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2/13/06 12:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyThe previous parts are here whipping up a batch of their special hair gel, just for you!
I didn’t think this was ever going to shake out of my head, the little bastard. The first part just fell out and the rest of it I had to rip out. Look at my boo-boo! This is driving me nuts—I see the endings of both my WIPs waving at me from the seashore, all happy and smiling and sucking down fruity little drinks with umbrellas in and I don’t know how to get there! Bastards.
“Hey, Clark, you want to go to the lake with me?”
Clark looked at Bruce suspiciously. “Just you and me?”
“Yeah, why not—I mean if you want, Pete and Whit can come.”
“No,” Clark interrupted sharply. “You and me’s just fine.”
They were quiet on the way out, Bruce drove Pop’s old truck and as they turned off the highway onto the access road that led to the lake itself, they bounced crazily over the ruts and potholes in the road. Normally the jouncing would make them laugh; make affectionate jibes at Pop’s cheapness and the old truck he refused to give up, the first truck he’d bought. Today, there was only stony silence. Bruce looked over at his brother from time to time and Clark stared straight out of the windshield, never looking right and left.
They parked the truck in a gravel round-about a few feet from the shoreline, and kept to the side of the lake that Clark could safely negotiate. Clark pulled out rods and a tackle box from the back, and Bruce grabbed a blanket and a cooler. Bruce selected a spot and flipped the blanket open and settled it high up on the shoreline and Clark watched him, glanced at the rods he held, dropped them on the sand.
“We’re not out here to fish,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Bruce opened his mouth to say of course we are and said, “No.”
He sat and waited for Clark to sit too. He stared down at him, long enough to make Bruce a little uneasy, then folded long legs under him and dropped to the blanket with an awkward yet coltish grace that made Bruce feel worse in some way.
Bruce licked his lips and started, “We…we’re not talking lately. I want to know what’s wrong.”
Clark reached out and grabbed a handful of sand, and Bruce flinched when he clearly heard it squeak in his hands. “Fuck you Bruce, you know what’s wrong.”
Hearing Clark curse was oddly like being stabbed. Bruce had to wait a minute before he could speak. “Clark…Clark you know…I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
“You don’t!” Clark nearly yelled, and threw the fused lump of sand into the lake. Bruce watched it hit with a small splash and turned shocked eyes to Clark. He’d really kind of forgotten that Clark was …so strong. So different.
Clark sounded a little calmer when he continued. “Then why did you? Hunh? Why did you, Bruce—you’ve known ever since...forever that I love Lex. You looked right at me and—did that.” He turned and faced away from Bruce.
“You’re a big stupid dick, Bruce. I hate you,” he said, calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “I can’t wait until you go to college.”
The words and the emotions were such a contrast Bruce had to choke back a startled laugh. “Are you serious? You’re just mad, you don’t mean that--you’re not—“
Clark looked at him and his eyes were watery and red.
“Oh shit Clark,” Bruce felt like crap. He remembered that feeling that uncoiled in him like a cobra at the sight of Clark’s broken expression in the barn. He didn’t know himself why he did it. He didn’t know why part of him wanted to show his teeth at this fresh sign of emotion. He reached out and touched Clark’s shoulder. “Clark, I--”
Clark jerked away from Bruce and shoved him, hard. Bruce flew across the sand. He blinked hard and there was Clark, standing over him. Bruce raised his hand, waiting for Clark to help him to his feet and instead he smacked his hand flat.
“Damn it Clark, that hurt!” Bruce stared up and the sun behind Clark threw his face into shadow. Only the red gleam of his eyes could be seen and “Don’t think I’m weak just because I feel things,” he snarled. “That would be a mistake”.
He dropped down on the sand and straddled Bruce. “Don’t think because I’m your brother that I’ll let you treat me like an idiot. I can’t do anything about Lex—he wants you, fine. You want him, fine. But both of you better realize, I’m not too young. The only thing that makes me thirteen is Mom and Pop’s say-so. Don’t forget that Bruce.”
For the first time in his life Bruce was seriously afraid of Clark. The cute annoying somewhat goofy younger brother was gone—the face above him belonged to some terrible avenging angel, his eyes glowed red still behind the curtain of his too long hair, his teeth were bared in a snarl, his hands were clawed around Bruce’s collar. Clark was right, the only thing that made him thirteen was an arbitrary decision; Clark looked like a man, an angry, frightening and powerful man.
