![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: How I Spent My Summer Vacation part ten
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, sobbing broken-heartedly and asking why oh world, why oh Jared, why the restraining order—and curse Josh Duhamel for his big mouth….
The rapper turned out not to be. He was just a guy with a lot of money, a lot of cars, Roger's fashion sense and a real estate license. His place was a prime example of how much Lowell County was changing, though. A gated community of McMansionettes were scattered across a few acres that used to be wheat farms. Rich folks, the kind Jason couldn't stand, were enjoying what they perceived as the somewhat exotic call of the bucolic life. Or so Jason explained it, only with a lot more sneering and spitting in disgust.
Clark was coming to see that Jason might be just a little prejudiced.
They came in through the back gate, parked their trucks on a driveway wide enough to be a helipad—hell, maybe it was. The lawn was a wide, cushiony expanse of emerald green, broken up by beds of shrubbery, flowers and trees. There was a water feature, a pond with its own little waterfall, and Clark thought that was nice, especially the koi dashing here and there through the water. He wondered how they kept the raccoons from eating all the fish. Whit noticed him looking into the pond, and said with a wry smile, "I bet they restock that sucker all the damn time." Clark grinned at him. Whit always knew what he was thinking.
"Okay, okay," Jason yelled, "Enough gawking girls, let's get cooking—go, go, go!"
Pete groaned. "You heard Sergeant Slaughter, let's go, go, go…Jesus." They jogged over to the truck, just in time to see Greg decked out and ready to work. Clark grinned. Really, he looked like a goofy giant preying mantis with his goggles and earmuffs on, his thin frame almost bowing under the bulk of the gas leaf blower. "Are you okay with that?" Clark asked.
Greg got a little huffy at Clark's apparent insinuation that he was too slight to handle the blower. "Just worry about yourself," he snapped.
Billy came up besides him, looking like Greg's preying mantis twin. "Greg, are you all right?" He asked, and looked surprised when Greg snapped at him too, before storming off. Billy huffed. "Is it me, or is he developing into a little prima donna?"
Pete said, "If by prima donna you mean crabby ass little bitch, yeah. Have fun working with him—come on, Cee, we got shrubs to murder. Moo-hahaha." He waved the trimmer around with an insane look of glee, and really, he was enjoying the thought of trimming defenseless shrubbery entirely too much. Clark grabbed a couple of transplanting spades from the truck, tossed a pair of gloves at Pete and tucked a pair into his own back pocket—appearance counted--and followed Pete.
They worked side by side, Clark edging the bed and Pete humming as he reduced scraggly bushes into shapes not found in nature, and along the way, Clark finally managed to find out what the deal was concerning Pete and Chloe.
"Well, I've thought she was cute for a long time. You know she's the editor of the Torch?" Clark nodded. He knew that—kind of. "Well, sometimes I'd bring in some stuff about the team, and we'd talk, you know, and I found out she's more than just pretty, she's funny, and smart as hell—a little odd too, but that just makes it more interesting…"
They walked over to another artful puddle of shrubbery and trees. They switched, Pete taking the spade and Clark taking the hedge trimmers. "So when we got this job, I thought, finally—a chance to really get to really get to know her. And you know, maybe hang out around the office without a shirt on…"
"Oh." Clark knew Chloe slightly. She seemed nice—enthusiastic. Clark didn't get involved in school very much, not unless it directly involved his classes, he wasn't really allowed to. Mom and Dad would rather that he restrict his friends until they felt he was ready to handle having all the abilities he had and could control them without thinking, which he really did understand, sure…he swallowed. Clark thought, he'd never done anything they didn't like, not until he became friends or whatever it was they were, with Whit.
Pete went on, used to a lot of his conversations with Clark being somewhat one-sided. "She's a great person. And not just because she hands me my checks," he laughed and then smiled shyly. "You know, I think maybe she really, *really* likes me back."
