(no subject)
11/27/06 02:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyOMG, like giving birth....
Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 3
Summary: AU’s are entirely acceptable in this fandom—sometimes preferred..
The Previous Parts are here, dressed like mimes and assaulting people’s senses. Well, sight and smell…and if you don’t run right now, taste as well….
Clark sighed, and spread his arms and legs wide, he felt as free and as light as he had making dirt angels. He smelled the slightly sharp almost smoky smell of dust, and a green smell…corn. He smiled. Sunlight beat down on him, warming the parts of him exposed to light. It felt like being kissed from his head to his feet and no sooner did he think that than little drops of moisture touched him all over…rain.
Or…no, not rain, the moisture was warm, and he felt soft lips press and ride him…glide over his skin, touches light as feathers floating over him, wet heat, a tongue slid around his navel. He gasped and his dick throbbed. His eyes were still closed and he begged the tongue silently…lower, lower…the trail flowed downward, his heart tried to rise out of his chest and thumped hot in his throat …his breath came in a gasp…his dick felt heavy, and an urge to do...something fought to break free. The wet heat became silky smooth and dripping around his dick, he felt a breeze slide over him like hands. His dick strained against air, he strained against clouds, the sky…tight and tighter and he thought I’m going to open my eyes and he did and looked down, blonde hair, blue eyes and a red mouth full of his dick and the something became orgasm.
I wake up with a gasp…I’d been dreaming about Whit. Whit, Whit with his blue eyes, and that look on his face, like he wants everything from me…my dick is pressing against the sheets, hard, I can feel were the damp boxers cling to me…I push up from the bed, and hit my head….on the ceiling. Fuck! The pain makes me wake up all the way…I’m floating, I’m in the air! Instead of being scared, it makes me more hot. Feels like I’m about to explode, like there’s something pushing inside that needs to come out now, right now…I look up and the ceiling is gone and the sky’s up there, this weird shade of blue, or maybe gray, and a storm is coming, the closer the clouds come the more that feeling grows, I can’t stop, I’m shivering and heat is filling me, more and more, and my muscles clench and I can’t stop it from…
Clark woke up, panting…what the hell…he reached for the dream but all he remembered was floating--he hated dreaming that he was floating. It was creepy, and reminded him that no matter how he acted or what he felt like, he wasn’t what he seemed to be. He rubbed his eyes and groaned a little, swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat hunched over, with his head in his hands, waiting for the rest of him to wake up.
What he *seemed* to be…that was the question, wasn’t it? Sometimes, he felt like he was going to go crazy with shoving things into mental boxes. He sighed. And the secret that actually had meaning in his life…seemed like not much of a secret, and he still hadn’t told his parents, and crap--he was going to have to tell them soon. He shouldn’t worry about it--how could they not be okay with it? After all, how much harder was it to accept that your son was gay, after you’d already accepted that he was from outer space?
He finally made it downstairs, not exactly bright eyed, but awake. He grabbed a cup of coffee and a hug from his mom, and headed out to start his morning chores—first, the barn and feeding the calves. It was the best part of his morning—it was never boring, that was certain.
It was a little chilly in the barn, the sun beginning to warm the outside hadn’t quite managed to pierce the shadows. He mixed together the oatmeal, corn and other grains the calves were fed, and mixed in vitamins, and poured it out into buckets for the babies. He smiled as they jostled together, each trying to get the best spot. He grinned, and broke into laughter when one of them looked up at him with an expression that reminded him an awful lot of Whit’s princess….
The morning rolled along, like any other morning on the farm. He headed out to the milking shed, grabbed a broom and turned on a hose, and went to work on the floor. It needed to be clean before the cows were let in. He concentrated on sweeping dirty water into the drains that lined the center of the shed, hummed to himself as he worked. The smell of wet concrete and cow was as familiar and comfortable to him as the smell of hay and turned soil and rain…the routine was so familiar, he didn’t need to think about what he was doing, and he spent most of the time daydreaming, planning his fabulous future life….