“Clark!” Bruce gasped and tried to pull Clark’s hands loose, he was getting light-headed with lack of air, he could feel the blood pounding in his head, his throat, and horribly he could feel blood pounding elsewhere…”Get up,” he gargled, “Stop, please!” His voice escaped in a strangled squeak. “You’re hurting me.” He gasped and hoped it would break through the fog of anger enveloping his brother.
Clark looked down at him, he was frowning but he loosened his grip and Bruce sucked in a deep breath and tried to lie perfectly still. He felt like he was trapped beneath a wolf, if he moved too fast, he might die. His eyes tried to close and he forced them open, locked eyes with Clark and hoped they’d both come out of this all right.
“I don’t ever want to hurt you Bruce,” Clark said mockingly, parodying Bruce’s tone and words. ” What’s the matter, Bruce? Did I do something wrong?” He shifted and Bruce groaned, mostly in mortification, felt a flame of heat shoot over his face. don’t move—
Clark stiffened, first looked shocked and then, embarrassed. He tried to cover it. “Bruce.” He started and stopped. Got off him quickly and blushed redder than Bruce felt he was.
Clark walked back to the blanket and Bruce lay on the sand, eyes closed and let the sun burn on his eyelids. If he thought about it hard enough, maybe he’d die.
******
Clark kept his head down. He could hear Bruce’s heart thundering and his breath hitch. If he listened harder he’d be able to hear the blood in his veins and his lungs moistly forcing air in and out. He heard Bruce swallow, loud as a gunshot, and knew he was hearing his over whelming embarrassment.
Fucking hell! Clark cursed long and steady, used words he’d never speak aloud. Fucking Whitney, he was going to kill him.
“Clark, I wanted to straighten things out between us, and now it’s just worse, isn’t it? “ Clark could hear Bruce’s hear speed up even more, the beats going wild, stuttering all over. It was costing him physically to talk. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want you to still like me…is that possible?”
The beat of Bruce’s heart was a galloping counterpoint to his words. He glanced over and Bruce was still splayed flat on his back in the sand.
Clark got up and walked over to him. “Get up Bruce.” He held out his hand and Bruce looked at him warily, stuck his hand out slowly, carefully and Clark took it the same way. Bruce let himself be pulled to his feet.
Clark sighed, but didn’t quite meet Bruce’s eyes. “What happened was weird, but not freaky okay?” he turned away and felt Bruce’s eyes on him.
Bruce snorted in disbelief. “Not freaky? Fuck…” He scratched his head hard, flinging his hair around. “Yeah—I got a…” He looked at Clark with pleading eyes. don’t make me say it, fucking hell... Clark could practically hear him thinking, God, is there something wrong with me?
Clark shook his head. “Stuff just happens sometimes Bruce. It’s not worth panicking over,” and he was surprised to realize he really meant it., he was actually worried about Bruce. Which just went to prove he was truly an idiot and Bruce led him around by his heart. He’d wanted to smack Bruce, he still wanted to smack him, but at least at the moment, he didn’t want to smack his head right off his shoulders. He kind of wanted to hug him and tell him it was okay. Clark growled at himself. Idiot. Bruce walked slowly up to the blanket and sat down. His eyes were on the hands strangling each other in his lap. “I’m…I’m sorry?”
Clark snapped, “I already said it wasn’t important!”
“Not just that—everything.”
Clark sat still and let the air move over him, let the sound of water licking the shore draw his attention away from /Bruce for a moment, the smell of water replaced Bruce’s smell and he relaxed a bit. There was a choice here. There was a lot of ways a choice could be made. What Whitney and he had talked about was fresh in his mind. For a moment, he hated Whitney like poison. Why couldn’t he have warned him about this—come out on top—fucking bastard--
******
He sat next to Clark and his stomach turned over. He couldn’t stop looking at him. He couldn’t stop feeling how warm he’d been. It was upsetting and turning him on and making him sick all at once. Clark was glaring at him; his eyes were hard, his lips pressed into a straight line, impossibly thin. Gradually, Bruce realized that Clark wasn’t looking out, he was looking in. What was he thinking? Probably how much he hated him…
He focused on Bruce and Bruce felt it like a blow, and then, the ice melted away, and his eyes were warmer. His mouth curved into a smile.
“Don’t think about it Bruce, relax, before you have a heart attack. Forget it. Everything really is fine.”
Bruce shivered. He didn’t believe a word. Clark was smiling, and his eyes were bright and clear and he was turned to Bruce and leaning toward him and Bruce knew he was lying. He had to be. Clark was telling the hugest fib of his life, but Bruce wanted to believe.
