more: Summer Story part 13
1/2/05 01:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyYes. We are spinning right along here because I was so productive. *big ego, big grin*
Soon, this little story wil come to an end, draw the drapes, turn out the lights, put out the cat and call it a day. Of course, in terms of this story, that means it'll be sometime in Feburary before that happens...*sigh*
But! the fun is back and the angst is coming down a bazillion notches (apologies to you who love that kind of stuff--*koffAbikoffRoxykoff* er-hem.)so that's good yes? And I also apologize for throwing another OC at you, we're just tripping over them here aren't we? Tsk.
Ah well-- enough blabbing!
The Previous Parts are here, waiting for P Diddy to come out the club 'cause they're gonna kick his punk ass too.
Summer Story
They got to the car after a long and meandering walk and Whit was amazed to find out Sam couldn’t sing for shit--with a deep sigh of relief, he pushed Sam into the passengers side, “No fucking way are you driving home, hell no!” and Sam chuckled and folded up into the seat. He watched Whit get in with fever bright eyes and reached over to help him buckle in.
“Thanks Sam, I think I’ve got it--” and tried to push Sam’s hands away, and suddenly it was like Sam’d grown a dozen hands and they flailed and shoved and pushed at each other for a while and laughed until even with Sam’s help Whit managed to buckle in and Sam whooped in triumph.
Whit was still grinning a little—he started the car, pulled away from the curb, when a hand landed in his lap and cupped him, rubbed him....
Whit froze, shit and grabbed Sam’s wrist drunk, he doesn’t know and suddenly Sam had a hand around his neck and was trying to force his tongue into his mouth. The car swerved and Whit gasped in fear and anger.
“Stop! Stop it,” Whit growled and pushed against him with one hand and clasped the wheel in a death grip with the other....
“It’s okay-- guys don’t-- it doesn’t matter…” he gasped and dragged his mouth wetly against Whit’s neck and Whit thought he was going to throw up. He pushed Sam back so hard his head cracked against the window and he stare at Whit open mouthed, sick and horrified, and burst into sobs.
Whit slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the car lunged forward with a squeal of tires and the scent of burning rubber. “You drunk bastard!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You stupid drunk motherfucker! Who the fuck—you know me! How could you do that?”
“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean --”
“Shut the fuck up, you, you—just shut up.”
Sam cried, balled up against the door and shaking and Whit didn’t give a fuck—he just wanted to get home and leave this pathetic self-hating pile of shit on the driveway.
“I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean it like that,” he kept repeating, “I thought I’d forget, thought I’d get over it –I love you, I know it, I love you and you love me, right? Don’t you? Whit?” Sam’s voice was thick and rough and he looked pathetic, looked like his world was splitting down the middle and Whit hoped he’d fall into the center and be ground to a paste.
He drove furiously, concentrating on the road, trying to ignore the quietly begging man at his side. Everything he said or did was a lie, and part of his mind begged him to cut the guy a break, he was drunk and confused he loved him! And the part that had heard too many drunken declarations of love and sorrow hated him you don’t need this shit, fuck him.
Sam was asleep by the time Whit pulled into the driveway. He sat in the car and leaned his head on the steering wheel. His eyes were gummy and burning, he was so tired. He sighed and glanced toward Sam. In the gray dawn light Sam looked pale, yellow and sick, his forehead was creased even in sleep, his mouth drawn fiercely down. Whit could see tears still hanging on his lashes and it made him want to cry too, made him want to reach over and punch him. He could feel himself falling right into the same old pattern, wanting to —fuck me if I do this again!. he couldn’t do anything for Sam- no way could he help him, they’d only drag each other down and he was married and that meant something too. To Whit at least—it meant hands off.
He startled at a knock on the window, he wiped condensation off the glass and there was Pete, standing outside in his boxers, barefoot and arms crossed over his chest and he looked confused and a little worried. Whit opened the car door and Pete recoiled, flapping his hand in front of his face, ”Damn, you guys drink the town dry or what—what?" He asked at Whit’s look—and then groaned quietly.
“He acted out, hunh? Are you okay?” At Whit’s nod, he laughed shortly. “Sure you are. I’ll help you get his stupid ass upstairs. Don’t blame him Whit, he’ll get it together, I know he will and he’s going to realize he loves you and--”
“Jesus, Pete, you ever feel like you’re stuck in a queer soap opera? Shit, I feel sorry for you sometimes….” Whit puffed as they pulled and half carried Sam upstairs. Pete struggled between scowling and laughing and finally had to giggle a bit.
They dropped Sam on Whit’s bed and Whit straightened and looked directly into Pete’s eyes and said “I know he’s gonna be sorry, they’re always sorry after. I know times are screwed up for him and you know what? At this point, I don’t give a flying fuck. This is me, moving on and taking care of me. And shut up, I know I sound like some asshole self help book.”
