Author: Gail
Fandom: JAG
Pairing: Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer
Rating: NC-17
Summary: What happens between Clayton and Clark one time when Clayton gets stubborn about their deal.
Archive: yes to WWOMB.
Email: gem225@hotmail.com
Series: Part 8 of the Eclipse series
Web Page: http://www.fortunecity.de/lindenpark/vogelweide/216/main.htm
Disclaimer: I love these characters dearly, but they do not belong to me. The JAG characters belong to CBS and Belisarius Productions; the X-Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox. I want it known that I only watched the show because both Mareen and Katja said I had to find out about this Krycek guy. It's their fault. Honest.
Warnings: Dom/sub action, and someone talks about love.
I've gotten so much help with this story: Katja, Mareen, Lexi, Tinnean, Page, and Athea, who all read the first version and made very helpful comments, some of which I took, and Alex, who read the revised version and did the final beta. Thank you, my friends. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Eclipse 8: Dark side of the moon
By Gail
************
I know how to get to Clayton Webb.
It's almost too damned easy, and I know I'm taking chances. He's just about as smart as I am, and he's getting to know me much too well now that we're working together, but I love this game too much to let it go.
I know he does, too, except for the fact that he's not in control of it. But I know how to make that right.
But to do that, I have to get it started. A nice, simple, circular argument. But I don't care. I want to do it, so I do it. When it's the right time, and this definitely is.
I get in a little earlier than usual and get what I need. Nothing sinister, just a file, one I've taken out quite a few times. No one ever asks why I take it out so often, but then no one asks me much of anything. Quiet place to work, the CIA, at least if what you used to be is DSD. It doesn't matter. No one said that every part of my new life was going to be fun. Enough of it is.
I get into his office and put it on his desk. This time I decide that I don't want him to find it right away and slide it in with some other files. I straighten the pile, then study it. Yes. Nothing to say I was here. Perfect.
I make sure to lock the door behind me, and I go back to work. But I know that he'll be looking for me later. Coming to my office, dragging me away from a meeting, a quick talk in the hall, cornering me in the bathroom, down in the garage...he will find me.
The thought of any of those, all of those, makes me smile. Better stay away from him this morning. He'll see it. He always does.
And that would spoil my game. I really hate having my games spoiled.
So does he. He just won't admit it.
************
Something's wrong today. I know it as soon as I open the door to my office.
Oh, nothing looks wrong but I know enough to trust my instincts. Someone's been in here and I hope for once that I don't know who it was. It would be a relief to have it be my boss, or another agent, or even some outsider who's decided that I have some secret he wants and has even managed to get in to try and steal it, although that's pretty unlikely.
But I doubt it. It's the same person who always manages to get in here whenever he feels like it.
I'm tempted to just go and tell him that he can take this game of his and shove it, but if I'm wrong, he'd really win. I can hear him now, even though I've told him time and again that he cannot talk that way here:
*You just can't stop thinking about me, can you?* And the winning smile, the tongue across the lips. *I am flattered. It's been a while, hasn't it? I'll be over later. If you can wait that long. Or I could close the door and we could do something right now.* A hand lifting to beckon me over. A look that promises any damned thing if I'll lose control right now. *Come on, Clay, nobody but you ever comes in here.* And the laugh when I glare and leave. Or don't, although I always have so far.
The worst thing is, he'd be right. I can't stop thinking about him. And if he has decided to start that game again, it's perfect timing because Harm's decided to try having a girlfriend again, and I get to be 'understanding' about it. And expected to be available if she has a headache or is too tired. The last time he called late with that wheedling tone in his voice I told him to jerk off and let me sleep and hung up on him. He was smart enough to make some time for me that weekend and make it good time, too, and he agreed he wouldn't do that any more and he hasn't yet, but it still isn't easy. And the worst thing is having *him* right there.
Clark Palmer. Master game player. Devious, intelligent, cocky, respectful at work almost all of the time, and incredibly certain about every little thing. My fellow agent. My partner.
I'm still getting used to that one. I have moments, although not too many now, when I see him in the hall and almost reach for my cell phone to alert a team. It makes him laugh when I do that, too. Because he knows what it really means. That he's still forbidden, still strange and alien and wild to me.
And he is. Especially when he's on his hands and knees moaning and pushing back his ass so that I can fuck him. Or down on his knees sucking my cock. Or even, once in a while, giving me a taste of what he's like when he's in control. Very, very hot and even more certain than when he's in the office.
I try not to do any of those very often, and I don't. Except he has this way of getting me to.
And I'm getting damned sure that this is one of those days when he's decided to start that game again. I should go through the files very quickly and weed out the one he's put there, then just burn it. Of course, then I'm sure he'd make occasion to *need* that file and it's a very safe bet that the records have me as the one who signed it out. So I can't do that. That's not even thinking about the fact that I'd be destroying Company property and would have to answer for that. At this point, I really don't care about that at all.
The absolute best solution to this would be to find the file, ignore it, and return it to its proper place, without a single damned word to Clark Palmer. Who then would find a new way to torment me. And the thought of that gets my heart racing way too fast.
He can make it worse. I know that. He knows that. All he has to do is talk about David Stoner. Hint at what he knows, what I don't know, what I don't want to know. He would, and I would not be able to stop him. I'd try, but I already know I wouldn't succeed.
I'm not going to think about that now. It's more than likely I'm too tense and edgy. I should just go down, get some coffee, stop by his office and see if he's even in. Maybe he has a dentist's appointment or something.
But he always finds a way to let me know if he's going to be late. Always. No, he's here. And waiting.
I take a deep breath and make myself stop thinking about it. It's here, it's not here, I'll handle it. And I reach to take down the first file.
It's not that one. And I open it and start reading.
************
Five-thirty. And no sign of him. Well, I did put it closer to the bottom than the top, and he's meticulous, with a lot of other things to take up his time. Might not even find it today. That would not be good, but hey, that's how the game goes. I'll survive. I could use a session on the firing range. Should go over there.
