fic post mariposa
11/6/06 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—but I’m hinting…
Rating: 3
Summary: This piece of fiction is just that.
The Previous Parts are here, planning their wedding to Doogie Houser, M.D. which does not mean Mad Dog, more's the pity.
Drowning—Looking For Water
Whitney pulled in at the end of the drive and watched Clark for a bit. He was mowing the lawn, his ever present flannel tied around his waist. He was totally involved in the task, smiling a little…Whit wondered what he was thinking about…maybe Chloe?
He parked, and got out, walked the last few feet up to the head of the drive. Clark whirled around and stared, and the look on his face was definitely not friendly. Shit. He’d never see that other expression again—he’d never see a smile from Clark again. Whit snorted at himself. Jerk, he was a jerk, and Clark knew it.
“What?” Clark asked.
“I just came by to—to--”
“What? See if there was anything you could do to fuck my day up, make it more miserable?”
Whitney looked past Clark to the barn, and the hoop hanging there. “Came by to see if you wanted to play some hoops.” God, could he sound more like an asshole?
Clark wiped his head with the back of his hand, and Whit watched the play of muscles as they bunched and relaxed, there were a series of tight muscles over his ribs that flexed as he moved his arm and… “Hunh?”
“I said, why aren’t you hanging out with your jock friends? Why bother me?”
“‘Cause my jock friends are stupid. And you’re…” Whit trailed off, uncertain what to say, what he even meant. “… interesting.”
Clark shut off the lawn mower and put on his shirt and Whit swore that he couldn’t possibly have felt a quick jab of disappointment.
“Interesting?” Clark laughed. “How the hell am I interesting? I go to school, I come home and do my chores, my homework—oh, wait, that’s right—I forgot—I get hung up to die in cornfields.” He turned to Whit with a bright brittle smile. “You’re right, I am interesting.”
Whit turned and started to walk away—turned back. He walked up until he was inches from Clark and spoke into his chin, because he was not going to lift his head. “I’m sorry. I’m more fucking sorry for what happened than anything in my life and if it’ll make you feel better then hit me, do what you need to but for fucks sake, please! Can you let me apologize?”
Clark stepped back, startled by Whit’s vehement apology. “Please Clark—this is killing me. Help me out.”
Clark opened his mouth, anger making his eyes flash, and suddenly, he slumped a little. He dropped his head and stared at the ground. “Okay, okay Whit. I--thanks.” He lifted his head again, and smiled a little and Whit’s heart skipped. “You can come on up to the house if you want. I’m going to get lunch.”
“Your mom will kill me—and if she doesn’t, your dog will.”
Clark wiped sweat from his face and managed a smile. “Well, my mom won’t, but Buddy might. If I were you, I’d try to get on his good side.” He stopped. “Buddy will let you know if you have a good side.”
Whit just nodded.
******
The window in the school paper’s office was closed, the shade down, and the overhead lights off. The area near Chloe’s desk was in shadow, and the table she had her work spread on was in dim light. It was soothing, Clark thought---the dim light, the smell of paper, and the light cherry scent that was Chloe. He leaned back in the wheeled chair that she usually sat in and sighed. As comfortable as he usually was in the Torch office, right at the moment, he was restless, too restless to sit and watch Chloe work. “When are you are you going to be done?” He huffed when she didn’t answer.
“Chloe, when are you going to--”
“Oh my God Clark, where do you have to be? Who’s waiting for you at home?”
Clark whirled the chair around and dropped his feet heavily to the ground. “Thanks for reminding me how social a butterfly I’m *not*.”
“Oh come on now, Clark, she muttered, You’re a big old butterfly to me, okay?”
He blew her a raspberry and looked at the wall over her desk. Pictures and articles, from the Ledger, the Granville Post, and other local papers were pinned to the wall, along with articles from on-line sites and Clark always felt weird looking at it. The ones that really creeped him the most were photocopies of articles from major publications, detailing the long ago meteor strike that earned Smallville it’s sign…Meteor Capitol Of The World.
He got up and looked over her shoulder. “So, what’s the—oh. Oh, that guy…I knew him. Pete and I knew him in grade school. He always was a little odd.”
“Yeah, well, reading between the lines, he gets a lot weirder. All the paper says is that he’s suspected of killing his mother, himself…but the rumors are that she was covered in webs, and bugs, ew…and he’s disappeared. Vanished without a trace.”
“He’s disappeared?” Clark read what was on the clippings. “That’s not weird, Chloe, that’s scary.”
