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roxyHey, as long as it keeps coming, I’ll keep tossing it out here. I hope tonight to get DPJ up to, Lucas finally let me know what he wanted done about Harris. I had no idea he was so sentimental.
Please to be enjoying a fresh slice of fic, hot from the oven!
Ripley, Believe It Or Not
He shoved himself into a pair of sweat pants and groaned. God, he was so fat! He marched downstairs and grabbed the marker, and scratched out the new day. One hundred and sixty-one days of…pregnancy. He winced. He still hated that word.
He grabbed his jacket and ran out to the barn, where he figured Dad had to be. He’d been really great about Clark’s chores, about having to work harder because he couldn’t. They had no idea why his powers were so diminished now. Mom thought maybe it was because his body was busy protecting the ba—it, Dad thought it was maybe so Ripley could get out of him again, since the skin sealed up completely when it…did what it did. Clark shook his head. His theory was that he was cursed. Having sex with Lana had cursed him. Crap, just look at her, her parents were dead, her boyfriend was dead, every damn friend she had but Chloe was dead or mutated, he probably should be glad he was just pregnant and not dead himself…Clark stopped, shocked at his callous and mean-spirited thoughts.
He blushed. Geez, that was kind of nasty. He didn’t think he had that in him. “Ripley,” he said fondly, “Are you making daddy nasty?” He patted his belly and froze. Oh god—it was getting real to him. There really was something in there, a little being, something growing inside of him. Oh God, oh god…there was something alive inside of him--Breathe deep, breathe deep, one in, one out, one in, one out…It might not be so bad, really, it might be…okay. one in, one out…Maybe he was making a cute little baby. Maybe she was going to adorable, and he’d love her. Him. It. God…breathe, breathe damn it, calm…
He concentrated on pleasanter things, like his plans to meet Jordan at the library that afternoon. He breezed through his chores and refused to dwell on that moment of…what the fuck. He was going to have a nice average normal afternoon, with a friend, and it was going to go well.
Of course he was wrong.
******
They were sitting on the bench behind the library, the one in the center of some over grown currant bushes. Clark liked sitting there because it was private, kind of, and quiet, sort of---at least when the nearby playground was empty, like today. He sighed contentedly and stretched his legs out. This was his favorite thing. Hanging out with Jordan and eating.
At the moment Clark was working his way through a hotdog and alternating with gulps of soda and it was heaven. He chewed with a smile—it was the best damn hotdog he’d ever eaten, ever, even better than the first four hotdogs. So…damn…good…He thought about the ice-cream shop right behind the hotdog vendors stand. you’re next, my lovely…mmm, ice-cream…
Jordan looked at him in awe. “Wow, Kent, you can really pack some food away, damn. Do you eat at all between the times we get together?” He grinned at Clark and Clark grinned back, chewing happily. He licked his fingers and wiped what he couldn’t lick off onto his jeans.
“Whew, that was good. Maybe we should get some ice-cream?”
“Geez, tubbo—maybe you should slow down?”
Clark gasped a little in hurt, and Jordan laughed, oblivious to Clark’s hurt feelings. “Look—this past month you’ve really packed it on, man. What happened to the six-pack you used to have, dude--you’re getting a gut here!“ He pulled Clark’s windbreaker open and pointed. “How are you gonna get the guys to look at you, looking like that, hunh?” He grinned—it was an in-joke between them. Before Clark could stop him, he reached over and rubbed his belly hard.
“Uhng!” Clark grunted. An electric shock went straight from under Jordan’s hand to his cock. He could feel his jaw loosening, and his eyes glazing over--the feeling of another hand besides his own on him, someone touching him in what was now an intimate place, was overpowering. Jordan’s hand was still on him, so hot, so heavy…it moved again, and before he could stop himself, Clark grunted again, and his cock jumped. He looked at Jordan, and swallowed, and Jordan looked—aghast. Terrified. Curious.
“Jordan, stop. I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m sorry.
“I did that. Just touching you, I did that?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Clark gasped, “could you—could you move your hand--please.”
