TITLE: Evolution

AUTHOR: Pablo

EMAIL: little_claps@yahoo.com

DISTRIBUTION: List archives OK, anyone else just ask.

Archived on Elegant Slumming http://www.obsessedmuch.net/elegant_slumming/

SPOILERS: Set during Shimmer, spoilers up until then.

CLASSIFICATION: Clark/Whitney, Clark/Lex

SUMMARY: Jealousy makes different people react in different ways.

RATING: NC-17

FEEDBACK: Feedback is just like a blowjob. Just don't ask me to explain why <eg>.

DISCLAIMER: They belong to Gough and Millar blah, blah, blah.

DEDICATION: Thanks to the patented WWBKD tag-team beta.

Sometimes Clark feels like nothing changes, like it takes over a hundred years for anything to happen. Other times it's the exact opposite. One single moment changes so very much. Like the meteor shower, or Lex Luthor arriving in Smallville. So much change that Clark isn't sure he'll ever be able to catch up with it.

Clark's amazed at how a single event can results in so many consequences, a ripple effect that he can't even hope to follow. And sometimes you really do have no control over it. Sometimes even someone like Clark is helpless. All you can do is adapt, attempt to change yourself so you begin to fit in.

For so long he'd wondered what it felt like to hurt. The thoughts sitting in the back of his mind, but he thinks about it so much more now.

The way that he never got injured, not so much as a scraped knee when he was young. Pete always seemed to fall over and hurt himself. Clark just assumed he'd always had perfect co-ordination. But when he'd mentioned this one-day to Chloe, she'd laughed so hard that she'd ended up snorting soda through her nose. He can still remember it, the way her eyes watered, and her face turned an unnatural red colour.

The only time he ever really feels pain is when he's exposed to the neon-green meteor rocks that are dotted around Smallville. When he was younger he'd simply avoided them, made every effort not to be exposed. More out of instinct than any real knowledge.

It was always possible to avoid them. To ensure he didn't hurt. It's only been recently that things have changed, that Clark seems to come into contact with them more.

Now Clark knows what it's like to hurt. For that all-consuming pain to start building inside him. Like it's gnawing its way out of his body.

The same way that he feels when he sees *her* with Lex.

Clark can't imagine how true pain; real pain can be anything in comparison to how that feels. Clark's certain of it, because when he comes into contact with the meteor rocks he can simply run away. Make sure that they're nowhere near him.

But the problem for Clark is that he can't do that with Lex.

If he tries to do that, to distance himself, the pain only gets worse. He decides it's the not knowing that makes him hurt more. He remembers something his father once said; the mind is a powerful tool and Clark doesn't doubt that. Because the rational part of his mind tells him that things can't be as bad as he imagines them to be.

The way he imagines Lex and Victoria together.

And where does that leave him? Not quite a part of anything but seemingly unable to do a thing about it. Like he's frozen, unable to move. Just like one of the statues that litter the front of Lex's mansion. Unable to enter but forced continually to watch.

He imagines it the same way he imagines an open sore that he can't stop picking at. Even though he knows it'll only make it worse, he can't help but scratch at it. Removing another layer each time until it's raw and exposed. Until the hurt can't possibly heal. He does it whenever he and Lex are apart.

At night he's scratching at it. Wondering why Lex doesn't seem to call him as much anymore. At the Beanery, sitting alone when he used to almost always have company. Lex is no longer there and that just makes him scratch at the open wound that's building inside of him so much more.

He scratches at it most when he thinks about Victoria. When he thinks about the things that she has, the things that she can do that he'll never be able to. The things that he won't even have a chance to do because why would Lex need him when he has her? Rich, sophisticated, so much more like Lex that it burns Clark inside to think about her. Acid slowly dissolving his bones until he finally becomes as helpless as he feels.

Her painted mouth, her lacquered nails. Expensive hair, expensive clothes. Clark's mind is a whir and he wonders if she also comes with expensive blowjobs. He's blushing when he thinks about it. His embarrassment and naiveté another thing marking him as so very different than Victoria Hardwick.

This is one of those times that Clark wishes he could feel pain, wishes his body could hurt, could ache. Because at least then it might distract him from the way he's feeling inside.

************************************

Clark stands facing the window, his back to the door. He'd been shown into the downstairs library and asked to wait for 'Mr. Luthor'. He can see the panes of glass frosting slightly in the cold. It's dark outside, his own reflection faces back to him. Clark doesn't recall it ever being this cold in Lex's mansion, the room itself has never been warm but Clark hasn't really noticed the temperature before.

He notices how quiet it is as well. He doesn't want to intrude and favours waiting patiently instead of his usual trick of wandering around the house until he finds Lex. He tries to convince himself it's more out of politeness than anything else. Not out of fear of what he might stumble upon, what he might see.