The floor was done, and Clark tucked his gloves into his belt and checked the milking machines next, made sure all the hoses were clean, and in good shape. He heard his dad talking to one of the hands out in the yard as he worked, tuned them out. There were a couple of guys who worked on the farm, but Clark didn’t really know any of them. He tended to avoid older men--though as far as he could tell, most of the guys seemed all right. The only one of them that he talked to occasionally was Earl Jenkins. He was real nice, quiet, and comfortable to be around. There was something soothing about him—his deep, slightly rough voice, his always thoughtful expression…he was a good guy.
Clark stretched, yawned, and felt a little zing behind one eye—a flick of pain that went as quickly as it came, and looked up to see Earl in the doorway. He smiled at the coincidence, and Earl smiled back.
“Hey, Clark, where’s your dad? I need to talk to him quick.”
“He’s over with the tractor, Mr. Earl. I think they’re loading the trailer.”
He nodded and walked off. Clark rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows. Weird. He hadn’t gotten one of these things in ages. He grabbed the big broom and shoved it once more across the concrete floor and remembered the odd dream he’d had recently…his invisible dream friend had put in a rare appearance—and did the fence line for him. He laughed—it had been a cool dream—banging those posts right into the ground with his fists. He snorted and swirled the broom. Yeah. Like banging them in like that wouldn’t splinter the tops, crack them so they’d rot quicker. But it sure had been neat to watch that kid bang them in…oh. Clark wondered, so was that some sort of sexual metaphor? Did he want to bang his dream friend? He giggled.
“Wow, what are you, like a Disney character or something? Giggle while you work?”
Clark jumped and the broom hit the concrete with a clatter. “Oh god, Chloe, you scared the crap out of me—what are you doing up at this time of the morning?”
“Clark, I’ll have you know I get up plenty early.” She held up a take out cup of coffee and shook it at him. “Just let me drink about fifty of these, and not only will I be awake, I’ll also be sentient.”
“I’m almost done here any way…hold up.” Clark put the broom and the disinfectants back in the cleaning cabinet. “Hey, do you want to come up to the house for breakfast?”
“Well, duh,” she said. “Why else would I come at the break of dawn? Besides to see you of course.”
“Unh-hunh. And for your information, it’s not the break of dawn when it’s eight o’clock, Chloe…”
“Oh shut up, FB.”
*****
They walked into the kitchen, and the good smell made Clark smile. This was shaping up to be a great morning—company for breakfast and his mom was making waffles.
“Hey, Mrs. Kent, I found him hiding in the milking shed,” Chloe crowed.
His mom’s face lit up when she saw him with Chloe, she smiled at him in a way that told him he seriously needed to speak up—and soon. Chloe was looking at him, nibbling at her lip, and it was plain to see what she was thinking. He scowled at her. He wouldn’t put it past her to tell his mom, thinking she was helping him out. He didn’t need help—he wasn’t really afraid to tell them…it was just…it had to do with his private life. This wasn’t telling them he really liked root beer, this was telling them stuff that…was deep, and personal, and about sex, and about life, and things that everyone around him said would send you to hell. The thing was, he had no idea exactly what they thought about stuff like this, and he had no idea how to ask, and kind of was afraid to find out….
“I brought you a coffee too, Clark,” Chloe was saying, and Clark looked at the mass of whipped cream trying to escape from the plastic top of another take out cup, and said, “No Chloe, that’s coffee,” and pointed at the hot black coffee his mother was pouring into mugs.
“Philistine,” Chloe muttered and licked foam off her lip. “So, I know you heard about the big party Lana’s aunt is throwing for her…at the Cotillion Ballroom, I think. You know how her aunt is all about appearances...” she shrugged. “You haven’t asked me yet, but don’t worry, I’m saving you the trouble. I’ll come pick you up—trucks are hell on dresses.”
“Well,” he glanced at his parents and they seemed more than willing to let him go. Sure, they wanted him to go out and do the heterosexual dance. Prove that he was okay. Clark sighed in exasperation with himself. They were thinking no such thing…yet. “Let me think about it Chloe, I might have to do something else.”
