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roxyTitle: The Persistence Of Vision 3/3
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: 6969
Summary: Whitney subjects Clark to the scarecrow treatment and suffers consequences
Written for thelexslash Challenge: Anyone But Clark
Chapter Seven
I
Clark definitely had to have done something wrong. It was the only explanation for—this. Whit turned from side to side, fascinated by just how not like himself he looked. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was hard to believe how much a simple cut could change the look—it fell over his forehead in a way that made him think of just getting out of bed, and sex and—he pushed his hair back and concentrated on the image in the mirror, himself in a tux.
A tuxedo made just for him.
He couldn't stop looking at himself. He looked…like he belonged to Lex. He had to admit, he looked good. A feeling of triumph swept him. Finally, Lex was finally acknowledging that Whit was something to him.
Of course the tux fit perfectly. Lex wouldn't allow anything else. Whit ran his fingers down the front of the shirt. He'd never in his life worn anything that fit him so well, felt that good against his skin. Rented tuxedos were a thing of the past. He grinned, and pulled a little at his bowtie.
Lex looked at him with approval, and smirked. "You seem a little nervous…here; let me fix your bowtie."
Whitney turned away from Lex to face the full length mirror and ran his hand over the bowtie, straightened it himself. "It's okay."
"Ah. I see it is."
Whit glanced at Lex's image in the mirror, and thought—fuck—he'd failed again somehow. Stepped on another landmine in the minefield that was Lex's personal relationships. He sighed and turned back to Lex.
Lex put his hands in his pocket and rocked back, looked Whit up and down, his eyes came to rest at a spot between Whit's chin and his collarbone. "I knew it would fit. You look…very good." He reached out and touched fingertips to Whit's cheek and without thought Whit leaned into it. Lex tried to be subtle about pulling away.
II
The sun had set and it was very much cooler than it had been in the afternoon—Whit caught the coat Lex tossed him and was glad for it, the chill breeze just starting to pick up warned it was going to be a cold evening. They walked together to the limousine and Whit held the door open for Lex, and Lex smiled.
"You know the driver does that, don't you?"
"I don’t care, I wanted to do it for you," Whit replied as they settled themselves in the car. When Lex was relaxed, poured gracefully over the wide deep seat across from him, Whit said, "Can I ask what's going to happen now? Are you kidnapping me?"
Lex laughed. "Yes and in a way. I couldn't stand the thought of attending this charity event tonight alone and I'm very not interested in taking a woman…leads to danger and misunderstanding. I find my life in danger all together too frequently, and women sometimes mistake my curiosity for intention." He smiled, a slow lazy smile that had Whit immediately on edge. Lex smiled wider, and slid his foot free of his shoe, and slowly drew it up the inside of Whit's thigh. When Whit shuddered, Lex's eyes narrowed, he smiled the little twisted smile Whit knew was his alone.
"Yeah…and I'm not going to look weird walking in with you—what am I tonight? An old school buddy or something?"
Whit was trying for cocky, attempting to imitate that dry quality Lex had, but his voice broke a little when Lex's foot rubbed the top of his thigh, and gently pressed against his cock. Whit hissed and his knees spread like reflex. He slid down a little in the seat, spreading his knees wider and Lex's smile grew.
"They're boring, these charity events. They're designed to assuage rich man's guilt, 'help' the 'little people' but most of all, make contacts." At 'contacts' he kneaded Whit's rapidly hardening length. Lex sighed. "It's almost always about work, about business, no matter what we do." He rubbed harder, nudged Whit's balls with the tips of his toes and Whit dropped his head back and moaned quietly. "It's always business, Whitney." He continued to rub, and press, and Whit was uncomfortably hard in his pants, and in a minute he'd be uncomfortably wet in his pants. A tremor shook him—his cock jerked and was pressed by Lex's foot again. "Do it, Whitney. Let me see you."
Whit unzipped, pulled himself out. He spit in the palm of his hand and took a few strokes, before settling into a rhythm that would bring him off fast. Lex watching him would guarantee that he come fast.
The soft music playing in the background disappeared, the low gold light was gone, there was nothing in the world but the sound of his breathing, of Lex's, the slap of his hand over his leaking cock. His pants were at his knees and for a moment he worried about creasing the perfect trousers. And then, Lex was leaning over him, eyes closed and mouth wide, letting his cock slide into his throat. Whit groaned loud, all worry about being overheard gone. "Lex, oh god--" Lex's hands on his thighs kept him from moving, he twisted his tongue around and around the head of his cock, and Whit felt it building, an orgasm that was going to rip him apart. The feeling spiraled higher and higher, his cock jerked and jumped and Lex moaned in approval.
"Yeah, I'm gonna come in your mouth—ready—ah!" His eyes slammed shut, and Lex's hands pressed him hard into the seat. The only thing that moved was his cock, exploding in the wet heat of Lex's mouth.
For a few incredible seconds, he was gone, drenched in bliss. Lex tapped him on the knee to call him back, squeezed Whit's thigh. He leaned over and sucked a bite/kiss against the inside of his thigh, Whit's soft cock nuzzled against Lex's cool cheek. They were quiet for a minute, Whit kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the lazy moment.
"Ready for my turn?" Lex asked and Whit nodded, careful not to show how eager he was to taste Lex.
Lex removed his pants and folded them carefully and set them aside, preserving the knife sharp creases...Whit supposed the sight of Lex, impeccably dressed from the waist up, naked from the waist down, cock hard and bobbing between his shirt tails should have been funny but it wasn't. It made Whit ache--want him more.
"Turn around, Whit." He rolled a rubber down over himself and whispered, "Come here, sit on my dick." He laughed at himself. "Reliving my errant youth…it's been along time since I've fucked anyone in the back of a car."
"Idiot." Whit let out a breath he'd been holding, and worked his way down on Lex's cock, exhaling on each downward push, until every bit of Lex was inside him, he felt his smooth, warm skin against his ass—groaned when Lex flexed, worked his hands under Whit's shirt, slid down over his ribs…grabbed his hips. He felt Lex's mouth against the back of his neck…
"I'm watching…you're amazing." He felt Lex's fingers trace where they joined and Lex moaned, moved and Whit didn’t feel anything else anymore except the slide of Lex inside, hot and heavy, making him feel like he was burning up.
Shock after shock hit him, curled and burned inside him; he could hear the noises he made, needy, desperate….
"Shit! Careful, don't mess up—unh—jacket," Lex hissed as Whit clamped down on him.
"No talking," he growled. "Just fuck me."
Lex chuckled breathlessly, and fucked him, hard, fast, and in moments, he was trying to arch under him. Whit wanted to come, his body tried, every time Lex hit that spot inside him that flooded his senses, made electricity spark under his skin, he wanted to come. "I can't, I can’t—"
Lex groaned and whispered in his neck. "I don’t want you to; I want you to want me all night." He grunted, pulled Whit against him. Locked his arms around him and came with a breathy hiss. Whit threw his head back, concentrated on the sharp gasp against his neck, the rapid beat of Lex's heart against his back, the throb of his cock inside of him.
They redressed, Whitney eased back into the pants like he was pulling burlap on, he felt too tender, sore, empty--and the way Lex kept smiling at him--it made him want to scream, beg for more. He knew Lex could see how much he wanted. And that Lex loved it.
III
He was wildly hypersensitive to Lex's touch, Lex's smell, Lex's warmth…he was hard most of the evening, couldn't keep from shaking when Lex brushed up against him, and every so often, he shoved some weird thing masquerading as food into his mouth to muffle a moan. He gasped aloud once when Lex fed him something creamy on a cracker, and wiped it from the corner of his mouth. His cock twitched when he watched Lex lick it off his thumb.
The bastard was enjoying every bit of the twisted torture he was putting him through. The fucker was *trying* to make him drop to his knees in front of these people and beg for his cock…Whit savagely bit down on some sort of fruit appetizer and chewed furiously. He knew Lex pretty well by now, he knew when he was being tortured.
What had that god-damn Kent done, that his scapegoat had to suffer for it now?
Lex left him and circulated, and after a few minutes disappeared through a door with a man Whit hadn't been introduced to. Whit relaxed, grateful for the chance to breathe…people drifted past him, tried to engage him in conversation, but he turned them away--smoothly, thanks to what he'd learned from Lex. He kept his eyes on the closed doors.
