Home for the Holiday
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer
Rating: adult
Porter Webb surprises both her son and Clark Palmer when they come over for Christmas dinner.
An Eclipse Snapshot, #18, (I know that's a big number. I didn't mean to write so much; it's their fault. *points at Clayton Webb and Clark Palmer, then ducks behind the couch*) and a sequel to Ornaments.
Disclaimer: The characters herein portrayed belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS. I'm using them without permission and making no money from this story. And if they did belong to me, I wouldn't have any leftovers from the prime rib Greg made for our Christmas dinner.
Please do not archive this story without asking me first. It's more than likely that I'll agree, but I want to know where my stories are.
The book Clark talks about is Roman Blood by Steven Saylor. I highly recommend reading it and the subsequent ones in the Roma sub Rosa series. They're really slashy. *eg*
This is Athea's birthday present (1/6/2002). She wanted to see their dinner with Porter Webb, and this year they decided to let me watch and write it. Thanks to JiM for the title, and many thanks to Elizabeth and Scarlet for their betas. Without them, my stories would have many more mistakes and not be fit to post.
*****
Clay's nervous, but then he always is before we have dinner with his mother. I know it's not me; I'm a perfect gentleman with Porter Webb. Of course, maybe that makes him nervous, wondering why the hell I do that. He could just ask. I'd tell him the truth: that she's a lady in the real sense of the word, and I like her.
The butler, or bodyguard, which is what I'm sure he is, Markov, takes our coats and the bag with the presents and tells us she's waiting for us in the conservatory. I look at Clay. That's a new one on me.
"This way," he murmurs and leads me to the back of the house and a small, glass-enclosed, and very warm room. I'm going to sweat through my shirt if we stay here long, but of course Mrs. Webb looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine in her dark green dress and pearls.
She turns as soon as we enter. "Clayton, dear." She kisses his cheek. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, mother." He kisses her cheek, too, and I smile. Nice to see a family. I really have to do some digging and find out more about Neville. Lucky guy.
Then she smiles at me. "Merry Christmas, Clark, dear."
She kisses my cheek, and I hope Clay doesn't fall back and knock over the orchids. He looks like someone got him with a stun gun.
"Merry Christmas, ma'am." I kiss her cheek, too. Faint smell of jasmine. Nice. Leave it to Clay's mom to have taste.
She frowns at me. "Clark, I told you to call me Porter. Don't tell me you've forgotten."
"Sorry." I flash her a smile. "I'll do better, I promise."
"Porter," she prompts.
"Yes, Porter." A real lady.
Clay's back to himself. "The poinsettias are doing well this year."
I look where he's looking. Strange plants with red and white and pink leaves. So they're supposed to look like that.
"Thank you, dear. Would you like one?"
"It wouldn't last a week with me. I don't have your touch."
They smile at each other, and for a moment I feel left out, then Porter turns her smile on me before I have to tell myself to stop being an idiot.
"Clayton always talks as though he kills plants, but he has quite the green thumb. "
I don't have to look at Clay to know he's wincing. That's probably why he's nervous, because he knows she's going to tell me more stories about when he was a kid.
"He's modest." I catch myself before adding 'ma'am' and smile instead.
"You know him quite well, Clark."
That's going to make him wince even more, I know it. Does he think she hasn't gotten we're having sex? Well, maybe. It's his mother. He probably thinks she doesn't have sex, but I wouldn't bet on that. She's healthy and smart and gorgeous. She could have it if she wanted it, and why shouldn't she want it? She wouldn't have to go far to get it, either. I've seen how Markov looks at her. He'd strip if she gave the word. Serious longing there.
"I've worked with him a lot, and I was trained to be observant." That should make Clay feel a little better.
She smiles at me again, and I'm pretty sure I didn't fool her at all, then she changes the subject. "I thought presents, then dinner."
Just like last year. This year I did better than a box of chocolates for Porter, but then last year I got told Christmas morning I was going to dinner with him and his mother. At least they were good chocolates.
