Pairing: Clark/ Whit, Jason/Whit
Rating: nc-17 ha!
Summary: All about what Clark learns on his summer job.
The previous parts are waving so long as they drive into the sunset--the median strip—over the curb—in your front yard—through your--ooo! Dang…that's gonna be expensive.
Clark got an odd e-mail—no, a scary ass e-mail from Lana. She claimed to have met Jason in Paris. Only…he didn’t know who she was…and. And he hit on her. And got upset when Lana swore she knew him and that he knew Whit and Clark and…it was fucking freaky. She said she said she only saw him the one time and didn't look too hard to see him again. She said it was too weird.
Clark lay awake in his little room and thought hard. Jason was in France…he was still on the planet and that made him happy. He was insane, and that was beyond sad. His mother did something to him to permanently take him away from all of them and for that, Clark hoped fervently, she was going to Hell. He imagined sometimes that he had some way to get to France, and find Jason and save him, and bring him back home to live with him and Whit forever.
He only mentioned once to Whit that Lana thought maybe she'd seen Jason, and Whit's eyes lit up. "Really? I hope it was him. I hope he's happy." He reached over and stroked Clark's cheek and said "I hope he's as happy as I am."
Clark felt like the worst kind of shit, lowest of the low. But it made Whit smile, that lie, and it was only one on top of a million others and someday soon, he was going to have to break out of that cage. Dad would have to understand…it was that important. It mean that much to him not to have to keep lying to Whit.
fuck…He really loved Whit.
It was easy to tell Whit that he was fun to be with. That he loved sucking his dick. That his ass was a thing of motherfucking beauty, that he'd drink his bathwater and no guy made him want as much as he did. So how come he couldn't just say, hey, I love you? He started to say it a million times and it just. Wouldn't. Come. Out.
'Course, Whit hadn’t said it either, not even something close to it. He looked at him a lot. He smiled at him, a lot. He even laughed at his jokes…that had to be love right? Shit, that probably wasn't…hell, it wasn't important.
No big deal.
"Camping? What? What the hell…sleep on the dirt? Why would I want to sleep on the dirt?"
"Because we can sleep in a tent, with sleeping bags, private, away from the house in the woods and you can scream if you want to."
"…scream, you say?"
It was a little cramped in the tent, but it was warm, and fairly bug free, and Clark liked it a lot. He pulled back from Whit and dropped little kisses all along his lips, and throat. "Told you camping's fun…"
"un-hunh. Let's get your shirt off."
"We're not going to stop at my shirt are we?"
"No, but unless we can get all your gear off at once we're going to have to start somewhere…" Whit unbuttoned his pants as he talked and Clark admired his dexterity. Such a talented guy. "God, Clark…it feels like months since we had a chance to—"
Clark sighed. "School sucks…but break's coming up and then we'll have more time for—for everything."
He held his hands up and Whit peeled his shirt off, bent forward and kissed his ear, tickled the lobe. "Hey," he whispered. "I really love you, have I told you that lately?"
Clark looked at him wide eyed. "…you've *never* told me that." Screaming it when he was coming that one time didn’t really count. This—this was different. His heart was beating hard, he felt a little breathless…
"Hunh. Really? Well, that's stupid. I do, you know." He pulled off his own shirt and smiled at Clark. "Really."
Clark felt like…summer just blew up in his chest. "Yeah? I, um. I love you too. That sounds so…little. Like, it doesn't really say what I want it too…"
"Lift, "Whit said and pulled Clark's pants down. "Cute boxers. What are those, dancing brains? "
What? No! They're happy turt--oh!" Whit's hand was in his boxers and warm on his belly, tracing lower and lower until he reached the end of his cock and at that point, he was pretty much hard. Harder…really damn hard. "Whit—"
"Let me see…" He bent over and took the tip peeking out of the slit in Clark's boxers into his mouth, and shoved his own pants down--multi-tasking. so talented. Whit ran his tongue around the ridge, and sucked until Clark spilled a little into his mouth. "Eager…" he drew back slowly, until only the tip of his tongue touched him, and played with him until Clark grabbed handfuls of sleeping bag, spread his legs until they almost hurt. "Clark…I love you. And…there's no one else."
Clark shivered. no one else. His inner little girl screamed and ran off to phone all her friends…"No one else?"
Whit leaned forward, staring into his eyes, so close Clark felt like he was falling into them. "No. One. Else."
"Okay." He pushed Whit down on his back and held him there, maybe using a wee bit of strength, just a touch. He had one hand splayed on Whit's chest and the other wrapped around his cock. He pressed down on Whit's chest again carefully, and he could hear a tiny gasp and felt Whit's cock flex in his hand. Hmmm…now that's something to remember. He applied just a bit more pressure, just to see, and Whit groaned, tried to arch and that was *definitely* something to remember. A little drop of fluid filled the hollow between his fingers and Whit's shaft…he licked it up, and followed the trial it left back to the tip. He opened his mouth and Whit slid in. He loved that part, loved Whit's cock sliding over his tongue, in and in until he couldn’t move anymore…Clark drew back a little and Whit apologized. Clark rolled his eyes, and sucked. Hard. Yeah, that apology just went out the window, he smirked—internally, his lips were busy….
