex's eyes again, as he leaned more comfortably against the window seat, a palm on the polished wood surface. Perhaps it was by accident that the new posture he took, while idly draining the last of his 'water', canted his lean hips forwards.

Lionel wouldn't bet on it, though. The slow, steady smirk that worked its way across his face said as much. "Can't a man come to offer comfort to his child?"

"If you and I weren't Luthors, I'd say yes." Lex set the gleaming cobalt bottle down beside him, and finally leaned back on his left hand, too. Hips out, back arched comfortably, legs threatening to stretch out, Lex had to know what sort of picture of himself he was presenting. "But since you're who you are, the thought's foreign to me. You're here because you want something, and you think I'll just give it over."

"Oh, yes," Lionel agreed, the smirk becoming almost an honest to goodness smile. "Yes, I do think you'll give me exactly what I want, Alexander."

"Oh?" Lex had a grim smile curling his mouth. "Then can you tell me what it is so you can be on your way? I was expecting other company."

"Really, now?" Oh, that was displeasing, but Lionel didn't care. He'd take what he wanted regardless of who saw it. He could always buy them off later. "And who is that?"

"It's none of your business," Lex smiled, teeth like a great-white shark. His own idea of comfort was perhaps what he was waiting for, or a business associate. But whichever it was, the slight change in topics gave Lex his bearings back and that might've been the sole purpose of him saying that. "Now, get on with it."

"It must be the Kent boy," Lionel decided, and there was a faint streak of utter jealousy that sparked in his belly, hot and instinctive, sensing a rival of sorts. He'd have to do something about that boy one of these days. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be in such a hurry to rid yourself of me."

"Dad, I'd rather have a heart to heart with the milkman than with you -- don't act surprised. You've cultivated this... relationship with skill." The word relationship fell from Lex's tongue like it didn't fit in his mouth, as if he didn't know where to stick it in the neat rank and file of his mind. He probably didn't. After all, the way things had gone so far had been abnormal, even for them.

"Yes," Lionel murmured, pressing close to his son for a moment, a spike of lust racing through him. "Yes, I have, haven't I?" It could wait for now, though; he could wait. "I'll be upstairs in my room for a bit, Lex," he declared, pulling away slowly. "Whenever your... COMPANY has abandoned you..."

Lex remained where he'd been leaning, coolly relaxed, hips still canted outwards. "All I said was that I expected company, father. You're never one to cut one of our 'discussions' short like this."

"Oh, well. Perhaps you'd rather I made sure to cancel your... COMPANY?" Lionel asserted smoothly, raising a brow.

"I hope that wasn't a threat." Lex's smile turned sharper, and he finally shifted away from Lionel to pace towards his desk again. "Was it?"

"Of course not, just a suggestion that I have the boy turned away while he's still in the kitchen, the way a proper servant should be." And then he'd have all of Lex's attention, and wouldn't that be nice? Yes.

"I thought so." Lex's grim expression turned smug with disbelief as he turned to look at his father in full again. "You just don't get it. The people I interact with here in Smallville aren't servants -- they're friends."

"And how long will it be until they stab you in the back, Lex? Or haven't they done that already?" Oh, he knew they had, he knew, but he delighted in digging that into his son. "How often until they suspect you of something again? How often until they ask you for something they want but have nothing to give in return?"

For his questions, Lex had only a carefully blank expression as response. Yes, it was good to know that he was right. "What does it matter to you, Father? Huh? I can handle anything that comes my way."

"Because I don't want to see you get hurt." Perhaps that wasn't quite true, but it was close enough to the truth, wasn't it? "After all, the first time, you nearly got killed and almost lost everything we have."

Lex's mouth quirked, and he made his way over to his stereo. Lionel expected that within moments music would roar to life in an unsubtle attempt to drive him away. But Lex wouldn't keep the upper hand through such childish tactics for very long. "Which time was that?"