But I'm getting that feeling. That gorgeous, Clayton Webb's pissed off at me feeling. I listen. No, nothing yet, but it's only a matter of time. My smile's spreading, I know it. Good. I'd love to get out of here. Or get dragged. Either way's fine with me.
I always knew that Clayton Webb loved having control. I just wasn't so sure he'd want it over me. But he does.
I start cleaning off my desk, making sure that I'll be ready to go if that's what happens, and it will. Not much longer now. He cannot stay away from me once he finds the file. Not for long.
It's going to be good to have him fuck me again. It's been too long.
************
I stare at it. I was right. He's in that damned mood again. The file that's the official account of the very first mission he and I went on. The one that ended up with my friend killing himself. I open the file and try and read the first page, but I have to slam it shut. And this is without looking at any of the pictures. Damn.
I'm tempted to end this all. I do know how to do it. Go to him, tell him that I finally, damn him, want to talk about it. Why he wants that, I don't know. Does he want me to kill him? Or does he really want to help me? That's hard to believe, but sometimes I do.
There are moments when I think that he's doing this just because he can, for sheer amusement, and others when I'm sure he doesn't even know himself why he's playing this game with me.
It doesn't matter, really. I can't do what he's asking in his own damned insane and concerned way. I can't face that pain. But I can go and tell him to stop this. And listen to him as he tells me he won't. And what that means. Our deal. Talk to him, or fuck him.
I hate that I'm already hard.
************
When the feeling gets even stronger, I make sure that I'm not doing anything but waiting. If I play this wrong, he still can get away. He did it once, back at the beginning, and I had a hell of a lot of work to fix that damned mistake. Give him enough of an opening, and he'll go to ground. Or rather a bottle of scotch. And that's really not good for him.
He doesn't even bother to knock, and I grin. Oh, good. It's even later than I thought, six already. We have this part of the place to ourselves. Maybe this time we'll start here. Fine with me. I've had dreams about him and this desk. It's sturdy enough for anything he could think up to do to me.
His face is tense, much too white, and full of anger. It's too bad he can't just skip past all the guilt and self-hatred. Or is this going to be *the* time? I lean forward. If that's the case, I'm screwed. Or redeemed, I'm not sure which. It would be something to get him to break that much. To know he'd finally found the way out of this trap he's in. He does that, he'll be as good as me. Maybe even better.
Scary thought. But it's what I want. Clayton Webb operating at full capacity. And *my* partner. My dream come true, and it will someday, as long as I'm patient. And I'm very patient where he's concerned.
He's just standing there, and I'm pretty sure by now this isn't going to be the time when he makes that jump. O.K., somebody's got to speak. Might as well be me.
"Hey, Webb." The door's still open. Call him anything else here at the Company and he'll freeze me out. I make sure to keep to all the rules he's set out for me. "Something I can do for you?"
He's staring at me still. Very strange. And very promising. I suppose in the worst of all worlds, Rabb would have to show up about now with roses or some new vegetarian recipe and fuck up everything. Not that he ever comes over here, something else that pisses Webb off about him, but that's not my problem. I'm just as glad. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't even know that I'm CIA now. Ah, Rabb would be furious if he found that out. And a furious Rabb is just what I don't need. He's still that idiot I know so well. Push the right buttons, and I can, and he'll be firing that gun of his. I'm not going to let that happen. I don't need any more scars from him. From Clayton, sure. I love the marks he puts on me.
But Rabb's in court this afternoon, then off with his lady of the moment. More fool he. I've got his Clayton Webb looking at me as though I was some kind of very interesting puzzle, one of his more attractive looks. Still angry, but beginning to think about what could happen. About what this whole game means. About me.
I love when he thinks about me.
Well, I'm not going to sit here all day, even for Clayton Webb's pleasure. I'd much rather do something a little more active for that. It's always worth it. I stand.
"Anything at all?" I let a hint of mockery into my voice, but not too much. He hates being mocked. I know that damned well. "Webb? You awake there?"
He brings the file from behind his back and slams it down on my desk. I manage to catch it before it spills all over the floor. It's served its purpose. I put it in the top drawer and make a note to move it first thing Monday morning. Or earlier if I can get in here. Earlier would be better.
"You never learn." He shuts the door. Good. I check this room every day. No one hears what goes on here.
"I learn all the time. It's you who won't." I wait, but he's not talking again. "You know the deal. You ready to look at more than the first page of that file? Ready to face it all?"
He gives me a damned good withering look, considering how upset he is. "This isn't the X-Files, Palmer. The truth isn't necessarily out there."
I grin. He hates watching any kind of television, he says, but put that one show on and he's hooked, watches it and glares at me when I say anything. Then he analyzes it when it's over, and he's never satisfied with any of the explanations the show gives. He's seriously cute when he's on a tear. I've bought all the tapes, and we're working through them slowly.
I know he's not hot for Scully, although they would look pretty damn good together and she's smart enough for him. He'd even look hot with Mulder, but Clay would never put up with that alien shit. Clay believes in science and rational thinking. Works for me.
"But wouldn't you rather be Fox Mulder than yourself, Webb?" I like teasing him. And he brought the subject up.
His eyes flicker down over his suit, which is nothing like Mulder's sleek Armani. Webb's taste is more conservative, but it suits him. Especially the vest. "No. I have better taste in ties. But if I were Mulder, would that make you Krycek?" His voice is dry and even amused. He's teasing me back. Well, this is a first at work.
"Sure, I'll be him if you want. But only if I get to keep my arm." And it's a good moment, and of course, it's gone. And dammit, I don't even know what the fuck I said. But then it's probably just him remembering what's really going on here.
"I'm not doing this again." Yes, he's remembered why he's here. Damn.
