Sequel to "A Tequila Sort of Day"

Summary: Harm wakes up with a sore backside, a hazy memory and wants to know just who is that guy hiding under the blanket?

Once again, my thanks to Gail! Anne

Oh, God. Harmon Rabb went from a bizarre dream about trying to defend an artichoke in danger of losing its commission for hanging around with salad dressing to a body so full of pain he couldn't figure out exactly what hurt. Then again, since trying to think made it hurt more, he settled on sore brain as a good bet.

A jarring noise very similar to a claxton seemed to fill the space between his ears, and he knew opening his eyes would come under the heading of 'bad idea.' Unfortunately, the reason he was no longer defending the rights of the vegetable kingdom quickly made its presence known - full bladder. Very full bladder. Full enough he either moved or dealt with the consequences.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes open. The sharp knife of a morning sun stabbed into his brain, and Harm groaned loudly. The sound sent yet another dagger into his gray matter. What in the hell had he done to himself?

To his surprise and relief, his body responded enough to get out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. Leaning heavily against the tank of the toilet, he managed to steady himself so he could aim properly. If he weren't in such a sorry state, he might have labeled the sensation of relief which followed as bliss. One ache dealt with, he greedily sought relief from the others and braved the woes of opening a bottle of Extra-Strength Tylenol. 'Fucking child-resistant caps. How's a person supposed to see well enough to line up the damned arrows?'

With a feeling of accomplishment akin to shooting down a hostile aircraft, he finally pried the lid off the bottle and two white caplets tumbled into his outstretched if none-too-steady palm. He chased them down with a full glass of water, it finally having occurred to him he probably wasn't suffering from a brain tumor or a nerve gas attack. No, it seemed he had one hell of a hangover. Hangover equaled dehydration. Needed water. Damn, he was good. He'd have gotten that artichoke acquitted.

Now what? Back to bed to sleep it off?

The taste in his mouth stopped him. Morning breath bad enough to sink a sub all on its own. 'Toothpaste. Lots of it. On the toothbrush, not the sink. That's the way, Harm, you can do this. Ow, teeth hurt. Don't be a wuss.' Disgusted with his whining, he made a point of doing an especially thorough job, but decided he wasn't ready to deal with mouthwash and all the noisy gargling.

His mouth minty clean and feeling better because of it, he opted to stagger into the shower instead of returning to bed. For several minutes, he simply stood under the stream of hot water allowing it to soothe his abused body. Helped some, but slowly he became more aware of his body. Too much booze couldn't explain away every ache and pain. Especially not the one in his. .

Oh, shit. When would he learn? This was the third time he'd over-indulged in tequila shooters and woke up fucked. Yeah, only the third time in fifteen years, but most morons would have learned their lessons after the first instance. Simple math, just like the hangover. Harm + tequila = Don't Ask, Don't Tell woes. The artichoke had a blithering idiot for an attorney.

He told his hangover to go to hell and gave himself a fairly ruthless scrub down. Largely a punitive measure, as if the hangover hadn't been punishment enough, but it might help on the microbe front. When he reached his ass, he frowned. He didn't feel torn up, but his buttocks were . tingly, maybe even a half-step into tender. Almost as if. . Fucking hell, he'd not only let someone . he'd let the guy. . . His own brain failed to find an adequate descriptor for the depths of his stupidity. 'Couldn't hold anything back, could you? Had to let every latent tendency you have out for air, didn't you? Okay, calm down and think. Just who owns my career this morning?'

He shut down the shower, dried off, then punished himself further by using his electric razor. Sound grated on every single, hypersensitive nerve ending he had. Served him right. 'Oh, shut up and think!'

Went to the bar because he'd been feeling down. His first mistake. It always started that way. 'Would think a hotshot attorney like you could recognize the damned pattern. Not helpful, Harm. Right.' Renee had dumped him in the middle of Mac's wedding reception. Two devastating events. He'd lost the consolation prize and, despite all common sense, Mac had married Brumby. He was happy for her. Them. Whatever. But he'd sort of wanted her himself. Hadn't he? She was attractive, intelligent, a good friend -- even if she did have an annoying habit of thinking she knew what was going on inside his head. 'Sure you do, Mac.' The very notion made him snort, then moan at the jolt of pain. Tylenol hadn't quite kicked in yet.

'Now where was I? Oh, yeah, Mac.' On the face of it, she'd been the perfect woman for him, but some flirting aside, he'd never really considered trying a relationship with her. Pre-tequila he'd decided it had been the wise decision - neither of them needed the strain of a same-chain-of-command romance and the hazards of forced transfer for at least one of them if they were ever found out by the wrong person.