“Well…all right,” Jordan answered, in a small, fearful voice and moved it into Clark’s crotch. “Is that okay?” he asked, as he moved his hand in small hot circles right over the bulge pressed hard against Clark’s zipper,
“No! I didn’t mean--UNGH!” Clark’s eyes slammed shut, he grunted and bucked and Jordan whispered, “It moved so hard, I could feel it …”
Clark felt an ice-cold stab of fear under his heart, and forced his eyes open but Jordan had his eyes and hand on his cock, and he let his head fall back with relief—Thank god--no wait—“Jordan, please stop, if you don’t, I’ll come, I swear…”
Jordan stared at him open-mouthed. “Really? That easy?” and cupped Clark, squeezed a bit.
“Yes! Just like that, fuck!”
Jordan looked at him, licked his lips. Clark groaned. “Jordan, this isn’t…it’s not any bit of straight,” he choked out, trying to scare him off.
“I know, right?” he replied. “Can I open your zipper?”
Tears leaked out from under Clark’s eyelids. He was dying, he was soaking and Jordan wanted to know if he could open his zipper? He better not be teasing him. Okay, don’t come right now, or I’ll kill you, he told his cock. He nodded, not trusting himself not to scream, and Jordan pulled his zipper down a bit, just enough to slip his fingers in the waistband and into his shorts.
“Dude, you’re really wet, it’s all…” he stroked the head with his fingers, slipped his thumb from the slit to right under the ridge and Clark’s lips pressed tight together, his hands grabbed the edge of the bench, his ass cleared it--he arched and came silently. Come shot up under his tee-shirt, straight up his chest, spattered against his chin and covered his stomach. He dropped down and aftershocks jerked him right back up and Jordan stared, groaned a little himself.
“Wow.”
Clark nodded. Wow. He panted, trying to get himself together. He wiped his face with the napkins from lunch, looked down at his tee shirt and sighed. Toast. That tee shirt was no more. He zipped up his jacket, grateful he’d worn it, and felt eyes on him. Oh fuck.
“Jordan,” he started and felt his face burn. He glanced down at him. Oh. Oh. “Do you want me to…um…help you out? I mean, I owe you…”
Jordan looked at him strangely. “You don’t owe me. I didn’t do it to make you…you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He leaned back and wiped his hand on the bench. “Besides,” he laughed a little, and his cheeks turned pink. “I guess hand jobs are no big deal. I bet you and your boyfriends do more than that.”
Clark blushed bright red, covered it by pulling Jordan closer and touching him. “I want to, if it’s all right?”
Jordan nodded quickly, and Clark did to Jordan what Jordan had done to him.
Jordan seemed to like it.
After, they sat quietly, while Clark finished his soda and eyed the remnants of Jordan’s sandwich.
“Clark, I…”
“You don’t have to say it, Jordan, you were curious and it’s okay. I understand. If you’re okay, I’m okay, and I really hope you’re okay, because I hate to lose the one friend I have, though if I was smart I would never have done that in the first place and that was stupid but it felt good to have someone touch me, not just anyone mind you I’m not a slu—
Jordan pressed his big warm hand over Clark’s mouth. “You’re freaking, dude. It’s okay. I guess I should tell you, I’ve kind of been feeling this for a while. That’s why I asked you to meet me here. I wanted to talk.” He glanced at Clark’s crotch “Only it ended up being more like show and tell.” He dropped his hand. “I’m sorry, I took advantage of you.”
Clark laughed. “I don’t think so. I think I know what that’s like.”
Jordan looked concerned, but Clark shook his head. “Jordan. I have to eat. Seriously, right now.”
“What the fuck, dude, I’m telling you--fat. You’re going to get fat.”
“Man, does it bother you that much? What, are you my mother or my boyfriend or something?”
“No!” He pulled Clark off the bench and they headed for the sidewalk. He cut his eyes to the side, and grinned a lop-sided little grin. “Why, do you want me to be? “
Clark snorted. “Mostly right now I want a hotdog, or ice cream, or no—I want a cinnamon bun. Maybe two.”
“Oink.”
Clark laughed and punched Jordan on the shoulder, and staggered him a bit—that made him grin, and he was still grinning when he turned his head and caught a faint echo of The Smell…
Lex drove past, slowly, looking at him, staring at him, his face shuttered and cold and—fuck.
*****
Dear Ripley,
Crap…let me rewind that…okay. So. A lot of those baby sites say keep a journal. I guess to tell you some day how I felt about it all. Okay, so here’s how I feel. Scared shitless. That’s right, you’re grown now, so get over it. Or you’re supposed to be grown when you hear this. I think that’s the point.
