SV fic: I Got Your Man (and you can't do anything)
Title: I Got Your Man (and you can't do anything)
Fandom:SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit
Word Count: 3149
Rating: NC-17
Summary: porn, and the teeniest sprinkle of silly plot.
III
"Clark, letting yourself fall for Luthor is the worst idea ever in the history of ideas. Sure, he seems like a good guy but he has problems-and plans for you that don't-Clark, Lex is a decent enough guy but that's just it-he's *just* barely decent. He's not good enough. He doesn't understand you-not saying I do, but you and me, we're more alike than-I mean geez, six hundred dollar shirts and hundred dollar pizzas--*FUCK*!"
Whit dropped his head against the mirror. "Ouch." He rubbed the heel of his hand over his forehead and sighed. Okay, maybe going that route sucked. But he had to talk to Clark. Clark had to know how Whit felt. And as soon as Whit figured it out, he was going to tell Clark. He'd walk right up to him; lay his cards on the table. Spell it out; let Clark know that…that…shit. Maybe not talking to him was the smart thing to do.
Whit shoved his hands in the pockets of his threadbare robe, and limped out to the kitchen-living-dinning room, the ratty belt of his robe trailing him like a tail. He made coffee and sat at the tiny table, his leg stretched out in front of him, his calf taunting him by burning, throbbing. His treacherous mind kept replaying that scene of Lex leaping out of his car in a way that should have been corny as hell but even Whit had to admit it's been kind of hot. Screw it; Luthor was hot as hell but--still. The man was a pretentious asshole and how did Clark not see it? Love. Whit gulped a huge mouthful of coffee and wrestled it down his throat. Love makes you blind-and stupid, and blind. And stupid.
He was washed, dressed, and ready to get something for breakfast that didn't involve the use of a toaster. He rinsed out the coffee pot and tossed the used filter. He went to the niche he laughingly referred to as the hall closet; reached past his letter jacket for the coat he wore now. His fingers grazed the leather sleeves of his old jacket, and he sighed-again. Life sure had seemed easier back then, before Dad got sick, before…before waking up every morning with a hard-on and Clark's name stuttering out of his mouth. Clark was the best thing ever happened to him and the worst.
And then there was Lex, who no doubt was the worst.
Whit had his coat on and he was about to fish his keys out of the bowl on the kitchen counter when there was a solid rap at his door, a no nonsense kind of thumping that had the old wood door shuddering in its frame.
"Hold up, I'm coming," he called and cursed when he ran his bad knee into the couch.
"Whitney--watch out for your knee," he heard through the door and he hesitated. First of all, how had they known, and second, was that Clark? It sounded like Clark. He gripped his keys tighter. He had a busy day planned for today…he didn't have time to waste listening to Clark going on and on about his very good friend Lex and all the fun he was having with him. Besides Saturday was the only day he'd scheduled to do paperwork for the overstock that needed to be transferred….
"I know you're in there, I can hear you breathing…and cursing."
"Oh, now you're judging my language? It hurt hitting that couch you know. Besides, you're not my mother."
"Are we…are we having an argument through the door? Don't you think that's weird?"
No." Whit glared at the door before rolling his eyes. All right, maybe it was a little weird. Kind of like middle school girls having a spat. Whit shook his head. He was losing it in a really ugly way. He unlocked the door and stepped back. "Come on in."
"You sure?" Clark asked uncertainly, the hem of his red tee wrapped around his fingers, exposing a bit of tanned stomach.
Skin. Skin. Skin. "Ski-yes damn it, now come on in before my neighbors decide long pork is what's for dinner and break out their chainsaws."
"All right. Um. What?"
"Never mind. Come on in-please."
Clark came in and Whit was amused at the uneasy distance he put between himself and Whit. Like he could hurt Clark. The guy was made of solid muscle. Solid muscle covered by miles of golden skin, sweet-smelling, sleek and tawny skin that…probably had Lex-prints all over it. "Sit. Or stand. Whatever."
