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roxyTitle: How I Spent My Summer Vacation part thirteen
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, quietly thinking about their lives, their futures...their coming lack of employment....
Clark was standing in the kitchen, fiercely concentrating on the coffee maker. He'd been up since five, later than his dad, but earlier than his mom, and thought he'd make a fresh pot for them all. He tossed out the dregs of the pot his dad had made and measured grounds out for a new pot. He filled the carafe with water, dumped it in the pot's reservoir and this time managed to get most of it inside the pot and not on the counter. He looked idly around the kitchen while he waited for the coffee…snagged a couple of cookies and chewed…the puppies on the calendar near the back door grabbed his attention, and with a faint metallic taste of shock, he realized it was almost August. Almost time to go back school, for Whit and Jay to start college…for the job to be over. Over.
He chewed snickerdoodles and thought. Gabe had offered them all part-time jobs for the fall and winter—landscaping businesses were busy in the off season too. Jason was leaving of course, and maybe Whit. Pete and Rog were definitely not doing it but Billy said he could use the extra money…Clark was undecided. Maybe…maybe if Whit did it, he would too.
Whit.
Just saying his name did something to him. "Whit," he whispered, tasting it, feeling his name purse his lips, curl his tongue…it was bad if you almost got hard just saying the person's name. Damn it.
Whit. He was in love with Whit. Something like love anyway. Because he wanted more than just shoving his hand down Whit's pants and maybe getting him to return the favor. He wanted Whit to laugh at his jokes the way he did at Jason's—shit, he was at least as funny as Jas—okay, maybe not, but he *wanted* it—he wanted Whit to look at him and smile, and make that little noise when he told a joke that wasn't a giggle only because he was a man, a big guy with big shoulders and a nice big….
"Clark?"
"Oh! Hi Dad—didn't hear you come in." aaaah, scrub brain, scrub brain…
"Really? You didn't? You okay?"
"Of course I am," he started out with a big smile but it collapsed into a shaky frown. "There's something I need to tell you. It's…a big thing."
"Is it bigger than the thing we discussed a couple of years ago?"
"You mean, after that bridge rescue deal?" Clark huffed and scratched the back of his neck. "Well…maybe. Have you ever…known anyone who was gay?"
"Me? I knew of folks who were--a couple of guys and girls who were out, back in college. No one who was a personal friend though—as far as I know. It's not like it would have been a big deal or anything. Why are you asking--oh God. Don't even—are you trying to tell me—shit. How do you know—no, no wait—don’t tell me. No, no, go ahead and tell me. God, are you sure? Well hell, you must be sure or you wouldn't ask--" Dad stopped, took a deep breath and some color came back to his face. "Wait, wait. Hold on. Okay, okay. Don't get me wrong Clark. You're my son. I'm worried. Even afraid--*for* you. But nothing else changes, okay? You're my son, and I *love* you, no matter what."
Clark didn't think he could speak—shit, he didn't think he could breathe, so he just nodded. Could it really be this easy? He didn’t even have to say anything; his dad just had a little melt down and…and told himself. Heck yeah.
"Are you really sure? I mean, have you even been with a girl? Maybe you're bisexual?"
"Yes, I'm sure. No, I---no." Gaaaaawd, of course nothing was ever be that easy for *him*…Clark sighed. "And…maybe. But right now, I'm not thinking about any girl."
"Oh. So…are you? I mean, seeing someone?"
"Well, I see the person I like everyday…but I've never said anything to them---*him*. To him."
Dad sucked in air, so much Clark worried he was going to implode—he let it out in one long breath. "So. Whit…?"
Clark did a double take that would have made all three Stooges proud. "Holy—how did you know?"
"Tchah—you’re a Kent—you have good taste."
Clark kept smiling but inside his head his brain threw up. Did Dad just try to have a bonding moment over his crush? That was wrong on a bazillion levels. But God, you had to love him—he was trying.
"I hope you don’t get your heart broken, Clark…unrequited love can be pretty painful—"
"Dad. Whit's gay."
"Holy—but what about Lana?" Dad looked so puzzled. And kind of lost.
"Dad, he's in high school sports. He plays football, baseball…gay and sports don't mix. You know that. And they look good together--she's really cute." Dad looked hopeful for a second so Clark shook his head firmly. "Nope. Definitely Whitney."
"Okay." Dad deflated a little and Clark's heart hurt. He felt kind of guilty asking Dad to cope with more…
"You know, there are some states let you get married, and adopt children and….and live the way you should be able to, you know." Dad looked kind of defiant, like he was going to take on the whole country just for him. Dad. For him it really was about his son's happiness, not his gayness. It made his throat hurt and his eyes blur. "I love you, Dad." Could anybody be this lucky?
