Shmoop post: Mariposa
11/16/06 03:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 3
Summary: This is AU warns that it’s always darkest before the dawn.
The Previous Parts are here, gagging on shmoop so thick you can eat it with a spoon….
I’m Only Dancing
Whit rolled up the driveway, and the crunch of gravel brought Buddy out onto the porch, barking at Whit, as usual. “Keep it up mutt, and no cookies for you,” he muttered. He parked and walked up to the porch, and Clark was coming out, shrugging into a ratty red jacket. He grinned as Whit stopped, reached into his pocket and tossed Buddy a treat. The little dog snapped it out of the air, gave Whit a dirty look and stalked off. Clark laughed. “Looks like you and Buddy are making friends.”
“Oh, yeah, Buddy and me are the best friends ever. Really, though, shouldn’t he like me at least a little bit by now?”
Clark shrugged. “He does--he lets you sit on my bed, so…you’re getting there.” They walked down the drive, back to the truck. “You’re a little late—everything okay?”
“Yeah, I got held up by the home—where some of your class did your community service thing?”
“The Retirement Center, sure…what happened?”
“One of the guys on the emergency squad said some lady died, and one of the old guys disappeared, and they had cops out looking for him. Just seemed kind of strange.” Whit leaned in the open door of the cab and watched Clark climb in and settle in the seat. He buckled pointedly and reached up for the visor, pulled it down and went through the CD’s stuck there with a frown.
Whit shook his head. “Dude,” he said, “You hate my music and the way I drive--when are you going to get a vehicle?”
Clark looked surprised by the question and maybe a little hurt. “Let me see, I’ll just squeeze a minute out of the time I spend in school and the time I spend helping my mom and dad and the time I spend working at the market and take a couple of bucks out of my enormous trust fund….”
Whit rolled his eyes and yanked the door shut. “Okay, okay, I get it. You were born a poor white boy. I didn’t mean anything.”
Clark kept talking. “Not everyone is assured of getting a full ride like you, Whit,” he said. “Some of us have to work hard to keep our grades up and put money away.” Clark sighed. “I know you get tired of picking me up all the time, but I’ve told you before, I really don’t mind walking, I can always get a ride from my dad.”
“Yeah, I know, listen I’m sorry, I was only—I’m crabby and I’m taking it out on you.” He frowned at the windshield.
Clark sighed. “Yeah, instead of who’s really pissing you off. You’re always the same when you fight with Lana.”
Clark turned and stared out the window, and Whit watched Clark watch the road. “Kent—fuck it, never mind.”
“Where are you going?” Clark asked as the truck swung around in the road. “I thought we were going to meet everyone at the Beanery?”
Whit smiled at Clark, and said, “Let’s drive around some first….”
They were outside of the Wild Coyote and Whit was standing in the lot at the side of the building, seemed to watch the people going in and out. He stopped someone, spoke briefly to the person who greeted him happily, and the guy nodded his head hard, and turned and grinned, waving at Clark. Clark blushed and threw a half-hearted wave back…what had Whit told the guy? They looked really friendly, and the guy leaned over and hugged Whit—slapped him on the back. He strode off into the bar, and Whit leaned against the wall, looking casual, waved at Clark once…the guy came out again and handed Whit a paper bag, and slapped his back again, waved at Clark and went back into the bar.
Whit climbed in the truck and shoved the bulky paper bag between the seats…he looked at Clark out of the corner of his eye. “What?”
“Who was that?” Clark asked and blushed. Could he sound anymore like a jealous girlfriend?
Whit threw the truck into drive and grinned at Clark, his eyes danced. “Some guy that was a couple of years ahead of me in school, used to play ball—why?”
“Um, just nosy.”
“Yeah?” Whit grinned even wider. “Told him we were going to get our girls and head up past the lake, get drunk and get laid…” He drove up the road leading out of town, and turned on the radio—too loud, as always and Clark turned it down, as always.
Clark frowned, sat back in the seat. “Is that what we’re going to do, ‘cause I don’t think…”
“Clark”, Whit said quietly, patiently. “I’m not stupid. I’m guessing girls aren’t that big an issue in your life.”
“Oh.” Clark looked down at his knees and felt his face burn. He shifted awkwardly in the seat, leaned closer to the window. “Yeah. Not so much.”
