A gift!! For me!!
1/9/08 07:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyMy friends, I know how wrong it is to whine and whimper in public. It's wrong to beg for sympathy. But I gotta tell you guys, sometimes it pays off pretty big!
See,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
myownghost was moved by my piteous whining for Clitney to write this little ficlet, just to shut me up to make me happy! This she tells me, she just tossed off at the spur of the moment, so it's unbetaed, (betad? beteaded?) and I should only be so good as to do something like this off the top of my head! I loved it so much I asked if I could share and she was kind enough to let me, so if you like it, please let her know here! (this has nothing to do with my insidious plan to get the whole world writing just for me….mmmmmmmm…heaven…) I'm leaving it just the way she wrote it because I like it like that.
Bymyownghost
clark leans against the fence in the dark, not registering the chill of the chain links, his attention wholly on the couple up in the bleachers. they're necking, jackets open and hands not visible, and they're not noticing that he's there. he wants it that way. the boy eases the girl down onto her back on the rough wood bleacher seat, and his fair hair hangs down, hiding his face as he leans in to kiss her some more. clark doesn't know he's gently rubbing his crotch now against the fence.
the cloud covering the near-full moon moves on, and the action is suddenly lit as brightly as day. clark's mouth is open, his breath shallow. he's squinting a little, trying to see all he can of lana's face, of the flashes of skin exposed by whitney's hands as he slides them over her body. whitney's on his knees, and he's clearly getting aggressive. her hand comes up and pushes at him. he persists. she raises her other hand and pushes him away, her voice a mewling protest in the stillness. whitney sits back on his haunches and looks up at the moon. "lana," he says, voice holding the ache of desire denied, and not for the first time.
lana sits up, pulls her clothes together, buttons the letter jacket and stands. "you know i don't want to go that far yet," she complains, shaking her hair to straighten it from the snarl his hands made of it.
"yeah, yeah, i know." he hangs his head.
"i'm going home now," she says, moving primly down the stairs. "see you tomorrow at the game."
"'night." and she's walking toward the parking lot and her little car.
whitney throws himself backwards, leaning his head on the row of bleachers behind him. his arms are outstretched, palms pale in the moonlight. "why do i keep trying?" he asks the night.
"hey." clark is, to his own surprise, climbing the stairs down which lana just disappeared. "are you ok?"
with a jolt, whitney sits up, his face showing disbelief. "what the hell are you doing here, kent?" he bristles with antagonism. "spying?"
clark sits down about six feet away from him. "nah, just looking at the moon. i saw lana leaving and you still here looking sort of sick. wanted to make sure you're ok."
"you are such a liar." whitney relaxes, clearly not seeing clark as any kind of threat. "i see you watching lana all the time. shit, sometimes i can tell you're watching me. like what you see?" his grin is feral and sly.
clark's face registers his shock. he sputters, "i... no, i never..." he stops, flummoxed.
whitney stands and approaches him, his groin at the level of clark's face. "you want some of what lana left me with?" his hand rubs his crotch.
clark sidles away a little. panicky now, he holds up his hands as if to ward whitney off. "no, no, i don't..." he clears his throat. "why are you doing this?"
looking back up at the moon, whitney laughs bleakly. "bored, i guess. i love lana, but she is such a cock tease."
"hey, that's not a nice thing to call her!" outraged, clark moves in closer again, brows furrowed.
whitney's laugh is genuine this time. "you are such a cub scout, kent. like a little kid who doesn't know yet about sex. i wonder if you ever touch yourself in the bathroom, in your bed at night. do you, huh?" he lowers himself to his knees with a thump, hand moving again on his crotch.
for a few moments, there's only the sound of the friction of his hand on the denim. clark is staring down at the movement as if hypnotized. slowly he raises his eyes to whitney's, and he swallows loudly. "sometimes. sometimes i do."
another cloud passes in front of the moon. in the renewed darkness, whitney reaches out to take one of clark's hands. unzipping his own fly and freeing his hard cock, he presses clark's hand against it. "let's see what kind of technique you have going for you. go on -- show me how you jerk yourself."
clark moves gently at first, his eyes closed. he listens to whitney's quickening breath, gauging the speed and pressure to maximize his response. he has no idea that his face is luminous in the dark, smile mysterious and deep. whitney sinks a hand into his hair, tugs it to pull clark's head back, and leans in for a long, hot kiss.
