Summer Story part 8
5/14/05 06:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyHere's a visual aide for the next part of Summer Story: all about Sam.
Isn't it weird that he looks just like Gary Dourdan! wow! Go figure ah?
The Previous Parts are here, looking at their own pics of Gary--eeeewww--don't go in there yet!
Whit slammed the office door and immediately wanted to kick himself. Why couldn’t he just stop acting like an asshole? He swept his hair back from his face and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself. Okay-he was going back out there and he was going to apologize, finish up painting and go the hell home. And hide under the bed.
He felt like he’d inflicted himself on everybody long enough for one day. Best to quit while he still had friends.
Shit.
Poor Sam.
He vowed to make it up to him, stop acting like an ass and had just pasted on what he hoped was the appropriately peace-seeking expression when the door went flying open, colliding with the wall. Whit winced at the familiar crunching sound of drywall giving in to force.—that’s gonna leave a hole, guess I know who’s patching that—and then Sam was in his face, And Whit marveled—he couldn’t remember ever seeing Sam quite so unhinged before—he’d really made him lose it.
His green eyes were burning; his cheeks were red with anger. “Look, you –you—pain in my ass! I’ve had it up to here with you!” He made a throat slashing motion and Whit backed away to avoid getting poked. Sam followed and shouted, “You’ve made it abundantly clear how you feel--can you give it a rest now? I mean, how God damn many ways do I have to say I’m sorry?”
Whit thought now here’s a good spot to jump in and apologize. Stop screaming at me!” Shit, that’s not what I wanted to say!
“I’m not screaming--I’m yelling, I’m shouting, I’m tryin’ real hard not to put my foot up your pale white ass!”
“My ass is not pale!” Whit fought the urge to smack himself. “And stop trying to distract me. You *never* told me you were sorry—that’s not your style, right—you just run off when things get rough!”
“First of all—I do not! And I came back! And everyone in the *state* knows I was a total idiot, but they got past it—why the fuck can’t you?”
“Because—because I was waiting for you to tell me you loved me—and when you did, you treated me like you bought me and dumped me….”
Sam dropped his head and when he spoke again, he was quieter . “I know, I was a bastard but—you don’t—you *can’t* understand what I was going through at the time…”
“Fuck you, what *you* were going through—what about me? God! You’re so selfish! And you’re a disgusting drunk! And *godamn,* I hate you!”
Sam grabbed Whit by the neck of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. “No, you don’t.”
Whit snarled back—who the fuck was he to tell him what he was feeling? “Yes! I do! I hate you so much, it makes me sick!”
Sam flattened him against the wall with his body. “No. You don’t.”
Whit groaned, “I do, so much…”
Sam filled both hands with Whit’s shirt, and pulled him to his mouth. He kissed hard, knocked his head against the wall with a thump and Whit made a sound in protest that was swallowed in the kiss, and Sam pressed on just as roughly, just as hard, Whit felt his teeth press into his flesh until it hurt and it was perfect, he needed it just like that.
The kiss changed—bit by bit it became less …frantic, less panicked and softer, gentle but—solid…Whit was afraid, and he knew that Sam was trying to put every bit of what he was feeling into it—maybe everything he’d held inside for years, maybe everything that he should have told or wanted to tell Whit--it was impossible of course, a single kiss can only hold so much but it was enough to break Whit open, to fill his heart, his soul…
And still Whit said, “Yes. I want you to stop.” when Sam asked him, “Should I stop?”
Sam nodded and said, “No.” and kissed him again, softly this time, light as a feather, his lips touched Whit’s, danced across his mouth and down his neck--again he asked him, “Should I stop?”
Whit groaned. “You’re going to hurt me.”
“Never. I promise, never again.”
“I don’t believe you,” he almost shouted. And Sam took his face in his hands and made Whit look into his eyes. “I will never hurt you. I will never try to hurt you. I love you.”
Whit wrenched his hands away and they stared at each other for a moment before Whit reached up and grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair, Sam yelped and staggered as Whit yanked him forward, hard.
“Bastard,” Whit hissed and bared his teeth at him and Sam laughed, a laugh that went wild and thin when Whit ground against him.
