The Challenge, part 2

part 1

by Gail

He woke next to find himself still bound, but sitting. He felt rested, so he figured he'd slept for at least a few hours. When he tried to open his eyes, he found that he was blindfolded. There was something up his ass, but it was small enough to be almost unnoticeable if he relaxed, and Palmer's clever fingers were stroking his nipples and pulling at them with an unusual gentleness. He sighed and arched his back to get more. He'd lost any sense of himself as a separate person again. He was Palmer's, and that was all he wanted to be.

"What a greedy boy you are," Palmer's amused voice observed, and Harm relaxed even more. Palmer was in a good mood, it seemed. "Let's see how you like my new toy."

Harm was unprepared for what came next, the snapping of something metal onto his nipple. He let out a high cry, then felt the other one being gathered and taken. The clamps pinched cruelly, and the metal had sharp points that dug into his skin, as well. "Please take those off," he begged when he could speak.

Palmer's voice came from farther away this time. "No way. This toy's no fun without all the attachments." This time the metal grabbed the head of his cock. "Wait and see."

Harm bit back his plea this time. This was a new thing, and the best thing to do was to hang on. "What do you want me to do?" he managed.

Palmer chuckled. "Just sit there, boy. And answer the questions honestly. Miss me, Harm?"

"Yes, sir," Harm tried, hoping it was the right answer. An interrogation scene? It fit in with the prison theme, but he didn't like the way it was going.

"Good answer. Did you go to the bar last night to find someone to take my place?" The tone was harder now.

"No." He hoped Palmer would believe him.

"You forgot to say 'sir'." Before Harm could correct himself, a shock hit his nipples, and he stiffened. "Damn. I must have it set too low," Palmer said pleasantly. "I'll just dial it up. Try again."

He didn't want to lie. "No, sir."

This time the shock was worse, stinging his nipples, and longer. His jaw was tight as he struggled not to make any noise. It might make Palmer angry.

"I saw you there, boy. You were looking. Maybe I should have let you find some guy. Would have been a good lesson to you, that not every guy is smart enough to know that you need a daddy to beat you. Some guys would just think you want to suck and fuck, but I know better." Palmer's tone was conversational. "Did you try and tell anyone you'd seen me?"

"No, sir." Harm hoped the other man would believe him, and it seemed he did.

"That was too easy, since," Palmer laughed, "I've had an eye on you. But it's good to hear you say it. Did you think about me when you were in bed with your girl?"

"No, sir."

"Liar." The shock was to his cock this time, and he did scream. "You're pitiful, Rabb. Your father would disown you if he saw you. Lucky you've got me for a father now," he laughed, "and I like you pitiful."

"Please stop. Please, please, please..." Harm's voice died out.

"No 'sir', and fighting me. Here's for those, Harm-boy."

The small probe in his ass sent off waves of horrible pain. He tried to pull off of it, but the bonds kept him in place. When the pain stopped, Harm was limp and sweating. "What do you want?" His voice was more desperate than he knew. "Please tell me. I'll do anything. Just don't shock me again."

"I should tape this, show it to all your friends at JAG. But then they'd know about me. It would be fun, though, to let them know just how weak and helpless and cowardly you are, Harm."

Palmer's voice was still light, but it made Harm cringe at how accurate the words were. He was a disappointment, a bad son, a failure. He felt his eyes tear up.

"We'll keep it our dirty little secret, shall we? I don't want to know anything," Palmer finally answered. "I like doing this. I went to a lot of trouble to get this for you, and let me tell you, it was hell getting it in the country. But I have my methods."

"Tell me, why is this fun for you?" He didn't know why he was bothering to ask. Palmer wouldn't tell him unless he wanted him to know.

"Why?" Palmer repeated after him. "Why, Harm, all of this is fun for me. You have to know that by now. And you're the one to blame if you don't like what you're getting. You sent me to prison, where I got the idea. And if you'd been half the man your father was, I wouldn't be having any fun at all." Harm choked back a sob at that. "He would have fought me all the way, probably thought of your mom and denied himself even the first hint of a hard-on. Yes, Papa Rabb would have been some tough customer." To Harm's amazement, his voice showed only admiration. "But you, you've wanted this all along. Fucking girl after girl and either dropping her or finding some way to mess it up so that she dumps you. Classic case, Rabb, that's you. I read your psych files, and they're even more interesting than mine. You better hope pretty Jordan never gets it in her head to check those out. She'd have a field day with them. But wait, pretty soon you're not going to give a damn about her. You're going to be mine." He laughed. "All mine. And I'm going to be the happiest man in Washington."

"No. Not yours." Harm knew in his heart that wasn't true, but had to say it. "Never yours."

"Then why do you get hard thinking about me? Why do you come when I'm in you? And why," he laughed, "haven't you told anyone that Clark Palmer is alive and out of jail? You know you could find someone who'd listen. Webb would be your best bet. Hell, even your precious admiral would give you the benefit of the doubt." As he said it, Harm knew he was right. Why hadn't he? "But you haven't, because you don't want to run any risk of losing me. Because you are mine. My creature, my creation, my thing."

Harm winced. The worst thing was that Palmer was right. "No," he whispered.

Palmer laughed again and sent a shock to his nipples. When Harm stopped shuddering, he spoke again. "You're perfect this way, Harm. Except you're not playing the game right. You're supposed to be begging me to let you loose, to let you do anything for me."

Harm grabbed at the clue. "I will. Just let me go."

"No, not good enough. Come on, Rabb, tell me you want me. Let me hear you admit you're my toy. That you know you need what I do. Come on." His voice had gone softer, coaxing and seducing, and his fingers were light and teasing on Harm's balls. "I'll be nice to you if you'll just tell me you're mine. What will it hurt? There's only you and me here, baby, and we both know I'm right."

Harm felt the blood rush into his shaft, giving him another reason to know Palmer was right. What would it hurt? And it was true. So very, very true. He couldn't fight it any longer, not while he was alone with this man who knew him better than anyone else ever had, who was all, now, he wanted. "I need you, Clark," he whispered.

"And what do you need from me?" Palmer prompted. "Give me the truth, boy. You think I left you alone for a week just for fun? Yeah, there was the job, but it was to give you time to get used to this, to accept what you are."

