Summer Story part 12
11/29/04 01:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyPrevious Parts to the story are here, strangely feeling the need for flannel shirts and tight blue jeans...
Hmmm. Sam-- Whit...good idea?
Summer Story
Whit was pulling a sleeping bag out from under the bed when Sam came in.
“Hey, Whit, what’s up, ugly? Where you going?” He watched Whit pull the dusty bag out and shake it gently, and he batted at the fluffs that escaped.
“Man, how come Mom doesn’t make you clean under the bed like she did me?” He mock-frowned.
Whit sat back with the bag and smiled up at him, “I’m going to bunk in with Pete for the next couple of nights--give you your room back.” He folded the bag into a manageable bundle but Sam squatted down nest to him and squeezed his shoulder.
“Naw, stay, it’s cool. We can talk- it’s been forever, right?” He scrubbed Whit’s hair and avoided his swinging elbow. He jumped back to his feet, grinning. “You don’t snore right? Or you know, fart in your sleep? “ He laughed and shoved the bag next to the bed with a hearty kick.
Whit grinned and felt better than he had in days. ”Fuck you, funny guy.”
“Unh- hunh…I think I’ll leave the window open. Just to be safe.” He grinned back at Whit and his whiskey colored eyes sparkled.
He went to the closet and changed his t-shirt for a clean polo shirt and grabbed another pair of shoes out of his suitcase.
“Where you going?” Whit asked and blushed at his tone. Maybe it only sounded whiney and childish to his ears because Sam just smiled.
“Taking Sheryl back home. She’s working in the morning so I’m going to drop her off. I’m coming back tonight—I think I have a lot of talking to do yet, “He smiled ruefully. Whit nodded. Abigail was pretty steamed about this whole engagement thing and Sheryl hadn’t done a damn thing to make it better with her superior attitude and her annoying way of never letting Sam out of her sight—not even to talk to his own mother, for god’s sake... Whit tried to calm himself. God he hated that bitch.
Sam stopped and looked at himself in the mirror. “How do I look?” he asked. Her parents are going to be there…” He had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. So worried about making an impression on her parents when she obviously didn’t give a damn about his? The pu-nany must be gold, as Mike would say.
Whit waved him off. “You look great. See you later.” It bothered him that Sam didn’t notice his curt dismissal.
Sam left with a grin and a quick punch to his shoulder.
Whit spread out his bag and lay down. He sighed and felt his good mood crash and burn. Damn it—why the fuck was he such an idiot? Why the fuck couldn’t he just, just stick to Wade. They deserved each other.
There was a tap at the door and Mike stuck his head in and swiveled his eyes around the room.
“You okay? Pete’s asleep. You’ll have to be quiet--"
“I’m staying in here,” Whit mumbled and turned on his side.
Mike looked at him for moment and came in, sat next to him on the floor.
“Look, you think that’s a good idea?” He stopped Whit’s angry response. “I’m thinking about you. You need to kind of let it go Whit—he’s marrying Sheryl for the happy ever after. You need to find yourself--”
Whit growled at him through clenched teeth, “Swear to god, if you say nice girl, I’ll kill you—there’s never ever going to be a nice girl, okay? I know that now, and I’m good with it—how about you try? Unless you’re a homophobic jerk off in which case you can kiss my whole ass.”
Whit flopped back on the bag and wished he were unconscious. A coma would be better than being blown by Brad Pitt right now…
Mike stood. "I don’t have a problem, Whit. But I’m not the one you have to worry about.”
Mike left the room and shut the door, plunging the room into darkness. Fuck—fuck—he’d always thought Mike was cool, but he was being a fucking jerk-off. He would never have thought he was that way—what about Mom Ross-- Bill? What if they thought the same way? He got up. Fine. He was going to stay with Wade tonight—he fucking well wouldn’t turn him away. Plus, he needed to think about this. If the Ross’ weren’t cool with him then he needed to leave, hard as it would be. He loved them, but he refused to be judged by anyone. He put sneaks on and grabbed some money and headed for the front door.
He passed the kitchen and a voice rolled out of the dark—“Get in here, asshole.”
Mike! Fuck he was being stalked by Mike. Her headed towards the front door and Mike growled, “How fast can you run, boy?”
Fuck! He stomped into the kitchen and glowered at him. “What? You want to beat me up some more? Hey, maybe I could lay down on the floor and you can kick me in the head—or do you *all* want me to get out?” Mike’s face was highlighted by the light over the stove and his expression was not pleased to say the least.
