Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
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, biting their nails, jittering, looking mighty paranoid…hey, must be party night!
It was fucking ridiculous just how fucking hot it was. Hotter than…hotter than…just really fuckin' stupid hot.
"Man, Heckle and Jeckle should just call it—they fuckin' cancel games in heat like this. Clark---they like you, go tell them to let us go." Pete looked kind of like a big sweaty cranky baby. His shirt was wrapped around his head, soaking up sweat…they all looked like a kindergarten Nativity play. Only not really because--shirtless. Because their shirts were wrapped around their heads. And no one was pretending to be a camel. And there was no virgin Mary…virgin…What's that you say Clark, tired of being a virgin? Well let your old friend Whit take care of that...Clark, have you ever been in a Turkish prison?
Clark flinched and tried to shut his rampaging, heat addled brain down. Yeah. This day was toast. He wiped his face with the tail of his tee-shirt. "'Kay. I'll go find them." God. It had to be too hot even for those guys.
He walked up the broad expanse of lawn that Braddock's Funeral Home sat on, passed the hedge, and on the other side, Greg was standing. Staring. Motionless. Fuck, he died on his feet….Clark tapped his shoulder. Once. Twice. "…Greg?"
Greg turned to him, and he looked…weird. Looked completely….blissed out, Clark guessed you could call it. Pupils blown, a little loose smile. "I'm watching a spider wrap its prey in silk. Cool. You should see."
Clark nodded and smiled. Crazy cakes, oh my god…. He was about to back up when Greg spoke again.
"You don’t see Lana anymore," Greg said, looking vaguely puzzled. "I mean—you just don’t *see* her. Is that what it's like to be a homo? Why is this crew full of homos, I mean besides me and Ross?"
Clark reminded himself that you shouldn’t hit girls, folks with glasses, crazy people or anyone whose outsides weren't made of alien invincible stuff…
Greg went on, oblivious to Clark's slow burn. "And Roger, I think…it's hard to smell—*tell*, I mean, hard to tell."
"Saaay, Greg, maybe you should get out of the sun? You're burning. Again."
Greg dropped his head and raised his arms at the elbows, palms down. He quivered for a moment and then raised his head with a smile. "I know, right? Keep on burning. I never tan, just burn, and shed. Break out of my old skin," he grinned. "Hey, I'm going back to the truck and get some water."
"You do that. Get lots of water. And don't forget your trimmer."
"Right, right, thanks, can't lose that. S'important."
Clark watched him walk away. Can’t ever say that life in the SV isn’t interesting…or something like it.
Whit and Jason caught up to him. Jason snapped, "C'mon, pretty boy. It's too fucking hot out here. Gabe let us go." He looked over at Whit. "We should go out to the lake, hunh?"
Whit smiled at him, reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead. "That sounds great, Jay…" the slow smile he gave Jason disappeared when he looked at Clark. "You heard him—go tell those guys we're done for the day."
Yeah, fuck you and your little dog too. "Okay."
The crew got the equipment squared away and stowed for the day. They hung out in the office a bit, sucking up the air-conditioning, teasing Chloe and annoying the hell out of Doris, even though it was obvious that she had a soft spot for Jason. Clark watched him charm the woman he personally referred to as Dragon Lady but never out loud and definitely only in the privacy of his own head. Eventually she chased them out of the office, away from the coffee machine and the bottles of free water and cool dry air, out into the hot and humid embrace of summer again. The guys milled around the parking lot for a bit, trying to decide if they should go to the lake with Jay and Whit, and Clark hoped his prayer that they'd all leave couldn’t be seen in his eyes.
Billy decided to leave first, and Clark couldn't help but notice he was ignoring Roger, who was waiting for a ride. Clark kind of hoped his ride would be a no-show and he'd end up crisping in the parking lot, the dick. Pete decided against going too, Chloe had indicated that if he was smart, his plans would include taking his girlfriend to the mall instead of hanging out at the lake with a bunch of guys. Greg had taken off the minute they'd finished stowing the equipment—the trail of black oily smoke his Subaru Death-A-Wagon had left was just beginning to dissipate.
"Well, it's just us three than," Jason huffed. He looked at Clark speculatively. "You got a suit, Kent?"
"Well, no…" Duh. "I thought I'd just wear my shorts in."
Whit laughed, and looked at Jason—hesitated when he saw how hard he seemed to be thinking. "What's up Jay? What's on your mind?"
Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the shrill blast of Jason's phone going off. He looked at the phone, grimaced and walked away a bit while talking. His shoulders were hunched inwards, and occasionally a word would drift over to them as Jason got louder, but mostly the conversation was hushed and full of sibilants. Whit looked at Clark, looked at Jason…shook his head and climbed in his truck to wait.
Jason was back in a minute or two, red-faced and angry. It took an effort but he managed to rein in his temper. "Hey. M'not going. Mother's coming to pick me up. There's something we have to do, apparently, something that just can't wait."