"Let's see. I believe her name was Desiree?" Lionel asked, brows arching slightly as if he was questioning Lex on the matter. He wasn't, of course; he knew what the slut's name had been.

"A mistake I made in the heat of the moment," Lex countered sharply. The stereo as distraction was forgotten as anger flared in his voice and face. "Go on. Toss everything you can into my face, Father -- how about Victoria? You fucked her, what'd you think of her? I've made mistakes, but I'm learning. Helen was too damned upstanding for you to work your Luthor charms on."

"Actually, son, I wouldn't do that..." Well, saying 'to you' would be a lie. "...to the daughter of one of my best associates." That was much more true, after all. "I am sorry for your loss, truly."

"Is there a camera filming this?" Riding high on righteous anger that he hadn't had when Lionel had first come in, Lex paced back towards his father. He grabbed the lapels of Lionel's suit jacket, clutched them tight in shaking hands, and dragged his fingers down -- checking for recording devices. "Because this isn't like you at all."

"You know, son, there's something about losing your senses; my blindness, for example. It changed certain things," Lionel said smoothly, letting his eyes bore down into his son,s muted blue. "The way I saw things, for example. You." He allowed the violent clutch, allowed the touches. They were pleasant in a bizarre, abstract sort of way.

It was probably the most honest touch he and his son had shared in years and was strangely special for its untainted directness. Lex pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, checking that for anything out of the ordinary, his other hand still wrapped onto one lapel. "I'm not sure I even want to hear what you have to say. What'd you 'see', hmn? When you were playing the cripple card."

"You," Lionel repeated, leaning close. His lips brushed against his son's ear. "You, touching yourself. Listening to my voice, Lex. Tell me, how long have you wanted me to do to you what I do to others?"

Lex went still, and Lionel was sure that his answering smile to the stillness could be felt by his son. The hand on his lapel didn't move, and Lex's other hand grabbed at him again -- whether to shove him back, or drag him nearer, time would tell. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Do you honestly think that you can lie to me, Lex? To your father?" The sound of his voice was almost mocking. "I know you even better than you know yourself. You can't lie to me about this, not about the way you were touching yourself, caressing, tugging."

Lionel could feel Lex shiver, the hands on his lapels shifting up towards his neck. "I wonder, sometimes, why your fucktoys get more affection from you than I do. Just idle speculation."

"Do they, son? Really? Do they get the benefit of all the lessons I give you, the care I've used to mold you, prepare you for the world? No," Lionel assured him, hands slipping down to press against the boy's hips. So beautiful, still, even without those lovely auburn locks, the lovely tremble of his lips a never ending temptation.

"Prepare me for what? Endless paranoia and whatever games you throw at me?" His hand shifted, curling into the curls of hair at the back of Lionel's neck. Even Lex's fingers were shaking, as if driven by the ragged note that was starting to build in his voice. "Fuck your lessons."

"Prepare you," his father corrected almost gently, "for the day when I am no longer here to keep you out of trouble, Lex. Alexander." What his mother had called him, so often. "For the day when you take control of everything. No one," he murmured, "will ever love you as much as I do."

"You want something -- that's the only reason why you're here..." Not even a spark of trust from Lex, and he pulled back sharply as if he'd scared himself with his own reactions. And perhaps he had, half-panting as he picked up his phone, and barked a few orders into the staff intercom.

That he was in an important meeting and wasn't to be disturbed by anyone. To turn all guests away until further notice.

"Perhaps I do want something after all," Lionel said with a smile that was no less feral than that which might be given by his namesake. Yes, he wanted something, and he would have it before he left.

"You should just tell me outright. We can speed this game along..." Lex twisted to lean back against his glass desk once more, less confident in the cant of his hips, the lazy arc of his back.

"I can't imagine that there is any part of this game at which you do not excel, Alexander," his father asserted firmly. "After all, I have the benefits of being intimately familiar with your juvenile records."

"But which part interests you now?" Lex reached a hand up to his own neck to adjust his immaculately knotted tie, and then started to pull at it with two hooked fingers.

