Summer Story part 8
11/18/04 01:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyI'm pushing this along a little because frankly, I want to get to Clark and Lex! I've been having fun thoughts about them, *G*
Previous Parts are here, in the back row of shelves in the library and getting a little handie.Show-offs.
Summer Story
Wade sat back against the bed and thumbed the controller.
“Fuck!” he screamed and threw it against the wall hard as he could and enjoyed the sound of plastic shattering.
“God damn it, jerk face, that’s the third this week. Give it up--you suck.”
Wade looked through the open doorway at the guy across the big space, and thought about getting up and cramming his head into the screen he was staring at, but he needed the jerk so—
he grunted and lifted himself from the floor, scratching idly at the tattoo on his arm. He wandered over to the fridge and grabbed a beer before coming over to flop down on the deep couch facing the bank of computers. He pushed the couch’s other occupant’s legs hard to the side. “Move over, Donny.”
“Ouch, stop.” the guy said sleepily. His head nodded forward onto his chest. Tattoos fanned out in an arc from either side of the armholes of the wife beater he wore and Wade traced them with his foot as he drank his beer. When Donny pushed his foot away with a groggy protest, Wade pushed him to the floor.
“Man--Wade, you fuck—“He shifted onto his side and drifted off again. Wade figured they’d better get busy soon, or Donny was going to sleep himself to death.
He called out to the other guy, “Frank, anything?”
“No—not a word. I’ve looked all over and I’m not finding anything. It’s like we never did a thing.”
He swung the chair around to face Wade. “Why is that, you think? I mean that was a fucking lot of money we swept out of there. Most that we’ve scored yet, including the bank.”
Wade considered, sipping at his beer and thinking the whole job through. Frank’s bitch gave them the location of the vault—they were in and out in plenty of time, nothing to tie them to the crime but still—no mention of the robbery on the news- anywhere. It was like it didn’t happen. What the fuck…was the old bastard that fuckin’ rich he didn’t even miss it? Or was *he* missing something? Wade shrugged and emptied the bottle—fuck. Forget it. He felt a little…something. Horny, maybe. Bored. Frank was caught up in the computers again, talking to himself. Donny was snoring a little on the rug in front of the TV.
“Aaaah, shit. I’m going out, I’m bored.” He lifted his jacket off a chair and shrugged it on.
Frank answered without looking his way, ”Uh-hunh. Tell Whitney I said hi.”
“Fuck you, ass hole. I’m going to get something to eat.” He moved towards the door to the loft, and snatched a handful of bills out of a box on his way.
Frank looked at him then, and said, “You need to be careful about that—guy. He’s not in this thing with us, and he could be a liability. He lives with a judge, for god’s sake.” He swung back to the screen.
“Ass is ass, you can get it anywhere—.” He scowled at the screen. “And as long as we’re talking here, you know, I’ve seen you screw a million chicks, what’s up with the *guy* anyway? I don’t get it.”
Wade tried to force his snarl into something resembling a grin. “Why not, if someone hands it to you? My dick doesn’t care. Why the fuck should you? It’s none of your damn business.”
“No, *that’s* not,” he sneered. “But that kid… anything that’s a danger to the mission *is* my business, okay?”
Wade growled and said, “Yeah, I hear you. Let me worry about that, all right and you mind your own fuckin’ business.”
Frank snorted. “Sure. Go on—get something to eat. We’ll be here.”
Wade left the loft with the conversation weighing on his mind. Since everything went to hell with his knees this was the best and the safest he’d been in ages. Shifting product around the city nearly got his ass killed and it was Frank who bailed him out of that shit, introduced him to the ‘magic tatts’. It was the biggest high he’d ever had, and the loot—fuck, they were rolling in it and no one could stop them. They were like arch-villains without a Warrior Angel to bust them. Life was great –so why the fuck wasn’t he happy.
Not like Whit. Whit was happy. Up in his little house with his new little family. With his friends. Fuck buddies. Whatever. It was cool. Whit could screw whoever the fuck he wanted.
Wade stomped across the sidewalk, yanked open the car door and flopped in. Not my problem. He slammed the door hard enough to rock the car.
‘Course, it was kind of unspoken that when he wanted Whit to be there, he should be there. But Whit could do what he wanted otherwise, sure — what the fuck, he did whatever he wanted, fucked who he wanted. ‘Course he wasn’t fuckin’ his damn *friends*…
He pulled out from the curb with a squeal of tires and scowled angrily at the street. He was thinking like a bitch. Worrying about Whitney. Like he was his girlfriend or some stupid shit. Fuck. He better be downtown, damn it. He wasn’t going to look for him all over the place. He should know to be where he could find him…he sure as hell better know.
