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roxyTitle: How I Spent My Summer Vacation
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
Rating: PG
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. At least, I don't think so.
The previous parts are here, writing about the night they spent with Milton Gwel, star of the big screen epic The Smog, and Littleburg, a semi-well known genre television show, and how they left him speechless…or maybe catatonic….
Clark was comfortably sitting at a table in the back of the Beanery nursing an iced coffee and trying not to wolf down a chocolate chip muffin, when Jason sat down next to him and plopped a to-go cup of iced tea on the table. Clark swallowed and put the muffin down. "…hi."
"Kent." Jason glanced around, his usual frown pulling his face tight and his eyes narrow, and Clark thought Oh…bet he does that to look less pretty. He is really pretty—I mean, handsome. Whatever. It must be hard being Jason, being so pretty…Clark searched his face, noticed that the split lip of two days before was just a pink line now, and Clark had to look hard to see the gash over his eyebrow. He sure healed fast. Really fast.
Clark was also very surprised that Jason sought him out, considering he had the feeling Jason had a pretty good idea that something had gone down between him and Whit. Jason continued to gaze around the café, green eyes narrowed. He did that lip pursing thing he did sometimes and it was kind of hot. Clark opened his mouth, and words fell out. "You're really…" And there his brain seized up, threw a shoe, packed its little overnight bag and waved good bye—bastard motherfucker. Fuck. You're really what—come up with something good Clark or Jason is going to suck your eyeballs out and not in any kind of fun way--"…early. It's early." Wow. Lame and other L words.
"Early? The fuck—it's twelve in the afternoon…" He sneered. "Don’t get all excited, Lucy. I'm only sitting here because you look pathetic sitting here on your own."
Clark nodded and sipped his iced coffee and watched Jason some more. He really had pretty lips, looked like they'd be so soft and smooth, and warm…the longest lashes too. A flicker of thought swept him, looking down on those long lashes brushing his pink cheeks and fluttering against the cute freckles there, Jason on his knees with his pretty red soft smooth lips all wet and pulling at his cock, those pink cheeks hollowing as he sucked—
God! He was turning into some kind of sex fiend—lately it was all he could think about. Jason sucked hard on his straw and Clark watched his throat work as iced tea went down and he felt…well, there'd be no standing, that was for sure. Jason licked his lips and Clark remembered his cock, jerking and spurting all over Whit's chest and he'd love to make Jason do that in his mouth—for fuck's sake! What the hell--Whit did something to him—he didn't just kiss him, he infected him with—with sex spores. Or…Clark dropped his eyes, maybe he was in heat. Oh my God was that possible? Who knew! It could be, oh shit, he was in heat, some kind of horrible freaky alien thing and he was—
"…Kent? Are you listening?"
"What? Um, no…" He could feel his face burning. With any luck he'd just burst into flame all over.
Jason stared at him with a kind of dawning awareness, his expression sliding from somewhat shocked to somewhat intrigued. "Are you," he hesitated and licked his lip again and Clark wanted to curl up on the seat and die. Now would be a good time to find out he had the power of invisibility, or maybe he did because apparently he was entirely transparent to Jason. "Are you okay, Clark…you wanna leave?"
Clark nodded, speechless, guilt riddled and horny as hell but he felt that it wasn't really his fault since he was possessed by alien sex spores and had to do whatever Jason said, or something like that. Jason was asking him if he wanted to go for a ride and he was nodding again, and moving and then he was in Jason's truck…no, Whit's truck.
"Why are you in Whit's truck?"
"Lana picked him up and he asked me to take the truck back to my house so I am…eventually."
Clark nodded—again—and they drove out of town. Halfway down the road he realized Jason had said eventually. What did that mean?
They passed over the bridge that marked the unofficial entrance to town and he debated telling Jason the story about saving that rich guy who'd gone off the bridge in 2001, but figured it was a stupid subject to bring up and Jason looked kind of…Jason-y, more than likely he'd just laugh in his face, so he kept quiet. Jason was silent all the way up to the Castle, which destination Clark found really weird, considering what he'd been thinking about. Jason stopped at the far gate, and said, "This huge pretentious pile of crap is our next job. Used to be some Metropolis outfit that did it but Gabe's got the contract now. Dude's about to have a fucking coronary, he's so happy. Come on. And try not to be blinded by the hideous fake medieval architecture."
They got out and headed towards the fence and Jason made a slow down motion. There was a spot in the fence that was damaged, bent from something and he squeezed in…Clark squeezed his way in also, and maybe after he squeezed through, the gap was a little wider….