His mother had lectured him on the very same thing earlier this week. He'd been talking about how he'd once again walked in on Lex fencing the last time he'd made a delivery. Describing to his mother the fluidity and grace of the other man's movements. The way that he seemed totally in control. How practiced and skilled he looked.

His mother had practically shrieked at him when he'd said how he'd just wandered in. Simply followed the sound of movement until he located Lex. He didn't mention how much Lex's butler unnerved him, that even after Lex had introduced Clark to him a few times he still wasn't sure how to react around him. Clark opted to simply avoid that potential embarrassment by sneaking in.

She'd made him promise that from now on he'd wait politely, instead of walking in like he belonged there. When he'd said that Lex didn't mind she'd made him change the subject, muttering under her breath about today's youth and their lack of politeness and decency.

Clark had a sneaking suspicion that wasn't the only reason she'd wanted him to change the subject, but he'd just complied. Started talking about school, one of his 'safe' subjects. The ones that didn't always lead to him talking about Lex. One that wouldn't lead to his father furrowing his brow and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another.

So he'd promised he would wait.

He's sure he hasn't been waiting as long as he thinks it's been. That Lex wouldn't make him wait if he knew he was here. Still Clark's relieved when he hears movement from out in the hallway.

He smiles without even thinking about it, but his statement changes when his senses are filled with the smell of heady perfume. Something strong and musky. The sort of fragrance his mother would dismiss as not the sort of perfume a good girl would wear.

He knows it's her, even before he recognises the harsh staccato beat of her heels on the wooden floorboards of the hallway.

"Clark."

His head shoots up when he hears her voice. Overly friendly tone and perfect smile. Almost like it's painted on, figuratively as well as literally. Her lipstick, a red smear that reminds Clark of when his father had cut his hand last fall when he'd been repairing the tractor. Blood filled wound oozing as he pulled the skin together tightly. Trying desperately to ignore the pain.

Clark wonders if he could still see his own reflection if he'd be wearing the same statement that he recalls on his father's face.

Her lips match the colour of her dress. A dark-red that makes it look like her body is weeping tears of blood. The material mimicking her movements, hugging her body almost obscenely. Clark wonders if Lex likes her to dress like that.

Likes the way the material clings to her like a second skin. Blood-red lips, blood-red dress and Clark can't quite fathom how everything about Victoria reminds him of blood.

Bitter and primal.

He tries to cover his discomfort. Hopes that she won't have noticed how uncomfortable he is, but before he can answer, her smile grows bigger. And Clark's sure that Victoria must know how uncomfortable she makes him.

"I was . uh, just waiting for Lex." His voice is overly loud in the emptiness of the room. Almost like he's trying not to shout and Clark has a momentary flash of how out of place he sounds. Like he's on the outside, unable to get in.

So unlike Victoria.

"Of course you are, Clark."

And he wishes he'd been paying more attention to the way she's speaking. His head shoots up when he hears the words, but he's greeted by the same statement. He's pretty sure he knows exactly what she means.

She moves further into the room. The heels of her shoes echoing loudly. Circles him and then moves over to take a seat opposite where Clark is standing.

For a moment her mask slips and she looks uncomfortable. Like Clark being here is unnerving her as well. That thought makes Clark feel a little better.

"He'll be down in a few moments. We were. preoccupied."

Clark tries not to blush but he's sure he fails. When he looks back at her, her eyes are locked to his face. He wants to be able to say something but he's not sure how Lex would react if he found out that Clark had been honest.

//Wither and die bitch. Go back to whatever lab they hatched you in.//

"I was. he mentioned I should maybe come over when I saw him earlier."

"Why do you think he wanted you to come over tonight, Clark?"

She still looks so calm, so totally *not* how Clark himself feels. Victoria just sits there distracted by her nails. She's looking at them. Clark wonders if she's trying to look at her own reflection in the smooth glossy surface.

When he doesn't answer straight away she looks up at him. "I. I dunno. We were just talking in town and he."

She doesn't even wait till he finishes, just stands up and closes the small distance separating the two of them.

Clark hasn't moved from where he'd been standing when she'd walked in. When she stands next to him the smell of her perfume is even stronger. It's cloying; he can feel it almost burn the back of his throat with its toxicity.

"Why do you think he invited you when he knew I'd be here? Did you not think that maybe he'd wanted you to see us?"

His hands are curled into fists and Clark can feel his jaw tighten painfully. He exhales loudly through his nose but he won't give her the satisfaction of a response.

