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roxyThis story is entirely free of porn. This is not bragging, this is apologizing. *hangs head* It's puzzling to me, but the porn-o-meter has broken. However, the Shmoop-o-tron is working over time, churning out the schmalz. I know—let's all clap our hands and say, "I believe in the ass-x!" 'til it appears again!
Sorry, you guys who hate this pairing. You know, I get it completely. When I first started out reading Clex, I would get so disappointed it wasn't about Clark and Lex, especially if Lex was in the story just as a friend. I didn’t like seeing Clark with anyone else. I didn’t mind as much when it came to Lex—I adored Bruce/Lex stories. Now, my second favorite pair is Clark/Whitney. Interesting, how our taste changes and things shift, isn't it? And even if it's not, thanks for reading to the end here. *G* And now, without further babbling—the little ficlet with the horrible title!
Title: Edelweiss
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whitney
Rating: PG
Summary: AU in which Whit didn't die. Of course. Whitney and Clark spend a little time getting to know each other at Christmas.
Whitney climbed the stairs to the loft slowly—his leg was bothering him--the sharp, biting cold of Kansas winter gnawed at his knee, the ache shot to his ankle with each step. Clark waited at the top of the stairs, obviously wanting to help, but afraid of insulting him—it made him look torn in two, poor guy, and he was pretty damn lousy at hiding it. It warmed Whit like the million layers he was wearing couldn't begin to. He could even smile at the Christmas decorations Clark had scattered around the loft.
"Hey Kent. Looks pretty damn festive up here." He grabbed the wooden banister and pulled himself upwards.
"Whitney. It's really good to see you home finally. You gave us a terrible scare."
He tried to look stern and Whit laughed. "Yeah, imagine my surprise to find out reports of my death had been exaggerated. I don’t recommend being blown up to anyone—"
He stopped. Clark's expression said he was distraught and trying not to show it. Clark even managed a weak smile, just for him. Whit felt like an asshole—he'd forgotten that other people's pain wasn't something Clark handled very well.
"I'm sorry, sometimes I forget I don’t have to make a joke out of everything," he apologized. Clark smiled, a totally understanding look on his face and Whit took a deep breath, said, "Yeah, Mom took it pretty hard--natch." He negotiated the top step, and Clark kept flinching—drawing forward and pulling back and Whit had a wicked thought….maybe he'd pretend to stumble…
He made it up to the loft without stumbling, walked past Clark to look out of the open loft doors. Leaning on the sill, he muttered, almost to himself, "Damn, you have no idea how *good* it is to be home again." He slapped his hands against his sides. "—even if it is as cold as a witch's tit. Kent, how can you *stand* it?" He laughed a little and Clark blushed and not for the first time since he'd left for the Marines, Whit thought how pretty it made him….
"Oh yeah—the heater just went out, hold on." Clark hustled over to the couch and grabbed the blanket there, threw it over Whit's shoulder. He turned on the heater facing the couch, and another at the side of the couch. Turned his head from Whit, and seemed to cough or yawn a little. "Come on over, it'll get warm soon." He held up a thermos. "Hot cocoa—Mom knows how to look after me," he grinned. "Don’t worry, she made sure that there was enough for you too," he pointed at a Tupperware container on the trunk in front of the couch. "plus there's chocolate chip cookies, if you like them."
"Outstanding." Whit grinned back and sat. "Hunh, those little heaters work good, the air is *definitely* warmer here." He couldn't believe how quickly the heaters had worked; even the couch was warm enough to ease the ache in his legs.
Clark blushed for some reason and got up quickly, shut the loft doors. "Yeah, they're pretty good heaters. So…how's everything?" He raised his eyebrows, and Whit understood what he meant by everything.
"Um. What about you?" he avoided answering the question and turned it to Clark. Clark had slowly, over the course of a couple of letters, come out to Whit, confessed that he had it pretty bad for the rich guy. He couldn't blame him. The guy could be pretty decent when he wanted to, and even Whit could tell he'd move heaven and earth if that's what Clark wanted. Heck, look what he'd done for *him* when Clark asked.
"Well, if you're asking if about that subject we discussed before," Clark said carefully, "than no. Nothing's happened. Nothing's changed. I haven't told him. I just…I'm afraid to."