"That's fine. Clark?"
Like I'd argue. "Great."
We follow Porter back through the house to the parlor and the big tree she's got up. What a sight. Mine looks great, and Clay's is just as good, but hers is the kind of tree baby trees dream of being. I catch myself staring and look away to find Porter smiling at me.
"Beautiful tree."
"It's good to see someone appreciating all the work Markov and I put into the decorating. For all Clay notices, we could have omitted the ornaments and put up a metal tree."
I keep my grin to myself and listen for Clay's answer, which is just as calmly indignant as I thought it would be.
"I really would think you'd know me better than that, mother."
"I do, dear." She gives him one of those loving looks, and I look at Clay to see his smile in return. Really nice family. "Would either of you like some eggnog? Or would you prefer something else?"
"Some eggnog would be fine," I offer after a moment. Clay's got a funny look on his face, and I wonder if he's got some strange association with eggnog after that night we put up my tree and drank eggnog, then I fucked him over my couch. I think it's a great memory.
He blinks and answers. "Yes, thank you. Eggnog, please. But watch Clark. He'll drink it all."
Good to see him relax and make a joke.
"Clark can have all the eggnog he wants." Porter touches my cheek as she passes, and for a moment it feels like she's my mother, but I've got to get over that. She's Clay's. I get to be here because I'm with Clay.
When she's out of the room, I grin at Clay. "I'll drink all the eggnog? Funny, thought that was you I found up at three in the kitchen with a yellow moustache." He'd finished off the first carton and started on the second. I licked the mustache off, and he came back to bed and let me do some more licking.
He gives me a look of surprise. "I have no idea what you're talking about." But his eyes are laughing, and I risk moving over to stand next to him. I don't want to embarrass him, but I want to be near him.
"Sure you don't." I leave it at that.
Porter comes back in with Markov behind her carrying a tray with three silver cups. "Gentlemen, your eggnog."
Clay takes one, then I take one, then Porter picks up the last cup and raises it in a toast. "Merry Christmas."
We sit down when Porter does, and sip the eggnog, which is pale yellow and spicy with the nutmeg on the top. It's better than the stuff Clay bought me, so I figure it must be made from scratch. Maybe I can learn to make this. Hell, I could try.
Porter smiles and gestures to the tree. "Aren't either of you interested in what Santa brought you?"
"Santa?" Clay sounds like he thinks his mother's lost her mind, and I'm trying to keep my grin inside. I'm pretty sure she's teasing him again.
"Well, if you must, Clayton, what I bought for you and Clark, but I don't see why you object to me using the traditional name."
"I'm interested. What did Santa bring me?" I offer. Clay gives me a look like he gave his mother, and I give him the 'who, me' look that might work on him for a change.
He shakes his head and turns back to his mother. "Certainly. Let's find out what Santa," he almost chokes on the name, "brought us. Strange he left presents at two other places for you."
Porter frowns, and I wonder what at, then her face smooths back into its usual calm. "Quite strange, but then you never questioned it when you were young. You were more than happy to go to your grandmother's and open all the presents she gave you and write both Santa and your grandmother lovely thank-you notes. You were so polite."
Oh, god, I think Clay's going to turn purple. "Mother, please. That was years ago," he says in a tight voice.
"I like remembering." She gives him a brilliant smile, and Clay manages a smile in reply after a moment. "You were such a charming boy, but so shy."
"Mother, please." This time his voice has that affection it usually has with her, and her smile softens.
"You were, Clayton." She goes over to the tree and picks up two boxes and hands the top one to me, then moves to Clay. "Open them."
Her voice is full of excitement, and I tear at the paper. I want to know what she got me. Clay gave me some really nice boxers, silk. I'm wearing a pair today. Almost as good as having him hold my cock. I gave him the first season of the X-Files on DVD, then pulled out the box with the player from under his couch before he could accuse me of buying him something I wanted him to give to me. He hooked it up right away and watched the pilot episode and tore it apart. That's my Clay.
