fic post: Mariposa
1/4/07 01:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 2
Summary: Ecce potestas casei…which explains this AU version of Smallville.
The Previous Parts are here, gyring and gimbling in the wabe. Don't ask.
Whit threw himself on the couch with a grunt and yanked the trade blanket off the back, wrapped it around his shoulders. He looked up at Clark and tried to smile, but Clark wasn’t having it, and he gave it up.
“Okay, Whit—now talk to me. You’ve been doing a pretty good job of hiding from me—what’s changed?” Clark looked determined and strangely, frightened.
“Man, Clark--” He sighed and dropped his head against the back of the couch, closed his eyes. “My dad had a bad heart attack—but you know that.” He rubbed his arm, feeling the bullet wound like he hadn’t for some time. “Pretty much right after the hostage thing.”
“And why didn’t you call me, Whitney? I would have come to the med center. I would have been with you--”
“Um, I don’t think I could have stopped myself from clinging to you like some big pathetic baby…. my mom would have had a stroke. Probably would have killed my dad all the way…” Whit sat a little straighter. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that’s not funny…”
Clark gazed back, “Whit—I know you’re a good person.”
Whit scrubbed at his face. “You know what, Clark? I don’t feel like a good person. I feel bad that I don’t feel worse.”
“Everybody feels it differently; it probably just hasn’t really sunk in yet. It doesn’t make you bad, okay? He’s better, your dad?”
“Yeah…he’s better.”
“And? There’s something else—it’s not just your dad. That’s bad, but there’s more, isn’t there?”
“God. I lost the scholarship. I’m not going anywhere next year--I’m not even going to Hamilton Community. I’m going to be in the store. I’m going nowhere.” He sighed, and went on. “I met some guys this evening…the one guy, he *got* it Clark. He knows how I feel. Like he looked right into my brain—my soul. He knows what it’s like to lose…so much.”
“Whit, other people might get it too, if you let them in—give them the chance.” Clark swallowed, and slowly asked, “Did…something happen between you and…this guy? Is that part of it?”
Whit jumped up, dropping the blanket to the floor. “What? No, no, no--Fuck no, Clark. There’s no one but you, never will be.” Whit was shaken that Clark even suggested something like that—Wade was nothing like Clark, nothing at all…he wasn’t in the least bit interested in Wade....
“Why didn’t you tell me? Did you tell her?”
Her. Shit. “I don’t know. Yes. Things happen and all I can think to do is be quiet and deal. Don’t worry anyone else.”
“And maybe if you act like a big enough dick, people won’t give a shit what happens to you? Sure. You lost it—it’s not the end of the world. You’ll find a way, because that’s the kind of guy you are. You won’t lie down and feel sorry for yourself.” Clark sat next to him, and kneaded hard at his shoulders, pulled high and tight by the knotted muscle in his back. “At least not forever…you pick yourself up and you get back to work.”
Clark rubbed softer, up Whit’s neck and around the base of his skull. Whit arched back into his touch—if he could have, he would have purred…he managed not to whine when Clark stopped and leaned back against the couch.
“You can feel sorry for yourself a little bit—you’ve had such a lot put on you.”
“Clark—you deserve so much more than what you get, from me, from everyone.”
“Maybe,” he grinned. “Right now, I’ll settle for you.”
Whit held him, breathed him in. Leaned against him and loved the freedom of being able to touch him. Every part he touched met him so perfectly. Clark had been made to fit him. Clark was a gift. “Clark— I’m going to tell my parents. I'm not hiding anything anymore.”
Clark nodded, kissed along his cheekbone and pressed a kiss against his temple. “I know, Whit, I know.”
Clark thought that he was drunk, and talking bullshit, but he'd show Clark he meant it. He would come out to the whole damn town and no one was going to say shit about it.
Whit felt something poking him in the ribs, and remembered. He pulled the bag from his jacket pocket, reached inside. “I got you this.” He handed Clark a slivery case of three shades of violet eye shadow, and a pack of gum, and crumpled the bag shut. “Um, don’t look in the bag,” he said, and tossed it under the couch.
Clark jerked a little at the sight of the gum. “Oh. Thanks, thanks so…gum?”
“Well, I picked up the shadow, and then I thought, I don’t know…chocolates. But gum seemed less.” He shrugged. “Thing.”
“Wow, you’re even harder to understand than usual.” Clark looked over the shadow and gum and said, “So this is like the stupid version of flowers and ‘I’m sorry’?”
Whit glanced quickly at Clark. “No! Gaah--Yes. This is the Whitney Fordman version of please forgive me for being an asshole. It’s just—I don’t know. I don’t know how to apologize for being a dick, so I buy people things…and that’s just being more of an ass-hole.” He smiled wryly at Clark. “I’m trying.
“It’s okay; you’re getting better at it.” He held up the eye shadow case and grinned. “Ooo, hypo-allergenic. Nice.” He laughed when Whit gave him the finger, said, “I like your weirdo little gifts…” Clark looked at the shadow color, wrinkled his nose. “I think.”
