NOTE: This story has been previously posted to other lists, as was Dark yearnings that I posted yesterday. There is more to this series, which I will be posting over the next few days, to get this list caught up (I'm working on getting part 9 ready).

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, especially to Tinnean and Silk, who are wonderful friends.

Title: Bug hunting

Author: Gail

Fandom: JAG

Pairing: Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer

Rating: R

Summary: Webb gets a call from Palmer the morning after their night together.

Archive: yes to Jagslash, Querstrich, RareSlash, CKOS, WWOMB. All others please ask.

Series: Part 2 of the Eclipse series

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. I'm just having fun. A lot of it, too.

This one's for Katja, always, because it's *her* series...I'm just writing it, it seems. But I'm happy to.

Beta work done by Katja, Mareen, Tinnean, and Greg. Thank you so much.

This one really needs to be read after Part 1, Dark yearnings. It won't make much sense otherwise. I have that on really good authority.

The Joshua Redman composition is on his CD "MoodSwing." And, oh, is it a great disc.

By Gail

I'm in the driver's seat and about to turn the key when my phone rings. Damn. It's already close to noon. I slept too long. Who needs me this much? I already checked my messages, and no one was looking for me earlier. But things change in the business I'm in very quickly.

I grimace and flip it open.

"Webb."

"Hi, Clayton." Clark Palmer. What now? Wasn't last night enough for him? "I'm over at our mutual friend's place. Want to join me for some extermination?"

It takes me a moment to make myself understand the oblique reference, and then it's very clear that he's talking about taking out the surveillance devices he planted in Harm's apartment. That is a surprise, but I'm not going to question it, and I do want to be there to make sure he gets all of them. Of course that's something I may not be able to assure, but I will try.

"On my way."

"You sound much better now," he gets in before I can cut off the call, and I need another minute to recover from the intimacy of that comment. I swallow and make myself put away the phone, then start the engine. I can deal with Clark Palmer. We have an agreement. And he's going to honor it, damn him.

I don't let myself think at all about what that means.

******************

I park a block away and walk over to Harmon Rabb's apartment. As I thought, the doors to both the building and his place are open. I make sure that the one to the building locks behind me. No need to invite burglars. Or anyone else.

Clark's waiting for me, wearing a fresh suit and a smile. I close the door and walk toward him, then stop a careful distance away from where he's leaning against the counter. I need to be careful around him.

"You look better, too." That low, dark intimacy is back in his voice, but I'm not going to allow that from him. I flick him a glance that I hope gives him the idea that he's said something wrong, but he doesn't react to that at all.

"Why are you removing the devices now?" I don't enjoy admitting any complicity, but I'm in this much too deep to stop.

He gives me a very surprised look. "Clayton, I'm trying to help. You're not going to do anything if you know I'm taping. That much is damned clear. And I do want you to have some fun. Some more, that is."

And the eyebrows lift and the smile is just so satisfied. I want to yell at him but I can't. He didn't make me fuck him last night. I took him to bed willingly. So how can I give him grief?

I do anyway. I feel like it.

"Palmer," his face drops when I use his last name, but I ignore it, "I am not going to play your revenge game. I'll tell Rabb you're out, but that's it. Fuck off." It feels so good to say that to him. I want him to know his place, under me.

Shit. That's just how I was thinking this morning. I do not want to own Clark Palmer. Or anyone else. I want to get out of here as soon as possible, and start figuring out just who the hell I am. I'm beginning to think that I really don't know any more.

"That's strong language from you, Webb," he says lightly, and I'm glad to hear him address me properly. "Fine. You go right ahead and do what you want. I told you, Rabb will do my work for me. Unless you've decided that you don't want the commander in your bed?" The dark, hungry look in his eyes shocks me. Palmer jealous? No. Then it passes. "No, of course not. And I want him there, make no mistake about that, even though I know that he'll never manage to give you *all* you want."

This is intolerable. "Shut the hell up, Palmer," I snarl and go right up to him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. Bad idea. He doesn't put up any kind of fight, looking at me with a little smile on his face, and lets his head fall to the side in utter submission when I tighten my grip. Even I can see what he's doing now: provoking me, daring me, sucking me in. I should let go, but hell, I'm getting that musk that's his own scent, and it's getting me hard. The marks on his neck stand out like beacons against his pale skin. He has to have gotten quite a few looks today. I'm glad. And then shocked at myself for that gladness. Palmer doesn't mean that much to me. We just had the night together. Nothing more. That isn't going to change.

"Don't stop now, Webb," he murmurs and presses his crotch up against my side very deliberately. He's hard, too. Damn. "You were doing so well."

"Shut up," I hear myself growl. What the hell am I doing? Let go of him. Step away. But my hands stay clenched on his shirt, and he's still giving me that very promising smile.

"I could get off on doing it here, in Rabb's kitchen. We don't have to fuck. I'll get you off with my mouth. You taste so damned good, and you get so hard when I work on you. Let me suck you off. I'll make it fast."

His tongue traces over his lips, and dammit, I am tempted. But somehow I let him go and step back until I have enough distance to feel like myself again, like the professional I am and always will be. Except when I let Clark Palmer get to me.

"No, Palmer." I can't let this happen. I do know that much about myself. I would hate myself for it.