She looks so small when she's next to him, despite the extra height from the heels she wears. Clark can see the small lines around Victoria's mouth and eyes, disguised by a thick layer of makeup. More than his mother ever wears. Much more. Even more than Lana wears. He wonders what exactly is hidden under that thick layer. What surprises would be found if she ever
allowed anyone to see her without the safety of her war paint.

Victoria's all lush smells. So many contrasting scents that he knows they could have only been concocted in some laboratory. Mixed and packaged up at a cost of hundreds of dollars. Created by scientists and tested on defenceless animals, just so that she can maintain that youthful glow. That smooth unblemished skin. Like wax pulled over the hollow carcass of a skeleton, but with even less substance. Clark is pretty sure even if he guessed at the price her 'look' cost he wouldn't
even come close.

She reminds him of things that Lex has. Things that don't look expensive but always are. Except that she doesn't look 'not-expensive', she looks cheap.

"Come on, Clark. Surely you must have thought of that?"

Her voice carries from behind. She's circling him like he's something on display, merely there for her pleasure. And Clark can't help but recall a school trip he once took to the Metropolis Aquarium. Killer shark in its tank, the only thing separating its killer instincts from the outside world was a thick layer of glass. Victoria is like that, except more predatory and this time the shark's the one on the outside, doing more than just watching.

She's so close that when she moves, Clark can hear the swish of the blood-red dress she's wearing. Soft rustling noise as it shifts against her body. A film of blood in the water that only serves to increase her desire for the kill.

"I don't know exactly what Lex has in mind for you, but as far as an *education* goes seeing the two of us together probably would have been a bit too advanced for you."

He has trouble controlling his emotions when those words slip out of her mouth. The fact that he knows that she's enjoying this. The fact that he isn't sure how to respond, what to say to make her stop.

"Not that you would have walked in on us. Lex makes quite a lot of noise when he's 'pre-occupied'. This interesting little sound at the back of his throat that you simply have to hear to believe. Especially when he makes me."

And for a moment her hand lingers on his shoulder. The contact finally allows him to move and he pulls himself away from her quickly. Like her touch is burning him. Two steps and he's at the door. He can still smell her perfume, like its scent is now everywhere. Filling his mouth until he feels like he almost can't breathe. It surrounds him even after he walks away. He's not sure why, but when she speaks her voice stops him in the doorway.

"Oh, Clark? I think next time you decide to come over it might pay to ring first. Make sure you're not getting yourself into something you can't handle."

This time he doesn't stop. Clark thinks that he sees Lex on his way out. Hears him calling his name questioningly but he doesn't wait to find out.

************************************

Clark's mind is so consumed with the thought of getting away that before he even notices he's back in the centre of town. It's later than he'd realised and the streets are almost deserted. The only noise he can hear is the sound of the wind funnelling through the narrow space between the buildings on each side. One of the streetlights is flickering; Clark's never noticed it before. The way that it reflects in contrasting flashes of light and shadow on the glass storefronts he walks past. Shadow-puppet images of himself reflect back at him in the window of Fordman's.

He walks towards the Beanery in the vain hope that it's still open. It's not so much the fact that he wants to be around people; he simply can't face going home. But he's not surprised when he gets there to find it deserted. The ragged "closed" sign hanging limply on the inside of the door. It's slightly tatty now and needs replacing. The edges are peeling back and so much wear has faded it to a dirty yellow colour.

His reflection is slightly distorted, elongated in the pane of glass. The image before him is so much more indistinct. An afterthought, added in after the event, which makes Clark think of his earlier conversation with Lex. About Napoleon's mother and Clark can't quite recall any more details than that. So often when he talks to Lex, all the details fade to something unimportant. Like Lex isn't quite saying the right words anyway. The way that he never says what Clark wants him to say. What he himself is too scared to bring up.

All of their conversations seem like that.

He stands there for a moment, not sure what to do and when he finally turns around he's shocked to see Whitney Fordman standing across the street. Watching him. Clark's not sure how long he's been there but neither of them moves. His eyes don't leave Whitney's and he's about to walk away when the other man's voice carries across the street to him. It sounds hollow and emotionless, like it always does when he speaks to Clark. So different from the way that he talks to Lana. Or anyone else in fact.

"What's up, Kent?"

Clark's not sure how to respond. He hasn't moved yet. Whitney's still standing in the same place as well, leaning against the side of his truck. Clark starts to cross the street; both his hands slung low in his front pockets. At the moment he doesn't feel like shouting over even the small distance that's separating them.

Clark's sure Whitney still hasn't moved when he finally reaches him. His posture is unchanged,
relaxed.

"Whitney."