He was bobbing up and down on Whit's cock, letting Whit cup his head and move him a bit because he liked doing that, and Clark was concentrating on how it felt and the sounds that Whit made, letting them guide him, using everything he'd learned about what Whit liked, like grabbing his ass hard, he liked that. And yeah, big ix-nay on the eeth-tay—impervious alien skin likes more teeth and nails than humans do—
Whit lunged forward, and shook, came with a strangled shout. Hot flooded Clark's mouth and he swallowed—Whit yelled a little and fucked his mouth, slower and slower until he moaned and pulled Clark off of him. He shook a little, petting his hair, stroking him, telling him how wonderful he was, how perfect…Clark floated on Whit's pleasure, enjoyed it as much as Whit did.
After a bit, Whit pushed him off and told him, "Now it's your turn."
"Oh goodie," he laughed softly. He rolled to his side, and Whit lifted his eyebrow. Clark rolled to his stomach and spread his legs. "I know what I want."
"I love a man who knows his mind."
Whit spent a long time kissing him, teasing him, carefully keeping him on edge, enjoying the tease way too much as far as Clark was concerned. Whit was slowly slipping a finger around and round his hole, just enough pressure to make Clark whine, make him slide around and try to force the tip of his finger *in*--"Come on, come on, come on—you're ready, I'm ready--"
"So impatient." He reached under the pillow and pulled out a condom and waved it at Clark. "I am ready," he smiled.
"Yay, the Trojan fairy came…"
"Oh my god. Shut *up*."
Clark laughed, eased up to his knees and Whit closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Fuck Clark…you're going to be the death of me…." Clark tried to imagine what he must look like to Whit, and surprised himself—the image was so fucking hot he groaned—
The press and the warmth of Whit's hand on his back, his cock circling his hole pulled him back into his body and he was completely *there*, so much it ached. "No more waiting—" he pushed back, and growled, and Whit chuckled.
"Okay, okay…" Whit was an evil heartless bastard. But thank god the evil heartless bastard was all his.
The press inward was steady and hurt in a way that felt wonderful—it was balancing between pain and pleasure and it just kept escalating, and it tipped into pain and then bloomed into pleasure—Clark gasped at the feel of Whit in him, far as he could go.
"Oh fuck, the way you look…" Whit's thumb traced where he was inside him. "Feel…feel that?" Whit rocked his hips, and it was like fire flowing through him. Clark stroked himself, matching Whit's rhythm, move for move, concentrating on nothing but how good it felt, how Whit felt so hot and heavy inside him. When Whit came he felt that too, the swell, and how warm he was, and how tight his hands were on his hips…Clark came hard…and *loud*.
Camping was great.
It was one of those afternoons where the sun was so bright it was like the sky was made of crystal, and the air was on fire. It was hot enough to make Clark sweat, and feel like he was a step or two from--flying. He could feel the goofy grin plastered on his face—he must look like a walking anti-drug ad. This is your Clark on drugs…a Clark is a terrible thing to waste. He was making himself giggle. See this is why I hate love summer.
He was walking, taking the long way home and enjoying his alone time before getting there. Thank god it was Friday and that meant the weekend, and Whit getting some time to spend with him, maybe Whit and him heading to the city, or just being together….
Loeb's Bridge was up ahead, and like always, he had a brief replay of The Day He Saved Lex Luthor, and grinned a little. He was the only one who remembered what he did that day--shit, even he barely remembered what he did that day anymore. He still hadn’t told Whit about his 'heroic rescue'—it was kind of pointless, really. He was halfway over the bridge when vibrations through the metal made him press against the railing, someone was coming and they were coming pretty damn fast.
When he saw the streak of blue fly past him he thought it was Pete at first, driving his usual teeth-grinding stomach flipping best. He stepped out on the bridge deck, ready to yell—and froze. The car roared over the bridge and slewed to a stop on the shoulder. Not a Mustang—a Porsche. Clark could hear the engine ticking as it cooled. The driver of the Porsche poured himself out of the car, he was tall and lean, dressed in black and blue, like a walking bruise. And, you know, bald. He was definitely looking at Clark; Clark could practically feel his eyes on him. It was him—the Luthor who'd finally moved into the castle after almost a year of rumors and no-shows…that Lex Luthor. Clark wondered if he'd recognized him. No fucking way, not after all this time…the driver stood hands on hips and tilted his head and at the same time, a horn behind him blared.
Clark turned. It was Whit, waving at him.
The truck's horn bleated again, and Clark glanced down the road at the blue Porsche and the driver.
Oh well. Maybe they'd run into each other in town or something. Clark waved like a loon at Whit and ran back to the truck, not *quite* as fast as he could—it was close. His heart soared impossibly higher. Life was so fucking good—his incredibly handsome boyfriend was waiting for him, and if he played his cards right—he might be able to talk him into a free cup of coffee and a muffin.
He had the whole summer, after all.