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1/2/05 01:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyPrepare yourselves! I've been busy!
Previous Parts are here, snickering and watching Girl Scouts kicking the crap out of Ja-Rule.
Summer Story
An hour out of Smallville and Whit finally took his earphones off and looked away from the window.
“So—what are you doing in the city?” He looked at Sam like he really could care less and Sam felt that …that connection he always felt with Whit, well, one-sided now but it was okay. He always felt he and Whit were really more alike than any one of his brothers, than any friend he’d ever had. He could probably tell Whit any damn thing and the kid would nod his head and say ‘oh yeah’—they were like ---twins, Sam snorted quietly.
“Aah, just stuff, I’ve got some suits to pick up, and figured I’d drop by the office, tell them I’ll be working from home this week…check on some things…”
Whit grunted, shifted a bit in the seat. Working from home, hunh? Interesting “So, the job—how’s that going?”
“The biz? It’s…it’s going. I’m happy. I’m happy with it.” Sam forced a grin and Whit put the headphones back on, cranked the music up high and looked back out the window and Sam turned all his attention back to the road. How the fuck did he make him feel like a lying shit with just a look? He thought how much he hated the job; doing things he didn’t give a shit about for clients he couldn’t stand, and he wished it were as exciting as when he started out—before Sheryl helped him find his true potential, he frowned. And the thought of starting his own agency had been viciously shot down by his loving and caring wife. “No one in their right mind leaves the William Peterson Agency—no one! People die to get a position with that firm!”
Yeah. People died to stay with them too….
Whit watched Sam think about stuff and figured he pretty well knew what he was thinking about. His life, his wife—the corner he backed himself into. Why couldn’t he have found a nice girl? The world was fuckin’ full of them —his stomach tightened when he thought of what Pete had learned... Shit—why couldn’t he have found him? And thinking that was way stupid.
He rolled his head away from Sam and watched country side rush past the window, turn into developments, turn into factory, turn into landfill, turn back to suburbia and soon the towers of the city were on the horizon and he started to get a little excited—he hadn’t been to the city since before--before Wade…had run off wherever. He felt a little unpleasant clench--sometimes the visits weren’t so good, but he snuck a quick look at Sam’s serious profile and his muscles eased a bit, it was pretty goddamn unlikely they’d be going anywhere near the places Wade took him.
********************
They parked and Sam brought him up to the office and introduced him as his brother and offered no explanation and Whit enjoyed that—it was great fun watching people struggle not to ask, try to appear casual and ‘oh really’ about it. They laughed a lot behind his office door. Sam gathered files, made calls, looked over some storyboards and made notes while Whit swung around and around in the big leather chair at Sam’s desk. He was whirling around grinning like an idiot, his bangs flying around his forehead when he caught sight of Sam looking at him with an enormous frown—he looked really angry and Whit jammed his feet against the floor to stop.
“Damn, I’m sorry, Sam—I’m acting like a five year old—I hope I didn’t--”
“Nah, fuck,” Sam waved away his apology, his face smooth and clear again, a hint of a smile turning the corners of his mouth up. "I do that every day I’m in here, don’t worry about it. It’s nice to see you smiling though, Whit.”
Whit grinned back but stopped twirling. He watched Sam pack up the last of his papers and for a lightning moment thought, Sam sitting in the chair, me on his lap, felt it in his gut, and blushed so hard he turned to face the wall—he didn’t want Sam to see him, he was afraid he’d be able to see right into his brain if he caught him blushing like that.
******************
They walked around the city and Whit was fascinated to see a whole different side of Metropolis, bright and cheerful, sidewalk cafes and fruit stands, little storefronts selling everything and mini parks packed with screaming laughing kids and harried giggling moms and everywhere different scents and colors and just--life.
Sam bought them lunch from a little deli full of delicious smells that made his mouth water, garlic and bread and coffee, and the crisp smell of citrus and apples tempted him to buy some oranges to go with the sandwiches Sam bought.
Sam led them to a little garden, the people were mostly young men and women in suits, jackets folded next to them, shirt sleeves open and rolled back in concession to the heat. Whit thought Sam looked so right here, so beautiful, sunlight shifting over his face with the movement of the leaves and his eyes glowed when he looked at Whit—he so belonged in this crowd. He felt a little weird sitting next to him, a little lost and out of place, but Sam grinned and smacked him in the back of the head. “Stop thinking, start eating,” he commanded and tossed a sandwich to Whit.
They ate quietly, as Whit watched the crowd flow past.
“So, you do this everyday?” he asked Sam.
Sam looked thoughtful and answered, “I used to. I used to do it a lot. You make friends out here…I don’t anymore. I don’t have time for it.”
