Investment
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer
Rating: adult
Clay and Clark celebrate Valentine's Day.
Eclipse Snapshot #20.
Disclaimer: They belong to CBS and Belisarius Productions, but I have a hard time seeing Palmer owned by anyone, unless it's Webb, and only because Palmer wants him to, and Webb belongs to himself, really, unless he belongs to Palmer, which, in this universe, makes sense.
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.
In the Eclipse series, Palmer blackmailed Webb into bed by telling him he had a last message from Stoner, and Webb wasn't ready to deal with all his feelings about his mentor's death, all the guilt and anger and pain, so Webb slept with Palmer until he was ready to deal with Stoner's death, and afterwards, because he wanted to be with Palmer. He was sleeping with Rabb, too, but Rabb broke up with him to marry Meg, even though he still wants Webb.
All sexist comments are Clark's fault, not mine. The restaurant is named after my father-in-law, who was a fine person and chef, both skills he passed on to his son. :-)
I don't believe I wrote this, and all in one day, too (2/13/02). I could have sworn it would be the last holiday they'd pay any attention to. It's Porter's doing. Note that I don't say it's her fault. *g*
Thanks to Tinnean for the speedy beta. This is for Beth and Scarlet and Tinnean, who are wonderful friends.
*****
Clay comes back to the kitchen after answering the door with a puzzled look on his face and a long white box that he puts down on the table between us. I put down my mug and study it. Looks like flowers, but who's sending Clay flowers? Rabb? Can't see that, but if he is, I'll deal with him.
"Nice." I give him a little smile so he won't think I'm thinking about Rabb. "Going to open it?"
He sits down. "Why don't you open it? It's for both of us, from mother. Markov brought it over."
That's better. I reach for the box and take off the top and whistle. Carnations, lots of them, red and white and pink, and that green stuff the florists always puts in.
Clay looks, then frowns. "Why in the world is my mother sending us flowers?"
"Maybe the card says." I fish it out of the box and hand it to him, then stand. "I'll get these in water."
I know where he keeps everything, so I don't have to ask where the vases are, and I'm glad. I like knowing things, especially things about him.
Clay slides his finger under the seal and opens the envelope, then takes out the card. "'Please accept these as a small token of the day, with the hopes that you two will enjoy it to the fullest. Love, Mother.' A token of what day?"
I'm grinning as I run water into the vase. *Love, Mother.* That's for me, too. Then I really hear Clay's question. "You don't know?" I put the flowers into the water and turn around to stare at him.
"Would I ask if I did, Clark?" He's glaring at me. "What day is it?"
"Valentine's Day. Flowers, chocolate, dinner out, diamonds if you're desperate or out of your mind. You ever do that?"
"No, I've never," he coughs, "been in a relationship for this particular holiday."
He's not looking at me, and I know he's wondering what he's supposed to do now, since, yeah, this thing we've got is a relationship. But he doesn't have to worry about that stuff with me.
"Lucky you." I lean back and grin. "Costs too much if you do it right, and then you don't always get a return on your investment."
He's smiling now. "I think I should pity the women you dated," he teases.
"Why? I gave them what they wanted, for a while, and then I moved on." I raise my mug in a mock-toast. "To the girls who've gone. May they be happy with whatever sucker they've latched onto now."
He laughs. "Cynic."
"You got it."
His eyes shift to the flowers. "I should call Mother and thank her."
Of course he'd think of that. He's a gentleman, even though he's a spook. "Put me on when you're done, O.K.?"
"Of course." He gets the phone and dials. "Mother. Thank you for the flowers. Yes, Clark saw them. What? Nothing." He's frowning now, and I grimace. She must have asked what we're doing to celebrate. "Yes, of course you can talk to him." He holds out the phone, and I come over and take it. He heads back to the table, still frowning.
"Hi, Porter. Happy Valentine's Day."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Clark dear." So much affection in her voice, for *me*.
"Want to be my Valentine?" I grin at Clay, who's shaking his head at me, but the frown's gone, and I'm glad.
"Thank you, but I think not."
"Somebody got there before me? Damn. I knew I should have been under your window this morning with a guitar." Clay's laughing and wincing at the same time, and Porter's laughing, too. "Thanks for the flowers."
"You're welcome. You do have something planned, don't you, Clark? I know Clayton didn't mean to forget about Valentine's Day."
I'll have to talk to her later, when Clay's not listening, make sure she knows it's no big deal that he did. Right now I need to smooth this over. "It's Saturday. My boss worked my butt off all week." Clay gives me a mock-frown at that one. "I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet day of sports." And at some point I'll get the phone and make some calls, but Clay doesn't need to know that. I should have done that before now, but he really did work my ass off.
"Clark Palmer, you don't fool me for a moment. If you need any help from me for whatever plans you have, please call." She hangs up, and I laugh to myself. Porter Webb's the smartest woman I've ever met.
I put the phone back and sit down at the table. "How about I make dinner tonight, and you can see how much better I am?" Then I can say I don't feel like cooking and drag him out to dinner. It's a plan. I should be able to get a reservation somewhere, or I can call Porter to help me, which might be the smart way to go.