"Fine. Then we can go out, get some dinner, and talk. About Stoner." I keep it simple. He has to understand the choice he has to make, and sometimes he gets lost in all his feelings. There's always a way out, Clay. You just have to take a few steps to find it. But you're never going to be able to say I didn't try to point it out to you. "I'll buy. It's Friday. We've got all weekend."
I'm pretty sure of what's going to happen now, and it does. He freezes, and I wait. Nothing I can do until he comes out of it. Then he lets out a short breath.
"Damn you, Clark."
I wait again. Push now, and lose everything. Then he looks at me, in a way that he hasn't since the last time, that flicker of interest, of desire, and I know.
We're on. No matter what he says now, I'll be in that bed tonight. That guest-room bed.
He might take Harm into his bedroom, and he does, dammit, but he took me to a bed first. That much I'm very sure of. Harm ended up on the carpet, then over the couch for his first times. God, the way he went on about it on that tape I have, you'd think he'd never gotten fucked before. Poor Harm. Just doesn't know what to do with it when it gets this good. Well, I know. And something funny, my game here with Clayton probably helps their relationship, if that's the word for how Rabb jerks Clay around. If Clay didn't have me to fuck, he just might go looking. But he never does. I make sure of that. Not that I'm doing it for Rabb. He's not my problem. Clayton is.
"Damnation might be fun, Clayton." First name is fine now, but not the short form. And this is only because it's late. "You should try it some time." And I smile in a way that tells him that I'm the one to go to if he wants a taste of that.
He's got his color back. Still mad, but focused on me now. And thinking, somewhere in that incredible mind of his, about what he'd like to do to me. About what I can do for him. I move, just a little, reminding him of how well I do everything.
"Tonight, then?" He doesn't sound interested, but that would be asking for more of a miracle than I believe in.
"You inviting me over?" Just one more taunt, one more jab, so that he'll still think it's all about the sex. And right now, actually, it is.
"You'll come anyway." But his eyes are asking, not telling.
Ah. This is about needing to be wanted. Harm must really have fucked up this time. Usually that's his role, to be the good guy, the friendly one. I get to be the demon lover and the bad guy. Not that I really want to be the bad guy, but hell, it's what works. Well, I can do what he needs. Nice to have something else I can give Clayton Webb.
"Of course I will." I smile. "I told you I would."
No declaration of eternal love or anything even close, but a bond. A promise. A commitment.
And that tenseness in him goes. I did it again. That was what he needed. I never knew how good it would feel to give someone what he needs.
He stares at me. "I do not understand you." Very quiet. "You make no sense."
That's good. Since if you figured out this game I'm damned sure you wouldn't play it any more. And I'm not looking for that to happen.
"I like you." Time for the brilliant smile. "I always have. And," a quick dart with the tongue, "you're well worth the trouble."
That one goes over just fine. "Only you, Palmer," he mutters, then opens the door.
"Anything else you need, Webb?" Door open, last name. Unless I'm trying to die.
He gives me an icy stare, then shuts the door in almost a slam. A good sign. He's reacting again. That's right, Clay, don't think, just feel. I'll help with that as soon as I can.
When he's gone, I let myself think. There's a good place for Thai food I found. I'll bring that. I can go out for breakfast if we even remember. He's good about keeping enough coffee beans, so no need for that. And, damn, have to pick up a new bottle of lube. Unless he's remembered, we're out. And he really isn't very good at remembering that. It must have something to do with the fact that he doesn't want to think about our game, but that's fine, as long as he keeps playing it. He and Harm use K-Y, but it's not what I like. I like getting the more exotic ones, and I do need him to know that it's me he's taking, not Rabb. And to think that I once was sure that the only way I'd get him was to be Rabb. God, I'm glad I was wrong that time.
I shake my head. There have to be easier ways to get laid. Well, there are, many of them. But none of them end up with me in bed with Clayton Webb. So they're not worth my time. I like having the best.
I lock up my desk and set the sensors before leaving myself. Time to get on with the good part.
************
I'm sitting at the kitchen table, sipping the scotch I just poured, waiting for him. I want him so damned much. That's the worst part. And he knows it. He knows how to wait, how to get to me. And he's so good. At everything.
And everything he does reminds me of how he is in bed.
Well, only sometimes. Only when Harm's pulled away with work or girlfriend or just because he's Harmon Rabb, pilot and loner. It's then that Clark Palmer decides to start getting to me.
Where the hell is he?
And then the bell rings. Always polite about that, at least. I'm sure he could get in without my help. I should just not answer it.
It rings again.
Maybe it's not him. Better see.
Of course, it is.
"Hi." His eyes sweep over me. "Just got here?"
I nod. I am still in my suit, but he must have stopped at home or changed at work, because he's in jeans and that leather jacket. The Krycek look again. He's probably brought tapes of that damned show. He knows I can't resist it, probably thinks I've got fantasies about Krycek after what I said today. And why the hell I was letting myself relax that much at the Company, and with him, is beyond me. But I don't want Krycek. I want him.
"Come in," I finally say, and he does, heads right for the kitchen with a bag that smells good and has to be dinner. His fingers touch mine as he passes, making me very aware that we have the whole weekend, and he's carrying his gym bag, that I know has a change of clothes and who knows what else. No suit bag, though, so he's not planning to stay over Sunday night. Of course, he could always go home on Monday morning. That might be what he's planning.
Right now, I hope it is.
God, it always happens this way when he comes here. I fight it, I give in, and then I see him in my home and know that I want him here. But it's still better than when I go to his place, which I do. Then I have to face the fact that I want him even sooner.
The good thing is, once he's here, he does keep to our deal. He's never brought up David here, not since that first time. Other places, on a regular basis, but not here. I appreciate that. I need my home to be safe.
"I brought Thai," he says casually and puts it on the counter next to the microwave. "Pour me a drink?"
It's like we're lovers. We both know it's not like that, but we pretend it is. At least I think we're pretending. I know that in a little while I won't be able to think like this. I'll be with him and the rest of the world will be gone.
