Passing notes
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer
Rating: adult
Clayton Webb gets a note from Clark Palmer, and does something about it. Is it the right thing, though?
Part 6 in the Eclipse series
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I know this. I'm just borrowing them, so that we all can have some fun.
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.
Spoilers: Imposter, Webb of Lies. I think that's all.
This is totally Katja's story. I was answering a message from her, one of the really fun things in my life, and one or two of her questions got me writing this story, in the message. She is a muse. That is the proof of it. And she makes me smile on a regular basis.
Katja and Tinnean read this back when it was a rough draft, and helped me keep going on it. Mareen did not read this one, so it's her surprise. Thanks to her for believing that I could do this one on my own. Thanks also to Alex and Page for messages that helped me decide to go ahead and let this one go, finally, since they wanted to read it.
*****
I pound on the door, and lucky for him, it's not long before he opens it.
"Clay." He's smiling, in jeans and a partly buttoned shirt, and barefoot. "Come in. I'm glad to see you."
I don't know why the hell he would be. "I need to talk to you. Now."
"Of course." He's so calm. He has to be able to tell that I'm ready to blow up at him. He's smart enough to know what he's done, and he can't want me to be angry. Unless he thinks that losing my control is going to get him something. It won't.
He leads the way inside, not stopping until we're in his small kitchen. All right. Nice enough, copper pots even. That's a surprise, that he'd spend his money on expensive cookware. I don't see Clark Palmer cooking. But there are cookbooks on the table, Julia Child, Fanny Farmer, even the latest edition of "The Joy of Cooking" that I picked up myself a few weeks ago. This is seriously strange, Clark Palmer doing something in a kitchen that isn't linked to the destruction of someone. I remember reading about him making the mask of Harm's face right in front of him. This all looks legitimate, though.
He must see me staring at his pots and books, because he answers the question I didn't ask.
"I thought it would be fun to learn some more about food." He sounds serious. "I'm tired of takeout, and it can't be that hard to cook, just follow the recipe. I know I can do that. I should have the time now, too. For a while, until they send us out. You think they're going to do that soon?"
He gives me a hopeful look, and I ignore it. I'm not going to get distracted by this small talk.
"Listen, Palmer." I should not have come here. It's what he wants, that much is clear. But this had to be done. I am not going to put up with that kind of behavior at work. I told him the rules when he started, he said he could play by the rules, and he will.
"What is it, Clay?" He's so damned relaxed, leaning against that counter. "You're my first visitor. Sit down, relax. Want some scotch? It's late enough to have a drink, don't worry. Sorry I don't have any champagne chilled. You deserve it." And he flashes me the smile I remember from when he was over at my place. That interested, seductive one. The one I still think about, even though I don't want to.
I decide to stay near the doorway. This won't take long. Can't take long. "No."
He's talking again before I get out more. Why is it so hard to talk now? I was furious all the way over, and now I don't have any words?
"Why not, Clay? I know you're not happy with me, but hey, you're here, it's Friday afternoon..." He shrugs and reaches up to take down a glass. He's so damned graceful, my mouth dries watching him. I want him.
No.
"Why the hell did you leave this note on my desk? It's insane. I'm not going to put up with this." I couldn't believe it when I found it a half hour ago. *Time to talk about Rabb, or not talk at all?* was all it said, but I knew damned well what he meant. I wanted to tear it up. Instead I went to his office, found it locked, then got into my car and came here.
"I thought about calling, but somehow I thought you'd just say no again, Clay. I know you," he murmurs, putting the glass down on the counter next to him. "I have to get your attention somehow. You're not taking me seriously any more. And you need to."
I give him an angry look. I do take him seriously. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here. "Just give this up, Palmer. It's over. Deal with it."
"I'm not giving up on you, Clay. Did you want to talk about England now? Is that why you're here?"
"I'm here to tell you to stop this." It is so hard to talk. I will not be blackmailed, be used like this. It's wrong. I cannot give in to it.