Harm steeled himself. The truth. Something he'd always believed in. "I need you to be," he swallowed, "my daddy." That had to be the worst, and the most true, so he had to get it out. Saying he needed the things Palmer did to him was the easy way out.

"So you have done some thinking." The pleasant tone was back in Palmer's voice, and the pleasure. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're finally facing who you really are. It's been a long time coming. Got another toy for you. This one didn't have to be ordered, either."

Harm waited to find out what that was going to be, then felt Palmer take the clamp off the head of his cock. "Thank you," he breathed, then something cold and hard and tight was shoved over his shaft instead, all the way down to his balls. It was a thick ring of metal. He sucked in a breath, then turned the exhale into a moan. Palmer was roughly stroking him, getting him even harder. The metal dug into his shaft, but not painful at all, more sexy.

"Want you to remember this, baby," Palmer breathed into his ear. "For when I have to go away and leave you. I'll come back, make sure you get what you need. Remember, Harm. And don't try and deny it again." His fingers yanked, making Harm cry out in pain, then went back to stroking. "Because I know you. And if you're good, you'll get what you need. If you're not," he laughed, "you'll get it, too, but mixed up with what I need. You know how that goes."

Harm groaned for an answer, and Palmer released him.

"Which reminds me, I could use something now."

Suddenly Palmer's cock was teasing his lips. Harm didn't know how he'd gotten in a position to do that and didn't care. He opened his mouth and tried to lick the head with his tongue.

Palmer laughed. "Eager boy! I like that."

Harm felt Palmer push the head into his mouth, then some of the shaft. He concentrated on sucking. He wanted to please Palmer, wanted him to feel good. He belonged here, he thought. All that time looking for a home, and where did he end up finding it? Where Clark Palmer was. Now all he had to do was make sure he got to stay there.

*****

After Palmer came, he released Harm from the chair. Harm winced as he stood. The plug was in farther than he realized, pulling out with some pain, and he was stiff and sore from the shocks and the time spent in one position. But his cock was still hard.

Palmer eyed it with amusement. "Poor Harm," he purred. "You need some attention. Pity," he yawned, "I'm so beat." He sat down on the bed that was behind the chair and motioned to Harm to kneel on the floor, which he did. "But I'll watch while you get yourself off."

Harm flushed a deep red. "Clark," he began, then stopped at the sight of the other man's raised hand.

"You don't want to get off? Doesn't look that way to me. So if you do," Palmer's voice was harder now, "this is how you do it. Understand, boy? I want to see you jerk off." His words were spaced and cold, and Harm bowed his head in a nod. "Good. Get going."

Palmer propped himself on a pillow as Harm took his cock in his right hand and started pulling it gently. Harm could see Palmer's eyes fixed on him, and it made him uncomfortable.

"Oh, come on, you like it harder than that." Palmer's voice was impatient. "If you're not even going to try, you can stop right now."

"No, sir. I'm trying." Harm's desperation came through in his voice, and he saw Palmer smile. "I'll do better."

"Good. I want a show."

Harm pulled harder. Soon he was gritting his teeth as he got close. "Clark, please," he begged, not even knowing what he was asking.

"Yeah, you can come, baby," Palmer drawled. "All over the floor. Suits a puppy like you." He laughed as Harm's face reddened. "Come on. Shoot for me."

Harm risked a glance up and found that Palmer was pulling at his shaft, pointing it at his face. He moaned and looked down again.

"No, keep your eyes on me, baby. I like that."

Harm obediently raised his face again. Soon his sperm was shooting out over the rough cement floor that was digging into his knees, and Palmer's come was splattered on his face. He licked off what he could reach.

"Come here," Palmer ordered when they were both still. Harm crawled over to the other man, who was holding out a heavy metal cuff that was attached by an equally heavy chain to the frame of the bed. He snapped it around Harm's wrist, then threw Harm a blanket. "Night, baby. Sleep well." He sat up and turned out the light. "Hope you can."

Harm stared at where the bed was in the dark. Palmer was staying with him in the cell. He didn't understand, but maybe he didn't have to. He wrapped the blanket around himself awkwardly and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep. It wasn't easy, but after a while exhaustion took him.

*****

Palmer woke him with a rough shake. "Morning, baby. Early," he amended, "but I don't want you to miss work." He chuckled as he undid the cuff. "Wouldn't want your admiral pissed at you." He tugged at Harm's hand when he didn't move. "Stand up, idiot. I'm not going to drive you through D.C. naked."

Harm managed to pull himself together and stand. Palmer handed him a stack of clothes, and he began to put them on. A part of his mind noted they were the same ones he'd been wearing in the bar, only cleaned and pressed. Maybe they had been at a hotel. Or maybe Palmer had left him asleep and taken them to a laundry. He'd never know.

Palmer sat down on the bed. "I'm off again," he said casually. Only then did Harm notice that the other man was already dressed, in a suit that would do an executive proud. Palmer saw his look and smiled. "It's all disguise, baby. You wouldn't want me to get caught, would you?"

Harm shook his head and tried to concentrate on getting the jeans on over his hard-on. Palmer saw his struggle.

"It's too bad we don't have time to take care of that now, Harm. But it'll give you something to look forward to. And I'll remember about the suit." His smile turned impish. "Nice to know something other than military shit gets you hot."

"When will you be back?" Harm ventured. The remark made him flush, but he didn't say anything. Both the uniform and the suit had made him hot, and that was all there was to it.

Palmer shrugged. "When the job's done. I should be there now, but I had to pass through Washington, and you were too tempting." His eyes turned thoughtful and calculating. "Maybe the weekend. Keep it open for me. But don't be surprised if I don't show. Hell, keep all your weekends for me. Better that way."

Harm simply nodded. He had his clothes on now, and was wondering what he was supposed to do next. Palmer solved that for him by throwing a scarf over his eyes. Harm struggled for a moment, then relaxed.

"I don't want you knowing where we are, baby, even though it's tempting to let you know so you can meet me here some time. But don't you worry." Palmer's voice was soft and as intimate as the fingers that stroked his cheek. "I'll get you home safe and sound. And who knows? Maybe next time I'll show up there."

"What if someone's watching for you?" Harm couldn't believe he was saying that. Helping Clark Palmer stay out of jail had never before been one of his aims. But now it was.