An hour passed before they exited, and Lex had the same blank expression, the kind of look he got sometimes after Clark left….
Whit waited while he worked his way back towards him, slowly, leisurely, calculated to make him angry, Whit knew—it worked. Lex passed him, cocked an eyebrow, and Whit sighed and silently followed him to where ever he wanted him to be.
They stopped in a shadowed area outside of the ring of light thrown by patio lanterns, and Lex told him to wait. "I'll be right back."
Whit rolled his eyes, but he waited, and this time, Lex was true to his word. When he came back, he carried a flute of champagne for him, a little cookie topped with a dollop of chocolate cream, and a warm smile, just for him. "Here," he whispered into his ear. "I think you'll like this very much."
Whit dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, for whatever fucking thing that happened, that required punishment, sorry for everything.
Lex looked at him, his face a blank mask. "You have nothing to apologize for," Lex said. "I need you to help me. Are you willing?"
The ice in Whitney's chest thawed instantly, all he heard was, 'I need you'. "Of course, what can I do?"
Lex turned him towards the patio doors. "That man by the table? He and I have been in negotiations for some time. I need his business; this merger needs to be painless. I have something he wants—you."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim wallet. "Here." He said, "This is cab fare…" he held out a fan of bills. "Will you take it or are you going to throw this at me?" His eyes gleamed as though they were sharing a private joke, but Whit didn’t find the reference amusing….Lex's eyes softened. "Come back to the penthouse after…"
Whit nodded, and kept nodding and thought to himself it felt just like drowning, like he was sinking under water and his lungs were filling. Nothing had ever changed, and he'd always been less than nothing. He was just another one of Lex's things. Lex's toys. He was sinking deeper and deeper, and he was getting cold. If he was very lucky, he'd die right here in front of Lex, who was watching him like he was a particularly interesting specimen of something. He was beyond speech, intelligent thought, beyond anything. Lex took his speechlessness as acquiescence. He tucked the bills onto Whit's pocket, and said, "Go on. Go on with him." He looked squarely into Whit's eyes. "It's only one night, Whitney. What difference does a single night make, right?"
Whit felt like throwing up. He swallowed, hard. His lips parted…closed.
"Yes? Did you have something to say?"
Whit shook his head, and a hysterical giggle climbed into his throat. I can't talk, he thought, and bit his lip to stop it bubbling up. I'm stuffed with hay.
Lex tilted his head, and stood aside, watching…waiting….
Whit took a deep shaky breath, grateful for air at last, and hating, so much. He hated Clark so much he felt it like boiling water on his skin. Lex wouldn’t ever trade Clark off like this. But Clark was the magic one, wasn't he? Clark was sacred and everyone else was just so much meat….
"It's just business." He walked forward, smiling, looked back at Lex once, a quick glance. He looked like he'd been stabbed.
IV
In the cab, he thought, 'I can stop this, anytime I want.' Walking behind the man into an apartment building, he thought, 'I can just walk away, just leave….'
He asked, so Whit went down on him in the elevator. They stepped out into an apartment that Whit knew was not the man's home. Whit checked his watch—it was barely curfew and at home, everybody was probably just coming out of the movies, or the Beanery, they were getting into cars and heading out to the lake to mess around, make out, drink beer. Guys and their girls, having fun, thinking they were in love…the taste of champagne in his mouth was a distant memory.
And here he was in Metropolis, getting fucked by a stranger because he was stupid enough to not want to mess up something for a jerk he thought…he'd meant *something* to. Getting fucked because he was stupid enough to still feel something for *him*.
When he left the guy's apartment, he asked him for a hundred dollars. The guy looked surprised "--I thought Lex took care of that—" and then he smiled. "It's okay. It was worth it. Consider it your tip."
Whit gently fended off questions about his telephone number, did he want to get together again, ignored hopeful eyes and graciously accepted the guy's business card, and left him smiling. The guy waved at him as the elevator doors closed….
If he saw Lex at all in the next couple of hours—days—he'd *kill* him.
He rode the elevator down, and fingered the bills in his designer made trousers. He glanced at his reflection in the elevator's glass wall, tousled blonde hair, lips red and swollen, a furtive look. He hardly recognized himself. He wondered if he looked like that leaving the castle… 'That's face of a serious nutcase,' he thought. He stood taller; he ran fingers through his hair, straightened his tie, his shirt, re-buttoned the jacket and stepped out onto the lobby floor with his head high. At least some of the lessons Lex taught him were beneficial.
Once on the street, he took a cab, but only as far as the bus station rising like a glass and dirt incrusted island in the dark. Whit stepped out onto the diesel scented street, and risked breathing deeply, and felt finally, like he *could* breathe.
He counted the remainder of the bills. Two hundred dollars—he inhaled air, drew it deep into his lungs…it was time to go home.
He sat on one of the plastic seats bolted to the wall outside the station and wolfed down a hotdog while waiting for the bus to Granville. He glowered at people walking by—he knew he looked out of place, a kid in a tux that probably cost their salary, chugging pop…
The bus ride home was the polar opposite of the limo ride into the city. Loud, a little cold, the air smelled of diesel and people… he watched the lights fly by in the dark, his head pressed against the chilly bus window. The expensive bowtie was wadded in a lump, smeared with mustard, and shoved in one pocket. His cuffs hung wide below the jacket sleeves—the cufflinks were somewhere on a street in Metropolis, and he hoped they cost a fucking ton. Most of the 'cab fare' Lex gifted him was still in his pocket—and when he got home he planned to go through the rest of the cash--get so fucking drunk, it'd take him a week to sober up.
He swallowed and grimaced--the pop had done nothing to take the taste of come out of his mouth.
He laid his head against the window again, and kept breathing, measured even breaths, just to be sure he was alive.
V
The bus stopped in the black of the Smallville countryside. He got out at the crossroads on the edge of town, and when the lights on the back of the bus dwindled to small glowing eyes in the distance, he started walking, down the road, past the fields, over Loeb Bridge. He stopped for a moment, just to spit in the water, and walked on. He passed Main and headed out towards the new development. An hour later, he crossed over to the street that turned into a tree lined road, and that road led to a clutch of houses that had once been upscale until the newest development opened.
He was wincing and limping by the time he got to the house, somewhere on the driveway he'd kicked off the fancy useless shoes Lex had him wear. His parents were asleep. He walked through the house, to the kitchen, grabbed a few beers from the fridge. He went out to the back yard and sat on the picnic table his dad had made a few years back, when he was still in good enough shape to do stuff like that.
He sat drinking cheap beer, it was not even close to being as good as the stuff he drank at Lex's, but it was ice cold….Whit laughed out loud. Earlier in the evening, he'd been drinking shit that cost as much as his car, probably. He was wearing fucking *underwear* that cost more than the clothes he'd left at Lex's. He got driven into Met in the back of a fucking limo that was fancier than his house—and came back on a bus—he laughed again—and then, walked all the fucking way from town back home….
Whit was laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He pulled off the jacket, rubbed his face dry on it and threw it on the ground in front of him.
He jerked off in the dark. His nose was running, his eyes were still running and he grunted quietly as he came, letting come drip all over the fine gauge wool of the tuxedo.
He lay back on the rough wood table, his hands crossed over his stomach. He wiped his hands on the legs of the tux and figured, tomorrow, he'd bring it back to Lex and then, he could rot the fuck in hell for all he cared, the lying, backstabbing, twisted sick motherfucker.
Chapter Eight
I
"What you did hurt…it hurt like…I can't even begin to describe what that felt like. But you know don't you, because it hurt you just as much as it hurt me, you dumb fuck. The tux is in the garage, thanks for letting me get that far in your house. I hope that fucking kid finds it, you son of a bitch. I won’t bother you again—and you'll have to find someone else to work your frustrations out on, because if you were trying to drive me off, well guess what asshole, it worked. Don’t ever call me, don't try to apologize. This is it. Lex—all debts paid off. Don't come near me. Ever."
II
Night, in bed, and he listened to the sounds of his houses. The noise it made as it cooled, the hum of the television, the low murmur of his parents voice. The phone on his nightstand vibrated, but he ignored it. It could only be Lex….
He lay awake all night, and by morning, his mind was made up. He saw his path clearly.