Whit nodded and didn’t say anything. He pulled an orange out of the bag and peeled it, split it with Sam. It was great, tart, juicy and firm to the teeth. The orange segment split under his bite and juice burst from it and ran down his wrist and without thinking he licked it, and as he did, he caught a look, a too avid look from a young guy across from them—pinstripe shirt and loosened tie and glasses, perfect hair cut and Whit felt nauseous for a moment. The look was too fucking familiar. He blushed angrily as he thought how he must look sitting next to elegant, well-dressed Sam—like a lunchtime fuck, he thought.
He got up. “Come on. Let’s walk a bit more.”
Sam nodded and moved with him, eating his orange and swinging the bag as he walked along and Whit’s heart ached.
They eventually made it to Sam’s tailor and picked up the suits he’d come to the city for, and they stowed them in the car, and Sam said, “Now we’ve got to eat, sit down in a nice place and get dinner, yes?”
Whit protested that he wasn’t dressed for dinner, not a nice place anyway with his ripped jeans and tee-shirt but Sam laughed him off.
And it was a nice dinner, and they even had wine with dinner and Whit enjoyed that, almost as much as he enjoyed having Sam’s undivided attention again. After, Sam got him into a few clubs, and they had a nice time—Whit danced with a lot of very pretty girls and Sam watched and had a few drinks—married man after all, and they picked the car up, and Sam said “Let’s go somewhere different before we head home.”
It was already three o’clock and Whit asked, "Aren’t most clubs closed?” and Sam winked and said most and they drove and drove and Sam took them into the kind of neighborhood that looked like it had suffered horribly through a war and Whit stiffened—shit. He knew this place—he knew the club Sam pulled him into and he knew the crowd. And by this time Sam was grinning and Whit realized how drunk he was.
“Dance, Whit!” Sam pushed him, a hard shove between the shoulders and Whit looked over the floor and watched the wave of flesh move back and forth—Sam was gone into the crowd and Whit stood at the bar, alone. He shivered and remembered how often that had happened. Brought here and left here while Wade did whatever he did.
Hands touched him, gliding over him and he tried to avoid them, he got more and more uneasy and then there was Sam, big smile, right in front of him. He leaned into Whit and shouted in his ear, “You ready?”
“Hell yeah!” Whit shouted back. Sam laughed, teeth flashing bright in the throbbing light and Whit closed his eyes.
Sam yanked at his shoulder, “Good-- let’s leave” and just like that, as abruptly as they came, they left.
TBC
Previous Parts are here, snickering and watching Girl Scouts kicking the crap out of Ja-Rule.
Summer Story
An hour out of Smallville and Whit finally took his earphones off and looked away from the window.
“So—what are you doing in the city?” He looked at Sam like he really could care less and Sam felt that …that connection he always felt with Whit, well, one-sided now but it was okay. He always felt he and Whit were really more alike than any one of his brothers, than any friend he’d ever had. He could probably tell Whit any damn thing and the kid would nod his head and say ‘oh yeah’—they were like ---twins, Sam snorted quietly.
“Aah, just stuff, I’ve got some suits to pick up, and figured I’d drop by the office, tell them I’ll be working from home this week…check on some things…”
Whit grunted, shifted a bit in the seat. Working from home, hunh? Interesting “So, the job—how’s that going?”
“The biz? It’s…it’s going. I’m happy. I’m happy with it.” Sam forced a grin and Whit put the headphones back on, cranked the music up high and looked back out the window and Sam turned all his attention back to the road. How the fuck did he make him feel like a lying shit with just a look? He thought how much he hated the job; doing things he didn’t give a shit about for clients he couldn’t stand, and he wished it were as exciting as when he started out—before Sheryl helped him find his true potential, he frowned. And the thought of starting his own agency had been viciously shot down by his loving and caring wife. “No one in their right mind leaves the William Peterson Agency—no one! People die to get a position with that firm!”
Yeah. People died to stay with them too….
Whit watched Sam think about stuff and figured he pretty well knew what he was thinking about. His life, his wife—the corner he backed himself into. Why couldn’t he have found a nice girl? The world was fuckin’ full of them —his stomach tightened when he thought of what Pete had learned... Shit—why couldn’t he have found him? And thinking that was way stupid.
He rolled his head away from Sam and watched country side rush past the window, turn into developments, turn into factory, turn into landfill, turn back to suburbia and soon the towers of the city were on the horizon and he started to get a little excited—he hadn’t been to the city since before--before Wade…had run off wherever. He felt a little unpleasant clench--sometimes the visits weren’t so good, but he snuck a quick look at Sam’s serious profile and his muscles eased a bit, it was pretty goddamn unlikely they’d be going anywhere near the places Wade took him.
