I was rewatching OBSCURA and the scene where Clark asks if he could buy Whitney a cup of coffee. Whitney says yes. This is what happened in my dreams! :D R rating. May be archived anywhere. I don't own the characters, I just really love them lots.

Whitney accepted the styrofoam cup of coffee that Clark held out to him. He set it on the table top, cupped between both hands as he watched Clark sit down. "Thanks," Whitney said, belatedly.

"You're welcome," Clark replied, then he took a sip from his own cup and grimaced. "I'm not positive it's actually drinkable," he warned.

"I've gotten used to it," Whitney replied, absently.

Clark winced. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "That was thoughtless of me." Whitney's father had spent alot of time here and Clark should have realized that Whitney would be used to the coffee.

Whitney smiled at Clark. It was easy to smile at Clark. The younger boy was pure, honest, sincerity personified. Sometimes Whitney wondered if it was hard to be Clark. He knew that Clark envied him some things. Like Lana. That was a given. But Whitney also believed that Clark wanted to know what it was like to be the football hero of Smallville High. To be popular. Just simply to be Whitney. It wasn't such a great thing. Funny thing was that Clark Kent was the only person Whitney could share such thoughts with. The only one who would truly understand and wouldn't try to either mock him or make excuses for him. Clark Kent simply accepted the truth. Accepted Whitney. Flaws and all. Hell...Clark had even saved Whitney's life time and again, despite the fact that Whitney had strung him up as the scarecrow and had never even bothered to apologize. He had tried to, once, but Clark had disappeared and Whitney had taken that as a sign that he didn't have to try again. "It's cool, Clark," Whitney said softly.

"How are you holding up?" Clark asked.

"I'm not really sure," Whitney confessed. It felt good being with Clark. Knowing that the younger boy asked the question because he really did care. It felt good but it was kind of fucked up. Just like Whitney felt. Fucked up. "Can I ask you a favor?" Whitney asked suddenly.

Clark nodded and smiled. "Sure," he replied, easily.

Whitney smiled back. "Close your eyes," he requested, then rose from his chair.

"Um...why?" Clark asked. He had to ask.

"I need to do something," Whitney stated. "I need to figure something out."

Clark frowned and locked eyes with Whitney. Couldn't tell what Whitney was feeling, but he could see confusion and doubt in the other boy's gaze. Pain too, and that was enough for Clark to take the chance. He closed his eyes.

Whitney felt relief wash over him and Clark's eyelids fluttered closed. Moving carefully, Whitney stood before Clark. Silently he leaned down and brushed a kiss against soft, lush, lips. Felt Clark twitch but not pull back, so Whitney found the courage to thread his fingers into dark silk hair. He deepened the kiss, licking at Clark's lips until they parted, then he pushed his tongue inside. Mint chocolate and coffee, that's what Clark Kent tasted like. Whitney thought he could kiss Clark forever and then, maybe then, everything in his life would make sense. But he knew that reality had designed a different fate for him. A harsher destiny. One last taste of Clark then Whitney pulled back. Watched Clark's eyes open wide and whispered, "Thank you."

"I don't understand," Clark said, then he brushed his fingertips over his mouth. "Why...why did you kiss me?"

"Lots of reasons," Whitney replied. "The first time I wanted to kiss you was when I strung you up on the cross, Clark. You were so fucking beautiful even sick and in pain. I almost came in my pants." Whitney watched as Clark flinched at his words and realized that he should have been embarrassed and ashamed. But other than a twinge of guilt, Whitney realized he felt only a sense of peace. Confession was good for the soul and no one would be willing to listen to him. No one but Clark.

Reaching for his coffee cup, Clark took a swallow of the bitter brew. "You love Lana," CLark whispered.

Whitney nodded. "I do," he allowed. "But for all the wrong reasons. Lana makes me feel strong and in control. She makes me feel like a man, Clark. She needs me to make her feel safe and protected. She likes knowing that I'll always be there for her."

"Then why kiss me?" Clark prompted.

"Because you're beautiful," Whitney replied, without hesitation. "Lana is the prettiest girl at school, but her beauty pales in comparison to yours, Clark. Her goodness seems hypocritical in comparison as well. And she's weak. We've never done anything but kiss, Clark. Lana's not even close to being ready to think about sex. And even when she is...someday....she won't be ready for what I want sex to be. That's the key word. Sex. Lana will be holding out for love. I don't want that."

Clark bit his lip then asked. "What do you want from me, Whitney?"

Heaving a sigh, Whitney reached for his untouched cup of coffee and drained it to the dregs. Then he answered, "Nothing more than you can give, Clark."

"We can be friends, Whitney," Clark replied.

"I wanted that," Whitney admitted, freely, then he shook his head. "But I don't think so. Not now."

Clark was surprised and confused. "Why not?" he asked.

Whitney sat down again and almost smiled. "I kissed you because I needed to be sure about how I felt about you, Clark. And now I am sure."

"What does that mean?" Clark shot back, although a part of him wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"It means that I want more from you than you can give," Whitney said softly. "So...best thing to do is just to go back to the way things were between us. You keep loving Lana, I'll do the same, all the while pretending that she loves me back."

Clark heard the acceptance in Whitney's tone and it shook him. "It doesn't have to be like this," he stated.

Whitney stood up, crushing the styrofoam cup in one hand. "Yeah..it does," he said firmly, then he smiled, allowing himself one last, lingering, look at Clark. Letting himself absorb the younger boy's almost surreal beauty. Then Whitney turned on his heel, calling out over his shoulder, "Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome," Clark whispered, even as he watched the spill of dark liquid trickle over the table top. Rising to his feet, Clark walked over to the trash can and scraped shredded scraps of styrofoam off his palm.

THE END