“It’s okay, you know. Not every jock is a Neanderthal. Check your stereotypes, Kent, they’re showing.” Whitney spun the wheel and they were in darkness, someplace that Clark didn’t recognize. He made out what looked like a public picnic area—tables here and there flanked by square metal grills, attached to thick concrete posts by heavy chains. There were lights, mostly by a playground area, and deep shadows between. Whit parked in the farthest part of the lot, where the dark was thick. He looked at Clark, and Clark swallowed. He managed to say, “Well…thanks for…you know. Thanks,” before falling silent.
“Oh fuck, thanks for being your friend? Sometimes, you can be a real idiot. Tell you what, tonight is going to be a first for you.”
Clark pressed impossibly closer against the door. “Yeah?”
“Yep. Tonight, we get you drunk.”
******
They ignored the tables and were sitting on the tailgate of the truck. Whit handed Clark another beer, and asked him, “Is it starting to taste better?”
Clark gulped a mouthful. “No. and it needs chips or something, I’m hungry.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Whit leaped off the tailgate and rummaged around inside the truck. “Here.” He handed Clark a bag of chips and a small battered box of chocolates. Clark eyed the candy and Whit said, “So help me god, one word and you’ll be in a world of hurt.”
Clark grinned. “How fucking pathetic is that?” He crowed. “She threw them back at you! You went after her with chocolates and she threw them at you!”
“You’re a mean drunk, Kent. And for your information—okay yes, she did.”
Clark broke open the box and bit into the chocolate with vicious satisfaction. “Good. I mean not good—I mean, that was corny. Why didn’t you just talk to her?”
“You can’t talk to her.” Whit slid up next to Clark again, and took the chocolate piece Clark had already bit into out of his hand and ate it. Clark bit his lip—the action sent a bolt of electricity through him. He frantically grabbed for the next piece and shoved it in his mouth and chewed quickly.
“I mean, she’s relentless, but only when it concerns her, otherwise you might as well be speaking in tongues or something.” He chomped down on another piece and made a face. “Ech. Here—it’s caramel.” Clark gaped, and Whit shoved the half-eaten candy in his mouth, and licked his fingers.
Clark groaned and shifted. “Is it hot out here, or is it just me…” Clark was feeling a little crowded on the tailgate. Whit kept on talking about Lana.
“Don’t get me wrong, she’s a hell of a girl and everything you could want but sometimes…” he shrugged, opened another beer and drank quietly. Clark ate a handful of chips and tried not to stare when Whit tilted his heed back and drank. Tried not to imagine what it would look like to see Whit sweating, head back, groaning…Clark made a little sound and shifted slightly.
Whit crushed the can, and the sudden noise startled Clark out of his fantasy. He said, “Let’s go look at the sign.”
“Sign?” By an act of will, Clark kept from looking at his lap.
“The meteor sign, the stupid piece of shit up on the Smallville road.”
“Oh, yeah, okay.” Clarks head was spinning a little. He grinned and loped around to the side of the truck. “Woo! Let’s roll!”
“God, no more beer for you, Clark.”
******
They stood across the road from the sign; and Whitney tossed rocks at it, trying to hit the M in Smallville. A rock connected and they cheered. Clark tried to high-five Whit and tripped, landing heavily in the dirt at Whitney’s feet. Whitney gently pushed him more or less upright with the toe of his boot. “Did you see I hit it? Not bad, right? Can you hit the M from here?”
Clark giggled and fell over. “Whit—I couldn’t hit the fucking *sign* from here.”
“Whoa, Clark, mouth. You’re so different drunk.”
Clark grinned up at him from the dirt, arms and legs spread wide, and a huge grin plastered on his face. “Good different, or bad different?” His arms and legs moved idly.
He shrugged. “Different.” He didn’t elaborate, just threw another rock and the ‘tock’ it made as it hit the center of the M made him grin briefly. He glanced down at Clark. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Making dirt angels.” He swept his arms and legs in dusty arcs and giggled.
Whit looked down into Clark’s bleary smiling face, and burst into laughter. “See, Clark? Stuff like this is why we’re friends. Only you would make dirt angels. Hell, only you could put dirt and angels in the same sentence.” He reached down. “Come on, get off the road.”