He limped into the kitchenette area and raised the shade, let in the late morning light, and gestured for Clark to take a seat at the table. Whit poured him a glass of tea without asking, feeling some relief he'd actually had something to offer. He sent a silent thank you to his mother and sat to watch Clark enjoy his tea.
Clark set the empty glass down and glared at Whit. Cleared his throat and said, "Look, we seem to be having some kind of misunderstanding. I think. I get the feeling that somehow, I'm screwing something up but I'm not sure…just what I'm screwing up." And for some odd reason Clark blushed the reddest red that Whit had ever seen a human blush. He looked like a boiled lobster, Whit thought.
"Clark," he said kindly, "there's no misunderstanding. You and I are fine. And I'm kind of late for work."
Clark waved his hand. "I know you set your own hours on the weekend, Whit. I'd much rather get this straightened out between the two of us because I miss hanging out with you."
Whit jerked a little, the pleasure Clark's statement gave him was that intense. "You do? I didn't think…I didn't think you even thought about me. I mean, you know, when you hang out with Lex. That I don’t come up. Get thought about." He huffed, made himself shut up. "Yeah."
"Whitney…are you jealous? I mean of my friendship with Lex?"
"Yes…I mean *no*. Not really. I just." He shrugged. "I just don't get it." Whit stood again, and paced the tiny kitchenette. He wiped crumbs off the counter; he ran water into the tiny sink and washed the few glasses and what was left of his silverware. He turned back to catch Clark smiling at him, the way you'd smile fondly at a clever pet. Whit glared back. Clark smiled wider.
"So, are you ready to talk about our friendship? And stuff? And how we should, y'know, be hanging out?"
Whit snorted. "Eloquence Clark. It's obviously your strong point," Whit said and immediately felt like a dick because it was Clark who'd come to his door looking to patch things up when Whit was going to be a coward and ignore the whole thing….
Clark stared at Whit with a solemn, thoughtful kind of look. "You know, Lex doesn't pick on me non-stop like you do. And when we go places, he never makes me pay for gas."
Whit squeezed the damp dishcloth in his hand so hard he was surprised it wasn't dry. Or had turned into diamonds….
"Sometimes, when he asks me over, we watch movies that haven't even come out yet, and his TV is built into the wall like a movie screen…"
Whit glanced over at his new possession, a flat screen TV, thanks very much. So what if it was the size of a Barbie TV? It wasn't like Whit didn't know his whole shitty little apartment could fit in one of Lex's shoeboxes, and that there were somewhat ripe socks shoved down between the cushions of the couch and maybe a pizza box or two under it.
And if Clark didn't stop throwing Lex up in his face…this was helping how?
Clark was still rambling on about his best bud Lex Luthor. Whit sighed and resigned himself to listening.
"…and Lex orders food for us, sometimes it comes from some fancy place in Metropolis. We have whatever I want, when ever I want it. All I have to do is ask."
Whit ground his teeth together and managed to speak without moving them, or his lips…"Yeah, great, fantastic, that's Lex. Sorry, all I have to offer are hotdogs and fucking Skittles."
Clark looked confused for a moment before beaming a smile at Whit that almost made him forget how pissed off he was with Clark and Lex. "Whit--I really, really, like McCrory's hotdogs, better than anything. And I really like the movies we rent, and it's a lot of fun to watch them here. And also, every time I get in your truck, the last station I picked is playing, like, all the time. And you laugh at my lame jokes, and you never ask me anything, but when I want to talk you listen. Even though you're sarcastic as hell I feel how much you care. You really care. And. That means the world to me."
Whit was staring at Clark, open mouthed. It felt like…Clark was saying…"I win?"
"Whit. You're not in competition with Lex. Did you think…I *like* Lex. He's my friend. But you." Again Clark turned that inhumanly bright shade of red. "I'm just going to. Say it. And hope I'm not wrong. I like you a lot. Like, a whole lot. Like, the kind of like-"
"Clark, I like you that kind of like too. I've wished for a long time it could be just you and me, and no one else. Am I making sense? You're--hot." Whit cursed inside and said quickly, "But it's not just that. You know?"
