SV fic: I GotYour Man (and you can't do anything)
Title: I GotYour Man(and you can't do anything)
Fandom:SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit
Word Count: 2502
Rating: R
Summary: just the merest smidgeon of porn, and the teeniest sprinkle of silly plot
Whit hummed along to some song on the radio, he wasn't quite sure what the thing was about but he suspected it has something to do with ass and how to get up in there…he had no idea. The station was something Clark had tuned to last time he was in the truck….
Whit glanced at the passenger seat and chuckled…a little warm star flared inside him and he straight out laughed. Clark had almost killed them the last time he was in the truck. When he'd reared up off the seat like that….
Whit shook his head. This thing he felt for Clark…before he'd graduated, back when Lana was all he wanted to think of, Clark was. He was. Whit screwed his mouth tight; the last little bubble of laughter gone-stared down the road like the movie of his life was playing there. Clark was what? Besides dangerous. He'd had almost broken Whit's perfect world into bits. He'd had it all planned out-career, wife, big house, big car, his dad telling him he knew he'd make it and how proud he was and better than that, envy in his eyes.
Yeah, it would've been sweet, but that all changed. Whit lost everything he'd planned. It all poured through his hands like water-he'd fucked up his scholarship, Dad fucked him up by dying, service fucked up his leg and lost him mall hope of football, the Marines-all fucked up. And now…fuck everything he'd ever thought he wanted. There was on thing he hoped to salvage out of all that. All he needed was that one thing.
Whit rolled the windows down lower and turned the radio up higher and let the scream of wind and sound blank his mind.
M&Ms. Maybe Clark would like some M&Ms…no, he probably liked those little fruity candies. Cool-they made great projectiles if you spit 'em hard enough. Not that he knew anyone immature enough to do something like that.
* * * * * *
Whit poked up and down the aisles of the FastStop, juggling a bag of M&Ms, a package of HoHos and trying to decide between fruit or sour Skittles. His fifth turn around the tight narrow shelves had the clerk shouting, "For cryin' out loud-there's not that much stuff here-choose somethin' and get the eff out!"
"Fuck you, Craig," Whit laughed.
Craig leaned out over the high counter. "What…Skittles and HoHos? Bitch, they don't make effing Trojans in teeny-tiny, so stop lookin'."
"Oh fuck you." He hesitated for a moment, looking back at the candy isle, shrugged and tucked a box of condoms under his pile of death by sugar, glanced around and grabbed a travel size bottle of lube, too. He slammed the pile on the counter, and Craig shook his head.
"You're kind of old for the whole 'hide the rubbers under the fun size bag of candy' aren't you?"
"You're kind of young to be my grandma all in my business aren’t you?"
Craig rung him up, tossed the bag at his head. "Have fun. Don't mistake the HoHos for the lube…then again, she might like that."
"You're really funny, in a traffic accident kind of way."
"Your mother's funny."
"See? You have a gift."
* * * * * *
Whit was grinning as he drove towards the school when about half way there, it hit him-what he'd bought. His mouth dropped and he swallowed against the sudden dryness. "Holy shit…" he muttered, "holy shit." He blinked hard and laughed, kind of weakly. Well, the rubbers would come in handy, eventually, in some kind of way. Maybe. He sighed. God knows the lube would. That Jergen's shit…it was getting so he couldn't stand the smell of it. He glanced at his hands, tight as vise grips on the wheel. His hands were softer than they'd ever been….
With a last blast of some kind of weird song, and a low moan and squeak that came from somewhere under the front of the truck and was beginning to make him nervous and wish he'd taken an automotive class, he pulled up in the visitors lot and parked. He hadn't been to the school since graduation, not even to look up Lana, but here he was. He glanced at the bulging plastic bag on the passenger's side. Poked it. Took the candy out and rolled up the bag and shoved it under the seat between his feet. He wasn't arranging the candy. He was just…"For shit's sake," Whit muttered. "Be more of a…whatever you are."
The engine ticked and pocked as it cooled, and he reached out for the door handle when the air was full of some kind of noise he figured was meant to be music, all weird moaning instruments and no bass line-he glanced up and caught a convertible Porsche in his rearview. It pulled past him and into the bus lanes, and parked.
