sv fic post: East of the Sun part 10

[roxy]

Title: East of the Sun

Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/people, eventually clex

Rating:R
Word Count:2321

Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: this is me putting the boys in my version of the swing era, just to see how pretty they look.



Many, many thanks to danceswithgary for beta duty, and the beautiful cover!



Dinner that evening was quiet, and his family kept looking at him oddly. He didn't blame them. He could imagine he must look…strange. He excused himself as soon as was polite, and raced out to his room. The familiar scent of hay and old wood, the thick quiet and slight chill was so welcome after the confusing day he'd had. He pulled a chair over to the loft doors and sat, his feet propped up on the ledge. The fields were beginning to deepen from pale green to emerald…a couple of weeks on and they'd be ready to cut hay…Clark inhaled deeply, and let the breath out slowly, thinking…this farm life, it was something he understood. Whit probably thought he loved it, maybe his dad did too. Farm life didn’t have anything to do with loving it, or hating it—it just was. It was what he knew, what he was comfortable with. There was noting wrong with staying in place because it was comfortable, was there?

Birds flitted over the fields, catching insects active with the coming evening. The light was that color the skies got trembling on the edge of darkness…

What did it mean that the touch of Whitney's hand made him feel more *there*, more aware of himself than the kiss with Lana? What was happening to him? Whit was destroying his comfort, he was *letting* Whit destroy his comfortable place…
Whit, always pulling those stupid stunts and then grinning at him, knowing Clark couldn't stay mad…Damn it. He knew what Whit did was wrong. Clark sighed and wiped his eyes. Complicated, his life had become so complicated.

There came a little dry cough behind him. "Come on up, Hannah. I know you're there."

"Clark. What's bothering you, big brother? And don’t try to deny it; you're really not very good at hiding it. It's Whit and Lana, right?"

"Hey, it's none of your business and you're too young for talk like this anyway. You should be…be…making potholders, or something."

"Our troop's making wallets this week, besides, I'm not blind. I *see* what's going on."

Clark's stomach froze. He turned to her and asked, "What is going on? I mean, what do *you* mean?"

She came and sat next to him. "It's obvious. Just like the movies. You're torn between being a good friend, and being in love with your friend's girl. It's hard. And I'm betting something happened on your date. You kissed her?"

"No, she kissed me." Clark blew out the breath it felt like he'd been holding since talking to Whit. "She kissed me and lied about it to Whit. Well, fudged the truth a bit."

"Clark…it's pretty hard to believe that Lana would cheat on Whit." She looked disbelieving.

"See Hannah? If you don’t believe me, no one else will. I didn’t kiss her; I don’t even want to kiss her. I like her, lots, but she's just like a sister to me now, like she is to you." He smiled softly and sighed. "I don’t know. I'm just changing I guess. Maybe growing up."

"Maybe…listen, Clark. Please be careful of Whit. He does like you, he admires you, but…he's used to people liking him for what he can do. He might not believe that you're his friend just because you like him. I'm not sure he knows how to be a friend."

Clark listened to Hannah, and it made sense in a way. But …"Whit wouldn't do anything to hurt me. He cares. He's different than most guys, sure, but most of us are farmer's kids. Whit's been all over the country, he's rich, he knows things." He said again, "He wouldn't hurt me. And I talked to him about Lana—he's been thinking about breaking up with her."


"Clark. Clark, you *must* watch out. I don’t know. Maybe, maybe you're good for him. Maybe he'll grow up a little too." She looked doubtful, but before Clark could continue his argument, she winced and rubbed her eyes. "Gosh, feels like the top of my head wants to come off. I guess it's past my bedtime."

Clark kissed the top of her head and hugged her. "Okay kid, go take a powder—and take a powder. Get it? Headache powder?" He grinned at his own joke, and she snorted.

"Guess the Marx Brothers are missing one, funny guy...."

