fic post:Mariposa
1/7/07 07:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyThis has been a busy weekend--there's been some excellent updates!
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
off_that_bridge has updated Bound, it's wonderful, such beautiful language!
averaird has updated Heartland omg, mind-boggling!
dm_wyatt updated (yay!) Subject! It's got a wonderful Clark bit--just so well done!
Also,danceswithgary updated You've Got Mail which continues to make me very very happy, and lastscorpion posted a link to her Rich Man's Darling prequel, Arrowhead Stadium and may I say, woo-hoo!
Please, if I missed you, let me know! Don't deprive me, omg!!
And Mizz Rose has a freshly baked slice of fic for you too!
Look at the prettydanceswithgary made for me! Just perfect, no?
Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 2
Summary: This is an AU version of Smallville. Please keep behind the yellow line, and do not stand while the story is in motion.
The Previous Parts are here, wondering if the appeal of Superman is not that he’s all powerful but that he is all powerful and still chooses to humbly devote his life in service for mankind…or is it perhaps that he really looks hung in those tights…
“Oooh, I’m sorry,” Clark whispered when he caught up with Whit the next morning.
Whit slammed his locker shut, rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not, no matter how many times you say it, I know you’re not.” He yanked his collar up higher. “Does it show?”
Clark dropped his eyes and shook his head a little. “Liar,” Whit said. The hallway began to fill with other students, and they didn’t say anything else. They walked on in silence for a bit, Whit sneaking looks at Clark as they walked. It was weird, he’d always thought of Clark as kind of delicate, and needing to be protected, no matter that he was taller and wider…and not because he did what he did, either. He knew that the make-up didn’t make Clark a girl. Thank God. He’d just always felt…in charge between the two of them. That Clark depended on him. But last night…he glanced over again, and Clark was staring at him, blushed when Whit caught him. Whit thought he wasn’t the only one wondering what it all meant. He pulled his collar up higher, and Clark opened his mouth—“One word, Kent, swear to God, and I’m kicking your ass down the stairs.”
“I wasn’t going to apologize again! But I am--”
They were on the stairs to the cafeteria, and Whit sat, yanked Clark down too. Clark slid down a step below, Whit leaned over and whispered harshly, “Say it, and I promise I’ll make you so sorry you won’t be able to walk straight.”
Clark’s eyes dropped shut, he shivered from head to toe and Whit felt a stab of arousal. “Okay,” Clark said. He peeked at Whit and grinned. “You look hot with that on your neck.”
Whit buttoned his shirt collar.
Clark flashed a smile, lightening quick. He folded his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “I was thinking about you telling your dad about the scholarship. He’s going to be really pissed off, isn’t he?”
Whit shrugged. “He’ll get over it, eventually. I just have to have something to give him, let him know I’ve got a game plan for the future.”
Clark nodded. “Good. So, what’s the plan?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Besides, he’ll be so freaked about the fact I’m gay, he might not even worry about the scholarship.”
“Are sure you don’t want me with when you talk to your dad?” Clark asked. “It might go easier…”
“And it might make him go ballistic; I keep telling you my folks aren’t anything like yours. I know it’s hard to believe, Beaver, but not every fucking body’s like Ward and June.”
Clark sighed and leaned back a bit against Whit’s knee and pressed before moving. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you’re a crabby bitch because I know you don’t mean it.” He smiled sweetly at Whit, and Whit was torn between wanting to close his eyes, and wanting to throw Clark down on the stairs and kiss the hell out of him—which Clark knew, the bastard. “Clark, whatever—I can’t have you talking to my parents. They’ll say something nasty, and I won’t be able to stand it, and it’ll just be a big fight.”
Clark scowled, obviously not in agreement with him, but Whit didn’t say a word. He knew how stubborn Clark could be. There wasn’t much point in arguing with him when he got that certain look on his face, when his eyes went dark and clouded, and his lower lip poked out a little, like a kid’s…he wished he could lean over and bite that lip, suck that lip, that neck…
“Earth to Whitney—hello?”