Even Harm. I don't really think about him during these weekends. I've often wondered what would happen if he decided to just show up. I doubt he will, though. I've told him that I don't want him to do that, even before I knew that I was going to be spending weekends with Palmer. With Clark.
I don't answer him, just get down another glass and pour a measure of scotch into it, hand it to him. His eyes are following me, the way they always do here.
"You want to eat now, or wait?" He smiles. "I brought some more X-Files tapes. Have to find out what they going to discover now."
"More unexplainable phenomena," I say in my best bored voice. "As usual. And absolutely no rational thinking whatsoever. He's even got Scully believing him, for god's sake." Damn, I'm getting into it, and the show isn't even on.
He gives me an amused look, telling me that he got it, but says nothing, takes a long sip instead. He closes his eyes as he swallows, and I just watch him enjoy it. He enjoys so many things.
"You going to wear that suit all night?"
I give him a look of my own, the one that tells him that he's going a little too far too fast, but he doesn't pay attention.
He's laughing. "If you don't get into something else, I'm going to start calling you Skinner. I'll bet you a week's pay that Skinner wears a suit at home, no matter what. Probably fucks in one, too."
"He the one you really want on the show, then?" It wouldn't surprise me, but then not much does about Palmer these days. I know he wants someone on the show, just not who. I doubt it's Scully. It could be Mulder, and I have to say that I've had my moments when I wondered what he and Krycek would be like together. Strange, is the best I've come up with. And I don't want him to want any of them. I want him to want me.
He snorts. "Like I'd ever go for an FBI agent, Webb. Come on, I know what I want." His voice is suddenly husky. "I want you."
And it's all changed now. It's just the two of us, in this kitchen, and he's coming over to where I'm standing.
He lets his hand touch my neck. That's what he usually does first, and the intimacy of it makes me breathe harder. "If you won't take off the damned suit, then I'll do it for you."
I see his hazel eyes grow darker, and I know that he will. All that I have to do is tell him to do it, nod, raise my eyebrows at this point, and Clark will go ahead and undress me, right here in the kitchen, like some kind of gentleman's gentleman, but I've never read about any of them giving their gentleman a blow job in the process. Or any of the other things Clark comes up with when he undresses me.
"If you want," I say after a moment. That isn't what I usually say, and he picks up on it right away. I should have just nodded, dammit. But I don't want him to do that. I just can't say what I do want.
He gives me a long look. "If I want, Clay? Do you need something else tonight? Something different?"
Damn. I'm shaking now. "I don't know what you mean," I manage, but I know I do. It's one of those times when I don't want to be in charge. It won't last long, I know, but it's here now.
"Sure you do." He grins at me. "But that's all right. Come on, Clay, bedroom." And he turns around and walks away.
I don't have to go with him. I know that. If I just stay here, he'll come back in a few minutes, act as though he went off to the bathroom and everything will just...go on. He's read me wrong before.
But he's not reading me wrong now, and I take one more long swallow from the glass, feeling the burn with relief, before I follow him.
************
I wish Rabb could see this. He'd be so damned jealous at the sight of Clayton Webb kneeling in front of me, mouth around my cock, sucking like he's never going to stop.
I know it's insane to think Rabb would ever be able to handle it, considering the way he feels about me, but I'm fairly sure that he's had his fantasies about Clayton Webb under his command, knowing the way he thinks, and I do. God, that was one of the worst assignments I ever had for the DSD, and not because I ended up getting knocked out by Rabb and then sent to jail. Finding out all about Rabb wasn't that bad, since I'd already done some research on him when I found out that he was what Webb wanted, but getting into his head was no fun at all. If Clay knew half the things Rabb thought, he definitely would think twice about letting Rabb near him. But hell, Rabb's too chicken to do anything about his deep, dark fantasies, so Clay's safe. And I'd make sure that if he ever did get up the courage, he'd pay for it.
I never did get around to taking that last bug out of Rabb's apartment. Careless of me, but I have my reasons. I know that planting one here is out of the question, but I also figure that Rabb feels out of his depth enough that he's not going to try anything stupid.
I push the thought of idiotic Rabb out of my mind and look down at the reason I'm feeling so damned good right now. Soft brown hair falling over his forehead, mouth stretched to take me all in, yeah, Clay looks good down in front of me. I like when he needs me to take over. I love it, really. But I always have to be careful. The last thing I want to do is fuck this up, and it would be damned easy to do. I've done it.
Clay likes to be out of control, but he doesn't like that he likes it, and he certainly doesn't like to give into it that often. And I have to be sure that I don't try and make him do anything he doesn't want. He's not into that.
What he likes is to be told what to do, as long as what he's told is what he wants anyway. Luckily, he likes a lot of things. Oh, I can get fairly strict, even manage some mockery, but not at anything he really gives a shit about. I still wince at one time, when I made the mistake of telling him he was a mommy's boy, not once, but over and over again, then adding that his daddy would laugh if he saw what he was doing.
He heard that and wrenched away from me, and then his fist was coming at my face. I could have ducked, should have, but something in me made me stay still, made me take it. And then made me keep my hands at my sides. Totally against all of my training, and I knew it.
He stared at me, at the bruise that I could feel on my cheek, then got into his pants and left the room without a word. I got up, thought about getting some ice, then went to find him. He was in the living room, staring at the doorway with cold eyes. I knew that I was the enemy, and that if I didn't do something even more right than taking that blow, Clayton Webb was going to throw me out of his house. I had a way to get him to stop: remind him about David Stoner, but I was damned if I was going to use that when I knew that I'd fucked it up for him. I'd hurt him, and I had to pay for that. No one got to hurt Clayton Webb, not even me.
I managed to recover from that one, but it wasn't easy. I came as close as I thought safe, hands spread and open, staying at arms' length, and told him about the first time I'd been fucked in Leavenworth, making sure I gave him every shitty detail. Then about the second, and the third, until he stopped me with a shake of his head, then reached out to touch my hand in an awkward gesture that made me realize how very vulnerable Clayton Webb was. And how good, too.
