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roxyTitle: The Persistence Of Vision 1/3
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roxymissrose
Pairing: Lex/Whitney, Clark
Rating: Adult/nc-17
Warnings: angst, inference of rape, hints of non-con, happy ending
Word Count: 6287
Summary: Whitney subjects Clark to the scarecrow treatment and suffers consequences
Written for thelexslash Challenge: Anyone But Clark
Chapter One
I
Damp ground seeped cold through the knees of his jeans—he pulled his shirt over his head and it was yanked out of his hands.
"The pants—let's go. Now."
Clark dropped back on his ass and unlaced his boots, pulled socks off and unbuttoned his jeans. Stopped. "No."
"Yes. Take 'em off or we'll do it for you."
Clark blushed deep deep red, and started to pull the jeans down again, stopped again…
"If you want to keep the boxers, you better speed it up." Nasty laughter drifted in the dark. Clark was trying his best not to see faces. He stood and dropped his pants, stepped away from them. He shivered, gripped the waist band of his boxers.
****
"Wait, don't tie him up yet…"
Whit wanted to leave. He began edging towards the back of the crowd, away from the sight of Clark being pushed against the post of the wooden T frame… Clark looked like he was going to throw up. Big red S smeared across his chest and Lana's necklace around his neck, he looked greasy and sick and just kind of pathetic, not at all what Whit had expected. Clark's ribs looked like they were about to slash through his skin—his chest jerked up and down as he tried to breathe. His shorts were ripped….
Whit had never wondered, or wanted to see, what Clark looked like under his clothes, but he was finding it hard to pull his eyes away.
The taunts were getting nastier, getting physical, the air was changing….
He stayed until the boy began to scream.
Clark wasn't his responsibility.
*****
II
Whitney found a note on the windshield of his truck.
everyone thinks they know what happened in the field. But we know better
Whit grimaced, balled the paper tight as he could and tossed it. Nothing happened in the field—not for him. He put a necklace on the boy, that was all he did. He wasn't responsible for anything else. It wasn't his fault.
The next note he found made his back prickle with sweat, his stomach lurch. This time instead of balling the note up, he read every word carefully, stared at the handwriting. He didn't recognize it. The paper was…odd. Different. It had weight; it felt almost velvety against his palm.
No one is talking about the incident. No one else knows but you and Clark and whoever else was there.
The boys who'd been in the field that night found life becoming more difficult for them…a lost scholarship, a parent out of work, an injury guaranteed to sideline a player permanently….the next note Whit found had some kind of mark imbedded in the paper and the ink used to write the brief note was thick and dark violet.
you're responsible.
Whit ripped the note into cream colored confetti, and threw it into the air. Drifts of shredded paper landed on his shoulders, the pavement. He didn't need a name to know who was leaving expensive notes on his car.
Another day, another note appeared on his windshield…he picked up the note and rolled it between his palms, crumbled it, threw it under the seat. He briefly considered burning it.
I'm coming for you.
It should have been laughable, but there was nothing funny about the intent behind it. Whit put his hands over his face and sighed. His hands smelled good—the note held a bit of the scent the person who wrote it wore. He leaned against the side of his truck and inhaled again. He looked down the main street, up the main street—it was strangely empty for a Saturday afternoon. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and wondered if Luthor was going to get him through his parents or come for him personally.
*****
A shadow fell across his table and he found himself looking up into that Luthor guy's face, Kent's good friend. He was smiling at him.
"Whitney Fordman. I want to talk to you."
Whit shook his head. "I don’t want to talk to you." He looked towards the door of the Beanery, Lex sat down anyway.
"I want to talk about Clark." He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out and tapped Whit's sneaker with his boot. "You see, Clark is a friend of mine. I don’t like when my friends are hurt, and I really feel that in this instance, I need to take action—for Clark, for future freshmen—but mostly, for me…" He smiled, a smile so sweet, it made Whit shiver inside.
Whit shook his head, and Lex leaned forward. "Don't fuck with me, Fordman. I have very little patience. I use up the meager store I have during business hours. Now. Get up, and get your ass in my car."
Whit stared at him, fear beginning to tinge the anger he felt. "What the fuck—no."
Luthor looked totally relaxed, even managed to make the wire chair he sat in look comfortable. With a warm chuckle, he said, "Let's not waste time fencing. You remember that you're talking to someone who doesn't own Smallville simply because he's not *interested* in owning it…understand?" He stared into Whit's eyes, a long and unblinking look that felt like Lex was searching his soul. Whit knew he saw the festering stew of guilt and self-blame and fear that filled him. He tore his eyes away from Lex's and stared at the patterns in the marble table top. Lex's voice was soft and kind when he spoke again.
"Whitney…get in the car." His eyes were strangely warm, so was the hand over his. It tightened, and Whit nodded, followed him out to the parking lot. What else could he do?
The ride to the Luthor mansion was silent—nothing broke the quiet until Lex pulled his car into a garage that was bigger than Whit's whole house. He said, "You have to tell me everything. I promise, you'll feel much better when you've unburdened yourself." Again Lex was silent, walking away without checking to see if Whit followed. Whit climbed out of the low vehicle and swallowed hard. Nerves made his mouth dry—fear made his mouth dry. He had no idea what was in store for him but the look into Lex's eyes had warned him, it was bound to be unpleasant. Maybe he deserved it to be.
******
"Who did it? No one is talking…I'd like to know who actually participated and to what degree in case I change my mind about being merciful."
Whit shook his head fearfully, remembering the elegant threatening notes that held not the slightest promise of mercy in them. "You—you ruined them—all of them, the boys on the team. The ones in the cornfield..."
"All of them? Not you. No, you're special." Lex moved around his office, and Whit watched him warily. He was living some Discovery Channel episode, one where the lions stalk and kill a gazelle, moaning with bloody jaws into the night. Lex smelled like expensive cologne, but it was easy to imagine him smelling of blood.
Lex set a short thick glass in front of him, and golden liquid coated the insides as he tilted it. He sniffed and the scent was sharp and bitter, and it tasted of sharp and bitter, and followed with a burst of sweet heat in his mouth, throat. He drank all of it, sad when there was no more and now Lex's complete attention was on him.
It burned as well.
"You're responsible." He stopped Whit's automatic protest. "You're the captain…the leader. A leader is always responsible for the actions of his subordinates. His…team." Whit watched Lex move like silk, his voice was smooth and light, velvety…his hands were like birds, graceful in their movements…Whit's eyes tracked them; he reached out with both his own hands to capture them. They lay in his, warm and smooth and alive, he felt the blood move under the skin, the beat of it echoed the beat of his heart. The harsh expression on Lex's face changed, becoming almost sympathetic. Lex leaned closer; his breath was warm and sweet. "Tell me everything Whitney. You want to do that, don’t you?"
Yes…
"What really happened Whit, and don’t forget, you're safe—no one else can hurt you here." Lex slipped his hands free and cupped Whit's face, and Whitney told Lex what happened to Clark, tears ran down his cheeks, his voice broke as he told Lex everything that happened to Clark.
"…and then they—they made him do humiliating things…"
"Like what?" Lex's voice was kind and patient, loving--his hands stroked Whit's cheek, thumb wiping wet from his cheekbones…"What did they do?"
"They—made him use--mouth, his mouth, they forced him, and they made him beg them—to—to--come on him, and…"
"And?" The gentle touch, the kind voice, encouraged Whit; he lifted his heavy, heavy head, and moaned.
"They took turns with him. A couple of the guys and me, we left when they started that. It was bad. It was horrible. We ran."
Lex's thin fingers tightened on Whit's jaw, "It was rape," he said, sounding a little distant, thoughtful….
