Stand By Me 15
2/15/05 02:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyDid I ever mention that this wasn't a happy story? I think I forgot to say that.
On to part 15--I'm up to part 18, whoo-and hoo! Bedtime? Yep!
Later they drove out to the lake with a couple of beers chilling in an ice chest and a blanket and Lex blew Whitney on the dock, let Whitney fuck his mouth and imagined it was Clark. Afterward, he shared a beer with him and it was the most relaxed he’d been since…since Clark read to him those few days. He liked this Whitney kid—he could definitely be friends with this kid. He felt a strange connection with him, almost like the on e he felt with Clark—but he couldn’t read him—there was nothing when he touched him—none of the cloudy images he usually got from people, none of that electric spark like he got touching Clark
Lex leaned against his car, smoking, Whitney sat on the hood, wearing Lex’s French undershirt, his own shirt balled up under the car seat, having served as an impromptu washcloth. Whitney knew he had a good body and he liked showing it off, muscles hardened by foot ball sliding under his skin, every time he tilted his beer bottle back and swallowed, Lex watched with a hungry grin. Whitney held out his hand for Lex’s cigarette case, took two and slid one under a suspender and lit the other from Lex’s.
“So,” Lex drawled. “What about Clark?”
Whitney looked at him and smirked, noticed how Lex blushed as he grabbed the bottle from him and asked again, “You know what I mean—what about him?”
“If you’re asking what Clark is to me, Clark’s not my—anything. We’re pals, pals that fuck sometime,” he grinned, shaving the truth a bit. It never hurt to do so. He knew Lex had watched what went on that day at the lake. He’d made sure he got a good show, after all—he wondered if Lex was ever going to say anything about it. “I’m not that way.”
“You’re not *that* way?” Lex laughed. “You’re queer, my friend, whatever you want to think about yourself—trust me—you’re as big a fag as—I am,” he laughed.
Whit shrugged, completely unconcerned about any one’s opinion of him. “I just do what I want.” He looked at Lex. “Why aren’t’ you afraid of going to hell?” He asked curiously. There was a reason he saw a cloud surrounding Lex…could it be a fear of hell?
“Oh please, didn’t your parents raise you better than that? You believe in a boogey man in the sky? Or a lake of fire down below?”
Whitney looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette, shrugged and nodded. He inhaled just to watch Lex’s eyes when he sucked on the cigarette, exhaled on a laugh and said, “Yeah, surprise-- I do believe in God—I just don’t think what I do is a sin. Why should it be?”
Lex stared “Because—because—Boy, don’t you *ever* think of anyone but yourself?” and Whit smiled and shook his head.
“Anyway, it’s all bunk-you’ve met my father, there’s proof enough. The man’s still walking and talking—if there was a God he’d have fried him a long time ago.”
Whit laughed, and Lex went on. “A miracle convinced me there was no God—I guess most would want to call it a miracle.” He fell silent and stared over the lake, playing with the bottle he still held.
Whitney scooted across the car hood and sat behind Lex, a leg on either side of him and pulled him against him. He buried his face and fingers in Lex’s hair. “Tell me about it.”
Lex shook his head. “I don’t talk about that.”
Whitney grinned, and threaded his fingers into Lex’s hair, just on the edge of roughness as he pulled them through and through the strands. “Tell me.”
He was mildly curious, but he mostly wanted to know how hard it would be to make Lex do something he didn’t want to do. He nuzzled him and petted him and asked him again and again in quiet little whispers against Lex’s neck, surprised at how hard he had to work to get him to agree and finally Lex sighed and spoke.
“When I was a child, I once wished for a miracle—wished and prayed until I thought I'd die from it—not for me, for my—for someone else. Because I thought their happiness was all that mattered. And it was granted, a miracle happened. And ironies of ironies, the person died shortly after, and if I hadn’t asked for and been granted a miracle, my life might have been much different. So. It quickly became obvious to me that there is no God, there are no miracles, only funny coincidences.” Lex leaned against Whitney and shut his eyes.
Whitney licked at the faded bruises on the back of Lex’s neck and thought about what he’d just been told. Some thing happened to a little baby Alexander that twisted his life and it probably had to do with Pa--- there was much more to that story. And the source of that cloud, he’d bet. He’d find it all out plus a way to make that work for him. He kissed the side of Lex’s neck. “We better get back, my folks are going to miss me soon.” He grinned. “Course, I can always tell them I was getting lessons from the Preacher’s son. Lesson’s in bending to God’s will—something like that.”