Clark took his hand and pulled, and for a second, Whit was staggered. Clark was pulling him off his feet—and then he winced and his grip loosened. Whit was able to yank him to his feet easily. “Let’s walk. I can’t bring you home drunk—and by the way, what a lightweight, Miss Two Beer Drunk.”
“Hey! That’s not nice. *And* I know how the saying really goes…” he frowned at Whit, and then grinned slyly. “Do *you* know?”
“Ah-ah, Clark—walk.” Whit put his hand in the center of Clark’s back and pushed. Clark giggled but walked and they marched down the road and back, Clark stumbling and snickering and Whit biting his lip to keep from laughing. “Come on, damn it—your folks are going to kill me, and they were just starting to forgive me--” *oh shit*, he thought to himself, as Clark slowed, and stopped.
“Everything is so different from that night. I hated you so much after, I thought you were an asshole--”
“Hey!”
“—it’s true, at least until you stood up, acted like a man. And making those guys apologize in public like that. It was cool, and kind of embarrassing. But mostly cool.”
“Clark, you just don’t get that you’re a great guy. You—you don’t worry about acting like everyone thinks you should. You’re true to yourself. I like that. I want to be like that.”
“But you are.”
“No, I’m not. I’m the captain of the team, I’m the boyfriend of the cheerleader, I’m the son of Mr. Fordman, and I’m Mr. Fucking Popular—big dick on campus.” He picked up a rock and whirled, threw it at the sign behind them. “Got it,” he muttered.
Clark sighed. “Whit, don’t complain. None of those things is bad—people would kill to have what you have.”
“Hah. My dad wants me to live his dreams. He pushes and pushes me to be what he wants and he’s never once in my whole fucking life asked me what I want.”
“I know it feels like that sometimes but I don’t think that’s really what your dad wants for
you--”
Whit shook his head. “And then, there’s Lana…she wants me to be there for her, and I don’t even know what the fuck that means.” He stared at Clark. “Do you know—what a woman means when they say that? Be there to what—let them cry on you? What?”
“I’m not a fucking girl, Whit. I don’t know what women mean either. She’s your damn girlfriend--you love her. Don’t you ever try to think the way she does?”
“Clark…” Whit turned and walked off, right into the corn, and Clark followed, pretty much like Whit figured—hoped-- he would. He walked on in silence for a bit, and Clark walked behind him, silent also. Only the crunch of their footsteps and Clark’s harsh breath seemed real to him. The call of night birds and the distant sound of traffic just made the place in the field seem more quiet, more isolated…almost magical he thought but hey, he wasn’t a farm kid. This must seem stupid to Clark, this tramping through vegetables in the dark.
He stopped and stared skyward. “Clark. This, that just happened?”
He turned to look at him. Clark looked puzzled but also a little amused. “Yeah?”
“If I’d come here with Lana, the minute I walked into the corn, she would have been all over me. ‘What are we doing—why—what’s wrong—are you crazy—my shoes…’” he snorted. “She wants to know everything all the time—I get it kind of. I mean, what with her parents getting killed in the meteor fall and all. Doesn’t make for an enjoyment of the spontaneous.”
Clark snorted and looked guilty for a second.
“Anyway. The point is that you’re just…cool with it. You’re easy to be around. I like you a lot Clark.”
“That’s…great. I’m glad. I think of you as good friend, too.”
Whit laughed. “Yeah. So, feel a little better? More…you know,” Whit waggled his hand, and grinned. “You really seemed drunk back at the road.”
“I think you can safely take me home without getting killed.” He grinned at Whit, and Whit laughed again, walked past Clark and turned, grabbed him, and kissed him. Unmistakably a kiss. He grabbed the waistband of Clark’s jeans, shoved his fingers in.
*****
Clark pushed back hard. “What are you doing! Stop!”
“But…but I thought you liked me—I thought you wanted—when you said about the two beer thing…”
“God!” Clark tried to run, but Whitney was faster, and stronger, and caught Clark before he got out of the corn. He hit him hard, and they both tipped over. Clark ended on his back, the air knocked out of him and staring blindly into the sky.
His fault. He was stupid for trusting Whit. He should have known better—guys were going to hurt him one way or another—it was his fault for being what he was. This was what happened…this was the lesson learned again….
