Title: Basketball Tuesdays (5/?)
Author: elgatoneun
Rating: NC-17 for language, slash, m/m interaction (but not quite sex)
Pairing: Clark/Whitney
Summary: Whitney and Clark finally play together
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, at all.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including Kinetic.
Feedback: Would be appreciated. Please let me know what you think.
Notes: The boys play, a little more realization, but no actual action … yet.
Okay, now how am I going to do this without causing Whitney some serious bodily harm? Clark looked down at the dull orange ball in his hands. It looked so innocuous. But a little too much force on his part and Whitney could end up broken. Clark tried to block out mental pictures of Whitney with a basketball-sized hole in his chest or with bloody stumps where his arms are supposed to be.
"Clark, you wanna shoot me the ball?"
"What? Oh yeah, sure. So, first one to 20 points?" Clark passed the ball to Whitney. He bent his knees and thrust his arms out to assume what he felt was a good defensive position.
"Don't you want to warm up first?"
"Of course." Clark tried to cover his gaffe by bending forward from his awkward stance and reaching towards the floor with his fingertips in a light bobbing motion. He remembered this exercise from one of his mom's aerobics videos. At least he thought so; he didn't quite remember it being as silly as he felt doing it.
"Uh, Clark?"
"Yeah?" Clark looked behind himself to where Whitney was standing. Whitney was obviously amused. About what, he had no idea.
"I don't think you should bounce around like that. It contracts your muscles and you're more likely to pull something later on. Why don't you try some slow stretching first?" A part of Whitney was appalled. Years of playing sports and athletic training have embedded proper warm-up and conditioning procedures into him so that it's practically second nature. The other part was aroused. He had slyly moved behind Clark, to get a better view. And he got it, in spades. His lascivious nature warred with his conscience. Help the poor boy, damnit! Clark obviously had no idea what to do. Ooh, but the base part of himself would rather watch Clark stretch and bend. Ah, but if you help him, you get to touch him, his conscience urged. Obviously, his conscience was a little base, too.
"Clark, let me show you," Whitney walked over to Clark's hunched body.
"Here, stand up, feet shoulder width apart." Whitney demonstrated and watched as Clark copied his stance.
"Okay, now bring your right leg back and keep your feet parallel. That's right, lean forward a bit. Do you feel it in your calf? No, wait." Whitney moved closer.
Clark felt immensely stupid. And whoa, Whitney was definitely violating his personal space. He felt Whitney's hands grip him firmly by the waist.
"Keep your center balanced; don't bend your upper body. Now, push down a little. Don't press your hands down on your thigh so much."
Whitney continued his ministrations. Clark was barely listening to Whitney. He was only aware of a large hand generating heat on the small of his back and a ticklish sensation near his earlobe from the little wisps of air sent by Whitney's breathing.
"There, Clark, do you feel the burn?" Hot breath against the side of his neck sent shivers down Clark's body.
He turned his head towards Whitney. Their faces were so close, he could see small greenish flecks in Whitney's otherwise perfectly blue irises. Whitney's countenance wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. Well, unless you count the appealingly snub tilt of his nose, the full lower lip with the slight indentation in the middle, reminiscent of a pea pod, or the distinctive cleft in his chin – sure put that all together and it's an attractive face. Not that Clark had noticed, of course.
Okay, he could admit it. Whitney was attractive. No big deal. Whitney's a good-looking guy. And okay, he has a nice body. Lean, but not too lean, and fit. He could be mature and appreciate aesthetic beauty, like art. It didn't mean anything.
Whitney was telling him to stand up now. He brought Clark's arms behind him, pushing inward slightly to make them parallel. Clark couldn't remember ever being handled so intimately – no, not intimately. It was actually pretty impersonal, but thorough. It was as if Whitney couldn't distinguish the boundaries between his body and Clark's. Clark could be a department store mannequin as far as Whitney was concerned. Whitney was that absorbed in showing him the rudimentary basics of warming up.
Clark had to stop himself from revealing that warming up was a waste, for him anyway. He had never pulled or strained anything, well except for that brief stint when he lost his strength. But, that had been a fluke. It wasn't as if something like that would ever happen again.
Wonder what would break Whitney's concentration a little? Clark pretended to lose his balance and stumbled a bit. His shoulders were caught and righted by strong hands.
"Hey, watch yourself there. You have to be careful not to overextend your muscles."
Clark caught Whitney's amused, indulgent smile. It was patronizing and annoying. He was a bit miffed that Whitney could dismiss him so easily. He knew he hadn't imagined Whitney's reaction to him earlier. Whitney wanted him. Clark had a devilish thought.
"Thanks, Whitney, I'll remember that," Clark said with a slow smile accompanied by a look full of promise.
Whitney's eyebrows shot up and he immediately dropped his hands from Clark's shoulders. He took a couple of slightly shaky steps back.
"Clark, is that okay? I think a couple laps around the court … and then we can start?" Whitney regained his composure.