Chloe looked puzzled and then a look of understanding bloomed, her mouth open in a big 'OH'. That irritated Clark almost as much as his parents look of expectation. Clark attacked his waffles and ignored anything else.
After breakfast, Clark walked Chloe to the car. As he was opening the door for her, she stopped him. “So, what’s the deal with you and Whit?”
“Why ask? You know the deal.”
She shook her head, sending wisps flying around her face. “Oh, no—this is about you ditching us yesterday.”
“No, we didn’t, we just...lost track of time. He…likes me. I think he likes me back.” He smiled shyly, and Chloe frowned.
“Clark, don’t get too hung up on him. He might be curious but he’s got a girl. One that he’s not going to leave. I mean, he’s all over town, groping her in public places…the town I mean, not her. Not groping the town, I mean--”
“Chloe, shut up. And I’m not living a fantasy…from the way he talked, I don’t think that they’re going to be together much longer.”
“Oh fer…wake up and smell the pumpkin spice with extra cream and two sugars iced coffee, Clark. This is Smallville. *SMALL* ville, and he’s an aspiring professional football player—professional sports are death on gays. Hello? He can’t be anything but straight—which I think he is, it’s just *you* he’s fascinated with, for some reason. I mean, the other day, he bought some chocolates and some whacky purple lip-gloss for Lana. Does that sound gay to you?” She stopped and thought. “Well, it does actually but you get my drift.”
Clark stared at her for a long moment. “Are you stalking him?”
“No!” She pushed Clark and he staggered into the car with a laugh. “Anyway, Lana’s starting to get a clue about you. She really doesn’t like you.”
“Oh no--does she know?” Clark was horrified. If Lana knew, she could make his life miserable, make Whitney’s life miserable.
“No, no-- not like that. She senses something’s up but her ego won’t let her go there.”
Clark nodded. Okay. “But…he did try to kiss me. He said he wanted to…you know. Things.”
Chloe sighed, sympathy in her eyes. “Clark, maybe if this was another town, or another time or something, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and you and Whit would be out picking china patterns but it’s not. Don’t let yourself get hurt, please? I love you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re my best friend.”
Those four little words froze Clark to the bone. “Yeah…yeah, you too,” and he pulled her close for a hug.
******
The morning had been a total waste—he had no idea what went on in any of his classes—his mind had been a million miles away, the only thing he could focus on was Whitney. He needed to see him, to know if their friendship had broken beyond repair. He seemed all right with it last night, Clark thought, but if *he* was nervous, Whit had to be even more nervous….
At the bell, he shoved his stuff in his locker and headed for lunch, looking for Chloe…and for Whit. He saw neither of them, but he did see Pete.
Pete was smiling, talking to heavy blonde girl, what was her name...Jody. Clark watched him for a bit. He still felt flashes of regret from time to time—he missed Pete, missed having a friend like that. He sighed. At least now he could look at him, even speak to him without feeling broken. Clark’s melancholy was interrupted by Chloe bursting through the doors on the opposite side of the hall, and heading like a guided missile straight for Pete. She caught sight of Clark and waved. He smiled back—just as Pete looked up. Pete started to smile and then seemed to realize the smile wasn’t for him and glanced away. Clark caught his eye when Pete looked up again, gave him a big smile…one that Pete returned with a little surprise.
Chloe chatted on with Pete and Jody--she turned down the offer of a sip of some sort of green shake Jody was drinking. Clark grimaced at the sight, it looked horrible even from where he was. He started to walk closer, but two things happened at once; a headache tried to split his head open, and Whit and Lana walked into the hall, together. So together that any closer and they’d be having sex, Clark thought bitterly and groaned as his headache went up a notch or two. Whit looked his way at the sound; his eyes lingered on Clark’s for a second before sliding back to Lana, he walked past him with a barely a nod of acknowledgement.