Lex looked simultaneously horrified and amused and excited by Whitney.
“You sure you believe in God?” he asked in awe.
“How could I not,” he said. “He made me, didn’t he?”
“You are the most monumentally conceited person I’ve ever met, and considering the circles I’ve traveled in—that’s saying a lot.”
Whit lay back on the hood of the car and smiled. “I’ve got a little bit more time….”
######
Chloe managed to talk Clark into joining the stage crew for what she told him was bound to be the most mediocre production of Romeo and Juliet ever, but he had to join her anyway as a show of support. It took a lot of convincing—browbeating—on Chloe’s part to get Clark to even consider it. Pleas of too much homework and too many chores fell on deaf ears. She was cute, he thought but when she got a bug about something, look out.
“Clark, you’ve got plenty of time to spare after school—and if you don’t, make some.” Chloe slammed her locker shut with a look that said no arguments.
“But, but--you’re the one in the play, you’re the one who made a big deal out of joining the drama club and why do I have to get involved? I’m happy just, just doing nothing—me and Pete--”
“That’s exactly it, Clark—‘Me and Pete, me and Pete, that’s all I hear! You need to meet people, boy. Someone besides Pete. He’s a nice boy and all, but…well, it’s not like you can go anywhere together—do stuff.”
Clark frowned. He didn’t need her to tell him what it was like. He knew darn well.
“It’ll be good for you, Clark. You’ll meet people. You need to meet people—you know, girl peoples?”
And now here he was, Clark Kent, stagehand—unpaid slave labor is what they really meant, he thought. He climbed up on the stage. It was early still and no one was around. Good.
Clark sighed. Girl peoples…weren’t really on the top of his Hit Parade anymore. He still liked to look, and they were pretty, but when he thought about—other stuff, it was mostly Whitney he saw. Or Lex—really liked to think about Lex. Or Robert Taylor, or Errol Flynn and wasn’t that embarrassing when he took Mom to the movies and they sighed over the same guys. Not God forbid that she knew—it was bad enough *God* knew. He was trying, he really was, it was just that when Whitney touched him, everything disappeared except that.
Clark shuddered and went around behind the curtain, looking for the tools he’d need. Kevin was behind the curtain also, looking a little lost. Clark waved him over, and he beamed. Clark liked to talk to Kevin about stuff as they worked. He knew a lot of things, about movies, and books and music.
People avoided Kevin. They didn’t talk to him, they talked about him. They’d decided, on the basis of his appearance, how he talked, how he walked, that he wasn’t like the rest of them. No body normal acted like that. He had to be a queer and queers were bad, and they were going to hell and they molested little kids and worse…whatever was worse.
No one wanted to be tainted by being seen with him, but Clark liked him—liked talking to him. He didn’t care what people said, he was friendly to him—when they were working he talked to him. Kevin understood, like Chloe did, that Clark liked writing, that it was important to him, and Kevin read his stuff and agreed he had something worth sharing. He was good too, at helping him improve his stuff, and in such a nice way that Clark never minded. Kevin was a real good guy, and if everyone else didn’t get it, that was too bad.
Even Chloe had talked to him about his friendship, gently hinting that it might not be the best thing for him, and he’d been hurt by that. More and more, he was coming to understand, from the way she was a little uncomfortable about his friendship with Pete, and the way she tried to warn him off Kevin, that Chloe wasn’t as different as he thought she was from her country cousins. Sure, she wasn’t as bad as most folks in town, she’d talk to both of the boys and she was civil….
He guessed it didn’t matter that much where you were from—it was what you felt inside, how you looked at the world that made you different. Pete would always be his friend, no matter what, and Kevin was a good kid, no matter what everyone else thought.
“Clark, are you okay? You’re really quiet today.” Kevin asked and started to pat Clark on the back before stopping.
Clark smiled and lightly punched him on the arm. “I’m fine—just thinking big thoughts. Because I’m so smart.”
Kevin laughed. Clark smiled and turned his thoughts to other things.
there will be more...
On to part 15--I'm up to part 18, whoo-and hoo! Bedtime? Yep!