He was crying, harsh gasps tore through him, and regret and guilt and sorrow…
“Please don’t cry, please don’t I could never hurt you, I’m not trying to hurt you, Clark please…” Clark heard it over and over and it took him a minute to realize that Whit wasn’t moving except to rub his hand, over and over murmuring “I won’t hurt you,” like a mantra.
Clark took a deep breath, and Whit flinched, and moved back, until his hand only touched Clark’s jacket sleeve. His fingers were twined in the cloth and he looked on the verge of tears himself. “I’d never ever hurt you. I was stupid and made a mistake and I thought…that I could maybe do it fast and it would be okay and past us and then we could just…be. What we are.”
Clark laughed, the laugh trembling high and sharp, on the edge of hysteria. “I
thought--” He went on in a rush, “I thought that you were going to rape me. Stupid, hunh?”
Whit face twisted in horror. “Clark, no!” Whitney struck himself in the forehead. “Ow—I never thought what it would seem like to you—fuck, I’m such an asshole. ‘Specially after what happened to you when you were a little kid. I should have realized.”
“I’m not made of glass, for fuck’s sake.”
Whit eased closer. “Clark—kid—you nearly had a heart attack.” He put his hand carefully light on Clark’s chest. “I can feel your heart even now—it’s beating like a rabbit. You’re white as a ghost. I almost scared you to death.”
Clark shook his head, and his hand rose and gently moved Whit’s away. “I should have known you wouldn’t hurt me like that. But you were acting kind of weird tonight and I wasn’t sure what to think. I should have known. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize please. It’s my fault, not yours. Damn, Chloe’s right, you do apologize for everything.”
Clark pushed himself up until he was sitting facing Whitney. “You talk about me to Chloe?”
Whit blushed a little, and nodded, eyes on the ground. “Yeah, well…sometimes. It’s how I knew about—but mostly just when you confuse us.”
Clark laughed, a little shaky, but it was a genuine laugh. “So you guys talk about me like, all the time, then?”
******
Whit didn’t try to kiss, or touch Clark again, he drove him home and walked him into the house, and they drank sodas on the porch, and when he finally left to go home, he leaned close. Clark closed his eyes and waited for a kiss, or something…Whit whispered, “You’re my best friend.”
When Clark opened his eyes again, Whit was gone.
TBC
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 3
Summary: This is AU warns that it’s always darkest before the dawn.
The Previous Parts are here, gagging on shmoop so thick you can eat it with a spoon….
I’m Only Dancing
Whit rolled up the driveway, and the crunch of gravel brought Buddy out onto the porch, barking at Whit, as usual. “Keep it up mutt, and no cookies for you,” he muttered. He parked and walked up to the porch, and Clark was coming out, shrugging into a ratty red jacket. He grinned as Whit stopped, reached into his pocket and tossed Buddy a treat. The little dog snapped it out of the air, gave Whit a dirty look and stalked off. Clark laughed. “Looks like you and Buddy are making friends.”
“Oh, yeah, Buddy and me are the best friends ever. Really, though, shouldn’t he like me at least a little bit by now?”
Clark shrugged. “He does--he lets you sit on my bed, so…you’re getting there.” They walked down the drive, back to the truck. “You’re a little late—everything okay?”
“Yeah, I got held up by the home—where some of your class did your community service thing?”
“The Retirement Center, sure…what happened?”
“One of the guys on the emergency squad said some lady died, and one of the old guys disappeared, and they had cops out looking for him. Just seemed kind of strange.” Whit leaned in the open door of the cab and watched Clark climb in and settle in the seat. He buckled pointedly and reached up for the visor, pulled it down and went through the CD’s stuck there with a frown.
Whit shook his head. “Dude,” he said, “You hate my music and the way I drive--when are you going to get a vehicle?”
Clark looked surprised by the question and maybe a little hurt. “Let me see, I’ll just squeeze a minute out of the time I spend in school and the time I spend helping my mom and dad and the time I spend working at the market and take a couple of bucks out of my enormous trust fund….”
Whit rolled his eyes and yanked the door shut. “Okay, okay, I get it. You were born a poor white boy. I didn’t mean anything.”