In the post-tequila haze he was almost willing to admit there might be another reason he'd avoided commitment to her and had done a great job of sabotaging every potential relationship he'd ever stumbled into. With luck, once the hangover ended, he could go back to his happy world of denial - provided his... partner from last night didn't make it impossible.

But who was it? He could remember sitting there in the bar drinking when Bud had walked in.

Harm frowned.

Slowly he walked back into the bedroom, then leaned against the nearest wall as he stared at the bed. His bed with the large lump under the covers.

Harm considered giggling hysterically, running screaming into the night or fainting, then rejected each one. His self-image couldn't handle giggling, it wasn't night and, with his luck, he'd hit his head when he passed out and do nothing more than add to his aches. Or wake up fucked again.

'Get a grip, flyboy. You're the ranking officer here, and your ass has a lot more to worry about than who had it last.' Harm blew out a breath and tried to think. Odds were Bud would wake up and freak. At least Harm had prior experience with other men. Freaked out junior officers could do nasty things like press charges. Even if they had done all the work. 'Your honor, I should be acquitted because all I did was stick my ass in the air. Not my fault someone came along and used it. Oh, yeah, that'll go over big.'

No, now wait a minute. The pain-killers gave another shove against the post-alcohol trauma and he remembered Harriet had been there, too. 'Harm, you're an idiot's idea of an idiot.' No way Bud would betray Harriet with anyone let alone some drunk moron.

The lawyer part of his brain skittered into the conversation he was having with himself and suggested he might be able to pin some of this on Bud. What the hell was he doing leaving a friend drunk and alone in a bar? 'Your honor, it's all Bud's fault. He should have hauled me out of there or at least made me switch to something besides tequila.' Nope, he couldn't see that flying either.

He sighed. Bud and Harriet had their own problems. They must not have noticed how far gone he was and made the mistake of thinking he was a responsible adult who could be let out without a keeper. Well, at least he wasn't the only one with bad judgment in this mess. Not a particularly comforting thought, and it all brought him back to the original question - who owned his ass this morning?

Of course, all he had to do was go over and lift the covers. Except that might wake whoever up and he was seriously not ready to deal with anyone else. At least not until he'd dealt with himself. So now what?

Damage control. He needed to do some damage control. He decided treating his guest like well, a guest, might help and got fresh towels out of his linen closet. He set them on top of the bathroom hamper along with the opened bottle of pain killers and one of the new toothbrushes he kept stashed for unexpected overnight guests. Of course said guests were normally softer and far nicer to wake up to.

'Well that was arrogant, not to mention obnoxious. And need I point out, hotshot, that you were the one ass up and begging for it?'

He shook his head. Once he made certain his visitor wasn't going to do something that would get him on the wrong end of a scandal or put him in the hospital, Harm figured he had some freaking out of his own to do. Or maybe not.

Putting his robe out for whoever to use, he slipped back into the bedroom long enough to yank on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, then escaped into the living area of his loft. 'Coffee. Deep reflection while suffering from a hangover requires lots of coffee.'

He told his brain to shut up while he put the coffee maker through its paces, but soon found himself sitting at his kitchen table with a mug in his hand. He drank half a cup before his rapidly reviving brain refused to stay quiet. Something told him he should know who the lump was, that even pickled brain cells didn't lose all sense of survival. Besides, even if he weren't acting drunk, he'd had an impressive collection of shot glasses in front of him before Bud and Harriet arrived. They wouldn't have abandoned him.

Damnit. Who would they have trusted to take care of him? The Admiral? No, he could almost get himself to believe Chegwiggin might tan his backside for making a fool out of himself, but he wouldn't have fucked him, too. Not when Harm was under his command. No matter how much Harm might have begged to the contrary. Admiral was too smart for that. Had to be someone who wouldn't have to worry about any next-day problems. Which meant Harm had to be the ranking officer, not the subordinate. Shit. Then again, it could be someone who wasn't in the military with no need for secrecy of his own. Fuck.

After running through then rejecting all the men both he and Bud knew, Harm's sense of curiosity overcame his inertia and had him heading for the bedroom. Had to know even if it did provoke a confrontation.

Almost as if to mock his resolve, the shower came on. Taking a peek under the covers was one thing, barging into the bathroom was another. If nothing else, he couldn't see it increasing his guest's good will toward him.