“Oh, Chloe, I didn’t see you standing there.” Whit blushed, and Clark snorted.
Chloe grinned down at him and shifted the armload of note pads she was carrying. “You wouldn’t have seen a herd of mastodons standing here. But you saw every little bump and wrinkle on Clark’s neck, didn’t you?” Both of them blushed a little and Clark glanced around, but Whit just smiled. “Yeah, well….”
“So, who’s coming to the Torch with me right now, first stopping at the office to get my supplies?”
“You’re forming your own little press gang, aren’t you?” Clark said as he stood, and pulled Whit to his feet.
“Something like that,” she grinned.
******
Whit sat on the table and read past copies of the paper, and Clark hung over Chloe’s shoulder, both of them deep in discussion about the string of robberies that had recently plagued their corner of Kansas.
Clark reached over Chloe’s shoulder and scrolled to the bottom of the screen. “See that? A few weeks after the robbery in Metropolis, there was the one at the Savings and Loan, and then last night, there was a bank robbery in Granville.”
Whit dropped the paper and looked up. “Granville?”
“Yeah, there was one just like it in Midvale before the one in Smallville and there were a couple of small jobs, gas stations and stuff, leading right back to Metropolis…there’s practically a direct line from Metropolis to Granville—whoa!” Chloe stopped, whistled and shook her head.
“What?”
“Talk about instant karma—the robbers never got out of Granville—or they did—right outside of Granville, they were in a car crash. Hunh…there was a fire…three bodies recovered. No ID on them yet. Wow.”
Whit felt strange, like he’d avoided something—or missed something. He almost told Chloe that he knew who’d been killed that night, but stopped himself. What good would it do?
He shivered…what if he’d gone? What if Wade had talked him into going with them? He’d be dead now if he hadn’t picked Clark over them. He licked suddenly dry lips. Clark—Clark kind of saved his life. Shit, he’d definitely saved his life.
Chloe scribbled notes, silent for a while and then said, “Busy night for the firemen—there was a gas explosion in those rehabbed lofts down in the old factory district. No one was hurt, thankfully but one section of those lofts was leveled. Damn. You know, it almost sounds like WOW stuff.”
Clark glanced at Whit, and quickly looked away. He laughed, a weird high snort. “Chloe, not everything is The Men In Black. Sometimes a fire is just a fire.”
Chloe huffed and shut down the computer. “You’ll see someday, Clark.” She smiled. “I think I’m getting closer to finding a source for some of the weirdness here.”
Whit looked over and Clark was staring at him with a solemn expression--he broke into a smile when he caught Whit looking back. “I’m glad you’re mine,” he said.
Whit flushed, he couldn’t help but smile back. “Me too.”
“Are you guys going to kiss now? Can I take a picture? There’s this website, ‘BoyKissing’ and…”
“Shut up!”
******
Whit leaned on the fence that lined the long driveway to his house, noticing for what felt like the first time this season that the trees lining the drive had new growth already—tiny lime green leaves tipped the ends of branches, brown grass gave way here and there to green.
At the end of the wide, long lawn squatted his house—white and black--the white portico, the black shutters at the windows, all just the same as it’d always been, evergreens and gardens bordering the front, leading to the big black door to the inside.
The garden was scruffy, still full of winter killed plants and dried leaves but of course his mom had had no chance to get to her gardens yet, they all pretty busy now that his dad was finally home…he frowned a little. He trudged up the driveway with no enthusiasm at all. He wasn’t at all eager to rush into what he had to do. But that whole thing with Wade, and Clark—an electric shock flashed through him, made his heart skip a beat—after what Clark did, he had to let his folks know. He was tired of hiding everywhere, hiding everything. Hell, he had to tell them about the scholarship—he might as well tell them about being gay, too. Maybe they’d be so freaked about the scholarship being gay would kind of seem not as bad…he laughed. Right. He dragged his hand down the fence rail as he walked down the drive, paint flaking away under his palm. House needed some maintenance work, for sure. He trudged up to the portico, stopped at one of the pillars. He scraped off a wide flake of peeling paint, hesitated and finally, went in.