When Clark turned back to Chloe, Pete was arguing with a jerk of a kid named Dustin who was pointing and laughing at Jody, and she was running out of the hall, her face and clothes spattered with the green goop she’d been drinking. As she ran past Clark gasped and grabbed the back of his head. For a brief moment the pain was blinding and his stomach and the room spun—a warm hand cradled his elbow.
“Clark, are you okay?”
He opened his eyes slowly, the hall was blurry, and still doing gentle swoops. “Yeah, yeah, Chloe…I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine; let me take you to the nurse’s office.” She pulled gently on his arm, and led him out into the hallway.
Pete followed, and echoed Chloe. “Clark…you should go to the nurse with Chloe. You really look bad.”
“Thanks a lot,” he muttered, and managed a small smile at Pete. They stood in the hallway outside the cafeteria, and he leaned against the wall, breathing in and out until the headache was bearable. Chloe asked him again if he was okay, and he jerked his chin towards the table Whit sat at. “You’re right,” he said, and watched as Whit slid his hand up and down Lana’s back, laughed at something she said. She leaned over and kissed him and he kissed her back, and grinned as catcalls erupted around their table. They were touching each other all over and simpering away, and Clark thought, ‘what an asshole I am.’
Chloe pulled on his arm, “Clark, you’re making it obvious," and he looked down at her, from what felt like miles and miles away. Pete looked sympathetic, maybe a touch uncomfortable, but not unkind.
“I’m going over there.” Clark pulled his arm loose, and Pete tried to stop him.
“Clark—no—you shouldn’t….”
He pulled free of Pete, and walked back in the hall, to Lana and Whit’s table. Whit didn’t look up, or acknowledge him until the other guys sitting at the table did, and Lana frowned before manners made her ask him to sit with them, but Clark shook his head. “No—I don’t feel too good. I just stopped to say hi.”
“You okay? Want someone to take you to the nurse’s office?” Fred, one of the guys sitting at the table asked, and started to get up.
Clark was startled by the offer. “No, that’s cool, thanks.” He caught Whit’s quick glance—at Fred, at Lana “…um, see you.” He didn’t have to see his face to know it was blood red, he could feel the heat burning his cheeks.
He walked slowly back to Chloe, and refused to look at her.
“I’m sorry Clark, but I told you…”
“Please shut up, Chloe.”
Pete said, “Clark, if you want I can take you home. I drove today.”
“Thanks Pete, but no. I’ll be okay. I feel better now.” He finally convinced Chloe that he really was fine, and that he’d make it just fine the rest of the day, and not to worry. He walked to the bathroom, grateful to be alone. He opened the cold water tap, and let it run, before wetting his face. The cool water helped—his face was hot, still red. He blotted it dry with a paper towel. Stared at himself in the mirror, looking for some sign, some reason that Whit would treat him that way. He got that he couldn’t grab him and kiss him in front of all the school, sure-- but to act as if he didn’t exist…what an asshole that guy was. What an asshole he was for thinking once again they had something special.
After a few minutes the door opened.
“Clark…I’m sorry, are you okay?”
“Just…leave me alone.”
“I brought you some aspirins, if you still need them.” Whit walked up to Clark, took his hand and pressed the pills into his palm. He squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry. I can’t…can I please talk to you later?”
“It’s a free country, Whit--you can do whatever you want,” he said. He looked down at the pills in his hand, rolled them around. “Thanks.” Turned away to the sinks, tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed. He let a little water fill his palm, and sucked it up, too aware Whit was watching him like…a hawk.
Whit pushed backwards out the door. “I’ll explain later—really, I’m not avoiding you.” He let the door shut and Clark took a deep breath. Well….
The door opened again and Whitney caught his eye. He said seriously, “Okay, sorry. I am, a little bit. But I’m *not* sorry, about the you know. Not sorry at all.” Whitney smiled at him before letting the door shut again.
Clark caught sight of himself in the mirror. Pink cheeks, big goofy grin…he rolled his eyes. I’m so damn easy….
Continued!
Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 3
Summary: AU’s are entirely acceptable in this fandom—sometimes preferred..
