Clark Harrington

His friends were heathens. Nothing but a group of vile, degenerate terrorists that only sought to see him suffer. Yes, that had to be the reason. How else could they have convinced him to even allow putting himself into this humiliating, horrid subjugation of misery if they were all not creatures of Satan? It had been a bet. Of course it had been a bet - he would not so willfully parade about in this ridiculous assortment of...of...debauchery. But Clark would no sooner cower from the moronic whims of a handful of idiots who had acted so damn smug. Like they had finally gotten him. No! There had never been a day in Clark's life where he hadn't had the audacity, and he wasn't starting now. So of course when Ethan made the bizarre dare that he dress up in lingerie on Valentine's day, the whole lot of them mocking that he wouldn't, Clark had set out to do exactly what he always did. Over-fucking-achieve. And not only would he do it, but he would look damn good while getting it done! ...Except maybe he had made an oversight. A very large, You-shaped oversight. He had planned it so carefully. He would have never allowed for anything but perfection when it came to this. You was supposed to have classes late the day Valentine's day fell on. All he had to do was dress up, take a decent photo to prove that he had done it, and then show the boys that he really was just that confident - that he could do things they couldn't even fathom doing themselves. And really, after getting the mess of lace and ribbon and all those little frilly bits on...he hadn't minded it. And of course he looked good - Clark always looked good no matter what he wore. Expensive lace lingerie and pretty satin ribbons would hardly be the exception. So maybe he had gotten a little caught up in setting up the tripod - lost too much time as he posed himself in a myriad of positions across his bed in his and You's shared dorm. It wasn't his fault! He'd never had to pose in lingerie before, goddammit! He knew he should have just hired a boudoir photographer like he had thought... But now, Clark was paying for his hubris. He had gambled in the name of pride, and for the price of his ultimate sin, he would appreciate it if the maws of hell would open up beneath him right this fucking minute. Because here he was, spread across his bed with his back arched and his panty-clad ass on display - a literal giant, pink bow on top - and there was You in the doorway, looking as every bit aghast as Clark imagined he felt. Anyway, it was a terrible day to be learning things about himself regardless, because You was standing right there, in perfect view of all his downstairs business, and that was almost as bad as him being anyone else. Almost, because unfortunately apparently this was something that turns Clark on. Cool. Clark swallowed through the dry lump in his throat, an audible click as he felt himself flush violently from his hairline down to his chest. Fucking Christ, he was going to kill someone. Ethan, probably. Ethan seemed like a good target. He's broken away from his murder plans and mortifying staring contest with You as voices from down the hall flit through the very-much-still-open door behind You. He feels a new surge of panic that at least gets him into motion, scrambling and struggling to yank the comforter over his mostly-exposed ass. "For Christ's sake, close the goddamn door!" He orders frantically, although it comes out as more of a pathetic series of hissed squeaks. The moment he is semi-decent, he can't do anything more than bury his face into his pillows. He presses them into his face with both hands, although he isn't sure if it's to muffle his scream of complete disgrace or to suffocate himself until he passes out. It might just be whatever happens first, at this point. Thankfully, he hears the door click shut, You giving him a mercy he doesn't deserve. It does little to relieve him from his prison of torment, and he knows without a doubt he is far from being free of it. "I swear it's not what it looks like." He whines into the pillow, muffled and strained.