"It's nice to know you care. But I'll be careful." Harm heard Palmer's laugh. "And you're going to get yourself thrown into the brig, or at least have to listen to one of Chegwidden's lectures if we don't get going. Don't want my boy to get in trouble, not unless I'm the one who gets to punish him. Come on." He felt a hand take his arm. "I'll guide you to the car."

*****

All the way to his place, Harm tried to think of something to say. But what did one say to the man who'd been an enemy, maybe even the most feared and loathed one, who was now his lover, if that was the word for it? Nothing, was all he came up with every time. So he kept quiet, and Palmer did too, for what reasons Harm didn't even try to figure out.

Finally the motion stopped. "Here you go," Palmer said lightly and reached up to undo the blindfold. "And your car's waiting for you." Harm didn't know how Clark had managed to get the car back, but he had. "You need to take it in for a tune-up. It's not running that smoothly."

"Thanks. I will." Palmer smiled at him, and it was only then that Harm realized something. He wasn't bound. He could have taken the blindfold off himself at any time. But he hadn't, because that was what Palmer wanted. It chilled him, somehow. He was that changed.

"You be a good boy today." Before Harm knew what was happening, Palmer's lips were on his in a long, lingering kiss. When the other man lifted his head, he gave Harm an amused smile. "It is too bad I can't hang around." His hand brushed Harm's crotch. "You can get yourself off, if you like," he offered casually. "But after that, I expect you to be good. Understand, boy?"

Harm stared at him, his arousal forgotten. What was he talking about?

"You don't," Palmer answered for him. "OK, I'll spell it out for you. You come when I say. That's it. No jerking off, no other guys, and definitely no pretty Jordan. I find out you've gone against me, you pay. And I'll be the one who has fun then. You understand now?"

Harm nodded slowly, a little numb from the dispassionate recital of conditions. "Yes," he whispered. "I understand."

"Then get going." Palmer reached over him and jerked open the door. "Make it a good one, baby. I'll be in touch."

Palmer shoved Harm out of the car, then gunned it and vanished down the street. Harm, looking after him, felt a sense of loss, then squashed it. He had his orders and one thing he did know was how to follow them.

*****

He got into work barely on time and ducked into his office before anyone could do more than offer a quick greeting. He closed the door and sat down, staring at his computer screen. Palmer was gone. He didn't know when the other man was going to be back. And he missed him already. What the hell was he doing? Or, more accurately, what had he turned into?

There was a knock on the door, startling him. "In," he called.

It was Mac. She came in, closing the door again behind her. "Is something wrong?"

Harm remembered the night she had asked him that and smiled wryly. The night Palmer first took him. If Jordan had only been free...but she hadn't been. And it was too late now. "Tired," he replied truthfully. Getting off in the shower had been quick, only a few strokes and the remembered sound of Palmer's voice laying down the law enough, but then rushing around to dress, with the soreness of his body slowing him down, had tired him out, and he hadn't even taken time for coffee. "I'll get some coffee and be fine."

"Harm." She came closer. Her brown eyes showed her concern. "You've been really different lately. We've all noticed. Want to talk about it over lunch?"

He wasn't going to do that. Too much chance he'd let something slip. She knew him too well. "Mac, the flu hit me really hard. That's all. And then I've been busy playing catch-up." He tried another smile. "You know how it goes."

Her lips set. "It's that problem with Jordan. It's gotten worse with her."

Harm seized on the new topic with relief. "You're right." He let the real sadness that he felt at the thought of Jordan out on his face. "It's over, Mac."

"She broke up with you?"

Harm thought about taking the easy way out, but decided against it. The two women might meet up and compare stories, and then Mac would want to know why he'd lied. "No. I'm going to break it off with her. It's not fair to her, Mac. I'm a busy guy, and she's too good for me."

"This doesn't sound like the Harmon Rabb I know." Mac's gaze was direct, even a little angry. "I thought you loved her."

So did I, Harm thought. But I was wrong. "Things change, Mac," he said simply. Or if I did, his thoughts ran on, it wasn't enough. I'm Clark's now. "It's my decision."

"You are going to tell her, I hope?"

"I'll tell her. Tonight, if she's free. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

Mac didn't move for a moment. "I thought we were friends, Harm," she said very quietly. "Was I wrong?"

"No, Mac. I just need some time to deal with this. Thanks for your concern." It was only then he realized just how far away from all of my friends he'd gone. He should have said that a while ago.

Her face relaxed into a smile. "All right. Maybe another time. And," she hesitated, "I'm sorry about Jordan."

"Me, too," Harm said softly. "Me, too."

*****

He was even sorrier when he met Jordan that night. Her eyes were sparkling, and she looked beautiful with her flushed cheeks and radiant smile. She has no idea why I asked her here, he thought, and decided that it would be cruel to put it off. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment. "Jordan," he said as soon as their drinks came, "I've been thinking."

"I hope you didn't waste too much time on that." Her voice was teasing, and any other time, Harm would have been happy to hear that. It meant she was relaxed with him. She cocked her head to smile right at him. "Don't you ever get tired of thinking? I do."

He smiled back, though faintly. "All the time, Jordy."

"Then cut it out," she ordered, still light and happy. She lifted her glass in a salute. "To no thinking."

Harm didn't raise his beer. "I can't," he said simply.

The smile on her face faded. "There's something wrong. What is it?"

"Jordan, I can't see you any more. I'm sorry." He hadn't meant to say it that quickly, or bluntly, but maybe it was better that way.

"Is it because I've been holding back?" she demanded, and Harm shook his head.

"It has nothing to do with you at all. It's just that," he hesitated, "this isn't fair to you."

"I'm the one who'll decide if something's fair or not, Harm!" She wasn't angry, he thought, just intent on getting her point across. "What's really going on?"

Harm looked into her eyes and knew this was going to be harder than he'd thought. It was beginning to look like only the truth would do. But how could he tell Jordan about Palmer? "I've gotten involved with someone else. That's what's not fair to you."

She sat back and sipped her wine. "Well," she said finally, her face closed, "I see your point." She smiled, but this time hers was faint. "Thank you for telling me. I'd ask who, but that isn't my business. And I'm not sure I really want to know." She took a deep breath. "Oh, hell. Is it Mac?"

