![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: How I Spent My Summer Vacation part three
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
Rating: R
Summary: All about what Clark learns on his summer job.
I promise, this one is not going to be a year long never-ending WIP.
The previous parts are here practing, having decided that musical comedy is their forte…what part of The Music Man had dildos…?
So, Clark thought…self-starters. Gabe would be thrilled at how self-starting the crew was—Whit and Jason disappeared every lunch break for almost an hour and left it up to them to handle their biz, as Rog said…
Clark angrily jammed a shovel into the flowerbed under the Ezra Apartments sign, just missed killing a little family of impatiens. Why did those guys leave? What were those jerks doing everyday at lunch? Pete wandered by. "What the fuck is it with you guys and the flower hate?"
"Hunh--what? Ish!" The little family of impatiens lay scattered on the turned flower bed… victims of Clark's absent minded, temper fueled shoveling.
When Clark finally figured it out, he felt kind of stupid.
It was one day when the two of them came back later than usual and they looked…hell, even *Clark* knew what they looked like, and God knew he wasn't getting any but Whit and Jason obviously were. Getting any. Lots of any by the look of it. They rolled up, all rumpled, sleepy-eyed, and sporting huge grins of obnoxious satisfaction, throwing it in everyone's face, the bastards—oooo, cool--they brought ice-cream! Clark straightened from where he'd been plastered against the side of the truck with Pete, both of them sucking down the hundredth thimble sized paper cup of water Gabe so generously provided.
Pete leaned into Clark and spoke out the side of his mouth, in that way he mistakenly thought was casual. "Hey…you think they're taking off to get laid? They look like they got laid. They're getting laid on their lunch hour, lucky bastards…wonder who they're nailing?"
Clark's face twisted in disgust. "Jesus, Pete--who cares? Just the thought--" He shuddered. Why would anyone even want to think about Whit having sex, or care who with?
"I'm just saying…wow, look at the honeys in Mcdonalds. Yeah, you know you want this…" They stared into the windows; eating their sex guilt ice cream and watching the girls inside watch them. Clark wondered if any of the girls would want to have sex with Whit. Would any of them be content with a lunch hour fuck?
Jason called Pete over, smirking. "Hey, let's have some fun…take your shirt off and walk over to the truck for some water, make it good."
Pete looked surprised. "Why do I have to---oh, wait—" a slow, evil grin spread over his face. "Okay." He took off his shirt, stuffed it in the back of his shorts and sauntered across the baking blacktop in a way that was so casual it screamed look at me. Clark watched the girls inside, giggling and nudging each other—one or two actually stood to get a better look, and Pete played it up. The girls were fanning themselves, laughing and Clark glanced over at Pete with a grin to say something and stuttered into silence. *holy fuck…*because Pete looked…good. Really good. Damn…he knew Pete was built but this…this was crazy. Pete yawned and stretched and Clark gulped. Muscles slid and bunched and relaxed and it was like watching a dance…damn. He glanced over at the others, to see if they saw what he did. Whit was grinning, watching the girls watching Pete, and laughing at the little show. Jason watched Whit like he was trying to decide if he wanted to laugh or not and finally chuckled. Greg scowled a little but he'd always been oversensitive to body issues, and Billy…Billy was blushing and doing that looking without looking thing a person did when they were embarrassed and Roger—Roger looked pissed off for a second, before giggling too. He broke from the group and walked over to Pete, and leaned on him, pointing out some of the more vocal girls inside. They waved, and got waves back. Roger held up his hand—five fingers splayed. He mouthed, we get off at five o'clock. Some of the girls nodded.
Billy didn't look embarrassed anymore. Now he just looked kind of pinched and…tired. Roger and Pete wandered back, laughing hard, and Pete said, "Your turn Cee."
Clark just stared. "My turn? What for?"
Who the hell would want to see him? His baggy shirt, hanging low over his baggy shorts covered nothing special. "It's not—I'm not like Pete." They teased him and dared him and kept on until finally he said, all right! He pulled his shirt off, and everyone except Pete was prepared to laugh—because Pete knew what Clark didn't even know.