Any way, I’m scared. I’m afraid of what will happen
click
******
Clark kissed his mom and hugged his dad good night. He trudged up the stairs; his belly was so big he bumped it with his knees as he climbed. He slid his arms under it to help support the weight and groaned. One step, two, ooof. Top of the stairs. Ten steps to the bedroom…after two million years, Clark finally made it to the bedroom and dropped on the bed with a gusty sigh of relief. He winced when the bed creaked and the mattress groaned and sank.
How long, oh universe, how long? He lay on the narrow bare mattress, and panted. Where were his sheets? Why was it so damn hot—it was freaking hot. Sweat rolled down his face, rolled off his enormous belly, dripped onto the mattress with a plopping sound, so much sweat…too damn much. He pulled up the triple ex tee shirt and gasped. His belly was dripping wet, running with cloudy fluid, the seam split as he watched. He felt a rolling wave of pain and gasped—it was time…Mom! He felt his mouth open but nothing came out. He tried again. Dad! Nothing…the pain suddenly became unbearable.
He screamed, and tried to move, but that awful paralysis that had afflicted him when Ripley crawled into the pouch was back. Only this time—he heard ripping skin, like fabric being torn apart and blood spurted from a long line in his belly; a long, slim ivory claw was pulling a red streamer over his skin. Blood was fountaining now, and he was screaming his head off, MOM! MOM! DAD! HELP! Help! The pain was horrible, horrible, and Ripley’s head was pushing out of the slit, wiggling back and forth trying to crawl out, and it turned to face him and teeth, too many, many teeth and it dipped it’s head and bit—it pulled a long wobbly strip of bloody flesh from the edge of the cut, and he screamed until his throat bled. HELP ME LEX, LEXLEXLEX
”—Lex--”
Lex’s name was a mumble on his lips, his legs were jerking under the top sheet wound about him, his comforter was ripped in long strips and the waistband of his boxers were cutting painfully into the ridge. And Ripley was turning somersaults.
God…he dropped back onto the bed and panted. Gosh, that was the *worst* dream yet. He rubbed his belly, up and down and in circles, the way she seemed to like it. And that stomach, he laughed a little. It had been enormous, more like he was giving birth to an elephant instead of a…a ripley. He sighed, looked at the clock and decided three am was just right for a salad. And an ice-cream sandwich.
******
Dear Ripley.
Okay, I was laying in bed and…well…I was laying in bed--and it occurred to me—how the hell am I going to feed you? I don’t have boobs—I’ve checked. All over because, alien here, I could get them anywhere. No boobs. My nips are kind of itchy though. Is that something I say? Ah, I’ll just skip over this part. Or you can…they are really itchy though…
click
*****
“Mom, what if she wants to drink my blood?”
Martha turned and looked at her pregnant, worried son. He was looming in the doorway, big flannel shirt doing nothing to hide the swelling in his middle. His hair had gotten thicker and wilder, his shoulders seemed wider too. He was a little pale, and had circles under his eyes. His lips looked too red in his milk white face. Oh lord, my poor child. “What, sweetie...if who wants to do what?”
“What if she needs to drink my blood to survive, or…or…eat my brains? And if you say anything about snack size, I’ll cry.”
She pushed him into his chair and gave him his peaches and vitamins, that usually headed off any chest burster talk. She patted him on the head, ruffled his hair and started to turn when she realized what he’d said.
“She? Since when has it become she? Do you know for sure, sweetie?” She thought about the adorable little creeper she’d seen at Gordmans, pink, with little rosebuds—oh dear. She felt a wave of guilt. Poor Clark was scared to death and she was planning a layette. She hugged him quickly.
“Well, not for sure,” he mumbled around a mouthful of peaches. “It just feels like—you know—it’s a she. She’s a she.” He kept running his hands over and over himself, more caressing than trying to ease pain, she thought. He was beginning to get used to the idea. Maybe it was time to start planning for the future—as much as possible. She sat and smiled at her son.
“Clark…we need to start getting some things together…for the…baby.” She smiled, but from the look on Clark’s face, it may not have been an entirely successful smile. “You know, get a nursery…” She trailed off. Clark was looking at her blank-faced.
“Sure, Mom. Let’s do that. What do you suggest? A crib? A swing? How about some clothes—wait, should we look for a sweater with two arms or four? Hey, do they make rompers with room in the pants for *tentacles* to come out of her *BUTT*!” he scraped the chair back noisily and ran out of the house.
