fic post : Mariposa
11/5/06 07:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—but soon…
Rating: 3
Summary: The world is AU. The world is a gecko.
The Previous Parts are here, planning to stalk Doogie Houser.
Aftermath And Changes
I’m floating. I’m warm, it feels good. I hurt so much before I fell asleep but now I’m happy…I feel something damp touch me when I stretch— so I open my eyes and look and I’m in the sky! Really in the sky…the damp is clouds. I look down and—I’m super high in the sky and—and I’m naked. Crap…as soon as I notice I’m naked, I get hard. Doesn’t matter…I’m alone and the air touching me makes it better…I want to touch myself, I roll over and look down, suddenly I’m wearing a striped polo and jeans. They’re not mine. They’re Pete’s. As soon as I think of him, I’m floating over the development Pete lives in, floating over a thousand roofs. All the same from the air, but it’s like there’s a cord pulling me to him… I’m floating in his front yard, inches above the ground; the grass is almost touching me. I’m floating, faster, faster, and suddenly I’m racing up the stairs to Pete’s room, and here’s where it gets really weird.
Weirder.
I’m up the stairs, down the hall, his door opens and the room is huge. It’s all glass and maple and steel and almost like a hospital room but for this black bed thing sitting in the middle of the room, and there’s a white guy lying on the bed. Not white like Caucasian, white like marble, like snow. The bed’s all black and black sheets drip to the floor and this thin white guy is spread over it. I’m hanging an inch over him, my chest is kind of skimming his, and when I take a deep breath, my nipples scrape against him… his eyes fly open and they’re the color of a winter sky, and his hand shoots around the back of my head—he pulls me down and kisses me.
Not just a kiss…he sucks me in, he bites me, scrapes my lips over and over…I suck his tongue, like candy, like fire, I pull his lip into my mouth and lick, suck it…my cock is rubbing against him and he’s like glass, no hair anywhere, no mark on his smooth, smooth skin, no end to how hot he is, how much I want to—he shivers from head to toe, his cock trembles and suddenly he arches and he yells, ‘Clark!’ and he’s coming on me, it’s—it makes me come too...makes me come so hard I wake up, and I’m sticky, my hand is in my crotch like I’m trying to hold everything in…I wake up with this guy’s name in my mouth. And fuck, I feel like I’m missing the most important thing in the world, like it’s all wrong and for a minute I want him so bad, my body feels like its on fire, and...okay…I cry. But only for a second…
******
Chloe sat on the new addition to the loft. The cot was gone, and a real couch—well, the old family room couch—was in it’s place. He had a big overstuffed chair too. It was ugly as sin, cheap and shiny and printed all over with eagles or something but really not too uncomfortable. A couple of space heaters were scattered here and there across the floor, and a radio played on a shelf in the corner. He was sitting at an old table that now did duty as a desk. There were some dust covered models hanging on wire over the desk, space shuttles, ships from different science fiction movies….there were one or two in various stages of completion sitting in front of him.
“It’s horrible Clark—it was a miracle not more people died—and the guy that caused all that destruction was a Jeremy Creek.” Chloe flapped the front page of the paper at him. “He got the scarecrow treatment too--but twelve years ago. They say he’s in custody, but how much do you wanna bet, we’ll never hear about him again?”
Clark massaged his forehead, reached into a drawer in the table. “Oh, that’s…awful. I wish you hadn’t told me…Pete’s okay, right?” He clicked open the top of a little green bottle, popped a few aspirin in his mouth and swallowed them dry. He looked up at her. “Is he?”
Chloe winced and frowned. “He’s fine. He left early with his date.”
Clark glanced over and she sighed, “Yes, Lana’s fine, she stayed home because…” she watched his reaction as she said, “Whitney came to help me get you home.”
Clark blushed. “Well, I suppose I should be glad to hear that he helped you….Chloe, what’s weird about the whole thing is, I kind of feel responsible for some reason.”
“Clark—it has nothing to do with you, and I’m telling you again, that’s so typical of a kid in your, you know, situation. We talked about it before-- please talk to your parents about talking to someone…you know, you can talk to a counselor without their permission…”
“Chloe, I’m fine, I’m just fine. Really.” He smiled with all the sincerity he could force, and Chloe came over to him. She bent over and pressed a kiss on top of his head. “You looked like you could use that,” she smiled.