"Sure, coach," answered Clark cheekily. He's gratified. That'll teach … ohmigod, he just flirted with Whitney. He had just full-on flirted with a guy! With Whitney! He broke into a light jog around the perimeter of the court. Calm down, calm down! Okay, okay, it's okay. It meant nothing. Just a little bit of joking between two guys, it was nothing to get excited about.
Clark ran another lap around the court. It's just two guys playing basketball, nothing else. Nothing else to see here, folks. He slowed down and walked towards Whitney. Whitney shot him the ball.
"Ready Clark?"
"Yeah," Clark started dribbling the ball. Yeah, I'm ready, here we go.
***************
A little while later, the score was 13 to 16 in Whitney's favor.
Clark was happy with himself. Considering he hadn't really made much effort to block Whitney for fear of causing injury, he was doing quite well. Plus, he got to show off a couple of outside shots. Whitney was an aggressive player, and the only shots Clark had been able to make were outside the key.
Clark currently had control of the ball. Whitney was hovering low behind him, hands moving fast, threatening to slap the ball away. Clark was debating which way to go when Whitney snatched the ball.
Damn. Clark swiftly turned and followed Whitney.
Whitney had just launched his body off the ground. Clark sped up a little to position himself in the spot where the momentum from Whitney's jump would place him. He jumped straight up; their bodies collided and he blocked the shot with his hand, knocking the ball out of bounds. Booyah! Clark crowed mentally and looked down … to see Whitney sprawled on the floor looking dazed. Shit!
Clark immediately crouched down by Whitney's head, gently lifted his shoulders, and cradled it in his hand, surreptitiously checking for blood and outward physical signs of damage.
"Uh, Whitney, hey, are you okay?" Clark asked anxiously, guilt and worry churning in his stomach.
Whitney felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. Going up against Clark had been like hitting a brick wall. He groggily lifted his head and propped his upper body a little on his elbows, still supported by Clark. He shook his head faintly. No, no pain there, just a little disorientation. Whitney took a few moments to clear his head. He looked up and was rewarded with the sight of Clark's concerned visage – the crinkled forehead and intense blue gaze. Gorgeous. Whitney had to fight the crazy impulse to bat his eyelashes. Oops, didn't work.
"Whitney, can you hear me?" Clark had thought Whitney might be okay; but then he saw Whitney's eyes flutter strangely. He was truly alarmed. Oh God! Please don't let him go into convulsions!
"Yeah, I'm fine," Whitney mumbled, embarrassed. Clark helped him up, but didn't let him go. In fact, Clark pulled him closer. Clark was scrutinizing him intensely, giving his body a once over? Did Christmas come early this year?
Clark held onto Whitney, "scanning" him for any internal injuries. He was relieved when he couldn't find anything. Then he realized he had been holding Whitney quite close, for a while now. He swallowed nervously, how to explain this?
"Uh, hey," Clark said stupidly. Idiot! Is that all you can say? How about, Nope, wasn't groping you, not checking you out either. Except … now, he is. There was a light sheen of sweat glistening on Whitney's body. The tank shirt clung damply to his chest.
Clark was aware that both of them were breathing heavily, as if they had just both run a marathon … or had some hot and heavy … whoa, don't go there. But it was too late; Clark's mind was focused on it. Two bodies entangled, moving in tandem to a fast, furious rhythm. Shit! Two male bodies. Clark looked at Whitney, caught his burning gaze.
"Hey," Whitney responded finally, seductively. His eyes lowered, and he had a sexy half-smile on his lips. Whitney experimentally took a step closer, their bodies now mere inches apart. Clark didn't move.
Whitney ran his hands down until they were at Clark's hips, not quite touching his ass. He gradually pulled Clark's lower body closer to his. Their cocks touched between layers of fabric.
Clark snapped out of his stupor and pulled away. He wearily stepped back and plopped down onto the bleachers.
"I think I better get home." Clark said, voice wobbly.
"Sure, let me give you a ride." Whitney was smug, magnanimously pleased with the whole world right now. Because Clark had been hard, too. He had felt it.
"Let me just take a shower and then I'll drive you home."
"Sure, whatever," Clark couldn't think. He could barely form coherent thoughts. Partially because everything is centered on his cock right now, but also because everything had a deeper meaning now, too – heavy, expectant, he's crossed a line somewhere. And he didn't know if he wanted to go back.
"Don't you think you should take one, too? I've got soap." Whitney offered salaciously.
The temptation was there. Like Eve offering the apple to Adam, or maybe the snake offering it to Eve. Whatever it was, Clark had to have time to think, to sort himself out.
"No, I still have chores at home, no use taking a shower, when I'd just get all sweaty again." Clark was pleased that he was able to speak normally. Thank God for small favors.
"Okay, I'll just be five minutes." Whitney spared a final glance at Clark.
He was slumped over, head in his hands.
Whitney grinned and sauntered towards the locker room. I gotcha now, Clark. I'm in the game! Chloe, Lex Luthor and Lana, even, had better watch out. There's a new player stepping up. And he always played to win.