We didn't fuck that night. He got up after a few minutes and put on a Humphrey Bogart movie, The Maltese Falcon, one of my favorites, actually, and just watched it. I carefully sat down by him, not too close, and he let me. When that was done, he rewound and put in The Big Sleep, and I figured out that it was movie night. I didn't try to get any closer until he put on Casablanca, and then I moved up next to him. He didn't move away, even when I turned and kissed his neck. He just said very quietly, "You will not talk about my parents. Ever."
"Got it," I said, and my voice was too damned shaky, but he didn't say anything about it. He just nodded and put his hand on my shoulder, then gave me a smile.
"Watch the movie, Clark." And I knew that he'd forgiven me.
We kept watching Bogart movies, and I kept looking at his face as he followed the action. It was three in the morning before he fell asleep against me, his face relaxed at last. I just sat there, my arms around him, watching over him, and promised myself that from now on I'd be very, very careful with Clayton Webb.
I know that I'm blackmailing him into this. I also know that he doesn't really care about the means when he's with me, and I know even more that the worst I do to him is nothing compared to what one casual word from Rabb can do. Rabb breaks his heart at least once every time they're together, and that's without even breaking a sweat. When he's trying to be cruel, he's black-belt level. And he does try. When I see what Harmon Rabb does to Clay sometimes, I really want to kill him, but I can't. I will get him. In time. I'm patient, and he's stupid. If Clay would just stop wanting the shit...
Time to stop this. He's not getting enough any more. I can tell from how he's sucking. It's getting mechanical, and his face is getting tense again, too. Bad signs.
"Enough," I say coolly, ignoring the fact that I'm hard as hell and ready to come. It's not time for him, therefore I wait. But I don't want to. "Come on, Clay, I know you're good at more things than sucking, and I'm ready for one of them." Language always, always works on him. But then I'd be surprised if it didn't. He's brilliant. "Get up here and get ready to get fucked."
He shivers and climbs up on the bed, getting on his hands and knees without being asked, a good sign that I'm doing it right. I start stroking him, roughly but making sure I get him hot. I know how to do it, and god, it's worth whatever time it does take to have Clayton Webb making those groans when I push my cock into him. He tells me that I sound incredible, but I can't imagine that I sound any better than he does.
He doesn't need a big scene, thank god. It was a long week for me. But I'd do it if he did. I'm going to have to find out what the fuck Rabb did this time to screw with his mind. It was probably just the girlfriend thing. Rabb is so insane. How can he want a woman when he could have Clay? But then he is insane. I hate that I get Clay on his knees to me because Harm-boy pulled one of his little power plays. But then there are times that he just wants to be there. I know that, too.
It's time to see about fucking Clay. He's making the right kind of sounds, and I've used up all my tricks to keep myself from coming. But damn, should have grabbed the lube out of my bag. Either I get off the bed and leave Clay exposed and alone while I get it, or I use the damned K-Y that's in here, too. Hmm. What the hell is it doing in here? Rabb gets to come into my room? Fucks Clay here? I shake it off. I'm here now. All right, the K-Y. It won't kill me, and I know that Clay's going to know I'm fucking him. I won't let him forget.
I put my hands between his thighs and spread them a little more, letting my fingers stroke his balls. He gasps at that, and I know that whatever smile I've got would tell him too much. I love hearing him. I sit with him in meetings, listen to him outline a course of action or talk until the other people agree with him, and sometimes all I can hear in his words are the sounds he makes when he's hot. It must not show in my face, because he hasn't given me a lecture yet, and he would, if he thought my behavior was a discredit to the Company. The Company is very important to Clayton Webb.
I don't give that much of a shit about the Company. It's just a place to work, a place where I can do what I do very well, or will when they let us go out on a goddamned mission, which they have to some day, but I do care what Clayton Webb thinks. I thought I'd end up controlling him, but I was wrong. He's the most important thing in my life.
Frightening. At night when I'm alone, I've thought about ways to get him to stop being a spook, so that he'd be safe and I could relax, but then I'd have to work alone, and I couldn't do that now. I have changed.
I bend down and lick a long trail up his back and hear him gasp and shudder. Some day I'm going to tie him to the bed, make him take so damned much pleasure that he can't stand it, that he begs me for more, and then I'll give it to him. I'll keep him there all day, all night, never let him go if I can help it. Feed him with my own hands, hold his cock when he has to piss, give him a sponge bath, suck him off over and over again...there are so many things I could do to him. For him.
I have never felt this way about anyone in my life.
I know that the word for what I feel for Clayton Webb is love. I also know that it's not very likely that he feels the same way about me. I can live with that, really.
As long as I have him, and that I can control. All I have to do is pay attention to every single thing he says and does. And since I live for that now, it's no problem at all.
I reach down and pinch his nipples, not as hard as I like it, but how he does, and get the reward of him bucking back into me. God, he is ready. My cockhead pushes in without me doing anything else.
"Tell me you want this, or I'll stop," I threaten him. I'm taking a small risk here, making him talk now, but I think it's all right. I can always use his refusal to make him take it, too.
"I want you," he gets out, and I wonder if I need to make him say my name. I shouldn't need it. It doesn't matter to him who's fucking him now. He just needs a cock in his ass.
But I need it. I need him to know it's me.
"Who am I, Clay?" I grab his hips and make him hold still. I know he wants more, wants it now, that this is a much bigger risk, but I need to hear him say my name so much.
"Clark," he moans. "Clark."
It's actually better for me that he uses only my first name. He calls me Palmer all the time, but he only uses my first name when we're alone, like this.
I almost thank him for that, then make myself use something a little more traditional. "Good." Then I start working my cock into him, one hand on his erection to keep him interested, the other up at his neck. I love his neck. It's so intimate to touch him there, so much something I get to do.