“You and Lex are good together,” and Bruce wanted to believe him, “I’m too young, I know it” and he wanted to believe. “I’m glad you two found each other.” Oh, he’d fight to believe that too. He was going to make it his business to believe that he finally got what he wanted all along, which was Lex; ever since they were kids he’d wanted Lex.
Clark forgave him. He’d believe that too. He didn’t have to feel bad about being with Lex. Now he just had to convince Lex of the same thing.
*****
Clark watched Bruce, watched his face change and his heart beat slow. His color edged back toward normal, his lips weren’t white and clamped between his teeth now. Clark watched the changes with interest.
Bruce didn’t look the same anymore, there was something deep down different about him. About himself too. He could taste it at the back of his throat, feel it slither around, thick and sticky.
He still wanted to hit Whitney.
******
“I hate you Whit. I really hate you.”
“Uhm, hmm. I know,” Whitney replied. “That’s what—the hundredth time you said that today?”
.
Clark was annoyed. The guy just didn’t get how much Clark hated him. Why hadn’t Whit given him some idea how screwed up his life was going to get?
Whitney smirked at Clark from his cocoon of blankets, wrapped up like a mummy in the bottom bunk of the beds. Clark had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and swung back and forth in the chair snugged up to Whit’s desk.
He shuffled again through the pile of pictures on the desk, photo after photo of Lana looking very beautiful in every shot. Clark held a picture up, looked closely at her. He got that Whitney was mesmerized by her, he really did. She had luminous skin, and sparkling eyes, her hair was sleek and thick and so dark, you’d just *have* to touch it--she really was lovely. If things were different Clark thought he could have been attracted to her too. He leaned back and stared at a bright square full of Whitney and Lana at Mario’s, squashed into the window booth together and laughing at the camera. Together.
If things were different…he’d probably be happier. If he were attracted to Lana, if he had someone like her, his life would be so much simpler. He wouldn’t have to hide it; he wouldn’t be heart-broken watching her love someone else and not being able to talk about it. He sighed and slowly leafed through the pictures once again. Clark felt a sick stab of envy, so deep and violent, that for a moment, he felt truly ill.
“What’s the matter, Clark?” Whit was leaning up on one elbow, concerned because he was his friend and could see that he was upset.
Clark shook his head. “Nothing. Stupid, that’s all.” He swung to face Whit and asked him. “Why can’t you just tell me flat out what’s going to happen?”
Whit usually gave him the same answer every time—“I’m not Jean fricking Dixon, Clark-- I can’t tell the future Clark--I’m not an effin’ mind reader Clark.” Clark barely listened to Whit’s response anymore. “Bruce apologized to me--sort of--about Lex. Apologized! Asshole. Like that was going to make it better. I hate him.” There was no heat to the words at all. Too much thought, too much want burned it all out. It just *was* now. Whitney knew.
“I thought you hated me?”
“I hate him more and you’re not taking me seriously.”
“Don’t hate him, you can’t afford to hate him. Hey’ you live in the same house, after all,” he said at Clark’s glare.
“Bruce…bastard. He should thank me that I’m not telling Mom and Pop what’s going on in that barn.” He pouted and glowered at Whitney when he shook his head.
“Don’t do that—you’ll just make everything worse.”
Clark huffed. They were quiet for a bit, and then Clark asked Whit, color flushing his cheeks. “Have you ever gotten hard around a bunch of people. Like out of the blue?”
Whit looked at him and laughed a little. “Yeah?”
“What about with some one that you know—someone not your girlfriend?”
“Yeah. Why?” Whit blushed and stared at the underside of the top bunk instead of Clark.
“Bruce—we were fighting, and I knocked him down and sat on him…and….”
“Oh! You’re kidding, you did?” Whitney felt a little flash of uneasiness…that didn’t seem right, some how.
“No—he did!”
“Oh! Oh…wow, that’s kind of. Not so good,” he muttered and another wave of uneasiness swept him. Something was being pulled out of shape, this didn’t feel right somehow.
“Well, it’s not like he was happy about it. He was all freaked out...” He threw the pictures on the desktop. “Ah, shit. It’s awful. I can’t wait until they’re both gone, you know?”
Whitney nodded. me either. “Once they’re back in school it’ll all seem easier and it’ll all make more sense. We’ll be in high school next year. Things are going to be different. Better.”
“You’re lying,” Clark said. “You know it’s not going to get better. It’s just going to get worse and worse until I explode, isn’t it?” he climbed up to the top bunk, kicking Whit on the way, and Whit laughed.