Later they drove out to the lake with a couple of beers chilling in an ice chest and a blanket and Lex blew Whitney on the dock, let Whitney fuck his mouth and imagined it was Clark. Afterward, he shared a beer with him and it was the most relaxed he’d been since…since Clark read to him those few days. He liked this Whitney kid—he could definitely be friends with this kid. He felt a strange connection with him, almost like the on e he felt with Clark—but he couldn’t read him—there was nothing when he touched him—none of the cloudy images he usually got from people, none of that electric spark like he got touching Clark
Lex leaned against his car, smoking, Whitney sat on the hood, wearing Lex’s French undershirt, his own shirt balled up under the car seat, having served as an impromptu washcloth. Whitney knew he had a good body and he liked showing it off, muscles hardened by foot ball sliding under his skin, every time he tilted his beer bottle back and swallowed, Lex watched with a hungry grin. Whitney held out his hand for Lex’s cigarette case, took two and slid one under a suspender and lit the other from Lex’s.
“So,” Lex drawled. “What about Clark?”
Whitney looked at him and smirked, noticed how Lex blushed as he grabbed the bottle from him and asked again, “You know what I mean—what about him?”
“If you’re asking what Clark is to me, Clark’s not my—anything. We’re pals, pals that fuck sometime,” he grinned, shaving the truth a bit. It never hurt to do so. He knew Lex had watched what went on that day at the lake. He’d made sure he got a good show, after all—he wondered if Lex was ever going to say anything about it. “I’m not that way.”
“You’re not *that* way?” Lex laughed. “You’re queer, my friend, whatever you want to think about yourself—trust me—you’re as big a fag as—I am,” he laughed.
Whit shrugged, completely unconcerned about any one’s opinion of him. “I just do what I want.” He looked at Lex. “Why aren’t’ you afraid of going to hell?” He asked curiously. There was a reason he saw a cloud surrounding Lex…could it be a fear of hell?
“Oh please, didn’t your parents raise you better than that? You believe in a boogey man in the sky? Or a lake of fire down below?”
Whitney looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette, shrugged and nodded. He inhaled just to watch Lex’s eyes when he sucked on the cigarette, exhaled on a laugh and said, “Yeah, surprise-- I do believe in God—I just don’t think what I do is a sin. Why should it be?”
Lex stared “Because—because—Boy, don’t you *ever* think of anyone but yourself?” and Whit smiled and shook his head.
“Anyway, it’s all bunk-you’ve met my father, there’s proof enough. The man’s still walking and talking—if there was a God he’d have fried him a long time ago.”
Whit laughed, and Lex went on. “A miracle convinced me there was no God—I guess most would want to call it a miracle.” He fell silent and stared over the lake, playing with the bottle he still held.
Whitney scooted across the car hood and sat behind Lex, a leg on either side of him and pulled him against him. He buried his face and fingers in Lex’s hair. “Tell me about it.”
Lex shook his head. “I don’t talk about that.”
Whitney grinned, and threaded his fingers into Lex’s hair, just on the edge of roughness as he pulled them through and through the strands. “Tell me.”
He was mildly curious, but he mostly wanted to know how hard it would be to make Lex do something he didn’t want to do. He nuzzled him and petted him and asked him again and again in quiet little whispers against Lex’s neck, surprised at how hard he had to work to get him to agree and finally Lex sighed and spoke.
“When I was a child, I once wished for a miracle—wished and prayed until I thought I'd die from it—not for me, for my—for someone else. Because I thought their happiness was all that mattered. And it was granted, a miracle happened. And ironies of ironies, the person died shortly after, and if I hadn’t asked for and been granted a miracle, my life might have been much different. So. It quickly became obvious to me that there is no God, there are no miracles, only funny coincidences.” Lex leaned against Whitney and shut his eyes.
Whitney licked at the faded bruises on the back of Lex’s neck and thought about what he’d just been told. Some thing happened to a little baby Alexander that twisted his life and it probably had to do with Pa--- there was much more to that story. And the source of that cloud, he’d bet. He’d find it all out plus a way to make that work for him. He kissed the side of Lex’s neck. “We better get back, my folks are going to miss me soon.” He grinned. “Course, I can always tell them I was getting lessons from the Preacher’s son. Lesson’s in bending to God’s will—something like that.”
Lex looked simultaneously horrified and amused and excited by Whitney.
“You sure you believe in God?” he asked in awe.
“How could I not,” he said. “He made me, didn’t he?”
