But A Whimper

A JAG Fan Fiction by Mareen

Disclaimer: I do not own them. They are owned by CBS. No infringement intended.

Rated R for m/m (R/W)

Feedback addy: syad.nms@gmx.net

Sequel to: "The Security of Living without a Conscience".

I'd like to thank my beta Mousehounde and Stefanie...again. Thanks. :-)


But A Whimper
by Mareen

He has never visited me at home. I am surprised that he even knows where I live. When I answered the knock at my door that evening and he was standing there looking at me, I was so stunned that I just stared at him, unable to say anything.

"Rabb", I manage to get out at last. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you I needed to talk to you. At the Opera. You remember?"

I had hoped somehow. It is strange. Something inside of me had hoped. But as always all he wants from me is a favor. It's always a favor. It's never me.

"Yes, sure", I say. "Come in."

He's still in uniform, so when he comes in, the first thing he does is take off his hat and hold it in his hand, until I take it and put it on the bureau in my hall.

"I was cooking dinner", I say. "Would you like something to eat?"

I'm sure he'll say no, but to my surprise he nods and follows me into the kitchen. .

"Smells good", he smiles. "What is it?"

He stands beside me in front of the Wok I'm using for cooking and looks into it. He's so near to me, I can feel the heat of his body. It's everywhere, surrounding me, making it hard to breath. I can't breath.

"Chinese", I get out.

"Smells as if you are a good cook."

He smiles at me.

"I like to cook", I answer. I try to make my heart stop beating like a jackhammer. I want to relax. I don't want to be as nervous as I am. But this is Harmon Rabb, in my house. His arm near to my arm. Touching me. He's not touching me on purpose. But he touches me. Me.

He steps away and asks for a beer. I don't have one. I drink wine. He takes a coke instead. I watch him drinking. The movement of his lips, his Adam's apple. I want to kiss them both, lick him. I want to know what he feels like. How he tastes.

I briskly turn around and force my eyes down to the food in the Wok.

"What do you want, Rabb? Why are you here?"

I don't look at him. I stare at the food. I don't want to hear what he says. I want to make myself believe that he's here because of me.

"I need you to do me a favor", he says and I close my eyes for a second.

"What kind of favor?" I say without turning around. Instead I mash around with the food in the Wok. I listen to his voice while he tells me what he wants from me. I listen to him, but I don't really "listen". I know in the end that I'll do what he asks, but right now, I just listen to his voice and try to pretend he's telling me different things. Nice things. No cruel things. Nice things.

At last, I say: "Rabb, I'm not sure..." The usual BlaBla coming from me before I change my mind and do it in spite of knowing better. We always do it that way. We always do.

And then, suddenly, I say "No, Rabb. No." and I mean it. I really do. I don't know what's different this time but today I can say no and mean it. Maybe because I'm too tired of all this. Probably.

He looks at me with an expression of tremendous surprise and I smile inside, but not to his face. He frowns and I say it again. "No."

"Why?" he asks. I'd expected him to tell me my decision wouldn't be moral, it wouldn't be right. The plain question he asks surprises me so much, I tell the truth. Again.

I can't let this become a habit, telling the truth I mean. I have to find my own self again.

"Because I'm tired of you asking me favors. Because I don't want to be your little moron anymore. You treat me like shit, Rabb, and I'm tired of that. I'm tired of letting you use my feelings for you against me, for the good of your purposes only."

"I..."

"I want you to go, Rabb. Leave now."

He looks at me as if he sees me for the first time, as if he really sees me for the first time. He stares at me and I stare back. I hope he won't lie to me now and tell me he didn't know, because he did know.

But instead of the things I'd expected him to say, he gets up from where he sits. I am sure he will leave now and never come back. I'm so sorry and I hurt. And I am sick and tired of the pain. Since I met him I all I do is hurt. I hurt all the time. I need to find myself. I need to get back to my old self if I can, then maybe one day never seeing him again won't hurt.

He gets up and crosses over to me with a few steps. He just stands there, looking down at me. He's taller than I am. I look up at him, too proud to look away right now. I won't do it. I won't let him win again this time. I owe that to myself.

He lifts his hand and caresses my cheek. I lean into the touch, in spite of knowing better, just like I always do when I'm with him.

"Don't ", I say and I hate the pleading sound of my voice.

"Why not?" he answers.