Martha sat at the table, watching the up-turned bowl of peaches spread peach juice in a widening circle. Tentacles? What in the hell?
******
He was standing in the aisle of the really small infants department that Fordman’s had. He’d really felt like a crappy son, freaking out on Mom like that. Should stop and pick up a card for her, maybe some of those chocolate truffles that she liked. Did they make ‘sorry I’m an asshole’ cards? He put his hands in his jacket pockets so that he could sneakily rub the sides of his aching belly. Fucking hormones.
“Boo.”
“Jesus!” He jumped and looked up into the Jordan’s smiling face.
“Hah, Kent, made you piss yourself—dude. Why are you looking at baby clothes? Your mom pregnant?” he wrinkled his forehead, and Clark did the same. Really. Ew. Old people sex.
Clark debated saying yes, but shook his head.
“Okay...oh. Oh. Clark. Did you get somebody pregnant? You didn’t, did you? Because…I mean, it’s okay and all, I’m not—I don’t--“ he stopped and huffed. “Clark?”
He looked so lost, and Clark took pity on him. “No, I did not get some girl pregnant. Relax, Jor.” He elbowed him in the ribs and Jordan pushed him with a laugh.
“Hey, help me shop for school, will you? If I let my mom do it, she’ll get me Spiderman sheets for my bed.” He grinned, but after a second, it faded and he looked away. “Yeah. Well—“ He looked down at Clark again. “What about you, Kent, have you made up your mind?”
He looked so hopeful and Clark felt horrible. Jordan had a basketball scholarship to MetU, and knew Clark had also been accepted but that was before everything changed. He couldn’t go, of course not—how could he even think about school—he didn’t even know when he was going to have—have this baby of his. His life was on hold until Ripley hit the planet. He shook his head and Jordan squeezed his shoulder. “Well, maybe you and your dad will figure out how to run the farm without your help, right? Hungry?”
Clark winced the slightest bit at the lie, but couldn’t help but grin when Jordan offered him food.
“What was I thinking? Come on.
*****
Wait…stupid recorder…Dear Ripley,
I guess if you’re listening to this, you understand that I’m gay. I hope that by now, it’s no big deal, but people being what they are; I’m not taking bets. I know you know because I would never lie to you. You’ll know everything about us, where we come from, what we are. And what we aren’t.
click
******
tbc
eta: can't spell...and changed a part.
Please to be enjoying a fresh slice of fic, hot from the oven!
Ripley, Believe It Or Not
He shoved himself into a pair of sweat pants and groaned. God, he was so fat! He marched downstairs and grabbed the marker, and scratched out the new day. One hundred and sixty-one days of…pregnancy. He winced. He still hated that word.
He grabbed his jacket and ran out to the barn, where he figured Dad had to be. He’d been really great about Clark’s chores, about having to work harder because he couldn’t. They had no idea why his powers were so diminished now. Mom thought maybe it was because his body was busy protecting the ba—it, Dad thought it was maybe so Ripley could get out of him again, since the skin sealed up completely when it…did what it did. Clark shook his head. His theory was that he was cursed. Having sex with Lana had cursed him. Crap, just look at her, her parents were dead, her boyfriend was dead, every damn friend she had but Chloe was dead or mutated, he probably should be glad he was just pregnant and not dead himself…Clark stopped, shocked at his callous and mean-spirited thoughts.
He blushed. Geez, that was kind of nasty. He didn’t think he had that in him. “Ripley,” he said fondly, “Are you making daddy nasty?” He patted his belly and froze. Oh god—it was getting real to him. There really was something in there, a little being, something growing inside of him. Oh God, oh god…there was something alive inside of him--Breathe deep, breathe deep, one in, one out, one in, one out…It might not be so bad, really, it might be…okay. one in, one out…Maybe he was making a cute little baby. Maybe she was going to adorable, and he’d love her. Him. It. God…breathe, breathe damn it, calm…
He concentrated on pleasanter things, like his plans to meet Jordan at the library that afternoon. He breezed through his chores and refused to dwell on that moment of…what the fuck. He was going to have a nice average normal afternoon, with a friend, and it was going to go well.
Of course he was wrong.