The Previous Parts are here, dressed like mimes and assaulting people’s senses. Well, sight and smell…and if you don’t run right now, taste as well….
Clark sighed, and spread his arms and legs wide, he felt as free and as light as he had making dirt angels. He smelled the slightly sharp almost smoky smell of dust, and a green smell…corn. He smiled. Sunlight beat down on him, warming the parts of him exposed to light. It felt like being kissed from his head to his feet and no sooner did he think that than little drops of moisture touched him all over…rain.
Or…no, not rain, the moisture was warm, and he felt soft lips press and ride him…glide over his skin, touches light as feathers floating over him, wet heat, a tongue slid around his navel. He gasped and his dick throbbed. His eyes were still closed and he begged the tongue silently…lower, lower…the trail flowed downward, his heart tried to rise out of his chest and thumped hot in his throat …his breath came in a gasp…his dick felt heavy, and an urge to do...something fought to break free. The wet heat became silky smooth and dripping around his dick, he felt a breeze slide over him like hands. His dick strained against air, he strained against clouds, the sky…tight and tighter and he thought I’m going to open my eyes and he did and looked down, blonde hair, blue eyes and a red mouth full of his dick and the something became orgasm.
I wake up with a gasp…I’d been dreaming about Whit. Whit, Whit with his blue eyes, and that look on his face, like he wants everything from me…my dick is pressing against the sheets, hard, I can feel were the damp boxers cling to me…I push up from the bed, and hit my head….on the ceiling. Fuck! The pain makes me wake up all the way…I’m floating, I’m in the air! Instead of being scared, it makes me more hot. Feels like I’m about to explode, like there’s something pushing inside that needs to come out now, right now…I look up and the ceiling is gone and the sky’s up there, this weird shade of blue, or maybe gray, and a storm is coming, the closer the clouds come the more that feeling grows, I can’t stop, I’m shivering and heat is filling me, more and more, and my muscles clench and I can’t stop it from…
Clark woke up, panting…what the hell…he reached for the dream but all he remembered was floating--he hated dreaming that he was floating. It was creepy, and reminded him that no matter how he acted or what he felt like, he wasn’t what he seemed to be. He rubbed his eyes and groaned a little, swung his feet over the edge of the bed and sat hunched over, with his head in his hands, waiting for the rest of him to wake up.
What he *seemed* to be…that was the question, wasn’t it? Sometimes, he felt like he was going to go crazy with shoving things into mental boxes. He sighed. And the secret that actually had meaning in his life…seemed like not much of a secret, and he still hadn’t told his parents, and crap--he was going to have to tell them soon. He shouldn’t worry about it--how could they not be okay with it? After all, how much harder was it to accept that your son was gay, after you’d already accepted that he was from outer space?
He finally made it downstairs, not exactly bright eyed, but awake. He grabbed a cup of coffee and a hug from his mom, and headed out to start his morning chores—first, the barn and feeding the calves. It was the best part of his morning—it was never boring, that was certain.
It was a little chilly in the barn, the sun beginning to warm the outside hadn’t quite managed to pierce the shadows. He mixed together the oatmeal, corn and other grains the calves were fed, and mixed in vitamins, and poured it out into buckets for the babies. He smiled as they jostled together, each trying to get the best spot. He grinned, and broke into laughter when one of them looked up at him with an expression that reminded him an awful lot of Whit’s princess….
The morning rolled along, like any other morning on the farm. He headed out to the milking shed, grabbed a broom and turned on a hose, and went to work on the floor. It needed to be clean before the cows were let in. He concentrated on sweeping dirty water into the drains that lined the center of the shed, hummed to himself as he worked. The smell of wet concrete and cow was as familiar and comfortable to him as the smell of hay and turned soil and rain…the routine was so familiar, he didn’t need to think about what he was doing, and he spent most of the time daydreaming, planning his fabulous future life….
