The Right Scotch
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
Crossover between JAG and Alias
Clayton Webb/Michael Vaughn
Rating: adult
Michael Vaughn meets Clayton Webb. Smut happens.
Disclaimer: Neither Clayton Webb nor Michael Vaughn or any other Alias characters belong to me. Webb belongs to Belisarius Productions, DPB, and CBS, and Vaughn and the other Alias characters mentioned herein belong to Bad Robot, J.J. Abrams, and ABC.
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.
Set during the first season of Alias before "After Thirty Years." No spoilers.
Celli gently pointed out how the first version sucked jagged rocks, and I thank her for that and for her beta. Tinnean beta'd, too.
Alexandra's Clayton Webb and I think Celli's Vaughn, but the story's my fault, as always. No Palmer, and I'm not sure why. He usually wants to get into everything.
Don't anyone tell my mother that I said bad things about the Boston Bruins, please? I'll be thrown out of the family. It's Vaughn's fault. He has no respect for my team. *g*
*****
Michael Vaughn looked around the large room at the ice sculptures and floral arrangements that smelled too strongly and wondered again why the hell Devlin had told him to go to this party. He hadn't wanted to go; the Kings were playing Boston, and he wanted to see his team skate rings around the Bruins, but Devlin had insisted, with a smile that he hadn't understood. Something was going on, but wasn't something always? Maybe he'd even find out what.
Vaughn saw the bar and made his way to it. When he got there, he ended up waiting next to another man, a man with dark hair, medium height, damned good suit, a bow tie, obvious intelligence, and even more obvious alertness. He had to be CIA, and Vaughn thought from the look the man gave him that he'd been looking for him. Maybe this was Devlin's reason.
They both ordered scotch, and the man shook his head at the first bottle the bartender reached for and the second, and Vaughn waited. Why not? This man had good taste. He'd have what he had.
"Yes," the man said to the third one. "Make his the same." He turned his head. "Clayton Webb. DC."
By which he meant Langley. He'd been right about him being CIA. "Michael Vaughn. LA office."
Webb nodded, and Vaughn nodded back.
"It's good to meet you, Mr. Vaughn."
"Good to meet you, too, Mr. Webb."
They moved away from the bar and sipped their scotch and found other people to talk to. Vaughn thought that was all there would be, until later, when he found himself looking around to see if Webb was still there, and Webb was beside him, a smile on his face that Vaughn liked.
"Another scotch?"
"Not here."
Webb nodded. "Fine."
He knew that Webb knew what he was really saying. It was in his eyes when he answered, as Vaughn knew it had been in his own eyes and voice. He hadn't planned this or known that he wanted sex with another man, but that was fine. He could live with that. His phone hadn't rung all night, and he didn't want it to. He needed to get away.
Webb would help him do that.
*****
Webb had a hotel room to match his three piece suit, and scotch that was better than what they'd had at the party. Vaughn sat and sipped his and watched Webb. They didn't talk. Webb took off his jacket and loosened his bow tie, and Vaughn did the same, giving Webb the answer to the question he hadn't asked, giving him the correct response to his signal.
When Webb put down his glass and reached for Vaughn and pulled him against his body and kissed him, Vaughn didn't fight it, didn't do anything but kiss back as fiercely as he could.
He was going farther away from his real life with every heartbeat, with every movement of Webb's tongue in his mouth, and he wondered if this time he could get far enough away.
He thought Webb was trying to get away from his life, too, but he knew he wouldn't ask, then or later.
*****
Webb's mouth on his dick was better than anyone else's had been, better even than his dreams of Sydney. And Webb's dick in his ass made Vaughn groan and struggle to hold onto his name. It helped that Webb whispered it into his ear as he fucked him.
"Michael."
Yes, he was Michael. Not Vaughn. Being Michael was better.
*****
Webb smiled and shook his hand when Vaughn left after a nap and a shower, told him that he could stay longer, but didn't insist.
*****
Vaughn found the card in his jacket pocket when he took it off at home and stared at it. Deputy Director Clayton Webb, Counter Intelligence. He'd had sex with a deputy director.
He'd had sex with a man.
He put the card away, showered again, and went to bed.
*****
Devlin never asked about the party, but he did say that he was glad that Vaughn had met Clayton Webb. Vaughn nodded and said nothing more. What had happened between him and Webb was no one's business, and he was sure that Webb would feel the same way.
*****
Months later, he still hadn't called the number on the back, the one written in black ink by hand. He didn't think he would, but he still had the card, and he'd bought himself a bottle of the scotch Webb had in his room.
Maybe he'd even open the bottle someday.
The End
Posted 8/31/02