Clark felt…uncomfortable, on the edge of nervous. What was wrong with Chloe? She lingered, breathing against him, and let her hand rest on his shoulder, her thumb stroking his neck, and he froze. Oh god…she thought…did she think that he—that they—“Chloe…”
“It’s okay Clark, you don’t have to say anything—I know.” She lowered her head and kissed him, her mouth was warm on his, and the smell of strawberries filled his nose, the slick warm slide of gloss against his mouth was totally unwelcome. She was intruding, taking—
“Chloe!” he gasped. He tried to push her away gently, blushed and winced that he wasn’t completely successful.
She jerked out of his grip—her face was a blaze of red, and her hands were knots at her side. “I—oh god!” she whirled around, tried to run for the stairs but Clark grabbed her hand.
“Please, Chloe don’t run—I have to explain. I can explain--”
“Clark, I’m already embarrassed to death, please don’t make it worse. I was wrong, okay, I get that. It is Lana.” She stopped, her chin trembled, and she lifted her head high. “I know I’m not a delicate princess like *her*. I know that I’m not the kind of girl that guys fall for…"
“Chloe, shit—it’s not that. Listen to me.” Clark pulled her, coaxing her along slowly, until they were both perched on the edge of the couch. She looked away. “Chloe, it’s not Lana. It’s not…any girl. It won’t ever be.”
She looked at him, and her mouth fell open—realization dawned—“Oh! Oh my god—you’re *gay*? Are you telling me you’re gay?” She scrambled around on the couch until she was facing him. “Thank God!” She threw her hands over her mouth.” Oh gosh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she squeaked, muffled by her hands. “Well, yeah, I do sort of. I’m glad that it’s not me. I’m really sorry that you’re—omigawd, it’s Pete!”
Clark jumped up. “No, it’s not!”
“Yes, yes it is. You guys were such good friends and suddenly you’re not, and Pete doesn’t want to talk to you and the way he looks at you…”
Clark fell back on the couch, his heart cracking in two. “What do you mean, the way he looks? Chloe?”
She shook her head, sat silent for a moment, and finally said, “Pete’s confused, Clark, he doesn’t understand. Not everyone is like—well, like me. You know how it is in this town. What about your mom and dad, where they okay with it?”
Clark mumbled, “They don’t know. Yet. It’s…hard to tell them. I don’t want to worry them. They might not understand.” He looked at Chloe, “it’s way complicated, and I don’t know how to explain it. There’s…the stuff…*you* know.” He swallowed hard, “What if they react like Pete?”
“Clark, I know you know your parents better than anyone else but, do you really, really think they’d turn against you? Or couldn’t handle it? They’re stronger than that—they’ve already proved that, right?”
******
After Chloe left, he’d given his dad a hand with the old tractor, the one his dad refused to give up on, even though he had the new one. He’d managed to beg a ride into town, and get a few bucks to spend as well. By the time he was in town, between his dad’s soothingly boring recounting of the milk yield for that week, and the…averagness of it all, Clark was feeling pretty good. His odd dream made him smile from time to time--laugh at himself, really. Lex Luthor…he wondered if the guy remembered almost getting creamed on a country road in Smallville…or remembered him. He laughed again. Sure, sure he did….
Anyway, he had enough money to get a milkshake or something, and to buy a book maybe. The day was clear and warm and the disaster that was Chloe’s visit was beginning to recede, nothing could screw the rest of his day up. Except one thing.
Pete was walking towards him, and looked as happy as a guy with a gun to his head. Shit. So much for a good day.
“Clark. I’m sorry about what happened, man. I--”
“Fuck you, Pete.”
“You know, I’m trying to apologize, you—I’m really sorry, what happened happened to you.”
“They called me queer, and tried to beat the shit out of me. Why would they say something like that, Pete? Hunh? Wonder what made them think that?”
Pete looked shocked—angry—and hurt. “Clark, I never. I never said a word to anyone but my mom, and I kept her from telling *your* mom. It’s not my fault. I can’t believe you’d think I would tell those guys…”
Clark looked at him, unwilling to budge, so angry and hurt himself that he was willing to believe that Pete had betrayed every bit of their friendship.
