Title: T'is You That are the Music
Author/pseudonym: Tinnean
Fandom: JAG
Pairing: Clayton Webb/Harmon Rabb, Jr.
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Status: new/complete
Date:
Series/Sequel: This is three in the Cry Me a River Series and follows Ah, Me! Full Sorely is My Heart Forlorn
Summary: Clayton and Harmon celebrate an anniversary.
Warnings: m/m, minor spoilers for We the People,
unrelieved sappiness
Notes: The title is taken from the Amy Lowell poem,
Listening. This is for Gail to commemorate 5 years of friendship. Thank you,
chere amie! Gail also beta'd.
T'is You That are the Music
By Tinnean
Today was a very special day, and Clayton Webb, deputy director of
Intelligence, CIA, intended to spend it in a very special way.
He could have had Markov, his mother's butler cum bodyguard, select the
menu at the small French restaurant the glitterati had not yet discovered, make
the reservations in the cozy little inn he'd come across on one of his
assignments, order the banks of flowers to be placed in the suite where he and
his lover would spend the rest of the day and night and perhaps – if his
powers of persuasion were compelling enough to sway his lover – the following
day as well, but these were things he chose to do himself.
Everything had to be perfect; his lover, darling that he was, deserved
nothing less than perfection.
Once everything was in readiness, Clayton sauntered into JAG.
Harriet Roberts bumped into him. "Oh," she squeaked, "I'm
so sorry, Mr. Webb!"
"Not at all, Lt. Roberts."
She struggled to maintain her hold on the armful of briefs she carried,
but they spilled to the floor. "I told Bud there were too many!"
He took her hand and dropped a kiss on the back of it, then stooped to
pick up the files and place them carefully in her arms.
He laughed to himself as her eyes grew huge. Before Harmon Rabb, Jr. had
come into his life, he still would have retrieved the fallen briefs – after
all, his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, and he had impeccable manners
– and while he may have smiled at her, he never would have kissed her hand.
But it was a soft, balmy day in April, the cherry blossoms were in
bloom, and he was in love.
He thought fondly of the very first time he had seen Harmon Rabb, Jr.
~~~~
The Declaration of Independence had been stolen, and he'd been assigned
the task of finding it. He'd stepped out of a helicopter, and there, standing
before him, was Lieutenant Commander Rabb, all 6'2" of rakish good looks,
sparkling blue eyes, and windswept brown hair.
Clayton had been immediately interested, but he'd been playing a part,
assistant to the Undersecretary of State, and so he'd smirked and minced and
generally acted the buffoon, lulling the thieves into a false sense of security.
Once the assignment had been brought to its successful conclusion with
the return of that precious document, Clayton had been determined to pursue
Harmon.
But Rabb had been coy. He'd flirted with him, run hot and cold, coming
to him for help, and then reneging on the promises his eyes had made, and
Clayton had permitted it until he'd decided enough was enough.
He'd whisked Harmon out of the country, to a lovely French bed and
breakfast with which he was familiar, plied him with oysters and caviar,
champagne and peaches, and whispered into his ear, "Mon ange, mon coeur, mon
précieux."
"Clay, that's French!" Harmon had exclaimed, and
melted in his arms.
Combined with Clayton's formidable charm, the helpless man hadn't stood a
chance, and the result was Harmon sprawled wantonly across the silken sheets of
the bed in the room above, his eyes drowsy and sated after having been
thoroughly – *thoroughly* made love to by Clayton, and shimmering with
tears of happiness.
That had been the start of their time together.
~~~~
Clayton left Harriet standing there, unconcerned that she was staring
after him, and strolled to his lover's office. The door was open, and he could
see Harmon sitting at his desk, looking adorably Naval. Sitting across from him
was Sarah MacKenzie. She… did not look adorable.
Clayton tapped on the doorframe. Supremely confident of his own charm,
and secure in his lover's love, he felt no need to be jealous.
"Clay!"
"Good morning, Commander." He was so proud that Harmon had
achieved that well-deserved promotion. "Colonel." He nodded graciously
to the woman sitting stiff-backed in the chair.
"Webb," she drawled. "What are you doing in JAG?"
"Really, Mac! There's no need to be disagreeable!"
"Isn't there, Harm? It's Monday morning, I've just spent another
exciting weekend cleaning my service revolver, and Webb is standing here looking
at you like … " She bit off the rest of her words. "I'd say that was
a perfect excuse for being any little thing I felt like being, including
disagreeable! Which I wasn't."
Clayton wondered idly what she'd been going to say. It never failed to
amaze him that no one in JAG realized that to all intents and purposes, Harmon
Rabb, Jr. was out of the running when it came to the dating game. Palmer knew,
but then again, he was Palmer. There wasn't much he didn't know, Clayton thought
with grudging admiration.
"Excuse me." Another woman came to Harmon's office. "Why,
hello, Mr. Webb." She fluttered her lashes, which weren't nearly as long as
his lover's, Clayton was interested to note. "How very nice to see you. I
trust you're well?"
"Very well, Lieutenant Commander Parker. And you?"