After she left, Clark climbed into pajamas and rolled into bed, and thought about what Hannah said. Some of it made sense. "She's too damn smart for her age," he sighed. He turned out the light, and lay on his bed, and the incident in the truck rose up in his mind like a movie. He saw Whit's eyes blazing in the dark, blue, so blue, and his mouth—the heat of his fingers on his wrist. He felt the soft insistent press of Lana's lips against his, her tongue, kitten swift in his mouth, and then it was Whit, and it was Lana and it was…he was panting, and almost afraid. This…his cock was stiff and lifting up, and this had never happened to him before, but he knew—it was what boys joked about when no girls were around.

He pressed against the bulge lifting his pajama bottom and shivered. It felt good to touch. He pulled down the blankets, his bottoms and looked. His…his cock…thinking the word made him shiver, touching his cock made him groan. He was startled when wet welled up in the slit at the head, dribbled over his fingers. When he made a fist around it and pulled down the shaft, more leaked out. What little he'd heard from guys talking he knew being hard was normal. He hoped the clear fluid leaking all over was normal too. He jerked on his hard length and groaned, bucked up without wanting to—it was dizzying, he felt guilty, he felt *good*. He did it again, and the deep rose head of his cock was slick with wet and he felt something rise up inside him, like his insides were tightening, and something was going to break—he tried to stop the feeling but it was so big, so had to happen— in his mind Whit touched his hand again and said, "I forgive you," and the horrible tension snapped. His hips lifted from the bed, and he shook and cried out. Fire raced out of him, hot thick fluid dropped on his stomach, he was thrusting through his slick fist…he was gasping for breath, flat on the bed and stunned. That was, was…pretty good. Not so bad. He didn’t feel sick, or evil, he just felt tired and…pretty good. A tiny voice said see, that's good, sex--what it's all about, you're not so different….

@@@@@@


Whit asked Clark to drive out past town with him because he had something he wanted to talk to him about.

Clark agreed immediately, still feeling a lot of guilt over Lana, but on the other hand, pleased to be spending time with Whit, finally.

They parked near Chandler Field, in a part of the field farthest from the road, and Clark waited patiently for Whit to talk. He sat on the tailgate and smoked for a long time, and then began asking Clark strange questions, and Clark started to feel uncomfortable.

"So, what girls do you like?"

"What? I...I don't know, I just—"

"You just liked my girlfriend? What about Ally? She's pretty built, or Brenda—she's fast, I hear. Like her?"

"I--I guess. No."

He looked at Clark, stared at him for a long minute and inhaled. "Do you jerk off?" he asked.

Clark flinched, and had a brief flash of doing just that and picturing—confusing things. "That's personal."

"Hey, don't get in a sweat, guys ask that, that's all."

"Maybe." Clark wondered if he could just get Whit punch him one and take him home.

"Sure, they talk about girls and stuff, they look at dirty books—you ever seen one?"

Clark shook his head slowly--no, never.

"I got some, you wanna see?" Whit asked, and pulled a bag out from under the seat. "And I got something to drink." He held up a flask and took a deep pull from it, his face was red, and he smiled. "You try."

Clark shook his head again. "No, no, my dad would kill me, really."

"You’re such a goody two shoes, you never do anything wrong. Oh wait—you messed around with my girl behind my back."

Clark looked down and red filled his face. "You said…you said you understood…" just hit me and get it over with

"I did say that, didn't I?" He pulled out a little stack of comics. "Look at these." Clark took one and gasped a little. Cartoon men and women were having cartoon sex. His face flared impossibly hotter.

"Whit—"

Whit sucked at the neck of the flask again, "Jesus Kent, you aren’t going to tell me to behave, are you? Shit." He laughed and flipped through the comic and his cheekbones turned red, "Look, this one's pretty good." Clark looked, and slowly moved just a little closer to see what it was fascinated Whit so. The drawing in this comic was a little better, and he could recognize it was supposed to be a popular cartoon character from the papers--a farmer, black-haired, barefoot and in overalls. He was on his knees; doing things to a girl with his tongue, and his penis. Clark swallowed. His throat felt tight, and his mouth felt hot. Whit said, "This one is my favorite, I like looking at it a lot."