I open the box and push aside the tissue paper and stare.
"I hope it fits, Clark." Shy voice from Porter, and I want to go over and hug her and tell her I don't give a damn if it's two sizes too small or big enough to put me and Clay in together, since she gave it to me. "Clayton won't wear any shirts that aren't from Marceaux's."
"Thank you, mother. Now I really come off as a prig." Clay's voice is gently teasing, and I should say something, but I can't. I lift out the white shirt. It looks expensive. "I do wear shirts that aren't custom-made."
"I'm not sure I believe you, and Marceaux would be appalled," she teases back, and he gives her a smile that tells me he's about as happy as he ever lets himself be. "How do you like your shirt?" So Clay got one, too.
"It's wonderful. Thank you, mother." He leans over and kisses her on the cheek.
"Thank you," I get out.
"You're very welcome."
I look at my shirt again. "Can I try this on?"
Clay and Porter smile at me. "Of course, Clark, dear. You haven't been upstairs, have you? Markov will show you to a guest room."
Clay puts his box down and stands right after I do. "I'll show him. No need to take Markov away from his duties. We won't be long."
I follow Clay out, giving Porter another smile and getting one in return. Upstairs, down a hall, then a turn, and Clay's pushing open the door. I go in and glance around. Nice. Windows that have sunlight coming in, sturdy wooden furniture that looks as though someone's used it, not something I've seen here before, and three bookcases filled with books with worn spines that show they've been read and reread.
I look at Clay, and what I see there confirms my guess. This was his room when he was a kid.
"Nice room. Remind me to get drunk tonight. Maybe your mother will let me sleep here."
"She just might let you, even though it's my room." His voice is a little husky, and he clears his throat. "She likes you, Clark."
Good to hear him say it with the note that tells me he likes that she does. "Good. I like her."
He smiles, then nods to the shirt. "Try it on. I want to see how it looks on you."
I like the sound of that, and I really like the way he's looking at me, like he'd like to see me with only my new shirt on. Did Clay have any fantasies about guys when he slept here? Porter won't mind if we take a few minutes.
I make a production out of taking off my shirt, and Clay smiles, but motions to me to hurry. All right already. I get the point. I toss the old shirt at him to be difficult and get his laugh as a reward, then slip my arms into the sleeves of the new shirt and close my eyes as I feel how soft the fabric is, then how well it fits. I can tell from the feel it's going to be the best shirt I've ever had. Oh, god. What was wrong with me that I never thought about custom-made shirts? Too busy getting ahead, then too busy getting to know Clay once I got out, the answer comes. I know now, and that's what matters. I'll get to this Marceaux and order a dozen shirts.
"Clark." I open my eyes when I hear Clay's voice.
"Sorry." I button the shirt, then tuck it into my pants and strike a pose, my hands on my hips and my best smile on. "How's that?"
"Mother will be pleased," is all he answers, but the smile on his face tells me he's pleased, too. I want to take those few steps over to him and kiss him and get my hands on him, but I want to get back to the presents, too, and I know he'll tell me to stop and mean it.
"Good. You know, she's great to let me come here." I want him to know I mean that, and if I wait and say it at his place, it won't have the same impact as saying it here.
He takes a minute to answer, and I wonder what's going on in that brilliant mind of his. "I suspect she knows I wouldn't be happy without you here for Christmas."
A hell of a thing to throw at a guy, even one with a great new shirt. I have to make myself breathe. "Yeah."
"Yeah." His eyes meet mine, and I see... dammit, I see love there. Love for me. Did that eggnog have vodka in it? Probably not, so it's definitely time to get out of this room and back downstairs, or I'm going to end up keeping him here all day. Porter probably wouldn't mind too much, but Clay wouldn't think it was proper, and then that Markov might decide to investigate, which might get him killed, CIA bodyguard or not. Can't have that on Christmas.
Clay holds out my folded shirt. "You can carry that."