"Oh." Whit felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. "I'm sorry to hear that…is it because you don’t trust him? Because from what little I saw before I left, I don't think he'd hurt you, not on purpose anyway."
Clark nodded, but still looked miserable. "I know that he would never mean to hurt me. But…there are other factors."
Whit swallowed and decided to take a wild chance—what the hell, he'd had his life handed back to him, there must have been a reason for that…"Say, Clark this probably isn’t the best time. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure it's not a good time, but…I've been thinking. I mean, ever since I left, I've been thinking. About you I mean. I—"
Clark took a deep breath, and let it blow back out slowly, rubbed his hair. He shook his head, a tiny hesitant move. "Whit. You know how I feel; I spent so much time telling you. Now--" he said, and Whit interrupted.
"I know, I know… Look, before you say anything else..." He brought out a small, brightly wrapped package. "I got you something when I had a layover in Germany. Go on. Open it."
Clark smiled at Whit, and opened the box, took out a small ornament. It was a crystal; inside the crystal was a dried little fuzzy flower. Clark looked at it, confusion making his eyebrows wrinkle. "Wow. Thanks…that's really…what *is* it?"
"Well…it's symbolic." Clark raised his eyebrows and Whit could feel warmth rush into his cheeks—the tips of his ears were burning, but he kept going. "Yeah, symbolic. See, in the old days, guys would climb the mountains where this flower grows, y'know, and bring one to their girl because only someone stupid in love would do that…ah. Boy. I'm really screwing this up, aren’t I?"
Clark was open-mouthed with what looked like shock. Whit blinked. Hell, he figured he not only screwed it up, he'd shot it and buried it in an unmarked grave. Fuck. "Listen Kent—"
"Their girlfriends?" Clark's eyes shone, his lip quivered and the sonofabee looked like he was on the verge of howling—not exactly the reaction Whit had been looking for. Fuck, honestly, he had no damn idea *what* reaction he'd been looking for. Shit.
"Whit…" Clark gasped, breathless with trying not to laugh at him.
"Look Clark, this ornament…it doesn’t mean… you're not a girl, Clark."
"I kind of knew that already, Whit."
Clark grinned. Whit glared. Clark laid the ornament on the trunk in front of them and suddenly Whit was pressed against the softest pair of lips he'd ever felt, velvety, warm…he wanted to feel more. He pressed back and felt a little give, felt a puff of warm air against his mouth, felt the tip of a wet hot tongue dance over the edge of his lip, asking for permission. Whit opened his mouth and Clark slid his tongue inside and it was very good.
Whit tried hard not to groan, but he hadn't really touched another person like this since he left for the service. Clark was warm and solid and *there*—Whit's hands flew up and grabbed Clark's biceps and squeezed hard as he could and when he moaned a little, Whit figured it really was happening. Clark shifted and captured more of Whit's mouth. In another minute Whit's grip went from squeezing to just desperately holding on.
Clark slowly drew back and licked his lips, swallowed hard. "Oh, Whit, man…I…"
"Clark, fuck, if you dare apologize. If you dare say you're sorry and—and—we can't. Can't--" Whit's chest was heaving, he was struggling to breathe and already knew Clark was about to beg him to act like it had never happened but fuck that. He was going to change his mind, he'd make Clark love him, he'd—
Clark leaned in and kissed him again, took Whit's hand and brushed it against the solid warmth swelling against his zipper. Whit squeezed lightly and Clark moved his hand to his waist. "I'm not trying to tease you; I want you to know--I've been thinking too. And most of that thinking has revolved around you."
Whit grinned, and grinned and grinned. "Yeah? You've been thinking of me?" Whit couldn't help himself, pleasure bubbled in his chest like champagne. "So—what, like me in a towel and boom chika bow-wow—"
Clark rolled his eyes. "I had no idea you could be such a cornball. Come on back to the house, there's a present for you under the tree. And before you even ask, I won’t be dropping an ornament."
"Aww. You *are* a tease." Whit struggled to his feet; his leg had stiffened up again from inactivity. Again Clark flinched forward and away, his hands twitched. "And Kent, it's okay if you help me, man. I'm way over that 'I need to do it on my own' stuff."