Clark deflated, sagged in his chair so quickly and completely the chair creaked dangerously. "Thank god. I was ready to throw myself down your stupid stairs." He stood, and made a tentative, shy, please come here gesture at Whit and Whit found himself walking to Clark like he was leashed. Clark leaned over and slowly, tentatively pressed his lips to Whit's cheek, giving him plenty of room and time to escape. "Okay?" he asked.
Whit studied Clark, his ocean green eyes, his flushed cheeks, his pink, soft lips, too dry, and too composed by far. He grabbed Clark by the back of the neck and pulled him forward, ignoring Clark's yelp of surprise. He put everything he had into the kiss and then pulled back. "Okay," he panted and Clark shivered from head to toe.
"Oh geez, Whit. That was more than okay."
Whit grinned. He'd made Clark shiver and that was pretty *damn* okay. "I'm glad we're on the same page."
Clark moaned and nodded. "We can turn the pages too, I'm good with that."
"Me too. Ah…I haven't turned many pages, and I've not read much on them…"
"I haven't turned any pages of any kind ever-Whit, can we drop the page thing and just talk?"
"Yes, thank god. And I think we'll be fine. We'll just-wing it."
Whit was happy to find out that Clark's concept of winging it was sitting in his lap and kissing until his mouth was almost raw, his lips tingled and burned and his dick ached from pressing against the inside of his jeans. Clark surged against him, lips opening over Whit's, chewing on his lower lip, and then soothing it with long, lazy, licks. He hummed and sucked on Whit's tongue, a hot imitation of fucking that had Whit groaning and licking all over the inside of Clark's mouth. Hot and wet, soft, lips softer than any girl's he'd ever kissed. Whit shuddered and Clark soothed him, stroking huge hands over his back, all the while pressing kisses on Whit's neck, jaw, earlobe, working his way into Whit's mouth again like he had to beg for permission to enter. Like it was new, over and over again. Whit had never kissed anyone like this-or been kissed like this, so single-mindedly, so desperately wanting just from this, wanting so much.
Clark pulled away, gasping out Whit's name as he did. He slid a hand between the two of them and moaned when his fingers brushed the thick bulge of Whit's erection. "I'm so-this is crazy, right? I've never felt like this before."
Whit sighed happily, and nuzzled the rough underside of Clark's chin, testing to see what Clark liked. Clark liked everything. He pressed his hips against Whit and Whit felt how much Clark liked it. He ground against Whit and it almost hurt, his dick was big, and hot, and so hard it was like grinding a steel bar. Clark began riding him, rubbing and thrusting against him, trying hard to get feeling through all the layers between them. It was working just fine.
"Clark, if you keep doing that, I'm going to come-"
"Whit!" Clark sounded shocked, or stunned and Whit thought he'd upset him, until Clark sucked in a sharp breath and shuddered-froze-shuddered again. Whit felt sudden heat against the palm he'd shoved between them. He cupped Clark, felt him twitch and the heat grow, felt his jeans dampen.
"Fuck…" Whit moaned and when Clark finally came back, Whit looked into his dazed eyes, rested his hand over his hard, hard dick and asked him, "Can I?"
Clark nodded, everything about him still soft and loose with orgasm. He licked his lips when Whit unzipped and pulled himself loose from too tight jeans, started stroking. He watched Whit, his eyes loosing their soft focus as they locked on the motion of Whit's hand. He stared so hard Whit felt the weight of it. "Like this, like seeing me? Want to see me come?"
Later, Whit knew he'd die of embarrassment remembering this but right now, Clark's eyes were on him, and the pupils were blown wide, the tip of his tongue slid in and out of his mouth, and Whit was babbling non-stop. "See how hard you make me? Look at that, you're making me wet just looking, god, I imagine your mouth on me and it makes me shoot every time-shit."
