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Summer Story Chapter Six...
..fer cryin' out loud!
*pant, pant* I worked hard to get this to you my dears--it's two parts because it got big. (again.) And it's not unlike the Golden Gate...Bridge but with ass- sex, YaY!
The Previous Chapters are here, seeing who's got the biggest parts.
Summer Story Chapter Six
Whit wandered around town for a while, lost and woozy and trying not to cry in the street.
His day had hit the skids from the moment he heard Bill and Abbie yelling in the kitchen that morning. It scared him and his instinct had been to take off running, but Pete had come hurrying up his eyes big and worried and crouched down by the closed kitchen door to listen to the sound of his parent’s loud voices. Whit felt he had to stay then, make sure Pete was okay.
He kept looking at Whit, obviously scared and Whit realized Pete had never heard his parents yell at each other. He’d heard his mother get loud, and his dad had yelled at the kids from time to time and okay, yes, because they could be annoying—but he’d never heard or seen his parents toe to toe screaming at each other.
Whit closed his eyes to block out the sight of Pete’s frightened face. He wanted to laugh—Fuck!-- that? That’s nothing, wait ‘til they start flinging fists-- He wanted to hit him. What the fuck are you afraid of? Damn, it’s not like he’s going to knock her out and then start on you! Not like he’s gonna beat you till you vomit and make her watch….
“Sam had no right! Family should come first! I knew that tramp was going to break up this family! She wants to take him away from us!”
“Abbie god dammit! The boy’s old enough to make up his own mind. He’s a grown man—let him loose! We can’t force him to live the way you want him to--”
“What are you saying –I pushed him into this? It’s my fault again! Go on, say it Bill! Say what you’re thinking—blame it all on me!”
“That’s all water under the bridge woman, that’s old news and it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“You weren’t saying that when we were dragging him out of that place, him throwing up and cussin’ and fighting us- when that –that monster had him! You pointed the finger at me then!”
“Woman, what the fuck are you talking about? I was with you very bit of the way, I thought you knew that.”
“You blamed me when he ran away and moved in with that man. You said I put too much pressure on him—you said I made him run off to live with that bastard.”
“I didn’t, I said –I said not all the children are the same, you can’t treat them all the same…”
The boys heard Abbie crying and that terrified the both of them. “I did push him there. I demanded too much and he was so sensitive and, and….”
“And he thought he was in love. But he got out of it and he found himself in love with this girl and now he’s married…that’s that and we better get used to it if we want to keep our son.
He’s married? He married her--- he’d been with a guy-- in love with...but there had only been girls--when did that happen?
Whit didn’t know what was worse, that Sam was married and he had never had a chance or that Sam was married but he might have had a chance—if he’d known the right thing to say, or the right thing to do.
Whit felt like passing out. He felt cold and clammy all over, cold sweat ran down his neck and he shivered, nearly over balanced from where he was crouching and he felt a warm dry hand on his elbow, keeping him from toppling.
When he opened his eyes again, Pete was still there, his face clear of the fear of a few moments ago, they could hear Bill comforting Abbie—but now his eyes were full of shocked sympathy as he understood and he slowly let go of Whit’s elbow.
“Damn. Damn. Sam…I’m pinning Mike down and finding out what this is all about.” His eyes narrowed. “Mike knows everything about everybody…” He looked at Whit, “He knows where all the bodies are buried.” He nodded to himself and then seemed to remember—“Sorry man.”
Whit snarled at him. “Sorry about what? Nothing to be sorry about.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Pete sighed, “I’m going to get dressed. Lana and me have something to do today.”
“Yeah, all right.” Whit replied he stood. “I’m going out, catch up with Clark maybe, okay? Oh, and Pete?”
Pete turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Don’t go and get married today okay?”
Pete snorted. “Fuck you, man” But he was grinning as he ran back up the stairs.
Whit walked out to the drive and looked at his car. Shrugged and started walking.
He felt like someone took a bat to his ribs. He walked and growled and walked and cursed, and ran and cursed everything and everyone especially himself, and ran harder, ran until he panted, harder and harder until it hurt, and his breath was rasping and burning in his throat and his lungs pulsed with the pain, and someone was jabbing him in the side with a hot sword and still he ran until he *had* to stop, bent over in a field, heart hammering under his ribs. He dropped to his hands and knees, hair brushing the ground as he gasped for air.