The living room was dim, the heavy drapes pulled against the afternoon light. His dad was on the recliner in the living room, his mother by his side. They both looked up when Whit stepped into the room. He clenched and unclenched his fists; he had to wait a moment, suck air into lungs that felt flattened by the weight of their gazes.
“Mom, Dad…I have to speak to you.”
They looked at him, waiting, expectant… “I…lost the scholarship.” He waited for the world to explode.
“Jesus Whitney. What the hell—how could you screw up like that? I told you.” He glared at him, glared at his mother. “I told you that he couldn't carry it through. What happened?”
Whit stared at his dad. “Well. I tried to keep the store running and tried to help mom--”
His dad made an impatient dismissive motion. “I hired competent people. You didn’t need to do what you did. I never told you to do that.”
“Yes sir. You’re right.” Whit stared at his feet and wondered if the slam of his heart in his chest was visible. His hand drifted up and rested over his breastbone, he pressed the heel of his hand against it. “You never told me, but I thought if I could help you…”
“Help me?” His dad snorted. He got to his feet and turned to Whitney. “Now what? What the bloody hell are you going to do?”
His mother reached out for his dad’s hand, said. “Calm down, George, it’ll be fine, it’ll all work out. Oh Whitney. How disappointing for you, and for Lana, poor thing…but you’ll work it out. I know you will.”
Oh fuck. “Yeah, about that. Lana and I aren’t exactly a… real couple anymore.”
“What could you possibly mean, dear? You’re so close—she’s a wonderful girl--”
“What happened? What did you do?” his dad demanded. “How could you possibly screw that up?”
“I’m gay.” There, he said it. And his heart was pounding, his ears ringing…he sucked in a deep breath, and his dad came toward him and it wasn’t until after his head banged painfully against the floor he realized his dad had hit him.
His dad had never hit him before—never so much as a tap. Whit stared up at him in shock, shock that was mirrored on his dad’s face before his eyes narrowed, and his expression was full of anger, disgust…he raised his hand again...
Whit scrambled across the floor, away from him. He swallowed and grimaced at the taste of blood—the inside of his mouth was tender. His hand went to his cheek, raw and stinging from the punch. He had a weird sensation, a dual feeling of despair, and…a wild urge to laugh. “Are you serious?” He could barely believe his dad hit him, his dad punched him--he looked past him to his mom.
“Mom—?”
She was silent, hadn’t said anything since she’d screamed when he hit the floor. She was white as a ghost, her fingers knotted in her sweater—but she didn’t move from the couch, or help him up from the floor. Her face reflected only fear. Her hand slowly lowered, and she fell back into her role, her voice was nearly calm when she spoke.
“Whitney, you’re not serious. You don’t mean it.” She looked right through him as she spoke and he found himself shaking his head no. No. He got to his feet and wiped his mouth. He wanted to spit the blood on the floor, on the beige carpet, the beige sofa…
His dad backed away. “Get out of my sight.”
His knees wobbled, his head was still ringing, felt like he was burning up and he held the wall to keep upright. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, no—Whitney. Go to your room,” his mom said, and his dad opened his mouth—shut it. He turned away from Whit.
“Just—just--get upstairs, I can’t stand to look at you now. We’ll figure this out later.”
Whit ran up the stairs and threw himself on the bed. He grabbed the pillow, shoved it against his face and screamed until he thought he’d pass out.
What was going to happen to him now—he threw the pillow across the room, rolled upright again. It didn’t matter. Clark was worth it. Whatever happened next, he’d make it work for him, somehow. He eyed the door, and flipped his middle finger up. He opened the window, straddled the sill and eyed the tree that grew outside his window. Figured he could make it. He slid his other leg over, took a deep breath—and jumped.
tbc
off_that_bridge has updated Bound, it's wonderful, such beautiful language!averaird has updated Heartland omg, mind-boggling!dm_wyatt updated (yay!) Subject! It's got a wonderful Clark bit--just so well done!Also,
danceswithgary updated You've Got Mail which continues to make me very very happy, and lastscorpion posted a link to her Rich Man's Darling prequel, Arrowhead Stadium and may I say, woo-hoo! Please, if I missed you, let me know! Don't deprive me, omg!!