Good night, loverboy, sweet dreams.”
“Yeah, you too Clark.” He stared up at the smiling picture of Lana he’d tucked into the box spring, just like he’d seen a guy do in some war movie once, and thought it was cool. He sighed—when things got too complicated, too much to carry, at least he had this. He’d always have this, he thought and traced the shape of her face.
******
Lex walked silently through the dark house, out of the kitchen and out into the still heavy night air.
The sky was black and the huge flat yellow disk of the moon hung high above. It was sticky hot, thick and clinging hot. Even walking down the few porch steps broke sweat out all over him, he grimaced at the taste on his lips. The air hung on him, dragged at him; he felt like he was pushing through it and the feeling was unpleasant.
Every reluctant step he took closer to the barn felt like something was prodding him, wanted him to go there. He had the most peculiar feeling that if he took one step to the side, angled away from the barn, the whole world would tilt until it shoved him back into the grove countless versions of him had made across a million different universes—one step after the other, moving closer, into the double doors, into the barn.
He padded across the hay littered floor, dust and debris silencing his footsteps, closer and closer, up the stairs that should be creaking with his weight but were silent.
The cold white light of the moon pierced the thick darkness oddly, he could see a slice of stair and a black and white impression of garden tools on the wall and a gray bucket filled with white sand and then the big plastic wrapper of some kind of cookie left laying on the floor and a piece of the striped blanket Bruce usually covered with was lit and then Bruce….
Bruce sitting up waiting for him and his expression was an odd mixture of fear and triumph. “You came.”
Lex looked at him. “Did—*I* didn’t even know I was coming.”
Bruce stood. He was naked and the moon did that odd lighting thing so that Bruce’s face was in darkness, impossible to read now that he was standing. He was black and gray and white in the light and Lex shivered. He felt himself getting hard and he felt a little dizzy. Everything this night was heavy and dark and too much.
He took a step towards Bruce and felt like he was falling. “I’m scared.”
Bruce’s voice was scratchy and thin. “You don’t have to be. I won’t hurt you, promise,” and he sounded as though he were trying to breathe.
Lex shook himself like a dog shaking off water. The weird hold the night had on him was broken, he felt a little more like himself. “Not you. I’m not afraid of you. There’s something else.”
He would have said more, but Bruce ‘s hands were slipping in the sweat pooled in the small of his back and his chin was sliding down his throat. He was hotter than Lex was, wetter, and when he slid the thin cotton boxers down, his dick fit in the crease of his groin perfectly and Lex’s fit against him perfectly, and any concerns he had dissolved in the slide of dick against dick and breath and touch….
*****
For the rest of the summer Lex went to Bruce in the middle of the night and slipped back in the house before sunrise.
Sometimes he passed Clark on the stairs at night, they ignored each other, never questioning where the other had been. He moved down the stairs past him and Lex was always silent. Lex had the irrational feeling that if he spoke, or moved toward him at all it would break a spell, be the one little push that would transform Clark and he’d sweep him off the stairs, red eyes and claws deep in his gut….
In the day, it was business as usual. Clark was as warm as always, as gentle and loving as always and not in the least bit frightening. He was good old Clark, sweet little Clark, same as he ever was.
******
It wasn’t Bruce’s day for class at Mr. Mac’s.
Clark was there anyway, hung around in the back of the class and watched the students work out. Mac waved at Clark as he walked to his office
Sean wandered over, smiled a little as he wiped his neck with a towel. “Hey Clark, Bruce isn’t here.”
“I know.”
Sean’s smile got a little wider. ”Yeah?”
tbc--pleh....
I didn’t think this was ever going to shake out of my head, the little bastard. The first part just fell out and the rest of it I had to rip out. Look at my boo-boo! This is driving me nuts—I see the endings of both my WIPs waving at me from the seashore, all happy and smiling and sucking down fruity little drinks with umbrellas in and I don’t know how to get there! Bastards.
“Hey, Clark, you want to go to the lake with me?”
Clark looked at Bruce suspiciously. “Just you and me?”
“Yeah, why not—I mean if you want, Pete and Whit can come.”
“No,” Clark interrupted sharply. “You and me’s just fine.”
They were quiet on the way out, Bruce drove Pop’s old truck and as they turned off the highway onto the access road that led to the lake itself, they bounced crazily over the ruts and potholes in the road. Normally the jouncing would make them laugh; make affectionate jibes at Pop’s cheapness and the old truck he refused to give up, the first truck he’d bought. Today, there was only stony silence. Bruce looked over at his brother from time to time and Clark stared straight out of the windshield, never looking right and left.