He'd intended to say more but when he starts to speak, his voice echoes slightly and sounds cold. Clark's sure it's not just their apparent isolation that lends him that tone. He swallows and his throat feels slightly scratchy. A little raw and that reminds Clark it's only been about ten minutes since he left Lex's.

"So why you out so late, Kent? And on a school night as well."

Something about Whitney's voice registers in Clark's mind, even though he's still not really concentrating. He hangs his head, not meeting his gaze. But when Whitney says his name, he hears it.

Hears the resentment. Slight sneer in the way he speaks. As hard as Clark tries it's still apparent
that Whitney holds a grudge. Holds him in some way responsible for how Lana is now treating him. Like its Clark's fault that their relationship is slowly disintegrating day by day.

Maybe in some way it is. But even if he tries, Clark can't change that.

"What do you care, Whitney?"

"Woah, don't take your bad mood out on me. I gotta say I'm shocked to see you out alone. I thought you'd be with *him*."

Something about the way Whitney speaks causes Clark to look up, to look straight into his face. Whitney's mouth is turned up slightly at the corner. Clark wonders if Whitney's been drinking.

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know. You're here alone. Kinda looks like you've been crying, it doesn't take a genius to work out what's going on."

Clark doesn't answer, doesn't want to give Whitney the satisfaction. He just balls his hands into fists.

"Looks to me like your boyfriend's got another plaything. Doesn't need you anymore and it hurts
doesn't it? . I should know." The last part spoken under his breath and if the two of them weren't
standing so close, Clark would assume Whitney had intended for him not to hear it. Although he knows the opposite is true.

His voice is raised and he moves forward slightly without thinking. "Lex isn't my boyfriend."

He can feel himself blush, heat staining his cheeks. He starts to move back when he realises there's only a few inches separating him from where Whitney's reclining against his truck. He can hear Whitney laugh at him as he turns away. Starts to walk off down the street, but after only a few feet he stops.

"But you knew exactly who I was talking about. C'mon Kent, I know what it's like to have someone else move in on your turf. You've been moping around ever since she turned up, and you *should* be worried. She's a honey, *definite* competition if you ask me. If you want my advice, you better start living life before it simply passes you by."

"What, so *you're* giving me advice now? You're the expert on living life are you?"

"Like I said, I've been there, dude. Thanks to you I know from first hand experience what it's like. If you let her make a move on your man, you might just find it's too late to get what you want. You might just end up alone; knowing the one you're in love with is more interested in someone else. You gotta show him what he's missing out on before it's too late."

"I told you. Lex is *not*. he's not."

"Not what, Clark? Not interested anymore? Why should he be when he has her? Lex doesn't want to fuck the farm-boy anymore since the newer prettier model from Metropolis came to town?"

Clark moves without thinking. He presses Whitney against the hood of his truck. He has to stop himself from hurting him, instincts only taking over at the last minute. As much as he wants to make Whitney hurt, Clark knows he has to stop himself. The fact that what he's saying is exactly what Clark's been thinking only makes it worse.

Shock bringing Clark back to the present. Whitney gasps for air, his face red. Clark pulls away and almost feels guilty for the sense of satisfaction he feels.

Almost.

"Fuck you, Kent. Don't take your frustrations out on me."

Whitney's hand is up to his throat, massaging himself and Clark smirks in satisfaction when he sees the slowly fading marks from where his arm had been pressed against him. Blocking the flow of air. The skin fades from white to a healthier looking pink colour.

"Don't *ever* say that again."

"Jeez, if you're so worried about what people might say I'd suggest not following Lex around like a horny puppy from now on. It's pretty obvious you're just waiting for the chance to start humping his leg."

Clark moves back again but this time Whitney raises his hands in front of him. He's about to start
speaking when Clark just turns away. Starts to walk, past Whitney's truck and avoid the sound of Whitney's laughter coming from behind him.

Whitney must really be enjoying himself because Clark can hear footsteps as Whitney approaches. He doesn't stop but after a moment he feels Whitney's hand on his shoulder trying to turn him around. And Clark considers, just for a moment, forgetting about the consequences. Thinks about just pushing the quarterback over, running away at full speed until Whitney Fordman's miles behind him.

But he doesn't. Clark knows that he needs to calm down. Needs to get his mind under control.

"C'mon man, I'll give you a lift home."

He's facing Whitney now. He takes a few breaths and tries to sort his thoughts out into some semblance of normality.

"C'mon." Whitney gestures with his chin and starts to move back towards where his truck is parked. After a few moments Clark follows him.

"Just don't talk to me, okay?"

Whitney laughs at him. Clark can tell he's getting some sort of sadistic kick out of his current
situation.

When he gets back to the truck, Whitney's door is open but he hasn't got in.

"You wanna beer?"

