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Martha came back with needles and thread, not the surgical one since she didn’t have any, but the kind that would do for now. By the time she came, Clark had had Whitney turned on his stomach and had cleaned up the wounds and sores there as well. He was applying a light bandage to the place where Nigel had slashed his knife, just at the lower curve of Whitney’s left ass cheek.
Lets face it, there was no way Clark could not notice Whitney’s nakedness. Had the sight not been so gory Clark would have been jerking with multiple non-stop orgasms by now. But still, when Clark touched Whitney, it wasn’t just with pure, fathomless love for Whitney, but also with a relentless urge to touch and feel and comfort his Whitney.
Clark stroked the back of Whitney’s neck slightly knowing how much he used to do it himself. He was very very careful while wrapping the wounds, knowing fully well how much damage his excessive strength could do. Whitney isn’t a fragile kid. No sir.
Even now he held within himself strength that’s exceptional for any human being. But to Clark right now, he was like this absolutely priceless only-one-of-its-kind, handle-with-extreme-care ming vase that held within itself the key to Clark’s very own life. You know like in the Arabian nights tale? Where the life of a giant monster lies in a parrot? Kill the parrot and the monster dies?
//And what the hell ?//
Clark couldn’t help but smile. It seemed Whitney was not gonna die on him after all, although the fact that he wasn’t conscious yet made him fret. But mostly he was just so glad to still have him. To finally admit to himself that he loved this man and felt no qualms in saying so aloud too.
“I love you”. Ok that was inaudible.
“I love you”. Slightly better.
“I LOVE YOU Whitney Fordman. I love you”
Martha had walked in just then. She stopped in her tracks at the sudden revelation, and looked at her son. The son who had just made a declaration of his love to an unconscious boy and was now grinning like a Cheshire cat absolutely pleased with himself.
How does a mother object to that kind of happiness?
Quickly pushing the doubts, that could wait for now, to the back of her mind, Martha smiled at Clark and resumed walking towards the bed with a tray that held three needles in a bowl of hot water and a roll of thread.
“Mom!” Clark saw the needles and.. well obviously he was concerned. Needles and all.
“Relax and have a little faith in your mother Clark.” She placed the tray in Clark’s hands and signaled him to move. Clark got up from where he sat on the bed and came over to the chair he’d pulled up earlier.
Martha saw a pool of blood that had formed on the bed beneath Whitney’s pale frame, and let out a soft “God be merciful”.
“do you .. do you think he was….you know.. ?”
Martha looked up at Clark. The question was bound to remain incomplete. He didn’t look sure if he really did want to know but at the same was quite worried too. She studied him for awhile and decided she might as well check. Whitney may need to go to the hospital after all.
She sat down on the bed, hesitated, then touched Whitney’s back gently. She rubbed very small circles into the surface with one hand and used the other to very gently part his ass cheeks. She was using the rubbing to comfort a sleeping Whitney, to indicate to him that she meant no harm.
Clark at first closed his eyes like the teenager that he was, who isn’t used to or comfortable with the concept of rape. But then he opened them and looked over to what his mom was doing.
Martha was now using both hands to get a better look at Whitney’s rectum. It looked like there was some sort of physical assault like a foreign object was inserted but the abrasions were miniscule so no, he was not raped. That was all she needed to know.
“He’s okay”. Clark let out a sigh of relief.
She gently rolled Whitney onto his back and his head slightly lolled over to one side. Good, he was still out. Martha got to work.
Meanwhile, Clark pulled up the covers over Whitney’s lower body and sat holding Whitney’s hand in both of his, conscious not to squeeze too hard. He tried to see how his mother went to work on the love of his life but couldn’t keep it up too long. Super-strong renegade alien be damned. Right now, he was terror-stricken Whitney might wake up to this unbearable pain or worse, might be feeling it right now.
Martha sewed up the worryingly large wounds on Whitney’s thighs and stomach and some on his back expertly and wrapped them in clean bandages. Clark kept providing the background score with his hisses and ouches and Martha scolded him with her stoic stares. But she knew he was very worried and smiled to herself.
Her son was in love, perhaps for the first time. What bothered her was that “love” is a truly strong word and Clark had used it so easily… in fact its possible he might just have professed his love because of the state that he’s seeing Whitney in right now. Clark has always liked taking care of people and things. He’s happiest being in charge. But what happens when Whitney is stronger and does not need looking after? Oh God what happens when its time for Whitney to go back to the corp? She had not the heart to raise these questions at this time. But definitely, later, when Whitney got better. Hopefully it wont be too late.
“Oh God. Oh God.”
But Martha freaked too. She stopped jabbing the needle into Whitney and instead reached out with her outstretched hands to hold Whitney’s face.
“Shhh.. its okay sweetie, shhhh.”
Clark stood up and began to pace again not once looking away from Whitney’s face. Martha directed her shushing towards him with a mommish frown and he stopped. In a way it was a good sign that he was coming to. But the Kents were worried he might be in way too much pain if he woke up now.
Whitney seemed delirious, as if was about to regain consciousness. He threw his head from one side to another, moaning very very silently, his face contorted in agony only he knew. Martha wiped off the sweat on his forehead and continued to console him softly.
“you’re okay Whitney. Go back to sleep now. shh….”
Whitney settled. “He’s going back to sleep look”. Clark settled too.
“Oh Good. Oh Good.”
Martha completed the stitching and the two of them adjusted very many cushions around Whitney so he could be as comfortable as possible .She also got a sleep-inducing painkiller from the first aid kit and Clark picked Whitney slightly up and raised his head. She minced the pill into a powder and mixed it into a glass of water. Clark held Whitney's head up by placing an arm under his neck as Martha encouraged the delirious boy to drink up. Miraculously, they got him to swallow the medicine, then tucked him in.
Martha and Clark straightened up the room and then themselves, letting out a huge sigh together at the same time.
‘Thanks mom. I don’t know what I would have done..”
“Shh darling. Get some sleep. You might have lots to do when he wakes up. I get the feeling he wouldn’t wanna go home right away.”
“Yeah. Mom about what I was saying before you came in… I think ..I think I do love Whitney”
Martha said nothing.
“I’ve always felt something ever since I knew him but.. now I’m sure.”
“Yes. I am.”
Martha smiled and hugged him. “I know you would do the right thing Clark. You always have.”
Clark smiled at the vote of confidence and then Martha tugged him towards the couch. She pretended to push him down knowing that wasn’t actually possible, and urged him to sleep. Clark kissed his mother and turned off the lamp. It was light outside already.
Martha moved to leave when Clark posed, “What will you tell dad?”
“You trust your mom. Trust your dad too baby. Sweet dreams. Both of you.”
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