There was silence. Clark flushed. Okay. So he wasn't Pete, but it wasn't like he was Quasimodo either, or Igor, or other hunched up guys…He had muscles. He wasn't ugly…oh fuck. He started to put the shirt back on and Pete grabbed it, threw it at Clark's head and gave him a push.
"Go on Cee—get over there and reel something in, man." Clark walked a lot faster than Pete had across the lot, straight to the truck, blushing furiously. He was too embarrassed to look at the window, or the girls giggling behind the glass. He grabbed a cup, filled it and gulped it down and headed straight back to the flower beds, feeling kind of unpleasantly exposed and really--like a prize idiot. He swung the shirt over one shoulder and hitched at his shorts—they were sliding down again. He scowled down at the offending shorts, looked up and almost stumbled. They were staring at him, with various expressions of surprise. "What?"
"Clark…you grew some since last summer," Pete said. Roger was looking everywhere but at Clark and managed to step on Billy's foot somehow. Billy had tears in his eyes and he was looked really super pissed at Roger and Jason--Jason looked furious, and Whit looked like he'd been hit by a truck. "What?" Clark asked again. "There's something on me isn’t there?" He brushed at himself, trying to dislodge whatever it was, and Whit made a strangled noise.
"Get back to work Kent," Jason snapped.
Something happened to the relaxed and silly atmosphere of before…at the end of the day, Roger and Pete stayed behind, and Billy and Clark left with the leads.
At SL&L, Billy lingered a bit by his car, until Clark walked over. "Hey, Billy, you okay? Too much sun today?"
Billy looked exhausted. "Yeah Clark, too much sun. Too much everything." For a second, he looked older than his years, and his eyes were deep and dark. Clark was seized with the insane desire to pick him up and hug him…Billy shivered and smiled. "Just being stupid," he said, and his face fell into its familiar deadpan expression, and his voice smoothed into its usual toneless mode. "All the world's a stage, Kent…blah, blah, blah. Ciao, I've got to pick up my idiot."
He watched Billy drive off and jingled Pete's keys in his pocket. My idiot…he glanced around the lot. The leads cars were still there, and Gabe's car…Clark headed for Pete's car, and sat for a second. Pete said he'd call. He glanced around idly, noting the cars, looked at the woods bordering the park, watched a squirrel run around, zoomed in on it for fun…he was getting better and better about controlling this stuff. Except for that floating thing—which wasn't too bad, it was the waking and crashing thing that was a problem. And now his bed was a sheet of plywood on some cinderblocks…yeah. He focused on the squirrel, concentrated on hearing its little teeth work over a nut or something. He could hear the critch critch critch of its teeth, it's little satisfied whiffles. He smiled. He heard a breathy moan…oookay. That wasn't a squirrel. Someone was in the woods. He blushed, and what the hey, gave in to the temptation…was it being a peeping tom if you weren’t actually there?
"Fu-uck," he heard, and flushed. Sounded like Whit, and that was a pretty horrible thought. What if Lana was here? He heard panting, moaning, hurried whispered commands for quiet, and demands for more. Clark gulped and pressed against the growing bulge pushing his shorts away from his body, listened harder, almost afraid to hear Lana's voice…"Jason, fuck that's so good—"
Jay—hunh?Clark suddenly felt like he was flying, zooming over the ground, through the woods through trees, and then he was right there in a little dip in the woods, a grass lined natural bowl between trees and two skeletons were trying to become one.
"Yeah, fuck me, feels good—harder. Shit you're like a fucking little girl, come on, damn it!"
"I don’t want to hurt you…"
"Make me feel it, asshole, you can't hurt me—aah! That's it…"
Clark blinked and he was looking at skin now, at bodies connected intimately…Jason on Whit's lap, legs trapped in his shorts, t-shirt pulled up behind his head and Whit's hands running up and down his back, fingers grabbing Jason's ass, digging in hard, pushing his cock in and out of him. He was moaning, "Jay, shit—shit---I'm gonna come…"
Jason laughed, and began moving faster, and Clark could hear the wet smack of flesh and it made his cock throb. "Not yet, not yet…" Jason had his hands on Whit's shoulders his head tipped back, his movement frantic.