Whit felt it, collecting in the bottom of his stomach, pulling his muscles tight, heating his skin, and rushing up, tight hot fast-he cupped his free hand over the tip of his dick, squeezed a little, Clark swatted his other hand away and proceeded to pull an orgasm out of him that hit like a fucking explosion, fast, hard and shattering. He heard Clark gasp, and opened his eyes to see a string of come laced across Clark's mouth, his chin.
Fuckfuckfuck. Whit's body tried to come again but he was already folding, falling into Clark. Long seconds, minutes, hell, it felt like hours before he swam up out of his blissful fog. Clark had one of his clever, enormous hands cradling the back of Whit's skull; Whit's forehead was resting in a puddle of sweat in the dip of Clark's burning shoulder. Whit smelled come and sweat and fresh mown grass…Clark.
Clark slid off Whitney's lap and was still. He stared at his feet and wrung his hands together until Whit began to worry he was going to wring his fingers right off. He reached out and laid his hand on Clark's knee. "Hey? Okay?"
"I…I feel kind of like…I didn’t mean for it to happen like that, so much, I mean." Clark looked over at Whit. "I feel like I used you or something."
Whit shook his head and squeezed Clark's knee. "If that's true, we used each other, but I can't see it like that. We're. I like to think we're connected. I wouldn't have if I didn’t think we had something, you know?"
"Well," Clark smiled and looked relieved and pleased. "We have been kind of dating for a while. Your seduction technique--what with the hotdogs and all--pretty classy."
Whit exhaled a deeply satisfied sigh and smiled back. "Hey. I have my ways. You stick with me Clark, and it'll be hotdogs and cheap DVDs all the way."
* * * * * *
The sun was shining right into Whit's eyes, he could barely see the hotdogs nestled in their little paper trays when Clark handed them to him.
"Relish, mustard, ketchup, mayo for god's sake, extra onions--someone doesn't want to get kissed tonight-here you go, a disgusting mess, just the way you like it."
Whit beamed and sniffed the hotdogs in something close to ecstasy. "You're mean, yet you bring me hotdogs. This is what we call a conundrum, yes?"
Clark sat next to him, close enough that their knees knocked. "I'm kidding," he whispered. "I don't mind onion flavored kisses. Not yours."
Whit laughed and grabbed Clark's lemonade, took a long drink. "I like that about you Clark, you're very forgiving. So, movie night, or…" He jerked at the sound of a smooth, powerful, engine behind them. A sound he knew very well. "Or are you hanging out at the castle tonight?" It hurt, but he was smart enough to keep out of the way of Clark's friendship with Luthor. He satisfied himself with the knowledge that almost everything Clark had to give was his, but everyone needed friends. Even if the friend was Lex.
Speaking of….
Lex shimmied his way through the summer crowds, miraculously not touching anyone as he came. Whit raised an eyebrow. It was like the man had his own personal force field.
"Clark. And Whitney. What a surprise." Lex's initial pleasure dimmed dramatically when he looked at Whit but Whit didn't care. Much.
"I'll say," Whit said and choked when Clark rammed an unsubtle elbow into his ribs. Damn…he swiped lemonade off his chin and turned to Clark to snarl at him…and caught the look in Clark's eyes as he tracked the stray drops of lemonade working their way over Whit's chin and down his neck. Oh shit.
Clark was looking so avidly, so intensely, that Whit swore he felt heat on his skin. Clark blinked and Whit gasped, released. He looked at Lex and Lex's eyes were locked on Clark and he looked…kind of sad. Whit would have felt some sympathy; he knew what Lex felt like but nah. Mostly he just felt warm and content and really wanting to be in his crappy apartment driving Clark nuts….
"Well, I can see you're busy, guys. Clark, give me a call, we'll do something. Whit. Whit…take care." Lex smiled. It was soft and sweet, and a little rueful and Whit had no idea Lex had a soft side or whatever it was. Hunh. Well, there had to be something to the man besides acquisition and greed. After all, Clark liked him.