He's making desperate, begging sounds as I fuck him, and I know that I could tell him to do anything, anything I wanted now, get him to say anything, confess so many things...and that I won't. I could use David Stoner against him now and break him into pieces. I could make it so that the man who would look back at me out of those dark eyes was my creature. The Clark Palmer I used to be would have done that in a heartbeat.
I'd never do that now. To have Clayton Webb lost in any way is unacceptable. Wrong. I need him.
I make myself stop all this goddamn thinking. I've got Clay on his hands and knees, wanting me, groaning as my cock takes his ass, and dammit, I'm going to enjoy it, make him enjoy it even more. Who knows when I'll get to do this again?
************
When I get back out to the kitchen, out of the suit and into a shirt and comfortable pants, he's putting the food he brought into the microwave.
"I'm starved," he says with a grin. "And you've got to be hungry. Did you even remember to eat lunch?"
"I had an apple," I say after a moment. I do try to eat, but I get busy. I've gotten to the point that I keep a basket of fruit around to snack on. Harm's idea. Clark always comes in and tosses them around, letting them fall to the floor just often enough to let me know that he thinks it's a stupid one. He'd have me make the time for lunch, and he has been known to appear and leave something on my desk so that I'll eat. I enjoy that, too.
He just shrugs. "Then I'm sure you're ready for dinner." He doesn't say anything about the apple, a small blessing.
Now it's like we're friends, getting together because we don't have dates, or maybe just to catch up. Roommates, maybe. Clark is a chameleon, although I do think I know him a little.
He's drinking white wine now. "It was open," he says as soon as I look at the glass and reaches for another glass. "You want some?"
"Yes." I take the glass when he hands it to me. "Thank you," I say quietly, and I can tell that he knows I'm not talking about the wine. I don't usually acknowledge it when he takes over, but he was so damned good tonight. I did need it. I needed to know that he wanted me that much, and I wanted to get fucked. I don't let Harm fuck me, since he won't let me fuck him. It's only fair, not that he likes hearing that, but he knows I mean it.
Clark leans against the counter. "You don't have to thank me, Clay. I enjoy the hell out of it myself." He's giving me that relaxed smile, the one that says that no matter what, it's all right.
I nod. It seems to me as though we should talk about this more, but if we talked it would be real, and this is just about as real as I can handle it.
And not for the first time it occurs to me that he seems to know a hell of a lot about what I like, what I'm comfortable with, and what gets to me. How can even Clark Palmer know that much? Is he just that smart, reading the signals I give off? He'd have to pay a hell of a lot of attention to me. But this is Clark Palmer, and he does pay a lot of attention to me. He must be smart and really lucky, and I'm glad he is.
"What did you get?" I want to relax now, don't want to think, want to do something stupid like watch that damned show. "And you said something about tapes." I keep my tone casual. "I suppose I could sit through another hour."
"I'd really appreciate it, Clay," he says earnestly, but his mouth is twitching, and in another minute he laughs.
I can't help smiling myself. "It is a stupid show," I tell him and he nods.
"Extremely stupid. But I want to watch it."
"I'm waiting for Skinner to beat the shit out of Mulder, just once," I mutter. And right away want to take that back. I don't want him to think that I want to do that to him.
He gives a look, then grins and I know he knew what I meant. "Then you'll love the ones I brought. I've heard Skinner gets Mulder into a headlock, and Mulder and Krycek get into one of their fights."
"If you want fights, I've got Raging Bull." It's worth a try. I wouldn't mind seeing that one again.
"Seen it. I want aliens, Clay. Come on, you can watch Scully. It's one of the early ones, so she still argues with Mulder all over the place."
"Dinner first."
He's laughing when the phone rings. I frown. I don't get that many calls here, and I usually remember to turn off the ringer and put on the machine when he's here. I didn't tonight, though.
"Going to get that?" he asks casually.
"Oh, sure." I take my glass and head over to the extension. It's right by him, and he doesn't move when I pick it up. Instead he leans against the wall and watches me. I know that he's curious.
"Webb." I answer all phones the same way. It saves time.
"Hey, Clay." Shit. Harm. I was sure he had a date tonight. Wonder what happened. "Want some dessert?"
Clark's face changes and I know that he heard that. He still doesn't move, and I don't know what he's thinking, just that he's thinking something.
Harm doesn't wait for me to answer. "I thought I'd pick up some ice cream and bring it over. What kind do you want? I was thinking something chocolate."
Clark's eyes meet mine, and he very deliberately draws a line across his throat. I know what he's saying: get off the phone. Our deal is the whole weekend, just him and me. That's what I do to make sure he doesn't tell me what David Stoner said as he was dying in that damned room.
That's what I want. I don't want Harm now.
I wet my lips. "You can't just come over because you feel like it," I say, and I'm surprised at how cool my voice is. "I've got company. A date." Clark's staring at me like I said something he didn't expect. What, did he think I was just going to tell Harm to fuck off? That's the surest way to get him to come running. This way he's going to think twice. He'd look pretty stupid busting in on a date.
Harm's voice changes to a teasing one. "A date? You found a woman who'll go out with you? That's great."
He does not want to know who I'm really with, but I'm amazed at him. If he's free, it's because he was stood up or struck out pretty quickly, but I tell him I'm with a date, and he jumps to the conclusion that it's a woman, and is even happy about it, in his own annoying way. Harmon Rabb is an interesting person.
I don't answer his question. "We were just going to have some dinner," I tell him. "I'll talk to you another time."
"Enjoy yourself, Clay," he says with another laugh. "Make sure you get some."
I know that Clark heard that one, because he's got his hand over his mouth and is shaking, with what I know is laughter.
This is insane. "Goodbye, Harm," I say firmly. "I'll talk to you Monday."
"Monday? She must be something else. I hope you've been taking your vitamins," he teases one last time, then relents. "I'm happy for you. Have fun, Clay."
