(no subject)

[roxy]

Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit…
Rating: 3
Summary: This story is an AU version of my personal hell Smallville.

Previous Parts are here, edging towards the door and eyeballing me like I'm about to freak the eff out...wise parts.



Days piled up and fell away so fast, Clark couldn’t keep track—they blurred into an ache of missing Whit, missing the time they spent together alone, and seeing him every day at school just made the ache worse. Being so close but not, made things happen to him—he thought he was going crazy sometimes. On the way to classes there were times he felt like he stepped into some bizarre alternate world—he’d swear that he could…smell Whit, and suddenly he’d be there, walking down the hall toward him…or he imagined he could hear him. More than once he’d spend an entire wasted class achingly hard because he imagined he heard Whit somewhere, panting, gasping…he was afraid to ask Whit if it affected him as well, this separation. He was working so hard to make up for everything. The hours he didn’t spend studying were spent working at his dad’s store, or doing repair work on his parent’s house….
He begged Clark to understand. “I have to fill up every minute so I don’t go crazy from missing you.”
Every few days Clark asked him again, ‘move in with us, come home with me.’ Every time Whit turned him down.
“They depend on me. I have to help them. I can prove to him that it doesn’t matter; I’m still the same and then—then we can talk about it…”
Clark wanted to say, ‘how many conversations have you had, how many questions have they asked, do they want to talk to me? Have you mentioned that we’re more than friends?’ but it was just one more thing he never voiced, why make Whit’s life more complicated than it already was?

******
It was a little warmer than usual for an early spring day, just the right sort of day for a drive…and if he just happened to drive in this particular direction, well that was coincidence, Clark told himself. At the end of the block, the white house gleamed in the afternoon sun, and even from his distance, Clark could see the gardens were freshly turned and weeded. Half of the fence lining the lawn shone as brightly as new snow--it was obvious that Whit had been very busy the last few weeks. And speaking of Whit....

Clark slowed, pulled to a stop a few feet from the corner of the Fordman property, and watched Whit scrape scaling paint from the post and rail fence. He had big stripes of white across the front of the worn Crows sweatshirt he was wearing, and it made Clark chuckle. Looked like someone leaned on the fence before it dried. Whit was staring down into the open two gallon bucket of white paint at his feet, whipping a paint stirrer through it. He looked completely serious, so involved in what he was doing that he hadn’t noticed yet he had company. After a minute or two of vigorous paint stirring, he straightened and turned, wiping at his forehead and grinned when he saw Clark in the truck. He laid the brush down and walked over, his grin getting wider the closer he got, and Clark felt his cheeks warm. Whenever Whit gave him his complete attention, it made him…warm.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?”

He leaned into the truck window, and Clark brushed his fingers over Whit’s cheek. He smiled. Whit probably thought he hadn’t heard the small noise he made…“I just happened to be in the neighborhood, gosh, what a surprise to see you here.” They both grinned at the blatant lie, and Clark asked, “Can you get away tonight? I really miss you.”

Whit stared up at the house thoughtfully, and nodded. “Yeah. I think I can. I’ll meet you after work tonight. I can’t wait.” He looked so desperately hungry, all the feeling Clark kept ruthlessly repressed during the week ignited. He closed his eyes to break the spell.

“God, Clark…I want you all the time…” Whit whispered.” He straightened and slapped the roof of the truck. “Aah--beat it, before I forget all about this fence and the neighbors and pull you right out of the truck.”

Clark laughed, a little breathless with the images in his head. “Oh, now I can’t wait for later.”

Driving off, he could see Whit still on the road in his rearview mirror, watching him…he glanced at the dash clock and groaned. Too many hours to wait...

******
He waited across the street, in the dark, until the store closed. He watched Whit walk up the block, before he pulled out and picked him up, out of view of the store. Of his dad. He didn’t say a word when Whit got in and didn’t speak. He just buckled in, rubbed his temples, rubbed at his eyes, and quietly asked Clark to drive. Ten minutes out of town Clark sighed and asked quietly, “How is this better?”

