Please
By Isilzha and Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Clayton Webb/Harmon Rabb
Rating: adult
In which Harmon Rabb goes to Clayton Webb's office to ask a favor and finds out something important about himself.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS. We're making no money off this and mean no disrespect. This is for 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.
Notes (Gail): Isilzha sent me the first part of this because she's wonderful and knows I love seeing Harm on his knees, then I went ahead and finished it, with her encouragement. It's a joint effort, our story, and it was so much fun to do. She beta'd my part; I beta'd hers, and I thank her very much for that. Read her slash here. It's really good. Thanks to Allaire, Mareen, and Tinnean, who encouraged me to keep going with this story as well.
(7/1/2001) I was so lucky to have the chance to write this with Isilzha and post it while she was still here.
Notes (Isilzha): Thanks to Gail for her beta and for writing the ending. Without her, this wouldn't have been a story, just a snippet that would never have seen the light of day.
*****
I wish to god I hadn't come to Webb's office to see him. I should have gone to his house, or asked him to meet me in the park, or, or anything. Anything that meant I wouldn't now be standing here in his office, watching him watch me with that distant look. Like he doesn't give a shit about me, like I may as well crawl out the way I came in right now, before he decides to have me thrown out on my ass. He never looks at me like that anywhere else. I don't know why the hell I ever come here. He'd meet me wherever I asked him to.
He's asking me why I'm here, and I'm telling him, but that's not what I'm thinking about. Here, in this office, there's only one thing I can think about. I don't know why it has to be this way. He looks at me like that, exactly like he's looking at me now, and all I want is to be on my knees in front of him, with his cock in my mouth.
I want to be under his desk, with his hands in my hair, as he fucks my mouth. I want to do him while he's talking on the phone, talking in spook language about stuff I can only guess at. I want to hear that cool voice while I suck him and try to get him to lose control. He wouldn't, but I'd try. I wonder what he'd do if I offered, right now.
I've thought about it a thousand times. Couldn't help it. Mostly only at night, in bed, with the lights off. It started off so slow I could tell myself it was a fluke, but it's all the time now. He's the one I'm thinking of every time I jerk off. His face, his body, not that I've ever seen much of it. His voice. His hands. It's not supposed to be like this for me.
I know that sounds awful, and I know it's not like I've got a right to have anyone I want, but dammit, I want him so much, and it's not fair. It's not like I've got that high an opinion of myself, but everyone else seems to. Since high school, I've gotten who I wanted without trying. Any woman. I never had to deal with this. I don't know how to deal with this.
He's telling me why he can't do what I want him to do. It always goes like this when I come here. He holds out better here, another reason to meet him somewhere else. Then he says something I didn't expect.
"It's not going to be that easy this time, Rabb."
That's not according to the script. I check it against what we've said so far, playing the conversation back in my head. I told him I'd owe him. So it won't be that easy this time? What does that mean?
"What do you want, Clay?" I wish to god my voice hadn't sounded like that. Too close to seductive, too fucking close. Why do I lose it here? Why do I keep coming?
"Why don't you make me an offer, Harm?"
"Like what?" I'm stalling. He doesn't think there's anything I can offer him, and he's almost right. There's never been anything I could offer him, and I know what he's done in the past, he's done because he wanted to. I couldn't force him into it; I don't have that kind of power. He does. I didn't know when we met, or for years really, but he's so far above me on the Washington food chain that he could have had me transferred to Nome to count icicles years ago, and I never would have known who did it.
Now it's a little different. Now there's one thing I can offer him, if I can work up the courage. It's not about the case. It's about this being the only chance I'll get.
"Use your imagination."
I am. God, I am. I walk to the door, shutting it and locking it. The blinds are already down, so I don't have to worry about that. I turn back to him, and he's looking at me. My knees are weak, and I always thought that was just an expression, but I really don't know if I can walk that far. I walk over to his desk. Another three steps and I'm behind it, standing next to him.
He turns his chair to face me, and his expression doesn't change one damn bit. I've been able to read him less and less the past few years. If we met now, I'd never find out he wasn't from State, never know anything but what he wanted me to know. He could sure as hell play poker now. I don't know if I can do this.