******
They were sitting on the bench behind the library, the one in the center of some over grown currant bushes. Clark liked sitting there because it was private, kind of, and quiet, sort of---at least when the nearby playground was empty, like today. He sighed contentedly and stretched his legs out. This was his favorite thing. Hanging out with Jordan and eating.
At the moment Clark was working his way through a hotdog and alternating with gulps of soda and it was heaven. He chewed with a smile—it was the best damn hotdog he’d ever eaten, ever, even better than the first four hotdogs. So…damn…good…He thought about the ice-cream shop right behind the hotdog vendors stand. you’re next, my lovely…mmm, ice-cream…
Jordan looked at him in awe. “Wow, Kent, you can really pack some food away, damn. Do you eat at all between the times we get together?” He grinned at Clark and Clark grinned back, chewing happily. He licked his fingers and wiped what he couldn’t lick off onto his jeans.
“Whew, that was good. Maybe we should get some ice-cream?”
“Geez, tubbo—maybe you should slow down?”
Clark gasped a little in hurt, and Jordan laughed, oblivious to Clark’s hurt feelings. “Look—this past month you’ve really packed it on, man. What happened to the six-pack you used to have, dude--you’re getting a gut here!“ He pulled Clark’s windbreaker open and pointed. “How are you gonna get the guys to look at you, looking like that, hunh?” He grinned—it was an in-joke between them. Before Clark could stop him, he reached over and rubbed his belly hard.
“Uhng!” Clark grunted. An electric shock went straight from under Jordan’s hand to his cock. He could feel his jaw loosening, and his eyes glazing over--the feeling of another hand besides his own on him, someone touching him in what was now an intimate place, was overpowering. Jordan’s hand was still on him, so hot, so heavy…it moved again, and before he could stop himself, Clark grunted again, and his cock jumped. He looked at Jordan, and swallowed, and Jordan looked—aghast. Terrified. Curious.
“Jordan, stop. I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m sorry.
“I did that. Just touching you, I did that?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Clark gasped, “could you—could you move your hand--please.”
“Well…all right,” Jordan answered, in a small, fearful voice and moved it into Clark’s crotch. “Is that okay?” he asked, as he moved his hand in small hot circles right over the bulge pressed hard against Clark’s zipper,
“No! I didn’t mean--UNGH!” Clark’s eyes slammed shut, he grunted and bucked and Jordan whispered, “It moved so hard, I could feel it …”
Clark felt an ice-cold stab of fear under his heart, and forced his eyes open but Jordan had his eyes and hand on his cock, and he let his head fall back with relief—Thank god--no wait—“Jordan, please stop, if you don’t, I’ll come, I swear…”
Jordan stared at him open-mouthed. “Really? That easy?” and cupped Clark, squeezed a bit.
“Yes! Just like that, fuck!”
Jordan looked at him, licked his lips. Clark groaned. “Jordan, this isn’t…it’s not any bit of straight,” he choked out, trying to scare him off.
“I know, right?” he replied. “Can I open your zipper?”
Tears leaked out from under Clark’s eyelids. He was dying, he was soaking and Jordan wanted to know if he could open his zipper? He better not be teasing him. Okay, don’t come right now, or I’ll kill you, he told his cock. He nodded, not trusting himself not to scream, and Jordan pulled his zipper down a bit, just enough to slip his fingers in the waistband and into his shorts.
“Dude, you’re really wet, it’s all…” he stroked the head with his fingers, slipped his thumb from the slit to right under the ridge and Clark’s lips pressed tight together, his hands grabbed the edge of the bench, his ass cleared it--he arched and came silently. Come shot up under his tee-shirt, straight up his chest, spattered against his chin and covered his stomach. He dropped down and aftershocks jerked him right back up and Jordan stared, groaned a little himself.
“Wow.”
Clark nodded. Wow. He panted, trying to get himself together. He wiped his face with the napkins from lunch, looked down at his tee shirt and sighed. Toast. That tee shirt was no more. He zipped up his jacket, grateful he’d worn it, and felt eyes on him. Oh fuck.
“Jordan,” he started and felt his face burn. He glanced down at him. Oh. Oh. “Do you want me to…um…help you out? I mean, I owe you…”
Jordan looked at him strangely. “You don’t owe me. I didn’t do it to make you…you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He leaned back and wiped his hand on the bench. “Besides,” he laughed a little, and his cheeks turned pink. “I guess hand jobs are no big deal. I bet you and your boyfriends do more than that.”
