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. Pretty much.
The previous parts are here, packing their bags, emptying their bank accounts…road trip!
The sun was peeking over the trees, Roger was just hopping out of E-less Nikki's car, Whit and Jason were leaning against the mini-dump truck, deep in conversation, and Pete was describing in depth, to a mind-numbing degree, his date with Chloe the night before, and Clark wondered what would happen if he just started screaming, or—or telling Pete all about The Lake—everything. In detail. The thought was highly entertaining and he smiled the whole time Pete talked to him, which just encouraged Pete, so—backfire….
Billy rolled into the lot, riding shotgun in a blackTrans Am. The driver leaned over and said something that made him bite his lip and blush. He got out and started to walk towards them and the driver called him to the open window and squeezed his hand before driving off. Whoever it was, they made Billy smile—a real smile, not the grimace of hurt he tried to pass off as one. Meanwhile, across the lot the same scene was being reenacted with a slightly different tone--Nikki screamed something at Roger before driving off and leaving him alone in the lot, pretty much a repeat performance of the last few mornings. Roger pulled his shorts up, brushed imaginary lint off his Greatest Rapper of All Time memorial t-shirt and studiously avoided their gaze.
Pete glanced at Clark, jerked his chin towards Billy. "Hunh. Looks like love is in the air."
"Yeah, it sure is. I'm glad Billy's taking care of himself." Clark smiled at him and Billy gave him a totally blank look and arched an eyebrow slightly. Clark chuckled.
"Looks like love is whipping the hell out of somebody else, though--whip, like pussy-whipped, you know--*whip-pah!* Puss--"
"I *get* it."
Pete just snickered harder and pointed at Roger, who'd heard the whisper clearly, as clearly as Lowell County and half the state no doubt had. Clark glanced at Pete and had a horrible moment of wondering if he was that 'quiet' in bed too….
Jason strolled over, trailed by Whit, both of them with big smiles on their faces. Jason stepped in front of Billy, turned to face the back of the lot. "Yo, Rainman, get your fucking ass over here with the rest of us," he yelled. As Rog stomped over, Jason said pointedly, loudly, and with a nice thick layer of artless innuendo, "So, Billy. Big fuckin' engines in those classic cars, real hot rides…" He winked. "Good on you."
Roger looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue and Whit giggled—there was no other way to describe the sound he made, and Clark thought how fuckin' cute was that—and wanted to slap himself. Talk about Whit-whipped….
He and Pete were fucking around in the office, teasing Chloe, drinking Doris' coffee, waiting for Greg before going out to that morning's site. Greg, Mr. Punctual As A Heart Attack, actually seemed to be a no-show. That was weird on par with bloody eclipses of the sun.
Gabe came out of his office with a worried look. "Clark… this just isn’t normal for Greg not to show. I know it's crazy but I feel like something's not…right. You guys are going past his place today, check on him."
"You gonna fire him?" Pete asked, chewing on one of Doris' coffee straw thingies. Clark could feel her angry little gila monster eyes on the back of his neck…yeah, bet if *Jason* wanted to eat her straws, she'd give him a gift wrapped box every payday…."Hunh? What?"
Gabe repeated patiently, "I don't want to fire him because he's been an asset to the crew…even if he is a seriously strange puppy. Just check, okay? Call me if it's you know...bad. Or something."
Jason and Whit watched them leave. They were drinking Doris Coffee, no doubt lovingly prepared by her own wrinkled little claw, Clark thought bitterly, both of them comfortably sitting in the bed of Whit's truck. Clark risked a flail meant to be a wave when they passed. Whit waved back and smiled. *That* smile. Which Clark was totally not expecting to get. A doofy grin creased his face, his cheeks caught on fire and there was a definite shifting of blood southwards.
