When he heard the voice, calling over the throbbing club music, Whitney almost didn't believe it. Didn't quite trust his ears. In all the years he'd lived in Smallville, he'd never heard Clark Kent sound even remotely like the voice that called his name. This voice sounded like power, sex, rebellion, menace and danger all rolled into one while still projecting the very definition of disinterest. Then, there was the fact that a club in downtown Metropolis was about as far from quiet little Smallville as one could get and the absolute last place he would expect to find a farm boy like Kent.
But, when he turned around, there he was. As large as life and....not quite Clark. The face? Definitely Clark Kent.
The rest of him?
Not so much.
It was Clark Kent all right. But a Clark Kent who dressed in clothes which would have been more at home on Lex Luthor. Clothes which probably cost more than Clark's parents made in a year, or more. Clothes Kent was apparently more than comfortable wearing.
"Clark?" His brow furrowing, Whitney walked closer to hear him better. "What're you doing in Metropolis?"
A wolfish grin spread across Clark's face. The kind of grin Whitney would have never expected from him. "What am I doing here? What are you* doing here?" He advanced, leaving Whitney with the sensation of being prey. "I hear you've got a big game on Friday. The MetU/Sharks Exhibition? I thought good little quarterbacks didn't go clubbing the night before the game. Saving your strength and all that."
Clark eyed him with a sneer. "Aren't you afraid you'll get in trouble with Coach? Maybe lose your precious scholarship and get sent back home to Nowheresville?"
Whitney scowled. "What the hell is wrong with you, Kent? You going all 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' or is it just that time of the month?"
"Nothing wrong with me, 'Whit'," Clark countered sharply, putting just enough emphasis on the nickname to twist it into an insult. He grabbed Whitney by the arm, propelling them through the crowd with surprising force. "In fact," he practically purred into his ear, "Something's finally right."
Whatever it was that had happened to Clark, Whitney didn't know and couldn't imagine, but he was definitely not acting like himself and Whitney wasn't sure how he was supposed to react.
Two gorgeous girls melted out of the crowd, plastering themselves against Clark, hands roaming over his chest possessively, promptly adding another layer of confusion to Whitney's thoughts. The hell?
One girl shot a cautious glance at him before looking up at Clark through her overly painted eyelashes in what Whitney assumed she thought was a seductive look. "Hey Kal..." She sighed out, her garishly-painted lips pursing delicately, "Where're you going?"
'Kal'? Whitney unconsciously repeated the word in disbelief. Though, he really didn't know why he couldn't believe it. Clark had new clothes and a new attitude to go with them...why not a new name?
Clark looked at him with something akin to embarrassed aggravation before brushing the girls off with a casual gesture. "To take care of some unfinished business."
Smarting from the unmistakable brush off, the girls turned up their noses and stalked away into the crowd, the very picture of offense. Clark - Kal - didn't seem at all bothered, couldn't have cared less really, not even breaking stride.
Whitney briefly debated his chances of freeing himself from Clark's grip but an experimental tug pretty much cemented the knowledge that his chances were next to nil of succeeding. All those years working the family farm had apparently been good for Clark. He had a hell of a grip...to say nothing of the rest of him.
Which was precisely what Whitney was doing. Saying nothing about it. His eyes were, however, more than happy to do a little looking. Okay, a lot of looking. Baggy sweaters and sweatshirts did nothing, but Clark's new choices in clothing...they displayed his considerable physique quite nicely.
The smirk on Clark's face, as he all but threw Whitney through a door into one of the VIP suits, said he hadn't missed the looking. Though, at that moment, Whitney really didn't care. He'd had enough of being manhandled and ignored. He'd left confusion and lack of understanding behind and was rapidly approaching pissed off. For the moment, he was content to let the anger simmer. At least until he had some idea of where Clark was headed with all this. In an attempt go get some answers, he went back to his earlier question. "What the hell is going on here, Kent? What unfinished business?"
Clark's smirk widened. "It occurred to me when I saw you out there...we never really settled the whole scarecrow 'incident' now did we? And, well, Whit, I have to tell you...that really pissed me off."
Whitney felt the cold stone of the wall press against his back through the thin material of his shirt as Clark pressed closer still, the predatory gleam back in his eye.