They parked the truck in a gravel round-about a few feet from the shoreline, and kept to the side of the lake that Clark could safely negotiate. Clark pulled out rods and a tackle box from the back, and Bruce grabbed a blanket and a cooler. Bruce selected a spot and flipped the blanket open and settled it high up on the shoreline and Clark watched him, glanced at the rods he held, dropped them on the sand.
“We’re not out here to fish,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Bruce opened his mouth to say of course we are and said, “No.”
He sat and waited for Clark to sit too. He stared down at him, long enough to make Bruce a little uneasy, then folded long legs under him and dropped to the blanket with an awkward yet coltish grace that made Bruce feel worse in some way.
Bruce licked his lips and started, “We…we’re not talking lately. I want to know what’s wrong.”
Clark reached out and grabbed a handful of sand, and Bruce flinched when he clearly heard it squeak in his hands. “Fuck you Bruce, you know what’s wrong.”
Hearing Clark curse was oddly like being stabbed. Bruce had to wait a minute before he could speak. “Clark…Clark you know…I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
“You don’t!” Clark nearly yelled, and threw the fused lump of sand into the lake. Bruce watched it hit with a small splash and turned shocked eyes to Clark. He’d really kind of forgotten that Clark was …so strong. So different.
Clark sounded a little calmer when he continued. “Then why did you? Hunh? Why did you, Bruce—you’ve known ever since...forever that I love Lex. You looked right at me and—did that.” He turned and faced away from Bruce.
“You’re a big stupid dick, Bruce. I hate you,” he said, calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “I can’t wait until you go to college.”
The words and the emotions were such a contrast Bruce had to choke back a startled laugh. “Are you serious? You’re just mad, you don’t mean that--you’re not—“
Clark looked at him and his eyes were watery and red.
“Oh shit Clark,” Bruce felt like crap. He remembered that feeling that uncoiled in him like a cobra at the sight of Clark’s broken expression in the barn. He didn’t know himself why he did it. He didn’t know why part of him wanted to show his teeth at this fresh sign of emotion. He reached out and touched Clark’s shoulder. “Clark, I--”
Clark jerked away from Bruce and shoved him, hard. Bruce flew across the sand. He blinked hard and there was Clark, standing over him. Bruce raised his hand, waiting for Clark to help him to his feet and instead he smacked his hand flat.
“Damn it Clark, that hurt!” Bruce stared up and the sun behind Clark threw his face into shadow. Only the red gleam of his eyes could be seen and “Don’t think I’m weak just because I feel things,” he snarled. “That would be a mistake”.
He dropped down on the sand and straddled Bruce. “Don’t think because I’m your brother that I’ll let you treat me like an idiot. I can’t do anything about Lex—he wants you, fine. You want him, fine. But both of you better realize, I’m not too young. The only thing that makes me thirteen is Mom and Pop’s say-so. Don’t forget that Bruce.”
For the first time in his life Bruce was seriously afraid of Clark. The cute annoying somewhat goofy younger brother was gone—the face above him belonged to some terrible avenging angel, his eyes glowed red still behind the curtain of his too long hair, his teeth were bared in a snarl, his hands were clawed around Bruce’s collar. Clark was right, the only thing that made him thirteen was an arbitrary decision; Clark looked like a man, an angry, frightening and powerful man.
“Clark!” Bruce gasped and tried to pull Clark’s hands loose, he was getting light-headed with lack of air, he could feel the blood pounding in his head, his throat, and horribly he could feel blood pounding elsewhere…”Get up,” he gargled, “Stop, please!” His voice escaped in a strangled squeak. “You’re hurting me.” He gasped and hoped it would break through the fog of anger enveloping his brother.
Clark looked down at him, he was frowning but he loosened his grip and Bruce sucked in a deep breath and tried to lie perfectly still. He felt like he was trapped beneath a wolf, if he moved too fast, he might die. His eyes tried to close and he forced them open, locked eyes with Clark and hoped they’d both come out of this all right.
“I don’t ever want to hurt you Bruce,” Clark said mockingly, parodying Bruce’s tone and words. ” What’s the matter, Bruce? Did I do something wrong?” He shifted and Bruce groaned, mostly in mortification, felt a flame of heat shoot over his face. don’t move—
Clark stiffened, first looked shocked and then, embarrassed. He tried to cover it. “Bruce.” He started and stopped. Got off him quickly and blushed redder than Bruce felt he was.