Jason gave Clark a long level look before smirking, and then puffed out a series of smoke rings and who knew such a disgusting habit could look so…insanely obscene, especially the way his tongue curled on each little outward puff…what the hell was Whit thinking, Clark thought. Jason might be a dick but he was a dick made of pure sex, and he…he was an enormous clumsy alien changeling oaf. shitshitshitshit *shit*.
Mrs. Arkin opened the door to his tentative tap and peered out, looking distinctly under whelmed. She stood squarely in the doorway, as if she expected them to storm her little castle. With as much lack of enthusiasm as her expression indicated she said, "Oh, it's Pete and Clark. I haven’t seen you boys in ages. Greg said he was working with you." She smoothed her little twin-set flat and looked over her shoulder, a mild look of concern making her crows-feet prominent. "He's not feeling well today, just a summer cold but you know how they can be at times. I meant to call…" She shrugged, and her little pearl drop earrings clicked. "I'm sure he'll be well enough to work tomorrow."
"Glad that it's nothing serious," Clark said. "Tha—" The door shut decisively. "—nks".
"Wow, did she always have that giant stick up her ass?" Pete asked.
"Well, ish—what a B," Clark muttered. "I feel sorry for Greg. She must bug the hell out of him."
They reported back to Gabe, who only sighed and shook his head and glanced over at his foremen. "Go ahead you guys; make sure you let Doris know I approved your hours before you leave today."
They had fast food places on the menu today, two chains and one home grown burger joint that made burgers so good, eating one was almost as good as sex…almost. Clark had to think hard about that one…he pushed the mower in and out of the small areas between the shrubs. It was cooler than it had been the last few days, the sun had a more brassy rather than golden quality to it…the weird kind of chirp-drone of cicadas filled the air. He felt a little less blurry-buzzy-hot today. He'd feel that way less and less as the days cooled. Fall was coming, and winter…and winter was very, very good, very different. He loved summer but in the winter he felt sharp, in control…in charge of himself like he never felt in the heat. Just…different.
He carefully edged along the hedges, taking his time. Pete or Roger would come along behind him with the weed murderer. Grass killer, hedge hacker…He wondered about them all for a second, them and their violent metaphors for such an innocuous activity…he snorted. Yeah, it was pretty funny.
It was an ordinary day; right up until it went all…weird. Or the word you use to describe something so weird that 'weird' is only as weird as your grandmother, unless of course, Granny danced naked on the front lawn at full moons. And maybe that wasn't weird so much as really, really--gross…
"Hey, sweetie, what are you doing for lunch today?"
He pulled the phone away from his ear, stared at it, held it back to his ear, and said carefully "…Lana?"
"Yes, who else? What's wrong, I can't call my favorite guy?"
"Is…there trouble? Is someone there with you? Just say yes, if you're afraid to talk…"
"Clark, stop being a goof. Listen; have lunch with me at the Beanery today, okay? I have something I want to talk to you about."
"Um…the Beanery?" He scratched idly at an itchy spot over his ribs and glanced over at Pete tossing equipment in the back of the truck. "About that…couldn't we have lunch somewhere more…free? I mean, I'm trying to save money for—"
"Oh Clark, you’re the cheapest man I know! I'll treat all right? Just make sure you get your butt here at two o'clock…please?"
Clark sighed. Lana was evil—she knew just where to hit him. "All right. Your treat, you say?"
"Oh my gosh!"
"No, no—I'm kidding." Really. pretty much.
"Okay, it's a date." She blew a kiss—or maybe a raspberry--and hung up
He grinned to himself a bit, and looked up when he heard another phone go off. Whit answered, and looked a little surprised. He smiled, and nodded and said something. He laughed a little and hung up. Jason was giving him a look, and Whit just shrugged.
Clark admired his own restraint—to eavesdrop on what Whit was saying was a temptation. Especially since he hadn't called or really *talked* to him talked to him at all after the…after. Jason kept smiling at him though…it was really kind of creepy. Creepy. Oh, and fuck—kind of hot.