Title: LEFTOVERS (Nourishment 18)

Title: LEFTOVERS (Nourishment 18)
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
Feedback to: jfc@freeshell.org
Archive: Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission!
Category: Vignette, angst, Whitney POV, post-ep for "Tempest"
Spoilers: Everything in first season, as well as "Cotton Candy (N6)"
Rating: Strong R for language and implications of sexual interaction
Pairing: Clark/Lex established relationship; Whitney/Lana?
Summary: Thoughts from the washroom of a Greyhound bus bound for Wichita

DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me. Smallville is the property of Alfred Gough, Miles Millar, Tollin-Robbins Productions, and Warner Bros. Television, and based upon characters originally created by Jerome Siegel and Joe Shuster. This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The rest of "The Nourishment Series" can be found elsewhere on this archive - Enjoy!

DEDICATION: For Tiff, whether she likes him or not.

Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.

___________________

Clark Kent can suck my dick.

If he thinks that my asking him to watch over Lana means that he can walk right in and take her away from me, he can eat shit and die and go to fucking hell.

Besides, I'm pretty sure he's gay.

I know for a fact his lover is.

Why the hell did Lex Luthor have to kiss me at that damned carnival?

And why, when I remember it, do I picture Clark kissing me instead?

Everything was so fucking perfect: I had the football scholarship going for me, Lana was crazy about me, and my life was going along like normal.

Okay--some of the craziness of my life has to do with my dad being sick, and I can't really blame anybody for that. In fact, the only person I can really blame for anything is myself.

I should have fought harder, should have applied myself, like dad always said--I could have done it all. I could still have been on the fast track: college already paid for, good-enough grades, even with the after-school job. Maybe the head cheerleader begging to go down on me after the game, too. Maybe it could even have been Lana...

Was I just too big of a wimp to hold onto Lana tighter than I did this year? Did I let her slip through my fingers, or did I genuinely push her away? I mean, she kept joking around about all the stuff she'd do for me if I really wanted her to. At least, I think she was joking, holding me off, at least until she started to lose interest. Was she really hinting that she'd put out if I'd bothered to ask? So why the hell didn't I ask?

I am such a wimp. A big pussy. A pansy-assed fairy. A goddamned queer.

Maybe a stint in the Marines will fix it--make a man out of me. I'll come back in my uniform, and she'll be waiting there at the bus station, all pink and pretty. She'll kiss me, putting her tongue in my mouth, and my dick will actually get hard when she does it for a change (won't you?). I'll take her home, up to her frilly little bedroom, and lay her down on her bed and pop her little cherry. And for God's sake, she damned well better still have a cherry when I get back, or I'll kick Kent's ass to fucking Metropolis. He'll fly up to the penthouse of Luthorcorp tower and land right on top of his cocksucking boyfriend. (Of course--now you get hard...)

Lana is the one I want: a girl. I don't want a guy. I can't want a guy. I'm the quarterback, dammit. Okay, so I quit school and I'm not on the team anymore, but that doesn't really change who I am. I am Whitney Fordman: quarterback. My father's son. Loyal boyfriend of Lana Lang, who loves me and wants me. Boyfriend of Lana Lang, who wants me more than some faggot farmboy to whom I just gave her away. Please, God, let her want me more than him...

At least I finally got to apologize to him. I tried so long ago, but before I could say the words, he'd just run off. That a guy could forgive another guy for doing that--for the humiliation and for the pain--for that I am both stunned and grateful. It makes me feel a little less guilty for imagining him up on that cross, almost naked, freezing and begging for release, when I'm alone in my bed at night, jerking off just like I'm doing now.

How I wish now I'd had the balls to go back and take him down before the game. I could have held him, dried his tears and kissed him, gotten him warmed up one way or another. Damned lucky bastard: Luthor got there before he died of exposure. Or maybe Luthor's the lucky bastard.

What's that banging outside? "Look, I'll be a minute, okay? Hold your horses!" Geez--now where was I?

Oh, yeah. Lex Luthor is a lucky cocksucking bastard. No, wait--think about Kent. Goddamned pretty queer faggot farmboy Kent. The guy I put Lana's necklace on when I--oh, shit. She gave it to me "for luck". Great. All I'm gonna be able to think of when I look at it is him.

Jesus Christ. "I said..." Wait. That's not somebody knocking. Man, that wind is sure kicking up. Wonder if it's gonna storm...

Thank God I'm outta there. Just have to start over, make something else of myself. Forget about stupid, pretty boys and become a real man, Goddammit. Come back when I'm finished and take Lana away. Away from fucking backwater Smallville and fucking Lex Luthor and everything else. Away from Clark fucking Kent, who I was really afraid was gonna kiss me when I said goodbye, and whom I was really afraid I would have kissed back.

If Clark Kent thinks my asking him to take care of Lana while I'm gone means that he can just have her, he can suck my dick.

Kinda wish he were here right now, 'cause I'll bet he's really good at it.

THE END

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