But I can't fight it too well, either.
"I'm not stopping. I told you that before."
Damn that low voice of his. The shirt opens as he shifts and I see that there are still marks on him from the last time. No, there couldn't be. It's been a month, more than long enough for him to heal. It has to be someone else. Of course. He's got another lover. Damn him.
"What is it, Clay?" He takes a step toward me. I get a whiff of his musk, and it doesn't help me at all. I know that scent. I want it. Want him. "You don't like what you see?"
"Who did that to you?" Fuck. This is not what I came here for. But I can't stop, can't shut up, can't leave it alone.
He's smiling now. "Jealous, Clay? But you've got Rabb in your bed. Why shouldn't I have some fun, too?"
I'm trembling. He's got someone, a woman or a man, and I'm replaceable, just like I know I am for Harm, and...damn. I have to get out of here. Now.
"Clay." He's over in front of me before I can do more than take a step, pinning me to the wall with that lean body of his. "There's no one else. You made these. Remember?"
I can't breathe. He leans over, kisses my neck with a gentleness I can't believe, can't trust, and trust anyway.
"I heal slowly, Clay. And," his laugh is a breath against my skin, "I keep pinching the ones I can reach to keep them there." He reaches down and takes a fold of his skin between his fingers and shows me, and my eyes track every movement. He breathes out slowly but otherwise makes no sign about the pain he's causing himself.
This is insane. And I can't stop it. He keeps kissing my neck, his fingers stroking my chest through my shirt, and I can't, won't stop him. I need this. I need him. And he knows it. Clark knows what to do to get to me. This is not good at all.
His fingers are down at my crotch, stroking, knowing just what to do, what I like. "Clark," I hear myself moan. No. I can't want both of them. But I do, and only one of them is here, reaching out to me. Wanting me enough to play games, to lure me.
"Stupid of me to play games with your head. I'm sorry," he whispers into my ear. "Let me make it up to you."
He's on his knees, and I don't move, even though I could and should. I let him unzip me, take my hardness into his mouth, lick, suck. He knows what to do and I don't have to worry about anything with Clark, not now. Damn Harm for going off for JAG, damn him for saying such a casual goodbye, damn him for not wanting to do this for me, for always making excuses and wanting me to, for wanting it all his way, for not wanting me as much as I want him...and oh, Clark's face shows just how much he wants this, wants me.
He keeps sucking, harder and harder, not stopping even when I fuck his mouth. I shudder and thrust harder and come, buried in his throat, and all he does is hold on to my hips, keeping me there as he swallows it all and I watch him through half-closed eyes.
He pulls his mouth away finally and smiles. His lips are swollen again, from me. "You think you can be ready to go again soon?" It's that dark voice I remember from our night together, from taking the bugs out in Harm's apartment, that I haven't really heard since. He stands, and I can't help checking out his crotch. The jeans make it very clear that he's hard. "I want you to fuck me."
God. He just says it like that. Harm won't let me, says he can't face it again. Says he doesn't want it. Just one or two fingers, when he says it's all right. Nothing more.
"No."
"No?" He looks surprised. "Rabb's away. I'm here. What the hell's the problem?" And he licks his lips and smiles. "You can put more marks on me, Clay. I'd like that."
"The hell with what you like."
"Stoner told me to tell you what he said." His voice is low, but his eyes are blazing. "Don't you want to know? I hate breaking a promise to a dead man."
It's a threat. We both know that "No," I manage. I know that David's last words have to be about how I betrayed him, and I can't hear that. I hate that I'm so damned weak. But David mattered to me, *matters* still, and I'm not ready to face anything more. I'm running, and I'll keep running from anything that makes me face what I did to him.
Which is why I'm here now. Running. Right to Clark Palmer. As though he's anything more than a threat. I should be running away from him, heading home. I'd be safe then.
How safe do I really want to be? Not as safe as I thought.
"You made the deal, Clay," he purrs and presses his body against mine. "Now keep it."