His mom and dad were shocked at first, but his dad came around a lot quicker than Whit thought he would, and even seemed to be proud of his choice. They spoke more often now, and it was easier. Whit thought how weird it was that this brought them together, closer than football ever did. He realized that a part of his dad resented him succeeding at something that was out of his reach, had always been—but this…this was something his dad really understood.
So—his mom and dad knew, and through some odd twist of fate or the universe spitting in his face again—so did Clark. He asked him not to tell anyone else. Clark seemed used to speaking in code; it was plain to Whit that he knew instantly that by 'anyone', Whit meant Lex.
He'd run into Clark outside of the store, and some how, ended up having a conversation about his future with a guy who had the most to gain by Whit losing everything…and felt more comfortable talking to Clark than he had anyone else.
"Why, Whitney? You have a scholarship to MetU, a great chance at pro ball. You're leaving in a few weeks. I guess it's not my place to question you, but I gotta say, I don’t understand it."
"It's just what I need to do, Clark." He sighed. "I think it's the right thing for me."
They walked along quietly for a bit and then Clark said, "Lex has been talking about moving back to Metropolis in September. Did you know that?"
Whit had the sensation of plunging into an ice bath, but his expression didn't change and his voice was even and casual. "No, why should I? He's Lex Luthor. He doesn't exactly unburden himself to me. Not like he does to you."
Clark cast a quick guilty glance at Whit, and slowed until Whitney had to slow too. Whit could barely hear Clark when he spoke. In a low, careful voice, he said, "I don’t want him to go."
Whit smiled. "Well, you better let him know that, Clark. I'm sure he wouldn't dream of leaving Smallville once he knew that."
III
It was the morning he was leaving for boot camp. His papers were in an envelope on his bed, and everything else he needed was on his back. He stared at himself in his dresser mirror, ran his hands through his thick mop of hair, a little unruly as it outgrew the haircut Lex had ordered for him. He pulled it tight against his head, trying to picture himself with no hair. He dropped his hands and laughed. He never thought of himself as vain, but it was surprising how much the thought of losing all his hair bothered him. After all, losing his hair was nothing--in a few days, he was going to be a whole new person, with a whole new life, a whole new direction…he took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. He gathered his papers, and looked around his room, the room he'd slept in for eighteen years, the room he dreamed his little kid dreams in and planned his grown life in. He looked, and was surprised how little it bothered him to be leaving it. He shut the door and headed for the stairs.
IV
His parents saw him off to the station, and left before the bus came, just as he asked them to. He didn't want to make a scene, he told them. His dad winked and led his red-eyed mother away…looked a little red around the eyes himself. Whit watched them drive off, and wondered if he'd cry, later….
"Hello."
He smiled. He should have known—Clark always showed up when he most wanted him not to. "Checking to see I'm really leaving town, Kent?"
"You still haven't told him." His tone was almost accusing, and Whit rolled his eyes. What did this guy want? Whit rubbed his face and finally—gave in.
"If I told him, he'd stop it. Stop me." It was the closest Whit could come to telling Clark that yes; he and Lex had been—were--something.
Clark looked torn between smiling and scowling. "He would. He's a force of nature. He has powers…"
"Let's hope he only uses them for good." He laughed a little. The bus was coming, he heard the sound of it's engine in the distance. Clark turned to Whit with eyes that looked a little guilty, a little relieved.
"Clark…do me a favor. I need you to look after Lex until I get back. You know he needs watching."
Clark looked flustered "Oh. Whit, I…I'm…"
"Promise." Whit felt a flicker of guilt, but just the barest flicker. Clark was almost too easy…he blushed and stared at the ground. The bus finally pulled up, and the door opened with a gasp, and Whit waited. "Clark?"
"I promise." he said, he looked pained, and guilty, so guilty, but he nodded.
Whit nodded too, turned and climbed aboard. He turned back to Clark, looked into his eyes, really looked, and said slowly, "Be careful, Clark." He seated himself, looked out the bus window. Clark was still standing on the curb. The bus started to pull out, and Clark waved at him once, turned to leave. Whit wanted to laugh.
He was always watching Clark walk away.
V
Lex was frozen in place, hands clasped on his desk, smile pasted on his rigid face. "I'm sorry…what?"
"Didn’t you know he left?"
No, he hadn't. It wasn't odd for Whit not to call—he had a temper. He'd been…insulted. More than that. And now, he was in the position of trying to figure out how to get Whitney back without giving anything away. In fact, he was wondering if it might not be worth it to—to beg. A little.
Lex stared up at Clark and thought, how could Whit do this? Not to him, he owed him nothing—but to his family. To himself. He tried to pull his expression into something approaching normal. "No, why should I?"
Clark nudged the Ledger article closer. "I figured it was okay to talk about it now that everyone knows."
Lex snagged the article and pulled it closer. Clark knew all along, and he hadn't said a word? The picture of Whit in his dress uniform, his cap covering the lack of hair, his all American, peach and cream, non-exotic, corn-fed good looks made the rest of the article seem inconsequential. There was a brief blurb about his graduation, nothing more. "Thanks Clark, I'll let Enrique know to take his name from the staff roster," he lied smoothly.
Clark made a sound of surprise, he looked at Lex with a hint of anger in his eyes. "Come on, Lex."
"Clark, what is it about this that seems to be angering you? I confess, I have no idea…though that does seem par for the course lately."
Clark was actually glowering, Lex noted. "He kept telling me you guys weren't friends. I thought he was finally telling me the truth when he left, when he asked me to watch over you…"
Lex was startled as much by the pain he felt as by the notion that Whit cared, even a little…after all that…
Failed.
He failed Clark, he failed Whit, he failed himself because he refused to see. And now Whit was off being a grown up, and he was still in Smallville like an idiot, letting these good people try to kill him with the power of their brains--the weight of their contempt.
He turned his chair to face the windows, and watched clouds high above move ponderously, darkly across the sky. Rain spattered against the windows, running in wide rivulets over the glass —the ground would be wet…
The salt of the earth, these people. The heart of America's heartland. Close to the earth, the rhythms of the seasons—simple, direct, pure and certain in their hatreds. Full of self righteousness, and bigotry and narrow-mindedness…he eased his aching fist open, and let the crumbled paper drop to the table…he stood and looked out of the windows that faced the drive. Clark was down there, standing on the drive, rain turning his hair in long ebony ringlets. He seemed about to turn his head, to look up at the windows…Lex blinked, closed his eyes for the barest of seconds and when he opened them again, Clark was gone. Of course.
Like Whitney. At least, *he'd* had the sense to leave when it got to be too much. Lex leaned his forehead against the cool glass, eyes tracing the path of water down the tinted panes. He wished he had an ounce of the guts that Whitney had, wished he was a quarter as brave…that he had the strength to break away, no matter how much it hurt, or the pain it caused.
When he closed his eyes at night now, the face behind his eyelids was Whit's, and that was just…not fair.
VI
Whit crawled along the roadside; the overturned truck lay a few feet behind them on the road. The driver was dead—Whit rubbed viciously at his streaming nose, his burning eyes--he doubted he'd ever forget the smell of burning flesh….
Bauer staggered past him, and Whit grabbed his arm. "This way—towards the river. The reeds'll provide some cover…"
Bauer looked doubtful, but he was moving behind Whit "This is pointless, Fordman," he gasped. "Base thinks we're dead. Fuck, we're *gonna* be dead."
Another soldier came up behind them, moved with them. "Jesus! Shut the fuck up, Bauer. Fordman says we'll make it, then we'll make it." Smith scrambled down the side of the hill, and they hit the river, slogged into the water and whatever cover the reeds could give them. Whit waited a beat, but Smith shook his head. "We're it—the other guys are dead."
"Told you," Bauer gasped. "We're all dead."
"Fucking shut up about dying. We're gonna make it back home, you hear me? I'm gonna get back to—to--my folks. To Kansas."
"Motherfuck, Fordman. If I have to hear about wonderful, magical fucking Smallville, Kansas one more fuckin'ass time--"
Whit laughed breathlessly, winced as the movement made his ribs ache. They slogged on, the stagnant water drenching them. He glanced around and willed his ears to pick up sound all around him—he prayed that he'd hear the sound of rotors chopping at the air—prayed they'd be found by their own…
Explosions, one after another, echoed behind them, and Whit snatched at the soldier's arm next to him, "Move faster damn it—move it!"