She shrugged and pinned the article she printed out earlier on the wall. “People do strange things in this town, strange things happen. Weird is Smallville’s second biggest export, Clark.”
******
Whitney found himself dropping by the farm from time to time, and Clark seemed okay with it, and Whitney wondered, did that mean he and Clark were sort of like friends now? If so, they were kind of an odd pair—Clark wasn’t a complete pariah, but popular, he was most definitely not. Whitney on the other hand, was, and tended to expect the sort of treatment that Clark couldn’t imagine. He never stopped to think about what he did, or how he treated other people, he never examined any aspect of his life. At least, he never had until the night he participated in hurting Clark. Now, things weren’t as simple. There were huge areas of his life that made him question himself. Lana…he didn’t want to concern her with problems that would only upset her. Clark was willing to listen, and he was a really good listener. Whit smiled. Something that Lana could use a little work on, he had to admit.
In fact, the more time he spent with Clark, the more he thought about his life. Clark was a decent person. He was just genuinely good. He didn’t want anything from anyone—and Whit appreciated that. Lana was wonderful but she wanted so much, needed so much. Being with—hanging out with—Clark was sort of a relief from his buddies expectations, Lana’s and his dad’s... when he rolled up the drive to the farmhouse, he always felt like a lead weight was dropping off his shoulders. And also on the plus side, the Kents seemed a lot less likely to put him in the cornfield now. They thawed a bit with each visit, and watching the Kents interact taught him so much about Clark, why he was the kind of person he was. He wondered if Clark knew how lucky he was.
******
“Clark?”
“Oh! Hi, Whit. Come on up.”
Whit swung around the post and landed on the loft floor and Clark couldn’t help but grin. He did a little shuffle step and ended up with his arms wide. “Ta-da!” Clark’s heart skipped a beat at Whit’s huge smile. He was finding it harder and harder to ignore just how good looking Whitney was. There was something about him, something that drew Clark to him…not that it was important, or meant anything. He grinned as Whit attempted another ungraceful dance step, one that involved him throwing his arms in the air, and incidentally, pulling his very tight tee shirt even tighter across his chest. Clark blinked--a sudden sharp pain jabbed behind his eyes, he closed them against the suddenly blinding light. They burned so badly he couldn’t hold in a little gasp.
“Hey, you okay?” Whitney moved quickly to stand next to Clark. Clark had his head buried in his hands, couldn’t stop the moans that forced their way out between tight lips. This pain—this was different; not the same as the other headaches. It seemed to center on his eyes—they felt like they were exploding.
“Clark, you look terrible—are you sure you’re okay—fuck that, you’re not okay.” Whitney dropped down on the couch, and reached out, awkwardly patted his shoulder. The touch of Whitney’s hand seemed to make it worse. Echoes of pain from his eyes shot up his spine, settled right under the place Whit’s hand touched him. He had to get away—Whit needed to stop *touching* him.
Clark winced. “Whitney, could you just—go? Please?”
Whitney jerked his hand away, stepped back from the couch and shrugged. “Sure, no problem. I’ll talk to you later, Kent.” He turned around and walked to the stairs, took one step down and looked back. “Are you sure you want me to leave? I—I could stay, make sure you’re okay.”
He looked like he was angry or something, Clark thought, though it was hard to tell what went on in Whit’s head, and really, at the moment, he didn’t give a shit. He hurt too bad to care. “No.” and then something made him add, “Unless you want to. I don’t need help.”
Whitney looked strangely relieved, and said, “It’s okay. I can stay—I should get your mom though…” he came back and bent a little to look closer at Clark. “—dude, your eyes are so red…I’m going to get your mom.”
“No, don’t worry her, there’s some pills in my desk, could you get them?”
“Sure,” Whit answered and as he walked to the desk, a stab of horror pierced Clark. The make up was in the drawer… Whit rummaged about, looking for the bottle… oh fuck, he couldn’t miss the stuff…no, no, s’okay, just say it’s Chloe’s….
The rummaging stopped. For long minutes there was nothing, and then, he brought Clark the little bottle and said, “These are just over the counter—didn’t your doctor prescribe something?” If Whit saw anything, he made no sign.
“We—I haven’t been…I don’t go.”
“Ever? What the fuck—are you guys in some weird religious thing or something?”