Whit nodded. "Rape." His vision narrowed to a sliver of awareness, he saw only Lex's eyes, icy gray and burning inside, on fire… his eyes were drifting shut, he was warm, floating, safe.
Lex spoke and the voice came from far way. Whitney heard, "But you did nothing to stop it."
The room was spinning, dipping up and down, safety fled, warmth fled…Whit groaned, his guilt so intense it was pain. "Nothing. I did nothing."
Spinning in the velvety dark, and the only thing real was Lex's voice in his ear, moist, hot and Lex's fingers, as they tipped his jaw down, slid into his mouth. Whit tasted salt, felt the edge of Lex's nail on the tender inside of his lower lip. "Open up, Whitney."
Whitney gratefully dropped his jaw. Lex would help him atone….
III
Whit woke up feeling like he did after a tough game. Sore, aching…he felt clammy and sticky at once. He wrinkled his nose. He smelled. He tried to lift his arm, and realized he was stretched across Lex's couch, too heavy to move, too tired. All around him was a low constant whisper of sound--talking, someone was talking, and the voice made his stomach flip and tighten. He forced his eyes open, and Lex was in his line of sight.
"Retribution, Whitney--"
*do you like this?*
"--do you know what that is?"
*you do, don’t you?*
"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord--"
Whit's head pounded, and his tongue felt thick and wooly in his mouth, he wanted to argue, tell Lex that he'd got the meaning wrong…
*that's it. Slow, deep…use your tongue…*
"--for what you did to Clark."
*I'm going to come…ask me. Ask me for it.*
"You took away his trust, his innocence, his virginity…"
*you are a slut. You like that, don’t you.*
"You know, I planned on taking that for myself."
Whit finally felt his brain come together and focus…enough to wonder if he heard Lex right. Before he could move, Lex reached down and pulled Whit upright by his collar and pointed him towards a big screen he hadn’t noticed before he fell asleep…he had fallen asleep, hadn't he?
"Look."
The image flickered in and out from grainy to sharp, the lighting was bad, but sufficient to reveal a man on his knees, his face upturned and eyes closed, his lips were parted in a way that made Whit think of communion, and he cringed. The face on the screen was stippled with pearly drops of come, his chest …one hand was wrapped around his cock. Whit reached down and almost touched himself, felt the echo of a deep ache and…"No. That's not possible. It's not real."
"Oh, sometimes all a person needs is a little push. A little helping hand. I'm very good at that—lending a helping hand."
The scene changed—the cut was jerky and amateurish and Whit had the feeling it was deliberate. Now the man on the screen was bent over a non-descript couch. Hands rested on his ass, slid around to pull him open and pushed oil shiny fingers inside. Whit's ass. Whitney watched himself push back onto the long fingers, moaning and groaning, begging for more. The voice asked, "Does it hurt?"
"Yes," his voice answered, and Whit was shocked at the depth of need in his voice, it was…he couldn't believe he could sound like that, so raw, so wanting. He shivered…even as stiff and sore as he was, his cock tried to lift. Looking at himself, at this impossible angle…it was like looking at a stranger—would be but Lex wouldn't let him forget.
"Your ass was tight, like a glove. Hot. You just sucked me in…"
*"It hurts. Don’t stop. Don't, don’t stop…" *
Whit closed his eyes but the fucking film was like a train wreck—he had to see.
A chuckle floated in the air, and Whit whipped his head towards Lex, who wasn't laughing, but he was smiling. "You son of a bitch—you fucking drugged me—you raped me--"
"Don’t be ridiculous. Look at yourself, Whitney," he pointed, and Whit dragged reluctant eyes back to the screen. "You're doing all the work--you're fucking yourself on my dick like a bitch in heat. How is that me forcing you? How is that anywhere near what it was for Clark?"
Lex sat next to him, and grabbed him high on the thigh, his grip was painful, he was much stronger than Whit expected. He shuddered, tried to turn his head away and Lex slapped him. The sound was like a crack of thunder, his head rocked back and the slap shocked him fully awake. "I asked you, do you think Clark acted like that?" His fingers dug into Whit's chin, and jerked him around to face the screen, Whit had to watch himself, squirming, writhing back against Lex, moaning. "*Answer* me, damn it."
Whit's cheek burned, his vision blurred. He stammered out, "No. No, not Clark. He cried…"
Lex said, "He told me he cried." He pushed Whit flat on the couch. "This is just a start."
"I'll tell my parents, tell the police…"
"Tell them what? That you came to my house to get fucked?" Lex pointed the remote at the screen, raised the sound. The liquid sound of Lex's cock churning in his ass filled the room, and his begging for more, and his gasps and groans, the howl he let loose when Lex told him he was coming, when he came himself…
"How did you make me do that—how, what drug?"
Lex shook his head. "This part you have to remember, Whitney. When I call you, you come. No excuses, no waiting, or this show will be all over town. You'll be known for what you really are."
"But—but—you can't. You're on these films too. Everyone will know."
"Maybe, maybe not. I mean, where is this taking place, Whit? What clues…what reveals where this is taking place?" Lex ran a finger over his upper lip, traced the satisfied upward curve of his mouth. "As for them knowing—isn't this just what they expect of me? My reputation can’t suffer, except for going from bad to worse. In Smallville, I'm the Devil, in Metropolis, I'm eccentric and slightly…" He leaned forward and licked the spot on Whit's cheek that burned still. "…slightly deviant. And above all—I'm really stinking rich."
Whit watched. Lex was right. There was no way to tell where he was, or who he was with. The main focus on the screen was him, on his knees, licking and sucking Lex's cock like he fucking needed it to live. The back ground was dim and featureless. The floor under his knees looked like generic industrial tile—the walls behind him gray painted dry wall, the only thing completely identifiable was himself. Himself, red-faced, and slimy with come and looking a lot like Clark had looked that night except…he was enjoying it….
Whit closed his eyes and moaned. "God, I hate you so much, you fucking bastard."
"Sit up." Lex jerked him upright, pulled him to his feet and unbuttoned his trousers again. He jabbed Whit painfully between his shoulder blades and hissed, "Spread your legs and grab the couch back." Whit did as he asked, he felt weak and drained, so small and he didn't even question that he obeyed Lex without a word…
He gasped as pain bloomed outward from where it centered in his ass. It grew and grew—not unbearable but inescapable, he was being entered, filled again, and his cock grew harder—it wasn't right. Pain transformed into burn, became fullness, heavy and hot inside of him. It moved in and out, and Whit dropped his head and gasped. Vibrations rolled through him and whited out his brain, his eyes rolled back and he almost fell to his knees. Whimpers he couldn't hold back filled his ears, his head dropped to the soft leather couch back. "Oh. God…God…"
A crack of pain ripped him back into the world. Lex swatted his ass again. "Shut up, I have a call to make."
Whit shivered and jerked on the couch and bit his lips, tears leaked out of his eyes as Lex talked to Clark and screwed the vibrator in and out of his quivering ass.
"Clark—yes, it's me." Lex laughed quietly. "It's time for our nightly check in. How was your day? Oh, that's good, Clark. I'm so glad you've decided to go back to school now. I promise it will go well."
Lex's voice was smooth, kind, concerned, never changing, and he drew nails down Whit's legs, pinched bright red weals on his skin…Whit sobbed and shook into the couch pillows, fucked frantically in and out of the hand Lex squeezed around his cock…"No, Clark you're not disturbing me, I was just watching movies. Yes, it is a slow night." Lex's hand on the vibrator jammed forward, sinking more of it into Whitney, Whit drew in a deep shaking breath and let go—silently, needing it, and hating it at once….