He sighed, returned to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee. He'd know the who soon enough. Maybe it was time to stop stalling and focus on his own actions. He persisted in repeating a pattern of behavior which led to mornings like this. The conclusion was obvious - he wanted these mornings, but was too cowardly to admit it. 'Enemy planes armed to the teeth, yes; facing the truth about my sexuality, no.'

The behavior itself was idiotic enough, but this time he'd really messed up. The other two incidents had been when he was on leave after wrapping up a case. Far from home and anyone who could identify him as a naval officer. Nothing that would win him points for brilliance, but a hell of a lot smarter than starting up in a bar frequented by JAG staff. Not to mention he'd been wearing his uniform. Hard to miss that detail, yet somehow he'd managed to do so.

'Face it, Harm, the closet has gotten too small to tolerate.' Or too lonely. He didn't want to leave the navy or JAG, but he didn't think he could endure one more Renee. He needed someone.

He glanced toward the bedroom and the sound of water shutting off. The odds against his finding 'someone' while in the middle of a tequila binge were astronomical. He frowned, the oddest thought twisting into his brain, 'I thought we'd agreed I was a lying, bourbon-drinker.'

The words echoed in his brain as if someone had said them. Someone familiar. But who would say something like that? Harm went back over the list of potential suspects. He was on his fourth pass through it when what could only have been hysterical amnesia cleared and let his brain inform him he'd left someone off. Someone Bud knew. Someone, if Bud didn't necessarily like, he would trust enough to see to Harm. "No, it can't be." Even with every cell of his body marinated he never would have let - No, absolutely not. No way. Not in this lifetime or the next. He. Would. Not.

Except he had. "Webb!" he bellowed.

The water shut off and a moment later a fully dressed Clayton Webb stepped into view. Been awake all along. 'Of course he was. He wasn't sleeping it off.' Probably been up for hours. Playing with Harm's head as usual. He gave Webb a withering glare, then headed for his front door.

"Running away won't help, Rabb."

The calm, reasonable tone in the face of his near panic made him angry enough to spin around.

He scowled at the man watching him with that damnable neutral expression and dressed in a pair of Harm's sweats -- and why the hell he didn't look ridiculous in something three sizes too big Harm would never know. "Maybe I just don't want to be around someone who would take advantage-"

"You knew perfectly well what you were doing."

"Like hell I did!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Rabb. Maybe you'll manage to convince one of us in a year or so."

"I don't believe this! You -"  Harm opted against the 's' word and went with, "hit me!"

"Yes, I did." The neutral mask slipped enough to reveal a slight upward tug at the corners of Webb's mouth.

Harm's mind immediately translated the almost smile as 'And I've wanted to do that for a long time.' His treacherous brain then had the nerve to add, 'Just like everyone else.'

Distracted by arguing with himself over the absurd notion he ever conducted himself with anything anyone could remotely call spankable behavior, he barely noticed Webb crossing the room toward his kitchen area.

"Any coffee left?" he asked, reclaiming Harm's full attention.

"Coffee? You want coffee?" The man was damned lucky Harm wasn't getting his gun, and he expected breakfast?

"I've often found it goes well with hysteria."

"I am not hysterical."

Clay gave him a disbelieving look and got a mug out of the cupboard.

"You could at least pretend you didn't know where they were."

Webb poured coffee, but Harm knew he was secretly rolling his eyes. Somehow he'd gotten fairly good at reading the other man. "Harm, you've served me coffee before. It's my job to be observant."

Harm snorted. "Sure it is. And what were you doing in that bar?"

"Saving your ass."

"For yourself."

Another infuriatingly calm look. "It did work out that way, didn't it."

"Webb-"

"Rabb, settle down and stop acting like some wronged schoolgirl."

Opting not to dignify that with a response, he snapped his jaw shut.

"That's better."

Now, wait a minute-

Webb took a sip of coffee. "Not bad."

In other words, 'Better than I expected from your kitchen but you really should spring for a quality brand of coffee.'

Harm was considering the logistics of making him eat the pot when Webb suddenly chuckled. "God, Harm, you manage to talk too much even when you keep your mouth shut," he said going over to the sofa.

Webb sat down, gave Harm a long look then pointed at the next cushion.

'Not in a million years,' Harm thought, but his body had already carried him over to the sofa. Furious with himself and Webb, he recovered his dignity by dropping down on the opposite end and glaring at the far wall.

Webb flat out smirked when Harm had to resettle himself to compensate for the afterglow in his well-spanked backside.

