Summer Story part 13
6/4/05 02:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyI wasn't going to post this, but then I thought what the heck, it's purely bridgey, and I come down with The Insomnia so why not? Here then is a little bit of the story.
The Previous Parts are here, racing down the highway in a red Mustang, windows down and wind in their hair...oh dear-isn't that your TV in the backseat? and your dvd player...looks like maybe your silverware too....
Whit woke up because the bed was cold, Sam wasn’t wrapped around him and it felt wrong.
He lay quiet for a moment, lost in a haze of contentment... reviewing every bit of the night before. Coming home after Prom, heading upstairs, talking long into the night—it had been wonderful. Every time they talked Whit felt their connection building, getting stronger and last night, they’d talked about a future together. They talked about the business and Whit playing a part in it and Whit had practically floated then.
Sam wanted him, he really did. All of him, not just the sex, though the sex was unbelievable. He had no idea how every one else’s prom night went but he had no complaints about how he ended his.
Sam was amazing—he was every bit as kind and loving as Charlie had been, and talented—god, was he ever talented. But it was—there was no way to compare them, he’d liked Charlie so much, had trusted him--but he loved Sam. He wanted to trust him as much as he loved him.
When there was no ignoring his bladder anymore, he groaned and hopped out of the bed, forced to start the day. He made his way into the bathroom, relieved himself and let the shower run until it got warm—brushed his teeth and thought about a future that he hadn’t ever been sure before he’d have. He grinned at himself in the mirror.
Oh yeah—he’d thought life had gotten as good as it could for him, but now that Sam had finally come to his senses, it was just amazing—nothing stood in their way. He brushed a little harder and thought fiercely, ‘ things have to fall into place now, we’re due some happiness, damn it!
He was whistling as he ran down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. He was starving, and happy--and starving! He hoped he wasn’t too late for breakfast, probably was since he didn’t see Pete. Damn. He also hoped Pete had left him some breakfast. That boy could eat; it was almost frightening…oh well. He could do toast just as well. He wondered idly if Sam cooked. He wondered if he should learn….
He was still whistling when he swung toward the kitchen and froze.God damn it.
Abbie was hollering, Bill was yelling and oh, of course, Mr. Stupid’s hollering right back.
“Watch yourself boy—don’t forget who you’re talking to.” Whit could hear Bill growl, in a tone he couldn’t ever remember hearing from him, no matter how angry Bill had been over some hair-brained stunt he’d pulled.
“You’re going too far, Samuel. In my house you respect my rules you, hear? I don’t give a flying fuck--”
Shit! Shit! Shit, shit! “ Whit screamed in his head. Bill was cursing in front of Abbie which meant Sam had pushed everyone over the edge--again—if he shut the hell up right now, they might still salvage this—and what the hell where they fighting about anyway? Damn that boy!
“You telling me and Whit what we can and can’t do?”
Mother fuck! Thanks for bringing my name into it, he thought and debated running away. He really did like Clark’s loft—a few blankets and he’d be cozy and…
“No one is sleeping together in my house, under my roof, without being married, you hear me?” Whit heard the tremor in Abbie’s voice, and sighed. This was not going to get better anytime soon. Sam, Sam….
“Well fuck me! Is it that easy?” He heard Sam shout. “Well, let us get married right now—where at, Ma? The courthouse? Smallville Baptist? What the hell, lets do it in the back yard—you can do the honors...”
There was dead silence for a minute—a minute that seemed to spin out to an eternity. Whit spun on his heel and started for the door and freedom when a voice like a shotgun crack brought him right back.
“Whitney Fordham, get your butt in here right now,” Abbie called out.
Fuck! How does she do that? “Yes ma’am,” he called and slouched into the kitchen.
Sam was backed up against the sink like an animal at bay, his face a mask of anger, he green eyes rivaled Clark’s for intensity at the moment—he was furiously pressing his lips together, so hard they were pale.
Abbie glared at him, mouth turned down in a ferocious frown and her nostrils flared in anger—her hands were fisted tight at he sides and her chest was heaving---Whit felt his gut crawl. Fighting, shouting…it still bothered him, even when he knew it wouldn’t end like…it used to when he was a kid, it still made him feel a little sick.