He turned his head and caught Lex staring at him, lip drawn back in a snarl, and still, his voice was soft and light as he spoke to Clark. "Go to sleep Clark, I'll call you tomorrow. Good night."
He stood and sneered at Whitney, "You get dressed and get out. I'll call you when I need you."
Chapter Two
I
Whitney spent days in a haze of hatred and anger. He hated Lex Luthor with a passion that made him weak. He thought of revenge--planned it with all the fervor and passion he used to reserve for fantasizing--the revenge he'd take on Lex and Clark because if Lex wasn't obsessed with Clark, Whit wouldn't have to suffer. If Clark had fought back, tried to protect himself….
He waited, it was coming, Lex wouldn't let it go, not like this--he raced for the phone every time it rang, desperate to intercept it, wondering how he would explain to his parents why he was suddenly getting phone calls from Lex Luthor. He worried day and night, dreading Lex's demands, fearing his demands. Days passed, and none came, no word from him and Whit began to unwind. Tentatively, gradually, he let himself believe that it was over. He was safe.
Lex had been satisfied with his humiliation--Lex wasn't going to call. He'd paid the price for Clark's pain. All he had to do now was live with what had happened—just like Clark.
Lex was done with him. He'd been granted reprieve….
Reprieve. What an idiot.
This was Lex Luthor. Lex who had no off button Luthor. Lex wasn't finished, he hadn’t even started. No, Lex was going to contact him in a way that would cause the maximum humiliation.
Whit figured the best he could do was damage control. He checked the mail every day--he woke before his parents and looked for expensive notepaper tucked under the wipers of the cars, or tucked under the door mat, or slid in the door frame…the need for constant vigilance wore him down, leached energy. Made him miserable.
Whit felt like he was being chipped away, bit by bit. On the other hand, Clark Kent seemed to gain--slowly, shyly, Clark was making his way back. Back into school, back into the average kind of life of an average teenage boy. People stopped looking, and stopped looking away, and Clark gradually became just 'Clark' again and not 'that boy.'
Whit watched Clark and the lesson became clear. Day by day Clark stood a little taller, and day by day Whit felt like he was being drawn like wire, thinner and thinner and thinner. With it, understanding came.
All of it came together as he sat alone in a corner of the Talon and watched Clark carefully holding a cup of some nasty looking drink Lex bought him, watched him take a tentative sip and smile—it was a shy, wavering quirk of his lips, but it made Lex glow, and Whitney finally understood what it was he was meant to learn. For Lex, there was Clark--and there was the rest of the world. And the rest of the world barely measured up. He saw what Lex wanted him to see.
When Clark left, Whitney sat at his table, unable to move. He felt as if he was made of concrete and not flesh and bone. Lex weaved his way between the tables, coming slowly towards him. Lex bent over him and said clearly, coolly, "Get in the car."
The four words echoed, filled him like an answer to prayer. Thank God. The fear, the wait that had been steadily grinding him into nothing was over. He felt released…until he was in the front seat of the Porsche and buckled in. He tried to speak, beg for leniency. "Please, don't hurt me," he muttered, feeling like a fool, and Lex laughed.
Clark had begged, too.
Lex brought him to the castle, and he didn't waste time with drinks, there was no play at conversation and better, no accusations, confrontations of guilt.
What happened was straightforward. It was exactly what Lex said it would be. Pain. It was horrible, and mid altering. Pleasure. There was no way that Whitney could hide from his reaction.
Lex touched his skin, and he cried out. He touched him outside, and he touched him inside, and not one fucking bit of it was sweet, or tender. There was not anything about it that was like making love. Lex meant him to be humiliated--he was.
Some strange, horrible transformation was happening inside of him. Somehow Lex had stripped away all his defenses and guards, pulled everything away until all he'd left was a solid ball of want.
It hurt and it…comforted, somewhat. He knew where he stood, and why this happened.
Clark.
******
II
Lights glowed against the dark night sky, wiping out the stars, the band competed with the roar of the crowd—it was chilly but he was burning up, sweating, felt like flying—
This was what drove Whit—coming off the field with the rest of the team like one victorious animal, drinking in the roar of the crowd, swimming through hands reaching out to him, being treated like heroes, wanted, sought after, valued—in the afternoon sun, at night under the field lights, in mud and cold and rain, this was what he loved.
Lex took that first, and twisted it, little by little.
Whit came to know how temporary all of it was, how quickly it could be taken, destroyed. He loved it more because of knowing. Those minutes were gifted him to savor. Even on this night when all his teammates were around him, and their win this evening made the night seem perfect, clear as a jewel, and opportunity limitless, he knew how fleeting it was and that it only took one word.
"Whitney."
The bubble burst, his little victory became pointless, with one word. One word, one look, and everything was nothing, this night, the people, the team, all less than nothing.
"Hey Whit, where you going?"
"No where, gotta go…" Lex was calling.
III
Whitney decided his life was an inverted version of Clark's. Lex did for Whit exactly what he did for Clark, only with different expectations, and different emotions involved. He figured Lex got something out of making certain Whit's life was as normal seeming as…Clark's. Except of course, this boy, he fucked. This was the one he made crawl across his office floor and beg to be fucked, like he wanted Clark to do. But would never ask him to.
'I'll help you with that paper Whit and in return I'll want a blowjob. Dad's business having trouble? I think I can help there, and in return, I'll want you to sit on my dick…sure, I'll donate uniforms to the team and in return…'
'In return, I want to run your life.' Want to control every fucking thing from what he did and who he knew and…how he got off. How he got off.
******
"God, stop hurting me. Stop doing this." He was covered with sweat, come slicked, bitten and worried and bruised. He hadn't been able to undress in front of anyone in months.
At home, he counted bruises in the mirror, obsessively touching, cataloging them. He pressed his own fingers into them, feeling them being made again. Jerk off and jam fingers against the sore points….
Lex laughed. "When you really want me to stop, maybe I will."
Whit cursed. Sometimes he thought the bastard could read minds.
Lex looped two fingers loosely in a ring around Whit's cock, stroked-teased him until Whit was bucking up hard into that loose hold, whining with frustration. "But I don't think you want me to stop. I think you still need it." Fingers mapped the veins tracing his cock; they felt the pulse of his blood. Whit watched him and barely stopped himself from begging…for the moment.
If he couldn’t speak, he had to move, or die--Whit threw his head back and forth on the pillow, sweat flinging from the wet mass of his hair, unable to touch himself because his arms were tied tight to the iron frame of Lex's bed. "I don't, I don't. You did this to me. I used to be happy. I did."
Lex stood and walked away. "I'm sure you were. I don't care."
Whit collapsed against the bed, his cock red and hard and leaking. "…bastard, bastard…I wish…" He closed his eyes and strained to orgasm, almost, almost, almost there…just like it always was with Lex.
IV
"Whitney, the coach called today. You missed practice. Again. What happened? Your dad's angry. You know we're counting on you getting a scholarship. The store's not doing all that well. I might have to go back to full time work…."
Her words washed over him in a tide of senseless sound. Practice…damn it.
"Where were you after school, Whitney?"
"Mom, I felt bad today, I left early to come home, and then I felt too bad to drive, so I pulled off at the lake until I felt better, that's all."
"Why didn’t you tell the coach?"
"I don't know, Mom. I just—didn't."
"What are you going to tell your father?"
"Can't you talk to him, Mom?"
"Whitney…you've got to accept responsibility for your actions."
"Oh, Mom." You have no idea.
He was drowning, sinking without a trace….
V
Light poured in through the windows of the study, purple and red scattered squares across the floor and Whit lay face up in the tinted glow, taut as a bow. Lex touched him and he jerked, the gag cutting into the corner of his lips, his tongue pushing against it uselessly. Lex's fingers stroked over the place inside him that sent electricity though his body, tortured him in a good way, made him dance on the edge. He fucked him with his hand and all the while spoke to his friend, the innocent, the wronged.