The blonde's already reaching into the back. He reappears with a bottle in his hand, holding it out to Clark questioningly.

"If you're gonna drink I'm not getting in that truck with you."

Whitney shrugs and simply undoes the cap of the bottle. When he drinks from it, bottle upturned, Clark can see the movement in his throat as he swallows. Large gulps and Clark wonders how much of the bottle is left.

He thinks about walking away but something at the back of his mind warns him that leaving Whitney to drive home probably isn't a good idea. He can hear his father's voice in his head, reminding him to always make the right decision, no matter what.

"Gimme your keys, I'm driving." Clark's surprised when Whitney simply complies. Fishes in his pocket and he smiles at Clark as he hands his keys over.

Clark jumps in the driver's side door and waits while Whitney circles around the front of the truck. He's still smiling and he takes another large gulp of beer before he hops in. When he closes the door, the strong smell of alcohol is pretty much all Clark can smell in the tight confines of where they're sitting.

Clark turns the truck around and starts driving toward the Fordman home.

************************************

Clark hopes that Whitney will keep quiet on the way home, but he's not surprised at all when he starts to talk. Clark also doesn't fail to notice how Whitney's watching him for his reaction.

"So, what's it like inside Lex's mansion?"

Clark tries to keep his eyes on the road; "you've been there before, Whitney."

"Yeah sure, but I haven't seen very much, only downstairs. What's the *rest* of it like?"

The way that Whitney's speaking makes it obvious to Clark where this is going. He considers not answering but decides that would probably only make things worse.

"It's big. Tons of rooms. A gym, library, you know." He just lets his voice trail off. Whitney's reaching over into the back of the cab for another beer and Clark waits until Whitney's arm is extended behind him, his weight unsteady before he rests his foot lightly on the brake.

He tries not to smile when he hears Whitney cursing. Momentum driving him forward in his seat and Clark is without a doubt that that must have hurt.

"Sorry, thought I saw a dog." Clark looks across at Whitney and can tell from his look that he doesn't believe him for a second. The blonde next to him is rubbing his shoulder where the
seatbelt crosses his body.

There's a soft hiss as Whitney opens another bottle, followed by relative silence as he takes a gulp.

"So, what about the rest of it? Tell me about the bedroom."

Clark doesn't even need to look at him to know he's smiling. This time he doesn't answer.

"I bet that master bedroom is huge. Nice big bed. Tell me, Clark, is it comfortable?" Another sip before he continues, "I'll bet it is, real comfortable, nice and soft on your back when he's fucking you, huh, Kent?"

Clark slams on the brakes, his reflexes allowing him to pull the truck over quickly. He undoes his seatbelt and not even the satisfaction of seeing Whitney spill his beer all down his front can remove the look from his face.

Clark's whole body is shaking. He can't recall ever feeling this angry and before Whitney's even recovered from the quick stop he's got his door open. His hand's trembling as he almost pulls the handle off the side of the door.

His voice is loud and even to himself, barely recognisable. "Shut the fuck up, Whitney. I told you
not to fucking talk about him."

He doesn't trust himself to move at the moment. His legs feel slightly wobbly and when he reaches his hand up to rest on the door, to steady himself, his whole body is shaking.

He almost doesn't register the sound of Whitney's door opening. He finally notices the sound it makes as it shuts. Soft crunch as Whitney circles the front of the truck. Clark can hear the stones under his feet move as he walks.

"I told you to leave me alone."

Clark tries not to look at him. His grip on the truck door tightens, the coolness of the metal under his skin helping him to focus. But he still has to steady himself for fear of breaking clean through the door. His concentration is distracted and he doesn't really notice Whitney until he's right in his face. Beer on his breath and heat from his body as he stands so close.

"I'm not the one that seems to have a problem leaving things alone, now am I? I'm not the one helping out with the blood-drive. I'm not the one taking advantage and moving in on someone else's girl. When it comes to Lana you don't seem to have a problem going after what you want, so why is it so different when it comes to Lex? Why is it that you seem to be able to leave *him*
alone?"

He's so close. Clark's not really coping and all he can do is repeat what he's just said. "Leave me the fuck alone."

"It doesn't look to me like you want me to leave you alone."

Whitney pushes against him, uses his weight to pin Clark against the seat in the open door. Clark knows it would take no effort to move the other man. To get free of his grip but when Whitney leans against him, full press of his body stopping him from moving, Clark's not thinking at all about wanting to get away.

Whitney's resting against him. He can feel the press of his hipbone against his crotch and when Whitney starts to move, to still his own movements; Clark feels that touch all through his body. Starting at that point and moving through his nerves, up through his chest and neck to his brain. Then it starts back again. This time more intense and hot. Clark marvels at how warm it feels even though they're standing out in the open at night.