Dad shoved back his chair, came around the table and grabbed him. "Hey! Don't cry." Clark rested his forehead on his dad's shoulder and realized--*really* realized—that he was taller and broader than him and it made him feel a little scared, and a lot more watery-eyed. He might have sniffled. Like uncontrollably, for way too many minutes.
"Aw, son, don’t, don't--it'll all be okay, you'll see. It will be fine because we'll make it so. We love you, no matter what." He patted Clark's back, the awkward pats getting more and more confident, as if his dad was discovering that he didn’t need to call his mom for the hugs and kisses part of the feel better program. And in fact, Dad was tilting his head down and bussing him on the forehead. Clark laughed—well, made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"Hey," he said, "I'm not five!"
"Shush—if I want to hug and shmooch my kid, I can. Parental privilege. Now, sit down, I'll get us coffee and you tell me all about this—this new thing. It's not that much different than you getting—well, the x-ray vision thing, right?" He stopped in the act of putting mugs on the table. He asked Clark, "Say…is that how you found out that you were—"
"Dad! Ew. No!" Damn, hadn't even thought of that…wow, gym was going to be awesome—at that moment his brain replayed what Dad said and apologized to Clark. 'I just threw up a little in my temporal lobe, again.
20
It was warm and yellow, bright. He rolled in deep fluffy piles of cotton, blankets, sheets, clouds…a hand on the back of his neck rubbed soft little circles…a finger lower down rubbed soft little circles between his butt cheeks and he could feel himself opening up, pulse beating in his throat, nice, gentle, warm…he tried to nudge the circling finger deeper inside him, it slipped in and made him feel like he was made of honey, thick, dripping and warm like the sun. Sun…sunsunsunsun…sun goood…He woke up, with the sound of a snore echoing on the edge of his hearing and giggled to himself. Woke himself up snoring...he smiled and arched, stretched arms wide as he could, and plopped back down, started to worm his hand into his waistband. He liked sleeping with his hand splayed out over his tummy…like giving himself a little hug. He sighed again, and giggled sleepily when the grass under him tickled. The sun was shining through the leaves of the oak he was laying under…gosh. Summer was nice. Niiiice. Sun was nice, the cows were nice. Lana was nice…Lana? Oh fuuuck, she was really there. Clark made a supreme effort to pull his sun-buzzed brain back on line. "Hey? Lana?" and reminded himself that you couldn't actually die of embarrassment—no matter how much you wished it was possible.
"Um. Clark. Your mom said I'd find you out here. You look…comfy. Very." She tilted her head. "What are you reading…I don't think I…know that one," she frowned.
"It's pretty bad," he said and quickly turned the book on its face. He'd suffered agonies of the damned buying it at the book store, and it was the worst crap ever and now the freakin' clerk looked at him funny whenever he walked in there. Served him right for thinking there was no way a story about a gay vampire could *not* be good. Amazing how you could take a good idea and choke it to death with words…He also yanked his hand out of his pants and spared them both the awkwardness of trying to explain how he wasn't grabbing his stuff…"Uuuh, Hi. What are you—I mean—what a nice surprise?"
"Well, it certainly was a surprise." She was still looking at him oddly, and then gave him a slightly puzzled smile. "Can I sit with you?"
"Of course!" He sat up and scooted over, and patted the ground next to him.
She folded neatly to the ground. "Thanks. So…I did it." She was vibrating; Clark could see she was barely managing to hold herself in check. He reached over and grabbed her, squeezed hard and she finally gave in to excitement. "Clark! Clark! Can you believe it! I did it—I'm going to Paris next year! Me!"
Clark laughed and hugged her, kissed her cheek and kissed her nose and laughed harder when she sputtered and made a big show of wiping it dry. "I told you, didn’t I? I knew you were going, no doubt in my mind."
"You did, you didn't laugh, or poke fun or act like you had no idea how important art was to me…you really supported me, Clark." She leaned against him, settling her head on his shoulder with a happy sigh.
"Well, yeah—why shouldn't I? And see--I'm not the only one who gets how special you are."
She smiled and stared at her feet, thinking, probably about Paris and possibilities…Clark watched her with a little smile of his own. She looked so happy it made him feel good too. After a moment, her secret smile faded, took on an edge of regret. She turned to him, and said, "I have to…break up with Whit."
Ooooh shit. "Oh? Really? Unh…not to sound like a jerk, but why even bother? You're leaving and he's leaving and eventually…"
Lana shook her head. "No. I have to be honest with him. Besides, I think he'll be okay. We're both of us just going through the motions. I know it and I'll bet you do too."