“No, you sound good. You’re right. This is something Sam has to take care of himself. And you really need to learn how to be a kid again, Whit.”
“Shit, Pete—what the hell does that even mean? I’ll be happy if I can get out of school alive, man. I hope to hell I can get out of Smallville alive,” he laughed bitterly. He looked down on the sleeping man in his bed.
“Pete, I’m going to stay at Clark’s until Sam’s gone, okay? Tell him I accept his apology—but not to bother me. Just in case.”
Pete nodded. “Understood.”
********
The Beanery was crowded that afternoon, and the air conditioning was not quite up to the challenge. There were a pile of napkins in front of Lana, and a pile in front o f Lex. There was also a lot of eye rolling going on.
“Babe, you’re de-foresting the planet. You’re going to sweat, it’s summer. It’s what you do in summer. You sweat,” Pete explained patiently.
“I don’t have to walk around dripping just because it’s summer do I? Besides, I hate the feel of sweat on my neck.” Lana grumbled, the heat making her irritable. Lex nodded with her and patted the back of his neck with a folded napkin.
“That wasn’t what you said last—oof. Geez, your pointy little elbows. Swear to god, I lost a kidney that time.” Pete rubbed his side, and moaned sadly and quietly to himself.
“Yes, well now you know what not to share in public—we call it TMI,” she growled but her eyes sparkled when she looked at Pete.
“Fine, fine. Your boyfriend only has one functioning kidney, but we won’t make sex jokes because--"
“We could go for the other kidney you know.”
“Is that the royal we?” Lex murmured. “Or are you acknowledging that the rest of us would rather take Pete’s kidney out then hear about your sexploits?”
Whit laughed aloud. “Lex! Ew—sexploits? Watching those crappy tell all shows on cable with Clark, aren’t you?”
Clark flushed, “Lex makes me watch them—I don’t…”
“Clark. I’m right here. We usually wait until the person we slander has their back turned.” Pinned by glacial gray eyes and a disapproving glare he trailed off into embarrassed silence and a weak grin.
“Yes, Whit, Clark does channel his inner housewife frequently. It pains me to admit this, but the love of my life has no taste what so ever. This, my friends, is a man who thinks bright blue and red are the new black.” He pointed at Clark who mock-frowned at him. “Fear him. Fear his primary colors!”
The little group laughed along with Lex and Clark and Whit tipped his chair back and grinned at the two. It felt like a million years since he’d spent any time with them. He missed them—but he didn’t want to infect them with his crap. They were so happy and he hated to bring any more bad stuff into their lives. He’d done enough of that—god knows he’d caused most of their problems, and felt guilty about it every time he watched how careful, how protective they were with each other—as if they were so breakable. And yeah, hadn’t he taught them how true that was-- how truly dangerous life could be.
The warm feeling began to dissipate but a burst of laughter from the corner caught his attention and he turned his head toward the sound with a small smile—and froze.
Oh. Oh—man. That looked good.
Some guy in his marine dress blues stood talking to a group of kids that looked vaguely familiar to Whit.
Lana followed his line of sight to the group. “Oh, look, it’s Charlie Vale, remember him?”
Whit frowned. “No, was he in our class?” He looked good, really blue eyes and a great smile…
Pete answered, “No, last years class—you don’t know him, he was a band geek. Not your crowd." He looked archly at Whit.
Lex smirked. “Ah. A good boy, hmm. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Whit?”
His tone was entirely affectionate and joking and Whit knew Lex didn’t mean anything hurtful at all by it…still, his words pricked a bit.
“Fuck you,” he said casually and was glad no sign of the brief stab of hurt feeling showed in his voice. He looked over at Charlie. “Those uniforms make anyone look good, don’t they?”
Lana huffed. “Charlie’s a real cute guy even out of uniform, right, Pete?”
“Geez, I don’t know! Ask Clark! Why ask me—I don’t look at guys, how the heck should I know?” He made a violent shrugging motion and glared at his love, who smiled back sweetly.
Clark and Lex coughed into their hands, “Homophobe--" and Pete yelled, “Enough already! It wasn’t funny the first five hundred million times!”
In the total silence that followed and the complete attention that their table garnered, Whit made eye contact with Charlie, who smiled faintly with a look that said, ‘Do I know you?’ and his eyes slid away from Whit almost immediately.
Whit shrugged mentally. Oh well, obviously not interested. It was worth a shot. He probably looked like a band geek out of the uniform anyway. Boy, that navy and brass-- really made a guy look good….