See,
myownghost was moved by my piteous whining for Clitney to write this little ficlet, just By
myownghostclark leans against the fence in the dark, not registering the chill of the chain links, his attention wholly on the couple up in the bleachers. they're necking, jackets open and hands not visible, and they're not noticing that he's there. he wants it that way. the boy eases the girl down onto her back on the rough wood bleacher seat, and his fair hair hangs down, hiding his face as he leans in to kiss her some more. clark doesn't know he's gently rubbing his crotch now against the fence.
the cloud covering the near-full moon moves on, and the action is suddenly lit as brightly as day. clark's mouth is open, his breath shallow. he's squinting a little, trying to see all he can of lana's face, of the flashes of skin exposed by whitney's hands as he slides them over her body. whitney's on his knees, and he's clearly getting aggressive. her hand comes up and pushes at him. he persists. she raises her other hand and pushes him away, her voice a mewling protest in the stillness. whitney sits back on his haunches and looks up at the moon. "lana," he says, voice holding the ache of desire denied, and not for the first time.
lana sits up, pulls her clothes together, buttons the letter jacket and stands. "you know i don't want to go that far yet," she complains, shaking her hair to straighten it from the snarl his hands made of it.
"yeah, yeah, i know." he hangs his head.
"i'm going home now," she says, moving primly down the stairs. "see you tomorrow at the game."
"'night." and she's walking toward the parking lot and her little car.
whitney throws himself backwards, leaning his head on the row of bleachers behind him. his arms are outstretched, palms pale in the moonlight. "why do i keep trying?" he asks the night.
"hey." clark is, to his own surprise, climbing the stairs down which lana just disappeared. "are you ok?"
with a jolt, whitney sits up, his face showing disbelief. "what the hell are you doing here, kent?" he bristles with antagonism. "spying?"
clark sits down about six feet away from him. "nah, just looking at the moon. i saw lana leaving and you still here looking sort of sick. wanted to make sure you're ok."
"you are such a liar." whitney relaxes, clearly not seeing clark as any kind of threat. "i see you watching lana all the time. shit, sometimes i can tell you're watching me. like what you see?" his grin is feral and sly.
clark's face registers his shock. he sputters, "i... no, i never..." he stops, flummoxed.
whitney stands and approaches him, his groin at the level of clark's face. "you want some of what lana left me with?" his hand rubs his crotch.
clark sidles away a little. panicky now, he holds up his hands as if to ward whitney off. "no, no, i don't..." he clears his throat. "why are you doing this?"
looking back up at the moon, whitney laughs bleakly. "bored, i guess. i love lana, but she is such a cock tease."
"hey, that's not a nice thing to call her!" outraged, clark moves in closer again, brows furrowed.
whitney's laugh is genuine this time. "you are such a cub scout, kent. like a little kid who doesn't know yet about sex. i wonder if you ever touch yourself in the bathroom, in your bed at night. do you, huh?" he lowers himself to his knees with a thump, hand moving again on his crotch.
for a few moments, there's only the sound of the friction of his hand on the denim. clark is staring down at the movement as if hypnotized. slowly he raises his eyes to whitney's, and he swallows loudly. "sometimes. sometimes i do."
another cloud passes in front of the moon. in the renewed darkness, whitney reaches out to take one of clark's hands. unzipping his own fly and freeing his hard cock, he presses clark's hand against it. "let's see what kind of technique you have going for you. go on -- show me how you jerk yourself."
clark moves gently at first, his eyes closed. he listens to whitney's quickening breath, gauging the speed and pressure to maximize his response. he has no idea that his face is luminous in the dark, smile mysterious and deep. whitney sinks a hand into his hair, tugs it to pull clark's head back, and leans in for a long, hot kiss.
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1/10/08 01:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
1/10/08 04:32 am (UTC)It's been the oddest weeks of complete highs and horrible lows--this is definitely in the plus column, it really made my day!