“You think this is about being gay? Hell. If that were the case, Lex and Clark wouldn’t be in here would they? You'd have to be blind not to see they love each other, and it’s cool and Ma’s cool with it and so’s Pop. That’s not the issue. What it is, Sam might bounce you pretty hard—*he’s* the one with issues. You understand? I’m tryin’ to spare you.”
Whit dropped into a chair and folded his hands on the table. Well. Good. It was a great relief to know that it wasn’t the family—it was just Sam. Okay.
He felt free, kind of nice and loose and relaxed without the tension of Sam always on the edge of his mind. He smiled at Mike. It was like a big weight had been lifted off his soul and it was so light he was floating. So light, he wasn’t sure if he could keep sitting upright in his chair.
He didn’t need to ever worry about Sam again. And now he could be with Wade like he should be—he could give all of himself to Wade, be the kind of …whatever it was Wade considered him to be.
“Thanks Mike—thanks a lot, you really made a difference for me tonight. I have been kind of an idiot, but not any more. Thanks for looking out for me.” He stood and reached a fist across the table and Mike tapped it with his.
“Look, Whit, don’t get me wrong, he loves you like a brother, and he could probably get over it, but…you know it’s just…” He looked up into Whit’s smiling face with concern.
Whit laughed a little, ”Oh yeah. I’m sure he could…it’s Sam, right?”
Mike looked a little dubious, and asked Whit to please stay in tonight, “Promise me Whit, keep your ass in the house, okay?”
Whit shrugged and promised, what the fuck, tonight, tomorrow—it didn’t really make a difference, Wade was going to be there when he needed Whit, no problem.
It was much later in the evening when Sam came back. Whit had been sound asleep until he came in stumbling about in exaggerated care, trying not to step on him and of course stepping on him, turning on the bedside lamp and nearly knocking it to the floor. “Shhhh,” he admonished the lamp, and put it shakily back on the table. Whit’s eyes shot open at the noise but he re-closed them and pretended to be asleep, even when Sam was half an inch from his face and boozy fumes filled his nose. "Whit,” he stage whispered, “Whit, are you asleep?” he leaned back, “Asleep, hanh? Good, ‘sbetter.”
He patted Whit heavily on his chest and stood. He stripped off and dropped his clothes on Whit, staggering to fall on the bed when he tried to pull his pants off. Whit watched him through narrowed eyes as he flailed his legs until the pants flew off. Another time, he might have thought it cute, but now he was too angry.
Sam was stinking drunk and stinking was not a figure of speech. He smelled of alcohol and cigarettes and dope and Whit was pissed. What the fuck was his problem? If Mom Ross knew—
Sam staggered upright again and pulled off his boxers, tossed them in the far corner of the room with a grimace. Whit stopped breathing.
Fuck.
Sam stood; swaying slightly from side to side, and idly ran a hand over his dick. Whit could feel his chest swelling—he needed to breathe but he was afraid to. Damn it damn it damn it! Lay down, you fucker, he groaned inside. He could see Sam’s dick starting to fill and move under the caress of his fingers.
He did drop backward onto the bed then, and Whit gratefully closed his eyes and hoped he’d pass out or fall asleep god, anything but do what he was afraid he was about to do. And Sam sighed heavily and moaned a little and Whit could hear the bedsprings squeak as he shifted. And then a sound as familiar as breathing curled into his ear--- bastard. A slick sound, the sound of skin on skin. A soft breathy moan floated down to him and stabbed him in the heart as it flooded his dick with heat.
Oh fuck, just kill me, please…Sam was groaning steadily, louder and louder as he worked his fist over his dick faster and faster, his hips snapping against the bed and making the springs squeak in a rhythm he knew well. Sam was talking; muttering to himself and Whit struggled not to listen but every murmur made his dick jump, and his hand stole over it, wet with the precome leaking steadily onto his belly and the drooling tip lay in a warm slick pool;
he pressed his hand down on it and the head slipped and slid against his skin and he tried not to moan along with Sam.
Sam was gasping, talking loud enough that Whit couldn’t block it any more—“touch me-- touch me--please,” He heard him moan, “please, please, please--"
Whit bit his lip until tears of pain rolled down his cheek and his hand moved faster, tighter, harder he couldn’t stop now, he was right on the edge, his breath burning in his throat, his hips arched off the floor.