They wandered over the stepped lawn in back of the Castle, threaded in and out of a box maze. Jason told him the history of the place, or as he called it, the incredibly embellished bullshit fantast tale masquerading as history. The Luthor family supposedly bought and transferred their ancestral family home to America, to rebuild in Smallville. "Trouble is, it's impossible for this to be their 'ancestral home', because Lionel Luthor is a two-bit hustling conman and social climber who didn’t have a penny to rub together until the seventies...Scots ancestors my fuckin' ass." He said it in the same tone anyone else would have used to say that the Luthors raped and murdered kittens. Clark wondered if that was jealousy talking—the Teagues were well to do, but the Luthors were stupid rich.
Clark walked along the slightly overgrown garden path, staring up at the crenellated rooftop, and tried to imagine living in a place like it. All he really knew about the Luthors was that Lionel was rich, and apparently a kitten murderer and his son was…interesting, liked to drive fast. No one of that family had ever lived here, even though it must have cost blood to move the place stone by stone to a relative backwater of Kansas. And then he stopped thinking about it when Jason suddenly in his face, breathing on him, and oh hell--parts of him were pretty happy….
10
"Clark…what the fuck are you playing at with Whit?"
"Playing—what ? What do you mean? This is why you brought me out here?" Okay, so Clark could admit to a little—okay, a lot of--disappointment. And that was totally not his fault, it was the alien heat sex spores--wait---what?
"I said, I know what you did, I saw you. I know…"
Clark felt an icy spear lance through him—Jason knew he was watching? Idiot—of course he didn’t know, he meant…crap. The party. Oh shit. "oh, ish. Jason, I…I don't know why I did that. I'm so sorry."
"You…you fuck. I have so little--don’t fucking take this from me, you bastard." Jason's eyes were red, his freckles blazed on paper white skin. "I mean it—"
Clark shook his head. "There's nothing I can take from you—Whit told me that he loved you."
Jason stopped, and his eyes lightened. "He said, he said that—Whit said he loved me? Oh. Oh." He looked pathetically happy for a moment, so raw and open that Clark dropped his eyes. Technically, it wasn't a lie—Whit had said so. Said he loved him, right?
"Come on, let's check out the rest of the grounds. This one is a money maker. Gabe's going to be happy as shit." Jason was all smiles now, almost forgetting to be the rough tough character he pretended to be and it made him look so…he knew why Whit couldn't walk away from Jason, Jason tossed him a smile, forgetting to sneer at him while still riding his little high.
Shit, he was really beginning to get what Whit felt.
part 8
TBC
Fandom: SV
Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
Rating: PG
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. At least, I don't think so.
The previous parts are here, writing about the night they spent with Milton Gwel, star of the big screen epic The Smog, and Littleburg, a semi-well known genre television show, and how they left him speechless…or maybe catatonic….
Clark was comfortably sitting at a table in the back of the Beanery nursing an iced coffee and trying not to wolf down a chocolate chip muffin, when Jason sat down next to him and plopped a to-go cup of iced tea on the table. Clark swallowed and put the muffin down. "…hi."
"Kent." Jason glanced around, his usual frown pulling his face tight and his eyes narrow, and Clark thought Oh…bet he does that to look less pretty. He is really pretty—I mean, handsome. Whatever. It must be hard being Jason, being so pretty…Clark searched his face, noticed that the split lip of two days before was just a pink line now, and Clark had to look hard to see the gash over his eyebrow. He sure healed fast. Really fast.
Clark was also very surprised that Jason sought him out, considering he had the feeling Jason had a pretty good idea that something had gone down between him and Whit. Jason continued to gaze around the café, green eyes narrowed. He did that lip pursing thing he did sometimes and it was kind of hot. Clark opened his mouth, and words fell out. "You're really…" And there his brain seized up, threw a shoe, packed its little overnight bag and waved good bye—bastard motherfucker. Fuck. You're really what—come up with something good Clark or Jason is going to suck your eyeballs out and not in any kind of fun way--"…early. It's early." Wow. Lame and other L words.
"Early? The fuck—it's twelve in the afternoon…" He sneered. "Don’t get all excited, Lucy. I'm only sitting here because you look pathetic sitting here on your own."
Clark nodded and sipped his iced coffee and watched Jason some more. He really had pretty lips, looked like they'd be so soft and smooth, and warm…the longest lashes too. A flicker of thought swept him, looking down on those long lashes brushing his pink cheeks and fluttering against the cute freckles there, Jason on his knees with his pretty red soft smooth lips all wet and pulling at his cock, those pink cheeks hollowing as he sucked—
God! He was turning into some kind of sex fiend—lately it was all he could think about. Jason sucked hard on his straw and Clark watched his throat work as iced tea went down and he felt…well, there'd be no standing, that was for sure. Jason licked his lips and Clark remembered his cock, jerking and spurting all over Whit's chest and he'd love to make Jason do that in his mouth—for fuck's sake! What the hell--Whit did something to him—he didn't just kiss him, he infected him with—with sex spores. Or…Clark dropped his eyes, maybe he was in heat. Oh my God was that possible? Who knew! It could be, oh shit, he was in heat, some kind of horrible freaky alien thing and he was—
"…Kent? Are you listening?"
