by Te
March 2002

Disclaimers: If they were mine, a brother would get some love.

Spoilers: Vague ones for Nicodemus.

Summary: Pete is having that dream.

Ratings Note: R.

Author's Note: A dream I had the other night. Mmph.

Acknowledgments: To my most pretty We.

Feedback puts hair on your chest.


Pete is dreaming.

He doesn't always know when he is, and the knowing has nothing
to do with the *content* of the dreams, but this time...

It's in the molasses-thick feel of the air, the scents that refuse to
clarify into anything he can understand. It's in the simple fact of
*knowing*, as if understanding is whole in and of itself. It's in the
realization that he won't know what he's talking about when he
wakes up.

If he wakes up.

He's already tried.

There's a sneaking suspicion that he's had this dream before, a
sneakier one that he's had that *thought* before, and none of the
taffy-stick layers of confusion can take away from the tableau:

Clark, buried to the thighs in something like smoke and quicksand,
blindfolded and loopy with his lack of balance. Perhaps something
else. Clark is giggling silently, swaying back and forth and reaching
for... Lex.

Pete knows it's Lex, even though the man's features are cloudy,
fading in and out of the dreamstuff mist. All blacks and edges and
the sense of smiles. Teasing smiles as he moves in and out of
Clark's reach.

Clark always misses, but somehow... it's almost like Lex isn't really
trying. And just like that, Pete knows that if Clark *does* manage
to touch Lex...

And he doesn't know what would happen, he just knows that he
can't allow it, that Clark isn't...

And Pete's arms are wrapped around Clark's chest, just barely.
Clark is lean for his height, but that isn't saying much. Spark of
thought -- he should *feel* this -- and he does. Warm skin against
his... where are their shirts? Clark always wears two or three

Tickle of hair against his face, more warm skin. Clark is almost
flailing, loose-limbed and cheerfully helpless. Arms raised, but it's
hard to believe he's trying to help. He's just... reaching.


Is the quicksand higher?

Pete pulls hard, expecting Clark to... do just about anything but
clutch at Pete's ears and giggle.

What the hell kind of dream is this?

Shift and

"Trust me..."

Lex is smiling all around them. Long, too-pale fingers reaching
towards Clark's face, and Clark is still giggling, shaking his head.
Sweating now, slipping through Pete's fingers. If Clark were to
move just another inch to his right, Lex would *have* him.

Pete clutches harder, breathing against Clark's throat and the
smells resolve -- sweat basketball gym touch -- and fade quickly,
just enough to make Pete slip again.

"Whoops!" Clark is moving like a flower in a rough wind, only
there's no air. Hot and humid and the world is thick with...

"Pete..." Lex-edges behind him, beside him.

"Leave him *alone*!" Gets his arms under Clark's and slips again
as Clark raises his hands.

"I think... not."

Almost enough to make Pete let go altogether, but he *knows*
that's what Lex wants. Moves closer instead, toes slipping into the
warm (sweet) mud that's clutching at Clark.


Looks down and sees nothing but the familiar curves and angles of
his own body, too-short legs and acceptable muscles. He can feel
himself. The tickle of his scant body hair against Clark's back, the
juddering slide of sweating flesh --


Has to... he's not *here* for that, and Clark's so blind. So *blind*
and yes, finally holding on to Pete's arms. Helping.

Shift and Pete's ankles are held, caressed by something, entangled
in something -- what?

He's had this dream before, and Clark is right where he always is,
clutching Pete's arms around his chest, paused between shaking
him off and... what?

No time, no *time* and Pete puts his back into it, hauling Clark
against him, hauling them up, *out*, only Clark weighs a *ton*.

"C'mon, man, you've gotta *help* me!"

And Clark isn't giggling anymore. Just... not so much shaking his
head as rolling it on his neck, lolling it back against Pete's
shoulder. "Sleepy."

"Clark, we're gonna *drown*!"

"It's okay, Pete, Lex is --"


Pulling now, slipping, and it's already too late because he's *had*
this dream before, he's sure of that now, he's known it all along.
Slipping down and Clark so hard and smooth and *solid* in front
of him, between Pete's spreading legs --


"He's a good friend, Pete..."

Shifting and moving almost the right way, the wrong way, and
Pete's *hard*. Needing this, and Clark is holding on almost absently
now. Clark knows and Clark can't know and Clark's mouth is open.

Lips so red --

"Pete --"

"I'm only trying to help..." Lex on the edges, shocking him out of
the haze only far enough to make Pete aware. He's going to wake
up. He's going to --

Eyes snap open and Pete groans aloud. Hospital white all around
and the sun is *right* there. God's flashlight bearing down on him,
nowhere to hide. There's no one in his room, and Pete has a vague
memory of telling his parents to go home and get some rest after
waking up... last night?

It had to be.

Clark had been there, too.

Something like smoke curling around the edges of his senses,
something like the possibility that, if he were to find the exact position
he woke up in, he'd be back in the dream.

And Pete shudders, throws the covers off and gets out of bed. He
remembers... just enough to know he doesn't *want* to go back.
Too much.

He's hard under the thin hospital johnny, and Pete has a moment of
gratitude that he'd gotten a private room. (Who paid? No, don't ask
that. Don't.)

Cold tile under his bare feet, large tilted mirror with nothing he
wants to see.

Pete's barely soft enough to pee, and the feel of his own hand
wrapped around himself doesn't make it any easier. He doesn't
*want* to jerk off to the dreams, or to anything, really. Because
this erection... there's nothing healthy and normal about this
erection, fever-hot in his hand.

Stiffening as he fights.

And loses.

Pete bites back a gasp, braces himself on the wall, and goes for it.
Stroking hard and fast. Too much for this, he's not slick enough,
but it *needs* to hurt. Some kind of price to be paid for all of this
pathetic *jealousy*.

Because he knows the way Lex looks at Clark. Understands it.
Anyone could... if they were looking. No one does, though.

Flash of feeling -- hips tightening into a thrust, pushing his cock
against the phantom of Clark's warm back, into the hollow of his
long, strong spine. Pulses all through him, setting off the pain in
his skull, in his arm. It just adds to it, the sticky-thick impossibility
of it and ah, God, wants to hear Clark call his *name*.

Comes shuddering, wet splash in the toilet. Easily flushed away.

Pete scrubs his hands twice, splashes his face with winter-cold
water more times than he can count. Stands shivering and damp
in the bathroom until he can open his eyes again. Until he can see
something familiar in himself that doesn't make him want to...
kill something?

Too many things he doesn't know about what happened. Too
many things he might've said to too many different people. Chloe,
Lex, Clark.


Pete stares himself down until the chill is too much to deal with.
Crawls back into bed, closes his eyes against the sun.

The dream is almost entirely gone by the time his parents arrive.