"No." Harm's amazement showed in his voice. "She's a friend, Jordan. That's all."

"Sorry I pried. But thank you for answering." She took another sip of the wine, put the glass down, and stood. "Goodbye, Harm."

"I asked you to dinner," he protested. "You don't have to go. Please don't," he added when she just stood there.

"A goodbye dinner? Why not?" She sat again. "I am hungry."

The waiter came over at Harm's nod, and they ordered. Harm felt an unexpected wave of sorrow. If things had been different, this woman could have been the one. But maybe Palmer was right, and he'd never really wanted a woman. He'd certainly been right about everything else.

"Harm." The desperation in Jordan's voice finally reached him. She was staring at his wrist with its faint bruising, then reached out to touch it. "What is that? What kind of relationship are you in? Are you all right?"

Harm damned himself for wearing a shirt with loose, although long, sleeves. Why hadn't he paid any attention to the condition of his body? He knew there would have to be bruises. He met Jordan's eyes with as much firmness as he could muster. "I'm fine. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"Harm, from what I hear, you haven't been the same lately. You've been restless and distracted."

"Who told you that?"

"Mac sent me an e-mail." Harm's eyebrows rose. Now that was an interesting and unwelcome development. He thought Mac was satisfied to hassle him. Now she was reaching out to his supposed significant other? "That's why I came over the other night, to check on you."

"To check on me," he repeated, his voice flat. "Well, thanks for putting yourself out. It was really nice of you." He gave her a hard look. "You did a great job of convincing me you wanted to be with me. I didn't know you acted on the side, or does that come with the psychiatry degree?"

She looked like she was going to explode back at him, but then her face smoothed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harm. She was being helpful, and I did want to see you. I thought I showed that pretty clearly later." She had some more wine. "Harm, I'm worried about you. And that," she glanced at his wrist again and shuddered, "really doesn't make me feel any better."

"Jordan, it's my life."

"And you're going to spend it tied up?" she flashed back, surprising him. "I can't see it. I just can't."

"You don't understand, Jordan. I have what I want." He tried to soften his voice. "And what I need."

She studied him for a few breaths, then sighed. "She must be something, this woman. All right, Harm. I'm not going to try and force you to talk about it. But if you have any kind of doubts or worries about how she's treating you, please call me. I'll get you into a program that'll help."

"You think I'm being hurt by my lover?" Harm couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice. It was the truth, but she was coming at it all wrong. "Please, Jordy. It's not like that at all."

"It may seem like a game to you right now," she said soberly, "but these things can get out of hand. All I'm asking is for you to pay attention." The food came then, and she waited until the waiter was gone to continue. "That's all." Her face was sad. "Please, Harm. I'm just trying to help."

For a moment Harm thought about telling Jordan the truth, but the fantasy evaporated as quickly as it had come. Take the chance of losing Palmer, and what he needed? Never, if he could help it.

"All right, Jordan. I will," he said quietly, knowing it was a lie, and to his relief she picked up her knife and fork.

*****

Harm had thought the week would be even worse hell than the one before, with Palmer out of the country, but to his surprise it went very quietly. When he was at work, he was focused on that, with a curious and surprising detachment that let him get more done than he ever had before, and when he was at home, he showered, ate, read, then slept. All of his previous restlessness and torment were gone.

He made sure to tell Mac he'd formally broken with Jordan, and she only nodded. No one seemed concerned about him, especially since he made sure to keep his wrists covered until they healed. The only bad times were in the middle of the night, when he woke with a hard-on that throbbed and called for attention, but he always managed to remember what Palmer had said and kept his hands off. It wasn't worth having Clark angry with him, and Harm never doubted Palmer's ability to know. He'd see it in his face, more than likely.

The weekend came and went without Palmer, something that didn't surprise Harm, and the next week started just as smoothly as the one before. The admiral even called him in to praise him for his work. That Friday night he stopped for some groceries. It was time to stop relying on take-out and simple dishes. He needed to do some serious cooking. Clark might come, but he might not, and he couldn't just wait like some teenager for the phone to ring. And it wasn't like Clark would do something as simple as call. He smiled, thinking about how the other man might decide to grab him this time. He was actually looking forward to it.

The thoughts kept him whistling as he went up the stairs to his apartment, and the plastic bags kept hitting his legs, but he didn't care. When he opened the door, he stopped dead. Something was different.

"You do look cute in that uniform," he heard the drawl, and hit the light. It came on, showing Palmer sitting at the counter. He had a tan, a beer, and a smile, and Harm was so happy to see him that he rushed over. Palmer chuckled and stood. "The door, baby," he murmured. "Want everybody to watch us?"

Harm stopped in his tracks. What was he thinking, running over to do what? Hug him? It wasn't that kind of relationship, if that's what it could be called.

Palmer picked up his bottle again as the moment passed. "What you got for dinner? Anything edible?"

Harm recovered himself. "I thought some lasagna. I have a great recipe for an eggplant one I've been meaning to try." He gestured to the bags and wished right then that he'd never had the idea. Lasagna of any kind brought back memories of the time Jordan had made the zucchini one for him, and he'd seen his 'father' through the window in a POW outfit, played by the man who was now drinking beer in his kitchen. "I've got all the ingredients."

Palmer grimaced. "Vegetarian crap. I feel like having a steak."

Harm blinked. He hadn't even thought about the other man being a meat-eater. "I don't have any," he said carefully.

Palmer chuckled. "Yeah, I knew you wouldn't. So I brought my own." He took a swig. "Make your lasagna if you like. I'll give it a shot. It'll certainly be different."

Harm started unloading the bags for something to do. His heart was hammering. The whole weekend probably with Clark, and he didn't seem angry. This was something he could like in a different way, even live with. But there was something he had to ask first, something he needed to know. And it was what felt right.

"Is there," he coughed, "anything you'd like me to do before I get started?" He waited for Palmer's response.

There was nothing but sheer joy in Palmer's laughter. "There's a hell of a lot I want you to do, but I'll wait until you've got that out of the way. Get going, baby." He reached out to touch Harm's hand. "Show me how good you are at something other than arguing a case and sex."