Clark smiled wide and lifted Whit to his feet like he weighed nothing, and kissed him again. "Merry Christmas Whitney, and welcome home."
"Clark…are you *sure* you won’t drop an ornament—"
12-11-2007
Sorry, you guys who hate this pairing. You know, I get it completely. When I first started out reading Clex, I would get so disappointed it wasn't about Clark and Lex, especially if Lex was in the story just as a friend. I didn’t like seeing Clark with anyone else. I didn’t mind as much when it came to Lex—I adored Bruce/Lex stories. Now, my second favorite pair is Clark/Whitney. Interesting, how our taste changes and things shift, isn't it? And even if it's not, thanks for reading to the end here. *G* And now, without further babbling—the little ficlet with the horrible title!
Title: Edelweiss
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/Whitney
Rating: PG
Summary: AU in which Whit didn't die. Of course. Whitney and Clark spend a little time getting to know each other at Christmas.
Whitney climbed the stairs to the loft slowly—his leg was bothering him--the sharp, biting cold of Kansas winter gnawed at his knee, the ache shot to his ankle with each step. Clark waited at the top of the stairs, obviously wanting to help, but afraid of insulting him—it made him look torn in two, poor guy, and he was pretty damn lousy at hiding it. It warmed Whit like the million layers he was wearing couldn't begin to. He could even smile at the Christmas decorations Clark had scattered around the loft.
"Hey Kent. Looks pretty damn festive up here." He grabbed the wooden banister and pulled himself upwards.
"Whitney. It's really good to see you home finally. You gave us a terrible scare."
He tried to look stern and Whit laughed. "Yeah, imagine my surprise to find out reports of my death had been exaggerated. I don’t recommend being blown up to anyone—"
He stopped. Clark's expression said he was distraught and trying not to show it. Clark even managed a weak smile, just for him. Whit felt like an asshole—he'd forgotten that other people's pain wasn't something Clark handled very well.
"I'm sorry, sometimes I forget I don’t have to make a joke out of everything," he apologized. Clark smiled, a totally understanding look on his face and Whit took a deep breath, said, "Yeah, Mom took it pretty hard--natch." He negotiated the top step, and Clark kept flinching—drawing forward and pulling back and Whit had a wicked thought….maybe he'd pretend to stumble…
He made it up to the loft without stumbling, walked past Clark to look out of the open loft doors. Leaning on the sill, he muttered, almost to himself, "Damn, you have no idea how *good* it is to be home again." He slapped his hands against his sides. "—even if it is as cold as a witch's tit. Kent, how can you *stand* it?" He laughed a little and Clark blushed and not for the first time since he'd left for the Marines, Whit thought how pretty it made him….
"Oh yeah—the heater just went out, hold on." Clark hustled over to the couch and grabbed the blanket there, threw it over Whit's shoulder. He turned on the heater facing the couch, and another at the side of the couch. Turned his head from Whit, and seemed to cough or yawn a little. "Come on over, it'll get warm soon." He held up a thermos. "Hot cocoa—Mom knows how to look after me," he grinned. "Don’t worry, she made sure that there was enough for you too," he pointed at a Tupperware container on the trunk in front of the couch. "plus there's chocolate chip cookies, if you like them."
"Outstanding." Whit grinned back and sat. "Hunh, those little heaters work good, the air is *definitely* warmer here." He couldn't believe how quickly the heaters had worked; even the couch was warm enough to ease the ache in his legs.
Clark blushed for some reason and got up quickly, shut the loft doors. "Yeah, they're pretty good heaters. So…how's everything?" He raised his eyebrows, and Whit understood what he meant by everything.
"Um. What about you?" he avoided answering the question and turned it to Clark. Clark had slowly, over the course of a couple of letters, come out to Whit, confessed that he had it pretty bad for the rich guy. He couldn't blame him. The guy could be pretty decent when he wanted to, and even Whit could tell he'd move heaven and earth if that's what Clark wanted. Heck, look what he'd done for *him* when Clark asked.
"Well, if you're asking if about that subject we discussed before," Clark said carefully, "than no. Nothing's happened. Nothing's changed. I haven't told him. I just…I'm afraid to."
"Oh." Whit felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. "I'm sorry to hear that…is it because you don’t trust him? Because from what little I saw before I left, I don't think he'd hurt you, not on purpose anyway."