Clark was so hard it was unreal. None of this was possible—it shouldn’t be like this—it shouldn’t be anywhere near this fucking hot. He stared hard at Whit's cock driving in and out of Jason, the stretch of muscle, the wet gleam of Whit's cock—he had an overwhelming desire, so strong it made him groan, to be right there. He wanted to feel Whit, to watch Jason come and smell it and feel it and taste it…his cock jumped. Whit, he whispered. He watched Whit's face, watched his teeth grab his lip, watched it swell as he bit down, watched his pupils swell, and blood flush his face, his neck, and heard the small sound well up out of him, grow louder and louder until he was grunting, holding Jason's waist and thrusting—hard sharp and each push in he murmured, "Jay, Jay…." Clark groaned when Jason leaned back, far enough that he could see how hard and red his cock was, the way it jumped, and the way come spattered over Whit's belly.
Clark was back in the car alone, came back to himself with a wrench, so sudden that it shocked him. He panted, and felt himself throb and jerk, felt wet cotton clinging to him…damn—damn--He shook his head, took great big gulps of air and tried to force his cock down through sheer willpower. He needed to get out of the lot before—before they came back. Clark was afraid to listen anymore, afraid to look and when a squirrel ran across the lot, he blushed hot as hell and shuddered.
The next week, Jason didn't show up for a couple of days, and Gabe looked unhappy but not pissed off, which was kind of strange since the few times something had kept one or the other of them out, Gabe acted like he was passing a kidney through his ass. Pete tried to hit Chloe up for information but she blew him off. "Really Pete, the puppy dog eyes aren’t going to help—I have no idea what's up with Jason or Dad."
Clark thought the puppy dog eyes were doing something; she was smiling after Pete even as he walked away…or you know, it could be his ass.
Whit on the other hand, looked--and acted--as pissed off as Gabe should be. He stalked around like a grizzly with a thorn in its paw and every time he looked Clark's way, Clark wanted to shrink and disappear. He hoped it didn't show in his face, but every time Whit turned his way he could feel his face start to burn…like it used to when he saw Lana. It could have gone on into really bad territory, but thankfully something happened to squash the…the god-awful crush or whatever the hell it was, from developing.
Lana stopped in one afternoon to visit Whit and Clark stared at Whit as he hugged her and laughed with her and in general acted like he was completely love-struck…what a *dick*. What a complete asshole…poor Lana.
The minute she left, the smile Whit had sent her off with dropped away, his eyes were bleak when he turned. When he caught sight of Clark, they flared with barely concealed anger—if he hadn’t been human, Clark would have ducked. Clark swallowed—shit, it must be all over his face, how he felt. He raised his eyebrows and tried for nonchalance. The whistling might have been over the top….
"What the fuck's your problem?" Whit snapped and Clark said the first thing that came into his mind, that given the situation that he supposedly didn't know anything about, was a pretty stupid thing to say.
"Where—how's Jason?"
"What? Jay….he's okay." Whit started to turn away, and turned back. "You got something you want to talk to me about? Because you look like you've got something on your mind."
"No, no, I was just concerned. Gabe said that Jason was sick and I wondered…"
"He's fine Clark. He'll be at work tomorrow. And really, it's none of your business."
Clark watched him walk away—stung by his rudeness. He's more than an asshole—he's the asshole of the *Earth*! No—the fucking *universe!! What a giant dick. How does Lana stand it? Whit drove by without a glance. How *does* she stand it? Maybe…maybe someone should tell her…?
part 4
TBC
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
Rating: R
Summary: All about what Clark learns on his summer job.
I promise, this one is not going to be a year long never-ending WIP.
The previous parts are here practing, having decided that musical comedy is their forte…what part of The Music Man had dildos…?
So, Clark thought…self-starters. Gabe would be thrilled at how self-starting the crew was—Whit and Jason disappeared every lunch break for almost an hour and left it up to them to handle their biz, as Rog said…
Clark angrily jammed a shovel into the flowerbed under the Ezra Apartments sign, just missed killing a little family of impatiens. Why did those guys leave? What were those jerks doing everyday at lunch? Pete wandered by. "What the fuck is it with you guys and the flower hate?"
"Hunh--what? Ish!" The little family of impatiens lay scattered on the turned flower bed… victims of Clark's absent minded, temper fueled shoveling.
When Clark finally figured it out, he felt kind of stupid.