They tried to run, the muck of the river bottom sucked at their boots, the water rose from their calves to their knees to mid waist, and Whit tried to urge them on faster. Now bullets zinged around them, hissed through the water—"Snipers."
He yelled into Bauer's ear, "We've got to get to the next ridge—scouts should be able to see the flare from there…."
Bauer nodded, "Yeah, that and a bloody fucking miracle will get us out of here."
"Don't give in, okay. Come on, just--"
The air vibrated, the ground shook—it was suddenly midnight. Whit's ears rang. The cloud of debris that blocked the sun settled.
"Aw, fuck!" Bauer screamed--eyes wide and locked on the ragged tear in his pants leg, watching blood pump in a steady stream. Whit glanced. He didn’t have to look closer to know it wasn't good. No point in talking about it.
"You're okay; you're going to be okay. Keep moving. Smitty, get up here--"
Another explosion tore any other sound out of the world. Whit glanced back to see Smith go down. Bauer began to cry, clutching at Whit's arm. "We're going to die; we're fucking done for--"
"No one's gonna die! I promise!" Whit had no idea if he heard him; Bauer suddenly went boneless in his arms. He slid out of his grip and Whit grabbed for him and then the whole world blew up in his face. Over, he thought, and it was.
Chapter Nine
I
Whitney was dead. There was no body, they found nothing. He was gone into the air of some distant country…Lex watched Smallville mourn a native son, one of thousands lost on foreign soil. They remembered him, forgot everything but the good, but Lex held all of it, and treasured everything about Whitney, and decided. It wasn't enough.
What Lex decided would only seem obvious and workable to Lex, to an acquisitive, possessive mind, someone convinced of being above the law--of *being* the law.
Lex didn’t feel bad about that, he saw it as some of his better qualities. It was what was going to bring Whit back. To him.
II
"No one is coming for you, it seems. I guess you just don’t count for much, do you?"
Whit never figured a ransom would be paid. He knew that once captured, he'd be on his own—they had no official presence here and he knew he was dead the moment he'd been taken captive; he was just waiting for the day it became…official.
The slap dropped him to the floor, and sent jagged bolts of pain ripping from jaw to eye socket. The wound reopened and fresh blood ran. At least he wasn't going to die of infection, he thought. Today, it seemed, was the day.
They marched him out to the edge of what was left of the village, and made him kneel in a muddy field. The damp ground seeped through the knees of his BDUs. He looked up at the afternoon sun, the last one he'd ever see, and thought of Clark, for some odd reason. Clark kneeling in a wet farmer's field in the dark, ringed by a circle of tormentors. Whit looked around at the circle of armed men, and realized—he'd never apologized to Clark for what happened. He'd only apologized to Lex…
Tears filled his eyes, and someone jeered, called him a coward—they beat him. Through a haze of pain one thought was clear. This was payment. For what he'd done to Clark, for falling in love with Lex, for letting himself be betrayed by him. It had been a long round-about journey, but he was at the end now. He was sorry for what he'd done and for what he didn’t do. And if he had another chance, he'd fucking choose to be with Lex. He'd choose it again and again, if he had the chance....
He tried to laugh, spit out a wet gurgle as gray flashes crowded the sun out of his eyesight…shots rang out and he closed his eyes and waited.
"Fordman—Whitney Fordman? Get up."
He was yanked to his feet, his chin jerked up and twisted this way and that—opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a stranger. An American.
"That's him. Let's go."
Behind him, Whit heard the thump of explosives going off. He was dragged between two men, and then, lifted off, a dizzying flight into the air. He was in a black helicopter; sandwiched between black-dressed men—he snorted—he was being kidnapped by aliens? By…men-in-black? Why the fuck not?
The urge to laughter faded as he realized his situation might not have changed at all; that the men weren't regular military…they were the kind of soldiers anyone could hire for the right money.
The man who seemed to be in charge grinned at him, passed him a plastic bottle of water, and shouted over the noise, "Hello, Fordman. Ready to go home?" The bottle was impressed with the LexCorp logo.
He smiled wide, even though it hurt—what the hell, it was funny. He should have known Lex wouldn't really let him go.
III
"Why? Why did you rescue me—go through all that *expense* to fucking come after me? Do you think I've forgotten anything?"
Lex leaned forward and spoke so softly that only Whit could hear. "Because I love you."
"Fucking liar. You don't try to *destroy* the person you love."
Lex tilted his head, and looked at Whit like he was waiting for something to happen. "Well, that depends on what you think love is. If you think it's dancing in a meadow, holding hands and spewing declarations of undying loyalty, than I guess I'm going to continue to severely disappoint you."
"But that's just how you love Clark, isn’t it? Undying love, and putting him on a pedestal and treating him like a fucking…princess."
Lex nodded. "True, And yet the fact remains I love you. I *chose* you."
Whit turned his face away, turned to the side, pressed his cheek against the stiff pillow casing. "You mean you lost, and I'm all you have left."
Lex moved closer to the bed, stroked the pillow case as if it was Whitney's cheek. "Whitney….it's true, and it's not. Clark's not gone, but I admit he might as well be. Whatever might have been between us never really had a chance. Not when he kept things from me, not when I kept things from him." He smiled and his hand drifted down the twisted side of Whit's face. "Not like you Whit. You never hid anything from me. You never kept a single thing."
Whit closed his eyes, and shuddered. "How could I? You made me give it all."
"Whit, Whitney…does it matter how? You did. And I loved how you gave so much. I want a chance to give as much to you." Lex continued, a fingertip stopping briefly in a newly made dimple, before ghosting over a raw track outlining the curve of his jaw. "I'm serious when I tell you that I love you."
"You're fucking hopeless." Whit growled. "I hate you."
For the first time since coming into the sterile little room, Lex smiled a genuine smile, one that warmed his eyes and made him flush slightly. "You know, in some cultures saving your life means I own you." He laid his hand on Whit's head, rubbed the close shorn stubble of his blonde hair.
"You see? You don't listen. Hopeless, clueless…"
"I can bring you home, for real. Back to Metropolis with me."
Whit grimaced. "Four years, Lex. I still owe four years of my life."
"Whitney." Lex shook his head and smiled, sadly, gently. "You don’t exist. You can be whoever you want, wherever you want…come back with me. Please."
Anyone he wanted to be…a new life…the opportunity to win back what he'd lost to Lex…Whit looked into Lex's eyes. "All right. I'll come back with you."
"I love you. Believe it."
Whit nodded. "I do."
Epilogue
Years later, on a cold, rain soaked night, while following Lex's tall, black clad figure out of the lobby of the Persian Hotel, some sort of Smallville learned radar, not quite faded away, made the back of his neck prickle…he glanced to the left, and saw him standing in the shadows. Whit smiled a little. He looked exactly the same--perfectly the same.
Whitney knew that the same could not be said for him. Tiny lines spidered out from the corners of his eyes, heavier lines curved around his mouth. He'd long ago filled out his lanky teenage frame, and in the cold, his leg hurt, his hands, even with the joints that Lex had replaced.
Lex was almost as unchanged as Clark; his skin was smoother, if that was possible. Freckles fewer, and he missed them…but the trade off was mapping the fine texture of Lex's so subtly changed skin. Sweat slick and gliding against his own, it was almost enough to make him come, that marble smoothness pressed against his cock; against his mouth…he felt himself stir and shook his head. Lex…he'd never be able not to want him.
Lex turned to Whit, eyes only on him. "He's out there isn't he?"
Whit nodded.
"Let him look. It doesn’t matter." Lex reached up and traced a long seamed scar left by a piece of shrapnel that'd skipped along his cheekbone, very kindly not gouging his eye out. Lex kissed the gnarled path. "It doesn't matter," Lex whispered into his cheek, his warm breath floated over chilled skin and the touch was so sweet, his eyes drifted shut….
Fuck yes it does matter, Whit thought. It mattered that Lex was still with him, loved him enough to stay. Enough to let Clark become a flicker of vision behind his eyelids…
Whit opened his eyes and Lex was already walking towards the open car door, impatiently gesturing. "Hurry up Whitney, before we're soaked through."
Whit risked another backward glance and he saw Clark pushing into the crowds…walking away. He spoke quietly to himself, knowing Clark couldn't hear him. "Keep watching over him, Clark."