His eyes drift shut and he can feel Whitney move back slightly. Clark mimics his movement, follows Whitney forward and he tries to convince himself that he only does it to get himself free. That Clark's not doing it because then they'll be touching again and that feeling will start back up. Building in his groin and his stomach and taking control of his entire body.

The fact that he could get away with ease doesn't even occur to him.

Whitney's voice is loud as he starts to speak. His mouth is pressed close to Clark's ear in the same way that the weight of his body is touching him.

"You don't want me to move away do you? *This* is what you want, what you've always wanted. Someone to give you what you're too afraid to ask Lex for. I know you want it bad, need to be fucked, need me to bend you over and slam into you."

"Fuck, Whitney. yeah. God, please."

Clark gasps for air as Whitney bucks against him. He's a little concerned when Whitney pulls away. He thinks for a second that Whitney's just been taunting him but then he feels the other man's hand fumbling at his belt. He wonders if Whitney's hands are also shaking as he struggles to undo his pants, but Clark's sure that it's just him. His whole body is trembling from fear, from uncertainty, from lust.

When Whitney finally pulls Clark's cock out from the front of his pants, Clark's hard. Cool breeze of the night air against his skin, soon replaced by the intense heat of Whitney's hand.

Clark can hear Whitney talking, his voice rough as he tugs at Clark's cock but he can't make out any of the words. Clark leans back against the seat, thrusts his hips forward as Whitney strokes him. Clark isn't sure what to do, what to feel, all he's doing is riding the waves of intensity passing through his body.

If he closes his eyes Clark can almost convince himself that it's Lex touching him. That Clark's the one that Lex wants, not her. But then Victoria intrudes, just like she always seems to when Clark is involved. Images of her, the way she touches Lex. Her doing the things that Clark wants to be able to do, with hands, with teeth, with tongue. And once again Victoria destroys that fantasy and now Clark's thinking of Whitney.

How *he* makes him feel. How it's Whitney's hand around his cock stroking him. It's Whitney he's grinding himself against. Some things do change and Clark's pretty sure that at the moment this will be enough, for now at least.

One final tug and Clark can hear himself yelling. Can feel himself come against the warmth of Whitney's hand. He still thrusts forward, now so much more slick and he's panting as Whitney begins to twist his now softening cock.

His eyes are still pulled tightly closed, haze as his mind clears. Clark can finally make out the words Whitney is saying. He feels like he's melted against the side of the truck, his body fusing against the metal. Clark's worried about being able to stand at all but he just lets himself be turned around, his back now facing the other man.

"Knew you fucking wanted it, Kent. Horny as fuck, too long alone with your right hand, thinking about, Lex. What you want him to do to you. You're not as pure as they all think you are, now are you?"

Clark lets his upper body be pushed down, his face pressed against the cool leather of the seat. His body is bent over and he can feel Whitney struggle with his jeans. Pull at the denim as he slides them down Clark's legs. He suddenly worries about what will happen, about whether or not he should stop this. But he doesn't, he can't, he won't.

The only thing Clark worries about is why he isn't worried. Why he wants this so bad. Why at the moment Whitney *is* enough.

But anything is more than nothing.

All he does is buck his body, allowing Whitney more freedom to slide off his jeans, the fabric finally pooling around his ankles, caught on his shoes.

One of Whitney's hands presses him down, planted in the centre of his back. The leather of the seat so cool against his face.

"This is what you want isn't it? You wanna be fucked, begging for it. You don't want me to stop do you?"

"Don't. don't stop."

Clark gasps, mouth gulping open when Whitney finally touches him. Nothing soft about his touch as Clark feels the wetness against his ass. Whitney's fingers are slick with his come. There's no warning, Whitney's pumping his fingers into Clark, slick as he drives them into him. Two of them pumping inside him. Clark bites down against the seat to stop himself from yelling out. His mouth is pressed flush against the leather as Whitney starts to twist his fingers inside him.

The initial burn is beginning to fade, to be replaced by an entirely different feeling. Clark tries to
follow the movement that Whitney makes but the tight space doesn't allow him any freedom to move.

The movement's hard and driving as his fingers slide into him and a moments' uncertainty flickers across the still functioning part of Clark's brain. Why isn't he stopping him? Why is he letting Whitney do this to him? Remembering the look on Victoria's face earlier this evening ensures that the uncertainty doesn't last long, because the only thing that Clark wants more than for Whitney to stop, is for this to never end.

"Tight fucking hole." Whitney's voice is deep, almost guttural and each word is punctuated by a loud gasp. "You're fucking hungry for it, bitch. Love having another man inside you. Knew you fucking would. A fucking slut for it."