Clark kept talking. “Not everyone is assured of getting a full ride like you, Whit,” he said. “Some of us have to work hard to keep our grades up and put money away.” Clark sighed. “I know you get tired of picking me up all the time, but I’ve told you before, I really don’t mind walking, I can always get a ride from my dad.”
“Yeah, I know, listen I’m sorry, I was only—I’m crabby and I’m taking it out on you.” He frowned at the windshield.
Clark sighed. “Yeah, instead of who’s really pissing you off. You’re always the same when you fight with Lana.”
Clark turned and stared out the window, and Whit watched Clark watch the road. “Kent—fuck it, never mind.”
“Where are you going?” Clark asked as the truck swung around in the road. “I thought we were going to meet everyone at the Beanery?”
Whit smiled at Clark, and said, “Let’s drive around some first….”
They were outside of the Wild Coyote and Whit was standing in the lot at the side of the building, seemed to watch the people going in and out. He stopped someone, spoke briefly to the person who greeted him happily, and the guy nodded his head hard, and turned and grinned, waving at Clark. Clark blushed and threw a half-hearted wave back…what had Whit told the guy? They looked really friendly, and the guy leaned over and hugged Whit—slapped him on the back. He strode off into the bar, and Whit leaned against the wall, looking casual, waved at Clark once…the guy came out again and handed Whit a paper bag, and slapped his back again, waved at Clark and went back into the bar.
Whit climbed in the truck and shoved the bulky paper bag between the seats…he looked at Clark out of the corner of his eye. “What?”
“Who was that?” Clark asked and blushed. Could he sound anymore like a jealous girlfriend?
Whit threw the truck into drive and grinned at Clark, his eyes danced. “Some guy that was a couple of years ahead of me in school, used to play ball—why?”
“Um, just nosy.”
“Yeah?” Whit grinned even wider. “Told him we were going to get our girls and head up past the lake, get drunk and get laid…” He drove up the road leading out of town, and turned on the radio—too loud, as always and Clark turned it down, as always.
Clark frowned, sat back in the seat. “Is that what we’re going to do, ‘cause I don’t think…”
“Clark”, Whit said quietly, patiently. “I’m not stupid. I’m guessing girls aren’t that big an issue in your life.”
“Oh.” Clark looked down at his knees and felt his face burn. He shifted awkwardly in the seat, leaned closer to the window. “Yeah. Not so much.”
“It’s okay, you know. Not every jock is a Neanderthal. Check your stereotypes, Kent, they’re showing.” Whitney spun the wheel and they were in darkness, someplace that Clark didn’t recognize. He made out what looked like a public picnic area—tables here and there flanked by square metal grills, attached to thick concrete posts by heavy chains. There were lights, mostly by a playground area, and deep shadows between. Whit parked in the farthest part of the lot, where the dark was thick. He looked at Clark, and Clark swallowed. He managed to say, “Well…thanks for…you know. Thanks,” before falling silent.
“Oh fuck, thanks for being your friend? Sometimes, you can be a real idiot. Tell you what, tonight is going to be a first for you.”
Clark pressed impossibly closer against the door. “Yeah?”
“Yep. Tonight, we get you drunk.”
******
They ignored the tables and were sitting on the tailgate of the truck. Whit handed Clark another beer, and asked him, “Is it starting to taste better?”
Clark gulped a mouthful. “No. and it needs chips or something, I’m hungry.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Whit leaped off the tailgate and rummaged around inside the truck. “Here.” He handed Clark a bag of chips and a small battered box of chocolates. Clark eyed the candy and Whit said, “So help me god, one word and you’ll be in a world of hurt.”
Clark grinned. “How fucking pathetic is that?” He crowed. “She threw them back at you! You went after her with chocolates and she threw them at you!”
“You’re a mean drunk, Kent. And for your information—okay yes, she did.”
Clark broke open the box and bit into the chocolate with vicious satisfaction. “Good. I mean not good—I mean, that was corny. Why didn’t you just talk to her?”
“You can’t talk to her.” Whit slid up next to Clark again, and took the chocolate piece Clark had already bit into out of his hand and ate it. Clark bit his lip—the action sent a bolt of electricity through him. He frantically grabbed for the next piece and shoved it in his mouth and chewed quickly.