Harm simply nodded. This wasn't anything he had seen before, but he wasn't going to argue. The other man had his own moods and tides, and his job was to keep afloat. He got out a colander and dumped the eggplant into it. "How was your trip?"

Palmer laughed again as Harm started spraying the vegetables. "I got the job done, if that's what you mean." Harm tried to keep his dismay off his expression. He really didn't want to hear about Palmer's 'jobs'. "But don't worry, baby. It's not one that'll come up on your radar. No connection." He shot a glance at Harm. "What, you think I'm going to give you information about me? No chance, boy. I'm sure of you, but you might get hit by someone a little less scrupulous, like Webb, and then anything you knew would come right out."

"You think Clayton suspects?" He didn't even want to think about Webb's reaction to this. When Palmer had gotten away from Harm on the Kamiko Maru, Clayton hadn't said a word to make him think he was blaming Harm, had called out the best team he could find to sweep Harm's apartment, even before he'd let anyone treat his leg, had been the one to warn Harm about the wilderness of mirrors. Clayton would never understand. He couldn't know.

"Oh, no. I'd know if he did."

The simple confidence in Palmer's statement unnerved Harm. What didn't he have under control? Was he bugging everyone in Washington, or just the people he thought were threats? Probably the latter.

Palmer frowned. "But of all the intelligence people, he's the one I worry about the most. I've thought about finding some way to deal with him, but not now. Maybe later."

Harm made sure to keep slicing the eggplant, concentrating on getting it thin enough. He didn't know what to think about what was happening. In a way, Palmer was trusting him, and that felt both good and bad.

Palmer turned his attention back to Harm. "What's taking you so long?"

"Lasagna's one of those dishes. It takes some preparation." Harm was fairly sure that Clark didn't do that much cooking. The idea of him chopping and measuring was absurd. He was meant to be cooked for, not cook. Harm was glad that he was the one who was going to be doing that tonight.

"Oh, well." Palmer dismissed that subject. "Get it done quickly. I'll take a shower," his eyes met Harm's with a dark and knowing look, "then I'll be in the bedroom. Haven't taken you there yet."

He headed toward the bathroom, as Harm's breathing became more labored. The bed he'd slept in alone for the last two weeks and dreamed of Palmer, was now going to be another place Palmer possessed him. The man wasn't going to leave him any place to get away. He forced his mind away from that and back to the recipe, deciding without much thought to leave out all of the optional steps. This lasagna was going to be very minimal. Thank god he'd gotten bottled sauce and no-cook pasta. Oh, and he'd better get out of the uniform, just as soon as Clark was safely in the shower. He might find it arrogant of Harm, or presumptuous. Changing into comfortable clothes was usually the first thing he took care of when he got home, but then he usually didn't come home to find a guest. He smiled to himself. But he wanted this one.

*****

He got the dish together with the soundtrack of Palmer singing in the shower, faint phrases floating out to him.

"I'm a pistol, a forty-five, I just shot two men in this hot-house dive. Now I'm smoking, a burning hot barrel of metal..." Harm couldn't make out any more of the words and turned his attention back to laying the pasta. Later he heard, "guns don't kill people, it's the bullets that do. I said, guns don't kill people, the bullets do, yeah the bullets do..." and the sound of what might have been meant to be a drum solo being played on the wall.

He'd never heard the song, but this rendition made him smile. Clark was here with him and happy, or at least as happy as the man would let himself be. So this was how life was going to be, he thought. Never knowing when his lover was going to show up, or what mood he'd been in when he did. But somehow it was what he wanted. Even with the fact that sooner or later Palmer was going to want to hurt him. He could face it now.

"How goddamn long are you going to take?" He heard Palmer's annoyed question and smiled, even while hurrying to finish drying a dish.

"I'm done," Harm called back.

"Then get your ass in here. Now."

"Yes, sir." Harm put down the towel and picked up the timer, turning the dial as quickly as he could with his now-trembling hands. "I'll have to be able to take it out of the oven," he half-asked, and Palmer chuckled.

"You really must want to eat that. All right, how long we got?"

"Half an hour, then it has to sit for a little while."

"Good." Palmer's voice was a purr again. "Enough time to give you at least a taste of what you need." Harm could feel himself getting hard from the promise in his voice. "Come here, boy. I haven't gotten any since I had you, and I'm ready for it."

"Yes, Clark." Harm tried to keep himself steady as he stepped up to the level of his bedroom. He wanted this so much, even though he didn't know just what Palmer was going to do to him.

The man he was longing for was standing by the bed, dressed in a pair of dark jeans that Harm recognized. He swallowed. Palmer was wearing the jeans he'd bought a few weeks ago, as if it was totally natural for him to be rummaging in Harm's drawers, his closet, his things. And it was. Palmer could have anything he wanted of his, anything.

"Hit it," Palmer directed, his tone terse, and Harm obediently dropped to the floor. His knees hurt, but he welcomed the pain. It was nothing next to what he was sure he'd be getting. "That's better."

Harm waited as the other man took his time walking all the way around him.

"But you're way too dressed. Strip, but don't get up," Palmer added as Harm began to rise.. The other man chuckled. "This should be fun to watch."

Harm doubted it would be, but then he wasn't Palmer. He managed to get his clothes off without doing more than getting a sharp look from the other man, glad he'd changed, and took his position again. His shaft was so hard it hurt.

Palmer crouched down in front of him. "Good to know you're still interested," he drawled and circled Harm's cock with his fingers, then squeezed.

Harm bit back a gasp and concentrated on not doing what he wanted, which was to reach up and pull the other man down against him. That would definitely make Palmer angry. He couldn't do anything about controlling his breathing, which was coming out in pants, making Palmer chuckle again.

"You've been a good boy, I see. Unless you do this for all the guys."

"Just you, Clark."

"I know." Palmer was clearly amused at his reply. "You didn't think I left you without an eye on you, now did you?"

Harm shook his head. He'd suspected something like that.

"A smart boy, too. I didn't get to bring you any new toys this time. Hope you're not disappointed."

"You're here." Harm knew he felt that way, and for the first time, it felt right to say it. "That's enough."

"The change in you is something else." Palmer sat down on the bed and undid his fly. "Come and give me something I want."