Then his hand is at the waistband of my pants, tugging, pulling me down, and I go. Down on my knees. I'm thinking I should have practiced on someone else, but I never wanted anyone but him. I'll just have to do it right the first time.
He leans back in his chair, and I can't believe how he's taking this. Like it's his right, like this is a perfectly normal form of payment. God, maybe for him it is. No. That can't be true; I won't believe it. But he's taking it so calmly. My hands feel boneless and nerveless, and I can't believe they're working at all, but I get his fly undone and his cock out, and he's already half hard.
I look up at him for a second because I can't help it. Still nothing in his eyes, and that makes it easier for some reason. I bend my head, take him in my mouth, try to remember how I like it when all I can really think is that I'm doing it, finally, and he's letting me.
I want the rest of him, too, want to feel his skin under my hands, but he's still dressed of course, and so am I. A wave of heat goes through me and I wish I was naked, in his bed, on the desk, wherever. With him inside me. Shit, I never wanted that before. Never.
His hands come to rest in my hair and I remember what I'm doing, and I don't know how I could have forgotten, because it's so good. I want to make it last, want to make him scream, but I concentrate on just making him come. I don't want to screw this up. I'm already thinking of next time, and if I don't do this well, he won't want me to do it again.
I run my tongue around the head, up and down the shaft. He's fully hard now, getting harder in my mouth, and it's amazing to feel that happen. I'd like to deep throat him, but I don't think I can, and I don't want to mess up, so I use my hand and keep my tongue working the head. He's breathing harder, making tiny noises, and so I know I must be doing something right. His hands in my hair, his scent surrounding me, and I don't even know what I'm doing any more.
He's thrusting into my mouth now, taking it like I wanted him to. I could pull back; he's not holding me there. But I stay and let him fuck my mouth, going deeper than before. It's okay, I can take it. Hell, I'm loving it. This is all there is right now.
He pulls me away and reaches down to close his hand around his cock. No, what the hell is this? I knock his hand away and take him back in, as far as I can. I hear his intake of breath, and he's trying to tell me something, but I can't hear his words. It doesn't matter anyway. I keep sucking, bobbing my mouth on him, and then he's coming down my throat, and I'm trying to keep from gagging. It's an effort to swallow it all, but I want to, and I manage it.
When I pull my mouth off him and look up, he's staring at me, lips parted and cheeks flushed. The sight makes me want to do it all over again, but I put his cock back in his pants and zip him up.
I want to say something, but there's nothing I can say. I just wait, still on my knees, and so fucking hard I'm sure he can see it. I don't know how I'm going to get out of the building with that in my pants. Maybe there's a bathroom on this floor; I need to jerk off. He's still looking at me. I want to ask if it was all right, if he'll let me do it again, if we can do more. That's when I realize just how stupid I've been. Am I crazy? He doesn't want me. He's fucking straight, just like I thought I was, and I'm lucky he let me do this at all. It's never going to happen again, no matter how good I was.
I can't move. He's going to have to say something, stand up, throw me out, or I'm going to be here all day. Come on, Clay. Say something, will you? He doesn't, but he does move, bending toward me. His hand tips my face up to his, and our lips meet. Our tongues slide together, and I can taste him, his mouth, his come, all at the same time. Fuck, he's really kissing me. Maybe I have a chance after all.
We part slowly, his hand on the side of my face the only thing keeping me from following after his mouth. Straight guys don't kiss each other. He's not straight, he can't be. He might have let me blow him, but he wouldn't have kissed me.
I still can't say a damn word. I'm just kneeling there, waiting, and feeling something open up inside me. This is so simple. So easy. He's going to tell me what to do, and I'll do it. No complications, no worries.
"Get up, Harm." His voice is soft, quiet. He's smiling at me, and I smile back and get up. My knees hurt, but that's all right; I don't mind. I brush off my pants and look down at him. I should say something now, but I can't think of anything that sounds right. I want to ask him all the questions I want answered, and none of them have anything to do with my case.