Sam was so out of it he was beyond trying to control himself. His legs were spread wide and he threw his head back and groaned something low and throaty, Whit thought he saw--Sam had a finger plunging in and out of himself and Whit died then. He shoved a hand between his lips and bit down grinding his teeth into his palm and he came so hard he curled up off the bag and hung there while his body tried to squeeze his heart out through his dick.
He hit the floor with a grunt and froze—shit --what if Sam heard him, but he was out, snoring lightly and under the covers.
He was drifting off himself, he was in the place between dreams and waking and he thought something followed him into sleep.It could have been a quiet voice whispering “stop killing me please.”
TBC! *shudder!*
Hmmm. Sam-- Whit...good idea?
Summer Story
Whit was pulling a sleeping bag out from under the bed when Sam came in.
“Hey, Whit, what’s up, ugly? Where you going?” He watched Whit pull the dusty bag out and shake it gently, and he batted at the fluffs that escaped.
“Man, how come Mom doesn’t make you clean under the bed like she did me?” He mock-frowned.
Whit sat back with the bag and smiled up at him, “I’m going to bunk in with Pete for the next couple of nights--give you your room back.” He folded the bag into a manageable bundle but Sam squatted down nest to him and squeezed his shoulder.
“Naw, stay, it’s cool. We can talk- it’s been forever, right?” He scrubbed Whit’s hair and avoided his swinging elbow. He jumped back to his feet, grinning. “You don’t snore right? Or you know, fart in your sleep? “ He laughed and shoved the bag next to the bed with a hearty kick.
Whit grinned and felt better than he had in days. ”Fuck you, funny guy.”
“Unh- hunh…I think I’ll leave the window open. Just to be safe.” He grinned back at Whit and his whiskey colored eyes sparkled.
He went to the closet and changed his t-shirt for a clean polo shirt and grabbed another pair of shoes out of his suitcase.
“Where you going?” Whit asked and blushed at his tone. Maybe it only sounded whiney and childish to his ears because Sam just smiled.
“Taking Sheryl back home. She’s working in the morning so I’m going to drop her off. I’m coming back tonight—I think I have a lot of talking to do yet, “He smiled ruefully. Whit nodded. Abigail was pretty steamed about this whole engagement thing and Sheryl hadn’t done a damn thing to make it better with her superior attitude and her annoying way of never letting Sam out of her sight—not even to talk to his own mother, for god’s sake... Whit tried to calm himself. God he hated that bitch.
Sam stopped and looked at himself in the mirror. “How do I look?” he asked. Her parents are going to be there…” He had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. So worried about making an impression on her parents when she obviously didn’t give a damn about his? The pu-nany must be gold, as Mike would say.
Whit waved him off. “You look great. See you later.” It bothered him that Sam didn’t notice his curt dismissal.
Sam left with a grin and a quick punch to his shoulder.
Whit spread out his bag and lay down. He sighed and felt his good mood crash and burn. Damn it—why the fuck was he such an idiot? Why the fuck couldn’t he just, just stick to Wade. They deserved each other.
There was a tap at the door and Mike stuck his head in and swiveled his eyes around the room.
“You okay? Pete’s asleep. You’ll have to be quiet--"
“I’m staying in here,” Whit mumbled and turned on his side.
Mike looked at him for moment and came in, sat next to him on the floor.
“Look, you think that’s a good idea?” He stopped Whit’s angry response. “I’m thinking about you. You need to kind of let it go Whit—he’s marrying Sheryl for the happy ever after. You need to find yourself--”
Whit growled at him through clenched teeth, “Swear to god, if you say nice girl, I’ll kill you—there’s never ever going to be a nice girl, okay? I know that now, and I’m good with it—how about you try? Unless you’re a homophobic jerk off in which case you can kiss my whole ass.”
Whit flopped back on the bag and wished he were unconscious. A coma would be better than being blown by Brad Pitt right now…
Mike stood. "I don’t have a problem, Whit. But I’m not the one you have to worry about.”
Mike left the room and shut the door, plunging the room into darkness. Fuck—fuck—he’d always thought Mike was cool, but he was being a fucking jerk-off. He would never have thought he was that way—what about Mom Ross-- Bill? What if they thought the same way? He got up. Fine. He was going to stay with Wade tonight—he fucking well wouldn’t turn him away. Plus, he needed to think about this. If the Ross’ weren’t cool with him then he needed to leave, hard as it would be. He loved them, but he refused to be judged by anyone. He put sneaks on and grabbed some money and headed for the front door.