The floor was done, and Clark tucked his gloves into his belt and checked the milking machines next, made sure all the hoses were clean, and in good shape. He heard his dad talking to one of the hands out in the yard as he worked, tuned them out. There were a couple of guys who worked on the farm, but Clark didn’t really know any of them. He tended to avoid older men--though as far as he could tell, most of the guys seemed all right. The only one of them that he talked to occasionally was Earl Jenkins. He was real nice, quiet, and comfortable to be around. There was something soothing about him—his deep, slightly rough voice, his always thoughtful expression…he was a good guy.
Clark stretched, yawned, and felt a little zing behind one eye—a flick of pain that went as quickly as it came, and looked up to see Earl in the doorway. He smiled at the coincidence, and Earl smiled back.
“Hey, Clark, where’s your dad? I need to talk to him quick.”
“He’s over with the tractor, Mr. Earl. I think they’re loading the trailer.”
He nodded and walked off. Clark rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows. Weird. He hadn’t gotten one of these things in ages. He grabbed the big broom and shoved it once more across the concrete floor and remembered the odd dream he’d had recently…his invisible dream friend had put in a rare appearance—and did the fence line for him. He laughed—it had been a cool dream—banging those posts right into the ground with his fists. He snorted and swirled the broom. Yeah. Like banging them in like that wouldn’t splinter the tops, crack them so they’d rot quicker. But it sure had been neat to watch that kid bang them in…oh. Clark wondered, so was that some sort of sexual metaphor? Did he want to bang his dream friend? He giggled.
“Wow, what are you, like a Disney character or something? Giggle while you work?”
Clark jumped and the broom hit the concrete with a clatter. “Oh god, Chloe, you scared the crap out of me—what are you doing up at this time of the morning?”
“Clark, I’ll have you know I get up plenty early.” She held up a take out cup of coffee and shook it at him. “Just let me drink about fifty of these, and not only will I be awake, I’ll also be sentient.”
“I’m almost done here any way…hold up.” Clark put the broom and the disinfectants back in the cleaning cabinet. “Hey, do you want to come up to the house for breakfast?”
“Well, duh,” she said. “Why else would I come at the break of dawn? Besides to see you of course.”
“Unh-hunh. And for your information, it’s not the break of dawn when it’s eight o’clock, Chloe…”
“Oh shut up, FB.”
*****
They walked into the kitchen, and the good smell made Clark smile. This was shaping up to be a great morning—company for breakfast and his mom was making waffles.
“Hey, Mrs. Kent, I found him hiding in the milking shed,” Chloe crowed.
His mom’s face lit up when she saw him with Chloe, she smiled at him in a way that told him he seriously needed to speak up—and soon. Chloe was looking at him, nibbling at her lip, and it was plain to see what she was thinking. He scowled at her. He wouldn’t put it past her to tell his mom, thinking she was helping him out. He didn’t need help—he wasn’t really afraid to tell them…it was just…it had to do with his private life. This wasn’t telling them he really liked root beer, this was telling them stuff that…was deep, and personal, and about sex, and about life, and things that everyone around him said would send you to hell. The thing was, he had no idea exactly what they thought about stuff like this, and he had no idea how to ask, and kind of was afraid to find out….
“I brought you a coffee too, Clark,” Chloe was saying, and Clark looked at the mass of whipped cream trying to escape from the plastic top of another take out cup, and said, “No Chloe, that’s coffee,” and pointed at the hot black coffee his mother was pouring into mugs.
“Philistine,” Chloe muttered and licked foam off her lip. “So, I know you heard about the big party Lana’s aunt is throwing for her…at the Cotillion Ballroom, I think. You know how her aunt is all about appearances...” she shrugged. “You haven’t asked me yet, but don’t worry, I’m saving you the trouble. I’ll come pick you up—trucks are hell on dresses.”
“Well,” he glanced at his parents and they seemed more than willing to let him go. Sure, they wanted him to go out and do the heterosexual dance. Prove that he was okay. Clark sighed in exasperation with himself. They were thinking no such thing…yet. “Let me think about it Chloe, I might have to do something else.”
Chloe looked puzzled and then a look of understanding bloomed, her mouth open in a big 'OH'. That irritated Clark almost as much as his parents look of expectation. Clark attacked his waffles and ignored anything else.