Figured…Lex.
Clark's billionaire friend, poor little fucking rich boy. Whit grit his teeth and his knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel in a strangle hold. He hated that fucker. What the hell was he doing…Clark said he wanted a ride but maybe…he hadn't meant Whit?
Clark came out of the school, stopped at the edge of the stairs. He lifted his backpack higher and suddenly ran down the stairs, waving. Whit almost lifted his hand to wave before blushing. No way Clark could see him in the lot, not at this angle. But it let Whit watch unobserved. He watched Lex pull himself up and out of the car, like a…fuck, like a cat. He oozed out onto the asphalt and trotted up to meet Clark. They stopped, Lex tilted his head and Clark threw his head back-he was laughing. Whit knew that move. He shook his head and Lex nodded-threw something at Clark and turned. Clark ran after, threw it back. Whit watched, wrinkled brow and then he got it. Keys. Fucking Lex was tossing Clark the keys to his fucking Porsche. Whit looked down at the faded, dusty dash of his truck, so old a truck that it had a tape deck in it. Would it make a difference if Clark knew he was getting a CD player in it…he'd be impressed. All Lex probably had satellite radio and…"Really, Whit? Really?" He settled into silence again, his teeth ripped at his lip as he watched Clark and his friend.
Lex pivoted to say something to Clark and he flowed through the air like water, and Whit could imagine Lex, tall and slim and smooth, perfect, probably cut abs, gym work-unblemished skin wrapping thick muscles in his thighs, and calves, perfect to run your hands over, legs that could spread and wrap around Clark's hips, and Lex wouldn’t have to work up to it in stages, and Lex's knee wouldn't pop and crack and feel like it was filled with burning glass and give out when he needed it…didn't look like raw hamburger had been spackled over bone, Lex's leg didn't look like some thing had tried to take ragged chunks out of his calf.
Lex leaped up and into the car, and shrugged when Clark tossed the key at him a final time and then, he got in the car and they drove away.
Whit sat in his truck, opened the M&Ms and wondered how long it would take him to eat the whole bag, and if he could do it without vomiting. He filled his mouth with the candy bits and eyes the Skittles. He fucking hated Skittles.
Whit walked up the thankfully few stairs to the world's smallest, darkest, ugliest apartment, and threw his coat against the wall. The object had been to toss it on the couch…it knocked the cane leaning against the wall there to the floor. "Bitch," he hissed. Wasn't sure if he meant the coat, or the cane, or…something else. He hobbled towards the fridge, he'd overdone it today, driving too long and walking too long without the cane, and…he sighed. Having too big a fit, Jesus, like a ten year-old. He grinned ruefully at himself, and snagged a beer from the sixer hiding behind a jug of ice-tea, next to a liquidy head of lettuce, the only items on the lower shelf of the fridge. "Say good-bye to your friend the dead lettuce," he murmured, and popped the top. Dead lettuce, old bread, a crusty bottle of ketchup…might be time to go food shopping. There was a half carton of eggs and. A couple of slices of fake cheese. He narrowed his eyes. "Hmm, there's a couple of egg sandwiches-nah, sucks without bacon." Maybe he should drop some pride and let his mom do food shopping for him like she'd been nagging. The thought of dragging himself around the food store made the M&Ms dance uncomfortably in his gut. Hell no. He'd call his mom. Later.
He was settled on the couch, and staring at the TV, his one indulgence. Cable…it was a godsend. Mostly at times like this. His boxers were pushed down, the worn band loose around his hips, his hand in his lap, watching the screen. The sound was turned down-the walls were like tissue and the neighbors reminded him of one of those movie families where they all intermarried and ate strangers they kidnapped off the road….
His dick was starting to take an interest in the complicated scene writhing away on the screen. Two anxious looking guys and a bored looking chick…good enough, he thought. He eased his knee to the side, slicked up his hand with a thick spurt of the lube he'd bought. He rubbed his palm quick and slick along the length of his dick and sighed. Dropped his head back and stroked loose and teasing, watching the action through narrowed eyes. His dick thumped in his hand when the guys kissed-brief and messy before concentrating on the girl, but all it took was that kiss for his dick to drool all over his hand. Whit stroked harder, tighter, and lost all interest in the actors....
