Title: Rite of Spring

Author: Gail

Fandom: JAG

Pairing: Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Clay takes Clark for a ride after work. Smut ensues.

Archive: yes to Querstrich, RSA, CKOS, WWOMB. All others, please ask first.

Email: gem225@hotmail.com

Series: Eclipse Snapshot #22 and sequel to Spring Picnic.

Web Pages: http://members.freespeech.org/gem/work/
http://www.angelfire.com/ma4/gem/work/

Disclaimer: If Clark Palmer and Clayton Webb belonged to me, I'd get to help pick out the menu, and they might even feed me by hand every so often. Unfortunately, they belong to Belisarius
Productions and CBS.

For the spring equinox, 2002, which was March 20th. This is for everyone who's been kind enough to give my Webb/Palmer slashes a chance. Elizabeth beta'd and gave me the title.

Eclipse Snaphot #22: Rite of Spring
by Gail

I glance over at Clay, then away. He's focused on driving, but I have to wonder what the hell we're doing on the road. Not that I mind, but it's Wednesday afternoon, sunny still and warm for
March, and I'd rather be heading home. I can tell we're not doing that, but I can't tell anything more. I hate when I don't know what's going on. It's not a CIA thing; he already told me we were
done for the day. I loosen my tie and undo the first two buttons of my shirt.

"Put on some music, Clark. It'll be an hour or so before we're there."

"Real music, or the stuff you like?"

He's smiling. "Anything you want. I put some CDs in the glove compartment."

I'm opening it and going through the pile, and yeah, this is the good stuff. The Beatles, the Stones, even the Dead. I always liked them, even though they did drugs and were weird. The music worked, and that was the big thing. Not that I played any of these where anyone could hear them until I was high enough in the DSD that it wouldn't matter what the hell I listened to. Which meant, never. Clay knows, though. Clay knows a lot about me.

I put on the Beatles and start tapping on the dashboard to "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." When I check Clay, he's still smiling. "You beginning to like this?"

"It's catchy," is all he says, but it's enough. I'll get him into more than classical stuff and jazz.

The CD plays through, and I put in another one, the Dead this time. We're on the sixth cut when Clay makes a turn through some kind of gate and drives down a long, winding drive lined with a
lot of big trees. He's up to something big. Maybe that picnic he promised me a year ago? What's the date? March 20th. Yeah, it's the first day of spring. I grin. My picnic. This is going to be
great.

We pull up to the kind of house that belongs with the trees, big and impressive. Clay parks the car in one of the parking spots and looks at me.

"You didn't have any plans for tonight, did you?"

"A little late to ask, don't you think?" I'm grinning. Like I'd have any plans to do anything without him.

He grins back. "I'll take that as a no."

"So what are you going to do with me, Webb?" I arch my back and stretch my arms over my head, curving them back before they hit the roof, watching him watch me. "Anything good?"

"Keep that up, and we'll never get inside." His voice is low and interested, and I bring down my arms and spread my legs.

"I don't know what's inside. I've got you all to myself here, and I can think of a few things to do with you. Come here and let me show you." Whatever he's got planned can wait. I want him now.

"You'll like what's inside," he says firmly and opens his door. "Out, Palmer. Now."

I give him a mocking look. "Yes, sir, Mr. Webb."

He gets out of the car and waits for me to do the same, arms folded. I don't move. Teasing Clay is one of my favorite things to do.

"I suppose Mother won't mind that we're late."

Porter's here? I'd better hurry up. I slide out of the car, shut the door, and look at him. "Ready when you are."

He nods and heads toward the front door as I follow. This can't be my picnic if Porter's here. Damn. But if this surprise has Porter, it'll have to be good, and it's fun spending time with her. Maybe she'll tell me some more stories about Clay. I love those stories.

He walks in like he owns the place, and I walk in after him. Maybe he does. Wouldn't surprise me.

A tall, blond man comes up to Clay, and we stop.

"Clayton. It's good to see you again."

Clay's age, decent dresser, good looking, wedding ring. All right. As long as he behaves himself, he can live.

"Good to see you, too, Sean." They shake hands, then Clay gestures to me. "This is my friend, Clark."

"Clark." He holds out his hand to me, and I shake it. "It's good to meet you."

"And you." I let go of his hand.

He's talking to Clay again. "Everything is ready for you."

"Thank you. Come on, Clark."

We go down a hall, then Clay stops in front of a door and opens it. "In here."

I walk in after him, and god, it's beautiful, bushes and flowers everywhere and the sound of water falling to the right. So many flowers, all colors, shapes, and sizes, and when I sniff, I can smell them, too.

I look for Clay, who's over at a stone table working on the cork of a champagne bottle. He pops it and pours two glasses. I walk over and take one as he hands it to me. The table has silver domed plates, which says food to me.

He raises his glass and touches it to mine. "To the first day of spring."

We both sip, then I lower my glass. "Where's Porter?" He said she was here, or did he? There isn't a glass for her.

Clay's smiling, and his eyes are sparkling. "I would assume my mother is at home, unless she has a dinner engagement." He takes another sip. "I hope you like the champagne."