Clark nodded, stared out over the lawn, and watched the peacocks that the guy owned for some reason, stalking around the spacious lawn. Peacocks…he shrugged. Whatever floats your boat. Oh, hang on a minute…oh, man this is too good… Clark elbowed Pete, "Yeah…hey, look at the peacocks. They're stalking Whit and Jason."
Pete sighed, stopped talking, and leaned on his shovel. "What?" The birds were circling behind the two leads as they worked, blithely unaware of their feathered audience. "Yeah, so what?"
"Watch."
As they watched, the cock spread its tail feathers, kind of quivered all over and let out a noise like a cat exploding. The sound rolled out over the lawn, loud as hell. The two guys shot straight up into the air…"People keep them kind of like watchdogs," Clark said mildly.
"You knew that was going to happen?" Pete asked, and fell out laughing at Clark's grin. "Did you see how high Dickface jumped? Wow," he gasped. "That was so damn good I even would have paid to see that."
Clark tried not to laugh out loud as Whit struggled with a yelling Jason, trying to keep him from killing the peacock with a shovel. "Yeah," he snickered. "Me, too." Because there was guilt and there was feeling bad, but there was also watching someone get the crap scared out of them and really…what could be more important than that?
They were still snickering—very quietly--about it when they stopped at the lot to pick up the car. Billy walked past Roger, who was waiting to be picked up by his girlfriend, and asked Clark if he would like a ride home, and Clark said loudly and clearly, "Yes, thanks Billy. I would."
Pete raised an eyebrow, and Clark told him he'd call him later, with a significant look, and Pete said, "Oh. Kay." There would be explaining to do. Roger watched Clark and Billy drive out of the lot like he had the x-ray vision.
They drove along listening to the radio, and then Billy hesitantly asked Clark if he wanted to go straight home. Clark weighed the options, calculated the odds Dad would let him…"Ah, let me call home and see if it's okay."
Billy smiled. "Oh, well, everyone knows your parents are kind of strict. I'll just take you home now so you don’t get in trouble." He looked out through the windshield with a pleasant little smile still turning up the corners of his mouth. Clark watched Billy be strange, smiling like a toothpaste commercial…oh. Oh!
Billy thought he was making excuses. He was smiling, even though he thought he was being rejected…that sucked. Clark took out his phone and called, and after a few minutes negotiation, smiled at Billy. "It's okay—I can hang for a little bit."
Billy looked surprised. "You mean…you really had to ask permission? Oh. I thought you just wanted to avoid being alone with me."
"Why?"
"Because you know. About me."
"Well, yes. And that's not a problem for me. It's been …an interesting summer so far, Billy."
16
"Wow, you live all by yourself? That's great."
"Not really. My—unh--I didn't have a lot of choice. But I am glad to have this apartment. I've been living around for a bit. Rog's mom let me use her address for school, but I kind of floated from here to there, really."
Clark glanced at Billy, but he was blank—being Billy. He'd never let on, ever, that his life was less than normal. Clark felt vaguely guilty, as if he should have known. He looked around the little one room apartment. It was super neat, and one wall had bookcases stacked on top of each other so that from floor to ceiling there were books, books about all kinds of things. There were some inexpensive framed prints on the walls, and one shelf held an odd assortment of figurines, soldiers and knights out of metal and resin and china…Noticing his interest, Billy came to look with him "I collect them," he said. "I like stories about the little guy winning out against impossible odds—like St.George, you know? Silly, but I like it."
"Not silly. What about this Saint George?"
Billy waved a hand, dismissing any importance to what he'd said. "Aah, it's a story I heard a long time ago. I just liked it and…my mom gave me the knight that started all this crap. Called it St. George. That one." He pointed out a sad little chewed on plastic knight, the kind you used to be able to get a dozen in a plastic bag at the Safeway. "She gave it to me before she got…really sick, and couldn't take care of me anymore. It's still my favorite one."
Clark nodded. "Cool." Clark had a pretty good idea the story wasn't that simple or neat….he casually led them away from the bookcase. That pathetic little knight was going to make him cry.