His face changes back to a calm one. He's got some kind of control. He wanted me. "So only at your place? Too bad."

I want to say, 'not at all,' but there's something in his eyes that tells me if I try that, the next topic of discussion is going to be our first case. I do remember that deal. And still don't really like it, but I do know that I'll keep it if that's what it takes to keep him off that topic. And because I do want him. I can't lie to myself about that.

"You promised me time without any kind of demands, Palmer."

I make sure that I'm very cool. He needs to think that he's imposing on me, that I don't want what he's offering. But I do, and it's insane to have to hurt him. Why is he making me do this?

Oh, god, I'm going as crazy as he is. I make my own decisions, always have.

He smiles. "Demands, is it? Well, I suppose that I *am* demanding when I'm with you."

He's not getting insulted. Hmm. Is that because he knows what neither of us is saying, that I want him too? Well, he'd better not say it.

"All right, Clayton. You'll have your time. Just got carried away by you." And his hand comes over and l_-•"‘�-•"‘�

I could swear that he's hurt, but it passes, if it was there at all, and he's smiling again.

"All right. Time to go over the place. Come on." He turns that smile on me, and I make myself stick to my decision. God, I want him. And I don't want to. "You'll want to make sure I get everything." He shows me a very small device. "This is what we're looking for."

I narrow my eyes at it, then nod. Always good to find out more of how he works. I'm with him as he covers every inch of Rabb's apartment, listening as he points out where the bugs are and remembering how rough he sounded when he was begging me for more, watching his skilled fingers as they take out the bugs and try to forget how they felt last night on my skin. I finally manage to push all of that out of my mind and pay attention to what he's saying and doing. It's important to make sure that he's not getting one by me, and I don't think he is. He is damned good. I'm learning from him.

We end up back at that counter. He sweeps the pile of bugs into a bag and hands it to me. "Thought you'd like these, as a souvenir. Oh, and you'll want this." He produces a videotape and stuff it into the bag. "The master copy. You've got them all, now."

I take the bag from him. I do want to have those devices studied. And if he's right about the video, I want that, too. I will not have Rabb blackmailed. But there is a problem.

"I have no way to verify that, Palmer."

"You could come over and search my place," he offers, then laughs, and I'm sure it's at my expression. What good would that do? He could have duplicates hidden anywhere. We both know that. "But that can wait, especially since I'm still living in a hotel room."

I suddenly want to ask him where he's staying. But that's not a good idea.

"The Hilton Washington," he says very casually. Is he reading my mind? He can't be. "Just for a few days, until I can find a place of my own." And then he's back to the previous subject. "Come on, Webb, I'm trying to work with you here. That's the only other copy. I swear it. If I'm lying and you catch me, you don't have to do a damned thing for me ever." His eyes find mine. "No more pressure for that talk."

He isn't lying. He wants that deal. I know he does. I still don't understand why he keeps pushing about David's death, why he thinks I'm ever going to talk with him about it, if he really does at all, but he does want to be in my bed and that deal is the only way he's going to get there.

Of course, that's what I want him to think. I'm not so sure he couldn't just persuade me. But I'll get over that. I'll figure what his appeal is and weed out whatever's in me that responds to him.

"All right. I'll take your word on it. For now," I add pointedly, and he chuckles.

"Fine with me."

This is awkward. I need to leave, but I don't know how to. I slept with this man last night and I'm yelling at him today.

"Don't worry so damned much, Webb," he murmurs, and his smile has that warmth in it that I like. "You'll get wrinkles. Now go to work and get ready for Rabb tonight. I am looking forward to anything you'll tell me about that."

"Nothing will happen that you'll find interesting."

"I find everything about you interesting, Clay."

That hits me very hard. I don't know the last time anyone said that to me. I don't think anyone has.

"We'll talk soon, about Rabb and you, that is. If you tell me enough of the details, I'll let you off the hook for our deal for oh, one time. You can't refuse that, can you?"

That brings up something that I will not think about. Disappointment. He'd rather hear about Rabb than me.

"Fine," I say coolly. I'm not going to show Palmer that he's gotten to me at all. I give him a smile, too.

He smiles back. "You think about that. Don't have to decide now. And hell, don't count on that offer being there too long. Maybe I'll change my mind. I'm finding that you're a lot more fun to think about than flyboy."

And his smile gets a predatory look to it, and I know that he still wants me. I don't know how he keeps knowing just what to say to make me feel so good. They can't have trained him that well in the DSD. It has to be his own gift.

"I'll be in touch," I say quickly and move away.

"I will be seeing you," he says before I get to the door. I stop and look at him. "At Langley."

I knew it. I just nod. I can handle this. I have to. Then my hand is on the doorknob. He's watching me with those intense eyes, and it's harder than I thought to turn it.

I still want him, too. But I can't give in to that.

I push the door open, get down the stairs and into my car, then let myself breathe. I'm in bad shape. I have to get somewhere safe. But I have a meeting over at State at four, I think, and I need to go to my office before that. And get some food. I'm starving.

I start the car and turn on the CD player. Joshua Redman, his saxophone lifting me up with his perfect notes. Ah, the beauty and perfection of jazz. Something I picked up at Harvard, when I took time and got over to Ryles. He's doing his composition "Obsession." Perfect choice for how I'm feeling. But for which man?

I let the music take me away and just drive.

The End