Clark's brain sat up and took notice. Trouble? Timmy's in the well? "Why…me? Why would I know? I know?"
"Because you're his friend? And friends talk?"
"Me? Me? Since when?" Since he called you in the ass crack of the morning to come save him from playgrounds but no way are you going to tell Lana that….
"Since this summer, goof. It's so great how close you guys got this summer. I'm glad that silly competitiveness is gone. I swear, you're all he talks about, Clark this Clark that—Clark did this funny thing today, Clark is such a goof, Clark's such a decent guy—it's like *I'm* working with you," she laughed.
"He does? He talks about me?" Clark smiled.
"Umm. I thought…I was beginning to think you were my competition," she smiled and Clark choked.
"Me—hahaha. Really? That's really funny since we're both you know, hah!—straight. Yeah…" He hoped that she hadn't heard about the Pool Incident. Lana suddenly went tight all over; Clark could feel it radiating from her. oo-oh shit--maybe she *had* heard…"Clark. I have something to tell you but you can't tell anyone else—please? I mean, you have to promise me."
"Ooh-kay. As long as it doesn't involve murder, or kidnapping, or—"
"I'm pretty sure Whit is gay—bisexual, whatever. We haven't—we've never done anything but kiss and-- *you* know." She turned a bright red and muttered, "Let's just say we haven't officially gone all the way." Clark coughed and looked away. She added, "And here I was thinking what a patient boyfriend he was…but mostly…he was hanging out with Jason. You know what I mean."
"J--Jay—Jason?"
She nodded. "Don't let my calm exterior fool you. I've already had massive temper tantrums—I'm almost over it." She smiled, and it looked genuine to Clark, so he relaxed. She leaned forward, pulled her knees to her chest. "And one other thing is bothering me…I think Jason's in trouble."
Clark jumped, guilt cascading through him. "He…yeah. I know he is. I just don’t know what to do. Who do I tell? How do you know?"
"I…overheard Whit talking to him not too long ago. I tried talking to Jason…"
"Oh man. I'm sure that went well," he winced.
"Yesss. That was…probably not the best thing to do. But I've been looking. There are…hotlines you can call though…and anonymous tip lines…" She looked uncomfortable suggesting it, and Clark knew that Lana would rather confront Jason directly, offer him help personally instead of hiding behind a tip-line or an anonymous call.
"Well, I think finding the information and giving it to him is about the only the way to go with him. He's got to decide on his own. He can be a very…hard-headed guy, enormous dick no matter how sensitive he is deep down," Clark said and hoped that sounded natural.
"We can look on line. There are places you can go," she said, and her expression said 'help me please'. How could he resist? He stood and stretched, reaching for the skies and taking in great breaths of warm air, lingering, taking in the sun…until Lana coughed.
"Heh—how about you come inside and show me?" He was pleasantly surprised that he *wasn't* blushing…much.
Yeah, so pretty much as he figured, Mom just about had an aneurysm of joy. Didn't matter what he'd said, how he tried to explain to her that it was different with him now, that it wasn't about Lana anymore, or about any other girl so far and Whit really was his ideal, for right now anyway, and could she please just be understanding and try to get it, like Dad had, but no. For some reason, she'd fixated on Lana as a future daughter in law and just knew that any moment now he was going to slap himself in the head and exclaim to the heavens, 'what *was* I thinking?'.
Dad got it—he knew Lana was not in the picture anymore and he did *not* get that look of relief that flashed all over Mom's face when Lana walked in the door. In fact, he looked pretty confused when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. Whereas Mom was all, 'what can I get you—coffee? Soda? Can we build a new wing on the house for you, knit some baby blankets?' Yeah. Clark glared at his dad over Lana's shoulder as they went upstairs to his room, mouthed, 'talk to her please'.
They got a lot of information, even with all the interruptions: offers of food, of drinks, of all expenses paid Hawaiian honeymoons…but what information Lana managed to find was pretty good and they figured that it was Jason's call to use it or not but the look in Lana's eyes said he was going to use it one way or another.
He'd have to talk to Dad about what they planned to do later. And let Mom know there wasn't ever going to be a big ass wedding…not with Lana anyway. And not in Kansas either.
The day rolled along slowly but it was nice anyway…he strolled the fence line behind the barns checking for bad spots, brought the cows in and got them fed. He cleaned up the bench in the barn, and replaced some nails in the loft stair railings. He wandered up to the loft, and looked around with a critical eye. It was a pigsty. There were chip bags and empty cans and it looked like Spiderman's fan club had moved in. There were fucking cobwebs hanging from everything. Clark decided it was time to clean up, and replace the dead plant hanging in the corner. And whatever it was that smelled under the desk. He lifted the desk and found a plate with a…ham sandwich? A very ex-ham sandwich. What the hell—why had he put that under the desk? Hunh.