They made popcorn and watched a movie, and sat on the ugly couch in the middle of the room. After a bit, Clark yawned. Billy made a move to get up. "I'll take you home."
Clark said, "Nah, I still have some time. But my legs are killing me on this tiny torture device you have the nerve to call a couch." He shifted, raised his eyebrows and held his legs out and Billy nodded, "sure."
Clark laid his legs across Billy's lap, and suddenly he just couldn't get comfortable. He fidgeted, wiggled, and shifted his legs around, moving this way and that until Billy threw his head back and groaned. "Jesus Clark—you've got to stop moving—sorry."
Clark was suddenly aware of the warm bulge under his calves, realized that every time he shifted he was rubbing against Billy, and Billy was…reacting. "Oh crap, Billy--I'm sorry—I didn’t know—" he tried to draw his legs back and Billy gasped.
"Clark..."
"Um. Billy, why can't I just kind of…leave them there? Or…maybe…"
Billy shoved his legs off harder than he expected, and he almost hit the floor. "Uh-unh. Not me, I'm not the one. If you're curious about stuff, go find Whit. He'll show you anything you want to know." He stood, and Clark had a weird combination of feelings—kind of proud that he had that effect on Billy, and kind of dickish about trying for more…
"But Billy, I don’t mean that—well, maybe some. And what's wrong with it if we do? Rog is such an a-hole. Why should you hang around alone, waiting for him to make up his mind…such as it is."
Billy's lips twitched and his eyes glittered, but the look he leveled at Clark was his usual deadpan face. "Clark, gotta say, that's awful generous and self-sacrificing of you," he said dryly, "but I don't need anyone to hold my hand."
Clark's brain let his mouth out to play without a leash, again. "I wasn't planning to hold your hand," he said with a waggle of eyebrow and a look that was meant to be a leer.
Billy snorted. "Smooth," he said. "Might be one reason you're still a virgin." Clark didn’t even try to protest. Billy knelt on the floor next to him, and brushed his lips against Clark's. Clark tried to kiss back, but Billy stuck a hand in his chest, and clamped the other hand on his thigh. "Stop—oh. Damn." He squeezed. "Fuck Clark, you're like an ox. So fucking big."
Clark bit his lip, and flushed. By the grace of God, he kept any stupid comments trapped inside and just tried to move subtly, so that Billy was grabbing his cock instead of his thigh, but Billy was too clever for him and moved.
"Clark…you're hot as the sun, but I have a thing for stupid white boys in wave caps. Plus, I swear, wild horses couldn’t get me to strip in front of *you*."
"Me? Why not? You're a pretty hot guy, Billy. Way hotter than Roger deserves," he mumbled.
"Clark, you visit here whenever you want, I like talking to you. Out of everybody in town, I think you understand the most. Plus, I'd like to help you—in a non-sexual way—with your kind of suddenly discovered bisexuality. And? You need to talk to Whit."
"What the eff, Billy. Why do you keep bringing him up? Besides he's got a- a—" he laughed bitterly. "A lot of people. You know what I mean."
Billy sat next to Clark, and Clark scooted closer, still a little hopeful, but one look at Billy's face told him to abandon hope. "I know. But the fact remains when he thinks no one's looking, he stares at you like you’re the last steak on the planet. He doesn’t look at Jason like that—God knows what he sees in Attila the asshole. He doesn’t look like that at Lana either, poor kid."
"So, you're blowing me off, and throwing me at Whit in one breath? 'Cause you don’t like Jason?"
"Because you like Whit," Billy said. "A lot. And you'd be better for him than Jason."
Clark thought about it, not too sure about that at all. He turned to Billy. "So, no making out? I'm kidding, I'm kidding…pretty much."
"You're fun Clark, loads of fun--"
Whatever Billy was going to say next was interrupted by a volley of bangs at the front door, before it flew open. Roger was there with a pizza and a scowl, wearing no name jeans, a store brand polo shirt and no chains. Clark barely recognized him.