“Okay, well, fuck you too, Kent.” He backed away from Clark, “Fuck you too—ever thought they didn’t *need* anyone to tell them?” He whirled around and ran away.
Clark stood on the sidewalk and watched Pete run away from him. No. Pete was wrong. He looked at his hands, his arms. Could people look at him and tell he was different…was it something you could see? He always felt like he had some sort of mark, a scar on the inside, something that set him apart. He knew it was crazy but maybe—maybe something showed on the outside? His hand went to his cheek, touched the area around his eye gently. It was purple, and tender and ugly, and everyone looking at it knew what happened…
*****
The pharmacy in town was a block way from the Beanery, and Clark walked the block with his head down, as fast as he could move without looking like he was running. He watched his shadow in front of him, stretching out and out from him, pointing the way. Thinking of his shadow as a separate being made him smile a little. It reminded him of the invisible friend he had as a little kid—the miracle kid who could do anything. He snorted--didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure that one out, did it?
He stepped inside the cool, wooden interior of the pharmacy, the bell over the door jangling crazily. The wooden floors and glass cases and the damn bell always reminded him of a Twilight Zone episode. There was retro-cool and then there was ‘creepy get-a remodel-for craps sake.’
The pharmacist and her assistant looked up, and quickly looked down when they saw him, Clark felt angry, and right on the heels of anger, came shame. He looked away himself, feeling his cheeks flush, and marched down the aisle to the cosmetics section. He stood staring at a bewildering array of make-ups. It was…mind-boggling. Girls could navigate this—this sea of confusion? He sighed, and turned to go, and Terry the assistant was standing behind him. She looked at him sharply. “Can I help you?”
He nodded slowly. “There’s a make up that they put on scars and birthmarks and…”
He trialed off and she nodded in sympathy. “Of course, I know what you’re talking about.” She led him down the aisle, and pointed out the make up. “This foundation is water proof and it won’t smudge all over. Looks to be about your shade… it’ll cover…” she made a vague gesture towards her face.
He nodded. “Good. Thanks. Thank you,” and he looked up and smiled at her, and she just grinned back, but it was a much warmer look than she’d had before. He wandered around, picked up a lipstick in bubblegum pink, a cheap eyeliner, a tiny sample sized bottle of perfume, a little box of inexpensive chocolates and a gift bag with tissue. He laid it on the counter with a smile, waved as he left the store with his purchase.
*****
“Well,” Terry said as she watched Clark leave the store. “So that was the boy who was the scarecrow. I see it really got out of hand this year.”
The pharmacist frowned. “I see that. I’ve also heard some people claim there was a reason he got picked.”
“Oh, I heard that too. My Bobby says he’s a fruit, but it looks to me like he’s got a girlfriend. He’s real cute too, he’ll make some lucky girl happy.”
The pharmacist stopped what she was doing and looked at Terry. “Hmm. Yes, lucky girl.” She looked back down at her papers. “He seems like a good kid. I hope he doesn’t get himself in more trouble.”
*****
At home again, he settled in at the desk, mirror propped against the Deathstar, the small bag from the pharmacy in his hand. He opened the bag and tossed the chocolate, the gift bag to the side. He took out the make-up, and the lipstick.
He smeared it over his skin, stroking over his nose, cheek, carefully around his eyes and the purple disappeared. He sighed. Better, that. He turned the little tube of lipstick around and around before peeling the plastic off, rolling it out. It smelled nice. A little like a crayon, a little like perfume. He touched it to the back of his hand…liked the color. He moved the mirror to focus on his lips, and stroked a line across his bottom lip. He felt…weird. Giddy. Good. He filled in the rest of his lip. It was…pretty. He spent all this time looking at Lana, watching her. He saw how it was for her. She was free, she could say what she wanted, act how she wanted—she could be brave, or angry, she could cry and no one said anything. No one criticized her for crying, or being scared, or feeling lonely. If he was Lana, he could have that freedom. He didn’t have to act like nothing frightened him or bothered him or…
He breathed in a long shaky breath and opened the eyeliner. He stroked the liner around his eyes and checked the effect, and he liked it. He smiled a little at himself, and sighed. He reached into the table drawer, and pulled out the moistened wipes he put there not long ago. He laughed a little…this was *not* the reason he had the wipes in the loft. But it worked fine.
tbc:Drowning—Looking For Water
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—but soon…
Rating: 3
Summary: The world is AU. The world is a gecko.