Ha! It's not over yet-- TBC
Soon, this little story wil come to an end, draw the drapes, turn out the lights, put out the cat and call it a day. Of course, in terms of this story, that means it'll be sometime in Feburary before that happens...*sigh*
But! the fun is back and the angst is coming down a bazillion notches (apologies to you who love that kind of stuff--*koffAbikoffRoxykoff* er-hem.)so that's good yes? And I also apologize for throwing another OC at you, we're just tripping over them here aren't we? Tsk.
Ah well-- enough blabbing!
The Previous Parts are here, waiting for P Diddy to come out the club 'cause they're gonna kick his punk ass too.
Summer Story
They got to the car after a long and meandering walk and Whit was amazed to find out Sam couldn’t sing for shit--with a deep sigh of relief, he pushed Sam into the passengers side, “No fucking way are you driving home, hell no!” and Sam chuckled and folded up into the seat. He watched Whit get in with fever bright eyes and reached over to help him buckle in.
“Thanks Sam, I think I’ve got it--” and tried to push Sam’s hands away, and suddenly it was like Sam’d grown a dozen hands and they flailed and shoved and pushed at each other for a while and laughed until even with Sam’s help Whit managed to buckle in and Sam whooped in triumph.
Whit was still grinning a little—he started the car, pulled away from the curb, when a hand landed in his lap and cupped him, rubbed him....
Whit froze, shit and grabbed Sam’s wrist drunk, he doesn’t know and suddenly Sam had a hand around his neck and was trying to force his tongue into his mouth. The car swerved and Whit gasped in fear and anger.
“Stop! Stop it,” Whit growled and pushed against him with one hand and clasped the wheel in a death grip with the other....
“It’s okay-- guys don’t-- it doesn’t matter…” he gasped and dragged his mouth wetly against Whit’s neck and Whit thought he was going to throw up. He pushed Sam back so hard his head cracked against the window and he stare at Whit open mouthed, sick and horrified, and burst into sobs.
Whit slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the car lunged forward with a squeal of tires and the scent of burning rubber. “You drunk bastard!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You stupid drunk motherfucker! Who the fuck—you know me! How could you do that?”
“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean --”
“Shut the fuck up, you, you—just shut up.”
Sam cried, balled up against the door and shaking and Whit didn’t give a fuck—he just wanted to get home and leave this pathetic self-hating pile of shit on the driveway.
“I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean it like that,” he kept repeating, “I thought I’d forget, thought I’d get over it –I love you, I know it, I love you and you love me, right? Don’t you? Whit?” Sam’s voice was thick and rough and he looked pathetic, looked like his world was splitting down the middle and Whit hoped he’d fall into the center and be ground to a paste.
He drove furiously, concentrating on the road, trying to ignore the quietly begging man at his side. Everything he said or did was a lie, and part of his mind begged him to cut the guy a break, he was drunk and confused he loved him! And the part that had heard too many drunken declarations of love and sorrow hated him you don’t need this shit, fuck him.
Sam was asleep by the time Whit pulled into the driveway. He sat in the car and leaned his head on the steering wheel. His eyes were gummy and burning, he was so tired. He sighed and glanced toward Sam. In the gray dawn light Sam looked pale, yellow and sick, his forehead was creased even in sleep, his mouth drawn fiercely down. Whit could see tears still hanging on his lashes and it made him want to cry too, made him want to reach over and punch him. He could feel himself falling right into the same old pattern, wanting to —fuck me if I do this again!. he couldn’t do anything for Sam- no way could he help him, they’d only drag each other down and he was married and that meant something too. To Whit at least—it meant hands off.
He startled at a knock on the window, he wiped condensation off the glass and there was Pete, standing outside in his boxers, barefoot and arms crossed over his chest and he looked confused and a little worried. Whit opened the car door and Pete recoiled, flapping his hand in front of his face, ”Damn, you guys drink the town dry or what—what?" He asked at Whit’s look—and then groaned quietly.
“He acted out, hunh? Are you okay?” At Whit’s nod, he laughed shortly. “Sure you are. I’ll help you get his stupid ass upstairs. Don’t blame him Whit, he’ll get it together, I know he will and he’s going to realize he loves you and--”
“Jesus, Pete, you ever feel like you’re stuck in a queer soap opera? Shit, I feel sorry for you sometimes….” Whit puffed as they pulled and half carried Sam upstairs. Pete struggled between scowling and laughing and finally had to giggle a bit.
They dropped Sam on Whit’s bed and Whit straightened and looked directly into Pete’s eyes and said “I know he’s gonna be sorry, they’re always sorry after. I know times are screwed up for him and you know what? At this point, I don’t give a flying fuck. This is me, moving on and taking care of me. And shut up, I know I sound like some asshole self help book.”