“I mean, she’s relentless, but only when it concerns her, otherwise you might as well be speaking in tongues or something.” He chomped down on another piece and made a face. “Ech. Here—it’s caramel.” Clark gaped, and Whit shoved the half-eaten candy in his mouth, and licked his fingers.
Clark groaned and shifted. “Is it hot out here, or is it just me…” Clark was feeling a little crowded on the tailgate. Whit kept on talking about Lana.
“Don’t get me wrong, she’s a hell of a girl and everything you could want but sometimes…” he shrugged, opened another beer and drank quietly. Clark ate a handful of chips and tried not to stare when Whit tilted his heed back and drank. Tried not to imagine what it would look like to see Whit sweating, head back, groaning…Clark made a little sound and shifted slightly.
Whit crushed the can, and the sudden noise startled Clark out of his fantasy. He said, “Let’s go look at the sign.”
“Sign?” By an act of will, Clark kept from looking at his lap.
“The meteor sign, the stupid piece of shit up on the Smallville road.”
“Oh, yeah, okay.” Clarks head was spinning a little. He grinned and loped around to the side of the truck. “Woo! Let’s roll!”
“God, no more beer for you, Clark.”
******
They stood across the road from the sign; and Whitney tossed rocks at it, trying to hit the M in Smallville. A rock connected and they cheered. Clark tried to high-five Whit and tripped, landing heavily in the dirt at Whitney’s feet. Whitney gently pushed him more or less upright with the toe of his boot. “Did you see I hit it? Not bad, right? Can you hit the M from here?”
Clark giggled and fell over. “Whit—I couldn’t hit the fucking *sign* from here.”
“Whoa, Clark, mouth. You’re so different drunk.”
Clark grinned up at him from the dirt, arms and legs spread wide, and a huge grin plastered on his face. “Good different, or bad different?” His arms and legs moved idly.
He shrugged. “Different.” He didn’t elaborate, just threw another rock and the ‘tock’ it made as it hit the center of the M made him grin briefly. He glanced down at Clark. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Making dirt angels.” He swept his arms and legs in dusty arcs and giggled.
Whit looked down into Clark’s bleary smiling face, and burst into laughter. “See, Clark? Stuff like this is why we’re friends. Only you would make dirt angels. Hell, only you could put dirt and angels in the same sentence.” He reached down. “Come on, get off the road.”
Clark took his hand and pulled, and for a second, Whit was staggered. Clark was pulling him off his feet—and then he winced and his grip loosened. Whit was able to yank him to his feet easily. “Let’s walk. I can’t bring you home drunk—and by the way, what a lightweight, Miss Two Beer Drunk.”
“Hey! That’s not nice. *And* I know how the saying really goes…” he frowned at Whit, and then grinned slyly. “Do *you* know?”
“Ah-ah, Clark—walk.” Whit put his hand in the center of Clark’s back and pushed. Clark giggled but walked and they marched down the road and back, Clark stumbling and snickering and Whit biting his lip to keep from laughing. “Come on, damn it—your folks are going to kill me, and they were just starting to forgive me--” *oh shit*, he thought to himself, as Clark slowed, and stopped.
“Everything is so different from that night. I hated you so much after, I thought you were an asshole--”
“Hey!”
“—it’s true, at least until you stood up, acted like a man. And making those guys apologize in public like that. It was cool, and kind of embarrassing. But mostly cool.”
“Clark, you just don’t get that you’re a great guy. You—you don’t worry about acting like everyone thinks you should. You’re true to yourself. I like that. I want to be like that.”
“But you are.”
“No, I’m not. I’m the captain of the team, I’m the boyfriend of the cheerleader, I’m the son of Mr. Fordman, and I’m Mr. Fucking Popular—big dick on campus.” He picked up a rock and whirled, threw it at the sign behind them. “Got it,” he muttered.
Clark sighed. “Whit, don’t complain. None of those things is bad—people would kill to have what you have.”
“Hah. My dad wants me to live his dreams. He pushes and pushes me to be what he wants and he’s never once in my whole fucking life asked me what I want.”
“I know it feels like that sometimes but I don’t think that’s really what your dad wants for
you--”
Whit shook his head. “And then, there’s Lana…she wants me to be there for her, and I don’t even know what the fuck that means.” He stared at Clark. “Do you know—what a woman means when they say that? Be there to what—let them cry on you? What?”