Bill turned to him and Whit felt his stomach tighten, he tried to look calm. “What made you think that you could have sex in our home?” Bill asked, softly, cool and deadly calm.
Whit paled, his mouth opened and nothing came out. Our home? Sex? Oh fuck, oh fuck… “I—I—I’m sorry?” I’m so screwed!
Bill yelled at Sam. “Whit knows how to act—but you come in here and turn his head around, and make the boy stupid!”
Whit looked at them open-mouthed. He tried to decide if they were angry with him, it seemed maybe…not. They were pissed as hell at Sam, but not so much at him? Whit felt confused and a little, just a little, relieved. .
Sam shook his head. “You don’t want me messing up your happy home?” he yelled, “Fine. I’ll leave!”
He brushed past Whit, who stared after him, and stuttered, “S--Sam! Come back! Wait!”
They heard the front door slam.
Whit groaned and closed his eyes. Facing the Ross’ alone was going to be fun. He just might die of embarrassment. If he was lucky.
“Look, Mom Ross, Bill—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean disrespect--”
“It’s not your fault Whitney, but we count on you to have more sense. You have separate bedrooms, you use them. This is not a motel, you hear?”
Whit blushed and stammered and apologized again and desperately wished this wasn’t about sex and Bill patted him on the shoulder.
“I feel sorry for you Whit. You got your work cut out for you, boy.” He poured a cup of coffee and told his wife, “I’ll be on the patio trying to enjoy the morning, or what’s left of it, if you need me.” He left, tossing Whit a look as he did. He looked so sympathetic and Whit felt like an idiot and tried to pretend he had no idea at all what Bill was talking about.
Whit turned back to watch Abbie, chewing on his thumb and watching as she puttered about a little, making tea, putting cookies on a plate, and arranging them over and over before forcing herself to stop. She shook her head and sighed deeply before bringing tea and the cookies to the table and sitting down.
She poured tea for the both of them before speaking. “Son, this just can’t go on. I never let the boys have their girlfriends in their rooms, and I’m not starting with you and Sam. I’m sorry—that’s the way it is.”
Whit nodded. He didn’t have a problem. He could live with it—for now.
“Sam thinks it’s about you and him being—” She gestured vaguely. “Being boys. That’s not it. Sam just needs to get over that. Hard head.” She shook her head and took a vicious snap of her cookie.
He nibbled the edge of his own cookie and thanked god that it was store bought. He wasn’t sure that he could deal with guilt *and* Abbie’s homemade cookies. “When…when…” he could feel himself blushing again and cursed. Mom Ross made him so tongue tied, scary little woman.
She sighed. “That’s the thing isn’t it? You boys can’t get married…I—I don’t know Whit. I’ll have to think on that.” She stared down at the cup cradled between her hands for a moment before lifting her eyes to him.
“When will that boy ever calm down?” she asked sadly. “For every step forward we take, feels like we take two back. When will he stop treating us like his enemies?”
“Oh Mom, he doesn’t think you’re his enemies! He’s just got a crappy short fuse—he’s getting better at controlling it, I swear. He depends on you guys really, he loves you very much.”
Abbie laughed and stood, hugging Whit briefly. “Okay than Whitney, I’ll believe you.” She looked at him, holding him at arms length and searching his face. “Whit, I want you to be happy. Let me think about all this please?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “And don’t worry, okay?”
She nodded too, and left the kitchen.
Whit got up and cleaned the table. He washed the cups and put them to drain, and glanced out the window. He could see the Ross’s sitting on the bench in the back yard. Abbie leaned against Bill and Bill put his arm around her.
For one horrible moment he’d thought he’d cry. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and leaned his head against the fridge and prayed for strength. Hold out until graduation, hold on…and don’t kill Sam, he scolded himself. Eventually, everyone would miss him if I did, maybe even me….
tbc
The Previous Parts are here, racing down the highway in a red Mustang, windows down and wind in their hair...oh dear-isn't that your TV in the backseat? and your dvd player...looks like maybe your silverware too....