He passed the kitchen and a voice rolled out of the dark—“Get in here, asshole.”
Mike! Fuck he was being stalked by Mike. Her headed towards the front door and Mike growled, “How fast can you run, boy?”
Fuck! He stomped into the kitchen and glowered at him. “What? You want to beat me up some more? Hey, maybe I could lay down on the floor and you can kick me in the head—or do you *all* want me to get out?” Mike’s face was highlighted by the light over the stove and his expression was not pleased to say the least.
“You think this is about being gay? Hell. If that were the case, Lex and Clark wouldn’t be in here would they? You'd have to be blind not to see they love each other, and it’s cool and Ma’s cool with it and so’s Pop. That’s not the issue. What it is, Sam might bounce you pretty hard—*he’s* the one with issues. You understand? I’m tryin’ to spare you.”
Whit dropped into a chair and folded his hands on the table. Well. Good. It was a great relief to know that it wasn’t the family—it was just Sam. Okay.
He felt free, kind of nice and loose and relaxed without the tension of Sam always on the edge of his mind. He smiled at Mike. It was like a big weight had been lifted off his soul and it was so light he was floating. So light, he wasn’t sure if he could keep sitting upright in his chair.
He didn’t need to ever worry about Sam again. And now he could be with Wade like he should be—he could give all of himself to Wade, be the kind of …whatever it was Wade considered him to be.
“Thanks Mike—thanks a lot, you really made a difference for me tonight. I have been kind of an idiot, but not any more. Thanks for looking out for me.” He stood and reached a fist across the table and Mike tapped it with his.
“Look, Whit, don’t get me wrong, he loves you like a brother, and he could probably get over it, but…you know it’s just…” He looked up into Whit’s smiling face with concern.
Whit laughed a little, ”Oh yeah. I’m sure he could…it’s Sam, right?”
Mike looked a little dubious, and asked Whit to please stay in tonight, “Promise me Whit, keep your ass in the house, okay?”
Whit shrugged and promised, what the fuck, tonight, tomorrow—it didn’t really make a difference, Wade was going to be there when he needed Whit, no problem.
It was much later in the evening when Sam came back. Whit had been sound asleep until he came in stumbling about in exaggerated care, trying not to step on him and of course stepping on him, turning on the bedside lamp and nearly knocking it to the floor. “Shhhh,” he admonished the lamp, and put it shakily back on the table. Whit’s eyes shot open at the noise but he re-closed them and pretended to be asleep, even when Sam was half an inch from his face and boozy fumes filled his nose. "Whit,” he stage whispered, “Whit, are you asleep?” he leaned back, “Asleep, hanh? Good, ‘sbetter.”
He patted Whit heavily on his chest and stood. He stripped off and dropped his clothes on Whit, staggering to fall on the bed when he tried to pull his pants off. Whit watched him through narrowed eyes as he flailed his legs until the pants flew off. Another time, he might have thought it cute, but now he was too angry.
Sam was stinking drunk and stinking was not a figure of speech. He smelled of alcohol and cigarettes and dope and Whit was pissed. What the fuck was his problem? If Mom Ross knew—
Sam staggered upright again and pulled off his boxers, tossed them in the far corner of the room with a grimace. Whit stopped breathing.
Fuck.
Sam stood; swaying slightly from side to side, and idly ran a hand over his dick. Whit could feel his chest swelling—he needed to breathe but he was afraid to. Damn it damn it damn it! Lay down, you fucker, he groaned inside. He could see Sam’s dick starting to fill and move under the caress of his fingers.
He did drop backward onto the bed then, and Whit gratefully closed his eyes and hoped he’d pass out or fall asleep god, anything but do what he was afraid he was about to do. And Sam sighed heavily and moaned a little and Whit could hear the bedsprings squeak as he shifted. And then a sound as familiar as breathing curled into his ear--- bastard. A slick sound, the sound of skin on skin. A soft breathy moan floated down to him and stabbed him in the heart as it flooded his dick with heat.