9-24-2007
Author:
roxymissrosePairing: Lex/Whitney, Clark
Rating: Adult/nc-17
Warnings: angst, inference of rape, hints of non-con, happy ending
Word Count: 6969
Summary: Whitney subjects Clark to the scarecrow treatment and suffers consequences
Written for the
lexslash Challenge: Anyone But ClarkChapter Seven
I
Clark definitely had to have done something wrong. It was the only explanation for—this. Whit turned from side to side, fascinated by just how not like himself he looked. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was hard to believe how much a simple cut could change the look—it fell over his forehead in a way that made him think of just getting out of bed, and sex and—he pushed his hair back and concentrated on the image in the mirror, himself in a tux.
A tuxedo made just for him.
He couldn't stop looking at himself. He looked…like he belonged to Lex. He had to admit, he looked good. A feeling of triumph swept him. Finally, Lex was finally acknowledging that Whit was something to him.
Of course the tux fit perfectly. Lex wouldn't allow anything else. Whit ran his fingers down the front of the shirt. He'd never in his life worn anything that fit him so well, felt that good against his skin. Rented tuxedos were a thing of the past. He grinned, and pulled a little at his bowtie.
Lex looked at him with approval, and smirked. "You seem a little nervous…here; let me fix your bowtie."
Whitney turned away from Lex to face the full length mirror and ran his hand over the bowtie, straightened it himself. "It's okay."
"Ah. I see it is."
Whit glanced at Lex's image in the mirror, and thought—fuck—he'd failed again somehow. Stepped on another landmine in the minefield that was Lex's personal relationships. He sighed and turned back to Lex.
Lex put his hands in his pocket and rocked back, looked Whit up and down, his eyes came to rest at a spot between Whit's chin and his collarbone. "I knew it would fit. You look…very good." He reached out and touched fingertips to Whit's cheek and without thought Whit leaned into it. Lex tried to be subtle about pulling away.
II
The sun had set and it was very much cooler than it had been in the afternoon—Whit caught the coat Lex tossed him and was glad for it, the chill breeze just starting to pick up warned it was going to be a cold evening. They walked together to the limousine and Whit held the door open for Lex, and Lex smiled.
"You know the driver does that, don't you?"
"I don’t care, I wanted to do it for you," Whit replied as they settled themselves in the car. When Lex was relaxed, poured gracefully over the wide deep seat across from him, Whit said, "Can I ask what's going to happen now? Are you kidnapping me?"
Lex laughed. "Yes and in a way. I couldn't stand the thought of attending this charity event tonight alone and I'm very not interested in taking a woman…leads to danger and misunderstanding. I find my life in danger all together too frequently, and women sometimes mistake my curiosity for intention." He smiled, a slow lazy smile that had Whit immediately on edge. Lex smiled wider, and slid his foot free of his shoe, and slowly drew it up the inside of Whit's thigh. When Whit shuddered, Lex's eyes narrowed, he smiled the little twisted smile Whit knew was his alone.
"Yeah…and I'm not going to look weird walking in with you—what am I tonight? An old school buddy or something?"
Whit was trying for cocky, attempting to imitate that dry quality Lex had, but his voice broke a little when Lex's foot rubbed the top of his thigh, and gently pressed against his cock. Whit hissed and his knees spread like reflex. He slid down a little in the seat, spreading his knees wider and Lex's smile grew.
"They're boring, these charity events. They're designed to assuage rich man's guilt, 'help' the 'little people' but most of all, make contacts." At 'contacts' he kneaded Whit's rapidly hardening length. Lex sighed. "It's almost always about work, about business, no matter what we do." He rubbed harder, nudged Whit's balls with the tips of his toes and Whit dropped his head back and moaned quietly. "It's always business, Whitney." He continued to rub, and press, and Whit was uncomfortably hard in his pants, and in a minute he'd be uncomfortably wet in his pants. A tremor shook him—his cock jerked and was pressed by Lex's foot again. "Do it, Whitney. Let me see you."
Whit unzipped, pulled himself out. He spit in the palm of his hand and took a few strokes, before settling into a rhythm that would bring him off fast. Lex watching him would guarantee that he come fast.
The soft music playing in the background disappeared, the low gold light was gone, there was nothing in the world but the sound of his breathing, of Lex's, the slap of his hand over his leaking cock. His pants were at his knees and for a moment he worried about creasing the perfect trousers. And then, Lex was leaning over him, eyes closed and mouth wide, letting his cock slide into his throat. Whit groaned loud, all worry about being overheard gone. "Lex, oh god--" Lex's hands on his thighs kept him from moving, he twisted his tongue around and around the head of his cock, and Whit felt it building, an orgasm that was going to rip him apart. The feeling spiraled higher and higher, his cock jerked and jumped and Lex moaned in approval.
"Yeah, I'm gonna come in your mouth—ready—ah!" His eyes slammed shut, and Lex's hands pressed him hard into the seat. The only thing that moved was his cock, exploding in the wet heat of Lex's mouth.
For a few incredible seconds, he was gone, drenched in bliss. Lex tapped him on the knee to call him back, squeezed Whit's thigh. He leaned over and sucked a bite/kiss against the inside of his thigh, Whit's soft cock nuzzled against Lex's cool cheek. They were quiet for a minute, Whit kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the lazy moment.
"Ready for my turn?" Lex asked and Whit nodded, careful not to show how eager he was to taste Lex.
Lex removed his pants and folded them carefully and set them aside, preserving the knife sharp creases...Whit supposed the sight of Lex, impeccably dressed from the waist up, naked from the waist down, cock hard and bobbing between his shirt tails should have been funny but it wasn't. It made Whit ache--want him more.
"Turn around, Whit." He rolled a rubber down over himself and whispered, "Come here, sit on my dick." He laughed at himself. "Reliving my errant youth…it's been along time since I've fucked anyone in the back of a car."
"Idiot." Whit let out a breath he'd been holding, and worked his way down on Lex's cock, exhaling on each downward push, until every bit of Lex was inside him, he felt his smooth, warm skin against his ass—groaned when Lex flexed, worked his hands under Whit's shirt, slid down over his ribs…grabbed his hips. He felt Lex's mouth against the back of his neck…
"I'm watching…you're amazing." He felt Lex's fingers trace where they joined and Lex moaned, moved and Whit didn’t feel anything else anymore except the slide of Lex inside, hot and heavy, making him feel like he was burning up.
Shock after shock hit him, curled and burned inside him; he could hear the noises he made, needy, desperate….
"Shit! Careful, don't mess up—unh—jacket," Lex hissed as Whit clamped down on him.
"No talking," he growled. "Just fuck me."
Lex chuckled breathlessly, and fucked him, hard, fast, and in moments, he was trying to arch under him. Whit wanted to come, his body tried, every time Lex hit that spot inside him that flooded his senses, made electricity spark under his skin, he wanted to come. "I can't, I can’t—"
Lex groaned and whispered in his neck. "I don’t want you to; I want you to want me all night." He grunted, pulled Whit against him. Locked his arms around him and came with a breathy hiss. Whit threw his head back, concentrated on the sharp gasp against his neck, the rapid beat of Lex's heart against his back, the throb of his cock inside of him.
They redressed, Whitney eased back into the pants like he was pulling burlap on, he felt too tender, sore, empty--and the way Lex kept smiling at him--it made him want to scream, beg for more. He knew Lex could see how much he wanted. And that Lex loved it.
III
He was wildly hypersensitive to Lex's touch, Lex's smell, Lex's warmth…he was hard most of the evening, couldn't keep from shaking when Lex brushed up against him, and every so often, he shoved some weird thing masquerading as food into his mouth to muffle a moan. He gasped aloud once when Lex fed him something creamy on a cracker, and wiped it from the corner of his mouth. His cock twitched when he watched Lex lick it off his thumb.
The bastard was enjoying every bit of the twisted torture he was putting him through. The fucker was *trying* to make him drop to his knees in front of these people and beg for his cock…Whit savagely bit down on some sort of fruit appetizer and chewed furiously. He knew Lex pretty well by now, he knew when he was being tortured.
What had that god-damn Kent done, that his scapegoat had to suffer for it now?
Lex left him and circulated, and after a few minutes disappeared through a door with a man Whit hadn't been introduced to. Whit relaxed, grateful for the chance to breathe…people drifted past him, tried to engage him in conversation, but he turned them away--smoothly, thanks to what he'd learned from Lex. He kept his eyes on the closed doors.