By the time it was dark, he'd cleaned the loft from top to bottom, shoved stuff back where it belonged, threw another blanket over the back of the couch, emptied the hammock of magazines and tissue boxes, and in general made it look as close as possible to Mom's original idea of what a young man's private place should look like…tcha-yeah, like any guy needed more than a TV, a couple of skin mags and a place to—oooh! Dinner time!
He snagged dinner and a slice of pie and told his folks he was staying up in the loft over night. He loped across the yard, carefully shielding his pie from night flying insects, and trotted up the stairs. Comfortably spread out over the old couch, he scarfed down the hamburgers his dad had cooked that evening, and savored the pie his mom made—best damn pie in the whole world, no doubt. He was licking the fork, and kind of idly looking around, smiling a little and wondering if he should invite Whit over, now that the place was all neat and clean, his own little nest—whoa—wait--*nest*?
Ohmigawd! *Nest*! Fucking—his alien sex spore heat crazies was making him into a bower bird or some other thing that built nests to attract a mate. He blinked. And groaned. Gaaaawd, he wished he'd never heard of such a thing as the animal channel…fuck!
Why the *hell* couldn’t those bastards have thrown a *manual* into the fucking *ship*when they threw their fucking *kid*into it? Clark felt like throwing his plate, but there was still some smears of filling and pretty good sized crumbs of pie left on it….
He calmed himself down. The idea was ridiculous; he was just…doing what Mom would want, and cleaning the joint up. After all, she worked damn hard to make him a nice place. He owed it to her…besides, it was crazy to think he had to clean up for Whit. Who wouldn’t give a damn anyway, because all he thought about was Jason, and his problems…why couldn’t he spare a thought for Clark Kent, he had some problems too, poor guy. Poor alien guy. Poor alien virgin guy...with some sort of sex disease or something…
Whit was standing over the couch, sliding soundlessly onto it with him and Clark felt a deep gratitude to himself for not choosing the hammock to sleep in…Whit lay over him, still without speaking, and Clark figured what the hell and slid his hands down that long muscled back, walked his fingers under Whit's waistband, brushed them over the swell of his ass. Boldly, bravely, freaking himself out, he pressed his finger into the cleft, deeper into the heat…Whit gasped and muttered something, shifted until Clark felt more of his weight and better, his cock—hard and hot. It was nice, so nice that Clark pushed and rubbed himself against it, moved his finger inside of Whit until Whit moaned, his mouth was soft on Clark's ear. "Clark, more of that, that feels so good. You feel so good, let me touch you, feel your cock." He mmm'ed and stuck his tongue in Clark's ear. Wow, that feels…why does that feel so good? he thought about it for a half a second, until the part of his brain that handled sex took over. Then all he could do was spread his legs as wide as possible and beg Whit to make him come some how. Oh wait—and kisses! There should be—
He pressed their mouths together, waited for Whit to understand that kisses should be happening right about…there we go… The inside of his mouth vibrated with Whit's moan, got wetter with the slide of Whit's tongue. His cock got harder with the feel of it all, harder, and hotter, and there was this tightening that started low and spread, filling him, making him feel like he was being squeezed and filled up at the same time—"I'm going to come—"
"Fuck." He felt Whit throb against him, felt him clench around his finger and thought, I'll let it happen, and Whit pulled him out, slid off of him—no, not now, and then he felt the wash of air over his skin, and then soft wet heat, His cock slid into Whit's mouth, he was in Whit's hot wet tight deep—"ohhhh, fuck, fuck…"
It was so much more fun having an orgasm with someone than by yourself, especially a talkative someone, and oh, he wouldn’t quite rate himself a sex god but if that's what Whit thought, well…. Also, come didn’t taste too bad and he could get Whit's cock really, really deep, once he got past the gagging part, in fact, his cock was in so deep, he didn’t even really taste or feel it, which was most likely a good thing because he had the feeling it would probably be like having a mouth full of snot…he licked his lips and stared up at Whit.
Whit reached down and stroked Clark's hair away from his face "I've never come so hard ever before, Clark my beloved, not even with poor, simple Jason. I realize I love you more than anyone in the world…weee-eell, except maybe Yul Brenner, or do I mean Jason Stratham…or…Patrick Stewart…? " Whit looked horribly puzzled for a second before smiling again and Clark woke up with a loud pained groan, the feeling of coming really hard slowly drifting away and his shorts full of…come. "Blerg."
He lay splayed out over the couch, breathing hard—Stupid ass dreams.--it had been so *real*! He thought...it'd felt like it was really happening. If the real thing felt like that, than how did people force themselves to get out of bed?
part 14
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, quietly thinking about their lives, their futures...their coming lack of employment....