Whit woke up because the bed was cold, Sam wasn’t wrapped around him and it felt wrong.
He lay quiet for a moment, lost in a haze of contentment... reviewing every bit of the night before. Coming home after Prom, heading upstairs, talking long into the night—it had been wonderful. Every time they talked Whit felt their connection building, getting stronger and last night, they’d talked about a future together. They talked about the business and Whit playing a part in it and Whit had practically floated then.
Sam wanted him, he really did. All of him, not just the sex, though the sex was unbelievable. He had no idea how every one else’s prom night went but he had no complaints about how he ended his.
Sam was amazing—he was every bit as kind and loving as Charlie had been, and talented—god, was he ever talented. But it was—there was no way to compare them, he’d liked Charlie so much, had trusted him--but he loved Sam. He wanted to trust him as much as he loved him.
When there was no ignoring his bladder anymore, he groaned and hopped out of the bed, forced to start the day. He made his way into the bathroom, relieved himself and let the shower run until it got warm—brushed his teeth and thought about a future that he hadn’t ever been sure before he’d have. He grinned at himself in the mirror.
Oh yeah—he’d thought life had gotten as good as it could for him, but now that Sam had finally come to his senses, it was just amazing—nothing stood in their way. He brushed a little harder and thought fiercely, ‘ things have to fall into place now, we’re due some happiness, damn it!
He was whistling as he ran down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. He was starving, and happy--and starving! He hoped he wasn’t too late for breakfast, probably was since he didn’t see Pete. Damn. He also hoped Pete had left him some breakfast. That boy could eat; it was almost frightening…oh well. He could do toast just as well. He wondered idly if Sam cooked. He wondered if he should learn….
He was still whistling when he swung toward the kitchen and froze.God damn it.
Abbie was hollering, Bill was yelling and oh, of course, Mr. Stupid’s hollering right back.
“Watch yourself boy—don’t forget who you’re talking to.” Whit could hear Bill growl, in a tone he couldn’t ever remember hearing from him, no matter how angry Bill had been over some hair-brained stunt he’d pulled.
“You’re going too far, Samuel. In my house you respect my rules you, hear? I don’t give a flying fuck--”
Shit! Shit! Shit, shit! “ Whit screamed in his head. Bill was cursing in front of Abbie which meant Sam had pushed everyone over the edge--again—if he shut the hell up right now, they might still salvage this—and what the hell where they fighting about anyway? Damn that boy!
“You telling me and Whit what we can and can’t do?”
Mother fuck! Thanks for bringing my name into it, he thought and debated running away. He really did like Clark’s loft—a few blankets and he’d be cozy and…
“No one is sleeping together in my house, under my roof, without being married, you hear me?” Whit heard the tremor in Abbie’s voice, and sighed. This was not going to get better anytime soon. Sam, Sam….
“Well fuck me! Is it that easy?” He heard Sam shout. “Well, let us get married right now—where at, Ma? The courthouse? Smallville Baptist? What the hell, lets do it in the back yard—you can do the honors...”
There was dead silence for a minute—a minute that seemed to spin out to an eternity. Whit spun on his heel and started for the door and freedom when a voice like a shotgun crack brought him right back.
“Whitney Fordham, get your butt in here right now,” Abbie called out.
Fuck! How does she do that? “Yes ma’am,” he called and slouched into the kitchen.
Sam was backed up against the sink like an animal at bay, his face a mask of anger, he green eyes rivaled Clark’s for intensity at the moment—he was furiously pressing his lips together, so hard they were pale.
Abbie glared at him, mouth turned down in a ferocious frown and her nostrils flared in anger—her hands were fisted tight at he sides and her chest was heaving---Whit felt his gut crawl. Fighting, shouting…it still bothered him, even when he knew it wouldn’t end like…it used to when he was a kid, it still made him feel a little sick.
Bill turned to him and Whit felt his stomach tighten, he tried to look calm. “What made you think that you could have sex in our home?” Bill asked, softly, cool and deadly calm.
Whit paled, his mouth opened and nothing came out. Our home? Sex? Oh fuck, oh fuck… “I—I—I’m sorry?” I’m so screwed!