After breakfast, Clark walked Chloe to the car. As he was opening the door for her, she stopped him. “So, what’s the deal with you and Whit?”
“Why ask? You know the deal.”
She shook her head, sending wisps flying around her face. “Oh, no—this is about you ditching us yesterday.”
“No, we didn’t, we just...lost track of time. He…likes me. I think he likes me back.” He smiled shyly, and Chloe frowned.
“Clark, don’t get too hung up on him. He might be curious but he’s got a girl. One that he’s not going to leave. I mean, he’s all over town, groping her in public places…the town I mean, not her. Not groping the town, I mean--”
“Chloe, shut up. And I’m not living a fantasy…from the way he talked, I don’t think that they’re going to be together much longer.”
“Oh fer…wake up and smell the pumpkin spice with extra cream and two sugars iced coffee, Clark. This is Smallville. *SMALL* ville, and he’s an aspiring professional football player—professional sports are death on gays. Hello? He can’t be anything but straight—which I think he is, it’s just *you* he’s fascinated with, for some reason. I mean, the other day, he bought some chocolates and some whacky purple lip-gloss for Lana. Does that sound gay to you?” She stopped and thought. “Well, it does actually but you get my drift.”
Clark stared at her for a long moment. “Are you stalking him?”
“No!” She pushed Clark and he staggered into the car with a laugh. “Anyway, Lana’s starting to get a clue about you. She really doesn’t like you.”
“Oh no--does she know?” Clark was horrified. If Lana knew, she could make his life miserable, make Whitney’s life miserable.
“No, no-- not like that. She senses something’s up but her ego won’t let her go there.”
Clark nodded. Okay. “But…he did try to kiss me. He said he wanted to…you know. Things.”
Chloe sighed, sympathy in her eyes. “Clark, maybe if this was another town, or another time or something, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and you and Whit would be out picking china patterns but it’s not. Don’t let yourself get hurt, please? I love you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re my best friend.”
Those four little words froze Clark to the bone. “Yeah…yeah, you too,” and he pulled her close for a hug.
******
The morning had been a total waste—he had no idea what went on in any of his classes—his mind had been a million miles away, the only thing he could focus on was Whitney. He needed to see him, to know if their friendship had broken beyond repair. He seemed all right with it last night, Clark thought, but if *he* was nervous, Whit had to be even more nervous….
At the bell, he shoved his stuff in his locker and headed for lunch, looking for Chloe…and for Whit. He saw neither of them, but he did see Pete.
Pete was smiling, talking to heavy blonde girl, what was her name...Jody. Clark watched him for a bit. He still felt flashes of regret from time to time—he missed Pete, missed having a friend like that. He sighed. At least now he could look at him, even speak to him without feeling broken. Clark’s melancholy was interrupted by Chloe bursting through the doors on the opposite side of the hall, and heading like a guided missile straight for Pete. She caught sight of Clark and waved. He smiled back—just as Pete looked up. Pete started to smile and then seemed to realize the smile wasn’t for him and glanced away. Clark caught his eye when Pete looked up again, gave him a big smile…one that Pete returned with a little surprise.
Chloe chatted on with Pete and Jody--she turned down the offer of a sip of some sort of green shake Jody was drinking. Clark grimaced at the sight, it looked horrible even from where he was. He started to walk closer, but two things happened at once; a headache tried to split his head open, and Whit and Lana walked into the hall, together. So together that any closer and they’d be having sex, Clark thought bitterly and groaned as his headache went up a notch or two. Whit looked his way at the sound; his eyes lingered on Clark’s for a second before sliding back to Lana, he walked past him with a barely a nod of acknowledgement.
When Clark turned back to Chloe, Pete was arguing with a jerk of a kid named Dustin who was pointing and laughing at Jody, and she was running out of the hall, her face and clothes spattered with the green goop she’d been drinking. As she ran past Clark gasped and grabbed the back of his head. For a brief moment the pain was blinding and his stomach and the room spun—a warm hand cradled his elbow.