"Right, can't have you doing work." It's safe to tease him. That's what I always do, and it'll get me through this awkward moment. I want to tell him I love him, but I don't want to, just in case I'm wrong, or if by saying it I make it not true.
"I didn't think carrying one shirt was that much work."
"Hey, you're a rich guy. Anything physical is work for you."
He smiles and shakes his head and heads down the hall, and I take a deep breath. Whew. Close one. But I got through it.
We get back and sit, and open some more presents. Porter has some books and CDs for Clay and some different books and CDs for me, all in good taste. When he gravely looks up from one of his books and thanks Santa, I catch Porter grinning, and I grin back at her, then make sure my face shows nothing when Clay looks at me. I make sure to thank Santa, too. She just laughs and beams on both of us. Great day.
I give Porter a pair of oval beaten silver earrings with tiny stars cut out that made me think of her when I saw them and a necklace to match, and she comes over to kiss my cheek, then takes off her pearls and puts my gifts on. Clay looks at me without any expression while she's doing that, and I wonder if I fucked up, then he smiles at me, and I know it's all right. Clay gives Porter a small bottle of what has to be expensive perfume and a card promising her a dinner for the two of them, just like he did last year. I think it's a tradition between the two of them.
She reads it out loud and smiles. "That will be lovely, but I'd prefer it if Clark could come, too."
"Certainly," Clay says smoothly. "I'd be delighted to have him, if he can find the time."
"Won't be a problem," I cut in. "Let me know when, and I'll be there." She wants me there. Can't help liking that.
"Wonderful. Clayton, would you mind amending your card to include Clark, please?"
Clay reaches for the card. "If you like."
Porter hands him a pen next, and I can't help grinning. She's got it all under control.
She takes back the card and the pen when he's finished, looks at the card, smiles, puts it carefully in the envelope, and stands. "I'll go see how dinner is coming. No, gentlemen, you stay here and enjoy your presents. I'll be back in a few minutes."
I pick up one of the books and open it. A murder mystery, set in Rome. Looks good.
"Clark." I close the book and look at Clay. "Please don't feel you have to go to dinner with Mother and me."
He's worried I don't want to? I'll get rid of that problem. "I want to go. She's great."
The worry in his face melts away. "She certainly is." He leans over and picks up one of my CDs. "Keith Jarrett at Koln. Fine music."
"You've got that, right?"
"Not on CD." He puts it down. "I'd like to borrow it sometime."
I grin. Like he has to ask. "Sure. Anytime."
His smile warms. "You have to look like that when we're in my mother's parlor?"
I lean back against the couch and spread my legs, not much, but he'll get what I'm doing. "Like what?"
"Like you want me to fuck you. Stop it."
I sit up and bring my legs together. "I do want you to fuck me. Could have done that in your room."
Clay smiles, and my cock twitches and gets harder. Can't get enough of him. He jerked me off in the shower this morning after I sucked him off, but already I'm planning what to do with him as soon as we can get alone, which won't be until we get home, dammit. I know Clay likes spending time with his mom, which means we'll be here a while. I like it, too, but right now I want him any way I can get him, and I want him now.
He shakes his head. "Get yourself under control, Palmer."
"Hard to do with you around, Webb."
He laughs, and I can see he likes hearing that. "Just do it."
All right, for him I'll do anything. I pick up my book again and tell my cock to forget about it. The book's good enough to get me interested in something other than Clay, so when Porter comes back in, I'm fine.
"The turkey needs to rest before it's carved, so perhaps you'd like a drink before dinner?"
Clay smiles and stands. "It sounds like a fine idea to me. What will you have, mother?"
"If you gentlemen will join me, I'd like some champagne." She has that shy look on again, so I make sure to speak up.
"Sure, I'll have some. Where is it?"
"It's in the kitchen, but I'll get it. Clayton can show you where the champagne glasses are, if he will." She looks at Clay, who nods. "Will you be joining us, Clayton?"
"I'd be delighted."
She smiles and leaves. Clay's looking at me like I sprouted horns or something, and I give him another 'who, me' look. Doesn't work this time, either.