He tricked me into getting out of the car. I'm going to get him for that, but later. I'm hungry, and this is my picnic after all. "Tastes fine to me." I drink some and run my tongue over my lips.
"Nice. Just you and me here, then?"

"Unless you want to invite Sean."

I narrow my eyes at that idea. "If you want the Viking, go get him." Clay can have him if he wants him, of course; I want Clay to have whatever he wants, but I'll make sure Sean learns a few things I haven't shown Clay yet. Like how much it can hurt to be fucked even with a lot of lube, and how good I am at giving out pain without leaving any marks. I smile at Clay. "Do you want him?"

"No." Clay puts his glass on the table and lifts the cover of one of the plates. "This is Richard's house, Sean's lover. Have something."

I can see that he's telling me the truth about Sean, so I drop the subject. Sean can go find his Richard to fuck him. He looks the type to want that.

"So this is your idea of a picnic." I sit on the stone bench as he uncovers more food, then reach for one of the small plates and put some of everything on it: a piece of some kind of quiche with green stuff in it, bread, salad, and a piece of another kind of quiche. I hope there's meat somewhere in this meal. There has to be. Clay knows I like meat.

Clay sits down next to me. "Another time I'll make sandwiches, but at least we have privacy."

That's right: I told him all I needed for a picnic was sandwiches and privacy. And him, but I don't need to say that. I pick up a fork and try some of the quiche with the green stuff. Not bad. Might be broccoli. I could ask him, but I'd rather figure it out. I chew. Tastes like broccoli.

"I thought a light meal would be best. That way, when you fuck me over the table, you'll have enough energy to do it right."

He just said that. Yeah, he did. His eyes have that sparkle inthem. I smile. "And what if I don't want to fuck you over the table?"

"I'll have to hope you'll find something interesting to do with me, then. I trust you won't disappoint me."

I can think of something now. "There's room under the table, unless you're hungry."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Clay fills up his plate and starts eating, and I eat, too. The other quiche turns out to be great, bacon and cheese, and I concentrate on that, but eat my salad, too, like a good boy, and a couple of pieces of bread, and drink more champagne. Clay eats some of everything and keeps my glass filled.

"Trying to get me drunk?" I lift my glass and grin at him.

"Maybe. Would that a problem?"

"We still have to drive home, Clay." I hate being serious and responsible, but I don't take chances with his life.

"As a matter of fact, we don't." He takes another sip of champagne to wash down the good quiche. "I asked Sean to prepare a bedroom for us, and I made sure neither of us had anything
tomorrow morning. As long as we're in by noon, we'll be fine."

He really planned this. My cock's hard, and I reach down and free it from my pants.

Clay looks at my crotch, then up at me. "Is that a hint?" He runs his tongue over his lips, and my cock throbs. I know how good he is with that mouth. "Shall I get under the table now? Or bend
over?"

"I'll fuck you if you want, but I like the thought of you fucking me." I pump my cock slowly as he watches. "Will you fuck me, Clay?" I want him buried balls deep in me. But if he wants me
inside him, I can do that, too.

"Yes." He's breathing hard. "I thought since last time we went on a picnic I fucked you, you'd want to fuck me."

"That was a year ago, Clay." Does he think I keep score?

"True. You want me now?"

I always want him. "Yes." I drain my glass, then stand and start stripping.

He watches me with a smile. "In a hurry, Clark?"

"We can eat afterwards. Strip, Webb." I toss my pants on top of the rest of my clothes, then shove the plates out of my way and plant my hands on the table. "Now."

He laughs and gets up. "Certainly."

He takes his time undressing, though, and I scowl, but I don't say anything more. Finally he's naked, his cock bobbing up, and I lick my lips as he positions himself behind my ass and rubs lube on and into my hole.

"How do you want it?" His voice is dark and full of that same kind of longing that I heard the first time he fucked me. "Tell me."

"Hard and fast." My asshole is clenching and releasing, my cock is leaking precome, and I know that I could come with just a few strokes, but I want to come with him inside me. "Do it."

For his answer, he pushes into me, and I groan as he pumps in and out, hard and fast, just I wanted. Clay in me, filling me up, needing me, only me. Yes. The burn and the pain make it better, make it real.

I shoot when he wraps his hand around my cock and buries himself in me, and he comes, too, hard enough to leave him shaking.

He pulls out. "Hard and fast enough?"

I take a breath. "Yeah."

"Good." I turn my head and see him smiling as he pulls on his pants. "Want some more champagne?"

It's so easy with him. Never been like this with anyone. Never even close.

"Sure." I wipe myself off with the napkins Clay hands me, then get dressed and sit down again with him. "Thanks."

He lifts his glass. "I think we should make sure to have a picnic every year."

"Only every year? I could go for one when it's warmer."

He laughs. "Yes, and we can, but I like the idea of welcoming the spring with food and sex."

If he wants it, he can have it. "So I do next year's, right?"

"Right."

He sips some more champagne and reaches for the quiche with the green stuff, and I get another piece of the one with the bacon.

"You can get me drunk now," I say casually, and Clay laughs and reaches for the bottle.

The End