"Hey. I brought pizza…and a movie. Some pop too."
He looked angry, but Billy stood and took the stuff and smiled as he invited Roger in. "Plenty room for one more, Rog."
"I don’t want to intrude," he said, looking daggers at Clark, who blushed a little but was determined not to feel guilty. He stood, stretched a little and casually disengaged from the lumpy embrace of Billy's really god-awful uncomfortable couch.
"No, really, I have to go now anyway. As my dad says, the cows won’t milk themselves." God, be more stupid why don't you?
Roger smirked. "Guess not." Billy came up and stood next to him, to say good bye to Clark and Roger said, "Bye Clark." and stared pointedly at the door.
Okay. So…Rog doesn't touch Billy but no one else does either? "What an a-hole," Clark muttered as he trotted down the stairs back to the street.
Clark ran home, thinking that he maybe he wasn't just an alien, maybe living in SV had given him some sort of mutation, like everyone else…maybe he had some sort of power to get other people together and wasn't that just lovely? Yeah.
So much for his Summer Of Getting Laid….
part11
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, sobbing broken-heartedly and asking why oh world, why oh Jared, why the restraining order—and curse Josh Duhamel for his big mouth….
The rapper turned out not to be. He was just a guy with a lot of money, a lot of cars, Roger's fashion sense and a real estate license. His place was a prime example of how much Lowell County was changing, though. A gated community of McMansionettes were scattered across a few acres that used to be wheat farms. Rich folks, the kind Jason couldn't stand, were enjoying what they perceived as the somewhat exotic call of the bucolic life. Or so Jason explained it, only with a lot more sneering and spitting in disgust.
Clark was coming to see that Jason might be just a little prejudiced.
They came in through the back gate, parked their trucks on a driveway wide enough to be a helipad—hell, maybe it was. The lawn was a wide, cushiony expanse of emerald green, broken up by beds of shrubbery, flowers and trees. There was a water feature, a pond with its own little waterfall, and Clark thought that was nice, especially the koi dashing here and there through the water. He wondered how they kept the raccoons from eating all the fish. Whit noticed him looking into the pond, and said with a wry smile, "I bet they restock that sucker all the damn time." Clark grinned at him. Whit always knew what he was thinking.
"Okay, okay," Jason yelled, "Enough gawking girls, let's get cooking—go, go, go!"
Pete groaned. "You heard Sergeant Slaughter, let's go, go, go…Jesus." They jogged over to the truck, just in time to see Greg decked out and ready to work. Clark grinned. Really, he looked like a goofy giant preying mantis with his goggles and earmuffs on, his thin frame almost bowing under the bulk of the gas leaf blower. "Are you okay with that?" Clark asked.
Greg got a little huffy at Clark's apparent insinuation that he was too slight to handle the blower. "Just worry about yourself," he snapped.
Billy came up besides him, looking like Greg's preying mantis twin. "Greg, are you all right?" He asked, and looked surprised when Greg snapped at him too, before storming off. Billy huffed. "Is it me, or is he developing into a little prima donna?"
Pete said, "If by prima donna you mean crabby ass little bitch, yeah. Have fun working with him—come on, Cee, we got shrubs to murder. Moo-hahaha." He waved the trimmer around with an insane look of glee, and really, he was enjoying the thought of trimming defenseless shrubbery entirely too much. Clark grabbed a couple of transplanting spades from the truck, tossed a pair of gloves at Pete and tucked a pair into his own back pocket—appearance counted--and followed Pete.
They worked side by side, Clark edging the bed and Pete humming as he reduced scraggly bushes into shapes not found in nature, and along the way, Clark finally managed to find out what the deal was concerning Pete and Chloe.