"What? Um, no…" He could feel his face burning. With any luck he'd just burst into flame all over.
Jason stared at him with a kind of dawning awareness, his expression sliding from somewhat shocked to somewhat intrigued. "Are you," he hesitated and licked his lip again and Clark wanted to curl up on the seat and die. Now would be a good time to find out he had the power of invisibility, or maybe he did because apparently he was entirely transparent to Jason. "Are you okay, Clark…you wanna leave?"
Clark nodded, speechless, guilt riddled and horny as hell but he felt that it wasn't really his fault since he was possessed by alien sex spores and had to do whatever Jason said, or something like that. Jason was asking him if he wanted to go for a ride and he was nodding again, and moving and then he was in Jason's truck…no, Whit's truck.
"Why are you in Whit's truck?"
"Lana picked him up and he asked me to take the truck back to my house so I am…eventually."
Clark nodded—again—and they drove out of town. Halfway down the road he realized Jason had said eventually. What did that mean?
They passed over the bridge that marked the unofficial entrance to town and he debated telling Jason the story about saving that rich guy who'd gone off the bridge in 2001, but figured it was a stupid subject to bring up and Jason looked kind of…Jason-y, more than likely he'd just laugh in his face, so he kept quiet. Jason was silent all the way up to the Castle, which destination Clark found really weird, considering what he'd been thinking about. Jason stopped at the far gate, and said, "This huge pretentious pile of crap is our next job. Used to be some Metropolis outfit that did it but Gabe's got the contract now. Dude's about to have a fucking coronary, he's so happy. Come on. And try not to be blinded by the hideous fake medieval architecture."
They got out and headed towards the fence and Jason made a slow down motion. There was a spot in the fence that was damaged, bent from something and he squeezed in…Clark squeezed his way in also, and maybe after he squeezed through, the gap was a little wider….
They wandered over the stepped lawn in back of the Castle, threaded in and out of a box maze. Jason told him the history of the place, or as he called it, the incredibly embellished bullshit fantast tale masquerading as history. The Luthor family supposedly bought and transferred their ancestral family home to America, to rebuild in Smallville. "Trouble is, it's impossible for this to be their 'ancestral home', because Lionel Luthor is a two-bit hustling conman and social climber who didn’t have a penny to rub together until the seventies...Scots ancestors my fuckin' ass." He said it in the same tone anyone else would have used to say that the Luthors raped and murdered kittens. Clark wondered if that was jealousy talking—the Teagues were well to do, but the Luthors were stupid rich.
Clark walked along the slightly overgrown garden path, staring up at the crenellated rooftop, and tried to imagine living in a place like it. All he really knew about the Luthors was that Lionel was rich, and apparently a kitten murderer and his son was…interesting, liked to drive fast. No one of that family had ever lived here, even though it must have cost blood to move the place stone by stone to a relative backwater of Kansas. And then he stopped thinking about it when Jason suddenly in his face, breathing on him, and oh hell--parts of him were pretty happy….
10
"Clark…what the fuck are you playing at with Whit?"
"Playing—what ? What do you mean? This is why you brought me out here?" Okay, so Clark could admit to a little—okay, a lot of--disappointment. And that was totally not his fault, it was the alien heat sex spores--wait---what?
"I said, I know what you did, I saw you. I know…"
Clark felt an icy spear lance through him—Jason knew he was watching? Idiot—of course he didn’t know, he meant…crap. The party. Oh shit. "oh, ish. Jason, I…I don't know why I did that. I'm so sorry."
"You…you fuck. I have so little--don’t fucking take this from me, you bastard." Jason's eyes were red, his freckles blazed on paper white skin. "I mean it—"
Clark shook his head. "There's nothing I can take from you—Whit told me that he loved you."
Jason stopped, and his eyes lightened. "He said, he said that—Whit said he loved me? Oh. Oh." He looked pathetically happy for a moment, so raw and open that Clark dropped his eyes. Technically, it wasn't a lie—Whit had said so. Said he loved him, right?
"Come on, let's check out the rest of the grounds. This one is a money maker. Gabe's going to be happy as shit." Jason was all smiles now, almost forgetting to be the rough tough character he pretended to be and it made him look so…he knew why Whit couldn't walk away from Jason, Jason tossed him a smile, forgetting to sneer at him while still riding his little high.
Shit, he was really beginning to get what Whit felt.
part 8
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
7/31/08 11:13 am (UTC)clark and his alien sex spores! poor baby. *g*
(what's the number 10 mean, midway down the page?)
(no subject)
7/31/08 02:19 pm (UTC)