ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Smallville

Bonfire
Lumina III
by Lar and ethrosdemon

Email: HERE & naturallycalm@yahoo.com
Spoilers: general (slight for Cool, X-Ray)
Rating: hard R
Summary: Things to do in Smallville when you're obsessed.
Dedication: Zahra, who went above and beyond. "Wish you would, come pick me up, take me out, fuck me up, steal my records, screw all my friends, they're all full of shit, with a smile on your face, and then do it again."

=====

When he was in college, Lex used to go to Gotham for long weekends. Just got on the train and left Princeton behind for a while. Never when he had a paper or a test, he knew the rules, fail once and be bailed-out, fail twice and dig yourself out. Gotham was, still is, Lex's perfect city. The populace too jaded or blind to notice him, even with his obvious appearance and no attempt to hide his wealth. Weekends there were full of being just *another * spoiled rich brat, not THE spoiled rich brat, and it suited him well enough that he misses it sometimes. He's finally legal to drink this year; he thinks he should have more years of debauchery ahead of him instead of nothing but responsibility and drudgery. Live hard, learn fast.

Lex sits in his office staring out at concrete chimneys and carcinogenic smoke wafting out of them, wondering where his elongated youth is, where his delayed adulthood slipped. He doesn't remember a time when his idle thoughts were occupied by just getting laid or getting high. There were always the ghost thoughts behind the surface, libido-driven swirl: who to be seen with and who not to, where to leave his incriminating evidence so it didn't seem planted, if it would be different if he'd gone to day school instead of boarding, whether Lionel felt this hollow all the time too.

He ponders what Clark's background thoughts are. Imagines them relating to covering up his Big Secret. The secret, Lex thinks, he's figured out after the Ferris wheel and Clark's labored breathing when confined to the front-seat of his car. Ah yes, Smallville, a town where even in 2002, boy-love is terror-inducing. It's funny enough to Lex to almost be endearing, retro, like the organic produce and unlocked houses.

Innocence is Lex's new mental theme. He plays the majority of his ideas around it, trying to find the angle, and a good portion of the time there is one. The Fair sort of jostled him in an unexpected way. Instead of him tarnishing Clark, he feels slightly burnished. As though innocence can be reclaimed, and that's why Lex wants to know if he ever had any to begin with. Reaches back to the meteor shower, broken and bent fields of tasseled stalks waving or bowing, and he thinks that wasn't exactly his fall from grace. No, more of like his first understanding of being different. Lex likes to see it as being complex as opposed to other people's simplistic linearity. He'd like to, but more often than not he wishes he at least knew what being one-dimensional was like, for comparison, to have the misty, pink youth to look back on and pine for.

He draws back in on the present and flips through the weekly report on all things Smallville that was waiting for him when he arrived this morning. Compilation of water-cooler gossip, overheard conversations, nixed Ledger stories, a copy of the Torch, anything and everything that a heartland town with a massive streak of weird would whisper, or scream, about. Except the part about how Clark knows things he shouldn't, can probably bench-press an elephant, and apparently has no family history. Lex shuffles through the papers: twelve toed cat, a multi-headed chicken near the Douglas country line, Veronica Baker having an affair with Crystal McKenzie, he lingers on that one until he spots something even better. Another bonfire party. Referred to as ' the monthly high school bonfire'. Interesting. Pictures Clark's face lit with flame taking on a Dionysian cast, too good a fantasy to not pencil the party into his planner. Why the hell not, he's already committed to this youth-reclamation, might as well go for the full package.

*****

Clark felt so out of sorts the past week that when the idea of going to the Friday night bonfire was floated past him at lunch, he just nodded. He didn't mention meteor rocks in lakes or terminally cold football players, just drifted with the current and hoped that getting out would clear his head. Desperately wished that some normal, average, teenaged activities would break him out of his Lex fixation. Like school hadn't, like chores hadn't, like trying to jack off to fantasies of Anna Kournikova hadn't.

Pete picks him up at seven. Chloe's already in the passenger side, and he has to sit sideways with his back against the door of the bask seat to get enough legroom to keep his leg cramp-free. Pete's "311" CD blaring, and Chloe screaming over it about supposed sightings of a four-headed chicken near the county line.