"Will you fuck me?" is what finally comes out. I didn't plan to say it, but it's said now. I can't take it back, so I wait for an answer.
"Tonight. Be at my house at nine. Sharp." He pulls me down for another kiss, then puts his hand on my chest, pushing me away. "You can go now. I'll see you then."
I stand there, blinking at him for a second. Then I turn, straightening my uniform and walking toward the door. I can barely remember what I came here for, and it doesn't seem to matter any more. I walk toward the elevator in a haze. A few people turn to look at me as I pass, and I wonder if they can tell. If they can tell I just sucked off Clayton Webb in his office. Jesus. I can't believe it. And tonight... tonight he's going to fuck me because I asked him to. Who the hell am I? I don't think I care.
I want to belong to him.
*****
I'm at Webb's door at five of nine and nervous as all hell. I didn't know what to wear, what to bring, what to do, but in the end I decide that I'll just come in what I'd wear at night at home and that if he wanted anything more, he would have told me. I press the doorbell and wait.
Nothing happens. The minutes pass as I check my watch, and I'm still standing there. It's a cool night, and I end up shivering. I didn't think I'd be out in the air this long. Did he have to work late? Or did he change his mind about fucking me? Decide it wasn't what he wanted after all? Oh, god, no. Not that.
Finally the door opens, and he's standing there. "I said nine sharp," he reminds me before I can ask, and I flush. Already I've fucked this up? But he's not frowning. "Come in."
He shuts the door after I'm inside, locks it, then turns around and starts walking, and I follow him. He doesn't stop in the hallway, just keeps going until we've gone up a flight of stairs to, god, his bedroom. I saw it when I came over with Bud to look for clues when we all thought he was dead, but it's different now. Plainer. As though he's changed. Well, I knew that.
"What do you want?" My voice is so damn hoarse. I had to be careful talking this afternoon. Mac told me I sounded like I was coming down with a cold and tried to get me to take medicine, for god's sake. I couldn't tell her that I sounded like this because I sucked off Clayton Webb in his office and he fucked my mouth, but I had a damn hard time thinking of anything else all day. That and that he was going to fuck me tonight.
He's looking at me. "You were the one who wanted something, Harm." Shit. He's right. What if *he* doesn't want it at all? If he's doing this out of some kind of pity, some kind of quid pro quo? I never did get the information I was after, not that I give a damn about that now. Maybe I will later. "Do you still want it?"
That's an easy one. Even if he's only doing this because I asked him to after I gave him that blowjob, I don't care. "Yes. I want it."
He's smiling again. "Good." He steps toward me. "I wouldn't be happy if you'd changed your mind." Before I can even think about that, he's speaking again. "Take off your clothes."
I can't even get my shirt over my head without it getting tangled up, dammit. I hear a low laugh and then his fingers are undoing my belt and my jeans. I almost fall over at the feel of his fingers on my skin, even though it's just a brush or two. "Thank you," I manage.
"Keep going," is all he says back, and I can tell from his voice that he's moved away. I get the shirt off this time and look to him. I doubt that he wants me to throw it on the floor. He looks like he hangs up all his clothes. He nods toward a chair, and I fold it quickly and put it there, then kick off my sneakers and step out of my jeans and boxers. I hear a sharp intake of breath when I'm naked, but when I turn to look at Clayton, his face is impassive again. That same look that he always gives me in his office, and it's getting me hard. Does he know what it does to me? He must.
I stand and wait after I've put my jeans on the chair along with my boxers and socks. He's still looking at me, very cool, eyes moving over my body. I'm glad that I'm in good shape. I want him to want me. I hope he does. My eyes move down to his crotch, and I can see that he's hard. Good. This isn't just me.
"You've never done this before." His voice is gentle, but firm. I nod. "Of course not. But you want me to fuck you."
The sound of him saying that makes me harder. God, I'm stripped in Clayton Webb's bedroom, and he's still dressed, and he's talking about fucking me. "Yes. I want you to fuck me." I never thought this would happen. Until this afternoon, I never thought I wanted this, but I wasn't being honest with myself. I've wanted it a long time. I wonder how long he's going to make me wait, but it's all up to him now.