Lex waved and swirled his way back through the crowd. Clark called out, "Bye Lex," and Whit…Whit just watched him go.
fin
6-22-2010
Fandom:SV
Pairing: Clark/Whit
Word Count: 3149
Rating: NC-17
Summary: porn, and the teeniest sprinkle of silly plot.
III
"Clark, letting yourself fall for Luthor is the worst idea ever in the history of ideas. Sure, he seems like a good guy but he has problems-and plans for you that don't-Clark, Lex is a decent enough guy but that's just it-he's *just* barely decent. He's not good enough. He doesn't understand you-not saying I do, but you and me, we're more alike than-I mean geez, six hundred dollar shirts and hundred dollar pizzas--*FUCK*!"
Whit dropped his head against the mirror. "Ouch." He rubbed the heel of his hand over his forehead and sighed. Okay, maybe going that route sucked. But he had to talk to Clark. Clark had to know how Whit felt. And as soon as Whit figured it out, he was going to tell Clark. He'd walk right up to him; lay his cards on the table. Spell it out; let Clark know that…that…shit. Maybe not talking to him was the smart thing to do.
Whit shoved his hands in the pockets of his threadbare robe, and limped out to the kitchen-living-dinning room, the ratty belt of his robe trailing him like a tail. He made coffee and sat at the tiny table, his leg stretched out in front of him, his calf taunting him by burning, throbbing. His treacherous mind kept replaying that scene of Lex leaping out of his car in a way that should have been corny as hell but even Whit had to admit it's been kind of hot. Screw it; Luthor was hot as hell but--still. The man was a pretentious asshole and how did Clark not see it? Love. Whit gulped a huge mouthful of coffee and wrestled it down his throat. Love makes you blind-and stupid, and blind. And stupid.
He was washed, dressed, and ready to get something for breakfast that didn't involve the use of a toaster. He rinsed out the coffee pot and tossed the used filter. He went to the niche he laughingly referred to as the hall closet; reached past his letter jacket for the coat he wore now. His fingers grazed the leather sleeves of his old jacket, and he sighed-again. Life sure had seemed easier back then, before Dad got sick, before…before waking up every morning with a hard-on and Clark's name stuttering out of his mouth. Clark was the best thing ever happened to him and the worst.
And then there was Lex, who no doubt was the worst.
Whit had his coat on and he was about to fish his keys out of the bowl on the kitchen counter when there was a solid rap at his door, a no nonsense kind of thumping that had the old wood door shuddering in its frame.
"Hold up, I'm coming," he called and cursed when he ran his bad knee into the couch.
"Whitney--watch out for your knee," he heard through the door and he hesitated. First of all, how had they known, and second, was that Clark? It sounded like Clark. He gripped his keys tighter. He had a busy day planned for today…he didn't have time to waste listening to Clark going on and on about his very good friend Lex and all the fun he was having with him. Besides Saturday was the only day he'd scheduled to do paperwork for the overstock that needed to be transferred….
"I know you're in there, I can hear you breathing…and cursing."
"Oh, now you're judging my language? It hurt hitting that couch you know. Besides, you're not my mother."
"Are we…are we having an argument through the door? Don't you think that's weird?"
No." Whit glared at the door before rolling his eyes. All right, maybe it was a little weird. Kind of like middle school girls having a spat. Whit shook his head. He was losing it in a really ugly way. He unlocked the door and stepped back. "Come on in."
"You sure?" Clark asked uncertainly, the hem of his red tee wrapped around his fingers, exposing a bit of tanned stomach.
Skin. Skin. Skin. "Ski-yes damn it, now come on in before my neighbors decide long pork is what's for dinner and break out their chainsaws."
"All right. Um. What?"
"Never mind. Come on in-please."
Clark came in and Whit was amused at the uneasy distance he put between himself and Whit. Like he could hurt Clark. The guy was made of solid muscle. Solid muscle covered by miles of golden skin, sweet-smelling, sleek and tawny skin that…probably had Lex-prints all over it. "Sit. Or stand. Whatever."