And Mizz Rose has a freshly baked slice of fic for you too!
Look at the pretty
danceswithgary made for me! Just perfect, no?Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 2
Summary: This is an AU version of Smallville. Please keep behind the yellow line, and do not stand while the story is in motion.
The Previous Parts are here, wondering if the appeal of Superman is not that he’s all powerful but that he is all powerful and still chooses to humbly devote his life in service for mankind…or is it perhaps that he really looks hung in those tights…
“Oooh, I’m sorry,” Clark whispered when he caught up with Whit the next morning.
Whit slammed his locker shut, rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not, no matter how many times you say it, I know you’re not.” He yanked his collar up higher. “Does it show?”
Clark dropped his eyes and shook his head a little. “Liar,” Whit said. The hallway began to fill with other students, and they didn’t say anything else. They walked on in silence for a bit, Whit sneaking looks at Clark as they walked. It was weird, he’d always thought of Clark as kind of delicate, and needing to be protected, no matter that he was taller and wider…and not because he did what he did, either. He knew that the make-up didn’t make Clark a girl. Thank God. He’d just always felt…in charge between the two of them. That Clark depended on him. But last night…he glanced over again, and Clark was staring at him, blushed when Whit caught him. Whit thought he wasn’t the only one wondering what it all meant. He pulled his collar up higher, and Clark opened his mouth—“One word, Kent, swear to God, and I’m kicking your ass down the stairs.”
“I wasn’t going to apologize again! But I am--”
They were on the stairs to the cafeteria, and Whit sat, yanked Clark down too. Clark slid down a step below, Whit leaned over and whispered harshly, “Say it, and I promise I’ll make you so sorry you won’t be able to walk straight.”
Clark’s eyes dropped shut, he shivered from head to toe and Whit felt a stab of arousal. “Okay,” Clark said. He peeked at Whit and grinned. “You look hot with that on your neck.”
Whit buttoned his shirt collar.
Clark flashed a smile, lightening quick. He folded his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “I was thinking about you telling your dad about the scholarship. He’s going to be really pissed off, isn’t he?”
Whit shrugged. “He’ll get over it, eventually. I just have to have something to give him, let him know I’ve got a game plan for the future.”
Clark nodded. “Good. So, what’s the plan?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. Besides, he’ll be so freaked about the fact I’m gay, he might not even worry about the scholarship.”
“Are sure you don’t want me with when you talk to your dad?” Clark asked. “It might go easier…”
“And it might make him go ballistic; I keep telling you my folks aren’t anything like yours. I know it’s hard to believe, Beaver, but not every fucking body’s like Ward and June.”
Clark sighed and leaned back a bit against Whit’s knee and pressed before moving. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you’re a crabby bitch because I know you don’t mean it.” He smiled sweetly at Whit, and Whit was torn between wanting to close his eyes, and wanting to throw Clark down on the stairs and kiss the hell out of him—which Clark knew, the bastard. “Clark, whatever—I can’t have you talking to my parents. They’ll say something nasty, and I won’t be able to stand it, and it’ll just be a big fight.”
Clark scowled, obviously not in agreement with him, but Whit didn’t say a word. He knew how stubborn Clark could be. There wasn’t much point in arguing with him when he got that certain look on his face, when his eyes went dark and clouded, and his lower lip poked out a little, like a kid’s…he wished he could lean over and bite that lip, suck that lip, that neck…
“Earth to Whitney—hello?”
“Oh, Chloe, I didn’t see you standing there.” Whit blushed, and Clark snorted.