"That was your last chance to stop this, Harm." He takes a step closer, and I'm breathing faster now. "I won't let you leave until I'm through with you."
I never want him to be through with me. But I can't say that, so I just nod. He smiles and takes another step toward me.
"Take off my clothes and hang them up." His voice is so damn calm and controlled. I don't know how he does it, and his eyes still have that distant look in them, even when they're looking right at me, that look that gets me so hot. I swallow and reach for the buttons of his shirt. He's still wearing what he had on earlier, although he's taken off the suit jacket and vest. He was wearing this when I made him come.
I undo his tie, unbutton his shirt, then realize that he's still got his shoes and socks on, so I push at his chest. He gives me a surprised look and doesn't fall. "Your shoes," I say in that same hoarse voice. I sound so strange. "Please."
He smiles then. "Please is always a good word to use, Harm," he says in that damn sexy cool voice. "Remember that." He sits on the bed and waits, and I get down on my knees again, glad that there's a braided rug beside the bed to cushion them. I can't just pull these shoes off; they're too good. They look like they're handmade, made just for him. I undo the knot and ease it off, then take off the other, then his socks.
"There are shoe trees in the closet. Take the shoes over and put them in, then put them away. You'll see where they go. Put the socks in the hamper. The shirt will go in there, too."
So calm, knowing everything that he wants, and tonight I'm something he wants. It's taking so long, though. I didn't think it would be anything like this. I thought I'd get here, jump out of my clothes, then have Clay position me and fuck me. But this is what he wants, and it's about what he wants, not me. I'm getting what I want. I know that.
I get up, pick up the socks with one hand, then find that I need both hands for the shoes. I get everything over to the closet, knowing that he's watching me, knowing that this is part of what I need to do to get him to fuck me. I drop the socks into the woven hamper, then work the shoe trees into the shoes. I kneel on the floor to do it; I don't know why. It just feels right. When I glance back at the bed, he is watching me, and he smiles. I smile back, then put the shoes on the closet floor in the spot that seems right for them and go back to finish undressing him.
He stands, and I take off his shirt, laying it on the bed, because I don't want this to take forever, and I don't want to keep walking away from him. I want to be near him. I pull his undershirt over his head and put it on top of the shirt, and finally I can see his body. I never thought I'd get turned on by seeing another man's body, but I am by this man's. My cock's so hard, and I wish now that I had jerked off this afternoon. But I wanted to wait. I told myself that I was getting what I'd asked for and that I had to wait. So I did, even though it wasn't easy, and it isn't easy now.
"I'll finish," he says quietly as I reach for his belt, and I want to knock his hand away, but I can't this time. His eyes are calm and certain on mine, and I know that I'm here to do what he says. He knows that's what I want. He has to know that.
I nod and pick up the shirt and undershirt and take them over to the hamper. When I turn back, he's stepping out of his pants, and I see him naked for the first time. I swallow and stare. He's not as hard as I am, but he's getting there. I'm making him hard.
He smiles when he meets my eyes, and I hope that means that he doesn't mind me looking at him. He hands the pants to me. "Hang those up."
I take them from him and damn, have to turn away to get to the closet. But when I turn back after closing the closet doors, he's still there and smiling.
"On the bed, Harm. I want you on your hands and knees, facing the headboard."
His directions are so calm and certain, just like everything else about him. Has he done this before? Has he fucked other men? I can't ask. It's not my business. I'm sure other men have wanted him to fuck them, have wanted to get on their knees for him, and there's no reason he wouldn't have taken them up on their offers. I can't be the first. I wish I were.
"Yes, Clay." I don't know what to call him, but Clay seems right, and he doesn't seem to mind. He'll have to tell me if he wants me to call him something else, and I know that he will.
I come back to the bed and do what he's told me to do. I'm shivering, but it's warm in here, so I know it's because I'm nervous. I'm the one who asked him to do this, I tell myself, and it doesn't help. I wish I could see him. It's better when I can see his dark eyes. That look I can't read comforts me, tells me that I'm with the man that I want.