He limped into the kitchenette area and raised the shade, let in the late morning light, and gestured for Clark to take a seat at the table. Whit poured him a glass of tea without asking, feeling some relief he'd actually had something to offer. He sent a silent thank you to his mother and sat to watch Clark enjoy his tea.
Clark set the empty glass down and glared at Whit. Cleared his throat and said, "Look, we seem to be having some kind of misunderstanding. I think. I get the feeling that somehow, I'm screwing something up but I'm not sure…just what I'm screwing up." And for some odd reason Clark blushed the reddest red that Whit had ever seen a human blush. He looked like a boiled lobster, Whit thought.
"Clark," he said kindly, "there's no misunderstanding. You and I are fine. And I'm kind of late for work."
Clark waved his hand. "I know you set your own hours on the weekend, Whit. I'd much rather get this straightened out between the two of us because I miss hanging out with you."
Whit jerked a little, the pleasure Clark's statement gave him was that intense. "You do? I didn't think…I didn't think you even thought about me. I mean, you know, when you hang out with Lex. That I don’t come up. Get thought about." He huffed, made himself shut up. "Yeah."
"Whitney…are you jealous? I mean of my friendship with Lex?"
"Yes…I mean *no*. Not really. I just." He shrugged. "I just don't get it." Whit stood again, and paced the tiny kitchenette. He wiped crumbs off the counter; he ran water into the tiny sink and washed the few glasses and what was left of his silverware. He turned back to catch Clark smiling at him, the way you'd smile fondly at a clever pet. Whit glared back. Clark smiled wider.
"So, are you ready to talk about our friendship? And stuff? And how we should, y'know, be hanging out?"
Whit snorted. "Eloquence Clark. It's obviously your strong point," Whit said and immediately felt like a dick because it was Clark who'd come to his door looking to patch things up when Whit was going to be a coward and ignore the whole thing….
Clark stared at Whit with a solemn, thoughtful kind of look. "You know, Lex doesn't pick on me non-stop like you do. And when we go places, he never makes me pay for gas."
Whit squeezed the damp dishcloth in his hand so hard he was surprised it wasn't dry. Or had turned into diamonds….
"Sometimes, when he asks me over, we watch movies that haven't even come out yet, and his TV is built into the wall like a movie screen…"
Whit glanced over at his new possession, a flat screen TV, thanks very much. So what if it was the size of a Barbie TV? It wasn't like Whit didn't know his whole shitty little apartment could fit in one of Lex's shoeboxes, and that there were somewhat ripe socks shoved down between the cushions of the couch and maybe a pizza box or two under it.
And if Clark didn't stop throwing Lex up in his face…this was helping how?
Clark was still rambling on about his best bud Lex Luthor. Whit sighed and resigned himself to listening.
"…and Lex orders food for us, sometimes it comes from some fancy place in Metropolis. We have whatever I want, when ever I want it. All I have to do is ask."
Whit ground his teeth together and managed to speak without moving them, or his lips…"Yeah, great, fantastic, that's Lex. Sorry, all I have to offer are hotdogs and fucking Skittles."
Clark looked confused for a moment before beaming a smile at Whit that almost made him forget how pissed off he was with Clark and Lex. "Whit--I really, really, like McCrory's hotdogs, better than anything. And I really like the movies we rent, and it's a lot of fun to watch them here. And also, every time I get in your truck, the last station I picked is playing, like, all the time. And you laugh at my lame jokes, and you never ask me anything, but when I want to talk you listen. Even though you're sarcastic as hell I feel how much you care. You really care. And. That means the world to me."
Whit was staring at Clark, open mouthed. It felt like…Clark was saying…"I win?"
"Whit. You're not in competition with Lex. Did you think…I *like* Lex. He's my friend. But you." Again Clark turned that inhumanly bright shade of red. "I'm just going to. Say it. And hope I'm not wrong. I like you a lot. Like, a whole lot. Like, the kind of like-"
"Clark, I like you that kind of like too. I've wished for a long time it could be just you and me, and no one else. Am I making sense? You're--hot." Whit cursed inside and said quickly, "But it's not just that. You know?"