"I'm glad to hear school's going much better now. You haven't been by in a while. Let me know when you want to visit. I think I can promise you pizza—all right, I promise, pizza with no artichokes." He laughed, a warm caressing sound that made Whit shiver and arch his back. Lex frowned, twisted his nipples, pulled until the pain made him curl in on himself and Whit couldn't stop the tears squeezing out from under tight shut lids. Pre-come oozed over the hard muscles of his stomach. Lex's hand traced the sticky trail, smeared it into his trembling stomach and licked his fingertips clean.
"I'll talk to you later, Clark. Pleasant dreams." He disconnected, and unbuckled the gag. His thumb traced the red lines that the straps left on Whit's face. "Whitney." It sounded like the same voice he used for Clark, soft, tender, concerned. Whit closed his eyes. He knew, of all people he really knew, what a liar Lex was.
"Whitney." Lex eased inside of him, torturously slow. "Ah, Whit…" Fucked him like he was made of glass. He leaned into Lex's touch, and for a moment, it felt like…caring. A little. The way Lex curled over him. The way he groaned, shook when he came, the way his hands cupped his hips and his thumbs curled in and traced the groove of muscle along his hips. Whitney wanted to ask so badly, wanted to ask if Lex cared at all. Was it still punishment, because it felt like he'd gained some value in Lex's eyes.
It felt like that until Lex said, "You can go now."
Whit laughed, an explosive wild bark, high with anger, hatred of someone whom he had no defenses against. "What if he knew what you were doing while you talked to him? How much would he hate you, then?"
Lex dropped to his knees, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Whit's head up so they were eye to eye. "I don’t know…how would he find out? What would happen to you if he did find out?" He dropped Whit's head and shook blonde hairs from his hands. "I said get out."
In the kitchen doorway, where Clark delivered fresh organic produce for Lex's staff, Lex handed Whit a few bills. "Here. Buy a new shirt. Get a haircut…get new shoes. Something."
Whit stared at the handful of bills, shoved them back at Lex. "Whores get paid."
"And your point--?"
Whit snarled and knocked Lex's hand aside, stalked out of the door. Behind him, he heard Lex his name. "Whitney…" he turned to see Lex, mouth curved in that look of tolerant amusement, throw the bills into the air and shut the door. Whitney walked down the drive, and out to the road, he walked faster and faster until he was running, running all out, and his heart was hammering in his chest, his throat burned…he stumbled to the side of the road and knelt…he cursed and cursed when tears he couldn't stop flowed. Nothing. What was it Lex saw when he was looking at him?
Nothing. He saw nothing.
Chapter Three
I
"Clark, Clark, it's all right, it is. I promise you, it will get better—and you know you can call me any time you need to."
Handcuffs pinched the skin inside his wrists and chaffed when he moved his hands. He was fairly certain Lex would loosen them if he said, but he kept quiet and watched Lex's face change, soften, as he talked to him. Him. The fucking Him that ruled his life. This fucking game of Lex's…maybe he should tell Clark what was happening, just to save Lex. Save Clark.
His arms were over his head, his knees were up and separated, opening him wide for Lex. He was hard, had been hard since Lex pinned him open in the bed, and now he had to listen to Lex talk to his boyfriend—his boyfriend too stupid to know what was going on. Lex sat on the edge of the bed, traced around the puckered ring of muscle, around and around….
His fingertip slid in and out and Whit jerked, groaned. In, out, twist, stretch and Whit fell out of the world. Fuck Clark, he wasn't here, he'd never be here and no matter what Lex said, he wanted Whit here. Needed him here. This spot was only ever going to be his…
Fingers slid in and moved and Whit dropped his head back and jerked again…Lex hit that spot again, and again, and Whit shuddered—every nerve was on fire. Electric sparks lit him. Lex's fingers inside him, around his cock, trailing fingers through the precome.
Lex's eyes were locked on him, tracking back and forth from his face, to his fingers in his ass. Their eyes met, and Whit groaned, pushed upwards to meet Lex's stroke and Lex eyelid's fluttered when Whit squeezed down around his fingers. When Lex answered whatever stupid question Clark asked him, he stuttered.
Whit heard him, smiled. Lex stuttered.
II
The library was dark, and cool, and smelled of old paper and leather, generations of lemon polish. The old card catalog still stood against the back wall of the reading room, not performing any function now but to look scholarly. He sat in a sprung leather chair, one of a few scattered across the wooden plank flooring of the reading room—the only corner in the library that had yet to fall victim to remodeling.
The chair gripped him like a hug, and he nodded over the magazine in his lap. Sleep escaped him at home—at night. He slept sometimes after Lex. Slept. Passed out.
A shadow fell across the magazine, and Whit looked up with a wry smile, ready, but it was--"You."
Clark stared down at him. "When did you and Lex become friends?"
"Friends? We're not friends."
"You're over there a lot. I see you in his car." Whit watched his face, his open oh so readable face and it was there, 'you're over there and I'm not'. Clark. Whit smothered a smile. He didn't even know he was jealous.
"So? Sometimes he brings me there to work on the cars. Part time work--"
Clark scowled. "That doesn't make any sense…" he shook his head and walked away, Whit heard him say, "He knows what you did, why's he being nice to you…"
He sat in the chair, alone. What the hell was Lex doing? This game was starting to topple. Clark was going to be hurt, and if that happened, Whit wasn't sure where the game would stop.
He was pretty fucking sick of being a sacrifice to Clark's happiness...
III
Lex drove and Whit sat next to him, far as he could get in the small space, just the way Lex liked it. It was one of those nights that Lex would come and pick him up and they'd just drive around aimlessly, for hours sometimes. Sometimes, Lex would talk, about anything, life, history, his hopes…he'd talk to him sometimes like he'd forgotten who was in the car…sometimes, it was just a silent drive in the night, like it was tonight….
They drove past farmland in silence, the radio quietly playing something Lex picked for Clark or Clark had picked for him. Mixes he made at night in his room, no doubt, all full of confusion and repressed homoerotic longing—Whit laughed.
Lex reached over and turned the radio off.
"Why'd you do that?" Whit grinned. Lex reached over and wrapped leather clad fingers around his kneecap and squeezed. Whit groaned quietly and Lex said, "You need to remember what part you play in my life."
"I *am* a major part of your life. Why can't you accept it? You'll never get---never..."
"You. You forget what you are here."
"Oh, go on, tell me how unimportant I am. Tell me and maybe I'll believe you."
They drove on in silence through the night.
IV
Clark walked into the study with a smile. "Lex!"
"Clark!" Lex imitated Clark's tone of voice, effected a look of surprise and Clark grinned wider.
"They told me you were working in the study. Gee, you really need to lighten up, you know? Take a break from time to time."
"Well," Lex smiled, "I'm wondering how it is that you have so much free time, for all the chores you have to do, plus school work."
Clark blushed and looked away. "It's…not that much work."
Lex's face closed down. "Of course not."
Clark offered compromise, and apology. "Can we—do you feel like a game of pool?"
"Actually, that sounds perfect." And Lex forgave him again. "Whit, when you're done here, make sure you take your equipment with you."
"Sure, Lex. We can work out those…kinks later."
Clark jerked in surprise, and looked into the corner where Whit stood, clutching a gym bag and sneering.