Any sense of eloquence failed Harm. Instead he blushed, glared and hissed, "I hate you."

Webb laughed.

Harm glared all the harder, but he almost liked the rare sound. Almost. After all, Webb was laughing at him. He didn't want Webb laughing at him. He wanted . Oh, what in hell did he want?

"You certainly have an interesting reaction to tequila," Clay said around a few lingering chuckles.

Anger surged again. "Right." Tequila wasn't the cause. Not even Harm was in denial deep enough to believe that. It was a signal his subconscious used. Except for the infamous two, no, three times now, whenever he heard himself order tequila, he'd cancel his drink and head home to hide until the need passed. He'd had to hide five times in the last two months. "All I have to do is stay away from tequila and I'll never want you again."

"Want me?"

A man. He'd meant a man, any man except for Clayton Webb. Hadn't he? Confusion caused his anger to deflate. No good reason to take this mess out on someone who'd gotten him out of the bar and saved his career. Thanks to Webb he could slide back into his closet and go to work without worrying about impending court-martial.

The closet. The claustrophobic, lonely closet. But before he stepped inside and locked the door behind him, he wanted to know one thing. "Did you like." No, he'd taken enough blows to his ego, no way was he going to open himself up for another one. He swallowed and tried again. "I didn't force you to do anything you didn't want to, did I?" It wasn't quite an absurd question given the differences in their sizes. Then again he'd always suspected Webb was far more formidable than he ever let on.

"I know a few moves to keep my virtue safe," he answered with what looked remarkably like a kind smile. "But I'd think you were sitting on enough evidence of my cooperation to keep even your conscience at bay."

"Of course." He stood up, feeling the need to get away. To move. "Think I'll go for a run. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Just lock the door behind you when you leave."

Webb's hand snagged his wrist and stopped him before he could take more than a step toward the door. "Just ask me, Harm."

He forced himself to glance at Webb before his gaze retreated to the safe vista of the floor. His neutral mask was back in place and for once Harm couldn't translate it. But deliberately cruel for personal amusement wasn't Webb's style. "Did you." Damn, this was hard. "Did you like fucking me?"

"Yes."

An absurd amount of relief threatened Harm's equilibrium, but Webb's grip tightened keeping him steady. "I don't know if I liked it. I can never remember."

"Do you want to?"

"Maybe."

He heard Webb snort. Translation, 'Typical, lawyer. Always leaves himself a loophole.'

Before he could react to the silent insult, Webb shifted around in front of him, grabbed Harm's head between his hand, then pulled him down into a kiss.

As far as Harm knew it was the first time he'd ever been kissed by a man, but he found himself melting into the touch. "Clay," he whispered when the other man drew back.

Clay smiled, then kissed him again, this time his tongue pressing into Harm's mouth.

Oh, he liked that. Harm gave himself over to the kiss. His cock began to fill and the press of the other man's erection against his thigh gave him a flush of near pride.

"You want to take this into the bedroom?" Clay asked when the kiss ended.

"Yes."

His heart pounded as Clay led him to the bedroom. Another deep kiss. "Get undressed, Harm," Clay told him, then piled some pillows in the center of the bed.

Harm got the idea and once he was naked, he stretched out over them so his ass was elevated. "You going to spank me again?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with want and fear.

"No, it would be too much right now," Clay said kneeling beside Harm's hips.

Disappointment and relief collided to make him snap, "You didn't think so last night."

Clay smiled. "Last night you were drunk. It took a great deal of effort to get you to feel anything."

"But-"

Clay silenced him by swooping around and kissing first his right, then his left buttock.

An inarticulate gasp burst from Harm, his back arching, his hips lifting to push against the lips caressing him.

"Don't worry. I can do a lot more with your ass than hit it." Using his hands and mouth, Clay bit, licked, stroked, kneaded and cherished skin still mildly tender from the spanking the night before. He had Harm writhing within moments.

Harm gasped and sputtered for air as wave after wave of pleasure threatened to rob him of breath. His hands gripped the sheets as he struggled against the need to both escape his delightful torment and deepen it. He gasped when Clay's lips and tongue began to work on his anus.

No woman had ever touched him there. He didn't remember any other man's touch. He'd never known how sensitive his six was, how good another person's hands on him could feel. He felt like he was soaring without the benefit of a plane.

A cool slickness against his opening both brought him down to Earth and sent him even higher all at once. Hands urged him onto his back, then lifted his legs up over Clay's shoulders. He whimpered, then screamed when the cock pushed into him.