Clark blushed bright red, covered it by pulling Jordan closer and touching him. “I want to, if it’s all right?”
Jordan nodded quickly, and Clark did to Jordan what Jordan had done to him.
Jordan seemed to like it.
After, they sat quietly, while Clark finished his soda and eyed the remnants of Jordan’s sandwich.
“Clark, I…”
“You don’t have to say it, Jordan, you were curious and it’s okay. I understand. If you’re okay, I’m okay, and I really hope you’re okay, because I hate to lose the one friend I have, though if I was smart I would never have done that in the first place and that was stupid but it felt good to have someone touch me, not just anyone mind you I’m not a slu—
Jordan pressed his big warm hand over Clark’s mouth. “You’re freaking, dude. It’s okay. I guess I should tell you, I’ve kind of been feeling this for a while. That’s why I asked you to meet me here. I wanted to talk.” He glanced at Clark’s crotch “Only it ended up being more like show and tell.” He dropped his hand. “I’m sorry, I took advantage of you.”
Clark laughed. “I don’t think so. I think I know what that’s like.”
Jordan looked concerned, but Clark shook his head. “Jordan. I have to eat. Seriously, right now.”
“What the fuck, dude, I’m telling you--fat. You’re going to get fat.”
“Man, does it bother you that much? What, are you my mother or my boyfriend or something?”
“No!” He pulled Clark off the bench and they headed for the sidewalk. He cut his eyes to the side, and grinned a lop-sided little grin. “Why, do you want me to be? “
Clark snorted. “Mostly right now I want a hotdog, or ice cream, or no—I want a cinnamon bun. Maybe two.”
“Oink.”
Clark laughed and punched Jordan on the shoulder, and staggered him a bit—that made him grin, and he was still grinning when he turned his head and caught a faint echo of The Smell…
Lex drove past, slowly, looking at him, staring at him, his face shuttered and cold and—fuck.
*****
Dear Ripley,
Crap…let me rewind that…okay. So. A lot of those baby sites say keep a journal. I guess to tell you some day how I felt about it all. Okay, so here’s how I feel. Scared shitless. That’s right, you’re grown now, so get over it. Or you’re supposed to be grown when you hear this. I think that’s the point.
Any way, I’m scared. I’m afraid of what will happen
click
******
Clark kissed his mom and hugged his dad good night. He trudged up the stairs; his belly was so big he bumped it with his knees as he climbed. He slid his arms under it to help support the weight and groaned. One step, two, ooof. Top of the stairs. Ten steps to the bedroom…after two million years, Clark finally made it to the bedroom and dropped on the bed with a gusty sigh of relief. He winced when the bed creaked and the mattress groaned and sank.
How long, oh universe, how long? He lay on the narrow bare mattress, and panted. Where were his sheets? Why was it so damn hot—it was freaking hot. Sweat rolled down his face, rolled off his enormous belly, dripped onto the mattress with a plopping sound, so much sweat…too damn much. He pulled up the triple ex tee shirt and gasped. His belly was dripping wet, running with cloudy fluid, the seam split as he watched. He felt a rolling wave of pain and gasped—it was time…Mom! He felt his mouth open but nothing came out. He tried again. Dad! Nothing…the pain suddenly became unbearable.
He screamed, and tried to move, but that awful paralysis that had afflicted him when Ripley crawled into the pouch was back. Only this time—he heard ripping skin, like fabric being torn apart and blood spurted from a long line in his belly; a long, slim ivory claw was pulling a red streamer over his skin. Blood was fountaining now, and he was screaming his head off, MOM! MOM! DAD! HELP! Help! The pain was horrible, horrible, and Ripley’s head was pushing out of the slit, wiggling back and forth trying to crawl out, and it turned to face him and teeth, too many, many teeth and it dipped it’s head and bit—it pulled a long wobbly strip of bloody flesh from the edge of the cut, and he screamed until his throat bled. HELP ME LEX, LEXLEXLEX
”—Lex--”
Lex’s name was a mumble on his lips, his legs were jerking under the top sheet wound about him, his comforter was ripped in long strips and the waistband of his boxers were cutting painfully into the ridge. And Ripley was turning somersaults.
