Title: Basketball Tuesday (1/?)
Author: elgatoneun
Rating: PG-13 for language, a little slash
Pairing: Clark/Whitney
Summary: Whitney wants to play basketball with Clark, Clark POV
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, at all.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including Leech
Feedback: Would be appreciated
Notes: This is my first fic. I read some great Clark/Whitney but I wanted more. So I am putting my own out. Thanks to Maddie and Tara, my wonderful betas, for pointing out some of my mistakes and helping me fix them. Any mistakes still apparent can be attributed to the writer's own stubbornness.
Library? Nope. Locker? No, he had taken it out of his locker. Why didn't he also have super memory? Where did he put his stupid geometry book? Clark was trying to retrace his steps; he had two pages of math homework to do tonight and that quiz to study for on Friday. Let's see, he'd had the book at lunch, he and Pete had been waiting in the gym, because Chloe had fourth period P.E. They had taken a basketball out and were shooting some hoops until - aha, he had left his book on the second row bleachers.
Clark made his way down the hallway to the gym. He went through the swinging doors and looked around for his book. The bleachers had been folded back against the wall already, his book was nowhere in sight - at least in plain sight. Clark focused his eyes and scanned the gym. All he saw were some balls and various bits of trash stuck along the corner of the equipment cage.
Damn it. Where was that book?
Hmmm, I could ask Lana if I can borrow her book and maybe get a little help. Lana was really good at math and English and history and she had this way of sort of looking at you through her eyelashes that made you want to ... geez, Clark, get a hold of yourself. A mental picture popped into his brain. No, not that way you perv! Clark felt heat creeping up his neck. I can't believe I am such a loser that I actually embarrass myself when I think of sex. And Lana. Sex and Lana. Sex and Lana. Sex and …
"Hey, Kent!" an unwelcome but familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and confirmed the presence of tall, blond, athletic Whitney "I am the master of all I survey, what the hell are you doing in my kingdom?" Fordman.
"Hi, Whitney," he replied woodenly. See, Clark, God knows and He's watching you. Thou shall not covet blah blah blah, and just as a reminder here's a smack upside your head, the boyfriend himself. Lana is Whitney's girl. Not yours, his … oh wait, he's speaking to you. Resentment flashed, okay Whitney, you've got the popularity, you've got the girl, you want my attention now too?
"So, uh, Brent, Pete and I waited for you on Tuesday after school."
"What?"
"Remember, basketball – on Tuesdays? We thought you might want to play again, so we waited," Whitney shot him this weird look, kind of a grimace. Sort of friendly, but uncomfortable and chagrinned, like he just farted in church and was hoping people wouldn't realize the source.
"Oh yeah, well um, I was busy, you know … um helping Chloe with the Torch, uh yeah, she needs a lot of help, that Chloe."
Whitney smirked.
"Yeah, I'll just bet she does," Whitney let that comment trail off suggestively. Clark's eyes widened a bit and was just about to refute that statement when he realized Whitney was just joking around.
"So, will Chloe need help next Tuesday, too? You and Pete could meet us outside next week; weather's getting a little nicer."
"Yeah, I gotta help her, I don't think I'll be able to play anymore." Clark didn't realize that he let out a wistful little sigh. It had been fun and exhilarating. He had never felt so free, to just let himself go and play without worrying about hurting anyone, not having to check every impulse because the lightest touch from him could break bones, tear flesh. He had been knocked on his ass several times and had flagrantly fouled Whitney twice, but that was okay. A couple of knocks were expected in b-ball. And afterward, even though they lost, he felt satisfied, normal. He saw the acceptance and begrudgingly admiring looks from Lana and Whitney, even if only for his good sportsmanship and not his admittedly unspectacular basketball skills.
"Well, we don't have to play on Tuesdays. What day is good for you?" Whitney asked, rousing Clark from his reverie.
"I'm really busy, what with chores, deliveries for my parents and helping Chloe with the Torch." Clark grinned. "Besides, getting beat by you guys every week would probably lose its appeal after a while."
"Oh, I don't know about that," murmured Whitney in a low voice. Clark's brow shot up in confusion. Did Whitney just …? No. He sounded a little … no. Was it?
"Huh? What did you say?"
"What I mean is that, um, it doesn't have to be you and Pete against me and Brent all the time. We could, uh, trade off. I could help you with your jump shot. I think you could be good. If you work on your outside shot, I think you might have a chance at making JV this year. You're only a freshman, you've got the height and the potential …" Whitney babbled on about Clark's future as Smallville's next starter.
Clark heard the words "zone defense, power forwards, proper wrist technique" filter in through in the background. He wanted to kick himself for being stupid. Whitney Fordman had been coming on to him? Hah! Whitney had to be the poster boy for All-American football hero, that is All-American straight football hero. Besides, even on the very slim to none chance that Whitney was not of the straight, but say of the slanted variety, there would be absolutely no way that he would be interested in him. No way. Not in Clark Kent, superdork.