Clark nodded, but still looked miserable. "I know that he would never mean to hurt me. But…there are other factors."
Whit swallowed and decided to take a wild chance—what the hell, he'd had his life handed back to him, there must have been a reason for that…"Say, Clark this probably isn’t the best time. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure it's not a good time, but…I've been thinking. I mean, ever since I left, I've been thinking. About you I mean. I—"
Clark took a deep breath, and let it blow back out slowly, rubbed his hair. He shook his head, a tiny hesitant move. "Whit. You know how I feel; I spent so much time telling you. Now--" he said, and Whit interrupted.
"I know, I know… Look, before you say anything else..." He brought out a small, brightly wrapped package. "I got you something when I had a layover in Germany. Go on. Open it."
Clark smiled at Whit, and opened the box, took out a small ornament. It was a crystal; inside the crystal was a dried little fuzzy flower. Clark looked at it, confusion making his eyebrows wrinkle. "Wow. Thanks…that's really…what *is* it?"
"Well…it's symbolic." Clark raised his eyebrows and Whit could feel warmth rush into his cheeks—the tips of his ears were burning, but he kept going. "Yeah, symbolic. See, in the old days, guys would climb the mountains where this flower grows, y'know, and bring one to their girl because only someone stupid in love would do that…ah. Boy. I'm really screwing this up, aren’t I?"
Clark was open-mouthed with what looked like shock. Whit blinked. Hell, he figured he not only screwed it up, he'd shot it and buried it in an unmarked grave. Fuck. "Listen Kent—"
"Their girlfriends?" Clark's eyes shone, his lip quivered and the sonofabee looked like he was on the verge of howling—not exactly the reaction Whit had been looking for. Fuck, honestly, he had no damn idea *what* reaction he'd been looking for. Shit.
"Whit…" Clark gasped, breathless with trying not to laugh at him.
"Look Clark, this ornament…it doesn’t mean… you're not a girl, Clark."
"I kind of knew that already, Whit."
Clark grinned. Whit glared. Clark laid the ornament on the trunk in front of them and suddenly Whit was pressed against the softest pair of lips he'd ever felt, velvety, warm…he wanted to feel more. He pressed back and felt a little give, felt a puff of warm air against his mouth, felt the tip of a wet hot tongue dance over the edge of his lip, asking for permission. Whit opened his mouth and Clark slid his tongue inside and it was very good.
Whit tried hard not to groan, but he hadn't really touched another person like this since he left for the service. Clark was warm and solid and *there*—Whit's hands flew up and grabbed Clark's biceps and squeezed hard as he could and when he moaned a little, Whit figured it really was happening. Clark shifted and captured more of Whit's mouth. In another minute Whit's grip went from squeezing to just desperately holding on.
Clark slowly drew back and licked his lips, swallowed hard. "Oh, Whit, man…I…"
"Clark, fuck, if you dare apologize. If you dare say you're sorry and—and—we can't. Can't--" Whit's chest was heaving, he was struggling to breathe and already knew Clark was about to beg him to act like it had never happened but fuck that. He was going to change his mind, he'd make Clark love him, he'd—
Clark leaned in and kissed him again, took Whit's hand and brushed it against the solid warmth swelling against his zipper. Whit squeezed lightly and Clark moved his hand to his waist. "I'm not trying to tease you; I want you to know--I've been thinking too. And most of that thinking has revolved around you."
Whit grinned, and grinned and grinned. "Yeah? You've been thinking of me?" Whit couldn't help himself, pleasure bubbled in his chest like champagne. "So—what, like me in a towel and boom chika bow-wow—"
Clark rolled his eyes. "I had no idea you could be such a cornball. Come on back to the house, there's a present for you under the tree. And before you even ask, I won’t be dropping an ornament."
"Aww. You *are* a tease." Whit struggled to his feet; his leg had stiffened up again from inactivity. Again Clark flinched forward and away, his hands twitched. "And Kent, it's okay if you help me, man. I'm way over that 'I need to do it on my own' stuff."
Clark smiled wide and lifted Whit to his feet like he weighed nothing, and kissed him again. "Merry Christmas Whitney, and welcome home."
"Clark…are you *sure* you won’t drop an ornament—"
12-11-2007
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