Harm obediently crawled over and took the other man's shaft into his mouth. It was familiar and comforting, and he sucked on it greedily. Palmer took his time to come, stopping when Harm could tell he was getting close, then starting again. Finally he shoved his cock all the way into Harm's mouth, his hands hard on Harm's cheeks so that Harm couldn't pull away, and let go.

Harm swallowed, a part of his mind noting his come tasted spicier than before. Annie had told him once that she'd heard that different foods changed the taste, and that would fit with Clark being off on a job, which was probably over in Europe, or maybe Asia. A job. Clark had done something, probably illegal, and now he was back. He would go off again and again, and if Harm was lucky, he'd keep coming back. He was a part of Palmer's world now, he realized, as well as being in the Navy and JAG. How was that possible?

"Hey, boy. Your buzzer just went off." Palmer touched Harm's cheek with a gentleness that surprised him. He hadn't even heard the noise. "Go rescue your vegetable junk before it burns. We'll never get the smell out if that happens."

"Yes, sir." Harm hesitated. "May I stand?"

"Sure."

Harm's cock was up against his belly, precome leaking from the head. He wanted to come, but didn't want to annoy Clark by asking. If the other man thought he deserved it, he'd tell him to, Harm rationalized. There was always later.

He got to his feet, grabbing his jeans on the way. He slipped them back on in the kitchen before testing the lasagna. He found that it was done, so he put the casserole on a trivet on the counter to cool enough so that they could eat it, then came back. Clark had said something about a steak, but he didn't know if Clark wanted him to cook it or to do it himself.

Palmer was on his cell phone. "Yes, I know."

He glanced at Harm, then back again. Harm thought about leaving, but the look hadn't said anything like that. All he could read in it was the acknowledgment of his presence, and he bent over to pick up the discarded shirt and pull it on to give some reason for being there.

"Don't worry so damned much. I've got it under control." Unexpectedly, he laughed. "Haven't I, though? But that was then, and I got cocky. I've learned a lot since that disaster. You'll be pleased this time. I guarantee. Yes," he added after a long pause, "that will be fine. Where can I find you?" He listened, then smiled. "A good place."

There was something about how Clark was talking, as though it was to someone he liked and respected. The best guess Harm could make was that this John was a colleague, maybe another former DSD agent. Or it could be a client, one who insisted on being on 'friendly' terms. Clark would have to go along with someone who was paying him, at least until he'd done the job and gotten the money.

"Could you wait a moment? Something I've got to deal with here." Palmer lowered the phone. "Is your slop ready?" Harm nodded. He didn't like hearing it put that way, but it wasn't something he was going to argue. "O.K., go ahead and put the steak under the broiler." His voice was terse. "I want it rare. You can stand to touch it, can't you? Or do I have to cook it myself?"

The sarcasm in the other man's voice made Harm wince and make sure he had his best manners on. He didn't want to make Palmer angry. "Yes, sir," he whispered. "I'll take care of it right away."

"Good." Palmer went back to the phone. "All right, John. The usual time. Is there anything else? O.K." He clicked off the phone and gave Harm a cold look. "What the hell are you still doing here? Get the steak in, boy, or you'll find out what else I've got in mind to do to you here."

"Yes, sir."

Harm hurried out to the kitchen to preheat the broiler. When that was done, he laid the piece of beef on the rack and pushed it in to cook. He closed the door, then frowned. He hadn't cooked meat in so long that he wasn't sure if he knew how long 'rare' took any more. He checked his all-purpose cookbook, and nodded. Good thing he'd checked. It didn't take that long to broil a steak.

By the time he got the bread that he'd brought home sliced, put together a salad with a variety of lettuces, and set the table, the steak was done. He slid it onto a plate and got it over to the table.

Palmer came into the kitchen. "Smells all right. And you managed not to burn it." He strolled over to the counter, and the bottle of red that Harm had picked up. "You don't mind if I open the wine, do you, baby?"

His tone was suddenly so intimate that it made Harm smile with a quick pleasure. They had this, he reminded himself, this bond that made him Palmer's, and made Palmer come to him for satisfaction. It was something.

Palmer pulled the cork and sniffed. "Not bad. But I'm going to have to give you a lesson in wines." He chuckled. "Something the DSD didn't teach me. I decided to learn on my own."

There was something in Clark's voice that made Harm wonder about that decision. He sounded smug, and as though there was some kind of story behind it. But he couldn't ask him, not now, probably not ever.

"I'll be happy to learn, sir."

"If you're capable," Palmer tossed back and reached for the spatula that was beside the tray of lasagna. He cut himself a piece and got it onto his plate as Harm stood there uneasily. He didn't know what the other man wanted him to do. Palmer finally noticed him. "Knees," he directed tersely, pointing to a spot on the floor near one of the stools.

For a moment, Harm thought about trying to leave, but the thought vanished as soon as it had come, and he sank down. He wanted this. Whether or not he'd wanted it before Clark was moot. This was his reality, and he wasn't going to try to change it. It was good.

"Good." Palmer cut another piece and slid it on a small plate, then poured a measure of wine into a bowl. Harm flushed, realizing what was going on as Palmer cut up the lasagna, then put the plate and the bowl on the floor in front of him. "Your dinner, Harm. Eat it." As Harm bent his head, he felt Clark's hand ruffle his hair. "Good dog."

The crooning in the other man's voice was almost too much to take, especially when Clark casually took the seat at the counter that was usually his. Clark was taking everything, Harm thought, and not for the first time. What was going to be left for him when Palmer decided he'd had his fun? What would he be? And how would he cope with being what he was now? No. Not now. Time to eat. He bent down to take a piece of the lasagna, mercifully cool, between his lips, and chewed. It wasn't easy to eat like this, but it wasn't too hard, either. He could manage it.

"Not bad." Palmer got up to cut himself another piece before Harm was finished with his first, and Harm could see that there was still steak left. Clark had chosen his food over the meat. He'd made something the other man liked. "But you're going to need to do better at cooking meat. No thyme or pepper, even."

Harm felt a flush of pleasure so strong at Palmer's praise that he almost missed the other comment. When he finally took that in, the flush became even stronger. It was important to the other man that he know how to cook what he liked. That said to him that Clark planned to keep him. And then the thought of what he was thinking, feeling, hit. He was pleased that Clark Palmer, sociopath and killer, wanted him as his slave. His thing. He was eating out of a bowl on the floor without making any kind of protest at all. He had gone insane. He had to get out. Now.