Clark walked back to the blanket and Bruce lay on the sand, eyes closed and let the sun burn on his eyelids. If he thought about it hard enough, maybe he’d die.
******
Clark kept his head down. He could hear Bruce’s heart thundering and his breath hitch. If he listened harder he’d be able to hear the blood in his veins and his lungs moistly forcing air in and out. He heard Bruce swallow, loud as a gunshot, and knew he was hearing his over whelming embarrassment.
Fucking hell! Clark cursed long and steady, used words he’d never speak aloud. Fucking Whitney, he was going to kill him.
“Clark, I wanted to straighten things out between us, and now it’s just worse, isn’t it? “ Clark could hear Bruce’s hear speed up even more, the beats going wild, stuttering all over. It was costing him physically to talk. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want you to still like me…is that possible?”
The beat of Bruce’s heart was a galloping counterpoint to his words. He glanced over and Bruce was still splayed flat on his back in the sand.
Clark got up and walked over to him. “Get up Bruce.” He held out his hand and Bruce looked at him warily, stuck his hand out slowly, carefully and Clark took it the same way. Bruce let himself be pulled to his feet.
Clark sighed, but didn’t quite meet Bruce’s eyes. “What happened was weird, but not freaky okay?” he turned away and felt Bruce’s eyes on him.
Bruce snorted in disbelief. “Not freaky? Fuck…” He scratched his head hard, flinging his hair around. “Yeah—I got a…” He looked at Clark with pleading eyes. don’t make me say it, fucking hell... Clark could practically hear him thinking, God, is there something wrong with me?
Clark shook his head. “Stuff just happens sometimes Bruce. It’s not worth panicking over,” and he was surprised to realize he really meant it., he was actually worried about Bruce. Which just went to prove he was truly an idiot and Bruce led him around by his heart. He’d wanted to smack Bruce, he still wanted to smack him, but at least at the moment, he didn’t want to smack his head right off his shoulders. He kind of wanted to hug him and tell him it was okay. Clark growled at himself. Idiot. Bruce walked slowly up to the blanket and sat down. His eyes were on the hands strangling each other in his lap. “I’m…I’m sorry?”
Clark snapped, “I already said it wasn’t important!”
“Not just that—everything.”
Clark sat still and let the air move over him, let the sound of water licking the shore draw his attention away from /Bruce for a moment, the smell of water replaced Bruce’s smell and he relaxed a bit. There was a choice here. There was a lot of ways a choice could be made. What Whitney and he had talked about was fresh in his mind. For a moment, he hated Whitney like poison. Why couldn’t he have warned him about this—come out on top—fucking bastard--
******
He sat next to Clark and his stomach turned over. He couldn’t stop looking at him. He couldn’t stop feeling how warm he’d been. It was upsetting and turning him on and making him sick all at once. Clark was glaring at him; his eyes were hard, his lips pressed into a straight line, impossibly thin. Gradually, Bruce realized that Clark wasn’t looking out, he was looking in. What was he thinking? Probably how much he hated him…
He focused on Bruce and Bruce felt it like a blow, and then, the ice melted away, and his eyes were warmer. His mouth curved into a smile.
“Don’t think about it Bruce, relax, before you have a heart attack. Forget it. Everything really is fine.”
Bruce shivered. He didn’t believe a word. Clark was smiling, and his eyes were bright and clear and he was turned to Bruce and leaning toward him and Bruce knew he was lying. He had to be. Clark was telling the hugest fib of his life, but Bruce wanted to believe.
“You and Lex are good together,” and Bruce wanted to believe him, “I’m too young, I know it” and he wanted to believe. “I’m glad you two found each other.” Oh, he’d fight to believe that too. He was going to make it his business to believe that he finally got what he wanted all along, which was Lex; ever since they were kids he’d wanted Lex.
Clark forgave him. He’d believe that too. He didn’t have to feel bad about being with Lex. Now he just had to convince Lex of the same thing.
*****
Clark watched Bruce, watched his face change and his heart beat slow. His color edged back toward normal, his lips weren’t white and clamped between his teeth now. Clark watched the changes with interest.
Bruce didn’t look the same anymore, there was something deep down different about him. About himself too. He could taste it at the back of his throat, feel it slither around, thick and sticky.
He still wanted to hit Whitney.
******
“I hate you Whit. I really hate you.”
“Uhm, hmm. I know,” Whitney replied. “That’s what—the hundredth time you said that today?”
.
Clark was annoyed. The guy just didn’t get how much Clark hated him. Why hadn’t Whit given him some idea how screwed up his life was going to get?