"Well, I've thought she was cute for a long time. You know she's the editor of the Torch?" Clark nodded. He knew that—kind of. "Well, sometimes I'd bring in some stuff about the team, and we'd talk, you know, and I found out she's more than just pretty, she's funny, and smart as hell—a little odd too, but that just makes it more interesting…"
They walked over to another artful puddle of shrubbery and trees. They switched, Pete taking the spade and Clark taking the hedge trimmers. "So when we got this job, I thought, finally—a chance to really get to really get to know her. And you know, maybe hang out around the office without a shirt on…"
"Oh." Clark knew Chloe slightly. She seemed nice—enthusiastic. Clark didn't get involved in school very much, not unless it directly involved his classes, he wasn't really allowed to. Mom and Dad would rather that he restrict his friends until they felt he was ready to handle having all the abilities he had and could control them without thinking, which he really did understand, sure…he swallowed. Clark thought, he'd never done anything they didn't like, not until he became friends or whatever it was they were, with Whit.
Pete went on, used to a lot of his conversations with Clark being somewhat one-sided. "She's a great person. And not just because she hands me my checks," he laughed and then smiled shyly. "You know, I think maybe she really, *really* likes me back."
Clark nodded, stared out over the lawn, and watched the peacocks that the guy owned for some reason, stalking around the spacious lawn. Peacocks…he shrugged. Whatever floats your boat. Oh, hang on a minute…oh, man this is too good… Clark elbowed Pete, "Yeah…hey, look at the peacocks. They're stalking Whit and Jason."
Pete sighed, stopped talking, and leaned on his shovel. "What?" The birds were circling behind the two leads as they worked, blithely unaware of their feathered audience. "Yeah, so what?"
"Watch."
As they watched, the cock spread its tail feathers, kind of quivered all over and let out a noise like a cat exploding. The sound rolled out over the lawn, loud as hell. The two guys shot straight up into the air…"People keep them kind of like watchdogs," Clark said mildly.
"You knew that was going to happen?" Pete asked, and fell out laughing at Clark's grin. "Did you see how high Dickface jumped? Wow," he gasped. "That was so damn good I even would have paid to see that."
Clark tried not to laugh out loud as Whit struggled with a yelling Jason, trying to keep him from killing the peacock with a shovel. "Yeah," he snickered. "Me, too." Because there was guilt and there was feeling bad, but there was also watching someone get the crap scared out of them and really…what could be more important than that?
They were still snickering—very quietly--about it when they stopped at the lot to pick up the car. Billy walked past Roger, who was waiting to be picked up by his girlfriend, and asked Clark if he would like a ride home, and Clark said loudly and clearly, "Yes, thanks Billy. I would."
Pete raised an eyebrow, and Clark told him he'd call him later, with a significant look, and Pete said, "Oh. Kay." There would be explaining to do. Roger watched Clark and Billy drive out of the lot like he had the x-ray vision.
They drove along listening to the radio, and then Billy hesitantly asked Clark if he wanted to go straight home. Clark weighed the options, calculated the odds Dad would let him…"Ah, let me call home and see if it's okay."
Billy smiled. "Oh, well, everyone knows your parents are kind of strict. I'll just take you home now so you don’t get in trouble." He looked out through the windshield with a pleasant little smile still turning up the corners of his mouth. Clark watched Billy be strange, smiling like a toothpaste commercial…oh. Oh!
Billy thought he was making excuses. He was smiling, even though he thought he was being rejected…that sucked. Clark took out his phone and called, and after a few minutes negotiation, smiled at Billy. "It's okay—I can hang for a little bit."
Billy looked surprised. "You mean…you really had to ask permission? Oh. I thought you just wanted to avoid being alone with me."
"Why?"
"Because you know. About me."
"Well, yes. And that's not a problem for me. It's been …an interesting summer so far, Billy."
16
"Wow, you live all by yourself? That's great."
"Not really. My—unh--I didn't have a lot of choice. But I am glad to have this apartment. I've been living around for a bit. Rog's mom let me use her address for school, but I kind of floated from here to there, really."