Chloe grinned down at him and shifted the armload of note pads she was carrying. “You wouldn’t have seen a herd of mastodons standing here. But you saw every little bump and wrinkle on Clark’s neck, didn’t you?” Both of them blushed a little and Clark glanced around, but Whit just smiled. “Yeah, well….”
“So, who’s coming to the Torch with me right now, first stopping at the office to get my supplies?”
“You’re forming your own little press gang, aren’t you?” Clark said as he stood, and pulled Whit to his feet.
“Something like that,” she grinned.
******
Whit sat on the table and read past copies of the paper, and Clark hung over Chloe’s shoulder, both of them deep in discussion about the string of robberies that had recently plagued their corner of Kansas.
Clark reached over Chloe’s shoulder and scrolled to the bottom of the screen. “See that? A few weeks after the robbery in Metropolis, there was the one at the Savings and Loan, and then last night, there was a bank robbery in Granville.”
Whit dropped the paper and looked up. “Granville?”
“Yeah, there was one just like it in Midvale before the one in Smallville and there were a couple of small jobs, gas stations and stuff, leading right back to Metropolis…there’s practically a direct line from Metropolis to Granville—whoa!” Chloe stopped, whistled and shook her head.
“What?”
“Talk about instant karma—the robbers never got out of Granville—or they did—right outside of Granville, they were in a car crash. Hunh…there was a fire…three bodies recovered. No ID on them yet. Wow.”
Whit felt strange, like he’d avoided something—or missed something. He almost told Chloe that he knew who’d been killed that night, but stopped himself. What good would it do?
He shivered…what if he’d gone? What if Wade had talked him into going with them? He’d be dead now if he hadn’t picked Clark over them. He licked suddenly dry lips. Clark—Clark kind of saved his life. Shit, he’d definitely saved his life.
Chloe scribbled notes, silent for a while and then said, “Busy night for the firemen—there was a gas explosion in those rehabbed lofts down in the old factory district. No one was hurt, thankfully but one section of those lofts was leveled. Damn. You know, it almost sounds like WOW stuff.”
Clark glanced at Whit, and quickly looked away. He laughed, a weird high snort. “Chloe, not everything is The Men In Black. Sometimes a fire is just a fire.”
Chloe huffed and shut down the computer. “You’ll see someday, Clark.” She smiled. “I think I’m getting closer to finding a source for some of the weirdness here.”
Whit looked over and Clark was staring at him with a solemn expression--he broke into a smile when he caught Whit looking back. “I’m glad you’re mine,” he said.
Whit flushed, he couldn’t help but smile back. “Me too.”
“Are you guys going to kiss now? Can I take a picture? There’s this website, ‘BoyKissing’ and…”
“Shut up!”
******
Whit leaned on the fence that lined the long driveway to his house, noticing for what felt like the first time this season that the trees lining the drive had new growth already—tiny lime green leaves tipped the ends of branches, brown grass gave way here and there to green.
At the end of the wide, long lawn squatted his house—white and black--the white portico, the black shutters at the windows, all just the same as it’d always been, evergreens and gardens bordering the front, leading to the big black door to the inside.
The garden was scruffy, still full of winter killed plants and dried leaves but of course his mom had had no chance to get to her gardens yet, they all pretty busy now that his dad was finally home…he frowned a little. He trudged up the driveway with no enthusiasm at all. He wasn’t at all eager to rush into what he had to do. But that whole thing with Wade, and Clark—an electric shock flashed through him, made his heart skip a beat—after what Clark did, he had to let his folks know. He was tired of hiding everywhere, hiding everything. Hell, he had to tell them about the scholarship—he might as well tell them about being gay, too. Maybe they’d be so freaked about the scholarship being gay would kind of seem not as bad…he laughed. Right. He dragged his hand down the fence rail as he walked down the drive, paint flaking away under his palm. House needed some maintenance work, for sure. He trudged up to the portico, stopped at one of the pillars. He scraped off a wide flake of peeling paint, hesitated and finally, went in.