That is what this is all about. A deal. A game. A way to get me into his bed. Him wanting me. Him loving to play games.
Which of them? Any? All?
Do I really care now?
No.
He's here, and Harm isn't. He wants me. Harm doesn't. It's that simple now.
I take in a long breath. "This once," I say, and wish my voice was steady.
"This once?" he echoes. His tongue is tracing his lips, and I want to kiss him and shut him up. "No, Clay. But that's all right. You just keep telling yourself to lie there and think of...England? No, that's just what you *don't* want to think about. Think about your career. Or your precious Harm."
"Shut up about him," I growl. He's trying to provoke me, and doing a damned good job of it, too. I have to stop letting him do this to me.
"I'm not going to offer to be him again," he says very softly. "You said you wanted me last time. I think you still do."
Yes, but I can't. I have to stop wanting him.
"You know how to get him, right? Just go along with what he wants, what he likes. Wait for him to say he's in the mood." And he's right. That's the way, the only way to get Harmon Rabb into bed. Wait for him to make up his mind. "Me? All you have to do is come over. Or call. Hell, give me the right kind of smile and I'll get on my hands and knees in your office."
That gets me on the way to being hard again. I was right that first day. He was offering me sex whenever I wanted. I know it's impossible, I know it could never happen, I know I'd never do that. It's out of the question. But I'd love to fuck him there, make him beg, make him know he's mine.
I close my eyes to try and get my control back, but he's still talking, whispering now, leaning in, letting me smell him, grinding his erection against me, and I can't.
"Try it some time, Clay. Call me into your office, shut the door, tell me to strip and get down or bend over, your choice. I'll do it. I'll carry everything we'll need from now on. Do it Monday morning, or make me wait until you're ready. Or come to mine. It's your call."
I'm so damned hot now. I can't wait. "Bedroom," I hear myself say, voice strained and unfamiliar.
"This way," he murmurs and takes my arm, tugs me down a short hall and into a dark room. He doesn't bother to turn on a light, and we're on the bed before I know what's happening. He's kissing me, fierce and desperate, melting into me when I break the kiss and start sucking on his neck, bringing up those marks he wants. That I want.
"More," I hear his low voice, gasping now. Desperate. "Please, Clay. More."
And I know that he's talking about...everything. He wants more of me, more marks, more sex, more...I don't know what else. I wish I knew what he really wants from me. It can't just be sex, and it can't be what he says. Why the hell would he care how I feel about David Stoner's death? But Clark Palmer takes everything I can give him. He wants what Harm won't even talk about, what Harm laughs at me for asking for. And that's when Harm's in a good mood.
No. Not Harm now. I lift my head and see Clark's eyes fixed on me. He sees me. I can count on that.
"I'm ready any time, Clay." His eyes are glittering. "It's been too long since you had me."
I want him. He wants me. It's so simple with him.
It shouldn't be this simple.
That thought comes and goes and I know that there's no way out of this now. This time. Maybe never. I was worried that I'd changed after the first time, and I had. This time I'll change even more. I don't even care. I want to be this person, want to be the one who has Clark Palmer. Who owns him, possesses him, fucks him. I'll feel differently later, but that doesn't matter now.
"Then get ready." I smile at him, and I see his smile back. He knows. He knows that there's no way out of this. He's never wanted one. I'm the only one who has.
And in another minute, he's stripped and on his hands and knees, and I'm out of my suit, not even giving a damn that it's ending up on the floor, smearing him with lube, impatient, because I'm ready, and he's begging me for it in that low, desperate voice I love hearing. "Please, Clay. Hurry. Dammit, now. Please, now." Over and over and over again, until I shove the head of my very hard cock into him and then jam it the rest of the way in. His voice stops making words then and fades into a constant, wordless moan.
He does want it. And when he can speak again, it's my name he's saying. "Clay. Clay. Clay." So I fuck him harder and he gasps and urges me on, and then I feel his muscles tense around me and his cries get sharper, and I know he's coming, without any kind of stroking, just from being fucked, from me fucking him, and that gets me so hot that I come, too.