“Clark, are you okay?”
He opened his eyes slowly, the hall was blurry, and still doing gentle swoops. “Yeah, yeah, Chloe…I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine; let me take you to the nurse’s office.” She pulled gently on his arm, and led him out into the hallway.
Pete followed, and echoed Chloe. “Clark…you should go to the nurse with Chloe. You really look bad.”
“Thanks a lot,” he muttered, and managed a small smile at Pete. They stood in the hallway outside the cafeteria, and he leaned against the wall, breathing in and out until the headache was bearable. Chloe asked him again if he was okay, and he jerked his chin towards the table Whit sat at. “You’re right,” he said, and watched as Whit slid his hand up and down Lana’s back, laughed at something she said. She leaned over and kissed him and he kissed her back, and grinned as catcalls erupted around their table. They were touching each other all over and simpering away, and Clark thought, ‘what an asshole I am.’
Chloe pulled on his arm, “Clark, you’re making it obvious," and he looked down at her, from what felt like miles and miles away. Pete looked sympathetic, maybe a touch uncomfortable, but not unkind.
“I’m going over there.” Clark pulled his arm loose, and Pete tried to stop him.
“Clark—no—you shouldn’t….”
He pulled free of Pete, and walked back in the hall, to Lana and Whit’s table. Whit didn’t look up, or acknowledge him until the other guys sitting at the table did, and Lana frowned before manners made her ask him to sit with them, but Clark shook his head. “No—I don’t feel too good. I just stopped to say hi.”
“You okay? Want someone to take you to the nurse’s office?” Fred, one of the guys sitting at the table asked, and started to get up.
Clark was startled by the offer. “No, that’s cool, thanks.” He caught Whit’s quick glance—at Fred, at Lana “…um, see you.” He didn’t have to see his face to know it was blood red, he could feel the heat burning his cheeks.
He walked slowly back to Chloe, and refused to look at her.
“I’m sorry Clark, but I told you…”
“Please shut up, Chloe.”
Pete said, “Clark, if you want I can take you home. I drove today.”
“Thanks Pete, but no. I’ll be okay. I feel better now.” He finally convinced Chloe that he really was fine, and that he’d make it just fine the rest of the day, and not to worry. He walked to the bathroom, grateful to be alone. He opened the cold water tap, and let it run, before wetting his face. The cool water helped—his face was hot, still red. He blotted it dry with a paper towel. Stared at himself in the mirror, looking for some sign, some reason that Whit would treat him that way. He got that he couldn’t grab him and kiss him in front of all the school, sure-- but to act as if he didn’t exist…what an asshole that guy was. What an asshole he was for thinking once again they had something special.
After a few minutes the door opened.
“Clark…I’m sorry, are you okay?”
“Just…leave me alone.”
“I brought you some aspirins, if you still need them.” Whit walked up to Clark, took his hand and pressed the pills into his palm. He squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry. I can’t…can I please talk to you later?”
“It’s a free country, Whit--you can do whatever you want,” he said. He looked down at the pills in his hand, rolled them around. “Thanks.” Turned away to the sinks, tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed. He let a little water fill his palm, and sucked it up, too aware Whit was watching him like…a hawk.
Whit pushed backwards out the door. “I’ll explain later—really, I’m not avoiding you.” He let the door shut and Clark took a deep breath. Well….
The door opened again and Whitney caught his eye. He said seriously, “Okay, sorry. I am, a little bit. But I’m *not* sorry, about the you know. Not sorry at all.” Whitney smiled at him before letting the door shut again.
Clark caught sight of himself in the mirror. Pink cheeks, big goofy grin…he rolled his eyes. I’m so damn easy….
Continued!
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
11/28/06 01:05 am (UTC)Ummm...ew. LOL!
And poor Clark; Whitney's gonna break his heart, isn't he?
(no subject)
11/28/06 01:42 am (UTC)OMG, what would make you think Whit's going to hurt Clark? all at once anyway...