The sky lights up in shocked disorder, followed by waves of thunder crashing in the distance. It’s dark, and rain falls in sheets to the ground, glazing the windows in distorted patterns.

Lex sits in his office on the cool leather of the sofa and gazes into the fire. His eyes reflect the flickers of red-tipped flames. He clutches a glass in one hand, the amber liquid swirling dangerously as his wrist snaps back and forth in impatience, and lets out a controlled sigh.

Nights like these always find him here, tightly wound and drinking too much scotch, glancing at his watch far too often. Nights like these find him pacing the floor and reciting the chronology of dead rulers and kings and empires and forgotten Latin poetry. Nights like these always just find him, period, creeping up on him while he glances out the window every few minutes.

At first, Clark always told him to go on to bed, no need to wait up; he was okay, he would be careful, he’d come home. But Lex had never been one to accept what others told him, and after a few years, Clark had stopped prodding Lex all together. Had just simply kissed him softly on the lips and said “I’ll come home” and then flew out into the night.

But it’s never until he feels Clark’s body next to his under the sheets that he can breathe evenly. Even on calm nights, Lex is prone to shifting uneasily in the bed until Clark finishes his rounds – but on stormy nights, when the wind screams through the trees and bends limbs until they crack and fall to the ground, no one should be out, let alone flying in the air.

There are nights when Clark returns from rounds and Lex is sitting in bed, reading or watching the television. Clark always grins at him before speeding to the bathroom, landing in a wet heap on top of Lex seconds later, mouthing kisses along Lex’s neck. Lex barely has time to fling away his book, or the remote, before Clark has him on his back, fingers digging into his hips, Clark’s lips dragging down his chest. Droplets of water always fall on Lex’s face, and Lex will protest, pushing at Clark’s chest until Clark rolls off him, spreads his legs and draws Lex close, whispering to Lex in dirty undertones, sucking on his neck and stroking down his back until Lex is inside Clark, fucking both of them to exhaustion.

Other nights Lex finds himself dozing off, waking only to find the reading lamp still on, and Clark curled on one side of the bed. Lex will crawl over, wrap his legs over Clark’s and murmur into his neck, his hands curving along the lines of Clark’s shoulders, his arms, and Lex will thread his fingers through Clark’s and the rest of the night is filled with slow kisses, long languid strokes of hands that cover both of them and Lex won’t leave any part of Clark’s body unmarked.

Then there are the nights when Clark stumbles through the door, his cape hanging in tatters off one shoulder and his uniform shredded, holes poked through the legs, the sides. Lex will silently follow him into the bathroom, wait until Clark is under the hot steaming water, and then slip in behind him, run his hands along Clark’s buttocks, up his back, massaging his neck. Clark always turns around, his eyes glassy, and whispers to Lex about the horrors he’s seen. Lex knows Clark gives him the edited version, but he shushes Clark with soothing kisses along Clark’s brow, then turns around and braces himself against the wall. He’s always bruised the next morning, fingerprints dark and blue on his hips, the imprint of Clark fucking him hard against the slick tile of the shower imbedded in his memory.

The rain pelts insistently now, the sound crawling against Lex’s skin with pricks of annoyance. He stands and begins pacing the room, scrubbing a hand over his scalp and mutters curses. He glances at the chessboard as he passes the table, reaches out his hand to knock over the queen. After the five games already tonight, the smirk of the pale marble pieces mock him, and he turns his back, walking briskly to the desk. He slumps back in his chair and looks around at the empty room.

“Dammit,” he swears loudly, and the word echoes out the door and down the hallway. He doesn’t have any work to occupy his time, thanks to his more than efficient assistant, and it seems futile to conjure up the amount of concentration it would take to focus on reading a book. So instead, he jumps out of the chair and resumes pacing, marking off the room; the number of steps from the desk to the sofa, the sofa to the bookshelf, the bookshelf to the door.

He’s just getting ready to seriously consider having the room repainted when the French doors to the balcony fly open with a bang and wind gusts into the room, sending papers on his desk skittering across the floor. He freezes, his back to the door, and listens to the wet slosh of feet coming toward him. He turns slowly, eyes catching the final movements of Clark’s arms as he peels the suit off and drops it in a soggy heap on the floor.

“Knew I’d find you in here,” Clark grins, reaching out to Lex and catching him by the front of his shirt. Clark pulls Lex close, his hands slipping over the buttons, fingering them open before sliding the shirt off Lex’s shoulders.

“I’m home,” Clark murmurs against his lips, circling his fingers over the small of Lex’s back, and Lex buries his hands in Clark’s wet hair, opens his mouth, tangles their tongues until they are both breathless.

“There’s a storm,” Lex says, mouthing Clark’s collarbone before lightly sucking his way up Clark’s neck to his ear. Clark squirms against him, and Lex brushes his lips across Clark’s before falling to his knees.

“Lightning,” he whispers, trailing his fingers along Clark’s thighs, under his balls, softly stroking the skin behind. He looks up to see Clark’s green eyes intense and dark, his parted, swollen lips, and the whisper they’re shaping that’s Lex’s name. Clark runs the back of his hand along Lex’s jaw, his fingers lingering over Lex’s cheek.

“I’m home,” Clark repeats, and Lex leans forward and sucks the tip of Clark’s cock into his mouth, lowers slowly and applies pressure right where Clark likes, sets a rhythm that Clark knows well, and grips his fingers into Clark’s hips. He moves faster, taking Clark deeper, his lips and tongue showing Clark the frustration and concern that has been building all night.

Lightning illuminates the room, thunder rattles against the corners of the walls, but Clark is gasping and thrusting his hips forward and coming in Lex’s mouth and Lex tastes Clark, and rain, and home.