Bill yelled at Sam. “Whit knows how to act—but you come in here and turn his head around, and make the boy stupid!”
Whit looked at them open-mouthed. He tried to decide if they were angry with him, it seemed maybe…not. They were pissed as hell at Sam, but not so much at him? Whit felt confused and a little, just a little, relieved. .
Sam shook his head. “You don’t want me messing up your happy home?” he yelled, “Fine. I’ll leave!”
He brushed past Whit, who stared after him, and stuttered, “S--Sam! Come back! Wait!”
They heard the front door slam.
Whit groaned and closed his eyes. Facing the Ross’ alone was going to be fun. He just might die of embarrassment. If he was lucky.
“Look, Mom Ross, Bill—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean disrespect--”
“It’s not your fault Whitney, but we count on you to have more sense. You have separate bedrooms, you use them. This is not a motel, you hear?”
Whit blushed and stammered and apologized again and desperately wished this wasn’t about sex and Bill patted him on the shoulder.
“I feel sorry for you Whit. You got your work cut out for you, boy.” He poured a cup of coffee and told his wife, “I’ll be on the patio trying to enjoy the morning, or what’s left of it, if you need me.” He left, tossing Whit a look as he did. He looked so sympathetic and Whit felt like an idiot and tried to pretend he had no idea at all what Bill was talking about.
Whit turned back to watch Abbie, chewing on his thumb and watching as she puttered about a little, making tea, putting cookies on a plate, and arranging them over and over before forcing herself to stop. She shook her head and sighed deeply before bringing tea and the cookies to the table and sitting down.
She poured tea for the both of them before speaking. “Son, this just can’t go on. I never let the boys have their girlfriends in their rooms, and I’m not starting with you and Sam. I’m sorry—that’s the way it is.”
Whit nodded. He didn’t have a problem. He could live with it—for now.
“Sam thinks it’s about you and him being—” She gestured vaguely. “Being boys. That’s not it. Sam just needs to get over that. Hard head.” She shook her head and took a vicious snap of her cookie.
He nibbled the edge of his own cookie and thanked god that it was store bought. He wasn’t sure that he could deal with guilt *and* Abbie’s homemade cookies. “When…when…” he could feel himself blushing again and cursed. Mom Ross made him so tongue tied, scary little woman.
She sighed. “That’s the thing isn’t it? You boys can’t get married…I—I don’t know Whit. I’ll have to think on that.” She stared down at the cup cradled between her hands for a moment before lifting her eyes to him.
“When will that boy ever calm down?” she asked sadly. “For every step forward we take, feels like we take two back. When will he stop treating us like his enemies?”
“Oh Mom, he doesn’t think you’re his enemies! He’s just got a crappy short fuse—he’s getting better at controlling it, I swear. He depends on you guys really, he loves you very much.”
Abbie laughed and stood, hugging Whit briefly. “Okay than Whitney, I’ll believe you.” She looked at him, holding him at arms length and searching his face. “Whit, I want you to be happy. Let me think about all this please?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “And don’t worry, okay?”
She nodded too, and left the kitchen.
Whit got up and cleaned the table. He washed the cups and put them to drain, and glanced out the window. He could see the Ross’s sitting on the bench in the back yard. Abbie leaned against Bill and Bill put his arm around her.
For one horrible moment he’d thought he’d cry. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and leaned his head against the fridge and prayed for strength. Hold out until graduation, hold on…and don’t kill Sam, he scolded himself. Eventually, everyone would miss him if I did, maybe even me….
tbc
(no subject)
6/4/05 02:25 pm (UTC)Oh, my god!
That's so funny. Poor Whit.
And yeah, they can't really get married except in Vermont or wherever so what's Abbie gonna do?
*bounce*
Don't kill Sam, it'll be okay, Whit!
:)
*snuggles you*
(no subject)
6/4/05 02:49 pm (UTC)OooO and as long as we're talking-*huggles* Ah. I feel better now! *G*
(no subject)
6/4/05 03:03 pm (UTC)*pet pet pet*