"Why don't we start with the act with which you seem most familiar?" The words were accompanied by a caress of fingers across lips, an open invitation.

Lionel could see his son's expressions warring for control of him, finally settling into blase bleakness as he kissed the fingers. "Luthors aren't supposed to accept scraps."

"Who said what I'm offering is a scrap, Lex?"

Lex lowered his eyes, blue turning smoky as he studied the expensive watch on Lionel's wrist. "I don't know."

"Never tell me that you don't know, Lex." It was a chiding sort of answer, fingers tilting up that strong, stubborn chin so that he could look his son fully in the face. "You do know. You think it yourself, regardless of the fact that it isn't so."

"You've never given me proof to the contrary. You've manipulated and played with me for years, you... you can't even show up for my _wife's_ funeral!" Lex's chin stayed stubborn, but anger fought to the surface of his expression again. It kept going back to the funeral Lionel had missed. Perhaps he'd been too predictable in his lack of attendance.

"Did it ever occur to you, Lex, that perhaps I had very good reasons for not attending? For example, I did not like her," Lionel stressed. "She took something from me, something I fully intend to take back and keep now that she's gone."

Lionel could almost see Lex pushing down grief and anger, helped along by the words he'd given his son. "Do you? Intend to keep? I have trouble believing that..."

"You won't for long," his father murmured deeply, and he leaned in and pressed his mouth against his son's.

If he hadn't watched his son's hands, his son's eyes when he'd been 'blind', Lionel Luthor would've been surprised by the fierceness with which his son surged against him to deepen the kiss. The fingers near the back of his neck went slack, stretched and spread to palm against his back. It felt good in a way that kisses hadn't felt since Lillian, soft mouth beneath his own, yielding despite all of that ferocity, molding to what he needed. It was almost enough to make him moan, but instead he ran his hands down to tug at Lex's hips, to pull him closer, to kiss him harder.

Lex had, at some point, wanted the warm, soft, chaste kisses that passed between family. When he'd been little, he'd often tried to hug Lionel, to steal affection that normal families spent like pennies, tried to be everything Lionel had wanted him to be. Somehow, those needs had grown, multiplied, twisted, until Lionel thought the cock pressed against his body wasn't a cock at all, but a steel rod trying to divine god knew what from him.

"Fuck," Lex hissed, breaking the kiss by slow degrees. His hips were tensed against Lionel's, but that was all -- the pressure of his hands, the gleam of his eye held no more strength than a trickle of water.

"You know this is what you want," Lionel murmured to him. "What you need, Lex. What you've always needed, only you had to be old enough to know it on your own..."

Lex's forehead dropped to Lionel's shoulder, the bald skin of his head pressing against the scratchiness of his father's beard. "I want it," he eked out obediently.

"That's right." Whispered soothing, a tender hand moving to stroke that scalp almost gently. "That's right, my Lex. Now. Come upstairs with your Daddy." It was perversion in its deepest, truest form, and he was going to savor it just as he savored all of the other times that he'd boxed Lex gently into a decision. He knew what was best for his son, and Lex would soon know it too.

"Dad..." Lex turned his head, kissing gently against the side of his father's neck, lips brushing the starched sharpness of his shirt collar.

"Come on." It was tender nudging at best, a demand more realistically. Lionel's hands were on him, pulling him free slightly, pushing him towards the door. It wouldn't take them long to go up the stairs, to find Lionel's bedroom. Lex would probably be more comfortable in his own, but it wasn't about Lex's comfort, after all. It was about their needs.

Lex must have felt need, to let his father demandingly move him along. Once they were out in the hall, there wasn't anything to say. The staff would surely remark on anything that wasn't a proper Luthor shouting match, even if it was just behind their backs. So Lex stayed silent, back straight, face firming once more.

There was no need, after all, to give away what they were planning to the servants. Better by far, Lionel knew, to leave them guessing, and wishing, and praying that they weren't destroyed.