Whit shifted, touched himself, a quick flitting brush of knuckles over the bulge in his pants and Clark instantly felt breathless, so hot it made him want to claw out of his clothes. Whit moved closer, and his elbow moved against Clark, torturing him. He whispered, "Look at it," and his breath was warm, and smelled a little like burnt sugar and licorice--Clark shivered, and Whit kept talking so quietly, and maybe, Clark thought, fearfully. "You know why it's my favorite…it's because…the guy reminds me of you. Look at that, look how he's touching her, licking her…I look at this and imagine you’re doing this…to me."

Clark felt a thrill of shocked horror spread through him, at the same time a wave of heat exploded in his groin and traveled straight up his body to crash out of his mouth. His eyes flew wide and then slammed shut and a heavy pulse shook him down there, even stronger than when he touched himself. He opened an eye and looked down. His cock was stiff, pressed painfully against his inseam and his hands flew to cover his embarrassment…Whit said holy shit and his warm breath, his changed voice, sent shivers from Clark's ear to his cock. He felt the touch of his hand change from shielding to caressing, and then—things went horribly worse.

Whit turned his head and sighed and Clark turned his and they were lip to lip. Whit groaned, laughed—some noise--grabbed Clark by the hair and kissed him hard and buried his hand in Clark's lap, Clark surged to his feet and Whit followed. They staggered back on the truck bed; Whit grabbed Clark's hips and pulled him close. Ground against him and for one amazing moment Clark saw stars, stars were falling all around him like warm rain, and the next, he was lying on his back in the dirt and Whit was cursing him.

Clark felt horror, confusion, and the cross burning a hole in his chest. He reached down to touch it, trying to understand what had just happened. "Wha—"

One of Whit's teammates was standing over him. "You disgusting fairy—we saw what you were doing." Another guy called out, "are you okay Whit?"

"Hell yeah, I punched his lights into next week." His expression was savage, but his eyes were pleading. In the harsh silence, Whit's mouth moved. please.

Clark couldn't do it---he knew Whit deserved nothing from him, but he couldn’t do it, not when Whit was pleading with his very soul…Clark took a breath and knew he was a making a bad choice. "I—I'm sorry Whit, I'm sorry."

They left him lying in the field. Clark got up to walk the miles back home, alone and terrified…afraid of what would happen now, wondering how he could explain that he hadn't been the one who wanted it…he stopped and took a deep shaky breath. Right. Whitney, golden boy, big man around the school, rich boy, against him—the freak. Any friends he had were Whit's, any notice he got was because of Whit…*how* could he betray him like that? Whit was supposed to be his *friend*.

All the way home, scene after scene, all the times Whit had done something odd, played out but Clark had ignored it, because he was such a good friend.


Later that night, in his bed, Clark admitted that he hadn’t ignored those moments so much as saved them up, stored in his mind to take out and look at and wonder over. What did it mean? Whitney had a beautiful girlfriend, a charmed life—why would he do something like that? It made Whit as much of a freak as he was. Clark felt tears sting under his closed eyelids. Freak…and if he liked to think that Whit wanted to touch him—not like tonight, like Lana had…then it doubled his own freakishness. This was even worse, he knew it. He knew what Smallville, the church, kids at school had to say about it. He heard locker room jokes, and the words boys used…he knew that Whit couldn't afford to have people think that about him. Clark knew that somehow, some way, he was going to pay for what Whit did.

part 11
TBC

Comments

[kyanoswolf]

Whitney is such a ass. Seducing, poor innocent and sexually confused Clark and then betraying him? While Whit's pretty, it's only skin deep. Rotten to the core soul.

Only thing good that will come of this is putting Clark in Lex's path at last.

Loved it.

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

I hated making my boy the bad guy...it really was hard to do, but I have plans for Clark and they don't involve anyone but Lex...I'm pretty sure.