It was one day when the two of them came back later than usual and they looked…hell, even *Clark* knew what they looked like, and God knew he wasn't getting any but Whit and Jason obviously were. Getting any. Lots of any by the look of it. They rolled up, all rumpled, sleepy-eyed, and sporting huge grins of obnoxious satisfaction, throwing it in everyone's face, the bastards—oooo, cool--they brought ice-cream! Clark straightened from where he'd been plastered against the side of the truck with Pete, both of them sucking down the hundredth thimble sized paper cup of water Gabe so generously provided.
Pete leaned into Clark and spoke out the side of his mouth, in that way he mistakenly thought was casual. "Hey…you think they're taking off to get laid? They look like they got laid. They're getting laid on their lunch hour, lucky bastards…wonder who they're nailing?"
Clark's face twisted in disgust. "Jesus, Pete--who cares? Just the thought--" He shuddered. Why would anyone even want to think about Whit having sex, or care who with?
"I'm just saying…wow, look at the honeys in Mcdonalds. Yeah, you know you want this…" They stared into the windows; eating their sex guilt ice cream and watching the girls inside watch them. Clark wondered if any of the girls would want to have sex with Whit. Would any of them be content with a lunch hour fuck?
Jason called Pete over, smirking. "Hey, let's have some fun…take your shirt off and walk over to the truck for some water, make it good."
Pete looked surprised. "Why do I have to---oh, wait—" a slow, evil grin spread over his face. "Okay." He took off his shirt, stuffed it in the back of his shorts and sauntered across the baking blacktop in a way that was so casual it screamed look at me. Clark watched the girls inside, giggling and nudging each other—one or two actually stood to get a better look, and Pete played it up. The girls were fanning themselves, laughing and Clark glanced over at Pete with a grin to say something and stuttered into silence. *holy fuck…*because Pete looked…good. Really good. Damn…he knew Pete was built but this…this was crazy. Pete yawned and stretched and Clark gulped. Muscles slid and bunched and relaxed and it was like watching a dance…damn. He glanced over at the others, to see if they saw what he did. Whit was grinning, watching the girls watching Pete, and laughing at the little show. Jason watched Whit like he was trying to decide if he wanted to laugh or not and finally chuckled. Greg scowled a little but he'd always been oversensitive to body issues, and Billy…Billy was blushing and doing that looking without looking thing a person did when they were embarrassed and Roger—Roger looked pissed off for a second, before giggling too. He broke from the group and walked over to Pete, and leaned on him, pointing out some of the more vocal girls inside. They waved, and got waves back. Roger held up his hand—five fingers splayed. He mouthed, we get off at five o'clock. Some of the girls nodded.
Billy didn't look embarrassed anymore. Now he just looked kind of pinched and…tired. Roger and Pete wandered back, laughing hard, and Pete said, "Your turn Cee."
Clark just stared. "My turn? What for?"
Who the hell would want to see him? His baggy shirt, hanging low over his baggy shorts covered nothing special. "It's not—I'm not like Pete." They teased him and dared him and kept on until finally he said, all right! He pulled his shirt off, and everyone except Pete was prepared to laugh—because Pete knew what Clark didn't even know.
There was silence. Clark flushed. Okay. So he wasn't Pete, but it wasn't like he was Quasimodo either, or Igor, or other hunched up guys…He had muscles. He wasn't ugly…oh fuck. He started to put the shirt back on and Pete grabbed it, threw it at Clark's head and gave him a push.
"Go on Cee—get over there and reel something in, man." Clark walked a lot faster than Pete had across the lot, straight to the truck, blushing furiously. He was too embarrassed to look at the window, or the girls giggling behind the glass. He grabbed a cup, filled it and gulped it down and headed straight back to the flower beds, feeling kind of unpleasantly exposed and really--like a prize idiot. He swung the shirt over one shoulder and hitched at his shorts—they were sliding down again. He scowled down at the offending shorts, looked up and almost stumbled. They were staring at him, with various expressions of surprise. "What?"
"Clark…you grew some since last summer," Pete said. Roger was looking everywhere but at Clark and managed to step on Billy's foot somehow. Billy had tears in his eyes and he was looked really super pissed at Roger and Jason--Jason looked furious, and Whit looked like he'd been hit by a truck. "What?" Clark asked again. "There's something on me isn’t there?" He brushed at himself, trying to dislodge whatever it was, and Whit made a strangled noise.