Whit shrugged. "Okay. I'm sorry. See you later?"
"Um…Jay--*Jason*--did you look at those papers…you know?"
Clark had handed him Lana's list at the top of the day. He'd glanced over them, frowned and started to hand them back, but for some reason, stopped. Looked them over again and folded them into his back pocket, and that was the last it'd been mentioned until now. Clark could feel his face burning. He felt like a giant ass and winced a little, waiting for Jason to jump all over him. He took a chance and glanced at him.
Okay, shock built on shock. Jason was not cursing at him, and he was not scowling…the look could almost be described as…fond. Like he was looking at a brain damaged hamster, but it was *his* brain damaged hamster. He was actually smiling. Sort of. "I did. I think...thanks Kent. I think they might be helpful. Anyway, I'll look at them later."
Whit's head flew up, and he gaped at Jason…and slowly his look of shock melted into a smile. He got out of the truck, about to speak….
The moment shattered when a silver Porsche flew up the drive and screeched to a tire-smoking halt. For a brief second, Jason looked shattered before all emotion drained from his face. Clark shivered. It was like watching a person become a cartoon. Infinitely creepy. "Gotta go," Jason said, and looked at Whit. "See you tonight?"
Whit nodded. "If you want, I'll be there."
Clark watched the Porsche fly away, and felt like once again, he'd let Jason down. He turned and caught Whit glaring at him and groaned inside. He had the feeling this afternoon was only going to get worse.
He went with Whit to the lake anyway.
They chatted about school and work on their way out, and Clark thought that maybe everything was going to be okay, that the evening would go all right after all; right up until Whit's arm brushed his and his whole skin caught on fire and burned. And Whit brushed him again and now he couldn't breathe, and he felt heat building up right under his belly button. Clark felt his face flush and sweat break out to wet the little hairs on the back of his neck…by the time they made it to the lake, Clark had his hands knotted up in his t-shirt, pulling it almost to his knees….
If Whit touched him one more time, he was going to come.
Whit parked on the road to the lake, they got out and walked to the shore. Halfway there, he stopped him. "Hey Clark, wait a minute."
Clark stopped by a tree and turned, "Yeah--?"
Whit pushed him up against the tree—hard. He yanked Clark's mouth to his, banging noses together, clicking tooth against tooth until he slowed a bit and got the angle right and his tongue was in Clark's mouth, rubbing, sliding slick and wet inside and making Clark moan and moan and moan…Whit was lifting the leg of his shorts, shoving his hand up under the leg, pushing up and digging nails into his skin—who knew that could feel so fucking good? Clark huffed and threw his head back, breaking Whit's grip so he could spread his legs as far apart as was possible, let Whit get better access. Whit growled, and grabbed his mouth back, thanked Clark by squeezing his balls, scratching at the hair around the base of his cock…when his fingers found and curled around Clark's jerking cock, it was kind of like Christmas, with the opening of surprise packages and screams of joy…kind of, not so much with the screaming. Out loud. This was twenty million times better than any fucking dream ever….
Whit slid his hand up his leaking cock, pulling skin back up with it, fingers pulling and teasing at it all the while, pushing back down to rub his thumb over the sensitive head, spreading and smearing pre-come all over. Clark woofed, shuddered all over, and tried to swallow Whit's tongue…Whit laughed into his mouth and pulled back. "Slow down--I'm going to need it later."
Clark moaned, imagining what Whit might need his tongue for later. He fucked Whit's fist, eyes squeezed tight and tears gathering in the corners…it was just so *good*, he tried to tell Whit how much. "Oh, you—that's good—you make---oh crap, that's great—Whit, you're—oh God, more, harder—"
He felt weaker and weaker, but it was a good weak, where his knees felt like butter, his spine felt like hot spaghetti, and the wonderfully slick tight squeeze of Whit's fist up and down, up and down made his stomach jump, clench. Something hot and ferocious was building up behind his cock, filling him, making him try and grind into Whit. He mouthed his way along Clark's jaw, whispered in his ear, "I'm going to fuck you and make you come hard enough to pass out," and Clark moaned, came over Whit's hands and in his shorts and down his leg and was astonished he'd been able to hold out that long. The thought of Whit filling him made his cock jerk and try to shoot again. His knees gave up and Whit had to hold him up against the tree….
Whit was breathing hard, and the front of his shorts were spotted were he'd leaked into them. Without thinking overmuch about it, Clark dropped to his knees and pressed his face against Whit, rubbed his cheek and mouth over the heat, the hard bulge pushing against the fabric. He pulled them down and Whit's cock jumped out, and slapped against his cheek, leaving a long wet smear.