There's a part of me that really wants him to be pissed, insist on me sending this person away, tell me that I'm his lover and that's all there is to it, but there's another part that's relieved when I hear his phone click off. I put the receiver back in the cradle and look at Clark, who's smiling.
"So Rabb's free on a Friday night," he drawls. "Will wonders never cease?"
"Let it go," I say quietly, and he laughs.
"Come on, Clay, you have to admit that it's something else for him to expect you to be free just because he is." His voice changes to an intimate one. "He didn't do what you wanted, did he? He just let you go." He steps forward and touches my neck, then takes his hand away. "I wouldn't let you go like that," he breathes. "I'd tell you to get the person the fuck out and get ready for me."
"He thinks it's a woman." I don't want to defend Harm, don't want to talk about this at all, but Clark's eyes are burning into me, just like his words are. He sounds like he means this.
"So? Doesn't he worry about losing you? Or does it make him feel safer because then he knows you're not going to be asking too much from him? Poor Rabb. I'd love to go over there and tell him that he's not the only one who gets Clayton Webb hot." His voice is mocking now. "Love to make him watch you fuck me."
"That is enough." He just smiles, and I get my control, and get angry. "I don't want to hear any more about him. The subject is closed."
That reaches him. I'm not sure why. "I'm tired of the subject myself," he says lightly and goes over to the microwave. "All right, this should be ready."
He opens the door and pulls out containers, passing them to me as though we hadn't just been...whatever we were doing. Fighting, dissecting Harm, playing a game, something. I put them on the counter where it won't matter that they're hot and get down two plates, take out silverware. It's how we usually do this. It's strange to have that kind of knowledge between us. When Harm and I try to be in the same kitchen, one of us leaves, usually the one who's visiting. But Clark's fit in from the beginning.
"Hey, time for aliens and autopsies, Clay," he says, and I get out some spoons to serve out the food, then start dividing up the rice. He comes over to stand by me. "Maybe we'd better eat first. I don't want you wasted too early." He's teasing again, and then he reaches out and touches my hair. "I've been looking forward to this," he murmurs.
I make myself stand still, even though I want to lean into his touch. "If you were, why didn't you plant that file earlier?" The coldness in my voice amazes even me.
"We both know that there's a time for everything, Clay," he says lightly. "It wasn't time for that yet. You know that you can always come to me if you want it. Did you forget that?" He moves over and starts portioning out the lemon grass chicken, putting it next to the rice, the way I always do it, instead of on it, as he usually does. That's a change. "You did," he answers himself.
"I do not come to you," I snap, knowing it's a lie, knowing that he knows that, too. He just smiles and holds my eyes, then shrugs.
"Of course not. An alien took over your body and brought it over. Every time, I'm sure. But god," his voice is husky, "that alien was good. Too bad you missed it."
I grab a plate and almost dump the whole damned thing on the floor. "You're a hell of a lot easier to deal with when you're begging me to fuck you," I shoot at him.
"Glad to know you remember that." He's running his tongue over his lips. "Forget about the tapes, Clay. I'd rather have you show me just how I beg for you."
I sit down at the table. I can see that it's going to be one of those nights. Damn Rabb for calling. It was going so well. "Palmer, sit down and eat."
Something flickers in his face. "Fine." He brings his plate over and puts a fork by me, too. We eat in silence. It's awkward and stupid. I hate it.
"Damn Rabb," I say suddenly. He looks up from his plate at me. "Why the fuck does he think I'd be alone?" I do want to talk about this. But I don't want him to keep telling me what to think. I'm very good at thinking for myself.
He takes a sip of his wine. "Maybe he was just hoping," he says lightly. "I can see where it would be nice to know you could always get laid. I wouldn't mind that myself."
And for a moment I wonder what this is like for him. What he's really getting out of this. It can be weeks between the times we're together, yet he's always there when I call or go over, and he never talks about any friends or dates, never gets any personal calls.
I can't ask him about that. It's just not how we are. But I'm tempted. What would he say? Could I believe it? It doesn't matter. I won't ask.
He can't just sit around waiting for me.
"You still want him." His voice is low. "Want to call him back and tell him your date went home? See if the ice-cream offer's still open? Fine with me. Just make sure you're back here in the morning."
I stare at him. What? He's changing the rules.
"Of course, that will give him what he wants, but hey, since it's what you want too, why not? I'll expect details, though. I've never gotten to talk to you right after you've done whatever you and Rabb do. It might be fun."
"I am not calling him." This is probably one of Clark's games, and I'm not falling for it. Even if it isn't, it would be stupid to call. I used to think that giving Harm everything he wanted, his way, would end up making it better, but all it did was make him certain that he had me. He doesn't have me. No one does. Once I figured that out, I started playing games with him, making him see that he couldn't order me around. He got the message pretty quickly, although he still does try to get his own way. Well, so do I. It's the way we are. We play games. Clark and I play games, but different ones, and this is a very different one.
"All right," he smiles. "Nice to know that you want me over him."
It does matter to Clark that I want him. And I do. Was that what this was all about? Maybe. I hope he got what he wanted out of it.
I stand up and reach for his plate to stack on my own. "Are we watching that show, or going to bed?"
He blinks at me. "Thought you'd tell me that, Clay. If I get a vote, I'll go for bed."
I think about it. The show would distract me, and it might even be good. But I'm tired and I want some quiet to read and then sleep.
"Bed." I see his eyes light up and correct myself. "For sleep, Clark."
He tilts his head. "You're not interested in fucking me tonight?"
Just that tone in his voice that offers everything is getting me hard. "Not at all," I lie. I really should get some sleep. He'll be there tomorrow.
"I must be losing it," he says lightly and stands. "I'll take care of those, Clay. You get to bed. You do look tired."
He takes the plates from me and goes over to the sink to rinse them. I give his back a long stare. I know him. He's going to try something later.