"Whit's helping me with weight training, and I'm helping him." Lex shrugged, didn't explain what he was helping Whit with, and Clark didn’t ask. He looked over his shoulder, one quick glance as he walked out of the study, Whit was staring at the floor…
Continued in part two
Author:
roxymissrosePairing: Lex/Whitney, Clark
Rating: Adult/nc-17
Warnings: angst, inference of rape, hints of non-con, happy ending
Word Count: 6287
Summary: Whitney subjects Clark to the scarecrow treatment and suffers consequences
Written for the
lexslash Challenge: Anyone But ClarkChapter One
I
Damp ground seeped cold through the knees of his jeans—he pulled his shirt over his head and it was yanked out of his hands.
"The pants—let's go. Now."
Clark dropped back on his ass and unlaced his boots, pulled socks off and unbuttoned his jeans. Stopped. "No."
"Yes. Take 'em off or we'll do it for you."
Clark blushed deep deep red, and started to pull the jeans down again, stopped again…
"If you want to keep the boxers, you better speed it up." Nasty laughter drifted in the dark. Clark was trying his best not to see faces. He stood and dropped his pants, stepped away from them. He shivered, gripped the waist band of his boxers.
****
"Wait, don't tie him up yet…"
Whit wanted to leave. He began edging towards the back of the crowd, away from the sight of Clark being pushed against the post of the wooden T frame… Clark looked like he was going to throw up. Big red S smeared across his chest and Lana's necklace around his neck, he looked greasy and sick and just kind of pathetic, not at all what Whit had expected. Clark's ribs looked like they were about to slash through his skin—his chest jerked up and down as he tried to breathe. His shorts were ripped….
Whit had never wondered, or wanted to see, what Clark looked like under his clothes, but he was finding it hard to pull his eyes away.
The taunts were getting nastier, getting physical, the air was changing….
He stayed until the boy began to scream.
Clark wasn't his responsibility.
*****
II
Whitney found a note on the windshield of his truck.
everyone thinks they know what happened in the field. But we know better
Whit grimaced, balled the paper tight as he could and tossed it. Nothing happened in the field—not for him. He put a necklace on the boy, that was all he did. He wasn't responsible for anything else. It wasn't his fault.
The next note he found made his back prickle with sweat, his stomach lurch. This time instead of balling the note up, he read every word carefully, stared at the handwriting. He didn't recognize it. The paper was…odd. Different. It had weight; it felt almost velvety against his palm.
No one is talking about the incident. No one else knows but you and Clark and whoever else was there.
The boys who'd been in the field that night found life becoming more difficult for them…a lost scholarship, a parent out of work, an injury guaranteed to sideline a player permanently….the next note Whit found had some kind of mark imbedded in the paper and the ink used to write the brief note was thick and dark violet.
you're responsible.
Whit ripped the note into cream colored confetti, and threw it into the air. Drifts of shredded paper landed on his shoulders, the pavement. He didn't need a name to know who was leaving expensive notes on his car.
Another day, another note appeared on his windshield…he picked up the note and rolled it between his palms, crumbled it, threw it under the seat. He briefly considered burning it.
I'm coming for you.
It should have been laughable, but there was nothing funny about the intent behind it. Whit put his hands over his face and sighed. His hands smelled good—the note held a bit of the scent the person who wrote it wore. He leaned against the side of his truck and inhaled again. He looked down the main street, up the main street—it was strangely empty for a Saturday afternoon. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and wondered if Luthor was going to get him through his parents or come for him personally.
*****
A shadow fell across his table and he found himself looking up into that Luthor guy's face, Kent's good friend. He was smiling at him.
"Whitney Fordman. I want to talk to you."
Whit shook his head. "I don’t want to talk to you." He looked towards the door of the Beanery, Lex sat down anyway.
"I want to talk about Clark." He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out and tapped Whit's sneaker with his boot. "You see, Clark is a friend of mine. I don’t like when my friends are hurt, and I really feel that in this instance, I need to take action—for Clark, for future freshmen—but mostly, for me…" He smiled, a smile so sweet, it made Whit shiver inside.
Whit shook his head, and Lex leaned forward. "Don't fuck with me, Fordman. I have very little patience. I use up the meager store I have during business hours. Now. Get up, and get your ass in my car."
Whit stared at him, fear beginning to tinge the anger he felt. "What the fuck—no."
Luthor looked totally relaxed, even managed to make the wire chair he sat in look comfortable. With a warm chuckle, he said, "Let's not waste time fencing. You remember that you're talking to someone who doesn't own Smallville simply because he's not *interested* in owning it…understand?" He stared into Whit's eyes, a long and unblinking look that felt like Lex was searching his soul. Whit knew he saw the festering stew of guilt and self-blame and fear that filled him. He tore his eyes away from Lex's and stared at the patterns in the marble table top. Lex's voice was soft and kind when he spoke again.
"Whitney…get in the car." His eyes were strangely warm, so was the hand over his. It tightened, and Whit nodded, followed him out to the parking lot. What else could he do?
The ride to the Luthor mansion was silent—nothing broke the quiet until Lex pulled his car into a garage that was bigger than Whit's whole house. He said, "You have to tell me everything. I promise, you'll feel much better when you've unburdened yourself." Again Lex was silent, walking away without checking to see if Whit followed. Whit climbed out of the low vehicle and swallowed hard. Nerves made his mouth dry—fear made his mouth dry. He had no idea what was in store for him but the look into Lex's eyes had warned him, it was bound to be unpleasant. Maybe he deserved it to be.
******
"Who did it? No one is talking…I'd like to know who actually participated and to what degree in case I change my mind about being merciful."
Whit shook his head fearfully, remembering the elegant threatening notes that held not the slightest promise of mercy in them. "You—you ruined them—all of them, the boys on the team. The ones in the cornfield..."
"All of them? Not you. No, you're special." Lex moved around his office, and Whit watched him warily. He was living some Discovery Channel episode, one where the lions stalk and kill a gazelle, moaning with bloody jaws into the night. Lex smelled like expensive cologne, but it was easy to imagine him smelling of blood.
Lex set a short thick glass in front of him, and golden liquid coated the insides as he tilted it. He sniffed and the scent was sharp and bitter, and it tasted of sharp and bitter, and followed with a burst of sweet heat in his mouth, throat. He drank all of it, sad when there was no more and now Lex's complete attention was on him.
It burned as well.
"You're responsible." He stopped Whit's automatic protest. "You're the captain…the leader. A leader is always responsible for the actions of his subordinates. His…team." Whit watched Lex move like silk, his voice was smooth and light, velvety…his hands were like birds, graceful in their movements…Whit's eyes tracked them; he reached out with both his own hands to capture them. They lay in his, warm and smooth and alive, he felt the blood move under the skin, the beat of it echoed the beat of his heart. The harsh expression on Lex's face changed, becoming almost sympathetic. Lex leaned closer; his breath was warm and sweet. "Tell me everything Whitney. You want to do that, don’t you?"
Yes…
"What really happened Whit, and don’t forget, you're safe—no one else can hurt you here." Lex slipped his hands free and cupped Whit's face, and Whitney told Lex what happened to Clark, tears ran down his cheeks, his voice broke as he told Lex everything that happened to Clark.
"…and then they—they made him do humiliating things…"
"Like what?" Lex's voice was kind and patient, loving--his hands stroked Whit's cheek, thumb wiping wet from his cheekbones…"What did they do?"
"They—made him use--mouth, his mouth, they forced him, and they made him beg them—to—to--come on him, and…"
"And?" The gentle touch, the kind voice, encouraged Whit; he lifted his heavy, heavy head, and moaned.
"They took turns with him. A couple of the guys and me, we left when they started that. It was bad. It was horrible. We ran."
Lex's thin fingers tightened on Whit's jaw, "It was rape," he said, sounding a little distant, thoughtful….
