It's Sunday, and Lex does what he always does.

He allows himself to sleep in until 8:00. He works out for an hour in his private gym, doing reps on the various machines and then finishing with matwork. Sweaty and warm, he hits the shower, emerging clean and damp fifteen minutes later. By this time he's ravenous and heads to the kitchen for a light breakfast of coffee and a pastry. Sometimes it's coffee and yogurt, sometimes it's coffee and fruit. Very occasionally, it's coffee and eggs. But coffee is a fixture of his mornings.

Breakfast is brief. Lex usually spends more time poring over the newspaper than actually eating his breakfast.

After breakfast, Lex gets straight to work. Sundays are paperwork days, with the rest of the world resting or playing or otherwise enjoying the day off. Lex uses the day to review reports, draft memos, balance his checkbook, and do all the other mundane things that need to be done that he can't always get to during the week.

He breaks for lunch around 11:30. What he has for lunch varies. If he eats at home, it's usually something cold, such as sushi or a sandwich. If he eats out, then it is usually a lunch meeting with a fellow businessman, and he will order something light. Not a sandwich or a burger, which are too messy to eat with company. He is always home by 1:00 at the latest.

After lunch, Lex gets back to work. Sometimes he works straight through the day. If he finishes early, he does some light reading or watches television.

Lex dinner schedule varies depending on the season. On Sundays, it's an hour before sunset. Dinner is typically a more extravagant affair than lunch, and every Sunday he always makes sure to eat at home. Lex has a diverse palate, and dinner can be a rare steak or an Indian curry or seafood paella. He eats dinner alone, sometimes over the evening edition of the paper, and usually finishes in half an hour to forty-five minutes. Afterwards, he makes sure to brush his teeth. Then he pours himself a scotch and waits.

It never takes long. As the last of the sun retreats and the stars shed their daytime shroud, Superman arrives.


It was Lex's idea the first time.

"Come over," he suggested. "Tonight. So I can thank you properly."

Superman set Lex on the penthouse balcony. "I don't need your gratitude, Luthor."

"Are you sure?" Lex purred, running his fingers down the blue-uniformed chest. Superman's eyes widened, and then he was gone.

Lex didn't really expect Superman to show. But he did.


All of the windows in the penthouse are mirrored, so that Lex can look out but no one can look in. This has never mattered to Superman. The balcony doors aren't supposed to open from the outside, but Lex had them changed.

Superman lets himself in. Lex doesn't move from his place on the couch, but he puts his drink on the coffee table as Superman pads across the floor. They look at each other for a moment, Superman silhouetted by the city behind him, Lex's profile washed with man-made light. Finally, Superman kneels. Lex slides his hands over Superman's shoulders and the cape slithers to the floor like a dead animal.


"I didn't think you'd come," Lex said.

"You asked me to," Superman replied.

"I thought you didn't want my gratitude."

"Oh, let's just cut to the chase." Superman grabbed Lex by the collar and kissed him, cupping one hand over his groin.

That was the last time they kissed.


Superman unbuttons Lex's pants without any preamble and pulls them off, leaving them in a tangle with the cape. Lex doesn't wear underwear on Sundays, and he's already half-hard. Superman soon licks and mouths him to full hardness; Lex throws back his head and curls his toes, running his fingers through Superman's hair. He doesn't speak except for words like "yeah" and "good," but mostly makes satisfied grunts and sighs. The loudest sounds come from Superman's noisy, wet mouth. Eventually, one of Superman's hands disappears between his legs to rub himself through the red briefs, which clearly outline his erection.

Lex is always silent when he comes, eyes closed and teeth biting into his lower lip. Superman swallows, the muscles of his throat constricting beautifully, and holds Lex in his mouth until Lex grabs him by the hair and pulls.

Without saying anything, Lex gets up and walks away, discarding his shirt on the way. Superman follows, peeling off his uniform piece by piece. Finally, Superman is naked in Lex Luthor's bedroom, Metropolis blazing from behind the wall of glass.


"God," Lex gasped, spent and wilted on his couch.

Superman looked up from between Lex's whorishly splayed knees. "I'm going to fuck you."

"Yes," Lex breathed. "Fuck me. But not here."