"Get back to work Kent," Jason snapped.
Something happened to the relaxed and silly atmosphere of before…at the end of the day, Roger and Pete stayed behind, and Billy and Clark left with the leads.
At SL&L, Billy lingered a bit by his car, until Clark walked over. "Hey, Billy, you okay? Too much sun today?"
Billy looked exhausted. "Yeah Clark, too much sun. Too much everything." For a second, he looked older than his years, and his eyes were deep and dark. Clark was seized with the insane desire to pick him up and hug him…Billy shivered and smiled. "Just being stupid," he said, and his face fell into its familiar deadpan expression, and his voice smoothed into its usual toneless mode. "All the world's a stage, Kent…blah, blah, blah. Ciao, I've got to pick up my idiot."
He watched Billy drive off and jingled Pete's keys in his pocket. My idiot…he glanced around the lot. The leads cars were still there, and Gabe's car…Clark headed for Pete's car, and sat for a second. Pete said he'd call. He glanced around idly, noting the cars, looked at the woods bordering the park, watched a squirrel run around, zoomed in on it for fun…he was getting better and better about controlling this stuff. Except for that floating thing—which wasn't too bad, it was the waking and crashing thing that was a problem. And now his bed was a sheet of plywood on some cinderblocks…yeah. He focused on the squirrel, concentrated on hearing its little teeth work over a nut or something. He could hear the critch critch critch of its teeth, it's little satisfied whiffles. He smiled. He heard a breathy moan…oookay. That wasn't a squirrel. Someone was in the woods. He blushed, and what the hey, gave in to the temptation…was it being a peeping tom if you weren’t actually there?
"Fu-uck," he heard, and flushed. Sounded like Whit, and that was a pretty horrible thought. What if Lana was here? He heard panting, moaning, hurried whispered commands for quiet, and demands for more. Clark gulped and pressed against the growing bulge pushing his shorts away from his body, listened harder, almost afraid to hear Lana's voice…"Jason, fuck that's so good—"
Jay—hunh?Clark suddenly felt like he was flying, zooming over the ground, through the woods through trees, and then he was right there in a little dip in the woods, a grass lined natural bowl between trees and two skeletons were trying to become one.
"Yeah, fuck me, feels good—harder. Shit you're like a fucking little girl, come on, damn it!"
"I don’t want to hurt you…"
"Make me feel it, asshole, you can't hurt me—aah! That's it…"
Clark blinked and he was looking at skin now, at bodies connected intimately…Jason on Whit's lap, legs trapped in his shorts, t-shirt pulled up behind his head and Whit's hands running up and down his back, fingers grabbing Jason's ass, digging in hard, pushing his cock in and out of him. He was moaning, "Jay, shit—shit---I'm gonna come…"
Jason laughed, and began moving faster, and Clark could hear the wet smack of flesh and it made his cock throb. "Not yet, not yet…" Jason had his hands on Whit's shoulders his head tipped back, his movement frantic.
Clark was so hard it was unreal. None of this was possible—it shouldn’t be like this—it shouldn’t be anywhere near this fucking hot. He stared hard at Whit's cock driving in and out of Jason, the stretch of muscle, the wet gleam of Whit's cock—he had an overwhelming desire, so strong it made him groan, to be right there. He wanted to feel Whit, to watch Jason come and smell it and feel it and taste it…his cock jumped. Whit, he whispered. He watched Whit's face, watched his teeth grab his lip, watched it swell as he bit down, watched his pupils swell, and blood flush his face, his neck, and heard the small sound well up out of him, grow louder and louder until he was grunting, holding Jason's waist and thrusting—hard sharp and each push in he murmured, "Jay, Jay…." Clark groaned when Jason leaned back, far enough that he could see how hard and red his cock was, the way it jumped, and the way come spattered over Whit's belly.
Clark was back in the car alone, came back to himself with a wrench, so sudden that it shocked him. He panted, and felt himself throb and jerk, felt wet cotton clinging to him…damn—damn--He shook his head, took great big gulps of air and tried to force his cock down through sheer willpower. He needed to get out of the lot before—before they came back. Clark was afraid to listen anymore, afraid to look and when a squirrel ran across the lot, he blushed hot as hell and shuddered.