"I kinda thought I might go after Lana to even the score, y'know? While you've been off playing big man on campus, she's been home by herself and gotten very, very lonely." Standing almost flush with Whitney, Clark's eyes wandered over his features. There was almost an analytical, curious quality to his gaze. "But, y'know, that idea didn't really last all that long. To be honest, Whit...she's boring as hell. Hot, sure, but..." He moved away suddenly, leaving Whitney feeling bereft at the loss of his presence, stalking to the one way glass, looking out at the dancers, "If you hadn't noticed, there are a lot of hot girls out there. Girls a lot less frigid and high maintenance than your fairy princess. Much better in the sack too I'll bet...So," he turned back, grinning again, leaning against the glass and folding his arms across his broad chest, "I had to come up with another idea. A better one."
After a long pause wherein Whitney waited impatiently while Clark watched him with smug satisfaction, content to let him squirm, Whitney'd had enough and burst out, "Are you gonna tell me or are you gonna just stare at me all night with that damn grin?"
"Well..." Clark's grin broadened. "I was considering it. But..." He was standing before Whitney in an instant and Whitney couldn't really remember seeing Clark cross the room. He was just there. "It wasn't really what I had in mind."
When his mouth landed on Whitney's, his hands going to Whitney's ass, the sensory onslaught left him momentarily paralyzed but that didn't last long. If this was supposed to be punishment for the whole Scarecrow thing...Whitney wasn't gonna complain. Hell, if he'd known this was what it'd've gotten him...
He'd've gone looking to give Kent a chance at payback earlier.
Way, way earlier.
As far as punishments went, he'd definitely had worse. Though waking up in his dorm room the next morning, more sore than he could ever possibly remember being, he did begin to see the punishment angle. Playing football when you've had your brains practically pounded out of the top of your skull in the best sex of your life...
Well, Whitney only hoped the guys didn't notice. By some twist of luck, they hadn't noticed the suspicious bruises on his hips - five little fingertip shaped circles on each one, kinda hard to lie about - but, he wasn't about to push it.
He went back to the club, after the game, instead of going out with the guys, but Clark was gone. He kept going back, not admitting to himself it was because he wanted to see him again, but Clark was never there. Weeks passed without comment, the summer ended, classes started, and Whitney realized what the punishment really was. A taste...He'd only gotten a taste.
Or, at least, that's what he believed.
Until the day Clark showed up in his dorm room. How he'd gotten in, Whitney didn't ask. But, it wasn't the Clark from the club, though the hair was close; this was the Clark he recognized. Flannel. Jeans. Hands shoved in pockets. Refusing to meet his eyes.
"Welcome back." Whitney commented dryly, throwing his books on the bed.
"So, back to the good old Kent, huh?" He asked acerbically, one eyebrow raised in subtle mocking. "So, what was the other night? Vacation? Summer fling?"
"It's not like that!" Clark gave him an almost pleading look, trying to communicate something but Whitney didn't know what. A plea for understanding? Forgiveness? An explanation which he simply couldn't voice? Though, why he couldn't...The memory of Clark's iron grip and the speed with which he'd moved came to mind and a glimmer of a theory bounced around in his mind. They were from Smallville after all...
"What do you want, Kent?" Whitney pressed, feeling quite tired all of a sudden and leaning back against the door. "Here to ask me not to tell anyone? Lana maybe?" The name was bitter on his lips, but he pushed it out nevertheless, unable to resist throwing it at him.
It had the intended impact as Clark withdrew slightly. But only slightly.
Whitney was surprised when Clark suddenly squared his shoulders and lifted his head. "I didn't come back because of her." He looked determined as he strode across the room, catching Whitney's face in his hands. "I came back for this."
With the door pressing against his back, Whitney was grateful for the support as Clark kissed him soundly. It was awkward and nothing like the first time Clark had kissed him in the club but, in a weird way it was quite similar. Familiar. Something about it brought back that memory but not...Whatever. Whitney wasn't dumb enough to push this off. Like the first time, he had no idea why Clark was acting this way now but...he wasn't complaining. Not one damn bit.
Pushing his hands up between them, he returned the kiss, forcing Clark backward until his legs hit the bed and he dropped onto it.
"Why?" Whitney asked, standing between Clark's legs, looking down at him. "Just....why?"
With a faint blush, which Whitney thought was about a month too late all things considered, Clark ran his hands up Whitney's jean covered legs, thumbs hooking through his belt loops. "I went kind of...crazy this summer. Why? It's a very long, very complicated and very hard to believe story but..." He dropped his gaze for a moment then made himself look up into Whitney's eyes again. "Only sane part of it was you. That night." He battled past the emotion in his voice, which suddenly was failing him, "That's why."
He still wanted to hear the very long, very complicated, and very hard to believe story. Somehow, Whitney had a feeling he'd believe a lot more than Clark thought he would but...
The story he had been given...
He was okay with that.
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