Tradition
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Clayton Webb/Clark Palmer
Rating: adult
Clark decides to make Thanksgiving dinner and not tell Clay. Smut happens, too.
Yet another Eclipse Snapshot, #26.
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me.
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.
Thanks to Tinnean, Elizabeth, and Scarlet for enthusiasm and fine betas. This is a present for Nomi on her birthday (1/17/03).
*****
"More coffee?"
"No, thank you, Porter." I almost call her "ma'am" but stop myself at the last moment. She'll frown if I do, and I need her in a good mood.
She nods and passes me the plate with the brownies, and I take another of those. Good stuff, and I'm hungry. "What is it you wanted to talk with me about without Clayton overhearing us, Clark?"
Yeah, she's on to me, but I'm getting used to that. "Thanksgiving."
"You and Clayton are welcome here, of course. It wouldn't be a holiday without my two favorite men."
"Thanks." I can feel my cheeks stretch with how wide my smile is. Porter always makes me feel like I fit in.
"But that's not what you want, is it, Clark?"
She's even more on to me than I thought. "I want to make Thanksgiving dinner this year at my place." It's been a while since I burned anything, and Clay's eaten my cooking and not died or thrown up. I even made a damned good pot roast the other week that he asked me to do again soon. I can do this. How hard can it be to roast a turkey? I roasted a chicken, and it was all right.
"You. Not you and Clayton?"
I shrug. "I want to surprise him." I know what he'll say if I ask him, that we've got this tradition of eating with Porter. "I want you to come, too, if you would." Don't want her to feel left out.
"That's very kind of you, and I'd be happy to. It will be good for Clayton to be surprised. He can certainly be a stick-in-the-mud."
I choke on my coffee as an image of him on his knees in front of me sucking all of my cock into his mouth flashes into my mind. I swallow and wipe my mouth with one of the tiny napkins. "I wouldn't call him that."
She smiles. "You care about him a great deal, don't you, Clark?"
"Yes." I'd die to keep him alive, but I won't let anyone get close enough to hurt him. Nobody hurts Clayton Webb.
"It makes me very happy that you two have each other." She sets down her cup. "And if you want to make Thanksgiving dinner, I'm all for that. Please let me know if there's anything I can bring."
"Sure." I hate to think it, but I'll probably need the help.
"Please, Clark." She's giving me the concerned look that always gets to me. "At least let me bring some brownies. And I know how to get Clayton there without giving anything away." She explains, and I can't help laughing. Sneaky, just like her son.
"Sounds great, and sure, bring anything you want."
"What are you planning to make, if you don't mind me asking?" She leans forward, giving me all her attention.
"Well, turkey," she nods, "mashed potatoes," have to have a vegetable, "salad, and pumpkin pie." Damn, isn't there more to Thanksgiving dinner? "Apple pie, too. That enough?"
"That will be plenty," she says firmly.
"What did I forget that you like?" Or that Clay likes, but she'll know that without me saying anything. I fix her with my stare and don't let up, even when she gives me big eyes back. "Porter Webb, don't mess with me."
She smiles and doesn't answer, and I think. What did she feed us last Thanksgiving? I know there were a lot of platters and dishes, and I ate a lot and loved it, but she was telling me stories about Clay, and Clay had that look on his face of embarrassment that made me want to drag him upstairs and kiss him until he forgot about anything but me, and damn, that's all I can think about now.
"Porter, please. I want this to be a real Thanksgiving dinner."
"You could make hamburgers and french fries, and as long as we're together, it will be a real Thanksgiving, Clark." Her voice is soft, and I see her blink back tears. Damn, I made her cry.
"Well, if you think that'd work, hell, I'm for it." I grin. "A lot less work for me." I'm kidding, and she'll know that.
She takes out a handkerchief and presses it to one eye, then the other, then puts it away again with a smile. Whew. Porter crying because of me is bad. "It would work, but I don't think you'd be satisfied with that."
"Turkey and everything else it is, then." I'll check out the cookbooks and get a menu together. No problem.
She smiles, and I see how Clay got his smile again. "I'll talk to you later about what else I can bring. It's going to be a wonderful dinner."
I'll do my damnedest to make it so, but I don't say that, just smile and ask for another brownie.
*****
Clay gets into bed beside me. "Goodnight, Clark."
"'Night." I think about leaning over and getting something started with a few kisses, but he's already yawning, and it's been a long day. I settle into my pillow and shut my eyes. Porter's on my side about Thanksgiving dinner, and Clay's going to be impressed with me, dammit. I can do this.
There's suddenly motion, then the tip of a warm tongue flicks over my lips. I open my eyes to Clay's face.
"Every damned time," he whispers before he kisses me, and I don't care what he means, he's coming on to me, wanting me. What more could I want?
I get more. I get his hands, his mouth, his body against mine, his cock in my ass, and the look on his face when he comes inside me.
He pulls out and wipes me off, then wipes himself off and lies down next to me.
"So where were you tonight, Clark?" I can see his smile even in the dark.
"All this to get me to talk?"