He parked the car on the street and walked down to the coffee shop the kids seemed to waste all their time at. He leaned against the window and peered in—okay, there he was and… Pete. Oh well. He stared into the shop at Whit.
He looked sick or …sad, and Pete was—looked like he was trying to cheer him up.
He could do that, maybe. Bet I could make him feel better, whatever it is. Maybe his dad? Hard to believe he’d look that broken up about the old bastard.
Whit raised his head and stared right into his eyes and Wade felt a little bloom of warmth, and instantly fought to crush it out. Bitch-- you’re acting like a bitch. He wheeled about and headed for the car. If Whit knew what was good for him, he’d be in the car in a minute.
There we go, that’s good, Wade thought when he saw Whit coming up the sidewalk. He let a smile show, and Whit smiled back and he suddenly didn’t care that it made him feel good.
He liked looking at Whit. He liked his eyes and his hair and his nose—his hands twitched as he thought about his body—he liked that too.
”Hey,” Whit smiled and sounded a little breathless,” We’re just talking, me and Pete. We’ve got to get home soon.”
“Get in the car; we’re going for a ride.”
“I can’t, I really have to go home—“ Whit started to back away and Wade slapped the roof of the car.
“Get in the car. Now.” Wade grabbed the back of his neck and rubbed. Shit. He took a deep breath, looked Whit in the eyes and ground out, “Please. Get. In. The. Car.”
“Okay,” Whit replied, looking puzzled and wary, but climbed in and as Wade pulled away from the curb again in the rear- view mirror he could see Pete on the sidewalk, hands on his hips and a scowl that should have made him burst into flame.
They drove around for a couple of hours, Whit talking nearly nonstop the whole time, which was fine with Wade. He just nodded when he had to and let the words wash over him.
Whit glanced at him more than once with guarded curiosity.
They stopped and picked up some sandwiches, Wade bought a couple of beers and they drove around some more until Whit asked him to stop at a little picnic area.
He sat on the hood of the car in the parking area and smoked, drank his beer while Whit sat down by a little pond eating, throwing pieces of his sandwich to some ducks.
He watched Whit walk around and toss things in the water. Lit up, smoked another cigarette and watched him talk to a little kid. He couldn’t see his face at the distance he was but he knew he was laughing by the way his head moved. How did he know that?
He cracked his beer and drank it down, set the can between his legs and thought it might be time to walk away from Whit. And the thought pissed him off.
****************
Later that afternoon he dropped Whit a short distance from the Ross’ and drove away looking at him in his rearview mirror until he couldn’t see him any more. He realized he’d hardly said two words to him the whole time and he’d never asked him why he looked so sad. Not that he gave a damn. Wade growled. It started like that—someone started to creep under your skin and the next thing you knew you were weak—weakness didn’t get you through the night. Weakness was something you had to rip out before it ate you alive.
Fuckin’ Whitney. God dammit. He couldn’t get him out of his mind.
Shit. He’d *killed* his old man because he was *hitting* him. Killed him. Damn, it was eerie feeling the old bastard’s heart pumping in his hand. He could feel it struggling against his squeezing fingers and in a way it wasn’t too bad a feeling. Wade wondered if you could do it without killing a person.
He smiled, grabbed his pack of smokes and tapped one out, flipped it up to his lips and lit it. Exhaled a long thick plume of smoke and smiled wide.
Yeah. Interesting thought.
Okay! TBC, beloveds!
Previous Parts are here, in the back row of shelves in the library and getting a little handie.Show-offs.
Summer Story
Wade sat back against the bed and thumbed the controller.
“Fuck!” he screamed and threw it against the wall hard as he could and enjoyed the sound of plastic shattering.
“God damn it, jerk face, that’s the third this week. Give it up--you suck.”
Wade looked through the open doorway at the guy across the big space, and thought about getting up and cramming his head into the screen he was staring at, but he needed the jerk so—
he grunted and lifted himself from the floor, scratching idly at the tattoo on his arm. He wandered over to the fridge and grabbed a beer before coming over to flop down on the deep couch facing the bank of computers. He pushed the couch’s other occupant’s legs hard to the side. “Move over, Donny.”
“Ouch, stop.” the guy said sleepily. His head nodded forward onto his chest. Tattoos fanned out in an arc from either side of the armholes of the wife beater he wore and Wade traced them with his foot as he drank his beer. When Donny pushed his foot away with a groggy protest, Wade pushed him to the floor.
“Man--Wade, you fuck—“He shifted onto his side and drifted off again. Wade figured they’d better get busy soon, or Donny was going to sleep himself to death.
He called out to the other guy, “Frank, anything?”
“No—not a word. I’ve looked all over and I’m not finding anything. It’s like we never did a thing.”