Clark was standing in the kitchen, fiercely concentrating on the coffee maker. He'd been up since five, later than his dad, but earlier than his mom, and thought he'd make a fresh pot for them all. He tossed out the dregs of the pot his dad had made and measured grounds out for a new pot. He filled the carafe with water, dumped it in the pot's reservoir and this time managed to get most of it inside the pot and not on the counter. He looked idly around the kitchen while he waited for the coffee…snagged a couple of cookies and chewed…the puppies on the calendar near the back door grabbed his attention, and with a faint metallic taste of shock, he realized it was almost August. Almost time to go back school, for Whit and Jay to start college…for the job to be over. Over.
He chewed snickerdoodles and thought. Gabe had offered them all part-time jobs for the fall and winter—landscaping businesses were busy in the off season too. Jason was leaving of course, and maybe Whit. Pete and Rog were definitely not doing it but Billy said he could use the extra money…Clark was undecided. Maybe…maybe if Whit did it, he would too.
Whit.
Just saying his name did something to him. "Whit," he whispered, tasting it, feeling his name purse his lips, curl his tongue…it was bad if you almost got hard just saying the person's name. Damn it.
Whit. He was in love with Whit. Something like love anyway. Because he wanted more than just shoving his hand down Whit's pants and maybe getting him to return the favor. He wanted Whit to laugh at his jokes the way he did at Jason's—shit, he was at least as funny as Jas—okay, maybe not, but he *wanted* it—he wanted Whit to look at him and smile, and make that little noise when he told a joke that wasn't a giggle only because he was a man, a big guy with big shoulders and a nice big….
"Clark?"
"Oh! Hi Dad—didn't hear you come in." aaaah, scrub brain, scrub brain…
"Really? You didn't? You okay?"
"Of course I am," he started out with a big smile but it collapsed into a shaky frown. "There's something I need to tell you. It's…a big thing."
"Is it bigger than the thing we discussed a couple of years ago?"
"You mean, after that bridge rescue deal?" Clark huffed and scratched the back of his neck. "Well…maybe. Have you ever…known anyone who was gay?"
"Me? I knew of folks who were--a couple of guys and girls who were out, back in college. No one who was a personal friend though—as far as I know. It's not like it would have been a big deal or anything. Why are you asking--oh God. Don't even—are you trying to tell me—shit. How do you know—no, no wait—don’t tell me. No, no, go ahead and tell me. God, are you sure? Well hell, you must be sure or you wouldn't ask--" Dad stopped, took a deep breath and some color came back to his face. "Wait, wait. Hold on. Okay, okay. Don't get me wrong Clark. You're my son. I'm worried. Even afraid--*for* you. But nothing else changes, okay? You're my son, and I *love* you, no matter what."
Clark didn't think he could speak—shit, he didn't think he could breathe, so he just nodded. Could it really be this easy? He didn’t even have to say anything; his dad just had a little melt down and…and told himself. Heck yeah.
"Are you really sure? I mean, have you even been with a girl? Maybe you're bisexual?"
"Yes, I'm sure. No, I---no." Gaaaaawd, of course nothing was ever be that easy for *him*…Clark sighed. "And…maybe. But right now, I'm not thinking about any girl."
"Oh. So…are you? I mean, seeing someone?"
"Well, I see the person I like everyday…but I've never said anything to them---*him*. To him."
Dad sucked in air, so much Clark worried he was going to implode—he let it out in one long breath. "So. Whit…?"
Clark did a double take that would have made all three Stooges proud. "Holy—how did you know?"
"Tchah—you’re a Kent—you have good taste."
Clark kept smiling but inside his head his brain threw up. Did Dad just try to have a bonding moment over his crush? That was wrong on a bazillion levels. But God, you had to love him—he was trying.
"I hope you don’t get your heart broken, Clark…unrequited love can be pretty painful—"
"Dad. Whit's gay."
"Holy—but what about Lana?" Dad looked so puzzled. And kind of lost.
"Dad, he's in high school sports. He plays football, baseball…gay and sports don't mix. You know that. And they look good together--she's really cute." Dad looked hopeful for a second so Clark shook his head firmly. "Nope. Definitely Whitney."
"Okay." Dad deflated a little and Clark's heart hurt. He felt kind of guilty asking Dad to cope with more…
"You know, there are some states let you get married, and adopt children and….and live the way you should be able to, you know." Dad looked kind of defiant, like he was going to take on the whole country just for him. Dad. For him it really was about his son's happiness, not his gayness. It made his throat hurt and his eyes blur. "I love you, Dad." Could anybody be this lucky?