Whitney smirked at Clark from his cocoon of blankets, wrapped up like a mummy in the bottom bunk of the beds. Clark had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and swung back and forth in the chair snugged up to Whit’s desk.
He shuffled again through the pile of pictures on the desk, photo after photo of Lana looking very beautiful in every shot. Clark held a picture up, looked closely at her. He got that Whitney was mesmerized by her, he really did. She had luminous skin, and sparkling eyes, her hair was sleek and thick and so dark, you’d just *have* to touch it--she really was lovely. If things were different Clark thought he could have been attracted to her too. He leaned back and stared at a bright square full of Whitney and Lana at Mario’s, squashed into the window booth together and laughing at the camera. Together.
If things were different…he’d probably be happier. If he were attracted to Lana, if he had someone like her, his life would be so much simpler. He wouldn’t have to hide it; he wouldn’t be heart-broken watching her love someone else and not being able to talk about it. He sighed and slowly leafed through the pictures once again. Clark felt a sick stab of envy, so deep and violent, that for a moment, he felt truly ill.
“What’s the matter, Clark?” Whit was leaning up on one elbow, concerned because he was his friend and could see that he was upset.
Clark shook his head. “Nothing. Stupid, that’s all.” He swung to face Whit and asked him. “Why can’t you just tell me flat out what’s going to happen?”
Whit usually gave him the same answer every time—“I’m not Jean fricking Dixon, Clark-- I can’t tell the future Clark--I’m not an effin’ mind reader Clark.” Clark barely listened to Whit’s response anymore. “Bruce apologized to me--sort of--about Lex. Apologized! Asshole. Like that was going to make it better. I hate him.” There was no heat to the words at all. Too much thought, too much want burned it all out. It just *was* now. Whitney knew.
“I thought you hated me?”
“I hate him more and you’re not taking me seriously.”
“Don’t hate him, you can’t afford to hate him. Hey’ you live in the same house, after all,” he said at Clark’s glare.
“Bruce…bastard. He should thank me that I’m not telling Mom and Pop what’s going on in that barn.” He pouted and glowered at Whitney when he shook his head.
“Don’t do that—you’ll just make everything worse.”
Clark huffed. They were quiet for a bit, and then Clark asked Whit, color flushing his cheeks. “Have you ever gotten hard around a bunch of people. Like out of the blue?”
Whit looked at him and laughed a little. “Yeah?”
“What about with some one that you know—someone not your girlfriend?”
“Yeah. Why?” Whit blushed and stared at the underside of the top bunk instead of Clark.
“Bruce—we were fighting, and I knocked him down and sat on him…and….”
“Oh! You’re kidding, you did?” Whitney felt a little flash of uneasiness…that didn’t seem right, some how.
“No—he did!”
“Oh! Oh…wow, that’s kind of. Not so good,” he muttered and another wave of uneasiness swept him. Something was being pulled out of shape, this didn’t feel right somehow.
“Well, it’s not like he was happy about it. He was all freaked out...” He threw the pictures on the desktop. “Ah, shit. It’s awful. I can’t wait until they’re both gone, you know?”
Whitney nodded. me either. “Once they’re back in school it’ll all seem easier and it’ll all make more sense. We’ll be in high school next year. Things are going to be different. Better.”
“You’re lying,” Clark said. “You know it’s not going to get better. It’s just going to get worse and worse until I explode, isn’t it?” he climbed up to the top bunk, kicking Whit on the way, and Whit laughed.
Good night, loverboy, sweet dreams.”
“Yeah, you too Clark.” He stared up at the smiling picture of Lana he’d tucked into the box spring, just like he’d seen a guy do in some war movie once, and thought it was cool. He sighed—when things got too complicated, too much to carry, at least he had this. He’d always have this, he thought and traced the shape of her face.
******
Lex walked silently through the dark house, out of the kitchen and out into the still heavy night air.
The sky was black and the huge flat yellow disk of the moon hung high above. It was sticky hot, thick and clinging hot. Even walking down the few porch steps broke sweat out all over him, he grimaced at the taste on his lips. The air hung on him, dragged at him; he felt like he was pushing through it and the feeling was unpleasant.
Every reluctant step he took closer to the barn felt like something was prodding him, wanted him to go there. He had the most peculiar feeling that if he took one step to the side, angled away from the barn, the whole world would tilt until it shoved him back into the grove countless versions of him had made across a million different universes—one step after the other, moving closer, into the double doors, into the barn.