Clark deflated, sagged in his chair so quickly and completely the chair creaked dangerously. "Thank god. I was ready to throw myself down your stupid stairs." He stood, and made a tentative, shy, please come here gesture at Whit and Whit found himself walking to Clark like he was leashed. Clark leaned over and slowly, tentatively pressed his lips to Whit's cheek, giving him plenty of room and time to escape. "Okay?" he asked.
Whit studied Clark, his ocean green eyes, his flushed cheeks, his pink, soft lips, too dry, and too composed by far. He grabbed Clark by the back of the neck and pulled him forward, ignoring Clark's yelp of surprise. He put everything he had into the kiss and then pulled back. "Okay," he panted and Clark shivered from head to toe.
"Oh geez, Whit. That was more than okay."
Whit grinned. He'd made Clark shiver and that was pretty *damn* okay. "I'm glad we're on the same page."
Clark moaned and nodded. "We can turn the pages too, I'm good with that."
"Me too. Ah…I haven't turned many pages, and I've not read much on them…"
"I haven't turned any pages of any kind ever-Whit, can we drop the page thing and just talk?"
"Yes, thank god. And I think we'll be fine. We'll just-wing it."
Whit was happy to find out that Clark's concept of winging it was sitting in his lap and kissing until his mouth was almost raw, his lips tingled and burned and his dick ached from pressing against the inside of his jeans. Clark surged against him, lips opening over Whit's, chewing on his lower lip, and then soothing it with long, lazy, licks. He hummed and sucked on Whit's tongue, a hot imitation of fucking that had Whit groaning and licking all over the inside of Clark's mouth. Hot and wet, soft, lips softer than any girl's he'd ever kissed. Whit shuddered and Clark soothed him, stroking huge hands over his back, all the while pressing kisses on Whit's neck, jaw, earlobe, working his way into Whit's mouth again like he had to beg for permission to enter. Like it was new, over and over again. Whit had never kissed anyone like this-or been kissed like this, so single-mindedly, so desperately wanting just from this, wanting so much.
Clark pulled away, gasping out Whit's name as he did. He slid a hand between the two of them and moaned when his fingers brushed the thick bulge of Whit's erection. "I'm so-this is crazy, right? I've never felt like this before."
Whit sighed happily, and nuzzled the rough underside of Clark's chin, testing to see what Clark liked. Clark liked everything. He pressed his hips against Whit and Whit felt how much Clark liked it. He ground against Whit and it almost hurt, his dick was big, and hot, and so hard it was like grinding a steel bar. Clark began riding him, rubbing and thrusting against him, trying hard to get feeling through all the layers between them. It was working just fine.
"Clark, if you keep doing that, I'm going to come-"
"Whit!" Clark sounded shocked, or stunned and Whit thought he'd upset him, until Clark sucked in a sharp breath and shuddered-froze-shuddered again. Whit felt sudden heat against the palm he'd shoved between them. He cupped Clark, felt him twitch and the heat grow, felt his jeans dampen.
"Fuck…" Whit moaned and when Clark finally came back, Whit looked into his dazed eyes, rested his hand over his hard, hard dick and asked him, "Can I?"
Clark nodded, everything about him still soft and loose with orgasm. He licked his lips when Whit unzipped and pulled himself loose from too tight jeans, started stroking. He watched Whit, his eyes loosing their soft focus as they locked on the motion of Whit's hand. He stared so hard Whit felt the weight of it. "Like this, like seeing me? Want to see me come?"
Later, Whit knew he'd die of embarrassment remembering this but right now, Clark's eyes were on him, and the pupils were blown wide, the tip of his tongue slid in and out of his mouth, and Whit was babbling non-stop. "See how hard you make me? Look at that, you're making me wet just looking, god, I imagine your mouth on me and it makes me shoot every time-shit."