Dad shoved back his chair, came around the table and grabbed him. "Hey! Don't cry." Clark rested his forehead on his dad's shoulder and realized--*really* realized—that he was taller and broader than him and it made him feel a little scared, and a lot more watery-eyed. He might have sniffled. Like uncontrollably, for way too many minutes.
"Aw, son, don’t, don't--it'll all be okay, you'll see. It will be fine because we'll make it so. We love you, no matter what." He patted Clark's back, the awkward pats getting more and more confident, as if his dad was discovering that he didn’t need to call his mom for the hugs and kisses part of the feel better program. And in fact, Dad was tilting his head down and bussing him on the forehead. Clark laughed—well, made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"Hey," he said, "I'm not five!"
"Shush—if I want to hug and shmooch my kid, I can. Parental privilege. Now, sit down, I'll get us coffee and you tell me all about this—this new thing. It's not that much different than you getting—well, the x-ray vision thing, right?" He stopped in the act of putting mugs on the table. He asked Clark, "Say…is that how you found out that you were—"
"Dad! Ew. No!" Damn, hadn't even thought of that…wow, gym was going to be awesome—at that moment his brain replayed what Dad said and apologized to Clark. 'I just threw up a little in my temporal lobe, again.
20
It was warm and yellow, bright. He rolled in deep fluffy piles of cotton, blankets, sheets, clouds…a hand on the back of his neck rubbed soft little circles…a finger lower down rubbed soft little circles between his butt cheeks and he could feel himself opening up, pulse beating in his throat, nice, gentle, warm…he tried to nudge the circling finger deeper inside him, it slipped in and made him feel like he was made of honey, thick, dripping and warm like the sun. Sun…sunsunsunsun…sun goood…He woke up, with the sound of a snore echoing on the edge of his hearing and giggled to himself. Woke himself up snoring...he smiled and arched, stretched arms wide as he could, and plopped back down, started to worm his hand into his waistband. He liked sleeping with his hand splayed out over his tummy…like giving himself a little hug. He sighed again, and giggled sleepily when the grass under him tickled. The sun was shining through the leaves of the oak he was laying under…gosh. Summer was nice. Niiiice. Sun was nice, the cows were nice. Lana was nice…Lana? Oh fuuuck, she was really there. Clark made a supreme effort to pull his sun-buzzed brain back on line. "Hey? Lana?" and reminded himself that you couldn't actually die of embarrassment—no matter how much you wished it was possible.
"Um. Clark. Your mom said I'd find you out here. You look…comfy. Very." She tilted her head. "What are you reading…I don't think I…know that one," she frowned.
"It's pretty bad," he said and quickly turned the book on its face. He'd suffered agonies of the damned buying it at the book store, and it was the worst crap ever and now the freakin' clerk looked at him funny whenever he walked in there. Served him right for thinking there was no way a story about a gay vampire could *not* be good. Amazing how you could take a good idea and choke it to death with words…He also yanked his hand out of his pants and spared them both the awkwardness of trying to explain how he wasn't grabbing his stuff…"Uuuh, Hi. What are you—I mean—what a nice surprise?"
"Well, it certainly was a surprise." She was still looking at him oddly, and then gave him a slightly puzzled smile. "Can I sit with you?"
"Of course!" He sat up and scooted over, and patted the ground next to him.
She folded neatly to the ground. "Thanks. So…I did it." She was vibrating; Clark could see she was barely managing to hold herself in check. He reached over and grabbed her, squeezed hard and she finally gave in to excitement. "Clark! Clark! Can you believe it! I did it—I'm going to Paris next year! Me!"
Clark laughed and hugged her, kissed her cheek and kissed her nose and laughed harder when she sputtered and made a big show of wiping it dry. "I told you, didn’t I? I knew you were going, no doubt in my mind."
"You did, you didn't laugh, or poke fun or act like you had no idea how important art was to me…you really supported me, Clark." She leaned against him, settling her head on his shoulder with a happy sigh.
"Well, yeah—why shouldn't I? And see--I'm not the only one who gets how special you are."
She smiled and stared at her feet, thinking, probably about Paris and possibilities…Clark watched her with a little smile of his own. She looked so happy it made him feel good too. After a moment, her secret smile faded, took on an edge of regret. She turned to him, and said, "I have to…break up with Whit."
Ooooh shit. "Oh? Really? Unh…not to sound like a jerk, but why even bother? You're leaving and he's leaving and eventually…"
Lana shook her head. "No. I have to be honest with him. Besides, I think he'll be okay. We're both of us just going through the motions. I know it and I'll bet you do too."
Clark's brain sat up and took notice. Trouble? Timmy's in the well? "Why…me? Why would I know? I know?"