The mere thought pleased him immensely, almost as much as the notion of fucking his son. He had to wonder if his son's mouth was a good indicator of how good he'd perform overall. Victoria had told him glowingly about how eager to please his son was in bed. Not a proper outlook for a Luthor to have, but there was no sense in letting that skill lie fallow. Lillian had always been eager to please, a tender, laughing lover.

Lex wasn't laughing, but he was faintly eager. It showed in the way that he picked up his pace once he realized where they were going, in the way that he opened the door to Lionel's room and held it open for his father to go in first.

Honestly, Lionel wondered why he hadn't done this before, taken Lex aside and made him what he wanted instead of the disobedient brat of a son he had so often been. Perhaps if he had, there wouldn't have been all of that trouble, that misbehavior. Perhaps all it had required was a strong hand, a more intimate discipline.

Perhaps that was all that was required now, and he pulled Lex to him the moment the door was shut behind them, stripping away clothing with hands that were firm and powerful in their grasp.

As if he were getting the hang of how things were going, Lex failed to stay water-weak in the face of Lionel's onslaught. He felt his tie be pulled off, and reciprocated on his father's tie and jacket, helping out with the clothes as much as his father pulled. "Christ, Dad... Want you, so fucking bad, I want you..."

"How long, Lex?" he asked, nearly demanding an answer. "How long? Since you were thirteen? Sixteen? Is that the reason for all of your bad behavior? If you'd told me this was what you wanted, I'd have given you that." The way he was giving it now, stripping his son steadily, leaving a trail of baby-soft skin in the wake of open clothing.

Lex's motions hitched in shock for a moment -- as if the idea of it being possible had never even crossed his mind until that moment. "It's not... exactly normal," he panted, slipping his shirt to the floor without care for the expensive fabric and perfect tailoring that it bore.

"We're Luthors, Lex," Lionel lectured, stripping him entirely, pants slithering from his hips more easily than his shirt had slipped loose. "There is no normal, no right or wrong."

Lex just wished there were, Lionel could see it in his eyes when he nodded to the start of the lecture. Too much time around that Kent family, messing with his boy's sense of reality as it really was, and not as it would be if it were cut out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

He stepped out of the pool of cloth that was his pants, and reached forwards to ply open the clasp of Lionel's belt. "Touch me..."

"Like this?" Lionel had never been a man who was anything less than direct, and the warm clasp of fingers around Lex's cock was a declaration of intent much more intense than the stripping away of his clothing had been.

Lionel could feel fingers seize up at the buttons under his belt, and then a twitch of the member that he'd grasped onto. "Fuck, yes... please, like that."

"Tell me what you want, Lex." Because hearing it would be a rush. Because saying it would be difficult. Because it would make ravishing him all the better, and Lionel couldn't wait.

There was no answer for long moments, long enough for Lex to insinuate fingers beneath the fabric of Lionel's boxers, caressing over the edge of his hip. "I want... I... Fuck me."

There was a certain smug delight in hearing those words, in seeing the heavy-lidded wantonness behind those eyes. "Get on the bed, son," Lionel nearly purred. "Get on the bed and spread yourself for me."

Fingers slipped out of his boxers reluctantly, and Lex wandered over to the unfamiliar bed with a pace that said he knew he had the weight of Lionel's eyes on him. "Are you proud of me, Dad?"

The fact that this was what it took to get his son vulnerable, to make him agree to anything at all, was almost shameful. He was tempted to make a point of it, to humiliate Lex, to force him into a position that he would never forget, and yet...

And yet he did have him where he wanted him, and perhaps afterwards, he could get his son back. "Yes, Lex. I believe I am."

Lex's mouth firmed, along with the look in his eyes as he laid back atop the sheets. There was an almost smile haunting his face, bitter but grateful to finally hear the words from his father's mouth.

"I'll do anything..."