He pictured Clark in the truck, jerking up like he had but this time, naked from the waist down, and with a purpose-driving his dick into the back of Whit's throat. He'd gotten plenty of blowjobs, kind of-how hard could it be? Fantasy Clark was loving it, at least. Whit laughed and groaned and let the sound of his dick flying wetly through the tight circle of his fist drive him on. He groaned loud, long, the sound spiraling up out of control along with his orgasm…he jerked and grunted and spilled over his fist, strings of come dripped from his dick, his hand, to plop thick and wet across the twitching muscles of his stomach. He let out a long satisfied groan and smiled--and jumped at the frantic knocking at his door.
Fuck, fuck-if it was his mom, he was going to throw himself down the stairs. He levered himself upward, grabbed a sock off the floor and wiped as quick and as thoroughly as possible. He yanked up his boxers and whipped his robe closed. "Coming! Coming!"
By the time he staggered into the door, he was red-faced, sweating, and too aware that he was in a robe and his shorts and nothing else.
"What? Kent?" What the fuck.
"Hey! Where were you at school? I looked and I didn’t see you, but then Lex came so I went with him-I thought you were going to pick me up but--and then-why are you in your underwear, Whit? Are you sick? I mean…" Clark flushed so red it made Whit want to laugh. "Were you going to sleep, or, taking a bath or-"
A low, suggestive moaning broke into Clark's speed freak monologue, and both of them looked to the source of the sound. It took Whit only a moment to untangle the remote from the folds of his ratty old robe and shut the TV off…but it was more than enough time to treat Clark to an eye-opening look at the money shot…hunh. Whit was impressed. Cable pay for porn was a lot more interesting-a soft cough broke into his thoughts.
"Oh! You were-" Clark turned an impossibly deeper shade of red. Whit thought that was cute, and a little scary.
"Yeah, most guys would've just let it go, Kent. But thanks for ratcheting up the uncomfy vibe."
"I-I-I-" Clark blinked, took a breath and shoved a wide, flat, cold box at him. "I brought pizza." He held up a bag, "and soda."
Whit blinked. "You interrupted my evening for freezer case pizza and no-name soda? Really?"
Clark took a step back. Blinked and swallowed. "Yeah, um. Okay. You…here." He shoved the box at Whit, who grabbed it out of reflex, dropped the bag holding the bottle and staggered a few steps back. "Sorry," Clark said, and he was gone in the blink of an eye.
Whit dropped the box on the floor, tripped over the bottle rolling around on the ground and clipped his hip against the counter. Pain shot down his leg and made his mouth explode in acid. "Ow, God damn it, *shit*!"
Fuck. What the fuck just happened? How in the hell did he just screw up what had the making of a great evening?
"I'll fix it. I can fix it."
* * * * * *
"Hey, Clark…look, about earlier, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I was glad you came, really."
"Oh, I figured. I was just-hah-too embarrassed to come back. Sorry. I mean, sorry for apologizing. Except this time I really should, right?"
"Clark. Why don’t you come on back and we'll have the pizza and-"
"Oh, thanks Whit, but after I left your place I ended up over at Lex's-to talk and stuff, and I ate over there-he had his cook make this incredible pizza-"
"Yeahm really? That's great," Whit said and drove a fork into the steaming pizza sitting on the kitchen counter. "That's great. Really, Lex is a good guy," he said, and stabbed the pizza few more times, imagined a slice of pepperoni as Lex's heart and stabbed it some more, until the tines of the fork were curled and splayed. He threw it out the kitchenette window.
"What's that noise?"
"Look, Clark, gotta go-I got friends waiting. Nice talking to you, though. Bye."
"Wait-"
Whit hung up the phone and whipped it at the couch. It bounced high, end over end, and slid into the darkness under the TV stand. "Fuck my life," he muttered and scraped what was left of the pizza onto a plate. "I hate store pizza," he yelled.