They park in the mud amidst the rest of the cars and trucks and head toward the noise. The usual threesome falls away into a single in such a rush that Clark finds himself momentarily stunned. Within five minutes of coming into the clearing, Pete spies Carrie Weathers and hones in on her like a bee to an exotic flower, and Chloe, his steadfast companion in the wasteland of geekdom, wanders off with a jock chatting her up in whatever passes for romance among the pigskin set. It's humiliatingly apparent that Clark is on his own. He looks around at all the kids, coupled up or cliqued up, and feels a strong urge to fade into the background. Steps back into the shadows cast by the bonfire and spies Lana.

Whitney's got his jacket around her shoulders and his mouth sealed over her lips. Her face, what Clark can see of it, is dreamily soft between the kisses, and he feels his stomach knot and roll. Tells himself to look away, that only serious masochists stand around playing Peeping Tom in full view of most of the under-20 set. With a huge effort he looks elsewhere when Whitney leans in for the face action again. What really sets him off kilter isn't that Lana's making out with her boyfriend, that it's Lana or that it's public, but that no matter how hard he tries, he just can't imagine being Whitney, being in Whitney's place. He can't picture what it would be like to be so close to Lana now, even his memories of Tina as Lana melt away when he really *tries * to remember being there, doing that. And when he imagines kissing a girl, holding her, smelling her hair and touching her skin, he can't cast the roll anymore, just gets an amorphous blob of a head where Lana's face used to be.

Clark wonders idly where the keg is and if he wants to spend the cash to get in on it. Knows he'll take one sip and then wander around with the cup in his hand all night and spill it out before they leave, but at least it's something to do, a prop to keep his hands busy and out of his jacket pockets for a change. Sometimes, when he's this smothered with doubts, he wishes he were like everyone else, hell, he wishes that every second of every day. But this is different, he wishes he could cover his discomfort with the blanket of alcohol, numb himself and not be so sharp on the edges, so HERE. He's actually counting the crumpled bills in his jeans with his fingertips, all of them ones, when he hears Lex's voice.

"Hi, Clark. Enjoying yourself without alcohol or inappropriate, public sex?"

Turns to look and sees Lex in slacks and the same leather jacket he wore to the Fair, looking out of place as usual and still seeming to fit in better than Clark himself does. Something about the way Lex carries himself, an attitude that forces the rest of the world to see what he's putting out for them. Acceptance of his freakiness and a dare for anyone to call him on it.

Clark notes that his initial reaction to Lex's appearance is a somewhat alarming degree of happiness. He damps it down and says, "I think it's appropriate here, Lex."

Easy shrug and that constant half-smile on his lips. "I stand corrected." He turns to the side, surveying the bonfire, the groping masses of kids, half of them too drunk to think about what they're doing and the rest not that drunk and not really giving a damn anyway. His eyebrow arches when he turns back. "When do we burn the Christians?"

"Keep it down, that girl over there is the Preacher's daughter." Clark gestures with his chin towards Missy Campbell, and Lex peers in that direction.

"The one in the red bra and jeans?" Said in a matter of fact way, no hint of humor, just flat speech.

"Yeah, that one." Bites the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking into a smile, enjoys Lex's dry humor too much to spoil the mood by giggling like a girl, although he feels a fluttering that makes him think he might anyway.

Absent nod. "Ok, I'll keep the blasphemy to myself. Where's Lana?"

All need to repress pleasure gone at that name, and again Clark gestures with a jerk of his chin. Lex leans to the side and watches Lana and Whitney long enough for Clark to count to twenty and catch himself staring at the way Lex's neck looks, bare against all that black leather he wears.

Lex straightens up, rotates his shoulders with an oddly graceful motion while he clears his throat and slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Right. Why don't you ask out someone else?'

Pointedly looking around the expanse of the gathering, Clark waits a minute before replying. Then he mimics Lex's posture. "Like who?"

"How about Chloe? She's smart and cute, even if her hair makes her look like the Flying Nun." Lex doesn't bother to point or even look towards the blonde jock who's entertaining Chloe with what are doubtless tales of his prowess on the field.

Clark snorts. "Chloe's my friend, Lex."

"Like me?"

He gives Lex a quizzical look, tilted head and lifted brow. "Uh, more like a girl who is a friend."

"So like me but with breasts and a Sarah McLachlan CD collection."