An hour passed before they exited, and Lex had the same blank expression, the kind of look he got sometimes after Clark left….
Whit waited while he worked his way back towards him, slowly, leisurely, calculated to make him angry, Whit knew—it worked. Lex passed him, cocked an eyebrow, and Whit sighed and silently followed him to where ever he wanted him to be.
They stopped in a shadowed area outside of the ring of light thrown by patio lanterns, and Lex told him to wait. "I'll be right back."
Whit rolled his eyes, but he waited, and this time, Lex was true to his word. When he came back, he carried a flute of champagne for him, a little cookie topped with a dollop of chocolate cream, and a warm smile, just for him. "Here," he whispered into his ear. "I think you'll like this very much."
Whit dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, for whatever fucking thing that happened, that required punishment, sorry for everything.
Lex looked at him, his face a blank mask. "You have nothing to apologize for," Lex said. "I need you to help me. Are you willing?"
The ice in Whitney's chest thawed instantly, all he heard was, 'I need you'. "Of course, what can I do?"
Lex turned him towards the patio doors. "That man by the table? He and I have been in negotiations for some time. I need his business; this merger needs to be painless. I have something he wants—you."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim wallet. "Here." He said, "This is cab fare…" he held out a fan of bills. "Will you take it or are you going to throw this at me?" His eyes gleamed as though they were sharing a private joke, but Whit didn’t find the reference amusing….Lex's eyes softened. "Come back to the penthouse after…"
Whit nodded, and kept nodding and thought to himself it felt just like drowning, like he was sinking under water and his lungs were filling. Nothing had ever changed, and he'd always been less than nothing. He was just another one of Lex's things. Lex's toys. He was sinking deeper and deeper, and he was getting cold. If he was very lucky, he'd die right here in front of Lex, who was watching him like he was a particularly interesting specimen of something. He was beyond speech, intelligent thought, beyond anything. Lex took his speechlessness as acquiescence. He tucked the bills onto Whit's pocket, and said, "Go on. Go on with him." He looked squarely into Whit's eyes. "It's only one night, Whitney. What difference does a single night make, right?"
Whit felt like throwing up. He swallowed, hard. His lips parted…closed.
"Yes? Did you have something to say?"
Whit shook his head, and a hysterical giggle climbed into his throat. I can't talk, he thought, and bit his lip to stop it bubbling up. I'm stuffed with hay.
Lex tilted his head, and stood aside, watching…waiting….
Whit took a deep shaky breath, grateful for air at last, and hating, so much. He hated Clark so much he felt it like boiling water on his skin. Lex wouldn’t ever trade Clark off like this. But Clark was the magic one, wasn't he? Clark was sacred and everyone else was just so much meat….
"It's just business." He walked forward, smiling, looked back at Lex once, a quick glance. He looked like he'd been stabbed.
IV
In the cab, he thought, 'I can stop this, anytime I want.' Walking behind the man into an apartment building, he thought, 'I can just walk away, just leave….'
He asked, so Whit went down on him in the elevator. They stepped out into an apartment that Whit knew was not the man's home. Whit checked his watch—it was barely curfew and at home, everybody was probably just coming out of the movies, or the Beanery, they were getting into cars and heading out to the lake to mess around, make out, drink beer. Guys and their girls, having fun, thinking they were in love…the taste of champagne in his mouth was a distant memory.
And here he was in Metropolis, getting fucked by a stranger because he was stupid enough to not want to mess up something for a jerk he thought…he'd meant *something* to. Getting fucked because he was stupid enough to still feel something for *him*.
When he left the guy's apartment, he asked him for a hundred dollars. The guy looked surprised "--I thought Lex took care of that—" and then he smiled. "It's okay. It was worth it. Consider it your tip."
Whit gently fended off questions about his telephone number, did he want to get together again, ignored hopeful eyes and graciously accepted the guy's business card, and left him smiling. The guy waved at him as the elevator doors closed….
If he saw Lex at all in the next couple of hours—days—he'd *kill* him.
He rode the elevator down, and fingered the bills in his designer made trousers. He glanced at his reflection in the elevator's glass wall, tousled blonde hair, lips red and swollen, a furtive look. He hardly recognized himself. He wondered if he looked like that leaving the castle… 'That's face of a serious nutcase,' he thought. He stood taller; he ran fingers through his hair, straightened his tie, his shirt, re-buttoned the jacket and stepped out onto the lobby floor with his head high. At least some of the lessons Lex taught him were beneficial.
Once on the street, he took a cab, but only as far as the bus station rising like a glass and dirt incrusted island in the dark. Whit stepped out onto the diesel scented street, and risked breathing deeply, and felt finally, like he *could* breathe.
He counted the remainder of the bills. Two hundred dollars—he inhaled air, drew it deep into his lungs…it was time to go home.
He sat on one of the plastic seats bolted to the wall outside the station and wolfed down a hotdog while waiting for the bus to Granville. He glowered at people walking by—he knew he looked out of place, a kid in a tux that probably cost their salary, chugging pop…
The bus ride home was the polar opposite of the limo ride into the city. Loud, a little cold, the air smelled of diesel and people… he watched the lights fly by in the dark, his head pressed against the chilly bus window. The expensive bowtie was wadded in a lump, smeared with mustard, and shoved in one pocket. His cuffs hung wide below the jacket sleeves—the cufflinks were somewhere on a street in Metropolis, and he hoped they cost a fucking ton. Most of the 'cab fare' Lex gifted him was still in his pocket—and when he got home he planned to go through the rest of the cash--get so fucking drunk, it'd take him a week to sober up.
He swallowed and grimaced--the pop had done nothing to take the taste of come out of his mouth.
He laid his head against the window again, and kept breathing, measured even breaths, just to be sure he was alive.
V
The bus stopped in the black of the Smallville countryside. He got out at the crossroads on the edge of town, and when the lights on the back of the bus dwindled to small glowing eyes in the distance, he started walking, down the road, past the fields, over Loeb Bridge. He stopped for a moment, just to spit in the water, and walked on. He passed Main and headed out towards the new development. An hour later, he crossed over to the street that turned into a tree lined road, and that road led to a clutch of houses that had once been upscale until the newest development opened.
He was wincing and limping by the time he got to the house, somewhere on the driveway he'd kicked off the fancy useless shoes Lex had him wear. His parents were asleep. He walked through the house, to the kitchen, grabbed a few beers from the fridge. He went out to the back yard and sat on the picnic table his dad had made a few years back, when he was still in good enough shape to do stuff like that.
He sat drinking cheap beer, it was not even close to being as good as the stuff he drank at Lex's, but it was ice cold….Whit laughed out loud. Earlier in the evening, he'd been drinking shit that cost as much as his car, probably. He was wearing fucking *underwear* that cost more than the clothes he'd left at Lex's. He got driven into Met in the back of a fucking limo that was fancier than his house—and came back on a bus—he laughed again—and then, walked all the fucking way from town back home….
Whit was laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He pulled off the jacket, rubbed his face dry on it and threw it on the ground in front of him.
He jerked off in the dark. His nose was running, his eyes were still running and he grunted quietly as he came, letting come drip all over the fine gauge wool of the tuxedo.
He lay back on the rough wood table, his hands crossed over his stomach. He wiped his hands on the legs of the tux and figured, tomorrow, he'd bring it back to Lex and then, he could rot the fuck in hell for all he cared, the lying, backstabbing, twisted sick motherfucker.
Chapter Eight
I
"What you did hurt…it hurt like…I can't even begin to describe what that felt like. But you know don't you, because it hurt you just as much as it hurt me, you dumb fuck. The tux is in the garage, thanks for letting me get that far in your house. I hope that fucking kid finds it, you son of a bitch. I won’t bother you again—and you'll have to find someone else to work your frustrations out on, because if you were trying to drive me off, well guess what asshole, it worked. Don’t ever call me, don't try to apologize. This is it. Lex—all debts paid off. Don't come near me. Ever."
II
Night, in bed, and he listened to the sounds of his houses. The noise it made as it cooled, the hum of the television, the low murmur of his parents voice. The phone on his nightstand vibrated, but he ignored it. It could only be Lex….
He lay awake all night, and by morning, his mind was made up. He saw his path clearly.
His mom and dad were shocked at first, but his dad came around a lot quicker than Whit thought he would, and even seemed to be proud of his choice. They spoke more often now, and it was easier. Whit thought how weird it was that this brought them together, closer than football ever did. He realized that a part of his dad resented him succeeding at something that was out of his reach, had always been—but this…this was something his dad really understood.