He ate it all.
final part
Fandom:SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit
Word Count: 2502
Rating: R
Summary: just the merest smidgeon of porn, and the teeniest sprinkle of silly plot
Whit hummed along to some song on the radio, he wasn't quite sure what the thing was about but he suspected it has something to do with ass and how to get up in there…he had no idea. The station was something Clark had tuned to last time he was in the truck….
Whit glanced at the passenger seat and chuckled…a little warm star flared inside him and he straight out laughed. Clark had almost killed them the last time he was in the truck. When he'd reared up off the seat like that….
Whit shook his head. This thing he felt for Clark…before he'd graduated, back when Lana was all he wanted to think of, Clark was. He was. Whit screwed his mouth tight; the last little bubble of laughter gone-stared down the road like the movie of his life was playing there. Clark was what? Besides dangerous. He'd had almost broken Whit's perfect world into bits. He'd had it all planned out-career, wife, big house, big car, his dad telling him he knew he'd make it and how proud he was and better than that, envy in his eyes.
Yeah, it would've been sweet, but that all changed. Whit lost everything he'd planned. It all poured through his hands like water-he'd fucked up his scholarship, Dad fucked him up by dying, service fucked up his leg and lost him mall hope of football, the Marines-all fucked up. And now…fuck everything he'd ever thought he wanted. There was on thing he hoped to salvage out of all that. All he needed was that one thing.
Whit rolled the windows down lower and turned the radio up higher and let the scream of wind and sound blank his mind.
M&Ms. Maybe Clark would like some M&Ms…no, he probably liked those little fruity candies. Cool-they made great projectiles if you spit 'em hard enough. Not that he knew anyone immature enough to do something like that.
* * * * * *
Whit poked up and down the aisles of the FastStop, juggling a bag of M&Ms, a package of HoHos and trying to decide between fruit or sour Skittles. His fifth turn around the tight narrow shelves had the clerk shouting, "For cryin' out loud-there's not that much stuff here-choose somethin' and get the eff out!"
"Fuck you, Craig," Whit laughed.
Craig leaned out over the high counter. "What…Skittles and HoHos? Bitch, they don't make effing Trojans in teeny-tiny, so stop lookin'."
"Oh fuck you." He hesitated for a moment, looking back at the candy isle, shrugged and tucked a box of condoms under his pile of death by sugar, glanced around and grabbed a travel size bottle of lube, too. He slammed the pile on the counter, and Craig shook his head.
"You're kind of old for the whole 'hide the rubbers under the fun size bag of candy' aren't you?"
"You're kind of young to be my grandma all in my business aren’t you?"
Craig rung him up, tossed the bag at his head. "Have fun. Don't mistake the HoHos for the lube…then again, she might like that."
"You're really funny, in a traffic accident kind of way."
"Your mother's funny."
"See? You have a gift."
* * * * * *
Whit was grinning as he drove towards the school when about half way there, it hit him-what he'd bought. His mouth dropped and he swallowed against the sudden dryness. "Holy shit…" he muttered, "holy shit." He blinked hard and laughed, kind of weakly. Well, the rubbers would come in handy, eventually, in some kind of way. Maybe. He sighed. God knows the lube would. That Jergen's shit…it was getting so he couldn't stand the smell of it. He glanced at his hands, tight as vise grips on the wheel. His hands were softer than they'd ever been….
With a last blast of some kind of weird song, and a low moan and squeak that came from somewhere under the front of the truck and was beginning to make him nervous and wish he'd taken an automotive class, he pulled up in the visitors lot and parked. He hadn't been to the school since graduation, not even to look up Lana, but here he was. He glanced at the bulging plastic bag on the passenger's side. Poked it. Took the candy out and rolled up the bag and shoved it under the seat between his feet. He wasn't arranging the candy. He was just…"For shit's sake," Whit muttered. "Be more of a…whatever you are."
The engine ticked and pocked as it cooled, and he reached out for the door handle when the air was full of some kind of noise he figured was meant to be music, all weird moaning instruments and no bass line-he glanced up and caught a convertible Porsche in his rearview. It pulled past him and into the bus lanes, and parked.