The Previous Parts are here, planning to stalk Doogie Houser.
Aftermath And Changes
I’m floating. I’m warm, it feels good. I hurt so much before I fell asleep but now I’m happy…I feel something damp touch me when I stretch— so I open my eyes and look and I’m in the sky! Really in the sky…the damp is clouds. I look down and—I’m super high in the sky and—and I’m naked. Crap…as soon as I notice I’m naked, I get hard. Doesn’t matter…I’m alone and the air touching me makes it better…I want to touch myself, I roll over and look down, suddenly I’m wearing a striped polo and jeans. They’re not mine. They’re Pete’s. As soon as I think of him, I’m floating over the development Pete lives in, floating over a thousand roofs. All the same from the air, but it’s like there’s a cord pulling me to him… I’m floating in his front yard, inches above the ground; the grass is almost touching me. I’m floating, faster, faster, and suddenly I’m racing up the stairs to Pete’s room, and here’s where it gets really weird.
Weirder.
I’m up the stairs, down the hall, his door opens and the room is huge. It’s all glass and maple and steel and almost like a hospital room but for this black bed thing sitting in the middle of the room, and there’s a white guy lying on the bed. Not white like Caucasian, white like marble, like snow. The bed’s all black and black sheets drip to the floor and this thin white guy is spread over it. I’m hanging an inch over him, my chest is kind of skimming his, and when I take a deep breath, my nipples scrape against him… his eyes fly open and they’re the color of a winter sky, and his hand shoots around the back of my head—he pulls me down and kisses me.
Not just a kiss…he sucks me in, he bites me, scrapes my lips over and over…I suck his tongue, like candy, like fire, I pull his lip into my mouth and lick, suck it…my cock is rubbing against him and he’s like glass, no hair anywhere, no mark on his smooth, smooth skin, no end to how hot he is, how much I want to—he shivers from head to toe, his cock trembles and suddenly he arches and he yells, ‘Clark!’ and he’s coming on me, it’s—it makes me come too...makes me come so hard I wake up, and I’m sticky, my hand is in my crotch like I’m trying to hold everything in…I wake up with this guy’s name in my mouth. And fuck, I feel like I’m missing the most important thing in the world, like it’s all wrong and for a minute I want him so bad, my body feels like its on fire, and...okay…I cry. But only for a second…
******
Chloe sat on the new addition to the loft. The cot was gone, and a real couch—well, the old family room couch—was in it’s place. He had a big overstuffed chair too. It was ugly as sin, cheap and shiny and printed all over with eagles or something but really not too uncomfortable. A couple of space heaters were scattered here and there across the floor, and a radio played on a shelf in the corner. He was sitting at an old table that now did duty as a desk. There were some dust covered models hanging on wire over the desk, space shuttles, ships from different science fiction movies….there were one or two in various stages of completion sitting in front of him.
“It’s horrible Clark—it was a miracle not more people died—and the guy that caused all that destruction was a Jeremy Creek.” Chloe flapped the front page of the paper at him. “He got the scarecrow treatment too--but twelve years ago. They say he’s in custody, but how much do you wanna bet, we’ll never hear about him again?”
Clark massaged his forehead, reached into a drawer in the table. “Oh, that’s…awful. I wish you hadn’t told me…Pete’s okay, right?” He clicked open the top of a little green bottle, popped a few aspirin in his mouth and swallowed them dry. He looked up at her. “Is he?”
Chloe winced and frowned. “He’s fine. He left early with his date.”
Clark glanced over and she sighed, “Yes, Lana’s fine, she stayed home because…” she watched his reaction as she said, “Whitney came to help me get you home.”
Clark blushed. “Well, I suppose I should be glad to hear that he helped you….Chloe, what’s weird about the whole thing is, I kind of feel responsible for some reason.”
“Clark—it has nothing to do with you, and I’m telling you again, that’s so typical of a kid in your, you know, situation. We talked about it before-- please talk to your parents about talking to someone…you know, you can talk to a counselor without their permission…”
“Chloe, I’m fine, I’m just fine. Really.” He smiled with all the sincerity he could force, and Chloe came over to him. She bent over and pressed a kiss on top of his head. “You looked like you could use that,” she smiled.