“Fuck yeah, I love you, I loved you forever, I loved you since I was a snotty nosed brat, I loved you when you were fucking all those girls and running off and leaving me here alone and getting *married*, you fuck--” and he bit Sam’s lip hard, pulled until Sam gasped. He let go and Sam licked blood from his lip and Whit said “I loved you every time I let you beat me at basketball ‘cause you *suck!*”
Sam grabbed him and pushed him to his toes against the wall and ground their hips together.
“Let me win? Let me win! You must be trippin’!”
Whit locked a leg behind one of Sam’s and groaned when Sam ripped his zipper down, pulled at his pants until his dick sprung free. He was so hard, every time Sam touched him, it made him shiver, and his brain was beginning to shut down, only registering hot and hard and sweat and Sam.
Sam’s breath was starting to go ragged, started to match Whit’s rough breathing, he was panting, grinding against him and whispering dirty things in his ear, promising him things that made his dick twitch and made him yell his own promises. Every push of Sam’s hips, every stroke, every gasp brought him closer and closer, his dick spilled steadily in Sam’s hand and an image of long ago filled his mind: Sam groaning and jerking his fist over his dick and Whit remembered how badly he’d wanted to touch him and now Sam was touching him, he was moaning and digging his fingers into his thighs and now shouting, and Whit could feel it, he felt Sam pulse against him, felt the heat as he came in his pants…heard him laughing and groaning “Jesus, Whit! Jesus…” Whit whined high in his throat and arched back so hard Sam staggered and they fell against the wall with a thud and he came in Sam’s hand calling out his name like he’d never done anything like this before, like it was the first time he’d ever come….
They lay pressed against one another, silent, breathing hard--Sam recovered enough to speak first.
“I’m sorry. I love you.”
Whit gasped a little “I know. I love you too.” He laughed weakly. “—I think Clark and Lex know it too.”
Sam groaned, “Ouch. I’ll never be able to look at them again.”
“Yes you will. They’ve been waiting for this anyway—well, maybe not this in particular, but--”
Sam nudged Whit. “I get it. I get it. So, I’m just going to wait here until they leave.”
“In that case, I’m very happy you have a washroom in here.”
Whit grinned when Sam laughed and threw his arms around his shoulders. He wasn’t going to think right now. He was just going to breathe.
TBC
Isn't it weird that he looks just like Gary Dourdan! wow! Go figure ah?
The Previous Parts are here, looking at their own pics of Gary--eeeewww--don't go in there yet!
Whit slammed the office door and immediately wanted to kick himself. Why couldn’t he just stop acting like an asshole? He swept his hair back from his face and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself. Okay-he was going back out there and he was going to apologize, finish up painting and go the hell home. And hide under the bed.
He felt like he’d inflicted himself on everybody long enough for one day. Best to quit while he still had friends.
Shit.
Poor Sam.
He vowed to make it up to him, stop acting like an ass and had just pasted on what he hoped was the appropriately peace-seeking expression when the door went flying open, colliding with the wall. Whit winced at the familiar crunching sound of drywall giving in to force.—that’s gonna leave a hole, guess I know who’s patching that—and then Sam was in his face, And Whit marveled—he couldn’t remember ever seeing Sam quite so unhinged before—he’d really made him lose it.
His green eyes were burning; his cheeks were red with anger. “Look, you –you—pain in my ass! I’ve had it up to here with you!” He made a throat slashing motion and Whit backed away to avoid getting poked. Sam followed and shouted, “You’ve made it abundantly clear how you feel--can you give it a rest now? I mean, how God damn many ways do I have to say I’m sorry?”
Whit thought now here’s a good spot to jump in and apologize. Stop screaming at me!” Shit, that’s not what I wanted to say!
“I’m not screaming--I’m yelling, I’m shouting, I’m tryin’ real hard not to put my foot up your pale white ass!”
“My ass is not pale!” Whit fought the urge to smack himself. “And stop trying to distract me. You *never* told me you were sorry—that’s not your style, right—you just run off when things get rough!”
“First of all—I do not! And I came back! And everyone in the *state* knows I was a total idiot, but they got past it—why the fuck can’t you?”
“Because—because I was waiting for you to tell me you loved me—and when you did, you treated me like you bought me and dumped me….”