Superman pushes Lex onto the bed and follows after snatching the lube off the bedside table. Lex sighs and pulls his knees up. Superman slicks two fingers and takes hold of one calf, the other hand drifting down and back. Their eyes remain locked on each other, like this is some kind of contest or showdown, and then Lex's breath hitches. His next breath shudders like something dying, and Superman's fingers start to slide in and out with smooth, fleshy sounds. Eventually, Lex's breath speeds and his eyes fall shut. Superman seems to take that as his cue.

He slicks his own cock and drops the lube over the side of the bed. Then he grabs Lex behind the knees and hoists him up before burying himself in one clean stroke. Lex makes some sound like "Ah!" which is quickly bitten off and clutches the sheets. Superman begins to move in and out. For long moments, minutes, it's the countermelody of flesh meeting flesh, stifled gasps and moans. It's Lex Luthor and Superman in bed, the dissolution of a legendary friendship into this.

Lex is hard again, but Superman makes no move to touch it, so Lex unfists one hand to stroke himself. Superman growls and pumps his hips harder. Lex twists and squirms, panting harshly, pumping himself faster and more violently until finally he jerks and comes.

Superman comes not long afterwards with a strained grunt, his back arched. He remains with bowed head for a moment, shaking his head like a boxer in the ring. Unlike Lex, there is no sweat coating his skin. He's Superman, after all, and nothing works his alien cells hard enough to require him to perspire. He pulls out slowly, and Lex pulls the covers over both of them.


"Are you going to stay?" Lex asked into the dark.

"Mmm." Superman sounded sex-sated.

"You can let yourself out," Lex told him, and rolled over.


Lex is woken several hours later by Superman's mouth on his cock. He surfaces from sleep in fits and starts, one sense functioning before another awakens, until finally he is able to open his eyes. The covers have been pulled from his body, and Superman is at a right angle to him, licking and mouthing his shaft. Lex reaches for him, but Superman pulls off and backs away. Superman fetches the lube from its careless place on the floor and tosses it to Lex, who catches it neatly in one hand. Superman positions himself face-down, clutching a pillow and raising his ass in the air.


"No, no," Lex growled, "it's my turn."

Superman's eyes were bright, his grin sharp. "How do you want me? On my back?"

"On your knees," Lex ordered.

"On my knees," Superman agreed.


It's the same as before, only backwards. Lex slicks his fingers and thrusts them in and out. He's faster, more brutal, but he can afford to be. Superman can take it. When Superman whimpers and turns his face into the pillow, Lex retracts his fingers and moves his slick hand over his own cock, head tilted back and face arranged into a beatific expression, like a saint going to God. He sets the tube on the bedside table, takes Superman by the hips, and pushes in slowly. Superman makes a muffled sound into the pillow, like a pleading growl. Lex pauses every so often with a strained look on his face and then finally slams himself in all the way, burying himself to the balls. Superman seems to stop breathing entirely.

Then Lex begins to move, short and quick, and Superman moves back into it, twisting his hips. Superman is hard, has been since Lex opened his eyes, and Lex reaches down to brush his fingers against it, making Superman groan. Lex does it again, then wraps his hand around it and pumps.

Lex comes first, shaking and breathless. He hangs over Superman, panting, and impatiently Superman reaches back to curl his hand around Lex's. Lex doesn't resist, just lets himself be used. When Superman finishes, muscles taut, head thrown back, Lex relaxes and lets go.


"This doesn't change anything," Lex said, but the heat in his voice was gone, replaced by something silent and terrible and still.

"Of course not," Superman agreed.

"But," said Lex, "you can come back next Sunday. If you want."


The next time Lex wakes, Superman is gone.

On Tuesday, Superman finds and eradicates one of Lex's labs, which of course cannot be directly traced back to Lex Luthor. Lex retaliates with a public statement on the immense amount of property damage that Superman causes and the danger of allowing him to judge who is right and who is wrong when he is an alien and has so much of an advantage over ordinary people. On Wednesday, Superman responds that all he does is stop crime wherever and whenever he sees it and also help humanity whenever it cannot help itself, as in the case of the fire in California last month. On Friday, LuthorCorp completes development of a new armor-weapon combination for military and police use.

And on Sunday night, Lex finishes all his work by sunset and waits for Superman.