Fic! Old fic....
10/26/05 08:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyHere's one of the older pieces I posted everywhere but here, I guess.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nashmavericearlier she wanted some angsty Clex but all I've got is this and it's not particularly angsty, but I always kind of liked it.
rated 4
Whitney/Clark
season one
Dreams....
I
“ Like her necklace? Good, ‘cause this is as close as you’re ever going to get to her.”
The whole world changed that night. Everything he thought he knew disappeared. The minute he made Clark a scarecrow, it was gone.
Before that night, he knew so much. Who he was and what he wanted. *Who* he wanted. Now, he was sure of nothing. And the dreams won’t stop.
* “Whitney, Whitney don’t…” words that had no meaning. He’s leaning into Clark, he’s running his hands up the legs of his boxers, and breathing hard like he’s just finished a race. He’s a little dizzy, can’t believe he’s doing this and he’s hard pushing against Clark’s leg, reaching for his dick…
"Why are you doing this to me Whitney.”
He looks up into Clark’s eyes, so sad so broken, the necklace around his neck is glowing and all the veins there standing out. Clark’s panting, maybe in pain. He pushes hard once, twice, he’s coming…*
He hates these dreams. Why won’t they stop? He’s so confused. He hates Kent. He wishes he’d never done it.
Wishes he didn’t know what Clark looked like, felt like under his hands.
It pisses him off that Clark hadn’t fought back .Why the fuck not? He was big, strong. Why would he let a bunch of half -drunk jocks tie him up in a field like that? Let himself get stripped? His hands twitch when he remembers Clark’s skin under his hands, the soft trail of hair…Goddamnit! He hates Kent. Hates when he looks at Lana, staring at her when he thinks he’s not looking. *Staring at *her! *
II
“ You spend all your time trying to steal Lana and now suddenly you wanna become my own personal boy scout?”
Wade was a horrible mistake. He shivers when he thinks about it, but shame was awful close to excitement, and he wants to be touched like that again. It was Clark’s fault. If he weren’t so confused by him, he’d still be happy with his fumbling moves with Lana. She just doesn’t….
Fuck Clark and his eyes that look right through you into your soul! It’s like Clark knows what he dreamt--still dreams about. And the dreams are changing - now Clark calls to him, wants him to kiss him, to suck him off hanging from that cross like some ancient Christian martyr. The dreams seem so *real* now, the heat of Kent’s dick against his cheek, the slippery feeling of his skin against his tongue…he wakes up too many nights with come cooling on his own skin and Clark’s name on his lips. Wade at least taught him something important. There’s one thing he knows, one thing he’s sure of. He knows what he wants from Clark.
III
“You and I have had a strange year. I started out thinking you just wanted to steal Lana. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I did some things I’m not proud of. I’m sorry Clark.”
He’s tossing and turning in his narrow bunk, restless under the scratchy wool blanket. It’s lonelier than he thought it was going to be, surrounded by snoring and mumbling, cursing…all these guys around, and he’s lonely. He’s missing Clark so much-he almost wishes it hadn’t happened. He grins to himself *you just don’t know what you want do you? *
He lets his mind drift back to that last night, up in that barn that Kent hung out in. When Clark asked him up, he was ready to talk about Lana. He figured that’s what Kent was all about. He shocked the shit out of him.
“Whitney, I’m tired of this. Lana isn’t the issue here. It’s you. I’m hoping you *and* me, unless I’m reading this wrong.” He’d looked so ferocious, so ready to be turned down or punched or something…
That first kiss was terrifying. He’d never wanted to kiss someone so much, never had a kiss that literally made him weak in the knees. He’d slid down and had to catch himself on the arm of the couch when Kent let him go .His heart pounded and for a moment all he could hear was his own breath and then he heard Clark- so full of worry.
“Whitney, Whit, are you ok? Hey…”
*Clark was beautiful. Clark was worried about him. Clark had the hottest hands and the softest lips; they’d felt like velvet on his throat. God, the noises he’d made when Clark’s hot, hot hand slipped into the waistband of his jeans. It’s what he waited a year for, what he’d sweated and dreamed about. Clark’s mouth on him, oh, fuck he was going to die! His heart beat so hard it hurt and every breath struggled to leave his throat.
Clark’ mouth was a furnace, liquid heat pulling him into a world of fire; he rolled his head forward to watch Clark. Those lips he’d dreamt of so many times, to see them stretched around him, glistening and red, it was going to kill him! Those lips, redder as they pushed wetly down the shaft, thinning a bit as he sucked harder and pulled up, pulled all the way off with a faint pop, but before he could protest Clark swirled his tongue around the head, pressed against the slit and sucked till Whitney grabbed his head, meaning to pull away and instead pushed into Clark’s mouth and fucked into the heat and Clark let him, didn’t pull back when Whitney began to gasp and chant to himself, snapping his hips up and then freezing. Spilling into Clark with a loud cry, pressing Clark’s head to him, and Clark’s only response was to moan long and loud. It was perfect. It was his every dream come true.*
Later when he’d kissed Clark good-bye, it was with the taste of him filling his mouth; the memory of Clark’s face when he came would fill his dreams for months to come.
When he got back to the States, he was going to spend lots and lots of time making Clark come like that again. Lots of time making Clark know that he was Whitney’s and would always be Whitney’s.
fin
eta:sorry about that!