God…he dropped back onto the bed and panted. Gosh, that was the *worst* dream yet. He rubbed his belly, up and down and in circles, the way she seemed to like it. And that stomach, he laughed a little. It had been enormous, more like he was giving birth to an elephant instead of a…a ripley. He sighed, looked at the clock and decided three am was just right for a salad. And an ice-cream sandwich.
******
Dear Ripley.
Okay, I was laying in bed and…well…I was laying in bed--and it occurred to me—how the hell am I going to feed you? I don’t have boobs—I’ve checked. All over because, alien here, I could get them anywhere. No boobs. My nips are kind of itchy though. Is that something I say? Ah, I’ll just skip over this part. Or you can…they are really itchy though…
click
*****
“Mom, what if she wants to drink my blood?”
Martha turned and looked at her pregnant, worried son. He was looming in the doorway, big flannel shirt doing nothing to hide the swelling in his middle. His hair had gotten thicker and wilder, his shoulders seemed wider too. He was a little pale, and had circles under his eyes. His lips looked too red in his milk white face. Oh lord, my poor child. “What, sweetie...if who wants to do what?”
“What if she needs to drink my blood to survive, or…or…eat my brains? And if you say anything about snack size, I’ll cry.”
She pushed him into his chair and gave him his peaches and vitamins, that usually headed off any chest burster talk. She patted him on the head, ruffled his hair and started to turn when she realized what he’d said.
“She? Since when has it become she? Do you know for sure, sweetie?” She thought about the adorable little creeper she’d seen at Gordmans, pink, with little rosebuds—oh dear. She felt a wave of guilt. Poor Clark was scared to death and she was planning a layette. She hugged him quickly.
“Well, not for sure,” he mumbled around a mouthful of peaches. “It just feels like—you know—it’s a she. She’s a she.” He kept running his hands over and over himself, more caressing than trying to ease pain, she thought. He was beginning to get used to the idea. Maybe it was time to start planning for the future—as much as possible. She sat and smiled at her son.
“Clark…we need to start getting some things together…for the…baby.” She smiled, but from the look on Clark’s face, it may not have been an entirely successful smile. “You know, get a nursery…” She trailed off. Clark was looking at her blank-faced.
“Sure, Mom. Let’s do that. What do you suggest? A crib? A swing? How about some clothes—wait, should we look for a sweater with two arms or four? Hey, do they make rompers with room in the pants for *tentacles* to come out of her *BUTT*!” he scraped the chair back noisily and ran out of the house.
Martha sat at the table, watching the up-turned bowl of peaches spread peach juice in a widening circle. Tentacles? What in the hell?
******
He was standing in the aisle of the really small infants department that Fordman’s had. He’d really felt like a crappy son, freaking out on Mom like that. Should stop and pick up a card for her, maybe some of those chocolate truffles that she liked. Did they make ‘sorry I’m an asshole’ cards? He put his hands in his jacket pockets so that he could sneakily rub the sides of his aching belly. Fucking hormones.
“Boo.”
“Jesus!” He jumped and looked up into the Jordan’s smiling face.
“Hah, Kent, made you piss yourself—dude. Why are you looking at baby clothes? Your mom pregnant?” he wrinkled his forehead, and Clark did the same. Really. Ew. Old people sex.
Clark debated saying yes, but shook his head.
“Okay...oh. Oh. Clark. Did you get somebody pregnant? You didn’t, did you? Because…I mean, it’s okay and all, I’m not—I don’t--“ he stopped and huffed. “Clark?”
He looked so lost, and Clark took pity on him. “No, I did not get some girl pregnant. Relax, Jor.” He elbowed him in the ribs and Jordan pushed him with a laugh.
“Hey, help me shop for school, will you? If I let my mom do it, she’ll get me Spiderman sheets for my bed.” He grinned, but after a second, it faded and he looked away. “Yeah. Well—“ He looked down at Clark again. “What about you, Kent, have you made up your mind?”
He looked so hopeful and Clark felt horrible. Jordan had a basketball scholarship to MetU, and knew Clark had also been accepted but that was before everything changed. He couldn’t go, of course not—how could he even think about school—he didn’t even know when he was going to have—have this baby of his. His life was on hold until Ripley hit the planet. He shook his head and Jordan squeezed his shoulder. “Well, maybe you and your dad will figure out how to run the farm without your help, right? Hungry?”
Clark winced the slightest bit at the lie, but couldn’t help but grin when Jordan offered him food.
“What was I thinking? Come on.