Control came back in bit-by-bit, breath by breath. He got to his feet, wiping at the sweat running down his face, and began walking again. He knew where he was going, he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, for once he really wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted, but he couldn’t imagine going to Lex or Clark—not now when they were so happy. He didn’t want to bring more of his doom and gloom, more of his fucked up shit into their lives.
That had been his morning and now he was standing in the heat, outside of the building Wade was staying in with his partners, thinking, not quiet sure what to do. Should he go in or go back. Somehow he knew there’d come a point in Sam’s life where he’d stood at this exact same crossroad. This same moment and he’d taken the same choice. Whit stepped forward.
The hallway of the loft was cool compared to the early afternoon sun trying to make the sidewalks combust outside. The brick and granite walls of the stairway felt almost cold to his too hot hands. He wiped his forearm across his sweat damp face, and pounded on the metal door to the loft until the door rolled back on its track.
“Where’s Wade?” He asked when Donny’s head peeked around the door.
Donny’s face creased in annoyance. “What the fuck are you doing here? Did Wade call you?”
Whit could hear hammering and the sound of a power driver whirring and screeching, and he shook his head.
“Hold on,” Donny scowled impatiently. He rolled the door back and Whit frowned when the heavy lock on the door banged into place. He heard shouting and after a few minutes the door opened and Wade was leaning against the frame, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes narrowed against the smoke.
Whit could see that he must have been asleep, his hair was flattened on one side, tufted on the other, his jeans hastily yanked on, the top button was open, the pants half zipped and they looked too tight, his undershirt was too tight and the hem was wrinkled and rolled up above his navel and Whit was a little hard just looking at him. He was wearing Whit’s stuff…stuff he’d left that horrible night he’d gotten sick and was wet and cold and had changed—left his clothes here, and Wade. Wade was wearing his stuff.
“Whit. What the fuck are you doing here?” He frowned at Whit and shifted the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and smoke drifted lazily from his lips and nose like dragon's breath, Whit thought.. “I told you I’d call you when I wanted you.” He looked quietly furious, and Whit backed up. Wade stepped out into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.
“What the hell do you want?” he growled and Whit felt his hard won control begin to collapse.
“You know, I have no idea, I’m a fuckin’ asshole I guess. Let me get the hell out of here.” He tried to turn away and Wade was on him, shoving him against the wall. He stared at Whit with empty reptile eyes—the look from some place that Whit didn’t want to see or know about because it had to be worse than anything he’d ever been through.
Wade inhaled deeply, and Whit almost laughed at the cartoon image in his mind of the cigarette ash racing toward Wades lips.
He threw the butt down the stair well. “Funny?”
He shoved Whit’s head back with a crack against the bricks with one hand while the other stroked his arm lightly. He put more pressure on his throat and Whit wasted air cursing under his breath.
“What’s funny? You don’t hear me? You don’t care what I say? Is that funny?”
Whit really needed to breathe; he relaxed himself completely until he was only standing because Wade had his chin in his hand and his body crowding his against the wall. Whit rocked against him and let his knees spread until Wade was pressed hard against him and moving, pushing up. Whit let out a little gasp at the contact, and Wade’s eyes were right there, drilling into him. He pushed again and shifted his grip so that he held an arm in each hand and held them flat against the wall, scraping them over the brick with each thrust and rub of his hips against Whit. Whit bit his lip, trying to hold in the sounds that wanted to pour out.
“Make noise,” Wade whispered harshly, “Don’t stop it,” and Whit groaned aloud, so loud, the granite and brick bounced it back, bounced it around and he moaned again and again. He was so hard and every push made him jump, it wasn’t enough and it was almost more than and he hated himself for wanting it that much.
His own voice was making him shake, he heard want and need in his voice, in his words and it made him hotter and hotter and Wade cursed—“Fuck Whit, you make me feel—shit! Like a fuckin’ kid, can’t get—oh fuck…” he groaned a long drawn out moan of a word as Whit felt heat shifting around in his spine and in his gut and he thought, I’m gonna come in my pants, god and he stretched up high, high on his toes and Wade rode him, grabbed his ass and held them together, gasped “I can feel you, I can feel you coming--”
Wade was a world of white light and heat and moaning in his ear and the broken sound of his own voice pushing him over the edge.