So—his mom and dad knew, and through some odd twist of fate or the universe spitting in his face again—so did Clark. He asked him not to tell anyone else. Clark seemed used to speaking in code; it was plain to Whit that he knew instantly that by 'anyone', Whit meant Lex.
He'd run into Clark outside of the store, and some how, ended up having a conversation about his future with a guy who had the most to gain by Whit losing everything…and felt more comfortable talking to Clark than he had anyone else.
"Why, Whitney? You have a scholarship to MetU, a great chance at pro ball. You're leaving in a few weeks. I guess it's not my place to question you, but I gotta say, I don’t understand it."
"It's just what I need to do, Clark." He sighed. "I think it's the right thing for me."
They walked along quietly for a bit and then Clark said, "Lex has been talking about moving back to Metropolis in September. Did you know that?"
Whit had the sensation of plunging into an ice bath, but his expression didn't change and his voice was even and casual. "No, why should I? He's Lex Luthor. He doesn't exactly unburden himself to me. Not like he does to you."
Clark cast a quick guilty glance at Whit, and slowed until Whitney had to slow too. Whit could barely hear Clark when he spoke. In a low, careful voice, he said, "I don’t want him to go."
Whit smiled. "Well, you better let him know that, Clark. I'm sure he wouldn't dream of leaving Smallville once he knew that."
III
It was the morning he was leaving for boot camp. His papers were in an envelope on his bed, and everything else he needed was on his back. He stared at himself in his dresser mirror, ran his hands through his thick mop of hair, a little unruly as it outgrew the haircut Lex had ordered for him. He pulled it tight against his head, trying to picture himself with no hair. He dropped his hands and laughed. He never thought of himself as vain, but it was surprising how much the thought of losing all his hair bothered him. After all, losing his hair was nothing--in a few days, he was going to be a whole new person, with a whole new life, a whole new direction…he took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. He gathered his papers, and looked around his room, the room he'd slept in for eighteen years, the room he dreamed his little kid dreams in and planned his grown life in. He looked, and was surprised how little it bothered him to be leaving it. He shut the door and headed for the stairs.
IV
His parents saw him off to the station, and left before the bus came, just as he asked them to. He didn't want to make a scene, he told them. His dad winked and led his red-eyed mother away…looked a little red around the eyes himself. Whit watched them drive off, and wondered if he'd cry, later….
"Hello."
He smiled. He should have known—Clark always showed up when he most wanted him not to. "Checking to see I'm really leaving town, Kent?"
"You still haven't told him." His tone was almost accusing, and Whit rolled his eyes. What did this guy want? Whit rubbed his face and finally—gave in.
"If I told him, he'd stop it. Stop me." It was the closest Whit could come to telling Clark that yes; he and Lex had been—were--something.
Clark looked torn between smiling and scowling. "He would. He's a force of nature. He has powers…"
"Let's hope he only uses them for good." He laughed a little. The bus was coming, he heard the sound of it's engine in the distance. Clark turned to Whit with eyes that looked a little guilty, a little relieved.
"Clark…do me a favor. I need you to look after Lex until I get back. You know he needs watching."
Clark looked flustered "Oh. Whit, I…I'm…"
"Promise." Whit felt a flicker of guilt, but just the barest flicker. Clark was almost too easy…he blushed and stared at the ground. The bus finally pulled up, and the door opened with a gasp, and Whit waited. "Clark?"
"I promise." he said, he looked pained, and guilty, so guilty, but he nodded.
Whit nodded too, turned and climbed aboard. He turned back to Clark, looked into his eyes, really looked, and said slowly, "Be careful, Clark." He seated himself, looked out the bus window. Clark was still standing on the curb. The bus started to pull out, and Clark waved at him once, turned to leave. Whit wanted to laugh.
He was always watching Clark walk away.
V
Lex was frozen in place, hands clasped on his desk, smile pasted on his rigid face. "I'm sorry…what?"
"Didn’t you know he left?"
No, he hadn't. It wasn't odd for Whit not to call—he had a temper. He'd been…insulted. More than that. And now, he was in the position of trying to figure out how to get Whitney back without giving anything away. In fact, he was wondering if it might not be worth it to—to beg. A little.
Lex stared up at Clark and thought, how could Whit do this? Not to him, he owed him nothing—but to his family. To himself. He tried to pull his expression into something approaching normal. "No, why should I?"
Clark nudged the Ledger article closer. "I figured it was okay to talk about it now that everyone knows."
Lex snagged the article and pulled it closer. Clark knew all along, and he hadn't said a word? The picture of Whit in his dress uniform, his cap covering the lack of hair, his all American, peach and cream, non-exotic, corn-fed good looks made the rest of the article seem inconsequential. There was a brief blurb about his graduation, nothing more. "Thanks Clark, I'll let Enrique know to take his name from the staff roster," he lied smoothly.
Clark made a sound of surprise, he looked at Lex with a hint of anger in his eyes. "Come on, Lex."
"Clark, what is it about this that seems to be angering you? I confess, I have no idea…though that does seem par for the course lately."
Clark was actually glowering, Lex noted. "He kept telling me you guys weren't friends. I thought he was finally telling me the truth when he left, when he asked me to watch over you…"
Lex was startled as much by the pain he felt as by the notion that Whit cared, even a little…after all that…
Failed.
He failed Clark, he failed Whit, he failed himself because he refused to see. And now Whit was off being a grown up, and he was still in Smallville like an idiot, letting these good people try to kill him with the power of their brains--the weight of their contempt.
He turned his chair to face the windows, and watched clouds high above move ponderously, darkly across the sky. Rain spattered against the windows, running in wide rivulets over the glass —the ground would be wet…
The salt of the earth, these people. The heart of America's heartland. Close to the earth, the rhythms of the seasons—simple, direct, pure and certain in their hatreds. Full of self righteousness, and bigotry and narrow-mindedness…he eased his aching fist open, and let the crumbled paper drop to the table…he stood and looked out of the windows that faced the drive. Clark was down there, standing on the drive, rain turning his hair in long ebony ringlets. He seemed about to turn his head, to look up at the windows…Lex blinked, closed his eyes for the barest of seconds and when he opened them again, Clark was gone. Of course.
Like Whitney. At least, *he'd* had the sense to leave when it got to be too much. Lex leaned his forehead against the cool glass, eyes tracing the path of water down the tinted panes. He wished he had an ounce of the guts that Whitney had, wished he was a quarter as brave…that he had the strength to break away, no matter how much it hurt, or the pain it caused.
When he closed his eyes at night now, the face behind his eyelids was Whit's, and that was just…not fair.
VI
Whit crawled along the roadside; the overturned truck lay a few feet behind them on the road. The driver was dead—Whit rubbed viciously at his streaming nose, his burning eyes--he doubted he'd ever forget the smell of burning flesh….
Bauer staggered past him, and Whit grabbed his arm. "This way—towards the river. The reeds'll provide some cover…"
Bauer looked doubtful, but he was moving behind Whit "This is pointless, Fordman," he gasped. "Base thinks we're dead. Fuck, we're *gonna* be dead."
Another soldier came up behind them, moved with them. "Jesus! Shut the fuck up, Bauer. Fordman says we'll make it, then we'll make it." Smith scrambled down the side of the hill, and they hit the river, slogged into the water and whatever cover the reeds could give them. Whit waited a beat, but Smith shook his head. "We're it—the other guys are dead."
"Told you," Bauer gasped. "We're all dead."
"Fucking shut up about dying. We're gonna make it back home, you hear me? I'm gonna get back to—to--my folks. To Kansas."
"Motherfuck, Fordman. If I have to hear about wonderful, magical fucking Smallville, Kansas one more fuckin'ass time--"
Whit laughed breathlessly, winced as the movement made his ribs ache. They slogged on, the stagnant water drenching them. He glanced around and willed his ears to pick up sound all around him—he prayed that he'd hear the sound of rotors chopping at the air—prayed they'd be found by their own…
Explosions, one after another, echoed behind them, and Whit snatched at the soldier's arm next to him, "Move faster damn it—move it!"
They tried to run, the muck of the river bottom sucked at their boots, the water rose from their calves to their knees to mid waist, and Whit tried to urge them on faster. Now bullets zinged around them, hissed through the water—"Snipers."