Figured…Lex.
Clark's billionaire friend, poor little fucking rich boy. Whit grit his teeth and his knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel in a strangle hold. He hated that fucker. What the hell was he doing…Clark said he wanted a ride but maybe…he hadn't meant Whit?
Clark came out of the school, stopped at the edge of the stairs. He lifted his backpack higher and suddenly ran down the stairs, waving. Whit almost lifted his hand to wave before blushing. No way Clark could see him in the lot, not at this angle. But it let Whit watch unobserved. He watched Lex pull himself up and out of the car, like a…fuck, like a cat. He oozed out onto the asphalt and trotted up to meet Clark. They stopped, Lex tilted his head and Clark threw his head back-he was laughing. Whit knew that move. He shook his head and Lex nodded-threw something at Clark and turned. Clark ran after, threw it back. Whit watched, wrinkled brow and then he got it. Keys. Fucking Lex was tossing Clark the keys to his fucking Porsche. Whit looked down at the faded, dusty dash of his truck, so old a truck that it had a tape deck in it. Would it make a difference if Clark knew he was getting a CD player in it…he'd be impressed. All Lex probably had satellite radio and…"Really, Whit? Really?" He settled into silence again, his teeth ripped at his lip as he watched Clark and his friend.
Lex pivoted to say something to Clark and he flowed through the air like water, and Whit could imagine Lex, tall and slim and smooth, perfect, probably cut abs, gym work-unblemished skin wrapping thick muscles in his thighs, and calves, perfect to run your hands over, legs that could spread and wrap around Clark's hips, and Lex wouldn’t have to work up to it in stages, and Lex's knee wouldn't pop and crack and feel like it was filled with burning glass and give out when he needed it…didn't look like raw hamburger had been spackled over bone, Lex's leg didn't look like some thing had tried to take ragged chunks out of his calf.
Lex leaped up and into the car, and shrugged when Clark tossed the key at him a final time and then, he got in the car and they drove away.
Whit sat in his truck, opened the M&Ms and wondered how long it would take him to eat the whole bag, and if he could do it without vomiting. He filled his mouth with the candy bits and eyes the Skittles. He fucking hated Skittles.
Whit walked up the thankfully few stairs to the world's smallest, darkest, ugliest apartment, and threw his coat against the wall. The object had been to toss it on the couch…it knocked the cane leaning against the wall there to the floor. "Bitch," he hissed. Wasn't sure if he meant the coat, or the cane, or…something else. He hobbled towards the fridge, he'd overdone it today, driving too long and walking too long without the cane, and…he sighed. Having too big a fit, Jesus, like a ten year-old. He grinned ruefully at himself, and snagged a beer from the sixer hiding behind a jug of ice-tea, next to a liquidy head of lettuce, the only items on the lower shelf of the fridge. "Say good-bye to your friend the dead lettuce," he murmured, and popped the top. Dead lettuce, old bread, a crusty bottle of ketchup…might be time to go food shopping. There was a half carton of eggs and. A couple of slices of fake cheese. He narrowed his eyes. "Hmm, there's a couple of egg sandwiches-nah, sucks without bacon." Maybe he should drop some pride and let his mom do food shopping for him like she'd been nagging. The thought of dragging himself around the food store made the M&Ms dance uncomfortably in his gut. Hell no. He'd call his mom. Later.
He was settled on the couch, and staring at the TV, his one indulgence. Cable…it was a godsend. Mostly at times like this. His boxers were pushed down, the worn band loose around his hips, his hand in his lap, watching the screen. The sound was turned down-the walls were like tissue and the neighbors reminded him of one of those movie families where they all intermarried and ate strangers they kidnapped off the road….
His dick was starting to take an interest in the complicated scene writhing away on the screen. Two anxious looking guys and a bored looking chick…good enough, he thought. He eased his knee to the side, slicked up his hand with a thick spurt of the lube he'd bought. He rubbed his palm quick and slick along the length of his dick and sighed. Dropped his head back and stroked loose and teasing, watching the action through narrowed eyes. His dick thumped in his hand when the guys kissed-brief and messy before concentrating on the girl, but all it took was that kiss for his dick to drool all over his hand. Whit stroked harder, tighter, and lost all interest in the actors....