Whit nodded. "Rape." His vision narrowed to a sliver of awareness, he saw only Lex's eyes, icy gray and burning inside, on fire… his eyes were drifting shut, he was warm, floating, safe.
Lex spoke and the voice came from far way. Whitney heard, "But you did nothing to stop it."
The room was spinning, dipping up and down, safety fled, warmth fled…Whit groaned, his guilt so intense it was pain. "Nothing. I did nothing."
Spinning in the velvety dark, and the only thing real was Lex's voice in his ear, moist, hot and Lex's fingers, as they tipped his jaw down, slid into his mouth. Whit tasted salt, felt the edge of Lex's nail on the tender inside of his lower lip. "Open up, Whitney."
Whitney gratefully dropped his jaw. Lex would help him atone….
III
Whit woke up feeling like he did after a tough game. Sore, aching…he felt clammy and sticky at once. He wrinkled his nose. He smelled. He tried to lift his arm, and realized he was stretched across Lex's couch, too heavy to move, too tired. All around him was a low constant whisper of sound--talking, someone was talking, and the voice made his stomach flip and tighten. He forced his eyes open, and Lex was in his line of sight.
"Retribution, Whitney--"
*do you like this?*
"--do you know what that is?"
*you do, don’t you?*
"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord--"
Whit's head pounded, and his tongue felt thick and wooly in his mouth, he wanted to argue, tell Lex that he'd got the meaning wrong…
*that's it. Slow, deep…use your tongue…*
"--for what you did to Clark."
*I'm going to come…ask me. Ask me for it.*
"You took away his trust, his innocence, his virginity…"
*you are a slut. You like that, don’t you.*
"You know, I planned on taking that for myself."
Whit finally felt his brain come together and focus…enough to wonder if he heard Lex right. Before he could move, Lex reached down and pulled Whit upright by his collar and pointed him towards a big screen he hadn’t noticed before he fell asleep…he had fallen asleep, hadn't he?
"Look."
The image flickered in and out from grainy to sharp, the lighting was bad, but sufficient to reveal a man on his knees, his face upturned and eyes closed, his lips were parted in a way that made Whit think of communion, and he cringed. The face on the screen was stippled with pearly drops of come, his chest …one hand was wrapped around his cock. Whit reached down and almost touched himself, felt the echo of a deep ache and…"No. That's not possible. It's not real."
"Oh, sometimes all a person needs is a little push. A little helping hand. I'm very good at that—lending a helping hand."
The scene changed—the cut was jerky and amateurish and Whit had the feeling it was deliberate. Now the man on the screen was bent over a non-descript couch. Hands rested on his ass, slid around to pull him open and pushed oil shiny fingers inside. Whit's ass. Whitney watched himself push back onto the long fingers, moaning and groaning, begging for more. The voice asked, "Does it hurt?"
"Yes," his voice answered, and Whit was shocked at the depth of need in his voice, it was…he couldn't believe he could sound like that, so raw, so wanting. He shivered…even as stiff and sore as he was, his cock tried to lift. Looking at himself, at this impossible angle…it was like looking at a stranger—would be but Lex wouldn't let him forget.
"Your ass was tight, like a glove. Hot. You just sucked me in…"
*"It hurts. Don’t stop. Don't, don’t stop…" *
Whit closed his eyes but the fucking film was like a train wreck—he had to see.
A chuckle floated in the air, and Whit whipped his head towards Lex, who wasn't laughing, but he was smiling. "You son of a bitch—you fucking drugged me—you raped me--"
"Don’t be ridiculous. Look at yourself, Whitney," he pointed, and Whit dragged reluctant eyes back to the screen. "You're doing all the work--you're fucking yourself on my dick like a bitch in heat. How is that me forcing you? How is that anywhere near what it was for Clark?"
Lex sat next to him, and grabbed him high on the thigh, his grip was painful, he was much stronger than Whit expected. He shuddered, tried to turn his head away and Lex slapped him. The sound was like a crack of thunder, his head rocked back and the slap shocked him fully awake. "I asked you, do you think Clark acted like that?" His fingers dug into Whit's chin, and jerked him around to face the screen, Whit had to watch himself, squirming, writhing back against Lex, moaning. "*Answer* me, damn it."
Whit's cheek burned, his vision blurred. He stammered out, "No. No, not Clark. He cried…"
Lex said, "He told me he cried." He pushed Whit flat on the couch. "This is just a start."
"I'll tell my parents, tell the police…"
"Tell them what? That you came to my house to get fucked?" Lex pointed the remote at the screen, raised the sound. The liquid sound of Lex's cock churning in his ass filled the room, and his begging for more, and his gasps and groans, the howl he let loose when Lex told him he was coming, when he came himself…
"How did you make me do that—how, what drug?"
Lex shook his head. "This part you have to remember, Whitney. When I call you, you come. No excuses, no waiting, or this show will be all over town. You'll be known for what you really are."
"But—but—you can't. You're on these films too. Everyone will know."
"Maybe, maybe not. I mean, where is this taking place, Whit? What clues…what reveals where this is taking place?" Lex ran a finger over his upper lip, traced the satisfied upward curve of his mouth. "As for them knowing—isn't this just what they expect of me? My reputation can’t suffer, except for going from bad to worse. In Smallville, I'm the Devil, in Metropolis, I'm eccentric and slightly…" He leaned forward and licked the spot on Whit's cheek that burned still. "…slightly deviant. And above all—I'm really stinking rich."
Whit watched. Lex was right. There was no way to tell where he was, or who he was with. The main focus on the screen was him, on his knees, licking and sucking Lex's cock like he fucking needed it to live. The back ground was dim and featureless. The floor under his knees looked like generic industrial tile—the walls behind him gray painted dry wall, the only thing completely identifiable was himself. Himself, red-faced, and slimy with come and looking a lot like Clark had looked that night except…he was enjoying it….
Whit closed his eyes and moaned. "God, I hate you so much, you fucking bastard."
"Sit up." Lex jerked him upright, pulled him to his feet and unbuttoned his trousers again. He jabbed Whit painfully between his shoulder blades and hissed, "Spread your legs and grab the couch back." Whit did as he asked, he felt weak and drained, so small and he didn't even question that he obeyed Lex without a word…
He gasped as pain bloomed outward from where it centered in his ass. It grew and grew—not unbearable but inescapable, he was being entered, filled again, and his cock grew harder—it wasn't right. Pain transformed into burn, became fullness, heavy and hot inside of him. It moved in and out, and Whit dropped his head and gasped. Vibrations rolled through him and whited out his brain, his eyes rolled back and he almost fell to his knees. Whimpers he couldn't hold back filled his ears, his head dropped to the soft leather couch back. "Oh. God…God…"
A crack of pain ripped him back into the world. Lex swatted his ass again. "Shut up, I have a call to make."
Whit shivered and jerked on the couch and bit his lips, tears leaked out of his eyes as Lex talked to Clark and screwed the vibrator in and out of his quivering ass.
"Clark—yes, it's me." Lex laughed quietly. "It's time for our nightly check in. How was your day? Oh, that's good, Clark. I'm so glad you've decided to go back to school now. I promise it will go well."
Lex's voice was smooth, kind, concerned, never changing, and he drew nails down Whit's legs, pinched bright red weals on his skin…Whit sobbed and shook into the couch pillows, fucked frantically in and out of the hand Lex squeezed around his cock…"No, Clark you're not disturbing me, I was just watching movies. Yes, it is a slow night." Lex's hand on the vibrator jammed forward, sinking more of it into Whitney, Whit drew in a deep shaking breath and let go—silently, needing it, and hating it at once….