"Holy fuck, Clark…"
Clark opened his mouth and Whit pushed forward. Clark swallowed. Whit was in his mouth…heavy, warm and salt-sweet …something the dream hadn't prepared him for, the *taste*…he pressed his tongue against the underside and Whit shivered. "Yeah, just like that, rub a little…" He cupped the back of Clark's head, and moved back and forth carefully, almost delicately, little moves that encouraged Clark to take him deeper, to suck harder, cup Whit's ass and urge him on until he was fucking his mouth and then, spilling down Clark's throat. Clark swallowed, held Whit there when he tried to pull back…God, God, it was so much better than his dream, so much better and when he opened his eyes again, he was still going to see Whit…
Whit stroked Clark's head, and eased back, slowly slipping out of his mouth. Clark opened his eyes, Whitney and gently rubbed the softening head of his cock against his lips, barely touching. He felt a surge of warmth inside, a desire to do anything, be anything Whit wanted him to be…he wanted to touch Whit forever and ever. Whit hadn't stopped petting him since he first touched his head. He was steadily stroking Clark, rubbing his scalp, drawing his fingers through his hair…he murmured. "I've dreamed about this. I've thought about this, what it would be like."
Clark leaned against Whit's stomach, reluctant to break the connection. "Was it okay? It didn't make you think of Yul Brenner, did it?"
"Of *who*? That Ten Commandments guy? What the hell for—no, never mind," Whit laughed. "Clark…Clark…" He urged him up and kissed him. "Yes. It was okay. More than okay. I feel like…this was supposed to happen."
Clark nodded, fiercely wanting to believe that—his mind was full of nothing else but Whit groaning and coming in his mouth, over and over and saying…he loved him. Loved him.
'Course, that might just have been the orgasm talking. He really hoped not.
They were floating in the lake, washing off sticky sweat and spit. Felt good, sliding up against a warm wet body…Whit held Clark against him as they floated, chin resting on his head and the feeling of arms around him…so nice. Floating and being held like he was five again…it was almost too good.
They drifted back and forth, slowly moving into the bank and out again. Whit was humming, and the vibration rolled through Clark…"When did you know?"
Whit didn't ask what Clark meant, he answered, "First time I really saw you--when you threw your books down in front of Lana. Smooth."
"I didn't--shut up. I meant when did you know you were gay?"
"Oh!" Whit snorted, and shifted Clark a little and Clark thought it was really awful how much he loved being held like this…"Um. Six."
"I had a crush on Harrison Ford. It was pretty intense. Lots of posters, little action figures, dreams about holding hands…" Clark snorted, and Whit dropped him, earning a frown. "Hey, I was six. And don’t make fun of me when I'm sharing deeply personal experiences. Anyway…first practical experience at thirteen…"
Clark thought about that. Thirteen…seemed so young.
"…we had nothing but time and our parents weren't around much and he and I just kind of…stumbled into it…"
Thirteen. He was still watching cartoons and evaluating with great seriousness which breakfast cereal truly delivered the maximum amount of sugar in the least offensively fibery-state at that age. Sex? He hardly knew what the hell his thing was for at that age. Fuck it hadn't even really seemed important until recently…maybe he was a late bloomer. He'd always admired Lana but it had been more, he realized lately, in a kind of 'she's a perfect fairy princess' way…
"Hey, did I shock you? You’re thinking awfully hard."
"No, no…yes. Kind of. I guess I'm realizing I don’t know much about…" he waved a dripping hand around," this." He rolled away from Whit and swam towards the shore, Whit followed. He pulled himself out onto the bank and searched through the little pile of clothes for his shorts. Looking over his shoulder, he caught Whit watching him in a way that made him blush…and smile.
Whit wasn't smiling, though. He climbed out and joined Clark, who was studiously not looking at his really really gorgeous cock. "It bothers you, doesn't it? I've been with a lot of guys, Clark. Jason too. We're not exactly exclusive…" he pulled on his shorts, sat next to Clark on the bank. "Listen… right now, I do what I do. But I know that someday, when I meet someone who means everything to me, I'll only want to be with him. …"
"Why are you telling me this?" Clark asked, ignoring the little girl inside of him who was flapping her ittle wittle hands and squealing OMG it's a message! He's trying to tell us something--
"So you won't think I'm too big a slut," Whit grinned.
His inner little girl flipped Whit off. "You suck," Clark said, and Whit laughed.
"Yeah, I know. But really Clark, Jason--he just needs me to help him through…what happens." He winced. "You did more for him today than I've ever done."
He shook his head. "Lana. She's the one who did that. She's the one who cared enough to do something about it. You should thank her."
Whit sighed. "Wow. I owe her a lot, Kent, more than you can imagine. I hope she finds happiness out there some day, she a good person who deserves a lot more than me."
Clark nodded. "That is true. But me, I'm not that good a person." He glanced at Whit, and Whit grinned.
"Yeah. Sadly, I think I'm stuck with you."
"Cool," He glanced away from Clark, smiling the small soft smile he sometimes gave Jason, the smile that Clark knew from now on he was going to crave like a—a—a person who craved stuff.
Clark smiled up at the fluffy clouds sailing over head. He wasn't just Clark Kent now, he was Clark Kent, ex-virgin….
God, he *loved* summer.