“No, you sound good. You’re right. This is something Sam has to take care of himself. And you really need to learn how to be a kid again, Whit.”
“Shit, Pete—what the hell does that even mean? I’ll be happy if I can get out of school alive, man. I hope to hell I can get out of Smallville alive,” he laughed bitterly. He looked down on the sleeping man in his bed.
“Pete, I’m going to stay at Clark’s until Sam’s gone, okay? Tell him I accept his apology—but not to bother me. Just in case.”
Pete nodded. “Understood.”
********
The Beanery was crowded that afternoon, and the air conditioning was not quite up to the challenge. There were a pile of napkins in front of Lana, and a pile in front o f Lex. There was also a lot of eye rolling going on.
“Babe, you’re de-foresting the planet. You’re going to sweat, it’s summer. It’s what you do in summer. You sweat,” Pete explained patiently.
“I don’t have to walk around dripping just because it’s summer do I? Besides, I hate the feel of sweat on my neck.” Lana grumbled, the heat making her irritable. Lex nodded with her and patted the back of his neck with a folded napkin.
“That wasn’t what you said last—oof. Geez, your pointy little elbows. Swear to god, I lost a kidney that time.” Pete rubbed his side, and moaned sadly and quietly to himself.
“Yes, well now you know what not to share in public—we call it TMI,” she growled but her eyes sparkled when she looked at Pete.
“Fine, fine. Your boyfriend only has one functioning kidney, but we won’t make sex jokes because--"
“We could go for the other kidney you know.”
“Is that the royal we?” Lex murmured. “Or are you acknowledging that the rest of us would rather take Pete’s kidney out then hear about your sexploits?”
Whit laughed aloud. “Lex! Ew—sexploits? Watching those crappy tell all shows on cable with Clark, aren’t you?”
Clark flushed, “Lex makes me watch them—I don’t…”
“Clark. I’m right here. We usually wait until the person we slander has their back turned.” Pinned by glacial gray eyes and a disapproving glare he trailed off into embarrassed silence and a weak grin.
“Yes, Whit, Clark does channel his inner housewife frequently. It pains me to admit this, but the love of my life has no taste what so ever. This, my friends, is a man who thinks bright blue and red are the new black.” He pointed at Clark who mock-frowned at him. “Fear him. Fear his primary colors!”
The little group laughed along with Lex and Clark and Whit tipped his chair back and grinned at the two. It felt like a million years since he’d spent any time with them. He missed them—but he didn’t want to infect them with his crap. They were so happy and he hated to bring any more bad stuff into their lives. He’d done enough of that—god knows he’d caused most of their problems, and felt guilty about it every time he watched how careful, how protective they were with each other—as if they were so breakable. And yeah, hadn’t he taught them how true that was-- how truly dangerous life could be.
The warm feeling began to dissipate but a burst of laughter from the corner caught his attention and he turned his head toward the sound with a small smile—and froze.
Oh. Oh—man. That looked good.
Some guy in his marine dress blues stood talking to a group of kids that looked vaguely familiar to Whit.
Lana followed his line of sight to the group. “Oh, look, it’s Charlie Vale, remember him?”
Whit frowned. “No, was he in our class?” He looked good, really blue eyes and a great smile…
Pete answered, “No, last years class—you don’t know him, he was a band geek. Not your crowd." He looked archly at Whit.
Lex smirked. “Ah. A good boy, hmm. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Whit?”
His tone was entirely affectionate and joking and Whit knew Lex didn’t mean anything hurtful at all by it…still, his words pricked a bit.
“Fuck you,” he said casually and was glad no sign of the brief stab of hurt feeling showed in his voice. He looked over at Charlie. “Those uniforms make anyone look good, don’t they?”
Lana huffed. “Charlie’s a real cute guy even out of uniform, right, Pete?”
“Geez, I don’t know! Ask Clark! Why ask me—I don’t look at guys, how the heck should I know?” He made a violent shrugging motion and glared at his love, who smiled back sweetly.
Clark and Lex coughed into their hands, “Homophobe--" and Pete yelled, “Enough already! It wasn’t funny the first five hundred million times!”
In the total silence that followed and the complete attention that their table garnered, Whit made eye contact with Charlie, who smiled faintly with a look that said, ‘Do I know you?’ and his eyes slid away from Whit almost immediately.
Whit shrugged mentally. Oh well, obviously not interested. It was worth a shot. He probably looked like a band geek out of the uniform anyway. Boy, that navy and brass-- really made a guy look good….
Ha! It's not over yet-- TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
1/2/05 07:43 pm (UTC)Please, please, do not consign poor Whit to the horror that is military service. I beg of you. *pleads*
(no subject)
1/2/05 09:05 pm (UTC)