“I’m not a fucking girl, Whit. I don’t know what women mean either. She’s your damn girlfriend--you love her. Don’t you ever try to think the way she does?”
“Clark…” Whit turned and walked off, right into the corn, and Clark followed, pretty much like Whit figured—hoped-- he would. He walked on in silence for a bit, and Clark walked behind him, silent also. Only the crunch of their footsteps and Clark’s harsh breath seemed real to him. The call of night birds and the distant sound of traffic just made the place in the field seem more quiet, more isolated…almost magical he thought but hey, he wasn’t a farm kid. This must seem stupid to Clark, this tramping through vegetables in the dark.
He stopped and stared skyward. “Clark. This, that just happened?”
He turned to look at him. Clark looked puzzled but also a little amused. “Yeah?”
“If I’d come here with Lana, the minute I walked into the corn, she would have been all over me. ‘What are we doing—why—what’s wrong—are you crazy—my shoes…’” he snorted. “She wants to know everything all the time—I get it kind of. I mean, what with her parents getting killed in the meteor fall and all. Doesn’t make for an enjoyment of the spontaneous.”
Clark snorted and looked guilty for a second.
“Anyway. The point is that you’re just…cool with it. You’re easy to be around. I like you a lot Clark.”
“That’s…great. I’m glad. I think of you as good friend, too.”
Whit laughed. “Yeah. So, feel a little better? More…you know,” Whit waggled his hand, and grinned. “You really seemed drunk back at the road.”
“I think you can safely take me home without getting killed.” He grinned at Whit, and Whit laughed again, walked past Clark and turned, grabbed him, and kissed him. Unmistakably a kiss. He grabbed the waistband of Clark’s jeans, shoved his fingers in.
*****
Clark pushed back hard. “What are you doing! Stop!”
“But…but I thought you liked me—I thought you wanted—when you said about the two beer thing…”
“God!” Clark tried to run, but Whitney was faster, and stronger, and caught Clark before he got out of the corn. He hit him hard, and they both tipped over. Clark ended on his back, the air knocked out of him and staring blindly into the sky.
His fault. He was stupid for trusting Whit. He should have known better—guys were going to hurt him one way or another—it was his fault for being what he was. This was what happened…this was the lesson learned again….
He was crying, harsh gasps tore through him, and regret and guilt and sorrow…
“Please don’t cry, please don’t I could never hurt you, I’m not trying to hurt you, Clark please…” Clark heard it over and over and it took him a minute to realize that Whit wasn’t moving except to rub his hand, over and over murmuring “I won’t hurt you,” like a mantra.
Clark took a deep breath, and Whit flinched, and moved back, until his hand only touched Clark’s jacket sleeve. His fingers were twined in the cloth and he looked on the verge of tears himself. “I’d never ever hurt you. I was stupid and made a mistake and I thought…that I could maybe do it fast and it would be okay and past us and then we could just…be. What we are.”
Clark laughed, the laugh trembling high and sharp, on the edge of hysteria. “I
thought--” He went on in a rush, “I thought that you were going to rape me. Stupid, hunh?”
Whit face twisted in horror. “Clark, no!” Whitney struck himself in the forehead. “Ow—I never thought what it would seem like to you—fuck, I’m such an asshole. ‘Specially after what happened to you when you were a little kid. I should have realized.”
“I’m not made of glass, for fuck’s sake.”
Whit eased closer. “Clark—kid—you nearly had a heart attack.” He put his hand carefully light on Clark’s chest. “I can feel your heart even now—it’s beating like a rabbit. You’re white as a ghost. I almost scared you to death.”
Clark shook his head, and his hand rose and gently moved Whit’s away. “I should have known you wouldn’t hurt me like that. But you were acting kind of weird tonight and I wasn’t sure what to think. I should have known. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize please. It’s my fault, not yours. Damn, Chloe’s right, you do apologize for everything.”
Clark pushed himself up until he was sitting facing Whitney. “You talk about me to Chloe?”
Whit blushed a little, and nodded, eyes on the ground. “Yeah, well…sometimes. It’s how I knew about—but mostly just when you confuse us.”