He yelled into Bauer's ear, "We've got to get to the next ridge—scouts should be able to see the flare from there…."
Bauer nodded, "Yeah, that and a bloody fucking miracle will get us out of here."
"Don't give in, okay. Come on, just--"
The air vibrated, the ground shook—it was suddenly midnight. Whit's ears rang. The cloud of debris that blocked the sun settled.
"Aw, fuck!" Bauer screamed--eyes wide and locked on the ragged tear in his pants leg, watching blood pump in a steady stream. Whit glanced. He didn’t have to look closer to know it wasn't good. No point in talking about it.
"You're okay; you're going to be okay. Keep moving. Smitty, get up here--"
Another explosion tore any other sound out of the world. Whit glanced back to see Smith go down. Bauer began to cry, clutching at Whit's arm. "We're going to die; we're fucking done for--"
"No one's gonna die! I promise!" Whit had no idea if he heard him; Bauer suddenly went boneless in his arms. He slid out of his grip and Whit grabbed for him and then the whole world blew up in his face. Over, he thought, and it was.
Chapter Nine
I
Whitney was dead. There was no body, they found nothing. He was gone into the air of some distant country…Lex watched Smallville mourn a native son, one of thousands lost on foreign soil. They remembered him, forgot everything but the good, but Lex held all of it, and treasured everything about Whitney, and decided. It wasn't enough.
What Lex decided would only seem obvious and workable to Lex, to an acquisitive, possessive mind, someone convinced of being above the law--of *being* the law.
Lex didn’t feel bad about that, he saw it as some of his better qualities. It was what was going to bring Whit back. To him.
II
"No one is coming for you, it seems. I guess you just don’t count for much, do you?"
Whit never figured a ransom would be paid. He knew that once captured, he'd be on his own—they had no official presence here and he knew he was dead the moment he'd been taken captive; he was just waiting for the day it became…official.
The slap dropped him to the floor, and sent jagged bolts of pain ripping from jaw to eye socket. The wound reopened and fresh blood ran. At least he wasn't going to die of infection, he thought. Today, it seemed, was the day.
They marched him out to the edge of what was left of the village, and made him kneel in a muddy field. The damp ground seeped through the knees of his BDUs. He looked up at the afternoon sun, the last one he'd ever see, and thought of Clark, for some odd reason. Clark kneeling in a wet farmer's field in the dark, ringed by a circle of tormentors. Whit looked around at the circle of armed men, and realized—he'd never apologized to Clark for what happened. He'd only apologized to Lex…
Tears filled his eyes, and someone jeered, called him a coward—they beat him. Through a haze of pain one thought was clear. This was payment. For what he'd done to Clark, for falling in love with Lex, for letting himself be betrayed by him. It had been a long round-about journey, but he was at the end now. He was sorry for what he'd done and for what he didn’t do. And if he had another chance, he'd fucking choose to be with Lex. He'd choose it again and again, if he had the chance....
He tried to laugh, spit out a wet gurgle as gray flashes crowded the sun out of his eyesight…shots rang out and he closed his eyes and waited.
"Fordman—Whitney Fordman? Get up."
He was yanked to his feet, his chin jerked up and twisted this way and that—opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a stranger. An American.
"That's him. Let's go."
Behind him, Whit heard the thump of explosives going off. He was dragged between two men, and then, lifted off, a dizzying flight into the air. He was in a black helicopter; sandwiched between black-dressed men—he snorted—he was being kidnapped by aliens? By…men-in-black? Why the fuck not?
The urge to laughter faded as he realized his situation might not have changed at all; that the men weren't regular military…they were the kind of soldiers anyone could hire for the right money.
The man who seemed to be in charge grinned at him, passed him a plastic bottle of water, and shouted over the noise, "Hello, Fordman. Ready to go home?" The bottle was impressed with the LexCorp logo.
He smiled wide, even though it hurt—what the hell, it was funny. He should have known Lex wouldn't really let him go.
III
"Why? Why did you rescue me—go through all that *expense* to fucking come after me? Do you think I've forgotten anything?"
Lex leaned forward and spoke so softly that only Whit could hear. "Because I love you."
"Fucking liar. You don't try to *destroy* the person you love."
Lex tilted his head, and looked at Whit like he was waiting for something to happen. "Well, that depends on what you think love is. If you think it's dancing in a meadow, holding hands and spewing declarations of undying loyalty, than I guess I'm going to continue to severely disappoint you."
"But that's just how you love Clark, isn’t it? Undying love, and putting him on a pedestal and treating him like a fucking…princess."
Lex nodded. "True, And yet the fact remains I love you. I *chose* you."
Whit turned his face away, turned to the side, pressed his cheek against the stiff pillow casing. "You mean you lost, and I'm all you have left."
Lex moved closer to the bed, stroked the pillow case as if it was Whitney's cheek. "Whitney….it's true, and it's not. Clark's not gone, but I admit he might as well be. Whatever might have been between us never really had a chance. Not when he kept things from me, not when I kept things from him." He smiled and his hand drifted down the twisted side of Whit's face. "Not like you Whit. You never hid anything from me. You never kept a single thing."
Whit closed his eyes, and shuddered. "How could I? You made me give it all."
"Whit, Whitney…does it matter how? You did. And I loved how you gave so much. I want a chance to give as much to you." Lex continued, a fingertip stopping briefly in a newly made dimple, before ghosting over a raw track outlining the curve of his jaw. "I'm serious when I tell you that I love you."
"You're fucking hopeless." Whit growled. "I hate you."
For the first time since coming into the sterile little room, Lex smiled a genuine smile, one that warmed his eyes and made him flush slightly. "You know, in some cultures saving your life means I own you." He laid his hand on Whit's head, rubbed the close shorn stubble of his blonde hair.
"You see? You don't listen. Hopeless, clueless…"
"I can bring you home, for real. Back to Metropolis with me."
Whit grimaced. "Four years, Lex. I still owe four years of my life."
"Whitney." Lex shook his head and smiled, sadly, gently. "You don’t exist. You can be whoever you want, wherever you want…come back with me. Please."
Anyone he wanted to be…a new life…the opportunity to win back what he'd lost to Lex…Whit looked into Lex's eyes. "All right. I'll come back with you."
"I love you. Believe it."
Whit nodded. "I do."
Epilogue
Years later, on a cold, rain soaked night, while following Lex's tall, black clad figure out of the lobby of the Persian Hotel, some sort of Smallville learned radar, not quite faded away, made the back of his neck prickle…he glanced to the left, and saw him standing in the shadows. Whit smiled a little. He looked exactly the same--perfectly the same.
Whitney knew that the same could not be said for him. Tiny lines spidered out from the corners of his eyes, heavier lines curved around his mouth. He'd long ago filled out his lanky teenage frame, and in the cold, his leg hurt, his hands, even with the joints that Lex had replaced.
Lex was almost as unchanged as Clark; his skin was smoother, if that was possible. Freckles fewer, and he missed them…but the trade off was mapping the fine texture of Lex's so subtly changed skin. Sweat slick and gliding against his own, it was almost enough to make him come, that marble smoothness pressed against his cock; against his mouth…he felt himself stir and shook his head. Lex…he'd never be able not to want him.
Lex turned to Whit, eyes only on him. "He's out there isn't he?"
Whit nodded.
"Let him look. It doesn’t matter." Lex reached up and traced a long seamed scar left by a piece of shrapnel that'd skipped along his cheekbone, very kindly not gouging his eye out. Lex kissed the gnarled path. "It doesn't matter," Lex whispered into his cheek, his warm breath floated over chilled skin and the touch was so sweet, his eyes drifted shut….
Fuck yes it does matter, Whit thought. It mattered that Lex was still with him, loved him enough to stay. Enough to let Clark become a flicker of vision behind his eyelids…
Whit opened his eyes and Lex was already walking towards the open car door, impatiently gesturing. "Hurry up Whitney, before we're soaked through."
Whit risked another backward glance and he saw Clark pushing into the crowds…walking away. He spoke quietly to himself, knowing Clark couldn't hear him. "Keep watching over him, Clark."
9-24-2007
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12/9/12 06:25 pm (UTC)My Eeeeeeevel plans unfold--force Lex/Whitney on EVERYONE!!
*twirls mustache of evol*