He padded across the hay littered floor, dust and debris silencing his footsteps, closer and closer, up the stairs that should be creaking with his weight but were silent.
The cold white light of the moon pierced the thick darkness oddly, he could see a slice of stair and a black and white impression of garden tools on the wall and a gray bucket filled with white sand and then the big plastic wrapper of some kind of cookie left laying on the floor and a piece of the striped blanket Bruce usually covered with was lit and then Bruce….
Bruce sitting up waiting for him and his expression was an odd mixture of fear and triumph. “You came.”
Lex looked at him. “Did—*I* didn’t even know I was coming.”
Bruce stood. He was naked and the moon did that odd lighting thing so that Bruce’s face was in darkness, impossible to read now that he was standing. He was black and gray and white in the light and Lex shivered. He felt himself getting hard and he felt a little dizzy. Everything this night was heavy and dark and too much.
He took a step towards Bruce and felt like he was falling. “I’m scared.”
Bruce’s voice was scratchy and thin. “You don’t have to be. I won’t hurt you, promise,” and he sounded as though he were trying to breathe.
Lex shook himself like a dog shaking off water. The weird hold the night had on him was broken, he felt a little more like himself. “Not you. I’m not afraid of you. There’s something else.”
He would have said more, but Bruce ‘s hands were slipping in the sweat pooled in the small of his back and his chin was sliding down his throat. He was hotter than Lex was, wetter, and when he slid the thin cotton boxers down, his dick fit in the crease of his groin perfectly and Lex’s fit against him perfectly, and any concerns he had dissolved in the slide of dick against dick and breath and touch….
*****
For the rest of the summer Lex went to Bruce in the middle of the night and slipped back in the house before sunrise.
Sometimes he passed Clark on the stairs at night, they ignored each other, never questioning where the other had been. He moved down the stairs past him and Lex was always silent. Lex had the irrational feeling that if he spoke, or moved toward him at all it would break a spell, be the one little push that would transform Clark and he’d sweep him off the stairs, red eyes and claws deep in his gut….
In the day, it was business as usual. Clark was as warm as always, as gentle and loving as always and not in the least bit frightening. He was good old Clark, sweet little Clark, same as he ever was.
******
It wasn’t Bruce’s day for class at Mr. Mac’s.
Clark was there anyway, hung around in the back of the class and watched the students work out. Mac waved at Clark as he walked to his office
Sean wandered over, smiled a little as he wiped his neck with a towel. “Hey Clark, Bruce isn’t here.”
“I know.”
Sean’s smile got a little wider. ”Yeah?”
tbc--pleh....
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(no subject)
2/13/06 06:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/14/06 02:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 06:47 am (UTC)Ooooh, snap!
//“Oh! Oh…wow, that’s kind of. Not so good,” he muttered and another wave of uneasiness swept him. Something was being pulled out of shape, this didn’t feel right somehow.//
LOL! Of course it doesn't feel right, it's wrong, but it's a good kind of wrong. Have Whit to stop c-blocking!
I love the way it's all building.
(no subject)
2/14/06 02:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 10:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/14/06 02:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 01:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/14/06 02:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 02:18 pm (UTC)*flails*
Oh man, oh man, oh man.
Obscurely? I'm mad at Lex.
*sigh*
(no subject)
2/14/06 02:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 03:03 pm (UTC)Are they actually all three doing things during the day, or is Clark just hanging out with Lex and fam? I can't imagine that Clark cold pretend to be okay haging out with Lex and Bruce, just the three of them, with the high chance of little lovers touches, etc. Oh, man! Roxy! Clark pretending everything is okay is breaking my heart! So good!
(no subject)
2/14/06 02:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 03:26 pm (UTC)Reading this hurts, in a good way. It hurts because of the raw emotions, because of the shattered family loving. But your writing truly works magic. You know how to play with our emotions, we enjoy and dread and we crave more!
(no subject)
2/14/06 02:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 10:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/14/06 02:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/13/06 11:28 pm (UTC)I'm eager for the next part!
(no subject)
2/14/06 02:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/16/06 11:20 am (UTC)my heart is hammering as i type.....he gotta kill bruce and then go after lex...
(no subject)
2/16/06 04:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/29/06 01:51 am (UTC)Lex, why are you so quiet? So...Yielding toward Bruce? Did Harry really break you that much? (yes, he probably did, poor dear).
Bruce. All I can say for you is Karma, dude. Oh yeah.
(I love the way this is all building.:)
(no subject)
11/10/12 09:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/11/12 12:53 am (UTC)