He starts touching me, drawing his fingers down my back, making me shiver even more. God, he knows what he's doing. There's no uncertainty. I want him so much, and I'm going to get him. He's going to put his cock inside me.
That thought makes me moan.
He doesn't stop, just keeps his fingers moving over me, not just my back now, but my sides, my ass, the backs of my legs, then he's not touching me until I feel his hand on my back again, resting there.
"I'm going to get you ready to be fucked now, Harm." His voice is still so calm. "It is going to hurt, no matter how carefully I do it. You need to know that."
"I know," I get out, and I guess I do. I've never been fucked, but he has to know that. He's known everything so far. "Please do it." It seems right to beg him.
"Spread your legs." His hands are there, urging them apart, and it feels so good to have him finally touch me somewhere that's close to my cock. I wish he'd touch my cock, but I didn't ask for that and I won't ask for it. I know that I'm lucky he's taking all this time to prepare me, and I won't push it.
I feel his fingers move up to my asshole, and I can't help it, I gasp. There's something cool on his fingers that he's putting on me, then in me. It hurts for him just to put the finger in. I want to get it to stop hurting, and I want to help, but I don't know how to do either one.
"Breathe and relax your muscles. This is going to happen, Harm, and it's what you want. What you've wanted for a while."
So he's known about me. That makes me relax in a way that I didn't think I could. Clayton Webb knew that I was hot for him, knew that I wanted him to take over, and he never let me know. He's so damn good. I am relaxing, feeling that finger push farther into me, and it still hurts, but not as much, and then he twists it and something, oh, god, something happens that's so good I moan again.
"It won't hurt all the time, Harm." His voice is so low and smooth now. "You'll like it, I promise. I know how to fuck you so you'll like it."
Of course he does; I should have known he would. Clayton Webb knows so many things. "Please, Clay." He said that please was a good word to use.
A low laugh, and then another finger. "Patience, Harm." He's sliding them into me, and oh, god, it doesn't hurt much at all, especially when he does...that again. "You've waited so long; what does a little longer hurt?"
I can't tell him that right now it feels as though I've waited forever, and in a way, it doesn't matter if I keep waiting. I'm here, naked, in his bed, the way I wanted to be, and his fingers are giving me so much pleasure, and he's going to fuck me. Maybe it's better if this never ends. This might be the only time Clayton Webb's willing to give me what I want. No, I can't think about that now. I have to enjoy this, and it's not hard to do that. I breathe out and let myself go.
He doesn't seem to care that I haven't answered, but then he must know that the way his fingers are stretching me makes thinking difficult, or maybe he doesn't. I don't know. I'm panting, my heart pounding so hard that I can't imagine he doesn't feel it, too. If his fingers can do this to me, what will his cock do? More, the answer comes to me, and that makes me moan again.
"You want me." He doesn't leave me any room, but I don't want any. I asked him to do this, asked him to fuck me, and I want it so much. I want everything, and I don't want to wait any longer to get it.
"Yes," I get out and get the reward of his fingers making me feel so good. He has to want me. Why is he waiting? Because he doesn't? No, please not that. "Please fuck me," I hear myself say, shameless, begging. "Please, Clay."
I hope that he likes hearing me beg, and I think that he does, because I feel him thrust his fingers into me, so hard and right that I cry out. He thrusts again, making me cry out again, then stops, his fingers buried in me.
"This is how it will be, Harm." His voice is so low and dark. "Only more so. Now ask me one more time to fuck you, and sound like you mean it."
I haven't? It doesn't matter. This is what he wants to hear, and what I want to tell him. "Clay, please fuck me. Please. I want you inside me. Please," I end with, and hope it's enough.
"I decided to fuck you when you were down on your knees in front of me today." His fingers are gone, and god, I feel so empty now. But I hear him say that, and I know that he's telling the truth, and it sounds so good to me that he wanted me then. I wonder if he wanted me before that. I hope so, but I don't know. "There's no way I'm going to let you leave now without getting fucked. I told you that already."