Whit felt it, collecting in the bottom of his stomach, pulling his muscles tight, heating his skin, and rushing up, tight hot fast-he cupped his free hand over the tip of his dick, squeezed a little, Clark swatted his other hand away and proceeded to pull an orgasm out of him that hit like a fucking explosion, fast, hard and shattering. He heard Clark gasp, and opened his eyes to see a string of come laced across Clark's mouth, his chin.
Fuckfuckfuck. Whit's body tried to come again but he was already folding, falling into Clark. Long seconds, minutes, hell, it felt like hours before he swam up out of his blissful fog. Clark had one of his clever, enormous hands cradling the back of Whit's skull; Whit's forehead was resting in a puddle of sweat in the dip of Clark's burning shoulder. Whit smelled come and sweat and fresh mown grass…Clark.
Clark slid off Whitney's lap and was still. He stared at his feet and wrung his hands together until Whit began to worry he was going to wring his fingers right off. He reached out and laid his hand on Clark's knee. "Hey? Okay?"
"I…I feel kind of like…I didn’t mean for it to happen like that, so much, I mean." Clark looked over at Whit. "I feel like I used you or something."
Whit shook his head and squeezed Clark's knee. "If that's true, we used each other, but I can't see it like that. We're. I like to think we're connected. I wouldn't have if I didn’t think we had something, you know?"
"Well," Clark smiled and looked relieved and pleased. "We have been kind of dating for a while. Your seduction technique--what with the hotdogs and all--pretty classy."
Whit exhaled a deeply satisfied sigh and smiled back. "Hey. I have my ways. You stick with me Clark, and it'll be hotdogs and cheap DVDs all the way."
* * * * * *
The sun was shining right into Whit's eyes, he could barely see the hotdogs nestled in their little paper trays when Clark handed them to him.
"Relish, mustard, ketchup, mayo for god's sake, extra onions--someone doesn't want to get kissed tonight-here you go, a disgusting mess, just the way you like it."
Whit beamed and sniffed the hotdogs in something close to ecstasy. "You're mean, yet you bring me hotdogs. This is what we call a conundrum, yes?"
Clark sat next to him, close enough that their knees knocked. "I'm kidding," he whispered. "I don't mind onion flavored kisses. Not yours."
Whit laughed and grabbed Clark's lemonade, took a long drink. "I like that about you Clark, you're very forgiving. So, movie night, or…" He jerked at the sound of a smooth, powerful, engine behind them. A sound he knew very well. "Or are you hanging out at the castle tonight?" It hurt, but he was smart enough to keep out of the way of Clark's friendship with Luthor. He satisfied himself with the knowledge that almost everything Clark had to give was his, but everyone needed friends. Even if the friend was Lex.
Speaking of….
Lex shimmied his way through the summer crowds, miraculously not touching anyone as he came. Whit raised an eyebrow. It was like the man had his own personal force field.
"Clark. And Whitney. What a surprise." Lex's initial pleasure dimmed dramatically when he looked at Whit but Whit didn't care. Much.
"I'll say," Whit said and choked when Clark rammed an unsubtle elbow into his ribs. Damn…he swiped lemonade off his chin and turned to Clark to snarl at him…and caught the look in Clark's eyes as he tracked the stray drops of lemonade working their way over Whit's chin and down his neck. Oh shit.
Clark was looking so avidly, so intensely, that Whit swore he felt heat on his skin. Clark blinked and Whit gasped, released. He looked at Lex and Lex's eyes were locked on Clark and he looked…kind of sad. Whit would have felt some sympathy; he knew what Lex felt like but nah. Mostly he just felt warm and content and really wanting to be in his crappy apartment driving Clark nuts….
"Well, I can see you're busy, guys. Clark, give me a call, we'll do something. Whit. Whit…take care." Lex smiled. It was soft and sweet, and a little rueful and Whit had no idea Lex had a soft side or whatever it was. Hunh. Well, there had to be something to the man besides acquisition and greed. After all, Clark liked him.
Lex waved and swirled his way back through the crowd. Clark called out, "Bye Lex," and Whit…Whit just watched him go.
fin
6-22-2010