He turned his head and caught Lex staring at him, lip drawn back in a snarl, and still, his voice was soft and light as he spoke to Clark. "Go to sleep Clark, I'll call you tomorrow. Good night."
He stood and sneered at Whitney, "You get dressed and get out. I'll call you when I need you."
Chapter Two
I
Whitney spent days in a haze of hatred and anger. He hated Lex Luthor with a passion that made him weak. He thought of revenge--planned it with all the fervor and passion he used to reserve for fantasizing--the revenge he'd take on Lex and Clark because if Lex wasn't obsessed with Clark, Whit wouldn't have to suffer. If Clark had fought back, tried to protect himself….
He waited, it was coming, Lex wouldn't let it go, not like this--he raced for the phone every time it rang, desperate to intercept it, wondering how he would explain to his parents why he was suddenly getting phone calls from Lex Luthor. He worried day and night, dreading Lex's demands, fearing his demands. Days passed, and none came, no word from him and Whit began to unwind. Tentatively, gradually, he let himself believe that it was over. He was safe.
Lex had been satisfied with his humiliation--Lex wasn't going to call. He'd paid the price for Clark's pain. All he had to do now was live with what had happened—just like Clark.
Lex was done with him. He'd been granted reprieve….
Reprieve. What an idiot.
This was Lex Luthor. Lex who had no off button Luthor. Lex wasn't finished, he hadn’t even started. No, Lex was going to contact him in a way that would cause the maximum humiliation.
Whit figured the best he could do was damage control. He checked the mail every day--he woke before his parents and looked for expensive notepaper tucked under the wipers of the cars, or tucked under the door mat, or slid in the door frame…the need for constant vigilance wore him down, leached energy. Made him miserable.
Whit felt like he was being chipped away, bit by bit. On the other hand, Clark Kent seemed to gain--slowly, shyly, Clark was making his way back. Back into school, back into the average kind of life of an average teenage boy. People stopped looking, and stopped looking away, and Clark gradually became just 'Clark' again and not 'that boy.'
Whit watched Clark and the lesson became clear. Day by day Clark stood a little taller, and day by day Whit felt like he was being drawn like wire, thinner and thinner and thinner. With it, understanding came.
All of it came together as he sat alone in a corner of the Talon and watched Clark carefully holding a cup of some nasty looking drink Lex bought him, watched him take a tentative sip and smile—it was a shy, wavering quirk of his lips, but it made Lex glow, and Whitney finally understood what it was he was meant to learn. For Lex, there was Clark--and there was the rest of the world. And the rest of the world barely measured up. He saw what Lex wanted him to see.
When Clark left, Whitney sat at his table, unable to move. He felt as if he was made of concrete and not flesh and bone. Lex weaved his way between the tables, coming slowly towards him. Lex bent over him and said clearly, coolly, "Get in the car."
The four words echoed, filled him like an answer to prayer. Thank God. The fear, the wait that had been steadily grinding him into nothing was over. He felt released…until he was in the front seat of the Porsche and buckled in. He tried to speak, beg for leniency. "Please, don't hurt me," he muttered, feeling like a fool, and Lex laughed.
Clark had begged, too.
Lex brought him to the castle, and he didn't waste time with drinks, there was no play at conversation and better, no accusations, confrontations of guilt.
What happened was straightforward. It was exactly what Lex said it would be. Pain. It was horrible, and mid altering. Pleasure. There was no way that Whitney could hide from his reaction.
Lex touched his skin, and he cried out. He touched him outside, and he touched him inside, and not one fucking bit of it was sweet, or tender. There was not anything about it that was like making love. Lex meant him to be humiliated--he was.
Some strange, horrible transformation was happening inside of him. Somehow Lex had stripped away all his defenses and guards, pulled everything away until all he'd left was a solid ball of want.
It hurt and it…comforted, somewhat. He knew where he stood, and why this happened.
Clark.
******
II
Lights glowed against the dark night sky, wiping out the stars, the band competed with the roar of the crowd—it was chilly but he was burning up, sweating, felt like flying—
This was what drove Whit—coming off the field with the rest of the team like one victorious animal, drinking in the roar of the crowd, swimming through hands reaching out to him, being treated like heroes, wanted, sought after, valued—in the afternoon sun, at night under the field lights, in mud and cold and rain, this was what he loved.
Lex took that first, and twisted it, little by little.
Whit came to know how temporary all of it was, how quickly it could be taken, destroyed. He loved it more because of knowing. Those minutes were gifted him to savor. Even on this night when all his teammates were around him, and their win this evening made the night seem perfect, clear as a jewel, and opportunity limitless, he knew how fleeting it was and that it only took one word.
"Whitney."
The bubble burst, his little victory became pointless, with one word. One word, one look, and everything was nothing, this night, the people, the team, all less than nothing.
"Hey Whit, where you going?"
"No where, gotta go…" Lex was calling.
III
Whitney decided his life was an inverted version of Clark's. Lex did for Whit exactly what he did for Clark, only with different expectations, and different emotions involved. He figured Lex got something out of making certain Whit's life was as normal seeming as…Clark's. Except of course, this boy, he fucked. This was the one he made crawl across his office floor and beg to be fucked, like he wanted Clark to do. But would never ask him to.
'I'll help you with that paper Whit and in return I'll want a blowjob. Dad's business having trouble? I think I can help there, and in return, I'll want you to sit on my dick…sure, I'll donate uniforms to the team and in return…'
'In return, I want to run your life.' Want to control every fucking thing from what he did and who he knew and…how he got off. How he got off.
******
"God, stop hurting me. Stop doing this." He was covered with sweat, come slicked, bitten and worried and bruised. He hadn't been able to undress in front of anyone in months.
At home, he counted bruises in the mirror, obsessively touching, cataloging them. He pressed his own fingers into them, feeling them being made again. Jerk off and jam fingers against the sore points….
Lex laughed. "When you really want me to stop, maybe I will."
Whit cursed. Sometimes he thought the bastard could read minds.
Lex looped two fingers loosely in a ring around Whit's cock, stroked-teased him until Whit was bucking up hard into that loose hold, whining with frustration. "But I don't think you want me to stop. I think you still need it." Fingers mapped the veins tracing his cock; they felt the pulse of his blood. Whit watched him and barely stopped himself from begging…for the moment.
If he couldn’t speak, he had to move, or die--Whit threw his head back and forth on the pillow, sweat flinging from the wet mass of his hair, unable to touch himself because his arms were tied tight to the iron frame of Lex's bed. "I don't, I don't. You did this to me. I used to be happy. I did."
Lex stood and walked away. "I'm sure you were. I don't care."
Whit collapsed against the bed, his cock red and hard and leaking. "…bastard, bastard…I wish…" He closed his eyes and strained to orgasm, almost, almost, almost there…just like it always was with Lex.
IV
"Whitney, the coach called today. You missed practice. Again. What happened? Your dad's angry. You know we're counting on you getting a scholarship. The store's not doing all that well. I might have to go back to full time work…."
Her words washed over him in a tide of senseless sound. Practice…damn it.
"Where were you after school, Whitney?"
"Mom, I felt bad today, I left early to come home, and then I felt too bad to drive, so I pulled off at the lake until I felt better, that's all."
"Why didn’t you tell the coach?"
"I don't know, Mom. I just—didn't."
"What are you going to tell your father?"
"Can't you talk to him, Mom?"
"Whitney…you've got to accept responsibility for your actions."
"Oh, Mom." You have no idea.
He was drowning, sinking without a trace….
V
Light poured in through the windows of the study, purple and red scattered squares across the floor and Whit lay face up in the tinted glow, taut as a bow. Lex touched him and he jerked, the gag cutting into the corner of his lips, his tongue pushing against it uselessly. Lex's fingers stroked over the place inside him that sent electricity though his body, tortured him in a good way, made him dance on the edge. He fucked him with his hand and all the while spoke to his friend, the innocent, the wronged.