********************
They parked and Sam brought him up to the office and introduced him as his brother and offered no explanation and Whit enjoyed that—it was great fun watching people struggle not to ask, try to appear casual and ‘oh really’ about it. They laughed a lot behind his office door. Sam gathered files, made calls, looked over some storyboards and made notes while Whit swung around and around in the big leather chair at Sam’s desk. He was whirling around grinning like an idiot, his bangs flying around his forehead when he caught sight of Sam looking at him with an enormous frown—he looked really angry and Whit jammed his feet against the floor to stop.
“Damn, I’m sorry, Sam—I’m acting like a five year old—I hope I didn’t--”
“Nah, fuck,” Sam waved away his apology, his face smooth and clear again, a hint of a smile turning the corners of his mouth up. "I do that every day I’m in here, don’t worry about it. It’s nice to see you smiling though, Whit.”
Whit grinned back but stopped twirling. He watched Sam pack up the last of his papers and for a lightning moment thought, Sam sitting in the chair, me on his lap, felt it in his gut, and blushed so hard he turned to face the wall—he didn’t want Sam to see him, he was afraid he’d be able to see right into his brain if he caught him blushing like that.
******************
They walked around the city and Whit was fascinated to see a whole different side of Metropolis, bright and cheerful, sidewalk cafes and fruit stands, little storefronts selling everything and mini parks packed with screaming laughing kids and harried giggling moms and everywhere different scents and colors and just--life.
Sam bought them lunch from a little deli full of delicious smells that made his mouth water, garlic and bread and coffee, and the crisp smell of citrus and apples tempted him to buy some oranges to go with the sandwiches Sam bought.
Sam led them to a little garden, the people were mostly young men and women in suits, jackets folded next to them, shirt sleeves open and rolled back in concession to the heat. Whit thought Sam looked so right here, so beautiful, sunlight shifting over his face with the movement of the leaves and his eyes glowed when he looked at Whit—he so belonged in this crowd. He felt a little weird sitting next to him, a little lost and out of place, but Sam grinned and smacked him in the back of the head. “Stop thinking, start eating,” he commanded and tossed a sandwich to Whit.
They ate quietly, as Whit watched the crowd flow past.
“So, you do this everyday?” he asked Sam.
Sam looked thoughtful and answered, “I used to. I used to do it a lot. You make friends out here…I don’t anymore. I don’t have time for it.”
Whit nodded and didn’t say anything. He pulled an orange out of the bag and peeled it, split it with Sam. It was great, tart, juicy and firm to the teeth. The orange segment split under his bite and juice burst from it and ran down his wrist and without thinking he licked it, and as he did, he caught a look, a too avid look from a young guy across from them—pinstripe shirt and loosened tie and glasses, perfect hair cut and Whit felt nauseous for a moment. The look was too fucking familiar. He blushed angrily as he thought how he must look sitting next to elegant, well-dressed Sam—like a lunchtime fuck, he thought.
He got up. “Come on. Let’s walk a bit more.”
Sam nodded and moved with him, eating his orange and swinging the bag as he walked along and Whit’s heart ached.
They eventually made it to Sam’s tailor and picked up the suits he’d come to the city for, and they stowed them in the car, and Sam said, “Now we’ve got to eat, sit down in a nice place and get dinner, yes?”
Whit protested that he wasn’t dressed for dinner, not a nice place anyway with his ripped jeans and tee-shirt but Sam laughed him off.
And it was a nice dinner, and they even had wine with dinner and Whit enjoyed that, almost as much as he enjoyed having Sam’s undivided attention again. After, Sam got him into a few clubs, and they had a nice time—Whit danced with a lot of very pretty girls and Sam watched and had a few drinks—married man after all, and they picked the car up, and Sam said “Let’s go somewhere different before we head home.”
It was already three o’clock and Whit asked, "Aren’t most clubs closed?” and Sam winked and said most and they drove and drove and Sam took them into the kind of neighborhood that looked like it had suffered horribly through a war and Whit stiffened—shit. He knew this place—he knew the club Sam pulled him into and he knew the crowd. And by this time Sam was grinning and Whit realized how drunk he was.
“Dance, Whit!” Sam pushed him, a hard shove between the shoulders and Whit looked over the floor and watched the wave of flesh move back and forth—Sam was gone into the crowd and Whit stood at the bar, alone. He shivered and remembered how often that had happened. Brought here and left here while Wade did whatever he did.
Hands touched him, gliding over him and he tried to avoid them, he got more and more uneasy and then there was Sam, big smile, right in front of him. He leaned into Whit and shouted in his ear, “You ready?”
“Hell yeah!” Whit shouted back. Sam laughed, teeth flashing bright in the throbbing light and Whit closed his eyes.
Sam yanked at his shoulder, “Good-- let’s leave” and just like that, as abruptly as they came, they left.
TBC