Clay froze mid-stroke. "Harm?"

Half-mad with need, Harm shoved his pelvis forward while his arms pulled Clay closer. His lover fell against him, piercing him to the root. He cried out again, this time managing one word to reassure Clay he hadn't hurt him, "Move!"

Clay began to piston in a rhythm matching the thrust of Harm's own hips.

Clayton Webb took him hard and deep. Possessed him. Ravished him.

Harm began to babble. Nonsense sounds and half-formed words with no meaning. His head whipped from side-to-side. Sweat coated his body. His breath came in harsh gasps. He couldn't survive this. Going to die of pleasure. He was certain of it.

Clay's hand reached between them and lightly touched Harm's cock.

He screamed a second time as he came, erupting in a violent release that left him shuddering in Clay's arms.

"Harm," Clay groaned, clutching at him in the throes of his own release.

So good. So damned good. Harm let himself drift off into a warm blanket of darkness.

Clay had other ideas. "Harm. Harm, can you hear me?"

Mmm?

"Harm, I want you to open your eyes."

"Don't want to," he muttered. "Basking."

"Basking?"

"Afterglow. 's nice."

"Damnit, Rabb, look at me!"

The concern in Clay's voice more than the command itself made him obey. "What?"

A pale and Harm decided exceedingly handsome face stared down at him. "Are you all right?"

He grinned. "Great."

Clay gave him an irritated look, but was very gentle when he eased out of Harm's body.

Displeased, Harm tightened the grip both his arms and legs had on Clay. "Stay."

The irritation faded into fond exasperation. "Not even you can out argue biology."

Harm scowled, then settled on shoving at Clay until they were all cuddled up together.

Clay sighed, his breath a soft gust against Harm's neck. "I should have known not even sex could make you more agreeable."

"Clay?"

"Yes?"

"This ever going to happen again?"

"Do you want it to?"

"Mmm hmm. Think tequila might become my drink of choice." It probably always had been, but acknowledging it would have made the life he'd wanted too difficult for a kid to face. Or at least it had when he was the kid in question.

He felt Clay stiffen and snuggled even closer to get him to relax again. It worked a little, but not nearly as much as Harm would have liked. "You'll change your mind once the afterglow fades."

Would he? Harm supposed it was possible. Even likely. Risk everything for sex? His recent actions aside, Harm wasn't a fool, and he knew all too well the limits of the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. But if anyone could understand the value of discretion, it had to be a spy. "But you'll fuck me again if I ask?"

Clay sighed. "Sure, why not."

Harm frowned. He'd been hoping for more enthusiasm. Or had he simply been hoping for more. Which reminded him, "What were you doing in the bar?"

Silence.

"Clay."

Another sigh. "I suppose I might as well tell you. It's not as if you won't find out first thing Monday morning anyway."

"Find out what?"

"You called me."

Harm frowned. "I what?"

"You called me. Apparently you wanted me to get Roberts and Sims to leave you alone so you could drink in peace."

His frown deepened. He remembered how bad the weather had been last night. "And you came?"

Clay squirmed, but Harm tightened his grip. "Spill it, Clay."

"Sims said you were drinking tequila."

So much for his discrete indiscretions. "It's in my file, isn't it."

"The possibility of it being a signal for a certain kind of potential behavior is mentioned, yes."

Harm let go of the son of a bitch, then sat up. He'd have abandoned the bed, but he didn't want to give up the sheet he was clutching. He wanted to be angry. Very angry. But Clay had taken him too high to do anything other than crash into despair. "Guess you can remove the 'possible' and 'potential,'" he muttered. "Well done, Webb."

"Damnit, Rabb, not even you can be dumb enough to think I'd sleep with you just to bust you."

"Then why are you here?"

"You wanted me to stay. You wanted to wake up and have to remember."

He sighed. Or maybe it was a repressed sob. Too high. Way too high. "Thanks, I guess." A very lonely closet. Not even the sheet was worth staying this close to Webb. He snatched up his robe and went back into the front room.

"Harm, you're being an idiot again." Clay hadn't bothered to pull anything on. He'd simply followed Harm into the other room, but he was keeping his distance.

Harm didn't know whether to be grateful or devastated. He settled on turning away from him. "Mom always told me to stick with my strengths," he muttered, then flinched at the thought of his mother. Military policy wouldn't protect him from her. He'd have to tell her he was gay. It would break her heart. All so he could be alone.