It's a mistake, his mistake, because I won't let this moment slip through my fingers. I won't allow it. I push him back against the kitchen wall, pressing him against it, holding him there. He's probably too surprised to stop me or maybe he doesn't want to stop me.

I hold him there, looking into his face. His eyes are wide open, staring at me, his breathing is becoming harsh. I pull his head down to me and press my lips against his. I force his mouth open and then my tongue is touching his tongue.

It's a fight.

But he tastes just the way I've always imagined him to taste. I groan into his mouth.

My hands are pulling on his clothes, opening his shirt, revealing his chest. I don't want it to happen in here, in the kitchen, but I can't stop myself. I want him so badly. My hands are on his chest, roaming over him. His skin is hot and he's kissing me back. My God, he's kissing me back now.

He's stopping me then, pulling me into the living room. We don't make it farther because I can't wait until we are in the bedroom. I force him down on the floor. He watches me from there, while I take off my clothes, one piece after the other, until I stand in front of him, naked and very aroused.

I get down on my knees, besides him on the floor. He lets me strip him.

Suddenly I wonder if this is all a ploy, if he is using sex against me to get me to do whatever he wants. And, oh god, he's so good in using it, because after this one time, he'll get my life if he wants it. He'll get my life.

He shakes me out of my thoughts by letting his fingers trail over my chest, down between my legs. His hand is closing around me and I groan. He starts stroking, watching me while doing it. He never takes his eyes off my face.

I'm there on my knees, with Harmon Rabb's hand around my cock and I can't stop groaning. Sweat is running down my face. I close my eyes and open them again because I want to see him, I have to make it real by looking at him while he's doing this.

He makes me come with one last stroke, still watching me in seemingly utter fascination.

I sit there then, panting, trying to catch my breath. I open my mouth, intending to ask him why he did it. But then I realize, I'm not the only one who's aroused. It surprises me. Something inside of me was sure he would be unmoved by all of this, by "us", if there is an "us". But he is aroused and I know he wants me to do something about it.

I go down on him. I use my fingers, my tongue, my lips. I touch his body, I taste it and I smell it, like I've done so often before, in my dreams. I do it slowly because I want it to last as long as possible. His screams and groans are wonderful, encouraging, arousing.

I snuggle between his thighs at last. His smell is surrounding me.

I can hear his voice. He's talking to me.

"Please", he whispers. So I do what he wants me to do, with all my love.

I want it to be as good as I can manage.

I want him to never forget this, never forget his own screams, screams that came out of his mouth because I touched him, because I made love to him with my mouth.

I want him to hurt whenever he remembers this, because I know it will be our first and only time, even if he doesn't realize it yet. I know him too well.

I want him to hurt out of need for my touch, my hands, my heat, my mouth, my tongue, my cock.

I want him to hurt, but I am probably the only one who will hurt out of need later. So I use my body to punish him for not feeling the same way I do.

For not hurting.

No, for hurting me, instead of himself. It's always me who gives in our so-called relationship. He never does.

I suck harder and his screams are like music to my ears.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I put my clothes back on first, while he watches me from the floor. I don't want him to win here, to have the advantage of being the first one dressed, the first one to put the moment behind him.

Is he sorry? I want to ask him, but I can't. I can't make myself do it.

When I open my mouth, what comes out is: "You'll get the information you need tomorrow."

He just nods, the expression in his eyes unreadable. I go into the kitchen to get rid of my burned chinese food. When he follows me at last, he's back in his uniform, back into being Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb, Navy lawyer, lady's man. Nothing of what he is now reminds me of the man who was lying on the floor of my living room only a few minutes ago, screaming because my lips were all over his body.

He watches me dumping the food into the trash with too much strength.

"I...", he starts.

"Your hat is in the hall", I say, way too fast. "I don't suppose you want to stay here with me."

He goes into the hall and comes back with his hat, holding it, obviously unsure of what to say.

"I'll call you", he says at last.

I look at him. "Yes. Whatever you want."

Whatever Harmon Rabb wants. As always. It's always what he wants.

"You can find your way out?"

He nods. He wants to say something else, I know it. But he leaves then, without saying anything. I hear the door when he closes it. It sounds much too loud.

I close my eyes. I am terribly tired.

It's never a bang, you know.

It's always a whimper.

"This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang
But a whimper."

T.S. Eliott

end