"Because you're his friend? And friends talk?"
"Me? Me? Since when?" Since he called you in the ass crack of the morning to come save him from playgrounds but no way are you going to tell Lana that….
"Since this summer, goof. It's so great how close you guys got this summer. I'm glad that silly competitiveness is gone. I swear, you're all he talks about, Clark this Clark that—Clark did this funny thing today, Clark is such a goof, Clark's such a decent guy—it's like *I'm* working with you," she laughed.
"He does? He talks about me?" Clark smiled.
"Umm. I thought…I was beginning to think you were my competition," she smiled and Clark choked.
"Me—hahaha. Really? That's really funny since we're both you know, hah!—straight. Yeah…" He hoped that she hadn't heard about the Pool Incident. Lana suddenly went tight all over; Clark could feel it radiating from her. oo-oh shit--maybe she *had* heard…"Clark. I have something to tell you but you can't tell anyone else—please? I mean, you have to promise me."
"Ooh-kay. As long as it doesn't involve murder, or kidnapping, or—"
"I'm pretty sure Whit is gay—bisexual, whatever. We haven't—we've never done anything but kiss and-- *you* know." She turned a bright red and muttered, "Let's just say we haven't officially gone all the way." Clark coughed and looked away. She added, "And here I was thinking what a patient boyfriend he was…but mostly…he was hanging out with Jason. You know what I mean."
"J--Jay—Jason?"
She nodded. "Don't let my calm exterior fool you. I've already had massive temper tantrums—I'm almost over it." She smiled, and it looked genuine to Clark, so he relaxed. She leaned forward, pulled her knees to her chest. "And one other thing is bothering me…I think Jason's in trouble."
Clark jumped, guilt cascading through him. "He…yeah. I know he is. I just don’t know what to do. Who do I tell? How do you know?"
"I…overheard Whit talking to him not too long ago. I tried talking to Jason…"
"Oh man. I'm sure that went well," he winced.
"Yesss. That was…probably not the best thing to do. But I've been looking. There are…hotlines you can call though…and anonymous tip lines…" She looked uncomfortable suggesting it, and Clark knew that Lana would rather confront Jason directly, offer him help personally instead of hiding behind a tip-line or an anonymous call.
"Well, I think finding the information and giving it to him is about the only the way to go with him. He's got to decide on his own. He can be a very…hard-headed guy, enormous dick no matter how sensitive he is deep down," Clark said and hoped that sounded natural.
"We can look on line. There are places you can go," she said, and her expression said 'help me please'. How could he resist? He stood and stretched, reaching for the skies and taking in great breaths of warm air, lingering, taking in the sun…until Lana coughed.
"Heh—how about you come inside and show me?" He was pleasantly surprised that he *wasn't* blushing…much.
Yeah, so pretty much as he figured, Mom just about had an aneurysm of joy. Didn't matter what he'd said, how he tried to explain to her that it was different with him now, that it wasn't about Lana anymore, or about any other girl so far and Whit really was his ideal, for right now anyway, and could she please just be understanding and try to get it, like Dad had, but no. For some reason, she'd fixated on Lana as a future daughter in law and just knew that any moment now he was going to slap himself in the head and exclaim to the heavens, 'what *was* I thinking?'.
Dad got it—he knew Lana was not in the picture anymore and he did *not* get that look of relief that flashed all over Mom's face when Lana walked in the door. In fact, he looked pretty confused when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. Whereas Mom was all, 'what can I get you—coffee? Soda? Can we build a new wing on the house for you, knit some baby blankets?' Yeah. Clark glared at his dad over Lana's shoulder as they went upstairs to his room, mouthed, 'talk to her please'.
They got a lot of information, even with all the interruptions: offers of food, of drinks, of all expenses paid Hawaiian honeymoons…but what information Lana managed to find was pretty good and they figured that it was Jason's call to use it or not but the look in Lana's eyes said he was going to use it one way or another.
He'd have to talk to Dad about what they planned to do later. And let Mom know there wasn't ever going to be a big ass wedding…not with Lana anyway. And not in Kansas either.
The day rolled along slowly but it was nice anyway…he strolled the fence line behind the barns checking for bad spots, brought the cows in and got them fed. He cleaned up the bench in the barn, and replaced some nails in the loft stair railings. He wandered up to the loft, and looked around with a critical eye. It was a pigsty. There were chip bags and empty cans and it looked like Spiderman's fan club had moved in. There were fucking cobwebs hanging from everything. Clark decided it was time to clean up, and replace the dead plant hanging in the corner. And whatever it was that smelled under the desk. He lifted the desk and found a plate with a…ham sandwich? A very ex-ham sandwich. What the hell—why had he put that under the desk? Hunh.