"I'm delicious." She gave a tinkling laugh, cutting her glance
to the Marine colonel. Then she turned to Harmon. "Harm, if you have a
moment, I'd like to talk to you. About your issues with your father."
Harmon looked devastated, as he did every time his lost father was
brought up.
It was unprofessional of the psychiatrist, Clayton thought, to bring up
such a sensitive topic in front of others.
Idly, he observed Jordan Parker. As in the Mikado, he had a little list.
It… amused him. Perhaps she should go on it too. He could make her disappear
– after all, no one would suspect a well-respected CIA officer such as himself
of anything so nefarious – and Clark Palmer would get the blame.
He smiled at her and noticed that Harmon frowned. No, perhaps that would
not do. He didn't want his lover to get frown lines.
"Why are you here, Webb?" But Sarah was glaring at
"I've come to steal the Commander away."
Harmon's face lit up with pleasure. "Oh, yes!" He scooped up
his cover and hurried to his lover's side. "I'm always at your service,
Clay… Mr. Webb. You'll excuse us, ladies?"
"But Harm… "
"But Commander… "
Harmon smiled at them over his shoulder but made no effort to slow his
steps. "I'm so glad you showed up to rescue me, Clay."
"I'll always be here to rescue you, handsome."
"Oh, but what will Admiral Chegwidden think? I'm sure there was a
trial or some lawyer-thing or other that he'll want me to deal with. I'm his
best lawyer, after all," he asserted, not without a little pride.
"Yes, you are, sweetness. You let me worry about Chegwidden. My
assistant will call him shortly and tell him the CIA has need of you."
"Oh!" He blushed. "Oh! What a honey!" he exclaimed
at the sight of the car parked outside the front entrance of JAG.
"Only the best for my sweetheart!" Clayton escorted his lover
to the sporty little coupe.
"Where are we going?"
"Now, it wouldn't be stealing you away if you knew that, would it,
blue eyes?"
"Oh, Clay, I do love the little pet names you have for me!"
"No more than I love finding them for you." He lowered his
voice. "I wish we were alone. I want to kiss you."
"Oh, Clay!"
"I want to make love to your mouth." He loved the way Harmon's
eyes widened at that, the way the taller man's body shivered. "Get in the
Jaguar."
And Harmon melted and slid into the front seat of the luxurious,
expensive car.
"Buckle up. You know I won't risk a single precious hair on your
head."
"Yes, Clay."
Clayton felt his dick grow hard. He loved when his lover's voice grew
soft and submissive.
"This is so wonderful, driving off with you in the middle of a work
day. Are you taking me to lunch, darling?"
Clayton's glance was brief but approving. Harmon so seldom could think
of anything special to call him. He brought his eyes back to the road.
"Do you know what today is, my angel?" A small smile curled
his lips, and he reached for Harmon's hand.
"It's Monday."
"A very special Monday."
"Are you sure?"
"Mmm hmmm." Clayton knew his lover was teasing him.
"Well… " Harmon pretended to consider it. "… it's not
my birthday."
"No."
"And it's not yours."
"No."
"It's not Income Tax Day."
"No." Clayton's smile broadened.
"Could it be the fifth anniversary of the very first time we made
love?"
"Yes!" He gave his lover's hand a little squeeze, then
replaced his hand on the gear shift in the console that separated them and
smoothly shifted to fourth gear.
"You're taking me somewhere to celebrate?"
"Of course!"
"You're so good to me!" Harmon touched a finger to the corner
of his eye to catch the tear that threatened to escape. "Thank you,
Clay."
"I have something for you, Harmon."
"Oh? What could it be, I wonder?"
"If you open the glove compartment, you'll see."
Harmon leaned forward and pressed the catch, and the compartment popped
open. It was empty save for the driver's manual, the insurance cards, and… A
slim, square package wrapped in blue and silver paper, his favorite colors.
He took it out. "Oh, Clay!"
"Open it." Clayton smiled at him.
With excited fingers he tore off the paper, and his breath caught in a
tiny hitch. "'Moonlight Becomes You'! Our song!" This time the
tear managed to escape.
"Yes." Clayton saw and caught it on his fingertip. He brought
it to his mouth.
"Oh!" Harmon sounded breathless.
"Let's listen to it, shall we, sweetness?"
"Oh, yes!" Harmon opened the jewel case with careful fingers
and slid the disk into the CD player in the dash. The lush orchestrations
swelled from the speakers and filled the car. He reached out to lay his hand on
Clayton's where it rested on the gear shift. "Oh, Clay! Such beautiful
music."
"You are the music, Harmon, the song my heart sings."
"You say such lovely things to me, Clay!" Tears spilled over.
Never had Clayton seen anyone weep so elegantly.
"And you like it, my heart?" Clayton turned his hand over so
that they were palm to palm, and he could feel Harmon shiver.
"I love it! I love everything you give me, Clay!"
"And I love that you love whatever I might give you." Clayton
was pleased at his lover's response to the first of his gifts. There would be
time enough later, he thought, after he'd hand-fed him peaches and grapes and
licked the nectar from his body, to give him the Webb betrothal ring.
He thought of how the tears of joy would spike his lover's sinfully long
eyelashes, and shifted gears, hurrying them on to their destination.
~End~