"You're assuming a lot here, Lex. Chloe hates Sarah McLachlan." Grins when he says it, not sure he's really comfortable with Lex heading towards a conversation that attempts to define their relationship. It would mean making decisions, drawing conclusions, and that's not what he came out here for tonight.

Lex isn't letting it drop. "Is that all I'm assuming?'

Clark runs his hands through his hair, scrubs at the scalp and then looks up at the sky. Cold clear night but the stars are dimmed by the yellow light of the fire. Speaks without thinking. "I should have gone in on the keg."

"How much is it? Three dollars? I have you covered." Lex pulls a money-clip out of his pocket, and Clark flushes.

"I..."

Lex's smile is slightly larger somehow as he pockets the cash smoothly. "I know, Clark. You don't drink, ever. Except cider."

In Lex's up-turned lips, Clark thinks he can read his half-truths. That he does drink sometimes, but it doesn't affect him, that it's useless, a liquid placebo, and he feels suddenly caught-out and petty. He attempts to pull the conversation away from anything that might lead to exposure of secrets, no matter how unimportant. "This has to be boring for you, how did you even know about it?" Not sure he likes the way that sounds now that it's out, but it's too late to rephrase it, and Lex doesn't seem to think anything of it.

"The whole town knows." Idle gesture as if this bunch of kids is the whole of Smallville.

Clark puts a hand on the back of his neck, looks down at the scuffed toes of his sneakers and over to the shiny tips of the shoes Lex wears. Drags his eyes away and back up to Lex's face. "I guess they weren't very quiet with the details."

Lex's glance returns to the spot where Lana and Whitney had been kissing, and he puts his hand up, points less than subtly. Clark turns, three quarter profile to Lex. He sees Lana, alone on the blanket, arms around her knees. The soft look is gone from her face. Instead, she looks slightly dazed, her expression moving from sad to annoyed and back again. Like she can't decide which to go with. A further turn and Clark spies Whitney with a cluster of his team mates, red plastic cups in their hands and their voices ranging up louder than the music.

He swears he feels Lex's breath on his ear when he says, "Go talk to her, Clark."

Forces himself to turn back around, Lex far into his personal space in a way that would normally make Clark take an obvious compensating step to the side before speaking. No move to get away though, he just pivots around and tries to hide the need for a little breathing room. The proximity to Lex has already short-circuited his brain, no reason to push him away now. What comes out of his mouth is just pure reaction.

"I don't want to talk to her, Lex. I want to talk to you."

Two beats as he takes in the fact that he said it out loud, that Lex heard him and then Clark is moving, stomping actually, as he heads into the cover of the woods and away from the light of the bonfire. Wants to hide his face in the shadows again and wishes he had let Lex buy him the cup of beer. Then at least he could claim alcohol had taken over, tell himself that as convincingly as possible. He hopes that Lex left. He hopes that Chloe and Pete don't wander around looking for him for hours. He wishes he could remember where the hell the path out of here was so he could go home.

He isn't surprised when he turns to see Lex coming towards him, expensive shoes crushing the undergrowth as he makes his way over to Clark. His expression is as unreadable in the gloom of the trees as it ever is. But the moonlight mostly obscured by the foliage gives him a sheen, an otherworldly glow that makes him appear to belong here.

They both stop at the same instant, and Lex's breath comes in short bursts in the hush of the close stand of trees. "What's going on, Clark?"

//I wish I knew// he thinks and tries bluffing his way out of it. "What do you mean?"

Lex isn't having any of it, no big surprise there. He never lets anything go, and he's the one who got this whole line of thought going tonight anyway. No reason that Clark can see for Lex to ease off, especially now that the cover of the woods removes any chance of using the rest of the kids as his excuse.

"Why did you run away like that? And don't answer my question with a question this time."

"I wanted to leave." Thinks of the night of the Fair, Lex's face in the car, the huge need to get back in and let Lex take him anywhere, the thrumming desire that he had smashed down and walked away from. The way he's trying to walk away again right now, because that same sharp need is back, spike in his belly that's making him want things he thinks he can't have.

Lex stares. "You're acting weirder than normal. I thought you came to party, or what passes for it here." Takes a step closer as he talks and Clark sees the way Lex's gaze slides over him, eyes-mouth-chest-mouth, gray-blue and restless.

"Lex, can we not talk about this?" His throat constricts and his stomach lurches, rolls. He's close to panicking, and nothing's happening here //yet//.