Whit laughed a little. “I know. Stupid. But…it’s like there’s this thing that only you and I know, this really private thing. No one else would buy you that,” and he traced the compact on Clark’s palm. “No one else knows but you and me. Not even Chloe…”
Clark blushed and shook his head. “No, it’s private, just us…would you like to see how it looks?”
“I… it’s late, I really should be going home…there’s so much to do, we both have to get up early and I know I’m not going to be in very good shape tomorrow...” His mouth was saying all the right things but Clark was obviously reading his eyes, because he just smiled and walked over to the desk.
“Ah, okay then…” Whit leaned against the couch back, he watched as Clark set the mirror up, took the makeup from its hiding place. He turned on the light there, and began to apply his makeup. He murmured as he worked, “I usually like to clean my face first, so it goes on smoother, but…” he shrugged, and stared at himself appraisingly, looking this way and that, as he applied shadow, and blush. Clark seemed to barely notice Whit watching, he was gone into a private, quiet place of his own.
After a bit, Clark turned to him, tilted his head and Whit inhaled.
“You look incredible. You look amazing.”
Clark smiled at him, and then said, “Wait.”
He turned to the back corner of his loft space, and took a folded pile of shimmery material from a box in the bookcase. He kept his back to Whit, and undressed, matter of factly, as if he were about to shower.
Whit shifted on the couch—he felt a stab of guilt…he should be home, he should be with his mom at the med center, should be checking on his dad…but Clark was moving, lamplight highlighting his shifting muscles, the way his ass flexed and smoothed with movement, turning body hair to a gold halo…Whit swallowed, licked his lips, he was so fucking hard…
Clark shook out the material in his hand; it flowed into a fall of glimmering red. He pulled it over himself, and Whit sighed in disappointment. Clark was covered by a red robe, gold and black butterflies soared over it, it swept from his shoulders to the middle of his calves, and he had to admit, if he couldn’t see naked Clark, this was almost as good….
Clark turned to face him, and his cheeks were red, flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t wear this thing—Chloe bought it as a joke…but it just seemed like a good time to put it on.” He smoothed the material down his chest, and rested his hands on the belt. “Um, the purple and red are not the best combination,” he smiled, and Whit groaned.
“Clark, shut up and come over here—please.”
Clark nodded and walked over to stand in front of Whit. Whit stared up at him, and he imagined the smile on his face probably looked goofy, and he didn’t care. This was his Clark, and he looked incredible, like an angel, so beautiful in silk.
continued
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 2
Summary: Ecce potestas casei…which explains this AU version of Smallville.
The Previous Parts are here, gyring and gimbling in the wabe. Don't ask.
Whit threw himself on the couch with a grunt and yanked the trade blanket off the back, wrapped it around his shoulders. He looked up at Clark and tried to smile, but Clark wasn’t having it, and he gave it up.
“Okay, Whit—now talk to me. You’ve been doing a pretty good job of hiding from me—what’s changed?” Clark looked determined and strangely, frightened.
“Man, Clark--” He sighed and dropped his head against the back of the couch, closed his eyes. “My dad had a bad heart attack—but you know that.” He rubbed his arm, feeling the bullet wound like he hadn’t for some time. “Pretty much right after the hostage thing.”
“And why didn’t you call me, Whitney? I would have come to the med center. I would have been with you--”
“Um, I don’t think I could have stopped myself from clinging to you like some big pathetic baby…. my mom would have had a stroke. Probably would have killed my dad all the way…” Whit sat a little straighter. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that’s not funny…”
Clark gazed back, “Whit—I know you’re a good person.”
Whit scrubbed at his face. “You know what, Clark? I don’t feel like a good person. I feel bad that I don’t feel worse.”
“Everybody feels it differently; it probably just hasn’t really sunk in yet. It doesn’t make you bad, okay? He’s better, your dad?”
“Yeah…he’s better.”
“And? There’s something else—it’s not just your dad. That’s bad, but there’s more, isn’t there?”
“God. I lost the scholarship. I’m not going anywhere next year--I’m not even going to Hamilton Community. I’m going to be in the store. I’m going nowhere.” He sighed, and went on. “I met some guys this evening…the one guy, he *got* it Clark. He knows how I feel. Like he looked right into my brain—my soul. He knows what it’s like to lose…so much.”
“Whit, other people might get it too, if you let them in—give them the chance.” Clark swallowed, and slowly asked, “Did…something happen between you and…this guy? Is that part of it?”
Whit jumped up, dropping the blanket to the floor. “What? No, no, no--Fuck no, Clark. There’s no one but you, never will be.” Whit was shaken that Clark even suggested something like that—Wade was nothing like Clark, nothing at all…he wasn’t in the least bit interested in Wade....
“Why didn’t you tell me? Did you tell her?”
Her. Shit. “I don’t know. Yes. Things happen and all I can think to do is be quiet and deal. Don’t worry anyone else.”