"I know you will." And never mind that this had been lesson one, that sex meant nothing, that it was all a game. This was between father and son, and that made all of the difference in the world as Lionel slid into the bed, moved close to his boy.

His boy.

He hadn't thought of Lex that way since the loss of all that silky red hair, the weak, sweet thing he'd once been. In a strange way, Lex had become his boy again, though, needy and trembling upon the mattress beneath him as Lionel slid between his legs.

Lex clung more than expensive fabrics did, wrapping himself tightly around his father's frame the moment that Lionel was kneeling close enough to touch. Was he scared that Lionel would change his mind? The kisses he pressed against his father's mouth were fierce, needy, desperate for more. "Please, Dad. What do you want...?"

As if there had ever been any question. "To fuck you," he whispered harshly, and his fingers were on that pale skin, bruising Lex already, tugging at him as his lips laid claim to Lex's. It was the best way to silence him, Lionel thought, and the urge to hurt him just a little really was overwhelming.

"Please!" His son's voice, a raw, rough whisper, sounded nothing like a little boy's, and everything like that. There was need, yearning so deep that it cut through to Lionel's spine. Lex's hands were businessman, playboy soft, and they knew where to caress on his back, how to curl into his hair. He'd heard enough retellings of those skills in the various messes he'd pulled Lex out of in his rebellious youth.

God only knew how long Lionel had wanted this, too.

"Tell me how you like it, son," he practically purred. "Tell me what you want me to do and I'll give you everything."

"Hard," Lex panted, clinging all the closer. "Hard. I want... I want to fucking feel you for weeks..."

Just the words sent shivers of delight down Lionel's spine, his hands abandoning his son momentarily to reach for the drawer of the bedside table. He was no young man, it was true, but neither was he a man likely to be unprepared and... Well. He knew how promiscuous his son had been at one point in time. Despite repeated testing, it was really better to have that thin shield of latex between them, and it was already lubricated. If Lex wanted to feel him, Lex would.

His son watched as he retrieved a condom, laying back momentarily to try and catch his breath. Lex hadn't breathed so hard since he was a child, looked so powerless. And so oddly eager. "Let me put it on you. Please..."

Hands like his mother's, and Lionel gave in, kneeling there between Lex's sprawled legs and handing over the foil packet with ease. "Be easy," he soothed, reaching his palm out to stroke over Lex's chest. Yes, just like when he'd been small. "Breathe easy, Lex..."

Lex's chest was firm, muscled from boxing and fencing, weight-training and running, but not so muscled that he bulked out the sleek clothes he spent so much money on. And under his father's petting hand, his breathing started to calm, his excitement or fear easing. The packet ripped open under careful fingers, and then he was sitting up and running knowing fingers down the length of Lionel's cock, following it with the condom.

"That's Daddy's good boy." God, just the sound of it was remarkably perverse, a near leer. Yes, his son certainly knew about pleasure, and it was time to take advantage of that in more ways than one. "Lay back now, Lex."

Obedient in ways that he never was in the boardroom, Lex laid back, drawing one leg up to his chest as he did so. "Fuck me, Dad. Fuck me hard. I want to be good for you..." His free hand slipped down to his hard cock, tugging at it.

Oh, the sound of it, that promise. Those words. Lex had never been good for him, even when he'd been blind, even when he'd pulled him out from under that column, and the temptation was too much. Lionel shifted closer to him, lifting him slightly with his hands, cock digging between rounded cheeks to seek out the snug aperture there. "I'll give you what you want!" Lionel promised him in a gruff sort of exclamation, and thrust forward.

A howl -- pain or pleasure, who cared -- left Lex's throat. He draped his other leg over Lionel's shoulder, heel digging into his father's back as his muscles spasmed at the too-sudden breach. "Oh, fuck yes!"

"Do you think you'll feel that long enough?" Lionel groaned against his ear, dragging his mouth over the aberrance of his son's smooth scalp. Felt so good to the touch, such a shame it was that way, his child such a freak... But God, it felt so good to just be in him, to be fucking him, to be slammed into him!