He takes a step back, and Lex's hand shoots out, grabs the sleeve of Clark's jacket to still him. "What do you want to talk about then?"

"I don't want to talk at all." Circuits clicking faster than he can process them and it's just out there again, mouth open and moving before he can edit himself. No time to founder in embarrassment because Lex isn't giving it to him. Answer snapped right back at the tail end of his sentence.

"You want me to leave you alone?" Lex doesn't sound angry. He hardly sounds any different than he ever does, voice modulated and calm. Clark wishes he'd give him something, an emotion to react to, something to gauge what he own response should be. Lex is too unreadable, and Clark suddenly knows what the adjective 'slick' applied to a person really means.

"No..." Stops himself and amends his statement. "I don't know. Not really." Glares at Lex and wills him to see what he's trying not to have to say, wants him to just do *something,* anything, take control of the conversation again and put Clark out of his misery.

That's not happening, and for once Lex relaxes his body language, his shoulders fall and he dips his head. "Clark, you have to tell me what conversation we're having. You lost me back at the fire."

Clark considers that, but he can't believe it. All the same, he takes a deep breath to steady himself before he speaks. "You know, I don't think that's true."

Lex's hand on his jacket snags tight again, tugs at the material. "You think I know what's on your mind?"

Clark bites down on a swell of anger and frustration that makes him want to scream, turn to the tree beside him and lift it, toss it as hard as he can towards the fields, expel the tension that's terrifying him in the same way he feels when someone's in danger. Reality distilled to this moment and the need to act. "Lex, why do you do this? You've lived every idea that's ever even popped into my head, why don't you just be straight with me?"

"Tell me what the idea is that I'm supposed to know here, Clark." Almost whisper, and Clark figures he should be getting this, seeing something in Lex's face that's supposed to go unspoken, but he has nothing to compare this to, no template, and he's just confused.

Clark looks down at the pale hand that's now wrapped around his wrist, leans in closer, inhales. That familiar sharp scent of Lex's cologne over the wood smoke and leather, and he opens his mouth to breath it in all the better.

Lex doesn't move. "Are you telling me now?"

Clark swallows the taste and breathes out. "Don't make me..."

Fingers clenching in a spasm around his wrist, and Lex speaks very clearly, each word precise and over pronounced. "You have to say it. I can't...Just. Tell. Me. What. You. Want."

And for all his need, all the heaviness between his legs and the way Lex fills every sense, Clark can't make himself say the words. Trips back in his embarrassment --"I can't. I'm sorry, this is stupid" -- and comes up short when Lex pulls, jerks him back towards him.

"I won't take advantage of you, if you want something, take it for yourself." Lex's lips shine, wet, as the tip of his tongue slips out and back into his mouth. Clark shudders and something breaks inside. Lex is just stringing him along, or he might not even understand what Clark wants after all. All the friendship talk, and maybe he's just trying to be that, a concerned friend, but it's too much for Clark. Anger floods in from his own embarrassment, from Lex's refusal to read his mind and take the impetus off him.

"Why did you come tonight? To see a bunch of hicks get drunk in the woods? Because that seems really stupid when you could just drive to Metropolis for the night." Resistance again to him stepping away, Lex's hand still there and holding tighter now. He doesn't want to move the conversation this way. Doesn't want words, just some unknown fulfillment he somehow knows Lex can give him.

"Not everything that interests me is in Metropolis." Words dark and heavy, and Clark suddenly feels hundreds of miles away from the laughter of his schoolmates, out of Kansas, out of himself. Just he and Lex in some different place that he doesn't understand but needs to come to know. Needs it, needs Lex to lead him to it and make everything clear, to call him on the things that are running through him head, making his body vibrate with what he feels and Lex is... refusing to do it. Playing word games again, brushing against the edges and then flitting away and waiting for Clark to catch up, leading him deeper into something he's never come close to knowing before.