For
nashmavericearlier she wanted some angsty Clex but all I've got is this and it's not particularly angsty, but I always kind of liked it.rated 4
Whitney/Clark
season one
Dreams....
I
“ Like her necklace? Good, ‘cause this is as close as you’re ever going to get to her.”
The whole world changed that night. Everything he thought he knew disappeared. The minute he made Clark a scarecrow, it was gone.
Before that night, he knew so much. Who he was and what he wanted. *Who* he wanted. Now, he was sure of nothing. And the dreams won’t stop.
* “Whitney, Whitney don’t…” words that had no meaning. He’s leaning into Clark, he’s running his hands up the legs of his boxers, and breathing hard like he’s just finished a race. He’s a little dizzy, can’t believe he’s doing this and he’s hard pushing against Clark’s leg, reaching for his dick…
"Why are you doing this to me Whitney.”
He looks up into Clark’s eyes, so sad so broken, the necklace around his neck is glowing and all the veins there standing out. Clark’s panting, maybe in pain. He pushes hard once, twice, he’s coming…*
He hates these dreams. Why won’t they stop? He’s so confused. He hates Kent. He wishes he’d never done it.
Wishes he didn’t know what Clark looked like, felt like under his hands.
It pisses him off that Clark hadn’t fought back .Why the fuck not? He was big, strong. Why would he let a bunch of half -drunk jocks tie him up in a field like that? Let himself get stripped? His hands twitch when he remembers Clark’s skin under his hands, the soft trail of hair…Goddamnit! He hates Kent. Hates when he looks at Lana, staring at her when he thinks he’s not looking. *Staring at *her! *
II
“ You spend all your time trying to steal Lana and now suddenly you wanna become my own personal boy scout?”
Wade was a horrible mistake. He shivers when he thinks about it, but shame was awful close to excitement, and he wants to be touched like that again. It was Clark’s fault. If he weren’t so confused by him, he’d still be happy with his fumbling moves with Lana. She just doesn’t….
Fuck Clark and his eyes that look right through you into your soul! It’s like Clark knows what he dreamt--still dreams about. And the dreams are changing - now Clark calls to him, wants him to kiss him, to suck him off hanging from that cross like some ancient Christian martyr. The dreams seem so *real* now, the heat of Kent’s dick against his cheek, the slippery feeling of his skin against his tongue…he wakes up too many nights with come cooling on his own skin and Clark’s name on his lips. Wade at least taught him something important. There’s one thing he knows, one thing he’s sure of. He knows what he wants from Clark.
III
“You and I have had a strange year. I started out thinking you just wanted to steal Lana. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I did some things I’m not proud of. I’m sorry Clark.”
He’s tossing and turning in his narrow bunk, restless under the scratchy wool blanket. It’s lonelier than he thought it was going to be, surrounded by snoring and mumbling, cursing…all these guys around, and he’s lonely. He’s missing Clark so much-he almost wishes it hadn’t happened. He grins to himself *you just don’t know what you want do you? *
He lets his mind drift back to that last night, up in that barn that Kent hung out in. When Clark asked him up, he was ready to talk about Lana. He figured that’s what Kent was all about. He shocked the shit out of him.
“Whitney, I’m tired of this. Lana isn’t the issue here. It’s you. I’m hoping you *and* me, unless I’m reading this wrong.” He’d looked so ferocious, so ready to be turned down or punched or something…
That first kiss was terrifying. He’d never wanted to kiss someone so much, never had a kiss that literally made him weak in the knees. He’d slid down and had to catch himself on the arm of the couch when Kent let him go .His heart pounded and for a moment all he could hear was his own breath and then he heard Clark- so full of worry.
“Whitney, Whit, are you ok? Hey…”
*Clark was beautiful. Clark was worried about him. Clark had the hottest hands and the softest lips; they’d felt like velvet on his throat. God, the noises he’d made when Clark’s hot, hot hand slipped into the waistband of his jeans. It’s what he waited a year for, what he’d sweated and dreamed about. Clark’s mouth on him, oh, fuck he was going to die! His heart beat so hard it hurt and every breath struggled to leave his throat.
Clark’ mouth was a furnace, liquid heat pulling him into a world of fire; he rolled his head forward to watch Clark. Those lips he’d dreamt of so many times, to see them stretched around him, glistening and red, it was going to kill him! Those lips, redder as they pushed wetly down the shaft, thinning a bit as he sucked harder and pulled up, pulled all the way off with a faint pop, but before he could protest Clark swirled his tongue around the head, pressed against the slit and sucked till Whitney grabbed his head, meaning to pull away and instead pushed into Clark’s mouth and fucked into the heat and Clark let him, didn’t pull back when Whitney began to gasp and chant to himself, snapping his hips up and then freezing. Spilling into Clark with a loud cry, pressing Clark’s head to him, and Clark’s only response was to moan long and loud. It was perfect. It was his every dream come true.*
Later when he’d kissed Clark good-bye, it was with the taste of him filling his mouth; the memory of Clark’s face when he came would fill his dreams for months to come.
When he got back to the States, he was going to spend lots and lots of time making Clark come like that again. Lots of time making Clark know that he was Whitney’s and would always be Whitney’s.
fin
eta:sorry about that!
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
10/26/05 03:49 pm (UTC)Corinna J
(no subject)
10/26/05 08:08 pm (UTC)