TBC,part a
*pant, pant* I worked hard to get this to you my dears--it's two parts because it got big. (again.) And it's not unlike the Golden Gate...Bridge but with ass- sex, YaY!
The Previous Chapters are here, seeing who's got the biggest parts.
Summer Story Chapter Six
Whit wandered around town for a while, lost and woozy and trying not to cry in the street.
His day had hit the skids from the moment he heard Bill and Abbie yelling in the kitchen that morning. It scared him and his instinct had been to take off running, but Pete had come hurrying up his eyes big and worried and crouched down by the closed kitchen door to listen to the sound of his parent’s loud voices. Whit felt he had to stay then, make sure Pete was okay.
He kept looking at Whit, obviously scared and Whit realized Pete had never heard his parents yell at each other. He’d heard his mother get loud, and his dad had yelled at the kids from time to time and okay, yes, because they could be annoying—but he’d never heard or seen his parents toe to toe screaming at each other.
Whit closed his eyes to block out the sight of Pete’s frightened face. He wanted to laugh—Fuck!-- that? That’s nothing, wait ‘til they start flinging fists-- He wanted to hit him. What the fuck are you afraid of? Damn, it’s not like he’s going to knock her out and then start on you! Not like he’s gonna beat you till you vomit and make her watch….
“Sam had no right! Family should come first! I knew that tramp was going to break up this family! She wants to take him away from us!”
“Abbie god dammit! The boy’s old enough to make up his own mind. He’s a grown man—let him loose! We can’t force him to live the way you want him to--”
“What are you saying –I pushed him into this? It’s my fault again! Go on, say it Bill! Say what you’re thinking—blame it all on me!”
“That’s all water under the bridge woman, that’s old news and it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“You weren’t saying that when we were dragging him out of that place, him throwing up and cussin’ and fighting us- when that –that monster had him! You pointed the finger at me then!”
“Woman, what the fuck are you talking about? I was with you very bit of the way, I thought you knew that.”
“You blamed me when he ran away and moved in with that man. You said I put too much pressure on him—you said I made him run off to live with that bastard.”
“I didn’t, I said –I said not all the children are the same, you can’t treat them all the same…”
The boys heard Abbie crying and that terrified the both of them. “I did push him there. I demanded too much and he was so sensitive and, and….”
“And he thought he was in love. But he got out of it and he found himself in love with this girl and now he’s married…that’s that and we better get used to it if we want to keep our son.
He’s married? He married her--- he’d been with a guy-- in love with...but there had only been girls--when did that happen?
Whit didn’t know what was worse, that Sam was married and he had never had a chance or that Sam was married but he might have had a chance—if he’d known the right thing to say, or the right thing to do.
Whit felt like passing out. He felt cold and clammy all over, cold sweat ran down his neck and he shivered, nearly over balanced from where he was crouching and he felt a warm dry hand on his elbow, keeping him from toppling.
When he opened his eyes again, Pete was still there, his face clear of the fear of a few moments ago, they could hear Bill comforting Abbie—but now his eyes were full of shocked sympathy as he understood and he slowly let go of Whit’s elbow.
“Damn. Damn. Sam…I’m pinning Mike down and finding out what this is all about.” His eyes narrowed. “Mike knows everything about everybody…” He looked at Whit, “He knows where all the bodies are buried.” He nodded to himself and then seemed to remember—“Sorry man.”
Whit snarled at him. “Sorry about what? Nothing to be sorry about.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Pete sighed, “I’m going to get dressed. Lana and me have something to do today.”
“Yeah, all right.” Whit replied he stood. “I’m going out, catch up with Clark maybe, okay? Oh, and Pete?”
Pete turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Don’t go and get married today okay?”
Pete snorted. “Fuck you, man” But he was grinning as he ran back up the stairs.
Whit walked out to the drive and looked at his car. Shrugged and started walking.
He felt like someone took a bat to his ribs. He walked and growled and walked and cursed, and ran and cursed everything and everyone especially himself, and ran harder, ran until he panted, harder and harder until it hurt, and his breath was rasping and burning in his throat and his lungs pulsed with the pain, and someone was jabbing him in the side with a hot sword and still he ran until he *had* to stop, bent over in a field, heart hammering under his ribs. He dropped to his hands and knees, hair brushing the ground as he gasped for air.