“You are the most monumentally conceited person I’ve ever met, and considering the circles I’ve traveled in—that’s saying a lot.”
Whit lay back on the hood of the car and smiled. “I’ve got a little bit more time….”
######
Chloe managed to talk Clark into joining the stage crew for what she told him was bound to be the most mediocre production of Romeo and Juliet ever, but he had to join her anyway as a show of support. It took a lot of convincing—browbeating—on Chloe’s part to get Clark to even consider it. Pleas of too much homework and too many chores fell on deaf ears. She was cute, he thought but when she got a bug about something, look out.
“Clark, you’ve got plenty of time to spare after school—and if you don’t, make some.” Chloe slammed her locker shut with a look that said no arguments.
“But, but--you’re the one in the play, you’re the one who made a big deal out of joining the drama club and why do I have to get involved? I’m happy just, just doing nothing—me and Pete--”
“That’s exactly it, Clark—‘Me and Pete, me and Pete, that’s all I hear! You need to meet people, boy. Someone besides Pete. He’s a nice boy and all, but…well, it’s not like you can go anywhere together—do stuff.”
Clark frowned. He didn’t need her to tell him what it was like. He knew darn well.
“It’ll be good for you, Clark. You’ll meet people. You need to meet people—you know, girl peoples?”
And now here he was, Clark Kent, stagehand—unpaid slave labor is what they really meant, he thought. He climbed up on the stage. It was early still and no one was around. Good.
Clark sighed. Girl peoples…weren’t really on the top of his Hit Parade anymore. He still liked to look, and they were pretty, but when he thought about—other stuff, it was mostly Whitney he saw. Or Lex—really liked to think about Lex. Or Robert Taylor, or Errol Flynn and wasn’t that embarrassing when he took Mom to the movies and they sighed over the same guys. Not God forbid that she knew—it was bad enough *God* knew. He was trying, he really was, it was just that when Whitney touched him, everything disappeared except that.
Clark shuddered and went around behind the curtain, looking for the tools he’d need. Kevin was behind the curtain also, looking a little lost. Clark waved him over, and he beamed. Clark liked to talk to Kevin about stuff as they worked. He knew a lot of things, about movies, and books and music.
People avoided Kevin. They didn’t talk to him, they talked about him. They’d decided, on the basis of his appearance, how he talked, how he walked, that he wasn’t like the rest of them. No body normal acted like that. He had to be a queer and queers were bad, and they were going to hell and they molested little kids and worse…whatever was worse.
No one wanted to be tainted by being seen with him, but Clark liked him—liked talking to him. He didn’t care what people said, he was friendly to him—when they were working he talked to him. Kevin understood, like Chloe did, that Clark liked writing, that it was important to him, and Kevin read his stuff and agreed he had something worth sharing. He was good too, at helping him improve his stuff, and in such a nice way that Clark never minded. Kevin was a real good guy, and if everyone else didn’t get it, that was too bad.
Even Chloe had talked to him about his friendship, gently hinting that it might not be the best thing for him, and he’d been hurt by that. More and more, he was coming to understand, from the way she was a little uncomfortable about his friendship with Pete, and the way she tried to warn him off Kevin, that Chloe wasn’t as different as he thought she was from her country cousins. Sure, she wasn’t as bad as most folks in town, she’d talk to both of the boys and she was civil….
He guessed it didn’t matter that much where you were from—it was what you felt inside, how you looked at the world that made you different. Pete would always be his friend, no matter what, and Kevin was a good kid, no matter what everyone else thought.
“Clark, are you okay? You’re really quiet today.” Kevin asked and started to pat Clark on the back before stopping.
Clark smiled and lightly punched him on the arm. “I’m fine—just thinking big thoughts. Because I’m so smart.”
Kevin laughed. Clark smiled and turned his thoughts to other things.
there will be more...
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(no subject)
2/15/05 09:00 pm (UTC)Whitney is being a good, corrupting influence on both Lex and Clark. Good for all three of them.
He’d find it all out plus a way to make that work for him.
I hope that a dead Lionel works for Whitney.
I'm really liking the changes Clark is going through. I hope he and Lex start really communicating soon. Or kissing. Or something. Yeah.
(no subject)
2/15/05 09:08 pm (UTC)I hope that a dead Lionel works for Whitney.
*whistles, hands behind back and eyeballing ceiling*