"What'd I do?"
He clears his throat. "Nothing. I'll get the glasses."
All right. It's Christmas. Maybe the whole champagne thing is something his parents did when he was a kid. That would explain Porter's shyness about it.
He clears his throat again. "Thank you for speaking up about the champagne. I," has he got a frog in his throat? "really should have spoken sooner."
Got it. He's embarrassed he didn't say anything. "Hey, you know me. I love the stuff."
He smiles. "Yes, I'm well aware of that fact. I'm surprised I have any bottles left. I do have some, I hope."
I just grin and shrug. I'll buy him some champagne and say I'm replacing what I drank. That'll be fun.
He goes to a cabinet, opens it, and takes out two glasses. I'm right behind him and take those two as he gets out a third. Delicate glasses, gold-rimmed. Anything this simple and beautiful has to be expensive. And he's trusting them to me. I carry them carefully.
When Porter comes back with the champagne, she smiles and sets the bottle on the table where we put the glasses. Clay goes over and opens it in a few quick motions and pours some into each glass. The foam bubbles up and threatens to spill, but doesn't. When it subsides, he pours some more, and we each take a glass.
"Mother? Did you want to make a toast?" Clay holds up his glass. "Or shall I?"
"I did have a toast in mind." She motions me to come over and stand closer to them. "To Clayton and Clark, who have found happiness together."
Clay's already raising the glass to his lips when she drops that bomb, but his hand freezes in mid-motion. Her toast hits me pretty hard, but I keep my mouth shut and hold on to my glass.
"Mother!"
"Am I wrong?" she asks in that shy voice. "I was certain you two were lovers."
Clay looks at me, and I shrug just enough for him to catch it. It's his call. I know what I want to say, but this is his mother, and if he wants to say we're not lovers, I'll back him.
His lips set, and he turns back to face her. "Yes, mother, we are."
She shakes her head and sets down her glass, then puts a hand on each of our arms. "I'm very happy you're together, and I won't keep talking about it if it makes you uncomfortable, Clayton. I just wanted you both to know I knew and was happy for you."
"Thank you." Clay's voice is husky. "I knew you would be."
Porter looks at me. "Clark?"
"You're something else, Porter Webb," I say softly and lean over to kiss her cheek. She squeezes my arm, and when I pull away, her smile is as bright as I've ever seen it.
"Yes, I am." She takes a deep breath, lets go of us, and picks up her glass. "You'll both stay to eat the leftovers for dinner?" I nod, and so does Clay. "And since I know both of you will be drinking, there will be no talk about you driving home. You'll stay the night and go home in the morning."
Clay chokes on the sip he just took, and I make sure to take one to cover my grin. When he gets his breath back, he glares at her. "I'm not to be trusted to make my own decisions?"
"All of them but this one," she says serenely, but there's a smile in her voice.
Clay looks at me. "Well?"
I know him, and he wants my honest answer. Good.
"Love to stay."
Porter smiles on both of us. "Then it's settled. Clark, will you bring the champagne? I have a feeling dinner's ready."
She sweeps on ahead of us, and I pick up the bottle with my free hand. Clay's standing there, smiling. "Come on, Clark. I'm hungry."
I laugh. "Yeah. Me, too."
I see it just before he goes through the doorway, and I can't help grinning. That Porter. "Hey, Webb."
He stops to look at me, still smiling, and I catch up to him. "What?"
I lean in and kiss him quick, not half the kiss I want to give him, but I've got this bottle and glass to carry, he's hungry, and he wouldn't want Porter to come back and catch us, even though she is fine with us together. "Mistletoe." I point my chin up, and he looks, then laughs.
"Mistletoe." He shakes his head. "Should have known you'd take any excuse. Move it, Palmer."
I laugh, too, and head for the dining room. This might be the best Christmas I've ever had.
The End
Posted 1/6/02
To read the next Eclipse Snapshot, go to Of Doppelgangers and Detective Frazier.