Clark felt…uncomfortable, on the edge of nervous. What was wrong with Chloe? She lingered, breathing against him, and let her hand rest on his shoulder, her thumb stroking his neck, and he froze. Oh god…she thought…did she think that he—that they—“Chloe…”
“It’s okay Clark, you don’t have to say anything—I know.” She lowered her head and kissed him, her mouth was warm on his, and the smell of strawberries filled his nose, the slick warm slide of gloss against his mouth was totally unwelcome. She was intruding, taking—
“Chloe!” he gasped. He tried to push her away gently, blushed and winced that he wasn’t completely successful.
She jerked out of his grip—her face was a blaze of red, and her hands were knots at her side. “I—oh god!” she whirled around, tried to run for the stairs but Clark grabbed her hand.
“Please, Chloe don’t run—I have to explain. I can explain--”
“Clark, I’m already embarrassed to death, please don’t make it worse. I was wrong, okay, I get that. It is Lana.” She stopped, her chin trembled, and she lifted her head high. “I know I’m not a delicate princess like *her*. I know that I’m not the kind of girl that guys fall for…"
“Chloe, shit—it’s not that. Listen to me.” Clark pulled her, coaxing her along slowly, until they were both perched on the edge of the couch. She looked away. “Chloe, it’s not Lana. It’s not…any girl. It won’t ever be.”
She looked at him, and her mouth fell open—realization dawned—“Oh! Oh my god—you’re *gay*? Are you telling me you’re gay?” She scrambled around on the couch until she was facing him. “Thank God!” She threw her hands over her mouth.” Oh gosh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she squeaked, muffled by her hands. “Well, yeah, I do sort of. I’m glad that it’s not me. I’m really sorry that you’re—omigawd, it’s Pete!”
Clark jumped up. “No, it’s not!”
“Yes, yes it is. You guys were such good friends and suddenly you’re not, and Pete doesn’t want to talk to you and the way he looks at you…”
Clark fell back on the couch, his heart cracking in two. “What do you mean, the way he looks? Chloe?”
She shook her head, sat silent for a moment, and finally said, “Pete’s confused, Clark, he doesn’t understand. Not everyone is like—well, like me. You know how it is in this town. What about your mom and dad, where they okay with it?”
Clark mumbled, “They don’t know. Yet. It’s…hard to tell them. I don’t want to worry them. They might not understand.” He looked at Chloe, “it’s way complicated, and I don’t know how to explain it. There’s…the stuff…*you* know.” He swallowed hard, “What if they react like Pete?”
“Clark, I know you know your parents better than anyone else but, do you really, really think they’d turn against you? Or couldn’t handle it? They’re stronger than that—they’ve already proved that, right?”
******
After Chloe left, he’d given his dad a hand with the old tractor, the one his dad refused to give up on, even though he had the new one. He’d managed to beg a ride into town, and get a few bucks to spend as well. By the time he was in town, between his dad’s soothingly boring recounting of the milk yield for that week, and the…averagness of it all, Clark was feeling pretty good. His odd dream made him smile from time to time--laugh at himself, really. Lex Luthor…he wondered if the guy remembered almost getting creamed on a country road in Smallville…or remembered him. He laughed again. Sure, sure he did….
Anyway, he had enough money to get a milkshake or something, and to buy a book maybe. The day was clear and warm and the disaster that was Chloe’s visit was beginning to recede, nothing could screw the rest of his day up. Except one thing.
Pete was walking towards him, and looked as happy as a guy with a gun to his head. Shit. So much for a good day.
“Clark. I’m sorry about what happened, man. I--”
“Fuck you, Pete.”
“You know, I’m trying to apologize, you—I’m really sorry, what happened happened to you.”
“They called me queer, and tried to beat the shit out of me. Why would they say something like that, Pete? Hunh? Wonder what made them think that?”
Pete looked shocked—angry—and hurt. “Clark, I never. I never said a word to anyone but my mom, and I kept her from telling *your* mom. It’s not my fault. I can’t believe you’d think I would tell those guys…”
Clark looked at him, unwilling to budge, so angry and hurt himself that he was willing to believe that Pete had betrayed every bit of their friendship.
“Okay, well, fuck you too, Kent.” He backed away from Clark, “Fuck you too—ever thought they didn’t *need* anyone to tell them?” He whirled around and ran away.
