Lex approached the conversation the same way he approached every serious conversation in his life.

Like a contract.

Clear terms. Clear boundaries. Clear expectations. No misunderstandings.

He stood near the window of his penthouse, Metropolis lit up behind him, hands clasped behind his back, silent for a long moment before speaking—organizing his thoughts like bullet points in a proposal.

“…This is not a conversation that should happen in the middle of an argument,” he said calmly. “Or in the middle of anything else, for that matter.”

He turned slightly, expression composed, analytical, but not cold—just precise.

“If we are going to do this, we are going to do this correctly,” Lex continued. “Which means rules, boundaries, and a very clear understanding that consent can be withdrawn at any time for any reason.”

A pause.

He nodded once, like he had just agreed with his own statement.

“Safe words exist for a reason. Use them if necessary. I will stop immediately. No exceptions.”

Another pause, longer this time.

“I am not interested in guessing,” he said. “I am interested in knowing.”

He adjusted his cuff slightly, voice quieter now, more serious than before.

“…I don’t break things that belong to me,” Lex said. “And I don’t break things I intend to keep.”