Sam dropped his head and when he spoke again, he was quieter . “I know, I was a bastard but—you don’t—you *can’t* understand what I was going through at the time…”
“Fuck you, what *you* were going through—what about me? God! You’re so selfish! And you’re a disgusting drunk! And *godamn,* I hate you!”
Sam grabbed Whit by the neck of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. “No, you don’t.”
Whit snarled back—who the fuck was he to tell him what he was feeling? “Yes! I do! I hate you so much, it makes me sick!”
Sam flattened him against the wall with his body. “No. You don’t.”
Whit groaned, “I do, so much…”
Sam filled both hands with Whit’s shirt, and pulled him to his mouth. He kissed hard, knocked his head against the wall with a thump and Whit made a sound in protest that was swallowed in the kiss, and Sam pressed on just as roughly, just as hard, Whit felt his teeth press into his flesh until it hurt and it was perfect, he needed it just like that.
The kiss changed—bit by bit it became less …frantic, less panicked and softer, gentle but—solid…Whit was afraid, and he knew that Sam was trying to put every bit of what he was feeling into it—maybe everything he’d held inside for years, maybe everything that he should have told or wanted to tell Whit--it was impossible of course, a single kiss can only hold so much but it was enough to break Whit open, to fill his heart, his soul…
And still Whit said, “Yes. I want you to stop.” when Sam asked him, “Should I stop?”
Sam nodded and said, “No.” and kissed him again, softly this time, light as a feather, his lips touched Whit’s, danced across his mouth and down his neck--again he asked him, “Should I stop?”
Whit groaned. “You’re going to hurt me.”
“Never. I promise, never again.”
“I don’t believe you,” he almost shouted. And Sam took his face in his hands and made Whit look into his eyes. “I will never hurt you. I will never try to hurt you. I love you.”
Whit wrenched his hands away and they stared at each other for a moment before Whit reached up and grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair, Sam yelped and staggered as Whit yanked him forward, hard.
“Bastard,” Whit hissed and bared his teeth at him and Sam laughed, a laugh that went wild and thin when Whit ground against him.
“Fuck yeah, I love you, I loved you forever, I loved you since I was a snotty nosed brat, I loved you when you were fucking all those girls and running off and leaving me here alone and getting *married*, you fuck--” and he bit Sam’s lip hard, pulled until Sam gasped. He let go and Sam licked blood from his lip and Whit said “I loved you every time I let you beat me at basketball ‘cause you *suck!*”
Sam grabbed him and pushed him to his toes against the wall and ground their hips together.
“Let me win? Let me win! You must be trippin’!”
Whit locked a leg behind one of Sam’s and groaned when Sam ripped his zipper down, pulled at his pants until his dick sprung free. He was so hard, every time Sam touched him, it made him shiver, and his brain was beginning to shut down, only registering hot and hard and sweat and Sam.
Sam’s breath was starting to go ragged, started to match Whit’s rough breathing, he was panting, grinding against him and whispering dirty things in his ear, promising him things that made his dick twitch and made him yell his own promises. Every push of Sam’s hips, every stroke, every gasp brought him closer and closer, his dick spilled steadily in Sam’s hand and an image of long ago filled his mind: Sam groaning and jerking his fist over his dick and Whit remembered how badly he’d wanted to touch him and now Sam was touching him, he was moaning and digging his fingers into his thighs and now shouting, and Whit could feel it, he felt Sam pulse against him, felt the heat as he came in his pants…heard him laughing and groaning “Jesus, Whit! Jesus…” Whit whined high in his throat and arched back so hard Sam staggered and they fell against the wall with a thud and he came in Sam’s hand calling out his name like he’d never done anything like this before, like it was the first time he’d ever come….
They lay pressed against one another, silent, breathing hard--Sam recovered enough to speak first.
“I’m sorry. I love you.”
Whit gasped a little “I know. I love you too.” He laughed weakly. “—I think Clark and Lex know it too.”
Sam groaned, “Ouch. I’ll never be able to look at them again.”
“Yes you will. They’ve been waiting for this anyway—well, maybe not this in particular, but--”
Sam nudged Whit. “I get it. I get it. So, I’m just going to wait here until they leave.”
“In that case, I’m very happy you have a washroom in here.”
Whit grinned when Sam laughed and threw his arms around his shoulders. He wasn’t going to think right now. He was just going to breathe.
TBC