Although … Whitney is still talking to him – earnestly and beseechingly? What the hell?! Clark focused on Whitney's face, trying to decipher his expression, to translate the emotion clearly, um, emoting from him. Then he saw it: guilt. Guilt? What did Whitney have to feel guilty about … Oh yeah. Clark felt his lips stretch into an evil grin. He saw Whitney's adam's apple glide up and down. Nervous, eh Whitney? Feeling a little remorse are we? Wasn't very nice of you to tie a helpless freshman up in the middle of a cornfield. So a little help on the courts, maybe the brush of social acceptance, you really think that is going to make up for the scarecrow humiliation? Time for a little payback.
Clark wanted to rub his hands together in glee. What would make Whitney feel really bad? How about a little emotional blackmail? His smile widened to show his teeth. Whitney finally stopped speaking and swallowed again. Whitney blew at a strand of wheat colored hair by his right eye, but it just flopped back onto his forehead. Clark was aware that they had drifted into one of those uncomfortable silences. He didn't care, he wanted to see Whitney squirm. Whitney cleared his throat.
"So how 'bout it Clark? You want me to give you some pointers – in basketball?"
"No thanks, like I said I'm really busy." Clark replied coldly. Clark was proud of himself, the tone was dismissive and a touch condescending. Wow, I totally channeled Lex! Clark glanced at Whitney to garner his reaction, ready to relish it. Whitney looked hurt, embarrassed and a little something else – disappointed? Clark felt his glee dissolve. Damn it. I'm not just superdork, I'm a total wuss. Can't even stay mad at the guy who almost killed me.
A little voice popped up "Lex almost killed you, too." Well, it's not like Lex was trying to … neither was Whitney. Okay, Whitney was a grade A jerk for doing what he did, but it was a school tradition, a messed up one, that's for sure, and it's not like you weren't trying to move in on Lana. Damn it.
"Hey, Whit, that's nice and all, but I really am busy," a more conciliatory tone, sincere stress on the "really".
"Nah, it's cool," Whitney seemed pathetically grateful for that backhanded consolation. He took a breath. "I'm actually busy, too. Gotta help at the store. I probably should be concentrating on helping my dad." Whitney finished with a weak smile that highlighted the fatigue lines around his face and dark circles under his eyes.
Okay, Clark: major dork, check, total wuss, check, complete jerk, check. Way to go. Whitney's dad is in the hospital, he's totally tired out from helping at the store, probably not sleeping much either and I'm being petty and vindictive over something that happened over four months ago.
"Uh, so how you holding up there? How's your dad doing?" asked Clark.
"He's doing better, thanks. He's such a control freak though. Since he isn't at the store, he's driving my mom nuts rearranging stuff at the house."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, I heard my mom mutter something about knives and pantry drawers yesterday and sticking things in their proper places." Whitney chuckled a little and Clark smiled.
"Well, I better go, I gotta see if I can beg, borrow or steal someone's geometry book." Clark turned but was stopped by a hand on his forearm - a big, callused hand belonging to Whitney. Clark shot him a questioning glance. Whitney immediately dropped his hand, quickly, as if he'd been burned.
Whitney moved his backpack to the front of his chest and unzipped the second compartment. He rooted in it for a bit and pulled out a green book with the words "Euclidean Geometry: 3rd Edition" printed on the cover.
"I think this is yours. I found it on the bleachers. It has your name in it, I forgot, but I was going to give it to you." Whitney's ears turned pink and he wouldn't meet Clark's gaze. Clark took the book.
"Uh, thanks." Clark felt a little perturbed. He got that weird vibe again. It's just your imagination. Nothing is going on. Clark continued searching Whitney's face though, looking for something.
"Yeah, see, I wanted to talk to you, to thank you, about, you know Lana? She told me that you were the one who told her to ask me about what was going on and stuff. It really helped me - us, to talk about my dad, and she was really understanding." Whitney stammered, the words coming out in a rush.
Clark was relieved. Whitney was just trying to thank him. It must have been difficult considering their history. Pete and Lana are right; I guess Whitney isn't that bad. This thing with his dad is probably even maturing him. Making him less shallow.
"Yeah, Lana's really great." Clark offered.
"She is great." Whitney echoed brightly.
"Well, I'll see you later Whit." Clark turned and walked out of the gym. He felt as if Whitney was staring at him the entire time but he didn't dare look back to see if he was right. The minute he stepped out of the gym and the doors shut, he used his "enhanced" vision to look at Whitney. Yup, Whitney was staring at him, or at least in the direction he had been going. He saw Whitney cock his head to the right a little. After several moments, in which Clark did not realize he was holding his breath, Whitney shook his head a little and walked towards the other exit of the gym.
Very weird.