By the time it was dark, he'd cleaned the loft from top to bottom, shoved stuff back where it belonged, threw another blanket over the back of the couch, emptied the hammock of magazines and tissue boxes, and in general made it look as close as possible to Mom's original idea of what a young man's private place should look like…tcha-yeah, like any guy needed more than a TV, a couple of skin mags and a place to—oooh! Dinner time!
He snagged dinner and a slice of pie and told his folks he was staying up in the loft over night. He loped across the yard, carefully shielding his pie from night flying insects, and trotted up the stairs. Comfortably spread out over the old couch, he scarfed down the hamburgers his dad had cooked that evening, and savored the pie his mom made—best damn pie in the whole world, no doubt. He was licking the fork, and kind of idly looking around, smiling a little and wondering if he should invite Whit over, now that the place was all neat and clean, his own little nest—whoa—wait--*nest*?
Ohmigawd! *Nest*! Fucking—his alien sex spore heat crazies was making him into a bower bird or some other thing that built nests to attract a mate. He blinked. And groaned. Gaaaawd, he wished he'd never heard of such a thing as the animal channel…fuck!
Why the *hell* couldn’t those bastards have thrown a *manual* into the fucking *ship*when they threw their fucking *kid*into it? Clark felt like throwing his plate, but there was still some smears of filling and pretty good sized crumbs of pie left on it….
He calmed himself down. The idea was ridiculous; he was just…doing what Mom would want, and cleaning the joint up. After all, she worked damn hard to make him a nice place. He owed it to her…besides, it was crazy to think he had to clean up for Whit. Who wouldn’t give a damn anyway, because all he thought about was Jason, and his problems…why couldn’t he spare a thought for Clark Kent, he had some problems too, poor guy. Poor alien guy. Poor alien virgin guy...with some sort of sex disease or something…
Whit was standing over the couch, sliding soundlessly onto it with him and Clark felt a deep gratitude to himself for not choosing the hammock to sleep in…Whit lay over him, still without speaking, and Clark figured what the hell and slid his hands down that long muscled back, walked his fingers under Whit's waistband, brushed them over the swell of his ass. Boldly, bravely, freaking himself out, he pressed his finger into the cleft, deeper into the heat…Whit gasped and muttered something, shifted until Clark felt more of his weight and better, his cock—hard and hot. It was nice, so nice that Clark pushed and rubbed himself against it, moved his finger inside of Whit until Whit moaned, his mouth was soft on Clark's ear. "Clark, more of that, that feels so good. You feel so good, let me touch you, feel your cock." He mmm'ed and stuck his tongue in Clark's ear. Wow, that feels…why does that feel so good? he thought about it for a half a second, until the part of his brain that handled sex took over. Then all he could do was spread his legs as wide as possible and beg Whit to make him come some how. Oh wait—and kisses! There should be—
He pressed their mouths together, waited for Whit to understand that kisses should be happening right about…there we go… The inside of his mouth vibrated with Whit's moan, got wetter with the slide of Whit's tongue. His cock got harder with the feel of it all, harder, and hotter, and there was this tightening that started low and spread, filling him, making him feel like he was being squeezed and filled up at the same time—"I'm going to come—"
"Fuck." He felt Whit throb against him, felt him clench around his finger and thought, I'll let it happen, and Whit pulled him out, slid off of him—no, not now, and then he felt the wash of air over his skin, and then soft wet heat, His cock slid into Whit's mouth, he was in Whit's hot wet tight deep—"ohhhh, fuck, fuck…"
It was so much more fun having an orgasm with someone than by yourself, especially a talkative someone, and oh, he wouldn’t quite rate himself a sex god but if that's what Whit thought, well…. Also, come didn’t taste too bad and he could get Whit's cock really, really deep, once he got past the gagging part, in fact, his cock was in so deep, he didn’t even really taste or feel it, which was most likely a good thing because he had the feeling it would probably be like having a mouth full of snot…he licked his lips and stared up at Whit.
Whit reached down and stroked Clark's hair away from his face "I've never come so hard ever before, Clark my beloved, not even with poor, simple Jason. I realize I love you more than anyone in the world…weee-eell, except maybe Yul Brenner, or do I mean Jason Stratham…or…Patrick Stewart…? " Whit looked horribly puzzled for a second before smiling again and Clark woke up with a loud pained groan, the feeling of coming really hard slowly drifting away and his shorts full of…come. "Blerg."
He lay splayed out over the couch, breathing hard—Stupid ass dreams.--it had been so *real*! He thought...it'd felt like it was really happening. If the real thing felt like that, than how did people force themselves to get out of bed?
part 14
TBC