Panic again, and Clark wants to bolt. Heartbeat thudding along in his ears, he says, "I need to go. Really. I'll see you later." Turns and tugs hard enough to pull his arm from Lex's grip, forces himself to walk and not run //fly// because Lex follows on his heels

Lex's fingers on the back of his jacket, snatching at him. Clark turns, stops so abruptly that Lex nearly ploughs into him. They stand there, facing off and saying nothing while the line of tension inside Clark winds itself tight enough to snap. He hones in on the pale face in front of him, watches that scarred mouth open to say something, doubtless something clever and just this side of cutting, and the wire breaks. Clark moves fast enough to act without thinking. Lips pressed to lips, Lex caught in mid-word, and Clark gets more than he expected, the tip of a tongue against his teeth and a moan sucked into his lungs. His hands grab cool, stiff leather and crush it in his fists as his mind rolls over on this.

Kissing. Lex.

Jerks himself back like he's been slapped and feels his cheeks flame. "I'm sorry, god, Lex, please don't be mad..." Drops his hands from the jacket he knows has to be ruined and steps away, back coming up hard against a tree.

++

Lex doesn't have better than average night vision, just mortally weak human eyes that lose color perception in the moonlight, but he can make out by contrast the flush on Clark, slivery white outlining mourning dove gray. Just slightly cruel to leave Clark wondering if he's a pervert or about to be banished from the inner circle, but Lex likes pine-scented Clark by moonlight, and this might be his only go at it. It's less than a ten-second gap since the kiss, and Clark averts his head, shutters in a sigh and is about to run crying into the clichéd night when Lex flicks a stray curl of hair out of his eyes. Chin lift, but still facing to the side, Clark meets Lex's eyes out of the corner of his own, tries to smile.

"I'd never be mad because you touched me, Clark." That same amused, ghost-grin on his face, slips up to Clark, presses as much of his body against Clark's torso as he can, and just glides. He's breaking his rules, but he's rewritten them time and again now. Hip to hip as slim, elegant fingers thread in Clark's hair, and Lex swallows down the frightened sigh vibrating from Clark's throat. Clark slouching against the tree, Lex straining, almost going to the balls of his feet to meet the height difference, and this is a first for both now. Lex always favored boys to men, slight frames and brittle beauty. His psyche wouldn't let him be this out-sized, overwhelmed, disadvantaged. But this is something else, he still feels in charge, Clark folding up to force himself to Lex's height, skimming of lips and tentative touches, asking instead of taking, and Lex knows he'll never be anything but in charge of this. Winds his fingers in the inky tendrils of Clarks hair, and saves this second in his mind for perfect recall; Clark's mouth on his neck, fingers pushing red memories of themselves into his scalp, the texture of cool, slick smoke on his fingers, pulse of bass off in the distance, Dial soap, pine sap and carbonizing wood on the air.

**

Clark feels Lex just responding to him, turning his head when Clark's kisses move from mouth to cheek, twisting fingers in his hair and holding without guidance, the tension floods out of him. And he's drowning in the scent and taste of this moment, warm lips and slick tongue licking his bottom lip and tickling his palette in a long stroke before Clark cups his hand around the cool, silky, bare skin and holds him still. Holds him there so he can let his tongue do the same to Lex, other arm under that leather jacket, tugging at Lex's shirt and not caring that it's shredding under his fingers, not caring about anything but the inescapable way Lex's mouth tastes of salt and mint. Falling to the fact that Lex is hard all over, no give, just planes and lines. The odd awareness that the prodding against his thigh is Lex's hard-on, Lex's body responding to him.

Like being shocked with static electricity over and over, buzzing along his nerve endings everywhere, fine hairs all over his body standing up, because he's not alone with these feelings for once. Lex echoes his frightening longing, at least enough to be hard and willing. Lex wants him, and this is what was on offer all that time; this was what Clark didn't know he needed until he reached out and took it. He moans against Lex's mouth and is rewarded with a bucking thrust and a bite to his lower lip that nearly ruins the anticipation by forcing Clark to the end. Spreads his hand over Lex's back and holds him tighter. All of that skin free to touch. Clark lets his hand drift lower, catch on the slim belt in its neat loops and tugs sharply, hears the leather snap like a rubber band under the pressure. This time it's Lex who's moaning.

"Clark," and he's not sure if that means to go on or to stop. He stops, panting, and waits, body tense and aching. Feels that bump and roll again when Lex moves against him and then inhales, sharp and loud. The back of his head hits the tree when the slim hand snakes its way between their bodies, and Lex touches him. Over denim and cotton, but that's not really important, because no one besides him has touched there since he was old enough to bathe. He swears he can feel the whirls of Lex's fingerprints when he cups and strokes. Press of the heel of a palm against the head, and it's too much. Clark shudders, pushing against the smooth palm when Lex squeezes just that little bit more, comes while he clutches Lex to him.