He pictured Clark in the truck, jerking up like he had but this time, naked from the waist down, and with a purpose-driving his dick into the back of Whit's throat. He'd gotten plenty of blowjobs, kind of-how hard could it be? Fantasy Clark was loving it, at least. Whit laughed and groaned and let the sound of his dick flying wetly through the tight circle of his fist drive him on. He groaned loud, long, the sound spiraling up out of control along with his orgasm…he jerked and grunted and spilled over his fist, strings of come dripped from his dick, his hand, to plop thick and wet across the twitching muscles of his stomach. He let out a long satisfied groan and smiled--and jumped at the frantic knocking at his door.
Fuck, fuck-if it was his mom, he was going to throw himself down the stairs. He levered himself upward, grabbed a sock off the floor and wiped as quick and as thoroughly as possible. He yanked up his boxers and whipped his robe closed. "Coming! Coming!"
By the time he staggered into the door, he was red-faced, sweating, and too aware that he was in a robe and his shorts and nothing else.
"What? Kent?" What the fuck.
"Hey! Where were you at school? I looked and I didn’t see you, but then Lex came so I went with him-I thought you were going to pick me up but--and then-why are you in your underwear, Whit? Are you sick? I mean…" Clark flushed so red it made Whit want to laugh. "Were you going to sleep, or, taking a bath or-"
A low, suggestive moaning broke into Clark's speed freak monologue, and both of them looked to the source of the sound. It took Whit only a moment to untangle the remote from the folds of his ratty old robe and shut the TV off…but it was more than enough time to treat Clark to an eye-opening look at the money shot…hunh. Whit was impressed. Cable pay for porn was a lot more interesting-a soft cough broke into his thoughts.
"Oh! You were-" Clark turned an impossibly deeper shade of red. Whit thought that was cute, and a little scary.
"Yeah, most guys would've just let it go, Kent. But thanks for ratcheting up the uncomfy vibe."
"I-I-I-" Clark blinked, took a breath and shoved a wide, flat, cold box at him. "I brought pizza." He held up a bag, "and soda."
Whit blinked. "You interrupted my evening for freezer case pizza and no-name soda? Really?"
Clark took a step back. Blinked and swallowed. "Yeah, um. Okay. You…here." He shoved the box at Whit, who grabbed it out of reflex, dropped the bag holding the bottle and staggered a few steps back. "Sorry," Clark said, and he was gone in the blink of an eye.
Whit dropped the box on the floor, tripped over the bottle rolling around on the ground and clipped his hip against the counter. Pain shot down his leg and made his mouth explode in acid. "Ow, God damn it, *shit*!"
Fuck. What the fuck just happened? How in the hell did he just screw up what had the making of a great evening?
"I'll fix it. I can fix it."
* * * * * *
"Hey, Clark…look, about earlier, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I was glad you came, really."
"Oh, I figured. I was just-hah-too embarrassed to come back. Sorry. I mean, sorry for apologizing. Except this time I really should, right?"
"Clark. Why don’t you come on back and we'll have the pizza and-"
"Oh, thanks Whit, but after I left your place I ended up over at Lex's-to talk and stuff, and I ate over there-he had his cook make this incredible pizza-"
"Yeahm really? That's great," Whit said and drove a fork into the steaming pizza sitting on the kitchen counter. "That's great. Really, Lex is a good guy," he said, and stabbed the pizza few more times, imagined a slice of pepperoni as Lex's heart and stabbed it some more, until the tines of the fork were curled and splayed. He threw it out the kitchenette window.
"What's that noise?"
"Look, Clark, gotta go-I got friends waiting. Nice talking to you, though. Bye."
"Wait-"
Whit hung up the phone and whipped it at the couch. It bounced high, end over end, and slid into the darkness under the TV stand. "Fuck my life," he muttered and scraped what was left of the pizza onto a plate. "I hate store pizza," he yelled.
He ate it all.
final part