“No. they’ve just never taken me--”
“Clark man, that’s not right. They should take you—look at you. You’re green and sweating and your eyes look like they’re about to burst into flame and you’ve been kind of moaning the whole time you’ve talking to me…you need to talk to your parents, Clark.”
tbc: next...Life On Mars--Reach
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—but I’m hinting…
Rating: 3
Summary: This piece of fiction is just that.
The Previous Parts are here, planning their wedding to Doogie Houser, M.D. which does not mean Mad Dog, more's the pity.
Drowning—Looking For Water
Whitney pulled in at the end of the drive and watched Clark for a bit. He was mowing the lawn, his ever present flannel tied around his waist. He was totally involved in the task, smiling a little…Whit wondered what he was thinking about…maybe Chloe?
He parked, and got out, walked the last few feet up to the head of the drive. Clark whirled around and stared, and the look on his face was definitely not friendly. Shit. He’d never see that other expression again—he’d never see a smile from Clark again. Whit snorted at himself. Jerk, he was a jerk, and Clark knew it.
“What?” Clark asked.
“I just came by to—to--”
“What? See if there was anything you could do to fuck my day up, make it more miserable?”
Whitney looked past Clark to the barn, and the hoop hanging there. “Came by to see if you wanted to play some hoops.” God, could he sound more like an asshole?
Clark wiped his head with the back of his hand, and Whit watched the play of muscles as they bunched and relaxed, there were a series of tight muscles over his ribs that flexed as he moved his arm and… “Hunh?”
“I said, why aren’t you hanging out with your jock friends? Why bother me?”
“‘Cause my jock friends are stupid. And you’re…” Whit trailed off, uncertain what to say, what he even meant. “… interesting.”
Clark shut off the lawn mower and put on his shirt and Whit swore that he couldn’t possibly have felt a quick jab of disappointment.
“Interesting?” Clark laughed. “How the hell am I interesting? I go to school, I come home and do my chores, my homework—oh, wait, that’s right—I forgot—I get hung up to die in cornfields.” He turned to Whit with a bright brittle smile. “You’re right, I am interesting.”
Whit turned and started to walk away—turned back. He walked up until he was inches from Clark and spoke into his chin, because he was not going to lift his head. “I’m sorry. I’m more fucking sorry for what happened than anything in my life and if it’ll make you feel better then hit me, do what you need to but for fucks sake, please! Can you let me apologize?”
Clark stepped back, startled by Whit’s vehement apology. “Please Clark—this is killing me. Help me out.”
Clark opened his mouth, anger making his eyes flash, and suddenly, he slumped a little. He dropped his head and stared at the ground. “Okay, okay Whit. I--thanks.” He lifted his head again, and smiled a little and Whit’s heart skipped. “You can come on up to the house if you want. I’m going to get lunch.”
“Your mom will kill me—and if she doesn’t, your dog will.”
Clark wiped sweat from his face and managed a smile. “Well, my mom won’t, but Buddy might. If I were you, I’d try to get on his good side.” He stopped. “Buddy will let you know if you have a good side.”
Whit just nodded.
******
The window in the school paper’s office was closed, the shade down, and the overhead lights off. The area near Chloe’s desk was in shadow, and the table she had her work spread on was in dim light. It was soothing, Clark thought---the dim light, the smell of paper, and the light cherry scent that was Chloe. He leaned back in the wheeled chair that she usually sat in and sighed. As comfortable as he usually was in the Torch office, right at the moment, he was restless, too restless to sit and watch Chloe work. “When are you are you going to be done?” He huffed when she didn’t answer.
“Chloe, when are you going to--”
“Oh my God Clark, where do you have to be? Who’s waiting for you at home?”
Clark whirled the chair around and dropped his feet heavily to the ground. “Thanks for reminding me how social a butterfly I’m *not*.”
“Oh come on now, Clark, she muttered, You’re a big old butterfly to me, okay?”
He blew her a raspberry and looked at the wall over her desk. Pictures and articles, from the Ledger, the Granville Post, and other local papers were pinned to the wall, along with articles from on-line sites and Clark always felt weird looking at it. The ones that really creeped him the most were photocopies of articles from major publications, detailing the long ago meteor strike that earned Smallville it’s sign…Meteor Capitol Of The World.
He got up and looked over her shoulder. “So, what’s the—oh. Oh, that guy…I knew him. Pete and I knew him in grade school. He always was a little odd.”
“Yeah, well, reading between the lines, he gets a lot weirder. All the paper says is that he’s suspected of killing his mother, himself…but the rumors are that she was covered in webs, and bugs, ew…and he’s disappeared. Vanished without a trace.”