Clark stood on the sidewalk and watched Pete run away from him. No. Pete was wrong. He looked at his hands, his arms. Could people look at him and tell he was different…was it something you could see? He always felt like he had some sort of mark, a scar on the inside, something that set him apart. He knew it was crazy but maybe—maybe something showed on the outside? His hand went to his cheek, touched the area around his eye gently. It was purple, and tender and ugly, and everyone looking at it knew what happened…
*****
The pharmacy in town was a block way from the Beanery, and Clark walked the block with his head down, as fast as he could move without looking like he was running. He watched his shadow in front of him, stretching out and out from him, pointing the way. Thinking of his shadow as a separate being made him smile a little. It reminded him of the invisible friend he had as a little kid—the miracle kid who could do anything. He snorted--didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure that one out, did it?
He stepped inside the cool, wooden interior of the pharmacy, the bell over the door jangling crazily. The wooden floors and glass cases and the damn bell always reminded him of a Twilight Zone episode. There was retro-cool and then there was ‘creepy get-a remodel-for craps sake.’
The pharmacist and her assistant looked up, and quickly looked down when they saw him, Clark felt angry, and right on the heels of anger, came shame. He looked away himself, feeling his cheeks flush, and marched down the aisle to the cosmetics section. He stood staring at a bewildering array of make-ups. It was…mind-boggling. Girls could navigate this—this sea of confusion? He sighed, and turned to go, and Terry the assistant was standing behind him. She looked at him sharply. “Can I help you?”
He nodded slowly. “There’s a make up that they put on scars and birthmarks and…”
He trialed off and she nodded in sympathy. “Of course, I know what you’re talking about.” She led him down the aisle, and pointed out the make up. “This foundation is water proof and it won’t smudge all over. Looks to be about your shade… it’ll cover…” she made a vague gesture towards her face.
He nodded. “Good. Thanks. Thank you,” and he looked up and smiled at her, and she just grinned back, but it was a much warmer look than she’d had before. He wandered around, picked up a lipstick in bubblegum pink, a cheap eyeliner, a tiny sample sized bottle of perfume, a little box of inexpensive chocolates and a gift bag with tissue. He laid it on the counter with a smile, waved as he left the store with his purchase.
*****
“Well,” Terry said as she watched Clark leave the store. “So that was the boy who was the scarecrow. I see it really got out of hand this year.”
The pharmacist frowned. “I see that. I’ve also heard some people claim there was a reason he got picked.”
“Oh, I heard that too. My Bobby says he’s a fruit, but it looks to me like he’s got a girlfriend. He’s real cute too, he’ll make some lucky girl happy.”
The pharmacist stopped what she was doing and looked at Terry. “Hmm. Yes, lucky girl.” She looked back down at her papers. “He seems like a good kid. I hope he doesn’t get himself in more trouble.”
*****
At home again, he settled in at the desk, mirror propped against the Deathstar, the small bag from the pharmacy in his hand. He opened the bag and tossed the chocolate, the gift bag to the side. He took out the make-up, and the lipstick.
He smeared it over his skin, stroking over his nose, cheek, carefully around his eyes and the purple disappeared. He sighed. Better, that. He turned the little tube of lipstick around and around before peeling the plastic off, rolling it out. It smelled nice. A little like a crayon, a little like perfume. He touched it to the back of his hand…liked the color. He moved the mirror to focus on his lips, and stroked a line across his bottom lip. He felt…weird. Giddy. Good. He filled in the rest of his lip. It was…pretty. He spent all this time looking at Lana, watching her. He saw how it was for her. She was free, she could say what she wanted, act how she wanted—she could be brave, or angry, she could cry and no one said anything. No one criticized her for crying, or being scared, or feeling lonely. If he was Lana, he could have that freedom. He didn’t have to act like nothing frightened him or bothered him or…
He breathed in a long shaky breath and opened the eyeliner. He stroked the liner around his eyes and checked the effect, and he liked it. He smiled a little at himself, and sighed. He reached into the table drawer, and pulled out the moistened wipes he put there not long ago. He laughed a little…this was *not* the reason he had the wipes in the loft. But it worked fine.
tbc:Drowning—Looking For Water
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11/7/06 06:40 am (UTC)