He raised his head, to see Palmer staring at him. One look into those cool eyes, and Harm's panic and rebellion vanished. He bowed his head again.

"You are what you are now, Harm." Palmer's voice was strangely quiet. "There's no way to get away from it. Don't try."

"I know." Harm's voice was a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Palmer reached down to touch his hair. "Yes." He paused, and his hand slid down to Harm's cheek while Harm wondered if he'd just bought himself a beating. "I'll let you have that one," the other man said, his voice as light as his touch, "but next time you get doubts, remember how this started. I'll put you back in that cell if I have to, baby, but I will not let you forget what you are." He lifted Harm's chin. "Of course, if you want to go, that's a different story."

Oh, no. Not there. Harm began to tremble, and Palmer laughed softly.

"That's better. Now have some of your wine."

He took away his hand, and Harm found himself falling forward. He hadn't realized how much he was leaning into Clark's touch, wanting it. He steadied himself before he hit the floor, then realized what the other man wanted of him. He swallowed, then positioned himself over the other bowl. He started to suck it in, but the hand in his hair stopped him.

"You are forgetting yourself." Now the man's voice was spaced and cold. "You're my dog, Harm, and dogs don't drink like that, do they? No. They lap. They don't talk, either," he added as Harm opened his mouth, and Harm shut it. He wanted to nod, but he didn't think dogs did that. How could he let Clark know he got his point?

"They do bark, though," Palmer added thoughtfully. "And wag their tails. Lie next to their master, too." There was a pause while Harm tried to decide which would be right to show agreement, and if he could even manage it. "But I see you as a whimperer rather than a barker."

Harm felt himself flush all over. Whimper? Puppies whimpered. But when he looked up at Palmer, the man was smiling with a cool intensity that told him he didn't have a choice. He opened his mouth and let out a sound, hoping it was close. He heard himself and wanted to hide. He sounded like some kind of pathetic animal. And that was just what he was.

Palmer's eyes gleamed. "Yes. Good dog. Now finish your meal."

Harm bent over the bowl again, lapping this time. It was hard to get anything really into his mouth, but he wasn't going to cross Clark. Even though the other man was putting him through a kind of hell that he'd never thought he'd tolerate, Harm still wanted his attention, and his approval. He screwed his eyes shut and kept licking, even when he heard the scraping sounds of the stool being pushed back.

There was a touch on his head. "All right, boy, that was amusing, but you're never going to manage to get a good meal that way." Harm looked up at that. Palmer was smiling. "No more dog. You want some more?" He nodded toward the casserole. "And get up. You look idiotic down there."

Harm scrambled to his feet, then picked up the bowl with both hands. Palmer already had the empty plate. "Yes, thank you."

Palmer cut him another piece. "When you're finished with that, wash up." His eyes swept up and down Harm's body, which was clad in faded jeans and a loose, half-buttoned shirt. "You'll do. Hurry up. We've got somewhere to be," he glanced at his watch, "and not that much time to get there."

He was out of the kitchen before Harm could think of how or if he was going to ask where, or why. Harm decided not to try. He picked up the bowl of wine instead and took a long gulp before starting on the lasagna. If Clark wanted to take him somewhere, he wanted to be ready.

*****

Clark didn't tell him anything more, as Harm had half-expected. They ended up in what Harm assumed was Palmer's car, although it was a different one from the time before. Maybe he rented them. To Harm's surprise, Palmer didn't blindfold him. He didn't even seem at all concerned about Harm knowing where he was going.

Harm spent the trip alternating between wondering why that was and losing himself in the simple joy of being with Clark. How had the other man known all this time? He hadn't even known himself that what he really wanted was a man to take control, to take the place of the father he'd only known through tapes and faded photographs. It didn't matter. He was Clark's now, for whatever he wanted. Even, he swallowed, wherever they were going. But he didn't like that they were going anywhere. He wanted to be with Clark, and even that was hard. He didn't want to find out what else the other man had planned for him.

"You've got to relax, boy." Palmer's voice was calm, even gentle. "You're no good to me all wound up."

"Yes, Clark."

"So do it. Start with breathing. That would help."

Harm nodded, then kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut, even when the other man's hand slipped over to stroke his thigh. They were in a residential area, clearly a rich one, with houses big enough to hold JAG headquarters, and still have room to spare. And they were turning into the entrance for one so big that he couldn't even see the house, just the grounds. What was going to happen? He fought the urge to beg Clark to stop, to turn around.

"All right." Suddenly the car was being wrenched off the road, on to the shoulder, and Palmer was staring into his eyes. "I thought we both knew what you were." His voice was hard now, and Harm found himself having a hard time breathing. "But I think you've forgotten."

Harm knew he had to say something to those cold eyes, before they, and the man behind them, turned away from him in disgust. "I haven't forgotten, Clark. I know what I am."

He suffered through another long stare before the other man nodded. "And what are you?"

"Yours. For whatever you want me." The words were still hard to say, even though he knew that they were true. And he knew that Clark saw all of that.

"But you want to go home." The words didn't seem to need an answer, so Harm kept quiet. "Too bad." Palmer was out of the car before Harm found an answer to that one, then his door was yanked open. "Out."

"I'm sorry," Harm managed before he found himself falling face first into the short, very green grass. He got his hands down in time to break his fall, and ended up on his hands and knees.

"You aren't sorry enough." Palmer was standing right in front of him. "You think this is all some kind of game, Harm-boy? That I'm going to come over any time I'm in town, give you what you need, as if you mattered?"

The scorn in his voice made Harm swallow a sob. Maybe that was what he had been thinking.

"No. This is your life, Rabb. And your life belongs to me. Do you know that your Navy would throw you out for a hint of what you beg for from me?"

Harm squeezed his eyes shut. Of course he knew that. "Yes, sir."

"Then remember that, Commander." He gave the title a mocking air, letting Harm know that he wasn't in command here. "And be grateful that I'm not interested in ruining your career. All I want is your obedience."

"You have that, Clark." Harm felt fingers twist in his hair and managed not to make much of a sound. "Sir."