“He’s disappeared?” Clark read what was on the clippings. “That’s not weird, Chloe, that’s scary.”
She shrugged and pinned the article she printed out earlier on the wall. “People do strange things in this town, strange things happen. Weird is Smallville’s second biggest export, Clark.”
******
Whitney found himself dropping by the farm from time to time, and Clark seemed okay with it, and Whitney wondered, did that mean he and Clark were sort of like friends now? If so, they were kind of an odd pair—Clark wasn’t a complete pariah, but popular, he was most definitely not. Whitney on the other hand, was, and tended to expect the sort of treatment that Clark couldn’t imagine. He never stopped to think about what he did, or how he treated other people, he never examined any aspect of his life. At least, he never had until the night he participated in hurting Clark. Now, things weren’t as simple. There were huge areas of his life that made him question himself. Lana…he didn’t want to concern her with problems that would only upset her. Clark was willing to listen, and he was a really good listener. Whit smiled. Something that Lana could use a little work on, he had to admit.
In fact, the more time he spent with Clark, the more he thought about his life. Clark was a decent person. He was just genuinely good. He didn’t want anything from anyone—and Whit appreciated that. Lana was wonderful but she wanted so much, needed so much. Being with—hanging out with—Clark was sort of a relief from his buddies expectations, Lana’s and his dad’s... when he rolled up the drive to the farmhouse, he always felt like a lead weight was dropping off his shoulders. And also on the plus side, the Kents seemed a lot less likely to put him in the cornfield now. They thawed a bit with each visit, and watching the Kents interact taught him so much about Clark, why he was the kind of person he was. He wondered if Clark knew how lucky he was.
******
“Clark?”
“Oh! Hi, Whit. Come on up.”
Whit swung around the post and landed on the loft floor and Clark couldn’t help but grin. He did a little shuffle step and ended up with his arms wide. “Ta-da!” Clark’s heart skipped a beat at Whit’s huge smile. He was finding it harder and harder to ignore just how good looking Whitney was. There was something about him, something that drew Clark to him…not that it was important, or meant anything. He grinned as Whit attempted another ungraceful dance step, one that involved him throwing his arms in the air, and incidentally, pulling his very tight tee shirt even tighter across his chest. Clark blinked--a sudden sharp pain jabbed behind his eyes, he closed them against the suddenly blinding light. They burned so badly he couldn’t hold in a little gasp.
“Hey, you okay?” Whitney moved quickly to stand next to Clark. Clark had his head buried in his hands, couldn’t stop the moans that forced their way out between tight lips. This pain—this was different; not the same as the other headaches. It seemed to center on his eyes—they felt like they were exploding.
“Clark, you look terrible—are you sure you’re okay—fuck that, you’re not okay.” Whitney dropped down on the couch, and reached out, awkwardly patted his shoulder. The touch of Whitney’s hand seemed to make it worse. Echoes of pain from his eyes shot up his spine, settled right under the place Whit’s hand touched him. He had to get away—Whit needed to stop *touching* him.
Clark winced. “Whitney, could you just—go? Please?”
Whitney jerked his hand away, stepped back from the couch and shrugged. “Sure, no problem. I’ll talk to you later, Kent.” He turned around and walked to the stairs, took one step down and looked back. “Are you sure you want me to leave? I—I could stay, make sure you’re okay.”
He looked like he was angry or something, Clark thought, though it was hard to tell what went on in Whit’s head, and really, at the moment, he didn’t give a shit. He hurt too bad to care. “No.” and then something made him add, “Unless you want to. I don’t need help.”
Whitney looked strangely relieved, and said, “It’s okay. I can stay—I should get your mom though…” he came back and bent a little to look closer at Clark. “—dude, your eyes are so red…I’m going to get your mom.”
“No, don’t worry her, there’s some pills in my desk, could you get them?”
“Sure,” Whit answered and as he walked to the desk, a stab of horror pierced Clark. The make up was in the drawer… Whit rummaged about, looking for the bottle… oh fuck, he couldn’t miss the stuff…no, no, s’okay, just say it’s Chloe’s….
The rummaging stopped. For long minutes there was nothing, and then, he brought Clark the little bottle and said, “These are just over the counter—didn’t your doctor prescribe something?” If Whit saw anything, he made no sign.
“We—I haven’t been…I don’t go.”
“Ever? What the fuck—are you guys in some weird religious thing or something?”