The next week, Jason didn't show up for a couple of days, and Gabe looked unhappy but not pissed off, which was kind of strange since the few times something had kept one or the other of them out, Gabe acted like he was passing a kidney through his ass. Pete tried to hit Chloe up for information but she blew him off. "Really Pete, the puppy dog eyes aren’t going to help—I have no idea what's up with Jason or Dad."
Clark thought the puppy dog eyes were doing something; she was smiling after Pete even as he walked away…or you know, it could be his ass.
Whit on the other hand, looked--and acted--as pissed off as Gabe should be. He stalked around like a grizzly with a thorn in its paw and every time he looked Clark's way, Clark wanted to shrink and disappear. He hoped it didn't show in his face, but every time Whit turned his way he could feel his face start to burn…like it used to when he saw Lana. It could have gone on into really bad territory, but thankfully something happened to squash the…the god-awful crush or whatever the hell it was, from developing.
Lana stopped in one afternoon to visit Whit and Clark stared at Whit as he hugged her and laughed with her and in general acted like he was completely love-struck…what a *dick*. What a complete asshole…poor Lana.
The minute she left, the smile Whit had sent her off with dropped away, his eyes were bleak when he turned. When he caught sight of Clark, they flared with barely concealed anger—if he hadn’t been human, Clark would have ducked. Clark swallowed—shit, it must be all over his face, how he felt. He raised his eyebrows and tried for nonchalance. The whistling might have been over the top….
"What the fuck's your problem?" Whit snapped and Clark said the first thing that came into his mind, that given the situation that he supposedly didn't know anything about, was a pretty stupid thing to say.
"Where—how's Jason?"
"What? Jay….he's okay." Whit started to turn away, and turned back. "You got something you want to talk to me about? Because you look like you've got something on your mind."
"No, no, I was just concerned. Gabe said that Jason was sick and I wondered…"
"He's fine Clark. He'll be at work tomorrow. And really, it's none of your business."
Clark watched him walk away—stung by his rudeness. He's more than an asshole—he's the asshole of the *Earth*! No—the fucking *universe!! What a giant dick. How does Lana stand it? Whit drove by without a glance. How *does* she stand it? Maybe…maybe someone should tell her…?
part 4
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
7/22/08 11:24 pm (UTC)your description of pete and clark strutting was really hot-making. yummy boys.
(no subject)
7/23/08 01:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/22/08 11:53 pm (UTC)Is it wrong that I kind of want a Clark/Whitney/Jason threesome? Because that picture in my head...damn.
(no subject)
7/23/08 01:13 am (UTC)Ah, not wrong, not wrong at all....
(no subject)
7/23/08 12:10 am (UTC)Too bad Clarkbar is just too nice for his own good sometimes (and I lurrrrve a jealous!Jason. . . almost as much as gob-smacked-Whit.)
*applauds* Brava, brava, my dear. Simply. . . delicious!
*BEAMS*
7/23/08 01:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/23/08 01:07 am (UTC)The previous parts are here practing, having decided that musical comedy is their forte…what part of The Music Man had dildos…?
Ummm.... guess that kinda does give a while new meaning to 76 trombones ;)
(no subject)
7/23/08 01:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/23/08 01:18 am (UTC)*picks you up and
gropes youdusts you off*(no subject)
7/23/08 01:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
7/23/08 04:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/23/08 02:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/23/08 04:03 pm (UTC)but it wasn't like he was Quasimodo either, or Igor,
7/23/08 03:28 pm (UTC)but phewfanswhitjaypeteclark.......guhhh,between all of them, i am not cold anymore :D
Re: but it wasn't like he was Quasimodo either, or Igor,
7/23/08 04:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/24/08 12:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/24/08 11:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
7/25/08 05:08 am (UTC)*la*
(no subject)
5/2/10 04:51 pm (UTC)Everyone's reactions to seeing Clark were priceless and Clark spying on Whit/Jason was soooo hot. Your descriptions were amazing.
(no subject)
5/2/10 06:05 pm (UTC)This story definitely had its moments for me! :)