He's shocked at first. The way Whitney is speaking, what he's saying, but he doesn't think about the shock for long. In fact he wants to admit he likes it. Really likes it. The way that Whitney is holding him down, pushing himself inside Clark. The way that he's bent over so vulnerable, entirely at Whitney's mercy. Clark knows this is one of those things he'll never be able to talk about, but when Whitney raises his voice, gets even angrier, that just makes Clark so fucking hard.

He slides his body in time to Whitney's movement, drives himself against the seat. Clark wants this so bad it burns. The fact that he's getting even more turned on by the way that Whitney is treating him makes him feel in some way. dirty. He can't think of any other way to explain it. But that just makes him want it even more.

Clark feels Whitney move the hand from where he's been pushing Clark down. Holding him against the seat. He can hear him fumbling at his own pants over the sounds he's making.

The rhythm that Whitney has started becomes fractured, sometimes deeper, sometimes not so and when he slides his fingers all the way inside him, Clark can feel that thrust through his entire body. He knows he should be ashamed, should be worried that Whitney is driving and pushing inside him but it's not enough. Clark wants more, is pretty sure at the moment that he wouldn't be able to survive without it.

When Whitney stops, Clark can hear himself groaning out loud. He twists his body, turns back to see why Whitney's no longer fucking him. Whitney's pushing his own pants down and Clark gets a glance at the hard length of Whitney's cock. He's hard and swollen just like Clark is again. Clark gasps out and when Whitney sees him, looks up into Clark's eyes he moves forward.

"Don't fucking look at me."

Whitney pushes against his face, pushes him back down so Clark is pressed back against the seat. He can feel where Whitney has touched him, a moist heat. Pads of his fingers sticky and congealed against the heat of his face.

Whitney's fumbling at the glove compartment, and when Clark tries to see what he's doing, Whitney's yelling. Leaning his full weight against him, grinding the hard length of Clark's cock against the seat.

"I said, don't fucking look at me."

Sound of a wrapper being opened and Whitney's fumbling with what Clark assumes is a condom. He doesn't risk trying to look again.

Whitney leans against him, the length of his body lying along Clark's back as he speaks. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you're still clean for when *he* gets sick of her and finally decides you're worth the effort."

Soft kiss of Whitney's flesh pushed against Clark's own exposed skin where he's lying on him. His own shirt pushed up over his back and where they're touching their skin is sweaty. Slightly sticky against each other.

And maybe Whitney's right. Maybe this is what Lex has been waiting for. This is the reason why Lex has never thought Clark was worth the effort. Why would Lex want a virgin farm-boy when there are so many better alternatives? Maybe this is the answer Clark's been looking for. He drives himself back, friction pushing him against Whitney's now hard and exposed body.

All this time Clark's been focusing on change, when in reality he's the one that needs to change. To evolve, to become exactly what Lex is looking for.

What Lex needs.

A moment later and Clark can feel Whitney pressed back against his ass. Except this time it's not his hand, not his fingers that are going to be fucking him. This time it's what Clark wants, another man's cock against his hole.

He can hear Whitney laughing, mumbling. Almost the same as before. Hard squeeze of his hand against the fleshier part of Clark's ass. Spreading him, exposing his hole that's now raw and wanting. Whitney's barking out names, calling him a bitch as he teases Clark with the tip of his cock.

Clark doesn't bother to respond because it's all true. Just like Whitney says, he wants it. Wants this so fucking bad he can feel it burning through his body, changing the surface of his skin until he's no longer the same.

Clark can barely make out the words but he's pretty sure it's not really him that Whitney's talking to. Not really him that he's calling a slut. Clark's not the only one with his own personal demons. His own problems that shift and change faster than he can respond to them. He knows that Whitney needs this just as much as he does, only for very different reasons. Whitney needs to take Clark, to reclaim what he feels he's already lost to him.

Clark knows that it's not him that Whitney wants. That he wants to treat like this. But Clark doesn't care about what Whitney wants. He only cares about what *he* wants.

"Fuck me. fuck me now."

His voice is muffled against the seat. One of Whitney's hands is now pressed against the back of his head, restricting his movement. Whitney's made it pretty clear what he wants and Clark gives him that. Keeps his face pressed against the seat and just moans.

"Fucking tight bitch."

Whitney's voice is loud and fades to a hollow moan as he finally slides the tip of his cock inside Clark's ass. He's still slick from where Whitney's fingers had been inside him, but it still burns. So much bigger than before and Clark can't believe how much this hurts. How much he's aching for it. How it's not enough. How he wants more.