He drew in a shuddering breath. He was gay. He couldn't hide behind a bender or a hangover anymore. He was gay, but he didn't want to be. Worse, he thought he just might be in love with Clay. Another thing high on his list of 'don't want to be.' He couldn't help wondering if Cl- Webb had phoned in the update to the files while Harm was sleeping or if it was something he'd let wait until he went into the office tomorrow. Get up, have breakfast, go to work, plan a few mysterious missions, list the time and date he'd confirmed Rabb was gay, then take a call from the President. Yeah, a typical day in the life of Clayton Webb.

Another shuddering breath and he knew he was on the brink of doing something undignified. Like crying. Or worse, begging Webb to - What? Pretend it never happened? Marry him?

"Rabb, stop thinking so much." The voice was gentle as well as the hands which turned him back to face Webb. "Or at least cut out the melodrama and think it through."

He nodded, gave it a try and didn't like the answers he came up with. Either Webb had slept with him to expose him or Webb had compromised himself. The CIA had no no-homosexuals in the ranks policy. Harm doubted that being gay was good for anyone's career, but the main risk of homosexuality was the blackmail potential. If Webb was out to the company, the risk didn't exist. But if he got involved with someone who had to hide, extortion once again became a possibility.

Webb could probably get away with a one-night stand, but he'd already promised he'd make love with Harm again if Harm wanted to. Of course, it was a safe enough promise after ordering Harm to think. "We can't be together unless I leave JAG," he said softly. Bad enough he might destroy his own career. No way he was taking Webb down with him.

"Is that what you want, Harm? For us to be together?"

"I love you," he answered and memory stirred at the words. His eyes widened. "You love me."

"I might."

Harm frowned. "You said you did."

Clay nodded. "Last night I did."

"And this morning?"

"You're one fuck out of the closet and I'm two away from denying how I feel about you."

Webb's smile was kind, almost loving, and some of the tension inside Harm eased. "You're scared, too."

"Terrified." He admitted it easily. Braver or had he simply had more time to think about things? "Everything's a little too new in the light of day to feel comfortable."

Harm nodded. "What do we do?"

"What every couple on the brink does. Date."

"Date?"

Clay nodded. "You know, dinners, rental movies and popcorn, that sort of thing."

"But we can't-" Clay snorted. "Straight guys do things with other guys all the time."

Oh, yeah. They did. Or at least he had. A sly smile crossed Harm's face.

"I do not like the looks of that, Commander."

Smart man, his Clay. "I take my friends flying."

Clay groaned. Harm had no doubts whatsoever the man knew all about his bi-plane. "Any chance I can talk you out of doing all sorts of stunts to impress me?"

"None."

That earned him a kiss. A long, deep kiss that threatened the stability of Harm's knees. It left him in no mood to resist when Clay guided him to the sofa. Too soon for more fireworks, but his lover didn't protest when Harm all but enfolded him within a cocoon of long arms and legs. Almost gave him the illusion he could protect the impossible man. Silly, but he liked it. "Clay?"

"Yes?"

"What do we do if we're still in love after we date?"

"You make a few noises about living expenses, then move in with me."

Harm resisted the urge to argue about his loft. Clay's condo was a lot bigger. They'd need enough space and real walls to avoid one another when they each felt the need for privacy. But. "It can't be that easy."

"It won't be. But between your friends," (Must mean Mac and the Admiral.) "and my clout," (Translation, he had some dirt on the SecNav and others,) "we can force the military to actually honor the intent of don't ask/don't tell."

It might work. Of course they'd never be able to act like lovers in public, but he'd always had to be mindful of appearances. Mauling a woman or letting her maul him when others were around never went well with the uniform. He'd just have to work on his blank stare for anyone boorish enough to ask precisely what was the nature of his relationship with Clayton Webb.

Harm kissed the top of Clay's head. He looked forward to getting used to this. "So, is my savior in the mood for breakfast?"

Clay shifted up onto one elbow and looked down at him. "Rabb, it's 12:30 in the afternoon."

"Lunch then. I'm buying."

"Sounds like a date."

"Got tired of waiting for you to ask me out," Harm answered with a grin. He reached up and rested his hand against Clay's right cheek. "How about it, Webb? You willing to be seen with a former bourbon drinker?"

"I might," he answered, kissing Harm's palm. "Depends on the restaurant."

Harm grinned, then remembered his dream about defending the rights of vegetables everywhere. "I was thinking about Earth Garden." It seemed one could find a relationship in the bottom of a bottle of booze. "They make a great artichoke salad."

End

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