I just stay there for a long moment until I can move again, then pull out of him. Only then does Clark sink down into the bed, and I realize that he stayed in that position for me. I don't know why I lie down next to him and put my arms around him, but I do, and I need to.
He and I share something that I don't understand, don't trust, shouldn't want, shouldn't need, can't have, won't last, but we do.
Clark smiles at me, drowsy, satisfied. His lips rest on my cheek in a long, soft kiss. "Do I have to pull a gun on you to get you to stay?" he breathes. "I hope not."
That wakes up the echo of Harm saying "Leave without a word and I'll kill you," and the conversation we did have, and it makes me turn away.
"No." His voice cuts through the pain. "I won't do that, Clay. I won't hurt you."
There is no way in hell I can believe that one. I twist around and glare at him. "What do you call holding David's words over me?" I'm not even going to bring up the time he was going to shoot me.
"Trying to help. You have to believe me."
How can I believe him? And how can I not?
He's talking low but rapidly, as if he has to convince me now or lose some kind of bet. "You have to get over it. You have to know it was all right for him to die. You have to know that it's all right for you to have lived. You don't believe any of that, and you need to. You need to know that *you're* worth something, worth everything, so much more than he ever could have been."
"What happened when you went back to the DSD?" His eyes look startled, and I realize that we're talking. I don't want to think about it being 'all right' that David died. I don't want to talk. "Never mind," I say abruptly. "I don't want to know."
He nods. We're both sitting up now. "You don't have to. I'm sorry. I should have shut the fuck up."
He's apologizing? The world is changing.
"I need to go now." This is too much. It's been a long week. I need some food, a shower, and some sleep.
"Don't go." His voice is very soft. "Stay with me."
Harm never asks me to stay. Always seems fine that I leave, no matter when it is. Oh, unless he's hard and wants a hand or a mouth to get him off. Then he'll make the effort.
"No more threats." He's looking at me as though that should be enough to make up my mind.
"Ever?"
A soft chuckle as he stands. "Can't promise that, Clay. You're safe until after dinner. I'll cook. I can manage spaghetti, if you don't mind bottled sauce, and a salad. I'll even cut up an onion and fry it with the hamburger. Just for you."
I don't have anywhere to be, or anyone to be with. Harm's off on a case for JAG. I know where, but I'm not involved. Mother has her own social schedule. And Clark wants me here.
I make up my mind. "Give me a minute to get dressed, and I'll help you."
"You can cook a hell of a lot better than I can," he's grinning, "but you're the guest. Let me show off."
I don't have to understand this now. Later.
"All right," I say carefully. It's just this one time. I'll find a way to make him know that later. "Sounds good."
He gives me a long look. "It will be fine," he says quietly. "You'll see, Clay. This will be good for both of us." He flashes me a quick smile. "I'll get started. I'll call you when it's ready, or just come out. The bathroom's down the hall. I'll put out a towel, in case you want to clean up." He's wiping himself off with tissues as he talks, quickly and without any kind of fuss, then tosses me the box, grabs his jeans and shirt from the room, pulls them on, and is out of the room. I wipe myself off then, too. Nice firm mattress. A lot like mine.
Just what have I done? All I know is that I've done it and there's no turning back. I'm Clark Palmer's lover. Fight it though I will, and I definitely will, he has something I want and I have something he wants.
It isn't over. And I remember what I was thinking earlier, that it may never be over.
Right now, in this bed, hearing the sounds of chopping and a short, annoyed "damned onion" coming from the kitchen, I'm even smiling.
The End
Posted 10/24/00
To read a flashback from Palmer's pov (Palmer/Paul Candella with thoughts of Webb), go to Source. To read part 6b of the Eclipse series instead, which is the next part (the numbering is not of the best, I know - it comes from adding parts by request), go to Dragged. To read part 7 of the Eclipse series instead, go to Just Dinner.