"That was only part of the reason. I can make you talk without sex."
"You can make me scream with it."
He laughs. "I like that. But I'd appreciate it if you'd answer the question."
All right, not going to get out of this one, so he gets the truth, but not all of it. "At Porter's, plotting against you."
I think that he's going to ask me more, but instead he laughs again. "You two are already planning Christmas?"
"Hey, have to start early to get ahead of you." That's the truth.
He pulls me against him. "I wonder what the two of you are planning for me," he murmurs into my ear. "And I wonder how long it would take to get you to tell me."
"I don't know about you, but I've got work in the morning."
He kisses my neck. "Getting old, Clark? You used to be up for fucking all night."
I just came, and my cock's stirring again from that note in his voice, that note that says he wants me. "Hell, no." I turn in his arms and get my mouth on his.
"Now that's my Clark."
Damn right I'm his. "You don't give a damn what Porter and I are planning, do you?"
"I'm willing to be surprised."
I work my hand down to his cock. "Good. I like that."
He laughs, but I kiss him again, and all I hear after that from him are moans.
*****
The next afternoon I look up and see him at the door of my office. I stand, but he waves me back to my chair and shuts the door before taking a seat himself.
"My mother just called and told me she wasn't going to have Thanksgiving this year," he says in a low voice. "And she wants me to be her escort to the dinner she's going to."
I want to grin, but I'm better trained than that. "You, not me? I'm shocked."
He almost smiles at that. "Right. She says that she'll take us out to dinner Friday night instead. I told her it was out of the question."
"Oh, for god's sake, Clay, you're an idiot." He blinks. "Go with your mother and don't worry about me. I'll be fine. It's just another day in the year."
"It's a holiday, and I'm not going without you."
"Fine. Break her heart." I fold my arms and stare at him. "Of course you do know that I'll have to take you out."
"You what?"
"Hey, if Porter's hurt, I have to get who hurt her."
"You're not serious."
"How about we not find that out now?"
He shakes his head. "You amaze the hell out of me."
"Good to know I haven't lost my touch. So you'll go with Porter."
"I really don't like not being with you on Thanksgiving."
But he will be with me, but I can't say that or I'll spoil the surprise. "So come over after you take her home. Bring me leftovers."
"Ah, I see your plan now." He's smiling. "It's a good one."
"Food and sex if I'm lucky."
"Sex for sure, and you'll get food if I have to buy it for you."
Clayton Webb is the best person in the world.
"Call Porter. Tell her you'll take her."
He stands. "Yes, sir, Mr. Palmer."
I scowl at him, but I'm too happy to do a good job of it with him smiling at me. "Get a grip, Webb."
"You don't like me calling you that, Clark? I was hoping you would."
Damn, that voice again. I'm getting hard.
"I've got work to do. Out."
He laughs and leaves, and I let out my breath and check the time. No, can't get out of here any time soon, so I concentrate on work until the urge to take out my cock and jerk off passes. He's made it clear that's not allowed, and I know that going to him and asking him to fuck him this early in the day won't work, but damned if I'm not tempted.
I'll be a good boy, but Clay is going to make it up to me when we get home.
Home? Yeah, home. Where Clay is, is home.
I snort and start typing. That's enough of that shit for now.
*****
Porter sends me a list of what she's bringing, and it's as much as I'm making, but when I call her and try to argue I get nowhere.
"You said I could bring things," she says in a little voice that makes me feel like shit. "Please, Clark."
Nothing to do about that, so I tell her sure and talk with her until she sounds all right again, and when I hang up, I find myself smiling, because she gives a damn about me, about this thing I want to do.
Fucked? Yeah, but it's worth it to be with Clayton Webb and have Porter Webb in my life, too.
*****
I do all the shopping on the day before Thanksgiving, not my best idea ever, but I don't kill anyone or get killed, and considering that some of those women looked ready to take anyone out who got in their way, that's something. Good thing I'm fast.
When I get home, I put some of the stuff away and tie on my chef's apron. I'm going to get the chopping done tonight. That'll make tomorrow easier.
I'm peeling onions before chopping them when there's a knock at the door. I drop the damned onion into the sink, wipe my eyes on my sleeve, and go to answer it.
It's Clay. What is he doing here?
"I didn't want you to..." He stares at me, and I wish I'd taken off the apron before answering the door. My eyes are still tearing, and my lashes are sticky. Damned onion. "What are you doing?"
There has to be a way out of this. "Cooking. Why aren't you home? You've got a busy day tomorrow."
"I can sleep just as well here, right?"
"Right."
"What are you cooking?"
No, there's no way out of this but the truth. "Thought I'd make myself Thanksgiving dinner. Nothing big."
"What are you making?" He listens to my short list and smiles. "That sounds good. Maybe I'll tell Mother I've got a better offer." I frown at him, and he laughs. "Right, I can't do that. You'll take me out."
"You got it."
"Would you like some help?"
"Sure. You can cut up the onion." That makes him smile. He knows I'm not a fan of onions. I hope he doesn't feel guilty about tomorrow, but I'll bet he does.