He picks up his mug and drains it, then puts it down. "Don't make any plans for tonight."
Oh? I give him a quizzical look, and he smiles.
"I found your description of your past Valentine's Days intriguing enough to want to try it myself. I trust you'll make sure I get a return on my investment."
"No guarantees." I grin so he knows I'm kidding. I'm amazed. He's going to do the romantic thing? With me? Maybe I need to test the water again, just to make sure no one's drugging it.
His eyebrows lift. "Oh?"
I laugh. "You know you don't have to worry with me."
"It's hard to see you saying no to sex," he says quietly, still smiling.
"You've got that wrong. I don't say no to you. Anyone else," I shrug, "out of the question."
We're quiet for too long, staring at each other, then Clay stands and breaks the silence. "Be ready at seven."
"No problem."
He nods and heads out of the kitchen, and I decide to get some more coffee.
Going to be a long day.
*****
I'm dressed in something casual, but good, with a pair of the silk boxers Clay gave me for Christmas, of course, and ready to go or not go, and sitting on the couch when Clay walks in. He's wearing a suit, but that's fine with me. He looks great in one. Maybe he'll let me undress him later. Nice thought.
"Let's go."
I stand up. "Sure." So we are going out.
There's a limo parked out front, and he heads toward it. Whoa. I never hired a limousine for any of the women I saw, but clearly Clay's got a different attitude toward this than I did.
We get in, no sign of the chauffeur, and I hope Clay checked him out, then I laugh to myself. Like he wouldn't.
The car starts after Clay shuts the door, and we ride for a little while, not in silence, because there's some soft jazz coming over the speakers, but not talking.
"No questions? I'm surprised."
"Wouldn't dream of trying to find out." I match his cool tone and lean against the seat. "That looks like a bar. Do I get a drink?"
"Of course." He leans forward and takes out two wine glasses, then a bottle of champagne and works out the cork, fills the glass, and hands it to me.
I take a sip and enjoy the taste. The good stuff, as always with him. If tonight is just driving around in this limo, I'll be fine. We can always make the driver stop for pizza. And after we eat, I could go down on Clay. Yeah, sounds good to me. I'd do that now, but I'm not sure he wants that, and it's fun to be with him, sex or no sex.
We drive for a while, and we each have another glass of champagne, then the car comes to a stop. Clay puts down his glass. "Coming?"
Hell, yeah. I grin and slide over to get out his side and find we're in front of a small restaurant, name on the sign, Francisco's. I've never heard of it. Clay heads in, and I follow. It's pretty full, but the maitre d' shows us to a table.
"Like it?"
I open the menu. "Smells like a good place."
"I wouldn't take you anywhere bad, Clark."
"Yeah. I know that."
We go out for dinner sometimes, but always as colleagues or friends, not lovers. He's never said that's the rule, but I'm not stupid. I pay for my own meal, and I behave myself, even though I come up with the damnedest ideas when we're out, like sitting next to him when we're in a booth and working his cock with one hand while I eat with the other, or slipping under the table and sucking him off, or following him into the men's room and sucking him off there, or even having him fuck me. And even though tonight's different, I think, I'll still behave myself while we're in public. I wouldn't worry about taking care of any asshole who tried to blackmail me or Clay, but there's no need to do anything to encourage them.
"What do you recommend?" I'm sure he's been here before. The maitre d' acted like he was an old friend.
"I haven't had a bad meal here. Pick what you want."
I never let the women I took out for Valentine's Day order. But Clay's not me. "Yeah, but come on, Clay, show off for me." I close the menu and smile. "Please."
He laughs. "All right. I'll show off, as you put it."
The waiter comes over and pours water, brings bread, talks about the specials, then asks what we want to drink. Clay opens the wine list, points to some wine or other, and the waiter nods and goes away.
"I don't get any more champagne?"
He gives me a look at that, and I hold in my laugh and try to look innocent. "Don't push it, Clark."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Webb," I murmur and grin when that makes him smile.
The waiter comes back with two wine glasses and a bottle and, after Clay inspects the bottle and nods, opens it without the usual production. That's a nice change. Then he pours some for Clay, who takes a sip and rolls it in his mouth, then sucks in air like a pro, swallows, and smiles. "Excellent."
The waiter beams and pours some for me and more for Clay, then puts down the bottle. "Are you ready to order, gentlemen?"
"I'll order for both of us," Clay says coolly, and when the waiter looks over at me, I give him a smile and nod. The waiter takes out a pad and looks at Clay again. "The bruschetta to start, then the ravioli al funghi di bosco. He'll have the saltimbocca alla Romana, and I'll have the agnello alla Griglia."
The waiter gets that all down and hurries off with the menus. I don't know what the hell we're having, some kind of ravioli, but that's it. Clay sure sounded sexy ordering it. Too bad this tablecloth isn't down to the floor, or I'd seriously consider slipping under it and sucking him off.
Clay leans over the table. "The appetizer is toasted bread with chopped tomatoes and basil and goat cheese, then mushroom ravioli. Veal for your main course, lamb for mine."