Oh, god. He sounds like he means it, and I can't believe that Clay would lie to me about this. About something for the good of the country, or at least of the CIA, but not here, in his bed. Why bother?
I shiver and feel something brushing against my ass. It has to be his cock. It makes me forget about anything but getting that emptiness filled. I never had this feeling before in my life, but I can't believe that I've survived this long without being in Clayton Webb's bed, waiting for him to put his cock in my ass and make me belong to him even more than I do right now.
I wonder if I'm ever going to lose the feeling that I belong to him. I don't want to.
Then I can't really think at all, because something's pushing into me, something bigger and harder and thicker than Clay's fingers, and I know what it is. His cock. He's right; it does hurt, and I clamp my mouth shut so that I won't beg him to stop. I asked for this, I remind myself fiercely. I wanted him to fuck me. I still want him. But right now what I want is for this to stop.
"Harm." His voice brings me back to myself, but I don't want to be there. Not where it hurts. And then I find out that it doesn't hurt. It's strange; it burns, but it's not pain any more. "That's better. I want you here."
There's a possessiveness in his voice that surprises me. I know he wants me; he has to to get it up and fuck me, but that he wants me enough to have that in his voice is something I can't understand. This is Clayton Webb. He could have anyone he wants. He doesn't have to worry about having me. Doesn't he know that I belong to him?
Maybe it's *because* he knows that I do that the possessiveness is there. Oh, god. Of course Clay knows that I belong to him. How could I have doubted that? I hope it's not going to fuck up the rest of my life, but I can't worry about that now. Right now I just want him, want what he's doing.
He's in, feels like all the way, but how the hell would I know anything about that? Then he moves again and no, he wasn't all the way in, but he is now. I can feel his hair against my ass. It's hard just to breathe now, but I have to. I wanted this, and I still do want it.
"Harm." His voice is quiet still. Still in control. What, did I expect that Clayton Webb would lose it in bed? But I want him to lose it. Want him to lose it because of me. He pushes a little more, and I moan, because whatever he was doing with his fingers, he can do with his cock, too. He laughs. "That's better. Next time, answer me."
"Yes, Clay." He's really fucking me now. I can feel his cock going back and forth, stretching me even more than his fingers, but it doesn't matter, or maybe it makes it better. I don't know anything but that it keeps making me feel so good, as though I could come if he kept doing that. I hope he will keep doing that.
He's moving faster and harder now, and there's no pain, just something so good I wonder how the hell I've managed not to beg Clay to fuck me before now. But I didn't know it would be like this.
It keeps going, and I don't want it to stop, but finally he stops, buried all the way in me, lets out a short cry, and, I'm sure, comes. I don't even have a moment to wonder about me, because that sets me off, and I'm gasping and feeling myself come. The first thought that I have when it's done is that I hope he doesn't mind. God. It's all about him. How did this happen to me? Do I care? What else can I do? Nothing. This is how it is now. I'll live with it.
He pulls out in a slow, careful motion that makes me sigh with how gentle it is. I feel myself trembling, but I don't dare move. He wants me here. He'll tell me when that changes.
His hand is on my back again. "Lie down, Harm." So calm, so controlled, even after he's fucked me and come. I do what he tells me, feel him lie down beside me. I've got come drying on me, and my ass is sore, but I'm happy. I just wish I knew if this was the only time. I'll beg him for more chances, I know, but I'd rather not have to.
"Thank you." My voice is still rough, but I have to say it. I have to let him know that I'm glad he fucked me.
"You're welcome." His voice is strange, too. Not calm or controlled any longer. His body shifts, and the light goes out, then he's beside me again. His arm goes around me, and I'm pulled against him. "You're staying." There's a pause. "I'm not finished with you yet."
I smile into the pillow. "Yes, Clay." So he's not finished with me. I get to stay. I do belong to him.
"Sleep now," he orders me, and I close my eyes. Anything else can wait until morning. I'm not worried any more.
The End
Posted 3/16/01