"It's going out into the world with me that scares you. Well, don't worry, boy. This isn't the real world." There was laughter now in his voice, but it didn't help Harm at all. "This is my world. Yours, too, after tonight."

Harm wished he could see Palmer's eyes at that moment. He'd thought he was already in Clark Palmer's world. There was more?

"And we're late." The hand in his hair jerked him back upright, still on his knees. "Back in the car, boy. You're making me look bad." When Harm got to his feet, Palmer was still in front of him. "This is very important to me." Clark was whispering, his face right up by Harm's, close enough to kiss. And Harm wanted to. "You fuck it up, I walk. Understand?"

Harm wanted to ask so many things. Why they were there, why it mattered so much to Clark, why now. But the look on the face of the man who had him captured still, in so many ways, told him that what he wanted from him was what he'd said before, obedience. He found his calm again. He belonged to Clark. He needed Clark. And that was all he needed to know.

"Yes, sir."

Clark nodded slowly. "That's better." He turned away and climbed back behind the wheel, and Harm pulled himself into his seat. He wasn't going to let Clark down, he vowed as the engine turned over. He couldn't.

*****

Clark walked right into the large house without even knocking, and Harm followed a few steps behind him.

"John," he called, and Harm started. The same name as the man on the phone earlier, and probably the same man. He fixed his eyes on Clark's back to remind himself of the other man's words. *You fuck it up, I walk. Understand?* He wasn't going to do that, because he couldn't even think about being without Clark now. Clark wanted to show him off, put him through some kind of test, and he had to pass it. And he would.

"Clark. I thought the den." The new voice was calm, smooth, and commanding. "For now."

"Fine with me." Clark knew just where to go, Harm saw, choosing an open door without any hesitation. Harm followed him in. "I'm sorry to be late."

"It's not a problem."

The room was dimly lit, and it took Harm a moment to adjust to it. When he did, he saw John, the other man, who was standing behind the large desk. He had white hair, a perfectly groomed moustache, and the look of a man who wouldn't hesitate to take an enemy, or even a suspected one, down. A dangerous man, a lot like Clark, even though he was fairly short. The man's eyes flickered over to Harm, who had stopped when Clark did.

"Well. This is your project?" Clark nodded. "I see you like a challenge."

Harm felt his flush return. Being in this small, quiet room with these men who clearly knew each other was almost too intimate to stand. But he had to.

"Of course." Clark smiled and leaned against the wall. "I've always liked challenges. You know that."

"Oh, yes." They were both ignoring him, Harm realized, and made himself relax his muscles. "Well, it is getting late, and we don't have all night. I'll get the story another time. Right now I'd like to see more."

"Of course."

Harm wondered for a moment what that meant, then saw Clark's eyes. They were full of the command that he knew so well.

"Boy." Clark's voice was cool. "Strip."

Harm stared at him. He'd never done that with Clark before tonight, he realized. It had always been him being forced by the other man, tied, beaten, drugged. And now Clark expected him to take off his clothes in front of this man he didn't even know. He tried to put all his fear into his eyes, along with a promise that he'd do anything, just not this.

Take them off for me, he thought. Hit me. Make me know I have to do this.

But Clark just stood there, waiting, and Harm's shoulders slumped. This wasn't about him. It was about Clark showing his friend what he'd done with his 'challenge.' And he already knew what would happen if he disobeyed. Palmer would leave him to the mercies of the demons that were awake in him now. There was no choice.

He made his hands reach for the first button on his shirt, his reward Palmer's slow nod. It seemed like forever before he managed to get the shirt undone and off, then there were the buttons on his jeans to deal with. When he stepped out of the worn fabric, he was naked, and both men were staring at him, Clark's face cool but with a pleasure in it Harm knew from the days in the cell, and his friend's interested.

"He'll do." John turned to Clark, as Harm fought to stay still. It was like being a piece of meat, he thought. No, worse. A piece of meat that knew what was happening, knew that the fire was waiting and what that meant. "Any conditions?"

"Don't kill him." Clark's voice was amused, and Harm hoped the remark was a joke. "And keep the marks where clothing will cover them. He's Navy."

"Ah, I see. Certainly." His eyes found Harm's. "That will do." He gestured to a large leather ottoman. Harm stood there, not knowing what he was supposed to do. "He's a little slow."

"Get over there, boy." Clark's voice was sharp, and Harm hurried to obey. "Lie down on it. You're going to have to give him specific directions, John."

"We'll manage."

Harm couldn't see either of them now, and he wished he could at least see something of Clark, his leg, even. As if reading his mind, there was movement in front of him, then a figure crouching down. It was Clark, his face with the same cool pleasure. At least he was managing to pass so far. The next thing he felt was a touch on his ass. He knew it had to be John. The fingers wandered down to his hole, then pushed inside. Harm clenched his lips together to keep in his cry. The dry penetration hurt. Clark's eyes held his, and he thought he even saw approval in them. It helped him hang on.

The fingers withdrew, and Harm breathed. Clark's eyes flickered up, and he nodded.

"Now." John's voice was rough, and that was the only warning Harm got before a large cock was shoved into him. This time he couldn't hold back the cry, and Clark stood.

Come back, Harm wanted to call. Please. I'll be good. He struggled to stay prone, to endure the pain. There was a little lubrication now, probably from the condom he could smell, but it wasn't enough. And the man fucking him didn't care at all about Harm's pleasure, just his own.

"Be good for your daddy, Harm." Clark's voice came from what seemed like far away. "Take it like a man."

Harm sobbed and felt tears fill his eyes as the fucking continued, rough and hard, the worst one he could remember. The man didn't take long to come, thrusting in with one last hard jab, then stopping. He pulled out, and Harm was glad of the support of the ottoman. Everything throbbed, and hurt. He could feel a burning that told him that the tissues were stretched, maybe even torn. He wouldn't be surprised if he were bleeding.

"Very good, son." Clark was back down in front of him, a smile on his face. "Very good."

And Harm knew he was lost when the simple words made him happy again. He had pleased his daddy. There was no escape for him from this world, and he didn't want one. All he wanted was Clark Palmer.

The End

Posted 7/30/00

Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)

To the sequel, The Change

JAG

Fiction