Clark glanced at Billy, but he was blank—being Billy. He'd never let on, ever, that his life was less than normal. Clark felt vaguely guilty, as if he should have known. He looked around the little one room apartment. It was super neat, and one wall had bookcases stacked on top of each other so that from floor to ceiling there were books, books about all kinds of things. There were some inexpensive framed prints on the walls, and one shelf held an odd assortment of figurines, soldiers and knights out of metal and resin and china…Noticing his interest, Billy came to look with him "I collect them," he said. "I like stories about the little guy winning out against impossible odds—like St.George, you know? Silly, but I like it."
"Not silly. What about this Saint George?"
Billy waved a hand, dismissing any importance to what he'd said. "Aah, it's a story I heard a long time ago. I just liked it and…my mom gave me the knight that started all this crap. Called it St. George. That one." He pointed out a sad little chewed on plastic knight, the kind you used to be able to get a dozen in a plastic bag at the Safeway. "She gave it to me before she got…really sick, and couldn't take care of me anymore. It's still my favorite one."
Clark nodded. "Cool." Clark had a pretty good idea the story wasn't that simple or neat….he casually led them away from the bookcase. That pathetic little knight was going to make him cry.
They made popcorn and watched a movie, and sat on the ugly couch in the middle of the room. After a bit, Clark yawned. Billy made a move to get up. "I'll take you home."
Clark said, "Nah, I still have some time. But my legs are killing me on this tiny torture device you have the nerve to call a couch." He shifted, raised his eyebrows and held his legs out and Billy nodded, "sure."
Clark laid his legs across Billy's lap, and suddenly he just couldn't get comfortable. He fidgeted, wiggled, and shifted his legs around, moving this way and that until Billy threw his head back and groaned. "Jesus Clark—you've got to stop moving—sorry."
Clark was suddenly aware of the warm bulge under his calves, realized that every time he shifted he was rubbing against Billy, and Billy was…reacting. "Oh crap, Billy--I'm sorry—I didn’t know—" he tried to draw his legs back and Billy gasped.
"Clark..."
"Um. Billy, why can't I just kind of…leave them there? Or…maybe…"
Billy shoved his legs off harder than he expected, and he almost hit the floor. "Uh-unh. Not me, I'm not the one. If you're curious about stuff, go find Whit. He'll show you anything you want to know." He stood, and Clark had a weird combination of feelings—kind of proud that he had that effect on Billy, and kind of dickish about trying for more…
"But Billy, I don’t mean that—well, maybe some. And what's wrong with it if we do? Rog is such an a-hole. Why should you hang around alone, waiting for him to make up his mind…such as it is."
Billy's lips twitched and his eyes glittered, but the look he leveled at Clark was his usual deadpan face. "Clark, gotta say, that's awful generous and self-sacrificing of you," he said dryly, "but I don't need anyone to hold my hand."
Clark's brain let his mouth out to play without a leash, again. "I wasn't planning to hold your hand," he said with a waggle of eyebrow and a look that was meant to be a leer.
Billy snorted. "Smooth," he said. "Might be one reason you're still a virgin." Clark didn’t even try to protest. Billy knelt on the floor next to him, and brushed his lips against Clark's. Clark tried to kiss back, but Billy stuck a hand in his chest, and clamped the other hand on his thigh. "Stop—oh. Damn." He squeezed. "Fuck Clark, you're like an ox. So fucking big."
Clark bit his lip, and flushed. By the grace of God, he kept any stupid comments trapped inside and just tried to move subtly, so that Billy was grabbing his cock instead of his thigh, but Billy was too clever for him and moved.
"Clark…you're hot as the sun, but I have a thing for stupid white boys in wave caps. Plus, I swear, wild horses couldn’t get me to strip in front of *you*."
"Me? Why not? You're a pretty hot guy, Billy. Way hotter than Roger deserves," he mumbled.