Well, if he does it well enough, I might let him get what he wants.
************
I turn a page and watch him. He's intent on his book, and his hair is falling over his forehead again. I want to push it off, but I don't. It might annoy him, and I'm waiting for the right moment to move in. I don't get that many nights with him, and I can always sleep.
"Stop that," he says without looking up.
"Just reading here," I counter and hold back a grin. He doesn't sound upset, but he might be serious about reading. The next sentence or so should tell me.
"You're not reading. I can tell." His voice doesn't change as he continues. "Put the book down and do whatever you're going to do. I'll bet that it won't make a damned bit of difference to my reading."
I grin and toss the paperback onto the nightstand. The bulls can get through Pamplona without me. "You're on, Clay."
We've played this game before. I will win. We both know that.
He turns the page as I get my hand into his boxers. Ah, Clay, already getting hard. I knew you didn't want to sleep, and after Rabb's damned call I need to know that you still want me. The show would have been fun, but this is better.
I get a good grip and start pumping. His hips jerk, then still. I lick my lips and watch the head darken and get bigger. I want that in me. I don't care where.
"Is that the best you can do?" the cool question comes after a minute or so. I laugh to myself. Impatient, Clay? All right. Anything for you.
"I can do better." Before he can say anything more, I twist around and get my mouth on him. I can't see him any more, but I know he's going to be dropping the book soon.
And then he must have, because his hands are on my head, cupping it, and because he's not making me I take it all in, I do, working as hard as I can to make him happy.
Yeah, Harm, enjoy your ice cream. I've got the real thing here.
When he comes, I swallow it all and let him go. He's collapsed against the pillows, and I go up to be with him.
"I always lose that one," he says and opens his eyes.
I grin. "Always." I watch him recover from me. I love that. He's so much mine then, even more than when he's fucking me, because *I* did this to him.
He sits up and reaches for my cock, hauls it out. I let out a low moan as he wraps his fingers around it and starts working me. "You liked that."
"One of my favorite things. The thought of sucking you off gets me through a lot of boring meetings." It's safe to say that here; he'll tolerate it, even like it.
He laughs. "I'll keep a better eye on you from now on. Can't have you slipping under the table."
"Can't have that," I agree and watch his hand move. "Would you want me to?"
His hand pauses, then starts again. I'm feeling my balls tighten. Not much longer now. "I'd make you take your time." His voice is rough. He has thought about it.
"I'd do it," I say after a moment. God, would I ever. Let them all know that I belong to Clayton Webb. It would be as good as that collar I still think about wearing for him. But he's not into that, and I know better than to push. It's just a symbol. I don't need it. What I need is him.
"I know you would."
He leans over and takes my mouth fiercely. I come as soon as I feel his tongue in my mouth. God, he's good. And next meeting, I'm going to have to be very careful of how I look at him. He'll be remembering this, and I wouldn't want him to think I was trying to make it more difficult for him to be what he needs to be there.
In a perfect world, he wouldn't have to be anything but the Clayton Webb who's here with me. But this world sure as hell isn't perfect.
But I'll take it, since I get him.
************
I can't sleep any more, though I'm still tired. Clark's on his side, facing me, and in the morning light I'm watching him. So peaceful, so relaxed, so damned gorgeous.
How the hell did I end up here? Right now I can't regret it at all, not even the fact that he's got something over me, not even that I'm involved with two people who can't stand each other, not even that if word about this got out at the Company one of the two of us would be shipped off, nothing.
It's too damned good with him. He knows me. He even knows things that I don't want him to know.
I'm wondering if I'm ever going to be able to get out of this, if I even want to.
No, come on, I know I don't want to get out of it. I don't want him to keep torturing me with what David said before he died, but I don't want this to stop.
All I have to do is keep refusing to talk. And right now, I know that I'm going to.
This happens just about every weekend we're together, and when the weekend's over, I lose this clarity again. I can't know this about myself and live the life I need to live. I should tell Clark, let him know that I accept my place in this game of ours, but I can't.
I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew that, though. He knows so much about me.
His eyes open and I hope that none of what I'm thinking is showing on my face, although it probably is.
"Hey," he says and smiles sleepily. "Breakfast?"
He must not see anything, or he's too tired to figure it out. "I'm cooking. You're not going to smoke up my kitchen again." Protective humor. It should work.
His eyes close. "You could give me another chance. I've been practicing. I've got pancakes down, and I swear I'll never try to cook bacon again. I've learned my lesson."
"Another time."
His eyes open again, and I know I've said too damned much, but he just nods, then gets out of bed. "Come on, Clay, I'm hungry." He's always so relaxed, making me relax, too.
I sit up. "I'm going to take a shower. Can you wait that long?" I think I've got eggs, and there's always toast.
"I'll pick up something from that bakery you like. All right?"
I really don't want to cook anything, and I am hungry. "All right."
He smiles and finishes buttoning his shirt, then heads out.
I wish I could tell him that he makes my life so much better. But I really can't.
I hope he does know it.
************
The clerk looks up when I enter. Good, nice to know someone's working here. "May I help you?"
"Yes." I put the file down on the counter, push it over to him. "I'm finished with this now." I have to hurry if I'm going to make it back before Clay starts wondering why the hell getting some bear claws is taking me this long. I'm glad that I know all the shortcuts.
He checks the number against his records and moves it to a pile.
"No," I know my voice is too sharp, but I don't care, "file it now."
He gives me a startled look and picks it up again. "Yes, Mr. Palmer."
No one else is going to get a look at that. That's Clay's secret, and mine.
I see that it's back in place and head for the elevator and my car. There's more weekend left, and now that I've got the file safely back in place, I'm going to enjoy it, get Clay to enjoy it too.
I wish it didn't have to be this way, but it does. And I'm very good at adapting.
Maybe someday he'll be able to know that he wants me without this game. He'd better, because he's not getting away from me.
The End