*****
Wait…stupid recorder…Dear Ripley,
I guess if you’re listening to this, you understand that I’m gay. I hope that by now, it’s no big deal, but people being what they are; I’m not taking bets. I know you know because I would never lie to you. You’ll know everything about us, where we come from, what we are. And what we aren’t.
click
******
tbc
eta: can't spell...and changed a part.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
5/23/06 11:29 pm (UTC)// Lucas finally let me know what he wanted done about Harris. I had no idea he was so sentimental.//
Please, yes let him be sentimental. Harris is good for him. It's hard to find someone who's cool with bloodsports...believe me, I know ;D
(no subject)
5/23/06 11:31 pm (UTC)And i'm not even gonna ask....
(no subject)
5/24/06 12:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 01:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 12:08 am (UTC)- Why must you break Lex's heart, why why why!!
- It is nice that Clark has a boy friend, but now Lex may have to kill poor Jordan, kill him dead.
He screamed, and tried to move, but that awful paralysis that had afflicted him when Ripley crawled into the pouch was back. Only this time-he heard ripping skin, like fabric being torn apart...
- I love Clark's "alien" baby dreams. He's so freaked out, I love it.
"Mom, what if she wants to drink my blood?"
...
"What if she needs to drink my blood to survive, or...or...eat my brains? And if you say anything about snack size, I'll cry."
- HAHAHA!!
So when do we get the Lex confrontation?!?!?!? Lex has a lot of yelling to get through before he and Clark can raise their family - he might even have to maim some people (Jordan/Lana).
Actually, I would love for Lana to come back after Clark is all settled and loved by Lex with baby girl Kent-Luthor, up to her old trick and get smacked down by Lex or Clark or Martha.
(no subject)
5/24/06 01:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 12:37 am (UTC)Okay. This is getting really, really good and I have to admit that I'm getting a bit scared.
(no subject)
5/24/06 02:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 01:26 am (UTC)And wtf is up with Lex and all the evol looks?
Jayzus!
*ahem*
Heeee!
:)
(no subject)
5/24/06 01:51 am (UTC)I think Jordan is beginning to grow on me! :)
(no subject)
5/24/06 02:12 am (UTC)Boy, there is just too many goog, no great things about this section. Clark and the new bf. I love Clark's journal entries. 'Alien' nightmares.
Martha saying: What the hell? = *my head exploding* kablewey.
Now, I shall dance in your honor, see. Does a seductive little wiggle in hopes of more.
Aww Lex, why is he being so evol?!
(no subject)
5/24/06 02:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 02:50 am (UTC)See, there's this guy that ya might want to look into to be a part of this story...
HIS NAME IS LEX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*dies*
*comes back*
Okay, I'm going zombie on you and people call ME evol, where's Lex, Clark wants Lex, give him to him!!!
I was so afraid when he had the nightmare, and Jordan was really sweet (though not Lex) and Clark really needs to forget Lana.
I'm loving this!!
:D
More more more!!
(no subject)
5/24/06 02:53 am (UTC)Tentacles,layettes,and freaky alien orgasms makes me laugh uncontrollably, but Clark bonding with Baby Ripley and Lex giving the Glare of Doom during a drive-by makes me ache in that "Aww" sort of way. I am loving this story!
(no subject)
5/24/06 03:43 am (UTC)How can you be such a gigantic DORK and at the same time still have me wanting to cuddle you?
At least Jordan is similarly affected. We even want to "cuddle" you in the same way. *leers*
Hey! I have an idea! Let's check to see if Lex also wants to cuddle you and then we'll have a sleepover! *hopes*
(no subject)
5/24/06 03:51 am (UTC)*doing the jiggy mpreg dance*
(no subject)
5/24/06 05:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 07:56 am (UTC)Great Chapter babes keep it coming for I love Mpregs.
(no subject)
5/24/06 01:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 02:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
5/24/06 04:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/11/06 03:31 pm (UTC)*hugs you*
*distracts you and steals your icon*
(no subject)
5/24/06 05:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
5/27/06 04:55 pm (UTC)I have no idea how to be coherent about this. I, I, I got nothing. There are no words.
hold me.
(no subject)
5/27/06 06:08 pm (UTC)*Puts you on her lap, and hugs you*
(no subject)
5/29/06 05:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/29/06 04:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/16/06 08:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/16/06 12:31 pm (UTC)