He swung the chair around to face Wade. “Why is that, you think? I mean that was a fucking lot of money we swept out of there. Most that we’ve scored yet, including the bank.”
Wade considered, sipping at his beer and thinking the whole job through. Frank’s bitch gave them the location of the vault—they were in and out in plenty of time, nothing to tie them to the crime but still—no mention of the robbery on the news- anywhere. It was like it didn’t happen. What the fuck…was the old bastard that fuckin’ rich he didn’t even miss it? Or was *he* missing something? Wade shrugged and emptied the bottle—fuck. Forget it. He felt a little…something. Horny, maybe. Bored. Frank was caught up in the computers again, talking to himself. Donny was snoring a little on the rug in front of the TV.
“Aaaah, shit. I’m going out, I’m bored.” He lifted his jacket off a chair and shrugged it on.
Frank answered without looking his way, ”Uh-hunh. Tell Whitney I said hi.”
“Fuck you, ass hole. I’m going to get something to eat.” He moved towards the door to the loft, and snatched a handful of bills out of a box on his way.
Frank looked at him then, and said, “You need to be careful about that—guy. He’s not in this thing with us, and he could be a liability. He lives with a judge, for god’s sake.” He swung back to the screen.
“Ass is ass, you can get it anywhere—.” He scowled at the screen. “And as long as we’re talking here, you know, I’ve seen you screw a million chicks, what’s up with the *guy* anyway? I don’t get it.”
Wade tried to force his snarl into something resembling a grin. “Why not, if someone hands it to you? My dick doesn’t care. Why the fuck should you? It’s none of your damn business.”
“No, *that’s* not,” he sneered. “But that kid… anything that’s a danger to the mission *is* my business, okay?”
Wade growled and said, “Yeah, I hear you. Let me worry about that, all right and you mind your own fuckin’ business.”
Frank snorted. “Sure. Go on—get something to eat. We’ll be here.”
Wade left the loft with the conversation weighing on his mind. Since everything went to hell with his knees this was the best and the safest he’d been in ages. Shifting product around the city nearly got his ass killed and it was Frank who bailed him out of that shit, introduced him to the ‘magic tatts’. It was the biggest high he’d ever had, and the loot—fuck, they were rolling in it and no one could stop them. They were like arch-villains without a Warrior Angel to bust them. Life was great –so why the fuck wasn’t he happy.
Not like Whit. Whit was happy. Up in his little house with his new little family. With his friends. Fuck buddies. Whatever. It was cool. Whit could screw whoever the fuck he wanted.
Wade stomped across the sidewalk, yanked open the car door and flopped in. Not my problem. He slammed the door hard enough to rock the car.
‘Course, it was kind of unspoken that when he wanted Whit to be there, he should be there. But Whit could do what he wanted otherwise, sure — what the fuck, he did whatever he wanted, fucked who he wanted. ‘Course he wasn’t fuckin’ his damn *friends*…
He pulled out from the curb with a squeal of tires and scowled angrily at the street. He was thinking like a bitch. Worrying about Whitney. Like he was his girlfriend or some stupid shit. Fuck. He better be downtown, damn it. He wasn’t going to look for him all over the place. He should know to be where he could find him…he sure as hell better know.
He parked the car on the street and walked down to the coffee shop the kids seemed to waste all their time at. He leaned against the window and peered in—okay, there he was and… Pete. Oh well. He stared into the shop at Whit.
He looked sick or …sad, and Pete was—looked like he was trying to cheer him up.
He could do that, maybe. Bet I could make him feel better, whatever it is. Maybe his dad? Hard to believe he’d look that broken up about the old bastard.
Whit raised his head and stared right into his eyes and Wade felt a little bloom of warmth, and instantly fought to crush it out. Bitch-- you’re acting like a bitch. He wheeled about and headed for the car. If Whit knew what was good for him, he’d be in the car in a minute.
There we go, that’s good, Wade thought when he saw Whit coming up the sidewalk. He let a smile show, and Whit smiled back and he suddenly didn’t care that it made him feel good.
He liked looking at Whit. He liked his eyes and his hair and his nose—his hands twitched as he thought about his body—he liked that too.
”Hey,” Whit smiled and sounded a little breathless,” We’re just talking, me and Pete. We’ve got to get home soon.”
“Get in the car; we’re going for a ride.”
“I can’t, I really have to go home—“ Whit started to back away and Wade slapped the roof of the car.
“Get in the car. Now.” Wade grabbed the back of his neck and rubbed. Shit. He took a deep breath, looked Whit in the eyes and ground out, “Please. Get. In. The. Car.”
“Okay,” Whit replied, looking puzzled and wary, but climbed in and as Wade pulled away from the curb again in the rear- view mirror he could see Pete on the sidewalk, hands on his hips and a scowl that should have made him burst into flame.