"Oh, Christ... weeks," Lex moaned, bending himself in half to cling his arms around his father's neck, to kiss at his neck and shoulders, to just feel. Lionel's slut of a son was living up to every whisper, every cant of his hips and arrogant swagger he'd ever given in his life.

It was unbearably erotic, and so fucking good that Lionel could have come right then and there. That would have defeated the purpose, though, so he pulled almost all the way out and slammed home again, setting up a rough, steady sort of fuck. "Yes, yes, Lex..."

The expensive heirloom bed, that had withstood wars and invasions, rocked under the firm intense fucking Lionel was giving to his son. Lex exhaled puffed cries, too mewling to be screams, too desperate to be moans, every time Lionel jarred into him. But he was enjoying it without question, from the way that his cock jutted between his splayed legs and bumped against Lionel's stomach.

"That's it," Lionel panted. "Yes, that's it, my boy, my boy!" Oh, God, he was so tight, so much like his mother! Lionel couldn't help driving into him harder just to hear those sounds and be reminded. "YES!"

"Fuck me, Dad, fuck me harder -- oh, Dad..." He arched up against Lionel, panting hard. His body was clinging snugly to Lionel's, shuddering. The narrowness spasmed, clutching at Lionel all the tighter as he felt dampness pulse against his chest.

It was irresistible, the urge to keep fucking him. Lionel had wanted this in the back of his head for longer than he had ever actually considered it a possibility, so stopping so soon almost seemed sacrilegious. There was little help for it, though, not with the way Lex was constricting around him, rocking up still and whimpering beneath the heavy motions of his father's hips. Lionel came with short, quick strokes, panting heavily and whispering 'Lillian' in Lex's ear.

And then they were both lax and lazy, and Lex felt water-weak beneath Lionel again, shifting his leg off of Lionel's shoulder and unfolding himself slowly. "Dad..." His voice wasn't quite husky, but it was sensual and pleased sounding. It smiled at Lionel, just as it did when Lex pulled some business trick.

It was really quite enough to put Lionel just a bit on edge. "Well, Lex. You're just as exquisite as I've been told," Lionel settled for saying, a hand moving up to cup Lex's cheek.

"Mmm." Lex's intense blue eyes closed, and he turned his hand to kiss the palm that had been against his smooth cheek. "You know... How you're always telling me that sex is just a game?" He shifted, grimacing just a little when he worked his hips out from under Lionel's and the cock out of his ass. "Checkmate."

For a moment, Lionel could almost be shocked. Almost. Instead, he gave a faint, hollow laugh. "Really? And how is that, Lex?"

There was no answer from Lex as he shifted out from under Lionel, and got to his feet again. Lex's sleekly muscled body seemed less like a plaything, and more like a triumphant feline circling wounded prey, and the look in his eyes and smile matched it. "I think you know, Dad. The implications of this were it to ever get out into the public are worse for you than for me."

"It won't ever go out into the public, Lex." Lionel was confident of that even as he sat up slowly, expression going hard and cold. "After all, who would believe you over me? You've always been a difficult child, an addict by nature. I could have you put away more quickly than you could damage me."

Lex looked disgusted but still too smug as he pulled his boxers up over his groin. The condom Lionel still half-wore had spared there being too much of a mess. "Except that I have it on film."

"You what?" There was no denying the sharp tone in Lionel's voice or the way that his eyes widened sharply, nostrils flaring in sudden fury. "You wouldn't dare...!"

"Wouldn't I?" Sharks had less teeth than Lex was so casually flashing to his father as he shimmied his expensive pants up over his hips. It had been too good to be true for Lionel... "I could show the world Lionel Luthor's idea of fatherly affection."

"You've never been worthy of true fatherly affection!" Lionel snarled, standing and stalking over to his son to backhand him roughly. "You little bastard!"