Oh fuck, just kill me, please…Sam was groaning steadily, louder and louder as he worked his fist over his dick faster and faster, his hips snapping against the bed and making the springs squeak in a rhythm he knew well. Sam was talking; muttering to himself and Whit struggled not to listen but every murmur made his dick jump, and his hand stole over it, wet with the precome leaking steadily onto his belly and the drooling tip lay in a warm slick pool;
he pressed his hand down on it and the head slipped and slid against his skin and he tried not to moan along with Sam.
Sam was gasping, talking loud enough that Whit couldn’t block it any more—“touch me-- touch me--please,” He heard him moan, “please, please, please--"
Whit bit his lip until tears of pain rolled down his cheek and his hand moved faster, tighter, harder he couldn’t stop now, he was right on the edge, his breath burning in his throat, his hips arched off the floor.
Sam was so out of it he was beyond trying to control himself. His legs were spread wide and he threw his head back and groaned something low and throaty, Whit thought he saw--Sam had a finger plunging in and out of himself and Whit died then. He shoved a hand between his lips and bit down grinding his teeth into his palm and he came so hard he curled up off the bag and hung there while his body tried to squeeze his heart out through his dick.
He hit the floor with a grunt and froze—shit --what if Sam heard him, but he was out, snoring lightly and under the covers.
He was drifting off himself, he was in the place between dreams and waking and he thought something followed him into sleep.It could have been a quiet voice whispering “stop killing me please.”
TBC! *shudder!*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
11/29/04 07:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/29/04 07:49 am (UTC)Thank you so much for your lovely praise, it makes me sing and want to write lots more!
(no subject)
11/30/04 09:18 pm (UTC)*eats cookie and waits excitedly for the singing*
(no subject)
11/29/04 07:36 am (UTC)But then, you already knew that.
(no subject)
11/29/04 07:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/29/04 10:20 pm (UTC)oh boy! Poor Whit!
11/29/04 07:48 am (UTC)Poor Whit. *sniff*
And what the heck happened with Lex, did I miss a part again?
*goes off to click your LJ directly*
*hugs*
ETA - LOL, the ultimate typo, eh?
Re: oh boy! Poor Whit!
11/29/04 07:52 am (UTC)and typo's? What typo's? I see no steenkin' typos! Which is a real problem for me, *sigh*
Re: oh boy! Poor Whit!
11/29/04 07:54 am (UTC)Re: oh boy! Poor Whit!
11/29/04 08:03 am (UTC)yeah, about that?
11/29/04 08:04 am (UTC)Stop that too. *eg*
*frets about Lex*
*Smooch*
(no subject)
11/29/04 08:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/29/04 03:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/29/04 02:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/29/04 03:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/29/04 03:44 pm (UTC)I'm also loving Mike in the past few parts. Hell, I love the whole Ross family for the way they look after their own. Pete clearly comes by his cool naturally. As for Sam - wonder what could have happened to make him come home in that state? You know Mrs. Ross is gonna kick his ass when she detects hangover on him in the morning. Or maybe she'll figure something is up? Oooooo! So good!
I'm torn! I want to know what happens next with Sam and Whit, but I don't want to leave poor Lex with Lionel for too long! Rooooxxxy!
As for Sam/Whit (does that become Shitney or Wham?)- me like! Well, except it seems kind of Tah-Dah!-fairy-tale-ending like. But probably that's just the idea of it and when you write it with the details fleshed out, it will rock. Erm. Mondays I make no kinda sense. *g*
(no subject)
11/29/04 03:59 pm (UTC)Oh no--you make perfect sense! See, I'm trying to avoid that too-- it can't be a 'snap look! here it is' kind of thing--at any rate, that gets resolved farther down the line, and other things come to the front. Boy-- I'm going to have one hell of a time smoothing out all these bits to make a whole story...*lip quiver*
(no subject)
11/29/04 04:03 pm (UTC)Your stories are so awesome! Once you get a chance to read them all together, a lot of things will clear up. I got oodles of faith in you! *kisses*
(no subject)
11/29/04 05:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/29/04 05:26 pm (UTC)I also think Whit and Sam is a good idea, but I think Sam will fight it. He's already fighting it.
(no subject)
11/29/04 05:52 pm (UTC)Excellent part!
(no subject)
11/29/04 06:51 pm (UTC)NOt Wade!!
He has to die in 'Credence' still, doesn't he?
Ahhhhhhhh!!!!
Ah, fuck, Mike's a jerk and ....
Roxy!!!
You are KILLING ME!!!
*flails*
(no subject)
3/2/05 08:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/3/05 05:24 am (UTC)