“And maybe if you act like a big enough dick, people won’t give a shit what happens to you? Sure. You lost it—it’s not the end of the world. You’ll find a way, because that’s the kind of guy you are. You won’t lie down and feel sorry for yourself.” Clark sat next to him, and kneaded hard at his shoulders, pulled high and tight by the knotted muscle in his back. “At least not forever…you pick yourself up and you get back to work.”
Clark rubbed softer, up Whit’s neck and around the base of his skull. Whit arched back into his touch—if he could have, he would have purred…he managed not to whine when Clark stopped and leaned back against the couch.
“You can feel sorry for yourself a little bit—you’ve had such a lot put on you.”
“Clark—you deserve so much more than what you get, from me, from everyone.”
“Maybe,” he grinned. “Right now, I’ll settle for you.”
Whit held him, breathed him in. Leaned against him and loved the freedom of being able to touch him. Every part he touched met him so perfectly. Clark had been made to fit him. Clark was a gift. “Clark— I’m going to tell my parents. I'm not hiding anything anymore.”
Clark nodded, kissed along his cheekbone and pressed a kiss against his temple. “I know, Whit, I know.”
Clark thought that he was drunk, and talking bullshit, but he'd show Clark he meant it. He would come out to the whole damn town and no one was going to say shit about it.
Whit felt something poking him in the ribs, and remembered. He pulled the bag from his jacket pocket, reached inside. “I got you this.” He handed Clark a slivery case of three shades of violet eye shadow, and a pack of gum, and crumpled the bag shut. “Um, don’t look in the bag,” he said, and tossed it under the couch.
Clark jerked a little at the sight of the gum. “Oh. Thanks, thanks so…gum?”
“Well, I picked up the shadow, and then I thought, I don’t know…chocolates. But gum seemed less.” He shrugged. “Thing.”
“Wow, you’re even harder to understand than usual.” Clark looked over the shadow and gum and said, “So this is like the stupid version of flowers and ‘I’m sorry’?”
Whit glanced quickly at Clark. “No! Gaah--Yes. This is the Whitney Fordman version of please forgive me for being an asshole. It’s just—I don’t know. I don’t know how to apologize for being a dick, so I buy people things…and that’s just being more of an ass-hole.” He smiled wryly at Clark. “I’m trying.
“It’s okay; you’re getting better at it.” He held up the eye shadow case and grinned. “Ooo, hypo-allergenic. Nice.” He laughed when Whit gave him the finger, said, “I like your weirdo little gifts…” Clark looked at the shadow color, wrinkled his nose. “I think.”
Whit laughed a little. “I know. Stupid. But…it’s like there’s this thing that only you and I know, this really private thing. No one else would buy you that,” and he traced the compact on Clark’s palm. “No one else knows but you and me. Not even Chloe…”
Clark blushed and shook his head. “No, it’s private, just us…would you like to see how it looks?”
“I… it’s late, I really should be going home…there’s so much to do, we both have to get up early and I know I’m not going to be in very good shape tomorrow...” His mouth was saying all the right things but Clark was obviously reading his eyes, because he just smiled and walked over to the desk.
“Ah, okay then…” Whit leaned against the couch back, he watched as Clark set the mirror up, took the makeup from its hiding place. He turned on the light there, and began to apply his makeup. He murmured as he worked, “I usually like to clean my face first, so it goes on smoother, but…” he shrugged, and stared at himself appraisingly, looking this way and that, as he applied shadow, and blush. Clark seemed to barely notice Whit watching, he was gone into a private, quiet place of his own.
After a bit, Clark turned to him, tilted his head and Whit inhaled.
“You look incredible. You look amazing.”
Clark smiled at him, and then said, “Wait.”
He turned to the back corner of his loft space, and took a folded pile of shimmery material from a box in the bookcase. He kept his back to Whit, and undressed, matter of factly, as if he were about to shower.
Whit shifted on the couch—he felt a stab of guilt…he should be home, he should be with his mom at the med center, should be checking on his dad…but Clark was moving, lamplight highlighting his shifting muscles, the way his ass flexed and smoothed with movement, turning body hair to a gold halo…Whit swallowed, licked his lips, he was so fucking hard…
Clark shook out the material in his hand; it flowed into a fall of glimmering red. He pulled it over himself, and Whit sighed in disappointment. Clark was covered by a red robe, gold and black butterflies soared over it, it swept from his shoulders to the middle of his calves, and he had to admit, if he couldn’t see naked Clark, this was almost as good….
Clark turned to face him, and his cheeks were red, flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t wear this thing—Chloe bought it as a joke…but it just seemed like a good time to put it on.” He smoothed the material down his chest, and rested his hands on the belt. “Um, the purple and red are not the best combination,” he smiled, and Whit groaned.
“Clark, shut up and come over here—please.”
Clark nodded and walked over to stand in front of Whit. Whit stared up at him, and he imagined the smile on his face probably looked goofy, and he didn’t care. This was his Clark, and he looked incredible, like an angel, so beautiful in silk.
continued
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