"It's still filming," Lex growled, even as he brought a hand up to his jaw. One more bruise among many he'd already left on his boy. "You taught me to be this way -- since Mom died, and now you regret it?"

"I regret nothing," Lionel informed him, fighting back the urge to reach forward and touch the red splotch staining that pale cheek. "You can't have more than one copy of it, Lex, and I'll find it."

"No, you won't." Lex casually stepped backwards to pick up his shirt and tie. He was still sensual, still the same boy that Lionel had just fucked to the sound of his cries -- only with a colder, sharper edge to his eyes. "If you comply with me, that film won't go anywhere."

"What do you want?" At the very least, bargaining bought time. Lionel was very good at that.

Lex slipped his shirt on, and draped his tie around his neck before he approached his father again. "For you to leave my friends, my company and myself alone. It's an intangible request, but tangible enough that if you break it I'll notice." He lifted his chin defiantly, looking up to his father's eyes.

"Friends..." Lionel snorted, turning to begin dressing himself, as well. No point in being naked before his clothed son. "The people who use you, you mean. You'll regret it, Lex, when there's no blood to save you when you're drowning." No family.

"I've already drowned in blood, and been saved." And God help his son, but Lex believed it with a fervor that only Born Again Christians could have. It was in the firmness of his voice, the way his eyes softened faintly before flaring sharp again.

"The day will come when the Kent boy abandons you, Lex. When even he can't save you. What will you do then, I wonder?" Lionel said slowly as he dressed.

"I don't know." Lex loomed near to Lionel, half-watching him. "But I won't have you trying to keep me under your thumb any longer."

"I'll let it go for now, Lex," Lionel decided with a slow smile as he pulled his shirt on and buttoned it slowly. "But I would be very careful if I was you."

"You should be careful too, father -- enjoy your trip to Gotham." Lex's smile wasn't pleasant as he moved to the bedroom door and opened it.

"Don't worry, Lex," Lionel called after him. "I'm sure I will."

All pleasant, half-familial facades again. Lex wasn't stupid in his charade -- the camera couldn't be immediately spotted by Lionel, and there were probably fifty something copies of it in existence. To eradicate them would be to risk that Lex would release it to the public, and Lex was right in thinking that it would damage Lionel much worse than it would ever damage him.

Damn him.

"I'll see you at the annual Christmas party, then," Lionel decided. "Or perhaps I won't. But don't call me when that boy abandons you, Lex. I'll only laugh."

"You say that as if I'd call you for anything in the first place." Lex waited in the doorway until his father started out of it, too. Then he closed the door behind them both, ready to escort his father out.

"Well. A father can hope that eventually his son will cease being a selfish, recalcitrant brat and become the man he hopes his son will be," Lionel said lightly.

"Mewling with spread legs?" Lex smiled coldly at one of the staff as they walked past him, and Lionel knew the man wouldn't say a word of what he'd just heard -- if he valued his continued existence.

"You're much more pleasant that way than the other," Lionel decided firmly.

"I'm sure you'd think so." The walk down the stairs held no oddities, the two of them seemingly comfortable side by side; Lex was surprisingly skilled at acting. Probably all of those theatrical people he'd fucked.

Quiet reigned between them as Lionel stopped off in the study, picking up his jacket and a few other things he'd left behind. Lex settled into the chair behind his desk, the tableaux returning to what it had been at the start of the afternoon.

"Well, Lex. The next time I see you won't be so pleasant," Lionel decided.

"Hopefully." Lex lounged powerfully in his chair, and reached forwards with a flick of his left hand -- abnormal even in that -- and touched a few keys on his laptop. Then he turned it around for his father to see. A close-up of the bed, from just a few minutes before. "Don't forget what I'm asking of you."

"I'll give you what you want," Lionel agreed easily. For now, he would, anyway, but he wasn't the only one who could be blind to things. Lex was occasionally damned with that lack of vision. Eventually, the Kent boy would lie one time too many, be late one time too many, and then...

Then.

Lex would be his boy again, will he, nil he.