Clark laughed, a little shaky, but it was a genuine laugh. “So you guys talk about me like, all the time, then?”
******
Whit didn’t try to kiss, or touch Clark again, he drove him home and walked him into the house, and they drank sodas on the porch, and when he finally left to go home, he leaned close. Clark closed his eyes and waited for a kiss, or something…Whit whispered, “You’re my best friend.”
When Clark opened his eyes again, Whit was gone.
TBC
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(no subject)
11/16/06 11:08 am (UTC)Love ur protrayal of Whit and Lana's relationship, how she seems consistent with her need to know everything positively draining the men around her.
Poor Clark come on LEX SAVE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!1
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:09 pm (UTC)*falls down laughing!!!!*
Okay, but he's trying, really he is!
(no subject)
11/16/06 01:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/16/06 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:17 pm (UTC)Thanks also on being patient--I guess the best way to do it is just to let it come when it wants.
(no subject)
11/16/06 01:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/16/06 01:45 pm (UTC)You made me 'aww' out loud when Whitney said he talks to Chloe about Clark. He's trying and you have to love the poor guy.
His fault. He was stupid for trusting Whit. He should have known better—guys were going to hurt him one way or another—it was his fault for being what he was. This was what happened…this was the lesson learned again….
This was so powerful and heartbreaking.
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/16/06 01:51 pm (UTC)*hugs Clark*
*hugs Whit*
*hugs Roxy*
:-)
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/16/06 02:11 pm (UTC)*beams*
Dude, i think i've missed some parts of this. I must go back and re-read.
*bounce*
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:34 pm (UTC)Read! Read!
*huguhg*
(no subject)
11/16/06 03:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:46 pm (UTC)Channeling me! *blushgrin*
Whitney, Whitney...he has *no* idea how to handle this. Clark knows more than he does at this point!
Thank you!
(no subject)
11/16/06 03:18 pm (UTC)I'm so happy you found some inspiration for this story. :D
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/16/06 03:25 pm (UTC)That is too damn cute. Your protrayal of Whit really makes it alright that Lex isn't here yet. I'm enjoying the journey.
Makes me want to quote Book:
"So how come you don't care where you're going?"
"Because how you get there is the worthier part."
Also, it's alright by me if you throw the remaining kryptofreaks plots out the window. Go with your own thing :)
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/16/06 03:45 pm (UTC)What I liked best about this whole chapter was that Clark and Whitney actually talked about their misunderstanding as opposed to running first thing. Clark's panic attack was a valid response to kamikaze!Whitney - but instead of not listening to Whit's explanation, Clark let him talk. Good on both of them. Whitney is turning in to a real friend. I really like that.
Clark took his hand and pulled, and for a second, Whit was staggered. Clark was pulling him off his feet-and then he winced and his grip loosened. Whit was able to yank him to his feet easily.
- Hey Clark, those powers that you don't remember are showing. Won't that freakout be fun!
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:52 pm (UTC)I'm so happy that you kind of sort of a little bit tolerate Whit! *G* And sadly, that's all he's going to be--kind of a starter boyfriend. *but shhhh--mum's the word!*
(no subject)
11/16/06 03:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/16/06 04:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:54 pm (UTC)beautiful icon, btw!
(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
11/16/06 04:25 pm (UTC)*shudders*
Eewww....
(no subject)
11/18/06 11:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
11/16/06 09:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/17/06 12:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 11:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/18/06 10:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/19/06 12:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
Posted by(no subject)
11/19/06 10:52 pm (UTC)Your description of Lana always needing to know what's going on was excellent.
(no subject)
11/26/06 03:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/25/06 05:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/26/06 03:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/30/06 12:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/30/06 01:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/15/07 08:35 am (UTC)Very interesting story by the way--I like the way you've adjusted characterizations for your timeline but kept many familiar aspects peeking through.
(no subject)
1/15/07 03:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/14/07 02:43 am (UTC)Oh just Yay! And liked so much that Whit was a gentleman and took Clark back home and didn't take advantage of him.
And him saying "You're my best friend." ??? LOVED it.
Love love love love. EEEEEEEE! \o/ :D
(no subject)
2/14/07 03:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/07 12:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/8/10 03:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/8/10 04:24 am (UTC)