He follows me into the kitchen, puts on the apron I toss him, then picks up the onion and a knife and chops it in two. I take out the celery and rinse off two stalks. I like chopping celery.
"How many onions do you need?"
"Just that one."
He smiles. "Yes, sir, Mr. Palmer."
"Keep that up and you'll be doing more than cutting up onions."
"Why did you think I came over?"
I shoot him a look at that one, and he just laughs, then answers his own question.
"To be with you."
Damn, that shouldn't hit me as hard as it does.
He chops the onion, then puts it in the container I have ready. "Did you have dinner, Clark?"
"No. You hungry?" I was going to wait to eat until after I got the chopping done, but I can change my plans if Clay's hungry.
He rinses off his hands and reaches for the towel. "I could eat. I don't suppose you've got anything I could cook you?" He opens the refrigerator and stares. "Quite a turkey you have there."
"Thanks."
He closes the refrigerator. "I'll order a pizza."
He will? The last time I brought up pizza he shot it down. I pick up the knife, rinse it off, then start chopping the celery. "Order one for me, too. Pepperoni and extra cheese."
"I thought we could split a large one."
Nice idea. "What were you going to get for toppings?" No way he'll get pepperoni.
"Let me surprise you."
"Sure."
He takes out his phone and smiles at me, then leaves to make the call.
*****
The pizza comes in less than a half hour, and we eat it in the kitchen. The mystery pizza is sausage and mushroom and pieces of white mozzarella cheese, and it's great. Clay smiles when he sees me take my third slice, and I grin back.
"Nice choice."
"I'm glad you approve. Was that all that you wanted to get done tonight?"
He's talking about the chopping, but I decide to throw him a curve. "Come to bed and let me show you what else I want to get done."
He stands. "Anything you want, Clark," he says softly, and I feel my cock harden. He knows what saying that does to me, and he likes it.
I stand and grab his hand. "Stop teasing."
He lets me pull him out of the kitchen and down the hall and into the bedroom. "Who's teasing? I'll deliver." He's unbuttoning his shirt and running his tongue over his lips. I hold in a moan. He's damned well teasing, but he can tease all he likes. He'll be with me tonight. "Tell me what you want so I can give it to you."
"I want you."
He puts his hands on my chest, pushes me on the bed, then lies beside me and kisses me. Yeah, that's just fine, and when he works off my clothes and his and kisses his way down my chest to my cock and sucks until I'm making sounds I know he loves, that's even better.
He kisses my stomach and turns me over. "I hope you want this."
He's going to fuck me. He'd damned well better be going to fuck me.
"Now, dammit." I wouldn't recognize my voice except that I've heard myself beg Clay before.
"Now what?" He's putting lube on my ass, and he wants me to talk. Anything for Clay.
"Fuck me now."
"Pushy, aren't you?" His finger slides into me, and I moan. "But I like you pushy. I like you any way I can get you."
He'd better like me getting fucked. "Now."
"Now," he agrees, and his cock is pushing into my ass before I can protest again. I push into it. God, just what I wanted - hot and hard and real.
He fucks me until I come, then shudders, and I know that he's come, too.
He pulls out, and I get my brain back enough to go to the bathroom, scrub myself, then wet a washcloth and bring it back to clean him off. He's almost asleep, and I get in some kisses to his thighs and stomach as I wipe him down.
"Clark," he whispers, and I wonder if there's more, but he sighs and says nothing.
I rinse out the washcloth, hang it, then come to bed and kiss him a few more times, his cheek and his lips, before I fall asleep too.
*****
We're drinking coffee the next morning when the doorbell rings.
Clay puts down his coffee cup. "Were you expecting anyone?"
I shake my head and stand, then motion to him to stay put. When he nods, I go to the door.
"Good morning, Clark. I hope that I'm not disturbing you."
I'm glad I bothered to put a shirt on as well as jeans. "Good morning, Porter. Clay's here."
"He is?" She's all wide eyes and innocence. Ha. She knew damned well he'd be here. "Oh, dear. Clay!"
I have to remember never to underestimate her.
Clay comes in. "Good morning, mother." He doesn't seem thrown by this. I scowl at him. "What are you doing here, and why is Clark suddenly in such a bad mood?"
She leans over and kisses my cheek. "Because I'm being very bad and spoiling his surprise."
"What surprise?"
"Clark is making us Thanksgiving dinner." She gives me a sunny smile. "Isn't that wonderful of him?"
"Yes. Mother, would you please excuse us?" Clay takes my arm and pulls me out before Porter can do anything more than smile. "You're what?"
"You heard her."
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to surprise you, dammit."
His face softens. "And you did." He kisses me before I know what's happening. "Is it time to put in the turkey?"
"If it's nine, yeah." I can't get to my watch with his arms around me, but I'm not fighting it.
He lets go and steps back. "Let me do this with you, Clark. Let this be our Thanksgiving dinner."
Yeah.
I nod, and he smiles, and it's settled.
The End
Posted 1/17/03
To read the next Eclipse Snapshot, go to Disguise, Surprise, and Reprise.