Whit groaned, “Oh, please don’t start. You just make it worse. Let’s just have a good time, okay?”

“Sorry.” Clark said, feeling no such thing. He glanced at Whit from time to time, and Whit resolutely stared out the window. They drove on in silence and a mile or two outside of Granville and Clark pulled off the road and parked the truck where it wouldn’t be noticed. The dark pressed in around them, but with Whit in the front seat with him, it felt warm, like a cocoon. The anger and sadness of earlier melted away, and his hand came to rest on Whitney’s thigh. Whit grunted, and covered it with his own.

“Clark. I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I feel like I’m kind of lost…” Whit sighed, played with the radio controls and Clark remembered how it was in the beginning, when they didn’t know what to say to each other, when the thing between them was…just between *them*. Whit was frowning, running through stations over and over, muttering.

Clark reached out and covered his hand. “Don’t.”

Whit looked at him; his eyes were full of hurt. “You hate me, don’t you? We have so little now…maybe…maybe I did make a mistake.”

Clark kissed him to silence him. He couldn’t hear it. It hurt too much to hear Whit say, so he listened to him moan instead. He focused every bit of his being on the soft, wet slide of tongue on tongue, on the little thrills that raced down his spine when Whit moaned into his mouth. He pulled Whit’s shirt up, pulled him onto his lap, pulled his arms around him, kissed and sucked and bit every inch of skin he could reach, Whit gasped and groaned, ground against him—hit the steering wheel, the window--it was close in the cab, too tight, too hot. The sound of their harsh shuddering breath, the squeak of leather, and groan of the springs battered his ears. Clark’s heart hammered and his blood pulsed, pounded in his veins. All he let himself feel was Whit’s dick trapped between them, throbbing against him, Whit’s hands scrabbling over his fly, ripping his pants open, cold air touching him before his dick was wrapped in Whit’s hot calloused hand. Not enough room to move, not enough coherent thought to make room, elbows jabbing and knees banging together and hands pressing in all the wrong places, frantic, desperate. Whit tried to hold both their dicks in one hand, and Clark wrapped his around too, and it almost hurt when he jerked them off. The truck was full of the sound and smell of sex and no one had to think about anything else but that. It was the way it always was any more, hot, frustrating, infuriating and so fucking full of wanting more that in minutes he was screaming into Whit’s skin as he came, and afterward, limp and useless and a million miles away.

Whit was soaking wet, he could barely raise his head. He was curled into Clark’s shoulder, looking down at the thumb shaped bruises on his hips. He touched them softly, his expression was so private Clark didn’t speak, didn’t move. He’d stopped apologizing for marking him, not really doing it on purpose, not really…

“I have to go.” Whit dragged himself off Clark’s shoulder, Clark’s hands twitched with the desire to hold him there. It was never enough.

“I know. Will you…will I see you again this week? Alone?”

“After the prom.” He pulled his t-shirt down, and wiped weakly at the mess in his lap. “After the stupid shit is over, I’ll come get you. They expect me to be out all night. I already talked to her.”

Clark snorted, pulled his pants up. If at any time in this whole fucked up mess anyone had told him he and Lana would be something nearly close to allies, he’d have hurt himself laughing. “Yeah, good. I’ll be waiting.” He grinned, a bleak expression that washed over his face and evaporated. “What other choice do I have?”

Whit’s face closed down, but not before Clark saw how much what he’d said hurt and for a brief selfish moment he was glad. “Hey—hey, I don’t mean it like that. Can we turn the clock back, to when we were happy to be here?”

Whit laughed. “How far would that have to be Clark? I can’t promise you bright shiny day anytime soon, it’s been a hell of a long time since we’ve had something even close.”

“Whit, mostly what I need is to be close to you. You holding me is pretty darn near perfect.”

“Girl.” But Whit was smiling, and Clark felt better.

“I just showed you I wasn’t---do you need a reminder?”

Comments

[confuzed.livejournal.com]

I am trying to read as much as possible before work. I guess I will have to stop soon to eat and shower....Right?? heheh I am loving this by the way!

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you're enjoying this--I'm having fun getting your comments! :)