Whiteout that falls away like confetti reveals that he's still here, Lex is still touching him through what are now uncomfortably damp jeans and boxers sticky with wetness that spreads over his belly and thighs. Clark feels Lex's mouth on his neck, open-mouthed kisses that border on bites, and he realizes that the hard length is still nestled against the dip in his hipbone. Groans and bucks when Lex's fingers close around him again, denim-covered caress that makes him even more aware that Lex is waiting.

Hasn't come, needing something. Vague flash in Clark's head of him on his knees, Lex's expensive pants around his ankles and his back scraping against this tree while Clark does... *that* with his mouth. Desire and panic swell in equal amounts and he turns his head away from Lex, looks back towards the place where the bonfire is still going on. He hasn't thought this far, hadn't thought at all, and now he's scared, unsure, embarrassed by his lack of experience.

//still waiting, he's still waiting// and Clark reaches a tentative hand towards the ruined waistband of Lex's slacks. Freezes when he hears the sounds from the gathering spike to a volume loud enough to reach through whatever haze is holding him. Fingertips just brushing the bare skin of Lex's stomach, flesh heated and waiting for more. The music blares again, something too bass-heavy for him to identify, and Lex lifts his head.

"Clark? Are you OK?" Not pale and ethereal any longer despite the moonlight, Lex's face is a palette of color, flushed cheeks and bruised lips and eyes too dark to read under heavy lids. Even his voice is something black, smooth and coiling, a man's voice, and Clark freezes.

The fringes of panic knit themselves together with the sound of drunken football players whooping, girls shrieking. Clark puts his hands on Lex's shoulders and moves him, too hard, he knows it, but the tremors are threatening to take over, and he just can't. Can't do this, not here, not this way. No explanation other than a hurried and too familiar "I'm sorry," and he's gone.

**

Lex sways for a split second in the displaced air Clark's fleeing kicked up around him. He snatches at his pants before they hit the leaves and snarled tree roots. He's not surprised, just annoyed with himself to be in this position at all. So fast, and there was no plan, no secondary plan, no escape route, just standing in the woods almost with his dick in his hand while Clark runs home to wash himself with brillo pads and cry into his pillow.

He gathers his pants and tries to will away his erection //charity auctions, baseball, Jonathan Kent// but instead, he sees Clark in the tub pre-Brillo. He zips up his coat and holds his pants up as nonchalantly as he can muster. The car isn't far, and he doubts there're any Ledger reporters at this shindig, so he might be able to get away without having to concoct a story about a bear attack.

//This is what comes from attempting to molest a 15-year-old boy. Very impressive, Lex. This is losing control. When was the last time you were the one left wanting?// Stalks his way back towards the noise and light, heads along the fringes with his hands clasping the material of his slacks through the lining of his jacket, still hard enough to make walking this fast an issue.

"Lex. Lex! Earth to Lex, where's Clark? Have you seen him?" Brings himself up short and turns to see Chloe approaching him, the curled ends of her hair bouncing as she strides over. Not the Ledger, the Torch. She halts in front of him and folds her arms. "Well?"

"Yes, I saw Clark a few minutes ago. He had to leave suddenly and said not to worry about him getting home." Lex knows it's a cosmic joke that it would be *this* one who caught him skulking out of here. Only a nuisance-in-training, but with too sharp an eye for a night like this, when he doesn't feel like keeping the composure. Luckily, it's so ingrained he doesn't have to try, no effort, just standing still.

She narrows her eyes at him, but that could be an errant puff of wood smoke from the still blazing bonfire as the wind shifts. He watches as it ruffles her hair, makes it into feathery wings trying to beat their way free of her. "OK, thanks, I'll save the bitchery for him. So you're off now, nothing left to keep you at the party?"

//Clever girl// Lex just inches up the corners of his mouth into a non-frown. "Goodnight, Chloe."

Turns and makes his way to his car. He slides into the seat, slams the door, and waits until she's gone before he adjusts pants and hard-on, despite the tinted windows. Rests his head against the back of the seat and breathes out a few times, feels the swelling begin to ease up. Forgoes the gloves this time in his desire to be anyplace but here, just starts the car and gets the hell out of there.

end



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