"Clark, you visit here whenever you want, I like talking to you. Out of everybody in town, I think you understand the most. Plus, I'd like to help you—in a non-sexual way—with your kind of suddenly discovered bisexuality. And? You need to talk to Whit."
"What the eff, Billy. Why do you keep bringing him up? Besides he's got a- a—" he laughed bitterly. "A lot of people. You know what I mean."
Billy sat next to Clark, and Clark scooted closer, still a little hopeful, but one look at Billy's face told him to abandon hope. "I know. But the fact remains when he thinks no one's looking, he stares at you like you’re the last steak on the planet. He doesn’t look at Jason like that—God knows what he sees in Attila the asshole. He doesn’t look like that at Lana either, poor kid."
"So, you're blowing me off, and throwing me at Whit in one breath? 'Cause you don’t like Jason?"
"Because you like Whit," Billy said. "A lot. And you'd be better for him than Jason."
Clark thought about it, not too sure about that at all. He turned to Billy. "So, no making out? I'm kidding, I'm kidding…pretty much."
"You're fun Clark, loads of fun--"
Whatever Billy was going to say next was interrupted by a volley of bangs at the front door, before it flew open. Roger was there with a pizza and a scowl, wearing no name jeans, a store brand polo shirt and no chains. Clark barely recognized him.
"Hey. I brought pizza…and a movie. Some pop too."
He looked angry, but Billy stood and took the stuff and smiled as he invited Roger in. "Plenty room for one more, Rog."
"I don’t want to intrude," he said, looking daggers at Clark, who blushed a little but was determined not to feel guilty. He stood, stretched a little and casually disengaged from the lumpy embrace of Billy's really god-awful uncomfortable couch.
"No, really, I have to go now anyway. As my dad says, the cows won’t milk themselves." God, be more stupid why don't you?
Roger smirked. "Guess not." Billy came up and stood next to him, to say good bye to Clark and Roger said, "Bye Clark." and stared pointedly at the door.
Okay. So…Rog doesn't touch Billy but no one else does either? "What an a-hole," Clark muttered as he trotted down the stairs back to the street.
Clark ran home, thinking that he maybe he wasn't just an alien, maybe living in SV had given him some sort of mutation, like everyone else…maybe he had some sort of power to get other people together and wasn't that just lovely? Yeah.
So much for his Summer Of Getting Laid….
part11
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
8/24/08 04:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/25/08 02:24 am (UTC)It's so so sad, poor Clark! Will he ever get his heart's desire?
(no subject)
8/24/08 05:39 am (UTC)Can't wait for your next update!!!! XD
(no subject)
8/25/08 02:22 am (UTC)I really do feel sorry for Billy, though, I'm tempted to make some nice happy stuff happen for him. Hey, I can do that right? I'm the boss of them. ;)
(no subject)
8/24/08 06:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/25/08 02:15 am (UTC)poor Billy, I'm starting to feel sorry for him. *sigh*
(no subject)
8/24/08 06:32 am (UTC)>As they watched, the cock spread its tail feathers, kind of quivered all over and let out a noise like a cat exploding.
haha! :D
(no subject)
8/25/08 02:10 am (UTC)Say, I stole this line from you, "hmmmm, clark on a standing mower. he'd look like some cornball god in a chariot. or maybe not"
Changed it a bit, but I've been waiting to use that since I started writing this thing! Of course, I should have asked first...*flutters anime eyelashes*
(no subject)
8/25/08 10:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/24/08 04:25 pm (UTC)*pets them all*
(no subject)
8/25/08 02:01 am (UTC)you’re the last steak on the planet
8/24/08 05:15 pm (UTC)you hear me! last steak, my ass! *stares at lex ass.---*
Re: you’re the last steak on the planet
8/25/08 01:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/24/08 10:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/25/08 01:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/25/08 07:02 pm (UTC)HAHA. Poor Clark.
(no subject)
5/3/10 12:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
5/3/10 01:23 am (UTC)Clark does need to get laid, my goodness yes!