I should have known he'd tell me. "Thanks. Sounds good." I try the wine and whistle. "Wow." I look at the label to find the kind, which is Barolo. Whatever. It's red, and Clay approves of it. I'll look it up later.
"What did you call this, an investment?"
"That I did." I stare at him and let a promise for later show in my eyes.
He lifts his glass. "To our mutual investment."
There's a promise in his eyes, too, and I clink my glass against his, then drink.
The bruschetta comes, and it's really good. I'm going to find a recipe for this. Then the waiter brings the mushroom ravioli, the first of which Clay insists on feeding me, and it's a rush opening my mouth and having him slide the fork into my mouth. I lick my lips after I finish chewing, and he can't take his eyes off them.
"Something wrong?"
He doesn't answer, but one hand slips under the table, and I have to swallow a gasp as I feel it on my thigh. "If you want to play this kind of game, fine, but you'll lose, Clark."
Like hell I'll lose. "Define 'losing', Clay."
His shoulders shake with laughter. "Right. You'd love if I jerked you off here, wouldn't you?"
His hand is still on my thigh, and I shift, trying to get it on my crotch. I'm not hard now, but I could be. "Go right ahead."
"It would be fun to watch you try to control yourself," he says in a low voice, "but I can wait." He takes his hand away.
"Going to feed me all of my dinner?"
This time he licks his lips, and seeing the tip of that tongue that I love having in my mouth teases me enough to get me hardening. "Not tonight. Some other time, when we don't have to worry about spectators."
"I would have cooked something decent, or gotten take-out."
His smile warms. "I know. But I wanted to be out with you."
"I'm not complaining." I spear a ravioli, think about feeding it to him, then decide I'd rather eat it myself.
We trade bites of the veal and the lamb after the ravioli are gone, and I know as well as he does that we're teasing each other. I'm pretty sure we're going to make out and more in the limo. I'll do my damnedest to see that we do.
We end with espresso for both of us, decaf, and Clay convinces me to split a piece of zuccotta, which turns out to be yellow cake, I think, filled with chocolate and whipped cream with cocoa over the top and damned good. Then the waiter brings the bill, and Clay pays it with cash, which impresses me, and stands. "Ready to go?"
"Men's room first."
"Good idea."
It's the kind of place that has one restroom for one person at a time, so we take turns. Clay goes first and tells me he'll meet me at the limousine. I go in and lock the door, piss, then wash my hands and stare at my face. That's a hell of a different Clark Palmer than I used to see. He doesn't look like he's got the hounds of hell after him, which is how I looked at times both in the DSD and Leavenworth. He's relaxed and happy. With my luck, some asshole from my past will show up, or some enemy of Clay's, and I'll have to kill him.
I grimace, then toss the paper towel in the trash and unlock the door. Time to get out of here.
Clay's in front in the limo, and he opens the door to let me in. "Home?"
"If that's where you want to go, sure."
He laughs. "You sound like you want something else."
"Home sounds just fine to me." Home's wherever he is, but that's almost too corny for me to think, let alone say.
"Good, because I'm ready for bed."
I slide next to him. "Why wait for that?"
I angle my head and take his mouth, and we kiss hot and slow and long. Kissing Clay is like nothing else in the goddamned world. Nothing. It's almost enough to make me not care that I'm hard, but not quite, when I know I can get more.
I pull back from his mouth. "You wanted a return on your investment?" He nods, looking as stunned and turned on as I feel. "Get ready for a hell of a return."
I slip to the floor in front of him and reach up to unzip his pants and take out his cock, which is as hard as I've ever seen it.
"Would you have done this in the restaurant, Clark?"
"Hell, yeah." He should know that, but maybe he just wants to hear me say it. "Did you want me to?"
"I thought about it. But then I remembered I'd have you all to myself here."
I press a kiss to the head that turns into a slow lick, then take the head and some of the shaft into my mouth and lick and suck and bite gently until Clay's shaking, then I pull off.
"You want my mouth or my ass?"
"Your mouth, now," he says hoarsely, and I open my mouth and slam it down the length of his cock, taking it all in and sucking as hard as I can. He wants me. He wants *me*.
I swallow his come and lick my lips to get what I missed and feel that silk stroke my cock. It's good, but I want Clay.
"Now you." Clay's eyes are glittering again. "But you get my mouth. Maybe later you can have my ass."
"Fine," I say as hoarsely as he did a little while ago. Jesus, I can't get enough of him. Never thought I'd get this crazy over another person, but I am, and I want it this way. Clay's mine. I'm his. Never going to let him go.
We trade places, and Clay takes out my cock and licks it all over, slow and soft and teasing, then does the same to my balls. I'm making noises only he gets me to make, begging noises. He puts his hands on my hips to stop me from thrusting and keeps teasing me, keeps licking me, until he either takes pity on me or wants more and sucks my cock into that incredible mouth of his and keeps sucking until I pump my come down his throat.
He pulls off and smiles. "You were right, Clark. Hell of a return."
I smile back and slump against the seat. Yeah.
The End
Posted 2/14/02
To read the next Eclipse Snapshot, go to Investigating Detective Frazier. If you've read that already, go to Rite of Spring.