"I'm glad to hear school's going much better now. You haven't been by in a while. Let me know when you want to visit. I think I can promise you pizza—all right, I promise, pizza with no artichokes." He laughed, a warm caressing sound that made Whit shiver and arch his back. Lex frowned, twisted his nipples, pulled until the pain made him curl in on himself and Whit couldn't stop the tears squeezing out from under tight shut lids. Pre-come oozed over the hard muscles of his stomach. Lex's hand traced the sticky trail, smeared it into his trembling stomach and licked his fingertips clean.
"I'll talk to you later, Clark. Pleasant dreams." He disconnected, and unbuckled the gag. His thumb traced the red lines that the straps left on Whit's face. "Whitney." It sounded like the same voice he used for Clark, soft, tender, concerned. Whit closed his eyes. He knew, of all people he really knew, what a liar Lex was.
"Whitney." Lex eased inside of him, torturously slow. "Ah, Whit…" Fucked him like he was made of glass. He leaned into Lex's touch, and for a moment, it felt like…caring. A little. The way Lex curled over him. The way he groaned, shook when he came, the way his hands cupped his hips and his thumbs curled in and traced the groove of muscle along his hips. Whitney wanted to ask so badly, wanted to ask if Lex cared at all. Was it still punishment, because it felt like he'd gained some value in Lex's eyes.
It felt like that until Lex said, "You can go now."
Whit laughed, an explosive wild bark, high with anger, hatred of someone whom he had no defenses against. "What if he knew what you were doing while you talked to him? How much would he hate you, then?"
Lex dropped to his knees, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Whit's head up so they were eye to eye. "I don’t know…how would he find out? What would happen to you if he did find out?" He dropped Whit's head and shook blonde hairs from his hands. "I said get out."
In the kitchen doorway, where Clark delivered fresh organic produce for Lex's staff, Lex handed Whit a few bills. "Here. Buy a new shirt. Get a haircut…get new shoes. Something."
Whit stared at the handful of bills, shoved them back at Lex. "Whores get paid."
"And your point--?"
Whit snarled and knocked Lex's hand aside, stalked out of the door. Behind him, he heard Lex his name. "Whitney…" he turned to see Lex, mouth curved in that look of tolerant amusement, throw the bills into the air and shut the door. Whitney walked down the drive, and out to the road, he walked faster and faster until he was running, running all out, and his heart was hammering in his chest, his throat burned…he stumbled to the side of the road and knelt…he cursed and cursed when tears he couldn't stop flowed. Nothing. What was it Lex saw when he was looking at him?
Nothing. He saw nothing.
Chapter Three
I
"Clark, Clark, it's all right, it is. I promise you, it will get better—and you know you can call me any time you need to."
Handcuffs pinched the skin inside his wrists and chaffed when he moved his hands. He was fairly certain Lex would loosen them if he said, but he kept quiet and watched Lex's face change, soften, as he talked to him. Him. The fucking Him that ruled his life. This fucking game of Lex's…maybe he should tell Clark what was happening, just to save Lex. Save Clark.
His arms were over his head, his knees were up and separated, opening him wide for Lex. He was hard, had been hard since Lex pinned him open in the bed, and now he had to listen to Lex talk to his boyfriend—his boyfriend too stupid to know what was going on. Lex sat on the edge of the bed, traced around the puckered ring of muscle, around and around….
His fingertip slid in and out and Whit jerked, groaned. In, out, twist, stretch and Whit fell out of the world. Fuck Clark, he wasn't here, he'd never be here and no matter what Lex said, he wanted Whit here. Needed him here. This spot was only ever going to be his…
Fingers slid in and moved and Whit dropped his head back and jerked again…Lex hit that spot again, and again, and Whit shuddered—every nerve was on fire. Electric sparks lit him. Lex's fingers inside him, around his cock, trailing fingers through the precome.
Lex's eyes were locked on him, tracking back and forth from his face, to his fingers in his ass. Their eyes met, and Whit groaned, pushed upwards to meet Lex's stroke and Lex eyelid's fluttered when Whit squeezed down around his fingers. When Lex answered whatever stupid question Clark asked him, he stuttered.
Whit heard him, smiled. Lex stuttered.
II
The library was dark, and cool, and smelled of old paper and leather, generations of lemon polish. The old card catalog still stood against the back wall of the reading room, not performing any function now but to look scholarly. He sat in a sprung leather chair, one of a few scattered across the wooden plank flooring of the reading room—the only corner in the library that had yet to fall victim to remodeling.
The chair gripped him like a hug, and he nodded over the magazine in his lap. Sleep escaped him at home—at night. He slept sometimes after Lex. Slept. Passed out.
A shadow fell across the magazine, and Whit looked up with a wry smile, ready, but it was--"You."
Clark stared down at him. "When did you and Lex become friends?"
"Friends? We're not friends."
"You're over there a lot. I see you in his car." Whit watched his face, his open oh so readable face and it was there, 'you're over there and I'm not'. Clark. Whit smothered a smile. He didn't even know he was jealous.
"So? Sometimes he brings me there to work on the cars. Part time work--"
Clark scowled. "That doesn't make any sense…" he shook his head and walked away, Whit heard him say, "He knows what you did, why's he being nice to you…"
He sat in the chair, alone. What the hell was Lex doing? This game was starting to topple. Clark was going to be hurt, and if that happened, Whit wasn't sure where the game would stop.
He was pretty fucking sick of being a sacrifice to Clark's happiness...
III
Lex drove and Whit sat next to him, far as he could get in the small space, just the way Lex liked it. It was one of those nights that Lex would come and pick him up and they'd just drive around aimlessly, for hours sometimes. Sometimes, Lex would talk, about anything, life, history, his hopes…he'd talk to him sometimes like he'd forgotten who was in the car…sometimes, it was just a silent drive in the night, like it was tonight….
They drove past farmland in silence, the radio quietly playing something Lex picked for Clark or Clark had picked for him. Mixes he made at night in his room, no doubt, all full of confusion and repressed homoerotic longing—Whit laughed.
Lex reached over and turned the radio off.
"Why'd you do that?" Whit grinned. Lex reached over and wrapped leather clad fingers around his kneecap and squeezed. Whit groaned quietly and Lex said, "You need to remember what part you play in my life."
"I *am* a major part of your life. Why can't you accept it? You'll never get---never..."
"You. You forget what you are here."
"Oh, go on, tell me how unimportant I am. Tell me and maybe I'll believe you."
They drove on in silence through the night.
IV
Clark walked into the study with a smile. "Lex!"
"Clark!" Lex imitated Clark's tone of voice, effected a look of surprise and Clark grinned wider.
"They told me you were working in the study. Gee, you really need to lighten up, you know? Take a break from time to time."
"Well," Lex smiled, "I'm wondering how it is that you have so much free time, for all the chores you have to do, plus school work."
Clark blushed and looked away. "It's…not that much work."
Lex's face closed down. "Of course not."
Clark offered compromise, and apology. "Can we—do you feel like a game of pool?"
"Actually, that sounds perfect." And Lex forgave him again. "Whit, when you're done here, make sure you take your equipment with you."
"Sure, Lex. We can work out those…kinks later."
Clark jerked in surprise, and looked into the corner where Whit stood, clutching a gym bag and sneering.
"Whit's helping me with weight training, and I'm helping him." Lex shrugged, didn't explain what he was helping Whit with, and Clark didn’t ask. He looked over his shoulder, one quick glance as he walked out of the study, Whit was staring at the floor…
Continued in part two