They drove around for a couple of hours, Whit talking nearly nonstop the whole time, which was fine with Wade. He just nodded when he had to and let the words wash over him.
Whit glanced at him more than once with guarded curiosity.
They stopped and picked up some sandwiches, Wade bought a couple of beers and they drove around some more until Whit asked him to stop at a little picnic area.
He sat on the hood of the car in the parking area and smoked, drank his beer while Whit sat down by a little pond eating, throwing pieces of his sandwich to some ducks.
He watched Whit walk around and toss things in the water. Lit up, smoked another cigarette and watched him talk to a little kid. He couldn’t see his face at the distance he was but he knew he was laughing by the way his head moved. How did he know that?
He cracked his beer and drank it down, set the can between his legs and thought it might be time to walk away from Whit. And the thought pissed him off.
****************
Later that afternoon he dropped Whit a short distance from the Ross’ and drove away looking at him in his rearview mirror until he couldn’t see him any more. He realized he’d hardly said two words to him the whole time and he’d never asked him why he looked so sad. Not that he gave a damn. Wade growled. It started like that—someone started to creep under your skin and the next thing you knew you were weak—weakness didn’t get you through the night. Weakness was something you had to rip out before it ate you alive.
Fuckin’ Whitney. God dammit. He couldn’t get him out of his mind.
Shit. He’d *killed* his old man because he was *hitting* him. Killed him. Damn, it was eerie feeling the old bastard’s heart pumping in his hand. He could feel it struggling against his squeezing fingers and in a way it wasn’t too bad a feeling. Wade wondered if you could do it without killing a person.
He smiled, grabbed his pack of smokes and tapped one out, flipped it up to his lips and lit it. Exhaled a long thick plume of smoke and smiled wide.
Yeah. Interesting thought.
Okay! TBC, beloveds!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
11/18/04 06:27 am (UTC)But I love that you've brought this plot line in.
(no subject)
11/18/04 08:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/04 06:32 am (UTC)Icky and skeeery!
This is canon?
*flails*
Whoot!
(no subject)
11/18/04 08:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/04 01:12 pm (UTC)You realize i know NOTHING of canon. Nothing!
*bounce*
(no subject)
11/18/04 06:56 am (UTC)Sam needs to save Whit from Wade and be his one true love. Poor Whit. That's what it all comes back to, isn't it? Poor Woobie Whit. *sniff*
(no subject)
11/18/04 08:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/04 07:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/04 08:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/04 08:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/04 08:46 am (UTC)I can't see this little obsession ending well.
(no subject)
11/18/04 03:46 pm (UTC)You have no idea how happy that makes me! Stay tuned! *wink*
Eeep again!
11/18/04 10:53 am (UTC)Poor Whit, he has to gotten away from Wade before it all explodes in his face!
Hmm, will Clark's powers get exposed to his Scoobies in saving Whit?
Ack! Now I'm caught up and dying for more!
*must not hit refresh 100 times!* *g*
{{huggles}}
Re: Eeep again!
11/18/04 03:56 pm (UTC)So--I haven't actually written out the next part *koffislazykoff* but it'll be fun trust me. *crosses fingers, looks heavenward*
And making me a bit sympathetic to Wade, ouch!
It's like looking at a tarantula and thinking well, it is small and fuzzy...with lots of big back eyes...
(no subject)
11/18/04 04:41 pm (UTC)So now I guess that I just have to patiently wait for the next part! ;-)
(no subject)
11/19/04 04:27 am (UTC)This is a fantastic plot twist! Wow! Just, wow! I'm so excited (and not even for this Clark and Lex business you speak of)!!
Okay. Well, not only because of that!
This story makes me so happy!!
*hugs*
(no subject)
11/19/04 06:13 pm (UTC)must ...get...back...on ..track...
(no subject)
11/19/04 06:25 pm (UTC)What can I do to help?
(no subject)
11/19/04 06:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/19/04 06:51 pm (UTC)*g*
(no subject)
11/20/04 05:04 pm (UTC)Heh. Actually, it makes me think of how the producers are always like, "Metropolis is blue and dark and Smallville is warm and golden." And I just love the idea of that, because instead of Clana we get Clex. Whooo!
(no subject)
11/20/04 05:28 pm (UTC)It's interesting to see how these personal symbols seem to develop as I go along too, maybe because of spending sooo much time in this verse.
Yes, the boys are definitely staying together now. I can't see any reason why not (knowing how my brain likes to go off on these weird tangents)I want to tie up all flopping ends in this chapter...I hope.
(no subject)
11/21/04 03:07 am (UTC)*hugs* All the best.