Control came back in bit-by-bit, breath by breath. He got to his feet, wiping at the sweat running down his face, and began walking again. He knew where he was going, he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, for once he really wasn’t sure if it was what he wanted, but he couldn’t imagine going to Lex or Clark—not now when they were so happy. He didn’t want to bring more of his doom and gloom, more of his fucked up shit into their lives.
That had been his morning and now he was standing in the heat, outside of the building Wade was staying in with his partners, thinking, not quiet sure what to do. Should he go in or go back. Somehow he knew there’d come a point in Sam’s life where he’d stood at this exact same crossroad. This same moment and he’d taken the same choice. Whit stepped forward.
The hallway of the loft was cool compared to the early afternoon sun trying to make the sidewalks combust outside. The brick and granite walls of the stairway felt almost cold to his too hot hands. He wiped his forearm across his sweat damp face, and pounded on the metal door to the loft until the door rolled back on its track.
“Where’s Wade?” He asked when Donny’s head peeked around the door.
Donny’s face creased in annoyance. “What the fuck are you doing here? Did Wade call you?”
Whit could hear hammering and the sound of a power driver whirring and screeching, and he shook his head.
“Hold on,” Donny scowled impatiently. He rolled the door back and Whit frowned when the heavy lock on the door banged into place. He heard shouting and after a few minutes the door opened and Wade was leaning against the frame, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes narrowed against the smoke.
Whit could see that he must have been asleep, his hair was flattened on one side, tufted on the other, his jeans hastily yanked on, the top button was open, the pants half zipped and they looked too tight, his undershirt was too tight and the hem was wrinkled and rolled up above his navel and Whit was a little hard just looking at him. He was wearing Whit’s stuff…stuff he’d left that horrible night he’d gotten sick and was wet and cold and had changed—left his clothes here, and Wade. Wade was wearing his stuff.
“Whit. What the fuck are you doing here?” He frowned at Whit and shifted the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and smoke drifted lazily from his lips and nose like dragon's breath, Whit thought.. “I told you I’d call you when I wanted you.” He looked quietly furious, and Whit backed up. Wade stepped out into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.
“What the hell do you want?” he growled and Whit felt his hard won control begin to collapse.
“You know, I have no idea, I’m a fuckin’ asshole I guess. Let me get the hell out of here.” He tried to turn away and Wade was on him, shoving him against the wall. He stared at Whit with empty reptile eyes—the look from some place that Whit didn’t want to see or know about because it had to be worse than anything he’d ever been through.
Wade inhaled deeply, and Whit almost laughed at the cartoon image in his mind of the cigarette ash racing toward Wades lips.
He threw the butt down the stair well. “Funny?”
He shoved Whit’s head back with a crack against the bricks with one hand while the other stroked his arm lightly. He put more pressure on his throat and Whit wasted air cursing under his breath.
“What’s funny? You don’t hear me? You don’t care what I say? Is that funny?”
Whit really needed to breathe; he relaxed himself completely until he was only standing because Wade had his chin in his hand and his body crowding his against the wall. Whit rocked against him and let his knees spread until Wade was pressed hard against him and moving, pushing up. Whit let out a little gasp at the contact, and Wade’s eyes were right there, drilling into him. He pushed again and shifted his grip so that he held an arm in each hand and held them flat against the wall, scraping them over the brick with each thrust and rub of his hips against Whit. Whit bit his lip, trying to hold in the sounds that wanted to pour out.
“Make noise,” Wade whispered harshly, “Don’t stop it,” and Whit groaned aloud, so loud, the granite and brick bounced it back, bounced it around and he moaned again and again. He was so hard and every push made him jump, it wasn’t enough and it was almost more than and he hated himself for wanting it that much.
His own voice was making him shake, he heard want and need in his voice, in his words and it made him hotter and hotter and Wade cursed—“Fuck Whit, you make me feel—shit! Like a fuckin’ kid, can’t get—oh fuck…” he groaned a long drawn out moan of a word as Whit felt heat shifting around in his spine and in his gut and he thought, I’m gonna come in my pants, god and he stretched up high, high on his toes and Wade rode him, grabbed his ass and held them together, gasped “I can feel you, I can feel you coming--”
Wade was a world of white light and heat and moaning in his ear and the broken sound of his own voice pushing him over the edge.
TBC,part a
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