And it feels like the world's melting. Slowly dissolving from the outside in. Until there's nothing
left except the burning heat of the centre, white-hot flash that surrounds him. Like Clark's encompassed inside a ball of light. He can't feel anything, nothing else exists except this and Clark loves that fact.

Loves that even for this tiny moment nothing else matters.

Whitney isn't gentle, he uses his weight to press himself deeper and Clark just bites into the leather of the seat. His teeth biting though the thick material and the taste on his tongue distracts him from the burning thrust as Whitney starts to move.

He whimpers. Before he notices, he drives himself back, body creating more resistance as Whitney slides inside him. One hand spreading him, while the other presses against the back of his head.

Right when Clark thinks he almost can't take anymore it all changes. Everything moves from wrong to right and now he's squirming against the seat for a very different reason. He can hear himself begging for it, he can't make out what Whitney's saying. All he can feel now is the way the other man is slamming into him. Cock driving further inside him as they fuck.

A small moment of lucidity and Clark uses Whitney's movement to allow himself to slide his hand under his own body. Wraps his fingers around his cock, so aching and hard. Starts to pump himself into his own hand matching the rhythm Whitney has made. He's still slick from when he came before and the cocoon of heat he's created feels almost as good as Whitney fucking him.

He can feel Whitney's hand against his arm, pulling him. Clark doesn't want to let go but when Whitney slows his rhythm, no longer fucking him as hard, he lets his hand be pulled away from his cock.

Whitney pushes him down harder, presses more weight against him. "Don't fucking do that. Don't touch yourself until I say you can."

When he doesn't respond, Whitney stops completely. Clark whimpers.

"Understand?"

"Ye. yeah. Please, Whitney?"

He worries that it's all over. That Whitney really will stop but he finally moves. Drives his cock deep inside him. Long strokes slamming into him.

"Haven't you fucking had enough? No wonder he wants you."

Clark has no idea how long Whitney lasts. It feels like forever, but not long enough. One moment
Whitney's hard and sliding completely inside him, then he's panting, his grip tightens and then he relaxes. Clark can feel Whitney coming, despite the condom. Buried so deep in him.

Clark doesn't move, instead he just lets Whitney lean his weight against him. He's still inside him and when he lies down he can feel the press of Whitney against his exposed skin. Sticky even through the thin material of his cotton shirt.

Ragged breaths filling the relative silence. Clark is still hard, his cock presses against the seat.
Friction and pressure not enough.

"Can I? Please, Whitney, I'm so fucking hard."

He doesn't move, instead he waits for Whitney to take his weight off of him. Sudden chill of air against his skin. Whitney grabs him by the shoulder and moves him. Clark simply lets him, at the moment he has trouble even standing.

Whitney pushes him away; he's already buttoning himself up.

Clark just stands there. His pants still around his feet, cock hard and exposed to the night air. He's
breathing in gulps, still not entirely in control. Neither is Whitney and when the other man moves
closer, wipes his hands, which are slick and glistening in the lack of light on the front of Clark's shirt, he's pale and looks to Clark like he's trembling slightly.

Even his voice sounds shaky, first few syllables ragged and broken. "Don't touch yourself till after I've gone."

Words practically sneered at him. Clark can't tell what the other man is feeling. Whether he's still
angry at Clark or at himself for the situation that he's in.

Whitney doesn't even look back as he walks over and hops in the cab of his truck. He guns the engine and Clark still hasn't moved when Whitney drives away.

Clark doesn't know what to feel. He grabs at his pants. He can feel the embarrassment, the shame flushing his cheeks as he fumbles with his clothes. He's still hard.

Instead of moving he simply stands there. At the side of the road. Hand on his cock and it only takes a few long strokes, hard pressure against his cock and he's once again coming in his hand. A moment later and he wipes his hand on his own shirt. Where Whitney had done the same only a few moments before.

Clark isn't sure what to make of this. What to think, the only thing he can think about is to wonder if this is what it's like when Lex fucks her, fucks Victoria. He's pretty sure it is, somehow Clark knows that Lex won't let her look at him while they're fucking. Knows that he makes her look away as well for the very same reason Whitney did it to him. He doesn't want her to know that it's not her that he's fucking at all. That if she were to look into his eyes that there'd be nothing there. Nothing but empty space.

That's the one thing that makes Clark know that what he's done was right. He knows he's been able to adapt. Whitney's made him feel like shit, but Clark feels better than he has since *she* arrived in Smallville.

Some actions have far reaching effects and Clark knows that this is one of them. This will change him. Make him a completely different person. Someone that maybe Lex will now start noticing. The indelible effects of this evening couldn't be any more obvious even if the marks that are left on Clark's body were visible. They may fade on the outside but Clark knows nothing's ever going to be the same from now on.

the end