The living room was dim, the heavy drapes pulled against the afternoon light. His dad was on the recliner in the living room, his mother by his side. They both looked up when Whit stepped into the room. He clenched and unclenched his fists; he had to wait a moment, suck air into lungs that felt flattened by the weight of their gazes.
“Mom, Dad…I have to speak to you.”
They looked at him, waiting, expectant… “I…lost the scholarship.” He waited for the world to explode.
“Jesus Whitney. What the hell—how could you screw up like that? I told you.” He glared at him, glared at his mother. “I told you that he couldn't carry it through. What happened?”
Whit stared at his dad. “Well. I tried to keep the store running and tried to help mom--”
His dad made an impatient dismissive motion. “I hired competent people. You didn’t need to do what you did. I never told you to do that.”
“Yes sir. You’re right.” Whit stared at his feet and wondered if the slam of his heart in his chest was visible. His hand drifted up and rested over his breastbone, he pressed the heel of his hand against it. “You never told me, but I thought if I could help you…”
“Help me?” His dad snorted. He got to his feet and turned to Whitney. “Now what? What the bloody hell are you going to do?”
His mother reached out for his dad’s hand, said. “Calm down, George, it’ll be fine, it’ll all work out. Oh Whitney. How disappointing for you, and for Lana, poor thing…but you’ll work it out. I know you will.”
Oh fuck. “Yeah, about that. Lana and I aren’t exactly a… real couple anymore.”
“What could you possibly mean, dear? You’re so close—she’s a wonderful girl--”
“What happened? What did you do?” his dad demanded. “How could you possibly screw that up?”
“I’m gay.” There, he said it. And his heart was pounding, his ears ringing…he sucked in a deep breath, and his dad came toward him and it wasn’t until after his head banged painfully against the floor he realized his dad had hit him.
His dad had never hit him before—never so much as a tap. Whit stared up at him in shock, shock that was mirrored on his dad’s face before his eyes narrowed, and his expression was full of anger, disgust…he raised his hand again...
Whit scrambled across the floor, away from him. He swallowed and grimaced at the taste of blood—the inside of his mouth was tender. His hand went to his cheek, raw and stinging from the punch. He had a weird sensation, a dual feeling of despair, and…a wild urge to laugh. “Are you serious?” He could barely believe his dad hit him, his dad punched him--he looked past him to his mom.
“Mom—?”
She was silent, hadn’t said anything since she’d screamed when he hit the floor. She was white as a ghost, her fingers knotted in her sweater—but she didn’t move from the couch, or help him up from the floor. Her face reflected only fear. Her hand slowly lowered, and she fell back into her role, her voice was nearly calm when she spoke.
“Whitney, you’re not serious. You don’t mean it.” She looked right through him as she spoke and he found himself shaking his head no. No. He got to his feet and wiped his mouth. He wanted to spit the blood on the floor, on the beige carpet, the beige sofa…
His dad backed away. “Get out of my sight.”
His knees wobbled, his head was still ringing, felt like he was burning up and he held the wall to keep upright. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, no—Whitney. Go to your room,” his mom said, and his dad opened his mouth—shut it. He turned away from Whit.
“Just—just--get upstairs, I can’t stand to look at you now. We’ll figure this out later.”
Whit ran up the stairs and threw himself on the bed. He grabbed the pillow, shoved it against his face and screamed until he thought he’d pass out.
What was going to happen to him now—he threw the pillow across the room, rolled upright again. It didn’t matter. Clark was worth it. Whatever happened next, he’d make it work for him, somehow. He eyed the door, and flipped his middle finger up. He opened the window, straddled the sill and eyed the tree that grew outside his window. Figured he could make it. He slid his other leg over, took a deep breath—and jumped.
tbc
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
3/10/10 05:37 am (UTC)“Are you guys going to kiss now? Can I take a picture? There’s this website, ‘BoyKissing’ and…”
*snickers* I love your Chloe!
Poor Whit, I'm glad his parents didn't do something stupid like kick him out but I'm worried about him jumping out the window like that. He's not a superman ^_^
(no subject)
3/11/10 03:04 pm (UTC)