“No. they’ve just never taken me--”
“Clark man, that’s not right. They should take you—look at you. You’re green and sweating and your eyes look like they’re about to burst into flame and you’ve been kind of moaning the whole time you’ve talking to me…you need to talk to your parents, Clark.”
tbc: next...Life On Mars--Reach
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
11/7/06 04:37 am (UTC)Well I guess it's a good thing that Smallville is Mysterious Death Capital of the world - although no one seems to be stalking and trying to kill Lana -- Woo!
I guess it's good that Whitney will be more receptive Clark's advances if he ever does something.
I am still very interested in what was done to Clark to retard his powers. I think it's kind of cute that Whitney triggered the Not!Heat Vision.
(no subject)
11/7/06 04:46 am (UTC)LOL!!!!! I promise, you'll like it! (sort of...)
(no subject)
11/7/06 04:43 am (UTC)My gods, the angst.
Poor Clark!
*flails around*
At least he has another friend, now...and he's good for Whitney...
*flails more*
Why, oh why?
*sniffles a little*
I need some fucking juice.
:)
(no subject)
11/7/06 04:44 am (UTC)I love you so much!
(no subject)
11/7/06 05:11 am (UTC)Now with cranberry-grape!
And pretteh, angsty bois.
(no subject)
11/7/06 05:09 am (UTC)no clex *is sad* But the Clitney is good. Besides, it's fun to type "Clitney." It's like a medical condition. You know, like Deep Throat--only--not. *g*
(no subject)
11/7/06 06:42 am (UTC)I love clitney--it never ceases to make me giggle like a bozo!
Also--*HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGG*!!!!! i miss you!
(no subject)
11/8/06 04:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 05:25 am (UTC)I do love how he was adament for Clark to allow him to apologize. The fact that he did return to rescue Clark and keeps checking up on him helps.
Not to mention... do I detect him developing a bit a crush on Clark? Hmmm.... *grins* And is Clark starting to get some powers now? Heat vision!?! :D
*bribes with chocolate for more soon!*
(no subject)
11/7/06 06:43 am (UTC)I'm Whitney's pimp. *GRIN*
(no subject)
11/7/06 06:13 am (UTC)And this segment made me realize just how high a body count Smallville is going to have without Clark going around stopping mutants. It's going to be worse than Sunnydale! Yowza!
Yay for slow healing of the Clark/WHitney relationship, though.
(no subject)
11/7/06 06:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 06:53 am (UTC)Is there anything I can do to help? *biiiiggrin*
(no subject)
11/7/06 07:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 12:46 pm (UTC)Whitney and Clark romance? Oh dear. Really? Oh my oh my. (Where's Lex?)
(no subject)
11/7/06 03:15 pm (UTC)whit/Clark? just a little It'll be okay, promise...well. *koff*
Lex is fine, he's in Metropolis, getting ready for Clark. ;)
(no subject)
11/7/06 12:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 03:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 01:29 pm (UTC)I choose to believe you'll be using mariposa as 'a symbol of exquisite transformation'.
Right?
Hello, can you hear me now?
*crosses fingers*
(no subject)
11/7/06 03:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 02:12 pm (UTC)That's my Whitney!
I hope that there friendship/relationship will last at least till my birthday! ;-)
Also, this part made me realise that I never manipped Whitney with make up, I should remedy to that... your story will inspire me for that, right? *evil grin*
(no subject)
11/7/06 03:19 pm (UTC)And make up....Whiteny? make up??? *Shudders*
(no subject)
11/7/06 03:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 04:18 pm (UTC)What a great way to differentiate between Clark and Lana. Really spot-on.
(no subject)
11/8/06 02:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/7/06 06:24 pm (UTC)Oh, you....
(no subject)
11/8/06 02:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/8/06 05:03 am (UTC)(Hee! I love that you talk about bug-boy when I just got done re-watching metamorphosis and commented on it previously.) I hope we get more snippets of all those nasty people killing other nasty people and Clark just kind of confused... (and it would be bad, bad, bad, if they found him. EEEP.
And yeah, the whole "I'm gay and I'm Dougie," thing just made me go, 'Buh, this is news?' lol:)
(no subject)
11/8/06 02:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/12/06 01:52 am (UTC)(Oh, and Whitney is lucky that Clark is so nice and willing to forgive!)
(no subject)
11/12/06 04:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/18/07 09:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/07 01:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/8/10 01:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/8/10 02:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/12 07:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/16/12 10:29 pm (UTC)